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CAPTAIN’ MARKY)

JACOB FAITHFUL
THE PACHA OF MANY TALES
JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER
MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY

THE AUTHOR’S COPYRIGHT EDITION

ex

LONDON
GHORGE”“ROLTCLEDGE- AND SONS
THE BRoADWAY, LUDGATE

NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREETJacob Faithful

BY

CAPTAIN: MARRYAE

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ PETER SIMPLE ”

AUTHOR'S EDITION, COMPLETE

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET

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BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.0

CHAPTER

FuMiGs Oibes ob ASST ILE UE.

 

I,

My Birth, Parentage, and Family Pretensions— Unfortunately I prove to be a detrimental or younger Son,
which is remedied by a trifling Accident—I hardly receive the first Elements of Science from my

Father, when the Elements conspire against me, and

GENTLE reader, IT was born upon the water—
not upon the salt and angry ocean, but upon
the fresh and rapid-flowing river. It was ina
floating sort of box, called a lighter, and upon
the river Thames, at low water, that I first smelt
the mud. This lighter was manned (an expres-
sion amounting to bullism, if not construed
kind-ly) by my father, my mother, and your
humbie servant. My father had the sole charge
—he was monarch of the deck ; my mother of
course was queen, and I was the heir ap-
parent.

Before I say one word about myself, allow me
dutifully to describe my parents. First, then, I
will portray my queen mother. Report says
that when first she came on board of the lighter,
a lighter figure and a lighter step never pressed
a plank ; but as far as I can tax my recollection,
she was always a fat, unwieldy woman. Loco-
motion was not to her taste—gin was. She
seldom quitted the cabin—never quitted the
lighter ; a pair of shoes may have lasted her for
five years, for the wear and tear that she took
out of them. Being of this domestic habit, as
all married women ought to be, she was always
to be foundwhen wanted ; but, although always
at hand, she was not always on her feet. To-
wards the close of the day, she lay down upon
her bed—a wise precaution when a person can
no longer stand. The fact was, that my
honoured mother, although her virtue was un-
impeachable, was frequently seduced by liquor ;
and although constant to my father, was de-
bauched and to be found in bed with that insi-
dious assailer of female uprightness—giz. ‘The
lighter, which might have been compared to
another garden of Eden, of which my mother
was the Eve, and my father the Adam to consort
with, was entered by this serpent who tempted
her; and if she did not eat, she drank, which
was even worse. At first, indeed—and I may
mention it to prove how the enemy always gains
admittance under a specious form—she drank
it only to keep the cold out of her stomach,
which the humid atmosphere from the surround-

 

I am left an Orphan.

ing water appeared to warrant. My father took
his pipe for the same reason ; but, at the time
that I was born, he smoked and she drank, from
morning to night, because habit had rendered
it almost necessary to theirexistence. The pipe
was always to his lips, the glass incessantly to
hers. I would have defied any cold ever to have
penetrated into their stomachs ; but I have said
enough of my mother for the present ; I will
now pass on to my father.

My father was a puffy, round-bellied, long-
armed, little man, admirably calculated for his sta-
tion in, or rather out of, society. He could man-
age a lighter as well as anybody; but he could
dono more. He had been brought up to it from
his infancy. He went on shore for my mother,
and came on board again—the only remarkable
event in his life: His whole amusement was his
pipe ; and, as there is a certain indefinable link
between smoking and philosophy, my. father,
by dint of smoking, had become a perfect phi-
losopher. It is no less strange than true, that
we can puff away our cares with tobacco, when,
without it, they remain an oppressive burthen
to existence. ‘There is no composing-draught
like the draught through the tube of a pipe.
The savage warriors of North America enjoyed
the blessing before we did; and to the pipe is
to be ascribed the wisdom of their councils, and
the laconic delivery of their sentiments. It
would be well introduced into our own legisla-
tive assembly. Ladies, indeed, would no longer
peep down through the ventilator, but we should
have more sense and fewer words. "It is also to
tobacco that is to be ascribed the stoical firm-
ness of those American warriors, who, satisfied
with the pipe in their mouths, submitted with
perfect indifference to the torture of their
enemies. From the well-known virtues of this
weed arose that peculiar expression, when you
irritate another, that you ‘‘ put his pipe out.”

My father’s pipe, literally and metaphorically,
was never put out. He hada few apophthegms
which brought every disaster to a happy con-
clusion ; and, as he seldom or never indulged

i 2¥

4
in words, these sayings were deeply impressed
upon my infant memory. One was, OS Legs 20:
use crying; what's done can’ t be helped.” ‘When
once these words escaped his lips. the subject
was never renewed. Nothing appeared to move
him; the adjurations of those employed in the
other lighters, barges, vessels, and boats of
every description, who were contending with us
for the extra foot of water, as we drifted up or
down with the tide, affected him not, further
than an extra column or two of smoke rising
from the bowl of his pipe. To my mother,
he used but one expression, ‘‘ Take zt coolly ; a
but it always had the contrary effect with my
mother, as it put her more in a passion. It was
like pouring oil upon flame ; nevertheless, the
advice was good, had it ever been followed.
Another favourite expression of my father’s
when anything went wrong, and which was of
the same pattern as the rest of his philosophy,
was, ‘Better luck next time.” These aphorisms
were deeply impressed upon my memory. I
continually recalled them to mind, and thus I
became a philosopher long before my wise teeth
were in embryo, or I had even shed the first
set with which kind Nature presents us, that in
the petticoat age we may fearlessly indulge 4in
lollipop.

My father’s education had been neglected.
He could neither write nor read ; but although
he did not exactly, like Cadmus, invent letters,
he had accustomed himself to certain hierogly-
phics, generally speaking sufficient for his pur-
poses, and which might be considered as an
artificial memory. ‘I can’t write nor read,

Jacob,” he would say; ‘‘I wish I could; but

look, boy, I means this mark for three-quarters
of a bushel. Mind you recollects it when I axes
you, or I'll be blowed if I don't wallop you.”
But it was onlya case of peculiar difficulty which
would require a new hieroglyphic, or extract
such a long speech from my father. I was well
acquainted with his usual scratches and dots,
and having a good memory, could put him right
when he was puzzled with some misshapen + or
z, representing some unknown quantity, like the
same letters in algebra.

I have said that I was heir apparent, but I
did not say that I was the only child born to my
father in his wedlock. My honoured mother
had had two more children ; but the first, who
was a girl, had been provided for by a fit of the
measles ; and the second, my elder brother, by
tumbling over the stern of the lighter when he
was three years old. At the time of the acci-
dent, my mother had retired to her bed a little
the worse for liquor ; my father was on deck
forward, leaning against the windlass, soberly
smoking his evening pipe. ‘‘ What was that Dt
exclaimed my father, taking his pipe out of his
mouth, and listening; ‘‘I shouldn’t wonder if
it wasn't Joe.”” And my father put in his pipe
again, and smoked away as before.

My father was correct in his surmises. It was
Joe—who had made the splash which roused

a RL %4COB FAITHFUL,

Joe was nowhere to be found.

   

him from his meditations, for the next morning
He was, how-
ever, found some days afterwards ; but, as the
newspapers say, and as may well be imagined,
the ‘‘ vital spark was extinct ; ’ and moreover,
the eels and chubs had eaten off his nose anda
portion of his chubby face; so that, as my
father said, ‘‘he was of no use to nobody.”
The morning after the accident, my father was
up early and had missed poor little Joe. He
went into the cabin, smoked his pipe, and said
nothing. As my brother did not appear as
usual for his breakfast, my mother called out
for him in a harsh voice; but Joe was out of
hearing, and as -mute as a fish. Joe opened
not his mouth in reply, neither did my father.
My mother then quitted the cabin, and walked
round the lighter, looked into the dog-kennel to
ascertain if he was asleep with the great mastiff
—but Joe was nowhere to be found.

‘‘Why, what can have become of Joe?”
cried my mother, with maternal alarm in her
countenance, appealing to my father, as she
hastened back to the cabin. My father spoke
not, but taking his pipe out of his mouth,
dropped the bowl of it in a perpendicular
direction till it landed softly on the deck, then
put it into his mouth again, and puffed mourn-
fully. ‘‘ Why, you don’t mean to say that he
is overboard ?’’ screamed my mother.

My father nodded his head, and puffed away
at an accumulated rate. A torrent of tears,
exclamations, and revilings, succeeded to this
characteristic announcement. My father al-
lowed my mother to exhaust herself. By the
time that she had finished, so was his pipe ; he
then knocked out the ashes, and quietly ob-
served, ‘‘ It’s no use crying ; what’s done can’t
be helped,’’ and proceeded to refill the bowl.

“Can't be helped !”’ cried my mother; ‘‘ but
it might have been helped.”

‘«' Take it coolly,”’ replied my father.

‘‘Take it coolly!” replied my mother, in a
rage—‘‘take it coolly! Yes, you’re for taking
everything coolly: I presume, if I fell over-
board, you would be taking it coolly.”’

‘You would be taking it coolly, at all events,”
replied my imperturbable father.

‘‘ OQ dear! O dear!” cried my poor mother ;
‘‘two poor children, and lost them both !”

‘Better luck next time,” rejoined my father ;
‘so, Sall, say no more about it.”

My father continued for some time to smoke
his pipe, and my mother to pipe her eye, until
at last my father, who was really a kind-
hearted man, rose from the chest upon which
he was seated, went to the cupboard, poured
out a teacupful of gzz, and handed it to my
mother. It was kindly done of him, and my
mother was to be won by kindness. It wasa
pure offering in the spirit, and taken in the
spirit in which it was offered. After a few
repetitions, which were rendered necessary from
its potency being diluted with her tears, grief
and recollection were drowned together, anddisappeared like two lovers who sink down
entwined in each other's arms.

With this beautiful metaphor, I shall wind up
the episode of my unfortunate brother Joe.

_ it was about a year after the loss of my
brother, that I was ushered into the world
without any other assistants or spectators than
my father and Dame Nature, who I believe to be
a very clever midwife, if not interfered with. My
father, who had some faint ideas of Christianity,
performed the baptismal rites, by crossing me
on the forehead with the end of his pipe, and
calling me Jacob: as for my mother being
churched, she had never been but once to
church in her life. In fact, my father and
mother never quitted the lighter, unless when
the former was called out by the superintendent
or proprietor, at the delivery or shipment of a
cargo, or was once a month for a few minutes
on shore to purchase necessaries. I cannot
recall much of my infancy ; but I recollect that
the lighter was often very brilliant with blue and
red paint, and that my mother used to point it
out to me as ‘“‘so pretty,” to keep me quiet.
I shall therefore pass it over, and commence at
the age of five years, at which early period I
was of some little use to my father. Indeed, I
was almost as forward as some boys at ten.
This may appear strange ; but the fact is, that
my ideas, although bounded, were concentrated.
The lighter, its equipments, and its destination,
were the microcosm of my infant imagination ;
and my ideas and thoughts being directed to
so few objects, these objects were deeply im-
pressed, and their value fully understood. Up
to the time that I quitted the lighter, at eleven
years old, the banks of the river were the
boundaries of my speculations. I certainly
comprehended something of the nature of trees
and houses; but I do not think that I was
aware that the former grew. From the time
that I could recollect them on the banks of the
river, they appeared to be exactly of the same
size as they were when first I saw them, and I
asked no questions. But by the time that I
was ten years old I knew the name of every
reach of the river, and every point—the depth
of water, and the shallows, the drift of the
current, and the ebb and flow of the tide itself.
I was able to manage the lighter as it floated
down with the tide; for what I lacked in
strength I made up with the dexterity arising
from constant practice.

It was at the age of eleven years that a catas-
trophe took place which changed my prospects
in life, and I must therefore say a little more
about my father and mother, bringing up their
history to that period. The propensity of my
mother to ardent spirits had, as always is the
case, greatly increased upon her, and her cor-
pulence had increased in the same ratio. She
was now a most unwieldy, bloated mountain
of flesh, such a form-as I have never since
beheld, although, at the time, she did not
appear to me to be disgusting, accustomed to

 
 
   
  
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 

FACOB’ FAITHFUL. 5

witness imperceptibly her increase, and not
seeing any other females, except at a distance.
For the last two years she had seldom quitted
her bed—certainly she did not crawl out of the
cabin more than five minutes during the week —
indeed her obesity and habitual intoxication
rendered her incapable. My father went on
shore for a quarter of an hour once a month, to
purchase gin, tobacco, red herrings, and de-
cayed ship-biscuit ;—the latter was my principal
fare, except when I could catch a fish over the
sides, as we lay at anchor. I was therefore a
great water-drinker, not altogether from choice,
but from the salt nature of my food, and because
my mother had still sense enough left to discern
that ‘‘Gin wasn’t good for little boys.” But a
great change had taken place in my father. I
was now left almost altogether in charge of the
deck, my father seldom coming up except to
assist me in shooting the bridges, or when it
required more than my exertions to steer clear
of the crowds of vessels which we encountered
when between them. In fact, as I grew more
capable, my father became more incapable, and
passed most of his time in the cabin, assisting
my mother in emptying the great stone bottle.
The woman had prevailed upon the man, and
now both were guilty in partaking of the for-
bidden fruit of the Juniper Tree. Such was the
state of affairs in our little kingdom, when the
catastrophe occurred which I am now about to
relate.

One fine summer’s evening, we were floating
up with the tide, deeply laden with coals, to be
delivered at the proprietor's wharf, some dis-
tance above Putney Bridge ; a strong breeze
sprang up, and checked our progress, and we
could not, as we expected, gain the wharf that
night. We were about a mile and a half above
the bridge when the tide turned against us, and
we dropped our anchor. My father, who,
expecting to arrive that evening, had very
unwillingly remained sober, waited until the
lighter, had swung to the stream, and then
saying to me, ‘‘ Remember, Jacob, we must be
at the wharf early to-morrow morning, so keep
alive,” he went into the cabin to indulge in his
potations, leaving me in possession of the deck,
and also of my supper, which I never ate
below, the little cabin being so unpleasantly
close. Indeed, I took all my meals a/ fresco,
and, unless the nights were intensely cold,
slept on deck, in the capacious dog-kennel
abaft, which had once been tenanted by the
large mastiff; but he had been dead some
years, was thrown overboard, and, in all pro-
‘bability, had been converted into savory sau-
sages, at 1s. per lb. Some time after’ his
decease, I had taken possession of his apart-
ment and had performed his duty. I had
finished my supper, which I washed down with
a considerable portion of Thames water, for I
always drank more when above the bridges,
having an idea that it tasted more pure and
fresh. I had walked forward and looked at the

ENT NS aaa ascable to see if all was right, and then having
nothing more to do, I lay down on the deck,
and indulged in the profound speculations of a
boy eleven years old. I was watching the stars
above me, which twinkled faintly, and appeared
to me ever and anon to be extinguished and
then religbted. I was wondering what they
could be made of, and how they came there,
when of a sudden I was interrupted in my
reveries by a loud shriek, and perceived a
strong smell of something burning. The
shrieks were renewed again and again, and I
had hardly time to get upon my legs when my
father burst up from the cabin, rushed over the
side of the lighter, and disappeared under the
water. I caught a glimpse of his features as he
passed me, and observed fright and intoxication
blended together. I ran to the side where he
had disappeared, but could see nothing but a
few eddying circles as the tide rushed quickly
past. Fora few seconds I remained staggered
and stupefied at his sudden disappearance and,
evident death, but I was recalled to recollec-
tion by the smoke which encompassed me,
and the shrieks of my mother, which were
now fainter and fainter, and I hastened to her
assistance.

A strong, empyreumatic, thick smoke as-
cended from the hatchway of the cabin, and,
as it had now fallen calm, it mounted straight
up the air ina dense column, 1 attempted to
go in, but so soon as I encountered the smoke,
I found that it was impossible : it would have
suffocated me in half a minute. I did what
most children would have done in such a situa-
tion of excitement and distress—I sat down
and cried bitterly. In about ten minutes I
removed my hands, with which I had covered
up my face, and looked at the cabin hatch.
The smoke had disappeared, and all was silent.

FACOB FAITHFUL.

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 

 

I went to the hatchway, and although the smell
was still overpowering, I found that I could
bear it. I descended the little ladder of three
steps, and called ‘‘ Mother!” but there was no
answer. The lamp fixed against the after bulk-
head, with a glass before it, was still alight,
and I could see plainly to every corner of the
cabin. Nothing was burning—not even the
curtains to my mother’s bed appeared to be
singed. I was astonished—breathless with
fear, with a trembling voice, I again called out
‘‘Mother !’”’ I remained more than a minute
panting for breath, and then ventured to draw
back the curtains of the bed—my mother was
not there! but ‘there appeared to be a black
mass in the centre of the bed. J put my hand
fearfully upon it—it was a sort of unctuous,
pitchy cinder. I screamed with horror—my
little senses reeled—I staggered from the cabin
and fell down on the deck in a state amounting
almost to insanity : it was followed by a sort of
stupor, which lasted for many hours.

As the reader may be in some doubt as to
the occasion of my mother’s death, I must
inform him that. she perished in that very pecu-
liar and dreadful manner, which does some-
times, although rarely, occur, to those who
indulge in an immoderate use of spirituous
liquors. Cases of this kind do indeed present
themselves. but once in a. century, but the
occurrence of them, is too well authenticated.
She perished from what is termed spontaneous
combustion, an inflammation of the gases gene-
rated from the spirits absorbed into the system.
It is to be presumed that the flames issuing
from my mother’s body, completely frightened
out of his senses my father, who had_ been
drinking freely ; and thus did I lose both my
parents, one by fire and the other by water, at
one and the same time.

 

 

CHAP TRS AFT:

I fulfil the last injunctions of my Father, and I am embarked upon a new Element—First Bargain in my

.

Life very unsatisfactory to all Parties.

IT was broad daylight when I awoke from my
state of bodily and mental imbecility. For
some time I could not recall to my mind all
that had happened: the weight which pressed
upon my feelings told me that it was something
dreadful. At length, the cabin hatch, still
open, caught my eye ; I recalled all the horrors
of the preceding evening, and recollected that
I was left alone in the lighter. I got up and
stood upon my feet in mute despair. I looked
around me—the mist of the morning was hang-
ing over the river, and the objects on shore
were with difficulty to be distinguished. I was
chilled from lying all night in the heavy dew,
and perhaps still more from previous and
extraordinary excitement. Venture to go down

Life very profitable, first Parting with old Friends very painful—First introduction into. civilized

into the cabin I dare not. I had an indescrib-
able awe, a degree of horror at what I had
seen, that made it impossible; still I was
unsatisfied, and would have given worlds, if I
had had them, to explain the mystery. I
turned my eyes from the cabin hatch to the
water, thought of my father, and then for more
than half an hour watched the tide as it ran up
—my mind in a state of vacancy. As the sun
rose, the mist gradually cleared away ; trees,
houses, and green fields, other barges coming
up with the tide, boats passing and repassing,
the barking of dogs, the smoke issuing from
the various chimneys, all broke upon me by
degrees ; and I was recalled to the sense that I
was in a busy world, and had my own task toperform. The last words of my father—and
his injunctions had ever been a law to me—were,
‘“Mind, Jacob, we must be up at the wharf
early to-morrow morning.” I prepared to obey
him. Purchase the anchor [I could not; I
therefore slipped the cable, lashing a broken
sweep to the end of it, asa buoy-rope, and once
more the lighter was at the mercy of the stream,
guided by a boy eleven years old. In about
two hours I was within a hundred yards of the
wharf and well in-shore. I hailed for assist-
ance, and two men who were on board of the
lighters moored at the wharf pushed off in a
skiff to know what it was that I wanted. I told
them that I was alone in the lighter, without
anchor or cable, and requested them to secure
her. They came on board, and in a few
minutes the lighter was safe alongside of the
others. As soon as the lashings were passed,
they interrogated me as to what had happened ;
but although the fulfilling of my father’s last
injunctions had borne up my spirits, now that
they were obeyed, a reaction took place, I
could not answer them ; I threw myself down
on the deck in a paroxysm of grief, and cried as
if my heart would break.

The men, who were astonished not only at
my conduct, but at finding me alone in the
lighter, went on shore to the clerk, and stated
the circumstances. He returned with them,
and would have interrogated me, but my
paroxysm was not yet over, and my replies,
broken by my sobs, were unintelligible. The
clerk and the two men went down into the
cabin, returned hastily, and quitted the lighter.
In about a quarter of an hour I was. sent for,
and conducted to the house of the proprietor —
the first time in my life that I had ever put my
foot on ¢erra firma. Iwas led into the parlour,
where I found the proprietor at breakfast with
his wife and his daughter, a little girl nine
years old. By this time I had recovered
myself, and on being interrogated, told my
story clearly and succinctly, while the big tears
coursed each other down my dirty face.

‘How strange and how horrible!’ said the
lady to her husband ; ‘‘I cannot understand it
even now.”’

‘““Nor can I; but still it is true, from what
Johnson the clerk has witnessed.”

In the mean time my eyes were directed to
every part of the room, which appeared to my
ignorance as a Golconda of wealth and luxury.
‘There were few things which I had seen before,
but I had an innate idea that they were of
value. The silver teapot, the hissing urn, the
spoons, the pictures in, their frames, every
article of furniture, caught my wondering eye,
and for a short time I had forgotten my father
and my mother; but I was recalled from. my

musing speculations by the proprietor inquiring
how far I had brought the lighter without
assistance.

‘“Have you any friends, my poor boy?”
inquired the lady.

JACOB’ FAITHFUE,

a ING

‘“What ! no relations on shore ?”

‘“‘T never was on shore before in my life.”’

“Do you know that you are a destitute
orphan >”

"What's that ?””

‘“That you have no father or mother,” said
the little girl.

“Well,” replied I, in my father’s words,
haying no answer more appropriate, ‘‘it’s no
use crying ; what’s done can’t be helped.”

‘“But what do you intend to do now?” in-
quired the proprietor, looking hard at me after
my previous answer.

‘““Don’t know, I’m sure.
replied I, whimpering.

‘“What a very odd child!” observed the
lady. ‘Is he aware of the extent of his mis-
fortune ?”’

‘Better luck next time, missus,” replied I,
Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

‘“What strange answers from a child who
has shown so much feeling,” observed the pro-
prietor to his wife. ‘‘ What is your name?”

‘‘Jacob Faithful.”’

‘“Can you write or read ?”

‘““No,” replied I, again using my father’s
words : ‘‘ No, I can’t : I wish I could.”

‘Very well, my poor boy, we'll see what's to
be done,” said the proprietor.

‘‘J know what’s to be done,” rejoined I;
““you must send a couple of hands to get the
anchor and cable, afore they cut the buoy
adrift.’’

‘You are right, my lad ; that must be done
immediately,” said the proprietor ; ‘‘ but now
you had better go down with Sarah into the
kitchen ; cook will take care of you. Sarah,
my love, take him down to cook.”’

The little girl beckoned me to follow her. I
was astonished at the length and variety of the
companton-ladders, for such I considered the
stairs, and was at last landed below, when
little Sarah, giving cook the injunction to take
care of me, again tripped lightly up to her
mother.

I found the signification of ‘‘take care of any
one’’ very different on shore from what'it was
on the river, where taking care of you means
getting out of your way, and giving you a wide
berth ; and I found the shore-reading much
more agreeable. Cook did take care of me;
she was a kind-hearted, fat woman, who melted
at a tale of woe, although the fire made no im-
pression on her. I not only beheld, but I
devoured, such things as never before entered
into my mouth or my imagination. Grief had
not taken away my appetite. I stopped occa-
sionally to cry a little, wiped my eyes, and sat
down again. It was more than two hours
before I laid down my knife, and not until
strong symptoms of. suffocation played round
the regions of my trachea, did I cry out, ‘‘ Hold,
enough.’’ Somebody has made an epigram

about the vast ideas which a miser’s horse must

Take it coolly,”3 -

have had of corn. I doubt, if such ideas were
existent, whether they were at all equal to my
astonishment at a leg of mutton. I had never
seen such a piece of meat before, and wondered
if it were fresh or otherwise. After such refec-
tion I naturally felt inclined to sleep; ina few
minutes I was snoring upon two chairs, cook
having covered me up with her apron to keep
away the flies. Thus was | fairly embarked upon
an element new to me—my mother earth ; and
it may be just as well to examine now into the
capital I possessed for my novel enterprise.
In person I was well-looking ; 1 was well made,
strong, and active. Of my habiliments the less
said the better; I had a pair of trowsers with

no seat to them; but this defect when I stood

up was hid by my jacket, composed of an old

waistcoat of my father’s, which reached down
as low as the morning frocks worn in those
days.. A shirt of coarse duck, and a fur cap,

which was as rough and ragged as if it had
been the hide of a cat pulled to pieces by dogs,

completed my attire. Shoes and stockings I

had none; these supernumerary appendages
had never confined the action of my feet. My
mental acquisitions were not much more valu-
able ;—they consisted of a tolerable knowledge
of the depth of water, names of points and
reaches, in the river Thames, all of which was
not very available on dry land—of a few hiero-
glyphics of my father’s, which, as the crier
says, sometimes winding up his oration, were of
‘no use to nobody but the owner.” Add to
the above the three favourite maxims of my
taciturn father, which were indelibly imprinted
upon my memory, and you have the whole
inventory of my stock in trade. These three
maxims were, I may say, incorporated into my
very system, so continually had they been
quoted to me during my life; and before I went
to sleep that night, they were again conned
over.. ‘ What’s dane, can’t be helped,” con-
soled me for the mishaps of my life; ‘‘ Better
luck next time,”? made me look forward with
hope; and, ‘‘ Take it coolly,” was a subject of
deep reflection, until T fell into a deep sleep ;
for I had sufficient penctration to observe, that
my father had lost his life by not adhering to
his own principles ; and this perception only
rendered my belief in the infallibility of these
maxims to be even still more steadfast.

I have stated what was my father’s legacy,
and the reader will suppose that from the ma-
ternal side the acquisition was wz/. Directly
such was the case, but indirectly she proved a
very good mother to me, and that was by the
very extraordinary way in which she had quitted
the world. Had she met with a common death,
she would have been worth nothing. Burke him-
self would not haye been able to dispose of her ;
but dying as she did, her ashes were the source
of wealth. The bed, with her remains lying in
the centre, even the curtains of the bed, were
all brought on shore, and locked up in an out-
house. The coroner came down in a post-

 

 

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

  
  

chaise and four,«echarged to the county; the

jury was empannelled, my evidence was taken,

surgeons and apothecaries attended from far

and near to give their opinions, and after much

examination, much arguing, and much dis-

agreement, the verdict was brought in that she

‘“died by the visitation of Goc .” As this, in
other phraseology, implies that ‘‘God only
knows how she died,” it was agreed to 7e710.

con., and gave universal satisfaction. But the
extraordinary circumstance was spread every-
where, with all due amplifications, and thou-
sands flocked to the wharfinger’s yard to witness
the effects of spontaneous combustion. ‘The
proprietor immediately perceived that he could
avail himself of the public curiosity to my ad-
yantage. A plate, with some silver and gold,

was placed at the foot of my poor mother’s
flock mattress, with, ‘‘ For the benefit of the
orphan,’’ in capital text, placarded above it ;
and many were the shillings, half-crowns, and
even larger sums, which were dropped into it
by the spectators, who shuddered as they
turned away from this awful specimen of the
effects of habitualintoxication. For many days
did the exhibition continue, during which time
I was domiciled with the cook, who employed,
me in scouring her saucepans, and any other
employment in which my slender services might
be useful, little thinking at the time that my
poor mother was holding her levee for my ad-
vantage. On the eleventh day the exhibition
was closed, and I was summoned upstairs by
the proprietor, whom I found in company with
a little gentleman in black. This was a sur-
geon, who had offered a sum of money for my
mother’s remains, bed and curtains, in a lot.
The proprietor was willing to get rid of them in
so advantageous a manner, but did not con-
ceive that he was justified in taking this step,
although for my benefit, without first consulting
me, as heir-at-law.

“Jacob,” said he, ‘‘this gentleman offers
20/.. which is a great deal of money, for the
ashes of your poor mother. Have you any
objection to let him have them?”

“What do you want ’em for ?”” inquired I.

‘“‘T wish to keep them, and take great care of
them,” answered he.

‘““ Well,” replied I, after a little consideration,
‘if you'll take care of the old woman, you may
have her,’”—and the bargain was concluded.
Singular that the first bargain I ever made in
my life should be that of selling my own mother.
The proceeds of the exhibition and sale
amounted to 47/. odd, which the worthy pro-
prietor of the lighter, after deducting for a suit
of clothes, laid up for my use. Thus ends the
history of my mother’s remains, which proved
more valuable to me than ever she did when
living. In her career she somewhat reversed
the case of Semele, who was first visited in a
shower of gold, and eventually perished in the
fiery embraces of the god: whereas my poor
mother perished first by the same element, andthe shower of gold descended to her only son.
But this is easily explained. Semele was very
lovely and did not drink gin—my mother was
her complete antithesis.

When I was summoned to my master’s
presence to arrange the contract with the
surgeon, I had taken off the waistcoat which I
wore as a garment over all, that I might be more
at my ease in chopping some wood for the cook,
and the servant led me up at once, without
giving me time to put iton, After I had given
my consent, I turned away to go downstairs
again, when having, as I before observed, no
seat to my trowsers, the solution of continuity
was observed by a little spaniel, who jumped
from the sofa, and arriving at a certain distance,
stood at bay, and barked most furiously at the
exposure. He had been bred up among re-
spectable people, and had never seen such an
exposé. Mr. Drummond, the proprietor, ob-
served the defect pointed out by the dog, and
forthwith I was ordered to be suited with a new
suit—certainly not before they were required.
In twenty-four hours I was thrust into a new
garment, by a bandy-legged tailor, assisted by
my friend the cook, and turn or twist whichever
way I pleased, decency was never violated. A
new suit of clothes is generally an object of
ambition, and flatters the vanity of young and
old ; but with me it was far otherwise. En-
cumbered with my novel apparel, I experienced
at once feelings of restraint and sorrow. My
shoes hurt me, my worsted stockings irritated
the skin ; and as [ had been accustomed to here-
ditarily succeed to my father’s cast-off skins,
which were a world too wide for my shanks,
having but few ideas, it appeared to meas if I
had swelled out to the size of the clothes which
1 had been unaccustomed to wear, not that they
had been reduced to my dimensions. I fancied
myself a man, but was very much embarrassed
with my manhood. Every step that I took I
felt as if I was checked back by strings. I could
not swing my arms as I was wont to do, and
tottered in my shoes like a rickety child. My
old apparel had been consigned to the dust-hole
by cook, and often during the day would I pass,
casting a longing eye at it, wishing that I dare
recover it, and exchange it forthat which I wore.
I knew the value of it, and, like the magician in
Aladdin’s tale, would have offered new lamps for
old ones, cheerfully submitting to ridicule, that
I might have repossessed my treasure.

With the kitchen and its apparatus I was now
quite at home ; but at every other part of the
house and furniture I was completely puzzled.
Everything appeared to me foreign, strange, and
unnatural, and Prince Le Boo, or any other
savage, never stared or wondered more than I
did. Of most things I knew not the use, of
many not even the names. I was literally a
savage, but still a kind and docile one. ‘The
day after my new clothes had been put on, I
was summoned into the parlour. Mr. Drum-
mond and his wife surveyed me in my altered

YACOB FAITHFUL.

habiliments, and amused themselves at my
awkwardness, at the same time that they ad-
mired my well-knit, compact, and straight
hgure, set off by a fit, in my opinion, much too
strait. Their little daughter, Sarah, who often
spoke to me, went up and whispered to her
mother. ‘‘ You must ask papa,’’ was the reply.
Another whisper, and a kiss, and Mr. Drum-
mond told me that I should dine with them. In
a few minutes I followed them into the dining-
room, and for the first time I was seated toa
repast which could boast of some of the super-
numerary comforts of civilized life. There I
sat, perched on a chair, with my feet swinging
close to the carpet, glowing with heat from the
compression of my clothes, and the novelty of
my situation, and all that was around me.
Mr. Drummond helped me to some scalding
soup, a silver spoon was put into my hand,
which I twisted round and round, looking at
my face reflected in miniature on its polish.

‘‘ Now, Jacob, you must eat the soup with the
spoon,” said little Sarah, laughing; ‘‘ we shall
all be done. Be quick.”

“Take it coolly,” replied I, digging my spoon
into the burning preparation, and tossing it
into my mouth. It burst forth from my tor-
tured throat in a diverging shower, accompanied
with a howl of pain.

‘‘“The poor boy has scalded his mouth,”
cried the lady, pouring out a tumbler of water.

‘“#It's no use crying,” replied I, blubbering
with all my might; ‘‘what’s done can't be
helped.”

‘‘ Better that you had not been helped,”
observed Mr. Drummond, wiping off his share
of my liberal spargefication from his coat and
waistcoat.

‘The poor boy has been shamefully neg-
lected,’’ observed the good-natured Mrs. Drum-
mond. ‘‘Come, Jacob, sit down and try it
again ; it will not burn you now.”

‘Better luck next time,” said I, shoving in
a portion of it, with a great deal of tremulous
hesitation, and spilling one half of it in its
transit. It was now cool, but I did not get on
very fast; I held my spoon awry, and soiled
my clothes.

Mrs. Drummond interfered, and kindly
showed me how to proceed ; when Mr. Drum-
mond said, ‘‘ Let the boy eat it after his own
fashion, my dear-—only be quick, Jacob, for we
are waiting.”’

‘“Then I see no good losing so much of it,
taking it in tale,” observed I, ‘‘when I can
ship it allin bulk ina minute.” I laid down my
spoon, and stooping my head, applied my
mouth to the edge of the plate, and sucked the
remainder down my throat without spilling a
drop. I looked up for approbation, and was
very-much astounded to hear Mrs. Drummond
quietly observe, ‘‘ That is not the way to eat
soup.’

I made so many blunders during the meal,
that little Sarah was in a continued roar ofIo

laughter ; and I felt so miserable, that I heartily
wished myself again in my dog-kennel on board
of the lighter, gnawing biscuit in all the happi-
ness of content, and dignity of simplicity. For
the first time, I felt the pangs of humiliation.
Ignorance is not always debasing. On board
of the lighter, I was sufficient for myself, my
company, and my duties. I felt an elasticity of
mind, a respect for myself, and a consciousness
of power, as the immense mass was guided
through the waters by my single arm. ‘There,
without being able to analyze my feelings, I
was a spirit guiding a little world; and now,
at this table, and in company with rational
and well-informed beings, I felt humiliated and
degraded ; my heart was overflowing with
shame, and at one unusually loud laugh of the
little Sarah, the heaped-up measure of my
anguish overflowed, and I burst into a passion
of tears. As I lay with my head upon the
table-cloth, regardless of those decencies I had
so much feared, and awake only to a deep
sense of wounded pride, each sob coming from
the very core of my heart, I felt a soft breath-

F4ACOB. FAITHFUL,

  
  

ing warm upon my cheek, that caused me to
look up timidly, and I beheld the glowing and
beautiful face of little Sarah, her eyes filled
with tears, looking so softly and’ beseechingly
at me, that I felt at once I was of some value,
and panted to be of more.

‘PF won’t laugh at you any more,’’ said she ;
‘sq don’t cry, Jacob, ”

““No more I will,” replied I, cheering up.
She remained standing by me, and I felt grate-
ful. ‘‘The first time I get a piece of wood,”
whispered I, ‘I'll cut you out a barge.”

‘Oh, papa! Jacob says he’ll cut me out a
barge.”

“That boy has a heart,’ said Mr. Drum-
mond to his wife.

“But will it swim, Jacob?’ inquired the
little girl.

“Yes ; and if it’s Jops/ded, call me a lubber.”’

“What's lopsided, and what's a lubber?”
replied Sarah.

‘“Why, don’t you know?” cried I; and I
felt my confidence return, when I found that in
this little instance I knew more than she did.

 

CHAPTER ar

I am sent to a Charity School, where the Boys do not consider Charity as a part of thei Education—The
Peculiarities of the Master, and the magical Effects of a Blow of the Nose—A Disquisition upon the
Letter A, from which I find all my previous Learning thrown away.

BEFORE I quitted the room, Sarah and I were
in deep converse at the window, and Mr. and
Mrs. Drummond employed likewise at the
table. ‘The result of the conversation between
Sarah, and me was the intimacy of children ;
that of Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, that the
sooner I was disposed of, the more it would be
for my own adyantage. Having some interest
with the governors of a charity-school near
Brentford, Mr. Drummond lost no time in pro-
curing me admission ; and before I had quite
spoiled my new clothes, having worn them
nearly three weeks, I was suited afresh ina
formal attire—a long coat of pepper-and-salt,
yellow leather breeches tied at the knees, a
worsted cap with a tuft on the top of it, stock-
ings and shoes to match, and a large pewter
plate upon my breast, marked with No. 63,
which, as I was the last-entered boy, indicated
the sum total of the school. It was with regret
that I left the abode of the Drummonds, who
did not think it advisable to wait for the com-
pletion of the barge, much to the annoyance of
Miss Sarah and myself. I was conducted to
the school by Mr. Drummond, and before we
arrived met them all out walking. Iwas put
into the ranks, received a little good advice
from my worthy patron, who then walked away
one way, while we walked another, looking like
a regiment of yellow-thighed tieldfares straight-
ened into human perpendiculars. Behold, then,
the last scion of the Faithfuls, peppered, salted,

and plated, that all the world might know that
he was a charity-boy, and that there was
charity in this world. But if heroes, kings,
great and grave men, must yield to destiny,
lighter-boys cannot be expected to escape ; and
I was doomed to receive an education, board,
lodging, raiment, &c., free, gratis, and for
nothing.

Every society has its chief; and I was about
to observe that every circle has its centre, which
certainly would have been true enough; but
the comparison is of no use to me, as our circle
had. two centres, or to follow up the first idea,
had two chiefs—the chief schoolmaster, and the
chief domestic—the chief masculine and the
chief feminine—the chief with the ferula and the
chief with the brimstone and_ treacle—the
master and the matron, each of whom had
their appendages—the one in the usher, the
other in the assistant housemaid. But of this
quartette, the master was not only the most
important, but the most worthy of description ;
and as he will often appear in the pages of my
narrative long after my education was complete,
I shall be very particular in my description of
Domine Dobiensis, as he delighted to be called,
or Dreary Dobbs, as, his dutiful scholars. de-
lighted to call him. As, in our school, it was
necessary that we should be instructed in read-
ing, writing, and ciphering, the governors had
selected the Domine as the most fitting person
that had offered for the employment,- becausehe had, in the first piace, written a work that
nobody could understand upon the Greek par-
ticles ; secondly, he had proved himself a great
mathematician, having, it is said, squared the
circle by algebraical false quantities, but would
neyer show the operation for fear of losing the
honour by treachery. He had also discovered
as many errors in the demonstrations of Euclid,
as ever did Joey Hume in army and navy esti-
mates, and with as much benefit to the country
at large.’ He was a man who breathed certainly
in the present age, but the half of his life was
spent in avtiguity, or algebra. Once carried
away bya problem, or a Greek reminiscence, he
passed away, as it were, from his present exist-
ence, and everything was unheeded. § His body
remained, and breathed on his desk, but his
soul was absent. This peculiarity. was well
known to the boys, who used to say, ‘‘ Domine
is in his dreams, and talks in his sleep.”

Domine Dobiensis left reading and writing to
the usher, contrary to the regulations of the
school, putting the boys, if possible, into mathe-
matics, Latin, and Greek. The usherwas not
over competent to teach the two first ; the boys
not over willing to learn the latter. —The master
was too clever, the usher too ignorant ; hence
the scholars profited little. The Domine was
grave and irascible, but he possessed a fund of
drollery and the kindest heart. His features
could not Jaugh, but his trachea did. The
chuckle rose no higher than the rings of the
windpipe, and then it was vigorously thrust
back again by the impulse of gravity into the
region of his heart, and gladdened it with
hidden mirth in its dark centre. The Domine
loved a pun, whether it was let off in English,
Greek, or Latin. The last two were made by
nobody but himself, and not being understood,
were of course relished by himself alone. But
his love of a pun was a serious attachment : he
loved it with a solemn affection—with him it
was no laughing matter.

In person, Domine Dobiensis was above six
feet, all bone and sinews. His face was long,
and his lineaments large; but his predominant
feature was his nose, which, large as were the
others, bore them down into insignificance. It
was a prodigy—a ridicule; but he consoled
himself—Ovid was called Naso. It was not an
aquiline nose, nor was it an aquiline nose re-
versed. It was not a nose snubbed at the
extremity, gross, heavy, or carbuncled, or
fluting. In all its magnitude of proportions, it
was, an intellectual nose. It was thin, horny,
transparent, and sonorous. Its snuffle was
consequential, and its sneeze oracular. The
very sight of it was impressive ; its sound when
blown in school-hours was ominous. But the
scholars loved the nose for the warning which
it gave: like the rattle of the dreaded snake,
which announces its presence, so did the nose
indicate to the scholars that they were to be on
their guard. The Domine would attend to this
world and its duties for an hour or two, and

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

LE

then forget his scholars and his schoolroom,
while he took a journey into the world of Greek
or algebra. Then, when he marked +, ¥, and z,
in his calculations, the boys knew that he was
safe, and their studies were neglected.

Reader, did you ever witness the magic effects
of a drum ina small village, when the recruiting-
party, with many-coloured ribands, rouse it up
with a spirit-stirring tattoo? Matrons leave
their domestic cares, and run to the cottage
door: peeping over their shoulders, the maidens
admire and fear. The shuffling clowns raise
up their heads gradually, until they stand erect
and proud ; the slouch in the back is taken out,
their heavy walk is changed to a firm yet elastic
tread, every muscle appears more braced, every
nerve, by degrees, new strung ; the blood circu-
lates rapidly ; pulses quicken, hearts throb, eyes
brighten, and, as the martial sound pervades
their rustic frames, the Cimons of the plough
are converted, as if by magic, into incipient
heroes for the field ; and all this is produced by
beating the skin of the most gentle, most harm-
less animal of creation.

Not having at hand the simile synthetical, we
have resorted to the antithetical." The blowing
of the Domine’s nose produced the very con-
trary effect. It was a signal that he had re-
turned from his intellectual journey, and was
once more in his schoolroom—that the master
had finished with his x, y, 3's, and it was time
for the scholars to mind their f’s and g's. At
this note of warning, like the minute roll among
the troops, every one fell into his place ; half-
munched apples were thrust into the first
pocket, popguns disappeared, battles were left
to be decided elsewhere ; books were opened,
and eyes directed to them; forms that were
fidgeting and twisting in all directions, now took
one regimental inclined position over the desks ;
silence was restored, Order resumed her reign,
and. Mr. Knapps, the usher, who always availed
himself of these interregnums as well as the
scholars, by deserting to the matron’s room,
warned by the well-known sound, hastened to
the desk of toil ;—such were the astonishing
effects of a blow from Domine Dobiensis’s so-
norous and peace-restoring nose.

‘* Jacob Faithful, draw near,’’ were the first
words which struck upon my tympanum the
next morning, when I had taken my seat at the
farther end of the schoolroom. I rose and
threaded my way through two lines of boys,
who put out their legs to trip me up in my
passage through their ranks, and, surmounting
all difficulties, found myself within three feet of
the master’s high desk or pulpit, from which he
looked down upon me like the Olympian Jupiter
upon mortals in ancient time.

‘Jacob Faithful, canst thou read ?”’

‘©No, Ican't,”’ replied: I; ‘I wish I could.”

‘A well-disposed answer, Jacob ; thy wishes
shall be gratified. Knowest thou thine alpha-
bet? ?

‘‘T don't know what that is.”“Then thou knowest it not. Mr, Knapps
shall forthwith instruct thee. Thou shalt forth-
with go to Mr. Knapps, who inculcateth the
rudiments. Levior Puer, lighter-boy, thou hast
a crafty look.”’ And then I heard a noise in
his thorax that resembled the ‘‘cluck, cluck ”
when my poor mother poured the gin out of
the great stone bottle.

‘‘ My little naviculator,’’ continued he, ‘‘ thou
art a weed washed on shore, one of Father
Thames’s cast-up wrecks — ‘ /’luviorum rex
Eridanus.’ {Cluck, cluck.] To thy studies,
be thyself—that is, be Faithful. Mr. Knapps,
let the Cadmean art proceed forthwith.” So
saying, Domine Dobiensis thrust his large hand
into his right coat-pocket, in which he kept his
snuff loose, and taking a large pinch (the major
part of which, the stock being low, was com-
posed of hairs and cotton abrasions, which had
collected in the corner of his pocket), he called
up the first class, while Mr. Knapps called me
to my first lesson.

Mr. Knapps was a thin hectic-looking young
man, apparently nineteen or twenty years of
age, very small in all his proportions, red ferret
eyes, and without the least sign of incipient
manhood ; but he was very savage nevertheless.
Not being permitted to pummel the boys when
the Domine was in the schoolroom, he played
the tyrant most effectually when he was left
commanding officer. The noise and hubbub
certainly warranted his interference—the respect
paid to him was positively 2z/. His practice
was to select the most glaring delinquent, and
let fly his ruler at him, with immediate orders
to bring it back. These orders were complied
with for more than one reason; in the first
place, was the offender hit, he was glad that
another should have his turn; in the second,
Mr. Knapps being a very bad shot (never having
drove a Kamschatdale team of dogs), he gene-
rally missed the one he aimed at, and hit some
other, who, if he did not exactly deserve it at
that moment, certainly did for previous, or
would for subsequent, delinquencies. In the
latter case, the ruler was brought back to him
because there was no injury inflicted, although
intended. However, be it as it may, the ruler
was always returned to him; and thus did

 

GACOB FAITHFUL.

    
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 

Mr. Knapps pelt the boys, as if they were
cocks on Shrove Tuesday, to the great risk
of their heads and limbs. I have little
further to say of Mr. Knapps, except that
he wore a black shalloon loose coat, on
the left sleeve of which he wiped his pen,
and upon the right, but too often, his ever-
snivelling nose.

““What is that, boy?” said Mr. Knapps,
pointing to the letter A.

I looked attentively, and recognizing, as I
thought, one of my father’s hieroglyphics,
replied, ‘‘That’s half a bushel ;” and I was
certainly warranted in my supposition.

‘Half a bushel? You're more than half a
fool! That’s the letter 4.”

‘No; it’s half a bushel; father told me so.”

‘Then your father was as big a fool as
yourself.’’

‘‘Father knew what half a bushel was, and
so do I: that’s half a bushel.”’

“Ti tell you; it’s the letter,.A,’’, cried., Mr.
Knapps, In a rage.

‘‘It’s half a bushel,” replied I, doggedly. I
persisted in my assertion; and Mr. Knapps,
who dared not punish me while the Domine
was present, descended his throne of one step,
and led me up to the master.

‘‘I can do nothing with this boy, sir,’’ said
he, red as fire: ‘‘he denies the first letter in
the alphabet, and insists upon it that the letter
A is not A, but half a bushel.”

‘Dost thou in thine ignorance pretend to
teach when thou comest here to learn, Jacob
Faithful ?”

‘‘Father always told me that that thing there
meant half a bushel.”

‘Thy father might, perhaps, have used that
letter to signify the meastire which thou speakest
of, in the same way as I, in my mathematics,
use divers letters for known and unknown
quantities ; but thou must forget that: which
thy father taught thee, and commence de xovo,.
Dost thou understand ?’’

‘oNo cl donite?

“Then, little Jacob, that represents the letter
A; and whatever else Mr. Knapps may tell
thee, thou wilt believe. Return, Jacob, and be

s ?

docile.’

 

CAPE TV,

Sleight of Hand at the Expense of my Feet—Filling a Man’s Pockets as great an Offence as picking them,
and punished accordingly—A Turn-out, a Turn-up, and a Turn-in—Early Impressions removed,
and Redundancy of Feeling corrected by a Spell of the Rattan.

I DID not quit Mr. Knapps until IT had run
through the alphabet, and then returned to my
place, that I might con it over at my leisure,
puzzling myself with the strange complexity of
forms, of which the alphabet was composed. I
felt heated and annoyed by the constraint of my
shoes, always an object of aversion from the

time I had put them on. I-drew my foot out
of one, then out of the other, and thought no
more of them for some time. In the mean
while the boys next me had passed them on
with their feet to the others; and thus were
they shuffled along until they were right up to
the master’s desk. -I missed them, and per-ceiving that theté Was mirth at my expense, I
narrowly and quietly watched up and down,
until I perceived one of the head boys of the
school, who sat nearest to the Domine, catch
up one of my shoes, and the Domine being
then in an absent fit, drop it into his coat-
pocket. A short time afterwards he got up,
went to Mr. Knapps, put a question to him,
and while it was being answered, he dropped
the other into the pocket of the usher, and
tittering to the other boys returned to his seat.
I said nothing ; but wheng the hours of school
were over, the Domine looked at his watch,
blew his nose, which made the whole of the
boys pop up their heads, like the clansmen of
Rhoderick Dhu, when summoned by his horn,
folded up his large pocket-handkerchief, slowly
and reyerently, as if it were a banner, put it
into his pocket, and uttered in a solemn tone,
‘‘Tempus est ludendi.” As this Latin phrase
was used every day at the same hour, every
boy in the school understood so much Latin.
A rush from all the desks ensued, and amidst
shouting, yelling, and leaping, every soul dis-
appeared except myself, who remained fixed to
my form. The Domine rose from his pulpit
and descended, the usher did the Same, and
both approached me on their way to their re-
spective apartments.

‘Jacob Faithful, why still porest thou over
thy book—didst thou not understand that the
hours of recreation had arrived? Why risest
thou not upon thy feet like the others 2?”

‘«’Cause I've got no shoes.”

‘« And where are thy shoes, Jacob?”

‘‘One’s in your pocket,” replied I, ‘‘and
t’other’s in his’n.”’

Each party placed their hands behind, and
felt the truth of the assertion.

« Expound, Jacob,” said the Domine, ‘‘ who
hath done this ?”’

‘“The big boy with the red hair, and a face
picked all over with holes like the strainer’s in
master’s kitchen,” replied I.

‘‘Mr. Knapps, it would be zz/ra dig. on my
part, and also on yours, to suffer this disrespect
to pass unnoticed. Ring in the boys.”

The boys were rung in, and I was desired to
point out the offender, which I immediately did,
and who as stoutly denied the offence ; but he
had abstracted my shoestrings, and put them
into his own shoes. I recognised them, and it
was sufficient.

‘‘Barnaby Bracegirdle,” said the Domine,
‘thou art convicted, not only of disrespect to-
wards me and Mr. Knapps, but further, of the
grievous sin of lying. Simon Swapps, let him
be hoisted.”

He was hoisted: his nether garments de-
scended, and then the birch descended with all
the vigour of the Domine’s muscular arm.
Barnaby Bracegirdle showed every symptom of
his disapproval of the measures taken ; but
Simon Swapps held fast, and the Domine
flogged fast. After a minute's flagellation, Bar-

  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
    
  
 
  
  
 
     

YACOB FAITHFUL. 13

naby was let down, his yellow tights pulled up,
and the boys dismissed. Barnaby’s face was
red, but the antipodes were redder. The
Domine departed, leaving us together,—he
adjusting his inexpressibles, I putting in my
shoe strings. By the time Barnaby had but-
toned up and wiped his eyes, I had succeeded
in standing in my shoes. There we were éé¢e-
d-téte.

‘‘Now, then,” said Barnaby, holding one
fist to my face, while, with the other open hand
he rubbed behind, ‘‘come out in the play-
ground, Mr. Cinderella, and see if I won't drub
you within an inch of your life.”

‘It's no use crying,” said I soothingly : for
I had not wished him to be flogged. ‘‘ What's
done can't be helped. Did it hurt you much ?”

This intended consolation was taken for sar-
casm. Barnaby stormed.

‘“Take it coolly,’’ observed TI,

Barnaby waxed even more wroth.

‘Better luck next time,’”continued I, trying
to soothe him.

Barnaby was outrageous—he shook his fist
and ran into the, playground, daring me
to follow him. ,His threats had no weight
with me; not,Avishing to remain in-doors, I
followed him in a minute or two, when I found
him surrounded by the other boys, to whom he
was in loud and vehement harangue.

‘‘Cinderella, where’s your glass slippers?”
cried the boys, as l made my appearance.

‘Come out, you water-rat,” cried Barnaby,
‘‘you.son of a cinder!”

‘Come out and fight him, or else youre a
coward!" exclaimed the whole host, from No.
rt to No. 62 inclusive.

‘‘He has had beating enough already to my
mind,’ replied I; ‘‘ but he'd better not touch
me—I can use my arms.”

A ring was formed, in the centre of which I
found Barnaby and myself. He took off his
clothes, and I did the same, He was much
older and stronger than I, and knew something
about fighting. One boy came forward as my
second. Barnaby adyanced and held out his
hand, which I shook heartily, thinking it was
all over ; but immediately received a right and
left on the face, which sent me reeling back-
wards. This was a complete mystery, but it
raised my bile, and I returned it with interest.
I was very strong in my arms, as may be sup-
posed ; and I threw them about like sails of a
windmill, never hitting straight out, but with
semicircular blows, which descended on or
about his ears. On the contrary, his blows were
all received straight-forward, and my nose and
face were soon covered with blood. As
warmed with pain and rage, I flung about my
arms at random, and Barnaby gave me a knock-
down blow. I was picked up, and sat upon my
second’s knee, who whispered to me, as I spat
the blood out of my mouth, ‘‘ Take it coolly,
and make sure when you hit.”

My own—my father’s maxim—coming from

(ec leciecimaivnsnaionyanother, it struck with double force, and I never
forgot it during the remainder of the fight.
Again we were standing up face to face ; again
I received it right and left, and returned it upon
his right and left ear. Barnaby rushed in—I
was down again.

“ Better luck next time,” said I to my second,
as cool as a cucumber.

A third and a fourth round succeeded, all
apparently in Barnaby’s favour, but really in
mine. My face was beat toa mummy, but he
was what is termed groggy, from the constant
return of blows on the sides of the head. Again
we stood up, panting and exhausted. Barnaby
rushed at me and I ayoided him: before he
could return to the attack, I had again planted
two severe blows upon his ears, and he reeled.
He shook his head, and, with his fists in the
attitude of defence, asked me whether I had had
enough.

“He has,” said my second ; ‘‘stick to him
now, Jacob, and you'll beat him.”

I did stick to him ; three or four more blows
applied to the same part, finished him, and. he
fell senseless on the ground.

“You've settled him,” cried. my second.

‘‘What’s done can't be helped,” replied I.
‘Ts he dead?”

“What's all this?” cried Mr. Knapps, press-
ing his way through the crowd, followed by the
matron.

‘‘Barnaby and Cinderella having it out, Sin:
said one of the elder boys.

The matron, who had already taken a liking
for me, because I was good-looking, and be-
cause I had been recommended to her care by
Mrs. Drummond, ran to me.

“Well,” says she, ‘‘if the Domine don't
punish that big brute for this, T'll see whether
I’m anybody or not ;” and taking me by the
hand, she led me away. In the meantime Mr.
Knapps surveyed Barnaby, who was still sense-
less, and desired the other boys to bring him
in, and lay him on his bed. He breathed hard,
but still remained senseless, and.a surgeon was
sent for, Who found it necessary to bleed him
copiously. He then, at the request of the ma-
tron, came to me; my features were undistin-
guishable, but elsewhere I was all right. As I
stripped, he examined my arms.

“Tt seemed strange,'’ observed he, ‘‘that the
bigger boy should be so severely punished ; but
this boy’s arms are like little sledge-hammers.
I recommend you,” said he to the other boys,
‘‘not to fight with him, for some day or other
he'll kill one of you.”

This piece of advice was not forgotten by the
other boys, and from that day I was the cock of
the school. The name of Cinderella, given me
by Barnaby, in ridicule of my mother’s death,
was immediately abandoned, and I suffered no
more persecution. It was the custom of the
Domine, whenever two boys fought, to flog
them. both; but, in this instance, it was not
followed up, because I was not the aggressor,

YACOB FAITHFUL.

  

and my adversary narrowly escaped with his
life. Iwas under the matron’s care for a week,
and Barnaby under the surgeon’s hands for
about the same time.

Neither was I less successful in my studies.
I learnt rapidly after I had conquered the first
rudiments; but I had another difficulty to
conquer, which was my habit of construing
everything according to my confined ideas ;
the force of association had become so strong
that I could not overcome it for a considerable
length of time. Mr. Knapps continually com-
plained of my being obstinate, when, in fact, I
was anxious to please, as well as to learn. For
instance, in spelling, the first syllable always
produced the association with something con-
nected with my former way of life. I recollect
the Domine once, and only once, gave me a
caning, about a fortnight after I went to the
school.

I had been brought up by Mr. Knapps as
contumelious.

“Jacob Faithful, how is this? thine head is
good, yet wilt thou refuse learning. Tell me
now, What does c-a-¢ spell ?”’

It was the pitch-pipe to cat-head, and I
answered accordingly.

‘‘ Nay, Jacob, it spells cat, take care of thy
head on thy next reply. Understand me, head

is not understood. Jacob, thy head is in
jeopardy. Now, Jacob, what does m-a-t
spell?”

“* Chafing-mat,” replied I.

‘‘Tt spells mat only, silly boy ; the chafing
will be on my part directly. Now, Jacob, what
does d-o-¢ spell?”

‘* Dog-kennel,”

‘‘Dog, Jacob, without the kennel. Thou
art very contumelious, and deservest to be
rolled in the kennel. Now, Jacob, this is the
last time that thou triflest with me, what does
h-a-t spell?”

‘*Fur-cap,’’ replied I, after some hesitation.

‘‘ Jacob, I feel. the wrath rising within me,
yet would I feign spare thee; if #-a-¢ spell
fur-cap, pray advise me, what doth c-a-f spell
then.

“tC APSTCPHL.

“Indeed, Jacob, thy.stern, as well’as thy
head, are in danger, and I suppose then w-¢-2-d
spells windlass, does it not?”

‘Yes, sir,’’ replied I, pleased to find that he
agreed with me.

‘“Upont he same principle, what does 7-2-¢
spell 2

'* Raz sir,” Teplied I.

“Nay, Jacob, -a-¢ must ‘spell va¢/an, and as
thou hast missed thine own mode of spelling,
thou shalt not miss the cane.” The Domine
then applied it to my shoulders with consider-
able unction, much to the delight of Mr.
Knapps, who thought the punishment was
much too small for the offence. But I soon
extricated myself from these associations, as my
ideas extended, and was considered by theDomine as the cleverest boy in the school.
Whether it were from natural intellect, or from
my brain having lain fallow, as it were, for so
many years, or probably from the two causes
combined, I certainly learnt almost by imstinct.
‘I read my lesson once over, and threw my book
aside, for I knew it all. I had not been six
months at the school, before I discovered that,
in a thousand instances, the affection of a
father appeared towards me under the rough
crust of the Domine. I think it was on the
third day of the seventh month, that I afforded
him a day of triumph and warming of his
heart, when he took me for the first time into
his little study, and put the Latin Accidence
into my hands. . I learnt my first lesson in a
quarter of an hour; and I remember. well
how that unsmiling, grave man looked into my
smiling eyes, parting the chestnut curls, which
the matron would not cut off, from my brows,
and saying, Bene fecistt, Facobe. Many times
afterwards, when the lesson was OVEeT, he would
fix his eyes upon me, fall back on his chair, and
make me recount all I could remember of my
former life, which was really nothing but a
record of perceptions and feelings. He could
attend to me, and as I related some early and
singular impression, some conjecture of what I
saw, yet could not comprehend, on the shore
which I had never touched, he would rub his
hands with enthusiasm, and exclaim, ‘‘I have
found a new book—an album, whereon I may
write the deeds of heroes and the words of
sages. Carissime Facobe ! how happy shall we
be when we get into Virgil!” I hardly need
say that I loved him—I did so from my heart,
and learnt with avidity to please him. I felt
that I was of consequence—Mmy confidence in
myself was unbounded. I walked proudly, yet
I was not vain. My schoolfellows hated me,
but they feared me as much for my own
prowess as my interest with the master; but
still many were the bitter gibes and inuendoes
which I was obliged to hear as I sat down with
them to our meals. At other times I held
communion with the Domine, the worthy old
matron, and my books. We walked out every
day, at first attended by Mr. Knapps, the
usher. The boys would not walk with me
without they were ordered, and if ordered,
most unwillingly. Yet I had given no cause of
offence. ‘The matron found it out, told the
Domine, and ever after that, the Domine
attended the boys, and led me by the hand.
This was of the greatest advantage to me, as
he answered all my questions, which were not
few, and each day I advanced in every variety
of knowledge. Before I had been eighteen
months at school, the Domine was unhappy
without my company, and I. was equally
anxious for his presence. He was a father to
me, and I loved him asason should love a
father, and, as it will hereafter prove, he was
my guide through life.

But although the victory over Barnaby

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
    

FACOB FAITHFUL. ve

Bracegirdle, and the idea of my prowess, pro-

cured me an enforced’ respect, still the

Domine’s good-will towards me was the occa-

sion of a settled hostility. . Affront me, or

attack me openly, they dare not; but, sup-

ported as the boys jvere by Mr. Knapps, the

usher, who was equally jealous of my favour,

and equally mean. in spirit, they caballed to

ruin me, if possible, in the good opinion of my

master. Barnaby Bracegirdle had a. talent for
caricature, Which was well known to all but the
Domine. His first attempt against me was a
caricature of my mother's death; in which she
was represented as a lamp supplied from a gin-
bottle, and giving flame out. of her mouth.

This was told to me, but I did not see it, It
was given by Barnaby to Mr. Knapps, who
highly commended it, and put it into his desk.

After which, Barnaby made an oft-repeated
caricature of the Domine with a vast nose,
which he showed to the usher as #y perform-
ance. ‘The usher understood what Barnaby
was at, and put it into his desk without com-
ment. Several other ludicrous caricatures were
made of the Domine, and of the matron, all of
which were consigned to Mr. Knapps by the
boys, as being the production of my pencil ; but
this was not suffcient-—it was mecessary I
should be more clearly identified. It so hap-
pened, that one evening, when sitting with the
Domine at my Latin, the matron and, Mr.
Knapps being in the adjoining room, the light,
which had burnt close down, fell in the socket
and went. out. The Domine rose to get
another : the matron also got up to fetch away
the candlestick with the same intent. They
met in the dark, and ran their heads together
pretty hard. As this event was only known to
Mr. Knapps and myself, he communicated it
to Barnaby, wondering whether I should not
make it a subject of one of my caricatures,
Barnaby took the hint ; in the course of a few
hours, this caricature was added to the others.
Mr. Knapps, to further his views, took an
opportunity to mention with encomium my
talent for drawing, adding that he had seen
several of my performances, “The boy hath
talent,’ replied the Domine ; he is a rich mine,
from which much precious metal, is to be
obtained,”

‘7 hear that thou hast the talent of drawing,
Jacob,” said he, to me, a day*or two after-
wards.

“7 never had in my life, sir,” replied I.

“Nay, Jacob : I like modesty ; but modesty
should never lead to a denial of the truth.
Remember, Jacob, that thou do not repeat the
fault.”

JT made no answer,
I was not in fault ; but that eyening I requested
the Domine to lend me a pencil, as I wished to
try and draw. For some days, various scraps
of my performance were produced, and re-
ceived commendation. ‘‘ The boy draweth
well,’ observed the Domine to Mr. Knapps,

as I felt convinced thatas he examined my performance through his
spectacles.

‘‘ Why should he have denied his being able
to draw?” observed the usher.

“Tt was a fault arising from modesty or want
of confidence—even a virtue, carried to excess,
may lead us into error.”

The next attempt of Barnaby was to obtain
the Cornelius Nepos which I then studied. This
was effected by Mr. Knapps, who took it out
of the Domine’s study, and:put it into Barnaby’s
possession, who drew on the fly-leaf, on which
was my name, a caricature head of the Domine ;
and under my own name, which I had written
on the leaf, added, in my hand, /éc7¢, so that it
appeared, Jacob Faithful /ece¢. Having done
this, the leaf was torn out of the book, and
consigned to the usher with the rest. The plot

 

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

 

 

  
   
    
  
     
  
 
 
 
   
 

was now ripe; and the explosion soon ensued
Mr. Knapps told the Domine that I drew
caricatures of my school-fellows. The Domine
taxed me, and I deniedit. ‘‘So you denied
drawing,’’ observed the usher.

A few days passed away, when Mr. Knapps
informed the Domine that I had been cari-
caturing him and Mrs. Bately, the matron, and
that he had proofs of it.. I had then gone to
bed; the Domine was much surprised, and
thought it impossible that I could be so un-
grateful. Mr. Knapps said that he should
make the charge openly, and prove it the next
morning in the school-room; and wound up
the wrong by describing me, in several points,
as a cunning, good-for-nothing, although clever
boy.

 

CHAPTER s.V:

Mr. Knapps thinks to catch me napping, but the Plot is discovered, and Barnaby Bracegirdle is obliged to
loosen his Braces for the second ‘Lime on my Account—Drawing Caricatures ends in drawing Blood—
The Usher is ushered out of the School, and I am very nearly ushered into the next World, but
instead of being bound on so longa Journey, Iam bound ‘‘’ Prentice toa Waterman.”

IGNORANT of what had passed, I slept soundly ;
and the next morning found the matron very
grave with me, which I could not comprehend.
‘The Domine also took no notice of my morning
salute ; but supposing him to be wrapt in
Euclid at the time, I thought little of it. The
breakfast passed over, and the bell rang for
school. We were all assembled; the Domine
walked in with a very magisterial air, followed
by Mr. Knapps, who, instead of parting com-
pany when he arrived at his own desk, con-
tinued his course with the Domine to his pulpit.
We all knew that there was something in the
wind; but of all, perhaps I was the least
alarmed. The Domine unfolded his large hand-
kerchief, waved it, and blew his noise and the
school into profound silence. ‘‘ Jacob Faithful,
draw near,’ said he, in a tone which proved
that the affair was serious. I drew near, won-
dering. ‘Thou hast been accused by Mr.
Knapps of caricaturing, and holding up to
the ridicule of the school, me—thy master.
Upon any other boy, such disrespect should
be visited severely ; but from thee, Jacob, I
must add, in the words of Ceesar, ‘ et tu Brite,’
I expected, I hada right to expect, otherwise.
Ln se anime ingraticrimen vitia omnia condit.
Thou understandest me, Jacob—guilty, or not
guilty ?”

** Not guilty, sir,” replied I, firmly.

‘*He pleadeth not guilty, Mr.
proceed, then, to prove thy charge.”

Mr. Knapps then went to his desk, and
brought out the drawings with which he had
been supplied by Barnaby Bracegirdle and the
other boys. ‘' These drawings, sir, which you
will please to look over, have been all given up

Knapps ;

to me as the performance of Jacob Faithful.
At first I could not believe it to be true; but
you will perceive at once, that they are all by
the same hand.”

‘“That I acknowledge,’’ said the Domine ;
‘and all reflect upon my nose. It is true that
my nose is of large dimensions, but it was the
will of Heaven that I should be so endowed ;
yet are the noses of these figures even larger
than mine own could warrant, if the limner
were correct, and not malicious. Still have
they merit,” continued the Domine, looking at
some of them; and I heard a gentle cluck,
cluck, his throat, as he laughed at his own
mis-representations. Artis adumbrate meruit
ceu sedula laudem, as Prudentius hath it. I
have no time to finish the quotation.”

‘“Here is one drawing, sir,” continued Mr.
Knapps, ‘‘ which proves to me_ that Jacob
Faithful is the party ; in which you and Mrs.
Bately are shown up to ridicule. Who would
have been aware that the candle went out in
your study, except Jacob Faithful ?”

‘I perceive,’ replied the Domine, looking
at it through his spectacles when put into his
hand, ‘‘the arcana of the study have been
violated.” :

‘But, sir,’ continued Mr. Knapps, ‘‘ here
is amore convincing proof. You observe this
caricature of yourself, with his own name put
to it—his own handwriting. I recognised it
immediately ; and happening to turn over his
Cornelius Nepos, observed the first blank leaf
torn out. Here it is, sir; and you will observe
that it fits on to the remainder of the leaf in
the book exactly.”

‘I perceive that it doth ; and am grieved tofind that such is the case. Jacob Faithful, thou
art convicted of disrespect and of falsehood.
Where is Simon Swapps ?”

“Tf you please, sir, maynot I defend myself?”
replied I. ‘‘Am I to be flogged unheard ?”

‘‘Nay, that were an injustice,” replied the
Domine; ‘‘ but what defence canst thou offer ?
O puer infelix et sceleratus /”

‘“May I look at those caricatures, sir?”
said I.

The Domine handed them to me in silence.
I looked them all over, and immediately knew
them to be drawn by Barnaby Bracegirdle.
The last particularly struck me. I had felt
confounded and frightened with the strong
evidence brought against me; but this re-
assured me, and I spoke boldly. ‘‘ These
drawings are by Barnaby Bracegirdle, sir, and
not by me. I never drew a caricature in my
lites.

‘So didst thou assert that thou couldst not
draw, and afterwards provedst by thy pencil to
the contrary, Jacob Faithful.”

‘‘T knew not that I was ableto draw when I
said so; but I wished to draw when you sup-
posed I was able—I did not like that you
should give me credit for what I could not do.
It was to please you, sir, that I asked for the
pencil.”

‘‘T wish it were as thou statest, Jacob—I
wish from my inmost soul that thou wert not

uilty.””

“Will you ask Mr. Knapps from whom he
had these drawings, and at what time? There
are a great many of them.”

‘‘ Answer, Mr. Knapps, to the question of
Jacob Faithful.”

‘« They have been given to me by the boys at
different times during this last month.”

““ Well, Mr. Knapps, point out the boys who
gave them.”

Mr. Knapps called out eight or ten boys,
who came forward.

‘Did Barnaby Bracegirdle give you none of
them, Mr. Knapps?” said I, perceiving that
Barnaby was not summoned.

‘“No,” replied Mr. Knapps.

‘Tf you please, sir,”’ said I to the Domine,
‘‘with respect to the leaf out of my Nepos, the
Jacob Faithful was written on it by me, on the
day that you gave it to me; but the /ecé?¢, and
the caricature of yourself, is not mine. How it
came there I don't know.”

“Thou hast disproved nothing, Jacob,” re-
plied the Domine.

‘“But I have proved something, sir. On
what day was it that I asked you for the pencil
to draw with? Was it not ona Saturday ?”

‘Last Saturday week, I think it was.”

“Well, then, sir, Mr. Knapps told you the
day before, that I could draw et

‘He did ; and thou deniedst it.”

‘‘ How, then, does Mr. Knapps account for
not producing those caricatures of mine, which
he says that he has collected for a whole

 

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   

FACOB FAITHFUL. 17

month? Why didn't he give them to you
before ?”’

‘“Thou puttest it shrewdly,” replied the
Domine. ‘‘ Answer, Mr. Knapps, why didst

thou, for a fortnight at the least, conceal thy
knowledge of his offence ?”’ ;

‘“T wished to have more proofs,” replied the
usher.

‘Thou hearest, Jacob Faithful.”

‘Pray, sir, did you ever hear me speak of
my poor mother but with kindness ?”’

‘“Never, Jacob; thou hast ever appeared
dutiful.”

‘‘Please, sir, to call up John Williams.”

‘John Williams, No. 37, draw near.”

‘*Williams,’’ said I, ‘‘did you not tell me
that Barnaby Bracegirdle had drawn my mother
flaming at the mouth ?”

““Yes, I did.”

My indignation now found vent in a torrent
of tears: -“‘‘ Now, sir,” cried I, ‘‘if you believe
that I drew the caricatures of you and Mrs.
Bately —did I draw this, which is by the same
person?” And I] handed up to the Domine
the caricature of my mother, which Mr. Knapps
had inadvertently produced at the bottom of
the rest. Mr. Knapps turned white as a sheet.
The Domine looked at the caricature, and was
silent for some time, At last he turned to the
usher,

‘‘From whom didst thou obtain this, Mr.
Knapps ?”’

Mr. Knapps replied, in his confusion, ‘‘ From
Barnaby Bracegirdle.”’

‘‘It was but this moment, thou didst state
that thou hadst received none from Barnaby
Bracegirdle. ‘Thou hast contradicted thyself,
Mr. Knapps. Jacob did not draw his mother ;
and the pencil is the same as that which drew
the rest—evgo, he did not, I really believe,
draw one of them. te procul fraudes. God,
I thank thee, that the innocent have been pro-
tected. Narrowly hast thou escaped these toils,
O Jacob—Cum populo et duce fraudulento.
And now for punishment. Barnaby Bracegirdle,
thou gavest this caricature to Mr. Knapps ;
from whence hadst thou it? Lie not.”

Barnaby turned red and white, and then
acknowledged that the drawing was his own.

‘““You boys,” cried the Domine, waving his
rod which he had seized, ‘‘you gave these
drawings to Mr. Knapps ; tell me from whom
they came.”

The boys, frightened at the Domine’s looks,
immediately replied in a breath, ‘‘ from Barnaby
Bracegirdle.”’

‘“Then, Barnaby Bracegirdle, from whom
didst thou receive them?” inquired the Domine.
Barnaby was dumb-founded. ‘‘ Tell the truth ;
didst not thou draw them thyself, since thou
didst not receive them from other people?”

Barnaby fell upon his knees, and related the
whole circumstances, particularly the way in
which the Cornelius Nepos had been obtained,
through the medium of Mr. Knapps. The in-

 

 

14
Le
Fi
}dignation of the Domine was now beyond all
bounds. I never had seen him so moved before.
He appeared to rise at least a foot more in
stature : his eyes sparkled, his great nose turned
red, his nostrils dilated, and his mouth was
more than half open, to give vent to the ponder-
ous breathing from his chest. His whole ap-
pearance was withering to the culprits.

“For thee, thou base, degraded, empty-
headed, and venomous little abortion of a man,
I have no words to signify my contempt. By
the governors of this charity 1 leave thy conduct
to be judged; but until they meet, thou shalt
not pollute and contaminate the air of ‘this
school by thy presency. If thou hast one spark
of good feeling in thy petty frame, beg pardon
of this poor boy, whom thou wouldst haye
ruined by thy treacherv. If not, hasten to de-
part, lest in my wrath I apply to the teacher the
punishment intended for the scholar, but of
which thou art more deserving than even
Barnaby Bracegirdle.”’

Mr. Knapps said nothing, hastened out of
the school, and that evening quitted his domi-
cile. When the governors met, he was expelled
with ignominy. ‘‘Simon Swapps, hoist up
Barnaby Bracegirdle.’’ Most strenuously and
most indefatigably was the birch applied to
Barnaby, a second time, through me. Barnaby
howled and kicked, howled and kicked, and
kicked again. At last the Domine was tired.
““Consonat omne nemus strepitu”’ (for nenris
read school-room), exclaimed the Domine, lay-
ing down the rod, and pulling out his handker-
chief to wipe his face. “‘ Calcitrat, ardescunt
germani cede bimembres, that last quotation is
happy,” [cluck, cluck.] He then blew his-nose,
addressed the boys in a long oration—paid me
a handsome compliment upon my able defence
—proyed to all those who chose to listen to
him, that innocence would always confound,
euilt—intimated to Barnaby that he must leave
the school, and then, finding himself worn out
with exhaustion, gave the boys a holiday, that
they might reflect upon what had passed, and
which they duly profited by, in playing at
marbles and peg in the ring. He then dis-
missed the school, took me by the hand, and
led me into his study, where he gave vent to his
strong and affectionate feelings towards me
until the matron came to tell us that dinner
was ready.

After this, everything went on well. The
Domine’s kindness and attention were unre-
mitting, and no one ever thought of caballing
against me. My progress became most rapid ;
I had conquered Virgil, taken Tacitus by storm,
and was reading the odes of Horace. I had
passed triumphantly through decimals, and was
busily employed in mensuration of solids, when
one evening I was seized with a giddiness in my
head. I complained to the matron; she felt
my hands, pronounced me feverish, and ordered
me to bed. I passed a restless night ; the next
morning I attempted to rise, but a heavy burn-

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

 

 

  
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   

ing ball rolled as it were in my head, and J fell
back on my pillow.. The matron came, was
alarmed at my state, and sent for the surgeon,
who pronounced that I had caught the typhus
fever, then raging through the vicinity. his
was the first time in my life that I had known a
day’s sickness—it was a lesson I had yet to
learn. The surgeon bied me, and giving direc-
tions to the matron, promised to call again... In
a few hours I was quite delirious—my senses ran

wild: One moment I thought I was with little
Sarah Drummond, walking in green fields,

holding her by the hand. I turned round, and
she was no longer there, but I was in the lighter,
and my hand grasped the cinders of my mother ;
my father stood before me, again jumped over-
board and disappeared ; again the dark.black
column ascended from the cabin, and I was
prostrate on the deck. Then I was once more
alone on the placid and noble Thames, the moon
shining bright, and the sweep in my hand, tiding
up the reach, and admiring the foliage which
hung in dark shadows over the banks. I saw
the slopes of green, so pure and so fresh by that
sweet light, and in the distance counted the
numerous spires of the great monster city, and
beheld the various bridges spanning over the
water. The faint ripple of the tide was har-
mony, the reflection of the moon, beauty ; I felt
happiness in my heart ; I was no longer the
charity-boy, but the pilot of the barge. Then,
as I would survey the scene, there was some-
thing that invariably presented itself between
my eyes and the object of my scrutiny ; which-
ever way I looked, it stood in my way, and I
could not remoye it. It was like a cloud, yet
transparent, and witha certain undefined shape.
I tried for some time, but in vain, to decipher
it, but could not. * At last it appeared to, cohese
into a form—it was the Domine’s great nose,
magnified into that of the Scripture, ‘‘as the
tower which looketh towards Damascus.”’ My
temples throbbed with agony—I burned all
over. I had no.exact notions of death in bed,
except that of my poor mother, and I thought
that I was to die like her; the horrible fear
seized me that all this burning was but prefatory
to bursting out into flame and consuming into
ashes. The dread hung about my young heart
and turned that to ice, while the rest of my body
was on fire. This was my last recollection, and
then all was blank. For many days I lay un-
conscious of either pain or existence: when I
awoke from my stupor, my wandering senses
gradually returning, I opened my eyes, and
dimly perceived something before me that cut
across my vision in a diagonal line. As the
mist cleared away, and I recovered myself, I
made out that it was the nose of Domine
Dobiensis, who was kneeling at the bedside, his
nose adumbrating the coverlid of my bed, his
spectacles dimmed with tears, and his long grey
locks falling on each side, and shadowing his
eyes. Iwas not frightened, but I was too weak
to stir or speak. His prayer-book was in hishand, and he still remained on his knees. He
had been praying for me. Supposing me still
insensible, he broke out in the following soli-
loquy :—

“ Naviculator parvus pallidus—how beauti-
ful even in death ! My poor lighter-boy, that
hath mastered the rudiments, and triumphed
over the Accidence—but to die! Levior puer,
a puerile conceit, yet I love it, as I do thee.
How my heart bleeds for thee! The icy breath
of death hath whitened thee, as the hoar frost
whitens the autumnal rose. Why wert thou
transplanted from thine own element ? Young
prince of the stream—lord of the lighter—‘ Razzs
rex et magister’—heir-apparent to the tiller
betrothed to the sweep—wedded to the deck—
how art thou laid low! Where is the blooming
cheek, ruddy with the browning air ? where the
bright and swimming eye? Alas! where?
‘Tum breviter dire mortis aperta via_est, as
sweet Tibullus hath it;’’ and the Domine
sobbed anew. ‘‘ Had this stroke fallen upon
me, the aged, the ridiculed, the little regarded,
the ripe one for the sickle, it would have been
well,—(yet fain would I have instructed thee
still more before I quitted the scene—fain have
left thee the mantle of learning). Thou knowest,
Lord, that I walk wearily, as in a desert, that
I am heavily burdened, and that my infirmities
are many, Must I then mourn oyer thee, thou
promising one—must I say with the epigram-
mist—

 

 

‘Hoc jacet in tumulo, raptus puerilibus annis,
Jacob Faithful domini cura, dolorque sui?
True, most true. Hast thou quitted the element
thou so joyously controlledst, and hast come

upon the terra firma for thy grave?

‘ Sis licet inde sibi tellus placata, levisque,
Artificis levior non potes esse manu.’

“arth, lay light upon the lighter-boy—the lotus,
the water-lily, that hath been cast on shore to
die. Hadst thou lived, Jacob, I would have
taught thee the Humanities ; we would have
conferred pleasantly together. I would have
poured out my learning to thee, my Absalom,
my son !’

‘He rose, and stood over me, the tears
coursed down his long nose from both his eyes,
and from the point of it poured out like a little
rain gutter upon the coverlid. I. understood
not all his words, but I understood the spirit of
them—it was love. I feebly, stretched forth my
arms, and articulated “ Domine!’ The old
man clasped his hands, looked upwards, and
said, ‘‘O God, I thank thee—he will live.
Hush, hush, my sweet one, thou must not
prate;"’ and he retired on tiptoe, and IT heard
him mutter triumphantly, as he walked away,
“He called me ‘Domine!’ ”

From that hour I, rapidly recoyered, and in
three weeks was. again at. my studies. I was
now within six months of being fourteen. years
old, and Mr. Drummond, who had occasionally

 

 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
   
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
    

¥ACOB FAITHFUL. 19

called to ascertain my progress, came to confer
with the Domine upon my future prospects.
‘“All that I can do for him, Mr. Dobbs,” said
my former master, ‘‘is to bind him apprentice
to serve his time on the river Thames, and that
cannot be done until he is fourteen. Will the
rules of the school permit his remaining? ”

“The regulations do not exactly, but T will,’
replied the Domine. ‘‘I have asked nothing
for my long services, and the governors will not
refuse me such a slight favour ; should they, I
will charge myself with him, that he may ‘not
lose his precious time. What sayest ‘thou,
Jacob, dost thou feel inclined to return to’ thy
father Thames? ” ,

I replied in the affirmative, for the recollec-
tions of my former life were those of independ-
ence and activity.

‘““Thou hast decided well, Jacob—the tailor
at his needle, the shoemaker at his last, the
serving-boy to an exacting mistress, and all
those apprenticed to the various trades, have
no time for improvement, but afloat there are
moments of quiet and of peace—the still night
for reflection, the watch for meditation ; and
even the adverse wind or tide leaves moments
of leisure, which may be employed to advan-
tage. Then wilt thou call to mind the stores of
learning which I have laid up in thy garner,
and wilt add to them by perseverance: and
industry. ‘Thou hast yet six months to profit
by, and, with the blessing of God, those six
months shall not be thrown away.”

Mr. Drummond, having received my consent
to be bound apprentice, wished me farewell,
and. departed. During the six months, the
Domine pressed me hard, almost too hard, but
I worked for Jove, and to please him I was most
diligent. At Jast the time had flown away, the
six months had more than expired, and Mr.
Drummond made his appearance, with a ser-
vant, carrying a bundle under his arm. I
slipped off my pepper-and-salt, my yellows, and
my badge, dressed myself in a neat blue jacket
and trousers, and, with many exhortations from
the Domine and kind wishes from the matron,
I bade farewell to them, and to the charity-
school, and in an hour was once more under
the roof of the kind Mrs. Drummond.

But how different were my sensations to those
which oppressed me when J had before entered !
I was no longer a little savage, uneducated and
confused in my ideas; on the contrary, J was
full of imagination, confident in myself and in
my own powers, cultivated in mind, and proud
of my success. The finer feelings of my nature
had been called into play; I felt gratitude,
humility, and love, at the same time that I was
aware of my own capabilities. In person I had
much improved, as well as much increased in
stature, 1 walked confident and elastic, joying
in the world, hoping, anticipating, and kindly
disposed towards my fellow-creatures, I knevy,
I felt my improyement, my total change pf
character, and it was with sparkling eyes tha i

i

/

 

 

 

 

ist Naasooked up at the window, where I saw Mrs.
Drummond and little Sarah watching my return
and re-appearance, after an absence of three
years.

Mrs. Drummond had been prepared by her
husband to find a great change ; but still, she
looked for a second or two with wonder as I
entered the room, with my hat in my hand, and
paid my obeisance. She extended her hand to
me, which I took respectfully.

“I should not have known you, Jacob ; you
have grown quite a man,” said she, smiling.
Sarah held back, looking at me with pleased
astonishment ; but I went up to her, and she
timidly accepted my hand. I had left her as
my superior ; I returned, and she soon per-
ceived that I had a legitimate right to the
command. It was some time before she would
converse, and much longer before she would
become intimate ; but when she did so, it was
no longer the little girl encouraging the untu-
tored boy by kindness, or laughing at his
absurdities, but looking up to him with respect
and affection, and taking his opinion as a

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

    
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
   

guide for her own.
knowledge.

By the regulations of the Watermen’s Com-
pany, it is necessary that every one who wishes
to ply on the river on his own account should
serve as an apprentice, from the age of fourteen
to twenty-one ; at all events, he must serve an
apprenticeship for seven years, and be fourteen
years old before he signs the articles. ‘This
apprenticeship may be served in any description
of vessel which sails or works on the river,
whether it be barge, lighter, fishing-smack,
or a boat of larger dimensions ; and it is not
until that apprenticeship is served that he can
work on his own account, either in a wherry, or
any other craft. Mr. Drummond offered to
article me on board of one of his own lighters,
free of all expense, leaving me at liberty to
change into any other vessel that I might think
proper. I gratefully accepted the proposal,
went with him to Watermen’s Hall, signed the
papers, and thus was, at the age of fourteen,
‘‘ Bound ‘prentice to a waterman.”

I had gained the power of

GHAPEE Ritt Vit:

‘lam recommended to learn .to Swim, and I take the friendly Advice—Heavy Suspicion on Board of the
Lighter, and a Mystery, out of which Mrs. Radcliffe would have made a Romance.

‘JACOB, this is Marables, who has charge of
the Polly barge,” said Mr. Drummond, who
had sent for me into his office, a few days after
my arrival at his house. ‘‘ Marables,’’ con-
tinued my protector, addressing the man, ‘‘I
have told you that this lad is bound ’prentice to
the Polly; I expect you will look after him, and
treat him kindly ;—no blows or ill-treatment.
If he does not conduct himself well (but well
I'm sure he will), let me know when you come
back from your trip.”

During this speech, I was scrutinizing the
outward man of my future controller. He was
stout and well-built, inclining to corpulence ;
his features remarkably good, although his eyes
were not large. His mouth was very small,
and there was a good-natured smile on his
lips, as he answered, ‘‘I never treated a cat ill,
master.”

“‘T believe not,” replied Mr. Drummond;
“but Iam anxious that Jacob should do well
in the world, and therefore let you know that
he will always have my protection, so long as
he conducts himself properly.”

““We shall be very good friends, sir, I'll
answer for it, if I may judge from the cut of
his jib,” replied Marables, extending to me an
immense hand, as broad as it was long.

After this introduction, Mr. Drummond gave
Lim some directions, and left us together.

‘“‘Come and see the craft, boy,’” said Mara-
bls ; and I followed him to the barge, which
wes one of those fitted with a mast which

lowered down and hauled up again, as re-
quired. She plied up and down the river as
far as the Nore, sometimes extending her
voyage still farther ; but that was only in the
summer months. She had a large cabin abaft,
and a cuddy forward. ‘The cabin was locked,
and I could not examine it.

‘This will be your berth,”’ said Marables,
pointing to the cuddy-hatch forward ; ‘‘ you'll
have it all to yourself. The other man and I
sleep abaft.”

‘“‘ Have you another man, then?”

‘Yes, [ have, Jacob,” replied he ; and then
muttering to himself, ‘‘I wish I had not—I
wish the barge was only between us, Jacob, or
that you had not been sent on board,” con-
tinued he, gravely. ‘‘It would have been better
—much better.” And he walked aft, whistling
in a low tone, looking down sadly on the deck.

“Is your cabin large?” inquired I, as he
came forward.

“Yes, large enough ; but I cannot show it to
you now—he has the key.”

‘““What, the other man under you?”

“Yes,” replied Marables, hastily. ‘‘I've been
thinking, Jacob, that you may as well remain
on shore till we start. You can be of no use
heres

To this I had no objection ; but I often went
on board during the fortnight that the barge
remained, and soon became very partial to
Marables. There was a kindness about him
that won me, and I was distressed to perceivethat he was often very melancholy. What sur-
prised me most was, to find that during the
first week the cabin was conStantly locked, and
that Marables had not the key; it appeared
so strange that he, as master of the barge,
should be locked out of his own cabin by his
inferior.

One day I went early on board, and found
not only the cabin doors open, but the other
man belonging to her walking up and down the
deck with Marables. He was a well-looking,
tall, active young man, apparently not thirty,
with a general boldness of countenance strongly
contrasted with a furtive glance of the eye. He
had a sort of blue smock-frock over all, and the
trousers which appeared below were of a finer
texture than those usually worn by people of
his condition.

‘This is the lad who is bound to the barge,”
said Marables. ‘‘Jacob, this is Fleming.”

‘‘So, younker,” said Fleming, after casting
an inquiring eye upon me, ‘‘you are to sail
with us, are you? It’s my opinion that your
room would be better than your company.
However, if you keep your eyes open, I'd ad-
vise you to keep your mouth shut. When I
don’t like people’s company, I sometimes give
them a hoist into the stream—so keep a sharp
look-out, my joker.”’

Not very well pleased with this address, I
answered, ‘‘I thought Marables had charge of
the craft, and that I was to look to him for
orders.”

«Did you, indeed !” replied Fleming, with a
sneer. ‘‘I say, my lad, can you swim?”

“No, I can't,” replied I—‘‘ I wish I could.”

“‘Well, then, take my advice—learn to swim
as fast as you can; for I've a strong notion that,
one day or other, I shall take you by the scruff
of the neck, and send you to look after your
father.”

“Fleming! Fleming! pray be quiet!” said
Marables, who had several times pulled him by
the sleeve. ‘‘He’s only joking, Jacob,” con-
tinued Marables to me, as, indignant at the
mention of my father’s death, I was walking
away to the shore, over the other lighters.

“Well,” replied I, turning round, ‘‘if I’m to
be tossed overboard, it’s just as well to let Mr.
Drummond know, that if I'm missing he may
guess what's become of me.”

‘“Pooh! nonsense!” said Fleming, imme-
diately altering his manner and coming to me
where I stood, in the barge next to them.
‘“Giye us your hand, my boy ; I was only try-
ing what stuff you were made of. Come, shake
hands ; I wasn't in earnest.”’

I took the proffered hand, and went on shore.
“Nevertheless,” thought I, ‘*I'll learn to swim ;
for I rather think he was in earnest.” And I
took my first lesson that day ; and, by dint of
practice, soon acquired that very necessary art.
Had it not been for the threat of Fleming, I
probably should not have thought of it ; but it
occurred to me that I might tumble, even if I

 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
   

FACOB FAITHFUL. 21

were not thrown, overboard, and that a know-
ledge of swimming would do no harm.

The day before the barge was to proceed
down the river to Sheerness, with a cargo of
bricks, I called upon my worthy old master,
Domine Dobiensis.

‘“‘ Salve puer!’’ cried the old man, who was
sitting in his study. ‘‘ Verily, Jacob, thou art
come in good time. I am at leisure, and will
give thee a lesson, Sit down, my child.”

The Domine opened the A£neid of Virgil, and
commenced forthwith. I was fortunate enough
to please him with my off-hand translation ; and,

as he closed the book, I told him that I had’

called to bid him farewell, as we started at day-
light the next morning,

‘‘Jacob,”’ said he, ‘‘thou hast profited well
by the lessons which I have bestowed upon
thee : now take heed of that advice which I am
now about to offer to thee. There are many
who will tell thee that thy knowledge is of no use,
for what avail can the Latin tongue be to a boy
on board of a lighter? Others may think that I
have done wrong thus to instruct thee, as thy
knowledge may render thee vain—zz/ exactius
eruditiusque est—or discontented with thy situa-
tion in life. Such is too often the case, I grant ;
but it is because education is not as general as
it ought to be. Were all educated, the supe-
riority acquired or presumed upon by education
would be lost, and the nation would not only be
wiser, but happier. It would judge more
rightly, would not condemn the measures of its
rulers, which at present it cannot understand,
and would not be led away by the clamour and
misrepresentation of the disaffected. But I
must not digress, as time is short. Jacob, I
feel that thou wilt not be spoilt by the know-
ledge instilled into thee ; but mark me, parade
it not, for it will be vanity, and make thee
enemies. Cultivate thyself as much as thou
canst, but in due season—thy duties to thy em-
ployer must be first attended to—but treasure
up what thou hast, and lay up more when thou
canst. Consider it as hidden wealth, which may
hereafter be advantageously employed. Thou
art now but an apprentice in a barge; but what
mayst thou not be, Jacob, if thou art diligent—
if thou fear God, and be- honest? I will now
call to my mind some examples to stimulate
thee in thy career.”

Here the Domine brought forward about forty
or fifty instances from history, in which people
from nothing had risen to the highest rank and
consideration ; but, although I listened to them
very attentively, the reader will probably not
regret the omission of the Domine's catalogue.
Having concluded, the Domine gave mea Latin
Testament, the Whole Duty of Man, and his
blessing. The matron added to them a large
slice of seed-cake ; and by the time that I had
returned to Mr. Drummond’s, both the Do-
mine’s precepts and the matron’s considerate
addition had been well digested.

It was at six o'clock the next morning that wecast off our fastenings and pulled into the
stream. The day was lovely, the sun had risen
above the trees, which feathered their boughs
down on the sloping lawns in front of the many
beautiful retreats of the nobility and gentry,
which border the river ; and the lamp of day
poured a flood of light upon the smooth and
rapidly ebbing river. The heavy dew which
had fallen during the night studded the sides of
the barge, and glittered like necklaces of dia-
monds ; the mist and the fog had ascended,
except here and there, where it partially con-
cealed the landscape; boats laden with the
produce of the market-gardens in the vicinity
were hastening down with the tide to supply
the metropolis; the watermen Were in’ their
wherries, cleaning and mopping them out,
ready for their fares ; the smoke of the chim-
neys ascended in a straight line to heaven; and
the distant chirping of the birds in the trees
added to the hilarity and lightness of heart with
which I now commenced my career as an
apprentice.

I was forward, looking down the river, when
Marables called me to take the helm, while they
went to breakfast. He commenced giving me
instructions ; but I cut them short by proving
to him that I knew the river as well as he did.
Pleased at the information, he joined Fleming,
who was preparing the breakfast in the cabin,
and I was left on the deck by myself. ‘There,
as we glided by every object which for years I
had not seen, but which was immediately recog-
nised, and welcomed as an old friend, with
what rapidity did former scenes connected with
them flash into my memory’! ‘There was the
inn at the waterside, where my father used to
replenish the stone bottle ; it was just where the
barge now was, that I had hooked and pulled up
the largest chub Thad evercaught. Now Larrived
at the spot where we had run foul of another
craft; and my father, with his pipe in his
mouth, and his ‘‘ Take it coolly,” which'so ex-
asperated the other parties, stood as alive before
me. Here—yes, it was here—exactly here—
where we anchored on that fatal night, when I
was left an orphan—it was here that my father
disappeared ; and, as I looked down at the
water, I almost thought I could perceive it
again close over him, as it eddied by ; and it
was here that the black smoke The whole
scene came fresh to my memory, my eyes filled
with tears, and, for a little while, I could not
see to steer. But I soon recovered myself ; the
freshness of the air, the bright sky overhead, the
busy scene before me, and the necessity of
attending to my duty, chased away my painful
remembrances ; and when I had passed the
spot, I was again cheerful and content.

In half an hour I had shot Putney Bridge,
and was sweeping clear of the shallows on the
reach below, when Marables and Fleming came

 

up. ‘‘ How !” exclaimed Marables, ‘““have we
passed the bridge? Why did you not call
us?”

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
   

 

“JT have shot it without help many and many
a time,” replied I, ‘‘when I was but ten years
old. Why should I call you from your break-
fast? But the tides are high now, and the
stream rapid ; you had better get a sweep out
on the bow, or we may tail on the bank.”

“Well!” replied Fleming, with astonish-
ment; ‘‘I had no idea that he would have been
any help to us; but so much the better.”?> He
then spoke in a low tone to Marables.

Marables shook his head. ‘‘‘Don’t try it,
Fleming ; it will never do.”

‘“So you said once about yourself,” replied
Fleming, with a laugh.

‘‘T did—-I did !” replied Marables, clenching
both his hands, which at the time were crossed
on his breast, with a look of painful emotion ;
‘‘but I say again, don’t try it; nay, I say more,
you shall not.”

“Shall not,” replied Fleming, haughtily.

‘“Yes,”’ replied Marables, coolly; ‘‘I say
shall not, and I’ll stand by my words. Now,
Jacob, give me the helm, and get your break-
fast.”

I gave up the helm to Marables, and was
about to enter the cabin, when Fleming caught
me by the arm, and s/ewed me round; - ‘‘ I say,
my joker, we may just as well begin as we leave
off. Understand me, that into that cabin you
never enter; and understand further, that if
ever I find you in that cabin by day or night,
I'll break every bone in your body. Your berth
is forward ; and as for your meals, you. may
either take them down there, or youmay eat them
on deck.”

From what I had already witnessed, I knew
that, for some reason or another, Fleming had
the control over Marables.; nevertheless I re-
plied, ‘‘If Mr. Marables says it is to be so,
well and good; but he has charge of this barge.”
Marables made no reply; he coloured. up,
seemed very much annoyed, and then looked
up at the sky.

‘You'll find,’”’ continued Fleming, addressing
me in a low voice, ‘‘that I command here—so
be wise. Perhaps the day may come when you
may walk in and out of the cabin as you please,
but that depends upon yourself. By-and-by,
when we know more of each other ——”’

‘« Never, Fleming, never! ”’ interrupted Ma-
rables, in a firm and loud tone: ‘‘It shall
net iber’

Fleming muttered what I could not hear,
and, going into the cabin, brought me out my
breakfast, which I despatched with good appe-
tite ; and soon afterwards I offered to take the
helm ; which offer was accepted by Marables,
who retired to the cabin with Fleming, where
1 heard them converse for a long while in a low
tone.

‘The tide was about three quarters ebb, when
the barge -arrived abreast of Millbank. Ma-
rables came on deck, and taking the helm,
desired me to go forward and, see the anchor
clear for letting go.‘“Anchor clear!’ said I, ‘‘why, we have a
good hour more before we meet the flood.”

‘‘T know that, Jacob, as well as you do;
but we shall not go farther to-night.. Be smart,
and see all clear.”

I went forward, and when the anchor and
cable were ready, we let it go, and swung to
the stream. .I thought, at the time, that this
was not making the best of our way, as in duty
bound to our master; but as I was not aware
of what Marables’ orders might be, | held my
tongue. Whether Fleming thought that it was
necessary to blind me, or whether it was true
that they were only obeying their orders, he
said to Marables in my hearing, ‘‘ Will you go
on shore and give the letters to Mr. Drum-
mond’s correspondent, or shall I go for you?”

‘‘You had better go,’’ replied Marables,
carelessly ; and shortly after they went to dinner
in the cabin, Fleming bringing me mine out on
deck.

The flood tide now made, and we rode to
the stream. Having nothing to do, and Ma-
rables as well as Fleming appearing to avoid
me, I brought the Domine’s Latin Testament,
and amused myself with reading it. About a
quarter of an hour before dusk, Fleming made
his appearance to go on shore. He was gen-
teelly, I may say fashionably, dressed in a suit
of black, with a white neckcloth. At first I did
not recognise him, so surprised was I at his
alteration; and my thoughts, as soon as my
suspense was. over, naturally turned upon the
singularity of a man who, worked, in a barge
under another, now assuming the dress and
appearance of a gentleman. Marables hauled
up the little skiff which lay astern. Fleming
jumped in and shoved off. I watched him till
I perceived him land at the stairs, and then
turned round to Marables: ‘‘I can’t under-
stand all this,” observed I.

‘‘L. don’t suppose you can,” replied Ma-
rables: ‘‘ but still I could explain it, if you
will promise me faithfully not to say a word
about it.’’

‘‘T will make that promise, if you satisfy me
that all is right,’”’ answered I.

‘‘ As to.all being right, Jacob, that’s as may
be; but if I prove to you that there is no
harm done to our master, I suppose you will
keep the secret. However, 1 must not allow
you to think worse of it than it really is; no,
[Pll trust to your good nature. You wouldn’t
harm me, Jacob?” Marables then told me
that Fleming had once been well to do in the
world, and during the long illness and subse-
quent death of Marables’ wife, had lent him
money ; that Fleming had been very imprudent,
and had run up a great many debts, and that
the bailiffs were after him. Onthis emergency
he had applied to Marables to help him, and
that, in consequence, he had received him on
board of the barge, where they never would
think of looking for him; that Fleming had
friends, and contrived to go on shore at night

FACOB. FAITAFUL.

 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   

23

to see them, and get what assistance he could
from them, in money: in the mean time, his
relations were trying what they could do to
arrange with his creditors. ‘‘ Now,’’. said
Marables, after this narration, ‘‘ how could I
help assisting one who has been so kind to
me? And what harm does it do Mr, Drum-
mond? If Fleming can’t do his work, or won't,
when we unload, he pays another man himself ;
so Mr. Drummond is not hurt by it.”

“That may be all true,” replied I; ‘‘ but I
cannot imagine why I am not to enter the cabin,
and why he orders about here as master.”

““ Why, yousee, Jacob, I owe him money, and
he allows me so much per week for’ the cabin,
by which means I shall pay it off Do you
understand now?”

‘« Yes, 1 understand what you have said,”
replied I.

‘‘ Well, then, Jacob, I hope you'll say nothing
about it. It would only harm me, and do no
good.”

‘“That depends upon Fleming’s behaviour
towards me,’ replied I. ‘‘I will not be bullied
and made uncomfortable by him, depend upon
it; he has no business on board the barge,
that’s clear, and Iam bound ‘prentice to her.
I don’t wish to hurt you; and as J suppose
Fleming won't be long on board, I shall say
nothing, unless he treats me ill.”

Marables then left me, and | reflected upon
what he had said. It appeared all very pro-
bable ; but still I was not satisfied. I resolved
to watch narrowly, and if anything occurred
which excited more suspicions, to inform Mr.
Drummond upon ourreturn. Shortly afterwards
Marables came out again, and told me I might
go to bed, and he would keep the deck till
Fleming’s return: I assented, and went down
to the cuddy ; but I did not much like this per-
mission. It appeared to me as if he wanted to
get rid of me, and I laid awake, turning over in
my mind all that I had heard and seen. About
two o'clock in the morning I heard the sound of
oars, and the skiff strike the side of the barge.
I did not go up, but I put my head up the
scuttle to see what was going on. It was broad
moonlight, andalmost as clearas day. Fleming
threw up the painter of the skiff to Marables
and, as he held it, lifted out of the boat a blue
bag, apparently well filled. The contents
jingled as it was landed on the deck. He then
put out a yellow silk handkerchief full of some-
thing else, and having gained the deck, Mar-
ables walked aft with the painter in his hand
until the skiff had dropped astern, where he
made it fast, and returned to Fleming, who
stood close tothe blue bag.. I heard Fleming
ask) Marables, in a low voice, if I were in bed,
and an. answer given in the affirmative. I
dropped my, head immediately, that I might
not be discovered, and turned into my bed-
place. I was restless for a long while ; thought
upon thought, surmise upon surmise, conjecture
upon conjecture, and doubt upon doubt, occu

 

 

 

 

 

sccneiiaiaiaiaiaaasiaaspied my brain, until at last I went fast asleep—
so fast, that I did not wake until summoned by
Fleming. I rose, and when I came on deck,
found that the anchor had been weighed more
than two hours, and that we were past all the
bridges. ‘‘Why, Jacob, my man, you've had
a famous nap,” said Fleming, with apparent
good humour; ‘‘now go aft, and get your

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

    
   
   
  
   
    
 

breakfast, it has been waiting for you this half
hour.”” By the manner of Fleming, I took it
for granted that Marables had acquainted him
with our conversation, and indeed, from that
time, during our whole trip, Fleming treated
me with kindness and familiarity. “The veto
had not, however, been taken off the cabin,
which I never attempted to enter,

CHAPTER 1 Vil,

The Mystery becomes more and more interesting
up, Iam locked up myself—Fleming proves
to learn to swim.

ON our arrival off the Medway, I had just gone
down to bed, and was undressing, when I heard
Fleming come on deck and haul up the boat.
I looked up the hatchway ; it was very dark,
but I could perceive Marables hand him the
bag and handkerchief, with which he pulled on
shore. He did not return until the next morn-
ing at daylight, when I met him as he came up
the side. ““Well; “Jacob,” said’ ‘he,’ “‘ you've
caught me. I’ve been on shore to see my
sweetheart ; but you boys ought to know noth-
ing about these things. Make the boat fast,
there’s a good lad.”

When we were one night discharging our
cargo, which was for government, I heard
voices along side. From habit, the least noise
now. awoke me: a boat striking the side was
certain so to do. It was then about twelve
o'clock. I looked up the hatchway, and per-
ceived two men come on board and enter the
cabin with packages. They remained there
about ten minutes, and then, escorted to the
side by Fleming, left the barge. When the
barge was cleared, we hauled off to return, and
in three days were again alongside of Mr.
Drummond's wharf. ‘The kindness both of
Marables and of Fleming had been very great.
They lived in a style very superior to what they
could be expected to do, and I fared well in
consequence.

On our arrival at the wharf, Marables came
up to me, and said, ‘‘ Now, Jacob, as I have
honestly told you the secret, | hope you won't
ruin me by saying a word to Mr. Drummond.”
I had before made up my mind to say nothing
to my master until my suspicions were con-
firmed, and I therefore gave my promise ; but
1 had also resolved to impart my suspicions, as
well as what I had seen, to the old Domine.
On the third day after our arrival I walked out
to the school, and acquainted him with all that
had passed, and asked him for his advice.

‘‘Jacob,” said he, ‘ thou hast done well, but
thou mightst have done better ; hadst thou not
given thy promise, which is sacred, I would
have taken thee to Mr. Drummond, that thou
mightst impart the whole, instanter. I like it
not. Evil deeds are done in darkness. Vocteme
peccatis et fraudibus objice nubem, Still, as

  

g, and I determine to find it out—Prying after Things locked
to me that his Advice was good when he recommended me

thou sayest, nought is yet proved. ‘Watch
therefore, Jacob—watch carefully over thy
master’s interests, and the interest of society at
large. It is thy duty, I may say, Vegilare
noctesgue diesqgue. It may be as Marables hath
said—and all may be accounted for ; still, I
say, be careful, and be honest.”

I followed the suggestions of the Domine ;
we were soon laden with another cargo of
bricks, to. be delivered at the same place, and
proceeded on our voyage. Marables and
Fleming, finding that T had not said a word to
Mr. Drummond, treated me with every kind-
ness. Fleming once offered me money, which
I refused, saying that I had no use for it. I
was on the best terms with them, at the same
time that I took notice of all that passed, with-
out offering a remark to excite their suspicions.
But not to be too prolix, it will suffice to say,
that we made many trips during several months,
and that during that time I made the following
observations :—that Fleming went on shore at
night at certain places, taking with him bags
and bundles ; that he generally returned with
others, which were taken into the cabin ; that
sometimes people came off at night, and re-
mained some time in the cabin with him; and
that all this took place when it was supposed
that I was asleep. The cabin was invariably
locked when the barge was lying at the wharfs,
if Fleming was on shore, and at no time was I
permitted to enter it. Marables was a com-
plete cipher in Fleming's hands, who ordered
everything as he pleased ; and, in the conver-
sations which took place before me, with much
less restraint than at first, there appeared to be
no idea of Fleming's leaving us... As I felt con-
vinced that there was no chance of discovery
without further efforts on my part, and my sus-
picions increasing daily, I resolved upon run-
ning some hazard. My chief wish was to get
into the cabin and examine its contents: but
this was not easy, and would, in all probability,
be a dangerous attempt. One night I came
on deck in my shirt. We were at anchor off
Rotherhithe : it was a dark night, with a driz-
zling rain. I was hastening below, when I
perceived a light still burning in the cabin, and
heard the yoices of Marables and Fleming. Ithought this a good opportunity, and having
no shoes, walked softly on the wet deck to the
cabin-door, which opened forward, and peeped
through the crevices. Marables and Fleming
were sitting opposite each other, at the little
table. There were some papers before them
and they were dividing some money. Marables
expostulated at his share not being sufficient,
and Fleming laughed and told him he had
earned no more. Fearful of being discovered,
| made a silent retreat, and gained my bed. It
was well that I had made the resolution ; for
just as I was putting my head below the hatch,
and drawing it over the scuttle, the door was
thrown open, and Fleming came out. I pon-
dered over this circumstance, and the remark of
Fleming, that Marables had not earned any
more, and I felt convinced that the story told
me by Marables relative to Fleming was all
false. This conviction stimulated me more
than ever to discover the secret, and many and
many a night did I watch, with a hope of being
able to examine the cabin ; but it was to no
purpose—either Fleming or Marables was al-
ways on board. I continued to report to the
Domine all I had discovered, and he agreed at
last, that it was better that I should not say
anything to Mr. Drummond until there was
the fullest proof of the nature of their pro-
ceedings.

The cabin was now the sole object of my
thoughts, and many were the schemes resolved
in my mind to obtain an entrance. Fatima
never coveted admission to the dreadful cham-
ber of Bluebeard, as I did to ascertain the
secrets of this hidden receptacle. One night
Fleming had quitted the barge, and I ascended
from my dormitory. Marables was on deck,
sitting upon the water-cask, with his elbow
resting on the gunwale, his hand supporting
his head, as if in deep thought. The cabin
doors were closed, but the light still remained
in it. I watched for some time, and perceiving
that Marables did not move, walked gently up
tohim; He was fast asleep ; I waited for some
little time alongside of him. At last he snored.
It was an opportunity not to be lost. I crept
to the cabin door; it was not locked. Al-
though I did not fear the wrath of Marables, in
case of discovery, as I did that of Fleming, it
was still with a beating heart and a tremulous
hand that I gently opened the door, pausing
before I entered, to ascertain if Marables were
disturbed. He moved not, and I entered, closing
the door after me. I caught up the light, and
held it in my hand, as I hung over the table.
On each side were the two bed-places of Mara-
bles and Fleming, which I had before then had
many a partial glimpse of. In front of the bed-
places were two lockers, to sit down upon. I
tried them—they were not fast—they contained
their clothes. At the after part of the cabin
were three cupboards ; I opened the centre one,
it contained crockery, glass, and knives and forks.
I tried the one on the starboard side ; it was

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

locked,sbut the key was in it. I turned it gently,
but being a good lock, it snapped loud. I
paused in fear—but Marables still slept. The
cupboard had three shelves, and every shelf
was loaded with silver spoons, forks, and every
variety of plate, mixed with watches, bracelets,
and ornaments of every description. There
was, I perceived, a label on each, with a pecu-
liarmark. Wishing to have an accurate survey,
and encouraged by my discovery, I turned to
the cupboard opposite, on the larboard side,
and I opened it. It contained silk handker-
chiefs in every variety, lace veils, and various
other articles of value; on the lower shelf were
laid three pairs of pistols. I was now Satisfied,
and closing the last cupboard, which had not
been locked, was about to retreat, when I re-
collected that I had not re-locked the first cup-
board, and, that they might not, by finding it
open, suspect my visit, 1 turned the keys. It
made a louder snap than before. I heard
Marables start from his slumber on deck ; ina
moment I blew out the lamp, and remained
quiet. Marables got up, took a turn or two,
looked at the cabin doors, which were shut, and
opened them a little. Perceiving that the lamp
had, as he thought, gone out, he shut them
again, and to my consternation, turned the
key. There I was, locked up, until the arrival
of Fleming—then to be left to his mercy.
hardly knew how to act: at last I resolved upon
calling to Marables, as I dreaded his anger less
than Fleming's. Then it occurred to me, that
Marables might come in, feel for the lamp to
re-light it, and, that as he came in on one side
of the cabin, I might, in the dark, escape by
the other. This all but forlorn hope preyented
me for some time from applying to him. At
last I made up my mind that I would, and ran
from the locker to call through the door, when
I heard the sound of oars. I paused again—
loitered—the boat was alongside, and I heard
Fleming jump upon the deck.

“Quick,” said he to Marables, as he came
to the cabin door, and tried to open it ; “we've
no time to lose —we must get up the sacks, and
sink everything. Iwo of them have ‘peached,
and the fence will be discovered.”

He took the key from Marables, and opened
the door; I had replaced the lamp upon the
table. Fleming entered, took a seat on the
locker on the larboard side, and felt for the
lamp. Marables followed him, and sat down
on the starboard locker ;—escape was impossi-
ble. With a throbbing heart I sat in silence,
watching my fate. In the meantime Fleming
had taken out of his pocket his phosphorus
match-box. I heard the tin top pulled open—
even the slight rustling of the one match
selected was perceived. Another second it was
withdrawn from the bottle, and a wild flame of
light illumined the deck cabin, and discovered
me to their view. Staggered at my appearance,
the match fell from Fleming’s hand, and all
was dark as before; but there was no moreYACOB FAITHFUL.

  
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 

to be gained by darkness—I had been dis- wherry pulling six oars, belonging to the River

covered. Police. The officer in the stern sheets, who
“Jacob!” cried Marables. steered her, then said, ‘‘How came you over-
““Will not live to tell the tale,’ added board ?”’ y

Fleming, with a firm voice, as he put another SOT was thrown overboard,”’ replied I,  Diyeg

match into the bottle, and then re-lighted the man called Fleming.”

lamp. ‘‘ Come,’ said Fleming, fiercely ; ‘‘ out ‘“The name he goes by,” cried the officer.

of the cabin immediately. ‘‘Give way, my lads. There’s murder, it
I prepared to obey him. Fleming went out, appears, as well as other charges.
and I was following him round his side of the In a quarter of an hour we were alongside ;

table, when Marables interposed. the officer and four men sprang out of the boat,
‘Stop : Fleming, what is it that you mean leaving the other two, with directions for me to
to'do?.” remain in the boat. Cold and miserable as I
“Silence him !"" retorted Fleming. was, I was too much interested in the scene not

“But not murder him, surely?” cried to rise up from'the stern sheets, and pay atten-
Marables, trembling from head to foot. ‘You tion to what passed. When the officer and his
will not, dare not, do that.” men gained the deck, they were met by

‘‘What is it that I dare not do, Marables ? Fleming in the advance, and Marables about a
But it is useless to talk ; it is now his life or yard or two behind.
mine. One must be sacrificed, and I will not ‘“What's all this?” cried Fleming, boldly
die yet to please him.”’ ‘“Are you river pirates come to plunder

“You shall not—by God, Fleming, you shall us ?”
not ;" cried Marables, seizing hold of my other ‘“Not exactly,” replied the officer ; ‘“ but we
arm, and holding me tight. are just comeé'to overhaul you. Deliver up the

Tadded my resistance to that of Marables; key of your cabin,” continued he, after trying
When Fleming, perceiving that we should be the door, and finding it locked.
masters, took a pistol from his pocket, and ‘With all my heart, if you prove yourselves
struck Marables a blow on the head, which authorised to search,” replied Fleming ; ‘‘ but
rendered him senseless. ‘Throwing away the you'll find no smuggled spirits here, I can tell
pistol, he dragged me out of the cabin. I was you. Marables, hand them the key; I see that
strong, but he was very powerful ; my resist- they belong to the river guard.”’
ance availed me nothing : by degrees he forced Marables, who had never spoken, handed the
me to the side of the barge, and, lifting me up key to the officer, who, opening a dark lanthorn,
in his arms, dashed me into the dark and went down into the cabin and proceeded in his
rapidly flowing water. It was fortunate for me search, leaving two of the men to take charge
that the threat of Fleming, upon our first. of Fleming and Marables. But his search was
meeting, had induced me to practise swimming, in vain; he could find nothing, and he came
and still more fortunate that I was not encum- out on the deck.

bered with any other clothes than my shirt, in “Well,” said Fleming; sarcastically, ‘‘have
which I had’ come on deck. As it was, Iwas you made a seizure 2”
carried away by the tide for some time before I “Wait a little,” said the officer ; ‘“how many

could rise, and at such a distance that Fleming, men have you in this barge ?”
who probably watched, did not perceive that I “You see them,’ replied Fleming.
came up again. Still, I had but little hopes of | ‘* Yes: but you have a boy: where is he?”
saving myself in a dark night, and at nearly a‘ We have no boy,” replied Fleming ; ‘‘two
quarter of a mile from shore. I struggled to men are quite enough, for this craft.”’
keep myself afloat, when I heard the sound of “Still I ask you, what has become of the
oars ; a second or two more, and I saw them boy? for a boy was on your decks this after-
over my head. I grasped at and seized the noon.”
last, as the others passed me, crying ‘‘ Help !” “If there was one, I presume he has gone on

‘What the devil! Oats, my men; here's’ shore again.”

somebody overboard,” cried the man, whose “Answer me another question : which of you
oar I had seized. threw him overboard ?” ;

_ They stopped pulling ; he dragged in his oar. At this query of the officer, Fleming started,
till he could lay hold of me, and then they while Marables cried out, “‘It was not bp
hauled me into the boat. | I was exhausted with would have saved him. O that the bov were
cold and my energetic struggles in the water ; here to prove it!’ 1
and it was not until they had Wrapped me up ‘“T am. here, Marables,'
Ima great coat, and poured some spirits down the deck,
my throat, that I could speak. They inquired s
to ieee ae ie ee I belonged. eee who threw me Overboand; that

¥ y ‘Darge. : ght not give evidence as to the silver and

The very one we are searching for, Where gold which I found in the cabin ; and which I

about is she, my lad?” overheard him tell you must be put into sacks
I directed them: the boat was a large and sunk, as two of the men had ‘peached.”’

‘said I, coming on
“and I am witness that you tried to
ave me, until you were struck senseless by thatFleming, when he saw me, turned round, as
if not to look at me. His face I could not see ;
but after remaining a few seconds in that posi-
tion, he held out his hands in silence for the
handcuffs, which the officer had already taken
out of his pocket. Marables, on the contrary,
sprang forward as soon as I had finished speak-
ing, and caught me in his arms.

‘‘My fine, honest boy! I thank God—lI
thank God! All that he has said is true, sir,
You will find the goods sunk astern, and the
buoy rope to them fastened to the lower pintle
of the rudder. Jacob, thank God, you are
safe ; [ little thought to see you again. ‘There,

CHAPTER

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

sir,’’ continued he to the officer, holding out his
hands, ‘‘I deserve it all. I had not strength of
mind enough to be honest. ’

The handcuffs were put on Marables as well
as on Fleming, and the officer, allowing me
time to go down and put on my clothes, hauled
up the sacks containing the valuables, and leav-
ing two hands in charge of the barge, rowed
ashore with us all in the boat. It was then
about three o'clock in the morning, and I was
very glad when we arrived at the receiving
house, and I was permitted to warm myself
before the fire. As soon as I was comfortable,
I laid down on a bench and fell fast asleep.

PLL.

More of the Ups and Downs of Life—Up before the Magistrates, then down the River again in the Lighter

—The Toms—A light Heart upon two Sticks— Receive my first Lesson in Singing

manned with two Boys anda Fraction.

I pip not awake the next morning til roused
by the police, who brought us up before the
magistrates. The crowd that foliowed, appeared
to make no distinction between the prisoners
and the witness, and remarks not very compli-
mentary, and to me very annoying, were liberally
made. ‘‘Heisa young hand for such work,”
cried one. ‘‘There’s gallows marked in his
face,’ observed another, to whom, when I turned
round to look at him, I certainly could have
returned the compliment. ‘The station was not
far from the magistrates’ office, and we soon
arrived. The principal officer went into the
inner room, and communicated with the magis-
trates before they came out and took their seats
on the bench.

“Where is Jacob Faithful? My lad, do you
know the nature of an oath ?”

L answered in the affirmative ; the oath was
administered, and my evidence taken down.
Iu was then read over to the prisoners, who
were asked if they had anything to say in their
defence. Fleming, who had sent for his lawyer,
was advised to make no answer.  Marables
quietly replied, that all the boy had said was
quite true.

‘* Recollect, ’ said the magistrate, ‘‘we cannot
accept you as king’s evidence ; that of the boy
is considered sufficient.’

“‘T did not intend that you should,” replied
Marables ; ‘‘I only want to ease my conscience,
not to try for my pardon.”

They were then committed for trial, and. led
away to prison. I could not help going up to
Marables and shaking his hand, before he was
led away. He lifted up his two arms, for he
was still handcuffed, and wiped his eyes, saying,
‘Let it be a warning to you, Jacob—not that
J think you need it ; but still I once was honest
as yourself—and look at me now. And he
cast his eyes down sorrowfully upon his fettered

 

Our Lighter ‘well

wrists. They quitted the room, Fleming giving
me a look which. was very significant of what

my chance would be, if ever I fell into his

clutches.

‘‘We must detain you, my lad,” observed

one of the magistrates, ‘‘ without you can pro-
cure a sufficient bail for your appearance as
witness on the trial.”
‘1 replied, that I knew of no one, except my~
master, Mr. Drummond, and my schoolmaster ;
and had no means of letting them know of my
situation.

‘The magistrate then directed the officer to go
down, by the first, Brentford coach, acquaint
Mr. Drummond with what had passed, and that
the lighter would remain in charge of the river
police, until he could send hands on board of
her ; and I was allowed to sit down on a bench
behind the bar. It was not until past noon that
Mr. Drummond, accompanied by the Domine,
made his appearance. To save time the magis-
trates gave them my deposition to read; they
put in bail, and i was permitted to leave the
court. We went down by the coach, but, as
they went inside and I was out, | had not many
questions asked until my arrival at Mr, Drum-
mond’s house, when I, gave. them a detailed
account of all that had happened.

‘‘Proh! Deus !”’ exclaimed the Domine, when
[ had finished my story. ‘‘ What. an escape !
How narrowly, as Propertius hath it femininely,
' Eripitur nobis jampridem carus puer. Well
was it, that thou hadst learnt, to swim—verily
thou must have'struggled lustily. ‘ Puguat in
adversas ire natator aguas,’ yea, lustily for thy
life, child, Now, God be praised!”

But Mr. Drummond. was anxious that the
lighter should be brought back to the wharf ;
he therefore gave me my dinner, for I had eaten
nothing that day, and then despatched me in a
boat with two men, to bring her up the river.The next morning we arrived ; and Mr. Drum-
mond, not having yet selected any other person
to take her in charge, I was again some
days on shore, dividing my time between the
Domine and Mr. Drummond's, where I
was always kindly treated, not only by him,
but also by his wife, and his little daughter
Sarah,

A master for the lighter was soon found ; and
as I passed a considerable time under his orders,
I must describe him particularly. He had
served the best part of his life on board a man-
of-war, had been in many general and single
actions, and, at the battle of ‘Trafalgar, had
wound up his servitude with the loss of both
his legs, and an out-pension from Greenwich
Hospital, which he preferred, to being received
upon the establishment, as he had a wife and
child ; since that time he had worked on the river.
He was very active, and broad-shouldered, and
had probably, before he lost his legs, been a
man of at least five feet eleven or six feet high;
but, as he found that he could keep his balance
better upon short stumps than long ones, had
reduced his wooden legs to about eight inches
in length, which, with his square body, gave
him the appearance of a huge dwarf. He bore,
and I will say most deservedly, an excellent
character. His temper was always cheerful,
and he was a little inclined to drink; but the
principal feature in him was lightness of heart ;
he was always singing. His voice was very fine
and powerful. When in the service he used to
be summoned to sing to the captain and officers,
and was the delight of the forecastle. His
memory was retentive, and his stock of songs
incredible ; at the same time, he seldom or
never sang more than one o1 two stanzas of
a song in the way of quotation, or if apt to what
Was going on, often altering the words to suit
the occasion. He was accompanied by his son
Tom, a ladof my own age, as merry as his father,
and who hada good treble voice and a great
deal of humour : he would often take the song
up from his father, with words of his own put-
ting in, with ready wit and good tune. We
three composed the crew of the lighter ; and, as
there had already been considerable loss from
demurrage, were embarked as soon as they
arrived. The name of the father was Tom
Beazeley, but he was always known on the
river as ‘old Tom,” or, as some more learned
wag had christened him, “ the Merman on two
sticks.” As soon as we had put our traps
on board, as old Tom called them, he received
his orders, and we cast off from the wharf. The
wind was favourable. Young Toni was as active
as a monkey, and as full of tricks. His father
took the helm, while we two, assisted by a dog
of the small Newfoundland breed, which Tom
had taught to take a rope in his teeth, and be of
no small service to two boys in bowsing on a
tackle, made sail upon the lighter, and away we
went, while old Tom’s strain might be heard
from either shore,

JACOB FAITHFUL,

  
 
 
    
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
    
 
 
   
    
  
  
   

“ Loose, loose every sail to the breeze,

The course of the vessel improve,
I’ve done with the toil of the seas -
Ye sailors, 1’m bound to my love.

‘“Tom, you beggar, is the bundle ready for
your mother? We must drop the skiff, Jacob,
at Battersea Reach, and send the clothes on
shore for the old woman to wash, or there’l] be
no clean shirts for Sunday. Shove in your
shirts, Jacob, the old woman won't mind that.
She used to wash for the mess. Clap on, both
of you, and get another pull at those haulyards.
That'll do, my bantams.

** Hoist, hoist every sail to the breeze,
Come, shipmates, and join in the song,
Let's drink while the barge cuts the seas,
To the gale that may drive her along.

‘Tom, where's my pot of tea? Come, my
boy, we must pipe to breakfast. Jacob, there’s
a rope towing overboard. Now, Tom, hand
me my tea, and I'll steer with one hand, drink
with the other, and as for the legs, the less we
say about them the better.

“No glory I covet, no riches I want,
Ambition is nothing to me,
But one thing I beg of kind Heaven to grant—”

Here Tom’s treble chimed in, handing him the
pot,

“ For breakfast a good cup of tea.”

‘Silence, you sea-cook! how dare you shove
your penny whistle? How’s tide, Tom?”
‘“ Three quarters ebb.”
‘“No, it ain't, you thief ; how is it, Jacob ?”
‘* About half, I think.”’
‘‘And you're right.”
‘“What water have we down here on the
side ?”’’

“You must give the point a wide berth,” re-
plied I, ‘‘the shoal runs out.”

‘““Thanky, boy, so J thought, but wasn't
sure: and then old Tom burst out in a beau-
tiful air.

“Trust not too much your own opinion,
When your vessel's under weigh,
Let good advice still bear dominion,
That’s a compass will not stray.”

“Old Tom, is that you?” hailooed a man
from another barge.

‘Yes ; what's left of me, my hearty.”

“You'll not fetch the bridges this tide—
there's a strong breeze right up the reaches
below.”

‘* Never mind, we'll do all we can.

“If unassail d by squall or shower,
Wafted by the gentle gales,
Let s not lose the favouring hour,
While success attends our sails,”

‘Bravo, old Tom! why don’t the boys get
the lines out, forall the fishes are listening to
you,” cried the man, as the barges were parted
by the wind and tide,“T did once belong to a small craft, called
the Arvioz," observed old Tom, ‘‘and they say
as how the story was, that that chap could
make the fish follow him just when he pleased.
I know that when we were in the North Sea,
the shoals of seals would follow the ship if you
whistled : but those brutes have ears—now fish
hav'n't got none.

‘© Ohl! well do I remember that cold dreary land,

Where the northern light,
In the winter's night,
Shone bright on its snowy strand.

‘‘Jacob, have you finished your breakfast ?
Here, take the helm, while I and Tom put the
craft a little into apple-pie order.”

Old Tom then stumped forward, followed by
his son and the Newfoundland dog, who
appeared to consider himself as one of the most
useful personages on board. After coiling down
the ropes, and sweeping the decks, they went
into the cabin to make their little arrangements.

‘« A good lock that, Tom,” cried the father,
turning the key of the cupboard. (I recollected
it, and that its snapping so loud was the occa-
sion of my being tossed overboard.) Old Tom
continued : ‘‘I say, Tom, you won't be able to
open that cupboard, so I'll put the sugar and the
grog into it, you scamp. It goes too fast when
you are purser’s steward—

‘‘ For grog is our larboard and starboard,
Our mainmast, our mizen, our log,
On shore, or at sea, or when harbour'd
The mariner’s compass is grog.”

‘“‘ But it ar’n’t a compass to steer steady by,
father,’’ replied Tom.

‘“Then don’t you have nothing to do with
it, Lom”

‘‘T only takes a little, father, because you
mayn't take too much.”

““Thanky for nothing ; when do I ever take
too much, you scamp ?”’

‘‘ Not too much fora man standing on his
own pins, but too much for a man on two
broomsticks.”’

‘Stop your jaw, Mr. Tom, or I'll unscrew
one of the broomsticks, and lay it over your
shoulders.”’

‘Before it’s out of the socket, I'll give you
leg-bail. ‘What will yon do then, father?”

‘Catch you when I can, Tom, as the spider
takes the fly.”

‘‘What's the good o’ that, when you can't
bear malice for ten minutes ?”’

“‘Very true, Tom; then thank your stars
that you have two good legs, and that your
poor father has none.”

‘“‘T very often do thank my stars, and that's
the truth of it; but what’s the use of being
angry about a drop of rum, or a handful of
sugar ?”’

‘Because you takes more than your allow-
ance.”

‘“Well, do you take less, then all will be
right.”

FACOB FAITHFUL.

‘* And why should I take less, pray ?”’

‘‘Because you're only half a man; you
haven't any legs to provide for, as I have.”’

‘‘Now I tell you, Tom, that’s the very
reason why I should have more, to comfort my
old body for the loss of them.”

‘“When you lost your legs you lost your
ballast, father, and, therefore, you mus’n't carry
too much sail, or you'll topple overboard some
dark night. If I drink the grog, it’s all for
your good, you see.”’

““You're a dutiful son in that way, at all
events ; and a sweet child, as far as sugar goes ;
but Jacob is to sleep in the cabin with me, and
you ll shake your blanket forward.”

‘“ Now that I consider quite unnatural ; why
part father and son ?”

‘It’s not that exactly ; it’s only parting son
and the grog-bottle.”’

‘‘That’s just as cruel; why part two such
good friends ?”’

‘*’Cause, Tom, he's too strong for you, and
floors you sometimes.”

‘“Well, but I forgives him ; it’s all done in
good humour.”

‘“Tom, you're a wag; but you wag your
tongue to no purpose. Liquor ar'n’t good for
a boy like you, and it grows upon you.”

‘‘Well, don't I grow, too? we grow to-
gether.”

‘‘ You'll grow faster without it.”’

‘‘T’ve no wish to be a tall man cut short, like

Ou...
‘©Tf I hadn’t been a tall man, my breath
would have been cut short for ever ; the ball
which took my legs, would have cut you right
in half.”

‘‘And the ball that would take your head
off, would whistle over mine ; so there we are
equal again.”’

‘‘And there’s the grog, fast,’ replied old
Tom, turning the key, and putting it into his
pocket. ‘‘That’s a stopper over all; so now
we'll go on deck.”

I have narrated this conversation, as it will
give the reader a better idea of Tom, and his
way of treating his father. Tom was fond of
his father, and although mischievous, and too
fond of drinking when he could obtain liquor,
was not disobedient or vicious. We had nearly
reached Battersea-fields when they returned on
deck.

‘Do you know, Jacob, how the parish of
Battersea came into possession of those fields ?”

‘“No, I do not.”

‘Well, then, I'll tell you ; it was because the
Battersea people were more humane and cha-~
ritable than their neighbours. There was a
time when those fields were of no value, now
they're worth a mint of money, they say. The
body of a poor devil, who was drowned in the
river, was washed on shore on those banks, and
none of the parishes would be at the expense
of burying it. The Battersea people, though
they had least right to be called upon, would30

not allow the poor fellow’s corpse to be lying
on the mud, and they went to the expense.
Now, when the fields became of value, the other
parishes were ready enough to claim them ; but
the case was tried, and as it was proved that
Battersea had buried the body, the fields were
decided to belong to that parish. So they were
well paid for their humanity, and they deserved
it. Mr. Drummond says you know the river
well, Jacob.”

‘‘T was born on it.”

“Yes so I heard, and all about your
father and mother's death. I was telling ‘Tom
of it, because he’s too fond of dowsing up his
ads

‘Well, father, there's no occasion to remind
Jacob ; the tear is in his eye already,” replied
Tom, with consideration.

‘“‘T wish you never had anyother drop in
your eye,—but never mind, Jacob, I didn’t think
of what I was saying. Look ye, d'ye see that
little house with the two chimneys—that’s mine,
and there’s my old woman—!I wonder what she's
about just now.’ Old Tom paused for a while,
with his eyes fixed on the object, and then
burst out—

“T’ve cross’d the wide waters, I’ve trod the lone
strand, 5
I’ve triumph’d in battle, I’ve lighted the brand ;
I’ve borne the loud thunder of death o’er the foam,
Fame, riches, ne’er found them—yet still found a
home.

 

‘Tom, boy, haul up the skiff and paddle
on shore with the bundle ; ask the old woman

FACOB FAITHFUL.

 

   
    
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  

how she is, and tell her. I’m hearty.” “Tom. was
in the boat in a moment, and pulling lustily for
the shore. ‘‘ That makes me recollect when I
returned to my mother, a'ter the first three years
of my sea service. 1 borrowed the skiff from
the skipper—I was in a Greenlandman, my first
ship, and pulled ashore to my mother’s cottage
under the cliff. I thought the old soul would
have died with joy.” Here old Tom was silent,
brushed a tear from his eye, and, as usual,
commenced a strain, sotto voce.

“Why, what's that to you, if my eyes I’m a wiping?
A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see, in its way.”

‘‘How  niiserable,” continued he, ‘after
another pause, ‘‘the poor thing was when I
would go to sea—how she begged and prayed
--boys have no feeling, that’s sartain.”’

“© bairn, dinna leave me, to gang far away,
O bairn, dinna leave me, ye’re all that I hae,
Think on a mither, the wind and the wave,
A mither set on ye, her feet on the grave,

“ However, she got used to it at last, as the
woman said, when she skinned the eels: Tom's
a good boy, Jacob, but not steady, as they say
you are. His mother spoils him, and I can't
bear to be cross to him neither ; for his heart’s
in the right place, after all. There's the old
woman shaking her dishclout at us, as a signal.
I wish I had gone on shore myself, but I can’t
step into those paper-built little boats, without
my timber toes going through the bottom,”

 

CHAPTER

1X.

The two Toms take to protocolling—Treaty of Peace ratified between the belligerent Parties—Lots of Song
and Supper—tThe largest Mess of roast Meat upon Record.

Tom then shoved off the skiff. When half-way
between the lighter and the shore, while his
mother stood watching us, he lay on his oars,

“Tom, Tom!’ cried his mother, shaking
her fist at him, as he stooped down his head ;
“if you do, Tom !”

““Tom,.Tom !"’ cried his father, shaking his
fist also; ‘‘if you dare, Tom!”

But Tom was not within reach of either
party ; and he dragged. a bottle out of the
basket which his mother had intrusted to him,
and putting it to his mouth, took a long swig.

‘“That’s enough,,, fom!” screamed. his
mother, from the shore.

‘That's too much, you rascal!” cried his
father, from the barge.

Neither admonition was, however, minded
by Tom, who took what he considered his
allowance, and then very coolly pulled along-
side, and handed up the basket and bundle of
clean clothes on deck. ‘Tom then gave the
boat's painter to his father, who, I perceived,

intended to salute him with the end of it, as
soon as he came up; but Tom was too know-
ing—he surged the boat ahead, and was on
deck and forward, before his father could stump
up to him. "The main hatch was open, and
Tom put that obstacle between his father and
himself, before he commenced his parley,

‘“What's the matter, father?” said Tom,
smiling, and looking at me.

‘Matter, you scamp ! How dare you touch
the bottle?”

“The bottle--the bottle’s there, as good as
ever.

‘The grog is what I mean—how dare you
drink it?” :

““T was half way between my mother and
you, and so I drank success and long life to
you both. Arn’t that being a very dutiful
son ?”’ :

“T wish I had my legs back again, you
rascal !"’ :

“You wish you had the grog back again, youmean, father. - You have to. choose between: —
for if you had the grog, you'd neyer keep your
legs."

‘For the matter of drinking the grog, you
scamp, you seem determined to stand in my
shoes.”

‘“Well, shoes are of no use to you now,
father—why shouldn't 1? Why don't you
trust me? If you hadn't locked the cupboard,
{ wouldn't have helped myself.” And Tom,
whose boot-lace was loose, stooped down to
make it fast.

Old ‘Tom, who was still wroth, thought this
a good opportunity, as his son's head was
turned the other way, to step over the bricks,
with which, as I before said, the lighter had
been laden level with the main hatchway, and
take his son by surprise. Tom, who had no
idea of his manceuvre, would certainly have
been captured, but, fortunately for him, one of
the upper bricks turned over, and let his father’s
wooden leg down between two. of the: piles,
where it was jammed fast. Old Tom attempted
to extricate himself, but could not. ‘‘‘lom,
Tom, come here,” cried he, ‘‘and pull me

‘‘Not I,” replied Tom, coolly.

‘‘Jacob, Jacob, come here; Tom, run and
take the helm.”

‘“Not I,” replied Tom.

‘Jacob, never mind.the helm, she'll drift a‘l
right for a minute,” cried old Tom; ‘+come,
and help me.”

But I had been so amused with the scene,
and having a sort of feeling for. young Tom,
that I declared it impossible to leave the helm
without her going on the banks. I therefore
remained, wishing to. see in what way the two
Toms would get out of their respective scrapes.

‘‘Confound these—— ! ‘Tom, you scoundrel,
am I to stick here all day?’

‘“No, father, I don’t suppose you will. I
shall. help you directly.”

‘“Well, then, why don't you do it ?”’

‘‘Because I must come to terms. You don't
think I'd help myself to a, thrashing, do you?”

“I. won't thrash you. Tom. Shiver my
timbers if I do.”

‘They're in.a fair way of being shivered as
it is, 1 think. Now, father, we're both even.

‘“ How's that 2,’

“Why, you. clapped a stopper over all on
me this morning, and now you've got one on
yourself.’

‘Well, then, take off mine, and.I'll take off
yours.”

“Tf I unlock your leg, you'll unlock the cup-
board 2?”

‘GNesi ti

‘‘And you. promise me a s¢7ff ove after
dinner 2?”

‘‘Yes, yes ; as stiff as I stand here.

‘“No, that will be too much, for it would se¢
me fast, 1 only like it-about half-and-half, as I
took it just now.”

”

   

JACOB. LAITHFUL,

‘ing the flood.

3

‘“Tom, who was aware that his father would
adhere to his agreement, immediately went to
his assistance, and throwing out some of the
upper bricks, released him from his confine-
ment. When old.Tom was once more on the
deck and on his legs, he observed, ‘‘It's an ill
wind that blows nobody good. ‘The oss of my
legs has been the saving of you many a time,
Mr. Tom.”

It was now time to anchor, as we were meet-
Tom, who. officiated as cook,
served up the dinner, which was ready; and we
were all very pleasant ; Tom treating his father
with perfect confidence. As we had not to
weigh again for some hours, our repast was
prolonged, and old Tom, having fulfilled his
promise to his son, of a sté#f one, took one or
two himself, and became very garrulous.

‘“Come, spin us a good yarn, father ; we’ve
nothing to do, and Jacob will like to hear you.”’

‘‘ Well, then, so I will,” answered he; ‘‘ what
shall it be about ?”

‘Fire and water, of course,” replied Tom:

‘Well, then, Ill tell you something about
both, since you wish it; how I came into his
Majesty’s sarvice through fre, and how the
officer who pressed me: went out of it through
water. Iwas still ‘prentice, and wanted about
three months to sarve my time, when, of course,
I should no longer be protected from sarving
the king, when the ship I was in sailed up the
Baltic with a cargo of bullocks. We had at
least two hundred on board, tied up on plat-
forms on every deck, with their heads close to
the sides, and all their sterns looking in board.
‘They were fat enough when they were shipped,
but soon dwindled away : the weather was very
bad, and the poor creatures rolled against each
other, and slipped about in a way that it pitied
you to see them. However, they were stowed
so thick, that they held one another up, which
proved of service to them in the heavy gales
which tossed the ship about like a pea in a
rattle. We had joined a large convoy, and
were entering the Sound, when, as usual; it fell
calm, and out came the Danish gun-boats to
attack us. The men-of-war who had charge
of the convoy behayed nobly ; but still they
were becalmed, and many of us wete a long
way astern. Our ship was pretty well up,
but she was too far in-shore ; and the Danes
made a dash at us with the hope of making a
capture. . The men-of-war, seeing what. the
enemy were about, sent boats to beat them
off; but it was too late to prevent them
boarding, which they did. Not wishing to
peep: through the. bars, of the gaol at Copen-
hagen, we left the ship in our boats on one
side, just as the Danes boarded on the other,
and pulled towards the men-of-war’s armed
boats coming to our assistance. ‘The men-of-
war’s boats pulled right for the ship to retake
her, which they did certainly, but not before
the enemy had set fire to the vessel, and had
then pulled off towards another. Seeing this,32

the men-of-war's boats again gave chase to the
Danes, leaving us to extinguish the flames,
which were now bursting out fore and aft, and
climbing like fiery serpents up to the main
catharpings. We soon found that it was im-
possible; we remained as long as the heat
and smoke would permit us, and then we were
obliged to be off; but I shall never forget
the roaring and moaning of the poor animals
who were then roasting alive. It was a cruel
thing of the Danes to fire a vessel full of these
poor creatures. Some had broken loose, and
were darting up and down the decks, goring
others, and tumbling down the hatchways ;
others remained trembling, or trying to snuff up
a mouthful of fresh air amongst the smoke ;
but the struggling and bellowing, as the
fire caught the vessel fore and aft, and was
grilling two hundred poor creatures at once,
was at last shocking, and might have been
heard for a mile. We did all we could. I cut
the throats of a dozen, but they kicked and
struggled so much, falling down upon and
treading you under their feet; and one lay
upon me, and I expected to be burnt with
them, for it was not until I was helped that I
got clear of the poor animal. So we stayed as
long as we could, and then left them to their
fate; and the smell of burnt meat, as we shoved
off, was as horrible as the cries and wailings of
the poor beasts themselves. The men-of-war’s
boats returned, having chased away the Danes,
and very kindly offered us all a ship, as we had
lost our own, so that you see that by fire I
was forced into his Majesty's sarvice. Now,
the boat which took us belonged to one of the
frigates who had charge of the cohvoy, and the
lieutenant who commanded the boat was a
swearing, tearing sort of a chap, who lived as
if ‘his life. was to last for ever. After I ‘was
taken on board, the captain asked me if I would
enter, and I thought that I might as well sarve
the king handsomely, so I volunteered. It’s
always the best thing to do, when you're taken,
and can't help yourself, for you are more
trusted than a pressed man, who is obstinate.
I1ked the sarvice from the first—the captain
was not a particular man; according to some
people's idea of the sarvice, she was’nt in
quite man-of-war fashion, but she was a happy
ship, and the men would have followed and
fought for the captain to the last drop of their
blood. ‘That's the sort of ship for me. I've
seen cleaner decks, but I never saw metrier
hearts. The only one of the officers disliked
by the men was the lieutenant who pressed me ;
he had a foul mouth, and no discretion; and
as for swearing, it was really terrible to hear
the words which came out of his mouth... I
don't mind an oath rapped out in the heat
of the moment, but he invented his oaths when
he was cool, and let them out in his rage. We
were returning home, after having seen the
convoy safe, when we met with a gale of wind in
our teeth, one of the very worst I ever fell in with.

YACOB FAITHFUL.

  
  
   
 
    
   
    
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
    
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   

 

It had been blowing hard from the S.W., and
then shifted to the N.W., and made a cross
sea, which was tremendous. Now, the frigate
was a very old vessel, and although they had
often had her into dock and repaired her be-
low, they had taken no notice of her upper
works, which were as rotten as amedlar. J
think it was about three bells in the middle
watch, when the wind was howling through the
rigging, for we had no canvas on her ‘cept
staysail and trysail, when the staysail sheet
went, and she broached-to afore they could
prevent her. ‘The lieutenant I spoke of had
the watch, and his voice was heard through
the roaring of.the wind, swearing at the men to
haul down the staysail, that we might bend on
the sheet, and set it right again: when, she
having, I said, broached-to, awave—ay, a wave
as high as the maintop almost, took the frigate
right on her broadside, and the bulwarks of
the quarter-deck being, as I said, quite rotten,
cut them off clean level with the main-chains,
sweeping them, and guns, and men, all over-
board together. The mizenmast went, but
the mainmast held on, and I was under its lee
at the time, and was saved by clinging on like
a nigger, while for a minute I was under the
water, which carried almost all away with it to
leeward. As soonas the water passed over me,
I looked up and around me—it was quite
awful ; the quarter-deck was cut off as with a
knife—not a soul left there, that I could see;
no man at the wheel—mizenmast gone—sky-
lights washed away—waves making a clear
breach, and no defence; boats washed away
from the quarters—all silent on deck, but plenty
of noise below and on the main-deck, for the
ship was nearly full of water, and all below
were hurrying up in their shirts, thinking that
we were going down. At last the captain
crawled up, and clung by the stanchions, fol-
lowed by the first lieutenant and the officers,
and by degrees all was quiet, the ship was
cleared, and the hands were turned up to
muster under the half-deck. ‘There were forty-
seven men who did not answer to their names
—they had been summoned to answer for their
lives, poor fellows! and there was also the
swearing lieutenant not to be found. Well, at
last, we got the hands on deck, and put her
before the wind, scudding under bare poles.
As we went aft to the taffrail, the bulwark of
which still remained, with about six feet of the
quarter-deck bulwark on each side, we observed
something clinging to the stern-ladder, dipping
every now and then into the sea, as it rose
under her counter, and assisted the wind in
driving her before the gale. We soon made it
out to be a man, and I went down, slipped a
bowling knot over the poor fellow, and with
some difficulty we were both hauled up again.
It proved to be the lieutenant, who had been
washed under the counter, and clung to the
stern-ladder, and had thus miraculously been
preserved. It was a long while before he cameto, and he never did any duty the whole week
we were out, till we got into Yarmouth Roads ;
indeed, he hardly ever spoke a word to any
one, but seemed to be always in serious thought.
When we arrived, he gave his commission to
the captain, and went on shore ; went to school
again, they say, and dove up for a parson, and
for all I know, he'll preach somewhere next
Sunday. So you see, water drove him out of
the service, and fire forced me in. There'sa
yarn for you, Jacob.”

‘*T like it very much,” replied I.

‘« And now, father, give us a whole song, and
none of your little bits.’’ Old Tom broke out
with the ‘‘Death of Nelson,” in a style that
made the tune and words ring in my ears for
the whole evening.

The moon was up before the tide served,
and we weighed ouranchor ; old Tom steering,
while his son was preparing supper, and I
remaining. forward, keeping a sharp look out
that we did not run foul of anything. It was
a beautiful night ; and as we passed through
the several bridges, the city appeared as if it
were illuminated, from the quantity of gas
throwing a sort of halo of light over the tops
of the buildings which occasionally marked out
the main streets from the general dark mass—
old Tom's voice was still occasionally heard, as
the scene brought to his remembrance his
variety of song.

‘For the murmur of thy lip, love,
Comes sweetly unto me,
As the sound of oars that dip, love,
At moonlight in the sea.”

I never was more delighted than when I
heard these snatches of different songs poured
fourth in such melody from old Tom's lips,
the notes floating along the water during the
silence of the night. I turned aft to look at
him ; his face was directed upwards, looking on
the moon, which glided majestically through
the heavens, silvering the whole of the land-
scape. The water was smooth as glass, and
the rapid tide hath swept us clear of the ranges
of ships in the pool; both banks of the river
were clear, when old Tom again commenced.

“‘The moon is up, her silver beam

hines bower, and grove, and mountain over,
A flood of radiance heaven doth seem
To light thee, maiden, to thy lover.

‘Jacob, how does the bluff-nob bear? on the
starboard bow ?’

“‘Yes—broad on the bow ; you'd better keep
up half a point, the tide sweeps us fast.”

‘Very true, Jacob ; look out, and say when
Steady it is, boy.

“© Tf o’er her orb a cloud should rest,
"Tis but thy cheek’s soft blush to cover ;
He waits to clasp thee to his breast,
The moon is up—go, meet thy lover.

‘Tom, what have you got for supper, boy ?
What’s that frizzing in your frying-pan ? Smells
good, any how.’

 

JACOB PAITHFUOL,

33

‘Yes, and I expect will taste good too.
However, you look after the moon, father,
and leave me and the frying-pan to play our
parts.”

‘While I sing mine, I suppose, boy.

“The moon is up, round beauty’s shrine,

Love's pilgrims bend at vesper hour,
Earth breathes to heaven, and looks divine,
And lovers’ hearts confess her power.”

Old Tom stopped, and the frying-pan frizzed
on, sending forth an odour which, if not grateful
to Heaven, was peculiarly so to us mortals,
hungry with the fresh air. ‘‘How do wego
now, Jacob?”

‘« Steady, and all's right ; but we shall be met
with the wind next reach, and had better brail
up the mainsail.”

‘«Go, then, Tom, and help Jacob.”

‘‘T can't leave the zvgons, father, not if the
lighter tumbled overboard ; it would bring more
tears in my eyes to spoil them, now that they
are frying so merrily, than they did when I was
cutting them up. Besides, the liver would be
as black as the bends.”

‘‘Clap the frying-pan down on deck, Tom,
and brail the sail up with Jacob, there's a good
boy. You can give it another shake or two
afterwards.’

‘*Glide on, my bark; how sweet to rove,
With such a beaming eye above!

‘That's right, my boys, belay all that ; now
to our stations ; Jacob on the look-out, Tom
to his frying-pan, and I to the helm.

““No sound is heard to break the spell,
Except the water’s gentle swell ;
While midnight, like a mimic day,
Shines on to guide our moonlight way.

‘Well, the moon’s a beautiful creature—God
bless her! How often have we longed for her
in the dark winter, channel-cruising, when the
waves were flying over the Eddystone, and
trying in their malice to put out the light. I
don’t wonder at people making songs to the
moon, nor at my singing them. We'll anchor
when we get down the next reach.”

We swept the next reach with the tide, which
was now slacking fast. Our anchor was
dropped, and we all went to supper, and to
bed. I have been particular in describing the
first day of my being on board with my new
shipmates, as it may be taken as a sample of
our every-day life ; Tom and his father fighting
and making friends, cooking, singing, and spin-
ning yarns ; still, I shall have more scenes to
describe. Our voyage was made, we took in a
return cargo, and arrived at the proprietor’s
wharf, when I found that I could not proceed
with them the next voyage, as the tnal oi
Fleming and Marables was expected to come on
in a fewedays.=‘The lighter, therefore, took in
another cargo, and sailed without me; Mr.
Drummond, as usual, giving me the run of his

house.
BCHAPTER

FACOB FAITHFUL

 

   
  

X.

T help to hang my late Bargemate for his attempt to drown me-—One good Turn deserves another—The
Subject suddenly dropped, at Newgate—A Yarn in the Law line—With due Precautions and
Preparations, the Domine makes his first Voyage—to Gravesend,

IT -was on the seventh of November, if I recol-
lect rightly, that Fleming and Marables were
called up to trial at the Old Bailey, and I was
jn the court, with Mr. Drummond and the
Domine, soon after ten o’clock. After the
judge had taken his seat, as their trial was first
on the list, they were ushered in. They were
both clean and well dressed. In Fleming I
could perceive little difference ; he was pale, but
resolute : but when I looked at Marables, I was
astonished. Mr. Drummond did not at first
recognize him ;—he had fallen away from seven-
teen stone to, at the most, thirteen—his clothes
hung loosely about him—his ruddy cheeks had
vanished—his nose was become sharp, and his
full round face had been changed to an oblong.
Stillthere remained that natural good-humoured
expression in his countenance, and the sweet
smile played upon his lips. His eyes glanced
fearfully round the court—he felt his disgraceful
situation—the colour mounted to his temples
and forehead, and he then became again pale as
a sheet, casting down his eyes, as if desirous to
see no more.

After the indictment had been read over, the
prisoners were asked by the clerk whether they
pleaded guilty or not guilty. ‘‘ Not guilty,”
replied Fleming, in a bold voice. ‘‘ John
Marables—guilty or not guilty?” § ‘‘ Guilty,”
replied Marables—‘‘suilty, my lord ;”? and he
covered up his face with his hands.

Fleming was indicted on three counts ;—an
assault, with intent to murder: having stolen
goods in his possession; and for a burglary in
a dwelling-house, on such a date ; but I under-
stand that they had nearly twenty more charges
against him, had these failed. Marables was
indicted for having been an accessary to the
last charge, as receiver of stolen goods. The
counsel for the Crown, who opened the trial,
stated that Fleming, a/zas Barkett, alias Wenn,
with many more @ézases, had for a long while
been at the head of the most notorious gang of
thieves which had infested the metropolis for
many years; that justice had long been in
search of him, but that he had disappeared, and
it had been supposed that he had quitted the
kingdom to avoid the penalties of the law, to
which he had subjected himself by his enor-
mities. It appeared, however, that he had
taken a step which not only blinded the officers
of the police, but at the same time had enabled
the gang to carry on their depredations with
more impunity than ever. He had concealed
himself in a lighter on the river, and appearing
in her as one diligently performing his duty, and

earning his livelihood as an honest man, had by
such means been enabled even to extend his
influence, the number of his associates, and his
audacious schemes. The principal méans of
detection in cases of burglary was by advertising
the goods, and the great difficulty on the part
of such miscreants was to obtain a ready sale
for them—the receivers of stolen goods being
aware that the thieves were at their mercy, and
must accept what was offered: Now, to obviate
these difficulties, Fleming had, as we before ob-
served, concealed himself from justice on board
of a river barge, which was made the receptacle
for stolen goods ; those which had been nefari-
ously obtained at one place, being by him and
his associates carried up and down the river in
the craft, and disposed of at a great distance,
by which means the goods were never brought
to light, so as to enable the police to recognize
er trace them. This system had now been
carried on with great success for upwards of
twelve months, and would, in all probability,
have not been discovered even now, had it not
been that a quarrel as to profits had taken
place, which had induced two of his associates
to give information to the officers ; and these
two associates had also been permitted to turn
king’s evidence, in a case of burglary, in which
Fleming was a principal, provided that it was
considered necessary. But there was a more
serious charge against the prisoner—that of
having attempted the life of a boy, named Jacob
Faithful, belonging to the lighter, and who, it
appeared, had suspicions of what was going on,
and, in duty to his master, had carefully watched,
the proceedings, and given notice to others of
what he had discovered from time to time. The
lad was the chief evidence against the prisoner
Fleming, and also against Marables, the other
prisoner, of whom he could only observe, that
circumstances would transpire, during the trial,
in his favour, which he had no doubt would be
well considered by his lordship. He would not
detain the gentlemen of the jury any longer, but
at once call on his witnesses.

I was then summoned, again asked the same
questions as to the nature of an oath, and the
judge being satisfied with my replies, I gave my
evidence as before ; the judge, as I perceived,
carefully examining my previous deposition, to
ascertain if any thing I now said was at variance
with my former assertions. I was then cross-
examined by the counsel for Fleming, but he
could not make me vary-in my evidence. I did,
however, take the opportunity, whenever Iwas
able, of sdying all I could in favour of Marables,At last, the counsel said he would ask me no
more questions. I was dismissed; and the
police-officer who had locked me up, and other
parties who identified the various property as
their own, and the manner in which they had
been robbed of it, were examined. The evidence
was too clear to admit of doubt. The jury im-
mediately returned a verdict of guilty against
Fleming and Marables, but strongly recom-
mended Marables to the mercy of the Crown.
The judge rose, put on his black cap, and ad-
dressed the prisoners as follows. ‘The court was
so still, that a pin falling might have been
heard.

“You, William Fleming, have been tried by
a jury of your countrymen, upon the charge of
receiving stolen goods, to which you have
added the most atrocious crime of intended
murder. You have had a fair and impartial
trial, and have been found guilty ; and it
appears that, even had you escaped in this
instance, other charges equally heavy, and
which would equally consign you to condign
punishment, were in readiness to be preferred
against you. Your life has been one of guilt,
not only in your own person, but also in
abetting and stimulating others to crime ; and
you have wound up your shameful career by
attempting the life of a fellow creature. To
hold out to you any hope of mercy is impos-
sible. Your life is justly forfeited to the offended
laws of your country ; and your sentence is,
that you be removed from this court to the
place from whence you came, and from thence
to the place of execution, there to be hanged
by the neck till you are dead; and may God,
in his infinite goodness, have mercy on your
soul !

“You, John Marables, have pleaded guilty to
the charges brought against you; and it has
appeared, during the evidence brought on the
trial, that, although you have been a party to
these nefarious transactions, you are far from
being hardened in your guilt.” [‘‘No, no! F
exclaimed Marables.| ‘‘I believe sincerely that
you are not, and much regret that one who,
from the evidence brought forward, appears to
haye been, previously to this unfortunate con-
nection, an honest man, should now appear in
so disgraceful a situation. A severe punish-
ment is, however, demanded by the voice of
justice, and by that sentence of the law you
must now be condemned ; at the same time I
trust that an appeal to the mercy of your
sovereign will not be made in vain.”

The judge then passed the sentence upon
Marables, the prisoners were led out of court,
and a new trial commenced ; while Mr. Drum-
mond and the Domine conducted me home.
About a week after the trial, Fleming suffered
the penalty of the law; while Marables was
sentenced to transportation for life, which,
however, previous to his sailing, was commuted
to seven years.

In a few days, the lighter returned. Her

YACOB FAITHFUL,

oO

arrival was announced to me, one fine sunny
morning, as I lay in bed, by a voice, whose
well-known notes poured into my ear, as I was
half dozing on my pillow.

‘* Bright are the beams of the morning sky,
And sweet the dew the red blossoms sip,
But brighter the glances of dear woman’s eye—=

‘“Tom, you monkey, belay the warp, and
throw the fenders over the side. Be smart, or
old Fuzzle will be growling about his red paint.

“© And sweet is the dew on her lip.”

I jumped out of my little crib, threw open
the window, the panes of which were crystal»
lized with the frost in the form of little trees,
and beheld the lighter just made fast to the
wharf, the sun shining brightly, old Tom's face
as cheerful as the morn, and young Tom laugh-
ing, jumping about, and blowing his fingers. I
was soon dressed, and shaking hands with my
bargemates.

‘“Well, Jacob, how do you like the Old
Bailey? Never was in it but once in my life,
and never mean to go again if I can help it;
that was, when Sam Bowles was tried for his
life, but my evidence saved him. [I'll tell you
how it was. Tom, look a’ter the breakfast ; a
bowl of tea this cold morning will be worth
having. Come, jump about.”

“But I never heard the story of Sam
Bowles,’ answered Tom.

‘What's that to you?
Jacob.”

‘‘But I want to hear it—so go on, father. I'll
start you. Well, d'ye see, Sam Bowles——’’

‘‘Master Tom, them as play with dow/s may
meet with rudders. Take care I dont rad
down your hide. Off, you thief, and get
breakfast.”’

‘‘No, I won't ; if I don't have your Bowd/es,
you shall have no.dowds of tea. I’ve made my
mind up to. that.”

‘“‘T tell you what, Tom; I shall never get
any good out of you, until I have both your
legs ampitated. I'vea great mind to send for
the farrier.”

““Thanky, father; but I find them very
useful.”’

‘‘Well,” said I, ‘‘suppose we put off the
story till breakfast time, and I'll go and help
Tom to get it ready.”

‘Be it so, Jacob. I suppose Tom must have
his way, as I spoilt him myself. I made him
so fond of yarns, so I was a fool to be vexed,

I’m telling it to

*€Oh! life is a river, and man is the boat
That over its surface is destined to float ;
And joy is a cargo so easily stored,
That he is a fool who takes sorrow on board,
‘Now I'll go on shore to master, and find
out what’s to be done next. Give me my
stick, boy, and I shall crawl over the planks a
little safer. A safe stool must have three legs,
you know.”
Old Tom then stumped away on shore, In
B 2

=36

about a quarter of an hour he returned,
bringing half a dozen red herrings. ‘‘ Here,
Tom, grill these sodgers. Jacob, who is that
tall old chap, with such a devil of a cutwater,
that I met just now with master? We are
bound for Sheerness this trip, and I’m to land
him at Greenwich.”

‘““What, the Domine?” replied I, from old
‘Tom’s description.
“His name did begin with a D, but that wasn't
fc

* Dobbs?

‘Yes, that’s nearer ; he’s to be a passenger
on board of us, going down to see a friend
who's very ill. Now, Tom, my hearty, bring
out the crockery, for I want a little inside
linmeg.”’

We all sat down to our breakfast, and as soon
as old Yom had finshed, his son called
for the history of Sam Bowles.

“Well, now you shall have it. Sam Bowles
was a shipmate of mine on board of the Green-
landman ; he was one of our best harpooners,
and a good, quiet, honest messmate, as ever
slung a hammock. He was spliced to as pretty
a piece of flesh as ever was seen, but she wasn't
as good as she was pretty. We were fitting out
for another voyage, and his wife had been living
on board with him some weeks, for Sam was
devilish spoony on her, and couldn’t bear her
to be out of hissight. As we 'spected to sail ina
few days, we were filling up our complement of
men, and fresh hands came on board every day.

‘‘One morning, a fine tall fellow, with a tail
as thick as a hawser, came on board and offered
himself; he was taken by the skipper, and went
on shore again to get his traps. While he was
still on deck I went below, and seeing Sam with
his little wife on his knee playing with his love-
locks, I said that there was a famous stout and
good-looking fellow that we should have as a
shipmate. Sam’s wife, who, like all women,
was a little curious, put her head up the hatch-
way to look at him. She put it down again
very quick, as I thought, and made some
excuse to go forward in the eyes of her, where
she remained some time, and then, when she
came aft, told Sam that she would go on shore.
Now, as it had been agreed that she should
remain on board till we were clear of the river,
Sam couldn't think what the matter was 7 but
she was positive, and go away she did, very
much to Sam's astonishment and anger. In the
evening, Sam went on shore and found her out,
and what d'ye think the little Tezebel told him?
—why, that one of the men had been rude to
her when she went forward, and that's why she
wouldn't stay on board. Sam was in a devil of
a passion at this, and wanted to know which
was the man; but she fondled him, and
wouldn't tell him, becauseshe was afraid that he d
be hurt. At last she bamboozled him, and sent
him on board again quite content. Well, we
remained three days longer, and then dropped
down the river to Greenwich, where the captain

 

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  

YACOB FAITHFUL,

was to come on board, and we were to sail as
soon as the wind was fair. Now, this fine tall
fellow was with us when we dropped down the
river, and as Sam was sitting down on his chest
eating a basin o’ soup, the other man takes out
a ‘baccy-pouch of seal-skin ;—it was a very curi-
ous one, made out of the white and spotted part
of a young seal’s belly. ‘I say, shipmate,’
cries Sam, ‘hand me over my ‘baccy-pouch.
Where did you pick it up ?’

‘«* Your pouch!’ says he to him; ‘I killed
the seal, and my fancy girl made the pouch for

GeO

‘“« Well, if that arn't cool! yon’d swear a
man out of his life, mate. Tom,’ says he to
me, ‘arn't that my pouch, which my wife gave
me when I came back last trip ?’

‘‘T looked at it, and knew it again, and said
it was. ‘The tall fellow denied it, and there was
a devil of a bobbery. Sam called him a thief,
and he pitched Sam right down the main hatch-
way among the casks. After that there was a
regular set-to, and Sam was knocked all to
shivers, and obliged to give in. When the fight
was over, I took up Sam’s shirt for him to put
on. ‘That's my shirt,’ cried the tall fellow.

‘“«That’s Sam's shirt,’ replied I ; ‘I know it’s
his.’

‘‘*T tell you it’s mine,’ replied the man ; ‘my
lass gave it to me to put on when I got up this
morning. ‘The other is his shirt.’

‘“ We looked at the other, and they both were
Sam's shirts.’ Now, when Sam heard this, he
put two and two together, and became very
jealous and uneasy : he thought it odd that his
wife was so anxious to leave the ship when this
tall fellow came on board; and what with the
pouch and the shirt he was puzzled. His wife
had promised to come down to Greenwich and
see him off. When we anchored, some of the
men went on shore—among others the tall fel-
low. Sam, whose head was swelled up like a
pumpkin, told one of his shipmates to say to his
wife that he could not come on shore, and that
she must come off to him. Well, it was about
nine o'clock, dark, and all the stars were twink-
ling, when Sam says to me, ‘Tom, let's go on
shore ; my black eyes can’t be seen in the dark.’
As we hauled up the boat, the secand mate told
Sam to take his harpoon iron on shore for him,
to have the hole for the becket punched larger.
Away we went, and the first place of course
that Sam went to, was the house where he knew
that his wife put up at, as before. He went up
stairs to her room, and I followed him. The
door was not made fast, and in we went. There
was his little devil of a wife, fast asleep in the
arms of the tall fellow. Sam couldn't command
his rage, and having the harpoon iron in his
hand, he drove it right through the tall fellow’s
body, before I could prevent him. It was a
dreadful sight : the man groaned, and his head
fell over the side of the bed. Sam’s wife
screamed, and made Sam more wroth by throw-
ing herself on the man’s body, and weeping overit. Sam would have pulled out the iron to run
her through with, but that was impossible. The
noise brought wp the people of the house, and
it was soon known that murder had been com-
mitted. The constables came, Sam was thrown
into prison, and I went on board and told the
whole story. Well, we were just about to heave
up, for we had shipped two more men in place
of Sam, who was to be tried for his life, and the
poor fellow he had killed, when a lawyer chap
came on board with what they call a supfeny for
me ; all I knowis, that the lawyer pressed me
into his service, and I lost my voyage. I was
taken on shore, and well fed till the trial came
on. Poor Sam was at the bar for murder. The
gentleman in his gown and wig began his yarn,
stating how the late fellow, whose name was
Will Errol, was with his own wife when Sam
harpooned him.

for Whats. a lies! ened Sam; he was with
my wife.’

‘« «My lord,’ said the lawyer, ‘that is not the
case ; it was his own wife, and here are the
marriage certificates.’

‘© Palse papers!’ roared Sam. ‘Here are
mine;’ and he pulled out his tin case, and
handed them to the court.

“ The judge'said that this was not the way to
try people, and that Sam must hold his tongue ;
so the trial went on, and at first they had it all
their own way. Then our turn came, and I was
called up to prove what had passed, and I
stated how the man was with Sam's wife, and
how he, having the harpoon iron in his hand,
had run it through his body. Then they com-
pared the certificates, and it was proved that
the little Jezebel had married them both ; but
she had married Sam first, so he had most right
to her; but, fancying the other man afterwards,
she thought she might as well have two strings
to her bow. So the judge declared that she
was Sam's wife, and that any man, even without
the harpoon in his hand, would be justified in kill-
ing a man whom he found in bed with his own
wife. So Sam went scot free; but the judge
wouldn't let off Sam’s wife, as she had caused
murder by her wicked conduct ; he tried her
a’terwards for dzggery, as they call it, and sent
her over the water for life. Sam never held up
his head a’terwards ; what with having killed an
innocent man, and the ‘haviour of his wife, he
was always down. He went out. to the fishery,
and a whale cut the boat in two with her tail ;
Sam was stunned, and went down like a stone.
So you see the mischief brought about by this
little Jezebel, who must have two husbands, and
be d dsto hers*

‘Well, that’s a good yarn, father,” said
Tom, as soon as it was finished. ‘‘I was right
in saying I would hear it. Wasn't 1?”

‘«‘ No,” replied old Tom, putting out his large
hand, and seizing his son by the collar; ane
now you've put me in mind of it, I'll pay you
off for old scores.”

 

YACOB FAITHFUL.

‘‘Lord love you, father, you don’t owe me
anything,’”’ said Tom.

‘“Yes, Ido; and now I'll give you a receipt
in full.”

“© Lord! they'll be drowned,”
Tom, holding up both his hands
symptom of terror.

ld ‘Tom turned short round to look in the
direction, letting go his hold. Tom made his
escape, and burst out a laughing. I laughed
also, and so at last did his father.

I went on shore, and found that old Tom's
report was correct—the Domine was at break-
fast with Mr. Drummond. The new usher had
charge of the boys, and the governors. had
allowed him a fortnight’s holiday to visit an old
friend at Greenwich. ‘To save expense, as well
as to indulge his curiosity, the old man had ob-
tained a passage down in the lighter. ‘‘ Never
yet, Jacob, have I put my feet into that which
floateth on the watery element,’’ observed he
to me; ‘“‘nor would I now, but that it saveth
money, which thou knowest well 1s with me not
plentiful. Many dangers I expect, many perils
shall. I encounter; such have J read of in
books ; and well might Horace exclaim—‘ ///e
robur et es triplex,’ with reference to the first
man who ventured afloat. Still doth Mr.
Drummond assure me that the lighter is of that
strength as to be able to resist the force of the
winds and waves ; and, confiding in Providence,
I intend to venture, Jacob, ‘Ze AUC.

‘‘Nay, sir,” replied I, laughing at the idea
which the Domine appeared to have formed of
the dangers of river navigation, ‘‘old Tom is
Ene ea

‘‘Old Tom; where have I seen that name?
Now I do recall to mind that I have seen the
same painted in large letters upon a cask at the
tavern bar of the inn at Brentford ; but what it
did intend to signify, I did not inquire. What
connection is there?”

‘‘None,” replied I; ‘‘ but I rather think they
are very good friends. ‘The tide turns in half
an hour, sir ; are you ready to go on board?”

‘Truly am I, and well prepared, having my
habiliments in a bundle, my umbrella and my
great coat, as well as my spencer for general
wear. But where I am to sleep hath not yet
been made known to me. Peradventure one

screamed
with every

 

ct

 
  

sleepeth not—‘ tanto ix periculo.’

‘‘Ves, sir, we do. You shall have my berth,
and I'll turn in with young Tom.”

‘‘Hast thou, then, a young Tom as well as
an old Tom on board ?”’

“Yes sir; and_a dog, also of the name of
Tommy.’ ’

‘‘ Well, then, we will embark, and thou shalt
make me known to this triad of Thomases.
‘Inde Tomos dictus locus est.’ (Cluck, cluck.)
Ovid, I thank thee.YACOB FAITHFUL.

 

   
 

GrEAPTER OXY.

Much Learning afloat—Young Tom is very lively

upon the dead Languages—The Domine,

at ter “@xX-

periencing the Wonders “of the mighty Deep, prepares to revel upon Lobscouse—Thoug th the Man of
Learning gets many Songs and some Yarns from Old Tom, he jokes the best Part of a Tale without

knowing it.

ae old Domine’s bundle and other parapher-

lia being sent on board, he took farewell of
\ ues Drummond and his family in so serious a
manner, that I was convinced that he considered
he was about to enter upon a dangerous adven-
ture, and then I led him down to the wharf
where the lighter lay alongside. It was with
some trepidation that he crossed the plank, and
got on board, when he recovered himself and
looked round.

‘“My sarvice to you, old gentleman,” said a
voice behind the Domine. It was that of old
Tom, who had just come from the cabin. The
Domine turned round and perceived old Tom.

‘“Vhis is old Tom, sir,” said I to the Domine,
who stared with astonishment.

‘Art thou, indeed? Jacob, thou didst not
me that he had been curtailed of his fair
and I was surprised. Art thou,
continued the Domine, addressing

tell
proportions,
tien, Dax?”
old Tom.

“Yes, interrupted young Tom, who had
come from forward, ‘‘he is ducks, because he
waddles on his short stumps ; and I won't say
who be goose. Eh, father ?”

“Take care you don't duy goose,
imperance, sir,” cried old Tom.

‘“A forward boy,” exclaimed the Domine.

for your

P wes, replied “Tom; ‘I’m generally for-
ward. %

‘Art thou forward in thy learning? Canst
thou tell me Latin for goose 2”

“To be sure,” replied Tom ; ‘“ brandy.”

‘““ Brandy !’ ’ exclaimed the Domine. ‘Nay,
child, it is azser.”

“Then I was right,” replied Tom. ‘‘ You
had your answer /”’

The boy is apt.” (Cluck, cluck.)

“He is apt to be devilish saucy, old gentle-
man ; but never mind that, there’s no harm in
him.”

4 This, then, is young Tom, I presume,
Jacob,” said the Domine, referring to me.

f Yes, sir,” replied I. You have seen old

Tom, and young Tom, and you have only to
see Tommy.”

“Want to see Tommy, Sir?” eried Tom.
“Here, Tommy, ae Ne

But Tommy, who was rather busy with a
bone forward, did not Panetiane answer to
his call, and the Domine turned round to

survey the river. ‘The scene was busy, barges

and boats passing in every direction, others
a on shore, with waggons taking out the
coals and other cargoes, men at w ork, shouting
or laughing with each other, “ ‘Populus zz

fluvits,’ as Virgil hath it. Grand, indeed, is the
vast river. ‘ZLabztur ef labetur a2 omne
volubtlis evunt,’ as the generations of men

are swept into eternity,’’ said the Domine
musing aloud. But Tommy had now made his
appearance, and Tom, in his mischief, had
laid hold of the tail of the Domine’s coat, and
shown it to the dog. . The dog, accustomed to
seize a rope when it was shown to him, imme-
diately seized the Domine’s coat, making three
desperate tugs at it. The Domine, who was in
one of his reveries, and probably thought it
was I, who wished to direct his attention else-
where, each time waved his hand, without
turning round, as much as to say—I am busy
now.

‘Haul and hold,” cried Tom to the dog,
splitting his sides, and the tears running down
his cheeks with laughing. Tommy made one
more desperate tug, carrying away one tail of
the Domine’s coat ; but the Domine perceived
it net, he was still ‘‘z2 za«dzbus,’’ while the
dog galloped forward with the fragment, and
Tom chased him to recover it. The Domine
continued in his reverie, when old Tom burst
out—

““O England, dear England, bright gem of the ocean,
Thy Vv ane s and fields look fertile and gay,
The heart clings to thee with a sacred dey otion,
And memory adores when in far lands away.’

Wann
:
aL Te os son o

] recolle ction : )

OTA

g dually called the Domine to his
indeed, the strain was so beauti-

ful, that it would have vibrated in the ears of
a dying man. The Domine gradually turned
round, and when old Tom had finished, ex-

claimed,
fr om such

‘Truly it did delight mine ear, and
and,’ continued the Domine,
“‘without legs,

 

                              

too !
‘““Why, old gentlemen, I don’t sing with my
legs,’ answe “red old ‘Tom.

“Nay, good Dux, I am not so deficient as
not to be aware that a man singeth from ‘the
mouth ; yet is thy voice mellifluous, Sweet, as
the honey of Hybla, strong

‘As the Latin for goose,’ finished Tom.
“Come, father,” old Dictionary is. in the
doldrums ; rouse him up with another stave,”

“T'll rouse you up with the stave of a cask
over your shoulders, Mr. Tom. What have
you done with the old gentleman’s swallow
tail ? A

‘“‘Leave me to settle that affair,
now how to get out of a scrape.’

 

father? [

1
KFACOB

‘‘So you ought, you scamp, considering how
many you get into; but the craft are swinging
and heaving up. Forward there, Jacob, and
sway up the mast; there's Tom and Tommy
to help you.”

The mast was hoisted up, the sail set, and
the lighter in the stream, before the Domine
vas out of his reverie.

‘‘Are there whirlpools here?’ said the
Domine, talking more to himself than to those
about him.

‘‘Whirlpools !” replied young Tom, who was
watching-and mocking him; ‘‘yes, that there
are, under the bridges. I have watched a dozen
chips zo down one after the other.”

“AW dozen ships/” exclaimed the Domine,
turning to Tom ; ‘‘and every soul lost ?”

““ Never saw them afterwards,” replied Tom
in a mournful voice.

‘‘ How little did I dream of the dangers of
those so near me,” said the Domine, turning
away, and communing with himself. ‘‘ “Those
who go down to the sea in ships, and occupy

their business in great waters ;—‘ &f vastas
aperit Syrtes :’—‘ These men see the works of

the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.’
‘ Alternante vorans vasta Charybdis aqua. —
‘For at his word the stormy wind ariseth,
which lifteth up the waves thereof.’—‘ Suxgens a
puppi ventus.—Ubi tempestas et cali mobilis
humor.'—‘ They are carried up to the heavens,
and down again to the deep.’—‘ Gurgztibus
miris et lactis vertice torrens.—‘ Their soul
melteth away because of their trouble.’—‘ Stant
pavidi.—Onnibus ignote mortis timor, amnibus
hostem.’—‘ They reel to and fro, and stagger
like a drunken man.’ ”

‘“So they do, father, don’t they, sometimes ?”
observed Tom leering his eye at his father.
‘‘That’s all I’ve understood of his speech.”

“They are at their wit’s end,” continued
the Domine.

‘(Mind the end of your wit, Master ‘fom,
answered his father, wroth at the insinuation.

‘««So when they call upon the Lord in their
trouble '—‘ Cujus jurare timent et fallere
nomen ’—‘ He delivereth them out of their dis-
tress, for he maketh the storm to cease, so that
the waves thereof are still;’ yea, still and
smooth as the peaceful water which now
floweth rapidly by our anchored vessel—yet it
appeareth to me that the scene hath changed.
These fields met not mine eye before.
‘Riparumque toros et prata recentia xLviS..
Surely we have moved front the wharf? ” and
the Domine turned round, and discovered, for
the first time, that we were more than a mile
from the place at which we had embarked.

‘Pray, sir, what's the use of speech, sir?”
interrogated Tom, who had been listening to
the whole of the Domine’s long soliloquy.

“Thou askest a foolish question, boy. We
are endowed with the power of speech to enable
us to communicate our ideas.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, sir. Then

”

 

FAITHFUL, 30

pray what’s thesuse of your talking all that
gibberish, that none of us could understand ?”’

‘‘T crave thy pardon, child ; I spoke, I pre-
sume, in the dead languages. ”

“Tf they're dead, why not let them rest in
their graves?”

“Good: thou hast wit. (Cluck, cluck.)
Yet, child, know that it is pleasant to commune
with the dead.”

“Ts it? then we'll put you on shore at Bat-
tersea churchyard.”

‘“‘Silence, Tom. He's full
sir,—you must forgive it.”’

‘‘Nay, it pleaseth me to hear him talk ; but
it would please me more to hear thee sing.”

“Then here goes, sir, to drown Tom's
impudence.

of his’ sauce,

“Glide on, my bark, the morning tide

Is gently flowing by thy side ;

Around thy prow the waters bright,

In circling rounds of broken light,

Are glittering, as 1f ocean gave

Her countless gems unto the wave.
‘That's a pretty air, and I first heard it sung
by a pretty woman ; but that’s all I know of the
song. She sang another—

“‘T’'d be a butterfly, born in a bower.”

‘You'd be a butterfly,” said the Domine,
taking old Tom literally and looking at his
person.

Young Tom roared, ‘‘ Yes, sir, he’d be a but-
terfly, and I don’t see why he shouldn't very
soon. His legs are gone, and his wings arnt
come; so he’s a grub now, and that, you know,
is the next thing toit. Whata funny old beggar
it is, father—ar’n’t it?”

““Tom, Tom, go forward, sir; we must shoot
the bridge.”

“Shoot!” exclaimed the Domine; ‘‘shoot
what?”

‘You ar'n’'t afraid of fire-arms, are ye, sir?”
inquired Tom.

‘Nay, I said not that I was afraid of fire-
arms ; but why should you shoot ?”

‘(We never could get on without it, sir; we
shall have plenty of shooting by-and-by. You
don’t know this river.”

‘Indeed, I thought not of such doings ; or
that there were other dangers besides that ot
the deep waters.”

“Go forward, Tom, and don't be playing
with your betters,” cried old Tom. “ Never
mind him, sir, he’s only humbugging you.”

‘Explain, Jacob. The language of both old
Tom and young Tom are to me as incompre-
hensible as would be that of the dog Tommy.”

‘‘Or as your Latin is to them, sir.”

“True, Jacob, trues I have no right to com-
plain: nay, I do not complain, for I amamused,
although at times much puzzled.”

We now shot Putney Bridge, and as a wherry
passed us, old Tom carolled out—

“Did you ever hear tell of a jolly young waterman?”’49

“No, I never did,’ said the Domine, observ-
ing old Tom’s eyes directed towards him. ‘Tom,
amused by this zaiveté on the part of the Do-
mine, touched him by the sleeve, on the other
side, and commenced with his treble,

‘* Did you ne’er hear a tale
Of a maid in the vale?”

“Not that I can recollect, my child,” replied
the Domine.

“Then where have you been all your life ?”’

‘“My life has been employed, mry lad, in
teaching the young idea how to shoot.”

“So, you're an old soldier after all, and afraid
of fire-arms. Why don’t you hold yourself up ?
I suppose it’s that enormous jib of yours that
brings you down by the head.”

‘Tom, Tom, I'll cut you into pork pieces, if
you go on that gait. Go and get dinner under
weigh, you scamp, and leave the gentleman
alone. Here’s more wind coming.

“A wet sheet and a flowing sea

A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast,

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.”

‘‘Jacob,’’ said the Domine, ‘‘I have heard
by the mouth of Rumour, with her hundred
tongues, how careless and indifferent are sailors
unto danger ; but I never could have believed
that such lightness of heart could have been
shown. Yon man, although certainly not in
years, yet what is he?—a remnant of a man
resting upon unnatural and_ ill-proportioned
support. Yon lad, who is yet but a child, ap-
pears as blithe and merry as if he were in pos-
session of all this world can afford. I have an
affection for that bold child, and would fain
teach him the rudiments, at least, of the Latin
tongue.”

‘*T doubt if Tom would ever learn them, sir.
He has a will of his own.”

‘Tt grieveth me to hear thee say so, for he
lacketh not talent, but instruction ; and the
Dux, he pleaseth me mightily—a second Pali-

-nurus. Yet how that a man could venture to
embark upon an element, to struggle through
the horrors of which must occasionally demand
the utmost exertion of every limb, with the want
of the two most necessary for his safety, is to
me quite incomprehensible.”

‘* He can keep his legs, sir.”

“Nay, Jacob, how can he seep what are

 

 

     
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  

FACOB FAITHFUL.

already gone? Even thou speakest strangely
upon the water. I see the dangers that sur-
round us, Jacob, yet am I calm; I feel that I
have not lived a wicked life—‘ [uteger vite,
scelerisque purus,’ as Horace truly saith, may
venture, even as I have done, upon the broad
expanse of the water. What is it that the boy
is providing for us? it hath an inviting smell.”

‘« Lobscouse, master,’ replied old Tom, ‘‘and
not bad lining either.”’

‘‘T recollect no such word—wzde derzvatur,
fendi |

‘What's that, master ?’’ inquired old Tom.

“‘Tt’s Latin for lobscouse, depend upon it,
father,” cried Tom, who was stirring up the
savoury mess with.a large wooden spoon. ‘‘ He
be a deadly lively old gentleman, with his dead
language. Dinner's all ready. Are we-to let
go the anchor, or pipe to dinner first ?”’

‘““We may as well anchor, boys. We have
not a quarter of an hour’s more ebb, and the
wind is heading us.”

Tom and I went forward, brailed up the
mainsail, cleared away and let go the anchor.
The lighter swung round rapidly to the stream.
The Domine, who had been in a fit of musing,
with his eyes cast upon the forests of masts
which we had passed below London Bridge,
and which were now some way astern of us, of
a sudden exclaimed in a loud voice, ‘‘ Parce
precor ! Periculosum est /”

The lighter swinging short round to her
anchor, had surprised the Domine with the
rapid motion of the panorama, and he thought
we had fallen in with one of the whirlpools men-
tioned by ‘Tom. ‘‘ What has happened, good
Dux? tell me,” cried the Domine to old Tom,
with alarm in his countenance.

‘“Why, master, I'll tell you after my own
fashion,’ replied old Tom, smiling ; and then
singing, as he held the Domine by the button of
his spenser— E

** Now to her berth the craft draws nigh,

With slackened sail, she feels the tide,
“Stand clear the cable!’ is the cry—
The anchor’s gone, we safely ride.

‘‘And now, master, we'll bail out the lob-
scouse. We sha’n't weigh anchor again until
to-morrow morning ; the wind’s right in our
teeth, and it will blow fresh, I’m sartain. Look
how the scud’s flying ; so now we'll have a jolly
time of it, and you shall have your allowance of
grog on board before you turn in.”

‘‘T have before heard-of that potation,”’ re-
plied the Domine, sitting down on the coamings
of the hatchway, ‘‘and fain would taste it.” —JACOB FAITHFUL.

GHAPTER -X1f.

Is a Chapter of Tales in a double Sense—The Domine, from the natural Effects of his Single-heartedness,
begins to see double—A new Definition of Philosophy, with an Episode on Jealousy.

WE now took our seats on the deck, round the
saucepan, for we did not trouble ourselves with
dishes, and the Domine appeared to enjoy the
lobscouse very much. In the course of half an
hour, all was over ; that is to say, we had eaten
as much as we wished, and the Newfoundland
dog, who, during our repast, lay close by
young Tom, flapping the deck with his tail, and
snuffing the savoury smell of the compound,
had just licked all our plates quite clean, and
was now finishing with his head in the sauce-
pan ; while Tom was busy carrying the crockery
into the cabin, and bringing out the bottle and
tin pannikins, ready for the promised carouse.

‘There, now, master, there’s a glass o’ grog
for you that would float a marlinespike. See if
that don't warm the cockles of your old heart.”

‘“Ay,’ added Tom, ‘‘and set all your muscles
as taut as weather backstays.”’

‘‘Master Tom, with your leave, I'll mix your
grog for youmyself. Hand me back that bottle,
you rascal.”

‘‘Just as you please, father,” replied Tom,
handing the bottle ; ‘‘but recoHect, none of your
water bewitched. _Only help me as you love
me.

Old Tom mixed a pannikin of grog for Tom,
and another for himself. I hardly need say
which was the sfzfer of the two.

‘‘ Well, father, I suppose you think the grog
will run short. ‘To be sure, one bottlear’n’t too
much ‘mong four of us.”

‘‘One bottle, you scamp ; there’s another in
the cupboard.”’

‘Then you must see double already, father.”

Old Tom, who was startled at this news, and
who imagined that Tom must have gained pos-
session of the other bottle, jumped up and made
for the cupboard, to ascertain whether what
Tom asserted was correct. This was what Tom
wished : he immediately changed pannikins of
grog with his father, and remained quiet.

‘“There zs another bottle, Tom,” said his
father, coming out and taking his seat again.
‘‘T knew there was. You young rascal, you
don't know how you frightened me ;’”’ and old
Tom put the pannikin to his lips.. ‘‘ Drowned
the miller, by heaven!” said he ; ‘‘ what could
I have been about?” ejaculated he, adding more
spirit to his mixture.

‘‘T suppose, upon the strength of another
bottle in the locker, you are doubling the strength
of your grog. Come, father,” and Tom held
out his pannikin, ‘‘do put a little drop of stuff
in mine—it'’s seven water grog ; and I’m not on
the black list.”

‘‘No, no, Tom ; your next shall be stronger.
Well, master, how do you like your liquor ?”

‘“Verily,’’ replied the Domine, ‘‘it is a plea-
sant and seducing liquor. Loand behold! I
am at the bottom of my tin utensil.”’

‘“Stop till I fill it up again, old gentleman.
I see you are one of the right sort—you know
what the song says—

“* A plague on those musty old lubbers,
Who tell us to fast and to think,
And patient fall in with life’s rubbers,
With nothing but water to drink.

‘‘Water, indeed! the only use of water I
know, is to mix your grog with, and float vessels
up and down the world. Why was the sea
made salt, but to prevent our drinking too much
water? Water, indeed !

“A can of good grog, had they swigg’d it,
*T would have set them for pleasure agog.
And in spite of the rules
Of the schools,
The old fools,
Would have all of them swigg’d it,
And swore there was nothing like grog.’

‘I’m exactly of your opinion, father,’ said
Tom, holding out his empty pannikin.

‘‘ Always ready for two things, master Tom—
grog and mischief ; but, however, you shall have
one more dose.”’

“Tt hath, then, medicinal virtues?” inquired
the Domine.

‘Ay, that it has, master, more than all the
quacking medicines in the world. _ It cures grief
and melancholy, and prevents spirits from get-
ting low.’

“T doubt that, father,’ cried Tom, holding
up the bottle; ‘‘for the more grog we drink,
the more the sfzvits become low.”

Cluck, cluck, came from the thorax of the
Domine. “‘ Verily, friend Tom, it appeareth,
among other virtues, to sharpen the wits. Pro-
ceed, friend Dux, in the medicinal virtues of
grog.” ; “&

«Well, master, it cures love when it’s not
returned, and adds to it when it is. I’ve heard
say it will cure jealousy; but that I've my
doubts of. Now I think on it, I will tell youa
yarn about a jealous match between a couple of
fools. Jacob, ar’n’t your pannikin empty, my
boy ?”’

“Yes,” replied I, handing it up to be filled.
It was empty, for, not being very fond of it
myself, Tom, with my permission, had drunk
it as well as his own.

“There, Jacob, is a good dose for you—you
ar’n’t always craving after it, like Tom.”

“ He isn’t troubled with low spirits, as I am,

”

father.

 

‘
i
;
!
j
:“Flow long has that been your complaint,
Tom ?”’ inquired I. ;

‘River since I heard how to cure it.
father, give us the yarn.”

“Well, then, you must mind that an old
shipmate o’ mine, Ben‘eader, had a wife name
Poll, a pretty sort of craft in her way, neat in her
rigging, swelling bows, taking sort of figure-
head, and devilish well-rounded in the counter ;
altogether, she was a very fancy girl, and all the
men were ater her. She'd a roguish eye, and
liked to be stared at, as most pretty women do,
because it flatters their vanities. Now, although
she liked to be noticed so far by the other chaps,
yet Ben was the only one she ever wished to be
handled by—it was ‘Paws off, Pompey,’ with all
the rest. Ben Leader was a good-looking,
active, smart chap, and could foot it in a reel,
or take a bout at single-stick with the very best
o them ; and she was mortal fond of him, and
mortal jealous if he talked to any other woman,
for the women liked Ben as much as the men
liked she. Well, as they returned love for love,
so did they return jealousy for jealousy ; and the
lads and lasses, seeing that, had a pleasure in
making them come to a misunderstanding. So
every day it became worse and worse between
them. Now, I always says that it’s a stupid
thing to be jealous, 'cause if there be cazse, there
be no cause for love; and if there be no cause,
there be no cazse for jealousy.”

“You're like a row in a rookery, father—no-
thing but caws,” interrupted Tom.

“Well, I suppose I am ; but that’s what I
call chop logic—ar’n’t it, master ?’”’

“It was a syllogism,” replied the Domine,
taking the pannikin from his mouth.

“‘T don’t know what that is, nor do I want to
know,” replied old Tom: “so I'll just go on
with my story. Well, at last they came to
downright fighting. Ben licks Poll ’cause she
talked and laughed with other men, and Poll
crys and whines all day ‘cause he won't sit on
her knee, instead of going on board and ‘tending
to his duty. Well, ohe night, a’ter work was
over, Ben goes on shore to the house where he
and Poll used to sleep ; and when he sees the
girl in the bar, he says, ‘Where is Poll?’ Now
the girl at the bar was a fresh-comer, and an-
wers, ‘What girl ?’? So Ben describes her, and
the bar-girl answers, ‘She be just gone to bed,
With her husband, I suppose ;’ for, you see,
there was a woman like her who had gone up to
her bed, sure enough. When Ben heard that,
he gives his trousers one hitch, and calls for a
quartern, drinks it off with a sigh, and leaves
the house, believing it all to be true. A’ter Ben
was gone, Poll makes her appearance, and
when she finds Ben wasn’t in the tap, says,
‘Young woman, did a man go up-stairs just
now?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the bar-girl, ‘with his
wife, I suppose ; they be turned in this quarter
of an hour.’ When Poll hears this, she almost
turned mad with rage, and then as white as a
sheet, and then she burst into tears and runs

Come,

JACOB FAITHFUL.

 

 

  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
    
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  

out of the house, crying out, ‘ Poor misfortu-
nate creature that I am !’ knocking everything
down undersized, and running into the arms of
every man who came athwart her hawse.”’

“T understood him but just now, that she
was running on foot, yet doth he talk about her
horse. Expound, Jacob.”

‘It was a nautical figure of speech, sir.”’
‘‘Exactly,’’- rejoined Tom; it’ méant “her
figure-head, old gentleman; but my yarn won’t
cut afigure, if 1am brought up all standing in
this way. Suppose, master, you hear the story
first, and understand it afterwards.’’

‘‘T will endeavour to comprehend by the con-
text,’’ replied the Domine.

‘“That is, I suppose, that you'll allow me to
stick tomy text. Well, then, here’s coil away
again. Ben, you see, what with his jealousy,
and what with a whole quartern at a draught,
became somehow nohow, and he walked down
to the jetty with the intention of getting rid of
himself, and his wife, and all his troubles, by
giving his soul back to his Creator, and his body
to the fishes.”’

‘«Bad philosophy,” quoth the Domine.

‘‘T agree with you, master,” replied old Tom.

““Pray what sort of a thing is philosophy ?”
inquired Tom.

‘Philosophy,’ replied old Tom, ‘‘is either
hanging, drowning, shooting yourself, or, in
short, getting out of the world without help.’’

‘Nay, replied the Domine, ‘‘that is feo de se.”

‘Well, I pronounce it quicker than you,
master; but it’s one and the same thing: but to
goon. ‘While Ben was standing on the jetty,
thinking whether he should take one more quid
of backey afore he dived, who should come
down but Poli, with her hair all adrift, stream-
ing and coach-whipping astarn of her, with the
same intention as Ben—to commit Ak7zlo-zoffy.
Ben, who was standimg at the edge of the jetty,
his eyes fixed upon the water, as it eddied
among the piles, looking as dismal as if he had
swallowed a hearse and six, with the funeral
feathers hanging out of his mouth i

“A bold comparison,” murmured the Do-
mine.

‘““Never sees her ; and she was so busy with
herself, that, although close to him, she never
sees he—always remembering that the night
was dark. So Poll turned her eyes up, for all
the world like a dying jackdaw.”

‘Tell me, friend Dux,’ interrupted the Do-
mine, ‘doth a jackdaw die in any peculiar
Way?”

“Yes,” replied young Tom; ‘‘he always dies
black, master.”’

“Then doth he die as he liveth.
cluck.) Proceed, good Dux.”

““And don't you break the thread of my
yarn any more, master, if you wish to hear the
end on it. So Poll begins to blubber about
3en. ‘O Ben, Ben,’ cried she; ‘cruel, cruel
man ; for to come—for to go ; for to go—for to
Gomes)

 

 

(Cluck,‘«*« Who's there ?’ shouted Ben.

‘“* For to come—for to go,’ cried Poll.

‘“« «Ship ahoy !’ hailed Ben, again.

‘‘* For to go—for to.come,’ blubbered Poll ;
and then she couldn't bring out anything more
for sobbing. With that, Ben, who thou ght | 1e
knew the voice, walks up to her, and says, ‘Be
that you, Poll?’

“Be that you, Ben?’ eee Poll
her hands from her face, and lool

‘<‘T thought. you were
oh! Poll!’ said Ben.

‘““And I thought you were in bed with—oh !
Ben !’ replied Poll.

“c “But I wasnt; Polk’

“Nor more warn't I, Ber
And what brought you ee

“Ty wanted for to die, Ben.
brought you here, Ben ?’

“el didn't wan't for
thought you false.”

“Then Polly might have answered in the
words of the old song, master; but her poor
heart was too full, I suppose.” And Tom
sang,

taking
“ing at him.
in bed with—with—

«ec

Poll?’
And what

to live, Poll, when I

“Your Polly has never been false, she declares,
Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs.

‘“Howsomever, in the next minute they were
both hugging and kissing, sobbing, shivering,
and shaking in each other's arms ; and as soon
as they had settled themselves a little, back they
went, arm in arm, to the Pouibe had a good
stiff glass to prevent their taking the rheumatism,
went to bed, and were cured of the jealousy
ever afterwards—which, in my opinion, was a
much better pAzZo-zofy than the one they had
both been bound on. ‘There, I’ve wound it all
oft at last, master, and now well fill up our
pannikins.”

‘‘ Before. I consent, friend. Dux, prythee
inform me how much of this pleasant liquor
may be taken without inebriating, vz/go, getting
tipsy?”

‘Father can drink enough to float a jolly-
boat, master,” replied Tom | | SQ, yOu leedn f
fear. J'll drink pan for pan with you, all night
long.

‘Indeed you won't,
the father.

‘* But [ will, master. ™

I perceived that the liquor had already had
some effect upon my worthy pedagogue, and

”

mister Tom,’ replied

JACOB FAITHFUL.

was not willing that he should be persuaded
into excess. I therefore pulled him by the coat
as a hint; but he was again deep in thought,
and he did not heed ine.) ‘Fired of sitting so
long, I got up, and walked forward to look at
the cable

“Strange,” muttered the Domine, ‘tl
Jacob should thus pull me by the garment.
W hat could he mean ?”’

Did he pull you,

““Yea, many times
away.”

‘It appears that you have been pulled too
much, sir,” replied Tom, dexterously appear-
ing to pick up the tail of his coat, which had
been tom off by the dog, and handing it to
him.

‘“Eheu! Facobe— fili adilectissime — guid

sir?’ inquired Tom.

; and then he walked

fecisti ?” cried the Domine, holding up the
fragment of his coat with a look of despair.
‘“*A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull

altogether, sang out old Tom: and then
looking at. Tom, “‘Now, arnt you a pretty
rascal, “master Tom?”

‘Tt is done,” exclaimed: the Domine, with a

sigh, putting the fragment. into the remaining
pocket ; ‘‘and it cannot be undone.”

‘‘Now, I think it is undone, and can be
done, master,” replied Tom. A needle and
thread will soon join the pieces of your old
coat again—in oly matrimony, I may safely
say——”"

“Prue, (Cluck, cluck,|
will restore it; yet will she be wroth. ‘emine
cureque treque, but let us think no more
about it,’ cried the Domine, drinking deeply
from his pannikin, and each minute verging
fast to intoxication. Vunc est bibendum, nunc
pede libero pulsanda tellus. I feel as if I were
lifted up, and could dance, yea, and could
exalt my voice and sing.”

‘Could you, my jolly old master? then we'll
both dance and sing,

My housekeeper

“Come, let us dance and sing,
While all Barbadoes bells shall ring,
Mars scrapes the fiddle-string
While Venus plays the lute.
Hymen gay, trips away,
Jocund at the wedding day.

‘Now for chorus.

**Come, let us dance and sing.”

     
  
     
  
 
 
   
   
  
   
    
    
 
  
   
  
  
     
   
     
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

i
i
i
i¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

 

  

CHAPTER XAT.

The *‘ Fun grows fast and

furious ”—The Pedagogue does not scan correctly, and his Feet become very un-

equal—An allegorical Compliment almost worked up into a literal Quarrel—At length, the Mighty are

laid low, and the Domine hurts his Nose.

I HEARD Tom’s treble, and a croaking noise,
which I recognised to proceed from the Domine,
who had joined the chorus ; and I went aft, if
possible, to prevent further excess; but I found
that the grog had mounted into the Domine's
head, and all my hints were disregarded. Tom
was despatched for the other bottle, and the
Domine’s pannikin was replenished, old Tom
roaring out—
“‘Come, sling the flowing bowl:
Fond hopes arise,
‘The girls we prize,
Shall bless each jovial soul ;
The can, boys, bring,
We'll dance and sing,
While foaming billows roll.

‘* Now for the chorus agaia.
‘Come, sling the flowing bowl, &c.
“Jacob, why-don't you join?” ‘The chorus
was given by the whole of us. Domines voice
even louder, though not quite so musical as old

‘Tom's.
« Byoé/” cried the Domine ;
Zemius.

“ eyo /\can-

“¢ Amo, anzas—i loved a lass,
or she was tall and slender,
Amas, amat—she laid me flat,
Though of the feminine gender.

“Truly do I forget the songs of my youth, and
of my hilarious days, yet doth the potent spirit
work upon me like the god in the Cumean sybil ;
and I soon shall prophesy that which shall come
to pass.”

«‘So can I,” sail Tom, giving me a nudge,
and laughing.

‘‘ Do thine office of Ganymede, and fill up my
pannikin : put not in too much of the element.
Once more exalt thy voice, good Dux.”

«« Always ready, master,” cried Tom, who
sang out again in praise of his favourite liquor.

““ Smiling grog is the sailor's best hope, his sheet
anchor,
His compass, his cable, his log,
That gives him a heart, which life’s cares cannot
canker,
Though dangers around him
Unite to confound him,
He braves them, and tips off his grog.
*Tis grog, only grog
Is his rudder, his compass, his cable, his log,
‘The sailor’s sheet anchor is grog.”

‘Verily, thou art an Apollo—or rather, re
ferring to thy want of legs, half an Apollo—that
is, a demi-god. (Cluck, cluck.) Sweet is thy
lyre, friend Dux.”

‘Fair words, master; I’m no liar,’”’ cried
Tom. ‘‘Clap a stopper on your tongue; or
you'll get into disgrace.”

‘‘ Ubi lapsus quid fect,’ exclaimed the Do-
mine ; ‘‘I spoke of thy musical tongue ; and
furthermore, I spoke alle—gori—cal—ly.”’

‘‘T knowa man lies with his tongue, as well
as you do, old chap ; but as for telling a ZedZ of
a (something) Ze, as you states, I say, I never
did,” rejoined old Tom, who was getting cross
in his cups.

I now interfered, as there was every appear-
ance of a fray; and in spite of young Tom,
who wished, as he termed it, to kick up a
shindy, prevailed upon them to make friends,
which they did, shaking hands for nearly five
minutes. When this was ended, I again en-
treated the Domine not to drink any more, but
to go to bed.

“ Amice Facobe,” replied the Domine; ‘the
liquor hath mounted into thy brain, and thou
wouldst rebuke thy master and preceptor. Be-
take thee to thy couch, and sleep off the effects
of thy drink. Verily, Jacob, thou art plexus
Veteris Baccht,; or, in plain English, thou art
drunk. Canst thou conjugate, Jacob? I fear
not. Canst thou decline, Jacob? I fear not.
Canst thou scan, Jacob? Ifearnot. Nay, Jacob,
methinks, that thou art unsteady in thy gait, and
not over clear in thy vision. Canst thou hear,
Jacob? ifso, I will give theean oration against in-
ebriety, with which thou mayst downon thy pil-

low. Wilt thou have it in Latin or in Greek ?”
‘“OQ d—n your Greek and Latin,” cried old
Tom: “‘keep that for to-morrow. Sing us a

song, my old hearty ; or shall I sing you one?
Here goes.
“For while the grog goes round,
All sense of danger’s drown’d,
We despise it to a man;
We sing a little—”
‘Sing a little,” bawled the Domine.
“ And laugh a little—”
‘‘ Laugh a little,” chorused young Tom.
“And work a little—”’
‘“Work a little,” cried the Domine.
“And swear a little—”
‘Swear aot a little,’ echoed Tom,
** And fiddle a little—’
‘‘ Fiddle a little,” hiccuped the Domine.
“« And foot it a little—”
‘Foot it a little,” repeated Tom,¥ACOB

*« And swig the flowing can,
And fiddle a little,
And foot it a little,
And swig the flowing can—”

roared old Tom, emptying his pannikin,
“And swig the flowing can—”
followed the Domine, tossing off his.
““ And swig the flowing can,”

cried young Tom, turning up his pannikin
empty.

‘‘ Hurrah ! that’s what I calls glorious. Let's
have it over again, and then we'll have another
dose. Come, now, all together.” Again was
the song repeated; and when they came to
‘foot it a little,” old Tom jumped on his
stumps, seizing hold of the Domine, who im-
mediately rose, and the three danced round and
round for a minute or two, singing the song and
chorus, till old Tom, who was very far gone,
tripped against the coamings of the hatchway,
pitching his head into the Domine’s stomach,
who fell backwards, clinging to young Tom's
hand ; so that they all rolled on the deck to-
gether—my worthy preceptor underneath the
other two.

‘Foot it sather too much that time, father,”
said young Tom, getting up the first, and laugh-
ing. ‘‘Come, Jacob, let's put father on his
pins again ; he can’t right without a purchase.
With some difficulty we succeeded. As soon as
he was on his legs again, old Tom put a hand
upon each of our shoulders, and commenced
with a drunken leer—

“What though his timbers they are gone,
And he’s a slave to tipple,
No better sailor ere was born,
Than Tom, the jovial cripple.

‘‘Thanky, my boys, thanky ; now rouse up the
old gentleman. I suspect we knocked the
wind out of him. Holla, there, are you hard
and fast?”

_ ‘*The bricks are hard, and verily my senses
are fast departing,’’ quoth the Domine, rousing
himself, and sitting up, staring around him.

‘‘Senses going, do you say, master?” cried
old Tom. ‘‘ Don't throw them overboard till
we have made a finish. One more pannikin a-
piece, one more song, and then to bed. Tom,
where’s the bottle ?””’

‘Drink no more, sir, I beg ; you'll be ill to-
morrow,’ said I to the Domine.

‘““ Deprome quadrimum,” hiccupped — the
Domine. ‘‘ Carpe diem—quam minimum—
credula postero—Sing, friend Dux—Quem virum
—sumes celebrare—musis amicus—Where's my
pattypan ?—We are not Thracians—/Vatis zx
usum—letitie scyphis pugnare—(hiccup)—
Thracum est—therefore we—will not fight—but
we will drink—vecepte dulce miht furere est
amico.—Jacob, thou art dryunk—sing, friend
Dux,—or shall I sing -—

  
  
  
  
 
    
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
    
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
     

FAITHFUL. 45

“ Propria que maribus had a little dog,
Que genus was his name—

‘“My memory faileth me—what was the tune?”

‘“That tune was the one the old cow died of,
I'm sure,” replied Tom. ‘‘Come' old Nosey,
strike up again.”

‘“Nosey, from zasus—truly it is a fair epi-
thet; and it remindeth me that my nose—
suffered in the fall which I received just now.
Yet I cannot sing—having no words——”

‘“Nor tune either, master,” replied old Tom;
‘‘so here goes for you—

““Young Susan had lovers so many, that she
ardly knew upon which to decide;
They all spoke sincerely, and promised to be
All worthy of such a sweet bride.

In the morning she’d gossip with William, and then
‘The noon would be spent with young Harry,
The evening with Tom; so, amongst all the men,
She never could tell which to marry.

eigho! I am afraid
Too many lovers will puzzle a maid.”

‘It pleaseth me—it ringeth in mine ears—
yea, most pleasantly. Proceed—the girl was
as the Pyrrha of Horace—

““Quis multa gracilis—te puer in rosa—
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus,
Grato, Pyrrha—sub antro?”’

“That's. all high Dutch to me, master ; but
I'll go on if I can. My memory-box be a little
out of order. Let me see—oh!

“Now William grew jealous, and so went away ;
Harry got tired of wooing ;
And Tom, having teased her to fix on the day,
Received but a frown for so doing ;
So, ’mongst all her lovers, quite left in the lurch,
She pined every night on her pillow ;
And meeting one day a pair going to church,
Turn’d away, and died under a willow.
Heigho ! I am afraid
Too many lovers will puzzle a maid.

‘‘ Now, then, old gentleman, tip off your grog.
You've got your allowance, as I promised you.”

‘“Come, master, you're a cup too low,” said
Tom, who, although in high spirits, was not at
all intoxicated ; indeed, as I afterwards found,
he could carry more than his father. “ Come,
shall I give you a song ?”

‘(Thats moht, Toms, 2 volunteer's worth
two pressed men. Open your mouth wide, an’
let your whistle fly away with the gale. You
whistles in tune, at all events.”’

Tom then struck up, the Domine see-sawing
as he sat, and getting very sleepy—

“© Luck in life, or good or bad,
Ne’er could make me melancholy ;
Seldom rich, yet never sad,
Sometimes poor, yet always jolly.
Fortune’s in my scale, that’s poz,
Of mischance put more than half in,
Yet I don’t know how it was, :
I could never cry for laughing— re
Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha! \
I could never cry for laughing,46 FACOB

** Now for chorus, father.

“Ha! hatha! Ha! ha! ha!
I could never cry for laughing.

“That's all T know ; and that’s enough, for it
won't wake up the old gentleman.”

But it did. ‘“Ha, ha, haha may hat = I
could never die for laughing,” bawled out the
Domine, feeling for his pannikin ; but this was
his last effort. He stared round him. “Verily,
verily, we are in a whirlpool—how everything
-turneth round and round! Who cares? Am
not I an ancient, mariner—‘Quz vidit mare
turgidum—et infames scopulos.’ Friend Dux,
disten to me—/avete linguzs.”’

“Well,” hiccupped old Tom, ‘‘so I will—
but speak—plain English--as I—do.”

“ That I'll be hanged if he does,” said Tom
tome. ‘‘In half an hour more, I shall under-
‘stand old Nosey’s Latin just as well as his—
‘plain English, as he calls it.”

‘“‘T will discourse in any language—that is—
in any tongue—be it in the Greek or the Latin
—nay, even—{hiccups)—friend Dux—hast thou
not partaken too freely—of—dear me! Quod
me, Bacche, rapis tui—plenum—truly I shall be
tipsy—and will but finish my pattypan—dz/ce
periculum est—Jacob—can there be two Jacobs
—and two old Toms—nay—meradcle dictu—
there are two young Toms, and two dog Tom-
mies—each with—two tails. Bacche, parce—
precor—precor—Jacob, where art thou?—Zgo
sum—tu es—thou art—sumus, we are—where
aml? Procumbit humz bos—for Bos—read
Dobbs—amo, amas—I loved a lass. Tityre, tu
patule sub teg—mine—nay—I quote wrong—
then must I be—I do believe that—I’m drunk.”

“And I’m cock sure of it,” eried Tom,
laughing, as the Domine fell back in a state of
insensibility.

“And I'm cock sure,” said old Tom, rolling
himself along the deck to the cabin hatch—
“that I’ve as much—as I can stagger—under,
at all events—so I'll sing myself to sleep—
‘cause why—I'm_ happy. Jacob—mind you
keep all the watches to-night—and Tom may
keep the rest.” Old Tom then sat up, leaning
his back against the cabin hatch, and com-
menced one of those doleful ditties which are
sometimes heard on the forecastle of a man-of-
war ; he had one or two of these songs that he
always reserved for such occasions. While

 

 

   
  
   
  
  
   
     
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   

PALITHEUL.

Tom and I dragged the Domine to bed, old
Tom slowly drawled out his ditty—

““O! we sailed to Virgi-ni-a and thence to Fy-al,

Where we water’d our shipping, and so then

weigh-ed all,

Full in view, on the seas—boys—seven sail we did

—eS-pY,

O ! we man-ned our capstern, and weighed spee-di-ly.
‘-That’s right, my boys, haul’ and hold——
stow the old Dictionary away—for he can’t
command the parts of speech.

“« The very next morning—the engagement proved—

et,
And brave Admiral Benbow receiv-ed a chain—

shot,

O when he was wounded, to his merry men—he—
did—say,

Take me up in your arms, boys, and car-ry, me
a-way.

‘Now, boys, come and help me—Tom—none
of your foolery—for your poor oid father is—
drunk iu
We assisted old Tom into the other “ bed-
place’ in the cabin. ‘“Thanky, lads—one
little bit more, and then I’m done—as the auc-
tioneer says—going, going——
**O the guns they did rattle, and the bul-lets—did—

 

Y>
When brave Benbow—for help loud—did cry,
Carry me down to the cock-pit—there is ease for
my smarts,
If my merry men should see me—’twill sure—break
—their—hearts.

‘“‘Going—old swan-hopper—as I. am—going—
gone.”

Tom and I were left on the-deck.

‘“Now, Jacob, if you've a mind to turn in.
I’m not sleepy—you shall keep the morning
watch.”

‘‘No, Tom, you'd better sleep first. I'll call
you at four o'clock. We can't weigh till tide
serves ; and I shall have plenty of sleep before
that.”

‘Tom went to bed, and I walked the deck till
the morning, thinking over the events of the
day, and wondering what the Domine would
say when he came to his senses. At four
o'clock, as agreed, I roused Tom out and
turned into his. bed, and was soon as fast asleep
as old Tom and the Domine, whose responsive
snores had rung in my ears during the whole
time that I had walked the deck.

 

CHAPTER: XIV:

Cold Water and Repentance—The two Toms almost moral,

hapter, being full of grave Saws,
not advise it to be skipped.

ABOUT half-past eight the next morning, I was
called up by Tom to assist in getting the lighter
_ under weigh. When I came on deck I found

and myself full of wise Reflections—The

is luckily very short; and though a very sensible one, I would

old Tom as fresh as if he had not drunk a drop
the night before, very busily stumping about
the windlass, with which we hove up first theFACOB

anchor, and then the mast. ‘‘ Well, Jacob, my
boy, had sleep enough? Not too much, I dare
say ; but a bout like last night don’t come often,
Jacob—only once in a way ; now and then I
do believe it’s good for my health. It’sa great
comfort to me, my lad, to have you on board
with me, becausé, as you never drinks, I may
now indulge a /颢/eoftener. As for Tom, can't
trust him—too much like his father—had no-
body to trust to for the look-out, except the dog
Tommy, till you came with us. I can trust
Tommy as far as keeping off the river sharks ;
he'll never let them take a rope-yarn off the
deck, night or day ; but adog’s but a dog after
all. Now we're brought to; so clap on, my
boy, and let's heave up with a will.”

‘“Fow’'s the old gentleman, father?” said
Tom, as we paused a moment from our labour
at the windlass.

‘Oh! he’s gota good deal more to sleep off yet.
There he lies, flat on his back, blowing as hard
asa grampus. Better leave him as long as we
can. We'll rouse him as soon as we turn the
Greenwich reach. Tom, didn’t you think his
nose loomed devilish large vesterday ?”

“Never seed such a devil of a cutwater in
my life, father.”

‘‘Well, then, you'll see a larger when he gets
up, for it’s swelled bigger than the brandy
bottle. Heave and haul! Now bring to the
fall, and up with the mast, boys, while I-goes
aft and takes the helm.”

Old Tom went aft. During the night the
wind had veered to the north, and the frost had
set in sharp, the rime covered the deck of the
barge, and here and there floating ice was to be
seen coming down with the tide. The banks of
the river and fields adjacent were white with
hoar frost, and would have presented but a
cheerless aspect, had not the sun shone out
clear and bright. Tom went aft to light the
fire, while I coiled away and made all snug for-
ward. Old Tom, as usual, carolled forth—

“‘ Oh! for a soft and gentle wind,

I heard a fair one cry ;

But give to me the roaring breeze,
And white waves beating high,

And white waves beating high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free ;

The world of waters is our own,
And merry men are we.

‘<A nice morning this for cooling a hot head,
that's sartain. Tommy, you rascal, youre like
a court lady/with her velvet gowzd, covered all
over with diamonds,” continued old Tom,
looking at the Newfoundland dog, whose glossy
black hair was besprinkled with little icicles,
which glittered in the sun. ‘‘ You and Jacob
were the only sensible ones of the party last
night, for you both were sober.”

“‘So was I, father. I was as sober as a judge,’ ’

observed Tom, who was blowing up the fire.
‘“May be, Tom, as a judge a'ter dinner ; but
a judge on the bench be one thing, and ajudge

FAITHFUL. 47

over a bottle be another, and not bad judges in
that way either. At all events, if you warn't
sewed up, it wasn't your fault.”

“And I suppose,” replied Tom, ‘‘it was only
your misfortune that you were.”

“No, I don’t say that ; but still, when look
at the dog, who’s but a beast by nature, and
thinks of myself, who wasn't meant to be a
beast, why then I blushes, that’s all.”

‘Jacob, look at father—now, does he blush ?”
cried ‘Vom.

‘“‘T can’t say that I perceive it,” replied I,
smiling.

“‘Well, then, if I don't, it’s the fault of my
having no legs. I’m sure when they were
knocked off, I lost half the blood in my body,
and that's the reason, I suppose. At all events,
I meant to blush, so we'll take the will for the
deed.”

‘‘But do you mean to keep sober in future,
father ?”’ said Tom.

‘Never do you mind that—mind your own
business, Mr. Tom. At all events, I sha’nt
get tipsy till next time, and that’s all I can say
With safety, ‘cause, d’ye see, I knows my fail-
ing. Jacob, did you ever see that old gentle-
man Sail too close to the wind before?”

“Tt never did—I do not think that he was
ever tipsy before last night.”

‘‘Then I pities him—his headache, and his
repentance. Moreover, there be his nose and
the swallow tail of his coat to make him un-
happy. We shall be down abreast of the
Hospital in half an hour. Suppose you go and
give him a shake, Jacob. Not you, Tom; I
won't trust you—you'll be doing him a mis-
chief; you hav'n't got no fellow-feeling, not
even for dumb brutes.”

‘“‘T’ll thank you not to take away my cha-
racter that way, father," replied Tom. ‘‘ Didn't
I put you to bed last night when you were
speechless ?”

‘Suppose you did—what then ?”’

“Why, then, I had a feeling for a dumb
brute. I only say that, father, for the joke of
it, you know,” continued Tom, going up to his
father and patting his rough cheek.

“JT know that, my boy; you never were
unkind, that’s sartain ; but you must have your
joke—

‘¢ Merry thoughts are link’d with laughter,
Why should we bury them ;
Sighs and tears may come hereafter,
No need to hurry them.
They who through a spying-glass,
View the minutes as they pass,
Make the sun a gloomy mass,
But the fault’s their own, Tom.”

In the mean time I was vainly attempting to

rouse the Domine. After many fruitless at-
tempts, I put a large quantity of snuff on his
upper lip, and then blew it up his nose. -But,
merciful powers ! what a nose it had become,
larger than the largest pear that I ever saw in48

my life. The whole weight of old Tom had
fallen on it, and instead of being crushed by
the blow, it appeared as if, on the contrary, it
had swelled up, indignant at the injury and
affront which it had received. The skin was as
tight as the parchment of a drum, and shining
as if it had been oiled, while the colour was a
bright purple. Verily, it was the Domine’s
nose in a rage.

‘The snuff had the effect of partially awaken-
ing him from his lethargy. ‘‘Six o’clock—did
you say, Mrs. Bately? Are the boys washed—
and in the school-room ? I will rise speedily—
yet I am overcome with much heaviness.
Delapsus somnus ab——' and the Domine
Snored again. I renewed my attempts, and
‘gradually succeeded. The Domine opened his
eyes, stared at the deck and carlines above him,
then at the cupboard by his side; lastly, he
looked at and recognized me. ‘‘ Fheu, Facobe!
—where am 1? And what is that which presses
upon my brain? What is it so loadeth my
cerebellum, even as if it were lead? My
memory—where is it? Let me recall my scat-
tered senses.’ Here the Domine was silent for
some time. ‘‘Ah me! yea, and verily, I do
recollect—with pain of head and more pain of
heart—that which I would fain forget, which is,
that I did forget myself ; and indeed have for-
gotten all that passed the latter portion of the
night. Friend Dux hath proved no friend, but
hath led me into the wrong path ; and as for
the potation called Grog—Eheu, Facobe ! how
have I fallen—fallen in my own opinion—fallen
in thine—how can I look thee in the face! O
Jacob ! what must thou think of him who hath

hitherto been thy preceptor and thy guide!”
Here the Domine fell back on the pillow, and
turned away his head.

“It was not your fault, sir,” replied I, to
comfort him; ‘‘you were not aware of what
you were drinking—you did not know that the
liquor was so strong. Old Tom deceived you.”

‘“Nay, Jacob, I cannot lay that flattering
unction to my wounded heart. I ought to
have known, nay, now I recall to mind, that
thou wouldst have warned me—even to the
pulling off of the tail of my coat—yet I heeded
thee not, and I am humbled—even I, the
master over seventy boys!”

‘Nay, sir, it was not I who pulled off the
tail of your coat, it was the dog.”

‘Jacob, I have heard of the wonderful saga-
city of the canine species, yet could not I ever
have believed that a dumb brute would have
perceived my folly, and warned me from in-
toxication. Mirabile dictu! Tell me, Jacob,
thou who hast profited by these lessons which
thy master could give—although he could not
follow up his precept by example—tell me,
what did take place? Let me know the full
extent of my backsliding.”’

“You fell fast asleep, sir, and we put you to
ed.”

FACOB FAITHFUL.

  

‘Who did me that office, Jacob?”

‘Young Tom and I, sir ; as for old Tom, he
was not in a state to help anybody.”

‘‘T.am humbled, Jacob.”

‘“ Nonsense, old gentleman ; why make a
fuss about nothing?” said old Tom, who, over-
hearing our conversation, came into the cabin.
“You had a drop too much, that’s all; and
what o' that? It’s a poor heart that never
rejoiceth. Rouse a bit, wash your face with
cold ‘Thames-water, and in half an hour you'll
be as fresh as a daisy.”

‘My head acheth !"” exclaimed the Domine,
‘‘even as if there were a ball of lead rolling
from one temple to the other ; but my punish-
ment is just.”

‘That is the punishment of making too free
with the bottle, for sartain; but if it is an
offence, then it carries its own punishment,
and that’s quite sufficient. Every man knows
that when the heart’s over light at night, that
the head's over heavy in the morning. I have
known and proved it a thousand times. Well,
what then? I puts the good against the bad,
and I takes my punishment like a man.”

‘Friend Dux, for so I will still call thee, thou
lookest not at the offence in a moral point of
vision.”

‘“What’s moral?” replied old Tom.

“I would point out that intoxication is
sinful.”

“Intoxication sinful! I suppose that means
that it’s a sin to get drunk. Now, master, it’s
my Opinion that as God Almighty has given us
good liquor, it was for no other purpose than
to drink it ; and therefore it would be ungrate-
ful to him, and a sin, not to get drunk, that is,
with discretion.”

‘““How canst thou reconcile getting drunk,
with discretion, good Dux?”

‘‘T mean, master, when there’s work to be
done, the work should be done; but when
there’s plenty of time, and everything is safe,
and all ready for a start the next morning, I
can see no possible objection to a jollification.
Come, master, rouse out ; the lighter’s abreast
of the Hospital almost by this time, and we
must put you on shore,”’

The Domine, whose clothes were all on,
turned out of his bed-place, and went with us
on deck. Young Tom, who was at the helm,
as soon as we made our appearance, wished
him a good morning very respectfully. Indeed,
I always observed that Tom, with all his impu-
dence and waggery, had a great deal of con-
sideration and kindness. He had overheard
the Domine’s conversation with me, and would
not further wound his feelings with a jest. Old
Tom resumed his place at the helm, while his
son prepared the breakfast, and I drew a bucket
of water for the Domine to wash his face and
hands. Of his nose not a word was said ; and
the Domine made no remarks to me on the
subject, although I am persuaded it must havebeen very painful, from the comfort he appeared
to derive in bathing it with the freezing water.
A bowl of tea was a great solace to him, and
he had hardly finished it when the lighter was
abreast of the Hospital stairs. Tom jumped
into the boat and hauled it alongside. I took
the other oar, and the Domine, shaking hands
with old Tom, said, ‘‘ Thou didst mean kindly,
and therefore I wish thee a kind farewell, good
Dux.”

‘“God be with you, master,” replied old
Tom; ‘‘shall we call for you as we come
back?”

‘Nay, nay,” replied the Domine, ‘‘ the tra-
velling by land is more expensive, but less
dangerous. I thank thee for thy songs, and
for all thy kindness, good Dux. Are my para-
phernalia in the boat, Jacob?”

I replied in the affirmative. The Domine
stepped in, and we pulled him on shore. He
landed, took his bundle and umbrella under his
arm, shook hands with Tom and then with me,
without speaking, and I perceived the tears start
in his eyes as he turned and walked away.

“Well, now,” said Tom, looking after the
Domine, ‘‘I wish I had been drunk instead of
he. He does so take it to heart, poor old
gentleman !”

‘« He has lost his self-esteem, Tom,” replied I.
‘Tt should be a warning to-you. Come, get
your oar to pass.”

‘Well, some people be fashioned one way
and some another. I've been tipsy more than
once, and [never lost anything but my reason,
and that came back as soon as the grog left my
head. I can’t understand that fretting about
having had a glass too much. I only frets
when I can’t get enough. Well, of all the noses
I ever saw, his beats them by chalks ; I did so
want to laugh at it, but I knew it would pain
him.”

«Tt was very kind of you, Tom, to hold your
tongue, and I thank you very much.”

 

   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 

YACOB FAITHFUL, 49

‘‘And yet that old dad of mine swears I’ve
got no fellow-feeling, which I consider a very
undutiful thing for him to say. What's the
reason, Jacob, that sons be always cleverer than
their fathers ?”’

‘‘T didn't know that was the case, Tom.”

‘But it is so zow, if it wasn't in olden treme.
The proverb says, ‘Young people zhinzk old
people to be fools, but old people £xew young
people to be fools." We must alter that, for I
says, ‘Old people ¢kzzk young people to be
fools, but young people £70w old people to be
fools.

‘‘Have it your own way, Tom; that wll
do,—rowed of all.”

We tossed in our oars, made the boat fast,
and gained the deck, where old Tom still re-
mained at the helm. ‘‘ Well,” said he, ‘‘ Jacob,
I never thought I should be glad to see the old
gentleman clear of the lighter, but I was—
devilish glad ; he was like a load on my con-
science this morning ; he was trusted to my
charge by Mr. Drummond, and I had no right
to persuade him to make a fool of himself.
But, however, what’s done can’t be helped, as
you say sometimes; and it’s no use crying ;
still it was a pity, for he be, for all the world,
like a child. There’s a fancy kind of lass in
that wherry, crossing our bows; look at the
streamers from her top-gallant.

‘Come o’er the sea,
Maiden, to me,
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows ;
Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Burns the same wherever it goes.
Then come o’er the sea,

>”

‘ Maiden, with me.
‘See you hanged first, you underpinned old
hulk,” replied the female in the boat, which was
then close under our bows.
‘Well, that be civil, for sartain,” said old
Tom, laughing.

 

CHAPTER: XV,

I am unshipped for a short Time, in order to record Shipments and engross Invoices—Form a new
Acquaintance, what is called in the World «« 4 Warm Man,” though he passed the best Part of his Life
among Icebergs, and one whole Night within the Ribs of Death—His Wife works hard at Gentility.

WE arrived at Sheerness the next morning,
landed the bricks, which were for the govern-
ment buildings, and returned in ballast to the
wharf. My first inquiry was for the Domine;
but he had not yet returned ; and Mr. Drum-
mond further informed me, that he had been
obliged to send away his under-clerk, and wished
me to supply his place until he could procure
another. The lighter therefore took in her
cargo, and sailed without me, which was of no
consequence, as my apprenticeship still went on.
I now lived with Mr. Drummond as one of his
own family, and wanted for nothing. His con-

tinual kindness to me made mestrive all I could
to please him by diligence and attention, and I
soon became very expert at accounts, and as he
said, very useful. The advantages to me, I
hardly need observe, were considerable, and ”
gained information every day. Still, although
I was glad to be of any use to Mr. Drummond,
the confinement to the desk was irksome, and I
anxiously looked for the arrival of the new clerk
to take my place, and leave me free to join the
lighter. Mr. Drummond did not appear to me
to be in any hurry ; indeed, I believe that he
would have retained me altogether, had he not50 YACOB FAITHFUL.

perceived that I still wished to be on the
river.

‘* At all events, Jacob, I shall keep you here
until you are master of your work ; it will be
useful to you hereafter,’ he said to me one day ;
‘and you do not gain much by sailing up and
down the river.”’

This was true; and I also derived much
advantage from the evenings spent with Mrs.
Drummond, who was a very sensible, good
woman, and would make me read aloud to her
and little Sarah as they sat at their needle. I
had no idea, until I was employed posting up
the books, that Mr. Drummond’s concern was
so extensive, or that there was so much capital
employed in the business. The Domine re-
turned a few days after my arrival. When we
met, his nose had resumed its former appear-
ance, and he never brought up the subject of
the evening on board of the lighter. I saw him
frequently, mostly on Sundays, after I had been
to church with the family ; and half an hour, at
least, was certain to be dedicated to our reading
together one of the classics.

As Iwas on shore-several months, I became
acquainted with many families, one or two of
which were worth noticing. Among the fore-
most was Captain Turnbull,—at least such was
his appellation until within the last two months
previous to my making his acquaintance, when
Mr. Turnbull sent out his cards, George Turn-
bull, Esg. The history of Captain Turnbull
was as follows. He had, with his twin brother,
been hung up at the knocker, and afterwards
had been educated at the Foundling Hospital ;
they had both been apprenticed to the sea;
grown up thorough-bred, capital seamen, in the
Greenland fishery ; rose to be mates, then cap-
tains; had been very successful, owned part,
then the whole, of a ship ; afterwards two or
three ships ; and had wound up with handsome
fortunes. Captain Turnbull was a married man
without a family ; his wife, fine in person, vulgar
in speech, a would-be fashionable lady, against
which fashion Captain T. had for years pleaded
poverty ; but his brother, who had remained a
bachelor, died, leaving him forty thousand
pounds,—a fact which could not be concealed.
Captain ‘Turnbull had not allowed his wife to be
aware of the extent of his own fortune, more
from a wish to live quietly and happily, than
from any motive of parsimony, for he was
liberal to excess ; but now he had no further
excuse to plead, and Mrs. Turnbull insisted
upon /ashzon. The house they had lived in was
given up, anda marine villa on the borders of
the Thames, to a certain degree, met the views
of both parties; Mrs. Turnbull anticipating
dinners and fctes, and the captain content to
watch what was going on in the river, and
amuse himself in a, wherry. They had long
bees-acquaintances of Mr. and Mrs. Drum-
mond ; and-.Captain Turnbull's character was
hah to command the respect of Mr.

1 ror,
PRW DVS

Such j

Drummond, as he was an honest, friendly man.
Mrs. Turnbull had now set up her carriage, and
she was, in her own opinion, a very great per-
sonage. She would have cut all her former
acquaintance ; but on that point the captain was
inflexible, particularly as regarded the Drum-
As far as they were concerned, Mrs.
Turnbull gave way, Mrs. Drummond being a
lady-like woman, and Mr. Drummond. univer-
sally respected as a man of talent and informa-
tion. Captain, or rather Mr., Turnbull, was a
constant visitor at our house, and very partial
tome. He used to seold Mr. Drummond for
keeping me so close to my desk, and would
often persuade him to give me a couple of
hours’ run. When this was obtained, he would
calla waterman, throw him a crown) and tell
him to get out of his wherry as fast as he could.
We then embarked, and amused ourselves
pulling up and down the river, while Mrs.
Turnbull, dressed in the extremity of the fashion,
rode out in the carriage and left her cards in
every direction.

One day Mr. Turnbull called upon the Drum-
monds, and asked them to dine with him on the
following Saturday : they accepted the invita-
tion. ‘‘ By the bye,” said he, ‘‘I’ve got what
my wife calls a remind in my pocket ;”? and he
pulled out of his coat-pocket a large card,
‘with Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull's compliments,”
&c. ; which card had been doubled in two by
his sitting down upon it shortly after he came
in. Mr. Turnbull straightened it again as well
as he could, and laid it on the table. ‘‘And
Jacob,” said he, ‘‘you’ll come too. You don't
want a remind ; but if you do, my wife will send
you one.”’

I replied, ‘‘that I wanted no remind for a
good dinner.”

“No, I dare say not, my boy ; but ‘recollect
that you come an hour or two before the dinner-
hour, to help me; there's so much fuss with
one thing or another, that I’m left in the lurch ;
and as for trusting the keys of the spirit-room
to that long-togged rascal of a butler, I’ll see
him harpoon’d first ; so do you come and help
me, Jacob.”’

This having been promised, he asked Mr.
Drummond to lead me for an hour or so, as he
wished to take a tow up the river. ‘This was
also consented to; we embarked and pulled
away for Kew Bridge. Mr. Turnbull. was as
good a hand at a yarn as old Tom, and many
were the adventures he narrated to me of what
had taken place during the vicissitudes of his
life, more especially when he was employed in
the Greenland fishery. He related an accident
that morning, which particularly bore upon the
marvellous, although I do not believe that she
was at all guilty of indulging in a traveller’s
license.

‘‘ Jacob,” said he, ‘‘I recollect once when I
was very near eaten alive by foxes, and that in
a very singular manner. I was then mate ofa¥ACOB

Greenland ship. We had been on the fishing-
grdund for three months, and had twelve fish on
board. Finding we were doing well, we fixed
our icé-anchors upon.a very large iceberg, drift-
ing up and down with it, and taking fish as we
fell in with them. One morning we had just
cast loose the carcase of a fish which we had
cut up, when the man in the crow’s nest, on the
look-out for another ‘fall,’ cried out that a large
polar bear and her cub were swimming over to
the iceberg, against the side of which, and about
half a mile from us,-the carcase of a whale was
beating. As we had nothing to do, seven of us
immediately started in chase : we had intended
to have gone after the foxes, which had gathered
there also in hundreds, to prey upon the dead
whale. It was then quite calm ; we soon came
up with the bear, who at first was for making
off; but as the cub could not get on over the
rough ice as well as the. old one, she at last
tirned round to bay. We shot the cub to make
sure of her, and it did make sure of the dam
not leaving us till either she or we perished in
the conflict. I never shall forget her moaning
over the cub, as it lay bleeding on the ice, while
we fired bullet after bullet into her. At last she
turned round, gavea roar and a gnashing snarl,
which you might have heard a mile, and, with
her eyes flashing fire, darted upon us. We
received her in a body, all close together, with
our lances to her breast ; but she was so large
and so strong, that she beat us all back, and
two of us fell ; fortunately the others held their
ground, and as she was then on end, three
bullets were put into her chest, which brought
her down. I never saw so large.a beast in my
life. I don’t wish to make her out larger than
she really was, but I have seen many a bullock
at Smithfield which would not weigh two-thirds
of her. Well, after that, we had-some trouble
in despatching her ; and while we were so em-
ployed, the wind blew up in gusts from the
northward, and the snow fell heavy. ‘The men
were for returning to the ship _immec lately,
which certainly was the wisest thing for us all
to do; but I thought that the snow-storm would
blow over in-a short time, and not wishing to
lose so fine a skin, resolved to remain and flay
the beast ; for I knew, that if left there a few
hours, as the foxes could not get hold of the
carcase of the whale, which had’ not grounded,
they would soon finish the bear and cub, and
the skins be worth nothing. Well, the other
men went back to the ship, and as it was, the
snow-storm came on so thick, that they lost
their way, and would never have found her, if
it was not that the bell was kept tolling for a
guide to them. I soon found that I had done a
very foolish thing ; instead of the storm blowing
over, the snow came down thicker and thicker ;
and before I had taken a quarter of the skin off,
I was becoming cold and numbed, and then I
was unable to regain the ship, and with every
prospect of being frozen to death before the
storm was over. At last, I knew what was my

FAITHAPUE. 5r

only chance. I had flayed all the belly of the
bear, but had not cut her open: I ripped her
up, tore out all her inside, and then contrived to
get into her body; where I lay, and, having
closed up the entrance-hole, was warm and
comfortable, for the animal heat had not yet
been extinguished. This manceuvre, no doubt,
saved my life: and I have heard that the French
soldiers did the same in their unfortunate
Russian campaign, killing their horses, and
getting inside to protect themselves from the
dreadful weather. Well, Jacob, [had not lain
more than half an hour, when I knew, by sun-
dry jerks and tugs at my new invented “hurri-
cane-house, that the foxes were busy—and so
they were, sure enough. There must have been
hundreds of them, for they were at work in all
directions, and some pushed their sharp noses
into the opening where f had crept ins; but I
contrived to get out my knife and saw their
noses across whenever they touched me, other-
wise I should -have been eaten up in a very
short time. There were so many of them, and
they were so ravenous, that they soon got
through the bear’s. thick skin, and were tearing
away at the flesh. Now I was not so much
afraid of their-eating me, as I thought that if I
jumped up and discovered myself, they would
have all fled. No saying, though ; two ‘or three
hundred ravenous devils take courage when
together; but I was afraid that, they would
devour my covering from the weather, and then
I should perish with the cold; and I also was
afraid of having pieces nipped out of me, which
would of course oblige me to quit my retreat.
At last, daylight was made through the upper
part of the carcase, and I was only protected
by the ribs of the animal, between which every
now and then their noses dived and nipped my
seal-skin jacket. I was just thinisng of shout-
ing to frighten them away, when I heard the
report of half a dozen muskets, and some of the
bullets struck the carcase, but fortunately did
not hit me. I immediately hallooed as loud as
I conld, and the men, hearing me, ceased firing.
They had fired at the foxes, little thinking that
I was inside of the bear. I crawled out, the
storm was over, and the men of the ship had
come back to look for me. My brother, who
was also a mate on board of the vessel, who had
not been with the first party, had joined them
in. the search, but with little hopes of finding
me alive. He hugged me in his arms, covered
as I was with blood, as soon as he saw me.
He's dead now, poor fellow |—That's the story,
Jacob.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied I ; but perceiving
that the memory of his brother affected him, I
did not speak again for a few minutes. We
then resumed and. pulling

 

     

Mm

 

our conversation,
back. with the tide, landed at the wharf.

On the day of the dinner-party, I went up to
Mr. Turnbull's at three o'clock, as he had pro-
posed. I found the house in a bustle; Mr.
and Mrs. Turnbull, with the butler and foot-52

man, in the dining-room, debating as to the
propriety of #kzs and ¢hat being placed here or
there, both servants giving their opinion, and
arguing on a footing of equality, contradicting
and insisting, Mr. Turnbull occasionally throw-
ing in a word, and each time snubbed by his
wife, although the servants dare not take any
liberty with him.
leave Aus to settle these matters.
Wine,—that is your department. Leave the
room, Mr. Turnbull, Zif you please. Mortimer
and I know what we are about, without your
Ainterference.”

‘‘Oh! by the Lord, I don’t wish to interfere ;
but I wish you and your servants not to be
squabbling, that’s all. If they give me half the
cheek %

‘“Do, pray, Mr. Turnbull, leave the room,
and allow me to regulate my own ’ousehold.”

“Come, Jacob, we'll go down into the
cellar,” said Mr. Turnbull; and accordingly
we went.

I assisted Mr. Turnbull in his department
as much as I could, but he grumbled very
much. ‘‘I can’t bear all this nonsense, all this
finery and foolery. Everything comes up cold,
everything is out of reach. The table’s so long,
and so covered with uneatables, that my wife is
hardly within hail; and, by jingo, with her the
servants are masters. Not with me, at all
events ; for if they spoke to me as they do to
Mrs. Turnbull, I would kick them out of the
house. However, Jacob, there’s no help.for it.

Get Aup your

 

¥ACOB FAITHFUL,

“Do, pray, Mr. Turnbull, ,

   
  
  
   
 
   
    
    
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
   

 

All one asks for is quiet ; and I must put up
with all this sometimes, or I should have no
quiet from one year’s end to another. Whena
woman will have her way, there’s no stopping
her: you know the old verse—

“A man’s a fool, who strives by force or skill
To stem the torrent of a woman’s will ;
For if she will, she will, you may depend on’t
And if she won’t, she won’t—and there’s an end on’t.’

‘Now let’s go up into my room, and we will
chat while I wash my hands.”

As soon as Mr. Turnbull was dressed, we
went down into the drawing-room, which was
crowded with tables, loaded with every variety
of ornamental articles. ‘‘ Now this is what my
wife calls fashionable. One might as well be
steering through an ice-floe as try to come to
an anchor here without running foul of some-
thing. It’s hard a port or hard a starboard
every minute ; and if your coat-tail jibes, away
goes something, and whatever it is that smashes,
Mrs. T. always swears it was the most valuable
thing in the room. I'm like a bull in a china-
shop. One comfort is, that I never come in
here except when there’s company. Indeed
I’m not allowed, thank God. Sit ona chair,
Jacob, one of those spider-like, French things,
for my wife won't allow élacks, as she calls
them, to come to an anchor upon her sky-blue
silk sofas. How stupid to have furniture that
one’s not to make use of! Give me comfort : but
it appears that’s not to be bought for money.”

 

CHAPTER. SovVir
High Life adove Stairs, a little below the Mark—Fashion, French, Vertu, and all that.

Srx o'clock was now near at hand, and Mrs.
Turnbull entered the drawing-room in full
dress. She certainly was a very handsome
woman, and had every appearance of being
fashionable : but it was her language which
exposed her. She was like the peacock: as
long as she was silent, you could but admire
the plumage, but her voice spoiled all. ‘‘ Now,
Mr. Turnbull,” said she, ‘‘I wish to Aexplain
to you that there are certain Aimproprieties in
your behaviour which I cannot put up with,
particularly that of talking about when you
were before the mast.”

‘Well, my dear, is that anything to be
ashamed of?”

“Yes, Mr. Turnbull, that is—one halways
sinks them ere particulars in fashionable society.
To wertuperate in company a’n’t pleasant, and
ffi've thought of a plan which may #act as an
Aimpediment to your vulgarity. Recollect, Mr.
T. whenever I say that Hive an ’eadache, it’s
to be a sign for you to ‘old your tongue; and
Mr. T., Aoblige me by wearing kid gloves all the
evening,”

 

‘‘ What, at dinner-time, my dear ?”

‘“Yes, at dinner-time ; your ’ands are not fit
to be touched.”

“Well, I recollect when you thought other-
wise.

““When, Mr. T.? ‘ave I not often told you
SOny

‘“Yes, lately ; but I referred to the time when
one Poll Bacon of Wapping took my hand for
better or for worse.”

“Really, Mr. T., you quite shock me. My
name was Mary, and the Bacons are a good old
fiinglish name. You’ave their Zarms quartered
on the carriage in righto’ me. That’s some-
thing, I can tell you.”

‘Something I had to pay for pretty smartly,
at all events.”

‘“The payment, Mr. T., was on account of
granting Zarms to you who never ‘ad any.”

‘“And never wished for them. What do I
care for such stuff?”

‘““And when you did choose, Mr. Turnbull,
you might have consulted me, instead of making
yourself the laughing-stock of Sir GeorgeNaylor and all the ‘eralds. Who but a mad-
man would have chosen three harpoons saluzms,
and three. barrels couchants, with a spouting
whale for a crest? Just to point out to every-
body what should ever be buried in oblivion ;
and then your beastly motto—which I would
have changed—‘ Bludbber for ever!’ Blubber,
indeed ! Aenough to make any one dZudbder for
ever. |

‘Well, the heralds told me they were just
what I ought to have chosen, and very appo-
site, as they termed it.”

“They took your money and laughed at
you. Two pair of griffins,.a lion, half a dozen
leopards, and a hand with a dagger, wou'dn't
‘ave cost a farthing more. But what can you
hexpect from an ‘og ?”’

‘But if 1 was cured, I should be what you
were—Bacon.”

‘<T won't demean myself, Mr. Turnbull.”

“That's right, my dear, don’t ; there’s no
curing you. Recollect the motto you chose in
preference to mine.”

“‘Well, anda very proper one—‘ Zoo much
fanuliarity breeds contempt ’—is it not, Master
Faithful? ”

‘‘Yes, madam, it was one of our copies at
school.”

‘T beg your pardon, sir, it was my own
Ainvention.”’

Rap tap, rap tap tap, tap tap.

‘“My. and Mrs. Peters, of Petercumb Hall,”’
announced the butler. Enter Mrs. Peters first,
a very diminutive lady, and followed by Mr.
Peters, six feet four inches without his shoes,
deduct for stooping and curved shoulders seven
inches. Mr. Peters had retired from the Stock
Exchange with a competence, bought a place;
named it Petercumb Hall, and set up his
carriage. Another knock, and Mr. and Mrs.
Drummond were announced. Compliments
exchanged, and a pastile lighted by Mrs.
Turnbull.

‘© Well, Drummond,” said Mr. Turnbull,
‘«what are coals worth now?”

“Mr. Turnbull, I've got such an 'eadache.”

This was of course a matter of condolence
from all present, and a stopper upon Mr.
Turnbull's tongue.

Another sounding rap, and a pause. ‘‘ Mon-
sieur and Madame de Tagliabue coming up.”
Enter Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue.
The former a dapper little Frenchman, with a
neat pair of legs, and a stomach as round as a
pea. Madame sailing in like an outward-bound
East-Indiaman, with studding sails below and
aloft; so large in her dimensions, that her
husband might be compared to the pilot-boat
plying about her stern.

‘« Charmée de vous voir, Madame Tom-bulle.
Vous vous-portes bien : n’est-ce pas?”

“Ve,” replied Mrs. Turnbull, who thus ex-
hausted her knowledge of the French language ;
while the Monsieur tried in vain, first on one
side, and then on the other, to get from under

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   

FACOB FAITHFUL, 53

the lee of his wife and make his bow. This
was not accomplished until the lady had taken
possession of a sofa, which she filled most
comfortably.

Who these people were, and how they lived,
I never could find out ; they came in a fly from
Brentford.

Another announcement. ‘‘My Lord Bab-
bleton and Mr. Smith coming up.”

‘Mr. T. pray go down and receive his lord-
ship. (There are two wax candles for you to
light on the hall table, and you must walk up
with them before his lordship),”’ said the lady,
aside.

‘‘T’ll be hanged if I do,” replied Mr. Turn-
bull ; ‘‘let the servants light him.”

"© Mr. ‘T., Eve such an eadache !”'

‘‘So you may have,’ replied Mr. T., sitting
down doggedly.

In the mean time Mr. Smith entered, lead-
ing Lord Babbleton, a boy of twelve or thirteen
years old, shy, awkward, red-haired, and ugly,
to whom Mr. Smith was tutor. Mrs. T. had
found out Mr. Smith was residing near Brent-
ford with his charge, and made his acquaint
ance on purpose to have a lord on her visiting-
list, and, to her delight, the leader had not
forgotten to bring his bear with him. Mrs.
Turnbull sprang to the door to receive them,
making a prepared courtesy to the aristocratical
cub, and then shaking him respectfully by the
hand,—‘‘ Won't your lordship walk to the fire ?
isn't your lordship cold? I hope your lord-
ship’s sty is better in your lordship’s eye.
Allow me to introduce to your lordship’s notice,
Mz. apd Mrs. Peters—Madame and Mounsheer
Tagleebue— Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, the
Right Honourable Lord Viscount Babbleton.”
As for Mr. Turnbull and myself, we were left
out, as unworthy of introduction. ‘‘ We are
ready for dinner, Mr. Turnbull.”

‘«Snobbs, get dinner dressed up,’ said Mr. T.
to the butler.

‘©O Mr. T., I’ve such an eadache.”’

This last headache was produced by Mr. T.
forgetting himself, and calling the butler by
his real name, which was Snobbs; but Mrs.
Turnbull had resolved that it should be changed
to Mortimer—or rather to Ar. Mortimer, as
the household were directed to call him, on
pain of expulsion.

Dinner was announced. Madame Tagliabue,
upon what pretence I knownot, was considered
the first lady in the room, and Lord Babbleton
was requested by Mrs. Turnbull to hand her

down. Madame rose, took his lordship’s hand,
and led him away. Before they were out of
the room, his lordship had disappeared among
the ample folds of Madame’s gown, and was
seen no more until she pulled him out, on their
arrival at the dinner-table. At last we were all
arranged according to Mrs. Turnbull's wishes,
although there were several chops and changes
about, until the order of precedence could be
correctly observed. A French cook had been54

sent for by Mrs. Turnbull; and not being
mistress of the language, she had a card with
the names of the dishes to refresh her memory,
Mr. Mortimer having informed her that such
was always the custom among great people,
who, not ordering their own dinners; of course
they could not tell what there was to eat.

“Mrs. Turnbull, what soup have you there ?”’

‘““ Consummty soup, my lord. Will your lord-
ship make use of that or of this here, which is
ojuss 2”

His lordship stared, made no answer ; looked
foolish ; and Mr. Mortimer placed some soup
before him.

““Lord Babbleton takes’ soup,” said Mr,
Smith, pompously ; and the little right honour-
able supped soup, much to Mrs. ‘Turnbull's
satisfaction.

‘“Madame, do you. soup ? or do you fish ?”

‘“Merci, no soup—#ozssoz.”

‘*Don't be afraid, madame; we've a French
cook; you won't be fozsoned here,” replied
Mrs. Turnbull, rather annoyed.

‘Comment, ma chere madame, I meant to
say dat I prefer de cod.”

“Mr. ‘P.;. some fish for Madame. John, a
clean plate for Lord Babbleton. What will
your lordship condescend to make use of now ?”
(Mrs. Turnbull thought the phrase, make use,
excessively refined and elegant.)

““Ah! madame, votre cuisne est superbe!”
exclaimed’ Monsieur Tagliabue, tucking the
corner of his napkin into his button hole, and
making preparations for well filling his little
rotundity. :

nie, cepned Mrs, Tarnbull “Wire Peters ©
will you try the dish next Mr. Turnbull ?

C €

What «
is it?’ (looking at her card)—"‘ Agne roty. Will
you, my lord? If your lordship has not yet
got into your French—it means roast quarter
of lamb.”’

‘“‘His lordship is very partial to lamb,” said
Mr. Smith, with emphasis.

‘“Mr. Turnbull, some lamb for Lord Bab-
bleton, adie = Mr. Peters.”

‘Directly, my dear.—Well, Jacob, you see,
when I was first mate ——”’

“Dear! Mr. Turnbull— I’ve such an ‘eadache.
Do pray cut the lamb. [Aszde.] Mr. Mortimer,
do go and whisper to Mr. Turnbull that I beg
he will put on his gloves.

“Mrs. Peters, you're doing nothing. Mr.
Mortimer, ‘and round the side-dishes, and let
John serve out the champagne.

‘‘ Mrs. Peters, there’s a wolley went o’ weaters.
Will you make use of some? Mrs. Drummond,
will you try the dish coming round? it is—let
me see—it is chew farsy. My Lord Babbleton,
I ‘ope the lamb’s zo your liking ? Monshere
Tagliabue— William, give Monshere a clean
plate. What will you take next 2”

‘‘Vraiment, madame, tout est excellent,
superbe! Je voudrais embrasser votre cuisi-

 

nier—c’est un artiste comme il n'y a pas?”
“ Ve,” replied Mrs. Turnbull.

 

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
    
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   

YACOB FAITHFUL.

The first course was removed; and the
second, after some delay, made its appearance.
In the interim, Mr. Mortimer handed round
one or two varieties of wine.

‘“Drummond, will you take a glass of wine
wrth me?” said Mr. Purnbull: ‘i hate your
sour French wines: Will you take Madeira?
I was on shore at Madeira once for a few
hours, when I was before the mast, in the——_”

“Mr. Turnbull, I’ve such an ’eadache,” cried
his lady, in an angry tone. ‘My lord, will
you take some of this?—it is—a ding dong o'
turf—a turkey, my lord.”’

‘‘His lordship is fond of turkey,” said Mr.
Smith, dictatorially.

Monsieur Tagliabue, who sat on the other
side of Mrs. T., found that the turkey was in
request—it was some time before he could help
himself.

‘““C’est superbe !”” said monsieur, thrusting
a truffle into his mouth. ‘ Apparemment,
madame n’aime pas la cuisine Anglaise?”

‘“Ve,’’ replied Mrs. Turnbull. ‘‘ Madame,
what will you be assisted to?’ continued
VERS! 1

“Tout de bon, madame.”’

‘Ve, what are those by you, Mr. Peters?”
inquired the lady, in continuation.

“‘T really cannot exactly say ; but they are
fritters of some sort.”’

‘‘Let me see—hoh ! bidet du poms.
dame, will you eat some dzdet du poms ?”

‘““Comment, madame, je ne vous comprends
pas——”

oe
¢ ‘Monsieur Tagliabue, xpliquez donc,” said
the foreign lady, red as a quarter of beef.

‘“ Permettez,”’ said Monsieur, looking at the
card. ‘‘Ah, c'est impossible, ma chére,” con-
tinued he, laughing. ‘‘ Madame Turnbull se
trompait—elle voudrait dire dezenets de pommes.”

“Vous trouvez notre langue fort difficile,
nest-ce pas?” continued Madame, who re-
covered her good-humour, and smiled gra-
ciously at Mrs. T.

“Ve,” replied Mrs. Turnbull, who perceived
that she had made some mistake, and was
anxiously awaiting the issue of the dialogue.
It had, however, the effect of checking Mrs.
T., who said little more during the dinner and
dessert.

At last the ladies rose from the dessert,
and left the gentlemen at the table: but we
were not permitted to remain long, before
coffee was announced, and we went upstairs.
A variety of French liqueurs were handed
about, and praised by most of the company.
Mr. Turnbull, however, ordered a glass of
brandy, as a settler.

“Oh! Mr. Turnbull, I’ve such an
achel?

After that the party became very dull. Lord
Babbleton fell asleep on the sofa. Mr. Peters
walked round the room, admiring the pictures,
and asking the names of the masters.

Ma-

‘ead-‘J really quite forget ; but, Mr. Drummond,
you are a judge of paintings, ] hear. Who do
you think this is painted by?” said the lady,
pointing to a very inferior performance. ‘‘I
am not quite sure; but I think it is Van—Van
Daub.”

‘‘T should think so too,”’ replied Mr. Drum-
mond, drily.; ‘‘we have a great many pictures
in England by the same hand.”

The French gentleman proposed écarté, but
no one knew how to play it except his wife, who
sat down with him to pass away the time. The
ladies sauntered about the room, looking at the
contents of the tables, Mrs. Peters occasionally
talking of Petercumb Hall; Mr. Smith played
at patience in one corner ; while Mr. Turnbull
and. Mr. Drummond sat in another in close

JACOB FAITAFUL.

conversation; and the lady of the house
divided her attentions, running from one to the
other, and requesting them not to talk so loud
as to awake the Right Honourable Lord Vis-
count Babbleton. At last the vehicles were
announced, and the fashionable party broke
up, much to the satisfaction of everybody, and
to none more than myself.

I ought to observe, that all the peculiar
absurdities I have narrated did not strike me so
much at the time; but it was an event to me to
dine out, and the scene was well impressed
upon my memory. After what occurred to me
in my after-life, and when I became better able
to judge of fashionable pretensions, the whole
was vividly brought back to my recollec-
tion.

 

CHAPTER XVI.

The Tomkinses’ Fete Champétre and Féte Dansante—Lights among the Gooseberry-bushes—All went off
well, excepting the Lights ; they went out—A winding up that had nearly proved a Catastrophe—Old

Tom proves that Danger makes Friends, by a Yarn; Young Tom, by a F

I REMAINED with Mr. Drummond about eight
months, when at last the new clerk made his
appearance—a little fat fellow, about twenty,
with a face as round asa full moon, thick tips,
and red cheeks. During this time I frequently
had the pleasure of meeting with old ‘and
young Tom, who appeared very anxious that I
should rejoin them ; and I must say that I was
equally willing to return to the lighter. Still
Mr. Drummond put his veto on it, and Mrs.
Drummond was also constantly pointing out
the very desirable situation I might have on
shore as a clerk in the office ; but I could not
bear it—seated nearly the whole day—perched
upon a high stool—turning over Dr., contra
Cr., and only occasionally interrupted by the
head clerk, with his attempts to make rhymes.
When the new clerk came, I expected my
release, but I was disappointed. Mr. Drum-
mond discovered him to be so awkward, and
the head clerk declared that the time was so
busy, that he could not spare me. This was
true; Mr. Drummond had just come to a final
arrangement, which had been some time pend-
ing, by which he purchased a wharf and large
warehouses, with a house adjoining, in Lower
Thames Street—a very large concern, for
which he had paid a considerable sum of
money. What with the valuations, winding up
of the Brentford concern on the old account,
&c., there was much to do, and I toiled at the
desk until the removal took place; and when
the family were removed, I was still detained,
as there was no warehouseman to superintend
the unloading and hoisting up of goods. Mr.
Tomkins, the head clerk, who had been many
years a faithful servant to Mr. Drummond, was
admitted as a partner, and had charge of the

 

~

act.

Brentford wharf, a species of promotion which
he and his wife resolved to celebrate with a
party. After a long’ debate, it was resolved
that they should give a ball, and Mrs. Tomkins
exerted all her taste and ingenuity on the occa-
sion. My friend Tomkins lived at a short
distance from the premises, in a small house,
surrounded with halfan acre of garden, chiefly
filled with gooseberry-bushes, and perambulated
by means of four straight gravel walks. Mr.
and Mrs. Drummond were invited, and ac-
cepted the invitation, which was considered by
the Tomkinses as a great mark of condescen-
sion. Asaspecimen of Mr. Tomkins’s poetical
talents, I shall give his invitation to Mr. Drum-
mond, written in the very best German text :—

“*Mr. and Mrs. T-—

Sincerely hope to see

Mr. and Mrs. Drum-

Mond, toa very hum-

Ble party that they In-

Tend to ask their kin

To, on the Saturday

Of the week ensuing ;

When fiddles they will play,

And other things be doing.
“* Belle Vue House.”

‘To which jez d' esprit Mr. Drummond answered
with a pencil on a eard—

‘’Mr. and Mrs. Drum-
Mond intend to come.”

‘Here, give Tomkins that, Jacob; it will
please him better than any formal acceptation.”’
Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull were also asked ; the
former accepted, but the latter indignantly re-
fused.FACOB FAITHFUL.

 

56

When I arrived with Mr. and Mrs. Drum- and every one at their ease ; and I do believe
mond, many of the company were there; the they would have stayed much longer, but the
garden was what they called illuminated, that musicians took so much punch, that one fiddler
is, every gooseberry-bush, had one variegated broke his fiddle, the other broke his head in
lamp suspended about the centre ; and, as Mr. going down the steps into the garden, and the
Tomkins told me afterwards, the lamps were fifer swore he could blow no longer ; so, as there
red and yellow, according to the fruit they bore. was an end to the music, clogs, pattens, and
It was a cold, frosty, clear night, and the lamps lanterns were called for, the shawls were brought
twinkled as brightly among the bare boughs of out of the kitchen, and every one went away.
the gooseberry-trees as the stars did in the hea- Nothing could go off better, Mrs. Tomkins had

.vens. The company in general were quite a cold and rheumatism the next day ; but that
charmed with the novelty. ‘Quite a mznor was not Surprising, a mznor Wauxhall not
Wauxhall,” cried one lady, whose exuberance being seasonable in the month of December.
of fat kept her warm enough to allow herto <A week after this party, we removed to
stare about in the open air. The entrance-porch Thames Street, and I performed the duty of
hada dozen little lamps, backed with laurel warehouseman. Our quantity of lighters was
twigs, and looked very imposing. Mrs. Tom- now much increased, and employed in carrying
kins received her company upon the steps out- dry goods, &c. One morning old Tom came
side, that she might have the pleasure of hearing under the crane to discharge his lighter, and
their praises of her external arrangements ; still Wishing to see me, when the fall had been over-
it was freezing, and she shivered not a little. hauled down, to heave up the casks with which
The drawing-room, fourteen feet by ten, was the lighter was laden, instead of hooking on a
fitted up as the ball-room, with two fiddlers and cask, held on by his hands, crying, ‘‘ Hoist
a fifer sitting in a corner, and a country-dance away,’ intending to be hoisted himself up to
was performing when we arrived. Over the the door of the warehouse where I was presid-
mantel-piece was a square of laurel-twigs, in- ing. Now, there was nothing unusual in this
closing, as a frame, this couplet, from the poeti- whim of old Tom’s, but still he ran a very
cal brain of the master of the house, cut out in narrow chance, in consequence of an extra whim
red paper, and bespangled with blue and yellow of young Tom’s, who, as soon as his father was
tinsel— suspended in the air, caught hold of his two

wooden stumps to be hoisted up also; and as
he caught hold of them, standing on tiptoe, they
both swung clear of the lighter, which could

Other appropriate distichs, which I have now not approach to within five feet of the buildings.

forgotten, were framed in the same way on each The crane was on the third story of the ware-
of the other compartments. But the dining- house, and very high up. ‘‘ Tom, Tom, you
room was the chefd'euvre. It was formed into rascal, what the devil are you about?” cried

a bower, with evergreens, and on the evergreen the old man, when he felt the weight of his son’s

boughs were stuck real apples and oranges in all body hanging to him.

“Here we are to dance so gay,
While the fiddlers play away.”

directions, so that you could help yourself. “Going up along with you, father—hope we
“Vell, I do declare this is a paradise !”’ ex- shall go to heaven the same way.”’
claimed the fat lady who entered with me. ‘‘ More likely to go to the devil together, you

‘In all but one thing, ma’am,”’ replied Mr. little fool ; I never can bear your weight.
Turnbull, who, with his coat off, was squeezing Hoist away, there, quick.’ £
lemons for the punch—‘‘there’s no Jorbidden Hearing the voices, I looked out of the door,
fruit. You may help yourself.” and perceiving their situation, ordered the men

This bon-mot was repeated by Mr. Tomkins to hoist as fast as they could, before old Tom’s
to the end of his existence, not only for its own strength should be exhausted ; but it was a com-
sake, but because it gave him an Opportunity of pound-movement crane, and we could not hoist
entering into a detail of the whole é¢e—the first very fast, although we could hoist very great

he had ever given in his life. ‘Ah, Jacob, my weights. At last, as they were wound up higher
boy, glad to see you—come and help here— and higher, old Tom’s strength was going fast.
they’ll soon be thirsty, I'll warrant,” said Mr. “ O Tom, Tom, what must be done? I can’t
Turnbull, who was in his glory. The company, -—lI can’t hold on buta little longer, and we shall
although not so very select, were very happy ; be both dashed to pieces. My poor boy!”

they danced, drank punch, laughed, and danced “Well, then, I’ll let go, father ; it was all my

again: and it was not tilla late hour, long after folly, and I'll be the sufferer.’’
Mr. and Mrs. Drummond had gone home, that ‘“‘Let go!”’ cried old Tom jo, nor om
I quitted the ‘‘festive scene: Mr. Turnbull, —don’t let go, my boy ; I'll try a little longer.
who walked away with me, declaring that it was Don’t let go, my dear boy—don’t let go!”
worth a dozen of his party, although they had ‘Well, father, how much longer can you hold
not such grand people as Mrs. Tagliabue, or on?”

the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Babble- ‘‘ A little—very little longer,’” replied the old
ton. I thought so too; every one was happy man, struggling,‘Well, hold fast now,’ cried young Tom,
who, raising his head above his arms, with a
great exertion shifted one of his hands to his
father's thigh, then the other ; raising hinaself
as before, he then caught at the seat of his
father’s trousers with his teeth; old Tom
groaned, for his son had taken hold of more
than the garments ; he then shifted his hands
round his father’s body—from thence he gained
the collar of his jacket —from the collar
he climbed on his father’s shoulders, from
thence he seized hold of the fall above, and
relieved his father of his weight. ‘‘ Now, father,
are you all right?” cried Tom, panting as he
clung to the fall above him.

‘‘T can’t hold on ten seconds more, Tom—no
longer—my clutch is going now.”

“Hang on by your eyelids, father, if you love
me,’’ cried young Tom, in agony.

It was indeed an awful moment ; they were
now at least sixty feet above the lighter, sus-
pended in the air; the men whirled round the
wheel, and I had at last the pleasure of hauling
them both in on the floor of the warehouse, the
old man so exhausted that he could not speak
for more thana minute. Young Tom, as soon
as all was safe, laughed immoderately. Old
Tom sat upright. ‘‘It might have been no
laughing matter, Mr. Tom,” said he, looking at
his son.

“What's done, can’t .be helped, father, as
Jacob says. After all, youre more frightened
than hurt.”’

“‘T don’t know that, you young scamp,”’ re-
plied the old man, putting his hand behind him,
and rubbing softly ; ‘‘you've bit a piece clean out
of my starz. Now let this be a warning to you,
Tom. Jacob, my boy, couldn't you say that
I've met with an accédent, and get a drop of
something from Mr. Drummond ?”’

I thought, after his last observation, I might
honestly say that he had met with an accident,
and I soon returned with a glass of brandy,
which old Tom was drinking off, when his son
interrupted him for a share.

“You know, father, I shared the danger.”

“Yes, Tom, I know you did,” replied the
father ; ‘‘but this was sent to me on account of
my accident, and as I had that all to myself, I
shall have all this too.”

‘But, father, you ought to give me a drop,
if it were only to fake the taste out of my
mouth.”

“Your own flesh and blood, Tom,’
his father, emptying his glass.

‘Well, I always heard it was quite unnatural
not to like your own flesh and blood,” replied
Tom ; ‘‘but I see now that there may be rea-
sons for it.”

‘Be content, Tom,” replied his father, put-
ting down the glass ; ‘‘we're now just square.
You've had your vaw nz, and I’ve had mine.”

Mr. Drummond now came up, and asked
what had been the matter. ‘‘ Nothing, sir—only
an accident. Tom and I had a bit of a heest.”

,

replied

FACOB .FAITHFUL.

As this last word had a double meaning, Mr.
Drummond thought that a cask had surged,
when coming out of the lighter, and struck them
down. He desired old Tom to be more care-
ful, and walked away, while we proceeded to
unload the lighter. The new clerk was a very
heavy, simple young man, plodding and atten-
tive certainly, but he had no other merit ; he
was sent into the lighter to take the marks and
numbers of the casks as they were hoisted up,
and soon became a butt to young Tom, who
gave him the wrong marks and numbers of all
the casks, to his interrogations.

‘“What's that, boy?” cried the pudding-
faced fellow, with his pencil in one hand and
his book in the other.

‘‘ Pea-soup, 13,” replied Tom ; ‘‘ ladies’ bon-
nets, 24. Now, then, master, chalk again,
pipe-clay for sodgers, 3; red herrings, 26.”
All of which were carefully noted down by Mr.
Gubbins, who, when the lighter was cleared,
took the memoranda to Mr. Drummond.

Fortunately, we had checked the number of
the casks as they were received above—their
contents were flour. Mr. Drummond sent for
young Tom, and asked him how he dared play
such a trick. Tom replied very boldly, ‘‘ that
it was meant asa good lesson to the young man,
that in future he did his own work, and did not
trust to others.” To this Mr. Drummond
agreed, and Master Tom was dismissed without
punishment.

As the men had all gone to dinner, I went
down into the lighter to have a little chat with
my old shipmates. ‘‘ Well, Jacob,” said old
Tom, ‘‘Tom’s not a bit wiser than he was
before—two scrapes to-day, already.”

“Well, father, if 1 prove my folly by getting
into scrapes, I prove my wit by getting out of
them.”

‘Yes, that may be true, Tom; but suppose
we had both come down with a run, what would
you have thought then?”

“‘T suspect, father, that I should have been
past all thinking.”’

‘“T once did see a thing of that kind happen,”
said old Tom, calling to mind former scenes in
his life; ‘‘and I'll tell youa yarn about it, boys,
because they say danger makes friends."" Tom
and I sat down by old Tom, who narrated as
follows :—

“When I was captain of the main-top in the
La Minerve, forty-four gun frigate, we were the
smartest ship up the Mediterranean ; and many’s
the exercise we were the means of giving to other
ships’ companies, because they could not beat
us—no, not even hold a candle to us. In both
fore and main top we had eight-and-twenty as
smart chaps as ever put their foot to a rattling,
or slid down by an a'ter backstay. Now the
two captains of the fore-top were both prime
young men, active as monkeys, and bold as
lions. One was named Tom Herbert, from
North Shields, a dark good-looking chap, with,
teeth as white as a nigger’s, and a merry chap he!58

was, always a showing them. The other was
a cockney chap. Your Lunnumers ar'n't often
good seamen; but when they are seamen,
there’s no better ; they never allow any one to
show them the way, that’s for sartain, being
naturally spunky sort of chaps, and full of tricks
and fun. ‘This fellow’s name was Bill Wiggins,
and between him and Herbert there was always
a. jealousy, who should be the smartest man.
I’ve seen both of them run out on the yard, in
fine weather, without holding on nothing, seize
the lift, and down to their station, haul up the
earing in no time; up by the lift again, and down
on deck, by the backstay, before half the men
had time to get clear of the top. In fact, they
often risked their lives in bad weather, when
there was no occasion for it, that one might
outdo the other. Now this was. all very well,
and a good example to the other men; the
captain and officers appeared to like these con-
tests for superiority, but it ended in their hating
each other,'and not being even on speaking
terms, which, as the two captains of the top,
was bad. They had quarrelled often, and
fought five times, neither proving the better
man; either both done up, or parted by the
master-at-arms, and reported to the first lieu-
tenant, so that at last they were not so much
countenanced by the ofhcers, and were out
of favour with the captain, who threatened
to disrate them both if ever they fought
again.

‘“We were cruising off the Gulf of Lyons,
where sometimes it blows hard enough to blow
the devil's horns off, though the gales. never
last very long. We were under close-reefed
fore and main-top sails, storm staysail and try-
sail, when there was a fresh hand at the bellows,
and the captain desired the officer of the watch,
just before dinner, to take in the fore-top sail.
Not to disturb the watch below, the main-top
men were ordered up forward, to help the fore-
top men of the watch; and I was of course
aloft, ready to lie out on the lee yard-arm-——
when Wiggins, who had the watch below, came
up In the top, not liking that Herbert should be
at work in such weather, without he being there
too.

‘«* Tom,’ s:ys Wiggins to me, ‘I'll take the
yard-arm.’

*« «Very well,’ says I, ‘with all my heart, then
I'll look to the bunt.’

‘‘Just at that time there came on a squall
with rain, which almost blinded us; the sail
was taken in very neatly, clew-lines chock-a-
block, bunt-lines and leech-lines well up, reef-
tackles overhauled, rolling tackles taut, and all
as it should be. The men laid out on the yard,
the squall wore worse and worse, but they were
handing in the leech of the sail, when snap
went one bunt-line, then the other, the sail
flapped and flagged, till away went the leech-
inés, and the men clung to the yards for their
for the sail mastered them, and they

IVES 5
could do nothins. -At last it split like thunder,

et

FACOB FPAITHEUEL.

 

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
    

 

buffeting the men on the yard-arms, till they
were almost senseless, until to windward it wore
away into long coach whips, and the whole of
the canvas left was at the lee yard-arm. The
men laid in at last with great difficulty, quite
worn out by fatigue and clinging for their exist-
ence ; all but Wiggins, who was barred by the
sail to leeward from making his footing good
on the horse; and there he was, poor fellow,
completely in irons, and so beaten by the can-
vas that he could hardly be said to be sensible.
It takes a long while to tell all this, but it wasn’t
the work ofa minute. At last he made an at-
tempt to get up by the lift, but was struck down,
and would have been hurled overboard, if it
hadn’t been that his leg fell over the horse, and
there he was head downwards, hanging over a
raging sea, ready to swallow him up as soon as
he dropped into it. As every one expected he
would be beat off before any assistance could
be given, you may guess that it was an awful
moment to those below who were looking up at
him, watching for his fall and the roll of the
ship, to see if he fell clear into the sea or was
dashed to pieces in the fore-chains.

“‘T couldn't bear to see a fellow-creature, and
good seaman in the bargain, in that state, and
although the captain dared not order any one
to help him, yet there were one or two midship-
men hastening up the fore-rigging, with the
intent, I have no doubt, of trying to save him
(for midshipmen don’t value their lives at a
quid of tobacco), so I seizes the studding sail
halyards, and runs up the topmast rigging, in-
tending to go down by the lift, and pass a
bowling-knot round him before he fell, when
who should I meet at the cross-trees but Tom
Herbert, who.snatched the rope out of my hand,
bawling to me through the gale, ‘This is my
business, Tom.’

‘“Down he goes by the lift, the remainder of
the canvas flapped over him, and I seed no
more until I heard a cry from all below, and
away went Herbert and Wiggins, both together,
flying to leeward just as the ship was taking her
recovery to windward. Fortunately they both
fell clear of the ship about two feet, not more,
and as their fall was expected, they had pre-
pared below. A master’s mate, of the name of
Simmonds, and the captain of the forecastle,
both went overboard in bowling-knots, with
another in their hands, and in a minute or two
they were all four on board again ; but Herbert
and Wiggins were both senseless, and a long
while coming to again. Well, now, what do
you think was the upshot of it ? why, they were
the best friends in the world ever afterwards,
and would have died for one another ; and if
one had a glass of grog from the officers for
any little job, instead oftouching his forelock
and drinking it off to the officer's health, he
always took it out of the gun-room, that he
might give half of it:to the other. So, d'ye see,
my boys, as I said before T began my yarn, that
danger makes friends.”’ eafe?

Tis said we vent’rous die hard,

When we leave the shore,
Our friends may mourn, lest we return
To bless their sight no more.

But this is all a notion
Bold Jack can’t understand ;
Some die upon the ocean,
And some upon dry land.’”

“And if we had tumbled, father, we should
have just died betwixt and between, not water
enough to float us. It would have been woodlez
wous parlez wous, plump in the mud, as you say
sometimes.”

‘Why, yes, Tom. Ive a notion that -I
should have been planted too deep, ever tohave
struck root,’ replied the old man, looking at
his wooden stumps.

FACOB FAITHFUL,

‘““ Why, yes, father, /egs are degs, when you
tumble into six foot of mud. How you would
have dzbdled down, if your dadd/es hadn't held
on.
“Well, then, Tom, recollect that you never
sedi your father for a lark again.”’

Tom laughed, and catching at the word,
although used in a different sense, sung,

**“ Just like the Z7k, high poised in air.’

““And so were you, father, only that. you
didn't sing as he does, and you didn’t leave
your young one below in the nest.”

‘‘ Ay, itis the young uns which prevent the
old ones from rising in the world—that’s very
true, Tom. Holla, who have we got here?
My service to you, at all events.”

 

CHAPTER

The art of hard Lying made easy, though Iam made very uneasy by hard Lying—1
Raa ai cae - y op of ae r
Missive, to let the Parties concerned know, that I’m a Rebel to Tyrannical R

XVIII.

send my Ruler as a
ule—I am arraigned,

tried, and condemned without a Hearing—What I lose in speech is made up in Feeling, the Whole
wound up with magnanimous Resolves and a little Sobbing.

It was the captain of the American schooner,
from out of which we were then taking the
casks of flour.

“‘We've no sarvice in our country, I’ve a
notion, my old bob-tail roarer,’’said he. ‘“When
do you come alongside of my schooner, for
t’other lading, with this raft of yours? Not to-
night, [ guess.”

““Well, you've guessed right this time,”
replied old’ Tom ; ‘‘ we shall lie on the mud
till to-morrow morning, with your permission.”

‘Yes, for all the world like a Louisiana
ailigatsr. You take things coolly, I've a notion,
in the old country. I don’t want to be hanging
head and starn in this little bit of a river of
yourn. I must be back to New York afore
rever tinre.”’

‘‘She be a pretty craft, that little thing of
yours,” observed old ‘Tom; ‘‘how long may
she take to make the run?”

‘How long? I expect in just no time; and
she'd go as fast again, only she won’t wait for
the breeze to come up with her.”’

“Why don’t you heave-to for it?” said
young Tom.

‘Tose too much time, I guess. I’ve been
chased by an easterly wind all the way from
your Land's End to our Narrows, and it never
could overhaul me.”

‘And I presume the porpoises give it up in
despair, don’t they?” replied old Tom, with a
leer ; ‘‘and yet I’ve seen the creatures playing
across the bows of an English frigate at her
spéed, and laughing at her.”

“They never play their tricks with me, old
snapper ; if they do, I cut them in halves, and

a-starn they go, head part floating on one side,
and tail part. on the other.”

‘But don’t they join together again when
they meet in your wake?” inquired Tom.

“ Shouldn't wonder,” replied the American
captain.

‘Pray, captain, what may be that vessel
they talk so much about at New York? 2 ar CEL
Tom referred to the first steam-vessel, whose
qualities at that time had been tried, and an
exaggerated report of which had been copied
from the American papers. ‘‘ That ship, or
whatever she may be, that sails without masts,
yards, or canvas ; it’s quite above my compre-
hension.”’

‘‘Old-country heads can’t take it in. I'll tell
you what—she goes slick through the water,
a-head or a-starn, broadside on, or up or down,
or any way ; and all you have to do is to poke
the fire and warm your fingers ; and the more
you poke, the faster she goes, ‘'gainst wind and
tide.”

“Well, I must see that, to believe it, though, ”
replied old Tom.

“No fear of a capsize, I calculate. My
little éraft did upset with me one night, in a
pretty considerable heavy gal, but she's s#zart,
and came up again on the other side in a
moment, all right as before. Never should
have known anything about it, if the man at
the wheel had not found his jacket wet, and the
men below had a round turn in all the clues of
their hammocks.”’

‘© After that round turn, you may belay,”
cried young Tom, laughing.

‘‘Yes, but don’t let's have a stopper over all

 

 

 

j
;
;
3
q
:
4
4
4
jTom,” replied his father. _‘‘ f consider all this
excessively divarting. Pray, captain, does
everything else go fast in the new country ?”’

‘““Eyerything with us cleaz slick, I guess.”

“‘ What sort of horses have you in America ?”
inquired I.

‘‘Our Kentucky horses, I’ve a notion, would
surprise you. They're almighty goers; at a
trot, beat a N.W. gal of wind. I once took
an Englishman with me ina gig up Allibama
country, and he says, ‘What's this great
churchyard we are passing through?’ ‘And
stranger,’ says I, ‘I calculate it's nothing but
the milestones we are passing so s/ick.’ But I
once had a horse, who, I expect, was a deal
quicker than that. I once seed a flash of
lightning chase him for half an hour round the
clearance, and I guess it couldn’t catch him.
But I can’t wait no longer. I expect you'll
come alongside to-morrow afore meridian. ’

“Ay, ay, master,” replied old Tom, tuning
up. :

“Twas post meridian, half-past four,
By signal I from Nancy parted,

At five she linger’d on the shore,
With uplift eyes and broken-hearted.’”

‘‘T calculate you are no fool of a screamer,’
said the American, shoving off his boat from
the barge, and pulling to his vessel.

‘‘And I calculate you're no fool of a liar,”
said young Tom, laughing.

““Well,so he is; but I do like a good lie,
Jacob, there’s some fun in it. But what the
devil does the fellow mean by calling a gale of
wind—a gal?”

“T don’t know,” replied Tom, ‘‘ unless for
the same reason that we calla girl—a blowing.”

Our conversation was here interrupted by
Mr. Hodgson, the new head-clerk, of whom I
have hitherto said nothing. He came into the
establishment in the place of Mr. Tomkins,
when we quitted the Battersea wharf, and had
taken an evident dislike to me, which appeared
to increase every day, as Mr. Drummond gave
me fresh marks of his approbation. ‘‘ You,
Faithful, come out of that barge directly, and
go to your desk. I will have no eye-servers
under me. Come out, sir, directly.”

“‘T say, Mr. Quilldriver,” cried old Tom,
‘‘do you mean for to say that Jacob is an eye-
sarver ?”’

‘Yes, I do; and want none of your imper-
tinence, or I'll unship you, you old _ black-
guard.”

‘Well, then, for the first part of your story,
my sarvice to you, and you /zes, and as for the
second, that remains to be proved.”

Mr. Hodgson’s temper was not softened by
this reply of old Tom. My blood was also up,
for I had borne much already ; and young Tom
was bursting with impatience to take my part.
He walked carelessly by the head-clerk, saying
to me as he passed by, ‘‘Why, I thought,
Jacob, you were prentice to the river; but it

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

seems that you're bound to the cotinting-house.
How long do you mean to sarye?”’

‘‘T don’t know,” replied I, as I walked
away sulkily; ‘‘but I wish I was out of my
time.’

‘Very well, sir, I shall report your behaviour
to Mr. Drummond. I'll make him know your
tricks.”

‘““Tricks! you won't let him knows his tricks.
His duty is to take his trick at the wheel,”
replied old Tom; ‘‘not to be brought up at
your cheating tricks at the desk.”

‘Cheating tricks, you old scoundrel, what
do you mean by that ?” replied Mr. Hodgson,
in a rage. ‘

‘My father means /edgerdemain, I suppose, ”
replied young Tom.

This repartee from a quarter so little ex-
pected, sent off the head-clerk more wroth than
ever.

‘You seemed to hit him hard there, Tom,”
said his father ; ‘‘ but I can’t say that I under-
stand how.”

‘“You've had me taught to read and write,
father,” replied young Tom; ‘‘and a'ter that,
a lad may teach himself everything. I pick up
every day, here and there; and I never see a
thing or a word that I don’t understand, but |
find out the meaning when I can. I picked up
that hard word at Bartlemy fair.”

“« And very hard you hit him with it.”

‘‘Who wouldn't, to serve a friend? But
mark my words, father, this won't last long.
There’s a squall blowing up, and Jacob, quiet
as he seems to be, will show his teeth ere long.”

Tom was correct in his surmise. I had not
taken my seat at my desk more than a minute,
when Mr. Hodgson entered, and commenced a
tirade of abuse, which my pride could no longer
allow me to submit to. An invoice, perfectly
correct and well written, which I had nearly
completed, he snatched from before me, tore
into fragments, and ordered me to write it
over again. Indignant at this treatment, I
refused, and throwing down my pen, looked
him determinedly in the face. Irritated at this
defiance, he caught up a Directory, and threw
it at my head. No longer able to command
myself, I seized a ruler and returned the salute.
It was whizzing through the air as Mr. Drum-
mond entered the room; and he was just in
time to witness Mr. Hodgson struck on the
forehead and felled to the ground, while I re-
mained with my arm raised, standing upon the
cross-bar of my high stool, my face glowing
with passion.

Appearances were certainly against me. As-
sistance was summoned, and the head-clerk
removed to his chamber, during all which time
I remained seated on my stool before the desk,
my breast heaving with tumultuous feelings.
How long I remained there I cannot say, it
might have been two hours ; feelings long dor-
mant had been aroused, and whirled round and
round in a continual cycle in my feverish brain.1 should haye remained probably much longer
in this state of absorption, had I not been sum-
moned to attend Mr. Drummond. It appeared
that in the mean time, Mr. Hodgson had come
to his own senses, and had given his own
version of the fracas, which had been to an
unjustifiable degree corroborated by the stupid
young clerk, who was no friend of mine, and
who sought favour with his principal. I walked
up to the drawing-room, where I found Mr.
and Mrs. Drummond, and little Sarah, whose
eves were red with crying. I entered without
any feeling of alarm, my breast was too full of
indignation. Mrs. Drummond looked grave
and mournful, Mr. Drummond severe.

‘‘Jacob Faithful, I have sent for you to tell
you that in consequence of your disgraceful
conduct to my senior clerk, you can no longer
remain under my roof. It appears that what I
have been a witness to, this day, has been but
a sequel to behaviour equally improper and im-
pertinent ; that so far from having, as I thought,
done your duty, you have constantly neglected
it; and that the association you have formed
with that drunken old man and his insolent son
has led you into this folly. You may say that
it was not your wish to remain on shore, and
that you preferred being on the river. At your
age, it is too often the case that young people
consult their wishes rather than their interests ;
and it is well for them if they find those who
are older, and wish them well, to decide for
them. I had hoped to have been able to place
you in a more respectable situation in society,
than was my original intention when you were
thrown upon me a destitute orphan ; but I now
perceive my error. You have proved yourself
not only deceitful but ungrateful.”

‘‘T have not,”’ interrupted I, calmly.

“You have. I have been a witness myself to
your impropriety of conduct, which, it appears,
has long been concealed from me; but no more
of that. I bound you apprentice to the river,
and you must now follow up your apprentice-
ship; but expect nothing farther from me.
You must now work your own way up in the
world, and I trust that you will reform and do
well. You may return to the lighter until I
can procure you a situation in another craft, for
I consider it my duty to remove you from the
influence of those who have led you astray, and
with the old man and his son you shall not
remain. [I have one thing more to say. You
have been in my counting-house for some
months, and you are now about to be thrown
upon the world. ‘There are ten pounds for
your services” (and Mr. Drummond laid the
money on the table). ‘‘ You may also recollect
that I have some money belonging to you,
which has been laid by until you shall be out of
your apprenticeship. I consider it my duty
still to retain that money for you; as soon
as your apprenticeship is expired, you may
demand it, and it shall be made over to you.
I trust, sincerely trust, Jacob, that the severe

JACOB FAITHFUL.

lesson you are now about to receive will bring
you to a sense of what is right, and that you
will forget the evil counsel you have received
from your late companions. Do not attempt
to justify yourself, it is useless.’’ Mr. Drum-
mond then rose, and left the room.

I should have replied, had it not been for
this last sentence of Mr. Drummond’s, which
again roused the feelings of indignation, which,
in their presence, had been gradually giving
way to softer emotions. I therefore stood still,
and firmly met the glance of Mr. Drummond,
as he passed me. My looks were construed
into hardness of heart.

It appeared that Mr. Drummond had left the
room by previous arrangement, that he might
not be supposed to be moved from his purpose,
and that Mrs. Drummond was then to have
talked to me, and to have ascertained how far
there was a chance of my pleading guilty, and
begging fora mitigation of my sentence; but
the firm composure of innocence was mistaken
for defiance ; and the blood mounting to my
forehead from a feeling of injustice—of injustice
from those I loved and venerated—perhaps the
most poignant feeling in existence to a sensitive
and generous mind—was falsely estimated as
proceeding from impetuous and disgraceful
sources. Mrs. Drummond looked upon me
with a mournful face, sighed and said nothing ;
little Sarah watching me with her large black
eyes, as if she would read my inmost soul.

“Have you nothing to say, Jacob,” at last
observed Mrs. Drummond, ‘‘that I can tell Mr.
Drummond when his anger is not so great ?”

‘‘Nothing, madam,” replied I, ‘‘ except that
I'll try to forgive him.”

This reply was offensive even to the mild
Mrs. Drummond. She rose from her chair.
‘Come, Sarah,” said she ; and she walked out
of the room, wishing me, in a kind, soft voice,
a ‘‘ good-bye, Jacob,” as she passed me.

My eyes swam with tears. I tried to re-
turn the salutation, but I was too much
choked by my feelings ; I could not speak, and
my silence was again looked upon as contumacy
and ingratitude. Little Sarah still remained—
she had not obeyed her mother’s injunctions to
follow her. She was now nearly fourteen years
old, and I had known her as a companion and
a friend for five years. During the last six
months that I had resided in the house, we had
become more intimately acquainted. I joined
her in the evening in all her pursuits, and Mr.
and Mrs. Drummond appeared to take a plea-
sure in our intimacy. I loved her as a dear
sister : my love was based on gratitude. Ihad
never forgotten her kindness to me when I first
came under her father's roof, and a long acquaint-
ance with the sweetness of her disposition had
rendered the attachment so firm, that I felt I
could have died for her. But I-never knew the
full extent of the feeling until now that I was
about to leave her, perhaps for ever. My
heart sank when Mr. Drummond left the room

  
   
  
  
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 

 

srepeeninmunat eaten62

—a bitter pang passed through it as the form of
Mrs. Drummond vanished from my sight ; but
now was to be the bitterest of all. I feltit, and
I remained with the handle of the door in my
hand, gasping for breath—blinded with the
tears that coursed each other rapidly down my
cheeks. I remained a minute in this State,
when I felt that Sarah touched my other listless
hand.

‘Jacob!’ she would have said, but before
half my name was out, she burst into tears,
and sobbed on my shoulder. My heart was too
much surcharged not to take the infection—my
grief found vent, and I mingled my sobs with
those of the affectionate girl. When we were
more composed, I recounted to her all that had
passed, and one, at least, in the world acknow-
ledged that I had been treated unjustly. I had
but just finished, when the servant interrupted
us with a message to Sarah, that her mother
desired her presence. She threw herself into
my arms, and bade me farewell. When I re-
leased her, she hastened to obey her mother,
but perceiving the money still upon the table,
She pointed toit. ‘‘ Your money, Jacob!”

‘No, Sarah, I will not accept it. -I would
accept of anything from those who treat me
kindly, and feel more and more grateful to
them ; but that I will not accept—I cannot,
and you must not let it be left here. Say that
I could not take it.”

Sarah would have remonstrated ; but per-
ceiving that Il was firm, and at the same time,
perhaps, entering into my feelings, she again
bade me farewell, and hastened away.

‘The reader may easily imagine that I did not
put off my departure. I hastened to pack up
my clothes, and in less than ten minutes after
Sarah had quitted me, I was on board the
lighter, with old Tom and his son, who were
then going to supper. They knew a part of
what had happened, and I narrated the rest.

“Well,” replied old Tom, afterI had finished
my story, ‘‘I don't know that I have done you
any harm, Jacob, and I’m sorry that Mr.
Drummond should suppose so. Im fond of a
drop, thats true; but I appeals to you,
whether I ever force it on you—and whether I
dont check that boy. as much as I can; but
then, dye see, although I preach, I don't prac-
tise, that’s the worst of it; and I know I’ve to
answer for making Tom so fond of grog; and
though I never says anything about it, I often
think to myself, that if Tom should chance to
be pressed some of these days, and be punished
for being in liquor, he'll think of his old father,
and curse him in his heart, when he eyes the cat
flourishing round before it strikes.”

“‘T'll'curse the cat, father, or the boatswain’s
mate, or the officer who complained of me, or
the captain who flogs me, or my own folly, but
Til be hanged, if ever 1 curse you, who have
been so kind to me,’ replied Tom, taking his
father’s hand.

‘“Well, we must hope for the best,’’ my dear

YACOB FAITHFUL,

 

 

   
    
  
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
   

 

,

boy,” replied old Tom; ‘but, Jacob, you've
not had fair play, that’s sartain. It’s very true,
that master did take you as an orphan, and
help you to an education ; but that’s no reason
why he should take away your free will, and
after binding you ‘prentice to the river, perch
you up ona high stool, and grind your nose
down to the desk. Ifso be he was so kind to
you only to make you a slave, why then there
was no kindness at all, in my opinion ; and as
for punishment without hearing what a man
has to say in his own defence—there’s ne'er a
‘Tartar in the sarvice but would allow a man to
speak before he orders him to strip. JI re-
collect a story about that in the sarvice, but
I’m in no humour to spin a yarn now. Now
you see, Jacob, Master Drummond has done a
great deal for you, and now he has undone a
great deal. I can’t pretend to balance the
account, but it does appear-to me that you
don't owe him much; for what thanks is there
if you take a vessel in tow, and then cast her
off, half-way, when she most needs your assist-
ance? But what hurts me most, is his saying
that you sha’n’t stay in the lighter with us ; if

you had, you shouldn’t have wanted, as long
as pay and pension are forthcoming. Never
mind—Tom, my boy, bring out the bottle—

hang care : it killed the cat.”

The grog did not, however, bring back old
Tom’s spirits ; the evening passed heavily, and
we retired to our beds at a seasonable hour,
as we were to drop down to the schooner early
the next morning. That night I did not close
my eyes. Iran over, in my mind, all that had
occurred, and indignation took full possession
cf my soul. My whole life passed in review
beforeme. I travelled back to my former days
—-to the time which had been almost oblite-
rated from my memory, when I had navigated
the barge with my father. Again was the scene
of his and my mother’s death presented to my
view ; again I saw him disappear, and the
column of black smoke ascend to the sky.
The Domine; the matron, Marables, and
Ileming, the scene in the cabin—all passed in
rapid succession. I felt that I had done my
duty, and that I had been unjustly treated ;
my head ached with tumultuous and long-
suppressed: feelings. Reader, I stated that
when I was first taken in hand by Mr. Drum-
mond I was a savage, although a docile one, to
be reclaimed by kindness, and kindness only.
You may have been surprised at the rapid
change which took place in a few years ; that
change was produced by kindness. The con-
duct of Mr. Drummond, of his amiable wife
and daughter, had been all kindness: the
Domine and the worthy old matron had proved
equally beneficent. Marables had been kind ;
and although now and then, as in the case of
the usher at the school, and Fleming on board
the lighter, I had received injuries, still, these
were but trifling checks to the uninterrupted
series of kindness with which I had beenFA COB

treated by everybody.
rapidly formed by a syst
by education ; and hé
in.a few years my new |
been. firmly established.
struck, injustice roused uj
of my nature, and when I r
ing I was changed. I do not i
all that precept and education i ad done for me
was overthrown ; but if not overthrown, it was
so shaken to the base, so rent from the summit
to the foundation, that, at the slightest im-
pulse in a wrong direction, it would haye fallen
in, and left nothing but a mixed chaos of
ruined prospects. If anything could hold it
together, it was the kindness and affection of
Sarah, to which I would again and again return
in my revolving thoughts, as the only and
bright star to be discovered in my clouded
horizon.

How dangerous, how foolish, how
sumptuous, is it in adults to suj ppose that
can read the thoughts and the feeling

Thus was my nature
of kindness as 1

been on kc oe

   
      
  
 
 

 

  

 

FAITHFUL. 63

gf a tender age! How often has this pre-

Ee pe ion, on their part, been the ruin of a
1g mind, which, if truly estimated and duly
stered, would have blossomed and produced
rood Sent | The blush of honest indignation
a

   

oO

ti

1

s dark as the blush of guilt—and the pale-

s of concentrated courage as marked as that
ars the firmness of conscious innocence is
but too often mistaken as the effrontery of
hardened vice—and the tears springing from a
source of injury, the tongue tied from the
oppression of a wounded heart, the trembling
and agitation of the little frame convulsed
with emotion, have often and often been
ascribed, by prejudging and self-opinionated
witnesses, to the very opposite passions to
those which have produced them. Youth
should) never be judged harshly, and even
when juéged correcily, should it be in an evil
course, may always be reclaimed ;—those who
decide OLSTIVIsE, and leave it to drift about
the world, have to answer for the castaway.

ete htt
na & {

“ eh, iy

 

The Breach widened—fF turn Sportsman, Poacher, and

1 Desperado—Some excellent Notions propounded of

common Law upon Gompon, Rig gs ats ne Co mmon-Keeper uncommonly Savage—I warn him off—

He prophesies that we shall both come
—The Man right after all.

‘“HoLLo! in the lighter say, you
lighter boy /” were the words I heard, as I was
pacing the deck of the vessel in deep cogita-
tion. Tom and his father were both in the
cabin ; there could be no doubt but that they
were addressed to me.. I looked up, and per-

ceived the grinning, stupid, sneering face of
fg young clerk, Gubbins. ‘‘ Why don’t you
answer when you 7EC call ed to, heh?” continued
the numscull. ‘‘ You're wanted wp here! come
up directly.”

‘“Who wants me?” replied I, reddening with
anger.

‘“What's that to you?
obey zy order or not?”

‘‘No, 1 donot,” replied I; ‘‘ I’m not under
the orders of such a fool, thank God; and if
you comé within my reach, I'll try if I can't
pigk your head, thick as it is, as well as your

master’s.”

The lout disappear
pace up and down.

As I afterwards discovered, the message was
from Mrs. Drummond, who requested to speak
tome. Sarah had communicated the real facts
of my case, and Mrs. Drummond had been
convinced that what I had said was correct
She had talked with her husband ; she pointed
out to him that my conduct under Mr. Tomkins
had béen so exemplary, that there must have
been some reason for so sudden a change.

        

Do you mean to

ed, and I continued to

  

     

to the Gallows—Some Men are Pro

r

phets i in their own Country

Sarah had gone down into the counting-house,
and obtained the invoice which the senior clerk
had torn up. lee correctness of it established
the fact of one part of my assertions, and tha
nothing but malice could have warranted its
having been destroyed. Mr. Drummond felt
more than he chose to acknowledge; he was
now aware that he had been too precipitate ;
even my having refused the money assumed a
different appearance ; he was puzzled and mor-
tified. Few people like to acknowledge that
they have been in error. Mr. Drummond there-
fore left his wife to examine further into the
matter, and gave her permission to send for me.
The message given, and the results of it, have
been stated. The answer returned was, that |
would not come, and that I had threatened to
break the clerk’s head as well as that of Mr.
Drummond ; for although the scoundrel knew
very well that in making use of the word ‘‘mas-
ter,” I referred to the senior clerk, he thor
it proper to substitute that of Mr. Drummond.
The effect of this re Py may easily be imagined.
Sarah was astonished, Mrs. Drummond shocked,
and Mr. Drummond was almost pleased to find
that he could not have been in the wrong. Thus
was the breach made even wider than beiore,
Mueh dé
eae

  

 

 

1

and all communication broken off.
yends in ; world upon m

3

 

ea
&
re

       
  

   

ases
Sas

 

rectly

In halt

 

an hour we had hauled out of the ticr64.

and dropped down to the: American schooner,
to take out a cargo of flour, which old Tom had
‘directions to land at the Battersea wharf ; so that
I was, for the time, removed from the site of my
misfortune. I cannot say that I felt happy, but
I certainly felt glad that I was away. I was
reckless to a degree that was insupportable. I
had a heavy load on my mind which I could
not shake off—a prey upon my spirits—a dis-
gust at almost everything. How well do I
recollect with what different feelings I looked
upon the few books which Mr. Drummond and
the Domine had given me to amuse my leisure
hours. I turned from them with contempt, and
thought I would never open them ara, . felt
as if all ties on shore were now cut off, and that
I was again wedded to the Thames ; my ideas,
my wishes, extended no farther, and I surveyed
the river and its busy scene, as I did before I
had been taken away from it, as if all my ener-
gies, all my prospects were, in future, to be
bounded by its shores. In the course of four-
and-twenty hours, a revulsion had taken place,
which again put me on the confines of bar-
barism.

My bargemates were equally dull as I was :
they were too partial to me, and had too much
of kindness of heart, not to feel my situation, and
anger at the injustice with which I had been
treated. Employment, however, for a time
relieved our melancholy thoughts. Our cargo
was on board of the lighter, and we were again
tiding it through the bridges.

We dropped our anchor above Putney Bridge
a little after twelve o'clock, and young Tom,
with the wish of amusing me, proposed that we
should go on shore and walk. ‘‘Ah! do, my
lads, do—it will do you good, Jacob; no use
moping here a whole tide. I'll take care of the
‘barkey. Mind you make the boat well fast,
and take the sculls into the public-house there.
I'll have the supper under weigh when you come
back, and then we'll have a night ont. It'sa
poor heart that never rejoices ; and, Tom, take
a bottle on shore, get it filled, and bring it off
with you. -Here’s the money. But I say, Tom,
honour bright.”’

“‘Honour bright, father; '’ and to do Tom
justice, he always kept his promise, especially
after the word had passed of ‘‘ honour bright.”
Had there been gallons of spirits under his
charge he would not have tasted a drop after
that pledge.

‘‘Haul up the boat, Jacob, quick,” said Tom,
as his father went into the cabin to fetch an
empty bottle. Tom hastened down below, for-
ward, and brought up an old gun, which he
put under the stern sheets before his father
came out on the deck. We then received the
bottle from him, and Tom called out for the
dog Tommy.

“‘Why, you're not going to take the dog.
What's the use of that? I want him here to
keep watch with me,” said old Tom.

“““Pooh ! father ; why can’t you let the poor

”

FACOB FAITHFUL.

   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  

 

devil have a run on shore? He wants to eat
grass, I’m sure, for I have watched him this
day or two. We shall be back before dark.”

“Well, well, just as you please, Lom:
Tommy jumped into the boat, and away we
went.

“ And now, Tom, what are you after?” said
I, as soon as we were ten yards from the
lighter.

“ A’ter, Jacob? Going to havea little shoot-
ing on Wimbledon Common ; but father can't
bear to see a gun in my hand, because I once
shot my old mother. I did pepper her, sure
enough ; her old flannel petticoat was full of
shot, but it was so thick that it _saved her.
Are you anything of a shot?”

“« Neyer fired a gun in my life.”

‘Well, then, we'll fire in turns, and toss up,
if you like, for first shot.”

We landed, carried the sculls up to the public-
house, and left the bottle to be filled, and then,
with Tommy bounding before us, and throwing
about his bushy tail with delight, ascended
Putney Hill, and arrived at the Green Man
public-house, at the corner. of Wimbledon
Common. ‘‘I wonder where green men are
to be found?” observed Tom, laughing ; “I
suppose they live in the same country with the
biue dogs my father speaks about sometimes.
Now, then, -it’s time to load.”

The bowl of a tobacco-pipe full of powder
was then inserted, with an equal dose of shot,
and all being ready, we were soon among the
furze. A halfpenny decided it was my first
shot, and fate further decided that a water-
wagtail should be the mark. I took good aim,
as I thought, at least I took sufficient time, for
I followed him with the muzzle of the gun for
three or four minutes at least, as he ran to and
fro; at last I fired, Tommy barked with delight,
and the bird flew away. ‘‘I think I must have
hit it,” said I. ‘‘I saw it wag its tail.”

‘More proof of a miss than a hit,” replied
Tom. . ‘‘ Had cyou. hit’ it, he'd) never have
wagged his tail again.”

‘Never mind,” said I;
time.”

Tom then knocked a blackbird off a furze
bush, and loading the gun, handed it tome. I
was more successful than before; a cock
sparrow, three yards distant, yielded to the
prowess of my arm, and I never felt more happy
in my life, than in this first successful attempt
at murder.

Gaily did we trudge over the common, some-
times falling in with gravel-pits half full of
water, at others bogs and swampy plains, which
obliged us to make a circuit. The gun was
fired again and again; but our game-bag did
not fill very fast. However, if we were not quite
so well pleased when we missed as when we hit,
Tommy was, every shot being followed up with
a dozen bounds, and half a minute's barking.
At last we began to feel tired, and agreed to
repose a while in a cluster of furze bushes. We

“better luck nextsat down, pulled out our game, and spread it in
a row before us. It consisted of two sparrows,
one greenfinch, one blackbird, and three tom-
tits. All of a sudden we heard a rustling in the
furze, and then a loud squeal. It was the dog,
who scenting something, had forced his way
into the bush, and had caught a hare, which
having been wounded in the loins by some
other sportsman, had dragged itself there to
die. Ina minute we had taken possession of it,
much to the annoyance of Tommy, who seemed
to consider that there was no copartnership in
the concern, and would not surrender his prize
until after sundry admonitory kicks. When
we had fairly beaten him off, we were in an
ecstacy of delight. We laid the animal out
between us, and were admiring it from the ear
to the tip of his tail, when we were suddenly
saluted with a voice close tous. ‘‘Oh! you
blam’d young poachers, so I’ve caught you, have
I?” We looked up and beheld the common-
keeper. ‘‘Come—-come along with me; we've
a nice clink at Wandsworth to lock you up in.

I’ve been looking arter you some time. Hand
your gun here.”
‘“‘T should rather think not,” replied I, ‘The

gun belongs to us and not to you;” and I
caught up the gun, and presented the muzzle at
him.

‘‘What! do you mean to commit murder ?
Why, you young villains !”’

‘‘Do you mean to commit a robbery ?”’ re-
torted I, fiercely ; ‘‘ because if you do, I mean
to commit murder ; then I shoot him, Tom?”

‘‘No, Jacob, no; you mustn’t shoot men,”
replied Tom, who perceived that I was in a
humour to keep my word with the common-
keeper. ‘‘Indeed you can’t,” continued he,
whispering to me, ‘‘the gun’s not loaded.”

‘‘ Do you mean to refuse to give me up your
gun?” repeated the man,

‘‘ Yes, I do,’’ replied I, cocking the lock, ‘‘so
keep off.”

‘Oh ! you young reprobates—you'll come to
the gallows before long, that’s certain. Then
do you refuse to come with me ?”’

‘“T should rather think we do,” replied I.

‘You refuse, do you? Recollect, I’ve caught
you in the fact, poaching, with a dead hare in
your possession.’

“Well, it’s no use crying about it.
done can’t be helped,” replied I.

‘‘Don’t you know that all the game, and all
the turf, and all the bog, and all the gravel, and
all the furze on this common, belong to the
Right Honourable Earl Spencer ?”

‘‘And all the blackbirds, and all the green-
finches, and all the sparrows, and all the tom-
tits too, I suppose?” replied I.

‘““‘To be sure they do—and I’m common-
keeper. Now you'll give me up that hare im-
mediately.”

‘Look you,” replied Tom, ‘‘we didn’t kill
that hare ; the dog caught it, and it is his pro-
perty. We sha’n’t interfere in the matter. If

What’s

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

Tommy chooses to let you have it, well and

good. Here, Tommy, this here gentleman
says” (and Tom pointed to the keeper), ‘that
this hare’ (and Tom pointed to the hare) ‘is
not yours ; now will you ‘watch it,’ or let him
have it 2”

At the word “‘watch it,” Tommy laid down’

with his fore-paws over the hare, and showing a
formidable set of ivories, looked fiercely at the
man, and growled.

‘“You see what he says ; now you may do as
you please,” continued Tom, addressing the
man.

‘‘ Yes—very well—you’ll come to the gallows,
I see that ; but I'll just go and fetch half-a-dozen:
men to help me, and then we'll have you both:
in gaol.”

‘Then, be smart,’’ replied I, jumping up and
levelling the gun. Tommy jumped up also to
fly at the man, but Tom caught him by the
neck, and restrained him. The common-keeper
took to his heels, and as soon as he was out of
gun-shot, turned round, shook his fist, and
then hastened away to obtain the reinforcement
he desired.

‘“T wish the gun had been loaded,” said I.

‘““Why, Jacob, what’s come over you ?
Would you have fired at him? The man is
only doing his duty—we have no business
here}

‘‘T think otherwise,’’ replied I. ‘A hare on
a common is as much mine as Lord Spencer’s.
A common belongs to everybody.”

‘‘ That's my opinion too ; but, neverthe’ess,
if he gets hold of us, he'll have us in gaol; and
therefore I propose we make off as fast: as we
can in the opposite way to which he is gone.”

We started accordingly, and as the keeper
proceeded in the direction of Wandsworth, we
took the other direction ; but it so happened
that on turning round, after a quarter of an
hour’s walk, we perceived the man coming back
with three or four others. ‘‘ We must run for
it,’ cried Tom, ‘‘and then hide ourselves.’’
After ten minutes’ hard run, we descended into
a hollow and swampy place, looking round to
see if they could perceive us, and finding that
they were not in sight, we plunged into a thick
cluster of furze bushes, which completely con-
cealed us. ‘Tommy followed us, and there we
lay. ‘* Now they never will find us,” said Tom,
“if I can only keep the dog quiet. Lie down,
Tommy. Watch, and lie down.” The dog
appeared to understand what was required : he
lay between us perfectly still.

We had remained there about half an hour
when we heard voices. _I motioned to Tom to
give me the powder to load the gun, but he re-
fused. . The voices came nearer ; Tommy gave
a low growl. Tom held his mouth with his
hands. At last they were close to the bushes,
and we heard the common-keeper say, ‘‘ They
never went over the hill, that’s for certain, the
little wagrants ; they can’t be far off—they must
be down in the hollow. Come along.”

Cc66

_ ‘But I’m blessed if I’m not up to my knees
in the bog,’ cried one of the men; ‘‘I’ll not
go further down, dang me if I do.”’

‘‘ Well, then, let's try the side of the’ bog,”
replied the keeper ; ‘‘I'll show you the way.”
And the voices retreated, fortunately for us, for
there had been a continual struggle between us
and the dog for the last minute, I holding his
fore-paws, and Tom jamming up his mouth.
We were now all quiet again, but dared not
leave our hiding-place.

We remained there for half-an-hour, when it
became nearly dark, and the sky, which had
been quite clear when we set out, clouded over.
Tom put up, his. head, looked all round, and
perceiving nobody, proposed that we should
return as fast as we could, to which'I agreed.
But we were scarcely clear of the furze in which
we had been concealed, when a. heavy fall of
snow commenced, which, with the darkness,
prevented us from distinguishing our. way.
Every minute the snow-storm increased, the
wind rose, and hurled the flakes into our faces
until we were blinded. Still we made good
way against it, and expected every minute to
be on the road, after which our. task would be
easy. On we walked in silence, I carrying the
gun, Tom with the hare over his shoulder, and
Tommy at our heels. For upwards of an hour
did we tread our way through the furze, but
could find no road. Above us all was dark as
pitch ; the wind howled; our clothes were
loaded with snow ; and we began to feel no
inconsiderable degree of fatigue.

At last, quite tired out, we stopped.
said’, ‘‘I’m sure we’ve not kept a straight
course. ‘The wind was on our starboard side,
and our clothes were flaked with snow on that
side, and now you see we've got it on our
quarter. What the devil shall we do?”

‘“We must goon till we fall in with some-
thing, at all events,” replied Tom.

‘And I expect that will be a gravel-pit,”’
replied I; ‘‘ but never mind, ‘better luck next
time.’ I only wish I had that rascal of a com-
mon-keeper here. Suppose we turn back again,
and keep the wind on the starboard side of us
as before; we must pitch upon something at
last.”’

We did so, but our difficulties increased every
moment ; we floundered in the bogs, we tum-
bled over the stumps of the cut furze, and had
I not caught hold of Tom as he was sliding
down, he would have been at the bottom of a
gravel-pit. This obliged us to alter our course,
and we proceeded for a quarter of an hour in
another direction, until, worn out with cold and
fatigue, we began to despair.

‘This will never do, Tom,’ said:I, as the
wind rose and roared with double fury. ‘I
think we had better get into the furze, and wait
till the storm is over,”’

’

“com.

a
A

FACOB FAITHFUL.

‘Tom's teeth chattered with the cold; but
before he could reply, they chattered with fear.
We heard a loud scream overhead. ‘‘ What
was that ?’’ cried he. I confess that I was as
much alarmed as Tom. The scream was re-
peated, and it had an unearthly sound. It was
no human voice—it was between a scream and
a creak. Again it was repeated, and carried
along with the gale. I mustered up courage
sufficient to look up to where the sound pro-
ceeded from ; but the darkness was so intense,
and the snow blinded meso completely, that I
could see nothing. Again and again did the
dreadful sound ring in our ears, and we re-
mained fixed and motionless with horror ; even
the dog crouched at our feet trembling. We
spoke not a word—neither of us moved; the
gun had fallen from my hand, the hare lay at
‘Toms feet; we held each other's hand in
silence, and there we remained for more than a
quarter of an hour, every moment more and
more sinking under the effects of .cold, fatigue,
and horror. Fortunately for us, the storm, in
which, had it continued much longer, we should,
in all probability, have perished, was by that
time over ; the snow ceased to fall ; the clouds
were rolled away to leeward ; and a clear ‘sky,
bespangled with a thousand twinkling’ lights,
roused us from our state of bodily and mental
suffering. The first object which caught my
eye was a post within two yards of us. I looked
at it, followed it up with my eyes, and, to my
horror, beheld a body suspended and swinging
in chains over our heads.

As soon as_I recovered from the shock which
the first view occasioned, I pointed it out to
‘Tom, who had not yet moved. He looked up,
started back, and fell over the dog—jumped up
again, and burst out into as loud.a laugh as his
frozen jaws would permit. ‘‘It’s old Jerry
Abershaw,” said he ; ‘‘I know him well, and
now I know wherewe are.’’ This was the case ;
Abershaw had, about three years before, been
hung in chains on Wimbledon Common ; and
the unearthly sound we had heard was the
creaking of the rusty iron asthe body was
swung to and fro by the gale. ‘All's right,
Jacob,” said Tom, looking up at the brilliant
sky, and then taking up the hare, ‘‘we’ll be
on the road in five minutes.’ I shouldered the
gun, and off we set. ‘By the Lord, that ras-
cally common-keeper was right,” continued
‘Tom, as we renewed our steps ; he prophesied
we should come to the gallows before long, and
so we have. Well, this has been a pretty turn-
out. Father will be in a precious stew.”

‘‘Better luck next time, Tom,” replied I;
“it's all owing to that turf-and-bog rascal, I
wish we had him here.”

‘““Why, what would you do with him >?”

“Take down old Abershaw, and hang him
up in his place, as sure as my name’s Jacob.”JACOB. FAITHFUL,

CHAPTER «XX,

Our last Adventure not fatal—Take to my Grog kindly—Grog makes me a very unkind return—Old Tom at

is Yarns again—How to put your Foot in a Mischief, without having a Hand in it—Candidates for
the Cat-o’nine-Tails,

WE soon recovered the road, and in half-an- thing ; for you know when a man goes to
hour were at Putney Bridge ; cold, wet, and kingdom come, his pension goes with him.
tired, but not so bad as when we were stationary However, let me only hold on another five
under the gallows; the quick walking restored years, and then you'll not see her want; will
the circulation. ‘Tom went in for the bottle of you, Tom?”
| spirits, while I went for the sculls and carried “‘ No, father, I'll sell myself to the king, and
them down to the boat, which was high and stand to beshot at, ata shilling a day, and give
dry, and nearly up to the thwarts with snow. the old woman half.”
When Tom joined me, he appeared with two “Well, Tom, ‘tis but natural for a man to
bottles under hisarms. ‘‘I havetaken another wish to serve his country ; so here’s to you,
upon tick, Jacob,” said he, ‘‘for I’m sure we my lad, and may you never do worse ! Jacob,
want it, and so will father say, when he hears do you think of going on board of a man-of-
our story.” We launched our boat, and in a war?”
couple of minutes were close to the lighter, on “I'd like to serve my apprenticeship first,
the deck of which stood old Tom. and then I don’t care how soon.”
‘“ Boat ahoy ! is that you, lads?” cried he. “Well, my boy, you'll meet more fair play
“Yes, father, all's right,” replied Tom, as on board of a king’s ship than you have from
we laid in our oars. those on shore.”
‘““Thank God!” replied the old man. ‘' Boys, “‘T should hope so,” replied I, bitterly.
boys, how you frightened me! where have you ‘“And I hope to see you a man before I die,
been? I thought you had met with some dis- yet, Jacob. I shall very soon be laid up in
aster. How have I been peeping through the ordinary—my toes pain me a good deal lately?”
snow-storm these last two hours, watching for “Your toes ; . ciied. vom and. i both au
the boat, and I’m as wet as a shag, and ascold once.
as charity. What has been the matter? Did “‘Yes, boys; you may think it odd, but
you bring the bottle, Tom?” sometimes I feel them just as plain as if they
“Yes, father ; brought two, for we shall want were now on, instead of being long ago in some
them to-night, if we go without fora week; but shark’s maw. At nights I has the cramp in
we must all get on dry rigging as fast as pos- them till it almost makes me halloo out with
sible, and then you shall have the story of our pain. It’s a hard thing, when one has lost the
cruise.” sarvice of his legs, that all the feelings should
In a few minutes we changed our wet clothes remain. The doctor says as how it’s narvous.
and were seated at the cabin-table, eating our Come, Jacob, shove in your pannikin. You
supper, and narrating our adventures to the old seem to take it more kindly than you did.”

man. ‘Tommy, poor fellow, had his share, and “Yes,” replied I, ‘‘ I begin to like grog now.”’
now lay snoring at our feet, as the bottles and The zow, however, might be comprehended
pannikins were placed upon the little table. within the space of the last twenty-four hours.

“‘Come, Jacob, a drop will do you good,” My depressed spirits were raised with the stimu-
said old Tom, filling me one of the pannikins. lus, and, for the time, I got rid of the eternal
A'ter all, it’s much better being snug here in current of thought which pressed upon my
this little cabin, than shivering with fear and brain.
cold under old Abershaw’s gallows ; and Tom, ““T wonder what your old gentleman, the
you scamp,if ever you go gunning again, I'll dis- Domine, as you call him, thought, after he got
inherit you.” on shore again,’ said old Tom. ‘‘ He seemed

“What have you got to leave, father, except to be mighty cut up. I suppose you'll give
your wooden leg?” replied Tom. ‘Yours hima hail, Jacob?”
would be but a wooden-leg-acy.” ‘“No,” replied I, ‘‘ I shall not gonear him, nor

“How do you know but what I can ‘dost the any one else, if I can help it. Mr. Drummond
coal ?’” may think I wish to make it up again. I’ve

“So you will, if I boil a pot o’ tatoes with done with the shore. I only wish I knew what
your legacy—but it will only be char-coal.” is to become of me; for you know I am not to

‘‘Well, I believe you are about right, Tom; serve in the lighter with you.”
still, somehow or other, the old woman always ‘‘Suppose Tom and [ look out for another
picks out a piece or two of gold when I’mrather craft, Jacob? I care nothing for Mr. Drum-
puzzled how to raisethe wind. I never keeps mond. He said t’other day I was a drunken.
no ‘count with her. If I follow my legs before old swab—for which, with my sarvice to him,

she, I hope the old soul will have saved some- helies. A drunken fellow is one who can’t, for
€2z

 

  

ae es eR ernie

 

wathe soul of him, keep from liquor, when he can
get it, and who's overtaken before he is aware
of it. Now that’s not the case with me;
keep sober when there’s work to be done ; and
when I knows that everything is safe under
hatches, and no fear of nothing, why then I gets
drunk like a rational being, with my eyes open—
‘cause why—'cause I chooses.”

“That's exactly my notion of the thing,” ob-
served Tom, draining his pannikin, and hand-
ing it over to his father for a fresh supply.

‘‘Mind you keep to that notion, Tom, when
you gets in the king’s sarvice, that’s all; or
youll be sure to have your back scratched,
which I understand is no joke a'ter all. Yet I
do remember once, in a ship I was in, when
half-a-dozen fellows were all fighting who should
be flogged.”

‘Pray give us that yarn, father ; but before
you begin, just fill my pannikin. I shoved it
over half-an-hour ago, just by way of a hint.”

“Well, then,” said old Tom, pouring out
some spirits into Tom's pannikin, ‘‘it was just
as follows. It was when the ship was lying at
anchor in Bermuda harbour, that the purser
sent a breaker of spirits on shore, to be taken
up to some lady's house, whom he was very
anxious to splice, and I suppose that he found
a glass of grog helped the matter. Now, there
were about twenty of the men who had liberty
to go on shore to stretch their limbs—little else
could they do, poor fellows, for the first lieu-
tenant looked sharp after their kits, to see that
they did not sell any of their rigging ; and as for
money, we had been five years without touching
a farthing of pay, and I don’t suppose there
was a matter of threepence among the men
before the mast. However, liberty ’s liberty,
ater all; and if they couldn't go ashore and
get glorious, rather than not go on shore at all
—they went ashore, and kept sober perforce. I
do think, myself, it’s a very bad thing to keep
the seamen without a farthing for so long—for
you see a man who will be very honest with a
few shillings in his pocket, is often tempted to
help himself, just for the sake of getting a glass
or two of grog, and the temptation’s very great,
that’s sartain, ‘ticularly in a hot climate, when
the sun scorches you, and the very ground itself
is so heated, that you can hardly bear the naked
foot toit.* Buttogo on. The yawl was or-
dered on shore for the liberty men, and the
purser gives this breaker, which was at least
half full, and I dare say there might be, three
gallons in it, under my charge as coxswain, to
deliver to madam at the house. Well, as soon
as we landed I shoulders the breaker, and starts
with it up the hill.

“*What have you there, Tom?’ said Bill
Short.

«“ «What I wish I could share with you, Bill,’

ot

 

* This has been corrected; the men have for some
time received a portion of their pay on foreign
stations, and this portion has been greatly increa ed
during Sir James Graham’s administration.

SACOB FAITHFUL.

says I; ‘it’s some of old Nipcheese's ezghdhs,
that he has sent on shore to bowse his jib up
with, with his sweetheart.’

“«T’ve seen the madam,’ said Holmes to me
—for you see all the liberty men were walking
up the hill at the same time—‘and Id rather
make love to the breaker than to her. She’s as
fat as an ox, as broad as she’s long, built like a
Dutch schuyt, and as yellow as a nabob.’

“«But. old..Tummings knows. what he’s
about,’ said a Scotch lad of the name of
M’ Alpine ; ‘they say she has lots of gold dust,
more ducks, and ingons, and more inches of
water in her tank, than any one on the island.’

‘‘You see, boys, Bermuda be a queer sort of
place, and water very scarce ; all they get there
is a God-send, as it comes from heaven; and
they look sharp out for the rain, which is col-
lected in large tanks, and an inch or two more
of water in the tank is considered a great catch.
I’ve often heard the ladies there talking after a
shower :—

‘“«Good morning, marm. How do you do
this fine morning ?’

‘« Pretty well, I tank you, marm. Charming
shower hab last night.’

‘«* Ves, so all say; but me not very lucky.
Cloud not come over my tank. How. many
inches of water you get last night, marm ?’

‘¢ «T get good seven inches, and I tink a little
bit more, which make me very happy.’

‘‘« Meno so lucky, marm; so help me God,
me only get four inches of water in my tank ;
and dat noting.’

‘‘Well; but I’ve been yawing again, so now
to keep my course. Assoonas I came to the
house I knocked at the door, and a little black
girl opens the jalousies, and put her finger to
her thick lips.

‘«« No make noise ; missy sleep.’

‘«« Where am [ to put this ?’

«‘« Put down there ; by-and-by I come fetch
it;’ and then she closed the jalousies, for fear
her mistress should be woke up, and she get a
hiding, poor devil. So I puts the breaker down
at the door, and walks back to the boat again.
Now, you see these liberty men were all by
when I spoke to the girl, and seeing the liquor
left with no one to guard it, the temptation was
too strong for them. So they looked all about
them, and then at one another, and caught one
another's meaning by the eye ; but they said
nothing,. ‘I'll have no hand in it,’ at last’says
one, and walked away. ‘Nor I,’ said another,
and walked away too. At last all of them
walked away except eight, and then Bill Short
walks up to the breaker and says,

“««T won't have no avd in it either ;’ but he
gave the breaker a kick, which rolls it away two
or three yards from the door.

““* Nor more will I,’ said Holmes, giving the
breaker another kick, which rolled it out in the
road. So they all went on, without having ¢
hand in it, sure enough, till they had kicked the
breaker down the hill to the beach. Then theywere at.a dead stand, as no one would spile the
breaker. At last a black carpenter came by,
and they offered him a glass, if he would bore
a hole with his gimlet, for they were determined
to be able to swear, every one of them, that they
had zo hand ix tt. Well, as soon as the hole
was bored, one of them borrowed a couple of
jittle mugs from a black woman, who sold beer,
and then they let it run, the black carpenter
shoving one mug underas soon as the other was
full, and they drinking as fast as they could.
Before they had half finished, more of the liberty
men came down ; I suppose they scented the
good stuff from above, as a shark does anything
in the water, and they soon made a finish of it ;
and when it was all finished, they were all
drunk, and made sail for a cruise, that they
might not be found too near the empty breaker.
Well, a little before sunset, I was sent on shore
avith the boat to fetch off the liberty men, and
the purser takes this opportunity of going
ashore to see his madam, and the first thing he
falls athwart of is his own empty breaker.

““* How's this?’ says he; ‘didn’t you take
this breaker up as I ordered you ?’

““* Ves, sir,’ replied I, ‘I did; and gave it in
charge to the little black thing; but madam
was asleep, and the girl did not not allow me
to put it inside the door.’ At that he began to
storm, and swore that he’d find out the male-
factors, as he termed the liberty men, who had
emptied his breaker ; and away he went to the
house. As soon as he was gone, we got hold of
the breaker, and made a dwz// of it.”

‘“ How did you manage that ?” inquired I.

“Why, Jacob, a dz// means putting a quart
or two of water into a cask which has had
spirits in it ; and what with the little that may
be left, and what has soaked in the wood, if you
roll it and shake it well, it generally turns out
pretty fair grog. At all events, it’s always
better than nothing. Well. to go on,—but
suppose we fill up again and take a fresh de-
parture, as this is a tolerable long yarn, and I
must wet the threads, or they may chance to
break.”

Our pannikins, which had been-empty, were
all replenished, and then old Tom proceeded.

“Tt was a long while before we could pick
up the liberty men, who were reeling about
every corner of the town, and quite dark before
I came on board. ‘The first lieutenant was on
deck, and had no occasion to ask me why I
waited so long, when he found they were all
lying in the ‘stern sheets. ‘Where the devil
could they have picked up the liquor ?’ said he,
and then he ordered the master-at-arms to keep
them under the half-deck till they were sober.
The next morning the purser comes off, and
makes his complaint on the quarter-deck, as
how somebody had stolen his liquor. The first
lieutenant reports to the captain, and the
captain orders up all the men who came off
tipsy.

“¢* Which of you took the liquor?’ said he.

 

FACOB FAITHFUL,

    
 
   
   
 
   
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   

69

They all swore that they had no hand in it,
‘Then how did you get tipsy? Come now,
Mr. Short, answer me; you came off beastly
drunk—who gave’you the liquor ?’ :

“““A Dlack fellow, sir,’ replied Short ; which
was true enough, as the mugs were filled by the
black carpenter, and handed by him.

‘Well, they all swore the same, and then
the captain got into a rage, and ordered them
all to be put down on thereport. The nextday
the hands were turned up for punishment, and
the captain said, ‘ Now, my lads, if you won't
tell who stole the purser’s grog, I will flog you
allround. I only want to flog those who com-
mitted the theft, for it is too much to expect of
seamen, that they would refuse a glass of grog
when offered to them.’

‘‘Now Short and the others had a parley
together, and they had agreed how to act;
they knew that the captain could not bear
flogging, and was a very kind-hearted man. So
Bill Short steps out, and says, touching his
forelock to the captain, ‘If you please, sir, if
all must be flogged, if nobody will peach, I
think it better to tell the truth at once. It was
I who took the liquor.’

‘““ «Very well, then,’ said the captain ; ‘strip

sir.’ So Bill Short pulls off his shirt, and is
seized up. ‘ Boatswain's mate,’ said the cap-
tain, ‘give him a dozen.’

‘‘*Beg your honour's pardon,’ said Jack
Holmes, stepping out of the row of men brought
out for punishment ; ‘but I can’t bear to see
an innocent man punished ; and since one must
be flogged, it must be the right one. It warn’t
Bill Short that took the liquor ; it was I.’

‘“‘Why how’s this?’ said the captain ;
‘didn’t you own that you took the liquor, Mr.
Short ?’

‘**Why, yes, I did say so, cause I didn’t
wish to see evervybody flogged—but the truth’s
the truth, and I had no hand in it.’

““« Cast him loose—Holmes, you'll strip, sir.’
Holmes stripped, and was tied up. ‘ Give him
a dozen,’ said the captain; when out steps
M’Alpine, and swore it was him, and not
Holmes ; and axed leave to be flogged in his
stead. At which the captain bit his lips to prevent
laughing, and then they knew all was right. So
another came forward, and says it was him, and
not M’Alpine ; and another contradicts him
again, andsoon. At last the captain says, ‘One
would think flogging was a very pleasant affair,
you are all so eager to be tied up ; but, how-
ever, | shan't flog to please you. I shall find
out who the real culprit is, and then punish him
severely. In the meantime, you keep them all
on the report, Mr. P , speaking to the first
lieutenant. ‘Depend ufon it, I'll not let you
off, although I do not choose to flog innocent
men.’ So they piped down, and the first
lieutenant, who knew that the captain never
meant to take any more notice of it, never
made no inquiries, and the thing blew over.
One day, a month or two after, I told the

 

“7O

officers how it was managed, and they laughed
heartily.’

We continued our carouse till a late hour,
old Tom constantly amusing us with his long
yarns ; and that night, for the first time, I went
to bed intoxicated. Old Tom and _ his son
assisted me into my. bed-place, old Tom ob-
serving, ‘‘ Poor Jacob, it will do him good ;: his
heart was heavy, and now he'll forget it all, for
a little time, at all events.”’

‘‘Well but, father, I don’t like to see Jacob
drunk,’ replied young Tom. ‘‘It’s not like
him—it's not worthy of him ; as for you or me,
it’s nothing at all; but I feel Jacob was never
meant to be.a toper. I. never saw a lad so
altered in a short time, and I expect bad will
come of it when he leaves us.’

I awoke, as might be supposed, after my first
debauch, with a violent headache, but I had
also a fever, brought on by my previous anxiety
of mind. I rose, dressed, and went on deck,
where the snow was nearly a foot deep. It now
froze hard, and the river was covered with small
pieces of floating ice. I rubbed my burning
forehead with the snow, and felt relief. For
some time I assisted Tom to heave it over-
board, but the fever pressed upon me, and in

   

FACOB. FAITHFUL.

less than half an hour I could no longer stand
the exertion. I sat down on the water-cask,
and pressed my hands to my _ throbbing
temples.

‘‘You are not well, Jacob?” inquired, Tom,
coming up to me with the shovel in bis hand,
and glowing with health and exercise.

‘‘Tam not, indeed, Tom,” replied I; ‘‘ feel
how hot Lam.”’

Tom went to his father, who was. in the
cabin, padding, with extra flannel, his stumps,
to defend them from the cold, which always
made him suffer much, and then led me into
the cabin. It was with much difficulty I could
walk ; my knees trembled, and. my eyesight
was defective. Old Tom took my hand as I
sank on the locker.

‘‘Do you think that it was taking too much
last night ?’’ inquired Tom of his father.

‘‘There’s more here than a gallon of liquor
would have brought about,’’ replied old Tom.
‘‘No, no—I see it all. Go to bed again,
Jacob.”

They put me into bed, and I was soon in a
state of stupor, in which I remained until the
lighter had arrived at the Brentford Wharf, and
for many days afterwards.

 

CHAPTERS So,

Ona sick Bed—Fever, Firmness, and Folly—‘‘ Bound ’Prentice toa Waterman ’’—I take my first Lesson
in Love, and give my first Lesson in Latin—The Love Lessor makes an Impression on my auricular
Organ—Verily, none are so Deaf as those who won't hear.

WHEN I recovered my senses, 1 found myself
in bed, and Captain Turnbull sitting by my
side. I had been removed to his house when
the lighter had arrived at the wharf. Captain
Turnbull was then talking with Mr. Tomkins,
the former head clerk, now in charge. Old
‘Tom came on shore and stated the condition I
was in, and Mr. Tomkins having no spare bed
in his house, Captain Turnbull immediately
ordered me to be taken: to his residence, and
sent for medical advice. During the time I had
remained in this state, old Tom had informed
Captain Turnbull, the Domine, and: Mr. Tom-
kins, of the circumstances which had occurred,
and how much I had been misrepresented to
Mr. Drummond ; and not saying a word about
the affair of Wimbledon Common, or my sub-
‘sequent intemperance, had given it as his
opinion that ill-treatment had produced the
fever. In this, I believe, he was nearly correct,
although my disease might certainly have been
aggravated and hastened by those two unmen-
tioned causes. ‘They all of them took my part,
and Mr. Turnbull went to London to state my
condition to Mr. Drummond, and also to re-
monstrate at his injustice. Circumstances had
since occurred which induced Mr. Drummond
to lend a ready ear to my justification ; but the
message I had sent was still an obstacle. This,

however, was partly removed by the equivo-
cating testimony of the young clerk when he
was interrogated by Captain Turnbull and Mr.
Drummond ; and wholly so by the evidence of
young and old Tom, who, although in the
eabin, had overheard the whole of the conver-
sation; and Mr. Drummond desired Captain
‘Turnbull to inform me, as soon as I recovered,
that all was forgotten and forgiven. It might
have been on his part, but not on mine; and
when Captain Turnbull told me so, with the
view of raising my spirits, I shook my head as
I lay on the pillow. As the reader will have
observed, the feeling roused in me by the ill-
usage I had received was a wzzdective one—one
that must have been deeply implanted in my
heart, although, till then, it had never been
roused into action, and now, once roused, was
not to be suppressed. That it was based on
pride was evident, and with it my pride was
raised in proportion. To the intimation of
Captain Turnbull, I therefore gave a decided
dissent. ‘‘ No, sir, I cannot return to Mr.
Drummond : that he was kine. to me, and that
I owe much to his kindness, I readily admit ;
and now that he has acknowledged his error in
supposing me capable of such ingratitude, |
heartily forgive him ; but I cannot and will not
receive any more favours from him. I cannotFACOB FAITHFUL.
FE
put myself in a situation to be again mortified quested: but I cannot, and will not, accept of
Ti > 2 r r 9 ee S

as I have been. I feel I should no longer have further favours.” Ue
the same pleasure in doing my duty as I once The i i i

é ‘ j ye 1e Domine r fi
Behe auld hoe ulate ~_ 7 omine urged in vain, and left me. Mr.

ad, < € under the sameroof Tomkins also came, and argued the poi 7

with those who at present serve hi ‘Tell hi success ras} aT sSsD ou hit

! at present serve him. eu him out success. Iwas resolved. I was determined
all this, and pray tell little Sarah how grateful to be independent : and I looked to the river
I feel to her for all her ‘kindness to me, and as my father, mother, home, and ev thi
that I shall always think of her with regret, at As soon as my health was reingtated eet

: eye ee s ats Ny Aes é ated, Captai

being obliged to leave her." And at the re- Turnbull one day came to me “Jacob H ta
membrance of little Sarah, I burst into tears, he, ‘‘the lighter has returned - and [ wish to
and sobbed on my pillow. Captain Turnbull, know if you intend to goon board again, and
whether he rightly estimated my character, or afterwards go into the vessel into which Mr
felt convinced that I had made up my mind, Drummond proposes to send you 2?” es

did not renew the subject. ““T will go-into no vessel through Mr

«e F “. Pee tees Pa es ee fi 2 : >. CHTC I z
Well, Jacob, replied he, ‘‘ we'll not talk of Drummond’s means or interest,’ replied I
that any more. I'll give your messages just in ‘“ What will you do, then?” replied he ;

your own words. Now, take your draught, “TI can always enter on board a man-of-war,”
r t ac . @ - 7 Ces 1 a x 5 z
and try to get a little sleep. replied I, ‘‘if the worst comes to the worst : but
r + ag yy 7 if :
I complied with this request, and nothing but if I can serve out my apprenticeship on the
weakness now remaining, I rapidly regained river, I should prefer it.”
my strength, and with my strength, my feelings ‘‘T rather expected this answer, Jacob, from
of resentment increased in proportion. Nothing what you have said to me already : and I have
Trerv reggie ~t<« > . re 7 r ‘ i if art %
but the very weak state that I was in when _ been trying if I cannot help v ethine
Cc . ‘ gms oe ate eo elp you to something
aptain Turnbull spoke to me would have which may suit you. You don’t mind beins
softened me down to give the kind message obliged to me?” >

that I did; but my vindictive mind was sub- ““Oh, no ; but promise you will never doubt
dued by disease, and better feelings predomi- me—never accuse me.” My voice faltered and
nated. The only effect this had was to increase I could say no more. ; oy

my animosity against the other parties who ‘No, my lad, that I will not : I know you,

were the cause of my ill-treatment and I vowed as I think, pretty well ; and the heart that feels
that they, at least, should one day repent their a false accusation as yours does, is sure to
conduct. : guard against committing what you are so
The Domine called upon me the following angry at being accused of. Now, Jacob, listen
z oS tS a UE ,
Sunday. I was dressed and looking through to me. You know old deaf Stapleton, whose
the window when he arrived. The frost was wherry we have so often pulled up and down
now intense, and the river was covered with the river? I have spoken to him to take you as
large masses of ice, and my greatest pleasure his help, and he has consented. Will you like
was to watch them as they floated down with to go? He has served his time, and has a
the tide. ‘‘Thou hast had a second narrow right to take a 'prentice.”
escape, my Jacob,” said he, after some prelimi- “Yes,” replied I, ‘‘ with pleasure ; and with
Mary observations. ‘‘Once again did death more pleasure, from expecting to see you
(pallida mors) hover over thy couch; but thou often.” ;
hast arisen, and thy fair fame is again estab- ‘‘O, I promise you all my custom, Jacob,”
. r s i) . 5 - . ‘ 8 a
lished. When wilt thou be able to visit Mr. replied he, laughing, ‘‘ We'll often turn old
Drummond, and be able to thank him for his Stapleton out, and have a row together. Is it

Kindness ?” agreed 2” we 9 CET
‘Never, sir,” replied I. ‘‘I will never again “It is,” replied I; ‘‘9n8 thank but myself.
enter Mr. Drummond’s house.” you.’ rt you—l’m very sorry if I
‘“Nay, Jacob, this savoureth of enmity. ‘“Well, then, cons making love in ‘Latin, I've

Are not we all likely to be deceived—all likely. has a very good ro of that.”
to do wrong ? Did not I, even I, in thy pre- on shore, at Full suppose we make friends,”
sence, backslide into intemperance and folly? and I think yous, out my hand.
Did not I disgrace myself before my pupil—and _I didnot knov,+ } really wished to do, although
shalt thou, in thy tender years, harbour ill-will Turnbull had hy.in¢ so much nonsense,” replied
against one who hath cherished thee when Stapleton ta] }.yo\y we shall like one another,
thou wert destitute, and who was deceived up the diffe. joo friends. You can’t help feel-
with regard to thee by the base and evil- a trifle per iovards a girl you've kissed; and I
Speaking?” — Occasion... }y kindness to make up to you for the
*“Tam obliged to Mr. Drummond for all his tion. on the ear : so now sit down, and let’s have
kindness, sir,’ replied I; ‘‘ but I never wish to clothe, talk. Mr. Turnbull told us that he
enter his house. I was turned out of it, and Turr) 44 you to serve out your apprenticeship on
oT will again go into it.” — ve ° he river with my father, so that, if you agree,
Lheu ! Jacobe, thou art in error ; it is our We shall be a long while together. 1 take Mr.
duty to forgive, as we hope to be forgiven.” ; 2
‘*I do forgive, sir, if that is what is re-72 FACOB FAITALIUL.
square, the two bed-rooms at the back, for
himself and his daughter, just held a small bed
each, and the kitchen, and my room below,
were to match; neither were the tenements in
the very best repair, the parlour especially,
hanging over the river, being lop-sided, and
make head against ; and if so be that should giving you the uncomfortable idea that it would
be your case for a time, recollect the old house, every minute fall into the stream below. Still
the old woman, and old Tom, and there you'll the builder declared that it would last many
always find a hearty welcome, and a hearty old years without sinking further, and that was
couple, who'll share with you what they have, sufficient. At all events, they were very Tre-
be it good, bad, or indifferent. Here’s luck to spectable accommodations fora waterman, and
you, my boy ; and recollect, 1 means to go to Stapleton paid for them ro/. per annum. Sta-
the expense of painting the sides of my craft pleton’s daughter was certainly a very well-
blue, and then you'll always know her as she favoured girl. She had rather a large mouth ;
creeps up and down the river.” but her teeth were very fine, and beautifully
‘And Jacob,” said young Tom ;—‘‘I may white. Her hair was auburn—her complexion
be a wild one, but I’m a trueone; if ever you very fair, her eyes were large, and of a deep
want me, in fair weather and in foul—good or blue, and from her figure, which was very good,
bad—for fun or for mischief—for a help, or for I should have supposed her to have been eigh-
a friend in need, through thick or thin, ’'m_ teen, although she was not past fifteen, as i
yours, even to the gallows ; and here’smy hand found out afterwards. There was a frankness
upon it.” and honesty of countenance about her, and an
‘Just like you, Tom,” observed his father ; intellectual smile, which was very agreeable.
“put L know what you mean, and all's right.” “Well, Mary, how do get on?” said Sta-
[ shook hands ‘with them both, and we pleton, as we ascended to the sitting-room.
parted. “‘ Here's young Faithful come to take up with
Thus did I remove from the lighter, and at us

once take up the profession of a waterman. I
walked down to the Fulham side, where I found have taken so much dirt from the room, that T

Stapleton at the door of the public-house, expect we shall be indicted for filling up the
standing with two or three others, smoking his river. I wonder what nasty people lived in this
pipe. ‘‘ Well, lad, so you're chained to my house before us?”
wherry for two or three years ; and I’m to ‘‘ Very nice rooms, nevertheless ; a'n't they
‘nitiate you into all the rules and regulations boy?”
of the company. Now, I'll tell you one thing, ‘““Q yes, very nice for idle people ; you may
which is, d’ye see, when the tiver’s covered amuse yourself looking out on the, Tver, OG
with ice, as it is just now, haul your wherry up watching what floats by, or fishing witha pin
high and dry, and smoke your pipe till the at high water,” replied Mary, looking at me.
river is clear, as I do now.” “T like the river,” replied I, gravely; ‘‘l
“‘T might have guessed that,”” replied I, was born on it, and hope to get my bread on
bawling in his ear, ‘‘ without your telling mew”) sit.”
“Very true, my lad; but don't bawl in my ‘And I like this sitting-room,”’ rejoined
ear quite so loud, I hears none the better for it; Stapleton; ‘‘ how mighty comfortable it will be
Rely ears require coaxing, that’s all.” to sit at the open window, and smoke in the
Ca ay I thought you were as deaf as a summer time, with one’s jacket off!”
gas LUE une obakt all events, you'll have no excuse. for
, circumstances-angers, cause I don’t dirtying the room, father ; and as for the lad,
Me. pew much I had beemice ; but with those 1 suppose his smoking days have not come
vir. Lrummond ; and not san they speak quietly yet.
the affair of Wimbledon Comne, let's go home, “No,” replied 1; ‘‘but my days for taking
Sequent intemperance, had g here's nothing to of my jacket are, I suspect. a
pon tat by dreatalent had ust as well make @® yes,” replied, she, ‘‘ never fear that:
See nee elieve, he was ha father will let you. do all the work you please,
pe yi teense might certain}but he had a and look on—wont you, father?”
ae Mae d pasrsned by those tyPt his lodg- Don't let your tongue run quite so fast,
eee pe ae of them tooked itsae bbe Mary ; you're not over fond of work yourself. ‘
ae ae “3 a want to London to sped by a ‘No ; there s only one thing I dislike more,
Pee eet ey rummond, andratsot OF the repiied she, ‘‘and that’s holding my tongue.
mae nigh sanustice Circumstances’iNGOw Well, I shall leave you and Jacob to make
ae reas waich induced Mr, Drumme “ver it out together ; I am going back to. the
a ready ear to my justification ; but t}$ of Feathers.” And old Stapleton walked down
: stairs, and went back to the inn, saying, as he

message I had sent was still an obstacle, This be
> qd went out, that he should be back to his dinner.

Mary continued her employment, of wiping

“Jacob,” said old Tom, * I likes your pride
after all, ‘cause why, I think you have some
right to be proud ; and the man who only asks
fair play, and no favour, always will rise in this
world. But look. you, Jacob, theres some-
times a current ’gainst a man, that no ome can

“ Well, father, his bed’s all ready ; and I¥ACOB

the furniture of the room with a duster for some
minutes, during. which I did not speak, but
watched the floating ice on the river. ‘‘ Well,”
said Mary, ‘‘do you always talk as you do
now? if-so, you'll be a very nice companion.
Mr. Turnbull, who came to my father, told me
that you was a sharp fellow, could read, write,
and do everything, and that I should like you
‘ery much ; but if you mean to keep it all to
yourself, you might as well not have had it.”

‘““T am ready to talk when I have anything to
talk about,” replied I.

“That's not enough. I’m ready to talk
about nothing, and you must do the same.”

‘““Very well’ replied I. | ‘‘ How old are
you?”

‘‘How old am I! O then you consider me
nothing. I'll try hard but you shall alter your
opinion, my fine fellow. However, to answer
your question, I believe I’m about fifteen.”

‘Not more! well there’s an old proverb,
which I will not repeat.”

‘‘T know it, so you may save yourself the
trouble, you saucy boy: but now, for your
aver

‘“Mine! let me see; well, I believe that I am
nearly seventeen.”

« Are you really so old! well, now, I should
have thought you no more than fourteen.”

This answer at first surprised me, as I was
very stout and tall for my age; buta moment's
reflection told me that it was given to annoy
me. A lad is as much vexed at being supposed
younger than he really is, as a man of a certain
age is annoyed at being taken for so much
older. ‘‘ Pooh!” replied I]: ‘‘that shows how
little you know about men.”

«© T wasn't talking about men, that I know
of ; but still, I do know something about them.
I've had two sweethearts already.”

“Indeed! and what have you done with
them 2.’

“Done with them! I jilted the first for the
second, because the second was better-looking ;
and when Mr. Turnbull told me so much about
you, I jilted the second to make room for you ;
but now, I mean to try if I can't get him back
again.”

“With all my heart,” repiied I, laughing.
‘*T shall prove but a sorry sweetheart, for I
never made love in my life.”

‘Have you ever had anybody to make love
roe

aN.”

“That's the reason, Mr. Jacob, depend upon
it. All you have to do is to swear that I’m the
prettiest girl in the world, that you like me
better than anybody else in the world ; do any-
thing in the world that I wish you to do—
spend all the money you have in the world in
buying me ribbons and fairings, and then——

“And then, what?”

“«\WWhv, then I shall hear all you have to say,
take all you have to give, and laugh at you in

the bargain.’

EAL FAROL. 73

‘But I shouldn't stand that long.”

“O yes, you .would. Id put you. out of
humour, and coax you in again ; the fact is,
Jacob Faithful, I made my mind up, before I
saw you, that you should be my sweetheart,
and when I will have a thing, I will; so you
may as well submit to it at once ; if you don't, as
I keep the key of the cupboard, I'll starve you;
that's the way to tame any brute, they say.
And I teil you why, Jacob, I mean that you
shall be my sweetheart, it's because Mr. Turn-
bull told me that you knew Latin ; nowy tell me,
what is Latin?”

‘‘ Latin is a language which people spoke in
former times, but now they do not.”

‘Well, then, you shall make love to me in
Latin, that’s agreed.”

‘‘ And how do you mean to answer me?”

‘‘O, in plain English, to be sure.”

‘‘But how are you to understand me?”
replied I, much amused with the conversation.

‘‘O, if you make love properly, I shall soon
understand you ; I shall read the English of it
in your eyes.

‘Very well, I’ve no objection ; when am I to
begin?”

‘Why, directly, you stupid fellow, to be
sure. What a question! ”

I went close up to Mary, and repeated a few
words of Latin—‘' Now,’ says JI, “‘look ‘into
my eyes, and see if you can translate them.”

‘‘Something impudent, I’m sure,” replied
she, fixing her blue eyes on mine.

‘Not at all,’’ replied I; ‘‘ I, only asked for
this,” and I snatched a kiss, in return for which
I received a box on the ear, which made it
tingle for five minutes, “‘ Nay,” replied J, ‘‘that’s
not fair; I did as you desired—I made love in
Latin.

‘‘ And I answered you, as I said I would, in
plain English,” replied Mary, reddening up to
the forehead, but directly after bursting out into
aloud laugh. ‘‘ Now, Mr. Jacob, I plainly see
that you know nothing about making love.
Why, bless me, a year’s dangling, anda years
pocket-money should not have given you what
you have had the impudence to take in so many
minutes. But it was my own fault, that's cer-
tain, and I have no one to thank but myself.
I hope I didn’t hurt you—I’'m very sorry if I
did: but no more making love in Latin, I’ve
had. quite enough of that.”

‘“ Well, then, suppose we make friends,”
replied I, holding out my hand.

‘That's what | really wished to do, although
I've been talking so much nonsense,” replied
Mary. ‘‘I know we shall like one another,
and be very good friends. You can't help feel-
ing kind towards a girl you've kissed ; and I
shall try by kindness to make up to you for the
box on the ear ; so now sit down, and let's have
a long talk. Mr. Turnbull told us that he
wished you to serve out your apprenticeship on
the river with my father, so that, if you agree,
wwe shall be a long while together. 1 take Mr.

  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
   
    
     

Sataboaeraee%ACOB

74

Turnbull's word, not that I can find it out yet,
that you are a very good-tempered, good-
looking, clever, modest lad; and as an ap-
prentice who remains with my father must live
with us, of course I had rather it should be one
of that sort, than some ugly, awkward brute
who——"’

‘Ts not fit to make love to you,’’ replied I.

‘““Who is not fit company for me,” replied
Mary. ‘‘I want no more love from you, at
present. The fact is, that father spends all the
time he can spare from the wherry at the ale-
house, smoking ; and it’s very dull for me, and
having nothing to do, I look out of window,
and make faces at the young men as they pass
by, just to amuse myself. Now there was no
great harm in that a year or two ago > but now,
you know, Jacob -

“Well now, what then?”’

‘‘O, I’m bigger, that’s all; and what might
be called sauciness in a girl, may be thought
something more of ina young woman. So I've
been obliged to leave it off: but being obliged
to remain at home, with nobody to talk to, I
never was so glad as when I heard that you
were to come; so you see; Jacob, we must be
friends. I daren’t quarrel with you long, although
I shall sometimes, just for variety, and to have
the pleasure of making it up again. Do you
hear me—or what are you thinking of?”

‘‘T'm thinking that you're a very odd girl.”

“‘T dare say that I am, but how can I help
that? Mother died when I was five years old,
and father couldn’t afford to put me out; so he
used to lock me in all day, till he came home
from the river ; and it was not till I was seven
years old, and of some use, that the door was
left open. I never shall forget the day when he
told me that in future he should trust me, and
leave the door open. I thought I was quite a
woman, and have thought so ever since. I
recollect, that I often peeped out, and longed
to run about the world; but I went two or
three yards from the door, and felt so frightened,
that I ran back as fast as I could. Since that I
have seldom quitted the house for an hour, and
never have been out of Fulham.”

‘“Then you have never been at school ?”’

“Ono—never. I often wish that I had. I
used to see the little girls coming home, as they
passed our door, so merrily, with their bags,
from the school-house ; and I’m sure, if it were
only to have the pleasure of going there and
back again for the sake of the run, I would have
worked hard, if for nothing else.”’

“Would you like to learn to
write?”

“Will you teach me?” replied Mary, taking
me by the arm, and looking me earnestly in the
face.

“Yes, I will, with pleasure,” replied I, laugh-
ing. ‘‘ We will pass the evening better than
making love, after all, especially if you hit so
hard. How came you so knowing in those
matters?”

 

read and

FAITHFUL.

    

replied Mary, smiling; ‘‘I
suppose, as father says, it’s human nature, for
I never learnt anything ; but you will teach me
to read and write?”

‘‘T will teach you all I know myself, Mary, if

“J don’t know,’’

you wish to learn. Everything but Latin—
we've had enough of that.”

“Oh! I shall be so much obliged to you. I
shall love you so!” ;

‘There you are again.”

‘“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” replied Mary,
earnestly. ‘‘I meant that after all, I don't
know what else to say. I mean that I shall
love you for your kindness, without your loving
me again, that’s it.”

‘‘T understand you; but now, Mary, as we
are to be such good friends, it is necessary that
your father and I should be good friends ; so I
must ask you what sort of a person he is, for I
know little of him, and of course wish to oblige
him.”

‘‘Well, then, to prove to you that I am
sincere, I will tell you something. My father,
in the first place, is a: very good-tempered sort
ofman. He works pretty well, but might gain
more; but he likes to smoke at the public-
house. All he requires of «me is his dinner
ready, his linen clean, and the house tidy. He
never drinks too much, and is always civil-
spoken ; but he leaves me too much alone, and
talks too much about human nature, that’s all.”

‘But he’s so deaf—he can’t talk to you.”

‘‘Give me your hand—now promise—for I’m
going to do a very foolish thing, which is to
trust a man—promise you'll never tell it again.”

‘Well, I promise,’ replied I ; supposing her
secret of no consequence.

‘‘ Well, then — mind — you've promised.
Father is no more deaf than you or I.”

““Indeed !”’ replied I; ‘‘ why, he goes by the
name of Deaf Stapleton?”

‘““T know he does, and makes everybody
believe that he is so; but it is to make money.”

‘‘How can he make money by that?”

‘“There’s many people in business who go
down the river, and they wish to talk of their
affairs without being overheard as they go
down. They always call for Deaf Stapleton :
and there’s many a gentleman and lady, who
have much to say to each other, without wishing
people to listen—you understand me?”’

‘“O yes, I understand—Latin !”

‘“ Exactly—and they call for Deaf Stapleton
and by this means he gets more good fares than
any other waterman, and does less work.”

‘“But how will he manage now that I am
with him ?”

‘‘O, I suppose it will depend upon his cus-
tomers ; if a single person wants to go down,
you will take the sculls; if they call for oars,,
you will both go ; if he considers Deaf Staple-
ton only is wanted, you will remain on shore;
or, perhaps, he will insist upon your-being deaf
too.”

 

 

“ But I don _ like deceit.’’*“ No, it’s not right ; although it appears to
me that there is a great deal of it. Still I
should like you to sham deaf, and then tell me
all that people say. It would be so funny.
Father never will tell a word.”

‘‘So far, your father, to a certain degree,
excuses himself.”’

‘Well, I think he will soon tell you what I
have now told you, but till then you must keep
your promise; and now you must do as you
please, as I must go down in the kitchen, and
get dinner on the fire.”’

JACOB FAITHFUL,

 
  
     
  
    
   
 
  
   
 

75

“IT have nothing to do,” replied I; ‘‘can I
help you ?”’
_ “To be sure you can, and talk to me, which
is better still. Come down and wash the pota-
toes for me, and then I'll find you some more
work. Well, I do think we shall be very
happy.” ;

I followed Mary Stapleton down into the
kitchen, and we were soon very busy, and very
noisy, laughing, talking, blowing the fire, and
preparing the dinner. By the time that her father
came home, we were sworn friends.

 

CEPA Tt) Ree

Is very Didactic, and treats learnedly of the various Senses, and “ Human Nature ;” is also diffuse on the
best Training to produce a moral Philosopher—Indeed, it contains Materials with which to build up one
System, and half a’ dozen Theories, as these Things are now made.

I WAS rather curious, after the secret confided
to me by Mary Stapleton, to see how her father
would behave ; but when we had sat and talked
some time, as he appeared to have no difficulty
in answering to any observation in a common
pitch of the voice, I observed to him that he was
not so deafas I thought he was.

““No, no,’ replied he ; ‘‘in the house I hear
very well, but in the open air I can't hear at all,
if a person speaks to me two yards off. Always
speak to me close to my ear in the open air, but
not loud, and then I shall hear you very well.”
I caught a bright glance from Mary's blue eye,
and made no answer. ‘‘ This frost will hold,
I’m afraid,” continued Stapleton, ‘‘and we shall
have nothing to do for some days but to blow
our fingers and spend our earnings ; but there's
never much doing at this time of the year. The
winter cuts us watermen up terribly. As for
me, I smokes my pipe and thinks on human
natur ; but what you are to do, Jacob, I can't
tell.’

‘Oh! he will teach me to read and write,”’
tepled Mary.

‘T don’t know that he shall,” replied Staple-
ton. ‘‘ What's the use of reading and writing
to you? We've too many senses already, in
my opinion ; and if so be we have learning to
boot, why then all the worse for us.”

‘‘ How many senses are there, father?”

‘How many! I’m sure I can't tell, but more
than enough to puzzle us.”

‘‘There are only five, I believe,”
“‘first, there's hearing.”

“‘Well,”’ replied Stapleton, ‘‘ hearing may be
useful at times, but not hearing at times is
much more conyenient. I make twice as much
money since I lost the better part of my
hearing.”

‘Well, then, there's seezzg,’’ continued I.

‘Seeing is useful at times, I acknowledge :
but I knows this, that if a man could pull a
young couple about the river, and not be able

said: <I;

  

    

to see now and then, it would be many a half-
crown in his pocket.”

‘‘ Well, then, now we come to fasting.”

‘“No use at all—only a vexation. If there
was no tasting, we should not care whether we
ate brown bread or roast beef, drank water or
XX ale ; and in these hard times that would be
no small saving.”

‘“ Well, then, let me see, there's selding.”’

‘«Smelling’s no use whatever. For one good
smell by the river’s side, there be ten nasty
one’s ; and so there is everywhere, to my con-
viction.”’

‘“Which is the next, Jacob?” said Mary,
smiling archly.

“* Feeling.”

“Feeling! that’s the worst of the whole.
Always feel too cold in winter, too hot in
summer—feel a blow too ;. feeling only gives
pain ; that’s a very bad sense.’

“Well, then, I suppose you think we should
get on better without our senses.”

‘“No; not without all of them. A little
hearing and a little seeing be all very well ; but
there are other senses which you have forgot,
Jacob. Now one I takes to be the very best of
the bunch, is s#oking.”’

“‘T never heard that was a sense,’ replied I,
laughing.

‘“Then you hav'n't half finished your educa-
tion, Jacob.”

‘Are reading and writing sezses, father?”
inquired Mary.

‘“To be sure they be, girl; for without sense
you can't read and write; and rowzng be a
sense just as well: and there be many other
senses ; but, in my opinion, most of the senses
be: nonsense, and only lead to mischief.”

‘‘Jacob,” said Mary, whispering to my ear,
‘isn’t Zoving a.sense ?”

‘« No, that’s nonsense,” replied I.

‘Well, then,” replied she, ‘‘I agree with my
father, that nonsense is better than sense ; but

 

ee

aries hecerasive~~

76

still I don’t see why I should not learn to read
and write, father.”

“‘T’ve lived all my life without it, and never
felt the want of if—-why can’t you?”

‘Because I do feel the want of it.”

“‘So you may, but they leads to no good.
Look at these fellows at the Feathers, all were
happy enough before Jim Holder, who's a
scholar, came among them, and now since he
reads to them, they do nothing but grumble,
and growl, and talk about I don’t know what—
corn-laws, and taxes, and liberty, and all other
nonsense. Now what could you do more than
you do now, if you larnt to read and write 2”

‘‘T could amuse myself when I've nothing to
do, father, when you and Jacob are away. I
often sit down,.after I’ve done all my work, and
think what I shall do next, and at last [ look
out of the window, and make faces at people,
because I’ve nothing better to do. Now,
father, you must let him learn me to read and
write.”

‘Well, Mary, if you will, you will; but re-
collect, don’t blame me for it—it must be all on
your own head ; and not on my conscience.
I've lived some forty or fifty years in this world,
and all my bad luck has been owing to having
too much senses, and all my good luck to
getting rid of them.”

‘‘T wish you would tell me how that came to
passe said’ Ie. Tshoukd like’ to ‘hear it! very
much, and it will be a lesson to Mary.”

“Well, I don't care if I do, Jacob, only I
must light my pipe first ; and, Mary, do you go
for a pot o’ beer.”

‘‘Let Jacob go, father.
on all my errands now.”

‘‘You mustn't order Jacob, Mary.”

‘“No, no—I wouldn't think of ordering him,
but I know he will do it—won’'t you, Jacob?”

‘“Yes, with pleasure,” replied I.

“Well, with all my heart, provided it be all
for love,’’ said Stapleton.

‘Of course all for love,” replied Mary, look-
ing at me, “or Latin—which, Jacob ?”

‘“What’s Latin,’”’ said her father.

“Oh ! that’s a new sense Jacob has been
showing me something of, which, like many
others, proved to be nonsense.”

I went for the beer, and when I returned
found the fire burning brightly, and a strong
sense of smoking from old Stapleton’s pipe. He
puffed once or twice more, and then commence
his history-as follows :—

““T can't exactly say when I were born, nor
where,’ said old Stapleton, taking his pipe out
ef his mouth, ‘‘ because I never axed’ either
father or mother, and they never told me, be-
cause why, I never did ax, and that be all
agreeable to human natur.” Here Stapleton
paused, and took three whiffs of his pipe.  ‘‘ I
recollects when I was a little brat about two
foot nothing, mother used to whack me all day
long, and I used to cry in proportion. Father
used to cry shame, and then mother would fly

I mean him to run

   

FACOB FAITHLUL.

at him: he would whack she ; she would up
with her apron in one corner and cry, while I
did the same with my pinbefore in another ; all
that was nothing but human natur.’’ [A pause,
and six or seven whiffs of the pipe. ]

“‘T was sent to a school at a penny a week,
to keep me out of the way, and out of mischief.
I larnt nothing but to sit still on the form and
hold my tongue, and so I used to amuse myself
twiddling my thumbs, and looking at the flies
as they buzzed about the room in the summer
time ; and in the winter, ‘cause there was no
flies of no sort, I used to watch the old missus
a knitting of stockings, and think how soon the
time would come when I should go home and
have my supper, which, in a child, was nothing
but human natur. [Puff, puff, puff.] Father
and mother lived in a cellar ; mother sold coals
and ‘tatoes, and father used to go out to work
in the barges on the river. As soon as I was
old enough, the schoolmistress sent word that I
ought to larn to read and write, and that she
must be paid threepence a week, so father took
me away from school, because he thought I had
had education enough ; and mother perched me
on a basket upside down, and made me watch
that nobody took the goods while she was busy
down below ; and then I used to sit all day
long watching the coals and ‘tatoes, and never
hardly speaking to nobody : so having nothing
better to do, I used to think about this, and
that, and everything, and when dinner would
be ready, and when I might get off the basket ;
for you see thinking be another of the senses,
and when one has nothing to do, and nothing
to say, to think be nothing more than human
natur. [ Puff, puff, and a pause for a drink out
of the pot.] At last, I grew a big stont boy, and
mother said that I ate too much, and must earn
my livelihood somehow or other, and father for
once agreed with her; but there was a little
difficulty how that was to be done; so untt
that was got over, I did nothing at all but
watch the coals and ‘tatoes as before. One
day mother wouldn't give me wituals enough,
so I helped myself; so she whacked me ; $0 I
being strong whacked she; so father coming
home whacked me, so I takes to my heels and
runs away a good mile before I thought at all
about how I was to live; and there I was, very
sore, very unhappy, and very hungry. [ Puff,
puff, puff, and a spit.]| I walks on, and on,
and then I gets behind a coach, and then the
fellow whips me, and I gets down again in a
great hurry, and tumbles into the road, and
before I cou'd get up again, a gemman in a gig
drives right over me and breaks my leg. [|
screams with the pain, which if I hadn't had
the sense of feeding, of course I shouldn't have
minded. He pulis up and get’s out, and tells
me he’s very sorry. I tells/him>so am I. His
servant calls some people, and they takes me
into a public-house, and lays me on the table
all among the pots of beer, sends for a doctor,
who puts me into bed, and puts my leg right¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

again; and then I was provided for, for at
least six weeks, during which the gemman calls
and axes how I feel myself ; and I says, ‘Pretty
well, I thanky. [Puff, puff—knock the ashes
out, pipe refilled, relighted, a drink of beer, and
go on.] So when I was well, and on my pins
again, the gentleman says, ‘What can I do for
you ?’ and the landlord cuts him short by say-
ing that he wanted a pot-boy, if I liked the
profession. Now, if I didn’t like the pots I did
the porter, which I had no share of at home,
so IL agrees..The gemman pays the score, gives
me half a guinea, and tells me not to be lying
in the middie of the road another time. I tells
him I won’t, so he jumps into his gig, and I've
never cast eyes upon him since. I stayed three
years with my master, taking out beer to his
customers, and always taking a little out of
each pot for myself, for that’s nothing but
human natur, when you likes a thing ; but I
never got into no trouble until one day I sees
my missus a kissing in the back parlour with a
fellow who travels for orders. I never said
nothing at first ; but at last I sees too much,
and then I tells master, who gets into a rage,
and goes into his wife, stays with her half an
hour, and then comes out and kicks me out of
the door, calling me a liar, and telling me never
to show my face again. I shies a pot at his
head, and showed him anything but my face,
for I took to my heels, and ran for it as fast as
I could. So much for seecxg,; if I hadn't seen,
that wouldnt have happened. So there I was
adrift, and good-bye to porter. [Puff, puff;
‘Mary, where’s my 'baccy-stopper?’ poke
down, puff, puff, spit, and proceed.] Well, I
walks towards Lunnen, thinking on husbands
and wives, porter and human natur, until I
finds myself there, and then I looks at all the
lighted lamos, and recollects that I haven’t no
lodging for the night, and then all of a sudden
I thinks of my father and mother, and wonders
how they b2 going on. Sol thought I’d go
and see, andaway I went ; comes to the cellar,
and goes down. ‘There is my mother with a
quartern of gin before her, walking to and fro,
and whimpeting to herself; so says I, ‘ Mother,
what's the matter now?’ at which she jumps up
and hugs me, and tells me I’m her only comfort
left. I looks at the quartern and thinks other-
wise ; so down I sits by her side, and then she
pours me ovt a glass, and pours out all her
grief, telling me how my father had left her for
another women, who kept another cellar in
another street, and how she was very unhappy,
and how she had taken to gin—which was
nothing but human natur, you see, and how
she meant to make away with herself; and
then she sent for more quarterns, and we
finished them. What with the joy of finding
me, and the grief at losing my father, and the
quarterns of gin, she went to bed crying drunk,
and fell fast asleep. So did I, and thought
home was home, afte all. Next morning I
takes up the business, and finds trade not so

77

bad after all; so I takes the command of all,
keeps all the money, and keeps mother in
order ; and don't allow drinking nor disorderly
conduct in the house; but goes to the public-
house every night for a pipe and a pot.

“Well, everything goes on very well for a
month, when who should come home but father,

which | didn’t approve of, because I liked being .

master. So I being a strong chap, then says,
‘If you be come to illtreat my mother, I'll put
you in the kennel, father. Be off to your new
woman. Ar’n’t you ashamed of yourself?” says
I. So father looks me in the face, and tells me
to stand out of his way, or he'll make cat’s-meat
of me; and then he goes to my mother, and
after a quarter of an hour of sobbing on her
part, and coaxing on his, they kiss and make
friends ; and then they both turns to me, and
orders me to leave the cellar, and never to show
my face again. I refuses: father flies at me,
and mother helps him ; and between the two I
was hustled out to find my bread how and
where I could. \ I've never taken a woman’s
part since. (Puff, puff, puff, and a deep sigh. ]
I walks down to the water-side, and having one
or two shillings in my pocket, goes into a public-
house to get a drop of drink and a bed. And
when I comes in, I sees a man hand a note for
change to the landlady, and she gives him
change. ‘That won't do,’ says he, and he was
half-tipsy ; ‘I gave you a ten-pound note, and
this here lad be witness.’ ‘It was only a ove,’
says the woman. ‘You aread d old cheat,’
says he, ‘and if you don’t give me the change,
I'll set your house on fire, and burn you alive.’
With that there was a great row, and he goes
out for a constable, and gives her in charge,
and gives me in charge as a witness, and then
she gives him in charge; and so we all went to
the watchhouse togéther, and slept on the
benches. The next morning we all appeared
before the magistrate, and the man tells his story,
and calls me as a witness ; but recollecting how
much I had suffered from see¢ng, I wouldn't
see anything this time. It might have been a
ten-pound note, for it certainly didn’t look like
a one; but my evidence went rather for than
against the woman, for I only proved the man
to be drunk ; and she was let off, and I walked
home with her: So says she, ‘ You're a fine boy,
and I'll do you a good turn for what you have
done forme. My husband is a waterman, and
I'll make you free of the river ; for he hasn’t no
‘prentice, and you can come on shore and stay
at the public-house, when you ar'n’t wanted.’
I jumped at the offer, and so by zot seezng 1
gets into a regular livelihood. Well, Jacob, how
do you like it?”

‘Very much,” replied I.

“ And you, Mary ?”’

‘‘Oh! I like it very much ; but I want father
to go on, and to know how he fell in love, and
matried my mother.”

‘Well, you shall have it all by and by ; but
now I must take a spell.”’

 

  

4
Araceae 5

Sa eeJACOB FAITHFUL.

   

CHAPTER... XXGEEI.

A very sensible Chapter, having reference to the Senses—Stapleton, by keeping his under Control, keeps his
Head above Water in his Wherry—Forced to fight for his Wife, and when he had won het, to fight on
to keep her—No great‘Prize, yet it made him a Prize-fighter.

OLD Stapleton finished his pipe, took another
swig at the porter, filled, relighted, puffed to try
it, cleared his mouth, and then proceeded :—

‘““Now you see, Bartley, her husband, was
the greatest rogue’ on the river; he was up to
everything, and stood at nothing. He fleeced as
much on the water as she did. on the land ; for I
often seed her give. wrong change afterwards
when people were tipsy, but I made a rule
always to walk away. As for Bartley, his was
always night-work, and many’s the coil of rope
I have brought on shore, what although he
might have paid for, he didn't buy it of the lawful
owner, but I never seed or heard, that was my
maxim ; and I fared well till I served my time,
and then they gave me their old wherry, and
built a new one for themselves. So I set up on
my own account, and then I seed, and heard,
and had all my senses, just as they were before
—more’s the pity, for no good came of it. [ Puff,
puff, puff, puff.| The Bartleys wanted me to
join them, but that wouldn't do; for though I
never meddled with other people’s concerns, yet
I didn’t choose to go wrong myself. . I’ve seed
all the world cheating each other for fifty years
or more, but that’s no concern of mine; I can’t
make the world better ; so all I thinks about it,
is to keep honest myself ; and if every one was
to look after his own soul, and not trouble
themselves about their neighbours, why then it
would be all the better for human natur. I
plied at the Swan Stairs, gained my livelihood,
and spent it as I got it; for I was then too
young to look out a’ter a rainy day.

“‘One night a young woman in a cloak comes
down:to the stairs with a bundle in her arms, and
seems in a very great taking, and asks me for a
boat. I hauls out of the row alongside of the
hard, and hands her in. She trips as she steps
in, andiI catches to save her from falling, and
in catching her I puts my hand upon the bundle
in her arms, and feels the warm face of a baby.
‘Where am I to go to, ma'am?’ says I. ‘O!
pull across, and land me on the other side,’ says
she ; and then I hears sobbing to herself, as if
her heart would break. When we were in the
middle o’ the stream, she lifts up her head, and
then first she looks at the bundle and kisses it,
and then she looks up at the stars which were
glittering above in the sky.’ She kisses the
child once more, jumps ‘up, and afore I could
be aware of what she was about, she tosses me
her purse, throws the child into the water, and
leaps in herself. I pulls sharp round imme-
diately, and seeing her again, I made one or
two good strokes, comes alongside of her, and

gets hold of her clothes. A’ter much ado I gets
her into the wherry, and as soon as I seed she
was come to again, I pulls her back to the
stairs where she had taken me from. As soon
as I lands I hears a noise and/talking, and
several people standing about ; it\seems it were
her relatives, who had missed her, and were
axing whether she had taken a boat ; and while
they were describing her, and the other watermen
were telling them how I had taken a fare of
that description, I brings her back. Well, they
takes charge of her, and leads her home ; and
then for the first time I thinks ofsthe purse at
the bottom. of the boat, which I picks up ; and
sure enough there were four golden guineas in
it, beside some silver. Well, the men who
plied at the stairs axed me all about it ; but I
keeps my counsel, and only tells them how the
poor girl threw herself into the water, and how
I pulled her out again ; and inp week I had
almost forgot all about it, when up comes an
officer, and’says to me, ‘You be Stapleton the
waterman?’ and. I says, ‘Yes, I/be.’ ‘Then
you must come along with me ;’ |jand’he takes
me‘to the police-office, where I finds the poor
young woman in custody for beijg accused of
having murdered her infant.. So they begins
to tax me upon my Bible oath, and I was forced
to tell the whole story ; for though you may lose
all your senses when convenient, yet somehow
or another, an oath on the Bible brings them
all back again. ‘Did you see'the child?’ said
the magistrate. ‘I seed a bundle,’ said I.
‘ Did'you hear the child cry?’ said he. ‘No,’
says I, ‘I didn’t ;’:and’then I thought I had
got the young woman off; but the magistrate
was an old: fox, and had all the|senses at his
fingers’ ends. So:says he, ‘When the young
woman stepped into the boat, did/she give you
the bundle?’ ‘No,’ says lagain.| ‘Then you
never touched it?” ‘Yes, I did, when her foot
slipped.’ ‘And what did it feellike?' ‘It felt
like a piece of human natur,’ says/, ‘and quite
warm like.’ ‘How do you mein?’ says he.
“Why, I took it by the feel for 9/baby.” ‘And
it Was quite warm, was it?’ ‘Yés,’ replied I, ‘it
was.’ ‘Well, then, what. else took place?’
“Why, when we were in the middle of the stream,
she and her child went overbgard ; I pulled her
in again, but couldn’t see the child.’ Fortu-
nately for the poor girl, they didn’t ask me
which went overboard first, And that saved her
from hanging. She was c¢hfined six months in
prison, and then let out Again; but you see, if
it hadn’t been for my uyfortunately feeling the
child, and feeling it was warm, what provedits oeing alive, the poor young woman would
have got off altogether, perhaps. So much for
the sense of feeling, which I says is of no use to
nobody, but only a vexation.” {Puff—the pipe
out, relighted—puff, puff. }

‘But, father,” said Mary, ‘‘did you ever
hear the history of the poor girl ?”

“Ves, | heard as how it’ was a hard case,
how she had been seduced by some fellow who
had left her and her baby, upon which she
determined to drown herself, poor thing ! and
her baby teo. Had-she only tried to drown her
baby, I should have said it was quite unnatural :
but as she wished to drown herself at the same
time, 1 considers that drowning the baby to take
it to heaven with her was quite natural, and all
agreeable to human natur. Love's a sense
which youns women should keep downas much
as possible, Mary ; no good comes of) zat
sense.”

‘‘And yet, father, it appears to me to be
human natur>,” replied Mary.

“So it is, but there’s mischief in it, girl ; so
do you never have anything to do with it.”

‘Was there mischief when you fell in love
with my moher and married her ?”’

“You shal hear, Mary,” replied old Staple-
ton, who recymmenced.

‘““Tt was ‘tout two months after the poor girl
threw herselfinto the river, that I first seed your
mother. She was then mayhap two years older
than you mty be, and much such a same sort of
person in he looks. There was a young man
who plied fom our stairs, named Ben Jones ;
he and I were great friends, and used for to
help each cher, and when a fare called for
oars, used tc ply together. One night he says
to me, ‘Wil, come up and I'll show you a
devilish fire piece of stuff.’’ So I walks with
him, and le takes me to a shop where they
dealed in narine stores, and we goes and finds
your mothr in the back parlour. Ben sends
out for pips and beer, and we sat down and
made ours:lves comfortable. Now, Mary,
your mothe was a very jilting kind of girl, who
would put me fellow off to take another, just as
her whim nd fancy took her. [I looked at
Mary, whocast down her eyes.] Now these
women do <mint of mischief among men, and
it seldom erds well ; and I'd sooner see you in
your coffin to-morrow, Mary, than think you
should be pne of this flaunting sort. Ben Jones
was quitein for it, and wanted for to marry
her, and sle had turned off a fine young chap
for him, anl he used to come there every night,
and it was iupposed that they would be spliced
in the couse of a month: but when J goes
there, she cits him almost altogether, and takes
to me, making such eyes at me, and drinking
beer out of my pot and refusing his’n, till poor
Jones was quite mad and beside himself. Well,
it wasn’t inhuman‘ natur to stand those large
blue eyes (jist like yours, Mary), darting fire
at a poor fdlow ; and when Jones got up ina

surly humour, and said it was time to go away, ji¢ for, and I had hardly time to earn my bread.

 
   
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
    
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
  

FACOB™ FATTHEOLS 79

instead of walking home arm in arm, we went
side by side, like two big dogs with their tails
as stiff up as a crowbar, and all ready for a
fight ; neither he nor I saying a word, and we
parted without saying good-night. Well, I
dreamed of your mother all that night, and next
day went to see her, and felt worser and worser
each time, and she snubbed Jones, and at last
told him to go about his business. This was
‘bout a month after I had first seen her ; and
then one day Jones, who was a prime fighter,
saysto me, ‘Be youa man?’ and slaps me on
the ear. So I knowing what he'd be a'ter, pulls
off my duds, and we sets to. We fights for ten
minutes or so, and then I hits him a round
blow on the ear, and he falls down on the hard,
and couldn't come to time. ' No wonder, poor
fellow ! for he had gone to eternity. [Here old
Stapleton paused for half a minute, and passed
his hand across his eyes.] I was tried for man-
slaughter ; but it being proved that he came
up and’ struck me first, I was acquitted, after
lying two months in gaol, for I couldn't get no
bail ; but it was because I had been two months
in gaol that I was let off. At first, when I
came out, I determined never to see your
mother again ; but she came to me, and wound
round me, and I loved her so much, that I
couldn't shake her off. As soon as she found
that I was fairly hooked, she began to play
with others; but I wouldn't stand that, and
every fellow that came near her was certain to
have a turn out with me, and so I became a
great fighter; and she, seeing that I was the
best man, and that no one else would come to
her, one fine morning agreed to marry me.
Well, we were spliced, and the very first night
I thought I saw poor Ben Jones standing by
my bedside, and, for a week or so, I was not
comfortable ; but, howsomever, it wore off, and
I plied at the stairs, and gained my money.
But my pipe’s out, and I’m dry with talking,
Suppose I take a spell for a few minutes.”

Stapleton relighted his pipe, and for nearly
half an hour smoked in silence. What Mary’s
thoughts were I cannot positively assert ; but I
imagined that, like myself, she was thinking
about her mother’s conduct and her own. I
certainly was making the comparison, and we
neither of us spoke a word.

‘‘Well,” continued Stapleton, at last, ‘‘I
married your mother, Mary, and I only hope
that any man who may take a fancy to you,
will not have so much trouble with his wife as I
had. I thought that a'ter she were settled she
would’ give up all her nonsense, and behave
herself—but I suppose it was in her natur and
she couldn't help it. She made eyes and gave
encouragement to the men, until they became
saucy, and I became jealous, and I had to fight
one and then the other, until I became a noted
pugilist. I will say that your mother seemed
always very happy when I beat my man, which
latterly I always did; but still she liked to be

miigiespenpemenses rt€0

At last, some one backed me against another
man in the ring for fifty pound a side, and I was
to have half, if I won. I was very short of
blunt at the time, and I agreed; so, a'ter a
little training, the battle was fought, and I won
easy ; and the knowing ones liked my way of
hitting so much, that they made up another
match with a better man, for two hundred
pounds; and a lord and other great people
came to me, and I was introduced to them at
the public-house, and all was settled. So I
became a regular prize-fighter, all through your
mother, Mary. Nay, don’t cry, ehild, I don't
mean to say that your mother, with all her love
of being stared at and talked to, would have gone
wrong; but still it was almost as bad in my
opinion. Well, I was put into training, and
after five weeks we met at Moulsey Hurst, and
a hard fight it was—but I’ve got the whole of
it somewhere; Mary ; look in the drawer there;
and you'll see a newspaper.

Mary brought out the newspaper, which was
rolled up and tied with a bit of string, and
Stapleton handed it over to me, telling me to
read it aloud. I did so, but I shall not enter
into the details.

‘Yes, that’s allright enough,’ said Stapleton,
who had taken advantage of my reading to

smoke furiously, to make up for lost \time ;

“but no good came of it, for one of the
gemmen took a fancy to your mother, Mary,
and tried to win her away from me. I found
him attempting to kiss her, and she refusing
him—but laughing, and, as 1 thought, more than
half-willing ; so I floored him, and put him out
of the house, and after that I never would have
anything more to say with lords and gemmen,
nor with fighting either. I built a new wherry

and stuck to the river, and I shifted my lodg-

ings, that I mightn’t mix any more with those
who knew me as a boxer. Your mother was
then brought to bed with you, and I hoped for
a good deal of happiness, as I thought she
would only think of her husband and child ;
and.so she did until you were weaned, and then
she went on justasafore. There was a captain
of a vessel lying in the river, who used now and
then to stop and talk with her ; but I thought
little about that, seeing how every one talked
with her and she with everybody ; and besides
she knew the captain's wife, who was a very
pretty woman, and used very often to ask Mary
to go and see her, which I permitted. Butone
morning when I was going off to the boat—for
he had come down to me-to take him to his
vessel—just as I was walking away with the
sculls over my shoulder, I recollects my ‘baccy-
box, which I had left, and I goes back and
hears him say before I came into the door—
“Recollect I shall be here again by two o'clock,
and then-you promised to come on board my
ship, and see——'. I didn’t hear the‘ rest, but
she laughed and said yes she would. I didn’t
show myself, but walked away and went to the
boat. He followed me, and I rowed him up

   

FACOB FAITHFUL.

the river and took my fare; and then I deter-
mined to watch them, for I felt mighty jealous.
So I lays off on my oars in the middle of the
stream, and sure enough I see the captain and
your mother get into a small skiff belonging to
his ship, and pull away ; the captain had one
oar and one of his men another. I pulled a'ter |
them as fast as I could, and at last they seed
me; and not wishing me to find her out, she
begged them to pull away as fast as they could,
for she knew how savage I would be Still I
gained upon them, every now and then looking
round and vowing vengeance in my héart, when
all of a sudden I heard a scream, and perceived
their boat to capsize, and all hands in the
water. They had not seen a warpof a vessel
getting into the row, and had run oyer it, and,
as it tautened, they capsized. Yqur mother
went down like a stone, Mary, and was not
found for three days a'terwards ; and when I
seed her sink I fell down ina fit.) Here old
Stapleton stopped, laid down his pipe, and
rested his face in his hands. Mazy burst into
tears. After a few minutes he resumed:
‘“When I came.to, I found myself board of
the ship in the captain’s cabin, with |he captain
and his wife watching over me; md then I
came to understand that it was she who had
sent for your mother, and that sh¢ was living
on board, and that your mother lad at first
refused, because she knew that I did not like
her to be on the river, but wishing toseea ship,
had consented. So it was not so bac a'ter all,
only that a woman shouldn't act wthout her
husband ; but you see, Mary, all thigwould not
have happened if it hadn’t been tt I over-
heard part of what was said ; and you might
now have had a mother, and I a wile, to com-
fort us, if it hadn’t been for my unfortunate
hearing—so, as I said before, there's nore harm
than good that comes from these gnses—at
least, so it has proved to me. And njw you've
heard my story, and how your moner died,
Mary, so take care you don’t fall int¢ the same
fault, and be too fond of being lookedat, which
it does somehow or another appear to me you
have a bit of a hankling a’ter—but lke mother
like child, they say, and that’s humaa natur.”

When Stapleton had concluded hisnarrative,
he smoked his pipe in silence. Miry sat at
the table, with her hands pressed to hertemples,
apparently in deep thought ; and I felt inything
but communicative. In half an hour fe pot of
beer was finished, and Stapleton rose.

‘“Come, Mary, don’t be thinking 9 much ;
let's all go to bed. Show Jacob his Hom, and
then come up.”

‘Jacob can find his own room) father,”
replied Mary, ‘‘ without my showing him; he
knows the kitchen, and there is butione other
below.”

I took my candle, wished them giod night,
and went to. my bed, which, althcugh very
homely, was at all events comfortabli,JACOB FAITHFUL,

CHAPTER, XXIV.

The warmth of my Gratitude proved by a very cold Test—The Road to Fortune may sometimes lead over
a Bridge of Ice—Mine lay under it—Aznor vincit everything but my Obstinacy, which young Tom
and the old Domine in the Sequel will prove to their Cost.

FoR many days the frost continued, until at
last the river was frozen over, and all communi-
cation by it was stopped. Stapleton’s money
ran short, our fare became very indifferent, and
Mary declared that we must all go begging with
the market-gardeners if it lasted much longer.

‘‘T must go and call upon Mr. Turnbull, and
ax him to help us,” said Stapleton, one day,
pulling his last shilling out and laying it on the
table. ‘‘I’m cleaned out; but he’s a good
gentleman, and will lend me a trifle.’’ In the
afternoon Stapleton returned, and I saw by his
looks that he had been successful. ‘‘ Jacob,”
said he, ‘‘ Mr. Turnbull desires that you will
breakfast with him to-morrow morning, as he
wishes to see you.”

I set off accordingly at daylight the next
morning, and was in good time for breakfast.
Mr. Turnbull was as kind as ever, and, began
telling me long stories about the ice in the
northern regions.

“‘ By the bye, I hear there is an ox to be
roasted whole, Jacob, a little above London
Bridge ; suppose we go and see the fun.”

I consented, and we took the Brentford coach,
and were put down at the corner of Queen
Street, from whence we walked to the river.
The scene was very amusing and exciting.
Booths were erected on the ice, in every direc-
tion, with flags flying, people walking, and some
skating, although the ice was too rough for
that. pastime. “The whole river was crowded
with people, who now walked in security over
where they a month before would have met with
death. Here and there smoke ascended from
various fires, on which sausages and other
eatables were cooking ; but the great attraction
was the ox roasting whole, close to the centre
pier of the bridge. Although the ice appeared
to have fallen at the spot where so many
hundreds were assembled, yet as it was now
four or five feet thick, there was no danger.
Here and there, indeed, were what were called
rotten places, where the ice was not sound ; but
these were intimated by placards, warning
people not to approach too near; and close to
them were ropes and poles for succour, if
required. We amused ourselves for some time
with the gaiety of the scene, for the sun shone
out brightly, and the sky was clear. The wind
was fresh from the northward, and piercing
cold in the shade, the thermometer being then,
it was said, twenty-eight degrees below the
freezing-point. We had been on the ice about
three hours, amusing ourselves, when Mr.
Turnbull proposed our going home, and we

walked up the river towards Blackfriars Bridge,
where we proposed to land, and take the coach
at Charing Cross.

‘‘T wonder how the tide is now,’ observed
Mr. Turnbull to me; ‘‘it would be rather
puzzling to find out.”

‘‘ Not if I can find a hole,”’ replied I, looking
for one. ‘‘Stop, here is one.” I threw in a
piece of ice, and found that it was strong ebb.
We continued our walk over the ice, which was
now very rough, when Mr. Turnbull's hat fell
off, and the wind catching it, it blew away,
skimming across the ice at a rapid rate. Mr.
‘Turnbull and I gave chase, but could scarcely
keep up with it, and, at all events, could not
overtake it. Many people on the river laughed
as we passed, and watched us in our chase.
Mr. Turnbull was the foremost, and, heedless
in the pursuit, did not observe a large surface
of rotten ice before him ; neither did J, until all
at once I heard it break and saw Mr. Turnbull
fall in and disappear. Many people were close
to us, and a rope was laid across the spot to
designate the danger. I did not hesitate—l
loved Mr. Turnbull, and my love and my feel-
ings of resentment were equally potent. I
seized the bight of the rope, twisted it round
my arm, and plunged in after, recollecting it
was ebb tide; fortunate for Mr. Turnbull it
was, that he had accidentally put the question.
I sank under the ice, and pushed down the
stream, and in a few seconds felt myself
grappled by him I sought, and at almost the
same time, the rope hauling in from above.
As soon as they found there was resistance,
they knew that I at least was attached to it,
and they hauled in quicker, not, however, until
I had lost my recollection. Still I clung to the
rope with the force of a drowning man, and
Mr. Turnbull did the same to me, and we
shortly made our appearance at the hole in
which we had been plunged. A ladder was
thrown across, and two of the men of the
Humane Society came to our assistance, pulled
us out, and laid us upon it. They then drew
back and hauled us on the ladder to a more
secure situation. We were both still senseless ;
but having been taken to a public-house on the
river-side, were put to bed, and medical advice
haying been procured, were soon restored.
The next morning we were able to return in a
chaise to Brentford, where our absence had
created the greatest alarm. Mr, Turnbull spoke
but little the whole time ; but he often pressed
my hand, and when I requested him to drop
me at Fulham, that I might let Stapleton and

as ro

wes

ae82

his daughter know that I was safe, he con-
sented, saying, ‘‘God bless you, my fine boy ;
I will see you soon.”

When I went up the stairs of Stapleton’s
lodgings, I found Mary by herself: she started
up as soon as she saw me.

‘“Where Aave you been, you naughty boy?”
said she, half crying, half smiling.

fWmder the ices. lireplied,
thawed again this morning.”

“Are you in earnest, Jacob?” said she; ‘‘now
don’t plague and frighten me, I’ve been too
frightened already. I never slept a wink last
night.” I then told her the circumstances which
had occurred. ‘‘I was sure something had hap-

pened,” she replied. ‘‘I told my father so, but
he wouldn't believe it. You promised to be at
home to give me my lesson, and I know you
never break your word ; but my father smoked
away, and said, that when boys are amused, they
forget their promises, and that it was nothing
but human natur. O Jacob, I’m so glad you're
back again, and after what has happened, [
don't mind your kissing me for once.” And
Mary held her face towards me, and returned
my kiss.

“There, that must last you a long while,
recollect,’”’ said she, laughing ; ‘‘you must not
think of another, until you're under the ice
again.”

‘“Then I trust it will be the last,’”’ replied I,
laughing.

‘You are not in love with me, Jacob, that’s
clear, or you would not have made that answer,”’
replied Mary.

I had seen a great deal of Mary, and though
she certainly was a great flirt, yet she had many
excellent and amiable qualities. For the first
week after her father had given us the history of
his life, his remarks upon her mother appeared
to have made a decided impression upon her,
and her conduct was much more staid and
demure; but as the remembrance wore off, so
did her conduct become coquettish and flirting
as before; still it was impossible not to be fond
of her, and even with all her caprice there was
such a fund of real good feeling and amiable-
ness, which when called forth was certain to
appear, that Loften thought how dangerous and
captivating a girl she would be when she grew
up. I had again produced the books which I
had thrown aside with disgust, to teach her to

read and write. Her improvement was rapid,
and would have been still more so, if she had
not been just as busy in trying to make me fond
of her, as she was in surmounting the difficulties
of her lessons. But she was very young; and
although, as her father declared, it was her
natuy to run after the men, there was every
reason to hope that a year or two would render
her less volatile, and add to those sterling good
qualities which she really possessed. In heart
and feeling she was a modest girl, although
the buoyancy of her spirits often carried her
beyond the bounds prescribed by decorum, and

“and only

 

 

GACOB FAITIHECE.

often called forth a blush upon her own ani-
mated countenance, when her good sense, or
the remarks of others, reminded her of her
haying committed herself. It was impossible
to know Mary and not like her, although, at a
casual meeting, a rigid person might go away
with an impression by no means favourable.
As for myself, | must say, that the more I was
in her company, the more I was attached to
her, and the more I respected her.

Old Stapleton came home in the evening.
He had, as usual, been smoking, and thinking
of human natur, at the Feathers public-house.
I told him what had happened, and upon the
strength of it he sent for an extra pot of beer for
Mary and me, which he insisted upon our
drinking between us—a greater proof of good-
will on his part could not have been given.
Although Captain Turnbull appeared to have
recovered from the effects of the accident, yet
it seemed that such was not the case, as the
morning after his arrival he was taken ill with
shivering and pains in his loins, which ended in
ague and fever, and he did not quit his bed for
three or four weeks. I, on the contrary, feltno
ill effects ; but the constitution of a youth is
better able to meet such violent shocks than that
of aman of sixty years old, already sapped by
exposure and fatigue. As the frost still con-
tinued, I complied with Captain Turnbull’s
request to come up and stay with him, and for
many days, until he was able to leave his bed, I
was his constant nurse. ‘The general theme of
his conversation was on my future prospects,
and a wish that I would embark in some pursuit
or profession more likely to raise me in the
world; but on this head I was positive, and
also another point, which was, that I would in
future put myself under an obligation to no one.
I could not erase from my memory the injuries
I had received, and my vindictive spirit con-
tinually brooded over them. I was. resolved to
be independent and free. I felt that in the
company I was in, I was with my equals, or, if
there were any superiority, it was on my part,
arising from education, and never would
submit to be again in the society of those above
me, in which I was admitted as a favour, and
by the major part looked down upon, and at the
same time liable, as I had once been, to be
turned out with contumely on the first moment
of caprice. Still I was very fond of Captain
Turnbull. He had always been kind to me,
spoke to me on terms of equality, and had
behaved with consistency, and my feelings to-
wards him since the accident had consequently
strengthened ; but we always feel an increased
regard towards those to whom we have been of
service, and my pride was softened by the
reflection that whatever might be Mr. Turnbull’s
good-will toward me, he never could, even if I
would permit it, repay me for the life which I
had preserved. Towards him I felt unbounded
regard—towards those who had ill-treated me,
unlimited hatred ; towards the world in general,a mixture of feeling which I could hardly
analyze ; and, as far as regarded myself, a love
of liberty. and independence, which nothing
would ever have induced me to compromise.
As I did not wish to hurt Captain Turnbull's
feelings by a direct refusal to all his proffers of
service, and remarks upon the advantages which
might arise, I generally made.an evasive answer ;
but when, on the day proposed for my de-
parture, he at once came to the point, offering
me everything, and observing that he was child-
less, and therefore my acceptance of his offer
would be injurious to nobody, when he took me
by the hand, and drawing me near to him,
passed his arm round me, and spoke to me in
the kind accents of a father almost entreating
me to consent—the tears of gratitude coursed
each other down my cheeks ; but my resolution
was no less firm—although it was with a faltering
voice that I replied, ‘‘ You have been very kind
to me, sir—very kind—and [I shall never forget
it; and I hope [I shall deserve it—but—Mr.
Drummond and Mrs. Drummond, and Sarah,
were also kind to me—very kind to me—you
know the rest. I will remain asI am, if you
please ; and if you wish to do me a kindness—if
you wish me to loye you, as I really do, let me
be as I am—free and independent. — I beg it of
you as the greatest favour that you can possibly
confer on me—the only favour which I can
accept, or shall be truly thankful for.”

Captain Turnbull was some minutes before he
couldreply. He then said—‘‘I see it is useless,
and I will not tease you any more ; but, Jacob,
do not let the? fire of injustice which you have
received from your fellow-creatures prey so
much upon your mind, or induce you to form
the mistaken idea that the world is bad. As
you live on, you will find: much good; and
recollect, that those who have injured you, from
the misrepresentation of others, have been
willing, and have offered, to repair their fault.
They can do no more, and I wish you could
get over this vindictive feeling. Recollect, we
must forgive, as we hope to be forgiven.”

“I do forgive—at least I do ‘sometimes,’
replied I, ‘‘forSarah’s sake—but I can’t always.”

“But you ought to forgive, for other reasons,
Jacob.”

‘‘T know I ought—but if I cannot, I cannot.”

‘‘Nay, my boy, I never heard you talk so—
i was going to say—wickedly. Do you not
perceive that you are now in error? You will
not abandon a feeling which your own good
sense and religion tell you to be wrong—you
cling to it—and yet you will admit of no excuse
for the errors of others.”

‘“T feel what you say—and the truth of it,
sir,” replied I; ‘‘but I cannot combat the
feeling. I will therefore admit every excuse
you please, for the faults of others; but at the
same time, I am surely not to be blamed if I
refuse to put myself in a situation where I am
again liable to meet with mortification. ‘Surely
I am-not to be censured, if I prefer to work for

FACOB FAITHFUL.

  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 

83

my bread after my own fashion, and prefer the
river to dry land ?”’

oe No, that I acknowledge ; but what I dislike
in the choice is, that it is dictated by feelings o-
resentment.”

‘‘ What's done can't be helped,’ replied I,
quickly, wishing to break off the conversation.

‘Very: true, Jacob ; but I follow that up with
another of your remarks, which is, ‘ Better luck
next time.’ God bless you, my boy ; take care
of yourself, and don’t get under the ice again!"

“‘For you I would to-morrow,” replied I,
taking the profferred hand ; ‘‘ but if I could only
see that Hodgson near a hole——’’

“You'd not push him in?”

‘Indeed I would,”’ replied I, bitterly.

‘Jacob, you would not, I tell you : you think
so now, but if you saw him in distress, you
would assist him as you did me. I know you,
my boy, better than you know yourself.”

Whether Captain Turnbull or I were right,
remains to be proved in the sequel. We then
shook hands, ane I hastened away to see Mary,
whom I had often thought of during my absence.

‘““Who do you think has been here?” said
Mary, after our first greeting.

‘‘T cannot guess,’’ replied I ;—‘‘not old Tom
and his son ?”

“No; I don’t think it was old Tom, but it
was such an old quiz—with such a nose—O
heavens! I thought I should have died with
laughing as soon as he went downstairs. Do
you know, Jacob. that I made love to him, just to
see how hed takeit. You know whoitis now?”

‘‘O yes! you mean the Domine, my school-
master.”

‘“Yes, he told meso; and I talked so much
about you, and about your teaching me to read
and write, and how fond I was of learning, and
how I should like to be married to an elderly
man who was a great scholar, who would teach
me Latin and Greek, that the old gentleman
became. quite chatty, and sat for two hours
talking tome. He desired me to say that he
should call here to-morrow afternoon, and I
begged him to stay the evening, as you are to
have two more of your friends here. Now, who
do you think are those?”

‘““T have no others except old Tom Beazeley
and his son.”

“Well, itis your old Tom, after all; and a
nice old fellow he is, although I would not like
him for a husband; but as for his son—he’s a
lad after my own heart. I’m quite in love with
him.”

‘“Your love will do you no harm, Mary ; but
recollect, what may be a joke to you may not
be so to other people.’ As for the Domine
meeting old Beazeley and his son, I don't
exactly know how that will suit, for I doubt if
he will like to see them.”

‘‘ Why not?” inquired Mary.

Upon a promise never to hint at them, I
briefly stated the circumstances attending the
worthy man’s voyage on board of the lighter.

once Ssnadstrrebe apart

NE ; —Mary paused, and then said, ‘‘ Jacob, did we
not read the last time, that the most dangerous
rocks to men were wze and women ?”

““Yes, we did, if I recollect right.”

‘‘Humph,” said she; ‘‘the old gentleman has
given plenty of lessons in his time, and it appears
that he has received one.” :

‘‘We may do so to the last day of our exist-
ence, Mary.”

‘Well, he is a very clever, learned man I’ve
no doubt, and looks down upon all us (not you,
Jacob) as silly people. I'll try if 7 can't give
him a lesson.”’ ‘

“You, Mary, what can you teach him ?

“‘Never mind, we shall see;’ and Mary
turned the discourse on her father. ‘‘ You
know, I suppose, that father is gone up to Mr.
Turnbull's?”

‘No, I did not.”

‘‘ Yes, he has; he was desired to go there
this morning, and hasn't been back since.
Jacob, I hope you won't be so foolish again,
for I don’t want to lose my master.”

FACOB FAITHFUL.

‘‘O, never fear; I shall teach you all you
want to know before I die,” I replied.

‘‘ Don't be too sure of that,’ replied Mary,
fixing her large blue eyes upon me; ‘‘ how do
you know how much I may wish to have of
your company?”

“Well, if I walk off in a hurry, I'll make you
over to young Tom Beazeley. You're half in
love with him already, you know,” replied I,
laughing.

“Well, he is a nice fellow,’’ replied she ;
‘the laughs more than you do, Jacob.”

‘‘He has suffered less,’’ replied I, gloomily,
calling to mind what had occurred ; ‘‘but,
Mary, he is a fine young man, and a good-
hearted clever fellow to boot; and when you
do know him, you will like him very much.”
As I said this, I heard her father coming up-
stairs; he came in high good-humour with his
interview with Captain Turnbull, called for his
pipe and pot, and was excessively fluent upon
“human natur.”

 

CEA PT eee Ve

‘“The feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul”—Stapleton, on Human Nature,‘ proves the former ; the

omine, in his melting Mood, the latter—Sall’s
easy” of a Mind at Ease, by old Tom.

THE afternoon of the next day I heard a
well-known voice, which carolled forth, as Mary
huddled up her books, and put them out of
the way—for at that time I was, as usual, giving
her a lesson—-
“* And many strange sights I’ve seen,
And long I’ve been a rover,
And everywhere I’ve been;
But now the wars are over.
Tve been across the line,
Where the sun will burn your nose off,
And I’ve been in northern climes,
Where the frost would bite your toes off.
Fal de ral, fal de ral, fal de ral de liddy.”

“Heave ahead, Tom, and let me stump up
at my leisure. It’s like warping ‘gainst wind
and tide with me—and I gets up about as fast
as lawyers go to heaven.”

I thought when Tom came up first, that he
had been at unusual trouble in setting off his
person, and certainly a better-looking, frank,
Open, merry countenance, was seldom to be
seen. In person he was about an inch taller
than I, athletic, and well-formed. He made up
to Mary, who, perceiving his impatience, and
either to check him before me, or else from her
usual feeling of coquetry, received him rather
distantly, and went up to old Tom, with whom
she shook hands warmly.

“Whew! what’s in the wind now, Jacob ?
Why, we parted the best friends in the world,”
said Tom, looking at Mary.

Shoe particularly zofed, and the true “Reading made

‘‘ Sheer off yourself, Tom,”’ replied I, laugh-
ing ; ‘‘and you'll see that she'll come to again.”

‘“Oh, oh! so the wind's in that quarter, is
it?’ replied Tom, ‘‘ with all my heart—I can
show false colours as well as she can. But I
say, Jacob, before I begin my manceuvres, tell
me if you wish me to hoist the neutral flag—for
I won't interfere with you.”

‘“ Here's my hand upon it, Tom, that the
coast is clear as far as I’m concerned ; but take
care—she's a clipper, and not unlikely to slip
through your fingers, even when you have her
under your lee, within hail.”’

‘‘Let me alone, Jacob, for that.”

‘And more, Tom, when you're in possession
of her, she will require a good man at the
helm.”

‘‘ Then she’s just the craft after my fancy. I
hate your steady, slow-sailing craft, that will
steer themselves, almost; give me one that
requires to be managed by a man, and a
seaman.

‘If well manned, she will do anything,
depend upon it, Tom, for she’s as sound below
as possible ; and although she is down to her
bearings on the puff of the moment, yet she'd
not careen further.”’

‘Well, then, Jacob, all’s right ; and now
you've told me what tack she’s on, see if I don’t
shape a course to cut her off.’’

‘“ Well, Jacob, my good boy, so you've been
under the water again; I thought you hada

JACOB F.

enough of it when Fleming gave you such a
twist ; but, however, this time you went to sarve
a friend, which was all right. My sarvice to
you, Mr. Stapleton,” continued old Tom, as
Stapleton made his appearance. ‘‘I was talking
to Jacob about his last dive.”

“Nothing but human natur,” replied Staple-

n.

‘‘ Well, now,” replied old Tom, ‘‘I consider
that going plump into the river, when covered
With ice, to be quite contrary to human natur.”

‘But not to save a friend, father ?”’

‘* No—because that be Jacob's nature; so
you see one nature conquered the other, and
that’s the whole long and short of it.”’

“Well, now, suppose we sit down and make
ourselves comfortable,” observed Stapleton ;
‘‘but here be somebody else coming up—who
can it be?”

““T say, old codger, considering you be as
deaf as a post, you hears pretty well,” said old
Tom.

“Ves, I hear very well in the house, provided
people don't speak loud.”

‘‘Well, that’s a queer sort of deafness ; I
think we are all troubled with the same com-
plaint,” cried Tom, laughing.

During this remark the Domine, made his
appearance, ‘‘ Salve Domine,’ said I, upon his
entering, taking my worthy pedagogue by the
hand.

“Et tu quogue, fili mt, Facobe/! but whom
have we here? the deaf man, the maiden, and
—ehu !—the old man called old Tom, and like-
wise the young Tom ;’’ and the Domine looked
very grave.

“Nay, sir,” said young Tom, going up to
the Domine, ‘‘I know you are angry with us,
because we both drank too much when we were
last in your company ; but we promise-—don't
we, father ?—not to do so again.”’

This judicious reply of young Tom's put the
Domine more at his ease ; what he most feared
was raillery and exposure on their parts.

‘‘Very true, old gentleman ; Tom and I did
bowse our jibs up a little too taut when last we
met—but what then ?—there was the grog, and
there was nothing to do.”

“ All human natur,” observed Stapleton.

‘‘Come, sir, you have not said one word to
me,” said Mary, going up to the Domine.
“« Now you must sit down by me, and take care
of me, and see that they all behave themselves
and keep sober.”

The Domine cast.a look at Mary, which was
intended for her alone, but which was not un-
perceived by young Tom or me. ‘‘ We shall
have some fun, Jacob,”’ said he, aside, as we all
sat down to the table, which just admitted SEX:
with close stowage. The Domine on one side
of Mary, Tom on the other, Stapleton next to
Tom, then I and old Tom, who closed in on
the other side of the Domine, putting one of h's
timber toes on the old gentleman's corns, which
induced him to lift up his leg in a hurry, and

AITHFUL, 85

draw his chair still closer to Mary, to avoid a
repetition of the accident ; while old Tom was
axing pardon, and Stapleton demonstrating that
on the part of old Tom, not to /ee/ with a
wooden leg, and on the part of the Domine, to
feel witha bad corn, was all nothing but ‘“‘Awman
matur.’’ At last we were all seated, and Mary,
who had provided for the evening, produced
two or three pots of beer, a bottle of spirits,
pipes, and tobacco.

‘« Liberty Hall—I smokes,”’ said. Stapleton,
lighting his pipe, and falling back on his chair.

‘Tl put a bit of clay in my mouth too,’
followed up old Tom; ‘‘it makes one thirsty,
and enjoy one’s liquor.” ;

““Well, I malts,” said Tom, reaching a pot
of porter, and taking a long pull, till he was out
of breath. ‘‘ What do you do, Jacob?”

“‘T shall wait a little, Tom.”

‘«And what do you do, sir?” said Mary to
the Domine. The Domine shook his head.
‘“Nay, but you must—or I shall think you do
not like my company. Come, let me fill a pipe
for you.”” Mary filled a pipe, and handed it to
the Domine, who hesitated, looked at her, and
was overcome. He lighted it and smoked
furiously.

‘The ice is breaking up—we shall have a
change of weather—the moon quarters to-
morrow,” observed old Yom, puffing between
every observation ; ‘‘and then honest men may
earn their bread again. Bad times for you, old
codger, heh!”’ continued he, addressing Staple-
ton. Stapleton nodded an assent through the
smoke, which was first perceived by old Tom.
‘‘Well, he ar’n't deaf, a’ter all; I thought he
was only shamming a bit. I say, Jacob, this is
the weather to blow your fingers, and make
your eyes bright.”

‘‘Rather to blow a cloud and make your eyes
water,” replied Tom, taking up the pot: ‘“I’m
just as thirsty with swallowing smoke, as if I
had a pipe myself—at all events, I pipe my eye,

acob,’”’ continued Tom, to me apart, ‘‘do look
how the old gentleman is fuking Mary, and
casting sheep's eyes at her through the smoke.’

‘‘He appears as if he were inclined to board
her in the smoke,” replied I.

‘‘VYes, and she to make no fight of it, but
surrender immediately,’ said ‘Tom.

‘“Don't you believe it, Tom; I know her
better; she wants to laugh at him; nothing
more: she winked her eye at me just now, but
I would not laugh, as I do not choose that the
old gentleman should be trifled with. I wil
tax her severely to-morrow. ”’

During all this time old Tom and Stapleton
smoked in silence: the Domine made use of
his eyes in dumb parlance to Mary, who
answered him with her own bright glances, and
Tom and I began to find it rather dull: when
at last old Tom’s pipe was exhausted, and he
1 id it down, ‘‘ There, I'll smoke no more—
the worst of a pipe is, that one can’t smoke and
talk at the same time. Mary, my girl, take

,

    
   
    
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
 
  
 
  

ORLEANS

peseeepeeor

tee sooYACOB

your eyes off the Domine’s nose, and hand me
that bottle of stuff. What, glass to mix it in,
—that’s more genteel than we are on board,
Tom.” Tom filled a rummer of grog, took
‘half offat a huge sip, and put it down on the
table. ‘‘ Will you do as we do, sir?”’ said he,
addressing the Domine.

“Nay, friend Dux, nay—pr’ythee persuade
me not—avaunt!” and the Domine, with an
appearance of horror, turned away. from the
bottle handed towards him by old ‘Tom.

‘Not drink anything?” said Mary to the
Domine, looking at him with surprise; ‘‘ but
indeed you must, or I shall think you despise
us, and do not think us fit to be in your
company.”

““ Nay, maiden, entreat me not. Ask any-
thing of me but this,’ replied the Domine.

‘Ask anything but this—that’s just the way
people have of refusing,” replied Mary ; ‘‘ were
I to ask anything else, it would be the same
answer—‘ask anything but this.’ Now, if you
will not drink to please me, I shall quarrel with
you. You shall drink a glass, and I'll mix it
for you.” The Domine shook his head. Mary
made a glass of grog, and then put it to her
lips. ‘‘Now, if you refuse to drink it, after I
have tasted it, I’ll never speak to you again.”
So saying, she handed the glass to the Domine.

‘‘ Verily, maiden, I must needs refuse, oye IL
did make a mental vow.”’

“‘ What vow was that? was it sworn on the
Bible?”

‘“Nay, not on the sacred book, but in my
thoughts, most solemnly.” °

“QO! I make those vows every day, and
never keep one of them; so that won't do.
Now, observe, I give you one more chance. I
shall drink a little more, and if you do not
immediately put your lips to the same part of
the tumbler, I'll never drink to you again.”
Mary put the tumbler again to her lips, drank
a little, with her eyes fixed upon the Domine,
who watched her with distended nostrils and
muscular agitation of countenance. With her
sweetest smile, she handed him the tumbler ;
the Domine half held out his hand, withdrew
it, put it down again, and by degrees took the
tumbler. Mary conquered, and I watched the
malice of her look as the liquor trickled down
the Domine’s throat. Tom and I exchanged
glances. The Domine put down the tumbler,
and then, looking round like a guilty person,
coloured up to the eyes; but Mary, who per-
ceived that her victory was but half achieved,
put her hand upon his shoulder, and asked him
to let her taste the grog again. I also, to make
him feel more at ease, helped myself to a glass.
Tom did the same, and old Tom, with more
regard to the feelings of the Domine than in his
own bluntness of character I would have given
him credit for, said ina quiet tone, ‘‘ The old
gentleman is afraid of grog, because he seed me
take a drop too much ; but that’s no reason why
grog arn't a good thing, and wholesome, in

 

    

 

5
Lz
Z

LITHIUL.

A glass or two is very well, and
better still when sweetened by the lips of a
pretty girl; and even if the Domine does not
like it, he’s too much of a gentleman not to

moderation.

give up his dislikes to please a lady. More's
the merit ; for if he did like it, it would be no
sacrifice, that’s sartain. Don’t you think so,
my old boozer?’ continued he, addressing
Stapleton, who smoked in silence,

‘‘Human natur,” replied Stapleton, taking
the pipe out of his mouth, and spitting under
the table.

‘‘Very true, master; and so here's to. your
health, Mr. Domine, and may you never want
a pretty girl to talk to, or a glass of grog to
drink her health with.”

“‘O but the Domine don’t care about pretty
girls, father,” replied Lom ; ‘‘he’s too learned
and clever; he thinks about nothing but the
moon, and Latin, and Greek, and philosophy,
and all that.”

‘“Who can say what's under the skin, Tom?
there's no knowing what is, and what isn’'t—
Sall’s shoe for that.”

‘Never heard of Sall's shoe, father ; that’s
new to me.”

‘‘Didn’t I ever tell you that, ‘Tom ?—Well,
then, you,shall have it now—that is, if all the
company be agreeable.”

‘‘O yes,’ cried Mary ; ‘‘ pray tell us.”

‘‘ Would you like to hear it, sir?”

‘‘T never heard of Sall Sue in my life, and
would fain hear her history,’ replied the Do-
mine ; ‘‘ proceed, friend Dux.”

‘Well, then, you must know when I was
aboard of the Terp-sychore, there was a fore-
topman, of the name of Bill Harness, a good
sort of chap enough, but rather soft in the
upper-works. Now we'd been on the Jamaica
station for some years, and had come home,
and merry enough, and happy enough we were
(those that were left of us), and we were spending
our money like the devil. Bill Harness had
a wife, who was very fond of he, and he were
very fond of she, but she was a slatternly sort
of a body, never tidy in her rigging, all adrift
at all times, and what’s more, she never had a
shoe up at heel, so she went by the name of
Slatternly Sall, and the first-lieutenant, who
was a ticular sort of a chap, never liked to see
her on deck, for you see she put her hair in
paper on New Year's day, and never changed
it or took it out till the year came round again.
However, be it as it may be, she loved Bill,
and Bill loved she, and they were very happy
together. A’ter all, it ar’n’t whether awoman’'s
tidy without, that makes a man’s happiness, —
it depends upon whether she be right within ;
that is, if she be good-tempered, and obliging,
and civil, and ’commodating, and so forth.
A’ter the first day or two, person’s nothing—
eyes get palled, like the capstan when the
anchor’s up to the bows; but what a man likes
is, not to be disturbed by vagaries, or gusts of
temper. Well, Bill was happy—but one dayve

’*Who has seen my wife’s shoe?’

FACOB FAITHFUL. 87

he was devilish unhappy, because Sall had lost
one of her shoes, which wasn’t to be wondered
at, considering as how sne was always slipshod.
“Who has seen my wife's shoe?’ says -he.
‘Hang your wife's shoe,’ says one, ‘it warn't
worth casting an eye upon.’ Still he cried out,
j yl eseedatt
‘Where?’ says Bill. ‘I seed it
But Bull still

says another.
down at heel,’ says the fellow.

-hallooed out about his wife's shoe, which it ap-

peared she had dropped off her foot as she was
going up the forecastle ladder to take the air a
bit, just asit was dark. At last, Bill made so
much fuss about it, that the ship's company
laughed, and all called out to each other, ‘Who
has seen Sall’s shoe ?’—‘ Have you got Sall’s
shoe?’ and they passed the word fore and aft
the whole evening, till they went to their ham-
mocks. Notwithstanding, as Sall’s shoe was
not forthcoming, the next morning Bill goes on
the quarter-deck, and complains to the first-
lieutenant, as how he had lost Sall’s shoe.
‘“D—n Sall’s shoe,’ said he, ‘haven't I enough
to look after without your wife’s confounded
shoes, which can’t be worth twopence?’ Well,
Bill argues that his wife has only one shoe left,
and that won't keep two feet dry, and begs the
first-lieutenant to order a search for it ; but the
first-lieutenant turns away, and tells him to go
to the devil, and all the men grin at Bill's
making such a fuss about nothing. So Bill at
last goes up to the first-lieutenant, and whispers
something, and the first-lieutenant booms him
off with his speaking-trumpet, as if he was
making too free, in whispering to his com-
manding officer, and then sends for the master-
at-arms. ‘Collier,’ says he, ‘this man has lost
his wife's shoe : let a search be made for it im-
mediately—take all the ship’s boys, and look
everywhere for it; if you find it, bring it up to
me.” So away goes the master-at-arms with
his cane, and collects all the boys to look for
Sall’s shoe; and they go peeping about the
maindeck, under the guns, and under the hen-
coops, and in the sheep-pen, and everywhere ;
now and then getting a smart slap with the
cane behind, upon the taut part of their trow-
sers, to make them look sharp, until they all
wished Sall’s shoe at Old Nick, and her too,
and Bill in the bargain. At last one of the boys
picks it out of the manger, where it had lain all
the night, poked up and down by the noses of
the pigs, who didn’t think it eatable, although
it might have smelt human-like ; the fact was,
it was the same boy who had picked up Sall’s
shoe when she dropped it, and had shied it for-
ward. It sartainly did not seem to be worth all
the trouble, but howsomever it was taken aft by
the master-at-arms, and laid on thecapstan head.
Then Bill steps out, and takes the shoe before
the first-lieutenant, and cuts it open, and from
between the lining pulls out four ten-pound
notes, which Sall had sewn up there by way of
security ; and the first-lieutenant tells Bill he
was a great fool to trust his money in the shoe

 

of a woman who always went slipshod, and
tells him to go about his business, and stow
his money away in a safer place next*time.
A’'ter, if anything was better than it looked to
be, the ship’s company used always to say it
was like Sa/l’s shoe. ‘There you have it all.”

“‘ Well,” says Stapleton, taking the pipe out
of his mouth, ‘‘ [know a fact, much of a much-
ness with that, which happened to me when I
was below the river, tending a ship at Sheer-
ness ; for at one time, d’ye see, I used to ply
there. She was an old fifty-gun ship, called
the Adamant, if I recollect right. One day,
the first-lieutenant, who, like yourn, was a
mighty particular sort of chap, was going
round the maindeck, and he sees an old pair of
canvas trowsers stowed in under the trunnion
of one of the guns. So says he, ‘Whose be
these?’ Now no man would answer, because
they knowed very well that it would be as good
as a fortnight in the black list. With that, the
first-lieutenant bundles them out of the port,
and away they floats astern with the tide. It
was about half an hour after that, that I comes
off with the milk for the wardroom mess, and
a man named Will Heaviside, says to me,
‘Stapleton,’ says he, ‘the first-lieutenant has
thrown my canvas trowsers overboard, and be
d d to him; now I must have them back.’
‘But where be they?’ says I: ‘I suppose
down at the bottom by this time, and the flat-
fish dubbing their noses into them.’ ‘No, no,’
says he, ‘they won't never sink, but float till
eternity ; they be gone down with the tide, and
they will come back again: only you keep a
sharp look-out for them, and I'll give you five
shillings if you bring them.’ Well, I seed little
chance of ever seeing them again, or of my
seeing five shillings, but as it so happened next
tide, the very ‘denticle pair of trowsers comes
up staring me in the face. I pulls them in, and
takes them to Will Heaviside, who appears to
be mightily pleased, and gives me the money.
‘J wouldn't have lost them for ten, no, not for
twenty pounds,’ says he. ‘At all events you've
paid me more than they are worth,’ says I.
‘Have I?’ says he; ‘stopa bit ;’ and he outs
with his knife, and rips open the waistband,
and pulls out a piece of linen, and out of the
piece of linen he pulls out a chéld's caul.
‘There,’ says he, ‘now you knows why the
trowsers wouldn't sink, and I'll leave you to
judge whether they ar'n’t worth five shillings.’
That’s my story.”

‘‘Well, I can’t understand how it is, that 2
caul should keep people up,” observed old Tom.

‘« At all events, a ca/Z makes people come up
fast enough on board a man-of-war, father.”

“That's true enough ; but I’m talking of a
child’s caul, not of a boatswain’s, Tom.”

“T'll just tell you how it is,” replied Staple-
ton, who had recommenced smoking ; ‘‘it's
human natur.”

‘What is your opinion, sir?” said Mary to
the Domine. :

 

    
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
    

mopoO

“ Maiden,” replied the Domine, taking his
pipe out of his mouth, ‘‘I opine that it’s a
vulgar’error. Sir Thomas Brown, I think it is,
lath the same idea; many and strange were
the superstitions which have been handed down
by our less-enlightened ancestors ; all of which
mists have been cleared away by the powerful
rays of truth.”

‘‘ Well, but master, if a vulgar error sayes a
man from Davy Jones's locker, ar’n’t it just
as well to sew it up in the waistband of your
trowsers ?”’

‘‘Granted, good Dux, # it would save a
man ; but how is it possible? it is contrary to
the first elements of science.”’

‘What matter does that make, provided it
holds a man up 2?”

‘‘Friend Dux, thou art obtuse.”

‘‘Well, perhaps I am, as I don’t know what
that is.”’

‘But father, don’t you recollect,” interrupted
Tom, ‘‘what the parson said last Sunday, that
faith saved men? Now, Master Domine, may
it not be the faith that a man has in the cawl
which may save him 2?”

““Young Tom, thou art astute.”

‘‘Well, perhaps I am, as father said, for I
don't know what that is. You knock us all
down with your dictionary.”

‘“Well, I'do love to hear people make use of
such hard words,” said Mary, looking at the
Domine. ‘‘How very clever you must be, sir.
I wonder whether I shall ever understand them.”’

‘Nay, if thou wilt, I will initiate, sweet
maiden—wilt steal an hour or so to impregnate
thy mind with the seeds of learning, which, in
so fair a soil, must needs bring forth good
fruit 2”

“That’s a fine word that zmpreguate, will
you give us the English of it, sir?” said young
‘Tom to the Domine.

‘Tt is English, Tom, only the old gentleman
wazeed it a little. The third ship in the lee line
of the Channel fleet was a eighty, called the
Linpregnable; but the old gentleman knows
more about books than sea matters.”

‘‘A marvellous misconception,” quoth the
Domine.

‘There's another,” cried Tom, laughing ;
‘that must be a three-decker. Come, father,
here’s the bottle, you must take another glass
to wash that down.”

‘‘Pray what was the meaning of that last
long word, sir?” said“Mary, taking the Domine
by the arm,—‘‘mis—something ?”

“The word,” replied the Domine, ‘‘is a com-
pound, from conception, borrowed from the
Latin tongue, implying conceiving ;,and the ws
prefixed, which negatives or reverses the mean-
ing: misconception therefore implies not to
conceive. I can make you acquainted with
many others of a similar tendency as #22s-con-
ception; videlicet, 2e7s-apprehension, — #22s-
understanding, mis-contriving, zs-applying,
mes

 

 

38 FACOB FAITHFUL.

  

‘Dear me, whata many mzsses,"’ cried Mary ;
‘(and do you know them all?”

‘Indeed do I,” replied the Domine, ‘‘and
many, many more are treasured in my memory,
quod nunc describere longum est.”

‘‘Well, I'd no idea that the old gentleman
was given to running after the girls in that way,”
said old Tom to Stapleton.

‘‘Human natur,’’ replied the other.

‘‘No more did I,” continued Mary ; ‘‘I shall
have nothing to say to him.” And she drew
off her chair a few inches from that of the
Domine.

“Maiden,” quoth the Domine, ‘‘thou art
under a mzstake.”

‘« Another miss,
laughing.

“What an old Turk!” continued Mary,
getting farther off.

“Nay, then, I will not reply,’’ said the
Domine, indignantly putting down his pipe,
leaning back on his chair, and pulling out his
great red handkerchief, which he applied to his
nose, and produced a sound that made the
windows of the little parlour vibrate for some
seconds.

‘‘T say, Master Tom, don’t you make too
free with your betters,’ said old Tom, when ae
perceived the Domine affronted.

‘‘ Nay,” replied the Domine, ‘‘ there's an old
adage which saith, ‘As the old cock crows, so
doth the young.’ Wherefore didst thou set
him the example ?”’

‘‘Very,true, old gentleman, and I axes your
pardon, and here’s my hand upon it.”

‘‘And so do I, sir, and here’s my hand upon
it,” said young Tom, extending his on the
Domine'’s other side.

‘‘Friend Dux, and thou, young Tom, I do
willingly accept thy proffered reconciliation ;
knowing, as I well do, that there may be much
mischief in thy composition, but naught of
malice.” The Domine extended his hands, and
shook both those offered to him warmly.

‘‘ There,” said old Tom, ‘‘ now my mind's
at ease, as old Pigtown said.”

“‘T know not the author whom thou quotest
from, good Dux.”

‘“‘ Author !—I never said he was an author ;
he was only captain of a schooner, trading be-
tween the islands, that I sailed with a few
weeks in the West Indies.”

‘Perhaps, then, you will relate to the com-
pany present, the circumstances which took
place to put old Pegtop’s (I may not be correct
in the name)—but whoever it may be ——”

-“* Pigtown, master.”

‘‘Well, then, that put old Pigtown’s mind at
ease ; for I am marvellously amused with thy
narrations, which do pass away the time most
agreeably, good Dux.”

‘‘With all my heart, old gentleman; ‘but
first let us fill up our tumblers. I don't know
how it is, but it does appear to me that grog
drinks better out of a glass than out of metal;

I declare,” cried Tom,¥ACOB

and if it wasn’t that Tom is so careless—and
the dog has no respect for crockery any more
than persons,—I would nave one or two on
board for particular service ; but Pll think about
that, and hear what the old woman has to say
on the subject. Now to my yarn. Dvye see,
old Pigtown commanded a little schooner,
which plied between the isles, and he had been
in her for a matter of forty years, and was as
well known as Port Royal Tom.”

‘‘Who might Port Royal Tom be?” inquired
the Domine; ‘‘a relation of yours?”

‘‘T hope not, master, for I wanted none of
his acquaintance; he was a shark about twenty
feet long, who rode guard in the harbour, to
prevent the men-of-war's men from deserting,
and was pensioned by government.”

‘‘Pensioned by government! nay, but that
sounded strangely. I have heard that pensions
have been most lavishly bestowed, but not that
it extended so far. Truly it must have been a
sinecure.”

“1 don’t know what that last may be,” re-
plied old Tom; ‘‘but I heard our boatswain in
the Minerve, who talked politics a bit, say ‘as
how half the pensions were held by a pack of
d——d sharks;’ but in this ere shark's case, it
wasn't in money, master; but he’d regular
rations of bullock’s liver to persuade him to
remain in the harbour, and no one dare swim
on shore when he was cruising round and round
the ships. Well, old Pigtown, with his white
trowsers and straw hat, red nose and big belly,
was as well known as could be, and was a capital
old fellow for remembering and executing com-
missions, provided you gave him the money
first ; if not, he always took care to forget them.
Old Pigtown had a son, a little dark or so,
which proved that his mother wasn't quite as
fair as a lily, and this son was employed in a
drogher, that is, a small craft which goes round
to the bays of the island, and takes off the
sugars to the West-India traders. One fine
day the drogher was driven out to sea, and
never heard of a’terwards. Now old Pigtown
was very anxious about what had come of his
son, and day after day expected he would come
back again; but he never did, for very good
reasons, as you shall hear by-and-by ; and every
one knowing old Pigtown, and he knowing
everybody, it was at least fifty times a day that
the question was put to him, ‘ Well, Pigtown,
have you heard anything of your son?’ And
fifty times a day he would reply, ‘No; and my
mind's but ill at ease. Well, it was two or
three months afterwards, that when I was in
the schooner with him, as we lay becalmed be-
tween the islands, with the sun frizzing our
wigs, and the planks so hot that you couldn't
walk without your shoes, that we hooked a
large shark which came bowling under our

PAITHFUL. 89

counter. We got him on board and cut him
up. When we opened his inside, what should
I see but something shining. I took it out,
and sure enough it was a silver watch; so I
hands it to old Pigtown. He looks at it very
‘tentively, opens the outside case, reads the
maker's name, and then shuts it up again.
‘This here watch,’ says he, ‘belonged to my
son Jack. I bought; it of a chap ina south
whaler, for three dollars and a roll of pigtail,
and a very good watch it was, though I perceive
it to be stopped now. Now d'ye see, it’s all
clear: the drogher must have gone down in
a squall; the shark must have picked up my
son Jack, and must have dzsgested his body,
but has not been able to disgest his watch.
Now I knows what’s become of him, and so—
my mind's at ease.”

“‘Well,” observed old Stapleton, ‘‘I agrees
with old Poptown, or whatever his name might
be, that it were better to know the worst at
once, than to be kept on the worry all your
days. I consider it’s nothing but human natur.
Why, if one has a bad tooth, which is the best
plan, to have it out with one good wrench at
once, or to be tormented night and day the
whole year round?”

‘““Thou speakest wisely, friend Stapleton,
and like a man of resolve,—the anticipation is
often, if not always, more painful than the
reality. Thou knowest, Jacob, how often I
have allowed a boy to remain unbuttoned in
the centre of the room for an hour previous to
the application of the birch—and it was with
the consideration that the impression would be
greater upon his mind than even upon his nether
parts. Of all the feelings in the human breast,
that of suspense is H

‘Worse than hauging,
Tom.

‘“Eyen so boy [cluck, cluck], an apt com-
parison, seeing that in suspense you are hang-
ing, as it were, in the very region of doubt,
without being able to obtain a footing even
upon conjecture. Nay, we may further add
another simile, although not so well borne out,
which is, that the agony of suspense doth stop
the breath of a man for the time, as hanging
doth stop it altogether, so that it may be truly
said that suspense is put an end to by suspend-
ing.” (Cluck, cluck. |

‘‘And now that you've got rid of all that,
master, suppose you fill up your pipe,’ observed
old Tom.

“And I will fill up your tumbler, sir,”” said
Mary; ‘‘ for you must be dry with talking such
hard words.”

The Domine this time made no objection,
and again enveloped Mary and himseif in a
cloud of smoke, through which his nose loomed
like an Indiaman in a channel fog.

 

 

interrupted young

 

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
    

a eer:-

FACOB’ FATTHFUL,

CHAPTER ...XXVI1,

The Domine’s Bosom grows too warm: so the Party and the Frost break up—I go with the Stream and

against it; make Money both ways-—Coolnes.

yetween Mary and me—No Chance of a Thames

Edition of Abelard and Eloise—Loye, Learning, and Latin all Jost in a Fit of the Sulks,

“‘I sAy, Master Stapleton, suppose we were
to knock out half a port,” observed old Tom,
after a silence of two minutes; ‘‘for the old
gentleman blows a devil of a cloud; that is, if
no one has an objection.” Stapleton gave a
nod of assent, and I rose and put the upper
window down a few inches. ‘‘ Ay, that’s right,
Jacob; now we shall see what Miss Mary and
he are about. You've been enjoying the lady
allto yourself, master,” continued Tom, address-
ing the Domine.

“Verily and truly,” replied the Domine,
“even as a second Jupiter.”

““ Never heard of him.”

‘““T presume not; still, Jacob will tell thee
that the history is to be found in Ovid's Meta-
morphoses.”’

““Never heard of the country, master.”

“Nay, friend Dux, it is a book, not a country,
in which thou mayst read how Jupiter at first
descended unto Semele in a cloud.”

“And pray, where did he come from,
master ?”’

‘“He came from heaven.’

“The devil he did. Well, if ever I gets
there, I mean to stay.”

‘““Tt was love, all-powerful love, which induced
him, maiden,” replied the Domine, turning,
with a smiling eye, to Mary.

“Bove my comprehension altogether,” re-
plied old Tom.

‘“Human natur,”’ muttered Stapleton, with
the pipe still between his lips.

‘““ Not the first vessels that have run foul in a
fog,” observed young Tom.

‘““No, boy! but generally there ar’n’t much
love between them at those times. But come,
now that we can breathe again, suppose I give
you a song. What shall it be, young woman, —
a sea ditty, or something sooney ¢”

““O! something about love, if you’ve no ob-
jection, sir,” said Mary, appealing to the
Domine.

‘Nay, it pleaseth me, maiden, and I am of
thy mind. Friend Dux, let it be Anacreontic.”

“What the devil's that?” cried old Tom,
lifting up his eyes, and taking the pipe out of
his mouth.

“Nothing of your own, father, that’s clear’;
but something to borrow, for it’s to be oz bck,"

replied Tom.

“Nay, boy, I would have been understood
that the song should refer to woman or wine.”

“Both of which are to his fancy,’ observed
young Tom to me, aside.

“fuman natur,” quaintly observed Staple-
ton,

‘Well, then, you shall have your wish. I'll
give youone that might be warbléed ina lady's
chamber, without stirring the silk curtains.

““*O! the days are gone by when beauty bright

My heart’s chain wove,

When my dream of life, from morn to night,
Was Love—still Love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come,
Of milder, calmer beam :

But there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As Love’s young dream ;

O! there’s nothing half so sweet in life

s Love’s young dream.’”

The melody of the song, added to the spirits
he had drunk, and Mary’s eyes beaming on
him, hada great effect upon the Domine. As
old Tom warbled out, so did the pedagogue
gradually approach the chair of Mary, and as
gradually entwine her waist with his own arm,
his eyes twinkling brightly on her; Old Tom,
who perceived it, had given me and Tom a
wink, as he repeated the two last lines; and
when we saw what was going on, we burst into
an uncontrollable fit of laughter. <“ Boys!
boys!’ said the Domine, starting up, ‘‘ thou
hast awakened me, by thy boisterous mirth,
from a sweet musing created by the harmony of
friend Dux’s voice. Neither do I discover the
source of thy cachinnation, seeing that the song
is amatory and not comic. Still it may not be
Supposed, at thy early age, that thou canst be
affected with what thou art too young to feel.
Pr’ythee continue, friend Dux—and, boy, re-
strain thy mirth.”

“““ Though the bard to purer fame may soar

When wild youth’s past ;

Though he find the wise who frowned before

o smile at last.

He'll never meet
A joy so sweet
In all his noon of fame,

AAs when he sung to woman’s ear,
‘The soul-felt flame :

And at eyery close, she blush’d to hear
The once-loved name.’ ”

At the commencement of this verse, the
Domine appeared to be on his guard ; but,
gradually moved by the power of song, he
dropped his elbow on the table, and his pipe
underneath it ; his forehead sank into his broad
palm, and he remained motionless. The verse
ended, and the Domine forgetting all around
him, softly ejaculated, without looking up,
‘““EHheu ! Mary.”

“Did you speak to me, sir?” said Mary,who, perceiving us tittering, addressed. the
Domine with a half-serious, half-mocking air.

“Speak, maiden? nay, I spoke not; yet
hou mayest give me my pipe, which apparently

hath been abducted while I was listening to the
song.”
“Abducted ! that’s a new word; but it
means smashed into twenty pieces, I suppose,”
observed young Tom. ‘‘At all events, your
pipe is, for you let it fall between your legs.”

‘“‘ Never mind,” said Mary, rising from her
chair, and going to the cupboard; ‘‘here’s
another, sir.”’

‘Well, master, am I to finish, or have you
had enough of it ?”

“Proceed, friend Dux, proceed ; and believe
that I am all attention.”

“©© that hallow’d form is ne’er forgot
Which first love traced,
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
n memory’s waste.
’ Twas odour fled
As soon as shed,
"Twas memory’s winged dream,
‘Twas a light that ne’er can shine again
n life’s dull stream ;
O ! ’twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life’s dull stream,’ ”

‘“‘Nay,’ said the Domine, again abstracted,
“the metaphor is not just. ‘Z's dull stream’
—‘ Lethe tacitus amnis,’ as Lucan hath it : but
the stream of life flows—ay, flows rapidly—even
in my veins. Doth not the heart throb and
beat—yea, strongly—peradventure too forcibly,
against my better judgment? ‘ Conjfiteor misere
molle cor esse mtht,’ as Ovid saith. Yet must
it not. prevail. Shall one girl be victorious over
seventy boys? Shall I, Domine Dobbs, desert
my post ?—again succumb to—I will even de-
part, that I may be at my desk at matutinal
hours.”

““You don’t mean to leave us, sir?” said
Mary, taking the Domine’s arm.

‘‘Even so, fair maiden, for it waxeth late,
and I have my duties to perform,” said the
Domine, rising from his chair.

‘“Then you will promise to come again ?””’

‘‘ Peradventure I may.”

‘“If you do not promise me that you will, I
will not let you go now.”

‘Verily, maiden

‘‘ Promise,’’ interrupted Mary.

‘Truly, maiden.”

‘“‘Promise,” cried Mary.

“Tn good sooth, maiden

‘* Promise,’ reiterated Mary, pulling the
Domine towards her chair.

‘““Nay, then, I do promise, since thou wilt
have it so,’’ replied the Domine.

“And when will you come?”

“‘T will not tarry,” replied the Domine : ‘‘ and
now good night to all.”’

The Domine shook hands with us, and Mary
lighted him downstairs. I was much pleased
with the resolution and sense of his danger thus

 

 

 

FACOB FAITHFUL,

 

gt

shown by my worthy preceptor, and hoped that
he would have avoided Mary in future, who
evidently wished to make a conquest of him for
her own amusement and love of admiration ;
but still I felt that the promise exacted would be
fulfilled, and I was afraid that a second meeting
and that perhaps not before witnesses, would
prove mischievous. I made up my mind to
speak to Mary on the subject as soon as I had
an opportunity, and insist upon her not making
a fool of the worthy old man. Mary remained
below a much longer time than was necessary,
and when she reappeared and looked at me, as
if fora smile of approval, I turned from _her
with a contemptuous air. She sat down and
looked confused. ‘Tom was also silent, and
paid her no attention. A quarter of an hour
passed, when he proposed to his father that
they should be off, and the party broke up.
Leaving Mary silent and thoughtful, and old
Stapleton finishing his pipe, I took my candle
and went to bed.

The next day the moon changed, the weather
changed, and a rapid thaw took place. ‘It's
an ill wind that blows nobody good,” observed
old Stapleton; ‘‘we watermen will have the
river to ourselves again, and the hucksters must
carry their gingerbread-nuts to another market.”’
It was, however, three or four days before the
river was clear of the ice, so as to permit the
navigation to proceed ; and during that time, I
may as well observe, that there was dissension
between Mary and me. I showed her that I
resented her conduct, and at first she tried to
pacify me; but finding that I held out longer
than she expected, she turned round and was
affronted in return. Short words and no lessons
were the order of the day; and, as each party
appeared determined to hold out, there was
little prospect of a reconciliation. In this she
was the greatest sufferer, as I quitted the house
after breakfast, and did not return until dinner-
time. At first old Stapleton plied very regularly,
and took all the fares; but about a fortnight
after we had worked together, he used to leave
me to look afteremployment, and remain at the
public-house. ‘The weather was now fine, and
after the severe frost it changed so rapidly, that
most of the trees were in leaf, and the horse-
chestnuts in full blossom. ‘The wherry was in
constant demand, and every evening I handed
from four to six shillings over to old Stapleton.
I was delighted with my life, and should have
been perfectly happy if it had not been for my
quarrel with Mary still continuing, she as reso-
lutely refraining from making advances as I.
How much may life be embittered by dissension
with those you live with, even where there is no
very warm attachment; the constant’ grating
together worries and annoys; and although you
may despise the atoms, the aggregate becomes
insupportable. Ihad no pleasure in the house;
and the evenings, which formerly passed so
agreeably, were now a source of vexation, from
being forced to sit in company with one with

 
  

cenapammspnmiee 75:

joa ea

Bote ierecores¥¢ACOB

92

whom I was not on good terms. OldStapleton
was seldom at home till late, and this made it
still worse. I was communing with myself one
night, as I had my eyes fixed on my book,
whether I should not make the first advances,
when Mary, who had been quietly at work,
broke the silence by asking me what I was
reading. I replied in a quiet, grave tone.

“Jacob,” said she in continuation, ‘‘1 think
you have used me very ill to humble me in this
manner. It was your business to make it up
first ‘

“Tam not aware that I have been in the
wrong,” replied I.

““T do not say that you have; but what mat-
ter does that make? You ought to give way to
a woman.’

“Why so?”

“Why so! don’t the whole world do so?
Do you not offer everything first to a woman ?
{s it not her right ?”’

““ Not when she is in the wrong, Mary.”

““Ves, when she is in the wrong, Jacob ;
there’s no merit in doing it when she’s in the
right.

«‘T think otherwise ; at all events, it depends
on how much she has been in the wrong, and I
consider you have shown a bad heart, Mary.”

«« \ bad heart ! in what way, Jacob?”

‘‘In realizing the fable of the boys and the
frogs with the poor old Domine, forgetting that
what may be sport to you is death to him.”

“You don't mean to say that he'll die of love,”
replied Mary, laughing.

‘‘T should hope not; but you may contrive,
and you have tried all in your power, to make
him very wretched.”

‘And, pray, how do you know that I do not
like the old gentleman, Jacob? You appear to
think that a girlis to fall in love with nobody
but yourself. Why should I not love an old
man with so much learning? I have been told
that old husbands are much prouder of their
wives than young ones, and pay them more
attention and don’t run after other women.
How do you know that I am not serious ?”

‘Because I know your character, Mary, and
am not to be deceived. If you mean to defend
yourself in that way, we had better not talk any
more.

“Tord, how savage you are! Well, then,
suppose I did pay the old gentleman any atten-
tion. Did the young ones pay me any? Did
either you, or your precious friend Mr. Tom,
even speak to me?”

‘““No; we saw how you were employed, and
we both hate a jilt.”’

‘“O! you do. Very well, sir; just as you
please. I may make both of your hearts ache
for this, some day or another.”’

‘‘Forewarned, forearmed, Mary; and I shall
take care that they are both forewarned as well
as myself. As I perceive that you are so de-
cided, I shall say no more. Only for your own
sake, and your own happiness, I caution you.

HATLALOL,

Recollect your mother, Mary, and recollect your
mother’s death.”

Mary covered her face and burst into tears.
She sobbed for a few minutes, and then came
to me. ‘‘ You are right, Jacob; and I am a
foolish—perhaps wicked,—girl; but forgive me,
and indeed I will try to behave better. But, as
father says, it is human nature in me, and it’s
hard to conquer our natures, Jacob.”

“Will you promise me not to’ continue your
advances to the Domine, Mary ?”

‘J will not, if Ican help it, Jacob. 1 may
forget for the moment, but I'll do all I can.
It’s not very easy to look grave when one is
merry, or sour when one is pleased.”

« But what can induce you, Mary, to practise
upon an old man like him? If it were young
Tom, I could understand it. There might be
some credit, and your pride might be flattered
by the victory ; but an old man e

‘Still, Jacob, old or young, it’s much the
same. I would like to have them all at my
feet, and that's the truth. I can’t help it. And
I thought it a great victory to bring there a
wise old man, who was so full of Latin and
learning, and who ought to know better, Tell
me, Jacob, if old men allow themselves to be
caught, as well as young, where is the crime of
catching them? Isn't there as much vanity in
an old man, in his supposing that I really could
love him, as there isin me, whoam but a young
foolish girl, in trying to make him fond of
me?!

“That may be; but still recollect that he is
in earnest, and you are only joking, which
makes a great difference; and recollect further,
that in trying at all, we very often lose all.”

“That I would take my chance of, Jacob,”
replied Mary, proudly throwing her curly ring-
lets back with her hand from her white fore-
head ; ‘‘ but what I now want, is to make friends
with you. Come, Jacob, you have my promise
to do my best.”

‘Yes, Mary, and I believe you, so there's my
hand.”

‘““You don't know how miserable I have been,
Jacob, since we quarrelled,” said Mary, wiping
the tears away, which again commenced flow-
ing; ‘‘and yet I don't know why, for I’m sure
I have almost hated you this last week—that I
have; but the fact is, I like quarrelling very
well for the pleasure of making it up again ; but
not for the quarrel to last so long as this has
done.”

‘‘Tt has annoyed me too, Mary, for Llike you
very much in general.”

‘‘Well, then, now it’s all over; but, Jacob,
are you sure you are friends with me?”’

SOVies; Wianyar:

Mary looked archly at me. ‘‘ You know the
old saw, and I feel the truth of it.”

“What, ‘kiss and make friends?’ replied I;
‘with all my heart,” and I kissed her, without
any resistance on her part.

‘‘No, I didn't mean that, Jacob.”«What then?”

‘‘O! ‘twas another.”

‘‘ Well, then, what was the other?.”’

““Never mind, I forget it now,’ said she,
Jaughing, and rising from the chair. ‘‘ Now I
must go to my work again, and you must tell
me what you've been doing this last fortnight.”’

Mary and I entered into a long and amicable
conversation, till her father came home, when
we retired to bed. ‘‘I think,” said old Staple-
ton, the next morning, ‘‘that [ve had work
enough ; and I’ve belonged to two benefit-clubs
for so long as to ‘title me to an allowance. I
think, Jacob, I shall give up the wherry to you,
and you shall in future give me one-third of
your earnings, and keep the rest to. yourself.
I don’t see why you're to work hard all day for
nothing.” I remonstrated against this excess of
liberality ; but old Stapleton was positive, and
the arrangement was made. I afterwards dis-
covered,’ what may probably occur to the reader,
that Captain Turnbull was at the bottom of all
this. He had pensioned old Stapleton, that
I might become independent by my own exer-
tions before I had served my apprenticeship ;
and after breakfast, old Stapleton walked down

 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

FACOB FAITHFUL. 93

with me to the beach, and we launched the
boat.  ‘‘ Recollect, Jacob,’’ said he, ‘‘one-
third, and honour bright ;’’ so saying, he ad-
journed to his old quarters, the public-house, to
smoke his pipe, and think of human natur. — I
do not recollect any day of my life on which I
felt more happy than on this: I was working
for myself, and independent. I jumped into
my wherry, and without waiting for a fare, I
pushed off, and gaining the stream, cleaved
through the water with delight as my reward ;
but after a quarter of an hour I sobered down
with the recollection that although I might pull
about for nothing, for my own amusement, that
as Stapleton was entitled to one-third, I had no
right to neglect his interest; and I shot my
wherry into the row, and stood with my hand
and forefinger raised watching the eye of every
one who came towards the hard. — I was fortu-
nate that day, and when I returned, was pro-
ceeding to give Stapleton his share, when he
stopped me.. ‘‘ Jacob, it’s no use dividing now ;
once a week will be better. I likes things to
come in a lump; ‘cause d'ye see—it’s—it’s—
human natur.

 

CHAP TISR -. XXVIT.

A good Fare

 

Eat your Pudding and hold your Tongue—The Domine crossed in Love—The Crosser also

crossed—I find that ‘‘ All the World’s a Stage,” not excepting the Stern-sheets of my Wherry—
Cleopatra’s Barge apostrophized on the River Thames.

I CONSIDER that the present was the period
from which I might date my first launching
into human life. I was now nearly eighteen
years old, strong, active, and well made, full
of spirits, and overjoyed at the independence
which I had so much sighed for. Since the
period of my dismissal from Mr. Drummond's,
my character had much altered. I had become
grave and silent, brooding over my wrongs,
harbouring feelings of resentment against the
parties, and viewing the world in general
through a medium by no means favourable.
I had become in some degree restored from this
unwholesome state of mind from having ren-
dered an important service to Captain Turnbull ;
for we love the world better as we feel that we
are more useful in it; but the independence
now given to me was the acme of my hopes
and wishes. I felt so happy, so buoyant in
mind, that I could even think of the two clerks
in Mr. Drummond's employ without feelings of
revenge. Let it, however, be remembered,
that the world was all before me in anticipation
only.

Boat sine”

“No, thanky, my lad.
ton—is he here ?”’
‘‘No, sic; but this is his boat.”’
‘‘Humph! can't he take me down?”
‘No, sir; but I can, if you please.”

I want old Staple-

 

‘‘ Well, then, be quick.”

A sedate-looking gentleman, about forty-five
years of age, stepped into the boat, and ina
few seconds I was in the stream, shooting the
bridge with the ebbing tide.

‘“‘What’s the matter with deaf Stapleton?”

‘‘Nothing, sir; but he is getting old, and
has made the boat over to me.”’

‘¢ Are you his son?”

‘No, sir ; his ‘prentice.”’

‘‘Humph! sorry deaf Stapleton’s gone.”

‘‘T can be deaf as he, sir, if you wish it.”

“ Humph !”

The gentleman said no more at the time, and
I pulled down the river in silence ; but in a few
minutes he began to move his hands up and
down, and _his lips, as if he were in conversation.
Gradually his action increased, and words were
uttered. At last he broke out :—‘‘Itis with
this conviction,—I may say, important convic:
tion, Mr. Speaker, that I now deliver my senti-
ments to the Commons House of Parliament,
trusting that no honourable member will decide
until he has fully weighed the importance of the
arguments which I have submitted to his judg-
ment.” He then stopped, as if aware that I
was present, and looked at me; but, prepared
as I was, there was nothing in my countenance
which exhibited the least sign of merriment ; or,
indeed, of having paid any attention to what he

ieee ae,

j
i
\)
fi
i
}94

had been saying, for I looked carelessly to the
right and left at the banks of the river. He again
entered into conversation.

‘« Have you been long on the river?”

‘ Born on it, sir.”

“ How do you like the profession of a water-
man ?”

“Very well, sir; the great point is to have
regular customers.”

‘“And how do you gain them?”

“By holding my tongue; keeping their
counsel and my own.”

““Very good answer, my boy. People who
have much to do cannot afford to lose even their
time on the water. Just now I was preparing
and thinking over my speech in the House of
Commons.”

““So I supposed, sir, and I think the river is
avery good place for it, as no one can over-
hear you except the person whose services you
have hired—and you need not mind him.”

‘*Very true, my lad ; but that’s why I liked
deaf Stapleton—he could not hear a word.”

“But, sir, if you've no objection, I like to
hear it very much ; and you may be sure that I
should never say anything about it, if you will
trust me.”

“Do you, my lad? well, then, I'll just try.
it over again. Youshall be the Speaker—mind
you hold your tongue, and don’t interrupt me.”

The gentleman then began: ‘‘ Mr. Speaker,
I should not have ventured to address the
House at this late hour, did I not consider that
the importance of the question now before it is
—so important—no, that won’t do—did I not
consider that the question now before it is of
that, I may say, paramount importance, as to
call forth the best energies of every man who is
a well-wisher to his country. With this con-
viction, Mr. Speaker, humble individual as I
am, I feel it my duty, I may say my bounden
duty, to deliver my sentiments upon the subject.
The papers which I now hold in my hand, Mr.
Speaker, and to which I shall soon have to call
the attention of the House, will, I trust, fully
establish——’”’

‘‘I say, waterman, be you taking that chap
to Bedlam?” cried a shrill female voice close to
us. ‘The speech was stopped; we looked up,
and perceived a wherry with two females passing
close to us. <A shout of laughter followed the
observation, and my fare looked very much
confused and annoyed.

I had often read the papers in. the public
house, and remembering what was usual in the
House in case of interruption, called out
‘Order, order!” This made the gentleman
laugh, and as the other wherry was now far off,
he recommenced his oration, with which I shall
not trouble my reader. It wasa-very fair speech,
Ihave no doubt, but I forget what it was about.

I landed him at Westminster Bridge, and
received treble my fare. ‘‘ Recollect,” said he,

on paying me, ‘‘that I shall look out for you
when I come again, which I do every Monday

   

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

morning, and sometimes oftener.
name?’

‘« Jacob, sir.”

‘“Very well ; good morning, my lad.”

This gentleman became a very regular and
excellent customer, and we used to havea great
deal of conversation, independent of debating,
in the wherry ; and I must acknowledge that I
received from him not only plenty of money,
but a great deal of valuable information.

A few days after this I had an opportunity of
ascertaining how far Mary would keep her pro-
mise. [was plying at the river side as usual,
when old Stapleton came up to me, with his
pipe in his mouth, and said, ‘‘Jacob, there be
that old gentleman up at our house with Mary.
Now I sees a great deal, but I says nothing.
Mary will be her mother over again, that’s sar-
tain. Suppose you go and see your old teacher,
and leave me to look a’ter acustomer. I begin
to feel as if handling the sculls a little would be
of sarvice tome. We all think idleness be a very
pleasant thing when we’re obliged to work, but
when we are idle, then we feel that a little work
be just as agreeable—that’s human natur.”’

‘I thought that Mary was very likely to forget
all her good resolutions, from her ardent love of
admiration, and I was determined to go and
break up the conference. I therefore left the
boat to Stapleton, and hastened to the house.
I did not much like to play the part of an eaves-
dropper, and was quite undecided how I should
act ; whether to go in at once or not, when, as
I passed under the window, which was open, I
heard very plainly the conversation which was
going on. 1 stopped in the street, and listened
to the Domine in continuation. ‘‘ But, fair
maiden, omzza vincit amor—here am 1, Domine
Dobbs, who have Jong passed the grand climac-
teric, and can already muster threescore years
—who have authority over seventy boys—being
Magister Princeps et Dux of Brentford Grammar
School—who have affectioned only the sciences,
and communed only with the classics—who
have ever turned a deaf ear to the allurementso
thy sex, and even hardened my heart to thy
fascination—hereamJ, even I, Domine Dobbs,
suing at the feet of a maiden who hath barely
ripened into womanhocd, who knoweth not to
read or write, and whose father earns his bread
by manual labour. — I feel it all—I feel that I
am too old—that thou art too young—that I
am departing from the ways of wisdom, and:am
regardless of my worldly prospects. Still, omnza
vincit amor, and I bow to the all-powerful god,
doing him homage, through thee, Mary. Vainly
have I resisted—vainly have I, as I have lain in
bed, tried to drive thee from my thoughts, and
tear thine image from my heart. Have I not
felt thy presence everywhere? Do not I as-
tonish my worthy.coadjutor, Mistress Bately, the
matron, by calling her by the name of Mary,
when I had always before addressed her by her
baptismal name of Deborah? Nay, have not
the boys in the classes discovered my weakness,

What's yourYACOB

and do not they shout out Mary in their hours
of play? Mare periculosum et turbidum, hast
thou been tome. I sleep not—lI eat not,—and
every sign of love which hath been adduced by
Ovidius Naso, whom I have diligently collated,
do I find in mine own person. Speak, then,
maiden. I have given vent to my feelings—do
thou the same, that I may return, and leave
not my flock without their shepherd. Speak,
maiden.’

“Twill, sir, if you will get up,” replied Mary,
who paused, and then continued: ‘‘I think,
sir, that 1 am young and foolish, and you are
old and—and——”’

“Foolish, thou wouldest say.’

““T had rather you said it, sir, than I; it is
not for me to use such an expression towards
one so learned as you are. [I think, sir, that I
am too young to marry, and that perhaps you
are—too old. I think, sir, that you are too
clever—and that I am very ignorant ; that it
would not suit you in your situation to marry ;
and that it would not suit me to marry you—
equally obliged to you all the same.”

“Perhaps thou hast in thy reply proved the
wiser of the two,” answered the Domine; ‘‘but
why, maiden, didst thou raise those feelings,
those hopes in my breast, only to cause me
pain, and make me drink deep of the cup of
disappointment ? Why didst thou appear to
cling to me in fondness, if thou felt not a yearn-
Ing towards me ?”’

‘““But are there not other sorts of love
besides the one you would require, sir? May I
not love you because you are so clever, and so
learned in Latin? may I not love youas I do
my father ?”

‘“True, true, child ; it is all my own folly,
and I must retrace my steps in sorrow. I have
been deceived—but I have been deceived only
by myself. My wishes have.clouded my un-
derstanding, and have obscured my reason ;
have made me forgetful of my.advanced years,
and of the little favour I was likely to find in
the eyes of a young maiden. I have fallen
into a pit through blindness, and I must extri-
cate myself, sore as will be the task. Bless
thee, maiden, bless thee! May another be
happy in thy love, and never feel the barb of
disappointment. I will pray for thee, Mary—
that Heaven may bless thee.”” And the Domine
turned away and wept.

Mary appeared to be moved by the good old
man’s affliction, and her heart probably smote
her for her coquettish behaviour. She at-
tempted to console the Domine, and appeared
to me more than half crying herself. ‘‘ Nay,
sir, do not take on so, you make me feel very
uncomfortable. I have been wrong—lI feel [
have—though you have not blamed me. I am
a very foolish girl.”

‘‘Bless thee, child—bless thee!” replied the
Domine, in a subdued voice.

““ Indeed, sir, I don’t deserve it—I feel I do
not: but pray do not grieve, sir,—things will go

 

 

  

LAITHPOL,

 

95

cross in love. Now, sir, I'll tell you a secret to
prove it to you. I love Jacob—love him very
much, and he does not care for me—I am sure
he does not ; So you see, sir, you're not the only
one—who is—very unhappy ;” and Mary com-
menced sobbing with the Domine.

“Poor thing!”’ said the Domine ; ‘‘and thou
lovest Jacob ; truly is he worthy of thy love.
And, at thy early age, thou knowest what it is
to have thy love unrequited ! Truly is this a
vale of tears—yet let us be thankful. Guard
well thy heart, child, for Jacob may not be for
thee ; nay I feel that he will not be.”

‘And why so, sir?’ replied Mary, despond-
ingly.

‘* Because, maiden—but nay, I must not tell
thee ; only take my warning, which is meant in
kindness and in love. Fare thee well, Mary—
fare thee well! I come not here apa a a,

‘“Good bye, sir, and pray forgive me; this
will be a warning to me.”

‘Verily, maiden, it will be a warning to us
both. God bless thee!”

I discovered by the sound, that Mary had
vouchsafed to the Domine a kiss, and heard
soon afterwards his steps as he descended the
stairs. Not wishing to meet him, I turned
round the corner, and went down to the river,
thinking over what had passed. I felt pleased
with Mary, but I was not in love with her.

The spring was now far advanced, and the
weather was delightful. The river was beau-
tiful, and parties of pleasure were constantly to
be seen floating up and down with the tide.
The Westminster boys, the funny club, and
other amateurs in their fancy dresses, enlivened
the scene ; while the races for prize wherries,
which occasionally took place, rendered the
water one mass of life and motion. How I
longed for my apprenticeship to be over, that I
might try for a prize! One of my best cus-
tomers was a young man, who was an actor at
one of the theatres, and who, like the M.P.,
used to rehearse the whole time he was in the
boat; but he was a lively, noisy personage,
full of humour, and perfectly indifferent as to
appearances. He had a quiz and a quirk for
everybody that passed in another boat, and
would stand up and rant at them until they
considered him insane. We were on_very int
mate terms, and I never was more pleased than
when he made his appearance, as it was inva-
riably the signal for mirth. ‘The first time I
certainly considered him to be a lunatic, for
playhouse phraseology was quite new to me.
‘‘ Boat, sir?’’ cried I to him, as he came to the
hard.

‘“My affairs do even drag me homeward.
Go on, I'll follow thee,” replied he, leaping into
the boat. ‘‘ Our fortune lies upon this jump.”

I shoved off the wherry : ‘‘ Down, sir.”’

““Down,’’ replied: he, pointing downwards
with his finger, as if pushing at something :-—

 

*** Down, down to h—ll, and say I sent you there.’ ”

 

ee eis“Thanky, sir, I’d rather not, if it’s all the
same to you.

‘‘Our tongue is rough, coz—and my condi-
tion is not smooth.’”’ We shot the bridge, and
went rapidly down with the tide, when he
again commenced :-—

««¢ Thus with imagined wing our soft scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought.’”

Then his attention was drawn by a collier’s
boat, pulled by two men as black as chimney-
sweeps, with three women in the stern- sheets.
They made for the centre of the river, to get
into the strength of the tide, and were soon
abreast and close to the wherr y, pulling with us
down the stream...

‘“There’s a dandy young man,” said one of
the women, with an old straw bonnet and very
dirty ribbons, laughing, and pointing to my
mai.

*** Plead you to me, fairdame? I know you not ;
At Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town as to your talk.’”

“‘Well, he be a reg’lar rum cove, I've a
notion,’ said another of the women, when she
witnessed the theatrical airs of the speaker, who
immediately recommenced :—

*** The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne,
Burn’d on the water—the poop was beaten gold,
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them ; the oars were

silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
‘The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar’d all description.’”’

“Come, Ill be blowed, but we've had
enough of that, so just shut your pan,” said one
of the women, angrily.

*“* Her gentlewomen, like the Naiades,
So many mermaids tend her.’”

‘“Mind what you're arter, or your mouth will
tend to your mischief, young fellow.”

*<¢ From the barge
A strange, invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs.’”

“Jem, just run him alongside, and break his
head with your oar.
‘JT thinks as how I will, if he don't mend his
manners.’

***T saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public streets.’’

“You lie, you liver-faced rascal—I never
walked the streets in my life; I’m a lawful
married woman. Jem, do you ‘call yourself a

man, and stand this here?’

‘Well, now, Sal, but he is a nice young man.
Now, ain’t he?” observed one of the other
women.

   

FACOB FAITHFUL.

   

‘** Away,
Love! I know thee not,

Away, you trifier.
I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world

To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips ;
We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.’

.?

‘‘T’ye a notion you will, too, my hearty,,
interrupted one of the colliers. ‘‘ That ere long
tongue of yours will bring you into disgrace.
Bill, give her a jerk towards the wherry, and.
we'll duck him.”

‘«My friend,’
me,

“‘« Tet not his unwholesome corpse come between:
the wind and my nobility.’ ”’

said the actor, addressing

Let us exeunt, O.P.”’

Although I could not understand his phrases,
I knew very well what he meant, and pulling:
smartly, I shoved towards the shore, and ahead.
Perceiving this, the men in the boat, at the inti-
mation of the women, who stood up, waving
their bonnets, gave chase to us, and my com-
panion appeared not a little alarmed. How-
ever, by great exertion on my part, we gained
considerably, and they abandoned the pursuit.

“* Now, by two-headed Janus,” said my com-
panion, as he looked back upon the colliers,

««* Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time,
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes,
And laugh lke parrots at a bagpiper,

And others of such a vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth by way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.’

And now,’ continued he, Q
‘‘what’s your name, sir? Of what condition
are you—and of what place, I pray?”

Amused with what had passed, I replied,
“That my name was Jacob—tl jat “I ‘was 2
waterman, and born on the river.

‘“‘T find thee apt; but tell me, art thou per-
fect that our ship hath touched upon the
deserts of Bohemia?”

‘‘Do you land at Westminster, sir?”

addressing me,

 

“** No; at Blackfriars—there attend my coming.’

Base is the slave who pays ;
is your fare, my lad?

nevertheless, what

“What money’ s in my purse?
two-pence.’

Seven groats and

“ By Jove, I am not covetous of gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.”

But

“Tcan get no remedy for this consumption of the
purse.

Here, my lad, is that enough?”
oe eS, sin, L thankyou
‘Remember poor Jack, sir,”

attendant at the landing-place,

said the usual
catching his

arm as he careened the wherry en getting
out.

he fall in, good night—or sink or swim,’Jack, there is a penny for you. Jacob, fare-
well—we meet again;” and away he went,
taking three of the stone steps at each spring.
This gentleman’s name was, as I afterwards
found out, Tinfoil, an actor of second-rate merit

FACOB FAITHFUL. oF

 
 
 
  
  
  

on the London boatds. The Haymarket
Theatre was where he principally performed,
and as we became better acquainted, he
offered to procure me orders to see the play
when I should wish to go there.

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The Pic-nic Party—Sufferings by Oil, Ice, Fire, and Water—Upon the whole, the  Divarting Vagabohds,”
as the Thespian Heroes and Heroines are classically termed, are very happy, excepting Mr. Winter=

bottom, whose Feelings are, by sitting down, down to Zero,

ONE morning he came down to the hard, and,
as usual, I expected that he would go down the
river. Iran to my boat, and hauled in close.

‘‘No, Jacob, no; this day you will not carry
Ceesar and his fortunes, but I have an order for

ou.”

“Thank you, sir; what is the play?”

“The play—pooh ! no play; but I hope it
will prove a farce, nevertheless, before it’s over.
We are to have a pic-nic party upon one of
those little islands up the river by Kew. All
sock and buskin, all theatricals ; if the wherries
upset, the Haymarket may shut up, for it will
be ‘ exeunt omnes’ with all its best performers.
Look you, Jacob, we shall want three wherries,
and I leave you to pick out the other two—oars
in each, of course. You must be at Whitehall
steps exactly at nine o'clock, and I dare say the
ladies won't make you wait more than an hour
or two, which, for them, is tolerably punctual.”

Mr. Tinfoil then entered into the arrangement
for remuneration, and walked away ; and I was
conning over in my mind whom | should select
from my brother watermen, and whether I
should ask old Stapleton to take the other oar
in my boat, when I heard a voice never to be
mistaken by me :—

‘« Tife’s like a summer day,
Warmed by a sunny ray.’

Lower away yet, Tom. That'll do, my trump, y

‘ Sometimes a dreary cloud,
Chill blast, or tempest loud.’

Look out for Jacob, Tom,” cried the old man,
as the head of the lighter, with her mast lowered
down, made its appearance through the arch of
Putney Bridge, with bright blue streaks on her
sides.

“ Here he is, father,’ replied Tom, who was
standing forward by the windlass, with the fall
in his hand.

I had shoved off, on hearing old Tom's voice,
and was alongside almost as soon as the lighter
had passed under the bridge, and discovered old
Tom at the helm. 1 sprung on the deck, with
the chain-painter of the wherry in my hand,
made it fast, and went aft to old Tom, who
seized my hand.

‘This is as it should be, my boy,—both on

the look-out for each other. The héatt Warms
when we know the feeling is on both sides.
You're seldom out of our thoughts, boy, and
always in our hearts. Now jump forward, for
Tom’s fretting to greet you, = see; and you
may just as well help him to sway up the mast
when you are there.”

I went forward, shook hands with Tom, and:
then clapped on the fall, and assisted him to
hoist the mast. We then went aft to his father,
and commiunicated everything of interest which
had passed since our last meeting at old Staple-
ton’s. .

«‘ And how’s Mary ?”’ inquired Tom ; ‘*she’s
a very fine lass, and I've thought of her more
than once ; but I saw that all you said about
her was true. How she did flam that poor old.
Domine !”’

‘‘T have had a few words with her about it,
and she has promised to be wiser,” replied I ;
‘‘but as her father says, ‘in her it's human
mature: 2

‘‘She’s a fine craft,” observed old Tom, ‘‘and
they always be a little ticklish. But, Jacob,
you've had some inquiries made after you, and
by the women, too.”

‘« Indeed !”’ replied I.

“Yes ; and I have had the honour of being
sent for into the parlour. Do you guess now?”

‘‘Ves,” said I, a gloom coming over my
countenance, ‘‘I presume it is Mrs. Drummond:
and Sarah whom you refer to ?’’

‘‘ Eixactly.”’

Tom then informed me that Mrs. Drummona:
had sent for him, and asked a great many
questions about me, and desired him to say that.
they were very giad to hear that I was well and
comfortable, and hoped that I would call and.
see her and Sarah when I came that way. Mrs.
Drummond then left the room, and Tom was
alone with Sarah, who desired him to say, that her
father had found out that I had not been wrong;
that he had dismissed both the clerks ; and that
he was very sorry he had been sodeceived—and.
then, said Tom, Miss Sarah told me to say
from herself, that she had been very unhappy
since you had left them, but that she hoped that
you would forgive and forget some day or
another, and come back to them ; and that £
was to give you her love, and call next time we
went up the river for something that she wanted,

D98 YACOB FAITHFUL.

tosendto you, So you perceive, Jacob, that you stowed, followed us, and was occupied by thé
are not forgotten, and justice has been done to two attendants, a call-boy and scene-shifter,
you.” who were addressed by Vinfoil as Caliban and
__ ““Yes,” replied I, ‘‘but it has been done too Stephano. yenet.
late ; so det us say no more about it. I am “Ts all our company here?” said a pert-
quite happy as I am.” looking, little pug-nosed man, who had taken
I then told them of the pic-nie party of the upon himself the part of Quince, the Carpenter,
next day, upon which Tom volunteered to take in the Midsummer Night's Dream. OR,
the other oar in my boat, as he would not. be Nick Bottom, ’ continued he, addressing an-
wanted while the barge was at the wharf. Old other, “‘are set down for Pyramus.
Tom gave his consent, and it was agreed he The party addressed did not, however, appear
should meet me the next morning at daylight. to enter into the humour. He was a héavy-
“I've a notion there'll be some, fun, Jacob,” made, rather corpulent, white-faced, personage,
said he, ‘‘ from what you say.” dressed in white jean trowsers, white waistcoat,
“IT think so, too ; but you’ve towed me two brown coat, and white hat; Whether anything
miles, and I must be off again, or I shall lose had put him out of humour, I know not, but it
my dinner; so good bye.” I selected’ two is evident that he was the butt of the ladies and
other wherries in the course of the afternoon, of most of the party.
and. then returned home. “Tl just thank you,” replied this personage,
It was a lovely morning when Tom and I whose real name was Winterbottom, ‘‘to be
washed out the boat, and having dressed otir- quiet, Mr. Western, for I shan’t stand any of
selves in our neatest clothes, we shoved off in your nonsense.”
company with the two other wherries, and ““O Mr. Winterbottom, surely you are not
lropped leisurely down the river with the last aboat to sow the séeds’ of ‘discord so early.
4 the ebb, When we pulled in to the stairs at Look at the scene before you—hear how the
Vhitehall, we found two men waiting for us birds are singing, how merrily the sun’ shines,
with three or four hampers, some baskets, an and how beautifully the water sparkles ! Who
on saucepan, a frying-pan, and a large tin pail can be cross on such a morning as this?”
ith a cover, full of rough ice 'to cool the wines: ““No, miss,” replied Mr. ‘Winterbottom,
‘ve were directed to put all these articles into “not at all—not at all—only my name’s Win-
one boat, the others to be reserved for the terbottom, and not’ Bottom. . I don’t wear an

company. ass's head to please anybody—that’s all. I
‘‘ Jacob,” said Tom, ‘‘ don’t letus be kitchen, won't be Bottom—that’s flat.”
—I’m togged out for the parlour.” ‘“That depends upon circumstances, sir,”

This point had just been arranged, and the observed’Tom.
articles put into the wherry, when the party _ “What business ‘have
made their appearance, Mr. Tinfoil acting as in, Mr. Waterman?”
master of the ceremonies. ‘‘I was hired for the purpose,” replied Toni,

“Fair Titania,” said he, to the lady who dipping his oar into the water, and giving’ a
appeared to demand, and,, therefore; received hearty stroke.
the most attention, ‘‘allow me to hand you to “Stick to your own element: then=—shove
your throne.” your oar into the water, but not into our dis-

‘Many thanks, good Puck,” replie@ the course.”
lady, “‘we are well placed; but dear me. we ‘Well, sir, I: won't §a
haven't brought, or we have lost, our vinaigrette; don't like it.”
we positively cannot go without it, “What can ‘“‘ But you may to me,” s
bur women have been about?” ing, ‘‘ whenever you please.’

‘‘ Pease-blossom and Mustard-seed are much “And to mé too,” said Tinfoil; who was
to blame,” replied Tinfoil, “but shall I run amused with Tom’s replies.
back for it 2” Mr. Winterbottom became very wroth, and

“ Yes,’’ replied the lady, ‘‘and be here again, demanded to be put on shore directly, but the
ere the leviathan can swim a league.” Fairy Queen ordered us to obey him at our

“Tl put a girdle round the earth in forty. peril, and Mr: Winterbottom was carried up
minutes,’ replied the gentleman, stepping out of the river very much against his inclination.
the boat. ‘‘ Our friend is not himself,” said Mr, Tinfoil,

“Won't you bea little out of breath before producing a key bugle, *' but ,
ore ref Rab ge ap erane | the ‘Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,

This remark, far from giving offence, was *o soften rocks, and. rend, the knotted oak;

followed by a general laugh. Before Mr. Tin-
foil was out of sight, the lost vinaigrette was

you to shove yotir oar

y another word, if you

aid Titania, laugh-

and therefore will we tty the effect! of it upon
his senses.” ‘Mr. "Tinfoil then played the air in

dropped out of the lady's handkerchief ; he was,* Midas,

therefore, recalled ; and the whole of the party 24 ;
being arranged in the two boats, we shoved off; Pray Goody, please to moderate,” &e,
the third boat, in which the provender had been

during which Mr, Winterbottom looked moreAs soon as the air was finished,
another of the party responded with his flute,
from ‘the other boat—while Mr. Quince played
what he called base, by snapping his fingers.
The sounds of the instruments floated along
the flowing and smooth water, reaching the ears
and attracting the attention of many, who, for a
time, rested from their labour or hung listlessly
over the gunnels of the yessels, watching the
boats, and listening to the harmony. All was
mirth and gaiety—the wherries kept close to
each other, and between the airs the parties
kept up a lively and witty conversation, occa-
sionally venting — their Admiration upon the
verdure of the sloping lawns and feathering
trees, with which the banks of the noble river is
so beautifully adorned; even Mr. Winterbottom
had partially recovered his Serenity, when he
was again irritated by a remark of Quince, who
addressed him.

“You can play no par
Pyramus is .a. sweet-taced man—a proper man
as one shall see on a sumimer’s day; 4 most
lovely gentleman-like man ; therefore you must
needs play Pyramus.”

“Take care I don’t play the
physiognomy, Mr. Western,’ retor
bottom.

Here Caliban, in the third boat, began play-
ing the fiddle, and singing to it,

“ Gaffer, Gaffer’s son, and his little jackass,
Were trotting along the read; ;

the chorus of which ditty was “Ec-aw, Ec-aw!”
like the braying of a jackass.

“< Bless thee, Bottom ; bless thee, thou art
translated,’ cried Quince, looking at ‘Winter-

bottom.

«Very well—very well, Mr. Western. I don't
want to upset the wherry, and therefore youre
safe at present, but the reckoning will come—
so I give you warning.”

«Slaves of my lamp, do my bidding ; I will
have no quarrelling here. You, Quince, shut
your mouth ; you, Winterbottom, draw in your
lips ; and I, your queen, will charm you with a
song, said Titania, waving her little hand.
The fiddler ceased playing, and the voice of the
fair actress riveted all our at

sulky than ever.

t but Pyramus ; for

devil with your
ted Winter-

tention.

< Wilt thou waken, bride of May, :
While flowers are fresh, and sweet bells chime,
Listen and learn from my roundelay, :
How all life’s pilot-boats sail’d one day
A match with time!

4’ Love sat on a lotus-leaf aloft,
And saw old Time in his loaded boat,
Slowly he cross'd Life’s narrow tide, :
While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried,
‘Who will pass Time? :

& Patience came first, but soon was gone,
With helm and sail to help Time on ;
are and Grief could not lend an oat,

And Prudence said (while he stay d on shore),

: ‘1 wait for Lime.’

YACOB FAITHFUL,

  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
    
     
   

99

“« Hope fill’d with flowers her cork-tree bark,
And lighted its helm with a glow-worm’s spark ;
Then Love, when he saw his ‘bark fly past, :
Said, ‘ Lingering Time will soon be pass’d,

“Hope outspeeds Time.’

«« Wit went nearest Old Time to pass,
With his diamond oar and boat of glass
A feathery dart from his store he drew.
And shouted, while far and swift it flew,

“O Mirth kills Time.’

“ But Time sent the feathery arrow back,
Hope’s boat of Amaranthus miss’d its track ;
Then Love bade its butterfly-pilots move,

And laughing, said, ‘They shall see how Love
« Can conquer Time.’”

I need hardly say that the song was rap-
turously applauded, and most deservedly so.
Several others were demanded from the ladies
and gentlemen of the party, and given without
hesitation ; but I cannot now recall them to my
memory. The bugle and flute played’ between
whiles, and all was laughter and merriment.

‘c'There's a sweet place,” said Tinfoil, point-
ing to.a villa on the Thames. ‘Now, with the
fair Titania and ten thousand a year, one could
there live happy.”

“(Tm afraid the fair Titania must go to
market without the latter incumbrance, Tre-
plied the lady ; “the gentleman must find the
ten thousand:a year, and I must bring as my
dowry ¥

“Ten thousand charms,” interrupted ‘Tin-
foil—‘‘that’s most true, and pity ‘tis ‘tis. rue.
Did your fairyship ever hear my epigram on
the subject ?

 

‘Tet the lads of the East love the maids of Cash-

niere,
Nor affection with interests clash ;

Far other idolatry pieases us here,

We adore but the maids of Jere Cash.”

“Excellent, good Puck! Have you any
more?”

“ Not of my own, but you
Winterbottom wrote under th
speare last Jubilee °

“J knew not that Apollo had ever visited

have heard what
e bust of Shak-

him.”
«¢ You shall hear :

‘In this here place the bones of Shakspeare lie,
But that eve form of his shall never die ;
A speedy end and soon this world may have,
But Shakspeare’s name shall bloom beyond. the

grave.’”

“T’}] trouble you,
very witty at my expense,
bottom. ‘<I never wrote a
hie.”

‘No one said y
you won't deny that you wrote
Mr. Winterbottom disdained a
did we pass the variegated banks of the river,
swept up with a strong flood tide, and at las

D2

Mr. Tinfoil, not to be so
’ growled out Winter-
line of poetry in my

ou did, Winterbottom ; but
those lines.
reply. Gaily

 

ot100 -  - YACOB FAITHFUL.

arrived at a little island agreed upon as the site ‘‘ Butter shalt thou have, thou disturber of
of the pic-nic. ‘The company disembarked, and the element. Have we not Hzren here? i
were busy looking for a convenient spot for “‘T wasn't hired as a cook, at all events, re-
their entertainment, Quince making a rapid plied Tom; ‘‘but I’m rather a dad at Ls
escape from Winterbottom, the latter remaining —‘‘ Then shalt thou have the place,” replied
on the bank. ‘‘ Jenkins,” said he to the man the actor. Spe:
christened Caliban, ‘‘you did not forget the “With all my heart and sowl, cried Tom,
salad?” taking out his knife, and commencing the
“No, sir, I brought it myself. It’s on the necessary operation of skinning the fish. :
top of the little hamper.” : In half an hour all was ready: the fair
Mr. Winterbottom, who, it appears, was ex- Titania did me the honour to seat herself upon
tremely partial to salad, was satisfied with the my jacket, to ward off any damp from the
reply, and walked slowly away. ground, ;
“Well,” said Tom to me, wiping the per- The other ladies had also taken their re-
spiration from his brow with his handkerchief, spective seats, as allotted by the mistress of the
‘‘I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I revels; the tables were covered by many of the
only wish father had been here. I hope that good things of this life ; the soup was ready in
young lady will sing again before we part.” | a tureen at one end, and Tom had just placed
“I think it very likely, and that the fun is the fish on the table, while Mr. Quince and
only begun,” replied I. ‘‘ But come, let's lend Winterbottom, by the commands of Titania,
a hand to get the prog out of the boat.”’ were despatched for the wine and other
*“Pat! Pat! and here’s a marvellous con- varieties of potations. When they returned,
venient place for our rehearsal. This green eyeing one another askance, Winterbottom
plot shall be our stage,” cried Quince, address- looking daggers at his opponent, and Quince
ing the others of the party. not quite easy even under the protection of
The locality was apptoved of, and now all Titania, Tom had just removed the fryingpan
were busy in preparation. The hampers were from the fire, with its residuary grease still
unpacked, and cold meats, poultry, pies of babbling. Quince having deposited his load,
various kinds, pastry, &c., appeared in abun- was about to sit down, when a freak came into
dance. Tom's head, which, however, he dared not put
‘This is no manager’s feast,” said Tinfoil; in execution himself: but ‘a nod is as good as
_ “the fowls are not made of wood, nor is small a wink to a blind horse,” says the proverb.
beer substituted for wine. Don Juan’sbanquet Winterbottom stood before Tom, and Quince
to the Commendador is a farce to it.” with his back to them. Tom looked at Winter-
.‘ All the manager's stage banquets are farces bottom, pointing slyly to the fryingpan, and
and very sorry jokes into the bargain,” replied then to the hinder parts of Quince. Winter-
another. bottom snatched the hint and the fryingpan at
“I wish old Morris had to eat his own the same moment. Quince squatted himself

suppers.” down with a surge, as they say at sea, quoting
‘He must get a new set of teeth, or they'll at the time—‘‘Marry, our play is the most
prove a dea/ too tough.” lamentable comedy,’—but putting his hands
‘Hiss ! turn him out! he’s made a pun.” behind him to soften his fall, they were received

‘The hampers were now emptied ; some laid into the hot fryingpan inserted behind him by
the cloth upon the grass, and arranged the Winterbottom.
plates, and knives and forks. The ladies were “Oh Lord! oh! oh!” shrieked Mr. Quince,
as busy as the gentlemen—some were wiping springing up like lightning, bounding in the air
the glasses, others putting salt into the salt- with the pain, his hands behind still adhering
cellars. Titania was preparing the salad. Mr. to the fryingpan.
Winterbottom, who was doing nothing, ac- At-the first scream of Mr. Quince, the whole
costed her ; ‘‘May I beg as a favour that you party had-been terrified ; the idea was that a
do not cut the salad too small? it loses much snake had bitten him, and the greatest alarm
of its crispness.’ prevailed ; but when they perceived the cause
“Why, what a Nebuchadnezzar you are! of the disaster, even his expressions of pain
However, sir, you shall be obeyed.” could not prevent their mirth. It was too ludi-
“Who can fry fish?” cried Tinfoil. ‘‘Here crous. Still the gentlemen and ladies condoled
are two pairs of soles and some eels. Where's with him, but Mr. Quince was not to be
Caliban P”’ reasoned with. He walked away to the river-
‘Here Iam, sir,” replied the man, on his side, Mr. Winterbottom slily enjoying his re-
_ knees, blowing up a fire which he had kindled. venge, for no one but Tom had an idea that it
‘“‘T have got the soup to mind.” was anything but an accident. Mr. Quince’s
“Where's Stephano ?” party of pleasure was spoiled, but the others
‘‘ Cooling the wine, sir.” did not think it necessary that theirs should be
“Who, then, oan fry fish, I ask?” also. A ‘‘really very sorry for poor Western,”

\

‘‘Tcan, sir,” replied Tom ; ‘but noc with- a half-dozen « poor fellows !” intermingled with
cut butter,”

tittering, was all that his misfortunes calledforth after his departure ; and then they set to,
like French falconers. ‘The soup was swal-
lowed, the fish disappeared, joints were cut up,
pies delivered up their hidden treasures, fowls
were dismembered like rotten boroughs, corks
were drawn, others flew without the trouble:
and they did eat and were filled. Mr. Winter-
bottom kept his eye upon the salad, his favourite
condiment, mixed it himself, offered it to all,
and was glad to find that no one would spare
time to eat it ; but Mr. Winterbottom could eat
for everybody, and he did eat. ‘The fragments
were cleared away, and handed over to us. We
were very busy, doing as ample justice to them
as the party had done before us, when Mr.
Winterbottom was observed to turn very pale,
and appeared very uneasy.

‘< What's the matter?” inquired Mr. Tinfoil.

““T’m—I’m not very well—I—I’m afraid
something has disagreed with me. I—I’m
very ill,’’ exclaimed Mr. Winterbottom, turn-
ing as white as a sheet, and screwing up his
mouth.

‘‘Tt must be the salad,” said one of the
ladies; ‘‘no one has eaten it but yourself, and
we are all well.”’

‘‘J—rather think—it must be—oh—I do re-
collect that I thought the oil had a queer taste.”

‘‘ Why, there was no oil in the castors,” re-
plied Tinfoil..‘‘1 desired Jenkins to get some.”

‘‘So did I, particularly,’’ replied Winter-
bottom. ‘Oh !—oh, dear—oh, dear!”

‘Jenkins,’ cried Tinfoil, ‘‘ where did you
get the oil for the castors? What oil did you
get P—are you sure it was right ?”’

‘« Yes, sir, quite sure,” replied Jenkins. ‘‘I
brought it here in the bottle, and put it into the
castors before dinner.”’

‘*Where did you buy it?”

“« At the chemist’s, sir. Here’s the bottle ;”
and Jenkins produced a bottle with castor oil
in large letters labelled on the side.

The murder was out. Mr. Winterbottom
groaned, rose from his seat, for he felt very
sick indeed. ‘The misfortunes of individuals
generally add to the general quota of mirth,
and Mr. Winterbottom’s misfortune had the
same effect as that of Mr. Quince. But where
was poor Mr. Quince all this time? He had
sent for the iron kettle in which the soup had
been warmed up, and filling it full of Thames
water, had immersed the afflicted parts in the
cooling element. ‘There he sat with his hands
plunged deep, when Mr. Winterbottom made
his appearance at the same spot, and Mr.
Quince was comforted by witnessing the state
of his enemy. Indeed, the sight of Winter-
bottom’s distress did more to soothe Mr.
Quince’s pain, than all the Thames water in
the world. He rose, and leaving Winter-
bottom, with his two hands to his head, leaning
against a tree, joined the party, and pledged
the ladies in succession, till he was more than
half tipsy.

In the space of half an hour Mr. Winter-

  

 

 
   
    
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

FACOB FAITHFUL, IOI

bottom returned, trembling and shivering as if
he had been suffering under an ague. A bumper
or two of brandy restored him, and before the
day closed in, both Winterbottom and Quince,
one applying stimulants to his stomach, and
the otlrer drowning his sense of pain in repeated
libations, were in a state (to say the least of it)
of incipient intoxication. But there is a time
for all things, and it was time to return. The
evening had passed freely ; song had followed
song. ‘Tinfoil had tried his bugle, and played
not a little out of tune ; the flute also neglected
the flats and sharps as of no consequence ; the
ladies thought the gentlemen rather too forward,
and, in short, it was time to break up the party.
The hampers were repacked, and handed, half
empty, into the boat. Of wine there was little
left; and, by the directions of Titania, the
plates, dishes, &c., only were to be returned,
and the fragments divided among the boatmen.
‘The company re-embarked in high spirit, and
we had the ebb-tide to return with. Just as we
were shoving off, it was remembered that the
ice-pail had been left under the tree, besides a
basket with sundries. The other wherries had
shoved off, and they were in consequence
brought into our boat, in which we had the
same company as before, with the exception of
Mr. Western, a/zas Quince, who preferred the
boat which carried the hampers, that he might
loll over the side, with his hands in the water.
Mr. Winterbottom soon shewed the effects of
the remedy he had taken against the effects of
the castor oil.- He was uproarious, and it was
with difficulty that he could be persuaded to sit
still in the boat, much to the alarm of Titania
and the other ladies. He would make violent
love to the fairy queen ; and as he constantly
shifted his position to address her and throw
himself at her feet, there was some danger of
the boat being upset. At last Tom proposed to
him to sit on the pail before her, as then he
could address her with safety; and Winter-
bottom staggered up to take the seat. As he
was seating himself, Tom took off the cover, so
that’ he was plunged into the half-liquid ice ;
but Mr. Winterbottom was too drunk to -per-
ceive it. He coatinued to rant and rave, and
protest and vow, and even spout for some time,
when suddenly the quantity of caloric extracted
from him produced its effect.

‘‘J__J_really believe that the night is damp
—the dew falls—the seat is damp, fair Titania.”

‘It's only fancy, Mr. Winterbottom, ”’ replied
Titania, who was delighted with his situation.
‘‘Jean trowsers are cool in the evening ; it's
only an excuse to get away from me, and I
never will speak again to you, if you quit your
seat.”

‘“The fair Titania, the mistress of my soul—
and body too, if she pleases—has—but to com-
mand—and her slave obeys.”

“TJ yather think it is a little damp,” said Tin-
foil; ‘‘allow me to throw a little sand upon
your seat; and Tinfoil pulled out a large

7a ee102

paper bag full of salt, which he strewed over
the ice:

Winterbottom was satisfied, and remained ;
but by the time we had reached Vauxhall
Bridge, the refrigeration had become so com-
plete, that he was fixed in the ice, which the
application of the salt had made solid. He
complained of cold, shivered. attempted to rise,
but could not extricate himself; at last his teeth
chattered, and he became aimost sober; but he
was helpless from the éffects of the castor oil,
his: intermediate intoxication, and his present
state of numbness. He spoke less and less ; at
last he was silent, and when we arrived at

GACOB FAITHFUL.

  

 

Whitehall stairs, he was firmly fixed in the ice.
When released he could not walk, and he was
sent home in.a hackney coach.

‘Tt was cruel to punish him so, Mr. Tinfoil,
said Titania.

‘‘ Cruel punishment. Why, yes; a sort of
impailment,” replied Mr. Tinfoil, offering his
arm.

The remainder of the party landed and
walked home, followed by the two assistants,
who took charge of the crockery; and thus
ended the pic-nic party, which, as Tom said,
was the very funniest day he had ever spent in
his life,

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER

XIX,

Mr. Turnbull “sets his House in Order”—Mrs. T. thinks such Conduct very disorderly—The Captain at
his old Tricks with his Harpoon—He pays his Lady’s Debts of Honour, and gives the Applicant a

1S O

Quittance under his own Foot-—Monsieur and Madame Tagliabue withdraw from the Society of ces

barbares les Anglais.

Ir was on the Sunday after the pic-nic party,
when, feeling I had neglected Captain ‘Turnbull,
and that he would think it unkind of me not to
go near him, after having accompanied Mary to
church IL set off-on foot to his villa near Brent-
ford. I rang at the porter's lodge, and asked
whether he was at home.

“Ves, sir,’’ replied the old woman at the
lodge, who was very communicative, and very
friendly, with me; ‘‘and missus. be at home
too.”

I walked up the carriage-drive of one hundred
yards, which led to the entrance-door; and
when I rang, it was opened by a servant T had
not seen before as belonging to the estab-
lishment. ‘Where is Mr. Turnbull?” in-
quired I.

‘‘Fe is in his own room, sir,’ replied the
man; ‘‘but you must send up your name, if
you please, as every one 1s not admitted.’

I must observe to the reader that I was not
dressed in jacket and trowsers. The money I
earned was more than sufficient to supply all
my expenses, and I had fitted on what are
called at sea, and on theriver, Jong togs; i.e., 1
was dressed as most people are on shore. The
servant evidently took me for a gentleman ; and
perhaps, as far as dress went, I was entitled to
that distinction. Many people are received as
such in this world with less claims than I had.
I gave my name; the man left me at the door,
and soon returned, requesting that 1 would
follow him. I must say that I, was rather
astonished ; where were JZr. Mortimer, and the
two men in flaunting liveries and long cotton
epaulettes with things like little marline-spikes
hanging to the ends of them? Even. the livery
was, changed, being a plain brown coat, with
light blue collar and cuffs. 1 was, however,
soon made acquainted with what had taken
place, on my entering the apartment of Mr,

Turnbull,—his study, as Mrs. T. called it,
although Mr. Turnbull insisted upon calling it
his cabin,—a name certainly more appropriate,
as it contained but two small shelves of books,
the remainder of the space being filled up with
favourite harpoons, porpoise-skulls, sharks’ jaws,
corals, several bears’ skins, brown and white,
and one or two models of the vessels which had
belonged to his brother and himself, and which
had been employed in the Greenland fishery.
It was, in fact, a sort of museum of all he had
collected during his voyages. Esquimaux im-
plements, ornaments, and dresses, were lying
about in cerners; and skins of rare animals,
killed by himself, such as black foxes, &c., were
scattered about the carpet. His sea-chest, full
of various articles, was also one of the orna-
ments of the room, much to the annoyance of
Mrs. T., who had frequently exerted her in-
fluence to get rid of it, but in vain. ‘The only
articles of furniture were two sofas, a large table
in the centre, and three or four heavy chairs.
The only attempt at adornment consisted in a
dozen coloured engravings, framed and glazed,
of walrus shooting, &c., taken from the folio
works of Captains Cook and Mulgrave; and
a sketch or two by his brother, such as the
state of the Wzdiiam pressed by an iceberg on
the morning of the 25th of January, lat. —,
longs. —.

Captain T. was in his morning-gown, evi-
dently not very well,—at least he appeared
harassed and pale. ‘‘My dear Jacob, this is
very kind of you. I did mean to scold you for
not coming before : but I’m too glad to see you
to find the heart now. But why have you kept
away so long?”

“T have really been very well employed, sir:
Stapleton has given me up the wherry, and I
could not neglect his interests, even if | did my

Own,‘* Always right, boy
ting on?”

“Tam very happy; sir,—very happy, indeed.’’

“I’m glad to hear it, Jacob ; may you always
be so. Now take the other sofa, and let us
have a long palaver, as the Indians Saye, I
have something to tell you. I suppose you
observed a change—eh?”’

“Yes, sir; I observed that AZ. Mortimer

was not visible.”

‘““ Exactly.. Well, 4. Mortimer, or John

Snobbs, the rascal, is at present in Newgate for

| trial; and I mean to send him out ona voyage
for the good of his health. I caught the
scoundrel at last, and I'll show him no more
mercy than I would to a shark that has taken
the bait. But that’s not all We have had a
regular mutiny, and attempt to take the ship

| from me: but I have them all in irons, and

) ordered for punishment. Jacob, money is but
too often a curse, depend upon it.”

“You'll not find many of your opinion, sir,”

replied I, laughing.

‘Perhaps not; because those who have it
} are content with the importance which it gives
i, to them, and won’t allow the damnable facts;
} and hecause those who have it not, are always
| sighing after it, as if it were the only thing
/ worth looking after in this world. But now [
, will just tell you what has happened since I last
2 Saw you, and then you shall judge.”

As, however, Captain T.’s narrative ran to a
| length of nearly three hours, I shall condense
i the matter for the information of the reader. It
: appeared that Mrs. T. had continued to in-
3 crease the lengths of her drives in her carriage,
j the number of her acquaintances, and her mani=
} fold expenses, until Mr. T. had remonstrated

in very strong terms. His remonstrances did
not, however, meet with the attention which he
had expected: and he found out by accident,
| Taoreover, that the money with which he had
, constantly supplied Mrs. T., to defray her
i weekly bills, had been otherwise appropriated ;
(and that the bills for the two last quarters had
jnone of them been paid. This produced an
{ altercation, and a desire on his part to know in
‘what manner these sums had been disbursed.
/ At first the only reply from Mrs. T., who con-
isidéred it advisable to brazen it out, and, if
, possible gain the ascendancy which was neces-
\Sary, was a contemptuous toss of her. head,
‘which undulated the three yellow  ostrich-
| feathers in her bonnet, as she walked out of the
room and entered her carriage. ‘This, to Mr:
| ., who was a matter-of-fact. man, was not very
satisfactory ; he waited perforce until the car-
riage’ returned, and then demanded an explicit
janswer. Mrs. T. assumed the highest ground,
taiked about fashionable expenses, her know-
\ledge of what was due to his character, &c.
Mr. T. rejoined about necessary expenses, and
that it was due to his character to pay his
tradesmen’s bills. Mrs. T. then talked of good
breeding, best society, and her many plazsers,

; and how are you get-

JACOB FAITHFUL.

103

as she termed them, Mr. T. did not know
what many pleasures meant in French ; but he
thought she had been indulged in as many as
most women since they had come down to this
establishment. But to the question : why were
not the bills paid, and what had she done with
the money? Spent it in zz money. Pin
money ! thirty pounds a week in pins / i would
have bought harpoons enough for a three years’
voyage. She must tell the truth. She wouldn’t
tell. anything, but called for her salts, and called
him a éruze. At all events, he wouldn’t be
called a food. He gave her till the next morning
to consider of it. The next morning the bills
were all sent in as requested, and amounted to
six hundred pounds. They were paid and
receipted. ‘‘ Now, Mis. T., will you oblige
me by letting me know what you have done
with this six hundred pounds?” Mrs. T. would
not—she was not to be treated in that manner.
Mr. T. was not on board a whaler now, to bully
and frighten as he pleased. She would have
justice done her. Have a separation, alimony,
and a divorcee. She might have them all if she
pleased, but she should have no more money,
that was certain. Then she would have a fit of
hysterics. So she did, and lay the whole of the
day on the sofa, expecting Mr. T. would pick
her up. _ But the idea never came into Mr. T.’s
head. He went to bed; and feeling restless,
he rose very early, and saw from his window a
cart drive up to the wall, and the parties who
came with it leap over and enter the house, and
return carrying to it two large hampers. He
snatched up one of his harpoons, walked out
the other way, and arrived at the cart just as
the hampers had been put in, and they were
about to drive off; challenged them, and in-
stead of being answered, the horse was flogged,
and he nearly run over. He then let fly his
harpoon into the horse, which dropped, and
pitched out the two men on their heads insen-
sible ; secured them, called to the lodge for
assistance, sent for constables, and gave them
in charge. ‘They proved to be hampers for-
warded by Mr. Mortimer, who had been in the
habit of so doing for some time. These ham-
pers contained his best wine, and various other
articles, which also proved that Mr. Mortimer
must have had false keys. Leaving the culprits
and property in charge of two constables, Mr.
T. returned to the house in company with the
third constable ; the door was opened by Mr.
Mortimer, who followed him into his study,
told him he should leave the house directly, had
always lived with sentlemen before, and re-
quested that he might have what was due to
him. Mr. T. thought the request but reason-
able; and therefore gave him in charge of the
constable. Mr. Snobbs, rather confounded at
such ungentlemanly behaviour, was, with the
Others, marched off to Bow Street. Mr. T.
sends for the other two servants in livery, and
assures them that he has no longer any occasion
for their services, having the excessive vulgar104

idea that this peculation must have been known
tothem. Pays them their wages, requests they
will take off their liveries, and leave the house.
Both willing. 7Aey also had always lived with
gentlemen before. Mr. T. takes the key of the
butler’s pantry, that the plate may not consider
him too vulgar to remain in the house, and then
walks to the stables. Horses neigh, as if to say
they are all ready for their breakfasts ; but the
door locked. Hails the coachman, no answer.
Returning from the stables, perceives coachee
rather dusty coming in at the lodge-gate ; re-
quests to know why he did not sleep at home
and take care of his horses. He was missus’s
coachman, not master’s, and could satisfy her,
but could not satisfy Mr. T.; who paid him his
wages, and, deducting his liveries, sent him after
the others. Coachee also very glad to go—had
always lived with gentlemen before. Meets the
lady’s-maid, who tells him Mrs. T. is much too
ill to come down to breakfast. Rather fortunate,
as there was no breakfast to be had. Dresses
himself, gets into a pair-horse coach, arrives at
the White Horse Cellar, swallows his breakfast,
goes to Bow Street, commits Mr. Mortimer,
alias Snobbs, and his confederates, for trial.
Hires a job-man to bring the horses up for sale,
and leaves his carriage at the coachmaker's.
Obtains a temporary footman, and then Mr. T.
returns to his villa. A very good morning’s
work. Finds Mrs. T. up in the parlour, very
much surprised and shocked at his conduct—at
no Mr. Mortimer—at no servants, and indebted
to her own maid for a cup of tea. More recrimi-
nations—more violence—another threat of Aali-
mony, and the carriage ordered, that she may
seek counsel. No coachman—no carriage—no
horses—no nothing, as her maid declares. Mrs.
T. locks herself up in her room, and another
day is passed with as little matrimonial comfort
as can be expected.

In the mean time the news flies in every
-direction. Brentford is full of it. Mr. T. had
been living too fast—is done up—had been had
up at Bow Street—creditors had poured in with
bills—servants discharged—carriage and horses
seized. Mrs. T., poor creature, in hysterics,
and—nobody surprised at it; indeed, every-
body expected it. The Peters of Petercumb
Hall heard it, and shook their heads at the
many upstarts there were in the world. Mr.
Smith requested the Right Honourable Lord
Viscount Babbleton never to menticn to his
father, the Right Honourable Marquis of
Spring-guns, that he had ever been taken to see
the Turnbulls, or that he, Mr. Smith, would
infallibly lose his situation in esse, and his
living in posse: and Monsieur and Madame
Tagliabue were even more astounded ; but they
felt deeply, and resolved to pay a visit the
next morning, at least Monsieur Tagliabue
did, and Madame acknowledged to the pro-
priety of it. f

The next morning some little order had been
restored ; the footman hired had been given in

 

YACOB FAITHFUL,

  

 

charge of a sufficient quantity of plate, the rest
had been locked up. ‘The cook was to stay
her imonth; the housemaid had no wish to
leave ; and as for the lady’s-maid, she would
remain as long as she could, to console her
poor mistress, and accept what she was inclined
to give her in return, in the way of clothes,
dresses, &c., although, of course, she could
not hurt her character by remaining too long
in a family where there was no carriage, Or
gentlemen out of livery. Still Mr. Ts > did
obtain some breakfast, and had just finished
it when Monsieur Tagliabue was announced,
and was received.

‘Ah! Monsieur T., I hope madame is
better. Madame Tagliabue did noting but
cry all last night when she heard the very bad
news about de debt, and all dat.”

““Very:much obliged to madame,” replied
Turnbull, gruffly; ‘‘and now, pray sir, what
may be your pleasure ?”’

“Ah? Monsieur Turnbull, I feel very much
for you; but suppose a gentleman no lose his
honour, what matter de money?’ (Mr. Turn-
bull stared.) ‘‘ You see, Monsieur Turnbull,
honour be everything to a gentleman. If a
gentleman owe money to one rascally trades-
fellow, and not pay him, dat no great matter ;
but he always pay de debt of honour. Every
gentleman pay dat. Here, Monsieur Turn-
bull,” (and the little Frenchman pulled out a
piece of paper from his pocket), ‘‘be a leetle
note of Madame Turnbull, which she gave to
Madame Tagliabue, in which she acknowledged
she owe two hundred pounds for money lost at
écarté. Dat, you see, Monsieur Turnbull, be
what gentlemen call debt of honour, which
every gentleman pay, or else he lose de cha-
racter, and be called one blackguard by all de
world. Madame Tagliabue and I too much
fond of you and Madame Turnbull not to save
your character, and so I come by her wish to
beg you to settle this leetle note—this /eet/e
debt of honourv;’ and Monsieur Tagliabue
laid the note on the table, with a very polite
bow.

Mr. Turnbull examined the note ; it was as
described by Monsieur Tagliabue. So, thought
he, now the whole story’s out ; she has been
swindled out of her money by this rascally
French couple. ‘‘ Now, Monsieur Tagliabue, ”
said he, ‘‘allow me to put a question or two,
before I pay this money ; and if you answer
me sincerely, I shall raise no objection. 1
think Mrs. T. has already lost about six
hundred pounds at éca7v¢é before?’ (Monsieur
T., who presumed that Mrs. Turnbull had
made him acquainted with the fact, answered
in the affirmative.) ‘‘And I think that two
months ago she never knew what écarté was?”

‘‘Dat is true; but the ladies are very quick
to learn.”’ :

‘‘Well, but now, do you think that, as she
knew nothing about the game, and you and
your wife are well acquainted with it, it wasYACOB

honourable on your part to allow her to lose so
much money ?”

‘‘Ah! monsieur, when a lady~say she will
play, comment faire,—what can you do ?”’

“But why did you never play at this house,
Monsieur Tagliabue?”’

‘Ah! Monsieur Turnbull, it is for de lady
of de house to propose de game.”

““Very true,’ replied Mr. Turnbull, writing
a cheque for the two hundred pounds : ‘‘ thereis
your money, Mr. Tagliabue ; and now that you
are paid, allow me to observe that I consider
you and your wife a couple of swindlers ; and
beg that you will never enter my doors again.”

“Vat you say, sar? Swenxd-lare! God
dam! Sar, I will have satisfaction.”’

““You've got your money—is that sufficient,
or do you want anything else?” replied Mr.
T., rising from his chair.

““Ves, sar, I do want more—I will_ have
more.”

“‘So you shall, then,” replied Mr. Turnbull,
kicking him out of the room, along the passage,
and out of the front door.

Monsieur Tagliabue turned round every now
and then, and threatened, and then tried to
escape, as he perceived the upraised boot of Mr.
Turnbull. When fairly out of the house, he
turned round : ‘‘ Monsieur Turnbull, I will have
de satisfaction, de terrible satisfaction for this.
You shall pay,—by God, sar, you shall pay,—
de money for this.”

That evening Mr. Turnbull was summoned
to appear at Bow Street on the following morn-
ing, for the assault. He met Monsieur Tag-
liabue, with his lawyer, and acknowledged that
he had kicked him out of his house for swindling
his wife, refused all accommodation, and was
prepared with his bail. Monsieur Tagliabue
stormed and blustered, talked about his ac-
quaintance with the nobility ; but the magistrate
had seen too much of foreigners to place much
reliance on their asservations. ‘‘ Whoare you,
monsieur ?”

‘Sar, lam a gentleman.”

“What profession are you of, sir?

‘««Sar, a gentleman has no profession.”

‘«But how do you live, Monsieur Tagliabue ?”

“« As a gentleman always does, Sabie

““You mentioned Lord Scrope just now as
your particular friend, I think ?”’

‘‘Yes, sar, me very intimate with Lord
Scrope; me spend three months at Scrope

FAITHFUL. IOS

Castle with mi Lady Scrope; mi Lady Scrope
very fond of Madame Tagliabue.”

‘‘Very well, Monsieur Tagliabue ; we must
proceed with another case until Mr. Turnbull's
bail arrives. Sit down for a little while, if you
please.”

Another case was then heard, which lasted
about half an hour; but previous to hearing it,
the magistrate, who knew that Lord Scrope
was in town, had despatched a runner with a
note to his lordship, and the answer was now
brought back. The magistrate read it, and
smiled ; went on with the other case, and when
it was finished, said, ‘‘ Now M. Tagliabue, you
have said that you were very intimate with Lord
Scrope?”’

‘Yes, sar, very intimate.”

‘‘ Well, Lord Scrope I have the pleasure of
knowing ; and, as heis in town, I wrote a note
to him, and here is his answer. I will read it.’’

M. Tagliabue turned pale as the magistrate
read the following :—

‘‘Dear sir,—A fellow of the name you
mention came from Russia with me as my
valet. I discharged him for dishonesty. After
he left, Lady Scrope’s attendant, who it
appeared was, unknown to us, married to him,
left also, and then I discovered their peculations
to have been so extensive, that had we known
where to have laid hold of him, I should cer-
tainly have brought them before you. Now
the affair is forgotten ; but a greater scoundrel
never existed.

SCROPE.”

‘‘Now, sir, what have you to say for your-
self?’ continued the magistrate, in a severe
tone. M. Tagliabue fell on his knees, and
begged for mercy from the magistrate, from
Lord Scrope, and, lastly, from Mr. Turnbull,
to whom he proffered the draft for 200/. The
magistrate, seeing that Mr. Turnbull did not
take it, said to him, ‘‘ Make no ceremony of
taking your money back again, Mr. Turnbull ;
the very offer of it proves that he has gained it
dishonestly-; and 6o00/. are quite enough to
have lost.” Mr. Turnbull then took the cheque
and tore it in pieces, and the magistrate
ordered M. Tagliabue to be taken to the alien
office, and he was sent to the other side of the
Channel, incompany with his wife, to play écarté
with whomsoever he pleased. Thus ended this
episode of Monsieur Tagliabue.

AV OUTS;

 

CHAPTER XXX.

Mr, Turnbull finds out that Money, though a necessary Evil, is not a Source of Happiness ; the Domine

finds out that a little Calumny is more effectual than Ovid’s Remedy for Love;

and I find out that

Walking gives one a good Appetite for Fillet of Veal and Bacon—I set an example tothe Clergy in

refusing to take Money for a Seat in Church,

‘AND now you see, Jacob, what a revolution still it was very necessary.

I have since been

has taken place ; not very pleasant, I grant, but paying all my bills, for the report of my beingin difficulty has brought them in fast enough ;
and I find that in these last five months my
wife has spent a whole year’s income, so it was
quite time to stop.”

‘“‘T agree with you, Sir; but what does Mrs.
‘Turnbull say now—has she come to her senses ?”’

“Pretty well, I expect, although she does
not quite choose to acknowledge it. I have
told her that she must dispense with a carriage
in future; and so she shall, till I think she
deserves it. She knows that she must either
have my company in the house, or none at all.
She knows that the Peters of Petercumb Hall
have cut her, for they did not answer a note of
hers, sent by the gardener; and Mr. Smith has
written a very violent answer to another of her
notes, wondering at her attempting to push
herself into the company of thearistocracy. But
what has brought her to her senses more than
all, is the affair of Monsieur Tagliabue. The
magistrate, at my request, gave me the note of
Lord Scrope, and I have taken good care that
she should read the police report as well; but
the fact is, she is so much mortified, that I say
nething to her. She has been following the
advice of these French swindlers, who have led
her wrong, to be able to cheat her of her money.
I expect she will. ask me to sell this place, and
go elsewhere ; but at present we hardly exchange
a word during the whole day.”

‘I feel very sorry for her, sir; for I really
believe her to be a very good, kind-hearted
person.”

‘That's like you, Jacob—and so sheis. At
present she is ina state to be pitied. She would
throw a share of the blame upon other people,
and cannot—she feels it is all herself. All her
bubbles of grandeur have burst, and she finds
herself not half so respectable as she was before
her vanity induced her to cut her former acquaint-
ance, and try to get into the society of those
who laughed at her, and at the same time were
not half so creditable. But it’s that cursed
money which has proved her unhappiness—and,
I may add, mine.”

“Well, sir, I see no chance of its ever adding
to my misfortunes, at all events.”

“Perhaps not, Jacob, even if you ever should
get any ; but, at all events, you may take a little
to-morrow, if you please. I cannot ask you to
dine here,—it would not be pleasant to you,
and show a want of feeling to my wife; but I
should like you to come up with the wherry
to-morrow, and we'll take a cruise.”

“Very well, I shall be at your orders—at
what time ?”’

Say ten o'clock, if the weather is fine; if not,
the next day.”

“Then, sir, I'll now wish you good-bye, as I
must go and see the Domine.”

Mr. Turnbull shook my hand, and we parted.
I was soon at Brentford, and was continuing
my course through the long, main street, when
I met Mr. and Mrs. Tomkins, the former head
clerk, who had charge of the Brentford Wharf,

 

YACOB FAITHFUL,

 

‘‘T was intending to call upon you, sir, after I

had paid a visit to my old master.”

‘‘Very well, Jacob ; and recollect we dine at
half-past three—fillet of veal and bacon—don’t
be too late for dinner.”’

I promised that I would not, and, in a few

minutes more, arrived at the Grammar School.
I looked at its peaked, antiquated front, and
called to mind my feelings when, years back, I
had first entered its porch. What a difference
between the little, uncouth, ignorant, savage,
tricked out like a harlequin, and now the tall,
athletic, well-dressed youth, happy in his inde-
pendence, and conscious, although not vain, of
his acquirements ! and I mentally blessed the
founders. But I had to talk to the Domine,
and to keep my appointment with the veal and
bacon at half-past three, so I could not spare
any time for meditation. I therefore unfolded
my arms, and making use of my legs, entered
the wicket, and proceeded to the Domine’s
room. “The door was ajar, and I entered
without being perceived. I have often been
reminded, by Flemish paintings which I have
seen since, of the picture which then presented
itself. The room was not large, but lofty. It
had but one window, fitted with small diamond-
shaped panes, in heavy wood-work, through
which poured a broad, but subdued, stream of
light. On one side of the window was an
ancient armoire, containing the Domine’s library,
not gilt and lettered, but well thumbed and
worn. On the other his huge chest of drawers,
on which lay, alas ! for the benefit of the rising
generation, a new birch rod, of large dimensions.
The table was in the centre of the room, and the
Domine sat at it, with his back to the window,
in a dressing gown, once black, having been a
cassock, but now brown with age. He was on
his high and narrow-backed chair, leaning
forwards, with both elbows on the table, his
spectacles on his luxuriant nose, and his hands
nearly meeting on the top of his bald crown,
earnestly poring over the contents of a book.
A large Bible, which he constantly made use of,
was also on the table, and had apparently been
shoved from him to give place to the present
object of his meditations. His pipe lay on the
floor, in two pieces, having been thrown off
without his perceiving it. On one side of him
was a sheet of paper, on which he evidently had
been writing extracts. I passed by him without
his perceiving me, and, gaining the back of his
chair, looked over his shoulder. The work he
Was So intent upon was ‘‘ Ovyid’s Remedy of
Love.”

It appeared that he had nearly finished
reading through the whole, for in léss than a
minute he closed the book, and laying his spec-
tacles down, threw himself back in his chair.
“Strange,” soliloquized the Domine. Het
verily, is some of his advice important, and I
should imagine commendable, yet I do not find
my remedy therein. ‘Avoid idleness, ’"—yes,
that is sage counsel—and employment to oneFACOB. FAITHFUL.

that hath not employed himself, may drive
away thought ; but I have never been idle, and
mine hath not been love in idleness. ‘Avoid
her presence, —that 1 must do; yet doth she
still present herself to mine imagination, and I
doubt whether the tangible reality could be
more clearly perceptible. Even now doth she
stand before me in all her beauty. ‘ead not
Propertius and Tibullus,'—that is easily re-
frained from ; but read what I will, in a minute
the type passeth from my eyes, and I see but
her face beaming from the page. Nay, cast my
éyes in what direction I may wist, it is the same.
If I look at the stained wall, the indistinct lines
gradually form themselves into her profile ; if 1
look at the clouds, they will assumie some of the
redundant outlines of her form ; if I cast mine
eyes upon the fire in the kitchen-grate, the.coals
will glow and cool until I see her face ; nay, but
yesterday, the shoulder of mutton upon the spit,
gyrated until it at last assumed the decapitated
head of Mary. ‘Think of her faults and
magnify them,'—nay, that were unjust and
unchristian. Let me rather correct mine own.
I fear me, that when Ovid wrote his picture, he
intended it for the use of young men, and not
for an old fool like me. -Behold! Ihave again
broken my pipe—the fourth pipe that { have
destroyed this week. What will the dame say?
already hath she declared me demented, and
God knows she is not very far from the truth ; ”
and the Domife covered up his face in his
hands. I took this opportunity to step to the
door, and appear to enter it, dropping the
latch, and rousing the Domine by the noise,
who extended tome his hand. ‘‘ Welcome, my
son—_welcome to thine old preceptor, and to the
walls which first received thee, when thou wert
east on shore as a tangle-weed from the river.
Sit, Jacob ; 1 was thinking of thee and thine.”

‘What, sit! of old Stapleton and his daugh-
ter, I suppose.”

“« Byen so; ye were all in my thoughts at the
moment. that thou madest thy appearance.
They are well?”

“Yes, sit,” replied I. ‘‘I see but little of
them; the old man is always smoking, and as
for the girl—why, the less one sees of her the
petter, 1 should say.”

‘Nay, Jacob, this is new to me; yet is she
most pleasant.’’

I knew the Domine’s character, and that if
anything could cure his unfortunate passion, it
would be a supposition, on his part, that the
girl was not correct. I determined at all events
to depreciate her, as I knew that what I said
would never be mentioned by him, and would
therefore do her no harm. Still, I felt that I
had to play a difficult game, as was
determined not to state what was not the fact.
“ Pleasant, sir; yes, pieasant to everybody ! the
fact is, 1 don’t like such girls as she is.”

“Indeed, Jacob ; what, is she light?” I
smiled, and made no answer. ‘‘Yet J. per-
ceived it not,” replied the Domine,

107

‘She is just like her mother, sir,” observed I.

‘« And what was her mother ?”

I gave a brief account of her mother, and how
she met her death in trying to escape from her
husband. ‘The Domine mused. ‘“‘ Little skilled
am I in women, Jacob, yet what thou sayest
not only surpriseth but grieveth me. She is
fair to look upon.”

‘Handsome is that handsome does, sir.
Shell make many. a man’s heart ache yet, I
expect.”

‘‘Indeed, Jacob, I am full of marvel at what
thou hast already told me.”

‘‘T have seeh more of her, sir.”

‘J pray thee tell me more.”

‘No, sir, | had rather not.
imagine all you please.”

«Still she is young, Jacob; when she be-
cometh a wife she might alter.”

‘Sir, it is my firm opinion [and so it was],
that if you were to marry her to-morrow, she
would run away from you in a week.”

“Ts that thy candid opinion, Jacob?”

‘‘T will stake my life upon her so doing,
although not as to the exact time.”

‘* Jacob, | thank thee—thank thee much ;
thou hast opened mine eyes—thou hast done
me more good than Ovid. Yes, boy ; even the
ancients, whom I have vénerated, have not done
me so kind an act as thou, a stripling, whom I
have fostered. ‘Thou hast repaid me, Jacob—
thou hast rewarded me, aoe ee hast pro-
tected me, Jacob—thou hast saved me, Jacob—
hast saved me, both from myself and from her ;
for know, Jacob—know—that mine heart did
yearn towards that maiden ; and I thought. her
even to be perfection. Jacob, T thank thee!
Now leave me, Jacob, that I may commune
with myself, and search out my own heart, for
IT am awakened—awakened as from a dteam,
and I would fain be quite alone.”

I was not sorry to leave the Domine, for I
also felt that I would fain be in compatiy with
the fillet of veal and bacen, so I shook hands,
and thus ended my second morning call. I
was in good time at Mr. Tomkins’s, who received
me with great kindness. He was well pleased
with his new situation, which was one of respect
ability and consequence, independently of profit ;
and I met at his table one or two people, who,
to my knowledge, would have considered it
degrading to have visited him when only head
clerk to Mr. Drummond. We talked over old
affairs, not forgetting the ball, and the iflumi-
nations, and Mr. Turnbull's bon-mot about
Paradise ; and after a very pleasant evening, I
took my leave with the intention of walking
back to Fulham, but I found old Tom waiting
outside on the look-out for me.

‘Jacob, my boy, I want you to come down
to my old shop one of these days. What day
will you, be able to come? The lighter will be
here for a fortnight at least, I find from Mr.
Tomkins, as she waits fora cargo coming by
canal, and there is no other craft expected

You may now108

above bridge, so tell me what day will you come
and see the old woman, and spend the whole
day with us. J wants to talk a bit with you,
and ax your opinion about a good many little
things.”

‘“Tndeed !’’ replied I, smiling.
you going to build a new house?”

“No, no--not that ; but you see, Jacob, as I
told you last winter, it was time for me to give
up night work up and down the river. I’m net
so young as I was about fifty years ago, and
there’s a time for all things. . [ do mean to give
up the craft in the autumn, and go on shore for
a full due; but at the same time, I must see
how I can make matters out, so tell me what
day you will come.”

‘‘ Well, then, shall we say Wednesday?”

‘“‘Wednesday’s as good a day as any other
day; come to breakfast, and you shall go away
after supper, if you like; if not, the old woman
shall sling a hammock for you.”

‘« Acreed, then; but where’s Tom?”

‘“Tom, I don’t know; but I think he’s gone
after that daughter of Stapleton’s. He begins to
think of the girls now, Jacob; but, as the old
buffer her father says, ‘it’s all human natur.’
Howsomever, I never interferes in these matters;
they seemed to be pretty well matched, I think.”

‘‘ How do you mean?”

“Why, as for good looks, they be well
enough matched, that’s sure; but I don’t mean
that,—I mean, he is quite as knowing as she is,
and will shift his helm as she shifts hers. “Twill
be a long running fight, and when one strikes,
t'other won’t have much to boast of. Perhaps
they may sheer off, after all—perhaps they may
sail as consorts,—God only knows; but this I
knows, that T’om’s sweetheart may be as tricky
as she pleases, but Tom's wife won't be—’cause
why? he'll keep her in order. Well, good
night; I have a long walk.”

When I returned home, I found Mary alone.
“Was Tom been here?” inquired I.

““What makes you ask that question?” re-
plied Mary.

“To have it answered—if you have no ob-
jection.”

“O no! Well, then, Mr. Jacob, Tom has
been here, and very amusing he has been.”

‘«So he always is,’’ replied I.

‘And where. may you have been?”
her. ‘So you saw old Domine.
me, what did he say about me?’’

‘“That I shall not tell,” replied IT; ‘‘ but I
will tell you this, that he will never think about
you any more; and you must not expect ever
to see him again.”

‘But recollect that he promised.”

““ He kept his promise, Mary.”

‘‘O he told you so, did he? Did he tell you
all that passed ?”’

‘No, Mary, henever told me that he had been
here ; neither did he tell me what had passed;
but I happen to know all.”’

“‘T cannot understand that.”

What, are

T told
Now, - tell

   

1 ¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

‘« Still it is true; and I think, on the whole,
you behaved pretty well, although I cannot un-
derstand why you gave him a kiss at parting.”

‘Good heavens; where were you? you must
have been in the room. And you heard every
word that passed ?”’

‘Every word,” replied I.

““Well,”’ said Mary, ‘‘I could not have be-
lieved that you could have done so mean a
thing.”

‘Mary, rather accuse your own imprudence;
what I heard was to be heard by every one in
the street as well as by me. If you choose to
have love scenes in a room not eight feet from
the ground, with the window wide open, you
must not be stirprised at every passer-by hearing
what you say.”

‘Well, that’s true; I never thought of the
window being open; not that I would have
cared if all the world had heard me, if you had
not.”

It never occurred to me till then, why Mary
was annoyed at my having overheard her, but
at once I recollected what she had said about
me. I made no answer. Mary sat down,
leaned her forehead against her hands, and was
also silent; I therefore took my candle and
retired. It appeared that Mary's pride was
much mortified at my having heard her con-
fession of being partial to me—a confession
which certainly made very little impression on
me, as I considered that she might, a month
afterwards, confess the same relative to Tom,
or any other individual who took her fancy;
but in this I did not do her justice. Her
manners were afterwards much changed towards
me; she always appeared to avoid, rather than
to seek, further intimacy. As for myself, I
continued, as before, very good friends, kind
towards her, but nothing more. The next
morning I was up at Mr. Turnbull’s by the
time agreed upon, but before I set off, rather a
singular occurrence took place. I had just
finished cleaning my boat, and had resumed
my jacket, when a dark man, from some foreign
country, came to the hard, with a bundle under
his arm.

‘“How much for to go to the other side of
the river—how much pence?”

‘“Twopence,” replied I; but not caring to
take him, I continued, ‘‘but you only pay one
penny to cross the bridge.’’

“I. know very well, but suppose you take
mene.

He was a well-looking, not very dark man;
his turban was of coloured cloth—his trowsers
not very wide; and I could not comprehend
whether he was a Turk or not; I afterwards
found out he was a Parsee, from the East
Indies. He spoke very plain English. As he
decided upon crossing, I received him, and
shoved off ; when we were in the middle of the
stream, he requested me to pull a little way up.
“That will do,’’ said he, opening his bundle
and spreading a carpet on the stern flooring ofthe wherry. He then rose, looking at the sun,
which was then rising in all its majesty, bowed
to it, with his hands raised, three times, then
knelt on the carpet, and touched it several times
with his forehead, again rose on his feet, took
some common field flowers from his vest, and
cast them into the stream, bowed again, folded
up his carpet, and begged me to pull on shore.

“‘T say my prayers,’’ said the man, looking
at me with his dark piercing eye.

‘‘Very proper; whom did you say them to?”

“To my God.”’

‘* But why don’t you say them on shore?”

‘Can't see sun in the house; suppose I go
out, little boys laugh and throw mud. Where
no am seen, river very proper place.”

We landed, and he took out threepence, and
offered it tome. ‘‘ No, no,” said I, ‘‘I don't
want you to pay for saying your prayers.”

‘“No take money ?”’

‘‘Yes, take money to cross the river, but not
take money for saying prayers. If you want
to say them any other morning, come down,
and if I am here, I'll always pull you into the
stream.” —

 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
  

FACOB FAITHFUL, 109

“You very good man, I thank you.”

The Parsee made me a low salaam, and
walked away. I may here observe, that the
man generally came down at sunrise two or
three days in the week, and I invariably gave
him a pull off into the stream, that he might
pursue his religious ceremony. We often con-
versed, and at last became intimate.

Mr. Turnbull was at the bottom of the lawn
which extended from his house to the banks of
the river, looking out for me, when I pulled up.
The basket with our dinner, &c., was lying by
him on the gravel-walk.

‘This is a lovely morning, Jacob; but it will
be rather a warm day, I expect,” -said he;
‘‘come, let us be off at once; lay in your sculls,
and let us get the oars to pass.”

‘“« How is Mrs. Turnbull, sir?”

‘«Pretty well, Jacob,—more like the Molly
Brown that I married, than she has been for
some years. Perhaps, after all, this affair may
turn out one of the best things that ever hap-
pened. It may bring her to her senses—bring
happiness back to our hearth; and if so, Jacob,
the money is well spent.”

 

CHAPTER XXXI.

Mr, Turnbull and I go on a Party of Pleasure—It turns out to be an Adventure, and winds up witha
Blunderbuss, a Tin Box, anda Lady’s Cloak.

WE pulled leisurely up stream, talking, and
every now and then resting on our oars, to take
breath; fer, as the old captain said, ‘‘ Why
should we make a toil of pleasure? I like the
upper part of the river best, Jacob, because the
water is clear, and I leve clear water. How
many hours, have I, when a boy on board ship,
hung over the gunwale of a boat, lowered down
in a calm, and watched the little floating ob-
jects, in the dark blue unfathomable water be-
neath me; objects of all sizes, of all colours,
and of ali shapes—all of them beautiful, and
to be admired; yet of them, perhaps not one
in hundreds of millions ever meet the eye
of them. You know, Jacob, that the North
Seas are full of these animals—you cannot
imagine the quantity of them; the sailors call
them blubbers, because they are composed of a
sort of transparent jelly, but the real name I
am told is Medusz, that is the learned name.
The whale feeds on them, and that is the reason
why the whale is found where they are.”

“T should like very>much to go a voyage to
the whale fishery,” replied I; ‘‘ I’ve heard so
much about it from you.”

“Jt isa stirring life, and a hard life, Jacob,
still it is an exciting one. Some voyages will
turn out very pleasant, but others are dreadful,
from their anxiety. If the weather continues
fine, it is all very well; but sometimes, when

there is a continuance of bad weather, it is
dreadful. I recollect one voyage which made
me show more gray hairs than all the others,
and I think I have been twenty-two in all. We
were in the drift ice, forcing our way to the
northward, when it came on to blow—the sea
rose, and after a week's gale, it was tremendous.
We had little daylight, and when it was day-
light, the fog was so thick that we could see
but little; there we were tossing among the
large drift ice, meeting immense icebergs which
bore down with all the force of the gale, and
each time we narrowly escaped perishing: the
rigging was loaded with ice; the bows of the
ship were cased with it; the men were more
than half frozen, and we could not move a rope
through a block, without pouring boiling water
through it first, to clear it out. But then the

long, dreary, dreadful nights, when we were .

rising on the mountain wave, and then pitching
down into the trough, not knowing but that at
each send we might strike upon the ice below,
and go to the bottom immediately afterwards.
All pitchy dark—the wind howling, and, as it
struck you, cutting you to the back-bone with
its cold searching power, the waves dancing all
black around you, and every now and then
perceiving by its white colour and the foam
encircling it, a huge mass of ice borne upon
you, and hurled against you as if there were aITO

demon, who was using it as an engine for your
destruction. I never shall forget. the turning
of an iceberg, during that dreadful gale; which
lasted for a month and three days.”

‘“‘T>don’t know what that means, sir.’’

“Why you must. know, Jacob, that the ice-
bergs are all fresh water, and are supposed to
have been detached from the land by the force
of the weather and other causes. Now although
ice floats, yet it floats deep: that is, if an ice-
berg is five hundred feet high above the water,
it is generally six times -as deep below the
water—do you understand ¢ i

i Perfectly, sir.’

‘Now, Jacob, the water is much warmer
than the air, and, in consequence, the ice under
the water melts away much faster; so that if
an iceberg has been some time afloat, at last
the part that is below is not so heavy as that
which is above; then it turns, that is, 1t upsets
and floats in another position.”

‘‘T understand you, sir.”

‘« Well, we were close to an iceberg, which
was to windward of’us):a very tall one; indeed,
and we reckoned that we should get clear of it,
for we were carrying a press of ai to effect it.
Still all hands were eagerly watching the ice-
berg, as it came down very-fast before the
storm. All of a sudden it blew twice as hard
as before; and then one of the men shouted
out—‘ Varn |
was. There. was its tower ing + sumrhit ie eatin
bowing towards us, until it almost appeared as
if the “peak was over our heads. Our fate ap-
peared inevitable, as the whole mountain of ice
was descending on the vessel, and would, of
course, have crushed us into atoms. We all
fell on our knees, praying mentally, and watch-
ing its awful descent ; even the man at the helm
did the same, although he did not let: go the
spokes of the wheel. It had nearly half turned
over, right for us, when the ice below being
heavier on one side than on the other, gave it a
more slanting impetus, and shifting the direction
of its fall, it plunged imto the sea about a cable's
length astern of us, throwing up the water ito
the heavens in foam, and blinding us:all with
the violence with which it dashed into our faces:
For a minute, the run of the waves was checked,
and the séa appeared to boil and dance, throw-
ing up peaked, pointed masses of water in all
directions, one sinking, another rising ; the ship
rocked and reeled’ as if-she were drunk; even
the current of the gale was checked for a
moment, and the heavy sails flapped and cleared
themselves of their icy varnishing—then all was
over. There was an iceberg of another shape
astern of us, the gale recommenced, the waves
pressed each other on as before, and we felt
the return of the gale, awful as it was, as a
reprieve. ‘That was a dreadful voyage, Jacob,
and turned one-third of my hair gray; and
what made it worse, was, that we had only
three fish on board on our return, However,

                                      

we had reason to be thankful, for eighteen f

   

YACOB FAITHFUL.

 

our vessels were lost altogether, and it was the
mercy of God that we were not among the
number.’

“Well, I suppose you told me that story to
prevent my going a voyage?”

‘Not a bit, Jacob; if it should chance that
you find it your interest to go to the North
Pole, or anywhere else, I would say. go, by all
means ; let neither difficulty nor danger deter
you ; but do not go.merely from curiosity, —
that I consider foolish. It’s all very well. for
those who come back, to have the satisfaction
to talk of such.things, and it is but fair that
they should have. it: but when you..consider
how many there, are who never come baék at
all, why then it’s very foolish to push yourself
into needless danger and privation. You are
amused. with my recollections of arctic voyages ;
but just-call to mind how many years of hard-
ship, of danger, cold, and starvation, I. have
undergone to collect, all. these anecdotes, and
then judge whether it be worth any man's
while to, go for the sake of mere curtoisity.’

I then amused Mr. Turnbull with the descrip-
tion of the pic-nic party, which lasted until we
had pulled far beyond Kew Bridge. We
thrust the bow of the wherry into a bunch of
sedges, and then we sat down to our meal,
surrounded by hundreds of blue dragon-flies,
that flitted about as if to inquire what we meant
by intruding upon their domiciles. We con-
tinued there chatting and amusing ourselves till
it was late, and then shoved off and pulled down
with the stream. ‘The sun had set, and we had
yet six or seven miles to return to Mr. Turn-
bull’s house; when we perceived a: slight, hand-
some young man, in a small skiff, who. pulled
towards us.

“T say, my lads,’ said he, taking us both for
watermen, (‘‘have you a mind to earna couple
of guineas, with very, little trouble ?”’

“O yes,’ replied. Mr. ‘Turnbull, ‘if you can
show ts how.—A fine chance for. you, Jacob,”
continued. he; ‘aside.

‘‘ Well, then, -shall want, your. services,
perhaps, for not more than,an hour,—it may be
a little longer, as there is a lady in- question,
and we may have to wait. . All I ask is, that
you pull well and, do your best.-.. Are you
agreed 2”

We. consented; and he requested us to
follow. Him, and-then pulled for the. shore.-:

“This is to be an adventure, sir,” said J.

‘*So itiseems,’’ replied Mr. Turnbull; “ allthe
better.) I’moold now, but I’m.fond of-a spree.”

The gentleman pulled into. a little boat-
house by the river-side, belonging to.one,of the
villas‘on the bank, made fast his ‘boat, and then
stepped into ours.

‘“Now, we've plenty. of time;.. just. pull
quietly for the present.”” We continued down
the river; and after we had passed Kew
Bridge, he directed us in-shore, on the right
side, till we came to’ a garden sweeping down
the river from a cottage ormé, of large dimen-sions, about fifty yards from the bank. The
water was up to the brick wall, which rose
from the river about four or five feet. ‘‘ That
will do; ’st, ‘st,—not a word!”’ said he, rising
in the stern-sheets, and looking over. After a
minute or two reconnoitring, he climbed from
the boat on to the parapet of the wall, and
whistled two bars of an air which I had till
then never heard. All was silent. He crouched
behind ‘a lilac-bush, and in a minute he re-
peated the same air in a whistle as before ; still
there was no appearance of movement at the
cottage. He continued at intervals to whistle
the portion of the air, and at last a light ap-
peared at an upper window: it was removed,
and re-appeared three times. ‘‘ Be ready now,
my lads,” said he. In about two minutes after-
wards, a female, in a cloak, appeared, coming
down the lawn, with a box in her hand, panting
with excitement.

‘Oh! William, I heard your first signal, but
I could not’ get into my uncle’s room for the
box ; at last he went out, and here it is.”’

The gentleman seized the box from her, and
handed it to us in the boat.

‘Take great care of that, my lads,” said he ;
‘cand now Cecilia, we have no time to lose;
the sooner you are in the boat, the better.”

‘‘How Il am ‘to get’ down there, William?”
replied she.

‘‘O, nothing more easy. Stop, throw your
cloak into the boat, and then all you have to do
is, first to get upon the top of the wall, and
then trust to the watermen below and to me
above for helping you.”

It was not, however, quite:so easy a matter ;
the wall was four feet high above the boat, and,
moreover, there was a trellised work of iron,
about a foot ‘high, which ran along the wall.
Still she made every effort on her own part, and
we considered that we had arranged so as to
conquer the difficulty,.»when the young lady
gave a scream. We looked up and beheld a
third party on the wall. It was a stout, tall,
elderly man, as far’as we could perceive in the
dark, who immediately seized hold of the lady
by the arm, and was dragging. her away. This
was resisted by the young’ gentleman, and the
lady was relinquished by the other, to defend
himself; atthe’ same time that he called
out, ==

‘Help, help! Thieves, thieves!”

‘Shall I go to his assistance?” said I, to
Mr. Turnbull; ‘‘one must stay in the boat.”

“‘TJump up then, Jacob, for I never could get
up that wall.”

I was up in a moment, and gaining my feet,
was about to spring to the help of the young
man, when four servants with lights and with
arms in their hands, made their appearance,
hastening down the lawn. The lady had
fainted on the grass ; the elderly gentleman and
his antagonist were down together, but the
elderly gentleman had’ the mastery, for he was
uppermost, Perceiving the assistance coming,

  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
    
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
    

YACOB FAITHEUL. IIE

he called out, ‘‘Look to the watermen, secure
them.” I perceived that not a moment was to
be lost. I could be of no service, and Mr.
Turnbull might be in an awkward scrape. I
sprang into the boat, shoved off, and we were
in the stream, and at thirty yards’ distance
beforethey looked over the wall to see where we
were.

“Stop in that boat! stop!” they cried.

“Fire, if they don't,” cried their master.

We pulled as hard as we could. A musque-
toon was discharged, but the shot dropped
short; the only person who fell was the man
who fired it. ‘Lo see us he had stood upon the
coping bricks of the wall, and the recoil tumbled
him over into the river: we saw him fall, and
heard. the splash ; but we pulled on as hard as
we could, and in a few minutes the scene of
action was far behind us. We ‘then struck
across to the other side of the river, and when
we had gained close ta the shore, we took
breath.

«Well, said Mr. Turnbull, '‘this isa spree
Tittle looked for; to have a blunderbuss full of
shot sent after me.”

‘“No,” replied I, laughing, ‘‘ that’s carrying
the joke rather too far on the river Thames. ”

‘“‘Well, but what a pretty mess we are in:
here we have property belonging to God knows
whom ; and what are we to do with it 2?”

‘«T think sir, the best thing we can do is, for
you to land at your own house with the pro-
perty, and take care of it until we find out what
all this is about ; and I will continue on with
the sculls to the hard. We shall hear or find
out something about it ina day or two; they
may still follow up the pursuit and trace us.”

‘The advice is good,” replied Mr. Turnbull,
‘cand the sooner we cut over again the better,
for we are nearly abreast of my place.”

We did.so; Mr. Turnbull landed in his
garden, taking with him the tin-box (it was
what ‘they called a deed-box), and the lady’s
cloak. I did not wait, but boating the oars,
took my sculls and pulled down to Fulham as
fast as I could. I had arrived, and was pulling
gently in, not to injure the other boats, when a
man with a lantern came into the wherry.

‘“ Have you anything in your boat, my man?”
said he.

‘« Nothing, sir,’’ replied. I. “The man exa-
mined the boat, and was satisfied.

‘Tell me, did you see a boat with two men
in it as you came along ?”’

‘‘No, sir,” replied I, ‘‘nothing has passed

”

‘Where do you come from now ?”

‘‘From a gentleman’s place near
ford.”

‘Brentford ; O then you were far below them.
They are not down yet.”

‘Have you a job for me, sir?” said I, not
wishing to appear anxious to go away.

‘‘No, my man, no; nothing to-night. We
are on the look-out, but we have two boats in

Brent-

omy

==
112

the stream, and a man at each landing-
place.” ;

I made fast my boat, shouldered my oars
and sculls and departed, not at all sorry to get
away. It appeared that as soon as it was as-
certained that we were not to be stopped by
being fired at, they saddled horses, and the
distance by the road being so much shorter,
had, by galloping as hard as they could,
arrived at Fulham some ten minutes before me.

YACOB FAITHFUL.

It was, therefore, most fortunate that the box
had been landed, or I should have been dis-
covered. ‘That the contents were of value was
evident, from the anxiety to secure them ; but
the mystery was still to be solved. I was quite
tired with exertion and excitement when I
arrived at Stapleton’s. Mary was there to give
me my supper, which I. ate in silence, com-
plained of a headache, and went to bed.

 

CHAPTER “22x,

The Waterman turns Water-Knight-—I become chivalrous, see a beautiful Face, and go with the Stream—
The Adventure seems to promise more Law than Love, there being Papers in the Case, that is, ina

Tin Box.

‘THAT night I dreamed of nothing but the

scene, over and over again, and the two bars of

music were constantly ringing in my ears. As

soon as I had breakfasted the next morning, I

set off to Mr. Turnbull's, and ‘told him what
_ had occurred.

“It was indeed fortunate that the box was
landed,” said he, ‘‘or you might have now been
in prison. I wish I had had nothing to do with
it; but, as you say, ‘what’s done can’t be
helped.’ I will not give up the box, at: all
events, until 1 know which. party is entitled to
it, and I cannot help thinking that the lady is.
But Jacob, you will have to reconnoitre, and
find out what this story is. Tell me, do you
think you could remember the tune which he
whistled so often?’

“Tt has been running in my head the whole
night, and I have been trying it all the way as. I
pulled here. I think I have it exact. Hear,
sir,’ —I whistled the two bars.

‘Quite correct, Jacob, quite correct ; well,
take care not to forget them. Where are you
going to-day ?.”

“* Nowhere; sir.”

“Suppose, then, you pull up the river, and
find out the place where we landed, and when
you have ascertained that, you can go on and
see whether the young man is with the skiff: at
all events, you may find out something—but
pray be cautious.”

I promised to be very careful, and departed
on my errand, which I undertook with much
pleasure, for I was delighted with anything like
adventure. I pulled up the river, and, in about
an hour and a quarter, came abreast of the spot.
I recognised the cottage orné, the parapet wall,
even the spot where we lay, and perceived that
several bricks were detached and had fallen into
the river. There appeared to be noone stirring

in the house, yet I continued to pull up and
down, looking at the windows: at last one
opened, and a young lady looked out, who, I
was persuaded, was the same that we had seen
the night before. There was no wind, and all

   

was quiet around. She sat at the window,
leaning her head on her hand. I whistled the
two bars of the air. At the first bar she started
up, and looked earnestly at me as I completed
the second. I looked up, she waved her hand-
kerchief once, and then shut thewindow. Ina
few seconds she made her appearance on the
lawn, walking down towards the river. I im-
mediately pulled in underthe wall. Ilaid in my
sculls, and held on, standing up in the boat.

‘“Who are you? and who sent you?” said
she, looking down on me, and discovering one
of the most beautiful faces I had ever beheld.

‘‘ No one sent me, ma'am,” replied J, ‘‘but I
was in the boat last night. Iam sorry you were
so unfortunate, but your box and cloak are
quite safe.”

“ou were one of the men in the boat. I
trust no one was hurt when they fired at you?”

‘““No, ma'am.”

‘‘ And where is the box?”

“‘In the house of the person who was with
me.

‘“Can he be trusted? for they will offer large
rewards for it.”

“IT should think \so, ma’am,”’ replied I,
smiling ; ‘‘the person who was with me is a
gentleman of large fortune, who was amusing
himself on the river. He desires me to say that
he will not give up the box until he knows to
whom the contents legally belong.”

‘“Good heavens, how fortunate !
believe you ?”’

‘‘T should hope so, ma'am,’

“And what are you, then? You are nota
waterman 2’

(Wes, matam, Tam.”

She paused, looked earnestly at me for a little
while, and then continued, “How did you
learn the air you whistled ?”

‘“The young gentleman whistled it six or seven
times last night before you came. I tried it this
morning coming up, as 1 thought it would be
the means of attracting your attention, Can I
be of any service to you, ma'am ?”

Am {I to«« Seryice—yes, if I could be sure you were to
be trusted—of the greatest service. [I am con-
fined here—cannot send a letter—watched as I
move—only allowed the garden, and even
watched while I walk here. They are most of
them in quest of the tin-box to-day, or I should
not be able to talk to you so long.” She
looked round at the house anxiously, and then
said, .‘‘Stop here a minute, while I walk a
little.’ She then retreated, and paced up and
down the garden-walk. I still remained under
the wall, so as not to be perceived from the
house. In about three or four minutes she
returned, and said, ‘‘ It would be very cruel—it
would be more than cruel—it would be very
wicked of you to deceive me, for I am very un-
fertunate and very unhappy.” ‘The tears started
in her eyes. ‘‘ You do not look as if you
would. What is your name?”

“« Jacob Faithful, ma’am, and I will be true to
my name, if you will put your trust in me. 4
never deceived any one that I can recollect ;
and I’m sure I would not you—now that I've
seen you,”

‘Yes, but money will seduce everybody.”

“Not me, ma’am; I've as much as I wish
for.<

“Well, then, I will trust you, and think you
sent from Heaven to my aid; but how am I to
see you? To-morrow my uncle will be back,
and then I shall not be able to speak to you one
moment, and if seen to speak to you, you will be
laid in wait for, and perhaps shot.”

“Well, ma'am,” replied I, after a pause, ‘‘if
you cannot speak, you can write. You see that
the bricks on the parapet are loose here. Put
your letter under this brick—I can take it away
even in day-time, without being noticed, and
can put the answer in the same place, so that
you can secure it when you come out.”

“« How very clever! Good heavens, what an
excellent idea !”’

“Was the young gentleman hurt, ma'am, in
the scuffle last night ?” inquired I.

‘‘No, I believe not much ; but I wish to
know where he is, to write to him ; could you
find out?” I told her where we had met him,
and what. had passed. ‘‘That was Lady
Auburn's,” replied she ; ‘‘he is often there—she
is our cousin: but I don’t know where he lives,
and how to find him I know not. His name is
William Wharncliffe. Do you think you could
find him out ?”

“Yes, ma’am, with a little trouble it might
be done. They ought to know where he is at

Lady Auburn's.”

“Ves, some of the servants might—but how
will you get to them?”

‘“That, ma'am, I must find out. It may not
be done in one day, or two days, but if you will
look every morning under this brick, if there is
anything to communicate you will find it there.”

‘You can write and read then?”

‘‘T showd hope so, ma'am, ’
laughing,

replied I,

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

    
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
     

113
“JT don’t know what to make of you. Are
you really a waterman ?”
‘Really, and——” She turned her head

round at the noise of a window opening.

“You must go—don’t forget the brick ;” and
she disappeared.

I shoved my wherry along by the side of the
wall, so as to remain unperceived until I was
clear of the frontage attached to the cottage;
and then, taking my sculls, pulled into the
stream ; and as I was resolved to see if I could
obtain any information at Lady Auburn's, Thad
to pass the garden again, having shoved my
boat down the river, instead of up, when I was
under the wall. I perceived the young lady
walking with a tall man by her side ; he speaking
very energetically, and using much gesticulation,
she holding down her head. In another minute
they were shut out from my sight. I was so
much stricken with the beauty and sweetness of
expression in the young lady’s countenance, that
I was resolved to use my best exertions to be of
service to her. In about an hour anda half, I
had arrived at the villa, abreast of which we had
met the young gentleman, and which the young
lady had told me belonged to Lady Auburn.
I could see no one in the grounds, nor indeed in
the house. fter watching a few minutes, I
landed as near to the villa as I could, made fast
the wherry, and walked round to the entrance.
There was no lodge, but a servants’ door at one
side. I pulled the bell, having made up my
mind how to proceed as I was walking up.
The bell was answered by an old woman, who,
in a snarling tone, asked me, ‘‘ What did I
want ?”

‘Tam waiting below, with my boat, for Mr.
Wharncliffe ; has he come yet ?”

“Mr. Wharncliffe! No—he’snot come ; nor
did he say that he would come ; when did you
see him ?”’

‘‘Vesterday. Is Lady Auburn at home?”

‘‘Lady Auburn—no; she went to town this
morning ; everybody goes to London now, that
they may not see the flowers and, green trees, I
suppose.”

‘“But 1 suppose Mr. Wharncliffe will come, ’’
continued I, ‘‘so I must wait for him.”

“You can do just -as you like,” replied
theold woman, about to shut the gate in my
face.

“May I request a favour of you, ma’am, be-
fore you shut the gate—which is, to bring me a
little water to drink, for the sun is hot, and I
have had a long pull up here;” and I took out
my handkerchief and wiped my face.

«Ves, I'll fetch you some,” replied she, shut-
ting the gate, and going away.

“This don't seem to answer very well,”
thought I to myself. The old woman returned,
opened the gate, and handed me a mug of
water. I drank some, thanked her, and returned
the mug.

“<T am very tired,” said I, ‘‘I should like to
sit down and wait for the gentleman,”rI4 JACOB

“Don't you sit down when you pull?’ in-
quired the old woman.

lees, \ replied I:

‘Then you must be tired of sitting, I should
think, not of standing ; at.all events, if you want
to sit, you can sit in your boat, and mind it at
the same time.” With this observation she
shut the door upon me, and left me without any
more comment. >

After this decided repulse on the part of the
old woman, | had nothing to do but to take her
advice, viz., to go and look after my boat. I
pulled down to Mr. ‘Turnbull's, and told him my
good and bad fortune. It being late he ordered
me some dinner in his study, and we sat there
canvassing over the affair. ‘‘ Well,’ said he,
as we finished, ‘‘ you must allow me to consider
this as my affair, Jacob, as I was the occasion of
our getting mixed up in it. You must do all
that you can to find this young man, and I shall
hire Stapleton’s boat by the day until wesucceed ;
you need not tell him so, or he may be anxious
to know why. ‘To-morrow you go down to old
Beazeley’s?”’

“Wes, sir ; you cannot hire me to-morrow.’

“Still I shall, as I want to see you to-morrow
morning before you go. Here's Stapleton’s
money for yesterday and to-day, and now good-
night.”

Iwas at Mr. Turnbull's early the next morn-
ing, and found him with the newspaper before
him. ‘‘ T expected this, Jacob,” said he ; ‘'read

ty

 

FAITHFUL,

that advertisement.” I read as follows :—
‘‘ Whereas, on Friday night last, between. the
hours of nine and ten, a tin box, containing
deeds and papers, was handed into a. wherry,
from the grounds of a villa between Brentford
and Kew, and the parties who owned it were
prevented from accompanying the same. This
is to give notice, that areward of twenty pounds
will be paid to the watermen, upon their de-
livering up the same to Messrs. James and John
White, of No. 14, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. As no
other parties are authorized to’ receive the said
tin box of papers, all other applications for it
must be disregarded.. An early attention to
this advertisement will oblige.”

‘There must be papers of no little conse-
quence in that box, Jacob, depend upon it,”
said Mr. Turnbull; “ however, here they are,
and -here they shall remain until I know more
about it, that’s certain. I intend to try what I
can do myself with the old woman, for I per-
ceive the villa is to be let for three months ; here
is the advertisement in the last column. I shall
go to town to-day, and obtain a ticket from the
agent, and it is hard but I'll ferret out some~
thing. I shall see you to-morrow. Now you
may go, Jacob.”

I hastened away, as I had promised to be
down to old Tom’s to breakfast: an hour’s
smart pulling brought me to the landing-place,
opposite to his house,

 

CHAPTER

XXXII:

A ten-pound Householder occupied with affairs of State—The Advantage of the Word ‘ Implication”—An

unexpected Meeting and a Reconciliation—Resolution

Defendant, with heavy Damages.

‘THE house of old Tom Beazeley was situated on
the verge of Battersea Fields, about a mile and
a. half from the bridge bearing the same name;
the river aout twenty yards before it, the green
grass behind it, and not a tree within half a mile
of it. There was nothing picturesque in it but
its utter loneliness ; it was not only lonely, but
isolated, for it was fixed upon a delta of about
half an acre, between two creeks, which joined
at about forty yards from the river, and ran up
through the fields, so that the house was, at
high water, upon an island, and at low water
was defended by an impassable barrier of mud,
so that the advances to it could be made only
from the river, where a small hard, edged with
posts worn down to the conformation of decayed
double teeth, offered the only means of access.
The house itself was one story high; dark red
bricks, and darker tiles upon the roof > windows
very scarce and very small, although built long
before the damnable tax upon light, for it was
probably built in the time of Elizabeth, to judge
by the peculiarity of the style of architecture

 

versus bright black Eyes—Verdict for the

observable in the chimneys ; but it matters very
little at what epoch was built a tenement which
was rented at only ten poundsper annum. The
major part of the said island was stocked with
cabbage plants ; but on one side there was half
a boat set upright, with a patch of green before
it. At the time that old Beazeley hired it, there
was a bridge, rudely constructed of old ship
plank, by which you could gain’a path which
led across the Battersea Fields: but.as all the
communications of old ‘Tom were by water, and
Mrs. Beazeley never ventured over the bridge,
it was gradually knocked away for firewood,
and when it was low water, one old post, redo-
lent of mud, marked the spot where the bridge
had been. he interior was far more inviting.
Mrs. Beazeley was a clean person, and frugal
housewife, and every article in the kitchen,
which was the first room you entered, was as
clean and as bright as industry could make it.
‘There was a parlour also, seldom used ; both of
the inmates, when they did meet, which was not
above a day or two in three weeks, during theFACOB
time that old Beazeley was in charge of the
lighter, preferring comfort to'grandeur. In this
isolated house, upon this isolated spot, did Mrs.
Beazeley pass a life of almost isolation.

And yet, perhaps, there never was a more
lively or a more happy woman than Mrs. Beaze-
ley, for she was strong and in good health,
and always employed. She knew that her hus-
band ‘was following up his avocation on the
river, and laying by a provision for their old
age, while she herself was adding considerably
to it by her own exertions. She had married
old Tom long before he had lost his legs, at a
time when he was a prime active sailor, and the
best man of the ship. She was a net-maker’s
daughter, and had been brought up to the busi-
ness, at which she was very expert. The most
difficult part of the art, is that of making large
seines for taking sea-fish ; and when she had no
order for those to complete, the making of
casting-nets beguiled away her time as soon as
her household cares had been disposed of. She
made money, and husbanded it, not only for
herself and her partner, but for her son, young
Tom, upon whom she doted. So accustomed
was she to work hard and be alone, that it was
difficult to say whether she was most pleased or
most annoyed when her husband and son made
their appearance for a day or two, and the
latter was alternately fondled and_ scolded
during the whole of his sgjourn, Tom, as
the reader may suppose from a knowledge of
his character, caring about as much for the one
as the other.

I pulled into the Aarvd, and made fast my
boat... There was no one outside the door
when I landed ; on entering, | found them all
seated at the table, and a grand display of
fragments in the shape of herring-bones, &e.
‘Well, Jacob,—come at last ?—thought you
had forgot us ; piped to breakfast at eight bells
—always do, you know,” said old Tom, on my
making my appearance.

‘“Have you had your breakfast, Jacob?”
said Mrs. Beazeley.

‘No,’ replied I;
to Mr. Turnbull's, and that detained me.’

“No more sodgers, Jacob,” said Tom ;
‘‘father and I ate them all.”

‘Have you?” replied Mrs. Beazeley, taking
two more red herrings out of the cupboard, and
putting them on the fire to grill; “‘no, no,
master Tom, there’s some for Jacob yet.”’

‘Well, mother, you make nets to some
purpose, for you've always a fish when it’s
wanted.”

I despatched my breakfast, and as soon as
all had been cleared away by his wife, old Tom,
crossing his two timber legs, commenced busi-
ness; for it appeared, what I was not aware of,
that we had met on a sort of council of war.

‘« Jacob, sit down by me ; old woman, bring
ourself to an anchor in the high chair ; Tom,
sit anywhere, so you sit still.”—‘‘And leave my
net alone, Tom,” cried his mother, in paren-

«JF was ebliged to go up

7

FAITHFUL. TI5

thesis. —‘“‘ You see, Jacob, the whole long and
shart of it is this,—I feel my toes more and
more, and flannel’s no longer Warm. I can't
tide it any longer, and I think it high time to
lie up in ordinary and moor abreast of the old
woman. Now, there’s Tom, in the first place,
—what’s to do with he? I think that Ill
build him a wherry, and, as I’m free of the
river, he can finish his apprenticeship with my
name on the boat ; but to build him a wherry
would be rather a heavy pull for me.”

“If you mean to build it yourself, I think it
will prove a heavy pull for me,” replied Tom.

“Silence, Tom ; I built you, and God knows
you're light enough.”

‘“‘And Tom, leave my net alone,” cried his
mother.

‘Father made me light-fingered, mother.’

‘“Ay, and light-hearted too, boy,” rejoined
the dame, looking fondly at her son.

‘‘Well,” continued old Tom, ‘‘supposing
that Tom be provided for in that way: then
now I comes to myself. I've an idea that Ican
do a good bit of work in patching up boats ;
for you see I always was a bit of a carpenter,
and I know how the builders extortionate the
poor watermen when there’s a trifle amiss.
Now, if they knew I could do it, they’d all
come to me fast enough; but then there's a
puzzle ; I've been thinking this week how I can
make them know it. I can't put out a board
and say, ‘Beazeley, Boat-buzlder,’ because I’m
no boat-builder, but still I want a sign.”

“Lord, father, haven’t you got one already ?”
interrupted young Tom; ‘‘ you've half a boat
stuck up there, and that means that you're half
a boat-builder.”’

«Silence, Tom, with your frippery ; what do
you think, Jacob ?”

‘Could you not
here?* 7

“Yes, but that won't exactly do ; they like
to employ a builder—and there's the puzzle.”

‘Not half so puzzling as this net,” observed
Tom, who had taken up the needle, unobserved
by his mother, and begun to work ; “‘ I’ve made
only ten stitches, and six of them are long
ones.”

“Tom, Tom, you good for nothing—why
don’t you let my net alone?” cried Mrs.
Beazeley, ‘‘ now ‘twill take me as much time to
undo ten stitches as to have made fifty.”

« All right, mother.”

“No, “‘Fom, all's
meshes ?”

“Well, then, all's fair, mother.”

‘No, all's foul, boy-: look how it’s tangled.”

‘Still, I say, all's fair, mother, for it is but
fair to give the fish one or two chances to get
away, and that’s just what I’ve done ; and now,
father, I'll settle your affair to your own satis-
faction, as I have mother’s.”

“That will be queer satisfaction, Tom, I
guess ; but let's hear what you have to say.”

«Why, then, father, it seems that you're no

say, ‘Boats repaired

 

wrong; look at these

pecs Sea Tape116 YACOB FAITHFUL.

boat-build&, but you want people to fancy that “What will it cost ?” replied she, gravely.
you aroma that the question ?” “Cost; let me see,—a good wherry with

‘Why, ‘tis something like it, Tom—but I do sculls and oars, will be a matter of thirty
nobody no harm.” pounds.”

“Certainly not ; it's only the boats which The old woman screwed up her mouth,
will suffer. Now, get a large board, with shook her head, and then walked away to
‘Boats duzlt to order, and Beats repaired, by prepare for dinner.

Tom Beazeley.’ You know if any man is fool ‘“‘I think she could muster the blunt, Jacob,
enough to order a boat, that’s his concern, you but she don’t like to part with it. Tom must
didn’t say you're a boat-builder, although you coax her. I wish he hadn’t shied the cat at

have no objection to try your hand.” her. He's too full of fun.”

‘What do you say, Jacob?” said old Tom, As old Beazeley finished, I perceived a wherry
appealing to me. pulling in with some ladies. I looked atten-_
‘‘I think that Tom has given very good advice, tively, and recognized my own boat, and Tom

and I would follow it.” pulling. In a minute more they were at the

‘‘Ah! ‘Tom has a head,’’ said Mrs. Beaze- hard, and who, to my astonishment, were there
ley, fondly. ‘‘Tom, let go my net again, will seated but Mrs. Drummond and Sarah. As
you? What a boy you are! Now touch it Tom got out of the boat and held it steady
again if you dare,” and Mrs. Beazeley took up against the hard, he called to me: I could not
a little poker from the fire-place and shook it do otherwise than go and assist them out; and
at him. once more did I touch the hands of those

“Tom has a head, indeed,” said young Tom, whom I never thought to meet again. Mrs.
‘‘but as he has no wish to have it broken, Drummond retained my hand a short time
Jacob, lend me your wherry for half an hour, after she landed, saying, ‘‘ We are friends,

and I'll be off.” Jacob, are we not ?”
Tassented, and Tom, first tossing the cat ‘“O, yes, madam,” replied I, much moved,
upon his mother’s back, made his escape, ina faltering voice.
crying, ‘‘T shall not ask that question,” said Sarah,
“‘ Lord, Molly, what a fish,’ gaily, ‘‘for we parted friends.”

And as I recalled to mind her affectionate
as .the animal fixed in its claws to save herself behaviour, I pressed her hand, and the tears
from falling, making Mrs. Beazeley roar out glistened in my eyes as I looked into her sweet
and vow vengeance, while old Tom and I could face. As I afterwards discovered, this was an
not refrain from laughter. arranged plan with old and young Tom, to

After Tom's departure, the conversation was bring about a meeting without my knowledge.
renewed, and everything was finally arranged Mrs. Beazeley courtesied and stroked her
between old Tom and his wife, except the apron—smiled at the ladies, looked very cat-
building of the wherry, at which the old woman tish at Tom, showed the ladies into the house,
shook her head. The debate would be too where old Tom assisted to do the honours after
long, and not sufficiently interesting to detail ;. his own fashion, by asking Mrs. Drummond if
one part, however, I must make the reader she would like to whet her whistle after her
acquainted with. After entering into all the pwd. Mrs. Drummond looked round to me
arrangements of the house, Mrs. Beazeley took for explanation, but young Tom thought proper
me upstairs to show me the rooms, which were to be interpreter. ‘‘ Father wants to know, if
very neat and clean. I came down with her, you please, ma’am, whether, after your pull in
and old Tom said, ‘‘ Did the old woman show the boat, you wouldn't like to have a pullat the
you the room with the white curtains, Jacob?” brandy-bottle.”

fevesy: replied i, and <a very nice one “No,” replied Mrs. Drummond, smiling ;
Las Ao “but I should be obliged for a glass of water,

“Well, Jacob, there’s nothing sure in this Will you get me one, Jacob?” }
world. You're well off at present, and ‘leave I hastened to comply, and Mrs. Drummond
well alone’ is a good motto ; but recollect this, entered into conversation with Mrs. Beazeley.
that room is for you when you want it, and Sarah looked at me, and went to the door,
everything else we can share with you. It’s turning back as inviting me to follow. I did
offered freely, and you will accept it the same.\ so, and we soon found ourselves seated on the
Is it not, old lady?” bench in the old boat, )

“Yes, that it is, Jacob; but may you do ““ Jacob,’’ said she, looking earnestly at ime,
better—if not, I'll be your mother, for want of ‘‘‘ you surely will be friends with my father ? |’

a better.” I think I should have shaken my head, but

I was moved with the kindness of the old she laid an emphasis on my, which the little
couple ; the more so, as I did not know what I gipsy knew would have its effect. All nay
had done to deserve it. Old Tom gave me a resolutions, all my pride, all my Sense of injury
hearty squeeze of the hand, and then continued, vanished before the mild beautiful eyes of Sarah,

“But about this wherry—what do you say, old and I replied hastily, ‘‘ Yes, Miss Sarah, I can
woman ?”’

refuse you nothing.”** Why dZzss, Jacob?”

““T am a waterman, and you are much
above me.”

‘That is your own fault, but say. no more
about it.”

“I must ‘say something more, which is this:
do not attempt to make me leave my present
employment ; I am happy, because I am in-
dependent ; and that I will, if possible, be for
the future.”’

‘“Any one can pull an oar, Jacob.”

‘‘Very true, Miss Sarah, and is under no
obligation to any one by so earning his liveli-
hood. ‘He works for ail, and is paid for all.”

‘Will you come and see us, Jacob? Come
to-morrow—now do—promise me. Will you
refuse your old playmate, Jacob?”

‘‘T wish you would not ask that.”

‘“How, then, can you say that you are
friends with my father? I will not believe you
unless you promise to come.”

“Sarah,” replied I, earnestly, ‘‘ I will come;
and to prove to you that we are friends, I will
ask a favour of him.”

“*O Jacob, this is kind, indeed,” cried Sarah,
with her eyes swimming with tears. , ‘‘ You
have made me so—so very happy !”’

The meeting with Sarah humanized me, and
every feeling of revenge was chased from my

memory. Mrs. Drummond joined us soon
after, and proposed to return. ‘‘And Jacob
will pull us back,” cried Sarah. ‘ Come, sir,

look after your fzrve, in both senses. Since you
will be a waterman, you shall work.’ I
laughed and handed them to the boat. Tom
took the other oar, and we were soon at the
steps close to Mr. Drummond's house.

‘‘Mamma, we ought to give these poor
fellows something to drink, they've worked
very hard,” said Sarah, mocking. ‘‘ Come up,
my good men.” I hesitated. ‘‘ Nay, Jacob,
if to-morrow, why not to-day? the sooner
these things are over the better.”

I felt the truth of this observation, and fol-
lowed her. In a few minutes I was again in
that parlour in which I had been dismissed,
and in which the affectionate girl burst into
tears on my shoulder, as I held the handle of
the door. I looked at it, and looked at
Sarah. Mrs. Drummond had gone out of the
room to let Mr. Drummond. know that I had
come. ‘‘ How kind you were, Sarah!” said I.
_ ‘Yes, but kind people are cross sometimes,
and so am I—and so was——’’

Mr. Drummond came in and stopped her.
‘“‘Jacob, I am glad to see you again in my
house ; I was deceived by appearances, and did
you injustice.” -How true is the observation of
the wise man, that a soft.word turneth away
wrath ; that Mr. Drummond should personally
acknowledge that he was wrong to me—that he
should confess it—every feeling of resentment
was gone, and others crowded in their place.
I recollected how he had protected the orphan
—how he had provided him with instruction—

FACOB FAITHFUL

 
    
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   

117

how he had made 47s housea home to me—how
he had tried to bring me forward under his own
protection. I recollected—which, alas! I never
should have forgotten—that he had treated me
for years with kindness and affection, all of
which had been obliterated from my memory
by one single act of injustice. I felt that I was ;
a culprit, and burst into tears ; and Sarah, as 4
before, cried in sympathy.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Drummond,” said -
I,-as soon as I could speak: ‘‘I have been
very wrong in being so revengeful after so much
kindness from you.”
““We both have been wrong—but say no
more on the subject, Jacob; I have an order te
give, and then I will come up to you again ;”
and Mr. Drummond quitted the room.
“You dear good boy,” said Sarah, coming
up to me, ‘‘now I really do love you.”
What I might have replied was put a stop to
by Mrs. Drummond entering the room. She
made a few inquiries about where I at present
resided, and Sarah was catechizing me rather
inquisitively about Mary Stapleton, when Mr.
Drummond re-entered the room, and shook me
by the hand with a warmth which made me
more ashamed of my conduct towards him.
The conversation became general, but. still
rather embarrassed, when Sarah whispered to
me,—‘' What is the favour you would ask of
my father?” I had forgotten it at the moment,
but I immediately told him that I would be
obliged if he would allow me to have a part of
the money belonging to me, which he held in
his possession.
“That I will, with pleasure, and without
asking what you intend to do with it, Jacob.
How much do you require?”
‘Thirty pounds, if there is so much.”
Mr. Drummond went down, and in a few
minutes returned with the sum, in notes and
guineas. I thanked him, and shortly after-
wards took my leave.
‘‘Did not young Beazeley tell you I had
something for you, Jacob?” said Sarah, as I
wished her good-by. :
“Yes ;, what is it 2?”
‘‘You must come and see,” replied Sarah,
laughing. ‘Thus was a finale to all my revenge
brought about by a little girl of fifteen years
old, with large dark eyes.
Tom had taken his glass of grog below, and
was waiting for me at the steps. We shoved
off, and returned to his father’s house, where .
dinner was just ready. After dinner, old Tom
recommenced . the argument. ‘““The only
hitch,” says he, ‘‘is about the wherry. What
do you say, old woman?’ The old woman
shook her head.
‘As that is the only hitch,” said I, ‘I can ni
remove it, for here is the monéy for the wherry,
which I make a present to Tom,’ and I put
the money into young Tom’s hand. Tom
counted it out before his father and mother,
much to their astonishment.

eerQ
ETO

“Vou are a good fellow, Jacob,” said “Lom ;
“Iyut I say, do you recollect Wimbledon Com-
lon? |

‘‘ What then?” said I.

‘Only Jerry Abershaw, that’s all.”

“To not be afraid, Tom, it is honestly
mine.”

‘But how did you get it, Jacob?” said old
‘Yom.

It may appear strange, but impelled by a wish
to serve my friends, I had asked for the money
which I knew belonged to me, but never thought
of the nlanner in which it had been obtained.
The question of old Tom recalled everything
to my memory, and I shuddered when I recol-
lected the circumstances attending it. I was
confused and did not like to reply. ‘‘ Be satis-
fied, the money is mine,’’ replied I.

faves, Jacoy, but how?” replied Mrs.
Beazeley ; ‘‘ surely you ought to be able to tell
how you got so large a sum.”

“Jacob has some reason for not telling,
missus, depend upon it ; mayhap Mr. ‘Turnbull,
or whoever gave it to him, told him to hold his
tongue.” But this answer would not satisfy
Mrs. Beazeley, who declared she would not
allow a farthing to be taken, unless she knew
how it was obtained.

“Tom, give back the money directly,” said
she, looking at me suspiciously.

Tom laid it on the table before me without
saying aword, ‘' Takeit, Tom,” said I, colour-
ing up. ‘I had it from my mother.”

‘Krom your mother, Jacob-!"’ said old Tom.
‘Nay, that could not well be, if my memory
sarves meright. Still it may be.”

‘‘Deary me, I don’t like this at all,” cried
Mrs. Beazeley, getting up, and wiping her
apron with a quick motion. ‘‘O Jacob, that
must be—not the truth.”

I coloured up to the tips of my ears, at being
suspected of falsehood. I looked round, and
saw that even Tom and his father had a
melancholy doubt in their countenances ; and
certainly my confused appearance would have
caused suspicion in anybody. de ttle
thought,” said I, at last, ‘‘ when I hoped to
have so much pleasure in giving, and to find
that I had made you happy in receiving the
money, that it would have proved a source of
so much annoyance. I perceive that I am sus-
pected of having obtained it improperly, and of
not having told the truth. That Mrs. Beazeley
may think so, who does not know me, is not to
be wondered at; but that you,” continued IT,
turning to old Tom, ‘‘or you,” looking at his
son, ‘‘should suspect me, is very mortifying,
and I did not expect it. I tell you that the
mdney is mine, honestly mine, and obtained
DO Any mother, I ask you, do you believe
mes

 

FACOR PAI Tar UL,

  

 

Fs

“T for one, do believe vou, Jacob,” said
young Tom, striking his fist on the table. "1
can't understand it, but I know you never told
a lie, of did a dishonourable act since I've
known you.”

“Thank you, Tom,” said I, taking his
proffered hand.

«And I would swear the same, Jacob,” said

old Tom; ‘although I have been longer in the
world than my boy has, and have therefore
seen more; and sorry am I to say, many a
good man turned bad from temptation being
too great ; but when I looked in your face, and
saw the blood up to your forehead, I did feel a
little suspicious, I must own; but I beg your
pardon, Jacob, no one can look in your face
now, and not see that you afe infiocent. I
believe all you say, in spite of the old woman
and—the devil to boot~and there's my hand
upon it.”

‘Why not tell—why not teil?” muttered
Mrs. Beazeley, shaking her head, and working
at her net faster than ever. 2

But I had resolved to tell, and did so, narrat-
ing distinctly the circumstafices by which the
money had been obtained. I did it, however,
with feelings of mortification which I cannot
express. I felt humiliation—I felt that for my
own wants, that money I never could touch.
Still my explanation had the effect of removing
the doubts even of Mrs. Beazeley, and harmony
was restoted. ‘The money was.accepted by the
old couple, and promised to be applied for the
purpose intended.

‘“‘As fot me, Jacob,” said Tom, ‘‘ when !
say I thank you, yo kfiow I mean it. Had
I had the money, and you had wanted it, you
will believe me when I say that I would have
given it to you.”

“«That I’m sure of, Tom.”

‘‘Still, Jacob, it is a great deal of money;
and I shall lie by my eathings as fast as I can,
that you may havé it iff casé you want it ; but
it will take many a heavy pulland many a shirt
wet with labour, before I can make up a sum
like that.”

I did not stay much longer after this little
fracas ; I was hurt—my pride was wounded by
suspicion, and fortunate it was that the occur-
rence had not taken place previous to my meet-
ing with Mrs. Drummiond and Sarah, otherwise
no reconciliation would have taken place in
that quarter. How much are we the sport of
circumstances, and, how insensibly they mark
out our career in this world! With the best
intentions we go wrong ; instigated by unworthy
motives, we fall tpon our feet, and the chapter
of accidents Has more power over the best
ee mind than all the chapters in the

ible,FACOB FAITHFUL,

CHAPTER XXXIV.

How I was revenged upon my Enemies—We try the Bars of Music, but find that we are barred out—Being

720 go, we go back.

I sHOOK hands with Tom, who, perceiving
that I was vexed, had accompanied me down
to the boat, with his usual sympathy, and had
offered to pull with me to Fulham, and walk
back ; which offer I declined, as I wished to be
alone. It was a fine moonlight night, and the
broad light and shadow, with the stillness of all
around, were peculiarly adapted to my feelings.
I continued my way up the river, revolving in
my mind the scenes of the day ; the reconcilia-
tion with one whom I never intended to have
spoken to again ; the little quarrel with those
whom I never expected to have been at variance
with, and that at the time when I was only
exerting myself to ‘serve them; and then I
thought of Sarah, as an oasis of real happiness
in this contemplated desert, and dwelt upon
the thought of her as the most pleasant and
calming to my still agitated mind. Thus did
I ruminate till I had passed Putney Bridge,
forgetting that I was close to my landing-place,,
and continuing in my reverie to pull up the
river, when my cogitations were disturbed by a
noise of men laughing and talking, apparently
in a state of intoxication. They were in a
four-oared wherry, coming down the river,
after. a party of pleasure, as it is termed,
generally one ending in intoxication. I
listened. .

“T tell you I can spin an oar with any man
in the king’s service,” said the man in the bow.
““ Now look.”

He threw his oar out of the rollocks, spun it
in the air, but unfortunately did not catch it
when it fell, and consequently it went through
the bottom, starting two of the planks of the
fragile-built boat, which immediately filled with
water.

“ Hilloa! waterman!” cried another, per-
ceiving me, ‘‘ quick, or we shall sink.” ~But the
boat was nearly up to the thwarts in water,
before I could reach her, and just as I was
nearly alongside, she filled and turned over.

“Help, waterman ; help me first, I’m senior
clerk,” cried a voice which I well knew. I put
out my oar to him as he struggled in the water,
and soon had him clinging to the wherry. I
then tried to catch hold of the man who had
sunk the boat by his attempt to toss the oar,
but he very quietly said, ‘‘ No, d—n it, there’s
too many; we shall swamp the wherry ; Vil
swim on shore,” —and suiting the action to the
word, he made for the shore with perfect self-
possession, swimming in his clothes with great
ease and dexterity.

I picked up two more, and thought that all
were saved, when turning round and looking
towards the bridge, I saw, resplendent in the

 

bright{beams of the moon, and ‘‘round as its
orb,” the well-+emembered face of the stupid
young clerk who had been so inimical to me,
struggling with all his might, I pulled to him,
and putting out my oar over the bow, he seized
it after rising from his first sink, and Was, with
the other four, soon clinging to the side of the
wherry.

«« Pull me in—pull me in, waterman!” cried
the head clerk, whose voice I had recognized.

‘«No, you will swamp the boat.”

‘‘ Well, but pull me in, if not the others. I’m
the senior clerk.”’

‘Can't help that, you must hold on,”’
replied I, ‘‘ while I pull you on shore ; we shall
soon be there.”’ I must say that I felt a plea-
sure in allowing him thus to hang in the water,
I might have taken them all in certainly,
although at some risk, from their want of pre-
sence of mind and hurry, arising from the feel-
ing of self-preservation ; but I desired them to
hold on, and pulled for the landing-place, which
we soon gained. The person who had preferred
swimming, had arriyed before us, and was
waiting on the beach.

A ‘‘ Have you got them all, waterman?” said
e.

‘‘Yes, sir, I believe so ; I have four.”

‘“‘The tally is right,” replied he, “‘ and four
greater galloots were never picked up; but
never mind that. It was my nonsense that
nearly drowned them ; and therefore I’m very
glad you’ve managed so well. My jacket went
down in the boat, and I must reward you
another time.” -

‘Thank you, sir, no occasion for that ; it’s
not a regular fare.”

“Nevertheless, give us your name.”

‘‘Oh, you may ask Mr. Hodgson, the senior
clerk, or that full-moon-faced fellow — they
know my name.”

“Waterman, what do you mean?” replied
Mr. Hodgson, shivering with cold.

‘Very impudent fellow,” said the junior, of
the round face.

‘‘ Tf they know your name, they won't tellit,”
replied the other. ‘‘Now I'll first tell you
mine, which is Lieutenant Wilson, of the navy,
and now let’s have yours, that I may ask for it;
and tell me what stairs you ply from.”

‘‘My name is Jacob Faithful, sir,’’ replied I ;
“ahd you may ask your friends whether they
know it or not when their teeth don't chatter
quite so much.”

At the mention of my name the senior and
junior clerk walked off, and the lieutenant, tell-
ing me that I should hear from him again, was
about to leave, ‘If you mean to give meI20

money, sir, I tell yéu candidly I shall not take
it. I hate these two men for the injuries they
have heaped on me ; but I don’t know how it is,
ifeel a degree of pleasure in having saved them,
that I wish for no better revenge. So farewell,
sir,

“Spoken as you ought, my lad—that’s
glorious revenge. Well, then, I will not come;
but if ever we meet again, I shall never forget
this night and Jacob Faithful.’? He held out
his hand, shook mine warmly, and walked
away.

When they were gone, I remained for some
little time quite stupified at the events of the
day. ‘The reconciliation—the quarrel—the re-
venge. ‘I was still in thought when I heard the
sound of a horse’s hoofs. ‘This recalled me,
and I was hauling up my boat, intending to go
home to Stapleton’s ; but with no great eager-
ness. I felt a sort of dislike to Mary Stapleton,
which I could not account for ; but the fact was,
I had been in company with Sarah Drummond.
The horse stopped at the foot of the bridge ;
and the rider, giving it to his servant who was
mounted on another, to hold, came down to
where I was hauling up my boat. . ‘‘ My lad, is

 

it too late for you to launch your boat? I will
pay you well.”
‘““Where do you wish to go to, sir? It is

now past ten o clock.”

‘‘I know it is, and I hardly expected to find
a waterman here ; but I took the chance. Will
you take me about two miles up the river?”

I looked at the person who addressed me,
and was delighted to recognize in him the young
man who had hired Mr. Turnbull and me: to
take him to the garden, and who had been
captured when he escaped with the tin box;
but I did not make myself known. ‘‘ Well, sir,
if you wish it, I’ve no objection,” replied I,
putting my shoulder to the bow of my wherry,
und launching her again into the water. At all
events this has been a day of adventure, thought
I, as I threw my sculls again into the water, and
commenced pulling up the stream. I was some
little while in ‘meditation whether 1 should make
myself known to the young man ; but I decided
that I would not. Let mesee, thought I, what
sort of a person this is ; whether he is as deserv-
ing as the young lady appeared to consider.
‘“ Which side, sir?” inquired I.

“The left,” was the reply.

I knew that well enough, and I pulled in
silence until nearly up to the wall of the garden
which ran down to the bank of the river. ‘‘ Now
pull into that wall and make no noise,’ was the
injunction, which I obeyed; securing the boat
to the very part where the coping bricks had
been displaced. He stood up and whistled the

two bars of the tune as before, waited five
minutes, repeated it, and watched the windows
of the house ; but. there was no reply, or signs
of anybody being up or stirring,
late, she is gone to rest.”’

‘‘T thought there was a lady in the cqse, sir,’

“Tt is too

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

  

 

observed I.. ‘‘ If you wish to communicate with
her, I think I could manage it.”

“Could you?” replied he. ‘‘Stopa moment,

I'll speak to you by-and-by.” He whistled the
tune once more, and after waiting another ten
minutes, dropped himself down on the stern-
sheets, and told me to pull back again. After a
minute's silence he said to me, ‘‘ You think
you could communicate with her, you say.
Pray, how do you propose ?”’

‘If you will write a letter, sir, I'll try to let it
come to her hand.”’

4° Flow 2.4

“That, sir, you must leave me to find out,
and trust to opportunity ; but you must tell me
what sort of person she is, that I may not give
it to another; and also, who there is in the
house that I must be.careful does not see me.”

 V eny; true, yepliedvhes. “Lcan only say,
that if you do succeed, IT will reward you hand-
someély ; but she is so strictly watched, that I
am afraid it will be impossible; however, a
despairing, like a drowning man, will catch ata
straw, and I will see whether you will be able to
assist me..’

He then infoyvmed me that there was no one
in the house except her uncle and his servants,
all of whom were spies upon her ; that my only
chance was watching if she were permitted to
walkin the gardenalone, which might bethecase:
and, perhaps, by concealing myself from eight
oclock in the morning till the evening, under the
parapet wall, I might find an opportunity. He
directed me to be at the foot of the bridge next
morning at seven o'clock, when he would come
with a letter written for me to deliver, if possible.
We had then arrived at Fulham; he landed,
and, putting a guinea in my hand, mounted his
horse, which his servant walked up and down,
waiting for him, and rode off. I hauled up my
boat, and went home, tired with the manifold
events. of the day. Mary Stapleton, who had
sat up, for me, was very inquisitive to know
what had occasioned my coming home so late,
but I evaded her questions, and she left me in
anything but good humour; but about that I
never felt so indifferent.

The next morning the servant made his
appearance with the letter, telling me that he
had orders to wait till the evening ; and I pulled
up the river. I placed it under the loose brick,
as agreed upon with the young lady, and then
shoved off to the other side of the river, where
I hada full view of the garden, and could
notice all that passed. In half an hour the
young lady came out, accompanied by another
female, and sauntered up and down the gravel
walk. After a while she stopped, and looked on
the river, her companion continuing her pro-
menade. . As if without hoping to find anything
there, she moved the brick aside with her foot ;
perceiving the letter, she snatched it up eagerly
and concealed it in her dress, and then cast her
eyes on the river. It was calm, and I whistled
the bar of music, She heard it, and turningFACOB

away, hastened into the house. In about half an
hour she ‘returned, and watching her opportu-
nity, stooped down to the brick. I waited a
few minutes, when both she and her companion
went into the house. I then pulled in under
the wall, lifted up the brick, took the letter, and

FAITHFUL. fat

hastened back to Fulham, when I delivered the
letter to the servant, who rode off with it as fast
as he could, and I returned home quite pleased
at the successful issue of my attempt, and
not a little curious to learn the real facts of this
extraordinary affair. =

 

CHAPTER

XXXV.

The Domine reads me a Sermon out of the largest Book I ever fell in with, covering nearly two Acres of
Ground—The Pages not very easy to turn over, but the Type very convenient to read without

Spectacles—He leaves off without shutting his

Sermons.

THE next day, being Sunday, as usual, I went
to see the Domine and Mr. Turnbull. I arrived
at the school just as all the boys were filing off,
two and two, for church, the advance led by
the usher, and the rear brought up by the
Domine in person, and I accompanied them.
The Domine appeared melancholy and out of
spirits—hardly. exchanging a word with me
during our walk. When the service was OVeT,
he ordered the usher to take the boys home,
and remained with me in the churchyard—sur-
veying the tombstones, and occasionally mutter-
ing to himself. At last the congregation
dispersed, and we were alone,

“Tittle did I think, Jacob,” said he at last,
‘that when-I bestowed such care upon thee in
thy childhood, I should be rewarded as I have
been. Little did I think that it would be to the
boy who was left destitute, that I should pour
out my soul when afflicted, and find in him that
sympathy which I have long lost, by the re-
moval of those who were once my friends. Ses;

acob, those who were known to me in my
youth, those few in whom I confided, and leant
upon, are now lying here in crumbling dust,
and the generation hath passed away, and I
now rest upon thee, my son, whom I have
directed in the right path, and who hast, by the
blessing of God, continued to walk straight in
it. Verily thou art a solace to me, Jacob, and
though young in years, | feel that in thee I have
received a friend, and one that I may confide
in. Bless thee, Jacob! bless thee,. my boy,
and before I am laid with those who have gone
before me, may I see thee prosperous and happy.
Then I will sing the Vue dimittis—then will 1
say, ‘Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in
peace.” ”

«JT am happy, sit,” replied J, ‘‘to hear you
say that 1am of any comfort to you, for I feel
truly grateful for all your kindness to me; but I
wish that you did not require comfort.”

‘Jacob, in what part of a man’s life does he
not require comfort and consolation ; yea, even
from the time when, as achild, he buries his weep-
ing facein his mother's lap, till the hour that sum-
mons him to his account? Not that I consider
this world to be, as many have described a

Book, as Parsons usually do at the End of their

‘vale of tears.’ No, Jacob, it is a beautiful

world, a glorious world, and would be a happy

world, if we would only restrain those senses

and those passions with which we have been en-

dowed, that we may fully enjoy the beauty, the

variety, the inexhaustible bounty of a gracious

Heaven. All was made for enjoyment and for

happiness, but it is we ourselves who, by excess,

defile that which otherwise were pure. Thus,

the fainting traveller may drink wholesome and

refreshing draughts from the bounteous over-
flowing ‘spring, but should he rush heedlessly
into it, he muddies the source, and the waters
are those of bitterness. Thus, Jacob, was wine
given to cheer the heart of man, yet didst not
thou witness me, thy-preceptor, debased by in-
temperance ? Thus, Jacob, were the affections
implanted in us as a source of sweetest happi-
ness, such as those which now yearn in my
breast towards thee; yet hast thou seen me,

thy preceptor, by yielding to the infatuation
and imbecility of threescore years, doat, in
my folly, upon a maiden, and turn the sweet
affections into a source of misery and anguish.”
I answered not, for the words of the Domine
made a strong impression upon me, and I was
weighing them in my mind. ‘“Jacob,” con-
tinued the Domine, after a pause, “next. to
the book of life, there is no subject of contem-
plation more salutary than the book of death,
of which each stone now around us may be
considered as a page, and each page contains
a lesson. Read that which is now before us.
It would appear hard that an only child should
have been torn away from its doting parents,
who have thus imperfectly expressed their
anguish on the tomb ; it would appear hard
that their delight, their solace, the object of their
daily care, of their waking thoughts, of thes:
last imperfect recollections as they sank into
sleep, of their only dreams, should thus have
been taken from them ; yet did I know them,
and Heaven was just and merciful. The child
had weaned them from their God—they lived
but in him, they were without God in the world.
The child alone had their affections, and they
had been lost, had not Hein his meréy removed
it. ‘Come this way, Jacob.’ I followed the

eMC HE

eee~~

ee FACOB FAITHFUL.

Domine till he stood before another tombstone “Yes; it is a beautiful world; for the Spinit
ma corner of the churchyard. ‘‘ This stone, of God is onit. At the separation of chaos it
Jacob, marks the spot where lie the remains of came over the water, and hath since remained
one who was my earliest and dearest friend— _ with us everywhere, but invisible, We see his
for in my youth I had friends, because I had hand in the variety and the beauty of creation,
anticipations, and little thought that it would but his Spirit we see not ; yet do we feel it in
have pleased God that I should do my duty in the still small voice of conscience, which would
that station to which Ihave been called. He had lead us into the right path.—Now, Jacob, we
one fault, which proved a source of misery must return, for I have the catechism and
through life, and was the cause of an untimely collects to attend to.
death. He was of a revengeful disposition. He I took leave of the Domine, and went to Mr.
never forgave an injury, forgetting, poor sinful Turnbull's, to whom I gave an account of what
mortal, for how much he had need to be for- had passed since I last saw him. _He was much
given. He quarrelled with his relations—he pleased with my reconciliation with the Drum-
was shot in a duel with his friend. I mention monds, and interested about the young lady to
this, Jacob, as a lesson to thee, not that I feel whom appertained the tin box in his Possession.
myself worthy to be thy preceptor, forI am ‘I presume, Jacob, we shall now have that
humbled ; but out of kindness and love towards mystery cleared up.
thee, that I might persuade thee to correct that ““T have not told the gentleman that we have
fault in thy disposition.” possession of the box,’’ replied I.

“T have already made friends with Mr. Drum- ‘“No; but you told the young lady, you
mond, sir,’ answered I ; ‘‘ but still your admo- silly fellow; and do you think she will keep it
nition shall not be thrown away.” a secret from him ?”’

‘Hast thou, Jacob? then is my mind much ‘Very true ; I had forgotten that.”
relieved. I trust thou wilt no longer stand in “Jacob, I wish you to go to Mr. Drummond’s
thine own light, but accept the offers which, in and’see his family again ; you ought to do so.”
the fulness of his heart to make redress, he may I hesitated. ‘‘Nay, I shall give you a’ fair
make unto thee.” opportunity without wounding that pride of

“Nay, sir, I cannot promise that ;: I wish yours, sir, replied Mr. Turnbull ; “I owe him
to be independent and earn my own liveli- some money for some wine he purchased for me,
hood.” and I shall send the cheque by you.””

“Then hear me, Jacob, for the spirit of To this I assented, as I was not sorry of an
prophecy is on me; the time will come when thou opportunity of seeing Sarah. I dined with Mr.
shalt bitterly repent. Thou hast received an Turnbull, who was alone, his wife being on a
education by my unworthy endeavours, and visit to a relation in the country. He again
hast been blessed by Providence with talents far’ offered me his advice as to giving up'the profes-
above the situation in life to which thou wouldst sion of a waterman ; but if I did not hear him
so tenaciously adhere ; the time will come when with so much impatience as before, nor use so
thou wilt repent, yea bitterly repent. Look at many arguments against it, I did not accede to
that marble monument with thearms so lavishly his wishes, and the subject was dropped. Mr.
emblazoned upon it. ‘That, Jacob, isthe tomb Turnbull was satisfied that my Tesistance was
of a proud man, whose career is well known to weakened, and hoped in time to have the effect
me. He was in straitened circumstances, yet which he desired. When I went home, Mary
of gentle race—but, like the steward in the told me that Tom Beazeley had been there, that

Scripture, ‘work he could not, to beg he was his wherry was building, that his father had
ashamed.’ He might have prospered in the given up the lighter, and was now on shore
world, but his pride forbade him. He might very busy in getting up his board to attract
have made friends, but his pride forbade him, customers, and obtain work in his new occupa-
He might have wedded himself to wealth and_ tion.
beauty, but there was no escutcheon, and his { had not launched my wherty the next
pride forbade him. He did marry, and entail morning, when down came the young gentleman
upon his children poverty. He died, and the to whom I had despatched the letter. “‘ Faith=
little he possessed was taken from his children’s ful,” said he, ‘‘come to the tavern with me a
necessities to build this record te his dust. Do must have some conversation with you.” f
not suppose that I would check that honest followed him ; and as soon as we were in a
pride, which will prove a safeguard from un- room, he said, ‘‘First let me pay my debt, for
worthy actions. I only wish to check that I owe you much ;” and he laid five guineas on
undue pride which will mar thy future prospects. the table. ‘‘I find from Cecilia that you have

Jacob, that which thou termest zudependence possession of the tin ease of deeds which has

is nought but pride.” been so eagerly sought after by both parties.
I could not acknowledge that I agreed with Why did you not say so? And why did you not

the Domine, although something in my breast tell me that it was you whom I hired on the

told me that he was not wrong. I made no night when I was so unfortunate ?”

answer. ‘The Domine continued to muse—at. “I considered the secret as belonging to the

dast he again spoke :— young lady, and having told her, I left it to Her

mmdiscretion to make you acquainted or not, as
she pleased.”’

‘‘ It was thoughtful and prudent of you, at all
events, although there was no occasion for it.
Nevertheless | am pleased that you did so, as it
proves you to be trustworthy. Now tell me,
who is the gentleman who was with you in the
boat, and who has charge of the box? Observe,
Faithful, I do not intend to demand it. I shall
tell him the facts of the case in your presence,
and then leave him to decide whether he will

 
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  

JACOB FAITHFUL. 123

surrender up the papers to the other party, or to
me. Can you take me there now ?”’

‘Yes, sir,” replied I, ‘‘T can, if you please ; I
will pull you up in halfan hour. ‘The house is
at the river's side.”’

The young gentleman leaped into my wherry,
and we were, in less than the time I had men-
tioned, in the parlour of Mr. Turnbull. I will
not repeat the conversation in detail, but give
the outline of the young man’s siory.

 

CHAPTER K¥XVI:

A long Story, which ends in the Opening of the Tin Box, which proves to contain Deeds much more satis-
factory to Mr. Wharncliffe than the Deeds of his Uncle—I begin to feel the Blessings of Independence,
and suspect that I have acted like a Fool—After two Years’ consideration I become quite sure of it,

and, as Tom says, “‘ No Mistake.”

‘ THE gentleman who prevented my taking off
the young lady is uncle to both of us: we are
therefore first cousins. Our family name is
Wharncliffe. My father was a major in the
army. He died when I was young, and my
mother is still alive, and is sister to Lady
Auburn. ‘The father and mother of Cecilia are
both dead. He went out to India to join his
brother, another uncle, of whom I shall speak
directly. He has now been dead three years,
and out of the four brothers there is only one
left, my uncle, with whom Cecilia is living, and
whose Christian name is Henry. He was a
lawyer by profession, but he purchased a patent
place, which he still enjoys. My father, whose
name was William, died in very moderate cir-
cumstances; but still he left enough for my
mother to live upon, and to educate me pro-
perly. Iwas brought upto the law under my
uncle Henry, with whom, for some years I
resided. Cecilia’s father, whose name was
Edward, left nothing ; he had ruined himself in
England, and had gone out to India at the
request of my uncle there, whose name was
James, and who had amassed a large fortune.
Soon after the death of Cecilia’s father, my
uncle James came home on furlough, for he held
a very high and lucrative situation under the
Company. A bachelor from choice, he was
still fond of young people ; and having but one
nephew and one niece to leave his money to, as
soon as he arrived with Cecilia, whom he brought
with him, he was most anxious tosee me. He
therefore took up his quarters with my uncle
Henry, and remained with him_ during his
sojourn in England; but my uncle James was of
a very cold and capricious temper. He liked me
best because I was a boy, and one day declared
I should be his heir. ‘The next day he would
alter his intention, and declare that Cecilia, of
whom he was very fond, should inherit every-
thing. If we affronted him,—for at the age of
sixteen as a boy, and fourteen as a girl, worldly
prospects were little regarded,—he would then
declare that we should not be a shilling the

 

 

better for his money. With him, money was
everything: it was his daily theme of conversa-
tion, his only passion; and he valued and
fespected people in proportion to what they
were supposed to possess. With these feelings
he demanded for himself the greatest deference
from Cecilia and me, as his expectant heirs.
This he did not receive ; but on the whole he
was pleased with us, and after remaining three
years in England, he returned to the East
Indies. I had heard him mention to my uncle
Henry his intention of making his will, and
leaving it with him before he sailed ; but I was
not certain whether it had been done or not.
At all events, my uncle Henry took care that I
should not be in the way; for at that time
my uncle carried on his profession as a lawyer,
and I was working in his office. It was not
until after my uncle James returned to India
that he gave up business and purchased the
patent place which I mentioned. Cecilia was
left with my uncle Henry, and as we lived in the
same house, our affections, as we grew up,
ripened into love. We often used to laugh at
the threats of my uncle James, and agreed that
whoever might be the fortunate one to whom he
left his property, we would go halves, and share
it equally.

‘‘Tn the mean time I still followed up my
profession in another house, in which I at
present am a partner. Four years after the
return of my uncle James to India, news came
home of his death ; but it was also stated that
no will could be found, and it was supposed
that he died intestate. Of course, my uncle
Henry succeeded as heir-at-law to the whole
property, and thus were the expectations and
hopes of Cecilia and of myself dashed to the
ground. But this was not the worst of it ; my
uncle, who had witnessed our feelings for each
other, and had made no comment, as soon as he
was in possession of the property intimated to
Cecilia that she should be his heiress, provided
that she married according to his wishes ; and

pointed out to her that a fortune such as she

Las agg ReneJACOB... FAITHFUL,

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
    
 
   
 

might expect would warrant the alliance of the feels that his only chance is, that the waterman
first nobleman in the kingdom; and he very employed might have broken open the _box
plainly told me that he thought it advisable expecting to find money in it, and being disap-
that I should find lodgings for myself, and not pointed, have déstroyed the papers to avoid
be any longer an inmate in the same house as_ detection. If such had been the case, and it
was my cousin, aS no good would result from might have been, had it not fallen into such
it. Thus, sir, were we not only disappointed in good hands, he then would have obtained his
our hopes, but thwarted in our affections, only wish, that of the destruction of the will
which had for some time been exchanged. although not by his own hands. Now, sir,
Maddened at this intimation, I quitted the .I have given you a full and honest account
house ; but at the same time the idea of my of the affair, and leave you ‘to decide how to
uncle James having made a will still pressed: act.”

,

upon me, as I called to mind what I had heard “If you leave me to decide,I shall do it
him say to my uncle Henry previous to his sail- very quickly,’’ replied, Mr. ‘Turnbull. aX
ing for India. There was a box of deeds and box has fallen into my hands, and I do not
papers, —the very box now in your possession, know whois the owner. I shall open it, and take

which my uncle invariably kept in his bedroom, a list. of the deeds it contains, and advertise
I felt convinced that the will, if not destroyed them in De Times and other newspapers. If
(and I did not believe my uncle would dare your dead uncle’s will is in it, it will of course
to commit an act of felony), was in that box. be advertised with the others, and after such
Had I remained in the house, I would have publicity, your uncle Henry will not venture, [
found some means to have Opened it; but this presume, to say a word, but be too glad not to
was no longer possible. I communicated my be exposed.”
suspicions to Cecilia, and begged her to make ° Mr. Turnbull ordered a locksmith to be sum-
the attempt, which would be more Casy, as™y moned, and the tin-box was opened. It con-
uncle would not suspect her of being bold tained the document of the uncle’s purchase of
enough to venture it, even if he had the sus-_ the patent place in the courts, and some other
picion. Cecilia promised, and one day my papers, but it also contained the parchment so
uncle fortunately left his keys upon his dressing-- much looked after—the last will and testament
table when he came down to breakfast, and of James Wharncliffe, Esq., dated two months
went out without missing them. Cecilia dis- previous to his quitting England. ‘I think,”
covered them, and opened the box; and amongst observed Mr. Turnbull, ‘that in case of acci-
other parchments found a document labelled dent, it may be as well that this will should be
outside as the will of our uncle James; but read before witnesses. You observe, it is wit-
women understand little about these things, and nessed by Henry Wharncliffe, with two others.
she was in such trepidation for fear that my Let us take down their names.”
uncle should return, that she could not examine The will was read. by young Wharncliffe, at
very minutely. As it was, my uncle did return the request of Mr. Turnbull. Strange to say,
for his keys just as she had locked the box, and the deceased bequeathed the whole of his pro-
placed the kéys upen the table. He asked her perty to his nephew, William Wharncliffe, and
what she was doing there, and she made some his niece, Cecilia, provided they married ut
excuse. He saw the keys on the table, and they did not, they were left 20,000/. each, and
whether suspecting her, for she coloured up the remainder of the fortune to go to the first
very much, or afraid that the attempt might be male child born after the marriage of either
made at my suggestion, he removed the box and niece or nephew. ‘To his brother the sum of
locked it up in a closet, the key of which, I 10,000/. was bequeathed, with a liberal arrange-
believe, he left with his banker in town. When ment, to be paid out of the estate, as long as
Cecilia wrote to me an account of what had _ his niece lived with Imm. The will was read,
passed, I desired her to find the means of and returned to Mr. Turnbull, who shook
opening the closet, that we might gain posses- hands with Mr. Wharncliffe, and congratulated
sion of the box ; and this was easily effected, for him.
the key of another closet fitted the lock exactly. ‘““Tam so much indebted -to you, sir, that I
I then pérsuaded her to put herself under my can hardly express my gratitude, but I am still
protection, with the determination that we more indebted to this intelligent lad, Faithful.
would marry immediately; and we had so You must no longer be a waterman, Faithful a
arranged, that the tin box was to have accom- and Mr, Wharncliffe shook my hand.
panied us. You are aware, sir, how unfortu- no answer to the latter r
nately our plan turned out—at least, so far Turnbull had fixed his ey
unfortunately, that I lost, as I thought, not said that I was very happ*
only Cecilia, but the tin box, containing as_ to him,
I expect, the will of my uncle, of which I am “You may truly say, Mr. Wharncliffe,” ob-
more than ever convinced from the great served Mr, Turnbull, “that your future pros-
anxiety shown by my uncle Henry to recover it. perity will be through his means ; and, as it
Since the loss, he has been in a state of agita- appears by the will that you have gooo/. per
tion which has worn him to a shadow. He annum safe in the funds, I think you ought to

I made
observation, for Mr.
fe upo1me: I merely
appy to have been of useFACOB FAITHFUL,

give a prize wherry, to be rowed for every ambition which I cannot understand. How-
year.

a ; ever, let us say no more about it.”
And I will take that, replied J, ‘‘for a Mrs. Drummond came into the room, and

Teceipt in full for my share in the transac- greeted me kindly. ‘When can you come and
tion. é

dine with us, Tg ? Vi 7

“And now,” said Mr. Turnbull, interrupting Wednesday ?”’ Jes ME sme on
Mr. Wharncliffe, who was about to. answer ““O mamma ! he can’t come
me, ‘‘it appears to me that it may be as wellto we have company on that day.’
avoid any exposure—the case is too clear. ‘(So we have, my dear, I had forgotten it -
Call upon your uncle—state in whose hands the but on Thursday we are quite alone : will you
Gocuments are—tell him that he must submit to come on Thursday, Jacob ?.” ve
your terms, which are, that he proves the will, I hesitated, for I felt that it was because I
and permits the marriage to take place imme- wasa waterman that I was not admitted to the
diately, and that no more will] be said on the table where | had been accustomed to dine at
Subject. He, asa lawyer, knows how severely one time, whoever might be invited.

and disgracefully he might be punished for ‘* Yes, .Jacob,;” said Sarah, coming to me
what he has done, and will be too happy now ‘‘it must be Thursday, and you must not deny
to accede to your terms. In the mean time I us; for although wé have ‘greater people en
keep possession of the papers, for the will shall Wednesday, the party that day will not be so
never leave my hands, until it is lodged in agreeable to me as your company on Thurs-
Doctors’ Commons.”’ day.”’

Mr. Wharncliffe could not but approve of The last compliment from Sarah decided me,
this judicious arrangement, and we separated ; and I accepted the invitation. Mr. Drummond
and, not to interfere with my narrative, I may came in, and I delivered to him Mr. Turnbull’s
as well tell the reader at once, that Mr. Wharn- cheque. He was very kind, but said little
cliffe’s uncle bowed to circumstances, pretended further than that he was glad that I had pro-
tO rejoice at the discovery of the will, never mised to dine with them on Thursday. The
mentioned the loss of his tin box, put the hand footman came in and announced the carriage at
ot Cecilia into that of William, and they were the door, and this was a signal for me to take
married one month after the meeting at Mr. my leave. Sarah, as she shook hands with me,
Lurnbull’s, which I have now related. laughing, asserted that it was not considerate

The evening was so far advanced before this in them to detain me any longer, as I must
council of war was over, that I was obliged to have lost half a dozen good fares alrea

T25

on Wednesday -

 
  
  

umeadys3 4So.
defer the delivery of the cheque to Mr. Drum- go down to your boat, pull off your jacket, and
mond until the next day. I left about eleven make up for lost time,’ continued she ; ‘‘one

o'clock, and arrived at noon; when I knocked of these days, mamma and
at the door the servant did not know me. the water, just to patronize you.” I laughed,
‘“What did you want?” and went away, but I was cruelly mortified.
‘‘T wanted to speak with Mrs. or Miss I could not be equal to them, because I was a
Drummond, and my name is Faithful.”’ waterman. ‘The sarcasm of Sarah was not lost
He desired me to sit down in the hall, while upon me; still there was so much kindness
he went up; ‘‘And wipe yeur shoes, my lad.” mixed with it that I could not be angry with
{ cannot say that I was pleased at this com- her. Onthe Thursday I went there, as agreed ;
mand, as I may call it, but he returned, de- they were quite alone—friendly and attentive ;
siring me to walk up, and I followed him. but still there was a degree of constraint which
I found Sarah alone in the drawing-room. communicated itself to.me. After dmner, Mr.
‘‘Jacob, I’m so glad to see you, and I’m Drummond said very little ; there was no re-
sorry that you were made to wait below, but newal of offers to take me into his employ, nor
if people who can be otherwise, will be any inquiry as to how I got on in the profession
watermen, it is not our fault. The servants which I had chosen. On the whole, I found
only judge by appearances.” myself uncomfortable, and was glad to leave
I felt annoyed for a moment, but it was soon early, nor did I feel at all inclined to renew my
over. I sat down by Sarah, and talked with visit. I ought to remark, that Mr. Drummond
her for some time. was now moving in a very different sphere than
“The present I had to make you was a purse when I first knew him.~ He was consignee of
of my own knitting, to put your—earnings in,’’ several large establishments abroad, and was
said she, laughing ; and then she held up her making a rapid fortune. His establishment
finger in mockery, crying, ‘‘Boat, sir; boat, was also ona very different scale, every depart-
sir. Well, Jacob, there’s nothing like indepen- ment being appointed with elegance and con-
dence, after all, and you must not mind my ducive to luxury.’ As I pulled up the river,

I intend to go on

 

laughing at you.” something within my breast told me that the

‘I do not heed it, Sarah,” replied I (but I Domine’s prophecy would turn out correct, and
did mind it very much); ‘‘there is no that I should one day repent of my having
disgrace.” refused the advances of Mr. Drummond—nay,

“* None whatever, I grant; but a want of I did nat exactly know whether I did not, even! at that moment, very much doubt the wisdom
of my asserting my independence.

And now, reader, that I may not surfeit you
with an uninteresting detail, you must allow
nearly two years to pass away before J recom-
mence my narrative. The events of that time
I shall sum up in one or two pages. The
Domine continued the even tenor of his way—
blew his nose and handled his rod with as much
effect as ever. 1 seldom passed a Sunday
without paying him a visit, and benefiting by
his counsel. Mr. Turnbull was always kind
and considerate, but gradually declining in
health, having never recovered from the effects
of hig submersion under the ice. Of the Drum-
monds I saw but little ; when we did meet, I

was kindly received, but I never volunteered a
call, and it was usually from a message through
Tom, that I went to pay my respects. sarah
had grown a very beautiful girl, and the well-
known fact of Mr. Drummond's wealth, and her
being an only daughter, was an introduction
to a circle much higher than they had been
formerly accustomed to. Every day, therefore.
the disparity increased, and I felt less inclined
to make my appearance at their house.

Stapleton, as usual, continued to smoke his
pipe and descant upon Auman natur. Mary
had grown into a splendid woman, but coquet-
tish as ever. Poor Tom Beazeley was fairly
entrapped by her charms, and was a constant
attendant upon her, but she played him fast
and loose—one time encouraging and smiling
on him, at another rejecting and flouting him.
Still Tom persevered, for he was fascinated, and
having returned me the money advanced for his
wherry, he expended all his earnings on dress-
ing himself smartly, and making presents to
her. She had completely grown out of any
control from me, and appeared to have a plea-
sure in doing everything she knew j disap-

roved ; still we were on fair friendly terms as
inmates of the same house.

Old ‘Fom Beazeley’s board was up, and he
had met with great success; and all day he
might be seen hammering at the bottoms of
boats of every description, and heard, at the
same time, lightening his labour with his variety
of song. I often called there on my way Up
and down the river, and occasionally passed a

songs, appeared to be inexhaustible.

Fare, we lose our Boat,

into the ard alongside of mine,
was sitting, with one of Mr. Turn

~

FACOB FA ITHFUL,

few hours, listening to his yarns, which, like his ,

Guineas’ Worth of Argument, not worth Twopence, except on the

‘Tacos, said Tom to me, pulling his wherry in my hand ;
in which 1
bull's books seven years, and when the sun rises, I shall be

 

With respect to myself, it would be more a
narrative of feelings than of action. My life
glided on as did my wherry — silently and
rapidly. One day was but the forerunner of
another, with slight variety of incident and
customers. My acquaintance, as the reader
knows, were but few, and my visits occasional.
I again turned to my books during the long
summer evenings, in which Mary would walk
out, accompanied by ‘Tom, and other admirers;
Mr. ‘Turnbull’s library was at my service, and I
profited much. After a time, reading became
almost a passion, and I was seldom without a
book in my hand. But although I improved
my mind, I did not render myself happier. On
the contrary, I felt more and more that I had
committed an act of egregious folly in thus
asserting my independence. I felt that I was
siperior to my station in life, and that I lived
with those who were not companions—that
had thrown away, by foolish pride, those
prospects of advancement which had_ offered
themselves, and that I was passing my youth
unprofitably. All this crowded upon me more
and more every day, and I bitterly repented, as
the Domine told me that I should, my spirit of
independence—now that it was too late. The
offers 6f Mr. Drummond were never renewed,
and Mr. Turnbull, who had formed the idea
that I.was still of the same opinion, and’ who,
at the same time, in his afflicted sta for he
was a martyr to the rheumatism— naturally
thought more of himself and less of others,
never again proposed that I should quit my
employment. _ Iwas still too proud to mention
my wishes, and thus did I continue plying on
the river, apathetic almost as to gain, and only
happy when, in the pages of history or among
the flowers of poetry, I could dwell upon times
that were past, or revel in imagination. . Thus
did reading, like the snake which is said to con-
tain in its body a remedy for the poison of its
fangs, become, as it enlarged my mind, a-source
of discontent at my humble situation ; but, at
the same time, the only solace in my unhap-
piness, by diverting my thoughts from the
present. Pass, then, nearly two years, reader,
taking the above remarks as an outline, and
filling up the picture from the colours of your
imagination, with incidents of no peculiar value,
and I again resume my narrative,

te
Le

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVII.

A Chapter of Losses to all but the Reader, though at first Tom works with his Wit, and rece
Value of his Exertions—We make the very worst Bargain we ever made in our Lives
and we Jose our Liberty—All Loss and no Profit— Fare very unfair—lTwo

ives the full
Wee dose our

 

Quarter-deck of a Man-of- War.

‘Jacob, do you recollect that my

time is up to-morrow? I shall have run off myfree of the river.
to serve?”

“About fifteen months, as near as I can
recollect, Tom.—Boat, sir?”

‘Yes; oars, my lad; be smart, for I’m in a
hurry. How's tide?”

“‘ Down, sir, very soon; but it’s now slack
water, Tom, see if you.can find Stapleton.”

‘“Pooh! never mind him, Jacob, I'll go with
you. I say, Jones, tell old ‘human natur’ to
look after my boat,” continued Tom, addressing
a waterman of our acquaintance.

“I thought you had come, up to see er,”
said I to Tom, as we shoved off.

“See Aer at Jericho. first,” replied Tom:
“‘she’s worse than a dog vane.”

““What, are you ¢wo again ?”’

“Two indeed—it’s all two—we are two fools.
She is too fanciful, I am too fond; she behaves
too ill, and Lput up with oo much. However,
it’s all ome.”

“I thought it was all ¢wo just now, Tom.”

“But two may be made one, Jacob, you
know,’

“Yes, by the parson ; but you are no parson.”

‘“‘ Anyhow, I’m something like one just now,”
replied Tom, who was pulling the foremost oar;
“for you are a good clerk, and I am sitting
behind you.” ;

“That's not so bad,” observed the gentleman
in the stern-sheets, whom we had forgotten in
our colloquy.

‘“‘A-waterman would make but a bad parson,
Sir,’ replied Tom.

“Why so.2”’

‘‘ He's not likely to practise as he preaches.”

“ Again, why so?”

‘“ Because all his life he looks one way and
pulls another.”

‘“Very good—very good indeed.”

“ Nay, sir, good in practice, but still not good
zz deed—there's a puzzle.”’

‘“A puzzle, indeed, to find such a regular
ehain of repartee in a wherry.”’

“Well, sir, if I’m a regular chain to-day, I
Shall be like an irregular watch to-morrow,”

“ Why so, my lad ?’’

““ Because I shall be out of my time.”

“Take that, my Jad,” said the gentleman,
tossing half a crown to Tom.

‘Thanky, sir; when we meet again may you
have no more wit than you have now.”

“‘How do you mean ?”’

“Not wit enough to keep your money, sir—
that’s all!”

“I presume you think that T have not got
much. ”’

‘‘ Which, sir, wit or money?”

“Wit, my lad.”

“Nay, sir, I think you have both; the first
you purchased just now; and you would hardly
have bought it, if you had not money to
Spare.”

“‘ But I mean wit of my own.”
‘‘No man has wit of his own; if he borrows

How much more have you

 

 

  
   
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
    
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

YACOB FAITHFUL, ce

it, it’s not his own; if he has it in himself, it’s
mtother wit, so it’s not his.”

We pulled into the stairs near London Bridge,
and the gentleman paid me his fare. ‘Good
bye, my lad,” said he to Tom.

“Fare you well, for well you've paid your
fare,” replied Tom, holding out his arm to
assist him out of the boat. ‘ Well, Jacob, I’ve
made more by my head than by my hands this
morning. I wonder, in the long run, which
gains most in the world.”’

“Head, Tom, depend upon it; but they work
best together.”

Here we were interrupted —‘‘I say, you
waterman, have you a mind for a good fare?”
cried a dark-looking, not over clean, square-
built, short young man, standing .on the top of
the flight of steps.

‘Where to, sir?”

‘“‘Gravesend, my jokers, if you a’n't afraid of
salt water.”

“That's a long way, sir,” replied Tom;
‘‘and for salt water, we must have salt to our
porridge.”

“So you shall, my lads, and a glass of grog
into the bargain.”

“Yes; but the bargain a’n’t made yet, sir.
Jacob, will you go?”

“Yes, but not under a guinea.”’

“Not under two guineas,” replied Tom,
aside. “‘Are you in a great hurry, sir?” ¢on-
tinued he, addressing the young man.

“Yes, in a devil of a hurry; I shall lose my
ship. What will you take me for?”

“Two guineas, sir.”

“Very well. Just come up to the public-
house here, and put in my traps.”’

We brought down his luggage, put it into
the wherry, and started down the river with the
tide. Our fare was very communicative, and
we found out that he was master’s mate of the
Immortalité, forty-gun frigate, lying off Graves-
end, which was to drop down the next morning
and wait for sailing orders at the Downs. We
carried the tide with us, and in the afternoon
were close to the frigate, whose blue ensign
waved proudly over the taffrail, There was a
considerable sea arising from the wind meeting
the tide, and before we arrived close to her, we
had shipped a great deal of water; and when
we were alongside, the wherry, with the» chest

in her bows, pitched so heavily, that we were
afraid of being swamped. Just as a rope had
been made fast to the chest, and they were
weighing it out of the wherry, the ship’s launch

With water came alongside, and, whether from

accident or wilfully I know not, although I
suspect the latter, the midshipman who steered
her, shot her against the wherry, which was
crushed in, and immediately filled, leaving ‘Tom
and me in the water, and in danger of being
jammed to death between the launch and the
side of the frigate. - The seamen in the boat,
however, forced her off with their oars, and
hauled us in, while our wherry sank with her

igen eer edd s123

gunnel even witn the water's edge, and floated
away astern.

As soon as we had shaken ourselves a little,
we went up the side, and asked one of the
officers to send a boat to pick up our wherry.

«Speak to the first-lieutenant— there he is,”
was the reply.

I went up to the person pointed out to me:
‘Tf you please, sir

«« What the devil do-you want?”

«« A boat, sir, to——”

“A boat! the devil you do!”

“To pick up our wherry, sir,” interrupted
Tom.

‘Pick it up yourself,” said the first-lieutenant,
passing us, and hailing the men aloft. ‘‘Main-
top there, hook on your stays. Be smart.
Lower away the yards. Marines and after-
guard, clear launch. Boatswain's mate!”

«Here Sir.\

“Pipe marines and after-guard to clear
Jaunch.”’

MV Ay, lay, site

“But we shall lose our boat, Jacob,” said
Tom tome. ‘‘They stove it in, and they ought
to pick it up.” Tom then went up to the
master’s mate, whom we had brought on board,
and explained our difficulty.

‘‘Upon my soul, I darn't say a word. I’m
in a scrape for breaking my leave. Why the
devil didn’t you take care of your wherry, and
haul ahead when you saw the launch coming? -

“ How could we, when the chest was hoist-
ing out?”

“ Very trie. Well, I am very sorry for you,
but I must look after my chest.” So saying,
he disappeared down the gangway ladder.

“T'll try it again, anyhow,” said Tom, going
up to the first lientenant. “ Hard case to lose
our boat and our bread, sir,”” said Tom, touch-
ing his hat.

The first-lieutenant, now that the marines
and after-guard were at a regular stamp and
go, had, unfortunately, more leisure to attend
to us. He looked at us earnestly, and walked
aft to see if the wherry was yet in sight. At
that moment, up came the master’s mate, who
had not yet reported himself to the first-
heutenant.

““Tom,” said I, ‘‘ there is a wherry close to,—
let us get into it, and go after our boat our-
selves.’

‘Wait one moment to see if they will help
us, and get our money at all events,” replied
Tom ; and we both walked aft.

‘Come on board, sir,”? said the master’s
mate, touching his hat with humility.

“You've broke your leave, sir,’ replied the
first-lieutenant, ‘‘and now I’ve to send a boat
to pick up the wherry through your careless-
ness.”

‘Tf you please, they are two very fine young
men,” observed the mate. ‘‘ Make capital fore-
topmen. Boat’s not worth sending for, sir.”
‘This hint,-given by the mate to the first-

’

eACOB FAITHFUL.

lieutenant, to regain his favour, was hot lost.
“Who are you, my lads?” said the first-
lieutenant to us.

«‘ Watermen, sir.”

“«Watermen, heh !
boat?”

“No sir,” replied I; “‘it belonged to the man
that T_serve with.”

“QO! not your own boat?
apprentice, then?”

“Yes sir, both apprentices.”

«Show me your indentures.””

‘We don’t carry them about with us.”

“Then how am I to know that you are
apprentices P”’

“We can prove it, sir, if you wish it.”

“T do wish it ; at all events, the captain will
wish it.”

“Will you please to send for the boat, sir?
she’s almost out of sight.”

“No, my lads; I can’t find king’s boats for
such service. ’

“Then we had better go ourselves, Tom,”
said 1; and we went forward to call the water-
man, who was lying on his oars close to the
frigate.

“« Stop—stop; not so fast.
going, my lads?”

‘To pick up out boat, sir.”

“Without my leave, heh?”

‘We don’t belong to the frigate, sir.”

“No; but I think it very likely that you
will, for you have no protections.”

‘We can send for them, and have them
down by to-morrow morning.”

“Well, you may do so, if you please, my
lads; but you cannot expect me to believe
everything that is told me. Now, for instance,
how long have you to serve, my lad?” said he,
addressing Tom.

‘‘My time is up to-morrow, Sit

“Up to-morrow? Why, then I shall detain
you until to-morrow, and then I shall press

ou.

“Tf you detain me now, sir, 1 am pressed
to-day.”

“QO no! you are only detained until you
prove your apprenticeship, that's all.”

“Nay, sir, I certainly am pressed during my
apprenticeship.”

“Not at all, and I'll prove it to you. You
don’t belong to the ship until you are victualled
on her books. Now I shan't wzctual you to-
day, and therefore you won't be pressed.”

“T’ shall be pressed with hunger, at all
events,” replied Tom, who never could lose a
joke.

“No, you shan’t; for Pll send you both a
good dinner out of the gun-room ; so you won't
be pressed at all,” replied, the lieutenant,
laughing at Tom’s reply.

‘You will allow me to go Sir, at all events,”
replied I; for I knew that the only chance of
getting Tom and myself clear was my hasten-
ing to Mr. Drummond for assistance.

Was that your own

Are you an

Where are you

   

 

ib
Fi
fi
f‘* Pooh |! nonsense; you must both row in
the same boat, as you have done. The fact is,
my lads, I’ve taken a great fancy to you both,
and I can’t make up my mind to part with
you.

“It's hard to lose our bread this way,”
replied I.

‘‘We will find you bread, and hard enough
you will find it,” replied the lieutenant, laugh-
ing > ‘‘it’s like‘a flint.”

‘“So we ask for bread, and you give us a
stone,’ said Tom; ‘“‘ that’s ’gainst Scripture.”

‘* Very true, my lad; but the fact is, all the
Scriptures in the world won’t man the frigate.
Men we must have, and get them how we can,
and where we can, and when we can. Neces-
sity has no law ; at least it obliges us to break
through all laws. After all, there’s no great
hardship in serving the king for a year or two,
and filling your pockets with prize-money.
Suppose you volunteer ?”

‘* Will you allow us to goon shore for half
an hour to think about it ? ” replied I.

‘““No; I’m afraid of the crimps dissuading
you. But Ill give you till to-morrow morning,
and then I shall*be sure of one, at all events.”

““Thanky for me,” replied Tom.

‘* You're very welcome,” replied the first-
lieutenant, as, laughing at us, he went down
the companion-ladder to_his dinner.

‘“ Well, Jacob, we are in for it,” said Tom, as
soon as we were alone. ‘‘ Depend upon it,
there’s no mistake this time.”

“‘T am afraid not,” replied I, ‘‘ unless we can
get a letter to your father, or Mr. Drummond,
who, I am sure, would help us. But that dirty
fellow, who gave the heutenant the hint, said
the frigate sailed to-morrow morning ; there he
is, let us speak to him.”’

‘When does the frigate sail?” said Tom to
the master’s mate, who was walking the deck.

‘‘My good fellow, it’s not the custom on
board of a man-of-war for men to ask officers
to answer such impertinent questions. It’s
quite sufficient for you to know that when the
frigate sails, you will have the honour of sailing
in her.”

‘Well, sir,’ replied I, nettled at his answer,
‘‘at all events you will have the goodness to
pay us our fare. We have lost our wherry,
and our liberty, perhaps, through you; we may
as well have our two guineas.”

‘“Two guineas! It’s two guineas you want,
ene
‘Ves, sir, that was the fare agreed upon.”

“Why, you must observe, my men,” said the
master’s mate, hooking a thumb into each arm-
hole of-his waistcoat, ‘‘ there must be alittle
explanation as to that affair. I promised you
two guineas as watermen; but now that you
belong to a man-of-war, you are no longer
watermen. I always pay my debts honourably
when I can find the lawful creditors ; but where
are the watermen?”’

‘« Frere we are, sir.”

FACOB FAITHFUL.

  
    
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

30
129

‘“No, my lads, you are men-of-war's men
now, and that quite alters the case.”

‘‘But we are not so yet, sir; even if it did
alter the case, we are not pressed yet.”

‘Well, then, you will be to-morrow, per-
haps ; at all events, we shall see. If you are
allowed to go on shore again, I owe you two
guineas as watermen ; and if you are detained
as men-of-war’s men, why then you will only
have done your duty in pulling down one of
your officers. You see, my lads, I say nothing
but what’s fair.”

‘Well, sir, but when you hired us we were
watermen,” replied Tom.

‘‘Very true, so you were; but recollect, the
two guineas were not due until you had com-
pieted your task, which was not until you came
on board. When you came on board you were
pressed, and became men-of-war’s men. You
should have asked for your fare before the first-
lieutenant got'hold of you. Don’t you perceive
the justice of my remarks ?”

‘‘Can’t say I do, sir; but I perceive there is
very little chance of our being paid,” said Tom.

“You are a lad of discrimination,” replied
the master’s mate: ‘‘and now I advise you to
drop the subject, or you may induce me to pay
you ‘man-of-war fashion.’”’

“‘ How's that, sir?

“Over the face and eyes, as the cat paid the
monkéy,” replied the master’s mate, walking
leisurely away.

‘“No go, Tom,” said I, smiling at the ab-
surdity of the arguments.

‘‘T’m afraid it’s zo go in every way, Jacob.
However, I don’t care much about it. I have
had a little hankering after seeing the world,
and perhaps now's as well as any other time ;
but I’m sorry for you, Jacob.”

‘It’s all my own fault,” replied I; and I fell
into one of those reveries so often indulged in
of late, as to the folly of my conduct in assert-
ing my independence, which had now ended in
my losing my liberty. But we were cold from
the ducking we had received, and moreover
very hungry. The first-lieutenant did not forget
his promise ; he sent us up a good dinner, and
a glass of grog each, which we discussed under
the half-deck between two of the guns. We
had some money in our pockets, and we pur-
chased some sheets of paper from the bumboat
people, who were on the main-deck supplying
the seamen; and I wrote to Mr. Drummond
and Mr. Turnbull, as well as to Mary and old
Tom, requesting the two latter to forward our
clothes to Deal, in case of our being detained.
Tom also wrote to comfort his mother, and the
greatest comfort which he could give was, as he
said, to promise to keep sober. Having in-
trusted these letters to the bumboat woman,
who promised faithfully to put them into the
post-office, we had then nothing else to do but
to look out for some place to sleep. Our
clothes had dried on us, and we were walking
under the half-deck ; but not a soul spoke to,
LDor even took the least notice of us. In a newly-
manned ship just ready to sail, there is a uni-
versal feeling of selfishness prev ailing among the
ship's company. Some, if not most, had, like
us, been pressed, and their thoughts were occu-
pied with their situation, and the change in
their prospects. Others were busy making their
little arrangements with their wives or relations ;
while the mass of the seamen, not yet organized
by discipline, or known to each other, were ina
state of disunion and individuality, which natu-

YACOB FAITHFUL.

rally induced every man to look after himself
without caring for his neighbour. We there-
fore could not expect, nor did we receive, any
sympathy ; we were in a scene of bustle and
noise, yet alone. A spare topsail, which had
been stowed for the present between two of the
guns, was the best accommodation which offered
itself. We took possession of it, and tired with
exertion of mind and body, were soon fast
asleep.

 

et Ae lo

XXXVI.

There are many Ups and Downs in this World—We find ourselves in the Downs—Our Captaui comes on
Board, and gives us a short Sermon upon Antipathies, which most of us never heard the /zke of—He
sets us all upon the go, with his stef Watch, and never calls the Watch, until the Watch is satished

with all Hands.

Av daylight the next morning, we were awakened
with a start by the shrill whistles of the boat-
swain and his mates piping all hands to unmoor.
The pilot was on board, and the wind was fair.
As the frigate had no anchor down, but was
hanging to the moorings in the river, we had
nothing to do but to cast off, sheet homé, and
in less than half an hour we were under all sail,
stemming the last quarter of the flood-tide. Tom
and I had remained on the gangway, watching
the proceedings, but not assisting, when the
ship being fairly under sail, the order was given
by the first-lieutenant to coil down the ropes.

‘‘T think, Jacob, we may as well help,” said
Tom, laying hold of the main tack, which was
passed aft, and hauling it forward.

“With all my heart,” replied I, and I hauled
it forward, while he coiled it away.

While we were thus employed the first-lieu-
tenant walked forward and recognised us.
“That's what I like, my lads,’ said he; ‘‘ you
don’t sulk, I see, and I sha’n’t forget it.”

“T hope you won't forget that we are ap-
prentices, sir, and allow us to go on shore, ”
replied I.

“T’ye a shocking bad memory in some
things,” was his reply, as he continued forward
to the forecastle. He did not, however, forget
to victual us that day, and insert our names in
pencil upon the ship’s books; but we were not
put into any mess, or stationed.

We anchored in the Downs on the following
morning. It came on to blow hard in the after-
noon, and there was no communication with
the shore, except by signals, until the third day,
yhen it moderated, and the signal was made,
‘« Prepare to weigh, and send boat for captain.”
In the mean time, several boats came off, and
one had a postman on board. I had letters
from Mr. Drummond and Mr. Turnbull, telling
me that they would immediately apply to the
Admiralty for our being liberated, and one from
Mary, half of which was for me, and the rest to
Tom, Stapleton had taken Tom’s wherry and

pulled down to old Tom Beazeley, with my
clothes, which, with young Tom’s, had been
despatched to Deal. Tom had a letter from
his mother, half-indited by his father, and the
rest from herself; but I shall not trouble the
reader with the contents, as he may imagine
what was likely to be said upon such an
occasion.

Shortly afterwards our clothes, which had
been sent to the care of an old shipmate of
Tom’s father, were brought on board, and we
hardly had’ received them, when the signal-man
reported that the captain was coming off,
There were so many of the men in the frigate
who had never seen the captain, that no little
anxiety was shown by the ship’s company to

is, his outward appearance, they might draw
conclusions as to what they might expect from
one who had such unlimited power to make
them happy or miserable. I was looking out
of the main-deck port with Tom, when the gig
pulled alongside, and was about to scrutinize
the outward and visible:siens of the captain,
vhen I was attracted by the face of a lieutenant
sitting by his side, whom I immediately recog-
nized. It was Mr. Wilson, the officer who had
spun the oar and sunk the wherry, from which,
as the reader may remember, I rescued my
friends, the senior and junior clerk. I was
overjoyed at this, as I hoped that he would
interest himself in our favour. The pipe of the
boatswain re-echoed as the captain ascended the
side. He appeared on the quarter-deck—every
hat descending to do him honour ; the marines
presented arms, and the marine officer at their
head lowered the point of his sword. “In
return, the omnipotent personage, taking his
cocked hat with two fingers and a thumb, by
the highest peak, lifted it one inch off his head,
and replaced it, desirmg the marine officer to
dismiss the guard. I had now an opportunity,
as he paced to and fro with the first-lieutenant,
to examine his appearance. te was a tall,

4

 

 

Sic

wo¥ACOB

very large-boned, gaunt man, with an enor-
mous breadth of shoulders, displaying Her-
culean strength (and this we found he eminently
possessed). His face was of a size correspond-
ing to~his large frame ; his features were harsh,
his eye piercing, but his nose, although bold,
was handsome, and his capacious mouth was
furnished with the most splendid row of large
teeth that I ever beheld. The character of his
countenance was determination tather than
Severity. When he smiled, the expression was
agreeable. His gestures and his language were
emphatic, and the planks trembled with his
elephantine walk.

He had been on board about ten minutes,
when he desired the first-lieutenant to turn the
hands up, and all the men were ordered on the
larboard side of the quarter-deck. As soon as
they were all gathered together, looking with as
much awe on the captain as a flock of sheep at
a strange, mischief-meaning dog, he thus ad-
dressed them: ‘My lads, as it so happens
that we are-all to trust to the same planks, it
may be just as well that we should understand
one another. I /zke to see my officers attentive
to their duty, and behave themselves as gentle-
men. I /e to see my men well disciplined,
aetive, and séber. What I d&e, I will have—
you understand me. Now,’’ continued he,
putting on astern look—‘‘now just look in
my face, and see if you think you can play
with me.” The men looked in his face, and
saw that there was no chance of playing with
him ; and so they expressed by their counte-
nances. The captain appeared satisfied by
their mute acknowledgments, and to encourage
them, smiled, and showed his white teeth, as
he desired the first-lieutenant to pipe down.

As soon as#itis scene was over, I walked up
to Mr. Wilson, the lieutenant, who was stand-
ing aft, and accosted him. *“Perhaps, © sir?
you do not recollect me ; but we met one night
when you were sinking in a wherry, and you
asked my name.’

““And I recollect it, my lad ; it was Faithful
was it not?”

““Yes, sir ;” and I then entered into an ex-
planation of our circumstances, and requested
his advice and assistance.

He shook his head. ‘‘Our captain,” said
he, ‘‘is a very strange person. He has com-
manding interest, and will do more in defiance
of the rules of the Admiralty, than any one in
the service. If an Admiralty order came down
to discharge you he would obey it’; but as for
regulations, he cares very little for them. Be-
sides, we sail in an hour. However, I will
speak to him, although I shall probably get a
rap on the knuckles, as it is the business of the
first-lieutenant, and not mine.”

‘‘ But, sir, if you requesied the first-lieutenant
to speak?”

“If I did, he would not, in all probability ;
men are too valuable, and the first-lieutenant
knows that the captain would not like to dis-

 

0Q u

&

’

  

BATIFIP OL, 9

ist

charge you. He will therefore say nothing
until it is too late, and then throw all the
blame upon himself for forgetting it. Our
captain has such interest, that his recommenda-
tion would give a commander's rank to-morrow,
and we must all take care of oursélves. How-
ever, I will try, although I can give you very
little hopes.”’

Mr. Wilson went up to the captain, who was
still walking with the first-lieutenant, and touch-
ing his hat, introduced the subject, stating, as
an apology, that he was acquainted with me.

“Oh, if the man is an acquaintance of yours,
Mr. Wilson, we certainly must decide,” replied
the captain, with mock politeness. ‘‘ Where is
he?” T advanced, and Tom followed me. We
Stated our case. ‘‘I always like to put people
out of suspense,” said the captain, “because it
unsettles a man—so now hear me; if I hap-
pened to press one of the blood royal, and the
king, and the queen, and all the little princesses
were to go down on their knees, I’d keep him,
without an Admiralty order for his discharge.
Now, my lads, do you perceive your chance?”
Then turning away to Mr. Wilson, he said,
‘You will oblige me by stating upon what
grounds you ventured to interfere in behalf of
these men, and I trust your explanation will
be satisfactory. Mr. Knight,” continued he,
to the first-lieutenant, ‘send these men down
below, watch, and station them.”

We went below by the gangway ladder, and
watched the conference between the captain
and Mr. Wilson, who we were afraid had done
himself no good by trying to assist us. But
when it was over, the captain appeared pleased,
and Mr. Wilson walked away with a satisfied
air. AsI afterwards discovered, it did me no
little good. The hands were piped to dinner,
and after dinner we weighed and made sail,
and thus were Tom and I fairly, or rather un-
fairly, embarked in his majesty's service.

‘(Well, Tom,” said I, ‘‘it’s no use crying,
What's done can’t be helped ; here we are, now
let us do all we can to make friends.”

“That's just my opinion, Jacob. Hang
care, it killed the cat ; I shall make the best
of it, and I don’t see why we may not be as
happy here as anywhere else. Father says we
may, if we do our duty, and I don’t mean to
shirk mine. The more the merrier, they say,
and I'll be hanged there's enough of us here.”’

I hardly need say, that for the first three or
four days we were not very comfortable: we
had been put into the seventh mess, and were
stationed in the foretop ; for although we had
not been regularly bred up as seamen, the first-
lieutenant so decided, saying, that he was sure
that, In a few weeks, there would be no smarter
men in the ship.

We were soon clear of the Channel, and all
hands were anxious to know our destination,
which, in this almost solitary instance, had
really been kept a secret, although ‘surmises
were correct. ‘There is one point which by the

Er 2

   
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  

aah ARAN STERNER BO132

present arrangements invariably makes known
whether a ship is ‘‘fitting foreign,” or for
home service, which is, by the stores and pro-
visions ordered on board ; and these stores are
so arranged, according to the station to which
the vessel is bound, that it is generally pretty
well known what her destination is to be.
This is bad, and at the same time easily re-
medied : for if every ship, whether for home
service or foreign, was ordered to fit foreign, no
one would be able to ascertain where she was
about to proceed. With a very little trouble
strict secrecy might be preserved, now that the
Navy Board is abolished ; but during its ex-
istence that was impossible. The Immortalité
was a very fast-sailing vessel, and when the
captain (whose name I have forgotten to men-
tion,—it was Hector Maclean) opened his
sealed orders, we found that we were to cruise
for two months between the Western Isles and
Madeira, in quest of some privateers, which
had captured many of our outward bound
West Indiamen, notwithstanding that they
were well protected by convoy, and, after that
period, to join the admiral at Halifax, and
relieve a frigate which had been many years
on that station. In a week we were on our
station, the weather was fine, and the whole of
the day was passed in training the men to the
guns, small arms, making and shortening sail,
reefing topsails, and manoeuvring the ship.
The captain would never give up his point,
and sometimes we were obliged to make or
shorten sail twenty times running until he was
satisfied,

‘My lads,” he would say to the ship's com-
pany, sending for them aft, ‘‘ you have done
this pretty well, you have only been two
minutes—not bad for a new ship's company ;
but I Ze it done in a.minute and a half.
We'll try again.” And sure enough it was try
again, until in the minute and a half it was ac-
complished. Then the captain would say, aL
knew you could do it, and having once done it,
my lads, of course you can do it again.”

Tom and I adhered to our good resolutions.
We were as active and as forward as we could
be; and Mr. Knight, the first-lieutenant,
pointed us out to the captain. As soon as
the merits of the different men were ascer-
tained, several alterations were made in the
watch and station bills, as well as in the ratings
on the ship's books, and Tom and I were made
second captains, larboard and starboard, of the
foretop. This was great promotion for so
young hands, especially as we were not bred
as regular sailors; but it was for the activity
and zeal which we displayed. Tom was a
great favourite among the men, always joking,
and ready for any lark or nonsense ; moreover,
he used to mimic the captain, which few others
dared do. He certainly seldem ventured to do
it below ; it was generally in the foretop, where
he used to explain to the men what he /eked.
One day we both ventured it, but it was on an

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  

occasion which excused it. Tom and I were
aft, sitting in the jolly-boat astern, fitting some
of her gear, for we belonged to the boat at that
time, although we were afterwards shifted into
the cutter. The frigate was going about four
knots through the water, and the sea was
pretty smooth. One of the marines fell over-
board, out of the forechains. ‘Man over-
board,” was cried out immediately, and the
men were busy clearing away the starboard
cutter, with ali the expedition requisite on such
an occasion. The captain was standing aft on
the signal-chest, when the marine passed astern ;
the poor fellow could not swim, and Tom turn-
ing to me, said, ‘i jacob; I should dhe to save
that Jolly,” and immediately dashed overboard.

‘‘And I should Ze to help you, shom cred
I, and followed him.

The captain was close to us, and heard us
both. Between us, we easily held up the marine,
and the boat had us all on board in less than a
minute. When we came up the side, the
captain was at the gangway. He showed his
white teeth, and shook the telescope in his
hand at us. ‘‘I heard you both ; and! should
like to have a good many more impudent
fellows like you.”

We continued our cruise, looking sharp out
for the privateers, but without success: we
then touched at Madeira for intelligence, and
were informed that they had been seen more to
the southward. ‘The frigate’s head was turned
in that direction until we were abreast of the
Canary Isles, and then we traversed east and
west, north or south, just as the wind and
weather, or the captain’s /7ke-—thought proper.
We had now cruised seven weeks out of our
time without success, and the captain promised
five guineas to the man who s!,jg 1 discover
the objects of our search. Often “4 Tom and
I climb to the mast-head and scan the horizon,
and so did many others : but those who were sta-
tioned at the look-out were equally on the alert.
The ship's company were now in a very fair
state of discipline, owing to the incessant prac-
tice, and every evening the hands were turned
up to skylark, that is, to play and amuse them-
selves. There was one amusement which was
the occasion of a great deal of mirth, and it was
a favourite one of the captain’s, as it made
the men smart. Itis called ‘‘Follow my leader.”
One of the men leads, and all who choose,
follow him : sometimes forty or fifty will join.
Whatever the leader does, the rest must do
also; wherever he goes they must follow.
Tom, who was always the foremost for fun, was
one day the leader, and after having scampered
up the rigging, laid out on the yards, climbed
in by the lifts, crossed from mast to mast by
the stays, slid down by the backstays, blacked
his face in the funnel, in all which motions he
was followed by about thirty others, hallooing
and laughing, while the officers and other men
were looking on and admiring their agility, a
novel idea came into Tom's head; it was thenabout seven o'clock in the evening,—the ship
was lying becalmed : Tom again sprung up the
rigging, laid out to the main yard-arm, followed
by me and the rest, and as soon as he was at
the boom iron, he sprung up, holding by the
lift, and crying out, ‘‘ Follow my leader,”
leaped from. the yard-arm into the sea. I was
second, and crying out, ‘‘ Follow my leader”’
to the rest, I followed him, and the others,
whether they could swim or not, did the same,
it being a point of honour not to refuse.

The captain was just coming up the ladder,
when he saw, as he imagined, a man tumble over-
board, which was ‘Tom in his descent ; but how
much more was he astonished at seeing twenty
or thirty more tumbling off by twos or threes,
until it appeared that half the ship’s company
were overboard. He thought that they were
possessed with devils, like the herd of swine in
the Scriptures. Some of the men who could
not swim, but were too proud to refuse to
follow, were nearly drowned. As it was, the
first-lieutenant was obliged to lower the cutter
to pick them up, and they were all brought on
board,

FACOB FAITHFUL.

 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

133

‘‘Confound that-fellow,” said the captain to
the first-lieutenant, ‘‘ he is always at the head of
all mischief. Follow my leader, indeed! Send
Tom Beazeley here.’”’ We all thought that
Tom was about to catch it. ‘‘Hark ye, my
lad,” said the captain, ‘‘a joke’s a joke, but
everybody can't swim as well as you. I can't
afford to lose any of my men by your pranks,
so don't try that again—I don't Ze it.”

Every one thought that Tom got off very
cheaply ; but he was a favourite with the
captain, although that never appeared but in-
directly. ‘‘Beg pardon, sir,” replied Tom,
with great apparent humility, ‘‘ but they were
all so dirty—they’d blacked themselves at the
funnel, and I thought a little washing would
not do them any harm.”

‘Be off, sir, and recollect what I have said,”
replied the captain, turning away, and showing
his white teeth.

I heard the first-lieutenant say to the captain,
‘‘He’s worth any ten men in the ship, sir. He
keeps them all alive and merry, and sets sucha
good example.

 

CoAREER

XXXIX.

“To be, or not to be,” that is the Question—Sflixters on Board of a Man-of-war, very different from
Splinters in the Finger on Shore—Tom prevents this Narrative from being wound up by my going
down—I receive a Lawyer’s Letter, and instead of being annoyed, am delighted with it.

In the mean time Tom had gone up to the
fore-royal yard, and was looking round for the
five guineas, and just as the conversation was
going on, cried out, ‘‘ Sail, ho!”

«« Strange sail reported.”

‘‘Where?”’ cried the first-lieutenant, going
forward.

‘Right under the sun.”

‘‘ Mast-head there—do you make her out?”

‘Ves, sir; I think she’s a schooner; but I
can only see down to her mainyard.”’

‘‘That’s one of them, depend upon it,” said
the captain. ‘‘ Up there, Mr. Wilson, and see
what you make of her. Who is the man who
reported it?”

‘“Tom Beazeley, sir.”

‘“«Confound the fellow, he makes all my ship’s
company jump overboard, and now I must give
him five guineas. What do you make of her,
Mr. Wilson?”

“A Jow schooner, sir, very rakish indeed,
black sides. I cannot make out her ports ; but
IT should think she can show a very pretty set
of teeth. She is becalmed as well as we.”

‘‘Well, then, we must whistle for a breeze.
In the mean time, Mr. Knight, we will have the
boats all ready.”

If you whistle long enough the wind is certain
to come. In about an hour the breeze did
come, and we took it down with us ; but it was
too dark to distinguish the schooner, which we

had lost sight of as soon as the sun had set.
About midnight the breeze failed us, and it was
again calm. The captain and most of the
officers were up all night, and the watch were
employed preparing the boats for service. It
was my morning watch, and at break of day I
saw the schooner from the foretop-sail-yard,
about four miles to the N. W. Iran down on
deck, and reported her.

“Very good, my lad. I have her, Mr.
Knight,” said the captain, who had directed
his glass to where I pointed ; ‘‘and I will have
her, too, one way or the other. No signs of
wind. Lower down the cutters. Get the yards
and stays hooked all ready. We'll wait a little,
and see a little more of her when it’s broad
daylight.”

At broad daylight the schooner, with her
appointments, was distinctly to be made out.
She was pierced for sixteen guns, and was a
formidable vessel to encounter with the boats.
The calm still continuing, the launch, yawl,
and pinnace, were hoisted out, manned, and
armed. ‘The schooner got out her sweeps, and
was evidently preparing for their reception.
Still the captain appeared unwilling to risk the
lives of his men in such a dangerous conflict,
and there we all Jay alongside, each man sitting
in his place with his oar raised on end. Cat’s-
paws of wind, as they call them, flew across
the water here and there, ruffling its smooth

Si

Sr accotpaeciae ian134 JACOB
|

surface, portending that a breeze would soon
spring up, and the hopes of this chance ren-
dered the captain undecided.. Thus did we
remain alongside, for Tom and I were stationed
in the first and second cutters, until twelve
o'clock, when we were ordered out to take a
hasty dinner, and the allowance of spirits was
served out. At one, it was still calm. Hadwe
started when the boats were first hoisted out,
the affair would have been long before decided.
At last, the captain perceiving that the chance
of a breeze was still smaller then than in the
forenoon, ordered the boats to shove off. We
were still about the same distance from the

rivateer, from three and a half to four miles.

n less than half an hour we were within gun-
shot ; the privateer swept her broadside to us,
and commenced firing guns with single round
shot, and with great precision. They ricochetted
over the boats, and at every shot, we made
sure of our being struck. At this time a slight
breeze swept along the water. It reached the
schooner, filled her sails, and she increased her
distance. Again it died away, and we neared
her fast. She swept round again, and recom-
menced firing, and one of her shot passed
through the second cutter, in which I was
stationed, ripping open three of her planks, and
wounding two men besides me. The boat,
heavy with the gun, ammunition chests, &C.,
immediately filled, and turned over with us,
and it was with difficulty that we could escape
from the weighty hamper that was poured out
of her. One of the poor fellows, who had not
been wounded, remained entangled under the
boat, and never rose again. The remainder of
the crew rose to the surface and clung to the
side of the boat. The first cutter hauled to our
assistance, for we had separated to render the
shot less effectual; but it was three or four
minutes before she was able to render us any
assistance, during which time the other two
wounded men, who had been apparently injured
in the legs or body, exhausted with loss of
blood, gradually unloosed their holds and dis-
appeared under the calm blue water. I had
received a splinter in my left arm, and held on
longer than the others who had been maimed:
but I could not hold on till the cutter came al
lost my recollection, and sank. Tom, who was
in the bow of the cutter, perceiving me to go
down, dived after me, brought me up again to
the surface, and we were both hauled in. The
other five men were also saved. As soon
as we were picked up, the cutter followed the
other boats, which continued to. advance to-
wards the privateer. I recovered my senses,
and found that a picce of one of the thwarts of
the boat, broken off by the shat; had been
forced through the fiéshy part of my arm below
the elbow, where it still remained. It was a
very dangerous as well as a painful wound,
The officer of the boat, without asking me, laid
hold of the splinter and tore it out ; but the
pain was so great, from its jageed form, and

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 

FAITHFUL.

the effusion of blood so excessive after this
operation, that I again fainted. Fortunately no
artery was wounded, or I must have lost my
arm. ‘They bound it up, and laid me at the
bottom of the boat. The firing from the
schooner was now very warm; and we were
within a quarter of a mile of her, when the
breeze sprang up, and she increased her distance
a mile. There was a prospect of wind from
the appearance of the sky, although, for a time,
it again died away. We were within less than
half a mile of the privateer, when we perceived
that the frigate was bringing up a smart breeze,
and rapidly approached the scene of conflict,

The breeze swept along the water and caught
the sails of the privateer, and she was again, in
spite of all the exertions of our wearied men,
out of gun-shot ; and the first-lieutenant very
properly decided upon making for the frigate,
which was now within a mile of us. In less
than-ten minutes the boats were hoisted in, and
the wind now fising fast, we were under all sail,
going at the rate of seven miles an hour; the
privateer having also gained the breeze, and
gallantly holding her own.

I was taken down into the cockpit, the only
wounded man brought on board. ‘The surgeon
examined my arm, and at first shook his head,
and I expected immediate amputation ; but on
re-examination he gave his opinion that the
limb might be saved. My wound was dressed,
and I was put into my hammock, in a screened
bulk under the half-deck, where the cooling
breeze from the ports fanned my feverish cheeks.
But I must return to the chase.

In less than an hour the wind had increased,
so that we could with difficulty carry our
royals ; the privateer was holding her own about
three miles right ahead, keeping our three masts
in one. At sunset they were forced to take in
the royals, and the sky gave every prospect of a
rough gaie. Still we carried on every Stitch of
canvas which the frigate could bear ; keeping
the chase in sight with our night-glasses, and
watching all her motions,

The breeze increased ; before morning there
was a heavy sea, and the frigate could only
carry top-gallant sails over double-reefed top-
sails. At daylight we had neared the schooner,
by the sextants, about a quarter of a mile, and
the captain and officers went down to take
some repose andirefreshment, not having quitted
the deck for twenty-four hours. All that day
did we chase the privateer, without gaining
more than a mile upon her, and it now blew up
a furious gale: the-top-gallant sails had been
before taken in ; the topsails were close reefed,
and we were running at’ the speed of nearly
twelve miles an hour; still so well did the
privateer sail, that she was barely within gun-
shot, when the sun went down below the horizon,
angry and fiery red. There was now great
fear that she would escape, from the difficulty
of keeping the glasses upon her during the
night, in a heavy sea, and the expectation that

tatshe would furl all and allow us to pass her. It
appeared, however, that this manoeuvre did
not enter into the head of the captain of the
privateer ; he stood on under the press of sail,
wnich even in daytime would have been con-
sidered alarming ; and at daylight, owing to the
steering during night never being so correct as
during the day, she had recovered her distance,
and was about four miles from us. ‘The gale,
ifanything, had increased, and Captain Maclean
determined, notwithstanding, to shake a reef
out of the topsails.

In the morning, as usual, Tom came to my
cot, and asked me how I was. I told him I was
better and in less pain, and that the surgeon had
promised to dress my wound after breakfast, for
the bandages had not been removed since I had
first come on board. ‘‘ And the privateer, Tom,
I hope we shall take her ; it will be some com-
fort to me that she is captured.”

‘‘T think we shall, if the masts stand, Jacob;
but we have an enormous press of sail, as you
may guess, by the way in which the frigate
jumps ; there is no standing on the forecastle,
and there is a regular waterfall down in the
waist from forward. We are nearing her now.
It is beautiful to see how she behaves ; when
she heels over, we can perceive that all her men
are lashed on deck, and she takes whole seas
into her fore and aft mainsail, and pours them
out again as she rises from the lurch. She de-
serves to escape, at all events.”

She did not, however, obtain her deserts, for
about twelve o'clock in the day we were within
a mile of her. At two, the marines were firing
small arms at her, for we would not yaw to fire
at her a gun, although she was right under our
bows. When within a cable's length we short-
ened sail, so as to keep at that distance astern,
and the chase, after having lost several men by
musketry, the captain of her waved his hat in
token of surrender. We immediately shortened
sail to keep the weather gauge, pelting her until
every sail was lowered down ; we then rounded
to, keeping her under our lee, and firing at every
man who made his appearanceon deck. Taking
possession of her was a difficult task : a boat
could hardly Jive in such a sea ; and when the
captain called aloud for volunteers, and I heard
Tom’‘s voice in the cutter as it was lowering
down, my heart misgave me lest he should meet
with some accident. At last I knew, from the
conversation on deck, that the cutter had got
safe on board, and my mind was relieved. The
surgeon came up and dressed my arm, and I
then received comparative bodily as well as men-
tal relief.

It was not until the next day, when we lay to,
with the schooner close to us, that the weather
became sufficiently moderate to enable us to
receive the prisoners and put our own men and
officers on board. The prize proved to be an
American-built schooner, fitted out as a French
privateer. She was called the Cerf Agile,
mounting fourteen guns, of nearly three hun-

SACOB FAITHFUL.

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
     

£35

dred tons measurement, and with a crew of one
hundred and seventy men, of which forty-eight
were away in prizes. It was, perhaps, fortunate
that the boats were not able to attack her, as
they would have received a very warm reception,
Thus did we succeed in capturing this mis~
chievous vessel, after a chase of two hundred
and seventy miles. As soon as all the arrange-
ments were, made, we shaped our course, with
the privateer in company, for Halifax, where we
arrived in about five weeks. My wound was
now nearly healed ; but my arm had wasted
away, and I was unable to return to my duty.
It was well known that I wrote a good hand,
and I volunteered, as I could do nothing else, to
assist the purser and the clerk with the ship’s
books, &c.

The admiral was at Bermuda, and the frigate
which we were to relieve had, from the exigence
of the service, been despatched down to the
Honduras, and was not expected back for some
months. Wesailed from Halifax for Burmuda,
and joined the admiral, and after three weeks,
we were ordered on a cruise. My arm was now
perfectly recovered, but I had become so useful
in the clerk's office, that I was retained, much
against my own wishes; but the captain deked
it, as Tom said, and after that, there was no
more to be said about the matter.

America was not the seat of war at that
period, and with the exception of chasing
French runners, there was nothing to be done
on the North American station. I haye, there-
fore, little to narrate during the remainder of the
time that I was on board of the frigate. Tom
did his duty in the foretop, and never was in
any disgrace ; on the contrary, he wasa great
favourite both with officers and men, and took
more liberties with the captain than any one
else dared to have done ; but Captain Maclean
knew that Tom was one of his foremost and
best men, always active, zealous, and indifferent
as to danger, and Tom knew exactly how farhe
could venture to play with him: I remained in
the clerk’s office, and as it was soon discovered
that I received an excelient education, and
always behaved myself respectfully to my supe-
riors, I was kindly treated, and had no reason
to complain of a man-of-war.

Such was the state of affairs, when the other
frigate arrived from the Honduras, and we, who
had ‘been cruising for the last four months in
Boston Bay, were ordered in by a cutter, to join
the admiral at ‘Halifax. We had now been
nearly a year from England without receiving
any letters. The reader may, therefore, judge
of my impatience when, after the anchor had
been let go and the sails furled, the admiral's
boat came on board with several bags of letters
for the officers and ship's company. They were
handed down into the gun-room, and I waited
with impatience for the sorting and distribu-
tion.

“Faithful,” said the purser, “here are two
letters for you.”{ thanked him, and hastened into the clerk's
office, that I might read them without interrup-
tion. ‘The first was addressed in a formal hand
quite unknown to me. I opened it with some
degree of wonderment, as to who could possibly
write to so humble an individual? It was from
a lawyer, and the contents were as follows :—

*"Sir,—We hasten to advise you of the death
of your good friend Mr. Alexander Turnbull.
By his will, which has been opened and read,
and of which you are the executor, he has made
you his sole heir, bequeathing you, at the pre-
sent, the sum of £30,000, with the remainder of
his fortune at the demise of his wife. With the
exception of £5,000, left to Mrs. Turnbull for her
own disposal, the legacies do not amount to
more than £8co. The jointure, arising from
the interest of the money secured to Mrs. Turn-
bull during her life, is be as per annum, upon
the 3 per cent. consols, so that at her demise
you will come into £36,000 consols, which at 76
will be equal to £27,360 sterling. I beg to con-
gratulate you upon your good fortune, and, with
Mr. Drummond, have made application to the
Admiralty for your discharge. This application,
Iam happy to say, has been immediately at-
tended to, and by the same mail that conveys
this lettter is forwarded an order for your dis-
charge and a passage home. Should you think
proper to treat our firm as your legal advisers,
we shall be most happy to enrol you among our
clients.—I am, Sir, yours very respectfully,

‘‘ JOHN FLETCHER.”

I must leave the reader to judge of this unex-
pected and welcome communication. At first I
was so stunned, that I appeared as a statue with
the letter in my hand, and in this condition I
Temained until roused by the first-lieutenant,
who had come to the office to desire me to pass
the word for ‘‘letters for England,” and to
desire the sail-maker to make a bag.

‘‘ Faithful—why, what's the matter? Are you
ill, or: ?” Icould not reply, but I put ‘the
letter into his hand. He read the contents,
expressing bis astonishment by occasional excla-
mations. ‘I wish you joy, my lad, and may
it be my turn next time. No wonder you looked
like a stuck pig. Had I received such news, the
captain might have hallooed till he was hoarse,
and the ship might have tumbled overboard,
before I should have roused myself. Well, I
suppose we shall get no more work out of
you :

“The captain wants you, Mr. Knight,” said
one of the midshipmen, touching his hat.

Mr. Knight went into the cabin, and in a few
minutes returned, holding the order for my dis-
charge in his hand.

“Tt's allright, Faithful, here is

 

 

your discharge

and an order for your passage home.
He laid it on the table and then went away,
no time to

for a first-lieutenant in harbour has

 

FACOB FAITHFUL.

 

lose. The next person who came was Tom,
holding in his hand a letter from Mary, with a
postcript from his mother.

‘““Well, Jacob,” said he, ‘‘I have news to tell
you. Mary says that Mr. Turnbull is dead,
and has left her father £200, and that she has
been told that he has left you something hand-
some.”

‘“‘He has indeed, Tom,” replied I; ‘read
this letter.”

While Tom was reading, I perceived the let-
ter from Mr. Drummond, which I had forgotten.
I opened it. It communicated the same intelli-
gence as that of the lawyer in fewer words ;
recommended my immediate return, and en-
closed a bill upon his house for £100 to enable
me to appear in a manner corresponding to my
present condition.

‘“Well,” said Tom, ‘‘this is, indeed, good
news, Jacob, You are a gentleman at last, as
you deserve to be. It has made me so happy ;
what do you mean to do?”

‘‘I have my discharge here,” replied I, ‘‘and
am ordered a passage home.”’

‘‘ Better still. I am so happy, Jacob; so
happy. But what zs to become of me?” And
Tom passed the back of his hand across his eyes
to brush away a tear.

““You shall soon follow me, Tom, if I can
manage it either by money or any influence.”

‘“‘T will manage it, if you dont, ‘Jacob. I
won't stay here without you, that I am de-
termined.”

“Do nothing rashly, Tom. Iam sure I can
buy your discharge, and on my arrival in Eng-
land I will not think of anything else until it is
done.”

“You must be quick, then, Jacob, for I’m
sure I can’t stay here long.”

“Trust to me, Tom; youll still find me
Jacob Faithful,” said I, extending my hand.
Tom squeezed it earnestly, and with moistened
eyes, turned away, and walked forward.

The news had spread through the ship, and
many of the officers, as well as the men, came
to congratulate me. What would I have given
to have been allowed only one half-hour to my-
self—one half-hour in which I might be per-
mitted to compose my excited feelings—to have
returned thanks for such unexpected happiness,
and paid a tribute to the memory of so sincere
a friend. But in aship this is almost impossible,
unless, as an officer, you can retreat to your own
cabin; and _ those. gushings from the heart,
arising from grief, or pleasure, the tears so
sweet in solitude, must be prostituted before the
crowd, or altogether repressed. At last the
wished-for opportunity did come. Mr. Wilson,
who had been away on service, came to con-
gratulate me as soon as he heard the news, and
with an instinctive perception of what might be
my feelings, asked me whether I would not like
to write my letters in his cabin, which, for a few
hours, was at my service. I thankfully accepted
the offer ; and, when summoned by the captain,had relieved my overcharged heart, and had
composed my excited feelings.

‘Jacob Faithful, you are aware there is an
order for your discharge,” said he kindly. ‘‘ You
will be discharged this afternoon into the Astrea ;
she.is ordered home, and will sail with de-
spatches in a few days. You have conducted
yourself well since you have been under my
command ; and, although you are now in a
situation not to require a good certificate, still
you will have the satisfaction of feeling that you
have done your duty in the station of life to
which you have, for a certain portion of it, been
called—I wish you well.”

Although Captain Maclean, in what he said,
never lost sight of the relative situations in which
we had been placed, there was-a kindness of
manner, especially in the last words, ‘‘I wish
you well,’’ which went to my heart. I replied
that I had been very happy during the time I
had been under his command, and thanked him
for his good wishes. I then bowed and left the
cabin. But the captain did not send me on
board the Astrea, although I was discharged
into her. He told the first-lieutenant that I had
better go on shore, and equip myself in a proper
manner ; and, as I afterwards found out, spoke
of me in very favourable terms to the captain of
the Astrea, acknowledging that I had received
the education of a gentleman, and had been
ulegally impressed: so that, when I made my
appearance on board the Astrea, the officers of

FACOB FAITHFUL.

the gun-room requested that I would mess with
them during the passage home.

I went on shore, obtained the money for my
bill, hastened to a tailor, and with his exertions,
and other fitting-out people, procured all that
was requisite for the outward appearance of a
gentleman. I then returned to the Immortalité,
and bade farewell to the officers and seamen
with whom I had been most intimate. My
parting with Tom was painful. Even the few
days which I had been away, I perceived, had
made an alteration ih his appearance.

“Jacob,” said he, ‘‘don’t think I envy you;
on the contrary, I am as grateful, even more
grateful, than if such good fortune had fallen
to my own lot; but I cannot help fretting at
the thoughts of being left here without you;
and I shall fret until I am with you again.”

I renewed my promises to procure his dis-
charge, and forcing upon him all the money I
thought that I could spare, I went over the
side as much affected as poor Tom. Our
passage home was rapid. We had acontinuance
of N.W. winds, and we flew before them, and,
in less than three weeks, we dropped our anchor
at Spithead. Happy in the change of my
situation, and happier still in anticipation, I
shall only say, that I never was in better spirits,
or in company with more agreeable young men
than were the officers of the Astrea; and
although we were so short a time together, we
separated with mutual regret.

 

CHARTER: {XE

I interrupt a matrimonia! Duet and Capsize the Boat—Being on dry Land, no one is drowned—Tom leaves a
Man-of-war because he don’t ¢zke it—I find the Profession of a Gentleman preferable to that of a

Waterman.

My first object, on my return, was to call upon
old Tom, and assure him of his son’s welfare.
My wishes certainly would have led me to Mr.
Drummond's, but I felt that my duty required
that I should delay that pleasure. I arrived at
the hotel late in the evening, and early next
morning I went down to the steps at West-
minster Bridge, and was saluted with the usual
cry of ‘‘ Boat, sir?’’ A crowd of recollections
poured into my mind at the well-known sound :
my life appeared to have passed in review ina
few seconds, as I took my seat in the stern of a
wherry, and directed the waterman to pull up
the river. It was a beautiful morning, and
even at that early hour almost too warm, the
sun was so powerful. I watched every object
that we passed with an interest I cannot describe;
every tree,—every building, —every point of
land; they were all old friends, who appeared,
as the sun shone brightly on them, to rejoice in
my good fortune. J remained in a reverie too
delightful to wish to be disturbed from it,
although occasionally there were reminiscences

°

which were painful; but they were but as light
clouds, obscuring for a moment, as they flew
past, the glorious sun of my happiness. At
last the well-known tenement of old Tom, his
large board with ‘‘ Boats built to order,’’ and
the half of the boat stuck up on end, caught
my sight, and I remembered the object of my
embarkation. I directed the waterman to pull
to the hard, and paying him well, dismissed
him, for I had perceived that old Tom was at
work stumping round a wherry, bottom up,
and his wife was sitting on the bench in the
boat-arbour, basking in the warm sun, and
working away at her nets. I had landed so
quietly, and they both were so occupied with
their respective employments, that they had
not perceived me, and I crept round by the
house to surprise them. I had gained a station
behind the old boat, when I overheard the con-
versation.

‘It’s my opinion,” said old Tom, who left
off hammering for a time, ‘‘ that all the nails in
Birmingham won't make this boat water-tight,YACOB

The timbers are as rotten as a pear, and the

. hails fall through them. I have put in one
piece more than agreed for, and if I don’t put
in another here, she'll never swim.”’

“Well, then, put another piece in,’’ replied
Mrs. Beazeley.

“Yes, so I will: but, I’ve a notion I shall be
out of pocket by the job—7s. 6d. won't pay for
Jabour and all. However, never mind,’’ and
‘Tom carolled forth

“<< Ts not the sea
Made for the free,
Land for courts and chains alone !
. There we are slaves,
But on the waves,
Love and Liberty’s all our own.’”

“Now, if you do sing, sing truth, Beazeley,”
said the old woman. ‘‘A’n't our boy pressed
into the service—and how can you talk of
liberty ?”’

Old Tom answered by continuing his song:

“*No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us,
All earth forgot and all heaven around us.’”

“Yes, yes,’ replied the old woman, ‘‘no eye
to watch, indeed: he may be in sickneés and in
sotrow—he may be wounded, ot dying of a
fever,—and there's no mother’s eye to watch
over him. As to all on earth being forgot, I
won't believe that Tom has forgotten his
mother.”

Old Tom replied,

“** Seasons may roll,
But the true soul
Burns the same wherever it eS. aus

“‘So it does, Tom, so it does, and he’s
thinking this moment of his father and mother,
I do verily believe, and he loves us more than
ever.

““So I believe,” replied old Tom, ‘‘that is, if
he hasn't anything better to do; but there’s a
time for all things, and when a man is doing
his duty as a seaman, he mustn't let his
thoughts wander, Never fear, old woman, he’ll
be back again.

* 'There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To take care of the life of poor Jack.”

‘God grant it, God grant it!”
old woman, wiping her
and then resuming her netting. ‘‘ He seems,”
continued she, ‘‘ by his letters, to be over fond
of that girl, Mary Stapleton, and I sometimes
think that she cares not 4 little for him, but
she's never of one mind long. I didn’t like to
see her flaunting and flirting so with the soldiers,
and at the same time Tom says that she writes
that she cares for nobody but him.”

‘Women are—-women ! that's sartain,” re-
plied old-Tom, musing for a time, and then
its were running on his

replied the
eyes with her apron,

showing that his thoug!
son, by bursting out:

 

LAITHEUL.

 

“““ Mary, when yonder boundless sea

Shall part us, and perchance for ever,
Think not my heart can stray from thee,
Or cease to mourn thine absence—never !
And when in distant climes I roam,
Forlorn, unfriended, broken-hearted,—’ ”

“Don't say so, Tom—don’t say so,”
terrupted the old woman,
‘Tom continued.

In-

“¢ Oft shall I sigh for thee and home,
And all those joys for which I parted.’”

‘“‘Ay, so he does, poor fellow, I’ll be bound
to say. What would I give to see his dear
smiling face!"’ said Mrs. Beazeley.

‘““And I'd give no little, missus, myself. But
still it’s the duty for every man to serve his
country, and so ought Tom, as his father did
before him. I shall be glad to see him back,
but I’m not sorry that he’s gone. Our ships
must be manned, old woman, and if they take
men by force, it’s. only becausé they won't
volunteer, that’s all. When they’re once on
board, they don’t mind it. You women require
pressing just as much as the men, and it’s all
much of a muchness,”

“How's that, “Pom ?””

“Why, when we make love, and ask you to
marry, don't you always pout and say no? You
like being kissed, but we must take it by force.
So it is with manning a ship, the men all say
no; but when they are once there, they like the
service very much, only you see, like you, they
want pressing. Don’t Tom write and say that
he's quite happy, and don’t care where he is so
long as he’s with Jacob?”

“Yes, that’s true! but they say Jacob is to
be discharged and come home, now that he’s
come to a fortune, and what will Tom say
Lie tien

‘“Why that zs the worst of it. I believe that
Jacob's heart is in the right place; but. still
riches spoil a man: but we shall see. If Jacob
don't prove ‘true blue,’ I'll never put faith in
man again; but there be changes in this world,
that’s sartin.

““*We all have our tastes of the ups and the
downs,
As Fortune dispenses her smiles and her frowns;
But may we not hope, if she’s frowning to-day,
That to-morrow she’ll lend us the light of her
ray ?”

I only wish Jacob was here, that’s all.”

“Then you have your wish, my good old
friend,” cried I, running up to Tom, and seizing
his hand ; but old Tom was so taken by surprise
that he started back, and lost his equilibrium,
dragging me after him, and we rolled on the
turf together. Nor was this the only accident,
for old Mrs. Beazeley was so alarmed . that she
also sprang from the bench fixed in the half of
the old boat stuck on end, and threw hefself
back against it. The boat, rotten when first
put up, and with the disadvantage of exposureto the elements for many years, could no longer
stand such pressure. It gave way to the sudden
force applied by the old woman, and she and
the boat went down together, she screaming
and scuffling among the rotten planks, which
now, after so many years’ close intimacy, were
induced to part company. I was first on my
legs, and ran to the assistance of Mrs. Beazeley,
who was half-smothered with dust and flakes of
dry pitch, and old Tom coming to my assist-
ance, we put the old woman on her legs
again.

““O deary me!” cried the old woman, “O
deary me! I do believe my hip is out. Lord,
Mr. Jacob, how you frightened me! ”

“Yes,” said old Tom, shaking me warmly
by the hand, ‘we were all taken aback, old
boat and all. What ashindy you have made,
bowling us all down like nine pins! Well! my
boy, I’m glad to see you, and notwithstanding
your gear, you're Jacob Faithful still.”

‘“‘T hope so,” replied I; and we then ad-
journed to the house, where I made them
acquainted with all that had passed, and what
intended to do relative to obtaining Tom’s dis-
charge. I then left them, promising to return
soon ; and hailing a wherry going up the river,
proceeded to my old friend Domine, of whose
welfare, as well as Stapleton’s and Mary’s, I
had been already assured.

But as I passed through Putney Bridge I
thought I might as well call first upon old
Stapleton, and I desired the waterman to pull
in. I hastened to Stapleton’s lodgings, and
went upstairs, where 1 found Mary in earnest
conversation with a very good-looking young
man, in a sergeant’s uniform of the 93rd Regi-
ment. Mary, who was even handsomer than
when I had left her, starting up, at first did not
appear to recognise me, then coloured up to
the forehead as she welcomed me with a con-
straint 1 had never witnessed before. The
sergeant appeared inclined to:keep his ground;
but on my taking her hand and telling her that
I brought a message from a person whom I
trusted she had not forgotten, he gave her a
nod and walked down stairs. Perhaps there
was a severity in my countenance as I said,
‘‘Mary, I do not know whether, after what I
have seen, I ought to give the message; and
the pleasure I anticipated in meeting you again
is destroyed by what I have now witnessed.
How disgraceful is it thus to play with a man’s
feelings—to write to him, assuring him of your
regard and constancy, and at the same time
encouraging another.’’

Mary hung down her head. ‘‘If I have done
wrong, Mr. Faithful,” said she, aftera pause,
“IT have not wronged Tom; what I have
written, I felt.”

“If that is the case, why do you wrong
another person? why encourage another young
man only to make him unhappy?’

‘“‘I have promised him nothing; but why
does not Tom come back and look after me? I

FACOB FAITHFUL,

139

can’t mope here by myself; I have no one to
keep company with ; my father is always away
at the alehouse, and I must haye’ somebody to
talk to. Besides, Tom is away, and may be
away a long while, and absence cures love in
men, although it does not in women.”’

‘(Tt appears, then, Mary, that you wish to
have two strings to your bow in case of acci-
dent.”

“Should the first string break, a second
would be very acceptable,” replied Mary. ‘‘But
it is always this way,” continued she, with in-
creasing warmth; ‘‘I never can be ina situation
which is not right; whenever I do anything
which may appear improper, so certain do you
make your appearance when least expected and
least wished for—as if you were born to be my
constant accuser.’’

“Does not your own conscience accuse you,
Mary?”

‘‘Mr. Faithful,” repeated she, very warmly,
“‘you are not my father confessor; but do as
you please—write to Tom if you please, and
tell him all you have seen, and anything you
may think—make him and make me miserable
and unhappy—do it, I pray. It will be a
friendly act; and as you are now a great man,
you may persuade Tom that I am a jilt and a
good-for-nothing.”

Here Mary laid her hands‘on the table, and
buried her face in them.

“IT did not come here tobe your censor, Mary;
you are certainly at liberty to act as you please,
without my having any right to interfere; but as
‘Tom is my earliest and best friend, so far as his
interests and happiness are concerned, I shall
carefully watch over them. We have been so
long together, and I am so well acquainted with
all his feelings, that I really believe that if ever
there was a. young man sincerely and devotedly
attached to a woman, he is so to you; and I
will add, that if ever there was a young man
who deserved love in return, it is Tom. When
I left, not a month back, he desired me to call
upon you as soon as I could, and assure you of
his unalterable attachment; and I am now
about to procure his discharge, that he may be
able to return, All his thoughts are upon this
point, and he is now waiting with the utmost
impatience the arrival of it, that he may again
be in your company; you can best judge whether
his return will or will not be a source of happi-
DES ie

Mary raised her head—her face was wet with
her tears.

‘“Then he will soon be back again, and I shall
see him. Indeed, his return shall be no source of
unhappiness, if I can make him happy—indeed
it shall not, Mr. Faithful; but pray don’t tell
him of my foolish conduct, pray don’t—why
make him unhappy ?—I entreat you not to do
it. I will not do so again. Promise me, Jacob,
will you?” continued Mary, taking me by the
arm, and looking beseechingly in my face.

‘‘ Mary, I never will be a mischief-maker ; but140 FACOB
recollect, I exact the performance of your
promise.”

“Oh! and I will keep it, now that I know he
will soon be home. I can, I think I can—lI’m
sure I can wait a month or two without flirting.
But I do wish that I was not left so much

alone. Iwish Tom was at home to take care of
me, for there is no one else. I can’t take care
of myself.”

I saw by Mary's countenance that she was in
earnest, and I therefore made friends with her,
and we conversed for two hours, chiefly about
Tom. When I left her, she had recovered her
usual spirits, and said at parting, looking archly
at me, ‘‘ Now you will see how wise and how
prudent I shall be.”’ f

I shook my head, and left her that I might
find out old friend Stapleton, who, as usual,
was at the door of the public-house, smoking
his pipe. At first he did not recognize me, for
when I accosted him, he put his open hand to
his ear, as usual, and desired me to speak a
little louder, but I answered, ‘‘ Nonsense,

FAITHBUL.

   

Stapleton, that won't do with me.” He then
took his pipe out of his mouth, and looked me
full in the face.

‘Jacob, as I’m alive! Didn’t know you in
your long togs—thought you was a gentleman
wanting a boat. Well, I hardly need say how
glad I am to see you after so long,—that’s no
more than human natur. And how’s Tom?
Have you seen Mary?”

These two questions enabled me to introduce
the subject that I wished. I told him of the
attachment and troth pledged between the two,
and how wrong it was for him to leave her
so much alone. The old man agreed with me,
and said, that as to talking to the men, that was
on Mary’s part nothing but ‘‘human natur ;”’
and that as for Tom wishing to be at home and
seeing her again, that also was nothing but
‘human natur ;” but that he would smoke his
pipe at home in future, and keep the soldiers
out of the house. Satisfied with this assurance,
I left him, and taking another wherry, went up
to Brentford to see the Domine.

 

CHAPTER. XLT.

All the little Boys are let loose, and the Domine is caught—Anxious to supply my Teeth, he falls in with
other Teeth, and Mrs. Bately also shows her Teeth—Gin outside, Gin in, and Gin out again, and an
old Woman out also—Domine in for it again—More like a Whig Ministry than a Novel.

I FOUND the worthy old Domine in the school-
room, seated at his elevated desk, the usher not
present, and the boys making a din enough to
have awaked a person froma trance. That he
was in one of his deep reveries, and that the
boys had taken advantage of it, was evident.
‘« Mr. Dobbs,” said I, walking close up to the
desk, but the Domine answered not. I repeated
his name in a louder voice.

‘Cosine of x + ad—z—3; such must be the
result,” said the Domine, talking to himself.
‘‘Yet it doth not prove correct. I may be in
error. Let me revise my work,” and the
Domine lifted up his desk to take out another
piece of paper. When the desk-lid was
raised, I removed his work, and held it behind
me.
‘“‘But how is this?” exclaimed the Domine,
and he looked everywhere for his previous cal-
culations. ‘‘Nay,’ continued he, ‘‘it must
have been the wind; and then he cast his
eyes about until they fixed upon me laughing at
him. ‘‘ Eheu! what do my eyes perceive r—It
is,—yet it is not,—yes, most truly it is, my son
Jacob. Welcome, most welcome,” cried the old
man, descending from his desk, and clasping
meinhisarms. ‘‘ Long is it since I have seen
thee, my son. /uferea magnum soi cercumvolui-
tur annum. Long, yes long, have I yearned for
thy return, fearful lest, z2wdus tn ztgnota arena,
thou mightst, like another Palinurus, have been
castaway. Thouart returned, andallis well ; as
the father said in the Scripture, I have found my

 

son which I Had lost, but no prodigal thou,
though I use the quotation as apt. Now all is
well; thou hast escaped the danger of the
battle, the fire, and the wreck, and now thou
mayst hang up thy wet garment as a votive
offering ; as Horace hath it, Uvida suspendisse
potenti vestimenta maris Deo.”

During the apostrophe of the Domine, the
boys perceiving that he was no longer wrapt up
in his algebra, had partly settled to their desks,
and in their apparent attention to their lessons,
reminding me of the humming of bees before a
hive on a summer's day.

‘‘ Boys,” cried the Domine, ‘‘ zznc est luden-
dum—verily ye shall have a holiday ; put up
your books, and depart in peace.”’

The books were hastily put up, in obedience
to the command ; the depart in peace was not
quite so rigidly adhered to—they gave a loud
shout, and in a few seconds the Domine and I
stood alone in the schoolroom.

‘Come, Jacob, let us adjourn to my sanctum,
there may we commune without interruption.
Thou shalt tell me thine adventures, and I will
communicate to thee what hath been made
known to me, relative to those with whom thou
wert acquainted.”

‘First let me beg you to give me something
to eat, for lam not alittle hungry,” interrupted
I, as we gained the kitchen.

‘‘Verily shalt thou have all that we possess,
Jacob; yet now, I think, that will not be much,
seeing that | and our worthy matron did pick£

the bones of a shoulder of mutton, this having
been our fourth day of repast upon it. She is
out, yet I will venture to intrude into the privacy
of her cupboard, for thy sake. Peradventure
she may bewroth, yet will I risk her displeasure.”
So saying, the old Domine opened the cupboard,
and, one by one, handed to me the dishes with
their contents. ‘‘ Here, Jacob, are two hard
dumplings from yesterday. Canst thou relish
cold, hard dumplings ?>—but, stop, here is some-
thing more savoury—half of a cold cabbage,
which was left this day. We will look again.
Here is meat—yes, it is meat; but now do I
perceive it is a piece of lights reserved for the
dinner of the cat to-morrow. I am fearful that
we must not venture upon that for the dame
will be wroth.”

‘‘Pray put it back, sir; I would not interfere
with puss on any account.”

‘‘Nay then, Jacob, I see nought else, unless
there may be viands on the upper shelf. Sir,
here is bread, the staff of life, and also a frag-
ment of cheese ; and now, methinks, I discern
something dark at the back of the shelf.” The
Domine extended his hand, and immediately
withdrew it, jumping from his chair, witha loud
cry. He had put his fingers into a rat gin, set
by the old woman for those intruders, and he
held up his arm, and stamped as he shouted out
with the pain. I hastened to him, and pressing
down the spring, released his fingers from the
teeth, which, however, had drawn blood, as well
as bruised him ; fortunately, like most of the
articles of their ménage, the trap was a very old
one, and he was not much hurt. The Domine
thrust his fingers into his capacious mouth, and
held them there some time without speaking.
He began to feel a little ease, when in came the
matron.

“‘Why, what’s all this?” said she in a queru-

lous tone. — ‘‘ Jacob here, and all my cupboard
on the table. Jacob, how dare you go to my
cupboard ?”’

“Tt was the Domine, Mrs. Bately, who looked
there for something for me to eat, and he has
been caught in a rat-trap.”’

“Serve him right ; I have forbad him that
cupboard. Have I not, Mr. Dobbs?”

‘Vea, and verily,” quoth the Domine, ‘‘and
I do repent me that I took not thine advice, for
look at my fingers ;”’ and the Domine extended
his lacerated digits.

“Dear me! well I’d no idea that a rat-trap
pinched so hard,” replied the old woman, whose
wrath was appeased. ‘‘How it must hurt the
poor things; I won't set it again, but leave
them all to the cat, he'll kill them, if he only can
‘get at them.” The old lady went to a drawer,
unlocked it, brought out some fragments of rags,
and a bottle of friar’s balsam, which she applied
to the Domine’s hand, and then bound it up,
scolding him the whole time. ‘‘ How stupid of
you, Mr. Dobbs; you know that I was only
out for a few minutes. Why didn’t you wait—
and why did you go to the cupboard ? Hav'n't

FACOB FAITHFUL.

 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

TAI

I always told you not to look into it ? and now
you see the consequences.”

‘Verily my hand burneth,” replied the
Domine.

‘«T will go for cold water, and it will ease you.
What a deal of trouble you do give, Mr. Dobbs :
youre worse than a charity-boy ;” and the old
lady departed to the pump. f

‘« Vinegar is a better thing, sir,’”’said I, ‘‘and
there is a bottle in the cupboard, which I dare
say is vinegar.” I went to the cupboard, and
brought out the bottle, took out the cork, and
smelt it. ‘‘ This is not vinegar, sir, it is Hol-
lands or gin.”’

‘“Then would I like a glass, Jacob, for I feel
a sickening faintness upon me; yet be quick,—
peradventure the old woman may return.”

‘Drink out of the bottle, sir,’’ said I, per-
ceiving that the Domine looked very pale, ‘‘and
I will give you notice of her approach.” ‘The
Domine put the bottle to his mouth, and was
taking a sufficient draught, when the old woman
returned by another door which was behind us ;
she had gone that way for a wash-basin. Be-
fore we could perceive her, she came behind the
Domine, snatched the bottle from his mouth
with a jerk that threw a portion of the spirits in
his eyes, and blinded him.

“That's why you went to my cupboard, is
it, Mr. Dobbs?” cried she, in a passion.
‘That's it, is it? I thought my bottle went
very fast ; seeing that I don’t take more than a
tea-spoonful every night, for the wind, which
vexes meso much. I'll set the rat-trap again,
you may depend upon it ; and now you may
get somebody else to bind your fingers.”’

‘Tt was I who took it out; Mrs. Bately ; the
Domine would have fainted with pain. It was
very lucky that he has a housekeeper who is
careful to have something of the kind in the
house, or he might have been dead. You
surely don’t begrudge a little of your medicine
to recover Mr. Dobbs?”

‘© Peace, woman, peace,’ said the Domine,
who had gained courage by his  potation.
‘*Peace, I say: I knew not that thou hadst in
thy cupboard either a gin for my hand, or gin
for thy mouth ; since I have been taken in the
one, it is but fair that I should take in the
other. In future both thy gins will not be inter-
fered with by me. Bring me the basin, that I.
may appease my angry wounds, and then
hasten to procure some viands to appease the
hunger of my son Jacob ; lastly, appease thine
own wrath. Pax: peace, I say;’ and the old
woman, who perceived that the Domine had
asserted his right of dominion, went to obey
his orders, grumbling till she was out of hearing.
The application of the cold pump-water soon
relieved the pain of the good old Domine, and
with his hand remaining in his basin, we com-
menced a long conversation.

At first I narrated to him the events which
had occurred during my service on board of the
frigate. When I told him’of my parting withTom, he observed, ‘‘ Verily do I remember
that young Tom, a jocund, pleasant, yet intru-
sive lad. Yet do I wish him well, and am
grieved that he should be so taken by that
maiden, Mary. Well may we say of her, as
Horace hath of Pyrrha—‘ Quis multi gracilis
ze puer in ros, pexfusts liguidis urget odoribus,
grato Pyrrha sub antro. Cut flavam religas
comam, stmplex munditizs. I grieve at it, yea,
grieve much. eu/ guoties fidem, mutatosque
Deos flebit! Verily, Jacob, I do prophecy that
she will lead him into error, yea, perhaps into
perdition.”

“I trust not, sir,” replied I ; but the Domine

made no answer. For half an hour he was in
deep and serious thought, during which Mrs.
Bately entered, and spreading a cloth, brought
in from the other room some rashers of bacon
and eggs, upon which I made a hasty and
hearty meal. The old matron’s temper was
now smoothed, and she welcomed me kindly,
and shortly after went out for a fresh basin of
cold water for the Domine to bathe his hand.
This roused him, and he recommenced the
conversation.

“Jacob, I have not yet congratulated thee
upon thy accession to wealth; not that I do
not sincerely rejoice in it, but because the
pleasure of thy presence has made me unmind-
ful of it. Still, was it fortunate for thee that
thou hadst raised up such a friend as Mr. Turn-
bull, otherwise what . would have been the
result of thy boasted independence? Thou
wouldst probably have remained many years on
board of a man-of-war, and have been killed,
or have returned mutilated, to die unknown.”

“You were right, sir,”’ replied I, ‘‘ my inde-
pendence was nothing but pride; and I did
bitterly repent, as you said I should do, even
before I was pressed into the king’s seryice—
but Mr. Drummond never repeated his
offers.”

“He never did, Jacob ; but as I have since
been informed by him, although he was taken
by surprise at thy being forced away to serve
thy country, still he was not sure that you
would accept them; and he, moreover, wished
you fully to feel thine own folly. Long before
you had made friends with him, he had at-
tested the will of Mr. Turnbull, and was
acquainted with the contents. Yet did he
watch over thee, and had he thought that thy
way of life had led thee into that which was
wrong, he would have interfered to save thee ;
but he considered with Shakspeare, that ‘sweet
were the uses of adversity,’ and that thou
wouldst be more schooled by remaining some
time under her unprepossessing frowns. He
hath ever been thy friend.”

‘‘T-can believe it. I trust he is well, and his
family.”

“They were well and prosperous but a little

 

JACOB. FAITARUL.

 

while ago, Jacob ; yet I have seen but little of
them since the death of Mr. Turnbull. It will
pain thee to hear, that affliction at thy absence
hastened his dissolution. I was at his death-
bed, Jacob ; and I verily believe he was a good
man, and will meet the reward of one ; yet did
he talk most strangely, and reminded me of
that remnant of a man you call old Tom. ‘It’s
no use; Old gentleman,’ said-he, as he lay in
his bed supported by pillows, for he had wasted
away till he was but a skeleton, having broken
a blood-vessel with his violent coughing—< It’s
no use pouring that doctor’s stuff down my
throat ; my anchor’s short stay apeak, and ina
few minutes I shall trip it, I trust, for heaven,
where I hope there are moorings laid down for
me.’ ‘I would fain comprehend thee,’ replied
I, ‘but thou speakest in parables.’. ‘I mean
to say that death has driven his harpoon in up
to the shank, and that I struggle in vain, [|
have run out all my line. I shall turn up ina
few minutes—so give my love and blessing to
Jacob—he saved my life once—but now I’m
gone.’ With these last words his spirit took its
flight ; and thus, Jacob, did your benefactor
breathe his last, invoking a blessing on your
head.”

I remained silent for a few minutes, for I
was much affected by the Domine’s description;
he at length resumed the conversation.

“Thou hast not yet seen the Drummonds,
Jacob?”

“ET have not,” I replied, ‘‘ but I will call upon
them to-morrow ; but it is time that I should
go, for I have to return to London.”

“Thou needest not, Jacob. Thine own
house is at hand.”

‘“My own house !”

““Yes ; by the will of Mr. Turnbull, his wife
has been left a handsome jointure, but for
reasons which he did not explain, the house
and furniture are not left to her, but, as resi-
duary legatee, belong to thee.”

“‘ Indeed !—then where is Mrs, Turnbull ?”’

‘“At Bath, where she hath taken up her
residence. Mr. Drummond, who hath acted
in thy behalf, permitted her to take away
such articles as she might wish, but they
were but few, chiefly those little objects which
filled up rather than adorned ‘the draw-
ing-room. The house is all ready for thy
reception, and thou mayst take possession this
evening.

“ But why did not Mr. Turnbull leave it to
his widow 2”

“TI cannot exactly say, but I think he did
not wish her to remain in this place. He
therefore left her sooo/. at her own disposal,
to enable her to purchase and furnish another.”

I then took my leave of the Domine, and it
being rather late, I resolved to walk to the
house and sleep there.FACOB  FAILAFUE,

CHAPTER: XLII.

In which I take Possession of my own House, and tl
\ 2. We by £ ay = = % h .
Tom’s Discharge is sent out, but by Accident it

ON my arrival the front gates were opened by
the gardener’s wife, who made me a profound
courtesy. ‘lhe gardener soon afterwards made
his appearance, hat in hand. Everything was
neat, and in good order. I entered the house,
and as soon as possible rid myself of their ob-
sequious attentions. I wished to be alone.
Powerful feelings crowded on my mind. I
hastened to Mr. Turnbull's study, and sat down
in the chair so lately occupied by him. - The
proud feeling of possession, softened into grati-
tude to Heaven, and sorrow at his death, came
over me, and I remained for a long while ina
deep reverie. ‘‘ And all this, and 1 much
more, are mine,’ I mentally exclaimed: ‘‘the
sailor before the mast, the waterman on

  

  

 

 

nore,
the
river, ‘the charity-boy, the orphan, sits down
in quiet possession of luxury and wealth.
What have I done to deserve all this?’’ My
heart told me ; nothing, or if anything, it was
almost valueless, and I poured forth my soul
in thanks to Heaven. I felt more composed
after I had performed this duty, and my thoughts
then dwelt wpon my. benefactor. I] sur
veyed the room—the drawings, the furs and
skins, the harpoons and other instruments, all
remaining in their respective places, as when
I last had an interview with Mr. Turnbull. I
remembered iis kindness, his singleness of
heart, his honesty, his good sense, and his rea
worth ; and I shed many tears for his loss. My
thoughts then passed to Sarah Drummond and
I felt much uneasiness on that score. Would
she receive me, or would she still remember

what I had been? I recollected her kindness
and good-will towards me. I weighed these,

and my present condition, against my origin
and my former occupation; and could not

ascertain how the scale might turn, I shall
soon see, thought I. To-morrow, even, may
decide the question. The gardener’s wife

knocked at the door, and announced that my
bed was prepared. I went to sleep, dreaming
of Sarah, young Tom, the Domine, and Mary
Stapleton.

I was up early the next morning, and _has-
tened to the hotel; when having arranged my
person to the best of my power (but at the
same time never so little to my satisfaction), I
proceeded to the house of Mr. Drummond. I
knocked ; and this time I was not desired to
vait in the hall, but was immediately ushered
up into the drawing-room. Sarah Drummond
was sitting alone at her drawing. My name
was announced as I entered.

12
La

aw
She started from
her chair, and blushed deeply as she moyed
towards me. We joined hands in silence. I
was breathless h emotion, Never had she

5 WIL

   

iink that it looks very ill-furnished without a Wife—
never reaches him—I take my new Station in Society.

appeared so beautiful. Neither party appeared
willing to break silence: at last I faltered out,
‘Miss Drammond,’’—and then I stopped.

‘‘ My. Faithful,” replied she ; and then after
a break—‘‘ How very silly this is : I ought to
have congratulated you upon your safe return,
and upon your good fortune : and, indeed, Mr.
Faithful, no one can do so more sincerely.”

“Miss Drummond,” replied I, confused,
‘‘when I was an orphan, a charity-boy, anda
waterman, you called me Jacob: if the altera-
tion. in my prospects induces you to address me
in so formal a manner—if we are in future to be
on such different terms—I can only say. that I
wish that I were again—Jacob Faithful, the
waterman.’

‘‘Nay,’ replied, she, ‘‘ recollect that it was
your own choice to bea waterman.. You might
have been different—very different. You might
at this time have been partner with my father,
for he said so but last night, when we were
talking about you. But you refused all: you
threw away your education, your talents, your
good qualities, from a foolish pride, which you
considered independence. My father almost
humbled himself to you—not that it is sever
humiliating to acknowledge and attempt to re-
pair a fault, but still he did more than could be
expected from most people. Your friends per-
suaded you, but you rejected their advice ; and,
what was still more unpardonable, even I had no
influence over you. As long as you punished
yourself I did not upbraid you ; but now that you
have been so fortunate, I tell you plainly——’

«What 2?”

‘That it is more than you deserve, that’s all.”

“You have said but the truth, Miss Drum-
mond. I was very proud and‘ very foolish ;
but I had repented of my folly long before I
was pressed ; and I candidly acknowledge that
I do not merit the good fortune I have met
with. Can I say more?”

“No: I am satisfied with your repentance
and acknowledgment. So now you may sit
down and make yourself agreeable.”

‘‘ Before I do that, allow me to ask, as you
address me as Mr. Faithful, how am to
address you? I should not wish to be con-
sidered impertinent?”

“My name is Miss Drummond, but those
who feel intimate with me call me Sarah.”

‘“‘T may reply that- my name is Faithful, but
those who feel intimate with me call me Jacob.”

‘Very true; but allow me to observe that
you show very little tact. You should never
force a lady into a corner. | lf I appear af-
fronted when you call me Sarah, then you will
do wise to fall back upon Miss Drummond,e

But why do you fix your eyes upon me so
earnestly ?”’

. “T cannot help it, and must beg your’ par-

don ; but you are so improved in appearance
since I last saw you. I thought no one could
be more perfect, but——”

“Well, that’s not a bad beginning, Jacob.
T like to hear of my perfections. Now follow
up your Juz.”

“I hardly know what I was going to say,
but I think it was, that I do not feel as if I
ought or can address you otherwise than as
‘Miss Drummond.”

“‘Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?
Well, I begin to think myself that you look so
well in your present dress, and have become so
very different a person, that I ought not to ad-
dress you by any other name than Mr. Faithful.
So now we are agreed.”

“That's not what I mean to say.”

“Well, then, let me know what you did
mean to say.”

This puzzling question fortunately did not re-
quire an answer, for Mr. Drummond came into
the room and extended his hand.

““My dear Jacob,’’* said he, in the most
friendly manner, ‘‘I’m delighted to see you
back again, and to have the pleasure of con-
gratulating you on your good fortune .But you
have business to transact which will not admit
of any delay, You must prove the will, and
arrange with the lawyers as soon as possible.
Will you come now? All the papers are below,
and I have the whole morning to spare. We
will be back to dinner, Sarah, if Jacob has no
other engagement.”

“I have none,” replied I ; ‘‘and shall be most
happy to avail myself of your kindness. Miss
Drummond, I wish you a good morning.”

“Au revoir, Mr. Faithful,” replied Sarah,
courtesying formally, with a mocking smile.

The behaviour of Mr. Drummond towards
me was most kind and parental, and my eyes
were often suffused with tears during the occu-
pation of the morning. The most urgent busi-
ness was got through, and an interview with
Mr. Turnbull's solicitor put the remainder in
progress ; stillit was so late when we had ac-
complished it that I had no time to dress.
On my return, Mrs, Drummond received me
with her usual kindness. I narrated, during
the evening, my adventures since we parted,
and took that opportunity to acknowledge to
Mr. Drummond how bitterly I had repented
my folly and I may add ingratitude, towards
him.

“‘Jacob,”’ said he, as we were sitting at the
tea-table with Mrs. Drummond and Sarah, ‘‘]
knew at the time that you were toiling on the
river for shillings that you were the inheritor of
thousands ; for I not only witnessed but read
the will of Mr. Turnbull : but I thought it best
that you should have a lesson which you would
never forget in after life. There is no such
thing in this world as independence, unless in a

FACOB FAITHFUL. ,

 

savage state. In society we are all mutually
dependent upon each other. Independence of
mind we may have, but no more. As a water-
man, you were dependent upon your customers,
as every poor man must be upon those who
have more means; and in refusing my ofers,
you were obliged to apply for employment to
others. The rich are as entirely dependent
upon others as the poor; they depend upon
them for their food, their clothes, their neces-
sities, and their luxuries. Such ever will be the
case in society, and the more refined the society
may be—the more civilized its parts—the
greater is the mutual dependence. Still it is
an error originating in itself from high feelings,
and therefore must be considered as an error on
the right side; but recollect how much you
might have thrown away, had not you, in the
first place, secured such a friend as Mr. Turn-
bull ; and, secondly, if the death of that friend
had not so soon put you in possession.”

I was but too ready to acknowledge the truth
of these remarks. The evening passed away so
rapidly, that it was midnight before I rose to
take my leave, and I returned to the ‘hotel
as happy in my mind, and as grateful as ever
any mortal could possibly be. The next day,
I removed to the house left me by Mr. Turn-
bull, and the first order I gave was for a
wherry. Such was the force of habit, I could
not do without one; and half my time was
spent upon the river, pulling every day down to
Mr. Drummond’s, and returning in the evening,
or late at night. Thus passed away two months,
during which I occasionally saw the Domine,
the Stapletons, and old Tom Beazeley. I had
exerted myself to procure Tom's discharge, and
at last had the pleasure of telling the old people
that it was to go out by the next packet. By
the Drummonds I was received as a member of
the family—there was no hindrance to my being
alone with Sarah for hours; and although I had
not ventured to declare my sentiments, they ap-
peared to be well understood, as well by the
parents as by Sarah herself.

Two days after I had communicated this
welcome intelligence to the old couple, as I
was sitting at breakfast, attended by the gar-
dener and his wife (for I had made no addition
to my establishment), what was my surprise at
the appearance of young Zvm, who entered
the room as usual, laughing as he held out his
hand.

“Tom,” exclaimed I,
come here?”

‘« By water, Jacob, as you may suppose.”’

‘“‘But how have you received your discharge?
Is the ship come home ?”

‘“‘T hope not: the fact is, I discharged my-
self, Jacob.”

‘“What ! did you desert ?”

‘“‘Even so. I had three reasons for so doing.
In the first place, I could not remain without
you; in the second, my mother wrote to say
Mary was taking up with a sodger ; and the

“why, how did youthird was, I was put into the report for punish-
ment, and should have been flogged, as sure as
the captain had a pair of epaulettes.”

“Well, but sit down and tell me all about it.
You know your discharge is obtained 2”

“Yes, thanks to you, Jacob ; all the better,
for now they won't look after me. All’s well
that ends well. After you went away, I presume
I was not in the very best of humours ; and
that rascal of a master’s mate who had us
pressed, thought proper to bully me beyond
all bearing. One day, he called me a lying
scoundrel ; upon which I forgot that I was on
board of a man-of-war, and replied that he was
a confounded cheat, and that he had better pay
me his debt of two guineas for bringing him
down the river. He reported me on the
quarter-deck for calling him a cheat, and
Captain Maclean, who, you know, won't stand
any nonsense, heard the arguments on both
sides ; upon which he declared that the conduct
of the master’s mate was not that of an officer
or a gentleman, and therefore he should leave
the ship ; and that my language to my superior
officer was subversive of the discipline of the
service, and therefore he should give mea good
flogging. Now, Jacob, you know that if the
officers don’t pay their debts, Captain Maclean
always does, and with interest into the bargain ;
so finding’ that I was in for it, and no mistake,
I swam ashore the night before Black Monday,
and made my way to Miramichi, without any
adventure, except a tussle with a sergeant
of marines, whom I left for dead about
three miles out of the town. At Miramichi,
I got on board of a timber-ship, and here I
am.

“I am sorry that you deserted, nevertheless,”
replied I ; ‘‘ it may come to mischief.”

“‘ Never fear: the people on the river know
that I have my discharge, and I’m safe
enough.”

‘“* Have you seen Mary ?”

“Yes, and all's right in that quarter. I shall
build another wherry, wear my badge and
dress, and stick above bridge. "When I’m all
settled, I'll splice, and live along with the old
couple.”

“‘ But will Mary consent ‘to live there ?
SO quiet and retired that she won't like it.”

‘“Mary Stapleton has given herself airs
enough in all conscience,-and has had her
Own way quite enough. Mary Beazeley will
do as her husband wishes, or I will know the
reason why.”’

““We shall see, Tom. Bachelor's wives are
always best managed, they say. But now you
Want money to buy your boat.”

“Yes, if you'll lend it to me; I don’t like to

weke it away from the old people ; and I'll pay
pu when I can, Jacob.”
3‘No; you must accept this, Tom; and
when you marry you must accept something
more,’ replied I, handing the notes to him.
‘ With all my heart, Jacob. I never can re-

It is

FACOB FAITHFUL,

145

pay you for what you have done for
I may just as well increase the debt.’

“That's good logic, Tom.”

“Quite as good as independence ; is it not,
Jacob ?”

‘“ Better, much better,
cost,”’ replied I, laughing,

Tom finished his breakfast, and then took
his leave. After breakfast, as usual, I went to
the boat-house, and unchaining my wherry,
pulled up the river, which I had not hitherto
done ; my attendance upon Sarah having in-
variably turned the bow of my wherry in the
Opposite direction. I Swept by the various
residences on the banks of the river, until I
arrived opposite to that of Mr. Wharncliffe,
and perceived a lady and gentleman in the
garden. I knew them immediately, and, as
they were standing close to the wall, I pulled
in and saluted them.

“Do you recollect me?” said I to them,
smiling,

“Yes,” replied the lady, ‘I do recollect
your face—surely—it is Faithful, the water-
man !”

No, i am not 3 waterman ;
amusing myself in my own boat."

‘‘Come up,” replied Mr. Wharncliffe ; ‘we
can't shake hands with you at that distance.”

I made fast my wherry and joined them.
‘They received me most cordially.

““T thought you were not a waterman, Mr.
Faithful, although you said that you were,”
said Mrs. Wharncliffe. ‘‘ Why did you deceive
us in that way ?”

‘‘Indeed at that time I was, from my own
choice and, my own folly, a waterman ; now I
am so no longer.”

We were soon on the most intimate terms,
and I narrated part of my adventures. They
expressed their obligations to me, and requested
that I would accept their friendship.

“Would you like to have a row on the
water? It is a beautiful day, and if Mrs,
Wharncliffe will trust herself——”

“Oh ! I should like it above all things. Will
you go, William? I will run for a shawl.”

Ina few minutes we were all three embarked,
and I rowed them to my vz//a. They had been
admiring the beauty of the various residences
on the banks of the Thames.

““How do you like that one?” inquired I of
Mrs. Wharncliffe.

““It is very handsome, and I think one of the
very best.”

“That is mine,” replied I. ‘‘ Will you allow
me to show it to you?”

Pvours 2”

‘““Yes, mine : but I have a very small estab-
lishment, for I am a bachelor.’

We landed, and after walking about the
grounds, went into the house.

‘“Do you recollect this room?” said I to
Mr. Wharncliffe.

“Yes, indeed I do: it was here that the box

me, and so
,

as I know to my

I am onlywas opened, and my uncle’s —— But we
must not say anything about that ; he is dead.”

;<Dead'?”’

“Wes ; he never held his head up after his
dishonesty was discovered. He pined and died
within three months, sincerely repenting what
he had attempted.”

I accepted their invitation to dinner, as I
rowed them back to their own residence ; and
afterwards had the pleasure of enrolling them
among my sincerest friends. Through them I
was introduced to Lady Auburn and many
others ; and I shall not forget the old house-
keeper recognizing me one day, when I was
invited to Lady Auburn’s villa.

‘* Bless me! what tricks you young gentle-
men do play. Only to think how you asked
me for water, and how I pushed the door in
your face, and wouldn't let you rest yourself.
But if you young gentlemen will disguise your-
selves, it's your own faults, and you must. take
the consequences.”

My acquaintances now increased rapidly, and
IT had the advantage of the best society; I
hardly need observe that it was a great ad-
vantage, for, although I was not considered
awkward, still I wanted that polish which can
only be obtained by an admixture with good
company. The reports concerning me were
various ; but it was generally believed that I

FYACOB FAITHFUL.

was a young man who had received an excellent
education, and might have been brought for-
ward, but that I had taken a passion for the
river, and had chosen to be a waterman in
preference to any other employment; that I
had since come. into a large fortune, and had
resumed my station in society. How far the
false was blended with the true, those who have
read my adventures will readily perceive: For
my part, I cared little what they said, and I
gaye myself no trouble to refute the various
assertions. I was not ashamed of my birth,
because it had no effect upon the Drummonds ;
stil, I knew the world too well to think it
necessary to blazon it. On the whole, the
balance was in my favour ; there was a degree
of romance in my history, with all its variations,
which interested, and, joined to the knowledge
of my actual wealth, made me to be well
received, and gained me attention wherever I
went. One thing was much to my advantage
—my extensive reading, added to the good
classical education which I had received. -It is
not often in society that an opportunity occurs
when any ane can prove his acquisitions ; but
when it does come, they always make an im-
pression ; and thus did education turn the scale
in my favour, and every one was much more
inclined to believe the false rather than the true
versions of my history.

 

CHAP PER Seri:

The Domine proves Stapleton’s ‘‘ Human Natur” to be correct—The Red Coat proves too much of a Match
for the Blue—Mary sells Tom, and Lom sells what is left of him, for a Shilling—We never know the

Value of Anything till we have lost it.

I HAD often ruminated in what manner I could
render the Domine more comfortable. I felt
that to him I was as much indebted as to any
living being, and one day I ventured to open
the subject ; but his reply was decided.

‘‘T see, Jacob, my son, what thou wouldst
wish; but it must not be. Man is but a
creature of habit: habit becomes to him not
only necessity, but luxury. For five-and-forty
years have I toiled, instilling precepts and
forcing knowledge into the brains of those who
have never proved so apt as thou. ‘Truly, it
hath been a painful task, yet can I not relin-
quish it. I might, at one timé,—that is, during
the first ten years,—have met the offer with
gratitude ; for I felt the humiliation and annoy-
ance of wearying myself with the rudiments,
when I would fain have commented upon the
various peculiarities of style in the ancient
Greek and Latin authors ; but now, all that has
passed away. ‘The eternal round of concord,
prosody, and syntax, has charms for me from
habit: the rule of three is preferable to the
problems of Euclid ; and even the Latin gram-
mar hath its delights. In short, I have a hujus
pleasure in hic, hec, hoc [cluck, cluck|; and

 

even the flourishing of the twigs of that tree of
knowledge, the birch, hath become a pleasurable
occupation to me, if not to those upon whom it
is inflicted. J am like an old horse, who hath
so long gone round and round in a mill, that he
cannot walk straight forward ; and, if it please
the Almighty, I will die in harness. Still, I
thank thee, Jacob; and thank God, that thou
hast again proved the goodness of thy heart,
and given me one more reason torejoice in thee
and in thy love; but thine offer if accepted,
would not add to my happiness; for what
feeling can. be more consolatory to an old man,
near into his grave, than the reflection that his
life, if not distinguished, has at least been
useful 2”

I had not, for some time, received a visit
from Tom ; and, surprised at this, I went down
to his father’s to make inquiry about him. I
found the old couple sitting in doors; the
weather was fine, but old Tom was not at h
work ; even the old woman's netting was throw
aside. ;

‘Where is Tom?” inquired I, after wishing
them good morning.

‘Oh! deary me,” cried the. old. woman,

>

 

aeYACOB

putting her apron up.to her eyes ; ‘that wicked,
good-for-nothing girl!”

‘“Good heavens! what is the matter?” in-
quired I of old Tom.

“The matter, Jacob,” replied old Tom,
Stretching out his two wooden legs, and placing
his hands upon his knees, ‘‘is, that Tom has
‘listed for a sodger.”’

‘*’Listed for a soldier! ’’

“Yes; that’s as sartain as it's true; and
what's worse, I’m told the regiment is ordered
to the West Indies. So, what with fever o’
mind and yellow fever, he's food for the land
crabs, that’s sartain. I think now,” continued
the old man, brushing a tear from his eye with
his forefinger, ‘‘that I see his bones bleaching
under the palisades ; for I know the place well.”

‘“ Don’t say so, Tom; don’t say so!”

“‘Oh, Jacob! beg pardon if I’m too free,
now ; but can’t you help us ?”’

‘““T will if I'can, depend upon it ; but tell me
how this happened.”

‘“Why, the long and the short of it is this ;
that girl, Mary Stapleton, has been his ruin.
When he first came home, he was well received,
and looked forward to being spliced and living
with us ; but it didn’t last long. She couldn't
leave off her old tricks ; andso, that Tom might
not get the upper hand, she plays him off with
the sergeant of a recruiting-party, and flies off
from one to the other, just like the ticker of the
old clock there does from one side to the other.
One day the sergeant was the fancy man, and
the next day it was Tom. At last, Tom gets
out of patience, and wishes to come to a fair
understanding. So he axes her whether she
chooses to have the sergeant or to have him ; she
might take her choice, but he had no notion of
being played with in that way, after all her let-
ters and all her promises. Upon this she huffs
outright, and tells Tom he may go about his
business, for she didn’t care if she never sees
him no more. So Tom’s blood was up, and he
calls her a d d jilt, and, in my opinion, he
was near fo the truth; so then they had a
regular breeze, anc part company. Well, this
made Tom very miserable, and the next day he
would have begged her pardon, and come to
her terms, for you see, Jacob, 2 man in love has
no discretion; but she being still angry, tells
him to go about his business, as she means to
marry the sergeant ina week. ‘Tom turns away
again quite mad ; and it so happens that he goes
into the public-house where the sergeant hangs
out, hoping to be revenged on him, and meaning
to have a regular set-to, and see who is the best
man ; but the sergeant wasn't there, and Tom
takes pot after pot to drive away care ; and,
when the sergeant returned, Tom was not a little

wi liquor. ‘Now, the sergeant was a knowing
hap, and when he comes in, and perceives Tom
With “his face flushed, he guesses what was to
come, so, instead of saying a word, he goes to
another table, and dashes his fist upon it, as if
in a passion. Tom goes up to him, and says,

 

   

  

   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  

FAITHFUL, IA7

‘Sergeant, I’ve known that girl-long before you,
and if you are a man, you'll stand up for her.’
‘Stand up for her; yes,’ replied the sergeant,
‘and so I would have done yesterday, but the
blasted jilt has turned me to the right-about and
sent me away. I won't fight now, for she won't
have me—any more than she will you. Now,
when Tom hears this, he becomes more pacified
with the sergeant, and they sit down like two
people under the same misfortune, and take a
pot together, instead of fighting ; and then, you
see, the sergeant plies Tom with liquor, swear-
ing that he will go back to the regiment, and
leave Mary aitogether, and advises Tom to do
the same. At last, what with the sergeant’s
persuasions, and Tom’s desire to vex Mary, he
succeeds in ’listing him, and giving him the
shilling before witnesses ; that was all the rascal
wanted. The next day:-Tom was sent down to
the depét, as they call it, undera guard: and
the sergeant remains here to follow up Mary,
without interruption. This only happened three
days ago, and we only were told of it yesterday
by old Stapleton, who threatens to turn his
daughter out of doors.”

“Can't you help us, Jacob?” said the old
woman, whimpering.

“I hope I can; and if money can procure
his discharge it shall be obtained. But did you
not say that he was ordered to the West
Indies 2?”

‘‘The regiment is in the West Indies, but
they are recruiting for it, so many were carried
off by the yellow fever last sickly season. A
transport, they say, will sail next week, and the
recruits are to march for embarcation in three
or four days.”’

“And what is the regiment, and where is the
depét ?”’

“It is the 47th Fusileers, and the depét is at
Maidstone.”

‘““I will lose no time, my good friends,”’ re-
plied I; ‘‘to-morrow I will go to Mr. Drum-
mond, and consult with him.” I returned the
grateful squeeze of old Tom's hand, and, fol-
lowed by the blessings of the old woman, I
hastened away.

As I pulled up the river—for that day I was
engaged to dine with the Wharncliffes—I re-
solved to call upon Mary Stapleton, and ascer-
tain by her deportment whether she had become
that heartless jilt which she was represented,
and if so, to persuade Tom, if I succeeded in
obtaining his discharge, to think.no more about
her. I felt so vexed and angry with her, that
after I landed, I walked about a few minutes
before I went to the house that I might recover
my temper. When I walked up the stairs, I
found Mary sitting over a sheet of paper, on
which she had been writing. She looked up as I
came in, and I perceived that she had been
crying. ‘‘ Mary,’ said I, ‘‘ how well you have
kept the promise you made to me when last we
met! See what trouble and sorrow you haye
brought upon all parties except yourself.”\

‘‘Except myself ;—no, Mr. Faithful, don’t
except myself; I am almost mad—I believe
that I am mad—for surely such folly as mine is
madness.’”’ And Mary wept bitterly.

“There is no excuse for your behaviour, Mary
—it is unpardonably wicked. Tom sacrificed
all for your sake—he even deserted, and desertion
is death by the law. Now, what have you done?
taken advantage of his strong affection, to
drive him to intemperance, and induce him, in
despair, to enlist for a soldier. He sails for the
West Indies to fill up the ranks of a regiment
thinned by the yellow fever, and will perhaps
never return again—you will then have been the
occasion of his death. Mary, I have come to
tell you that I despise you.”

“‘T despise and hate myself,” replied Mary,
mournfully ; ‘‘I wish I were in my grave.—O
Mr. Faithful, do, for God's sake—do get him
back. You can, I know you can—you have
money and everything.”

“If Ido, it willnot be for your benefit, Mary,
for you shall trifle with him no more. I will
not try for his discharge unless he faithfully
promises never to speak to you again.”’

“You don't say that—you don’t mean that !”
cried Mary, sweeping the hair with her hand
back from her forehead,—and her hand still re-
maining on her head—‘‘O God ! O God ! what
a wretch I am! Hear me, eee me,”
cried she, dropping on her knees, and seizing
my hands; ‘‘only get him his discharge—only
let me once see him again, and I swear by all
that’s sacred, that I will beg his pardon on my

 

¥ACOB FAITHFUL.

knees as I now do yours. - I will do everything
—anything—if he will but forgive me, for I can-
not, I will not live without him.”

‘If this is true, Mary, what madness could

have induced you to have acted as you have?”

“Ves,” replied Mary, rising from her knees,
‘‘madness, indeed,—more than madness to

treat so cruelly one for whom I only care to live.
You say Tom loves me—I know he does ; but
he does not love meas I do him. O my God!
my heart will break!” After a pause, Mary re-
sumed.
have already written as much in another letter.
You will see that if he cannot get away, I have
offered to go out with him as his wife, that is, if
he will have such a foolish wicked girl as I
am

“Read what I have written to him—I

I read the letter ; it was as she said, praying

for forgiveness, offering to accompany him, and
humiliating herself, as much as it was possible.

I was much affected. I returned the letter.

‘You can’t despise me so much as I despise
myself,” continued Mary ; ‘“‘T hate, I detest
myself for my folly. I recollect now how you used
to caution me when a girl. O mother, mother,
it was a cruel legacy you left to your child,
when you gave her your disposition. Yet why
should I blame her ?—I must blame myself.”’

“Well, Mary, I will do all I can, and that as
soon as possible. To-morrow I will go down to
the depot.”

‘‘God bless you, Jacob ; and may you never
have the misfortune to be in love with such a
one as myself.”

 

CHAPTER XUV.

Iam made very happy—In other Respects a very melancholy Chapter, which, we are sorry to inform the
Reader, will be followed up by one still more so.

I LEFT Mary, and hastened home to dress for
dinner. I mentioned the subject of wishing to
obtain Tom's discharge to Mr. Wharncliffe,
who recommended my immediately applying to
the Horse Guards ; and, as he was acquainted
with those in office, offered to accompany me.
I gladly accepted his offer ; and the next morn-
ing he called for me in his carriage, and we
went there. Mr. Wharncliffe sent up his card
to one of the secretaries, and we were imme-
diately ushered up, when I stated my wishes.
The reply was, ‘‘If you had time to procure a
substitute it would be easily arranged ; but the
regiment is so weak, and the aversion to the
West Indies so prevalent after this last very
sickly season, that I doubt if his Royal High-
ness would permit any man to purchase his dis-
charge. However, we willsee. The Duke is
one of the kindest-hearted of men, and I will
lay the case before him : but let us see if he is
still at the depét—I rather think not.” The
secretary rang the bell.

‘“The detachment of the 47th Fusileers from

the depot, has it marched? and when does it
embark ?”

The clerk went out, and in a few minutes
returned with some papers in his hand. ‘‘It
marched the day before yesterday, and was to
embark this morning, and sail as soon as the
wind was fair.”’

My heart sank at this intelligence.

‘How is the wind, Mr. G ? go down and
look at the tell-tale.”

The clerk returned; ‘‘E.N.E., sir, and has
been steadily so these two days.”

‘‘Then,” replied the secretary, ‘‘I am afraid
you are too late to obtain your wish. The
orders to the port-admiral are most peremptory
to expedite the sailing of the transports, and a
frigate has been now three weeks waiting to
convoy them. Depend upon it, they have sailer
to-day.” Z

‘“What can be done replied I mournful? AS

‘You must apply for his discharge, and pyv=
cure a substitute. He can then have an order
sent out, and be permitted toreturn home. 1

 

 

¥am very sorry, as I perceive you are much in-
terested, but I’m afraid it is too late now. How-
ever, you may call to-morrow; the weather is
clear with this wind, and the port-admiral will
telegraph to the Admiralty the sailing of the
vessels. Should anything detain them, I will
take care that his Royal Highness shall be
acquainted with the circumstances this after-
noon, if possible, and will give you his reply.”

We thanked the secretary for his politeness,
and took our leave. Vexed as I was with the
communications I had already received, I was
much more so when one of the porters ran to
the carriage to show me, by the secretary’s
order, a telegraphic communication from the
Admiralty, containing the certain and unpleasant
information, ‘‘Convoy to West Indies sailed
this morning.”

‘«Then it is all over for the present,” said I,
throwing myself back in the carriage; and I
continued in a melancholy humour until Mr.
Wharncliffe, who had business in the city, put
me down as near as the carriage went. to the
house of Mr. Drummond. I found Sarah, who
was the depository of all my thoughts, pains,
and pleasures, and 1 communicated to her this
episode in the history of young Tom. As most
ladies are severe judges of their own sex, she
was very strong in her expressions against the
conduct of Mary, which she would not allow to
admit of any palliation. Even her penitence
had no weight with her.

‘“* And yet how often is it the case, Sarah, not
perhaps to the extent carried on by thismistaken
girl; but still the disappointment is as great,
although the consequences are not so calamitous.
Among the higher classes, how often do young
men receive encouragement, and yield them-
selves up to a passion to end only in disap-
pointment! It is not necessary to plight troth;
a young woman may not have virtually com-
mitted herself, and yet, by merely appearing
pleased with the conversation and company of
a young man, induce him to venture his affec-
tions in a treacherous sea, and eventually find
them wrecked.”

‘‘You are very nautically poetical, Jacob,”
replied Sarah; ‘‘such things do happen, but I
think that women’s affections are, to use your
phrase, oftener wrecked than those of men;
that, however, does not exculpate either party.
A woman must be blind, indeed, if she cannot
perceive, in a very short time, whether she is
trifling with a man’s feelings, and base. indeed,
if she continues to practise upon them.”

‘« Sarah,” replied I, and I stopped.

eViely 2

‘‘T was,” replied I, stammering a little, ‘‘I
was going to ask you if you were blind ?”

‘‘ As to what, Jacob?’’ said Sarah, colouring

 

p.
‘« As to my feelings towards you.”
‘““No; I believe you like me very well,”
replied she, smiling.
‘Do you think that that is all?”

 

YACOB FAITHFUL.

   
   
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
   
 
   
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  

149

‘“ Where do you dine to-day, Jacob?”
replied Sarah.

‘“That must depend upon you and your
answer. If I dine here to-day, [ trust to dine
here often. If I do not dine here to-day, pro-
bably I never may again. I wish to know,
Sarah, whether you have been blind to my
feelings towards you; for, with the case of
Mary and Tom before me, I feel that I must
no longer trust to my own hopes, which may
end in disappointment. Will you have the
kindness to put me out of my misery ?”

“Tf I have been blind to your feelings, I have
not been blind to your merit, Jacob. Perhaps
I have not been blind to your feelings, and I am
not of the same disposition as Mary Stapleton.
I think you may venture to dine here to-day,’’
continued she, colouring and smiling, as she
turned away to the window.

“‘I can hardly believe that Im to be so
happy, Sarah,” replied I, agitated. ‘‘I have
been fortunate, very fortunate; but the hopes
you have now raised are so much beyond my
expectations,—so much beyond my deserts,
that I dare not indulge in them.—Have pity on
me, and be more explicit.”

‘“What do you wish me‘to say?” replied
Sarah, looking down upon her work, as she
turned round to me.

‘“That you will not reject the orphan who
was fostered by your father, and who reminds
you of what he was, that you may not forget at
this moment, what I trust is the greatest bar to
his presumption—his humble origin.”

‘Jacob, that was said like yourself,—it was
nobly said; and if you were not born noble,
you have true nobility of mind. I will imitate
your example. Have I not often, during our
long friendship, told you that I loved you?”

‘“Yes, as a child, you did, Sarah.”’

‘““Then, as a woman, I repeat it; and now
are you satisfied ?”

I took Sarah by the hand ; she did not with-
draw it, but allowed me to kiss it over and over
again.

‘But your father and mother, Sarah?”

‘‘Would never have allowed our intimacy, if
they had not approved of it, Jacob, depend
upon it. However, you may make yourself
easy on that score, by letting them know what
has passed, and then, I presume, you will be
out of your misery.”

Before the day was over, I had spoken to
Mrs. Drummond, and requested her to open
the business to her husband, as I really felt it
more than I could dare to do. She smiled as
her daughter hung upon her neck, and when I
met Mr. Drummond at dinner-time, I was ‘‘ out
of my misery,” for he shook me by the hand,
and said, ‘‘ You have made us all very happy,
Jacob, for that girl appears determined either to
marry you, or not to marry at all.—Come,
dinner is ready.”

I will leave the reader to imagine how happy
I was: what passed between Sarah and me inour ¢é¢e-u-téfe of that evening, how unwilling I
was to quit the house, and how [ ordered a
postchaise to carry me home, because I was
afraid to trust myself on that avater, on which
the major part of my life had been safely
passed, lest any accident should happen to me,
and rob me Of my anticipated bliss. From that
day I was as one of the family, and finding the
distance too great, took up my abode at apart-
ments contiguous to the house of Mr. Drum-
mond. But the course of other people’s love
did not run so .smooth, and I must now return
to Mary Stapleton and Tom Beazeley.

I had breakfasted, and was just about to take
my wherry and go down to acquaint the old
couple with the bad success of my application.
I had been reflecting with gratitude upon my
own happiness in prospect, indulging in fond
anticipations, and then, reverting to the state in
which I had left Mary Stapleton and Tom’s
father and mother, contrasting their misery with
my joy, arising from the same source, when,
who should rush into the dining-room but young
Tom, dressed in nothing but a shirt, and a pair
of white trousers, covered with dust, and wan
with fatigue and excitement.”

‘““Good heavens! Tom! are you back? then
you must have deserted.”

“Very true,’ replied T om, sinking ona chair,
“(IT swam on shore last night, and have made
from Portsmouth to here since eight o’clock. I
hardly need say that 1 am done up. Let me
have something to drink, Jacob, pray.

I went to the cellaret and brought him some
wine, of which he drank offa tumbler eagerly.
During this, I was revolving in my mind the
consequences which might arise from this hasty
and imprudent step. ‘‘Tom,” said I, ‘‘do you
know the consequences of desertion ?”’

‘“Yes,” replied he, gloomily, ‘‘but I could
not help it; Mary told me, in her letter, that
she would~do all I wished, would accompany
me abroad ; she made all the amends she could,
poor girl! and, by heavens, I could not leave
her; and when I found myself fairly under
weigh, and there was no chance, I was almost
mad ; the wind baffled us at the Needles, and
we anchored for the night ; I slipped down the
cable and swam on shore, and there’s the whole
story.”

jo Dut, hom) you will certainly -be
and*taken up for a deserter.”

“I must think of that,’ replied Tom; “I
know the risk that I run; but, perhaps, if you
obtain my discharge, they may let me off.”

I thought this was the best plan to proceed
upon, and requesting ‘om to keep quiet, I went
to. consult with Mr. Wharncliffe. He agreed
with me, that it was Tom's only chance, and I
pulled to his father’s, to let them know what
had occurred, and then went on to the Drum-
monds. When I returned home late in the
evening, the gardener told me that Tom had
gone out and had not returned. My _ heart

”

recognized

misgave me that he had gone to see Mary, and

 

¥ACOB FAITHFUL,

 

that some misfortune had occurred, and | went
to bed with most anxious feelings. My fore-
bodings were proved to be correct, for the next
morning I was informed that old Stapleton
wished to see me. He was ushered in, and as
soon as he entered, he exclaimed, ‘‘All’s up,
Master Jacob—Tom’s nabbed—Mary fit after
fit—human natur.”

“Why what zs the matter, Stapleton?”

‘“Why, it’s just this—Tom desarts to come
to Mary. Cause why ?—he loves her—human
natur. That soldier chap comes in and sees
‘Tom, clutches hold, and tries to take possession
of him. Tom fights, knocks out sergeant's star-
board eye, and tries to escape—human natur.
Soldiers come in, pick up sergeant, seize Tom,
and carry him off. Mary cries, and screams,
and faints—human natur—poor girl can’t keep
her head up—two women with burnt feathers all
night. Sad job, Mister Jacob. Of all the
senses love’s the worst, that’s sartain—quite
upset me, cant smoke my pipe this morning—
Mary’s tears quite put my pipe out ’—and old
Stapleton looked as if he was ready to cry him-
self.

‘“This is a sad business, Stapleton,” reptied
I, ‘Yom will be tried for desertion, and God
knows how it will end. I will try all 1 can, but
they have been very strict lately.”

‘“Hope you will, Mister Jacob. Mary will
die, that’s sartain. I’m more afraid that Tom
will. If one does, t’other will. I know the
girl—just like her mother, never could carry
her helm amidships, hard a port or hard a star-
board. She’s mad now to follow him—will
go to Maidstone. I take her_as soon as I
go back to her. Just come up to tell you all
about it.”

“This is a gloomy affair, Stapleton.”

‘Yes, for sartain—wish there never was such
a thing as human natur.”

After a little conversation, and a supply of
money, which [ knew would be acceptable,
Stapleton went away, leaving me in no very
happy state of mind. My regard for Tom was
excessive, and his situation one of peculiar
danger. Again 1 repaired to Mr. Wharncliffe
for advice, and he readily interested himself
most warmly.

‘This is, indeed, an awkward business,” said
he, ‘‘and will require more interest than I am
afraid that I command. If not condemned to
death, he will be sentenced to such a flogging as
will break him down in spirit as well as in body,
and sink him into an early grave. Death were
preferable of the two.. Lose no time, Mr.
Faithful, in going down to Maidstone, and
seeing the colonel commanding the depot. I
will go to the Horse Guards, and see what is to
be done.”

I wrote a hurried note to Sarah to account
for my absence, and sent for post horses.
Early in the afternoon I arrived at Maidstone,
and finding out the residence of the officer
commanding the depot, sent up my card. Infew words I stated: to him the reason of my
calling upon him. ,

“It will rest altogether with the Horse
Guards, Mr. Faithful, and I am afraid I can
give you but little hope. His Royal Highness
has expressed his determination to punish the
next deserter with the utmost severity of the
law. His leniency on that point has been very

| Mjurious to the service, and he must do7zt. Be-
sides, there is an aggravation of the offence in
his attack upon the sergeant, who has irrecover-
ably lost his eye.”

‘“The sergeant first made him drunk, and
then persuaded him to enlist.” I then stated
the rivalship that subsisted between them, and
continued, ‘‘Is it not disgraceful to enlist men
m that way—can that be called voluntary
Service?”

*‘All very true,” replied the officer, ‘‘ but still

 

 

FACOB FAITHFUL. I51

expediency winks at even more. I do not
attempt to defend the system, but we must have
soldiers. The seamen are impressed by force,
the soldiers are entrapped by other means
even more discreditable ; the. only excuse is
expediency, or, if you like it better, necessity.
All I can promise you, sir, is, what I would
have done even if you had not appealed to me,
to allow the prisoner every comfort which his
situation will permit, and every advantage at
his court-martial, which mercy, tempered by
justice, will warrant.”

““T thank you, sir; will you allow me and his
betrothed to see him ?”

‘““Most certainly ; the order shall be given
forthwith.”

I thanked the officer for his kindness, and
took my leave.

 

 

ALY.

Read it.

I HASTENED to the black hole where Tom was
confined, and the order for my admission, hav-
ing arrived before me, I was permitted by the
sergeant of the guard to pass the sentry. I
found Tom sitting on a bench notching a stick
with his knife, whistling a slow tune.

“This is kind, Jacob, but not more than I
expected of you—I made sure that I should see
you to-night or to-morrow morning. How’s
poor Mary? I care only for her now—I am
satisfied—_she loves me and—I knocked out the
sergeant’s eye—spoilt his wooing, at all events.”

‘“But, Tom, are you aware of the danger in
which you are?”

“‘Yes, Jacob, perfectly ; I shall be tried by a
court-martial, and shot. I’ve made up my
mind to it—at all events, it’s better than being
hung like a dog, or being flogged to death like
a nigger. I shall die like a gentleman, ifI have
never been one before, that’s some comfort.
Nay, I shall go out of the world with as much
noise as if a battle had been fought, or a great
man had died.”

‘‘ How do you mean?”

“ Why there'll be more than one duJZet-cn.’

“This is no time for jesting, Tom.”

‘“‘ Not for you, Jacob, as a sincere friend, I
grant; not for poor Mary, as a devoted girl;
not for my poor father and mother—no, no,”
continued Tom, ‘‘I feel for them; but for my-
self I neither fear nor care. I have not done
wrong—lI was pressed against the law and Act
of Parliament, and I deserted. I was enlisted
when I was drunk and mad, and I deserted.—
There is no disgrace to me ; the disgrace is to
the government, which suffers such acts. If
Iam to be a victim, well and good—we can
only die once.”

,

“Very true, Tom ; but you are young to die,
and we must hope for the best.”

‘“‘T have given up-all hope, Jacob. JI know
the law will be put in force—I shall die, and go
to another and a better world, as the parson
says, where, at all events, there will be no
muskets to clean, no drill, and none of your
confounded pipe-clay, which has almost driven
me mad. I should like to die in a blue jacket
—in a red coat I will not, soI presume I shall
go out of the world in my shirt, and that’s
more than I had when I came in.”

“Mary and her father are coming down to
you, Yom.”

‘I’m sorry for that, Jacob; it would be
cruel not to see her—but she blames herself so
much that I cannot bear to read her letters,
But, Jacob, I will see her, to try if I can com-
fort her—but she must not stay, she must go
back again till after the court-martial, and the
sentence, and then—if she wishes to take her
farewell, I suppose I must not refuse.” A few
tears dropped from his eyes as he said this.
“‘Jacob, will you wait and take her back to
town ?—she must not stay here—and I will not
see my father and mother until the last. Let
us make one job of it, and then all will be
OVEr @

As Tom said this, the door of the cell
again opened, and Stapleton supported in his
daughter.. Mary tottered to where Tom stood,
and fell into his arms in a fit of convulsions.
It was necessary to remove her, and she was
carried out. ‘‘ Let her not come in again, I
beseech you, Jacob; take her back, and I will
bless you for your kindness. Wish me farewell
now, and see that she does not come again.”
Tom rung me by the hand, and turned away toconceal his distress. I nodded my head in
assent, for I could not speak for emotion, and
followed Stapleton and the soldiers who had
taken Mary out. As soonas she was recovered
sufficiently to require no further medical aid, I
lifted her into the podstchaise, and ordered the
boys to drive back to Brentford. Mary con-
tinued in a state of stupor during the journey ;
and when I arrived at my own house, I gave
her into the charge of the gardener’s wife, and
dispatched her husband for medical assistance.
The application of .Mr. Wharncliffe was of
little avail, and he returned to me with disap-
pointment in his countenance. The whole of
the next week was the most distressing that I
ever passed ; arising from my anxiety for Tom,
my daily exertions to reason Mary into some
degree of submission to the will of Providence
—her accusations of herself and her own folly
—her incoherent ravings, calling herself Tom’s
murderer, which alarmed me for. her reason;
the distress of old Tom and his wife, who,
unable to remain in their solitude, came all to
me for intelligence, for comfort, and for what,
alas! I dare not give them—hope. All this,
added to my separation from Sarah, during my
attendance to what I considered my duty,
reduced me toa debility, arising from mental
exertion, which changed me to almost a
skeleton.

At last the court-martial was held, and Tom
was condemned to death. ‘The sentence was
approved of, and we were told that all appeals
would be unavailing. We received the news
on the Saturday evening, and Tom was to
suffer on the Tuesday morning. I could no
longer refuse the appeals of Mary; indeed, I
received a letter from Tom, requesting that all
of us, the Domine included, would come down
and bid him farewell. I hired a carriage for
old Tom, his wife, Stapleton, and Mary, and
putting the Domine and myself in my own
chariot, we set off early on the Sunday morning
for Maidstone. We arrived about eleven
o'clock, and put up at an inn close to the
barracks. It was arranged that the Domine
and I should see Tom first, then his father and
mother, and, lastly, Mary Stapleton.

“Verily,” said the Domine, ‘‘my heart is
heavy, exceeding heavy ; my soul yearneth
after the poor lad, who is thus to lose his life
for a woman—a woman from whose toils I did
myself escape. Yet is she exceeding fair and
comely, and now that it is unavailing, appeareth
to be penitent.”

I made no reply; we had arrived at the gate
of the barracks. I requested to be admitted to
the prisoner, and the doors were unbarred.
Tom was dressed with great care and cleanli-
ness—in white trousers and shirt and waistcoat,
but his coat Jay on the table; he would not put
iton. He extended his hand towards me with

a faint smile.
“It's all over now, Jacob; and there is no
hope,—that I am aware of, and have made up

FACOB. FAITHFUL.

my mind to die ;—but I wish these last farewells
were over, for they unman me. I hope you are
well, sir,’’ continued Tom, to the Domine.

‘Nay, my poor boy, I am as well as age and
infirmity will permit, and why should I com-
plain when I see youth, health, and strength,
about to be sacrificed; and many made miserable,
when many might be made so happy?” and
the Domine blew his nose, the trumpet-sound
of which re-echoed through the cell, so as to
induce the sentry to look through the bars.

““They are all here, Tom,’ said I; ‘‘would
you like to see them now?”

‘‘Yes; the sooner it is over the better.”

“Will you see your father and mother first?”

‘Yes,’ replied Tom, in a faltering tone.

I went out, and returned with the old woman
on my arm, followed by old Tom, who stumped
after me with the assistance of his stick. Poor
old Mrs. Beazeley fell on her son’s neck, sobbing
convulsively.

‘“My boy—my boy—my dear, dear boy!”’
said she, at last, and she looked up steadfastly
in his face. ‘‘My God! he'll be dead. to-
morrow !”’

Her head again sank on his shoulder, and
her sobs were choking her. Yom kissed his
mother’s forehead as the tears coursed down
his cheeks, and motioned me to take her away.
I placed her down on the floor, where she
remained silent, moving her head up and down
with a slow motion, her face buried in her
shawl. It was but now and then that you
heard a convulsive drawing of her breath. Old
Tom remained a silent but agitated spectator
of the scene. Every muscle in his weather-
beaten countenance twitched convulsively, and
the tears at last forced their way through the
deep furrows on his cheeks. ‘Tom, as soon as
his mother was removed, took his father by
the hand, and they sat down together.

““You are not angry with me, father, for
deserting ?”’

‘““No, my boy, no. I was angry with you
for ‘listing, but not for deserting. What busi-
ness had you with the pipe-clay? But I do
think I have reason to be angry elsewhere, when
I reflect that after having lost my two good
legs in defending her, my country is now to
take from me my boy in his prime. It's but a
poor reward for long and hard service—poor
encouragement to do your duty; but what do
they care? they have had my sarvices, and they
have left me a hulk. Well, they may take the
rest of me if they please, now that they
Well, it’s no use crying, what’s done can’t be
helped,’ continued old Tom, as the tears ran
down in torrents; ‘‘ they may shoot you, Tom;
but this I know well, youll die game, and
shame them by proving to them they have de-
prived themselves of the sarvices of a good man
when good men are needed. J would not have
so much cared,” continued old Tom, after a
pause, —(‘‘look to the old woman, Jacob, she’s
tumbling over to port)—if you had fallen on boardYACOB

aking’s ship, ina good frigate action: some must
be killed when there’s hard fighting; but to be
drilled through by your own countrymen, to
die by their hands, and, worst of all, to die in
a red coat, instead of true blue iS

“Father, I will not die in a red coat—I won’t
put it on.”

‘““That's some comfort, Tom,
comfort’s wanted.”

‘“‘ And I'll die like. a man, father.”

“That you will, Tom, and that’s some com-
fort.”

“We shall meet again, father.”

“Hope so, Tom, in heaven—that’s some
comfort.”

‘‘And now, father, bless me, and take care
of my poor mother.”

“Bless you, Tom, bless you!” cried the old
man, in a suffocating voice, extending both his
hands towards Tom, as they rose up; but the
equilibrium was no longer to be maintained,
and he reeled back in the arms of me and Tom.
We lowered him gently down by the side of
his wife; the old couple turned to each other,
and embracing, remained sobbing in each other’s
arms.

‘‘Jacob,” said Tom, squeezing me by the
hand, with a quivering lip, ‘ by your regard for
me, let now the last scene be got over—let me
see Mary, and let this tortured heart once
more be permitted a respite.” I sent out the
Domine. Tom leant against the wall, with his
arms folded, in appearance summoning up all
his energy for the painful meeting. Mary was
led in by her father. I expected she would
have swooned away, as before; but, on the
contrary, although she was pale as death, and
gasping for breath, from intensity of feeling,
she walked up to Tom where he was standing,
and sat down on the form close to him. She
looked anxiously round upon the group, and then
said, ‘‘I know that all I now say is useless,
Tom; but still I must say it—it is I who, by
my folly, have occasioned all this distress and
misery—it is I who have caused you to suffer a
dreadful death —yes, Tom, I am your
murderer. ”’

‘Not so, Mary, the folly was my own,” re-
plied Tom, taking her hand.

“You cannot disguise or palliate to me,
dearest Tom,” replied Mary, ‘‘my eyes have
been opened,—too late, it is true,—but they
have been opened; and although it is kind of
you to say so, I feel the horrid conviction of
my own guilt. See what misery I have brought
about. ‘There is a father who has sacrificed his
youth and his limbs to his country, sobbing in
the arms of a mother whose life is bound up
with that of her only son. To them,” con-
tinued Mary, falling down upon her knees, ‘‘to
them I must kneel for pardon, and I ask it as
they hope to be forgiven. Answer me—oh!
answer me! can you forgive a wretch likeme?”

A pause ensued. I went up to old Tom, and
kneeling by his side, begged him to answer.

 

any how, and

 

 

 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
 

FAITHFUL, 159

‘‘ Forgive her, poor thing—yes; who could
refuse it, as she kneels there? Come,’’ con-
tinued he, speaking to his wife, “you must
forgive her. Look up, dame, at her, and think
that our poor boy may be asking the same of
heaven to-morrow at noon.”

The old woman looked up, and her dimmed
eyes caught a sight of Mary's imploring and
beautiful attitude ; it was not to be withstood.

‘““As I hope for mercy to my poor boy,
whom you have killed, so do I forgive you, un-
happy young woman.”

‘““May God reward you, when you are sum-
moned before Him,” replied Mary. ‘It was
the hardest task of all. Of you, Jacob, I have
to ask forgiveness for depriving you of your
early and truest friend—yes, and for much more.
Of you, sir,”” addressing the Domine, “for my
conduct towards you, which was cruel and
indefensible,—will you forgive me?”

“Yes, Mary, from my heart, I do forgive
you,” replied I.

‘“Bless thee, maiden, bless thee!’ sobbed the
Domine.

‘Father, I must ask of you the same—I have
been a wilful child,—forgive me!”

““Yes, Mary ; you could not help it,” replied
old Stapleton, blubbering, ‘it was all human
natur.”

““And now,’ said Mary, turning round on
her knees to Tom, with a look expressive of
anguish and love, ‘‘to you, Tom, must be my
last appeal. I know yow will forgive me—I know
you have—and this knowledge of your fervent
love makes the thought more bitter that I have
caused your death. But hear me, Tom, and all
of you hear me. I never loved but you ; I have
liked others much, —I liked Jacob, but you only
ever did make me feel I had a heart ; and alas !
you only have I sacrificed. When led away
by my folly to give you pain, I suffered more
than you—for you have had my only, you shall
have my eternal and unceasing, love. To your
memory I am hereafter wedded, to join you
will be my only wish—and if there could be a
boon granted me from Heaven, it would be
to die with you, Tom—yes, in those dear
arms.”

Mary held out her arms to Tom, who falling
down on his knees, embraced her, and thus
they remained with their faces buried in each
other’s shoulders. The whole scene was now at
its climax ; it was too oppressive, and I felt
faint, when I was roused by the voice of the
Domine, who, lifting up both his arms, and ex-
tending them forth, solemnly prayed, ‘‘O Lord,
look down upon these ‘Thy servants, in
affliction ; grant to those who are to continue in
their pilgrimage strength to bear Thy chastening
—grant to him who is to be summoned to
Thee, that happiness which the world cannot
give; and O God most mighty, God most
powerful, lay not upon us burthens greater than
we can bear.—My children, let us pray.”

The Domine knelt down, and repeated theI54

Lord’s Prayer ; all followed his example, and
then there was a pause.

‘Stapleton,’ said I, pointing to Mary. 1
beckoned to the Domine. We assisted up old
Tom, and then his wife, and led them away ;
the poor old woman was in a state of stupefac-
tion, and until she was out in the air was
not aware that she had quitted her son. Staple-
ton had attempted to detach Mary from Tom,
but in vain ; they were locked together as if in
death. At last Tom, roused by me, suffered
his hold to be loosened, and Mary was taken
out in a happy state of insensibility, and carried
to the i inn by her father and the Domine.

‘« Are they all gone?” whispered’Tom to me,
as his head reclined on my shoulder.

SOA om.”

“Then the bitterness of death is passed ;

Te GOB. FAITHEGL,

God have mercy on them, and assuage their
anguish ; they want His help more than I do.’

A passionate flood of tears, which lasted
some minutes, relieved the poor fellow : he raised
himself, and drying his eyes, became more com-
posed.

‘Jacob, I hardly need tell my dying request,
te watch over my poor father and mother, to

omfort poor Mary—God bless you, Jacob !
you have indeed been a faithful friend, and may
God reward you.—And now, Jacob, leave me;
I must commune with my God, and pray for
forgiveness. ‘The space between me and
eternity is but short.”

Tom threw himself into my arms, where he
remained for some minutes; he then broke
gently away, and pointed to the door. Tonce
more took his hand, and we parted.

 

In which, as usual in the last Chapter of a Work, everything is wound up much to the Reader's Satisfaction,

and not a little

J WENT back to the inn, and ordering the
horses to be put to, I explained to all but Mary
the propriety of their now returning home.
Mary was lifted in, and it Weer a relief to my
mind to see them all depart. s for myself, I
resolved to remain until the Lee : Spt I was ina

state of feverish agitation, which made me rest-
As I paced up and down the room, the

I laid hold of it
i A parag ‘raph
ship

less.
newspaper caught my eye.
mechanically, and looked at it
riveted my attention. ‘‘His Majesty's
Immortalité, Chatham, to be paid off.”

our ship had come home. But what was

now? Yet something whispered to me that
ought to go to see Captain M: aclean, and try il

Qs

anything could be done, I knew his comma
ing interest, and although it was now too late,
still I had an impulse to go and see him, which
I could not resist. ‘‘ After all/’
self, ‘‘I’m of no use here, and I may as well
go.” This feeling, added to restless-
ness, induced me to order horses, and I went to
Ghatham, found out that Captain Maclean was
still on board, and took boat off to the frigate.
I was recognized by the officers, who were glad
to see me, ‘and I sent a message to the captain,
who was below, requesting to see him. 1 was
asked into the cabin, and stated to him what had
occurred, requesting his assistance, if possible

‘ Faithful,” replied he, ‘‘it appears that Tom
Beazeley has deserted twice ; still there is much
extenuation ; at all events, ‘the punishment of
death is too severe, and I don't /ze it—I can
save him, and I will. By the rule.of the ser-
vices, a deserter from one Ses can be claimed
from the other, and must be tried by his officers.
His sentence is, therefore, not legal. I shall
send a party of marines, and claim him ‘as a

said 1 to my

 

Mv
iy

to the Author’s, who lays down his Pen,

 

exclaiming, Thank God !

and they ae and
sy, Faith-

deserter from the navy,
shall give him up—make yourself e
ful, —his life is as safe as yours.

1 could have fallen on my knees and thanked
him, though 1 could hard! y believe that such
good news was true.

‘“There is no time to lose, sir,” replied I,
respectfully : ‘‘he is to be shot to-morrow, at
nine o'clock.”

es He will be on board here to-morrow at
nine o-clock, or 1 am not Captain Maclean.
t,1aS you Say, there is no time to lose. It is

early dark, and the party must be off
nediately. I must write a letter on service

  

 

 

 

to the comma nding officer of the depdt. Call
my clerk.

I out and- called the clerk. ie a few
minutes the letter was written, and a party of
marines, with the second lieutenant, despa ereet

with me on shore. J ordered post-chaises for
the wl party, and before eleven we were at
Maidstone. The liettenant and sat up all
nicht, and, at daylight, we summoned the
marines and went to the barracks, where we
found the awful note of preparation going
forward, and the commanding officer up and
attending to the arrangements. I introduced
the lieutenant, who presented the letter on
service.

“Good heavens; how fortunate!
establish his identity, I presume ?”’

‘very man here can swear to him.”

“Tis sufficient, Mr. Faithful. I wish -you
and your friend joy of this reprieve. The rules
of the service must be obeyed, and you will
sig sn a receipt for the prisoner.

This was done By the lieutenant, and the
provost-marshal was ordered to deliver up the

 

|

You canJACOB FAITHFUL. I55
prisoner. I hastened with the marines into the the background at first, while I prepare them,
cell: the door was unlocked. Tom, who was Where shall we go first 2”
reading his Bible, started up, and perceiving ‘Oh! to my mother,” replied Tom.
the red Jackets, thought that he was tobeled We passed through Putney Bridge, and
out to execution. Tom's bosom heaved as he looked towards the
“ My lads,” exclaimed he, ‘‘I am ready ; the residence of ary. His heart was there, poor
sooner this is over the better.” fellow ! and he longed to have flown to the poor
“No, Tom,” said I, advancing ; ‘‘I trust for girl, and have dried her tears ; but his first duty
better fortune. You are claimed as a deserter was to his parents.
from the Immortalité.” We soon arrived abreast of the residence of
Tom stared, lifted the hair from his forehead the old couple, and I desired Tom to pull in,
and threw himself into my arms ; but we had but not turn his head round, lest they should
no time for a display of feelings. We hurried see him before I had prepared them ; for too
Tom away from the barracks ; again I put the much joy will kill as well as grief. Old Tom
whole party into chaises, and we soon arrived was not at his work, and all was quiet. I
at Chatham, where we embarked on board of landed and went to the house, opened the
the frigate. Tom was given into the charge of door, and found them both sitting by the
the master-at-arms, as a deserter, and a letter kitchen fire in silence, apparently occupied
was written by Captain Maclean, demanding a with watching the smoke as it ascended up the
court-martial on him. spacious chimney.
“What will be the result >” inquired IJ of the ‘Good morning to you both,” said I 02 NOW:
first-lieutenant. do you find yourself, Mrs. Beazeley ?”
‘““The captain says, little or nothing, as he ‘““Ah! deary me!” replied the old woman,
was pressed as an apprentice, which is contrary putting her apron up to her eyes.
to Act of Parliament.” “Sit down, Jacob, sit down,” said old Tom :
I went down to cheer Tom with this intelli- “we can talk of him now.”

gence, and, taking my leave, set off for London “Yes, now that he’s in heaven, poor fellow!”
with a light heart. Still I thought it better not interposed the old woman.

to communicate this good news until assurance “Fell: me Jacob,” said old Tom, with a
was made doubly sure. I hastened to Mr. quivering lip, “‘did you see the last of him?
Drummond's, and detailed to them all which Tell meall about it. “How did helook? How
had passed. The next day. Mr.—-Wharncliffe did he behave? Was he soon out of his pain?
went with me to the Admiralty, where I had the And—Jacob—where is he buried ?”

happiness to find that all was legal, and that “Yes, yes,” sobbed Mrs. Beazeley ; ‘‘ tell
Tom could only be tried for his desertion from me where is the body of my poor child.”

a man-of-war : and that, if he could prove that ‘‘Can you bear to talk about him?” said I.
he was an apprentice, he would in all proba- “Yes, yes ; we can’t talk too much: it does

bility be acquitted. The court-martial was us good,’ replied she. ‘‘We havedone nothing
summoned three days after the letter had been but talk about him since we left him.”

received by the Admiralty. I-hastened down “And shall, till we sink into our own graves,”
to Chatham to be present. It was very short: saidold Tom, “which won’tbelong. I’venothing
the desertion was proved, and Tom was called to wish for now, and I’ll never sing again, that’s
upon for his defence. He produced his papers, sartin. .We sha'n’t last long, either of us. As
and proved that he was pressed before his time for me,” continued the old man with a melan-
had expired. The court was cleared for a few choly smile, looking down at his Stumps. Jab
minutes, andthen re-opened ; Tom was acquitted may well say that I've zevo feet in the grave
on the ground of illegal detention, contrary to already. But come, Jacob, tellus all about him.
Act of Parliament, and he was free. I returnec “T will,” replied 1: ‘and my dear Mrs.
my thanks to Captain Maclean and the officers Beazeley, you must prepare yourself for different
for their kindness, and left the ship with Tom tidings than what you expect. Tom is not yet
in the cutter, ordered for me by the first-lieu-. shot.”’

tenant. My heart swelled with gratitude at “Not dead !’’ shrieked the old woman.

the happy result. Tom was silent, but his “Not yet, Jacob ;” cried old Tom, seizing
feelings I could well analyse. I gave to the me by the arm, and squeezing’ it with the f
men of the boat five guineas to drink Tom’s of a vice, as he looked me earnestly in the
health, and, hastening to the inn, ordered the face.
carriage, and with Tom, who was a precious ‘He lives: and I am in hopes he will be
deposit, for upon his welfare depended the pardoned.”

happiness of so many, I hurried to London as Mrs, Beazeley sprang from her chair and
fast as I could, stopped at the Drummonds’ to. seized me by the other arm.

communicate the’ happy intellig

 

and. then “I see—lI see by your face. Yes, Jacob, he

proceeded to my Own house, where we slept. is pardoned; and. we shall have our Tom

The next morning I dressed Tom in some of again,”

my Clothes, and we embarked in the wherry. “You are right, Mrs. Beazeley ; he is pare
: : ”

c V AT
ren Al said -l, “you must keep in doned, and will soon be here.

enre
CliCce,

\er - >
WOW, JOM,156 VACOB. FATTHEUE,

The old couple sank down on their knees
beside me. I left them, and beckoned from
the door to Tom, who flew up, andina moment
was in their arms. lI[assisted him to put his
mother into her chair, and then went out to
recover myself from the ‘agitating scene. I
remained about an hour outside, and then re-
turned. The old couple seized me by the
hand and invoked blessings on my head.

“You must now part with Tom a little
while,” said I; ‘‘there are others to make
happy besides yourselves.”’

{ WVereitue, «replied old om); “‘90, my
lad, and comfort her. Come, missus, we
mustn't forget others.”

‘“‘Oh no! Go, Tom ; go and tell her that I
don’t care how soon she is my daughter.”

Tom embraced his mother and followed me
to the boat: we pulled up against the tide, and
were soon at Putney.

‘“Tom, you had better stay in the boat. I
will either come or send for you.”

It was very unwillingly that Tom consentec,
but I over-ruled his entreaties, and he remained.
I walked to Mary’s house and entered. She
was up in the little parlour, dressed in deep
mourning ; when I entered she was looking out
upon the river ; she turned her head, and pei-
ceiving me, rose to meet me.

‘“You do not come to upbraid me, Jacob, I
am sure,’ said she, in a melancholy voice ;
‘‘you are too kind-hearted for that.”

‘“No, no, Mary ; Iam come tocomfort you,
if possible.”

‘That is not possible. Look at me, Jacob.
Is there not a worm—a canker—that gnaws
within ?”’

The hollow cheek, and wild flaring eye, once
so beautiful, but too plainly told the truth.

“Mary,” said I, ‘‘sit down ; you know what
the Bible says, —‘It is good for us to be
afflicted.’ ”

“Yes, yes,’ sobbed Mary, ‘‘I deserve all I
suffer ; and I bow in humility. But am I not
too much punished, Jacob? Not that I would
repine : but is it not too much for me to bear,
when I think that I am the destroyer of one
who loved me so?”

‘“ You have not been the destroyer, Mary.”

‘Yes, yes; my heart tells me that I have.”

“But I tell you that you have not. Say,
Mary, dreadful as the punishment has been,
would you not kiss the rod with thankfulness, if
it cured you of your unfortunate disposition,
and prepared you to makea good wife?”

“That it has cured me, Jacob, I can safely
assert ; but it has also killed me as well as him.
But I wish not to live: and I trust, in a few
short months, to repose by his side.”

“T hope you will have your wish, Mary,
very soon, but not in death.”

‘“Merciful heavens! what do you mean,
Jacob?”

“I said you were not the destroyer of poor
Tom ; youhave not been—hehas not yet suffered :

 

   

there was an informality, which has induced
them to revise the sentence.”

‘‘Jacob,” replied Mary, ‘‘it is cruelty to
raise my hopes only to crush them again. If
not yet dead, he is still to die. I wish you
had not told me so,” continued she, bursting
into tears; ‘‘what a state of agony and sus- |
pense must he have been in all this time, and
I—I have caused his sufferings! I trusted he |
had long been released from this cruel heartless
world,”

The flood of tears which followed, assured
me that I could safely impart the glad intelli- |
gence. ‘‘ Mary, Mary, listen to me.”

‘““ Leave me, leave me,” sobbed Mary, waving
her hand.

“‘No, Mary, not until I tell you that Tom is
not only alive, but—pardoned.”

‘‘Pardoned !” shrieked Mary.

“Yes, pardoned, Mary,—free, Mary, —and in
a few minutes will be in your arms.”

Mary dropped on her knees, raised her
hands and eyes to heaven, and then fell into a
state of insensibility. “Tom, who had followed
me, and remained near the house, had heard
the shriek, and could no longer retain himself ;
he flew into the room as Mary fell, and I put
her into his arms. At the first signs of return-
ing sensibility I left them together, and went to
find old Stapleton, to whom I was more brief in
my communication. Stapleton continued to
smoke his pipe during my narrative.

‘Glad of it, glad of it,” said he, when I
finished. ‘‘I were just thinking how all these
senses brought us into trouble,—more than all,
that sense of love: got me into trouble, and
made me kill a man,—got my poor wife into
trouble, and drowned her,—and now almost
shot Tom, and killed Mary. Had too much of
HUMAN NATUR lately,—nothing but moist eyes
and empty pipes. Met that sergeant yesterday,
—had a turn up: Tom settled one eye, and |
old as I am, I've settled the other for a time.
He's in bed for a fortnight,—couldn’t help it,
—human natur.”

I took leave of Stapleton, and calling in
upon Tom and Mary, shaking hands with the |
one, and kissing the other, I despatched a
letter to the Domine, acquainting him with what
had passed, and then hastened to the Drum-
monds, and imparted the happy results of my
morning’s work to Sarah and her mother.

‘‘“And now, Sarah, having so successfully
atranged the affairs of other people, I should |
like to plead in my own behalf. I think that |
after having been deprived almost wholly of |
your dear company for a month, I deserve to be |
rewarded.”

 

‘“You do, indeed, Jacob,” said Mrs. Drum-
mond, ‘‘and I am sure that Sarah thinks so too,
if she will but acknowledge it.”

“I do acknowledge it, mamma ; but what is
this reward to be?”

‘That you will allow your father and mother |
to arrange an early day for our nuptials, and ~also allow Tom and Mary to be united at the
same altar.”

‘‘Mamma, have I not always been a dutiful
daughter ?”’

‘‘Yes, my love, you have.”

“Then I shall do as I am bidden by my
parents, Jacob; it will be probably the last
command I receive from them, and I shall
obey it ; will that please you, dear Jacob?”

That evening the day was fixed, and now I must
mot weary the reader with a description of my
feelings, or of my happiness in the preparations
for the ceremony. Sarah and I, Mary and
Tom, were united on the same day, and there
was nothing to cloud our happiness. Tom took
up his abode with his father and mother ; and
Mary, radiant with happiness, even more
beautiful than ever, has settled down into an
excellent, doting wife. For Sarah, I hardly
need say the same; she was my friend from
childhood, she is now all that a man could hope
and wish for. We have been married several
years, and are blessed with a numerous family.

I am now almost at a conclusion. I have
only to acquaint. the reader witha few parti-
culars relative to my early friends. Stapleton
is still alive, and is wedded to his pipe, which,
with him, although the taste for tobacco has
been considered as an acquired one, may truly
be asserted to be human nature. He has two
wherries with apprentices, and from them gains
a good livelihood without working himself. He
says that the boys are not so honest as I was,
and cheat him not a little ; but he consoles him-
self by asserting that it is nothing but human
natur. Old Tom is also strong and hearty,
and says that he don’t intend to follow his legs
ior some time yet. His dame, he says, is
peaking, but Mary requires no assistance. Old
‘fom has left off mending boats, his sign is
taken down, for he is now comfortable. When
Tom married, I asked him what he wished to
do: he requested me to lend him money to
surchase a lighter. I made him a present of a
new one, just launched by Mr. Drummond's
frm. But old Stapleton made over to him the
{£200 left to him by Mr. Turnbull, and his
mother brought out an equal sum from her
hoards. This enabled Tom to purchase another
lighter, and now he has six or seven, I forget
which ; at all events, he is well off, and adding
to his wealth every year. They talk of removing
to a better house, but the old couple wish to
remain. Old Tom, especially, has built an
arbour where the old boat stood, and sits there
carolling his songs, and watching the craft as
they go up and down the river.

Mr. and Mrs. Wharncliffe still continue my
neighbours and dearest friends. Mrs. Turnbull
died a few months back, and I am now in
possession of the whole property. My father
and mother in law are well and happy. Mr.
Drummond will retire from business as soon as
he can wind up his multifarious concerns. it

FACOB FAITHFUL.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS, LONDON:

se —

  
     
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
    

157

have but one more to speak of—the old Domine.
It is now two years since I closed the eyes of
this worthy man. As he increased in years so
did he in his abstraction of mind, and the
governors of the charity thought it necessary to
superannuate him with a pension. It was a
heavy blow to the old man, who-asserted his
capabilities to continue to instruct ; but people
thought otherwise, and he accepted my offer to
take up his future residence with us, upon the
understanding that it was necessary that our
children, the eldest of whom, at that time, was
but four years old, should be instructed in Latin
and Greek. He removed to us with all his
books, &c., not forgetting the formidable birch ;
but as the children would not take to the Latin
of their own accord, and Mrs. Faithful would
not allow the rod to be madeuse of, the Domine’s
occupation was gone. Still such was the force
of habit, that he never went without the Latin
grammar in his pocket, and I have often watched
him sitting down in the poultry-yard, fancying,
I presume, that he was in his school. ‘There
would he decline, construe, and conjugate
aloud, his only witnesses being the poultry, who
would now and then raise a gobble, gobble,
gobble, while the ducks with their guack, quack,
guack, were still more impertinent in their
replies. A sketch of him, in this position, has
been taken by Sarah, and now hangs over the
mantel-piece of my study, between two of Mr.
Turnbull's drawings, one of an iceberg on the
17th of August, '78, and the other showing the
dangerous position of the Came/ whaler, jammed
between the floe of ice, in latitude——, and
longitude——.

Reader, I have now finished my narrative.
There are two morals, I trust, to be drawn from
the events of my life, one of which is, that in
society we naturally depend upon each other
for support, and that he who would assert his
independence, throws himself out of the current
which bears to advancement :—the other is,
that with the advantages of good education,
and good principle, although it cannot be ex-
pected that every one will be so fortunate as I
have been, still there is every reasonable hope,
and every right to expect, that we shall do well
in this world. ‘Thrown up, as the Domine ex-
pressed himself, as a tangle-weed from the river,
you have seen the orphan and charity-boy rise
to wealth and consideration,—you have seen
how he who was friendless, secured to himself
the warmest friends,—he who required every-
thing from others, became in a situation to
protect and assist in return—he who could not
call one individual his relation,—united to the
object of his attachment, and blessed with a
numerous family ; and to amass all these ad-
vantages and this sum of happiness, the only
capital with which he embarked was a good
education and good principles.

Reader, farewell !The

Pacha of Many Tales

BY
CAPLAIN MARR VAT

AUTHOR OF “PETER SIMPLE”

AUTHOR'S EDITION, COMPLETE

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE*
NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREETCONTENTS.

  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
   
   
  
 
 

 

CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CAMEL-DRIVER « ° - - e 3 ’ Bs
Il. THE GREEK SLAVE , - ° = = e é ig =e ay
HI. THE MONK - - = . : < ’ = ete
IV. THE MONK (CONTINUED)  - e 2 3 : : ee I
Y. HUCKABAGK . - - = a . s . 3; 40
VI. HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) ~ - - = a = = dG
VII. MANUSCRIPT OF THE MONK - . - ~ ° - = ee
VIII. MANUSCRIPT OF THE MONK (CONTINUED) - - - - - 9 i
IX. HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) - . - a - = =i Go
X. HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) - - - = = = - 70
XI, HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) - - - S - =) 74
XII. HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) - - - - - - - 82
XIII. HUCKABACK (CONTINUED) = - - = = a - 89 a
XIV. THE SCARRED LOVER - ° : - - - - ~ 3 Gt
XV, STORY OF HUDUSI - ° ~ - - - - - 104
XVI. STORY OF HUDUSI (CONTINUED) - - - - - - 107
XVII. TALE OF THE ENGLISH SAILOR - - - : - Er
XVII, THE WATER-CARRIER - - - - - - - =) £16 5
XIX. THE WONDROUS TALE OF HAN - - ~ - - - 130 i
XX. STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN - - - ~ = : - 138 LE
XXI, STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN (CONTINUED) - - - - - 146

 
  
 

CONCLUSION - : = E ssTHE PACHA OR MANY, TALES,

    

——_d.050400——=

CHAPTER I.

EVERY one acquainted with the manners and
customs of the East must be aware, that there
is no situation of eminence more unstable, or
more dangerous to its possessor, than that of
a pacha. Nothing, perhaps, affords us more
convincing proof of the risk which men will
incur to obtain a temporary authority over
their fellow-creatures, than the avidity with
which this office is accepted from the sultan ;
who, within the memory of the new occupant,
has consigned scores of his predecessors to the
bow-string. It would almost appear as if the
despot but elevated a head from the crowd,
that he might obtain a more fair and uninter-
rupted sweep for his scimitar, when he cut it
off; only exceeded in his peculiar taste by the
King of Dahomey, who is said to ornament the
steps of his palace with heads, fresh severed,
each returning sun, as we renew the decora-
tion of our apartments from our gay parterres.
I make these observations, that I may not be
accused of a disregard to chronology, in not
precisely stating the year, or rather the months,
during which flourished one of a race, who,
like the flowers of the cistus, one morning in
all their splendour, on the next are strewed
lifeless on the ground to make room for their
successors. Speaking of such ephemeral crea-
tions, it will be quite sufficient to say, ‘ There
was a pacha.’

Would you inquire by what means he was
raised to the distinction? Itisan idle ques-
tion. In this world, pre-eminence over your
feliow-creatures can only be obtained by leav-
ing others far behind in the career of virtue or
of vice. In compliance with the dispositions
of those who rule, faithful service in the one
path or the other will shower honour upon the
subject, and by the breath of kings he be-
comes ennobled, to look down upon his former
equals.

And as the world spins round, the why is of
little moment. The honours are bequeatiied,
but not the good or the evil deeds, or the
talents by which they were obtained. In the
latter we have but a life interest, for the entail
is cut off by death. Aristocracy in all its va-
rieties is as necessary for the well binding of

society, as the divers grades between the gene-
tal and the common soldier are essential in the
field. Never then inquire why this or that man
has been raised above his fellows ; but, each
night as you retire to bed, thank Heaven that
you are not @ kz.

And if I may digress, there is one badge of
honour in our country which I never contem-
plate without serious reflection rising in my
mind: it is the 4/vody hand in the dexter chief
of a baronet,—now often worn, 1 grant, by
those who, perhaps, during their whole lives
have never raised their hands in anger. But
my thoughts have returned to days of yore —the
iron days of zroned men, when it was the sym-
bol of faithful service in the field—when it
realiy was bestowed upon the ‘hand embrued
in blood; and I have meditated, whether that
hand, displayed with exultation in this world,
may not be held up trembling in the next—in
judgment against itself.

And 1, whose memory stepping from one
legal murder to another, can walk dry-footed
over the broad space of five-and-twenty years
of time,—but the ‘damned spots’ won’t come
out—so I’ll put my hands in my pockets and
walk on.

Conscience, fortunately or unfortunately, I
hardly can tell which, permits us to form
political and religious creeds, most suited to
disguise or palliate our sins. Mine is a mili-
tary conscience; and I agree with Bates and
Williams, who flourished in the time of Henry
V., that it is ‘all upon the king’ that is to
say, it was all upon the king; but now our
constitution has become so incomparably per-
fect, that ‘the king can do no wrong;’ and
he has no difficulty in finding ministers, who,
voluntarily impignorating themselves for all
his actions in this world, will, in all proba-
bility, not escape from the clutches of the
great Pawnbroker in the next—from which
facts I draw the following conciusions :—

1st. That his majesty (God bless him !) will
go to heaven.

andly. That his majesty's ministers will all
go to the devil.

3rdly. That I shall go——on with my story.

I—2THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

As, however, a knowledge of the Previous able, that he was enabled in a short time to
history of our pacha will be necessary to the take his passage in a vessel bound to Smyrna,
development of our story, the reader will in his own country. This vessel was captured
this instance be indulged. He had been by a French privateer; he was landed, and,
brought up to the profession of a barber; but, not being considered as a prisoner, allovier| to
possessing great personal courage, he headed act as he thought proper. In a short ti:..2 he
@ popular commotion in favour of his prede- obtained the situation of valet and barber to a
cessor, and was rewarded by a post of some ‘ millionaire,” whom he contrived to rob of a
importance in the army. Successful in de- few hundred Napoleons, and with them to
tached service, while his general was unfortu- make his escape to his own country. Deme-
nate in the field, he was instructed to take off trius had now some knowledge of the world,
the head of his commander, and head the and he felt it necessary that he should become
troops in his stead; both of which services he a True Believer, as there would be more
performed with equal skill and celerity. Sue- chance of his advancement in a Turkish
cess aitended him, and the pacha, his prede- country. He dismissed the patriarch to the
cessor, having in his opinion, as well as in devil, and took up the turban and Mahomet ;
that of the sultan, remained an unusual time then quitting the scene of his apostasy, re-
in office, by an accusation enforced by athou- commenced _ his profession of barber in the
sand purses of gold, he was enabled to pro- territory of the pacha, whose good-will he had
duce a bowstring for his benefactor; and the obtained previous to the latter’s advancement
sultan’s ‘firmaun’ appointed him to the va- to the pachalik.
cant pachalik. His qualifications for office ‘Mustapha,’ observed the pacha, ‘thou
were all superlative : he was very short, very knowest that I have taken off the heads of all
corpulent, very illiterate, very irascible, and those who left their slippers at the door of the
very stupid. late pacha.’

‘ On the morning after his investment, he ‘Allah Kebur! God is most powerful! So
was under the hands of his barber, a shrewd, perish the enemies of your sublime highness.
intelligent Greek, Mustapha byname. Barbers Were they not the sons of Shitan ? replied
are privileged persons for many reasons: run- Mustapha.
ning from one employer to another to obtain ‘Very true; but, Mustapha, the consequence
their livelihood, they also obtain matter for con- is, that I am in want of a vizier ; and whom
versation, which, impertinent as it may some- do I know equal to that office ?’
times be, serves’ to beguile the tedium of an ‘While your sublime highness is pacha, is
operation which precludes the use of any not a child equal to the office? Who stumbles,
organ except the ear. Moreover, we are in- when guided by unerring wisdom ?’
clined to be on good terms with a man who ‘I know that very well,’ replied the pacha ;
has it in his power to cut our throats when- ‘but if I am always to direct him, I might as
ever he pleases—to wind up; the personal well be vizier myself; besides, I shall have no
liberties atising from his profession render all one to blame, if affairs go wrong with the
others trifling ; for the man who takes his sultan, Inshallah! please the Lord, the
sovereign by the nose, cannot well after that vizier’s head may sometimes save my own.’
be denied the liberty of speech. ‘Are we not as dogs before you?’ replied
Mustapha was a Greek by birth, and in- Mustapha; ‘happy the man who by offering
herited all the intelligence and adroitness of his own head may preserve that of your
his race. He had been brought up to his sublime highness! It ought to be the proudest
profession when a slave; but at the age of day of his life.’
nineteen he accompanied his master on board ‘At all events
of a merchant-vessel bound to Scio ; this ves- joined the pacha.
sel was taken by a pirate, and Demetrius (for _‘ May it please your sublime highness,’ ob-
such was his real name) joined this band of served Mustapha, after a pause, ‘if your slave
miscreants, and very faithfully served his ap- may be so honoured as to speak in your pre-
prenticeship to cutting throats, until the vessel sence, a vizier should be a person of great
was captured by an English frigate. Being tact; he should be able to draw the line as
an active, intelligent person, he was, at his nicely as I do when I shave your sublime
own request, allowed to remain on board as head, leaving not a vestige of the hair, yet en-
one of the ship’s company, assisted in several tering not upon the skin.’
actions, and after three years went to England, ‘Very true, Mustapha.’
where the ship was paid off. For some time, ‘ He should have a sharp eye for the dis-
Demetrius tried to make his fortune, but with- affected to the government, selecting them
out success, and it was not until he was re- and removing them from among the crowd,
duced to nearly his last shilling that he com- as I do the few white hairs which presume to
menced the trade of hawking rhubarb about make their appearance in your sublime and
in a box; which speculation turned so profit- magnificent beard.’ :

» it would be the last,’ re-‘Very true, Mustapha.’

‘He should carefully remove all impurities
from the state, as I have this morning from
your sublime ears.’

‘Very true, Mustapha.’

“He should be well acquainted with the
secret springs of action, as I have proved my-
self to be in the shampooing which your
sublime highness has just received.’

‘Very true, Mustapha.’

‘Moreover, he should be ever grateful to
your highness for the distinguished honour
conferred upon him.’

‘All that you say is very true, Mustapha,
but where am I to meet with such a man?’

“This world is convenient in some points,’
continued Mustapha; ‘if you want either a
fool or a knave, you have not far to go to find
them; but it is no easy task to select the per-
son you require. I know but one.’

‘And who is he?’

‘One whose head is but as your footstool,’
answered the barber, prostrating himself,
‘your sublime highness’s most devoted slave,
Mustapha.’

‘Holy Prophet! Then you mean yourself!
Well, now I think of it, if one barber can be-
come a pacha, I do not see why another would
not make a vizier. But then what am I to
do for a barber? No, no, Mustapha; a good
vizier is easy to be found, but a good ‘barber,
you know as well as I do, requires some
talent.’

‘Your slave is aware of that,’ replied Mus-
tapha, ‘but he has travelled in other coun-
tries, where itis no uncommon circumstance
for men to hold more'than one office under
government, sometimes much more incompa-
tible than those of barber and vizier, which
are indeed closely connected. The affairs of
most nations are settled by the potentates
during their toilet. While I am shaving
the head of your sublime highness, I can
receive your commands to take off the heads
of others; and you can have your person
and your state both put in order at the same
moment.’

‘Very true, Mustapha ; then, on condition
that you continue your office of barber, I
have no objection to throw that of vizier
into the bargain.’

Mustapha again prostrated himself, with
his tweezers in his hand. He then rose and
continued his office.

“You can write, Mustapha?’ observed the
pacha, after a short silence.

‘Min Allah! God forbid that I should ac-
knowledge it, or I should consider myself as
unfit to assume the office in which your sub-
lime highness has invested me.’

‘ Although unnecessary for me, I thought
ft might be requisite for a vizier,’ observed
the pacha.

 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
    

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 2

‘Reading may be necessary, I will allow,
replied Mustapha; ‘but I trust I can soon
prove to your highness that writing is as dan-
gerous as it is useless. More men have been
ruined by that unfortunate acquirement, than
by any other ; and dangerous as it is to all,
it is still more dangerous to men in high
power. For instance, your highness sends a
message in writing, which is ill-received, and
it is produced against you; but had it beena
verbal message, you could deny it, and bas-
tinado to death the Tartar who carried it, as
a proof ef your sincerity.’ a

‘Very true, Mustapha.’

‘The grandfather of your slave,’ continued
the barber-vizier, ‘held the situation of re-
ceiver-general at the custom-house ; and he
was always in a fury when he was obliged to
take up the pen. It was his creed that no
government could prosper when writing was
in general use. ‘‘ Observe, Mustapha,” said
he to me one day, ‘‘here is the curse of writ-
ing—for all the money which is paid in, 1am
obliged to give a receipt. What is the con-
sequence? that government loses many thou-
sand sequins every year; for when I apply to
them for asecond payment, they produce their
receipt. Now if it had not been for this
cursed invention of writing, Inshaliah ! they
should have paid twice, if not thrice over.
Remember, Mustapha,” continued he, ‘ that
reading and writing only clog the wheels of
government.’ ’

‘Very true, Mustapha,’ observed the pacha;
‘then we will have no writing.’

‘Yes, your sublime highness, everything in
writing from others, but nothing in writing
from ourselves. I have a young Greek slave,
who can be employed in these matters. He
reads well. I have lately employed him in
reading to me thestories of ‘t Thousand and
one Nights.” ’

‘Stories,’ cried thepacha, ‘what are they
about? I never heard of them ; I’m very fond
of stories.’

‘If it would pleasure your sublime highness
to hear these stories read, the slave will wait
your commands,” replied the vizier.

‘ Bring him this'evening, Mustapha ; we will
smoke a pipe, and listen to them ; I'm very
fond of stories—they always send me to sleep.’

The business of the day was transacted with
admirable precision and despatch by the two
quondam barbers, who proved how easy it
is to govern, where there are not ‘three es-
tates’ to confuse people. They sat in the
divan as highwaymen loiter on the road, and
it was ‘Your money or your life’ to all who
made their appearance. ;

At the usual hour the court broke up, the
guards retired, the money was carried to the
treasury, the executioner wiped his sword, and
the lives of the pacha’s subjects were con*8 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

sidered to be in a state of comparative secu- _ ‘Zeinab,’ said the pacha, ‘do you love tae?
rity, until the affairs of the country were © ‘Do not I worship the dust that my lord
again brought under their cognizance on the treads on?

ensuing day. ‘Very true—then I have a favour to Te-

In obedience to the wish expressed by the quest; observe, Zeinab—it is my wish that =
pacha, Mustapha made his appearance in the (here the pacha took a few whiffs from his
afternoon with the young Greek slave. The pipe)—‘ The fact is—I wish you to dishonour
new vizier having taken a seat upon acushion my harem as soon as possible.
at the feet of the pacha, the pipes were lighted, ‘Wallah sel Nebi ! !—By Allah and the
and the slave was directed to proceed. Prophet ! your highness is ina merry humour

The Greek had arrived at the end of the this evening,’ replied Zeinab, turning round
First Night, in which Schezehezerade com- to quit the apartment. ;
mences her story, and the Sultan, who was ‘On the contrary, I amina serious humour;
anxious to hear the termination of it, defers I mean what I have said, and I expect that
her execution to the following day. you will comply with my wishes.’

‘Stop !’ cried the pacha, taking the pipe “Is my lord mad? or has he indulged too
from his lips; ‘how long before the break of freely in the juice of the grape forbidden by
day did that girl call her sister ?' our Prophet? Allah kebur! God is most

* About half an hour, yoursublime highness.’ powetful—The hakim must be sent for.’

‘Wallah ! is that all she could tell of her ‘Will you do as I order you?’ said the
Story in half an hour ?—There’s not a woman pacha angrily.
inmy harem who would not Say as much in ‘Does my lord send for his slave to insult
five minutes.’ her? My blood is as water at the dreadful

The pacha was so amused with the stories, thought! Dishonour the harem !—Min Allah !
that he never once felt inclined to sleep; on God forbid !—Would not the eunuch be ready
the contrary, the Greek slave was compelled and the sack ?’

to read every afternoon, until his legs were so “Yes, they would, I acknowledge ; but still
tired that he could hardly stand, and his it must be done.’
tongue almost refused its office ; consequently ‘It shall not be done,’ replied the lady.—

they were soon finished ; and Mustapha not ‘Has my lord been visited by Heaven? or is
being able to procure any more, they were he possessed by the Shitan ?—And the lady
read a second time. After which the pacha, burst into tears of rage and vexation as she
who felt the loss of his evening’s amusement, quitted the apartment.

became first puzzled how to pass away his ‘ There's obstinacy for you—women are no-
time ; then he changed to hypochondriacism, thing but opposition. If you wish them to be
and finally became so irritable, that even faithful, they try day and night to deceive you;
Mustapha himself at times approached him give them their desires and tell them to be
with some degree of awe. false, they will refuse. All was arranged so

‘T have been thinking,’ observed the pacha, well, I should have cut off all their heads, and
one morning, when under the hands of Mus- had a fresh wife every night, until I found one
tapha, in his original capacity, ‘that it would who could tell stories; then I should have risen
be as easy for me to have stories told me, as up and deferred her execution till the follow-
the caliph, in the Arabian Nights.’ ing day.’

‘I wonder not that your highness should | Mustapha, who had been laughing in his
desire it. Those stories are as the opium to sleeve at the strange idea of the pacha, was
‘heriarkis, filling the soul with visions of de- nevertheless not a little alarmed. He per-
light at the moment, but leaving it palsied ceived that the mania had such complete pos-
from over- excitement, when their effect has session, that, unless appeased, the results
passed away. How does your sublime high- might prove unpleasant even to himself. It
ess propose to obtain your end ? and in what occurred to him, that a course might be pur-
manner can your slave assist to produce your sued to gratify the pacha’s wishes, without
Wishes ? proceeding to such violent measures. Wait-

¥e shall manage it without assistance »come ing a little while until the colour which had
this evening and you shall see; Mustapha.’ suffused the pacha’s face from anger and

Mustapha made his appearance in the after- disappointment had subsided, he addressed
noon, and the pacha smoked his pipe forsome him :—
time, and appeared as if communing with ‘The plan of your sublime highness was
himself; he then laid it down, and clapping such as was to be expected from the immen-
his hands, desired one of the slaves to inform sity of your wisdom ; but hath not the Prophet
nis favourite lady, Zeinab, that he desired her warned us, that the wisest of men are too
presence, often thwarted by the folly and obstinacy of

Zeinab entered with her veil down. ‘ Your the other sex? May your slave venture to ob-
slave attends the pleasure of her lord.’ serve that many very fine stories were obtainedby the caliph Haroun, and his vizier Mesrour,
as they walked through the city in disguise.
In all probability a similar result might be
produced, if your highness were to take the
same step, accompanied by the lowest of your
slaves, Mustapha.’

‘Very true,’ replied the pacha, delighted at
the prospect ; ‘ prepare two disguises, and we
»will set off in less than an hour—Inshallah,
please the Lord, we have at last hit upon the
right path.’

Mustapha, who was glad to direct the ideas
of the pacha into a more harmless channel,
procured the dresses of two merchants (for
such, he observed, were the usual habiliments
put on by the caliph and his vizier in the Ara-
bian Nights, and he was aware that his mas-
ter’s vanity would be gratified at the idea of
imitating so celebrated a personage).

It was dusk when they set off upon their
adventures. Mustapha directed some slaves
well armed to follow at a. distance, in case
their assistance might be required. ‘The strict
orders which had been issued on the accession
of the new pacha (to prevent any riot or
popular commotion), which were enforced by
constant rounds of the soldiers on guard, oc-
casioned the streets to be quite deserted.

For some time the pacha and Mustapha
walked up one street and down another, with-
out meeting with anything or anybody that
could administer to their wishes. The former,
who had not lately been accustomed to pedes-
trian exercise, began to puff and show symp-
toms of weariness and disappointment, when
at the corner of a street they fell in with two
men, who were seated in conversation ; and
as they approached softly, one of them said
to the other, ‘I tell you, Coja, that happy is
the man who can always command a hard crust
like this, which is now wearing away my teeth.’

‘I must know the reason of that remark,’
said the pacha; ‘Mesrour (Mustapha, I
mean), you will bring that man to me to-
morrow, after the divan is closed.’

Mustapha bowed in acquiescence, and di-
recting the slaves who were in attendance to
take the man into custody, foliowed the pacha,
who, fatigued with his unusual excursion, and
satisfied with the prospect of success, now
directed his steps to the palace and retired to
bed. Zeinab, who had laid awake until her
eyes could remain open no longer, with the
intention of reading hima lecture upon de-
cency and sobriety, had at last fallen asleep,
and the tired pacha was therefore permitted
to do the same.

When Mustapha arrived at his own abode,
he desired that the person who had been de-
tained should be brought to him.

‘My good man,’ said the vizier, ‘you made
an observation this evening which was over-
heard by his highness the pacha, who wishes

 

  
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 9

to be acquainted with your reasons for stating
‘“‘that happy was the man who could at all
times command a hard crust, like that which
was wearing away your teeth.’’’

The man fell down on his knees in trepida-
tion. ‘I do declare to your highness, by the
camel of the Holy Prophet,’ said he, in a fal-
tering voice, ‘that I neither meant treason,
nor disaffection to the government.’

‘Slave! I am not quite sure of that,’ re-
plied Mustapha, with a stern look, in hopes of
frightening the man into a compliance with
his wishes—‘ there was something very enig-
matical in those words. Your ‘‘ hard-crust”’
may mean his sublime highness the pacha;
‘‘wearing away your teeth” may imply ex-
actions from the government; and as you
affirmed that he was happy who could com-
neand the hard crust—why itis as much as to
say that you would be very glad to create a
rebellion.’

‘Holy Prophet! May the soul of your slave
never enter the first heaven,’ replied the man,
‘if he meant anything more than what he
said ; and if your highness had been as often
without a mouthful of bread as your slave has
been, you would agree with him in the justice
of the remark.’

‘It is of little consequence whether I agree
with you or not,’ replied the vizier; ‘I have
only to tell you that his sublime highness the
pacha will not be satisfied unless you explain
away the remark by relating to him some
story connected with the observation.’

‘Min Allah! God forbid that your slave
should tell a story to deceive his high-
ness.’

‘The Lord have mercy upon you if you do
not,’ replied the vizier; ‘but, to be brief; if
you can invent a good and interesting story,
you will remove the suspicions of the pacha,
and probably be rewarded with a few pieces
of gold ; if you cannot, you must prepare for
the bastinado, if not for death. You will not
be required to appear in the sublime presence
before to-morrow afternoon, and will therefore
have plenty of time to invent one.’

‘ Will your highness permit your slave to go
home and consult his wife? Women have a
great talent for story-telling. With her assis-
tance he may be able to comply with your in-
junctions.’

‘No,’ replied Mustapha, ‘ you must remain
in custody ; but, as on this occasion she may
be of the greatest assistance to you, you may
send for her. They have indeed a talent! As
the young crocodile, from instinct, runs into
the Nile as soon as it bursts its shell, so does
woman, from her nature, plunge into deceit,
before even her tongue can give utterance to
the lies which her fertile imagination has
already conceived.’

And with this handsome compliment to the16

sex, Mustapha gave his final orders and re-
tired.

Whether the unfortunate man, thus accused
of treason, derived any benefit from being per-
mitted to ‘retain counsel,’ will be shown by
the following story, which he told to the pacha
when summoned on the ensuing day :—

STORY OF THE CAMEL-DRIVER.

That your highness should wish for an ex-
planation of the very doubtful language which
you overheard last night, I am not surprised ;
but I trust you will acknowledge, when I have
finished my narrative, that I was fully justified
in the expressions which I made use of. Iam
by birth (as my dress denotes) a fellah of this
country, but I was not always so pooras lam
now. My father was.the possessor of many
camels, which he let out for hire to the mer-
chants of the different caravans which an-
nually leave this city. When he died, I came
into possession of his property, and the good-
will of those whom he had most faithfully served.
The consequence was, that I had full employ;
my camels were always engaged; and, as I
invariably accompanied them that they might
not be ill-treated, I have several times been to
Mecca, as this ragged green turban will testify.
My life was one of alternate difficulty and en-
joyment. I returned to my wife and children
with delight after my journeys of suffering and
privation, and fully appreciated the value of
my home from the short time that my occupa-
tion would permit me to remain there. I
worked hard and became rich.

It was during a painful march through the
desert with one of the caravans, that a favourite
she-camel foaled. At first it was my intention
to leave the young one to its fate, as my
camels had already suffered much; but, on
examination, the creature showed such strength
and symmetry, that I resolved to bring it up.
I therefore divided half of one of the loads be-
tween the other camels, and tied the foal upon
the one which I had partly relieved for the
purpose. We arrived safely at Cairo; and as
the little animal grew up, I had more than
ever reason to be satisfied that I had saved its
life. All good judges considered it a pro-
digy of beauty and strength, and prophesied
that it would some day be selected as the
holy camel to carry the Koran in the pilgrim-
age to Mecca. And so it did happen about
five years afterwards, during which interval I
accompanied the caravans as before; and each
year added to my wealth.

My camel had by this time arrived at his
full perfection ; he stood nearly three feet
higher than any other ; and, when the caravan
was preparing, I led him to the sheiks, and
offered him as a candidate for the honour.
They would have accepted him immediately,
had it not been for a maribout, who, for

 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

some reason or another, desired them not t6
employ him, asserting that the caravan would
be unlucky if my camel was the bearer of the
holy Koran,

As this man was considered to be a prophet,
the sheiks were afraid, and would not give a
decided answer. Irritated at the maribout’s
interference, I reviled him; he raised a hue
and cry against me, and being joined by the
populace, I was nearly killed. As I hastened
away, the wretch threw some sand after me,
crying out, ‘Thus shall the caravan perish
from the judgment of heaven, if that cursed
camel is permitted to carry the holy word
of the Prophet.’ The consequence was,
that an inferior camel was selected, and I
was disappointed. But on the ensuing year
the maribout was not at Cairo; and as there
Was no animal equal to mine in beauty, it was
chosen by the sheiks without a dissentient
voice,

I hastened home to my wife, overjoyed at
my good fortune, which I hoped would bring
a blessing upon my house. She was equally
delighted, and my beautiful camel seemed
also to be aware of the honour to which he
was destined, as he repaid our caresses,
curving and twisting his long neck, and laying
his head upon our shoulders.

The caravan assembled ; it was one of the
largest which for many years had quitted
Cairo, amounting in all to eighteen thousand
camels. You may imagine my pride when,
as the procession passed through the streets,
I pointed out to my wife the splendid animal,
with his bridle studded with jewels and gold,
led by the holy sheiks in their green robes,
carrying on his back the chest which contained
the law of our prophet, looking proudly on
each side of him as he walked along, accom-
panied by bands of music and the loud chorus
of the singing men and women.

As on the ensuing day the caravan was to
form outside of the town, I returned home to
my family that I might have the last of their
company, having left my other camels, who
were hired by the pilgrims, in charge of an
assistant who accompanied me in my journeys.
The next morning I bade adieu to my wife
and children, and was quitting the house,
when my youngest child, who was about two
years old, called to me, and begged me to re-
turn one moment and give her a farewell
caress. As JI lifted her in my arms, she, as
usual, put her hand ‘into the pocket of my
loose jacket to search, as I thought, for the
fruit that I usually brought home for her when
I returned from the bazaar; but there was
none there; and having replaced her in the
arms of her mother, I hastened away that I
might not be too late at my post. Your high-
ness is aware that we do not march one fol-
lowing another as most caravans do, but inone straight line abreast. The necessary ar-
rangement occupies the whole day previous to
the commencement of our journey, which
takes place immediately after the sun goes
sown. We set off that evening, and after a
march of two nights, arrived at Adjeroid,
where we remained three days to procure our
supplies of water from Suez and to refresh the
animals previous to our forced march over the
desert or FE] Tyh.

The last day of our repose, as I was smoking
my pipe with my camels kneeling down around
me, I perceived a herie* coming from the di-
rection of Cairo, at a very swift pace. It
passed by me like a flash of lightning, but
still I had sufficient time to recognize in its
rider the maribout who had prophesied evil if
my camel was employed to carry the Koran
on the pilgrimage of the year before.

The maribout stopped his dromedary at the
tent of the emir Hadjy, who commanded the
caravan. Anxious to know the reason of his
following us, which I had a foreboding was
connected with my camel, I hastened to the
spot. I found him haranguing the emir and
the people who had surrounded him, de-
nouncing woe and death to the whole caravan,
if my camel was not immediately destroyed
and another selected in his stead. Having
for some time declaimed in such an energetic
manner as to spread consternation throughout
the camp, he turned his dromedary again to
the west, and in a few minutes was out of
sight.

The emir was confused ; murmurings and
consultations were arising among the crowd ;
I was afraid that they would listen to the sug-
gestions of the maribout ; and alarmed for my
camel and the loss of the honour conferred
upon him, I was guilty of a lie.

‘© emir!’ said I, ‘listen not to that man,
who is mine enemy: he came to my house,
he ate of my bread, and would have been
guilty of the basest ingratitude by seducing
the mother of my children; I drove him from
my door: and thus would he revenge himself.
So may it fare with me, and with the caravan,
as I speak the truth.’

I was believed; the injunctions of the mari-
bout were disregarded, and that night we pro-
ceeded on our march through the plains of
El Tyh.

As your highness has never yet made a pil-
grimage, you can have no conception of the
country which we had to pass through; it was
one vast region of sand, where the tracks of
those who pass over it are obliterated by the
wind,—a vast sea without water,—an expanse
of desolation. We plunged into the desert;
and as the enormous collection of animals,
extending as far as the eye could reach, held

* A swift dromedary.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
      

Ir

their noiseless way, it seemed as if it were the
passing by of shadows.

We met with no accident, notwithstanding
the prophecies of the maribout; and, after a
fatiguing march of seven nights, arrived safely
at Nakhel, where we replenished our ex-
hausted water-skins. Those whom I knew
joked with me, when we met at the wells, at
the false prophecies of my enemy. We had
now three days of severe fatigue to encounter
before we arrived at the castle of Akaba, and
we recommenced our painful journey.

It was on the morning of the second day,
about an hour after we had pitched our tents,
that the fatal prophecy of the maribout, and
the judgment of Allah upon me for the lie which
I had called on him to witness, was fulfilled. .

A dark cloud appeared upon the horizon ;
it gradually increased, changing to a bright
yellow ; then rose and rose until it had covered
one half of the firmament, when it suddenly
burst upon us in a hurricane which carried
everything before it, cutting off mountains of
sand at the base, and hurling them upon our
devoted heads. The splendid tent of the
emir, which first submitted to the blast, passed
close to me, flying along with the velocity of
the herie, while every other was either levelled
to the ground, or carried up into the air, and
whirled about in mad gyration.

Moving pillars of sand passed over us, over-
throwing and suffocating man and beast ; the
camels thrust their muzzles into the ground,
and, profiting by their instinct, we did the
same, awaiting our fate in silence and trepi-
dation. But the simoom had not yet poured
upon us all its horrors; in a few minutes no-
thing was to be distinguished—all was dark-
ness, horrible darkness, rendered more horri-
ble by the ravings of dying men, the screams
of women, and the mad career of horses and
other animals, which breaking their cords,
trod down thousands in their endeavours to
escape from the overwhelming fury of the de-
sert storm.

I had laid myself down by one of my camels
and thrusting my head under his side, awaited
my death with all the horror of one who felt
that the wrath of heaven was justly poured
upon him. For an hour I remained in that
position, and surely there can be no pains in
hell greater than those which I suffered during
that space of time. The burning sand forced
itself into my garments, the pores of my skin
were closed, I hardly ventured to breathe the
hot blast which was offered as the only means
of protracted existence. At last I fetched my
respiration with greater freedom, and no more
heard the howling of the blast. Gradually, I
lifted up my head, but my eyes had lost their
power, I could distinguish nothing but a yel-
low glare. I imagined that I was blind, and
what chance could there be for a man whoi2

was blind in the desert of El Tyh? Again I
laid my head down, thought of my wife and
children, and abandoning myself to despair,
I wept bitterly.

The tears that I’shed had a resuscitating
effect upon my frame. I felt revived, and
again lifted up my head—I could see! I
prostrated myself in humble thanksgiving to
Allah, and then rose upon my feet. Yes, I
could see; but what a sight was presented
tomyeyes! I could have-closed them for
ever with thankfulness, The sky was again
serene, and the boundless prospect uninter-
rupted as before ; but the thousands who ac-
companied me, the splendid gathering of men
and beast, where were they? Where was the
emir Hadjy and his guards ? where the mame-
lukes, the agas, the janissaries, and the holy
sheiks? the sacred camel, the singers, and
musicians? the varieties of nations and tribes
who had joined thecaravan? All perished !!
Mountains of sand marked the spots where
they iad been entombed, with no other monu-
ments save here and there part of the body of
a man or beast not yet covered by the desert
wave. All, all were gone save one; and that
one, that guilty one, was myself, who had been
permitted to exist, that he might. behold the
awful mischief which had been created by his
presumption and his crime.

For some minutes I contemplated the scene,
careless and despairing ; for I imagined that
I had only been permitted to outlive the whole_
that my death might be even more terrible.
But my wife and children rushed to my me-
mory, and I resolved for their sakes to Save,
if possible, a life which had-no other ties to
bind it to this earth. I tore off a piece of my
turban, and cieaning the sand out of my
bleeding nostrils, walked over the field of
death.

Between the different hillocks I found seve-
ral camels which had not been covered. Per-
ceiving a water-skin, I rushed to it that I
might quench my raging thirst ; but the con-
tents had been dried up—nota drop remained.
I found another, but I had no better success.
I then determined to open one of the bodies
of the camels, and obtain the water which it
might still have remaining in its stomach.
This I effected, and having quenched my
thirst—to which even the heated element which
I poured down, seemed delicious—I hastened
to epen the remainder of the animals before
putrefaction should take place, and collect the
Scanty supplies in the water-skins, 1 procured
more than half a skin of water, and then re-
turned to my own camel, which I had lain
down beside of during the simoom. I sat on
the body of the animal, and reflected upon the
best method of proceeding. I.knew that I
was but one day’s journey from the springs ;

but how little chance had I of reaching them !

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

    
 

I also knew the direction which I must take.
The day had nearly closed, and I resolved to
make the attempt.

As the sun disappeared, I rose, and, with |

the skin of water on my back, proceeded on
my hopeless journey. I walked the whole of
that night, and, by break of day, I imagined
that I must have made about half the progress
of a caravan ; I had, therefore, still a day to
pass in the desert, without any protection from
the consuming heat, and then another night
of toil. Although I had sufficient water, I
had no food. When the sun rose, I sat down
upon a hillock of burning sand, to be exposed
to his rays for twelve everlasting hours. Be-
fore the hour of noon arrived, my brain be-
came heated—I nearly lost my reason. My
vision was imperfect, or rather I saw what did
not exist. At one time lakes of water pre-
sented themselves to my eager eyes; and so
certain was I of their existence, that I rose
and staggered till I was exhausted in pursuit
of them. At another, I beheld trees at a
distance, and could see the acacias waving in
the breeze ; I hastened to throw myself under
their shade, and arrived at some small shrub
which had thus been magnified.

So was I tormented and deceived during
the whole of that dreadful day, which still
haunts me in my dreams. At last the night
closed in, and the stars, as they lighted up,
warned me that I might continue my journey.
J drank plentifully from my water-skin, and
recommenced my solitary way. I followed
the track marked out by the bones of camels
and horses of former caravans which had
perished in the desert, and when the day
dawned, I perceived the castle of Akaba at a
Short distance. Inspired with new life, I
threw away the water-skin, redoubled my
speed, and in half an hour had thrown my-
self down by the side of the fountain from
which I had previously imbibed large draughts
of the refreshing fluid. What happiness was
then mine! How heavenly to lie under the
shade, breathing the cool air, listening to the
warbling of the birds, and inhaling the per-
fume of the flowers which luxuriated on that
delightful spot! After an hour I stripped,
bathed myself, and, taking another draught
of water, fell into a sound sleep. :

I awoke refreshed, but suffering under the
cravings of hunger, which now assailed me.
I had been three days without food; but
hitherto I had not felt the want of it, as my
more ‘importunate thirst had overcome the
sensation. Now that the greater evil had
been removed, the lesser increased and became
hourly more imperious. I walked out and
scanned the horizon with the hopes of some
caravan appearing in sight, but I watched in
vain; and returned to the fountain. Two
more days passed away, and no relief was athand ; my strength failed me; I felt that I
was dying ; and, as the fountain murmured,
and the birds sang, and the cold breeze fanned
my cheeks, I thought thatit would have been
better to have been swallowed up in the desert
than to be tantalized by expiring in such a
paradise. I laid myself down to die, for I
could sit up no more; and as I turned round
to take a last view of the running water,
which had prolonged my existence, something
hard pressed against my side. I thought it
was a stone, and stretched out my hand to
remove it, that I might be at ease in my last
moments; but when I felt, there was no stone
there ; it was something in the pocket of my
jacket. I put my hand in, unconscious what
it could be ; I pulled it out, and looking at it
before I threw it away, found that it was a
piece of hard dry bread. 1 thought that it
had been sent to me from heaven, and it was
as pure an offering as if it had come from
thence, for it was the gift of innocence and
affection—it was the piece of bread which my
little darling girl had received for her break-
fast, and which on my departure she had
thrust into my pocket, when I imagined she
had been searching for fruit. I crawled to
the spring, moistened it, and devoured it with
tears of gratitude to heaven, mingled with
the fond yearnings of a father’s heart.

It saved my life; for the next day a small
caravan arrived which was bound to Cairo.
The merchants treated me with great kind-
ness, tied me on one of the camels, and I once
more embraced my family, whom I had never
thought to see agzin. Since that I have been
poor, but contented—I deserved to lose all my
property for my wickedness ; and I submit
with resignation to the will of Allah.

And now I trust that your highness will
acknowledge that I was justified in making
use of the expression, that ‘Happy was the
man who could at add times command @ crust
of bread LP

‘Very true,’ observed the pacha ; ‘that’s
not a bad story; Mustapha, give him five
pieces of gold, and allow him to depart.’

The camel-driver quitted the divan, pros-
trating himself before the pacha, and over-
joyed at the fortunate termination of what
had threatened so much danger. The pacha
was silent for a little while, during which he
puffed his pipe—when he observed :—

‘Allah kebur, God is most powerful ! That
man has suffered much—and what has he to
show for it?—a green turban. Heisa hadjy;
I never thought that we should have heard so
good a story about a ‘‘crust of bread.’’ His
description of the simoom parched up my en-
trails. What think you, Mustapha, cannot a
true believer go to heaven without a visit to
the tomb of the Prophet ?’

THE PACHA OF MANY TLAES.

T3

‘The holy Koran does not say otherwise,
your highness ; it inculcates that all who can
should do so, as the path will be rendered
easier. Min Allah! God forbid! Has your
highness ever had the time to go to Mecca?
—and is not your highness to go to heaven ?”

‘Very true, Mustapha, I never had time.
In my youth I was busy shaving heads; after
that, Wallah! I had enough to do, splitting
them; and now am not I fully occupied in
taking them off? Is it not so, Mustapha ?
are not these the words of truth ?”

‘Your highness is all wisdom. There is
but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet ;
and when the latter said that a visit to the
holy shrine would be a passport to heaven, it
was intended to employ those who were idle,
not to embarrass true believers who work hard
in the name of the Most High !’

‘Min Allah! God forbid! the case is clear,’
replied the pacha; ‘why, if everybody were
to go to Mecca, what then, Mustapha?’

©Your highness,—it is the opinion of your
slave, if such were to take place, that all the
fools would have left the country.’

‘Very true, Mustapha; but my mouth is
parched up with the sand of that simoom :
sherbet I cannot drink, rakee I must not,—
the hakim has forbid it; what must it be then,
Mustapha ?”

‘Hath the holy Prophet forbidden wine to
true believers in case of sickness? is not your
highness sick? was the wine of Shiraz given
by Allah to be thrown away? Allah karim !
God is most merciful ; and the wine was sent
that true believers might, in this world, have
a foretaste of the pleasures awaiting them in
the next.’

‘Mustapha,’ replied the pacha, taking his
pipe out of his mouth, ‘by the beard of the
holy Prophet, your words are those of wisdom.
Is a pacha to be fed on water-melons ? Staffir
Allah! do we believe the less, because we
drink the wine? Slave, bring the pitcher.
There is but one God, and Mahomet is his
Prophet.’

‘The words of the Prophet, your highness,
are plain: he says, ‘True believers, drink no
wine,’ which means, that his followers are not
to go about the streets drunken, like the
Giaours of Franguistan, who come here in
their ships. Why is wine forbidden? because
it makes men drunk. If, then, we are not
drunk, we keep within the law. Why was
the law made? Laws cannot be made for all;
they must therefore be made for the control
of the majority—is it notso? Who are the
majority? Whythe poor. If laws were made
for the rich and powerful, such laws would
not suit the community at large. Mashallah!
there are no laws for pachas, who have only
to believe that there is one God and Mahomet
is his Prophet. Does your slave say well?14. THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘Excellently well, Mustapha,’ replied the out having ascertained the merit of every. de-
pacha, lifting the pitcher to his mouth for a scription of wine.
minute, and then passing it to Mustapha. ‘TI should like to know what that fellow
‘Allah karim ! God is most merciful! your means by distilling people,’ observed the
slave must drink; is it not the pleasure of your pacha, ‘and also why a Dominican monk
highness? As the wine poured down the should know wine better than others. Mus-
throat of your highness pervades through your tapha, I must see those two men,’ i
whole frame to the extremities, so does your ‘The next morning the men were in attend-
slave participate in your bounty. Do I not ance, and introduced ; when the pacha re-
sit in your sublime presence ? Can the sun quested an explanation from the first who had
shine without throwing out heat; therefore, if spoken. T he man threw himself down before
your highness drink, must not I drink? Allah the pacha, with his head on the floor on the
acbar! who shall presume not to follow the divan, and said,—‘ First promise me, your
steps of the pacha?’ So saying, Mustapha highness, by the sword of the Prophet, that
lifted up the pitcher, and for a minute it was no harm shall result to me from complying
glued to his lips. with your request ; and then I shall obey you
‘I think that story should be written down,’ with pleasure.’
observed the pacha, after a pause of a few ‘Mashallah! what is the kafir afraid of?
moments. What crimes hath he committed, that he
“I have already given directions, your high- would have his pardon granted before he tells
ness, and the Greek slave is now employed his story?’ said the pacha to Mustapha.
about it, improving the language to render it _‘ No crime toward your state, your sublime
more pleasing to the ears of your sublime highness; but when in another country, I
highness, should it be your pleasure to have was unfortunate,’ continued the man. ‘I
it read to you on some future day.’ cannot tell my story, unless your highness will
‘That is right, Mustapha; if I recollect condescend to give your promise.’
well, the caliph Haroun used to command ‘May it please your highness,’ observed
them to be writien in letters of gold, and be Mustapha, ‘ he asserts his crime to have been
deposited in the archives: we must do the committed in another state. It may be heavy,
saine.’ and I suspect ’tis murder ;—but although we
“The art no longer exists, your highness.’ watch the flowers which ornament our gar-
‘Then we must be content with Indian- dens, and would punish those who cull them,
ink,’ replied the pacha, lifting the pitcher to yet we care not who intrudes and robs our
his mouth, and emptying it. ‘The sun will neighbour—and thus, it appears to me, your
soon be down, Mustapha, and we must set highness, that it is with states, and sufficient
off.’ for the ruler of each to watch over the lives of
his own subjects.’
‘Very true, Mustapha,’ rejoined the pacha;
CHAPTER II “besides, we might lose the story. Kafir, you
4 have our promise, and may proceed.’
THE pacha called for coffee, and in a few The Greek slave (for such he was) then rose
minutes, accompanied, as before, by Mustapha up, and narrated his story in the following
and the armed slaves, was prowling through words :--
the city in search of a story-teller. He was
again fortunate, as, after a walk of half an STORY OF THE GREEK SLAVE.
hour, he overheard two men loudly disputing I am a Greek by birth ; my parents were
at the door of a small wine-shop, frequented poor people residing at Smyrna. I was an
by the Greeks and Franks living in the city, only son, and brought up to my father’s pro-
and into which many a slave might be ob- fession,—that of a cooper. When I was
served to glide, returning with a full pitcher twenty years old, I had buried both my pa-
for the evening's amusement of his Turkish rents, and was left to shift for myself. 1 had
master, who, as well as his betters, clandes- been for some time in the employ of a Jewish
tinely violated the precepts of the Koran. Wine-merchant, and I continued there for
As usual, he stopped to listen, when one-of three years after my father’s death, when a
the disputants exclaimed, —‘T tell thee, An- circumstance occurred which led to my sub-
selmo, it is the vilest composition that was sequent prosperity and present degradation.
ever drunk : and I think IT ought to know, At the time that Iam speaking of, I had,
after having distilied the essence of an Ethi- by strict diligence and sobriety, so pleased
enfant, z Jew) gaat ea ae ae my employer, that I had risen to be his fore-
_¢ g your distillations, man; and although I still superintended and
Charis,’ replied the other. ‘I consider that I occasionally worked at the cooperage, I was
am a better judge than you: I was not a monk intrusted with the drawing off and fining of
of the Dominican order for fifteen years, with- the wines, to prepare them for market. Therewas an Ethiopian slave, who worked under
my orders, a powerful, broad-shouldered, and
most malignant wretch, whom my master
found it almost impossible to manage; the
bastinado, or any other punishment, he de-
vided, and after the application only became
more sullen and discontented than before.
The fire that flashed from his eyes upon any
fault being found by me on account of his
negligence, was so threatening, that I every
day expected I should be murdered. I re-
peatedly requested my master to part with
him; but the Ethiopian being a very power-
ful man, and able, when he chose, to move a
pipe of wine without assistance, the avarice of
the Jew would not permit him to accede to
my repeated solicitations.

One morning I entered the cooperage, and
found the Ethiopian fast asleep by the side of
‘a cask which I had been wanting for some
time, and expected to have found ready.
Afraid to punish him myself, I brought my
master towitness his conduct. The Jew, en-
raged at his idleness, struck him on the head
with one of the staves. The Ethiopian sprung
up inarage, but on seeing his master with
the stave in his hand, contented himself with
muttering, ‘That he would not remain to be
beaten in that manner,’ and re-applied himself
to his labour. As soon as my master had left
the cooperage, the Ethiopian vented his anger
upon me for having informed against him, and
seizing the stave, flew at me with the intention
of beating out my brains. I stepped behind
the cask ; he followed me, and just as I had
seized an adze to defend myself, he fell over
the stool which lay in his way; he was spring-
ing up to renew the attack, when I siruck him
a blow with the adze, which entered his skull,
and laid him dead at my feet.

_ Iwas very much alarmed at what had oc-
curred ; for although I felt justified in self-
defence, I was aware that my master would
be very much annoyed at the loss of the slave;
and as there were no witnesses, it wouid go
hard with me when brought before the cadi.
After some reflection I determined, as the
slave had said, ‘He would not remain to be
beaten,’ that I would leave my master to sup-
pose he had run away, and in the meantime
conceal the body. But to effect this was diffi-
cult, as I could not take it out of the cooper-
age without being perceived. After some cogi-
iation, I decided upon putting it into the cask,
and heading itup. It required all my strength
to lift the body in, but at last I succeeded.
Having put in the head of the pipe, I ham-
mered down the hoops and rolled it into the
store, where I had been waiting to fill it with
wine for the next year’s demand. As soon as
it was in its place, I pumped off the wine from
the vat, and having filled up the cask and put
in the bung, I felt as if a heavy load had been

  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

1
removed from my mind, as there was no
chance of immediate discovery.

I had but just completed my task, and was
sitting down on one of the settles, when my
master came in, and inquired for the slave. I
replied that he had left the cooperage, swear-
ing that he would work no more. Afraid of
losing him, the Jew hastened to give notice to
the authorities, that he might be apprehended;
but after some time, as nothing could be heard
of the supposed runaway, it was imagined that
he had drowned himself in a fit of sullenness,
and no more was thought about him. In the
meanwhile I continued to work there as be-
fore, and as I had the charge of everything, I
had no doubt that, some day or another, I
should find means of quietly disposing of my
incumbrance,

The next spring, I was busy pumping off
from one cask into the other, according to our
custom, when the aga of the janissaries came
in: He was a great wine-bibber, and one of
our best customers. As his dependents were
all well known, it was not his custom to send
them for wine, but to come himself to the store
and select a pipe. ‘This was carried away in
a litter by eight strong slaves, with the cur-
tains drawn close, as if it had been a new pur-
chase which he had added to his harem. My
master showed him the pipes of wine prepared
for that year’s market, which were arranged
in two rows ; and I hardly need observe that
the one containing the Ethiopian was not in
the foremost. After tasting one or two, which
did not seem to please him, the aga observed,
‘Friend Issachar, thy tribe will always put off
the worst goods first, if possible. Now I have
an idea that there is better wine in the second
tier; than in the one thou hast recommended.
Let thy Greek put a spile into that cask,’ con-
tinued he, pointing to the very one in which I
had headed-up the black slave. As I made
sure that as soon ashe had tasted the contents
he would spit them out, I did not hesitate to
bore the cask and draw off the wine, which I
handed to him. He tasted it and held it to
the light—tasted it again and smacked his
lips—then turning to my master exclaimed,
‘Thou-dog of a Jew! wouldst thou have
palmed off upon me vile trash, when thou
hadst in thy possession wine which might be
sipped with the houris in Paradise?’

‘The Jew appealed to me if the pipes of wine
were not all of the same quality ; and I con-
firmed his assertion.

‘Taste it, then,’ replied the aga, ‘and then
taste the first which you recommended to me.’

My master did so, and was evidently asto-
nished. ‘It certainly has more body,’ replied
he; ‘yet how can that be, I knownot. Taste
it, Charis.’—I held the giass to my lips, but
nothing could induce me to taste the contents.

I contented myself with agreeing with my16

master (as I conscientiously could), ‘that it
certainly had more Jody in it than the rest.’

The aga was so pleased with the wine that
he tasted two or three more pipes of the back
tier, hoping to find others of the same quality,
probably intending to have laid in a large
stock; but finding no other of the same
flavour, he ordered his slaves to roll the one
containing the body of the slave into the litter,
and carried it to his own house.

‘Stop a moment, thou lying kafir!’ said the
pacha; ‘dost thou really mean to say that the
wine was better than the rest 2”

‘Why should I tell a lie to your sublime
highness—am not I a worm that you may
crush? As I informed you, I did not taste it,
your highness; but after the aga had departed,
my master expressed his surprise at the excel-
lence of the wine, which he affirmed to be
superior to anything that he had ever tasted—
and his sorrow that the aga had taken away
the cask, which prevented him from ascertain-
ing the cause. But one day I was narrating
the circumstance to a Frank in this country,
who expressed no surprise at the wine being
improved. He had been a wine-merchant in
England, and he informed me that it was the
custom there to throw large pieces of raw beef
into the wine to feed it; and that some par-
ticular wines were very much improved there-
pee

‘Allah kebur! God is great!’ cried the
pacha—‘ then it must be so—I have -heard
that the English are very fond of beef, Now
go on with thy story.’

 

Your highness cannot imaginesthe alarm
which I felt when the cask was taken away by
the aga’s slaves. I gave myself up for a lost
man, and resolved upon immediate flight from
Smyrna. I calculated the time that it would
take for the aga to drink the wine, and made
my atrangements accordingly. I told my
master that it was my intention to leave him,
as I had an offer to go into business with a re-
lation at Zante. My master, who could not
well do without me, entreated me to stay; but
I was positive. He then offered mea share of
the business if I would remain, but I was not
to be persuaded. Every rap at the door, I
thought that the aga and his janissaries were
coming for me: and I hastened my departure,
which was fixed for the following day,—when
in the evening my master came into the store
with a paper in his hand.

‘Charis,’ said he, ‘ perhaps you have sup-
posed that I only offered to make you a part-
ner in my business to induce you to remain,
and then to deceive you. To prove the con-
trary, here isa deed drawn up by which you
are a partner, and entitled to one-third of the
future profits. Look at it: you will find

THE PACHA'‘OF MANY TALES.

that it has been executed in due form before
the cadi.”

He had put the paper into my hand, and I
was about to return it with a refusal, when a
loud knocking at the door startled us both. It
was a party of janissaries despatched by the
aga to bring us to him immediately. I knew
well enough what it must be about, and I
cursed my folly for having delayed so long;
but the fact was, the wine proved so agreeable
to the aga’s palate that he had drunk it much
faster than usual; besides which, the body of
the slave took up at least a third of the cask,
and diminished the contents in the same pro-
portion. ‘There was noappeal and no escape.
My master, who was ignorant of the cause, did
not seem at aJl alarmed, but willingly accom-
panied the soldiers. I, on the contrary, was
nearly dead from fear.

When we arrived, the aga burst out in the
most violent exclamations against my master
~~‘ Thou rascal of a Jew ! said he, ‘dost thou
think that thou art to impose upon a true be-
liever, and sell him a pipe of wine which is not
more than two-thirds full,—filling it up with
trash of some sort or another. ‘Vell me what
it is that is so heavy in the cask now that it is
empty ?’

‘he Jew protested his ignorance, and ap-
pealed to me: I, of course, pretended the
same, ‘Well, then,’ replied the aga, ‘we
will soon see. Let thy Greek send for his
tools, and the cask shall be opened in our
presence; then, perhaps thou wilt recognize
thine own knavery.’

Two of the janissaries were despatched for
the tools, and when they arrived, I was di-
rected to take the head out of the cask. I
now considered my death as certain—nothing
buoyed me up but my observing that the re-
sentment of the aga was levelled more against
my master than against me; but still I thought
that, when the cask was opened, the recog-
nition of the black slave must immediately
take place, and the evidence of my master
would fix the murder upon me.

It was with a trembling hand that 1 obeyed
the orders of the aga—the head of the pipe
was taken out, and, to the horror of all pre-
sent, the body was exposed; but instead of
being black, it had turned z/zte, from the
time which it had been immersed. TI rallieda
little at this circumstance, as, so far, suspicion
would be removed.

‘Holy Abraham!’ exclaimed my master,
‘what is that which I see !—A dead body, so
help me God !—but I know nothing about it
—do you, Charis?’ I vowed that I did not,
and called the patriarch to witness the truth of
my assertion. But while we were thus ex
claiming, the aga’s eyes were fixed upon my
master with an indignant and deadly stare
which spoke volumes; while the remainder ofthe people who were present, although they
said nothing, seemed as if they were ready to
tear him into pieces.

‘Cursed unbeliever!’ at last uttered the
Turk, ‘is it thus that thou preparest the wine
for the disciples of the Prophet ?

‘Holy father Abraham !—I know no more
than you do, aga, how that body came there;
but I will change the cask with pieasure, and
will send you another.’

‘Beitso,’ replied the aga; ‘my slave shall
fetch it now.’ He gave directions accordingly,
and the litter soon reappeared with another
pipe of wine.’

‘It will be a heavy loss to a poor Jew—one
pipe of good wine,’ observed my master, as it
was rolled out of the litter; and he took up his
hat with the intention to depart.

‘Stay,’ cried the aga, ‘I do not mean to
rob you of your wine.’

‘Oh, then, you will pay me for it,’ replied
my master; ‘aga, you are a considerate man.’

‘Thou shalt see,’ retorted the aga, who gave
directions to his slaves to draw off the wine in
vessels. As soon as the pipe was empty, he
desired me to take the head out; and when I
had obeyed him, he ordered his janissaries to
put my masterin. Ina minute he was gagged
and bound, and tossed into the pipe; and I
was directed to put in the head as before. I
was very unwilling to comply: for I had no
reason to complain of my master, and knew
that he was punished for the fault of which I
had been guilty. But it was a case of life or
death,—and the days of self-devotion have
long passed away in our country. Besides
which, I had the deed in my pocket by which
I was a partner in the business, and my master
had no heirs,—so that I stood a chance to
come in for the whole of his property. More-
ever ——

 

‘Never mind your reasons,’ observed the
pacha, ‘you headed him up in the cask—Goon.’

‘I did so, your highness; but although I
dared not disobey, I assure you that it was
with a sorrowful heart—the more so, as I did
not know the fate which might be reserved for
myself.’

As soon as the head was in, and the hoops
driven on, the aga desired his slaves to fiil the
cask up again with the wine; and thus did my
poor master perish.

‘Put in the bung, Greek,’ said the aga, in
a stern voice. I did so, and stood trembling
before him.

‘Well, what knowest thou of this transac-
tion ?’

I thought, as the aga had taken away the
life of my master, that it would not hurt him
if I took away a little from his character. I
answered that I really knew nothing, but that,
the other day, a black slave had disappeared

 

   
   
 
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 1?

in a very suspicious manner—that my master

made very little inquiry after him—and I now
strongly suspected that he must have suffered
the same fate. I added, that my master had
expressed himself very sorry that his highness
had taken away the pipe of wine, as he would
have reserved it.

‘Cursed Jew! replied the aga; ‘I don't
doubt but he has murdered a dozen in the
same manner.’

‘I am afraid so, sir,’ replied I, ‘ and suspect
that I was to have been his next victim; for
when I talked of going away, he persuaded
me to stay, and gave me this paper, by which
I was to become his partner with one-third of
the profits. I presume that I should not have
enjoyed them long.’

‘Well, Greek,’ observed the aga, ‘this is
fortunate for you; as, upon certain conditions,
you may enter upon the whole property. One
is, that you keep this pipe of wine, with the
rascally Jew in it, that I may have the plea-
sure occasionally to look at my revenge. You
will also keep the pipe with the other body in
it, that it may keep my anger alive. ‘The last
is, that you will supply me with what wine I
may require, of the very best quality, without
making any charge. Do you consent to these
terms, or am I to consider you as a party to
this infamous transaction ?’

I hardly need observe that the terms were
gladly accepted. Your highness must be
aware that nobody thinks much about a Jew.
When I was questioned as to his disappear-
ance, I shrugged up my shoulders, and told
the inquirers, confidentially, that the aga of
the janissaries had put him zz grzsoz, and that
I was carrying on the business until his release.

In compliance with the wishes of the aga,
the two casks containing the Jew and the
Ethiopian slave, were placed together on
settles higher than the rest, in the centre of the
store. He would come in the evening, and
rail at the cask containing my late master for
hours at a time; during which he drank so
much wine, that it was a very common cir-
cumstance for himto remain in the house until
the next morning.

You must not suppose, your highness, that
I neglected to avail myself (unknown to the
aga) ef the peculiar properties of the wine
which those casks contained. I had them
spiled underneath, and constantly running off
the wine from them, filled them up afresh. In
a short time there was not a gallon in my
possession which had not a dash in it of either
the Ethiopian or the Jew: and my wine was so
improved, that it had a most rapid sale, and I
became rich.

All went on prosperously for three years ;
when the aga, who during that time had been
my constant guest, and at least three timesa
week had been intoxicated in my house, was

218

 

ordered with his troops to join the sultan’s
army. By keeping company with him, I had
insensibly imbibed a taste for wine, although I
never had been mebriatea.’ “The day that his
troops marched, he ‘stopped at my door, and
dismounting from:his Arabian, came in to
take a farewell glass, desiring his men to go
on, and that he would ride after them. - One
glass brought on’ another, and the time
flew rapidly away. ‘The evening closed in,
and the aga was, as usual, in astate of intoxi-
cation ;—he insisted upon going down to the
store, to rail once more at the cask containing
the body of the Jew. We had long been on
the most friendly terms, and having this night
drunk more’ than usual, I was incautious
enough to say,—‘ Prythee, aga, do not abuse
my poor masier any more, for he has been the
making of my fortune. I will tell youa secret
mow that you are going away—there is not a
drop of wine in my store that has not been
flavoured either by him or by the slave in
the other cask. ‘That is the reason why it
is So much better than other people's.’

‘How ! exclaimed the aga, who was now
almost incapable of speech. -‘ Very well,
rascal Greek ! die you shall, like your master.
Holy Prophet! what a state for a Mussulman
to go to Paradise in—impregnated with the
essence of a cursed Jew!—Wretch ! you shall
die—you shall die.’ *

He made a grasp at me, and missing his
foot, fell on the ground in such a state of
drunkenness as not to be able to get up again.
‘I knew that when he became sober, he would
not forget what had taken place, and ‘that I
should be sacrificed to his vengeance. ‘The
‘fear of death, and the wine which I had
drunk, decided me how to act. I dragged
‘him into an empty pipe, put the head in,
‘hooped it up, and rolling it into the tier, filled
‘it with wine. ‘Thus did I revenge my poor
master, and relieved myself from any further
molestation on the part of the aga.

«What !’ cried the pacha, in a rage, ‘you
drowned a true believer—an aga of janissaries!
Thou dog of a kafir—thou son of Shitan—and
dare avow it! Call in the executioner.’

‘Mercy! your sublime highness, mercy !’
cried the Greek—‘ Have I not your promise
by the sword of the Prophet? Besides, he
was no true believer, or he would not have dis-
obeyed the law. A good Mussulman will
never touch a drop of wine.’

“I promised to forgive, and did forgive, the
-murder of the black slave; but an aga of janis-
saries!—Is not that quite another thing ?' ap-
pealed the pacha to Mustapha.

‘Your highness is just in your indignation
the kafir deserves to be impaled. Yet there
are two considerations which your slave ven-
tures to submit to your sublime wisdom. The

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  

  

first is, that your highness gave an uncondi-
tional promise, and swore by the sword of
the Prophet.’

‘ Staffir Allah ! what care I for that! Had
I sworn to a true believer, it were something.’

‘The other is, that the slave has not yet
finished his siory, which appears to be inter-
Sunes |b :

*Wallah ! that is true. Let him finish his
story.’

But the Greek slave remained with his face
on the ground, and it was not until a re-
newal of the promise, sworn upon the holy
standard, made out of the nether garments
of the Prophet, by the pacha, who had re-
covered his temper, and was anxious for the
conclusion of the story, that he could be in-
duced to proceed, which he did as follows :—

As soon as I had bunged up the cask, I
went down to the yard where the aga had left
his horse, and having severely wounded the
poor beast with his sword, I let it loose, that
it might gallop home. The noise of the horse's
hoofs, in the middle of the night, aroused his
family, and when they discovered that it was
wounded and without its rider, they imagined
that the aga had been attacked and murdered
by banditti, when he had followed his troop.
‘They sent to me to ask at what time he had
left my house; I replied, an hour after dark—
that he was very much intoxicated at the time
—and had left his sabre, which I returned.
They had no suspicion of the real facts, and it
was believed that he had perished on the road.

I was now rid of my dangerous acquaint-
ance, and although he certainly had drunk a
great quantity of my wine, yet I recovered the
value of it with interest, from the flavour
which f[ obtained from his body, and which I
imparted to the rest of my stock. I raised
him up.alongside of the two other casks, and
my trade was more profitable and my wines
in greater repute than ever. “8

But one day the cadi, who had heard: my
wine extolled, came privately to: my house; I
bowed to the ground at the honour conferred,
for I had long: wished to have him’ as a cus-
tomer. I drew some of my best—‘ This,
honourable sir,’ said I, presenting the glass,
“is what I call my aga wine; the late aga was
so fond of it, he used to ordera whole cask at
once to his house, and had it taken theré ina
litter.’

‘A good plan,’ replied the cadi, ‘much
better than sending a slave’ with’ a’ pitcher;
which gives occasion for remarks; Twill dd
the same ; but first let mre taste’all you have.’

He tasted several casks, but none pleased
him so much as the first which*I ‘had recom-
mended. At last he cast his eyes upon the
three casks raised above the others.

‘And what are those ? inquired he.‘Empty casks, sir,’ replied I; but he had
his stick in his hand, and he struck one. ~

“Greek, thou tellest me these casks are
empty, but they do not sound so; I suspect
that thou hast better wine than I have tasted:
draw me off from these immediately.’

I was obliged to comply—he tasted them—
vowed that the wine was exquisite, and that
he would purchase the whole. I stated to
him that the wine in those casks was used for
flavouring the rest, and that the price was
enormous, hoping that he would not pay it.
He inquired how much—I asked him four
times the price of the other wines.

« Agreed,’ said the cadi; ‘it is dear—but
one cannot have good wine without paying
for it: it isa bargain.”

I was very much alarmed, and stated that I
could not part with those casks, as I should
not be able to carry on my business with repu-
tation if I lost the means of flavouring my
wines ; but all in vain: he said that I had
asked a price, and he had agreed to give it.
Ordering his slaves to bring a litter, he would
not leave the store until the whole of the casks
were carried away, and thus did I lose my
Ethiopian, my Jew, and my aga.

As I knew that the secret would soon be
discovered, the very next day I prepared for
my departure. I received my money from the
cadi, to whom I stated my intention to leave,
as he had obliged me to sell him those wines,
and I had no longer hopes of carrying on
my business with success. I again begged
him to allow me to have them back, offering
him three pipes of wine as a present if he
would consent, butit-was of nouse. «I chart-
éred a vessel, which I loaded with the rest of
my stock, and taking all my money with me,
made sail for Corfu; before any discovery had
taken place. But we encountered a heavy
gale of wind, which, after a fortnight (during
which we attempted in vain to make head
against it), forced us back to Smyrna. When
the weather moderated, I directed the captain
to take the vessel into the outer roadstead,
that I might sail as soon as possible. We had
not dropped anchor again more than five
minutes when I perceived a boat pulling off
from the shore in which was the cadi and the
Officers of justice.

Convinced that I was discovered, I was ata
loss how to proceed, when the idea occurred
to me that I might conceal my own body ina
cask, as I had before so well concealed those
of others.

I called the captain down into the cabin.
and telling him that I had reason to’ sus-
pect that the cadi would take my life, offered
him a large part of the cargo if he would
assist me.

The captain, who, unfortunately for me, was
a Greek, consented. We went down into the

   

THE PACHA OF

 

MANY TALES. z9

hold, started the wine out of one of the pipes,
and having taken out the head, I crawled in,
and was hooped up.

The cadi came on board immediately after-
wards, and inquired for me. The captain
stated that I had fallen overboard in the gale,
and that he had in consequence returned, the
vessel not being consigned toany houseat Corfu.

‘Has then the accursed villain escaped my
vengeance!’ exclaimed the cadi; ‘the mur-
derer, that fines his wines with the bodies of
his fellow-creatures; but you may deceive me,
Greek; we will examine the vessel.’

The officers who accompanied the cadi pro-
ceeded carefully to search every part of the
ship. Not being able to discover ‘me, the
Greek captain was believed; and after a thou-
sand imprecations upon my soul, the cadi and
his people departed. :

I now breathed more freely, notwithstand-
ing I was nearly intoxicated with the lees of
the wine which impregnated the wood of the
cask, and I was anxious to be set at liberty ;
but the treacherous captain had no ‘such in-
tention, and never came near me. At night
he cut his cable, and made sail, and I over-
heard a conversation between two of the men,
which made known to me hisintentions: these
were, to throw me overboard on his passage,
and take possession of my property. I cried
out to them from the bung-hole: I screamed
for mercy, but’ in vain. One of them an-
swered, that, as 1 had murdered others, and
put them into casks, I should now be treated
in the same manner.

I could not but mentally acknowledge the
justice of my punishment, and resigned myself
to my fate; all that I wished was to be thrown
over at once and released from my misery.
Themomentary anticipation of deathappeared
to be so much worse than the reality. But it
was ordered otherwise: a gale of wind blew
up with such force, that the captain and crew
had enough to do to look after the vessel, and
either I was forgotten, or my doom was post-
poned until 2'more seasonable opportunity.

On the third day I heard the sailors observe
that, with such a wretch as I was remaining
on board, ‘the vessel must inevitably be lost.
The hatches were then opened, I was hoisted
up, and cast into the raging sea. The bung
of thé’ cask was out, but by stuffing my hand-
kerchief in, when the hole was under water, I
prevented the cask from filling ; and when it
was uppermost, I removed it for a moment to
obtain fresh air. I was dreadfully bruised by
the constant rolling in a heavy sea, and com-
pletely worn out with fatigue and pain; Phad
made up my mind to let the water in and be
rid of my life, when I was tossed over and over
with such dreadful rapidity as prevented my
takiiig the precaution of keeping out the
water. After three successive rolls of the
2a20 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES:

same kind, I found that the cask, which had
been in the surf, had struck on the beach. In
a moment after, I heard voices, and people
came up to the cask and rolled me along.
would not speak, lest they should be fright-
ened and allow me to remain on the beach,
where I might again be tossed about by the
waves; but as soon as they stopped, I called
in a faint voice from the bung-hole, begging
them for mercy’s sake to let me out.

At first they appeared alarmed; but on my
repeating my request, and stating that I was
the owner of the ship which was off the land,
and the captain and crew had mutinied and
tossed me overboard, they brought some tools
and set me at liberty.

The first sight that met my eyes after I was
released, was my vessel lying a wreck, each
wave that hurled her further on the beach,
breaking her more and more to pieces. She
was already divided amid-ships, and the
white foaming surf was covered with pipes of
Wine, which, as fast as they were cast on
shore, were rolled up by the same people who
had released me. I was so worn out, that I
fainted where I lay. When I came to, I
found myself in a cave, upon a bundle of
capotes, and perceived a party of forty or
fifty men, who were sitting by a large fire,
and emptying, with great rapidity, one of my
pipes of wine.

As soon as they observed that I was coming
to my senses, they poured some wine down
my throat, which restored me. I was then
desired by one of them, who seemed to be the
chief, to approach.

‘The men who have been saved from the
wreck,’ said he, ‘ have told me strange stories
of your enormous crimes ; now, sit down, and
tell me the truth—if I believe you, you shall
have justice—I am cadi here—if you wish to
know where you are, it is upon the island of
Ischia—if you wish to know in what company,
it is in the society of those who, by illiberal
people, are called pirates ; now tell the truth.’

1 thought that with pirates my story would
be received better than with other people, and
I therefore narrated my history to them, in
the same words that I now have to your high-
ness. When I had finished, the captain of
the gang observed :—

‘Well, then, as you acknowledge to have
killed a slave, to have assisted at the death of
a Jew, and to have drowned an aga, you cer-
tainly deserve death; but, on consideration
of the excellence of the wine, and the secret
which you have imparted.to us, I shall com-
mute your sentence. As for the captain and
the remainder of the, crew, they have been
guilty of treachery and piracy on the high
seas—a most heinous offence, which deserves
instant death; but as it is by their means
that we have been put in possession of the

e—

 

wine, I shall be lenient. I therefore senteticé
you all to hard labour for life. You shall
be sold as slaves in Cairo, and we will pocket
the money. and drink your wine.’

‘The pirates loudly applauded the justice of
a decision by which they benefited, and all
appeal on our parts was useless. When the
weather became more settled, we were put on
board. one of their small xebeques, and on
our arrival at this port were exposed for sale
and purchased.

Such, pacha, is the history which induced
me to make use of the expressions which you
wished to be explained ; and I hope you will
allow that I have been more unfortunate than
guilty, as on every occasion in which I took
away the life of another, I had only to choose
between that and my own.

‘Well, it is rather a curious story,’ observed
the pacha, ‘but still, if it were not for my
promise, I certainly would have your head off
for drowning the aga ; I consider it excessively
impertinent in an unbelieving Greek to sup-
pose that his life is of the same value as that
of an aga of janissaries, and follower of the
Prophet; but, however, my promise was
given, and you may depart.’

‘The wisdom of your highness is brighter
than the stars of the heaven,’ observed Mus-
tapha. ‘Shall the slave be honoured with
your bounty ?’

‘Mashallah! bounty! I've given him his
life, and, as he considers it of more value
than an aga’s, I think ’tis a very handsome
present. Drown an aga, indeed!’ continued
the pacha, rising—‘ But it certainly was. a
very curious story. Let it be written down,
Mustapha. Well hear the other man to-
morrow.’

 

 

CHAPTER III.

‘MUSTAPHA,’ said the pacha the next day,
when they had closed the hall of audience,
‘have you the other Giaour in readiness ?’

‘Bashem ustun! Upon my head be it,
your highness. ‘The infidel dog waits but the
command to crawl into your sublime presence.’

‘Let him approach, that our ears may be
gratified. Barek Allah! Praise be to God.
‘There are others who can obtain stories
besides the Caliph Haroun.’

‘The slave was ordered into the pacha’s pre-
sence. He was a dark man with handsome
features, and he walked in with a haughty
carriage, which neither his condition nor
tattered garmenis could disguise. When
within a few feet of the carpet of state he
bowed and folded his arms in silence. ‘1
wish. to know upon what grounds you asserted
that you were so good a judge of wine the
other evening, when you were quatrelling
with the Greek slave,’‘I stated my reason, at the time, your
highness, which was, because I had been for
many years a monk of the Dominican order.’

‘I recollect that you said so. What trade
is that, Mustapha ?’ inquired the pacha.

‘If your slave is not mistaken, a good
trade everywhere. The infidel means that he
was a mollah or dervish among the followers
of Isauri.’*

“May they and their fathers’ graves be
eternally defiled!’ cried the pacha. ‘Do not
they drink wine and eat pork ? Have you
nothing more to say ?’ inquired the pacha.

‘My life has been one of interest,’ replied
the slave ; ‘and if it will please your highness,
I will narrate my history.’

‘It is our condescension.

: Sit down and
proceed.’

STORY OF THE MONK.

May it please your highness, I am a
Spaniard by birth, and a native of Seville ;
but whether my father was a grandee, or of a
more humble extraction, I cannot positively
assert. All that I can establish is, that when
reason dawned, ! found myself in the asylum
instituted by government, in that city, for
those unfortunate beings who are brought up
upon black bread and oil, because their
unnatural parents either do not choose to in-
cur the expense of their maintenance, or
having, in the first instance, allowed unlawful
love to conquer shame, end by permitting
shame to overcome maternal love.

It is the custom, at a certain age, to put
these children out to different trades and call-
ings ; and those who show precocity of talent
are often received into the bosom of the
church.

Gifted by nature with a very fine voice and
correct ear for music, I was selected to be
brought up as a chorister in a Dominican
convent of great reputation. At the age of
ten years I was placed under the charge of
the leader of the choir. Under his directions
I was fully occupied receiving my lessons in
singing, or at other times performing the
junior offices of the church, such as carrying
the frankincense, or large wax tapers, in the
processions. As a child my voice was much
admired ; and, after the service was over,
I often received presents of sweetmeats from
the ladies, who brought them in their pockets
for the little Anselmo. As I grew up, I
became a remarkable proficient in music ; at
the age of twenty I possessed a fine counter-
tenor, and flattered by the solicitations of the
superior of the convent, and other dignitaries
of the church, I consented to take the vows,

and became a member of the fraternity.

Although there was no want of liberty in
our convent, I was permitted even more than

* Jesus Christ.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

St

the rest of the monks, I gave lessons in
music and singing, and a portion of my earn-
ings were placed in the superior’s hands for
the benefit of the fraternity. Independent of
this, my reputation was spread all over Seville;
and hundreds used to attend the mass per-
formed in our church, that they might hear
the voice of brother Anselmo. I was there-
fore considered as a valuable property, and
the convent would have suffered a great deal
by my quitting it. Although I could not be
released from my vows, still I could, by appli-
cation, have been transferred to Madrid ; and
the superior, aware of this circumstance,
allowed me every indulgence, with the hopes
of my being persuaded to remain. ‘The
money which I retained for my own exigen-
cies enabled me to make friends with the
porter, and I obtained egress or ingress at
any hour. I was a proficient on the guitar ;
and incongruous as it may appear with my
monastic vows, I often hastened from the
service at vespers to perform in a serenade to
some fair senhora, whose zzamorata required
the powers of my voice to soften her to his
wishes.

My sedillas and canzonettas were much
admired, and eventually no serenade was
considered as effective without the assistance
of the counter-tenor of Anselmo, I hardly
need observe that it was very profitable, ani
that I had the means of supplying myself with
luxuries which the rules of our order did not
admit. I soon became irregular and de-
bauched ; often sitting up whole nights with
the young cavaliers, drinking and singing
amorous songs for their amusement... Still,
however, my conduct was not known, or was
overlooked for the reasons which I have stated
before.

When once a man indulges to excess in
wine, he is assailed by, and becomes an easy
prey to, every other vice. This error soon led
me into others ; and, regardless of my monastic
vows, I often felt more inclined io serenade
upon my own account than on that of my
employers. I had the advantage of a very
handsome face, but it was disguised by the
shaven crown, and the unbecoming manner of
cutting the hair; the coarse and unwieldy
monastic dress belonging to our order hid the
symmetry of my limbs, .which might have
otherwise attracted notice on the Prado. I
soon perceived that, although my singing was
admired by the other sex, their admiration
went no farther. They seemed to consider
that in every other point I was, as I ought to
have been, dead to the world.

There was a young lady, Donna Sophia,
whom I had for some time instructed in music,
who appeared to be more favourably inclined.
She was an excellent performer, and passion-
ately fond of the science ; and I have always22 THE PACHA OF
observed, your highness, that between the
real amateurs of harmony there is a’sympathy.
a description of freemasonry, which immedi-
ately puts ‘them on a level, and on terms of
extreme intimacy; so much so, that were la
married man, and my wife extremely partial
to music, I should be very careful how 1
ntroduced to her a person of a similar feeling,
‘f I’ possessed it not myself. I was very much
in the good graces of this young lady, and
flattered mysélf with a successful issue ; when
one day, as we were singing a duet, a hand-
some young officer made his appearance. His
hair, which was of the finest brown, curled in
natural ringlets; and his clothes were remark-
ably well fitted to his slender and graceful
figure. He was a cousin, who had just re-
turned from Carthagena ; and as he was re-
markably attentive, I soon perceived that all
my advances had been thrown away, and that
I was more and more in the background each
morning that I made my appearance,

Annoyed at this, I ventured to speak too
freely ; and during his absence calumniated
him to’ the Donna Sophia, hoping by these
means to regain my place-in her affections ;
but I made a sad mistake, for not only were
my services dispensed with for the future, but,
as l afterwards discovered, she stated to her
cousin the grounds upon which I had been
dismissed.

IT returned to the convent in no pleasant
mood, when I was informed that my presence
had been demanded by the superior, I
repaired to the parlour, where he stated that
my licentious conduct had come to his ears,
and after much upbraiding, he concluded by
ordering me to submit to a severe penance,
Aware that disobedience would only be fol-
lowed “up by greater severity, I bowed with
humility in my mien, but indignation in my
breast ; and returning to my cell, resolved
upon immediately writing for my removal
to Madrid. I had not, been there many
minutes when the porter ‘brought me.a note,
It was from Donna Sophia, requesting to see
me that evening, and apologizing for her
apparent’ ill-usage, which she had only as-
sumed the better to conceal her intentions ;
being afraid, at our last interview,. that. her
mother was within hearing.

I was in raptures when I perused the note,
and hastened to comply with her request.
Her directions were, to repair to the back-
door, which looked out upon some fields, and
give three taps. I arrived, and as soon as I
raised my hand to give the signal, was seized
by four men in masks, who gagged and bound
me. ‘They then stripped off my friar’s dress,
and scourged me with nettles until I was
almost frantic with the pain. When their
vengeance was Satisfied, they cast me loose,
remoyed the gag, and ran away. As JI then

 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  

MANY TALES,

suspected and afterwards discovered to be
true, I was indebted.to the young officer for
this treatment, in return for what I had said,
and which his mistress had repeated. Smart-
ing with pain and boiling with rage, I dragged
on my clothes as well as L.could, and began
to reflect in what manner I should act. . Con-
ceal my situation from the other members of
the convent I could not, and to explain it
would not only be too humiliating, but, sub-
ject me to‘more rigorous discipline., At last I
considered that out of evil might spring good;
and gathering a large bundle of the nettles
which grew under the walls, I crawled back to
the conyent. When I attained my cell, I threw
off my gown, which was now unbearable from
the swelling of my limbs, and commenced
thrashing the walls of my cell and my bed
with the nettles which I had procured.

After a short time, I moaned piteously, and
continued so to do, louder and louder, until
some of the friars got up to inquire the reason,
when they found me apparently eastigating
myself in this cruel. manner. When they
opened the door, I threw myself on the bed
and cried still more vociferously: this certainly
was the only part of my conduct which was
not deceptive, for I was in the most acute
agony. ‘To their inquiries I told them that
I had been guilty of great enorinities; that
the superior had reproved me and ordered mé

penance; and that I had scourged myself. |

with nettles, requesting them to continue the
application, as my strength had’ failed me.
With this injunction they were too humane to
comply. Some went for the surgeon of the
convent, while’ others reported the circum:
Stance to the superior. The former applied ré=
medies which assuaged the pain; the latter was
so pleased at my apparent contrition, that he
gave me aosolution, and reliéved me from
the penance to which I had been subjected.
When I recovered; I was more in favour, and
was permitted the same indulgences as be-
fore. é

But I was some ‘days confitied to my bed,
during which I was continually reflecting upon
what had passed. I perceived, to my misery,
the pale which I had placed between me and
the world by embracing a monastic life, and
how unfit I was by temperament to fulfl my
vows. I cursed my father and mother; who
had been the original cause of my present
situation. I cursed the monastic dress, which
blazoned forth my unhappy condition, Then
Ithought of the treacherous girl, and planned
schemes ofrevenge. I compared my personal
qualifications with those of the young officer,
and vanity suggested that, were it not for my
vile professional disguise, the advantage was
on my side, At last I decided upon the steps
that 1 would take.

As I before stated, my purse was well sup-plied from the lessons which I gave in music,
and from assisting at the serenades. When I
was sufficiently recovered to go out,. I pro-
ceéded to a barber, and on the plea of con-
tinual headache, for which it had been recom-
mended that I should shave, my head, re-
quested him to make me a false tonsure.. In
a few days it was ready, and being very well
made, no difference could be perceived be-
tween the wig and my own hair, which was
then removed. ‘So far I had succeeded ; but
as the greatest caution was necessary in a
proceeding of this nature, to avoid suspicion
f returned to the convent, where I remained
quiet for several Gays. One evening I again
sallied forth, and when it was quite dark,
repaired to the /rzperze show of a Jew, where
I purchased a second-hand suit of cavalier’s
clothes, which I thought would fit me. I
concealed them in my cell, and the next morn-
ing went in search of a s.aall lodging in some
obscure part, where I might not be subject to
observation. “This was difficult, but I at last
succeeded in finding one to let which opened
upon a general staircase of a house, which
was appropriated to a variety of lodgers who
were constantly passing and repassing. I paid
the first month in advance, stating it would
be occupied by a brother whom I daily. ex-
pected, and in the meantime took possession
of the key. I bought a small chest, which I
conveyed to my lodgings, and having removed
my cavalier’s dress from the convent, locked
itup. Ithen remained quiet as before, not
only to avoid suspicion, but to ingratiate my-
self with the superior by my supposed reform-
ation.
After a few days I sallied forth, and leaving
a note for one of the most skilful perruquiers
of Seville, desired him to call at my lodgings
at an hour indicated. Having repaired there
to be ready to receive him, I took off my
monk's dress and false tonsure, which I locked
up in my chest; I tied a silk handkerchief
round my head, and got into bed, leaving my
cavalier’s suit on the chair nearto me. ‘The
perruquier knocked at the appointed time. I
desired him to come in, apologized for my
servant being absent on a message, and
stating that I had been obliged to shave my
head on account of a fever from which I
had now recovered, requested that he would
provide me with a handsome wig. I explained
at his request the colour and description of
hair which I had lost ; and in so doing, re-
presented it as much lighter than my own
really was, and similar to that of the young
officer whose ringlets had been the cause of
my last disaster. I paid him a part of the
price down, and having agreed upon the exact
time at which it should be delivered, he
departed. When I rose from my bed, I re-

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

23

sumed my monastic dress and tonsure, and
returned to the convent.

During the whole of the time occupied by
these transactions, I had been assiduous in
laying up money, which before I had squan-
dered as fast as I obtained it, and had realized
a considerable sum. I could. not help com-
paring myself to a chrysalis previous to its
transformation. I had before been a cater-
pillar, I was now all ready to burst my con-
finement, and flit about as a gaudy butterfly.
Another week I continued my prudent con-
duct, at the end of which I was. admitted to
my superior, in whose hands I placed a sum
of money which I could very conveniently
spare, and received his benediction and com-
mendations for having weaned myself from my
former excesses. With a quickened pulse I
hastened to my lodgings, and throwing off
my hateful gown and tonsure, dressed myself
In my new attire, -

The transformation was complete. I could
not recognize myself.. I hardly could believe
that the dashing young cavalierthat confronted
me in the mirror was the brother Anselmo. ‘Is
this a face,’, said I, communing with myself,
‘to be disfigured with a vile tonsure? are these
limbs to be hid under the repulsive garment
of a monk?’ Again I survey myself, and it
was with difficulty that I could tear. myself
away from contemplating my metamorphosis.
I was indeed a butterfly. At last I determined
upon sallying forth. I locked up my monastic
dress, and descended the staircase. .1. must
acknowledge that it. was with trepidation I
ventured into the street, but I had soon reason
to take confidence, for I was met by one of
my most intimate friends, who looked in my
face and passed on without the slightest re-
cognition. Overjoyed at this. circumstance, I
took courage, and boldly proceeded to the
Prado, where I was greeted, with ,favourable

glances from the women, and sneers from.the
men, both of which I considered; equally flat-
tering. In the evening I returned to my
lodgings, resumed. the habit, of my, order, and
gained the convent., I now felt there was,no
chance of discovery, and anticipated the hap-
piness which had been denied me. ;L subse-
quently ordered the most ;fashionable and
expensive clothes, hired my lodgings for six
months, assumed the name of Don Pedro,
made the acquaintance of many young men,
and amongst others of, the.officer who had
treated me so ill,. He took a fancy to me,
which I encouraged to ‘further my views. I
became. his confidant : he informed me of
his amour with his cousin, adding that he was
tired of the business, and wished to break.with
her; also, as an excellent joke, the punish-
ment which he had inflicted upon the friar
Anselmo.24

He was a great proficient with the small
sword, an accomplishment which, of course,
had been neglected in my education, and
which I accounted for by stating that until the
death of my elder brother, I had been intended
for the church. JI accepted his offer to be my
insiructor, and my first rudiments in the
science were received from him. Afterwards
I applied to a professor, and constantly prac-
tising, in the course of a few months I knew,
from occasional trials of skill with the officer,
that I was his superior. My revenge, which
hitherto had been controlled, was now ripe.

But in narrating my adventures abroad, it
must not be supposed that I neglected every-
thing that prudence or caution could suggest
to avoid discovery. On the contrary, now
that I had the means of enjoying myself, I
was more careful that I did not by any indis-
cretion excite surmises. I generally devoted
four days out of the seven in the week:to the
convent and to my professional occupation as
music-master. ‘To increase the difficulty of
identification, I became more serious in my
manner, more dirty in my person, as the
brother Anselmo. I pretended to have im-
bibed a fancy for snuff, with which I soiled
my face and monastic attire, and seldom if
ever spoke, or if i did, ina very solemn voice.
So far from suspicion, I every day gained
more and more the good-will_of the superior.
My absence in the daytime was not noticed,
as it was known that I gave lessons in music,
and my irregularity during the night was a
secret between the porter and myself.

[hardly need observe that, as Don Pedro, I
always lamented not having beenfgifted with a
voice, and have even, in the presence of my
companions, sent a billet to brother Anselmo
to serenade a lady whom [| courted as Don
Pedro. I do not believe, until ulterior cir-
cumstances, that there was ever, in the mind
of any, the slightest idea that, under my dis-
similar habits, I was one anc the same per-
son.

But to continue: one day the young officer,
whose name was Don Lopez, informed me
that he did not know how to act: he was so
pestered with the jealousy and reproaches of
his mistress, and requested my advice as to
how to proceed. I laughed at his dilemma.
“My dear Lopez,” replied I, ‘introduce me
to her, and depend upon it that she will give
you no more trouble. I will make love to
her, and pleased with her new conquest, she
will soon forget you.’

‘My good fellow,’ replied he, ‘your ad-
vice is excellent ; will you come with me this
afternoon ?’

Once more I was in the presence of her
whom [had loved, but loved no more, for I
now only felt and lived for revenge. She had
not the most distant recognition of me.

   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

Piqued as she was with Don Lopez, and fas-
cinated with my exertions to please, I soon
gained an interest; but she still loved him
between the paroxysms of her hate. Trying
all she could to recover him at one moment,
and listening to my attentions at another, he
at last accused her of perfidy, and took his
leave for ever. ‘Then her violence broke out,
and as a proof of my attachment, she de-
manded that I should call himto account. I
wished no better, and pretending to be so
violently attached to her that I was infatuated,
I took occasion of his laughing at me to give
him the lie, and demand satisfaction. As it
was in the presence of others, there was no
recall or explanation allowed. We met by
agreement, alone, in the very field where I
received my chastisement. I brought with
me my monastic habit and tonsure, which I
concealed before his arrival among the very
nettles which he had gathered for my chas-
tisement. ‘The conflict was not long; after a
few thrusts and parries he lay dying at my
feet. I immediately threw over my dress that
of the friar, and exchanging the wig for the
tonsure, stood by him. He opened his eyes,
which had closed from the fainting occasioned
by the sudden gush from his wound, and
looked at me with amazement.

‘Yes, Don Lopez,’ said I, ‘in Don Pedro
behold the friar Anselmo; he whom you
scourged with nettles; he who has revenged
the insult.” I then threw off the monk’s
dress, and exposed to him the other beneath
it, and changing my tonsure for the wig,
‘Now you are convinced of the truth’ added
I, ‘and now I have my revenge.’

‘Iam, lam,’ replied he faintly ; ‘ but if you
have slain me as Don Pedro, now that I am
dying, I entreat you, as brother Anselmo,
to give me absolution, Carry not your re-
venge so far as to deny me this.’

I could not refuse, and I gave absolution in
the one costume to the man who had fallen
by my hand in the other: for my own part I
thought it was an absurdity, but my revenge
was Satisfied, and I would not refuse him such
a poor consolation.

A few minutes afterwards he expired, and I
hastened to my lodgings, changed my dress,
and repaired to the convent, where as Don
Pedro I wrote io Donna Sophia, informing
her of what had taken place, and of my hay-
ing absconded until the hue and cry should
be over. For three weeks I remained in the
convent, or only appeared abroad as the
father Anselmo. I brought a considerable
sum to the superior for the use of the church,
partly to satisfy the qualms of conscience
which assailed me for the crime which I had
committed, partly that I might continue in
his good graces.

At the expiration of the time I sent a noteTHE PACHA OF

to the young lady, as from Don Pedro, ac-
quainting her with my teturn, and my inten-
Op to call upon her in the dusk of the even-
BE rivent to my lodgings, dressed myself
Breas pore and tapping at her door, was
a » but instead of being cordially
greeted, as I expectcd, I was repulsed, loaded
with abuse, and declared an object of detesta-
tion. It appeared that, although in her rage
to the desertion of her lover, she had listened

more, all her frevenge, now that he was no

returned her upbraidinfhim had revived, I

to leave the house : but she had1d the yoom

that I should escape, and had stationed two «x

of her relations below, ready to intercept me.

She called to them as I descended the
stairs; when I arrived at the hall, I found
them with drawn swords to dispute my pas-
sage. I had no resource but to fight my way ;
and charging them furiously, I severely
wounded one, and shortly afterwards dis-
armed the other, just as the enraged fair one,
who perceived that I was gaining the day,
had run behind me and seized my arms ; but
she was too late: I threw her indignantly
upon the wounded man, and walked out of
the house. As soon as J was in the street, I
took to my heels, gained my lodgings, changed
my dress, and repaired to the convent.

‘This adventure sobered me much. I now
remained quiet for some months, never as-
suming my dress as Don Pedro, lest the officers
of justice should lay hold of me. I became
more rigid and exact in my duties, and more
austere in my manner.

The several confessional chairs in our
church were usually occupied by the senior
monks, although, when absent from sickness
or other causes, the juniors occasionally
supplied their place. One of the monks had
been taken ill, and 1 knew that the mother of the
young lady, who was very strict in her religious
duties, confessed at that chair every Friday ;
I took possession of it, with the hopes that I
should find out some means of prosecuting my
revenge. The young lady also confessed at
the same chair when she did come, which was
but seldom. Since the death of her lover, she
had never made her appearance.

As I anticipated, the mother came, and
after having run over a string of peccadilloes,
for which I ordered a slight penance, I in-
quired through the punctured communication
on the side of the confessional chair, whether
she had not children, to which she answered
in the affirmative. I then asked when her
daughter had confessed last. She mentioned
a long date, and I commenced a serious ex-
postulation upon the neglect of parents, de-
siring that her daughter might be brought to
confess, or otherwise I should be obliged to
inflict a penance of some hundred Pater-

MANY TALES,

I :
san Acs nin arn eo
lady, who had * Parental duties. The old

Y, Who Nad no wish to submit to her own
penance, promised to bring her daughter th
next day, and she was true to her une
Donna Sophia appeared to come very unwill-
ingly. As soon as she had taken her b
the confessional chair, she madea connee ,
I ae roe made no reservation ?” inquired
, \v muttering tone which is used at
not Whi easter arb my h neither part

SB aggenize raze party

‘Everything,’ replied she, in a faint Win. jor,

‘My daughter,’ replied I, ‘by your tremb-
ling answer I know that you are deceiving
yourself and me. I am an old man, and have
been too many years in this chair not to ascer-
tain by the answers which I receive whether
the conscience is unloaded. Yours, I am
convinced, has something pressing heavily
upon it, something for which you would fain
have absolution, but which you are ashamed
to reveal. If not a principal, you have been
a party to crime ; and never shall you have
absolution until you have made a full confes-
sion.’ Her heart swelled with emotion, she
attempted to speak, and burst into tears.
‘These are harbingers of good,’ observed I ;
‘I am now convinced that my supposition
was correct : pour out your soul in tribulation,
and receive that comfort which I am em-
powered to bestow. Courage, my daughter!
the best of us are but grievous sinners.’ As
soon as she could check her sobbing, she
commenced her confession; narrating her
penchant for me, her subsequent attachment
to the young officer, my abuse of him, and
the punishment which had ensued—his deser-
tion, the introduction of Don Pedro, her
pigue at having instigated him to kill her
lover, his death, and all that I have narrated
to your highness.

“These are serious crimes, my daughter !
grievous indeed; you have yielded to the
tempter in your own person, caused the death
of one man, you have led another astray, and
have deceived him when he claimed the re-
ward of his iniquity; but all these are trifles
compared to the offence upon the holy monk,
which is the worst of sacrilege. And what
was his fault? that he cautioned you against
a person whose subsequent conduct has proved
that the worthy man was correct in his sup-
positions.

‘In every way you have offended Heaven ;
a whole life will be scarce sufficient for the
task of repentance, laying aside the enormous
crime of sacrilege, which in justice ought to be
referred to the inquisition, Excommunication

ea

   
  
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

 

seerpreymenrme re26

: >
is more fitting in your case than scleHen:
I waited some time before I again PRG
during which she sobbed. bitterly. NAY
daughter,’ observed I, ‘before I can decide
upon what is to be done to save a ce
everlasting perdition, it 1s necessary tha aon
humble yourself before. the BION ae
whose person you have abused. sen eae
convent to which he belongs, and entrea :
to come ; and when you have confessed yo
crime, offer to him the same implements, o

ishment which through your instigation
pynisae pee Submit to
were so sacrilegiously SPP cane i
his sentence, and_ the PS22"Cone 4." ae day
7 afer tO-MOTTOW.’

The girl muffled up her face, waited a few
minutes to compose herself, and then returned
to her mother, who wondered what could
have detained her so long.

That evening I received a note from Donna,
Sophia requesting me to call on the ensuing
day. 1 found her in her room ; she had been
weeping bitterly, and when I entered, coloured
up with shame and vexation; but she had
been too much frightened on the day before
to resist the injunctions which she had received;
a large bundle of nettles lay on the chair;
and when I entered she turned the key of the
door, and falling down on her knees, with
many tears made a full confession. I expressed
the utmost horror and surprise ; she embraced
my knees, implored my pardon, and then,
pointing to the nettles, requested I would use
them if I thought proper. Having said this,
she covered her face with her hands, and re-
‘mained on her knees in silence.

I must confess, that when I called to mind
the punishment which had been inflicted on
me through her means, and the manner in
which she had attempted to betray me to my
death, I felt very much inclined to revenge
myself by scourging her severely ; but although
the affection I once felt for her had passed
away, I had a natural tenderness for the sex,
which made me abandon this petty revenge.
My object was to remove her, so that I might
not be recognized in my worldly attire ; and
she, I knew, was the only person who. could
prove that I had killed her lover. I therefore
raised her up, and telling her that I was
satisfied with her repentance, and, as far as I
was personally concerned, forgave her ‘ill-
treatment, desired her to repair to her confes-
sor, who was the proper person to award a
punishment for such a catalogue of heinous
crimes.;;The next day,I was in the confes-
sional, when she narrated all-that had passed ;
I then told her she had nothing to do
but to propitiate Heaven by dedicating her
musical talents to its service; pointing out
that her only chance of salvation was from

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

 

immediately taking the veil. I ra ig

listen to any other species of pene e i jf
ever severe, for which she gladly ee b a
compromised the sentence. Goade L bY 4
conscience, miserable at the ‘desertion an

death of her lover, and alarmed at the ae |
of excommunication, in less than a weex 7 €
repaired to the Ursuline Convent ; ee <
a short probation she took. the veil, an + wea
admitted as one of the sisterhood. _, fairly

As soon as my only accufied my dress |
locked up, I occasionoiially, because in the |

and wig : 3-1 chiefly delighted in, and in |
ich J became the connoisseur of good wine |
that I asserted myself to be when your high-

ness overheard me, I had. no occasion for it,

being quite as well received when I sang and

played the guitar in my monkish. dress, as I

should have been in my other. Besides

which, I never had to pay when in that cos-

tume, as I was obliged to do when I. sported

the other, which was only put on when I

wished to make myself agreeable to any fait

one. I hardly need observe, that I took

great care to avoid the society in the one

dress with which I mixed in the other. ‘This

disguise I continued very successfully for

three years, when a circumstance occurred

which ended in my discovery, and my event-

ually becoming a slave in your highness’s

dominions.

For some time I had taught the niece of an
elderly lady, who was of noble family and _
very rich. The aunt was always present at
the lessons ; and, knowing that she was very
devout, I rejected all songs that were of an
amorous tendency, and would only practise
such as were unimpeachable: In my demea-
nour I was always sedate ‘and respectful—
full of humility, and self-accusation, When I
received my money from the old lady,. I used
to thank her in the name of our convent, for
whose use it was to be appropriated, and call
her donation a charity, for which Heayen would
reward her. Her confessor died, and the old
lady chose me to supply his place... This was
what I was anxious to obtain, and I redoubled
my zeal, my humility, and my flattery.

It was not that I had originally any design
upon the affections of the niece, although she
Was a very pretty girl, but upon the old lady’s
purse, for I knew that she could not last for
many years. , On the contrary, I was anxious,
if possible, to have the niece removed, as it
was supposed that she would inherit the old
lady's doubloons ; but this required time and
opportunity, and, in the meanwhile, I assidu-
ously cultivated the old lady's good graces.
She used to confess once a week ; and I often
observed that she acknowledged as a sin,
thinking too much of one who had led her
from her duty in former days, and for whomshe’ still felt t60 much worldly passion. One
evening when the clock had struck ten, we had
laid down the cards, which we occasionally
played, it being the day and’ her usual’ hour
for confessing: “ Again she repeated the'samé
offence, and I then delicately hinted that she
might be more at ‘ease if she were to confide
to me the circumstances connected with’ her
compunctions. She hesitated; but on niy
pointing out to her that there ought to be no
reservation, and that the acknowledginent ‘of
the compunction arising from a sin was not
that of the sin itself, she acquiesced. ‘Her
confession referred to hor early days, when
attached to a young cavalier, aganisv: 4
wishes of her friends, tinder a solemn ‘promise
of marriage, shé had consented to receive him
into her‘chamber. ‘The intercourse continued
for some‘time, when it was discovered. © Her
lover had beén waylaid and murdered by her
relations, and she had been thrown into a
convent. “ There she had been confined, and
the child removed as soon as it was born; she
had resisted all the force and threats employed
to induce her to take the veil; and at the
death of her father had been released and
came into possession of her property, of which’
they could not’ deprive her; that she made
every endeavour to find out to where her child
had been removed, and at last discovered that
it had been sent to the Foundling Asylum ;
but this information was not obtained until
some years afterwards, and all the children
sent there at the period had been dispersed.
Never Having married, her thoughts would
revért to the scenes which had taken place
with her adored Felix, although years had
rolled'away, and she felt that she was wrong
to dwell upon what in itself had been so
criminal: 2

T listened to her story with great interest,
for the idea occurred to me, that I might be
the unfortunate offspring of their loves ; and
if not, that in all probability the old lady
might be induced’ so to believe. I inquired
whether her child had any marks by which he
could'bé recognised. She answered, that she
made most particular inquiries of the people
who attended her, and that one of the women
had stated that the child had a large wart
upon the back of its neck; this however was
not likély'to remain, and she had abandoned
all hopes of its discovery.

I observed that warts were easily removed
when‘ contracted accidentally, but that those
which appeared at the birth were no more to
be removed than moles. I then turned the
conversation, by stating, that I could not con-
sider her conduct criminal; it was more than
could be expected from human nature that
shé ‘should ‘not retain affection for one who
had lived with her as a husband, and died for
her sake. I gave her absolution for half a

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES;

27

dozen Ave-Matias,‘and took’ my leave’ for the
night. When I lay on my pallet, 'I reflected
upon what had passed; the year and month
agreed’ exactly with the time at which I had
been sent to the Asylum. A’ wart, as she very
truly observed; might disappear. | Might not
I be the very son’ whom. she was’ lamenting ?
The next’ morning I repaired to the Asylum,
and demanded the date of my reception, with
all ‘the particulars, which were’ invariably
registered in case of the infants being even-='
tually claimed. ‘It was in the month ‘of-Feb-!
ruary. There was oné other entry in the same
month, same day, and nearly the same hour
as my own.

“#4 mine at night. a male infant left at the
door in a basket; parties avscumaca, —- ornvlec

named Anselmo.’

‘At ten at night, a male infant brought to
the door’ in a capote, parties absconded, no
marks, named Jacobo.’

It appeared then that there were two chil-
dren brought within an hour of each other to
the Asylum, and that I was one of them. “In
the evening I returned to the old lady, and
accidentally resumed the subject of her not
having made further search for’ her child, and
asked if she had the precise date. She an-
swered ‘that she had it'in her memory too
well, that it'was on the 18th of February ;
and that when she referred to the Asylum,
they had informed her that the children brought
in February had no marks; that they had'all
been sent away, but where they’ could not tell,
as the former governor had died and he was
the only person who could give the informa~
tion. That’ €ither T or the other was-her child
was clear, biit to’ prove which, was impossible:
It however madé’me less scrupulous about my
plan of proceeding, which was to identify my-
self with the child she had lost. It was use’
less to prove that I was sent in on that day’as
there was a competitor; besides which, my
monastic vows were at variance with my
speculation; I therefore resolved to satisfy her,
if I could not satisfactorily prove it to myself
or to the rest of the world, and I took my
measures accordingly. ;

It was in my worldly disguise, that I deter-
mined to attempt my purpose; and as it was
necessary to have a wart on my neck, I re-
solved to obtain one as soon as possible. This
was easily managed ; a friar of ‘the convent
was troubled with these excrescences, and £
jocularly proposed a trial to see whether it was
true that the ‘blood of them would inoculate.
Tn a fortnight, I had a wart on my finger which
goon became large,-and I then applied the
blood of it to my neck. ‘Within three months
T had a large wart on the back of my neck, or
tather a conglomeration of them, which I had
produced by inoculation, assisted by constant
irritation ; during this period I was not sowee

 

28 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

frequent in my attendance upon the old lady,
excusing. myself on account of the duties of
the convent which devolved upon me. The
next point was, how to introduce myself in-my
other apparel. ‘This required some reflection,
as it would be but occasionally that I could
make my appearance. After some reflection,
I determined that the niece should assist me,
for I knew that even if I succeeded in my
plans, she would be a participator in the pro-
perty which I wished to secure. _ Often left in
her company, I took opportunities of talking
of a young friend whom I highly extolled.
When I had raised her curiosity, I mentioned,
in a laughing manner, that I suspected he
was very much smitten with her charms. ac 4
had often fauna hiv~ Wate lias ac ule house
opposite. An admirer is always a source of
gratification to a young girl; her vanity was
flattered, and she asked me many particulars.
I answered them so as to inflame her curiosity,
describing his person in a very favourable
manner, and extolling his good qualities. I
also minutely described his dress. After the
music-lesson was over, I returned to my
lodgings, arrayed myself in my best suit, and
putting on my curling ringlets, walked up and
down before the window of the house. The
niece soon recognized me as the person whose
dress and appearance I had so minutely de-
scribed, one moment showing herself at the
window, at another darting away with all the
coquetry of her sex. I perceived that she
was flattered with her conquest ; and, after
parading myself for a short time, I disap-
peared.

When I called the next day in my monastic
costume, I had a billet-doux ready in my
pocket. The singing commenced; I soon
found out that she had a prepossession, from
her selecting a song which in the presence of
her aunt I should have put on one side, but it
now suited my purpose that she should be in-
dulged. When the aunt made her appear-
ance we stopped, and commenced another ;
by this little ruse I became a sort of confidant,
and the intimacy which I desired was brought
about. When we had practised two or three
songs, Donna Celia, the aunt, left the room :
I then observed that I had seen the young
cavalier whom I had mentioned, and that he
appeared to be more infatuated than ever;
that he had requested me as a favour to speak
on his behalf, but that I had threatened to
acquaint her aunt if he mentioned the subject;
for I considered that. my duty as a confessor
in the family would be very irreconcilable with
catrying clandestine love messages. I ac-
knowledged that I pitied his condition; for to
see the tears that he shed, and listen to the
supplications which he had made, would have
softened almost anybody ; but that notwith-
Standing my great regard for him, I thought

 

 

it inconsistent with my duty to interfere in
such a business. I added, that he had told
me that he had walked before the house yes-
terday afternoon, with the hopes of meeting
one of the servants, whom he might bribe to
convey a.letter; and that [ had threatened to
acquaint Donna Celia if he mentioned the
subject again. Donna Clara (for such was
her name) appeared very much annoyed at
my pretended rigour, but said nothing. After
a little while I asked her if she had seen him ;
she replied in the affirmative without further
remarks. Her workbox lay upon the sofa,
upon which she had been seated, and I put
the nete iu Ic without being perceived. The
résson was finished, and [ repaired to her
aunt’s apartments to pay her a visit in the
quality of confessor. After half an hour's
conversation, I returned through the saloon,
where I had left Donna Clara; she was at
her embroidery, and had evidently seen and
read the note, for she coloured up when I
entered. I took no notice, but, satisfied that
she had read it, I bade her adieu. In the
note, I had implored her for an answer, and
stated that [ should be under her window
during the whole night. As soon as it was
dark, I dressed myself as Don Pedro, and re-
paired to the street, striking a few notes on
the guitar to attract her attention. I remained
there for more than half an hour, when the
casement opened, and a little hand threw out
a billet, which fell at my feet; I kissed it with
apparent rapture, and retired. When I gained
my lodgings, I opened it, and found it as fa-
vourable as I could hope. My plan then was
to act as her confidant.

When I called the next day, I told her that,
satisfied with the honourable intentions of the
young cavalier, he had overcome my scruples,
and I had consented to speak in his behalf:
that I thought it was not tight; but the state
of the young man was so deplorable that I
could not withstand his entreaties ; but that I
expected that no steps would be taken by
either party without my concurrence; and
with this proviso, if she was pleased with the
young cavalier, I would exert my influence in
their behalf. Donna Clara's face beamed
with delight at my communication ; and
she candidly acknowledged, as she had
before in the note, that his person and his
character were by no means displeasing. JI
then produced another note, which J said he
had prevailed upon me to deliver, After this,
affairs went on successfully. I repeatedly met
her in the evening; and although I at first
was indifferent, yet I soon became attached
from the many amiable and endearing qualities
which love had brought to light. She one day
observed that there was a strong resemblance
between Don Pedro and me, but the possi-
bility of a serious shaven monk, and a gaycavalier with his curling locks, being one and
the same person, never entered her head.
When I considered matters ripe, I called upon
Donna Celia, and, with the preamble that I had
something of importance to communicate, in-
formed her I had discovered that a young man
was attached to her niece, and that I strongly
suspected the regard was reciprocal; that I
knew the young cavalier very well, who was
very amiable, and possessed many good qual-
ities, but there seemed to be a mystery about
his family, as he never mentioned them.
ended by observing, that I considered it my
duty to acquaint her with the circumstance ;
as, if she objected to the match, or had other
views for her niece, an immediate stop ought
to be put to the correspondence.
The old lady was very much astonished at
the information, and very angry that her
niece should have presumed to make an ac-
quaintance without her knowledge. I waited
until she had said all she could think of, and
then calmly took up the right of a confessor,
pointing out that’she had herself fallen into
the same error in her youthful days; that the
young man had confessed to me that his
views were honourable; but had not an idea,
at the time, that I was acquainted with the
family. Donna Celia then appeared to be
more pacified, and asked many questions: all
that she seemed to object to, was the mystery
about his family, which, at her request, I pro-
mised to clear up before any other steps
should be taken. Cautioning her against any
violence of language to her niece, I took my
leave. As I went out Ispokea few words to
Clara, informing her of the déxowement which
had taken place, and recommending her by
no means to irritate her aunt, but to be very
penitent when she was reproved. Clara
obeyed my injunctions, and the next day,
when I called, I found her sitting by the side
of Donna Celia, who was apparently recon-
eiled. I motioned Clara out of the room,
when Donna Celia informed me that she had
acknowledged her error; and as she had pro-
mised for the future to be regulated by her
advice, she had overlooked her indiscretion.
When she_ had finished; ‘ Prepare yourself,
madam,’ said I, ‘for strange tidings—the
ways of Heaven are wonderful. Last evening
I had an explanation with the young cavalier,
Don Pedro, and he proves to be—that son
whose loss you have so much lamented.’
“Merciful Heaven!’ cried the oid lady, and
she fainted away. As soon as she recovered,
she cried out, ‘Oh where is he? bring him to
me—let a mother's eyes be blessed with his
sight—let the yearnings of a mother’s heart
be recompensed in his embraces—let the tears
of affection be wept upon his bosom.’

Calm yourself, my dear madam,’ replied Te
“the proofs you have not yet seen. First be

re

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

29

satisfied, and then indulge in your delightfut
anticipation. When I pressed Don Pedro
upon the subject of his family, I told him can-
didly that his only chance of success was un-
limited confidence: he acknowledged that he
had been sent to the Asylum when an infant,
and that he did not know his parents ; that
the mystery and consequent stigma on his
birth had been a source of mortification to
him through life. I asked himif he knew his
age, or had a copy of the register of his re-
ception. He took it out of a small cabinet ;
it was on the 18th of February, in the same
year that your child was sent there. Stillas I
was not sure, | stated that I would call upon
him this morning, and see what could be
done; assuring him that his candid avowal
had created strong interest in his favour. This
morning I repaired to the Asylum, when I ex-
amined the register. Two children were
brought in on that night: here is the extract,
and I feel much mortified, as you will observe,
that no marks ate mentioned. If, therefore,
the wart you spoke of was not still remaining,
the uncertainty would have been as great as
ever. When I returned to him about an hour
since, I renewed the subject, and stated that I
thought it was the custom to make a note of
any particular marks upon the children, by
which they might be eventually reclaimed.
He replied that it was customary when they
were indelible, but not otherwise: that he had
no indelible mark, although a large wart had
been on the back of his neck as long as he
could remember; ‘‘ but,” added he, “‘itisofno
use,—all hopes of finding my parents have
long since been abandoned, and I must sub-
mit to my unfortunate destiny. Ihave thought
upon what has passed, and I feel that I have
acted wrong. Without family and without
name, what right have I to aspire to the hand
of any young lady of good parentage? Ihave
made the resolution to conquer my feelings;
and before the intimacy has been carried on
to an extent that a rupture would occasion
any pangs to her that I adore, I will retire
from Seville, and lament in solitude my un-
fortunate condition.”

*** Are you capable of making such a sacri-
fice, Don Pedro?” said I.-—‘'I am, Father
Anselmo,” replied he: ‘‘I will always act as
aman of honour and of family, although I
cannot prove my descent.”

*““Then,’’ said I, ‘‘ Don Pedro, do me the
favour to call upon me this evening at my con-
vent, and I hope to havesome pleasing intelli-
gence to impart.” 1! then left him, to come
here and acquaint you with the joyful dis-
covery.’—‘ But why did you not bring him
here immediately ?’ cried’ Donna Celia.

‘Madam, I have important duties at my
convent which will occupy me with the supe-
rior till late at night. These must be attendedto; and it is not impossible that the affairs of
our conyent may require my absence for some
time, as there are new leases of our lands to
be granted, and I have reason to expect that
the superior may despatch me on that busi-
ness. I will acquaint the young man with
what has been discovered, and will then send
him to your arms; but it were advisable that
you allow a few hours to repose after the agi-
tation which you have undergone, and _pre-
vious to the affecting scene that will naturally
take place. I wish I could be present ; for it
is not often, in this world, that we can witness
the best affections of the heart in their virtuous
action.’

I then took my leave, requesting Donna
Celia to inform her niece of the circumstances,
as I presumed there would now be no obstacle
to the mutual attachment of the young people.

My reason for an early departure was that I
might arrange the: story I should tell, when,
as Don Pedro, my new mother would demand
from me the events of my life. I had also to
request leave of absence, which I obtained in
expectation of some property being left to the
convent by an elderly gentleman residing at
Alicant, who was expected to die, and from
whom I produced a letter requesting my pre-
sence. As I was on the best terms with the
superior, and there was.a prospect of obtain-
ing money, his consent was given. That I
should be there in time, I was permitted to
depart that evening. _I took my leave of the
superior, and the rest of the monks, intending
never to return, and hastened to my lodgings,
where I threw off my monastic habit, which,
from that hour, has never been resumed. I
repaired to Donna Celia’s house, was admitted.
and ushered into a room to await her arrival,
My person had been set off to the best advan-
tage. I had put on a new wig, a splendid
velvet cloak, silk doublet and hose ; and as I
surveyed myseif for a second or two in the
mirror, I felt the impossibility, of recognition,
mingled with pride at my handsome contour.
The door opened, and Donna Celia came in,
trembling with anxiety. 1) threw myself on
my knees, and in a voice apparently choked
with emotion, demanded her blessing. She
tottered to the sofa ‘overpowered. by her feel-
ings ; and still remaining on my knees, I
seized her hand, which I covered with kisses.

‘It is—it is my child,’ cried she at last; ‘all-
powerful nature would have told meso, if it
had not been proved,’ and she threw herarms
round my neck, as she bent over me, and
shed tears of gratitude and delight. 1 do as-
sure your highness that I caught the infection,
and mingled my tears with hers; for I felt
then, and I even now. firmly believe, that I
was her son, Although my conscience: for a
moment upbraided me, during a scene which
brought back virtuous feelings to my breast, I

THE, PACHA OF

 

  

MANY TALES,

could not but consider, that a deception which
could produce so much delight and joy was
almost pardonable. »I took my seat beside
her, and she kissed me! again and again, ‘as
one minute she would hold:me off to look at
me, and the next ‘strain mein her embraces.
“You are the image of your father, Pedro,’
observed she mournfully, “but God’s will be
done: if He has taken away, He also hath
given, and truly gratefulam 1 for His bounty.’
When we had in some degree recovered our
agitation, E entreated her to narrate to me the
history of:my father, of whom I had heard
but little from the'good brother Anselmo, and
she repeated to me those events of her youth-
ful days which she had communicated before:
‘But you have not been introduced to
Clara: the naughty girl little thought that she
was Carrying on anamour with her own cousin,
When Donna Celia called her down, I made
no scruple of ‘pressing the dear girl to my
heart, and implanting a kiss upon her lips :
with our eyes beaming with love and joy, we
sat down upon the sofa, I in the centre, with
ahand locked in the hand of each. ‘And
now, my dear Pedro, I am anxious to hear
the narrative of your life,’ said Donna Celia :
‘thatit has been honourable to yourself, I feel
convinced,’ Thanking her for her. good
opinion, which I hoped neither what had
passed, or might in future occur, would be
the means of removing, I commenced the
history of my life in the following words :

“Commenced the history of your life?’ in-
terrupted the pacha. ‘Does the slave lauch
at our beards? What then is all this you
have been telling us ?”

‘The truth, your highness,’ replied the
Spaniard, ‘What I am about to tell, is the
history of my life, which I invented to deceive
the old lady Donna Celia,sand which is all
false.’

‘I understand ; Mustapha, this kafir is a
regular kessehgou*—he makes one story breed
another; but it is late; see that he attends
to-morrow afternoon, Bero! Go, infidel !—the
muezzin calls to prayers.’

The Spaniard quitied the sublime presence,
and in obedience to the call of the muezzin,
the pacha and Mustapha paid their customary
evening devotions—to the bottle,

CHAPTER IV.

THE next dav the Spanish slave was sum-
moned to continue his narrative.

‘Your sublime highness of course recollects
where I left off yesterday evening,’ commenced
the slave. . :

‘Perfectly weil,’ replied the pacha; ‘you
left off at the beginning of your story ; but I
* Eastern story-teller,hope you will finish it this evening, as I have
pee), forgotten a great deal of what you
said.
‘Your highness may recollect that I was
seated——’
“Yes, in our presence,’ interrupted. the
pacha; ‘such was our condescension to a
Giaour. Now, go on with your story.’ |
‘With due submission to your highness, I
was seated on a sofa, between my mother
Donna Celia and my mistress Donna Clara.’
~’*NVery true; I recollect now that you were.’
‘ A hand clasped in the hand of each.’
‘Exactly,’ replied the pacha, impatiently.
“And was about to tell a story of my own
invention, to deceive the old lady my mother.’
‘Anna senna! curses on your mother !’
cried the pacha, in an angry tone. ‘Sit
down and continue your story. Is a pacha
nothing?» Is the lion to be'chafed by a
jackall? Wallah el Nebi! By God and the
Prophet ! do you laugh at our beard? ‘The
story !
“The story requested by your highness,’ re-
plied the slave, with great coolness, ‘was com-
menced in the following words :’

STORY OF THE MONK.

What occurred during my infancy, my
dearest mother, I do not recollect; but I can
retrace to the age of seven years, when I
found myself in company with a number of
others, from the squalling infant of afew days
old, up to about my ownage. lalso recollect
that our fare was indifferent, and our punish-
ment severe.

‘Poor child!’ exclaimed Donna Celia,
pressing my hand, which was siill locked in
hers. I continued there until the age of ten,
when an.old Jady who came to the asylum
took a fancy to me; for I often heardit re-
marked, that I was a very handsome boy, al-
though I have rather grown out of my good
looks lately, Clara.

. A pressure of my other hand, and a negative
smile, was the answer ; and I proceeded—

The old lady Donna Isabella, who was of
the noble family of Guzman, wanted a page,
and intended to bring me up in that capacity.
She carried me to her house, where I was clad
in a fancy dress. J used to sit by her side on
‘the carpet, and run upon any message which
might be required ; in fact, I was a sort of
human bell, calling up everybody and fetching
everything that was wanted: but I was well
fed, and vety proud of alittle dagger which I
wore in my girdle. . The only part of my edu-
cation to which I objected, was learning to
read and write from a priest, who was domi-
ciled in the family, and who had himself as
great an ayersion to teaching as. I had to
learning. Had the affair rested entirely be-
tween us, we might have arranged matters so

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

31

as to please both parties ; but as the old lady
used to prove my acquirements. by making
me read to her, as she knitted, we neither of
us could help fulfilling our engagements. By
dint of bullying and beating, at last Iwas sul-
ficiently enlightened to be able to read a ro-
mance to my mistress, or answer an invitation
note in the negative or affirmative. My mis-
tress had two nieces who lived with her, both
nearly grown up when I entered the family.
They taught me dancing for their own amuse-
ment, as. well-as many other things ; and. by
their care I improved very much, even in read-
ing and writing. Althougha child, I hada
pleasure in being taught by two pretty girls.
But it is necessary that I should be more par-
ticular in my description of these two young
ladies. The eldest, whose name was Donna
Emilia, was of a prudent, sedate disposition,
always cheerful, but never boisterous ; she
constantly smiled, but seldom, if ever, in-
duiged .in a laugh, The youngest, Donna
Teresa; was very different—joyous and light-
hearted, frank and confiding in her temper,
generous in disposition : her faulis arose from
an excess of every feeling—a continual run-
ning into extremes. Never were two sisters
more fond of each other ; it appeared as ifthe
difference between their dispositions but added
to their attachment. ‘The serious character of
the elder was roused to. playfulness by the
vivacity of the younger, and the extravagance
of the younger was kept in due bounds by the
prudence of the elder. As a child I liked
Donna Emilia, but I was devotedly fond of
Donna Teresa.

I had’ been three years in. this situation,
when legal business required the presence of
Donna Isabella at Madrid. ‘The young
ladies, who were both very handsome, and re-
markably like each other in person, were
much admired by the cavaliers. Two had
gained the victory over the rival candidates—
Don Perez was the favoured suitor of Donna
Emilia, while Don Fiorez was proud to wear
the chains of the lively Teresa. Donna Isa-
bella had, however, no intention that her
nieces should quit her for the present ; and
aware, by the serenading which took place
every night, that there were pretenders to her
nieces’ smiles, she hastened back to Seville
sooner than she had intended.

Although I had not been trusted by either,
I had an idea of what was.going on ; but with
more prudence than most boys of my age, 1
made no remarks either to my mistress or to
the young ladies. “We had returned to Seville
about a month, when Donna Emilia called
me aside, and said, ‘Pedro can you keep a
secret.’

I told her—‘Yes, if I was paid for it.’

‘And what do you want to.induce you to
keep it, you little miser ?”32

I replied—‘ From her, only a kiss.’

She called me a little rogue, gave me the
kiss, and then told me that a cavalier would
be under the window a little after vesper bell,
and that I must give him a billet, which she
put into my hand. Of course, having received
my payment beforehand, I consented. Atthe
time mentioned I looked out of the gate, and
perceiving a cavalier under the window, I ac-
costed him, ‘What ho, senhor, what is it you
expect from a fair lady ?’

‘A billet, my little page,’ replied he.

‘Then here you have it,’ replied I, pulling
it out of my vest. He put a doubloon in my
hand, and immediately disappeared.

I liked the gold very much, but I preferred
the other payment more. I put the money in-
tomy pocket, and returned into the house. I
had hardly come into the hall, when Donna
Teresa, the other young lady, accosted me.
* Pedro, I have been looking for you—can you
keep a secret ?’

‘Yes, if I am paid for it,’ replied I, as be-
fore.

‘And what must’ it be that will keep that
little tongue of yours from chattering ?’

‘From you,’ replied I, ‘it must be a kiss.’

‘Oh! you little manikin—I’ll give you
twenty,’ and she did so, until she almost took
away my breath. ‘And now,’ said she,
‘there is a senhor waiting below fora note,
which you must take him.’ I took the note,
and when I came to the gate, found a cavalier
there, as she had mentioned. ‘Oh, senhor,’
said I, ‘what are you waiting for, is it a d22Zed-
doux from a sweet lady ?’

‘It is, my pretty boy,’ answered he.

‘Perhaps this will interest you,’ replied I,
handing him the note. He snatched it from
me, and would have departed. ‘ Senhor,’ said
I, ‘Icannot allow my mistress to be affronted.
Her favours are beyond all price, but still they
are always coupled with gold. Since you are
so poor, and gold must pass, here is a piece
for you,’ and I offered him the doubloon
which I had received from the other cava-
lier.

‘You are a witty boy,’ replied he, ‘and
have corrected my negligence, for it was
nothing more, I assure you. Add this to the
other :’—and he put a quarter-doubloon in
my hand, and disappeared. I returned to
the house; and, as I had been some time
away from my mistress, I went into the saloon
-—where she was sitting alone.

‘Pedro, come hither, child ; you know how
good I have been to you, and how carefully
I have brought you up. Now tell me, can
you keep a secret ?’?—‘ Yes, madam,’ replied
I, ‘I can keep yours, for it is my duty.’

‘That’s a good child. Well then, I have
an idea that my two nieces are followed by
some of the gay cavaliers who saw them at

 

  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

Madrid, and I wish you to find out if it is
true.—Do you understand ?”

“Oh, yes, madam,” replied I;
fectly.’

“Well, then, do you watch,—and_ Pedro,
here are two reals for you, to buy sugar-plums.’

Thus did I enter in one day into the real
occupation of a page, I added the two reals
to the gold, and, as you may suppose, meant
to serve as I was paid. But, as I found out
afterwards, I had made a terrible mistake
with the two dzd/ets-doux. That of Donna
Emilia I had given to Don Florez, who was
Donna Terésa’s admirer: that of Donna
Teresa I had given to Don Perez, who was
the lover of Donna Emilia: but I had better
explain to you, before I go on, what did not
come to my knowledge until the dénowement
took place. Don Perez, the lover of Emilia,
was a young man who was entitled to large
property at the death of an uncle, to whom
he was heir by entail. Don Florez, on the
contrary, was in possession of a splendid for-
tune, and able to choose for himself. From
fear of discovery, the notes were both in a
disguised hand, and not signed by the respec-
tive Christian names of the ladies. Donna
Emilia’s ran thus—‘I found your note in the
Spot agreed, but my aunt has taken away the
key of the shrubbery, and is, I believe, sus-
picious.—Why are you so urgent ?—I trust
your affection, like mine, will but increase
from delay. It will be impossible to meet
you to-night; but I have entered the page in
my service, and will write soon.? ‘That of
Donna Teresa, which I put in the hands of
Don Perez, ran as follows: ‘I can no longer
refuse your solicitations for an interview. My
aunt has locked up the shrubbery, but if you
have courage enough to scale the garden wall,
I will meet you in the saloon which opens
upon the garden; but not a word must be
said, as the servants are continually passing
the door—neither can we have a light—I must
trust to your honour.’

Don Perez was delighted at Donna Emilia’s
having at last yielded to his entreaties for a
meeting ; and Don Florez, as much annoyed
at the reserved conduct of his mistress, went
home accusing her of coquetry. At the ap-
pointed hour, Don Perez met his supposed
mistress in the saloon. ‘The ‘two sisters were
conjidantes ; and, as I was in their secret, they
made no scruple of talking before me. The
next day, when their aunt left the room, they
began arguing upon the personal merits of
their respective cavaliers. After a good-
humoured controversy, they appealed to me,
‘Come, Pedro,’ said Teresa, ‘you shall de-
cide. Which do you think the handsomest

‘TI do pers

cavalier ?’
‘Why,’ answered I, ‘I think that your sen-
hor is, tor

a fair man, the handsomest I everTHE PACHA OF

saw ; but still the beautiful dark eyes of the
Donna Emilia’s cavalier are equally preposses-
sing.

‘Why, Pedro, you have mistaken the two,’
said Emilia, ‘it is Don Perez, the fair one,
who is my admirer, and the dark senhor is
Don Florez, who is in love with my sister.’ I
perceived that I had made a mistake when [
delivered the notes, and Teresa coloured up.
But I had sense enough to answer—‘ Very
true, madam, you are right; I now recollect
that Iam confounding the two.’

Shortly afterwards the aunt came into the
room, and Teresa quitted it, beckoning me to
follow her. As soonas I had joined her, she
said, ‘Now, Pedro, tell the truth; did you
not make the mistake that you stated, and
deliver my note to the fair cavalier, Don
Perez?’

1 answered, ‘that I had, as I had already
delivered Emilia’s note to the dark gentleman.’
Donna Teresa put her hands over her face, and
wept bitterly.—‘ Pedro, you must now keep
this secret, for it is of the greatest importance.
My God, what will become of me?’ cried she,
and for some time she was in the greatest dis-
tress ; at last she wiped her eyes, and after
much reflection, she took up paper and wrote
anote. ‘Pedro, take this note to the direc-
tion ; recollect it is for the dark cavalier that
it is intended.’ Teresa had read the note of
Emilia to Don Perez, which had been received
by Don Florez—in consequence her present
note ran thus :—‘ You may think me harsh for
having refused to see you last night, but I was
afraid. Do not accuse me with trifling with
your feelings; I will meet you in the saloon
that leads to the garden, which was last night
occupied ; comeat ten this evening.’

I went out with the note and gave it into
the hands of Don Florez. ‘My dear boy,
tell Donna Teresa I will not fail; I know now
why she could not receive me last night; I
only hope I may be as fortunate as Don Perez.’
He put a doubloon in my hand, and I went
away. I had not quitted the street when I
met Don Perez.

‘Ah! my little page, this is indeed lucky ;
just step to my rooms while I write a note to
Donna Emilia.’ I did so, and he gave me a
quarter-doubloon as before. ‘I thank you,
senhor,’ replied 1; ‘what with the doubloons
of Don Florez and your quarter-doubloons, I
shall soon be a rich man.’

“How say you? replied he; ‘Don Florez
gives you doubloons ?—then he spoils the mar-
ket ; but I must not allow him to pay you
better than I do, or I shall not be served so
faithfully.—Here’s a doubloon and a half,
which, with what you have already received,
will make the accounts square.’ I made my
bow, and with many thanks withdrew.
Young as I was, I had an idea that some-

 

  

MANY TALES, 33
thing had occurred at the mistaken meeting
of last night, which seriously affected Donna
Teresa. As I was much more partial to her
than to her sister, I resolved not to deliver the
note of Don Perez to Emilia, until I had con-
sulted Donna Teresa. On my return, I beck-
oned her into her chamber, and told her the
answer of Don Florez, with his observation,
‘that he hoped he should be as fortunate as
Don Perez was last night.’ She coloured
with shame and vexation ; and I then told
her how I had met Don Perez, and what had
passed. I then gave her the note, and asked
whether I should deliver it or not. She
hastily tore it open. It ran as follows :—
‘How can I sufficiently express my gratitude
to my adored Emilia for her kindness to me
last night? Tell me, dearest angel, when am
I to have the pleasure of meeting you again in
the saloon? Till you once more grant me
the favour life will be a blank.’

‘Pedro,’ said she, ‘you have indeed done
me a service: you have been my preserver.
How can I ever. repay you ?’

‘Give me a double allowance of kisses this
time,’ replied I.

‘I will give you a thousand,’ answered she ;
and she kissed and blessed me while tears ran
down her cheeks. She then took some paper,
and, imitating the handwriting, wrote as
follows :—‘I must submit to your wishes,
Donna Emilia; and while your sister blesses
Don Florez, must yield to the severity of your
disposition, Still I hope that you will relent ;
I am very miserable; write to me, if you
have any love still remaining for your adorer.

—Perez.’

‘Take this to Emilia, my sweet child.
What can I do to reward you ?’

‘Why, you must take care of my money,’
said I; ‘forif my mistress finds it out, I shall
never be able to tell how I came by it.’ She
smiled mournfully as she received my doub-
loons, and locked them up in a trinket-box.
* I will add to your wealth, Pedro,’ said she.

‘No,’ replied I, ‘only kisses from you.’ I
told her why her aunt gave me the two reals,
and we separated. I delivered the note to
Donna Emilia, who in the afternoon put an
answer into my hand; but I would not act
without Donna Teresa knowing what took
place ; and it occurred to me, that it would
be very possible to repair the mischief my
mistake had occasioned. I therefore took
the answers of Donna Emilia to her lover to
Donna Teresa, and told her what I thought.
‘My dear Pedro, you are indeed a treasure to
me,’ replied ‘Teresa.

She opened Emilia’s note, which ran as
follows :—‘ You accuse me of unkindness,
which I do not deserve. Heaven knows my
heart is but too yielding. I will arrange a
meeting as soon as I possibly can; but, as I34

before said, my aunt is suspicious, and I can-
not make up my mind, like Teresa, to run the
risk of discovery.’

_ Teresa tore up this note, and wrote as
follows :—‘Ifa woman has the misfortune to
yield too much to the solicitations of her
lover, he becomes arrogant, and claims as a
right what only can be received as a favour.
I consider that what passes in darkness should
remain as secret in the breast, and as silent in
the tongue. I now tell you candidly, that I
shall consider it as an insult if ever you refer
to the meeting of last night; and to punish
you for your arrogant request of another, shall
treat you with the same reserve as before.
Recollect that the least intimation of it, how-
ever private we may be, will be the signal of
your dismissal. At the same time, expecting
implicit obedience to this command, I shall
punish you no further, if you offend not again.
When I feel inclined to see you I will let you
know. ‘Till then, Yours, &c.’

I took this note to Don Perez, whom I
found at his lodgings, drinking in company
with Don ‘Florez, for they had no secrets from
each other. Perez opened ‘the note, and
appeared a little astonished. ‘Read this,
Florez,’ said he, ‘and tell me if woman is not
a riddle.’

‘Well, now, I. like her spirit,’ replied
Florez; ‘some women would have been
dying with apprehension at your leaving
them: she, on the contrary, considers that
you are under greater obligations than before,
and assumes her dominion over you. TI re-
commend you to comply with her injunctions,
if you wish to retain her love.’

__ ‘I don’t know but what you are right,
Florez ; and as we are lords and masters after
marriage, it is but fair that they should hold
their uninterrupted sway before. 1 feel more
attached to her than ever ; and if she chooses
to play the tyrant, why she shall. It shows
her good sense ; for keeping us off, is the only
Way to induce us to go on.’

_ l returned home, delivering a note from Don
Perez to Emilia, stating his intention to abide
by her wishes, and stated to Donna Teresa all
that had passed between the cavaliers.

“Thanks to your prudence and sagacity,
my dear little Pedro, all as yet is well ; but it

-May yet be discovered ; for I will now confide

to you, that the tenderness last night intended
‘for Don Florez, was, by your mistake, and
the darkness, and silence prescribed at the
“meeting, ‘lavished upon my sister’s admirer.
But all will, I trust, be well, and I shall not
suffer for an unintentional misfortune.’

That evening Don Florez was received. by
“Teresa in the saloon; and the next morning I
was sitting as usual by my mistress, when she
asked, ‘Well, Pedro, have you discovered
anything ?

 

and I_am obliged to do the same.’

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
    
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘Yes, madam,’ replied I.

“And what is it, child >”

‘Why, madam, a gentleman asked me te
give a letter, but I would not.?

‘Who was it for, child

‘J don’t know, madam, for I refused to
take it in my hand.’

‘Well, Pedro, you were right;. the next
time he offers you a-letter, take it, and bring
it to me.’

‘I will, madam,’ said I.

‘Here are two reals for you, child; have
you spent the last I gave you?’

I left the room, when Donna Emilia met
me outside, and put a note into my hand for
Don Perez. I first took it to my friend Teresa,
who ‘opened it :—‘ At last my affection has
borne down my resolution, and I consent to
see you.. There is no other way but in the
saloon. Be careful not to offend me, or it
will be for the last time.’

‘This may go, Pedro,’ said Teresa, ‘and
you may call at Don Florez’s lodgings as you
pass by.’

I delivered the note to Don Perez, and
before he had finished it, Don Florez entered
the room, ‘Congratulate me, my dear friend,
said he. ‘I was received as kindly as I
could wish.’

‘And my fair one has not taken long to
relent,’ answered Perez, ‘for I have an
appointment with her this evening. Pedro,
tell your mistress that I do not write, but that
I bless her for her kindness, and shall not fail
to meet her. Do you understand? ‘Well,
what are you waiting for? Oh! youlittle rogue,
I understand,’ And he threw me a doubloon.
‘Florez, you give that boy too much money,
Florez
laughed, and I again took my departure.

Thus did I continue in my vocation for some
time, when the old lady fell sick and died.
She divided her fortune between her two
nieces, and as they were now independent,
they married their respective lovers ; but the
old lady forgot to mention mein her will, and
I should have been turned adrift on the world
had it not been for Donna Teresa, who imme-
diately appointed me as her own attendant.
I was.as happy as before, although no more
doubloons fell into my hands after the mar-
riages took place. It appears that Don Perez
was so much afraid of offending Donna Emilia,
that he neyer ventured to speak of the meet-
ing which he supposed he had with her in the
saloon, until after the marriage ; then, feeling
himself quite at liberty, he had laughed at
her on the subject. Donna Emilia was all
astonishment, declared most positively that it
had not taken piace ; and although he at-first
ridiculed the.idea of her denial, yet. recollect-
ing that he stiil had her notes. in his posses-
sion, he brought them out, and showed her=

the one in which she had prohibited him from
speaking on the subject. Donna Emilia pro-
tested that it was not her Writing, and was
confounded at the apparent mystery. She
Stated that Teresa had agreed to méet Don
Florez in the saloon that night.

“On the conirary,’ replied Don Perez, ‘he
received a letter from Donna Teresa, refusing
him a méeting, at the same time that I re-
ceived this from you, giving me the assigna-
tion.’

Donna Emilia burstinto tears. ‘I see how

it is,’ replied she, ‘the page by mistake has
given the note which I wrote you to Don
Florez, and Teresa's note fell into your hands.
You have taken an unworthy advantage of the
circumstance, and have met my sister. Never
make me believe, Don Perez, that you were’
not aware of the mistake, when she received
you in the saloon, or that she could not dis-
tinguish you from Don Florez. Cruel sister,
thus. to rob me of my happiness! ‘Treacher-
ous Don Perez, thus to betray your friend and
me!’ :
' Don Perez tried all he could to pacify his
wife, ‘but in-vain. Her jealousy, her pride,
and her conscientious scruples were roused,
and ‘she would not listen to any reasoning or
protestations. Although he was almost
certain that the fact was as his wife had stated,
he determined to make sure by referring to
me. He came to Don Florez’s house, and
after staying a little while with him and his
wife, during which he appeared so uneasy that
they asked him whether he was unwell, he
went away, making a sign for me to follow
him. He then entered into all the particulars,
and asked me about the delivery of the notes.
I took it for granted that an explanation had
taken place between him and his wife; my
only object was to save Donna Teresa.

‘Senhor, whether what Donna Emilia says
is true, I know not,’ replied 1; ‘but that it
was not Donna Teresa who met you, I can
certify, for I was in her room with her that
night till she went to bed, playing at piquet
for sugar-plums.’

“Then who could it be?’ observed he,

‘I know not, senhor, for I did not go down-
stairs where my mistress was, because she had
sent me to bed, and I knew that I should have
been scolded for being up. Therefore I can-
not say whether Donna Emilia was with you
or not.’

Don Perez meditated some time, and then
came to the conclusion that his: wife was
ashamed of having being too indulgent to him
in an unguarded moment, and would not
acknowledge it. Still he was far from being
satisfied. He returned home to explain what
he had gathered to his wife, but found that
she had left the house some time before, with-
out stating whither she was going, As soon

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   

as Don Perez left the house,.I hastened to my
mistress, to acquaint her-with what had passed
and what I had told him.

‘1 thank you for your kind intention, Pedro,
but I am afraid that all will be discovered:
It is a judgment on me for my folly and indis-
cretion.’

In the meantime, Donna Emilia, who had
taken refuge in a neighbouring convent, sent
for Don Florez. He found her in the conyent-
parlour in tears. Convinced by jealousy that
her sister had-an attachment to Don Perez,
and that there had been a mutual understand:
ing, she stated to Don Florez the whole of the
circumstances, and pointing out to him how
treacherously they both had been treated, ac-
quainted him with her-intention of retiring
from the world.

Don Florez, stirred to madness by the in-
formation, exclaimed,—‘ It was for this, then,
that she put me off on that night, and was
kind to me the next. Cursed dupe that I have
been; but, thank Heaven, it is not too late to
be revenged. Don Perez, you. shall pay
dearly for this.’ So saying, he quitted Donna
Emilia, uncertain whether-he should. first
wreak his vengeance upon Don Perez or:his
wife. . But this point was soon decided, for at
the convent gate he encountered Don: Perez;
who had been informed whither his wife had
retreated. t

‘You are the person I have have been wish-
ing to see, Don Perez—treacherous villain,
void of all honour.’

‘Not so, Don Florez.} I am an unfortu-
nate man, who is half mad by a cruel mistake
which has occurred. Recall your words, for
they are unjust.’

‘I do not intend to recall them; but assert
the truth with the point of my rapier. If you
are not as great a coward as you are a villain,
you will follow me.’

‘Such language will admit of no reply. I
am at your service,’ cried Don Perez.

The two brothers-in-law walked iin silence
until. they reached a field hard by, where they
threw off their cloaks; and fought with the
fury of demons. Victory was decided in
favour of Don Perez; his sword passed
through the heart of his adversary, who never
spoke again. Don Perez viewed the body
with a stern countenance, wiped his sword,
took up his cloak, and walked straight to the
house. of Don Florez. » ‘Donna ‘Teresa,’ said
he [I only was present], ‘I call upon -you,' as
you value salvation in the day of judgment, to
tell me'the truth. Was it you that, by an un-
fortunate mistake, I met one night in the
saloon ? and were those caresses, intended for
Don Florez, bestowed upon me ?’

‘There was a wildness, a ferocity in his air
that frightened her; she stammered out at last,
‘For my sins, it is true; but you know, too86

 

well, that I never was false in heart, although
When I found out my mistake, I attempted to
conceal my indiscretion.’

‘Had you, madam, been as virtuous as
your sister, all this mischief would not have
happened—and your husband would not now
be lying a corpse, by the hand of his brother.’

Donna Teresa fainted at the intelligence,
and Don Perez immediately quitted the house.
I hastened to her assistance, and succeeded
in restoring her to life. *

‘It is but too true,’ said she, mournfully ;
‘crime will always meet with punishment in
this world, or in the next. By permitting
my love to overcome the dictates of virtue, by
being too fond of my husband, I have mur-
dered him. O God! I have murdered him
and rendered the lives of two others as much
a burden to them as my own will ever be. My
poor, dear sister, where is she ?’

I tried all my powers of consolation, but in
vain ; ali she requested was that I would find
out where her sister was, and let her know. T
set off upon my melancholy task, and met the
people bearing in the body of Don Florez. I
shuddered as it passed by, when I recollected
how principal a part I had acted in the
tragedy. I soon gained the information, and
brought it to Donna Teresa. She dressed
herself in deep mourning, and, desiring me to
follow her, knocked at the convent gate, and
requesting to see the superior, was admitted.
The superior came out of the parlour to re-
ceive her, not wishing that any one should
enter while Donna Emilia was in such a state
of misery and despair.

‘It is my sister that I come to see, madam,
and I must not be refused ; lead me to her,
and be witness of the scene, if you please.’

The superior, who was not aware that
Emilia would have refused to see Donna
Teresa, led the way, and we’ were ushered
into the presence of Emilia, who, looking up
as Donna Teresa entered, turned away from
her as if in abhorrence.

‘Emilia,’ said my mistress, ‘we are born of
the same mother, we have lived as children,
and we have grown up together; never did we
have a secret from each other, till this unfortu-
nate mistake occurred. On my knees, I re-
quest you to listen to mé, and to believe what

Say.’

‘ Plead
Teresa ;
than me.

‘I have no husband, Emilia; he js now
pleading his own cause with God—for he has
fallen by the sword of yours.’

Donna Emilia started.

‘Yes, Emilia, dear, dear sister, it is but too
trie, and still more true, that you have caused
his death. Do not kill me too, Emilia, by
tefusing to believe what I declare, as I hope

your cause with your husband,
it is more necessary to pacify him

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

for eternal salvation—that I never was aware
of the mistake until the boy discovered it to me
on the ensuing day. If you knew the shame,
the vexation, the fear of discovery which racked
my frame, when I was but too sure of it, you
would forgive my having tried to hide a fault,
the knowledge of which would make others
miserable, as well as me, Say you believe
meé—say you forgive me, Emilia. Oh!
Emilia, cannot you forgive a sister ?

Emilia answered not, and Teresa, clinging
to her knees, and embracing them, sobbed
hysterically. At this moment Don ele ze
who had obtained admittance to see his wife,
came into the room, and walking up to the
part in which the two unfortunate ladies
remained in the attitudes described, said—
‘You, Teresa, who have been the original
cause of this unhappy business, I meant not
to reproach® again, Your punishment has
been greater than your offence. It is to you,
madam, I must address myself, who, by not
believing in the words of truth, have caused
me to slay my dearest friend and brother, and,
after having unwittingly wounded him in the
tenderest point, add to the injury by taking
away his life. Are you yet satisfied, madam ?
Are you satisfied with having embittered my

days by your injustice and unworthy sus-

 

picions—by haying reduced your unfortunate,
yet not guilty sister, to the state of an un-
happy, lonely woman, now suing in vain for
pardon at your feet ; by having been the oc-
casion of the death of your brother by mar-
riage—her husband and my friend? Say,
madam, are you yet satisfied, or will you have
more victims to your unbelief ?’

Emilia answered not, but continued with her
face averted.

‘Be it so, then, madam,’ replied Don Pe-
rez; and, before any one was aware of his in-
tention, he drew his sword, and fell upon it.
‘Now, Emilia, let the sacrifice of my life be
a proof to you of my sincerity. As I hope for
pardon, I have told the truth % ‘and “Don
Perez fell on his back, and was dead.

Emilia started round when he tell, and
threw herself down by his side in horror and
amazement. The film that passion had thrown
over her eyes was removed, as she witnessed
the last melancholy result of her unbelief.
When Don Perez ceased speaking, she threw
herself on his body, in an agony of grief. ‘I
do, I do believe—Perez, I do, Ido! Oh!
indeed I do believe—speak to me, Perez—O
God, he is dying'!—Sister, Teresa, come,
come, he’ll speak to you—he’s not alery with
you—sister, sister, speak—O God! O God!’
screamed the unhappy woman, ‘he's dead—
and I have murdered him !’—and she dashed
her head upon the floor. Teresa hastened to

her sister, and held her in her arms, while the
tears poured fast.

Tt was some time beforereason resumed her seat; at last, exhausted
by the violence of her feelings, she was re-
lieved with a flood of tears.

‘Who is it?—you, Teresa —kind sister,
whom I have used so ill—I do believe you—I
do believe, Teresa ; God forgive me! kiss me,
sister, and say that you forgive me—for am I
not punished ?’

‘It is all my fault,’ answered Teresa, burst-
ing into tears. ‘Oh! how wicked, how fool-
ish have I been !’

“No, no, sister, your fault is small, com-
pared to mine; you allowed your passion to
overcome you, but it arose from an excess of
love, the best feeling in our nature—the only
remnant of heaven left us since our fall. I too
have allowed my passion to overcome me;
but whence has it arisen?—from hatred and
jealousy, feelings which were implanted by
demons, and which create a hell wherever
they command. But it is done, and repent-
ance comes too late.’

The unfortunate sisters embraced each other
and mingled their tears together; and I
hardly need say, that the lady abbess and I
could not restrain our meed of pity at the af-
fecting scene. As the evening closed, they
separated, each to attend to the same mourn-
ful duty of watching by the bodies of ‘their
husbands, and bedewing them with their
tears. A few days after the interments took
place, Emilia sent for her sister, and after an
affectionate interview, took the veil in the con-
vent to which she had retired—endowing the
church with her property. Donna Teresa did
not take the veil ; but employed herself in the
more active duties of charity and benevolence ;
but she gradually wasted away—her heart was
broken. Istayed with her for three years,
when she died, leaving a considerable sum to
me, and the remainder of her wealth to bene-
ficent institutions. This is about five years
ago; since when I have been living on the
property, which is nearly all expended by my
extravagance. The stigma on my birth is,
however, the only subject which has weighed
upon my spirits—this is providentially re-
moved, and I trust that I shall not disgrace
the mother who has so kindly acknowledged
me, or the dear girl who has honoured this
faulty person with her attachment.

 

My mother and Clara thanked me when I
had concluded my narrative, and we remained
unto alate hour entering upon family affairs,
and planning for the future. My mother in-
formed me that upon the estates she had only
a life interest, as they were entailed, and
would revert to a cousin; but that she had
laid by a considerable sum of money, intend-
ing it as a dowry for my Clara, and that she
hoped to increase it before she died. As]

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

    
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
    
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 

37

was anxious to quit Seville, where I feared
daily discovery, I proposed that we should
retire to the estate near Carthagena, by which
not only a considerable expense would be
saved, but I should feel more happy in the
company of Clara and herself. My mother
and my intended gladly consented to the pro-
posal, not only for the above reasons, but be-
cause she was aware that the questions which
might be asked about me would tend to the
injury of her character. In less than a fort-
night thé establishment at Seville was broken
up, and we retired to the country, where I was
made happy by the possession of my Clara. I
now considered myself as secure from any dis-
covery, and although 1 had led a life of du-
plicity, meant by future good conduct to atone
for the past. Whether Donna Celia was my
mother or not, | felt towards her as if she was,
and after some time, from habit, considered it
an established fact. My Clara was as kind
and endearing as I could desire ; and for five
years I was as happy as I could wish. But it
was not to last; I was to be punished for my
deceit. My marriage with Clara, and the
mystery attached to my birth, which was kept
secret, had irritated the heir of the estate, who
had been in hopes, by marrying Clara himself,
to secure the personal as well as the real pro-
perty.. We occasionally met, but we met with
rancour in our hearts, for I resented his be-
haviour towards me. Fearful of discovery, I
had never paid any attention to music since
my marriage ; 1 had always pretended that I
could not sing. Even my wife was not aware
of my talent; and although latterly I had no
fear of the kind, yet as I had always stated my
inability, I did not choose to bring forth a tal-
ent, the reason for concealing which I could
not explain even to my wife and mother, with-
out acknowledging the deception of which I
had been guilty.

It happened that one evening at a large
party I met my cousin, the heir of the entailed
estates. We were very joyous and merry, and
had drunk a good deal more than usual. The
wine was powerful, and had taken effect upon
most of us. Singing was introduced, and the
night passed merrily away, more visitors oc-
casionally dropping in. My cousin was much
elated with wine, and made several ill-natured
remarks, which were meant forme. I took no
notice for some time, but, as he continued, 1
answered with such spirit as to arouse his in-
dignation. My own blood boiled ; but the
interference of mutual friends pacified us for
the time, and we renewed our applications to
the bottle. My cousin was called upon for a
song ; he had a fine voice and considerable
execution, and was much applauded.

‘Now then,’ said he, in an ironical tone,
‘perhaps Don Pedro will oblige the company;
although perhaps the real way to oblige themwill be by not attempting that of which he is

not capable. t

* Stung with this sarcasm, and flushed with
wine, I forgot my prudence. Snatching the
guitar from him, after a prelude which created
the greatest astonishment of all present, 1
commenced one of my most successful airs; E
sang it in my best style, and it electrified the
whole party. Shouts proclaimed my victory,
and the defeat of my relative. Some-embraced
me in their enthusiasm, and all loudly en-
cored’; but as soon as there was a» moment's
silence, I heard a voice behind me observe—
‘Either that is the monk Anselmo’s voice, or
the devil’s.’

I started at the words, and turned round to
the speaker, but he had mingled with ‘the
crowd, and I could not discover who it was:
I perceived that my relative had followed him
on; and I now cursed my own imprudence.
As soon as I could, I made my escape from
the company, and returned home. As I after-
wards found out, my relative had immediately
communicated with the person who had made
the observation. He was one of the priests
who knew me at Seville. From him, my
cousin gained the information that Brother
Anselmo had left the convent about five years
ago, and not having returned, it:was thought
that an accident had happened to him. But
a discovery had since been made,’ which led
them to suppose that Brother Anselmo had,
for some time, been carrying on a system of
deception. You may remember I stated, that
when I resumed my worldly apparel to intro-
duce myself as the son of Donna Celia, I
changed the dress at my lodgings. I locked
up my friar’s dress and the false tonsure in
the chest, intending to have returned and de-
stroyed it; but I quite forgot it, and left Seville
with the key of my lodgings in my pocket.
The landlord waited until his rent was due,
when not hearing anything of me, he broke
open the door and found the chest. ‘This ‘he
opened, and discovered the false tonsure and
friar’s gown. Knowing the monastic'order to
which it belonged, and suspecting some mis-
chief, he took it to our convent, and all the
habits of the monks being numbered in the
inside, it was immediately recognized as mine;
the false tonsure also betrayed that I must
have been breaking through the rules of my
order, and the most rigorous ‘search ‘after me
was made for some time without success.
Possessed: of this information, my vindictive
relative repaired to Seville to ascertain the
exact date of my quitting the convent, and
found that it'was about a’ fortnight. previous
to Donna Celia having quitted Seville. He

then repaired to'the landlord for further infor-
mation. . The landlord stated that the lodgings
had been taken ‘by a monk, for his brother,
who had occupied them.

He described the

 

THE PACHA OF MANY ‘TALES;

 

brother’s person, which exactly corresponded
with mine; and my relation was convinced
that the monk Anselmo and Don Pedro were
one and the same person. He immediately
gave notice to the Inquisition. In the mean-
time, I was in the greatest consternation. £
felt: that I should be discovered, and reflected
upon my conduct. I had lately abjured all
deceit, and had each day gained a step in the
path of virtue.. I acknowledged, with bitter-
ness, that I deserved all that threatened me,
and that, sooner’or later, vice will meet with
its reward. Had I at first made known my
situation to Donna Celia, she would have had
interest enough (believing me to be her son)
to have obtained a. dispensation of my vows.
I then might have boldly faced the world;
but: one act of duplicity required another to
support it, and thus had I entangled myself
in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at
last. But it was not for myself that I cared ;
it was for my wife, whom I doted on—for my
mother {or supposed mother), to whom. it
would be the bitterness of death. The thoughts
of rendering others miserable as well as myself
drove me to distraction—and how to act I
knew not.

After much reflection, I resolved, as a last
resource, to throw myself upon the generosity
of my adversary; for although inimical to me,
he bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier.
I desired to. be informed the moment that he
returned from Seville ; and. when the intelli-
gence came, I immediately repaired to. his
house, and requested an audience. I was ad-
mitted : when Don Alvarez, for that was his
name, addressed me. :

‘ You wish to speak with me, Don..Pedro—
there are others at your house by this time
who wish to speak with you.’

I guessed that he meant the officers. of the
Inquisition; but pretending not to understand
the remark, l answered him :—‘ Don Alvarez, the
enmity that you have invariably shown towards
me has, I am sure, proceeded ‘from the affront
which you consider that your noble family has
received by your cousin having formed.an alli-
ance with one of unknown parentage. I have
long borne with your pointed insults, out of
respect for her who gaye me birth; I am now
about to throw myself upon. your generosity ;
and probably when I inform you that I am
the unhappy issue of the early amour of Donna
Celia (which of course you have heard of), I
may then claim your compassion, if not your
friendship, from having at least some of,the
same noble blood in my veins.’

‘I was not indeed aware of it,’ replied Don
Alvarez, with agitation; ‘I would to Heaven
you had confided in me before.’

‘Perhaps it would have been better,’ replied
I, ‘but permit me to prove my assertions,’ I
then stated my having been the friar Anselmo,the discovery of my birth by accident, and
the steps which I had/taken. ‘I am aware,’
continued I, ‘that J have been much to blame,
but my lors fer Donna Clara made me re-
gardle~ of consequences: Your unfortunate
-ainity induced me, in an unguarded moment,
to expose myself, and it will probably end in
my destruction.’ .

‘I acknowledge the truth of your. remark,
and that no powercan save you. I lament it,
Don Pedro ; but what is done cannot be un-
done. Even now the officers of the Inqufsition
are at your house.’ Ashe uttered these words,
a loud knocking at the door announced that
they had followed me. ‘This must not be,
Don Pedro,’ said Don Alvarez; ‘step this
way. He opened a panel, and desired me to
go in; and he hardly had time to shut it before
the officers came into the room.

“You have him here, Don Alvarez, have
you not ? inquired the chief,

‘No, unfortunately,’ replied he; ‘I tried to
detain him, but suspecting some discovery, he
forced his way out, sword in hand, and has
gone I do not know in what direction; but

he cannot be far—saddle all the horses in my ~

stable, and pursue the sacrilegious wretch. I
would sacrifice half my worldly wealth that
he should not escape my vengeance.’

As. Don Alvarez was the informant, and
uttered these words with the apparent violence
of rage, the inquisitors had no suspicion, but
hastened to comply with his request. As soon
as they had departed, he opened the panel
and let me out.

‘So far, Don Pedro, have I proved the sin-
cerity of my assertion; but now, what remains
to be done ?”

‘But one thing, Don Alvarez; to conceal
the truth from: my poor wife and mother. I
could bear it all with firmness, but for them’
—and I fell on a sofa, and burst into tears.
Don Alvarez was much affected.

‘Oh, Don Pedro! it is too late now, or I
should say, What a warning this ought to be
to us—that honesty is the best policy! Had
you communicated to me the mystery of your
birth, this never would have occurred. Instead
of having been your persecutor, I should have
been your friend. What can I do?’

‘Kill me, Don Alvarez,’ replied I, baring
my breast, ‘and I will bless you for the deed.
My death may afflict them, but they will
recover from their grief in time ; but to know
that Iam. murdered by the Inquisition, as a
sacrilegious impostor, will bting them to their
grave with shame and mortification.’

‘Your observation is correct, but kill you
I must not. I will) however, so far comply
with. your wishes, that .I will bear the news
of your death, and their hatred of the deed,
rather than the family should be disgraced.’
He then went to his scrutoire, and taking out

THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

    
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

39

a bag of one thousand pistoles—' This is all
the money that I have at present—it will serve
you for some time. Put on one of my servant’s
dresses, and ‘I will accompany you to a sea-
port, and secure your safety before I leave you.
I will then state that I met you in a fair duel,
and will bribe the officers of the Inquisition to
hold their tongues about the circumstances
which have been communicated.’

The advice was good, and I agreed to it ;
following him as a servant, I arrived safely at
Carthagena, whence I took a passage for New
Spain. We sailed, and before we were clear
of the Straits of Gibraltar, we were attacked
by one of the cruisers of the state. We fought
desperately, but were overpowered. by num-
bers ; and they took possession, after we had
lost more than half of our crew. They brought
us into this port, where, with the rest, Iwas
sold as a slave.

‘Such is my history,’ ended the Spaniard,
‘which I trust has afforded some amusement
to your sublime highness.’ i

‘The immediate answer of the pacha was a
loud yawn.

‘Shukur Allah! Praise be to God you
have done talking. I donot understand much
about it,” continued the pacha, turning round
to Mustapha;. ‘but how can we expect a good
story from an unbelieving dog of a Christian 2’

‘Wallah thaib! Well said, by God!’ re-
plied Mustapha; ‘who was Lokman, that
they talk of his wisdom? Are not these words
of more value than strung pearls ?’

‘What was the name of the country?’ de-
manded the pacha.

‘Spain, your sublime highness ; the infidel
tribes, which you allow to remain there, are
employed in cultivating the olive for true
believers.’

‘Very true,’ rejoined the pacha; ‘I remember
now. Let the kafir taste of our bounty.
Give him two pieces of gold, and allow him
to depart.’

‘ May the shadow. of your sublime highness
never be less,’ said the Spaniard. ‘I have
here a manuscript which I received from an
ancient monk of our order when at the point
of death. At the time of my capture it was
thrown on one side, and I preserved it as
curious. It refers to the first discovery of an
island. As your highness is pleased to be
amused with stories, it may be worth while to
have it translated.’ ‘The Dominican then

,

handed from his breast a discoloured piece of

parchment.

‘Very. good,’ replied the pacha, rising.
‘Mustapha ! let it be put into Arabic by the
Greek slave, who shall read it to us some
evening when we have no story-tellers.’

‘Be chesm! . Upon my eyes be it,’ replied
Mustapha, bowing low, as the pacha retired
to his harem.40 THE PACHA OF

CHAPTER V.

THE pacha had repeated his perambulations
for many nights without success ; and Musta-
pha, who observed that he was becoming very
impatient, thought it advisable to cater for his
amusement.

Among those who used to repair to Musta-
pha when he exercised his former profession,
was a I’rench renegade, a man of considerable
talent and ready invention, buta most unprin-
cipled scoundrel, who, previous to the eleva-
tion of Mustapha, had gained his livelihood
by daring piratical attempts in an open boat.
He was now in the employ of the vizier, com-
manding an armed xebeque which the latter
had purchased. She passed off as a govern-
ment cruiser, but was in reality a pirate. Se-
lim, for that was the name which the rene-
gade had adopted when he. abjured his faith,
condemned every vessel that had the misfor-
tune to meet with him, taking out the cargoes,
burning the hull, and throwing the crews
overboard, with the privilege of swimming on
shore if they could. By this plan he avoided
the inconveniences attending any appeals from
the jurisdiction of the High Court of Admi-
ralty, which he had established upon the
seas.

‘The consequence was, that his cruises were
more successful than ever, and Mustapha,
who was not content with pillaging the pacha’s
subjects on dry land, was amassing a large
fortune at their expense by his maritime spe-
culations,

Occasionally, bales or packages would be
recognized when landed as having the identi-
cal marks and numbers of those which had
been shipped from the quay but a fortnight
before ; but the renegade could always give a
satisfactory, explanation to the yizier; and
after a Jew, who could not bear the idea of
parting with his property without remon-
strance, had been impaled, people shrugged
up their shoulders and said nothing.

Now it occurred to Mustapha that Selim
might be able to assist his views. He talked
fast and loud, vaunted his own exploits, curled
his whiskers as he swore to the most impro-
bable assertions, and had become a general
nuisance and terror since he had obtained the
vizier's protection.

Mustapha sent for him ; and, as a prelimi-
nary question, inquired if ever he had read the
Arabian Nights.

‘Yes, vizier,’ replied the renegade; ‘many
years before I turned Turk.’

‘Do you recollect the voyages of Sinbad the
Sailor ?’

‘To be sure I do; he is the only man that
could ever hold a candie to me in lying.’

‘Well, then, his highness the pacha delights
in such stories; and it is my wish that you

 

  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   

MANY TALES,

prepare to recount your own voyages, as Sin«
bad has done before you.’

‘But what am I to get for it?’

‘My good-will and ' protection; besides
which, his highness, if pleased, will nt fai] to
order you a handsome present.’

‘Well,’ replied Selim, ‘ any man who can
produce gold in this world will always be able
to change it for base metal. Ican coin lies
in my mint faster than he can coin sequins in
his; and since you wish it, and say that it
will be profitable, why—I am very much at
his service.’

“Then, Selim, observe my directions, for
everything must appear accidental.’

In pursuance to the orders received from
Mustapha, the renegade remained that even-
ing at the corner of a certain street, through
which Mustapha took care that the pacha
should pass in his disguise. When he per-
ceived their approach, the renegade exclaimed,
‘Allah, Allah! when is the happy time to
come, promised in my seventh and last voy-
age ?’

‘Who are you, and why do you call upon
Heaven for happy times ?’ inquired the pacha.

‘IT am Huckabacl the sailor,’ replied the
renegade, ‘who, after a life of danger and dis
aster, am anxiously awaiting the fulfilment of
a promise from the Most High.’

‘I must see this man to-morrow,’ observed
the pacha; ‘Mustapha, as you value your
life, see that he attends.’

The vizier bowed, and the pacha returned to
the palace without further adventure.

The next day, as soon as the business of the
divan had closed, the renegade was ordered
in. Prostrating himself before the pacha, he
then rose, and folding his arms over his
breast awaited his commands in silence.

‘I have sent for you, Huckaback, to inquire
the meaning of the words you made use of
last night, and to know what was the promise
made to you in your seventh and last voyage;
but I will thank you to begin at the first, as J
wish to hear the history of all your voyages.’

‘May it please your highness, as I live but to
obey you, all that has occurred in my eventful
life shall, if you command it, be submitted to
your ear. It will, however, be necessary that
I should revert to my early days, to enable
your highness more fully to comprehend the
whole.’

‘Aferin ! well said,’ replied the pacha:
don’t care how long a story itis, provided that
it is a good one ;’ and Selim having obeyed a
sign from his highness, intimating that he
might sit down, commenced as follows :—

HUCKABACK.

lama native of Marseilles, your highness,
where I was brought up to the profession of
my father ;.a profession (continued the wilyrenegade) which I have no hesitation to assert
has produced more men of general informa-
mation, and more men of talent than any
other—I mean that of a barber.

‘Wallah thaib ;
observed Mustapha.

The pacha nodded his approbation ; and
the renegade proceeded with his story.

well said, by Allah !’

I was gifted by nature with a ready inven-
tion, and some trouble and expense were
bestowed upon my education. ‘To the profes-
sion of a barber my father added that of
bleeding and tooth-cdrawing. At ten years old
T could cut hair pretty well. People did say,
that those upon whom I had operated looked
as if their heads had been gnawed by the rats;
but it was the remark of envy ; and, as my
father observed; ‘there must be a beginning
to everything.’

At fifteen, I entered upon the rudiments of
shaving ; and after having nearly ruined my
father’s credit, from the pounds of flesh which I
removed with the hair of my customers (who
were again consoled by his observing, that
‘there must be a beginning to everything”), I
became quite expert. I was subsequently
initiated into the higher branches of tooth-
drawing and bleeding. In the former, at
first, I gave great dissatisfaction, either from
breaking the decayed tooth short off, and
leaving the stump in the socket, or from mis-
taking the one pointed out, and drawing
a sound engine of mastication in its stead. In
the latter, I made more serious mistakes, hav-
ing more than once cut so deep as to open the
artery, while I missed the vein; in consequence
of which I was never afterwards employed,
except by a husband to relieve a scolding
wife, or by nephews who were anxious about
the health of an everlasting uncle. But, as
my father wisely observed, ‘there must be a
beginning to everything ;’ and, as I couid only
practise upon living subjects, ‘individuals must
suffer for the good of the community at large.’
At the age of twenty I was an accomplished
barber.

But rapid as was my career, I was not
fated to continue in it long. Like the shot
propelled from the mouth of the cannon, which,
in its extreme velocity, is turned from the
direction which has been given it by glancing
along the weakest substance, so was my course
of life changed from its direction by meeting
with a woman.

My father had a good customer; he had
shaved him every morning for years, had ex-
tracted every tooth in his head, and was now
winding up his long account by bleeding him
daily, under the direction of an ignorant apo-
thecary. I was often at the house,—not to
bleed hirh, for my father either thought him

 

   
   
 
    
 
 
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 41

too valuable, or was too grateful for past
favours to trust him in my hands ;—but I held
the basin, procured water, and arranged the
bandages. He had a daughter, a lovely girl,
whom I adored in secret ; but her rank in life
was too far above mine to allow me to express
my feelings. I was then a handsome young
man, although Time has since exerted his
utmost, through jealousy, to make me ap-
pear almost as old and ill-favoured as him-
self. The young lady took a fancy to me,
complained of the toothache, and asked for
remedies. I offered to extract the tooth;
but either having heard of my reputation, or
not wishing to remove the excuse for our in-
terviews, or, what is still more probable, havy-
ing no toothache whatever, she would not
consent.

The death of her mother, which had taken
place when she was a child, had left her with-
out guidance,—and the helpless situation of
her father, without protection. Naturally of
a warm temperament, and yielding to theim-
pulse of her feelings, she carried on an inti-
macy which could only end in her disgrace ;
and, at the expiration of a year, her situation
could no longer be concealed. I was now in
a dilemma. She had two brothers in the
army, who were returning home, and
dreaded their vengeance. I loved her very
much, but I loved myself more ; so, one even-
ing, I packed up all that I could call my own,
and all that I could lay my hands on belonging
tomy honoured parent, and shipped on board a
Genoese vessel, which was then standing out of
the harbour. Shewas a large ship, mounting
twelve long guns, with a complement of sixty
men; being what is termed in European
countries a ‘letter of marque.’ ‘This implies
that she fights her way without convoy, cap-
turing any of the enemy's vessels she may
happen to fall in with, who are not strong
enough to resist her. We had cleared out for
Genoa with a cargo of lead, which lay at the
bottom of the hold, and which merely served
for ballast.

I soon found out, by the conversation of
the crew, that we were not to proceed to
Genoa direct ; in fact, your highness, she was
a pirate, manned by a most cesperate set of
men. As soon as my qualifications were
made known, I had the honour to remove the
beards of sixty of the greatest villains that ever
were permitted to exist, receiving nothing but
blows and curses for my trouble. I certainly
improved very much in my profession : for it
was as much as my life was worth to draw
blood, although they made no scruple of
carrying on a conversation during the whole
time of the operation. We had taken the
cargoes out of several vessels, all of which
were added to the ‘manifest ’ by our correct
captain ; when one day we were chased byanEnglish frigate. I never met the English on
shore ; but I must say that, afloat, they are
the most impertinent people that swim on the
seas. They cannot be content with minding
their own business, although they have plenty
on their hands, but they must interfere in that
of others. ‘They board you, and insist upon
knowing where you come from, whither you
are bound, and what you have on board ;
examining you with as much scrutiny as if
they had been the delégated custom house
officers of the whole world. é

Now it did not exactly suit our captain to
submit to such a rigorous search ; he there-
fore made all sail for an island about seven
miles distant, and anchored under the protec-
tion of a battery. Austria—the nation to
whom the island belonged—was not at war
with England ; she was preserving what is
called an ‘armed neutrality.’

‘Pray what is the meaning of an armed
neutrality ?’ demanded the pacha.

‘It varies according to circumstances, your
highness, but, generally speaking, it means a
charge of bayonets.’

The frigate followed; and being prevented
by the shallowness of the water from ap-
proaching sufficiently near to us herself, sent
her boats to examine us; but as there were
six of them full of men, and each mounting a
gun ai her bow, our captain thought it ad-
visable to refuse them permission to come on
board. As a hint that he disapproved of their
measures, he poured his whole broadside of
round and grape into them, when they were
about a quarter of a mile distant: upon which
they gave three cheers, and were obstinate
enough to pull faster towards us than ever.

We received them with all the honours of
war, in the shape of cutlasses, pistols, and
boarding-pikes: but they were very deter-
mined. As soon as one was knocked down,
another jumped up in his place; and some-
how or another they had possession of the
ship in less time than I have been telling the
story. Iwas on the poop when an English
sailor, with a pigtail as thick as a cable, made
acut atme; Iran back to avoid the blow,
and, in so doing, came with. such force
against another of their men, that we both
tumbled overboard together. I lost my cutlass,
but he had not parted-with his ; and‘as soon
as we rose to the surface, he seized me by the
collar, and presented the point to my breast.
It seemed to be all the same to him whether
he fought on the deck orin the water. For-

tunately, I shifted a little on one side, and he
only drove it through my jacket. I recollected
that [had my razor in my pocket, which I
took out under the water unperceiyed, and,
closing with him before he could repeat his

 

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

thrust, Icut his throat from ear to ear, and
then made for the shore as fast as | could.,
As I swam remarkably well, I had no ‘great
difficulty in reaching it. As soon as I landed,
I looked back, and observing that the English
boats were towing our vessel-out, I made. all
the haste I could to the fort, which was close
at-hand.. There I was hospitably received ;
and we sat up till past midnight, drinking,
smoking, and abusing the English.

The next morning, a felucca anchored -to
procure some water; and, as she was proceed-
ing to Toulon, I requested a passage. We
sailed with a fine breeze; but a heavy gale
came on, which tossed us about for many days,
and the master of the vessel had no idea to
where she had been driven. He consoled us,
however, by asserting that we could never go
to the bottom, as there was a lady of great
sanctity passenger in the cabin, who had been
sent for to assume the office of lady abbess of
a convent near Marseilles, and whom the saints
would indubitably preserve.

This was some comfort, although fine
weather would have been greater. The gale
continued; and the next morning we thought
that we descried land on the lee beam. The
following night we were certain of our con-
jectures having been correct, for the vessel was
thrown on shore, and in a few minutes went
to pieces. I had the good fortune to save my-
self upon a part of the wreck, and lay. half-
dead upon the beach until, the morning.
When the day broke, I looked around me:
there were the fragments of the vessel strewed
upon the beach, or tossed in mockery by the
surge; and close to me lay the dead body of
the lady whose sanctity the captain had as-
sured us would be a safeguard to us all, I
then turned from the beach to look at the in-
land country, and perceived, to my astonish-
ment, that I was not three miles from my
native city, Marseilles. This was a horrid
discovery; for I knew that I should receive no
mercy, and could not proceed a mile without
being recognized. What to do was now the
subject of my thoughts; and at last, as I
viewed the body of the dead lady, it occurred
to me that I might pass myself off for her.

I stripped it of its outer garment; and
haying then hauled my own clothes upon the
corpse, and covered it over with sea-weed, I
dressed myself in the religious habit which she
had worn, and sat down awaiting the arrival
of the people, which I knew must soon take
place. I was then without a symptom of
beard; and from the hardship and_ill-treat-
ment which I had received on board of the
Genoese, was thin and sallow in the face. Ié
was easy, ina nun’s dress, to mistake me for
a woman of thirty-five years of age, who had
been secluded in a cloister. In the pockets of
her clothes I found letters, which gave me thehecessary clue to my story, and I resolved: to
pass myself off as La Sceur Eustasie, rather
than be put in prison,.or run through the
body. bor

I had scarcely time to finish reading these
documents when a party; attracted by the
fragments.on the beach).came up tome. I
narrated the loss.of the vessel, the death of
the whole. crew, my name .and condition,
my having come over at .the request of the
bishop to assume the guidance of the convent
of St. Therese ; and added, that I had called
upon the: Virgin in my distress, who had come
to my aid, and floated me-on ‘shore with as
much care and comfort as if I had been re-
posing on cushions of down. ‘The report was
spread, and credited; forthe circumstance of
a helpless woman being thevsole survivor of a
whole crew was miracle enough in itself.

The bishop’s carriage was sent for me, and
I was conducted into the town, followed by a
concourse of priests, monks, and common
people, who: were anxious to kiss even the
ground that had been trod upon by a person-
age ,S0} especially under the: protection of
Heaven. I was. conducted to. the .bishop’s
palace,iavhere I held a sort of court, being
visited by deputations from the official bodies,
the: governor, and all the people of conse-
quence. . After a sojourn of three days, I re-
moved to the convent of which I was the sup-
posed: abbess, and was’ enthusiastically re-
ceived by the nuns, who flocked round me
with mingled veneration and delight.

On the second day of: my establishment as
abbess, the two elder sisters, who could with
difficulty be got rid of even when I retired to
bed the night before, introduced the whole of
the nuns in rotation, beginning with the elder,
and ending with those who last took the vow
of chastity. | I felt little interest, I must con-
fess, at the commencement of my levee ; but
as it came near to a close, many beautiful
countenances “attracted my attention, and I
gave the kiss of peace with more zest than
prudence would have justified. ‘The last of
the sisterhood came forward, and was intro-
duced as Seeur Marie! Gracious Heaven ! it
was the poor girl whom I had deserted. I
started when I ‘saw her advance; her eyes
were bent upon the ground, as-if in reverence
to my. acknowledged: sanctity. As she knelt
before me to receive the kiss, she raised them
up. Love can pierce through all disguises.
At the moment, she thought that she beheld
her fugitive lover, and caught her breath in
amazement—but recollection pointed out to
her the utter impossibility of the fact, and she
sighed ‘at the uncommon likeness, as she
received the kiss from those lips which’ had
indeed ‘been’, so. often pressed to hers be-
forest ©! i :
“When the'cerémony had been gone through,

 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 

THE PACHA.OF MANY TALES, 43

I complained of fatigue, and requested to be
left alone,

I wished to reflect upon what had passed
and determine how I was-to act; to escape
the danger which threatenéd ‘me, I had placed
myself in a situation of still greater difficulty.
Where could it end? After a long reverie, I
decided that I would make Marie my cozji-
dante, and trust to circumstances to guide my
future conduct. I rang the bell, and, request-
ing the presence of the elder sister of the con-
vent, commenced an inquiry into the different
characters: of the nuns who had been pre-
sented.

Flattered by the confidence demanded, there
was no end to the loquacity and the ill-natured
remarks of the old beldame; she held her list
in her hand, and ran over the families and
private history of each. It was two hours be-
fore she had finished, which she did with
Marie, of whose history she gave me a most
minute detail ; and if she was as correct in
her reports of all the others, I certainly had
no reason to compliment myself upon’being
abbess, so far as the previous characters of
the ‘nuns under my -surveillance wete: con-
cerned. ‘Good sister,” replied I, ‘I thank
you for your information, which I shall not
fail to profit by in my plans for the improve-
ment-of-the morality of those under my
charge. I have always made it a rule, that
one of the. sisterhood should. remain in my
room every night, to watch and do penance.
I have found that when coupled with my sea-
sonable exhortations, it‘has produced an excel-
lent effect. Ofcourse I allude not to sage and
devout women like you ; I refer to those who,
in their folly and their flow of youthful pas-
sions, have not yet humbled themselves suffi-
ciently by abstinence and mortification: Who
would you propose to watch here this night ?

The old beldame, who I ‘had perceived by
the violence of her manner had a dislike to
Marie, immediately mentioned her as one to
whom severe’ penance would be of especial
benefit. I conversed with her for another
half-hour ; then, wishing her good night, pre-
pared for bed, and requested that Marie might
be summoned to attend.

Marie entered with her book ‘of Przéves in
hér hand, and bowing humbly to meas she
passed, sat down near to the lamp’ which was
lighted before an image of the Virgin, at the
farther end of the room, and commenced her
task of watching and of prayer.

_ Marie,’ said I, as I stood by the bed ; she
uttered a faint scream as she heard my voice
for the first time, and throwing herself down
upon her knees before the image of the Virgin,
covered her face with her hands, and appeared
to be in silent but earnest supplication.

‘Marie,’ again said I, ‘come here.’ She
rose and’ came trembling to the foot of the

  

 

LALbed. ‘To you, and to youalone, doJI entrust
a secret which, if discovered, would subject
me to a painful and ignominious death. You
were not deceived, when you started at the
face beneath the nun’s attire! and you must
now be certain, from the voice which you have
heard, that I am indeed Francois. How I
became the lady abbess of this convent you
have yet to learn.’ I then narrated what I
have already done to your highness. ‘ By
what means,’ continued I, ‘I am to deliver
myself from this dangerous situation, I know
not; I have, however, one consolation, in
finding myself once more in company with
the object of my love. Come hither, Marie,
it is indeed your own Francois.’

Marie remained at the foot of the bed, but
advanced not; and I perceived that the tears
fell fast, as she cast her eyes to heaven.

‘Speak to me, Marie, if ever you loved
Tess
‘That I loved you, Francois, you know full
well; not even your unkind desertion could
affect that love, which was unchangeable.
dared. all for your sake; my brothers, my
father, could not extort the secret from me,
and their suspicions, although directed towards
you, could never be confirmed. I bore the
offspring of my guilt in solitary anguish, after-
wards loaded with reproaches when I needed
comfort and consolation, and stunned with
imprecations when I required soothing and
repose. I buried it with shame, and sorrow,
and contumely. You had abandoned me, and
I felt that all ties to this world were over. I
took the veil; and never was the world quit-
ted by so willing a votary as myself, I have
since been peaceful, if not happy.’

‘And now, Marie, you shall be happy,’
cried I, stretching out my arms to. her.
“Come to me; I will explain my motives for
leaving Marseilles, and what my future inten-
tions were, if they had not been frustrated by
unforeseen events. All shall yet be well.’

‘Francois, all is well. I have taken a
solemn vow—it is registered in heaven. You
have by fraud and imposition entered into a
holy place, and assumed a holy character.
Add not to your crime by even harbour-
ing the idea of impropriety, and add not to
my humiliation by supposing for a moment
that I am. capable of being a‘participator.

‘Holy Virgin,’ cried she, falling on her
knees, ‘I demand thy powerful aid in this
conflict of worldly passions and holy wishes,
Oh ! make me dead toall but thee, and to the
spouse whom I have accepted at thy hands.’

She then rose, and continued—‘ How you
will be able to leave this convent, Francois, I
know not; but your secret is safe with me,
provided that you do not again request my
presence, as you have this night. My prayers

shall ever be for you; but we must meet no

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

more !’ and Marie waved her hatid moutti-
fully, and quitted the apartment.

Although I had always a great contempt for
the Catholic religion, of which Tat that period
was a member, I was awed by the beauty of
virtue as it appeared in Marie, and I passed
the night in melancholy reflections. I felt
more love for her than ever, and determined
upon persuading her to quit the convent and
become my wife. The next morning I sent
for her,

‘Marie, you gave yourself to heaven, when
you imagined that you had no tie upon
earth. You were deceived; there was one
whom you still loved, and who still adored
you. Vows made in delusion are not regis-
tered. Leave this convent with me, become
my wife, and you will do your duty better to-
wards heaven than by pining between these
walls, which contain nothing but envy, hatred,
and remorse,’

‘Frangois, you have had my answer. What
has been done, cannot be undone. Save your-
self, and leave me to my unhappy fate,’ an-
swered Marie; then bursting into tears, ‘O
Frangois, why, why did you leave me without
one word? Had you but pointed out your dan-
ger to me, I should have been the first to have
insisted upon your absence, and all, all would
have been borne with patience, if not with
pleasure, for yoursake. Ifwhat you now say
is truth, all would have been well: but now I
have nought to cheer me in my lonely pilgrim-
age, and nought to wish but that it soon may
come unto its close. I forgive you, Francois ;
but pity me, for I deserve your pity.’

‘Once more, Marie, I entreat you to consent
to my proposal.’

‘Never, Frangois ; I will not be less faithful
to my God than I was to you: He will not
desert me ; and if I suffer now, will reward
me for it hereafter.’ And Marie again quitted
my apartment.

My situation in the nunnery now became in-
supportable, and I determined to escape. I
pleaded ill-health, and kept my bed. The
physician of a neighbouring convent; who had
a great reputation, was sent for against my
wishes. When I heard of his arrival, 1
dressed to receive him, for I was fearful of
some scrutiny. He inquired what ailed me :
I answered that I had no pain, but that I was
convinced I should soon depart. He felt my
pulse, and, not being able to discover symp-
toms of disease, took his leave.

To the elder sisters who visited me, I spoke
in enigmas, and told them that I had a sum-
mons, that they must expect soon to find me
gone : and the sanctity of my reputation made
them receive my innuendos as inspired re-
marks. One night I complained of being
much worse, and requested their early retir-
ing; they would have sent for the physician,LHE PACHA OF MANY TALRS. 45

btit i forbade it, telling them I was beyond a proached; and as I came close to them, she
physician’s cure : kissing them all, aud pro- cried out, ‘Oh, I know him by his cloak ; it’s
nouncing over them a solemn blessing, I dis- the gentleman who defended us so gallantly,
missed them. -As soon as it was dark, I threw and whom we supposed to have been killed.
off my nun’s attire, leaving it in my bed, as if Are you much hurt, sir ?
I had slipped out of it: and as the windows Aware that I had better be anybody than
of my apartment, which looked into the con- myself, with my usual invention and presence
vent garden, were not barred, unclothed as I of mind, I replied, ‘Not much, madam,
was I dropped down, and reached theground thanks be to Heaven! I was stunned, and
in safety. I took the precaution, when I was_ they left me for dead : I am happy that I am
outside, to shut the window, that my having still alive, to be of service to you.’ And I
escaped should not enter their ideas, and immediately proceeded to cast loose the ropes
climbing a tree which overhung the wall of the by which the father and daughter (as by their
garden, dropped from a bough on the other conversation they appeared to be) had been
side, and found myself at liberty. As Iknew confined to the wheels. The robbers had
that the farther I was from the nunnery, the stripped them both nearly to the skin, and
less chance I had of being supposed an im- they were so numbed with the cold that they
postor, I gained the high road, and ran as fast could scarcely stand when they were unbound,
as I could in the direction from Marseilles to —the poor girl especially, who shivered as if
Toulouse. suffering under a tertian ague. I proposed
I had proceeded several miles without en- that they should enter the carriage as the best
countering anybody at that still hour of the shelter they could receive from the bitter keen
night, occasionally alarmed at the barking of wind which blew, and they agreed to the pru-
some snarling cur, as I passed through the dence of my suggestion.
small villages in my route,—when, worn out “Tf I am not requesting too great a favour,
with fatigue and cold, I sat down under a Sir,’ said the old gentleman, ‘I wish you
hedge to screen myself from the cold ‘mistral’ would lend my poor daughter that cloak, for
which blew. As the wind lulled, I heard she is perishing with the cold,’
sounds of voices in lamentation, which ap- ‘I will with pleasure, sir, as soon as you are
peared to proceed from the road at a short both in the Carriage,’ replied I; for I had
distance. I rose, and continued my route, made up my mind how to proceed. I assisted
when I stumbled over the body of aman. I them in, and, shutting the door, slipped off
examined him by the faint light that was emit- the cloak and put it in at the window, saying,
ted from the stars, He was quite dead; and ‘ Believe me, madam, I should have offered it
it immediately occurred to me that arobbery to you before; but the fact is, the rascals
had been committed, and the lamentations served me, as | lay stunned, in the same
which I had heard proceeded from those who manner as they have you; and I must now
had escaped with their lives. The cloak of go in search of something to cover myself.’
the dead man was lying underneath him ; it I then went off at a quick pace, hearing the
Was a Capote, such as are worn by officers. I young woman exclaim, ‘Oh, my father, he
unclasped it from his neck, round which it has stripped himself to cover me
was fastened with two bear's-paws chased in I immediately returned to the body of the
silver, and, wrapping it round my benumbed gentleman whose cloak I had borrowed, and
limbs, proceeded farther on to where I now for whom I had no doubt that I had been
occasionally heard voices much plainer than mistaken. J stripped off all the clothes from
before. I again fell in with two more pros- his rigid limbs, and put them on: they fitted
trate bodies, and, as the day had now begun me exactly, and, what was more fortunate,
to break, perceived that they were clothed were not stained with blood, as he had re-
like people of low condition. Passing my ceived his death-wound from a bullet in the
hand over their faces, I felt that they were brain. I then dragged the body to the other
quite dead and stiff. Afraid that if found close side of the hedge, where I threw it into a ditch,
to the spot, and unable to give any account of and covered it with long grass, that it might
myself, I should be accused of murder, I not be discovered. Daylight had made its
thought of immediate flight ; but the plaintive appearance before I had completed my toilet ;
voice of a woman met my ears, and it was an and when I came back to the carriage the old
appeal that I could not: resist, I proceeded a gentleman was loud in his thanks. I told
few yards farther, and perceived a carriage, him that in returning to strip one of the other
the horses of which lay dead in their traces, bodies, I had found My own clothes in a
with the driver beside them. To the hind bundle, which the robbers had left in their
wheels were secured with ropes an elderly haste to escape from pursuit.
Man and a young woman. The young lady said nothing, but sat
‘God be praised, my dear father, help is at shrouded up in the cloak, in one corner of
hand!’ said the young woman, as I ap- the oarriage, I now entered into conversationwith the old gentleman, who explained to me
how the attack began before I had come to
their assistance; and from the information I

‘received from him, I was enabled to form a

very good idea of the story that I was to tell.
I found that I had been on horseback with
my servant, when I rode.to their assistance ;
that we had been both supposed to be killed;
and that we were about five miles from any
post-town.

By this time it was broad daylight, and I
made another discovery, which was, that I
was wearing an officer’s undress. Anxious
to gratify my curiosity by a sight of the young
lady, I turned to her as she lay muffled up in
the cloak, and expressed a hope that she did
not feel cold. She put her head out, and
answered in the negative with such a sweet
smile, upon such a sweet face, as I never had
before witnessed. I looked at her as if trans-
fixed, and did not take my eyes off until she
blushed, and again sank back as before.

This brought me to my recollection; I
offered to go for assistance, and my services
were thankfully accepted. I passed by the
men who had been killed, as I went on my
‘mission ; one was habited in a livery similar
to the coachman, who lay dead by his horses ;
the other was in that of a groom, and I took
it for granted that he had been myservant. I
searched in his pockets for information, and,
collecting the contents, commenced reading
them as I walked along.

By his memoranda I found out that I had
come from Aix, By letters and papers in my
own pockets I ascertained who I was, who
my father was, to what regiment I belonged,
that I was on leave of absence, and that I had
a brother, whose affectionate letter I read
carefully for further information. I had not
time to count a considerable sum of money,
which was in my purse, before I fell in with a
eountryman, who was leading his horses to
the plough. Briefly narrating the circum-
stances, I offered him a handsome remunera-
tion if he would mount one of his horses, and
procure immediate ‘assistance. Having seen
him off in a hand-gallop, I returned to the
catriage to try if it were possible to have
one more view of that face which had so en-
chanted me. {stated the good fortune I had
met with, and my hopes of a speedy deliver-
ance from their trouble. . I answered the old
gentleman’s inquiry of the name and condition
of the person to whom he and his daughter
had been so much indebted; talked of my
father, the Comte de Rouillé; of my regi-
ment; ‘and then requested a similar con-
fidence.

He was Le Marquis de Tonseca, and the
young lady was his daughter: they were pro-
ceeding to their chateau, about’ seven miles
distant; ‘where he hoped I would accompany

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

them, and allow him an opportunity of show-
ing his gratitude.

I hesitated, talked of engagements—not
that I intended’to refuse the invitation, but
because the young lady had not joined in the
request. My plan had the desired. effect ;
again the lovely face appeared from under
the cloak, and the sweetest voice in the worle
expressed a wish that I would not refuse her
father’s invitation. I blushed, and stammered
consent. Pleased at her victory, she, smiled.
and again was folded up in the cloak, which I
could have: torn to pieces for its envious con-
cealment.

Assistance had now arrived; a crowd of
people, headed by an officer to take the procés
verbal, and two pair of post-horses came up: ;
the depositions of the marquis and myself
were briefly taken ; his as to what he.had seen,
and mine ‘to the best of my knowledge and
belief.” The papers were signed, the. dead
bodies were carried off, the horses put,.to, and,
at the request of the marquis, I took my seat
in the carriage between him and his daughter,
and we proceeded to the chateau.

In two hours we arrived at.a magnificent
pile, which bespoke. the wealth and sancestry
of the owner ; and I had the pleasure of.car-
rying, in my arms, up the long flight of steps
by which we ascended to the, entrance,.the
beautiful girl, muffled up as she was in the
cloak. As soon as I had laid her down upon
a sofa, J left her to the care of the females who
wete in attendance, and quitted the room.
The marquis had retired to his own apartment,
to supply the deficiencies in his attire, and fora
short time I was left alone tomy own reflections.
What is to be'the result of all this?) thought
I. Is there to be no end of my assumption of
the clothes and titles of other people,—this
continual transmigration before death? Yet
how much more has it depended upon circum-
stances than upon myself !

_ After much reflection, I determined upon
letting things take their own, course, trusting
to my Own ready, invention and good fortune
for the issue. .I felt it to be impossible to'tear
myself from the sweet creature whose personal
charms ,had already fascinated me, and I

  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
 

vowed that there.was no risk, no danger, that ~

I would not brave to. obtain her love.
In an hour we metat the breakfast-table,
and I was more than; ever enchanted ; but I

will not detain your highness by dwelling too —

long upon the subject.

‘No, don’t, yaha bibi, my friend,’said the |

pacha, yawning ; ‘your story gets .very dry

q

already... We'll suppose the, cypress waist, the |
stag’s eyes, and full. moon of her face, «We —

Mussulmen don’t talk so much about women;
but I suppose as you were a Frenchman, and
very young then, you knew no better. WhyLHE PACHA OF MANY TALES, 47

you talk of women as if they had souls!’ The my heart of cowardice, he was dead, and his
renegade did not think it advisable to express heart’s blood had been poured out in my de-
his cpinion in contradiction to that-of his. fence. Victor, my dear Victor!’ continued’
highness, and the assertions of the Prophet. I, ‘how great has been: my injustice, and
‘It:cannot be said that I behaved to them as what can repay me for your loss ?’ and I threw
if they had,’ replied he: ‘and before I changed myself down on the sofa as if frantic with
my religion, I was often smitten with remorse grief.

for my,selfish and unfeeling conduct towards

Marie; but all that is passed: I am now a ‘Huckaback,’ observed the pacha, ‘it ap-
Turk ;’ and the renegade passed his hand over pears to-me that in your younger days you
his brow ; for some long-smothered feelings were a great scoundrel.’

of virtue had been conjured up by remorse, as ‘Il acknowledge it,’ replied the renegade ;
he was reminded of the eareer of guilt which ‘but, in extenuation, your highness must call
he had run through, and which he had cli- to mind that at that time I was a Christian,’

maxed by the denial of his Redeemer. After ‘ By the beard of the Prophet, that is well
a short pause he continued— said, and very true!’ replied the pacha.

For a week I-remained in the society of the The marquis and his brother were shocked
marquis and his daughter, daily ingratiating at haying so unintentionally plunged me into
myself more and more with both. I had not affliction. ‘They offered consolation, but find-
declared my. passion to his daughter, for there ing their endeavours fruitless, quitted the
was something that irresistibly prevented me; room, thinking it advisable to leave me to my-
yet I knew that I was nor viewed with indif- self. Cerise, for that was the name of the
ference. Our party was then increased by the daughter, remained, and after a short pause
appearance of the Bishop of Toulouse, the came to me, and in her silvery voice, as she
brother of the marquis, who came to congra-. laid her hand, upon my shoulder, addressed
tulate him and his niece upon their fortunate. me -—
escape. I was presented as: the gentleman “Console yourself, my dear Felix ; but I
who had so materially assisted. The bishop. made no answer. < How unhappy I am?’
stared at me with surprise. said she: ‘it was in my defence that he lost

“It is strange,’ observed he, ‘thata body his life: it was to your courage that I am in-
has been found in a ditch, near to where the debted for my preservation; he is dead, and
robbery occurred, and has been recognized to you are miserable. Can nothing repay you
be that of the very young officer to whom you, for the loss of your brother ?—nothing, Felix ?
now introduce me.. How can this be 2?’ I raised my-head ; her eyes were swimming

The marquis and his daughter appeared with tears, and beaming with love. As I re-
astonished at the intelligence (and in truth so sumed my seat upon the sofa, I drew her
was I), but it was only for a second. ‘How gently towards me. She offered no resistance,
say you, sir?’ exclaimed I, with trepidation: and ina moment she had sunk down by my
‘a body recognized as the son of the Comte side, as my arms entwined her beauteous
de Rouillé? My poor, poor brother! my form,
dear Victor, have you then perished? what * Yes,’ murmured I, ‘ Cerise: I am repaid.’
injustice have I done you!’ Throwing myself Smiling through her blushes, she disengaged
on the fauteuil, I covered my face with my herself, and rose to depart. Returning once
handkerchief, as if overpowered with grief; more at my request, | imprinted a kiss upon
but in reality I was reflecting what I should her-brow: she waved her hand, and hastened
say next. out of the room,

‘Your brother !’ exclaimed the marquis, in ;
surprise, “That was a very nice girl, by your descrip-

“Yes, marquis, my brother. I will now tion,’ interrupted the pacha; ‘ pray what might

state the circumstances which induced me to you pay for such a girl in your country ?”
conceal from you that he was in my company ‘She was beyond all price,’ replied the
at the time of the attack. When I galloped renegade, with an absent air, as if communing
to your.assistance, 1 was followed by my bro-. with times past. ‘Love is not to be bought,
ther, who was riding with me to Marseilles, The Moslem purchases the slave and blind
and of whom you recollect I have spoken;, submission to his will, but he makes not love.’
but ‘after the first discharge of fire-arms, I “No, he buys it ready. made,’ replied the
found that he was not at my side, and I ima- pacha; ‘and I must say I wish you had done
gined that he had deserted me from fear, I. the same; for, with all this love-making, you
could not bear that such a disgrace upon the get on but slowly with your story. Proceed,’
family should be known, and I therefore made

no mention of him when I came back. - Little I remained another week, when the bishop,
did I think, that while I was accusing him in who had not yet taken his departure, ong48 THE PACHA OF
morning drove over to Marseilles, and returned
to dinner. ‘Iwas sent for,’ observed he, as
we sat down to table, ‘to consult as to the pro-
priety of requesting from the Pope the canon-
ization of the Sceur Hustasie, of whom you
have heard so much, and whose disappear-
ance has been attributed to miraculous agency;
but during our consultation, a piece of infor-
mation was sent in, which has very much
changed the opinion of parties as to her re-
puted sanctity. It appears that near the spot
where the vessel was wrecked, they have dis-
covered the body of a woman dressed in man’s
clothes; and it is now supposed that some
miscreant has personified her at the convent,
and has subsequently escaped. The officers
of justice are making the strictest search; and
if the individual is found, he will be sent to
Rome to be disposed of by the Inquisition.’

As your highness may imagine, this was not
very agreeable news; I almost started from
my chair when I heard it, but I had sufficient
mastery over myself to conceal my feelings,
although every morsel that I put into my
mouth nearly choked me.

But before dinner was over, the plot thick-
ened ; a letter was brought to the marquis
from my adopted father, the Comte de Rouillé,
stating that such contradictory reports had
been received, that he could not ascertain the
truth. From one he heard that his eldest son
was alive, and at the chateau; from others,
that he had been murdered ; others congratu-
lated him in their letters upon the escape of
one of his sons. He requested the marquis to
inform him of the real state of affairs, and to
let him know by the bearer whether his eldest
son was with him, or whether he had met with
the unfortunate death that was reported; and
as his youngest son was at home, and had
been there for some months, he could not but
imagine, as both of them were mentioned in
the reports, that there might be some impos-
ture in the business.

I perceived, by the change of countenunce
in the marquis, that affairs were not going
well, and was to a certain degree prepared,
when he gravely handed the letter to the
bishop, who, having read it, passed it over to
me, Saying, with a stern look, ‘ This concerns
you, sir.’ I read it with a composed counte-
nance, and, returning it to the marquis, I ob-
served with a sigh, ‘There is no kindness in
such deception; the blow will only fall heavier
upon the old man when it does come. You
are aware, sir, I mentioned it to you (or
rather, I believe, it was to Mademoiselle
Cerise), that my father is blind, and has been
so for the last two years. They have been
afraid to tell him the truth, and have made
him believe that Victor is there. You must
know, sir, that it was clandestinely that my
Gear brother quitted his father’s house to ac-

 

    

MANY TALES.

company me. Unhappy hour when I yielded
to his entreaties! But, monsieur le marquis,
I perceive that it is now imperative that 1]
should go to my father; he will need the assu-
rance of my existence to support him in his
grief. I will therefore, with your permission,
write a few lines by the bearer of this com-
munication, and to-morrow morning at day-
light must unwillingly tear myself away from
your charming society.’

The cool and confident air with which I
answered, removed suspicion; and having
written a few lines to the comte, and requested
from the marquis the loan of his seal, I ap-
plied the wax, and desired the servant to de-
liver it as an answer to the messenger, whom
I was not sorry to see galloping by the win-
dow.) s@Oh---cned iy tis eierme * had
known that, I should have asked him some
questions.’

This well-timed exclamation of mine, I per-
ceived, did not fail to have its weight. We
again sat down to table, and I was treated
with more than usual kindness by the mar-
quis and his brother, as if in compensation for
their having, for a moment, harboured a sus-
picion of my honesty. But I was ill at ease,
and I felt that I never had acted with more
prudence than in proposing my early depar-
ture.

In the evening I was alone with Cerise.
Since the news of my brother's death, and the
scene that followed, we had sworn unalterable
love, and in that instance only was I sincere.
I loved her to desperation, and I dote on her
memory now, though years have rolled away,
and she has long been mingled with the dead.
Yes, Cerise, if from the regions of bliss, where
thy pure spirit dwells, thou canst look down
upon a wretch so loaded with guilt as I am,
oh, turn not away with horror, but view with
pity one who loved as fondly as man could
love, and hereafter will care little for all that
Paradise can offer, if thy fair spirit must not
bid him welcome!’

‘I wish, Huckaback,’ observed the pacha,
angrily, ‘that you would go on with your
story ; you are talking to a dead woman, in-
stead of a live pacha.’

‘T entreat your pardon,’ replied the rene-
gade; ‘but to amuse your highness, I have
entered into scenes which long have been dis-
missed from my memory; and the feelings
attending them will rise up, and cannot well
be checked, I will be more careful as I pro-
ceed.

Cerise was melancholy at the idea of my
departure. I kissed the tears away and the
time flew rapidly. I persuaded her fo allow
ine an interview after the family had retired;
as I had much to say to her.

  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 

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|LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 49
Well, well, we'll suppose all that,’ observed and I’ll be off: I’m choked with thirst, and
the pacha, impatiently; ‘now go on; you shall not be comfortable till 1 have drunk at
remember you were to set off in the morning.’ least a gallon of wine.’
‘Yes, yes, your highness,’ replied the rene- ‘Holy Prophet! what a Turk! exclaimed
gade, somewhat displeased. the vizier, lifting up his hands. ‘Here is
your money, kafir ; don’t forget to be here to
And I did set off in the morning upon one morrow.’
of the marquis’s horses, and rode as hard as ‘Never fear me, vizier ; your slave lives but
I could to Toulon. I determined again to to obey you, as we Turks say.’
try my fortune at sea, as I was afraid that I ‘We Turks!’ muttered the vizier, as he
should be discovered if I remained on shore. cast his eyes upon the retiring figure of the
I purchased a small venture with the money renegade: ‘ Well, of all the scoundrels——’
in my purse, and having made my agreement ‘ Well,’ muttered the renegade, who was now
with the captain of the vessel bound to St. out of hearing, ‘of all the scoundrels——
Domingo, exchanged my dress for a jacket Whom they were referring to in their separate
and trousers, and was again at the mercy of soliloquies must be left to the reader's imagi-
the waves. nation, for caution prevented either of the
: : parties from giving vent to the remainder of
‘Such, your highness, is the history of my their thoughts.
First Voyage, and the incidents which re-
sulted from it.’
‘Well,’ said the pacha, rising, ‘there was
too much love, and too little sea in it ; bute x
suppose if you had left the first out, it would CHAPTER VI.
not have been so long. Mustapha, give him
five pieces of gold, and we will have his ‘ MASHALLAH! How wonderful is God!
Second Voyage to-morrow.’ Did the caliph Haroun ever hear such stories
As soon as the pacha had retired, the rene- observed the pacha, taking the pipe from his
gade growled out, ‘If I am to tell any more mouth, as he was indulging in company with
stories, I must not be checked and dictated Mustapha ; ‘that infidel tells strange histories
to. I could have talked for an hour afterI of strange countries. What will his mouth
had met Cerise, if I had not been interrupted: open to next ?’
as it was, I cut the matter short.’ ‘The Shaitan bacheh—for a son of the
‘But, Selim,’ replied Mustapha, ‘the pacha devil he still is, although he wears the turban
is not fond of these sort of adventures; he and bows to Allah—will prove a treasury of
likes something much more marvellous. Could amusement to your sublime highness,’ replied
you not embellish a little > Mustapha; ‘but what are the words of the
“How do you mean ?” sage ?—“ If thou hast gold in thy hazneh, keep
‘Holy Prophet, what do I mean !_Why, it locked, and add thereto; thus shalt thou
tell a few lies—not adhere quite so much to become rich.’”’

matter of fact.’ “They are the words of wisdom,’ replied
‘Adhere to matter of fact, vizier !_why, I the pacha.

have not stated a single fact yet !’ ‘Then may I advise your highness to walk
‘ What ! is not all this true 2’ out this evening in search of more, and not
‘Not one word of it, as I hope to go to exhaust that which is in your possession.’

Heaven ! ‘Wallah thaib! It is well said!’ answered
‘Bismillah !—what not about Marie and the pacha, rising from his musnud, or carpet

the convent—and Cerise? of state; ‘the moon is up—when all is ready,
“All lies from beginning to end.’ we will proceed.’ 5
*‘ And were you never a barber 2” In a quarter of an hour the pacha, attended
‘Never in my life.’ by Mustapha and the armed slaves as before,

“Then why did you make such long again set out upon their perambulations
apostrophes to the dead Cerise, when you threugh the city of Cairo.
observed that the pacha was impatient ?’ They had not walked more than half an
‘ Merely because I was at fault, vizier, and hour when they observed two men sitting at
wished to gain time, to consider what I the door of a fruit-shop, at high words with
should say next.’ each other. The pacha held up his finger to
‘Selim,’ replied Mustapha, ‘ you have great Mustapha, as a sign to stop, that he might
talent; but mind that your next voyage is overhear their discourse.
more wonderful: I presume it willmake no ‘1 tell you, Ali, that it is impossible to hear
difference to you.’ those long stories of yours without losing one’s
“None whatever; but the pacha is not a temper.’ ’
man of taste. Now give me my five pieces, y_‘Long stories!’ whispered the pacha to

350 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

Mustapha with delight, ‘the very thing!— may be in time for the market, whete, you
Shukur Allah! Thanks be to God !’ kNOW, they bring their vegetables for sale.
‘And I tell you in reply, Hussan, that yours ‘This is all very true, I dare say,’ observed
are ten times worse. You never have spoken the pacha; ‘but you will oblige me by leaving
for ten minutes without my feeling an inclina- out all those you wows, which I agree with
tion to salute your mouth with the heel of my your comrade Hussan to be very tedious.’
slipper. I wish there was any one who would — ‘That’s what I have already told him, your
hear us both, and decide the point.’ highness. “Ali,” says I, ‘if you can only
‘That I will,’ said-the pacha, going up to leave out your you knows,” says I, “*your
them ; ‘to-morrow I will hear both your story might be amusing; but,” says [——'

stories, and decide upon the merits of each.’ ‘Silence with your says 7's,’ observed the
‘And who are you? observed one of the pacha; ‘have you forgotten the bastinado?
men. with surprise. there seems to be a pair of you. Ali, go on

‘His highness the pacha,’ replied Musta- with the stoty, and remember my injunction ;
pha, coming forward. Both the men pros- the felek and férashes are at hand.’
trated themselves, while the pacha directed “Well, your highness, one morning he rose
Mustapha that they should be brought before earlier than usual, as he was anxious to be
him on the following day; and the vizier, first in the market with some onions, which,
having given them in charge to the slaves who you know, are very plentiful; and having laden
had followed at a distance, returned home _ hi ass, he set off at a good round pace for the
with the pacha, who was delighted at the rich city. There, you know, he arrived at the
harvest which he expected to reap from the market-place a little after the day had dawned,
two people who accused each other of telling when, you know :
such long stories. ‘Did you not receive my orders to leave out

When the divan of the following day had you know? AmTI to bé obeyed. or not? Now
closed, the two men were summoned into the go on, and if you offend again, you shall have
presence of the pacha. the bastinado till your nails drop off.’

‘I shall now decide upon the merits of your ‘I shall observe your highness’s wishes,’
stories, observed he. Sit down there, both replied Ali. ‘A little after.the day had dawned,
of you, and agree between yourselves which you——, no, he, I mean, observed an old
of you will begin.’ woman sitting near one of the fruit-stalls, with

‘ May it please your highness, you will never her head covered up in an old dark-blue
be able to listen to this man Ali,’ observed capote; and as he passed by, yow—she, I
Hussan; ‘you had better send him away.’ mean, held out one of her fingers, and said,

“Allah preserve your highness from all evil,’ “Ali Baba,” for that was my father’s name,
replied Ali, ‘but more especially from the ‘listen to good advice; leave your laden
talking of Hussan, which is as oppressive as beast and follow me.” Now my father, you
the hot wind of the desert.’ now, not being inclined to pay any attention

‘I have not sent for you to hear you dispute to such an old woman, replied, you know——
in my presence, but to hear your stories. Ali, “Holy Allah!’ exclaimed the pacha in a

 

do you begin.’ rage to Mustapha, ‘what does this man de-
‘I do assure your highness,’ interrupted serve?

Hussan, ‘that you will not listen to him three ‘The punishment due to those who dare to

minutes.’ disobey your highness’s commands.’

‘I do assure you,’ retorted the pacha, ‘that ‘And he shall have it? take him out, give
if you say one word more, until you are him one hundred blows of the bastinado, put
ordered, you will be rewarded with the basti- him on an ass, with his face turned towards
nado for your trouble. Ali, begin your story.’ the tail, and let the officer who conducis him

‘Well, your highness, it was about thirty through the town proclaim, ‘‘Such is the pun-
years ago, you kaw, that I was a little boy, ishment awarded by the pacha to him who

you krow.’ presumes to say that his highness knows,
Here Hussan lifted up his hands, and when in fact he knows nothing.” ’

smiled. ‘The guards seized upon the unfortunate Ali,
‘Well, your highness, you Anow-——’ to put in execution the will of the pacha; and
‘I don’t know, Ali: how can I know until as he was dragged away, Hussan cried out, ‘I

you tell me? observed the pacha. told you so, but you would not believe

“Weil then, your highness must know, that me.
ever since I was born I have lived in the same ‘Well,’ replied Ali, ‘I’ve one comfort; your
street where your highness saw us seated last story's not told yet. His highness has yet to
night, and thirty years, you &zow, is a long decide which is the best.’
period in a man’s life. My father was a After a few minutes’ pause, to recover him-
gardener, and people of his condition, you self from the ruffling of his temper, the pacha
know, are obliged ‘to get’ up early, that they addressed the other man—'Now, Hussan,

3you will begin your story; and observe that I
am rather in an ill-humoutr.’

-* How can your highness be otherwise, after
the annoyance of that bore Ali? I said so;
Ali,” says 3

*Go on with your story,’ repeated the pacha,
angrily.

“Tt was about two years ago, your highness,
when I was'sitting at the door of the fruit-
shop, which your highness might have ob-
served when you saw us last night, that a
young female, who seemed above the common
class, came in, followed bya porier. ‘‘ I want
some melons,” says she. © ‘‘ I have very fine
ones, so walk in,” says 7; and I handed down
from theupper shel, where they were placed,
four or five musk, and four or five water-melons,

‘« Now,” says /, ‘“‘young woman, you'll
observe that these are much finer melons,”
says Z, ‘‘than you usually can procure; there-
fore the lowest price that I can take,” says J,
es is 352

“Why your says 7s are much worse than
Ali's you know's; leave them out, if you
please, and proceed with your story,’ cried
the pacha, with increased ill-humour.

“1 will obey your highness, if possible. I
stated the lowest price, and she lifted up her
veil—‘‘T have an idea,” said she, as she al-
lowed me to look upon one of the prettiest
faces in the world, “that they are to be had
cheaper.”’

‘Tt was so struck with her beauty, that I
was quite speechless. “Am I not right?”
said she, smiling, ‘‘ From you, madam,” says
/, “‘I can take nothing; put as many in the
basket of your porter as you please.” She
thanked me, and put into the basket all that
Thad handed down. ‘‘ Now,’ says she, ‘1
want some dates, the best and finest that you
have.” I handed some down, that would
have been admired by the ladies of your high-
ness's harem. ‘‘ These, madam,” says J, ‘‘are
the best dates that are to be found in Cairo.”
She tasted them, and asked the price: I men-
tioned it. ‘‘ They are dear,’ replied she,
** but I must have them cheaper ;”’ and again
she lifted her veil. ‘‘ Madam,” says‘/, ‘‘ these
dates are much too cheap at the price which I
haye mentioned; it really is impossible to take
one para less; observe, madam,” says /, ‘‘the
beauty of them, feel the weight, and taste
them,” says /, ‘‘and you must acknowledge,”’
says I, ‘‘that they are offered to you at a
price which,” says /——’

‘Holy Prophet !’ cried the pacha, in arage,
‘TI will hear no more of your says J's: if you
cannot tell your story without them, you’shall
fare worse than Ali.’

‘May it please your highness, how will it
be possible for you to know what I said,
unless I point out to you. what I did say?
I cannot tell my story without it.’

 

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

 
  
    
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
   
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  

5r

‘I'll see that,’ replied the pacha, ina savage
tone; and making a sign, the executioner
made, his appearance. ‘Now, then, go on
with your story; and, executioner, after he
has.repeated says 7 three times, off with his
head! Go on.’

‘I shall never be able to go on, your high-
ness; consider one moment how harmless
my says /’s are to the detestable you Aows of
Ali,. That's what I always told him; ‘“ Ahi,”
says I, ‘‘if you only knew,’’ says Z, “ how an-
noying you are! Why there,” says 7 :
At this moment the blow of the scimitar fell,
and the head of Hussan rolled upon the floor;
the lips, from the force of habit, still quiver-
ing in their convulsions with the motioning
which would have produced says /, if the
channel of sound had not been so effectually
interrupted.

“That story's ended !’ observed the pacha
in a rage. ‘Of all the nuisances I ever en-
countered, these two men have beat them all.
Allah forbid that I should again meet with a
says I, or you know Lf

“Your highness is all wisdom,’ observed
Mustapha ; ‘may such ever be the fate of
those who cannot tell their stories without say-
ing what they said.’ The pacha, irritated at
his disappointment, and litile soothed by the
remark of Mustapha, without making any an-
swer to it, was about to retire to his harem,
when Mustapha, with a low salaam, informed
him that the renegade was in attendance to
relate his Second Voyage, if he might be per-
mitted to kiss the dust in his presence.
‘ Khoda shefa midéhed—God gives relief,’ re-
plied the pacha, as he resumed his seat: ‘let
him approach.’

The renegade entered; and having paid
the customary obeisance, took his seat, and
commenced the narrative of his Second Voy-
age i—

 

May it please your most sublime highness,
the day after I embatked we sailed with a
fair wind, and having cleared the Straits,
flattered ourselves with the prospect of a suc-
cessful voyage; but we were miserably disap-
pointed, for three days afterwards we fell in
with a small brig under English colours. As
she was evidently a merchant-vessel, we paid
no attention to her running down to us, sup-
posing that she was out of her reckoning,
and wished to know her exact position on
the chart. But as soon as she was close to
us, instead of passing under our stern, as
we expected, she rounded to, and laid us by
the board. Taken by surprise and having
no arms, we were beaten down below ; and in
a few minutes the vessel remained in the pos-
session of our assailants. ‘They held a short
consultation, and then opening the hatches, a
boatswain pulled out his whistle, and in a tre-52

mendous voice roared out, ‘ All hands, ahoy !’
which was followed by his crying out, ‘Tumble
up, there, tumble up!’ As we understood this
to be a signal for our appearance on deck, we
obeyed the summons. When we all came up,
we found out that if we had had any idea that
they were enemies, we might have beaten
them off, as they were only fifteen in number,
while we mustered sixteen. But it was too
late : we were unarmed, and they had each of
them a cutlass, with two pistols stuck in their
girdles. As soon as we were all on deck, they
bound our arms behind us with ropes, and
ranged usin a line. Having inquired of each
of us our respective ranks and professions,
they held a short consultation, and the boat-
swain, addressing me, said:—‘ Thank Heaven,
you scoundrel, that you were brought up asa
barber, for it has saved your life”

He then cut loose the cords which bound
me, and I remained at liberty. ‘Now then,
my lads!’ continued the boatswain, ‘ Come,
every man his bird ! and, so saying, he seized
upon the captain of the vessel, and leading
him to the gangway, passed his sword
through his body, and tossed him into the
sea.

In the same manner each of the murderous
villains led forward the man he had selected,
and putting an end to his life, either by the
swerd or pistol, launched the corpse into the
waves.

My blood curdled as I beheld the scene, but
I said nothing. I considered myself too for-
tunate to escape with life. When it was all
over, the boatswain roared out, ‘ Zat job's
done! Now, Mr. Barber, swab up all this
here blood, and be d—d to you! and recollect
that you are one of us.’ I obeyed in fear and
silence, and then returned to my former
station near the taffrail.

The people who had captured us, as I after-
wards found out, were part of the crew of an
English Guinea-man, who had murdered the
master and mate, and had taken possession of
the vessel. As our brig was a much finer craft
in every respect, they determined upon retain-
ing her and scuttling their own. Before night
they had made all their arrangements, and
were standing to the westward with a fine
breeze.

But exactly as the bell struck eight for mid-
night, a tremendous voice was heard at the
hatchway, if possible more than a hundred
times louder than the boatswain’s, roaring
out, ‘ All hands ahoy!’

The concussion of the air was so great, that
the ship trembled as if she had been struck by
a thunderbolt ; and as soon as the motion had
subsided, the water was heard to rush into
every part of the hold. Everybody ran on
deck astonished with the sound, expecting the
vessel immediately to go down, and looking at

 

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

each other with horror as they stood trembling
in their shirts. The water continued to rush
into the vessel until it reached the orlop-
beams; then as suddenly it stopped.

When the panic had to a certain degree
subsided, and they perceived that the water
did not increase, all hands applied to the
pumps, and by eight o’clock in the morning
the vessel was free. Still the unaccountable
circumstance weighed heavy on the minds of
the seamen, who walked the deck without
speaking to each other, or paying any atten-
tion to the ship’s course ; and as no one took
the command, no one was ordered to the
helm.

For my own part, I thought it a judgment
upon them for their cruelty ; and, expecting
that worse would happen, I had made up my
mind to my fate. I thought of Marie, and
hoping for pardon yet fearing the worst, I
vowed if I escaped that I would amend my
life.

At night we again retired to our hammocks,
but no one slept, so afraid were-we of asecond
visitation. The bell was not struck by the
men, but it struck itself, louder than I ever
heard it before; and again the dreadful voice
was heard, ‘ All hands ahoy !’ again the water
rushed in, and again we ran on deck. As be-
fore, it mounted as high as the orlop-beams ;
it then stopped, and was pumped out again
by eight o'clock on the ensuing morning.

For a month, during which time we never
saw land, for we had lost all reckoning, and
no one cared to steer—the same dreadful visi-
tation took place. Habit had, to a degree,
hardened the men; they now swore and got
drunk as before, and even made a jest of the
Joatswain of the middle watch, as they called
him, but at the same time they were worn out
with constant fatigue ; and one night they de-
clared that they would pump no longer, ‘The
water remained in the vessel all that day, and
we retired to our hammocks as usual, when at
midnight the same voice was again heard at
the hatchway, not followed by the rush of
water, but by a shriek of ‘Tumble up, there,
tumple up!’

We all started at the summons, and has-
tened on deck ; there was something that im-
pelled us in spite of ourselves. Never shall I
forget the horrid sight which presented itself ;
stretched in a row on the deck of the vessel
lay the fifteen bloody corpses of my shipmates
who had been murdered. We stood aghast ;
the hair rose straight up from our heads, as
we viewed the supernatural reappearances.
After a pause of about five minutes, during
which we never spoke or even moved, one of
the corpses cried out in a sepulchral voice,

‘Come, every man his bird !’ and held up its
arms as it lay.

The man whose office it had been to takethe living body to the gangway, and after
killing it to throw it overboard, advanced to-
wards it; he was evidently impelled by a su-
pernatural power, for never shall I forget the
look of horror, the faint scream of agony,
which escaped him as he obeyed the sum-
mons. Like the trembling bird fascinated by
the snake, he fell into the arms of the dead
body, which, grasping him tight, rolled over
and over in convolutions like a serpent, until
it gained the break of the gangway, and then
tumbled into the sea with its murderer en-
twined in its embraces. A flash of lightning
succeeded, which blinded us for several min-
utes ; and when we recovered our vision, the
remainder of the bodies had disappeared.

The effect upon the guilty wretches was
dreadful ; there they lay, each man on the
deck where he had crouched down when the
lightning had flashed upon him ; the sun rose
upon them, yet they moved not; he poured
his beams on their naked bodies when at his
meridian height, yet they still remained; the
evening closed in and found them in the same
positions. As soon as it was dark, as if re-
leased from a spell, they crawled below and
went into their hammocks ; at midnight again
the bell struck ; again the voice was heard,
followed by a shriek ; again they repaired on
deck ; the fourteen remaining bodies lay in a
row; another of the murderers was summoned,
obeyed, and disappeared ; again the flash of
lightning burst upon us, and all had vanished;
and thus it continued every night, until the
boatswain, who was reserved for the last, was
dragged overboard after the rest by the corpse
of the captain; and then a tremendous voice
from the maintop, followed by exulting laugh-
ter, cried out, ‘ That job's done. Immedi-
ately after which, the water rushed out of the
bottom of the vessel, and she was clear as be-
fore.

Returning thanks to Heaven that I was not
a party sufferer with the rest, [ lay down, and
for the first time for many weeks fell into a
sound sleep. How long I slept, I know not ;
it may have been days ; but I awoke at last
by the sound of voices, and found that the

eople on board of a vessel bound from
Mieues to the south of Spain, perceiving the
brig lying with her sails torn, and her yards
not trimmed, had sent a boat to ascertain
whether there was anybody remaining in her.
I was afraid that if I told them what had hap-
pened, they either would not believe me, or
else would refuse to take on board a person
who had been in company with such examples
of divine vengeance. I therefore stated that
we had been attacked by dysentery about six
weeks before, and that all had died except
myself, who was supereargo of the brig.
As their vessel was but half full, the cargo

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

   
    
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   

53

consisting chiefly of cochineal and copper,
which is stowed in small space, the captain
offered to take as many of my goods as he
could stow, provided I would allow him the
freight. This I willingly consented to do, and
examining the manifest, selected the most
valuable, which were removed to the Spanish
vessel.

We had a favourable wind ; and having run
through the Straits, expected in a day or two
we should anchor at Valencia, to which port
she was bound ; but a violent gale came on
from the N.E. which lasted many days, and
drove us over to the African shore. To in-
crease our misfortunes, the ship sprung a leak,
and made so much water, that we could
scarcely keep her free.

The Spaniards are but indifferent sailors,
your highness, and in a storm are more in-
clined to pray than to work; they became
frightened, gave over pumping, and haying
lighted a candle before the image of St.
Antonio, which was fixed on the stern of the
vessel, began to call upon him for assistance.
Not immediately obtaining their request, they
took the image out of the shrine, abused it,
called it every vile name that they could think
of, and ended by tying it against the main-
mast, and beating it with ropes.

In the meantime the vessel filled more and
more ; whereas, if, instead of praying, they
had continued at the pumps, we should have
done well enough, as the gale was abating,
and she did not make so much water as be-
fore.

Enraged at their cowardice, and at the ideal
of losing so much property as-I had on board'
(for I considered it as my own), I seized the
image from the mast, and threw it overboard,
telling them to go to their pumps if they
wished to be saved. ‘The whole crew uttered
acry of horror, and would have thrown me
after the image, but I made my escape up the
rigging, from whence I dared not descend for
many hours.

Having now no saint to appeal to, they
once more applied to the pumps. To their
astonishment, the vessel made no more water,
and in the course of a few hours she was free.

The next morning the gale was over, and
we were steering for Valencia. I observed
that the captain and sailors avoided me, bat
I cared little about it, as I felt that my con-
duct had saved the ship as well as my own
property. On the second day we anchored
in the bay, and were boarded by the authori-
ties, who went down into the cabin and had a
long conversation with the captain. ‘They
quitted the ship, and about an hour afterwards
I proposed going ashore, but the captain said
that he could not permit it until the next
morning. While I was expostulating with54
him as to the reasons for my detention, a boat
rowed alongside, from out of which came two
personages dressed in black. I knew them to
be familiars of the Inquisition ; and it imme-
diately occurred tome that my personification
of the lady abbess had been discovered, and
that my doom was sealed. The captain
pointed me out; they collared and handed
me into the boat, and pulled for the shore in
silence.

When we landed, I was put into a black
coach, and conveyed to the palace of the
Inquisition, where I was thrown into one of
the lowest dungeons. The next day the
familiars appeared, and led me to the hall of
judgment, where I was asked whether I con-
fessed my crime. I replied that I did not
know what I was accused of. ‘They again
asked me if I would. confess, and on my mak-
ing the same answer, I was ordered to the
torture.

As I knew that I had no chance, I thought
T might as well avoid unnecessary pain, and
declared that I did confess it.

‘What instigated you to the deed ?”

Not well knowing what to reply, as I was
not exactly aware of the nature of my offence,
I answered that it was the blessed Virgin.

‘ Blasphemer !’ cried the grand inquisitor,
‘what! the blessed Virgin desired you to
throw St. Antonio overboard ?’ *

‘Yes,’ replied I (glad that at all events the
crime was not what I had anticipated), ‘she
did : and told me that it would be the saving
of the vessel.’

‘Where were you?”

“On the deck.’

‘Where did you see her ?'

‘She was sitting on a small blue cloud, a
little above the topsail-yard. ‘‘Fear not,
Francois,’ said she, motioning with her hand,
“to throw the image overboard.’ The in-
quisitors were astonished at my boldness; a
consultation was held as to whether I should
be treated as a blasphemer, or the circum-
stance blazoned into a miracle. But it un-
fortunately happened for me that a miracle
had occurred very lately ; and there were very
few people to be burnt at the azto-da-/¢ of the
ensuing month.

Tt was therefore decided against me. I was
reviled, abused, and sentenced to the flames ;
but I determined, ‘as my only chance, to put
a good face upon the matter to the very last.
Looking up, asif toa pointin the ceiling of the
dark hall of judgment, and holding my hands
before, as if in amazement—‘ Holy Virgin,’
cried I, bending on my knee, ‘I thank thee
for the sign. My lord,’ continued I, fiercely,

‘I fear you not; you have sentenced me to
perish by the flames; I tell you that I shall
leave my dungeon with honour, and be as

 

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

   

much courted as I~ have been now re>
viled,’

The inquisitors were for a’ moment stag-
gered ; but their surprise gave place to their
cruelty, when they considered how long they
had tortured thousands for doubting points to
which they themselves had never for a mo-
ment given credence. I was remanded to my
dungeon; and the gaoler, who ‘had never
before witnessed such boldness in’ the hall of
justice, and was impressed with the conviction
that I was supported as I had’ affirmed;
treated me with kindness, affording me coi-
forts, which, had it been known, would have
cost him his situation.

In the meantime the cargo of the vessel was
landed at the custom-house, and she was
hauled on shore to have her bottom caulked
and pitched, when, to the astonishment of the
captain and crew, the hole which had occa-
sioned the leak was discovered with the head
of the figure of the saint, which I had thrown
overboard, so firmly wedged in, that it re+
quired some force to pull it out. ‘A miracle!
a miracle!’ was cried from the quays, and
proclaimed through every part of the town. It
was evident that the Virgin had instigated me
to throw over the image, asthe only means of
stopping the leak. The friars of the nearest
convent claimed the image, from their pro-
pinquity, and came down to the ship in grand
procession to carry it to their church. The
grand inquisitor, hearing the circumstance,
acknowledged to the bishop and heads of the
clergy my intrepid behaviour in the hall of
judgment ; and not three hours after the ship
had been hauled on shore, I was visited in
my dungeon by the grand inquisitor, the
bishop, and along procession, my pardon re-
quested, and the kiss of peace demanded and
given. Iwas taken away with every mark of
respect, and looked upon as one under special
favour of the Virgin. ‘Did I not say, my
lord, that I should leave my dungeon in
honour ?’

“You did, my friend,’ answered the inquisi-
tor; and I heard him mutter, ‘ Either there is
such 4 person as the Virgin Mary, or you are
a most ready-witted scoundrel.’

During my stay at Valencia, I was courted
and feasted by everybody, and sold my goods
at an enormous price; for every one thought
that to possess anything that had belonged to
me must bring them good fortune. I received
many handsome presents, had divers requests
to become a member of the different fraterni-
ties of monks, and eventually quitted the
town with a large sum of money, with which I
proceeded to Toulon, with the intention of
making some inquiry after my dear Cerise,
whose image was still the object of my dreams,
as well as of my waking thoughts.*Stop,” said the pacha; ‘I wish to know,
whether you believe that the Virgin, as you
call her, did thrust the head of the image into
the hole in the bottom of the ship?’

* May it please your highness, I donot. I
believe it originated from nothing but cause
and effect. It is the nature of a whirlpool to
draw down all substances that come within its
vortex. The water pouring into the bottom
of the ship is but the vortex of a whirlpool
reversed ; and the image of the saint, when it
was thrown overboard to leeward ofthe ship,
which was pressed down upon it by the power
of the wind, was forced ‘under the water,
until it was'taken into the vortex of the leak,
and naturally found its way into the hole.”

‘I dare say you are very right,’ answered
the pacha, ‘but I don’t understand a word
you have said.’

‘Such, your highness, were the adventures
attending my Second Voyage,’ concluded the
renegade, with an inclination of his head.

“And a very good voyage too! 'T’like it
better than your first. Mustapha, give’ him
ten pieces of gold; you will bring him here
to-morrow, and we will hear what happened
in his third?

“You observe,’ said Mustapha, when the
pacha had retired, ‘my advice was good.’

“Most excellent !’ replied the renegade, hold-
ing out his hand for the money ; ‘ to-morrow
I'll lie like any barber.’

ee ee

CHAPTER VIE.

'* KHODA shefa midéhed—God gives relief !
cried ‘the pacha, as the divan closed; and,
certainly, during ‘its continuance many had
been relieved of their worldly goods, and one
or two from all future worldly thoughts or

wanderings. ‘What have we to-day, Musta-
pha ??
_ ‘May your highness’s shadow never be

less! replied the vizier. ‘Have we not the
slave who offered to lay his story at your sub-
lime feet, on the same evening that we met
those sons of Shitan—Ali and Hussan, who
received the punishment merited by their
enormous crimes? Have we not also the
manuscript of the Spanish slave, now trans-
lated by my faithful Greek; who tells me that
the words are flowing with honey, and their
music is equal to that of the bulbul when
singing to his favourite rose

- *And the Giaour who relates his voyages
and travels,’ interrupted the pacha—‘ where is
he? No kessehgou of our own race tells
stories like unto his.’

‘The Giaour is on the waters, your high-
ness, He is avery vustam on board of a ship,

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALBS.

it gain.

and brings wealth to the Aaznuek of your sub-
lime highness, He consulted ‘the astrologers,
and the stars were propitious.’ To-morrow,1
expect he will return.’ :

‘Well, then,’ we {must content’ ourselves
with what'is offered. Let the slave approach,
and we will listen to his story, since we can-
not have the wonderful tales of Huckaback.’

‘Whose dog was Lokman, to be compared
with your sublime highness in wisdom?’ re-
plied Mustapha. ‘What are the words of
Hafiz—'* Every moment that you enjoy, count
Who shall say what will be: the
event of anything ?””

The slave who had been detained by the

orders of Mustapha, was ordered to appear.
During his confinement, Mustapha had been
informed by his people thatyhegwas ‘visited
by Allah ; or: in other{words, that he was‘a
madman. Nevertheless, Mustapha—who was
afraid’ to release a man (or‘rather, a story)
without the consent’ of the pacha, and could
not send for the renegade to supply any defal-
cation—considered that, upon the whole, it
was better that he‘should be admitted to the
presence of the pacha.

‘You asked ime to hear your story,’ ob=

served the pacha, ‘and I have consented—not
to please you, but to please myself, because
I am fond of a good story; which I'take it for
granted yours will be, or you would not have
presumed to make the request.
may go on.’

Now you

‘Pacha,’ replied the slave, who had seated

himself in a corner, working his body back-
ward and forward,
those who not awaré—of the excitement which
—as I before stated to your highness—exceeds
in altitude the lofty and snow-covered peak of
Hebrus—and; nevertheless, cannot be worth
more than four or five paras——

‘it-is the misfortune of

‘Holy Prophet !'°wHat is all this? ‘inter-

rupted the pacha; ‘I cannot understand a
word that you say. °Do you laugh at our
beard ?
ber !’

Speak’more intelligibly. Remem-

“T remember it as if it were now,’ continued

the maniac, ‘although years have rolled away.
Never will it be effaced from’ my recolléction
while this heart, broken “as ‘itis; continues to
beat, or this brain maybe permitted to ‘burn.

‘The sun had just’ disappeared’behind the

rugged summits of the mountain which shel-
tered my abode from’ the unkind ‘north-east
wind ; the leaves of the vines'that hung in fes-
toons on the trellis before ‘my cottage, which,
but a minute before, pierced by: his ‘glorious
rays, had appeared so brilliant and trans-
parent, had now assumed a browner ‘shade,
and, as far as the eye could ‘reach, a thin blue
vapour was descending the ravine; the distant
sea had changed its'intense blue for a ‘sombre86

gray, while the surf rolled sullenly to the
beach, as ifin discontent that it could no longer
reflect the colours of the prism as before, when
it seemed to dance with joy under the brilliant
illumination of the god of day——’

‘Poof!’ ejaculated the pacha, fanning him-
self.

‘My boat was on the beach; my eyes were
fixed upon it in happy vacancy, until the
shades of night prevented my discerning the
nets which were spread upon its gunnel. I
turned round at the soft voice of my Etana,
who was seated near me with her infant in
her arms, and watching the little one’s impa-
tience, as it would demand a more rapid flow
of milk from that snowy breast, and the fond
smile of the delighted mother, as she bent
over the first dear pledge of our affection. I
felt happy—almost too happy; I had all I
wished—yes I had’—and the maniac paused
and smote his forehead; ‘but it is past now.’

After a second or two he resumed—

‘For my part it has always been my opinion
that when the wind backs to the south-east,
the fish repair to the deep water; and if you
will be careful when you gather the grapes not
to throw in the stalks, that the wine will, as I
before stated to your highness, only increase
the extreme difficulty of ascertaining how far
aman could conscientiously demand, that is
to say, in proportion to the degree of intellect,
stated at different intervals, “and extending
down the crags of the whole ravine.’

‘I cannot, ‘positively, understand a word of
all this ! exclaimed the pacha, with irritation;
‘can you, Mustapha ?’

‘How is it possible for your slave to com-
prehend that which is concealed from the
wisdom of your highness ?’

‘Very true,’ replied the pacha.

‘Your highness will understand it all by-
and-by,’ observed the maniac; ‘but it will be
necessary that you wait until I have finished
the story, when it will all reel off like a skein
of silk, which at present but appears to be
ravelled.’

‘Well then,’ replied the pacha, ‘I wish you
would begin at the end of your story, and
finish with the beginning. Now go on.

‘There is nought under Heaven so interest-
ing—so graceful——so pleasing to contemplate
as a young mother with her first-born at her
breast. ‘The soft lisps and caresses of child-
hood—the expanding graces of the budding
maiden—the blushing, smiling, yet trembling
bride, all lose in the comparison with woman
in her beauty, fulfilling her destiny on earth ;
her countenance radiating with those intense
feelings of delight, which 1 more than repay. her
for her previous hours of sorrow and anguish.
But I’m afraid J tire your highness.’

‘Wallah el Nebi !—by God and his Pro-

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY

   

TALES.

phet, you do indeed. Is it all to be liké
that 2’

‘No! pacha. I wish to Heaven that it had
been. Merciful God!—why didst thou permit

the blow ?—Was not I grateful ?-—-Were not
my eyes suffused with tears, springing from
gratitude and love, at the very moment when
they rushed in—when their murdering wea-
pons were pointed to my breast—when the
mother shrieked as they tore away the infant
as a useless incumbrance, and dashed it to the
ground—when I caught it up, and the pistol
of the savage Turks ‘put an end to its exis-
tence? I see it now, as I kissed the little
ruby fountain which bubbled from its heart :
I see her too, as they bore her away senseless
in their arms. Pacha, in one short minute I
was bereft of all—wife, child, home, liberty,
and reason; and here I am, a madman and
a slave !’

The maniac paused ; then starting upon his
feet, he commenced in a loud voice :—‘ But I
know who they were—I1 know them all, and I
know where she is too: and now, pacha, you
shall do me justice. This is he who stole my
wife ; this is he who murdered my child ; this
is he who keeps her from my arms : and thus
I beard him in your presence; and as he
finished his exclamations, he sprang upon the
terrified Mustapha, seizing him by the beard
with one hand, while, with the other, he beat
his turban about his head.

The guards rushed in, and rescued the
vizier from the awkward position in which he
was placed by his own imprudence, in permit-
ting the man to appear at the divan.

‘The rage of the pacha was excessive; and
the head of the maniac would have been sepe-
rated from his body, had it not been for the
prudence of Mustapha, who was aware that
the common people consider idiots and mad-
men to be under the special protection of
Heayen, and that such an act would be suffi-
cient to create an insurrection. At his inter-
cession, the man was taken away by the
guards, and not released until he was a consi-
derable distance from the palace.

‘ Allah karim !—God is merciful? exclaimed
the pacha as soonas the maniac had been
carried away. ‘I’m glad that he did not
think it was me who had his wife.’

‘Allah forbid that your highness should
have been so treated. He has almost ruined
the beard of your slave,’ replied the vizier,
adjusting the folds of his turban.

‘Mustapha, make a memorandum never
again to accept an offer. I’m convinced that
a volunteer story is worth nothing,’

‘Your highness speaks the truth—no man
parts readily with what is worth retaining—
gold is not kicked up with the sandal, nor
diamonds to be found glittering in the rays ofthe sun. If we would obtain them, we must
search and labour in the dark mine,—Will
your highness be pleased to hear the manu-
script which has been translated by the Greek
slave 2?

‘Be it so,’ replied the pacha, not in the
very best of humours.

The Greek made his appearance and made
his salutation, and then read as follows :-—~

MANUSCRIPT OF THE MONK,

hecording the Discovery of the Island of
Madeira.

Before I am summoned to that offended
tribunal, to propitiate which I have passed so
many years in penitence and prayer, let me
record for the benefit of others the history of
one, who, yielding to fatal passion, embittered
the remainder of his own days, and shortened
those of the adored partner of his guilt. Let
my confession be public, that warning may be
taken from my example ; and may the since-
rity with which [acknowledge my offence, and
the tears which I have shed, efface it from the
accumulated records of the wilfulness and dis-
obedience of man!

In a few days this attenuated frame will be
mingled with the dust from which it sprung,
and, scattered by the winds of heaven, or by
the labour of future generations, as chance
may dictate, will yield sustenance to the thistle
which wars against the fertility of nature, or
the grain which is the support of our existence,
—to the nightshade with its deadly fruit, or
the creeping violet with its sweet perfume.
The heart which has throbbed so tumultu-
ously with the extreme of love, and which has
been riven with the excess of woe, will shortly
pant no more. The mind which has been
borne down by the irresistible force of passion
—which has attempted to stem the torrent,
but in vain, and, since the rage of it has passed
away, has been left like the once fertile valley
which has been overflown, a waste of barren-
ness and desolation,—will shortly cease from
its wearied action. Ina few brief days I must
appear in the presence of an offended, yet
merciful Saviour, who, offering everything,
weeps at the insanity of our rejection. Let
then the confessions of Henrique serve as a
beacon to those who are inclined to yield to
the first impulse ; when, alarmed at the dis-
covery of their errors, they will find that con-
viction has arrived too late, and that, like me,
they will be irresistibly impelled against the
struggles of reason and of conscience.

Jam an Englishman by birth: my parents
were called away before I was five years old;
yet still I have a dreaming memory of my
mother—a faint recollection of one at whose

knees I usec, each night, to hold up my little

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

57

hands in orison, and who blessed her child as
she laid him to repose.

But I lost those whose precepts might have
been valuable to me in after-life, and was left
to the guardianship of one who thought that,
in attending to my worldly interests, he ful-
filled the whole duty which was required of
him. My education was not neglected, but
there was no one to advise me upon points of
more serious importance. Naturally of a
fiery and impatient temper,—endued with a
perseverance which was only increased by the
obstacles which presented themselves, I en-
couraged any feeling to be working in my
mind in preference to repose, which was hate-
ful. . To such excess did it arrive as I grew
up, that difficulty and danger, even pain and
remorse, were preferable to that calm sun-
shine of the breast which others consider so
enviable. I could exist but by strong sensa-
tions : remove them, and I felt as does the
habitual drunkard in the morning, until his
nerves have been again stimulated by a repe-
tition of his draughts. My pursuits were of
the same tendency ; constant variety and
change of scene were what I coveted. I felt
a desire ‘to be imprisoned in the viewless
winds, and blown with restless violence about
the pendent world.’ At night I was happy ;
for as soon as sleep had sealed my eyes, I in-
variably dreamt that I had the power of
aérostation, and, in my imagination, cleaved
through the air with the strength of an eagle,
soaring above my fellow-creatures, and look-
ing down upon them and their ceaseless
drudgery with contempt.

To a mind thus constituted by nature, and
unchecked by counsel, it is not surprising
that the darling wish and constant idea was
to roam. the world; and the vast ocean,
which offered to me the means of gratifying
my passion, was an object of love and adora-
tion. If I had not the wings of the eagle,
with which fancy had supplied me in my
dreams, still I could fly before the wings of
the wind, and, as in my aérial excursions
when asleep, leave no track behind. Assoon
as I had arrived at the age which allowed me
to take possession of my property, I sought
the element so congenial to my dispasition.
For some years I continued the profession,
and was fortunate in my speculations; but I
cared little for gain ; my delight was in roving
from clime to clime, flying before the gale,—
in looking with defiance at the vast mountain-
ous seas which threatened to overwhelm me, —
in the roaring of the wind,—in the mad raging
of the surf, —in the excitement of battle, evenin
the destruction and disasters of the wreck.

It may be a source of astonishment that I
arrived at the age of thirty without ever
feeling the sensation of love; but so it was.This most powerful of excitements, which
was so. to influence my future existence, had
not yet been called into action ; but it was
roused at last, and, like the hurricane, swept
everything before it in ruin and desolation.
I was at Cadiz, where I, had arrived with a
valuable cargo, when it was proposed that I
should witness the ceremony of taking the
White Veil. As the young woman who pro-
fessed was of a noble family, and the solem-
nity was to be conducted with the greatest
splendour, I consented. The: magnificent
decorations of the church, the harmony of the
singing, the solemn pealing of the organ, the
splendid robes of ‘the priests in contrast with
the sombre humility of the friars and nuns,
the tossing of the censers, the ascending
clouds of frankincense, and above all, the
extreme beauty of the fair devotee, —produced
feelings of interest which I had not imagined
could have been raised from any description
of pageantry. When. the ceremony was
over, I quitted the church with new and
powerful sensations, which at the time I
could not precisely analyze. But when I lay
down on my. couch, I perceived that, although
the splendour of the rites were but faint in
my recollection, the image of the sweet girl
kneeling before the altar was engraven on my
heart. I felt an uneasiness, a restlessness, a
vacuum in my bosom, which, like that in the
atmosphere, is the forerunner of the tempest.
T could not sleep ; but, tossing from one side
to the other during the whole night, rose the
next morning, feverish and unrefreshed.

, Following, as usual, the impulse of my
feelings, I repaired to, her relative, who had
taken me to witness the ceremony, and per-
suaded him to introduce me at the wicket of
the convent.

_ As. she had yet, one year of probation pre-
vious to her taking the final vows, which
were for ever to seclude her from the world,
in seeing her there was no difficulty. Her
duteous resignation to the will of her parents;
her. serene and beautiful cotintenance, her
angelic smile,—all contributed to the increase
of my passion ; and, after an hour’s conversa-
tion, I left her with my heart in a state of
tumult, of which it is not easy to express the
idea. .My visits were repeated again and
again, In a short time I declared my senti-
ments, and found that I was listened to
without ,offending. Before I quitted Cadiz,
which my, engagements rendered imperative,
I obtained from her a reciprocal acknowledg-
ment. And as there was still nine months to
pass. away previous to her decision upon a
monastic life, before that period had elapsed
I faithfully promised to return and claim her
as my own. As we professed the same faith,

and she had only been sacrificed that the

 

THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

possessions of her brother’ might not*be
diminished by the fortune which her’marriageé”
would. require, I did not anticipate any ob-"
jections from her parents.’ I’ required ‘ho’
dower,. having more than sufficient to supply
her with every luxury.. We parted: our
hands trembled as we locked our fingers’
through the grating ; our tears fell, but could
not be mingled ; our lips quivered, but could
not meet; our hearts were beating with ex-
cess of love, but I could not strain her in my
embrace. ‘In three:months more, Rosina !’
exclaimed I, as I walked backward from the
grating, my eyes still fixed uponher. ‘Till
then farewell, Henrique! Relying upon your
faith and honour, I shall not hesitate’ to
cherish your dear image in my heart;’ and,
overcome by her feelings, Rosina burst into
tears and hurried from my sight. -

I sailed with prosperous gales, and arrived’
safely at my own country. My ventures were’
disposed of, I realized a large sum ‘of money,
had completed all my arrangements, and in’
a few days intended to return to Cadiz to
fulfil my engagement with Rosina. I was in
the metropolis, impatiently waiting for the re-
mainder of the freight to be put on board of
the vessel in which I had taken my passage,
when one evening as I was sauntering in the
park, anticipating the bliss of rejoming the
object of my affection, I was rudely pushed’
aside by a personage richly. attired, who was
escorting two of the ladies of the court. Fired
at the insult, and as usual acting upon the
first impulse, I struck him in the face and
drew my sword—forgetting at the time that I
was in the precincts of the palace. 1 was
seized and imprisoned; my offence was capital;
my adversary a relation of the king’s.’ 1
offered a large sum for my release ; but when
they found out that Iwas wealthy, they re+
jected as I increased my offers, until’ 1 was
compelled to sacrifice one half of my worldly
possessions to escape from the severity of the
Star Chamber, But the loss of property was
nothing; I had still more than enough: it'was
the dreadful length of my confinement, dur-
ing which anxiety had swelled hours into days,
and days into months of torture and ‘suspense.
I had been incarcerated more than a year be-
fore I could obtain my release. When in my
imagination I conjured up Rosina lamenting
my infidelity, reproaching me in her solitude
for my broken vows, and (there was madness
in the very thought) yielding in her resentment
and her grief to the solicitations of her parents,
and taking the veil,—I was frantic; I tore my
hair, beat the walls of my prison, raved for
liberty, and offered to surrender up every
shilling that I possessed.

_ ‘By the beard of the Prophet this tires me,’exclaimed
dismissed.

The Greek slave bowed, and retired.

the pacha, ‘Murakhas, you are

 

CHAPTER, VIII.

THE next morning the pacha observed to
Mustapha, ‘ I have been thinking whether, as
we have no story, it would not be as well to
let the Greek finish the story of yesterday even-
ing.

“True, O pacha,’ replied Mustapha, ‘ better
is hard fare than no food—if we cannot in-
dulge in the pilau, we must content ourselves
with boiled rice.’

‘It is well said, Mustapha, so let him pro-
ceed.’

The Greek slave was then ordered in, and
recommenced as follows :—

Freedom was obtained at last; I flew to
the sea-coast, chartered a small vessel, and
chiding the winds as we scudded along, be-
cause they would not blow with a force equal
to my impetuous desires, arrived at Cadiz. It
was late in the evening when ? disembarked
and repaired to the convent; so exhausted was
I by contending hopes and fears, that it was
with difficulty I could support my own weight.
T tottered to the wicket, and demanded my
-Rosina.

‘ Are you'a near relation,’ inquired, the por-
tress, ‘that you request the presence of a sis-
ter? © Her interrogation decided the point ;
Rosina had taken the veil, had abjured the
world and me for ever. My brain reeled, and
I fell senseless on the pavement. Alarmed at
the circumstance, the portress ran to the lady
sabbess, informing her that a person had asked
for sister Rosina, and receiving her answer,
-had fallen senseless at the wicket. Rosina
Was present at the narration; her heart told
her who it was; also told her that I had
not been faithless, Joy at my fidelity, and
‘grief at her own. precipitaney, which ren-
dered it unavailing, overpowered her, and she
was led to ther cell in a state as pitiable as
mine.

~ When I recovered my senses, I found my-
self in bed. I had been there for weeks in
a State of mental alienation. With reason
and memory, misery returned; but I was no
Jonger in the frenzy of excitement ; my mind
was. as exhausted as my body, and I. felt a
“Species of calm despair. Convinced that all
gwas lost, that an insuperable bar was placed

between Rosina and me, I reasoned myself ;

into a kind of philosophy ;,and. resolved, as
soon'as I could recover my, strength, to fly
from a place which had been: the scene of so

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

59

much anticipated happiness, and of so. much
real woe.

One desire still remained; it was to see
Rosina previous to my departure, that I might
explain the cause of my delay. -Conviction
told me that it was wrong ; but.the impulse I
could not resist: had I not yielded to it, I
should have been unfortunate, but not guilty.
I wrote to her, upbraiding her for her pre-

cipitation, and imploring a final interview:
Her answer was affecting—it brought showers
of tears from my eyes, and again inflamed my
love. The interview was refused, as it could
be productive of no beuefit, and would only
call forth feelings in opposition ‘to. her duty;
but it was so kindly, so gently negatived,
that it was evident her inclination was at
variance with her; pen; and on my repeating
the request, as a proof that her affection had
been. sincere, she unwillingly acceded.

We met—for our misery—for our guilt, we
met.—From that moment, I resolved never to
abandon her—religion, virtue, morality, every
feeling was borne away by the reappearance-
of the object of my adoration; and before the
interview was over, I again dared to breathe’
vows of fidelity to one who had devoted her-'
self to God. ‘This cannot be, Henrique,’
said Rosina: ‘we must meet no more: reflect,
and you will be convinced of its impropriety.
No dispensation from the vow will be per-
mitted by my parents—all hopes! ‘of union in
this world are over—Oh! may we meet in
heaven !’ and she clasped ‘her hands in anguish
as she disappeared.

I returned home,. every ‘pulse beating to
madness, Again I addressed her, imploring
another meeting ; but received a firm denial. '
So far from being baffled at this addition to:
the obstacles which presented themselves, it
but increased my determination: to surmount
them: To overcome her duty to her parents,
to induce her to trample on her vows to God,
to defy the, torments of the Inquisition, ‘to
release her from. bolts, and bars, to escape
from a fortified and crowded city—each and
every difficulty but inflamed my ardour—every
appeal of conscience but added to my wilful
determination.

Although hitherto I had abhorred deceit,
my first act was’ one of duplicity: I wrote to
her, stating that I had. been permitted an
interview with. her friends, and! had made
known to them what had passed ; that they
had listened. to. me, and were disposed to

yield ; and although it was kept a-secret from
her, in a few months her vows would be dis-
pensed with.

How cruel—how. selfish: was my conduct !
but.it answered my intention, Buoyed ‘up

 

with the prospect of future happiness, Rosina

no longer struggled against the fatal passion60

—no lotigér refused to see me, and listen to
my vows of eternal fidelity. Deeper and
deeper did she drink of the intoxicating
draught, until it had effaced from her mind,
as it had already done from mine, every other
Sensation than that of love. Although I could
have kissed the ground which she trod upon,
and have suffered the torments of a martyr for
her sake, it was with the pleasure of a demon
that I witnessed my success, and hailed her
falling off from religion and from virtue.

Six months had passed away, during which,
by bribes to the portress, and the yielding of
my mistress, I had contrived to obtain admit-
tance by night into the convent garden. One
evening I informed her that her parents,
menaced by their confessor, had rescinded
their promise to me, and had decided upon
not obtaining her dispensation. Everything
had been prepared, that she might have no
time for reflection; hurried away by her own
feelings, my persuasions, and my protestations,
she consented to fly with me to my own coun-
try. I bore the trembling, fainting girl in my
arms—effected ‘my escape from the convent
and the city—embarked on board of a vessel
which I had ready to weigh at a moment’s
warning, and was soon far distant from the
port of Cadiz.

It was near midnight when we embarked,
and I bore my treasure down into the cabin
of the vessel, muffled up in my cloak. Her
nun’s dress had not been laid aside, for I had
not provided myself with any other change of
raiment.

Before morning it blew fresh. Rosina, who,
as well as I, had abandoned herself to that
powerful love which engrossed us, lay sup-
ported in my arms, when the captain of the
vessel, coming down to speak to me, perceived
that she was arrayed in the religious attire.
He started when he viewed it, and hastily’
quitted the cabin. JI had apresentiment that
all was not right, and removing my arms from
Rosina, repaired on deck, where I found him
in consultation with the crew. The subject in
agitation was their immediate return to Cadiz
to deliver us to the Inquisition. I resisted the
suggestion, claimed the vessel as my own,
having chartered her, and threatened imme-
diate death to any one who should attempt to
alter her course ; but it was in vain. Their
horror at the sacrilege, and their fear of being
implicated in, and suffering the dreadful pe-
nalties attending it, bore down all my argu-
ments ; my promises and my threats were
alike disregarded.

I was seized, overpowered, and the vessel
steered in for land. I raved, stamped, and
imprecated in vain; at last I declared that we
all should suffer together, as I would denounce

them as having been aware of my intentions,

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  

 

and state that it was only in consequence of
my having refused to submit to further extor-
tion, that they had not fulfilled their agree-
ment. ‘This startled them; for they knew
that the Inquisition gladly seized upon all
pretexts ; and that even if not convicted, their
imprisonment would be long. Again they
consulted; and heaving the vessel to the
wind, they hoisted out the long-boat. Having
thrown into hera scanty supply of provisions
and water, with a few necessaries, they brought
up the terrified Rosina from the cabin, and,
placing her in the boat, released and ordered
me to follow. As soon as I was in the boat,
they cut the rope by which it was towed, and
we were soon left at a distance astern.

Glad to escape from the cruelty of man, I
cared little for the danger to which we were
subjected from the elements. I consoled my
frightened Rosina; I stepped the mast, hoisted
the sail, and steered in a southerly direction,
with the intention of landing on some part of
the African coast. So far from being alarmed
at my situation, I felt happy. I was in a frail
bark ; but I had within it all that I cared for
in this world. I sailed I knew not where, but
Rosina was in my company ; I felt the uncer-
tainty of our fate, but was more than compen-
sated by the certainty of possession. The
wind rose, the sea ran high, and curled in
threatening foam; we darted with rapidity
before it ; and steering with one arm, while
Rosina was clasped in the other, I delighted
in our romantic situation ; and, pleased with
the excitement which it created, I was blind
to the danger which we encountered.

For six days we ran before the wind, when
an accumulation of clouds upon the southern
horizon indicated that we should have a
change. I had no compass in the boat, but
had stecred by the sun during the day, and
by the stars during the night. I now con-
sidered myself well to the southward, and
determined upon running eastward, that I
might gain the African shore; but the gale
was too strong to permit me to bring the
broadside of my small bark to the wind, and
I was compelied to continue my course ina
southerly direction.

For the first time, a sensation of alarm
came over me: we had but two days’ more
sustenance, and Rosina was worn out by con-
stant exposure. I myself felt the necessity of
repose: it was with difficulty that I could
keep my eyelids raised ; every minute Nature
demanded her rights, and I nodded at the
helm.

I was in a melancholy reverie, when I
thought that I perceived, as the clouds on the
horizon occasionally opened, something that
had the appearance of the summit of a preci-

pice. They closed again; I watched themWith anxiety until they gradually rolled away,
and discovered a lofty island, covered with
trees and verdure down to the water’s edge.
I shouted with delight, and pointed it out to
Rosina, who answered my exultations with a
faint smile. My blood curdled at the expres-
sion of her countenance : for many hours she
had been in deep thought; and I perceived
that the smile was forced to please me, the
intelligence I had imparted affording her but
little pleasure. 1 ascribed it to weariness and
exhaustion ; and hoping soon to be able to
relieve her, I steered direct for the only part
of the shore which promised us a safe descent.
In an hour I was close to it ; and, anxious to
land before dark, I steered the boat with the
sail hoisted, through the surf, which was much
heavier than I expected. As soon as her
bow struck the beach, the boat was thrown
on her broadside, and it required all my exer-
tion to save my beloved, which I did not effect
without our being completely washed by the
surf, which, in a few minutes, dashed the boat
to pieces. I bore her to a cave at a short dis-
tarice from where we landed ; and, wrapping
-her up in a cloak which I had saved from the
boat, took away her nun’s attire, and exposed
it to dry in the powerful rays of the sun. iE
went in search of food, which I soon obtained:
banana and cocoa-nuts grew in profusion and
in beauty, and fresh water ran down in noisy
rills. I bore them to her, and congratulated
her that we were now beyond all pursuit, and
in a spot which promised to supply us with all
that we required. She smiled languidly ; her
thoughts were elsewhere. Her clothes were
dry, and I brought them to her: she shud-
dered at the sight of them, and seemed to
muster up her resolution before she could put
them on. Night closed in upon us, and we
remained in the cave: our bed was formed of
the cloaks and the sail of the boat; and,
locked in each other’s arms, separated from
all the world, and living but for each other,
we fell asleep. The morning broke: not a
cloud was to be seen through the blue ex-
panse. We walked out, and dwelt in silent
admiration upon the splendour of the scene.
The island was clothed in beauty ; the sun
poured his genial rays upon the wild fertility
of nature: the birds were warbling forth their
notes of joy; the sea was calm and clear
as a mirtor, reflecting the steep hills which
towered above each other. ‘ Here then, Ro-
sina,’ cried I, at last, with rapture, ‘we have
all that we require, blessed in each other’s
love.’

Rosina burst into tears: ‘All—all, Hen-
rique, except an approving conscience, with-
out which L feel that I cannot live. I love
you—love you dearly—dote upon you, Hen-
rique : you cannot doubt it, after all that has

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
    

61

occurred : but now that the delirium of pas-
sion has subsided, conscience has been busy
—too busy, for it has embittered all; and I
feel that happiness is flown for ever. I wedded
myself to God; I chose my Saviour as my
spouse; I vowed myself to him—was received
by him at the altar; and I abandoned this
world for that which is to come. What have
I done? I have been unfaithful to him—left
him, to indulge a worldly passion ; sacrificed
eternity for perishable mortality ; and there is
a solemn voice within that tells me I am an
outcast from all heavenly joys. Bear with
me, dear Henrique! I mean not to reproach
you, but I must condemn myself; I feel that I
shall not long remain here, but be summoned
before an offended Lord.

‘Merciful Saviour !’ cried she, falling on her
knees with imploring eyes to heaven, ‘ punish
him not—pardon him his faults; for what are
they compared to mine? He made no vows,
he has committed no infidelity,—he is not the
guilty one. Spare him, O Lord, and justly
punish her who has seduced nim into crime !’

My heart smote me; I threw myself on the
ground, and wept bitterly. I felt that it had
been my duplicity which had destroyed her
virtuous resolutions; my selfishness which had
ruined her peace of mind and had plunged
her into guilt. She knelt by me, persuading
me to rise, curbing her own feelings as she
kissed the tears from my cheeks, promising
never to wound my peace again. But it was
gone—gone for eyer ; my crime burst on me
in all its magnitude; I felt that I had been
guilty of a grievous and unpardonable sin, and
had ruined the one I loved as well as myself.
She was still on her knees: kneeling by her
side, I prayed to offended Heaven for mercy
and forgiveness. She joined me in my fervent
aspirations ; and, with the tears of repentance
flowing down our cheeks, we remained some
time in the attitude of supplication. At last
we rose. ‘Do you not feel happier, Rosina 2?’
inquired I. Rosina smiled mournfully in reply,
and we returned to the cave.

Kor many hours we spoke not, but remained
in sad communion with ours own thoughts.
The night again closed in, and we lay down
to repose ; and, as I clasped her in my arms,
I felt that she shuddered, and withdrew. I
released her, and retired to the other side of
the cave, for I knew her feelings and respected
them. From that hour she was no more to
me than a dear and injured sister; and,
although her frame hourly wasted away, her
spirits seemed gradually to revive. ~. At the
expiration of a fortnight, she was too much
reduced to rise from her bed; and I passed
day and night sitting by her side in repentance
and in tears, for I knew that she was dying.
A few hours before she breathed her last, she62

appeared to recover a little, and thus ad-
dressed me :—

‘Henrique, within this hour a balm has
been poured into my breast, for a voice tells
me we are both forgiven. Great is our crime,
but our repentance has been sincere; and I
feel assured that we shall meet in heaven.
For your kindness—for your unceasing love,
you have nay thanks, and an attachment which
Heaven does not forbid, for now it is pure.
We have sinned, and we have pleaded and
obtained our pardon together ; together shall
we be hereafter. Bless you, Henrique! pray
for my soul, still clinging to its earthly love,
but pardoned by Him who knows our imper-
fection. Pure Mother of God, plead for me!
Holy Saviour, who despised not the tears and
contrition of the Magdalen, receive an unfaith-
ful but repentant spouse unto your bosom ;
for when I made my vow, thou knowest that
my heart——’

With what agony of grief did I hang over
the body! with what bitter tears did I wash
the clay-cold face, so beautiful, so angelic in
its repose! In the morning, I dug her grave:
and cleansing my hands, which were bleeding
from ihe task, returned to the corpse, and
-bore it, in its nun’s attire, to the receptacle
which I had prepared. I laid it in, and col-
lecting the flowerets which blossomed round,
strewed them over, and watched till sunset ;
when I covered her up, laying the earth in
small handfuls as lightly on her dear remains
as the mother would the coverlid upon her
sleeping babe. Long it was before I could
prevail on myself to veil that heavenly face, or
-hide it from my aching eyes. When If had, It
felt that Rosina was indeed no more, and that
I was indeed alone.

For two years I remained in solitude. TI
erected a rude chapel over her grave, and
there passed my days in penance and contri-
tion. Vessels belonging to other nations
visited the island, and returning home with
the intelligence, it was taken possession of
and colonized. Yo their astonishment, they
found me; and, when I narrated my story
and my wishes, allowed mea passage to their
country. Once more J embarked on the track-
less wave, no longer my delight ; and as the
shore receded, I watched the humble edifice
which I had raised over the remains of my
Rosina : it appeared to me as if a star had set-
tled over the spot, and I hailed it as a harbin-
ger of grace. When I landed, I repaired to

the convent to which I now belong; and,
taking the vows of abstinence and mortifica-
tion, have passed the remainder of my days in
masses for the soul ofmy Rosina, and prayers
for my own redemption.

Such is the history of Henrique ; and may
it be a warning to those who allow their rea-

 

   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 

THE PACHA‘ OF MANY TALES.

son to be seduced by passion, and check not
the first impulse towards wrong, when con-
science dictates that they are straying. from
the'paths of virtue }

‘Holy Allah ! exclaimed the pacha, yawn-
ing; ‘is this the bulbul singing to the rose ?
What is it all about, Mustapha? or what is it
written for, but to send one asleep? Murak-
has, you are dismissed,’ continued the pacha
to the Greek slave, who retired.

Mustapha, who perceived that the pacha
was disappointed in the entertainment of the
evening, immediately addressed’ him :—‘ The
soul of your sublime highness is sad, and the
mind is wearied.. What says the sage ?—and
are not his words of more value than large
pearls ?>—‘‘ When thou art sick and thy mind
is heavy, send for wine. Drink, and thank
Allah that he has given relief.’’ ’

‘Wallah thaib !—it is well said,’ replied the
pacha. ‘Is not the ‘‘fire-water” of the
Franks to be obtained ?’

‘Is not the earth, and what the earth con-
tains, made for your sublime highness ?’ re-
plied Mustapha, drawing from his vest a bot-.
tle of spirits.

‘God is great !’ said the pacha, taking the
bottle from his mouth, after a long draught,
and handing it to his vizier.

‘God is most merciful !’ replied Mustapha,
recovering his breath, and wiping down his
beard with the sleeve of his kaladt, as he re-
spectfully passed the bottle over to: his su-
perior.

CHAPTER: IX.

‘HHAM dillah! Praise be to God!’ ex-
claimed the pacha, as the divan closed. ‘Vhis
is dry work, hearing petitions for three hours,
and not a sequin to my treasury. Mustapha,
has the renegade come back ?”

‘The kafir waits to kiss the dust of your sub-
lime feet,’ replied the vizier.

‘Let him approach, then, Mustapha,’ said
the pacha, joyfully; and the renegade im-
mediately made his appearance.

“Kosh amedeid ! you are welcome, Hucka-
back. We haye had our ears poisoned since
you quitted us. I forget where it was that
you left off.’

‘May it please your highness, at the end-
ing of my Second Voyage, in which——’

‘I remember—when the Frankish woman-
god stopped the leak. You may proceed.’

The renegade bowed, and commenced his
third voyage as follows :-—

‘TI believe that I stated to your highness, at
the end of my Second Voyage, I determined tego to Toulon, and make some inquiry after
my dear Cerise.’

‘I recollect you did,’ interrupted the pacha;
‘but I tell you again, as I told you before,
that I want to know nothing about her. Have
the goodness to skip all that part, or it will be
five sequins out of your girdle.’

“Your highness shall be obeyed,’ replied
the renegade ; who, after musing a short time,
continued :—

THIRD VOYAGE OF HUCKABACK.

I was so affected at the intelligence of
Cerise having destroyed herself, that I found
it impossible to remain onshore. Having met
with the captain of a whaler, who expatiated
on the fortune which might be realized by em-
barking in the speculation, I purchased a
large ship and fitted it out for a voyage to
Baffin's Bay. This consumed all the money
I had left; but as I expected to return with ten
times the sum, I made no scruple of parting
with it.

My crew consisted of about thirty men, all
strong fellows ; ten of them Englishmen, and
the remainder from my own country We
stood to the northward until we reached the
ice, which floated high as mountains, and
steering in between it, we at last came to a fine
open water, where a large quantity of whales
were blowing in every direction. Our boats
were soon hoisted out, and we were extremely
fortunate, having twenty-three fish on board
and boiled down before the season was over.

I now considered my fortune made ; and
the ship being full up to the beams, we made
all sail to return home. But a heavy gale
came on from the southward, which drove all
the ice together, and our ship with it, and’ we
were in great danger of being squeezed to
atoms. Fortunately, we made fast in a bight.
on the lee side of a great iceberg, which pre-
served us, and we anxiously awaited for the ter-
mination of the gale, to enable us to proceed.
But when the gale subsided, a hard frost came
on, and we were completely frozen up where
we lay. The ice formed round to the depth
of several feet, and lifted the ship, laden as
she was, out of the water.

The English, who were experienced fisher-
men, told us that we had no chance of being
released until next spring. I ascended to the
masthead, and perceived that for miles, as far
as the eye could scan the horizon, there was

nothing but one continued succession of ice-
bergs and floes inseparably united. Despair-
ing, therefore, of any release until the cold
weather should break up, I made all arrange-
ments for remaining during the winter. Our
provisions were very short, and we were obliged
to make use of whale-oil; but it soon pro-

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v

duced such dysenteries, that it was no longer
resorted to.

After two months, the cold became intense,
and our fuel ran short. At the end of three
months the crew complained of scurvy, and
could not move about the decks. At the end
of the fourth month, they had all died except
the chief harpooner—a fat porpoise of an
Englishman, and myself.

The bodies remained on the deck, for the
cold was so intense that they would not have
been tainted for centuries ; and, as at the end
of five months the provisions were all ex-
pended, we were again obliged to resort to
the whale-oil.

The whale-oil produced a return of our
complaints, and having no other resource, we
were forced by imperious hunger to make our
repasts from one of the bodies of our dead
shipmates. They were so hard, that it was
with difficulty that we could sepatate a por-
tion with an axe, and the flesh broke off in
fragments, as if we had been splitting a piece
of granite; but it thawed before the fire, which
we had contrived to keep alive by supplying
it from the bulwarks of the quarter-deck,
which we cut away as we required them. The
old harpooner and I lived together on the
best terms for a month, during which we sel-
dom quitted the cabin of the vessel, having now
drawn down the third dead body, which we
cut up as we required it with less difficulty
than before, from the change in the weather.

The ice continued breaking up, and all
day and night we were startled at the loud
crashing which took place, as the icebergs
separated from each other. But my disgust
atfeeding upon human flesh produced a sort
of insanity. I had always been partial to
good eating, and was by no means an indiffe-
rent cook ; and I determined to try whether
something more palatable could not be pro-
vided for our meals; the idea haunted me
day and night, and at last I imagined myself
a French restaurateur; I tied a cloth before
me as an apron, put on a cotton nightcap m-
stead of my fur cap, and was about to makea
trial of my skill, when I discovered that I
had no lard, no fat of any kind except train-
oil, which I rejected as not being suitable to
the’ ‘cuzsine Hrancaise. My messmates
who lay dead, were examined one by one;
but they had fallen away so much previous to
their decease, that not a symptom of fat was to
be perceived. Without fat I could do nothing ;
and as I thought of itin despair, my eye was
caught by the rotundity of paunch which still

appertained to the English harpooner, the
only living being besides myself out of so many.
‘IT must have fat,’ cried I, fiercely, as I sur-
veyed his unweildly carcass. He siarted64

when he observed the rolling of my eyes ;
and perceiving that I was advancing towards
him, sharpening my knife, he did not think it
‘prudent to trust himself longer in my com-
pany. Snatching up two or three blankets,
he ran on deck, and contrived to ascend to
the main-top before I could follow him.
There he held me at bay, and I continued
watching him from below with my large
carving-knife in my hand, which I occasionally
whetted. He remained aloft all night, and
so did I on deck, to get possession of him
when he should descend. Iwas so eager in
my frenzy to obtain him, that I felt neither
cold nor hunger ; the weather during the day
was now warm enough to be pleasant, but the
nights were piercing. My fat shipmate re-
mained in the top for three days and nights,
during which period I never removed from my
post. At the close of the third day he looked
over the top brim, and implored my mercy.
When he showed himself, I hardly knew him,
so much had he wasted away; and it then
struck me that if he remained aloft much
longer he would have no more fat than the
others, and would not serve my purpose.
I therefore pledged him my honour that I
would not attempt his life for ten days ; and as
he was perishing with the cold, he agreed to the
armistice, and once more descended to thé deck.
But I was saved the crime of murder, for he
was So ravenous when he came down, that he
ate nearly the whole of a man’s leg, and died
from repletion during the night. I cannot
express to your highness the satisfaction that I
felt at finding that the carcass of the har-
pooner was in my possession. I surveyed my
treasure over and over again with delight. I
could now cook my French dishes. He was
soon dissected, and all his unctuous parts
carefully melted down, and I found that I had
a stock which would last me as long as the
bodies which I had remaining to exercise my
skil upon. ‘The first day I succeeded: admir-
ably. I cooked my dishes ; and when they
were ready, I took off my nightcap and
apron, passed my fingers through my hair,
and fancied myselfa garcon at a restaurateur's.
T laid the cloth, put the dishes on the table,
and when it was complete, went on deck and
then returned as the doz vivant who had
ordered the dinner,

Never was any meal so delicious to my in-
sane fancy. I devoured everything which I
cooked, and drank water for champagne. I
meditated upon what I should haye for din-
ner on the ensuing day, and then retired to
my bed. _ In the meantime the ice had sepa-

rated, and the ship was again afloat; but I
cared not ; all my ideas were concentrated in
the pleasures of the table ; and the next morn-
ing I went on deck to obtain a piece of meat,

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

when I was astonished at a terrific growl. Y¥
turned my head and perceived an enormous
white bear, who was making sad depredations
in my larder, having nearly finished the whole
body of one of my dead shipmates. He was
as large as an ox, so large that when he made
a rush at me, and I slipped down the ladder,
he could not follow me. I again looked up,
and perceived that he had finished his meal.
After walking round the decks two or three
times, smelling at everything, he plunged
overboard and disappeared.

Glad to be rid of so unpleasant a visitor, I
came up, and cutting off the meat I required,
again exerted my cookery, was again satisfied,
and went to sleep. I never felt so happy as
I then did in my insane condition. All I
thought of, all I wished, I could command—
my happiness was concentrated in eating my
fellow-creatures, cooked in a proper manner,
instead of the usual method of bolting them
down to satisfy the cravings of imperious hun-
ger. I woke the next morning as usual, and
when I crawled on deck, was again saluted
with the angry growl of the bear, who was
busy making a repast upon another body :
when he had finished, he plunged into the sea
as before.

I now thought it high time to put an end to
these depredations on my larder, which in a
few days would have left mie destitute. My
invention was called into action, and I hit
upon a plan which I thought would succeed.
I dragged all the bodies to the afterpart of the
quarter-deck, and blocked it up before the
cabin-hatch with swabs and small sails, So as
to form a sort of dam about eight inches high.
I then went below, and brought up forty or
fifty buckets of train-oil, which I poured upon
the deck abaft, so that it was covered with oil
to the height of several inches. On the en-
suing morning the bear came as I expected,
and commenced his repast ; I had stationed
myself aloft, in the mizen-top, with several
buckets of oil, which I poured upon him. His
fur was otherwise well saturated with what he
had collected when he lay down on the deck
to devour one of the bodies more at his ease.
When I had poured all my buckets of oil over
him but one, | threw the empty buckets down
uponhim. ‘This enraged him, and he mounted
the rigging to be revenged. I waited until
he had arrived at the futtock shrouds, when I
poured my last bucket upon him, which quite
blinded him, and then gained the deck by
sliding down the back stays on the opposite
side,

A bear can climb fast, but it is very slow in
its descent—-the consequence was, that I had
plenty of time for my arrangements. Tran
below, and lighting a torch of oakum, which
Thad prepared in readiness, placed it to hishinder quarters as he descended. The effect
was exactly what I had anticipated ; his thick
fur, covered in every part with oil, was imme-
diately in a blaze, and burnt with such rapidity,
that before he could recover his feet on deck,
he was like an immense ball of fire. I re-
treated to the companion-hatch to watch his
motions. His first act was to return to the
quarter-deck and roll himself in the oil,
with an idea of quenching the flames; but
this added fuel to them, and the animal roar-
ing in his agony at last jumped into the sea
and disappeared.

Having thus rid myself of my intruder, I
returned to my cooking. The ship was now
clear of ice, the weather was warm, the bodies
of my shipmates emitted a fetid smell, but I
saw and smelt nothing ; all that I observed
was that the barley which had been scattered
on the deck by the fowls, had sprung up about
the decks, and I congratulated myself upon
the variety it would give to my culinary pur-
suits. I continued to cook, to eat, and to
sleep as before, wher a circumstance occurred,
which put an end to all my culinary madness.
One night I found the water washing by the
side of my standing bed-place in the cabin,
and jumping out in alarm to ascertain the
cause, I plunged over head and ears. The
fact was, that the ship when lifted by the
ice, had sprung a leak, which had gra-
dually filled her without my perceiving it. My
fear of drowning was so great, that I ran into
the very danger which I would have avoided.
I darted out of the cabin windows into the sea,
whereas, had I gone upon deck, I should have
been safe; for a little reflection might have
told me that a vessel laden with oil could not
have sunk ; but reflection came too late, and,
benumbed with the coldness of the waters, I
could have struggied but a few seconds more,
when I suddenly came in contact with a spar
somewhat bigger thana boat's mast. I seized
it to support myself, and was surprised at
finding it jerked from me occasionally, as if
there was somebody else who had hold of it,
and who wished to force me to let it go; but
it was quite dark, and I could distinguish
nothing. I clung to it until daylight appeared,
when what was my horror to perceive an enor-
mous shark close to me. I nearly let go my
hold and sunk, so paralyzed was I with fear.
I anticipated every moment to feel his teeth
crushing me in half, and I shat my eyes, that
I might not add to the horrors of my death by
being a witness to the means. Some minutes
had elapsed, which appeared to me as so
many hours, when, surprised at being still
alive, I ventured to open myeyes. Theshark
was still at the same distance from me, and on
examination I perceived that the boat's mast
or spar, to which I was clinging, had been

   

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  
  
  
  
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
  
 

65

passed through his nose in a transverse direc-
tion, being exactly balanced on either side.
The shark was of the description found in the
North Seas, which is called by the sailors the
blind shark. I now perfectly understood that
he had been caught and spritsail-yarded, as
the seamen term it, and then turned adrift for
their diversion. The buoyancy of the spar
prevents the animal from sinking down under
the water; and this punishmentof their dreaded
enemy is a very favourite amusement of sailors.

I summoned up all my courage, and being
tired of holding on by the spar, resolved to
mount upon his back, which I accomplished
without difficulty, and I found the seat on his
shoulders before the dorsal fin, not only secure
but very comfortable. The animal, unaccus-
tomed to carry weight, made several attempts
to get rid of me, but not being able to sink, I
retained my seat. He then increased his velo-

_city, and we went on over a smooth sea at the

rate of about three knots an hour. For two
days I continued my course to the southward,
upon my novel conveyance, during which I
had nothing to eat except a few small barna-
cles, and some parasitical vermin, peculiar to
the animal, which I discovered under his fins.
I also found a small remora, or sucking-fish,
near his tail ; but when I put it to my mouth,
it fixed itself so firmly on both my lips, that I
thought they were sealed for ever. No force
could detach it, and there it hung like a pad-
lock for many hours, to my great mortification
and annoyance ; but at last it died, from being
so long out of water; and when it dropped
off, I devoured it.

On the third day I observed land at a dis-
tance ; it appeared to be an island, but I had
no idea what it couldbe. My steed continued
his course straight towards it, and being biind,
ran his nose right upon the shore; before he
found out his mistake, I slipped off his back,
and climbing the steep side of the island, was
once more, as I thought, on terra firma. Tired
with long watching, I lay down and fell fast
asleep.

I was awakened by something touching me
on the shoulder, and opening my eyes, I {per-
ceived that I was surrounded by several peo-
ple, whom I naturally inferred to be the natives
of the island. They were clad in dresses
which appeared to me to be made of black
leather, consisting of a pair of trousers, and
a long pea-jacket, very similar to those worn
by the Esquimaux Indians, which we occa-
sionally fell in with in the Northern Ocean.
They each held a long harpoon, formed en-
tirely of bone, in their right hands.

I was not a little surprised at being ad-
dressed in the patois dialect of the Basques
in my own country, which is spoken about
Bayonne and other parts adjacent to the Pyresnees,, To their, questions I answered’that. I
was the only survivor of the crew of a whaler,
which had been frozen up in the ice during
the winter ; that she had filled with water, and
that [hadsaved myselfupon theback of ashark.

They expressed no surprise at my unheard-
of conveyance to the island ; on the contrary,
they merely observed that sharks were too
vicious to ride, and asked me to accompany
them to their town, an invitation which [
gladly accepted, As I walked along, I ob;
served that the island was composed of white
porous pumice-stone, without the least symp-
‘toms of vegetation ; not even a piece of moss
could I discover—nothing but the bare pumice-
stone, with thousands of beautiful green
lizards, about ten inches long, playing about
in every part. The road was steep, and in
several parts the rock was cut into steps to
enable you to ascend. After an hour’s fa-
tiguing walk, which J never should have ac-
complished in my weak state, without the as-
sistance of the islanders, we arrived at the
summit, The view which met my eye was
striking. I was on the peak of a chain of
hills, forming an immense amphitheatre, en-
circling a valley which appeared about fifteen
miles in diameter, and the major part of which
was occupied by a lake of water.

I could discern what appeared to be the
habitations of men on different parts, of the
lake ; but there was not a tree or.a shrub to
be seen.

‘What,’ demanded I of the man who ap-
peared to take the lead of the rest of the
party, ‘have you no trees here?’

‘None whatever; and yet we can do very
well without them. . Do you not observe that
there isno mould ; that the island is composed
entirely of pumice-stone ?’

(‘I do, replied I. . ‘Pray what is the name
of your barren spot—and in what part of the
world are we ?’

‘As for its name, we call it Whale Island,’
replied the man; ‘but as for where we are,
we cannot exactly tell ourselves, for we are a
floating island, being .composed entirely of
pumice-stone, whose specific gravity, as you
must know, is much lighter than that of water.’

‘ How strange,’ observed I.; ‘I cannot be-
lieve that you are in earnest.’

‘And yet not quite so strange as you ima-
gine,’ replied my conductor... ‘If you examine
the structure of this island, from where you
now stand, you will perceive at once that it
has been the crater of some large volcano. It

is easy 10 imagine, that after having reared its
head above the surface of the sea, by some of
those sudden caprices of ever-working nature,
the base has again sunk down, leaving the
summit of the crater floating on the ocean.
Such is our opinion of the formation of this

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

island; and. I doubt whether your geologists
on the, continent would produce a more satis-_
factory theory.’ oe

‘What! you. have communicated with
Europe, then ?' cried I, delighted at the hopes’
of return.

‘We have had communication, but we do
not communicate again. In the winter-time, —
this island, which, strange as it may appear |
to you, does not change its position many |
hundred miles in the course of centuries, ig |
inclosed with the icebergs in the north: when |
the spring appears, we are disengaged, and
then drift ‘a degree orjtwo to the southward, —
seldom more.’ |

‘Are you not then affected by the winds 4
and tides?’ “a

‘Of course we are; but there is a universal |
balance throughout nature, and everything ©
finds its level. There is order, when —
there appears disorder —and no stream 7
runs in one direction, without a counter
stream to restore the equilibrium. | Upon
the whole, what with the- under-currents, —
and the changes which continually take
place, I should say that we are very little, if
at all, affected by the tides—which may be
considered as a sort of exercise, preseribed by
nature to keep the ocean in good health.. The >
same may be affirmed with respect to the”
winds. Wind is.a substance as well as water, \
capable of great expansion, but still a subs
Stance. A certain portion has been allotted ;
to the world for its convenience, and there is ”
a regularity in its apparent variability. It 7
must be self-evident, when all the wind has 3

aris cctgete ate. ewe ie

been collected to the eastward, by the north: §

west gales which prevail in winter, that it

must be crowded and penned up in that —
expansive ©

quarter, and, from its known
powers, must return and restore the equili-
brium. ‘That is the reason that we have such

a long continuance of easterly winds in the |

months of February and March.’

‘You said that you had communication —

with Europe?’

‘We. have, occasionally, visits perforce,
from those who are cast away in ships or
boats ; but the people who come here have
never returned. The difficulty of leaving the
island is very great, and we flatter ourselves
that few who have remained any time with
us, have ever felt the desire.’

‘What—not to leave a barren rock, without
even a blade of grass upon it.’

‘Happiness,’ replied my. conductor, ‘does
not consist in the variety of your possessions,
but in being contented with what you have;
and he commenced the descent of the hill,

I followed him in a melancholy mood, for I

 

 

3

could imagine little comfort in such a sterile _

spot,*T at not a native of this island,’ observed
he, as we walked along; ‘it is more than
four hundred years since it was first inhabited;
by the crew of a French vessel, which was
lost in the Northern Ocean. But I do not
wish to leave it. I was cast on it in a whale-
boat, when separated from the ship in a snow-
storm, about twenty-five years ago. I am
now a married man.with a family, and am
considered one of the wealthiest inhabitants
of the island, for I possess between forty and
fifty whales.’

‘Whales !’ exclaimed T, with astonishment.

‘Yes,’ replied my conductor, ‘whales, which
are the staple of this island, and without them
we should not be so prosperous and so happy
as we are. But you have much to see and
learn; you will by-and-by acknowledge that
there is nothing existing in the world which,
from necessity and by perseverance, man can-
not subject to his use. Yon lake, which
covers the bottom of our valley, is our source of
wealth and comfort, and yields us an increase
as plentiful as the most fertile plains of Italy
or France.’

As we arrived close to the foot of the hills,
I perceived several black substances on the
shores of the lake. ‘Are those whales?’ in-
quired I.

‘They were whales, but they are now
houses. That one by itself is mine, which I
hope’ you will consider as yours, until you
have made up your mind as to what you will
do.’

We descended to the beach, and his com-
panions, wishing me good-morning, left me
with my conductor, who led the way to his
house. It was composed of the skin of one
entire whale, much larger than ever I had
seen in the Northern Ocean. ‘The back-bone
and ribs of the animal served as rafters to
extend the skin, which wore the resemblance
ofa long tent; it was further secured by ropes,
formed of the twisted sinews, which passed
over the top, and were made fast to stakes of
bone firmly fixed in the ground on each side.
When I entered, I found to my surprise that
there was plenty of light, which was supplied
from windows composed of small panes of
whalebone, ground down very thin; and at
the further end the head and skull of the
animal formed a kitchen, the smoke from the
fire escaping through the spiracles or breath-
ing-holes above.

On each side of the room into which J was
ushered were raised seats, covered with seal-
skins, and the other end of the house was
divided off, with a species of black skin, into
sleeping-apartments. for the master of the
‘house and his family. There was not the least
smell; as I anticipated before I entered this
strange dwelling-place.

  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 67

I was introduced to his wife; who welcomed
me with cordiality. She was dressed in the
same dark skin as her husband, but of a much
finer texture, and had a scarlet cap on her
head, as well as scarlet trimmings to the front
and bottom of her, dress, which, on the whole,
was not only comfortable but becoming in its
appearance.

A bowl of milk was presented to me, to
refresh me after my walk and long abstinence.

‘How !' observed I, ‘ have you milk without
pasture ?”

‘Yes,’ replied my host, ‘drink it, and tell
me if you think it palatable.’

I did so, and found it very little different
from the asses’ milk of my own country—per-
haps with a little more acidity of taste. In
the meantime several varieties of sheil-fish,
and a large cheese, were placed upon the
tabie, which, as well as the stoois, was com-
posed entirely of bone.

‘ And cheese, too?’ said I.

‘Yes, and you will find it not bad. It is
the milk of the whale which you have drunk,
and the cheese is prepared from the same.’

‘Friend Huckaback;* observed the pacha,
‘T think you are telling me lies, Who ever
heard of whalé’s milk ?’

‘Allah forbid that I should attempt to: de-
ceive a person of your highness’s judgment ;
it could only end in mortification and. defeat
to myself.’

‘That's very true,’ observed the pacha.

‘Your highness has not called to mind that
the whale is what naturalists calla ‘‘ hot-
blood animal,” with arteries and circulation of
blood similar to the human species; and that
it brings forth its young alive, and nurses it at
the breast.’

‘Very true,’ observed the pacha.
forgot that.’

‘T had

My conductor resumed as follows :—‘As I
told you before, the whale is the staple of this
island. You observe that his skin serves us
as a house; from his bones we form all our
implements —from his sinews, our thickest
ropes down to our finest thread. The dress
we wear is composed of the belly-part of the
skin, dressed with a sort of soap, composed
of the alkali obtained from the seaweed which
abounds in the lake, and the oil of the whale.
His blubber serves us for fuel and candle; his
flesh for meat, and the milk is invaluable to us.
It is true, we have other resources; we have
our lizards, and a variety of fish and shell-
fish; and: when we are shut. up in the winter
among the icebergs, we procure the flesh and
skins of the seals and the polar bear. But we
have no vegetable of any kind; and although
the want of bread may at first be unpleasant,68

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
   
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
   
    
  
    
   

| a few weeks will reconcile you to the privation.
hi But it is time to repose after your fatigues—I
| will report your arrival to the great harpooner,
after I have shown you to your chamber.’ He

then conducted me to an inner room, where I

found a couch, composed of the skins of the

polar bear, on which I threw myself, and in a

few minutes was fast asleep.

The next morning I was awakened by my

host. ‘ If you wish to see the whales milked,

this is the hour that they are called in ; a short
walk will explain more to you than many hours’
conversation.’

I arose perfectly refreshed from my long
nap, and followed my conductor. We passed
| a Jarge tank. ‘This is our water; we are
obliged not to waste it, although we have a
sufficiency; the tank is coated ‘by a cement,
formed of lime, obtained by the burning of the
shells of fish. We make all our vessels that
are submitted to the fire of the same substance,
mixed with pounded lava; it is burnt in the

fire, and glazed with sea salt.’

We arrived at the edge of the lake, where
we came to a large shallow dock, cut out of
the lava in the side, in which were about two
dozen young whales, who followed my host as
he walked round the edge.

‘ These are my calves; we do not admit the
mothers until we have first drawn off what
milk we require.’

Several men now came down to the beach:
one of them blew a horn, formed out of a part
of the horn of a sea unicorn, and immediately
a herd of whales collected at the sound, and
swam towards the beach. ‘They all answered
to their names; and when the men waded in
the water up to their knees, quietly grounded
on their sides, so as to present one of their
udders to them, clear of the water. This was
squeezed by four men, and the contents re-
ceived into alarge pail, composed of the bones
of a whale, neatly hooped together by the
same substance.

As soon as the breast of the animal was
empty, with a lash of its tail it recovered the
deep water, and swam round and round in
small circles, near to the spot.

“We always leave one breast for the calf,’
observed my host; ‘when they are all milked,
T shall open the pen and let the mothers in.’

‘What are those enormous whales which
are playing at a distance?’

‘ They are our whale oxen,’ answered my
host; ‘we find that they grow toan enormous
size. Our houses are built of their skins.’

‘Is that a dead whale on the beach ?”

‘It is one of our whale-boats,’ replied he,
‘but formed, as you supposed, from the skin
ofa whale, hardened by frequent applications
of oil and lime. Weuse them to catch the
whales when we want them.’

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

the tail, and fasten the rope to one of these
boats, which are so buoyant, that the whale”
cannot take it down, and soon tires with his”
own exertions.
males reserved for breeding, or strange whales, ©
who sometimes find their way into our lake”
during the winter :
cated from their infancy,
trouble with them ;
turn.

whale-house,
we will step in.
the country, which is used for partitions in |
houses, &c.
wear at present.
the whale calf, which is usually worn by the
women.
our manufactures ; it is the belly-part of the ©
calf’s skin,
dye from the murex
on our shores.’

of exchange, and which serves as money, iS 7
the whale cheese, which keeps for years, ‘and
improves in quality.
eight new cheeses a square yard, which is very |
dear.’

our repast ready ;
my commendation.

my host ;

ner, and you shall see my preserve.’ q

host a short distance up the hill, when we
stopped at a large pit, covered with a network
made of whales’ sinews.
companied us, descended, and soon returned |
with a pail full of lizards, confined bya similar”
net over them.
by one, and pulled their tails, which were im-
mediately left in his hand.
the stump, and threw the animal into the pit. 7

observed I.
year.’
in the middle?’

one, which is invariably the case,’ replied my _
host.

account of all that I saw, and which occurred
during my stay on that island.
enter into the excellence of their government, |

 

“You do not use the harpoon, then ?’
‘Only when we kill; in general we noose |

I am now speaking of the”

our own are so domesti- |
that we have little
but it is time that we re-

‘Here,’ observed my host, as we passed a |
‘is one of our manufactories ; |

This is the common stuff of

 

This-is a finer sort, such as I”
Here we have the skin of-

This is the most expensive ¢ article of

being white, admits of a
—a shell-fish very common

which,

‘Have you money?’ inquired I.
‘None—we exchange ; but the chief avticlell

 

‘That fine cloth is worth ~
We arrived at the house, where we found
an excellent stew received
‘It is one of our favourite dishes,’ replied
‘it is made of lizards’ tails.’

“ Lizards} tails !’

‘Yes; Iam about to procare some for ding

In the course of the day I walked with my —
The man who ac-

tie then took them out one”
He then notched
“Of what use is it to return the animals 2
‘ Because their tails will grow again by next.
‘But why, then, were the stumps notched |

“That they might have two tails instead of.

But I will not tire your highness with an

If I were to”which consisted of a great harpooner and two
councils of first and second harpoons, or of
the manners and customs of the inhabitants,
ceremonies at births, and marriages, and
deaths—of their amusements, and their in-
genious supply of all their wants, it would
afford materials for at least two volumes
quarto, without margin. I shali therefore
confine myself to stating, that after a sojourn
of six months, I became so impatient to quit
the island, that I determined to encounter any
risk, rather than not accomplish it.

My host, and all.the principal inhabitants,
finding that no persuasions could induce me
to stay, consented at last to furnish me with
the means which I had hit upon to make my
escape.

I omitted to mention to your highness, the
whales had been rendered so docile, that they
not only were used for draught on the lake,
but even for carrying on their backs. I never
could be persuaded to mount one, I had such
a horror of being seated on a fish's back, after
my travelling on the shark; but I had often
crossed the lake in one of the great whale-
boats towed by one or two of the animals
fastened to it by loops over their tails. ‘This
conveyance suggested to me the idea of my
escape, which I proposed to make by means
of one of these large whale-boats, covered
completely in, and to be towed out of the mouth
of the lake by one of the draught whales.

At my request a boat was prepared and
covered in, with whalebone windows to admit
light ; a stock of provisions were supplied me,
sufficient for a long voyage, and the whale
being put to, I departed amidst the tears and
lamentations of the friendly islanders, who
looked upon me as a man bent upon my own
destruction. But I was aware that the fishery
would soon commence, and had great hopes
of being picked up by one of the vessels. I
was soon clear of the lake, and the lad who
was on the back of the draught whale, having
towed me out in pursuance of his orders, until
the island appeared like a cloud on the hori-
zon, cast me loose and hastened back, that he
might return home before dark.

For three weeks I remained in the inside of
this enormous boat, or rather I may say fish,
tossed upon the waves, but without injury,
from its extreme buoyancy. One morning I
was awakened from a sound sleep by a sud-
den blow on the outside of my vessel. I ima-
gined that I had come in contact with an ice-
berg ; but the sound of voices convinced me
that at last I had fallen in with my fellow-
creatures. A harpoon was now driven in,
which I narrowly escaped, and a volley of
execrations followed, by which I knew im-
mediately that the people were English.

After a few minutes, they commenced saw-

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 69

ing a hole in the side of my whale-boat, and
a piece being removed, a head was put in.
Fearful of another harpoon, I had raised up
my large white bear’s skin as a defence, and
the man perceiving it, immediately withdrew
his head, swearing that there was a white
bear in the belly of the whale. The boat
shoved off, and they commenced firing mus-
ket-balls, which pierced my boat through and
through, and I was obliged to lie down at the
bottom to save my life. After about twenty
shots, the boat came alongside, and a man,
putting his head in, and perceiving me at the
bottom of the boat, covered over with the
bear’s skin, imagined that the animal had
been killed, and reported to his companions.
With some degree’ of apprehension they
climbed in at the hole which they had cut,
when I lifted up my bear's skin, and made
my appearance, dressed in the black skin
worn by the inhabitants of Whales’ Island.
This frightened them still more ; one roared
out that it was the devil, and they all ran to
make their escape at the hole by which they
entered; but in their eagerness they prevented
each other.

It was with difficulty that I convinced them
that I was harmless, which I did at last; and
having explained, in a few words, how I came
there, they permitted me to go with them on
board of the ship. The captain was very sulky
when he heard the story ; he had imagined it
to be a dead whale, and had ordered it to be
towed alongside, to cut off the blubber. Dis-
appointed in his expectations, he swore that I
was a Jonas, who had come out of the whale’s
belly, and there would be no luck in the ship
if I remained. ‘The sailors, whose profits in
the voyage were regulated by the number of
fish taken, thought this an excellent reason
for throwing me overboard; and had there not
been two sail in sight, standing towards them,
‘I certainly should have had some more ad-
ventures to narrate. At last they consented
to put me on board of one which had hoisted
French colours. She was from Havre, and
having twelve fish on board, was returning
home. ‘The captain consented to give me a
passage, and in two months I was once more
in my native country.

Such, your highness, were the adventures
of my Third Voyage.

‘Well, the story of the island was rather
too long,’ observed the pacha, ‘but, altogether,
it was amusing. Mustapha, I think it is worth
ten pieces of gold.’70
CHAPTER X,

THE next day ‘the renegade commenced his
Fourth Voyage in the following words :—~

FOURTH VOYAGE OF HUCKABACK,

Your highness may imagine that I ought to
have been. pretty well tired of going to sea,
after so mauy mishaps; but there is a restless-
hess attending a person who has once been a
rover, that drives him from comfort and afflu-
ence in possession, to seek variety through
danger and difficulty in perspective. Vet I
cannot say that it was my case in the present
instance, for I was forced to embark against
my inclination. I had_ travelled through
‘France to Marseilles, with a small sum of
money presented to me by the captain of the
ship who gave mea passage home, for I could
no longer bear the idea of not again seeing
my father, if he was alive; and I felt no ap-
prehensions from the circumstance of the lady
abbess, as I knew how soon everything in this
world is forgotten, and that I was so altered,
from time and hardship, that I was not likely
to be recognized:

On my arrival at my native city, I pro-
ceeded to the well-known shop, where I had
been accustomed to exercise my talents, under
my father's superintendence. ‘The pole was ex-
tended from the door, the basin. stil] turned
round in obedience to the wind ; but when I
entered the shop, which was crowded with
people (for it was Saturday afternoon), I per-
ceived that all the operators were unknown to
me, and that my father was not there. One
of the expectants, who waited his turn,
politely made room for me beside him on the
‘bench, and I had time to look about me be-
‘fore I made any interrogations,

» The shop had been newly painted, a look-
ing-glass of considerable dimensions had been
‘added, and the whole wore the appearance of
a more thriving establishment.

‘You ate a Stranger, monsieur,’) observed
my neighbour.

‘Iam,’ replied 1; “but I have been at Mar-
seilles before, and when I was last here I used
to frequent this shop.. There was a short
stout man who was. at the head of it, but I do
not recollect his name.’

‘“Oh—Monsieur Maurepas,
he died about two months since,

‘And what has become of his family ?'

‘ He had but one son, who had an intrigue
with the daughter of an old officer in this
town, and was obliged to leave it. No one
has heard of him since; he is supposed to
have been lost at sea, as the vessel in which
he embarked never arrived at the port to
which she was bound. ‘The old man died

He is dead;

 

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
  
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

worth money, and there is a lawsuit. for hig
property now carried on between two distant
relations.’

‘What became of.the lady you were speak-
ing of?’ Drom
‘She retired ‘to a convent, not three miles”
off, and is since dead. ‘There was some mys=
tery about the abbess, and: she was supposed ©
tobe able to explain it. _ I. believe: she’ was ;
pronounced ‘contumacious” by the Inquisi- —
tion, and put into prison, where she died from |
the severity of her treatment.’ ie

My heart smote me when I heard: this, _
The poor girl had endured all this severity on ~
my account, and was faithful even to the last,
I fell into a reverie of most painful feelings. ©
Cerise, too, whose fate I had before ascer- —
tained when I was at ‘I oulouse-—dear, dear

 

 

Cerise!

‘I tell you again, Huckaback, I wish to
have no more of Cerise,’ cried the pacha.
‘She is dead, and-there’s an end of her,’

 

The information that I received made me |
doubtful how to proceed ; I could easily prove.
my identity, but I hada degree of apprehen-
sion that I might be catechizedin such a man- —
ner as to raise Suspicions. At the same time, ©
without a sous in the world, I°did not much
like the idea of abandoning all claim to my —
father’s property. Ihad formerly dressed the —
peruke of an elderly
in the law, and with
vourite. Although five years had elapsed since
I first ran away from my father, I thought it
very likely that he might be’still.alive, I re-
solved to call at his house. When I knocked
and asked if he was at home, the girl who
opened the door repliedin the affirmative, and 7
I was shown into the same little study, littered
with papers, into which
bring him his peruke.

‘Your pleasure, sir? inquired the'old man, ~

4

peering at’me through his spectacles:
‘I wish,’ replied I, ‘to ask your opinion
relative to'a disputed succession,’ > (Ai
‘What is the property ?’
~ “That of Monsieur Maurepas, who died
some short time since.’
‘What, have’ we another claimant? If so,
as I ani employed by one party already, you

gentleman who practised ©
whom I'was a great fa- —

I formerly used to

he

 

must go elsewhere. I wish Francois would
make his appearance and dain his own,
poor fellow.’

Delighted to find that’ ‘the old gentleman
had still a regard’ for me, I made‘no scruple
of making myself known,

‘Tam Francois, sir,’ replied T.

The old gentlenian rosé from his seat, and
coming close to ‘me,
After'a

looked ‘at me earnestly

in the face. minute's scrutiny—

i ah nt

3

]*Well—I do believe you are; and pray,
sit, where have you been all this while ?

‘That's what I cannot very well tell ; but I
have seen and suffered much.’ ;

‘But that’s what you must.tell, if you wish
to obtain your property—that is to say, you
‘must tell me, Don’t be afraid, Francois ; it
is a part of our profession to be confidants to
strange secrets ; and I think there are many
locked up in this breast of more importance
than any which you can disclose.’

‘But, sir, if my life is concerned ?’

‘What then—your life will besafe. If I
told all I knew, I could hang half Marseilles.
But laying my professional duty aside, I wish
you well; so now sit down, and let me hear
your narrative.’

I felt that I could confide in my old ac-
quaintance, and [f therefore commenced a
detail of my adventures. When I stated my
being wrecked near Marseilles, he interrupted
me, laughing, —

‘And vou were the holy abbess ?”

‘TI was.’

‘Well, I thought I recollected your face,
when I came with the rest of the tom-fools to
pay my respects to you; and when it was
whispered that a man had personified the
holy abbess, I said to myself, ‘‘that it was
either Francois or the devil,” but I never
mentioned my suspicions.’

When I-had finished my narrative, he ob-
served, ‘Now, Francois, there will be some
risk of proving your identity in a court of
justice, which the other parties will insist
upon. What I should advise you .to do is,
to compromise with the party that employs
me. Make over to him a conveyance of all
the property, on condition of your receiving
one half, or more if we can get it. I will re-
present you as a careless young man, anxious
to obtain money and spend it. If he agrees,
you will obtain a good round sum without
risk, and I shall oblige both of my clients,
which is always my endeavour.’

T agreed to the good sense of the proposal,
and my old friend advanced me some louis to
enable me to improve my appearance. Ad-
vising me not to show myseif too much, he
offered me a bed at his house. [I left him to
procure a more decent wardrobe ; and for
better disguise, fitted myself with an officer's
undress suit, and having purchased a few
other necessaries returned to his house.

‘Well, upon my honour, you do justice to
your dress, I don’t wonder at Mademoiselle
de Fonseca falling in love with you. That is
asad story though—I don’t know whether I
ought to trust you with my housekeeper, for
she is very young and very pretty. Promise
me, on your honour, that you will not make
love to the poor girl, for I have an afiection

   
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
    

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 7t

for her, and will not have her added to your
list of broken hearts.’

‘Mention it not, I beg, ‘sir,’ replied’ I,
mournfully ; ‘my heart is dead and buried
with her whose name I have just mentioned.”

‘Well, then, go upstairs and introduce
yourself, I have people waiting in the next
room.

I obeyed his directions; and when I entered
the parlour above, perceived a youthful
figure working at her needle, with her back
towards me. She turned her head at my
approach—what was my amazement, what
was my delight,~when I beheld Cerise!

‘Holy Prophet,’ exclaimed the pacha, ‘is
that woman come to life again ?”

‘She was never dead, your highness, and
will occupy your attention more than once, if
I am to proceed with my voyages.’

‘But I hope there will be no more love
scenes.’

‘Only the present one, your highness: for
after that we were married.’

= Cerise looked at me for one moment,
screamed, and fell lifeless on the floor. 1
caught her in my arms, and, as she lay sense-
less, called her by her name, and imprinted a
hundred kisses on her lips.

The noise had alarmed the old gentleman,
who, unobserved by me, came in, and wit-
nessed the scene. ‘Upon my honour, sir,
considering your promise to me just now, you
are making rather free.’

“°Tis Cerise, my dear sir—Cerise ?

“Cerise de Fonseca ?’

‘Yes, the same; the dear girl whom I have
ever lamented.’

‘Upon my soul, Mr. Francois, you've a
talent for adventures,’ said the old gentleman,
leaving the room, and returning with a tumbler
of water. Cerise was soon restored, and lay
trembling in my arms. Our old friend, who
considered that he was ‘de ¢vop,’ quitted the
room, and left us together.

I will not dwell upon a scene which can
have no charms to those-who, like your high-
ness, buy love ready made ; I shall therefore
narrate the history of Cerise, which at my re-
quest, was imparted, previous to her receiving
a similar confidence on my part.

‘ Allow me to observe, Felix (or what is your
name, you impostor ?)’ said Cerise, half re-
proachfully and half in jest.

‘My namezis Fran¢ois.’

‘Well, then, Francois; but I never shall
like that name so well as Felix, for it was to
Felix that—but there’s nothing in a name
after all—except that the first is engraven on
my heart, and cannot be effaced, But let me
tell my story, and allow me to commence with72

an observation, which my acquaintance with
you, and subsequent reflections, have deeply
impressed upon my mind. It unfortunately
happens, that those who are highest in rank
in this world pay dearly for it in a point upon
which almost the real happiness of life con-
sists. I mean in the choice of the partner with
whom they are.destined to walk the pilgrimage
of life hand in hand ; and the higher their rank,
the more Strictly are they debarred from
making a selection which the meanest peasant
can enjoy without control.

‘A king has no choice, he must submit to
the wishes of his subjects, and the interests of
his country. The aristocracy in our country
are little better off, at least the female part of
it ; for they are dragged from convents to the
altar, and offered up as a sacrifice to fainily
connection. At the time that we were, or
were supposed to be (for as yetit is a mystery
to me), assisted by you on the road——’

“In one point not a supposition certainly,
my Cerise, for I took off my only garment to
cover you.’

‘You did—you did—I think I see you now,
leaving the side of the chariot; I loved you
from that moment. But to continue: I was

then going down to the chateau, to be intro-
duced to my future husband, whom I had
never seen, although the affair had been long
arranged.

‘My father had no idea that any harm could

result from a few days’ acquaintance ; and he
felt too grateful to forbid you the house; but
little knew how situation and opportunity will
overcome time; and I knew more of you ina
few days than I thought I could have known
of any man in so many years. ‘That I loved
you—loved you dearly—you know well.

‘But to proceed (nay, don’t kiss me so, or
I shall never tell my story), The next morn-
ing I heard that you had gone, as you had
told me it was your intention ; but my father’s
horse did not come back—my father was
grave, and the bishop more gloomy than usual.
‘Two days afterwards { was informed by my
father that you were an impostor, that all had
been discovered, and that if taken, you would
probabiy be seized by the Inquisition ; but
you had fled the country, and were supposed
to have embarked at Toulon. He added, that
my intended husband would arrive in a few
days.

‘T considered all that he had told me, and
I formed the following conclusions :—First,
that you were not the person you described
yourself to be; and, secondly, that he had
discovered our attachment, and had insisted
upoa your not re-appearing; but that you had
deserted me, and left the country, [ knew,
after what had passed, zo de tmipossible. But
whether you were Monsieur de Rouillé or not,

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

you were all I coveted, and all that I adoreds
and I vowed that for you I would live or diey
I felt assured that one day or another, you
would come back ; and that conviction sup
ported me. My future husband appeared—he
was odious. ‘lhe time fixed for our weddin
drew nigh—I had but one resource, which w,
flight. A young girl who attended me (yo
recollect her, she came and told us the bisho
was coming, when we were in the garden),
knew to be attached to me. I took her in m
confidence, and through her means I obtainer
a peasant’s dress, with the promise of shelte
in her father’s cottage, some leagues distant
The night before the marriage was to tak
place, I ran down to the river that flows pas
the chateau, threw my bonnet and shawl o
the bank, and then made my escape to where
her father was waiting to receive me, in a car
which he had provided asa conveyance. Th
girl, who was left, managed admirably ; j
was supposed that I had drowned myself; and
as they had no further occasion for her ser
vices, she was dismissed, and joined me at her
father’s cottage. I remained there for mor
than a year, when I thought it advisable to
move, and come to Marseilles, where I ob
tained the situation of housekeeper to this old
gentleman, who has treated me more like a
daughter than a domestic. Now, Mr. Fram
cois, ,can you give so good an account of your
self?

‘ Not quite, Cerise ; but I can honestly de-
clare, that when I thought you alive, I neve
forgot you ; and believing you dead, I never
ceased to lament you, nor have I leoked ata
womarrsince. Our old friend below can prove
it, by my answer when he cautioned me
against the charms of his housekeeper.’ ‘

I did not, your highness, tell the whole
truth to Cerise ; for 1 have always considered
it perfectly justifiable to retain’ facts which
cannot add to people’s happiness. I declared
that I left her because my life would have
been forfeited if I had remained, and I valued
it only for her sake. That I always intended
to return ; and when I quitted Valencia, and
had become a man of property, I immediately
proceeded to make inquiries, and heard the |
news of her death. Neither did I acquaint =
her with the profession which I had followed ;

I merely stated that my father was a man of
eminence, and that he had died rich : fou
although people of good family will sometimes
bow to love, taking the risk ‘of high or low
birth, they are always mortified when they
discover that their ticket in the lottery has
turned up a blank.

Cerise was satisfied—we renewed our vows »
—and the old gentleman, who declared that ~
of all the secrets in his possession ours would
be the most dangeroys to him if discovered,was not sorry to see us united, and quit the
house.

I obtained two-thirds of my fortune from
the claimant ; and with it and my wife re-
paired to Toulon.

_For one year [ enjoyed uninterrupted hap-
piness. My wife was everything to me, and
so far from leaving her in search of variety, I
could not bear to go out of the house unless
she accompanied me; but we were living
much too fast, and at the end of the year [
found one-third of my property had been
spent. My affection would not permit me to
reduce my wife to beggary, and I determined
to take some measures to secure the means of
future existence. Consulting her on the
occasion, with many tears Cerise acknow-
ledged my prudence ; and having divided the
remainder of my property, one half of which
IT laid out in merchandise, and the other I
gave to her for her support during my ab-
sence, I embarked on board of a vessel bound
to the West Indies.

We made the islands without any accident,
and I was extremely successful in my specu-
lations: I began to think that Fortune was
tired of persecuting me; but knowing how
treacherous she was, I shipped one half of
my return cargo in another vessel, that I might
have more than one chance.

When our captain was ready to sail, the
passengers repaired on board, and amongst
others a rich old gentleman who had come
from Mexico, and who had been waiting for
a passage home to France. He was very ill
when he came on board, and I recommended
his losing a little blood, offering my services
on the occasion. They were accepted; the
old gentleman recovered, and we were very
intimate afterwards. We had been about a
fortnight clear of the island, when a hurricane
came on, the equal to which in force I never
beheld. The sea was one sheet of foam, the
air was loaded with spray, which was thrown
with such violence against our faces that we
were blinded ; and the wind blew so strong
that no one could stand up againstit. The
vessel was thrown on her beam ends, and we
all gave ourselves up for lost. Fortunately
the masts went by the board, and the ship
righted. But when the hurricane abated, we
were in an awkward predicament; the spare
spars had been washed overboard, and we
had no means of rigging jury masts and
making sail. There we Jay rolling in a per-
fect calm which had succeeded, and drifting
to the northward by the influence of what is
called the Gulfstream.

One morning, as we were anxiously looking
out for a vessel, we perceived something at a
distance, but could not ascertain what it was.
At first we imagiasd that it was several

  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 

THE PACHA Of MANY TALES. 93

casks floating, which had beén thrown over-
board, or had forced their way out of the
hold of some vessel which had foundered at
sea. Butat last we discovered that it was an
enormous serpent, coming directly on towards
the vessel, at the rate of fifteen or twenty miles
an hour. As it approached, we perceived to
our horror, that it was about a hundred feet
long, and as thick as the mainmast of a
seventy-four ; it occasionally reared its head
many feet above the surface, and then plung-
it down again continued its rapid course.
When it neared us to within a mile, we were
so alarmed that we all ran down below. The
animal came to the ship, and rearing his body
more than half-way out of the water, so that
if our masts had been standing, his head would
have been as high as our topsail-yards, looked
down on deck. He then lowered his great,
diamond-shaped head, and thrusting it down
the hatchway, seized one of the men in
his teeth, plunged into the sea and disap-
peared.

We were all horror-struck, for we expected
his re-appearance, and had no means of
securing ourselves below, every grating and
sky-light having been washed overboard in
the hurricane. The old gentleman was more
alarmed than the rest. He sent for me, and
said—

‘I did look forward to once more seeing my
relations in France, but that hope is now
abandoned. My name is Fonseca, | am a
younger brother of a noble family of that
name, and I intended, if not to enrich my
brother, at least to endow his daughter with
the wealth I have brought with me. Should
my fears be verified, I trust to your honour
for the performance of my request. It is, to
deliver this casket, which is of great value,
into the hand of either one or the other.
Here is a letter with their address, and here
is the key ; the remainder of my property on
board, if saved, in case of my death, is yours;
and here isa voucher for you to show in case
of necessity.’

T took the casket, but did not tell him that
T was the husband of his niece, as he might
have disinherited her for having married so
much below her rank in life. The old gentie-
man was right in his supposition, the serpent
returned in the afternoon, and seizing him as
he had the sailor in the morning, again
plunged “into the sea; and so he continued
bearing off two or three every day, until I was
the only one left. On the eighth day he had
taken off the last but me, and I knew that my
fate must be decided in the evening; for,
large as he was, he could penetrate every part
of the ship, and could draw you to him, when
you were many feet distant, by sucking in his
breath.There happened to be two casks, of a ma-
terial lately invented in England, which we
were taking to France on trial; during the
hurricane, one had_burst, and the stench pro-
ceeding from it was intolcrable. Although it
had gradually evaporated, I perceived that
whenever the serpent approached anything
that had been defiled with it, he immediately
turned away, as if thesmell was as unbearable
to him as it was tous. I don’t know what it
was composed of, but the English called it
coal tay. It struck me that I might save
myself by means of this offensive composition.
I. knocked out the head of the remaining cask,
and arming myself with a broom dipped in it,
I jumped into the cask which contained the
remainder, and awaited my fate with anxiety.
The serpent came; as usual, forced his head
and part of his body down the hatchway,
perceived me, and with eyes darting fire
reached out his head to seize me. I dashed
the broom into his mouth, and bobbed my
head immediately under the coal tar. When
I lifted it up again, almost suffocated, the
animal had disappeared. I crawled out, and
looking over the side, perceived him lashing
the ocean in his fury, plunging and diving to
rid himself of the composition with which I
had filled his mouth. After exhausting him-
self with his furious endeavours, he went down,
and I saw him no more.

“Did you never, see him again?’ inquired
the pacha,

‘Never but that once; nor has the animal
been.seen before or since, except by the Ame-
xicans, who haye much better eyes than the
people of Europe can boast of.’

The vessel drifted to the northward with the
Gulf-stream, until she was close to the land,
when a pilot-boat came out and boarded her.
‘The people belonging to her were much an-
noyed to find me on board. Had there been
no one in her they would have claimed. the
whole vessel and cargo, whereas they were
now only entitled toone-eighth. I understood
English enough to hear them propose and
agree to throw me overboard. . I immediately
ran down below to secure my casket, and
‘when I returned on deck, they launched me
over the side. I sank down, and diving under
the counter, laid hold of the rudder chains,
‘unperceived by them. In the meantime, an-
other pilot-boat came to us, and sent her boat
‘on’ board; I swam to it and was hauled in.
Dhe captains being rivals, I was taken to New
York as evidence against the people who had
jattempted my life. I stayed there just long

,enough to sell my seven-eighths of the cargo,
-andisee the men hung, and I then took a pas-
sage in a vessel bound to Bordeaux, where I

 

THE PACHA OF MANY, TALBS.

 

arrived in, safety... From thence I repaired t6 ©
Toulon, and found my dear Cerise as beauti= ©
ful and as fond as ever. :

I was now arich man ; I bought a large es- ©
tate, with a marquisate attached to it. J also |
purchased the chateau of Fonseca, and made
a gift of it to my dear wife. I was pleased at
having the means of raising her again to that
rank in society which she had quitted for my —
sake. For some years we*lived happily, al-”
though we had nochildren. After that, events |
happened which again sent me tosea. Such; ‘
your highness, is the history of my Fourth —
Voyage. ; _-

    

 

4

|

‘Well,’ observed the pacha, ‘T never heard 5

of so large a snake before ; did you, Musta=~
pha?’ ; a
‘Never, your highness; but travellers see 4
strange things. What is to be the extent of |
your highness’s bounty ? =
‘Give him ten pieces of gold,’ said the ©
pacha, rising from the throne, and waddling
behind the curtain. A
Mustapha told out the sequins. ‘Selim, if”
I might advise you, it would please ‘his high-
ness better, if you continued imore at séa, and
dealt a little more in the marvellous.’ ‘That
wife of yours, Cerise as you call her, is rather —
a bore.’
‘Well, I'll get rid of her to-morrow ; but'I
can tell you, vizier, that I deserve all my ‘pay,
for it's rather fatiguing work—besides, my ©
conscience.’
‘Holy Prophet ! hear him—his conscience!
go, hypocrite, drown it in wine to-night, and
it will be dead to-morrow ; and don’t forget §
to kill your wife.’ .
‘Allow me to observe that you Turks have
very little taste ; nevertheless I will get rid’ of
her after your own fashion, for she shall go ‘to _
the bottom of the sea—Bashem ustun, on |
my head be it.’ _ a

 

 

CHAPTER Xf.

‘THE next morning the pacha hurried over the ©
business of the day, for Mustapha had inti- 4
mated that the renegade considered ‘his Fifth

Voyage to be one of great marvels. Selim —
was introduced as before, and commenced the ©
narrative,

FIFTH VOYAGE OF HUCKABACK.

Your highness may be surprised that, being
in the possession of wealth, rank, and my —
charming Cerise, I should have again ventured _
upon, the treacherous ocean, Of course your ©THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 7

highness has heard of the revolution which
took place in France, and all the horrors
which attended it.

‘France! Yes, I believe there is a country
of that name ; I can’t say that I ever heard of
the revolution. Holy Prophet! but these
people have strange ideas,’ continued the
pacha to the vizier, ‘to imagine that we must
know or care about what is going on in their
barbarous countries. You may proceed,
Huckaback,’ :

Tt will be necessary to say a few words upon
the subject, your highness, but I will be as
concise as possible. One day, a party of men
from my native city (Marseilles), dressed in
red caps, their shirt sleeves tucked up, and
armed with various weapons, surrounded my
chateau, insisting upon my immediately in-
forming them whether I was for the summon-
ing of the Estates-General. I answered,
most certainly, if they wished it. They
cheered me, and went away.

Shortly afterwards, they came to ascertain
if I approved of the National Convention. f
answered that I approved of it excessively.
They were satisfied, and again disappeared.
They came a third time, to inquire if I was a
republican, to which I gave the affirmative,
A fourth, to know whether I sided with the
Girondists; I declared myself one of that
party, and hoped that I should be asked no
more questions, . But before two or three
months had passed away, another party came
to ascertain whether I was a real Jacobin,
which I solemnly pronounced myself to be ;—
a second time, to know whether I thought
proper to be called citizen, or have my head
eut off; I declared in favour of the former,
and made them a present of my title of mar-
quis. But at last they surrounded my house,
with loud cries, declaring that I was an aristo-
crat, and insisted on carrying my head away
upon a pike. ‘This I considered a subject of
remonsirance. JI assured them that Iwas no
aristocrat, although I had purchased the pro-
perty ; and that, on the contrary, I was a
citizen barber from Marseilles ; that I had
relinquished the title of marquis, which I had
bought with the property, and had therefore
no claim whatever to aristocracy. But they
insisted upon proofs, and ordering my valets
to bring down the materials, desired me to
shave a dozen of their party. I shaved for
my life, and acquitted myself so much to their
satisfaction, that they all embraced me, and
were about to depart, when one of the women
demanded that my wife (whose aristocratical
descent was known), should be surrendered
up, as a proof of my sincerity. We all have
our moments of weakness: had JI had the
prudence to comply with the request, things

 

would have ended happily, but I was foolish
enough, although I had been=married twelve
years, to demur at the prospect of the head of
my charming Cerise being carried away on a
pike. I represented to them (as she clung to
me for protection), that although of noble
descent, she had reduced herself to my level
by marrying a citizen barber. After a short
consultation, they agreed that she was suffi-
ciently degraded to live. They contented them-
selves with breaking open my cellar, that they
might drink my health, and departed. But,
your highness, I had soon cause to repent of
my folly. . Cerise was a charming woman, and
an affectionate wife in adversity, but pros-
perity was her ruin, as wellas mine. She had
already had an affair with a comfe, who had
lately been dismissed for a handsome young
abbé: but we do not mind these little éearemens
in our country, and I neither had leisure nor
inclination to interfere with her arrangements.
Satisfied with her sincere friendship for me, I
could easily forgive a few trifling infidelities,
and nothing had disturbed the serenity or
gaiety of our establishment, until this unfor-
tunate exfosé which I was obliged to make,
and to prove the truth of in her presence, viz.,
that I had been a barber. Her pride revolted
at the idea of having formed such a connec-
tion, her feelings towards me were changed to
those of the most deadly hatred; and al-
though [ had saved her life, she ungratefully
resolved to sacrifice mine. The little a2dé’s
head had been taken off several weeks before,
and she now formed a liaison with one of the
Jacobin assoczés, on condition that he would
prove his attachment by denouncing me as an
aristocrat.

Fortunately, I had notice given to me in
sufficient time to make my escape to Toulon.
Leaving my wife, and, what was of more
consequence, the whole of my property, in
the handsfof the Jacobin, I joined the mob,
and, vowing vengeance upon all aristocrats,
became one of the most violent leaders of the
sans culottes. ‘Two months afterwards, when
the gates of Toulon had been opened to the
army, and I was assisting at a noyade, I had
the pleasure of seeing my Jacobin locum
zenens, who had been denounced in his turn,
tied back to back to a female; it was my
adored Cerise. I had no time to speak to
her, for they were hurried on board of the
vessel. It sank with them, and some hun-
dreds more ; and as the beautiful auburn hair
of my wife was borne up from her shoulders,
upon which it had been hanging loose, and
floated a second or two on the wave after her
head had disappeared, I sighed at the remem-
brance of the transitory enjoyment of com-
petence and: love which I had shared with my
charming Cerise.

Se RC ICE iat
Racpeoneesnenriener tas76

‘And is she really dead, now, Huckaback ?
inquired the pacha.

©Yes, your highness, she is.’

‘Allah harim— God is most merciful.
There is an end of that woman at last; now
the story will go on,’

I have reason to believe that I should have
become a person of some consequence, if I
had been able to remain in France ; but an-
other foolish attempt on my part to save the
life of the old lawyer at Marseilles, who had
assisted me in recovering part of my father's
property, rendered me suspected. Aware that
between suspicion and the guillotine there
were but few hours of existence, I contrived
to get on board of an Italian brig, that had
put in from stress of weather, and made my
escape. The vessel was bound to North
America for a cargo of salt fish, to be con-
sumed on the ensuing Lent, and had a crew
of fifteen men. The captain was very ill
when we sailed, owing, as he said, to a cup of
wine which his wife had mixed with her tears,
and persuaded him to drink at their parting.
He gradually declined as we proceeded on
our voyage, until at last he was not able to
quit his bed; and no person on board except
myself having any knowledge of keeping a
ship's reckoning, that duty devolved upon
me.

A few days before his death the captain
sent for me: ‘Francois,’ said he, ‘my wife
has poisoned me, that I might not return to
interrupt a connection which she had formed
during my absence. I have no children, and
no relations that have ever cared forme. I
am the owner of the cargo, as well as the
captain of this vessel, and it is my intention
to make it over to you; I consider that you
have the greatest claim to it, as there is no-
body on board except yourself who can navi-
gate her. Understand me, it is not out of
any particular regard, so much as to prevent
my wife from obtaining my froperty, that I
select you as my heir; you have, therefore, to
thank heaven for your good fortune, more
than you have me. I have but one request to
make in return, which is, that you will faith-
fully promise to cause five hundred masses to
be said for my soul, upon your arrival in
Italy.’

I readily made the promise which he re-
quired, and the captain drew up a will, which
he read and executed before the whole of the
erew, by which the vessel and cargo were
made over to me. Two days afterwards he
expired. We sewed him up in a hammock,
and threw him overboard. Although it was
quite calm at the time, a gale sprung up im-
mediately afterwards, which eventually in-
creased to a hurricane.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

weather became more settled, and we agat :
spread our canvas tothe breeze. ‘To my sur
prise I observed, that although by my recko
ing we were nearly one thousand miles from)
any land, several aquatic birds were hovering
about the ship, of a description that seldom
go far from the shore. I watched them asthe
sun went down, and perceived that they took
their flight to the south-east. Anxious to dis=
cover any land not hitherto described, TI
steered the ship in that direction during the)
night, and early on the next morning we
found ourselves close to an island, apparently,
ten or fifteen miles long, very high, and of a
conical shape, which I knew was not lai
down upon any chart. I resolved to examiné
it, and dropped my anchor in a small bay, at
the bottom of which a few houses announced
that it was inhabited, although I could not
distinguish anything like guns or fortification,
We had not furled our sails, when a boat;
shoved off from the shore and pulled towards:
us. She soon came alongside, and astonished,
us as much by the peculiarity of her structure’
as by the appearance of the people who were)
on board.

She was a wide canoe, very beautifully
carved and inlaid, or rather veneered, with
gold ornaments. She had a flag, hoisted to
a staff, hanging over the stern, the field o
which was white, with a representation of a
fountain, worked in gold thread, in the centre
The three men who were in her, particularly
the one seated in the stern-sheets, were very
richly attired in dresses worked in gold thread:
But what astonished us more than all was
the peculiarity of their complexions, which,
although they were very well-featured men
were ofa beautiful light blue, their eyes black,”
and their hair of a rich auburn.

The personage in the stern-sheets ascended
the side, and addressing me in excellent Por
tuguese, inquired if I could speak the lan-
guage.

I answered in the affirmative, and he then
welcomed us in the name of the king, upom
my arrival at the island, asking me the nun
ber of my crew, whether I had any sick om
board, and many other particulars, all o
which he noted down upon tablets of gold,
with a piece of red cinnabar.

Having replied to all his interrogations,
then obtained from him the following pa
ticulars; viz., That the island had been origi
nally peopled by one of the ships belonging ta
Vasco de Gama’s squadron, which returnin
from the East Indies, laden with the produce
of the East, and specimens of the various 1

;
fhabitants of the newly-discovered territories,
had been cast away and utterly wrecked. That
the island, which otherwise was fertile and
well stocked, was one mine of gold, which, in
the absence of other metal, they were necessi-
tated to employ for every article and utensil
incommon use. But the greatest curiosity
which the island contained, was a fountain of
water at the foot of the centre peak, of a beau-
tiful colour, and producing longevity to those
who drank of it, from which it had received
the name of the Isle of the Golden Fountain.
‘That when they had landed, about three hun-
dred years ago, they consisted of various
nations and colours, male and female; but
the climate and the use of the waters had, in
the course of time, produced the change in
their complexions which we beheld, and all
the inhabitants were now of that peculiar tint,
With the exception that the females were not
so dark as the men. Few ships had ever
touched there; and the crews of those wha
had fallen in with the island had preferred re-
Maining, which accounted for its being so
totally unknown; that the king was very
partial to strangers, and always received them
at his palace, which was built close to the
Golden Fountain. He concluded by request-
ing me to accompany him on shore, and pay
my respects ; stating that if I wished to quit
the island, his majesty would permit me to
load my vessel with as much as she could
carry of the metal so precious’ in other coun-
tries, but so little valued in this.

I must acknowledge that I was quite over-
joyed at his narration. I considered my for-
tune to be made, and hastened to accompany
the ambassador, who stated that the king
would not be pleased if I did not permit the
major part of my ship’s company to attend me
to the palace. As the men were very eager to
go on shore after the account which they had
heard, and he assured me that the wind never
blew home in the bay, which was on the lee
side of theisland, I consented to their wishes,
and allowed all but two to quit the vessel.

We were much surprised when we landed
at the village to perceive that even the pig-
troughs, posts, and rails, and indeed every
article in which metal could be employed,
were of solid gold; but we had not time for
examination, as we found several sledges,
drawn by small bullocks, waiting for us near
the beach.

We mounted, and the animals set off ina
swift canter, upon a smooth and ascending
road, and in less than two hours we arrived at
the king’s pzlace, which was an extensive
building, not very remarkable in its structure,
excepting the unusual sight of the large
columns of gold, supporting the porticoes,
which extended from it on every side. But

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  
  
 
   
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

77

when we had alighted and were proceeding
through the porticoes, I was astonished at the
wonderful finish of the statues which embel-
lished them. ‘They were mounted on plinths
of the burnished metal, and carved out of a
sort of light blue chalcedony, which, joined
with their masterly execution, gave them the
appearance of life. 1 was surprised at the
strange attitudes which the sculptors had
chosen to represent, all more or less dis-
torted, although the human proportions were
admirable. Some appeared as if they had
been placed on their legs when asleep, others
laughing or crying, nay, one or two were re-
presented in the act of vomiting. Amongst
the whole I could not perceive one image in
which the human form was represented in a
noble or graceful posture, and I pitied the
taste of those who could have employed
workmen of such extraordinary talents in re-
presenting the image of his Maker under such
a degrading variety of postures. Iwas about
to make this remark to my conductor, but I
was checked by the remembrance that I was
in a king’s palace, not in a studio; and that
kings have their fancies, which they are not
inclined to submit to public criticism.

When we arrived at the end of the portico,
two lofty doors were thrown open, and we
were struck dumb with the magnificence of
the scene which presented itself to our eyes.

The king was seated on a throne of the
most splendid workmanship; the precious
metal had been? oxydized to every shade of
colour, and was wrought in beautiful mosaic ;
the walls and ceiling were entirely covered
with the same, in some parts burnished, to re-
flect as mirrors, in others elaborately carved
in ornamental fretwork, as peculiar from the
elegance of its design as from the superiority
of its execution. On each side of the throne,
extending to the door at which we entered,
were a row of ladies, and behind them, raised
on a platform about two feet higher, another
row of courtiers, all dressed in stuffs of cloth
of gold, which were embroidered with flowers
of variously-coloured metal, so as to present
the most perfect imitation of nature. The
women were very fair compared to the men,
and their cerulean tint was far from being dis-
agreeable, as it gave a transparency to their
complexions; but none of them could be
compared to the king’s daughter, who was
nearly white, and of the most perfect symme-
try in feature and in form; her auburn hair
was so long, that it hung down to the bottom
of her dress, and was ornamented with small
chains and ornaments of polished steel, which
were entwined in its tresses. Shesat at the
foat of the throne, near tothe king, and I was
so astonished at her heavenly appearance, that
I could not remember the compliments which98

I had intended to pay his majesty, but re-
mained speechless before him,

The king received us very graciously, asking
me many questions, and broke up the audi-
ence (after half an hour), desirimg some of the
handsomest ladies to select one of my com-
panions, and each hold herself responsible for
his comfort and amusement. I forgot to
mention, that as every country has its peculiar
customs, one here appeared to me very singu-
lar. When lL asked the gentleman usher what
was the usual homage paid to the king of the
country, he informed me that you advanced
your hand before you on a level with your
face, and snapped your fingers at him. ‘That
the louder you could snap them, the more ac-
complished and elegant you were considered.
But in my confusion I quite forgot his injunc-
tions; and it was not until the ladies all
snapped their fingers in obedience to the com-
mands of their sovereign, that I recollected
the omission which I had been guilty of. Be-
fore the king retired, he intimated that he ex-
pected we should take up our abodes at the
palace for some days, and we should have the
honour of sitting at his table in the after-
noon’s banquet.

The whole of the company separated ; those
who had charge of my companions leading
them different ways, leaving me alone with
the princess, who had risen ‘from her seat
when directed’ by her father to take charge of
me. I could have fallen down and worshipped
her ; as it was, I involuntarily dropped on one
knee, and looked up in her face as if I had
been contemplating a celestial visitant.

She smiled, and addressed me: ‘I am
ordered to attend to your happiness and com-
fort, and I obey my father’s commands with
pleasure. I only trust that your happiness
may be more lasting than it usually isin this
deceitful world.” And she sighed deeply.

I continued in my position at her feet, and
encouraged by her urbanity, poured forth a
torrent of what to the many are considered
compliments, but which to her were but
truths. I became eloquent from excitation ;
and being at this time, as I before observed
to your highness, a very personable man, I
perceived that she was pleased with my efforts
to obtain her favour.

‘] have more than once had this duty allot-
ted to me, when strangers have visited the is-
land,’ observed she ; ‘ but I have always been
wearied, and have called in my women to as-
sist me. I have never yet seen one like you ;
you are gentle, and of a very different descrip-
tion from those who generally have been in-
troduced as the captains of vessels which have
arrived here. I then was indifferent, if not

glad, when my duty was at an end; but I
teel otherwise now’--and she again sighed.

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘ If it depended upon me, fair princess, and |
upon my wishes, I am afraid that you would ©
consider the duration or it to’ be most tedi-~
ous. Neyer have I beheld any creature so-per- 7}
fect and so beautiful! Othat your task might ||
be continued for the term of my existence!’

‘It probably may,’ answered she, gravely; ~|
and then, as if recollecting herself, she as- ||
sumed a more cheerful air, and continued ; 7}
‘But we are losing time, which should be |
otherwise employed. Come. sir, permit me to ||
obey my father’s commands, and try to be- ©
guile the hours by contributing to your ~
amusement.’ a

Offering me her hand, which I respectfully 7)
raised to my lips, she then conducted me over ©
the palace, directing my attention to every —
object that she considered worthy of notice ; ™
and we had passed two or three hours in con- |
versation, ane! remarks upon the objects before ~
us, when I expressed my wish to behold the ©
curious fountain from which the island took ~
its name. 4

‘I shall obey you,’ replied she: and again 7
her face assumed a mournful cast. She led ~
the way to a hall of black marble, in the 7
centre of which the fountain threw up its 7
water to the height of twelve or fourteen feet,
and fell into a spacious basin. The water of ©
it, when in a body, shone with all the colours
of the rainbow, and the sparkling drops
which were thrown out on every side. were
brilliant as the purest gold.

‘How beautiful !’ exclaimed I, after some
minutes of silent admiration. . ‘ These, then,
are the waters of longevity.’ 2

‘And also of intoxication,’ replied the |
princess. . ‘They will be produced at the ¥
banquet of the king; and, O sir! be temper-
ate, very temperate in the use of them.’

I promised that I would, and we continued.
our walk to the porticoes of the palace, where I
pointed to the statues of blue chalcedony, and
begged her to inform me by whom they had
been executed, and why they were all in such
grotesque and absurd positions.

“That is a question I cannot answer, further
than that they were made in the island. We
must now return, as the king’s banquet will
be ready.’

We sat down at the table of. the king, that
is to say, I and my companions; for no
courtiers, male or female, were permitted to
have the same honour. Each lady stood
behind the person who had been intrusted to
her charge, and waited upon him. My gal-
lantry, as a Frenchman, was sorely wounded ©
at the idea of my charming princess perform-
ing the duties of a menial, and I expressed 7
my feelings to her in a low tone of voice, —
She shook her head, as if to rebuke me, and [=

said no more. When we had finished the ©

 

 

 

| |banquet, his majesty ordered the water of the
golden fountain to be produced, which it im-
‘mediately was, by those in attendance, and
extolling its virtues, desired a cup to be filled
‘for each guest, which was handed to him by
the attendant ladies,

As the princess presented the cup, she con-
rived to press one of her fingers against mine,
before she removed theni, to remind me of
‘My promise. I drank but sparingly, but the
“effects were instantaneous — my Spirits rose
‘buoyant, and I felt a sort of intellectual in-
toxication, Ata sign made by the king, the
dadies now took their seats beside us, and by
‘their attention and caresses increased the dé-
sire for the water, which they supplied in
abundance. I must confess that at each sip
that I took, the princess, who had taken her
seat by me, appeared so much more charming
in my eyes, that notwithstanding the repeated
pressure of her foot to remind me of my pro-
“mise, I could not resist the impulse to drink.

The boatswain and one of the seamen were
very drunken characters, and had very soon
poured down so much of the water, that they
‘dropped off their stools on the marble pave-
‘Ments, without sense or motion. This recalled
me to my senses, which were rapidly stealing
away ; [rose from my seat, and pointing out
to my companions that it would ill become
them to intoxicate themselves in the presence
of his majesty, requested that they would drink
no more, but leave the table before they were
incapacitated from paying the proper atten-
tions to their fair conductors. The last argu-
ment had more weight than the first ; and
notwithstanding the remonstrances of the
‘King, who showed the greatest anxiety that
we should remain, the party rose from the
table and separated. The two inen who were
intoxicated were carried away by some of the
courtiers, and the king, with marks of displea-
Sure, quitted the hall. I was again left alone
‘with my charming princess, and inflamed
with the exhilarating draught which I had
taken, I threw myself at her feet, declaring
my violent passion, and my wish never to qui
the island, if I could be blessed with a recip-
rocal feeling on her part. I perceived that I
yhad made an impression ; and following up
my success, I protested, and-~ she listened,

until the evening closed in and found us still
‘seated upon the steps of the throne. At last
she rose and said, ‘I.know not whether you
be sincere in what you say, but I must ac-
‘Knowledge that I hope you are; and I shall
be very miserable if it should prove other-
wise. But you are now under the effects
of the intoxicating water, and may de-
‘ceive yourself. Come, sir, it is time that I
conduct you to your chamber, where you
must sleep away the exhilarating effects of the

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

79
golden fountain. To-morrow morning, if you
are of the same opinion, I may be induced to
make a discovery.’

The next morning I awoke without any
headache from the intemperance of the pre-
vious night. As soon as I quitted the apart-
ment I met the princess outside. ‘I am still
in the 'same mind, dear princess,’ said I, im-
planting a kiss upon her hand, ‘to live for
you alone, or die if I cannot remain with you.’

She smiled, and answered, ‘Then for you
will I sacrifice everything ; for until I beheld
you, I never was aware that I had a heart.
Rise and follow me, and you shall know all.’

We passed the large hall, with which the
whole of the bed chambers communicated,
and she conducted me through a dark passage
to a room, in which were séveral golden
plinths without statues. At!the farther end of
it I perceived, to my horror, that two of
them were already occupied with the forms of
the boatswain and sailor who had been intoxi-
cated the night before. They were now
changed into the same blue chalcedony of
which the statues in the porticoes were com-
posed.

‘Do you recognize these figures?’ inquired
the princess.

‘I do, indeed,’ answered I ‘with amaze-
ment,

‘Such are the effects,’ continued she, ‘of
intoxication from the water of the golden
fountain. They contain in solution so large a
quantity of the matter which by mineralogists
is denominated silex, that once allow the
senses to be overpowered by repeated draughts,
and in a few hours the effects which you
behold will be produced. It is by these
means that my father has obtained the
variety and number of statues which you have
seen—all of whom were once visitors to the
island in different ships, not one of the crews
of which have ever returned. It has also the
power of producing longevity, and hardening
the hearts of those who use it in moderation.
My father’s cruelty, therefore, is not thought
of by his subjects, who, if convicted of any
heinous crime, are forced to drink this water,
and are erected as monuments of his displea-
sure in various parts of the island. You may
ask, how is it that I have not as little remorse
as the other inhabitants? The fact is, that I
was naturally of a kind and tender heart ; and
my mother, who lamented it because she felt
that it would not add to my happiness in this
world of cruelty and deceit, was more than
ever anxious that I should drink the waters ;
but what is forced upon us in childhood, is
generally remembered as we grow up with dis-
gust. The consequence is, that I have never
used the water since her death, which hap-
pened when I was but seven years old, HadI not made this discovery, in all probability
you and all your companions would have
fallen victims this evening, when the banquet
will be spread and the water will be produced
as before. My prepossession in your favour
has, I trust, been the means of preserving the
lives of those who remain.’

‘Cursed? treachery exclaimed I;
now what is to be done?’

‘You must escape. Caution your men not
to drink this evening, and make some excuse
to repair on board for an hour or two in the
forenoon of to-morrow. As for me——'

‘Without you, princess, I cannot—will not
go. Either consent to accompany me, or
here I stay, risking all; for I had sooner be a
senseless statue upon a plinth in the portico of
your abode, than quit the island with a broken
heart.’

‘Then he is true ; and there are some who
are good—-some who are not deceitful in this
world,’ exclaimed the princess, falling on her
knees, as the tears trickled down her cheeks.
‘IT am sure you'll treat me kindly,’ continued
she, holding my hand in hers; ‘if you do not
I shall die.’

I pressed her to my bosom, and vowed to
love her till death ; and we hastened back to
my chamber, that we might consult upon our
arrangements. I found an opportunity, in
the course of the forenoon, to acquaint all my
companions of their danger, except one whom
I could not meet with.

In the evening we again sat down to the
banquet, and soon after the water had been
procuced, the one who had not been warned
fell off his chair in a state of intoxication.
made this an excuse for drinking no more.
Assuming an angry tone towards my com-
panions, I apologized to the king for their
want of respect in his presence, and rose from
the table in spite of all his remonstrances.
The next morning I stated to the king that I
wished to return to my ship for an hour or
two, that I might bring him a present of
ivory, which I had been informed would be
acceptable. The princess offered to attend
us, and the king, satisfied with her surveil-
lance, consented to our departure, on condi-
tion that we would not fail to return in time
for the banquet, which we most faithfully
promised. While the sledges were preparing,

I requested the princess to obtain several
flasks of golden water, that I might present
them as curiosities to all the learned societies
in Europe. This she accomplished, and stow-
ing them in her own sledge, with several
articles of wearing apparel, not only took
them from the palace unperceived, but they
were carried on board without the knowledge
of my companions. I immediately cut my
cables, and made all sail out of the bay with-

‘and

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  
  
   
    
   
    
  
 
    
    
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
    
  
 
  
    
 
  
    
 
  
  
   
     

out any molestation, as the natives did not.
suspect my intentions; I never felt more.
happy than when I found myself once more |
floating on the wave, in company with my |
beautiful princess, whose affectionate manners ||
endeared me to her more and more every dai

Unfortunately, in our hurry to escape, we
quite overlooked the circumstance of ou
water-casks being nearly empty, and we we
soon reduced to half a pint per diem. T
render our situation more disastrous, the
weather became intensely hot, and the people, ||
in spite of all my remonstrances, contra
every night to steal a part of the water whic
was not yet expended, so that at last we foun
ourselves becalmed, without a drop of wat
on board.

But all my apprehensions were now swa
lowed up by one of greater interest. A feve
seized my dear princess, who, accustomed t
every luxury and a beautiful climate, coul
not bear up against the close confinement of
vessel under a tropical sun. Notwithstandin
all my care and attention, in three days afte
she was attacked she expired in my arm
blessing me for my attachment and my lov
and regretting that she was summoned from th
world so soon after she had discovered thai
there was an object in it worth living for.
threw myself upon——

Here the renegade appeared to be muce
aftected ; he covered his face with the wid
sleeve of his under-garment, and was silent.

‘ By God and his prophet, these Franks ari
great fools about women,’ observed the pach
to Mustapha. ‘I must own, though, that
like this princess better than Cerise, and I ai
very sorry that she is dead. Come, Hucka
back, go on. Where did you throw you
self ?’

 

~

On her body (continued the renegad
mournfully), where I remained for many hours
At last I rose in a frenzy, quite indifferent ai
to life or death. I went on deck, where
found my crew, much in the same condition
from their agonizing thirst; but I mocke
them, and laughed at the smooth expanse
water, which, far as the eye could reach, was
not rippled by the slightest breeze, and turned”
my eyes up in derision to the sun, who poure
down his vertical streams of light and heat, as"
if he would consume us with his powerf
rays. I thought but of one subject, I had bu
one desire, which was, to rejoin the object of
my adoration. Ona sudden I called to mind
the flasks of golden water, which till then 17
had forgotten, and rushing down i
cabin, I determined to intoxicate myself, an
quit this world of disappointment and unreal
ized fruition, As if fearful that the spiritof my loved princess shouid have already so
far journeyed to the realms of bliss, that I
might not be able to discern her when I had
shaken off the incumbrance of an earthly
body, and was at liberty to pursue, I seized a
flask, and pouring out the water with a hand
trembling with anxiety, drank off a glass. I
was hastily refilling it, when the gurgling
sound struck upon_the ears of my companions,
who, rushing down like the fainting animals
who hear the music of the fountain in the
desert, poured tumultuously into the cabin,
and in spite of all my remonstrances to leave
me sufficient for the completion of my desires,
seized upon the flask in my hand, as well as
upon all those that remained, emptied them
in a few seconds with their copious draughts,
and returned laughing and shouting to the
deck above.

The water which I had already drunk pro-
duced one good effect ; it hardened my heart
for the time, and I fell into a sort of stoical
indifference, which lasted many hours. I then
repaired on deck, where I found all my com-
panions changed into blue chalcedony—not
one alive. The heavens, too, had changed;
clouds obscured the sun, the wind was rising,
and ever and anon a mournful gust blew
through the shrouds ; the birds were scream-
ing on the wing, and the water-line of the
black horizon was fringed with a narrow ridge
offoam. ‘The thunder rolled at a distance,
and I perceived that convulsion of the ele-
ments was at hand. ‘The sails were all set,
and without assistance I could not reduce
them ; but I was indifferent to my fate. The
lightning now darted in every direction, and
large drops of rain pattered on the deck.
With the means of existence, the desire of life
returned ; I spread out the spare sails, and as
the torrents descended, and the vessel bowed
to her gunwale in submission to the blast, I
filled the empty casks. I thought of nothing
else until my task was completed. I strode
carelessly over the bodies of my companions,
the sails were blown from the yards, the yards
themselves were snapt asunder, the top-masts
fell over the sides, the vessel flew before the
boiling surge ; but I heeded not—I filled the
casks with water. When I had finished my
labours, a reaction took place, and I recol-
lected the loss which I had sustained. I de-
scended to thecabin. There she lay inall her
beauty. I kissed the cold cheek, { wrapped
up the adored image, carried it orn deck,
and launched it into the wave; and as it dis-
appeared under the raging billows, I felt as if

my heart, in its struggles to escape, had burst
the strings which confined it in my bosom,
and leapt into the angry flood to join her.
Exhausted with my feelings, I fell down ina
swoon ; how long I remained I cannot exactly

    
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. St

say, but it was nearly dark when I lost my recol-
lection, and broad daylight when I recovered.
The vessel was still flying before the gale,
which now roared in its resistless fury ; the
tattered fragments of the sails were blown out
before the lower yards like so many streamers
and pennants, and the wrecks of the topmasts
were still towing alongside through the foam-
ing surge. ‘The indurated bodies of my com-
panions were lying about the decks, washed
by the water which poured into the vessel as
she rolled deeply from one side to the other,
presenting her gunwales as if courting the ad-
mittance of the wave. ‘Are you, then, tired
of your existence,!as well as 1?’ thought I,
apostrophizing the vessel. ‘Have you found
out at last, that while you swim you’ve naught
to encounter but difficulty and danger? That
you enter your haven but to renew your tasks,
and again become a beast of burthen ; that
when empty you must bow to the slightest
breeze, and when laden must groan and labour
for the good of others. Have——

‘Holy Prophet! I never heard of people
talking to ships before, and I don’t understand
it, observed the pacha. ‘Leave out all you
said to the ship, and all the ship said to you
in reply, and go on with your story.’

The gale lasted for three days, and then it
as suddenly fell calm. I had obseryed by
the compass that we had been running to the
eastward, and I supposed that we were not
very far from the Western Isles. As I sur-
veyed the bodies of my companions, it occur-
red to me that they ought to fetch a high price
in Italy as specimens of art, and I resolved to
dispose of them as the work of men. Having
no other employment, I brought up the spare
planks from below, and made packing-cases
for them all. It was with some difficulty that
I contrived, by means of tackles, to lower them
to the hold, which I succeeded in accomplish-
ing with safety excepting in one instance, when,
from the tackle-fall giving way, the image fell
to the bottom of the vessel, and being very
brittle, was broken into pieces. As it was no
longer of any value as a statue, I broke it up
to examine it, and I can assure your highness
that it was very wonderful to witness how
every part of the human body was changed
into flint, of a colour corresponding with that
which it had been when living. The heart
was red, and on my arrival in Italy I had seve-
ral seals made from it, which were pronounced
by the lapidaries who cut them to be of the
finest blood-red cornelian. JI havenowa piece
of the dark stone of which the liver was com-
posed, which I keep for striking alight. As
it afterwards proved, almost all of it was valu-
able, for the alternate fat and lean formed a

482

variety of beautiful onyxes- and sardonyx,
which I disposed of very adyantageously to
the cameo-engravers. I wasseveral days em-
ployed in packing up, but I had plenty of pro-
visions and water, and had no doubt that I
should be seen by ‘some vessel ‘before they
were expended. Three weeks had elapsed,
avyhen one morning I went on, deck, and. saw
land on both sides of me. 1 immediately re-
cognized the rock of Gibraltar, and the Straits,
through which I was drifting. . lwas boarded
by a Spanish gun-boat from Algesiras, and
having stated that all my crew had died,two
months before of the yellow fever, I was towed
in, put into quarantine for forty days, and then
permitted to equip my vessel and procure
sailors. This I was enabled to do by selling
two of the flasks: which held the water, and
which, like all other utensils of the island from
which I had escaped, were of pure gold.

I did not think it prudent to go to Leghorn,
ahere not only the vessel might be recognized,
and the widow give me some trouble, but the
statues also might have been identified as the
men who had sailed in the vessel, and occa-
sion my being burnt as a necromancer by the
Inquisition. I directed my course for Naples,
where I arrived in safety. Having. disem-
barked my metamorphosed crew, I hired a
Jarge room to exhibit them, and expected to.
realize a considerable sum: but as I could
not name the artist, and the figures had not
the grace which the Italians admire, they re-
mained on my hands, and were even found
fault with as not being well executed. I sold
two, of the least prepossessing to a Sicilian
nobleman, who I understood had a large
couniry seat decorated {with monstrosities ;
and I then determined, as I had received a
high price for the pieces of the one which had
been broken up, to retail the others in the
same way. It answered admirably, and I re-
ceived more money for the fragments than J
had asked for the images in an unmutilated
state. The remainder of the golden flasks
also realized a large sum; I produced them
one by one, and disposed of them to English
collectors, as having been purloined by the
excavators from the ruins of Pompeii. I had
now plenty of money, and resolved to return
to my native city. An opportunity offering, I
embarked, and safely arrived at Marseilles.

‘Did you fulfil your promise to the Italian
captain, by having five hundred masses. said
for his soul?’ inquired Mustapha.

‘Upon my salvation! I never thought of
it to this moment,’ replied the renegade.
«Such, your highness, are. the adventures
of my Fifth Voyage; and I trust, that the
narration of them has afforded you entertain-
ment.’

   

     
   
   
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘Yes,’.observed the pacha, rising, ‘that
‘was something like a yoyage. . Mustapha,
giye him thirty pieces of gold. Huckaback,
we will hear your Sixth Voyage to-morrow '—
and the pacha retired behind the screen, and,
as usual, went into the apartment of the
women.

‘Pray, Selim, was there any truth in that
history of the princess? 1 thought at first |
that it was all invention ; but when you |
wept——’

‘ That was for the, sake of effect,’ answered |
the renegade: ‘when I get warmed with my |
story, | often work myself up to a degree that ©
I almost believe it myself.’

‘Holy Prophet! what a talent!’ rejoined
Mustapha. ‘What.an excellent prime minis-
ter you would have made in your own country! ©
Here’s your money ; will your next voyage be |
as good?’

“Vil. try, at all events; as I find that the |
princepal increases with the zzzerest, said the |
renegade, chinking the sequins in his hand. ©
‘ Au; revoir, as we say in France’—and the ©
renegade quitted the divan. :

‘ Allah—what a talent !’ muttered the vizier ©
to himself, as the renegade disappeared.

CHAPTER XII.

ON the ensuing day, after the usual business —
of the divan had been gone through, the rene-
gade was called in, and taking his seat, com-

menced the narrative of his Sixth Voyage.

SIXTH VOYAGE OF HUCKABACK.

May it please your highness,—It was my
intention to have remained quietly on shore,
after so many hairbreadth escapes and singular
adventures ; but I found France so changed, ©
that I was disgusted with my own country, ©
Everything was upside down—the nobles, the
wealthy, the talented, either were murdered,
or living in abject poverty in other countries,
while the lower. classes had usurped their
place, and governed the land. But what de-
cided me once more to go to sea, was that
the continual demands for fresh levies to re-)
cruit the republican armies, convinced me
that I had no chance of long remaining in
quiet. Of two evils I preferred what I con-
sidered to be the least; and rather than die
in a ditch on shore, I preferred the dangers
which might be incurred afloat. I bought a
large ship, and fitted her for a voyage of
speculation to Lima, in South America. As
the English cruisers covered the seas, and I
was resolved that I would not be taken by a
vessel of small force, I shipped with mé a
complement of forty men, and had twelveguns mounted on her decks. We escaped
through the gut of Gibraltar, and steered our
course for Cape Horn, the southernmost
point of America. Nothing worth narrating
occurred until we made the land, when a
strong adverse gale came on, which, after at-
tempting in vain to beat against it, blew away
most of our sails and finally obliged us to
bear up, and run away to the southward and
eastward.

From the working and straining of the vessel,
the decks had become so leaky that the water
ran through every part of the ship. Our pro-
visions (particularly our bread) being spoiled
and obliged to be thrown overboard, we were
necessitated to be put upon short allowance.
As we had no hopes of being able to support
ourselves upon what was left until our arrival
at Lima, I determined to run for the nearest
island, where I might obtain a fresh supply,
and then renew our attempt to beat round the
Cape. I was in some doubts where to pro-
ceed, but after running eastward for a fort-
night, we discovered land on the lee bow,
which I considered to be the uninhabited
island of New Georgia ; but as we approached
it, we thought that we perceived peopie on
the beach, and when within five miles we
could plainly distinguish that they were
soldiers in their uniforms, ranged up rank-and-
file. The colour of their clothes could not be
made .out with the glass, but it was easy to
be distinguished that they had yellow facings ;
from which I inferred that they were our
enemies the English. ‘Peste!’ thought I,
‘is it possible that these grasping islanders
have made a settlement on this place? Where
will they go to next?’ The different companies
appeared to be from one to two dozen in
number ; sometimes they stood quite still, at
others they walked a little way on the beach ;
but they constantly adhered to “their rank-
and-file position ; and as I could not perceive
that they had any muskets in their hands, I
inferred that they were merely practising the
marching evolutions. No houses or fortifica-
tions were distinguishable, and I determined
to run the ship nearer in, that I might observe
their motions. I did so, and when within
two miles, I again rounded to, and putting
my eye to the glass, perceived to my astonish-
ment that a whole regiment of them ran into
the surf, and re-appeared on the outside of it
in the form of aquatic birds, swimming and
diving in every direction. I now began to
suspect that it was an enchanted island, and
not forgetting the lesson of the Golden Foun-
tain, I made all sail, and we soon left it out
of sight astern. I think it right to state to
your highness, that on mentioning this cir-
cumstance to an Englishman who had been

employed in the spermaceti whale fishery, he

  
    
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 83

asserted that they really were birds, called
Patagonian penguins, who had often deceived
others by their martial appearance. He
stated that they had no wings, but only
flappers, and when on shore, invariably stood
upright like men in ranks ; that they were
about three or four feet high when in this
posture, and had two broad yellow streaks on
each side of their necks. How far his asser-
tions were true I do not know, for the people
of that country who have doubled the Cape
consider themselves entitled to tell any false-
hoods which they think proper, and to shoot
you if you venture to express a doubt as to
their veracity. One of my chief reasons for
disliking the English is, that they are such
abominable liars.

We now steered more to the southward,
and in three days discovered another small
island. It was apparently well wooded, al-
though not large. We hove to to windward
of it, and not perceiving any inhabitants, I
lowered down a boat, and sent the first mate
on shore to reconnoitre. He returned in an
hour, informing me that the island was covered
with cocoa-nut trees in full bearing, and that
he had seen several wild pigs, but no symptoms
of its being inhabited. ‘That there was no
anchorage that he could discover, as the
shore rose perpendicularly, like a wall, from
the ocean. We therefore ran to leeward, and
discovered that a reef of coral rocks extended
nearly two miles from that side of the island.
The boats were again lowered ; and after
surveying, the mate reported that there was a
passage, with plenty of water for the ship,
through the very centre of the reef, which
would bring her into a small bay, where she
might lie in perfect security. Before night
we had gained the anchorage, and furled
sails. The next morning I went on shore to
reconnoitre :. we found some springs of fresh
water, cocoa-nuts and other trees in abun-
dance, and occasionally fell in with herds of
wild pigs, which appeared, with the exception
of birds, to be the only animals that existed
upon the island. Satisfied that I now had an
opportunity of revictualling my ship, I unbent
my sails, struck my topmasts, unrove my
running rigging, and, in short, made every
preparation for a long stay. I. then sent
parties‘ on shore to erect tents and shoot the
wild pigs, while I superintended the fixing of
coppers on the beach to boil the salt out of
the sea-water, which would be necessary for
curing the provisions. I also dug shallow
pans in the rock, close to the water's edge,
that I might gain as much salt as possible by
means of evaporation. Everything was pre-
pared in the course of the day, and the major
part of my ship's company were landed, and
slept in the tents.; In three days we had

4—284

salted down several casks of pork, and had
collected a large quantity of cocoa-nuts.

On the fourth morning I heard a dispute
among the men, some of them swearing that
they would not remain, and that the ship
ought to go to sea immediately. Astonished
at these remarks after they had expressed
themselves so well pleased, I inquired the
yeason. They answered, that there was
magic in the island ; and on my requiring an
explanation, they took me to the salt-pauns,
which, upon our arrival, had been cut in the
rocks within a foot of the water's edge, but
had now receded from the shore to a distance
of nine or ten feet. =f must own that I was
surprised at the circumstance, which was
quite unaccountable ; but still did not feel in-
clined to leave the island without first obtain-
ing the necessary supply of provisions. I
pointed out to the men, that although I
could not explain so strange an incident, yet
as we had seen and heard nothing, and should
certainly starve if we went to sea without pro-
visions, it would be better to remain until we
had procured a supply, observing that it was
not impossible that the water might have re-
ceded, instead of the island having advanced.
The latter remark seemed to quiet them, al-
though, at the time that I made it, I knew it
to be incorrect, as the rocks above water near
the beach were not higher out of it than be-
fore. ‘This the seamen did not pay attention
to, and I took care not to point it out to
them. ‘They agreed with my supposition,
that the water had receded, and said no more
about it.

We remained a fortnight longer, during
which the same phenomenon continued, each
day the salt-pans and coppers being further
off from the beach. At last the men, perceiv-
ing that the rocks did not rise higher from the
water, again became alarmed, and broke out
into open mutiny. By this time I had cured a
sufficiency of provisions, and I made no ob-
jection, indeed I must confess that I was by
no means easy in my own mind at these sup-
ernatural appearances. We struck our tents,
sent everything on board, rove the rigging,
bent the sails, and prepared for our departure.
Socn after we repaired on board, I happened
to cast my eyes upon the lead-line, which was
hanging over from the main chains, and
observed that it lay ina bight ; hauling up the
slack, I found, to my surprise, that instead of
five fathoms water in which we had anchored
we were in less than three.

At first it occurred to me that this was a
floating island, like the one I before described,
and that it was gradually rising more to the
surface ; but this idea did not satisfy me.
Throwing the lead and line in the boat, I
pushed off, and sounded in several directions,

 

  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

and had the mortification to find that in tle
passage which the ship had entered, there was
not sufficient water for her to go out again, ©
even if we were to have discharged the whole
cargo. I soon discovered the cause of this
apparent mystery; foras I went further out
on the reef, I found that whole trees and solid
masses of coral had sprung up to the water's
edge, in parts which I knew were several
fathoms deep when we entered. I had often
heard that the islands in these seas were
formed by corals, but I had no idea of the ra-
pidity with which they were extended.

Your highness must know that all the
zoophite, or animal plants, are composed of
small insects, who work in millions under the
water, until they rise to the top. Such was
the case in the present instance, and thus by
the labours of the minutest of the creation, in
the short space of three weeks, my ship was ©
shut up so as to render escape hopeless.

I returned on board, and explained to the
men the teal cause of the apparently superna-
tural effects of what we had witnessed. Satis-
fied that my assertions were correct, they
seemed to care little at being obliged to remain
on an island which afforded them the means
of such comfortable subsistence. As nothing
could be done for the ship, we went on shore
again, and repitching the tents, waited quietly
until we might be taken off by some vessel
which should chance to pass that way.

In a fortnight the ship was aground, and
the island continued to increase so rapidly,
that in two months she was raised high and
dry out of the water, about half a mile from
thebeach. ‘The vegetation seemed to advance
as regularly and as rapidly as the island, and
after the rainy season the trees had grown up
so high, that the ship was completely hid ina
large wood, and it was just possible to see
her lower masts above the branches. For
some time the men seemed perfectly contented.
We had plenty of stores in the ship of every
description ; the cargo I had taken on board
was chiefly manufactures, and as the island
provided fresh meat, fish, and fruit, they were
in want of nothing. But sailors are such
changeable and restless beings, that I really
believe they would soon be tired of Paradise
itself. After a sojourn ofnine months, during ©
which they perhaps lived better than they ever
had before, they began to murmur and talk of —
getting away in some manner or another. As
my cargo was valuable, I was in hopes
that a vessel would visit the island, and take
iton board ; I therefore made every remon-
strance that I could imagine to induce them to

wait some time longer; but they would not
listen to me, and made preparations for build-
ing a vessel at the weather side of the island,
out of the materials that the ship afforded.The reason why they chose the weather side
was, that they perceived that the island only
increased to leeward ; whereas to windward it
was a perpendicular rock of coral, which you
could not obtain bottom alongside of, with
two hundred fathoms of line. They had cut
a slip out of the rock, and were already occu-
pied with driving out the bolts and fastenings
of the ship that was shored up in the woods,
when one evening we perceived a large fleet of
canoes coming towards us. As I knew that I
could not be far from the Sandwich Islands, I
immediately pronounced them to come from
that quarter, in which supposition I was cor-
rect ; for although the island was not inha-
bited, the islanders had for some years been
aware of its existence, and came to gather the
crop of cocoa-nuts which it annually produced.
I advised my men to keep quiet in the woods,
removing the tents and every object that
might create suspicion of our being on the
island ; but they were of a different opinion,
and as they had lately discovered the means
of collecting the toddy from the cocoa-nut trees
and distilling arrack, they had been constantly
drunk, mutinous, and regardless of my au-
thority. They thought it would be much
easier to take the large canoes from the
islanders, and appropriate them to their own
use, than to builda vessel ; and notwithstand-
ing my entreaties, they persisted in their reso-
lution to make the attempt.

As the canoes approached, we counted
fourteen, all of a very large size, and with my
glass I could distinguish that they had fifty or
sixty persons on board of each, including the
women. I pointed this out to the sailors,
stating that I did not believe there were more
than ten women in each canoe, so that the
men must amount to seven hundred, —a force
much too large to give them any chance of
success in their rash intentions. But I did
more harm than good: the mention of the
women seemed to inspire them with fresh ar-
dour, and they vowed that they would kiil all
the men, and then would be content to remain
on the island, with the women.. They armed
themselves with muskets, and retired among
the trees as the canoes approached, fearful
that the islanders would not land if they were
discovered. The canoes ran between the reefs,
and in a few minutes the whole of the island-
ers disembarked, not conceiving it necessary
to leave any but the women in the canoes, the
water being as smooth as a fishpoud.

The arrangements of my men were certainly
very good : they allowed the islanders to go
up to the tents, which were now more than a
mile from the beach, and then walking down
under cover of the trees, rushed to the canoes,
and putting one man in each with their mus-
kets and ammunition, shoved them off and

THE PACHA OF MANV TAL&S, 35

 

  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 

2

made them fast to the coral rocks, about two
hundred yards distant. The screams of the
women and the shoving off of the canoes
alarmed the men, who hastened down to as-
certain the cause. As soon as they came
within half musket-shot, the sailors who were
on shore, amounting to twenty-five, fired a
volley out of the wood, which killed and
wounded a great number. The islanders re-
treated in confusion, then gave a loud shout
and advanced. Another volley was fired, and
they again retreated, bearing off their killed
and wounded. They now helda consultation,
which ended in their dividing into two bodies,
one of which separated from the other, so that
they might attack the party in the wood from
two different points.

In the meantime several of the women
leaped overboard and swam on shore, and the
men in the boats were so busy in preventing
the others from following, that they could give
no assistance to the party in the wood,
although they were within musket-shot. The
conduct of the islanders puzzled our men; and
although I had taken no part in this murder-
ous attack, yet as I considered my life at stake,
I thought that I must assist. I therefore ad-
vised them to retreat to the ship, which, if
they once gained possession of, they would be
enabled to keep the islanders at bay. My ad-
vice was followed, and creeping through the
thick underwood, we reached the ship in
safety, having climbed up by rope ladders,
which were hanging from her, to enable us to
goon board, to fetch any articles we required.
We hauled them up after us, and waited the
issue. Ina few minutes, one of the parties of
the islanders came up, and seeing the ship
with us on board, gave a loud yell, and let
fly their spears. We returned a volley which
killed many, but they were very brave, and
continued the attack, although we fired twenty
or thirty rounds with great execution.

The other party now came up, and the con-
flict continued ; they made every attempt to
climb the stern and sides of the vessel, but
were repulsed ; and as the evening closed in,
they retired, taking away their killed and
wounded, which we estimated at two hundred
men. When they retreated, we fired some of
our large guns in that direction, as much to
frighten the islanders, as to let our comrades
in the canoes know where we were.

We kept a sharp look-out till dark, but saw
no more of them. I proposed that we should
attempt to communicate with the men in the
canoes, and desire them to permit some of
them to drift on shore after taking out the
women, as the islanders would then in all
probability go away. But as the men very
justly remarked, nobody, in the first place,
would venture on such a dangerous service,and in the next, if the islanders obtained some
‘of their canoes, they would attack the others
‘and overpower the sailors that were in them.
-This plan was therefore justly overruled. 1
then proposed that one man should steal down
‘to the beach, swim off, and desire the fourteen
‘men to take all the women into’ one canoe,
‘and pull round’ to the north side of the island
during the night, leaving the remainder for
the islanders to go away in. ‘This was con-
sidered a good scheme, but no one would
volunteer; and, as I had proposed it, I
thought that I was in honour bound ‘to go, as
otherwise the men would, in future, have had
no opinion of me. I therefore stated my it-
tention, and taking my musket and ammuni-
tion, I slipped down bya rope. As soon as I
was on my legs, I perceived something crawl-
ing out of the wood towards theship. I could
not exactly decipher what it was, so I crept
under'ihe counter of the vessel, where it was
so dark that I could not be distinguished. As
it approached, I made it out to be one of the
islanders with a fagot of wood on his'back;
he piaced it close to the side of the vessel, and
then crawled ‘back as before. I now perceived
that there were hundreds of these fagots about
the ship, which the islanders had contrived to
carry there during the night ; for although the
moon was up,. yet the vessel was so enclosed
with trees that the light did not penetrate. I
immediately comprehended that it was their
intention to set fire'to the vessel, and I was
thinking of communicating the information to
my companions on board, when two more
crawled from the woods, and deposited their
bundles so close to me, that we were nearly
in contact. I therefore was obliged to leave
‘those who were on board to make the best of
it, and imitating the islanders, I crawled from
the vessel into the brushwood, trailing the gun
after me. It was fortunate that I took this
precaution, for in the very part of the wood
where I crept to, there were dozens of them
making up fagots; but it was too thick with
underwood, and too dark, to distineuish any-
thing, although I heard them close to me
breaking off the branches. I did the same as
TI went on, to avoid discovery, until I had
passed by them, when I continued my route
to where the canoes had been left. I arrived
in Safety at the outskirts of the wood close to
the beach, and perceived the canoes still lying
at the rocks, 'to which they had been taken ;
but the moon shone bright, and [ hesitated to
walk out in the light, until ! ascertained

whether there were any islanders on the beach.
As I waited a short time in the dark'shade of
the'trees, close to one of the springs of fresh
water, I ‘heard a moan close to me, and look-
ing in that direction, I perceived a body on
the’ ground,

I went towards-it, and could

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

distinguish very plainly that it was one of thé
women who had swum on shore. She was
nearly lifeless, and feeling, as every man must
have done, compassion at her unfortunate
condition, I knelt down by her to see if I
could afford her any assistance. As she had
very little clothes round her body, I discovered,
by passing my hand over her, that she was
wounded with a musket-ball above the knee,
and was exhausted from pain and loss of
blood. I tore my neckcloth and shirt into
pandages, and bound up her leg; I then
fetched some water from the spring in my hat,
which I poured into her mouth, and threw
over her face. She appeared to recover, and
I felt happy that I had been of some use, and
not being able to descry any of the islanders,
was proceeding to the beach, that I might
swim off to the canoes, when just as I walked
out of the shade, two or three muskets were
fired by those on board. ‘These were followed
by others, and loud yells from the islanders,
who had swum off in hundreds, and were
attacking our people. The conflict was very
short, for the men, not being able to load their
muskets quickly enough, were overpowered
by the islanders, who climbed into the canoes;
and in a few minutes they were all paddled to
the beach.

I now thought that it was all over with my
men on board of the ship, and so it proved :
for an hour before daylight the islanders
lighted the fagots, and, at the same time, at-
tacked the vessel with great fury. The fire
continued to blaze higher and higher, the
muskets were constantly discharging, and the
shouts and yells continued for about an hour,
when [ heard no more reports from the mus-
kets, and took it' for granted that my men
were overcome, which was the case, as I
afterwards found out; many were killed by
the spears when on board, others when they
leaped from the vessel to avoid the flames,
and the remainder had been suffocated.

As the sun rose above the horizon, a loud
explosion took place, by which I knew that
the flames had communicated with the maga-
zine, and that the ship had ‘been blown to
atoms. I determined to hide myself in the
bushes, with the hope of not being discovered.
Before I went, I made a hasty visit to the
poor wounded woman, to see how she was.
it was broad daylight, and I found that I had
afforded succour to a very beautiful young girl,
about sixteen or seventeen years old. As she
still appeared faint, I brought her some more
water, and when I gave it to her, she ex-
pressed her gratitude with her eyes. Exa-
mining the bandages, which had slipped a
little on one side, I replaced them, and then
darted into the thickest of the underwood.
As I pressed on, bent half double, my headLHE PACHA OF MANY TALES, 87
4

suddenly ‘cate in contact with something creased by the renewed suspension of my
hard; I looked up, and found that it was the body.
head of one of the islanders, who. was also I have a distinct recollection of being place
forcing his way through the bushes; an im- on the ground in a large circle—of the screams
mense, powerful man, who immediately of a woman, and ofa confused uproar, which
sprung upon me, and -pinned me. to the followed. When I came to my senses, I
ground. He was. followed by several others found myself in}a hut, unbound, and lying
whocame to his assistance, and all resistance upon soft mats, with fomentations applied. to
was useless. They pulled some of the creep- my limbs; and when my eyes opened, I be-
ing withies, that grow in those countries, and held hanging over me with an air of the ten-
bound me hand and foot; then selecting a ‘derest solicitude, the beautiful Savage whom I
large pole, they made me fast to it, and carried had found. wounded, and had succoured on
me away. When they arrived at the.beach, I the night of the affray, . I subsequently learnt
was laid down on my back, exposed tothe that when I had.been brought into the circle,
burning sun. Left tomy own reflections, and she had recognized me as the.person who had
calling to mind all that I could recollect from assisted her; that she claimed my life, pointing
the voyages and travels which I had read, I to her wound, and producing the bandages
concluded that Iwas to be made a.sacrifice with which I. had bound it up, and which
of to their gods...I prayed to heaven for were identified with the remainder, as part-of
mercy, and resigned myself to.my fate, which the dress which I still wore. A council was
appeared inevitable. held ; and as it appeared that I could not
The islanders had all assembled on the have been with the party in the ship, for I had
beach close to where I lay. ‘The dead bodies been taken prisoner in the woods, near to
of their companions, who had fallen'in the where the girllay, after many speeches pro and
conflict, and the wounded, were carried into con, 1t. was decided that my life should be
the canoes. They formed a circle round the spared, and that I should be married to the
fire, which they had kindled, made several girl who had been the means of preserving it,
speeches, and danced a war-dance. I turned She had carried me away to her hut, and was
round on my side, and perceived, to my now returning the debt of gratitude which she
horror, that they had collected all the. bodies had incurred.
of my companions, and were devouring them: Owing to her unwearied kindness and at-
What they did not feel inclined to eat, they tention I soon recovered, and before [ was
packed up in baskets, and put into the canoes. to be her husband I courted her by signs, and
I anticipated that such would be my own all the little attentions that could be suggested
fate—not at present, as they had more than by gratitude and love. As soon as I was sup-
they could consume—but that I should be re- posed to be sufficiently recovered, I was led
served for a festival, after their arrival in their into a large circle of the islanders, to be for-
own country. Nor was Lincorrect in my sup- mally admiitted into theirsociety, A venerable
position : they collected together all the bones, old manmadea speech, which I presume was
which they carried with them, and putting me nota very good one, from its extreme length,
on board, hoisted their mat sails, and steered and then several men laid hold of me, and
away for,their own islands. throwing me on the ground, face downwards,
On the third day we arrived, when I was sat astride on me, and commenced running
carried on shore, and confined in what I be- needles into the upper part of my thighs,
lieve was a burying-ground.. They stuffedme The pain was. excessive; but as all the
every day with pork and other victuals to keep islanders were tattooed about the loins, I pre-
me alive, and in good condition, but they sumed it was an operation that I must submit
never cast me loose from the pole to which I to, and bore it with fortitude,
was bound. JI heard processions, shouts, and
lamentations for the dead; but I could see __,
nothing, for I was now too weak to turn on “And pray what is that tattooing ? F
my side. When I had been a week in this ‘Tattooing, may it please your highness, is
confined state, the agony arising from the puncturing the skin with needles or sharp
swelling of my limbs and from. the increased points—and then rubbing Indian ink or gun-
tightness of the ligatures was so great, that I powder into the wounds, . This leaves an
called for death to relieve me from my suffer- indelible mark of a deep blue tint. All the
ings; and when I once more found myself islanders in those seas practise it, and very
raised upon the shoulders of men, I was as im- often the figures that are drawn are very beau-
patient for my approaching fate, as I should tiful,’ :
have been, under other circumstances, for my ‘Mashallah! How wonderful is God! I
release. My senses were gradually over- should like to see it,’ rejoined the pacha.
powered by the pain, which was so much in- ‘Allah forbid,’ replied the renegade, ‘that88

I should expose my person to your highness.
I know my duty better.’

‘Yes, but I must see it, yaha bibi, my
friend !’ continued the pacha impatiently;
‘never mind your person. Come—obey my
orders.’

The renegade was a little at a nonplus, as
he never had undergone the operation which
he had described. Fortunately for the support
of his veracity, it happened that during one of
his piratical excursions, in an idle fit, he had
permitted one of his companions to tattoo a
small mermaid on his arm.

‘Min Allah! God forbid,’ rejoined the
renegade; ‘my life is at the disposal of your
highness, and I had sooner that you should
take it, than I would affront your august eyes
with the exposure in question ; fortunately I
can gratify your highness’s curiosity without
offending decency—as, after they had finished
the operation I was describing, they made the
figure of their most respected deity upon my
arm.’ The renegade then pulled up his sleeve,
and showed the figure of a mermaid, with a
curling tail, a looking-glass in one hand and
acomb in the other. ‘Here your highness
will perceive a specimen of their rude art.
This is a representation of their goddess Bo-
gee. In one hand she holds an ironjrake,
with which she tattoos those who are good,

and the mark serves as a passport when they

apply for admittance into the regions of bliss.
In the other, she brandishes a hot iron plate,

with which she brands those who are sentenced

And why

to be punished for their sins.’
‘Allah karim—God is merciful !
has she a fish’s tail?’ inquired the pacha.

‘The people I am describing inhabit a
cluster of islands, and it is to enable her to
swim from one to the other, as her presence

may be required.’

‘Very true,’ observed the pacha—‘ now you

may go on with your story.’

As I mentioned to your highness, they
tattooed me without mercy; the operation
lasted an hour, when they put me on my feet
Another speech was made, which I
understood as little of as the former; they
left me with my wife, and the ceremony was

again.

at an end.

I must say I wished that I had not been
naturalized and married both on the same
I was .so swelled and so stiff with the
tattooing, that it was with difficulty I could,
with the assistance of my wife, walk back to
However, ‘by the remedies which
she constantly applied, in the course of three

day.

my hut.

days I felt no further inconvenience.

I now considered myself settled for the
I was passionately
attached to Naka-poop, for such was the

remainder of my life.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

name of my young wile, and notwithstanding
my French education, could not but acknow-
ledge that her natural and unsophisticated
manners were more graceful and more fasci-
nating than is all the studied address of my
own countrywomen, She was of high rank
in her own country, being nearly allied to the
king; and for two years my life slipped away
in uninterrupted happiness and peace. But,
alas !—and the renegade covered up his face.

‘Come, Huckaback, you surely have been
too much accustomed to lose your wives by
this time to make a fuss about it. These
Franks are strange people,’ observed the
pacha to the vizier; ‘they've a tear for every
woman.’

‘Your highness must excuse me; I shall
not offend again, for I never married after-
wards. My charming Naka-poop died in
child-bed, and the island became so hateful to
me, that I determined to quit it. An oppor-
tunity occurred by an American vessel, which
arrived with some missionaries.’

‘What are missionaries ?’
pacha.

‘People who came to inform the islanders,
that Bo-gee was not a goddess, and to per-
suade them to embrace the true faith.’

‘Very right,’ replied the pacha; ‘there is
but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet.
Well——’

inquired the

As I understood both languages, I was em-
ployed as an interpreter, but it was impossible
to explain what the missionaries intended to
convey, as the language of the islanders had
not words that were analogous. A council
was held ; and the answer which the mis-
sionaries received was as follows :—

‘You tell us that your God rewards the
good and punishes the wicked—-so does Bo-
gee. We speak one language, you speak
another. Perhaps the name of your God
means Bo-gee in ours. Then we both wor-
ship the same God, under different names.
No use to talk any more ; take plenty of pigs
and yams, and go home.’

The missionaries took their advice, their
pigs, and their yams, and I went home with
them. We arrived at New York, where 1}
claimed and received from the Bible Society
my pay as interpreter to the missionaries from
the time that they landed up to the day of
our return. I never should have thought of
claiming it, had it not been for the advice of
one of the missionaries, who took a fancy to

me.
With the money that I received I paid my
passage in a vessel bound to Genoa, where I
arrived in safety, but without the means of
subsistence.

But what doth the poet say, .“Necessity is a strong
stirrups, who maketh the
which the strong horse sometimes will not
do.’ Having no other resource, I determined
once more to try my fortune upon the ocean.

rider with sharp
sorry jade do that

‘Allah wakbar—God is everywhere !

Was your talleh—your destiny, Huckaback.’

at was his kismet—his fate, your sublime
highness,’ rejoined Mustapha, ‘that he should
go through those perils to amuse your leisure
hours.’

‘Waliah thaib—well said, by Allah! Let
the slave rejoice in our bounty. Give him
ten pieces of gold ; we will open our ears to
his next voyage to-morrow. Murakhas, you
are dismissed.’

‘May your sublime shadow never be Jess,”
replied Huckaback, as he salaamed out of the
pacha’s presence.

It

 

CHAPTER XIII.
THE LAST VOYAGE OF HUCKABACK.

Your highness will be surprised at the un-
heard-of adventures that occurred to me in
my last voyage, and I think I can boldly
_assert that no man, either before or since, has
explored so much, or has been in the pecu-
liarly dangerous situations in which I have
been placed by destiny.

Notwithstanding the danger which I in-
curred from my former expedition to the
Northern Ocean, I was persuaded to take the
command of a whaler about to proceed to
those latitudes : we sailed from Marseilles
early in the year, that we might arrive at the
northward in good time, and be able to quit
the Frozen Ocean before the winter had set
in. We were very fortunate on our arrival at
Baffin’s Bay, and very soon had eighteen fish
on board. The autumn was hardly com-
menced before I proposed to return, and we
were steering in a southerly direction, when
we encountered two or three large icebergs,
upon the edges of which the walruses or sea-
horses were lying in herds. As we had some
casks still empty, I determined to fill them
with the oil to be obtained from these animals,
and hoisted out my boats to attack them.
We killed a large number, which we sent on
board, and continued our fishery with great
success, having only lost one boat, the bottom
plank of which had been bitten out by the
tusks of one of these unwieldy animals. Oi*a
sudden the wind changed to the southward,
and the small icebergs which were then to
windward rapidly closed with the large one
upon which we were fishing. The harpooners

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

observed it, and recommended mie to return
to the ship, but I was so amused with the
sport that I did not heed their advice. A sea-
horse was lying in a small cave accidentally
formed on the upright edge of the iceberg,
and wishing to attack him, I directed my
boat to pull towards it. At this time there
was not more than twenty yards of water be-
tween the two icebergs, and 2 sudden squall
coming on, they closed with great rapidity.
The men in the other boats immediately
pulled away, and, as I afterwards learnt, when
I arrived at Marseilles, they escaped, and re-
turned home in the ship; but those in mine,
who were intent upon watching me, as I stood
in the bow of the boat with the harpoon to
strike the animal, did not perceive the danger
until the stern of the boat was touched by the
other iceberg. The two now coming within
the attraction of cohesion of floating bodies,
were dashed like lightning one against the
other, jamming the men, as well as the boat,
into atoms.

Being in the bow of the boat, and hearing
the crash, I had just time, in a moment of
desperation, to throw myself into the cave
upon the back of the sea-horse, when the two
enormous bodies of ice came into contact—
the noise, I haye no doubt, was tremendous,
but I did not hear it, as I was immediately
inclosed in the ice. Although at first there
were interstices, yet, as the southerly gale
blew the icebergs before it into the northern
region, all was quickly cemented together by
the frost, and I found myself pent up in an
apartment not eight feet square, in company
with a sea-horse.

I shall not detain your highness by de-
scribing my sensations : my ideas were, that I
was to exist a certain time, and then die for
want offresh air; but they were incorrect. At
first, indeed, the cave was intolerably hot,
from the accumulation of breath, and I
thought I should soon be suffocated. I recol-
lected all my past sins, I implored for mercy,
and lay down to die; but I found that the ice
melted away with the heat, and that, in so
doing, a considerable portion of the air was
liberated, so that in a few minutes my respira-
tion became more free. The animal in the
meantime, apparently frightened at his unusual
situation, was perfectly quiet; and, as the
slightest straw will be caught at by the drown-
ing man, so did the idea of my preservation
come into my head. I considered how much
air so enormous an animal must consume, and
determined upon dispatching him, that I
might have more for my own immediate
wants. I took out my knife, and inserting it
between the vertebral bones that joined his
head to his neck, divided the spinal marrow,
and he immediately expired.go THE PACHA OF

When I found that he was, quite dead, I
crawled from, his shoulders, and took up a
more convenient berth in that, part of the cave
which was before his head, to. which I had
been afraid to, venture while the animal was
alive, lest he should attack me with his enor-
mous tusks. | Theair soon became more pure,
and I breathed freely. Your highness may be
surprised at the assertion ; but whether I ob-
tained air from the ice itself, or whether the
ice was sufficiently porous to admit of it, I
know not; but from that time I had ‘no diffi-
culty of respiration. In our country we have
had instances: of women and children, who
have been buried in the snow for two months,
and yet have been taken out alive, and have
recovered, although they had little or no
nourishment during their inhumation. I re-
collected this, and aware that the carcass of
the animal would supply me for years, I began
to indulge a hope that I might yet be saved,
if driven sufficiently to the southward to admit
of my being thawed out. I was convinced
that the ice about me could not be more than
six or eight feet thick, as I had sufficient light,
to distinguish the day from the night, After-
wards my eyesight became so much more
acute, that I could see very well to every
corner of the cave in which I was imbedded.

During the first month the calls of hunger
obliged me to make frequent attacks: upon the
carcass of the sea-horse ; after that my appe-
tite decreased, until at length I would not
touch a mouthful of food in a week,—I pre-
sume from. the want of fresh air and exercise,
neither of which I could be said to enjoy. I
had been about two months in this hole, when
a violent shock like that: of an earthquake
took place, and I fell from the top of the cave
to the bottom, and for a minute was knocked
ahout like a pea in.a rattle. I had almost lost
my. senses before it was over, and I found my-
self lying upon what was before the top of the
cave. From these circumstances I, inferred
that the iceberg in which I was inclosed had
come in contact with another, and that I had
been broken off from it, and was floating on
the sea with other pieces, which, when col-
lected in large quantities, are termed a floe of
ice. Whether my situation was changed for
the better I knew not, but the change inspired
me with fresh hopes. I now calculated that
five months had elapsed, and that it was the
depth of winter, therefore [;had no chance of
being released until the ensuing spring.

‘ Allah wakbar, God is everywhere!’ inter-
rupted the pacha, ‘But. I wish. to know,
Huckaback, how. you were. so exactly aware
of the. time which had passed away.’

‘Min bashi, and head of thousands !’ replied
Huckaback, ‘I will explain to your highness.

 

MANY TALES

{ once jammed my nail at the bottom, and f
expected to lose it. It did not however come
off; but-grew up as before, and I, had the
curiosity. to, know. how. often people-changed
their nails in, the course of.a year. It was
exactly two months, and from this I grounded
my calculations.. I observed specks on my
nails, and as they grew up, so did I calculate
time.’

‘ Mashallah, how wonderful is God! Wal-
lah thaib! Well said, by Allah! I never
should have thought of that,’ observed the
pacha. |‘ Proceed with your story,’

The five months had elapsed, according to
my calculations, when.one morning I hearda
grating noise close to me; soon afterwards I
perceived the teeth of a saw entering my
domicile, and I correctly judged that some
ship was cutting her way through the ice.. Al-
though I could not make myself heard, I
waited in anxious expectation of deliverance.
‘The saw approached very near to where I was
sitting, and I was afraid that I should be
wounded, if not cut in halves ; but just as it
was within two inches of my nose, it was
withdrawn. The fact was, that I was under
the main floe, which had been frozen together,
and the firm ice above having been removed
and pushed away, I rose to the surface. A
current of fresh air, immediately poured into
the small incision made by the saw, which not
only took away my breath from its sharpness, -
but brought on a spitting of blood. Hearing
the sound. of voices, I considered my deliver-
ance as certain. Although I understood very
little English, I heard the name of Captain
Parry frequently mentioned—a name, I pre-
sume, that your highness is well acquainted
with.

‘Pooh! never heard of it,’ replied the pacha.

“J am surprised, your highness ; 1 thought
everybody must have heard of that adventur-
ous navigator. I may here observe that I have
since read his voyages, and he mentions as a
curious fact, the steam which was emitted
from the ice—which was nothing more than
the hot air escaping from my cave when it
was cut through—a singular point, as it not
only proves the correctness of his remarks,
but the circumstance of my having been there,
as I am now describing it to your highness.’

But, alas! my hopes soon vanished ; the
voices became more faint; I felt that I was
plunged under the floe to make room for the
passage of the ship, and when I rose, the
water which had filled the incision made by
the saw, froze hard, and I was again closed in
—perhaps for ever. I now became quite fran-
tic with despair, I tore my clothes and dashedLHE: PACHA OF MANY: BALES, or
my head against the corners of the cave, and very short time the ice that surrounded. me
tried to put an end to my hated existence, At was thawed, and I found myself at liberty ;
last, [sank down exhausted with myownviolent but I still floated upon the body of the ‘sea-
efforts, and continued sullen for several days. horse, and the ice which was under the water.

But there is a buoyant spirit in our compo- ‘The! latter, soon, vanished, and striding the
sition which raises our heads above the waters back..of the dead animal, although nearly

,of despair. Hope never déserts us, not-even blind by. the rays of the sun, and suffocated.
in an iceberg. She attends us and supports with the sudden change of climate, I waited
us to the last; and although we reject her patiently to gain the shore, which was not one
kind offices in our fury, she still watches by mile distant ; but, before I could arrive there,
us, ready to assist and console us, when we for the.sea-breeze had not yet set in, an enor-
are inclined to hearken to her encouraging mous shark, well-known ‘among. the English
whispers. by the name of Port-Royal Tom, who had

I once more listened to her suggestions, and daily rations from government, that by remain-
for six months fed upon them, aided by occa- ing in the harbour he might prevent the sailors
sional variations of the fiesh of the sea-horse, from swimming on shore to desert, ranged up
It was now late in the summer, and the ice in along side of me. I thought it hard that I
which I was bound up had evidently melted should haye to undergo such, new dangers,
away. One morning I was astonished by after having been down the Maelstroom, but
perceiving that the light of the sun seemed to there was no help for it. He opened his enor-
change its position regularly every quarter of mous jaws, and had I not immediately shifted
an hour. Had it done so occasionally during my, leg, would have taken it off. As it was,
the day, and at novstated intervals, I should he took such a piece out of my horse, as to
have imagined that the ice.that Iwas inclosed render it what the sailors call lopsided. Again
in, altered its position with the winds and he attacked, it, and continued to take piece
currents ; but the regularity astonished me. after piece off my steed, until I was afraid that
I watched it, and I found that the same phe- he would come to the rider at last, when for-
nomenon occurred, but atshorter intervals,.and tunately a boat full of black people, who were
it continued until the light shifted from sideto catching flying fish, perceived me and pulled
side every minute. to my assistance. They took me on shore,

After some reflection, the horrid idea oc- and:carried me to the governor, to whom I
curred tome that I must have been drifted to gave a history of my adventures : but English-
the coast of Norway, and was in the influence men suppose that nobody can meet with won-
of the dreadful whirlpool called the Mael- drous adventures except themselves: He
stroom, and that, in a few minutes, I should called mea liar, and put me in the Clink, and
be engulfed for ever; and, whilst I was think- a. pirate schooner, having been lately taken
ing that’such might be the.case, the light re- and the crew executed, I was declared to have
volved ‘each fifteen seconds. .‘Then it is!’ been:one of them; but, as it was clearly
cried I in despair; and, asl uttered the proved that the vessel only contained thirty
words, it became quite dark, and I knew that men, and they had already hung forty-seven,

1 had sunk in the vortex, and all was over. Iwas permitted to quit the island, which I

It may-_appear strange to your highnessthat did ina small vessel bound to America, on

after the first pang, occasioned by the prospect condition that I would work, my passage.
of perdition, had passed away, that’ so <far We had gained to the northward of the
from feeling a horror.at my-situation, I!mocked Bahama Isles, and were standing to the west-
and derided it. Icould feel no more, and.I ward before .a light breeze, when early one
waited the result with perfect indifference: morning several waterspouts were observed to
from the marks in my naiis Lafterwardsfound be forming in,various directions, It was my
out that I was nearly six months in the inte- watch below, but as I had never seen one of
rior of the earth. At: last, one day I was these curious phenomena of nature, I went on
nearly blinded by. the powerful» light that deck to indulge my curiosity,

poured through: my tenement, and f knew

that I was once more floating on the water. ‘Pray what is a waterspout?’ inquired the
pacha; ‘I never heard of one before.’

©Allah kebir ! God is most powerful!’ ex- ‘A waterspout, your highness, is the ascent

claimed the pacha. ‘Holy Prophet, where ofa large body of water into the clouds;,one

was it that you came up again ? of those gigantic operations by which Nature,

‘In the harbour of Port-Royal,.in Jamaica, apparently without effort, accomplishes her
Your highness will hardly credit it, but on my will, pointing out to man the insignificance of
honour it is true.’ his most vaunted undertakings.’

‘Humph! that’s a waterspout, is it?’ res

The heat of the sun was so great, that in a plied the pacha; ‘I’m about as wise as before,92 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. |

< «J will deseribe it more clearly to your high- their eyes in amazement at the extraordinary
ness, for there is no one who has a better right spectacle.
to know what a waterspout is than myself.’ :

‘T don’t wonder at that,’ observed the

A black cloud was over our heads, and we pacha,
perceived that for some time it was rapidly
descending. The main body then remained I soon reached the tongue of the cloud,
stationary, and a certain portion of it con- whieh appeared as if impatient to receive me
tinued bellying down until it had assumed the —the hair of my head first coming within
form of an enormous jelly-bag. From the end its attractive power, was raised straight on
of this bag a thin, wiry, black tongue of an end—then seized as it were and twisted

vapour continued to descend until it had round. I was dragged up by it each moment
arrived half-way between the cloud and the sea. with increased velocity, as I whirled round in
my ascent. “At last I found myself safely

The water beneath, then ruffled on its surface,

increasing its agitation more and more untilit landed, and sat down to recover my breath,

boiled and bubbled like a large caldron, which I had nearly bost for ever.

throwing its foam aside in every direction. In E :

a few minutes a small spiral thread of water ‘And, pray, where did you sit, Hucka-

was perceived to rise into the air, and meet back?’ 4

the tongue which had wooed it from the ‘On the cloud, your highness.’

cloud. When the union had taken place, the —‘ Holy Prophet ! What, a cloud bear your

thread increased each moment in size, until weight ?”

it was swelled into a column of water several ‘If your highness will call to mind that at

feet in diameter, which continued to supply the the same time the cloud took up several tons

thirsty cloud until it was satiated and could of water, you cannot be surprised at its sup-

drink no more. It then broke, the sea be- porting me.’

came smooth as before, and the messenger of ' ‘Very true,’ replied the pacha. ‘Thisisa

heaven flew away upon the wings of the wind, very wonderful story; but before you go on, I

to dispense its burden over the parched earth wish to know what the cloud was{made of.’

in refreshing and fertilizing showers. ‘That is rather difficult to explain to your
While I was standing at the taffrail in highness. I can only compare it to a wet

admiration of this wonderful resource of blanket. I found it excessively cold and

nature, the main boom gibed and struck me damp, and caught a rheumatism while I was

with such force that I was thrown into the there, which I feel to this day.’

sea, Another waterspout forming close to

the vessel, the captain and crew were alarmed,
and made all sail to escape, without regard- divided, and we rapidly ascended, until the
ing me; for they were aware that if it should cold became intense. We passed a rainbow
happen to break over them, they would be as we skimmed along, and I was very much
sent to the bottom with its enormous weight. surprised to find the key of my chest and my
I had scarcely risen to the surface, when clasp-knife forced themselves through the
I perceived that the water was in agitation cloth of my jacket, and flew with great
round me, and all my efforts to swim from the velocity towards it, fixing themselves firmly to
spot were unavailing, for I was within the the violet rays; from which I discovered that
circle of attraction. ‘Thus was I left to my those peculiar rays were magnetic. I men-
fate, and, convinced that I could not swim tioned this curious circumstance to an Eng-
for many minutes, I swallowed the salt water lish lady whom I met her on travels, and I have
as fast as I could, that my struggles might the since learnt that she has communicated the
sooner be over. fact to the learned societies as a discovery of

But as the sea boiled up, I found myself her own. However, as she is a very pretty
gradually drawn more to the centre, and woman, I forgive her. Anxious to look down
when exactly in it, I was raised in a sitting upon the earth, I poked a hole with my
posture upon the spiral thread of water, finger through the bottom of the cloud, and
which, as I explained to your highness, was astonished to perceive how rapidly it was
forced itself upwards to join the tongue pro- spinning round. We had risen so high as to
truded by the cloud. ‘There I sat, each be out of the sphere of its attraction, and in
second rising higher and higher, balanced like consequence remained stationary. , I had been
the gilt ball of pith, which is borne up by the up about six hours, and although I was close
vertical stream of the fountain which plays in to the coast of America when I ascended, I
the inner court of your highness's palace. I could perceive that the Cape of Good Hope
cast my eyes down, and perceived the vessel was just heaving in sight. I was enabled to
not far off, the captain and crew holding up form a very good idea of the structure of the

When the cloud was saturated, the columnglobe, for at that immense height I could see
to the very bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. De-
pend upon it, your highness, if you wish
to discover more than other people can, it is
necessary to be ‘ up in the clouds.’

‘Very true,’ replied the pacha; ‘but go on.’

‘T was very much interested in the chemical
process of turning the salt water into fresh,
which was going on with great rapidity while
I was there. Perhaps your highness would
like me to explain it, as it will not occupy your
attention more than an hour.’

‘No, no, skip that, Huckaback, and go on.’

But as soon as I had gratified my curiosity,
I began to be alarmed at my Situation, not so
much on account of the means of supporting
existence, for there was more than sufficient.

‘More than sufficient !
you have to eat ?

‘Plenty of fresh fish, your highness, which
had been taken up in the column of water at
the same time I was, and the fresh water
already lay in little pools around me. But
the cold was dreadful, and I felt that I could
not supportit many hours longer, and how to
get down again was a problem which I could
not solve.’

Why, what could

Tt was, however, soon solved for me, for
the cloud, having completed its chemical
labours, descended as rapidly as it had risen,
and joined many others, that were engaged in
sharp conflict. As I beheld them darting
against each other, and discharging the elec-
tric fluid in the violence of their collision, I
was filled with trepidation and dismay, lest,
meeting an adversary, I should be hurled
into the abyss below, or be withered by the
artillery of Heaven. But I was fortunate
enough to escape. - The cloud which bore me
descended to within a hundred yards of the
earth, and then was hurried along by the
wind with such velocity and noise, that 1 per-
ceived we were assisting at a hurricane.

As we neared the earth, the cloud, unable
to resist the force of its attraction, was com-
pelled to deliver up its burthen, and down I
fell, with such torrents of water, that it re-
minded me of the deluge. The tornado was
now in all its strength. The wind roared and
shrieked in its wiid fury, and such was its
force that I fell in an acute angle.

‘What did you fall in?’ interrupted the
pacha. ‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘7 fellin a slanting direction, your highness,
describing the hypothenuse between the base
and perpendicular, created by the force of the
wind, and the attraction of grayitation,’

THE PACHA Of MANY TALES.

93

‘Holy Prophet! who can understand such
stuff? Speak plain; do you laugh at our
beards >”

‘Min Allah! God forbid! Your servant
would indeed eat dirt,’ replied Huckaback.

I meant to imply, that so powerful was the
wind, it almost bore me up, and when I first
struck the water, which I did upon the sum-
mit of a wave, I bounded off again, and
ricochetted several times from one wave to
another, like the shot fired from a gun along
the surface of the sea, or the oyster-shell
skimmed over the lake by the truant child.
The last bound that I gave, pitched me into
the rigging of a small vessel on her beam-
ends, and [ hardly had time to fetch my
breath before she turned over. I scrambled
up her bends, and fixed myself astride upon
her keel.

There I remained for two or three hours,
when the hurricane was exhausted from its
own violence. The clouds disappeared, the
sun burst out in all its splendour, the sea
recovered its former tranquillity, and Nature
seemed as if she was maliciously smiling at
her own mischief. The land was close to me,
and the{vessel drifted on shore. I found that
I was at the Isle of Francé, having, in the
course of twelve hours, thus miraculously
shifted my position from one side of the globe
unto the other. I found the island in a sad
state of devastation ; the labour of years had
been destroyed in the fury of an hour—the
crops were swept away—the houses were
levelled to the ground—the vessels in frag-
ments on the beach—all was misery and deso-
lation. I was, however, kindly received by
my countrymen, who were the inhabitants of
the isle; and in four and twenty hours we all
danced and sang as before. I invented a very
pretty quadrille, called the Hurricane, which
threw the whole island into an ecstasy, and
recompensed them for all their sufferings.
But I was anxious to return home, and a
Dutch vessel proceeding straight to Marseilles,
I thought myself fortunate to obtain a passage
upon the same terms as those which had
enabled me to quit the West Indies. We
sailed, but before we had been twenty-four
hours at sea, I found that the captain wasa
violent man, and a most dreadful tyrant. I
was not very strong, and not being able to
perform the duty before the mast, to which I
had not been accustomed, I was beat so un-
mercifully that I was debating in my mind
whether I should kill the captain and then
jump overboard, or submit to my hard fate;
but one night, as I lay groaning on the fore-
castle, after a punishment I had received from
the captain, which incapacitated me from
further duty, an astonishing circumstanceof

occurred, which was the occasion, not only of
my embracing the Mahomedan religion, but
of making use of those expressions which
attracted your highness’s attention when you
passed in disguise. .‘Why am I thus ever
to be persecuted?’ exclaimed I in despair.
And as I uttered theseé words, a venerable
personage, in-a flowing beard, and a book in
his hand, appeared before me, and answered
me:

‘Because, Huckaback, you have not em-
braced the true faith.’

‘What is the true faith?’ inquired I, in
fear and amazement.

‘There is but one God,’ replied he, ‘and I
am his Prophet.’

‘Merciful Allah!’ exclaimed the pacha,
‘why, it must have been Mahomet himself.’

‘It was so, your highness, although I knew
it not at the time.’

‘Prove unto me that itis the true faith,’
said [.

*{ will,’ replied he; ‘I will turn the heart
of the infidel captain ; and he disappeared.
‘The next day the captain of the vessel, to my
astonishment, came to me as I lay on the
forecastle, and begging my pardon for the
cruelty that he had been guilty of, shed tears
over me, and ordered me to be carried to his
cabin. He laid me in’his own bed, and
watched me as he would a favourite child. In
a short time I recovered; after which he
would perntit me to do no duty, but insisted
upon my being his guest, and loaded me with
every kindness,

‘God is great !’ ejaculated the pacha.

I was lying in my bed, meditating upon
these things, when the venerable form again
appeared to me.

‘Art thou now convinced ?’

‘Tam,’ replied I.

“Then prove it by submitting to the law the
moment that you are able. You shall'be re-
warded—not at once, but when your faith has
been proved. Mark me, follow your profes-
sion on the seas, and, when once you find
yourself sitting in the divan at Cairo, with
two people originally of the same profession as
yourself, without others being present, and
have made this secret known, then you shall
be appointed to the command of the pacha’s
fleet, which, under your directions, shall
Such shall be the

always meet with success.
reward of your fidelity.’
It isnow four years that I have embraced
the true faith, and, sinking under poverty, I
was induced to make use of the exclamation
that your highness heard ; for how can I ever

   
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
    
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
    
   
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

hopé ‘to meet two barbers at the divan withs
out other. people being present ?

‘Holy Prophet! how strange! Why
Mustapha was a barber, and so was I!’ cried
the pacha.

‘God is great!’ answered. the renegade,
prostrating himself. ‘Then I command your
fleet ?’

‘From this hour,’ replied the pacha. ‘ Mus-
tapha, make known my wishes.’

“The present in command,’ replied Musta-
pha, who not a dupe to the wily renegade,
‘is a favourite with the men,’

‘Then sénd for him, and take off his head.
Is he to interfere with the commands of Ma-
homet ?’

‘The vizier bowed, and the pacha quitted
the divan.

The renegade, with a smile upon his lips,
and Mustapha, with astonishment, looked at
each other for a few seconds. ‘You have a
great talent, Selim,’ observed the vizier.

“Thanks to your introduction, and to my
own invention, it will at last be called into
action. Recollect, vizier, that I am grateful
—you understand me;’ and the renegade
quitted the divan, leaving Mustapha still in
his astonishment,

CHAPTER XIV.

‘MUSTAPHA,’ said the pacha, taking his pipe
out of his mouth, after an hour's smoking in
silence, ‘I have been thinking it very odd
that our Holy Prophet (blessed be his name !)
should have given himself so much trouble
about such a son of Shitan as that renegade
rascal Huckaback, whose religion is only jin
his turban. By the sword of the Prophet, is
it not strange that he should send him to com-
mand my fleet ?’

‘ It was the will of your sublime highness,’
replied Mustapha, ‘that he should command
your fleet.’

‘Mashallah !
Prophet ?

Mustapha smoked his pipe, and made no
reply.

‘He was a great story-teller,’? observed the
pacha, after another pause.

‘He was,’ dryly replied Mustapha. ‘No
kessehgou of our true believers could equal
him ; but that is now over, and the dog of an
Isauri must prove himself a Rustam in the
service of your sublime highness. Aware that
your highness would require amusement, and
that it was the duty of your slave, who shines
but by the light of your countenance, to pro-
cure it, I have since yesterday, when the

Was it not the will of thesun went down, despairing to find his glory
eclipsed by that of your sublime highness,
ordered most diligent search to be made
through the whole Of the world, and have dis-
covered, that In the caravan now halted on
the outskirts of the town, there was a famous
kessehgou, proceeding to Mecca to pay his
homage to the shrine of our Prophet ; and I
have despatched trusty messengers to bring
him into the presence’ of the Min Bashi, to
whom your slave, and the thousands whom he
au are but as dust :’ and Mustapha bowed
ow

‘Aferin ! excellent !’ exclaimed the pacha ;

‘and when will he be here ?

‘ Before the tube now honoured. by kissing
the lips of your highness shall have poured
out in ecstasy the incense of another bowl of
the fragrant weed, the slippers of the kessehgou
will be left at the threshold of the palace. Be
chesm, on my eyes be it.’

“Tis well, Mustapha. Slave,’ continued
the pacha, addressing the Greek who was in
attendance, with his arms folded and his eyes
cast down to the ground;. ‘coffee, and the
strong water of the Giaour.’

The pacha’s pipe was, refilled, the coffee
was poured down their respective throats, and
the forbidden spirits quaffed with double de-
light, arising from the very circumstance that
they were forbidden.

‘Surely there must be some mistake, Mus-
tapha. Does not the Koran say, that all
that is good is intended for true believers ?—
and is not this good? How then can it be
forbidden? Could it be intended. for the
Giaours? May they, and their fathers’
graves, be eternally defiled !’

“Amen ! replied Mustapha,
the cup and drawing a deep sigh.

Mustapha was correct in his calculations.
Before the pacha had finished his pipe, the
arrival of the story-teller was announced :
and after waiting a few minutes from decorum,
which seemed to the impatient pacha to be
eternal, Mustapha clapped his hands, and the
man was ushered in.

‘Kosh amedid ! you are welcome,’ said the
pacha, as the kessehgou entered the divan :
he was a slight, eleg gantly- -moulded person, of
about thirty. years of age.

‘T am here in obedience to the will of the
pacha,’ replied the man in a most musical
voice, as he salaamed low.  ‘ What. does
his highness require of his slave Menouni 2’

‘ His highness requires a proof of thy
talent, and an opportunity to extend his
bounty.’

‘T am less than dust, and am ready to
cover my head with ashes, not to feel my soul
in the seventh heaven at the condescension of
his highness ; yet would I fain do his bidding

laying down

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

    
  
 
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
    

95

and depart, for a vow to the Prophet is sacred,
and it is written in the Koran——

‘Never mind the Koran just. now, good
Menouni; we ask of thee a proof of thy art.
Tell mea story.’

‘Most proud shall I be i the honour.
Will not my face be whitened to all eternity ?
Shall your slave relate the loves of Leilah and
Majnoun 2?’

‘No. no,’ replied the pacha ;
that will interest me.’

‘Then will I natrate the history of the
Scarred Lover.

“That sounds well,
the pacha,

‘Who can foresee so well as your sublime
highness?’ replied Mustapha. ‘ Menouni,
it is the pleasure of the pacha that you pro-
Cee:

“Your slave obeys. Your sublime per-
Spigeihy is but too well acquainted with geo-
graphy——?’

‘Not that I know of. Hath he ever left
his slippers at our threshold, Mustapha ?

‘ I<suspect,’ replied Mustapha, ‘ that he
goes all over the world, and therefore he
must have been here. Proceed, Menhouni.
and ask no questions. By virtue of his

‘something

Mustapha,’ observed

office, his sublime, highness knows: every-
thing.’
True,’ said the pacha, shakitg his beard

with great dignity and satisfaction.

‘I did not presume to put the question,’
replied Menouni, whose voice: was soft and
silvery as a flute on a summer's silent eve,
‘as, to perfectly ‘understand the part of the
world from which my tale has been'transmitted,
I thought that a knowledge of ‘that science
was required: but I have eaten dirt, and am
covered with shame at my indiscretion, which
would not have oceurred, had it not been that
the sublime sultan, when I last had the honour
to narrate the story, was pleased to interrupt
me, from his not being quite convinced that
the pels of the world were’ known to him.
But I will now proceed with my tale, which
shall go forward «with the majestic pace of
the camel, proud in his pilgrimage over the
desert, towards the shrine of our Holy Pro-
phet.’

THE SCARRED LOVER.

In the north-eastern parts of the east penin-
sula of India, there did exist a flourishing and
extended kingdom, eminent for the beauty of
the country, the fertility of the soil, and the
salubrity of the climate. \This kingdom was
bounded on the east by a country named
Lusitania, that lies northerly towards’ the
coast of Iceland, so called from the excessive
heat of the winter. On the south it was96

bounded by a slip of land, the name of which
has slipped my memory ; but it runs into the
seas under the dominion of the great Cham of
Tartary. On the west it is bounded by
another kingdom, the name of which I have
also forgotten ; and on the north by another
kingdom, the name of which I do not remem-
ber. After this explanation, with your sub-
lime highness’s knowledge, to which that of
the sage Lokman was but in comparison as
the seed is to the water-melon, I hardly
need say that it was the ancient kingdom of
Souffra,

‘Menouni, you are quite right,’ observed
the pacha. ‘ Proceed.’

‘Fortunate is your slave to stand in the
presence of so much wisdom,’ continued
Menouni, ‘for I was in doubt ; the splendour
of your presence had startled my memory, as
the presence of the caravan doth the zebra
foal of the desert.’

In this delightful kingdom, where the
nightingales sang away their existence in
their love for the rose, and the roses gave
forth their perfume until the air was one con-
tinued essence of delight, such as is inhaled
by the true believers when they first approach
the gates of Paradise, and are enchanted by
the beckoning of the houris from the golden
walls, there lived a beautiful Hindu princess,
who walked in loveliness, and whose smile
was a decree to be happy to all on whom it
fell ; yet for reasons which my tale shall tell,
she had heard the nightingale complain for
eighteen summers and was still unmarried.
In this country, which at that time was
peopled by Allah with infidels, to render it
fertile for the true believers, and to be their
slaves upon their arrival, which did occur
some time after the occurrences which I now
relate, it was not the custom for the females
of Souffra to lead the life of invisibility, per-
mitted only to those who administer to the
delights of the followers of the Koran ; and
although it was with exceeding modesty of
demeanour, still did they on great occasions
expose their charms to the public gaze, for
which error, no doubt if they had had souls,
beautiful as they were, they would have been
damned to all eternity. Civilization, as
Menou hath said, must extend both far and
wide before other nations will be so polished
as to imitate us in the splendour, the security,
and the happiness of our harems; and when
I further remark to your highness——

‘ Proceed, good Menouni,’ interrupted Mus-
tapha, ‘his highness is not fond of remarks.’
‘No, by our beard,’ rejoined the pacha ;

   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
    
   
    
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘it is for you to tell your story, and for me to
make remarks when it is over.’

‘T stand in the presence of wisdom,’ said
Menouni, who bowed low and proceeded.

‘The beauteous Babe-bi-bobu, for such was
the name of the princess, and which in the
language of the country implied, ‘the cream-
tart of delight,’ was left queen of the Souffra-
rians by the death of her father; and by his
will, sworn to by all the grandees of the em-
pire, she was enjoined at twelve years of age
to take to herself a husband ; but it was par-
ticularly expressed that ‘he youth so favoured
should be of the same high caste as herself,
and without scar or blemish. When, there-
fore, two years after her father’s death, the
beautiful Babe-bi-bobu had attained the age
of twelve years, swift runners on foot, and
speedy messengers mounted upon the fleetest
dromedaries and Arab horses of the purest
race, were despatched through all the king-
dom of Souffra, to make known the injunctions
of the will ; the news of which at last flew to
the adjacent kingdoms, and from them to all
the corners of the round world, and none
were ignorant. In the kingdom of Souffra,
from which the choice was to be made, all the
youth of caste were in a state of fermentation,
because they had a chance of obtaining the
honour ; and all those of lower caste were in
a state of fermentation, to think they had no
chance of obtaining such an honour; and all
the women of high caste, or low caste, or no
caste, were all in a state of fermentation, be-
cause—-because——

‘Because they always are so,’ interrupted
the pacha. ‘ Proceed, Menouni.’

‘I thank your sublime highness for having
relieved me in my case of difficulty ; for who
can give reasons for the conduct of women 2”

It is sufficient to say that the whole country
was in astate of fermentation, arising from
hope, despair, jealousy, envy, curiosity, sur-
mising, wondering, doubting, believing, dis-
believing, hearing, narrating, chattering, in-
terrupting, and many other causes too tedious
to mention. At the first intelligence every

Souffrarain youth new-strung his mandolin, ~

and thought himself sure to be the happy man.
Hope was triumphant through the land; roses
advanced to double their price ; the attar was
adulterated to meet the exorbitant demand,
and nightingales were almost worshipped ;
but this could not last. Doubt succeeded to
the empire of hope, when reflection pointed
out to them, that out of three millions of very
eligible youths, only one could be made happy.
But when the counsellors are so many, the
decision is but slow ; and so numerous wereTHE PACHA OF

\
\ the meetings, the canvassings, the debates,
\the discussions, the harangues, and the variety
of objections raised by the grandees of the
sountry, that at the age of eighteen the beau-
teous bird of paradise, still unmated, warbled
her virgin strain in the loneliness of the royal
groves.

“But why,’ interrupted the pacha, ‘ why did
they not marry her, when there were three
millions of young men ready to take her? I
cane understand the cause of six years’ de-
ay.’

The reason, most sublime, was, that the
grandees of Souffra were not endowed with
your resplendent wisdom, or the beautiful
Babe-bi-bobu had not so long languished for
a husband. All this delay was produced by
doubt, which the poets truly declare to be the
father of delay. It was a doubt which arose
in the mind of one of the ‘brahmins, who,
when a doubt arose in his mind, would mum-
ble it over and over, but never masticate,
swallow, or digest it ; and thus was the pre-
servation of the royal line endangered. For
years had the aspirants for regal dignity, and
more than regal beauty, hovered round the
court, each with his mandolin on his arm, and
a huge packet of love-sonnets borne behind
him by a slave ; and yet all was doubt, and
the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained
unmarried.

‘IT doubt whether we shall ever come to the
doubt,’ interrupted the pacha, impatiently,
‘or the princess to a husband.’

The doubt shall now be laid at your excel-
lency’s feet. It was, as to the exact meaning
of the words, without scar or dlemish, and
whether wzo/es were to be considered as scars
or blemishes. The brahmin was of opinion
that moies weve blemishes, and many others
agreed with him,—that is, all those who had
no moles on their persons were of his opinion;
while, on the other hand, those who were
favoured by nature with those distinguishing
marks, declared that so far from their deznge
scars or blemishes, they must be considered
as additional beauties granted by Heaven to
those most favoured. ‘The dispute ran high,
and the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu re-
mained unmarried. This great question was
at last very propertly referred to the mufti.
These sages handled it, and turned it, and
twisted it, added to it, multiplied it, subtract-
ed from it, and divided it, debated it fasting,
debated it on a full stomach, nodded over it,
dreamt on it, slept onit, woke up with it,
analyzed it, criticised it, and wrote forty-
eight folio volumes, of which twenty-four were

advocates of, and twenty-four opponents to
the question ; the only conclusion which they
could come to at last was, that soles were
moles: and the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-
bobu remained unmarried.

The question was then taken up by the
dervishes and fakirs of the country in a religi-
ous point of view ; they split into two parties,
tried the question by a dispute under a ban-
yan-tree, which lasted eighteen months, and
still not half of the holy men had given their
sentiments upon the question ; tired of talk-
ing, they proceeded to blows, and then to
anathematization and excommunication of
each other ; lastly, they had recourse to im-
palement to convince each other ; more than
a thousand perished on each side; and still
the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained
unmatried.

The colleges and schools of the kingdom
took up the question, and argued it metaphy-
sically, and after having irrecoyerably lost,
between the two sides, twenty-two millions of
threads of arguments, the question was as
fresh as ever, and the beautiful Princess Babe-
bi-bobu remained unmarried.

But this was not all; for at last the whole
nation joined in the quarrel, splitting into
violent and angry factions, which divided
town against town, inhabitants against inhab-
itants, house against house, family against
family, husband against wife, father against
son, brother against sister ; and in some cases,
where he had doubts on both sides, a man
against himself. The whole nation tlew to
arms, distinguished themselves as Molists and
Anti-molists ; four hundred insurrections, and
four civil wars, were the consequence; and
what was a worse consequence, the beautiful
Princess Babe-bi-bobu remained unmarried.
Your sublime highness must allow that it was
a very nice question——

‘What is your opinion, Mustapha?’ de-
manded the pacha.

‘Is your slave to speak? Then I would
say, that it was absurd to make such a moun-
tain of a mole-hill.’

‘Very true, Mustapha. This priricess will
never be married; so proceed, good Me-
nouni.’

I should observe to your stiblime highness,
that the Molists were the strongest party, and
the most arrogant ; not content with wearing
the marks of nature, they stuck upon their
faces fictitious moles of every hue and colour,
and the most violent partisans appeared as if
they were suffering from some cutaneous dis-
order. It was also a singular circumstance,
that no Molist was ever known to change
sides, whereas, after bathing, many of the96

Anti-molists were found most shamefully to
apostatize. Everything was disastrous, and
the country in a state of anarchy and-confu-
sion, when the question was most fortunately
settled by the remark of a little slave about
twelve years old, who’was regularly flogged
by his master every morning that he got up,
upon a suspicion of Molism, and as regularly
every evening by his mistress; on a second sus-
picion of Anti-molism, This poor little fellow
whispered to another boy, that moles were ble-
mishes or not, just as people happened to
think them, but, as for his part, he thought
nothing about the matter. The espionage at
that time was so strict, that even a whisper
was to be heard at the distance of miles, and
this observation was reported ; it certainly
was new, because it was neutral, when neu-
trality was not permitted or thought of; it
was buzzed about ; the remark declared won-
derful ; it ran like wildfire through the sub-
urbs, it roared through the city, it shook the
very gates of the paiace; at last it reached
the holy in divan, who pronounced it to be
inspiration from the Deity, and immediately
there was issued a solemn. edict, in which it
was laid down as a most positive and import-
ant article of Souffrarian faith, that moles
,were not scars, and only blemishes when they
were considered so to be. very one. praised
the wisdom of this edict; it was read and
subscribed to as an article of faith; towns
greeted towns, house congratulated house,
and relations shook lands ; what was. still
stranger was, husbands and wives were. recon-
ciled—and, what was even more delightful,
there was now some chance of the beautiful
Princess Babe-bi-bobu no longer remaining
unmaztried.

This fortunate edict, by which it was clear
that those who believed a mole to bea ble-
mish were quite safe, and those. who did not
believe it were in no manner of danger, set
everything to rights; the metropolis was
again filled with aspirants, the air tortured
with the music of the mandolins, and impreg-
nated with the attar of roses. Who can
attempt to describe the sumptuousness of the
palace, and the splendour of the hall in which
the beautiful princess sat to receive the homage
of the flower of the youth of her kingdom.
Soothingly soft, sweetly, lovingly soft, were
the dulcet notes of the warbling asparas, or
singing-girls, now ebbing, now flowing in
tender gushes of melody, while down the sides
of the elegant and highly pillared hall, now
advancing, now retreating, the dancing-girls,
each beautiful as Artee herself in her splen-
dour, seemed almost to demand, in their
aggregate, that gaze of homage due only to
the peerless individual who at once burned
and languished on heremerald throne, ‘Three

 

     
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

days had the princess sat in that hall of de-

light, tired and annoyed with the constant
stream of the Souffra youths, who prostrated
themselves and passed on. The fourth morn-
ing dawned, and none could say that either
by gesture, sigh, or look, they had been dis-

tinguished by even a shadow of preference.

And the noble youths communed in their
despair, and murmured among themselves ;
many a foot was stamped with unbecoming
impatience, and many a moustache twisted
with a pretty indignation. ‘The inhabitants of
the capital blamed the impetuosity of the
youths; to say the least of it, if it were not
disloyal, it was ungallant; and what was
worse, they showed no regard for the welfare
of the citizens, over whom they each aspired
to reign as sovereign, for they must be aware
that now was the time that the citizens, from
such an influx of aspirants, were reaping a
golden harvest. And they added, with great
truth, that a princess who had been compelled
to wait six years to satisfy the doubts of others,
had a most undeniable right to wait as many
days to satisfy her own. On the fourth day,
the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu again took her seat
on the golden cushions, with her legs crossed,
and her little feet hidden under the folds of
her loose, azure-coloured satin trousers, and:
it was supposed that there was more bright-
ness in her eyes, and more animation in her
countenance, than on the previous days ; but
still the crowd passed on unnoticed. Even
the learned brahmins, who stood immovable
in rows on each side of her throne, became
impatient ; they talked about the fickleness of
the sex, the impossibility of inducing them to
make up their minds; they whispered wise
saws and sayings from Ferdistan and others,
about the caprice of women, and the insta-
bility of their natures, and the more their legs
ached from such perpetual demand upon their
support, the more bitter did they become in
their remarks, Poor prosing old fools! the
beauteous princess had long made up her
mind, and had never sweryed from it through
the tedious six years during which the doubts
and discussions of those venerable old num-
skulls had embroiled the whole nation in the
Molean and Anti-molean controversy.

It was about the first hour after noon that
the beautiful Babe-bi-bobu, suddenly rising
from her recumbent attitude, clapped her
pretty little hands, the fingers of which were
beautifully tipped with henna, and beckoning
to her attendants, retired gracefully from the
hall of audience. The surprise and commo-
tion was great, and what made her conduct
more particular was, that the only son of
the chief brahmin who had first raised the
question, and headed the Anti-molist party,
was at the moment of the princess’s departureprostrate before the throne, with his fore-
head, indeed, to the ground, but his bosom
swelling high with hope and ambition, Within
a bower of orange-trees, in the deep recesses
f the royal gardens, to which she had has:
She selected
some flowers from those which were scattered
round her, and despatched them to her fa-
vourite musician and attendant, Acota. Who
was there in the whole kingdom of Souffra
who could so sweetly touch the mandolin as
Yet, who was there, not only in
Souffra, but in all the adjacent countries, who
struck such occasional discordant notes as
Acota, and that in the ear of the beautiful
Princess Babe-bi-bobu, who, far from being
displeased, appeared to approve of his occa-
sional violence, which not only threatened to
crack the strings of the instrument, but the
tympanums of those who were near, who
longed to escape, and leave the princess to
enjoy the dissonance alone, little thinking that
the discord was raised that their souls’ har-
mony might be undisturbed by the presence
of others, and that the jarring of the: strings
was more than repaid to the princess, by the

tened, sat the panting princess.

Acota ?

subsequent music of Acota’s voice.

Acota seated himself, at a signal from the
princess, and commenced his playing, if such
it could be: called, thrumming violently, and
jarring every chord of his instrument to a tone
of such dissonance, that the attendant girls
put their fingers into their ears, and pitied the

beautiful Babe-bi-bobu’'s bad taste in music.

‘Ah! Acota, said the princess, opening
upon him all the tenderness of her large and
beaming eyes, ‘how weary am I of sitting on
my cushion, and séeing fop after fop,. fool
after fool, dawdle down upon their faces be-
fore me; and, moreover, I am suffocated with
perfumes. Strike your mandolin again louder,
beloved of my soul—still louder, that I may
be further relieved of this unwished-for crowd.’

Thereupon, Acota séized his mandolin, and
made such an unaccountable confusion of
false notes, such a horrid jarring, that all the
birds within one hundred yards shrieked as
they fled, and the watchful old chamberlain,
who was always too near the princess in her
opinion, and never near enough, in his own,
cried out, ‘ Yah—yah—baba senna, curses on
his mother, and his mandolin into the bar-
gain ! as his teeth chattered; and he hastened
away, as fast as his obesity would permit him.
‘The faithful damsels who surrounded the prin-
cess could neither stand it nor sit it any
longer—they were in agonies, all their teeth
were set on edge; and at last, when Acota,
with one dreadful crash, broke every string’ of
his instrument, they broke loose from the
reins of duty, and fled in every direction of the
garden, leaving the princess and Acota alone.

  

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

99

‘Beloved of my soul,’ said the princess, ‘I
have at last invented a plan by which our
happiness will be secured’ and in a low tone
of voice, but without looking at each other,
that they might not attract the observation of
the chamberlain, they. sweetly communed.
Acota listened a few minutes to the soft voice
of the princess, and then took up his broken-
stringed’ mandolin, and with a profound
reverence for the benefit of the old chamber-
lain he departed.

In the meantime, a rumour was spread
abroad that at sunset a public examination, of
all'the candidates was to take place on the
bank of the. rapid-flowing river, which ran
through a spacious meadow near to the city,
in order to reject those candidates who might
prove, by any scar or Jlemzish, not to come
expressly within the meaning of the old king's
will. . Twelve old fakirs, and twenty-four
mollahs with spectacles, were appointed as
examining officers. It was supposed, as this
was a religious ceremony, that all the females
of Souffra, who were remarkable for their
piety, would: not fail to attend—and all the
world were eager for, the commencement of
the examination. O thenit was pleasant to
see the running, and mounting, and racing,
among the young Souffrarian rayahs, who
were expected to be examined; and a stranger
would have thought that a sudden pestilence
had entered the city, from the thousands upon
thousands who poured out from it, hastening
to the river-side, to, behold the, ceremony.
But to the astonishment of the people, almost
all the rayahs, as soon.as they were mounted,
left the city in an opposite direction, some
declaring, that they were most surely without
scar or bleyrzish, but still they could not con-
sent to expose their persons to the gaze of so
many thousands; others declared that they
left on account of scars and honourable wounds
received. in battle; and until that afternoon,
the Souftrarians were not aware of how much
modesty and how much courage they had to
boast in their favoured land; and many re-
gretted, as they viewed. the interminable line
of gallant young men depart, that the will of
the late king should have made scars received
in battle to be a bar to advancement; but they
were-checked by the brahmins, who told them
that there was a holy and hidden mystery
contained in the injunction of the old king’s
will

‘By the beard of the Prophet, it takes a
long time to geta husband for this princess of
yours, Menouni,’ observed the pacha with a
yawn.

‘ Your sublime highness will not be surprised
at it, when you consider the conditions of the
old king’s will.’100

The examination was most strict, and even
a small cut was sufficient to render a young
man ineligible; a corn was considered as a
blemish, and a young man even having been
bled by a leech to save his life, lost him all
chance of the princess.

‘Pray maylI ask, if a barber had cut the
skin in shaving their heads, was that con-
sidered as a scar ?’

‘Most decidedly, your highness.’

© Then those fakirs and mollahs, with their
spectacles, and the brahmins, were a parcel of
fools. Were they not, Mustapha ?’

“Your highness'’s wisdom is like the over-
flowing of the honey-pot,’ replied Mustapha.

‘You know, Mustapha, as well as I do,
that it is almost impossible not to draw blood,
if there happens to be a pimple, or a bad
razor ; but, however, proceed, Menouni, and
if possible marry this beautiful princess.’

About two hours before sunset, the beauti-
ful Babe-bi-bobu, ‘the cream tart of delight,’
more splendidly dressed than before, again
entered the hall of audience, and found to her
surprise, that there remained, out of the many
‘thousands of young rayahs, not fifty who could
pretend to the honour of her hand and throne.
Among them, no longer dressed as a musician,
but robed in the costume of his high caste,
stood the conscious and proud Acota; and
although his jewels might not have vied with
those worn by others who stood by him, yet
the brightness of his eyes more than compen-
sated. Next to Acota stood Mezrimbi, the
son of the chief brahmin, and he only could
be compared to Acota in personal beauty; but
his character was known—he was proud,
overbearing, and cruel. The beauteous Babe-
bi-bobu feared him, for there was a clause in
her father's will, by which, if the first choice
of the princess should prove by any interme-
diate accident to be ineligible, his father, the
chief brahmin, was empowered to make a
selection for the princess, and his decision was
to be equally inviolable. The beauteous eyes
of the princess first lighted upon the form of
Mezrimbi, and she trembled, but the proud
bearing of Acota reassured her ; and waving
her hand as she sat, she addressed the as-
sembled youths as follows :-—

‘Faithful and gentle rayahs, impute it to no
want of modesty that, for once, I sink the
graceful bashfulness of the virgin, and assume
the more forward deportment of the queen.
When all appear to possess such merit, how
can I slight all but one by my decision? Let
me rather leave it to the immortal Vishnu to
decide who is most wortby to reign gver this

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

our kingdom of Souffra. Let Vishnu prompt
you to read your destiny; I have placed a
flower in this unworthy bosom, which is
shortly to call one of you its lord. Name,
then, the flower, and he who first shall name
it, let him be proclaimed the lawful king of
Souffra. Take, then, your instruments, noble
rayahs, and to their sounds, in measured
verse, pour out the name of the hidden flower,
and the reason for my choice. Thus shall fate
decide the question, and no one say that his
merits have been slighted.’

Having finished her address, the beauteous
princess let fall her veil, and was silent. A
shout of applause was followed by wild
strummings and tunings of mandolins, and:
occasional scratching of heads or turbans, to
remember all that Hafiz had ever written, or
to aid their attempts at improviso versification.
Time flew on, and no one of the young rayahs
appeared inclined to begin. At last one
stepped forward, and named the rose, in a
borrowed couplet. He was dismissed with a
graceful wave of the hand by the princess, and
broke his mandolin in his vexation, as he
quitted the hall of audience. And thus did
they continue, one after another, to name
flower after flower, and quit the hall of
audience in despair.

Then might these beautiful youths, as they
all stood before the princess, be compared,
themselves, to the most beauteous flowers,
strong rooted in their hopes, and basking in
the sun of her presence; and as their hopes
were cut off, what were they but the same
flowers severed from their stalks, and droop-
ing before the sunny beams, now too powerful
to be borne, or loaded with the dew of tears,
removed to fade away unheeded ? ‘There were
but few left, when Mezrimbi, who had, as he
thought, hit upon the right name, and who,
watching the countenance of Acota, which
had an air of impatient indifference upon it,
which induced Mezrimbi to suppose that he
had lighted upon the same idea, and might
forestall him, stepped forward with his man-
dolin. Mezrimbi was considered one of the
best poets in Souffra ; in fact, he’ had every
talent, but not one virtue. He bent forward
in an elegant attitude, and sang as follows :—

‘Whom does the nightingale love? Alas ! we
Know. Shesings of her love in the silence

Oo
Night, and never tells the name of her
adored one.

What are flowers but the language of love?

And does not the nightingale rest her breast

Upon the thorn, as she pours out her plain-
tive nates?\

   

(

\ Take then out of thy bosom, the sweet

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

\ flower of May
ace is hidden there, emblematical of thy
ove,
And the pleasing pain that it has occa-
sioned.’

When Mezrimbi had finished the two first
verses, the beauteous princess started with
fear that he had gained her secret, and it was
with a feeling of agony that she listened to the
last ; agony succeeded by a flow of joy, at
his not having been successful. Impatiently
she waved her hand, and as impatiently did
Mezrimbi depart from her presence.

Acota then stepped forward, and after a
prelude, the beauty of which astonished all
those around the queen’s person, for they had
no idea that he could play in tune, sang ina
clear melodious voice the following stanzas:—

“Sweet, blushing cheek ! the rose is there,
Thy breath, the fragrance of its bowers ;
Lilies are on thy bosom fair,
And e’en thy very words seem flowers.

But lily, rose, or flower that blows
In India’s garden, on thy breast,

Must meet its death—by breathing sweets
Where it were ecstasy to rest.

A blossom from a nettle ta’en,

Is in thy beauteous bosom bound,
Born amid stings, it gives no pain,

*Tis sweetness among venom found.’

Acota was silent. ‘The beauteous princess,
as the minstrel finished, rose slowly and tre-
mulously from her cushions, and taking the
blossom of a netile from her bosom, placed it
in the hands of the happy Acota, saying,
with a great deal of piety, ‘It is the will of
Heaven.’

‘But how was it possible for Acota to find
out that the princess had a nettle blossom in
her bosom?’ interrupted the pacha. ‘Noman
could ever have guessedit. I can’t make that
out. Can you, Mustapha?’

‘Your sublime highness is right; no man
ever could have guessed such a thing,’ replied
Mustapha. ‘There is but one way toaccount
for it, which is, that the princess must have
told him her intentions when they were alone
in the royal garden.’

‘Very true, Mustapha—well, thank Allah,
the princess is married at last.’

‘I beg pardon of your sublime highness,
but the beauteous princess is not yet married,’
said Menouni; ‘the story is not yet fi-
nished,’

 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  

rot

‘Wallah el nebi!’ exclaimed the pacha.
‘By God and his Prophet, is she never to be
married ?”

‘Yes, your sublime highness, but not just
yet. Shall I proceed ?’

“Yes, Menouni, and the faster you get on,
the better,’

Amidst the cries of ‘Long live Acota, Soufft
raria’s legitimate king ——’

‘Legitimate. Pray, good Menouni, what
may that word mean ?”

‘Legitimate, your sublime highness, im-
plies that a king and his descendants are
chosen by Allah to reign over a people.’

‘Well, but I don’t see that Allah had much
to do with the choice of Acota.’

‘ Nor with the choice of any other king, I
suspect, your sublime highness ; but still the
people were made to believe so, and that is
all that is sufficient. Allah does not interfere
in the choice of any but those who reign over
true believers. The sultan is the Holy Pro-
phet’s vicegerent om earth—and he, guided by
the Prophet, invests virtue and wisdom with
the kalaats of dignity, in the persons of his
pachas.’

‘Very true,’ said the pacha, ‘the sultan is
guided by Allah, and,’ continued he, in a low
tone, to Mustapha, ‘a few hundred purses to
boot. Menouni, you may proceed.’

Amidst the cries of ‘Long live Acoia,,
Souffraria’s legitimate king !’ Acota was led
to the throne by the attendant srandees of the
nation, where he received the homage of all
present. It was arranged by the grandees
and mollahs that the marriage should take
place the next day. The assembly broke up,
and hastened in every direction to make pre-
parations for the expected ceremony.

But who can describe the jealousy, the
envy, and the indignation which swelled in
the breasts of Mezrimbi and his father, the’
chief brahmin? They met, they consulted,
they planned, and they schemed. Acota was
not yet king, although he was proclaimed as
such—he was not king until his marriage with
the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-bobu, ‘the
cream-tart of delight,’ and should he bescarred
or blemished before the marriage of the
ensuing day, then must the brahmin, by the
will of the old king, choose his successor ;
and who could he choose but his own son ?

‘Father,’ said young Mezrimbi, his beauti-
ful countenance distorted by the vilest passions
of Jehanum, ‘T have planned as follows :—I
have mutes ready to obey my wishes, and a
corrosive burning acid, which will eat deeply
into the flesh of the proud Acota. I know{02

that he will pass the time away'in the garden
of the royal’ grove. I know even the bower
in which he hath wooed and won ‘the fair
princess. Let us call these mutes, explain to
them what we wish, and by to-morrow’s sun
the throne of Souffraria will fall to the race
of Mezrimbi. Are we not of the purest blood
of the plains, and is not Acota but a rayah of
the mountains 2?’

And the chief brahmin was pleased with his
son's proposal; the mutes were summoned,
the black, tongueless, everythingless, hideous
creatures, bowed in their humility, and fol-
lowed their master, who, with the chief brah-
min, ventured, by a circuitous route, to invade
the precincts of the royal grove. Slowly and
cautiously did they proceed towards the bower
where, as Mezrimbi had truly said, Acota was
waiting for his beloved princess. Fortunately,
as they approached, a disturbed snake, hiss-
ing in his anger, caused an exclamation from
the old brahmin, which aroused Acota from
his delicious reverie. ‘Through the foliage he
perceived and recognized Mezrimbi, his father,
and the mutes. Convinced that they medi-
tated mischief towards himself, he secreted
himself among the rose-bushes, lying prostrate
on the ground; but in his haste he left his
cloak and mandolin. Mezrimbi entered the
‘bower, and explained to the mutes by signs
what it was which he desired. showed them
ithe cloak and mandolin to make known the
object of his wrath, and put into their hands
the bottle of corrosive acid. ‘They satisfied
him that they comprehended his wishes, and
the party than retired, the chief brahmin quit-
ting the grove for his own house, the mutes
‘lying in wait, under some bushes, for the ar-
tival of Acota, and Mezrimbi walking away
into the recesses of the grove, anxious as to
the issue of the plot. Acota, perfectly aware
of what was intended, laughed in his sleeve,
and thanked Allah for this fortunate dis-
covery ; he crawled away on his hands and
knees, so as not tc be perceived, and hid him-
self, with his cloak and mandolin, watching in
turn the motions of the others—and thus did
all parties watch until the sun descended _be-
hind the blue hills which divided the kingdom
of Souffraria from that of the other kingdom,
which my treacherous memory has dared to
forget in your highness’s sublime presence.
Mezrimbi was the only one who was not mo-
tionless ; he paced up and down in all the
anxiety of anticipation and doubt, and at last
he stopped, and, tired out with contending
feelings, sat down at the foot ofa tree, close to
where Acota was concealed. The nightingale
was pouring forth her sweet melody, and,
friendly to lovers, she continued it until Mez-
timbi, who had listened to it, and whose
angry feelings had been soothed with her dul-

 

THE: PACHA OF

MANY, TALES

cet strains, fell fast asleep. \-Acota'perceived
it, and approaching him softly, laid his cloak
over him, and taking up ‘his mandolin, struck
a chord which he knew would not. be lost
upon the quick-eared mutes, although not,so
loud as to awake Mezrimbi. Acota was right;
in a minute he perceived the dark beings
crawling through the underwood like the
jackals who had scented out their prey, and
Acota was again concealed in the thick foliage.
‘They approached like shadows. in the dark,
and perceived the sleeping Mezrimbi, with the
cloak of Acota, and the mandolin, which
Acota, after striking it, had laid by his side.
It was sufficient. .Mezrimbi’s face was covered
with the burning acid before even he was
awakened ; his screams were smothered in a
shawl, and satisfied with having obeyed the
injunctions of their master, the mutes hastened
back to report their success, taking, however,
the precaution of tying the hands and feet of
Mezrimbi, that he might not go home to re-
ceive any help in his distress. They escaped out
of the gardens, and reported to the chief brah-
min the, success of the operations, and how
they had left him (Acota) in the woods. The
old Mezrimbi, upon reflection, thought it ad-
visable that the person of Acota should ibe in
his power, that he might be, able to produce
him when required upon the ensuing day. He
therefore desired the mutes to go back and
bring Acota to the house, keeping a: strict
guard that he might not escape.

When the mutes had quitted Mezrimbi,
Acota rose from his hiding-place, and went
towards the unfortunate wretch, who still
groaned with pain, but his face was.muffled
up in the shawl, so that his features were hid-
den. At first Acota had intended to have re-
viled and scofied at his treacherous enemy,
but his good heart forbade it. Another idea
then came into his head. He took off the
cloak of Mezrimbi, and substituted his own .
he exchanged turbans and scimitars, and then
left him and went home. Shortly after Acota
had quitted the wood, the mutes returned,
lifted the miserable Mezrimbi on their should-
ers and carried him to the house of the chief
brahmin, who, having ordered him to be
guarded in an outhouse, said his prayers, and
went. to bed. gy

‘The sun rose and poured his beaming rays
upon the land of, Souffraria, and thousands
and thousands of'the inhabitants had risen be-
fore him, to prepare for the day. of delight,
the day on which they were to be blessed with
a king—the day on which the beauteous Prin-
cess Babe-bi-bobu, the cream-tart. of delight,
was no longer, to remain, unmarried. ~ Sills
and satins from China, shawls and scarfs from
Cashmere, jewels, and gold, and diamonds—
horses and camels and elephants, were to beseen spread over the plains and the city of
Souffra. All was joy, and jubilee, and feast-
ing, and talking, for the beautiful Princess
Babe-bi-bobu was that day to be married.

Sl wish to Heaven she was,’ observed the
pacha, impatiently.

“May it please your sublime highness, she
soon will be.’

At an early hour the proclamation was
made, that the princess was about to take
unto herself a husband from the high caste
youths of Souffra, and that all whom it might
concern should repair to the palace to be pre-
sent at the ceremony. As it concerned all
Souffra, all Souffra was there. “The sun had
nearly reached to the zenith, and looked down
almost enviously upon the gay scene beneath,
broiling the brains of the good people of
Souffra, whose heads paved, as it were, the
country for ten square miles, when the beau-
teous Princess Babe-bi-bobu made her appear-
ance in the hall of audience, attended by her
maidens and the grandees of Souffra, who
were the executors to her father’s will. Atthe
head of them was the chief brahmin, who
looked anxiously among the crowd for his son
Mezrimbi, who had not made his appearance
that morning. At last he espied his rich dress,
his mantle, his turban and jewelled scimitar,
but his face was muffled up in a shawl, and
the chief brahmin smiled at the witty conceit
of his son, that of having his own beauteous
person unmuffled as well as that of the now
scarred Acota. And then silence was com-
manded by a thousand brazen trumpets, and
enforced by the discharge of two thousand
pieces of artillery ; ten'square miles of people
repeated the order for silence, in loud and re-
iterated shouts, and at last silence obeyed the
order, and there was silence. ‘The chief brah-
min rose, and having delivered an extempo-
raneous prayer, suited to the solemnity and
importance of the occasion, he proceeded to
read the will of the late king; he then de-
scanted upon the Molean controversy and how
it was now an article of the Souffrarian faith,
which it was heresy and impalement not to
believe, that ‘moles were not scars, and only
blemishes when they were considered so to
be.’ ‘The choice of the princess,’ continued
the learned brahmin, ‘has, however, not been
made; she has left to chance that which was
to have proceeded from her own free will, and
that without consulting with the ministers of
our holy religion. My heart told me yester-
day that such was not right, and contrary not
only ‘to the king’s will, but the will of heaven;
and I communed deeply on the subject after
I had prayed nine times—and a dream de-
scended on me in my sleep, and I was told that

THE PACHA OF MANY. TALES,

103

the conditions of the will would be fulfilled.
How to explain this answer from above I know
not ; perhaps the youth who was fortunate in
discovering the flower, is also the youth of the
prineess’s choice.’

‘Even so,’ replied the princess, in a Soft,
melodious voice, ‘and therefore is my father’s
will obeyed.’

“Where, then, is the fortunate youth ?’ said
the chief brahmin ; ‘let him appear.’

Babe-bi-bobu, who, as well as others, had
in vain looked round for Acota, was astonished
at his not making his appearance, and still
more so when he did, as they thought, appear,
led in by the four black mutes, with his face
enveloped in a shawl.

‘This, then,’ said the chief brahmin, ‘is the
favoured youth, Acota. Remove the shawl,
and lead him to the princess.’

The mutes obeyed, and to the horror of
Babe-bi-bobu, there stood Acota, as she
thought, with a face so scarred and burnt,
that his features were not distinguishable.
She started from her throne, uttered one wild
shriek, which was said to have been heard by
the whole ten square miles of population, and
fainted in the arms of her attendants.

‘We know his dress, most noble grandees,’
continued the chief brahmin, ‘but how can
we recognize in that object, the youth without
scar or blemish? It is the will of Heaven,’
continued the chief brahmin, piously and re-
verently bending low. And all the other
grandees replied in the same pious manner,
“Tt is the willof Heaven.’ ‘I say,’ continued
the chief brahmin, ‘that this must have been
occasioned by the princess not having chosen
as ordained by the will of her father, but hav-
ing impiously left to chance what was to have
been decided by free will. Is not the hand,
the finger of Providence made manifest ?’ con-
tinued he; appealing to the grandees. And
they all bowed‘ low, and declared that the
hand and finger of Providence were manifest;
while the mutes, who knew that it was their
hands and fingers’ which had done the deed,
chuckled aswell as they could with the rem-
nants of theirtongues. ‘And now,’ continued
the chief brahmin, ‘we must obey the will of
the late king, which expressly states, that if
any accident should happen after the choice of
the princess had been made, that I, the chief
of our holy religion, should select her hus-
band. By virtue, then, of my power, I call
thee forth, my son, Mezrimbi, to take his
place. Bow down to Mezrimbi, the future
king of Souffraria.’

Acota, muffled up to the eyes, and dressed
in the garments of Mezrimbi, stepped forth,
and the chief brahmin, and all present, in
pursuance to his order, prostrated themselves
before Acota, with their foreheads in the dust.164

 

Acota took that opportunity of removing the
shawl, and, when they rose up, stood by the
throne, resplendent in his beauty and his pride,
At the sight of him, the chief brahmin raised
a cry, which was heard not only further than
the shriek of the beautiful Princess Babe-bi-
bobu, but had the effect of recalling her to
life and recollection. All joined in the cry of
astonishment when they beheld Acota in the
garments of Mezrimbi.

‘Who, then, art thou ?’ exclaimed the chief
brahmin, to his son, in Acota’s dress.

‘Tam,’ exclaimed his son, exhausted with
pain and mortification, ‘I am—I was Mez-
rimbi,’

“Grandees,’ cried Acota, ‘as the chief brah-
min has already asserted, and as you have
agreed, in that you behold the finger of
Heaven, which ever punishes hypocrisy, cru-
elty, and injustice ;’ and the chief brahmin
fell down in a fit, and was carried out with his
unfortunate son, Mezrimbi.

In the meantime, the beauteous princess
Babe-bi-bobu had recovered, and was in the
arms of Acota, who, resigning her to her at-
tendant maidens, addressed the assembly ina
speech of so much eloquence, so much beauty,
and so much force, that it was written down
in letters of gold, being considered the ne
plus ultra of the Souffrarian language; he
explained to them the nefarious attempt of
Mezrimbi to counteract the will of Heaven,
aud how he had fallen into the snare which he
had laid for others. And when he had fi-
nished, the whole assembly hailed him as their
king ; and the population, whose heads paved,
as it were, a space of ten square miles, cried
out, ‘Long life to the king Acota, and his
beautiful princess Babe-bi-bobu, the cream-
tart of delight !’

Who can attempt to describe the magnifi-
cent procession which took place that evening ?
who can describe the proud and splendid
bearing of king Acota, or the beaming eyes
of the beautiful - princess Babe-bi-bobu?
Shall I narrate how the nightingales sang
themselves to death ?—shali I :

 

‘No, pray don’t,’ interrupted the pacha,
‘only let us know one thing—was the beauti-
ful Babe-bi-bobu married at last ?’

‘She was, that very evening, your sublime
highness.’

‘Allah be praised! rejoined the pacha.
‘Mustapha, let Menouni know what it is to
tell a story to a pacha, even though it is rather
a long one, and I thought the princess would
never have been married.’ And the pacha

rose and waddled to his harem,

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  

CHAPTER XV.

ON the ensuing day, the pacha was sitting at
his divan, according to his custom, Mustapha
by his side, lending his ear to the whispers of
divers people who came to him in an attitude
of profound respect. Still they were most
graciously received, as the purport of their
intrusion was to induce the vizier to interest
himself in their behalves when their cause
came forward to be heard and decided upon
by the pacha, who in all cases was guided by
the whispered opinion of Mustapha. Musta-
pha was a good-hearted man : he was always
grateful, and if any one did him a good turn
he never forgot it. The consequence was,
that an intimation that a purse of so many
sequins would be laid at his feet if the cause
to be heard was decided in favour of the
applicant, invariably interested Mustapha in
the favour of that party; and Mustapha’'s
opinion was always coincided in by the pacha,
because he had (or supposed that he had) half
of the sequins so obtained. True, the proverb
says, ‘you should be just before you are gene-
rous ; but Mustapha’s arguments when he
first proposed to the pacha this method of
filling the royal treasury, were so excellent,
that we shall hand them down to posterity.
‘In the first place,’ said Mustapha, ‘it is'
evident that in all these causes the plaintiffs
and defendants are both rascals. In the
second place, it is impossible to believe
a word on either side. In the third plaee,
exercising the best of your judgment, you are
just as likely to go wrong as right. In the
fourth place, ifa man happens to be wronged
by our decision, he deserves it as a punish-
ment for his other misdeeds. In the fifth
place, as the only respectability existing In
either party consists in their worldly wealth,
by deciding for him who gives most, you de-
cide for the most respectable man. In the
sixth place, it is our duty to be grateful for
good done to us, and in so deciding, we exer-
cise a virtue strongly inculcated by the Koran.
In the seventh place, we benefit both parties
by deciding quickly, as a loss is better than a
law-suit. And in the eighth and last place,
we want money.’

On this. day a cause was being heard ; and
although weighty reasons had already decided
the verdict, still, gvo forma, the witnesses on
both sides were examined; one of these, upon
being asked whether he witnessed the pro-
ceedings, replied, ‘That he had no doubt but
there was doubt on the subject ; but that he
doubted whether the doubts were correct.’

‘Doubt—no doubt—what is all this? do
you laugh at our beards?’ said Mustapha,
sternly, who always made a show of justice,
‘Is it the fact or not ?’‘Your highness, I seldom met a fact, as it
is called, without having half a dozen doubts
hanging to it,’ replied the man: ‘I will not,
therefore, make any assertion without the
reservation of a doubt.’

‘Answer me plainly,’ replied the vizier, ‘or
the ferashes and bamboo will be busy with
you very shortly. Did you see the money
paid ?’

‘I believe as much as I can believe any
thing in this world, that I did see money paid:
but I doubt the sum, and I doubt the meial,
and I have also my other doubts. May it
please your highness, I am an unfortunate
man; I have been under the influence of
doubts from my birth; and it has become a
disease which I have no doubt will only end
with my existence. I always doubt a fact,
uniess ——’

‘What does the ass say? What is all this
but bosh ?—nothing. Let him have a fact.’

The pacha gave the sign—the ferashes
appeared—the man was thrown, and received
fifty blows of the bastinado. The pacha then
commanded them to desist. ‘Now, by our
beard, is it not a fact that you have received
the bastinado? If you still doubt the fact,
we will proceed.’

‘The fact is beyond a doubt,’ replied the
man, prostrating himself. ‘But excuse me,
your sublime highness, if I do continue to
assert that I cannot always acknowledge a
fact, without such undeniable proofs as your
wisdom has been pleased to bring forward.
If your highness were to hear the history of
my life, you would then allow that I have
cause to doubt.’

‘History of his life! Mustapha, we shall
have a story.’

‘ Another fifty blows on his feet would re-
move all his doubts, your highness,’ replied
Mustapha.

‘Yes; but then he will be beaten out of his
story. No, no; let him be taken away till
the evening, and then we shall see how he
will make out his case.’

Mustapha gave directions, in obedience to
the wish of the pacha. In the evening, as
soon as they had lighted their pipes, the man
was ordered in ; and, in consideration of his
swelled feet, was permitted to sit down, that
he might be more at ease when he narrated
his story, which was as follows :—

THE STORY OF HUDUSI.

Most sublime pacha, allow me frst to ob-
serve, that, although I have latterly adhered
to my own opinions, I am not so intolerant as
not to permit the same licence to others : I
do not mean to say that there are not such
things as facts in this world, nor to find fault

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

ros

with those who believe in them. I am told
that there are also such things as flying
dragons, griffins, and other wondrous animals,
but surely it is quite sufficient for me, or any
one else, to believe that these animals exist,
when it may have been our fortune to see
them; in the same manner, I am willing to
believe in a fact, when it is cleared from the
mists of doubi; but up to the present, I can
safely say, that I seldom have fallen in with a
fact, unaccompanied by doudts, and every
year adds to my belief, that there are few
genuine facts in existence. So interwoven in
my frame is doubt, that I sometimes am un-
willing to admit, as a fact, that I exist. I
believe it to be the case, but I feel that I have
no right to assert it, until [ know what death
is, and may from thence draw an inference,
which may lead me to a just conclusion.

My name is Hudusi. Of my parents I can
say little. My father asserted that he was the
bravest janissary in the sultan’s employ, and
had greatly distinguished himself. He was
always talking of Rustam, as being a fool
compared to him ; of the number of battles
he had fought, and of the wounds which he
had received in leading his corps on all des-
perate occasions; but as my father often
bathed before me, and the only wound I could
ever perceive was one in his rear, when he
spoke of his bravery, I very much doubted the

fact.

My mother fondled and made much of me,
declared that I was the image of my father, a
sweet pledge of their affections, a blessing
sent by Heaven upon their marriage ; but, as
my father’s nose was aquiline, and mine is a
snub, or aquiline reversed ; his mouth large,
and mine small; his eyes red and ferrety,
and mine projecting ; and, moreover, as she
was a very handsome woman, and used to
pay frequent visits to the cave of a sainted
man in high repute, of whom I was the
image, when she talked of the janissary’s
paternity, I very much doubted the fact.

An old mollah taught me to read and write
and repeat the verses of the Koran—and 1
was as much advanced as any boy under his
charge—but he disliked me very much for
reasons which I never could understand, and
was eternally giving me the slipper. He de-
clared that I was a reprobate, an unbeliever,
a son of Jehanum, who would be impaled be-
fore I was much older; but here I am, with-
out a stake through my body, at the age of
forty-five ; and your highness must acknow-
ledge that when he railed all this in my ears,
I was justified in very much doubting the

was grown up, my father wanted
me to enrol myself in the corps of janissarles,
and become a lion-killer like himself; I re-106

monstrated, but in vain; he applied, and 1
was accepted, and received the mark on my
arm’ which«constituted me a janissary. I put
on the dress, swaggered and bullied with many
other young men of my acquaintance, who
were all ready, as they swore, to eat their ene-
mies alive, and who curled their moustachios
to prove the truth of what they said. We
were despatched to quella rebellious pacha—
we bore down upon his troops with a shout
enough to frighten the devil, but the devil a
bit were they frightened,—they stood their
ground: and as they would not run, we did,
leaving those who were not so wise, to’be cut
to pieces. . After this, when any of my com-
panions talked of their bravery, or my father
declared that he ‘should soon -be promoted
to the rank of a spahi, and that I was a lion's
whelp, | very much doubted the fact.

The pacha held out. much longer than was
at first anticipated : indeed, so long as to
cause no little degree of anxiety in the capital.
More troops were despatched to subdue him ;
and success not attending our efforts, the
vizier, according to the custom, was under
the disagreeable necessity of parting with his
head, which was demanded because we turned
tail. Indeed, it was to oblige us, that the
sultan consented to deprive ‘himself of the
services of a very able man; for we sur-
rounded the palace, and insisted that it was
all his fault; but, considering our behaviour
in the field of battle, your highness must
admit that there was reason to doubt the
Jact.

We were again despatched against this
rebellious pacha, who sate upon the parapets
of his stronghold, paying down thirty sequins
for the head of every janissary brought to him
by his own troops, and I am afraid a great
deal of money was spent in that way. We
fell into'an ambuscade, and one half of the
corps to which my father belonged were cut
to pieces, before we could receive any assis-
tance. At last the enemy retired. I looked
for my father, and found him expiring; as
before, he had received a wound on the wrong
side, a spear having transfixed him between
the shoulders. ‘Tell how I died like a brave
man,’ said he, ‘and tell your mother that I
am gone to Paradise.’ From an intimate
knowledge of my honoured father's character,
in the qualities of thief, liar, and coward,
although I promised to deliver the message,
I very much doubted these facts.

That your highness may understand how it
was that I happened to be left alone, and
alive on the field of battle, I must inform you
that Linherited a considerable portion of my
father’s courageous temper, and not much
liking the snapping of the pistols in my face,
I had thrown myself down on the ground, and

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

had remained there very quietly, preferring to |
be trampled on, rather than interfere with what _
was going on above.

‘ By the sword of the Prophet! there is one
fact—you were a very great coward,’ observed
the pacha.

“Among my doubts, your highness, I cer-_
tainly have some doubis as to my bravery.’

‘By the ‘beard’ of the pacha, I have no
doubts on the subject,’ observed Mustapha.

* Without attempting to defend my courage,
may I observe to your highness, that it was a
matter of perfect’ indifference to me whether
the sultan or the pacha was victorious ; and I
did not much admire hard blows, without
having an opportunity of putting a few sequins
in my pocket. I never knew of any man,
however brave he might be, who fought for
love of fighting ‘or amusement; we are all
trying in this world to get money ; and that
is, I believe;-the secret spring of all our
actions.’

‘Is that true, Mustapha?’ inquired the
pacha.

‘May it please your sublime highness, if
not the truth, it is not very far from it. Pro-
ceed, Hudusi.’

The ideas which I have ventured to express
before your sublime highness, were running
in my mind, as I sat down among the dead
and dying, and I thought how much: better
off were the.pacha’s soldiers than those of our
sublime sultan, who had nothing but hard
blows, while the pacha’s soldiers received
thirty sequins for the head of every one of our
corps of janissaries; and one idea breeding
another, I reflected that it would be very pru-
dent, now that 'the pacha appeared to be
gaining the advantage, to be on the right
side. Having made up my mind upon
this point, it then’ occurred to me, that I
might as well get a few sequins by the ex-
change, and make my appearance before the
pacha, with one or two of the heads of the
janissaries, who were lying close to me. I
therefore divested myself of whatever might
give the idea, of my belonging to the corps,
took off the heads and rifled the pockets of
three janissaries, and was about’ to depart,
when I thought of my honoured father, and
turned back to take a last farewell. It was
cruel to part with a parent, and I could not
make up my mind .to part with him alto-
gether, so I added his head, and the contents
of his sagh, to those of the other three, and
smearing my face and person with blood,
with my scimitar in my hand, and the four
heads) tied up ina bundle, made my way for
‘the pacha’s stronghold ; but the skirmishing
was still going on outside of the walls, and Inarrowly escaped a corps of janissaries, who
would have recognized me. As it was, two
of them followed meas I made for the gate
of the fortress ; and, encumbered as I was, I
‘was forced to turn at) bay. No man fights
better than he who finds himself hard pressed;
and even a man who. otherwise would not
fight at all, will fight well when he can’t help
it. I never was so brave in my life. I cut
down one, and the other ran away, and this
in the presence of the pacha, who’ was seated
.on the embrasure at the top of the wall; and
thus I gained my entrance into the fort. I
hastened to the pacha’s presence, and laid at
hhis feet the four heads. The pacha was so
pleased at my extraordinary valour, that he
threw me a purse of five hundred pieces of
gold, and ordered me to be promoted, asking
me to what division of his troops I belonged.
J replied that I was a volunteer. Iwas made
an officer; and thus did I find myself a rich
man and a man of consequence by merely
changing sides.

‘That's not quite so uncommon a method
of getting on in the world as. you may ima-
gine,’ observed Mustapha, dryly.

“Mustapha,’ said the pacha, almost gasp-
ing, ‘all these are words, wind—bosh. By
the fountains that play round the throne of
Mahomet, but my throat feels as hot and as
dry with this fellow’s doubts, as’ if it were
paved with live cinders. I doubt whether we
‘shall beable ever to moisten it again.’

‘That doubt your sublimity ought to re-
solve immediately. Hudusi, Murakhas—my
friend, you are dismissed.’

Hardly had the doubter gathered up his
slippers, and backed out from the presence,
when the pacha and his minister were, with
an honest rivalry, endeavouring to remove at
once their doubts and their thirst ;:and were
so successful in their attempts, that they, in a
short time, exchanged their state of dubiety
into a very happy one of ebriety.

CHAPTER’ XVI.

THE next morning the pacha and his minister,
after the business of the divan, with their
heads aching from the doubts of Hudusi,. or
the means that they had taken to remove them,
in not the best humour in the world listened
‘to the continuation of them, as follows :—

I have heard it observed, continued Hudusi,
that.the sudden possession of gold will make
a brave man cautious, and he whois not brave,
still more dastardly than he was before. It
certainly was the case with me; my five hun-

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

107

dred pieces of gold had such an effect, that
everything in the shape of valour oozed out at
my fingers’ ends. I reflected again, and the
result was, that I determined to have nothing
more to do with the business, and that neither
the sultan nor the pacha should be the better
for my exertions. That night we made a
sally ; and as I was considered a- prodigy of
valour, I was one of those who were ordered
tolead on my troop. I curled my moustachios,
swore I would not ‘leave a janissary ‘alive,
flourished my scimitar, marched out at the
head of my troop, and then took‘to my heels,
and in two days arrived safely at my mother’s
house. As soon as I entered, I tore my tur-
ban, and threw dust upon my head, in honour
of my father’s memory, and then sat down.
My mother embraced me—we were alone.

‘And’ your father? Is it for him that we
are to mourn?’

‘Yes,’ replied I,‘ he was a lion, and he is
in Paradise.’

My mother commenced a bitter lamenta-
tion; but of a sudden recollecting herself, she
said, ‘But, Hudusi, it’s no use tearing one’s
hair and good clothes for nothing. Are you
sure that your father is dead ?

‘Quite sure,’ replied I. ‘Isaw him down.’

‘But he may only be wounded,’ replied my
mother.

“Not so, my dearest mother, abandon all
hope, for 1 saw his head off.’

‘ Are you sure it was his body that you'saw
with the head off ?’

“Quite sure, deat mother, for I was a wit-
ness to its being cut off.’

‘ Tf that is the case,’ replied my mother, ‘he
can never come back again, that’s clear.
Allah acbar—God is great. Then must we
mourn. And my mother ran out into the
street before the door, shrieking and scream-
ing, tearing her hair and her garments, so as
to draw the attention and the sympathy of all
her neighbours, who asked her what was the
matter. ‘Ah! wahi, the head of my house
is no mote,’ cried she, ‘my heart is all bitter-
ness—my soul is ‘dried up—my liver is but as
water; ah! wahi, ah’! wahi,’ and she con-
tinued to weep’and tear her hair, refusing all
consolation. The neighbours came to her
assistance ; they talked to her, they reasoned
with her, restrained her violence, and soothed
her into quietness. They all declared that it
was a heavy loss, but that a true believer had
gone to Paradise ; and they all agreed that no
woman's conduct could be more exemplary,
that no woman was ever more fond of her
husband. Isaid nothing, but I must acknow-
ledge that, from her previous conversation
with me, and the quantity of pilau which she
devoured that evening for her supper, I very
micle doubted the fact.£08

I did not remain long at home; as, although
it was my duty to acquaint my mother with
my father’s death, it was also my duty to ap-
pear to return to my corps. This I had re-
solved never more to do. I reflected that a
life of quiet and ease was best suited to my
disposition ; and I resolved to join some reli-
gious sect. Before I quitted my mother’s
roof I gave her thirty sequins, which she was
most thankful for, as she was in straitened
circumstances. ‘Ah” cried she, as she wrapt
up the money carefully in a piece of rag, ‘if
you could only have brought back your poor
father's head, Hudusi !’—I might have told
her that she had just received what I had sold
it for—but I thought it just as well to say
nothing about it ; so I embraced her and de-
parted.

There was a sort of dervishes, who had
taken up their quarters about seven miles
from the village where my mother resided ;
and as they never remained long in one place,
I hastened to join them. On my arrival, I
requested to speak with their chief, and ima-
gining that I was come with the request of
prayers to be offered up on behalf of some
wished-for object, I was admitted.

‘Khoda shefa midehed—God gives relief,’
said the old man. ‘What wishest thou, my
son? Khosh amedeed—you are welcome.’

I stated my wish to enter into the sect, from
a religious feeling; and requested that I might
be permitted.

‘Thou knowest not what thou askest, my
son. Ours is a hard life, one of penitence,
prostration, and prayer; our food is of but
herbs and the water of the spring ; our rest is
broken, and we know not where to lay our
heads. Depart, yaha bibi, my friend, depart
in peace.’

‘But, father,’ replied I (for to tell your
highness the truth, notwithstanding the old
man's assertions as to their austerities of life,
I very much doubted the fact). ‘I am pre-
pared for all this, ifnecessary, and even more.
I have brought my little wealth to add to the
store, and contribute to the welfare of your
holy band; and I must not be denied.’ I
perceived that the old man’s eyes twinkled at
the bare mention of gold, and I drew from my
sash five and twenty sequins, which I had
separated from my hoard, with the intention
of offering it. ‘See, holy father,’ continued
I, ‘the offering which I would make.’

‘ Barik Allah—praise be to God,’ exclaimed
the dervish, ‘that he has sent us a true be-
liever. Thy offering is accepted; but thou
must not expect yet to enter into the austeri-
ties of our holy order. I have many disciples
here who wear the dress, and yet they are not
as regular as good dervishes should be; but
there is a time for all things, and when their

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

appetite to do wrong fails them, they will (Ii-
shallah, please God), in all probability, be-
come more holy and devout men. You are
accepted.’ And the old man held out his
hand for the money, which he clutched with
eagerness, and hid away under his garment,
‘Ali,’ said he to one of the dervishes who had
Stood at some distance during my audience,
‘this young man—what is your name—Hu-
dusi—is admitted into our fraternity. Take
him with thee, give him a dress of the order,
and let him be initiated into our mysteries,
first demanding from him the oath of secrecy.
Murakhas, good Hudusi, you are dismissed.’

I followed the dervish through a narrow
passage, until we arrived at a door, at which
he knocked ; it was opened, and I passed
through a courtyard, where I perceived seve-
ral of the dervishes stretched on the ground
in various postures, breathing heavily, and
insensible.

‘These,’ said my conductor, ‘are holy men
who are favoured by Allah. They are in a
trance, and during that state are visited by
the Prophet, and are permitted to enter the
eighth heaven, and see the glories prepared
for true believers.’ I made no reply to his

assertion, but as it was evident that they were |
all in a state of beastly intoxication, I very

much doubted the fact.

I received my dress, took an oath of secrecy, |
and was introduced to my companions, whom >

I soon found to be a set of dissolute fellows,

indulging in every vice, and laughing at every
virtue ; living in idleness, and by the contri- ©

butions made to them by the people, who
firmly believed in their pretended sanctity.
The old man with the white beard, who was
their chief, was the only one whodid not indulge
in debauchery. He had outlived his appetite

for the vices of youth, and fallen into the vice _

of age—a love for money, which was insati-
able. I must acknowledge that the company
and mode of living were more to my satisfac-
tion than the vigils, hard fare, and constant
prayer, with which the old man had threat-
ened me, when I proposed to enter the com-
munity, and I soon became an adept in dis-

simulation and hypocrisy, anda great favourite

with my brethren.

I ought to have observed to your sublimity,
that the sect of dervishes of which I had be.
come a member, were then designated by the@
name of howling dervishes ; all our religion ©

consisted in howling like jackals or hyenas,

with all our might, until we fell down in real |

or pretended convulsions. My howl was con-

3

sidered as the most appalling and unearthly ©
that was ever heard; and, of course, my ~
sanctity was increased in proportion. We

were On our way to Scutari, where was our
real place of residence, and only lodged hereand there on our journey to fleece those who
were piously disposed. I had not joined more
than ten days when they continued their route,
and after a week of very profitable travellin g,
passed through Constantinople, crossed the
Bosphorus, and regained their place of domi-
ciliation, and were received with great joy by
the inhabitants, to whom the old chief and
many others of our troop were well known.
Your sublime highness must be aware that
the dervishes are not only consulted by, but
often become the bankers of, the inhabitants,
who intrust them with the care of their money.
My old chief (whose name I should have men-
tioned before was Ulu-bibi) held large sums
in trust for many of the people with whom he
was acquainted; but his avarice inducing him
to lend the money out on usury, it was very
difficult to recover it when it was desired,
although it was always religiously paid back.
I had not been many months at Scutari, be-
fore I found myself in high favour, from my
superior howling and the duration of my con-
vulsions. But during this state, which by
habit soon became spasmodic, continuing un-
til the vital functions were almost extinct, the
mind was as active as ever, and I lay im-
mersed in a sea of doubt which was most
painful. In my state of exhaustion I doubted
everything. I doubted if my convulsions were
convulsions, or only feigned; 1 doubted if I was
asleep or awake; I doubted whether I was ina
trance, or in another world, or dead, or——

‘Friend Hudusi,’ interrupted Mustapha,
“we want the facts of your story, and not your
doubis. Say I not well, your highness? What
is all this but Dosh ?—nothing.’

‘It is well said,’ replied the pacha.

‘Sometimes I thought that I had seized
possession of a fact, but it slipped through
my fingers like the tail of an eel.’

‘Let us have the facts which did not escape
thee, friend, and let the mists of doubt be
cleared away before the glory of the pacha,’
replied Mustapha.

One day I was sitting in the warmth of the
sun, by the tomb of a true believer, when an
old woman accosted me, ‘You are welcome,’
said I.

‘Is your humour good?’ said she.

‘Jt is good,’ replied I.

She sat down by me; and after a quarter
of an hour, she continued: ‘God is great,’
said she.

“And Mahomet is his Prophet,’ replied I.
‘Tn the name of Allah, what do you wish ?’

‘Where is the holy man? J have money
to give into-his charge. May I not see him?’

“He is at his devotions ; but what is that ?
Am not I the same? Do I not watch when

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

10g
he prayeth? Inshallah—please God we are
the same. Give me the bag.’

‘Here it is,’ said she, pulling out the
money : ‘seven hundred sequins, my daugh-
ters marriage-portion; but there are bad men,
who steal, and there are good men, whom we
can trust. Say I not well?

‘It is well said,’ replied 1; ‘and God is
great.

‘You will find the money right,’ said she,
* Count it.’

I counted it and returned it into the goat-
skin bag. ‘It is all right. Leave me, woman,
for I must go in.’

The old woman left me, returning thanks
to Allah that her money was safe; but from
certain ideas running in my mind, I ver
much doubted the fact. 1 sat down full of
doubt. I doubted if the old woman had
come honestly by the money, and whether I
should give it to the head dervish. I doubted
whether I ought to retain it for myself, and
whether I might not come to mischief, I
also had my doubts——

‘I have no doubt,’ interrupted Mustapha,
‘but that you kept it for yourself. Say—is it
not so?’

Even so did my doubts resolve into that
fact. I settled it in my mind, that seven
hundred sequins, added to about four hun-
dred still in my possession, would last some
time, and that I was tired of the life of a
howling dervish. I therefore set up one last
long final howl, to let my senior know that I
was present, and then immediately became
absent. I hastened to the bazaar, and pur-
chasing here and there—at one place a vest,
at another a shawl, and at another a turban
—I threw off my dress of a dervish, hastened
to the bath, and after a few minutes under
the barber, came out like a butterfly from its
dark shell. No one would have recognized
in the spruce young Turk, the filthy dervish.
I hastened to Constantinople, where I lived
gaily, and spent my money ; but I found that
to mix in the world, it is necessary not only
to have an attaghan, but also to have the
courage to use it ; and in several broils which
took place, from my too frequent use of the
water of the Giaour, I invariably proved, that
although my voice was that of a lion, my
heart was but as water, and the finger of con-
tempt was but too often pointed at the beard
of pretence. One evening, as I was escaping
from a coffee-house, after having drawn my
attaghan, without having the courage to face
my adversary, I received a blow from his
weapon which cleft my turban, and cut deeply
into my head. I flew through the streets
upon the wings of fear, and at last ran against10
an unknown object, which I knocked down,
and then fell alongside of, rolling with it in
the mud. I recovered myself, and looking at
it, found it to be alive, and, in the excess of
my alarm, I imagined it to be Shitan himself ;
but if not the devil himself, it was one of the
sons of Shitan, for it was an unbeliever, a
Giaour, a dog to spit upon ; in short, it was a
Frank hakim—so renowned for curing all
diseases that it was said he was assisted by
the Devil.

‘Lahnet be Shitan! Curses on the devil !’
said Mustapha, taking his pipe out of his
mouth, and spitting.

‘Wallah thaib!
the pacha.

It is well said,’ replied

I was so convinced that it was nothing of
this world, that, as soon as I could recover
my legs, I made a blow at him with my
attaghan, fully expecting ‘that he would dis-
appear in a flame of fire at the touch of a true
believer ; but on the contrary, he had also re-
covered his legs, and with a large cane witha
gold top on it, he parried my cut, and then
saluted me with such a blow on my head,
that I again fell down in the mud, quite in-
sensible. When I recovered, I found myself
on a mat in an outhouse, and attended by my
opponent, who was plastering up my head.
‘Tt is nothing,’ said he, as he bound up my
head ; but I suffered so much pain, and felt
so weak with loss of blood, that in spite of
his assertions, I very much doubted the fact.
Shall I describe this son of Jehanum? And
when I do so, will not your highness doubt
the fact? Be chesm, upon my head be it, if I
lie. . He was less than a man, for he had no
beard ; he had no turban, but.a piece of net-
work, covered with the hair of other men in
their tombs, which he sprinkled with the flour
from the bakers, every morning, to feed his
brain. He wore round his neck a piece of
linen, tight as a bowstring, to prevent his
head being taken off by any devout true be-
liever, as he walked through the street. His
dress was of the colour of hell, black, and
bound closely to his body, yet must he have
been a great man in his own country, for he
was evidently a pacha of two tails, which
were hanging behind him. He was a dread-
ful man to look upon, and feared nothing ;
he walked into the house of pestilence—he
handled those whom Allah had visited with
the plague—he went to the bed, and the sick
rose and walked. He warred with destiny ;
and no man could say what was his fate until
the hakim had decided. Heheldin his hand
the key of the portal which opened into the
regions of death ; and-—what can I say more?
—he said live, and the believer lived; he

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

 

said die, and the houris received him into
Paradise.

‘A yesedi! a worshipper of the devil,’ ex-
claimed Mustapha.

‘May he and his father’s grave be eternally
defiled !’? responded the pacha.

I remained a fortnight under the hakim’s
hands before I was well enough to walk
about ; and when I had reflected, I doubted
whether it would not be wiser to embrace a
more peaceful -profession. The hakim spoke
our language well ; and one day said to me,
‘Thou art more fit to cure than to give wounds.
Thou shalt assist me, for he who is now with
me will notremain.’ I consented, and putting
on a more peaceful garb, continued many
months with the Frank physician, travelling
everywhere, but seldom remaining long in one
place ; he followed disease instead of flying
from it, and I had my doubts whether, from
constant attendance upon the dying, I might
not die myself, and I resolved to quit him
the first favourable opportunity. I had al-
ready learnt many wonderful things from
him ; that blood:-was necessary to life, and
that without breath a man would die, and
that white powders cured fevers, and black
drops stopped the dysentery. At last we
arrived in this town; and the other day, as I
was pounding the drug of reflection in the
mortar of patience, the physician desired me
to bring his lancets, and to follow him. I
paced through the streets behind the learned
hakim, until. we arrived ata mean house, in
an obscure quarter of | this. grand city, over
which your highness reigns in justice. An
old woman; full-of lamentation, led us to the
sick couch, where lay a creature, beautiful in
shape asia houri. Lhe Frank physician was
desired by the old woman to feel her pulse
through the curtain, but he laughed at her
beard (for she had no small one), and drew
aside the curtains and took hold of a hand so
small and so delicate, that it were only fit to
feed the Prophet himself near the throne of
the angel Gabriel, with the immortal pilau
prepared for true believers. Her face was
covered, and the Frank desired the veil to be
removed. ‘The old woman refused, and he
turned on his heel to leave her to the assaults
of death. ‘The old woman’s love for her child
conquered her religious scruples, and she con-
sented that her daughter should unveil to an
unbeliever. I was in ecstasy at her charms,
and could have asked her for a wife ; but the
Frank only asked to seehertongue. Having
looked at.it, he turned away with as much in-
difference as if it had been a dying dog. He
desired me to bind up her arm, and took away
a bason full of her golden blood, and then puta white powder into the hands of: the old
woman, saying that he would see her again.
I held out my hand for the gold, but there
was none forthcoming.

‘We are poor,’ cried the old woman to the
hakim, ‘but God is great.’

“I do not want your money, good woman,’
replied -he; ‘1 will: cure your daughter.’
Then he went to the bedside and spoke com-
fort to the sick girl, telling. her to be of good
courage, and all would be well.

The girl answered in a voice sweeter than a
nightingale’s, that she had but thanks to offer
in’ return, and prayers to the Most High.
“Yes,” said the old woman, raising her voice,
“a scoundrel of a howling dervish robbed me
at Scutari of all I had for my subsistence, and
of my daughter’s portion, seven hundred se-
quins, in a goat-skin bag! and then she
began to curse. May the dogs of the city
howl at her ugliness! How she did curse !
She cursed my father and mother—she cursed
their graves—flung dirt upon my brothers and
sisters, and filth upon the whole generation.
She gave me up to Jehanum, and to every
species of defilement. It was a dreadful
thing to hear that old woman curse. Ff pulled
my turban over my eyes, that she might not
recognize me, and lifted up my garment to
cover my face, that I might not be defiled
with the shower of curses which were thrown
at meé like mud, and sat there watching till
the storm was over. Unfortunately, in lifting
up my garment, I exposed to the view of the
old hag the cursed goat-skin bag, which hung
at my girdle, and contained, not only her
money, but the remainder of my own. ‘Ma-
shallah—how wonderful is God ! screamed
the old beldame, flying at me like a tigress,
and clutching the bag from my girdle. Hav-
ins secured ‘that, she darted at me with her
ten nails, and scored down my face, which I
had so unfortunately covered in the first in-
stance, and so unfortunately uncovered in the
second. What shall I say more? The neigh-
bours came in——I was hurried before the cadi,
in company with the old woman and: the
Frank physician. The money and bag were
taken fron. me—I was dismissed by the ha-
kim, and after receiving one hundred blows
from the ferashes, I was dismissed by the
cadi. It was my fate—and'I have told my
story. Is your slave dismissed ?’

‘No,’ replied the pacha ; ‘by our beard, we
must see to this, Mustapha; say, Hudusi,
what was the decision of the cadi? Our ears
are open.’

‘The cadi decided as follows :—That I had
stolen the money, and therefore was punished
with the bastinado; but, as the old woman
stated that the bag contained seyen hundred

LHE PACHA OF MANY. TALES,

 

rift

sequins, and there were found in it upwards
of eleven hundred, that the money could not
belong to her...He therefore retained it until
he could find the right owner. The physician
was fined fifty sequins for looking at a Turkish
woman, and fifty,more for shrugging up his
shoulders. The. girl was ordered into the
cadi’s harem, because she had lost her dowry ;
and the eld woman was sent about her busi-
ness. All present declared that the sentence
was wisdom. itself; but, for my part, Z very
muuch doubted the fact.’

‘Mustapha,’ said the pacha, ‘send for the
cadi, the Frank physician, the old woman,
the girl, and the goat-skin bag; we must
examine Into this affair.’

The officers were despatched, and in less
than an hour, during which the pacha and his
vizier smoked in silence, the cadi with the
others made their appearance.

‘ May your highness’s shadow never be less"
said the eadi, as he entered.

“Mobarek !, may you be fortunate !’ replied
the pacha. ‘What is this we hear, cadi?
there isa goat-skin.bag, anda girl, that are
not known to our justice. Are there secrets
like those hid-in the well of Kashan—speak !
what dirt have-you been eating >?’

‘What shall I say?’ replied the cadi; ‘I
am but as dirt; the money is here, and the
girlis here. Is the pacha to be troubled with
every woman's noise, or am I to come before
him with a piece or two of gold—Min Allah—
God forbid! Have I not here the money, and
seven more purses? Was not the girl visited
by the angel of death ; and could she appear
before your presence lean as a dog in the
bazaar? Is she not here? Have I spoken
well 2’

‘It is well said, cadi.
dismissed.’

The Frank physician was then fined one
hundred sequins. more ; fifty for feeling the
pulse, and fifty more for looking at a Turkish
woman's tongue. “The young woman was
dismissed to the pacha’s harem, the old woman
to curse as much as she pleased, and Hudusi
with full permission to dowd¢ anything but the
justice of the pacha.

Murakhas—you are

CHAPTER XVII.

“MASHALLAH ! God be praised ! we are rid of
that. fellow. and his doubts. I have been
thinking, Mustapha, as I smoked the pipe of
sucniise, and arrived at the ashes of certainty,
that a man who: had so many doubts could
not be a true believer. I wish I had sent him
to the mollahs ; we might have been amused
with his being impaled, which is a rare object
nowadays.’112 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

‘God is great,’ replied Mustapha, ‘and a eyes round the room, gaping with astonish-
stake is a strong argument, and would remove ment, and perfectly unmindful how very near
many doubts. But I have an infidel in the he was to one who could cut off his head or
court-yard who telleth of strange things. He his tail by a single movement of his hand.
hath been caught like a wild beast; it is a ‘What sayeth the Frank, Mustapha? in-
Frank Galiongi, who hath travelled as far as quired the pacha.
that son of Shitan, Huckaback ; he was found ‘He is struck dumb with astonishment at
in the streets, overpowered by the forbidden the splendour of your majesty, and all that he
juice, after having beaten many of your high- beholds.’
ness’s subjects, and the cadi would have ad- ‘Tt is well said, by Allah!’
ministered the bamboo, but he was as a lion, ‘T suppose I may just as well come to an
-and he scattered the slaves as chaff, until he anchor,’ said the sailor, suiting the action to
fell, and could not ‘rise again. I have taken the word, and dropping down on the mats.
him from the cadi, and brought himhere. He ‘There,’ continued he, folding his legs in imi-
speaketh but the Frankish tongue, but the tation of the Turks, ‘as it’s the fashion to
sun who shineth on me knoweth I have been have a cross in your hawse, in this here coun-
in the Frank country ; and Inshallah! please try, I can be a bit of alubber as well as your-

the Lord, I can interpret his meaning.’ selves. I wouldn’t mind if I blew a cloud, as
‘What sort of a man may he be, Musta- well as you, old fusty-musty.’
hove ‘What does the Giaour say? What son ot

‘He is a baj baj—a big belly—a stout man; a dog is this, to sit in our presence ? exclaimed
he is an anhunkher, a swallowerof iron. He the pacha.
hath sailed in the war vessels of the Franks. ‘He sayeth,’ replied Mustapha, ‘that in his
He holdeth in one hand a bottle of the for- country, no one dare stand in the presence of
bidden liquor; in the other, he shakes at the Frankish king; and, overcome by his
those who would examine him, a thick stick. humility, his legs refuse their office, and he
He hath a large handful of the precious weed sinks to the dust before you. It is even as he
which we use for our pipes in one of his sayeth, for I have travelled in their country,
cheeks, and his hair is hanging behind, down and such is the custom of that uncivilized na-
to his waist, in a rolled up mass, as thick as tion. Mashallah! but he lives in awe and
the arm of your slave.’ trembling.’

‘Tt is well—we will admit him; but let ‘ By the beard of the Prophet, he does not
there be armed men at hand. Let me havea appear to show it outwardly,’ replied the
full pipe! God is great,’ continued the pacha, pacha ; ‘but that may be the custom also.’

holding out his glass to be filled ; ‘and the ‘Be chesm, on my eyes be it,’ replied Mus-
bottle is nearly empty. Place the guards, tapha, ‘itisevenso. Frank,’ said Mustapha,
bring in the infidel.’ ‘the pacha has sent for you that he may hear

The guards in a few minutes brought into an account of all the wonderful things which 7

the presence of the pacha a stout-built Eng- you have seen. You must tell lies, and you
lish sailor, in the usual dress, and with a tail will have gold.’

which hung down behind, below his waist. ‘Tell lies! that is, spin a yarn; well I can
The sailor did not appear to like his treat- do that, but my mouth’s baked with thirst,
ment; and every now and then, as they and without a drop of something, the devil a
pushed and dragged him, turned to one side yarn from me; and so you may tell the old
or the other, looking daggers at those who Billy-goat, perched up there.’

conducted him. He was sober, although his ‘ What sayeth the son of Shitan ?’ demanded
eyes bore testimony to recent intoxication, and_the pacha, impatiently.
his face, which was manly and handsome, was _—‘ The unbeliever declareth that his tongue

much disfigured by an enormous quid of to- is glued to his mouth from the terror of your
bacco in his right cheek, which gave him an highness’s presence. He fainteth after water
appearance of natural deformity. As soon as to restore him, and enable him to speak.’
he was near enough to the pacha, the atten- ‘Let him be fed,’ rejoined the pacha.
dants let him go. Jack shook his jacket, But Mustapha had heard enough to know
hitched up his trousers, and said, looking that the sailor would not be content with the
furiously at them, ‘Well, you beggars, have pureelement. He therefore continued, ‘ Your
you done with me at last ? slave must tell you, that in the country of the
Mustapha addressed the sailor in English, Franks they drink nothing but the fire-water
telling him that he was in the presence of his in which the true believers but occasionally
highness the pacha. venture to indulge.’
‘What, that old chap, muffled up in shawls ‘Allah acbar! nothing but fire-water?
and furs—is he the pacha? Well, I don't What then do they do with common
think much o’ he ; and the sailor turned his water ?’

 

 

   
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

BETHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.
_‘They have none but from heaven—the our beads, spirits, and oun-
Tivers are all of the same strength.’ powder, and very soon had a cargo on board ;
‘Mashallah ! how wonderful is God! I but the day after we sailed for the Havannah,
would we had a river here. Let Some be pro- the dysentery broke out among the niggers—
cured, then, for I wish to hear his story,’ no wonder, seeing how they were stowed,
A bottle of brandy was sent for, and handed poor devils, head and tail, like pilchards in a
to the sailor, who put it to his mouth, and cask. We Opened the hatches, and brought
the quantity he took of it before he removed part of them on deck, but it was of no use,
the bottle to recover his breath, fully con- they died like rotten sheep, and we tossed
vinced the pacha that Mustapha’s assertions overboard about thirty a day. Many others,
were true. who were alive, jumped overboard and we
‘Come, that’s not so bad,’ said the sailor, were followed by a shoal of sharks, splashing,
putting the bottle down between his legs; and darting, and diving, and tearing the
‘and now I'll beas good as my word, and I'll bodies, yet warm, and revelling in the hot and
spin old Billy a yarn as long as the main-top bloody water. At last they were all gone,
bowling.’ and we turned back to the coast to get a fresh
‘What sayeth the Giaour ?’ interrupted the supply. We were within a day's sail of the
pacha.

land, when we saw two boats on our weather
‘That he is about to lay at your highness’s bow: they made signals to us, and we found
y at y g i; g

feet the wonderful events of his life, and trusts them to be full of men; we hove to, and took
that his face will be whitened before he quits them on board, and then it was that we dis-
your sublime presence, Frank, you may pro- covered that they had belonged to a French
ceed.’ schooner, in the same trade, which had started
“To lie 4ill I'm black in the face—well, a plank, and had gone down like a shot, with
since you wish it; but, old chap, my name all the niggers in the hold,
aren't Frank. It happens to be Bill; how- sae :
Somever, it warn’t a bad guess fora Turk; ‘Now give the old gentleman the small
and now I'm here, I'd just like to ax you a change of that, while I just wet my whistle.
question. We had a bit of a hargument the Mustapha having interpreted, and the sailor
other day, when I was in a frigate up the having taken a swig at the bottle,
Dardanelles, as to what your religion might ceeded.
be. Jack Soames said that yeu ean We didn’t much like having these French
Christians, but that if you were, Oy ek beggars on board, and it wasn’t without rea-
only be Catholics 2 buted fone ON, ve re son, for they were as many as we were. ‘The
could en ees Sh Nay eee ona very first night they were overheard by a
Bees ee rote RUHL Suny you be—if J Resro who belonged to us, and had learnt

Ii3
coast, unstowed

he pro-

Ea French, making a plan for overpowering us,
7 ? ae S : >
a5 male so ae as 9 ax the eee Sen and taking possession of the vessel ; so when
a pe eiesloes eae aire P ’ we heard that, their doom was sealed. We
impatiently.

nc 2 mustered ourselves on the deck, put the hatches
pide oy Pe ee eee nove over some o’ the French, See on ce
was no ‘tune 1 . Z lleed’a Glas
country of the true believers, but in anisland 224 in halfan hour they all walk P
full of fog and mist, where the sun never ‘Ido not understand what you mean,’ said
shines, and the cold is so intense, that the Mustapha. 2
water from heaven is hard and cold as a ‘That's ‘cause you're a lubber of a lands-
flint. forsthai t drinking jt, a2. The long and short of walking a plank
That a eauEs fort or a : i, poo 1S USE fis. Wie passed a wide plank over the
Mashallah * God is great ! Drs gunnel, greasing it well at the outer end, led
ceed. : hat there jg the Frenchmen up to it blindfolded, and
b pane packs ce eee cute bese wished them ‘bon aes in vel own ae
pee OU) ang Ma ian f politeness. They walked on ti
: CES ae ~,? just out of po V
and begs that you will go on with your cee they toppled into the sea, and the sharks
pNever heard of the chap—never mind— didn’t refuse them, though they prefer a nig-
here's saw wood. ger to anything else,’
“What does he say, Mustapha?’ interrupted
the pacha. Mustapha interpreted. :
“Good ; I should like to have seen that,’ re-
plied the pacha.

TALE OF THE ENGLISH SAILOR.

I was born at Shields, and bred to ane sea,
Served my time out of that port, and got a
berth on aa a small vessel fitted out from Well, as soon as we were rid of the French-
Liverpool for the slave trade. We made the men, we made our port, and soon had anotherTig

cargo on board, and, after a good run, got
safe to’ the Havannah, where we sold our
slaves ; but I didn’t much like the sarvice, so
f cut the schooner, and sailed home in sum-
mer, and got back safe to England. There I
fell in with Betsey, and as she proved a regu-
lar out-and-outer, I spliced her, and a famous
wedding we had of it, as long as the rhino
lasted ; but that wasn’t long, the more’s the
pity; so I went to sea for more. When I
came back after my trip, I found that Bet
hadn't behaved quite so well as she might have
done, so I cut my stick, and went away from
her altogether.

‘Why didn’t you put her in a sack?’ in-
quired the pacha, when Mustapha explained.

‘Put her head in a bag—no, she wasn’t so
ugly as all that,’ replied the sailor. ‘How-
somever, to coil away.’

I joined a privateer brig, and after three
cruises I had plenty of money, and deter-
mined to have another spell on shore, that I
might get rid of it. Then I picked up Sue,
and spliced again; but, Lord bless your heart,
she turned out a regular-built Tartar—no-
thing but fight fight, scratch scratch, all day
long, till I wished her at old Scratch. Iwas
tired of her, and Sue had taken a fancy to
another chap; so says she one day, ‘As we
both be of the same mind, why don't you sell
me, and then we may part in a_respectable
manner.’ [ agrees; and I puts a halter round
her neck, and leads her to the market-place,
the chap following to buy her. . ‘Who bids
for this woman ?’ says I.

“1 do,’ says he.

“What will you give?’

‘ Halfa-crown,’ says he.

‘Will you throw a glass of grog into the
bargain ?’

‘Ves,: says he.

‘Then she’s yours ; and I wish you much
joy of your bargain.’ So I hands the rope to
him, and he leads her off.

‘How much do you say he sold his wifé
for?’ said the pacha to Mustapha, when this
part of the story was repeated to him.

‘A piastre, and a drink of the fire-water,’
replied the vizier.

‘Asis him if she was handsome,’ said the
pacha.

‘Handsome,’ replied the sailor to Mus-
tapha's inquiry; ‘yes, she was as pretty a
craft to look at as you may set your eyes
1pon ; fine round counter—clean run—swell-
ing bows—good figure-head, and hair enough
for a mermaid.’

‘What does he say ?’ inquired the pacha.

‘The Frank declareth that her eyes were

 

    

 

LTHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  

bright as those of the gazelle, that her eye-
brows were as one, her waist as that of the
cypress, her face as the full moon, and that
she was fat as the houris that await the true
believers.’

‘Mashallah! all for a piastre. Ask him,
Mustapha, if there are more wives to be sol4
in that country ?’

‘More,’ replied the sailor, in answer to
Mustapha ; ‘you may have a ship full in an
hour. There's many a fellow in England’
who would give a handful of coin to get rid
of his wife.’

‘We will make further inquiry, Mustapha ;
it must be looked 'to., Say I not well?’

‘It is well said,’ replied Mustapha. ‘ My
heart is burnt as roast meati at the recolléec-
tion of the women of the country ; who are,
indeed, as: he hath described, houris to the
sight.. Proceed, Yaha bibi, my friend, and
tell his j

‘Yaw Bibby! I told you my name was
Pill, not Bibby ; and I never yaws from my
course, although I) heaves-to sometimes, as [
do now, to take in provisions.’ The sailor
took another swig, wiped his mouth with the
back of his hand, and continued‘ Now for
a good lie.’

 

I sailed in a brig for the Brazils, and a gale
came on, that I never seed the like of. We
were obliged to have three men stationed to
hold the eapiain’s-hair on his head; anda
little boy was blown over the moon, and slid
down by two.or three of her beams, till he
caught the mainstay, and never hurt himself.

‘Good,’ said Mustapha, who interpreted.
‘By the beard of the Prophet, wonderful !’
exclaimed the pacha.

Well, the gale lasted fora week; and at
last one night, when I was at the helm, we
dashed on the rocks of a desolate island. I
was pitched right over the mountains, and
fell into the sea on the ‘other side of the
island. {I swam on shore, and got into a
cave, where I fell fast asleep. The next
morning I found! that there was nothing to
eat except rats, and they were plentiful ; but
they were so quick’ I could not catch them.
I walked about, and at last discovered a
great many rats together; they were at a
spring of water, the only one, as I afterwards
found, on the island. Rats can’t do without
water, and I thought I should have them
there. I filled up. the spring, all but a hole
which Isat on the top of. When the rats
came again, I filled my mouth with water,
and held it wide open; they ran up-to drink,
and I caught their heads in my teeth, and
thus I took as many as I wished.‘Aferin! excellent!’ cried the pacha, as
soon as this was explained.

‘Well, at last a vessel took me off, and I
wasn't sorry for it, for raw rats are not very
good eating. I went home again, and I
hadn't been on shore more than two hours,
when who should I see but my first wife,
Bet, with a robin-redbreast in tow. ‘That’s
he!’ says she.. I gave fight, but was nabbed
and put into limbo, to be tried for what
call d¢ggery, or having a wife too much.’

they

“How does he mean?—desire him to ex-
plain,’ said the pacha, after Mustapha had
conveyed the intelligence. Mustapha obeye

‘In our country, one wife is considered a
man’s allowance, and he is not to take more,
that every Jack may have his Jill. I had
spliced ‘two; so they tried me, and sent me
to Botany Bay for life.’

This explanation puzzled the pacha. ‘How!
— what sort ‘of a country must it be, when a
man cannot ‘have two wives? Inshallah)!
please the Lord, we may have hundreds in
our harem! Does he not laugh at our beards
with lies? Is this not all dos#, nothing?’

‘It is even so as the Frank speaketh,” re-
plied Mustapha. ‘The king of the country
can take but one wife. Be chesm, on my eyes
be it, if itis not the truth.’

‘Weil,’ rejoined the pacha, ‘what are they
but infidels? ‘They deserve to have no more.
Houris are for the faithful. May their fathers’
graves be defiled. Let the Giaour proceed.’

Well, I was started for the other side of the
water, and got there safe-enough, as I hope
one day to get to Heaven, wind and weather
permitting; but I had no idea of working with-
out pay, so one fine morning I slipt away into
the woods, where I remained with three or
four more, for ’six months. We lived upon
kangaroos; and another odd ltile animal, and
got on pretty well.

‘What may the dish of kangaroos be com-
posed of ?? inquired Mustapha, in obedience
to the pacha.

“’Posed of! why, a dish of kangaroos be
made of kangaroos, to besure.’

But Til be dished if I talked about anything
but the animal, which we had some trouble to
kill; for it stands on its big tail, and’ fights
with all four feet: Moreover, it be otherwise
‘a strange beast ; for its young ones pop out of
its stomach, and then pop in again, having a
place there on purpose, just like the great hole
in the bow of a timber-ship; and as for the
other little animal, it swims in the ponds, lays
egos, and has a duck’s bill, yet still it be
covered all over with hair like a beast.

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES

 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
   
 
 
   
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
 

Ti5

The vizier interrupted. ‘ By the Prophet,
but he laughs at our beards!’ exclaimed the
pacha, angrily. ©These are foolish lies.’

‘You must not tell the pacha such foolish
lies. He wiil be angry,’ said Mustapha, ‘Tell
lies, but they must be good lies.’

‘Well, Vll be , replied the sailor, ‘if
the old beggar don’t doubt the only part
which is true out of the whole yarn. Well, I
will try another good ‘un to please him.’

¢

 

After I had been there about six months I
was tired; and as there was only twenty thou-
sand miles between that country and my own,
I determined to swim back.

‘Mashallah ! swim back—how many thou-
sand miles?’ exclaimed Mustapha.
Pp eid
“Only twenty thousand—a mere nothing.

So one fine morning I throws a young kan-
garoo on my shoulder, and off I starts. I
swam for three months, night and day, and
then feeling alittle tired, I laid-to on my back,
and then 1] set off again; but by this time 1
was so covered with barnacles, that I made
but little way.. So I stopped at Ascension,
scraped and cleaned myself, and then, after
feeding. for a week on turtle, just to keep the
scurvy out of my bones, I set off again; and
as I passed the Gut, I thought I might just
as well put in here; and here I arrived, sure
enough, yesterday, about three bells in the
morning watch, after a voyage of five months
and three days.

When Mustapha translated all this to the
pacha, the latter was lost in astonishment.
‘Allah wakbar! God is everywhere! Did
you ever hear of such a swimmer? Twenty
thousand miles—five months and three days.
It-is a wonderful story! Let his mouth be
filled with gold.’

Mustapha intimated to the sailor the unex-
pected:compliment about to be conferred on
him, just as he had finished the botile, and
rolled it away on one side.

‘ Well, that be a rum way of paying a man.
Ihave heard it said that a fellow pu7sed up
his mouth, but I never afore heard of a mouth
being a purse. Howsomeyer, all’s one ior
that; only d’ye see, if you are about to stow
it away in bulk, it may be just as well to get
tid of the ‘dunnage.’

The sailorput his thumb and forefinger into
his cheek, and pulled out his enormous quid
of tobacco.

‘There, now I'm ready, and. don’t be
afraid of choking me.’

One of the attendants then thrust several
pieces of gold into the sailors mouth, who,
spitting them all out into his hat, jumped on

ae
5 “a116 THE PACHA
his legs, made a jerk of his head, with a kick
of the leg behind to the pacha, and declaring
that he was the funniest old beggar he had
ever fallen in with, nodded to Mustapha, and
hastened out of the divan.

‘Mashallah ! but he swims well,’ said the
pacha, breaking up the audience.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE departure of the caravan was delayed for
two or three days by the vizier upon various
pretexts —although it was his duty to render it
every assistance—that Menouni might afford
further amusement to the pacha. Menouni
was well content to remain, as the liberality
of the pacha was not to be fallen in with every
day, and the next evening he was again
ushered into the sublime presence.

‘Tosh amedeid ! you are welcome,’ said the
pacha, as Menouni made his low obeisance.
‘ Now let us have another story. I don’t care
how long it is, only let us have no more prin-
cesses to be married. That Babe-bi-bobu
was enough to tire the patience of a dervish.’

‘Your sublime highness shall be obeyed,’
replied Menouni. ‘Would it please you to
hear the story of Yussuf the Water-carrier ?’
‘Yes, that sounds better. You may pro-
ceed.’

THE WATER-CARRIER.

May it please your highness, it so happened
that the great Haroun Alraschid was. one
night seized with one of those fits of sleepless
melancholy with which it had pleased Allah
to temper his splendid destiny, and which fits
are, indeed, the common lot of those who are
raised by fortune above the ordinary fears and
vicissitudes of life.

~* €T can’t say that I ever have them,’ observed
the pacha. ‘ How is that, Mustapha?’

‘Your highness has as undoubted a right to
them as the great caliph,’ replied Mustapha,
bowing ; ‘but if I may venture to state my
opinion,’ continued he, drawing down to the
ear of the pacha, ‘you have discovered the
remedy for them in the strong water of the
Giaour.’

‘Very true,’ replied the pacha; ‘ Haroun
Alraschid, if I recollect right, was very strict
in his observances of the precepts of the
Koran. After all, he was but a pastek—a
water-melon, You may proceed, Menouni.’

The caliph, oppressed, as I before observed
to your highness, with this fit of melancholy,
despatched Mesrour for his chief vizier, Giaf-

 

 

OF MANY TALES.

far Bermukki, who, not unaccustomed. to this
nocturnal summons, speedily presented him-
self before the commander of the faithful,
‘Father of true believers ! descendant of the
Prophet !’ said the minister, with a profound
obeisance, ‘thy slave waits but to hear, and
hears but to obey.’

‘Giaffar,’ replied the caliph, ‘I am over-
whelmed with distressing inquietude, and
would fain have thee devise some means for
my relief. Speak—what sayest thou ?”

‘Hasten, O my prince, to thy favourite
garden of the Tierbar, where, gazing on the
bright moon, and listening to the voice of the
bul-bul, you will await, in pleasing contem-
plation, the réturn of the sun.’

‘Not so,’ replied the caliph.

‘By the beard of the Prophet! the caliph
was right, and that Giaffar was a fool. I
never heard that staring at the moon was an
amusement before, observed the pacha.

‘Not so,’ urged the caliph. ‘My gardens,
my palaces, and my possessions are no more
to me a source of pleasure.’

‘By the sword of the Prophet! now the
caliph appears to be the fool,’ interrupted the
pacha.

‘Shall we then repair fo the Hall of the
Ancients, and pass the night in reviving the
memory of the wise, whose sayings are stored
therein ?’ continued Giaffar.

‘Counsel avails not,’ replied the caliph ;
‘the records of the past will not suffice to
banish the cares of the present.’

‘Then,’ said the vizier, ‘will the Light of
the world seek refuge from his troubles in a
disguise, and go forth with the humblest of
his slaves to witness the condition of his
people?

‘Thou hast said well,’ replied the caliph ;
‘J will go with thee into the bazaar, and wit-
ness, unknown, the amusements of my people
after the labours of the day.’

Mesrour, the chief eunuch, was at hand,
and hastened for the needful disguises. After
having clad themselves as merchants of Mous-
sul, and tinged their faces of an olive hue,
the caliph, accompanied by Giaffar and Mes-
rour, the latter armed with a scimitar, issued
forth from the secret door of the seraglio.
Giaffar, who knew from experience the quar-
ter likely to prove most fertile in adventure,
led the caliph past the mosque of Zobeide,
and crossing the Bridge of Boats over the
Tigris, continued his way to that part of the
city on the Mesopotamian side of the river,
which was inhabited by the wine-sellers and
others, who administered to the irregularities,
as well as to the wants, of the good people ofIHE PACHA OF MANY TALES, 117
Bagdad. For a short time they wandered up to make up for the time he had lost, and
and down without meeting anybody; but pointing to a corner, bade the intruders to sit
passing through a narrow alley, their steps down there, and not to disturb him any more.
were arrested by the sound of a most potent He commenced his solitary feast; and after
pair of lungs, carolling forth a jovial Song. another bumper of wine, as if tired of his own
The caliph waited a while, in expectation of company, he gtuffly demanded, ‘Where do
itS ceasing; but he might apparently have you fellows come from, and whither are you
waited until dawn of day, for verse was poured going ?’ :
forth after verse: a small interval between ‘Sir,’ replied Giaffar, who had been whis-
them filled up by the musical gurgling of pering with the caliph, ‘we are merchants of
liquor from a bottle, and the gulps of the Moussul, who have been to an entertainment
votary of Bacchus. At length, his patience at the country seat of a khan of Bagdad. We
being exhausted, the caliph ordered Mesrour feasted well, and left our friend just as the day
to knock loudly at the singer's dwelling. closed in. Whereupon we lost our Way, and
Hearing the noise, the fellow opened the found ourselves in this street; hearing the mu-
jalousie, and came out into the verandah sical accents of your voice, we exclaimed, ‘‘Are
above. Looking down, and perceiving the not those notes delightful ?—one who has so
three interrupters of his mirth, he bawled out sweet a voice, must be equally sweet in dispo-
—‘ What rascals are you that disturb an sition. Let us enireat the hospitality of our
honest man at his devotions ?—Begone !—fly!_ brother for the remainder of the night, and in
—away with you, scum of the earth ?’ the morning we will depart in peace.’’”
‘Truly, charitable sir, replied Giaffar in an ‘I do not believe a word that you have said,
humble tone, ‘we are distressed merchants, you ill-looking thief. You are spies or thieves.
strangers in this city, who have lost our way, who would profit by getting into people’s
and fear to be seized by the watch—perhaps houses at unseasonable hours. You, barrel-
carried before the cadi. We beseech thee, stomach, you with whiskers like a bear,’ con-
therefore, to admit us within thy doors, and tinued he to the vizier, ‘hang me if ever I saw

Allah will reward thy humanity.’ such a rascally face as yours; and you, you
‘Admit you within my doors!—not I, in- black-faced ‘nigger, keep the whites of your

deed. What, you wish to get into my house eyes off my supper-table, or by Allah I’ll send
to gormandize and swill at my expense. Go you all to Jehanum. I see you are longing to
—go! put your fingers cn the kid: but if you do,
The caliph laughed heartily at this reply; I’ve a bone softener, which, by the blessed
and then called out to the man, ‘Indeed we Prophet, shall break every bone in your three
are merchants, and seek but for shelter till skins.’ So saying, the man, taking a large
the hour of prayer.’ cudgel from the corner of the room, laid it by
‘Tell me then,’ replied the man, ‘and mind the dish of kid, into which he then plunged
you jtell me the truth. Have you eaten and _his fingers, and commenced eating heartily.
drunk your fill for the night ?’ ‘Giaffar,’ said the caliph, in an undertone,
‘Thanks and praise be to Allah, we have ‘contrive to find out who this ferocious animal
supped long since, and heartily,’ returned the may be, and how he contrives to live so
caliph. merrily ? :
‘Since that is the case, you may come up; ‘In the name of Allah, let us leave him
but recollect it is upon one condition, that alone,’ replied Giaffar, ina fright, ‘for should
you bind yourselves not to open your lips he strike us on the head with that cudgel, we
whatever you may see me do; no matter should be dispatched without any one being
whether it please you or not.’ the wiser. on ‘
‘ What you desire is so reasonable,’ called ‘Pish! fear nothing,’ replied the caliph.
out the caliph, ‘that we should be ignorant ‘Ask him boldly his name and trade.
as Yaboos, if we did not at once comply.’ ‘Oh, my commander,’ replied Giaffar, ‘to
The man gave one more scrutinizing glance hear is but to obey; yet do I quake ‘Most
at the pretended merchants; and then, as if grievously at the threats of this villainous
satisfied, descended and opened his door. fellow. I entreat thee that I may defer the
The caliph and his attendants followed him questions until wine shall have softened down
up to his room, where they found a table laid his temper.’ 2K
out for supper, on which was a large pitcher ‘Thou cowardly vizier. Must I then
of wine, half a roasted kid, a bottle of rakee, interrogate him myself?’ replied the ca-
reserves, confections, and various kinds of iph. ;
a odoriferous flowers were also on the ‘Allah forbid,’ replied Giaffar; ‘I will my-
tabie, and the lighting up of the room was self encounter the wrath of this least of dogs
brilliant. The host, immediately on their —inay his grave be defiled.’
entering, tossed off a bumper of wine, as if . During this parley, their host, who had

_—x18

become more good-humoured in’ his cups,
cast his eyes upon them.

‘What, inthe name of Shitan, aré you chaps
prating and chatting about?’ inquired he,

Giaffar, perceiving him in a more favourable
mood, seized the occasion to speak. ‘ Most
amiable and charitable sir,’ replied he, ‘we
were talking of your great liberality and kind-
ness in thus permitting us to intrude upon
your revels. | We only request, in the name
of friendship, the name and profession of so
worthy a Mussulman, that we may remember
him in our prayers.’

‘Why, thou impudent old porpus ; did you
not promise to ask no questions? In the
name of friendship! ‘Truly it is of long
standing.’

‘Still I pray Allah that it may increase.
Have we not sat a considerable time in your
blessed presence — have you not given us
refuge? All we now ask is the name and
profession of one so amiable and so kind-
hearted ?”

‘Enough,’ replied the host, pacified with
the pretended humility of the vizier. ‘Silence,
and listen. Do you see ‘that’ skin which
hangs over my head?’ The caliph and his
companions looked up and perceived the
tanned skin of a young ox, which appeared
to have been used for carrying water. ‘It is
that by which I gain my daily bread. Iam
Yussuf, son of Aboo Ayoub, who dying some
five years ago, left me nothing but a few dir-
hems and ‘this strong carcass of mine, by
which to gain a livelihood. I was always fond
of sports and pastimes—overthrew everybody
who wrestled, ‘with me; nay, the man who
affronts me, receives a box on the ear which
makes it ring for a week afterwards.’

“Allah preserve us from affronting him,’
whispered the caliph.

‘When old Aboo died, I perceived, if I did
not speedily turn my strength to some ac-
count, I should starve; so it struck me that
there were no people more merry than the
water-carriers, who supply for a few parahs
to the houses of this city the soft water of the
IT resolved to become one, but instead
of going backwards and forwards with a goat-
skin on my shoulders, I went down to the
and selected: the soft skin of. the
young ox which hangs above me, fitted it to
my shoulders, and filling it at the river,
No sooner did I
appear, than all the water-carriers called out,
“That villain, Yussuf, is about to take away
our bread. May Shitan seize him. Let us
The cadi lis-

river.
cutriers,

marched up to the bazaar.

go to the cadi and complain.”

tened to their story, for they accused me of
witchcraft, saying that no five men could lift
the skin when it was full.
beeldars to’ summon me before him.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

He sent one of his
IT had

just filled my skin at the river, when the officer
came from this distributor of bastinadoes. T[
followed him to the’ court, laden as I was.
The crowd opened to let'me pass, and I
appeared before the cadi, who was much
astonished at my showing so little inconvent-
ence from such an enormous burthen. ‘‘Oh!
Yussuf,” cried he, ‘‘ hear and answer; thou
art accused of witchcraft.” ‘‘Who accuses me,
O cadi 2” replied 1, throwing down my skin of
water.
forward, and cried with loud voices, ‘‘ Behold
us here; O wise and just one.’ The cadi put
one aside, and questioned the other, who
swore on the book, that the devil had given
me a #7zo's ‘skin, and had promised that as
long as I served the followers of the Prophet
out of the unclean vessel, he would enable me
to carry as much’ as ten men. The second
witness confirmed this evidence; and added,
that he heard me talking with the devil, who
offered to turn himself into a Yaboo, and
carry water for me, which I had civilly de-
clined, for what reason he knew not, as he did
not hear the rest of the conversation.

‘At this evidence, the cadi-and mollshs

who sat with him, turned up ‘their eyes with ©

 

 

  

 

See

Whereupon two hang-dogs stepped>

horror, and proceeded to discuss the degree 7
of punishment which''so enormous a crime ~

deserved, quite forgetting to ask me if I had
anything to offer in my defence.

At last they

settled that, as a commencement, I should re- 7
ceive five hundred bastinadoes on the soles of ©
my feet; and, if I lived, about as many more ~

if

on my belly.

The cadi was about to pro- ©
nounce his irrevocable fefva, when I took the ©

 

liberty of interrupting this rapid course of 7
justice. - ‘‘O cadi,” said I, ‘‘and ye, mollahs, |

whose beards drop wisdom, let your slave

offer, at the footstool of justice, the precious ©

proofs of innocence.” ‘‘ Produce them quickly
then, thou wedded to Shitan and Jehanum,”
replied the cadi.

‘
:

Whereupon I loosened the ©

string which attached the mouth, and allowed ~

all the water to run out of the skin.

T then ©

turned the skin inside out, and showing to ~
them the horns of the young ox, which fortus 7
nately I had not cut off, I demanded of the |
cadi and of the mollahs, if any of them had ~

ever seen a pig with horns.
every one fell a-laughing, as if I had uttered
a cream of a joke.

At this they ©

My innocence was de=~

clared, and my. two accusers had the five)
hundred bastinadoes shared between them, ©
The water-carriers were too much alarmed”

at the result of this attempt to attack me any
more, and the true believers,’ from the notoriety
of the charge, and my acquittal of having ren=

skin, all sought my custom.
only to fill my skin, to empty it again, andl

   

dered them unclean, from the use of swinish
In short, I have

daily realize so handsome an income, that ILHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

have thrown care to the dogs, and spend in and the vizier, ‘I will beat until you are as
jollity every night what I have worked hard black as he is (pointing to Mesrour), and him
for every day. As soon as the muezzin.calls I will cudgel until he is as white_as the flesh
to evening prayers, I lay aside my skin, be- of the kid I have been regaling on. Depart
take myself to the mosque, perform my ablu- at once, you shall no longer pollute my roof.”
tions, and return thanks to Allah. After The caliph was so much diverted with the
which I repair to the bazaar, purchase meat anger of Yussuf, and yet in such dread of
with one dirhem, rakee with another, others showing it, that he was obliged to thrust the
go for fruit and flowers, cakes, sweetmeats, end of his robe into his mouth, as they walked
‘bread, oil for my lamps, and the remainder I out under a shower of curses from the water-
‘Spend in wine. As soon as all is collected, I carrier,
arrive at my own house, put everything in
order, light up my lamps, and enjoy myself By the sword of the Prophet, but they were
after my own fashion. So now you know well out of this scrape !’ observed the pacha,
all I choose to tell you, and whether you ‘May the grave of the rascal’s mother be de-
are merchants or spies in disguise, I care filed! to offer to cudgel the vice-reeent of the
not. Be satisfied and depart, for the dawn is Prophet.’ : a
here.’ “The caliph was in disguise, and Yussuf
The caliph, who had been much amused knew him not,’ replied Mustapha.
with Yussuf’s account of himself, replied, ‘In — ‘Those who threaten me in disguise will
truth, you are a wonderful man, and it must find that no excuse, we swear .by our beard,’
be allowed that, in separating yourself from replied the pacha, ‘ Proceed, Menouni.’
your fellows, you escape many troubles. and e
inconveniences.’ It was daylight before the great Haroun re-
_ ‘Ay,’ replied Yussuf; ‘thus have I lived entered thesecret gate of the seraclio, and re-
for five years. Every night has my dwelling tired to his couch. After a short slumber he
been lighted up as- you see it, and my fortu- arose, performed his ablutions, and proceeded
nate stars have never suffered me to go with- to, the divan, where he found the principal
out meat and drink, such as you three now officers of his court, the viziers, omras, and
smell and long for, but. shall not put your grandees assembled to recéive him ; his imagi-
fingers to.’ nation, however, still dwelt upon the events
“But, friend. Yussuf,’ observed Giaffar, of the preceding night ; and after the ordinary
“suppose that! to-morrow the caliph should businéss of the day had been transacted, and
issue a decree, putting an end to the trade of the petitioners who attended had been dis-
supplying: with water, and dezlare that who- missed, he called for his grand vizier, who
ever was found with a skin-full should be presented himself with the customary obei-
hanged. In such a case, what would you sances.
do? You could not light up your lamps.; ‘ Giaffar,’ said the caliph, ‘issue a decree
you could not enjoy your kabobs and pilau, to the governor of that city that it be pro-
neither would you be able to purchase fruits, claimed throughout the streets of Bagdad,
Sweetmeats, or a drop of wine.’ that no person whatever shall, forthe space of
* May Shitan s¢ize your unlucky soul,-you three days, carry water from the river to the
tun-bellied: beast of ill-omen! for the bare bazaars for sale; and that whoever trespasses
supposition: of such a thing; depart—depart shall,be hanged.’
‘quickly, and never let me see you again.’ The governor, Khalid ben Talid, imme-
“My good friend, Yussuf, I did but jest; diately that.he received the fetva, took the
five years, aS you observe, have passed away proper measures to have it promulgated.
Without a day's intermission of your enjoy- Heralds were despatched throughout the vari-
‘ment, nor is it probable that the caliph will ous quarters of the city, who proclaimed the
ever issue such a ridiculous and unheard-of will of the caliph... The people wondered, but
decree. I only observed, that supposing he submitted.
did, what could you do, never leaving a single __.Yussuf, who had performed his morning
‘asper for the next day's provision 2’ devotions, had reached the banks of the
a\t the repetition of the vizier's speech, Yussuf Tigris, and just filled, and hoisted on his
became highly exasperated... ‘You dare to shoulders, his ox-skin of water, when the ap-
Tepeat to me your unlucky words and ill- pearance of one of the heralds attracted his
oemens—and you ask me what I should do! attention ; he listened to the legal proclama-
Now hear'me: by the beard of the Prophet, tion,,and let down his ox-skin with a curse
should*the caliph issue such a decree, with upon all merchants of Moussul.
this good®° cudgel. 1 will search all Bagdad, ‘Confusion to.the scoundrels who last
‘until I find you all. © You, and-you,’ con- night prophesied such an unlucky event. If]
tinued Yussuf, looking fiercely at the caliph could but lay hands upon them!’ exclaimed

i19420
Yussuf. ‘They did but hint it, and behold it
is done.

Whilst Yussuf was thus lamenting over his
empty water-skin, some of the other water-
carriers came up, and began to console him
after the fashion of Job's comforters.

‘Surely,’ said one, ‘you need not be
troubled at this edict; you gain more than
any five of us every day, and you have no wife
nor child #o provide for. But I, wretched
man that I am, will have the misery of be-
holding ray wife and children starving before
the expiration of the three days.’

Another said, ‘Be comforted, Yussuf, three
days will soon pass away, and then you will
relish your kabobs, and your rakee, your
sweetmeats and your wine, with greater plea-
sure, having been so long deprived of them.’

‘Besides, added a third, ‘you must not
forget, Yussuf, that the Prophet has declared
that. a man is eternally damned, body and
soul, who is constantly drunk as you are.’

These observations kindled Yussuf's bile to
that degree, that he was nearly venting his
spleen upon his sarcastic consolers. He turned
away, however, in his rage, and throwing his
empty skin over his shoulders, proceeded
slowly towards the mosque of Zobeide, cursing
as he went along, all Moussul merchants,
down to the fiftieth generation. Passing the
great baths, he was accosted by one of the at-
tendants with whom he was intimate, who
inpuired why he was so depressed in spirits ?

‘That cold-blooded caliph of ours, Haroun
Alraschid, has put an end to my earnings for
three days, by threatening to hang any water-
carrier who shall carry his load to the bazaar.
You know, my friend, that I never have put
by a single para, and I fear that in three days
my carcass will become shrivelled with famine
and dried up for the want of a cup of rakee.’

‘Which thou hast often divided with me
before now,’ replied the other ; ‘so even now

will I divide my work with you, Yussuf.
follow me, if you do not object to the employ-
ment, which requires little more than strength,
and, by Allah, you have that, and to spare.
Surely upon a pinch like this, you can take up
a hair-bag, and a lump of soap, and scrub
and rub the bodies of the true believers.
Those hands of yours, so enormous and so
fleshy, are well calculated to knead the mus-
cles and twist the joints of the faithful. Come,
you shall work with us during these three
days at the hummaum, and then you can re-
turn to your old business.’
‘Thy words of comfort penetrate deep into
my bosom,’ replied Yussuf, ‘and I follow thee.’
The bath-rubber then took him in, bound
an apron round his waist, and lent hima bag,
three razors, pumice-stone for scrubbing the
soles of the feet, a hair-bag, and a sponge.

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

    

Having caparisoned and furiished him with
implements, he led Yussuf into the apartment
where was the reservoirof hot water, and de-
sired him to wait for a customer. Yussut
had not long sat down on the edge of the
marble bath, when he was summoned. to
perform his duties ona hadji, who, covered
with dust and dirt, bad evidently just returned
from a tedious pilgrimage.

Vussuf set to work with spirit ; seizing the
applicant with one hand he stripped him with
the other, and first operated upon the shaven
crown with his razor. The hadji was delighted
with the energy of his attendant. Having
scraped his head as clean as he could with an
indifferent razor, Yussuf then soaped and
lathered, scrubbed and sponged the skin of
the pilgrim, until it was as smooth and glossy
asthe back ofa raven. He then wiped him
dry, and taking his seat upon the backbone
of his customer, he pinched and squeezed all

his flesh, thumped his limbs, twisted every —

joint till they cracked like fagots in a blaze,
till the poor hadji was almost reduced to a
mummy by the vigour of the water-catrier,
and had just breath enough in his body to
call out, ‘Cease, cease, for the love of Allah—
I am dead, I am gone.’ Having said this,
the poor man fell back nearly senseless.
Yussuf was very much alarmed : he lifted up
the man, poured warm water over him, wiped
him dry, and laid him on the ottoman to re-
pose, covering him up. ‘The hadji fellinto a
sound slumber, and in half an hour awoke’
so refreshed and revived, that he deciared
himself quite a new man.

‘It is only to  hadjis,’ observed Yussuf,
‘that I give this great proof of my skill.’

The man put his hand into his pocket,
pulled out three dirhems, and presented them

  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

to Yussuf, who was astounded at such liberal- ~

ity ; and again expressing his satisfaction, the
hadji left the hummaum.
success, Yussuf continued his occupation, and

Delighted with his ~

attended with alacrity every fresh candidate —

for his joint-twisting skill.

By the time that —

evening prayers commenced, he had kneaded
to mummies half a dozen more true believers, ©

and had received his six dirhems, upon which
he determined to leave off for that day.
Having left the bath, he dressed himself,
went home, took his leathern pitcher, dish, ©
and basket, and went to the bazaar, where he >
purchased a piece of mutton, and left it at the
most noted kabob-makers in the district to be”
cooked; he then purchased his wine and
rakee, wax tapers, and fiowers, pistachio-nuts, ©
dried fruit, bread, and oil for his lamps.
When he had completed his purchases, he
called at the cook’s shop, where he found his”
mutton nicely kabobed, and smoking in the
dish. Paying the cook, and putting it into

 

‘
:
‘
;

{his basket, he {hastened home over the bridge
of boats, exulting in his good fortune. When
he arrived, he swept out his room, dressed
himself in better clothes, lighted his lamps,
spread out his table, and then squatting him-
self down, with his legs twisted under him,
and tossing off a bumper of wine, he ex-
claimed, ‘Well, I am lucky; nevertheless,
here's confusion to all Moussul merchants,
with their vile omens. Allah send their un-
lucky footsteps here to-night—that's ail.’

Here Menouni stopped, and made his sala-
am. ‘May it please your highness to permit
your slave to retire for the night, for the tale
of Yussuf, the water-carrier, cannot be im-
parted to your highness in one evening.’

The pacha, although much amused, was
also a little tired. ‘Be it so, good Menouni ;

“but recollect, Mustapha, that the caravan
must not depart till I hearthe end of this story.’

‘Be chesm, on my eyes be it,’ replied. Mus-
tapha ; and they all retired for the night.

“What is the cause?’ demanded the pacha
hastily, as next day Mustapha listened with
apparent patience to the long details of one of
the petitioners for justice.

“It is, O lord of wisdom, a dispute between
these men, as to a sum of money which they
received as guides to a Frank, who journeyed
into the interior. The one was hired for the
journey, but not being well acquainted with
the road, called in the assistance of the other;
they now dispute about the division of the
money, which lies at my feet in this bag.’

“It appears that the one who was hired did
not know the way ?

‘Even so,’ replied Mustapha.

“Then he was no guide, and does not
deserve the money. And the other it appears
was called in to assist ?”

“Thy words are the words of wisdom,’ re-
plied Mustapha.

“Then was he not a guide, but only an
assistant ; neither can he be entitled to the
money as guide. By the beard of the Pro-
phet, justice must not be fooled thus, and the
divan held in our presence be made foolish by
such complaints. Let the money be distri-
buted among the poor, and let them each
have fifty bastinadoes on the soles of the feet.
I have said it.’

‘Wallah thaib—it is well said,’ replied Mus-
tapha, as the two disputants were removed
from the presence.

* Now call Menouni,’ said the pacha, ‘for 1
am anxious to hear the story of Yussuf, and
the future proceedings of the caliph; and a
part of this bag of money will reward him for

the honey which falls from his lips.’
Menouni made his appearance and his
Qbeisance; the pacha and Mustapha receiyed

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

I2r

their pipes from the Greek slave, and the
kessehgou then proceeded with his story.

The great caliph, Haroun Alraschid, had
us usual held his afternoon audience: the
court was dismissed. Haroun, whose whole
thoughts were upon the bankrupt condition of
Yussuf, and who was anxious to know how he
had got on after the fetva had been promul-
gated, sent for his vizier Giaffar. ‘I wish to
ascertain,’ said the caliph to the vizier, ‘if
the unlucky Yussuf has managed to provide
for his bacchanalian revels to-night ?

‘There can be no doubt, O vice-regent of
the Prophet,’ replied Giaffar, ‘that the young
man is seated in the dark, in a most dismal
mood, without either wine or kabob, or aught
to comfort him.’

‘Send for Mesrour, then; we will again
resume our disguises, and pay him a visit.’

‘Let the humblest of your slaves,’ inter-
posed Giaffar, in a great fright, represent at
the footstool of your highness a true picture
of what we may anticipate. Doubtless this
lion-slayer of Shitan, being famished, will
not forget our prophecy, and ascribing the
fulfilment to our bad omens, will in his mood
sacrifice us to his empty stomach.’

‘Your wisdom is great, Giaffar,’ replied the
caliph; ‘the man is truly a savage, and'
doubtless will rage with hunger; neverthe-
less we will go and see in what state he
may be.’

Giaffar trembled at the idea cf being sub-
jected to the wrath of such a fellowas Yussuf,
but made no reply. He went for Mesrour
and the dresses, and having put them on,
they all three issued forth from the private.
gate of the seraglio. They had nearly reached:
the end of the narrow lane in which Yussuf's
house was situated, when the strong reflection
of the lights from the windows told them
that, at all events, he was not lamenting:
his hard fate in darkness ; and as they ap-
proached, the sound of his jovial voice proved
also that it was neither in silence that he sub-
mitted to his destiny. As they came under.
the window, he ceased singing, and ejacu-
lated a loud curse upon all Moussul mer-
chants, wishing that he might only see them
once again before the devil had them. ‘The
caliph laughed at this pious wish, and taking
up a handful of pebbles, threw them at the
jalousies of Yussuf’s windows.

‘Who the devil is there ? roared the water-
carrier; ‘is it you, ye bankrupt vagabonds,
who have annoyed me? Begone, or by the
sword of the Prophet, I’llimpale you all three
on my broomstick.’

‘Dost thou not know us, Yussuf? replied
thecaliph ; ‘weare your friends, and oncemore
request admission under thy hospitable roof,’Yussuf came out into the verandah, ‘Oh!
itis you, then ; now take my advice,—go in
peace. ..I- am now in good humour, and
peaceably disposed ; but had I fallen in with
you to-day, I’ would have twisted off your
necks.’

“Nay, good Yussuf,’ replied Giaffar, ‘we
have heard of the unaccountable and mad
decree of the caliph, and have called to know
how thou hast fared, and if we can. be of
service to one so hospitable and kind.’

‘You lie, I believe,’ replied Yussuf; ‘but
I’m in good humour, so you shall come in,
and see how well I fare. I am Yussuf, and
my trust is in God.’ . He then ‘went down
and admitted them, and they. viewed with
surprise the relics of the feast. ‘Now then,’
observed Yussuf, who was more than _ half
drunk, ‘you know my conditions; there is
my, meat, there is my wine, there is my fruit ;
not a taste ora drop shall you have. Keep
your confounded sharp eyes off my sweet-
meats, you black-bearded rascal,’ continued
Yussuf, addressing the caliph; ‘you haye
your share of them.’

“Indeed, most hospitable sir, we covet not
your delicacies ; all we wish to know is, the
reason.of this unheard-of decree, and how
you have contrived to supply your usual
merry table.’

“You shall hear,’ replied the water-carrier.
‘My name is Yussuf, and my trust is in God.
When the, decree .of the caliph came to my
ears this morning, | became as one deprived
of sense, but wandering near the hummaum
of Giaffar Bermuki, a friendly servant of the
baths accosted me.’ Yussuf then stated how
he had gained his money, much to their
amusement.  ‘ Now,’ continued he, ‘I will,
no longer bea water-carrier, but an attend-
dant at the bath will I live and die. May all
evil fall upon the cold-blooded caliph; but,
thanks to Allah, it never ‘will enter his head
to shut up the baths.’

_ ‘But,’ observed Giaffar, ‘suppose the caliph
were to-morrow morning to take it into his
head to shut up. the baths ?’

“Now, may all the ghouls seize thee, when
thou visitest thy father’s tomb,’ cried Yussuf,
jumping up in a fury, ‘ thou bear-whiskered
rascal! Did not I caution’ thee against evil
predictions? and did not you swear that you
would deal no more in surmises? The devil
must attend you, and waft your supposes
into the ear of the caliph, upon which to
frame out his stupid fetvas.’

‘ Theartily ask your forgiveness, and I am
dumb,’ replied Giaffar:

“Then. you are wise for once ; prove your-
self still wise, and hasten away before I reach
my cudgel.’

Perceiving that Yussuf’s eyes twinkled with

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

anger, they thought it right to. follow his
advice. ‘We shall see you again, good
Yussuf,’ said the caliph, as they descended.

“To the devil with you all three, and never
let me see your ugly faces again,’ replied the
water-carrier, slamming the door after they
were out. The caliph went away much
amused, and with his attendants entered the
private gate of the seraglio.

The next morning the caliph held a solemn
divan, at which all the mollahs, as well as the
chief officers were present, and. he issued: a
decree, that every bath throughout Bagdad
should be shut for three days, on pain of
impalement, The inhabitants. of Bagdad
were swallowed up with wonder ‘and per-
plexity. ‘How,’ exclaimed they, ‘what can
this mean? Yesterday we were ordered not
to use the waters of the Tigris, to-day the
baths are denied us. _ Perhaps, to-morrow the
mosques may be ordered to be shut up.’
And they shook their heads, as if. to hint to
each other that the caliph was not in his
senses; but they exclaimed, ‘In Allah only
safety is to be found,’ Nevertheless, the
decree was enforced by the proper officers,
who went round to the different baths. First
they closed the Hummaum Alraschid, next
that of Ziet Zobeide, then the bath of Giaffar
Bermuki, at which Yussuf had found employ-
ment the day before. When it was closed,
the master and attendants looked at the door,
and they reproached the assistants who had
befriended Yussuf, saying, he was a water-
carrier, and the business was stopped by a
decree. You have brought him to the baths,
and now they are shut. In the meantime,
Yussuf was perceived striding towards the
bath, muttering ‘to himself, ‘I am Yussuf ;
my trust is in God. As an assistant at the
hummaum will I live and die.’ Ignorant of
the decree, he approached the door. of the
building, round. which the servants were
clustered, and accosted them, ‘How now,
my friends, do you wait for the key? if any-
thing ails the lock, trust to the strength of
Yussuf.’

‘Have you not heard that the caliph has
ordered the baths to be shut for three days,
on pain of impalement ?

Yussuf started back with astonishment.
‘Now, may the graves of their fathers be
eternally defiled,—those confounded Moussul
merchants! Their supposes always come to
pass. , I will seek, them: out, and be revenged.’”
So saying, Yussuf, who had.come prepared
with his brushes, razors, and soap, turned off
in a rage, and hastened through the streets
for an hour or two, looking at every passenger,
to ascertain if he could find those upon whom
he would have wreaked his vengeance.

After'a long walk, Yussuf sat down on alarge stone. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I am still
Yussuf, and my trust is in God ; but it would
be better, instead of looking after these ras-
cals, if I were to look out for some. means of
providing myself with a supper to-night.’ So
Saying, he rose, went home, put on some
clothes of better materials, and twisting up
his red cotton sash fora tutban, he took up
his praying-carpet with a determination to go
to the bazaar and sell it for what it would
fetch. As he passed the mosque of Hosein,
he observed several mollahs, reading and ex-
pounding the more abstruse passages of the
Koran. Yussuf knelt and prayed awhile,
and returning tc the door of the mosque he
was accosted by a woman, who appeared to
be waiting ifor some one. ‘ Pious sir,’ said
she, ‘I perceive by your goodly habit and ap-
pearance, that you are one of the’ cadi’s law
Officers.’

‘Iam as you please—I am Yussuf, and my
trust is in God.’

“Oh! my hadji, then become my protector.
I have an ubjust debtor, who refuses me my

ue.

‘You cannot intrust a better person,’ re-
plied Yussuf. ‘I am a strong arm of the
law, and my interest at court is such, that I
have already procured two decrees.’

“Those are great words, O hadji,’

‘Tell me, then, who is this debtor, that I
may seize him and carry him before the
cadi. Haste to tell me, and for afew dirhems
I will gain your cause, right or wrong.’

“My complaint is against my husband,
who has divorced me, and notwithstanding,
refuses me my dowry of five dinars, my clothes,
and my ornaments.’

‘ What is your husband’s trade ?’

‘Pious sir, he is an embroiderer of pa-
pouches.’

‘Let us lose no time, my good woman; show
me this miracle of injustice, and by Allah, I
will confound him.’

Upon this the woman unbound the string
of coins from her head, and cutting off three
dirhems, presented them to Yussuf. Yussuf
seized the money, and tucking up his sleeves,
that he might appear more like an officer, he
bade her to lead to the delinquent. Thewoman
led him to the great mosque, where her hus-
band, a little shrivelled-up man, was petform-
ing his duties with great devotion. . Yussuf,
without saying a word, took him up, carpet
and all, and was about to carry him off.

‘In the name of the Prophet, to what class
of madmen do you belong ?’ screamed the as-
tonished devotee ; ‘release me; do not crush
my poor ribs within your grasp. Set me down,
and I will walk with you, as soon as I have
put on my slippers.’

‘The people crowded round to know what

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

was the matter. ‘Ho, ho, that will presently.
appear, replied Yussuf, ‘ His wife is his credi-
tor, and I am her law officer; my demand is
that you restore to her fifty dinars, besides all
the gold, jewels, and ornaments she has had
these last fifty years.’

‘How can that be,’ replied the little man,
“Seeing that I am_not forty years old?”

‘That ‘may be the case in fact,’ replied
Yussuf; ‘but law is a very difficult thing, as
you will find out. So come along with me to
the cadi.’

The party then. proceeded on their way to
the cadi ; but they had not gone many yards,
when the papouche-maker whispered to Yus-
suf, ‘ Most valiant and powerful sir, I quar-
relled with my wife last night, on account of
her unreasonable jealousy. . I did pronounce
the divorce, but there was no one to hear it.
If we slept together once’ more, she would. be
pacified. Therefore, most humane sir, 1 en-
treat you to interfere.’

‘Was there no witness ?” inquired Yussuf.

‘None, good sir,’ replied the man, shpping
five dirhems into the hand of Yussuf.

‘Then I decide that there is no divorce,’ re-
plied Yussuf, pocketing the money, ‘and there-
fore you are no. debtor. Woman,.come hither.
It appears that there was no divorce—so says
your husband—and you have no witness to
prove it. You.are therefore no creditor. Go
to your husband, and walk home with him ;
he is not much of a husband, to be sure, but
still he must be cheap at the three dirhems
which you, have paid me. _ God be with you,
Such is my decree.’

The woman, who had already repented of
her divorce, was glad to return, , and with
many compliments, they took their leave of
him. ‘By Allah! exclaimed Yussuf, ‘but
this is good. _ I will live and die an officer of
the law.’ So saying, he returned home for his
basket, purchased his provisions and wine, and
lighting up his house, passed the ‘evening in
carousing and singing as before.

While Yussuf was thus employed, the caliph
was desirous of ascertaining the effect of the
new decree relative to the baths. |‘ Giaffar,’
said he, ‘I wonder whether I have succeeded
in making that wine-bibber go to bed supper-
less? Come, let us pay him a visit.”

‘For the sake of Islam, O caliph,’ replied
Giaffar, ‘let us forbear to. trifle with. that
crackbrained drunkard any more, . Already
has Allah delivered us out of his hands,
What may we not expect if he is hungry and
desolate ?’ :

‘Your wisdom never grows less,’ replied the
caliph ; ‘those are the words of truth ; never-
theless, I must go and see. the madman once
more.’

Giaffar, not being able to prevail, preparedt24

the dresses ; and they, accompanied by Mes-
rour, again sallied forth by the private gate of
the seraglio. Once more were they surprised
at witnessing the same illumination of the
house, and one of the jalousies having burst
open with the wind, they perceived the shadow
of Yussuf, reflected on the wall, his beard
wagging over his kabobs, and a cup of wine
in his hand.

‘Who is there?’ cried Yussuf, when Giaffar,
at the command of the caliph, knocked at
the door.

‘Your friends, dear Yussuf—your friends,
the Moussul merchants. Peace be with you.’

‘But it's neither peace nor welcome to you,
you owls,’ replied Yussuf, walking out into
the verandah. ‘By Allah! if you do not
walk away, and that quickly, I shall come
down to you with my bone-polisher.’

‘Indeed, friend Yussuf,’ replied Giaffar,
“we have but two words to say to you.’

‘Say them quickly, then, for you enter not
my doors again, you wretched fellows, who
have ruined all the water-carriers and all the
bath-people in Bagdad.’

“What is that you mean?’
caliph ; ‘we are lost in mystery.’

‘What!’ replied Yussuf; ‘have you not
heard the decree of this morning ?”

‘Gentle sir, we have been so busy sorting
our wares, that we have not stepped out this
day, and are ignorant of all that hath passed
in Bagdad.’

“Then you shall come up and learn; but
first swear by Moses, Esau, and the Prophet,
that you will not suppose; for all you have
imagined has proved as true as if it had been
engraven on the ruby seal of Solomon.’

These conditions were readily accepted by
the caliph and his companions, and they were
then admitted upstairs, where they found
everything disposed in the usual order, and in
the same profusion. When they had taken
their seats in a corner of the room, Yussuf
said, ‘ Now, my guests, as you hope for par-
don, tell me, do you know nothing of what
has happened to me this day—and what the
blockhead of a caliph has been about ?
Haroun and the vizier could with difficulty
restrain their laughter, as they shook their
heads. ‘Yes,’ continued Yussuf, ‘that vice-
gerent of a tattered beard, and more tattered
understanding, has issued a decree for closing
the baths for three days, by which cruel ordi-
nance, I was again cast adrift upon the sea of
necessity. However, Providence stood my

replied the

friend, and threw a few dirhems in my way,
and I have made my customary provision in
spite of the wretch of a caliph, who I fully be-
lieve is an atheist, and no true believer,’

“Inshallah,’ said the caliph to himself, ‘but
I'll be even with you some day, at least.’

    
 

LHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

Yussuf then filled his cup several times, and
was in high glee, as he narrated the events of
the day, concluding with, ‘I am Yussuf—I
put my trust in God. As an officer of the
law I intend to live and die, and to-morrow I
shall attend the hall of the cadi.’

‘ But,’ said Giaffar, ‘suppose——

‘Suppose! by the beard of the Prophet, if
you dare to suppose again in my presence, I
will pound your fat stomach into a jelly,’ cried
Yussuf, seizing his cudgel.

‘No, no, my friend, I merely wished to
say

‘Say nothing,’ roared Yussuf, ‘or you never
speak again.’ ‘

‘Then we will only think, my friend.’

‘That I will allow, and I also think as wellas
you. My thoughts are that it will be wise for
you to quit as fast as you can ; for I have the
cudgel in my hand, and am not in the very
best of humours.’ ‘The caliph and his atten-
dants were of the same opinion, and took
their leave of their irritated host.

At the next morning's levee, Giaffar entered
the divan at the head of the chief officers of
the law, and viziers of the different depart-
ments, and prostrating himself before the
throne, he called down increase of years and
prosperity on the caliph. ‘ Giaffar,’ replied
Haroun, ‘issue immediate orders, under the
imperial firmaum, that strict inquiries be
made into those officers of justice who attend
the halls of the cadis. All those who have
been lawfully selected, shall be retained, with
a present and increase of salary, while those
who have assumed their name and office,
without warranty or permission, shall be dis-
missed with the bastinado.’

The orders of the caliph were immediately
obeyed. Inthe meantime, Yussuf, who had
fallen asleep over his wine, did not awake till
long after the sun was up. He immediately
rose, dressed himself with care, and hastened
to the hall of the cadi, and took his station
among the officers of the law, who looked at
him with surprise and displeasure. At this
moment the caliph’s firmaum was delivered to
the cadi, who, lifting it up to his forehead, in
token of respect and obedience, caused it to
be read to him. He then cried with a loud
voice, ‘ Bring in purses of gold, and let also
the fellah and rods for the bastinado be brought
in. Close up the gates of the cutchery, that
mone escape; and ye officers of justice, be
ready to answer as your names are called’
Yussuf, whose eyes were wide open, as wellas
his ears, said to himself, ‘ My God! what
new event is now to come to pass?’

The orders of the cadi having been obeyed,
the officers were severally called forward, and
having proved themselves regularly appointed,
received their rewards, and were dismissed,Yussuf's ideas were so confused by what ap-
peared to him such an unmnitigated destiny,
that he did not perceive that he was left
standing alone. It was not until the second
time that the cadi called to him, that Yussuf
moved towards him.

“Who are you ?’ inquired the cadi.

‘I am Yussuf, and my trust is in God,’ re-
plied he.

‘What is your profession ?’

‘IT am a water-carrier.’

‘Such being the case, why did you join the
officers of the law ?’

‘I only entered upon the calling yesterday,
O cadi ; but nothing is difficult to me. Pro-
vided I gain but my six dirhems a day, I have
no objection to become a mollah.’

The cadi and bystanders were unable to re-
strain their mirth, nevertheless, his feet were
secured to the pole; and when hoisted up, they
commenced the bastinado, taking care, how-
ever, to strike the pole much oftener than his
toes. Having finished, he was released, and
turned out of the hall of justice, very much
mortified and melancholy, but little hurt by
the gentle infliction. ‘ Well,’ thought Yussuf,
‘fate appears determined that I shall change
my mode of gaining my livelihood every day.
Had I not allowed those Moussul rascals to
enter my house, this never would have hap-
pened.’

As he said this, he perceived one of the
bceldars, or officers of the caliph’s household,
pass by him. ‘That would be a nice office,’
thought Yussuf, ‘and the caliph does not
count his people like the cadi. It requires
but an impudent swagger, and you are taken
upon your own representation.’ Accordingly,
nowise disheartened, and determined to earn
his six dirhems, he returned home, squeezed
his waist into as narrow a compass as he
could, gave his turban a smart cock, washed
his hands, and took a peeled almond-wand in
his hand. He was proceeding down stairs,
when he recollected that it was necessary to
have a sword, and he had only a scabbard,
which he fixed in his belt, and cutting a piece
of palm-wood into the shape of a sword, he
fixed it in, making the handle look smart with
some coloured pieces of cotton and silk, which
he sewed with packthread. Thus marched he
out, swaggering down the streets, and swing-
ing his twig*of almond-tree in his hand. As
he strutted along, every one made way for
him, imagining him to be one of those in-
solent retainers of office who are supported by
the great khans. Thus he continued a straight
course, until he arrived at the market-place,
where a multitude was assembled round two
men, who were fighting desperately. Yussuf
pressed forward, the crowd making way for
him on both sides, either taking him for an

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

r25

officer of the household, or dreading the force
of his nervous and muscular proportions.
When he reached the combatants, they were
covered with dirt and blood, and engaged so
furiousiy, that no one dared separate them.
Yussuf, perceiving the dread which he in-
spired, and that he was taken, as he wished to
be, for a beeldar, first clapped his hand to the
handle of his pretended sword, and then
struck the combatants several sharp blows
with his almond-stick, and thus induced them
to leave off fighting. The sheick, or head of
the bazaar, then approached Yussuf, and
making an obeisance, presented him with six
dirhems, with a prayer that he would seize the
culprits, and carry them before the caliph for
punishment, as disturbers of the public peace.

Yussuf, securing the money in his girdle,
seized up the two combatants, and carrying
one under each arm, walked off with them.
A great crowd followed, with many prayers
for the release of the prisoners; but Yussuf
turned a deaf ear, until another six dirhems
were dropped into his vest, with a prayer for
mercy. Upon this Yussuf consented to re-
lease them, and walked away, hardly able to
contain his exultation. ‘Iam Yussuf,’ cried
he, ‘and I trust in God. Asa beeldar will I
live and die. By Allah! I will go to the
palace, and see how it fares with my brother
beeldars.’

Now there were thirty beeldars in the ser-
vice of the caliph, who attended the palace in
rotation, ten each day. On reaching the
court of the palace, Yussuf took his station
where the ten beeldars on duty were collected
together. He observed, however, that they
were different from himself, very slight young
men, and dressed in a very superior style.
He felt some contempt for their effeminate
appearance contrasted with his own muscular
frame, but could not keep his eyes off their
handsome and stylish dress. Meanwhile the
chief of the beeldars perceived him, and
knowing that he did not belong to the palace,
imagined from his appearance and his present-
ing: himself among them, that he must be one
in the service of one of the great omrahs who
were at Bagdad, who, having nothing to do
at home, had come as a visitor to the palace.
He remarked this to his brother beeldars, say-
ing, ‘ This fine-built stranger ought to be con-
sidered as our guest. Let us show him all
courtesy, for he is of our profession, and
therefore we shall not do ourselves credit if
we do not prove that we have the power to
serve him.’ The other beeldars agreeing with
him, the chief went to the secretary of the
treasury and procured an order of notice upon
a rich confectioner, to pay into the treasury
the sum of five thousand dirhems, due by him
upon several accounts therein specified. The120

vizier’s seal having been attached to it, he
went with it to where Yussuf was standing.
‘What ho! brother beeldar,’ said the chief.

‘Tam Yussuf, and my trustis in God; I
am ready to obey your commands,’ said the
water-carrier, advancing with great humility.

‘May I request, brother beeldar, that you
will do us of the palace the very great favour
to carry this paper, bearing the vizier's seal,
to -Mallem Osman, the great. confectioner,
and request the immediate payment of five
thousand dirhems. You know your profes-
sion; of course the money is not expected,
but whatever he may offer you for affording
him a respite, put down to the friendship and
good-will of the beeldars) of the palace, and
remember us when you feast in your own
dwelling.’

Yussuf, highly delighted, put the order into
his cap, made a low salaam, and departed on
his message. Deeming it beneath his new-
fledged dignity to walk, he mounted one of
the asses ready for hire at the corner of the
streets, ordering the driver to hasten before to
clear the way, and ascertain which was the
dwelling of the confectioner. The house of
Mallem Osman was soon discovered, for he
was the most celebrated of his trade; and had
an immense business. Yussuf rode up on the
beast, which was not half as large as himself,
and stopped at the shop where the confectioner
was superintending his work-people. ‘1 am
Vussuf, and my trust is in God,’ said Yussuf,
looking at the confectioner. ‘The confectioner
heeded him not, when Yussuf strutted into
the shop. ‘I merely wait upon you, good
Mallem Osman, to request, that you will
immediately repair to the palace, carrying
with you five bags, each containing one
thousand dirhems, of which there appears at
present to be no chance of receiving an asper.
‘This paper, sealed by the vizier, contains the
order; and as you have the honour of being
the caliph’s debtor, you will do well to rise
and accompany me forthwith to the palace, not
forgetting the needfui.’

At this speech Mallem started up from his
seat, advanced most submissively to Yussuf,
took the paper and raised it to his head,
addressing Yussuf with the most abject ser-
vility. ‘O most excellent, most valiant, and
most powerful beeldar, how well doth the
caliph select his officers ! How favoured am
I by Allah with your happy presence ? I am
your slave—honour me by refreshing yourself
in my dwelling.’

Yussuf then threw the driver of the beast
half a dirhem and dismissed him, breathed as
if fatigued with his journey, and wiped his
brow with his sleeve, . The confectioner

placed him in his own seat, and sent hastily
to the bazaar for a large dishful of kabob,

 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

spread a napkin before Yussuf, and slicing.a
pomegranate strewed it over with pounded
sugar, and placed it before him, along with
some sweet cakes and some honey.. ‘O chief
of beeldars!’ said the confectioner, ‘it is ny
prayer that you deign to break your fast in
the house of your servant. Will you amuse
youtself with these trifies while something
better is preparing?’ Here one of the shop-
men brought a bowl, into which he poured
sherbet of the distilled juice of the lotus-flower
mingled with rose-water. ‘The master placed
this also before Yussuf, and entreated him to
eat,; but Yussuf, affecting the great man, held
his head up in the air and would not even
look that way. ‘Condescend to oblige me by
tasting this sherbet, O chief!’ continued the
confectioner ; ‘or I swear by Allah that I
will divorce my youngest and most favourite
wife.’

‘Hold—hold, brother! replied Yussuf ;
‘rather than that the innocent should suffer, I
will comply with your request ; although, to
say the truth, I have no appetite, having
taken my breakfast from the caliph’s table in
ten dishes, each dish containing three fowls
dressed in a different fashion. I am so full
that I can scarce draw my breath.’

‘T fully comprehend that it is out of com-
passion to your slave that you comply with
my request.’

‘Well,’ said Yussuf, ‘to oblige you; and
taking up the bowl of sherbet, which, con-
tained some pints, to the amazement of the
confectioner, at one long draught he swallowed
it alldown. Thekabob now made its appear-
ance, wrapped up in thin cakes of fine wheaten
flour. Yussuf swallowed this also with a
rapidity which was astonishing to behold,
nor did he cease eating till the whole table
was cleared. “The confectioner was amazed.
‘This fellow,’ thought he, ‘ breakfasted upon
ten dishes, each containing three fowls. How
fortunate forme! What would he have done
had he come here fasting? Nothing less
than an ox stuffed with pistachio-nuts would
have satisfied him. Would to Heaven that I
were well rid of him !’

In the meantime Yussuf stirred not, but
resumed his consequence. ‘The confectioner
requested to know if his highness would wait
till a dinner was prepared for him. ‘ Indeed,
friend, that is a subject of small concern.
My object here is, that you hasten with me to
the treasury to pay in the five thousand dir-
hems which are due.’

‘Your indulgence, my;aga,’ replied the
confectioner ; ‘J will-return in one minute.’
Mallem Osman then filled a large bag with
the choicest of his sweetmeats, and putting
thirty dirhems in a paper, he approached
Yussuf, saying, ‘My prince, I humbly begyour acceptance of this trifling present of
Sweetmeats, and these thirty dirhems for the
expenses of the bath after your fatiguing
journey hither. Deign also to favour me
with your protection. Trade is scarce, and
money does not come in. ' Ina short time I
will pay all.’

Yussuf, who was aware that the order had
only been given that he might squeeze a few
dirhems out of the confectioner, then spoke
with much civility. ‘ My advice to you, Mal-
lem,’ said he, ‘is, that you stir not out of
your door to-day—there is no such hurry—
nor to-morrow, nay, even a week, ora month,
ora year. J may say, stir not at all, for you
have my protection ; and therefore be under
no trouble of going to the palace at all.’

It‘ was near sunset when this affair was
settled. Yussuf walked home with his hands
full of presents, exclaiming as he went, ‘I am
Yussuf, my provision is from God! He
reached his home full of pleasing anticipations,
and changing his dress, took cut his basket
and. pitcher, returning loaded more than
usual ; for, having gained forty-two dirhems,
he resolved to indulge himself. ‘ By Allah !’
cried he, ‘I wiil double my allowance; to the
confusion of those rascally Moussul merchants,
who are such birds of ill omen.’ He accord-
ingly expended double the money, doubling
also his allowance of wax tapers.and oil, so
that his house was in a blaze of light when he
sat down as usual to his feast, more happy
than ever, drinking more, and singing twice
as loudly as he had ever done before.

Leaving him to his solitary revels, we must
observe that the caliph had ascertained that
Yussuf had received the bastinado ; and now
making sure that he would be without pro-
visions or wine, he resolved to pay him
another visit. ‘I think, Giaffar, that [ have
at last sent that rascal to bed supperless in
return. for his calling me an infidel; and I
must go and enjoy his wrath and indignation,
increased of course by the pain of the blows
he has received by the order of the cadi.” In
vain did Giaffar represent that it would be
attacking an angry and wounded lion in his
den; that his wrath would be such, and his
strength was so enormous,. that they could
not expect less than annihilation, should they
venture to his door. . “All that may be true,’
replied the caliph; ‘but still I will go and see
him at all risk.’

‘IT have my dagger, Commander of the
Faithful,’ observed Mesrour, ‘and I fear him
not.’
‘Use it not, Mesrour,’ replied the caliph.
“Get ready the dresses and let us depart.’

'*T venture to promise that we shall see no
more lights this time, unless it may be a soli-

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
   
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
    
   
 
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
    
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

129
bey lamp to enable him to bathe his wounded
core

‘They went forth, and on their arrival were
astonished at the blaze of light which pro-
ceeded from Yussuf’s apartment ; his singing
also was more clamorous, and he appeared to
be mtch intoxicated, crying out between his
staves, ‘I am Yussuf! confound all Moussul
merchants—iny trust is in God !’

“By the sword of the Prophet ? exclaimed
the caliph, ‘this fellow baffles me in every-
thing. Have I not made the whole city un-
comfortabie, and submit to decrees which
appear to be promulgated by a-madman,
merely to chastise this wine-bibber, and be-
hold he revels as before? I am weary of
attempting to baffle him ; however, let us find
out, if possible, how he has provided for his
table. What, ho! friend Yussuf, are you
there? Here are your guests come again to
rejoice in your good fortune,’ cried the caliph
from the sireet.

“What, again? roared Yussuf. ‘Well,
now, you must take the consequence. Fly,
or youare dead men. I have sworn by Allah,
not only that you should not come into my
door, but that I would cudgel you whenever
we met again.’

‘Nay, thou pearl among men, thou ocean
of good temper, rise and receive us. It is
our destiny, and who can prevent it ?’

“Well, then,’ replied Yussuf, coming out
to the verandah with his great cudgel, ‘if it
is your destiny, it will not be my fault.’

‘But, good Yussuf,’ replied the caliph,
‘hear us. ‘This is the last time that we re-
quest admittance. We swear it by the “hee.
You rail at us as if we harmed you; whereas,
you must acknowledge that everything, how-
ever unfortunate, at first appearance, has
turned only to thy advantage.’

‘That is true, replied Yussuf; ‘but still it
is through your pernicious omens that I am
made to change my trade every day. What
am I to be next ?’

‘Is not your trust in God ?’ replied Giaffar.
‘Besides we promise thee faithfully that we
will not say one word on. the subject, and
that this shall be the last time that we de-
mand your hospitality.’

‘Well,’ replied Yussuf, who was very drunk,
“I will open the door for the last time, as I
must not war with destiny.’ So saying, he
reeled down the stairs, and let them in.

The caliph found everything in extraordi-
nary profusion. , Yussuf sang for some time
without noticing them ; at last he said, ‘ You
Moussul rascals; why do you not ask me to
narrate how I have had such good fortune?
You are dying with envy, I presume; but
now you shall hear it, and if vou dare to go128

 

away till I have told you all, I will shower
down such a quantity of blows upon your
carcasses, as shall leave you worse than a
bastinado of five hundred.’

‘We are all obedience and humility, O
prince of men!’ replied the caliph.

Yussuf then narrated the events of the day,
concluding with, ‘I am Yussuf, my trust is in
God! A beeldar will I live, a beeldar will I
die, in spite of the caliph and his grand vizier
to boot. Here's confusion to them both!’
He then drank off a cup of rakee, and rolling
over in a state of stupid intoxication, fell fast
asleep.

The caliph and Giaffar blew out the lights,
and then Jet themselves out of the door, and,
much amused with the adventures of Yussuf,
they regained the private gate of the seraglio.

‘The next morning Yussuf awoke, and find-
ing it late, hastened to dress himself in his
best clothes, saying to himself, ‘I am a beel-
dar, and I will die a beeldar.’ He took
care to comb out his beard, and twist it ina
fiercer manner ; and then putting on his sham
sword, lost no time in going to the palace,
where he took his station among the beeldars
who were on duty, hoping that he would be
despatched by the chief on a similar message
as that of the day before. The caliph soon
afterwards made his appearance at the divan,
and immediately recognized Yussuf in his
partial disguise. He observed to Giaffar,
“Do you see there our friend Yussuf? I have
him at last, and now I will perplex him not a
little before he escapes me.’ ‘The chief of the
beeldars being called, stepped forward and
madehis obeisance. ‘What is the number
of your corps ?’ inquired the caliph.

“Thirty in all, Most High; of which ten
are every day on duty.’

“I will review those who are present,’ re-
plied the caliph, ‘and examine each man par-
ticularly.’

The chief of the beeldars, bowing low, re-
tired, and turning to his men, with a loud
voice, said, ‘ Beeldars, it is the pleasure of the
Commander of the Faithful that you appear
before him.’

This order was instantly obeyed, and Yussuf
was compelled to walk with the rest into the
immediate presence of the caliph ; not, how-
ever, without alarm, and saying to himself,
‘What can all this be for? My usual luck.
Yesterday I cast up my reckoning with the
cadi, and paid the balance with my heels. If

{ have to account with the caliph, I am lucky
if 1 come off clear with my head.’

In the meantime the caliph asked a few
questions of each beeldar, until he came to
Yussuf, who had taken care to stand last.
His manceuvres and embarrassment afforded
much pleasure to the caliph and Giaffar, so

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

 

much, that they scarce could refrain from
laughing outright. The last of the beeldars
had now been examined, and had passed over
to the right after the others, and Yussuf re-
mained standing by himself. He shuffled
from side to side, casting an eye now at the
door, and then at the caliph, considering
whether he should take to his heels, but he
felt that it was useless. The caliph asked
him who he was three times before Vussuf’s
confusion would allow him to answer ; and
the chief of the beeldars gave him a push in
the ribs, and looking in his face, did not
recognize him ; he however supposed that he
had been lately substituted by one of the other
chiefs. ‘ Answer the caliph, you great brute,’
said he to Yussuf, giving him another dig in
the ribs with the handle of his poniard ; but
Yussuf's tongue was glued to his mouth with
fear, and he stood trembling without giving
any answer. The caliph again repeated,
‘What is your name, your father's name,
and the amount of your salary as a beeldar ?
and how did you get your appointment ?’

‘Is it to me you speak, O hadji caliph?’ at
last stammered out Yussuf,

‘Yes,’ replied the caliph gravely.

Giaffar, who stood near his master, then
cried out, ‘Yes, you cowardly shred of a
beeldar ; and replv quickly, or a sword will
be applied to your neck.’

Yussuf, as if talking to himself, replied, ‘I
hope it will be my owz then.’ He then re-
plied to the question, ‘ Yes, yes, it's all right
—Mmy father was a beeldar, and my mother
also before him.’ Ai this extravagant answer
the caliph and whole court could no longer
restrain their mirth, which gave Yussuf a little
more courage.

‘So,’ replied Haroun, ‘it appears that you
are a beeldar, and that your allowance is ten
dinars yearly, and five pounds of mutton
daily.’

“Yes, my Umeer,’ replied Yussuf, ‘I believe
that is correct. My trust is in God!’

“It is well. Now, Yussuf, take with you
three other beeldars to the dungeon of blood,
and bring to me the four robbers who were
condemned to death for their manifold crimes
and enormities.’

Here Giaffar interfered, and submitted to
the caliph, whether it would not be better
that the head jailor should produce them,
which being ordered, that officer presently
made his appearance with the four criminals,
pinioned and bareheaded. The caliph or-
dered three of the beeldars each to seize and
blindfold a prisoner, to open their upper
garments ready, to unsheath their swords,
and wait for the word of command. The
three beeldars made their obeisance, obeyed
the command, placing the criminals in akneeling position, resting on their hams, with
their necks bare, and their eyes covered.
While the three beeldars stood thus in readi-
ness, Yussuf was in a dreadful state of con-
fusion. ‘To escape now is impossible,’ said
he to himself. ‘Confound these Moussul
merchants. They did well to say they would
come no more, for in a few minutes I shall be
no more myself.’

“You fellow there! you are one of the
appointed beeldars, and do not know your
duty,’ cried Giaffar. ‘Why do you not lead
out the criminal, as your companions have
done?’

Yussuf, obliged to obey, now seized the
fourth prisoner, covered his eyes, laid bare
his neck, and took his stand behind him, but
without drawing his sword. ‘I never shall
be able to get over this,’ thought Yussuf. ‘In
a few seconds it will prove to be but a piece
of palm-wood, and I shall lose my head
among the jeers of the people. However, my
trust is in God ; and to Shitan with all Mous-
sul merchants.’ He took, however, his sheath
and sham sword from his belt, and raised it
in the scabbard over his shoulder.

The caliph, who watched him narrowly,
was highly diverted with this manceuvre.
‘You beeldar!’ cried he, ‘why do you not
unsheath your sword ?”

‘My sword,’ replied Yussuf, ‘is of that
temper, that it must not too long glance in
the eyes of the Commander of the Faithful.’

The caliph appeared satisfied, and turning
to the first beeldar, commanded him to strike.
In a moment the head of the robber was
lying on the ground. ‘Neatly and bravely
done,’ said the caliph ; ‘let him be rewarded.’
Tle then gave command to the second to
execute his criminal. The sword whirled in
the-air, and at one stroke the head of the rob-
ber flew some distance from the shoulders.
The third criminal was dispatched with equal
dexterity. ‘Now,’ said the caliph to Yussuf,
“you, my beeldar, cut off the criminal’s head,
and receive the like reward for your dex-
terity.’

Yussuf had, by this time, to a certain degree
recovered his presence of mind; he had not
exactly arranged his ideas, but they floated
indistinctly in his brain. ‘ Will your highness
aliow me to say a few words to the criminal ?’
demanded Yussuf, to gain time.

‘Be it so,’ replied the caliph, stuffing his
robe in his mouth to prevent laughter.

‘The caliph has commanded your head to
be struck off. If you would proiounce the
profession of the new faith, now is your time,
robber, for you have but one short minute to
live.’

The criminal immediately cried out, ‘There
is but one God, and Mahomet is his Prophet’

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

129

Yussuf then bared his muscular arm, and
fiercely rolling his eyes, walked three times
round his prisoner. ,‘ Declare now the justice
of your fate,’ cried he aloud (but at the same
time saying to the man in a low tone, ‘Swear
you are innocent’). ‘Say, is not your sen-
tence just ?’

“No—no,’ replied the man, in a loud voice,
‘IT am innocent.’

The caliph, who was very attentive to all
that passed, was much diverted by Yussuf’s
proceeding, and wondered what he would do
next. Yussuf then walked up to the caliph,
and prostrated himself.

‘O caliph, vicegerent of the Prophet, deign
to listen to your faithful beeldar, while he
narrates a strange adventure which hath be-
fallen him within these few days.’

‘Speak, beeldar, we are all attention ; re-
member that thy words be those of truth.’

‘It was on the evening before your highness
issued the decree that no water should be sup-
plied to the bazaar from the Tigris, that as I
was silting in my house, performing my sacred
duties, and studying the Koran, which I read
in a loud voice, three merchants of Moussul
claimed and entreated my hospitality. The
Koran has pointed out hospitality as a virtue
necessary to every true believer, and I hastened
to open my door and receive them.’

‘Indeed,’ repiied the caliph, looking at
Giaffar, ‘Tell me, beeldar, what sort of
looking personages might these Moussul mer-.
chants be ?”

‘ Ill-favoured to a degree. One was a pot-
bellied, rascally-looking fellow, with a great
beard, who looked as if he had just come out
ora jail. [The caliph winked at his vizier, as
much as to say, there is your portrait.] An-
other was a black-bearded, beetle-browed,
hang-dog looking rascal. [Giaffar bowed to
the caliph.] And the third was a blubber-
lipped weazen-faced skeleton of a negro.
[Mesrour clapped his hand to his dagger with
impatience,] In short, your highness, I may
safely say, that the three criminals whose
heads have just been forfeited to justice were,
as far as appearances went, honest-looking
men compared to the three Moussul mer-
chants. Nevertheless, as in duty bound, I re-
ceived these three men, gavethem shelter, and
spread a table of the best before them. They
indulged in kabobs, and asking for wine and
rakee, which, as forbidden by the law, I never
taste, I went out and purchased it for them.
They did eat and drink till the dawn broke,
and then they departed.’

‘Indeed,’ said the caliph.

‘The next night, to my great annoyance,
they aroused me from my devotions as be-
fore, Again did my substance disappear in
providing for their demands; and, after having130

eaten and drunk until they were intoxicated,
they went away, andI hoped to see them ‘no
more, as they were not sparing in their obser-
vations upon the new decree of your highness,
relative tothe shutting up of the baths,’

‘Proceed, good Yussuf.’

‘The third night they again came, ‘and
having no more. money to spare, and finding
them still making my house a tavern, I hoped
that they would come no more; but they came
again a fourth night, and then behaved most
indecorously, singing lewd songs, and calling
out for wine and rakee until I could béar it no
more, and I then told them that I could no
longer receive them. The fat-stomached one,
whom I have before mentioned, then rose, and
said, “‘ Yussuf; we have proved ‘your hospita+
lity, and we thank you: —No one would have
received three such ill-favoured persons, and
have regaled them for the Jove of God, as you
have done. We will now reward thee. Thou
art a beeldar of the palace, and we will now
present thee with the sword of justice, which
has been. lost since the days of the great Solo-
mon ; take this, and judge not by its outward
appearance. When commanded to take off
the head of a criminal, if he is cuilty the sword
will flash like fire, and never fail; but should
he be innocent, it will become a harmless lath
of wood.” I took the present, and was about
to return thanks, when the three ill-favoured
Moussul merchants gradually took the form
of celestial beings, and vanished.’

‘Indeed, this is a strange story—what, did
the big-bellied fellow look like an angel ?’

* As‘an angel of light, O caliph.’

‘ What, and the weazen-faced negro ?’

‘Like a houri,O caliph.’

“Well, then,’ replied the caliph, ‘you shall
now, Yussuf, try the power of this wonderful
sword. Strike off that criminal’s head,’

Yussuf returned tothe robber, who remained
kneeling, and walked round him, crying out
with a loud voice, ‘O sword, if this man be
guilty, do thy duty; but if he be, as he has
declared in his dying moments, innocent, then
become thou harmless.’

With these words Yussuf drew his sword,
and exhibited a lath of palmwood: ‘Heis
mnocent, O caliph this man, ‘being unjustly
condemned, ought to be set free,’

‘Most certainly,’ replied the caliph, de-
lighted with the manceuvre of Yussuf, ‘let him
be liberated. Chief of the beeldars, we can-
not part with a man, who; like Vussuf, pos-
sesses so famous a weapon. Let there be ten

more beeldars appointed,‘ and@ let Yussuf have
the command of them as chief, with the same
perquisites and salary as the other chiefs.’
Yussuf prostrated himself before the caliph,
delighted with his good fortune, and as he re-
tired, he exclaimed, ‘IT am Yussuf, my trust

THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

 

isin God. Allah preserve the three Moussul
merchants.’

It was not long before the caliph, Giaffar,
and Mesrour, appeared again as the merchants
to Yussuf, and heartily enjoyed his discomfi-
ture and confusion when they discdvered
themselves. Still Yussuf enjoyed the favour
of Haroun to the end of his life, and was
more fortunate than Giaffar and others) who
only once fell under the wrath and suspicion
of the all-powerful caliph.

‘Such,'O: pacha, is the history of Yussuf,
the water-carrier.’

‘Yes, and a very good story too.
you not another, Menouni?’

‘Your highness,’ replied Mustapha, ‘the
caravan will depart at break of day, and
Menouni has but three hours to prepare. It
can no longer be detained without the chief
making a report to the authorities, which
would not be well received.’

‘ Be it so,’ replied the pacha’; ‘let Menouni
be rewarded, and we will try to find some
other story-teller, until his return from his pil-
grimage.’

Have

—

 

CHAPTER. XIX.

‘MUSTAPHA,’ observed the pacha, taking
his pipe out of his mouth, ‘what makes the
poets talk so much about the Book of Fate?

“The Book of Fate, your highness, is where
is written our Zad/eh or destiny. Can T say
more ?

“Allah acbar! God is great ! and it is well
said. But why a book, when nobody can
read it ?”

“These are great words, and spiced with
wisdom. O pacha! doth not Hafiz say,
‘“Every moment you enjoy, count it gain.”
Who can say what will be the event of any-
thing ?”

‘Wallah thaib ! well said, by ANah ! Then
why a book, if the book is sealed »

‘Yet there are wise men who can read our
kismet, and foretell.’

“Yes, very true; but I have observed tha
it is not until after an event has happened,
that they tell you of it: What aré these astro-
logers? Gosh—nothing—I have said." And
the pacha remained some time smoking his
pipe in silence.

‘May it please your highness,’ observed
Mustapha, ‘I have outside a wretch who is
anxious to ctawl into your presence. He
comes from the far-distant land of Kathay—
an unbeliever with two tails.’

‘Two tails! was he a pacha in his own
country ?’

‘A pacha! Staffir Allah! God forgive me!A dog—a most miserable dog—on my eyes
be it ; but still he hath two tails.’ i

“Let the dog with two tails be admitted,’
replied the pacha. ‘ We have said it.’

A_yellow-skinned, meagre, and wrinkled
old Chinaman was brought in between two of
the guards. His eyes were very small and
bleared, his cheek-bones prominent ; all that
could be discovered of his nose were two ext
panded nostrils at its base; his mouth of an
enormous width, with teeth as black as ink,
As soon as the guards stopped, he slipped
down from between them on his knees, and
throwing forward. his body, ow-zow-ed with
his head in the dust nine times, and then re-
mained with his face down on the floor.

“Let the dog with two tails rise,’ said the
pacha.

This order not being immediately obeyed
by the servile Chinaman, each of the two
guards who stood by him seized one of the
plaited tails of hair, which was nearly an ell
in length, and pulled up his head from the
floor. The Chinaman then remained cross-
legged, with his eyes humbly fixed upon the
ground.

“Who: art thou, dog? said the pacha,
pleased with the man’s humility.

‘Lam of Kathay, and your vilest slave,’ re-
plied the man, in good Turkish. ‘In my
own country I was a poet. Destiny hath
brought me here, and I now work in the
gardens of the palace.’

‘If you are a poet you can tell me many a
story.’

‘Your slave has told thousands in his life-
time ; such hath been my fate.’

“Talking about fate,’ said Mustapha, ‘can
you tell his highness a story, in which destiny
has been foretold and hath been accom-
plished ? if so, begin.’

‘There is a story of my own country, O
vizier! in which destiny was foretold, and
was most unhappily accomplished.’

‘You may proceed,’ said Mustapha, at a
sign from the pacha.

The Chinaman thrust his hand into the
breast of his blue coiton shirt, and pulled out
a sort of instrument made from the shell of a
tortoise, with three or four strings stretched
across, and in a low monotonous tone, some-
thing between a chant and a whine, not alto-
gether unmusical, he commenced his story.
But first he struck his instrument, and ran
over a short prelude, which may be’ ima-
gined by a series of false notes, running as
follows :—

‘Ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,
ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

As he proceeded in his story, whenever he
was out of breath, he stopped, and struck a
few notes of his barbarous music.

.

THE PACHA OF

MANY TALES, 13%

THE WONDROUS TALE OF HAN.

Who was more impassioned in his nature,
who was more formed for love, than the great
Han Koong Shew, known in’ the celestial
archives as the sublime Youantée, brother of
the sun and moon? whose court was ‘so
superb—whose armies were so innumerable
whose territories were so vast—bounded as
they were by the four seas, which bounded
the whole universe? yet was he bound by
destiny to be unhappy, and thus do I com-
mence the wondrous tale of Han—the sorrows
of the magnificent Youantée.

‘Ti-tum, tilly-lilly——

Yes, he felt that some one thing was want*
ing. All-his power, his wealth, his dignity,
filled not his soul with pleasure. He turned
from the writings of the great Fo—he closed
the book. Alas ! he sighed for a second self
to whom he might point out—‘ All this is
mine.” His heart yearned for a fair damsel—
a maid of beauty—to whose beauty he might
bow. He, to whom the world was prostrate,
the universe were slaves, longed for an amor-
ous captivity, and sighed for chains. But
where was the maiden to be found worthy to
place fetters upon the brother of the sun and
moon—the magnificent master of the uni-
verse? Where was she to be found ?

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Yes, there was one, and but one, worthy to
be his mate, worthy to be the queen of a land
of eternal spring, filled with trees whose stems
were Of gold, branches of silver, leaves of
emerald, and whose fruits were the fragrant
apples of immortality. And where was this
moon, fit bride unto the sun? Was she not
plunged in grief—hidden in a well of her own
tears—even in the gardens of joy? ‘Those
eyes, which should have sunned a court of
princes, were dimmed with eternal. sorrow.
And- who was the cause of this eclipse, but
the miscreant gold-loving minister, Szchong
Pollyhong Ka-te-tow ?

‘Ti-tum, tilly-lilly.

‘The mandarins were summoned by the great
Youantée, the court in its splendour bowed
down their heads into the dust of delight as
they listened to the miracle of his eloquence.
‘Hear me, ye first chop mandarins, peers,
lords, and princes of the empire. Listen to
the words of Youantée. Hath not each bird
that skims the air its partner in the nest?
Hath not each beast its mate? Have not you
all eyes which beam but upon you alone?
Am I then so unfortunately great, or so
greatly unfortunate, that I may not be per-
mitted to descend to love? Even the brother
of the sun and moon cannot, during his career
on earth, exist alone. Seek then through the
universe a maiden for thy lord, that like my132

 

brother, the sun, who sinks each night into
the bosom of the ocean, I too may repose
upon the bosom of my mate. Seek, I say,
search each corner of the world, that its trea-
sures may be poured forth at our golden feet,
and one gem be selected for our especial wear.
But first, O wise men and astrologers, sum-
mon ye the planets and stars of destiny, that
they may ascertain whether, by this conjunc-
tion, aught of evil be threatenéd to our celes-
tial person, or to our boundless empire.’

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Where is the star which leaps not in his
course with delight to obey the wishes of the
brother of the sun and moon? Where was
the planet that rejoiced not to assist so near a
relative? Yes, they all hearkened, bowing
down to the asirolabes of the astrologers, like
generous steeds who knelt to receive their
riders ; yet when they all did meet to throw
light upon the required page of destiny, was
not their brightness dimmed when they per-
ceived as they read it, that it was full of tears,
and that joy floated but as a bubble? The
wise men sighed as the decree of fate was
handed down to them, and with their faces to
the earth, thus did they impart the contents of
the revealed page to the magnificent You-
antée.

‘The brother of the sun and moon would
wed. Beauty shall be laid at the golden feet,
but the pearl beyond price will be found and
lost. ‘There will be joy and there will be sor-
row. Joy in life, sorrow both in life and
death ; for a black dragon, foe to the celestial
empire, threatens like an overhanging cloud.
More the stars dare not reveal,’

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

Here the pacha looked at Mustapha and
nodded his head in approbation, as much as
to say, ‘Now we are coming to the point.’
Mustapha bowed, and the Chinese poet con-
tinued.

The golden eyes of the great Youantée were
filled with silver tears when the page of des-
tiny was made known; but the sun of hope
rose and bore away the sacred dew to heaven.
Then called he the minister, ever to be dis-
graced in story, Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-
tow, and the emperor desired him to make a
progress through the universe, his dominions,
to find out the most beautiful maidens to be
brought to the celestial feet, at the coming
feast of Lanterns. But before they could be

permitted to shoot up the rays of love through
the mist of glory which surrounded the impe-
rial throne—before their charms were to make
the attempt upon the heart of magnanimity,
it was necessary that all their portraits should
be submitted to the great Youantée, in the

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  

Hall of Delight. That is to say, out of the
twenty thousand virgins whose images were
to be impressed upon the ivory, one hundred
only, selected by a committee of taste, com-
posed of the first class mandarins and princes,
were to be honoured with the beam of the
celestial eye.

The avaricious, gold-seeking Suchong Polly-
hong Ka-te-tow had performed his task ;
wealth poured into his coffers from the am-
bitious parents who longed to boast of an
alliance with the brother of the sun and
moon, and many were the ill-favoured whose
portraits, were dismissed by the committee of
taste, with surprise at the minister's ideas of
beauty. ©

Now there was a certain mandarin, whose —
daughter had long been extolled through the
province of Kartou as a miracle of beauty,
and her father, Whanghang, brought her in
a litter to the minister Suchong Pollyhong Ka-
te-tow. He felt that her charms were piercing
as an arrow, and that he had found a fit mate
for the brother of the sun and moon ; but his
avarice demanded a sum which the father
would not pay. Refuse to send her portrait
he dare not ; it was therefore ordered to be
taken as well as the others, and Whanghang
considered himself as the father-in-law of the
celestial Youantée. The young painter who ©
was employed, finished his task, then laid
down his pencil, and died of grief and love of
such perfection which he never could hope to
obtain. The picture was sent to the vile
minister, who reserved it for himself, and
wrote the name of this pearl beyond price
under that of another, unworthy to unloose
her zone as her handmaiden. ‘The committee
of taste did, however, select that picture
among the hundred to be placed in the Hall
of Delight, not because the picture was beau- —
ful, but because the fame of her beauty had
reached the court, and they thought it right
that the emperor should see the picture. The
virgins whose pictures were thus selected, were
all ordered to repair to the imperial palace,
and the magnificent Youantée entered the
Hall of Delight, which was illumined with ten
thousand lanterns, and cast his eyes over the
portraits of the hundred beauties, but not one
feature touched his heart ; he turned away in
disgust at the degenerate countenances of the
age. ‘Is this all,’ exclaimed he, ‘that the
world can lay at the feet of itslord?’ And
the committee of taste prostrated’ themselves
when they beheld his indignation. ‘And
this,’ exclaimed he, pointing to the supposed
portrait of the daughter of Whanghan g, ‘who
is this presumptuous one who hath dared to
disgrace with her features the Hall of De-
light ?”

‘That, O emperor,’ said the wily SuchongPollyhong Ka-te-tow, ‘is the far-famed beauty
Chaoukeuz, whose insolent father dared to
say, that if it was not sent, he would lay his
complaint at the celestial feet. In her pro-
vince the fame of her beauty was great, and I
did not like to be accused of partiality, so it
has been placed before the imperial eye.’

‘First, then,’ exclaimed the emperor, ‘let
it be proclaimed, that the whole province of
Kartou is peopled by fools, and levy upon it a
fine of one hundred thousand ounces of gold,
for its want of taste; and next, let this vain
ane be committed to perpetual seclusion in
the eastern tower of the imperial palace. Let
the other maidens be sent to their parents, for
as yet there is not found a fit bride for the
brother of the sun and moon.’

The imperial mandates were obeyed; and
thus was the first part of the prophecy ful-
filled, that ‘the pearl beyond price would be
found and lest.’

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,
ti.

Yes, she was lost, for the resplendent
Chaoukeun was shut up to waste away her
peerless beauty in sorrow and in solitude.
One small terrace-walk was the only spot per-
mitted her on which to enjoy the breezes of
heaven. Night was looking down in loveli-
ness, with her countless eyes, upon the injus-
tice and cruelty of men, when the magnificent
Youantée, who had little imagined that the
brother of the sun and moon would be doomed
to swallow the bitter pilau of disappointment,
as had been latterly his custom, quitted the
palace to walk in the gardens and commune
with his own thoughts, unattended. And it
pleased destiny that the pearl beyond price,
the neglected Chaoukeun, also was induced,
by the beauty and stillness of the night, to
press the shell sand which covered the terrace-
walk, with her diminutive feet, so diminutive,
that she almost tottered in her gait. The tear
trembled in her eye as she thought of her own
happy home, and bitterly did she bewail that
beauty, which, instead of raising her to a
throne, had by malice and avarice condernned
her to perpetual solitude. She looked up-
wards at the starry heaven, but felt no com-
munion with its loveliness. She surveyed the
garden “of sweets from the terrace, but all ap-
peared to be desolate. Of late, her only com-
panions had been her tears and her lute,
whose notes were as plaintive as her own.

“O my mother ’ exclaimed she; ‘beloved,
yut too ambitious mother! but for one little
hour to lay this head’upon your bosom ! Fatal
hath been the dream you rejoiced in at my
nativity, in which the moon shone out so
brilliantly, and then descended into the earth
at your feet. J have shone but a little, little
time, and now am I buried, as it were, in the

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

   
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
     

133
earth, at my joyous age. Immured in this
solitary tower, my hopes destroyed—my por-
trait cannot have been seen—and now I am
lost for ever. Thou lute, sole companion of
my woes, let us join our voices of complaint ;
let us fancy that the flowers are listening to
our grief, and that the dews upon the half-
closed petals are tears of pity for my misfor-
tunes.’ And Chaoukeun struck her lute, and
thus poured out her lament :—

‘O tell me, thou all-glorious sun,

Were there no earth to drink thy light,
Would not, in vain, thy course be run,
Thy reign be o'er a realm of night?
Thus charms were born to be enthroned
In hearts, and youth to be caress'd,

And beauty is not, if not own’d,
At least by one adoring breast.’

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

The musical notes of the peerless Chaou-
keun were not thrown away only upon flowers
deaf and dumb, they vibrated in the ears of
the magnificent Youantée, who had sat down
on the back of an enormous metal dragon,
which had been placed in the walk under the
terrace. ‘The emperor listened with surprise
at her soliloquy, with admiration at her en-
chanting song. For some minutes he re-
mained in a profound reverie, and then rising
from the dragon, he walked towards the gate
of the tower, and clapped his hands. The
eunuch made his appearance. ‘Keeper of
the Yellow ‘Tower,’ said the emperor, ‘but
now I heard the sounds of a lute.’

‘Even so, O sustenance of the world,’ re-
sponded the slave.

‘Was it not rather an angel than a mortal,
whose mellifluous notes accompanied the in-
strument?’ said the magnificent Youanteée.

‘Certainly is she blessed beyond mortality,
since her melody has found favour in the
celestial ears,’ replied the black keeper of the
Yellow ‘Tower.
~.*Go then, and quickly summon all our
‘highest officers of state, to lay their robes
upon the ground, that she may pass over
them to our presence at the dragon below the
terrace.’

The magnificent Youantée, brother of the
sun and moon, returned to his former seat,
filled with pleasing anticipations, while the
eunuch hastened to obey the celestial com-
mands. The mandarins of the first class
hastened to obey the orders of Youantée ;
their furred and velvet cloaks, rich in gold and
silver ornaments, were spread from the tower
to the dragon at the terrace, forming a path
rich and beautiful as the milky way in the
heavens. ‘The pearl beyond price, the peer-
less Chaoukeun, like the moon in her splen-134

dour, passed over it into the presence of the
great Youantée.

‘Immortal Fo,’ exclaimed the emperor, as
the attendants raised their lanterns, so as to
throw light upon her countenance, ‘ by what
black mischance have such charms been hid-
den from our sight ?

Thenidid the peerless Chaoukeun narrate,
in few words, the treachery and avarice of
Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow.

‘Hasten, O mandarins, let the scissors of
disgrace cut off the two tails of this wretch,
and then let the sword of justice sever off his
head.’

But the rumour of his sentence flew on the
wind to Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow ; and
before the executioner could arrive, he had
mounted a horse fleeter than the wind, and
with the portrait of the peerless Chaoukeun
in his vest, had. left even rumour far behind.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

And to whom did the miscreant minister
fly, to hide his devoted head? He flew to
the wild nations of the north, the riders of
wild horses, with sharp scimitars and long
lances. For three days and three nights did
the hoofs of his fiery steed strike fire upon the
flints, which he spurned in his impetuous
course, and then, as an immortal poet hath
already sung, ‘he bowed his head and
died.’ With the portrait of the peerless Cha-
oukeunm in his bosom, and his mandarin gar-
ments raised up under each arm, the mis-
creant Suchong Pollyhong Ka-te-tow, reached
the presence of the great khan. ‘O khan of
Tartary,’ said he, “may thy sword ‘be ever
keen, thy lance unerring, and thy courser
swift, I am thy slave. O thou who com-
mandest a hundred thousand warriors, hath
thy slave permission to address thee 2”

‘Speak, and be d——d,’ replied the war-
rior chief, of few words, whose teeth were
busy with some pounds of horse-flesh.

‘Thou knowest, O khan, that it hath been
the custom for ages, that the celestial empire
should provide for thee a fair damsel for thy
nuptial bed, and that this hath been the price
paid by the celestial court, to prevent the
ravages of thy insatiate warriors. © khan,
there is a maid, whose lovely features I now
have with me, most worthy to be raised up to
thy nuptial couch,’? And the miscreant laid
at the feet of the great khan the portrait of
the peerless Chaoukeun,

The chief finished his repast, and then with
his lance, turned over the image of the pearl
beyond all price. He looked at it, then passed
it to those around him. The savage war-
riors stared at the lovely portrait, and admired
it not—yet did they long for war. ‘Tell’ me,
O chiefs,’ said the great khan, ‘is that baby-
face you look at worth contending for?’

   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
  

THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

And, with one voice, the chiefs replied,
that she was worthy to share the nuptial
couch of the great khan.

‘Be it so,’ replied he, ‘Iam no judge of
beauty. Let the encampment be broken up
—this evening we move southwards.’ And
the ‘Tartar chief entered the northern pro-
vinces of the celestial. empire, with -his hun-
dred thousand warriors, destroying all with
fire and sword, proving his’ sincere wish: to
unite! himself to the Chinese nation by the
indiscriminate slaughter of man, woman, and
child; and his ardent love for the peerless
Chaoukeun, by making a nuptial. torch. of
eyery town. and village.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.

But we must return to the celestial court,
and astonish the world with the wonderful
events which there took place. The. astrolo-
gers and wise men had consulted the heavens,
and had. ascertained that on the thirty-third
minute after the thirteenth hour, the matriage
procession must set out, or the consummation
would not be prosperous. “Who can describe
the pomp and glory of the spectacle, or give
an adequate idea of its splendour? Alas! it
would not be possible, even.if it were at-
tempted by ten thousand poets, each with ten
thousand tongues of -silvyer, singing for ten
thousand years... Such, however, was the
order of the procession,

First walked ten thousand. officers of jus-
tice, with long bamboos, striking, right and
left to clear the way, to the cadence of soft
music, blending with the plaintive cries of
those who limped, away and: rubbed. their
shins,

Then marching, ten abreast, one hundred
thousand lanterns to assist the sun, partially
eclipsed’ by the splendour of the proces-
sion.

Next appeared, slowly keeping time to a
dead march, five thousand decapitated crimi
nals, each carrying his own head by its long
tail of hair.

‘Staffir Allah! Whatis that but a lie? ex-
claimed the pacha. ‘Did you hear what the
dog has dared to breathe into our ears, Muse
tapha?’

‘Mighty pacha,’ replied the Chinaman,
with humility, ‘if your wisdom pronounces it
to be a lie, a lie it most certainly must be;
still it is not the lie of your slave, who but re-
peats the story as handed down by the immor-
tal eastern poet.’

‘ Nevertheless, there appears to be a trifling
mistake,’ observed Mustapha. ‘Is the pro-
cession, to proceed, O pacha ?’

‘Yes, yes; but, by the Prophet, let the dog
tremble, if again he presumes to laugh at our
beards.THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

After the decapitated criminals, which your _ Five hundred physicians attending the ce-
highness objects to, came in procession those lestial court, each carrying a silver box with
criminals, with their heads on, who were to golden pills.
suiter for their offences on this day of universal © The head physician to the celestial wits,
happiness. and always in attendance upon a crisis. He

First came two thousand robbers, sentenced carried in his right hand a bladder-full of peas
to be hung up by their heels, emblematic of at the end of a wand, to recall his majesty’s
their wish to turn everything upside down— wits when they wandered ; and was followed
so to remain until they were pecked to death by
by the crows, or torn to ‘pieces by the vultures. Fifty thousand fools marching five abreast

‘The banner of Innovation, in union,

One of the robber chiefs, ordered to be And fifty thousand rogues, marching off.
choked with an abacus, which was suspended with everything they could lay their’ hands.
round his neck. upon.

Another of the robber chiefs. This man, Then came a notorious faquir and mendi-
although a follower of the court, and sunned cant, who was leader of a celebrated. sect.
im the celestial presence, had dared to utter vile He wore but one tail instead of the two
falsehoods against the celestial dynasty. He usually worn by our nation, but that tail was
was sentenced to have his skin peeled off, and of forty feet. He was followed by numerous
to eat his own words, until he died from the devotees, who threw their worldly goods at
virulent poison which they contained. his feet, and in return he presented them with

The most important of all the criminals writings and harangues, which he declared’
next appeared, who being great in favour at were infallible zz a@// diseases.
court, and appointed to the high office of phy- Ten thousand young married women, each
sician to the celestial conscience, had been dis- hushing an. infant to repose upon the left
covered in the base attempt of drugging it breast to the sound of clarions and trumpets,
with opium ; he had also committed several emblematical of the peaceful and quiet state of

other enormities, such as being intoxicated in matrimony.
in his mandarin robes, and throwing mud at The banner of Impudence.
the first chief mandarin; also of throwing aside Five thousand political mountebanks, con-
his robes, mingling with the lower classes, tradicting each other, and exerting themselves
and associating with mountebanks, jugglers, for the amusement of the people, who, how-
and tight-rope dancers. His enormities were ever, suffered rather severely from their mad
written on a long scroll suspended round his tricks,

neck. His sentence was the torture of disap- The second in command, explaining their
pointment and envy, previous to a condign system in an unknown tongue.
political death. The emperor’s juggler, who astonished the

_, After him came a disgraced yellow manda- whole empire by his extraordinary feats, and
rin, who had been a great enemy of the crimi- the rapidity with which he relieved them of all
nal who preceded him... He was seated upon the money in their pockets.

a throne of jet, and his arms supported in de- ~ The banner of Love.

rision by two prize-fighters. His crime was The celestial secretary, with goose-wings on
playing at pitch and toss with the lower his shoulders, goose-quils in each hand, look-
classes. His punishment was merely exposure. ing very much like a goose, mounted ona
_ Such were the criminals who were to suffer mule, gaily caparisoned in colours quadripar-
upon this day of universal happiness and de- tite, and covered with jingling brass bells.
light. Five thousand old women, singing the

Then, came fifty thousand archers of the praises of the said secretary and taking snuff
blue dragon battalion, carrying in their hands to the flourish of hautboys.
chowries of horses’ tails to clear away the'blue- | The prosperity of the celestial empire, car-
bottle flies. ried by the court fool, in a basket beautifully

Next .appeared ten, thousand ‘virgins, all carved out of a wild cherry-stone; and
modest, lovely, and: in -light. drapery, sing- guarded by
ing hymns in praise of Ganesa on the Rat, the Fifty thousand archers of the red dragon
god of pure Love ; battalion, picking their teeth to soft music.

., Attended by. ten. thousand youths, who Ten thousand poets, each singing at the
tickled the said ten thousand virgins, singing same time, and to a different tune, his ode
hymns in praise of the upright Fo. upon this joyful occasion,

Fifty thousand archers of the green dragon — The immortal poet -of the age, attired in
battalion, each carrying a long peacock’s velvet to his feet, and superbly ornamented
feather in his right hand, to ascertain how the with rings and chains of gold and precious
wind blew. stones. He carried his silver harp in his hand,136

and was mounted on a beautiful white jackass
with his face towards the tail, that he might be-
hold and be inspired by the charms of the
peerless Chaoukeun, the pearl beyond all
price.

Then came the magnificent Youantée, and
the peerless Chaoukeun, seated in a massive
car of gossamer, richly studded with the eyes
of live humming birds, drawn by twelve beau-
itiful blue loadstars, presented by the heavenly
bodies to the brother of the sun and moon.

‘Twenty thousand young men, beautiful as
angels, clad in the skins of the black fox, and
‘playing upon ivory jews’-harps, all mounted
upon coal-black steeds.

Twenty thousand niggers, ugly as devils,
clad in the skins of the white polar bear, and
sounding mellifluous cat-calls, all mounted
upon pure white Arabian horses.

All the first-class mandarins of the celestial
empire, turning up their eyes to heaven, and
wishing that the procession was over.
~ All the second-class mandarins of the celes-
tial empire, choked with dust, and wishing
the procession at the devil.

Twenty millions of the people, extolling the
liberality of the great emperor, and crying out
for bread.

Ten millions of women, who had lost their
children in the crowd and were crying out
bitterly in their search.

‘Ten millions of children, who had lost their
mothers in the crowd and were crying out
bitterly till they found them.

The remainder of the inhabitants of the ce-
lestial empire.

Such was the grand and pompous marriage
procession, which employed the whole popula-
tion, so that there were no spectators except
three blind old women, who were so overcome
with delight, that, when it had passed, they
bowed their heads and died.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,
ti.
The procession arrived at the palace, and
the pearl beyond all price was now his bride,
and the heart of Youantée was oppressed with
love. Upon a jewelled throne they sat, side
by side; but what was the blaze of the dia-
monds, compared to one glance from her
lightning eye? What were the bright red
rubies, compared to her parted coral lips—or
the whiteness of the pearls when she smiled,
and displayed her teeth? Her arched eye-
brows were more beautifully pencilled than the
rainbow ; the blush upon her cheek turned
pale with envy every rose in the celestial gar-
dens ; and in compassion to the court, many
of whom were already blind, by rashly lifting
up their eyes to behold her charms, an edict
had been promulgated, by which it was per-
mitted to the mandarins and princes attend-

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

    

ing the court, to wear green spectacles to save
their eyes.

The magnificent Youantée was consumed
with love as with a raging fever, and the phy-
sicians of the emperor were alarmed for his ce-
lestial health: by their advice Chaoukeun con-
sented only to receive him in a darkened cham-
ber.

All was joy. The empire rang with the
praises of the pearl beyond all price. The
gaols were ordered to be levelled to the ground
—criminals to be pardoned—the sword of
justice to remain in its scabbard—the basti-
nado to be discontinued.

Even the edious lantern-tax was taken off,
in honour of the peerless Chaoukeun, whose
praises were celebrated by all the poets of the
country, until they were too hoarse to sing,
and the people too tired to listen to them.
Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,

tl

‘I’m sure I don’t wonder at their being
tired,’ observed the pacha, yawning, ‘if they
were like you.’

‘God is great,’ replied Mustapha, with an-
other yawn. ‘Shall he proceed ?’

‘Yes, let him go on; wake me when the
story is ended,’ replied the pacha, laying down
his pipe.

Alas! how soon was all this delirium of
happiness to be overthrown: how soon was
the prophecy to be fulfilled, that there should
be not only joy in life, but also sorrow! the
magnificent Youantée was roused from his
dream of delight by courier after courier
coming in, and laying at the celestial. feet
tidings of the advance of the hundred thou-
sand warriors.

A solemn council was summoned, and the
imperial edict was passed, that the barbarians of
the north should be driven back to their lands
of eternal frost and snow.

The imperial armies departed from the
capital, each individual composing its hun-
dreds of thousands, vowing by his two tails
that he would eat all that he killed. This
bloody vow was accomplished, for they killed
none; they returned discomfited, without their
bows, or arrows, or their swords, fleeing be-
fore the rage of the Tartar chief.

Then rose the great Youantée in wrath, and
issued another edict that the barbarians should
be driven even into the sea which bounds the
empire of the world.

And the armies were again sent forth, but
again they returned discomfited, saying,

‘ How can we, who eat rice with chopsticks,
combat with barbarians, who not only ride on
horses, but eat them too?’

The celestial edict was not attended to bythe Tartars, for they were barbarians, and
knew no better ; and they continued to ad-
vance until within one day’s progress of the
celestial capital ; and the brother of the sun
and moon, the magnificent Youantée, was
forced to submit to the disgrace of receiving
anenvoy from the barbarians, who thus spoke,
jn sugared words :—

‘The great khan of Tartary greets the mag-
nificent Youantée ; he has slaughtered some
millions of his subjects, because they were
traitors, and would not defend the celestial
throne. He has burnt some thousands of his
towns, that the great Youantée may order
them to be rebuilt in greater beauty. All
this has he done with much trouble and
fatigue, to prove his regard to the magnifi-
cent Youantée. All that he asks in return is,
that he may receive as his bride the peerless
Chaoukeun, the pearl beyond all price.’

The great Youantée spoke from his celes-
tial throne—‘ Return my thanks to the great
khan your master, for his considerate con-
duct, and tell him, that he well deserves a
bride from our celestial empire, but the pearl
beyond all price is wedded to the brother of
the sun and moon. Any other maiden in our
empire shall be sent to him with gifts worthy
to be offered by the great Youantée, and
worthy to be accepted by the great khan of
Tartary. Let it be an edict.’

But the Tartar replied, ‘O great monarch,
the great khan my master does not require an
edict, but the peerless Chaoukeun. If I
return without her, he enters the celestial
city, and spares not man, or woman, oF
child.’

Then fell at the celestial feet all the princes
and mandarins of every class, performing
solemnly the great Zow ¢ow, and the chief
minister of state spoke thus :—‘ Lord of the
universe, brother of the sun and moon, who
governs the world with thine edicts, whose
armies are invincible, and numerous as the
sands upon the shores of the four seas, listen
to thy faithful slaves. Surrender up to this
barbarian the pearl beyond all price, so shall
we all live to humble ourselves before thee.’

And all the princes and mandarins cried
out with one voice, ‘Surrender up the pearl
beyond all price.’

And all the brave generals drew their
swords, and waved them in the air, crying
out, ‘Surrender up to this barbarian the pearl
beyond all price.’

And all the army and all the people joined
in the request.

Then rose up Youantée in great wrath, and
ordered that the prime minister, and all the
mandarins, and the princes, and all the gene-
rals, and all the army, and all the people,
should be disgraced and decapitated forth-

“th PACHA OF MANY TALES.

137

with, ‘Let it be an edéc¢.’ But as there was
no one left to put the great Youantée’s edict
into force, it was not obeyed.

And the brother of the sun and moon per-
ceived that he was in the minority ; conceal-
ing therefore his bile, he graciously ordered
refreshments for the envoy, saying, ‘Let the
dog be fed,’ and retired to the apartment of
the peerless Chaoukeun.

Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,
tum, ti.

Now the beauteous empress had listened
to all which had taken place in the great hall
of audience, and she threw herself at the
celestial feet, saying, ‘ Let me be sacrificed—
it is my destiny. Send your slave to the
great khan to do with me as he pleases—I
am all submission. ‘They say he is a hand
some man, and of great size and strength.
It is my destiny.’

‘Then did the great Youantée shed bitter
tears at his bitter fate; but he knew it was
his destiny—and O destiny, who can resist
thee? He wiped his celestial eyes, and lead-
ing forth the peerless Chaoukeun, put her
into the hands of the barbarian envoy, saying,
‘I send your master the pearl beyond all
price. I have worn her for some time, but
still she is as good as new. And now let your
master the great khan return, with his hun-
dred thousand warriors, to the confines of our
territories, as it was agreed. Thou hearest.
It is an edict.’

‘It is enough that my great master hath
given his word, and the great Youantée hath
given the pearl beyond all price. There
needs not an edict,’ replied the envoy, de-
parting with the peerless Chaoukeun. Thus
was the magnificent Youantée left without a
bride.

Now when the envoy had brought the
peerless Chaoukeun in a close litter to the
tent of the great khan, he forthwith com-
manded his army to return. Much to the
mottification of the peerless damsel, he did
not express any curiosity to behold her, but
commenced a rapid retreat, and, in a few
days, arrived at the confines of the celestial
territory, which was separated from the Tartar
dominions by an impetuous river. As soon
as he had forded the river, he encamped on
the other side, and sat down with his generals
to a sumptuous feast of horseflesh and quass.
When the liquor had mounted into his brain,
he desired that the litter of the pearl beyond
price should be brought nigh to his tent, that
he might send for her, if so inclined. And
the peerless Chaoukeun peeped out of the
litter, and beheld the great khan as he ca-
roused ; and when she beheld his hairy form,
his gleaming eyes, his pug-nose, and his tre-
mendously wide mouth—when she percciyed

tilly-lilly, ti-438

that he had the form and features of a ghoul,
or evil spirit, she wrung her hands, and wept
bitterly, and all her love returned for the mag-
nificent Youantée.

Now the great khan was drunk with quass,
and he ordered the pearl beyond price to be
brought to him, and she replied, trembling,
saying, ‘Tell your lord that I am not fit to
appear in his sublime presence until I have
washed myself in the river,’ And those who
had charge of her took back her message to
the great khan, who replied, ‘ Let her wash,
since she is so dirty.’

‘ Then was the litter of the peerless Chaou-
keun taken down to the banks of the river,
and she stood upon a rock which overhung
the black. waters. ‘How callest thou this
river. said she to her attendants,

And they replied, ‘This river, O princess,
divides the territory of Tartary from China,
and it is called the river of the Black
Dragon.’

‘Then is the prophecy fulfilled,’ cried the
pearl beyond price. ‘It is my destiny ; and
destiny who shall resist ?’

She raised up her arms to heaven, and
uttering a loud shriek at her unhappy fate,
she plunged headlong into the boiling waters
and disappeared for eyer.

. Thus was the prophecy fulfilled. The
brother of the sun and moon had wed—beauty
had been laid at the golden feet—the pearl
beyond price had been found and lost. There
‘had been joy and there had been sorrow in
life—and sorrowindeath. ‘The Black Dragon
had proved the foe to the celestial empire,
for it had swallowed up the pearl beyond all
price.

Ti-tum, ti-tum, tilly-lilly, tilly-lilly, ti-tum,
ti.

The twang of the rude instrument awoke
the pacha, who had been fast asleep for some
time.

‘Is it finished, Mustapha !’
his eyes,

“Yes, your highness; and the destiny fore-
told was truly accomplished, ’

‘Bismillah ! but I’m glad of it.
chad whined ten minutes,
should go to sleep,
accomplished.’

_* Will your highness foretell the destiny of
this dog with two tails ?

‘ Two tails! that reminds me that we have
only had one out of him as yet. Let’s have
him again to-morrow, and have another. At
all events, we shall have a ood nap. God is
great,’

said he, rubbing

Before he
I foretold that I
My destiny has also been

 

 

THE PACHA OF MANY. TALES.

CHAPTER XX,

‘MUSTAPHA,’ said the pacha, ‘I feel as the
caliph Haroun Alraschid, in the tale of Yus-
suf, related by Menouni, full of care; my
soul is weary—my heart is burnt as roast
meat.’

Mustapha, who had wit enough to perceive
that he was to act the part of Giaffar, the
vizier, immediately replied, ‘O pacha ! great
and manifold are the cares of state, “If thy
humble slave may be permitted to advise, thou
wilt call in the Chinese dog with’ two tails,
who hath as yet repeated but one of his
tales.’

‘Not so,’ replied the pacha, ‘I am weary
of his eternal ti-tum, tilly-lilly, which yet
ringeth in mine ears, What else canst thou
propose ?’

“Alem penah! refuge of the world, wilt
thou be pleased to order out thy troops, and
witness their exercise of djireed ? The moon
is high in the heavens, and it is light as
day.’

‘Not so,’ replied the pacha; ‘I
of war and all that appertains to it,
troops sleep in peace.’

‘Then, O pacha! will you permit your
slave to send for some bottles of the fire-
water of the Giaour, that we may drink and
smoke until we are elevated to’ the seven
heavens ?’

‘Nay, good vizier, that is as a last resource,
for it is forbidden by the laws of the Prophet.
Think once morte, and thou must have no
more brains than a water-melon if this time
thou proposest not that which will give me
€ase.

‘ Thy slave lives but to hear, and hears but
to obey,’ replied Mustapha. ‘Then will it
please my lord to disguise himsélf, and walk
through the streets of Cairo; the moon is
bright, and the hyena prowls not now, but
mingles his howlings with those of the jackal
afar off.’

‘Your face is whitened, Mustapha, and it
pleaseth us. Let the disguises be prepared,
and we will sally forth.’

In a short time the disguisés ‘were ready,
the vizier taking care that they should be
those of Armenian merchants, knowing that
the pacha would be pleased with the similarity
to those worn, by. the great Alraschid ; two
black slaves, with their swords, followed the
pacha and his vizier at a short distance. The
streets were quite empty, and they met with
nothing living except here and there a dog
preying on the garbage and offal, who snapped
and snarled as they passed by. The night
promised nothing of adventure, and the pacha
was in no yery good humour, when Mustapha
perceived a light through the chinks of a

am tired
Let theclosed window in a small hovel, and heard
the sound of a voice. He peeped through,
the pacha standing by his side. After a few
seconds the vizier made signs to the pacha to
look in. The pacha was obliged to strain his
fat body to'its utmost altitude, standing on
the tips of his toes’to enable his eyes fo reach
the cranny. .The interior of the hovel was
without-furniture, a chest in the centre of the
mud floor appeared to serve as table and re-
pository of everything in it, for the walls were
bare. At~the fireplace, in which were a few
embers, crouched an old woman, a personifi-
cation of age, poverty, and starvation. She
was warming her shrivelled hands over the
embers, and occasionally passed one of her
hands along her bony arm, saying, ‘ Yes, the
time has been—the time has been.’

‘What can she mean,’ said the pacha to
Mustapha, ‘ by the time has been es

‘Tt requires explanation,’ replied the vizier;
“this is certain, that it must mean something.’

‘Thou hast said well, Mustapha ; let us
knock, and obtain admittance.’ Mustapha
knocked at the door of the hovel.

‘ There's nothing to steal, So you may as
weli go,’ screamed the old woman; Spit.
continued she, talking to herself, ‘the time
has been—the time has been.’

The pacha desired Mustapha to knock
louder. Mustapha applied the hilt of his
dagger, and thumped against the door.

* Ay—ay—you may venture to knock now,
the sultan’s slippers are not at the door,’ said
the old woman : ‘ but,’ continued she, as be-
fore, ‘the time has been—the time has been.’

©Suiltan’s slippers ! and time has been!’
cried the pacha. ‘What does the old hag
mean? Knock again, Mustapha.’

Mustapha reiterated his blows.

© Ay—knock—knock—my door is like my
mouth; I open it when I choose, and I keep
it shut when I choose, as once was well
known. The time has been—the time has
been.’

‘We have been a long time standing here,
and I am tired of waiting; so, Mustapha, I
think the time is come to kick the door open.
Let it be done.’

Whereupon Mustapha put his foot to the
door, but it resisted his efforts. ‘Let me
assist,’ said the pacha, and retreated a few
paces ; he and Mustapha backed against the
door with all'their force. It flew open, and
they rolled together on the floor of the hovel.
The old woman screamed, and then, jumping
on the body of the pacha, caught him by the
throat,'erying, ‘Thieves! murder ! Mustapha
hastened’ to the assistance of his master, as
did the two black slaves, when they heard the
cries, and with some ‘difficulty the talons of
the old Jezebel were disengaged from the

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

139
throat of the pacha, who, in his wtath, would
have immediately sacrificed her, ‘Lahnet be

Shitan! Curses on the devil ? exclaimed the
pacha; ‘but this is pretty treatment for a
pacha.’ .

‘ Knowest thou, vile wretch, that thou hast
taken by the throat, and nearly strangled, the
Lord of Life—the pacha himself,’ said Mus-
tapha.

‘Well,’ replied the old woman -coolly, ‘the
time has been—the time has been.’

“What meanest thou, cursed hag, that the
time has been ?

“I mean that the time has been when I
have had more than one pacha strangled.
Yes,’ continued she, squatting down on the
floor, and muttering, ‘the time has been.’

‘The pacha's rage was now a little appeased.
‘Mustapha,’ said the pacha, ‘let this old
woman be carefully guarded ; to-morrow
afternoon we will understand the meaning of
those strange words, ‘‘the time has been.”
Depend upon it, thereby hangs a good story ;
we, will have that first—and then,’ whispered
the pacha, ‘her head off afterwards.’

The old woman, hearing the order to take
her into custody, again repeated, ‘Ah, very
well—the time has been.’ ‘The slaves laid
hold of her; but she defended herself so
vigorously with her teeth and nails, that they
were under the necessity of gagging her, and
tying her hand and foot, ‘They then hoisted
her on their shoulders, and marched off with
her to the palace, followed by Mustapha and
the pacha, the latter quite delighted with his
adventure. When the divan of the ensuing
day had closed, the old woman was ordered
to be brought into the presence of the pacha ;
and as she refused to walk, she was brought
on the shoulders of four of the suards, and
laid on the floor of the council-chamber.
‘How dare you rebel against the sublime
commands? inquired Mustapha, with se-
verity.

“How dare I rebel!’ cried the old woman
with a shrill voice. ‘Why, what right has
the pacha to drag me from my poor hovel ;
and what can he want with an old woman
like me? It’s not for his harem, I presume.’

At this remark the pacha and Mustapha
could not help laughing ; having recovered
his gravity, Mustapha observed, ‘ One would
imagine, old carrion that thou art, that the
idea of such a punishment as the bastinado
had never entered your mind.’

“ There you are mistaken, Mr. Vizier, for I
have suffered both the bastinado and the bow-
string.’

‘The bowstring! Holy Prophet! what a
lying old hag,’ exclaimed the pacha.

‘No lie, pacha, no lie!’ screamed the old
woman in her wrath, I have said it—and140 THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

the bowstring. Yes, the time has been when she demands? When her story is ended, it
I was young and beautiful; and do you know will be easy to take them from her, and her
why I suffered? I'll tell you—because I head from her shoulders. Thus will be satis-
woud not hold my tongue—and do youthink fied the demands of the old woman, and the
I will now that I’m an old piece of carrion? demands of justice.’
Yes-—yes—the time has been.’ ‘Wallah thaib ! it is well said, by Ailah !
‘Fortunately, then,’ replied Mustapha, Your words are as pearls. Count out the
“you are not required by the pacha to hold money, Mustapha.’
your tongue. You are required to do the ‘ His highness the pacha has been pleased,
very contrary, which is, to speak.’ in consideration of the fear and trembling
‘And do you know why I received the bow- with which you have entered his presence, to
string ?’ screamed the old hag. ‘I'll tell you order that the sum which you require shall
—because I would not speak; and I do not be paid down,’ said Mustapha, pulling out
intend so to do now, since I find that you his purse from-his girdle. ‘Murakhas, you
wish that I should,’ are dismissed,’ continued the vizier to the
‘Then it appears,’ said the pacha, taking executioner, who let go the old woman, and
the pipe out of his mouth, ‘that the bastinado disappeared. Mustapha counted out the
was as ill managed as the bowstring, We twenty pieces of gold, and shoved them to-
do these things better at Cairo. Hear me, wards the old woman, who after some demur,
old mother of Shitan! I wish to know what as if imagining that they ought to have been
you mean by that expression which is ever in brought to her, got up and took possession of
your mouth—‘‘ time has been.””’ them. She counted them over, and returned
‘It means a great deal, pacha, for it refers one piece as being of light weight. Mustapha,

to my life—you want the story.’ with a grimace, but without speaking, ex-
‘Exactly,’ replied Mustapha, ‘so begin.’ changed it for another,
‘You must pay me for it—it is worth twenty ‘By the beard of the Prophet !’ muttered
pieces of gold.’ the pacha, ‘ but never mind,’

‘Do you presume to make conditions with The old woman took out a piece of dirty
his sublime highness the pacha?’ exclaimed rag, wrapped up the gold pieces, and placing
Mustapha, ‘Why, thou mother of afrits and them in her vest, smoothed down her sordid
ghouls, if thou commencest not immediately, garments, and then commenced as follows:—
thy carcass shall he thrown over the walls for ‘Pacha, I have not always lived in a hovel.
the wild dogs to smell at, and turn away from ‘These eyes were not always bleared and dim,
in disgust.’ nor this skin wrinkled and discoloured. {|

‘Vizier, I have lived long enough to trust have not always been covered with these
nobody. My price is twenty pieces of gold filthy rags—nor have I always wanted or
counted out in this shrivelled hand before I coveted the gold which you have just now
begin; and without they are paid down—not bestowed upon me. I have lived in palaces
one word.’ And the old beldam folded her —I have commanded there. I have been
arms, and looked the pacha boldly in the robed in gold—I have been covéred with
face. jewels. Ihave dispensed life and death—I

“God is great !’ exclaimed the pacha. ‘We. have given away provinces. Pachas have
shall see." At his well-known signal the exe-_ trembled at my frown—have received by my
cutioner made his appearance, and holding orders the bowstring—for at one time I was
up the few scattered gray hairs which still re- the favourite of the grand sultan. Time has
mained upon her head, he raised his Scimitar, been,’

awaiting the nod which was to be succeeded “It must have been a long time ago, then,’
by the fatal blow. observed the pacha.
‘Strike, pacha, strike!’ cried the old wo- _ ‘Thatis true,’ replied the old woman ; ‘but

man scornfully.. ‘I shall only lose a life of I will uow narrate my adventures.’

which I have long been weary ; but you will

lose a story of wonder, which you are so STORY OF THE OLD WOMAN,

anxious to obtain. Strike—for the last time,

I say, “Time has been "—before time shall I was born in Georgia, where, as your high-

be no more !’ ness knows, the women are reckoned to be
‘That is true, Mustapha,’ observed the more beautiful than in any other country,

pacha. ‘I forgot the Story. What an obsti- except indeed Circassia ; but, in my opinion,

nate old devil ; but I must hear the story.’ the Circassian women are much too tall, and
‘Ifit appears good to your absolute wis- on too large a scale, to compete with us ; and

dom,’ said Mustapha in a low voice, ‘would I may Safely venture my opinion, as I have

it not be better to count down to this avari- had an opportunity of comparing many hun-

cious old hag the twenty pieces of gold which dreds of the finest Specimens of both countries.

a tn

i

i
:
¥

 

Si arc iMy father and mother, although not rich,
were in easy circumstances ; my father had
been a janissary in the sultan’s immediate
employ, and after he had collected some pro-
pes he returned to his own country, where
€ purchased some land and married. I had
but one brother, who was three years older
than myself, and one of the handsomest
youths in the country. He was disfigured a
little by a scarlet stain on his neck, somewhat
in shape resembling a bunch of grapes, and
which our national dress would not permit
him to conceal. My father, intending that he
should serve the sultan, brought him up toa
perfect knowledge of every martial exercise,
Even at fourteen years old, few could com-
pete with him in the use of the bow, and
throwing the ‘djireed, and as a horseman he
was perfect. As for me, I was, Iam certain,
intended for the sultan’s seraglio, for as a
child I was beautiful as a houri. My father
was aman who would not scruple to part
with his children for gold, provided he ob-
tained his price. I was considered, and I
believe that I was, the most beautiful girl in
the country, and every care was taken that I
should not injure my appearance or hurt my
complexion by domestic labour or exposure.
I was not permitted to assist my mother, who,
induced by my father’s orders, waited upon
me. I was indulged in every whim, and I
grew up as selfish and capricious as I was
beautiful. Smile not, pacha—time has been.
One day, when I was about fourteen years
old, I was sitting at the porch, when a large
body of Turkish cavalry suddenly made their
appearance from a wood close to the house,
and surrounded it. They evidently came for
me, for they demanded me by name, threat-
ening to burn the house down to the ground,
if I was not immediately delivered up. Our
house, which was situated near the confines of
the country, had been constructed for defence;
and my father expecting assistance from his
neighbours, refused to acquiesce in their
terms. The assault was made, my father and
mother, with all their household, were mur-
dered, my brother severely wounded, the
house plundered and burnt to the outside
walls. I was of course a prisoner as well as
my brother. He was tied, wounded as he
was, upon one horse, and I upon another,
and in a few hours'the party had regained the
frontiers. A young man, handsome as an
angel, was the leader of the band, and I soon
perceived that all his thoughts and attentions
were directed to me. He watched me with
the greatest solicitude when we halted, pro-
cured me every comfort, and was always
hovering about my presence. From the dis-
course of the soldiers I discovered that he was
the gnly son of the grand vizier at Stamboul,

THE PACHA OF

  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 

MANY TALES, r4t
He had heard of my beauty, had seen me,
and offered a large sum to my father, who
had refused, as his ambition was that I should
belong to the sultan, in consequence I had
been carried off by force. I could have loved
the beautiful youth, although he had mur-
dered my father and mother, but it was the
taking me by force which steeled my heart,
and I vowed that I never would listen to his
addresses, although I was so completely in his
power. During the time that I had been in
his possession I had never spoken one word.
and it came into my head that I would pre-
tend to be dumb. In three weeks we arrived
at Constantinople. Since I had quitted the
country I had never seen my brother; his
wound was too severe to allow him to travel
with the same rapidity, and it was not until
years afterwards that I knew what had become
of him. I was taken to Osman Ali’s house,
and allowed a few days’ repose from the
fatigue of the journey ; after which, as I was
still but a child, I was ordered to be in-
structed in music, dancing, singing, and every
other accomplishment considered necessary
for the ladies of a harem. But I adhered to
my resolution ; every method to induce me to
speak was tried in vain; even blows, torture
from pinching, and other means were resorted
to, but would not induce me to swerve from
my resolution ; at last they concluded that I
was either born dumb, or had become so from
fright at the time that the attack and slaughter
of my family took place. I was eighteen
months in the harem of Osman Ali, and never
spoke one word.

‘Mashallah! but this is wonderful!’ ex-
claimed the pacha—‘a woman hold her tongue
for eighteen months! Who is to believe
this ?’

‘Not at all wonderful,’ replied the old
woman, ‘when you recollect that she was
required to speak.’

Once, and once only, did I nearly break
through my resolution. ‘Two of the principal
favourites were conversing in my presence.

“I cannot imagine,’ said one, ‘what Ali
can see in this little,minx to be so infatuated
with her. She is very ugly—her mouth is
large—her teeth are yellow—and her eyes not
only have no expression, but look different
ways. She has one shoulder higher than the
other, and worse than all, being dumb, can-
not be taught anything but dancing, which
only shows her ugly broad feet.’

‘That is all true,’ replied the other. ‘If I
was Ali, I should employ her as a common
slave; she is fit for nothing but to roll up and
beat carpets, boil rice, and prepare our coffee.r42

A little of the slipper on her mouth would
soon bring her toher senses,’

I must own. that I was near breaking
through. my resolution, that I might have
indulged my revenge, and had’ not the doot
suddenly ‘opened, I should haye proved to
them that I-could have spoken to some pur-
pose, for never would I have ceased until
they had both been sewn up in Sacks, and
cast into the Bosphorus. But I restrained
myself, although my cheeks burned with rage,
and I more than once put my hand to my
jewelled dagger.

I was often visited by Osman Ali, who in
vain attempted to maké me speak a‘harsh
guttural sound was all which I would utter to
express pain or pleasure. At last being con-
vinced that I was dumb, he exchanged me
with a slave-merchant for a beautiful Cir.
cassian girl. He did not state my supposed
infirmity, but gave it as his reason for parting
with me, that I was too young, ‘and required
to be taught. As soon as the bargain was
struck, and the merchant had received the
money which had been given by Ali to éffect
the exchange, I was despoiled of my dress
and ornaments, and put in a litter; to be con-
veyed to the house ofthe slave-merchant. As
your highness may imagine, not a little tired
of holding my tongue for a year and a half —

‘By the beard of the’ Prophet, we can
believe you on that point, good woman. You
may proceed,’

‘Yes, yes, I may proceed. You think
women have no resolution, and no souls—be
it so—and what you dignify with the name of
perseverance in your own sex, you call obsti-
nacy in ours. Be it so—time has been.’

I was no sooner in the litter than I let loose
my tongue, and called out to the women who
were appointed to conduct me to the door of
the harem, ‘ Tell Osman Ali, that now I am
no longer his slave, I have found my tongue.’
Then closing the curtains, I was carried away.
As soon as I arrived, I told the merchant all
that had passed, and the reason why Ali had
parted with me. The merchant, who was
astonished at having made so good a bargain,
laughed heartily at my narrative. He told
me that he intended: me for the seraglio of the
sultan—flattered me by declaring that I should
be certainly, the favourite, and advised me to
profit all I could by the masters he would
provide. In the meantime, Osman Ali having
heard from the women the message I had
sent, was very wroth, and came to the slave-
merchant to procure me again; but the slave-
merchant informed him that the kislar aga of
the sultan,had seen me, and.ordered me to’ be
reserved for the imperial seraglio; by? this

 

   
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  

THE PACHA OF MANV TALES.

falsehood . screenin
Ali's importunities,
geance.
in little more than a year became a proficient
in music and. most other accomplishments;
I also learnt to write and read, and to repeat
Most of the verses of Hafiz, and other cele-
brated poets. At seventeen I was offered to
the kislar aga as a prodigy of beauty and
talent. The kislar aga came to see me, and
was astonished; he saw at once that I should
immediately become. first favourite; and
having heard me sing and play, he demanded
my price, which was enormous, He reported.
me to the sultan, Stating that he had never
beheld such perfection, and at the same time
informing him of the exorbitant demand of
the slave-merchant. The sultan, who had

lately felt little interest in the inmates of his =

harem, and was anxious for novelty, ordered
the sum to be paid, and I was conducted to
the seraglio in a royal litter.

That I was anxious to be purchased by the
sultan, I confess: my pride rebelled at the
idea of being a slave, and if I was to be so,
at least I wished to be the slave of the sultan.
I indulged the idea that I should soon bring
him to subjection, and that th
lord it over her master, and that master
the dispenser of life and death, honour and
disgrace, to millions. I had made up my
mind how to behave; the poets I had read
had taught me but too well, Convinced that
a little wilfulness would, from its novelty, be
most likely to captivate. one who. had been
accustomed to dull and passive obedience, I
allowed my natural temper to be unchecked.
The second day after my arrival, the kislar
aga informed me that the sultan intended to
honour me“with a visit, and that the baths
and dresses were prepared. I replied that
I had bathed that morning, and did not
intend to bathe again; as for the dresses
and ‘jewels, I did not require them, and that
i was ready to receive my lord, the sultan,
if he pleased to come.
opened his eyes with astonj
presumption ; but not ventu
to one who,
favourite, he
to him what had | passed.
expected, was more
than affronted at the
so,’ replied he: ‘this Georg
good opinion of her own charms, ]

In the evening the sultan made his appear-
ance, and I prostrated myself at his feet, for
I did not wish to proceed too far at once. He
raised me up, and appeared delighted,

“You were right, Zara,’ said he » ‘no jewels:
or dress could add to the splendour: of your
beauty,’

shment at my
Ting to use force
in his opinion, would become the

amused at the novelty
want of respect. ‘Beit

 

g himself, not only from ©
but also ffom his ‘ven- :
I took the advice of my master, and

 

 

*

e slave would:

The kislar) aga |

returned to the sultan, reporting —
The sultan, as I~

ian must haye a —‘Pardon me, O gracious lord,’ replied I,
“but if thy slave is to please thee, may it be
by her natural charms alone. If I have the
honour to continue in thy favour, let me adorn
myself with those jewels which ought to deco-
rate the chosen of her master; but asa candi-
date I have rejected them, for who knows but
in a few days I may be deserted for one more
worthy of your preference ?”

The sultan was delighted at my apology,
and { certainly was pleased with him. He
was then about forty years of age, very hand-
some and well made; but I was still more
gratified to find that my conversation amused
him so much that he remained with me for
many hours after his usual time for retiring.
This gave promise of an ascendancy which
might survive personal charms. But not to
detain your highness, I will at once state, the
sultan soon thought but of me. Not only my
personal attractions, but my infinite variety,
which appeared natural, but was generally
planned and sketched out previous to his
visits, won so entirely upon him, that so far
from being tired, his passion, I may say his
love, for me was every day increased.

“Well, it may be all true,’ observed the
pacha, looking at the wrinkled and hideous
object before him. ‘What do you say, Mus-
tapha ??

“O pacha !-we know not yet her history.
The mother of your slave, as I have heard
from my father, was once most beautiful.
She is still in our harem; and, pooh, said
Mustapha, spitting, as if in abhorrence.

‘Right, good vizier, right ; reco}lect, pacha,
what I have said: time has been.’ The pacha
nodded, and the old - woman proceeded.

Once sure of the sultan’s affections, I in-
dulged myself in greater liberties—not with
him, but with others; for I knew that he
would laugh at the tricks I might play upon
his dependents, but not be equally pleased
with a want of respect towards himself; and
other people of the harem were the objects of
my caprice and amusement. So far from
preventing him from noticing the other women
in the harem, I would recommend them, and
often have them in my apartments when he
would visit me, and wish to be alone, I
generally contrived to manage a little quarrel
about once a month, as it renewed his passion.
In short, the sultan became, as I intended, so
infatuated, that he was my slave, and atthe
same time I felt an ardent attachment to him.
My power was well known. The presents which
T received from those who required my good
offices were innumerable, and I never retained
them, but sent them as presents to the sultan,
in return for those which he repeatedly sent
tome. This indifference on my part to what

   

THE PACHA OF MANY TALBS.

  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
  

148

women are usually too fond of, increased his
regard.

‘By the holy Prophet, but you seemed
fond enough of gold just now,’ observed the
pacha.

‘Time has been,’ replied the old woman.
‘I speak not of the present.’

For two years I passed a happy life; but
anxious as the sultan was, as well as myself,
that I should present him with an heir, that
happiness was denied me, and eventually was
the cause of my ruin. The queen-mother and
the kislar aga, both of whom I had affronted,
were indefatigable; in their attempts to under-
mine my power. The whole universe, I may
say, was ransacked: for a new introduction
into the seraglio, whose novelty and beauty
might seduce the sultan from my arms. In-
stead of counterplotting, as I might have done,
Iwas pleased at their frustrated efforts. Had
I demanded. the woolly head of the one, and
poisoned the other, I had done wisely. I only
wish I had them now; but I was a fool—it
cannot be helped ; but time has been.

Like most of the sex, the ruling passion of
the sultan was vanity, a diséase which shows
itself in a thousand different shapes. He was
peculiarly proud of his person, and with rea-
son, for it was faultless, with one little excep-
tion, which I had discovered, a wen, about
the size of a pigeon’s egg, under the left arm.
I had never mentioned to him that I was
aware of it; but a ‘circumstance occurred
which annoyed me, and I forgot my discre-
tion.

The kislar aga had at last discovered a Cir-
cassian slave, who, he thought, would effect
the purpose. She was beautiful,» and I had
already engrossed the sultan’s attentions for
more than two years. Men will be fickle,
and I expected no otherwise. What I re-
quired was the dominion over the mind; I
eared little about the sultan’s attentions to
other women. | Like the tame bird which flies
from its cage, and after wandering a short
time, is glad to return. toits home and re-as-
sume its perch so did I consider it would be
the case with the sultan. I never, therefore,
wearied him with tears or reproaches, but won
him back with smiles and good-humour. I
expected that this new face would detach him
fora short time, and for a fortnight he never
came into my apartment. He had never been
away so long before, and I was ratheriuneasy.
He visited me one morning, and I asked him
to sup with me. - He consented ; and I in-
vited three or four of the most beautiful
women of the seraglio, as well as the lady of
his new attachment, to meet him, I thought

it wise so to do, to prove to him that I was not
displeased, and trusting that the Circassian144

might suffer when in company with others of
equal charms, who from neglect might reas-
sume their novelty. The Circassian was un-
deniably most beautiful ; but, without vanity,
she was by no means to be compared to me ;
she had the advantage of novelty, and I
hoped no more, for I felt what a dangerous
rival she might prove if her wit and talents
were equal to her personal charms. ‘The sul-
tan came, and I exerted myself to please, but
to my mortification, I was neglected ; all his
attentions and thoughts were only for my
‘rival, who played her part to admiration,
yielded to him that profound respect and ab-
ject adulation, which, on my part, had been
denied him, and which he probably, as a no-
velty froma favourite, set a higher price upon.
At last, I was treated with such marked insult,
that I lost my temper, and I determined that
the sultan should do the same. I handed him
asmall apple. ‘Will my lord accept this ap-
ple from the hand of his slave? Is it not
curious in shape? It reminds me of the wen
under your majesty’s left arm.’

The sultan coloured with rage.

‘Yes,’ replied I, laughing, ‘you have one
of them, you know very well.’

‘Silence, Zara,’ cried the sultan, in a firm
tone.

‘And why should I be silent, my lord?
Have not I spoken the truth ?

‘ False woman! deny what you have falsely
uttered.’

‘Sultan, I will not deny the truth.
if you command me, hold my tongue.

‘Your slave has been honoured with my
lord’s attentions, and denies the assertion as
a calumny,’ observed my rival.

“Peace, wretch! thou hast proved thyself
unworthy of the honour, ,by thy lying
tongue.’

‘I tell thee, Zara, silence! or you shall feel
my indignation.’

But I was now too angry, and I replied,
‘ My lord, you well know that I once held my
tongue for eighteen months, I therefore can
be silent when I choose; but I can also speak
wnen I choose, and now I dochoose to speak.
I have said it,and I will not retract my
words,’

The sultan was white with rage; my life
hung upon a thread; when the Circassian
maliciously observed, ‘The bastinado might
induce her to retract.’

“And shall? exclaimed the sultan, clapping
his hands.

The kislar aga appeared ; in obedience to
the sultan’s orders, the executioner of the
harem and two slaves stretched me on the
floor,—I made no resistance or complaint ;
my jewelled slippers were taken off, and all
was ready for the disgraceful punishment,

I will,

’

   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

‘Now, Zara, will you retract? said the sul-
tan, solemnly.

‘No, my lord, I will not. I repeat that you
have a wen under your left arm.’

‘Strike ? cried the sultan, in a paroxysm of
rage. ‘The bamboos fell, and I received a
dozen blows. I bore them without a cry,—I
was too much choked by my feelings.

‘Now, Zara, will you retract?’ exclaimed
the sultan, in a subdued tone.

‘Never, sultan ; I will prove to you that a
woman has more courage than you may ima-
gine ; if I die under the punishment, my rival
shall not have even the pleasure of a groan.
You ask me to retract. I will not swerve from
the truth. You have, and you know you have,
and so does that vile parasite by your side
know, that you have a wen under your left —
arm.’ I was faint with the pain, and my voice
was weak and trembling,

‘Proceed,’ said the*sultan.

When I had received thirty blows, I fainted
with the agony, and the sultan ordered them
to desist. ,

‘I trust, Zara, you are now sufficiently pun-
ished for your disobedience.’

But I heard him not; and when the sultan,
perceiving that I did not reply, looked at me,
his heart melted. He felt how arbitrary, how
cruel he had been. ‘The Circassian went to
him; he ordered her, in a voice of thunder, to
be gone, me to be unbound by the other
ladies, laid on the sofa, and restoratives to be
procured. WhenI came to my senses, I found
myself alone with the sultan.

‘Oh! Zara,’ said he, as the tears stood in
his eyes, ‘why did you tempt me thus—why
were you So obstinate 2”

‘My lord,’ answered I, in a feeble voice,
‘leave your slave, and go to those who can
teach their tongues to lie. I have never de-
ceived you, although I may have displeased —
you. I have loved you with fidelity and truth.
Now that you have witnessed what I can suffer
rather than be guilty of falsehood, you ought
to believe me. ‘Take my life, my lord, and I
will bless you ; for I have lost you, and with
you I have lost more than life.’

‘Not so, Zara,’ replied the sultan ; ‘I love
you more than ever.’

“Tam glad to hear you say so, my lord, al-_
though it is now of no avail. Iam nolonger
yours, and never will be. +I am unfit to be —
yours ; my person has been contaminated by
the touch of Ethiopian slaves; it has been pol-
luted by the hand of the executioner; it has ~
been degraded by a chastisement due only to
felons. Oblige me, as a last proof of your”
kindness, by taking a life which is a burthen |
to me.’

Despot as he was, the sultan was much
moved; he was mortified at having yielded toTHE PACHA OP MANV TALES. 145

his temper, and his passionate affection for me your dignity, and lower yourself, by yielding
had returned. He eatreated my pardon, shed to the instigations of malice? Who was it

tears over me, kissed my swelled feet, and hu- that advised the bastinado? Asa woman, I

miliated himself.so much, that my heart re- am too proud to be jealous of her; but as

lented—for I loved him dearly still. one who values your honour, and your reputa-
‘Zara,’ exclaimed he, at last, ‘ will you not tion, 1 cannot permit you to have so dangerous
forgive me? a counsellor. Your virgins, your omras, your
‘When, my lord, have I ever shown myself princes, willall be at her mercy ; your throne
jealous? True love is above jealousy, ‘This may be overturned by her taking advantage

evening, to please you, although I have lately of her power.’ 5

been neglected, did I not request your new The sultan. hesitated.

favourite to meet you? In return, I was ‘Sultan, you have but to choose between

grossly insulted by neglect, and. studied at- two things ; if she be alive to-morrow morn-

tentions to her. I was piqued, and revenged ing, Lam dead by my own hand, You know
myself—for I am but a woman. Iwas wrong I never lie,’

in so doing, but having told the truth, I was — The sultan clapped his hands, the kislar

right in not retracting what I had said. “Now aga again appeared. ‘ Her head,’ said he,
that you have degraded me—now that you hesitatingly. ‘The kislar aga waited a little
have rendered me unworthy of you, you ask to ascertain if there was no reprieve, for too
me to forgive you.’ hasty a compliance with despots is almost as
‘And again I implore it, my dearest dangerous as delay. He caught my eye—he
Zara V’ saw at once that if not her head, it would be
‘There are my jewels, my lord. I have no his own, and he quitted the room. In a few
other property but what I have received, and. minutes he held up by its fair tresses the head
cherished as presents from you: your trea- of my beautiful rival; I looked at the dis-
surer well knows that. Take my jewels, my torted features, and was satisfied. I motioned
lord, and present them to her; they will make with my hand and the kislar aga withdrew.
her more beautiful in your sight—to me they ‘Now, Zara, do you forgive me?) Now do
are now worthless. Goto her, and in a few you believe that I sincerely love you, and have
days you will forget that ever there was such I obtained my pardon?’
a person as the unhappy, the neglected, the ‘Yes,’ replied I, ‘I do, sultan; I forgive
disgraced and polluted Zara.’ you all ; and now——-I will permit you to sit

And I burst into tears ; for even with all his by me and bathe my feet.’
ill-usage, I was miserable at the idea of part- From that day I resumed my empire with
ing with him; for what will not awomanfor- more despotic power than ever. I insisted
give to a man who has obtained her favour that I should refuse his visits when I felt so
and her love ? inclined, and when I imagined that there was

‘What can I do to prove that I repent?’ the slightest degree of satiety on his part, he
cried the sultan. ‘Tell me, Zara. I have was certain to be refused admittance for a
supplicated for pardon, what more can I fortnight. I became the depositary of his
do? secrets and the mover of his counsels. My

‘Let my lord efface all traces and memory sway was unlimited, and I never abused it.
of my degradation. Was not I struck by two I loved him, and his honour and his welfare
vile slaves, who will babble through the city? were the only guides to my conduct.

Was not I held down by an executioner? :
These arms, which have; wound: round the ‘But your highness will probably be tired;
master of the world, and no other, polluted’ and as I have now told how it was that I
by his gripe.’ suffered the bastinado, you will perhaps wait

The sultan clapped his hands, and thekislar till to-morrow for the history of the bow~
aga appeared. string,’

‘Quick,’ exclaimed he, ‘the heads of the “I believe that the old woman. is) right,’
slaves and executioner who inflicted thepunish-. said Mustapha, yawning, ‘it is late. Is it
ment.’ your highness’s pleasure that she shall return

In a minute the kislar aga appeared; he to-morrow evening ?
perceived how matters stood, and trembled ‘Be it so; but let her be in close custody—
for his own. He held up the three heads, one you remember.’
after another, and then returned them to the “Be chesm—on my eyes be it. | Guards,
Sack of sawdust in which they had been remove this woman from the sublime pre-
brought. sence.’

‘Are you satisfied now, Zara ?’ “It appears to me,’ said the pacha to Mus-

‘For myself, yes—but not for you: Who’ tapha, ‘that this old woman's story may be
was it that persuaded you to descend from tiue, The description of the io is SO£46

correct—coriimanding one day, bastinadoed
the next.’

‘Who can doubt the fact, your sublime
highness? The Lord of Life dispenses as he
thinks fit.’

‘Very true; he might send me the bow-
string to-morrow.’

‘Allah forbid !’

‘I pray with you; but life is uncertain,
and it is our fate. You are my vizier to-day,
for instance—what may you be to-morrow ?”

‘Whatever your highness may decide,’. re-
plied Mustapha, not much liking the turn of
the conversation. ‘Am not I your slave, and
as the dirt under your feet—and shall I not
bow to your sovereign pleasure and my
destiny ?’

‘It is well said, and so must I if the caliph
‘sends me a Capitan Badji, which Allah forbid.
‘There is but one God, and Mahomet is his
Prophet.’

‘Amen,’ replied Mustapha. ‘Will your
highness drink of the water of the Giaour ?’

‘Yes, truly ; for what says the poet? ‘*We
are merry to-day and to-morrow we die.”’

‘Min Allah ; God forbid! That old woman
has lived a long while, why shouldn't we ?’

‘I don’t know ; but she has had the bow-
string and isnot yet dead. We may not be
so fortunate.’

‘ May we never have it at all; then shall we
escape, O pacha.’

‘True, Mustapha ; so give me the bottle.’

 

CHAPTER. XXI.

‘TH hext evening the old woman made her
appearance without raising any difficulty as
on the previous day, and took her seat before
the pacha, and thus continued :-—

As I stated to your highness last evening,
when I broke off my narrative, I was in the
highest favour with the sultan, who made me
his confidante. He had often mentioned to
me the distinguished services of a young
seraskier, whom he had lately appointed capi-
tan pacha, to combat in the north against a
barbarous nation called Sclavonians, or Rus-
sians. My euriosity was raised to seé this
Rustam of a warrior, for his exploits and un-
varied success were constantly the theme ofi
the sultan’s encomiums. A Georgian slave

who had been the favourite previous to my
arrival; and who had never forgiven my sup-
planting her, had been sent to him by the
‘sultan as a compliment; and this rare dis-
tinction had been conferred upon him on the
‘day when I requested leave to remain behind
the screen in the hall of the divan, that I

 

   
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

might behold this celebrated and distinguished
person> He was indeed a splendid figure,
and his face was equally perfect. He formed,
in outward appearance, all that I could ima-
gine of a hero. As I looked at him from be-
hind ‘the screen, he turned his head from me,
and I beheld to my surprise the red stain on
his neck, which told me at once that I had
found my long-lost brother. Delighted at the
rencontre, I retired as soon as the audience was
over, and when the sultan came to my apart-
ment, I. told him the discovery which I had
made. The sultan appeared pleased at the
information ; and the next day, sending for
my brother, he asked him a few questions re-
lative. to his lineage and former life, which
corroborated my story ; and loading him with
fresh honours, he dismissed him. I was de-
lighted that in finding my brother, I had
found one who was not unworthy of the
suitan’s regard, and I considered it a most
fortunate circumstance. But how blind are
mortals! My brother was the cause of my
disgrace and eternal separation from the sul-
tan! I mentioned to your highness that the
Georgian slave who had preceded, me in the
sultan’s favour, had been sent as a present to
my brother. This woman, although she had
-always appeared fond of me, was in fact my
most bitter enemy.” She was very beautiful
and clever, and soon obtained the most un-
limited influence over my brother. Yet she
loved him not; she had but one feeling to
gratify, which was revenge on me. My bro-
ther had so often led the troops to victory,
that he had acquired an unbounded sway over
them. Stimulated by their suggestions and
his own ambition, which like mine was bound-
less, he was at last induced to plot against his
master, with the intention of dethroning him
and reigning in his stead. To his new wife,
the Georgian, he had intrusted his plan, and
she resolved to regain the favour of the
sultan and accomplish my ruin by making me
a party, and then communicating to him the
treason which was in agitation. ‘She proposed
to my brother that he should inform me of his
intentions, alleging, that in all probability J
would assist him, as I cared little for the sul-
tan ; and at all events, if I did not join, my
interest might save him from his wrath. For
some time he refused to accede to her sugges-
tions ; but as she pointed out that if the plot
were discovered, I, as hig sister, would cer-
tainly share his fate, and that she well knew
that I had never forgiven the punishment of
the bastinado which I had received, and only
waited for an opportunity to revenge myself,
he at last consented to make mea party tohis
intentions. My brother had been allowed
to visit me, and he took this’ opportunity of
stating tomehisschemes. I started from himwith horror, pointed out to him his ingratitude
and folly, and entreated him to abandon his
purpose. Convinced that I was firmly at-
tached to the sultan, he appeared to acquiesce
in the justice of my remarks, confessed that
he was wrong, and promised me faithfully to
think no more of his treacherous designs. I
believed him to be sincere, and I shed tears of
Joy as I thanked him for having yielded tomy
entreaties. We separated; and in a short
time I thought no more of the subject.

But he had no idea of abandoning his pur-
pose ; in fact, he was already too deeply in-
volved tobe able to doso. His arrangements
vent on rapidly ; and when all was ripe the
Georgian gave information to the sultan, de-
nouncing me as a party as well as my
brother.

One morning as I was sitting in my apart-
ment, arranging on a tray a present for my
lord and master, I was surprised by the abrupt
entrance of the kislar aga, accompanied by
guards, who without explanation seized me,
and led me into the presence-chamber, where
the sultan and all the officers of state were as-
sembled. It immediately rushed into my
mind that my brother had deceived me. Pale
with anxiety, but at the same time with a feel-
ing of delight that the plot had been dis-
covered, I entered the divan, where I beheld
my brother in the custody of the palace-guard.
He had been seized in the divan, as his popu-
larity was so great that a few minutes’ notice
would have enabled him not only to escape,
but to have put his treasonable plans into ex-
ecution ; but he bore himself with such a
haughty air, with his arms folded across his
breast, that I thought he might be innocent ;
and that he had, as he promised me, aban-
doned all thoughts of rebellion.

I turned towards the sultan, who fixed his
eyes upon me; his brows were knit with
anger, and he commenced, ‘Zara, your bro-
ther is accused of treason, which he denies.
You, also, are charged with being privy to his
designs. Answer me, do you know anything
of these plots ?’

I did not know how to answer this
question, and I would not tell a lie. I did
know something about his intentions ; but as
he had denied the charge, it was not to be
expected that he should be condemned by the
mouth of his only sister. Perhaps he had, as
he had promised me, abandoned his ideas ;
—nperhaps it could not be proved against him.
My answer would have been the signal for his
death. I could not give the answer required;
and I replied, ‘Ifmy brother be found guilty
of rebelling against his sovereign, let him
suffer. I, my lord, have never plotted or re-
beiled against you.’

Answer my question, Zara. Do you know

 
  
    
   
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES. 147

anything about this plot? Yesor no. Say
zo, and f shall believe you.’

‘Your slave has never plotted against her
lord,’ replied I. ‘Further I cannot answer
your question.’

‘Then it is true;—and Zara—even Zara is
false |’ cried the sultan, clasping his hands in
agony. ‘Oh! where can a person in my
situation find one who is faithful and true,
when Zara, even Zara is false ?’

‘No—no, my lord,’ cried I, bursting into
tears; ‘Zara is true ;—always has been,
always will be true. Za I {can ‘boldly an-
swer—but do not press the other question.’

The sultan looked at me for a short time,
and then consulted with the viziers and others,
who stood by the throne with their arms
folded. ‘The chief vizier replied, ‘Those who
know of treason, and conceal it, are participa-
tors in the crime.’

‘True—most true. Zara, for the last time
I ask you, what do you know of this intended
insurrection? I must be ttifled with no
longer. <A plain answer, or. :

‘I cannot answer that question, my lord.’

‘Zara, aS you value your life, answer the
immediately,’ cried the sultan, with violence ;
—but I answered not. q

‘Twice more did the forbearance and love of
the sultan induce him to repeat the question ;
but I remained silent.

He waved his hands, I was seized by the
mutes, arid the bowstring encircled my neck.
All was ready, they awaited but the last sig-
nal to tighten the fatal cord.

‘Once more, Zara, will you answer; or
brave me to your destruction ?

‘Sultan, I will at least speak to you before
I die. I only wish to declare my fidelity and my
love to you in my last moments, to tell you
that I forgive you for that which, when the
truth is known, you will never forgive your-
self. One moment more. Let me remove
this jewelled chain from my neck, now super-
seded by the bowstring. You presented it to
me when convinced of my attachment and my
love. Take it, sultan, and when you find one
as faithful and as true, present it to her ; but
until you do so, wear it in memory of Zara.
And now let me throw my veil over those
features which have always beamed with love
and delight on you, that when I am dead,
and you call them to your recollection, they
may be as you have been used to see them,
and not black with convulsions and distorted
with agony. My lord, my dear and honoured
lord, farewell !’

The sultan was deeply moved ; he turned
away his head, and covered his face with one
hand, while the other dropped at his side,
from the intensity of his feelings.

; Although it never was so intended, this

—2£48

 

dropping of his hand was considered as the
signal for my death. The string was tight-
ened’ and buried itself, cutting deeply into
the flesh of a neck once as fair and smooth as
the polished marble of Patras. For the first
moments my torture was excruciating—my
eyes were forcing out of their sockets—my
tongue protruded from my mouth—my brain
appeared to be on fire—but all recollection
soon departed.’

 

“*Staffir Allah! God forgive me! but are
you not laughing at our beards, old scarecrow?
What think you, Mustapha ?’ continued the
pacha, turning to him. ‘ What is all this but
lies ?

‘Lies,’ screamed the old woman. ‘Lies!
you tell me they are lies! Well, well—the
time has been. Pacha, after what I have
suffered by telling the truth all my life, it is
hard, in my old age, to be told that I-lie.;
but you shall be convinced,’ and_ the old wo-
man put her hands up to the shrivelled, pen-
dent skin of her neck, and stretching it out
smooth, showed a deep blue mark, which en-
circled it like a necklace. ‘Now are you
satisfied ?”

The pacha nodded his head to Mustapha,
as if convinced ; and then said, ‘You may
._proceed.’

‘Yes, I may proceed ; but I tell you, pacha,
that if you doubt what I say once more, I
will return your twenty pieces of gold, and
hold my tongue. I proved that I could do it
as a young woman, and we become more
obstinate as we get old.’

“That isnolie,’ observed Mustapha. ‘Con-
tinue, old woman, and we will not interrupt
you with doubts again.’

My brother, who had watched every motion
of the sultan’s, and who had determined to
reveal all rather than I should suffer, when he
perceived the fatal mistake, which he did not
till some moments afterwards, uttered a loud
cry, and attempted to burst from his guards.
Roused by the cry, the sultan looked up, and
perceived what had taken place. In a mo-
ment he darted from his throne, and was
kneeling ‘by me with frantic exclamations.
The mutes hastily tore away the bowstring,
but I was, to allappearance, dead.

‘Ves, sultan, well you may rave,’ exclaimed
my brother ; ‘for you have good cause. You
have destroyed one who, as she declared with
her last breath, was most. faithful and. most
true. I acknowledge the conspiracy.
told her my intentions, and she thought that
she had succeeded in preventing me; for

ee

promised by ¢e ¢#7ee to abandon my design.

She has been faithful both te ‘you and to me,

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

  

for she believed that, although accused, I had
atoned for my fault by repentance.’

The sultan looked earnestly at my brother,
but made no answer. He embraced me, at
one moment bursting into tears, in the next
calling for assistance. Iwas removed to my
apartments, and after some time, the phy-
sicians succeeded in restoring me to life; but
I was for many days confused and dizzy in
the brain, during which every attention and
care was lavished on me. One evening I felt
sufficiently recovered to speak, and I de-
manded, of=my attendants what had taken
place. They informed me that the mutes,
who had mistaken the signal, had been im-
paled, and that the janissaries had risen and
demanded my brother, whose execution had
been deferred by the sultan; but that on the
commotion taking place, by order of the grand
vizier my brother had been executed, and his
head thrown out to the rebellious troops, who
had then dispersed, and had since been
brought to subjection, and some hundreds cf
their ringleaders had been executed. I turned
away at this intelligence, for I loved my noble
but misguided brother. The movement occa-
sioned excruciating pain, which arose from
the deep wound made by the bowstring in
my neck.

The next morning I rose, that I might con-
template my person in the mirror, and I at
once perceived the alteration which had taken
place. There was a certain degree of distor-
tion of features which I thought would never
be removed. I felt, that although the sultan
might respect me, I could not expect the same
influence and undivided attention as before.
With a heavy heart I threw myself on the
couch, and planned for the future. I reflected
upon the uncertain tenure by which the affec-
tions of a despot are held—and I resolved to
part. Still I loved him, loved him in spite of
all his cruelty ; but my resolution was made.
For six weeks I refused to see the sultan,
although he inquired every day, and sent me
magnificent presents. At the end of that
period I had recovered, and all that remained
from the effects of the bowstring was a slight
wrinkling of the skin from distension, and the
deep blue mark round my neck which I have
just shown to your highness.

When 1 first admitted the sultan, he was
much affected. ‘Zara,’ said he mournfully,
“IT swear by the holy Prophet that I meant
not to give the signal.’

‘I believe you, my lord,’ replied I, calmly.

‘Neither did I intend that your brother
should suffer. I meant to have gained your
favour by his pardon.’

‘He was a traitor, my lord, an ungrateful
traitor, and deserved his death, So may all
like him perish.’ A aTAL PACHA OF MANY D4 NES:

‘And now, Zata, may I hope for your for- been made over to Abdallah. When she

giveness ?” aif heard that I was about to depart for my own
‘On one condition, sultan ; and swear that country, loaded with presents, her rage was
you will grant what I require,’ without bounds. Already had her. beauty
: I do, by Allah ? and talents made great impression upon Ab-
It is, that you send me back to my own dallah, and she soon won him over to a plot
country. : which would be advantageous to him, at the
Not to detain your highness by dwelling too same time that it would throw me, whom he
long upon what passed, it will suffice to say, distrusted, into her power. She proposed to
that notwithstanding the entreaties of the sul- Abdallah that, after having escorted me to
tan, and the pleadings of my own heart, my the frontiers, and received from me the ac-
resolution was immovable. Every arrange- knowledgment required by the sultan, he
ment was made for my departure, and during should follow my small escort of slaves, cut
the preparations, the sultan was continually them to pieces, take possession of me and all
with me, persuading me to abandon the idea. my treasure, and return with it to Constanti-
The magnificence and liberality which he nople, where I might be immured in his
showed in the costly presents. bestowed upon harem. ‘The avarice of Abdallah was not
me, that I might return with honour and able to withstand the temptation ; and, aware
wealth to my own country, more than once that there was no chance of the nefarious
Made me waver in my resolution. The even- transaction being discovered by the sultan, he
ing before my departure he made a last at- agreed to the proposal. On the second night
tempt, but in vain, My refusal was at least after we had parted with Abdallah a body of
softened by the tears which I shed; for now horsemen galloped down upon us, and all my
that the time of departure was so near, I felt attendants, male and female, were massacred.
how truly, how devotedly I was attached to I was seized, put into a sack, and thrown
him. We parted; I threw myself on the across a horse ; and as soon as the treasure
couch, and wept till the dawn of day, when I could be collected, they set off at arapid pace.
was summoned to commence my journey. I was nearly dead when they halted, and
As your highness may be aware is the cus- when I was removed from my painful situa-
tom, when my brother was executed all his tion, I fainted away.
property was seized by the sultan, and dis; Abdallah had never seen my face; the
tributed among the favourites. The new soldiers reported me dead, and he was glad
capitan pacha who succeeded my brother was when he heard of it, for it was only to please
called Abdallah, and was said to be an excel- his wife that he had promised to bring me
lent soldier. Part of my brother's property back. He walked up to where I lay, and
was made over to him, and among the rest was, even in my miserable situation, ena-
the Georgian slave who had been the ruin of moured with my beauty. His heart acknow-
my brother, and had so fatally destroyed my ledged that I was the most valuable of all his
happiness. ‘fo show me every attention and plunder, Every care and attention was be-
fespect, the sultan had ordered Abdallah in stowed upon me ; and after several hours’ hait,
person to escort me to my own country, with to allow me to refresh myself, I was placed in
a picked body of cavalry. The cavalcade a small litter, and our journey recommenced.
was magnificent ; treasure had been heaped He was studious to obtain my favour : at first
on treasure, present upon present ; twenty I spurned him ; but when he told me that the
women of my own country, and numerous Georgian slave had instigated him to the deed,
slaves, had been permitted to attend upon and had insisted that he should bring me
me, and the procession wore the appearance back, I well knew for what purpose, and
of a pageant. I ascended my litter with an thought only of revenge. I feigned to be less
aching heart; and, journeying by €asy stages, averse to him, and before our journey was
arrived at the land of my nativity. ‘The bor- over, had used all my powers of fascination
ders were passed, and Abdallah requested me with triumphant success, At last our wearied
to write an acknowledgment that he had done horses arrived at Stamboul, and after waiting
- his duty, which the sultan would require of in the suburbs till the evening closed in, that
him upon his return. I gave him the paper, the cavalcade might not attract attention, it
and, professing many wishes for my future proceeded to the house of Abdallah, and I
happiness, he assembled his troops, and the was once more in the precincts of a harem.
escort turned the heads of their neighing The Georgian slave hastened to meet me
steeds towards the city where my heart had when she was informed of our arrival, and
truly been left behind. taking off her slipper, shé struck me contempt:
It will now be necessary to revert to the uously on the mouth, with such force as to
Georgian slave who had been presented to cause the blood to flow. ‘Now, sultana,’
my brother by the sultan, and had alterwards cried she, ‘the day is mine; again shall you

14950 THE PACHA OF
receive the bastinado ; ay, and again shall the
bowstring be applied to your proud neck, and
more effectually than before.’ She then or-
dered her slaves to strip me, and put on the
‘meanest attire. When that was done, she
spat in my face, and left me without speak-
ing ; but the flashing of her eyes gave evi-
dence ofthe fiery passions which were raging
in her bosom.

In the mean time Abdallah had proceeded
to the palace, to present to the sultan the
document proving my safe arrival; and
having so done, he hastened back to his own
house. As soon as he entered the harem, in-
stead of visiting the Georgian slave, who had
arrayed herself for his reception, he inquired
of the astonished women in which chamber I
had been accommodated. ‘They hesitatingly
replied, pointing it out to him. He entered,
and found me clothed in a slave’s dress, with
my face covered with blood. When I stated
‘the treatment I had received, and the further
threat of the bastinado and the bowstring, his
tage was beyond all bounds. Ordering all
the women to attend me, he quitted me, that
I might resume my own dress, intimating that
‘he hoped that I would allow him to sup with
me that evening. My desire for revenge in-
duced me to grant his request, and he quitted
the harem to look after the treasure of which I
had been robbed.

In the meantime, the other women had
communicated to the Georgian slave all that
had occurred, and she was frantic at the infor-
mation. Fearful of her, I kept my door fast
until the arrival of Abdallah, who sent to in-
quire whether I would receive him. He was
admitted, and again expressed his indignation
at the conduct of my rival, offering, asa proof
of his attachment, to abandon her to my re-
sentment. I had no time for reply before the
door was burst open, the Georgian flew in
and aimed her dagger at my heart. Abdal-
lah had sufficient time to ward the blow, and
as the weapon passed through his left arm.
with his right hand he dashed her on the floor.
Pale with rage and pain, he called his people.

“She threatened you, Zara, with the bastinado
and the bowstring. She has sealed her own
doom.’

By his orders her slippers were torn off, and
she received fifty blows of the bastinado ;
then, as she screamed with pain and held up
her hands for mercy, the mutes were sum-
moned, and the bowstring was applied. My
revenge was more than satiated, and I cov-
ered up my eyes that I might not be a witness
to the dreadful spectacle. When I removed

my hands, I found Abdallah only in the apart-
ment, and my rival lying a blackened corpse
upon the floor.

For three years I remained in the harem of

   

    
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 

MANY TALES,

Abdallah ; and, if not happy, was resigned to
my fate. He was devotedly attached to me,
and, if I could not return his love, I was not
deficient in gratitude. At last a second war
broke out between the Turks and Russians,
and Abdallah was ordered to put himself at
the head of his troops, and drive the invaders
back to their regions of frost and snow. As
was the custom with Turkish commanders, all
his harem accompanied him, and after travel-
ling about from one territory to another,
someétimesin pursuit of, and at others retreat-
ing before the enemy’s. forces, we were shut
up in the fortress of Ismael, with orders to de-
fend it to the last.

I shall not weary your highness with a de-
tail of what occurred. I shall only say, that
after the town had been nearly reduced to
ashes by the shells and shot, which had set
fire to it at least one hundred times, it was
taken by storm, with immense slaughter,
We sat in our apariments, listening with
terror to the alternate shouting and  shriek-
ing, the noise of the bursting of the shells,
the whizzing of the balls, the cries of the
wounded, and the terrific roaring of the flames,
which were now consuming the whole town in
their fury. At last ourdoors were burst open,
and the enemy entered. We screamed, and
would have fled, but in vain. What became
of the rest I know not, but I was dragged over
the dead and the dying, through smoke and
through flame, until I fainted away with ter-
ror and exhaustion.

When I recovered, I found myselfin a hut,
lying on a small bed, and attended by two
bearded monsters, whom I afterwards discov-
ered were Cossacks. ‘They were chafing my
limbs with their rough hands, without the
least regard for decorum. As soon as I
opened my eyes, one of them poured a little
spirits down my throat, and wrapping me up
in a horse-cloth, they left me to meditate upon
my misfortunes.

I discovered that evening that I had, by the
fortune of war, become the property of a. Rus-
sian general, who had no time for making
love. With him it was all ready made as a
matter of course. Still he was a handsome
man, and when not tipsy, was good-humoured
and generous ; but the bivouacs, even of a
general, were very different from the luxuries
to which I had been accustomed. I lived
badly, and was housed worse. It so unfor-
tunately happened, that my protector was a
great gambler, as indeed are all Russians;
and one morning, to my surprise, a hand-
some young officer came into the tent, and
the general very unceremoniously handed me
over to him. My beauty had been made
known in the camp, and the Russian general,

having the night before lost all his money,had staked me for one thousand sequins, and
had lost. My new master was a careless,
handsonie youth, a colonel in the army; I
could have loved him, but I had not time;
for I had not been in his tent more than three
weeks, before I was again gambled away, and
lost toa major. I had hardly time to make
myself comfortable in my new abode, when I
was staked and lost again. In short your
highness, in that campaign I was the property
of between forty and fifty Russian officers ;
and what with the fatigue of marching, the
badness of provisions, and my constant un-
settled state of mind and body, I lost much of
my good looks—so much, indeed, that I
found out that, instead of being taken as a
stake of one thousand sequins, I was not
valued at more than two hundred. I can
assure your highness that it is no joke to go
through a Russian camp in that way—to be
handed about like a purse of money, out of
one man’s pocket into another's, I assure
you, that before the campaign was over, I had
had quite enough of the Russians, and only
wished that the Turkish army might rout
them, and I could find myself once more in a
harem. It was then that I first lamented
over my hard fate, and that of the sultan. It
was then that I first used the expression, when
I thought of my condition, and that I said to
myself, ‘ The time has been.’

At last the army was ordered to march
back, and being then the property of a Cos-
sack, he put me on a pony, and made me
keep up with the squadron, driving me before
him with his long spear, sometimes sticking
the point into the rear of the pony, and some-
times into me, by way of a joke. But I had
not been more than ten days on the retreat,
before he sold me, pony, bridle, saddle, alto-
gether, as a bargain, to an infantry officer,
‘who as soon as he had taken possession, mace
me dismount, while he got in the saddle,
desiring me to lay hold of the pony’s tail and
follow him, When they halted he made me
wait upon him, and do everything which he
required. In the morning he mounted again,
and I had to walk after him, as before. ‘This
was hard service for one who had been the
favourite of the sultan. For a week I con-
trived to hobble after him, but it was im-
possible to goon any longer. We _ passed
through a town, and as-soon as we were Clear
of the gates, and he did not watch me, I let
go the tail of the pony, and escaped without
his perceiving it. I regained the town, and
faint with hunger and fatigue, sat at the steps
of alargehouse. A lady, dressed in rich furs
and sables, came out, and perceiving that my
‘dress was foreign, stopped, and inquired of
me who I was. I told her in a few words ;
she ordered me to be received and taken eare

PHE PACHA OF MANY TALES, | I5I

 
   
    
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
     

2

of. A few days afterwards she sent for me,
and I then narrated to her my history. She
was kind and generous, and I became her
head attendant ; I was contented and happy,
and hoped to die in her service. But my
misfortunes were not half over. My mistress
was a lady of rank, and much esteemed. Het
house was always full of company; she wad
rich, and gave most splendid entertainments.
Her husband had been dead ‘about two years,
but she was still very young, and exceedingly
beautiful. One evening, when there was a
large party assembled in her rooms, the door
was opened, and an officer came up to her
and whispered in her ear. She ‘coloured,
trembled, and said that she would be ready
in an hour. I was’near her at the time; she
beckoned to me, hastened to her room, anc
burst into a flood of tears.

“T am ordered to Petersburgh immediately,
on a charge of treason.. My conscience tells
me that I have done nothing ; but, alas! for
me, the emperor has no mercy, Ekaterina,’
for that was the name I went by, ‘will you
accompany me ?P—it will be a long and a’ me-:
lancholy journey. God knows how ‘it ‘may
end.’

I immediately consented, packed up what
we required, and without disturbing those
who were enjoying themselves, we gained the
courtyard, and took our seats in a britska, in
company with the officer. In four days we
arrived at Petersburgh, and my mistress was
separated from me and thrown into prison.
She never saw her accusers or her judges; her
memorial to the emperor was disregarded,
and she was condemned ; but her punishment
was not immediately decided upon.

For three weeks my mistress remained in
prison. I was, by the humanity of the officer
who had the charge of her, allowed to visit’
her for a few minutes every day ; but it was
always in the presence of a third person. One’
morning when I came, the poor lady fell upon
my neck and sobbed a long while without
speaking ; the countenance of the officer was
zdso melancholy to a degree, and I perceived
that a tear occasionally trickled down his
manly cheek. : :

© Bkaterina,’ said she at last, ‘I have heard:
my sentence, and am to be punished to-
morrow. O God! forgive them their cruelty
and injustice,’ and she sank from my arms
upon the floor of the dungeon.

We raised her, and she recovered a little.
‘Yes, Ekaterina, 1 am to be punished to-
motrow for a crime of which I am innocent
—a punishment—God have mercy !—worse
than death. ‘The knout—1fie knout—and
that attended with public exposure in the
market-place. May God forgive the emperor
his cruelty ! :1e2

I had heard of this dreadful punishment,
but little thought that women suffered by it.
Tt was too barbarous.

‘I have not heard of it,’ said the pacha.
‘Tell me, old woman, is it worse than the
bastinado ?’ es

“Yes, your highness, It is a whip of enor-
mous power, so that if the executioner has a
private order, he can kill the party on whom
it is inflicted by two or three blows; but your
highness will better comprehend the nature
of the punishment when IJ describe what I
witnessed. ,

My dear mistress begged me, as a favour,
that I would attend her to the place of exe-
cution, and I consented. Poor creature ! she,
as well as {I, had but an imperfect idea of
what she was to endure. ‘The punishment
was to be inflicted in the great square, and
the troops were out, and a large concourse of
people were assémbled. She appeared on
the raised platform upon which she was io
suffer, in a genteel undress, which contributed
still more to heighten her extreme beauty.
The sweetness of her countenance obtained
for her the commiseration of those who were
ordered and accustomed to execute the will
of the despotic and cruel emperor. Young,
lively, and admired, sought for and caressed
by everybody, high in rank, and rich in
worldly wealth, she stood, no longer sur-
rounded by the attentions and homage due to
her talents, her beauty, and her wit, but sur-
rounded only by stern executioners.

She, looked at them with astonishment,
seeming to doubt if such preparations could
be intended for her. One of the executioners
then, pulled off a kind of furred tippet which
covered her bosom ; her modesty taking the
alarm, made her start back a few steps ; she
turned pale, and burst into tears. Her clothes
were soon afterwards all stripped off, and in
a few. moments she was all naked to the waist,
exposed to the looks of a vast multitude, who
were all profoundly silent. One of the exe-
¢utioners then seized her by both hands, and
turning half round, threw her on his back,
bending forwards, so as to raise her feet a
few inches from the ground, and the other
executioner, with ‘his rough hands, and with-
out symptoms of remorse, adjusted her on the
back of his companion in a posture most con-
venient for her to receive her punishment.
Sometimes he pressed his jarge hands brutally
upon her head, in order to make her keep it
down: at others, like a butcher handling a
lamb, he appeared to soothe her until he had
fixed her in a favourable attitude. He then
took the knout, a whip made of a long strip
of leather, prepared for the purpose ; he re-

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES,

 

    
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 

 

treated a few steps, measuring the requisite
distance with a steady eye, and looking back-
wards, gave a stroke with the end of the whip,
so as to carry away a slip of skin from the
neck to the bottom of the back; then striking
his feet against the ground, he took his aim
for a second blow, parallel to the former, so
that in a few moments all the skin of her
back was cut away in small slips, most of
which remained hanging to her shift and dress
below. I fainted with horror long before the
punishment was over.

‘Good heavens!’ thought I, ‘I have suf
fered the bastinado and the bowstring, but
both were merciful compared to this. Is
there no God in Heaven to punish such de-
spotic cruelty ?’

My mistress was not dead, and the sur-
geons were ordered to pay her every atten-
tion, that she might recover ; and I thought
this attention on the part of the emperor in
some measure made amends for his barbarity.
But, God in Heaven ! she was restored to life
that she might be more cruelly punished ; for
no sooner was she able to bear this infliction,
than they cut out her tongue, and then ban-
ished her to Siberia.

Thus, O pacha! was my beautiful mistress
treated upon mere suspicion, for guilty she
never was. I had been permitted to see her
previous to her latter punishment, and she
fancied, poor thing, that the emperor's wrath
had been appeased, and that she would have
been permitted to return home; but her
tongue was cut out without her receiving any
warning of the second punishment which
awaited her, and after that I was refused ad-
mittance, and I never saw my beautiful and
ill-treated mistress any more.

It was from the officer who had the charge
of her that I learnt this cruel intelligence, and
I went back to my lodgings with a heart
bursting with grief and indignation.

I was resolved that, if possible, I would
escape from a country where women’s tongues
were cut out ; but how to manage it I knew
not. I had still some money and valuables,
which had been left in my possession by my
unfortunate mistress, and I made inquiry
about the means of proceeding to Constanti-
nople, where at least I should be in a civilized
country.

At last a Jew, who heard that I wished to
go to the southward, offered to’ take me with
him as soon as the snow was on the ground,
for which I bargained to pay five hundred
roubles, In a fortnight the winter had set
in, and we got into a droski, and went away.

We arrived at Moscow, and from thence
we at last gained Constantinople. On my
arrival I selected my luggage, that I might
pay the sum agreed; but it was snatched fromTHE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

me by the old rascal, who saluted me with a tells me that he will raise himself upon your
kick in the body which half-killed me. Iwas fall. Pacha, beware!’ :
locked up in a room, and in half-an hour a _ < Hag of Jehanum,’ exclaimed Mustapha,
slave-merchant came, and I was sold for a rising from his seat.

low sum and taken away, remonstrating in . The old woman held up her finger, and
vain against the injustice. My beauty was walked out of the divan.

now gone, I was more than thirty years old, The pacha looked suspiciously at Mustapha,
and hardship had done the rest. for he was of a suspicious nature; and Musta-

My subsequent life has been nothing but a pha looked anything but innocent.

Series of changes and disasters. 1 was sold to ‘Doth my lord give ear toa lying tongue of
a. pastrycook, and broiled by standing over the an old woman?’ said Mustapha, prostrating
oven. I grew obstinate and was punished by himself. ‘Hath not your slave proved him-
blows, but for those I'cared not. The pastry self faithful? Am not I as dust in thy pre-
was burnt, and I was resold to a barber, sence? Take my life, O pacha! but doubt
whose wife was a shrew, and half-killed. me ; not the fidelity of thv slave?

fortunately the barber was accused of shaving The pacha seemed pacified. .

a criminal, who had escaped from. prison, ‘ What is all this but bosh—nothing ?’ said
and one morning was stretched out before he, rising and quitting the apartment.

his own door, with his head under his arm. ‘Bosh!’ muttered Mustapha. ‘The cursed
His wife and I were both sold again as slaves. old hag! I know better—there is no time to

Thus did I go downhill each year, fetching lose—I must be quick. When will that rene-

less and less, and receiving worse treatment, gade return from Stamboul? it is time.’

until I was embarked with several others by And Mustapha, with a gloomy countenance,
an Armenian, who was bound to Smyrna. quitted the divan.
‘The vessel was captured by an Algerine pirate,

and for a long while I was kept on board to ———
cook their victuals. At last she was wrecked
on this coast ; how I escaped I know not, for CHAPTER, X Xi.

I was weary of life. But I was thrown up,
and made my way to this place, where I have ALTHOUCH the pacha, with the usual diplo-
for many years lived in company with an old macy of a Turk, had, so far from expressing
wretch like myself, supplicating alms. He his displeasure against Mustapha, treated him
died about a year ago, and left me in the with more than usual urbanity, he had not
hovel by myself. I still beg for my subsis- forgotten the advice of the old woman. Sus-
tence ; and now, pacha, you have my story, picion, once raised, was not to be allayed, and
and I think’ you will acknowledge that Imay he had consulted with his favourite wife,
well say that ‘ Zzme has been.’ Fatima. A woman is a good adviser on cases

of this description.

The only danger which could threaten the
‘It is your kismet, your destiny, good pacha was from the imperial court at Stam-
woman. ‘There is but one God, and Maho- boul, for the troops were cevoted to him, and
met is his Prophet,’ observed the pacha, ‘You the people of the country had no very serious

are dismissed.’ cause of complaint, s
‘And the gold, your highness,’ whispered By the advice of the favourite, the pacha.
Mustapha. sent as a present to Mustapha, a young and'

‘Let her retain it. Has she not been a handsome Greek girl; but she was a spy in
sultana ?’ observed the pacha, with some ap- the service of the favourite, and had been in-
pearance of feeling. formed that the vizier had been doomed.

The old woman’s ears were keen, she had She was to discover, if she could, whether
heard the question of Mustapha, and she there was any intercourse between the rene-
easily imagined the rest ; and she had heard gade, who commanded the fleet, and the
the reply of the pacha. vizier, as from that quarter alone danger

‘And now, pacha, before I quit your‘pre- could be anticipated. The Greek had not
sence, as I have enjoyed your bounty, I will, been a week in the harem of Mustapha, be-
with your permission, offer you a piece of ad- fore she ascertained more than was sufficient.
vice, which, from my knowledge of the world The fleet had been sent to Constantinople,
and of people’s countenances, may be of no with presents to the sultan from the pacha,
small service to you. Is it permitted, O and its return was hourly expected.
pacha ?’ it was on the afternoon of this eventful day

‘Speak,’ replied the pacha, that the fleet hove in sight, and lay becalmed

“Then, pacha, beware of that man whosits a few miles in the offing. Mustapha has-
beside you ; for there is that in his face which tened to report it to'the pacha, as he sat184

in his divan, hearing complaints and giving
judgment, although not justice. Now when
the pacha heard that the fleet had re-
turned, his heart misgave him, and the more
so, as Mustapha was more obsequious and
fawning than ever. He retired for a short
time from the divan, and hastened to his
favourite, Fatima.

‘Pacha,’ said she, ‘the flect has arrived,
and Mustapha’ has already communicated
with the renegade. Depend upon it you are
lost, if you do not forestall them. Lose no
time. “But stop,’ said she, ‘do not alarm the
renegade by Violence to Mustapha. ‘To-mor-
row the fleet will anchor, and if there is mis-
chief, it will not arrive’ until to-morrow ; but
this evening, you will as usual send for coffee,
while you smoke and listen to the tales which
you delight in. Drink not your coffee, for
there shall be death in it. Be all smiles and
good-humour,and leave meto manage therest.’

The pacha smoothed his brow and returned
to the divan. Business proceeded as usual,
and at length the audience was closed. ‘The
pacha appeared to be in high good-humour,
and so was the vizier.

‘Surely,’ said Mustapha, when the pipes
were brought, ‘his imperial highness, the sul-
tan, will have sent you some mark of his dis-
‘tinguished favour.’

“God is great, and the sultan is wise,’
replied the pacha. ‘I have been thinking so
too, Mustapha. Who knows but that he may
add to the territory under my sway by another
pachalik ?”

‘T dreamt as much,’ replied Mustapha,
‘and I am anxious that the renegade should
come on shore; but it is now dark, and he
will not leave his vessel.’

“We must drive away the mists of suspense
by the sunbeams of hope,’ replied the pacha.
‘What am I but the sultan’s slave? Shall
we not indulge this evening in the water of
the Giaour ?’

‘What saith Hafiz? It is for wine to exalt
men, and raise them beyond uncertainty and
doubt. It overfloweth us with courage, and
imparts visions ‘of bliss.’

*Wallah thaib ! it is well said, Mustapha,’
said the pacha, taking a cup of coffee, pre-
sented by the Greek slave. Mustapha also
received his cup. ‘My heart is light this
evening,’ said the pacha, laying down his
pipe, ‘let us drink deep of the forbidden
juice. Where is it, Mustapha ?

“It is here,’ replied the vizier, drinking off
his coffee, while the pacha watched him from
the corner of his small gray eye. And
Mustapha produced the spirits, which were
behind the low ottoman upon which he was

seated.

 

 
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

The pacha put aside his coffee, and drank
a large draught. ‘God is great! Drink,
Mustapha,’ said he, handing him the bottle.

Mustapha followed the example of the
pacha. ‘May it please your highness,’ said
Mustapha, ‘I have without aman, who th
say hath stories to recount more delightful
than those of Menouni. Hearing that he
passed through this city, I have detained him,
that he might afford amusement to your high-
ness, whose slave 1 am. Is it your pleasure
that he be admitted ?’

‘Tuet it be so,’ replied the pacha.

Mustapha gave the sign, and to the sur-
prise of the pacha, in came the renegade
commander of the fleet, accompanied by
guards aud the well known-officer of the
caliph, the capidjz bachi, whe held. up a fir-
man to his forehead.

The pacha turned pale, for he knew that
his hour was come. ‘Bismillah! In the
name of the Most High, O officer, whom
seekest thou?’ exclaimed the pacha with
emotion.

“The sultan, the Lord of Life, has sent
this to you, O pacha! as a proof of his indul-
gence and great mercy.’. And the capidji
bachi produced a silken bowstring, and at the
same time he handed the fatal scroll to the
pacha.

‘Mustapha,’ whispered the pacha, * while
Y read this, collect my guards; I will resist.
{ fear not the sultan at this distance, and I can
soften him by presents.’

But Mustapha had no such fellow-feeling.
©O pacha!’ replied he, ‘ who can dispute the
will of heaven’s vice-gerent? There is but one
God, and Mahomet is his Prophet.’

‘T will dispute it,’ exclaimed the pacha.
‘Go out and call my trustiest guards.’

Mustapha left the divan, and returned with
the mutes and some of the guards who had
been suborned by himself.

‘Traitor !’ exclaimed the pacha.

‘La Allah, il Allah! there is but one God,’
said Mustapha.

The pacha saw that he was sacrificed. He
read the firman, pressed it to his forehead, in
token of obedience, and prepared for death.
The capidji bachi produced another firman,
and presented it to Mustapha. It was to raise
him to the pachalik.

*Barik Allah! praise be to God for all
things,’ humbly observed Mustapha. * What
am I but the sultan’s slave, and to execute
his orders? On my head be it !’

Mustapha gave the sign, and the mutes
seized the unfortunate pacha.

‘There is but one God, and Mahomet is his
Prophet,’ said the pacha. ‘ Mustapha,’ con-
tinued he, turning round to him with a sardo-nic smile, ‘may your shadow never be less—
but you have swallowed the coffee.’

The mutes tightened the string. In a
minute a cloak was thrown over the body of
the pacha.

‘The coffee,’ muttered Mustapha, as he
heard the pacha’s last words. ‘I thought it
had a taste. Now he’s sent to Jehanum for
his treachery.’ And all the visions of power
and grandeur, which had filled the mind of
the new pacha, were absorbed by fear and
dismay.

The capidji bachi, having performed his
duty, withdrew. ‘And now,’ exclaimed the
renegade, ‘let me have my promised re-
ward.’

‘Your reward—true. I had forgotten,’ re-
plied Mustapha, as the pain occasioned by
the working of the poison distorted his face.
‘Yes, I had forgotten,’ continued Mustapha,
who, certain that his own end was approach-
ing, was furious as a wild beast, with painand

 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  

THE PACHA OF MANY TALES, Iss

baffled ambition. ‘ Yes, I had forgotten.
Guards, seize the renegade.’

‘They must be quicker than you think for,’
replied Huckaback, darting from the guards
and drawing his scimitar, while, with his
fingers in his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle.
In rushed a large body of the soldiers and
sailors of the fleet, and the guards were dis-
armed. ‘ Now, pacha of one hour old, what
sayest thou ?’

‘It is my destiny,’ replied Mustapha, rolling
on the floor in agony. ‘There is but one
God, and Mahomet is his Prophet.’ And
Mustapha expired.

“The old fool has saved me some trouble,’
observed the renegade. ‘Take away these car-
casses, and proclaim Ali as the new pacha.’

‘Thas perished the two barbers, and thus
did Huckaback, under the name of Ali, reign
in their stead. But his reign, and how long
it lasted, is one of the many tales not handed
down to posterity.

THE END.

 

BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY»[IN Se ARCH OF Al EA rane

BY
CAPTAIN MARRVAT

AUTHOR OF “PRTER STEELE?

AUTHOR’S COPYRIGHT EDITION

LONDON
GEORGE ROUDEE DCE & SONS

THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREETLONDON;

WV.MAN-AND SONS, PRINTERS, GREAT QUEEN STREST,

LINCOLN’S-INN FIELDS, W.C.JAPHET, IN: SEARCH OF: A PATHER:

Crit Te hak. we.

Like most ¢ther Children, who should be my Godfather is decided by Mammon—So precocious as te
make some Noise in the World, and be Hung a few Days after I was born—-Cut down in Time,
and produce a Scene of Bloodshed—My early Propensities fully developed by the Choice of my

Profession.

THOSE who may be pleased to’ honour these
pages with a perusal, will not be detained
with a long introductory history of my birth,
parentage, and education. The very title im-
plies that, at this period of my memoirs, I was
ignorant of the two first ; and it will be neces-
sary for the due development of my narrative
that I allow them ‘to remain in the same state
of bliss; for in the pérusal-of a tale, as well
as in the pilgrimage of life, ignorance of the
future may truly be considered as the greatest
source of Happiness. The little that was
known of meat this time I will however nar-
Yat€ as concisely, and as correctly, as I am
able. It was on the , L really forget the
date, and must rise from my chair, look for a
key, open a closet, and then open an iron safe
to hunt over a pile of papers—it will détain
you too long—it will be sufficient to’ say that
it was on @ night ; but whether the night was
dark or moonlit, or rainy or foggy, or cloudy
or fine, or starlight, I really cannot tell ; but
it is of no very great consequence. Well, it
was on a night about the hour ——, there
again I’m puzzled : it might have been‘ten,
or eleven, or twelve, or between any of these
hours ; nay, it might have been past mid-
night, and far advancing to the morning, for
what I know to the contrary. ‘The reader
must excuse an infant of , there again I
am at a nonplus; but we will assume of some
days old—if, when wrapped up in flannel and
in a covered basket, and, moreover, fast asleep
at the time, he does not exactly observe the
state of the weather, and time by the church-

 

 

clock. I never before was aware of the great :

1s now too late to recover these facts, which
have been swept away into oblivion by the
broad wing of Time. 1 must theréforé just
tell the little IT do know, trtsting to the
reader's good nature, and. to blanks, It is as
follows :—that, at the hour of the night
, the state of the weather béing also :
I, an infant of a certain ase ——, was sus-
pended by somebody or somebodies —— at
the knocker of the _Foundling Hospital.
Having made me fast, the said somebody
or somebodies rang a peal upon the bell
which made the old porter Start up in so
great a hurry, that with the back of his hand
he hit his better-half a blow on the nose,
occasioning a great suffusion of blood from
that organ, and a still greater pouring. forth
of invectives from the organ immediately
below it.

All this having been effected by the said
peal on the bell, the said somebody or some-
bodies did incontinently take to their heels,
and disappear long before the old porter
could pull his legs through his nether gar
ments and obey the rude summons. At last
the old man swung open the gate and the
Basket swung across his nose; he went in
again for a knife, and, cut me down,—for it
was cruel to hang a baby of a few days, old, —
carried me into the lodge, lighted a candle,
and opened the basket. .Thus did 1 meta-
phorically first come to light,

When he opened the basket I pened, my
eyes, and although I did not observe it, the
old woman was standing at the table in
very light attire, sponging her nose over a

 

 

 

 

importance of dates in telling a story; but it 3 basin.

BZ“Verily, a pretty babe with black-eyes!”’
exclaimed the old man in a tremulous voice.

‘Black eyes, indeed,” muttered the old
woman ; ‘‘I shall have two to-morrow.”

‘‘ Beautiful black eyes, indeed!” continued
the old man.

‘*Terrible black eyes, for sartain,’’ continued
the old woman, as she sponged away.

** Poor thing, it must be cold,” murmured
the old porter.

‘Warrant I catch my death a-cold,”” mut-
tered the wife.

‘« But, dear me, here’sa
the old man.

“Vinegar and brown paper!” echoed
the old woman.

‘“‘ Addressed to the governors of the hos-
pital,’’ continued the porter.

‘‘ Apply to the dispenser of the hospital,”
continued his wife.

** And sealed,’’ said he.

**Get it healed,” said she.

“The linen is good ; it must be the child
of no poor people. Who knows?” solilo-
quized the old man.

‘‘ My poor nose!” exclaimed the old wo-
man.

‘*T must take it to the nurses, and the
letter I will give to-morrow,” said the old
porter, winding up his portion of this double
soliloquy, and tottering away with the basket
and your humble seryant across the court-
yard,

“There, it will do now,” said the old wife,
wiping her face on a towel, and regaining
her bed, in which she was soon joined by her
husband, and they finished their nap without
any further interruption during that night.

The next morning I was reported and ex-
amined, and the letter addressed to the go-
vernors was opened and read. It was laconic,
but still, as most things laconic are, very
much to the point.

*“This child was born in wedlock—he is to
be named Japhet. When circumstances per-
mit, he will be reclaimed.”

But there was a postscript by Abraham
Newland, Esq., promising to pay the bearer,
on demand, the sum of fifty pounds. In
plainer terms, there was a bank-note to that
amount inclosed in the letter. As in general
the parties who suspend children in baskets
have long before suspended cash payments,
or at all events forget to suspend them with
the baskets, my arrival created no little noise,
to which I added my share, until I obtained
a share of the breast of a young woman, who,
like Charity, suckled two or three babies at
one time.

We have preparatory schools all over the
kingdom ; for young gentlemen, from three
to five years of age, under ladies, and from
four to seven, under either, or both sexes, as
it may happen ; but the most preparatory of
all preparatory schools is certainly the Found-

paper !’’ exclaimed

SAPHE LT INGSHARCH Of A HATE K.

  

   
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
    
   
  
 

 

ling Hospital, which takes in its pupils, if
they are sent, from one to three days old, or
even hours, ifthe parents are in such extreme
anxiety about their education. Here it com-
mences with their weaning, when they are
instructed in the mystery of devouring pap ;
next, they are taught to walk—and as soon
as they can walk—to sit still; to talk—and
as soon as they can talk—to hold their
tongues : thus are they instructed and passed
on from one part of the establishment to
another, until they finally are passed out of
its gates, to get on in the world, with the ad-
vantages of some education, and the still
further advantage of having no father or
mother to provide for, or relatives to pester
them with their necessities. It was so with
me: I arrived at the age of fourteen, and
notwithstanding the promise contained in the
letter, it appeared that circumstances did zoz
permit of my being reclaimed. But I had
a great advantage over the gather inmates of
the hospital ; the fifty pounds sent with me
were not added to the funds of the establish-
ment, but generously employed for my bene-
fit by the governors, who were pleased with
my conduct, and thought highly of my abili-
ties. Instead of being bound 'prentice to a
cordwainer, or some other mechanic, by the
influence of the governors, added to the fifty
pounds and interest, as a premium, I was
taken by an apothecary, who engaged to
bring me up to the profession. And now
that I am out of the Foundling, we must not
travel quite so fast.

The practitioner who thus took me by the
hand was a Mr. Phineas Cophagus, whose
house was most conveniently situated for
business, one side of the shop looking upon
Smithfield Market, the other presenting a
surface of glass to the principal street lead-
ing out of the same market. It was a corner
house, but not nN a corner. On each side of
the shop were two gin establishments, and
next to them were two public-houses, and
then two eating-houses, frequented by gra-
ziers, butchers, and drovers. Did the men
drink so much as to quarrel in their cups,
who was so handy to plaster up the broken
heads as Mr. Cophagus? Dida fat grazier
eat himself into an apoplexy, how very con-
venient was the ready lancet of Mr. Copha-
gus. Dida bull gorea man, Mr. Cophagus
appeared with his diachylon and lint. Did
an ox frighten a lady, it was in the back par-
lour of Mr. Cophagus that she was recovered
from her syncope. Market days were a sure
market to my master; and if an over-driven
beast knocked down others, it only helped to
set him on his legs. Our window suffered
occasionally; but whether it were broken
heads, or broken limbs, or broken windows,
they were well paid for. Every one suffered
but Mr. Phineas Cophagus, who never suf-
fered a patient to escape him, The shop hadbottles: and in hot weather, from our vicinity,

we were visited by no small proportion of
We had a white horse in

blue-bottle flies.
one window, and a brown horse in the other,
to announce to the drovers that we supplied
horse-medicines.
medicines in the known world, even to the
“ all-sufficient medicine for mankind” of Mr.
Enouy ; having which, I wondered, on my
first arrival, why we troubled ourselves about
any others. The shop was large, and at the
back part there was a most capacious iron
mortar, with a pestle to correspond. ‘The
first floor was tenanted by Mr. Cophagus,
who was a bachelor; the second floor was
let; the others were appropriated to the
housekeeper, and to those who formed the
establishment. In this well-situated tene-
ment, Mr. Cophagus got on swimmingly. I
will, therefore, for the present, sink the shop,
that my master may rise in the estimation of
the reader, when I describe his person and
his qualifications.
Mr. Phineas Cophagus might have been
, about forty-five years of age when I first had
| the honour of an introduction to him in the
| Teceiving-room of the Foundling Hospital.
_ He was of the middle height, his face was
thin, his nose very much hooked, his eyes
|Small and peering, with a good-humoured
_ twinkle in them, his mouth large, and drawn
_down at one corner. ~ He was stout in his
body, and carried a considerable protuber-
ance before him, which he was in the habit
of patting with his left hand very compla-
cently ; but although stout in his body, his
legs were mere spindles, so that, in his ap-
“pearance, he reminded you of some bird of
the crane genus. Indeed, I may say, that
his whole figure gave you just such an im-
pression as an orange might do, had it taken
to itself a couple of pieces of tobacco-pipes as
vehicles of locomotion. He was dressed in
a black coat and waistcoat, white cravat and
high collar to his shirt, blue cotton net pan-
taloons and Hessian boots, both fitting so
tight, that it appeared as if he was proud‘of
his spindle shanks. His hat was _ broad-
brimmed and low, and he carried a stout
black cane with a gold top in his right hand,
almost always raising the gold top to his nose
when he spoke, just as we see doctors repre-
sented at a consultation in the caricature
prints. But if his figure was strange, his
language and manners were still more so.
He spoke, as some birds fly, in jerks, inter-
mixing his words, for he never completed a
whole sentence, with «—wm—and ending
it with ‘‘ so on,” leaving his hearers to supply
the context from the heads of his discourse.
Almost always in motion, he generally
changed his position as soon as he had
finished speaking, walking to any other part
of the room, with his cane to his nose, and

And we had all the patent

 

  
    
  
 
   
  
   
   
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA THER. 5

the usual allowance of green, yellow, and blue

his head cocked on one side, with a self-sufii-
cient tiptoe-gait. When I was ushered into
his presence, he was standing with two of the
governors. ‘‘ This is the lad,’ said one of
them, “‘his name is Faphet.”

“Japhet,” replied Mr. Cophagus ; ‘‘ um,
scriptural—Shem, Ham, xzs—and so on.
Boy reads ?”’

“Very well, and writes a very good hand.
He is a very good boy, Mr. Cophagus.”’

‘‘ Read—write—spell—good, and so on.
Bring him up —rudiments—spatula—write
labels—um—M.D. one of these days—make
aman of him—and so on,” said this strange
personage, walking round and round me
with his cane to his nose, and scrutinizing
my person with his twinkling eyes. I was
dismissed after this examination and ap-
proval, and the next day, dressed in a plain
suit of clothes, was delivered by the porter at
the shop of Mr. Phineas Cophagus, who was
not at home when I arrived.

CHAPTER II.

Like all Tyros, I find the Rudiments of Learning
extremely difficult and laborious, but advance so
rapidly that I can do without my Master.

A TALL, fresh-coloured, but hectic-looking
young man, stood behind the counter, making
up prescriptions, and a dirty lad, about thir-
teen years old, was standing near with his
basket to deliver the medicines to the several
addresses, as soon as they were ready. The
young man behind the counter, whose name
was Brookes, was within eighteen months of
serving his time, when his friends intended
to establish him on his own account, and this
was the reason which induced Mr. Cophagus
to take me that I might learn the business,
and supply his place when he left. Mr.
Brookes was a very quiet, amiable person,
kind to me and the other boy who carried out
the medicines, and who had been taken by
Mr. Cophagus, for his food and raiment.
The porter told Mr. Brookes who I was, and
leftme. ‘‘Do you think that you will like
to be an apothecary?” said Mr. Brookes to
me, with a benevolent smile.

“Yes; I do not see why I should not,”
replied I.

“‘Stop a moment,” said the lad who was
waiting with the basket, looking archly at
me, ‘‘you hay'n't got through your rud7mans

ei

‘ ‘“Hold your tongue, Timothy,” said Mr.
Brookes. ‘‘That you are not very fond of
the rudiments, as Mr. Cophagus calls them,6 FAPHET, LN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

« Not overmuch,” replied 1, wiping my face.

“That was my job before you came.
have been more than a year, and never have
got out of those rudimans yet, and I suppose
I never shall.”

Mr. Brookes, perceiving that I was tired,
all the directions, and all your Latin stuff desired me to leave off,—an order which I
into the bargain—all your summen dusses, gladly obeyed, and I took my seat in a
horez, diez, cockly hairy. JI mean to set up corner of the shop. :
for myself one of these days.” “There,” said Timothy, laying down his

‘“T’ll knock you down one of these days, basket ; ‘‘no more work for me hanty pran-
Mr. Timothy, if you stay so long as you do, dium, is theré, Mr. Brookes?” __ :
looking at the print-shops,—that you may “No, Tim; but post prandium, you il
depend upon.” post off again.”

“J keep up all my leaming that way,” Dinner being ready, and Mr. Cophagus
replied Timothy, walking off with his load, having returned, he and Mr. Brookes went
turning his head round and laughing at me into the back parlour, léaving Timothy and
as he quitted the shop. Mr. Brookes smiled, mein the shop to announce customers. And
but said nothing. I shall take this opportunity of introducing

As Timothy went out, in came Mr. Copha- Mr. Timothy more particularly, as he will
sts, beh Japhet —f see,’ said he, play avery conspicuous part in this narrative.
putting up his cane, ‘‘ nothing to do--bad— ‘Timothy was short in stature for his age, but
must work—um—and so on. Mr. Brookes very strongly built. He had an oval face,
—boy learn rudiments—good—and so on.” with a very dark complexion, grey eyes
Hereupon Mr. Cophagus took his cane from flashing from under their long eyelashes, and
his nose, pointed to the large iron mortar, eyebrows nearly meeting each other. He
and then walked away into the back parlour. was marked with the small-pox, not so much
Mr. Brookes understood his master, if I did as to disfigure him, but still it was very per-
not. He wiped out the mortar, threw in ceptible when near to him. His countenance
some drugs, and, showing me how to use the was always lighted up with merriment ; there
pestle, left me to my work. In half an hour was such a happy, devil-may-care expression
I discovered why it was that, Timothy had in_his face, that you liked him the first
such an objection to what Mr. Cophagus minute that you were in his company, and I
facetiously termed the rudiments of the pro- was intimate with him immediately.
fession. It was dreadfully hard work for a “T say, Japhet,” said he, “‘ where did you
boy ; the perspiration ran down me in come from?”
streams, and I could hardly lift my arms. ‘‘The Foundling,” replied I.

When Mr. Cophagus passed through the ‘Then you have no friends or relations?”
shop and looked at me as I continued to ‘Tf | have, I do not know where to find
thump away with the heavy iron pestle, them,”’ replied I, very gravely.
‘“Good,” said he ; by-and-by M.D.—and so “Pooh! don’t be grave upon it. I
on.” I thought it was a very rough road to haven't any either. I was brought up by the
such preferment, and I stopped to take a parish, in the workhouse. I was found at
little breath. | ‘' By the bye—Japhet—Chris- the door of a gentleman’s house, who sent
tian name—and so on—surname—heh?”’ me to the overseers. I was about a year

‘Mr, Cophagus wishes to know your other old then. They call me a foundling, but I
name,” said Mr. Brookes, interpreting. don’t care what they call me, so long as they

I have omitted to acquaint the reader that don’t call me too late for dinner. Father
surnames as well as Christian names are and mother, whoever they were, when they
always given to the children at the Found- ran away from me, didn’t run away with my
ling, and in consequence of the bank-note appetite. I wonder how long master means
found in my basket, I had been named after to play with his knife and fork? As for Mr.
the celebrated personage whose signature it Brookes, what he eats wouldn't physic a

is very clear. Now walk off as fast as you
can with these medicines, sir—14, Spring
Street; 16, Cleaver Street, as before ; and
then to John Street, 55, Mrs. Smith's. Do
you understand?”

“To be sure I do—can't I read? I reads

 

 

 

pore. ‘‘ Newland is my other name, sir,” snipe. What's your other name, Japhet ?”’
replied I. “ Newland.”
‘“Newland—heh! Very good name— ‘‘Newland? Now you shall have mine in

everybody likes to see that name—and have exchange ; Timothy Oldmixon, at your ser-
plenty of them in his pockets too—um-—very vice. ‘They christened me after the work-
comfortable—and so on,” replied Mr. Copha- house pump, which had ‘Timothy Oldmixon,
gus, leaving the shop. fecit,’ on it ; and the overseers thought it as

T resumed my thumping occupation, when good a name to give me as any other; so I
Timothy returned with his empty basket. He was christened after the pump-maker with
laughed when he saw me at work. “ Well, some of the pump-water. AS soon as I was
how do you like the rudimans—and so on— big enough, they employed me to pump all
heh?” said he, mimicking Mr. Cophagus. the water for the use of the workhouse. 1FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 7

worked at my Papa, as I called the pump, all dance. I made up the pills, but he weighed
day long. _Few sons worked their father out the quantities in the prescriptions : ie
more, or disliked him so much ; and now, therefore, any one came in for medicines, ]

Japhet, you see, from habit, I’m pumping desired them to wait the return of Mr,
you

i Brookes, who would be in very soon. One
“You'll soon pump dry, then, for I’ve day when Mr. Brookes was out, and I was
very little to tell you,” replied I; “but tell sitting behind the counter, Timothy sitting
me what sort of a person is our master.” on it and swinging his legs to and fro, both

“He's just what you see him, never alters, lamenting that we had no pocket-money,
hardly ever out of humour, and when he is, Timothy said, ‘‘ Japhet, I’ve been puzzling
he is just as odd as ever. He very often my brains how we can get some money, and
threatens me, but I have never had a blow I’ve hit it at last. Let youand I turn doctors :
yet, although Mr. Brookes has complained we won’t send all the people away who come
once or twice.” when Mr. Brookes is out, but we'll physic

‘ But surely Mr. Brookes is not cross >” them ourselves.”

“No, he is a very good gentleman ; but I jumped at the idea, and he had hardly
sometimes I carry on my rigs a little too far, proposed it, when an old woman came in,
I must say that. For, as Mr. Brookes says, and addressing Timothy, said, ‘‘ That she
people may die for want of the medicines, be- wanted something for her poor grandchild’s
cause I put down my basket to play. It’s sore throat.”
very true; but I can’t give up “peg in the ‘“‘I-don't mix up the medicines, ma’am,”’
ring’ on that account. But then I only get replied Timothy ; ‘‘ you must, apply to that
a box of the ear from Mr. Brookes, and that gentleman, Mr, Newland, who is behind the
goes for nothing. Mr. Cophagus shakes his counter—he understands what is good for
stick and says, ‘Bad boy—big stick—a72— everybody's complaints.”
won't forget—next time—and so on,’ ’’ con- “Bless his handsome face—and so young
tinued Timothy, laughing; ‘‘.and it is so oz too! Why, be you a doctor, sir?”
to the end of the chapter.” “‘T should hope so,” replied I ; what is it

By this time Mr. Cophagus and his as- you require—a lotion or an embrocation 2”
sistant had finished their dinner, and came “‘T don’t understand those hard words, but
into the shop. The former looked at me, I want some doctor's stuff.”
put his stick to his nose, ‘! Little boys— “Very well, my. good woman; I know
always hungry—um—like good dinner—roast what is proper,” replied I, assuming an im-
beef— Yorkshire pudding—and'so on.” And portant air. ‘‘ Here, Timothy, wash out this
he pointed with the stick to the back parlour. vial very clean.”
Timothy and 1 understood him very well this ‘\ Yes,. sir,’ replied Timothy, yery respect-
time : we went into the parlour, when the fully. :

housekeeper sat down with us and helped us, I took one of the measures, and putting in
She was a terribly cross littleold woman, but 4 little green, a little blue, and. a little white
as honest as she was cross, which is all that liquid from the medicine bottles generally
I shall say in her favour. Timothy was no used by Mr. Brookes, filled it up with water,
favourite because he had such a good appe- poured the mixture into the vial, corked and
tite; ‘and it appeared that I was not very labelled it, hawstus statim sumendus, and
likely to stand well in her good opinion, for handed it over the counter to the old woman.
I also ate a great deal, and every extra ‘Is the poor child to take it, or is it to
mouthful I took I sank in her estimation, till rub outside ?”’ inquired the old woman.

I was nearly at the zero where Timothy had ‘The directions are on the label: —but
long been for the same offence ; but Mr. you don’t read Latin? ;

Cophagus would not allow her to stint him, ‘““Deary me, no! Latin! and do you un-
saying, “Little boys must eat—or won't derstand Latin? what a nice clever boy ! :
grow—and so on.” ““T should not be a good doctor if I did

I soon found out that we were not only not,” replied I. On second thoughts I con-
well fed, but in every other point well treated, sidered it advisable and safer that the appli-
and I was very conifortable and happy. Mr. cation should be exdernal, sol translated the
Brookes instructed me in the art of labelling label to her—Hawstus, rub it in—sta¢im, on
and tying-up, and in a very short time I was the throat—samendus, with the palm of the
very expert ; and, as Timothy predicted, the hand.”

Tudiments were once more handed over to ~ “ Deary me! and does it mean all that?

him. Mr. Cophagus supplied me with good How much have I to pay, sir?” a

clothes, but never gave me any pocket-money, ““Embrocation is a very dear medicine,

and Timothy and I often lamented that we my good woman : it ought to be eighteen

had not even a halfpenny to spend. pence, but as you are a poor woman, I shall
Before I had been many months in the only charge you ninepence.”’

shop, Mr. Brookes was able to leave when “I'm sure I thank you kindly,”

replied
any exigence required his immediate atten- the old woman, putti

ng down the money, and8 WAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

wishing me a good morning as she left the
shop.

“Bravo !’’ cried Timothy, rubbing his
hands ; ‘‘it’s halves, Japhet,—is it not ?”

“Ves,” I replied; ‘‘but first we must be
honest, and not cheat Mr. Cophagus ; .the
vial is sold, you know, for one penny, and 1
suppose the stuff I have taken is not worth
a penny more. Now if we put aside two-
pence for Mr. Cophagus, we don’t cheat him,
or steal his property ; the other sevenpence is
of course our own—being the /rofits of the
profession.”

“But how shall we account for receiving
the twopence ?”’ said Timothy.

‘Selling two vials instead of one: they
are never reckoned, you know.”

“That will do capitally,” cried Timothy ;
‘Cand now for halves.’’ But this could not
be managed until Timothy had run out and
changed the sixpence ; we then each had our
threepence halfpenny, and for once in our
lives could say that we had money in our
pockets.

CHAPTER III.

I perform a wonderful Cure upon St. John Long’s
Principle, having little or no Principle of my own
—I begin to puzzle my Head with a Problem, of
all others the most difficult to solve.

THE success of our first attempt encouraged
us to proceed ; but afraid that I might do
some mischief, I asked of Mr. Brookes the
nature and qualities of the various medicines,
as he was mixing the prescriptions, that I
might avoid taking any of those which were
poisonous. Mr. Brookes, pleased with my
continual inquiries, gave me all the informa-
tion I could desire, and thus I gained, not
only a great deal of information, but also a
great deal of credit with Mr. Cophagus, to
whom Mr. Brookes had made known my
diligence and thirst for knowledge.
‘“Good—very good,’’ said Mr. Cophagus ;
‘fine boy—learns his business—M.D. one
of these days—ride in his coach—um, and
so on.” Nevertheless at my second attempt
I made an awkward mistake, which very near
led to detection. An Irish labourer, more
than half tipsy, came in one evening, and
asked whether we had such a thing as was
called ‘‘a poor man's plaster.” ‘‘ By the
powers, it will be a poor man’s plaster when
it belongs to me; but they tell me that it is
a sure and sartain cure for the thumbago, as
they call it, which I’ve at the small of my
back, and which is a hinder to my mounting

up the ladder; so, as it’s Saturday night,
and I've just got the money, I'll buy the
plaster first, and then try what a little whisky
inside will do ; the devil's in it if it won't be
driven out of me between the two.”

We had not that plaster in the shop, but
we had blister plaster, and Timothy handing
one to me, I profferedittohim. ‘‘ And what
may you be after asking for this same? ” in-
quired he.

The blister plasters were sold at a shilling
each, when spread on paper, so I asked him
eighteen pence, that we might pocket the
extra sixpence.

“ By the powers, one would think that you
had made a mistake, and handed me the
rich man’s plaster instead of the poor one’s.
It’s less whisky I’ll have to drink, anyhow ,
but here’s the money, and the top of the
morning to ye, seeing as how it’s jist getting
ale

Timothy and I laughed as we divided the
sixpence. It appeared that, after taking his
allowance of whisky, the poor fellow fixed
the plaster on his back when he went to bed,
and the next morning found himself in a con-
dition not to be envied. It was a week be-
fore we saw him again, and much to the
horror of Timothy and myself he walked into
the shop when Mr. Brookes was employed
behind the counter. ‘Timothy perceived him
before he saw us, and pulling me behind the
large mortar, we contrived to make our es-
cape into the back parlour, the door of which *
we held ajar, to hear what would take place.

“ Murder and turf!” cried the man; ‘‘ but
that was the devil’s own plaster that you gave
me here for my back, and it left me as raw
as a turnip, taking every bit of my skin off me
entirely, fore-bye my lying in bed for a whole
week and losing my day’s work.”

‘“‘T really do not recollect supplying you
with a plaster, my good man,” replied Mr.
Brookes.

at

‘“Then, by the piper that played before |

Moses, if you don’t recollect it, I’ve an idea
that I shall never forget it. Sure enough it
cured me, but wasn't I quite kilt before I
was cured ?”’

‘Tt must have been some other shop,” ob-
served Mr. Brookes. ‘‘You have made a
mistake.”

‘‘Devil a bit of mistake, except in selling

me the plaster. Didn’t I get it of a lad in
this same shop?”

“Nobody sells things out of this shop |

without my knowledge.”’

The Irishman was puzzled; he looked
round the shop. ‘‘ Well, then, if this a’n't
the shop, it was own sister to it.”’

‘Timothy,’ called Mr. Brookes.

‘‘And sure enough there was a Timothy
in the other shop, for I heard the boy call the
other by the name; however, it’s no matter,
if it took off the skin, it also took away thethumbago ; so the morning to you, Mr. Pot-
tykary.”’

When the Irishman departed, we made our
appearance. ‘‘ Japhet, did you sell a plaster
to an Irishman?”

““Yes—don’t you recollect, last Saturday ?
and I gave you the shilling.”

“Very true; but what did he ask for?”

“ He asked for a plaster, but he was very
tipsy. I showed him a blister, and he took
it.” And then I looked at Timothy, and
laughed.

“You must not play such tricks,” said Mr.
Brookes. ‘‘I see what you have been about
—it was a joke to you, but not to him.’’

Mr. Brookes, who imagined we had sold
it to the Irishman out of fun, then gave
uS a very severe lecture, and threatened to
acquaint Mr. Cophagus if ever we played
such tricks again. Thus the affair blew over,
and it made me. very careful; and, as every
day I knew more about medicines, I was
soon able to mix them, so as to be of service
to those who applied, and before eighteen
months had expired, I was trusted with the
mixing up of all the prescriptions. At the
end of that period Mr. Brookes left us, and
I took the whole of his department upon
myself, giving great satisfaction to Mr. Co-
phagus.

And now that I have announced my pro-
motion, it will perhaps be as well that I give
the reader some idea of my personal appear-
ance, upon which I have hitherto been silent.
{ was thin, between fifteen and sixteen years
old, very tall for my age, and of my figure
I had no reason to be ashamed; a large
beaming eye, with a slightly aquiline nose, a
high forehead, fair in complexion, but with
very dark hair. I was always what may be
termed a remarkably clean-looking boy, from
the peculiarity of my skin and complexion ;
my teeth were small, but were transparent,
and I had a very deep dimple in my chin.
Like_all embryo apothecaries, I carried in
my appearance, if not the look of wisdom,
most certainly that of self-sufficiency, which
does equally well with the world in general.
My forehead was smooth, and very white,
and my dark locks were combed back syste-
matically, and with a regularity that said, as
plainly as hair could do, ‘‘ The owner of this

does everything by prescription, measure-
ment, and rule.” With my long fingers I
folded up the little packets, with an air as
thoughtful and imposing as that of a minister
who has just presented a protocol as inter-
minable as unintelligible; and the look of
solemn sagacity with which I poured out the
contents of one vial inte the other, would
have well become the king’s physician, when
he watched the ‘‘ Lord’s anointed” zz arti-
culo mortis.

As I followed up my saturnine avocation,
I generally had an open book on the counter

 

  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA LEE EERE. 9

beside me; not a marble-covered dirty
volume, from the Minerva press, or a half-
bound, half-guinea’s worth of fashionable
trash, but a good, honest, heavy-looking,
wisdom-implying book, horribly stuffed with
epithet of drug; a book in which Latin
words were redundant, and here and there
were to be observed the crabbed characters
of Greek. Altogether, with my book and
my look, I cut such a truly medical appear-
ance, that even the most guarded would not
have hesitated to allow me the sole conduct
of a whitlow, from inflammation to suppu-
ration, and from suppuration to cure, or have
refused to have confided to me the entire
suppression of a gumboil. Such were my
personal qualifications at the time that I was
raised to the important office of dispenser of,
I may say, life and death.

It will not surprise the reader when I tell
him that I was much noticed by those who
came to consult, or talk with, Mr. Cophagus.
‘A very fine-looking lad that, Mr. Copha-
gus, an acquaintance would say. ‘‘ Where
did you get him—who is his father?”

“Father!” Mr. Cophagus would reply,
when they had gained the back parlour, but
I could overhear him, ‘‘ father, um—can’t tell
— love —concealment—child born— Found-
ling Hospital—put out—and so on.”

This was constantly occurring, and the
constant occurrence made me often reflect
upon my condition, which otherwise I might,
from the happy and even tenor of my life,
have forgotten. When I retired to my bed
I would revolve in my mind all that I had
gained from the governors of the hospital
relative to myself.—The paper found in the
basket had been given to me. I was born
in wedlock—at least, so said that paper. The
sum left with me also proved that my parents
could not, at my birth, have been paupers.
The very peculiar circumstances attending
my case, only made me more anxious to
know my parentage. I was now old enough
to be aware of the value of birth, and I was
also just entering the age of romance, and
many were the strange and absurd reveries in
which I indulged. At one time I would
cherish the idea that I was of a noble, if not
princely birth, and frame reasons for con-
cealment. At others,—but it is useless to
repeat the absurdities and castle-buildings
which were generated in my brain from
mystery. My airy fabrics would at last
disappear, and leave me in all the misery of
doubt and abandoned hope. Mr. Cophagus,
when the question was sometimes put to him,
would say, ‘‘ Good boy—very good boy—
don’t want a father.” But he was wrong,—
I did want a father ; and eyery day the want
became more pressing, and I found myself
continually repeating the question, ‘‘ Who

7s my father 2?CHAPTER IV.

Very much puzzled with a new Patient ; neverthe-
less take my Degree at Fifteen as an M.D., and
what is still more acceptable, I pocket the I’ees.

THE departure of Mr. Brookes, of course,
rendered me more able to follow up with
‘Timothy my little professional attempts to
procure pocket-money ; but independent of
these pillages by the aid of pills, and making
drafts upon our master’s legitimate profits,
by the assistance of draughts from his shop,
accident shortly enabled me to raise the ways
and means in a more rapid manner. But of
this directly.

In the meantime I was fast gaining know-
ledge ; every evening I read surgical and
medical books, put into my hands by Mr.
Cophagus, who explained whenever I applied
to him, and I soon obtained a very fair
smattering of my profession. Healso taught
me how to bleed, by making me, in the first
instance, puncture very scientifically all the
larger veins of a cabbage-leaf, until, well
Satished with the delicacy of my hand, and
the precision of my eye, he wound up his
instructions by permitting me to breathe a
vein in his own arm.

“Well,” said Timothy, when he first saw
me practising, ‘I have often heard it said,
there’s no getting blood out of a turnip; but
it seems there is more chance with a cabbage.
[ tell you what, Japhet, you may try your
hand upon me as much as you please, for
twopence a go.”

{ consented to this arrangement, and by
dint of practising on Timothy over and over
again, | became quite perfect. I should here
observe, that my anxiety relative to my birth
increased every day, and that in one of the
books lent me by Mr. Cophagus, there was
a dissertation upon the human frame, sym-
pathies, antipathies, and also on those
features and peculiarities most likely to
descend from one generation to another. It
was there asserted that the ose was the facial
feature most likely to be transmitted from
father to son. As I before have mentioned,
my nose was rather aquiline ; and after I had
read this book, it was surprising with what
eagerness I examined the faces of those whom
I met ; and if I saw a nose upon any man’s
face at all resembling my own, I immediately
would wonder and surmise whether that
person could be my father. The constant
dwelling upon the subject at last created a
species of monomania, and a hundred times
a day I would mutter to myself, ‘‘ Who zs
my father?’ Indeed, the very bells, when
they rung a peal, seemed, as in the case of
Whittington, to chime the question, and at
last I talked so much on the subject to

Timothy, who was my &v%dus Achates, and

PAPAL LD TN eAR CT. OF Ai fl Dre RY

 
  
  
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
    
   
 

bosom friend, that I really believe, partial as
he was to me, he wished my father at the
devil.

Our shop was well appointed with all that
glare and glitter with which we decorate the
“house of call’ of disease and death. Being
situated in such a thoroughfare, passengers
would stop to look in, and ragged-vested,
and in other garments still more ragged, little
boys would stand to stare at the variety of
colours, and the ’pottecary gentleman, your
humble servant, who presided over so many
labelled-in-gold phalanxes which decorated
the sides of the shop.

Among ‘those who always stopped and
gazed as she passed by, which was generally
three or four times a day, was a well-dressed
female, apparently about forty years of age,
straight as an arrow, with an elasticity of
step, and a decision in her manner of walking,
which was almost masculine, although her
form, notwithstanding that it was tall and
thin, was extremely feminine and graceful.
Sometimes she would fix her eyes upon me,
and there was a wildness in her looks, which
certainly gave a painful impression, and at
the same time so fascinated me, that when
I met her gaze, the paper which contained
the powder remained unfolded, and the arm
which was pouring out the liquid suspended.

She was often remarked by Timothy, as
well as me; and we further observed, that
her step was not equal throughout the day.
In her latter peregrinations, towards the
evening, her gait was more vigorous, but
unequal, at the same time that her gaze was
more steadfast. She usually passed the shop
for the last time each day about five o'clock
in the afternoon.

One evening, after we had watched her
past, as we supposed, to return no more till
the ensuing morning,—for this peeping in,
on her part, had become an expected oc-
currence, and afforded much amusement to
‘Timothy, who designated her as the ‘‘mad
woman, —to our great surprise, and to the
alarm of Timothy, who sprang over the
counter, and took a position by my side, she
walked into the shop. Her eye appeared
wild, as usual, but I could not make out that
it was insanity. I recovered my _ self-pos-
session, and desired Timothy to hand the
lady a chair, begging to know in what way I
could be useful. Timothy walked round by
the end of the counter, pushed a chair near
to her, and then made a hasty retreat to his
former position. . She declined the chair
with a motion of her hand, in which there
was much dignity, as well as grace, and
placing upon the counter her hands, which
were small and beautifully white, she bent
forwards towards me, and said, in a sweet,
low voice, which actually startled me by its
depth of melody, ‘“I am very ill.”’

My astonishment increased. Why, I knowFAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

not, because the exceptions are certainly as
many as the general rule, we always form.an but not wishing tomake a confidante of her
estimate of the voice before we hear it, from I gently replied, as I used to do in the
the outward appearance of the speaker; and Foundling Hospital on Sunday morning—
when I looked up in her face, which wasnow ‘‘ My godfathers and godmothers in ‘my
exposed to the glare of the argandlamp, and baptism, ma’am.”

witnessed the cadaverous, pale, chalky ex- “My dear sir, I am very ill,” said she
pression on it, and the ecrow’s feet near the after a pause ; “‘ will you feel my pulse ?”
eyes, and wrinkles on her forehead, I should I touched her wrist, and looked at a hand
have sooner expected to haye heard a burst of that was worthy of being admired. ‘What
heavenly symphony from a thundercloud, a pity,’ thought I, ‘‘ that she should be old
than such music as issued from her parted lips. ugly, and half crazy }”

‘‘ Good heavens, madam !”’ said I, eagerly ‘Do you not think that this pulse of mine

BY

stirred up a host of annoying recollections ;

and respectfully, ‘‘ allow me to send for exhibits considerable nervous excitement? [I
Mr. Cophagus. i ‘ reckoned it this morning—it was at a hundred
‘“By no means,” replied she. ‘‘I come and twenty.”

to you. JI amaware,”’ continued she in an
under tone, ‘‘that you dispense medicines,
give advice, and receive money yourself.”

I felt very much agitated, and the blush of
detection mounted up to my forehead. Timo- land,” said she, laying down a guinea, ‘‘ and
thy who heard what she said, showed his if Iam not better, I will call again, or send
uneasiness in a variety of grotesque ways. for you. Good night.”

He drew up his legs alternately, as ifhe were | She walked out of the shop, leaving me in
dancing on hot plates ; he slapped his pockets, no small astonishment. What could she
grinned, clenched his fists, ground his teeth, mean? I was lost in reverie, when Timothy
and bit his lips till he made the blood come. returned. The guinea remained on the
At last he sidled up to me : ‘‘She has been counter.
peeping and screwing those eyes of hers into ‘I met her going home,’’said he. ‘‘ Bless
this shop for something. It's all up with me—a guinea—why, Japhet!” I recounted
both of us, unless you can buy her off.”’ all that had passed. ‘‘ Well, then, it has

““T have, madam,” said I, at last, ‘‘ ven- turned out well for us instead of ill, as I ex-
cured to prescribe in some trivial cases, and, pected.”
as you say, receive money when my master The zs reminded me that we shared pro-
is not here ; but I am intrusted with the till.” fits on these occasions, and I offered Timothy

“I know—I know—you need not fear me. his half; but Tim, with all his espreglerie,
You are toomodest. What I would request was not selfish, and he stoutly refused to
is, that you would prescribe for me, as I have take his share. He dubbed me an M.D., and
no great opinion of your master’s talents.” said I had beaten Mr. Cophagus already, for

‘* Tf you wishit, madam,” said I, bowing he had never taken a physician's fee.
respectfully. ‘“‘I cannot understand it, Timothy,” said

‘““You have camphor julep ready madeup, I, after a few minutes’ thought.
have you not ?”’ “Tecan,” replied Timothy. She has looked
‘* Yes, madam,” replied I. in at the window until she has fallen in love
‘Then do me the favour to send the boy with your handsome face; that’s it, depend
witha bottle to my house directly.” Ihanded uponit.” As I could find no other cause,
down the, bottle, she paid for it, and putting and Tim’s opinion was backed. by my own
it into Timothy's hands, desired him to take vanity, I imagined that such must be the case.
it to the direction which she gave him. Ti- ‘‘ Yes, ’tis so,” continued Timothy ; ‘‘as the
mothy put on his hat, cocked his eye at me, saying is, there’s money bid for you.”
and left us alone. ‘“T wish that it had not been by so ill-
‘““ What is your name?” said she, in the favoured a person, at all events, Tim,” replied
same melodious voice. ; ‘“I cannot return her affection.”
‘“ Japhet Newland, madam,” replied I. ‘“Never mind that, so long as you don’t
“‘Japhet—it is a good, a scriptural name,” return the money.”
said the lady, musing in half soliloquy. The next evening she made her appearance,
** Newland—that sounds of Mammon.” bought, as before, a bottle of camphor. julep
‘This mystery is unravelled,”’ thoughtI, —sent Timothy home with it, and asking my
andI was right in my conjectures. ‘‘Sheis advice, paid me another guinea.
some fanatical methodist ;’ but I looked at ‘“Reaily, madam,” said I, putting it back
her again, and her dress disclaimed theidea, towardsher, ‘‘ I am not entitled to it.
for in it there was much taste displayed. ‘*Yes, you are,” replied she. ‘‘ I know
‘“Who gave you that name?” said she, you have no friends, and I also know that
after a pause. you deserve them. You must purchase books,
The question was simple enough, but it you must study, or you never will bea great

*

‘* It certainly beats quick,” replied I, ‘ but
perhaps the camphor julep may prove bene-
ficial.”

‘“‘I thank you for your advice, Mr. New-i2

man.” She then sat down, entered into con-
versation, and I was struck with the fire and
vigour of the remarks, which were uttered
in such a melodious tone.

Her visits, during a month, were frequent,
and every time did she press upon me a fee.
Although not in love with her person, I cer-
tainly felt very grateful, and moreover was
charmed with the superiority of her mind. We
were now on the most friendly and confiding
terms. One evening she said to me, “ Japhet,
we have now been friends some time. Can I
trust you?”

‘With your life,
replied I.

““T believe it,” said she. ‘‘ Then can you
leave the shop and come to me to-morrow
evening?”

“Yes, if you will send your maid for me,
saying that you arenot well.”
““T will, at eight o'clock.

till to-morrow.”

if it were necessary,”

Farewell, then,

CHAPTER V.

My Vanity receives a desperate Wound, but my
Heart remains unscathed — An Anomaly in
Woman, one who despises Beauty.

THE next evening I left Timothy in charge,
and repaired to her house; it was very re-
spectable in outward appearance, as well as
its furniture. [ was, not, however, shown up
into the first-floor, but into the room below.

“ Miss Judd will come directly, sir,” said a
tall, meagre, puritanical-looking maid, shut-
ting the door upon me. Ina “few minutes,
during which my pulse beat quick (for I
could not but expect some disclosure ;
whether it was to be one of love or murder,
I hardly knew which), Miss Aramathea Judd,
for such was her Christian name, made her
appearance, -and sitting down on the sofa,
requested me to take a seat by her.

“Mr. Newland,’ said she, ‘‘I wish to—
and I think I can intrust you with a secret
most important to me. Why I am obliged to
do it, you will perfectly comprehend when
you have heard ay story. Tell me, are you
attached to me

This was a othe question to a forward
lad of sixteen. I took her by the hand, and
when I looked down on it, I felt as if I was.
I looked up into her facé, and felt that I was
not. And, as I now was close to her, I per-
ceived that she must have some aromatic
drug in her mouth, as it smelt strongly—this
gave me the supposition that the breath
which drew such melodious tones was not

equally sweet, and I felt a certain increased
degree of disgust.

     
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
    
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

‘‘T am very grateful, Miss Judd,” replied
I; ‘‘I hope I shall prove that I am attached
when you confide in me.

‘Swear then, by all that’s sacred, you will
not reveal what I do confide.”’

‘‘ By all that’s sacred, I will not,’ replied
I, kissing her hand with more fervour than I
expected from myself.

‘“Do me then the favour to excuse me one
minute.” She left the room, and in a very
short time, there returned, in the same dress,
and in every other point the same person,
but with a young and lively face of not more,
apparently, than twenty-two or twenty-three
years old. I started as if I had seen an ap-
parition. ‘‘ Yes,” said she, smiling, ‘‘ you
now see Aramathea Judd without disguise ;
and you are the first who has seen that face
for more than two years. Before I proceed
further, again I say, may I trust you—swear !”’

‘‘T do swear,” replied I, and took her hand
for the book, which this time I kissed with
pleasure, over and over again. Like a young
jackass as I was, I still retained her hand,
throwing as much persuasion as I possibly
could in my eyes. In fact, I did enough to
have softened the hearts of three bonnet-
makers. I began to feel most dreadfully in
love, and thought of marriage, and making
my fortune, and I don’t know what; but all
this was put an end to by one simple short
sentence, delivered in a very decided but soft
voice, “Japhet, don't be silly.”

I was crushed, and all my hopes crushed
with me. I dropped her hand, and sat like
a fool.

‘‘And now hear me. Jam, as you must
have already found out, an impostor; that
is, [am what is called a religious adventuress
—a new term, I grant, and perhaps only
applicable to a very few. My aunt was con-
sidered, by a certain sect, to be a great
prophetess, which I hardly need tell you was
all nonsense; nevertheless, there are hundreds
who believed in her, and do so now. Brought
up with my aunt, I soon found out what fools
and dupes may be made of mankind by
taking advantage of their credulity. She had
her religious inspirations, her trances, and

her convulsions, and I was always behind
the scenes ; she confided in me, and I may
say that I was her only confidante. You can-
not, therefore, wonder at my practising that
deceit to which I have been brought up from
almost my infancy. In person I am the exact
counterpart of what my aunt was at my age,
equally so in figure, although my figure is

now disguised to resemble that of a woman |

of her age. I often had dressed myselfin my
aunt's clothes, put on her cap and front, and
then the resemblance was very striking. My
aunt fell sick and died, but she promised the
disciples that she would re-appear to them,
and they believed her. I did not. She was
buried, and by many her return was anxiouslyexpected. It occurred to me about a week
afterwards that I might contrive to deceive
them. I dressed in my aunt’s clothes, I
painted and disguised my face as you have
seen, and the deception was complete, even
to myself, as I surveyed my countenance in
the glass. I boldly set off in the evening to

_ the tabernacle, which I knew they still fre-
quented—came into the midst of them, and
they fell down and worshipped me as a
prophetess risen from the dead; deceived,
indeed, by my appearance, but still more
deceived by their own ,credulity. For two
years I have been omnipotent with them ;
but there is one difficulty which shakes the
faith of the new converts, and new converts I
must have, Japhet, as the old ones die, or I
should not be able to fee my physician. It is
this ; by habit I can almost throw myself into
a stupor or a convulsion, but to do that
effectually, to be able to carry on the decep-
tion for so long a time, and to undergo the
severe fatigue attending such violent exertion,
it is necessary that I have recourse to stimu-
lants—do you understand ?”

‘“T do,” replied I; ‘‘I have more than
once thought you under the influence of
them towards the evening. I'm afraid that
you take more than is good for your health.”

“Not more than I require for what I have
to undergo to keep up the faith of my dis-
ciples ; but there are many who waver, some
who doubt, and I find that my movéments
are watched. I cannot trust the woman in
this house. I think she is a spy set upon
me, but I cannot remove her, as this house,
and all which it contains, are not mine, but
belong to the disciples in general. There is
another woman, not far off, who is my rival ;
she calls me an impostor, and says that she
is the true prophetess, and that I am not one.
This will be rather difficult for her to prove,”’
continued she, with a mocking smile. ‘‘ Be-
set as I am, I require your assistance ; for
you must be aware that it is rather discredit-
able to a prophetess, who has risen from the
dead, to be seen all day at the gin-shop ; yet
without stimulants now I could not exist.”’

‘« And how can I assist you?”

‘By sending me, as medicine, that which
I dare no longer procure in any other way,
and keeping the secret which I have im-
parted.”’

‘‘T will do both with pleasure ; but yet,”
said I, ‘‘is it not a pity, a thousand pities,
that one so young—and if you will allow me
to add, so lovely,—should give herself up to
ardent spirits ? Why,” continued I, taking
her small white hand, ‘‘why should you carry
on the deception : why sacrifice your health,
and I may say your happiness——’’ What
more I might have said I know not, probably
it might have been an offer of marriage, but
she cut me short.

““Why does everybody

 

sacrifice their

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

13

health, their happiness, their all, but for am-
bition and the love of power? It is true, as
long as this little beauty lasts, I might be
courted as a woman, but never should I be
worshipped as—I may say—a god. No, no,
there is something too delightful in that
adoration, something too pleasant in wit-
nessing a crowd cf fools stare, and men of
three times my age falling down and kissing
the hem of my garment. This is indeed
adoration ! the delight arising from it is so
great, that all other passions are crushed by
it—it absorbs all other feelings, and has
closed my heart even against love, Japhet.
I could not, I would not debase myself, sink
so low in my own estimation, as to allow so
paltry a passion to have dominion over me ;
and, indeed, now that I am so wedded to
stimulants, even if I were no longer a pro-
phetess, it never could.”

‘‘But is not intoxication one of the most
debasing of all habits ?.”’

‘“T grant you, in itself; but with me and
in my situation it is different. I fall to rise
again, and higher. I cannot be what I am
without I stimulate—I cannot stimulate with-
out stimulants, therefore it is but a means to
a great and glorious ambition.”

I had more conversation with her before I
left, but nothing appeared to move her reso-
lution, and I left her, lamenting, in the first
place, that she had abjured love, because,
notwithstanding the orris-root, which she
kept in her mouth to take away the smell of
the spirits, I found myself very much taken
with such beauty of person, combined with
so much vigour of mind ; and in the second,
that one so young should carry on a system
of deceit and self-destruction. When I rose
to go away, she put five guineas in my hand,
to enable me to purchase what she required.
‘““Add to this one small favour,” said I,
“« Aramathea,—allow me a kiss.”

‘‘A kiss,”” replied she, with scorn; ‘‘ no,
Japhet, look upon me, for it is the last time
you will behold my youth ! look upon me as
a sepulchre, fair without, but unsavoury and
rottenness within. -Let me do you a greater
kindness, let me awaken your dormant ener-
gies, and plant that ambition in your soul,
which may lead to all that is great and good
—a better path, and more worthy of a man
that the one which I have partly chosen, and
partly destiny has decided for me. Look
upon me as your friend, although perhaps,
you truly say, no friend unto myself. Fare-
well; remember that to-morrow you will
send the medicine which I require.”

I left her and returned home: it was late.
I went to bed, and having disclosed as much
to Timothy as I could safely venture to do,
I fell fast asleep, but her figure and her voice
haunted me in my dreams. At one time
she appeared before me in her painted, ena-
melled face, and then the mask fell off, and I14

fellat her feet to worship her extreme beauty ;
then her beauty would yanish, and she would
appear an image of loathsomeness and. de-
formity, and I felt suffocated with the atmo-
sphere impregnated with the smell of liquor,
I would wake and compose myself again,
glad to be rid of the horrid dream, but.again
would she appear, with a hydra’s tail, like Sin,
in Milton’s “ Paradise Lost,” wind herself
round me, her beautiful face gradually chang-
ing into that of a skeleton. I cried out with

terror, and woke to sleep no more,.and J

effectually cured by my dream of the penchant
which I felt towards Miss Aramathea Judd.

CHAPTER VI.

My Prescriptions very effective and palatable, but
f lose my Patient—The Feud equal to’ that of
the Montagues and the Capulets—Reésults’ dif.
ferent—Mercutio'comes off unhurt;

THE next day I sent Timothy to. purchase
some highly-rectified. white. brandy, which I
coloured with a blue tincture, and added to
it a.small proportion of the essence of cinna-
mon, to disguise the smell;.a*dozen large
vials, carefully tied up and sealed, were
despatched to her abode. . She now seldom
called unless it was early in the morning ; I
made repeated visits to her house to receive
money, but ne longer to make love, One day
I requested permission to be present at. their
meeting, and to this she gave immediate con-
sent ; indeed we) were on the most intimate
terms, and. when she perceived that I no
longer attempted. to play the fool, I was per.
mitted to remain for hours. with her in conver-
sation. She had, as she told me she intended,
re-enamelled and painted her face, but know-
ing what beauty was concealed underneath, I
no longer felt any disgust.

Timothy was. very much pleased at his
share of this arrangment, as he seldom
brought her the medicine without pocketing
half a crown.

For two or three months everything went
on, very satisfactorily; but one evening,
Timothy, who had been sent with the basket
of yials for Miss Judd’s assistance, returned
in great consternation, informing me that the
house was empty. He had inquired of the
neighbours, and from the accounts given,
which were very contradictory, it appeared
that the rival prophetess had marched up at
the head of her proselytes, the evening before,
had obtained entrance, and that a desperate
contention’ had. been. the result. That the
police had been called in, and all parties had

  

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

been lodged in the. watch-house ; that the
whole affair was being investigated by the
magistrates, and that it was said that Miss
Judd and all her coadjutors would be sent to
the Penitentiary, This was quite enough to
frighten two boys like us; for days after-
wards we trembled when people came into
the shop, expecting to be summoned and
imprisoned. Gradually, however, our fears
were dismissed ; but I never from that time
heard anything more of Miss Aramathea
udd.

After this affair, I adhered steadily to my
business, and profiting by the advice given
me by that young person, improved rapidly
in my profession, as well asin general know-
ledge ; but my thoughts, as usual, were upon
one'subject—my parentage, and the mystery
hanging oyer it. My eternal reveries became
at last so painful, that I had recourse to
treading to drive them away, and subscribing
to a good circulating-library, I was seldom
without a book in my hand. By this time I
had been nearly two years and a half with
Mr. Cophagus, when an adventure occurred
which I must attempt to describe with all the
dignity with which it ought to be invested.

This is a world of ambition, competition,
and rivalry... Nation rivals nation, and flies
to arms, cutting the throats of a few thou-
sands on)each side, till one finds that it has
the worst of it. Man rivals man, and hence
detraction, duels, and individual death. Wo-
man rivals woman, and hence loss of reputa-
tion and position in high, and loss. of hair
and fighting with pattens in low, life. Are
we ‘then to be surprised that this universal
passion, undeterred by the smell of drugs
and poisonous compound, should enter into
apothecaries’ shops? But two streets—two
very short streets—from our own, was situ-
ated the single-fronted shop of Mr. Ebenezer
Pleggit. Thank heaven, it was only, single-
fronted ; there, at least, we had the ascend-
ancy over them. Upon other points our
advantages were more equally balanced. Mr.
Pleggit had, two large coloured bottles in his
windows more than we had; but then we
had two horses, and he had only one. He
tied over the corks of his bottles with red-
coloured paper ; we covered up the lips of
our vials with delicate blue. It certainly was
the case—for though an enemy, I’ll do him
justice—that, after Mr. Brookes had left us,
Mr. Pleggit had two shopmen, and Mr,
Cophagus only one; but then that one was

Mr. Japhet Newland; besides, one of his
assistants had only one eye, the other squinted
horribly, so if we measured by eyes, I think
the advantage was actually on our side, and,
as fay as ornament went, most decidedly; for
who would not prefer putting on his chimney-
piece one handsome elegant vase, than two
damaged, ill-looking pieces of crockery? Mr.
Pleggit had certainly a gilt mortar and pestleover his door, which Mr, Cophagus had
omitted when he furnished. his shop ; but
then the mortar had a great crack down the
middle, and the pestle had: lost its knob.
And let me ask those who have been ac-

\ customed to handle it, what is a pestle with-

| out a knob? On the whole, I think, with

| the advantage of having two fronts, like

Janus, we certainly had the best of the com-
parison ; but I shall leave the impartial to
decide.

All I can say is, that the feuds of the rival
houses were most bitter—-the hate intense—
the mutual scorn unmeasurable. Did Mr.
Ebenezer Pleggit meet Mr. Phineas Cophagus
in the street, the former immediately began
to spit as if he had swallowed some of his
own vile adulterated drugs; and in rejoinder,
Mr. Cophagus immediately raised the cane
from his nose high above his forehead in so
threatening an attitude, as almost to warrant
the other swearing the peace against him,
muttering, ‘‘ Ugly puppy—knows nothing—
um—patients die—and so on.”

It may be well suposed that this spirit of
enmity extended through the lower branches
of the rival houses—the assistants and I were
at deadly feud ; and this feud was even more
deadly between the boys who carried out the
medicines, and whose baskets might, in some
measure, have been looked upon as the rival
ensigns of the parties, they themselves oc-
cupying the dangerous and honourable post
of standard-bearers.

Timothy, although the kindest- hearted

fellow in the world, was as good a hater as
Dr. Johnson himself could have wished to
meet with ; and when sometimes his basket
was not so well filled as usual, he would fill
it up with empty bottles below, rather than
that the credit of the house should be sus-
pected, and his deficiencies create a smile of
‘scorn in the mouth of his red-haired antago-
nist, when they happened to meet going their
rounds. As yet, no actual collision had
taken place betweén either the principals or
the subordinates of the hostile factions ; but
it was fated that this, state of quiescence
should no longer remain.

Homer has sung the battles of gods, demi-
gods, and heroes ; Milton the strife of angels.
swift has been great in his Battle of the
Books ; but I am not aware that the battle
of the vials has as yet been sung; and it
requires a greater genius than was to be
found in those who portrayed the conflicts of
heroes, demigods, gods, angels, or books, to
do adequate justice to the mortal strife which
took place between the lotions, potions,
draughts, pills, and embrocations. I must
tell the story as well as'I can, leaving it as an
outline for a future epic.

Burning with all the hate which infuriated
the breasts of the two houses of Capulet and
Montagu, hate each day increasing from

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  

)

years of ‘‘ biting thumbs” At éach other, dnd
yet no excuse’presenting itself for an affray,
‘Timothy Oldmixon*-for on such an occasion
it would be a sin to omit his whole designa-
tion—Timothy Oldmixon,’ T say, burning
with hate and eager with haste, turning a
corner of the street) with his basket well
filled with medicines hanging on hi§ left arm,
encountered, equally eager in his haste and
eagerly burning in his Haté, the red-haired
Mercury of Mr. Ebenézer Pleggit.. Great
was the concussion of the opposing baskéts,
dire was the crash of many of the vials, and
dreadful was the mingled odour of the abomi-
nations which escaped and poured through
the wicker interstices: Two ladies ftom
Billingsgate, who were near, indulging their
rhetorical powers, stopped short + two tom-
cats, who were on an adjacent roof, just
fixing their eyes of enmity, and about to fix
their claws, turned their eyes ‘to the scene
below ; two political antagonists stopped
their noisy arguments ; two dustmen ceased
to ring ‘their bells ;' and two little urchins,
eating cherries from the crowns of their hats,
lost Sight’ of their fruit, and’stood aghast
with fear. They met, and met with stich
violence, that they each rebounded many
paces ; but like stalwart knights, each képt
his basket and his feet. A’ few seconds to
recover breath; one withering, fiery look
from ‘Timothy, returned by his antagonist,
one flash of the memory in éach to tell them
that they each had the Zz on their side, and
“Take that !’' was roared by. Timothy,
planting a well-directed blow with his dexter
and dexterous hand upon the Sinister and
sinistrouS eye of his opponent. ‘Take
that !’” continued he, as his adversary reeled

“back; “take that, and be d—d to you, for

running against a pentleman /”

He of the rubicund hair had retreated,
because so violent was the blow, he could
not help so doing, and we must all yield to
fate. But it was not from fear, Seizing a
vile potation that was labelled ‘‘ To be taken
immediately,” and hurling it with demoniacal
force right on the chops of the courageous
Timothy, ‘‘ Take that!” cried hé with a ran-
eorous yell. This missile, well-directed as
the spears of Homer’s heroés, tame full upon
the bridge of Timothy's nose, and the fragile
glass shivering, inflicting divers wounds upon
his physiognomy, and at the same time
poured forth a dark burnt-sienna-coloured
balsam, to heal them, giving pain unutter-
able. . Timothy, disdaining to lament the
agony of his wounds, followed the example
of his antagonist, and hastily seizing a simi-
lar bottle of much larger dimensions, threw
it with such force, that it split between the
eyes of his opponent. Thus with these
dreadful weapons did they commence the
mortal strife.  ~

____The lovers of good order, or at least of fair16

play, gathered round the combatants, form-
ing an almost impregnable ring, yet of suffi-
cient dimensions to avoid the missiles, ‘(Go
wt, red-head!” “Bravo! white apron /”’
Tesounded on eyery side. Draughts now met
draughts in their passage through the circum-
ambient air, and exploded like shells over a
besieged town. Boluses were fired with the
precision of cannon-shot, pill-boxes were
thrown with such force that they burst like
grape and canister, while acids and alkalies
hissed, as they neutralized each other's
power, with all the venom of expiring snakes.
‘‘ Bravo! white apron!” ‘Red-head for
ever!’ resounded on every side as the con-
flict continued with unabated vigour. The
ammunition was fast expending on both
sides, when Mr. Ebenezer Pleggit, hearing
the noise, and perhaps smelling his own
drugs, was so unfortunately rash and so un-
wisely foolhardy as to break through the
sacred ring, advancing from behind with up-
lifted cane to fell the redoubtable Timothy,
when a mixture of his own, hurled by his
own red-haired champion, caught him in his
Open mouth, breaking against his only two
remaining front teeth, extracting them as
the discharged liquid ran down his throat,
and turning him as sick as a dog. He fell,
was taken away on a shutter, and it was
some days before he was again to be seen in
his shop, dispensing those medicines which,
on this fatal occasion, he would but too
gladly have dispensed with,

Reader, have you not elsewhere read in the
mortal fray between knights, when the casque
has been beaten off, the shield lost, and the
sword shivered, how they have resorted to
closer and more deadly strife with their
daggers raised on high? Thus it was with
Timothy : his means had failed, and disdain-
ing any longer to wage a distant combat, he
closed vigorously with his panting enemy,
overthrew him in the first struggle, seizing
from his basket the only weapons which
remained, one single vial, and one single box
of pills. As he sat upon his prostrate foe,
first he forced the box of pills into his gasping
mouth, and then with the lower end of the
vial he drove it down his throat, as a gunner
rams home the wad. and shot into a thirty-
two pound carronade. Choked with the
box, the fallen knight held up his hands for
quarter; but Timothy continued until the
end of the vial, breaking out the top and
bottom of the pasteboard receptacle, forty-
and-eight of antibilious pills rolled in haste
down Red-head’s ‘throat. Timothy then
seized his basket, and amid the shouts of
tnumph, walked away. His fallen-crested ad-
versary coughed up the remnants of the
pasteboard, once more breathed, and was
led disconsolate to the neighbouring pump ;
while Timothy regained our shop with his
blushing honours thick upon him,

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   

But I must drop the vein heroical. Mr. Co-

 

phagus, who was at home when Timothy |)

returned, was at first very much inclined to
be wroth at the loss of so much medicine ;
but when he heard the story, and the finale,
he was so pleased at Tim’s double victory
over Mr. Pleggit and his messenger, that he
actually put hand in his pocket, and pulled
out half a crown.

Mr. Pleggit, on the contrary, was anything
but pleased ; he went to a lawyer, and com-
menced an action for assault and battery, and
all the neighbourhood did nothing but talk
about the affray which had taken place,
and the action at law which it was said would
take placé in the ensuing term.

But with the exception of this fracas,
which ended in the action not holding good,
whereby the animosity was increased, I have
little to recount during the remainder of the
time I served under Mr. Cophagus. I had
been more than three years with him when
my confinement became insupportable. I
had but one idea, which performed an ever-
lasting cycle in my brain—Who was my
father? And I should have abandoned the’
profession to search the world in the hope of
finding my progenitor, had it not been that
I was without the means. Latterly, I had
hoarded up ali I could collect ; but the sum
was small, much too small for the proposed
expedition. I became melancholy, indiffe-
rent to the business, and slovenly in my ap-
pearance, when a circumstance occured which
put an end to my further dispensing medi-
cines, and left me a free agent,

CHAPTER VII.

Looking out for Business not exactly minding your
own Business—The Loss of the Scales occasions
the Loss of Place to Timothy and me, who, when
weighed in other Scales, were found Wanting—
We Bundle off with our Bundles on.

+

If happened one market-day that there.

Was an over-driven, infuriated beast, which
was making sad havoc. Crowds of people
were running* past our shop in one direction,
and the cries of ‘‘ Mad bull !’” were re-choed
in every quarter. Mr, Cophagus, who was
in the shop, and to whom, as I have before
observed, a mad bull was a source of great
profit, very naturally looked out of the shop
to ascertain whether the animal was near to
us. In most other countries, when people
hear of any danger, ‘they generally avoid it
by increasing their distance , but in England,

it istoo often the case that they are so fond of
that they run to the

indulging their curiosity,\
\

\ JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 7

\

danger. Mr. Cophagus, who perceived the
people Tunning one way, naturally supposed,
not being aware of the extreme proximity of
the animal, that the people were running to
see what was the matter, and turned his eyes
in that direction, walking out on the pave-
ment that he might have a fairer view. He
was just observing, ‘‘ Can't say—fear—um—
rascal Pleggit—close to him—get all the
custom — wounds — contusions — and fe
when the animal came suddenly round the
corner upon Mr. Cophagus, who had his eyes
the other way, and before he could escape,
tossed him through his own shop windows,
and landed him on the counter. Not satisfied
with this, the beast followed him into the shop.
Timothy and I pulled Mr. Cophagus over
towards us, and he dropped inside the counter
where we also crouched, frightened out of
our wits. To our great horror, the bull made
one or two attempts to leap the counter ; but
not succeeding, and being now attacked by
the dogs and butcher-boys, he charged at
them through the door, carrying away our
best scales on his horns as a trophy, as he
galloped out of the shop in pursuit of his
persecutors. When the shouts and _halloos
were at some littie distance, Timothy and I
raised our heads and looked round us; and
perceiving that all was safe, we proceeded to
help Mr. Cophagus, who remained on the
floor bleeding, and in a state of insensibility.
We carried him into the back parlour and laid
him on the sofa. 1 desired Timothy to run
for surgical aid as fast he could, while I
opened a vein; and in a few minutes he
returned with our opponent, Mr. Ebenezer
Pleggit. We stripped Mr. Cophagus, and
proceeded to examine him. ‘‘ Bad case this
—very had case, indeed, Mr. Newland—dis-
location of the os humeri—severe contusion
on the os frontis—and I’m very much afraid
there is some intercostal injury. Very sorry,
very sorry, indeed, for my brother Cophagus.”’
But Mr. Pleggit did not appear to be sorry ;
on the contrary, he appeared to perform his
surgical duties with the greatest glee.

We reduced the dislocation, and then car-
ried Mr. Cophagus up to his bed. Inan
hour he was sensible; and Mr. Pleggit took
his departure, shaking hands with Mr. Co-
phagus, and wishing him joy of his provi-
dential escape. ‘‘ Bad job, Japhet,’’ said
Mr. Cophagus to me.

‘«Very bad, indeed, sir; but it might have
been worse.”’

*« Worse—um—no, nothing ‘worse—not
possible.”

“Why, sir, you might have been killed.”

‘‘Pooh! didn’t mean that—mean Pleggit
—rascal—um—kill me if he can—shan't
though—soon get rid if him—and so on.”

‘“You will not require his further atten-
dance, now that your shoulder is reduced.
I can very well attend upon you.”

 

“‘Very true, Japhet ;—but won’t go—sure
of that—damned rascal—quite pleased—I
saw it—um—eyes twinkled—smile checked
—anc so on.”

That evening Mr. Pleggit called in, as
Mr. Cophagus said that he would, and the
latter showed a deal of impatience; but Mr.
Pleggit repeated his visits over and over again,
and I observed that Mr. Cophagus no longer
made any objection ; on the contrary, seemed
anxious for his coming, and still more so,
after he was convalescent, and able to sit at
his table. But the mystery was soon di-
vulged. It appeared that Mr. Cophagus,
although he was very glad that other people
should suffer from mad bulls, and come to
be cured, viewed the case in a very different
light when the bull thought proper to toss
him, and having now realized a comfortable
independence, he had resolved to retire from
business, and from a site attended with so
much danger. A hint of this escaping him
when Mr. Pleggit was attending him on the
third day after his accident, the latter, who
knew the value of the Zoca/e, also hinted that
if Mr. Cophagus was inclined so to do, that
he would be most happy to enter into an
arrangement with him. Self-interest will not
only change friendship into enmity, in this
rascally world, but also turn enmity into
friendship. All Mr. Pleggit’s enormities, and
all Mr. Cophagus’s shameful conduct, were
mutually forgotten. In less than ten minutes
it was ‘‘ My dear Mr. Pleggit, and so on,”
and ‘‘ My dear brother Cophagus.”

In three weeks everything had been ar-
ranged between them, and theshop, fixtures,
stock-in-trade, and goodwill, were all the
property of our ancient antagonist. But
although Mr. Pleggit could shake hands
with Mr. Cophagus for his fixtures and ood
wzll, yet as ‘Timothy and I were not included
in the good wzl/, neither were we included
among the fixtures, and Mr. Cophagus could
not, of course, interfere with Mr. Pleggit’s
private arrangements. He did all he could
do in the way of recommendation ; but Mr.
Pleggit had not forgotten my occasional
impertinences or the battle of the bottles. 1
really believe that. his 7/7 wz// against
Timothy was one reason for purchasing the

good will of Mr. Cophagus ; and we were
very gently told by Mr. Pleggit that he
would have no occasion for our services.

Mr. Cophagus offered to procure me
another situation as soon as he could, and at
the same time presented me with twenty
guineas as a proof of his regard and
appreciation of my conduct—but this sum
put in my hand decided me: I thanked him,
and told him I had other views at present,
but hoped he would let me know where l
might find him hereafter, as I should be glad
to see him again. He told me he would
leave his address for me at the Foundling

 

nacitey

we18

Hospital, and shaking me heartily by the
Litt hand, we parted. Timothy was then’ sum-

f | moned. Mr. Cophagus gave him five guineas,
and wished him good fortune.

‘‘ And now, Japhet, what are you about to
do?” said Timothy, as he descended into
the shop.

“To do,” replied I: “Tam about to leave
you, which is the only thing I am sorry for.
I am going, Timothy, in’ search of my
father.”

“ Well,” replied Timothy, ‘I feel as you
| do, Japhet, that it will be hard to part ; and
a there is another thing on my mind—which 1S,

I am very sorry that the bull did not break
the rudimans (pointing to the iron mortar and
pestle) ; had he had but half the spite T have
against it, he would not have left a piece as
big asa thimble. I’ve a great mind to have
a smack at it before I go.” ;

“You will only injure Mr. Cophagus, for
the mortar will not then be paid for,”’

“Very true ; and as he has just given me
five guineas, I will refrain from my just
indignation. But now, Japhet, let me speak
to you. I don’t know how you feel, but 1
I feel as if I could not part with you. I do
not want to go in search of my father par-
ticularly. They Say it’s a wise child that
knows its own father—but as there can be
no doubt of my other parent—if I can only
hit upon her, T have a strong inclination to
go in search of my mother, and if you like
my company, why I will go with you—always,
my dear Japhet,’’ continued Tim, “keeping
in my mind the great difference between a

: person who has been fee’d as an M.D., and
a lad who only catries out his prescrip-
tions.”’

‘Do you really mean to say, Tim, that you
will go with me?”

“Yes, to the end of thé world,
your companion, your friénd, and your ser-
vant, if you require it. I love you, Japhet,
and I will serve you faithfully.” ;

‘“ My dear Tim, I am delighted ; now I
am really happy : we will have but one purse,
and but one interest ; if I find good fortune,
you shall share it,”’

‘“And if you meet with ill-luck, I will
Share that too—so the affair is settled—and
as here comes Mr. Pleggit’s assistants, with
only one pair of eyes between them, the
sooner we pack up, the bettér,”’

In half an hour all was ready; a bundle
eath contained our wardrobes. We descended
from our attic, walked proudly through
the shop without making any observation or
taking any notice of our successors ; all the
notice taken was by Timothy, who turned
round and shook his fist at his old enemies,
the iron mortar and pestle ; and there we

Japhet, as

were standing on the pavement, with the
wide world before us, and quite undecided
which way we should go.

  

 
 
   
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
    
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
  

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A HATHER.

“Is it to be east, west, north, or south, }
Japhet ?”’ said Timothy.

“The wise men came from the easiall
replied TI.

“Then they must have travelled west, 7
said Tim's ‘‘let us show. our wisdom by &
doing the same.” ;

“ Agreed.”

Passing by a small shop, we purchased two
good sticks, as defenders as well as to hang}
our bundles on, and off we set upon our|}
pilgrimage.

CHAPTER. VIIf.

We takea Coach, but the Driver does not like his
Fare, and hits us foul—We change our Mode of
Travelling upon the Principle of Slow and Sure,
and fall in with a very learned Man,

TRAY

I BELIEVE it to be a ‘very general custom, | |
when people set off upon a journey, to reckon |
up their méans—that is, to count the money ||
which they may have in their pockets. Atall ||
events, this was done by Timothy and me,
and I found that my stock amounted to ||
twenty-two pounds eighteen shillings, and i]
Timothy’s to the five guineas presented by
Mr. Cophagus, and three half-pence which ||
were in the corner of his waistcoat pocket—
sum total, twenty-eight pounds three shillings
and three-halfpence: a very handsome sum,
as we thought, with which to commence our
peregrinations, and, as I observed to Timothy,
sufficient to last us for a considerable time if
husbanded with care.

 X€S, feplied he, * but we maust husband
our jegs also, Japhet, or we shall soon be
tired, and very SOON wear out our shoes, []
vote we take a hackney-coach,”’

‘Take a hackney-coach, Tim ! we mustn't
think of it; we cannot afford such a luxury ;
you can’t be tired yet, we are now only just
clear of Hyde Park Corner.”’

““Sull I think we had better take a coach,
Japhet, and here is one coming. I always do
take one when I carry out medicines, to make
up for the time I lose looking at the shops,
and playing peg in the ring.”

I now understood what Timothy meant,
which was, to get behihd and have a ride for
nothing. I consented to this arrangement,
and we got up behind one which was already
well filled inside. ‘'The only difference
between an inside and an outside passenger
in a hackney-coach is, that one pays, and the
other does not,’ said I, to Timothy, as we
rolled along at the act of parliament speed of
four miles per hour,““‘Vhat depends upon circumstances : if we
are found out, in all probability we shall not
only have our ride, but be fazd into the
bargain.”

‘‘ With the coachman’s whip, I presume?”

_‘‘ Exactly.” And Timothy had hardly
time to get the word out of his mouth, when
flac, flac, came the whip across our eyes—a
little envious wretch, with his shirt hanging
out of his trousers, having called out Cut be-
hind! Not wishing to have our faces, or our
behinds, cut any more, we hastily descended,
and reached the footpath, after having gained
about three miles on the road before we were
discovered.

“That wasn’t a bad lift, Japhet, and as for
the whip I never mind that, with corduroys.
And now, Japhet, I'll tell you something ; we
must get into a waggon, if we can find one
going down the road, as soon as it is dark.”

“« But that will-cost money, Tim.”

““Tt's economy, I tell you ; for a shilling, if
you bargain, you may ride the whole night,
and if we stop at a public-house to sleep, we
shall have to pay for our beds, as well as be
obliged to order something to eat, and pay
dearer for it than if we buy what we want at
cooks’ shops.’’

‘“ There is sense in what you say, Timothy ;
we will look out for a waggon.”’

‘Oh! it’s no use now—waggons are like
black-beetles, not only in shape but in habits ;
they only travel by night, at least most of
them do. We are now coming into long
dirty Brentford, and I don’t know how you
feel, Japhet, but I find that. walking wonder-
fully increases the appetite—that’s another
reason why you should not walk when you
can ride—for nothing.”

‘« Well, I’m rather hungry myself; and,
dear me, how very good that piece of roast
pork looks in that window !”

‘‘T agree with you—let’s goin and make a
bargain !”

We bought a good allowance for a shilling,
and after sticking out for a greater proportion
of mustard than the woman said we were
entitled to, and some salt, we wrapped it up
in a piece of paper, and continued our course,
till we arrived at a baker's, where we pur-
chased our bread; and then taking up a
position on a bench outside a public-house,
called for a pot of beer, and putting our pro-
visions down before us, made a hearty, and,
what made us enjoy it, an independent meal.
Having finished our pork and our porter, and
refreshed. ourselves, we again started and
walked till it was quite dark, when we felt so
tired: that we agreed to sit down on our
bundles and wait for the first waggon which
passed. We soon heard the jingling of bells,
and shortly afterwards its enormous towering
bulk appeared between us and the sky. We
went up to the waggoner, who was mounted
on a little pony, and asked him if he could

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

give two poor lads a lift, and how much he
would charge us for the ride.

‘““How much can ye afford to give, meas-
ters? for there be others as poor as ye.” We
replied that we could give a shilling. ‘‘ Well,
then get up, in God’s name, and ride as long
as you will. Get in behind.”

‘‘ Are there many people in there already ?”
said I, as I climbed up, and Timothy handed
me the bundles.

‘“Noa,’ replied the waggoner, ‘‘ there be
nobody but a mighty clever poticary or
doctor, I can’t tell which; but he wear an
uncommon queer hat, and he talk all sort of
doctor stuff—and there be his odd man and
his odd boy ; that be all, and there be plenty
of room, and plenty o’ clean s¢ra’.”’

After this intimation we climbed up, and
gained a situation in the rear of the waggon
under the cloth. As the waggoner said, there
was plenty of room, and we nestled into the
straw without coming into contact with the
other travellers. Not feeling any inclination
to sleep, Timothy and I entered into conver-
sation, sotéo voce, and had continued for more
than half an hour, supposing, by their silence,
that the other occupants of the waggon were
asleep, when we were interrupted by a voice
clear and sonorous as a bell.

‘Tt would appear that you are wanderes
young men, and journey you know not
whither. Birds seek their nests when the
night falls—beasts hasten to their lairs--man
bolts his door. ‘Propria qué maribus,’ as
Herodotus hath it ; which, when translated,
means, that ‘such is the nature of mankind’
‘Trtbuuntur mascula dicas,’ ‘Vell me your
troubles,’ as Homer says.”

I was very much surprised at this address
—my knowledge of the language told me
immediately that the quotations were out of
the Latin grammar, and that all his learning
was pretence; still there was a novelty of
style which amused me, and at the same time
gave me an idea that the speaker was an un-
common personage. I gave Timothy a nudge,
and then replied, —

‘You have guessed right, most learned
sir; we are, as you say, wanderers seeking
our fortunes, and trust yet to find them—still
we have a weary journey before us. ‘ Haustus
hora somnt sumendum, as Aristotle hath it ;
which I need not translate to so learned a
person as yourself.”

‘Nay, indeed, there is no occasion; yet
am I pleased to meet with one who hath
scholarship,’ replied the other. ‘‘ Have you
also a knowledge of the Greek?”

‘« No, I pretend not to Greek.”

“Tt is a pity that thou hast it not, for
thou wouldst delight to commune with the
ancients. Esculapius hath these words —
‘ Asholder—offmotton accapon—pasti—venz-
son, —which I will translate for thee—‘ We
often find what weseek when we least expect20

it.’ May it be so with you, my friend.
Where have you been educated? and what
has been your profession ?”’

[ thought I risked little in telling, so I
replied, that I had been brought up as a
surgeon and apothecary, and had been edu-
cated at a foundation-school.

‘Tis well,” replied he; ‘‘you have then
commenced your studies in my glorious pro-
fession ; still have you much to learn ; years
of toil, under a great master, can only enable
you to benefit mankind as I have done, and
years of hardship and of danger must be
added thereunto, to afford you the means.
There are many hidden secrets. ‘ U¢ sunt
Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,’
many parts of the globe to traverse, ‘ Uz¢
Cato, Virgilius, fiuviorum, ut Tibris,
Orontes.’ All these have I visited, and many
more. Even now do I journey to obtain
more of my invaluable medicine, gathered on
the highest Andes, when the moon is in her
perigee. There I shall remain for months
among the clouds, looking down upon the
great plain of Mexico, which shall appear no
larger than the head of a pin, where the
voice of man is heard not. ‘ Voctto, vocitas,
vocitavz,’ bending for months towards the
earth. ‘ As zx presenti,’ suffering with the
cold—‘ frico guod fricut dat,’ as Eusebius
hath it. Soon shall I be borne away by the
howling winds towards the New World,
where I can obtain more of the wonderful
medicine, which I may say never yet hath
failed me, and which nothing but love to-
wards my race induces me to gather at such
pains and risk."’

pelincdeed: sine replied I, amused with his
imposition, ‘‘I should“ like to accompany
you—for as Josephus says most truly, ‘ Capiat
pelule due post prandium.’ ‘Travel is, in-
deed, a most delightful occupation, and I
would like to run over the whole world.”

“And I would like to follow you, ‘‘ inter-
rupted Timothy. ‘‘I suspect we have com-
menced our grand tour already—three miles
behind a hackney coach—ten on foot, and
about two, I should think, in this waggon.
But as Cophagus says, ‘Cochleartja crash
many summendush,’ which means, ‘There
are ups and downs in this world.’ ”

“Hah!” exclaimed our companion.
‘He, also, has the rudiments.”

“Nay, I hope I've done with the Rud:-
mans,’ replied Timothy.

“Is he your follower?”
man.

“That very much depends upon who walks
first,”’ replied Timothy ; ‘‘ but whether or no
—we hunt in couples.”

‘I understand —you are companions.
“Concordat cum nominativo numero et per-
sona.’ ell me, can you roll pills, can you

inquired the

use the pestle and the mortar, handle the
Scapular, and mix ingredients ?”

 

 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  

  

SALHET. SIV SBRARCH OF A FATHER.

I replied, that of course I knew my pro-
fession.

‘“ Well, then, as we have still some hours
of night, let us now obtain some rest. In the
morning, when the sun hath introduced us to
each other, I may then judge from your coun-
tenances whether it is likely that we may be
better acquainted. Night is the time for
repose, aS Quintus Curtius says, ‘ Custos,
bos, fur atgue, sacerdos.’ Sleep was made
for all-my friends, good night.”

GHAR TER LX.

In which the Adventures in the Waggon are con-
tinued, and we become more puzzled with our
new Companions—We leave off talking Latin,
and enter intoan Engagement.

‘TIMOTHY and I took his advice, and were
soon fast asleep. Iwas awakened the next
morning by feeling a hand in my trousers’
pocket. I seized it, and held it fast.

‘Now just let go my hand, will you?”
cried a lachrymal voice.

I jumped up—it was broad daylight—and
looked at the human frame to which the
hand was an appendix. Itwasa very spare,
awkwardly-built form of a young man, ap-
parently about twenty years old, but without
the least sign of manhood on his chin. His
face was cadaverous, with large goggling
eyes, high cheek-bones, hair long and ragged,
reminding me of a rat's nest, thin lips, and
ears large almost as an elephant's. A more
woe-begone wretch in appearance I never
beheld, and I continued to look®at him with
Surprise. He repeated his words with an
idiotical expression, ‘‘ Just let go my hand,
can't you?”

‘What business had your hand in my
pocket?” replied I, angrily.

“I was feeling for my pocket-handkerchief,”
replied the young man. ‘‘I always keeps it
in my breeches’ pocket.”

“But not in your neighbour's,
sume ?”

‘““My neighbour's!” replied he, with a
vacant stare. ‘‘ Well, so it is, I see now—lI
thought it was my own.”

I released his hand; he immediately put it
into his own pocket, and drew out his hand-
kerchief, if the rag deserved the appellation.

““There,”’ said he, ‘‘I told you I put it in
that pocket—I always do.”

‘And pray who are you?” said I, as I
looked at his dress, which was a pair of loose
white Turkish trousers, and an old spangled
jacket,

I pre-“Me! why, I’m the fool.”

‘‘More knave than fool, I expect,” replied
I, still much puzzled with his strange appear-
ance and dress.

‘Nay, there you mistake,” said the voice
of last night. ‘‘ He is not only a fool by
profession, but one by nature. It is a half-
witted creature, who serves me when I would
attract the people. Strange, in this world,
that wisdom may cry in the streets without
being noticed, yet folly will always command
a crowd.”

During this address I turned my eyes upon
the speaker. He was an _ elderly-looking
person, with white hair, dressed in a suit of
black, ruffles and frill. His eyes were bril-
liant, but the remainder of his face it was
difficult to decipher, as it was evidently
painted, and the night's jumbling in the
waggon had so smeared it, that it appeared
of almost every colour in the rainbow. On
one side of him lay a large three-cornered
cocked hat; on the other, a little lump of a
boy, rolled up in straw like a marmot, and
still sound asleep. Timothy looked at me,
and when he caught my eye, burst out into a
laugh.

‘You laugh at my appearance, I presume,”
said the old man, mildly.

“JT do, in truth,” replied Timothy. ‘1
never saw one like you before, and I dare say
never shall again.”

“That is possible; yet probably if you
meet me again, you would not know me.”’

‘‘Among a hundred thousand,” replied
Timothy, with increased mirth.

‘We shall see, perhaps,” replied the quack
doctor, for such the reader must have already
ascertained to be his profession; ‘‘but the
waggon has stopped, and the driver will bait
his horses. If inclined to eat, now is your
time. Come, Jumbo, get up; Philotas, waken
him, and follow me.’

Philotas, for so was the fool styled by his
master, twisted up some straw, and stuffed
the end of it into Jumbo’s mouth. ‘ Now
Jumbo will think he has got something to eat.
I always wake him that way,’ observed the
fool, grinning at us.

It certainly, as might be expected, did
waken Jumbo, who uncoiled himself, rubbed
his eyes, stared at the tilt of the waggon,
then at us, and without saying a word, rolled
himself out after the fool. Timothy and |
followed. We found the doctor bargaining
for some bread and bacon, his strange ap-
pearance exciting much amusement, and in-
ducing the people to let him have a better
bargain than perhaps otherwise they would
have done. He gave a part of the refresh-
ment to the boy and the fool, and walked out
of the tap-room with his own share. Timothy
and I went to the pump, and had a good
refreshing wash, and then for a shilling were
permitted to make a very hearty breakfast,

GAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   

zy

The waggon having remained about an hour,
the driver gave us notice of his departure ;
but the doctor was nowhere to be found.
After a little delay, the waggoner drove off,
cursing him for a 422k, and vowing that he'd
never have any more to do with a ‘‘larned
man.’ Inthe mean time Timothy and I had
taken our seats in the waggon, in company
with the fool and Master Jumbo. We com-
menced a conversation with the former, and
soon found out, as the doctor had asserted,
that he really was an idiot, so much so, that
it was painful to converse with him. As for
the latter, he had coiled himself away to take
a little more sleep. 1 forgot to mention, that
the boy was dressed much in the same way
as the fool, in an old spangled jacket, and
dirty white trousers. For about an hour
Timothy. and I conyersed, remarking upon
the strange disappearance of the doctor, espe-
cially as he had given us hopes of employing
us ; in accepting which offer, if ever it should
be made, we had not made up our minds,
when we were interrupted with a voice crying
out. ‘‘Hillo, my man, can you give a chap
a lift as far as Reading, for a shilling?”

“Ay, get up, and welcome,” replied the
waggoner.

The waggon did not stop, but in a moment
or two the new passenger climbed in. He
was dressed in a clean smock frock, neatly
worked up the front, leather gaiters, and
stout shoes; a bundle and a stick were in
his hand. He smiled as he looked round
upon the company, and showed a beautiful
set of teeth. His face was dark, and sun-
burnt, but very handsome, and his eyes
as black as coals, and as brilliant as gas.
‘Heh! player folk—lI've a notion,” said he,
as he sat down, looking at the doctor's at-
tendants, and laughing at us. ‘‘ Have you
come far, gentlemen?” continued he.

‘‘From London,” was my reply.

“ How do the crops look up above, for
down here the turnips seem to have failed
altogether? Dry seasons won't do for turnips.’

I replied that I really could not satisfy him
on that point, as it was dark when when we
passed.

‘Very true—I had forgotten that,” replied
he. ‘‘ However, the barleys look well; but
perhaps you don't understand farming ?”

I replied in the negative, and the conver-
sation was kept up for two or three hours, in
the course of which I mentioned the quack
doctor, and his strange departure.

‘‘That is the fellow who cured so many
people at ,” replied he ; and the conver-
sation then turned upon his profession and
mode of life, which Timothy and I agreed
must be very amusing. ‘‘ We shall meet
him again, I dare say,” replied the man.
“Would you know him ?”

‘“‘T think so, indeed,” replied Timothy,

laughing.22

“Yes, and so you would think that you
would know a guinea from a halfpenny, if I
put it into your hands,” replied the man.’ ‘‘I
do not wish to lay a bet, and win your
money ; but I tell you, that I will put either
the one or the other into each of your hands,
and if you hold it fast for one minute, and
shut your eyes during that time, you will not
be able to tell me which it is that you have
qt

“That I am sure I would,” replied Tim;
and I made the same assertion.

“Well I was taken in that way at a fair,
and lost ten shillings by the wager; now,
well try whether you can tell or not.” He
took out some money from his pocket, which
he selected without our seeing it, put a coin
into the hand of each of us, closing our fists
over it, ‘‘and now,” said He; keep our
eyes shut for a minute,”

We did so, and a second or two afterwards
we heard a voice which we instantly recog-
nized. ‘‘ Nay, but it was wrong to leave me
on the way-side thus, having agreed to pay
the sum demanded. At my age one walketh
not without fatigue, ‘Axcipenda tamen
quedam sunt urbtum,’ as Philostratus says,
meaning, ‘That old limbs lose their activity,
and seek the help of a crutch.’”’

“There's the doctor,” cried Timothy, with
his eyes still shut.

“Now open your eyes,”
““and tell me, before
what there is in it.”

“A halfpenny in mine,” said Tim.

‘‘A guinea in mine,” replied I.

We opened our hands, and they were
empty.

“Where the devil is it?” exclaimed if
looking at Tim.

‘And where the devil's the doctor?” re-
plied he, looking round.

“The money is in the doctor's pocket, ”
replied the man, smiling.

‘Then where is the doctor's pocket ?”

‘‘Here,” replied he, slapping his pocket, and
looking significantly at us. “I thought you
were certain of knowing him again. About
as certain as you were of telling the money in
your hand.”

He then, to our astonishment, imitated the
doctor's voice, and quoted prosody, syntax,
and Latin. Timothy and I were Still in
astonishment, when he continued, ‘‘If I had
not found out that you were in want of em-
ploy, and further, that your services would
be useful to me, I should not have made this
discovery, Do you now think that you know
enough to enter into my service? It is light
work, and not bad pay ; and now you may
choose.”

“T trust,’’ said I, ‘‘that there is no dis-
honesty ?”

‘‘ None that you need practice, if you are
So scrupulous: perhaps your scruples may

said the man,
you open your hand,

 

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

some day be removed. I make the most of ©
my Wares—every merchant does the same,
I practise upon the folly of mankind—it is on F
that, that wise men live,”

Timothy gave me a push, and nodded his
head for me to give my consent. I reflected
a few seconds, and at last I extended my
hand. ‘‘I consent,” replied I, ‘with the
reservation I have made.”

“You will not repent,” said he ; ‘‘and I will
take your companion, not that I want him
particularly, but I do want you. The fact is,
I want a lad of gentlemanly address, and
handsome appearance-—with the very know-
ledge you possess——and now we will say no
more for the present. By the bye, was that
real Latin of yours ?””

“No,” replied I, laughing ; “you quoted
the grammar, and I replied with medical
prescriptions. One was as good as the other.”

““Quite—nay, better; for the school-boys
may find me out, but not you. But now
observe, when we come to the next Cross
road, we must get down—at least, T expect
So; but we shall know in a minute.”

In about the time he mentioned, a dark,
gipsy-looking man looked into the waggon,
and spoke to our acquaintance in an unknown
language. He replied in the same, and the
man disappeared. We continued ‘our route
for about a quarter of an hour, when he got
out, asked us to follow him, and speaking a
few words to the fool, which I did not hear,
left him and the boy in the waggon. We
paid our fare, took possession of our bundles,
and followed our new companion for a few
minutes on the cross road, when he stopped,
and said, ‘‘I must now leave you, to prepare
for your reception into our fraternity ; con-
tinue straight on this road until you arrive at
a lime-kiln, and wait there till I come.”

He sprang over a stile, and took a
direction verging at an angle from the road,
forced his way through a hedge, and dis-
appeared from our sight. ‘‘ Upon my word,
Timothy,” said I, ‘“‘I hardly know what to
say to this. Have we done right in trusting
to this man, who, I am afraid, is a great
rogue? I do not much like mixing with
these gipsy people, for such I am sure he
belongs to.”

‘‘ T really do not see how we can do better,”
replied Timothy. ‘The world is all before
us, and we must force our own way through
it. As for his being a quack doctor, Isee no
great harm in that. People put their faith in
nostrums more than they do in regular medi-
Cines ; and it is well known that quack me-
dines, as they call them, cure as often as
others, merely for that very reason.”

“Very true, Timothy ; the mind once at
ease, the body soon recovers, and faith, even
in quack medicines, will often make people
whole; but do you think that he does no more
than impose upon people in that way?”

 

1
ia‘He may, or he may not; at all events,
we need do no more, I[ suppose.”

““Y am not sure of that ; however, we shall
see. He says we may be useful to him, and
I suppose we shall be, or he would not have
engaged us—we shall soon find out.”

CHAPTER xX.

In which the Reader is introduced to several new
Acquaintances, and all connected with them,
except Birth and Parentage, which appears to
be the one Thing wanting throughout the whole
of this Work.

By this time we had arrived at the lime-
kiln to which we had been directed ; and we
sat down on our bundles, chatting for about
five minutes, when our new acquaintance
made his appearance, with something in his
hand, tied up in a handkerchief.

“You may as well put your coats into
your bundles, and put on these frocks,” said
he ; you will appear better among us, and
be better received, for there is a gathering
now, and some of them are queer customers.
However, you have nothing to fear ; when
once you are with my wife and me, you are
quite safe ; her little finger would protect you
from five hundred.”

‘‘ Your wife! who, then, is she?’’ inquired
I, as I put my head through the smock
frock.

‘«She is a great personage among the gip-
sies. She is, by descent, one of the heads of
the tribe, and none dare to disobey her.”

«« And you—are you a gipsy ?”’

“No, and yes. By birth I am not, but
by choice and marriage I am admitted; but
I was not born under a hedge, I can assure
you, although I very often pass a night there
now—that is, when I am domestic; but do
not think that you are to remain long here :
we shall leave in a few days, and may not
meet the tribe again for months, although
you may see my own family occasionally. i
did not ask you to join me to pass a gipsy s
life—no, no, we must be stirring and active.
Come, we are now close to them. Do not
speak as you pass the huts, until you have
entered mine. Then you may do as you
please.’

We turned short round, passed through a
gap in the hedge, and found ourselves on a
small retired piece of common, which was
studded with about twenty or thirty low gipsy
huts. The fires were alight and provisions
apparently cooking. We passed by nine or
ten, and obeyed our guide's injunctions to

GALTIET. IN SHAKCTY Of A PATTER.

57
A)

keep silence. At last we stopped, and per-
ceived ourselves to be standing by the fool,
who was dressed like us, in a smock frock.
and Mr. Jumbo, who was very busy making
the pot boil, blowing at the sticks under-
neath till he was black in the face. Several
of the men passed near us, and examined us
with no very pleasant expression of coun-
tenance ; and we were not sorry to see our
conductor, who had gone into the hut, return,
followed by a woman, to whom he was speak-
ing in the language of the tribe. ‘‘ Nattée
bids you welcome,’ said he, as she ap-
proached.

Never in my life will the remembrance of
the first appearance of Nattée, and the effect
it had upon me, be erased from my memory.
She was tall, too tall, had it not been for the
perfect symmetry of her form. Her face of
a clear olive, and oval in shape ;_ her eyes jetty
black ; nose straight, and beautifully formed ;
mouth small; thin lips, with a slight curl of
disdain, and pearly teeth. I never beheld a
woman of so commanding a presence. Her
feet were bare, but very small, as well as her
hands. On her fingers she wore many rings,
of a curious old setting, and a piece of gold
hung on her forehead, where the hair was
parted. She looked at us, touched her high
forehead with the ends of her fingers, and
waving her hand gracefully, said, in a soft
voice, ‘‘ You are welcome,’’ and then turned
to her husband, speaking to him in Her own
language, until by degrees they separated
from us in earnest conversation.

She returned to us after a short time with-
out her husband, and said, in a voice, the
notes of which were indeed soft, but the de-
livery of the words was most determined: ‘'1
have said that you are welcome; sit down,
therefore, and share with us—fear nothing,
you have no cause to fear. Be faithful, then,
while you serve him, and when you would
quit us, say so, and receive your leave to de-
part ; but if you attempt to desert us with-
out permission, then we shall suspect that
you are our enemies, and treat you accord-
ingly. There is your lodging while here,”
continued she, pointing to another hut.
‘There is but one child with you, his boy
(pointing te Jumbo), who can lie at your
feet. And now join us as friends. Fleta,
where are you ?”’

A soft voice answered from the tent of
Nattée, and soon afterwards came out a
little girl, of about eleven years old. The
appearance of this child was a new source
of interest. She was a little fairy figure,
with skin as white as the driven snow—
light auburn hair, and large blue eyes;
her dress was scanty, and showed a large
portion of her taper legs. She hastened to
Nattée, and folding her arms across her
breast, stood still, saying meekly, ‘‘] am
nerete““ Know these as friends, Fleta. Send that
lazy Num (this was Philotas, the fool) for
more wood, and see that Jumbo tends the
fire.”

Nattée smiled, and left us. I observed she
went to where forty or fifty of the tribe were
assembled, in earnest discourse. She took
her seat with them, and marked deference
was paid to her, In the meantime Jumbo
had blown up a brisk fire ; we were employed
by Fleta in shredding vegetables, which she
threw into the boiling kettle. Num appeared
with more fuel, and at last there was nothing
more to do. Fleta sat down by us, and part-
ing her long hair, which had fallen over her
eyes, looked us both in the face.

‘“Who gave you that name, Fleta?” in-
quired I.

‘ They gave it me,” replied she.

““ And who are they?”

‘“Nattée and Melchior, her husband.”

‘But you are not their daughter?”

‘‘ No, I am not—that is, I believe not.”

The little girl stopped short, as if assured
that she had said too much, cast her eyes
down on the ground, and folded her arms, so
that her hands rested on each opposite
shoulder.

Timothy whispered to me, ‘‘She must have
been stolen, depend upon it.”

‘«Silence,”’ said I,

The little girl overheard him, and looking
at him, put her finger across her mouth,
looking to where Num and Jumbo were
sitting. I felt an interest for this child before
I had been an hour in her company ; she was
so graceful, so feminine, so mournful in the
expression of her countenance. That she was
under restraint was evident; but still she did
not appear to be actuated by fear. Nattée
was very kind to her, and the child did not
seem to be more reserved towards her than to
others ; her mournful, pensive look was per-
haps inherent to her nature. It was not until
long after our first acquaintance that I ever
saw a smile upon her features. Shortly after
this little conversation, Nattée returned, walk-
ing with all the grace and dignity of a queen.
Her husband, or Melchior, as I shall in future
call him, soon joined us, and we sat down to
our repast, which was excellent. It was com-
posed of almost everything; sometimes I
found myself busy with the wing of a fowl, at
another, the leg of a rabbit—then a piece of
mutton, or other flesh and fowl, which I could
hardly distinguish. To these were added

every sort of vegetable, among which potatoes
predominated, forming a sort of stew, which
an epicure might have praised. I hada long

conversation with Melchior in the evening ;
and, not to weary the reader, I shall now pro-
ceed to state all that I then and subsequently
gathered from him and others, relative to the
parties with whom we were associating.

« Melchior would not state who and what he

 

FARHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   

was previous to his haying joined the frater-
nity of gipsies ; that he was not of humble
birth, and that he had, when young, quitted
his friends out of love for Nattée, or from
some other causes not to be revealed, he led
me to surmise. He had been many years in
company-with the tribe, and although, as one
received into it, he did not stand so high in
rank and estimation as his wife, still, from his
marriage with Nattée, and his own peculiar
qualifications and dexterity, he was almost as
absolute as she was.

Melchior and Nattée were supposed to be
the most wealthy of all the gipsies, and, at the
same time; .they were the most liberal of their
wealth. Melchior, it appeared, gained money
in three different characters; as a quack
doctor, the character in which we first saw
him ; secondly, as a juggler, in which art he
was most expert; and, thirdly, as a fortune-
teller, and wzse man.

Nattée, as I before mentioned, was of very
high rank, or caste, in her tribe. At her first
espousal of Melchior she lost much of her
influence, as it was considered a degradation ;
but she was then very young, and must have
been most beautiful. The talents of Melchior,
and her own spirit, however, soon enabled her
to regain, and even add still more to, her
power and consideration among the tribe;
and it was incredible to what extent, with the
means which she possessed, this power was
augmented.

Melchior had no children by his marriage,
and, as far as I could judge from the few
words which would escape from the lips of
Nattée, she did not wish for any, as the race
would not be considered pure. “The subdivi-
sion of the tribe which followed Nattée con-
sisted of about forty, men, omen, and children.
These were ruled by her during the absence
of her husband, who alternately assumed
different characters, as suited his purpose ;
but in whatever town Melchior might happen
to be, Nattée and her tribe were never far off,
and always encamped within communication.

I ventured to question Melchior about the
little Fleta ; and he stated that she was the
child of a soldier's wife, who had been brought
to bed, and died a few hours afterwards ;
that, at the time, she was on her Way to join
her husband, and had been taken ill on the
road—had been assisted by Nattée and her
companions, as far as they were able—had
been buried by them, and that her child had
been reared in the camp,

In time, the little girl became very intimate,
and very partial tome. I questioned her as
to her birth, telling her what Melchior had
Stated; for a long while she would not
answer ; the poor child had learned caution
even at that early age; but after we were
more intimate, she said, that which Melchior
had stated was wot true. She could recollect
very well living in a great house, with every-thing very fine about her ; but stillit appeared
as if it were a dream. She recollected two
white ponies —and a lady who was her
mamma—and a mulberry-tree, where she
stained her frock; sometimes other things
came to her memory, and then she forgot
them again. From this it was evident that
she had been stolen, and was probably of
good parentage; certainly, if elegance and
symmetry of person and form could prove
blood, it never was more marked than in this
interesting child. Herabode with the gipsies,
and their peculiar mode of life and manners,
had rendered her astonishingly precocious in
intellect; but of education she had none,
except what was instilled into her by Mel-
chior, whom she always accompanied when
he assumed his character as a juggler. She
then danced on the slack wire, at the same
time performing several feats in balancing,
throwing of oranges, &c. When Melchior
was under other disguises, she remained in
the camp with Nattée.

Of Num, or Philotas, as Melchior thought
proper to call him, | have already spoken.
He was a half-witted idiot, picked up in one
of Melchior’s excursions ; and as he stated to
me, so did it prove to be the fact, that when
on the stage, and questioned as a fool, his
natural folly, and idiotical vacancy of coun-
tenance, were applauded by the spectators
as admirably assumed. Even ai the alehouses
and taverns where we stopped, every one
imagined that all his folly was pretence, and
looked upon him as a very clever fellow.
There never was, perhaps, such a lachrymose
countenance as this poor lad’s; and this
added still mor to the mirth of others, being
also considered as put on. for the occasion.
Stephen Kemble played Falstaff without
stufing—Num played the fool without any
effort or preparation. Jumbo was also ‘* picked
up ;” this was not done by Melchior, who
stated that anybody might have him who
claimed him ; he tumbled with the fool upon
the stage, and he also ate pudding to amuse
the spectators—the only part of the perfor-
mance which was suited to Jumbo's taste, for
he was a terrible little glutton, and never
lost any opportunity of eating, as well as of
sleeping.

And now, having described all our new
eompanions, I must narrate what passed
between Melchior and me, the day after our
joining the camp. He first ran through his
various professions, pointing out to me that
as juggler he required a confederate, in which
capacity I might be very useful, as he would
soon instruct me in all his tricks. As aquack
doctor he wanted the services of both Tim
and myself in mixing up, making pills, &c.,
and also in assisting him in persuading the
public of his great skill. As a fortune-teller, I
should also be of great service, as he would
explain to me hereafter. In short, he wan-

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
       

25

ted a person of good personal appearance and
education, in whom he might confide in
every way. As to Tim, he might be made
useful, if he chose, in various ways ; amongst
others, he wished him to learn tumbling and
playing the fool, when, at times, the fool
was required to 'give ashrewd answer on any
point on which he would wisi: the public to
be made acquainted. I agreed to my own
part of the performance, and then.had some
conversation with Timothy, who immediately
consented to do his best in what was allotted
as hisshare. Thus was the matter quickly ar-
ranged, Melchior observing that he had said
nothing about remuneration, as I should find
that trusting to him was’ far preferable to
stipulated wages.

CHAPTER XI.

Whatever may be the Opinion of the Reader, he
cannot assert that we are 2o Conujurers—We
suit our Wares to our Customers, and our Profits
are considerable.

WE had been three days in the camp
when the gathering was broken up, each
gang taking their own way. What the
meeting was about I could not exactly dis-
coyer : one occasion of it was to make arrange-
ments relative to the different counties in
which the subdivisions were to sojourn dur-
ing the next year, so that they might know
where to communicate with each other, and,
at the same time, not interfere by being too
near ; but there were many other points dis-
cussed, of which, as a stranger, I was kept in
ignorance. Melchior answered all my ques-
tions with apparent candour, but his habi-
tual deceit was such, that whether he told
the truth or not was impossible to be ascer-
tained by his countenance.

When the gathering dispersed we packed
up, and located ourselves about two miles
from the common, on the borders of a forest
of oak and ash. Our food was chiefly game,
for we had some excellent poachers among
us ; and as for fish, it appeared to be at their
command ; there was not a pondor apit but
they could tell ina moment if it were tenan-
ted, and if tenanted in halfan hour every fish
would be floating on the top of the water, by
the throwing in of some intoxicating sort of
berry ; other articles of food occasionally were
found in the caldron; indeed, it was impos-
sible to fare better than we did, or at less
expense.

Our tents were generally pitched not far
from a pool of water, and to avoid any un-pleasant search, which sometimes would
take place, everything liable to detection was
sunk under the water until it was required
for cooking ; once in the pot, it was conside-
red as safe. But with the foraging, Timothy
and I had nothing to do; we participated in
the eating, without asking any questions as
to how it was procured.

My time was chiefly spent in company
with Melchior, who initiated me into all the
mysteries of cups and balls—juggling of
every description—feats with cards, and
made me acquainted with all his apparatus
for prepared tricks. For hours and hours was
I employed by his directions in what is called
“making the pass’ witha pack of cards, as
almost all tricks on cards depend upon your
dexterity in this manceuvre. In about a
month I was considered as a very fair adept ;
in the meantime Timothy had to undergo
his career of gymnastics, and was to be seen
all day tumbling and re-tumbling, until he
could tumble on his feet again. Light and ac-
tive, he soon became a very dexterous per-
former, and could throw a somerset either
backwards or forwards, walk on his hands,
eat fire, pull out ribands, and do fifty other
tricks to amuse a gaping audience. Jumbo
also was worked hard, to bring down his fat,
and never was allowed his dinner until he
had given satisfaction to Melchior. Even
little Fleta had to practise occasionally, as
we were preparing for an expedition. Mel-
chior, who appeared determined to create an
effect, left us for three days, and returned
with not only dresses for Timothy and me,
but also new dresses for the rest of the com-
pany; and shortly afterwards, bidding farewell
to Nattée and the rest of the gipsies, we all
set out—that is, Melchior, I, Timothy, Fleta,
Num, and Jumbo. Late in the evening we
arrived at the little town of , and took up
our quarters at a public-house, with the land-
lord of which Melchior had already made
arrangements.

“Well, Timothy,” said I, as soon as we
were in bed, ‘‘ how do you like our new life
and prospects?” «

‘“‘T like it better than Mr.
yudimans, and carrying out physic, at all
events. But how does your dignity like
turning Merry Andrew, Japhet?”

“To tell you the truth, I do not dislike it.
There is a wildness and a devil - may - care
feeling connected with it, which is grateful to
me at present. How long it may last, I can-
not tell; but for a year or two, it appears to
me that we may be very happy. At all
events, we shall see the world, and have
more than one profession to fall back
upon.”

‘« That is true ; but there is one thing that
annoys me, Japhet, which is, we may have
difficulty in leaving these people when we
wish. Besides, you forget that you are losing

 

Cophagus's

 

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   

sight of the principal object you had in view,
that is, of ‘ finding out your father.’ ”’

‘“I certainly never expect to find him
among the gipsies,” replied I, ‘‘for children
are at a premium with them. ‘They steal
from others, and are not very likely therefore
to leave them at the Foundling. But I do
not know whether I have not as good a
chance in our present employment as in any
other. I have often been thinking that, as
fortune-tellers, we may get hold of many
strange secrets; however, we shall see,
Melchior says that he intends to appear in
that character as soon as he has made a har-
vest in his present one.’’

“What do you think of Melchior, now
that you have been so much with him ?”’

“I think him an unprincipled man, but
still with many good qualities. He appears
to have a pleasure in deceit, and to have
waged war with the world in general. Still
he is generous, and, to a certain degree, con-
fiding: kind in his disposition, and appa-
rently a very good husband. There is some-
thing on his mind which weighs him down
occasionally, and checks him in the height of
his mirth. It comes over him like a dark
cloud over a bright summer sun ; and he is all
gloom for a few minutes. I do not think
that he would zow commit any great crime ;
but I have a suspicion that he has done
something which is a constant cause of re-
morse.”

‘“You are a very good judge of character,
Japhet. But what a dear little child is that
Fleta! She may exclaim with you, Who is
my father ?”

‘‘Yes, we are both in much the same pre-
dicament, and that it is which I believe has
so much increased my attachment to her.
We are brother and sister in misfortune, and
a sister she ever shall be to me, if such is the
will of Heaven. But we must rise early to-
morrow, Tim ; so good night.”

‘Yes, to-morrow it will be juggle and
tumble — eat fire—um—and so en, as Mr.
Cophagus would have said ; so good night,
Japhet.”

The next morning we arrayed ourselves in
our new habiliments. Mine were silk stock-
ings, shoes, and white kerseymere kneed
breeches ; a blue silk waistcoat, loaded with
tinsel, and a short jacket to correspond, of
blue velvet; a sash round my waist, a hat,
and a plume of feathers. Timothy declared
I looked very handsome, and as the glass
said the same as plain as it could speak, I
believed him. Timothy's dress was a pair of
wide Turkish trowsers, and red jacket, with
spangles. The others were much the same.
Fleta was attired in small, white satin Turk-
ish trowsers, blue muslin, and silver em-
broidered frock, worked sandals, and her
hair braided and plaited in long tails behind, ,
and she looked like a little sylph. Melchior’s

   

  
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  

 

i
i
|
5
|dress was precisely the same as mine, and a
more respectable company was seldom seen.
Some musicians had been hired, and hand-
bills were now circulated all over the town,
stating that Signor Eugenio Velotti, with his
company, would have the honour of perform-
ing before the nobility and gentry. The bill
contained the fare which was to be provided,
and intimated the hour of the performance,
and the prices to be paid for the seats. The
performance was to take place in a very large
room attached to the inn, which, previous to
the decadence of the town, had been used as
an assembly-room. A platform was erected
on the outside, on which were placed the
musicians, and where we all occasionally
made our appearance in our splendid dresses,
to attract the wonder of the people. There
we strutted up and down, all but poor little
Fleta, who appeared to shrink at the display
from intuitive modesty. When the music
ceased, a smart parley between Melchior and
me, and Philotas and Timothy.as the two
fools, would take place ; and Melchior de-
clared, after the performance was over, that
we conducted ourselves to admiration.

‘Pray, Mr. Philotas, do me the favour to
tell me how many people you think are now
present,” said Melchior to Num, in an im-
perative voice.

“J don’t know,” said Num, looking up
with his idiotical, melancholy face.

“Hal ha! ha!” roared the crowd at
Num’s stupid answer.

‘‘The fellow’s a fool
the gaping audience.

‘Well, then, if he can’t tell, perhaps you
may, Mr. Dionysius,” said 1, addressing Tim.

“How many, sir? Do you want to know
exactly and directly?”

‘Ves, sir, immediately.

‘Without counting, sir?”

‘Yes, sir, without counting.

«‘ Well then, sir, I will tell, and make no
mistake; there’s exactly as many agazn as

“Hal ha! ha!’ from the crowd.

“That won't do, sir. How many may be
the half?”

‘‘How many may be the half?
know yourself, sir?”

‘Ves, sir, to be sure I do.”

‘Then there’s no occasion for me to tell

Otes,

‘a! had hat

‘‘ Well, then, sir,’ continued Melchior to
Philotas, ‘‘ perhaps you'll tell how many
ladies and gentlemen we may expect to
honour us with their company to-night.”

‘‘ How many, sir?

‘* Ves, sir, how many.”

“Tm sure I don’t know,” said Num, after
a pause.

“Positively you are the greatest fool I ever
met with,” said Melchior.

1”

said Melchior to

”

”

Do you

FAPHET, IN SEARCY OF (A. FATHER.

‘*Well, he does act the fool as natural as
life,” observed the crowd. ‘‘ What a stupid
face he does put on !”’

‘* Perhaps you will be able to answer that
question, Mr. Dionysius,” said I to Tim.

‘*Ves, sir; I know exactly.”

‘‘ Well, sir, let’s hear.”

‘In the first place, all ‘the pretty women
will come, and all the ugly ones stay away ;
and as for the men, all those who have got
any money will be certain to come; those
who hayen’t, poor devils, must stay outside.”

“‘Suppose, sir, you makea bow to the
ladies.”’

“« A very low one, sir?”

“Yes, very low, indeed.”’

Tim bent his body to the ground, and
threw a somerset forward. ‘‘ There, sir; I
bowed so low that I came up on the other
side.”

“Ha! ha! capital!’’ from the crowd.

‘‘T've got a round turn in my back, sir,”
continued Tim, rubbing himself; ‘‘ hadn't
I better take it out again?”’

“«« By all means.”

Tim threw a somerset backwards. ‘‘ There,
sir, all's right now. One good turn deserves
another. Now I'll be off.”

‘Where are you going to; sir?”

‘Going, sir? Why, I left my lollipop
in the tinder-box, and lam going to fetchit.’’

& BdiV ha hal:

«Strike up, music!” and Master Jumbo
commenced tumbling.

Such was the elegant wit with which we
amused and attracted the audience. Per-
haps, had we been more refined, we should
not have been so successful.

That évening we had the room as full as
it could hold: Signor Velotti a/zas Mel-
chior astonished them. | The cards ap-
peared to obey his commands—rings were
discovered in ladies’ shoes—watches were
beat to a powder and made whole—canary
birds flew out of eggs. The audience were
delighted. The entertainment closed with
Fleta’s performance on the slack wire ; and
certainly never was there anything more
beautiful and graceful: Balanced on the
wire in a continual, waving motion, her
eyes fixed upon a point to enable her to
maintain her position, she performed several
feats, such as the playing with five oranges,
balancing swords, &c. Her extreme beauty
—her very picturesque and becoming dress—
her mournful expression and downcast eyes—
her gentle manner, appeared to win the
hearts of the audience ; and when she was
assisted off from her perilous situation by
Melchior and me, and made her graceful
courtesy, the plaudits were unanimous.

When the company dispersed I went to
her, intending to praise her, but I found
her in tears. ‘‘ What is the matter, my dear
Fleta?”28

**O, nothing ! don’t say I have been cry-
ing—but I cannot bear it—so many people
looking at me. Don't say a word to Mel-
chior—I won't cry any more,”

CHAPTER XII.

It is very easy to humbug those who are so eager
to be humbugged as People are in this world of
humbug—We show ourselves excessively disin-
terested, which astonishes Everybody.

I KISSED and consoled her; she threw her
arm round my neck, and remained there
with her face hid for some time. We then
joined the others at supper. Melchior was
much pleased with our success, and highly
praised the conduct of Timothy and myself,
which he pronounced was, for the first
attempt, far beyond his expectations.

We continued to astonish all the good
people of for five days, when we dis-
covered the indubitable fact, that there was
no more money to be extracted from their
pockets, upon which we resumed our usual
clothes and smock frocks, and with our
bundles in our hands, set off for another
market town, about fifteen miles distant.
There we were equally successful, and Mel-
chior was delighted with our having proved
such a powerful acquisition to his troupe ;
but not to dwell too long upon one subject,
I shall inform the reader that, after a trip of
six weeks, during which we were very well
received, we once more returned to the camp,
which had located within five miles of our
last scene of action. Every one was content
—we were all glad to get back and rest from
our labours. Melchior was pleased with his
profits, poor little Fleta overjoyed to be once
more in the seclusion of her tent, and Nattée
very glad to hear of our good fortune, and to
see her husband. ‘Timothy and I had already
proved ourselves so useful, that Melchior
treated us with the greatest friendship and
confidence—and he made us a present out of
the gains, for our exertions ; to me he gave
ten, and to Timothy five, pounds.

‘“There, Japhet; had you hired yourself
Ishould not have paid you more than seven
shillings per week, finding you in food ; but
you must acknowledge that for six weeks
that is not bad pay. However, your earnings
will depend upon our success, and I rather
think that we shall make a much better thing
of it when next we start, which will be in
about a fortnight ; but we have some arrange-
ments to make. Has ‘Simothy a good

 

memory 2?”

 

 

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

    

  

‘‘T think he has.”

“That is well. Itold you before that we
are to try the ‘ Wise Man,’ —but first we must
have Nattée in play. To-morrow we will
start for , mentioning a small quiet town
about four miles off.

We did so, early the next morning, and
arrived about noon, pitching our tents on
the common, not far from the town ; but in
this instance we left all the rest of our gang
behind. Melchior's own party and his two
tents were all that were brought by the
donkeys.

Melchior and I, dressed as countrymen,
went into the town at dusk, and entered a
respectable sort of inn, taking our seats at
one of the tables in the tap-room, and, as
we had already planned, after we had called
for beer, commenced a conversation in the
hearing of the others who were sitting drink-
ing and smoking.

“‘Well, I never will believe

 

it—it’s all
cheat and trickery,” said Melchior, ‘‘and
they only do it to pick your pocket. Tell

your fortune, indeed! I suppose she pro-
mised you a rich wife and halfa dozen
children.”’

‘“ No, she did not,” replied I, for I am too
young to marry; but she told me what I
know has happened.”

‘Well, what was that?”

‘“Why, she told me that my mother had
married again, and turned me out of doors to
work for my bread,”’

‘* But she might have heard that.”

‘‘How could she? No, that’s not pos-
sible ; but she told me I had a mole on my
knee, which was a sign of luck. Now how
could she know that ?”

“Well, I grant that was odd—and pray
what else did she promise you?”

““ Why, she said that I should meet with
my dearest friend to-night. Now that does
puzzle me, for I have but one in the world,
and heis a long way off.”’

‘“Well, if you do meet your friend, then
I'll believe her; but if not, it has been all
guess work ; and pray what did you pay for
all this—was it a shilling, or did she pick
your pocket ?”’

‘‘That's what puzzles me,—she refused to
take anything. _I offered it again and again,
and she said, ‘No; that she would have no
money—that her gift was not to be sold.’ ”

“Well, that is odd. Do you hear what
this young man says?” said Melchior, ad-

dressing the others, who had swallowed
every word.

“Yes,” replied one; ‘‘but who is the
person ?”’

‘“The queen of the gipsies, Iamtold. I
never saw such a wonderful woman in my
life—her eye goes right through you. I met
her on the common, and, as she passed, she
dropped a handkerchief. I ran back to give

  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
    
 
  

 

 

£it her, and then she thanked me and said,
“Open your hand and let me see the palm.
Here are great lines, and you will be for-
tunate ;’ and then she told me a great deal
more, and bid God bless me.”’

“Then if she said that, she cannot have
dealings with the devz/,”. observed Melchior.

‘*Very odd—very strange—take no money
—dqueen of the gipsies,” was echoed from all
sides.

The landlady and the barmaid listened
with wonder, when who should come in, as
previously agreed, but Timothy. I pretended
not to see him; but he came up to me,
seizing me by the hand, and shaking it with
apparent delight, and crying, ‘‘ Wilson,
have you forgot Smith ?”’

‘«Smith !’’ cried I, looking earnestly in his
face. ‘“‘ Why so it is. How came you here ?”

‘‘T left Dublin three days ago,” replied he ;
‘but how I came here into this house, is one
of the strangest things that ever occurred. I
was walking over the common, when a tall
handsome woman looked at me, and said,
‘Young man, if you will go into the
third public-house you pass, you will
meet an old friend, who expects you.’ I
thought she was laughing at me; but as it
mattered very little in which house I passed
the night, I thought, for the fun of the thing,
I might as well take her advice.”

‘‘How strange!’ cried Melchior, ‘‘ and
she told him the same—that is, he would
meet a friend.”’

‘«Strange — very strange — wonderful —
astonishing !’’ was echoed from all quarters,
and the fame of the gipsy was already
established.

Timothy and I sat down together, convers-
ing as old friends, and Melchior went about
from one to the other, narrating the wonder-
ful occurrence till past midnight, when we all
three took beds at the inn, as if we were
travellers.

The report which we had circulated that
evening induced many people to go out to
see Nattée, who appeared to take no notice of
them: and when asked to tell fortunes,
waved them away with her hand. But,
although this plan of Melchior’s was, for the
first two or three days, very expedient, yet,
as it was not intended to last, Timothy, who
remained with me at the inn, became very
intimate with the barmaid, and obtained
from her most of the particulars of her life.
I, also, from repeated conversations with the
landlady, received information very impor-
tant, relative to herself and many of the
families in the town ; but as the employment
of Nattée was for an ulterior object, we
contented ourselves with gaining all the in-
formation we could before we proceeded fur-
ther. After we had been there a week, and the
fameofthegipsy woman had been marvellously
increased—many things having been asserted

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

of her which were indeed truly improbable—
Melchior agreed that Timothy should per-
suade the barmaid to try if the gipsy woman
would tell her fortune ; the girl, with some
trepidation, agreed, but at the same time,
expecting to be refused, consented to walk
with him over the common. Timothy ad-
vised her to pretend to pick up a sixpence
when near to Nattée, and ask her if it did
not belong to her; and the barmaid acted
upon his suggestions, having just before that
quitted the arm of.Timothy, who had con-
ducted her.

‘«Did you drop a sixpence? I have picked
up one,” said the girl, trembling with fear as
she addressed Nattée.

‘“Child,” replied Nattée, who was pre-
pared, ‘‘I have neither dropped a sixpence
nor have you found one—but never mind that,
I know that which you wish, and I know who
you are. Now what would you with me? Is
it to inquire whether the landlord and land-
lady of the. Golden Lion intend to keep you
in their service ?”’

‘* No,’ replied the girl, frightened at what
she heard ; ‘‘ not to inquire that, but to ask
what my fortune will be ?”’

‘Open your palm, pretty maid, and I will
tell you. Hah! I see that you were born in
the West—your father is dead—your mother
is in service—and let me see,—you have a
brother at sea~—now in the West Indies.”

At this intelligence, all of which, as may be
supposed, had been gathered by us, the poor
girl was so frightened that she fell down ina
swoon, and Timothy carried her off. When
she was taken home to the inn, she was so ill
that she was put into bed, and what she did
say was so incoherent, that, added to Timo-
thy’s narrative, the astonishment of the land-
lady and others was beyond all bounds. I
tried very hard to bring the landlady, but she
would not consent; and now Nattée was
pestered by people of higher condition, who
wished to hear what she would say. Here
Nattée’s powers were brought intoplay. She
would not refuse to see them, but would not
give answers till she had asked questions, and
as from us she had gleaned much general in-
formation, so by making this knowledge
appear in her questions to them, she made
them believe she knew more. If a young
person came to her, she would immediately
ask the name—of that name she had all the
references acquired from us as to family and
connections. Bearing upon them, she would
ask a few more, and then give them an abrupt
dismissal.

This behaviour was put up with from one
of her commanding presence, who refused
money, and treated those who accosted her
as if she was their superior. Many came
again and again, telling her all they knew,
and acquainting her with every transaction of
their life, to induce her to prophesy, for such,30

she informed them, was the surest way to
call the spirit upon her. By these means we
obtained the secret history of the major
part, that is, the wealthier part of the town
O and although the predictions of
Nattée were seldom given, yet when given,
they were given with such perfect and appa-
rent knowledge of the parties, that when she
left, which she did about six weeks after her
first appearance, the whole town rang with
accounts of her wonderful powers.

It will appear strange that Melchior would
not permit Nattée to reap a harvest, which
might have been great ; but the fact was that
he only allowed the seed to be sown that a
greater harvest might be gathered hereafter.
Nattée disappeared, the gipsies’ tent was no
longer on the common, and the grass, which
had been beaten down into a road by the feet
of the frequent applicants to her, was again
permitted to spring up. We also took our
departure, and rejoined the camp with Nattée,
where we remained for a fortnight, to pérmit
the remembrance of her to subside a little-—
knowing that the appetite was alive, and
would not be satisfied until it was appeased.

After that time, Melchior, Timothy, and
I again set off for the town of , and
stopping at a superior inn in another part of
the town, dressed as travellers, that is, people
who go about the country for orders from the
manufacturers, ordered our beds and supper
in the coffee-room. The conversation was
soon turned upon the wonderful powers of
Nattée, the gipsy. ‘‘ Nonsense,’’ said Mel-
chior, ‘‘she knows nothing. T have heard of
her. But there 2s a man coming this way
(should he happen to pass through this town)
who will surprise and frighten you. No one
Knows who he is. He is named the Great
Aristodemus, He knows the past, the pre-
sent, and the future. He never looks at
people’s hands—he only looks you in the face,
and woe be to them who tell hima lie. Other-
wise he’ is good-tempered and obliging, and
will tell what will come to pass, and his pre-
dictions never have been known to fail. They
say that he is hundreds of years old, and his
hair is white as silver.” At this information
many expressed their doubts, and many others
vaunted the powers of the gipsy. Melchior
replied, ‘‘ that all he knew was, that for the
sum of two guineas paid down, he had told
him of a legacy left him of six hundred
pounds, which otherwise he would never have
known of or received.’ All the town of

 

 

being quite alive for fortune-telling, this new
report gained wind, and after a week's
sojourn, Melchicr thought that the attempt
should be made.

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

CHAPTER XIII.

The Seed having been carefully sown, we now reap.
a golden Harvest—We tell Everybody what they
knew before, and we are looked upon as most
marvellous by most marvellous Fools. i

WE accordingly packed up and departed to
another market-town. Timothy, dressed in
a sombre suit of black, very much like an
undertaker, was provided with a ‘horse, with
the following directions : to proceed leisurely
until he was within half a mile of the town
of , and then to gallop in as fast as
he could, stop at the best inn in the place,:
and order apartments for the Great Aristo-
demus, who might be expected in half an
hour. Everything in this world depends
upon appearances, that is, when you intend
to gull it; and as every one'in the town had
heard of the Great Aristodemus, so every one
was anxious to know something about him,
and Timothy was pestered with all manner
of quéstions; but he declared that he was
only his courier, and could only tell what
other people said; but then what other
people said, by Timothy's account, was very
marvellous indeed. Timothy had hardly
time to secure the best rooms in the hotel,
when Melchior, dressed in a long flowing
silk gown, with a wig’ of long white hair) a
square cap, and two or three gold chains
hanging from his neck, certainly most ad-
mirably disguised, and attended by me in
the dress of a German student, a wig of long
brown locks hanging down my shoulders,
made our appearance in a postchaise and
four, and drove up to the door of the inn) at
a pace which shook every house in the street,
and occasioned every window to be tenanted
with one or more heads to ascertain the
cause of this unusual occurrence, for it was
not a very great town, although once of
importance ; but the manufactures had been
removed, and it was occupied by those who
had become independent by their own exer-
tions, or by those of their forefathers.
The door of the chaise was'opened by the
obsequious Timothy, who pushed away the
ostlers and waiters, as if unworthy te ap-
proach his master, and the Great Aristo-
demus made his appearance. As he ascended
the steps of the door, his passage was fora

 

moment barred by one whose profession ~

Melchior well knew. ‘‘ Stand aside, excise-
man!” said he, in a commaiding’ voice.
“No one crosses my path with impunity.”
Astonished at hearing his profession: thus
mentioned, the exciseman, who was the
greatest bully in the town, slipped on one
side with consternation, and all those present
lifted up their eyes and hands with astonish-
ment. The Great Aristodemus’ gained ‘his
room, and shut his door; and I went out topay for the chaise and order supper, while
Timothy and the porters were busy with our
luggage, which was very considerable.

**My master will not see any one,” said I
to the'dandlord : ‘‘he quits this town. to-
morrow, if the letters arrive which he expects
by the post ; therefore, pray get rid of this
crowd, and let him be quiet, for he is very
tired, having travelled one hundred and fifty
miles since the dawn of day.”

When Tim and I had performed this duty,
we joined Melchior in his room, leaving the
news tobe circulated. ‘‘ This promises well,”
observed Melchior; ‘‘up to the present we
have expended much time and money ; now
we must see if we cannot recover it tenfold.
Japhet, you must’ take an opportunity of
going out again after supper, and make in-
quiries of the landlord what poor people they
have in the town, as I am very generous, and
like to relieve them ; you may observe, that
all the money offered to me for practising
my art, I give away to the poor, having no
occasion for it.” ‘This I did, and we then sat
down to supper, and having unpacked our
baggage, went to bed, after locking the door
of the room, and taking out the key.

The next morning we had everything in
readiness, and as the letters, as the reader
may suppose, did not arrive by the post, we
were obliged to remain, and the landlord
ventured to hint to me, that several people
were anxious to consult my master. I replied,
that I would speak to him, but it was neces-
sary to caution those who came, that they
must either offer gold or nothing at all. I
brought his consent to see one or two, but no
more. ' Now, although we had various ap-
paratus to use, when required, it was thought
that the effect would be greater, if, in the
first instance, everything was simple. Mel-
chior, therefore, remained sitting at the table,
which was covered with a black cloth, worked
with curious devices, and a book of hiero-
glyphics before him, and an ivory wand,
tipped with'gold, lying by the book. Timothy
standing at the door, with a short Roman
sword buckled to his’ belt, and I, in a
respectful attitude, behind the Great Aristo-
demus.

The first person who was admitted was the
lady of the mayor of the town; nothing
could be more fortunate, as we had every
information relative to her and her spouse,
for people in high places are always talked
of. Aristodemus waved his hand, and I
brought forward a chair in silence, and
and motioned that she should be seated.
Aristodemus looked her in her face, and then
turned over several leaves, until he fixed upon
a page, which he considered attentively.
‘«Mayoress of -—, what wouldst thou with
me ?”’

She started, and turned pale. ‘‘I would
ask—-—”

   

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A

 

   
   
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
    
   
 
 
  
 
 
    
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  

FATHER. 31

‘“‘T know ; thou wouldst ask many things,
perhaps, had I time to listen. Amongst
others thou wouldst ask if thers is any chance
of thy giving an heir to thy husband. Is it
not'so?”’

‘“Yes, it is,” replied the lady, fetching her
breath.

‘“So do I perceive by this book: but let
me put one question to thee. Wouldst thou
have blessings showered on thee, yet do no
good? Thou art wealthy—yet what dost
thou and thy husband do with these riches ?

Are ye liberal? No. Give, and it shall be
given. I have said.”

Aristodemus waved his hand, and the lady
rose to withdraw. A guinea was in her
fingers, and her purse in her hand; she took
out four more, and added them to the other,
and laid them on the table. :

‘“°Tis well, lady; charity shall plead for
thee. Artolphe, let that money be distributed
among the poor.”

I bowed in silence, and the lady retired.

‘Who will say that I do no good?” ob-
served Melchior, smiling, as soon as she was
gone.  ‘‘ Her avarice and that of her husband
are as notorious as their anxiety for children.
Now, if I’ persuade them to be liberal, I do
service. ”

“But you have given her hopes.”

‘‘T have, and the very hope will do more
to further their wishes than anything else.
It is despair which too often prevents those
who have no children from having any. How.
often do you see a couple, who, after years
waiting for children, have at last given up
their hope, and resigned themsélves to the
dispensations of Providence, and then, when
their anxiety has subsided, have obtained a
family? Japhet, 1am a shrewd observer of
human nature.”

‘That I believe,” replied I; ‘“but I do not
believe your last remark to be correct—but
‘Timothy raps at the door.”

Another lady entered the room, and then
started back, as if she would retreat, so sur-
prised was she at the appearance of the Great
Aristodemus ; but as Timothy had turned the
key, her escape was impossible. She was
unknown to us, which was rather awkward ;

but Melchior raised his eyes from his book,
and waved his hand as before, that she should
be seated. With some trepidation she stated,
that she was a widow, whose dependence was
upon an only son now at sea; that she had
not heard of him for a long while, and was
afraid. that some accident had happened ;
that she was in the greatest distress—‘‘and,”’
continued she, ‘‘I have nothing to offer but
this ring. Can you tell me if he is yet alive?”
cried she, bursting into tears; ‘‘but if you
have not the art you pretend to, O donot rob
a poor friendless creature, but let me depart !”’

‘“When did you receive your last letter
from him?” said Melchior.“Tt is now seven months—dated from
Bahia,”’ replied she, pulling it out of her
reticule, and covering her face with her hand-
kerchief.

Melchior caught the address, and then
turned the letter over on the other side, as it
lay on the table. ‘‘ Mrs. Watson,” said he.

‘Heavens ! do you know my name ?”’ cried
the woman.

‘‘Mrs. Watson, I do not require to read
your son's letter—I know its contents.’’ He
then turned over his book, and studied fora
few seconds. ‘‘ Your son is alive.”

“Thank God!” cried she, clasping her
hands, and dropping her reticule.

‘But you must not expect his return too
soon—he is well employed.”

‘‘Oh! I care not—he is alive—he is alive !
God bless you—God bless you !”

Melchior made a sign to me, pointing to
the five guineas and the reticule : and I con-
trived to slip them into her reticule, while she
sobbed in her handkerchief.

‘‘Hnough, madam: you must go, for others
require my aid.”

The poor woman rose, and offered the

e Nay, nay, I want not thy money; I take
from the rich that I may distribute to the
poor—but not from the widow in affliction.
Open thy bag.” The widow took up her
bag, and opened it. Melchior dropped in
the ring, taking his wand from the table,
waved it, and touched the bag. ‘‘As thou
art honest, so may thy present wants be re-
lieved. Seek, and thou shalt find.”

The widow left the room with tears of
gratitude ; and I must say, that I was affected
with the same. When she had gone, I ob-
served to Melchior, that up to the present he
had toiled for nothing.

‘“Very true, Japhet; but depend upon it,
if I assisted that poor woman from no other
feelings than interested motives, I did well ;
but I tell thee candidly, I did it from com-
passion. Weare odd mixtures of good and
evil. I wage war with fools and knaves, but
not with all the world. I gave that money
freely—she required it ; and it may be put as
a set off against my usual system of fraud, or
it may not—at all events, I pleased myself.”’

‘‘But you told her that her son was alive.

‘“Very true, and he may be dead ; but is it
not well to comfort her—even for a short
time, to relieve that suspense which is worse
than the actual knowledge of his death?
Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.”

It would almost have appeared that this
good action of Melchior met with its reward,
for the astonishment of the widow at finding
the gold in her reticule—her narrative of
what passed, and her assertion (which she
firmly believed to be true) that she had never
left her reticule out of her hand, and that
Melchior had only touched it with his wand,

 

 

GAPHLE Ti. INGSEARCH OF. A fea Til ie,

  

 
    
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
    
   
  
    
 
  
    
  

raised his reputation to that degree, that.
nothing else was talked about throughout,
the town, and, to crown all, the next day's |
post brought her a letter and remittances
from her son; and the grateful woman re=
turned, and laid ten guineas on the black
cloth, showering a thousand blessings upon
Melchior, and almost worshipped him as @
supernatural being. This was a most fortu
nate occurrence, and, as Melchior prophesied,
the harvest did now commence. In four”
days we had received upwards of 200/., and
we then thought it time that we should
depart. The letters arrived which were e

pected ; and when we set out in a chaise and)
four, the crowd to see us was So great, that ify)
was with difficulty we could pass through it,”

 

:

CHAPTER XIV.

In which Melchior talks very much like an Astro™
loger, and Tim and I return to our old Trade of
making up innocent Prescriptions.

WE had taken our horses for the next town
but as soon as we were fairly on the road,
stopped the boys, and told them that the
Great Aristodemus intended to observe the
planets and stars that night, and that they
were to proceed to a common which I men
tioned. ‘The post-boys, who were well aware”
of his fame, and as fully persuaded of it
everybody else, drove to the common. We
descended, took off the luggage, and req
ceived directions from Melchior, in their pres
sence about the instruments, to which the
boys listened with open mouths and wonder
ment. I paid them well, and told them
they might return, which they appeared very
glad to do. They reported what had oc
curred ; and this simple method of regaining:
our camp added to the astonishment of the
good town of When they were out of
sight, we resumed our usual clothes, packed ©
all up, carried away most of our effects, and™
hid the others im the furze, to be sent for'the
next night, not being more than two miles:
from the camp. We soon arrived, and were
joyfully received by Fleta and Nattée.
As we walked across the common, I ob-—
served to Melchior, ‘‘ I wonder if these stars
have any influence upon mortals, as it was
formerly supposed ?”’ :
‘* Most assuredly they have,’’ rejoined Mele”
chior. ‘‘I cannot read them, but I firmly ~
believe in them.” y
I made the above remark, as I had often”
thought that such was Melchior’s idea. ‘
‘“ Yes,” continued he, ‘‘ every man has his :

fedestiny—such must be the case. It is known
beforehand what is to happen to us, by an
Ominiscient Being ; and being known, what
is it but destiny which cannot be changed ?
It is faze,” continued he, surveying the stars
with his hand raised up; ‘‘and that fate is
as surely written there as the sun shines upon
us; but the great book is sealed, because it
would not add to our happiness.” :

‘Tf, then, all is destiny or fate, what in-
ducement is there to do well or ill?” replied

““We may commit all acts of evil, and
say that, as it was predestined, we could not
help it. Besides, would it be just that the
Omniscient Being should punish us for those
crimes which we cannot prevent, and which
are allotted to us by destiny ?’’

‘‘Japhet, you argue well, but you are in
error, because, like most of those of the
Christian church, you understand not. the
sacred writings, nor did I until I knew my
wife. Her creed is, I believe, correct; and
what is more, adds weight to the truths of
the Bible.”’

‘“‘T thought that gipsies had no religion.”

‘You are not the only one who supposes
so. It,is true that the majority of the tribe
are held by the higher castes as serfs, and
are not instructed ; but with—if I may use
the expression—the aristocracy of them, it
is very different; and their creed I have
adopted.”

‘‘T should wish to hear their creed,”’ re-
plied I.

‘‘Hear it then. Original sin commenced
in Heaven—when the angels rebelled against
their God ; not on earth.”

‘‘T will grant that sin originated first in
Heaven.”

‘Do you think that a great, a good God,
ever created any being for its destruction and
eternal misery, much less an angel? Did He
not foresee their rebellion ?”’

““T grant it.”

““This world was not peopled with the
image of God until after the fall of the angels :
it had its living beings, its monsters, perhaps,
but not a race of men with eternal souls.
But it was peopled, as we see it now is, to
enable the legions of angels who fell to re-
turn to their former happy state—as a pil-
grimage by which they might obtain their
pardons and resume their seats in Heaven.
Not a child is born, but the soul of some
fallen cherub enters into the body to work
out its salvation. Many do, many do not,
and then they have their task to recommence
anew ; forthe spirit once created is immortal ;
and cannot be destroyed ; and the Almighty
is all goodness, and would ever pardon.”

“Then you suppose there is no such thing
as eternal punishment ?.”’

‘*Eternal !—-no. Punishment there is, but
not eternal. When the legions of angels fell,
some were not so perverse as others: they

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

33

soon re-obtained their seats, even when, as
children, having passed through the slight
ordeal, they have been summoned back
to Heaven : but others who, from their in-
fancy, show how bad were their natures,
have many pilgrimages to perform before
they can be purified. This is in itself a
punishment. What other punishment they
incur between their pilgrimages we know
not ; but this is certain, that no one was
created to be punished eternally.”

‘‘ But all this is but assertion,” replied I ;
‘“‘ where are your proofs ?”

‘‘In the Bible; some day or other I will
show them to you; but now we are at the
camp, and I am anxious to embrace Nattée.”’

I thought for some time upon this singular
creed ; one in itself not militating against
religion, but at the same time I could not
call to mind any passages by which it could
besupported, Still the idea was beautiful, and
I dwelt upon it with pleasure. I have before
observed, and indeed the reader must have
gathered from my narrative, that Melchior was
no common personage. Every day did I
become more partial to him, and more pleased
with our erratic life. What scruples I had at
first, gradually wore away; the time passed
quickly, and although I would occasionally
call to mind the original object of my setting
forth, I would satisfy myself by the reflection,
that there was yet sufficient time. Little
Fleta was now my constant companion when
in the camp, and I amused myself with
teaching her to write and read.

‘« Japhet,’’ said Timothy to me one day, as
we were cutting hazel broach wood in the
forest, ‘‘ I don’t see that you get on very fast
in your search after your father.”

““ No, Tim, I do not ; but Iam gaining a
knowledge of the world which will be very
useful to me when I recommence the search ;
and what is more, Iam saving a great deal
of money to enable me to prosecute it.”

‘* What did Melchior give you after we
left ?.’’

‘‘ Twenty guineas, which, with what I had
before, make more than fifty.”

«« And he gave me ten, which makes twenty,
with what I had before. Seventy pounds is
a large sum.”

“Yes, but soon spent, Tim. We must
work a little longer. Besides, I cannot leave
that little girl—she was never intended for a
rope-dancer,”’

‘“T am glad to hear you say that, Japhet,
for I feel as you do—she shall share our
fortunes.” 3

‘*A glorious prospect truly,’’ replied I,
laughing ; ‘‘but never mind, it would be
better than her remaining here. But how are

we to manage that?”

‘Ay! that’s the rub; but there is time
enough to think about it when we intend to
quit our present occupation.”

Cc““ Well, 1 understand; from Melchior that
we are to start in'a few days,’

‘* What is it. to be, Japhet.2.”

“Oh! we shall,be at home—we are to cure
all diseases. under the sun, ‘To-morrow we
commence, making pills,. so-we may think
ourselves with Mr. Cophagus again.”

Well I-do think we: shall have some
fun ; but. hope Melchior won't make: me
take my own pills to prove their good: quali-
ties—-that will be no joke.”

“Ono, Num is kept on purpose for that.
What else is the fool‘good. for?”’ “

‘The next. week was employed as we antici-
pated. Boxes of pills of. every. size, neatly
labelled, bottles of .yarious mixturés, chiefly.
stimulants, were . corked and packed up.
Powders of anything) were put in papers:; but,
at all events, there was nothing hurtful in
them, All was ready, and: accompanied by:
Num (Jumbo and, Fleta being’ left: at home)
we. set off, Melchior assuming’ the dress. in
which we-had first met ‘him in! the waggon\
and altering his, appearanceyso” completely,
that he would have been: taken for: at least
sixty, years old. We inow! travelled: on foot
with our dresses in bundles) each: carrying
his own, except Num who was loaded like a
pack-horse, and:-made. sore Jathentatidns -
‘“Can't you carry some of this 2.”

‘ No,” replied], ‘‘ itis your own luggage;
eyery One must carry his own.”

‘““ Well, I never felt my. spangled dress so
heavy before.  Whereare we going?”

“Only a little way,’ replied Timothy,
“fand then you will have nothing more to do.”

‘‘ [don'tknow that. When master puts
on that dress I have to: swallow little’ things
till I’m sick.”

‘CIs’ all good for'youn health, Num.’
+‘ Pmvery well; I thanke,’ replied the poor
fellow; “! but Dm.very hot! and! very tired,”

CHAPTER XV.

In which Timothy makes a grand Speech, quite as
true as those délivered from the Hustings—Mel-
chior, hike’the ‘Candidate, ‘statés his Pretension&
for Public Favour, and the Public, as usual,
swallow the Bait.

FORTUNATELY for poor Num, we were
not far, from ‘the market town at which’ we
intended. to open. our campaign, ‘which we
did, the next morning by’ Num and ‘Timothy
sallying forth, the former witha large tram=
petin his hand, and the latter riding on’ a
donkey. On their arrival at. the market-place,
Num commenced. blowing it, with all. his

 

 

TAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

might, while. Tinrothy, in his spangled
dress, aS soon as they had collected a crowd,
stood upon-‘his saddle, and harangued the.
people as follows :—

‘* Gentlemen and ladies,—I have the hon:
our to announce to you the arrival in this
town of the celebrated Doctor Appallacheos+
mocommetico, who has fravelled’ farther
than the sun and faster than a comet. He
hath visited every part of the’ globe. He has
smoked the calumet with the Indians of
North America—he has hunted’ with the
Arauicasin the South—galloped’on wild horses
over the plains of Mexico, and rubbed noses
with the Esquimaux. He hath used the
chopsticks: .with the Chinese, swung the
Cherok pooga with the Hindoos, and put a
new nose on the Great Cham of Tartary.. He
hath visited and been received’ in’ every
court’ of Europe; danced on the ice of the
Neva with thé Russians—led. the mazurka
with the Poles—waltzed with the Germans—
tarantulaed with the Italians—fandangoed
with the Spanish—and .quadrilled with the
French; He-shath explored every mine in the
universe, walked through every’ townon the
Continent, examined every mountain in the
world, ascended Mont Blanc, walked down
the Andes, andrun up the Pyrenees. ' He
has been into every volcano in the globe, and
descending by Vesuvius has been thrown up
by Stromboli. He has lived more than @
thousand years; and is still in the flower of
his youth. He has had one hundred and forty
sets of teeth one after another, and expects a
new set next Christmas. His whole life has
been spent in the service of mankind, and
in doing good to his fellow-creatures ; and
having the experience of more than a thou-
sand years, he curés more than a thousand
diseases.’ Gentlemen, the wonderful’ doctor

will present himself before’ ‘you this ‘evén-
‘ing, and will then tell you what his rémedies

are good for, so that you may pick and choose
according to your several complaints. Ladies,
the wonderful doctor can greatly assist you’:
he has'secrets by which. you may have ‘a fa-
mily,)if you should so ‘wish : philters to make
husbands° constant; and’ salve to make them
blind; cosmetics to' remove’ pimples and
restore to youth and’ beauty,‘ and‘ powders to

‘keep children from squalling. Sound the

trumpet. Philotas ; sound, and let everybody
know that the wonderful: Doctor ‘Appalla-
cheosmocommetico has vouchsafed to stop
here‘and confer his blessings upon the inha+
bitants of this town.” ‘Hereupon’ Num again
blew the: trumpet tilk-he was black in ‘the
face ;, and. Timothy, dropping on:his donkey,
rode away-to other parts’ of the town, where
he repeated his srandiloquent annotiricement,
followed, as may be supposed, by a nume-
rous corzéoe of little: ragged boys.

About four o'clock in the afternoon Mel

,_ chior made his appearance in- the ‘market®place, attended by. me;/dressed. as a German
| student—Timothy and Num in their cos-
| tumes. A stage had.already been prepared,
/and the populace had crowded round it,
| More with the intention of laughing than of
making purchases, The various packets

were opened.and arranged in front of the
| platform, I standing on one’side of Melchior,
| Timothy on the other, and Num with his
_ tyumpet, holding on by one. of-the scaffold:
poles at the corner.

‘‘Sound the trumpet, Philotas,”? said Mel-
_chior, taking off his three-cornered hat, and
| making a low bow to the audience)at every
/Dlast. _‘‘ Pray, Mr, Fool, do you know why
| you-sound. the trumpet?”

_‘‘Tm. sure I don’t know,’
opening his goggle eyes.

‘‘ Do you know, Mr. Dionysius.”

‘“Ves, sir, 1.can guess,”

‘Explain, then, to the gentlemen and
ladies. who have honoured us’ with their
presence.”

“« Because, sir, trumpets are always sounded
_ before great- conquerors.”

‘‘Very true, sir ;; but how. am I a great
conqueror?”

‘*You have. conquered, death, sir ; and
he’s).a very rum- customer to haye to deal
| with."

“Dionysius, you, have, answered, well,'and
‘shall have some bullock’s), liver, for your
supper ;—-don‘t forget. to remind, me,) in ease
I forget it.’ 2

‘“{ No, that I won't, six,’!, replied Timothy,
rubbing his stomach, as if delighted, with the
idea,

‘« Ladies and gentlemen,”’ said Melchior to
the! audience; who were on, the broad: grin,
‘‘I-, see your mouths; are all, open, and are
waiting for the pills; but be not too impa-
tient—I cannot. part with, my; medicines un-
less: you, have’ diseases, which require their
aid’; and I-should, indeed, be a sorry doctor;
ifs I. preseribed; without knowing your com-
plaints... “Ast neutrale genus, segnans rem
non animatam, says Herodotus; which) in
English: means, - what: is one, man’s’ meat is
another man's poison ; and;further, he-adds;
‘ Ut gecur, ut onus, put ut-occeput,’ which is
as much as to say; that what agrees with one
temperament>.will,-be; injurious, to another.
Caution; therefore, becomes very necessary
in» the, use of medicine; and) my reputation
depends upon:my not permitting: any one, to
take what. is; hot). good;for him, :And now,
my'very dear friends;'1 will first: beg. yeu; to
obsérve the peculiar qualities of| the contents
of this little’ phial. You observe! that there
are not, more; than sixty drops im}it, yet will
these sixty drops) add tem years toa man’s
life, for it will cure him, of; almost-as-many-
diseases. In the first place, are any of you
troubled with the ascztes,or dropsy, which,
as the celebrated Galen hath declared, may

’

replied Num;

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A. FATHER:

 

35

be divided into three parts—the ascétes, the
anasarca, andthe tympanctes,.\ The: diag-
nostics of this disease are, swelling of the
abdomen or stomach, difficulty of breathing,
want of appetite, and a teazing cough. I
say, have any of you this disease? None.
Then, I thank Heaven that you are; not {so
afflicted.

_‘* The next disease it is good for; is the
pertpneumonia, or inflammation on the lungs;
the ‘diagnostics or symptoms of which are; a
small pulse, swelling of the eyes, and redness
of the face: . Say, have any of you. these
symptoms); ifso; you have the diseases ‘No
one. £ thank Heaven that you are noné of
you so afflicted.

‘It. is also.a sovereign remedy! for the
diarrhea, the diagnostics of which are, faint:
ness, frequent’ gripings,. rumbling im the
bowels, cold sweats, and spasm.”

Here one. man came forward dard com!
plained of frequent gripings, another: of
rumbling’ in the bowels; and: two or: three
more of cold:sweats. j

“It is well. O I thank Heaven that T am
here to administer to you myself !—for WHat
says Hippocrates ?: ‘ Relatevitte cum: antete-
dente-concordat,’ which: means,| that remedies
quickly appliéd: kill, the disease in its birth
‘Here, my friends, take it—take it ; -paymé
only one shilling; and. be thankful: When
you. go tovrest; fail not to offer up ydur
prayers. It is also a sovereign temedy: for
the dreadful chzragra; or Zout:) I cured! the
whole corporation of city,aldermen last weeky'
by. their taking: three’ bottles: each, and they
presented’ me with;the freedom:of the city: of:
London, in a gold box, which I am: sorry:
that ‘have forgotten to bring with me, Now,/
the chiragra. may be divided into: several
varieties, |Gonagra, When it attaéks the
knees;;. chtragra, if im the hands ; OnNaEKe,
if in the elbow.; omagra; if ‘ix thershoulder +!
and lumbago, if in-the backs: cAIE these -are:
varieties of the gout; and: for!alh these! the:
contents of this little’ bottle is a sovereigns
remedy ; and, observe, it will: keep’ for évér:
Twenty years: hence, when! afflicted» in: Your
old age—and the time will! come; my: good:
people—you may take downithis little phial
from the shelf, and bléss!: the hour im which
you spent your shilling; fof, : as: Eusébius
declares; ‘Verbum personateoconaci-dat= cum
nominativo, which is as muchas:to say; the
active will grow old; and,suffer fromapaiis in
their limbs: _Who, thenp-has pains; itt his
limbs; or lumbago?. Who, ittdeed,:can: say
that he will not have them ?”’ ;

After this: appeal the!number of those!who
had pains in‘ their limbs, or who wished td!
provide against such a disease,’ proved: so
great, that all: our, phials were digsposéd of,
and the doctor)was: obliged: to: promisé: that:
int a few-days: hé: would have. some more:of .
this invaluable medicine: ready!

C236

“Tyadies and gentlemen, I shall now offer
to your notice a valuable plaster, the effects
of which are miraculous. Dionysius, come
hither; you have felt the benefit of this
plaster ; tell your case to those who are pre-
sent, and mind you tell the truth.”

Hereupon Timothy stepped forward.
‘‘Ladies and gentlemen, won my honour,
about three weeks back I fell off the scaffold,
broke my backbone into three pieces, and
was carried off to a surgeon, who looked at
me, and )told the people to take measure for
my coffin. The great doctor was not there
at the time, having been sent for to consult
with the king’s physicians upon the queen’s
case, of cophagus, or intermitting mortifica-
tion of the great toe ; but, fortunately, just
as they were putting me into a shell, my
master came back, and immediately applying
his sovereign plaster to my back, in five days
I was able to sit up, and in ten days I re-
turned to my duty.”

‘‘ Are you quite well now, Dionysius?”

““Quite well, sir, and my back is like
whalebone.”

Sib ry it.*

Hereupon Dionysius threw two somersets
forward, two backward, walked ‘across the
stage on his hands, and tumbled in every
direction.

“* You see, gentlemen, I’m quite well now ;
and what I have said, I assure you, oz my
honour, to bea fact.”

‘““T hope you'll'allow that to be a very pret-
ty cure,” said the doctor, appealing to the
audience ; ‘and I hardly need say that for
sprains, bruises; contusions, wrenches, and
dislocations, this plaster is infallible ; and I
will surprise you more by telling you that I
can sell it for eightpence a sheet.”

The plaster went off rapidly, and was soon
expended.. The doctor went on describing
his other valuable articles; and when ‘he
came ‘to his cosmetics, &c., for women, we
could not hand them out fast enough. ‘‘ And
now,’ said the doctor, ‘‘I must bid you fare-
well for this evening.”

‘I’m glad of that,’ said Timothy, ‘‘ for
now I mean'to sell my own medicine.”

“Your medicine, Mr. Dionysius!
do you mean by that ?”’

‘“Mean, sir ; I mean to say that I’ve got a
Powder of my own contriving, which is a
sovereign remedy.”

‘* Remedy, sir, for what ?’’

‘‘Why, it’s a powder to kill fleas; and,
what's more, it’s just as infallible as your
own.”

““Have you, indeed ; and pray, sir, how
did you hit upon the invention?”’

“Sir, I discovered it in my sleep by acci+
dent ; but I have proved it, and I will say, if
properly administered, it is quite as infallible
‘as any of yours. Ladies and gentlemen,’ I
pledge you my honour that it will have the

What

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  

effect desired ; and all I ask is sixpence a
powder.”

‘« But how is it to be used, sir?”

‘“‘ Used—why, like all other powders ; but
I won't give the directions till I have sold
some; promising, however, if my method
does not succeed, to return the money.”

‘Well, that is fair, Mr. Dionysius ; and I
will take care that you keep your bargain.
Will anybody purchase the fool’s powder for
killing fleas?”

‘Yes, I will,” replied a man on the broad
grin; ‘‘here's sixpence. Now, then, fool,
how am I to use it?”

‘“Use it,’ said Timothy, putting the six-
pence in his pocket; ‘‘I’ll explain to you.
You must first catch the flea, hold him so tight
between the forefinger and thumb as to force
him to open his mouth ; when his mouth is
Open you must put a very little of this powder
into it, and it will kill him directly.”

‘“Why, when I have the flea as tight as
you state, I may as well kill him myself.”

«Very true, so you may, if you prefer it ;
but if you do not, you may use this powder,
which, upon my honour, is infallible.”

This occasioned a great deal of mirth,
among the bystanders. ‘Timothy kept his
sixpence, and our exhibition for this day
ended, very much to the satisfaction of
Melchior, who declared he had taken more
than ever he had done before in a whole
week. Indeed, the whole sum amounted to
17Z. ros., all taken in shillings and sixpences,
for articles hardly worth the odd shillings in
the account ; so we sat down to supper with
anticipations of a good harvest, and so it
proved. We stayed four days at this town,
and then proceeded’onwards, when the like
success attended us, Timothy and I being
obliged to sit up nearly the whole night to
label and roll up pills and mix medicines,
which we did ina very scientific manner.
Nor was it always that Melchior presided :
he would very often tell his audience that
business required his attendance elsewhere,
to visit the sick, and that he left the explana-
tion of his medicines and their properties to.
his pupil, who was far advanced in know-
ledge. With my prepossessing appearance,
I made a great effect, more especially among
the ladies ; and Timothy exerted himself so
much when with me, that we never failed to
bring home to Melchior a great addition to
his earnings; so much so, that at last he
only showed himself, pretended that he was
so importuned to visit sick persons, that he
could stay no longer, and then leave us, after
the first half-hour, to carry on the business
for him. After six weeks of uninterrupted
success, we returned to the camp, which, as
usual, was not very far off.CHAPTER XVI.

Important News, but not communicated—A Dis-

solution of Partnership takes place,

MELCHIOR’S profits had been much more
than he anticipated, and he was very liberal
indeed, he looked
upon me as his right hand, and became more
intimate and.attached every day. We were,
to the camp
was so much
in our pe-
that a little quiet was
delightful ; and I never felt more happy than
when Fleta threw herself into my arms, and
Nattée came forward with her usual dignity
and grace, but with more than usual conde-
scendence and kindness, bidding me welcome
Home—alas ! it was never meant for
my home, or poor Fleta’s—and that I felt.
It was our sojourn for a time, and no more.
We had been more than a year exercising
our talents in this lucrative manner, when one
day, as I was sitting at the entrance to the
tent, with a book in my hand, out of which
not
belongingito our gang, made his appearance.
and the -dew
drops, hangingvon his dark forehead, proved
He addressed
Nattée, who was standing by, in their own
language, which I did not understand ; but
After
Nattée
expressed astonishment and alarm, put her
hands over her face, and removed them as
quickly, as if derogatory in her to show
emotion, and then remained in deep thought.
Perceiving Melchior approaching, the gipsy
hastened to him, and they were soon in
In ten minutes it
was over; the gipsy went to the running
brook, washed his face, took a large draught
of water, and then hastened away, and was

to Timothy and myself;

of course, delighted to return
after our excursion. ‘There
continued bustle and excitement
culiar profession,

home.

Fleta was reading to me,

a gipsy,
‘le was covered with dust,

that he had travelled fast.

I perceived that he asked for Melchier.
an exchange of a few sentences,

animated conversation.

soon out of sight.

Melchior, who had watched the departure
I ob-
served him and Nattée as they met, as I was
certain that something important had taken
place. Melchior fixed his eyes upon Nattée—

of the gipsy, slowly approached us.

shelooked at him mournfully—folded herarms,
and made a slight bow as if in submission,
and ina low voice quoted from the Scriptures,
“Whither thou goest, I will go—thy, people
shall be my people, and thy God my God.”
He then walked away with her; they sat
down apart, and were in earnest conversation
for more than an hour.

‘‘Japhet,’’ said Melchior to me, after he
had quitted his wife, ‘‘what.I. am about to
tell you will surprise you. I have trusted you
with all I dare trust any one, but there are

  

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

Some secrets in every man’s life which had
better be reserved for himself and her who is
bound to him by solemn ties. . We must now
part. In a few days this camp will be broken
up, and these people will join some other
division of the tribe. For me, you will see
meno more. Ask me not to explain, for £
cannot.”

“‘And Nattée ?” said I.

“Will follow my fortunes, whatever they
may be—you will see her no more.”

‘“‘For myself I care not, Melchior: the
world is before me, and remain with the
gipsies without you I will not: but answer
me one question—what is to become of little
Fleta? Is she to remain with the tribe, to
which she does not belong, or does she go
with you?”

Melchior hesitated. ‘‘I hardly can answer ;
but what consequence can the welfare of a
soldier's brat be to you?”’

‘Allowing her to be what you assert,
Melchior, I am devotedly attached to that
child, and could not bear that she should
remain here. I am sure that you deceived
me in what you stated; for the child re-
members, and has told me anecdotes of her
infancy, which proves that she is of no mean
family, and that she has been stolen from her
friends.”

‘‘Indeed, is her memory so good?’ re-
plied Melchior, firmly closing his teeth. ‘To
Nattée or to me she has never hinted so
much.”

‘That is very probable ; but a stolen child
she is, Melchior, and she must not remain
here.”’

‘“Must not!”

“Yes; must not, Melchior; when you
quit the tribe, you will no longer have any
power, nor can you have any interest about
her. She shall then choose—if she will come
with me, I w2d/ take her, and nothing shall
prevent me; and in so doing I do youno
injustice, nor do I swerve in my fidelity.”

““How do you know that? I may have
my secret reasons against it.”’

“Surely you can. have no interest in a
soldier’s brat, Melchior?”

Melchior appeared confused and annoyed.
‘‘She is no soldier's brat; I acknowledge,
Japhet, that the child was stolen; but you
must not, therefore, imply that the child was
stolen by me or by my wife.’’

“I never accused you, or thought you
capable of it; and that is the,reason why I
am now surprised at the interest you take in
her. Ifshe prefers to go with you, I have
no more to say ; butif not, I claim her; and if
she consents, will resist your interference.”

‘‘ Japhet,’ replied Melchior, after a pause,
‘we must not quarrel now that we are about
to part. I will give you an answer in half
an hour.” +
Melchior returned to Nattée, and recom-38 YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.
menced a conversation with her, while I ‘Tet me hear them.”
hastened to Fleta. ‘First, then, Japhet, as you always have

‘“Fleta, do you know that the camp is to been honest and confiding with me, tell me
be broken up, and Melchior and Nattée leave now what are your intentions. Do you mean
it together?” to follow up the profession which you learnt

“Indeed !”. replied she, with surprise. under me, or what do you intend to do?”
‘“Then what is to become of you. and ‘Timo- ‘‘Honestly, then, Melchior, I do not
thy?” : intend to follow up that profession; unless

‘We must of coutse seek our fortunes driven to it by necessity. I intend to seek
where we can.” my father.”

‘“And of me?” continued she, looking me “ And if driven to it by necessity, do you
earnestly in the facé'with her large blue eyes. intend that Fleta shall aid you by her acquire-
‘Am I to stay here?” continued she, with ments? In short, do you mean to take her
alarm in her countenance. with you asa speculation, to make the most

“Not if you do fot wish it, Fleta ; as long of her, to let*her sink, when she arrives at the
as I ¢an stipport you T will—that is, if you age of woman, into vice and misery?”
would like to live with me in preference to ‘«T wonder at your asking me that question,
Melchior.” Melchior ; it is the first act of injustice I have

‘© Tf] would like, Japhet! you must know received at your hands. No; if obliged to
T would like--who has been so kind to me as‘ follow up the profession, 1 will not allow Fleta
you? Don't leave me; Japhet.” so to do. I would sooner that she were in

“7 will not, Fleta ; but on condition, that her grave. It is to rescue her from that very
you promise to be guided by me, and to do vice and misery, to take her out of a society

 

all T wish.” in which she never ought tohhave been placed,
“Po do what you Wish is the greatest plea-' that I take her witli me.

sure that IT have, Japhet—so I may safely “© And this upon your honour?”

promise that: What has’ happened?” ''Yés, upon’ my honour. I love her as my

‘That I do not know moré than yourself; sister, and ‘cannot help indulging in the hope
biit Melchior tells me that he and Nattée quit that in seeking my father I may chance to
the gipsy tents for ever.” stumble upon hers.”’

Fleta looked round to ascertain if any one ~ Melchior bit his lips. ‘‘ There is another
was near us, and then in a low tone’ said, “I protnise I must exact fromyou, Japhet, which
understand their language, Japliet, that is, a is, that toa direction which [ will give: you,
great deal of it, although they do not think’ évery Six months you will inclose aw address
so, and I overheard what’ thé gipsy Said in where you may be heard of, andalso intelli-
part; although he was at some distance. He’ gence as to Fleta’s welfare and‘ health.”
asked for Melchior; and when Nattée wantéd' — ‘‘ To that I give my cheerful promise; but;
to know what he wanted, he answered that Melchior, you appear to have taken, all at
‘he was dead ;’ then Nattée coveted up her otice, a strange interest'im this little girl.”
face; I could not hear all the rest, but there “T wish you now to think that I do take
was something about a horse.” an interest’ in her, provided you seek not to

Fle was dead, Wad then Melchior com ifquire'the why and the wherefore. Will you
mitted murder, Atid was obliged’ to fly the’ accept of funds for her maintenance ?”
country? This appeared to mé to be the most ‘Not without necessity compels me’; and’
probable, wheh I collected the facts in my then I should be glad to find, when I can no
possession ; and yet I could not believe it; longer help her, that'you are still her friend.”
for except that system of deceit nécessary to ‘““Recolléct, that you will always find what
carry on his various professions, I neverfound is requisite by writing to the address which I
anything in Melchior’s conduct which could’ shall give you before we part. — That point-is
be considered ‘as Criminal. On the contrary, now settled, and on! the whole I think the
he was kind,’ generous, and upright in his arrangement is good.”
privaté dealings, and in many points proved. "Timothy had been absent during the events
that he had’ a good heat. He wasa fiddle’ of the morning“when he retumed, I commu-

of inconsistency, it was certain’; profession- ni¢ated to him what had passed) and was:
ally he would cheat anybody, and disregard about to take'place.

all truth and Hohesty; but in his’ private “Well, Japhet, I don’t know—TI do’ not
character he was scrupulously honest, and’ dislike our présent life, yet. I ami not sorry to
with the exception of thé assertion relative to change it; but what are'we to do?”

Fiéta’s birth and parentage, he had never told “ That remains to’ bé cotisidered ; we have.
mealié, that I could discoyer, Twas summing: a good stock of money,’ fortunately, and we
up all these reflections ind my mind, whet Mel- must husband it till wé find what can be:
chidr Again came up to mé, Aifd'‘desiting the done.” :

littlé girl to'go away, hé sdid,:‘‘Japhet, Ihave’ We took our suppers alltogether for the:
resolved to grant your request with respé¢t to’ last. time, Mélchior telling us’ that’ he ‘had
Fleta, but it must be on conditions.” déterminéd to' set ‘off! the next day. Nattée’contrary, little Fleta was so overjoyed, that
her face, generally so mournful, was illumi-

nated with smiles whenever our eyes met. It paths again.

was delightful to see her so happy. The
whole of the people in the camp had retired,
and Melchior was busy making his arrange-
ments in the tent. I did not feel inclined to
sleep; I was thinking and revolving in my
mind my prospects for the future ; sitting, or
rather lying down, for I was leaning on my
elbow, at a short distance from. the tents.
The night was dark, but clear, and the stars
were brilliant. I had been watching them,
and I thought upon Melchior's ideas of des-

tiny, and dwelling on the futile wish that I

could read mine, when I perceived the
approach of Nattée.

“Japhet,” said. she, “‘you are to take the
little girl with you, I find—will you be careful
of her? for it would be on my conscience if
she were left to the mercy of the world. She
departs rejoicing, let not her joy end in tears.
I depart sorrowing. TI leave my people, my
kin, my habits, and customs, my influence,
all—but it must be so, it is my destiny. She
is a good child, Japhet—promise me that you
will be a friend ‘to her—and give her this to
wear in remembrance of me, but——not yet
not till we are gone——’ She hesitated,
“Japhet, do not let Melchior see it in your
possession ; he may not like my haying given
it away.” I took the piéce of paper con-
taining the present, and having promised all
she required, ‘‘ThiS is the last—yes—the
very last time that I may behold this scene,”
continued Nattée, surveying the common,
the tents, and the animals browsing. “Be it
so; Japhet, good night, may you prosper !”’
She then turned away and entered her tent ;
and soon afterwards I followed her example.

‘The,next day, Melchior was all ready,
What he had packed up was contained in
two small bundles. He addressed the people
belonging to the gang, in their own language,
Nattée did the same, and the whole of them
kissed her hand. The tents, furniture, and
the greatest part of his other property, were
distributed among them. Jumbo and Num
were made over to two of the principal men.
Timothy, Fleta, and I were also ready, and
intended to quit at the same time as Melchior
and his wife.

‘«Japhet,”” said Melchior, ‘‘ there is yet
some money due to you for our last éx-
cursion’’—(this was true)—'‘‘here it is—you
and Timothy keep but one purse, I am aware.
Good-bye, and may you prosper !”

Weshook hands with Nattée and Melchior.
Fleta went up to the former, and crossing her
arms bent her head. WNattée kissed the child,
and led her to Melchior. He stooped down,
kissed her on the forehead, and I perceived a
sign of strongly suppressed emotion as he did
so, Our intended routes lay in a different

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

looked very melancholy, but resigned ; on the

 

39

direction ; and when both parties had arrived
to either verge of the common, we waved our
hands’ as a last farewell, and resumed our
Fleta burst into tears as she
turned away from her former guardians,

CHAPTER XVII.

A Cabinet Council—I resolve to set up as a Gen-
tleman, having as legitimate Pretensions to the
Rank of one as many others.

1 LED the little sobbing girl by the hand, and
we proceeded for some time in silence. It
was not until we gained the high road that
Timothy interrupted my reverie, by observing,
‘Japhet, have you at all made up your mind
what you shall do?”

‘“‘I have been reflecting, Timothy. We
have lost a great deal of time. The original
intention with which I left London has been
almost forgotten ; but it must be so no longer.
I now have resolved, that as soon as I have
placed this poor little girl in, safety, I will
prosecute my search, and never be diverted
from it.”

“1 cannot agree with you that we have
lost time, Japhet ; we had very little money
when we started upon our expedition, and
now we have sufficient to enable you to pro-
secute your plans for a long time. The
question is, in what direction? We quitted
Lendon, and travelled west, in imitation, as
we thought, of the wzse men. With all
deference, in my opinion, it was like zwo
Jools.”

“I have been thinking upon that. point
also, Tim, and I agree with you. I expect,
from several causes, which you know as well
as I do, to find my father among the higher
classes of society ; and the path we took when
we started has led us into the yery lowest.. It
appears to me that we cannot do better than
rétrace our steps. We have the means, now
to appear: as gentlemen, and to mix im good
company ; and London is the very best place
for us to repair to.”’

“That is precisely my opinion, Japhet,
with one single exception, which I[ will
mention to you: but first tell me, have you
calculated what our joint purses may amount
to? It must be a very considerable sum.”

IT had not examined the packet in which
was the money which Melchior had given me
at parting. I now opened it, and found, to
my surprise, that there were bank notes to
the amount of one hundred pounds. I felt
that he had given me this large sum that it
might assist me in Fleta’s expenses. ‘‘ With40

this sum,” said I, ‘‘I cannot have much less
than two hundred and fifty pounds.”

‘“And I have more than sixty,’ said
Timothy. ‘‘ Really, the profession ‘was not
unprofitable.”

‘No,’ replied I, laughing ; ‘‘ but recollect,
Tim, that we had no outlay. The public
provided us with food, our lodging cost us
nothing. We have had no taxes to pay; and
at the same time have taxed folly and credulity
to a great extent.”

‘«That’s true, Japhet; and although I am
glad to have the money, I am not sorry that
we have abandoned the profession.”

‘Nor am I, Tim; if you please, we will
forget it altogether. But tell me, what was
the exception you were about to make?”

‘Simply this. Although upwards of three
hundred pounds may be a great deal of
money, yet, if we are to support the cha-
racter and appearance of gentlemen, it will
not last for ever. For instance, we must
have our vale/s. What an expense that will
be! Our clothes too—we shall soon lose our
rank and station in society, without we’ ob-
tain a situation under Government.”

“We must make it last as long as we can,
Timothy ; and trust to good fortune to assist

us.

‘«That’s all very well, Japhet ; but I had
rather trust to our own prudence. Now hear
what I have to say. You will be as much
assisted by a trusty valet as by any other
means. I shall, asa gentleman, be only an
expense and an incumbrance ; but as a valet
I shall be able to play into your hands ; at
the same time more than one half the ex-
pense will be avoided. With your leave,
therefore, I will take my proper situation,
put on your livery, and thereby make myself
of the greatest use.”

I could not help acknowledging the ad-
vantages to be derived from this proposal of
Timothy’s ; but I did not like to accept it.

‘Tt is very kind of you, Timothy,’’ replied
I; ‘but Ican only look upon you as a friend
and an equal.”

‘‘There you are right and are wrong in
the same breath. You are right in looking
upon me as a friend, Japhet ; and you would
be still more right in allowing me to prove
my friendship as I propose; but you are
wrong in looking upon me as an equal, for I
am not so either in personal appearance,
education, or anything else. We are both
foundlings, itis true ; but you were christened
after Abraham Newland, and/7I after the
workhouse pump. You were a gentleman
foundling, presenting yourself with a fifty-
pound note, and good clothes. I made my
appearance in rags and misery. If you find
your parents, you will rise in the world ; if I
find mine, I shall, in all probability, have no
reason to be proud of them. I therefore
must insist upon having my own choice in

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  

 

the part I am to play in the drama, and 1
will prove to you that it is my right to choose.
You forget that, when we started, your ob-
ject was to search after your father, and I
told you mine should be to look after my
mother. You have selected high life as the
expected sphere in which he is to be found,
and I select low life as that in which I am
most likely to discover the object of my
search. So you perceive,” continued Tim,
laughing, ‘‘that we must arrange so as to
suit the views of both without parting com-
pany. Do you hunt among bag-wigs, amber-
headed canes, silks and satins—I will burrow
among tags and tassels, dimity and mob
caps; and probably we shall both succeed in
the object of our search. I leave you to hunt
in the drawing-rooms, while I ferret in the
kitchen. You may throw yourself on a sofa
and exclaim—‘ Who is my father?’ while I
will sit*in the cook’s lap, and ask her if she
may happen to be my mother.”

This sally of Timothy's made even Fleta
laugh ; and after a little more remonstrance,
I consented that he should perform the part
of my valet. Indeed, the more I reflected
upon it, the greater appeared the advantages
which might accrue from the arrangement.
By the time that this point had been settled,
we had arrived at the town to which we
directed our steps, and took up our quarters
at an inn of moderate pretensions, but of
very great external cleanliness. My first ob-
ject was to find out some fitting asylum for
little Fleta. The landlady was a buxom,
good-tempered young woman, and I gave
the little girl into her charge, while Timothy
and I went out on a survey. I had made up
my mind to put her to some good, but not
very expensive, school, if such were to be
found in the vicinity. I should have prefer-
red taking her with me to London, but I was
aware how much more expensive it would be
to provide for her there ; and as the distance
from the metropolis was but twenty miles, 1!
could easily run down to see her occasionally.
I desired the little girl to call me her brother,
as such I intended to be to her in future, and
not to answer every question they might put
to her. There was, however, little occasion
for this caution ; for Fleta was, as I before
observed, very unlike children in general. 1
then went out with Timothy to look for a
tailor, that I might order our clothes, as
what we had on were not either of the very
best taste, nor in the very best condition.
We walked up the main street, and soon fell
in with a tailor's shop, over which was writ+
ten in large letters — ‘‘ Feodor Schneider,
Tailor to his Royal Highness the Prince of
Darmstadt.”

‘* Will that do, Japhet?’ said Timothy,
pointing to the announcement.

‘“Why yes,’ replied I; ‘‘ but) how the
deuce the Prince of Darmstadt should haveemployed a man in a small country town as
his tailor, is to me wather a puzzle.”

“Perhaps he made his clothes when he
was in Germany,”’ replied Tim.

‘‘ Perhaps he did ; but, however, he shall
have the honour of making mine.”

We entered the shop, and I ordered a suit
of the most fashionable clothes, choosing my
colours, and being very minute in my direc-
tions to the foreman, who measured me eit
as I was leaving the shop the master, judging
by my appearance, which was certainly not
exactly that of a gentleman, ventured to
observe that it was customary with gex¢lemen,
whom they had not the honour of knowing,
to leave a deposit. Although the very pro-
posal was an attack upon my gentility, I
made no reply ; but pulling out a handful of
guineas, laid down two on the counter and
walked away, that I might find another shop
at which we might order the livery of
Timothy ; but this was only as a reconnoitre,
as I did not intend to order his liveries unti
I could appear in my own clothes, which
were promised on the afternoon of the next
day. There were, however, several other
articles to be purchased, such as a trunk,
portmanteau, hat, gloves, &c., all which we
procured, and.then went back to the inn.
On my return I ordered dinner. Fleta was
certainly clad in her best frock, but bad was
the best ; and the landlady, who could ex-
tract little from the child, could not imagine
who we could be. I had, however, allowed
her to see more than sufficient money to war-
rant Our expenses ; and so far her scruples
were, although her curiosity was not, re-
moved.

That evening I had a long conversation
with Fleta. I told her that we were to part,
that she must go to school, and that I
would very often come down to see her. At
first, she was inconsolable at the idea ; but I
reasoned with her, and the gentle, intelligent
creature acknowledged that it wasright. The
next day my clothes came home, and I
dressed myself. ‘‘ Without flattery, Japhet,”’
said Timothy, ‘‘you do look very much
like a gentleman.” Fleta smiled, and said the
same. I thought so too but said nothing.
Putting on my hat and gloves, and accom-
panied by Timothy, I descended to go out
and order Tim liveries, as well as a fit-out for
Fleta.

After I was out in the street I discovered
that I had left my handkerchief, and returned
to fetch it. The landlaly, seing a gentleman
about to enter the inn, made a very low
courtesy, andit was not until I looked hard
at her that she recognized me. Then I was
satisfied ; it wasan involuntary tribute to my
appearance, worth all the flattering asser-
tions in the world. We now proceeded to
the other tailor's in the main street. I en-
tered the shop with a flourishing, important

   

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

4t

air, and was received with many bows. ‘ I
wish,” said I, ‘‘ to havea suit*of livery made
for this young man, who is about to enter
into my service. I cannot take him up to
town this figure.’’ The livery was chosen,
and as I expressed my wish to be off the next
evening, it was promised to be ready by an
hour appointed.

I then went to a milliner’s, and desired
that she would call at the inn to fit out a
little girl for school, whose wardrobe‘ had
been left behind by mistake. On the fourth
day all was ready. I had made inquiries, and
found out a very respectable school, kept by
a widow lady. lasked for references, which
were given, and I was satisfied. The terms
were low—twenty pounds per annum. I
paid the first half-year in advance, and lodged
fifty guineas more in the hands of a banker,
taking a receipt for it, and giving directions
that it was to be paid to the schoolmistress
as it became due. “I took this precaution,
that should I be in poverty myself, at all
events, Fleta might be provided in clothes
and schooling for three years at least. The
poor child wept bitterly at the separation,
and I could with difficulty detach her little
arms from my neck ; and I felt when I left her
as if I had parted with the only valuable
object to me on earth.

All was now ready ; but Timothy did not,
as yet, assume his new clothes. It would
have appeared strange that one who sat at
my table should afterwards put on my livery;
and as in asmall town there is always plenty
of scandal, for Fleta’s sake, if for no other
reason, it was deferred until our arrival in
London. Wishing the landlady good-bye,
who I really believed would have given up her
bill to have known who we could possibly be,
we got on the outside of the stage-coach, and
in the evening arrived at the metropolis. I
have been particular in describing all these
little circumstances, as it proves how very
awkward it is to jump, without observation,
from one station in society to another.

CHAPTER XVIII.

I receive a Letter from my Uncle, by which I
naturally expect to find out who is my Father—
Like other Outcasts, I am warned by a Dream.

But I have omitted to mention a circum-
stance of great importance which occurred at
the inn the night before I placed Fleta at
the boarding-school. In looking over my
portmanteau, I perceived the present of
Nattée to Fleta, which I had quite forgotten.T took if to Fleta, and told her from whom
it came. On opening the paper, it proved
to contain a long chain of round coral and
gold beads, strung alternately; the gold
beads were not so large as the coral, but still
the number of them, and the purity of the
metal, made them of considérable value.
Fleta passed the beads through her fingers,
and then threw it round her neck, and sat
in deep thought for some minutes. ‘‘ Japhet,’’
said she at last, ‘‘I have seen this—I have
worn this before—I recollect that I have ; it
rushes intomy memory as an old friend, and
I think that. before morning it will bring to
my mind something that I shall recollect
about it.”

‘Try all you can, Fleta, and let me know
to-morrow.’

“ It's no use trying ; if I try, I never ean
recollect anything. I must wear it to-night,
and then I shall have something come into my
mind all of a sudden; or perhaps I may
dream something. Good-night.”’

It immediately occurred to me that it was
most probable that the chain had been on
Fleta’s neck at the time that she was stolen
from her parents, and might prove the means
of her being identified. It was no common
chain—apparently had been wrought by
people in a state of semi-refinement. ‘There
was too little show for its value—too much
sterling gold for the simple effect produced ;
and I very much doubted wether another like
it could be found.

The next morning Fleta was too much
affected at parting with me, to enter into
much conversation. I asked whether she
had recollected anything, and she replied,
“No; that she had cried all night at the
thoughts ofour separation.’’ I cautioned her
to be very careful of the chain, and I gave
the same caution to the schoolmistress ; and
after I had left the town, I regretted that I had
not taken it away, and deposited it insome
place of security. I tesolved to do so when
I next saw Fleta : in the meantime she would
be able, perhaps, by association, to call up
some passage of her infancy connected with it.

[I had inquired of a gentleman who sat
near me on the coach, which was the best
hotel for a young man of fashion. He
recommended the Piazza in Covent Garden,
and to that we accordingly repaired. I se-
lected handsome apartments, and ordered a
light supper. When the table was laid,
‘Timothy made his appearance in his livery,
and cut a very smart, dashing figure. I
dismissed the waiter, and aS soon as we were
alone, I burst into a fit of laughter. ‘‘ Really,

‘Timothy, this is a good farce; come, sit
down, and help me to finish this bottle of
wine,”

“No, sir,” replied Timothy; ‘“‘ with your
permission, I prefer doing as the rest of my
fraternity. You only leave the bottle on the

 

YAPHETD, IM SEARCH OR WA A Taher:

  

side-board, and I will steal as much as I
want ; but as for sitting down, that will be
making too free, and if we were seen, would
be, moreover, very dangerous. We must
both keep up our characters. They have
been plying me with all manner of questions
below, as to who you were—your name, &c.
I resolved that I would give you a lift in the
world, and I stated that you had just arrived
from making a grand tour—which is not a
fib, after all—and as for your name, I said
that you were at present zzcog.”

“But why did you make me zzcog.?”

“Because it may suit you so to be; and
it certainly “is the truth for you don’t know
your real name.”

We were here interrupted by the waiter
bringing in a letterupon a salver. ‘‘ Here is
a letter addressed to ‘I. or J. N., on his
return from his tour,’ sir,’ satd he; ‘‘I pre-
sume it is for you?”

“You may leave it,” said I, with non-
chalance.”’

The waiter laid the letter on the table, and
retired.

‘““How vety odd, Timothy—this letter
cannot be for me; and yet, they are my
Initials. It is as much like a J as an I.
Depend upon it, it is some fellow who has
just gained this intelligence below, and has
written to ask for a subscription to his charity
list, imagining that I am flush of money, and
liberal.”

‘“T suppose so,’’ replied Tim; ‘‘ however,
you may just as well seé what he says.”

‘But if I open it, he will expect some-
thing. I had better refuse it.”

‘‘Oh no, leave that to me ; I know how te
put people off.”

“After all, it is a fine thing to be a gen-
tleman, and be petitioned.”

I broke open the seal, and found that the

letter contained an inclosure addressed to °

another person, The letter was as follows :—

“My DEAR NEPHEW — ‘ Bravo, sir,’ said
Timothy : ‘you've found an uncle already—
you'll soon find a father’ }. From the great
uncertainty of the post, I have not ventured
to do more than hint at what has come to
light during the last year, but as it is neces-
sary that you should be acquainted with the
whole transaction, and as you had _ not
decided when you last wrote, whether you
would prosecute your intended three months’
trip to Sicily, or return from Milan, you may
probably arrive when I am out of town; I
therefore enclose you a letter to Mr. Master-
ton, directing him to surrender to you a
sealed packet, lodged in his hands, containing
all the particulars, the letters which bear upon
them, and what has been proposed to avoid
exposure, which you may peruse at your
leisure, should you arrive before my return to
town. There is no doubt but that the affairSAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

may be hushed up, and we trust that you ‘world; you must not scruple at a slight defi-
will see the prudence of the measure ; as, -Ciency on your own part, to regain’ your
once known, it will be very discreditable to ‘position.’
the family escutcheon. [ ‘T always had an ‘There was so much shrewdness, so much
idea that you were of good family,’ inter- of the wisdom of the serpent in the remarks
rupted Tim.] I wish you had followed my of Timethy, that, added to my ardent desire
advice, and had not returned: but as you to discover my father, which since my quitting
were positive on that point, I beg you will -the gipsy camp had returned upon me with
now consider the propriety of remaining two-fold force,” my scruples were overcome,
Incognito, as reports are already abroad, and and I resolved that I would not lose such an
your sudden return will cause a great deal of opportunity. — Still I hesitated, and went up
surmise. Your long absence at the Gottingen into my room, that I might reflect upon what
University, and your subsequent completion I should do: I went to bed revolving’ ‘the
of your grand tour, will have effaced all matter in my mind, and turning over from
remembrance of your person, and you can one position to another, at one time deciding
easily be passed off as a particular friend of that I would not take advantage of the mis-
mine, and I can introduce you everywhere as take, at another quite as resolved that I
such. ‘Take then any name you may please, would not throw away such an opening for
provided it be not Smith or Brown, or such the prosecution of my search; at last I fell
vulgarisms ; and on the receipt of this letter, into an uneasy slumber, and had a strange
write a note, and send it to my house in dream. I thought that I was standing upon
Portman Square, just saying, ‘So andso is an isolated tock, with the waters raging
arrived.’ ‘This will prevent the servants from around me ; the tide was rising, and at last
obtaining any information by their prying the wayes were roaring at my feet. I was in
curiosity; and as I have directed all my a state of agony, and expected that, in a
letters to be forwarded to my seat in Worces- short time, I should be swallowed up. The
tershire, I shall come up immediately that I main land was not far off, and I perceived
receive it, and by your putting the name which well-dressed people in crowds, who were
you mean to assume, | shall know whom to enjoying’ themselves, feasting, dancing, and
ask for when I call at the hotel.—Your laughing in merry peals. I held out my
affectionate uncle, ‘“WINDERMEAR.” hands—I shouted to them—they saw and
heard me, but heeded me not. ‘My horror of
‘One thing is very clear, Timothy," said being swept away by the tide was dreadful!
I, laying the letter on the table; “‘that it Ishrieked as the water rose. At last T per-
cannot be intended for me.”’ ceived something unroll itself from the main
“How do you know, sir, that this lord is land, and ‘gradually advancing to the inland}
not your uncle? At all events, you must do formed a bridge by which 1 could walk over
as he bids you.” and be saved. I was about to hasten over,
““ What—go for the papers ! most certainly when ‘' Private, and no thoroughfare,’’'.ap-
I shall not.’’ , peared ‘at the end nearest me, in large letters
“Phen how in the name of fortune do you of fire. Istarted back with amazement, and
expect to find your father, when you will not would not, dared not pass them. When all
take advantage of such an opportunity of of a sudden, a figure in white appeared by my
getting into society? It is by getting pos- side, and said to me, pointing to the bridgé;
Session of other people's secrets, that you ‘'Self-preservation is the first law ef nature.’’

43

will worm out your own.” T looked ‘at the person who addressed me;
‘ But it is dishonest, ‘Timothy.”” gradually ithe figure became darker and
‘‘A letter is addressed to you, in which darker, until it changed to Mr. Cophagus,
you have certain directions ; you break the with his stick up to his nose. “Japhet, all

seal with confidence, and you read what you nonsense—very good bridge—um—walk over
find is possibly not for you ; but depend upon —find father—and so on.” I dashed ovet
it, Japhet, that a secret obtained isone of the the bridge, which appeared to float on the
surest roads to promotion. Recollect your water, and to be composed of paper, gained
position ; cut off from the world, youhave to the other side, and was received with shouts
re-unite yourself with it, to recover your of congratulation, and the embraces of the
footing, and create an interest. You have crowd. I perceived an. ‘elderly gentleman
not those who love you to help you—you come forward ; 1 knew it was my father, and
must not scruple to obtain your object by I threw myself into his arms. JI awoke, and

 

fear. found myself rolling on the floor, embracing

‘““Thatis a melancholy truth, Tim,” replied the bolster with all my might. Such was the
I; ‘‘and I believe I must put my strict vivid impression of this dream, that I could
morality in my pocket.”’ not turn my thoughts away from it, and at

“Do, sir, pray, until you can afford to be last I considered that it was a divine interpo-
moral; it’s a very expensive virtue that; a sition. All my scruples vanished, and before

deficiency of it made you an outcast from the the day had dawned 1 détermtined that 1would follow the advice of Timothy. An
enthusiast is easily led to believe what he
wishes, and he mistakes his own feelings for
warnings ; the dreams arising from his daily
contemplations for the interference of Heaven.
He thinks himself armed by supernatural
assistance, and warranted by the Almighty to
pursue his course, even if that course should
be contrary to the Almighty’s precepts. Thus
was I led away by my own imaginings, and
thus was my *monomanza increased to an
impetus which forced before it all considera-
tion of what was right or wrong.

CHAPTER XIX.

An important Chapter—I make some important
Acquaintances, obtain some important Papers,
which I am importunate to read through.

THE next morning I told my dream to Timo-
thy, who laughed very heartily at my idea of
the finger of Providence. At last, perceiving
that I was angry with him, he pretended to be
convinced. When I had finished my break-
fast, I sent to inquire the number in the
square of Lord Windermear’s town house,
and wrote the following simple note to his
lordship, ‘‘ Japhet Newland has arrived from
his tour at the Piazza, Covent Garden.”’ This
was confided to Timothy, and I then set off
with the other letter to Mr. Masterton, which
was addressed to Lincoln’s Inn. By reading
the addresses of the several legal gentlemen,
I found out that Mr. Masterton was located
on the first floor. I rang the bell, which
had the effect of ‘‘ Open, Sesame,” as the
door appeared to swing to admit me without
any assistance. I entered an ante-room, and
from thence found myself in the presence of
Mr. Masterton—a little old man, with spec-
tacles on his nose, sitting ata table covered
with papers. He offered mea chair, and I
presented the letter.

‘“T see that I am addressing Mr. Neville,’’
said he, after he had perused the letter. ‘‘I
congratulate you on your return. You may
not, perhaps, remember me ?”’

‘‘Indeed, sir, I cannot say that I do,
exactly.”

‘‘T could not expect it, my dear sir, you
have been so long away. You have ‘very

much improved in person, I must say; yet
still, I recollect your features as a mere boy.
Without compliment, I had no idea that you
would ever have made so handsome a man.”
I bowed to the compliment,
heard from your uncle?” .. ..

‘‘ Have you

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATTER.

    

 

‘7 had a few lines from Lord Windermear,
inclosing your letter.”’

“Fe is well, I hope.”’

‘« Ouite well, I believe.”

Mr. Masterton then rose, went to an iron
safe, and brought out a packet of papers,
which he put into my hands. ‘‘ You will
read these with interest, Mr. Neville. Iam
a party to the whole transaction, and must
venture to advise you not to appear in Eng-
land under your own name until all is settled.
Your uncle, I perceive, has begged the
same.”

‘* And I have assented, sir.
a name instead of my real one.”

‘« May I ask what it is?”

“T call myself Mr. Japhet Newland.”

‘« Well, it is singular, but perhaps as good
as any other. I will take it down, in case I
have to write toyou. Your address is ah

‘‘ Piazza—Covent Garden.”

Mr. Masterton took my name and address,
I took the papers, and then we both took
leave of one another, with many expressions
of pleasure and good-will.

I returned to the hotel, where I found
Timothy waiting for me with impatience.
“« Japhet,’’ said he, ‘‘ Lord Windermear has
not yet left town. Ihave seen him, for I
was called back after I left the house, by the
footman, whoran after me. He will be here
immediately.”

‘“Indeed,”’ replied I. . ‘‘ Pray what sort of
person is he, and what did he say to you?”

‘He sent for me in the dining-parlour,
where he was at breakfast, asked when you
arrived, whether you were well, and how
long I had been in your service. I replied
that I had not been more than two days, and
had just put on my liveries. He then desired
me to tell Mr. Newland that he would call
upon him in about two hours. ‘ Then, my
lord,’ replied I, ‘I had better go and tell him
to get out of bed.’

“<The lazy dog!’ said he, ‘nearly one
o'clock, and not out of bed! Well, go then,
and get him dressed as fast as you can.’”’

Shortly afterwards a handsome carriage
with greys drew up tothe door. His lordship
sent in his footman to ask whether Mr.
Newland was at home. The reply of the
waiter was, that there was a young gentleman
who had been there two or three days, who
had come from makinga tour, and his name
did begin with an N. ‘‘’ That will do, James ;
let down the steps.” His lordship alighted,
was ushered up-stairs, and into my room.
‘There we stood, staring at each other.

‘‘Lord Windermear, I believe,”
extending my hand.

‘You have recognized me first, John,”
said he, taking my hand, and looking ear-
nestly in my face. ‘‘ Good heavens !—is it
possible that an awkward boy should have
grown up into so handsome a fellow? I

I have taken

 

Saigaals¥APHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. As

Shall be pround of my nephew. Did you . ‘It would be very undutiful in you to
remember me when I entered the room?” refuse, so I had better leave you to your task,’’

“To tell the truth, my lord, I didnot ; but said Timothy, smiling, as he quitted the
expecting you, I took it for granted that it room.
must be you.”

““Nine years make a great difference,
John ; but I forget—must now call you
Japhet. Have you been reading the Bible
lately, that you fixed upon that strange

name ?’’
Se. No, my lord; but this hotel is such a
oah’s ark, that it’s no wonder I thought of .
it.” 5 CHAPTER XX.

“You're an undutiful dog, not to ask after
your mother, sir.”
“*T was about
““T see—I see,” interrupted his lordship ;
“Dut recollect, John, that she still is your I sat down and took up the papers. I was
mother. By the bye, have you read the immediately and strangely interested in all

IT open an Account with my Bankers, draw largely
upon Credulity, and am prosperous without a
Check.

”

 

papers yet?” that I read. A secret !—it was, indeed, a

‘No, sir,” replied I; ‘‘there they are,’’ secret, involving the honour and reputation
pointing to them on the side table. ‘‘I of the most distinguished families ; one that,
really do not like to break the seals.”’ if known, the trumpet of scandal would have

“That they will not contain pleasant in- blazoned forth to the disgrace of the aristo-
telligence, I admit,’’ replied his lordship; cracy. It would have occasioned bitter tears
‘but until you have read them I do not wish to some, gratified the petty malice of many,
to converse with you on the subject ; there- satisfied the revenge of the vindictive, and
fore,’’ said he, taking up the packet, and ‘bowed with shame the innocent as well as the
breaking the seals, ‘‘ I must now insist that guilty. It is not necessary, nor, indeed,
you employ this forenoon in reading them would I, on any account, state any more. I
through. You will dine with me at seven, finished the last paper, and then fell into'a
and then we will talk the matter over.”’ reverie. ‘‘ This is, indeed, a secret,’ thought

‘Certainly, sir, if you wish it, I will read I; ‘‘one that I would I never had possessed.
them.” In a despotic country my life would ‘be sacri-

‘‘T must zzsést upon it, John; and am fficed to the fatal knowledge:- here, thank
rather surprised at your objecting, when they God! my life as well as my liberty are
concern you so particularly.” safe.”

‘*T shall obey your orders, sir.”’ The contents of the papers told me all

‘* Well, then, my boy,1 shall wish you that» was necessary to enable me to support
good morning, that you may complete your the character which I had assumed. ‘The
task before you come to dinner. ‘Tomorrow, reason why the party whom I was supposed
if you wish it,—but recollect, I never press to be was intrusted with it was, that he was
young men on these points, as I am aware ina direct line eventually heir, and the ques-
that they sometimes feel it a restraint,—if tion was whether he would waive his claim
you wish it, I say, you may bring your with the others, and allow death to. bury
portmanteaus, and take up your quarters crime in oblivion. I felt that were I in his
with me. By the bye,” continued his lord- position I should so do, and therefore was
ship, taking hold of my coat, ‘‘who made prepared to give an answer to his lordship.
this ?”’ I sealed up the papers, dressed myself, and

‘“The tailor to his Serene Highness the went to dinner ; and after the cloth was re-
Prince of Darmstadt had that honour, my moved, Lord Windermear, first rising and
lord,’’ replied I. turning the key in the door, said to me in a

‘« Humph !—I thought they fitted betterin low voice, ‘‘ You have.read the papers, and
Germany ; it’s not quite the thing ; we must what those nearly as much interested as you
eonsult Stulz, for with that figure and face, are in this lamentable business have decided
the coat ought to be quite correct. Adieu, upon. Tell me, what is your opinion?”
my dear fellow, till seven.” 2 ‘‘My opinion, my lord, is, that I wish I

His lordship shook hands with me, and 1 had never known what has come to light this
was left alone. Timothy came in as soon as’ day ; that it will be most advisable never to
his lordship’s carriage had driven off. ‘‘Well, recur to the subject ; and that the proposals
sir,” said he, ‘‘ was your uncle glad to see made are, in my opinion, most judicious, and
you?” i should be acted upon.”

“Yes,” replied I; ‘‘and look, he has~ ‘‘That is well,” replied his lordship ;
broken open the seals, and has insisted upon ‘‘then all are agreed; and I am proud to
my reading the papers.’ ; find you possessed of such honour and good46

feeling. We-now drop the subject for ever.
Are you inclined to leave town with me,! or
nwhat do you intend to do?”

“I prefer remaining in town, if your lord-
ship will introduce me to some of the families
of your acquaintance. Of course, I know no
one now.

‘‘Very true: I will introduce you, as
agreed, as Mr. Newland. It may be as well
that you do not know any of our relations,
whom I have made to suppose that you are
still abroad; and it would be awkward when
you take your right name by and by. Do
you mean to see your mother? ”’

_ “Impossible, my lord, at present ; by and
by I hope to be able.”’

‘* Perhaps it’s all for the best. I will now
write one note to Major Carbonnell, introdu-
cing you as my particular friend, and:request-
ing that he will make London iagréeable.
He knows everybody, and: will take -you
everywhere.”

‘“When does your lordship start for the
country ?”’

“To-morrow ; so we may as well part :to-
night: By the bye, you have credit at Drum-
mond'’s, in the: name of Newland, for sa
thousand pounds.» The longer you make it
last you, the better.”

His lordship gave me the letter of intro-
duction. I >(zeturned to him the’ sealed
packet, shookohands with him, and took m
departure,

‘Well, ‘sir,’ said Timothy, rubbing” his
hands, as he ‘stood’ \before'me, ‘‘ what is the
news, for I am dying tovhear it ; and what ‘is
this secret ?”’
‘With regard ‘to the secret, Dim, a-secret
it must remain. I dare not tell:it, even:to
you.’ Timothy looked ‘rather igtave at this
reply. ‘‘ No, Timothy, as a man of honour
2 cannot." My conscience smote me when
Tamade ‘use of the term: for,‘a$ a man of
honbur, I had no business to be in possession
of it.i “fMy dear Timothy, I have done
wrong already; do not ask me todo
worseiUicisdy |

“Z owill not, Japhet; but only tell me
what has passed; and what you intend to

oO?”

 

“That I will, ‘Limothy, with pleasure ;”
and I then stated all that had passed between
his lordship and me. ».‘‘And now you ob:
serve, Timothy, I have gained what I desired
-=an introduction into the best society.’’

“And the means of keeping up your ap-
pearance,’ echoed Timothy, rubbing ° his
hands. '“A thousand pounds will last a long
while." id

“Tt wilblast a very:long while; Tim) for I

never will touch it: it would be swindling.’’ =

“So it would,” replied ‘Tim, his !counte-
nance falling; |!‘ well, I never thought’ of
thabi/o: 5 | te

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

‘-T bhave thought of -tmuch more, ‘Tim ;

     

recollect, I must, in a very short time, be
exposed..to Lord; Windermear, for the real
Mr. Neville will soon-come home.”’

‘“Good heavens! what will become of us ?””
replied ‘Timothy, with alarm in his. counte-
nance.

‘‘ Nothing can hurt you, Tim ; the anger
will be ‘all upon me; |but I am prepared to
face it; and’ I would face twice as much for
the distant hope of finding my father. \What-
ever Lord Windermear may feel inclined to
do, he can do nothing ; and my possession
of the secret will insure even more than my
safety’: it will,afford me his protection, if I
demand it.”*

“IT hope it may prove so,” replied
‘Timothy ; “‘ but J feel.a little frightened.”

“I do not;'to-morrow I shall give my

letter of introduction, and then I will prose-
cute my search. So now, my dear Tim,
good night.”’
1 ‘The next morning Ilost no time in pre-
senting ‘my. letter of introduction to. Major
Carbonnell. :He lived in|apartments.on the
first floor in St. James's Street ; and I found
him at breakfast, in a silk dressing-gown. I
had made up my mind that a ittle inde-
pendence always carries with it an air of
fashion. ‘When IJ entered, therefore, I looked
at him witha knowing air, and, dropping the
letter down on the table before him, said,
“There's something for you te read; major ;
and in the mean time I'll refresh myself on
this chair.’’ Suiting the action to the word, I
threw myself on a chair, amusing myself with
tapping the sides of my boots with a small
cane which I carried inomy hand;

Major Carbonnell, upon whom I cast a

furtive eye more than once during the time .

that he was reading the letter, was a person
of about thirty-five years of age, well-looking,
but disfigured by the size ‘of his whisker§,
which advanced to the corners:of his mouth,
and met under his ‘throat.. He was tall and
well-made, and with an air of fashion about
him that was undeniable. His linen was
beautifully clean, and carefully arranged ;
and he had as many rings on his fingers, and,
when he was dressed, chains and trinkets, as
ever were put on by a lady.

‘‘ My dear ‘sir, alow me the honour of
making at once your most intimate acquain-
tance,’ said he, rising from his chair and
offering his hand, as soon as he had perused
the letter. ‘‘Any friend of Lord Winder-
mears would be welcome; ‘but when he
brings such an extra recommendation in his
own appearance, he becomés doubly so.’’

‘*Major Carbonnell,’’ ré€plied I, ‘‘I have
seen you. but two minutes, and I have taken
a particular fancy to you, in which I, ‘no
doubt, have proved my discrimination. Of
course, you know that I have just ‘returned

wa

- from: making a tour?” ©
-x. ‘*So I understand from his lordship's letter.

 

Scam naa aesoh

SMA pr
FAR IESY ;

Mr. Newland, my fimeé is ‘at your service.
Where are you staying ?””

‘At the Piazza,”

“Very good 3:1 will:dine with you to-day ;
order some mulligatawny, they are famous
for it. After dinner wewill go tothethedtre.”

I was ‘rather surprised at his cOolimanner
of asking himself to dine with mé’ and order-
ing my. dinner, but’ a!momient’s reflection
made me feel: what: sort of person I had to
deal with.

‘‘ Major, I take that as almost an affront.
You will dine with me to-day t I beg to state
that you must dine with me:evéry day that
we are not imvited elsewhere; and what's
more, sir, I shall be most seriously displeased,
if you do not order the dinner every time that
you do dine with me, and ask’ whoevet you
may think worthy of putting their leés under
our table. Let's havé no: doing: things by
halves; major; Ll knowyou now ds well aif

weihad been intimate for fen years;

The-major séized me ‘by: the hand, J
dear. Newland; 1 only wishbave Aad known one
another ten. years, as you Say-—the: loss has
been mine; but now—you have breakfastéd,
I presume 2!’

» “Yes! shaving. nothingsto do, and dot
“knowing a soul after my long absence, I ad-
vanced my breakfast about two hours, that I
might find you at home ; and now I'm at your
service.”

“Say rather Lam at yours. I presume
you will walk. In» ten. minutes I Shall be
ready. Hither take up the paper, or whistle
an air or two, or anything else you like, just
to kill ten minutes—and I shail be at your
command.”

CHAPTER XXI.

T come out under a first-rate Chaperon, and at
once ami established into the Regions of Fashion
—Prove that I am déserving of my Promotion.

**T BEG: your pardon; Néwland,” said the
major, returning from. his dressing-room, reé-
splendent with chains and bijouterie ;|‘‘ but
I must have your Christian name.”’

“It's rather a strange one,” replied I;
“it is Japhet.” :

“Japhet by the immortal powers, I’d
bring an action against my godfathers and
godmothers; you ought to recover heavy
damages;”’

“Then Ppresume you would not have the
name,’ replied I, with a knowing look, ‘for
a clear ten thousand a year.” une

‘“ Whew ! that alters the casé—it's aston-

IN SEARCH OF A Fed LHER,

«ONE

not mine.

 

    
 
 
 
    
   
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  

47
ishing how well any namé looks in large
gold letters, Well, as! the “6ld fentlemah,
whoever he might have beer made you coth-

pensation, you dust’ forgive nd forget.
Now where Shall we go?”
“With

your permission, a8 I came fo town
in these clothes; made by a German failor—
Darmstadt's tailor, by the’ byé<but Sfill if
tailor to’4 prince, Adt the princé of tailors—I
would wish You to také me to your OWA -
your dréss' appears very correct.”

‘You show your jiidgment, Newland, i€ ¥s
correct } Stulz will be delighted t6 have your
name On his books; and to do justi¢e tb that
figure. “Allons done.” ' :

.. We sauntered up St. James's Street, and
beforé' I had arrived at “Stulz’s, T had been
introduced 6 at least twenty of the young
men about town: “THE tajor was most par-
ticular in-His directions about the clothes, ‘all
of which he ‘6rdéréd . and 48 T Rie that he
Was well acquainted’ with thé fashion: 1 eve
him! curte Blanche. When We lett the shop,
he said; |“ Now, my deat Newland I have
given you & proof Of friendship; which’ tio
other man in England has had, V6ur Gféés
will’ be the @ plus ulird! Théle Ave little
Secrets only known to thé mitiated, Arid Shilz
is aware that this time I'Am in earnést. I
am oftéh aské@ to do the sdmé for others,
and 2 'prétend $0 to dé! but 4 wink from tre
is sufficient; and Stulz’ dates not dress them.
Don’t you want Some’ bijouterié? oY RAve
you any at home?” oe

““Tmay as welk havea féw triffes,” replied

|

We enteréd ‘a celebratéd jewellér’s ‘atid He
selected for mie to the ditiéunt of abatit forty
pounds. ‘‘That will do—never buy much;
forit is fecessaty {8 change every three
Thonths at least. What is thé price éf this
chaine” .

“Its only fifteen guineas major.”’

“Well, I shall take it’ but recollect,”” con-
tinued the major, ‘I tell you honestly I never
shall pay you.”

The jeweller smiléd, bowed; and laughed ;
the major threw the chaiff round his neck, and
we quitted the shop.

“At all events, major, they appear not to
bélieve your word in that shop."

“My dear fellow, that’s théir own’ fault,
I tell them’ hohéstly T néver will
pay them; and you may depend upon it, I
intend most sacredly to keep my word. I
never do pay anybody, for the best of all pos-
sible reasons, I have no money ; but then I
do them a service—I make thém fashionable,
and they know it.””

“What debts do you pay then, major?”

“Let me think—that “requires considé-
ration. Oh! I pay my washerwoman.”

“‘Don't you pay your debts of honour?”

“Debts of honour! why I'll tell you the
truth; for I know that we shall Auht in48
couples. If I win I take the money: but if I
lose—why then I forget to pay; and I always
‘tell them so before I sit down to the table.
If they won't believe me, it's not my fault.
But what’s the hour? Come, I must make a
few calls, and will introduce you.’

We sauntered on to Grosvenor Square,

knocked, and were admitted into a large,
elegantly-furnished mansion. The footman
announced us—‘‘ My dear Lady Maelstrom,
allow me the honour of introducing to you
my very particular friend, Mr. Newland, con-
signed to my charge by my Lord Windermear
during hisabsence. He has just arrived from
the Continent, where he has been making the
grand tour.”
_ Her ladyship honoured me with a smile.
‘‘By the bye, major, that reminds me—do
me the favour to come to the window. Ex-
cuse us one moment, Mr. Newland.”

The major and Lady Maelstrom walked to
the window, and exchanged a few sentences,
and then returned. Her ladyship holding up
her finger, and saying to him as they came
towards me, ‘‘ Promise me now that you
won't forget.”

‘Your ladyship's slightest wishes are to me
imperative commands,” replied the major,
with a graceful bow.

In a quarter of an hour, during which the
conversation was animated, we rose to take
our leave, when her'ladyship came up to me,
and offering her hand, said, ‘‘ Mr. Newland,
the friendship of Lord Windermear, and the
introduction of Major Carbonnell, are more
than sufficient to induce me to put your name
down on my visiting list. I trust I shall see
a great deal of you, and that we shall be
great friends.”’

I bowed to this handsome announcement,
and we retired. As soon as we were out in
the square, the major observed, ‘‘ You saw
her take me.on one side—it was to pump. She
has no daughters, but about fifty nieces, and
match-making is her delight. I told her that
I would stake my honour upon your pos-
sessing ten thousand a year; how much
more I could not say. I was not far wrong
was 1?”

I laughed. ‘“‘What I may be worth,
major, I really cannot say; but I trust that
the event will prove that you are not far wrong.
Say no more, my dear fellow.”’

_ ‘‘T understand—you are not yet of age—of
course, have not yet come into possession of
your fortune.”

‘*"That is. exactly the case, major.
now but little more than nineteen.’

““You look older; but there is no getting
over baptismal registries with the executors.
Newland, you must content yourself for the
two next years in playing Moses, and only
peep at the promised land.”’

We made two or three more calls, and then
returned toSt. James’s Street. ‘‘ Where shall

1 Jama

e

   

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

we go now? By the bye, don’t you want to
go to your banker's?”

‘«T will just stroll down with you, and see
if they have paid any money in,” replied I,
carelessly.

We called at Drummond's, and I asked
them if there was any money paid in to the
credit of Mr. Newland.

‘“Yes, sir,’ replied one of the clerks:
“there is one thousand pounds, paid in
yesterday.

“Very good,’ replied I.

“How much do you wish to draw for?”
inquired the major.

‘‘T don’t want any,” replied I.
more money than T ought to res in my desk
at this moment.’

“‘ Well, then, let us go and order dinner ;
or perhaps you would like to stroll about a
little more; if so, I will go and order the
dinner. Here’s Harcourt, that’slucky. Har-
court, my dear fellow, know Mr. Newland,
my very particular friend. I must leave you
now; take his arm, Harcourt, for half an
hour, and then join us at dinner at the
Piazza.”

Mr. Harcourt was an elegant young man
of about five-and-twenty. Equally pleased
with each other’s externals, we were-soon
familiar: he was witty, sarcastic, and well-
bred. After half an hour's conversation he
asked me what I thought of the major. I
looked him in the face and smiled. ‘‘ That
look tells me that you will not be his dupe,
otherwise I had warned you: he is a strange
character ; but if you have money enough to
afford to keep htm, you cannot do better, as
he is acquainted with, and received by, every-
body. His connections are good; and he
once had a very handsome fortune, but it
was soon run out, and he was obliged to sell
his commission in the Guards. Now he lives
upon che world ; which, as Shakspeare says,
is his oyster; and he has wit and sharpness
enough to open it. Moreover, he has some
chance of falling into a peerage; that pros-
pect, and his amusing qualities, added to his
being the most fashionable man about town,
keeps his head above water, I believe Lord
Windermear, who is his cousin, very often
helps him.”

‘‘ It was lord Windermear who introduced
me to him,” observed I.

‘Then he will not venture to play any
tricks upon you, further than eating your
dinner, borrowing your money, and “forget-
ting to pay it.

“You must acknowledge,” said I, ‘‘he
always tells you before hand that he never
will pay you.”

‘‘And that is the only point in which he
adheres to his world, replied Harcourt, laugh-
ing; ‘' but, tell me, am I to be your guest
to-day ?”’

“ Tf you will do me that honour.”

“T have‘“ Tassure you I am delighted to come, as
I shall have a further opportunity of cultiva-
ting your acquaintance,”

“Then we-had better bend our steps
towards the hotel, for it is late,” replied I ;
and we did so accordingly.

CHAPTER , XXII.

The real Simon Pure proves the worse of the two
—I am found Guilty, but not Condemned ; Con-
victed ; yet Convince; and after having behaved
the very contrary to, prove that I am, a Gentle-
man.

ON our arrival, we found the table spread,
champagne in ice under the sideboard, and
apparently everything prepared for a sump-
tuous dinner, the major on the sofa giving
directions to the waiter, and Timothy looking
all astonishment.

“Major,” said I, ‘‘ I cannot tell you how
much I am obliged to you for your kindness
in taking all this trouble off my hands, that
I might follow up the agreeable introduction
you have given me to Mr. Harcourt.”

““My dear Newland, say no more; you
will, I dare say, do the same for me if I
require it, when I give a dinner.” (Harcourt
caught my eye, as if to say, ‘‘ You may
safely promise that.’’) ‘‘ But, Newland, do
you know that the nephew of Lord Win-
dermear has just arrived? Did you meet
abroad?”

“No,” replied I, somewhat confused ; but
I soon recovered myself. As for Tim, he
bolted out of the room. ‘‘ What sort of a
person is he?”

“That you may judge for yourself, my
dear fellow, for I asked him to join us, I
must say, more out of compliment to Lord
Windermear than anything else; for I am
afraid that even I could never make a gent-
leman ofhim. But take Harcourt with you
fo your room, and by the time you have
washed your hands, I will have dinner on
the table. I took the liberty of desiring your
valet to show me in about ten minutes ago.
He’s a shrewd fellow that of yours—where
did you pick him up?”

‘By mere accident,’ replied I : ‘‘ come,
Mr. Harcourt.”

On our return we found the real Simon
Pure, Mr. Estcourt, sitting with the major,
who introduced us, and dinner being served,
we sat down to table.

Mr. Estcourt was a young man, about my
own age, but not so tall by two or three
inches, His features were prominent, but

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

harsh ; and when I saw him, I was notat all
Surprised at Lord Windermear’s expressions
of satisfaction, when he supposed that I was
his nephew. His countenance was dogged
and sullen, and he spoke little : he appeared
to place an immense value upon birth, and
hardly deigned to listen, except the aristo-
cracy were the subject of discourse. I treated
him with marked deference, that ‘T might
form an acquaintance, and found before we
parted that night, that I had succeeded.
Our dinner was excellent, and we were all,
except Mr. Estcourt, in high good humour.
We sat late—too late to go to the theatre,
and promising to meet the next day at noon,
Harcourt and the major took their leave.

Mr. Estcourt had indulged rather too
much, and after their departure, became
communicative. I plied the bottle and we
sat up for more than an hour ; he talked of
nothing but his family and his expectations.
I took this opportunity of discovering what
his feelings were likely to be when he wasmade
acquainted with the important secret which
was inmy possession. I put a case somewhat
similar, and asked him whether in such cir-
cumstances he would waive his right fora
time, to save the honour of his family.

““No, by G—d! ” replied he, ‘ I never
would. What, give up even for a day my
right—conceal my true rank for the sake of
relatives ? Never—nothing would induce me.”

I was satisfied, and then casually asked
him if he had written to Lord Windermear
to inform him of his arrival.

“No,” replied: he; ‘‘I- shall® write to-
morrow.’ He soon after retired to his own
apartment, and I rang for Timothy.

‘“Good heavens, sir!” cried Timothy,
‘‘ what is all this—and what are you about?
I am frightened out of my wits. Why, sir,
our money will not last two months.”

‘‘T do not expect it will last much longer,
Tim ; but it cannot be helped. Into society
I must get—and to do so, must pay for it.”’

“* But, sir, putting the expense aside, what
are we to do about this Mr. Estcourt? All
must be found out.”

‘*T intend that it shall be found out, Tim,”
replied I; ‘‘but not yet. He will write to
his uncle to-morrow; you must obtain the
letter, for it must not go. I must first have
time to establish myself, and then Lord Win-
dermear may find out his error as soon as he
pleases.”

““Upon my honour, Japhet, you appear to
be afraid of nothing.”

‘J fear nothing, Tim, when I am following
up the object of my wishes. I will allow no
obstacles to stand in my way, in my search
after my father.”

‘‘ Really, you seem to be quite mad on
that point, Japhet.”’

‘* Perhaps I may be,

Tim,” replied f,
thoughtfully.

‘“At all events, let us go to50

bed now, and I will tell you to-morrow morn-
ing all the events of this day.’

Mr, .Esteourt wrote’ his letter; which Tim
very officiously, offered to put into the post,
instead of which we put it between the bars
of the grate.

I must now pass over about thrée weeks,
during which | became very intimate with
the major and Mr. Harcourt) and was’ intro-
duced by them to the clubs; and almost
every person of fashion. The ‘idea of my
wealth, and my very handsome person and
figure, insured me a warm reception, and I
soon became one of the stars of the day.
During this time, I also gained the entire
confidence of Mr. Estcourt, who put lettér
after letter into the hands of Timothy, who
of course put them into the usual place.) I
pacified him as long as I could, by expressing
my opinion, that his lordship was om a visit
to some friends in the neighbourhood of his
seat; but at last he would remain in townino
longer. . You may go now, thought I,—T feel
quite safe,

It was about five days after his departure;
as I was sauntering, arm in arm with the
major, who igenerally dined with me about
five days in the week, that I perceived the
carriage of Lord Windermear: with his lord-
ship init. He saw us, and pulling his check-
string, alighted, and coming up to us, with
the colour mounting to his forehead with
emotion, returned the salute of the major
and me.

“Major,” said he, ‘you will excuse me,
but Iam anxious to havé some conversation
with Mr. Newland : perhaps;’”» continued his
lordship, addressing me; ‘‘ you will do me
the favour to take a seat in my carriage?”

Fully prepared, I lost: none of my self-
possession, but, thanking ‘his: lordship, I
bowed to him, and. stepped: iii: His lord-
ship, followed, and, saying to the: footian,
‘“ Home—drive fast,”’ fell back:in the carriage,
and never uttered one word until we had
arrived, and had-entered the dining-parlour.
He then took a few ‘steps up and down,
before he said, ‘‘ Mr. Newland, or whatever
your name be, I) perceive that you consider
the possession of an important secret to be
your safeguard. To state my opinion of your
conduct is needless ; who you are, and what
you are, I know not; but,’ continued he, no
longer controlling his anger, ‘“ you certainly
can have no pretensions to the character of a
gentleman.”

‘‘ Perhaps your lordship,”’ replied I, calmly,
‘will inform me upon what you may ground
your inference,”

‘Did you not, in the first place, open a
letter addressed to another ?”

‘“My lord, I opened a letter brought to
me with the initials of my name, and at the
time I opened it I fully believed that it was
intended for me.”

,

 

FALHETLT, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   

YH
“We will grant that, sit: but aftér you |
had opened it you must have kiown that it |
was for some other pérson.” |
““T will not deny that, my lord.” y
“Notwithstanding which, you apply to!

my lawyer, representing yourself as another | |

person, to obtain sealed papers.”

““T did, my lord: but allow me to say,
that I never should have done so, had I not
been warned by a dream.”

‘“By a dream ?”’

‘Yes, my lord. I had determined not to
go for them, when in a dream I was ordered
so to do.”’

““Paltry excuse !

and then you break
private seals.”

‘Nay, my lord, although I did go for the © |

papers, I could not, even with the idea of

supernatural interposition, make up my mind |
If your lordship will |

to break the seals.
recollect, it was you who broke the seals,
and insisted upon my reading the papers.” a

“Yes; sir, under your false namé.”

‘Tt is the name by which I 0 at present
although T acknowledge it is’ falsé : but that
is not my fatilt—I have no other at present,” :

“It is very true, sir, that in all I have now ©
mentioned, the law will not reach you ; but ~

recollect, that by assuming another persons |

name
‘‘T never did, my lord,” interrupted I.

 

‘“ Well, I may say, by inducing me to)

believe that you were my nephew, you have ~
obtained money under false pretences ; and
for that I now have you in my power.” #

‘“My lord,:T never asked you for the
money : you yourself paid it into the banker's |
hands to my credit, and to my own name. I Z
appeal to you now, whether, if you sé de”
ceived yourself, the law can reach me?” *

“Mr, Newland, T will say, that much as |
regret’ what has
all thé rest, that one so young, so preposses- ©
sing, so candid in appearance, should prove
such an adept in deceit. ‘Thinking you were
my nephew, my heart warmed towards you ;
and I must confess, that since I have seen
my real nephew, the mortification has been
very great.”

“My lord, T thank you ; but allow me to
observe, that Iam no swindler. Your thou-—
sand pounds you will find safe in the bank,
for penury would not have induced me to
touch it. But now that your lordship appears
more cool, will you do me the favour to
listen to me? When you have heard my life

up to the present, and my motives for what I)”

have done, you will then decidé how far f
am to blame.”

His lordship todk a chair, and. motionéd
me to take another. I narrated what had
occurred when I was left at the Foundling,
and gave hima succinct account of my ad-
ventures subsequently—my determination to
find my father—the’ dream which induced

 

 

 
 
  

 

  

passed, I regret more than ©FAP ET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 51

me to go for the papers—and all that the sider the money at the bank as yours, and
reader-has already been acquainted.with. His make use of it to enable you to obtain your
lordship evidently perceived the monomania ardent wish,” :
which controlled me, and heard me with _ “My lord iy
great attention. ‘I will not be denied, Mr. Newland ; and
~ You certainly, Mr. Newland, do not if you feel any delicacy on the subject, you
stand so low in my opinion as you did be- may take it as. a loan, to be repaid when you
fore this explanation, and I must make al- find it convenient. Do not, for a moment,
lowances for the excitement under which consider that itis’ given to you because you
I perceive you to labour on one subject ; but possess an important secret, for I will trust
now, sir, allow me to put one question, and entirely to your honour, on that score.”
I beg'that you will answer candidly. What “Indeed, my lord,’ replied 1, ‘your kind-
price do you demand for your secrecy.on ness overwhelms me, and I feel as if, in you,
this important subject?” I had already a/mos¢ found a father.. Excuse
““My lord !’’ replied I, rising with dig- me, my lord, but did your lordship eyver—
nity; ‘‘this is thé greatest affront you.haye ever ee
put upon me yet ; still I will name the price ‘I know what you would say, my poor
by which I will solemnly bind myself, by all fellow: no, I never did. I neyer sas blessed
my future hopes of finding my father in this with children. Had I been, 1 should not
world, and of finding an eternal Father in have felt that I was disgraced’ by; haying one
the next, and that price, my lord, is a return resembling you. Allow me to entreat you,
of your good opinion.” Mr. Newland, that you. do not suffer the
His lordship also rose, and walked up and mystery of your birth to weigh so heavily, on
down the room with much agitation in his your mind; and now I wish you good morn-
manner. ‘‘ What am I to make of you, Mr. ing, and if you think I can be ‘useful to you,
Newland?” I beg that you will not fail.to let me know.”’
““My lord, if I were a swindler, I should ‘‘May Heaven. pour down blessings’ on
have taken your money ; if I had wished to your head,” replied I, kissing. respectfully
avail myself of the secret, I might have es- his lordship's hand; ‘‘and may my father,
caped with all the documents, and made my when I find him, be as like unto you as pos-
own terms. 1 am, my lord, nothing more sible.’ I made my obeisance, and quitted
than an abandoned child, trying all he can the house.
to find his father.’’ My feelings overpowered
me, and I burst into tears. As soon as I
could recover myself, I addressed his lord-
ship, who had been watching me in silence,
and not without emotion. ‘‘I have one thing
more to say to you, my lord.” I then men-
tioned the conyersation between Mr. Sstccut
and myself, and pointed out the propriety o
not making him a party to the important CHAPTER XXIII.
secret. : : -
é ; : The Major prevents the Landlord from im osing
His lordship allowed me to proceed with- on Fe But T gain nothing by his LEEPER:
out interruption, and after a few moments For Economical Reasons I agree to Live with
thought said, ‘‘I believe.that you areright, him that he may Live on me.
Mr. Newland ; and I now begin to think that
it was better that the secret should have been I RETURNED to the hotel, for my mind had
intrusted to you than tohim. You have now. been much agitated, and I wished for quiet,
conferred an obligation on me, and may com- and the friendship of ‘Timothy. As soon as
mand me, I believe you to be honest, but a I arrived I told him all that had passed.

 

 

little mad, and I beg your pardon for the “Indeed,” replied Timothy, ‘‘ things do
pain which I have occasioned you.” now wear a pleasant aspect; for I am afraid
“My lord, I am more than satisfied.” that without that thousand, we could not
‘“Can I be of any assistance to you, Mr. have carried on fora fortnight longer. The
Newland?” bill here is very heavy, and I’m sure the land-

‘Tf, my lord, you could at all assist me, lord wishes to see the colour of his maney.”
or direct mé in my search—’ ‘* How much do you think we have left? It

“There I am afraid I can be of little use; is high time, Timothy, that we now make up
but I will give you the means of prosecuting our accounts, and arrange some plans for the
your search, and in so doing, I am doing future,” replied I: ‘‘I have paid the jeweller
but an act of justice, for in introducing you and the tailor, by the advice of the major,
to Major Carbonnell, I am aware that I must who says, that you should always pay your
have very much increased your expenses. It first bcl/s as soon as possible, and all your
was an error which must be repaired, and subsequent bills as late as possible ; but if
therefore’ Mr. Newland, I beg you will con- put off scze dze, so much the better.-In fact,52 FAPHET, [IV SEARCH OF A FATHER.

I owe very little now, but the bill here—I
will send for it to-night.”

Here we were interrupted by the entrance
of the landlord. ‘‘O Mr. Wallace, you are
the very person I wished to see; let me have
my bill, if you please.”’

‘‘Tt's not of the least consequence, sir,” re-
plied he; ‘‘but if you wish it I have posted
down to yesterday,’ and the landlord left
the room.

‘“You were both of one mind, at all
events,” said Timothy, laughing; ‘‘ for he
had the bill in his hand, and concealed it the
moment you asked for it.”’

In about ten minutes the landlord re-ap-
peared, and presenting the bill upon a salver,
made his bow and retired. I looked it over :
it amounted to £104 ; which, for little more
than three weeks, was pretty well. Timothy
shrugged up his shoulders, while I ran over
the items. ‘‘I do not see that there is any-
thing to complain of, Tim,”’ observed I, when
I came to the bottom of it; ‘‘but I do see
that living here, with the major keeping me
an open house, will never do. Let us see
how much money we have left.”

Tim brought the dressing-case in which
our cash was deposited, and we found, that
after paying the waiters, and a few small bills
not yet liquidated, our whole stock was re-
duced to fifty shillings.

‘“ Merciful Heaven! what an escape !’’
cried Timothy; ‘‘if it had not been for this
new supply, what should we have done?”’

‘‘ Very badly, Timothy ; but the money is
well spent, after all. I have now entrance
into the first circles. I can do without Major
Carbonnell; at all events, I shall quit this
hotel, and take furnished apartments, and
live at the clubs. I know how to put him
off.”

I laid the money on the salver, and desired
‘Timothy to ring for the landlord, when who
should come up but the major and Harcourt.
“Why, Newland! what are you guing to do
with that money?” said the major.

“Tam paying my bill, major.”

‘“Paying your bill, indeed; let us see—
#104. Oh, this is a confounded imposition.
You mustn't pay this.” At this moment the
landlord entered. ‘‘Mr. Wallace,” said the
major, ‘‘my friend Mr. Newland was about,
as you may see, to pay you the whole of your
demand ; but allow me to observe, that being
my very particular friend, and the Piazza
haviasg been particularly recommended by
me, I do think that your charges are some-
what exorbitant. I shall certainly advise

Mr. Newland to leave the house to-morrow,
if you are not more reasonable.”

‘““Allow me to observe major, that my
reason for sending for my bill, was. to pay it
before I went into the country, which I must
do to-morrow, for a few days.”

““Then I shall certainly recommend Mr.

Newland not to come here when he returns,
Mr. Wallace ; for I hold myself, to a certain
degree, after the many dinners we haye
ordered here, and of which I have partaken,
as I may say, particeps criminis, or in other
words, as having been a party to this extor-
tion. Indeed, Mr. Wallace, some reduction

must be made, or you will greatly hurt the =

credit of your house.’

Mr. Wallace declared, that really he had
made nothing but the usual charges, that he |
would look over the bill again, and see what ©

he could do.
‘My dear Newland,” said the major, ‘‘I

have orderéd your dinners, allow me to settle e
Now, Mr. Wallace, suppose we ™

your bill.
take off oné-third ?”

‘‘One-¢hird, Major Carbonnell! I should a

be a loser.”
“YT am not exactly of your opinion ; but
let me see—now take your choice. Take off

420, or you lose my patronage, and that of |
? e

,

all my friends. Yes or no?’
The landlord, with some expostulatiun, at
last consented: he receipted the bill, and

leaving £20 of the money on the salyer, ‘

made his bow, and retired.

“Rather fortunate that I slipped in, my
dear Newland; now there are £20 saved.
By the bye, I’m short of cash. You've no
objection to let me have this? I shall never
pay you, you know.”

“I do know you zever will pay me, major ;
nevertheless, as I should have paid it to the

landlord had you not interfered, I will lend 7)

it to you.”’

“You are a good fellow, Newland,”’ said ~

the major, pocketing the money. If I had
borrowed it, and you had thought you would

have had it repaid, I should not have thanked ©

you ; but as you lent it me with your eyes

open, it is nothing more than a very delicate |
manner of obliging me, and I tell you can- ©
didly, that I will not forget it. So you really ©

are off to-morrow ?”’

Yes," replied I, ‘‘I must go; for I finda
that Iam not to make ducks and drakes of |
my money until I come into possession of my ~

property.”

““T see, my dear fellow. Executors are the |
Never 7

very devil ; they have no feeling.
mind ; there’s a way of getting to windward
of them.
come to ask you to join us.”

‘“ With pleasure.”

‘‘T shall expect you at seven, Newland,”

said Harcourt, as he quitted the room with §

the major.

‘“ Dear me, sir, how could you let that gen-@

tleman walk off with your money?” cried
Timothy, ‘‘I was just rubbing my hands
with the idea that we were £20 better off than
we thought, and away it went, like smoke.”
“*And will never come back again, ‘lim ;
but never mind that; it is important that I

 

4

aap

HF
i
i)

a

   

SMe Ie

 

 

I dine with Harcourt, and he has #)make a friend of him, and his friendship is
only to be bought. I shall have value re-
ceived. And now, Tim, we must pack up,
for I leave this to-morrow morning. JI shall
go down to , and see little Fleta.”

I dined with Harcourt. The major was
rather curious to know what it was which
appeared to flurry Lord Windermear, and
what had passed between us. I told him
that his lordship was displeased on money
matters, but that all was right, only that I
must be more careful for the future. ‘‘In-
deed, major, I think I shall take lodgings.
I shall be more comfortable, and better able
to receive my friends.”

Harcourt agreed with me, that it was a
much better plan, when the major observed,
“Why, Newland, I have a room quite at
your service; suppose you come and live
with me?”

“I am afraid I shall not save by that,”
replied I, laughing, ‘‘for you will not pay
your share of the bills.”

‘“No, upon my honour I will not; so I
give you fair warning ; but as I always dine
with you when I do not dine elsewhere, it
will be a saving to you—for you will save
your lodgings, Newland ; and you know the
house is my own, and I let off the rest of it ;
so as far as that bill is concerned, you will be
safe.”

“‘Make the best bargain you can, New-
land,” said Harcourt : “accept his offer ;
for depend upon it, it will be a saving in the
end.’’

 

‘“‘Tt certainly deserves consideration,” re-
plied I; ‘‘and the major’s company must be
allowed to have its due weight in the scale;
if Carbonnell will promise to be a little more
economical z

‘*T will, my dear fellow—I will act as your
steward, and make your money last as long
as I can, for my owz sake, as well as yours.
Is ita bargain? Ihave plenty of room for
your servant, and if he will assist me a little,
I will discharge my own.’’ I then consented
to the arrangement,

 

CHAPTER XXI

The Major teaches me how to play Whist so as
never to Lose, which is by playing against each
other and into each other’s hands.

THE next day I went to the banker's, drew
out 150/., and set off with Timothy for :
Fleta threw herself into my arms, and sobbed

 

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

with joy. When I told her Timothy was _

 

 

53

outside, and wished to see her, she asked
why he did not come in; and, to show how
much she had been accustomed to see, with-
out making remarks, when he made his ap-
pearance in his livery, she did not, by her
countenance, express the least surprise, nor,
indeed, did she put any questions to me on
the subject. The lady who kept the school
praised her very much for docility and atten-
tion, and shortly after left the room. Fleta
then took the chain from around her neck
into her hand, and told me that she did
recollect something about it, which was, that
the lady whom she remembered, wore a long
pair of earrings, of the same make and
materials. She could not, however, call to
mind anything else. I remained with the
little girl for three hours, and then returned
to London—taking my luggage from the
hotel, and installed myself into the apart-
ments of Major Carbonnell.

The major adhered to his promise; we
certainly lived well, for he could not live
otherwise ; but in every other point he was
very careful not to add to expense. The
season was now over, and everybody of con-
sequence quitted the metropolis. To remain
in town would be to lose caste, and we had a
conference where we should proceed.

‘“‘Newland,’’ said the major, ‘‘you have
created a sensation this season, which has
done great honour to my patronage ; but I
trust, next spring, that I shall see you form a
good alliance; for, believe me, out of the
many heartless beings we have mingled with,
there are still not only daughters, but
mothers, who are not influenced by base and
sordid views.”

‘““Why, Carbonnell, I never heard you
venture upon so long a moral speech
before.”

‘“True, Newland, and it may be a long
while before I do so again: the world is my
oyster, which I must open, that I may live ;
but recollect, I am only trying to vecover my
own, which the world has swindled me out
of. There was a time when I was even more
disinterested, more confiding, and more inno-
cent than you were when I first took you in
hand. I suffered, and was ruined by my
good qualities ; and I now live and do well
by having discarded them. We must fight
he world with its own weapons ; but still, as
T said before, there is some good in it, some
pure ore amongst the dross; and it is possible
to find high rank and large fortune, and at
the same time an innocent mind. If you do
marry, I will try hard but you shall possess
both ; not that fortune can be of much con-
sequence to you.’

‘«Depend upon it, Carbonnell, I never will
marry without fortune.”’

‘T did not know that I had schooled you
so well: be it so—it is but fair that you

should expect it; and it shall be an itemin the match, if I have anything to do with
a .

‘‘ But why are you so anxious that I should
marry, Carbonnell?”’

‘* Because I think you will, in all probabi-
lity, avoid the gaming-table, which I should
have taken you to myself had you been in
possession of your fortune when I first knew
you, and haye had my share of your pluck-
ing; but now I do know you, I have that
affection for you that I think it better you
should not lose.your all ; for observe, New-
land, my share of your spoliation would not
be more than what I haye, and. may still re-
ceive, from you ; and if you marry and settle
down, there will always be a good house and
a good table for me, as long.as I,find favour
with your wife ; and, at all events, a. friend
in need, that I feel conyinced of. So now
you have my reasons; some smack of the
disinterestedness of former days, others of
my present worldliness ; you may believe
which you please.” . And the major laughed
as he finished his speech.

‘‘Carbonnell,’’ replied I, ‘‘I will believe
that the better feelings predominate—that
the world has made you what you are ; and
that had you not been ruined by the world,
you would haye been disinterested. and gener-
ous ; even now, your real nature often gains
the ascendancy, and I am sure that in all
that you have done, which is not defensible,
your poverty, and not your will, has .con-
sented. Now, blunted by habit and time,
the suggestions of conscience do not often
give you any uneasiness.

‘You are yery right, my. dear fellow,”
replied the major ; ‘‘and in having a better
opinion of me than the world in general, you
do me, I trust, no more than justice... I will
not squander your fortune, when you‘come to
it, if I can help it; and you’ allow that's a
yery handsome promise on my part.”

“Toll defy you to squander my fortune,”
rephed J, laughing.

‘‘ Nay, don’t defy me, Newland, for if you
do, you'll put me on my mettle. Aboye all,
don't lay me a bet, for that will be still more
dangerous. We have only spent about four
hundred of the thousand since we have liyed
together, which I consider highly economical,
What do you say, shall we go to Chelten-
ham? You will find plenty of Irish girls,
looking out for husbands, who will give you
a warm reception.”

“I hate your fortune and establishment
hunters,” replied I.

“I grant that they are looking out for a
good match, so are all the world; but let me
do them justice. Although, if you proposed,
in three days they would accept you ; yet
once married, they make. the very. best wives
in the world... But recollect we must go
somewhere ; and I think Cheltenham is as
good a place as any other. Ido not mean

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER

plishment.

   

for a wife, but —— it will suit my own
views, ’’

This last observation decided me, and ina
few days we were at Cheltenham ; and having
made our appearance at the rooms, were soon
in the vortex of society. ‘‘ Newland,” said
Carbonmnell, ‘‘I dare say you find time hang
rather heavy in this monotonous place.”

“‘Not at all,’ replied I;, ‘‘ what with
dining out, dancing, and promenading, I do
very well,”’

““But we must do better.
a good hand at whist ?”’

“Not by any means.
know the game.”

‘‘ It is a fashionable and necessary accom-
I must make you master of it,
and our mornings shall be dedicated to the
work.”

‘“‘Agreed,”’ replied I; and from that day,
every morning after breakfast till four o’clock,
the major and I were shut up, playing two
dummies under his instruction. Adept as he
was, I very soon learnt all the finesse and

Tell me, are you

Indeed, I hardly

beauty of the game.

‘“You will do now, Newland,” said the
Major one Morning, tossing the cards away.
‘“Recollect, 1f you -are asked to play, and I
have agreed, do not refuse ; but we must
always play against each other.”

‘“‘I don’t see what we shall gain by that,”
replied I ; for if I win, you'll lose.

‘‘ Never do you mind that ; ‘only follow. my
injunctions, and play as high as they choose.
We only stay here three weeks longer, and
must make the most of our time.”

I confess Iwas quite puzzled at what might
be the major’s intentions ; but that night we
Sauntered into the club. Not haying made
our appearance before, we were considered as

new hands by those who did not know the .

major, and were immediately. requested to
make up.a game. ‘ Upon my. word, gentle-
men, in the first place, I play very badly,”
replied the major; ‘‘and in the next,’ con-
tinued he, laughing, ‘‘if I lose, I mever shall
pay you, for I’m cleaned out.”

The way in which the major said this only
excited a smile; he was not believed, and I
was also requested to take a hand. ‘‘I’ll
not play with the major,” observed I, ‘‘for he
plays badly, and has bad luck into the bar-
gain ; I might as well lay my money down on
the table.”’

This was agreed to by the other parties,
and we sat down. ‘The first rubber of short
whist was won by the major and his partner ;
with the bets it amounted to eighteen pounds,
I pulled out my purse to pay the major; but
he refused, saying, ‘‘ No, Newland, pay my
partner ; and with you, sir,” said, he, address-
ing my partger, ‘‘1 will allow the debt to
remain until we rise from the table. New-
land, we are not going to let. you off yet, |
can tell you.”played very badly.

At the end of the last rubber

claring that he would play no more.
are We Now, sir?”’ said hé to my partner.
‘“‘T owed you, I think, eighteen pounds.”

“Eighteen from one hundred and forty
leaves one hundred and twenty-two pounds,
You must, I’m
afraid, allow me to be your debtor,’ con-
in a most insinuating
‘“I did not come here with the
I presume T shall find

which I now owe you.

tinued the major,
manner.
intention of playing,
you here to-morrow night ?”

The gentleman bowed, and appeared quite
Major Carbonnell’s partnér paid
me one hundred and forty pounds; which 1
oe in my pocket-book, and we quitted the
club.

satisfied.

CHAPTER XXV,

We Fund our Winnings, and consider to Refund a
Work of Supererogation—In looking after my
Father, I obey the old Adagé, “Follow your

ose.”

As soon as we weré in the street, I com-
ménced an inquiry 4§ to thé major’s motives.
“* Not oné word, my dear fellow, until wé are
at home,” replied he: Assoon as we arrived,
he threw himself in a Chair, and crossing hié
legs, commeénced : “ You observe, Newland,
that I am very careful that you should do
nothing to injure your character. As for m
own, all the honesty in the world will not
redeem it ; nothing but a peerage will ever
set me right again in this world, and a coronet
will cover a multitude of sins. I have thought
it my duty to add something to our finances,
and intend to add very considerably to them
before we leave Cheltenham. You have won
one hundred and twenty-eight pounds.”

“Yes.” replied I; ‘‘ but you have lost it.”

“Granted ; but as, in most cases, I never
mean zo fay my losses, you see that it must
be a winning speculation so long as we play
against each other.”

‘IT perceive,” replied I; “but am notIa
confederate?”

“No; you paid when you lost, and took
your money when you won. Leave me to
settle my own debts of honour.”

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. i

“T paid my eighteen pounds, and we
recommenced. Although his partner did not
perhaps observe it, for he was bat an indif-
ferent player, or if he did observe it, had the
politeness not to say anything, the major now
He lost three rubbers one
after another, and, with bets and stakes, they
amounted to one hundred and forty pounds.
he threw up the
cards, exclaiming against his luck, and de-
“Tow

 

  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 

1

5

Ce

But you will meet him again to-morrow
night?”

“Yes, and T will tell you why. I-never
thought it possible that we could have met
two such bad players at the club. “We must
now play against them, and we must win in
the long run ; by which means I shall pay off
the debt I owe him, and you will win and
pocket money:” :

“Ah,” ‘replied I; ‘if you mean’ to allow
him a chance for his money, I have no objec-
tion—that will be all fait.’

‘““Depend upon it, Newland, when I know
that people play as badly as they do, I will
not refuse them ; but when we sit down with
others, it must be as it was beforé—we must
play against éach other, and I shall owe the

money. I told the fellow that I never would
pay him.”

“Yes; but hé thought you were only
joking:”

“That is his fault-I was in earnest. 1
could not have managed tis had it not been
that you are known to be a young man of ten
thousand pounds per annum, and Supposed
to be my dupe. TI tell you so candidly ; and
now good night.”’

I turned the affair over in my mind as I
undressedit' ‘was not honést—but I paid
when I lost, and F only took the money when
I won, —still I did not Tike it ; but the bank
notes caught my eye as they lay on the table,
and—I was satisfied. Alas! how easy are
scruples removed whet wé want money !
How many are there who, when in a state of
prosperity and affluence, when’ not tried by
temptation, would have blushed at the bare
idea of a dishonést action, have raised and
held up their hands'in abhorrénice when they
have heard that others have been found
guilty; and yet, when in adversity, have
themsélves Committed the very'actS which
before they so loudly condemnéd! How
many of the other sex, who have expressed
their indignation and contémpt at those who
have fallen, when tempted, have fallen them-
selves. Let us therefore bé charitable ; none
of us can tell to what we may be reduced by

circumstances ;. and when we acknowledge
that the error is great, let us feel sorrow and
pity rathér than indignation, and pray that
we also may not be “' led nto temptation.”

As agreed upon, the next evening we re-
paired to the club, and found the two gentle-
men réady to réceive us. ‘This time the
major refused to play unless it wa with me,
as I had such good fortune, and no difficulty
was made by our opponents. We sat down
and played till four o'clock in the morning.
At first, notwithstanding our good play, for-
tune favoured our adversaries; but the luck
soon changed, and the result of the evening
was, that the major had 4 balance in his
favour of forty pounds, and I rose a winner of
one hundred and Seventy-one pounds, so that56

in two nights we had won three hundred and
forty-two pounds. For nearly three weeks
this continued, the major not paying when
not convenient, and we quitted Cheltenham
with about eight hundred pounds in our
pockets; the major having paid about one
hundred and twenty pounds to different
people who frequented the club; but they
were ‘Irishmen, who were not to be trifled
with. I proposed to the major that we
should pay those debts, as there still would
be a large surplus ; hereplied, ‘‘Give me the
money.’ Ididso. ‘‘ Now,’ continued he,
‘“so far your scruples are removed, as you
will have been strictly honest : but, my dear
fellow, if you know how many debts of this
sort are due tome, of which I never did touch
one farthing, you would feel as I do—that it
is excessively foolish to art wth money. I
have them all booked here, and may some
day pay when convenient ; but at present,
most decidedly, it is not so.’ The major put
the notes into hispocket, and the conversation
was dropped.

The next morning we had ordered our
horses, when Timothy came up to me, and
made a sign, as we were at breakfast, for me
to come out. I followed him.

‘*Oh ! sir, I could not help telling you, but
there is a gentleman with .

‘‘ With what?” replied I, hastily.

“With your zose, sir, exactly—and in other
respects very like you—just about the age
your father should be."’

‘‘Where is he, Timothy?” replied I, all
my feelings in ‘‘search of my father’ rushing
into my mind.

‘Down below, sir, about to set off in a
post-chaise and four, now waiting at the
door.”

I ran down with my breakfast napkin in
my hand, and hastened to the portico of the
hotel—he was in his carriage, and the porter
was then shutting the door. I looked at him.
He was, as Timothy said, very dike me,
indeed, the nose exact. I was breathless, and
I continued to gaze.

‘All right,” cried the ostler.

‘‘T beg your pardon, sir, Said 1,
addressing the gentleman in the carriage,
who perceiving a napkin in my hand, pro-
bably took me for one of the waiters, for he
replied very abruptly, ‘‘I have remembered
you ;” and pulling up the glass, away whirled
the chariot, the nave of the hind-wheel
striking me a blow on the thigh which
numbed it so, that it was with difficulty I
could limp up to our apartments, when I
threw myself on the sofa in astate of madness
and despair.

‘‘Good heavens, Newland, what is the
matter ?’’ cried the major,

‘*‘ Matter,’’ replied I, faintly. ‘'I have seen
my father.”’

‘Your father, Newland? you must be

 

 

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
    
 
  
  
   
 
 
    
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   

  

mad, He was dead before you could recollect
him—at least so you told me. How, then,
even if it were his ghost, could you have
recognised him ?”’

‘The major’s remarks reminded me of the
imprudence I had been guilty of.

‘“Major,’’ replied I, ‘‘I believe I am very
absurd ; but he was so like me, and I have
so often longed after my father, so long
wished to see him face to face—that——I’m
a great fool+that’s the fact.”

‘“You must go to the next world, my good
fellow, to meet him face to face, that’s clear ;
and I presume, upon a little consideration,
you will feel inclined to postpone your
journey. Very often in your sleep I have
heard you talk about your father, and
wondered why you should think so much
about him."’

‘‘T cannot help it,” replied I. ‘‘ From my
earliest days my father has ever been in my
thoughts.”

‘“T can only say, that very few sons are
half so dutiful to their fathers’ memories—
but finish your breakfast, and then we start
for London.”

I complied with his request as well as I
could, and we were soon on our road.’ I fell
into a reverie—my object was to again find
out this person, and I quietly directed
Timothy to ascertain from the postboys the
directions he gave at the last stage. The
major perceiving me not inclined to talk,
made but few observations ; one, however,
struck me. -‘' Windermear,” said he, ‘‘I
recollect one day, when I was praising you,
said carelessly, ‘that you were a fine young
man, but a dz¢tle ¢éte montée wpon one point.’
I see now it must have been upon this.” I
made no reply; but it certainly was a strange
circumstance that the major never had any
Suspicions on this point—yet he certainly
never had. We had once or twice talked
over my affairs. I had led him to suppose
that my father and mother died in my infancy,
and that I should have had a large fortune
when I came of age; but this had been
entirely by indirect replies, not by positive
assertions ; the fact was, that the major, who
was an adept in all deceit, never had an idea
that he could have been deceived by one so
young, so prepossessing, and apparently so
ingenuous as myself. He had, in fact, de-
ceived himself. His ideas of my fortune
arose entirely from my asking him whether
he would have refused the name of Faphet
for ten thousand pounds per annum. Lord
Windermear, after having introduced me,
did not consider it at all necessary to ac-
quaint the major with my real history, as it
was imparted to him in confidence. He
allowed matters to take their course, and me
to work my own way in the world. Thus do
the most cunning overreach themselves, and
with their eyes open to any deceit on the

”

a"

 

Forse
OP SPE”

sc i i ca Ratatat il te COpart of others, prove
deceive themselves.
Timothy could not obtain any intelligence
from the people of the inn at the last stage,
except that the chariot had proceeded to
London. We arrived late at night, and,
much exhausted, I was glad to go to bed.

quite blind when they

CHAPTER XXVI,

In following my Nose, I narrowly Escape being
, 7osed by a Beak.

AND as I lay in my bed, thinking that I was
now nearly twenty years old, and had not yet
made any discovery, my heart sank within
me. My monomania returned with redoubled
force, and I resolved to renew my search
with vigour. So I told Timothy the next
morning, when he came into my room, but
from him I received little consolation; he
advised me to look out for a good match in a
tich wife, and leave time to develope the
mystery of my birth ; pointing out the little
chance I ever had of success.

Town was not full, the season had hardly
commenced, and we had few invitations or
visits to distract my thoughts from their
object. My leg became so painful, that for
a week I was on the sofa, Timothy every day
going out to ascertain if he could find the
person whom he had seen resembling me,
and every evening returning without success.
I became melancholy andnervous. Carbonnell
could not imagine what was the matter with
me. At last I was able to walk, and I sallied
forth, perambulating, or rather running
through street after street, looking into every
carriage, so as to Occasion surprise to the
occupants, who believed me mad ; my dress
and person were disordered, for I had become
indifferent to it, and Timothy himself be-
lieved that I was going out of my senses.

At last, after we had been in town about
five weeks, I saw the very object of my
search, seated in a carriage, of a dark brown
colour, arms painted in shades, so as not to
be distinguishable but at a near approach ;
his hat was off, and he sat upright and
formally. ‘‘ That is he!” ejaculated I, and
away Iran after the carriage. ‘‘It is the
nose,’ cried I, as I ran down the street,
knocking every one to the right and left. I
lost my hat, but fearful of losing sight of the
carriage, I hastened on, when I heard a cry

of ‘Stop him, stop him!”—‘“ Stop him,”’
cried I, also, referring to the gentleman in
black in the carriage. aoe

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

57

‘“That won't do,” cried a man, seizing me
oe the collar ; ‘‘ I know a trick worth two of
that.”

“Let me go,” roared I, struggling ; but
he only held me the faster. I tussled with
the man until my coat and shirt were torn,
but in vain ; the crowd now assembled, and
I was fast. The fact was, that a pickpocket
had been exercising his vocation at the time
that I was running past, and from my haste,
and loss of my hat, I was supposed to be the
criminal. The police took charge of me—I
pleaded innocence in vain, and I was dragged
before the magistrate at Marlborough Street.
My appearance, the disorder of my dress, my
coat and shirt in ribands, with no hat, were
certainly not at all in my favour, when I made
my appearance, led in by two Bow Street
officers.

““Whom have we here?” inquired the
magistrate.

‘A pickpocket, sir,” replied they.

‘“Ah! one of the swell mob,” replied he.
‘* Are there any witnesses?”

‘‘ Yes, sir,” replied a young man, coming
forward. ‘‘I was walking up Bond Street,
when I felt a tug at my pocket, and when I
turned round, this chap was running away.”

‘“Can you swear to his person ?”

There were plenty to swear that I was the
person who ran away.

“‘ Now, sir, have you anything to offer in
your defence?” said the magistrate.

** Yes, sir,” replied I; ‘‘I certainly was
running down the street ; and it may be, for
all I know or care, that this person’s pocket
may have been picked—but I did not pick it.
I am a gentleman.”

‘“ All your fraternity lay claim to gentility,”’
replied the magistrate; ‘‘perhaps you will
state why you were running down the street.”

‘‘T was running after a carriage, sir, that
I might speak to the person inside of it.”

“« Pray who was the person inside ?”’

‘*T do not know, sir.”

‘“Why should you run after a person you
do not know 2?”

**Tt was because of his ose.”

“* His zose 2” replied the magistrate angrily.
“Do you think to trifle with me, sir? You
shall now follow your own nose to prison.
Make out his committal.”

‘* As you please, sir,’ replied 1; ‘‘ but still
I have told you the truth ; if you will allow
any one to take a note, I will soon prove my
respectability. I ask it in common justice.”

‘Be it so,’’ replied the magistrate ; ‘‘let
him sit down within the bar till the answer
comes.”

In less than an hour, my note to Major
Carbonnell was answered by his appearance
in person, followed by Timothy. Carbonnell
walked up to the magistrate, while Timothy
asked the officers, in an angry tone, what
they had been doing to his master. ‘Thisoes

rather startled them, but both they. and the
magistrate were much surprised when the
major asserted that I was his most particular
friend, Mr. Newland, who possessed ten
thousand pounds per annum, and who was
as well known in fashionable society as any
young man of fortune about town. The
magistrate explained what had passed, and
asked the major if I was not a little deranged ;
but the major, who perceived what was the
cause of my strange behaviour, told him that
somebody had insulted me, and that I was
very anxious to lay hold of the person, who
had avoided me, and who must have been in
that carriage.

““T am afraid, that after your explanation,
Major Carbonnell, I must, as a magistrate,
bind over your friend Mr, Newland to keep
the peace.”

To this I consented, the major and Timothy
being taken as recognizances, and then I was
permitted to depart. .The major sent for a
hackney-coach : and when we were going
home he pointed out to me the folly of my.
conduct, and received my promise to be more
careful for the future. Thus did this affair
end, and for a short time I was more careful
in my appeatance, and not so very anxious
to look ‘into carriages ; still, howeyer, the
idea haunted me, and I was often very
melancholy. It was about a month after-
wards, that I was sauntering with the major,
who now considered me to be. insane upon
that point, and who would seldom allow nie
to get out without ‘him, when I again per-
ceived the same carriage, with the gentleman
inside as before.

“There he is, major,” cried I.

‘There is who?” replied he.

““The man so like my father.”

‘“‘What, in that carriage? that is the
Bishop of E—-—, my. good fellow. What a
strange idea you have in your head, New-
land ; it almost amounts to madness... Do
not be staring in that way—come along.’

Still my head was turned quite round,
looking at the carriage after it had passed,
till it was out of sight ; but I knew who, the
party was, and for the time I was satisfied, as
T determined to find out his address, and call
upon him. I narrated to Timothy what had
occurred, and referring to the Red Book, I
looked out the bishop's town address ; and
the next day, after breakfast, having arranged.
my toilet with the utmost precision, I made
an excuse to the major, and set off to Port-
land Place. Mae nee

FJAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A Chapter of Mistakes—No Benefit of Clergy—I
attack a Bishop, and am beaten off—The Major
hedges upon the Filly Stakes,

My hand trembled as I knocked at the door.
It was opened. Isent in my card, requesting
the honour of an audience with his lordship.
After waiting a few minutes in an ante-room,
I was ushered in. ‘‘My Lord,” said I, ina
flurried manner, ‘‘ will you allow me to have

a few minutes’ conversation with you alone ?” |

    
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 

‘““This gentleman is my secretary, Sir; ||
§ MY ; |

but if yot. wish it, certainly ; for although

he is my confidant, I have no right to insist |
that he shall be yours. Mr. Temple, will |
you oblige me by going up stairs for a little |

while ?’ ‘

The secretary quitted the room, the bishop |
pointed to a chair, and I sat down. » I looked |
him earnestly in the face—the nose was)

exact, and I imagined that even in the other
features I could distinguish a resemblance.
I was satisfied that I had at last gained the
Object. of “my search... <i believe, sin, a
observed I, ‘‘that you will acknowledge
that, in the heat and impetuosity of youth,
we often rush into hasty and improvident
connections.

I paused, with my eyes fixed upon his.
‘‘Very true, my young sir; and when we do,
we are ashamed, and tepent of them after-
wards,” replied the bishop, rather astonished.

‘‘T grant that, sir,” replied I ; ‘‘but at the
same time, we must feel that we must abide
by the results, however unpleasant.”

“When we do wrong, Mr. Newland,’ |
replied the bishop, first looking at my card |

and then upon me, ‘‘ we find that we are not
only to be punished in the next world, but
suffer for it also in this. I trust you have no
reason for such suffering ?”’

“Unfortunately, the sins of the fathers
are visited upon the children, and, in that
view, I may say that I have suffered.”

““My dear sir, replied the bishop, “‘ 1}

trust you will excuse me, when I say that my
time is rather valuable ; if you have anything

of importance to communicate—anything —
upon which you would ask my advice—for ©

assistance you do not appear to require—do

me the favour to proceed at once to the”

point.”

“T will, sir, be as concise as the matter
will admit of. Allow me, then, to ask you

a.few questions : and I trust to your honour,
and the dignity of your profession, for a
candid answer. Did you not marry a young
woman early in life? and were you not very
much pressed. in your circumstances ?”’

The bishop stared. ‘‘ Really, Mr. Newland,
it is a strange question, and I cannot im-
agine to what it may lead; but still 1 willanswer it. I did marry early in life, and I
was at that time in not very affluent circum-
stances,’

“ You had a child _ by that marriage—your
eldest born—a boy ?’

| “That is also true, Mr.
plied the bishop, gravely.
‘How long is it since you have seen. him ? ””
“It is many years,’’ replied the bishop,
| putting his handkerchief up to his eyes.
: “ Answer me now, sir: did you not desert
him 2?”

“No, no!’ replied the bishop. ‘‘It, is
strange that you should appear to know so
much about the matter, Mr. Newland, as
you could have hardly been born. I was
poor then—yery poor; but although I could
ill afford it, he had fifty pounds from me.”

= but, sit,” replied I, much agitated,
1 “why have you not reclaimed him?”

“*T would have reclaimed him, Mr. New-
land—but what could I do?—he was not to
be reclaimed ; and now—he is lost for ever.’

‘«Surely, sir, in your present affluence, you
must, wish to see him again?”

‘“He died, and I trust he has gone to

Newland,” re-

Heaven; replied the bishop, covering. up
his face.
““No sir,” replied I, throwing myself on

my knees before him ; ‘‘he did not die, here
| he is at your feet to ask your blessing.”’

The bishop sprang from his chair. ‘‘ What

_ does this mean, sir?’’ said he; with astonish-
ment,—‘‘ you my son?”
i Yes, reverend father—your son; who,
| with fifty pounds, you left ——”
_ “On the top. of the Portsmouth coach !”
, “No, sir, inthe dasket.’’
bes My son, sir !—impossible : he died in the
| hospital.”
|, SeNozsix, he has come out of the hospital,”
. replied I ; ‘‘and, as you perceive, safe and
| well.”
| “Either, sir, this must be some strange
- mistake, or you must be trifling with me,”
_ replied his lordship.;. ‘‘ for. sir, I was at his
death-bed, and followed him to his graver

‘Are you sure.of that, sir?” replied _I,
starting up with amazement.

“T wish that L was not, sir: for 1am now
childless ; but pray, sir, who and what are
you, who know so much of my former life,
and who would have thus imposed upon me?’

af Imposed, upon, you, sir!’ replied;I, per-
ceiving that Iwas inerror...‘‘Alas ! 1 would
do no such thing. Who am I? I ama
young man who is in. search of his: father.
Your face, and: especially your nose, so. re-
sembled mine, that I made sure, that I-yhad
succeeded, Pity me, sir——pity,me,’’ continued
I, covering up my face with my hands.

‘The bishop, perceiving: that.there; was little
of the: imposter im: my, appearance, and, that I
was much. affected, allowed.a short, time for

me to récover myself, and then entered into

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER,

 

59

an explanation. When acurate, he had had
an only son, very wild, who would go to'sea
in spite of his remonstrances. _He saw him
depart by the Portsmouth, coach, and gavé
him the sum mentioned, _ His son received a
mortal wound in action, and was sent to the
Plymouth hospital, where he died. I then
entered into my explanation ina few. concise
sentences, and with a heart beating with
disappointment, took my leave... Lhe ‘bishOp
shook hands with,me as I quitted the room,

and wished me better success. at my rlext
application.

I went.home almost. in. despair. Timothy
consoled me as well as hej could, and ads
vised me, to go as much as possible into
society, as the most likely chance -of obtaining
my wish, not that he considered’ there was
any chance, but he thought that amusement
would restore me to. my usual Splints; 3 {oT
will go and visit little Fleta;”’ replied: I, ‘‘ for
a few days; the sight of her will.do me more
good than anything else.” And the next
day I set: off for the town of , where I
found the dear little girl, much grown: and;
much improved. I remained- with her for a
week, walking. with her jim the country,
amusing her, and amused myself with our
conversation. At the close of the! week I
bade her farewell, and returned. to the major's
lodgings.

[ was astonished to find him in deep: mourn
fe My dear Carbonnell,”’ said I, in-
ae aeten ‘ E hope no severe lossi?”

“Nay, my) dear Newland, I should be al
hypocrite if Ijsaid.so; for there néver was a
more merry mourner, and that’s the truth of
it. Mr. M——, who, you know, stood: be-
tween me and the peerage, has been drowned
in the Rhone ; I now have a squeak for it.
His wife has one daughter, and is ezceznte.
Should the child provea boy, I am done for ;
but if a girl, I must then come in to the
barony, and fifteen thousand pounds per
annum. However, I’ve hedged pretty hand-
somely.”’

“* How do you mean 2”

“Why, they say that when a woman com-
mences with girls, she generally goes on ;
and the odds are {Wo to one that Mrs, M2
has a girl. I have taken the odds: at. the
clubs to the amount of fifteen thousand
pounds ; so, if, it be.a, girl, 7 shall have; to
pay. that. out.of- my fifteen thousand pounds
per annum, as soon-as\I, fall into it; if it-be
a ‘boy, and-I am floored, I shall pocket thirty
thousand, pounds. by. way; of consolation for
the disappointment. They are.all. good meni

‘« Ves, but they know-you never pay.’

‘« They, know, I-neyes.do-new, because, E
have, no. money ; but.they know L.will pay if
I comé into. the; estate ;;and so. J-will,, most
honourably,. besides. a few more. thousands
that I haye-in. my, book,”

“T congratulate you with all my heart,60

   
   
 
   
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 

major. How old is the present Lord
ere Ist

“‘T have just been examining the peerage
—he is sixty-two; but he is very fresh and
hearty, and may live a long while yet. By
the bye, Newland, I committed a great error
last night at the club. I played pretty high,
and lost a great deal of money.”

‘‘That is unfortunate.”

‘““ That was not the error : I actually paid
all my losings, Newland, and it has reduced
the stock amazingly, I lost seven hundred
and fifty pounds. I know I ought not to
have paid away your money ; but the fact
was, as I was hedging, it would not do not
to have paid, as I could not have made up my
book as I wished. It is, however, only wait-
ing a few weeks, till Mrs. M—— decides my
fate, and then, either one way or the other,
I shall have money enough. If your people
won't give you any more till you are of age,
why we must send to a little friend of mine,
that’s all, and you shall borrow for both of
us.

‘Borrow !’’ replied I, not much liking the
idea ; ‘‘ they will never lend me money.”

“Won't they?” replied the major; ‘‘no
fear of that. Your signature and my intro-
duction will be quite sufficient,”’

‘““We had better try to d
major ; I do not much like it.”’

‘Well, if we can, we will ; but I have not
fifty pounds left in my desk ; how much have
you?”

‘“‘About twenty,’ replied I, in despair at
this intelligence ; ‘‘but I think there IS. a
small sum left at the banker's ; T will go and
see.’ I took up my hat, and set off to ascer-
tain what funds we might have in store.

without it,

CHAPTER XXVIII.

I am over head and ears in Trouble about a Lady’s
Far-rings ; Commit myself sadly, and am very
nearly Committed.

I MUST say that I was much annoyed at this

intelligence. The money-lenders would not

¢ abe Satisfied unless they knew where my estates

Hs ~ land F.and had examined the will at Doctors’
: ons ; then all would be exposed to the
‘, and I should be considered by him as

postor. I walked down Pall Mall in a

ahappy mood, so deep in thought that

1 against a lady, who was stepping out

wer carriage at a fashionable shop. She

| immed round, and I was making my best
dologies toa very handsome woman, when

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

her ear-rings caught my attention. They
were of alternate coral and gold, and the fac-
simile in make to the chain given by Nattée
to Fleta. During my last visit, I had often
had the chain in my hand, and particularly
marked the workmanship. To make more
sure, I followed into the shop, and stood be-
hind her, carefully examining them, as she
looked over a quantity of laces. There could
be no doubt. I waited till the lady rose to
go away, and then addressed the shopman,
asking the lady’sname. He did not know—
she was a stranger ; but perhaps Mr. H——,
the master, did, and he went back to answer
the question. Mr. H being at that
moment busy, the man stayed so long, that
I heard the carriage drive off. Fearful of
losing sight of the lady, I took to my heels,
and ran out of the shop. My sudden flight
from the counter, covered with lace, made
them imagine that I had stolen some, and
they cried out, ‘‘ Stop thief,” as loud as they
could, springing over the counter, and pursu-
ing meas I pursued the carriage, which was
driven at a rapid pace.

A man perceiving me running, and others,
without their hats, following, with the cries
of ‘‘Stop thief,” put out his leg, and I fell
on the pavement, the blood rushing in tor-
rents from my nose. I was seized, roughly
handled, and again handed over to the police,
who carried me before the same magistrate
in Marlborough Street.

“What is this?” demanded the magis-
trate.

‘A shoplifter, your worship.”

“I am not, sir,” replied IT; ‘‘you know
me well enough, Iam Mr. Newland.”

“Mr. Newland!’ replied the magistrate,
suspiciously ; ‘‘this is Strange, a second time
to appear before me upon such a charge.”

‘“ And just as innocent as before, sir.”

‘You'll excuse me, sir, but I must have my
suspicions this time. Where is the evidence?”

The people of the shop then came forward,
and stated what had occurred. ‘Let him
be searched,” said the magistrate.

I was searched, but nothing was found
upon me. “‘Are you satisfied now, sir?”
inquired f.

‘““By no means.
and look over their

 

Let the people go back

laces, and see if any are
missing ; in the mean time I shall detain you,
for it is very easy to get rid of a small article,
Such as lace, when you are caught.

The men went away, and I wrote a note
to Major Carbonnell, requesting his attend-
ance. He arrived at the same time as the
shopman, and I told him what had happened.
The shopman declared that the stock was not
correct ; as far as they could judge there
were two pieces of lace missing.

“Tf so, I did not take them,” replied I.

‘“Upon my honour, Mr. B——,” said the
major to the magistrate, ‘‘it is very hardfor a gentleman to be treated in this manner.

This is the second time that I have been sent

for to vouch for his respectability.”

“Very true, sir,” replied the magistrate ;
“but allow me to ask Mr. Newland, as he
calls himself, what induced him to follow a
lady into the shop?”

“ Her ear-rings,” replied T.

“Her ear-rings! why, sir, the last time
you were brought before me, you said it was
after a gentleman’s nose—now it appears you
were attracted by a lady's ears; and pray,
sir, what induced you to run out of the
shop?”

““ Because I wanted particularly to inquire
about her ear-rings, sir.’’

“‘T cannot understand thes
there are, it appears, two Pieces of lace miss-
ing. Imust remand you for further exami-
nation, sir; and you also, sir,’ ‘said the
Magistrate to Major Carbonnell; “ for if he
is a swindler, you must be an accomplice.’’

““Sir,”’ replied Major Carbonnell sneer-
ingly, ‘‘you are certainly a very good judge
of a gentleman, when you happen by acci-
dent tobe in hiscompany. With your leave,
I will send a note to another confederate.”

The major then wrote a note to Lord Win-
dermear, which he despatched by ‘Timothy,
who, hearing I was in trouble, had accom-
panied the major. And while he was away,
the major and I sat down, he giving himself
all manner of airs, much to the annoyance
of the magistrate, who at last threatened to
commit him immediately. ‘‘ You'll repent
this,” replied the major, who perceived Lord
Windermear coming in.

“You. shall repent it, sir, by God,” cried
the magistrate, in a great passion.

‘Put five shillings in the box for swearing,
Mr. You fine other people,” said
the major. ‘‘ Here is my other confederate,
Lord Windermear.”’

‘*Carbonnell,” said Lord Windermear,
““what is all this ?”’

“Nothing, my lord, except that our friend
Newland is taken up for shoplifting, because
he thought proper to run after a pretty
weman’'s carriage; and I am accused by his
worship of being his confederate. I could
forgive his suspicions of Mr. Newland in that
plight ; but as for his taking me for one of
the swell mob, it proves a great deficiency of
judgment ; perhaps he will commit your lord-
ship also, as he may not be aware that your
lordship’s person is above caption.’’

““T can assure you, sir,’ said Lord Win-
dermear, proudly, ‘‘that this is my relative,
Major Carbonnell, and the other is my friend,
Mr. Newland. I will bail them for any sum
you please.”

The magistrate felt astonished and all-
noyed, for, after all, he had only done his
duty. Before he could reply, a man came from
the shop to say that the laces had been found

e paltry excuses;

 

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

all right. Lord Windermear then took me
pode and I narrated what had happened.

€ recollected the story of Fleta in my nar-
rative of my life, and felt that I was right in
trying to find out who the lady was. The
magistrate now apologized for the detention,
but explained to his lordship how I had be-
fore. made my appearance upon another
charge, and with a low bow we were dis-
missed.

“My dear Mr. Newland,” said his lord-
ship, ‘‘I trust that this will be a warning to
you, not to run after other people’s noses and
ear-rings ; at the same time, I will certainly
keep a look out for those very €ar-rings my-
self. Major, I wish you a good morning.”

His lordship then shook us both by the
hand, and saying that he should be glad to
see more of me than he latterly had done,
stepped into his carriage and drove off.

‘“What the devil did his lordship mean
about ear-rings, Newland?” inquired the
major.

‘‘ told him that I was examining the lady’s
ear-rings as very remarkable,” replied I.

“You appear to be able to deceive every-
body but me, my good fellow. I know that
you were examining the lady herself.” T[
left the major in his error, by making na
reply.

CHAPTER XXIX.

I borrow Money upon my Estate, and upon very
favourable Terms.

WHEN I came down to breakfast the next
morning, the major said, ‘‘ My dear New-
land, I have taken the liberty of requesting a
very old friend of mine to come and meet you
this morning. I will not disguise from you
that it is Emmanuel, the money-lender.
Money you must have until my affairs are
decided, one way or the other; and, in this
instance, I will most faithfully repay the sum
borrowed, as soon as I receive the amount
of my bets, or am certain of succeeding to
the title, which is one and the same thing.”

I bit my lips, for I was not a little annoyed;
but what could be done? I must have either
confessed my real situation to the major, or
have appeared to raise scruples, which, as the
supposed heir to a large fortune, would have
appeared to him to be very frivolous. I
thought it better to let the affair take its
chance. ‘‘ Well,’ replied I, ‘‘if it must be,
it must be; but it shall be on my own
terms.”FAPHET; IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

“ Nay,’ obsetved the major, “there is no we must manage some oder way. Suppose
fear but that he will consent, and’ without —let me shee—how old are you, my young

any trouble.” Sita
After a moment’s reflection Fwent up stairs “Past twenty.”
and ‘rang for Timothy. ‘Tim,’ said I, ‘“Auh, dat is a very pleasant age, dat

<Chear me ; Inow make you asolemn promise, twenty. Vell, den, you shall shign a leetle
on my honour as a gentleman, that I will bit of paper, that you pay me 2,o00/. ven you
never borrow money upon interest, and until come into your properties, on condition dat I
you release me from it, I shall adhere tomy pay now one tousand. Dat is very fair—ish
it not, Mr. Major?”

word.’
“Very well, sir,” replied Timothy ; ‘‘I guess ‘Rather too hard, Emmanuel.”

your reason for so doing, and I expect you ‘But de rishque—de rishque, Mr. Major.”

will keep your word. Is that all?” «‘T will not agree to those terms,” replied
“Ves; now you may take up the urn.”’ I;. ‘‘you must take your money away, Mr.
We had finished our breakfast, when Timo- Emmanuel,”

thy announced Mr, Emmanuel, who followed ‘Vel den, vat vill you pay me?”’

him into the room. ‘‘ Well, Old Cent.-per- “J will sign an agreement to pay you

Gént., how até you?” said the major. ‘‘Allow 1,500/. for the thousand, if you please , if that
me to introduce my most particular friend, will not suit you, I will try elsewhere.”
Mr. Newland.” ‘‘Dat is very bad bargain. How old, you

‘Nuh! Master Major,” replied the de- shay?”

scendant of Abraham, a little puny creature, “Twenty.”

bent double with infirmity, and carrying one “‘Vell, I shutppose I must oblige you a
hand behind his back, as if to counterbalance my very, goot friend de Major.”

the projection of his head and shoulders. Mr. Emmanuel drew out' his spectacles,

“You vash please to call me Shent per Shent. pen, and inkhorn, filled up a bond, and
I Wish I vash able to make de monies pay handed it to me to sign. I read it carefully
that. Mr. Newland, can T be of any little over, and’signed it. He then paid down the
shervice to you?”’ money, and took his leave.
««Sit down, sit down, Emmanuel. ‘You It may appear strange to the reader that
have my warrant for Mr. Newland’s respecta- the money was obtained so easily; but he
bility, and the sooner we get over the business must remember thatthe major was considered.
the better.” a person who universally attached. himself to
“(Auh, Mr. Major, it ish true, you was young men of large fortune: he had already.
recommend many good—no, not always good been the means of throwing many profitable
—customers to me, and I was very much speculations into the’ hands of Emmanuel,
obliged. Vat can I do for your handsome and the latter put implicit confidence in him:
young friend? De young gentlemen always The money-lenders also are always. on the.
vant money ; -and it is) dé yduth which is de look out for young men with large fortunes,”
time for de pleasure and enjoyment.”’ and have their names registered. Emmanuel
“He wants a thousand’ pounds; Em- had long expected me to come to him; and,
manuel.” although it was his intention to have examined_
“Dat is a large sum—one tousand pounds! more particularly, and not to have had the
He does not vant any more?” money prepared, yet my refusal to sign the,
“No,” replied I, ‘‘that'will’be sufficient.” bond bearing interest, and my disputing the
“Well, den, Dhave'de monish in my pocket. terms of the second proposal, blinded him.
I will just beg de young gentleman to sign a completely, and put him off his usual guard. ©
littlé memorandum, dat'I may von day receive ‘“Upon my word, Newland, you obtained |
my dows: hae better terms than I could have expected from
‘©But what is that to be,” interrupted’ I: the old Hunks.”’

 
 
 

 

“‘It will be to promise to pay me my ‘“Much better than I expected also, major,” 5
monish and. only- fifteen per shent, when you replied 1; ‘‘ but now, how much of the money.
come into your owh.”’ would you like to have ?”’

«Phat will not, do," replied 1; “I have ““My dear fellow, this is véry handsome of
pledséd my Soléein word of honour that. you; but, I thank Heaven, I shall be soon
will not bortow money on interest.” able to repay it; but what pleases me, New-—

And you, have given de pledge; but you land, is your perfect confidence in one whom,
did not: sweat upon de book ?” the rest’of thé world would not trust with a)

“No, but my word has been given, and shiling. — I will accept your offer as freely as,
that'is enough. If I would forfeit my word it is made, and take 5oo/,, just to make’ a_
with those to° whom T have given it, I would show for the few weeks that I am in suspense,
also forfeit’ my word with you. My keeping and then you will find that, with all my
my promise ought to be a pledgé’to you that faults, T ant not défidient in’ gratitude.” 1)
I Will Kéep my. promise to you.” | dividéd'thé monéy with the major, and he:

_“ Dat is vell said—very vell said; but den shortly afterwards went out. |of curiosity, “‘ what have you done ?

“I have borrowed a thousand to pay fifteen

hundred when T comé into my property.”
“You are safe, then.

Jew will be bit.”
“No, Timothy,

soon as I can.”

“TI should like to know when that will be.”
“So should I, Tim, for it must depend up-
‘“Heigho !”
‘‘when shall I ever find out who

on my finding out my parentage.”
thought I,
is my father 2”

CHAPTER. XXX.

The Major is very Fortunate and very Unfortunate
—He receives'a large Sum ‘in’ Gold, and one
ounce of Lead.

I DRESSED and went out, met Harcourt,
dined with him, and on my return the major
had not come home. It was then past mid-
night, and feeling little inclination to sleep,
P remained in the drawing-room, waiting for
his arrival. About three o’clock he came in,
flushed in the face, and apparently in high
good humour.

‘‘ Newland,” said he, throwing his pocket-
book on the table, ‘‘just open that, and then
you will open your eyes.’’*

I obeyed him, and, to my surprise, took
out a bundle of banknotes. I counted ‘up

_ their value, and they amounted to £3,500. | -

“You have been fortunate, indeed.”’

“Yes,” replied the major; ‘‘ knowing that
in a short time I shall be certain of cash, one
Way or the other, I had resolved to try. my
luck with the ‘£500. /I went to the hazard-
table, and threw in seventeen times—hedged
upon the deuce ace, and threw out with it—
votla! ‘They won't catch me there again in
a hurry—luck like that only comes once in a
man’s life ; but, Japhet, there is a little draw-
back to all this. I shall require your kind
attendance in two or three hours.”

‘Why, what’s the matter?”

“Merely an affair-of honour: I was in-
sulted by a vagabond, and we meet at six
o'clock.”

““A’ vagabond !—but surely, Carbonnell,
you will not condeseend——’

“My dear fellow, although as great ia
vagabond as'théré is on the face of the earth,
yet he is a peer of the realm, ‘and his title
warrants the mééting ; but, after all, what is

“‘T trust it will be nothing, Carbonnell ;

but still it may prove otherwise.’

 

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA THER.

‘* Well, sir,’”’ said Timothy, entering, full

Excellent ; and the

I intend to repay it as

 

  
  
   
   
 
 
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 

62

‘‘ Granted ; and what then, my dear New-
land ?—ywe all owe Heaven a death ; and if
I am floored, why then I shall no longer be
anxious about title or fortune.”

‘It's a bad way of settling a dispute,” re~
plied I, gravely,

“There is no other, Newland. How would
society be held in check, if it were not for
duelling ?. We should’ all be a set of bears
living in a bear-garden, 1 presume you haye
never been out?”

““ Neyer,’ replied
I never should have,

‘“Then you must have better fortune or

better temper than’ most others, if you. pass
through life without an affair of this kind on
your hands. I mean as principal, not as
second. But, ‘my, dear fellow; I must give
you a little advice relative to your behaviour
as a second ; for I’m very. particular on these
occasions, and like that things should be'done
very correctly. It will never do, my dear
Newland, that you appear on the ground
with that melancholy face.. I do not mean
that you should laugh, or even smile—that
would be equally out of character—but you
should show yourself perfectly calm and in-
different. « In your behaviour towards, the
other Second, you must be most scrupulously
polite, but, at the same time, never give up
a point of dispute in which my interest may;
be concerned, Even in your walk be slow,
and move, as much as the ground will allow
you, as if you were in a drawing-room. Neyer
remain silent; offer even trivial. remarks,
rather than appear dzstrazt, ‘There is one
point of great importance—I refer to choosing
the ground, in which, perhaps, you will require
my unperceived assistance. Any decided line
behind me would be very advantageous to
tay adversary—such as the trunk of-a tree,
post, &c.;,even an elevated light or dark
ground behind me is unadyisable, - Choose,
if you can, a broken light, as it affects the
correctness of the aim; but.as you will not
probably be able to manage this satisfactorily,
I will assist. you. ‘When on the ground,
after having divided the sun faitly between
us, I will) walk -about unconcernedly, and
when I perceive a judicious spot, I will take
a pinch of snuff and use my handkerchief,
turning at the same time in the direction in
which ‘I wish my adversary. to. be placed.
Take your cue from that, and with all suavity
of manner insist as much:as you can upon
our being so placed. That must be left; to
your own persuasive powers. I. believe I
have now stated all that is necessary, and I
must prepare my instruments.”

The major then: went into: his own room,
andi never felt more» mefveus or more wn=
hinged than afterithis conversation, I had a
melancholy foreboding; but that 1. believe
every one has whenbe forthe first time has
to assist ata mortal rencontre, I was in a

I, ‘‘and-had hoped thatdeep musing when he returned with his
pistols and all the necessary apparatus ; and
when the major pointed out to me, and made
me once or twice practise the setting of the
hair-triggers, which is the duty of the second,
an involuntary shudder came over me.

‘‘Why, Newland, what is the matter with
you? I thought that you had more nerve.”

‘‘T probably should show more, Carbon-
nell, were I the principal instead of the
second ; but I cannot bear the reflection that
some accident should happen to you. You
are the only one with whom I have been on
terms of friendship, and the idea of losing
you is very, very painful.”

‘Newland, you really quite unman me,
and you may now see a miracle,” continued
Carbonnell, as he pressed his hand to his eye,
‘the moisture of a tear on the cheek of a
London voué, a man of the world, who has
long lived for himself and for this world only.
It never would be credited if asserted. New-
land, there was a time when I was like
yourself—the world took advantage of my
ingenuousness and inexperience; my good
feelings were the cause of my ruin, and then,
by degrees, I became as callous and as har-
dened as the world itself. My dear fellow, I
thought all affection, all sentiment, dried up
within me, but it is not the case. You have
made me feel that I have still a heart, and
that I can Jove you. But this is all romance,
and not fitted for the present time. It is now
five o'clock ; let us be on the ground early—
it will give us an advantage.”

‘‘T do not much like speaking to you on
the subject, Carbonnell ; but is there nothing
that you might wish done in case of accident?’

** Nothing—why yes. I mayas well. Give
me a sheet of paper.’’ The major sat down
and wrote for a few minutes. ‘‘ Now send
Timothy and another here. Timothy, and
you, sir, see me sign this paper, and put my
seal to it. I deliver this as my act and deed.
Put your names as witnesses.”” They com-
plied with his request, and then the major
desired Timothy to call a hackney-coach.
‘‘Newland,”’ said the major, putting the
paper, folded up, in my pocket, along with
the bank-notes, ‘‘take care of this for me till
we come back.”

‘“The coach is at the door, sir,” said
Timothy, looking at me, as if to say, ‘‘ What
can all this be about ?”’

‘You may come with us and see,”’ said the
major, observing Tim's countenance, ‘‘and
put that case into the coach.” ‘Tim, who
knew that it was the major’s case of pistols,
appeared still more alarmed, and stood still
without obeying the order. ‘‘ Never mind,
Tim, your master is not the one who is to use
them,” said the major, patting him on the
shoulder.

, Timothy, relieved by this intelligence, went
down stairs with the pistols; we followed

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA THER.

 

Tim mounted on the box, and we
‘‘Shall the coach

him.
drove to Chalk Farm.
wait ?”” inquired Timothy.
‘Yes, by all means,” replied I, in a low
voice. We arrived at the usual ground where
disputes of this kind were generally settled,
and the major took a survey of it with great

composure.
‘“ Now observe, Japhet,” said he, ‘‘if you
can contrive——; but here they are. I will

give you the notice agreed upon.” ‘The party
whose title:was Lord Tineholme, now came
up with his second, whom he introduced to
me as Mr. Osborn. ‘‘ Mr. Newland,” re-
plied the major, saluting Mr. Osborn in
return. We both took off our hats, bowed,
and then proceeded to our duty. I must do
my adversary’s second the justice to say that
his politeness was fully equal to mine. There
was no mention on either side, of explana-
tions and retractions—the insult was too gross,
and the character of his lordship, as well as
that of Major Carbonnell, was too well known.
Twelve paces were proposed by Mr. Osborn,
and agreed to by me—the pistols of Major
Carbonnell were gained by drawing lots—we
had nothing more to do but to place our
principals. The major took out his snuff-
box, took a pinch, and blew his nose, turning
towards a copse of beech-trees,

““With your permission, I will"mark out
the ground, Mr. Osborn,”’ said I, walking up
to the major, and intending to pace twelve
paces in the direction towards which he
faced.

‘« Allow me to observe that I think a little
more in this direction would be more fair for
both parties,’’ said Mr. Osborn. vel

‘‘It would so, my dear sir,’ replied I;
‘but, submitting to your superior judgment,
perhaps it may not have struck you that my
principal will have rather too much of the
sun. I am incapable of taking any advan-
tage, but I should not do my duty if I did not
see every justice done to the major, who has
confided to me in this unpleasant affair. I
put it to you, sir, asa gentleman and man of
honour, whether I am claiming too much ?”’
A little amicable altercation took place on
this point; but finding that I would not
yield, and that at every reply I was more and
more polite and bland in my deportment,
Mr. Osborn gave up the point. I walked the
twelve paces, and Mr. Osborn placed his
principal. I observed that Lord Tineholme
did not appear pleased ; he expostulated with
him, but it was then too late. The pistols
had been already loaded—the choice was. —
given to his lordship, and Major Carbonnell
received the other from my hand, which
actually trembled, while his was firm, I
requested Mr. Osborn to drop the handker-
chief, as I could not make up my mind to
give a signal which might be fatal to the
major. They fired—Lord Tineholme fell”

ne *immediately—the major remained on his feet
for a second or two, and then sank down on
the ground. Ihasteneduptohim. ‘Where
are you hurt ?”’

The major put his hand to his hip—‘‘ I am
hit hard, Newland, but not so hard as he is.
Run and see.”

I left the major, and went up to where
Lord Tineholme lay, his head raised on the
knee of his second.

‘Tt is all over with him, Mr. Newland :
the ball has passed through his brain.”’

CHAPTER XXXI.

The Major pays the only Debt of consequence he
ever did pay, and I find myself a Man of Pro-
perty.

I HASTENED back to the major, to examine
his wound, and, with the assistance of
Timothy, I stripped him sufficiently to ascer-
tain that the ball had entered his hip, and
probing the wound with my finger, it ap-
peared that it had glanced off in the direction
of the intestines ; the suffusion of blood was
very trifling, which alarmed me still more.

““Could you bear removal, major, in the
coach?”

‘‘Tcannot tell, but we must try : the
sooner I am home the better, Japhet,’ re-
plied he, faintly.

With the assistance of Timothy, I put him
into the hackney-coach, and we drove off,
after I had taken off my hat and made my
obeisance to Mr. Osborn, an effort of polite-
ness which I certainly should have neglected,
had I not been reminded of it by my prin-
cipal. We set off, and the major bore his
journey very well, making no complaint ; but
on our arrival he fainted as we lifted him out.
As soon as he was on the bed, I despatched
Timothy for a surgeon, On his arrival he
examined the wound, and shook his head.
Taking me into the next room, he declared
his opinion, that the ball had passed into the
intestines, which were severed, and that there
was no hope. I sat down and covered up
my face—the tears rolled down and trickled
through my fingers—it was the first. heavy
blow I had yet received. Without kindred
or connections, I felt that I was about to lose
one who was dear to me. To another, not

in my situation, it might have only produced
a temporary grief at the near loss of a friend ;
but tome, who was almost alonein the world,
the loss was heavy in the extreme. Whom
had I to fly to for solace?—there were

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

  
  
 
 
   
   
 
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
  
   
   
 
  
   
   

65

Timothy and Fleta—one who performed the
duty of a servant to me, anda child. I felt
that they were not sufficient, and my heart
was chilled.

The surgeon had, in the meantime, re-
turned to the major, and dressed the wound.
The major, who had recovered from his
weakness, asked him his candid opinion.
‘We must hope for the best, sir,” replied
the surgeon.

“That is to say, there is no hope,” replied
the major; ‘‘and I feel that you are right.
How long do you think that I may live?”

‘““If the wound does not take a favourable
turn, about forty-eight hours, sir,”’ replied
the surgeon : ‘‘ but we must hope for a more
fortunate issue.”

““In a deathBed case you medical men are
like lawyers,” replied the major; ‘there is
no getting a straightforward answer from
you. Where is Mr. Newland?”

‘“Here I am, Carbonnell,” said I, taking
his hand.

‘“ My dear fellow, I know it is all over with
me, and you, of course, know it as well as 7
do. Do not think that it is a source of much
regret to me to leave this rascally world—
indeed it is not; but I do feel sorry, very
sorry, to leave you. The doctor tells me I
shall live forty-eight hours ; but I have an

idea that I shall not live so many minutes. I
feel my strength gradually failing me. De-

pend upon it, my dear Newland, there is an
internal hemorrhage. My dear fellow, I
shall not be able to speak soon. I have left
you my executor and sole heir. I wish there
was more for you—it will last you, however,
till you come of age. That was a lucky hit
last night, but a very unlucky one this morn-
ing. Bury me like a gentleman.”

‘“My dear Carbonnell,” said I, ‘‘ would
you not like to see somebody—a clersy-
man ?”’

‘* Newland, excuse me. I do not refuse it
out of disrespect, or because I do not believe
in the tenets of Christianity ; but I cannot be-
lieve that my repentance at this late howr can
be of any avail. If I have not been sorry for
the life I have lived—if I have not had my
moments of remorse—if I have not promised
to amend, and intended to have so done, and
I trust I have—what avails my repentance
now? No, no, Japhet, as I have sown so
must I reap, and trust to the mercy of
Heaven. God only knows all our hearts ;
and I would fain believe that I may find
more favour in the eyes of the Almighty, than
I have in this world from those who——but
we must not judge. Give me to drink,

Japhet—I am sinking fast. God bless you,
my dear fellow.”

The major sank on his pillow, after he had
moistened his lips, and spoke no more.
With his hand clasped in mine he gradually
sank, and in a quarter of an hour his eyes

Dwere fixed, and all was over. He was right
in his conjectures —an artery had been
divided, and he had bled to death. The
surgeon came again just before he was dead,
for ‘T had sent for him. ‘‘It is better as it
is,’ said he to me. ‘‘ Had he not bled to

death, he would have suffered forty-eight: .

hours of extreme agony from the mortifica-
tion which must have ensued.’ He closed
the major’s eyes and took his leave, and I
hastened into the drawing-room and sent for
Timothy, with whom I sat in a long conversa-
tion on this unfortunate occurrence, and my
future prospects. —

My grief for the death of the major was
sincere ; much may indeed be -aseribed ito
habit, from our long residence and com-
panionship ; but more to the knowledge that
the major, with all his faults, had redeeming
qualities, and that the world: had driven him
to become what he had been.- I had the
further conyiction, that he was attached to
me, and in my situation, anything like af-
fection was most precious. His funeral was
handsome, without being ostentatious, and I
paid every demand upon him which I knew
to be just—many, indeed, that were not sent
in, from asupposition that any claim made
would be useless. His debts were not-much
above £200, and these debts had never been
expected to be liquidated by those who had
given him credit. The paper he had written,
and had been witnessed by Timothy and
another, was a short will, in which he left me
his sole heir and executor. ‘The whole ofhis
property consisted of his house in St. James's
Street, the contents of his pocket-book in-
trusted to my care, and his personal effects,
which, especially in bijouterie, were valuable,
The house was worth about £4,000, as he
had told me. In his pocket-book were notes
to the amount of £3,500, and his other effects
might be valued at £400. With all his debts
and funeral expenses liquidated, and with
my own money, | found myself in possession
of about £8,o0o0o—a sum which never could
have been credited, for it was generally sup-
posed that he died worth less than nothing,
having lived fora long while upon a capital
of a similar value.

‘‘T cannot but say,” observed Timothy,
“‘but that this is very fortunate. Had the
major not persuaded you'to borrow money,
he never would have won so large a sum.
Had he lived, he would have squandered it
away: but just in the nick of time he ds
killed, and makes you his»heir.”

“There is truth in your observation, Timo-
thy: but now you must go to Mr. Emmanuel,
that I may pay him off. J will repay the
£1,000 lent me by Lord Windermear into his
banker's, and then I must execute one part of
the poor major's will. He left his diamond
solitaire as a memento to his lordship. Bring
it to me, andi will call and present it.”  ~

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

CHAPTER XXXII.

A Chapter full Bf Morality, which ena in a Jew
refusing upwards of 41,000, proving the Millen-
nium to be nearly at hand.

THIS conversation took place the day after
the funeral, and, attired in deep mourning, I
called upon his lordship, and was admitted.
His lordship had sent his carriage to attend
the funeral, and was also in mourning when
he received me. I executed my commission,
and after a long conversation with his lord-
ship, in which I confided to him the contents
of the will, and the amount of property of the
deceased, I rose to take my leave. ES

‘«Excuseme, Mr, Newland,” said he, ‘‘but
what do you now propose to do? I confess
I feel a strong interest about you, and had
wished that you had come to me oftener
without an invitation. I perceive that you
never will. Have you no intention of follow-
ing up any pursuit 2”

“Yes, my lord, I intend to search after my
father ; and I trust that, by husbanding my
unexpected resources, 1 shall now be able.”

“You have the credit, in the fashionable
world, of possessing a large fortune.”

‘“That is not my fault, my lord; it is
through Major Carbonnell’s mistake that the

world 4 is deceived. Still I must acknowledge ;

myself so far participator, that I have never.
contradicted the report.”

‘‘Meaning, I presume, by some good
me? to reap the advantage of the supposi-
tio

4 “Not so, my lord, I assure you. People
may deceive themselves, but I will not deceive
ther.”

“Nor undeceive them, Mr. Newland?”

' -«Undeceive them I will not ; nay, if I did |
make the attempt, I should not be believed.
They never would believe it possible that I
could have lived so long with your relative,
without having had a large supply of money.
They might believe that I had run through
my money, but not that I never had any.’

‘‘ There is a knowledge of the world i in that
remark,’ replied his lordship ; ; ‘“but.I inter-
rupted you, ‘so proceed.”

‘7 mean to observe, my lord, and you, by
your ‘knowledge of my previous history, can
best judge how far J am warranted in saying
so, that d have as yet steered the middle
course between that which is dishonest and
honest.

undeceive it. SoI would, my lord, if it were
not for my peculiar situation ; but at the
same time J never will, if possible, be guilty
of direct deceit ;- that is:to:say, 1 would not
take advantage .of imy supposed wealth to
marry a young person of large fortune. J
would state myself a beggar, and gain her

  

  

 

5

}

If the world deceives itself, you ||

would say that, in strict honesty, I ought to a
|affections’ as a beggar. A: woman can. have
little confidence: in a: man who: deceives' her
before marriage.”

“Your secret will always be safe: with. me,
Mr. Newland ;: you havea right to demand
it. Lam glad to hear the sentiments which
you have expressed ;. they are not founded,
perhaps, upon the strictest-code of morality. ;
but there are many who profess more who do
not act up: to-so much. Still, I wish you
would think in what way I may beable to
serve you, for your life at present: is useless
and unprofitable, and may tend to warp still
more ideas which are: not’ quite so strict’ as
they ought to be.”’

“* My lord, I have but one object:in:allow-
ing the world to continue in their error
relative to my means, whichis; that it pro-
cures for me an entrance into that society in
which I have a:moral conviction that:I: shall
find my-father. I have but one pursuit, one
end to attain, which is, to sueceed: in that
search. I return you'a thousand thanks for
your} kind: expressions and: goodwilk; but I
cannot at present avail myselfof them: I beg
your lordship’s pardon; but did! yow ever
meet the lady with the earrings.”

Lord Windermear smiled. ‘‘ Really, Mr.
Newland, you are a very: strange person; not
content with finding out your. own parents,
you must also be searching after other

people's; not that I do not commend your
conduct in this instance; but'I’m afraid, in
running after shadows, you are too indifferent
to: the substance.”

‘Ah, my lord'! it is very well for you to
argue who have had a fatherand mother, and
never felt the want of'them; but:if'you knew
‘how my heart: yearns after my parents, you
‘would not be surprised‘at my: perseverance.”
"**Tam surprised at nothing in this world,
Mr. Newland’; every one pursues: happiness
in his own way ; your happiness appears to
‘be centred, in’ one feeling, and yow are only
acting as the world does in’ general: but
recollect that the search after. happiness ends
In disappointment.”’

‘““T grant. it but too’ often does; my lord;
but there-is pleasure in the chase,” re-
plied I.

‘‘ Well, go; and may you‘ prosper: All I
can say is this, Mr. Newland ; do: not’ have
that false pride not to apply to me when you
need assistance. Recollect; it is much better
to be: under an obligation, if such: you will
consider it, than to do that which is wrong;
and that it isa very false pride which would
blush to accept a favour, and yet not blush
to do what it ought to be ashamed. of:
Promise me, Mr. Newland, that upom any
reverse or -exigence, you will’ apply to

 

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

  
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 

67

“T candidly acknowledge to your lordship,
that I would rather be under an obligation
to any one but you; and I trust you will
clearly appreciate my, feelings. J have taken
the liberty of refunding the one thousand
pounds you were so kind as to place at my
disposal'asaloan. At the same time I will
promise, that if at any time i should require
your assistance, I will again request leave
to become: your debtor.” I rose again to
depart.

“Farewell, Newland; when I thought
you had behaved ill, and I offered to better
you, you only demanded. my good opinion ;
you have it, and have it so firmly, that it
will not: easily be shaken.’ His lordship
then shook, hands with me, and I took my
leave.

On my return I found Emmanuel, the
money - lender, who had accompanied
Timothy, fancying that I was in want: of
more assistance, and but: too willing to give
it... His surprise was very great when I told
him that I wished to repay the money I had
borrowed.

‘Vell, dis is very strange! I have lent my
monish a'tousand times, and never'once they
did offer: it me back. Vell, I will take it,
Sar.”

“But how: much must I give you, Mr.
Emmanuel, for'the tendays’ loan?”

‘““How: moch—vy: you remember, you vill
give de bond:money—de fifteen hundred.”

““What !: five hundred pounds interest for
ten. days, Mr. Emmanuel ; no, no, that’s
rather too: bad, I will, if you please, pay
you back eleven hundred pounds, and that, T
think, is very handsome.”

‘““T don’t) want my’ monish, my. good sar.

- I lend you one tousand pounds, on de condi-

tion that you pay-me fifteen hundred when
you come into your properties, which will be
in'very short time. You send’ for me, and
tell me you vish- to pay back de monishi
directly; never refuse monish—if you vish
to pay, Pwill take, but I will not take von
farding less:dan de monish on de bond.”

“Very well, Mr. Emmanuel, just as‘ you
please ; I offer you your money back, in pre-
sence of my servant, and one hundred pounds
for the loan of it for ten days. Refuse it, if
you choose, but’ I earnestly recommend you
to take it.”’ \

‘“T-will not have de monish, sar ; dis is de
child’s play,” replied the Jew. “I must have
my fifteen hundred—all in goot time, sar—I
am in no hurry—I vish you’ a very goot
morning, Mr: Newland. Ven you vish for
more monish to borrow; I‘shall be happy to
pay my respects.” So saying; the Jew
walked out of the room; with his arm* be-
hind his‘back as usual.CHAPTER XXXIII.

T decide upon Honesty as the best Policy, and
what is more strange, receive Zega/ Advice upon
this important point.

TIMOTHY and I burst into laughter. ‘Really,

Timothy,” observed I, ‘it appears that very

little art is necessary to deceive the world,

for in every instance they will deceive them-

selves. The Jew is off my conscience, at all

ee and now he never will be paid, until
os “ Until when, Japhet ?”’

‘“ Until I find out my father,” replied I.

‘‘ Everything is put off till that time
arrives, I observe,” said Timothy. ‘‘ Other
people will soon be as interested in the search
as yourself.”’

‘‘T wish they were ; unfortunately, it is a
secret, which cannot be div ulged.”’

A ring at the bell called Timothy down-
stairs ; he returned with a letter; it was
from Lord Windermear, and ran as fol-
lows :—

““My DEAR NEWLAND,—I have been
thinking about you ever since you left me
this morning, and as you appear resolved to
prosecute your search, it has occyrred to me
that you should go about it in a more syste-
matic way. I do not mean to say that what
I now propose will prove of any advantage
to you, but still it may, as you will have a
very. old and very clever head to advise with.
I refer to Mr. Masterton, my legal adviser,
from whom you had the papers which led to
our first acquaintance. He is aware that you
were (I beg your pardon) an impostor, as he
has since seen Mr. Estcourt. The letter in-
closed is for him, and with that in your hand
you may face him boldly, and I have no
doubt but that he will assist you all in his
power, and put you to no expense. Narrate
your whole history to him, and then you will
hear what he may propose. He has many
secrets, much more important than yours.
Wishing you every success that your perse-
verance deserves, believe me, yours very
truly, “ WINDERMEAR.”

‘“T believe the advice to be good,” said I,
after reading the letter. “I am myself at
fault, and hardly know how to proceed. I
think I will go at once to the old gentleman,
Timothy.”

“‘It can do no harm, if it does no good.
Two heads are better than one,’ replied
Timothy. ‘‘Some secrets are too well kept,

and deserting a child is one of those which
is confided but to few.”

‘“‘By the bye, Timothy, here have I been,
more than so many years out of the Found-
ling Hospital, and have never yet inquired if
any one has ever been to reclaim me.”

  

FAPALTS TIN SHARC LH. Of A PATHE,

‘«Very true; and I think I'll step myself
to the workhouse, at St. Bridget’s, and ask
whether any one has asked about me,” re-
plied Timothy, with a grin.

“<abherey 1s another. thing that I have
neglected,’’ observed I, ‘‘ which is, to inquire
at the address in Coleman Street, if there is
any letter from Melchior.”’

“‘T have often thought of him,” replied
Timothy. ‘‘ I wonder who he can be—there
is another mystery there. I wonder whether
we shall ever fall in with him again—and
Nattée, too?”

‘« There's no saying, Timothy. I wonder
where that poor fool, Philotas, and our friend
Jumbo, are now?”

The remembrance of the two last person-
ages made us both burst out a laughing.

‘“Timothy, I’ve been reflecting that my
intimacy with poor Carbonnell has rather
hindered than assisted me in my search. He
found me with a good appearance, and he
has moulded me into a gentleman, so far as
manners and appearance are concerned ; but
the constant vortex in which I have been
whirled in his company has prevented me
from doing anything. His melancholy death
has perhaps been fortunate for me. It has
left me more independent in circumstances,
and more free. I must now really set to an
earnest.’

‘‘T beg your pardon, Japhet, but did not
you say the same when we first set off on our
travels, and yet remain more than a year with
the gipsies? Did not you make the same
resolution when we arrived in town, with our
pockets full of money, and yet, once into
fashionable society, think but little, and occa-
sionally, of it? Now you make the same
resolution, and how long will you keep it ?”’

‘Nay, Timothy, that remark is hardly
fair; you know that the subject is ever in my,
thoughts.” i

“Tn your thoughts, I grant, very fre-
quently; but you have still been led away
from, the search.”’

‘‘T grant it; but I presume that arises
from not knowing how to proceed. I have a
skein to unravel, and cannot find out an end

to commence with.”

‘‘T always thought people commenced with
the beginning,” replied Tim, laughing.

‘‘ At all events, I will now try back, and
face the old lawyer. Do you call at Coleman
Street, Tim, and at St. Bridget’s also, if you
please.”’

‘‘As for St. Bridget’s, I’m in no particular
hurry about my mother ; if I stumble upon
her, I may pick her up, but I never make
diligent search after what, in every proba-
bility, will not be worth the finding.”

Leaving Timothy to go his way, I walked
to the house at Lincoln’s Inn, which [I had
before-entered upon the memorable occasion
of the papers of Estcourt. - As before, I rang

 

  

   

OID ty

mii TR ee

NE OK ER aethe bell, the door swung open, and I was
Once more in the presence of Mr. Masterton.

sor have a letter, sir,” said I, bowing, and
presenting the letter from Lord Windermear.

_The old gentleman peered at me through
his spectacles. ‘‘ Why! we have met before
—bless me—why, you're the rogue that 4

“You are perfectly right, sir,” interrupted
I. ‘‘I am the rogue who presented the letter
from Lord Windermear, and who presents
you with another from the same person ; do
me the favour to read it,«while I take a
chair.”

‘““Upon my soul—you impudent—hand-
some dog, I must say—great pity—come for
money, I suppose. Well, it’s asad world,”
muttered the lawyer, as he broke open the
letter of Lord Windermear.

I made no reply, but watched his counte-
nance, which changed to that of an expres-
sion of surprise. ‘‘ Had his lordship sent me
a request to have you hanged, if possible,”
said Mr. Masterton, ‘‘I should have felt no
surprise ; but in this letter he praises you,
and desires me to render you all the service in
my power. I can’t understand it.”

““ No, sir; but if you have leisure to listen
to me, you will then find that, in this world,
we may be deceived by appearances.”

‘“Well, and so I was, when I first saw you ;
I never could have believed you to be—but
never mind.”

‘“‘ Perhaps, sir, in an hour or two you will
again alter your opinion. Are you at leisure,
or will you make an appointment for some
future day?”

‘“Mr. Newland, I am not at leisure—I
never was more busy; and if you had come on
any legal business, I should have put you off
for three or four days, at least; but my
curiosity is so raised that I am determined
that I will indulge it at the expense of my
interest. I will turn the key, and then you
will oblige me by unravelling what, at present,
is to me as curious as it is wholly incompre-
hensible.”’

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.

{ attempt to profit by Intelligence I receive, and
throw a Lady into Hysterics.

IN about three hours I had narrated the
history of my life, up to the very day, almost
as much detailed as it has been to the reader.
““And now, Mr. Masterton,” said I, as I
wound up my narrative, ‘‘do you think I
deserve the title of rogue which you applied
to me when I came in?”’

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

69

‘“Upon my word, Mr. Newland, I hardly
know what to say; but I like to tell the
truth. To say that you have been quite
honest, would not be correct—a rogue, to a
certain degree, you have been, but you have
been the rogue of circumstances. I can only
say this, that there are greater rogues than
you, whose characters are unblemished in
the world—that most people in your peculiar
situation would have been much greater
rogues ; and, lastly, that rogue or not rogue,
I have great pleasure in taking you by the
hand, and will do all I possibly can to serve
you—and that for your own sake. Your
search after your parents I consider almost
tantamount to a wild-goose chase ; but still,
as your happiness depends upon it, I suppose
it must be carried on; but you must allow-
me time for reflection. I will consider what
may be the most judicious method of pro-
ceeding. Can you dine #é¢e-d-téte with me
here on Friday, and we then will talk over
the matter ?”’

““On Friday, sir; I am afraid that I am
engaged to Lady Maelstrom ; but that is of
no consequence—I will write an excuse to
her ladyship.” -

‘‘Lady Maelstrom! how very odd that
you should bring up her name after our
conversation.”

“Why so, my dear sir?”

““Why !"" replied Mr. Masterton, chuck-
ling ; ‘‘because—recollect, it is a secret, Mr.
Newland—I remember some twenty years
ago, when she was a girl of eighteen, before
she married, she had a little faux pas, and 1
was called in about a settlement for the
maintenance of the child.”

‘“Ts it possible, sir?” replied I, anxiously.

*“Yes, she was violently attached to a

young officer, without money, but of good
\family ; some say it was a private marriage,
tothers, that he was—a rascal. It was all
hushed up ; but he was obliged by the friends,
before he left for the West Indies, to sign a
deed of maintenance, and I was the party
called in. I never heard any more about it.
The officer's name was Warrender: he died
of the yellow fever, I believe, and after his
death she married Lord Maelstrom.”

‘“He is dead, then?” replied I, mourn-
fully. 13 as

‘Well, that cannot affect you, my good
fellow. On Friday, then, at six oclock
precisely. Good afternoon, Mr. Newland.”

I shook hands with the old gentleman,
and returned home, but my brain whirled
with the fear of a confirmation of that which
Mr. Masterton had so carelessly conveyed.
Anything like a possibility, immediately was
swelled to a certainty in my imagination, so
ardent and heated on the one subject ; and
as soon as I regained my room, I threw my-
self on the sofa, and fell into a deep reverie.
I tried to approximate the features of Lady

.70 JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF >A FATHER.

Maelstrom to mine, but all the ingenuity in
the world could not effect that; but still, I
might be like my father—but my father was
dead, and that threw a chill over the whole
glowing picture which I had, as usual, con-
jured. up ; besides, it was asserted that I was
born in wedlock, and there was a doubt
relative to the marriage of her ladyship.

After a long cogitation I jumped up;
seized. my hat, and set off for Grosvenor
Square, determining to ask a private inter-
view with her ladyship, and at once end my.
harassing doubts and surmises. I think there
could not be.a greater proof of my madness
than my venturing to, attack a lady of forty:
upon the irregularities. of her youth, and to
question. her upon a subject which had been
confided but to, two or three, and she imagined.
thad been long forgotten: but this. never
struck me ; all considerations were levelled
in.my ardent pursuit. I walked through the
Streets at a rapid pace, the crowd passed by
me,as shadows, I neither saw hor distin-
‘guished them ; I was deep in reverie.as. to
the best way. of breaking the subject to, her
Jadyship, for, notwithstanding my mono-
mania, I perceived it to bea point of great
‘delicacy. After having, overturned about
‘twenty people in my mad career, I arrived at
the door and knocked, My heart beat almost
as_hard, against my ribs with excitement,

“t Is her ladyship at home?”

= «Ves, sir,”’

Twas ushered into ihe drawing-room, and
found. her sitting with two of her nieces, the
Misses Fairfax.

“Mr. Newland, you have been: quite’ a
Stranger,” said) her ladyship, as I-walked up
‘to:her and made my.obeisance. ‘‘I did ih-
tend, to| scold you well; but I suppose that
sad: affain of poor Major Carbonnell's has
been. a, heavy: blow to you—you, were so
intimate—lived together, I believe, did you.
not ? However, you. have not so:much cause
tq regret, for he. was: not a: very proper com-
pamion: for young: men like:you:; to tell you:
the truth, I consider it as.a-fortunate circum-=
stance: that! he was removed, for he would}
by degrees, have! led yow. into’ all manner of
mischief, and: have persuaded you to:squander
‘your fortune. I did at one time think, of
giving you a hint, but it was a delicate point.
Now that he is gone, I tell you very candidly
that you have had an:escape.;. A young man
like you, Mr. Newland; who could command
an alliance into the highest, yes; the Very;
highest families—and let me ‘tell. you, Mir,
Newland, that. there: is: nothing: like: connec-
tion—-money, is) of no consequence to, you,
‘but connection, Mr. Newland, is: what) you
should look for—connection with some high
family, and then youwill do, well. . I should
like to see you settled—well settled, I mean,
Mr. Newland. Now that you are rid of the
major, who has ruined many young men in

 

his time, I trust you, will. seriously think of

settling down into a married man. Cecilia,
my dear, show your tambour work to. Mr.
Newland, and ask. him his opinion. Is it
not beautiful, Mr. Newland?”

‘‘ Extremely, beautiful, indeed, ma’am,”
replied I, glad at last that her. ladyship al-
lowed me to speak a word.

‘Emma, my dear, you look pale, you
must go out into the air. Go, children, put
your bonnets on and take a turn in the
garden; when the carriage comes round I
will. send for you..”

‘The young ladies.quitted. the room: ‘‘ Nice
innocent girls, Mr. Newland; but you are
not partial to» blondes, I believe ?”

‘Indeed, Lady, Maelstrom, I. infinitely:
prefer the blonde, to the brunette.”

‘“ That, proves your taste, Mr. Newland.
The Fairfaxes are of a very. old family—
Saxon, Mr. Newland. fazxfax is Saxon for
light hair. Is it not remarkable that they.
should be blondes:to this day? Pure blood,
Mr. Newland, You, of course, have heard
of General Fairfax in the time, of Cromwell.
He was their direct ancestor-—an. excellent
family, and highly connected, Mr, Newland.
You are:aware that they-are my nieces, My
sister married Mr. Fairfax,’’

I paid| the Misses Fairfax the compliments
which I thought they really deserved, for
they were very pretty, amiable girls, and
required no puffing on the part of her lady-
ship ; and then IL commenced. ‘‘ Your lady-
ship has expressed such kind wishes towards
me, that. I cannot be sufficiently, grateful ;
but, perhaps, your ladyship may; think: me
romantic, I am resolved never to marry,
except for love.”

““ A: very excellent: resolve; Mr: Newland 5
there are few; young men who care about love
now-a-days,) but. I consider that love iss a
great. security: for happiness in the wedded

-State.”’

‘“True, madam, and what can be more
delightful than a first attachment? I appeal
to your ladyship, was not your first attach-
ment the most delightful—are not the remi-
niscences most lasting—do you not, even
now, call to mind those halcyon days when
love was all and everything ?”

‘‘ My days of romance are long past, Mr.
Newland,” replied her.ladyship ; ‘‘indeed I
never had much romance in my composition.
1 married Lord Maelstrom for the connec-
tion, and I loved him pretty. well, that «is,
soberly, Mr. Newland. JI mean, I loved him
quite eneugh:to, marry him, and to obey. my,
parents, that is-all,”’

‘But, my dear Lady Maelstrom, I did not
refer to your marriage with. his lordship ; I
referred to. your first love;’’

‘“ My: first love, Mr. Newland ; pray what
do you mean?” replied her ladyship, looking
very hard at me.TAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

OE

7 i
_ ‘Your ladyship need not be ashamed of of—of—of the sweet pledge of your love,
it. Our hearts are not in our own keeping, Lady Maelstrom >”

nor can we always control our passions. I Her ladyship coloured up with rage, raised
have but to mention the name of’ War- up her clenched hand, and then fell back in

render.” violent hysterics,
“Warrender!” shrieked her ladyship.

“ Pray, Mr. Newland,” continued her lady-
ship, recovering herself, ‘‘ who gave you that
piece of information ?”
“My dear Lady Maelstrom, pray do not
be displeased with me, but I am very parti-
pay interested in this affair. Your love
or Mr. Warrender, long before your mar- 7
riage, is well known to me ; ont it is CHAPTER XGGXY.
to that love, to which TI referred, when : a a : wy
Roe) AT dt Was mot thost “Gdight. 7 Bit we Demeas avdung ae hee
ful. setting watch upon his Tongue,
““Well, Mr. Newland,” replied her lady-

ship, ‘‘how you have obtained the know- I HARDLY knew how to act—if I called the
ledge I know not, but there was, I acknow- servants, my interview would be at an end,
ledge, a trifling flirtation with Edward War- and I was resolved to find out the truth—for
render and me—but I was young, very young, the same reason, I did not like to ring for
at that time.” water. Some vases with flowers were on the
“I grant it; and do not, for a moment, table; I took out the flowers, and threw the
imagine that I intend’ to blame your lady- water in her face, but they had been in the
ship ; but as I before said, madam, I am water some time, and had discoloured it
much interested in the business.”’ green. Her ladyship’s dress was a high sill
“What interest can you have with a little gown, of a bright slate colour, and was im-
flirtation of mine, which took Place before mediately spoiled ; but this was no time to
you were born, I cannot imagine, Mr. New- stand upon trifles. I seized hold of a glass
land.” bottle, fancying, in my hurry, it was eau de
“Tt is because it took place before I was cologne or some essence,.and poured a little
born, that I feel so much interest.” into her mouth; unfortunately, it was a bottle
““T cannot understand you, Mr. Newland, of marking ink, which her ladyship, who was
and I think we had bettér change the sub- very economical, had on the table in disguise.
ject. I perceived my etror, and had recourse to
““Excuse me, madam, but I must request another vase of flowers, pouring a large
to continue it a little longer. Is Mr. War- quantity of the green’water down het throat.
render dead or not? Did he die in the West Whether the unusual remedies had an effect,
Indies ?” or not, I cannot tell, but her ladyship gra-
“Your appear ta be very curious on this dually revived, and, as she leant back-on the
subject, Mr. Newland; I hardly can tell. sofa, sobbing every now and then, convul-
Yes, now I recollect, he did die of the yellow sively, I poured into her ear a thousand apo-
fever, I think—but I have quite forgotten all logies, until I thought she was composed
about it—and I shall answer no more ques- enough to listen to me.

tions ; if you were not a favourite of mine, “Your ladyship’s maternal feelings,” said
Mr. Newland, I should say that you were I.
very impertinent.” “It's all a calumny! a base lie, sir!”
“Then, your ladyship, I will put but one shrieked she.
More question, and that one I must put with  “ Nay, nay, why be ashamed of a youthful
| your permission.”’ passion ; why deny what was in itself credit-

“I should think, after what I have said, able to your unsophisticated mind? Does
| Mr. Newland, that you might drop the sub- not your heart, even now, yearn to embrace

ect. your son—will not you bless me if I bring
“I will, your ladyship, immediately ; but him to your feet—will not you bless your son,
pardon me the question——’ and receive him with delight ?
“Well, Mr. Newland——?” “It was a girl,’’ screamed her ladyship,
“Do not be angry with me——” forgetting herself, and again falling into
“‘ Well?” exclaimed her ladyship, who ap- hysterics.
peared alarmed. eee Oth 1 replied I; “then I have lost

“Nothing but the most important and my time, and it is no use my remaining
imperative reasons could induce me to ask here.” : ;
the question” (her ladyship gasped for breath, | Mortified at the intelligence which over-
and could not speak)—I stammered, but at threw my hopes and castle-buildings, I seized
last I brought it out.. ‘“ What has becorne my hat, descended the stairs, and quitted the72

house; in my hurry and confusion quite for-
getting to call the servants to her ladyship’s
assistance. Fortunately, I perceived the
Misses Fairfax close to the iron railing of the
garden. I crossed the road, wished them
good-bye, and told them that I thought Lady
Maelstrom looked very ill, and they had
better go in to her. I then threw myself into
the first hackney-coach, and drove home. 1!
found Timothy had arrived before me, and I
narrated all that had passed.

‘You will never be able to go there again, ’
observed Timothy, ‘‘and depend upon it,
she will be your enemy through life. I wish
you had not said anything to her.”

‘“‘What is done cannot be undone; but
recollect, that if she can talk, I can talk
also.”

‘© Will she not be afraid?” ”

‘Ves, openly, she will; and open attacks
can be parried.”’

ee Nieny, buen:

‘But it will be as well to pacify her, if I
can. I will write to her.” Isat down and
wrote as follows :—

‘“My DEAR LADY MAELSTROM,—I am
so astonished and alarmed at the situation I
put you in, by my impertinence and folly, that
I hardly know how to apologize. The fact
is, that looking over some of my father’s old
letters, I found many from Warrender, in
which he spoke of an affair with a young
lady, and I read the name as your maiden
name, and also discovered where the off-
spring was to be found. Onre-examination,
for your innocence was too evident at our
meeting to admit of a doubt, I find that the
name, although something like yours, is spelt
very differently, and-that I must have been
Jed into an unpardonable error. What can |
say, except that I throw myself on your
mercy? I dare not appear before you again.
I leave town to-morrow; but if you can
pardon my folly and impertinence, and allow
me to pay my respects when London is full
again, and time shall have softened down
your just anger, write me one line to that
effect, and you will relieve the burdened con-
science of your mosf truly,

‘J. NEWLAND.”

‘«There, Tim,’ said I, as I finished read-
ing it over, ‘‘take that as a sop to the old
Cerberus. She may think it prudent, as I
have talked of letters, to believe me and
make friends. I will not trust her, neverthe-
less.”

Tim went away, and very soon returned
with an answer.

‘“VYou are a foolish madcap, and I ought
to shut my doors against you ; you have half
killed me—spoilt my gown, and I am ob-
liged to keep my bed. Remember, in future,

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

to be sure of the right name before you make
an assertion. As for forgiving you, I shall
think of it, and when you return to town,
you may call and receive my sentence.
Cecilia was quite frightened, poor dear girl:
what a dear affectionate child she is !—she
isa treasure to me, and I don't think I ever
could part with her. She sends her regards.
‘* Yours, ‘“C. MAELSTROM.”

‘“Come, Timothy, at all events this is
better than I expected—but now I'll tell you
what I propose to do. Harcourt was with
me yesterday, and he wished me to go down
with him to There wiil be the as-
sizes, and the county ball, and a great deal
of gaiety, and I have an idea that it is just |
as well to beat the county as the town. I
dine with 'Mr. Masterton on Friday. On
Saturday I will go down and see Fleta, and
on Tuesday or Wednesday I will start with
Harcourt to his father’s, where he has pro-
mised me a hearty welcome. Was there
anything at Coleman Street ?””’

“Yes, sir; Mr. Iving said that he had just
received a letter from your correspondent,
and that he wished to know if the little girl
was well; I told him that she was. Mr. |
Iving laid the letter down on the desk, and ||
I read the post-mark, Dublin.”

‘‘Dublin,” replied I. ‘‘I should like to
find out who Melchior is—and so I will as
soon as I can.”

 

“Well, sir, I have not finished my story. |

Mr. Iving said, ‘My correspondent wishes ||
to know whether the education of the little ||
girl is attended to?’ ‘ Yes,’ replied I, ‘it
is.. ‘Is she at school?’ ‘ Yes, she has been

at school ever since we have been in Lon- |
don.’ ‘Where is she at school?’ inquired he. ||
Now, sir, as I never was asked that question ||
by him before, I did not know whether I ||
ought to give an answer, so I replied that I
did not know. ‘You know whether she is ||
in London or not, do you not?’ How

should 1?’ replied I, ‘master had put her to

school before I put on his liveries.’ ‘Does |
he never go to see her?’ inquired he. ‘I

9 ee en ES

   

Bee pe:

-~ aetna NE

AY

52S a EELS PR Ae

 

suppose so,’ said I.

school, and the name of the people; and if |}
you will find out the direction for me, it will |
be money in your pocket, that’s all.’ ‘Um,’ 4|
replied I, ‘but how much?’ ‘Why, more}
than you think for, my man, it will be a ten-)
pound note.’ ‘That alters the case,’ replied |
I; ‘now I think again, I have an idea that I)

do remember seeing her address on a letter ||
“Ay, replied Mr.g}i
Iving, ‘it's astonishing how money sharpens |)

my master wrote to her.’

the memory. I'll keep to my bargain ; give |

me the address, and here's the ten-pound |},

note.’ ‘I’m afraid that my master will be |
angry,’ said I, as if I did not much like to

‘Then you really know |)
nothing about it? Then look you, my lad, ||)
I am anxious to find out where she is at ||)

1H]

)
|e

tell him. ‘Your master will never know
anything about it, and you may serve a long
time before he gives you a ten-pound note
above your wages.’ ‘That’s very true,’ said
I, ‘sarvice is no inheritance. Well, then,
give me the money, and I'll write it down.’ ”

‘And did you give it?’ interrupted I.

“Stop a moment, sir, and you shall hear.
I wrote down the address of that large school
at Kensington, which we pass when we go
to Mr. Aubrey White’s.”’

“What, that tremendous large board with
yellow lettersMrs. Let—what is it?”

“Mrs. Lipscombe’s seminary—I always
read the board every time I go up and down.
I gave him the address, Miss Johnson, at
Mrs. Lipscombe’s seminary, Kensington.
Well—and here’s the ten-pound note, sir,
which I have fairly earned.”

“‘ Fairly earned, Tim?”

“Yes, fairly earned ; for it is
cheat those who would cheat you.

“I cannot altogether agree with you on
that point, Tim ; but it certainly is no more
than they deserve; but this is matter for
reflection. Why should Melchior wish to
find out her address without my knowledge ?
Depend upon it, there is something wrong.”

“That's what I said to myself coming
home ;_ and I made up my mind that, for
some reason or another, he wishes to regain
possession of her.”’

‘“‘T entertain the same idea, Timothy, and
{ am glad you have disappointed him. I
will take care that they shall not find her out,
now that I am upon my guard.”

‘“But, sir, I wish to draw one good moral
from this circumstance ; which is, that if you
had been served by any common footman,
your interest would, in all probability, have
been sacrificed to the ten-pound note; and
that not only in this instance, but in many
others, I did a very wise thing in taking my
present situation.”’

““T am but too well aware of that Tim,
my dear fellow,” said I, extending my hand,
‘“and depend upon it, that if I rise, you
do. You know me well enough by this
time.”’

‘““Yes, I do, Japhet, and had rather serve
you than the first nobleman in the land. I’m
going to purchase a watch with this ten-
pound note, and I never shall look at it with-
out remembering the advantage of keeping a
watch oyer my tongue,”

all fair to

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

73

CHAPTER XXXVI.

I fall very much in Love with Honesty, because I
find that it is well received in the Werld—And
to prove my Honesty, inform the whole World
that Honest I have never been.

I PROVED the will of Major Carbonnell, in
which there was no difficulty ; and then I
sat down to consider in what way I might
best husband my resources. The house was
in good repair, and well furnished. At the
time that I lived with the major, we had our
drawing-room, and his bed-room, and another
room equally large, used as his dressing-
room, on the first floor. The second floor
was appropriated to me, andthe sitting-
room was used as a dining-room when we
dined at home, which was but seldom. The
basement was let as a shop, at one hundred
pounds per annum; but we had a private
door for entrance, and the kitchens and
attics. I resolved to retain only the first
floor, and let the remainder of the house ;
and I very soon got a tenant at sixty pounds
per annum. ‘The attics were appropriated to
Timothy, and the servants belonging to the
lodger.

After having disposed of what was no ser-
vice to me, I found that, deducting the
thousand pounds paid into the banker’s, for
Lord Windermear, I had a little above three
thousand pounds in ready money, and what
to do with this I could not well decide. I
applied to Mr. Masterton, stating the exact
amount of my finances, on the day that I
dined with him, and he replied, ‘‘ You have
two good tenants, bringing you in one hun-
dred and sixty pounds per annum—if this
money is put out on mortgage, I can procure
you five per cent., which will be one hundred
and fifty pounds per annum. Now the ques-
tion is, do you think that you can live upon
three hundred and ten pounds per annum ?
You have no rent to pay; and I should think
that, as you are not at any great expense for
a servant, you might, with economy, do very
well. Recollect, that if your money is lent on
mortgage, you will not be able to obtain it at
a moment's warning. So reflect well before
you decide.”

I consulted with Timothy, and agreed to
lend the money, reserving about two hundred
pounds to go on with, until I should receive
my reits and interest. On the Friday I went
to dine with Mr. Masterton, and narrated
what had passed between me and Lady
Maelstrom. He was very much diverted,
and laughed immoderately. ‘Upon my
faith, Mr. Newland, but you have a singular
species of madness; you first attack Lord
Windermear, then a bishop, and, to crown
all, you attack a dowager peeress. I must
acknowledge, that if you do not find out your74

parents, it will not be for want of inquiry.
Altogether, you are a most singular charac-
ter ; your history is most singular, and your
good fortune is equally so. You have made
more friends before you have come to age,
than most people do in their whole lives.
You commence the world with nothing, and
here you are, with almost a competence—
have paid off a loan of one thousand pounds,
which was not required—and are moving in
the best society. Now the only drawback I
perceive in all this is, that you are in society
under false colours, having made people
suppose that you are possessed of a large
fortune.”

“It was not exactly my assertion, sir.”

““No, I grant, not exactly ; but you have
been a party to it, and I cannot allow that
there is any difference. Now, do you mean
to allow this supposition to remain uncontra-
dicted,”

“T hardly know what to say, sir ; if 1 were
to state that I have nothing but a bare com-
petence; it will be only injurious to the
memory of Major Carbonnell. All the world
will suppose that he has ruined me, and that
i had: the fortune, whereas, on the contrary,
it is to him that I am, indebted for my present
favourable position.’

“That may, be very true,, Mr. Newland ;
butif I am to consider you as my frotégé,
and I may add; the protégé of Lord Winder;
mear, | must make you, guzte. honest—l wils
be no: party, to fraud; in any shape. Are you
prepared to resign your. borrowed, plumes,
and appear before the world as, you really
are). ’

‘“There is but one inducement, sir, for me
to. wish that the world may still deceive them-
selves, I may be thrown out of society, and
lose the opportunity of discovering my pa-
rents,”

“ And pray, Mr. Newland, which do. you
think is more likely to tend to the discovery,
a general knowledge that you are a foundling
in search of your parents, or your present
method, of taxing everybody upon suspicion.
If your parents wish te reclaim you, they will
then have their eyes directed towards you,
from your position being known ; and I will
add, there are few parents who will not. be
proud. of you as a son: You will have the
patronage of Lord Windermear, which will
always secure you a position in society, and
the good wishes of all, although, I grant, that
such worldly people as Lady Maelstrom may
strike your name off their porter's list. You

will, moreover, have thesatisfaction of knowing

that the friends which you make have not
been made under false, colours and appear-
ances, anda still further satisfaction, arising
from a good conscience.’

“‘T_ am convinced, sir, and I thank you for
your advice. I will now he guided by you in

”

everything.”

  

   

GAPHEHT, IN SEARCH OF A PATHE.

‘‘Give me your hand, my good lad, I now
will be your friend to the utmost of my
power.’

“‘T only wish, sir,” replied I, much affected,
“that you were also my father.”

“Thank you for the wish, as it implies
that you have a good opinion of me. What
do you mean to do?”

“‘T have promised my friend Mr. Harcourt
to go down with him to his father's.

‘Well?
‘«And before I go I will undeceive him.”
‘You are right ; you will then find whether

he is a frierid to you or to your supposed ten

thousand pounds per annum. I have been
reflecting, and I am not aware that anything
else can be done at present than acknowledg-
ing to the world who you really are, which is
more likely to tend to the discovery of your
parents than any other means, but at the
same time I shall not be idle. All we lawyers
have among us strange secrets, and among
my fraternity, to whom I shall speak openly,
I think it possible that something may be
found out which may serve as a clue. Do not
be annoyed at being cut by many, when your
history is known; those who cut you are
those whose acquaintance and friendship are
not worth having; it will unmask your flat-
terers from your friends, and you will not
repent of your having been honest; in the
end, it is the best policy, even in. a worldly
point of view. Come to me as often as you
please; I am always at, home to you, and
always your friend.”

Such was.the result of my dinner. with Mr.
Masterton, which I narrated to Timothy as
soon as I returned home. ‘‘ Well, Japhet, I
think you have found a real friend in Mr.
Masterton,
decided upon following his advice. As for
me, I am not under false colours, I am in my
right situation, and wish no more.’

In pursuance of my promise to Mr. Mas-
terton, I called upon. Harcourt the next
morning, and after stating my intention to go
down for a day or two into the country to see
a little girl who was under my care, I said to
him, ‘‘ Harcourt, as. long as we, were only
town acquaintances, mixing in society, and
under no peculiar obligation to each other, I
did not think it worth while to undeceive you
on a, point in which Major Carbonnell was
deceived himself, and has deceived others ;
but now that you have offered to introduce
me into the bosom of your family, I cannot
allow you to remaininerror. It is generally
supposed that I am about to enter into a large
property when I come of age; now, so far
from that being the case, I have nothing in
the world but a bare competence, and the
friendship of Lord Windermear. In fact, I
am a deserted child, ignorant of my parents,
and most anxious to discover them, as I have
every reason to suppose that I am of no mean

and I am glad that you have © |

  

ibirth. I tell you ‘this candidly, and unless
you renew the invitation, shall consider that
it has not been given.”

Harcourt remained a short time without
answering. ‘‘ You really have astonished
me, Newland ; but,” continued he, extending
his hand, ‘‘I admire—I respect you, and I
feel that I shall like you better. With ten
thousand pounds a year, you were above me
7 how we are but.equals. I, as a younger
brother, have but a bare competence, as well
as you ; and as for parents—for the benefit I
now derive from them, I might as well have
none. Not but my father is a worthy, fine
old gentleman, but the éstates are entailed ;
he is obliged to keep up his position in
society, and he has a large family to provide
for, and he can do no more. You have in-
deed an uncommon. moral courage to have
made this confession. Do you wish it to be
kept a secret ?”

“On the contrary, I wish the truth to be
known.”

‘Iam glad that you say so, as I have
mentioned you as a young man of large
fortune to -my father; but I feel convinced,
when I tell him this conversation, he will be
much more pleased in taking you by the hand,
than if you were to come down and propose
to one of my sisters. I repeat the invitation
with double the pleasure that I gave it at
first.”’

‘I thank you, Harcourt,” replied I; ‘‘some
day I will tell you more. JI must not expect,
however, that everybody will prove themselves
as noble in ideas as yourself.”

‘Perhaps not, but never mind that. On
Friday next, then, we start.”

“Agreed.”” I shook hands and left him.

CHAPTER XXXVII,

| try back to recover.the lost Scent, and disccver,
to my Astonishment, that I have been Trans.
ported for Forgery.

| THE behaviour of Harcourt was certainly a
| good encouragement, and had I been waver-
| ing in my promise to Mr. Masterton, would
| have encouraged me to proceed. T retu-ned
| home with a light heart and a pleasing satis-
faction, from the conviction that I had done
‘right. The next morning I set off for —,
‘and, as it was a long while since I had seen
'Fleta, our meeting was a source of delight on
both sides. I found her very much grown

 

   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. is

and improved. She was approaching her
fifteenth year, as nearly as we could guess—
of course her exact age was a mystery. Her
mind was equally expanded. Her mistress
praised her docility and application, and
wished to know whether I intended that she
should be taught music and drawing, for
both of which she ‘had shown a decided taste.
ortns “1 immediately consented, and Fleta
hung on my shoulder and embraced me for
the indulgence. She was now fast approach-
ing to womanhood, and my feelings ‘towards
her were more intense than ever. 1 took the
chain of coral and gold beads from her neck,
telling her that I must put it into a secure
place, as much depended upon them. ‘She
was curious to know why, but I would not
enter into the subject at that time. One
caution I gave her, in case, by any chance,
her retreat should be discovered by the com-
panions of Melchior, which was, that without
IT myself came, she Was, On no account, to
leave the school, even if a letter from me was
produced, requesting her to come, unless that
letter was delivered by Timothy. I gave the
same directions to her mistress, paid up her
schooling and expenses, and then left ‘her,
promising not to be so long before T saw her
again. On myreturn to town I deposited the
necklace with Mr, Masterton, who locked it
up carefully in his iron safe.

On the Friday, as agreed, Harcourt and 1,
accompanied by Timothy and Harcourt’s
servant, started on the outside of the coach,
as younger brothers usually convey them-
selves, for his father’s seat in shire, and
arrived there in time for dinner. TI was kindly
received by old Mr. Harcourt and his family,
consisting of his wife-and three amiable and
beautiful girls. Buton the second day, during
which interval I presume Harcourt had an
opportunity of undeceiving his father, I was
delighted to perceive that the old gentleman's
warmth of behaviour towards me was in-
creased. I remained there for a fortnight,
and never was so happy. I was soon on the
Most intimate terms with the whole family,
and was treated as if I belonged to it. Yet
when I went to bed every night, [ became
more and more melancholy. I felt what a
delight it must be to have parents, sisters,
and friends—the bosom cf a family to retire
into, to share with it your pleasures and your
pains; and the ‘tears often ran down my

 

“cheeks, and moistened my pillow, when I

had, not an hour before, been the happiest of
the happy, and the gayest of the gay. Ina
family party, there is nothing so amusing as
any little talent out of the general way, and
my performances and tricks on cards, &c., in
which Melchior had made me such an adept,
were now brought forward as a source of
innocent gratification. When I quitted, I
had a general and hearty welcome to the
house from the parents; and the eyes of theeee

when he took you in.”

"6

amiable girls, as well as mine, were not
exactly dry, as we bade each other fare-
well.

“You told your father, Harcourt, did you
not?”

‘Yes, and the whole of them, Japhet ; and
you must acknowledge, that in their estima-
tion you did not suffer. My father is pleased
with our intimacy, and advises me to cultivate
it. ‘To prove to you that Iam anxious so to
do, I have a proposal to make. I know your
house as well as you do, and that you have
reserved only the first floor for yourself; but
there are two good rooms on the first floor,
and you can dispense with a dressing-room.
Suppose we club together. It will be a
saving to us both, as poor Carbonnell said

“‘With all my heart. I am delighted with
the proposal.”

Harcourt then stated what it was his in-
tention to offer for his share of the apartment :
the other expenses to be divided, and his
servant dismissed. 1 hardly need say, that
we did not disagree, and before I had been a
week in town, we were living together. My
interview with Mr. Masterton, and subse-
quent events, had made me forget to call on
the governors of the Foundling Hospital, to
ascertain whether there had been any ‘in-
quiries after me. On my return to town I
went there, and finding that there was a
meeting to be held on the next day, I pre-
sented myself. I was introduced into the
room where they were assembled.

‘You wish to speak with the governors of
‘the Hospital, I understand,” said the pre-
siding governor.

“Ves, sir,” replied I; ‘‘ I have come to
ask whether an inquiry has been made after
one of the inmates of this charity, of the
name of Japhet Newland.”

‘‘Japhet Newland ?”’

“Tf you recollect sir, he was bound to an
apothecary of the name of Cophagus, in con-
sequence of some money which was left with
him as an infant, inclosed in a letter, in
which it was said that he would be reclaimed
if circumstances permitted.”

“T recollect it perfectly well—it is now
about six years back. I think there was
some inquiry, was there not, Mr. G——?”

‘‘T think that there was, about a year anda
half ago, but we will send for the secretary,
and refer to the minutes.”

My heart beat quick, and the perspiration
bedewed my forehead when I heard this in-
telligence. At last, my emotion was so great,
that I felt faint. ‘‘ You are ill, sir,’’ said one
of the gentlemen: ‘‘quick—a glass of water.”

The attendant brought a glass of water,

  
   
 
  
   
    
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

which I drank and recovered myself. ‘‘ You
appear to be much interested in this young
man’s welfare.”

‘‘T am, sir,” replied I; ‘‘no one can be
more So.”

The secretary now made his appearance
with the register, and after turning over the
leaves, read as follows :—‘‘ August the 16th,
—— a gentleman came to inquire after an
infant left here, of the name of Japhet, with
whom money had been deposited—Japhet,
christened by order of the governors, Japhet
Newland—referred to the shop of Mr. Co-
phagus, Smithfield Market. He returned
the next day, saying that Mr. Cophagus had
retired from business—that the parties in the
shop knew nothing for certain, but believed
that the said Japhet Newland had been
transported for life for forgery, about a year
before.”

‘‘Good heavens ! what an infamous asser-
tion!” exclaimed I, clasping my hands.

‘«On referene back to the calendar, we ob-
served that one J. Newland was transported
for such an offence. Query?”

‘‘Tt must have been some other person ; |

but this has arisen from the vindictive feeling
of those two scoundrels who served under
Pleggit,” cried I.

‘“How can you possibly teil, sir?” mildly
observed one of the governors.

‘‘ How can I tell, sir!” replied I, starting
from my chair. ‘‘ Why, I am Faphet New-
land myself, sir.’’

‘You, sir,’ replied the governor, survey-
ing my fashionable exterior, my chains, and
bijouterie.

‘Yes, sir, I am the Japhet Newland
brought up in this asylum, and who was ap-
prenticed to Mr. Cophagus.”’

‘‘Probably, then, sir,’’ replied the presi-
dent, ‘‘you are the Mr. Newland whose
name appears at all the fashionable parties
in high life?”

‘‘T believe that I am the same person,
sir.

‘‘T wish you joy upon your success in the
world, sir. It would not appear that it can

be very important to you to discover your ||

parents.

‘«Sir,’”’ replied I, ‘‘ you have never known
what it is to feel the want of parents and
friends. Fortunate as you may consider me
to be--and I acknowledge that I have every

reason to be grateful for my unexpected rise |}
in life—I would, at this moment, give up all ))}

that I am worth, resume my Foundling dress,
and be turned out a beggar, if I could but

discover the authors of my existence.” —I ‘|
then bowed low to the governors, and quitted |

the room.

Poel SK

mt ek YetCHAPTER XXXVIII.

Mischief Brewing—Timothy and I set our Wits to
work, and he resumes his old Profession of a
Gipsy.

I HASTENED home with feelings too painful
to be described. I had a soreness at my
heart, an oppression on my Spirits, which
weighed me down. I had but one wish—
that I was dead. I had already imparted to
Harcourt the history of my life ; and when I
came in, I threw myself upon the sofa in
despair, and relieved my agonized heart with
a flood of tears. As soon as I could compose
myself, I stated what had occurred.

‘*My dear Newland, although it has been
an unfortunate occurrence in itself, I do not
see that you have so much cause to grieve,
for you have this satisfaction, that it appears
there has been a wish to reclaim you.”

“Yes,” replied I, ‘‘I grant that ; but have
they not been told, and have they not be-
lieved that I ‘have been ignomiously punished
for a capital crime? Will they ever seek me
more?”

‘“Probably not ; you must now seek them.
What I should recommend is, that you re-
pair to-morrow to the apothecary's shop, and
interrogate relative to the person who called
to make inquiries after you. If you will
allow me, I will go with you.”

‘“And be insulted by those malignant
scoundrels ?”’

‘“They dare not insult you. As an apo-
thecary's apprentice they would, but as a
gentleman they will quail ; and if they do not,
their master will most certainly be civil, and
give you all the information which he can.
We may as well, however, not do things by
halves ; I will borrow my aunt's carriage for
the morning, and we will go in style.”

‘“‘T think I will call this evening upon Mr.
Masterton, and ask his advice.”

‘«« Ask him to accompany us, Newland, and
he will frighten them with libel, and defama-
tion of character.”

I called upon Mr. Masterton that-evening,
and told my story. ‘‘It is indeed very pro-
voking, Newland; but keep your courage
up ; I will go with you to-morrow, and will
see what we can make of it. At what time
do you propose to start ?”’

“Will it suit you, sir, if we call at one
o'clock ?”’

‘‘Yes- so good night, my boy, for I have
something here which I must contrive to get
through before that time.”’

Harcourt had procured the carriage, and
we picked up Mr. Masterton at the hour
agreed, and proceeded to Smithfield. When
we drove up to the door of Mr. Pleggit's
shop, the assistants at first imagined that it
was a mistake ; few handsome carriages are

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

77

to be seen stopping in this quarter of the
metropolis. Wedescended and entered the
shop, Mr. Masterton inquiring if Mr. Pleggit
was at home. The shopmen, who had not
recognised me, bowed to the ground in their
awkward way; and one ran to call Mr.
Pleggit, who was up stairs. Mr. _ Pleggit
descended, and we walked into the back
parlour. Mr. Masterton then told him the
object of our calling, and requested to know
why the gentleman, who had inquired after
me, had been sent away with the infamous
fabrication that I had been transported for
forgery. Mr. Pleggit protested innocence
recollected, however, that a person had called
-—would make every inquiry of his shopman.
The head man was called in and interrogated
at first he appeared to make a joke of it,
but when threatened by Mr. Masterton be-
came humble—acknowledged that they had
said that I was transported, for they had read
it in the newspapers—was sorry for the mis-
take; said that the gentleman was a very
tall person, very well dressed, very much of a
gentleman—could not recollect his exact
dress—was a large built man, with a stern
face—but seemed very much agitated when
he heard that I had been transported. Called
twice ; Mr. Pleggit was not in at first—left
his name—thinks the name was put down on
the day-book—when he called a second time,
Mr. Pleggit was at home, and referred him
to them, not knowing what had become of
me. The other shopman was examined, and
his evidence proved similar to that of the
first. The day-book was sent for, and the
day in August —— referred to ; there was a
name written. down on the side of the page,
which the shopman said he had no doubt,
indeed he could almost swear, was the gentle-
man’s name, as there was no other name put
down on that day. The name, as taken
down, was Derbennon. This was all the
information we could obtain, and we then
quitted the shop, and drove off without there
being any recognition of me on the part of
Mr. Pleggit and his assistants.

‘« T never heard that name before,’’ observed
Harcourt to Mr. Masterton.

‘Tt is, in all probability, De Benyon,” re-
plied the lawyer; ‘‘ we must make allowances
for their ignorance. At all events, this is a
sort of clue to follow up. The De Benyons
are Irish.”

‘“Then I will set off for Ireland to-morrow
morning, sir,” said I.

‘You will do no such thing,” replied the
lawyer; ‘‘but you will call upon me to-
morrow evening, and perhaps I may have
something to say to you.”

I did not fail toattend Mr. Masterton, who
stated that he had made every inquiry rela-
tive to the De Benyons ; as he had said, they
were an Irish family of the highest rank, and
holding the peerage of De Beauvoir; but-O
7O

that he had written to his agent in Dublin,
giving him directions to obtain for him every
possible information in his power relative to
all the individuals composing it. ‘Till this
had ‘been received, all that I could do was to
remain quiet. I then narrated to him the
behaviour of the agent, Mr. Iving, to
Timothy. ‘‘ There is some mystery there,
most assuredly,” observed Mr. Masterton :
‘“when do you go again to ne

I replied that it was not my intention to go
there for some time, unless he would wish to
see the little girl.

“I do, Newland. I think I must take her
under my protection as well as you. Wewill
go down to-morrow. Sunday is the only day
I can spare; but it must be put down asa
work of charity.”

The next day we went down to——. Fleta
was surprised to see me so soon, and Mr.
Masterton was much struck with the elegance
and classical features of my little protécée.
Fle asked her many questions, and, with his
legal tact, contrived to draw from her many
little points relative to her infant days, which
she had, till he put his probing questions,
quite forgotten. As we returned to town, he
observed, ‘‘ You are right, Japhet ; that is no
child of humble origin. “Her very appear-
ance contradicts it ; but we have, I think, a
chance of discovering who she is—a better
one, I’m afraid, than at present we have for
your identification. But néver mind, let us
trust to perseverance.”

For three weeks I continued to live with
Harcourt ; but I didnot go out much. Such
was the state of my affairs, when ‘Timothy
came tO My room one morning, and said,
"I do not know whether you “have observed
it, sir; but there is a man constantly lurking
about here, watching the house, I believe.
I think—but still I’m not quite ‘sure—that I
have seen his face before ; but where I cannot
recollect.”

‘‘Indeed—what sort
he be?”

‘“Heis a very dark man, stout, and well-
made; and is dressed in a sort of half-
Sailor's, half-gentleman’s dress, such as you
see put on by those who belong to the Funny
Clubs on the river; but he is not at alla
gentleman himself—quite the contrary. - It

 

of a person may

is now about a week that I have seen him,
every day; and I have watched him, and per-
ceive that he generally follows you as soon as
you go out.”

“Well,” replied I, ‘we must find out
Point him out to

what he wants—if we can.

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FALHER.

  

me; I will soon see if he is tracing my
steps.”

Timothy pointed him out to me after break-
fast. I could not recollect the face, and yet
it appeared that [ had seen it before. I went
out, and after passing half a dozen streets, I
turned round and perceived that the man was
dodging me. I took no notice ; but being
resolved to try him again, I walked to the
White Horse Cellar, and took a seat inside a
Brentford coach about to start. On my
arrival at Brentford I got out, and perceived
that the man was on the roof. Of a sudden
it flashed on my memory—it was the gipsy
who had come to the camp with the
communication to Melchior, which induced
him to quit it.
kneeling down by the stream and washing
his face. The mystery was solved—Melchior
had employed him to find out the residence
of Fleta.. In all probability they had applied
to the false address given by Timothy, and in
consequence were trying, by watching my
motions, to find out the true one. «You
shall be deceived, at all events,’ thought J,

as I walked on through Brentford until I:

came to a ladies’ seminary. I rang the bell,
and was admitted, stating my wish to-know
the terms of the school for a young lady, and
contrived to make as long a stay as I could,
Promising to call again, if the relatives of the
young lady were as satisfied as I professed to
be. On my quitting the house, I perceived
that my gipsy attendant was not far off: of
took the first stage back, and returned to my
lodgings. When I had told all that had
occurred to Timothy, he replied, ‘I think,
sir, that if you. could replace me for a week or
two, I could now be of great service. He
does not know me; and if I were to darken
my face, and put ona proper dress, I think I
should have no difficulty in passing myself off
as one of the tribe, knowing their slang, and
having been:so much with them,”

“But what good do you anticipate,
Timothy?”

‘My object is to find out where he put’s
up, and to take the same quarters—make his
acquaintance, and find out who Melchior is,
and where he lives. My knowledge of him
and Nattée may perhaps assist me.”

“You must be careful, then, Timothy ;
for he may know sufficient of our history ‘to
suspect you.”

‘“Let-me alone, sir,
posal ?”

“Yes, I dos—you may
alrangements immediately, ’

Do you like my pro-

commence your
,

 

I recollected him, and his °CHAPTER XXX.

I set off ona wild-goose Chase—And fall in with
an old Friend.

THE next morning Timothy had procured
me another valet, and, throwing off his
liveries, made his appearance in the evening,
Sending up to say a man wished to speak to
me: He was dressed in highlow boots,
worsted stockings, greasy leather small-
clothes, a shag waistcoat, and a blue frock
overall. His face was stained of a dark olive ;
and when he was ushered in, Harcourt, who
was sitting at a table with me, had not the
slightest recognition of him. As Harcourt
knew all my secrets, I had confided this. I
had not told him what Timothy’s intentions
were, as I wished to ascertain whether his
disguise was complete. I had merely said
I had given Timothy leave for a few days.

“Perhaps you may wish me away for
a short time,” said Harcourt, looking at
‘Tim.

“Not at all, my dear Harcourt—why
should I? There’s nobody here but you and
Timothy.”

“Timothy !—excellent ; upon my word I
néver should have known him.”

“He is going forth on his adventures,”

“And if you please, sir, I will lose. no
time. It is now dark, and I know where
the gipsy hangs out.”

“Success attend you, then; but be careful,
Tim. You had better write to me, instead of
calling.” :

“Thad the same idea; and now I wish
you a good evening.”

When Timothy quitted the room, I ex-
plained our intentions to Harcourt. ‘‘ Yours
is a strange, adventurous sort of life, New-
land: you are constantly plotted against, and
plotting in your turn—mines and counter-
mines. I have an idea that you will turn out
some grand personage after all ; for, if not,
why should there be all this trouble about:
you?” i

‘“The trouble, in the present case, is all
about Fleta, who. must, by your argument,
turn out some grand personage.”’ 3

“Well, perhaps she may. I should like to
see that little girl, Newland.”

“That cannot be just now, for reasons you
well know ; but some other time it will give
me great pleasure.’

On the second day after Tim’s departure I
received a letter from him by the twopenny
post, He had made the acquaintance of the
gipsy, but had not extracted any information,
being as yet afraid to venture any questions.
He further stated that his new companion
had no objection to a glass or two, and that
he had no doubt but that, if he could con-
trive to make him tipsy, in a few days he

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER

 

79

would haye. some: important intelligence to

communicate. Iwas ina state of great men-
tal agitation during this time. I went to Mr.

Masterton, and narrated: to him all that had

passed. He was surprised-and amused, and
desired me not to fail to let him have the

earliest intelligence of what came to light,

He had not received any answer as yet from

his agent in Dublin.

It was not until eight days afterwards that
I received. further communication from Timo-
thy ; and Lwas in a state of great impatience,
combined, with anxiety, lest any accident
should have happened. His communication
was important. Hewas on the most intimate
footing with the man, who had proposed that
he should assist him to carry off a little girl,
who was at.a school at Brentford: They had
been. consulting how this should be done, and
Timothy. had: proposed forging a letter,
desiring her to come up: to town, and his
carrying it as a livery servant. ‘The man had
also other plans, one of which was to obtain
an. entrance into the house by making ac-
quaintance with the servants; another, by
calling to his.aid some of the women of his
fraternity, to. telli fortunes. Nothing was as
yet decided, but that he was resolved to ob-
tain possession of the little girl, even if he
were obliged to resort to force. In either
case Timothy was engaged to assist.

When I read this, I more than congratu-
lated myself upon the man’s being on: the
wrong scent, and that Timothy had hit upon
his scheme. Timothy continued :—that they
had indulged in very deep: potations last
night, and that the man had:not scrupled to
say that he was employed by a person of
large fortune, who paid well, and whom it
might not be advisable to refuse, as he had
great power. After some difficulty, he asked
‘Timothy if he: had ever heard the name of
Melchior in his tribe. Timothy replied that
he had, and that. at, the: gathering he had
seen him and his wife. Timothy at one time
thought that the man; was about to reveal
everything:| but of a: sudden! he stopped
short, and gave evasive answers. To a ques-
tion put by Timothy; as to where they were
to. take the child, if they obtained: possession
of. her, the man had replied: that: she would
go.over the water. Such were the contents
of the letter; and I eagerly awaited a fur-
ther communication;

The next day: I called at Long's: Hotel
upon. a gentleman: with whom. I was upon
intimate terms. After remaining a short
time with him, I was leaving the hotel, when
I was attracted by some trunks in the entrance
hall. I started when I read the address of
‘“‘A. De Benyon, Esq., to be left at F——t
Hotel, Dublin.” I asked the waiter who
was by whether Mr. De Benyon had left the
hotel. He replied that he had left it, in his
own carriage, that morning; and havingmore luggage than he could take with him,
had desired these trunks to be forwarded by
the coach. I ‘had by that time resumed my
serenity. I took out a memorandum-book,
wrote down the address on the trunks, saying
that I was sorry not to have seen’ Mr.
De Benyon, and that. I would write to
him.

But if I composed myself before the waiter,
how did my heart throb as I hastily passed
through Bond Street to my home! I had
made up my mind, upon what very slight
grounds the reader must be aware, that this
Mr. De Benyon either must be my father, or,
if not, was able to tell me who was. Had
not Mr. Masterton said that there was a clue
—had he not written to Dublin? The case
Was to my excited imagination as clear as
the noon-day, and before I arrived at home,
{ had made up my mind in what manner I
should proceed. “It was then about four
o'clock. I hastily packed up my portmanteau
—took with me all my ready money, about
sixty pounds, and sent the servant to secure
a place in the mail to Holyhead. He returned,
Stating that there was a seat taken for me.
I waited till half-past five to see Harcourt,
but he did not come home. I then wrote him
short note, telling him where I was going,
and promising to write as’ soon as I ar-
rived,

‘‘ Treland is to be the ground of my future
adventures, my dear Harcourt. Call upon
Mr. Masterton, and tell him what I have
done, which: he surely will approve. Open
Timothy’s letters, and let me have their con-
tents. I leave you to arrange and act for me
in every respect until I return. In the mean
time believe me, ever yours,

“J. NEWLAND.”

I gave the letter to the valet, and, calling
a coach, drove 'to the office, and in less than
five minutes afterwards was rolling away to
Holyhead, . felicitating myself upon my
promptitude and decision, little imagining to
what the step I had taken was to lead.

It was a very dark night in November when
I started on my expedition. ‘ There were three
other passengers in the mail, none of whom
had yet spoken a word, although we had
made several miles on our journey. Muffled
up in my cloak, I indulged in my own reveries
as usual, building up castles which toppled
over one after another as\I built and rebuilt
again. At last one of the passengers blew
his nose, as if to give warning that he was
about to speak; and then inquired of the
gentleman next him if he had’ seen: the
evening newspapers. ‘The other replied in

TALHE LT, IN SRARCH OR 4 FATHER.

 

the negative. ‘It would appear that Ireland
is not in a very quiet state, sir,” observed the
first.

‘‘Did you ever read the history of Ireland?”
inquired the other.

‘“ Not very particularly.”

wilhben, isin, af you were to take the trouble,
you will find that Ireland, since it was first
peopled, never has been in a quiet state, nor
perhaps ever will. It is a species of human
volcano—always either smoking, burning, or
breaking out into eruptions and fire.”

‘Very true, sir,” replied the other. ‘‘]
am told the White Boys are mustering in
large numbers, and that some of the districts
are quite impassable.”

“Sir, if you had travelled much in Ireland
you would have found out that many of the
districts are quite impassable, without the
impediment of the White Boys.”’

“You have been a great deal in Ireland
then, sir?’’ replied the other.

‘Yes, sir,’ “said the other, with a conse-
quential air; ‘‘I believe I may venture to
say that Iam in charge of some of the most
considerable properties in Ireland.”

‘‘ Lawyer—agent—five per cent.—and so
on,’ muttered the third party, who sate by
me, and had not yet spoken.

There was no mistaking him—it was my
former master, Mr. Cophagus ; and I cannot
say that I_ was very well pleased at this inti-
mation of his presence, as I took it for granted
that he would recognise me as soon as it was

daylight. The conversation continued, with-
out any remarks being made upon this inter-

ruption on the part of Mr. Cophagus. The
agent, it appeared, had been called to London
on business, and was returning. The other
was a professor of music, bound to Dublin
on speculation. What called Mr. Cophagus
in that direction I could not apprenhend ;
but I thought I would try and find out. I
therefore, while the two others were engaged
in conversation, addressed him a low. tone of
voice. |“ Can you tell me, sir, if the College
at Dublin is considered good for the instruc-
tion of surgical pupils ?”’

‘“Country good; at all. events plenty of
practice—broken heads—and so on.”

‘“ Have you ever been in Ireland, sir ?”’

‘‘ Ireland !—never—don't wish to go—must
go—old women will die—executor—bothera-
tion—and so on.”

““I hope she has left
sir,’’ replied I.

‘‘ Legacy—humph—can't  tell—silver tea-
pot—suit of black, and so on. Long journey
—-won't pay—can’t be helped—old women
always troublesome alive or dead—bury her
—come back, and so on,”

you a good legacy,SEA PoP RR SE,
I deny my Master.

ALTHOUGH Mr, Cophagus was very com-
municative in his own way, he had no
curiosity with regard to others, and the con-
versation dropped. The other two had also
asked all the questions which they wished,
and we all, as if by one agreement, fell back

im our seats, and shut our eyes, to” court
sleep. Iwas the only one who wooed it in
vain. Day broke, my companions were all

in repose, and I discontin

and examined their phys

Cophagus was the first to whom I directed

my attention. He was much the same in
face as when I had left him, but considerably
thinner in person. His head was covered
with a_white nightcap, and he snored with
emphasis. The professor of music was a
very small man with mustachios : his mouth
was wide open ; and one would have thought
that he wasin the full execution of a bravura.
‘The third person, who had stated himself to
be an agent, was a heavy, full-faced, coarse-
looking personage, with his hat over his eyes,
and his head bent down on his chest, and I
observed that he had a small packet in one
of his hands, with his forefinger twisted
through the string. I should not have taken
further notice, had not the name of 7. lving,
in the corner of the side on which was the
direction, attracted my attention. It was the
name of Melchior’s London correspondent,
who had attempted to bribe Timothy. This
induced me to look down and read the direc-
tion of the packet, and I clearly deciphered,
Sir Henry de Clare, Bart., Mount Castle,
Connemara. I took out my tablets, and
wrote down the address. I certainly had no
reason for so doing, except that nothing
should be neglected, as there was no saying
what might turn out. I had hardty replaced
my tablets when the party awoke, made a
sort of snatch at the packet, as if recollecting
it, and wishing to ascertain if it were safe,

looked at it, took off his hat, let down the

window, and then looked round upon the
other parties.

‘Fine morning, sir,”’ said he to me, per-
ceiving that I was the only person awake.

“Very,” replied I, ‘‘ very fine; but I had
rather be walking. over: the- mountains of
Connemara, than be shut up in this close
and confined conveyance.”

‘““Hah ! you know Connemara, then? I’m
going there; perhaps you are also bound to
that part of the country? but you are not
Irish.”

““T was not born or bred in Treland,
certainly,’ replied I.

“So I should say, «Irish blood in your
veins, I presume,’

ued my reveries,
lognomies. Mr.

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER,

“I believe such to be the case,’ replied I,
with a smile, implying certainty.

‘“Do you know Sir Henry de Clare?”

‘‘ Sir Henry de Clare—of Mount Castle—
is he not ?”’

‘“The same ; I am going over to him. I
am agent for his estates, among others. A
very remarkable man. Have you ever seen
his wife?’ _

“I really cannot tell,” replied I; ‘‘let me
call to mind.” :

I had somehow or anotl
that Sir Henry de Clare and Melchior might
be one and the same person ; nothing was
too absurd or improbable for my imagination,
and I had now means of bringing home my
Suspicions... 40) think,” continued I, ‘I re-
collect her—that is—she is a very tall, hand-
some woman, dark eyes and complexion.”’

‘‘ The very same,” replied he.

My heart bounded at the information ; it
certainly was not any clue to my Own parent-
age, but it was an object of my solicitude,
and connected with the welfare of Fleta. ‘If

T recollect right,’’ observed I, “there are some
curious passages in the life of Sir Henry ?”’

‘‘ Nothing very particular,” observed the
agent, looking out of the window.

‘‘T thought that he had disappeared for
some time.”

‘“‘ Disappeared ; he certainly did not live
in Ireland, because he had quarrelled with
his brother. He lived in England until his
brother's death.”

‘* How did his brother die, sir?”’

“Killed by a fall when hunting,” replied
the agent. ‘‘He was attempting to clear a
stone wall, the horse fell back on him, and
dislocated his spine. I was on the spot when
the accident happened.’’

I recollected the imperfect communication
of Fleta, who had heard the gipsy say that
““he was dead ;’’ and also the word horse
made use of, and I now felt convinced that
I had found out Melchior. ‘Sir Henry, if I
recollect right, has no family,” observed I.

“No; and I am afraid there is but little
chance.”

“Had the late baronet, his elder brother,
any family?”

‘“ What, Sir William? No; or Sir Henry
would not have come into the title.”

‘He might have had daughters,” re-
plied I. :

‘ Very true ; now I think of it there was a
girl, who died when young.”

‘“Is the widow of Sir William alive?”

““Yes ; and a very fine woman she is ;
she‘ has left
death.” css

I did not venture to ask any more gue- P@tt-
Our conversation had roused Mr. Cae Sane
and.the other passenger ; and as I hacl© 4
flected how I should behave in case of ree
nition, I wished to be prepared for h, VW

1er formed an idea,

but
Ireland since her husband's
y ?

>&2

““You have had a good nap, sit,” said I,
turning to him.

‘“Nap—yes—coach nap, bad—head sore
—and so on. Why—bless me — Japhet—
Japhet New—-yes—it is.”’

““Do you speak to me, sir?” inquired I,
with a quiet air.

“Speak to you—yes—bad memory—hip !
quite forgot—old master—shop in Smithfield
—mad bull—and so on.”

‘‘ Really, sir,” replied I, ‘‘ I am afraid you
mistake me for some other person.”

Mr. Cophagus looked very hard at me, and
perceiving that there was no alteration in my
countenance, exclaimed, ‘‘ Very odd—same
nose—same face—same age too—very odd—
like as two pills—beg pardon—made a mis-
take—and so on.”’ 2

Satisfied with the discomfiture of Mr. Cop-
hagus, I turned round, when I perceived the
Irish agent, with whom I had been in con-
versation, eyeing me most attentively. As I
said before, he was a hard-featured man, and
his small grey eye was now fixed upon me,
as if it would have pierced me through, J
felt confused for a moment, as the scrutiny
was unexpected from that quarter; but a
few moments’ reflection told me, that if Sir
Henry de Clare and Melchior were the same
person, and this man his agent, in all pro-
bability he had not been sent to England for
nothing: that if he was in search of Fleta,
he must have heard of my name; and per-
haps something of my history. ‘‘I appear
to have a great likeness to many people,”
observed I, to the agent, smiling. ‘It was
but the other day I was stopped in Bond
Street asa Mr. Rawlinson.”

“Not a very common face either, Sir
observed the agent : ‘‘if once seen, not easily
forgotten, nor easily mistaken for another.”

“Stull such appears to be the case,” replied
I, carelessly.

We now stopped to take refreshment, J
had'risen from the table, and was going into
the passage, when I perceived the agent
looking over the way-bill with the guard.
‘As soon as he perceived me, he walked out
in front of the inn. Before the guard had
put up the bill, I requested. to look at it,
wishing to ascertain if I had been booked in
my own name. It was so. The four names
were, Newland, Cophagus, Baltzi, M‘Der-
mott. I was much annoyed at this citcum-
stance. M‘Dermott was, of course, the
name of the agent; and that was all the in-
formation I received in return for my own”
exposure, which I now considered certain oat

 

sc-extermined, however, to put a good face on
evening 2atter,

and when we returned to the
**n entered into conversation with
vermott ; but I found him particu-
vuarded in his replies whenever I spoke
Sir Henry or his family, and I could

obtain any further information, 2= Mr. -inquiry that I could think of,

  

FAPHET, IMSEARCH OF A FATHER.

  

Cophagus could not keep his eyes off me—
he peered into my face—then he would fall
back in the coach— ‘‘ Odd—very odd—must
be—no—says not—um.” In about another
half-hour, he would repeat. his examination,
and mutter to himself. At ash | ase lt. ton
mented with his doubts, he exclaimed, ‘‘ Beg
pardon—but—you have a name?” ~

“Yes,” replied. I, ‘‘I have a name.”

‘Well, then—not ashamed. What is it?”

‘““My name, sir,” replied I, ‘is New-
land ;”’ for T had resolved to acknowledge to
my name, and fell back upon a ney, line of
defence.

“Thought so—don't know me—don’t
recollect shop—Mr. Brookes’s—Tim—rudi-
ments—and so on.”

‘‘T have not the least objection to tell you
my name ; but I am afraid you have the ad-
vantage in your recollection of me. Where
may I have had the honour of meeting you?”’

‘“ Meeting — what, quite forgot — Smith-
field ?”’

‘And pray, sir, where may Smithfield
Dees

“Very odd — can’t comprehend — same
name, same face —don’t recollect me, don’t
recollect Smithfield ?”’

“It may be very odd, sir; but, as I am
very well known in London, at the west end,
perhaps we have met there. Lord Winder-
mear’s perhaps—Lady Maelstrom’s ?””—and
I continued mentioning about a dozen of the
most fashionable names. ‘‘At all events,
you appear to have the advantage of me;
but I trust you will excuse my want of
memory, as My acquaintance is very exten-
sive.

‘“‘T see—quite a mistake—same name, not
same person—beg pardon, sir—apologies—
and so on,”’ replied the apothecary, drawing
in a long sigh,

CHAPTER XLI

TI turn Lawyer.

I WATCHED the countenance of the agent,
who appeared at last to be satisfied that there
had been some mistake ; at least he became
more communicative ; and as I no longer
put any questions to him relative to Sir
Henry, we had a long conversation. I spoke
to him about the De Benyons, making every
-He informedSARL ET, IN SEA RCH OF A FAT AER,

me that the deceased earl, the father of the
present, had many sons, who were some of of a maiden aunt in Dublin, who had left
them married, and that the family was ex- him executor and residuary legatee, but that
tensive. He appeared to know them all, he knew nothing of her circumstances, .He
the professions which they had been brought was still a bachelor, and amused himself in
up to, and their careers in life, I treasured giving advice and medicines gratis to the
up his information, and, as soon as I had an poor people of the village in which he te-
opportunity, wrote down all which he had sided, there being no resident practitioner
told me. On our arrival at Holyhead, the within some distance. He liked the country
weather was very boisterous, and ‘the packet

very much, but there was one objection to
was to depart immediately. Mr. M‘Dermott it—the cattle. He had not forgotten the mad

Stated his intentions to 80 over, but Mr. Oz//. At 4 very late hour-we retired to our
Cophagus and the professor declined ; and, beds; the next morning the.weather had mo-
anxious as I was to proceed, I did not wish derated, and, on the arrival of the mail, we
to be any longer in company with the agent, embarked, and had 4 very good passage
and therefore also declined going on board. over. On my arrival at Dublin, I directed
Mr. M ‘Dermott called for 4 glass of brandy Iy “steps' to the F Hotel, as the best
and water, drank it off in haste, and then, place to make inquiries relative to Mr. De
followed by the porter with his luggage, went Benyon. Mr. Cophagus also put up at the

down to embark, same hotel, and we agreed to share a sitting-
As soon as he was gone, I burst into a fit room.

of laughter. ‘‘ Well, Mr. Cophagus, acknow- “‘ Waiter,”
ledge that it is Possible to persuade a man De Benyon ?’
out of his senses. You knew me, and you hp LCS sir replied he; ‘‘there-is one of
were perfectly right in asserting that I was the De Benyons at the hotel at this moment,”
Japhet, yet did I persuade you at last that “Ts he e

you were mistaken. But I will explain to
you why I did so.”

‘““All right,” said the apothecary, taking
my proffered hand, “thought so—no mis- {fo
take—handsome fellow—so you are—Japhet
Newland—my apprentice—and so on,” “To-morrow, I believe,”

“Yes, sir,” replied, laughing, ‘‘ Tam Japhet ‘Do you know where he goes?”
Newland.” (I turned round, hearing a noise, ‘Yes, sir, to his own Seat.’
the door had ‘been opened, and Mr. M‘Der- The waiter left the room. ‘‘ Won't do,
mott had just stepped in: he had returned Japhet,” said Cophagus. ‘‘ Large family—
for an umbrella, which he had forgotten ; he don’t want more—hard times, and so en.”
looked at me, at Mr. Cophagus, who still “No,” replied I, “(it does not exactly an-
held my hand in ‘his, ‘turned Short round, swer; but I may from him obtain. further
said nothing, and walked Duty) APRs vis intelligence.’’
unfortunate,” observed I; ‘“my reason for “Won't do, Japhet
not ‘avowing myself was to deceive that very large family—want all wun
person, and now I have made the avowal to never tell—good night.”
his face ; however, it cannot be helped.”’ This remark of Mr. Cophagus gave me an

I sat down with my old master, and as T idea, upon which I proceeded the next -morn-
knew that I could confide in him, gave him ing. Isentin my card, requesting the honour
an outline of my life, and stated my present of speaking to Mr. De Benyon, stating that I
intentions. had come over to Ireland 6n business of im-

““I see, Japhet, I see—done mischief— portance, but that, as I must be back if pos-
sorry for it—can’t be helped—do all I can— sible by ‘erm time, it would, perhaps, Save
um—what's to be done ?—be your friend— much expense and:trouble. The waiter took
always like you—help all I can—and so on.” in the message.  ‘‘ Back by term-time—it

‘But what would you advise, sir?” must be some legal gentleman. Show -him
““Advice—bad as physic—nobody takes it up,’ said Mr. De Benyon.
—Ireland—wild place—no law—better go _ I walked in witha business-like air. ‘Mr,
back—leave all to me—find out—and so De Benyon, I believe?”
One. “Yes, sir; will you dome the favour to
This advice I certainly could not consent take a chair?”
to follow. I seated myself, and drew out my memo-
We argued the matter over for some time, randum-book, ‘‘ My object, Mr. De Benyon,
and then it was agreed that we should pro- in troubling you, is to ascertain a few parti-
ceed together. I was informed by Mr. Co- culars relative to your family, which we can-
phagus that he had retired with a very hand- not so easily find out in England. There is
some fortune, and was living in the country, a property which it is supposed may be claimed
about ten miles from the metropolis ; that by one of the De Benyons, but which we

83

he had been Summoned to attend the funeral

said I, ‘‘do you know a Mr.

a Married man
“' Yes—with a large family.”

“What is his Christian name?”

“‘Treally cannot tell, sir ; but I'll find .out
r you by to-morrow morning.”

‘‘ When does he leave?”

ty another way—
cle's.money—um—cannot ascertain until we have a little search
into the genealogical tree.”

“‘Ts the property large?’’ inquired Mr.
De Benyor ?”

‘“Not very large,” replied I; ‘‘ but still a
very handsome property, I am told.” The
reader mity surmise that the property re-
ferred was to my own pretty self. ‘‘ May I ask
you a few particulars relative to the present
earl and his brothers ?”’

““Most certainly, sir,” replied Mr. De
Benyon ; “any infOrmation I can give you
will be at your service. The earl has four
brothers. The eldest, Maurice.’’

““Ts he married ?”’

“Yes, and has two children.
William.”

“Is he married?”

‘“No; nor has he ever been. He is a
general in the army. ‘The third is myself,
Henry.”

“You are married, I believe, sir?”

‘Yes, with a large family.”

‘““May I request you will proceed, sir?”

“‘Arthur is the fourth brother. He is
lately married, and has two children.”

“Sir, I feel much obliged to you; itis a
curious and intricate affair. As Iam here, I
may as well ask one question, although not
of great consequence. The earl is married, I
perceive, by the peerage, but I do not find
that he has any children ?”’

“On the contrary, he has two—and pro-
spects of more. May I now request the par-
ticulars connected with this property ?”

‘“The exact particulars, sir, I cannot well
tell you, as I am not acquainted with them
myself: but the property in question, I rather
think, depends upon a zame. May I venture
to ask the names of all your children?”

Mr. De Benyon gave me a list seréatin,
which I put down with great gravity.

‘“Of course, there is no doubt of your
second brother not being married. I believe
we ought to have a certificate. Do you
know his address ?”’

‘He has been in the East Indies for many
years. He returned home on furlough, and
has now just sailed again for Calcutta.”’

“That is unfortunate ; we must forward a
letter through the India Board. May I also
be favoured with your address, as in all proba-
bility it may be advisable ?”’

Mr. De Benyon gave me his address. I
rose, promised to give him all the particulars
as soon as they were known to me, bowed,
and made my exit. To one who was in his
sober senses, there certainly was not any
important information gained ; but to me, it
was evident that the Mr. De Benyon who
was a general in the army was to be interro-
gated, and I had almost made up my mind
to set off for Calcutta:

The next is

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER,

 

CHAPTER XLII.

I affront an Irish Gentleman, and make a hand-
some Apology, which is Accepted.

BEFORE I had gained my own room, I in-
formed Mr. Cophagus, who had just returned
from a visit to his maiden aunt's house, of
what had passed.

‘“Can't see anything in it, Japhet—wild-
goose chase—who told you? oh! Pleggit’s
men—sad lars—De Benyon not name, de-
pend upon it—all stuff, and so on.”

And when I reflected, I could but acknow-
ledge that the worthy apothecary might be
‘right, and that I was running after shadows ;
but this was only in my occasional fits of
despondency; I soon rallied, and was as
sanguine as ever. Undecided how to pro-
ceed, and annoyed by what Cophagus had
said, I quitted the hotel, to walk out in no
very good humour, As I went out, I per-
ceived the agent M ‘Dermott speaking to the
people in the bar, and the sight of him re-
minded me of what, for a moment, I had
forgotten, which was, to ascertain whether
Melchidr and Sir Henry de Clare were one
and the same person. As I passed a cross-
ing, a man in tattered habiliments, who was
sweeping it, asked for alms, but being in no
very charitable humour, I walked on. He
followed me, pestering me so much, that I
gave him a tap with the cane in my hand,
saying to him, ‘‘ Be off, you scoundrel.”

‘“Oh ! very well. Be off, is it you mane?
By the blood of the O’Rourkes but you'll
answer for that same, anyhow.”’

I passed on, and having perambulated the
city of Dublin for some time, returned to the
hotel. A few minutes afterwards, I was told
by the waiter that a Mr. O' Donaghan wished
to speak tome. ‘‘I have not the honour of
his acquaintance,” replied I, ‘‘but you may
show him up.’

Mr. O'Donaghan entered, a tall, thick-
whiskered personage, in a shabby-genteel
dress, evidently not made for him, a pair of
white cotton gloves, and a small stick. ‘I
believe that I have the honour of spaking to
the gentleman who crossed over the street
about two hours ago?”

‘‘Upon my word, sir,” replied 1, “that is
so uncertain a definition that I can hardly
pretend to say whether I am the person you
mean; indeed, from not having the pleasure
of any one’s acquaintance in Dublin, I rather
think there must be some mistake.”’

‘““The devil a bit of a mistake, at all at all
for there’s the little bit of a cane with which
you paid my friend, Mr. O'Rourke, the com-
pliment over his shoulders.”

‘“T really am quite mystified, sir, and do
not understand you ; will you favour me with
an explanation ?”’_ ‘With all the pleasure in life, for then we
shall come to a right understanding. You
were crossing the street, and a gentleman, a
particular friend of mine, with a broom which
he carries for his own amusement, did himself
the honour to address you, whereupon, of
that same little stick of yours, you did him
the honour to give him a slight taste.”

““What do you mean? do you refer to the
sweeper, who was so importunate when I
crossed over the road ?”’

‘Then, by the powers, you've just hit it,

as youdid him. That’s my particular friend,
Thaddeus O'Rourke, gentleman.’’
| ‘Gentleman ! .exclaimed I.
t ‘* And with as good and as true Milesian
blood as any in Ireland. If you think, sir,
that because my friend, just for his own
amusement, thinks proper to put on the
worst of his clothes and carry a broom, just
by way of exercise, to prevent his becoming
too lusty, he is therefore to be struck like a
hound, it’s a slight mistake, that’s all; and
here sir, is his card, and you will oblige me
by mentioning any friend of yours with whom
I may settle all the little points necessary
before the meeting of two gentlemen.”

I could hardly refrain from laughing at this
Irish gentleman and his friend, but I thought
it advisable to retain mycountenance. ‘‘ My
dear sir,” replied I, ‘‘it grieves me to the
heart that I should have committed such an
error, in not perceiving the gentility of your
friend ; had I not been so careless I certainly
should have requested him to do me the
honour to accept a shilling, instead of having
offered him the insult. I hope it is not now
too late?”’

‘‘By the powers, I’m not one of those
harum-scarum sort, who would make up a
fight when there’s no occasion for it, and as
your ‘haviour is that of a gentleman, I think
it will perhaps be better to shake hands upon
it, and forget it altogether. Suppose now,
we'll consider that it was all a mistake ? You
give the shilling as you intended to do, I ‘ll
swear, only you were in so great a hurry—
and then, perhaps, you'll not object to throw
in another shilling for that same tap with the
cane, just to wipe off the insult as it were, as
we do our sins, when we fork out the money,
and receive absolution from the padre ; and
then, perhaps, you will not think it too much
if I charge another shilling for my time and
trouble, for carrying a message between two
gentlemen.” *

“On the contrary, Mr. O’Donaghan, I
think all your demands are reasonable. Here
is the money.”

Mr. O’Donaghan took the three shillings.
‘“Then, sir, and many thanks to you, I’
wish you a good evening, and Mr. O'Rourke
shall know from me that you have absolution
for the whole, and that you have offered
every satisfaction which one gentleman could

  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
    

FAPHET, IN SEARCH Of A FATHER. 85

expect from another.’ So saying, Mr.
O'Donaghan put his hat on with a firm cock,
pulled on his gloves, manceuvred his stick,
and, with a flourishing bow, took his. de-
parture.

I had hardly dismissed this gentleman, and
was laughing to myself at the ridiculous
occurrence, when Mr. Cophagus returned,
first putting his cane up to his nose with an
arch look, and then laying it down on the
table and rubbing his hands.  ‘‘Good—
warm old lady. No—dead and cold—but
left some thousands—only one legacy—old
Tom cat—physic him to-morrow—soon die,
and so on.”

On a more full explanation, I found that
the old lady had left about nine thousand
pounds in the funds and bank securities, all
of which, with the exception of twenty pounds
per annum to a favourite cat, was left to Mr.
Cophagus. I congratulated him upon this
accession of fortune. He stated that the
lease of the house and the furniture were still
to be disposed of, and that afterwards he
should have nothing more to do; but he
wished me very much to assist him in rum-
maging over the various cabinets belonging
to the old lady, and which were full of secret
drawers ; that in one cabinet alone he had
found upwards of fifty pounds in various
gold coins, and that if not well examined,
they would probably be sold with many
articles of consequence remaining in them,

As my only object in Ireland was to find
out Sir Henry de Clare, and identify him (but
really why, I could not have said, as it would
have proved nothing after all), I willingly
consented to devote a day to assist Mr.
Cophagus in his examination. The next
morning, after breakfast, we went together to
the house of the old lady, whose name had
been Maitland, as Mr. Cophagus informed
me. Her furniture was of the most ancient
description, and in every room in the house
there was an or-molu or Japan cabinet ; some
of them were very handsome, decorated with
pillars, and silver ornaments. I can hardiy
recount the variety of articles, which in all
probability had been amassed during the
whole of the old lady's life, commencing with
her years of childhood, and ending with the
day of her death. There were antique orna-
ments, some of considerable value, miniatures,
fans, étuis, notes, of which the ink, from
time, had turned to a light red, packages of
letters of her various correspondents in her
days of hope and anticipation, down to those
of solitude and age. We looked over some
of them, but they appeared to both of us to be
sacred, and they were, after a slight examina-
tion, committed to the flames.

After we had examined all the apparent
receptacles in these cabinets, we took them
up between us, and shook them, and in
most cases found out that there were secret06

drawers containing other treasures.

 

eye, it was from a Miss de Benyon.
it immediately,
Mr. Cophagus.
mother was a De Benyon.”’

‘““ Have you any objection to my looking at

these letters ?’’
“\ —No—read—nothing ‘in them.”

I laid them on one side, and we proceeded
Cophagus took up a
what ’s this—De

in our search, when Mr,
sealed packet. ‘Heh!
Benyon again? Japhet, look here.”

I took the packet ;
with red tape.

him at my decease.”

envelope.

‘This is it, my dear sir,” cried I, jumping
Mr. Cophagus; ‘‘these
May I keep

up and embracing
are the

ie papers which I require.
them?”

 Mad—quite mad—go to Bedlam—strait

waistcoat—head shaved—and so on.”

CEAPTER XLIII.

Tam not content with minding my own Business,
but must have a hand in that of others, by which
means I put my foot in it.

HIE then, after his own fashion, told me that,
as executor, he must retain those papers ;
pointed out to me the little probability there
was of their containing any information rela>
tive to my birth, even allowing that a person
of the name of De Benyon did call at the
Foundling to ask for me, which was' only a
Supposition ; and, finally, overthrew all the
hopes which had been, for so many days,
buoying me up. When he had finished, I
threw myself upon the sofa in despair, and
wished, at the moment, that I had never been
born. Still hope again rose uppermost, and
I would have given all I possessed to have
been able to break open the seals of that
packet, and have read the contents. -At one
moment I was so frantic, that I was debating
whether I should not take them from Mr.
Cophagus by force, and run off with them.
At last I rose, and commenced reading the
letters which I had put aside ; but there was
nothing in them but the trifling communica-
tions of two young women, who mentioned
what was amusing to them, but uninteresting

GAPE Ty INISEARCHCOR A FATHER.

There
was one packet of letters which caught my
I seized
and showed the incription to

‘‘ Pooh—nothing at all—her

it was sealed and tied
‘“ Papers belonging to Lieu-
tenant William de Benyon, to be returned to
“Alice Maitland, with
great care,’ was written at the bottom of the

 

to those who were not acquainted with the’
parties.

When we had finished, Mr. Cophagus
collected all together, and putting them into
a box, we returned in a coach to the hotel.
The next day Mr. Cophagus had completed
all his arrangements, and the day following
had determined to return to England. J
walked with. him down to the vessel, and
watched it for an hour after it had sailed, for
it bore away a packet of papers, which I
could not help imagining were to discover the
secret which I was so eager in pursuit of. A
night's sleep made me more rational, and I
now resolved to ascertain where Sir Henry de
Clare, or Melchior, as I felt certain he must
be, was to be found. I sent for the waiter,
and asked him if he could inform me. He
immediately replied in the affirmative, and
gave his address; Mount Castle, Connemara,
asking me when I intended to set out. Et
did not strike me till afterwards, that it was
singular that he should be so well acquainted
with the address, and that he should have
produced a card with it written upon it; or,
moreover, that he should know that it was
my intention to go there. I took the address,
and desired that4 might ‘have horses ready
very early the next morning. I then sat down
and wrote a letter to Harcourt, informing him
of my proceedings ;. also one to Mr, -Master-
ton much more explicit : lastly to Timothy,
to the care of Harcourt, requesting him to let
me know what had occurred between him
and the gipsies. After dinner, I packed up
ready for my journey, and having settled my
bill, I was not sorry to retire to my bed.

At daylight I was, as I requested, called by
the waiter; and taking with me only ave
small portmanteau, having left the rest of my
effects in the charge of the people who kept
the hotel, I set off in a post-chaise on my
expedition. I was soon clear of the city, and
on a fine smooth road, and, as I threw myself
back in the corner of the chaise, I could not
help asking myself the question—what was
the purport of my journey? As the reader
will perceive, I was wholly governed by im-
pulses, and never allowed reason or common
sense to stand in the way of my feelings,
“What have I to do?” replied I to myself;
to find out if Melchior and Sir Henry de
Clare be not one and the Same person. And
what then? What then? why then I may
find out something relative to Fleta's parent-
age. Nay, but is that likely—if, as you
suppose, Melchior is Sir Henry de Clare—if,
as you Suppose, it is he who is now trying to
find out and carry off Fleta—is it probable
that you will gain any information from him ?
I have an idea that Fleta js the little girl said
to have died, who was the child of his elder
brother. Why so? What interest could
Melchior have in stealing his own niece?
That I cannot tell, Why did Nattée give methe necklace? I cannot tell; she would
hardly betray her husband. At all events,
there is a mystery, and it can only be un-
ravelled by being pulled at ; and I may learn
something by meeting Melchior, whereas I
shall learn nothing by remaining quiet.”
This last idea satisfied me; and for many
hours I remained in a train of deep thought,
only checked by paying for the horses at the
end of every stage:

It was now past twelve o'clock, when I
found that it was necessary to change the
chaise at every post. The country also, as
well as the roads, had changed much for the
worse. Cultivation was not so great, the
roads were mountainous, and civilization
generally disappeared. It was nearly dark
when I arrived at the last post, from whence
Iwas to take horses to Mount Castle. As
usual, the chaise also was to be changed ; and
T could not help observing that each change
was from bad to worse. Rope harness was
used, and the vehicles themselves were of the
most crazy. condition. Still I had travelled
very fairly : for an Irish postilion knows how
to,make an Ivish horse go a very fair pace.
I descended, from the chaise, and ordered
another out immediately. To this there was
no reply, except, ‘‘ Wait, your honour; step
in a moment, and rest from your fatigue a
little.” Presuming this was merely to. give
them time to get ready, I walked into the
room of the inn, which indeed was very little
better than a hovel, and sat down by the turf
fire in company with some others, whom I
could: hardly distinguish for smoke. I paid
the chaise and postilion, and soon afterwards
heard it drive off on its way back. After a
few minutes I inquired if the chaise was
getting ready.

““Is it the chaise your honour means.?”
said the landlady.

““Yes,” replied 1; ‘“a chaise on to Mount
Castle.”

‘Then I am sorry that your honour must
wait a little ; for our chaise, and the only one
which we have, is gone to the castle, and
won't be back till long after the moon is up.
What will your honour please to take?”

“Not back till moonlight!” replied I;
«why. did you not say so? and I would have
gone on with the other.”

Ts it with the other you mane, your
honour? ‘Thenif Teddy Driscoll could make
his horses go one step farther than our door,
may I never have a soul to be saved. Will
your honour please to sit in the little room?
Kathleen shall light a fire.”

Vexed as I was with the idea of passing the
night in this horrid place, there was no help
for it; so. I took. up my portmanteau, and
followed the landlady to a small room, if it
deserved the appellation, which had been
built after the cottage, and a door broken
through the wall into it. -. Ceiling there was

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
   
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

87

none ; it had only lean-to rafters, with tiles
over head. I took aseat on the only stool
that was in the room, and leant my elbow on
the table in no very pleasant humour, when I
heard the girl say, ‘‘ And why don't you let
him go on.to,the castle? Sure the chaise is
in the yard, and the horses are in the stable.”

“There's orders ’gainst it, Kathleen,” re-
plied the landlady. ‘‘ Mr. M‘Dermott was
here this blessed day, and who can. deny
him?”

‘“Who is he, then?” replied the. girl.

“ An attorney with a warrant against Sir
Henry ; and, moreover, they say that he’s
coming to ‘strain upon the cattle of Jerry
O'Toole for the tithes.”

‘He's a bould young chap, at all events,”
replied the girl, ‘‘to come here all by him-
self.”

‘“Oh! but it’s not till to-morrow morning,
and then we'll have. the troops here to assist
him.”’

‘“ And does Jerry O'Toole know of this?’

‘“Sure enough he does; and I hope there'll
be no murder committed in my house this
blessed night. But what can a poor widow
do when M‘Dermoett holds up his finger?
Now, go light the fire, Kathleen, and see if
the poor young man wants anything; it’s a
burning pity that he shouldn't have something
to comfort him before his misfortunes fall
upon him.”

Kathleen made no reply. The horror that
I felt at this discourse may.easily be imagined,
That it was intended that I should meet
with foul. play. was certain, and I knew very
well that, in such a desolate part of the coun-
try, the murder of an individual totally, un-
known would hardly be noticed.. That [ had
been held up to the resentment of the inhabi-
tants as a tithe-collector, and an attorney with
a warrant, was quite sufficient, I felt con-
scious, to induce them to make away with
me. How to undeceive them was the diffi-
culty.

CHAPTER XLIV.

No hopes of rising next morning alive—As a last
chance, I get into bed.

KATHLEEN came in with fuel to light the
fire, and looking, rather hard at me, passed
by, and was soon busy blowing up, the turf,
She was a very handsome dark-eyeéd: girl,
about nineteen years of age, stout, and well
made. _‘‘ What is your name ?”’ said I, ~2

88

“ Kathleen, at your service, sir.”

“Listen to me, Kathleen,” said I, in a low
voice. ‘‘ You are a woman, and all women
are kind-hearted. I have overheard all that

passed between your mistress and you, and.
that M‘Dermott had stated that I am a tithe- -

collector and an attorney, with a warrant. I
am no such thing. I am a,.gentleman who
wishes to speak to Sir Henry de Clare on a
business which he does not like to be spoken
to about ; and to show you what f say is the
truth, it is about the daughter of his elder
brother, who was killed when hunting, and:
who is supposed to be dead. Iam the only
evidence to the contrary ; and, therefore, he
and M‘Dermott have spread thi§ report that
I may come to harm.

“Ts she alive, then?” replied Kathleen,
looking up to me with wonder.

“Yes ; and I will not tell Sir Henry where
she is, and that is the reason of their en-

mity.”’

“But I saw her body,” replied the girl, in
a low voice, standing up, and coming close
to me.

“It was not hers, depend upon it,” replied
1, hardly knowing what to answer to this
assertion.

“‘At all events, it was dressed in her
clothes ; but it was so long before it was dis-
covered, that we could make nothing of the
features. Well, I knew the poor little thing,
for my mother nursed her. I was myself
brought up at the castle, and lived there till
after Sir William was killed ; then we were
all seat away.”

‘Kathleen! Kathleen !’”’ cried the land-
lady.
“Call for everything you can think of one
after another,” whispered Kathleen, leaving
the room.

“I cannot make the peat burn,” said she
to the landlady, after she had quitted the
toom; “‘and the gentleman wants some
whisky.”

‘Go out, then, and get some from the
middle of the stack, Kathleen, and be quick ;
we have others to attend to besides the tithe.
proctor. There’s the O’Tooles all come in,
and your own Corny is with them.”

“My Corny, indeed!” replied Kathleen ;
“he’s not quite so sure of that.”

In a short time Kathleen returned, and
brought some dry peat and a measure of
whisky. ‘‘If what you say is true,” said
Kathleen, ‘and sure enough you're no Irish,
and very young for a tithe-proctor, who must
grow old before he can be such a villain, you
are in no very pleasant way. The O'Tooles
are here, and I’ve an idea they mean no good;
for they sit with all their heads together,

whispering to each other, and all their shille-

laghs by their sides.”
‘Tell me, Kathleen, w

as the daughter of
Sir William a fair-h

aired, blue-eyed girl ?’*» °

 

SAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A. FATHER,

 

“To be sure she was,’’ replied Kathleen,
“‘and like a little mountain fairy.”

‘Now, Kathleen, tell me if you recollect
if the little girl or her mother ever wore a
necklace of red beads mixed with gold.”

‘“Yes, that my lady did ; and it was on the
child’s neck when it was lost, and when the
body was found it was not with it. Well I
recollect that, for my mother said the child
must have been drowned or murdered for the
sake of the gold beads,”

“Then you have proved all I wished,
Kathleen, and now I tell you that this little |
girl is alive, and that I can produce the neck- |
lace which was lost with her ; and more, that
she was taken away by Sir Henry himself.”

-‘* Merciful Jesus !” replied Kathleen ; ‘‘the
dear little child that we cried over so much.”

‘‘ But now, Kathleen, I have told you this,
to prove to you that I am not what Mr.
M‘Dermott has asserted, no doubt with the
intention that my brains shall be knocked
Out this night.”

“And so they will, sure enough,”
Kathleen, ‘‘if you do not escape.”

“But how am I to escape? and will you
assist me?” And I laid down on the table
ten guineas from my purse. ‘‘ Take that,
Kathleen, and it will help you and Corny.”
Now will you assist me? i

“It’s Corny that will be the first to knock i
your brains out,’ replied Kathleen, ‘‘ unless |
1 can stop him. I must go now, and I'll see |
what can be done.” :

Kathleen would have departed without _
touching the gold : but I caught her by the™
wrist, collected it, and put it into her hand, |
“That's not like a tithe-proctor, at all
events,’ replied Kathleen; ‘‘ but my heart |
aches and my head swims, and what’s to be |
done I know not.” So saying, Kathleen’
quitted the room.

“Well,” thought I, after she had left the
room, ‘‘at all events, I have not been on a
wrong scent thistime. Kathleen has proved
to me that Fleta is the daughter of the late. |
Sir William: and if I escape this snare,
Melchior shall do her justice.” Pleased with |
my having so identified Melchior and Fleta.
I fell into a train of thought, and for the first _
time forgot my perilous situation ; but I was
roused from my meditations by an exclama-
tion from Kathleen. ‘‘No, no, Corny, nor 7
any of ye—not now—and mother and me to
witness it—it shall not be. Corny, hear me,
as sure as blood’s drawn, and we up to
see it, so sure does Corny O'Toole never»
touch this hand of mine.” A pause, and
whispering followed, and again all appeared
to be quiet. I unstrapped my portmanteau, -
took out my pistols, which were loaded, |
reprimed them, and remained quiet, deter-
mined to sell my life as dearly as possible.

«- It was more than half an hour before.”
“Kathleen returned ;_she_ looked pale and

repliedagitated. - ‘‘Reep quiet, and do not think
of resistance,” said she; ‘‘it is useless. I
have told my mother all, and she believes
you, and will risk her life to save him who
has watched over the little girl whom she
nursed ; but keep quiet, we shall soon have
them all out of the house. Corny dare not
disobey me, and he will persuade the others.”’

She then’ went out again, and did not
return for nearly an hour, when she was
accompanied by her mother. ‘‘ Kathleen
has told me all, young sir,” said she, ‘‘and
do what we can, we will; but we hardly
know what to do. To goto the castle would
be madness.”’

“Yes,” replied I; ‘‘but cannot you give
me one of your horses to return the way I
came?’

‘““That was our intention; but I find that
the O'Tooles have taken them all out of the
stable to prevent me; and the house is
watched. They will come at midnight and
attack us, that I fully expect, and how to
conceal you puzzles my poor head.”

‘““Tf they come, we can but persuade them
that he has escaped,’ replied Kathleen ;
“they will no longer watch the house, and
he will then have some chance.”

‘“There is but one chance,” replied the
mother, who took Kathleen aside, and
whispered to her. Kathleen coloured to the
forehead, and made no reply. ‘‘If ygurmother
bids you, Kathleen, there can be no harm.”

“Yes ; but if Corny was :

‘He dare not,” replied the mother ; ‘‘and
now put this light out, and do you get into
bed, sir, with your clothes on.” They led
me to a small bed-room, a miserable affair ;
but in that part of the country considered
respectable. ‘‘ Lie down there,” said the
mother, ‘‘and wait till we call you.” They
took the light away, and left me to myself
and my own reflections, which were anything
but pleasant: I lay awake, it might be for
two hours, when I heard the sound of feet,
and then a whispering under the window,
and shortly afterwards a loud knocking at
the door, which they were attempting to
burst open. Every moment I expected that it
would yield to the violence which was made
use of, when the mother came down half-
dressed, with a light in her hand, hastened
to me, and desired me to follow her. I did
so, and before she left my room, she threw
the window wide open. She led me up a
sort of half-stairs, halfladder, to a small
room, where I found Kathleen sitting up in
her bed, and half-dressed. ‘‘O mother!
mother !”’ cried Kathleen.

““T bid ye do it, child,” replied the mother,
desiring me to creep into her daughter's bed,
and cover myself up on the side next the

 

wall.

3

 

“Tet me put on more clothes, mother.”
‘* No, no, if you do, they will suspect, and

 

  
   
  
   
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
  

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 89

will not hesitate to search. = Your mother
bids you.”’

The poor girl was burning with shame
and confusion.

“Nay,” replied I, ‘‘if Kathleen does not
wish it, I will not buy my safety at the ex-
pense of her feelings.”’

“Yes, yes,’ replied Kathleen, ‘‘I don’t
mind now ; those words of yours are sufficient.
Come in, quick.”

CHAPTER XLV.

Petticoat interest prevails, and I escape; but I put
my Head into the Lion’s Den.

THERE was no time for apology, and
stepping over Kathleen, I buried myself
under the clothes by her side. The mother
then hastened down stairs, and arrived at
the door just as they had succeeded in forcing
it open, when in pounced a dozen men,
armed, with their faces blackened. ‘‘ Holy
Jesus! what is it that you want?” screamed
the landlady.

““The blood of the tithe-proctor, and that’s
what we'll have,” replied the O’Tooles.

‘“Not in my house—not in my house!”
cried she. Take him away, at all events ;
promise me to take him away.”

‘“So- we will, honey darlint ; we'll take him
out of your sight, and out of your hearing,
too ; only show us where he may be.”

‘“ He's sleeping,’’ replied the mother, point-
ing to the door of the bed-room, where I
had been lying down.

The party took the light from her hand,
and went into the room, where they perceived
the bed empty and the window open. ‘‘ Devil
a bit of a proctor here anyhow,’ cried one of
them, ‘‘and the window open. He's off!
Hurrah ! my lads, he can’t be far.”

‘By the powers! it’s just my opinion,
Mrs. M‘Shane,” replied the elder O'Toole,
“that he’s not quite so far off; so with your
lave, or by your lave, or without your lave,
we ll just have a look over the premises.”

‘Oh, and welcome, Mr. Jerry O'Toole : if
you think I’m the woman to hide a proctor,
look everywhere, just as you please.”

The party, headed by Jerry O'Toole, who
had taken the light out of Mrs. M‘Shane’s
hand, now ascended the ladder to the upper
story, and as I lay by Kathleen, I felt that
she trembled with fear. After examining
every nook and cranny they could think of,
they came to Mrs. M‘Shane’s room.

‘Oh, go in—go in and look, Mr. O'Toole;90

it's a very likely thing to insinuate that I
should have a tithe-proctor in my bed.
Search, pray,’ and Mrs. M‘Shane led the
way into her own room.

Every part had been examined, except the
small sleeping-room of Kathleen; and the
party paused before the door.

‘“‘We must search,’ ‘observed O’Toole,
doggedly.

“Search my daughter's! very well, search,
if you please ; it's a fine story you'll have to
tell, how six great men pulled a poor girl out
of her bed to look for a tithe-proctor. It
will be a credit to you anyhow; and you,
Corny O'Toole, youll stand well in her
good graces, when you come to talk about
the wedding-day ; and your wife that is to
be, pulled out of her bed by a dozen men.
What will ye say to Kathleen, when you
affront her by supposing that a maiden girl
has a tithe-proctor in bed with her? D’ye
think that ye’ll ever have the mother's con-
sent or blessing ?”’

‘“No one goes into Kathleen’s room,”
cried Corny O'Toole, roused by the sarcasms
of Mrs. M‘Shane.

““Yes, Corny,’ replied Mrs. M ‘Shane, “‘it’s
not fora woman like me to be suspected, at
all events ; so you, and you only, shall go
into the room, if that will content ye, Mr.
Jerry O'Toole.”

P wesio Teplied: “the “party,
M ‘Shane opened the door.

Kathleen rose up on her elbow, holding
the bed-clothes up to her throat, and looking
at them as they entered, said ‘‘O Corny!
Corny ! this to me?”

Comy never thought of looking for any-
body, his eyes were riveted upon-his sweet-
heart. ‘‘ Murder, Kathleen, is it my fault?
Jerry will have it.”

“Are you satishied, Corny?” said Mrs.
M ‘Shane.

““Sure enough I was satisfied before I
came in, that Kathleen would not have any
one in her bedroom,”’ replied Corny.

“Then good night, Corny, and it’s ~to-
morrow that I'll talk with ye,’’ replied
Kathleen.

Mrs. M‘Shane then walked out of the
room, expecting Corny to follow; but he
could not restrain himself, and he came to
the bedside. Fearful that if he put his arms
round her, he would feel me, Kathleen raised
herself, and allowed him to embrace her.
Fortunately the light was not in the room, or
I should have been discovered, as in so doing
she threw the clothes off my head and shoul-
ders. She then pushed back Corny from her,
and he left the room, shutting the door after
him, The party descended the ladder, and
as soon as Kathleen perceived that they were
all Gown, she sprang out of bed and ran
into her mother's room. Soon after I heard
them depart. Mrs. M‘Shane made fast the

and Mrs.

FAPRET, IN SEARCH OF/A FATHER.

  
  
 

 

door, and came upstairs. She first went to
her own room, where poor Kathleen was
crying bitterly from shame and excitement.
I had got up when she came into Kathleen’s
room for her clothes, and, in about five
minutes, they returned together. I was
sitting on the side of the bed when they
came in: the poor girl coloured up when our
eyes met. ‘‘ Kathleen,” said I, ‘you have,,
in all probability, saved my life, and I cannot
express my thanks. I am only sorry that
your modesty has been put to so severe a
trial.’’

““Tf Corny was to find it out,” replied
Kathleen, sobbing again, ‘‘ How could I da
such a thing ?”’

“Your mother bid you,’ replied Mrs.
M‘Shane, ‘‘ and that is sufficient.”

“ But what must you think of me, sir?’’
continued Kathleen.

‘“T think that you have behaved most
nobly. You have saved an innocent man, at
the risk of your reputation and the loss of
your lover. It is not now that I can prove
my gratitude.” :

‘Yes, yes, promise me by all that’s sacred, |
that youll never mention it. Surely you
would not ruin one who has tried to serve)
you. )

‘‘T promise. you that, and I hope to per=
form a great deal more,” replied I. ‘' But
now, Mrs. M‘Shane, what is to be done?
Remain here I cannot.” 5 \

“No ; you must leave, and that verysoon.
Wait about ten minutes more, and then they
will give up their search and.go home. The
road to E ’ (the post I had lately come
from) ‘‘is the best you can take: and you
must travel as fast as you can, for there is no:
safety for you here.”

‘“I am ‘convinced that rascal M ‘Dermott
will not leave me till he has rid himself of
me.’ I then took out my purse, in which I
still had nearly twenty guineas. I took ten
of them. ““Mrs. M‘Shane,. I must. leave
you in charge of my portmanteau, which you
may forward by-and-by, when you hear of
my safety. If I should not be so fortunate,;
the money is better in your hands than in the.
hands of those who will murderme. Kath
leen, God bless you! you are a good girl,)
and Corny O’Toole will be a happy man iff
he knows your value.”’ |

I then wished Kathleen good-bye, and she
allowed me to kiss her without any resists
ance ; but the tears were coursing down her
cheeks as I left the room with her mother.)
Mrs. M‘Shane looked carefully out of the
windows, holding the light to ascertain if
there was anybody near, and, satisfied with
her scrutiny, she then opened the door, and»
calling down the saints to protect me, shook
hands with me, and I quitted the house, It
was a dark, cloudy night, and when I firsts
went out, I was obliged to grope, for I-could!distinguish nothing. I walked along, with a
pistol loaded in each hand, and gained, as I
thought, the high road to E——, but I made
a sad mistake; and puzzled by the utter
darkness and turnings, I took, on the con-
, trary, the road to Mount Castle: As soon as
I was clear of the houses and the enclosure;
there was more light, and I could distinguish
« the road. I had proceeded about four or five
miles, when I heard the sound of horses’
hoofs, and shortly afterwards two men rode
by me. I inquired if that was the way to
- A pause ensued, and a whisper.
** All's right !”” replied a deep voice. I con-
tinued my way, glad to find that I had not
+ Inistaken it, and cogitating as to what must
' be the purpose of two men being out at such
, an hour. About ten minutes afterwards T
~ thought I again heard the sound of horses’
~ feet, and it then occurred to me that they
. must be highwaymen, who had returned to
rob me. I cocked my pistols, determined to
}, Sell, my life as dearly as I could, and awaited
“their coming, up with anxiety ; but they ap-
. peared to, keep, at the same distance, aS the
sound did not increase. After half an hour I
came to two roads, and was undecided which
“to take. I stopped and listened—the steps
.,of the horses, were no longer to.be heard. I
“looked round me to ascertain if I could
recognize any object so as to decide me, but
“I could not. I took the road to the left, and
proceeded, until I arrived at a brook which
®erossed the road. There was no bridge, and
“at was too dark to perceive the stepping-
“Stones.. I had just waded about half-way
“across, when I received a blow on the head
“from behind, which staggered me. I turned
“round, but before I could see my assailant,
,a second blow laid me senseless in the
“water,

CHAPTER XLVI,

‘Under Ground, but not yet Dead. and Buried—The
Prospect anything but Pleasant,

_WHEN my recollection returned I found my-
self in the dark, but where, I knew not. My
fread ached, and my brain reeled. I sat up
for a moment to. collect my senses, but the
effort was too painful—I fell back, and re-
mained in a state of half-stupor. Gradually
f recovered, and again sat up. I perceived
that Thad been lying on a bed of straw, com-
posed of two or three trusses, apparently, I

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER,

 

gt

felt with my extended arms on each side of
me, but touched nothing. I opened my.
eyes, which I had closed again, and tried to
pierce through the obscurity, but in vain—
all was dark as Erebus. J then rose.on my
feet,’ and extending my hands before me,
walked five or six steps on one side, till I was
clear of the straw, and came to a wall, 1
followed the wall about twenty feet, and
then touched wood ; groping about, I found
it was a door. I then made the circuit of the
walls; and discovered that the other side was
built-with bins for wine, which were empty,
and I'then found myself again at the straw
upon- which I had been laid. It was in a
cellar no longer used—but where ? Again I
lay down upon the straw, and, as it my be
imagined, my reflections were anything but
pleasing: ‘“‘Was Fin the power of M‘Der-
mott or Melchior?”’ I felt convinced that I
was ; but my head was too painful for long
thought, and ‘after half an hour's reflection, I

Save way. toa sullen state of half-dreaming,

halfstupor, in which the forms of M‘Der-
mott, Kathleen, Melchior, and Fleta; passed

in Succession before me. How long I re+

mained in’ this second species of trance I

cannot say, but Pwas roused” by’thelight’ of
a candle; which flashed in my eyes.  Distartedi
up, and beheld’ Melchior in his gipsy's dress,

just as‘ when I’ had taken leave of ‘him.

““Tt is to you, then, that Pam indebted: for
this treatment?” replied I:

““ No, not tome,” réplied/‘Melchior: ‘I do
not command here; but I knew you when
they brought you in insensible, and bemg
employed“ in the castle, I have taken upon
myself the‘ office of your‘gaoler, that I might,
if possible, serve you.”

P felt—I knew’ this to: be false; but a
moment's reflection-told me that it was better
at present to temporize.

‘“To' whom} then, does:the castle belong,
Melchior ?”’

“To Sir Henry de Clare.”

“And what can be his object: in treating
me thus?”

“‘ That I'can tell you, because Iam a party
concerned. You remember the little girl,
Fleta, who left the gipsy camp with you—
she is now somewhere under your care?”

“Well, T grant it ; but I was answerable
only to you about her.”

“Very true, but I was answerable to Sir
Henry ; and when I could only say that she
was well, he was not satisfied, for family
reasons now make him very anxious that she
should return to him; and, indeed, it will
be for her advantage, as she will in all pro-
bability be his heir, for he has satisfactorily
proved that she is a near relative.”

‘Grant all that, Melchior ; but why: did
not Sir Henry de Clare write to me on the
subject, and state his wishes, and his right
to demand his relative? and why does he4
treat me in this way? Another question—
how is it that he has recognized me to be
the party who has charge. of the little girl?
Answer me those questions, Melchior, and
then I may talk over the matter.”’

‘« J will answer the last question first.
knew your name from me, andit so happened
that a friend of his met you in the coach as
you were coming to Ireland: the same per-
son also saw you at the post-house, and gave
information. Sir Henry, who is a violent
man, and here has almost regal sway, de-
termined to detain you till you surrender up
the child.. You recollect that you refused to
tell his agent, the person whose address I
gave you, where she was to be found ; and,
vexed at this, he has taken the law into his
own hands.”

‘‘For which he shall smart one of these
days,” replied I, ‘‘if there is law in this
country.”’ :

‘«There is a law in England, but very little,
and none that will harm Sir Henry in this
part of the country. No officer would venture
within five miles of the castle, I can assure
you; for he knows very well that it would
cost him his life ; and Sir Henry never quits
it from one year's end to the other. You are
in his power ; and all that he requires is in-
formation where the child may be found, and
an order for her being delivered to him.
You cannot object to this, as he is her nearest
relative. If you comply, I do not doubt but
Sir Henry will make you full amends for this
harsh treatment, and prove a sincere friend
ever afterwards.’

‘‘Tt requires consideration,’ replied I ;
‘‘at present I am too much hurt to talk.”’

“‘T was afraidso,” replied Melchior; ‘‘ that
was one reason why I obtained leave to speak
to you. Wait a moment.’

Melchior then put the candle down on the
ground, went out, and turned the key. I
found, on looking round, that I was right in
my conjectures. I wasin a cellar, which ap-
parently had long been in disuse. Melchior
soon returned, followed by an old crone, who
carried a basket and acan of water. She
washed the blood off my head, put some salve
upon the wounds, and bound them up. She
then went away, leaving the basket.

“There is something to eat and drink in
that basket,’ observed Melchior; ‘‘but I
think, Japhet, you will agree with me that
it will be better to yield to the wishes of Sir

Henry, and not remain in this horrid hole.”

© Veny, true, aMeleon. replied 1; “| but
allow me to ask you a question ortwo. How
came you here? Whereis Nattée? and how
is it that, after leaving the camp, I find you
so reduced in circumstances as to be serving
such a man as Sir Henry de Clare ?”’

‘A few words will explain that,’’ replied =

he. ‘‘In my early days I was wild, and I
am, to tell you the truth, in the power of this

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

He

- but he dare not murder me.

man ; nay, I will tell you honestly, my life
is in his power : he ordered me to come, and
I dare not disobey him ; and he retains me
heresy

‘‘ And. Nattée 2?”

‘Ts quite well, and with me, but not very
happy in her present situation; but he is a
dangerous, violent, implacable man, and I
dare not disobey him. 1 advise you, as a
friend, to consent to his wishes.”

‘‘That requires some deliberation,’ re-
plied I; ‘‘and I am not one of those who
are to be driven. My feelings towards Sir
Henry, after this treatment, are not the most
amicable ; besides, how am I to know that
Fleta is his relative ?”’

‘‘ Well, I can say no more, Japhet. I wish
you well out of his hands.”

‘‘ You have the power to help me, if that
is the case,” said I.

al dare not.

‘“Then you are not the Melchior that you
used to be,’ replied I.

‘““We must submit to fate. I must not
stay longer. You will find all that you want
in the basket, and more candles, if you do
not like being in the dark. I do not think
I shall be permitted to come again till to-
morrow.’

Melchior then went out, locked the door
after him, and I was left to my meditations. .

CHAPTER XLVII.

A Friend in need is a Friend indeed—The Tables
are turned, and so is the Key—The issue is deep
‘Tragedy.

Was it possible that that which Melchior said
was true? A little reflection told me that it
wasall false,and that he was himself Sir Henry
de Clare. I was in his power, and what
might be the result? He might detain me,
Dare not! My
heart sank when I considered where I was,
and how easy would it be for him to despatch
me, if so inclined, without any one ever being
aware of my fate. I lighted a whole candle,
that I might not find myself in the dark when
I rose, and, exhausted in body and mind,
was soon fast asleep, I must have slept many
hours, for when I awoke I was in darkness—
the candle had burnt out. I groped for the

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
    
  

Febasket, and examined the contents with my
hands, and found a tinderbox. I struck a
light, and then feeling hungry and weak, re-
freshed myself with the eatables it con-
tained, which were excellent, as well as the
wine. I had replaced the remainder, when
the key again turned the door, and Melchior
made his appearance.

‘‘ How do you feel, Japhet, to-day 2”

“To-day!” replied I; ‘ day and night
are the same to me.”’

‘“That is your own fault,” replied he.
‘‘Have you considered what I proposed to
you yesterday.”

“Yes,” replied I; ‘‘and I will agree to
this. Let Sir Henry give me my liberty, come
over to England, prove his relationship to
Fleta, and I will give her up. What can he
ask for more ?”

‘‘ He will hardly consent to that,” replied
Melchior; ‘‘for, once in England, you will
take a warrant out against him.”

“No.7, on my honour, I will not, Mel-

“Then he must judge of others by himself,”
replied I.

‘‘ Have you no other terms to propose?”
replied Melchior.

taNone, ¥

“Then I will carry your message, and give
you his answer to-morrow.”

Melchior then brought in another basket,
and took away the former, and did not make
his appearance till the next day.. I now had
recovered my strength, and determined to
take some decided measures, but how to act
I knew not. I reflected all night, and the
next morning (that is, according to my sup-
position) I attacked the basket. Whether it
was that ennui or weakness occasioned it, I
cannot tell, but either way, I drank too
much wine, and was ready for any daring
deed, when Melchior again opened the
door.

‘“‘Sir Henry will not accept of your terms.
I thought not,’’ said Melchior: ‘‘ I am sorry
—very sorry.”

‘* Melchior,’’ replied I, starting up, ‘‘ let
us have no more of this duplicity. Iam not
quite so ignorant as you suppose. I know
who Fleta is, and who you are.”

“Indeed,” replied Melchior ;
you will explain ?”

“Twill. You, Melchior, are Sir Henry de
Clare ; you succeeded to your estates by the
death of your elder brother, from a fall when
hunting.”

Melchior appeared astonished.

“Indeed!” replied he; ‘‘pray go on.
You have made a gentleman of me.”

““No; rather a scoundrel.”

‘“As you please; now will you make a
lady of Fleta?”’

“Yes, I will. She is your niece.’

‘“ perhaps

Melchior

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 93

  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 

J

started back. ‘‘Your agent, M‘Dermott,
who was sent over to find out Fleta’s abode,
met me in the coach, and he has tracked me
here, and risked my life, by telling the people
that I was a tithe-proctor.”

“Your information is very important,” re-
plied Melchior. ‘‘ You will find some diffi-
culty to prove all you say.’

““Not the least,’ replied I, flushed with
anger and with wine, ‘‘I have proof positive.
I have seen her mother, and I can identify
the child by the necklace which was on her
neck when you stole her.”

“ Necklace !”” cried Melchior.

“Yes, the necklace put into my hands by
your own wife when we parted.”

‘““Damn her !”’ replied Melchior.

‘“Do not damn her; damn yourself for
your villany, and it's’ being brought to light.
Have I said enough, or shall I tell you
more?”

‘“ Pray tell me more,”

‘“No, I will not, for I must commit others,
and that will not do,” replied I ; for I felt I
had already said too much.

“You have committed yourself, at all
events,’ replied Melchior; “and now I tell
you, that until never mind,” and Melchior
hastened away.

The door was again locked, and I was
once more alone.

I had time to reflect upon my imprudence.
The countenance of Melchior, when he left
me was that of a demon. Something told me
to prepare for death; and I was not wrong.
The next day Melchior came not, nor the
next ; my provisions were all gone. I had
nothing but a little wine and water left. The
idea struck me, that I was to die of starva-
tion. Were there no means of escape? None;
I had no weapon, no tool, not even a knife.
I had expended all my candles. At last, it
occurred to me, that, although I was in a
cellar, my voice might be heard, and I re-
solved as a last effort, to attempt it. I went
to the door of the cellar, and shouted at the
top of my lungs, ‘‘Murder—murder!” I
shouted again and again as loud as I could,
until I was exhausted. As it afterwards ap-
peared, this plan did prevent my being
starved to death, for such was Melchior’s
villanous intention, About an hour after-
wards, I repeated my cries of ‘‘Murder—
murder !’’ and they were heard by the house-
hold, who stated to Melchior, that there was
some one shouting murder in the vaults
below. ‘That night, and all the next day, I
repeated my cries occasionally. I was now
quite exhausted ; I had been nearly two days
without food, and my wine and water had all
been drunk. I sat down with a parched
mouth and heated brain, waiting till I could
sufficiently recover my voice to repeat my
cries, when I heard footsteps approaching.
‘The key was again turned in the door, anda94
light appeared, carried by one: of two men
armed with large sledge-hammers.

“Tt is, then, all over with me,” cried I;
‘‘and I never shall find out who is my father.
Come on, murderers, and do your work. Do
it quickly.”

The two men advanced without speaking a
word ; the foremost, who carried the lantern,
laid it down at his feet, and raised his
hammer with both hands, when the other
behind him raised his weapon—and the fore-
most fell dead at his feet. Se

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A ATER.

   
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
  

 

the back of Mrs. M’Shane’s house. I. went
to the window of the bedroom where I had:
lain down, and tapped gently, again and
again, and no answer. At last, Kathleen
made her appearance.

“Can I come in, Kathleen ?’”’ said I; ‘‘I
am almost dead with fatigue and exhaustion.”

“Yes,” replied she, > “TF waill* open* the
back-door ; there is no one here to-night—
it is too early for them.”

I entered, followed by Timothy, and, as I
stepped over the threshold, I fainted. As

‘soon as I recovered, Mrs. M’Shane led me

CHAPTER: XLVHOIt

Is full of perilous Adventures, and in which, the
Reader may be. assured, there is much more
than meets the Eye.

‘‘SILENCE,” said a voice that ‘I’ well knew,
although his face was completely disguised.
It was Tzmothy/ ‘‘Silence; Japhet,” again
whispered! Timothy; ‘‘there is’ yet much
danger, but I will’ save you, or die. ‘ Take
the hammer. Melchior is waiting outside.”
Timothy put the lantern in the bin; so as to
render it more dark, and led’ me towards the
door, whispering, ‘“When he comes in, we
will secure him.”

Melchior soon made his appearance ; and
as he entered the cellar, ‘‘Is it all right?”
said he; going up: to Timothy, and passing
met

With one blow T felled him to the ground;
and he lay insensible. ‘‘ That will. do;” re-
plied Timothy: ‘‘ now we must be off.”’

** Not till he takes my place,’’ replied I, as
'Tshut the door and locked it! ‘‘ Now he
may learn what it is to starve to death.”

I then followed Timothy, by a passage
which led outside of the’ castle, through
which he and his companion’ had been
admitted. ‘Our horses are close by,” said
Timothy; ‘‘for we stipulated’ upon leaving
the country after it' was’ done.”

It was just dark when we were’ safe out of
the castle. Wemounted our horses, and set
off with all speed. We: followed the high
road to the post town to which I had been
conyeyed, and I determined to pull up at
Mrs. M'Shane’s, for I was so exhausted: that
{could go no further. This was a measure
which required precaution ; and‘as there was
moonlight, I turned off the road’ before I
entered the town, or village, as it ought to
have been called, so that we dismounted at

up stairs into her room for security, and I
was soon able to take the refreshment I so
much required. I stated what had passed to
Mrs. M’Shane and Kathleen, who were much
shocked at the account.

““You had better wait till it is late, before
you go on,” said Mrs. M’Shane, ‘‘it will be
more safe; it is now nine o'clock, and the
people will all be moving till eleven. Tf will
give your horses some corn, and when you
are five miles from here, you may consider
yourselves as safe. Holy saints!’ what an
escape !”’

The advice was too good not to be fol-
lowed, and I was so exhausted that Iwas
glad that prudence was on the side of repose.
I lay down on Mrs. M’Shane’s bed, while
Timothy watched: over me. I had a short
slumber, and then was awakened by the good
landlady, who‘told me that it was time forus
to quit. Kathleen then came up to me, and
said, ‘‘I would ask.a favour of you, sit, and
T hope you will not refuse it.”

‘* Kathleen, you may ask anything: of me;
and depend upon it, I will not refuse it; if F
can grant it.” P '

“Then, sir,’ replied: the good girl, ‘you
know how I overcame my feelings to serve
you, will you overcome yours for me? f
cannot bear the idea that any one, bad as he
may be, of the family who have reared. me,
should perish in so miserable a manner; and’
T cannot bear that any man, bad as he is,
even if I did not feel obliged to him, should
die so full of guilt, and without absolution.
Will you let me have the key, that Sir Henry
de Clare may be released after you are safe
and away? I know he does not' deserve any
kindness from you ; but it is'a horrid death,
and a horrid thing to die so loaded’ with
crime.”

‘“Kathleen,”’ replied I, ‘‘ I will-keep my
word with you. Here is the key; take it up
to-morrow morning and‘ give it to’ Lady de
Clare ; tell her Japhet Newland sent it,”

‘*T will, and God bless you, sir.”’

‘“‘ Good-bye, sir,” said Mrs. M’Shane: ‘ you
have no time to lose.”’

‘‘God bless you, sir,” said Kathleen, who
now put her arms round me, and kissed me.
We mounted our horses and set off.
<;.We pressed our horses, or rather ponies,for they were very small, till we had gained
about six miles, when we considered that we
were, comparatively speaking, safe, and then
drew up, to allow them to recover their wind.
I was very much exhausted myself, and hardly
spoke one word until we arrived at the next
post town, when we found everybody in bed.
We contrived, ‘however, to knock them up ;
and ‘Timothy having seen that our horses
were put into the stable, we lay down till the
next morning upon a bed which happened to
be unoccupied. Sorry as were the accom-
modations, I never ‘slept so ‘soundly, and
woke quite refreshed. The next morning I
stated my intention of posting to Dublin,
and asked Tim what we should do with
the horses.”

‘“ They belong tothe castle,’’ replied he.

‘““Then, in God's name, let the castle
have them, for I wish for nothing from that
horrid place.’’

We stated to the landlord that the horses
were to be sent back, and that the man who
took them would be paid for his trouble ;
and then it occurred to me that it would be
a ‘good opportunity of writing to Melchior,
alias Sit Henry.. I do not know why, but
certainly my animosity against him:had sub-
sided, and I did not think of taking legal
measures against him. I thought it, how-
ever, right to frighten him. I wrote, there-
fore, as follows :—

““SiR HENRy,—I ‘send you back your
horses with thanks, as they have enabled
Timothy and me to escape from your
clutches. Your reputation and your life
now are in my power, and I will have ample
revenge. The fact of your intending murder
will be fully proved by my friend Timothy,
who was employed by you in disguise, and
accompanied your gipsy. You cannot escape
the sentence of the law. Prepare yourself,
then, for the worst, as it is not my inten-
tion that you shall escape the disgraceful
punishment due to your crimes.—Yours,

‘*TAPHET NEWLAND.”

Having sealed this, and given it to the
lad who was to return with the horses, we
finished our breakfast, and took a postchaise
on for Dublin, where we arrived late in the

“evening. During our journey I requested
Timothy to narrate what had passed, and by
what fortunate chance he had been able to
come so opportunely to my rescue.

“Tf yourecollect, Japhet,” replied Timothy,
‘vou had received one or two letters from me
relative to the movements of the gipsy, and
stating his mtention to carry off the little girl
from the boarding-school. My last letter, in
which I had informed you that he had suc-
ceeded in gaining an entrance mto the
ladies’ school at Brentford, could not have
reached you. as-I found by your note that

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

- 95

you had set off the same evening. The
gipsy, whom I only knew by the name of
Wil, inquired of me the name by which
the little girl was known, and my answer
was, Smith; as I took it for granted that,
in a large seminary, there must be one, if
not more, of that name. Acting upon this,
he made inquiries of the maid-servant, to
whom he paid his addresses, and made ve
handsome presents, if there was a Miss Smith
in the school; she replied, that there were
two—one a young lady of sixteen, and the
other about twelve years old. Of course, the
one selected was the younger. Will had seen
me in my livery, and his plan was to obtain
a similar one, hire a chariot, and go down to
Brentford, with a request that Miss Smith
might be sent up with him immediately, as
you were so ill that you were not expected
to live ; but, previous to his taking this step,
he wrote to Melchior, requesting his orders
as to how he was to proceed when he had
obtained the child. The answer from Mel-~
chior arrived. By this time he had dis-
covered that you were in Ireland, and
intended to visit him; perhaps he had you
in confinement, for Ido not know how long
you were there, but ‘the answer decided Will
to come over immediately, as there would
be in all probability work for him, that
would be well paid for. He had now be-
come so intimate with me that -he disguised
nothing : he showed me the letter, and I
asked him what it meant; he replied that
there was somebody to put out of the way,
that was clear. It immediately struck me
that you must be the person, if such was
the case, and I volunteered to.go with him,
to which, after some difficulty, he consented.
We travelled outside the mail, and in four
days we arrived at the castle. Will went
up to Melchior, who told him what jt was
that he required. Will consented, and then
stated he had another hand with him, which
might be necessary, vouching for my doing
anything that was required, Melchior sent
for me, and I certainly was afraid that he
would discover me, but my disguise was too
good. I had prepared for it still further by
wearing a wig of light hair: he asked me
some questions, and I replied in a surly,
dogged tone, which satisfied him. The re-
ward was two hundred pounds, to be shared
between. us; and, as it was considered
advisable that we should not be seen after
the affair was over, by the people about the
place, we had the horses provided for us.
The rest you well know. I was willing to
make sure that it was you before I struck
the scoundrel, and the first glimpse from the
lantern, and your voice, convinced me.
Thank God, Japhet, but I have been of
some use to you, at all events.”

‘My dear Tim, you have, indeed, and you
know me too well, to think I shall ever forget; ab
it; but now I must first ascertain where the
will of the late Sir William is to be found.

We can read it for a shilling, and then I may‘

discover what are the grounds of Melchior's
conduct, for, to me, it is still inexplicable.”

‘« Are wills made in Ireland registered here,
or at Doctors’ Commons in London?”

“‘In Dublin, I should imagine.”

But on my arrival at Dublin I felt so ill
that 1 was obliged to retire to bed, and before
morning I was in a violent fever. Medical
assistance was sent for, and I was nursed by
Timothy with the greatest care, but it was
ten days before J could quit my bed. For
the first time, I was sitting in an easy chair
by the fire when Timothy came in with the
little portmanteau I had left in the care of
Mrs. M‘Shane. | ‘‘Open it, Timothy,” said
I, ‘‘and see if there be anything in the way
of a note from them.” ‘Timothy opened the
portmanteau, and produced one, which was
lying onthe top. It was from Kathleen, and
as follows :—

“‘ DEAR SiR,—They say there is terrible
work at the castle, and that Sir Henry has
blown out his brains, or cut his throat, I don’t
know which. Mr. M‘Dermott passed in a
great hurry, but said nothing to anybody
here. .I will send you word of what has
taken ‘place as soon. as I can. The morning
after you went away, | walked up to the
castle and gave the key to the lady, who ap-
peared in a great fright at Sir Henry not
having been seen for so long a while. They
wished to detain me after they had found
him in the cellar with the dead man, but after
two hours I was desired to go away, and hold
my tongue. It was after the horses went
back that Sir Henry is said to have destroyed
himself. I went up to the castle, but M ‘Der-
mott had given orders for no one to be let in
on any account.—Yours,

‘“ KATHLEEN M ‘SHANE.’

‘“ This is news, indeed,” said I, handing
the letter to Timothy. ‘‘It must have been
my threatening letter which has driven him to
this mad act.”

‘Very likely,” replied Timothy; ‘but it
was the best thing the scoundrel could do,
after all.”’

‘« The letter was not, however, written with
that intention. I wished to frighten him, and
have justice done to little Fleta—poor child!
how glad I shall be to see her.”’

GAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER,

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

CHAPTER XLIX.

Another Investigation relative to a Child, which,
in the same way as the former one, ends by the
Lady going off ina Fit.

THE next day the newspapers contained a
paragraph, in which Sir Henry de Clare was
stated to have committed suicide. No reason
could be assigned for this rash act, was the
winding up of the intelligence. I also re-
ceived another letter from Kathleen M ‘Shane,
confirming the previous accounts : her mother
had ‘been sent for to assist in laying out the
body. There was now no further doubts,
and as soonas I could venture out, I hastened
to the proper office, where I read the will of
the late Sir William. It was very short,
merely disposing of his personal property to
his wife, and a few legacies ; for, as I dis-
covered, only a small portion of the estates
were entailed with the title, and the remainder
was not only to the heirs male, but the eldest
female, should there be no male heir, with
the proviso, that should she marry, the hus-
band was to take upon himself the name of
De Clare. Here, then, was the mystery
explained, and why Melchior had stolen away
his brother's child. Satisfied with my disco-
very, I determined to leave for England
immediately, find out the Dowager-lady de
Clare, and put the whole case into the hands
of Mr. Masterton. Fortunately, Timothy had
money with him sufficient to pay all expenses,
and take us to London, or I should have been
obliged to wait for remittances, as mine was
all expended hefore I arrived at Dublin. We
arrived safe, and I immediately proceeded to
my house, where I found Harcourt, who had
been in great anxiety about me. The next
morning I went to my old legal friend, to
whom I communicated all that had happened.

‘“ Well done, Newland,’ replied he, after
I had finished. ‘‘I'll bet ten to one that you
find out your father. Your life already would
not.make a bad novel. If you continue your
hair-breadth adventures in this way, it will be
quite interesting.”

Although satisfied in my own mind that I
had discovered Fleta’s parentage, and anxious
to impart the joyful intelligence, I resolved
not to see her until everything should be
satisfactorily.arranged. The residence of the
Dowager-lady de Clare was soon discovered
by Mr. Masterton—it was at Richmond, and
thither he and I proceeded. We were ushered
into the drawing-room, and, to my delight,
upon her entrance, I perceived that it was the
same beautiful person in whose ears I had
seen the coral and gold ear-rings matching
the necklace belonging to Fleta. I considered
it better to allow Mr. Masterton to break the
subject.

“You are, madam, the widow of the lateSir William de Clare.” The lady bowed.
““You will excuse me, madam, but I have
most important reasons for asking you a few
questions, which otherwise may appear to be
intrusive. Are you aware of the death of his
brother, Sir Henry de Clare?”

‘Indeed, I was not.” replied she. ‘‘I
seldom look at a paper, and I have long
ceased to correspond with any one in Ireland.
May I ask you what occasioned his death ?”

‘‘ He fell by his own hands, madam.”

Lady de Clare covered up her face. ‘‘ God
forgive him !"’ said she, in a low voice.

‘“Lady de Clare, upon what terms were
your husband and the late Sir Henry? It is
important to know.”

‘“Not on the very best, sir. Indeed,
latterly, for years, they never met or spoke ;
we did not know what had become of him.”

‘‘ Were there any grounds for ill-will ?”’

‘Many, sir, on the part of the elder bro-
ther; but none on that of Sir Henry, who
was treated with every kindness, until he
Lady de Clare stopped—‘“‘ until he behaved
very ill to him.”

As we afterwards discovered, Henry de
Clare had squandered away the small portion
left him by his father, and had ever after that
been liberally supplied by his elder brother,
until he had attempted to seduce Lady de
Clare, upon which he was dismissed for ever.

‘“And now, madam, I must revert to a
painful subject. You hada daughter by your
marriage ?”

‘“Yes,’’ replied the lady, with a deep sigh.

‘“How did you lose her? Pray do not
think I am creating this distress on your part
without strong reasons.”

‘““She was playing in the garden, and the
nurse, who thought it rather cold, ran in for
a minute to get a handkerchief to tie round
her neck. When the nurse returned, the
child had disappeared.” Lady de Clare put
her handkerchief up to her eyes.

““ Where did you find her afterwards ?”

“‘Tt was not until three weeks afterwards
that her body was found in a pond about a
quarter of a mile off.”’

‘‘Did the nurse not seek her when she dis-
covered that she was not in the garden ?”

‘‘She did, and immediately ran in that
direction. It is quite strange that the child
could have got so far without the nurse per-
ceiving her.”

““ How long is it ago?”

‘“It is now nine years.”

““And the age of the child at the time?”

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA PETER.

97

“ About six years old."

“I think, Newland, you may now speak to
Lady de Clare.”

‘* Lady de Clare, have you not a pair of
earrings of coral and gold of very remarkable
workmanship ?”

‘‘ [have sir,” replied she, with surprise.

‘‘ Had you not a necklace of the same ?
and if so, will you do me the favour to
xamine this?” TI presented the necklace.

‘“ Merciful heaven!” cried Lady de Clare,
‘‘it is the very necklace !—it was on my poor
Cecilia when she was drowned, and it was
not found with the body. How came it into
your possession, sir? At one time,’ con-
tinued Lady de Clare, weeping, ‘‘I thought
that it was possible that the temptation of the
necklace, which has a great deal of gold in
It, must, as it was not found on her corpse,
have been an inducement for the gipsies, who
were in the neighbourhood, to drown her;
but Sir William would not believe it, rather
supposing that in her struggles in the water
she must have broken it, and thus it had thus
been detached from her neck. Is it to return
this unfortunate necklace that you have come
here. : ;

“No, madam, not altogether.
two white ponies at the time?”’

PX eS, SIT as

‘‘ Was there a mulberry-tree in the gar-
den ?”

SS esasin,’ replied the astonished lady.

‘Will you do me the favour to describe
the appearance of your child as she was at
the time that you lost her ?”’

““She was—but all mothers are partial,
and perhaps I may also be so—a very fair,
lovely little girl.”

‘““ With light hair, I presume?”

“Yes, sir. But why these quéstions ?
Surely you cannot ask them for nothing,”
continued she, hurriedly. ‘‘ Tell me, sit, why
all these questions ?”

Mr. Masterton replied, ‘‘ Because, madam,
we have some hopes that you have been
deceived, and that it is possible that your
daughter was not drowned.”

Lady de Clare, breathless, and her mouth
open, fixed her eyes upon Mr. Masterton,
and exclaimed, ‘‘ Not drowned! O my God !
my head!” and then she fell back insen-
sible.

‘‘T have been too precipitate,” said Mr.
Masterton, going to her assistance; ‘‘ but
joy does not kill. Ring for some water,
Japhet.”

Had youCHAPTER WL.

Tn which, if the Reader does not sympathize with
the Parties, he had better shut the Book.

In a few minutes Lady de Clare was suff-
ciently recovered to hear the outline of our
history ; and as soon as it was over, she in-
sisted upon immediately going with us to
the school where Fleta was domiciled, as she
could ascertain, by several marks known but
toa nurse or mother, if more evidence was
required, whether Fleta was her child or

not. To allow her to remainin such a state
of anxiety was impossible. Mr. Masterton
agreed, and we posted to ——, where we ar-

rived in the evening. ‘‘ Now, gentlemen,
leave me but one minute with the child, and
when I ring the bell, you may enter.’ Lady
de Clare was in so nervous and agitated a
state, that she could not walk into the par-
lour without assistance. We led her to a
chair, and in a minute Fleta was called down.
Perceiving me in the passage, she ran to me.
‘‘Stop, my dear Fleta, there is a lady in the
parlour, who wishes to see you.”

‘* A lady, Japhet 2”

“Yes, my dear}' go in.”

Fleta obeyed, and ina minute we heard a
scream, and Fleta hastily opened the door,
“ Quick ! quick ! the lady has fallen down.”

We ran in and found Lady de Clare on
the floor, and it was some time before she
returned to her senses. As soon as she did,
she fell down on her knees, holding up her
hands as in prayer, and then stretched her
arms out to Fleta. ‘‘ My child! my long lost
child! it is—it is, indeed!” A flood of tears
poured forth on Fleta’s neck relieved her,
and we then left them together; old Mas-
terton observing, as we took our seats in the
back parlour. ‘‘ By G——, Japhet, you de-
serve to find your father!”

In about. an hour Lady de Clare requested
to see us. Fleta rushed into my arms and
sobbed, while her mother apologized to Mr.
Masterton for the delay and excusable neg-
lect towards him. ‘‘Mr. Newland, madam,
is the person to whom you are indebted for
your present happiness. I will now, if you
please, take my leave, and will call upon you
to-morrow.”

‘‘T will not detain you, Mr. Masterton ;
but Mr. Newland will, I trust, come home
with Cecilia and me; I have much to ask
of him.” I consented, and Mr. Masterton
went back to town ; I went to the principal
hotel to order a chaise and horses, while
Fleta packed up her wardrobe.

In half an hour we set off, and it was
midnight before we arrived at Richmond.
During my journey I narrated to Lady de
Clare every particular of our meeting with
Fleta. We were all glad to go to bed; and

FAPHET; IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

the kind manner in which Lady de Clare
wished me good night, with ‘‘ God bless you,
Mr. Newland!” brought the tears into my
eyes.

I breakfasted alone the next morning,
Lady de Clare and her daughter remaining
up stairs. It was nearly twelve o'clock when
they made their appearance, both so appa-
rently happy, that I could not help thinking,
‘“When shall I have such pleasure—when
shall I find’ out who is my father?” My
brow was clouded as the thought entered my
mind, when Lady de Clare requested that
I would inform her who it was to whom she
and her daughter were under such eternal
obligations. I had then to relate my own
eventful history, most of which was as new
to Cecilia (as she now must be called) as it
was to her mother. JI had just terminated
the escape from the castle, when Mr. Mas-
terton's carriage drove up to the door. As
soon as he had bowed to Lady de Clare, he
saidto me. ‘‘ Japhet, here is a letter directed
to you, to my care, from Ireland, which I
have brought for you.”’

‘Tt is from Kathleen M ‘Shane, sir,” re-
plied I, and requesting leave, I broke the
seal. It contained another. I read Kath-
leen’s, and then hastily opened the other. It
was from Nattée, or Lady H. de Clare, and
ran as follows :—

‘“JAPHET NEWLAND, — Fleta™ is“ the
daughter of Sir William de Clare, ~ Dearly
has my husband paid for his act of folly and
wickedness, and to which you must know I
never was a party,—Yours, ‘
USN ATT ES

The letter from Kathleen added more
strange information. Lady de Clare, after
the funeral of her husband, had sent for the
steward, made every necessary arrangement,
discharged the servants, and then had her-
self disappeared, no one knew whither; but
it was reported that somebody very much
resembling her had been seén travelling south
in company witha gang of gipsies. I handed
both, letters over to Lady de Clare and Mr.
Masterton.

““Poor Lady de Clare!”’ observed the mo-
ther.

“Nattée will never leave her tribe,’’ ob-
served Cecilia, quietly.

‘““'You are right, my dear,” replied I. ‘‘She
will be happier with her tribe, where she
commands as a queen, than ever she was at
the castle.”’

Mr. Masterton then entered into a detail
with Lady de Clare as to what steps ought
immediately to be taken, as the heirs-at-law
would otherwise give some trouble: and
having obtained her acquiescence, it was time
to withdraw. ‘‘Mr. Newland, I trust you
will consider us as your warmest friends. Iam so much in your debt, that I never :can
repay you; but I am also in your debt in a
pecuniary way—that, at least, you must per-
mit me to refund.”

‘““When I require it, Lady de Clare, I will
acceptit. Do not, pray, vex me by the pro-
position, I have not much happiness as it
is, although I am rejoiced:at yours, and that
of your daughter.”’

““Come, Lady de Clare, I must not allow
you to tease my grotée¢é, you do not know
how sensitive heis. We will now take our
leave.”

‘*You will come soon,” said ‘Cecilia, look-
ing anxiously at me.

‘You have your mother,’
can you wish for more ?
without a parent.”

Cecilia burst into tears; I embraced her,
and Mr. Masterton and | left the room.

,

replied I; ‘‘ what
I am a—nobody—

 

CHAPTER LI:

I return to the gay World, but am not well re-
ceived ; am quite disgusted with it and
Honesty, and everything else.

How strange, now that I had succeeded in
the next dearest object of my wishes, after
ascertaining my own parentage, that I should
have felt so miserable ; but it was the fact,
and ] cannot denyit. I could hardly answer
Mr. Masterton during our journey to town ;
and when I threw myself on the sofa in my
own room, I felt as if I was desolate and
deserted. I did not repine at Cecilia's happi-
ness; so far from it, I would have sacrified
my life for her; but she was a creature of
my own—one of the objects in this world to
which I was endeared—one that had been
dependent on me, and loved me. Now that
she was restored to her parent, she rose above
me, and I was left still more desolate. I do
not know that I ever passed a week of such
misery as the one whith followed a dénoi-
ment productive of so much happiness to
others, and which had been sought with so
much eagerness, and at so much risk, by my-
self. It was no feeling of envy, God knows ;
but it appeared to me as if every one in the
world was to be made happy except myself.
But I had more to bear up against.

When I had gquitted for Ireland, it was °

still supposed that I was a young man of

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

ws

99

large fortune—the truth had not:been told.
I had acceded to Mr. Masterton’s sugges-
tions, that 1 was no longer to appear under
false colours, and had requested Harcourt, to
whom I made known my real condition, that
he would everywhere state the truth. News
like this flies like wildfire: there were. too
many whom, perhaps, when under the pa-
tronage of Major Carbonnell, and the uni-
versal rapture for my supposed wealth, I had
treated with hauteur, glad to receive the in-
telligence, and spread it far and wide, My
zmpositton, as they pleased to term it, was
the theme of every party, and many were.the
indignant remarks of the dowagers who had
so often indirectly proposed to mé_ their
daughters ; and if there was any. one more
virulent than the rest, I hardly need say that
it was Lady Maelstrom, who nearly killed
her job horses in driving about from one ac-
quaintance to another, to represent my un-
heard-of atrocity in presuming to deceive my
betters. . Harcourt, who had agreed to-live
with me—Harcourt, who had praised my
magnanimity in making, the disclosure—even
Harcourt fell off; and about a fortnight
after I had arrived in town, told me that not
finding the lodgings so conyenient as_his
former abode, he intended to return to it.
He took,a friendly leave ; but I perceived
that if we happened to meet in the streets,
he often contrived to be looking another
way ; and at last, a slight recognition was all
that I received, Satisfied that it was intended,
I no longer noticed him ; he followed but
the examples of others. So great was the
outcry, raised by those who had hoped to have
secured me as a good match, that any young
man of fashion who was seen with me, had,
by many, his name erased from their visiting
lists. This decided my fate, and I was alone.
For some time I bore. up proudly ; I returned
a glance of defiance, but.this could not last.
The treatment of others received a, slight
check from the kindness of Lord, Winder-
mear, who repeatedly asked me to his table ;
but I perceived that even there, although
suffered as a protégé of his lordship, anything
more than common. civility was studiously
avoided, in order that no intimacy might
result. Mr. Masterton, upon whom I occa-
sionally called, saw that, | was unwell and
unhappy. He encouraged me; but alas! a
man must be more than mortal, who, with
fine feelings, can endure the scorn of the
world. - Timothy, poor fellow, who witnessed
more of my unhappy state of mind than any-
body else, offered in vain his consolation.
‘« And this,’ thought I, ‘‘is the reward of
virtue and honesty. ‘Truly, virtue is its own
reward, for it obtains no other. As long as
I was under false colours, allowing the world
to deceive themselves, I was courted and
flattered. Now that I have thrown off the
mask, and put on the raiment of truth, [am100

a despised, miserable being. Yes; but is
not this my own fault? Did I not, by my
own deception, bring all this upon myself?
Whether unmasked by others, or by myself,
is it not equally true that I have been playing
false, and am now punished for it? What
do the world care for your having returned
to truth? You have offended by deceiving
them, and that is an offence which your re-
pentance will not extenuate.’’ It was but
too true, I had brought it all on myself, and
this reflection increased my misery. For my
dishonesty, I had been justly and severely
punished ; whether I was ever to be rewarded
for my subsequent honesty still remained to
be proved ; but I knew very well that most
people would have written off such a reward
as a bad debt.

Once I consulted with Mr. Mastertonasto the
chance of there being any information relative
to my birth in the packet left in the charge
of Mr. Cophagus. ‘‘I have been thinking
over it, my dear Newland,” said he, ‘‘and I
wish I could give you any hopes, but I can-
not. Having succeeded with regard to your
little Arotéeé, you are now so sanguine with
respect to yourself, that a trifle light as air is
magnified, as the poet says, ‘into confirma-
tion strong as holy writ.’ Now, consider,
somebody calls at the Foundling to ask after
you—which I acknowledge to be a satis-
factory point—his name is taken down by an
illiterate brute, as Derbennon ; but how you
can decide upon the real name, and assume
it is De Benyon, is really more than I can
imagine, allowing every scope to fancy. It
is in the first instance, therefore, you are at
fault, as there are many other names which
may have been given by the party who
called ; nay, more, is it at all certain that the
party, in a case like this, would give his real
name? Let us follow it up. Allowing the
name to have been De Benyon, you discover
that one brother is not married, and that
there are some papers belonging to him in
the possession of an old woman who dies ;
and upon these slight grounds what would
you attempt to establish? that because that
person was known not to have married,
therefore he was married (for you are stated
to have been born in wedlock) ; and because
there is a packet of papers belonging to him
in the possession of another party, that this
packet of papers must refer to you. Do
you not perceive how you are led away by
your excited feelings on the subject?”

I could not deny that Mr. Masterton’s
arguments had demolished the whole fabric
which I had built up. ‘* You are right, sir,
replied I, mournfully.. “I wish I were
dead.”

‘* Never speak in that way, Mr. Newland,
before me,’ replied the old lawyer in an
angry tone, ‘‘ without you wish to forfeit my
good opinion.”

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FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

‘“T beg your pardon, sir; but I am most
miserable. _I.am avoided by all who know
me—thrown out of all society—I have not a
parent ora relative. Isolated being as J am,
what have I to live for?”

‘* My dear fellow, you are not twenty-three
years of age,” replied. Mr. Masterton, ‘‘and
you have made two sincere friends, both
powerful in their own way, I mean Lord
Windermear and myself; and you have had
the pleasure of making others happy. Be-
lieve me, that is much to have accom-
plished at so early an age. You have much
to live for—live to gain more friends—live to
gain reputation—live to do good—to be
grateful for the benefits you have received,
and to be humble when chastened by Provi-
dence. You have yet to learn where, and
only where, true happiness is to be found.
Since you are so much out of spirits, go down
to Lady de Clare’s, see her happiness, and
that of her little girl; and then, when you
reflect that it was your own work, you will
hardly say that you have lived in vain.” I
was too much overpowered to speak. After
a pause, Mr. Masterton continued, ‘‘ When
did you see them last?”

‘‘T have never seen them, sir, since I was
with you at their meeting.”

‘What ! have you not called—now nearly
two months? Japhet, you are wrong: they
will be hurt at your neglect and want of
kindness. Have you written or heard from
them?”

‘‘I have received one or two pressing
invitations, sir; but I have not been in a
state of mind to avail myself of their polite-
ness.

‘‘ Politeness ! you are wrong—all wrong,
Japhet. Your mind is cankered, or you
never would have used that term. I thought
you were composed of better materials ; but
it appears, that although you can sail with a
fair wind, you cannot buffet against an ad-
verse gale. Because you are no longer fooled
and flattered by the interested and the de-
signing, like many others you have quarrelled
with the world. Is it not so?”

‘* Perhaps you are right, sir.”

* “I know that I am right, and that you

are wrong. Now I shall be seriously dis-
pleased if you do not go down and see Lady
de Clare and her daughter, as soon as you
can.” ;

‘“T will obey your orders, sir.”

“My wishes, Japhet, not my orders. ” Let
me see you when you return. You must no
longer be idle. Consider that you are about
to recommence your career in life ; that
hitherto you have pursued the wrong path,
from which you have nobly returned. You
must prepare for exertions, and learn to
trust to God and a good conscience. Lord
Windermear and I had a long conyersation
relative to you yesterday evening ; and when

7,you come back, I will detail to you what
are our views respecting your future ad-
vantage.”’

CHAPTER. LUI

A new Character appears, but not a very amiable
one; but I attach myself to him, as drowning
Men catch at Straws.

I TOOK my leave, more composed in mind,
and the next day I went down to Lady
de Clare's. I was kindly received, more
than kindly, I was affectionately and paren-
tally received by the mother, and by Cecilia
as a dear brother; but they perceived my
melancholy and when they had upbraided
me for my long neglect, they inquired the
cause. As I had already made Lady de
Clare acquainted with my previous history,
I had no. secrets; in fact, it was a con-
solation to confide my griefs to them. Lord
Windermear was too much above me—Mr.
Masterton was too matter-of-fact—Timothy
was too inferior —and they were all men ;
but the kind soothing of a woman was
peculiarly grateful, and after a sojourn of
three days, I took my leave, with my mind
much less depressed than when I arrived.

On my return, I called upon Mr. Masterton,
who stated to me that Lord Windermear was
anxious to serve me, and that he would exert
his interest in any way which might be most
congenial to my feelings ; that he would pro-
cure me a commission in the army, or a
writership to India; or, if I preferred it, I
might study the law under the auspices of
Mr. Masterton. If none of these propo-
sitions suited me, I might state what would be
preferred, and that, as far as his interest and
pecuniary assistance could avail, I might de-
pend on it. ‘‘So now, Japhet, you may go
home and reflect seriously upon these offers ;
and when you have made up your mind what
course you will steer, you have only to let me
know.”

I returned my thanks to Mr. Masterton,
and begged that he would convey my grateful
acknowledgments to his lordship. As I walked

home, I met a Captain Atkinson, a man of ‘

very doubtful character, whom, by the advice
of Carbonnell, I had always kept at a distance.
He had lost a large fortune by gambling, and
having been pigeoned, had, as is usual, ended
by becoming a 7ook. He was a fashionable,
well-looking man, of good family, suffered in

 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. IOI

society, for he had found out that it was
necessary to hold his position by main force.
He was a noted duellist, had killed his three
or four men, and a cut direct from any person
was, with him, sufficient grounds for sending
a friend. Everybody was civil to him, be-
cause no one wished to quarrel with him.

‘* My dear Mr. Newland,” said he, offering
his hand, ‘‘I am delighted to see you; I have
heard at the clubs of your misfortune, and
there were some free remarks made by some.
I have great pleasure in saying that I put an
immediate stop to them, by telling them that,
if they were repeated in my presence, I should
consider it as a personal quarrel.”’

Three months before, had I met Captain
Atkinson, I should have returned his bow
with studied politeness, and have left him ;
but how changed were my feelings! I took
his hand and shook it warmly.

‘* My dear sir,"’ replied I, ‘‘ I am very much
obliged for your kind and considerate conduct ;
there are more who are inclined to calumniate
than to defend.”

‘““And always will be in this world, Mr.
Newland; but I have a fellow-feeling. |
recollect how I was received and flattered
when I was introduced as a young man of
fortune, and how I was deserted and ne-
glected when I was cleaned out. I know
now why they are so civil to me, and I value
their civility at just as much as it is worth.
Will you accept my arm?—I am going your
way.

I could not refuse; but I coloured when I
took it, for I felt that I was not adding to my
reputation by being seen in his company ; and
still I felt, that although not adding to my
reputation, I was less likely to receive insult,
and that the same cause which induced them
to be civil to him, would perhaps operate
when they found me allied with him. ‘‘ Be
it so,’ thought I, ‘‘I will, if possible, extort
politeness.”’

We were strolling down Bond Street, when
we met a young man, well known in the
fashionable circles, who had dropped my
acquaintance, after having been formerly
most pressing to obtain it. Atkinson faced
him. ‘‘Good morning, Mr. Oxberry.”’

‘Good morning, Captain Atkinson,” re-
plied Mr. Oxberry.

““T thought you knew my friend Mr. New-
land,’’ observed Atkinson, rather fiercely.

‘*Oh ! really—I quite—I beg pardon. Good
morning, Mr. Newland ; you have been long
absent. I did not see you at Lady Mael-
strom’s last night.”

‘“No,’’ replied I, carelessly, ‘‘nor will you
ever. When you next see her ladyship, ask
her, with my compliments, whether she has
had another fainting-fit.”

**T shall certainly have great pleasure in
carrying your message, Mr. Newland—good
morning.”102

“That fool,’’ observed Atkinson, ‘will
now run all over town, and you will see the
consequence.’

We met one or two others, and to them
Atkinson put the same question, ‘‘] thought
you knew my friend Mr. Newland?” At
last, just as we arrived at my own house in
St. James’s Street, who should we meet but
Harcourt. Harcourt immediately perceived
me, and bowed low as he passed on, so that
his bow would have served for both; but
Atkinson stopped. ‘‘I must beg your pardon,
Harcourt, for detaining you a moment, but
what are the odds upon the Vestris colt for
the Derby ?”’

‘Upon my word, Captain Atkinson, I was
told, but I have forgotten.”

“Your memory appears bad, for you have
also forgotten your old friend, Mr. New-
land.”

‘“‘T beg your pardon, Mr. Newland.”

““There 1s no occasion to beg my pardon,
Mr. Harcourt,” interrupted 1; ‘‘ for I tell you
plainly that I despise you too much to ever
wish to be acquainted with you. You will
oblige me, sir, by never presuming to touch
your hat, or otherwise notice me.”

Harcourt coloured, and started
“Such language, Mr. Newland——”’

“Is what you deserve : ask your own con-
science. Leave. us, sir; and I walked on
with Captain Atkinson.

‘You have done well, Newland,” observed
Atkinson: ‘‘he cannot submit to that lan-
guage, for he knows that I have heard it.
A meeting you will of course have no ob-
jection to; it will be of immense advantage
to you.”’

‘“None whatever,” replied I; ‘‘for if there
is any one-man who deseryes to be punishe
for his conduct towards me, it is Harcourt.
Will you come up, Captain Atkinson, and, if
not better engaged, take a quiet dinner and a
bottle of wine with me?”’ :
~ Our conversation during dinner was de-
sultory ; but after the first bottle, Atkinson
became communicative, and his history not
only made, me feel better inclined towards
him, but afforded me another instance, as
well as Carbonnell’s, how often it is that
those who would have done well. are first
plundered, and then driven to desperation by
the heartlessness of the world. The cases,
however, had this difference, that Carbonnell
had always contrived to keep his reputation
above water, while that of Atkinson was
gone, and never to be re-established. We
had just finished our wine, when a note was
brought from Harcourt, informing, me that
he should send a friend the next morning for
an explanation of my conduct. JI handed it
over to Atkinson. ‘‘My dear sir, Iam at
your service,’’ replied he, ‘‘ without you have
anybody among your .acquaintances svhom
you may prefer.’’

back.

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

“Thank you,” replied I, ‘Captain Atkin-
son, it cannot be in better hands.”

“That is settled, then; and now where
shall we go?”

‘‘Wherever you please.” :

‘“Then I shall try if I can win a_little
money to-night ; if you come you need not
play—you can look on. It will serve to
divert your thoughts, at all events.”

I felt so anxious to avoid reflection, that
I immediately accepted his offer; and in a
few minutes we were in the well-lighted room,
and in front of the vouge et noir table,
covered with gold and bank-notes. Atkinson
did not commence his play immediately, but
pricked the chances on a card as they ran.
After half an hour he laid down his stakes,
and was fortunate. I could no longer with-
stand the temptation, and I backed him ; in
less than an hour we both had won con-
siderably.

‘That is enough,” said he to me, sweeping
up his money ; ‘‘ we must not try the slippery
dame too long.”

1 followed his example, and shortly after-
wards we quitted the house.  ‘‘I will walk
home with you, Newland : never, if you can
help it, especially if you have been a winner,
leave a gaming-house alone.”

Going home, I asked Atkinson if he would
come up; he did so, and then we examined
our winnings.. ‘‘I know mine,” replied he,
‘‘within twenty pounds, for I always leave
off at.a certain point. Ihave three hundred
pounds, and something more.”

He had won three hundred. and _twenty-
five pounds. I had wonninety psunds,,. As
we sat over a glass of brandy-and-water, I
inquired whether he was always fortunate.
‘““No, of course I am not,” replied Atkinson ;
‘‘ but on the whole, in the course of the year,
I am a winner of sufficient to support my-
Sela

‘Is there any rule by which people are
guided who play? I observed many of those
who were seated pricking the chances with
great care, and then staking their money at
intervals,”’

‘‘ feouge et noir 1 believe to be the faires
of all games,” replied Atkinson ; ‘‘ but where
there is a per-centage invariably in favour of
the bank, although one may win and another
lose, still the profits must. be in fayout
of the bank. If a man were to play all the
year round, he would lose the national debt
in the end. . As for martingales, and all
those calculations, which you observed them
so busy with, they are all useless. + I have
tried everything, and there is only one chance
of success, but then you must not be a
gambler.” :

‘“Not a gambler ?”’

#_‘‘No; you must not be carried away b
~the excitement of the game, or you will in
fallibly lose. You must have a strength 0.oy
2

mind which few have, or you will be sodn
cleared out.” ‘

‘“ But you say that you win on the whole :
have you no rule to guide you?”

““ Yes, I have: strange as the chances are,
I have been so accustomed to them, that I
generally put down my stake right: when
I am once in a run of luck, I have a
method of my own, but what it is I cannot
tell; only this I know, that if I depart from
it, I always lose my money. But that is
what you may call good luck, or what you
please—it is not arule.”’

‘““Where, then, are your rules?”

‘Simply, these two. The first it is not
difficult to adhere to: I make a rule never
to lose but a certain sum if I am unlucky
when I commence—say twenty stakes, what-
ever may be the amount of the stake that you
play. ‘This rule is easily adhered to, by not
taking more money with you; and I am not
one of those to whom the croupier or porters
will lend money. The second rule is the
most difficult, and decides whether you. are a
gambler or not. I make a rule always to
leave off when I have won a certain sum—
or even before, if the chances of my game
fluctuate. ‘There is the difficulty : it appears
very foolish not to follow up luck ; but the
fact is, fortune is’ so capricious, that if
you trust her more than an hour, she will
desert you. This is my mode of. play, and
with me it’ answers; but it does not follow
that it would answer with another. But it
is very late, or rather, very early--I wish you
a good night.”

CHAPTER: LITT,

Become Principal instead of Second in a Duel, and
risk my own and another’s Life, my own and
others’ Happiness and Peace of Mind, because I
have been punished as I deserve.

AFTER Captain Atkinson had left me, I
stated to Timothy what had passed. ‘‘ And
do you think you will have to fight a duel,
sir?” cried Timothy with alarm.

‘There is no doubt of it,” replied I.

‘“You never will find your father, sir, if
you go on this way,’’ said Timothy, as if to
divert my attention from such a purpose.

‘“Not in this world, perhaps, Tim ; per-
haps I may be sent the right road by a
bullet, aud find him in the next,”’

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

103

“Do you think your father, if dead, has
gone to heaven?”

‘I hope so, Timothy.”

“Then what chance have you of meeting
him, if you go out of the world attempting
the life of your old friend?”

‘That is what you call a poser, my dear
Timothy, but I cannot help myself: this I
can safely say, that I have no animosity.
against Mr. Harcourt—at least, not sufficient
to have any wish to take away his life.”

‘‘Well, that’s something, to be sure; but
do you know, Japhet, I’m not quite sure you
hit the right road when you set up for a
gentleman.”

‘‘No, Timothy, no man can be in the right
road who deceives : I. have been all wrong ;
and I am afraid I am going from worse to
worse: but I cannot moralize; I must
go to sleep, and forget everything if I
can.

The next morning, about eleven o'clock, a
Mr. Cotgrave called upon me on the part of
Harcourt. I referred him to Captain Atkin-
son, and he bowed and guitted the room.
Captain Atkinson soon called: he had re-
mained, at, home expecting the message, and
had. made. every ‘arrangement with the
second. He stayed with me the whole day.
The major’s pistols were examined and ap-
proved of. We dined, drank freely, and he
afterwards proposed that I should accompany
him to one of the hells, as they are called.
‘his I refused, as I had some arrangements
to make ; and as soon as he was gone I sent
for Timothy.

‘“Tim,” said I, ‘‘if I should be unlucky
to-morrow, you are my executor and residuary
legatee. My will was made when in Dublin,
and is in the charge of Mr. Cophagus.”’

‘‘Japhet, I hope you will allow me one
favour, which is, to go to the ground with
you. I had rather be there than remain here
im suspense.’

‘“Of course, my dear fellow, if you wish
it,’ replied I ; ‘‘ but I must go to bed, as I
am to be called at four o’clock—so let's have
no sentimentalizing or sermonizing, Good
night, God bless you.’’

Iwas, at that time, in a state of mind which
made me reckless of life or of consequences ;
stung by the treatment which I received, mad
with the world’s contumely, I was desperate.
True it was, as Mr. Masterton said, I had
not courage to buffet against an adverse gale.
Timothy did not go to bed, and at four
o'clock was at my side. I rose, dressed my-
self with the greatest care, and was soon
jommed by Captain Atkinson. We then set
off ina hackney-coach to the same spot to
which I had, but a few months before, driven
with poor Carbonnell. His memory and his
death came like a cloud over my mind, but
it was but for a moment. I cared little for
life. . Harcourt and his second were on the104 FALLOT. WAV: SEARCH OF A FA THER,

ground a few minutes before us. Each party had made Flet
aluted politely, and the seconds proceeded had I not
to business. We fired, and Harcourt fell, misery ?
with a bullet above his knee. I went up to
him, and he extended hig hand.) ‘* New-
land,” said he, ‘[ have deserved this. I
Was a coward, in the first place, to desert
you as I did—and a coward, in the second,
to fire at a man whom I had injured. Gentle. tees
men,’’ continued he, appealing to the seconds,
‘‘recollect, I, before you, acquit Mr. New-
land of all blame, and desire, if any further
accident should happen to me, that my rela-
tions will take no Steps whatever against
2 CHAPTER LIV
Harcourt was very pale, and bleeding fast. bE EGE artiehe
Without any answer I examined the wound, This is a strange World : Lam cut bya Man of fe
and found, by the colour of the blood, and Character, because he is fearful that I should
its gushing, that an artery had been divided. injure his Character,
My professional knowledge saved his life, |

compressed the artery, while I gave direc- TIMOTHY returned, and brought me consolj-
tions to the others. A handkerchief was tied tion—the bleeding had not re-commenced,
tight round his thigh, above’ the wound—a and Harcourt Was in tolerable spirits. An
round stone selected, and placed under the eminent surgeon had been sent for 5 tue
handkerchief, in the femoral groove, and the. again, my dear Timothy, and as you are in-
ramrod of one of the pistols then made use timate with Harcourt’s servant, you will be
of as a winch, until the whole acted as a able to find out what they are about.”

tourniquet. I removed my thumbs, found Timothy departed, and was absent about
that the hemorrhage was Stopped, and then. an hour, during which I lay on the sofa, and’
directed that he should be taken home on a groaned with anguish. When he returned, ha
door, and surgical - assistance immediately knew by his face that his intelligence waca

y

a and her mother happy,
Plunged another family into

1

sent for, favourable,

“You appear ‘to understand these things, ‘All's right,” cried Timothy ; ‘‘no ampu’?
sir,” said Mr. Cotgrave: ‘' Tel] me, is there tation afterall, 41 Tt “was only one of thivs
any danger ?”’ - Smaller arteries which was severed, and the ©

“He must suffer amputation,” replied I, have taken it up.”
in a low voice, so that Harcourt could not I sprang up from the sofa and embracet!Y-
hear me.‘ Pray watch the tourniquet care- Timothy, so happy was I with the intel] ‘*$
fully as he is taken home, for should it slip it gence, and then I sat down again, and crie!
will be fatal.” like a child. At last I became more comtt€:

I then bowed to Mr. Cotgrave, and, fol- posed. I had asked Captain Atkinson t223
lowed by Captain Atkinson, Stepped into the

dine with me, and was very glad when heats
hackney-coach and drove home. “| will came. He confirmed Timothy's report, andUy-
leave you how, Newland,” said Captain I was so Overjoyed, that I sat late at dinner
Atkinson : ‘‘it js necessary that I talk this drinking very freely, and when he again pre Ste
matter over, so that it is properly ex- posed that we shoul

d go to the rouge et 01 O36
table, I did not reftise—on the contrarit8

flushed with Wine, I was anxious to go, any &t
took all the money that I had with me. On ot

plained.”

I thanked Captain Atkinson for his ser-
vices, and was left alone; for | had sent }
Timothy to ascertain if Harcourt had arrived arrival Atkinson played, but finding that hirest
safe at his lodgings. Never did I feel more Was not fortunate, he very soon left off. ajhere
miserable :

' » My anxiety for Harcourt was in- I had followed his game, I also had lost cortt of
describable » true, he had not treated me

siderably, and he entreated me not to plather
well, but I thought of his venerable father, any more—but / zwqas5 @ samester, it appearedVQut
who pressed my hand so warmly when I left and I would not pay attention to him, anll, the
his hospitable roof—of his lovely Sisters, and did not quit the table until I had lost ever debt
the kindness and affection which they had shilling in my pocket. I left the house in ¥d) all
shown towards me, and Our extreme intimacy. very good humour, and Atkinson, who ni them
I thought of the pain which the intelligence Waited for me, accompanied me home, | have
would give them, and their indignation to- ‘“ Newland,” said he, ‘‘T don’t know wEehance
wards me, when their brother first made his you may think of me€e—you may have hee be a
appearance at his father's house, mutilated ; that I'm a roué, &c. &e. &c.,. but this
and were he to die—good God! J] was mad- always do, Which is, caution those who ;
dened at the idea. I had now undone the gamesters from their hearts. T have watchWway b
little good I had been able to do. If you to-night, and I tel] you, that you yore ay
' hetho.be ruined if you continue to frequent that
table. You have no command over your-
self. I do not know what your means may
be, but this I do know, that if you were a
Croesus, you would be a beggar. I cared
nothing for you while you were the Mr.
Newland, the admired, and leader of the
fashion ; but I felt for you when I heard
that you were scouted from society, merely
because it was found out that you were not
so rich as you were supposed to be. I hada
fellow-feeling, as [told you. I did not make
y 0ur acquaintance to win your money—I can
win as much as I wish from the scoundrels
who keep the tables, or from those who
would not scruple to plunder others ; and I
now entreat you not to return to that place
—and am sorry, very sorry, that ever I took
you there. ‘Tome, the excitement is nothing
—to you it is overpowering. You are a
gamester, or rather, you have it in your dis-
position. Take, therefore, the advice of a
friend, if I may so call myself, and do not
go there again. I hope you are not seriously
inconvenienced by what you have lost to-
night.”

PyNot the least. replied), i “It was
ready money. I thank you for your advice,
and will follow it. I have been a fool to-
night, and one folly is sufficient.”’

Atkinson then left me. I had lost about
two hundred and fifty pounds, which included
‘my winnings of the night before. I was an-
Ynoyed at it, but I thought of Harcourt's
‘Safety, and felt indifferent. The reader may
recollect, that I had three thousand pounds,
which Mr. Masterton had offered to put out
it mortgage for me; but until he could find
in opportunity, by his advice I had bought
stock in the Three per Cents. Since that
time he had not succeeded, as mortgages in
yeneral are for larger sums, and it had there-
ore remained. My rents were not yet due,
ind I was obliged to have recourse to this
money. I therefore went into the city, and
ordered the broker to sell out two hundred
younds, intending to replace it as soon
is I could — for I would not have liked
hat Mr, Masterton should haye known
hat I had lost money by gambling. When
i returned from the city, I found Captain
Atkinson in my apartments, waiting for
ne.

‘‘ Harcourt is doing well, and you are not
loing badly. I have let all the world know
‘hat you intend to call out whoever presumes
So treat you with indifference.”

di ‘*The devil you have! but that is a
Sh\reat which may easier be made than fol-
»wed up by deeds.”

‘« Shoot two or three more,” replied Atkin-
yOn, coolly, ‘‘and then, depend upon it,
dinu'll have it all your own way. As it is, I

cknowledge there has been some show of
hasistance, and they talk of making a reso-
Ot

FAPHET, 1N SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
     
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

105

lution not to meet you, on the score of your
being an impostor.”’

‘‘And a very plausible reason, too,” re-
plied I; ‘‘nor do I think I have any right—
I am sure | have no intention of doing as you
propose. Surely, people have a right to
choose their acquaintance, and to cut me, if
they think I have done wrong. Iam afraid,
Captain Atkinson, you have mistaken me;
I have punished Harcourt for his conduct to-
wards me—he deserved punishment. I had
claims on him; but I have not upon the
hundreds, whom, when in the zenith of my
popularity, I myself, perhaps, was not over
courteous to, I cannot rzz the muck which
you propose, nor do I consider that I shall
help my character by so doing. I may be-
come notorious, but certainly, I shall not ob-
tain that species of notoriety which will be
of service tome. No, no; I have done too
much, I may say, already ; and, although
not so much to blame as the world imagines,
yet my own conscience tells me, that by
allowing it to suppose that I was what I was
not, I have, to say the least, been a party to
the fraud, and must take the consequence.
My situation now is very unpleasant, and I
ought to retire, and, if possible, re-appear
With real claims upon the public favour. I
have still friends, thank God ! and influential
friends. Iam offered a wsitership in India
—a commission in the army—or to study
the law. Will you favour me with your
opinion ?”’

‘“You pay me a compliment by asking my
advice. A writership in India is fourteen
years’ transportation, returning with plenty
to live on, but no health to enjoy it. Inthe
army you might do well, and, moreover, as
an officer in the army, none dare refuse to go
out with you. At the same time, under your
peculiar circumstances, I think if you were in
a crack regiment, you would, in all probabil-
ity, have to fight one half the mess, and be
put in Coventry by the other. You must
then exchange on half-pay, and your com-
mission would be a great help to you. As
for the law—lI’d sooner see a brother of mine
in his coffin. ‘There, you have my opinion.”

‘“Not a very encouraging one, at all
events,’ replied I, laughing ; ‘‘ but there is
much truth in your observations. To India |
will not go, as it will interfere with the great
object of my existence.”

‘And pray, if it be no secret, may I ask
what that is?”

‘“To find out who zs my father.”

Captain Atkinson looked very hard at me.
“‘T more than once,” said he, ‘* have thought
you a little cracked, but now I perceive you
are mad—downright mad: don't be angry, I
couldn't help saying so, and if you wish me
to give you satisfaction, I shal! most unwill-
ingly oblige you.”

‘* No, no, Atkinson, I believe you are notvery far wrong, and I forgive you—but to
proceed. ‘The army, as you say, will give
mé a position in society, from my profession
being that of a gentleman, but, as I do not
wish to take the advantage which you have
suggested from the position, I shrink from
putting myself into one which may lead to
much mortification. As for the law, although
I do not exactly agree with you in your ab-
horrence of the profession, yet I must say,
that I do not like the idea. I have been
rendered unfit for it by my life up to the
present. But I am permitted to select any
other.”

“Without wishing to pry into your affairs,
have you sufficient to live upon ?”

“Yes, ina moderate way ; about a younger
brother’s portion, which will just keep me in
gloves, cigars, and eau de cologne.”’

“Then take my advice, and be nothing.
The only difference I can see between a gentle-
man and anybody else is, that one is idle
and the other works hard. One is a useless,
and the other a useful, membet of society.
Such is the absurdity of the opinions of the
world.”

“Yes, I agree with you, and would prefer
being a gentleman in that respect, and do
nothing, if they would admit me in ‘every
other ; but that they will not do. I amin
an unfortunate position.”

“And will be until your feelings become
blunted as mine have been,’’ replied Atkin-
son. ‘‘ Had you acquiesced in my proposal,
you would have done better. As it’ is, I
can be of no use to you; nay, without in-
tending an affront, I do not know if we ought
to be seen together, for your decision not to

fight your way is rather awkward, as I can-
not back one with my sazpport who will not
do credit to it. Do not be angry at what I
Say ; you are your own master, and have a
right to decide for yourself. If you think
yourself not so wholly lost as to be able
eventually to recover yourself by other means,
I do not blame you, as I know it is only from
an error in judgment, and not from want of
courage.”

/ AL present 1 am, - 1 acknowledge, lost,
Captain Atkinson ; but if I succeed in finding
my father a

‘““Good morning, Newland, good morn-
ing,’’ replied he, hastily. ‘I see how it is:
Of course, we shall be civil to ‘each other
when we meet, for I wish you well; but we
must not be seen together, or you may injure
my character.”

“Injure your character, Captain Atkin-
son?”

“Yes, Mr. Newland, injure my character.
I do not mean to say but that theré are charac-
ters more respectable ; but I have @ character
which suits me, and it has the merit of con-
sistency. As you are not prepared, as the
Americans say, fo go the whole hog, we will

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

part good friends ; and if I have said any-
thing to annoy you, I beg your pardon.”

‘“Good-bye, then, Captain Atkinson ; for
the kindness you have shown me I am'grate-
ful.” He shook my hand, and walked out of
the room. ‘‘ And for having thus broken up
our acquaintance, more grateful still,” thought
I, as he went downstairs.

CHAPTER LV:

I cut my new Acquaintance, but his Company,
even in so short a time, proves my Ruin—Not-
withstanding I part with all my Property, I
retain my Honesty.

In the meantime the particulars of the duel
had found their way into the papers, with
various ‘comments, but none of them very
flattering to mé ; and I received a note from
Mr. Masterton, who, deceived by the re-
presentations of that class of people who
eater for newspapers, and who are but too
glad to pull, if they possibly can, every one
to their own level, strongly animadverted
upon my conduct, and pointed out the folly of
it, adding that Lord Windermear wholly
coincided with him in opinion, and had
desired him to express his displeasure. He
concluded by observing, ‘‘I consider this to
be the most serious false step which you have
hitherto made. Becatise you have been‘a
party to deceiving the public, and because
one individual, who ‘had no objection to be
intimate with a young man of fashion, station,
and affluence, does not wish to continue the
acquaintance with one of unknown birth and
no fortune, you consider yourself justified in
taking his life. Upon this principle all society
is at an end, all distinctions levelled, and the
tule of the gladiator will only be overthrown
by the stiletto of thé assassin.”

I was but ill-prepared to receive this letter.
I had been deeply thinking upon the kind
offers of Lord Windermear, and had felt that
they would interfere with the grimam mobile
of my existence; and T was reflecting by
what means I could evade their kind inten:
tions, and be at liberty to follow my own
inclinations, when this note atrived. . To me
it appeared to be the height of injustice, I
had been arraigned and found guilty upon
an ex-parte statement. I forgot, at the time,
that it was my duty to have immediately pro-
ceeded to Mr. Masterton, and have fully ex-
plained the facts of the case; and that, bynot having so done, I left the natural impres-
sion that I had no defence to offer. I forgot
all this, still I was myself to blame—lI only
Saw that the letter in itself was unkind and
unjust—and my feelings were those of resent-
ment. What right have Lord Windermear
and Mr. Masterton thus to school and to
insult me? The. right of obligations con-
ferred. But isnot Lord Windermear under
obligations to me? Have I not preserved
his secret? Yes; but how did I obtain pos-
session of it? By sodoing, I was only making
reparation for an act of treachery. Well,
then, at all events, I have a right to be inde-
pendent of them if I please—any one has a
right to assert his independence if he chooses,
Their offers of service only would shackle me,
if L accepted of their assistance: I will have
none of them. Such were my reflections;
and the reader must perceive that I was in-
fluenced by a state of morbid irritability-—a
sense of abandonment which prostrated me,
I felt that I was ‘an isolated being, without a
tie in the whole world. I determined to spurn
the world as it had spurned me. To Timothy
I would hardly speak a word. | I lay with an
aching head, aching from increased circula-
tion. I was mad, or nearly so. I opened
the case of pistols, and thought of suicide—
reflection alone restrained me...I could not
abandon the search after my father.

Feverish and impatient, I wished to walk
out ; but I dared not meet the public eye. {
waited till dark, and then I sallied forth,
hardly knowing where I went. I passed the
gaming-house—I did pass it ; but I returned,
and lost every shilling ; not, however, till the
fluctuations of the Same had persuaded me
that had I had more money to carry it on I
should have won.

I went to bed, but not to sleep: I thought
of how I had been caressed and admired,
when I was supposed to be rich. Of what
use, then, was the money I possessed : little
or none. I made up my mind that I would
either gain a fortune, or lose that which I
had. The next morning I went into the city,
and sold out all the remaining stock. To
Timothy I had not communicated. my inten-
tions. I studiously avoided speaking to him :
he felt hurt at my conduct, I perceived ; but
I was afraid of his advice and expostulation.

At night-fall I returned to the hell—played
with various success; at one time was a
winner of three times my capital, and I ended
at last with my pockets being empty. I was
indifferent when it was all gone, although in
the highest state of excitement while the
chances were turning up.

The next day I went to a house-agent, and
stated my wish to sell my house, for I was
resolved to try fortune to the last. The agent
undertook to find a ready: purchaser, and I
begged an advance, which he made, and
continued to make, until he had advanced

 

 
 
  
     
    
   
    
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
    
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 107

nearly half the value. He then found a
purchaser (himself, as I believe) at two-thirds
of its value. I did not hesitate, I had lost
every advance, one after another, and was
anxious to retrieve my fortune or bea beggar.
I signed the conveyance and received the
balance, fifteen hundred and fifty pounds,
and returned to the apartments, no longer
mine, about an hour before dinner. I called
Timothy, and ascertaining the amount of
bills due, gave him fifty pounds, which left
him. about fifteen pounds as a residue. I
then sat down to my solitary meal, but just
as I commenced I heard a dispute in the
passage.

“What is that, Timothy?” cried I, for I
was nervous to a degree.

“It's that fellow Emmanuel, sir, who says
that he will come up.”

‘‘Yesh, I vill go up, sar.

“Let him. come, Timothy,” replied I.
Accordingly Mr. Emmanuel- ascended.
“Well, Emmanuel, what do you want with
me?” said I, looking with contempt at the
miserable creature, who entered as before,
with his body bent double, and his hand
lying oyer his back.

‘‘I vash a little out of breath, Mr. New-
land—I vash come to say dat dé monish is
very scarce—dat I vill accept your offer, and
vill take de hundred pounds and my tousand
which I haye lent you, You too mush gentle-
man not to help a poor old man, ven he ish
in. distress.’

‘Rather say, Mr. Emmanuel, that you
have heard that I have not ten thousand
pounds per annum, and that you are afraid
that you have lost your money.”

‘““Loshe my monish!—no—loshe my
tousand pound! Did you net say, dat you
would pay it back to me, and give me hun-
dred pounds for my trouble; dat vash de
last arrangement.”

“Yes, but you refused to take it, so it is
not my fault. You must now stick to the
first, which is to receive fifteen hundred
pounds when I come into my fortune.”

‘Your fortune, but you ay no fortune.”

“i am afraid) not; and recollect’ Wire
Emmanuel, that I never told you that I
had.”

‘“Vill you pay me my monish, Mr. New-
land, or vill you go to prison?”

‘‘You can’t put me in prison for an agree-
ment,’ replied I.

“No; but I can prosecute. you for a
swindler.’

‘“No, you confounded old rascal, you can-
not ; try, and do your worst,’’ cried I, en-
raged at the word swindler.

‘Vell, Mr. Newland, if you have not de
ten tousand a year, you have de house and
de monish; you vill not cheat a poor man
like me.”

‘“T have sold my, house.’“You have sold de house—den you have
neither de house or de monish. Oh! my
monish, my monish! Sare, Mr. Newland,
you are one d d rascal;” and the old
wretch’s frame quivered with emotion ; his
hand behind his back shaking as much as
the other, which, in his rage, he shook in my
face.

enraged myself at being called such an
opprobrious term, I opened the door, twisted
him round, and applying my foot to a name-
less part, he flew out and fell down the stairs,
at the turning of which he lay, groaning in

ain.

‘Mine Got, mine Got, I am murdered,”
cried he. ‘‘ Fader Abraham, receive me.”
My rage was appeased, and I turned pale at
the idea of having killed the poor wretch.
With the assistance of Timothy, whom I
summoned, we dragged the old man upstairs,
and placed him in a chair, and found that he
was not very much hurt. A glass of wine
was given to him, and then, as soon as he
could speak, his ruling passion broke out
again. ‘‘Mishter Newland—ah, Mish-ter
New-land, cannot you give me my monish—
cannot give me de tousand pound, without
de interest? you are very welcome to de
interest. I only lent it to oblige you.”

‘‘ How can you expect a d——d rascal to
do any such thing?” replied I.

‘‘ T)——d rascal! Ah! it vash I who vash
a rascal, and vash a fool to say the word.
Mishter Newland, you vash a gentleman,
you vill pay me my monish. You vill pay
me part of my monish. I have the agree-
ment in my pocket, all ready to give up.”

‘Tf J have not the money, how can I pay
ou?”

‘‘Fader Abraham, if you have not de
monish-—you must haye some monish ; den
you will pay me a part. How much vill
you pay me?”

‘‘Will you take five hundred pounds, and
return the agreement ?”’

‘Five hundred pounds—lose half—oh !
Mr. Newland—it was all lent in monish, not
in goods ; you will not make me lose so much
as dat?”

‘‘T’m not sure that I will give you five
hundred pounds; your bond is not worth
twopence, and you know it.”’

‘Your honour, Mishter Newland, is worth
more dan ten tousand pounds: but if you
have not de monish, den you shall pay me
de five hundred pounds which you off-r, and
I will give up de paper.”

‘“T never offered five hundred pounds.

‘‘Not offer ; but you mention de sum, dat
quite enough.”

‘‘ Well, then, for five hundred pounds, you
will give up the paper?”

‘Ves ; [ vash content to lJoshe all de rest,
to please you.”

I went to my desk, and took out five hun-

 

FYAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

dred pounds in notes. ‘‘ Now, there is the
money, which you may put your hands on
when you give up the agreement.’ The old
man pulled out the agreement and laid it on
the table, catching up the notes. I looked
at the paper to see if it was all right, and
then tore it up. Emmanuel put the notes,
with a heavy sigh, into his inside coat-pocket,
and prepared to depart. ‘‘ Now, Mr.. Em-
manuel, I will show that I have a little more
honour than you think for. ‘This is all the
money I have in the world,” said I, taking
out of my desk the remaining thousand
pounds, ‘‘and half of it I give to you, to
pay you the whole money which you lent me.
Here are five hundred pounds more, and
now we are quits.”

The eyes of the old man were fixed upon
me in astonishment, and from my face they
glanced upon the notes; he could, to use
a common expression, neither believe his
eyes nor his ears. At last he took the money,
again unbuttoned, and pulled out his pocket-
book, and with a trembling hand stowed
them away as before.

“You vash a very odd gentleman, Mishter
Newland,” said he; ‘‘you kick me down-
stairs, and—but dat is noting.”

‘Good-bye, Mr. Emmanuel,” said I, ‘‘ and
let me eat my dinner.”

CHAPTER LVI.

I resolve to begin the World again and to seek my
Fortune in the next Path—I take leave of allmy
old Friends.

THE Jew retired, and I commenced my
meal, when the door again slowly opened,
and Mr. Emmanuel crawled up to me.

‘“Mishter Newland, I vash beg your par-
don, but vill you not pay me de interest of
de monish ?”’

I started up from my chair, with my rattan
in my hand. ‘‘ Begone, you old thief,” cried
I; and hardly were the words out of my
mouth, before Mr. Emmanuel travelled out
of the room, and I never saw him afterwards.
I was pleased with. myself for having done
this act of honesty ; and for the first time for
a long while I ate my dinner with some zest.
After I had finished, I took a twenty-poundnote, and laid it in my desk, the remainder
of the five hundred pounds I put in my
pocket, to try my last chance. In an hour
I quitted the hell | penniless. When I returned
home I had composed myself a little after
the dreadful excitement which I had been
under. I felta calm, and a degree of nega-
tive happiness. I knew my fate—there was
no more suspense. I sat down to reflect
upon what [ should do. I was to commence
the world again—to sink down at once into
obscurity — into poverty—and I felt happy.
I had severed the link between myself and
my former condition—I was again a beggar,
but I was independent—and ‘I resolved so
to be. I spoke kindly to ‘Timothy, went to
bed, and | having arranged in my own mind
how I should act, I fell sound asi eep.

I never slept better, or awoke more re-
freshed. The next morning I packed up my
portmanteau, taking. with me only the most
necessary articles ; all the details of the toilet,
further than cleanliness was concerned, I

abjured. When Timothy came in, I told
him that I was going down to Lady de
Clare's, which I intended to do. Poor Ti-

mothy was overjoyed at the change in my
manner, little thinking that he was so soon
to lose me—for, reader, I had made up my
mind that I would try my fortunes alone ;
and painful as I felt would be the parting
with so valued a friend, I was determined
that I would no longer have even his assist-
ance or ee I was determined to forget
all that had passed, and commence the world
anew. I sat down while Timothy went out
to take a place in the Richmond coach, and
wrote to him the following letter :—

‘“My DEAR TimorHy,—Do not think
that I undervalue your friendship, or shall ever
forget your regard for me, when I tell you
that we shall probably never meet again.
Should fortune favour me, I trust we shall
—hbut of that there is little prospect. I have
lost almost everything: my money is all
gone, my house is sold, and all is gambled
away. I leave you, with only my clothes in
my portmanteau and twenty pounds. For

yourself, there is the furniture, which you
must sell, as well as every other article left
behind. It is all yours, and I hope you will

find means to establish yourself in some way.
God bless you—and. believe me always and
gratefully yours,

‘‘ JAPHET NEWLAND.”

to put in the post
My next letter

This letter I reserved,
when I quitted Richmond.
was to Mr. Masterton.

‘«Srr,—Your note I received, and I am
afraid that, unwittingly, you have been the
occasion, of my present condition. That I
did not deserve the language addressed to

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF

   
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
     
   
 
  
   
    
   
    
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
   
     
 
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
  
   
    
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
    
 

a FATHER, 109
me, you may satisfy yourself by applying to
Mr. Harcourt. Driven to desperation, I
have lost all T had in the world, by adding
gaming to my many follies. I now am about
to seek my fortune, and prosecute my search
after my father. You will, therefore, return
my most sincere acknowledgments to Lord
Windermear, for his kind offers and inten-
tions, and assure him that my feelings
towards him will always be those of grati-
tude and respect. For yourself, accept my
warmest thanks for the friendly advice and
kind interest which you have shown in my
welfare, and believe me, when I say, that my
earnest prayers shall be offered up for your
happiness. If you can, in any way, assist
my poor friend Timothy, who will, I have
no doubt, call upon you in his distress, you
will confer an additional favour on,—Yours,
ever gratefully,

‘‘ JAPHET NEWLAND.”

I sealed this letter, and when Timothy
returned, I told him that I wished him, after
my departure, to take it to Mr. Masterton’s,
and not wait for an answer. I then, as I
had an hour to spare, before the coach
started, entered into a conversation with
Timothy. I pointed out to him the unfortu-
nate condition in which I found myself, and
my determination to quit the metropolis.

Timothy agreed with me. ‘‘] have seen
you so unhappy of late—I may say, so
miserable—that I have neither eaten nor

slept. Indeed, Japhet, I have laid in bed
and wept, for my happiness depends upon
yours. Go where you will, I am ready to

follow and to serve you, and as long as I see
you comfortable, I care for nothing else.”

These words of Timothy almost shook my
resolution, and I was near telling him all;
but when I recollected, [ refrained. ‘‘ My
dear Timothy,”’ said J, ‘‘in this world we
must expect to meet with a chequered
existence ; we may laugh at one time, but we
must cry at others: I owe my life to you,
and I never shall forget you, wherever I
may be.”’

‘“No,” replied Timothy, “‘ you are not
likely to forget one who is hardly an hour out
of your sight.”

‘“Very true, Timothy; but circumstances
may occur which may separate us.

‘TI cannot’ imagine such circumstances,
nor do I believe that, bad as things may turn
out, they will ever be so bad as that. You
have your money and your house; if you
leave London, you will be able to add to your
income by letting your own apartments fur-
nished, so we never shall want ; and we may
be very happy running about the world seek-
ing what we wish to find.”

My heart smote me when Timothy said
this, for I felt by his devotion and fidelity he
had almost the same claim to the propertyI possessed as myself. He had been my.
partner, playing the inferior game, for the
mutual benefit. ‘‘ But the time may come,
Timothy, when we may find ourselves without
money, as we were when we first commenced
our career, and shared threepence halfpenny
each, by selling the old woman the embro-
cation.’

‘“Well, sir, and let it come. I should be
sorry for you, but not for myself, for then
Tim would be of more importance, and more
useful, than as valet with little or nothing
to do.”

I mentally exclaimed, ‘‘I have, I think I
have, been a fool, a great fool, but the-die
is cast. I will sow in sorrow, and may I
reap a harvest in joy. I feel,’ thought I
(and I did feel),—‘‘1I feel a delightful con-
viction that we shall meet again, and all this
misery of parting will be but a subject of
future garrulity, Yes, Tim,” said I in a
loud voice, ‘‘ all is right.”

“All's right, sir; I never thought anything
was wrong, except your annoyance at people
not paying you the attention which they used
to do when they supposed. you a man of
fortune.”

‘Very true; and, Tim, recollect that if
Mr. Masterton speaks to you about me,
which he may after I am gone to Richmond,
you tell him that before I left I paid that old
scoundrel Emmanuel every: farthing that I
had borrowed. of him, and you know (and in
fact so does Mr. Masterton) how it was
borrowed.”

‘Well, sir, I will, if he does talk to me,
but he seldom says much to me.”

‘“But he may, perhaps, Tim ; and I wish
him to know that I have paid every debt I
owe in the world.”

‘‘ One would think that you were going to
the East Indies, instead of to Richmond, by
the way you talk.”

“No, Tim ; I was offered a situation in
the East Indies, and I refused it ; but) Mr.
Masterton and I have not been on good
terms lately, and I wish him to know that I
am out of debt. You know—for I told you
all that passed between Emmanuel and my-
self—how he accepted five hundred pounds,
and I paid him the thousand ; and I wish
Mr. Masterton should know it too, and he
will then be better pleased with me.”

“* Never fear, sir,’’ said Tim; ‘‘ I can tell
the whole story with flourishes.”’

‘‘No, Tim, nothing but the truth ; but it
is time I should go. | Farewell, my dear
fellow. May God bless you and preserve
you.’ And,? overcome by my feelings, I
dropped my face on Timothy's shoulder, and
wept.

‘‘ What is the matter? What do you mean,
Japhet? Mr. Newland—pray, sir, what is
the matter 2?”

“Timothy—it is nothing,” ‘replied I, re-

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

covering myself, ‘‘but I have been ¥1—ner-
vous lately, as you well know, and even
leaving the last and only friend I have, I may
say for a few: days, annoys and overcomes
meé-*

‘“Oh! sir—dear Japhet, do let us) leave
this house, and sell your furniture, and be
off.’

‘““I mean that it shall be so, Tim. God
bless you, and farewell.’”’ I went downstairs,
the hackney-coach was at the door, Timothy
put in my ‘portmanteau, and mounted the
box. IL wept dztterly. My readers may
despise me, but they ought not; let them be
in my situation, and feel that they have one
sincere faithful friend, and then they will know
the bitterness of parting. I recovered myself
before I arrived at the coach, and shaking
hands with Timothy, I lost sight of him ; for
how long, the reader will find out in the
sequel of my adventures.

I arrived at Lady de Clare’s, and hardly
need say that I was well received, ‘They
expressed their delight at my so soon coming
again, and made a hundred inquiries—but [
was unhappy and melancholy, not at my
prospects, for in my infatuation I rejoiced at
my anticipated beggary—but I wished to
communicate with Fleta, for so I still called
her. Fleta had known my history, for she
had been present when I had related it to her
mother, up to the time that I arrived in
London ; further than that she knew little.
I was determined that before I quitted she
should know all...I dare not trust the last
part to her when I was present, but I resolved
that I would do it in writing.

Lady de Clare made no difficulty whatever
of leaving me with Fleta. She was now a
beautiful creature, of between fifteen and
sixteen, bursting into womanhood, and lovely
as the bud of the moss-rose ; and she was
precocious beyond her years in ¢wzfedllect. 1
Stayed there three days, and had frequent
opportunities of conversing with her: I told
her that I wished her to be acquainted with
my whole life, and interrogated her as to what
she knew ; I carefully filled up the chasms,
until I brought it down to the time at which
I placed her in the arms of her mother.
*‘ And now, Fleta,” said I, ‘you have much
more to learn—you will learn that much at
my departure. I have dedicated hours every
night in writing it out ; and, as you will find,
have analyzed my feelings, and have pointed
out to you where I have been wrong. I have
done it for my amusement, as it may be of
service even to a female.”

On the third day I took my leave, and
requesting the pony-chaise of Lady de Clare,
to take me over to , that I might catch
the first coach that went westward—for I did
not care which,—I put into Fleta’s hands the
packet which I had written, containing all
that had passed, and I bid her farewell.‘‘Lady de Clare, may you be happy,” said
I. ‘‘Fleta—Cecilia I ‘should say, may God
bless and preserve you, and sometimes think
of your sincere friend, Japhet Newland.”

“Really, Mr. Newland,” said Lady de
Clare, ‘Sone would think we were never to
see you again.”
_‘“T hope that will not be the case, Lady de
Clare, for I know nobody to whom I am more
devoted.”

‘Then, sir, recollect we are to see you very
soon,

I pressed her ladyship's hand, and left the
house. Thus did I commence my second
pilgrimage,

CHAPTER LY EL,

Prosperous at its, Com-
mencement—I am Robbed, and accused of being
a Robber—I bind up Wounds, and am accused
of having inflicted ‘them—I get into a Horse-
pond, and out of it into’Gaol.

XT 7.
iuy new Career is not very J

[ HAD proceeded half a mile from the house,
when I desired the servant to turn into a
cross-road so as to gain Brentford; and, so
soon as I arrived, the distance being only
four miles, i ordered him to stop at a public-
house, saying that I would wait till the coach
should pass by. I then gave him ‘half-a
crown, and ordered him to gohome: I went
into the inn with my portmanteau, and was
shown into a small back parlour ; there I re-
mained about half an hour, reflecting wpon
the best plan that I could adopt.

Leaving the ale that I had called for un-
tasted, I paid forit, and, with the portmanteau
on my shoulder, I walked away until I arrived
at an old clothes’ shop. I told the Jew who
kept it that I required some clothes, and also
wanted to dispose of my own portmanteau
and all my effects. I had a great rogue to
deal with; but after much chaffering, for I
now felt the value of money, I purchased
from him two pair of corduroy trousers, two
waistcoats, four common shirts, four pairs of
stockings, a smock frock, a pair of high-lows,
andacommon hat. For these I gave up all
my portmanteau, with the exception of six
silk handkerchiefs, and received fifty shillings,
when I ought to have received; at least, ten
pounds; but I ‘could not weli help myself,
and I submitted to the extortion. 1 dressed

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

bet

myself in my more humble garments, securing
my money in the pocket of my trousers unob-
served by the Jew, made up a bundle of the
rest, and procured a stick from the Jew to
carry 1t on, however not without paying him
threepence for it, he observing that the stick
‘“wash not in de bargain.’’ Thus attired, I
had the appearance of a countryman. well to
do, and I set off through the long dirty main
street of Brentford, quite undecided and
indifferent as to the direction I should take.
1 walked about a mile, when I thought that
it was better to come to some decision pre-
yious to my going farther ; and perceiving: a
bench in front of a public-house, I went to it
and satdown. I looked around, and it imme-
diately came to my recollection that I was
sitting on the very bench on which Timothy
and | had stopped to eat our meal of pork,
at our first outset upon our travels. Yes, it
was the very same! Here sat I, and there
sat Timothy, two heedless boys, with :the
paper containing the meat, the loaf of bread,
and the pot of beer between us. Poor
Timothy! 1 conjured up his unhappiness
when he had. received my note acquainting
him with our future separation. I remembered
his fidelity, his courage in defence, and_ his
preservation of my life in Ireland, and. a tear
or two coursed down my cheek.

I remained some time in a deep reverie,
during which the various circumstances and
adventures of my life passed in a rapid pano-
tama before me. I felt that I had little to plead
in my own favour, much 'to condemn—that I
had passed a life of fraud and deceit. I also
could not forget that when I had returned to
honesty, I had been ‘scouted by the world.
““And here I am,’’ thought I, ‘‘once mote
with the world before me; and it is just that I
should commence again, for I started ina
wrong path. Atleast, now I can satisfactorily
assert that Iam deceiving nobody, and can
deservedly receive no contumely. I am
Japhet Newland, and not in disguise.”’ J felt
happy with this reflection, and made a deter-
mination, Whatever my future lot might be,
that, at least, I would pursue the path of
honesty. I then began to reflect upon an-
other point, which was, whither I should
bend my steps, and what I should do to gain
my livelihood.

Alas! that was a ‘subject of no little diffi-
culty tome. A person who has been brought
up to a profession naturally reverts to that
profession—but to what had I been brought
up? As an apothecary—true; but I well
knew the difficulty of obtaining employment
in what is termed a liberal profession, without
interest or recommendation; neither did I
wish for close confinement, as the very idea
was irksome. ‘As a’mountebank, a juggler, a
quack doctor—I spurned the very idea. It
was a system of fraud and deceit. What
then could Ido? I-could not dig, to beg I{12

was ashamed. I must trusf to the chapter of
ascidents, and considering how helpless I was,
such trust was but a broken reed. At all
events, I had a sufficient sum of money, up-
wards of twenty pounds, to exist upon with
economy for some time.

I was interrupted by a voice calling out,
‘* Hilloa! my lad, come and hold this horse a
moment.’ I looked up, and perceived a
person on horseback looking at me. ‘‘Do
you hear, or are you stupid?”’ cried the man.
My first feeling was to knock him down for
his impertinence, but my bundle lying beside,
reminded me of my situation and appearance,
and I rose and walked towards the horse.
The gentleman, for such as he was in appear-
ance, dismounted, and throwing the rein on
the horse's neck, told me to stand by him for
half a minute. He went into a respectable-
looking house opposite the inn, and remained
nearly half an hour, during which I was be-
coming very impatient, and kept an anxious
eye upon my bundle, which lay on the seat.
At last he came out, and, mounting his horse,
looked in my face with some degree of sur-
prise. ‘‘Why, what are you?” said he, as
he pulled out a sixpence, and tendered it tome.

I was again nearly forgetting myself,
affronted at the idea of sixpence being offered
to me; but I recovered myself, saying, as I
took it, ‘‘A poor labouring man, sir.”

‘‘ What, with those hands?” said he, look-
ing at them as I took the money; and then
looking at my face, he continued, ‘‘I think
we have met before, my lad—I cannot be
sure; you know best—I am a Bow Street
magistrate.’

In a moment I remembered that he was
the very magistrate before whom I had twice
made my appearance. I coloured deeply,
and made no reply.

‘‘ Well, my lad, I’m not on my bench now,
and this sixpence you have earned honestly.
I trust you will continue in the right path.
Be careful—I have sharp eyes.’ So saying,
he rode off.

I never felt more mortified. It was evident
that he considered me as one who was acting
a part for unworthy purposes ; perhaps one of
the swell mob or a flash pickpocket rusti-
cating until some hue and cry was over.
“Well, well,” thought I, as 1 took up a lump
of dirt and rubbed over my then white hands,
‘‘it is my fate to be believed when J deceive,
and to be mistrusted when I am_ acting
honestly ;”. and I returned to the bench for
my bundle, which—was gone. I stared with
astonishment. ‘‘Is it possible?’ thought I.
‘* How. dishonest people are! Well, I wil
not carry another for the present. They
might as well have left me my stick.” So
thinking, and without any great degree of
annoyance at the loss, I turned from the
bench and walked away, I knew not whither.
It was now getting dark, but I quite forgot

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FAPAHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

that it was necessary to look out for a lodging ;
the fact is, that I had been completely upset
by the observations of the magistrate, and the
theft of my bundle; and, in a sort of brown
study, from which I was occasionally recalled
for a moment by stumbling over various
obstructions, I continued my walk jon the
pathway until I was two or three miles away
from Brentford. I was within a mile of
Hounslow, when I was roused by the groans
of some person, and it being now dark, [
looked round, trying to catch by the ear the
direction in which to offer my assistance.
‘They proceeded from the other side of a
hedge, and I crawled through, where I found
a man lying on the ground, covered with
blood about the head, and breathing heavily.
I untied his neckcloth, and, as well as I
could, examined his condition. I bound his
handkerchief round his head, and perceiving
that the position in which he was lying was
very unfavourable, his head and shoulders
being much lower than his body, I was
dragging his body round so as to raise
those parts, when I heard footsteps and
voices. Shortly after, four people burst
through the hedge and surrounded me.

‘“That is him, I'll swear to it,’~cried an
immense stout man, seizing me; ‘that is the
other fellow who attacked me, and ran away.
He has come to get off his accomplice, and
now we've just nicked them both.”

‘You are very much mistaken,” replied I,
‘“and you have no need to hold me so tight.
I heard the man groan, and I came to his
assistance. ”’

‘‘That gammon won't do,” replied one of
them, who was a constable ; ‘‘ you'll come
along with us, and we may as well put on
the darézes,” continued he, producing a pair
of handcuffs.

Indignant at the insult, I suddenly broke
from him who held me, and darting at the
constable, knocked him down, and then took
to my heels across the ploughed field. The
whole four pursued, but I rather gained upon
them, and was in hopes to make my escape.
Iran for a gap I perceived in the hedge, and
sprang over it, without minding the old
adage, of ‘‘ Look before you leap ;”’ for,
when on the other side, I found myself in a
deep and stagnant pit of water and mud. I
sank over head, and with difficulty extricated
myself from the mud at the bottom, and
when at the surface I was equally embar-
rassed with the weeds at the top, among
which I floundered. In the meantime my
pursuers, warned by the loud splash, had
paused when they came to the hedge, and
perceiving my situation, were at the brink of
the pit watching for my coming out. All
resistance was useless. I was numbed with
cold and exhausted by my struggles, and
when I gained the bank I surrendered at.
discretion.CHAPTER EVI.

Worse and worse—If out of Gaol, it will be to go
out of the World—I am resolved to take my
Secret with me.

THE handcuffs were now put on without
resistance on my part, and I was led away to
Hounslow by the two constables, while the
others returned to secure the wounded man.
On my arrival, I was thrust into the clink, or
lock-up house, as the magistrates would not
meet that evening, and there I was left to
my reflections. Previously, however, to this,
I was searched, and my money, amounting
as I before stated, to upwards of twenty
pounds, taken from me by the constables ;
and what I had quite forgotten, a diamond
solitare ring, which I had intended to have
left with my other bijouterie for Timothy,
but in my hurry, when I left London, I had
allowed to remain upon my finger. The
gaol was a square building, with two un-
glazed windows secured with thick iron bars,
and the rain having beat in, it was more like
a pound for cattle, for it was not even paved,
and the ground was three or four inches deep
in mud. There was no seat in it, and there
I was the whole of the night walking up and
down, shivering in my wet clothes, in a state
of mind almost bordering upon insanity.
Reflect upon what was likely to happen I
could not. I only ran over the past. I re-
membered what I had been, and felt cruelly
the situation Ithen was in. Had I deserved
it? Ithoughtnot. ‘‘Oh! father—father!”
exclaimed I, bitterly, ‘‘ see to what your son
is brought—handcuffed as a felon! God
have mercy on my brain, for I feel that it is
wandering. Father, father—alas, I have
none !—had you left me at the asylum, with-
out any clue, or hopes of a clue, to my here-
after being reclaimed, it would have been a
kindness ; I should then have been happy
and contented in some obscure situation ;
but you raised hopes only to prostrate them
—and imaginings which have led to my
destruction. Sacred is the duty of a parent,
and heavy must be the account of those who
desert their children, and are required by
Heaven to render up an account of the im-
portant trust. Couldst thou, oh, father, but
now behold thy son! God Almighty!
but I will not curse you father! No,
no ’ and-I burst into ‘tears, as I leant
against the damp walls of the prison.

The day at last broke, and the sun rose,
and poured his beaming rays through the
barred windows. I looked at myself, and
was shocked at my appearance ; my smock-
frock was covered with black mud, my
clothes were equally disfigured. J had lost
my hat when in the water, and I felt the dry
mud cracking on my cheeks, I put my

 

 

 

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
    
    
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 

113

hands up to my head, and J pulled a quantity
of duck-weed out of my matted and tangled
hair. I thought of the appearance I should
make when summoned before the magistrates,
and how much it would go against me.
‘“Good God!’ thought I, ‘‘ who, of all the
world of fashion—who, of all those who once
caught my salutation so eagerly—who, of
all those worldly-minded girls, who smiled
upon me but one short twelvemonth since,
would imagine, or believe, that Japhet New-
land could ever have sunk so low—and how
has he so fallen? Alas! because he would
be honest, and had strength of mind enough
to adhere to his resolution. Well, well,
God's will be done; I care not for life; but
still an ignominious death—to go out of the
world like a dog, and that too without find-
ing out who is my father.’” And I put my
fettered hands up and pressed my burning
brow, and remained in a sort of apathetic
sullen mood, until I was startled by the
opening of the door, and the appearance of
the constables. They led me out among the
crowd, through which, with difficulty, they
could force their way ; and followed by the
majority of the population of Hounslow, who
made their complimentary remarks upon the
Jcotpad, | was brought before the magistrates.
The large stout man was then called up to
give his evidence, and deposed as follows :—

‘That he was walking to Hounslow from
Brentford, whither he had been to purchase
some clothes, when he was accosted by two
fellows in smock-frocks, one of whom carried
a bundle in his left hand. They asked him
what o'clock it was; and he took out his
watch to tell them, when he received a blow
from the one with the bundle (this one, sir,
said he, pointing to me) on the back of his
head; at the same time the other (the
wounded man who was now in custody)
snatched his watch. That at the time he
had purchased his clothes at Brentford, he
had also bought a bag of shot, fourteen
pounds’ weight, which he had, for the con-
venience of carrying, tied up with the clothes
in the bundle; and perceiving that he was
about to be robbed, he had swung his bundle
round his head, and with the weight of the
shot, had knocked down the man who had
snatched at his watch. He then turned to
the other (me), who backed from him, and
struck at him with his stick. (The stick was
here produced ; and when I cast my eye on
it, I was horrified to perceive that it was the
very stick which | had bought of the Jew,
for threepence, to carry my bundle on.) He
had closed in with me, and was wresting the
stick out of my hand, when the other man,
who had recovered his legs, again attacked
him with another stick. In the scuffle he
had obtained my stick, and I had wrested
from him his bundle, with which, as soon as
he had knocked down my partner, | ran off.That he beat my partner until he ,was in-
sensible, and then found that I had left my
own bundle, which in the affray [had thrown
on one side.. He then made the best of his
way to Hounslow to give the information.”
—His return and finding me with the other
man is already known to the readers.

The next evidence who came forward was
the Jew, from whom I had bought the clothes
and sold my own. He narrated all that had
occurred, and swore to the clothes in the
bundle left by the footpad, and to the stick
which he had sold to me. The constable
then produced the money found about my
person, and the diamond solitaire ring, stating
my attempt to escape when I was. seized)
‘The magistrate then asked me whether I had
anything to say in my defence, cautioning
me not to commit myself.

I replied that I was innocent; that it was
true that I had sold my own clothes, and had
purchased those of the Jew, as well as the
stick ; that I had been «asked to hold the
horse of a gentleman when sitting on a bench
opposite a public-house, and that some one
had stolen my bundleand my stick. That I had
walked on towards Hounslow, and, in assist-
ing a fellow-creature, whom I certainly had
considered as having been attacked by others,
I had merely yielded to the common feelings
of humanity—that I was seized when per-
forming that duty, and should willingty have
accompanied them to the magistrate’s, had
not they attempted to put on handcuffs, at
which my feelings were roused, and I knocked
the constable down, and made my. attempt to
escape.

“Certainly, a ‘very ingenious defence,”
observed one of the magistrates ; “ pray
-where At this moment the door opened
and in came the very gentleman, the magis-
trate at Bow Street, whose horse I had held.
‘“Good morning, Mr. Norman; you have
just come in time to render us your assist-
ance. We have a very deep hand to deal
with here, or else a very injured person, I
cannot tell which. Do us the favour to look
over these informations, and the defence of
the prisoner, previous to our asking him any
more questions.”

The Bow Street magistrate complied, and
then turned to me, but 1 was so disguised
with mud, that he could not recognize me,

‘““ You are the gentleman, sir, who asked me
to hold your horse,” said I. +E call you to
witness, that that part of my assertion is true.”

‘I do now recollect that you are the per-
son,” replied he, ‘‘and you may recollect the
observation I made, relative to your hands,
when you stated that you were a poor coun-
tryman.”’

‘I do, sir, perfectly,” replied I.

‘‘ Perhaps then you will inform us by what
means a diamond ring, and twenty pounds
in money, came in your possession ?”

 

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

‘“‘ Honestly, sir,” replied I.
‘“ Will you state, as you are a poor country-
man, with whom you worked last—what
parish you belong to—and whom you can
bring forward in proof of good character ?”

‘‘Tjcertainly shall not answer those ques-
tions,” replied I; ‘‘if I chose, I might do
so, and satistactorily.”’

“What is your name?”

“I cannot-answer that question either, sir,”
replied I.

‘“T told you. ‘yesterday that. we
before ; was it not at Bow Street 2”’

‘“‘T.am surprised at your asking a question,
sir, from the bench, to which, if I answered,
the reply might affect me considerably. J
ain here in a false position, and cannot well
help myself... I have no friends that I choose
to call, for I should blush that they should
see mein sich a state, and under such impu-
tations.”

‘Your relations, young man, would cer-
tainly not be backward, Who is your father?”

“‘ My father !’! exclaimed I, raising up my
hands amd eyes. ‘‘My father! © Merciful
God !-~if he could only see.mé here—see to
what he has reduced his unhappy son ;)’)-and
I covered my face and sobbed convulsively.

had met

CHAPTER: Je LX.

By the committing of magisterial Mistakes, I am
personally and penally committed—I prepare for
my Trial by calling in the assistance of the Tailor
and the Perfumer—I' am’ resolved to die like a
Gentleman.

‘' Ip is indeed.a pity, a great pity,’ observed
oneof the magistrates, ‘‘such a fine young
man, and evidently, by his demeanour and
language, well brought up; but I believe,”
said he, turning to the others, ‘‘ we have but
one course ; what say you, Mr. Norman 2”

‘“‘T am afraid that my opinion coincides
with yours, and that the grand jury will not
hesitate to find a bill, as the case stands at
present. Let us, however, ask the witness
Armstrong one question: .Do you positively
swear, to this young man being one of the
persons who attacked you ?”’

“It was not very light at the time, sir, and
both the men had their faces Smtutied , but
it was a person just his size, and dressed in
the same way, as near as I can recollect.” -- YOU
identity ?”’

‘No, sir; but to the best of my know-
ledge and belief, he is the man.”’

“Take that evidence down as important,”
said Mr. Norman ; ‘‘it will assist him at*his
trial.”

The evidence was taken down,
my commitment to the county gaol was made
out. Iwas placed in a cart, between two
constables, and driven off. On my arrival I
was put into a cell, and my money returned
to me, but the ring was detained, that it
might be advertised. At last I was freed
from the manacles; and when the prison
dress was brought to me to put on, in lieu of
my own clothes, I requested leaye from the
gaoler to wash myself, which was granted ;
and, strange to say, so unaccustomed had I
been to such a state of filth, that I felt a
degree of happiness as I returned from the
pump in the prison-yard, and [ put on the
prison dress almost with pleasure ; for, de-
grading as it was, at all events it was new
and clean. I then returned to my cell, and
was left to my meditations.

Now that my examination and committal
were oyer, I became much more composed,
and was able to reflect coolly. I perceivec
the great danger of my situation—how strong
the evidence was against me—and how little
chance I had of escape. As for sending to
Lord Windermear, Mr. Masterton, or those
who formerly were acquainted with me, my
pride forbade it—I would sooner have
perished on the scaffold. 3esides, their
evidence as to my former situation in life,
although it would, perhaps, satisfactorily
account for my possession of the money and
the ring, and for my disposing of my port-
manteau—all strong presumptive evidence
against me—would not destroy the evidence
brought forward as to the robbery, which
appeared to be so very conclusive to the
beneh of magistrates.. My only chance
appeared to be in the footpad, who had not
escaped, acknowledging that I was not his
accomplice; and I felt how much I was
interested in his recovery, as well as in his
candour. ‘The assizes I knew were near at
hand, and I anxiously awaited the return of
the gaoler, to make a few inquiries. At night
he looked through the small square cut out
of the top of the door of the cell, for it was
his duty to go his rounds and ascertain if al
his prisoners were safe. I then asked him if
IT might be allowed to make a few purchases,
such as pens, ink, and paper, &c. As I was
not committed to prison in punishment, but
on suspicion, this was not denied, although
it would have been to those who were con-
demned to imprisonment and hard labour for
their offences ; and he volunteered to procure
them forme the next morning. I then wished
him, a. good night, and threw myself on my

cannot, therefore, swear to his

and then

at

oe

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
   
   
  
   
  
  
   
      
    
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

115

mattress. Worn out with fatigue and dis-
tress of mind, I slept soundly, without dream-
ing, until daylight the next morning. As I
awoke, and my scattered senses were return-
ing, I had a confused idea that there was
something which weighed heavily on my
mind, which sleep had banished from my
memory. ‘‘ What is it?” thought 1; andas
I opened my eyes, so did I remember that I,
Japhet Newland, who but two nights before
was pressing the down of luxury in the same
habitation as Lady de Clare and her lovely
child, was now on a mattress in the cell of a
prison, under a charge which threatened me
with an ignominious death. I rose, and sat
on the bed, for I had not thrown off my

clothes. My first thoughts were directed to
Timothy. Should I write to him? No, no!
why should I make him miserable? If I was

to suffer, it should be under an assumed
name. But what name? Here I was inter-
rupted by the gaoler, who opened the door,
and desired me to roll up my mattress and
bed-clothes, that they might, as was the
custom, be taken out of the cell during the
day.

My first inquiry was, if the man who had
been so much hurt was in the gaol.

‘“You mean your ‘complicé,” replied the

gaoler. ‘‘ Yes, he-is here, and has recovered
his senses. The doctor says he will do very
well.”

‘“F{as he made any confession ?” inquired I.
The gaoler made no reply.
“7 ask that question,’’ continued I, ‘‘ be-

‘Very likely,” replied the man _ sarcas-
tically. ''‘‘ The fact is, there is no occasion
for king’s evidence in this ‘case, or you
might get off by crossing the water ; so you
must trust to your luck. The grand jury
meet to-day, and JI will let you know
whether a true bill is found against you or
HOt.

‘What is the name of the other man?”
inquired I.

‘Well, you are a good ‘un to put a face
upon a matter, I will say. You would
almost persuade me, with that innocent look
of yours, that you know nothing about the
business.”

' Nordo I, replied) F.

‘Vou will be fortunate if you can prove
as much—that’s all.”

‘« Still, you have not answered my ques-
tion: what is the other man’s name?”’

““Well,” replied the gaoler, laughing,
‘“since you are determined J] shall tell you,
IT will. It must be news to you, with a
vengeance. _ His name is Bill Ogle, alzas
Swamping Bill. I suppose you never heard
that name before ?”’

‘7 certainly never did,” replied I.

‘‘Perhaps you do not know your ownYAPHE T,

name? - Yet 1 -can’ tell it you, for Bill Ogle
has blown upon you, so far.’

“Indeed,” replied I, ‘and what name
has he given to me?”

‘Why, to do him justice, it wasn’t until
he saw a copy of the depositions before the
magistrates, and heard how you were nabbed
in trying to help him off, that he did tell
it; and then he said, ‘ Well, Phil Maddox
always was a true ‘un; and I’m mortal
sorry that he’s in for't by looking a'ter me.’
Now, do you know your own name ?”’

“I certainly do not,” replied I.

‘“ Well, did you ever hear of one who went
by the name of Phil Maddox?”

“Tl mever,did,; replied I. ‘“and-] am glad
that Ogle has disclosed so much.”

‘Well, I never before met with a man who
didn't know his own name, or had the face
to say so, and expect to be believed; but
never mind—you are right to be cautious,
with the halter looking you in the face.”

‘“O God !—O God !"’ exclaimed I, throw-
ing myself on the beadstead, and covering
up my face, ‘‘ give me strength to bear even
that, if so it must be.”

The gaolor looked at me for a time. ‘‘I
don't know what to make of him: he puzzles
me quite, certainly. Yet it’s no mistake.”

“It is a mistake,’ replied I, rising ; ‘‘ but
whether the mistake will be found out until
too late, is another point. However, it is of
little consequence. What have I to live for
—unless to find out who is my father?”

‘“Find out your father !—what's in the
wind now? Well, it beats my comprehen-
sion altogether. But did not you say you
wished me to get you something ?”’

ges, replied 1; and I gave him some
money, with directions to purchase me im-
plements for writing, some scented wax, a
tooth-brush and tooth- -powder, eaude cologne,
hair-brush and comb, razors, small looking-
glass, and various implements for my toilet.

““This is a rum world,” said the man,
repeating what I asked for, as I put two
guineas in his hand. ‘‘ I’ve purch: ised many
an article for a prisoner, but never heard of
such rattletraps afore ; however, that be all
the same. You will have them, though What
ho de column is I can't tell, nor dang me if I
shall recollect ; not poison, be it, for that is
not allowed in a PHSOD io

“‘ No, no,” replied I, indulging in momen-
tary mirth at fhe idea ; ‘you may inquire,
and you will find th at it is only taken by
ladies who are troubled with the yapours.’'

‘Now, I should ha’ thought that you'd
have spent your money in the cookshop,
which is so much more natural. However,
we all have our fancies+’’ so saying, he
quitted the cell, and locked the door.

 

IN SHARCH OA KALTER.

  

CHAPTER] [x;

I am condemned to be Kung by the Neck until I
am dead, and to go out ‘of the World without
finding out who is my Father—Afterwards my
Innocence is made manifest, and I am turned
adrift a Maniac in the high-road.

IT may appear strange to the reader that I
sent for the above-mentioned articles ; but
habit is second nature ; and although, two
days before, when I set out on my pilgrimage,
I had resolved to discard these superfluities,
yet now in my distress I felt as if they would
comfort me. That evening, after rectifying
a few mistakes on the part of the good-
tempered gaoler, by writing down what JT
wanted on the paper which he had procured
me, I obtained all that I required.

The next morning he informed me that
the grand jury had found a true bill against
me, and that on the Saturday next the
assizes would be held. He also brought
me the list of trials; and I found that mine
would be one of the last, and would not
probably come on unil Monday or Tuesday.
I requested him to send for a good tailor,
as I wished to be dressed in a proper manner
previous to appearing in court. As a prisoner
is allowed to go into court in his own clothes
instead of the gaol dress, this was consented
to; and when the man came I was very par-
ticular in my directions—so much so, that it
surprised him. «He also procured me the
other articles I required to complete my dress,
and on Saturday night I had them all ready ;
for I was resolved that I would at least die
as a gentleman.

Sunday passed cay as it ought to
have passed, certainly. I attended prayers,
but my thoughts were elsewhere—how, in-
deed, could it be otherwise? Who can con-
trol his thoughts? He may attempt so to
do ; but the attempt is all that can be made.
He cannot command them. I heard nothing
—my mind was.in a state of gyration, whirl-
ing round from one thing to the other, until
I was giddy from intensity of feeling.

On Monday morning the gaoler came, and
asked me whether I would hav e legal advice.
I replied in the negative. ‘‘You will be
dante about twelve o'clock, I hear,” con-
tinued he; ‘‘it is now ten, and there is only
one more trial before yours, about the stealing
of four geese and half a dozen fow TS

‘“Good God!” thought I, ‘‘and am I
mixed up with such deeds as these?” I
dressed myself with the utmost care and
Brecon and aah was more successful.

My clothes were black, and fitted well. About
one o'clock I was summoned by the gaoler,
and led between him and another to the
court-house, and placed in the dock. At
first my eyes swam, and I could distinguishnothing, but gradually I recovered. I looked
round, for I had called up my courage. My
eyes wandered from the judge to the row of
legal gentlemen below him ; and from them
to the well-dressed ladies who sat in the gal-
lery above ; behind me I did not look. I
had seen enough, and my cheeks burnt with
shame. At last I looked at my fellow-cul-
prit, who stood beside me, and his eyes at
the same time met mine. He was dressed
in the gaol clothes, of pepper-and-salt coarse
cloth. He was a rough, vulgar, brutal-look-
ing man, but his eye was brilliant, his com-
plexion was dark, and his face was covered
with whiskers. ‘‘Good heavens!" thought’
T, ‘‘who will ever imagine or credit that we
have been associates ?”’

The man stared at me, bit his lip, and
smiled with contempt, but made no further
remark. The indictment having been read,
the clerk of the court cried out, ‘‘ You, Ben-
jamin Ogle, having heard the charge, say,
guilty, or not guilty ?”’

‘‘Not guilty,” replied the man, to my as-
tonishment.
oS VOU.

guilty ?”’

I did not answer

‘Prisoner,’ observed the judge ina mild
voice, ‘‘you must answer, ‘‘ guilty or not
guilty. It is merely a form.”

“My Lord,” replied, I, ‘‘my name is not
Philip Maddox.”

“That is the name given in the indictment
by the evidence of your fellow-prisoner, ’ ob-
served the judge ; ‘‘ your real name we can-
not pretend to know. It is sufficient that you
answer to the question of whether you, the
prisoner, are guilty or not guilty.”

“Not guilty, my lord, most certainly,” re-
plied I, placing my hand to my heart and
bowing to him.

The trial proceeded. © Armstrong was the
principal evidence. ‘To my person he would
not swear. The Jew proved my selling my
clothes, purchasing those found in the bundle,
and the stick, of which Armstrong possessed
himself. The clothes I had on at the time of
my capture were produced in court. As for
Ogle, his case was decisive. We were then
called upon for our defence. Ogle’s was very
short. ‘‘He had been accustomed to fits
all his life—was walking to Hounslow, and
had fallen down in a fit. It must have
been somebody else who had committed the
robbery and had made off, and he had been
picked up ina mistake.” ‘This defence ap-
peared to make no other impression than
ridicule, and indignation at the barefaced
assertion. 1 was then called on for mine.

“ My lord,” said I, ‘‘ I have no defence to
make, except that which I asserted before the
magistrates, that I was performing an act of
charitv towards a fellow-creature, and was,
through that, supposed to be an accomplice.

Philip Maddox, guilty or not

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

Arraigned before so many upon a charge, at
the bare accusation of which my blood re-
volts, I cannot and will not allow those who
might prove what my life has been, and the
circumstances which induced me to take up
the disguise in which I was taken, to appear
in my behalf. I am unfortunate, but not
guilty. One only-chance appears to be open
to me, which is, in the candour of the party
who now stands by me. If he will say to the
court that he ever saw me before, I will sub-
mit without murmur to my sentence.”

‘“T’m sorry that you've put that question,
my boy,” replied the man, ‘‘ for I have seen
you before ;” and the wretch chuckled with
repressed laughter.

I was so astonished, so thunderstruck with
this assertion, that I held down my head, and
made no reply. The judge then summed up
the evidence to the jury, pointing out to them
that of Ogle’s guilt there could be no doubt,
and of mine, he was sorry to say, but little.
Still they must bear in mind that the witness
Armstrong could not swear to my person.
The jury, without leaving the box, consulted
together a short time, and brought in a
verdict of guilty against Benjamin Ogle and
Philip Maddox. I heard no more—the judge
sentenced us both to execution; he lamented
that so young and prepossessing a person as
myself should be about to suffer for such an
offence. He pointed out the necessity of con-
dign punishment, and gave us no hopes of
pardon or clemency. But I heard him not—
I did not fall, but I was in a state of stupor.
At last, he wound up his sentence by praying
us to prepare ourselves for the awful change,
by an appeal to that heavenly Father-—
‘Father !” exclaimed I, in a voice which
electrified the court, ‘‘ did you say my father?
O God! where is he?” and I fell down ina
fit. The handkerchiefs of the ladies were
applied to their faces, the whole court were
moved, for I had, by my appearance, excited
considerable interest, and the judge, with a
faltering, subdued voice, desired that the
prisoners might be removed.

‘‘Stop one minute, my good fellow,” said
Ogle, to the gaoler, while others were taking
me out of court. ‘‘ My lord, I’ve something
rather important to say. Why I did not say
it before, you shall hear. You are a judge,
to condemn the guilty, and release the inno-
cent. Weare told that there is no trial like
an English jury, but this I say, that many a
man is hung for what he never has been
guilty of. You have condemned that poor
young man to death. I could have prevented
it if | had chosen to speak before, but I would
not, that I might prove how little there is of
justice. He had nothing to do with the
robbery—Phill Maddox was the man, and he
is not Philip Maddox. He said that he never
saw me before, nor do I believe that he ever
did. As sure as I shall hang, he is innocent,”118

“Tt was. but now, that when appealed to
by, him, you stated that you had seen him
before.”’

‘‘So I did, and I told the truth—I. had
seen him before’: I saw him go to hold the
gentleman's horse, but he did not see me. . I
stole his bundle and his stick, which he left
on the bench, and that’s how they were found
in our possession. Now you have the truth,
and you may either acknowledge that there
is little justice, by eating your own words,
and letting him free, or you may hang him,
rather than acknowledge that you are wrong.
At all events, his blood will now be on your
hands, and not mine. If Phill Maddox had
not turned tail, like a coward, I should not
have been here; so I tell the truth to save
him who was doing me a kind act, and to let
him swing who left me in the lurch.”

The judge desired that this statement
might be taken down, that further mquiry
might be made, intimating to the jury that I
should be respited for the present ; but of all
this I was ignorant. As there was no placing
confidence in the assertions of such a man as
Ogle, it was considered necessary that he
should repeat his assertions at the last hour
of ‘his existence, and’ the gaoler was ordered
not to state what had passed to me, as he
might excite false hopes.

When I recovered from my fit, I found
myself in the gaoler's parlour, and as soon as
I was able to walk, I was locked up ina
condemned cell.. The execution had. been
ordered to take place on the Thursday, and
I had two days to prepare. In the mean
time, the greatest interest had been excited
with regard to me. My whole appearance
so evidently belied the charge, that every one
was in my favour. Ogle was requestioned,
and immediately gave a clue for the appre-
hension of Maddox, who, he said, he hoped
would swing by his side.

The gaoler came to me the. next day, say-
ing, that some of the magistrates wished to
speak with me; but as I had made up my
mind not to reveal my former life, my only
reply was, ‘‘ That I begged they would allow
me to have my last moments to myselt.ct 27
recollected Melchior’s idea of destiny, and
imagined that he was right. ‘It was my
destiny,” thought I, and I remained ina state
of stupor. The fact was, that I was very, ill,
my head was heavy, my brain was on fire, and
the throbbing of my heart could have been
perceived without touching my breast.

I remained on the mattress all day, and all
the next night, with my face buried in the

 

clothes! I was too ill to raise my head. On
Wednesday morning I felt myself gently

pushed on the shoulder by some one. [|
opened my eyes: it was a clergyman. I
turned away my head, and remained as be-
fore. I was then in a violent. fever. He
spoke for some time : occasionally I heard a

SALHETLT, IN SEARCH OF A. PATHE R:

word, and then relapsed into a state of men-
tal imbecility. He sighed, and went away.

Thursday came, and the hour of death—
but time was by me unheeded, as well as
eternity. In the mean time Maddox had
been taken, and the contents of Armstrong’s
bundle found in his possession; and when he
discovered that Ogle had been evidence
against him, he confessed to the robbery.

Whether it was on Thursday or Friday I
knew. not then, but I was lifted off the bed,
and taken before somebody — something
passed, but the fever had mounted up to my
head, and I was in a state of stupid delirium.
Strange to say, they did not perceive my con-
dition, but ascribed it all to abject fear of
death. I was led away—I had made no
answer—but I was free.

CHAPTER LXI.

When at the lowest spoke of Fortune’s Wheel, one
IS sure to rise as it turns round—I recover my
Senses, and find myself amongst //r2ezds,

I THINK some people shook me by the hand
and others shouted as I walked in the open
air, but I recollect no more. I afterwards
was informed. that I had been reprieved, that
I had been sent for, anda long exhortation
delivered to me, for it was considered that
my life must have been one of Error; or |
should have applied to my friends, and have
given my name. My not answering was
attributed to shame and confusion—my glassy
eye had not been noticed—my tottering step
when led in by the gaolers attributed to
other causes; and. the Magistrates. shook
their heads as I was led out of their presence.
The gaoler had asked me several times where
I intended to go. At last, I had told him, Zo
seek my father, aud darting away from him,
I had run like a madman down the street.
Of course, he had no longer any power over
me; but he muttered as I fled from him,
‘I've a notion he'll soon be locked up
again, poor fellow ! it’s turned his brain, for
certain.”’

As I. tottered along, my unsteady step
naturally attracted the attention of the passers
by:; -but they, attributed. it to intoxication.
Thus was I allowed to wander away ina
state of madness, and before night I was far
from the town. . What passed, and whitherI bad bent my-steps, I cannot tell. All I
know is, that after running like a maniac,
seizing everybody by the arm that I met,
staring at them with wild and flashing eyes ;
and sometimes in a solemn voice, at others,
in a loud, threatening tone startling them
with the interrogatory, ‘‘Are you my father?”
and then darting away, or sobbing like a
child, as the humour took me, I had crossed
the country; and three days afterwards I was
picked up at the door of a house in the town
of Reading, exhausted with fatigue and ex-
posure, and nearly dead. When I recovered,
I found myself in bed, my head shaved, my
arm bound up, after repeated bleedings, and
a female figure sitting by me.

‘*God in heaven ! where am I?” exclaimed
I, faintly.

‘““Thou hast called often upon thy earthly
father during the time of thy illness, friend, ’’ re-
pliedasoft voice. ‘‘Itrejoiced me much tohear
thee call upon thy Father which is in heaven.
Be comforted : thou art in the hands of those
who will be mindful of thee. Offer up thy
thanks in one short prayer for thy return to
reason, and then sink again into repose, for
thou must need it much.”

I opened my eyes wide, and perceived that
a young person in a Quaker’s dress was sit-
ting by the bed working with her needle ; an
open Bible was on a little table before her: I
perceived also a cup, and, parched with
thirst, I merely said, ‘‘Give me to drink.”
She arose, and put a teaspoon to my lips;
but I raised my hand, took the cup from her,
and emptied it. O how delightful was that
draught! I sank down on my pillow, for
even that slight exertion had overpowered
me, and muttering, ‘‘God, I thank thee!’
I was immediately in a sound sleep, from
which I did not awake for many hours. When
I did, it was not daylight. A lamp was on
the table, and an old man in a Quaker's dress
was snoring very comfortably in the arm-
chair. I felt quite refreshed with my long
sleep, and was now able to recall what had
passed. I remembered the condemned cell
and the mattress upon which I lay, but all
after was in a state of confusion. Here
and there a fact or supposition was strong in
my memory; but the intervals between were
total blanks. 1 was, at all events, free—that
I felt convinced of, and that I was in the
hands of the sect who denominate themselves
Quakers : but where was I? and how did I
come here? Iremained thinking on the
past, and wondering, until the day broke,
and with the daylight roused up my watchful
attendant. He yawned, stretched his arms,
and rising from the chair, came to the side of
my bed. I looked him in the face. ‘‘ Hast
thou slept well, friend ? _ saic. le.

‘‘T have slept.as much as I wish, and would
not disturb you,’ replied I, ‘‘for I wanted
nothing.”

 

TAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

I1Q

Peradventure I did sleep,” replied the
man; ‘‘ watching long agreeth not with the
flesh, although the spirit is most willing.
Kequirest thou anything ?””

“Yes,” replied I, ‘‘ 1 wish to know where
Tam?”

‘Verily, thou art in the town of Reading,
in Berkshire, and in the house.of Pheneas
Cophagus.”’

‘“Cophagus!’"’ exclaimed I; ‘Mr.
phagus, the surgeon and apothecary ?”

‘“Pheneas Cophagus is his name : he hath
been admitted into our sect, and hath married
a daughter of our persuasion. He hath
attended thee in thy fever and thy frenzy,
without calling in the aid of the physician,
therefore do I belieye that he must be the
man of whom thou speakest ; yet doth he not
follow, up. the healing art for the lucre of
gain,

‘‘And the young person who was at my
bedside, is she his wife ?””’

‘““ Nay, friend, she is half-sister to the wifé
of Pheneas Cophagus by a second marriage,
and a maiden, who was named Susannah
Temple at the baptismal font ; but I will go
to Pheneas Cophagus and acquaint him of
your waking, for such were his directions,”

The man then quitted the room, leaying
me quite astonished with the information he
had imparted. Cophagus turned quaker!
and attending me in the town of Reading.
In a short time Mr. Cophagus himseif entered
in his dressmg-gown. ‘‘ Japhet,’’ said he,
seizing my hand with eagerness, and then, as
if recollecting, he checked himself, and com-
menced in aslow tone. ‘‘ Japhet Newland—
truly glad am I—hum—verily do I rejoice—
you, Ephraim—get out of the room—and so
on

Co-

”

‘Yea, I will depart, since it is thy bidding,
replied the man, quitting the room.

Mr. Cophagus then greeted me in his usual
way—told me that he had found me insensible
at the door of a house a little: way off, and
had immediately recognized me. He had
brought me to his own home, but without
much hope of myrecovery. Hethen begged
to know by what strange chance I had been
found in such a desolate condition. I replied,
‘that although I was able to listen, I did not
feel myself equal to the exertion of telling so
long a story, and that I should infinitely
prefer that he should narrate to me what had
passed since we had parted at Dublin, and
how it was that I now found that he had
joined the sect of Quakers.”

‘‘ Peradventure—long word’ that — um—
queer people—very good—and so on,’ com-
menced Mr. Cophagus; but as the reader
will not understand his phraseology quite so
well as, I did, I shall give Mr. Cophagus's
history in my own version.

Mr. Cophagus had returned to the small
town at which he resided, and, on his arrival,YA PHET.

he had been called upon by a gentleman who
was of the Society of Friends, requesting that
he would prescribe for a niece of his, who
was on avisit at his house, and had been
taken dangerously ill. Cophagus, with his
usual kindness of heart, immediately con-
sented, and found that Mr. Temple's report
was true. For six weeks he attended the
young Quakeress, and recovered her from an
imminent and painful disease, in which she
showed such fortitude and resignation, and
such unconquerable good temper, that when
Mr. Cophagus returned to his bachelor's
establishment, he could not help reflecting
upon what an invaluable wife she would
make, and how much more cheerful his
house would be with such a domestic partner.

In short, Mr. Cophagus fell in love, and,
like all elderly gentlemen who have so long
bottled up their affections, he became most
desperately enamoured ; and if he loved Miss
Judith Temple when he witnessed her patience
and resignation under suffering, how much
more did he love her when he found that she
was playful, merry, and cheerful, without
being boisterous, when restored to her health.
Mr. Cophagus'’s attentions could not be mis-
understood. He told her uncle that he had
thought seriously of wedding-cake—white
favours—marriage—family—and so on; and
to the young lady he had put his cane up to
his nose and prescribed, ‘‘A dose of matri-
mony—to be taken immediately.” To Mr.
Cophagus there was no objection raised by
the lady, who was not in her teens, or by the
uncle, who had always respected him as a
worthy man, and a good Christian; but to
marry one who was not of her persuasion was
not to be thought of. Her friends would not
consent to it. Mr. Cophagus was therefore
dismissed, with a full assurance that the only
objection which offered was that he was not
of their society.

Mr, Cophagus walked home discomforted.
He sat down on his easy-chair, and found it
exceedingly uneasy—he sat down to his soli-
tary meal, and found that his own company
was unbearable—he went to bed, but found
that it was impossible to go to sleep. The
next morning, therefore, Mr. Cophagus re-
turned to Mr. Temple, and stated his wish
to be made acquainted with the difference
between the tenets of the Quaker persuasion
and those of the Established Church. Mr.
Temple gave him an outline, which appeared
to Mr. Cophagus to be very satisfactory, and
then referred him to his niece for fuller par-
ticulars. When a man enters into an argu-
“ment with a full desire to be convinced, and
with his future happiness, perhaps, depend-
ing upon that conviction ; and when, further,
those arguments are brought forward by one
of the prettiest voices, and backed by the
sweetest of smiles, it is not to be wondered at
his soon becoming a proselyte. Thus it was

   
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  

IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

with Mr. Cophagus, who in a week dis-
covered that the peace, humility, and good-
will, upon which the Quaker tenets are
founded, were much more congenial to the
true spirit of the Christian revelation than the
Athanasian Creed, to be sung or said in our
Established Churches ; and with this convic-
tion, Mr. Cophagus requested admission into
the fraternity; and shortly after his admis-
sion, it was thought advisable by the Friends
that his faith should be confirmed and
strengthened by his espousal of Miss Judith
Temple, with whom, at her request—and he
could refuse her nothing—he had repaired to
the town of Reading, in which her relations
all resided ; and Pheneas Cophagus, of the
Society of Friends, declared himself to be as
happy as a man could be, ‘‘Good people,
Japhet—um—honest people, Japhet—don't
fight—little stiff—spirit moves—and so on,”
said Mr. Cophagus, as he concluded his
narrative, and then shaking me by the hand,
retired to shave and dress.

CHAPTER LIL

I fall in love with Religion, when preached by one
who has the form of an Angel.

IN half an hour afterwards Ephraim came in
with a draught which I was desired to take
by Mr. Cophagus, and then to try and sleep.
This was good advice, and I followed it. 1
awoke after a long refreshing sleep, and
found Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus sitting in the
room, she at work and he occupied witha
book. When I opened my eyes, and per-
ceived a female, I looked to ascertain if it
was the young person whom Ephraim had
stated to be Susannah Temple; not that I
recollected her features exactly, but I did the
contour of her person. Mrs. Cophagus was
taller, and“I had a fair scrutiny of her before
they perceived that I was awake. Her face
was very pleasing, features small and regular.
She appeared to be about thirty years of age,
and was studiously neat and clean in her
person. Her Quaker’s dress was not without
some little departure from the strict fashion
and form, sufficient to assist, without de-
viating from, its simplicity. If I might use
the term, it was a little coquettish, and
evinced that the wearer, had she not belonged
to that sect, would have shown great taste in
the adornment of her person.

Mr. Cophagus, although he did not thinkso himself, as I afterwards found out, was
certainly much improved by his change of
costume. His spindle shanks, which, as I
have before observed, were pecuharly at
variance with his little orbicular, orange-
shaped stomach, were now concealed in loose
trousers, which took off from the protu-
berance of the latter, and added dignity to
the former, blending the two together, so
that his roundness became fine by degrees,
and beautifully less as it descended. Alto-
gether, the Quaker dress added very much
to the substantiability of his appearance,
and was a manifest improvement, especially
when he wore his broad-brimmed hat.
Having satisfied my curiosity, | moved the
curtain so as to attract their attention, and
Cophagus came to my bedside, and felt my
pulse. ‘‘Good—very good—all right—little
broth—throw in bark—on his legs—well as
ever—and so on.”

‘‘T am indeed much better this afternoon,”

replied I; ‘‘ indeed, so well, that I feel as if
I could get up.”’
‘* Pooh !—tumble down—never do—he

 

abed—get strong—wife—Mrs. Cophagus—
Japhet—old friend.”

Mrs. Cophagus had risen from her chair,
and come towards the bed, when her husband
introduced her in his own fashion. ‘‘Iam
afraid that I have been a great trouble,
madam,” said I.

‘‘Japhet Newland, we have done but our
duty, even if thou wert not, as it appears
that thou art, a friend of my husband. Con-
sider me, therefore, as thy sister, and I will
regard thee as a brother ; and if thou wouldst
wish it, thou shalt sojourn with us, for so
hath my husband communicated his wishes
unto me.”

I thanked her for her kind expressions,
and took the fair hand which was offered in
such amity. Cophagus then asked me if I
was well enough to inform him of what had
passed since our last meeting, and telling me
that his wife knew my whole history, and
that I might speak before her, he took his
seat by the side of the bed, his wife also drew
her chair nearer, and I commenced the
narrative of what had passed since we parted
in Ireland. When I had finished, Mr.
Cophagus commenced as usual, ‘‘ Um—very
odd—lose money—bad—grow honest—good
—run away from friends—bad—not hung—
good—brain fever—bad—come_ here—good
—stay with us—quite comfortable—and so
on.

‘Thou hast suffered much, friend Japhet,”
said Mrs. Cophagus, wiping her eyes : ‘‘and
I would almost venture to say, hast been
chastised too severely, were it not that those
whom He loveth He chastiseth. Still thou
art saved, and now out of danger ; perad-
venture thou wilt now quit a vain world, and
be content to live with us; nay, as thou hast

JAPHET, IN SEARCH.OFR A FATHER:

 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

IZ]

the example of thy former master, it may
perhaps please the Lord to advise thee to
become one of us, and to join us as a
Friend. My husband was persuaded to
the right. path by me,” continued she,
looking fondly at him; ‘‘who knoweth but
some of our maidens may also persuade thee
to eschew a vain, unrighteous world, and
follow thy Redeemer in humility?”

_ ‘Very true—um—very true,” observed
Cophagus, putting more Quakerism than
usual in his style, and drawing out his ums
to treble their usual length: ‘‘ happy life—
Japhet—um —all at peace—quiet amuse-
ments —think about it—um—no hurry —
never swear—by-and-bye, heh !—spirit may
move—um—not now—talk about it—get well
—set up shop—and so on.”

I was tired with talking so much, and
having taken some nourishment, again fell
asleep. When I awoke in the evening, friend
Cophagus and his wife were not in the room ;
but Susannah Temple, whom I had first
seen, and of whom I had made inquiry of
Ephraim, who was Cophagus’s servant. She
was sitting close to the light and reading,
and long did I continue to gaze upon
her, feraful of interrupting her. She was
the most beautiful specimen of clear and
transparent white that I ever had beheld
—her complexion was unrivalled — her
eyes were large, but I could not aseertain
their colour, as they were cast down upon her
book, and hid by her long fringed eyelashes
—her eyebrows arehed and regular, as if
drawn by a pair of compasses, and their soft
hair in beautiful contrast with her snowy
forehead —her hair was auburn, but mostly
concealed within her cap—her nose was very
straight but not very large, and her mouth
was perfection. She appeared to be between
seventeen and eighteen years old, as far as I
could ascertain : her figure was symmetrically
perfect. Dressed as she was in the modest,
simple garb worn by the females of the
Society of Friends, she gave an idea of neat-
ness, cleanliness, and propriety upon which
I could have gazed for ever. She was,
indeed, most beautiful. I felt her beauty,
her purity, and I could have worshipped her
asanangel. While I still had my eyes fixed
upon her exquisite features, she closed her
book, and rising from her chair, came to the
side of the bed. That she might not be
startled at the idea of my having been
watching her, I closed my eyes, and pre-
tended to slumber. She resumed her seat,
and then I changed my position and spoke.
‘‘Ts any one there?”

‘“Ves, friend Newland, what is it that thou
requirest ?”’ said she, advancing. ‘‘ Wouldst
thou see Cophagus or Ephraim? I will
summon them.”

“Ono,” replied 1; ‘‘ why shoud I disturb
them from their amusements or employ-[22

ments? I have slept a long while, and I
would like to read a little, I think, if my eyes
are not too weak,”

“Thou must not read, but I may read
unto thee,’’ replied Susannah. ‘‘Tell me,
what is it that thou wouldst have me read?
I have no vain books; but surely thou
thinkest not of them, after thy escape from
death.”

“T care not what is read, provided that
you read to me,’ replied I.

‘“ Nay, but thou shouldest care; and be
not wrothif I say to thee, that there is but
one book to which thou shouldest now listen.
Thou hast been saved from deadly peril—
thou hast been rescued from the jaws of
death. Art thou not -thankful? And to
whom is gratitude most due, but to thy hea-
venly Father, who hath been pleased to spare
thee?’

‘« You are right,’ replied 1; ‘‘then I pray
you to read to me from the Bible.”

Susannah made no reply, but resumed her
seat; and selecting those chapters most ap-
propriate to my situation, read them in a
beautiful and impressive tone.

CHAPTER» LXITL

Pride and Love at issue—The latter is victorious—
I turn Quaker, and recommence my old Profes-
sion.

IF the reader will recall my narrative to
his recollection, he must observe, that reli-
gion had had hitherto but little of my
thoughts. I had lived the life of most who
live in this world; perhaps not quite so cor-
rect in morals as many people, for my code of
morality was suited to, circumstances; as to
religion, I had none. I had lived in the
world, and for the world. .I had certainly
been well instructed in the tenets of our faith
when I was at the Asylum, but there, as in
most other schools, itis made irksome, as a
task, and is looked upon with almost a feel-
ing of aversion. No, proper religious senti-
ments are, or can be, inculcated to a large
number of scholars; itis the parent alone who
can instil, by precept and example, that true
sense of religion, which may serve as a guide
through life. I had not read the Bible from
the time that I quitted the Foundling Hospital.
It was new tome, and when I now heard, read
by that beautiful, creature, passages equally
beautiful, and so applicable to my situation,
weakened by disease, and humbled in adver-
sity, I was moved, even unto tears.
Susannah closed the book and came to the

GAPHET, INSEARCH OF A PATHER.

  
  

bedside. T thanked her: she perceived my
emotion, and when I held out my hand she
did not refuse hers. I kissed it, and it was
immediately withdrawn, and she left the
room, Shortly afterwards Ephraim made
his appearance. Cophagus and his wife also
came that evening, but I saw no more of
Susannah Temple until the following day,
when I again requested her to read to me.

I will not detain the reader by an account
of my recovery. In three weeks I was able
to leave the room; during that time, [ had
become very intimate with the whole family,
and was treated as if I belonged to it. Dur-
ing my illness I had certainly shown more
sense of religion than I had ever done before,
but I do not mean to say that I was really
religious. I liked to hear the Bible read by
Susannah, and [| liked to talk with her upon
religious subjects ; but-had Susannah been an
ugly old woman, I very much doubt if I
should have been so attentive. It was her
extreme beauty—her modesty and fervour,
which so became her, which enchanted me.
I felt the beauty ofreligion, but it was through
an earthly object; it was beautiful in her.
She looked an angel, and I listened to her
precepts as delivered by one. Still, whatever
may be the cause by which a person's atten-
tion can be directed to so important a sub-
ject, so generally neglected, whether by fear
of death, or by love towards an earthly ob-
ject, the advantages are the same; and
although very far from what I ought to have
been, I certainly was, through my admiration
of her, a better man.

As soon as I was on the sofa wrapped up
in one of the dressing-gowns of Mr. Copha-
gus, he told me that the clothes in which I
had been picked up were all in tatters, and
asked me wether I would like to have others
made according to the usual fashion, or like
those with whom I should, he trusted, in
future reside. I had atready debated this
matter in. my mind. Return to the world I
had resolved not to do; to follow up the object
of my search appeared to me only to involve
me in difficulties; and what were the inten-
tions of Cophagus with regard to me, I knew
not. I was hesitating, for I knew not what
answer to give, when I perceived the pensive,
deep-blue eye of Susannah fixed upon me,
watching attentively, if not eagerly, for my
response.

It decided the point. ‘‘If,” replied I, ‘you
do not think that I should disgrace you, I
should wish to wear the dress of the Sociéty
of Friends, although not yet one of your body.”
_ ‘‘ But soon to be, I trust,” replied Mrs.’
Cophagus.

‘Alas!’ replied I, ‘‘Iam an outcast ;” and
I looked at Susannah Temple.

‘“Not so, Japhet Newland,” replied she,
mildly: “‘I am pleased that thou hast of
thy own atcord rejected vain attire, I trustthat thou wilt not find that thou art without
friends.”

“While I am with you,’ replied I, ‘ad+
dressing myself to them all, ‘‘I consider it
my duty to conform to your manners in every
way, but by-and-by, when I resume my
search se :

‘“And ‘why shouldest thou resume a
search which must prove unavailing, and
but leads thee into error and misfortune? I
am but young, Japhet Newland, and not,
perhaps, ‘so able to advise, yet doth ‘it appear
to me, that the search can only be availing
when made by those who left thee. When
they wish for you they will seek thee, but thy
seeking them is vain and fruitless.” ‘

““But,” replied I, ‘recollect that inquiries
have already been made at the Foundling,
and those who inquired have been sent away
disappointed—they will inquire no more.”

“‘ And is a parent's love so trifling, that one
disappointment will drive him from seeking
of his child ?. No, no, Japhet ; if thou art
yearned for, thou wilt be found, and fresh
inquiries will be made; but thy search is
unavailing, and already hast thou lost much
time,” ieee,

“True, Susannah, thy advice is good,’
replied Mrs. Cophagus; ‘‘in following a
shadow Japhet hath much neglected the

 

 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 123

ruling passion. Such were my first impulses,
and then I looked upon the other side of the
picture. Iwas without the means necessary
to support myself ; I could not return to high
life without 1 discovered my parents, in the
first place ; and in the second, found them to
besuch as my warmimagination had depicted.
I had no chance of finding them. I had
already been long seeking in vain. I had
been twice taken up to Bow Street ; nearly
lost my life in Ireland ; had been sentenced to
death ; had been insane, and recovered by a
miracle—and all in prosecuting this useless
search. All this had much contributed to
cure me of the monomania. I agreed with
Susannah that the search must be made by
the other parties, and not by me. I recalled
the treatment I had received from the world
—the contempt with which I had been treated
—the heartlessness of high life, and the little
chance of my ever again being admitted into
fashionable society.

I placed all this in juxtaposition with the
kindness: of those with whom I now resided
—what they had done already for me, and
what they now offered, which was to make
me independent by my ‘own exertions: I
weighed all in my mind—was still undecided,
for my pride still carried its weight—when |
thought of the pure, beautiful Susannah

 

substance ; it is time that thou shouldest*’[emple, and—my decision was made. J

settle thyself, and earn thy livelihood.”
“And do thy duty in that path of life to

which it hath pleased God to call thee,” con- :

tinued Susannah, who with Mrs. Cophagus
walked out of the room.

' Cophagus then took up the conversation,
and pointing out the uselessiess of my
roving about, and the propriety of my
settling in life, proposed that I should take
an fapothecary’s shop, for which he would
furnish the means, and that he could insure
me the custom of the whole Society of
Friends in Reading, which was very large, ‘as
there was not one of the sect in that line of
business. ‘‘ Become one of us, ' Japhet—
good business—marry by-and-by—happy life
—little children—and so on.” I thought of
Susannah, and was silent. Cophagus then
said, I had better reflect upon his offer, and
make up my determination, If that did not
suit me, he would still give me all the
assistance in his power.

I did reflect long before I could make up
my mind. I was still worldly inclined ; still
my fancy would revel in the idea of finding
out my father in high life, and, as once more
appearing as a Star of fashion, of returning
with interest’ the contumely I had lately
received, and re-assuming as a right that
position in society which I had held under
false colours.

I could not bear the idea ‘of sinking at
once into a tradesman, and probably ending
my days in obscurity. Pride was still my

would not lose the substance by running
after shadows.

That evening, with many thanks, I ac-
cepted the kind offers of Mr. Cophagus, and
expressed my determination of entering into
the Society of Friends.

‘©Thou hast chosen’ wisely,” said Mrs.
Cophagus, extending her hand tome, ‘ and
it is with pleasure that we shall receive thee.”’

‘“T welcome thee, Japhet Newland,” said
Susannah, also offering {her hand; ‘‘and I
trust that thou wilt find more happiness
among those with whom thou art about to
sojourn, thanin the world of vanity and deceit,
in which thou hast hitherto played thy part.
No longer seek an earthly father, who hath
deserted thee, but a heavenly Father, who
will not desert thee in thy afflictions.”

‘“You shall direct me into the right path,
Susannah,” replied I.

‘“T am too young to be a guide, Japhet,’
replied she, smiling; ‘‘ but not too young, |
hope, to be a friend.”

The next day my clothes came home, and
Tput them on. I looked at myself in the
glass, and was anything but pleased ; but as,
my head was shaved, it was of little con-
sequence what J wore ; so I consoled myself.
Mr. Cophagus sent for a barber, and ordered
mea wig, which was’ to be ready in a few
days : when it was ready I put it on, and
altogether did not dislike my appearance. 1
flattered myself that if I was a Quaker, at al
events I wasa very good-looking and a very124

smart one; and when, a day or two after-
wards, a re-union of friends took place at
Mr. Cophagus’s house to introduce me to
them, I perceived, with much satisfaction,
that there was no young man who could
compete with me. After this, I was much
more reconciled to my transformation,

CHAPTER UXTV:

I proses r in every way, and become reconciled to
my Situation,

Mr. COPHAGUS was not idle. In a few
weeks he had rented a shop for me, and
furnished it much better than his own in
Smithfield. The upper part of the house
was let off, as I was to reside with the family.
When it was ready, I went over it with him,
and was satisfied. All I wished for was
‘Timothy as an assistant ; but that wish was
unavailing, as I knew not where to find him.

‘That evening I observed to Mr. Cophagus
that I did not much like putting my name
over theshop. ‘The fact was, that my pride
forbade it, and I could not bear the idea that
Japhet Newland, at whose knock every aris-
tocratic door had flown open, should appear
in gold letters above a shop-window. ‘‘‘There
are many reasons against it,’ observed I:
= One is, that it 1s not my real) name. (1
should like to take the name of Cophagus ;
another is, that the Rae being so well known,
may attract those who formerly knew me,
and I should not wish that they should come
in and mock me ; another is

‘* Japhet Newland,” interrupted Susannah,
with more severity than I ever had seen in
her sweet countenance, ‘‘ do not trouble thy-
self with giving thy reasons, seeing thou hast
given every reason but the right one, which
is, that thy pride revolts at it.”

““T was about to observe,’ replied I, ‘‘ that
it was a name that sounded of mammon, and
not fitting for one of our persuasion. But,
Susannah, you have accused me of pride,
and I will now raise no further objections.
Japhet Newland it shall be, and let us speak
no more upon the subject.’

“Tf I have wronged thee, Japhet, much
do I crave thy hei eness, ” replied Susannah.
“But it is God alone who knoweth the secrets
of our hearts. I was presumptuous, and you
must pardon me.’

“Susannah, it is I who ought to plead for
pardon ; you know me better than I know
myself. It was pride, and nothing but pride;
but you have cured me.’

“Truly have I hopes of thee now, Japhet,”

 

¥APHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
    
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
    

 

replied Susannah, smiling. ‘‘Those who
confess their faults will soon amend them; yet
I do think there is some reason in thy obser-
vation ; for who knoweth but, meeting with
thy former associates, thou mayest not be
tempted into falling away? ‘Thou mayest
spell thy name as thou listest; and perad-
venture it would be better to disguise it.”’

So agreed Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus, and
I therefore had it written Gzowland ; and
having engaged a person of the society,
strongly recommended to me, as an assistant,
I took up possession of my shop, and was
very soon busy in making up prescriptions
and dispensing my medicines in all quarters
of the good town of Reading.

And I was happy. I had enjoyment during
the day ; my profession was, at all events,
liberal, I was dressed and lived as a gentle-
man, or rather, I should say, respectably. 1!
was earning my own livelihood. I was a
useful member of society; and when I re-
tired home to meals, and late at night, I
found that if Cophagus and his wife had
retired, Susannah Temple always waited up,
and remained with me afew minutes. I had
never been in love until [ had fallen in with
this perfect creature; but my love for her
was not the love of the world ; I could not
so depreciate her—I loved her as a superior
being—lI loved her with fear and trembling.
I felt that she was too pure, too holy, too
good for a vain worldly creature like myself.
I felt as if my destiny depended upon her
and her fiat; that if she favoured me, my
happiness in this world and in the next were
secured ; that if she rejected me, I was cast
away for ever. Such was my feeling for
Susannah Temple, who, perfect as she was,
was stilla woman, and perceived her power
over me; but unlike the many of her sex,
exerted that power only to lead to what was
right. Insensibly almost my pride was
quelled, and I became humble and religiously
inclined. Even the peculiarities of the sect,
their meeting at their places of worship, their
drawling, and their quaint manner of talking,
became no longer a subject of dislike. I found
out causes and good reasons for everything
which before appeared strange—sermons in
Stones, and gogd in everything. Months
passed away—my business prospered—I had
nearly repaid the money advanced by Mr.
Cophagus. I was in heart and soul a Quaker,
and I entered into the fraternity with a feeling
that I could act up to what I had promised.
I was happy, quite happy, and yet I had
never received from Susannah Temple any
further than the proofs of sineere friendship.
But I had much of her society, and we were
now very, very intimate. I found out what
warm, what devoted feelings were concealed
under her modest, quiet’ exterior—how well
her mind was stored, and how right was that
mind,Often when I talked over past events,
did I listen to her remarks, all tending to
one point, morality and virtue; often did I
receive from her at first a severe, but latterly
a kind rebuke, when my discourse was light
and frivolous ; but when I talked of merry
subjects which were inmocent, what could be
more joyous or more exhilarating than her
laugh—what .more intoxicating than her
sweet smile, when she approved of my senti-
ments ! and when animated by the subject,
what could be more musical or more im-
passioned than her burst of eloquence, which
were invariably followed by a deep blush,
when she recollected how she had been carried
away by excitement.

There was one point upon which I con-
gratulated myself, which was, that she had
received two or three unexceptionable offers
of marriage during the six months that I had
been in her company, and refused them. At
the end of that period, thanks to the assist-
ance I received from the Friends, I had paid
Mr. Cophagus all the money which he had
advanced, and found myself in possession of
a flourishing -business, and independent. I
then requested that I might be allowed to
pay an annual stipend for my board and
lodging, commencing from the time I first
came to his house. Mr. Cophagus said I
was right—the terms were easily arranged,
and I was independent. d

Still my advances with Susannah were
slow, but if slow, they were sure. One day
I observed to her how happy Mr. Cophagus
appeared to be as a married man ; her reply
was, ‘‘ He is, Japhet: he has worked hard
for his independence, and he is now reaping
the fruits of his industry.” That is as much
as’ to say that I must do the same, thought I,
and that I have no business to propose for
a wife until I am certain that I am able to
provide for, her. I have as yet laid up
nothing, and an income is not a capital. I
felt that, whether a party interested or not,
she was right, and I redoubled my diligence.

CEA PAVERS EEX Vv.

A Variety of the Quaker Tribe—Who had a curious
disintegration of Mind and Body.

I WAS not yet weaned from the world, but I
was fast advancing to that state, when a
very smart young Quaker came on a visit to
Reading. He was introduced to Mr. and
Mrs. Cophagus, and was soon, as might be
expected, an admirer of Susannah, but he
received noencouragement. He was an idle

  
    
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
    
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

‘(FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. : 125

person, and passed much -of his time sitting
in my shop, and talking with me, and being
much less reserved and unguarded thanthe
generality of the young men of the sect, I
gradually became intimate with him. One
day, when my assistant was out, he said to
me, ‘‘ Friend Gnowland, tell me candidly,
hast thou ever seen my face before ?”’

‘* Not that I can recollect, friend Talbot.”

‘“Then my recollection is better than yours,
and now having obtained thy friendship, as
one of the society, I will remind thee of our
former acquaintance, When thou wert Mr.
N-e-w-land, walking about town with Major
Carbonnell, I was Lieutenant Talbot, of
the —— Dragoon Guards.”

I was dumb with astonishment, and I
stared him in the face.

‘*Yes,’’ continued he, bursting into laugh-
ter, ‘such is the fact. You have thought,
perhaps, that you were the only ian of
fashion who had ever been transformed into
a Quaker ; now you behold another, so no
longer imagine yourself the Phoenix of your
taibe:~

‘“T do certainly recollect that name,’’ re-
plied I; ‘‘but although, as you must be ac-
quainted with my history, it is very easy to
conceive why I have joined the society, yet
upon what grounds you can have so done is
to me inexplicable.”

~ “Newland, it certainly does require ex-
planation: it has been, I assert, my mis-
fortune, and not my fault. Not that I am
not happy. On the contrary, I fee! that Iam
now in my proper situation. I ought to have
been born of Quaker parents—at all events,
I was born a Quaker in disposition ; but I
will come to-morrow early, and then, if you
will give your man something to do out of
the way, I will tell you my history.. I know
that you will keep my secret.”

The next morning he came; and as soon as
we were alone he imparted to me what fol-
lows.

‘‘T recollect well, Newland,* when you
were one of the leaders of fashion, I was then
in the Dragoon Guards, and although not
very intimate with you, had the honour of a
recognition when we met at parties. I can-
not help laughing, upon my soul, when IJ look
at us both now ; but never mind. I was of
course a great deal with my regiment, and
at the club. My father, as you may not per-
haps be aware, was highly connected, and
all the family have been brought up in the
army ; the question of profession has never
been mooted by us; and every Talbot has

-turned out a soldier as naturally as a young

duck takes to the water. Well, I entered
the army, admired my uniform, and was ad-
mired by the young ladies. Before I re-
ceived my lieutenant’s commission, my father,

‘the old gentleman, died, and left mé a

younger brother's fortune, of four’ hundred126

per annum ; but, as my uncle said, ‘It was
quite enough for a Talbot, who would push
himself forward in his profession, as the
Talbots had ever done before him.’ I soon
found out that my income was not sufficient
to enable me to continue in the Guards, and
my uncle was very anxious that I should ex-
change into a regiment on service. I there-
fore, by purchase, obtained a company in
the 23rd, ordered out to reduce the French
colonies in the West Indies; and I. sailed
with all the expectation of covering myself
with as much glory as the Talbots had done
from time immemorial. We landed, and in
a short time the bullets and grape were fly-
ing in all directions, and then I discovered,
what I declare never fora moment came into
my head before, to wit—that I had mistaken
my profession.”
.‘* How do you mean, Talbot ?”

““Mean ! why, that, I was deficient in,a
certain qualification, which never was before
denied to a Talbot—courage.”’

‘“And you never knew that before?’

‘“Never, upon my honour ; my mind was
always full of courage... In my mind's eye I
built castles of feats of bravery which should
eclipse all the Talbots, from him who burnt
Joan of Arc down to, the present day. I as-
sure you, that, surprised as, other people
were, no one was more surprised than my-
self. Our regiment was.ordered to advance,
and I led on my company; the bullets flew
like hail. I tried to go on, but I,could not ;
at last, notwithstanding all my endeavours to
the contrary, I fairly took tomy heels. I
was met by the commanding officer—in fact,
I ran right against him: He, ordered me
back, and I, returned. to. my regiment, not
feeling at all afraid. Again. I, was in the
fire, again I resisted, the impulse, but it was
of no use; andat last, just before the assault
took place, I ran away as if the devil was
after me. Wasn't it odd?”

‘‘ Very odd indeed,” replied I, laughing.

“Yes, bit you do not exactly understand
why it was odd. You know what philosophers
tell you about volition; and that the body is
governed by the mind, consequently obeys it;
now, you see, in my case, it was exactly re-
versed. I tell you, that it is a fact, that in
mind [ am as brave as any man in existence;
but I had a cowardly carcass, and what is still
worse, it proved the master of my mind, and
ran way withit. I had no mind to run away;
on the contrary, I wished to have been of the
forlorn hope, and had volunteered, but was
refused. Surely if I had not courage I should
have avoided such a post of danger.. Is it
noiser | -

‘It certainly appears strange, that you
should volunteer. for the forlorn hope, and
then runaway.”

‘“‘ That's just what I say.,, Ihave the soul
ofsthe ‘Talbots, but a_body which don't belong

   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
    
  
 
  
  
  
  

JAPHET; IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

‘to the family, and too powerful “for the
-soul.”’

‘So it appears. Well, go on.”

““It was go off, instead of going on. I
tried again that day to mount the breach, and
as. the fire was over, I succeeded ; but there
was a mark against me, and it was intimated
that I should have an opportunity of re-
deeming my character.”’

SN Welln

‘There was a fort to be stormed the next
day, and I requested to lead my company in
advance. Surely that was no proof of want
of courage? Permission was granted. We

-were warmly received, and I felt that my legs

refused to advance; so.what did I do—I
tied my sash round my thigh, and telling the
men that I was, wounded, requested they
would carry,me to the attack: Surely that
was courage? :

‘““Most undoubtedly ‘so, * It was like a
Talbot.”

‘““We were at the foot of the breach ; when
the shot flew about me, I kicked and wrestled
so, that the two men who carried me were
obliged to let me go, and my rascally body
was at liberty. I say unfortunately, for only
conceive, if they had carried me wounded up
the breach, what an heroic act it would have
been considered on my part ; but fate decided
it otherwise. If I had lain still when they
dropped me, I should have done well, but I
was anxious to get up the breach, that is, my
mind was so bent; but as soon as I got on
my legs, confound them if they didn’t run
away with me, and then I was found half a
mule from the fort with a pretended wound.
That. was. enough; I had a hint that the
sooner I went home the better. On account
of the family I was permitted to sell out, and
then I walked the streets as a private gentle-
man, but no one, would speak to me. I
argued the point with several, but they were
obstinate, and would not be convinced ; they

‘ said that it was no use talking about being

brave, if Iran away..’

‘“They were not philosophers, Talbot.”

‘‘No; they could not comprehend how the
mind and the body could be at variance. It
was no use arguing—they would have it that
the movements of the body depended upon
the mind, and that I had made a mistake—
and that I was a coward in soul as well as
body.”

‘Well, what did you do?”

‘‘Oh, I did nothing ! I had a great mind to
knock them down, but as I knew my body
would not assist me, I thought it better to
leave it alone. However, they taunted me
so, by, calling me fighting Tom, that my
uncle shut his door upon me.as a disgrace to
the family, saying, he wished the first bullet
had laid me dead—very kind of him ;—at last
nly patience was worn out, and I looked about
to find whether there were not some peoplewho-did' not consider courage as a sine gud
won. 1 found that the Quakers’ tenets were
against fighting, and therefore courage could
not be necessary, so I have joined them, and
I find that, if not a good soldier, I am, at all
events, a very respectable Quaker; and now
you have the whole of my story—and tell me
if you are of my opinion.”

‘Why, really it's a very difficult point ‘to
decide. I never heard such a case of dis-
integration before. | I must think upon it.”

‘Of course you will not say a word about
it, Newland.”

‘““ Never. fear, I will keep your secret,
Talbot. How long have you worn the
dress?”

‘‘Oh, more than a year. By the bye, what
a nice young person that Susannah Temple
i I've a great mind to propose for her.”
“But you must first ascertain what your
body says to it, Talbot,” replied I, sternly.
‘“T allow no one to interfere with me, Quaker
or not.”

‘““My dear fellow, E bes your pardon, I
shall think no more about her,” said Talbot,
rising up, as he observed that I looked very
fierce> ‘“E wish you a good morning. [|
leave Reading to-morrow. I will call on you,
and say good-bye, if I can;” and I saw no
more of friend ‘Talbot, whose mind was all
courage, but whose body was so renegade.

IS.

Ci A Bol BR Joey

I fall in with Timothy.

a Ssailor,.
ballads,

ABOUT a month after this, I heard
with one leg, and a’ handful of

singing in a most lachrymal tone,—
““Why, what’s that to you, if my eyes I’m a
wiping ? Loe
A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see, in its way—

Bless your honour, shy a copper to Poor
Jack, who's lost his leg in the sarvice.
Thanky, your honour,” and he continued,

““ Tt’s nonsense for trifles, I own, to be piping,
But they who can’t pitv,— why I pities they.
Says the captain, says he, I shall never forget it,
Of courage, you know, boys, the true from the
sham.
Back your maintop-sail, your worship, for
half a minute, and just assist a poor dis-
mantled craft, who has been riddled in the
wars.—‘’Tis a furious lion.’ Long life, to
your honour—‘ In battle so let it—’

“*°Tis a furious lion—In battle so let it ;
But duty appeased—But duty appeased ——

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  

127

Buy a song, young woman, to sing to your
sweetheart, while you sit on his knee in the
dog-watch—

“* But duty appeased—’ Tis the heart of a lamb.”

I believe there are few people who do not
take a strong interest in the English: sailor,
particularly in one who has been niaimed in
the defence of his country. I always have ;
and as I heard the poor disabled fellow
bawling out his ditty, certainly not with a
very remarkable voice or execution, I pulled
out the drawer behind the counter, and took
out some halfpence to give him. When I
caught his eye I beckoned to him, and he
entered the shop. ‘‘Here, my good fellow,”
said I, ‘‘although a man of peace myself,
yet I feel for those who suffer in the wars,”
and I put the money to him.

‘“ May your honour never know a banyan
day,” replied the sailor ; ‘‘ and asickly season
for you, into the bargain.”’

‘“ Nay, friend, that is not a kind wish to
others,’ replied I.

The sailor fixed his eyes earnestly upon
me, as if in astonishment, for, until I had
answered, he had not looked at me parti-
cularly.

‘What are you looking at?” said I.

‘‘Good heavens !”’ exclaimed he.
—yet it cannot be!”

‘Cannot be! what, friend:?”’

He ran out of the door, and read the name
over the shop, and then came in, and sank
upon a chair outside of the counter. ‘‘ Japhet
—TI have found you at last !” exclaimed he,
faintly.

‘Good heaven ! who are you?”

He threw off his hat, with false ringlets
fastened to the inside of it, and I beheld
Lemothy. In a moment I sprang ovér the
counter, and was in his arms. ‘‘Is it pos-
sible,’” exclaimed I, after a short silence on
both sides, ‘that I find you a disabled
sailor?”

‘“Is it possible, Japhet,’ replied Timothy,
‘that I find you a broad-brimmed Quaker?”

‘Even so, Timothy. I am really and truly
one.’

“Then you are less disguised than I am,”
replied Timothy, kicking off his wooden leg,
and letting down his own, which had been
tied up to his thigh, and concealed in his
wide blue trousers. ‘‘I am no more a sailor
than you are, Japhet, and since you leftme
have never yet seen the salt water, which I
talk and sing so much about.”

“Then thou hast been deceiving, Timoihy,
which I regret much.”

““Now [I do perceive that you are a
Quaker,” replied Tim; ‘‘but do not blame
me until you have heard my story. Thank
God, I have found you at last. But tell me,
Japhet, you will not send me away—will you?
If your dress is changed, your heart is not.

RET BSOO

Te

Pray answer ine, before I say anything more.
You know I can be useful here.’

‘““Indeed, Timothy, I have often wished
for you since I have been here, and it will be
your own fault if I part with you. You shall
assist me in the shop; but you must dress
like me.”

‘Dress like you! have I not always dressed
like you ? When we started from Cophagus’s,
were we not dressed much alike? did we not
wear spangled jackets together? did I not
wear your livery, and belong to you? I'll put
on anything, Japhet—but we must not part
again.

‘My dear Timothy, I trust we shall not ;
but I expect my assistant here soon, and do
not wish that he should see you in that garb.
Go to a small public-house at the farther end
of this street, and when you see me pass,

come out to me, and we will walk out into
the country, and consult together.”

‘‘T have put up at a small house not far
off, and have some clothes there ; I will alter
my dress and meet you. God bless you,
Japhet.”

Timothy then picked up his ballads, which
were scattered on the floor, put up his leg,
and putting on his wooden stump, hastened
away, after once more silently pressing my
hand.

In half an hour my assistant returned, and
I desired him to remain in the shop, as I was
going out on business. I then walked to the
appointed rendezvous, and was soon joined
by Tim, who had discarded his sailor's dis-
guise, and was in what is called a shabby
genteel sort of dress. After the first renewed
greeting, I requested Tim to let me know
what had occurred to him since our separa-
tion.

‘“You cannot imagine, Japhet, what my
feelings were when I found, by your note,
that you had left me. I had perceived how
unhappy you had been for a long while, and
I was equally distressed, although I knew not
the causey, 1 aes no idea until 1 got your
letter, that you had lost all your money; and
I felt it more unkind of you to leave me then,
than if you had been comfortable and inde-
pendent. As for looking after you, that I
knew would be useless ; and I immediately
went to Mr. Masterton, to take his advice as
to how I should proceed. Mr. Masterton had
received your letter, and appeared to be very
much annoyed. ‘ Very foolish boy,’ said he ;
‘but there is nothing that can be done now.
He is mad, and that is all that can be said in
his excuse. You must do as he tells you, I
suppose, and try the best for yourself. I will
help you in any way that I can, my poor
fellow,’ said he, ‘so don't cry.’ I went back
to the house and collected together your
papers, which I sealed up. I knew that the
house was to be given up ina few days. |
sold the furniture, and made the best I could

JALLIGLS LIN SEARCTL OF

   
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
     
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
    
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
   

A PATA ER.

of the remainder of your wardrobe, and other
things of value that you had left ; indeed,
everything, with the exception of the dress-
ing-case and pistols, which had belonged to
Ma jor Carbonnell, and I thought you might
per haps some day like to have them.’

‘How very kind of you, Timothy to think
of me in that way! I shall indeed be glad ;
but no—what have I to do with pistols or
silver dressing-cases now? I must not have
them, but still I thank you all the same.”

‘The furniture and everything else fetched
£430, after all expenses were paid.”

‘‘T-am glad of it, ‘Timothy, for your sake :
but I am sorry, judging by your present
plight, that it appears to have done you but
little good.”’

“Because I did not make use of it, Japhet.
What could I do with all that money? I
took it to Mr. Masterton, with all your
papers, and the dressing-case and pistols :
he has it now ready for you when you ask
for it. He was very kind to me, and offered
to do Spy IRE for me ; but I resolved to go
in search of you. I had more money in my
pocket when you went away than I generally
have, and with the surplus of what you left
for the bills, I had twelve or fourteen pounds.
So I wished Mr. Masterton good-bye, and
have ever since been on my ‘adventures in
search of my master.”

‘‘ Not master, Timothy, say rather of your
friend.”

‘Well, of both if you please, Japhet ; and
very pretty adventures I have had, I assure
you, and some hairbreadth escapes.”

‘‘T think, when we compare notes, mine
will be found most eventful, Timothy; but
we can talk of them, and compare notes
another time. At present, whom do you
think I am residing with?”

“A Quaker, I presume.”

‘‘You have guessed right so far ;
do you think that Quaker is?”

“There Im at fault. >

‘Mr. Cophagus.”

At this intelligence Timothy gave a leap
in the air, turned round on his heels, and
tumbled on the grass in a fit of immoderate
laughter.

= Opn cried heat last.
‘““Oh! I long to see him. Snuffle, snuffle
—broad brims—wide skirts—and so on.
Capital !”

‘It is very true, Timothy, but you must
not mock at the persuasion.”

‘“T did not intend it, Japhet, but there is
something to me so ridiculous in the idea
3ut,’’ continued Timothy, ‘‘is it not still
Stranger, that, after having separated so
many years, we should all meet again—and
that I should and Mr. Cophagus—an epee:
cary's shop
Ean hope to be e—carrying them siscas as
I did before? Well, I will row in the same

but whoboat, and I will be a Quaker as well as you
both.”

“Well, we will now return, and I will take
you to Mr. Cophagus, who will, I am sure,
be glad to see you.”

‘‘ First, Japhet, let me have some Quaker’s
clothes—I should prefer it.”’

‘* You shall have a suit of mine, Timothy,
since you wish it ; but recollect it is not at all
necessary, nor indeed will it be permitted that
you enter into the sect without preparatory
examination as to your fitness for admission.”

I then went to the shop, and sending out
the assistant, walked home and took out
a worn suit of clothes, with which I hastened
to Timothy. He put them on in the shop,
and then walking behind the counter said,
‘This is my place, and here I shall remain
as long as you do.”

‘“‘I hope so, Timothy : as for the one who
is with me at present, I can easily procure
him other employment ; and he will not be
sorry to go, for he is a married man, and
does not like the confinement.”

“I have some money,’ said Timothy,
taking out of his old clothes a dirty rag, and
producing nearly twenty pounds. ‘‘I am
well off, you see.”

‘‘ You are, indeed,” replied I.

“Yes, there is nothing like being a sailor
with one leg, singing ballads. Do youknow,
Japhet, that sometimes I have taken more
than a found a day since I have shammed
the sailor ?”’

‘‘ Not very honestly, Tim.’

‘‘Perhaps not, Japhet, but it is very strange,
and yet very true, that when honest I could
make nothing, and when I deceived, I have
done very well.”

,

CHAPTER LXVII.

Timothy commences his Narrative of his Search
after Japhet.

I COULD not help calling to mind that the
same consequences as Timothy had related in
the last chapter had occurred to me during
my eventful career; but I had long con-
sidered that there was no excuse for dis-
honesty, and that, in the end, it would only
lead to exposure and disgrace. I went home
early in the evening to introduce Timothy to
Mr. Cophagus, who received him with great
kindness, and agreed immediately that he
ought to be with me inthe shop. Timothy
paid his respects to the ladies, and then went
down with Ephraim, who took him under
his protection. Ina few days he was as es-
tablished with us asif he had been living with

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF ‘A FATHER.

 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
    
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

129

us for months. I had some trouble, at first,
in checking his vivacity and turn for ridicule ;
but that was gradually effected, and I found
him not only a great acquisition, but, as he
always was, a cheerful and affectionate com-
panion. I had, during the first days of our
meeting, recounted my adventures, and made
many inquiries of Timothy relative to my
few friends. He told me that from Mr. Mas-
terton he had learnt that Lady de Clare and
Fleta had called upon him very much afflicted
with the contents of my letter—that Lord
Windermear also had been very much vexed
and annoyed—that Mr. Masterton had ad-
vised him to obtain another situation as a
valet, which he had refused, and, at the same
time, told him his intention of searching for
me. He had promised Mr. Masterton to let
him know if he found me, and. then bade
him farewell.

‘““I used to lie in bed, Japhet,” continued
Timothy, ‘‘and think upon the best method
of proceeding. At last, I agreed to myself,
that to look for you as you looked after your
father would be a wild-goose chase, and that
my money would soon be gone; so I
reflected whether I might not take up some
roving trade which would support me, and,
at the same time, enable me to proced from
place to place. What do you think was my
first speculation? Why, I sawa man with a
dog harnessed in a little cart, crying dog’s-
meat and cat's-meat, and I said to myself,
‘ Now there's the very thing—there’s a pro-
fession—I can travel and earn my livelihood.’
I entered into conversation with him, as he
stopped at a low public-house, treating him
to a pot of beer; and having gained all I
wanted as to the mysteries of the profession,
I called for another pot, and proposed that
I should purchase his whole concern, down.
to his knife and apron. ‘The fellow agreed,
and after a good deal of bargaining, I paid
him three guineas for the set out or set uJ,
which you please. He asked me whether I
meant to hawk in London or not, and I told
him no, that Ishould travelthe country. He
advised the western road, as there were more
populous towns in it. Well, we had another
pot to clench the bargain, and I paid down
the money and took possession, quite deligh-
ted with my new occupation. Away I went
to Brentford, selling a bit here and there by
the way, and at last arrived at the very bench
where we had sat down together and eaten
our meal.”

‘Tt is strange that I did the same, anda
very unlucky bench it proved to me.”

‘So it did to me, as you shall hear. I had
taken up my quarters at that inn, and for
three days had done very well in Brentford.
On the third evening I had just come back,
it was nearly dusk, and I took my seat on
the bench, thinking of you, My dog, rather
tired, was lying down before the cart, when

F130

all of a sudden I heard a sharp whistle. ‘The
dog sprang on his legs immediately, and ran
off several yards before I could prevent him.
The whistle was repeated, and away went the
dog and cart like lightning. I ran‘as fast as
I could, but could not overtake him ;'and T
perceived that his old master was running
ahead of the dog as hard as he ‘could, and
this was the reason why the dog was’ off.
Stull I should, ? think, have overtaken him
but for an old woman ‘coming out’ of a door
with a saucepan to pour the’ hot water into
the gutter. Iknocked her down and tumbled
right over her into a cellar without steps.
There I was; and'before I could climb out
again, man, dog, cart, cat’s-meat; and dog's
meat, had all vanished, and I have never séén
them since. The ‘rascal got clear off, and T
was a bankrupt. So much for my first set up
in business,”’

“You forgot ‘to. putchase the good will
when you made ‘your bargain, Timothy, for
the stock-in-trade.”’

““Very true, Japhet. However, aftér receiv-
ing a very fair share’ of abuse from’ the old
woman, and a plaster of hot greens in my
face—for she wetit supperless to bed, rather
than not have her revenge-—I walked back
to the inn, and sat down in the tap. ' The two
men next to mé Were hawkers + ‘dhe carried 4
large pack of dimities and calicoes, and’the
other a box full of combs, needles, tapes,
scissors, knives, and mock-gold trinkéts. 1
entered into conversation with them, and, As
I again stood treat, I soon was very intimate.
They told’ me What their profits Were, and
how they contrived to geton,; and I thourht,
for a rambling life it Was by no ‘means an
unpleasant one ; so having obtairied all the
information I tequired, I. went ‘back to town,
took out a hawker's licence; for’ which fT paid
two guineas, and purchasing at a shop; to
which they gave me a ditéctidn, a pretty fair
quantity of articles in the tape and’ ‘Scissor
line, off I set once more on my! travels. T
took the north road this time, and'picked up
a very comfortable ‘subsistence, ‘sélling’ ‘my
goods for a. few halfpence ‘here, and a few
halfpence there, atthe cottages 4s I passed
by ; but I soon fotind ‘out, that without a
newspaper I was not a confirmed’ hawker,
and’ the more radical tke hewspaper the
better. A newspaper will pay half the ex-
penses of a hawker, if he can read. At every
house, particularly every ’ small hedge ale-
house, he is received and placed in’ thé best
corner of the chimney, ‘atid has his board and
lodging, with the excéption of what he dtinks,
gtatis, if he will pull out thé newspaper and
read it to those atound him who Cannot read,
particularly if he can. explain what is unintel-
ligible. Now I bécame a ‘great politician,
and, moreover, a great radical, for ‘such were
the politics of all the lower classes, T lived
well, slept well, and sold my wares very fast.

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF 'A FATHER.

 

I did not take more than three shillings in the
day, yet, as two out of the three were clear
profit, I did pretty well. However, ‘a little
accident happened which: obliged me to
change my profession, or at least the nature
of the articles. which I dealt in.”

‘“ What was that'?

‘“A mere'trifle. I) had ‘arrived: late at a
small alehouse, had put up my pack, which
was in a painted deal box, on the table in the
taproom, and was very busy, after reading a
paragraph in the newspaper, making a fine
speech, which I always found ‘was ‘received
with great applause, and many shakes of the
hand,as a prime good fellow—a speech about
community of rights, agrarian division, and
the propriety of an equal distribution of pro=
perty, proving that, as we were all born alike,
no one had a right to have more property
thah his neighbour. The: people had ail
gathered round me, applauding ‘violently;
when I thought I might as well look after my
pack, which had been for ‘some .titne hidden
from my sight by ‘the ‘crowd, ' when, tomy
mortification, I found out ‘that my‘ earnest
assertions on’ the propriety of community of
property had had such'an influencé upon
some of my listeners, that they walkéd off with
my pack and its contents. » Unfortunately,
f’had ‘deposited in my boxes all my money,
considering it safer there than in my pockets;
and had ‘nothing left ‘but about seventéén
shillings in silver, which I had received
within the last three days. Every ‘6né was
very sorry, but no one knew anything about
it: and when I challenged thé landlord as
answerable, he'caled'mea radical blackeuard;
and turned me out of the door.”

‘Tf you had looked a little more after-your
own property, and interfered less with that
of other people, you would have done better
Tim,” observed I, laughing.

‘‘Very true; but, at all events, I have
never been a radical since,” replied Tim.
‘“But to goon. I walked off to the nearest
town, and I. commenced im a’ more humble
way. I purchased a basket, and then, with
the remainder of my money, I bought the
commonest crockery ware, such .as basins,
jugs, mugs, and putting them on my head, oft
T'went again upon my new speculation. » ]
wandered about ‘with my crockery, but it was
hard work. I) could’ not reap the profits
which Tf ‘did as a‘‘hawker ‘and ‘pedlar. «1
averaged, however, fromm séven to nine shil-
lings a Week, and ‘that was about sufficient
for my Support. I went down into as: many
kitchens as would have sufficed’to have found
a dozen mothers, supposing mine to be 4
cook ; but T did not'see any oné who was ‘at
all like me, Sometimes @ cook replaced'a
basin she had broken, by giving meas Much
meat as had €ost her ‘mistress five shillings,
and thus avoided a scolding, for an article
which was worth only twopence. ’ At other“

times, a cottager would give me a lodging,
and would consider himself rewarded with a
mug that only cost me one penny., I was
more than three months ‘employed carrying
crockery in every direction, and never, during
the whole time, broke one article, until. one
day, as [ passed through Eton; there was a
regular smash of the whole concern.’

“Indeed, how was that ?”’

‘“T met about a dozen of the Eton boys,
and they proposeda cockshy, as they called
it; that is, I was to place my articles on the
top of a post, and they were to throw stones
at them at a certain. distance, paying me a
certain sum for each throw. Well, this I
thought a very good bargain, so I put up a
mug (worth one penny) at one penny a throw.
It was knocked down at the second shot, so
It was just_aS well to put the full price upon
them at once, they were such remarkable
good aimers at anything. Each boy had a
stick, upon which [ notched off their throws,
and how much they would have to pay when
all was over. One article after anotber was
put on the post untilmy basket was empty,
and then I wanted to settle with them, but as
soon as I talked about that, they all burst
out into a loud laugh,-and took to their heels.
I chased them, but one might as well have
chased eels: Tf I got hold of one, the
others pulled me behind until he escaped, and
at last they were all off, and I had nothing
fetes)

“Not your basket ?”’

“No, not even that ; for while I was busy
after some’ that ran one way, the others
kicked my basket before them like a foot-
ball, until it was fairly out of sight. I had
only eightpence in my pocket, so. you per-
ceive, Japhet, how I was going down in the
world.”

““You were indeed, Tim.”

CHAPTER LXVILL
‘Timothy finishes his Narrative.

‘““ WELL, I walked away, cursing all the Eton
boys and all their tutors, who did not teach
them honesty as well as Latin and Greek,
and put up at a very humble sort of abode,
where they sold small beer, and gave beds at

plenty of fleas in the bargain. ‘There I fell in
with some ballad singers and mumpers, who
were making very merry, and who asked me
what was the maiter. I told them how I had
been treated, and they laughed at me, but

gave me some supper, so I forgave them. An_

TAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 131

twopence per night, and I may add, with =

  
     
   
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
   
 

Ja

old man, who governed the party, then asked
me whether I had any. money... I produced
my enormous capital of eightpence. ‘Quite
enough, if you are clever,’,said he; ‘quite
enough—many a man with half that sum has
ended in rolling in his carriage. A man with
thousands has only the advance of you’ a few
years. You will pay: for your lodging, and
then spend this sixpence in matches, and
hawk them about the town. If you are
lucky, it will be a shilling by to-morrow
night. Besides, youigo down into. areas, and
sometimes enter a kitchen when the cook is
above stairs. There are plenty, of things to
be picked up.’, ‘But I. am; not dishonest,’
said I. ‘ Well, then, every man to his liking ;
only. if you were, you would ride in your own
“coach the sooner.’ ‘And suppose I should
lose all this; or none would buy my matches,
what then?’ replied I; ‘I shall starve.’
‘Starve—no, no—no one starves in this
country ; all you have to do is to get into
gaol—committed for a month—you will live
better, perhaps, than you ever did before, I
have been in every gaol in England, and I
know the good ones, for even in gaols there
isa great, difference... Now the one in this
town, is:one of the*best.in all England, and
I patronizes it during. the winter.’ I was
much amused with the discourse of this
mumper, who appeared to be one of the
merriest old yagabonds. in.-England. I took
his advice, bought sixpennyworth of matches,
and commenced my new vagrant speculation.
‘The first day I picked up threepence, for
one quarter of my stock, and! returned to the
same place where I had slept'the night before,
but the fraternity had quitted on an expedi-
tion. I spent my twopence in bread and
cheese, and paid one penny for my lodging,
and again I started the next morning, but Iwas
very, unsuccessful ; nobody appeared to want
matches that, day; and after walking from
seven O'clock in ‘the morning to past seven in
evening, without selling one farthing’s worth,
I sat down at the porch of a chapel, quite
tired and worn out, At last I fell asleep; and
how do you think Iwas,awoke? Byja strong
sense of suffocation, andjup I sprang, cough-
ing, and nearly choked, surrounded with
smoke. Some mischievous boys, perceiving
that I was, fast asleep, had set fire to my
matches, as I held them in my hand between
my legs, and I did not wake until my figers
were severely burnt... There’ was an end of
my speculation; in, matches, because there
was an end of all my capital.’
“ My poor Timothy, I really feel for you.’
“Not.at all, my dear Japhet ; 1 never, in
all my. distress, was sentenced to: execution
— my, miseries were trifles, to be laughed at.
However, [ felt. very miserable af the time,
and walked off, thinking about the propriety
of getting into gaol as soon, as FI could, for
the beggar, had, strongly recommended it.

F

2132

I was at the outskirts of the town, when I
perceived two men tussling with one another,
and f walked towards them. ‘I says,’ says one
who appeared to be a constable, ‘you must
come along with I. Don’t you see that ere
board? All wagrants shall be taken up,
and dealt with according to Za.’ ‘ Now may
the devil hold you in his claws, you old
psalm-singing thief—an't I a sailor—and an’'t
1 a wagrant by profession, and all according
to law? “‘That won't do,’ says the other ;
‘I commands you, in the king’s name, to let
me take you to'prison, and I commands you
also, young man,’ says he—for I had walked
up to them—‘T commands you, as a lawful
subject, to assist me.’ ‘What will you give
the poor fellow for his trouble?’ said the
sailor. ‘It's his duty, as a lawful subject,
and IJ! give him nothing ; but I'll put him
in prison if he ‘don’t.’ ‘Then, you old rhino-
cerous, I'll give him five shillings if he'll help
me, and su now he may take his choice.’
“At all events, thought I, this will turn out
lucky one way or the other; but I will sup-
port the man who is most generous; so I
went up to the constable, who was a burly
sort of a fellow, and tripped up his heels,
and down he came on the back of his head.
-You know my old trick, Japhet?” ?

‘Yes, IT never knew you fail at that.”

““Well,’ the sailor says to me, ‘I’vea
notion you've damaged his upper works, so
let us start off, and clap on all sail for the
next town. I know where to drop an anchor.
Come along with me, and as long as I’ve a
shot in the locker, d—n me if I won't share
it with one who has proved a friend in need.’
‘The constable did not come to his senses ;
he was very much stunned, but we loosened
his neckcloth and left him there, and started
off as fast as we could. My new companion,
who had a wooden leg, stopped by a gate
and clambered over #. ‘We must lose no
time,’ said he ; ‘and I may just as well have
the benefit of both legs.’ So saying, he took
off his wooden stump, and let down his real
leg, which was fixed up just as you saw
mine. I made no comments; but off we
set, and at a good round pace gained a
village about five miles distant. ‘Here we
will put up for the night ; but they will look
for us to-morrow at daylight, or a little after,
‘therefore we must be starting early. I know
the law beggars well; they won't turn out
afore sunrise.’ He stopped at a paltry ale-
-house, where we were admitted, and soon
were busy with a much better supper than I
‘had ever imagined they could have produced ;
‘but my new friend ordered right and left,
‘with a tone of authority, and everybody in
the house appeared at his beck and com-
mand. After a couple of glasses of grog, we
retired to our beds.

‘“The next morning we started before
break of day, on our road to another town,

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

where my companion said the constdbles
would never take the trouble to come after
him. On our way he questioned me as to
my mode of getting my livelihood, and I
narrated how unfortunate I had been. ‘One
good turn deserves another,’ replied the
sailor; ‘and now I'll set you up in trade.
Can you sing? Have you anything of a
voice?’ ‘I can’t say that I have,’ replied I.
“I don’t mean whether you can sing in tune,
or have a good voice, that’s no consequence ;
all I want to know is, have you.a good loud
one?’ ‘Loud enough, if that’s all.” ‘That's
all that's requisite ; so long as you can make
yourself heard—you may then howl like a
jackal, or bellow like a mad buffalo, no
matter which—as many pay us for to get rid
of us, as out of charity ; and so long as the
money comes, what's the odds? Why, I
once knew an old chap, who could only play
one tune on the clarionet, and that tune out
of all tune, who made his fortune in six or
seven streets, for every one gave him money,
and told him to go away. When he found
out that, he came every morning as regular
as clock-work, Now there was one of the
Streets which was chiefly occupied by music-
sellers and Italian singers--for them foreigners
always herd together—and this tune, ‘ which
the old cow died of,’ as the saying is, used
to be their horror, and out came the halfpence
to send him away. ‘There was a sort of club
also in that street, of larking sort of young
men; and when they perceived that the
others gave the old man money to get rid of
his squeaking, they sent him out money,
with orders to stay and play to them: so
then the others sent out more for him to go
away, and between the two, the old fellow
brought home more money than all the
cadgers and mumpers in the district. Now
if you have a loud voice, I can provide you
with all the rest.’.—‘Do you gain your liveli-
hood by that?’—‘To be sure Ido; andI
can tell you, that of all the trades going,
there is none equal to it. You see, my
hearty, I have been on board of a man-of-war
—not that I'm a sailor, or was ever bred to
the sea—but I was shipped as a landsman,
and did duty in the waist and afterguard.
I know little or nothing of my duty as a
seaman, nor was it required in the station I
was in, so I never learnt, although I was four
years on board; all I learnt was the lingo
and slang—and that you must contrive to
learn from me. I bolted, and made my way
good to Lunnon, but I should soon’ have
been picked up and put on board the Tender
again, if I hadn't got this wooden stump
made, which I now carryinmyhand. I had
plenty of songs, and I. commenced my pro-
fession, and a real good un it is, I can tell
you. Why, do you know, that a’ter a good
victory, I have sometimes picked up as much
as two pounds a day, for weeks running ; asFAPHET, IN SEAR

it is, I averages from fifteen shillings to a
pound. Now, as you helped me away from
that land-shark, who would soon have found
out that I had two legs, and have put me
into limbo as an impostor, I will teach you
to arn your livelihood after my fashion. You
shall work with me until you are fit to start
alone, and then there's plenty of room in
England tor both of us ; but mind, never tell
any one what you pick up, or every eee
in the island will put on a suit of sail or's
clothes, and the thing will be blown upon.
Of course, this was too good an offer to be
rejected, and I joyfully acceded. At first,
I worked with him as having only one arm,
the other being tied down to my side, and
my jacket sleeve hanging loose and empty,
and we roared away right and left, so as to
bring down a shower of coppers wherever we
went. In about three weeks my friend
thought I was able to start by myself; and
giving me half of the ballads, and five
shillings to start with, I shook hands and
parted with, next to you, the best friend that
I certainly ever had. Ever since I have been
crossing the country in every direction, with
plenty of money in my pocket, and always
with one eye looking sharp out for you. My
beautiful voice fortunately attracted your
attention, and here I am, and at an end of
my history ; but if ever I am away from you,
and in distress again, depend upon it I shall
take to my wooden leg and ballads for my
support.’

Such were the adventures of Timothy, who
was metamorphosed into a precise Quaker.
““T do not like the idea of your taking up a
system of deceit, Timothy. It may so
happen—for who knows what may occur ?—
that you may again be thrown upon your own
resources. Now, would it not be better that
you should obtain a more intimate knowledge
of the profession which we are now in, which
is liberal, and equally profitable? By atten-
tion and study you will be able to dispense
medicines and make up prescriptions as well
as myself, and who knows but that some day
you may be the owner of a shop like this ?”

‘Verily, verily, thy words do savour of
much’ wisdom,” replied Tim, in a grave
voice ; ‘‘and I will even so follow thy advice.’

CHAPTER LXIX.

I am unsettled by unexpected Intelligence, and
again yearn after the World of Fashion.

I. KNEW that he was mocking me in this
relpy, but I paid no attention to that; I was
satisfied that he consented. I now made

CH OF A FATHER. 133
him assist me, and under my difections he
made up the prescriptions. I explained to
him the nature of every medicine; and I
made him read many books of physic and
surgery. In short, after two or three months,
I could trust to Timothy as well as if I were
in the shop myself ; and having an errand
boy, I had much more leisure, and I left him
in charge after dinner. The business pros-
pered, and I was laying up money. My
leisure time, I hardly need say, was spent
with Mr. Cophagus and his family, and my
attachment to Susannah Temple increased
every day. Indeed, both Mr. and Mrs. Co-
phagus considered that it was to be a match,
and often joked with me when Susannah was
not present. With respect to Susannah, I
could not perceive that I was farther advanced
in her affections than after I had known her
two months. She was always kind and con-
siderate, evidently interested in my welfare,
always checking in me anything like levity—
frank and confiding in her opinions—and
charitable to all, as I thought, except to
me. But I made no advance that I could
perceive. The fact was, that I dared not
speak to her as I might have done to another
who was not so perfect. And yet she smiled,
as I thought, more kindly when I returned
than at other times, and never appeared to
be tired of my company. If I did sometimes
mentioned the marriage of another, or atten-
tions paid which would, in all probability,
end in marriage, it would create no confu-
sion or blushing on her part ; she would talk
over that subject as composedly as any other.
I was puzzled; and I had been a year and
nine months constantly in her company, and
had never dared to tell her that I loved her.
But one day Mr. Cophagus brought up the
subject when we were alone. He commenced
by stating how happy he had been as a
married man; that he had given up all hopes
of a family, and that he should like to see
Susannah Temple, his sister-in-law, well
married, thathe might leave his property to her
children ; and then he put the very pertinent
question—‘‘ Japhet—verily—thou hast done
well—good business—money coming in fast
—settle, Japhet—marry— have children—and
SO OM Susannah—nice girl—good wife—
pop question—all right—sly puss—won't say
no—um-—what d'ye say—and so on.” I re-
plied that I was very much attached to Susan-
nah ; but that I was afraid that the attachment
was not mutual; and therefore hesitated to
propose. Cophagus then said that he would
make his wife sound his sister, and let me
know the result.

This was in the morning just before I was
about to walk over to the shop, and I left
the house in a state of anxiety and suspense.
When I arrived at the shop, I found Tim
there as usual ; but the colourin his face was
heightened as he said to me, ‘ Read this,Japhet,’ and handed to me the ‘‘ Reading
Mercury.” I read an advertisement. as fol-
lows. 4°

““ Tf Japhet Newland, who was left at the
Foundling Asylum, and was afterwards for
some time in London, will call at No. 16,
Throgmorton Court, Minories, he will hear
of something very much to his advantage, and
will discover that of which he has been so
long in search. Should this reach his eye,
he is requested to write immediately to the
above address, with full particulars of his
situation. Should any one who reads this
be able to give any information relative to
the said J. N., he will be liberally rewarded.”

Isank down on the chair. — ‘‘ Merciful
Heaven! this can be no mistake—‘he will
discover the object of his search.’ Timothy,
my dear Timothy, I have at last found out
my father.”

‘“So LI should. imagine, my dear Japhet,”
teplied Timothy, ‘‘and I trust it will not
prove a disappointment.”

‘““They never would be so cruel, Timothy,’’
replied I.

“But still it is evident that Mr. Masterton
ig concerned in it,’’ observed Timothy.

‘* Why so?’ inquired I.

“How otherwise should it appear in the
Reading newspaper 2 He must have examined
the postmark of my letter,”’

‘To explain this, [ must remind the reader \—

that Timothy had promised to write to Mr.
Masterton when he found me; and he re-
quested my permission shortly after we had
met again. I-consented to his keeping his
word, but restricted him to saying any more
than ‘‘that he had found me, and that I was
well and happy.’’ There was no address in
the letter as a clue to Mr. Masterton as to
where I might be, and it could only have been
from the postmark that he could have formed
any idea. Timothy's surmise was therefore
very probable ; but I would not believe that
Mr. Masterton would consent to the insertion
of that portion of the advertisement, if there
was no foundation for it.

‘What will you do, Japhet ?.”

‘‘ Do,’ replied I, recovering from my
reverie, for the information had again roused
up all my dormant feelings—‘‘ Do,’’ replied
I, “why, I shall set off for town this very
morning.”

“In that dress, Japhet 2”

“JT suppose I musf,”’ replied I, ‘‘for I have
no time to procure another ;” and all my
former ideas of fashion and appearance were
roused, and in full activity—my pride re-
covered its ascendancy.

‘“Well,” replied Timothy, ‘‘E hope you
will fd your father all that you could wish.”’

““T’mi sure of it, Tim—I’m sure of it,’’ re-
plied I; ‘‘ you must run and take a place in
the first coach.”

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

‘But you are not going without seeing Mr,
and Mrs. Cophagus, and—-Miss Temple,”
continued im, layingan emphasis upon the
latter name.

‘‘Of course not,’’ replied I, colouring
deeply. ‘‘I will go at once. Give me the
newspaper, Tim.”

I took the newspaper, and hastened to the
house of Mr. Cophagus. I found them all
three sitting in the breakfast-parlour, Mr.
Cophagus, as usual, reading, with his spee-
tacles on his nose, and the ladies at work.
‘“What is the matter, friend Japhet?’ ex-
claimed Mr. Cophagus, as I burst into the
room, my countenance lighted up with ex-
citement, ‘‘ Read that, sir,’’ said I to, Mr.
Cophagus. Mr, Cophagus read it. ‘‘ Hum
——bad news—lose Japhet—man of fashion—
and so on,’ said Cophagus, pointing out the
paragraph to his wife, as he handed over the
paper.

In the mean time, I watched the counte-

nance of Susannah—a slight emotion, but
instantly checked, was visible at Mr. Copha-
gus’s remark. She then remained quiet until
her sister, who had tead the paragraph,
handed the paper to her. ‘‘I give thee joy,
Japhet, at the prospect of finding out thy
parent,’’ said Mrs. Cophagus.  ‘‘I trust thou
wilt find in him one who is to be esteemed as
aman. When departest thou ?”’
‘‘Immediately,”’ replied I.
‘‘T cannot blame thee—the ties of nature
are ever powerful. I trust that thou wilt
write to us, and that we soon shall see thee
return.”

““Yes, yes,’ said Cophagus, ‘' see father—
shake hands—come back—heh ! settle here
—and so on.”

‘‘ T shall not be altogether my, own mastetf,
perhaps,” observed I. ‘‘If my- father desires
that I remain with him, must not I obey?
But I know nothing at present. You shall
hear from me. Timothy can take my place
in the I could not bear the idea of
the word shop, and I stopped. Susannah,
for the first time, looked me earnestly in the
face, but she said nothing. Mr. and Mrs.
Cophagus, who probably had been talking
over the subject of our conversation, and
thought this a good opportunity to allow me
to have an éclatrctssement with Susannah,
left the room, saying they would look after
my portmanteau and linen. ‘‘ Susannah,”
said I, ‘‘you do not appear to rejoice with
men,

‘‘ Japhet Newland, I will rejoice at every-
thing that may tend to thy happiness, believe
me; but I do not feel assured but that this
trial may prove too great, and that thou
mayest fall away. Indeed, TI perceive even
now that thou art excited with new ideas,
and visions of pride.”

‘“Tf Tam wrong, forgive me. Susannah,
you must know that the whole object of myexistence has been to find my father; and
now that I have every reason to suppose that
my Wish is obtained, can you be surprised, or
can you blame me, that I long to be pressed
in his arms ?”

‘‘ Nay, Japhet, for that filial feeling I do
commend thee; but ask thy own heart, is
that the only feeling which now eéxciteth
thee? Dost thou not expect to find 'thy father
one high in rank and power? Dost thou not
anticipate to join once more the world which
thou hast quitted, yet still hast sighed for?
Dost thou not already feel contempt for thy
honest profession ? nay, more, dost thou not
only long to cast off the plain attire, and not
only the attire, but the sect which in thy
adversity thou didst embrace the tenéts of ?
Ask thy own heart, and reply if thou wilt, but
{ press thee not so to do ; for the truth would
be painful, and a lie, thou knowest, I do
utterly abhor.”

I felt that Susannah spoke ‘the truth, and
1 would not deny it. I sat down by her.
‘““Susannah,’’ said I, ‘‘ it is not very easy to
change at once. {I have mixed for years in
the world, with you I have not yet lived two.
I willnot deny but that the feelings you have
expressed have risen in my heart, but I will
try to repress them; at least, for your sake,
Susannah, I would try to repress them, for I
value your opinion more than that of the
whole world. You have the power to do with
me asyou please ;—will you exert that power?”’

‘“Japhet,’’ replied Susannah, ‘the faith
which is not built upon a more solid foun-
dation than to win the favour of an erring
being like myself is but weak; that power
over thee which thou expectest will fix thee
in the right path may soon be lost, and what
is then to direct thee? If no purer motives
than earthly affection are to be thy stay, most
surely thou wilt fall. But no more of this ;
thou hast a duty to perform, which is to go
to thy earthly father, and seek his blessing.
Nay, more, I would that thou shouldst once
more enter into the world, there thou mayest
decide. Shouldst thou return ‘to us, thy
friends will rejoice, and not one of them will
be more joyful than Susannah Temple. Fare
thee well, Japhet, mayest thou prove supe-
rior to temptation. Iwill pray for thee—éar-
nestly I will pray for thee, Japhet,’’ continued
Susannah, with a quivering of her ‘lips, and
broken voice, and she left the room.

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

CAP PER. Tea

I return to London, and meet with Mr. Mas-
terton.

{1 WENT up Stairs, and found that all was
ready, and IT took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Co-+
phagus, both of whom expressed their ‘hopes
that I would not leavethem forever. “‘ Oh,
no, replied I, ‘‘I should indeed be base, . if
I-did.” TI left them, and with Ephraim’ fol-
lowing with my portmanteau, I quitted the
house. I had gone about twenty yards, when
T recollected I had left on the table the news-
paper with the advertisement containing the
direction whom to apply ‘to, and desiring
Ephraim to preceed, I returned. When [ én-
tered the parlour, Susannah Temple was
resting her face in her hands and weeping.
The opening of the door made her start up ;
she perceived that it was I, and she turned
away. ‘’ I beg your pardon, I left thenews-
paper,” said I, stammering. I was about to
throw myself at her feet, declare my sincere
affection, and give up all idea of finding my
father until we were married, when she
without saying a word, passed quickly by
me, and hastened out of the room. ‘* She
loves me, then,’’ thought I; ‘' thank God-—
I will not go yet, I will speak to her ‘fitst.”
I’sat-down, quite overpowered with conten-
ding feelings. The paper was in my hand,
the paragraph was again read ; I thought but
of my father, and Tf left the house.

In half an hour I had shaken hand with Ti-
mothy and quitted the town of Reading. How
[ arrived m London, that is to say, What pas-
sed, or what we passed, I know ‘fiot; mj
mind was in such'a state of excitement. |
hardly know how to express the state that 1
was in. It wasa sort of mental whirling which
blinded me—round -and round—from my
father and the expected meeting, then to Su-
sannah, my departure, and her tears—castle-
building of every description. After the
coach stopped there ] remained Axed onthe
top of it, not aware that we werein London,
until the coachman asked me whether the
spirit did not move me to get down. 1 re-
collected myself, and calling a hackney-coach,
gave ordersto be drivén to the Piazza, Co-
vent Garden.

‘* Piazza Common Garden, said thé water-
man; ‘‘ why that ban’t an ‘otel for the like
o you master. They'll torment you to death,
them young chaps.”

had forgotten that I was-dressed asa
Quaker. ‘Tell the coachman to ‘stop at the
first cloth warehouse where they have’ ready-
made cloaks,” said I. The man did so; I
went out and purchased a roquelaure, which
enveloped my whole person. I then stop-
ped at a hatter’s and purchased a hat accor-
ding to the mode. ‘‘ Now drivetothe Piazza,136 SAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

said I, entering the coach. I know not why breakfast. When I had finished, I returned
but, I was resolved to go to that hotel. It to the sofa, and I could not help analysing
was the one I had stayed at when I first arri- my ownconduct. ‘‘Alas,” thought I, ‘‘Susan-
ved in London, and I wished to see it again. nah, how rightly did you judge me! [am
When the hackney-coach stopped, I asked not away from you more than eighteen hours,
the waiter who came out whether he had and here J am ashamed of the dress which I
apartments, and answering me in the affrma- have so long worn, and been satisfied with,
tive,I followed him, and was shown into the in your society. ‘Truly did you say that I
same rooms | had previously occupied. ‘‘These was full of pride, and would joyfully re-enter
will do,” saidI; ‘“‘now let nfe have something the world of vanity and vexation.”’ And I
to,eat, and send for a good tailor.” The waiter thought of Susannah, and her tears after my
offered to remove my cloak, but I refused, say- supposed departure, and I felt angry and an-
ing thatI was cold. Heleft the room, andI noyed at my want of strength of mind, and
threw myself on the sofa, running over allthe my worldly feelings.
scenes which had passed in that room with Car- I retired early to bed, and did not wake
bonnell, Harcourt, and others. My thoughts until late the next morning. When I rang
were broken in upon by the arrival of the tai- the bell, the chambermaid brought in my
lor. ‘‘Stopamoment,” said I, ‘‘and let him clothes from the tailors : I dressed, and I
come inwhen Iring.”’ Soashamedwas Il ofmy will not deny that I was pleased with the
Quaker’s dress, that I threw off my coat and alteration. After breakfast I ordered a coach,
waistcoat, and put on my cloak again beforeI and drove to No. 16, Throgmorton Court,
rang the bell for the tailor to come up, Minories. ‘The house was dirty outside, and
Mr. ’ said I, ‘‘I must have a suit of the windows had not been cleaned apparently
clothes ready by tomorrow at ten o'clock.” for years, and it was with some difficulty
‘« Impossible, sir.” when I went in that I could decipher a tall,
“Impossible!” said I, ‘‘and you pretend haggard-looking man seated at the desk.

 

to be a fashionable tailor. Leave the room.” ‘« Your pleasure, sir ?’’ said he.

At this peremptory behaviour, the tailor ‘‘Am I speaking to the principal?” re-
imagined that I must be somebody. plied I.

‘© JT willdo my possible, sir; and if I can ‘Ves, sir, my name is Chatfield.”
only get home in time to stop the workmen, I ‘‘T come to you, sir, relative to an ad-

think it may bemeanaged. Of course, you vertisement which appeared in the papers.
are aware of the expense of night-work.” I refer to this,’’ continued I, putting the

‘‘Tam only aware of this, thatifI givean newspaper down on the desk, and pointing
order, I am accustomed to have it obeyed; to the advertisement.

I learnt that from my poor friend, Major ‘‘Oh, yes, very true; can you give us any
Carbonnell.”’ information ?”’

The tailor bowed low; there was magic in ‘‘VYes, sir, I can, and;.the most. Satis-
the name, although the man was dead. factory.”

‘Here have I been masquerading ina ‘«Then, sir, I am sorry that you have had
Quaker's dress, to please a puritanical young so much trouble, but you must call at
lady, and I am obliged to be off without any Lincoln’s Inn, upon a lawyer of the name of
other clothes in my portmanteau; so take Masterton; the whole affair is now in his
my measure, and I expect the clothes at ten hands.”’

precisely.” So saying, I threw off my ‘‘Can you, sir, inform me who is the party
roquelaure, and desired him to proceed. that is inquiring after this young man?”
This accomplished, the tradesman took his ‘« Why, yes; it is a General de Benyon,

leave. Shortly afterwards, the door opened, who has lately returned from the East
and as I lay wrapped up in my cloak on the Indies.”
sofa, in came the landlord and two waiters, ‘‘Good God ! is it possible!” thought I ;
each bearing a dish of my supper. I wished ‘‘how strange that my own wild fancy
them at the devil; but I was still more sur- should have settled upon him as my father!”
prised when the landlord made a low bow, I hurried away; threw myself into the
saying, ‘‘ Happy to see you returned, Mr. hackney-coach, and desired the man to drive
Newland; you've been away some time— to Lincoln’s Inn. I hastened up to Mr,
another grand tour, I presume.” Masterton’s rooms; he was fortunately at
"Yes, Mr. , | have had a few adven- home, although he stood at the table with
tures since I was last here,” replied I, care- his hat and his great-coat on, ready to go out.
lessly, ‘‘but I am not very well. You may ‘‘My dear sir, have you forgotten me?”
leave the supper, and if I feel inclined, I will said I, in a voice choked with emotion,
take a little by-and-by,—no one need wait.’”” taking his hand and squeezing it with rapture.
The landlord and waiter bowed, and went ‘By heavens, you are determined that |
out of the room. I turned the key of the shall not forget you for some minutes, at
door, put on my Quaker’s coat, and made a_ least,” exclaimed he, wringing his hand with
hearty supper, for I had had nothing since pain. ‘‘ Who the devil are you?”Mr. Masterton could not see without his
spectacles, and my.subdued voice he had
not recognized. He pulled them out, as I
made no reply, and fixing them across his

noise—‘‘ Hah! why ‘yes it is Japhet; is it
not?*’

“It is indeed, sir,” said T, again offering
my hand, which he shook warmly.

‘Not quite so hard, my dear fellow, this
time,’ said the old lawyer ; ‘‘ I acknowledge
your vigour, and that is sufficient. I am
very glad to see you, Japhet, I am indeed—
you—you scamp— you ungrateful fellow.
Sit down—sit down—first help me off with
my great-coat ; I presume the advertisement
has brought you into existence again. Well,
it's all true ; and you have at last found your
father, or, rather he has found you. And
what's more strange, you hit upon the right
person ; that strange—very strange, in-
deed.’

se Wihere’ 1s “Me, Sir Pe:

where is he—take me to him.

‘“No, rather be excused,” replied Mr.
Masterton, ‘‘for he is gone to Ireland, so
you must wait.”

‘« Wait, sir, oh no—I must follow him.’

“That will only do harm ; for he is rather
a queer sort of an old gentleman, and
although he acknowledges that he left you as
Yaphet. and has searched for you, yet hefis
so afraid of somebody else’s brat being put
upon him, that he insists upon most unde-
niable proofs. Now, we cannot trace you
from the hospital unless we can find that
fellow Cophagus, and we have made every
search after him, and no one can tell where
he is.”

“But I left him but yesterday morning,
Sir,« replied I-

‘‘ Good — very
him or go to him ;
intrusted to the care of
whom he was executor, which proves the
marriage of your father. Very stra
very strange indeed, that you should have
hit upon it as you did—almost supernatural.
However, all right now, my dear boy, and I
congratulate you. Your father is a very
strange person; he has lived like a despot
among slaves all his life, and will not be
thwarted, I can tell you. | If you say a word
in contradiction he'll disinherit you :—terrible
old tiger, I must say. If it had not been for
your sake, I should have done with him long
ago. He seems to think the world ought to
be at his feet. Depend uponit, Japhet, “there
is no hurry about seeing him ; and see him
you shall not, until we have every proof of
your identity ready to produce to him. I
hope you have the bump of veneration strong,
Japhet, and plenty of filial duty, or you will
be kicked out of the house in a week. D—n
me, if he didn’t call me an old thief of a

lawyer,”

is

interrupted I,

 

,

good! we must send for
besides, he has the packet
Miss Maitland, to

    

 

  

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  

137

‘‘Indeed, sir,” replied I, laughing: ‘I
must apologize to you for my father’s con-
duct.”

‘Never mind, Japhet ;

I don’t care about

a trifle; but why don’t you ask after your
friends ?"’
‘*T have longed so to do, sir,” replied I.

“ Lord Windermear ——-

‘‘Ts quite well, and will be most happy to
see you.’

‘« Lady de Clare and her daughter

‘‘Lady de Clare has entered. into society
again, and her daughter, as you call her—
your Fleta, a/zas Cecilia de Clare—is the
belle of the metropolis. But now, sir, as I
have answered all your interrogatories, and
satisfied you upon the most essential points,
will you favour me with a narrative of your
adventures (for adventures I am sure you
must have had) since you ran away from us
all in that ungrateful manner.’

‘“Most certainly sir, I will;
say, I have had adventures.
will be a long story.”’

“Then we'll dine. here, and
evening together—so that's settled.

 

and, as you
But it really

pass the

CHAPTER LXXT.

In which I am let into more Particulars relative to
my Father’s History

I DISMISSED the coach, while Mr. Masterton
gave his orders for dinner, and we then turned
the key of the door to avoid intrusion, and I
commenced. It was nearly dinner-time before
I had finished my story.

‘“Well, you really appear to be born for
getting into scrapes, and getting out of them
again in a miraculous way,’ observed Mr.

Masterton. ‘“Your life would make a
novel.”
‘Tt would indeed, sir,” replied I. ‘‘I only

hope, like all novels, it will wind up well.”

‘©So do I;, but dinner’s ready, Japhet, and
after dinner we'll talk the matter over again,
for there are some points upon which I require
some explanation.”

We sat down to dinner, and when we had
finished, and the table had been cleared, we
drew to the fire, with our bottle of wine.
Mr. Masterton stirred the fire, called for his
slippers, and then crossing his legs ever the
fender, resumed the subject.

“ Japhet, I consider it most fortunate that
we have met, previous to your introduction to
your father. You have so far to congratulate
yourself, that your family is undeniably good,
there being, as you know, an Irish peerage inYAPHET,

it; of which, however, you have no chanee,
as the present earl has a numerous offspring.

You are also fortunate as far as money is
concerned, as I have every reason to believe
that your father is a very rich man, and, of
course, you are his only child; but I must
now prepare you to meet with a very different
person than perhaps the fond anticipations of
youth may have led you to expect. Your
father has no paternal feelings that I can dis-
cover; he has wealth, and he wishes to leave
it—he has therefore sought you out. But he
is despotic, violent, and absurd; the least
opposition to his will makes him furious, and
I am sorry to add, that I am afraid that he is
very nrean. Hesuffered severely, when young,

from poverty, and his own father was almost
as authoritative and unforgiving as himself.

And now I will state how it was that you were
left ‘at the Asylum when an infant. | Your
grandfather had procured for your father a
commission in the army, and soon afterwards
procured him a lieutenancy. He ordered
him to marry a young lady of large fortune,
whom he had never seen, and sent for him
for that purpose. I understand that she was
very beautiful, and had your father seen her,

it is Beate he would have made no objec-
tion ; but he very foolishly sent a perenaptory
refusal, for which he was dismissed for ever.
In a short time afterwards your father fell in
love with a young lady of great personal
attractions, and supposed to possess a large
fortune. To deceive her, he pretended to be
the heir to the earldom, and, after a hasty
courtship, they ran off, and were married.

When they compared notes, which they soon
did, it was discovered that, on his side, he
had nothing but the pay of a subaltern, and
on hers, that’she had not one shilling. Your
fatherstormed, and called his wifean imposter,
she récriminated, andthesecond morning after
their marriage was passed in tears on her side,
and oaths, curses, and revilings ‘on his. ‘The
lady, however, appeared. the more sensible
party of the two. Their marriage was not
known ;' shehadrunaway on a pretence to visit
arelative, and it was actually supposed in the
county-town where she resided, that such was
the case. ‘Why should we quarrel in this
way?’ observedshe. ‘ You, Edmund, wished
to marry a fortune, and not me—I may plead
guilty to the same duplicity. » We have made

138

 

 

a mistake ; but it is not too late. It is sup-
posed that Iam on a visit to , and that.
you are on furlough for a few days. Did you

confide your secret to any of your brother
officers?’ ‘ Not one,’ muttered your father.
“Well, then, let us part as if nothing had
happened, and nobody will be the wiser. We
are equally interested in keeping the secret.
Is it agreed?’ Your father immediately con-
sented. He accompanied your mother to the
house at , where she was expected, and
she framed a story for her delay, by having

 

IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
    
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
  
  
  
 

 

met with such a very polite young man. Your
father returned to his regiment, and thus did
they, like two privateers; who, when they
meet and engage, as soon as they find out
their mistake, hoist their colours, and sheer
off by mutual consent.”

“‘T can’t say much for my mother’s affec-
tion or delicacy,’ observed I.

‘*The less you say the better, Japhet—
however, that is your father's story. And
now to proceed. It appears that, about two
months afterwards, your father received a
letter from your mother, acquainting him that
their short intercourse had been productive
of certain results, and requesting that he
would take the necessary steps to provide for
the child, and avoid exposure, or that she
would be obliged to confess her marriage.
By what means they contrived to ayoid ex-
posure until the period of her confinement, [
know not, but your father states that the
child was born in a house in London, and,
by agreement, was instantly put into his
hands ; that he, with the consent of his wife,
left you at the door of the Asylum, with the
paper and the bank-note, from which you
recéived the name of Newland. Atthe time, he
had no idea of reclaiming you himself, but
the mother had; for, heartlesss as she appears
to have been, yet a mother must feel for her
child: Your fathers regiment was then
ordered out to the East Indies, and he was
rapidly promoted for his gallantry and good
conduct during the war in the Mysore terri-
tory. Once only has he returned home on
furlough, and then he did make inquiries after
you ; not, it appears, with a view of finding
you out on his own account, but from a
promise which he made your mother.”

‘“My mother! what, have they met
since ?"’
‘“Yes ; your mother went out to India on

speculation, passing off as a single girl, and
was very well married there, I was going to

say ; however, she committed a very splendid.
bigamy.”

‘Good heavens! how totally destitute of
principle.”

‘Your father asserts that your mother was
a free-thinker, Japhet; her father had made her
one : without religion a woman has no stay.
Your father was in the up country during the
time that your mother arrived, and was
married to one of the council of Calcutta. Your
father says that they met at a ball at Govern-
ment House. She was still a very handsome
woman, and much admired. When your
father recognized her, and was told that she
was lately married to the honourable Mr.
, he was quite electrified, and would
have quitted the room; but she had _ per-
ceived him; and walking up to him with the
greatest coolness, claimed him as an old
acquaintance in England, and afterwards they
often ‘met, but she never adverted to whathad passed between them, until the time for
his departure to England on leave, and she
then sent for him, and begged that he would
make some inquiries after. you, Japhet. He
did, so, and you know the result. On his
return to India he found that your mother
had been carried off by the prevailing’ pesti-
lence. At that period, your father was not
rich, but he was then appointed to the chief
command in the Carnatic, and reaped a
golden harvest in return for his success. and
brav ery. It appears, as far as I could obtain
it from | him, that as long as your mother was
alive, he felt no interest about you ; but her
death, and the Speen wealth which
poured upon him, have now induced him to
find out an heir to whom it may be be-
queathed.

‘“Such, Japhet, are the outlines of your
father's history : ; and I must point out that
he has no feelings of affection for you at
present: The conduct of your mother is ever
before him, and if it were not that he wishes
an heir, I should almost say that his feelings
are those of dislike. You-may create an in-
terest in his heart, it is true; and he may be
gratified by your personal appearance ; but
you will have a very difficult task, as you will
have to submit to his caprices and fancies, and
I am afraid that, to a high spirit like yours,
they will be almost inbesratite,”

‘Really, sir, I begin to feel that the
fondest anticipations are seldom realised, and
almost to wish that I had not been sought
for by my father. I was happy and con-
tented, and now I do not see any chance of
having to congratulate myself on the ch lange.’

“On one or two points I also wish to
question you. It appears that you have
entered into the ne denominated Quakers.
‘Tell me candidly, do you subscribe heartily
and sincerely to their doctrines? And I was
going to add, is it your intention to remain
with them? I perceive much difficulty in all
this.”

‘“The tenets of the sect I certainly do beliéve
to be more in accordance with the Christian
religion than any other ; and I have no hesi-
tation in asserting, from my knowledge of
those who belong to that sect, that they,
generally speaking, lead better lives. There
are some points connected with their worship,
which, at first, I considered ridiculous ; the
feeling has, however, worn off. As to their
quaint manner of speaking, that has been
grossly exaggerated. Their dress is a part of
their religion.”

oa Why so, Japhet?”

“‘T can reply to you in the words of
Susannah Temple, when I made the same
interrogatory. ‘Youthink the peculiarity ofour
dress is an outward from which is not required.
It was put on to separate us from others, and
as a proof of oursincerity; but still, the discard-
ing of the dress as a proof of sincerity. We con-

 
  
 
  
  
    
   
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 

FAPHET, TN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 139

sider, that to admire the person is vain, and oul
creed is humility. It is therefore an outward
and visible sign, that we would act up to
those tenets which we profess. It is not all
who wear the dress who are Quakers in heart
or conduct ; but we know that when it is put
aside, the tenets of our persuasion are at the
same time renounced,—therefore do we con-
sider it essential. I do not mean to say but
that the heart may be as pure, and the faith
continue as steadfast, without such signs out-
wardly, but it is a part of our creed, and we
must not choose, but either reject all or
none.’”’

‘Very well argued by the little Quakeress ;
and now, Japhet, I should like to put another
question to you. Are you very much attached
to this young puritan ?”’

““T will not deny but that Iam. I love
her sincerely.”

‘Does your love carry you so far, that you
would, for her sake, continue a Quaker, and
marry her?”

‘‘T have asked myself that question at least
a hundred times during the last twenty-four
hours, and I cannot decide. If she would
dress as others do, and allow me to.do the
same, I would marry her to-morrow ; whether
i shall ever make up my mind to adheré to
the persuasion, and live and die a Quaker
for her sake, is quite another matter; but I
am afraid not—I am too worldly-minded.
The fact is, I am in a very awkward position
with respect to her. JI have never acknow-
ledged my affection, or asked for a return,
but she knows I love her, and I know that
She loves me.”

‘« Like all vain boys, you flatter yourself.”

“T leave you'to judge, sir,” replied TI, re-
peating to him our parting 7é/e-d-?éfe, and
how I had returned and found her in tears.

“ All that certainly is very corroborative
evidénce ; but tell me, Japhet, do you think
she lovés you well enough to abandon all for
your saké ?”

“No, nor ever will, sir; she is too high-
principled, too high-minded. She might suf-
fer greatly, but she never would swerve from
what she ‘thought was right.’

“She must be 2 fine character, Japhet,
but you will be in a dilemma ; indeed, i
appears to me, that your troubles are now
commencing instead of ending, and that you
would have been much happier where you
were, than you will be by being again brought
out into thé world. Your ‘prospect is not
over cheerful. You have an awkward father
to deal with; you will be under a strong
check, I vé a notion, and J am afraid you will
find that, notwit hstanding you will be once
more received into society, all is vanity and
vexation of spirit.’

‘T am afraid you are right, sir,’ replied I,
“but at all events, it will be “something gained,
to be acknowledged to the world by a father140

of good family, whatever else I. may have
to submit to. I have been the sport of For-
tune all my life, and probably she has not
yet done playing with me, but it is late, and
I will now wish you good night.’

‘‘Good night, Japhet, if a have any in-
telligence I “will” let you know. Lady de
Clare's address is No. 13, Park Street. You
will, of course, go there as soon as you
Canes

‘«T will, sir, after I have written my letters
to my friends at Reading.”

CHAPTER LXAIE

I am a little jealous, and, like the immortal Wil-
liam Bottom, inclined to enact more parts than
one — With a big effort my hankering after
Bigamy is mastered by Mr. Masterton—and by
my own good sense.

I RETURNED home to reflect upon what Mr.
Masterton had told me, and I must say that
I was not very well pleased with his various
information. His account of my mother,
although she was no more, distressed me,
and, from the character which he gave of my
father, I felt convinced that my happiness
would not be at all increased by my having
finally attained the long-desired object of my
wishes. Strange to say, I had no sooner
discovered my father, but I wished that he
had never turned up ; and when I compared
the peaceful and happy state of existence
which I had lately enjoyed, with the pros-
pects of what I had in future to submit to,
I bitterly repented that the advertisement
had been seen by Timothy; still, on one
point, 1 was peculiarly anxious, without
hardly daring to anatomise my feelings : it
was relative to Cecilia de Clare, and what
Mr. Masterton had mentioned in the course
of our conversation. The next morning I
wrote to Timothy and to Mr. Cophagus,
giving them a short detail of what I had been
informed by Mr. Masterton, and expressing
a wish, which I then really did feel, that I
had never been summoned away from them.
Having finished my letters, I set off to
Park Street, to call upon Lady de Clare and
Cecilia. It was rather early, but the foot-
man who opened the door recognized me,
and I was admitted upon his own responsi-
bility. It was now more than eighteen
months since [ had quitted their house at Rich-
mond, and I was very anxious to know what
reception I might have. I followed the ser-
vant up-stairs, and when he opened the door,
walked in, as my name was announced.
Lady de Clare rose in haste ; so did Cecilia,
and so did a third person, whom I had not

YAPHET, [IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

expected to have met—Harcourt. ‘‘ Mr,
Newland,” exclaimed Lady de Clare~ * this
is indeed unexpected.” Cecilia also came
forward, blushing to the forehead. Harcourt
held back, as if waiting for the advances to
be made on my side. “On the whole I never
felt more awkwardly, and I believe my feel-
ings were reciprocated by the whole party.
I was evidently de trop.

‘Do you know Mr.
said Lady de Clare.

Le ites the Mire Harcourt I once knew,’
replied I, ‘‘1 certainly do.

“ Believe me it is the same, Newland,”
said Harcourt, coming to me and offering his
hand, which I took with pleasure.

‘It is a long while since we met,’ ob-
served Cecilia, who felt it necessary to say
something, but, at the same time, did not
like to enter upon my affairs before Har-
court.

“Tt is, Miss de.Clare# rephed IF for i
was not exactly pleased at my reception ;
‘but I have been fortunate since I had the
pleasure of seeing you last.’

Cecilia and her mother looked earnestly,
as much as to say, in what ?>—but did not like
to ask the question.

‘«There is no one present who is not well
acquainted with my history,” observed I,

that is, until the time that I left you and
Lady de Clare, and I have no wish to create
mystery. I have at last discovered my
father.’

‘‘T hope we are to congratulate you, Mr.
Newland,” said Lady de Clare.

“As far as respectability and family are
concerned, I certainly have no reason to be
ashamed,” replied I. ‘‘ He is the brother of
an earl, and a general in the army. His
name I will not mention until I have seen
him, and I am formally and openly acknow-
ledged. I have also the advantage of being
an only son, and if I am not disinherited,
heir to considerable property,’ continued I,
smiling sarcastically. ‘‘ Perhaps I may now
be better ~ecezved than I have been as Japhet
Newland the Foundling : but, Lady de Clare,
I am afraid that I have intruded unseason-

Tiarcourt 2 at last

ey

ably, and will now take my leave. Good
morning ;’’ and without waiting for a reply,

I made a hasty retreat, and gained the door.

‘‘Flushed with indignation, I had nearly
gained the bottom of the stairs, when I
heard a light footstep behind me, and my
arm was caught by Cecilia de Clare. I
turned round, and she looked me reproach-
fully in the face, as the tear stood in her eye.
‘What have we done, Japhet, that you
should treat us in this manner?’ said she,
with emotion.

‘Miss ‘de. Clare, replied" T have no
reproaches to make. I perceived that my
presence was not welcome, and I would no
further intrude.”‘* Are you then so proud, now that you
have found out that you are well born,
Japhet ?”’

‘‘Tam much too proud to intrude where I
am not wished» for, Miss de Clare. As
Japhet Newland, I came here to see the
Fleta of former days. When I assume my
real name, I shall always be most happy of an
introduction to the daughter of Lady de
Glare. :

‘‘Oh! how changed,” exclaimed she,
fixing her large blue eyes upon me.

‘« Prosperity changes us all, Miss de Clare.
I wish you a very good morning;” and I
turned away, and crossed the hall to the door.

As I went out I could not help looking
back, and I perceived that Cecilia's hand-
kerchief was held to her eyes, as she slowly
mounted the stairs. I walked home to the
Piazza in no very pleasant humour. l was
angry and disgusted at the cooiness of my
reception. I thought myself ill used, and
treated with ingratitude. ‘‘So much for the
world,” said I, as I sat down in my apartment,
and spun my hat on the table. ‘‘She has
been out two seasons, and is no longer the
same person. Yet how lovely she has grown!
But why this change—and why was Harcourt
there? Could he have prejudiced them
against me? Very possibly.” While these
ideas were running in my mind, and I was
making comparisons between Cecilia de
Clare and Susannah Temple—not much in
favour of the former—and looking forward
prospectively to the meeting with my father,
the doubts as to my reception in society
colouring everything with the most sombre
tints, the door opened, and in walked
Harcourt, announced by the waiter.

‘© A chair for Mr. Harconrt,’’ said I to the
waiter, with formality.

‘* Newland,” said Harcourt, ‘' 1 come for
two reasons: in the first place I am com-
missioned by the ladies to assure you c

‘““T beg your pardon, Mr. Harcourt, for in-
terrupting you, but I require no ambassador
from the ladies in question. They may make
you their confidant if they please, but Lam not
at allinclined to do the same. Explanation,
after what I witnessed and felt this morning, is
quite unnecessary. I surrender all claims
upon either Lady de Clare or her daughter,
if I ever was so foolhardy as to imagine
that I had any. The first reason of your
visit it is therefore useless to proceed with.
May I ask the other reason which has pro-
cured me this honour?”

‘“‘T hardly know, Mr. Newland,’ replied
Harcourt, colouring deeply, ‘‘ whether after
what you have now said | ought to proceed
with the second—it related to myself.”

‘“‘T am all attention, Mr. Harcourt,”’
replied I, bowing politely.

“Tt was to say, Mr.

 

 

Newland, that 1

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

should have taken the earliest opportunity —

  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
     

141

after my recovery, had you not disappeared
so strangely, to have expressed my sorrow
for my conduct towards you, and to have
acknowledged that I had been deservedly
punished: more, perhaps, by my own
feelings of remorse, than by the dangerous
wound I had receiyed by your hand. I take
even this opportunity, although not ap-
parently a favourable one, of expressing
what I consider it my duty, as a gentleman
who has wronged another, to express. I
certainly was going to add more, but there
is so little chance of its being well received,
that I had better defer it to some future op-
portunity. The time may come, and
certainly trust it will come, when I may be
allowed to prove to you that I am not
deserving of the coolness with which I am
now received. Mr. Newland, with every
wish for your happiness, I will now take my
leave ; but I must say, it is with painful
sentiments, as I feel that the result of this in-
terview will be the cause of great distress
to those who are bound to you not only by
gratitude, but sincere regard.”

Harcourt then bowed, and quitted the
room.

‘‘Tt’s all very well,’ muttered I, ‘but I
know the world, and am not to be soothed
down by a few fine words. I trust that they
will be sorry for their conduct, but see me
again inside their doors they will not ;” and
I sat down, trying to feel satisfied with myself
—but I was not; I felt that I had acted
harshly, to say no more. I ought to have
listened to an explanation sent by Cecilia and
her mother, after her ceming downstairs to
expostulate. They were under great obliga-
tions to me, and by my quick resentment, I
rendered the obligations more onerous. It
was unkind of me—and I wished that Har-
court had not left the room. As for his
conduct, I triedto find fault with it, but could
not. It was gentlemanly and feeling. The
fact was, I was in a very bad humour, and
could not at the time discover the reason,
which was neither more nor less than that I
was more jealous of finding Harcourt so in-
timateat Lady de Clare's, than I was at the
unpalatable reception which I had met with.
The waiter came in, and brought me a note
from Mr. Masterton.

‘‘T have this morning received a summons
from your father, who returned, it appears,
two days ago, and is now at the Adelphi
Hotel. Iam sorry to say, that stepping out
of his carriage when travelling, he missed his
footing and snapped his tendon Achilles. He
is laid up on a couch, and, as you may sup-
pose, his amiability is not increased by the
accident, and the pain attending it. As he
has requested me to bring forward immediate
evidence as to your identity, and the presence
of Mr, Cophagus is necessary, I propose that142

we start for Reading to-morrow at nine
oclock. I have a curiosity to go down there,
and having a leisure day or two, it will beia

relaxation. I wish to see my old*acquaint-
ance Timothy, and your shop.’ Answer by
bearer.

“J; MASTERTON:”’

I wrote a few lines, informing Mr. Master-
ton that I would be with him at the appointed
hour, and then sat down to my solitary meal.
How different from when I was last at this
hotel! Now I: knew nobody. I had to re-
gain my footing im society, and: that could
only be accomplished by being acknowledged
by my father ; and, as soon as that was done,
I would call wpon’ Lord Windermear, who
would quickly effect what I desired. ‘The
next morning J was ready at nine o'clock, and
set off with post-horses, with Mr. Masterton,
in his own carriage. I told ‘him what had
occurred the day before, and~how disgusted
I was at my reception.

‘“Upon my word, Japhet, 1 think you are
wrong,’ replied.the old ‘gentleman ; ‘“‘ and-if
you had not told me of your affection for
Miss Temple, to see whom, by the bye, I
confess to. be’oné of the chief motives of thy
going down with you, I should aMmost sup-
pose that ‘you were blinded by’ jealousy.
Does it not .occur to you, that if Mr. Har-
court was admitted to the ladies at! suchan
early hour, there was preference ‘shown him
in that quarter? ‘And now I recollect that I
heard something about it:) Harcourt’s elder
brother died, and ‘he’s come into the pro-
perty, and 1’ heard somebody say that he
would in all probability stieceed -in ‘gaining
the handsomest girl in! London with a large
fortune—that it Was said to be' a! match,
Now, if' such bé the ‘case, and you broke in
upon a quiet. reunion ‘between’ two young
people about to be united, almost without
announcement, and so unexpectedly, after a
lapse of so'long a time, surely you cannot’ be
surprised at there being’a degtee of confusion
and restraint—more especially after what had
passed between Harcourt and you. Depend
upon it, that was the cause of it. Had Lady
de Clare and her daughter been alone; your
reception would have been ‘very different ;
indeed, Cecilia’s following you’ downstairs
proves that it was not from coolness towards
you; and Harcourt calling upon you, and
the conversation which took place, is another
proof that you have been mistaken.”

‘‘T never viewed it in that light, certainly,
sir,’ observed I. ‘I merely perceived. that

Iwas considered intrusive, and finding in the
company one who had treated me ill; and had
been my antagonist in the’ field, I naturally
supposed
against! me.
Pave

that he had prejudiced them
1 hope’ f may'be wrong; but
seen SO much of the world, young

 

    
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
    
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
  

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF (A FATHER.

as Isam, that 1,-have become very. sus-
picious.”’

‘Then discard suspicion as fast .as you
can; it;will only make you unhappy, and not
prevent your being deceived... If you,are sus-
picious, you will have the constant fear, of
deception hanging over you, which poisons
existence.” ‘i

After these remarks, I remained silent for
some time ; I was analysing my own feelings,
and I felt: that I had acted in.a very absurd
manner. The fact was, that one,of my castle
buildings had been, that Iwas te marry Fleta
as soon as | had found my own. father, and
this it was which had actuated me, almost
without my knowing it.| I, felt jealous, of
Harcourt, and that; without being, in loye
with Miss de Clare, but actually passionately
fond of another person ; I felt-as. if 1.could
have married her without loving her, and. that
I could give up Susannah Temple, whom I
did love, rather than that a being whom I
considered as almost of my ,own creation
should herself presume to fallin loye, or that
another should dare to love her, until I had
made ap my mind whether I should take her
myself; and this after so long an, absence,
and their having given up all hopes of ever
seeing me again. The reader may smile at
the absurdity, still more at. the selfishness. of
this feeling ; so did I, when I had reflected
upon it, and I despised myself for my. vanity
and folly.

“What. are you) thinking. of, Japhet ?”’
observed: Mr. Masterton, tired with my long
abstraction.

“That Ihave been, making a most egre-
gious fool of myself, sir,” replied I,  ‘‘ with
respect toithe De Clares.”’

“I did not 'say so, Japhet; but, to tell you
the truth, I thought something very like it.
Now tell me, were you not jealous at finding
her in company with Harcourt ?”’

‘Exactly, so, sir.”

‘I'll tell Susannah Temple when I ses her,
that she may form some idea of your con-
stancy,’’ replied | Mr...Masterton, smiling.
‘*Wihy, what a dog inthe manger you must be
—you can't marry'them beth.. Still, under the
circumstances, I cah:analyse. the) feeling—it
is natural, but all that is natural is not always
creditable to. human nature: Let us talk.a
little about Susannah, and all these vagaries
will be dispersed. How old is she?”

Mr. Masterton plied: me with so many
questions relative -to Susannah, that her
image alone soon filléd.my mind, and I re-
covered my spirits. »‘“I don'tiknow,what she
will say, at my being in this dress, sir,’ ob-
served I. “Had I not better change it on
my arrival ?”’

‘“By.no means; I'll fight your battle—I
know her character :pretty: well, thanks -to
your raving ‘about her.”’CHAPTER LXXIIT.

Contains much learned Argument upon Broad-
brims and Garments of grey—I Get the best of it
—The one great Wish of my Life is granted—
I méet my Father, and a cold Reception, very
indicative of much after-heat.

  

WE arrived in good time at Reading, and, as
soon as we alighted at the inn, we ordered
dinner, and then walked down to, the shop,
where we found ‘Timothy very. busy tying
down and labelling... He was. delighted. to
see Mr. Masterton; and, perceiving that I
had laid aside the Quaker's dress, made no
scruple of indulging in his humour, making a
long face, and Zhee-ing and ¢hou-ing Mr.
Masterton in a very absurd manner., We
desired him to go to Mr. Cophagus, and. beg
that he would allow me to bring. Mr. Mas-
terton.to drink tea, and afterwards to call at
the inn and: give.us the answer. We then
returned,to our dinner.

‘ Whether, they. will ever make:a Quaker
of you, Japhet, [am very doubtful,’’ observed
Mr. Masterton, as we walked back ; ‘‘ but as
for making one of that fellow, Timothy, I'll
defy them.”

“He. laughs at everything,” . replied... I,
‘‘and views everything in a ridiculous livht ;
at .all,events,. they, never will make: him
serious,”

In the evening we adjourned to the house
of Mr. Cophagus, having received a message
of}, welcome.; I.entered. the. room: first:
Susannah came forward to welcome me, and
then. drew. back, when:she perceived thejalte-
ration in my apparel, colouring deeply.,,).1
passed .her,.and ; took the hand of Mrs.
Cophagus, and. her husband, and. then. intro-
duced Mr. Masterton.

‘We, hardly knew; thee, Japhet,’’ mildly
observed Mrs. Cophagus,

“‘T did not think that. outward garments
would disguise me from my friends,” replied
I;.‘‘ but so it appeareth, for your sister hath
not even greeted me in welcome.”

‘*T greet thee inall kindness and all sincerity,
Japhet Newland,’ replied Susannah, holding
out her hand. ‘‘ Yet did I not imagine that in
so short a time thou wouldst, have dismissed
the apparel of our persuasion, neither do I
find it seemly,”’

‘‘ Miss Temple,” interposed Mr. Masterton,
‘‘it.is to, oblige those who are. his: sincere
friends that Mr. Newland has laid aside his
dress. .I quarrel with no creed-—-every’ one
has a right to choose for himself; and Mr:
Newland has, perhaps, not chosen badly in
embracing your tenets. Let. him continue
steadfast in them. But, fair. young. lady,
there is no creed which is perfect, and even
in yours, we find imperfection. Our religion
preaches humility, and therefore we do object
to his wearing the garb,of pride.’’

FALAET, IN.SEARCH: OF A FATHER. 143

 

 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
 
   
   
  
 
  

ao

‘“‘Of pride, sayest thou? Hath he not
rather put off the garb of humility, and now
appeareth in the garb of pride?’

‘Not so, young madam: when we dress
as all the world dress, we wear not the garb
of pride; but when we put on a dress dif-
ferent from others, that distinguishes us from
others, then we show our pride, and the worst
of pride, for it is the hypocritical pride which
apes humility: it is the Pharisee of the Scrip-
tures, who preaches in high places, and
sounds forth his charity to the poor; not the
humility of the Publican, who says, ‘Lord,
be merciful to me, a sinner.’ Your apparel
of pretended humility is the garb of pride,
and for| that reason have we insisted that he
discards it when with us. His tenets we in-
terfere not with. There can be no religion in
dress ; and that must, indeed, be weak in
itself Which requires dress for its support.”

Susannah was astonished at this new feature
of the case, so aptly put by the old lawyer.
Mrs: Cophagus’ looked at her husband, and
Cophagus pinched my arm, evidently agree-
ing with him. ~When Mr. Masterton had
finished speaking, Susannah waited a few
seconds, and then replied. ‘‘It becomes not
one so young and weak as I am to argue
with thee, who art so. much my senior. [
cannot cavil at opinions which, if not correct,
at least are founded on. the holy writings ;
but [ have been otherwise instructed.”

“Then let us drop the argument, Miss
Susannah, and let’ me teH you that Japhet
wishéd to résume his Quaker's dress, and I
would not permit him.  [f there is any blame,
it is, to: be laid: to»me ; aud it’s: no use being
angry with an old man like myself.”

‘‘T have no right to’ be angry with any
one,” replied Susannah.

‘“But you were angry with me, Susannah,’
interrupted f.

‘‘I cannot say that it was anger, Japhet
Newland: I hardly know what the feeling
might have been; but I was wrong, and J
must request thy forgiveness ;’’ and Susannah
held out her hand.

‘“Now you must forgive me too, Miss
Temple,’ said old Masterton ; and Susannah
laughed against her wishes.

‘The conversation then became general.
Mr., Masterton explained.to’ Mr. Cophagus
what he required of him, and Mr. Cophagus
immediately acceded: It was arranged that
he should go to town by the mail the next
day. . Mr. Masterton. talked a great deal
about my father; and gave his character in its
true light, as he considered it would be ad-
vantageous to me so to do. He then entered
into conversation upon aivariety of topics,
and was certamly very amusing. Susannah
laughed very heartily before the evening was
over, and Mr. Masterton retired to the hotel,
for I had resolved to/sleep in my own bed.

I. walked. home with Mr.. Masterton; ITA4

then returned to the house, and found them
all in the parlour. Mrs. Cophagus was ex-
pressing her delight at the amusement she
had received, when I entered with a grave
face. ‘‘I wish that I had not left you,” said
Ito Mrs. Cophagus; ‘‘I am afraid to meet
my father; he will exact the most implicit
obedience. What am Ito do? Must not I
obey him ?”

“‘JIn all things lawful,” replied Susannah,
‘‘most certainly, Japhet.”

“In all things lawful, Susannah !—now
tell me, in the very case of my apparel: Mr.
Masterton says that he never will permit me
to wear the dress. What am I to do?”

““Thou hast thy religion and thy Bible for
thy guide, Japhet.”

‘‘T have ; and in the. Bible I find written,
on tablets of stone, by the prophet of God,
‘Honour thy father and thy mother :’ there
is a positive commandment ; but I find no
commandment to wear this or that dress.
What think you?” continued I, appealing to
them all.

“I should bid thee honour thy father,
Japhet,’’ replied Mrs. Cophagus ; ‘‘ and you,
Susannah—— *

‘“‘ T shall bid thee good night, Japhet.”’

At this reply we all laughed, and I per-
ceived there was a smile on Susannah’s face
as she walked away. Mrs. Cophagus followed
her, laughing as she went, and Cophagus
and I were alone.

‘Well, Japhet—see old gentleman—kiss—
shake hands—and blessing—and so on.”

“Yes, isir,. replied I ;:“‘but if he treats
me ill, I shall probably come down here
again. JI am afraid that Susannah is not
very well pleased with me.”

‘*Pooh, nonsense—wife knows all—die for
you—Japhet, do as you please—dress your-
self—dress her—any dress—no dress, like
IXve—sly puss—won't lose you—all right—
and so on.”

I pressed Mr. Cophagus to tell me all he
knew, and I found from him that his wife
had questioned Susannah soon after my de-
parture, had found her weeping, and that
she had gained from her the avowal of her
ardent affection for me. This was all I
wanted ; and I wished him good night, and
went to bed happy. I had an interview with
Susannah Temple before I left the next
morning, and, although I never mentioned
love, had every reason to be Satisfied. She
was kind and affectionate; spoke to me in
her usual serious manner, warned me against
the world, acknowledged that I should have
great difficulties to surmount, and even made
much allowance for my peculiar situation.
She dared not advise, but she would pray for
me. ‘There was a greater show of interest
and confidence towards me than I had ever
yet received from her. When I parted from
her I said, ‘‘ Dear Susannah, whatever change

  

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

 

may take place in my fortunes or in my dress,
believe me my heart shall not be changed,
and I shall ever adhere to those principles
which have been instilled into me since I
have been in your company.”

This was a phrase which admitted of a
double meaning ; and she replied. ‘‘ I should
wish to see thee perfect, Javhet ; but there
is no perfection now on earth ; be, therefore,
as perfect as you can.”

‘“God bless you, Susannah !”’

‘‘May the blessing of the Lord be on you
always, Japhet,” replied she.

I put my arm round her waist, and slightly
pressed her to my bosom. She gently dis-
engaged herself, and her large eyes glistened
with tears as she left the room. Ina quarter
of an hour I was with Mr. Masterton on the
road to London.

‘‘ Japhet,” said the old gentleman, ‘‘I will
say that you have been very wise in your
choicé, and that your little Quaker is a most
lovely creature. Iamin love with her myself;
and I think that she is far superior in personal
attractions to Cecilia de Clare.”

‘«Indeed, sir!”

‘‘ Yes, indeed ; her face is more classical,
and her complexion is unrivalled ; as far as
my present knowledge and experience go,
she is an emblem of purity.”

‘‘ Her mind, sir, is as pure as her person.”

‘‘T believe it ; she has a strong mind, and
will think for herself.”

‘There, sir, is, I am afraid, the difficulty ;
she will not yield a point in which she thinks
she is right, not even for her love for me.”’

‘‘T agree with you that she will not, and I
admire her for it ; but, Japhet, she will yield
to conviction, and depend upon it, she will
abandon the outward observances of her per-
suasion. Did you observe what a spoke I put
in your wheel last night, when I stated that
outward forms were pride. Leave that to
work, and I'll answer for the consequences :
she will not long wear that Quaker’s dress.
How beautiful she would be if she dressed
like other people! I think I see her now
entering a ball-room.”

‘‘ But what occasions you to think she will
abandon her persuasion.”

““T do not say that she will abandon it,
nor do I wish her to do it, nor do I wish you
to do it, Japhet. There is much beauty and
much perfection in the Quaker's creed. All
that requires to be abandoned are the dress
and the ceremonies of the meetings, which
are both absurdities. Recollect, that Miss
Temple has been brought up as a Quaker ;
she has, from the exclusiveness of the sect,
known no other form of worship, and never
heard any opposition to that which has been
inculcated ; but let her once or twice enter
the Established Church, hear its beautiful
ritual, and listen to a sound preacher. Let
her be persuaded to do that, which cannotbe asking her to do wrong, and then let her
think and act for herself, and my word for it,
when she draws the comparison between
what she has then heard and the nonsense
occasionally uttered in the Quaker's con-
venticle, by those who fancy themselves in-
spired she will herself feel that, although the
tenets of her persuasion may be more in
accordance with true Christianity than those
of other sects, the outward forms and observ-
ances are imperfect. I trust to her own good
sense.

‘You make me very happy

‘Well, that is my opinion
she proves me to be correct,
don’t think I shall adopt her.”

‘“What do you think of Mrs. Cophagus,
Sipe

‘‘T think she is no more a Quaker in her
heart than I am. She is a lively, merry,
kind-hearted creature, and would have no
objection to appear in feathers and diamonds
to-morrow.

‘Well, sir, I can tell you that Mr. Co-
phagus still sighs after his blue cotton-net
pantaloons and Hessian boots.”

‘More fool he! but, however, I am glad
of it, for it gives me an idea which I shall
work upon by- and-by ; at present we have
this eeentfil meeting between you and your
father to occupy us. P.

by saying so.”
of her, and if
hang me if I

We arrived in town in time for dinner,
which Mr. Masterton had ordered at his
chambers. As the old gentleman was rather

tired with his two days” travelling I wished
him good night at an early hour.

a Recollect, Japhet, we are to be at the
Adelphi Hotel to-morrow at one o'clock—
come in time.”

I called upon Mr. Masterton at the time
appointed on the ensuing day, and we drove
to the hotel in which my father had located
himself. On our arrival, we were ushered
into a room on the ground floor, where we
found Mr. Cophagus. and two of the gover-
nors of the Foundling Hospital.”

‘Really, Mr. Masterton,’ said one of the
latter gentlemen, ‘‘ one would think that we
were about to have an audience with a sove-
reign prince, and, instead of conferring
favours, were about to receive them. My
time is precious ; I ought to have been in the
city this half-hour, and. here is this old nabob
keeping us waiting as if we were petitioners.

““Mr. Masterton laughed and said, ‘‘ Let
us all go upstairs, and not wait to be sent for.’

He called one of the waiters, and desired
him to announce them to General De Benyon.
They then followed the waiter, leaving me
alone. I must say, that I was a little agitated.
I heard the door open above, and then an
angry growl like that of a wild beast ; the
door closed again and all was quiet. ‘And
this,” thought I, ‘‘is the result of all my
fond anticipations, of my ardent wishes, of

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
 

145
my enthusiastic search. Insteading of ex-
pressing anxiety to receive his son, he liti-
giously requires proofs, and more proofs,

when he has received every satisfactory proof
already. They say his temper is violent
beyond control, and that submission irritates
instead of appeasing him ; what then if I
resent? I have heard that people of that
description are to be better met with their
own weapons :—suppose I try it ;—but no,
I have no right :-——I will, however, be firm,
and keep my temper under every circum-
stance: I will show him, at least, that his
son has the spirit and the feelings of a gentle-
man.

As these thoughts passed in my mind the
door opened, and Mr. Masterton requested
me to follow him. I obeyed with a palpitat-
ing heart ; and when I had gained the landing-
place upstairs, Mr. Masterton took my hand
and led me into the presence of my long-
sought-for and much-dreaded parent. I may
as well describe him and the whole tableau.
The room was long and narrow, and, at the
farther end, was a large sofa, on which was
seated my father with his injured leg reposing
on it, his crutches propped against the wall.
On each side of him were two large poles
and stands, each with a magnificent macaw.
Next to the macaws were two native servants,
arrayed in their muslin dresses, with their
arms folded. A hookah was in advance of
the table before the sofa ; it was magnificently
wrought in silver, and the snake passed under
the table, so that the tube was within my
honoured father's reach. On one side of the
room sat the two governors of the Foundling
Hospital, on the other was seated Mr. Co-
phagus in his Quaker’s dress; the empty
chair next to him had been occupied by Mr.
Masterton. I looked at my father; he was
a man of great size, apparently six feet three
or four inches, and stout in proportion, with-
out being burdened with fat : he was gaunt,
broad-shouldered, and muscular, and I think,
must have weighed seventeen or eighteen stone.
His head was in proportion to his body, and
very large ; so were all his features upon the
same grand scale. His complexion was of a
brownish-yellow, and his hair of a snowy

white. He wore his whiskers very large and
johied together under the throat, and “these,
which were also white, from the circle which
they formed round his face, and contrasting
with the colour of his skin, gave his ¢out ez-
semble much more the appearance of a royal
Bengal tiger than a gentleman. General De
Benyon said Mr. Masterton leading me for-
ward to within a pace or two of the table
before the table. Allow me the pleasure
of introducing your son, Japhet.’

There was no hand extended to welcome
me. My father fixed his proud grey eyes
upon me for a moment, and-then turned to
the governors of the hospital,‘“Ts this the person, gentlemen, whom you
received as an infant, and brought up as
Japhet Newland?”

‘The governors declared that I was the
same person; that they had bound me to
Mr. Cophagus, and had seen me more than
once since I quitted the Asylum.

‘‘Ts this the Japhet Newland whom you
received from these gentlemen and brought
up to:your business ?”’

““Yea, and verily—I do affirm the same—
smart lad—good boy—and so on.”

‘“T will not take a Quaker’s affirmation—
will you take your oath, sir?”

‘‘ Yes,’ replied Cophagus, forgetting his
Quakership ; ‘‘take oath—bring Bible—kiss
book—and so on,”’

“You, then, as a Quaker, have no objec-
tion to swear to the identity of this person?”

‘‘ Swear,’ cried Cophagus, ‘‘ yes, swear—
swear now—not Japhet !—I’m damned—go
to hell—and so oj.”

The other parties present could not help
laughing at this explosion from, Cophagus,
neither could I, Mr, Masterton then asked
the general if he required any more proofs.

‘‘ No,” replied the general discourteously ;
and speaking in Hindoostanee to his atten-
dants, they walked to the door and opened
it. The hint was taken, Mr. Masterton) say-
ing to the others in an ironical tone, ‘‘ After
so long a. separation, gentlemen, it must be
natural that the general should wish to be
left alone, that he may give vent to his
paternal feelings.”’

 

CibAP ER, TOR LV.

Father and I grow warm in our Argument —
Obliged to give him a little’ schooling to show
my Affection—Takes it at last very kindly, and
very dutifully owns himself a Fool.

IN the meantime, I was left standing in the
middle of the room : the gentlemen departed,
and the two native servants resumed their
stations on each side of the sofa. I felt
humiliated and indignant, but waited in
silence ; at last, my honoured parent, who
had eyed me for some time, commenced —

“Tf you think; young man, to win my:
favour by your good looks, you are very
much mistaken; you are too like your
mother, whose memory is anything but
agreeable.’

The blood mounted to my forehead at this
cruel observation ; I folded my arms and
looked my father stedfastly in the face, but
made no reply. The choler of the gentle-
man was raised,

‘‘It appears that I have found a most
dutiful son.”

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 

I was about to make an angry answer,
when I recollected myself, and I courteously
replied, ‘‘ My dear general, depend upon it
that your son will always be ready to pay
duty to whom duty is due; but excuse me,
in the agitation of this meeting you have for-
gotten those little attentions which courtesy
demands ; with your permission I will take
a chair, and then we may conyerse more at
our ease. I hope your leg is better.”’

I said thisavith the blandest voice and. the
most studied politeness, and drawing a chair
towards the table, I took my sé¢at,; asI ex-
pected, it put my honoured father in a tre-
mendous rage.

“If this is a specimen, sir, of your duty
and respect, sir, 1 hope to see no more of
them. To whom your duty is due, sir !—
and pray to whom is it due, sir, if not to the
author of your existence?” cried the general,
striking the table before him with his ‘enor=
mous fist, so.as to. make.the ink fly out of the
stand some inches high and bespatter the
papers near it.

‘‘My dear father, you are perfectly cor-
rect ; duty, as you say, is dye to. the author
of our existence. If. I recollect right, the
commandment says, ‘Honour your father
and your mother ;’ but at the same time, if
I may venture to offer an observation, are
there not such things as reciprocal duties—
some which are even more paramount in a
father than the mere begetting of a son?”

“What do you mean, sir, by these inso-
lent remarks ?”’ interrupted my father.

‘Excuse me, my dear father, I maybe
wrong, but if so, I will bow to your superior
judgment ; but it does appear to me,, that
the mere hanging me in a basket, at the gate
of the Foundling Hospital, and leaying me
a bank-note of fifty pounds to educate and
maintain me until the age of twenty-four, are
not exactly all the duties incumbent upon a
parent. If you think that they. are, I am
afraid that the world, as well as myself, will
be of a different opinion. Not that I intend
to make any complaint, as I feel assured
that now circumstances have. put it in your
power, it is your intention tomake me amends
for leaving me so long in: a state of destitu-
tion, and wholly dependent upon my own
resources.

‘“You do, do you, sir? well, now, I'll tell
you my resolution, which is—there is the
door—go out, and never let mé see your face
again,’

‘“My dear father, as, I am. convinced this
is only a little pleasantry: on your, part, or
perhaps a mere trial whether I am possessed
of the spirit and determination of a De Ben-
yon, I shall, of course, please you by not
complying with your humerous request.”

‘Won't you, by G--d?.”’ roared my father ;
then turning to. his two native servants, he
spoke to them in Hindoostanee. They im-C6

mediately walked to the door, threw it wide
open, and. then coming back to me, were
about to take me by the atms. I certainly
felt my blood boil, but I recollected’ how
necessary it was to keep my temper." I ‘rose
frommy chair, and advancing to the side of
the sofa, Tsaid.—

SIMy dear fe ither, as I perceive that you do
not require your crutches at this moment,
you will not perhaps object to my taking one.
These foreign scoundrels’ must not be per-
mitted ‘to insult you through ‘the person of
your only son.”

‘“Turn him out,” roared my father.

The natives advanced, but I whirled the
crutch ‘round my head, and in ‘a’ moment
they were both prostrate. As soon as they
gained their feet, I attacked them again,
until they made their escape out of the room ;
1 then shut ‘the door and turned the key.

“Thank you, my ‘dear sir,’’ said I, re-
turning the crutch to ‘where it was before.
“‘Many thanks for thus permitting me to
chastise the insolence of these black scoun-
drels, whom I take it for granted, you will
immediately discharge ;” and I again took
my seat in the chair, bringing it ‘closer to
him.

The rage of the general was now beyond
all bounds ; the white foam was spluttered
out'of his mouth, as he in vain endeavoured
to‘find words. ‘Once he actually rose from
the sofa, to take the law in his own hands,
but the effort seriously injured his leg, and
he threw himself down in pain and disap-
pointment.

‘‘ My dear father, I am afraid that) in your
anxiety to help me, you have hurt your leg
again,” said I, in a soothing voice:

‘“Sirrah, Sirrah,’’ exclaimed he, at last,
‘if you think that this’ will do, you are very
much mistaken. You'don’t know me. You
may turn out'a couple of cowardly blacks,
but now 1]
played with. I discard you for ever—I dis-
inherit—I disacknowledge you. You may
take your choice; either to quit this room or
be put into the hands of the police.”

‘©The police, my dear ‘sir! What can the
police do? JI may call in’ the police for the
assault just committed by your servants, and
have them up to Bow Street, but you cannot
charge me with an assault:”’

‘But I will, by G—d, sir, ‘true’ or not
true."

‘‘Indeed you’ would not, my déar father.
A De Benyon would'never be guilty of a
lie..' Besides, if you were to call in the
police ;—I wish to argue this matter coolly,
because ‘I ascribe your present little burst
of ill-humour to your sufferings from your

unfortunate accident. Allowing, then, my
dear father, that you were to charge me
with an assault, I should immediately be
under the necessity of charging you also,

 

I'll show-you that Tam not to be?

SAPHED, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER. 147

and then’ we must both go to. Bow Street
together. Were you ever at Bow Street,
general ?’’ The general made no reply, and
I proceeded.‘ ‘Besides my dear sit, only
imagine how very awk ward it would be when
the magistrate put! you on your oath, and
asked you to make your charge. What would
you be obliged ‘to declare? That you had
married when young, and finding that your
wife had no fortune, had deserted her the
second day after your marriage. That you,
an officer in ‘the army, and the Honourable
Captain De Benyon, had hung up your child
at the gates of the Foundling Hospital—that
you had again met your wife, married: to
another, and had been an accomplice in con-
cealing her capital offence of bigamy, ‘and
had had meetings with her, although she be-
longed to < another. I say meetings, for you
did 1 meet her, to receive her directions about
me. Iam charitable, and suspect nothing—
others will not be so.. Then, after her death,
you come home and inquire about your son.
His identity is established—and what then?
not only you do not take him by the hand,
in common civility, I might say, but you first
try to turn him out of the house, and to give

him in charge of the police’; and then you
will have to state for what. Perl ae you will
answer me that question, for I really do not
know.”

By this time my honoured father's! wrath
had, to a certain degree, subsided : ‘he heard
all I had to say, and he felt how very ridicu-
lous would have been his. intended: proceed-
ings, and, as ‘his wrath subsided, so did his
pain increase : he had seriously injured his
leg, and it was swelling rapidly—the ban-
dages tightened in conséquénce, ‘and’ he was
suffering: under the acutest. pain. ze OO) ¢ 5
oh!” gréaned he.

‘My dear father; c can T assist you ?”’

‘* Ring the bell, sir.’

‘“There is no occasion to ‘stimmon Assist-
ance while I ‘am here, my dear general. 1
can attend you ‘professionally, and if you wilt
allow me, will Soon’ relieve your pain. ‘Your
leg has swollen from’ éxertion, and the ban-
dages must be loosened.”’

He made no reply, but his features were
distorted with extreme pain. J went to him,
and proceeded to unloose the bandages,
which gave him considerable relief. I then
replaced them, secundum artem, and with
great tenderness, and going to the sideboard,
took the lotion which was standing there with
the other bottles, and wetted the bandages.
In' a few minutes’ he was quite relieved.
““Perhaps, sir,” said I, ‘‘ you had better try
to sleep a little. +I will take a book, and
shall have great pleasure in watching by your
side.”

Exhausted with pain and violence, the
general made no reply; he fell back on the
sofa, and in a short time he snored most148

comfortably, ‘‘I have conquered you,’
thought I, as I watched him as he lay
asleep. ‘‘If I have not yet, I will, that I
am resolved.” I walked gently to the door,
unlocked it, and opening it without waking
him, ordered some broth to be brought up
immediately, saying that the general was
asleep, and that I would wait for it outside.
I accomplished this little manoeuvre, and re-
closed the door without waking my father,
and then I took my seat in the chair, and
resumed my book, having placed the broth
on the side of the fire-grate to keep it warm.
In about an hour he awoke, and looked
around him.

‘‘Do you want
father ?” inquired I.

The general appeared undecided as to
whether to recommence hostilities; but at
last he said, ‘‘ I wish the attendance of my
servants, sir.”

‘The attendance of a servant can never be
equal to that of your own son, general,’ re-
plied I, going to the fire, and taking the
basin of broth, which [ replaced upon the
tray containing the e¢ ceferas on a napkin.
‘I expected you would require your broth,
and I have had it ready for you.”

‘“Tt was what I did require, sir, I must
acknowledge,” replied my father, and with-
out further remark he finished the broth.

I removed the tray, and then went for the
lotion, and again wetted the bandages on his
leg. ‘‘Is there anything else I can do for
you, sir?’ said I.

‘“Nothing—I am very comfortable.”

‘“Then, sir,’ replied I, ‘‘ I will now take
my leave. You have desired me to quit your
presence for ever, and you attempted force.
I resisted that, because I would not allow
you to have the painful remembrance that
you had injured one who had strong claims
upon you, and had never injured you. I
resented it also, because I wished to prove
to you that I was a De Benyon, and had
spirit to resist an insult. But, general, if
you imagine that I have come here with a
determination of forcing myself upon you,
you are much mistaken. I am too proud,
and happily am independent by my own
exertions, so as not to require your assist-
ance. Had you received me kindly, believe
me, you would have found a grateful and
affectionate heart to have met that kindness.
You would have found a son, whose sole
object through life has been to discover a
father, after whom he has yearned, who
would have been delighted to have adminis-
tered to his wants, to have yielded to his
wishes, to have soothed him in his pain, and
to have watched him in his sickness. De-

anything, my dearest

serted as I have been for so many years, I
trust that I have not disgraced you, General
De Benyon; and if ever I have done wrong,
it has been from a wish to discover you. I can

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

   
  
  
  
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
  

 

appeal to Lord Windermear for the truth of
that assertion. Allow me to say, that it isa
very severe trial—an ordeal which few pass
through with safety—to be thrown as I have
been upon the world, with no friend, no
parent to assist or to advise me, to have to
bear up against the contingency of being of
unacknowledged and perhaps disgraceful
birth. It is harder still, when I expected to
find my dearest wishes realized, that, without
any other cause than that of my features
resembling those of my mother, I am again
to be cast away. One thing, General de
Benyon, I request, and I trust it will not be
denied, which is, that I may assume the name
which I am entitled to. I pledge you’ that I
never will disgrace it. And nov, sir, asking
and expecting no more, I take my leave, and
you may be assured, that neither poverty,
privation, nor affliction of any kind, will ever
induce me to again intrude into your presence.
General De Benyon, farewell for ever !”

{ made my father a profound bow, and was
quitting the room.

‘‘Stop, sir,” said the general. ‘‘ Stop one
moment, if you please.”’
I obeyed.

‘Why did you put me out of temper?
Answer me that.”

‘“ Allow me to observe, sir, that I did not
put you out of temper; and what is more,
that I never lost my own temper during the
insult and injury which I so undeservedly and
unexpectedly have received.”

‘‘ But that very keeping your temper made
me more angry, Sir.

‘That is very possible ; but surely I was
not to blame. The greatest proof of a perfect
gentleman is, that he is able to command his
temper, and I wished you to acknowledge
that I was not without such pretensions.”

‘That is as much as to say that your
father is no gentleman ; and this, I presume,
is a specimen of your filial duty,’’ replied the
general, warmly.

‘“‘ Far from it, sir; there are many gentle-
men who, unfortunately, cannot command
their tempers, and are more to be pitied
than. blamed for it; but sir, when such
happens to be the case, they invariably
redeem their error, and amply so, by express-
ing their sorrow, and offering an apology.”

‘“That is as much as to say, that you
expect me to apologize to you.”

‘‘Allow me, sir, to ask you, did you ever
know a De Benyon submit to an insult ?”’

“SNowse, J jtrust note:

‘“Then, sir, those whose feelings of pride
will not allow them to submit to an insult
ought never to insult others. If, in the
warmth of the moment, they have done so,
that pride should immediately induce them to
offer an apology, not only due to the party,
but to their own characters. There is no
disgrace in making an apology when we arein-error, but there is a great disgrace in with-
holding such an act of common justice and
reparation.

‘‘] presume I am to infer from all this, that
you expect an apology from me?”

‘“General de Benyon, so far as I am con-
cerned, that is now of little importance ; we
part, and shall probably never meet again ;
if you think that it would make you feel more
comfortable, I am willing to receive it.”’

‘*T must suppose by that observation, that
you fully expect it, and otherwise will not
Stay?”

‘«T never had a thought of staying, general ;
you have told me that you have disinherited
and discarded me for ever ; no one with the
feelings of a man would ever think of remain-
ing after such a declaration.”’

‘‘Upon what terms, then, sir, am I to
understand that you will consent to remain
with me, and forget all that has passed ?”

‘‘ My terms are simple, general ; you must
say that you retract what you have said, and
are very sorry for having insulted me."’

‘‘And without I do that, you will never
come here again ?”’

““Most decidedly not, sir. I shall always
wish you well, pray for your happiness, be
sorry at your death, and attend your funeral
as chief mourner, although you disinherit me.
That is my duty, in return for my having
taken your name, and your having acknow-
ledged that I am your son ; but live with
you, or even see you occasionally, I will not,
after what has passed this day, without you
make me an apology.”

‘«T was not aware that it was necessary for
a father to apologize to his son.”

‘If you wrong a stranger, you offer an
apology ; how much more is it due to a near
relation ?”’

‘‘But a parent has claims upon his own
son, sir, for which he is bound to tender his
duty.”

‘“T grant it, in the ordinary course of things
in this life; but, General de Benyon, what
claims have you as a parent upon me? A
son in most cases is indebted to his parents
for their care and attention in infancy—his
edueation — his religious instruction — his
choice of a profession, and his advancement in
life, by their exertions and interest; and
when they are called away, he has a reason-
able expectation of their leaving hima portion
of their substance. They have a heavy debt
of gratitude to pay for what they have re-
ceived, and they are further checked by the
hopes of what they may hereafter receive.
Up to this time, sir, I have not received the
first, and this day I am told that I need not
expect the last. Allow me to ask you, General
de Benyon, upon what grounds you claim
from me a filial duty? certainly not for bene-
fits received, or for benefits in expectation ;
but I feel ‘that I am intruding, and therefore

FAPHESD, FN SEARCH. OF A FATHER.

   
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
     

149

sir, once more, with every wish for your hap-
piness, I take my leave.’

I went out, and had half closed the door
after me, when the general cried out, ‘‘Stop=
—don't go—Japhet—my son—I was in a
passion—I beg your pardon—don’t mind
what I said—I’m a passionate old fool.”

As he uttered this in broken sentences, I
returned to him. Heheld out his hand. ‘‘ For-
give me, boy—forgive your father.’ I knelt
down and kissed his hand; he drew me to-
wards him, and I wept upon his bosom.

CHAPTER. UXXKV,

Father still dutifully submissive at Home—Abroad,
1 am splitting a Straw in Arguments with Susan-

  

nah about Straw Bonnet: e rest of the
Chapter contains Coquetry, Courting, and Cos-
tumes.

IT was some time before we were sufficiently
composed to enter into conversation, and
then I tried my utmost to please him. Still
there was haturally a restraint on both
sides, but I was so particular and devoted in
my attentions, so careful of giving offence,
that when he complained of weariness, and a
wish to retire, he stipulated that I should be
with him to breakfast on the next morning.

I hastened to Mr. Masterton, although
it was late, to communicate to him all that
had passed : he heard me with great interest.
‘‘Japhet,” said he, ‘t you. have done well—
it is the proudest day of your life. You
have completely mastered him. ‘The royal
Bengal tiger is tamed. I wish you joy, my
dear fellow. © Now I trust that all will be well.
But keep your own counsel ; do not let this
be known at Reading. Let them still imagine
that your father is as passionate as eyer,
which he will be, by the bye, with everybody
else. You have still to follow up your success,
and leave me to help you in other matters.”

I returned. home to the Piazza, and, thank-
ful to Heaven for the events of the day, I
soon fell fast asleep, and dreamt of Susannah
‘Temple. The next morning I was early at
the Adelphi Hotel; my father had not yet
risen, but the native servants, who passed in
and out, attending upon him, and who took
care to give me a wide berth, had informed
him that ‘‘ Burra Saib's’’ son was come, and
he sent for me. His leg was very painful
and uncomfortable, and the surgeon had not
yet made his appearance. I arranged it as
before, and he then dressed, and came out
to breakfast. I had said nothing before the
servants, but as soon as he was comfortable
on the sofa, I took his hand, and kissed it150

saying, ‘‘Good morning, my dear father ; I
hope you do not repent of your kindness to
me yesterday.”

‘“No, no ; God bless you, boy.
thinking of you all night.”

‘CAll’s right,” thought I ; ‘‘ and I ‘trust: to
be able:to keep it so.”

I shall pass over a fortnight, during which
1 was in constant attendance upon my father.
At times he would fly out in a.most violent
manner, but I invariably kept my temper,
and when it was all over, would laugh at
him, generally repeating and acting all which
he had said and done during his paroxysm.
I found this rather dangerous ground at first,
but by degrees he became used to it, and it
was wonderful how it acted as a check upon
him. He would not at first believe but that
I exaggerated, when the picture was held up
to his view and he was again calm. My
father was not naturally a bad-tempered man,
but having been living among a servile race,
and holding high command in the army, he
had gradually acquired a habit of authority
and an impatience of contradiction which was
unbearable to all around. Those who were
high spirited and sensitive shunned him ; the
servile and the base continued with him for
their own interests, but trembled at his wrath.
I had during this time narrated to my father
the events of my life, and, I am happy to
say, had, by attention and kindness joined
with firmness and good temper, acquired a
dominion over him. I had at his request: re-
moved to the hotel, and lived with him alto-
gether. His leg was rapidly arriving to a
state of convalescence, and he now talked of
taking a house and setting up his establish-
ment in London. I had seen but little of
Mr. Masterton during this time, as I had re-
mained in-doors in attendance upon. the
general. I had written. once to Mr. Co-
phagus, stating how I was occupied,) but
saying nothing about our reconciliation.
One morning, Mr. Masterton called upon
us, and after a little conversation with the
general, he told me that he had persuaded
Mr. Cophagus and his’ wife to leave Reading
and come to: London, and that Susannah
Temple was to come with them.

‘‘On a visit ?’’ inquired I.

‘““No, not ona visit. I have seen: Co-
phagus, and he is determined to cut the
Quakers, and reside in London altogether.”’

‘“ What! does he intend to return to the
pomps and vanities of this wicked: world ?”’

“Yes, I believe so, and his wife will join
him. She has no objection to decorate her
pretty person,”

‘“T never thought that she had—but Susan-
nah Temple——’’

‘When Susannah is away from her friends,
when she finds that her sister and brother-in-
law no longer wear the dress, and when she
is constantly in your company, to all which

I've been

 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

FALHLET, IN SBARCH OF 4 FATHER.

please to add the effect I trust of my serious
admonitions, she will soon do as others do,
or she is no woman. ‘This is all my plan,
and leave it to me—only play your part by
seeing as much of her as you can.”’

‘‘You'need not fear that,” replied I.

‘“Does your father know of your attach-
ment?” tnquired Mr. Masterton.

‘‘ No, I passed her over without mention-
ing her name,” replied I. ‘‘It is too soon
yet to talk to him about my marrying; in
fact, the proposal must if possible come from

him. Could not you manage that?”
‘Yes, I will if I.can ; but, as you say, wait
awhile. Here is their, address—you must

call to-morrow, if. you cam; and do you
think you can dine with me on Thursday?”

‘Yes, if the general continues improving ;
if not, I will send you word.”’

‘The next day I complained of a head-ache,
and said, that I would walk out until dinner-
time. I hastened to the address given me
by Mr. Masterton, and found that Mr. Co-
phagus and his wife were out, but Susannah
remained at home. . After our first questions,
I inquired of her how she liked London.’

‘‘ lam almost afraid to say, Japhet, at least
to you; you would only laugh at me.”

‘Not so, Susannah: I never laugh when I
know people are:sincere.’’

‘‘It appears tome, then, to be a vanity fair,”

‘“That there is more vanity in London
than in any other city, I grant,” replied I;
but recollect that there are more people and
more wealth. I do not think that there is
more in proportion than in other towns in
England, and if there is more vanity,
Susannah, recollect also that there is more
industry, more talent, and I should hope a
greater proportion of good and honest people
among its multitudes; there is also, un-
fortunately, more misery and more crime.”

‘I believe you are right, Japhet. Are you
aware that Mr. Cophagus has put off his plain
attire 2’)

‘ Ifit grieves you, Susannah, it grieves me
also ; but I presume he finds it necessary not
to be so remarkable.”’

‘“For him, I could find some excuse > but
what will you say, Japhet, when I tell you
that my own sister, born and bred up to our
tenets, hath also much deviated from the
dress of the females of our sect?”

“In what hath she made an alteration ?’’

“She has a bonnet of plaited straw and
ribands.”’

‘Of what colour are the ribands?.”

‘‘ Nay, of the same as her dress—of grey.”

‘‘Your-bonnet, Susannah, is of grey silk;
I donot see that there is vanity in descend-
ing to straw, which is.a more homely commo-
dity. But what reason has she given?”

‘That her husband wills it, as he does not
like to walk out with her in her Quaker’s
dress.’“‘Ts it not her duty to obey her husband,
even as I obey my father, Susannah ?—but I
am not ashamed to walk out with you in
your dress ; so if you have no objection, let
me show you a part of this great city.”

Susannah consented : we had often walked
together in the town of Reading : she was
evidently pleased at what I said. I soon
escorted her to Oxford-street, from thence
down Bond-street and through all the most
frequented parts of the metropolis. The
dress naturally drew upon her the casual
glance of the passengers, but her extreme
beauty turned the glance to an ardent gaze,
and long before we had finished our intended
walk, Susannah requested that I would go
home. She was not only annoyed but almost
alarmed, at the constant and reiterated
scrutiny which she underwent, ascribing it to
her dress, and not to her lovely person. As
soon as we returned, I sat down with her.

““So I understand that Mr. Cophagus
intends to reside altogether in London.”

‘“T have not heard so; I understood that
it was business which called him hither for a
few weeks. I trust not, for I shall be un-
happy here.”’

‘* May I ask why?”

‘The people are rude—it is not agreeable
to walk out.”

‘“‘ Recollect, my. dear Susannah, that those
of your sect are not so plentiful in Londonas
elsewhere, and if you wear a dress so different
from other people, you must expect that
curiosity will be excited. You cannot blame
them—it is you who make yourself con-
spicuous, almost saying to the people by your
garment, ‘Come and look at me.’ -I have
been reflecting upon what Mr. Masterton
said to you at Reading, and I do not, know
whether he was not right in calling it a garb
of pride instead of a garb of humility.’

“Tf I thought so, Japhet, even I would
throw it off,” replied Susannah.

‘«Tt certainly is not pleasant that every. one
should think that you walk out on purpose to
be stared at, yet such is the ill-natured con-
struction of the world, and they will never
believe otherwise. It is possible, I should
think, to dress with equal simplicity and
neatness, to avoid gay colours, and yet to
dress so as not to excite observation.’

‘‘T hardly know what to say, but.that you
all appear against me, and that sometimes I
feel that I am too’ presumptuous in thus
judging for myself.”

‘“T am not against you, Susannah ; I know
you will do what you think is right, and I
shall respect you for that, even if I disagree
with you; but I must say, that if my wife
were to dress in such a way as to attract the
public gaze, I should feel too jealous to ap-
prove of it. Ido not, therefore, blame Mr.
Cophagus for inducing his pretty wife to
make some alteration in her attire, neither do

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

 
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I5I

I blame, but I commend her, for obeying the
wishes of her husband. Her beauty is his,
and not common property.”

Susannah did not reply ; she appeared very
thoughtful.

“You disagree with me, Susannah,” said
I, after a pause ; ‘‘ I am sorry for it.”

‘I cannot say that I do, Japhet: I have
learnt a lesson this day, and, in future I must
think more humbly of myself, and be more
ruled by the opinions and judgment. of
others,”

Mr. and Mrs. Cophagus then came in.
Cophagus had resumed his medical coat and
waistcoat, but not his pantaloons or Hessians:
his wife, who had a very good taste in dress,
would not allow him. She was in her grey
silk gown, but wore a large handsome shawl,
which covered all but the skirts : on her head
she had a Leghorn bonnet, and certainly
looked very pretty. As usual, she was all
good-humour and smiles. I told them, that
we had been walking out, and that. Susannah
had been much annoyed by the staring of
the people.

‘‘Always so,” said Cophagus, ‘‘ never
mind—girls like it—feel pleased, and-so on.”

‘“You wrong me much, brother Cophagus,”’
replied Susannah; ‘‘it pained me exceed-
ingly.”’

‘“All very well to say so—know better—
sly puss—will wear dress—people say, pretty
Quaker—and so on.”

Susannah hastily left the room after this
attack, and I told them what had passed.

“Mrs. Cophagus,’’ said I, ‘‘order a bon-
net and shawl like yours for her, without
telling her, and perhaps you will persuade
her to put them on.”

Mrs. Cophagus thought the idea excellent,
and promised to procure them. Susannah
not making her re-appearance, I took leave,
and arrived at the hotel in good time for
dinner,

‘‘Japhet,’’. said the general to meas we
were at table, ‘‘you have mentioned Lord
Windermear very often, have you called upon
him lately ?”’

““No, sir, it is now two years and more
since I have seen him. When I was sum-
moned to town to meet you, I was too much
agitated to think of anything else, and since
that I have had. too much pleasure in your
company.’

“Say, cather, my good boy, that you have
nursed me so carefully that you have neg-
lected your friends and your health. Take
my carriage to-morrow, and call upon him ;
and after that, you had better drive about a
little, for you have: been looking pale these
last few days. I hope to get out myself ina
short time, and then we will have plenty of
amusement together in setting up our es-
tablishment.”’CHAPTER LAXVI,

I renew old ‘ies of Friendship, and seek new ones
of Love—Obliged to take my Father to task
once more—He receives his Lesson with proper
Obedience.

I TOOK the carriage the next day, and drove
to Lord Windermear's. He was at home,
and I gave my name to the servant as Mr. De
Benyon. It was the first time that I had made
use of my own name. His lordship was alone
when I entered. He bowed, as if not recog-
nizing me, and wayed his hand to a chair.

““My lord, I haye given my true name,
and you treat me as a perfect stranger. I
will mention my former naine, and [ trust
you will honour me with a recognition. I was
Japhet Newland.”’

‘“My dear Mr. Newland, you must accept
my apology ; but it is so long since we met,
and I did not expect to see you again.”

“‘T thought, my lord, that Mr. Masterton
had informed you of what had taken place.”

No ; I have just come from a visit to my
sisters, in Westmoreland, and have received
no letters from him.”

‘“[ have, my lord, at last succeeded in
finding out the object of my mad search, as
you were truly pleased to call it, in the Ho-
nourable General De Benyon, lately arrived
from the East Indies.”

‘“Where his services are well known,’
added his lordship. ‘‘ Mr. De Benyon, I
congratulate you with all my heart. When
you refused my offers of assistance, and left
us all in that mad way, I certainly despaired
of ever seeing you again. TI am glad that
you re-appear under such fortunate auspices.
Has your father any family?”’

“None, my lord, but myself; and my
mother died in the East Indies.”

‘“Then, I presume, from what I know at
the Board of Control, that you may zovw safely
be introduced as a young gentleman of large
fortune ; allow me, at least, to assist your
father in placing you: in your proper sphere
in society. Where is your father?”

‘At present, my lord, he is staying at the
Adelphi Hotel, confined to his room by an
accident; but I trust that in a few days he
will be able to come out.”

“Will you ‘offer my congratulations to
him, and teil him, that if he will allow me,
I will have the honour of paying my respects
to him. Will you dine with me on Monday
THEXtip, ?

I returned my thanks, accepted the invi-
‘ation, and took my leave, his Jordship
Saying, as he shook hands with me, ‘‘ You
don't know how happy this intelligence
has made me. I trust that your father and
I shall be good friends.”

When I returned to the carriage, as my
father had desired me to take an airing, I

 

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
    
  
 
 
   

JALPHEDT, IN SHARCH OF A RATT

thought I might as well have a companion,
so I directed them to driveto Mr. Cophagus’s.’
The servant knocked, and I went in as soon
as the door was opened. Susannah and
Mrs. Cophagus were sitting in the room.

‘Susannah,’ said I, ‘‘ I know you do not
like to walk out, so I thought, perhaps,
you would have no objection to take an
airing in the carriage : my father has lent it
to me. Will you come ?—it will do you
good.”’

“Tt is very kind of you, Japhet, to think
of me ; but——”

‘“But what,” replied Mrs. Cophagus.
‘Surely thou wilt not refuse, Susannah. It
wouldsavour much of ingratitude on thy part.”

“‘T will.not then be ungrateful,’ replied
Susannah, leaving the room ; and in a short
time she returned in a Leghorn bonnet and
shawl like her sister's ‘*Do not I prove
that I am not ungrateful, Japhet, since, to
do credit to thy carriage, Iam content to
depart from the rules of our persuation?”
said Susannah, smiling.

‘“T feel the kindness and the sacrifice you
are making to please me, Susannah,” re-
plied I; ‘‘ but let us lose no time.”

I handed her down to the carriage, and we
drove to the Park. It was a beautiful day,
and the Park was filled with pedestrians as
well as carriages. Susannah was much
astonished, as well as pleased. ‘‘ Now,
Susannah,”’ said I, “‘if you were to call this
Vanity Fair, you would not be far wrong ;
but still, recollect that even all this is pro-
ductive of much good. Reflect how many
industrious people find employment and pro-
vision for their families by the building of
these gay vehicles, their painting and orna-
menting. How many are employed at the
loom, and at the needle, in making these
costly dresses. This vanity is the cause of
wealth not being hoarded, but finding its
way through various channels, so as to pro-
duce comfort and happiness to thousands.”

“Your observations are just, Japhet, but
you have lived in the world, and seen much
of it. Iam as one just burst from an egg-
shell, all amazement. I have been living in
a little world of my own thoughts, surrounded
by a mist of ignorance, and not being able to
penetrate farther, have considered myself
wise when I was not.”

““My dear Susannah, this is a checkered
world, but not a very bad one—there is in it
much of good as well as evil. The sect to
which you belong avoid it—they know it not
—and they are unjust towards it. During
the time that I lived at Reading, I will can-
didly state to you that I met with many who
called themselves of the persuasion, who
were wholly unworthy of it, but they made
up in outward appearance and hypocrisy
what they wanted in their conduct to their
fellow-creatures. Believe me, Susannah,there are pious and good, charitable and
humane, conscientious and strictly honour-
able people among those who now pass before
your view in such gay procession ; but society
requires that the rich should spend their
money in superfluities, that the poor may be
supported. Be not deceived, therefore, in
future, by the outward garments, which avail
nothing.”

‘You have induced me much to alter my
opinions already, Japhet; so has that pleasant
friend of thine, Mr. Masterton, who has
twice called since we have been in London ;
but is it not time that we should return ? ”

‘Tt is indeed later than I thought it was,
Susannah,’ replied I, looking at my watch,
‘and I am afraid that my father will be im-
patient for my return. I will order them to
drive home. ”

As we drove along, leaning against the
back of the carriage, my hand happened to
touch that of Susannah, which lay beside her
on the cushion, I could not resist taking it in
mine, and it was not withdrawn. What my
thoughts were, the reader may imagine ;
Susannah’s I cannot acquaint him with ; but
in that position we remained in silence until
the carriage stopped at Cophagus's door.
handed Susannah out of the carriage, and
went up stairs for a few moments. Mrs,
Cophagus and her husband were out.

“ Susannah, this is very kind of you, and
I return you my thanks. I never felt more
happy than when seated with you in that
carriage?”

‘“T have received both amusement and in-
struction, Japhet, and ought to thank you.
Do you know what passed in my mind at one
time.”

‘‘No—tell me.”

‘‘When I first knew you, and you came
among us, I was, as it were, the guide, a
presumptuous one perhaps, to you, and you
listened to me ; now it is reversed—now that
we are removed and in the world, it is you
that are the guide, and it is I who listen and
obey.”

‘Because, Susannah, when we first met I
was much in error, and had thought too
little of serious things, and you were fit to be
my guide ; now we are mixing in the world,
with which I am_ better acquainted than
yourself. You then corrected me, when |
was wrong; I now point out to you where
you are not rightly informed ; but, Susannah,
what you have learnt of me is as naught
compared with the yaluable precepts which I
gained from your lips—precepts which, I
trust, no collision with the world will ever
make me forget.’

“Oh! I love to hear you say that ; I was
fearful that the world would spoil you,
Japhet ; but it will not—will it ?”’

““Not so long as I have you still with me,
Susannah; but if lam obliged to mix again
with the world, tell me, Susannah, will you

_

YAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA TELE Re:

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
    
     

153

reject me ?—will you desert me ?—will you
return to your own people and leave me so
exposed? Susannah, dearest, you must
know how long, how dearly I have loved
you ;—you know that, if I had not been sent
for and obliged to obey the message, I
would have lived and died content with you.
Will you not listen to me now, or do you re-
ject me =

I put my arm round her waist, her head
fell upon my shoulder, and she burst into
tears. ‘‘Speak, dearest; this suspense is
torture to me,’ continued I.

‘‘T do love you, Japhet,” replied she at
last, looking fondly at me through her tears ;
“but I know not whether this earthly love
may not have weakened my affection towards
Heaven. If so, may God pardon me, for I
cannot help it.”’

After this avowal, for a few minutes, which
appeared seconds, we were in each other's
arms, when Susannah disengaged herself.

“Dearest Japhet, thy father will be much
displeased.”

“JT eannot help it,” replied I; ‘‘I shall
submit to his displeasure.’

‘Nay, but, Japhet, why risk thy father’s
wrath ?”’

“Well, then,” replied I, attempting to
reach her lips, ‘‘ I will go.”

“ Nay, nay—indeed, Japhet, you exact too
much—it is not seemly.”

“Then I won't go.”

‘‘ Recollect about thy father.”

“Tt is you who detain me, Susannah.”

“J must not injure thee with thy father,
Japhet, it were no proof of my affection—but,
indeed, you are self-willed.”

‘God bless you, Susannah,” said I, as I
gained the contested point, and hastened to
the carriage.

My father was a little out of humour when
I returned, and questioned me rather sharply
as to where I had been. I half pacified him
by delivering Lord Windermear's polite mes-
sage; but he continued his interrogations ;
and although I had pointed out to him that a
De Benyon would never be guilty of an un-
truth, I am afraid I told some half-dozen on

this occasion ; but I consoled myself with the
reflection that, in the code of honour of a
fashionable man, he is bound, if necessary,
to tell falsehoods where a lady is concerned ;
so I said I had driven through the streets
looking at the houses, and had twice stopped
and had gone in to examine them. My father
supposed that I had been looking out for a
house for him, and was satisfied. Fortunately
they were job horses ;. had they been his own
I should have been in a severe scrape. Horses
are the only part of an establishment for
which the gentlemen have any consideration,
and on which ladies have no mercy.

I had promised the next day to dine with
Mr. Masterton. My father had taken a great
aversion to this old gentleman until I had154

narrated the events of my life, in which he

had played such a conspicuous and friendly
part. Then, to do my father justice, his
heart warmed towards him.

“My dear sir, I have promised to dine out
to-day.”

“With whom, Japhet?”

“Why, sir, to tell you the truth, with that

- “old thief of a lawyer.’”’

“Iam very much shocked at your using
such an expression towards one who has been
such a sincere friend, Japhet ; and you will
oblige me, sir, by not doing so again in my
presence.”

‘‘T really beg your pardon, general,” replied
I, “‘but I thought to please you.”

“Please me! what do you think of me?
Please me, sir, by showing yourself un-
grateful !—I am ashamed of you, sir.”

‘‘ My dear father, I borrowed the expression
from you. You called Mr. Masterton ‘an old
thief of a lawyer’ to his face; he complained
to me of the language before I had the
pleasure of meeting you. I feel, and always
shall feel, the highest respect, love, and
gratitude towards him. Have I your per-
mission to go?”

“Yes, Japhet,” replied my father, looking
very grave ; ‘‘and do me the favour to apolo-
gize for me to Mr. Masterton for my having
used such an expression in my unfortunate
warmth of temper—I am ashamed of my-
selis

‘“My dearest father, no man need be
ashamed who is so ready to make honour-
able reparation,—we are all a little out of
temper at times.”

‘“You have been a kind friend to me,
Japhet, as well as a good son,” replied my
father, with some emotion. ‘Don't forget
the apology, at all events ; I shall be unhappy
until it be made,”

CHAPTER: LX XVI.

Treats of Apologies, and Love coming from Church
—We finesse with the Nabob to win me a Wife—-
T am successful in my Suit, yet the Lawyer is
still to play the Cards, to enable me to win the
Game.

T ARRIVED at Mr. Masterton’s, and walked
into his room, when whom should I find ‘in
company with him but Harcourt.

“Japhet, I’m glad to see you; allow me to
introduce you to Mr. Harcourt—Mr. De
Benyon,” and the old gentleman grinned
maliciously, but I was not to be taken aback.

‘““Farcourt,’”” said I, extending my hand,
“IT have to apologize to you for a rude re-
ception and for unjust suspicions, but I was
vexed at the time—if you will admit that:as
an excuse.”

 

  
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.

‘“My dear Japhet,” replied Harcourt, taking |
my hand and ‘shaking it warmly, ‘‘I have to
apologize to you for much more unworthy
behaviour, and it will be a great relief to my
mind if you will once more enrol me in the
list of your friends.”’

‘‘And now, Mr. Masterton,” said I, ‘‘as_
apologies appear to be the order of the day, I
bring you one from the general, who has re-
quested me to make one to you for having
called you ‘an old thief of a lawyer,’ of which
he was totally ignorant until I reminded him |
of it to day.”

Harcourt ‘burst into a laugh.

“Well, Japhet, you may tell your old |
tiger, that I did not feel particularly affronted,
as I took his expression professionally and
not personally, and if he meant it in that |
sense, he was not far wrong. Japhet, to-
morrow is Sunday ; do you go to meeting or
to church?”

‘Tl believe, sir, that I shall go to church.”

‘Well, then, come with me;—be here at
half-past two—we will go to evening service
at St. James’s.”’

‘“‘I have received many invitations, but I
never yet received an invitation to go to
church,” replied 1.

“You will hear an extra lesson of the day—
a portion of Susannah and the Elders.”

I took the equivoque, which was incom-
prehensible to Harcourt ; I hardly need say,
that the latter and I were on the best terms.
When we separated, Harcourt requested leave
to call upon me the next morning, and Mr.
Masterton said that he should also pay his
respects to the tiger, as he invariably called
my most honoured parent.

Harcourt was with me very soon after
breakfast : and after I had introduced him to
my ‘‘Governor,” we retired to talk without
interruption.

‘‘ have much to say to you, De Benyon,”
commenced Harcourt : ‘‘first let me tell you,
that after I rose from my bed, and discovered
that you had disappeared, I resolved, if pos-
sible, to find you out and induce you to come
back. Timothy, who looked very sly at me,
would tell me nothing, but that the last that was
heard of you was at Lady de Clare's, at Rich-
mond. Having no other clue, I went down
there, introduced myself, and, as they will
tell you, candidly acknowledged that I had
treated you ill. I then requested that they
would give me any clue by which you might
be found, for I had an opportunity of offering
to you a situation which was at my father’s
disposal, and which any gentleman might
have accepted, although it was not very lu-
crative.”’

‘Tt was very kind of you, Harcourt.”’

““Do not say that, I beg. It was thus
that I formed an acquaintance with Lady de
Clare and her daughter, whose early history
as Fleta, [I had obtained from you, but whoI little imagined to be the little girl that you
had so generously protected ; for. it was not
until after I had deserted you, that you had
discovered her parentage. The extreme in-
terest relative to you evinced by both the
mother and the daughter surprized me. They
had heard of my name from you, but not of
our quarrel. They urged me, and thanked
me for proposing to follow you and find you
out ; I did make every attempt. I went to
Brentford, inquired at all the public-houses,
and of all the coachmen who went down the
road, but could obtain no information, ex-
cept that at one public-house a gentleman
stopped with a portmanteau, and soon after-
wards went away with it on his shoulders.
I returned to Richmond with the tidings of
my ill-success about a week after I had first
called there. Cecilia was much affected, and
cried very bitterly. I could not help asking
Lady de Clare why she took such a strong
interest in your fortunes. ‘Who ought,’ re-
plied Cecilia, ‘if his poor Fleta does not?’
“Good heayens! Miss de Clare, are you the
little Fleta whom he found with the gipsies,
and talked to me so much about?’ ‘Did
you not know it?’ said Lady de Clare. I
then explained to her all that had latterly
passed between us, and they in return com-
municated your events and dangers in Ire-
land. Thus was an intimacy formed, and
ever since I have been constantly welcome at
their house. I did not, however, abandon
my inquiries for many months, when I thought
it was useless, and I had to console poor Ce-
cilia, who constantly mourned for you. And
now, Japhet, I must make my story short: I
could not help admiring a young person who
showed so much attachment and gratitude
joined to such personal attractions ; but she
was an heiress, and I was a younger brother.
Still Lady de Clare insisted upon my coming
to the house; and I was undecided how to
act, when the unfortunate death of my elder
brother put me in a situation to aspire to
her hand. After that my visits were more
frequent; and I was tacitly received as a
suitor by Lady de Clare, and had no reason
to complain of the treatment I received from
Cecilia. Such was the position of affairs until
the day on which you broke in upon us so
unexpectedly ; and at the very moment that
you came in, I had, with thé sanction of her
mother, made an offer to Cecilia, and was
anxiously awaiting an. answer from her own
dear lips. Can you, therefore, be surprized,
Japhet, at there being a degree of constraint
on all sides at the interruption occasioned. by
the presence of one who had long been con-
sidered lost tous? Or that a young person
just deciding upon the most. important step of
her life should feel confused and agitated at
the entrance of a third party, however dear
he might be to her as a brother and bene-
factor 2.

‘‘T am perfectly satisfied Harcourt,” re-

FAPHEE, IN SEARCH OF. A FA THER.

plied 1; ‘‘ and I will go there, and make my
peace as soon as I can,”

‘* Indeed; Japhet, if you knew ike distress
of Cecilia, you would pity and love her more
than ever. Her, mother is also much an-
noyed, As soon as you were gone, they de-
sired me to hasten after you and bring you
back. Cecilia had not yet given her answer :
I requested it before my departure; but, I
presume to stimulate me, she declared that she
would give me no answer until I re-appeared
with you. ‘This is now three weeks ago, and
I have not dared to go there. I have been
trying all I can to see you again since you
repulsed me at the Piazza, but without suc-
cess, until I went to Mr. Masterton, and
begged him to procure me an interview. I
thank God it has succeeded.”

“Well, Harcourt, you shall see Cecilia
to-morrow morning, if you please.”

‘Japhet, what obligations I am under to
you !, Had it not been for you I never should
have known Cecilia ; and more, were it not
for your kindness, I might perhaps. lose her
for ever.

‘“Not.so; Harcourt; it was your own
good feeling prompting you to find me out,
which introduced you to Cecilia, and I wish
you joy with all my heart. This is a strange
world—who would have imagined that, in
little Fleta, I was picking up a wife for a
man whose life I nearly, took away? I. will
ask my ‘Governor’ for his carriage to-mor-
row, and will call and take you up at your
lodgings at two o'clock, if that hour will suit
you. I will tell you all that has passed since
I absconded, when we are at Lady de Clare’s ;
one story will do for all.”

Harcourt then took his leave, and I re-
turned to my father, with whom IJ found Lord
Windermear.

‘De Benyon, 1 am happy to see you
again,’’ said his lordship. ‘‘I have just been
giving a very good character of you to the
general: I hope you will continue to deserve
it.

‘“T hope so, too, my lord ; I should be un-
grateful, indeed, if I did not, after my father’s
kindness to me.”

Mr. Masterton was then introduced : Tord
Windermear shook hands with him, and
after. short conversation took his leave.

“‘Japhet,” said Mr. Masterton aside, ‘I
have. a little business with your father: get
out of the room. any way you think best.”

‘“There are but two ways, my dear sir,”
replied I—‘‘ the door or. the windows ; with
your permission, I will select the former as
most agreeable; so saying, I went to my
ownroom. What passed between the general
and Mr. Masterton I did not know until
afterwards ; but they were closeted upwards
ofan hour, when I was sent for by Mr. Mas-
terton.

‘‘ Japhet, you said you would go with me
to hear the new preacher. We have no time156

to lose; so, general, I shall take my leave,
and run away with your son.”’

I followed Mr. Masterton into his carriage,
and we drove to the lodging of Mr. Cophagus.
Susannah was all ready, and Mr. Masterton
went upstairs and brought her down. A blush
and a sweet smile illumined her features
when she perceived me stowed away in the
corner of the chariot. We drove off, and
somehow or another our hands again met,
and did not separate until we arrived at the
church door. Susannah had the same dress*
on as when she had accompanied me in my
father's carriage. I went through the re-
sponses with her, reading out of the same
book ; and I never felt more inclined to be
devout, for I was happy, and grateful to
Heaven for my happiness. When the service
was over, we were about to enter the carriage,
when who should accost us but Harcourt.

‘“You are surprised to see me here,” said
he to Mr. Masterton; ‘‘but I thought there
must be something very attractive, that you
should make an appointment with Japhet to
go to this church ; and as I am very fond of
a good sermon, I determined to come and
hear it.”

Harcourt’s ironical look
would say

“Well,” replied Mr. Masterton, “‘I hope
you have been edified. Now get out of the
way, and let us go into the carriage.

‘To-morrow “at two, De Benyon,” said
Harcourt, taking another peep at Susannah.

told me all he

haN eS, punctually, ’ replied I, as the car-
riage drove off.
“And now, my dear child,” said Mr.

Masterton to Susannah, as the carriage rolled
along, ‘‘ tell me, have you been disappointed,
or do you agree with me? You have attended
a meeting of your own persuasion this morn-
ing—you have now for the first time listened

to “the ritual of the Established Church. To
which do you give the preference ?”’
“TY will not deny, sir, that I think, in de-

parting from the forms of worship, those of
my persuasion did not do wisely. I would
not venture thus much to say, but you sup-
port me in my judgment.”

‘“You have answered like a good, sensible
girl, and have proved that you can think for
yourself ; but observe, my child, I have per-
suaded you for once, ae once only, to enter
our place of worship, that you might compare
and judge for yourself: it now remains for
you to decide as you please.”

‘I would that some better qualified would
decide for me,” replied Susannah, gravely.

‘Your husband, Susannah,” whispered I,
“must take that responsibility upon himself.
Is he not the proper person ?”’

Susannah slightly pressed my hand, which
held hers, and said nothing. As soon as we
had conveyed her home, Mr. Masterton

offered to do me the same kindness, which I
accepted.

 

GFAPHET, IN SEARCH

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
    
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
    
    
   
    
  
  

OF A FATHER.

‘“ Now, Japhet, I daresay that you would
like to know what it was I had so particular
to say to the old general this morning ?”’

‘«Of course I would, sir, if it concerned

8

‘“Tt did concern you, for we had not been
two minutes in conversation before you were
brought on the fagzs. He spoke of you with
tears in his eyes-——-of what a comfort you had
been to him—and how happy you had made
him; and that he could not bear you to be
away from him for half an hour. On that
hint, I spake, and observed that he must not
expect you to continue in retirement long ;
neither must he blame you, that, when he
had set up his establishment, you would be
as great a favourite as you were before, and
be unable, without giving offence, to refuse
the numerous invitations which you would
receive. In short, that it was nothing but
right you should resume your position in
society, and it was his duty to submit to it.
‘The old ‘Governor’ did not appear to like
my observations, and said he expected other-
wise from you. I replied, ‘that it was im-
possible to change our natures, and the other
sex would naturally have attractions which
you would not be able to resist, and that they
would occupy a large portion of your time.
The only way to insure his company, my dear
sir, is to marry him to a steady, amiable
young woman, who, not having been thrown
into the vortex of fashion, will find pleasure
in domestic life. Then her husband will be-
come equally domestic, and you will be all
very happy together.. Your father agreed
with me, and appeared very anxious that it
should take place. I then very carefully in-
troduced Miss Temple, saying that I knew
you had a slight partiality in that quarter,
highly commending her beauty, prudence,
&c. I stated that, “feeling an interest about
you, I had gone down into the country where
she resided, and had made her acquaintance,
and had been much pleased with her; that
since she had come up to town with her
relations, I had seen her a great deal, and
had formed so high an opinion of and so
strong an attachment to her, and had felt so
convinced that she was the very person who
would make you happy and domestic, that,
having no family myself, I had some idea of
adopting her. \At all events, that if she
married you, 1 was determined to give her
something very handsome on the day of the
wedding. e

a But, my dear sir, why should you not
have said that Susannah Temple was left an
orphan at seven years old, and her fortune

 

has accumulated ever since? It is by no
means despicable, I understand, from Mr,
Cophagus ; and, moreover, Mr. Cophagus

”

intends to leave her all his property.

“Tam very glad to hear it, Japhet, and
will not fail to communicate all this to your
father: but there is no reason why I maynot do as I please with my own money—and
I love that girl dearly. By the bye, have you
ever said anything to her?”

‘ O yes, sir, we are pledged to each other.”

“That's all right; I thought so when I
saw your fingers hooked together in the car-
Tage. But now, Japhet, I should recommend
a little indifference—not exactly opposition,
when your father proposes the subject to you.
It will make him more anxious, and when
you consent, more obliged to you. I have
promised to call upon him to-morrow, on
that and other business, and you had better
be out of the way.”

‘‘T shall be out of the way, sir: I mean to
go with Harcourt to Lady De Clare's. I
shall ask for the carriage."

‘““He will certainly lend it to you, as he
wishes to get rid of you; but here we are.
God bless you, my boy.”

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

The Bengal Tiger taken in the Toils, which pro-
mise a speedy end to mine—I kindly permit my
Father to insist upon the Marriage that I have
set my Heart upon.

I FOUND my father, who had now completely
recovered from his accident, walking up and
down the roomina brown study. He did not
speak to me until after dinner, when he com-
menced with asking some questions relative to
Cecilia De Clare. I replied, ‘that I intended,
if he did not want the carriage, to call there
to-morrow with Mr. Harcourt.”

“‘Ts she very handsome ?”’ inquired he.

“Very much so, sir.’ I do not think I
ever saw a handsomer young person. Yes, I
do recollect one.”

‘“Who was that ?”’

‘“‘A young lady with whom I was slightly
acquainted, when living in the country.”

‘‘T have been thinking, my dear boy, that
with the competence which you will have, it
is right that you should marry early; in so
doing you will oblige your father, who is
anxious to see his grandchildren before he
dies. My health is not very good.”

I could not help smiling at this pathetic
touch of the old ‘‘Governor’s,”’ who, if one
could judge from appearances, was as strong
as a lion, and likely to last almost as long as
his dutiful son. Moreover, his appetite was
enormous, and he invariably finished his
bottle every day. I did, not, therefore, feel
any serious alarm as to his health; but I
nevertheless replied, ‘‘ Matrimony is a sub-
ject upon which I have never thought”’ (a
hem ! a De Benyon never tells an untruth !)
“I am very young yet, and am too happy to
remain with you.”

‘“But, my dear boy, I propose that you
shall remain with me—we will all live to-

 

FAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FA THER.

 

157

gether. I do not intend that we shall part.
I really wish, Japhet, you would think
seriously of it.”

‘“ My dear father, allow me to observe that
at present [ am not in a situation to support
a wife, and I should be sorry to bea tax upon
you, at your age: you require many com-
forts and luxuries, and I presume that you
live up to your income.”

“Then, my dear fellow, you are under a
great mistake. I can lay down one hundred
thousand pounds on the day of your mar-
riage with any lady whom I approve of, and
still not spend half my remaining income.”

+ bate sine replied ts certainly removes
one difficulty, at the same time that it proves
what a generous and indulgent father I am
blessed with ; but, sir, with sucha fortune, I
have a right to expect that the lady will also
bring a handsome addition. Miss De Clare
is engaged, I believe to Mr. Harcourt, or I
might have made strong interest in that
quarter.

‘‘Something, my dear boy; but a moderate
fortune, nowadays, is all that we expect with
wives, and the best wives are those who are
not born to too much wealth; still she should
bring something ; but tell me, Japhet, who is
that young lady whom you thought hand-
somer than Miss De Clare ?”’

“‘A Miss Temple, sir.”’

“Temple—it is a very good name. I think
girls brought up in the country make the best
Wives.”

“They do, sir, most certainly : they are
more domestic, and make their husbands more
content and happy at home.”

‘“Well, my dear boy, I have mentioned
the subject, and wish you would think of it.
You will please me much.”

‘“My dear father, I shall be most happy to
obey in everything else, but in so serious a
point as uniting myself for life, I think you
must allow that a little discretionary power
should be given to a son. All I can say is
this, show me a young person who is eligible,
and if I find that I can love her, I will not
refuse to obey your wishes.”’

‘‘ Well, sir, do as you please,” replied my
father, very angrily; ‘‘but I think, sir; when
I desire you to fall in love, it is your duty to
obey.”

‘Suppose I was to fall in love with a per-
son you did not like, would you allow me to
marry her?”

‘‘Most certainly not, sir.”

‘“Then, sir, is it reasonable to expect me
to marry without being in love 2?”

“‘I did not marry for love, sir.’

“No,” replied I, forgetting myself a
little ; ‘‘and a pretty mess you made of it.”

“I did,” rejoined my father, in a rage, ‘‘ by
begetting an undutiful, good-for-nothing,
graceless, insolent, ungrateful son.”

‘““My dear father, I was not aware that I
had a brother.”‘“T.mean you, Sit...

“To prove to you how unjust. you are,
sir, and how little 1 deserve what you have
called me, I now promise you to marry as
soon as you wish.”

‘“Thank you, my boy, that’s kind of you;
but I will say that you are a comfort and a
treasure to me, and I bless the day that
brought you to my arms. Well, then, look
about you.”

» NO, sit, ol leaver it all to syou. select
the party, and I am willing to obey. you.”

‘“My dear boy! Well, then, I'll talk the
matter over with Mr. Masterton to-morrow,
and the general shook me warmly by the hand.

The next day I picked up Harcourt, and
proceeded to Park Street. A note from him
had informed them of our intended visit, and
other visitors had been denied. ‘‘ All has
been explained, Cecilia,’’ said; L, atter,.the
first greeting : ‘‘I was very wrong and very
foolish.”’

“And made me very miserable. I little
thought that you, Japhet, would have made
me cry so much; but I forgive you for it, as
[ would a thousand times as much more.
Now, sit down and tell us all that has hap-
pened since you left us.’

*“Not yet, my dear Cecilia. You, as well
as I, owe a reparation to poor Harcourt,
whom, I think, you have treated cruelly.
You were about to answer a question of vital
moment when I broke in upon you, and you
have since kept him in a state of cruel sus-
pense for the more than three weeks, refusing
him an answer until he brought me into your
presence. An hour of such suspense must be
dreadful, and before we sit down, I wish
every one should feel comfortable and happy.”

‘“It was not altogether to stimulate Mr.
Harcourt to bring you back, which induced
me to refuse to answer his question, Japhet.
I considered that your return had rendered
it necessary that it should be deferred until I
saw you. I have not forgotten, Japhet, and
will never forget, what I was when you rescued
me; and when I think what I might have
been had you not saved me, I shudder at the
bare idea, I have not forgotten how you
risked, and nearly lost your life in Ireland
for my sake—neither has my mother. We
are beholden to you for all our present happi-
ness, and I am eternally indebted to you for
rescuing me from ignorance, poverty, and
perhaps vice. You have been more, much
more, than a father to me—more, much more,
than a brother. Jam, as it were, a creature
of your own fashioning, and I owe to you
that which I never can repay. When, then,
you returned so unexpectedly, Japhet, I felt
that you had a paramount right in my dis-
posal, and I was glad that 1 had mot replied
to Mr. Harcourt, as I wished first for your
sanction and approval. I know all that has

passed between you, but I know not your
real feelings

towards Mr._ Harcourt :. he

 

FAPHET, 1N. SEARCH. OF A FATHER.

acknowledges that he treated’ you very ill,
and.it was his, sincere repentance of having
so done, and his praise of you, which first
won my favour. And now, Japhet, if you
have still animosity against Mr. Harcourt—
if you-——"’

‘«Stop, my dear Fleta, I will answer all
your questions at once.’ I took Harcourt’s
hand and placed it in hers. ‘May God
bless you both, and may you be happy !”’

Cecilia threw her arms round me and wep;
so did everybody else, I believe. It was
lucky for Harcourt that Iwas in love with
Susannah Temple. As soon as Cecilia had
recovered a little, I kissed her, and passed
her oyer to her right owner, who led her to
the sofa. Lady De Clare and I went out
of the room on important business, and did
not return for a quarter of an hour. When
we returned, Cecilia went to her mother and
embraced her, while Harcout silently squeezed
my hand. When then all sat down, and I
gave them an account of all that had passed
during my second excursion—how I had
nearly been hanged—how I had gone mad
—how I had turned Quaker and apothecary
—which they all agreed, with what had
happened to me. before, made up a very
eventful history.

‘« And, Japhet, if it be a fair question about
one so fair, was that Miss Temple who was
at church with you yesterday 2”

“Tt was.

‘“Then, Cecilia, if ever she appears in the
same circle, except in my.eyes, your beauty
will stand in some danger of being eclipsed.”

‘‘ How. can you say except in your eyes,
Mr. Harcourt ?”’ replied Cecilia, ‘‘ the very
observation proves that it is eclipsed in your
eyes, whatever it may be in those of others.
Now,, as a punishment, I have a great mind
to order you away again, until you bring her
face to face, that I may judge myself.”

‘“lf I am again banished,” replied Har-
eourt, ‘‘I shall have a second time to appeal
to De Benyon to be able to come back again.
He can produce her, I have no doubt.”

“And; perhaps may, some of; these days,
Cecilia,”’

‘“Oh! do, Japhet. I will love her so,”

‘““You must wait a little, first. I am not
quite so far advanced. as you and Harcourt.
I have not received the consent of all parties,
as you have to-day. But I must now leave
you. Harcourt, I presume you will dine
here. I must dine with my ‘Governor.’”’

On my return I found that the table was
laid for, three, and that the general. had
asked Mr. Masterton, from which I augured
well. Masterton could not speak to me when
he arrived, but -he gave me a wink and a
smile, and I was satisfied... ‘‘ Japhet,’ said
my father, ;‘‘ you have no engagement to-
morrow, I hope, because I[ shall call at Mr.
Masterton’s, on business, and wish you to
accompany me.”

   
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
   
    
     
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  

4I replied that ‘‘T should be most happy,”
and the conversation became general,

I accompanied my father the next day to
Lingoln’s Inn; and when we went up, we
found Mr. Masterton at the table with Mr.
Cophagus, and Susannah sitting apart near
the window. ‘‘ The plot thickens,” thought
1. ‘The fact was: as IT was afterwards told

by Mr. Masterton, Hé had ‘prevailéd upon
Cophagus to pretend business, and to brine
Susannah with him, and appointed ‘them a
quarter of an hour before our time. ‘This‘he
had ‘arranged, that (the general might see
Miss Temple, as if'by aecident: and also
allow me, who, my ‘father supposed, was not
aware of Miss Temple being in town, to meet
with her. What a deal of humbug there is
in-this world. Nothing but plot and counter.
plot! I shook hands with Cophagus, who,
I perceived, had, notwithstandine® his wife's
veto, put on his blue cotton ‘net pantaloons
and Hessian boots, and he appeared to be so
tight in both that he could hardly move. As
far as I could judge, his legs had not im-
proved since I had last seen them in this his
favourite ‘dress.

‘*Mr: De Benyon, I believe that you have
met Miss Temple before,” said Mr. Master-
ton, winking at me. ‘‘ In Berkshire, was it
not’? Miss Temple, allow me to introduce
General De Benyon.”

f'went up'to Susannah, who coloured and
trembled at the sight of my fathet, as I éx-
pressed my hope that she had béén well since
we last met. She peérceiyed that there was
Some ‘planned scheme, and’was ‘so puzzled
that she said nothing, - My father then spoke
to her, and after a short time took a chair,
and seated himself close 'to her. I never
knew her make herself so agreeable. He
asked her where she was staying, and when
he heard that it was with Mr. Cophagus, he
said that he should have the pleasure of call-
ing upon Mr. Cophagus. and thank him for
his kind information relative to me. Shortly
afterwards Cophagus took his leave, and
Susannah rose to accompany him, when tmy
father, héaring that they had walked, insisted
upon putting Miss Temple’ down ‘in his, car-
riage. So that Mr. Cophagus had to walk
home one way, and I the other.

CHAPTER LEXKIX.

Poor Cophagus finds an End to his Adventures by
the means of a mad Bull; I of mine by Matri-
mony — Father is prettily behaved, and my

’ Quaker Wife the most fashionably-dressed Lady
in Town=Verily !'hum !

 

ALAS! little did Mr. Cophagus know how
fatal to him would be the light cotton nets
when he put them on that day. He had
proceeded, as it appears, about two-thirds of
his way home (he lived in Welbeck Street),

FAPHET, IN- SEARCH OF A FATHER.

  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  

159

when he perceived a rush from up a street
leading into Oxford Street. He looked to
ascertain the cause, when to his horror he
perceived—what to him was the greatest of
all horrors—a mad bull. If anything could
make Mr. Cophagus run, it was a sight like
that, and he did run; but he could not min
fast in his cotton nets and tight Hessians,
which crippled him altogether. As if out of
pure spite, the bull singled him out from at
least one hundred, who exerted their agility,
and again was poor Mr. Cophagus tossed far
behind the animal, fortunately breaking his
fall by tumbling on a large dog who was in
full chase. The dog, who was unable to
crawl from beneath the unfortunate Copha-
gus, was still in a condition to’ bite, which he
did most furiously; and the butcher, who
had an affection for his dog, when he per-
ceived its condition, also vented his fury
upon poor Cophagus, by saluting him ‘with
several blows on ‘his head with ‘his cudgel.
What between the bull, the dog, and the
butcher, poor Mr, ‘Cophagus was taken into
a shop in a very deplorable condition. After
some time he recovered, and was able to
name his residence, when he was taken home.

It was late in the evening when T received
a note from Susannah informing me of that
unfortunate accident. My father had just
finished a long story about filial duty, country
girls, good wives, &c., and had wound up by
saying, that he and Mr. Masterton both con-
sidered that Miss Temple would be a very
eligible match, and that as I had requested
him to select, he had selected her accordingly.
Thad just proved how truly dutiful I was, by
promising todo all I could to love her, and
to fulfil his wishes, when the note was put in
my hands. TI read it, stated its contents to
my father, and, with his permission, imme-
diately jumped into a hackney coach, and
drove to Welbeck Street.

On my arrival I found poor Mrs. Cophagus
in a state of syncope, and Susannah attending
her. I sent for the surgeon who had been
called in, and then went up to Mr. Cophagus.
He was much better than I expected—calm,
and quite sensible. His wounds had been
dressed by the surgeon, but he did not appear
to be aware of the extent of the injury he had
received. When the surgeon came, I queés-
tioned him. He informed me that although
much hurt, he did not consider that there was
any danger to be apprehended; there were
no bones broken; the only fear that he had
was, that there might be some internal in-
jury ; but at present that could not be ascer-
tained. I thanked him, and consoled Mrs.
Cophagus with this information. I then
returned to her husband, who shook his head,
and muttered, as I put my ear down to hear
him. ‘' Thought so—come to London—full
of mad bulls—tossed—die—and so on.”

“Oh no!” replied I, ‘‘the surgeon says
that there is no danger. You will be up ina160 @

week—but now you must keep very quiet. I
will send Mrs. Cophagus to you.”’

I went out ; and finding her composed, I
desired her to go to her husband, who
wished to see her, and I was left alone with
Susannah. I told her all that had passed,
and after two delightful hours had escaped, I
returned home to the hotel. My father had
waited up for some time, and finding that I
did not return, had retired. When I met
him the next morning, I mentioned what the
surgeon had said; but stated that, in my
opinion, there was great cause for alarm in a
man of Mr. Cophagus’s advanced age. My
father agreed with me; but could not help
pointing out what a good opportunity this
would afford for my paying my attentions to
Miss Temple, as it was natural that I should
be interested about so old a friend as Mr.
Cophagus. My filial duty inclined me to
reply, that I should certainly avail myself of
such a favourable opportunity.

My adventures are now drawing toa close.
I must pass over three months, during which
my father had taken and furnished a house
in Grosvenor Square; and I, whenever I
could spare time, had, under the auspices of
Lord Windermear, again been introduced
into the world as Mr. De Benyon. I found
that the new name was considered highly
respectable ; my father’s hall-tables were
loaded with cards; and I even received two
dinner invitations from Lady Maelstrom,
who told me how her dear nieces had won-
dered what had become of me, and that they
were afraid that Louisa would have fallen
into a decline. And during these three
months Cecilia and Susannah had been intro-
duced, and had become as inseparable as
most young ladies are who have a lover
apiece, and no cause for jealousy. Mr.
Cophagus had so far recovered as to be able
to go down into the country, vowing, much
to the chagrin of his wife, that he never
would put his foot in London again. He
asked me whether I knew any place where
there were xo mad bulls, and 1 took some
trouble to find out, but I could not ; for even
if he went to the North Pole, although
there were no bulls, yet there were bull
bisons and musk bulls, which were even
more savage. Upon which he declared that
this was not a world to live in; and to prove
that he was sincere in his opinion, poor
fellow, about three months after his retire-
ment into the country, he died from a general
decay, arising from the shock produced on
his system. But before these three months
had passed, it had been finally arranged
that Harcourt and I were to be united on
the same day; and having renewed my
acquaintance with the good bishop, whom I
had taxed with being my father, he united us
both to our respective partners. My father
made over to me the sum which he had
mentioned. Mr. Masterton gave Susannah

 

 

 

  
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
 
    

FARGELE IN SEARCH ION A PATHER,

ten thousand pounds, and her own fortune —
amounted to as much more, with the rever-

sion of Mr. Cophaguss property at the

decease of his widow. ‘Timothy came up to
the wedding, and I formally put him in the

possession of my shop and _ stock-in-trade, ~
and he has now a flourishing business. Al

though he has not yet found his mother, he
has found a very pretty wife, which he says”
does quite as well, if not better.

Let it not be supposed that I forgot the
good services of Kathleen—who was soon ™
after married to Corny. A small farm on”
Fleta’s estate was appropriated to them, at ©
so low a rent, that ina few years they were ™
able to purchase the property ; and Corny, |
from a leveller, as soon as he was com- :
fortable, became one of the governmental j
firmest supporters.

I am now living in the same house with my
father, who is very happy, and behaves pretty ©
well. He is seldom in a passion more than |
twice a week, which we consider as miracu-~
lous. Now that I am writing this, he has”
his two grandchildren on his knees. Mrs. _
Cophagus has married a captain in the Life
Guards, and as far as fashion and dress are ~
concerned, may be said to be ‘‘ going the™
whole hog.” And now, as I have no doubt —
that my readers will be curious to know”
whether my lovely wife adheres to her)
primitive style of dress, I shall only repeat a ©
conversation of yesterday night, as she came”
down arrayed for a splendid ball given by
Mrs. Harcourt De Clare. :

““Tell me now, De Benyon,
not this a pretty dress?” |

‘“Yes, my dear,” replied I, looking at her”
charming face and figure with all the admi-~
ration usual in the honeymoon, ‘‘it is in-
deed; but do you not think, my dear
Susan,” said I, putting the tip of my white
glove upon her snowy shoulder. ‘‘ that it is
cut down a ttle too low ?”’

‘Too low, De Benyon! why it’s not half
so low as Mrs. Harcourt De Clare or Lady
wear their dresses.’

“Well, my dear, I did not assert that it
was. I only asked.”

‘‘ Well, then, if you only asked for inform-
ation, De Benyon, I will tell you that it is
not too low, and I think you will acknow-
ledge that on this wes my opinion ought to_
be decisive ; for, if I have no other merit, I
have at least the merit of being the best-
dressed woman in London.” |

‘‘ Verily thou persuadest me, Susannah,’
replied I.

‘“ Now, De Benyon, hold your tongue.”

Like a well-disciplined husband, I bowed,
and said no more. And now, having no
more to say, I shall also make my bow to
my readers, and bid them farewell.

said she, ‘‘is—

 

FINIS.Mr. Midshipman Easy

BY
CAPT ATL N MA RR VAT

AUTHOR OF “PETER SIMPLE”

AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION

LONDON |
GEORGE ROULLEDGE AND -S@NS —&£
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE .

NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET

daCO NDE IN ES.

CHAPTER
I. WHICH THE READER WILL FIND VERY EASY TO READ = ° =
II. IN WHICH MRS. ‘EASY, AS USUAL, HAS HER OWN WAY = - -
Ill. IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS TO WAIT THE ISSUE OF AN ARGUMENT 2
IV. IN WHICH THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES GOING TO SCHOOL AS A REMEDY FOR
A CUT FINGER - - ~ - - - - =
V. JACK EASY IS SENT TO A SCHOOL AT WHICH THERE IS NO FLOGGING a
VI. IN WHICH JACK MAKES ESSAY OF HIS FATHER'S SUBLIME PHILOSOPHY,
AND ARRIVES VERY NEAR TO TRUTH AT LAST - = - =
VII. IN WHICH JACK MAKES SOME VERY SAGE REFLECTIONS, AND COMES TO A
VERY UNWISE DECISION = - - -
VIIL IN WHICH MR. EASY HAS HIS FIRST LESSON AS TO ZEAL IN HIS MAJESTY’S
SERVICE = - - - - -
IX. IN WHICH MR. EASY FINDS HIMSELF ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BAY OF
BISCAY = = = - - =
X. SHOWING HOW JACK TRANSGRESSES AGAINST HIS OWN PHILOSOPHY =
XI. IN,WHICH OUR HERO PROVES THAT ALL ON BOARD SHOULD EQUALLY
SACRIFICE DECENCY TO DUTY = = - = - =
XIl. IN WHICH OUR HERO PREFERS GOING DOWN TO GOING UP; A CHOICE, IT
IS TO BE HOPED, HE WILL REVERSE UPON A MORE IMPORTANT OCCASION
XIII. IN WHICH OUR HERO BEGINS TO THINK AND ACT FOR HIMSELF = =
XIV. IN WHICH OUR HERO FINDS THAT DISAGREEABLE OCCURRENCES WILL
TAKE PLACE ON A CRUISE ° - - = a =
N WHICH MUTINY, LIKE FIRE, IS QUENCHED FOR WANT OF FUEL, AND NO
WANT OF WATER - - - - - = = =
XVI. IN WHICH JACK’S CRUISE IS ENDED, AND HE REGAINS THE HARPY =
XVII. IN WHICH OUR HERO FINDS .OUT THAT TRIGONOMETRY IS NOT ONLY
NECESSARY TO NAVIGATION, BUT MAY BE REQUIRED IN SETTLING
AFFAIRS OF HONOUR - = = = = = -
XVII. IN WHICH OUR HERO SETS OFF ON ANOTHER CRUISE, IN WHICH HE IS NOT
BLOWN OFF SHORE : = - = = - -
XIX. IN WHICH OUR HERO FOLLOWS HIS DESTINY AND FORMS A TABLEAU =
XX. A LONG STORY, WHICH THE READER MUST LISTEN TO, AS WELL AS OUR
HERO = S = = = = - = -
IN WHICH OUR HERO IS BROUGHT UP ALL STANDING UNDER A PRESS OF
SAIL - = = = = a = = =
XXII. OUR HERO IS SICK WITH THE SERVICE, BUT RECOVERS WITH PROPER
MEDICINE.—AN ARGUMENT, ENDING, AS MOST DO, IN A BLOW UP.—
MESTY LECTURES ON CRANIOLOGY = = - = =
XXIII, JACK GOES ON ANOTHER CRUISE.—LOVE AND DIPLOMACY.—JACK PROVES
HIMSELF TOO CLEVER FOR THREE, AND UPSETS ALL THE ARRANGE-
MENTS OF THE HIGH CONTRACTING POWERS = = - =

XV,

_

es

PAGE

N Ow

I2
14
18

2i

32

36
4t

48

53

59

66
72iv
CHAPTER
XXIV.
XXV.

XXXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXXII.

XXXII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVIT-

AXXVIIT.
XXXIX.

CONTENTS.
PAGE
OUR HERO PLAYS THE VERY DEVIL - - - - - - 96
IN WHICH THE OLD PROVERB IS ILLUSTRATED, ‘THAT YOU MUST NOT
COUNT YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY ARE HATCHED’ - - - IOL
IN WHICH OUR HERO BECOMES EXCESSIVELY UNWELL, AND AGREES TO
GO THROUGH A COURSE OF MEDICINE - - - - - 106
IN WHICH CAPTAIN WILSON IS REPAID WITH INTEREST FOR JACKS
BORROWING HIS NAME ; PROVING THAT A GOOD NAME IS AS GOOD AS
A LEGACY - - - - - - - - - 109
‘ PHILOSOPHY MADE EASY’ UPON AGRARIAN PRINCIPLES, THE SUBJECT OF
SOME UNEASINESS TO OUR HERO.—THE FIRST APPEARANCE, BUT NOT

THE LAST, OF AN IMPORTANT PERSONAGE = = = - 112
IN WHICH OUR HERO SEES A LITTLE MORE SERVICE, AND IS BETTER EM-

PLOYED THAN IN FIGHTING DON SILVIO - aa es < = - 115
MODERN PHILANTHROPY, WHICH, AS USUAL, IS THE CAUSE OF MUCH

TROUBLE AND VEXATION - = z = - = = 19

A REGULAR SET-TO, IN WHICH THE PARTIES BEATEN ARE NOT KNOCKED
DOWN, BUT RISE HIGHER AND HIGHER AT EACH DISCOMFITURE—
NOTHING BUT THE TROOPS COULD HAVE PREVENTED THEM FROM GOING
UP TO HEAVEN = = > - > - = - 122

IN WHICH OUR HERO AND GASCOIGNE OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF THEM-
SELVES, AND DID FEEL WHAT MIGHT BE CALLED MIDSHIPMITE COM-
PUNCTION - = = - - - - - - 126

IN WHICH MESTY SHOULD BE CALLED THRCUGHOUT MEPHISTOPHELES,
FOR IT ABOUNDS IN BLACK CLOAKS, DISGUISES, DAGGERS, AND DARK

DEEDS - - : - - - - - - 131
JACK LEAVES THE SERVICE, IN WHICH HE HAD NO BUSINESS, AND GOES
HOME TO MIND HIS OWN BUSINESS : - : E - 133

MR. EASYS WONDERFUL INVENTION FULLY EXPLAINED BY HIMSELIF—
MUCH TO THE SATISFACTION OF OUR HERO, AND IT IS TO BE PRE-
SUMED TO THAT ALSO OF THE READER = > e = 136

IN WHICH JACK TAKES UP THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ARGUMENT, AND
PROVES THAT HE CAN ARGUE AS WELL ON ONESIDE AS THE OTHER - 139

IN WHICH OUR HERO FINDS HIMSELF AN ORPHAN, AND RESOLVES TO

GO TO SEA.AGAIN, WITHOUT THE SMALLEST IDEA OF EQUALITY - 142
IN WHICH OUR HERO, AS USUAL, GETS INTO THE VERY MIDDLE OF IT - 146
A COUNCIL OF WAR, IN WHICH JACK DECIDES THAT HE WILL HAVE

ONE MORE CRUISE - - - - - - - 148
IN WHICH THERE IS ANOTHER SLIGHT DIFFERENCE OF OPINION BETWEEN

THOSE WHO SHOULD BE FRIENDS - - - - - 152

WHICH WINDS UP THE NAUTICAL ADVENTURES OF MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASYMR. MIDSHIPMAN

     

BASY,

swe gi hate

Se

CHAPTER 1:

WHICH THE READER WILL

Mr. NIcoDEMUS EAsy was a gentleman who
lived down in Hampshire ; he was a married
man, and in very easy circumstances. Most
couples find it very easy to have a family, but
not always quite so easy to maintain them.
Mr. Easy was not at all uneasy on the latter
score, as he had no children; but he was
anxious to have them, as most people covet
what they cannot obtain. After ten years,
Mr. Easy gave it up as a bad job. Philo-
sophy is said to console a man under disap-
pointment, although Shakspeare asserts that
it is no remedy for tooth-ache; so Mr. Easy
turned philosopher, the very best profession a
man can take up, when he is fit for nothing
else ; he must be a very incapable person in-
deed who cannot talk nonsense. For some
time Mr. Easy could not decide upon what
description his nonsense should consist @is
at last he fixed upon the rights of man, equa-
lity, and all that ; how every person was born
to inherit his share of the earth, a right at
present only admitted to a certain length ;
that is, about six feet, for we all inherit our
graves, and are allowed to take possession
without dispute. But no one would listen to
Mr. Easy's philosophy. The women would
not acknowledge the rights of men, whom
they declared always to be in the wrong ; and
as the gentlemen who visited Mr. Easy were
all men of property, they could not perceive
the advantages of sharing with those who had
none. However, they allowed him to discuss the
question, while they discussed his port wine,
The wine was good, if the arguments were
not, and we must take things as we find them
in this world.

While Mr. Easy talked philosophy, Mrs.
Easy played patience ; and they were a very
happy couple, riding side by side on their
hobbies, and never interfering with each other.
Mr. Easy knew his wife could not understand
him, and therefore did not expect her to listen
very attentively; and‘Mrs. Easy did not care how

much her husband talked, provided she was

FIND VERY EASY TO READ.

not put out inher game, Mutual forbearance
will always ensure domestic felicity.

There was another cause for their agreeing
so well. Upon any disputed question Mr.
Easy invariably gave it up to Mrs. Easy, tell-
ing her that she should have her own way—
and this pleased his wife; but as Mr. Easy
always took care, when it came to the point,
to have his way, he was pleased as well. It
is true that Mrs. Easy had long found out
that she did not have~her own way long ; but
she was of an easy disposition, and as, in nine
cases out of ten, it was of very little conse-
quence how things were done, she was quite
satisfied with his submission during the heat
of the argument. Mr. Easy had admitted
that she was right ; and if, like all men, he
would do wrong, why, what could a poor
woman do? With a lady of such a quiet dis-
position, it is easy to imagine that the domestic
felicity of Mr. Easy was not easily disturbed.
But, as people have observed before, there is
a mutability in human affairs. It was at the
finale of the eleventh year of their marriage
that Mrs. Easy at first complained that she
could not enjoy her breakfast. Mrs, Easy
had her own suspicions, everybody else consi-
dered it past doubt, all except Mr. Easy; he
little ‘ thought, good easy man, that his great-
ness was ripening ;' he had decided that to
have an heir was no easy task, and it never
occurred to him that there could be a change
in his wife’s igure. You might have added
to it, subtracted from it, divided it, or multi-
plied it, but as it was a zero, the result would
be always the same. Mrs. Easy also was not
quite sure—she believed it might be the case,
there was no saying; it might be a mistake,
like that of Mrs. Trunnion’s in the novel, and
therefore she said nothing to her husband
about the matter. At last Mr. Easy opened
his eyes, and when, upon interrogating his
wife, he found out the astounding truth, he
opened his eyes still wider, and then he
snapped his fingers and danced, like a bear

I—-2upon hot plates, with delight, thereby proving
that different causes may produce similar
effects in two instances at one and the same
time. The bear dances from pain, Mr. Easy
from pleasure ; and again, when we are in-
different, or do not care for anything, we snap
our fingers at it; and when we are overjoyed,
and obtain what we most care for, we also
snap our fingers. Two months after Mr. Easy
snapped his fingers, Mrs. Easy felt no inclina-
tion to snap hers, either from indifference or
pleasure. The fact was, that Mrs. Easy’s
time was come, to undergo what Shakspeare
pronounces ‘the pleasing punishment that
women bear; but Mrs. Easy, like the rest of
her sex, declared ‘that all men were liars,”
and most particularly poets.

But while Mrs. Easy was suffering, Mr.
Easy was in ecstasies. He laughed at pain,
as all philosophers do when it is suffered by
other people, and not by themselves.

In due course of time, Mrs. Easy presented
her husband with a fine boy, whom we pre-
sent to the public as our hero.

 

CHAPTER Ii,
iN WHICH MRS. EASY, AS USUAL, HAS HER
OWN WAY.

IT was the fourth day after Mrs. Easy’s con-
finement that Mr. Easy, who was sitting by
her bedside in an easy chair, commenced as.
follows : ‘I have been thinking, my dear Mrs.
Easy, about the name I shall give this child.’

“Name, Mr. Easy! why, what name should
you give it but your own?’

‘Not so, my dear,’ replied Mr. Easy; ‘they
call all names proper names, but | think that
mine is not. It is the very worst name in the
calendat.’

‘Why, what’s the matter with it,
Easy ?’

‘The maiter affects me as well as the boy.
Nicodemus is a long name to write at full
length, and Nick is vulgar. Besides, as there
will be two Nicks, they will naturally call my
boy young Nick, and of course I shall be
styled old Nick, which will be diabolical.’

“Well, Mr. Easy, at all events then let me
choose the name.’

‘That you shall, my dear ; and:it was with
this view that I have mentioned the subject so
early,

‘I think, Mr. Easy, I will call the boy after
my poor father—his name shall be Robert.’

“Very well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall
be Robert. You shall have your own way.
But I think, my dear, upon a little considera-
tion, you will acknowledge that there is a
decided objection.’

Mr.

 

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

‘An objection, Mr. Easy?’

“Yes, my dear; Robert may be very weil,
but you must reflect upon the consequences ;
he is certain to be called Bob.’

‘Well, my dear, and suppose they do cali
him Bob ?”

‘I cannot bear even the supposition, my
dear. You forget the county in which we are
residing, the downs covered with sheep.’

‘Why, Mr. Easy, what can sheep have to
do with a Christian name?”

‘There it is; women never look to conse-
quences. My dear, they have a great deal to
do with the name of Bob. I will appeal to
any farmer in the county, if ninéty-nine shep-
herds’ dogs out of one hundred are not called
Bob. Now observe, your child is out of doors
somewhere in the fields and plantations ; you
want and you call him. Instead of your child,
what do you find? Why, a dozen curs at
least, who come running up to you, all answer-
ing to the name of Bob, and wagging their
stumps of tails. You see, Mrs. Easy, it is a
dilemma not to be got over. You level your
only son to the brute creation by giving him a
Christian name which, from its peculiar bre-
vity, has been monopolized by ail the dogs in
the county. Any other name you please, my
dear, but in this one instance you must allow
me to lay my positive veto.’

‘Well, then, let me see—but I'll think of it,
Mr.. Easy; my head aches very much just
now.

‘I will think for you, my dear.
you say to John ?”

‘Oh no, Mr. Easy ; such a common name.’

‘A proof of its popularity, my dear. It is
scriptural—we have the Apostle and the Bap-
tist—we have a dozen Popes who were all
Johns. It is royal—we have plenty of kings
who were Johns—and moreover, it is short,
and sounds honest and manly.’

‘Yes, very true, my dear; but they will call
him Jack.’

“Well, we have have had several celebrated
characters who were Jacks. There was—let
me see—Jack the Giant Killer, and Jack of
the Bean Stalk—and Jack—Jack——’

‘Jack Spratt,’ replied Mrs, Easy.

‘And Jack Cade, Mrs. Easy, the great rebel
and Three-fingered Jack, Mrs. Easy, the
celebrated negro—and, above all, Jack Fal-
staff, ma’am, Jack Falstaff—honest Jack Fal-
staff—witty Jack Falstaff—’

‘I thought, Mr, Easy, that I was to be
permitted to choose the name.’

“Well, so you shall, my dear ; I give it up
to you. Do just as you please ; but depend
upon it that John is the right name. Is it not
now, my dear 2”

“It’s the way you always treat me, Mr.
Easy ; you say that you give it up; and that I
shall have my own way, but I never do

What dohave it. I am sure that the child will be
christened John.’

‘Nay, my dear, it shall be just what you
please. Now I recollect it, there were several
Greek emperors who were Johns ; but decide
for yourself, my dear.’

‘No, no,’ replied Mrs. Easy, who was ill,
and unable to contend any longer ; ‘I give it
up, Mr. Easy. I know how it will be, as it
always is ; you give me my own Way as people
give pieces of gold to children ; it’s their own
money, but they must not spend it. Pray call
him John.’

«There, my dear, did not I tell you you
would be of my opinion upon reflection ? I
knew you would. I have given you your own
way, and you tell me to call him John ; so
now we're both of the same mind, and that
point is settled.’

<] should like to go to sleep, Mr. Easy; I
feel far from well.’

‘You shall always do just as you like, my
dear,’ replied the husband, ‘and have your
own way in everything. Tt is the greatest
pleasure I have when I yield to your wishes.
1 will walk in the garden. Good-bye, my
dear.’

Mrs. Easy made no reply, and the philoso-
pher quitted the room. As may easily be
imagined, on the following day the boy was
christened John.

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS TO WAIT THE
ISSUE OF AN ARGUMENT.

THE reader may observe that, in general, all
my first chapters are very short, and increase
in length as the work advances. T mention
this as a proof of my modesty and diffidence.
At first, 1 am like a young bird just out of its
mother’s nest, pluming my little feathers and
taking short flights. By degrees I obtain
more confidence, and wing my course over
hill and dale.

It is very difficult to throw any interest into
a chapter on childhood. There is the same
uniformity in all children until they develop.
We cannot, therefore, say much relative to
Jack Easy’s earliest days; he sucked and
threw up his milk while the nurse blessed it
for a pretty dear, slept, and sucked again.
He crowed in the morning like a cock,
screamed when he was washed, stared at the
candle, and made wry faces with the wind.
Six months passed in these innocent amuse-
ments, and then he was put into shorts. But
I ought here to have remarked, that Mrs.
Easy did not find herself equal to nursing her
own infant, and it was necessary to look out
for a substitute.
Now a commonplace person would have

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

been satisfied with the recommendation of the
médical man, who looks but to the one thing
needful, which is a sufficient and wholesome
supply of nourishment for the child; but Mr.
Easy wasa philosopher, and had latterly taken
to craniology, and he descanted very learnedly
with the doctor upon the effect of his only son
obtaining his nutriment from an unknown
source. ‘Who knows,’ observed Mr. Easy,
‘but that my son may not imbibe with his
milk the very worst passions of human nature v

‘JT have examined her,’ replied the doctor,
‘and can safely recommend her.’

«That examination is only preliminary to
one more important,’ replied Mr. Easy. ‘1
must examine her.’

‘Examine who, Mr. Easy? exclaimed his
wife, who had lain down again on the bed.

‘ The nurse, my dear.’

‘Examine what, Mr. Easy,’ continued the

ady.

“Her head, my dear,’ replied the husband.
«1 musi ascertain what her propensities-are.’

‘T think you had better leave her alone, Mr.
Easy. She comes this evening, and I shall
question her pretty severely. Doctor Middle-
ton, what do you know of this young person Ps

‘I know, madam, that she is vety healthy
and strong, or I should not have selected her.’

‘But is her character good ?’

‘Really, madam, I know little about her
character; but you can make any inquiries
you please. But at the same time I ought to
observe, that if you are too particular in that
point, you will have some difficulty in provid-
ing yourself.’

‘Well, Ishall see,’ replied Mrs. Easy.

‘And I shall feel,’ rejoined the husband.

This parleying was interrupted by the arri-
val of the very person in question, who was
announced by the housemaid, and was ushered
in. She was a handsome, florid, healthy-
looking girl, awkward and naive in her man-
ner, and apparently not over wise ; there was
more of the dove than of the serpent in her
composition.

Mr. Easy, who was very anxious to make
his own discoveries, was the first who spoke.
‘Young woman, come this way, I wish to ex-
amine your head.’

‘Oh! dear me, sir, it’s quite clean, I assure
you,’ cried the girl, dropping a curtsey.

Doctor Middleton, who sat between the bed
and Mr. Easy’s chair, rubbed his hands and
laughed.

In the meantime, Mr. Easy had untied the
string and taken off the cap of the young
woman, and was very busy putting his fingers
through her hair, during which the face of the
young woman expressed fear and astonish-
ment.

‘T am glad to perceive that you havea large
portion of benevolence.’AIR.

 

‘Yes,’ replied the young woman, dropping
a curtsey.

‘And veneration also.’

‘Thanky, sir.’

‘And the organ of modesty is strongly de-
veloped.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the girl with a smile.

“That's quite a new organ,’ thought Dr.
Middleton.

‘ Philo-progenitiveness very powerful.’

‘If you please, sir, I don’t know what that
is, answered Sarah with a curtsey.

‘Nevertheless you have given us a practical
illustration. Mrs. Easy, I am satisfied. Have
you any questions to ask? But it is quite un-
necessary.’

‘ho bevsure: f. have, Mr.’ Hasy.
young woman, what is your name ?’

‘Sarah, if you please, ma’ain.’

‘How long have you been married?’

‘ Married, ma'am ?’

‘Yes, married,’

‘If you please, ma'am, I had a misfortune,
ma’am,' replied the girl, casting down her
eyes.

‘What, have you not been married ?’

‘No, ma'am, not yet.’

‘Good heavens! Dr. Middleton, what can
you mean by bringing this person here?’ ex-
claimed Mrs. Easy. ‘Not a married woman,
and she has a child !’

‘If you please, ma’am,’
young woman, _ dropping a curtsey, ‘
very little one.’

“A very little one!’ exclaimed Mrs. Easy.

“Yes, ma'am, very small indeed, and died
soon after it was born.’

“Oh, Dr. Middleton !—what could you
mean, Dr. Middleton ?’

“My dear madam,’ exclaimed the doctor,
rising from his chair, ‘this is the only person
that I could find suited to the wants of your
child, and if you do not take her, I cannot
answer for its life. It is true, that a married
woman might be procured; but married
womén, who have a proper feeling, will not
desert their own children ; and as Mr. Easy
asserts, and you appear to imagine, the tem-
per.and disposition of your child may be af
fected by the nourishment it receives, I think
it more likely to be injured by the milk of a
married woman who will desert her own child
for the sake of gain. The misfortune which
has happened to this young woman is not
always a proof of asbad heart, but of strong
attachment, and the overweening confidence
of simplicity.’

‘You are correct, doctor,’ replied Mr. Easy,
‘and her head proves that she is a modest
young woman, with strong religious feeling,
kindness of disposition, and every other requi-
site.’

‘The head may prove it all for what J

Pray,

interrupted the
it was a

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

    

know, Mr. Easy, but her conduct tells another
tale.’

‘She is well fitted for the situation, ma’am,’
continued the doctor.

‘ And if you please, ma’am,’ rejoined Sarah,
‘it was such a little one.’

‘Shall I try the baby, ma’am?’ said the
monthly nurse, who had listened in silence.
‘Tt is fretting so, poor thing, and has its dear
little fist right down its throat.’

Dr. Middleton gave the signal of assent, and
in a few seconds Master John Easy was fixed
to Sarah as tight as,a leech.

‘Lord love it, how hungry it is !—there,
there, stop it a moment, it’s choking, poor
thing !

Mrs. Easy, who was lying on her bed, rose
up, and went to the child. Her first feeling
was that of envy, that another should have
such a pleasure which was denied to herself ;
the next, that of delight, at the satisfaction ex-
pressed by the infant. In a few minutes the
child fell back in a deep sleep. Mrs. Easy
was Satisfied ; maternal feelings conquered all
others, and Sarah was duly installed.

To make short work of it, we have said that
Jack Easy in six months was in shorts. He
soon afterwards began to crawl and show his
legs ; indeed, so indecorously, that it was evi-
dent that he had imbibed no modesty with
Sarah's milk, neither did he appear to have

gained veneration or benevolence, for he
snatched at everything, squeezed the little

kitten to death, scratched his mother, and
pulled his father by the hair ; notwithstand-
ing all which, both his father and mother and
the whole household declared him to be the
finest and sweetest child in the universe. But
if we were to narrate all the wonderful events
of Jack’s childhood from the time of his birth
up to the age of seven years, as chronicled by
Sarah, who continued his dry nurse after he
had been weaned, it would take at least three
volumes folio. Jack was brought up in the
way that every only child usually is—that is,
he was allowed to have his own way.

 

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES GOING
TO SCHOOL “AS A REMEDY FOR A ‘CUT
FINGER.

‘HAVE you no idea of putting the boy to

school, Mr. Easy?’ said Dr, Middleton, who

had been summoned by a groom with his
horse in a foam to attend immediately at

Forest Hill, the name of Mr. Easy’s mansion,

and who, upon his arrival, had found that

Master Easy had cut his thumb. One would

have thought that he had cut his head off by

the agitation pervading the whole household

—Mr. Easy walking up and down very un-easy, Mrs. Easy with great difficulty prevented
from syncope, and all the maids bustling and
passing round Mrs. Easy’s chair. Everybody
appeared excited except Master Jack Easy
himself, who, with a rag round his finger and
his pinafore spotted with blood, was playing
at bob-cherry, and cared nothing about the
matter.

‘Well, what’s the matter, my little man?’
said Dr. Middleton, on entering, addressing
himself to Jack, as the most sensible of the
whole party.

‘Oh, Dr. Middleton,’ interrupted Mrs.
Easy, ‘he has cut his hand; I’m sure that
a nerve is divided, and then the lock-jaw——'

The doctor made no reply, but examined
the finger ; Jack Easy continued to play bob-
cherry with his right hand.

‘Have you such a thing as a piece of stick-
ing-plaster in the house, madam ?’ observed
the doctor, after examination.

“Oh yes :—run, Mary, —run, Sarah!’ Ina
few seconds the maids appeared, Sarah bring-
ing the sticking-plaster, and Mary following
with the scissors.

‘Make yourself quite easy, madam,’ said
Dr. Middleton, after he put on the plaster,
‘I will answer for no evil consequences.’

‘Had I not better take him upstairs, and
let him lie down a little?’ replied Mrs. Easy,
slipping a guinea into the doctor's hand.

‘It is not ahsolutely requisite, madam,’ said
the doctor ; ‘ but at all events he will be kept
out of more mischief.’

‘Come, my dear, you hear what Dr. Mid-
dleton says.’

‘Yes, I heard,’ replied Jack ; ‘but I shan’t
go.”

e My dear Johnny—come, love—now do, my
dear Johnny.’

Johnny played bob-cherry, and made no
answer.

‘Come, Master Johnny,’ said Sarah.

‘Go away, Sarah,’ said Johnny, with a
backhander.

‘Oh ! fie, Master Johnny,’ said Mary.

‘Johnny, my love,’ said Mrs. Easy, in a
- coaxing tone, ‘come now—will you go ?’

‘T'll go in the garden and get some more
cherries,’ replied Master Johnny.

‘Come, then, love, we will go into the gar-
den.’

Master Johnny jumped off his chair, and
took his mamma by the hand.

‘What a dear, good, obedient child it is!’
exclaimed Mrs. Easy; ‘you may lead him
with a thread.’

‘Yes, to pick cherties,’ thought Dr. Middle-
ton.

Mrs. Easy, and Johnny, and Sarah, and Mary
went into the garden, leaving Dr. Middleton
alone with Mr. Easy, who had been silent dur-
ing this scene. Now Dr. Middleton was a

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

9

clever, sensible man, who had nowishto impose
upon any one. As for his taking a guinea
for putting on a piece of sticking-plaster, his
conscience was very easy on that score. His
time was equally valuable, whether he were

employed for something or nothing ; and,
moreover, he attended the poor gratis. Con-

stantly in the house, he had seen much of
Mr. John Easy; and perceived that he was a
courageous, decided boy, of a naturally good
disposition ; but from the idiosyncracy of the
father, and the doating folly of the mother, in
a sure way of being spoiled. As soon, there-
fore, as the lady was out of hearing, he took
a chair, and made the query at the commence-
ment of the chapter, which we shall now repeat.

“Have you no idea of putting the boy to
school, Mr. Easy ?’

Mr. Easy crossed his legs, and clasped his
hands together over his knees,-as he always
did when he was about to commence an argu-
ment.

“The great objection that I have to sending
a boy to school, Dr. Middleton, is, that I con-
ceive that the discipline enforced is, not only
contrary to the rights of man, but also in op-
position to all sound sense and common judg=
ment. Not content with punishment, which
is in itself erroneous, and an infringement of~
social justice, they even degrade the minds of
the boys still more by applying punishment to
the most degraded part, addirg contumely to
tyranny. Of course, it is intended that a boy
who is sent to school should gain by precept
and example ; but is he to learn benevolence
by the angry look and the flourish of the vin-
dictive birch—or forbearance, by the cruelty
of the ushers—or patience, when the masters
over him are out of all patience—or modesty,
when his nether parts are exposed to general
examination? Is he not daily reading a lesson
at variance with that equality which we all
possess, but of which we are unjustly deprived?
Why should there be a distinction between the
flogger and the floggee? Are they not both fa-
shioned alike after God’s image, endowed with
the same reason, having an equal right to what
the world offers, and which was intended by Pro-
vidence to be equally distributed? Isit not that
the sacred inheritance of all, which has tyran-
nously and impiously been ravished from the
mauy for the benefit of the few, and which
ravishment, from long custom of iniquity and
inculcation of false precepts, has too long been
basely submitted to? Is it not the duty of a
father to preserve his ‘only son from imbibing
these dangerous and debasing errors, which
will render him only one of a vile herd who
are content to suffer, provided that they live?
And yet are not these very errors inculeated
at school, and impressed upon their mind in-
versely by the birch? Do not they there re-
ceive their first lesson in slavery with the first*

16

lesson in A B C; and are not their minds
thereby prostrated, so as never to rise again,
but ever to bow to despotism, to cringe to
rank, to think and act by the precepts of
others, and to tacitly disavow that sacred
equality which is our birthright? No, sir,
without they can teach without resorting to
such a fundamental error as flogging, my boy
shall never go to school.’

And Mr, Easy threw himself back in his
chair, imagining, like all philosophers, that he
had said something very clever.

Dr. Middleton knew his man, and therefore,
patiently waited until he had exhausted his
oratory.

‘7 will grant,’ said the doctor at last, ‘ that
all you say may have great truth in it; but,
Mr. Easy, do you not think that by not per-
mitting a boy to be educated, you allow him
to remain more vpen tg that very error of
which you speak? It is only education which
will conquer prejudice, and enabie a man to
break through the trammels of custom. Now,
allowing that the birch is used, yet it is at a
period when the young mind is so elastic as to
soon become indifferent ; and after he has at-
tained the usual rudiments of education, you
will then find him: prepared to receive those
lessons which you can yourself instil.’

‘7 will teach him everything myself,’ replied
Mr. Easy, folding his arms consequentially and
determinedly.

‘1 do not doubt your capability, Mr. Easy;
but unfortunately you will always have a diffi-
culty which you never can get over. Excuse
me, I know what you are capable of, and the
boy would indeed be happy with such a pre-
ceptor, but—if I must speak plain—you must
be aware, as well as I am, that the maternal
fondness of Mrs. Easy will always be a bar to
your intertion. He is already so spoiled by
her, that he will not obey ; and without obe-
dience you cannot inculcate.’

‘T grant, my dear sir, that there is a diffi-
culty on that point; but maternal weakness
must then be overcome by paternal severity.’

‘May I ask how, Mr. Easy? for it appears
to me impossible.’

‘Impossible! By heavens, I'll make him
obey, or I'll——’ Here Mr. Easy stopped
before the word flog was fairly out of his
mouth—‘I’ll° know the reason why, Dr.
Middleton.’

Dr. Middleton checked his inclination to
laugh, and replied, ‘That you would hit upon
some scheme, by which you would obtain the
necessary power over him, I have no doubt ;
but what will be the consequence? The boy
will consider his mother as a protector, and
you asa tyrant. He will have an aversion to
you, and with that aversion he will never pay
respect and attention to your valuable pre-
cepts when he arrives at an age to understand

2

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
  

them. Now it appears to me that this diffi-
culty which you have raised may be got over.
I know a very worthy clergyman who does not
use the birch; but I will write, and put the
direct question to him; and then if your boy
is removed from the danger arising from Mrs.
Easy's over-indulgence, in a short time he will
be ready for your more important tuition.’

‘T think,’ replied Mr. Easy, after a pause,
‘that what you say merits consideration. I
acknowledge that in consequence of Mrs.
Easy’s nonsensical indulgence, the boy is un-
ruly, and will not obey me at present ; and if
your friend does not apply the rod, I will think
seriously of sending my son John to him to
learn the elements.’

The doctor had gained his point by flatter-
ing the philosopher.

In a day he returned with a letter from the
pedagogue in answer to one supposed to be
sent to him, in which the use of the birch
was indignantly disclaimed, and Mr. Easy
announced to his wife, when they met that
day at tea-time, his intentions with regard to
his son John.

‘To school, Mr. Easy? what, send Johnny
to school! a mere infant to school!’

‘Surely, my dear, you must be aware that
at nine years it is high time that he learnt to
read.

‘Why he almost reads already, Mr. Easy ;
surely I can teach him that. Does he not,
Sarah ?’

‘Lord bless him, yes, ma'am, he was saying
his letters yesterday.’

‘Oh, Mr. Easy, what can have put this in
your head? Johnny, dear, come here—tell
me now what's the letter A? You were sing-
ing itin the garden this morning.’

‘IT want some sugar, replied Johnny, stretch-
ing his arm over the table to the sugar-basin,
which was out of his reach.

‘Well, my love, you shall have a great lump
if you will tell me what’s the letter A.’

‘A was an archer, and shot ata frog,’ replied
Johnny in a surly tone.

‘There now, Mr. Easy; and he can go
through the whole alphabet—can’t he, Sarah?’

‘That he can, the dear-— can’t you, Johnny,
dear?’

‘No,’ replied Johnny.

‘Yes, you can, my love; you know what's
the letter B. Now don't you?

‘Yes,’ replied Johnny.

‘There, Mr. Easy, you see what the boy
knows, and how obedient he is too. Come,
Johnny, dear, tell us what was B.’

‘No, I won't,’ replied Johnny, ‘I want
some more sugar ;’ and Johnny, who had
climbed on a chair spread himself over the
table to reach it.

‘Mercy! Sarah, pull him off—he'll upset
the urn,’ screamed Mrs. Easy. Sarah caughtLAR.

hold of Johnny by the loins to pull him back,
but Johnny, resisting the interference, turned
round on his back as he lay on the table, and
kicked Sarah in the face, just as she made
another desperate sraspat him. “The rebound
from the kick, given as he lay on a smooth
mahogany table, brought Johnny’s head in
contact with the urn, which was upset in the
opposite direction, and, notwithstanding a
rapid movement on the part of Mr. Easy, he
received a sufficient portion of boiling liquid
on his legs to scald him severely, and induce
him to stamp and swear in a very unphiloso-
phical way. In the meantime Sarah and
Mrs. Easy had caught up Johnny, and were
both holding him at the same time, exclaim-
ing and lamenting. The pain of the scald,
and the indifference shown towards him, were
too much for Mr. Easy’s temper to put up
with. He snatched Johnny out of their arms,
and, quite forgetting his equality and rights of
man, belaboured him without mercy. “Sarah
flew in to interfere, and received a blow which
not only made her see a thousand stars, but
sent her reeling on the floor. Mrs. Easy went
off into hysterics, and Johnny howled so as to
be heard at a quarter of a mile.

How long Mr. Easy would have continued
it is impossible to say ; but the door opened,
and Mr. Easy looked up while still administer-
ing the punishment, and perceived Dr. Middle-
ton in muteastonishment. He had promised
to come in to tea, and enforce Mr. Easy’s argu-
ments, if it were necessary ; but it certainly
appeared to him, that in the argument which
Mr. Easy was then enforcing, he required no
assistance. However, ai the entrance of Dr.
Middleton, Johnny was dropped, and lay
roaring on the floor; Sarah, too, remained
where she had been floored ; } Mrs. Easy had
rolled on the floor, the urn was also on the
floor, and Mr. Easy, although not floored, had
not a leg to stand upon.

Never did a medical man look in more op-
portunely. Mr. Easy at first was not certainly
of that opinion, but his legs became so painful
that he soon became a convert.

Dr. Middleton, as in duty bound, first picked
up Mrs. Easy, and laid her on the sofa.
Sarah rose, picked up Johnny, and carried
him kicking and roaring out of the room ; in
return for which attention she received sundry
bites. The footman, who had announced the
doctor, picked up the urn, that being all that
was in his department. Mr. Easy threw him-
self panting in agony on the other sofa, and
Dr. Middleton was excessively embarrassed
how to act: he perceived that Mr. Easy re-
quired his assistance, and that Mrs. Easy
could do without it ; but how to leave a lady
who was half really and half pretendedly in
hysterics, was difficult ; for if he attempted to
leave her, she kicked and flounced, and burst

MIDSHIPMAN E

ASY.

out the more. At last Dr. Middleton rang the
bell, which brought the footman, who sum-
moned all the maids, who carried Mrs. Easy
upstairs, and then the doctor was able to at-
tend to the only patient who really required
his assistance. Mr. Easy explained the affair
in few words, broken into ejaculations from
pain, as the doctor removed his stockings.
From the applications of Dr. Middleton, Mr.
Easy soon obtained bodily relief; but what
annoyed him still more than his scalded legs,
was the doctor having been a witness to: his
infringement of the equality and rights of man.
Dr. Middleton perceived this, and he knew
also how to pour balm into that wound.

‘My dear Mr. Easy, I am very sorry that
you have had this accident, for which you are
indebted to Mrs. Easy’s foolish indulgence of
the boy; but lam glad to perceive that you have
taken up those parental duties which are in-
culcated by the Scriptures. Solomon says,
‘«that he who spares the rod spoils the child
thereby implying that it is the duty of a father
to correct his children, and in a father the so
doing does not interfere with the rights of man,
or any natural equality, for the son being a
part or portion of the father, he is only correct-
ing his own self; and the proof of it is, that a
father, in punishing his ownson, feels as much
pain in so doing as ifhe were himself punished.
jhe Ay therefore, nothing but self-discipline,
which is strictly enjoined us by the Scrip-
tures.’

‘That is exactly my opinion,’ replied Mr.
Easy, comforted at the doctor having so
logically got him out of the scrape. ‘But—
he shall go to school to-morrow, that I’m de-
termined | on.

‘He will have to thank Mrs. Easy for that,’
replied the doctor.

‘Exactly,’ replied Mr. Easy.
legs are getting hot again.

“Continue to bathe them with the vinegar
and water, Mr. Easy, until I send you an
embrocation, which will give you immediate
relief. I will call to-morrow. By-the-by, I
am. to see alittle patient at Mr. Bonnycastle’s :
if it is any accommodation I will take your
son with me.

‘Tt will be a great accommodation, doctor,’
replied Mr. Easy.

‘Then, my dear sir, I will just go up and
see how Mrs. Easy is, and to-morrow I will
call at ten. I can wait an hour. Good-

night.’

* Good- night, doctor.’

The doctor had his game to play with Mrs.
Easy. He magnified her husband's accident
-—he magnified “his wrath, and advised her by
no means to say one word until he was well
and more pacified. The next day he repeated
this dose, and, in spite of the ejaculations of
Sarah, and the tears of Mrs. Easy, who dared

Er

‘Doctor, myI2

not venture to plead her cause, and the violent
resistance of Master Johnny, who appeared to
have a presentiment of what was to come, our
hero was put into Dr. Middleton’s chariot, and
with the exception of one plate of glass, which
he kicked out of the window with his feet, and
for which feat the doctor, now that he had him
all to himself, boxed his ears till he was nearly
blind, be was, without any further eventful
occurrence, carried by the doctor's footman
into the parlour of Mr. Bonnycasile.

CHAPTER V.

JACK EASY IS SENT TO A SCHOOL AT WHICH
THERE IS NO FLOGGING.

MASTER JACK had been plumped down ina
chair by the doctor’s servant, who, as he
quitted him, first looked at his own hands,
from which the blood was drawn in several
parts, and then at Master Jack, with his teeth
closed, and lips compressed, as much as to
say, ‘If I only dared, would not I, that’s all!’
and then walked out of the room, repaired to
the carriage at the front door, when he showed
his hands to the coachman, who looked down
from his box in great commiseration, at the
same time fully sharing his fellow-servant’s
indignation. But we must repair to the
parlour. Dr. Middleton ran over a news-
paper, while Johnny sat on a chair all of a
heap, looking like a lump of sulks, with his
feet on the upper front bar, and his knees
almost up to his nose. He was a promising
pupil, Jack.

Mr. Bonnycastle made his appearance—a
tall, well-built, handsome, fair man, with a
fine powdered head, dressed in solemn black,
and knee buckles; his linen beautifully clean,
and with a peculiar bland expression of coun-
tenance. When he smiled he showed a row
of teeth white as ivory, and his mild blue eye
was the ne plus ultra of beneficence. He was
the beau-idéal of a preceptor, and it was im-
possible to see him and hear his mild pleasing
voice without wishing that all your sons were
under his protection. He was a ripe scholar,
and a good one, and at the time we speak of
had the care of upwards of one hundred boys.
He was celebrated for turning them out well,
and many of his pupils were rising fast in
the senate, as well as distinguishing them-
selves in the higher professions,

Dr. Middleton, who was on intimate terms
with Bonnycastle, rose as he entered the room,
and they shook hands. Middleton then turned
to where Jack sat, and pointing to him, said,
‘Look there.’

Bonnycastle smiled. ‘I cannot say that I
have had worse, but I have had almost as

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

    

bad. I will apply the Promethean torch, and
soon vivify that rude mass. Come, sit down,
Middleton.’

‘But,’ said the doctor, as he resumed his
chair, ‘tell me, Bonnycastle, how you will
possibly manage to lick such a cub into shape,
when you do not resort to flogging ?

‘I have no opinion of flogging, and there-
fore I do not resort toit. The fact is, I was
at Harrow myself, and was rather a pickle. I
was called up as often as most boys in the
school, and I perfectly recollect that, eventu-
ally, I cared nothing for a flogging. I had
become case-hardened. It is the least effec-
tive part that you can touch a boy upon.
It leaves nothing behind to refresh their
memories.’

‘I should have thought otherwise.’

‘My dear Middleton, I can produce more
effect by one caning than twenty floggings.
Observe, you flog upon a part the most qui-
escent ; but youcane upon all parts, from the
head to the heels. Now, when once the first
sting of the birch is over, then a dull sensa-
tion comes over the part, and the pain after
that is nothing ; whereas a good sound caning
leaves sores and bruises in every part, and on
all the parts which are required for muscular ac-
tion. After a flogging a boy may run out in the
hours of recreation, and join his playmates as
wellas ever, but a good caning tells a very
different tale ; he cannot move one patt of his
body without being reminded for days by the
pain of the punishment he has undergone,
and he is very careful how he is called up
again.’

‘My dear sir, I really had an idea that you
were excessively lenient,’ replied Middleton,
laughing ; ‘I am glad that I am under a
mistake.’

‘Look at that cub, doctor, sitting there
more like a brute than a reasonable being; do
you imagine that I could ever lick it into
shape without strong measures? Atthesame
time, allow me to say that I consider my
system by far the best. At the public schools
punishment is no check ; it is so trifling that
it is derided : with me punishment is punish-
ment in the true sense of the word, and the
consequence is that it is much more seldom
resorted to.’

‘You are a terrorist, Bonnycastle.’

‘The two strongest impulses in our nature
are fear and love. In theory, acting upon the
latter is very beautiful ; but in practice I never
found it to answer,—and for the best of
reasons, our self-love is stronger than our love
for others. Now I never yet found fear to
fail, for the very same reason that the other
does, because with fear we act upon self-love,
and nothing else.’

‘And yet we have many now who would
introduce a system of schooling without corred-tion ; andwho maintain that the present system
is degrading.

‘There are a great many
doctor.’

“That reminds me of this boy's father,’ re-
plied Dr. Middleton ; who then detailed to
the pedagogue the idiosyncracy of Mr. Easy,
and all the circumstances attending Jack being
sent to his school.

‘There is no time to be lost then, doctor.
I must conquer this young gentleman before
his parents call to see him. Depend upon it,
in a week I will have him obedient and well
broke in.’

Dr. Middleton wished Jack good-bye, and
told him to be a good boy. Jack did not
vouchsafe to answer.

fools in this world,

‘ Never mind, doctor, he
will be more polished next time you call here,
depend upon it.’ And the doctor departed.

Although Mr. Bonnycastle was severe, he
was very judicious. Mischief of all kinds was
visited but by slender punishment, such’ as
being kept in at playhours, etc. « and he seldom
interfered with the boys for fighting, although
he checked decided oppression. The great
‘sine qua non’ with him was attention to their
studies. He soon discovered the capabilities
of his pupils, and he forced them accordingly ;
put the idle boy, the bird who ‘could sing and
wouldn't sing,’ received'no mercy. ‘The con-
sequence was that he turned out the cleverest
boys, and his conduct was so uniform and un-
varying inits tenor, that if he was feared when
they were under his control, he was invariably
liked by those whom he had instructed, and
they continued his friends in after-life.

Mr. Bonnycastle at once perceived that it
was no use coaxing our hero, and that fear
was the only attribute by which he could be
controlled. So as soon as Dr. Middleton
had quitted the room, he addressed him in
a commanding tone, ‘Now, boy, what is your
name ?’

Jack started ; he looked up at his master,
perceived his eye fixed upon him, and a
countenance not to be played with. Jack
was no fool, and somehow or another the
discipline he had received from his father
had given him some intimation of what was
to come. All this put together induced Jack
to condescend to answer, with his fore-finger
between his teeth, ‘Johony.’

‘And what is your other name, sir 2

Jack, who appeared to repent his condescen-
sion, did not at first answer, but he looked
again in Mr. Bonnycastle’s face, and then
round the room; there was no one to help
him, and he could not help himself, so he
replied, ‘ Easy.’

‘Do you know why you are sent to school ?

‘Scalding father.’

‘No; you are sent to learn to read and
write,’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

zs

‘But I won't read and write,’ replied Jack,
sulkily.

“Yes, you will; and you are going to read
your letters now directly.’

Jack made no answer. Mr. Bonnycastle
opened a sort of book-case, and displayed to
John’s astonished view a series of canes,
ranged up and down like billiard cues, and
continued, ‘Do you know what those are
for ?’

Jack eyed them wistfully; he had some
faint idea that he was sure to be better
acquainted with them, but he made no
answer.

‘They are to teach little boys to read and
write, and now I am going to teach you.
You'll soon learn. Look now here,’ con-
tinued Mr. Bonnycastle, opening a book with
large type, and taking a capital at the head
of a chapter, about half an inch long. ‘Do
you see that letter ?’

‘Yes,’ replied Johnny, ‘turning his eyes
away, and picking his fingers.

“Well, that is the letter'B. Do you see it ?
look at it, so that you may know it again.
That's the letter B. Now tell me what letter
that is.’

Jack now determined to resist, so he made
no answer.

‘So you cannot tell ; well, then, we will try
what one of these little fellows will. do,’ said
Mr. Bonnyeastle, taking down a cane. | ‘Ob-
serve, Johnny, that’s the letter B. Now, what
letter is that? Answer me directly.’

‘]T won’t learn to read and write.’

Whack came the cane on Johnny’s shoul-
ders, who burst out into a roar as he writhed
with pain.

Mr. Bonnycastle waited a few seconds,
“That's the letter B. Now tell me, © sir,
directly, what that letter is.’

‘T'll tell my ma.’ Whack!
Oh law ?

‘What letter is that ?

Johnny, with his mouth open, panting, and
the tears on his cheeks, answered indignantly,
‘Stop till tell Sarah.’

Whack came the cane again, and a fresh
burst from Johnny.

‘What letter’s that ?’

‘J won't tell,’ roared Johnny ; * I won't tell
—that I won't.’

Whack—whack—whack, anda pause. ‘I
told you before that’s the letter B. What
letter is that? ‘Tell me directly.’

Johnny, by way of reply, made a snatch at
the cane. Whack—he caught it, certainly,
but not exactly as he would have wished.
Johnny then snatched up the book, and dashed
it to the corner of theroom. Whack, whack.
Johnny attempted to seize Mr. Bonnycastle
with his teeth. Whack, whack, whack,
whack ; and Johnny fell on the carpet and

‘Oh law14

roared with pain. Mr. Bonnycastle then left
lim. for:a little while to recover himself, and
sat down.

At last Johnny's exclamations setiled down
in deep sobs, and then Mr. Bonnycastle said
to him, ‘ Now, Johnny, you perceive that you
must do as you are bid, or else you will have
more beating. Get up immediately. Do you
hear, sir?’

Somehow or another Johnny, without in-
tending it, stood upon his feet.

‘Yhat's a good boy; now you see by get-
ting up as. you were bid you have not been
beaten. Now, Johnny, you must go and bring
thé book from where you threw it down.
Do you hear, sir? bring it directly !’

Johnny looked at Mr. Bonnycastle and the
cane. With every intention to refuse, Johnny
picked up the book and laid it on the table.

‘That's a good boy; now we will find the
letter B. Here it is: now, Johnny, tell me
what that letter is ?’

Johnny made no answer.

“Tell me directly, sir,’ said Mr. Bonnycastle,
raising his cane up in the air. The appeal
was too powerful. Johnny eyed the cane; it
moved, it was coming. | Breathlessly he
shrieked out, ‘B!’

‘Very’ well, indeed, Johnny—very well.
Now your first lesson is over, and you shall
go to bed. You have learnt more than you
think for.. To-morrow we will begin again.
Now we'll put the cane by.’

Mr. Bonnycastle rang the bell, and desired
Master Johnny to be put to bed, in a room by
himself, and not to give him any supper, as
hunger would, the next morning, much facili-
tate his studies. Pain and hunger alone will
tame brutes, and the same remedy musi be
applied to conquer those passions in man
which assimilate him with brutes. Johnny
was conducted to bed, although it was but
six o'clock. He was'not only in pain, but his
ideas were confused ; and no wonder, after all
his life having been humoured and indulged —
never punished until the day before. After ail
the caresses of his mother and Sarah, which
he never knew the value of —after stuffing him-
self all day long, and being tempted to eat till
he turned away in satiety, to find himself with-
out his mother, without Sarah, without supper
—covered with wheals, and, what was worse
than all, without his own way. No wonder
Johnny was confused ; at the same time that
he was subdued ; and, as Mr. Bonnycastle
had truly told him, he had learnt more than
he had any idea of. And what would Mrs.
Easy have said, had she known all this—and
Sarah too? And Mr. Easy, with his rights of
man? At the very time that Johnny was
having the devil driven out of him, they were
consoling themselves with the idea that, at all
events, there was no birch used at Mr, Bonny-

 

  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

castle’s, quite losing sight of the fact that, as
there are more ways of killing. a dog besides
hanging him, so are there more ways of teach-
ing than.a posteriori. Happy in their igno-
rance, they all went fast asleep, little dreaming
that Johnny was already so far advanced in
knowledge as to have a tolerable comprehen-
sion of the mystery of cane. As for Johnny,
he had cried himself to sleep at least six hours
before them.

CHAPTER VI.

IN WHICH JACK MAKES ESSAY OF HIS
FATHER’S. ~ SUBLIME PHILOSOPHY, AND
ARRIVES VERY NEAR TO TRUTH AT LAST.

THE next morning Master Jack was not only
very sore but very hungry, and as Mr, Bonny-
castle informed him that he would not only
haye plenty of cane, but also no breakfast, if
he did not learn his letters, Johnny had wisdom
enough to say the whole alphabet, for which
he received a great deal of praise, the which,
if he did not duly appreciate, he at all events
infinitely preferred to beating. Mr, Bonny-
castle perceived that he had conquered the
boy by one hour's well-timed severity. He
therefore handed him over to the ushers in the
school, and as they were equally empowered
to administer the needful impulse, Johnny very
soon became a very tractable boy.

It may be imagined that the absence of
Johnny was severely felt at home, but such was
not the case. In the first place, Dr. Middleton
had pointed out to Mrs. Easy that there was
no flogging at the school, and that the punish-
ment received by Johnny from his,father would
very likely be repeated—and in the next, al-
though Mrs. Easy thought that she never could
have survived the parting with her own son,
she soon found out that she was much happier
without him. A spoilt child is always a source
of anxiety and worry, and after Johnny's de-
parture Mrs. Easy found a quiet and repose
much more suited to her disposition. Gradu-
ally she weaned herself from him, and, satis-
fied with seeing him occasionally, and hearing
the reports of Dr. Middleton, she at last was
quite reconciled to his being at school, and
not coming back except during the holidays.
John Easy made great progress ; he had good
natural abilities, and Mr. Easy rubbed his
hands when he saw the doctor, saying, ‘ Yes,
let them have him for a year or two longer,
and then I'll finish him myself.’ Each vaca-
tion he had attempted to instil into Johnny’s
mind the equal rights of man, Johnny ap-
peared to pay but little attention to his father’s
discourses, but evidently showed that they were
not altogether thrown away, as he helped him-
self to everything he wanted, without askingMR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

leave. And thus was our hero educated until
he arrived at the age of sixteen, when he was
a stout, good-looking boy, with plenty to say
for himself,—indeed, when it suited his pur-
pose, he could out-talk his father.

Nothing pleased Mr. Easy so muchas Jack's
loquacity. ‘That's right; argue the point,
Jack—argue the point, boy,’ would he say,
as Jack disputed with his mother. And then
he would turn to the doctor, rubbing his
hands, and observe, ‘Depend upon it, Jack
will be a great, a very great man.’ And then
he would call Jack and give him a guinea for
his cleverness ; and at last Jack thought ita
yery clever thing to argue. He never would
attempt to argue with Mr. Bonnycastle, be-
cause he was. aware that Mr. Bonnycastle’s
arguments were too strong for him, but he
argued with all the boys until it ended in a
fight, which decided the point ; and he some-
times argued with the ushers. In short, at
the time we now speak of, which was at the
breaking up of the Midsummer holidays, Jack
was as full of argument as he was fond of it.
He would argue the point io the point of a
needle, and he would divide that point into as
many as there were days of the year, and argue
upon each. In short, there was no end to
Jack's arguing the point, although there sel-
dom was point to his argument.

Jack had been fishing in the river, without
any success, for a whole morning, and ob-
served a large pond which haa the appearance
of being well stocked—he cleared the park
palings, and threw in his line. He had pulled
up several fine fish, when he was accosted by
the proprietor, accompanied by a couple of
keepers.

‘May I request the pleasure of your name,
young gentleman ?’ said the proprietor to Jack.
Now Jack was always urbane and polite.

‘Certainly, sir; my name is Easy, very
much at your service.’

‘And you appear to me to be taking it very
easy,’ replied the gentleman.“ Pray, sir, may
I inquire whether you are aware that you are
trespassing ?

‘The word trespass, my dear sir,’ replied
Jack, ‘ will admit of much argument, and I will
divide it into three heads. It implies, accord-
ing to the conventional meaning, coming with-
out permission upon the land or property ot
another. Nov, sir, the question may all be
resolved in the following. Was not the world
made for all ? and has any one, or any portion
of its inhabitants, an exclusive right to claim
any part of it as his property? If you please,
I have laid down the proposition, and we will
now argue the point.’

The gentleman who accosted Jack had
heard of Mr. Easy and his arguments ; he
was a humourist, and more inclined to laugh

than to be angry; at the same time that he

15

considered it necessary to show Jack that un-
der existing circumstances they were not
tenable.

‘But, Mr. Easy, allowing the trespass on
the property to be venal, surely you do not
mean to say that you are justified in taking
my fish; I bought the fish, and stocked the
pond, and have fed them ever since. You
cannot deny but that they are private pro-
perty, and that to take them is a theft?’

‘That will again admit of much ratiocina-
tion, my dear sir,’ replied Jack; ‘but—I beg
your pardon, I have a fish.’ Jack pulled up
aJarge carp, much to the indignation of the
keepers and to the amusement of their master,
unhooked it, placed it in his basket, renewed
his bait withthe greatest sang froid, and then
throwing in his line, resumed his discourse.
‘As I was observing, my dear sir,’ continued
Jack, ‘that will admit of much ratiocination.
All the creatures of the earth were given to
man for his use—man means mankind—they
were never intended to be made a monopoly
of. Water is also the gift of heaven, and
meant for the good of all. We now come to
the question how far the fish are. your pro-
perty. If the fish only bred on. purpose to
please you. and make you a present of their
stock, it might then require a different line of
argument ; but as in breeding they only acted
in obedience to an instinct with which they
are endowed on purpose that they may supply
man, I submit to you that you cannot prove
these fish to be yours. more than mine. As
for feeding with the idea that they were your
own, that is not an unusual casein this world,
even when a man is giving bread and butter to
his children. Further—but I have another
bite—I beg your pardon, my dear sir—ah!
he’s off again——

‘Then, Mr. Easy, you mean to say that the
world and its contents are made for all.’

‘Exactly, sir; that.is my father’s opinion,
who is a very great philosopher.’

‘How then does your father account for
some possessing property and_ others being
without it ?

‘Because those who are the strongest have
deprived those who are weaker.’

‘But would not that be always the case
even if we were in that state of general inheri-
tance which you have. supposed?) For in-
stance, allowing two men to chase the same
animal, and both to come up to it at the same
time, would not the strongest bear it off 2’

‘J grant that, sir.’

‘ Well then, where is your equality 2

‘That does not disprove that men were not
intended to be equal; it only proves that they
are not so. Neither does it disprove that
everything was not made for the benefit of all :
it only proves that the strong will take advan-
tage of the weak, which is very uatural,’16

“Oh! you grant that to be very natural.
Well, Mr. Easy, I am glad to perceive that
we are of one mind, and I trust we shall con-
tinue so. You'll observe that I and my
keepers being three, we are the strong party
in this instance, and admitting your arguiment
that the fish are as much yours as mine, still
I take advantage of my strength to r€-possess
myself of them, which is, as you say, very na-
tural—James, take those fish.’

‘If you please,’ interrupted Jack, ‘we will
argue that point——’

‘Not at all; I will act according to your
Own arguments—I have the fish, but I now
mean to have more—that fishing-réd is as
much mine as yours, and being the stronger
party I will take possession of it, James,
William, take that fishing rod—it is ours,’

‘I-presume you will first allow me to ob-
serve, replied Jack, ‘that although I have
expressed my opinion that the earth and the
animals on it were miade for us ally that <!
never yet have asserted that what a man
creates by himself, or has created for him for
a consideration, is not his own property.’

“I beg your pardon ; the trees that that rod
was made from were made for us all, and if
you, or any one for you, have thought proper
to make it into a rod, it is no more my fault
than it is that I have been feeding the fish,
with the supposition that they were my own.
Everything being common, and it being but
natural that the strong should take advantage
of the weak, I must take that rod as my pro-
perty, until I am dispossessed by one more
powerful. Moreover, being the stronger
party, and having possession of this land,
which you say does not belong to me more
than to you—I also shall direct my keepers to
see you off this property. James, take the rod
—see Mr. Easy over the park palings. Mr.
Easy, I wish you a good morning.’

‘Sir, I beg your pardon, you have not yet
heard all my arguments,’ replied Jack, who
did not approve of the conclusions drawn.

‘I have no time to hear more, Mr. Kasy ;
I wish you a good-morning.’ And the pro-
prietor departed, leaving Jack in company
with the keepers.

‘T'll trouble you for that rod, master,’ said
William. James was very busy stringing the
fish through the gills upon a piece of osier.

“At all events you will hear reason,’ said
Jack ; ‘I have arguments——’

‘TI never heard no good arguments in favour
of poaching,’ interrupted the keeper.

‘You're an insolent fellow,’ replied Jack.
‘It is by paying such vagabonds as you that
people are able to be guilty of injustice.’

‘It's by paying us that the land ain't
poached—and if there be some excuse for a
poor devil who is out of work, there be none
for you, who call yourself a gentleman,’

 

 

   
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

‘According to his ’count, as we be all
equal, he be no more a gentleman than we
bez

‘Silence, you blackguard, I shall not con-
descend to argue with such as you; if I did I
could prove that you are a set of base slaves
who have just as much right to this property
as your master or I have.’

‘As you have, I dare say, master.’

“As I have, you scoundrel ; this pond is as
much my property, and so are the fish in it,
as they are of your master, who has usurped
the right.’

‘I say, James, what do you say, shall we

put the young gentleman in possession of his
property? said William, winking to the
other. “. :
William took the hint, they seized Jack by
the arms and legs, and soused him into the
pond. Jack arose after a deep submersion,
and floundered on shore blowing and splut-
tering. But in the meantime the keepers had
walked away, carrying with them the rod and
line, fish, and tin-can of bait, laughing loudly
at the practical joke which they had played
our hero.

‘Well,’ thought Jack, ‘either there must be
some mistake in my father’s philosophy, or
else this is a very wicked world. I shall sub-
mit this case to my father.’

And Jack received this reply—‘I have told
you before, Jack, that these important truths
will not at present be admitted—but it does
not the less follow that they are true. This is
the age of iron, in which might has become
right—but the time will come when these
truths will be admitted, and your father’s
name will be more celebrated than that of any
philosopher of ancient days. Recollect, Jack,
that although, in preaching against wrong,
and advocating the rights of man, you will be
treated as a martyr, it is still your duty to per-
Severe ; and if you are dragged through all
the horse-ponds in the kingdom, never give up
your argument.’

“That I never will,’ sir, replied Jack ; ‘but
the next time I argue it shall be, if possible,
with power on my side, and, at all events, not
quite so near a pond.’

“I think,’ said Mrs. Easy, who had been a
Silent listener, ‘that Jack had better fish in
the river, and then, if he catches no fish, at
all events he will not be soused in the water,
and spoil his clothes.’

But Mrs. Easy was no philosopher.

A few days afterwards Jack discovered, one
fine morning, on the other side of a hedge, a
summer apple-tree bearing tempting fruit,
and he immediately broke through the hedge,
and climbing the tree, as our first mother did
before him, he culled the fairest and did eat,

‘I say, you sir, what are you doing there ?
cried a rough voice,

 

 

 

4Jack, looked down, and perceived a stout,
thickset personage in gray coat and red waist-
coat, staading underneath him.

“Don't you see what I’m about?’ replied
Jack, ‘I’m eating apples—shall I throw you
down a few?

‘Thank) you kindly—the fewer that are
pulled the better; perhaps, as you “are so
free to give them to others as well as to help
yourself, you may think that they are your
own property

‘Not a bit more my property than they are
yours, my good man.’

‘I guess that’s something like the truth ;
but you are not quite at the truth yet, my lad ;
those apples are mine, and I'll trouble you to
come downas fast as you please ; when you're
down we can then settle our accounts; and,’
continued the man, shaking his cudgel, ‘ de-
pend upon it you shall have your receipt in
full.’

Jack did not much like the appearance of
things.

‘My good man,’ said he, ‘it is quitea pre-
judice on your part to imagine that apples
were not given, as well as all other fruit, for
the benefit of us all—they are common pro-
perty, believe me.

‘That's a matter of opinion, my lad, and I
may be allowed to have my own.’

‘You'll find it in the Bible,’ says Jack.

‘T never did yet, and I've read it through
and through all, bating the ’Pocryfar.’

‘Then,’ said Jack, ‘ go home and fetch the
Bible, and I'll prove it to you.’

“I suspect you'll not wait till I come back
again. No, no; I have lost plenty of apples,
and have long wanted to find the robbers out ;
now I've caught one I'll take care that he
don’t ’scape without apple-sauce, at all events
—so come down, you young thief, come down
directly—or it will be all the worse for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jack, ‘but I am very well
here. I will, if you please, argue the point
from where I am.’

‘I’ve no time to argue the point, my lad ;
I’ve plenty to do, but do not think I'll let you
off. If you don't choose to comé down, why
then you may stay there, and I'll answer for
it, as soon as work is done I shall find you
safe enough.’

‘ What can be done,’ thought Jack, ‘ witha
man who will not listen to argument ?. What
a world is this !—however, he’ll not find me
here when he comes back, I’ve a notion.’

But in this Jack was mistaken. The farmer
walked to the hedge, and called a boy, who
took his orders and ran to the farm house. In
a minute or two a large bull-dog was seen
bounding along the orchard to his master.
‘Mark him, Ceesar.’ said the farmer to the
dog, ‘mark him.’ The dog crouched down

on the grass, with his head up, and eyes giar-

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

     
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  

17

ing at Jack, showing a range of teeth that
drove all our hero’s philosophy out of his
head. i

‘I can’t wait here, but Csesar can, and I
will tell you, as a friend, that if he gets hold
of you, he'll not leave a limb of you together,
—when work's done T’ll come back ;’ so say-
ing, the farmer walked off, leaving: Jack and
the dog to argue the point, if so inclined.
What asad jade must philosophy be, to put
her votaries in such predicamenits !

After a while the dog laid his head down
and closed his eyes, as if asleep, but Jack ob-
served that at the least movement on his part
one eye was seen partially to unclose; so
Jack, like a prudent man, resolved to remain
where he was. He picked a few more apples,
for it was his dinner-time, and as he chewed
he ruminated.

Jack had been but a few minutes ruminating
before he was interrupted by another rumin-
ating animal, no less a personage than a bull,
who had been turned out with full possession
of the orchard, and who now advanced, bel-
lowing occasionally, and tossing his head at
the sight of Cesar, whom he considered as
much a trespasser as his master had our hero,
Ceesar started on his legs and faced the bull,
who advanced pawing, with his tail up in the
air. When within a few yards the bull made
arush at the dog, who evaded him and at-
tacked him in return, and thus did the warfare
continue until the opponents were already at
some distance from the apple-tree. Jack pre-
pared for immediate flight, but unfortunately
the combat was carried on by the side of the
hedge at which Jack had gained admission.
Neyer mind, thought Jack, there are two sides
to every field, and although the other hedge
joined on to the garden near to the farm
house, there was no option. ‘At all events,’
said Jack, ‘I'll try it.’ Jack was slipping
down the trunk, when he heard a tremendous
roar ; the bulldog had been tossed by the bull ;
he was then high in the air, and Jack saw him
fall on the other side of the hedge ; and the
bull was thus celebrating his victory with a
flourish of trumpets. Upon which Jack, per-
ceiving that he was relieved from his seniry,
slipped down the rest of the tree and took to
his heels. Unfortunately for Jack, the bull
saw him, and, flushed with victory, he imme-
diately set up another roar, and bounded after
Jack. Jack perceived his danger, and fear
gave him wings; he not only flew over the
orchard, but he flew over the hedge, which
was about five feet high, just as the bull drove
his head into it. Look before you leap, is an
old proverb. Had Jack done so, he would
have done better; but as there were cogent
reasons to be offered in extenuation of our
philosopher, we’shall say no more, but merely
state that Jack, when he got to the other side18

of the hedge, found that he had pitched into
a small apiary, and had upset two hives of
bees, who resented the intrusion; and Jack
had hardly time to get upon his legs before he
found them very busy stinging him in all
quarters. All that Jack could do was to run
for it, but the bees flew faster than he could
run, and Jack was mad with pain, when he
stumbled, half-blinded, over the brick-work of
a well. Jack could not stop his pitching into
the well, but he seized the iron chain as it
struck him across the face. Down went Jack,
and round went the windlass, and after a
rapid descent of forty feet, our hero found him-
self under water, and no longer troubled with
the bees, who, whether they had lost scent of
their prey from his rapid descent, or being no-
toriously clever insects, acknowledged the
truth of the adage, ‘leave well alone,’ had
certainly left Jack with no other companion
than Truth. Jack rose from his immersion,
and seized the rope to which the chain of the
bucket was made fast--it had all of it been
unwound from the windlass, and therefore it
enabled Jack to keep his head above water.
After a few seconds, Jack felt something
against his legs, it was the bucket, about iwo
feet under the water ; Jack put his feet into it
and found himself pretty comfortable, for the
water, after the sting of the bees and the heat
he had been put into by the race with the bull,
was quite cool and refreshing,

‘At all events,’ thought Jack, ‘ifit had not
been for the bull, I should have been waiched
by the dog. and then thrashed by the farmer ;
but then again, if it had not been for the bull,
I should not have tumbled among the bees:
and if it had not been for the bees, I should
not have tumbled into the well ; and if it had
not been for the chain, I should have been
drowned. Such has been the chain of events,
all because I wanted to eat an apple.

‘ However, I have got rid of the farmer, and
the dog, and the bull, and the bées—all’s well
that ends well; but how the devil am I to get
out of the well ?—-All creation appear to have
conspired against the rights of man. As my
father said, this is an iron age, and here lam
swinging to an iron chain.’

We have given the whole of Jack's soliloquy,
as it will prove that Jack was no fool, although
he was a bit of a philosopher; and aman who
could reason so well upon cause and effect, at
the bottom of a well, up to his neck in water,
showed a good deal of presence of mind. But
if Jack's mind had been a little twisted by
his father’s philosophy, it had still sufficient
strength and elasticity to recover itself in due
time. Had Jack been a common personage,
we should never have selected him for our
hero.

 

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  

CHAPTER VII,

IN WHICH JACK MAKES SOME VBRY SAGE
REFLECTIONS, AND COMES TO A VERY
UNWISE DECISION.

AFTER all, it must be acknowledged that al-.
though there are cases of distress in which a
well may become a place of refuge, a weil is
not at all calculated for a prolonged residence
—so thought Jack. After he had been there
some fifteen minutes, his teeth chattered, and
his lips trembled; he felt a numbness all.
over, and he thought it high time to call for
assistance, which at first he would not, as he
was afraid he should be pulled up to en-
counter the indignation of the farmer and his
family. Jack was arranging his jaws for a
halloo, when he felt the chain pulled up, and
he slowly emerged from the water. At first
he heard complaints of the weight of the
bucket, at which Jack was not surprised ; then
he heard a tittering and laughing between
two parties, and soon afterwards he mounted
up gaily. At last his head appeared above
the low wall, and he was about to extend his
arms so as to secure a position on it, when
those who were working at the windlass be-
held him. It was a heavy farming man and
a maid servant.

‘Thank you,’ said Jack.

One never should be too quick in returning
thanks; the girl screamed and let go the
winch, the man, frightened, did not hold it
fast ; it slipped from his grasp, whirled round,
struck him under the chin, and threw him
over it headlong, and before the ‘Thank you’
was fairly out of Jack’s lips, down he went
again like lightning to the bottom. Fortu-
nately for Jack, he had not yet let go. the
chain, or he might have struck the sides and
have been killed; as it was, he was merely |
soused a second time, and in-a minute or two
regained his former position.

‘This is mighty pleasant,* thought Jack, as
he clapped his wet hat once more on his
head ; -at all events, they can’t now plead
ignorance, they must know that I’m here.’

In the meantime the girl ran into the
kitchen, threw herself down on a stool, from
which she reeled off ina fit upon sundry heaps
of dough waiting to be baked in the oyen,
which were laid to rise on the floor before the
fire.

“Mercy on me, what is the matter with
Susan ?’ exclaimed the farmer's wife. ‘ Here!
—where's Mary—where’s John ?—Deary me, if
the bread won't all be turned to pancakes.’

John soon followed, holding his under-jaw

in his hand, looking very dismal and very

frightened, for two reasons; one, because he
thought that his jaw was broken, and the
other, because he thought he had seen the
devil,’MR.

 

‘Mercy on us, what is the matter? ex-
claimed the farmer's wife again. ‘Mary,
Mary, Maty !’ screamed she, beginning to be
frightened herself, for with all her efforts she
could not remove: Susan from the bed of
dough, where she lay senseless and heavy as
lead. Mary answered to her mistress’s loud
appeal, and with her assistance they raised up
Susan; but as for the bread, there was no
hopes of it ever rising again. ‘Why don’t
you come here and help Susan, John? cried
Mary.

‘ Aw- -yaw-aw ! was all the reply of John,
who had had enough of helping Susan, and
who continued to hold his head, ; as it were, in
his hand.

‘What's the matter here, missus?’ exclaimed
tne farmer, coming in. ‘ Highty-tighty,-what
ails Susan? and what ails you?’ continued
the farmer, turning to John. ‘Dang it, but

verything seems to go wrong this blessed
day. First, there be ail the apples stolen—
then there be all the hives turned topsy-turvy
in the garden—then there be Ceesar with his
flank opened by the bull—then there be the
bull broken through the hedge and tumbled
into the saw-pit—and now I come to get more
help to drag him out, I find one woman dead
like, and John looks as if he had seen the
devil. :

“Aw-yaw-aw ! replied John
head very significantly

‘One would think that the devil had broke
loose to-day. What is it, John? Have you
seen him, and has Susan seen him ?’

“Aw-yaw.’

“He's stopped your jaw, then, at all events,
and I thought the devil himself wouldn’t have
done that—we shall get nothing of you. Is
that wench coming to her senses ?”

‘Yes, yes, she’s better now.—Susan, what’s
the matter ?’

‘Oh, oh, ma'am! the well, the well——’

‘The well! Something wrong there, I stup-
pose : well, I will go and See.’

The farmer trotted off to the well; he per-
ceived the bucket was at the bottom and all
the rope out ; he looked about him, and then
he looked into the well. Jack, who had be-
come very impatient, had been looking up
some time for the assistance which he ex-
pected would have come sooner ; the round
face of the farmer occasioned a partial eclipse
of the round disk which bounded his view,
just as one of the satellites of Jupiter some-
times obscures the face of the planet round
which he revolves.

‘Here I am,’ cried Jack; ‘get me up quick,
or I shall be dead ; and what Jack said was
true, for he was quite done up by having been
so long down, although his courage had not
failed him.

‘Dang it, but there be somebody fallen into

Ai ee tae
nodding his

  
 
    
  
  
 
    
 
  
  
      
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
   
   
   
     
    
   
  
   
      
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
 
 
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
    
 
  
    
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
 

MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 19

the well,’ cried the farmer; ‘no end to mis-
haps this day. Well, we must get a Christian
out of a well afore we get a bull out of a saw-
pit. so I’ll go and call the men.’

In a very short time the men who were
assembled round the saw-pit were brought to
the well.

‘ Down below there, hold on now.’

‘ Never fear,’ cried toe

Away went the winch, and once more Jack
had an extended horizon to survey. As soon
as he was at the top, the men hauled him over
the bricks and laid him down upon the ground,
for Jack’s strength had failed him.

‘Dang it, if it bean’t the chap who was
on my apple-tree,’ cried the farmer—‘ how-
somever, he must not die for stealing a few
apples ; lift him up. lads, and take him in—
he is dead with cold—no wonder.’

The farmer led the way, and the men car-
ried Jack into the house, when. the farmer
gave him a glass of brandy; this restored
jJack’s circulation, and in a short time he was
all right again.

After some previous conversation, in which
Jack narrated all that had happened, ‘ What
may be your name?’ inquired the farmer.

‘ My name is Easy,’ replied Jack.

“What! be you the son of Mr. Easy, of
Forest Hill?’

Ves,’

‘Dang it, he be’ my landlord, and a right
good ehilord too—why didn’t you say so
when you were up in the apple- ‘tree? You
might have picked the whole orchard and
welcome.’

“My dearsir,” replied Jack, who had taken
a second glass of brandy, and was quite :talka-
tive again, ‘let this be a warning to you; and
when a man proposes to argue the point,
always, in future, listen. Had you waited, I
would have proved to you most incontestably
that you had no more right to the apples than
{had ; but you would not listen to argument,
and without discussion we can never arrive at
truth. You send for your dog, who is ripped
up by the bull—the bull breaks his leg in a
saw-pit—the bee-hives are overturned, and
you lose all your honey—your man Jote
breaks” his jaw—your maid Susan spoils all
the bread-—and why, because you would not
allow me to argue the point.’

“Weil, Mr. Easy, it be all. true that all
these mishaps have happened because I would
not allow you to argue the point, perhaps,
although, as I rent the orchard from your
father, I cannot imagine how you could prove
to me that the apples were not mine; but
now, let's take your side of the question, and
I don’t see how you be much better off: you

get up in a tree for a few apples, with plenty
of ao to buy them if you like—you are
kept there by a dog—you are nearly gored by20

a bull—you are stung by the bees, and you
tumble souse into a well, and are nearly killed
a dozen times, and all for a few apples not
worth twopence.’

‘All very true, my good man,’ replied
Jack ; ‘but you forget that I, as a philoso-
pher, was defending the rights of man.’

‘Well, I never knew before that a lad who
stole apples was called a philosopher—we
calls it petty larceny in the indictments; and
as for your rights of man, I cannot see how
they can be defended by doing what's wrong.’

‘You do not comprehend the matter,
farmer.’

‘No, I don’t—and I be too old to learn,
Master Easy. All I have to say is this, you
are welcome to all the apples in the orchard
if you please ; and if you prefers, as it seems
you do, to steal them instead of asking for
them, which I only can account for by the
reason that they say, that ‘‘stolen fruit be
sweetest,’ I’ve only to say that I shall give
orders that you be not interfered with. My
chaise be at the door, Master Easy, and the
man will drive you to your father’s—make
my compliments to him, and say, that I’m
very sorry that you tumbled into our well.’

As Jack was much more inclined for bed
than argument, he wished the farmer good-
night, and allowed himself to be driven home.

The pain from the sting of the bees, now
that his circulation had fully returned, was so
great, that he was not sorry to find Dr.
Middleton taking his tea with his father and
mother. Jack merely said that he had been
so unfortunate as to upset a hive, and had
been severely stung. He deferred the whole
story till another opportunity. Dr. Middleton
prescribed for Jack, but on taking his hand
found that he was in a high fever, which, after
the events of the day, was not to be wondered
at. Jack was bled, and kept his bed for a
week, by which time he was restored; but
during that time Jack had been thinking very
seriously, and had made up his mind.

But we must explain a circumstance which
had occurred, which was probably the cause
of Jack’s decision. When Jack returned on
the evening in question, he found seated with
his father and Dr. Middleton, a Captain Wil-
son, a sort of cousin to the family, who but
occasionally paid them a visit, for he iived at
some distance ; and having a wife and large
family, with nothing but his half-pay for their
support, he could not afford to expend even
shoe-leather in compliments. The object of
this visit on the part of Captain Wilson was
to request the aid of Mr. Easy. He had suc-
ceeded in obtaining his appointment to a sloop
of war. (for he was in the king’s service), but
was without the means of fitting himself out,
without leaving his wife and family penniless.
He therefore came to request Mr. Easy to

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

lend him a few hundred ‘pounds, until he
should be able, by his prize-money, to repay
them. Mr. Easy was not a man to refuse
such a request ; and always having plenty of
spare cash at his banker’s, he drew a cheque
for a thousand pounds, which he gave to

Captain Wilson, requesting that he would

only repay it at his convenience. Captain
Wilson wrote an acknowledgment of the debt,
promising to pay upon his first prize-money,
which receipt, however binding it may be toa
man of honour, was, in point of law, about as
valuable as if he had agreed to pay as soon
‘as the cows came home.’
been just concluded, and Captain Wilson had

returned into the parlour with Mr. Easy, when |

Jack returned from his expedition.

Jack greeted Captain Wilson, whom he |

had long known; but, as we before ob-
served, he suffered so much pain, that he

soon retired with Dr. Middleton, and went to |

bed.

During a week there is room for much re- |

flection, even in a lad of fourteen, although at

that age we are not much inclined to think. 7

But Jack was in bed; his eyes were so swollen

with the stings of the bees that he could”
neither read nor otherwise amuse himself;
and he preferred his own thoughts to they
gabble of Sarah, who attended him ; so Jack”

thought, and the result of his cogitations we
shall soon bring forward.

It was on the eighth day that Jack left his”

bed and came down into the drawing-room.

He then detailed to his father the adventures ©
which had taken place, which had obliged™

him to take to his bed.

‘You see, Jack,’ replied his father, ‘it’s just 7]

what I told you: the world is so utterly de-

moralised by what is called social compact, ©

and the phalanx supporting it, by contributing

a portion of their unjust possessions for the ©
security of the remainder, is so powerful, that ©
any one who opposes it must expect to pass]

   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

The affair had ||)

   

 

 

 

the life of a martyr; but martyrs are always”

required previous to any truth, however
sublime, being received ; and, like Abraham,

whom I have always considered as a great |
philosopher, I am willing to sacrifice my only |

son in so noble a cause.’

‘That’s all very good on your part, father, ©

but we must argue the point a little.
are as great a philosopher as Abraham, I am
not quite so dutiful a son as Isaac, whose
blind obedience, in my opinion, is very cén-
trary to your rights of man: but the fact, in
few words, is simply this. In promulgating
your philosophy, in the short space of two
days, I have been robbed of the fish I caught,

If yous

e

and my rod and line—I have been soused into ©

a fish-pond—I have been frightened out of my ©

wits by a bull-dog—been nearly killed by a ~

bull—been stung to death by bees, and iwice ©

 

 

atumbled into a well. Now, if all that hap-
pens in two days, what must I expect to suffer
in a whole year? It appears to be very un-
wise to attempt making further converts, for
people on shore seem determined not to listen
to reason or argument. But it has occurred
to me, that although the whole earth has been
so nefariously divided among the few, that the
watéts at least are the property of all. No
man claims his share of the sea—every one
may there plough as he pleases, without being
taken up for a trespasser. Even war makes
no difference; every one may go on as he
pleases, and if they meet, it is nothing but a
neutral ground on which the parties contend.
It is, then, only upon the ocean that I am
likely to find that equality and rights of man,
which we are so anxious to establish on shore;
and therefore I have resolved not to go to
school again, which I detest, but to go to sea,
and propagate our opinions as much as I
can.

‘IT cannot listen to that, Jack. In the first
place, you must return to school ; in the next
place, you shall not go to sea.’

‘Then, father, all I have to say is, that I
swear by the rights of man I will not go back
to school, and that I will go to sea. Who
and what is to prevent me? Was not I born
my own master ?—has any one a right to dic-
tate to me as if I were not his equal? Have
I not as much right to my share of the sea as
any other mortal? I stand upon perfect
equality,’ continued Jack, stamping his right
foot on the floor.

What had Mr. Easy to offerin reply? He
must either, as a philosopher, have sacrificed
his hypothesis, or, as a father, have sacrificed
his son. Like all philosophers, he preferred
what he considered as the less important of
the two, he sacrificed his son ; but—we will do
him justice—he did it with a sigh.

‘Jack, you shall, if you wish it, go to sea.’

“That of course,’ replied Jack, with the air
of a conqueror ; ‘but the question is, with
whom? Now it has occurred to me, that
Captain Wilson has just been appointed toa
ship, and I should like to sail with him.’

‘T will write to him,’ said Mr. Easy,
mournfully, ‘ but I should have liked to have
felt his head first ;; and thus was the matter

arranged.
The answer from Captain Wilson was,
of course, in the affirmative, and he pro-

mised that he would treat Jack as his own

son.
Our hero mounted his father’s horse,
rode offto Mr. Bonnycastle.
‘Tam going to sea, Mr. Bonnycastle. '
‘The very best thing for you,’ replied
Bonnycastle.
Our hero met Dr. Middleton.
‘T am going tosea, Dr. Middleton,’

and

Mr.

 

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  

21

‘The very best thing for you,’ replied the
doctor.

‘TI am going to sea, mother,’ said John.

‘To sea, John, to sea? no, no, dear John,
you are not going to sea,’ replied Mrs. Easy,
with horror.

‘Yes, I am; father has agreed, and says he
will obtain your consent.’

‘My consent! Oh, my dear, dear boy !'—
and Mrs. Easy wept bitterly, as Rachel
mourning for her children.

CHAPTER VIIF,

IN WHICH MR. EASY HAS HIS FIRST LESSON
AS TO ZEAL IN HIS MAJESTY’S SERVICE.

As there was no time to lose, our hero very
soon bade adieu to his paternal roof, as the
phrase is, and found his way down to Ports-
mouth. As Jack had plenty of money, and
was very much pleased at finding himself his
own master, he was in no hurry to join his
ship, and five or six companions, not very
creditable, whom either Jack had picked up,
or had picked up Jack, and who lived upon
him, strongly advised him to put it off until
the very last moment. As this advice hap-
pened to coincide with Jack’s opinion, our
hero was three weeks at Portsmouth before
any one knew of his arrival, but at last Cap-
tain Wilson received a letter from Mr. Easy,
by which he found that Jack had left home at
the period we have mentioned, and he desired
the first lieutenant to make inquiries, as he
was afraid that some accident might have
happened to him. As Mr. Sawbridge, the
first lieutenant, happened to be going on
shore on the same evening for the last time
previous to the ship's sailing, he looked into
the Blue Posts, George, and Fountain Inns,
to inquire if there was such a person arrived
as Mr. Easy. ‘Oh yes,’ replied the waiter at
the Fountain,—‘ Mr. Easy has been here these
three weeks.’

‘ The devil he has,’ roared Mr. Sawbridge,
with all the indignation of a first lieutenant
defrauded three weeks of a midshipman ;
where is he; in the coffee-room ?”

‘Oh dear no, sir,’ replied the waiter, ‘Mr.
Easy has the front apartments on the first
floor.’

‘Well, then, show me up to the first floor.’

‘May I request the pleasure of your name,
sir?’ said the waiter.

‘First lieutenants don’t send up their names
to midshipmen,’ replied Mr. Sawbridge ; ‘he
shall soon know who I am.’

At this reply, the waiter walked upstairs,
followed by Mr. Sawbridge, and threw open
the door.22

‘A gentleman wishes to see you, sir,’ said
the waiter.

‘Desire him to walk in,’ said Jack : ‘and,
waiter, mind that the punch is a little better
than it was yesterday ; [have asked two more
gentlemen to dine here.’

In the meantime, Mr. Sawbridge, who was
not in his uniform, had entered, and perceived
Jack alone, with the dinner table laid out in
the best style for eight, a considerable show
of plate for even the Fountain Inn, and every-
thing, as well as the apartment itself, accord-
ing to Mr. Sawbridge’s opinion, much more
fit for a commander-in-chief than a midship-
man of a sloop of war.

Now Mr. Sawbridge was a good officer, one
who had really worked his way up to the pre-
sent rank, that is to say, that he had served
seven-and-twenty years, and had nothing but
his pay. He was alittle soured in the service,
and certainly had an aversion to the young
men of family who were now fast crowding
into it—and with some grounds, as he per-
ceived his own chance of promotion decrease
in the same ratio as the numbers increased.
He considered that in proportion as midship-
men assumed a cleaner and more gentlemanly
appearance, so did they become more useless,
and it may therefore be easily imagined that
his bile was raised by this parade and display
in a lad, who was very shortly to be, and
ought three weeks before to have been,
shrinking from his frown. Nevertheless, Saw-
bridge was a good-hearted man, although a
little envious of Juxury, which he could not
pretend to indulge in himself.

‘ May I beg to ask,’ said Jack, who was
always remarkably polite and gentlemanly in
his address, ‘in what manner I may be of
service to you?’

‘Yes, sir, you may—by joining your ship
immediately. And may I beg to ask in re-
turn, sir, what is the reason you have stayed on
shore three weeks without joining her ?’

Hereupon Jack, who did not much admire
the peremptory tone of Mr. Sawbridge, and
who during the answer had taken a seat,
crossed his legs, and played with the gold
chain to which his watch’ was secured, after a
pause very coolly replied,—

‘And pray, who are you ?’ é

‘Who am I, sir? replied Sawbridge, jump-
ing out of his chair—‘ my name is Sawbridge,
sir, and I am the first lieutenant of the Harpy.
Now, sir, you have your answer.’

Mr. Sawbridge, who imagined that the
name of the first lieutenant would strike
terror toa culprit midshipman, threw him-

self back in the chair, and assumed an air of
importance,

‘Really, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘what may be
your exact situation on board, my ignorance
of the service will not allow me to guess, but

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
   
   
 
 
   
  
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
   
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
   
   

 

if I may judge from your behaviour you have
no small opinion of yourself.’

“Look ye, young man, you may not know
what a first lieutenant is, and I take it for
granted that you do not, by your behaviour ;
but depend upon it, Pll let you know very
soon. In the meantime, sir, I insist upon it,
that you go immediately on board.’

‘I’m sorry that I cannot comply with your
very moderate request,’ replied Jack, coolly.
‘I shall go on board when it suits my conveni-
ence, and I beg that vou wiil give yourself no
further trouble on my account.’

Jack then rang the bell; the waiter, who had
been listening outside, immediately entered,
and before Mr. Sawbridge, who was dumb
with astonishment at™ Jack’s impertinence,
could have time to reply, —

‘Waiter,’ said Jack, ‘show this gentleman
downstairs. ’

‘ By the god of war!’ exclaimed the first
lieutenant, ‘but I’ll soon show you down to
the boat, my young bantam; and when once
I get you safe on board, I'll make you know
the difference between a midshipman and a
first lieutenant.’

‘I can only admit of equality, sir,’ replied
Jack ;. ‘we are all born equal—I trust you'll
allow that.’

‘Equality—damn it, I suppose you'll take
the command. of the ship. However, sir,
your ignorance will be a little enlightened
by-and-by. I shall now go and report your
conduct to Captain Wilson ; and I tell you
plainly, that if you are not on board this
evening, to-morrow morning, at daylight, I
shall send a sergeant and a file of marines to
fetch you.’

‘You may depend upon it, sir,’ replied
Jack, ‘that I also shall not fail to mention to
Captain Wilson, that I consider you a very
quarrelsome, impertinent fellow, and recom-
mend him not to allow you to remain on
board. It will be quite uncomfortable to be
in the same ship with such an ungentlemanly
bear.’

‘He must be mad—quite mad,’ exclaimed

Sawbridge, whose astonishment even mas-
tered hisindignation. ‘Mad asaMarch hare
—by God.’

‘ No, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘ am not mad, but
I am a philosopher.’

‘A what ?’ exclaimed Sawbridge, ‘ damme,
what next? well, my joker, all the better for
you, I shall put your philosophy to the
proof.’

‘ It is for that very reason, sir,’ replied Jack,
‘that I have decided upon going to sea; and
if you do remain on board, I hope to argue
the point with you, and make you a convert
to the truth of equality and the rights of
man.

‘By the Lord that made us both, I’ll soonmake you a convert to the thirty-six articles
of war—that is, if you remain on board ; but
I shall now goto the captain, and report your
conduct, sir, and leave you to your dinner
with what appetite you may.’

‘Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you; but
you need not be afraid of my appetite; I am
only sorry, as you happen to belong to the
same ship, that I cannot, in justice to the
gentlemanly young men whom [ expect, ask
you to join them. I wish’ you a very good-
morning, sir.’

‘Twenty years have I been in the service,’
roared Sawbridge, ‘and, damme——but he's
mad—downright, stark, staring mad.’ .Andc
the first lieutenant bounced out of the room.

Jack was a little astonished himself. Had
Mr. Sawbridge made his appearance in uni-
form it might have been different, but that a
plain-looking man, with black whiskers,
shaggy hair, and old blue frock coat and
yellow cassimere waistcoat, should venture to
address him in such a manner, was quite in-
comprehensible;—‘ Hecalls me mad,’ thought
Jack, ‘I shall tell Captain Wilson what is my
opinion about his lieutenant.’ Shortly after-
wards the company arrived, and Jack soon
forgot all about it.

In the meantime Sawbridge called at the
captain’s lodgings, and found him at home.
He made a very faithful report of all that had
happened, and concluded his report by 'de-
manding, in great wrath, either an instant dis-
missal or a court-martial on our hero, Jack.

‘Stop, Sawbridge,’ replied. Captain Wil-
son, ‘take a chair: as Mr. Easy says, we must
argue the point, and then I will leave it to
your better feelings. As for the court-martial,
it will not hold good, for Mr. Easy, in the
first place, has not yet joined the ship, and in
the next place, could not be supposed to know
that you were the first lieutenant, or even an
officer, for you went to him out of uniform.’

‘Very true, sir,’ replied Sawbridge, ‘I had
forgotten that.’

“Then, as for his dismissal, or rather, not
allowing him to join, Mr. Easy has been
brought up in the country, and has never
seen anything aquatic larger than a fish-pond,
perhaps, in his life; andas for the service, or
the nature of it, 1 believe he is as ignorant of
it as a child not a year old—I doubt whether
he knows the rank of a lieutenant ; certainly,
he can have no idea of the power of a first
lieutenant, by his treatment of you.’

‘Tf should think not,’ replied Sawbridge,

dryly.
‘T do not think, therefore, that conduct
which must have proceeded from sheer igno-
rance should beso severely punished—I appeal
to you, Sawbridge.’

‘Well, sir, perhaps you are right—but still
he told me he was a philosopher, and talked

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
    

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 23

about equality and rights of man. Told me
that he could only admit of equality between
us, and begged to argue the point. Now, sir,
if a midshipman is to argue the point every
time that an order is given, the service will
come to a pretty pass.’

‘That is all very true, Sawbridge ; and now
you remind me of what never occurred to me

at the time that I promised to take Mr. Easy |

in the ship. I now recollect that his father,
who is a distant relation of mine, has some
very wild notions in his head, just like what
have been repeated by his son on your inter-
view with him. I have occasionally dined
there, and Mr. Easy has always been uphold-
ing the principles of natural equality and of
the rights of man, much to the amusement of
his guests, and I confess, at the time, of mine
also. I recollect telling him that I trusted he
would never be able to disseminate his opin-
ions in the service to which | belonged, as we
should have an end of all discipline. I little
thought, at the time, that his only son, who
has no more occasion to go to sea than the
Archbishop of Canterbury, for his father has
a very handsome property—I believe seven or
eight thousand a year—would ever have sailed
with me, and have brought these opinions
with him into any ship that I com manded. It
is a pity, a great pity ——

‘He never could have brought his pigs to a
worse market,’ observed Sawbridge

‘T agree with you, and, as a father myself,
I cannot but help feeling how careful we
should be, how we inculcate anything like ab-
stract and philosophical ideas to youth. ~ Al-
lowing them to be in themselves correct, still
they are dangerous as sharp instruments are
in the hands of a child -—allowing them to be
erroneous, they are seized upon with an avidity
by young and ardent minds, and are not to be
eradicated without the greatest difficulty, and
very often not until they have accomplished
their ruin’

«Then you think, sir, that these ideas have
taken deep root in this young man, and we
shall not easily rid him of them ?

‘Ido not say so; but still, recollect they
have been instilled, perhaps, from the earliest
period, by one from whom they must have
been received with all confidence—from a
father to a son; and that son has never yet
been sufficiently in the world to have proved
their fallacy.’

‘Well, sir,’ replied Sawbridge, ‘if I mav
venture to offer an opinion on the subject —
and in so doing I assure you that I only shall
from a feeling for the service—if, as you Say,
these opinions will not easily be eradicated, as
the young man is independent, would it not
be both better for himself, as well as for the
service, that he is sent home again? ~ As an
officer he will never do any good for himself,

 

|
i
;2A

and he may do much harm to others, I sub-
mit this to you, Captain Wilson, with all re-
spect ; but as your first lieutenant, I feel very
jealous at any chance of the discipline of the
ship being interfered with by the introduction
of this young man, to whom it appears that a
profession is no object.’

“My dear Sawbridge,’ replied Captain
Wilson, after taking one or two turns up and
down the room, ‘we entered the service to-
gether, we were messmates for many years,
and you must be aware that it is not only long
friendship, but an intimate knowledge of your
unrewarded merit, which has induced me to
request you to come with me as my first lieu-
tenant. Now, I will put a case to you, and
you shall then decide the question—and more-
over, I will abide by your decision.

‘Suppose that you were a commander like
myself, with a wife and seven children, and
that, struggling for many years to support
them, you found yourself, notwithstanding the
utmost parsimony, gradually running into
debt. That, after many long applications,
you had at last succeeded in obtaining em-
ployment by an appointment to a fine sloop,
and there was every prospect, by prize-money
and increased pay, of recovering yourself from
your difficulties, if not realizing a sufficient
provision for your family. ‘Then suppose that
all this prospect and all these hopes were
likely to be dashed to the ground by the fact
of having no means of fitting yourself out, no
credit, no means of paying debts you have
contracted, for which you would have been
arrested, or anything sufficient to leave for the
support of your family during your absence,
your agent only consenting to advance one
half of what you require. Now, suppose, in
this awkward dilemma, without any one in
this world upon whom you have any legitimate
claim, as a last resource you were to apply to
one with whom you have but a distant con-
nection, and but an occasional acquaintance—
and that when you had made your request for
the loan of two or three hundred pounds, fully
anticipating a refusal (from the feeling that he
who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing)—I
say, suppose, to your astonishment, that this
generous person was to present you with a
cheque on his banker for one thousand pounds,
demanding no interest, no legal security, and
requests you only to pay it at your convenience
—I ask you, Sawbridge, what would be your
feelings towards such a man?

‘I would die for him,’ replied Sawbridge,
with emotion.

‘And suppose that, by the merest chance,
or from a whim of the moment, the son of
that man was to be placed under your protec-
tion ?”

‘I would be a father to him,’ replied Saw-
bridge.

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  

  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

‘But we must proceed a little further : stif-
pose that you were to find the lad was not all
that you could wish—that he had imbibed
erroneous doctrines, which would probably, if
not eradicated, be attended with consequences
fatal to his welfare and happiness, would you,
therefore, on that account, withdraw your pro-
tection, and leave him to the mercy of others,
who had no claims of gratitude to sway them
in his favour ?’

‘Most certainly not, sir,’ replied Sawbridge;
“on the contrary, I would never part with the
son until, by precept or otherwise, I had set
him right again, and thus had, as far as it was
possible, paid the debt of gratitude due to the
generous father.’

‘T hardly need say to you, Sawbridge, after
what has passed, that this lad you have just
come from is the son, and that Mr. Easy of
Forest Hill is the father.’

‘Then, sir, I can only say, that not only to
please you, but also from respect to a man
who has shown such good-will towards one of
our cloth, I shall most cheerfully forgive all
that has passed between the lad and me, and
all that may probably take place before we
make him what he ought to be.’

‘Thank you, Sawbridge; I expected as
much, and am not disappointed in my opinion
of you.’

‘And now, Captain Wilson, pray what is to
be done ?’

‘We must get him on board, but not with
a file of marines—that will do more harm
than good. I will send a note, requesting
him to breakfast with me to-morrow morning,
and have a little conversation with him. Ido
not wish to frighten him ; he would not scruple
to run back to Forest Hill—now I wish to keep
him if I possibly can.’

“You are right, sir; his father appears his
greatest enemy. What apity that a man with
so good a heart should be so weak in the head !
Then, sir, I shall take no notice of this at pre-
sent, but leave the whole affair in vour hands.’

‘Do, Sawbridge; you have obliged me very
much by your kindness in this business.’

Mr. Sawbridge then took his leave, and
Captain Wilson despatched a note to our
hero, requesting the pleasure of his company
to breakfast at nine o'clock the ensuing morn-
ing. The answer was in the affirmative, but
verbal, for Jack had drunk too much cham-
pagne to trust his pen to paper.

CHAPTER IX;
IN WHICH MR. EASY FINDS HIMSELF ON THE
OTHER SIDE OF THE BAY OF BISCAY.

THE next morning Jack Easy would have
forgotten all about his engagement with the
captain, had it not been for the waiter, whothought that, after the reception which our
hero had given the first lieutenant, it would
be just as well that he should not be disre-
spectful to the captain. Now, Jack had not,
hitherto, put on his untform, and he thought
this a fitting occasion, particularly as the
waiter suggested the propriety of his appear-
ance in it. Whetherit was from a presentiment
of what he was to suffer, Jack was not at all
pleased, as most lads are, with the change in
his dress. It appeared to him that he was
sacrificing his independence ; however, he did
not follow his first impulse, which was to take
it off again, but took his hat, which the waiter
had brushed and handed to him, and then set
off for the captain's lodgings. Captain Wilson
received him as if he had not been aware of
his delay in joining his ship, or his interview
with his first lieutenant, but before breakfast
was over, Jack himself narrated the affair ina
few words. Captain Wilson then entered into
a detaii of the duties and rank of every per-
son on board of the ship, pointing out to Jack
that where discipline was required it was im-
possible, when duty was carried on, that more
than one could command ; and that that one
was the captain, who represented the king in
person, who represented the country; and
that, as the orders were transmitted from the
captain through the lieutenant, and from the
lieutenant to the midshipmen, who, in their
turn, communicated them to the whole ship’s
company, in fact, it was the captain alone
who gave the orders, and that every one was
equally obliged to obey. Indeed, as the
captain himself had fo obey the orders of his
superiors, the admiral and the admiralty, al
on board might be said to be equally obliged
to obey. Captain Wilson laid a strong empha-
sis on the word equally, as he cautiously ad-
ministered his first dose ; indeed, in the whole
of his address, he made use of special plead-
ing, which would have done credit to the bar;
for at the same time that he was explaining to
Jack that he was entering a service in which
equality could never for a moment exist, if the
service was to exist, he contrived to show that
all the grades were levelled, by all being equally
bound to do their duty to their country ; and
that, in fact, whether a seaman obeyed his
orders, or he obeyed the orders of his superior
officer, they were in reality only obeying the
orders of the country, which were administered
through their channels.

Jack did not altogether dislike this view of
the subject, and the captain took good care
not to dwell toolong upon it. He then entered
upon other details, which he was aware would
be more agreeable to Jack. He pointed out
that the articles of war were the rules by which
the Service was to be guided, and that every-
body, from the captain to the least boy in the
ship, was equally bound to adhere to then—

—

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 25

that a certain allowance of provisions and
wine were allowed to each person on board,
and that this allowance was the same to all 5
the same to the captain as to the boy; the
same in quantity as in quality ; every one
equally entitled to his allowance—that,
although there were, of necessity, various
grades necessary in the service, and the
captain’s orders were obliged to be passed
and obeyed by all, yet still, whatever was the
grade of the officer, they were equally con-
sidered as gentlemen. In short, Captain
Wilson, who told the truth, and nothing but
the truth, without telling the whole truth,
actually made Jack fancy that he had at last
found out that equality he had been seeking
for in vain on shore, when, at last, he recol-
lected the language used by Mr. Sawbridge
the evening before, and asked the captain why
that personage had so conducted himself.
Now, as the language of Mr. Sawbridge was
very much at variance with equality, Captain
Wilson was not a little puzzled. However, he
first pointed out. that the first lieutenant was,
at the time being, the captain, as he was the
senior officer on board, as would Jack himself
be if he were the senior officer on board ; and
that, as he before observed, the captain or
senior officer represented the country. That
in the articles of war, everybody who absented
himself from the ship, committed an error, or
breach of those articles ; and if any error or
breach of those articles was committed by any
one belonging to the ship, if the senior officer
did not take notice of it, he then himself com-
mitted a breach of those articles, and was liable
himself to be punished, if he could not prove
that. he had noticed it; it was therefore to
save himself that he was obliged to point out
the error ; and if hedidit in strong language,
it only proved his zeal for his country.

‘Upon my honour, then,’ replied Jack,
‘there can be no doubt of his zeal; for if the
whole country had been at stake he could not
have put himself in a greater passion.’

‘Then he did his duty ; but depend uponit
it was not a pleasant one to him: and I'll
answer for it, when you meet him on board,
he will be as friendly with you as if nothing
had happened.’

‘He told me that he'd soon make me know
what a first lieutenant was : what did he mean
by that ?' inquired Jack.

“All zeal?

‘Yes, but he said that as soon as he got on
board he'd show me the difference between a
first lieutenant and a midshipman.’

‘ All zeal.’

‘He said my ignorance should be a little
enlightened by-and-by.’

* All zeal.’

‘And that he’d send a sergeant and marines
to fetch me.’26

‘ All zeal.’
‘That he would put my philosophy to the

proof.’

“All zeal, Mr. Easy. Zeal will break out in
this way; but we should do nothing in the
service without it.’ Recollect that I hope
and trust one day to see you also a zealous
officer.’

Here Jack cogitated considerably, and gave
no answer.

‘You will, I am sute,’ continued Captain
Wilson, ‘ find Mr. Sawbridge one of your best
friends.’

* Perhaps so,’-replied Jack; ‘but I did not
much admire our first acquaintance.’

‘Tt will perhaps be your unpleasant duty to
find as much fault yourself; we are all equally
bound to do our duty to our country. But,
Mr. Easy, I.sent for you to say that we shall
sail to-morrow; and, as I shall send my
things off this afternoon by the launch, you
had better send yours off also. At eight
o’clock I shall go on board, and we can both
go in the same boat.’

To this Jack made no sort wf objection, and
having paid his-bill at the Fountain, he sent
his chest down to the boat by some of the
crew who came up for it, and attended the
summons of the captain to embark. By nine
o'clock that evening Mr. Jack Easy was safe
on board his majesty’s sloop Harpy.

When Jack arrived on board it was dark,
and he did not know what to do with himself.
The captain was received by the officers on
deck, who took off their hats to salute him.
The captain returned the salute, and so did
Jack very politely, after which the captain
entered into conversation with the first lieu-
tenant, and for a while Jack was left to him-
self. It was too dark to distinguish faces, and
to one who had never been on board of a ship,
too dark to move, so Jack stood where he was,
which was not far from the main bitts ; but he
did not stay long ; the boat had been hooked
on to the quarter davits, and the boatswain had
called out—

‘Set taut, my lads!’

And then with the shrill whistle, and ‘Away
with her !’ forward came galloping and bound-
ing along the men with the tackles ; and in the
dark Jack was upset, and half-a-dozen marines
fell upon him ; the men, who had no idea that
an officer was floored among the others, were
pleased at the joke, and-continued to dance
over those who were down, until they rolled
themselves out of the way. Jack, who did not
understand this, fared badly, and it was not
till the calls piped belay that he could recover
his legs, after having been trampled upon by
half the starboard watch, and the breath com-
pletely jammed out of his body. Jack reeled
to a carronade slide, when the officers, who
had been laughing at the lark as well as the

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

  

 

men, perceived his situation—among others,
Mr. Sawbridge, the first lieutenant.

‘Are you hurt, Mr. Easy ?’ said he, kindly.

“A littie,’? replied Jack, catching his breath.

‘You've had but a rough welcome,’ replied
the first lieutenant, ‘but at certain times, on
board ship, it is every man for himself, and
God for us all. Harpur,’ continued the first
lieutenant to the doctor, ‘take Mr. Easy down
in the gun-room with you, and I will be down
myself as soon as I can. Where is Mr.
Jolliffe ?’

‘Here, sir,’ replied Mr. Jolliffe, a master's
mate, coming aft from the booms.

‘There is a youngster come on board with
the captain. Order one of the quarter-masters
to get a hammock slung.’

In the meantime Jack went down into the
gun-room, where a glass of wine somewhat
recovered him. ‘ He did not stay there long,
nor did he venture to talk much. As soon as
his hammock was ready Jack was glad to go
to bed, and as he was much bruised he was
not disturbed the next morning till past nine
o'clock. He then dressed himself, went on
deck, found that the sloop was just clear of
the Needles, that he felt very queer, then very
sick, and was conducted by a marine down
below, put into his hammock, where he re-
mained during a gale of wind of three days,
bewildered, confused, puzzled, and every
minute knocking his head against the beams
with the pitching and tossing of the sloop.

‘And this is going to sea,’ thought Jack ;
“no wonder that no one interferes with another
here, or talks about a trespass ; for I’m sure
any one is welcome to my share of the ocean;
and if I once get on shore again the devil may
have my portion if he chooses.’

Captain Wilson and Mr. Sawbridge had
both allowed Jack more leisure than most mid-
shipmen, during his illness. By the time that
the gale was over the sloop was off Cape
Finisterre. ‘The next morning the sea was
nearly down, and there was but a slight breeze
on the waters. ‘The comparative quiet of the
night before had very much recovered our
hero, and when the hammocks were piped up
he was accosted by Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s
mate,’ who asked ‘whether he intended to
rouse and bit, or whether he intended to sail

to Gibraltar between his blankets.’

Jack, who felt himself quite another person,
turned out of his hammock and dressed him-
self. A marine had, by the captain's orders,
attended Jack during his illness, and this man
came to his assistance, opened his chest, and
brought him all he required, or Jack would

have been in a sad dilemma.

Jack then inquired where he was to go, for
he had not been in the midshipmen’s berth,
although five days on board. The marine
pointed it out to him, and Jack, who felt ex-cessively hungry, crawled over and between
chests, until he found himself fairly in a hole
infinitely inferior to the dog-kennels which
received his father’s pointers.

‘I'd not only give up the ocean,’ thought
Jack, ‘and my share of it, but also my share
of the Harpy, unto any one who fancies it.
Equality enough here! for every one appears
equally miserably off.’

As he thus gave vent to his thoughts, he
perceived that there was another person in the
berth—Mr. Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who
had fixed his eye upon Jack, and to whom
Jack returned the compliment. The first
thing that Jack observed was that Mr. Jolliffe
was very deeply pockmarked, and that he had
but one eye, and that was a piercer; it ap-
peared like a little ball of fire, and as if it
reflected more light from the solitary candle
than the candle gave.

“I don't like your looks,’ thought Jack ;
“we shall never bé friends.’

But here Jack fell into the common error of
judging by appearances, as will be proved
hereafter.

‘I’m glad to see you up> again, youngster,’
said Jolliffe ; ‘you’ve been on your beam ends
longer than usual, but those who are strongest
suffer most—you made your mind up but late
to come to sea. However, they say ‘‘ Better
late than never.” ’

‘I feel very much inclined to argue the truth
of that saying,’ replied Jack; ‘but it’s no use
just now. I'm terribly hungry—when shall I
get some breakfast ?”

‘To-morrow morning at half-past eight,’
replied Mr. Jolliffe. ‘Breakfast for to-day
has been over these two hours.’

‘But must I then go without ?’

‘No, I do not say that, as we must make
allowances for your illness ; but it will not be
breakfast.’

‘Call it what you please,’ replied Jack,
‘only pray desire the servants to give me
something to eat. Dry toast or mufins—
anything will do, but I should prefer coffee.’

“You forget that you are off Finisterre, in a
midshipman’s berth: coffee we have none—
muffins we never see—dry toast cannot be
made, as we have no soft bread ; but a cup
of tea, and ship’s biscuit and butter I can
desire the steward to get ready for you.’

‘Well, then,’ replied Jack, ‘I will thank
you to procure me that.’

‘ Marine,’ cried Jolliffe, ‘ call Mesty.’

‘Pass the word for Mesty,’ called the marine
—and the two syllables were handed forward
until lost in the fore part of the vessel.

The person so named must be introduced
to the reader. He was a curious anomaly—a
black man who had been Drought to America
as a slave, and there sold.

He was a very tall, spare-built, yet muscular

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
    
 
 
   
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  

form, and had a face by no means common
with his race. His head was long and narrow,
high cheek-bones, from whence his face de-
scended down to almost a point at the chin ;
his nose was very small, but it was straight
and almost Roman; his mouth also was un-
usually small; and his lips thin for an African;
his teeth very white, and filed to sharp points.
He claimed the rank of prince in his own
country, with what truth could not of course
be substantiated. His master had settled at
New York, and there Mesty had learned
ifnglish, if it could be so called: the fact is,
that all the emigrant labourers at New York
being Irishmen, he had learned English with
the strong brogue and peculiar phraseology
of the sister kingdom dashed with a littie
Yankeeism.

Having been told that there was no slavery
in England, Mesty had concealed himself on
board an English merchant vessel, and
escaped. On his arrival in England he had
entered on board of a man-of-war. Having
no name, it was necessary to christen him on
the ship's books, and the first lieutenant, who
had entered him, struck with his remarkable
expression of countenance, and being a Ger-
man scholar, had named him Mephistopheles
Faust, from whence his Christian name had
been razéed to Mesty. Mesty in other points
was an eccentric character; at one moment,
when he remembered his lineage, he was
proud to excess, at others he was grave and
almost sullen—but when nothing either in
daily occurrences or in his mind ran contrary,
he exhibited the drollery so often found in his
nation, with a spice. of Irish humour, as if
he had caught up the latter with his Irish
brogue.

Mesty was soon seen coming aft, but almost
double as he crouched under the beams, and
taking large strides with his naked feet.

‘ By the powers, Massa Yolliffe, but it is not
seasonable at all to send for me just now, any-
how, seeing how the praters are in the copper,
and so many blackguard ’palpeens all ready
to change net for net, and “better, themseives
by the same mistake, dam um.’

‘Mesty, you know, I never send for you
myself, or allow others to do so, unless it is
necessary, replied Jolliffe; ‘but this poorlad
has.eaten nothing since he has been on board,
and is very hungry—you must get hima little
tea.’

‘Is it tay you mane, sir?—I guess, to make
tay, in the first place I must ab water, and in
the next must ab room in the galley to put
the kettle on—and ‘pose you wanted to burn
the tip of your little finger just now, it’s not in
the galley that you find a berth for it—and
den the water before seven bells, I've a notion
it's just impassible.’

‘But he must have something, Mesty.’

2728 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

his company to dinner in the cabin. Jack
was the essence of politeness, took off his hat,
and accepted the invitation. Jack was stand-
ing on a rope which a seaman was coiling
down: the man touched his hat and requested
he would be so kind as to take his foot off.
Jack took his hat off his head in return, and
his foot off the rope. The master touched his
hat, and reported twelve o’clock to the first
lieutenant,—the first lieutenant touched his
hat, and reported twelve o'clock to the cap-
tain,—the captain touched his hat, and told
the first lieutenant to make it so. The officer
of the watch touched his hat, and asked the
captain whether they should pipe to dinner, —
the captain touched his hat and said,—‘ If

‘Never mind the tea, then,’ replied Jack,
‘T’ll take some milk.’

‘Ts it milk massa manes, and the bumboat
woman on the oder side of the bay ?”

‘We have no milk, Mr. Easy ; you forget
that we are on blue water,’ replied Jolliffe,
‘and I really am afraid that you'll have to
wait till dinner-time. Mesty tells the truth.’

‘T tell you what, Massa Yolliffe, it just seven
bells, and if the young gentleman would, in-
stead of tay, try a little out of the coppar, it
might keep him asy. It buta little difference,
tay soup and pay soup. Now a bowl of that,
with some nuts and a flourish of pepper, will
do him good, anyhow.’

‘Perhaps the best thing he can take, Mesty ;
get it as fast as you can.’ you please.’

In a few minutes the black brought downa ‘The midshipman received his orders, and
bowl of soup and whole peas swimming in it, touched his hat, which he gave to the head
put before our hero a tin bread-basket full of boatswain'’s mate, who touched his hat, and
small biscuit, called midshipmen’s nuts, and then the calls whistled cheerily.
the pepper-castor. Jack's visions of tea, ‘Well,’ thought Jack, ‘ politeness seems to
coffee, muffins, dry toast, and milk, vanished be the order of the day, and every one has an
as he perceived the mess; but he was very equal respect for the other.” Jack stayed on
hungry, and he found it much better than he deck ; he peeped through the ports, which
expected; and he moreover found himself were open, and looked down into the deep
much the better after he had swallowed it. blue wave ; he cast his eyes aloft, and watched
It struck seven bells, and he accompanied Mr. the tall spars sweeping and tracing with their
Jolliffe on deck. points, as it were, a small portion of the clear
sky, as they acted in obedience to the motion
of the vessel ; he looked forward at the range

CHAPTER X. of carronades which lined the sides of the
eka eAEt: 28 Ssh deck, and then he proceeded to climb one of
SEO MENG TON Jack aR SNS GEE Sore AGAINST the carronades, Na as over the hammocks

SEO eT CSO E Ne to gaze on the distant land.
WHEN Jack Easy had gained the deck, he ‘Young gentleman, get off those ham-
found the sun shining gaily, asoft air blowing mocks,’ cried the master, who was officer
from the shore, and the whole of the rigging of the watch, in a surly tone,
and every part of the ship loaded with the Jack looked round.
shirts, trousers, and jackets of the seamen, ‘Do you hear me, sir? I’m speaking to
which had been wetted during the heavy gale, you,’ said the master again.
and were now hanging up to dry ; all the wet Jack felt very indignant, and he thought
Sails were also spread on the booms or triced that politeness was not quite so general as he
up in the rigging, and the ship was slowly supposed.
forging through the blue water. Thecaptain It happened that Captain Wilson was upon
and first lieutenant were standing on -the deck,
gangway in converse, and the majority of the ‘Come here, Mr. Easy,’ said the captain;
officers were with their quadrants and sex- ‘it isa rule in the service, that no one gets on
tants ascertaining the latitude at noon. The the hammocks, unless in case of emergency—
decks were white and clean, the sweepers had I never do—nor the first lieutenant—nor any
just laid by their brooms, and the men were of the officers or men,—therefore, upon the
busy coiling down the ropes. It was a scene principle of equality, you must not do it
of cheerfulness, activity, and order, which either.’ i}

 

———

lightened his heart after the four days of suf- ‘ Certainly not, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘but still I
fering, close air, andconfinement from which do not see why that officer in the shining hat
he had just emerged. should be so angry, and not speak to me as if

The captain, who perceived him, beckoned I werea gentleman, as well as himself.’
to him, asked him kindly how he felt: the ‘I have already explained that to you, Mr.
first lieutenant also smiled upon him, and Easy.’ :
many of the officers, as well as his messmates, ‘Oh yes, I recollect now, it’s zeal : but this
congratulated him upon his recovery. zeal appears to me to be the only unpleasant
The captain's steward came up to him, thing in the service. It’sa pity, as you said,
touched his hat, and requested the pleasure of that the service cannot do without it,’MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 29
rs e :

Captain Wilson laughed, and walked away ; four who were well inclined towards Jack, —
and shortly aiterwards, as he turned up and to wit, the captain, the first lieutenant, Mr.
down the deck with the master, he hinted to Jolliffe, the one-eyed master’s mate, and Me-
' him, that he should not speak so sharply toa phistopheles, the black, who, having heard

lad who had committed such a trifling error that Jack had uttered such sentiments, loved
through ignorance. Now Mr, Smallsole, the him With all his heart and soul,
master, who was a Surly sort of a personage, We have referred to the second lieutenant,
and did not like even a hint of disapprobation Mr, Asper. ‘This young man had a very high
of his conduct, although very regardless of the respect for birth, and particularly for money,
feelings of others, determined to pay this offon of which he had very little. He was the son
Jack, the very first convenient Opportunity. of an eminent merchant who, during the time
Jack dined in the cabin, and was very much that he was a midshipman, had allowed him
pleased to find that every one drank wine with a much larger sum for his expenses than was
him, and that everybody at the captain’s table necessary OF proper ; and, during his career,
t appeared to be on an equality. Before the he found that his full pocket procured him
dessert had been on the table five minutes, consequence, not only among his own mess-
Jack became loquacious on his favourite topic; mates, but also with many of the officers of
all the company stared with surprise at such the ships that he sailed in. A man who is
an unheard-of doctrine being broached on able and willing to pay a large tavern bill will
board of a man-of-war ; the captain argued always find followers—that is, to the tavern ;
the point, so as to controvert, without too and lieutenants did not disdain to dine, walk
much offending, Jack’s notions, laughing the arm-in-arm, and be ‘hail fellow well met’
whole time that the conversation was catried with a midshipman, at whose expense they
on. lived during the time they were on shore. “Mr.
It will be observed, that this day may be Asper had just received his commission and
considered as the first in which Jack really appointment, when his father became a bank-
made his appearance on board, ‘and it also rupt, aud the fountain was dried up from
was on this first day that Jack made known, which he had drawn such liberal supplies.
at the captain’s table, his very peculiar no- Since that, Mr. Asper had felt that his conse-
tions. If the company at the captain’s table, quence was gone: he could no longer talk
which consisted of the second lieutenant, pur- about the service being a bore, or that he
ser, Mr. Jolliffe, and one of the midshipmen, should give it up; he could no longer obtaiti
were astonished at such heterodox opinions that deference paid to his purse, and not to
being started in the presence of the captain, himself; and he had contracted very expen-
| they were equally astonished at the cool, sive habits, without having any longer the
| good-humoured ridicule with which they were means of gratifying them. It was therefore
received by Captain Wilson. ‘The report of no wonder that he imbibed a great respect for
Jack’s boldness, and every word and opinion money ; and, as he could no ionger find the
that he had uttered (of course much magni- means himself, he was glad to pick up any-
fied), was circulated that evening through the body else at whose cost he could inculge in
whole ship ; it was canvassed in the gun-room that extravagance and expense to which he
by the officers ; it was descanted upon by the had been so long accustomed, and still sighed
midshipmen as they walked the deck; the for. Now, Mr. Asper knew that our hero was
captain's steward held a levée abreast of the well supplied with money, as he had obtained
ship’s funnel, in which he narrated this new from the waiter the amount of the bill paid at
docirine. ‘The sergeant of marines gave his the Fountain, and he had been waiting for
opinion in his berth, that it was damnable. Jack's appearance on deck to become his very
The boatswain talked over the matter with dearest and most intimate friend. ‘The con-
the other warrant officers, till the grog was all versation in the cabin made him feel assured
gone, and then dismissed it as too dry a sub- that Jack would require and be grateful for
ject : and it was the general opinion of the support, and he had taken the opportunity of
ship's company, that as soon as they arrived a walk with Mr. Sawbridge, to offer to take
at Gibraltar Bay, our hero would bid adieuto Jack in his watch. Whether it was that Mr.
the service, either by being sentenced to death Sawbridge saw through the design of Mr.
by a court-martial, or by being dismissed, and Asper, or whether he imagined that our hero
towed on shore on a grating. Others, who would be better pleased with him than with
had more of the wisdom of the serpent, and _ the master, considering his harshness of de-
who had been informed by Mr. Sawbridge portment; or with himself, who could not, as
that our hero was a lad who would inherit a first lieutenant, overlook any remission of
large property, argued differently, and con- duty, the offer was accepted, and Jack Easy
sidered that_Captain Wilson had very good was ordered, as he now entered upon his
reason for being so lenient—and among them duties, to keep watch under Lieutenant Asper.
was the second lieutenant. There were but But not only was this the first day that Jack

 

YY

See30
may be said to have appeared in the service,
but it was the first day in which he had en-
tered the midshipmen’s berth, and was made
acquainted with his messmates.

We have already mentioned Mr. Jolliffe,
the master's mate, but we must introduce him
more particularly. Nature is sometimes €x-
tremely arbitrary, and never did she show her:
self more so than in insisting that Mr. Jollitte
should have the most sinister expression
of countenance that ever had been looked
upon.

He had suffered martyrdom with the small-
pox, which probably had contracted his linea-
ments : his face was not only deeply pitted,
but scarred with this cruel disorder. One eye
had been lost, and all eyebrows had disap-
peared—and the contrast between the dull,
sightless opaque orb on one side of his face,
and the brilliant, piercing little ball on the
other, was almost terrifying. His nose had
been eaten away by the disease till it formed
a sharp but irregular point ; part of the mus-
cles of the chin were contracted, and it was
drawn in with unnatural seams and puckers.
He was tall, gaunt, and thin, seldom smiled,
and when he did, the smile produced a still
further distortion.

Mr. Jolliffe was the son of a warrant officer.
He did not contract this disease until he had
been sent out to the West Indies, where it
swept away hundreds. He had now been
long in the service, with little or no chance of
promotion. He had suffered from indigence,
from reflections upon his humble birth, from
sarcasms on his appearance. Jévery con-
tumely had been heaped upon him at one time
or another, in the ships in which he served ;
among a crowd he had found himself de-
solate—and now, although no one dared treat
him to his face with disrespect, he was only re-
spected in the service from a knowledge of his
utility and exemplary performance of his
duties—he had no friends or eyen companions.
For many years he had retired within himself,
he had improved by reading and study, had
felt all the philanthropy of a Ciiristian, and
extended it towards others. Silent and re-
served, he seldom spoke in the berth, unless
his authority, as caterer, was called for; all
respected Mr. Jolliffe, but no one liked, as
a companion, one at whose appearance the
very dogs would bark. At the same time
every one acknowledged his correct behaviour
in every point, his sense of justice, his for-
bearance, his kindness, and his good sense.
With him life was indeed a pilgrimage, and
he wended his way in all Christian charity and
all Christian zeal.

In all societies, however small they may be,
provided that they do but amount to half-a-
dozen, you will invariably meet with a bully.
And it is also generally the case that you will

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

find one of that society who is more ofr
less the butt. You will discover this even
in occasional meetings. such as a dinner

patty, the major part of which have never
met before.
Previous to the removal of the cloth, the

bully will have shown himself by his dictatorial
manner, and will also have selected the one
upon whom he imagines that he can best
practise. Ina midshipmen’s berth this fact
has become almost proverbial, although now
perhaps it is not attended with that disagree-
able despotism which was permitted at the
time that our hero entered the service.

The bully of the midshipmen’s berth of
H. M. sloop Harpy, was a young man about
seventeen, with. light curly hair, and florid
countenance, the son of the clerk in the
dockyard at Plymouth, and his name was
Vigors.

The butt was a pudding-faced Tartar-physi-
ognomied boy of fifteen, whose intellects, with
fostering, if not great, might at least have
been repectable, had he not lost all confidence
in his own powers, from the constant jeers and
mockeries of those who had a greater fluency
of speech, without, perhaps, so much real
power of mind. Although slow, what he
learnt he invariably retained. This lads
name was Gossett. His father was a wealthy
yeoman, of Lynn, in Norfolk. There were
at the time but three other midshipmen in the
ship, of whom it can only be said that they
were like midshipmen in general, with little
appetite for learning, but good appetites for
dinner, hating everything like work, fond of
everything like fun, fighting ‘a l’outrance’ one
minute, and sworn friends the next —with
general principles of honour and justice, but
which were occasionally warped according to
circumstances ; with al! the virtues and vices
so heterogeneously jumbled and heaped to-
gether, that it was almost impossible to ascribe
any action to its true motive, and to ascertain
to what point their vice was softened down
into almosi a virtue, and their virtues from
mere excess degenerated into vice. Their
names were O'Connor, Mills, and Gascoigne.
The other shipmates of our hero it will be
better to introduce as they appear on the
stage.

After Jack had dined in the cabin, he fol-
lowed his messmates, Jolliffe and Gascoigne,
down into the midshipmen’s berth,

“I say, . Easy,’ observed Gascoigne, ‘you
are a.devilish free and easy sort of a fellow, to
tell the captain that you considered yourself as
great a man as he was.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ replied Jack, ‘TI did
not argue individually, but generally, upon
the principles of the rights of man.’

‘Well,’ hi rascoiene, ‘its the first
time I ever heard a middy do such a bold

replied (G- thing ; take care your rights of man don’t get

UR. AIDSHIPMAN EASY. 3Y

   
   

ciple that I would never play the tyrant to

you in the wrongs box—there’s no arguing on those weaker than myself, so will I resent Op-
board of a man-of-war. The captain took it pression if attempted.’

amazingly easy, but you'd better not broach

that subject too often,’
‘Gascoigne gives vou very good advice, Mr.

Easy,’ observed Jolliffe ; “allowing that your
ideas are correct, which it appears to me they
are not, or at least impossible to be acted looking at Jolliffe.

upon, there is such.a thing as prudence, and
however much this question may be canvassed
on shore, in his Majesty's service itis not only
dangerous in itself, but will be very prejudicial

 

a
°o

RA sete Cos Pe tS J nup
‘Man is a free agent,’ replied Easy.

‘T'll be shot if a midshipman is,’ replied
Gascoigne, laughing, ‘and that you'll soon
find.’

‘And yet it was the expectation of finding
that equality that I was induced to come to
sea.”

‘On the first_of April, I- presume,’ replied
Gascoigne. ‘But are you really serious ?’

Hereupon Jack entered into a long argu-
ment, to which Jolliffe and Gascoigne listened
without interruption, ‘and Mesty with admira-
tion: at the end of it Gascoigne laughed
heartily, and Jolliffe sighed.

‘From whence did you learn all this?’ in-
quired Jolliffe.

‘From my father, who isa great philosopher,
and has constantly upheld these opinions.’

“And did your father wish you to go to
sea?”

“No, he was opposed to it,’ replied Jack,
‘but of course he could not combat iy rights
and free-will.’

‘Mr. Easy, as a friend,’ replied Jolliffe, ‘I
request that you would as much as possible
keep your opinions to yourself; I shall have
an opportunity of talking to you on the sub-
ject, and will then explain to you my reasons.’

As soon as Mr. Jolliffe had ceased, down
came Mr. Vigors and O'Connor, who had
heard the news of Jack’s heresy.

‘You do not know Mr. Vigors and Mr.
O'Connor,’ said Jolliffe to Easy.

Jack, who was the essence of politeness,
rose and bowed, at which the others took their
seats, without returning the salutation. Vigors
had, from what he had heard and now seen
of Easy, thought he had somebody else to
play upon, and without ceremony he com-
menced.

“So, my chap, you are come on board to
raise a mutiny here with your equality—you

came off scot free at the captain's table; but
it won't do, I can tell you, even in the mid-
shipmen’s berth ; some must knock under,
and you are one of them,’

‘If, sir,’ replied Easy, ‘you mean by knock
under, that I must submit, I can assure you
that you are mistaken. Upon the samie prin-

 

“Damme, but he’s a regular sea lawyer
already : however, my boy, we'll soon put
your mettle to the proof.’

‘Am I then to infer that I am not on an
equality with my messmates » replied Jack,
Vhe latter was about to

answer him, but Vigors interrupted.

“Yes, you are on an equality as far as this,
—that you have an equal right to the berth, if
you are knocked out of it forinsolence to your
masters ; that you have an equal share to pay
for the things purchased for the mess, and an
equal right to have your share, provided you
can get it: you have an equal right to talk,
provided you are not told to hold your tongue.

“The fact is, you havean equal right with every
one else to do as you can, get what you can,
and say what you can, always provided’ that
youcan doit; for here the weakest goes to the
wall, and that is midshipmen’s berth equality.
Now, do you understand all that ; or will you
wait for a practical illustration ?’

‘IT am then to infer that the equality here
is as much destroyed as it ever will be among
savages, where the strong oppress the weak,
and the only law is club law—in fact, much
the same as it is ata public or large school,
on shore?’

‘I suspect you are right for once. You were
at a public school: how did they treat you
there ?’

‘As you propose treating people here,—
‘the weakest went to the wall.” ’

‘Well, then, a nod’s as good as a wink to
a blind horse: that’s all, my hearty,’ said
Vigors.

But the hands being turned up, ‘Shorten
sail,’ put an end to the altercation for the
present.

As our hero had not yet received orders to
go to his duty, he remained below~ with
Mesty.

‘By de powers, Massa Easy, but I lub you
with my hole soul,’ said Mesty. ‘ By Jasus,
you really tark fine, Massa Easy; dat Mr.
Vigor—nebber care for him, wouldn't you lik
him—and sure you would,’ continued the
black, feeling the muscle of Jack's arm. ‘B
the soul of my fader, I’d bet my week's allow-
ance on you anyhow. Nebber be ’fraid,
Massa Easy.’

‘I am_ not afraid,’ replied Jack,’ ‘I’ve
thrashed bigger fellows than he ;’ and Jack’s
assertion was true. Mr. Bonnycastle never
interfered in a fair fight, and took no notice
of black eyes; provided the lessons were well
said. Jack had fought and fought again,
until he was a very good bruiser, and although
not so tallas Vigors, he was much better built

for fighting. A knowing Westminster boy

  

iG
i
a
}

 

es92
would have bet his half-crown upon Jack had
he seen him and his anticipated adversary.

The constant battles which Jack was obliged
to fight at school had been brought forward
by Jack against his father's arguments in fa-
vour of equality, but they had been overruled
by Mr. Easy’s pointing out that the combats
of boys had nothing to do with the rights of
man.

As soon as the watch was called, Vigors,
O'Connor, Gossett, and Gascoigne came
down into the berth. Vigors, who was the
strongest in the berth, except Jolliffe, had
successively had his superiority acknowledged.
and, when on deck, he had talked of Easy’s
impertinence, and his intention of bringing
him to his senses. The others, therefore,
came down to see the fun.

‘Well, Mr. Easy,’ observed Vigors, as he
came into the berth, ‘you take after your
name, at al! events; I suppose ‘you in-
tend to eat the king’s provision, and do no-
thing.’

Jack's mettle was already up.

‘You will oblige me, sir, by minding your
own business,’ replied Jack.

“You impudent blackguard, if you say an-
other word, I'll give you a good thrashing,
and knock some of your equality out of

ou.’

, ‘ Indeed,’ replied Jack, who almost fancied
himself back at Mr. Bonnycastle’s ; ‘we'll
try that.’

Whereupon Jack very coolly divested him-
self of his upper garments, neckerchief, and
shirt, much to the surprise of Mr. Vigors,
who little contemplated such a proof of deci-
sion and confidence, and still more to the
delight of the other midshipmen, who would
have forfeited a week’s allowance to see Vigors
well thrashed. Vigors, however, knew that
he had gone too far to retreat; he therefore
prepared for action: and, when ready, the
whole party went out into the steerage to
settle the business.

Vigors had gained his assumed authority
more by bullying than fighting ; others
had submitted to him without a sufficient trial ;
Jack, on the contrary, had won his way up in
school by hard and scientific combat ; the
result, therefore, may easily beimagined. In
less than a quarter of an hour Vigors, beaten
dead, with his.eyes closed, and three teeth out,
gave in; while Jack, after a basin of water,
looked as fresh as ever, with the exception of
a few trifling scratches.

The news of this victory was soon through
the ship ; and before Jack had resumed his
clothes it had been told confidentially by Saw-
bridge to the captain.

‘So soon ;’ said Captain Wilson, laughing ;
‘J expected that a midshipman’s berth would
do wonders; but I did not expect this yet

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

   

   

awhile. ‘This victory is the first severe blow
to Mr. Easy’s equality, and will be more
valuable than twenty defeats. Let him now
go tohis duty, he will soon find his level.’

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH OUR HERO PROVES THAT ALL ON
BOARD SHOULD EQUALLY SACRIFICE DE-
CENCY TO DUTY.

THE success of any young man in a profession
very much depends upon the occurrences at
the commencement of his career, as from
those is -his character judged, and he is
treated accordingly. Jack had chosen to
enter the service at a much later period than
most lads ; he was tall and manly for his age,
and his countenance, if not strictly handsome,
wore that expression of honesty and boldness
which is sure to please. His spirit in not sub-
mitting to, and meeting, Vigors when he had
hardly recovered from his severe prostration
of sea-sickness, had gained him with the many
respect, and with all, except-his antagonist and
Mr. Smallsole, good-will. Instead of being
laughed at by his messmates, he was played
with ; for Jolliffe smiled at his absurdities,
and attempted to reason him out of them, and
the others liked Jack for himself and his
generosity, and moreover, because they looked
up to him as a protector against Vigors, who
had persecuted them all; for Jack had de-
clared, that as might was right in a mid-
shipman’s. berth, he would so far restore
equality, that if he could not put down those
who were thesirongest, at all events he would
protect the weak, and, let who would come
into the berth, they must be his master before
they should tyrannize over those weaker than
he.
Thus did Jack Easy make the best use that
he could of his strength, and become, as it
were, the champion and security of those who,
although much longer at sea and more ex-
perienced than he was, were glad to shelter
themselves under his courage and skill, the
latter of which had excited the admiration of
the butcher of the ship, who had been a pu-
gilist by profession. ‘Thus did Jack at once
take the rank of an oldster, and soon became
the leader of all the mischief. We particu-
larly observe this, because, had it so happened
that our hero had succumbed to Vigors, the
case would have been the very reverse. He
then would have had to go through the ordeal
to which most who enter the naval service are
exposed, which cannot be better explained
than by comparing it to the fagging carried
to such an iniquitous extent in public schools.
Mr. Asper, for his own reasons, made him
his companion : they walked the night watchtogether, and he listened to all Jack’s non-
sense about the rights of man. And here Mr.
Asper did good without intending ii, for, at
the same time that he appeared to agree with
Jack, to secure his favour, he cautioned him,
and pointed out why this equality could not
exist altogether on board of a man-of-war.

As for himself, he said, he saw no difference
between a lieutenant, or even a captain, and
a midshipman, provided they were gentlemen :
he should choose his friends where he liked,
and despised that power of annoyance which
the service permitied. Of course, Jack and
Mr. Asper were good friends, especially as,
when half the watch was over, to conciliate
his good-will and to get rid of his eternal
arguing, Mr. Asper would send Jack down to
bed.

They were now entering the Straits, and
expected to anchor the next day at Gibraltar,
and Jack was forward on the forecastle, talk-
ing with Mesty, with whom he had contracted
a great friendship, for there was nothing that
Mesty would not have done for Jack, although
he had not been three weeks in the ship ; but
a little reflection will show that it was
natural.

Mesty had been a great man in his own
country ; he had suffered all the horrors of a
passage in a slave ship ; he had been sold as
a Slave twice ; he had escaped —but he found
that the universal feeling was strong against
his colour, and that on board of a man-of-war
he was condemned, although free, to the
humblest of offices.

He had never heard any one utter the sen-
timents, which now beat in his own heart, of
liberty and equality—we say now, for when he
was in his own country before his captivity,
he had no ideas of equality ; no one has who
is in power: but he had been schooled ; and
although people talked of liberty and equality
at New York, he found that what they
preached for themselves, they did not practise
towards others, and that, in the midst of
liberty and equality, he and thousands more
were enslaved and degraded beings.

Escaping to England, he had regained his
liberty, but not his equality; his colour
had prevented the latter, and in that feeling
all the world appeared to conspire together
against him, until, to his astonishment, he
heard those sentiments boldly expressed from
the lips of Jack, and that in a service where it
was almost tantamount to mutiny. Mesty,
whose character is not yet developed, imme-
diately took a fondness for our hero, and ina
hundred ways showed his attachment. Jack
also liked Mesty, and was fond of talking with
him, and every evening, since the combat
with Vigors, they had generally met in the
foreeastle to discuss the principles of equality
and the rights of man,

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 3

      
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
    
 
   
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
   
   
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
 
   
   
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
   

33

The boatswain, whose name was Biggs, was
a slight, dapper, active little man, who, as
captain of the foretop, had shown an uncom-
mon degree of courage in a hurricane, so
much so, as to recommend him to the admiral
for promotion. It was given to him; and
after the ship to which he had been ap-
pointed was paid off, he had been ordered to
join HM. sloop Harpy. Jack’s conversation
with Mesty was interrupted by the voice of the
boatswain, who was haranguing his boy.
“It’s now ten minutes, sir, by my repeater,’
said the boatswain, ‘that I have sent for you;’
and Mr. Biggs pulled out a huge silver watch,
almost as big asa Norfolk turnip. A Jew
had sold him the watch; the boatswain had
heard of repeaters, and wished to have one.
Moses had only shown him watches with the
hour and minute hands ; he now produced one
with a second hand, telling him it was a re-
peater.

‘ What makes it a repeater?’ inquired the
boatswain.

‘Common watches,’ said the cunning Jew,
‘only tell the minutes and hours; but all re-
peaters tell the seconds.’

The boatswain was satisfied—bought the
watch, and, although many had told him it
was no repeater, he insisted that it was, and
would call it so.

‘I swear,’ continued the boatswain, ‘it’s
ten minutes and twenty seconds by my re-
peater.’

‘If you please, sir,’ said the boy, ‘I was
changing my trousers when you sent for me,
and then I had to stow away my bag again.’

‘Silence, sir; I’d have you to know that
when you are sent for by your officer, trousers
or no trousers, it is your duty to come up
directly.’

‘ Without trousers, sir !’ replied the boy.

‘Yes, sir, without trousers ; if the captain
required me, I should come without my shirt.
Duty before decency.’ So saying, the boats-
wain lays hold of the boy.

‘Surely, Mr. Biggs.’ said Jack, ‘you are
not going to punish that boy for not coming
up without his trousers ?’

‘Yes, Mr. Easy, I am—I must teach him a
lesson. We are bound, now that new-fangled
ideas are brought into the ship, to uphold the
dignity of the service; and the orders of an
officer are not to be delayed ten minutes and
twenty seconds because a boy has no trousers
on.’ Whereupon the boatswain administered
several smart cuts with his rattan upon the
boy, proving that it was quite as well that he
had put on his trousers before he came on
deck, ‘There,’ said Mr. Biggs, ‘is a lesson
for you, you scamp—and, Mr. Easy, it isa
lesson for you also,’ continued the boatswain,
walking away with a most consequential air.

‘Murder Irish ? said Mesty—'‘ how him cut
234

caper. De oder day he hawl out de weather
ear-ring, and touch him hat to a midshipman.
Sure enough, make um cat laugh.’

The next day the Harpy was at anchor in
Gibraltar Bay ; the captain went on shore,
directing the gig to be sent for him before
nine o'clock ; after which hour the sally-port
is only opened by special permission. “here
happened to be a ball given by the officers of
the garrison on that evening, and a polite
invitation was sent to the officers of H.M.
sloop Harpy. As those who accepted the
invitation would be detained late, it was not
possible for them to come off that night. And
as their services were required for the next
day, Captain Wilson allowed them to remain
on shore until seven o'clock the next morning,
at which hour, as there was a large party,
there would be two boats sent for them.

Mr. Asper obtained leave, and asked per-
mission to take our hero with him; to which
Mr. Sawbridge consented. Many other offi-
cers obtained leave, and, among others, the
boatswain, who, aware that his services would
be in request as soon as the equipment com-
menced, asked permission for this evening.
And Mr. Sawbridge, feeling that he could be
better spared at this than at any other time,
consented. Asper and Jack went to an inn,
dined, bespoke beds, and then dressed them-
selves for the ball, which was very brilliant,
and, from the company of the officers, very
pleasant. Captain Wilson looked on at the
commencement, and then returned on board.
Jack behaved with his usual politeness, danced
till two o'clock, and then, as the ball thinned,
Asper proposed that they should retire. Hav-
ing once more applied to the refreshment-
room, they had procured their hats, and were
about to depart, when one of the officers of
the garrison asked Jack if he would like to see
a baboon, which had just been brought down
from the rock ; and, taking some of the cakes,
they repaired to the court where the animal was
chained down to a small tank. Jack fed the
brute till all the cakes were done, and then,
because he had no more to give him, the
baboon flew at Jack, who, in making his re-
treat, fell back into the tank, which was about
two feet deep. This was a joke; and having
laughed heartily, they wished the officer good-
night, and went to the inn.

Now, what with the number of officers of
the Harpy on shore, who had all put up at
the same inn, and other occupants, the land-
lord was obliged to put his company into
double and treble-bedded rooms; but this
was of little consequence. Jack was shown
into a double-bedded room, and proceeded to
undress ; the other was evidently occupied,
by the heavy breathing which saluted Jack's
ear.

As Jack undressed, he recollected that his

     
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

trousers were wet through, and to dry them
he opened the window, hung them out, and

then jammed down the window again upon ~

them, to hold them in their position, after
which he turned in and fell fast asleep. At
six o’clock he was called, as he had requested,
and proceeded to dress, but to his astonish-
ment found the window thrown open and his
trousers missing. It was evident, that his
partner in the room had thrown the window
open during the night, and that his trousers,
having fallen down into the street, had been
walked off with by somebody or another.
Jack looked out of the window once more,
and perceived that whoever had thrown open
the window-had been unwell during the night.
‘A nice drunken companion I have had,’
thought Jack; ‘but what's tobe done?’ And
in saying this, he walked up to the other bed,
and perceived that it was tenanted by the
boatswain. ‘Well, theught Jack, ‘as Mr. Biggs
has thought proper to lose my trousers, I
think I have a right to take his, or at least
the wear of them to go on board. It was but
last night he declared that decency must give
way to duty, and that the orders of a superior
officer were to be obeyed, with or without
garments. I know he is obliged to be on
board, and now he shall try how he likes to
obey orders in his shirt tails." So cogitating,
Jack took the trousers of the boatswain, who
still snored, although he had been called, and,
putting them on, completed the rest of his
dress, and quitted the room. He went to
that of Mr. Asper, where he found him just
ready, and, having paid the bill—for, Asper
had forgotten his purse—they proceeded down
to the sally-port, where they found other offi-
cers waiting, sufficient to load the first boat,
which shoved off, and they went on board.
As soon as he was down below, Jack hastened
to change his trousers, and, unobserved by
any one, threw those belonging to Mr Biggs
on a chair in his cabin, and, having madea
confidant of Mesty, who was delighted, he
went on deck, and waited the issue of the
affair.

Before Jack left the hotel, he had told the
waiter that there was the boatswain still fast
asleep, and that he must be roused up im-
mediately ; and this injunction was obeyed.
The boatswain, who had drunk too much the
night before, and, as Jack had truly imagined,
had opened the window because he was un-
well, was wakened up, and hearing how late
it was, hastened to dress himself. Not find-
ing his trousers, he rang the bell, supposing
that they had been taken down to be brushed,
and, in the meantime, put on everything else,
that he might lose no time: the waiter who
answered the bell, denied having taken the
trousers out of the room, and poor Mr. Biggs
was in a sad quandary. What had becomeof them, he could not tell: he had no recol-
lection of having gone to bed the night before;
he inquired of the waiter, who said that he
knew nothing about them—that he was very
tipsy when he came home, and that when he

- called him, be had found the window open,
and it appeared that he had been unwell—he
supposed that he had thrown his trousers out
of the window. YTime flew, and'the boatswain
was in despair. ‘Could they: lend him a
pair?’

‘He would cail his master.’

The master of the inn knew very well the
difference of rank between officers, and those
whom he could trust and those whom he could
not. He sent up the bill by the waiter, ard
stated that, for a deposit, the gentleman might
have a pair of trousers. The boatswain felt
in his pockets, and remembered that all his
money was in his trousers pocket. He could
not only not leave a deposit, but could not
pay his bill. The landlord was inexorable.
It was bad enough to lose his money, but he
could not lose more.

‘J shall be tried by a court-martial, by
heavens ! exclaimed the boatswain. ‘It’s not
far from the sally-port : I'll make a run for
it, and I can slip into one of the boats and
get another pair of trousers before I report
myself as having come on board ;' so making
up his mind, the boatswain took to his heels,
and with his check shirt tails streaming in the
wind, ran as hard as he could to where the
boat was waiting to receive him. He was en-
countered by many, but he only ran the faster
the more they jeered, and, at last, arrived
breathless at his goal, flew down the steps,
jumped into the boat, and squatted on the
stern sheets, much to the surprise of the offi-
cers and men, who thought him mad. He
stated in a few words that somebody had
stolen his trousers during the night ; and as
it was already late, the boat shoved off, the
men ‘as well as officers convulsed with
laughter.

‘Have any of you a pea-jacket?’ inquired
the boatswain of the men; but the weather
was so warm that none of them had brought
a pea-jacket. The boatswain looked round;
he perceived that the officers were sitting on a
boat-cloak.

‘Whose boat-cloak is that? inquired the
boatswain.

‘Mine,’ replied Gascoigne.

“J trust, Mr. Gascoigne, you will have the
kindness to lend it to me to go up the side
with.’

‘Indeed I will not,’ replied Gascoigne, who
would sooner have thrown it overboard and
have lost it, than not beheld the anticipated
fun : ‘recollect I asked vou for a fishing line,
when we were becalmed off Cape St. Vincent,
and you sent word that you’d see me d—d

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

first. Now, I'll just see you the same before
you have my. boat-cloak.’

‘Oh, Mr. Gascoigne, I'll give you three
lines, directly I get on board.’

‘J dare say you will, but that won't do now.
“Tit for tat,’ Mr. Boatswain, and hang all
favours,’ replied Gascoigne, who was steering
the boat, having been sent on shore for the
others. ‘In bow—rowed of all.? The boat
was laid alongside—the relentless Gascoigne
caught up his boat-cloak as the other officers
rose to go on board, and rolling it up, in spite
of the earnest entreaties of Mr. Biggs, tossed
it into the main chains, to the man who had
thrown the stern-fast ; and to make the situa-
tion of Mr. Biggs still more deplorable, the
first lieutenant was standing looking into the
boat, and Captain Wilson walking the quarter-
deck.

‘Come, Mr. Biggs, I expected you off in
the first boat,’ cried Mr. Sawbridge; ‘be as
smart as you please, for the yards are not yet
squared.’

‘Shall I go ahead in this boat, and square
them, sir ?’

‘That boat! no; let her drop astern, jump
up here and lower down the dingey. What
the devil do you sit there for, Mr. Biggs ?—
you'll oblige me by showing a little more acti-
vity, or, by Jove, you may save yourself the

trouble of asking to go on shore again. Are
you sober, sir?’
The last observation decided Mr. Biggs

iggs.
He sprung up from the boat just as he was,
and touched his hat as he passed the first-
lieutenant.

‘Perfectly sober, sir, but I’ve lost my
trousers ?’

‘So it appears, sir,’ replied Mr. Sawbridge,
as Mr. Biggs stood on the planeshear of the
sloop where the hammock netting divides for
an entrance, with his shirt tails flutteting in
the sea breeze ; but Mr. Sawbridge could not
contain himself any longer; he ran down the
ship ladder which led on the quarter-deck,
choked with laughter. Mr. Biggs could not
descend until after Mr. Sawbridge, and the
conversation had attracted the notice of all,
and every eye in the ship was on him,

‘What's all this?’ said Captain Wilson,
coming to the gangway.

‘Duty before decency,’ replied Jack, who
stood by enjoying the joke.

Mr. Piggs recoliected the day before ; he
cast a furious look at Jack, as he touched his
hat to the captain, and then dived down to
the lower deck.

If anything could add to the indignation of
the boatswain, it was to find that his trousers
had come on board before him. He now felt
that a trick had been played him, and also
that our hero must have been the party, but
he could prove nothing; he could not say

2-236

who slept in the same room, for he was fast
asleep when Jack went to bed, and fast asleep
when Jack quitted the room.

The truth of the story soon became known
to all the ship, and ‘duty before decency’
became a bye-word. All that the boatswain
could do he did, which was to revenge himself
upon the poor boy; and Gascoigne and Jack
never got any fishing tackle. ‘The boatswain
was as obnoxious to the men as Vigors, and
in consequence of Jack's known opinions upon
the rights of man, and his having floored their
two greatest enemies, he became a great
favourite with the seamen; and as all favourites
are honoured by them with a sobriquet, our
hero obtained that of Equality Jack.

CHAPTER oxi,

IN WHICH OUR HERO PREFERS GOING DOWN
TO) GOING, UP 5. A CHOICE, 10 JS” TOY BE
HOPED, HE WILL REVERSE UPON A MORE
IMPORTANT OCCASION.

THE next day being Sunday, the hands were
turned up to divisions ; and the weather not
being favourable, instead of the service the
articles of war were read with all due respect
shown to the same, the captain, officers, and
crew with their hats off in a mizzling rain.
Jack, who had been told by the captain that
these articles of war were the rules and regula-
tions of the service, by which the captain,
officers, and men were equally bound, listened
to them as they were read by the clerk with
the greatest attention. He little thought that
there were about five hundred orders from the
Admiralty tacked on to them, which, like the
numerous codicils of some wills, contained
the most important matter, and to a certain
degree make the will nugatory.

Jack listened very attentively, and, as each
article was propounded, felt that he was not
likely to commit himself in that point, and,
although he was rather astonished to find such
a positive injunction against swearing, consi-
dered quite a dead letter in the ship, he
thought that, altogether, he saw his way very
clear. But to make certain of it, as soon as
the hands had been piped down he begged the
clerk to let him have a copy of the articles.

Now, the clerk had three, being the allow-
ance of the ship, or at least all that he had in
his possession, and nade some demur at part-
ing with one; but at last he proposed—‘ some
rascal,’ as he said, having stolen his tooth-
brush—that if Jack would give him one he
would give him one of the copies of the arti-
cles of war. Jack replied that the one he had
in use was very much worn, and that unfortu-
nately he had but one new one, which he could
not spare. Thereupon the clerk, who was a

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   

 

very clean personage, and could not bear that
his teeth should be dirty, agreed to accept the
one in use, as Jack could not part with the
other. The exchange was made, and Jack
read the articles of war over and over again,
till he thought he was fully master of them.

‘Now,’ says Jack, ‘I know what I am to
do, and what I am to expect, and these arti-
cles of war I will carry in my pocket as long
as I’m in the service ; that is to say, if they
last so long: and provided they do not, | am
able to replace them with another old tooth-
brush, which appears to be the value attached
to them.’

The Harpy remained a fortnight in Gibral-
tar Bay, and Jack had occasionally a run on
shore, and Mr. Asper invariably went with
him to keep him out of mischief; that is to
say, he allowed him to throw his money away
on no one more worthless than himself.

One morning Jack went down in the berth
and found young Gossett blubbering.

‘What’s the matter, my dear Mr. Gossett ?’
inquired Jack, who was just as polite to the
youngster as he was to anybody else.

‘Vigors has been thrashing me with a rope’s
end,’ replied Gossett, rubbing his arm and
shoulders.

‘What for ? inquired Jack.

‘ Because he says the service is going to hell
—(I'm sure it’s no fault of mine)—and that
now all subordination is destroyed, anc that
upstarts join the ship who, because they have a
five-pound note in their pocket, are allowed
to do just as they please. He said he was
determined to uphold the service, and then he
knocked me down—and when I got up again
he told me that I could stand a little more—
and then he took out his colt, and said he was
determined to ride the high horse—and that
there should be no Equality Jack in future.’

‘Well,’ replied Jack.

“And then he colted me for half an hour,
and that’s all.’

‘ By de soul of my fader, but it all for true,
Massa Easy—he larrup um, sure enough—all
for noteing, bad luck to him—TI tink,’ con-
tinued Mesty, ‘he hab debelish bad memory

and he want a little more of Equality Jack.’
‘ And he shall have it too,’ replied our hero ;
‘why it’s against the articles of war, ‘all
quarrelling, fighting, etc.” Isay, Mr. Gossett,
have you got the spirit of a louse 2’

‘Yes,’ replied Gossett.

‘Well, then, will you do what I tell you
next time, and trust to me for protection ?’

‘T don’t care what I do,’ replied the boy,
‘if you will back me against the cowardly
tyrant.’

‘Do you refer to me?’ eried Vigors, who
had stopped at the door of the berth.

‘Say yes,’ said Jack.

‘Yes, I do,’ cried Gossett,*You do, do you ?—well, then, my chick, I
must trouble you witha little more of this,’
said Vigors, drawing out his colt.

‘I think that you had better not, Mr.
Vigors,” observed Jack.

‘Mind your own business, if you please,’
returned Vigors, not much liking the inter-
ference. ‘I am not addressing my conversa-
tion to you, and I will thank you never to
interfere with me. I presume I have a right
to choose my own acquaintance, and, depend
upon it, it will not be that of a leveller.’

“All that is at your pleasure, Mr. Vigors,’
replied Jack ; ‘you have a right to choose
your own acquaintance, and so have | a right
to choose my own friends, and, further, to
support them. ‘That lad is my friend, Mr.
Vigors.’

‘ Then,’ replied Vigors, who could not help
bullying even at the risk of another combat,
which he probably intended to stand, ‘I shall
take the liberty of giving your friend a thrash-
ing ;' and he suited the action to the word.

‘Then I shall take the liberty to defend my
friend,’ replied Jack ; ‘and as you call me a
leveller, ‘I'll try if I may not deserve the
name’—whereupon Jack placed a blow so well
under the ear that Mr. Vigors dropped on the
deck, and was not in condition to come to the
scratch, even if he had been inclined. ‘And
now, youngster,’ said Jack, wresting the colt
out of Vigors’ hand, ‘do as I bid you—gzive
him a good colting—if you don’t I’ll thrash
you.’

Gossett required no second threat ;—the
pleasure of thrashing his enemy, if only for
once, was quite enough—and he laid well on.
Jack with his fists doubled ready to protect
him if there was a show of resistance, but
Vigors was half stupefied with the blow under
the ear, and quite cowed ; he took his thrash-
ing in the most pensive manner.

‘ That will do,’ said Jack ; ‘and now do not
be afraid, Gossett ; the very first time he offers
to strike you when I am not present, I will pay
him off for it as soon as you tell me. I won't
be called Equality Jack for nothing.’

When Jolliffe, who heard of this, met our
hero alone, he said to him, ‘Take my advice,
boy, and do not in future fight the battles of
others; you'll find very soon that you will
have enough to do to fight your own.’

Whereupon Jack argued the point for half
an hour, and then they separated. But Mr.
Jolliffe was right. Jack began to find himself
constantly in hot water, and the captain and
first-lieutenant, although they did not really
withdraw their protection, thought it high time
that Jack should find out that, on board a man-
of-war, everybody and everything must find its
level.

There was on board of his majesty’s sloop
Harpy a man of the name of Easthupp, who

 

WR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

did the duty of purser’s steward ; this was the
second.ship that he had served in: in the
former he had been sent with a draft of men
from the tender lying off the Tower. How he
had come into the service was not known in
the present ship ; but the fact was that he had
been one of the swell mob, and kad been sent
on board the tender with a letter of recom-
mendation from the magistrates to Captain
Crouch. He was a cockney by birth, for he
had been left at the workHouse of St. Mary
Axe, where he had been taught to read and
write, and had afterwards made his escape.
He joined the juvenile thieves of the metropolis,
had been sent to Bridewell, obtained his
liberty, and by degrees had risen from petty
thieving of goods exposed outside of the shops
and market-stalls, to the higher class of gentle-
men pickpockets. His appearance was some-
what genteel, with a bullying sort of an
impudent air, which is mistaken for fashion
by those who know no better. A remarkably
neat dresser, for that was part of his profession;
avery plausible manner and address ; a great
fluency of language, although he clipped the
kine’s English ; and, as he had suffered more
than once by the law, it is not to be wondered
at that he was, as he called himself, a hout-
and-hout radical. During the latter part of
his service in his Jast ship he had been em-
ployed under the purser’s steward, and having
offered himself in this capacity to the purser
of H. M. sloop Harpy, with one or two forged
certificates, he had been accepted.

Now, when Mr. Easthupp heard of Jack’s
opinion, he wished to cultivate his acquaint-
ance, and with a bow and a flourish introduced
himself before they arrived at Gibraltar ; but
our hero took an immediate dislike to this
fellow from his excessive and impertinent
familiarity.

Jack knew a gentleman when he met one,
and did not choose to be a companion to a
man beneath him in every way, but who, upon
the strength of Jack’s liberal opinions, pre-
sumed to be his equal. Jack's equality did
not go so far as that ; in theory it was all very
well, but in practice it was only when it suited
his own purpose.

But the purser’s steward was not to be
checked—a man who has belonged to the
swell mob is not easily repulsed; and, although
Jack would plainly show him that bis company
was not agreeable, Easthupp would constantly
accost him familiarly on the forecasile and
lower deck, with his arms folded, and with an
air almost amounting to familiarity. At last
Jack told him to go about his business, and
not presume to talk to him; whereupon
Easthupp, rejoined, and after an exchange of

‘hard words, it ended by Jack kicking Mr.

Easthupp, as he called himself, down the
after-lower-deck hatchway. ‘This was but a38

sorty specimen of Jack's equality—and Mr.
Easthupp, who considered that his honour
had been compromised, went up to the captain
on the quarter-deck and lodged his complaint
—whereupon Captain Wilson desired that Mr.
Easy might be summoned.

As soon as Jack made his appearance
Captain Wilson called to Easthupp. ‘Now,
purser’s steward, what is this you have to say ?

‘If you please, Captain Vilson, I am wery
sorry to be obliged to make hany complaint
of hany officer, but this Mr. Heasy thought
proper to make use of language quite hun-
becoming of a gentleman, and then to kick
me as I vent down the ’atchvay.’

‘Well, Mr. Easy, is this true?

“Yes, sir,’ replied Jack; ‘I have several
times told the fellow not to address himself to
me, and he will. I did tell him he was a
radical blackguard, and I did kick him down
the hatchway.’

“You told him he was a radical blackguard,
Mr. Easy ?

‘Yes, sir ; he comes bothering me about his
republic, and asserting that we have no want
of a king and aristocracy.’

Captain Wilson looked significantly at Mr.
Sawbridge.

‘I certainly did hoffer my political opinions,
Captain Vilson ; but you must be avare that
ve hall ’ave an hequal stake in the country—
and it’s a Hinglishman’s birthright.’

‘I’m not aware what your stake in the
country may be, Mr. Easthupp, observed
Captain Wilson, ‘ but I think thatif you used
such expressions Mr. Easy was fully warranted
in telling you his opinion.’

‘I ham villing, Captain Vilson, to make
hany allowance for the “eat of political discus-
sion—but that is not hall that I "ave to com-
plain hof. Mr. Heasy thought proper to say
that I was a swindler and a liar.’

‘Did you make use of those expressions,
Mr. Easy?

‘Yes, sir, he did,’ continued the steward ;
‘and, moreover, told me not to cheat the
men, and not to cheat my master, the purser.
Now, Captain Vilson, is it not true that Tam
in a wery hostensible sitevation ? But I flatter
myself that I ’ave been vell edecated, and vos
wonce moving in a wery different society—-
misfortains vill ’appin to us hall, and I feel my
character has been severely injured by such
impertations ;’ whereupon Mr. Easthupp took
out his handkerchief, flourished, and blew his
nose. ‘I told Mr. Heasy that I considered
myself quite as much of a gentleman as him-
self, and at hall hewents did not keep company
with a black feller (Mr. Heasy will understand
the insinevation) ; vereupon Mr. Heasy, as I
before said, your vorship, I mean you, Captain
Vilson, thought proper to kick me down the
’atchvay.’

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
    

 

‘Very well, steward, I have heard you
complaint, and now you may go.’

Mr. Easthupp took his hat off with an air,
made his bow, and went down the main
iadder.

‘Mr. Easy,’ said Captain Wilson, ‘ you must
be aware that by the regulations of the service
by which we are equally bound, it is not per-
mitted that any officer shall take the law into
his own hands. Now, although I do not con-
sider it necessary to make any remark as to
your calling the man a radical blackguard,
for I consider his impertinent intrusion of his
opinions deserved it, still you have no right
to attack any«man’s character without grounds
—and as that man is in an office of trust,
you were not at all warranted in asserting that
he was acheat. Will you explain to me why
you made use of such language?’

Now our hero had‘no proofs against the
man ; he had nothing to offer in extenuation,
until he recollected, all at once, the reason
assigned by the captain for the language used
by Mr. Sawbridge. Jack had the wit to per-
ceive that it would hit home, so he’ replied,
very quietly and respectfully :

“If you please, Captain Wilson, that was all
zeal.”

‘Zeal, Mr. Easy? I think it but a bad ex-
cuse. But pray, then, why did you kick the
man down the hatchway? You must have
known that that was contrary to the rules ol
the service.’

“Yes, sir,’ replied Jack, demurely; ‘ but that
was all zeal, too.’

‘Then allow me to say,’ replied Captain
Wilson, biting his lips, ‘that I think that
your zeal has in this instance been very much
misplaced, and I trust you will not show so
much again.’

‘And yet, sir,’ replied Jack, aware that he
was giving the captain a hard hit, and there-
fore looked proportionally humble, ‘we should
do nothing in the service without it; and I
trust one day, as you told me, to become a
very zealous officer.’

“T trust so, too, Mr. Easy,’ replied the cap-
tain. ‘There, you may go now, and let me
hear no more of kicking people down the
hatchway. ‘That sort of zeal is misplaced.’

‘More than my foot was, at all events,’
muttered Jack, as he walked off.

Captain Wilson, as soon as our hero dis-
appeared, laughed heartily, and told Mr.
Sawbridge, ‘he had ascribed his language to
our hero as all zeal. He has very cleverly
given me it all back again; and really, Saw-
bridge, as it proves how weak was my defence
of you, you may gain from this lesson.’

Sawbridge thought so, too ; but both agreed
that Jack's rights of man were in considerable
danger.

The day before the ship sailed the capfainand Mr. Asper dined with the governor ; and
as there was little more todo, Mr. Sawbridge,
who had not quilted the ship since she had
been in port, and had some few purchases to
make, left her in the afternoon in the charge
of Mr. Smallsole, the master. Now, as we
have observed, he was Jack's inveterate enemy
—indeed Jack had already made three, Mr.
Smallsole, Mr. Biggs, the boatswain, and
Easthupp, the purser’s steward. Mr. Small-
sole was glad to be left in command, as he
hoped to have an opportunity of punishing
our hero, who certainly laid himself not a
little open to it.

Like all those who are seldom in command,
the master was proportionally tyrannical and
abusive—he swore at the men, made them do
the duty twice and thrice over, on the pretence
that it was not smartly done, and found fault
with every officer remaining on board.

‘Mr. Biggs—by God, sir, you seem to be
all asleep forward. I suppose you think that
you are to do nothing now the first lieutenant
is out of the ship? How long will it be, sir,
before you are ready to sway away ?’

‘By de holy poker, I tink he sway away
finely, Massy Easy,’ observed Mesty, who
was in converse with our hero on the fore-
castle.

Mr. Smallsole’s violence made Mr. Biggs
violent, which made the boatswain’s mate
violent—and the captain of the forecastle
violent also; all which is practically ex-
emplified by philosophy in the laws of motion,
communicated from one body to another ; and
as Mr. Smallsole swore, so did the boatswain
swear. Also the boatswain's mate, the captain
of the forecastle, and all the men—showing
the force of example.

Mr, Smallsole came forward.

‘Damnation, Mr. Biggs, what the devil are
you about? Can't you move here ?”

“As much as we can, sir,’ replied the boat-
swain, ‘lumbered as the forecastle is with
idlers.’ And here Mr. Biggs looked at our
hero and Mesty, who were standing against
the bulwark.

‘What are you doing here, sir?’ cried Mr.
Smallsole to our hero.

‘Nothing at all, sir,’ replied Jack.

‘Then I'll give you something to do, sir.
Go up to the mast-head, and wait there till I
call you down. Come, sir, 1’ll show you the
way,’ continued the master, walking aft.

Jack followed till they were on the quarter-
deck.

‘Now, sir, up to the main-top gallant mast-
head ; perch yourself upon the cross-trees—up
with you.’

‘What am I to go up there for, sir? in-
quired Jack. :

‘For punishment, sir,” replied the master.
‘What have I done, sir?’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

    
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
    

39

‘No reply, sir—up with you.’

‘Tf you please, sir, replied Jack, ‘1 should
wish to argue this point a little.’

‘Argue the point!’ roared Mr, Smallsole—
‘by Jove, I’ll teach you to argue the point—
away with you, sir.’

‘If you please, sir,’ continued Jack, ‘the
captain told me that the articles of war were
the rules and regulations by which every one
in the service was to. be guided. Now, sir,’
said Jack, ‘I have read them over till
know them by heart, and there is not one
word of mast-heading in the whole of them.’
Here Jack took the articles out of his pocket
and unfolded them.

‘Will you go to the mast-head, sir, or will
you not?’ said Mr. Smallsole.

‘Will you show me the mast-head in the
articles of war, sir?’ replied Jack ; ‘here they
are.

‘T tell you, sir, to go to the mnast-head : if
not, I'll be d——d if I don’t hoist you up ina
bread-bag.’

‘There's nothing about bread-bags in the
articles of war, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘but I'll tell
you what there is, sir; and Jack commenced
reading, -—

‘All flag-officers, and all persons in or
belonging to his majesty's ships or vessels of
war, being guilty of profane oaths, execra-
tions, drunkenness, uncleanness, or other
scandalous actions, in derogation of God’s
bonour, and corruption of good manners,
shall incur such punishment as——

‘Damnation!’ cried the master, who was
mad with rage, hearing that the whole ship’s
company were laughing.

‘No, sir, not damnation,’ replied Jack ;
‘that’s when he’s tried above ; but according
to the nature and degree of the offence. ’

‘Will you go to the mast-head, sir, or will
you not ?

‘If you please,’ replied Jack, ‘I'd rather
not.’
“Then, sir, consider yourself under an
arrest. Il try you by a court-martial, by
God. Go down below, sir.’

‘With the greatest pleasure, sir,’ replied
ack; ‘that’s all right and according to the
articles of war, which are to guide us all.’
Jack folded up his articles of war, put them
into his pocket, and went down into the
berth.

Soon after Jack had gone down, Jolliffe,
who had heard the whole altercation, followed
him: ‘ My lad,’ said Jolliffe, ‘ I'm sorry forall
this; you should have gone to the mast-
head.’

‘T should like to argue that point a little,’
replied Jack.

‘Yes, so would everybody ; but if that were
permitted, the service would be at a stand-
still—that would not do ;—you must obey an40

order first, and then complain afterwards, if
the order is unjust.’

“It is not so in the articles of war.’

‘ But it is so in the service.’

“The captain told me that the articles of
war were the guides of the service, and we
were all equally bound to obey them.’

‘Well, but allowing that, I do not think
your articles of war will bear you out. You
observe, they say any officer, mariner, &c.,
guilty of disobedience to any lawful command.
Now are you not guilty under that article ?’

“That remains to be argued still,’ replied
Jack. ‘A lawful command means an order
established by law ; now where is that law ?
—-besides, the captain told me when I kicked
that blackguard down the hatchway, that
there was only the captain who could punish,
and that officers could not take the law into
their own hands; why then has the master ?’

‘His doing wrong as superior officer is no
reason why you as an inferior should disobey
him. If that were permitted,—if every order
were to be cavilled at, and argued upon, as
just or unjust, there would be an end to all
discipline. Besides, recollect that in the ser-
vice there is custom, which is the same as
law.’

“That admits of a little argument,’ replied

ack.

‘The service will admit of none, my dear
boy: recollect that, even on shore, we have
two laws, that which is written, and the ‘‘lex
non scripta,” which is custom; of course we
have it in the service, for the articles of war
cannot provide for everything.’

‘They provide a court-martial for every-
thing though,’ replied Jack.

“Yes, with death or dismissal from the
service—neither of which would be. very
agreeable. You have got yourself into a
Scrape, and although the captain is evidently
your friend, he cannot overlook it : fortu-
nately, it is with the master, which is of less
consequence than with the other officers ; but
still you will have to submit, for the captain
cannot overlook it.’

‘Til tell you what, Jolliffe,’ replied Jack,
“my eyes now begin to be opened to a great
many things. ‘The captain tells me, when 1
am astonished at bad language, that it is all
zeal, and then I found out that what is all
zeal in a superior to an inferior, is insolence
when reversed. He tells me, that the articles
of war are made to equally guide us all—the
master breaks what is positively mentioned in
the second article twenty times over, and goes
scot free, while I am to be punished, because
Ido not comply with what the articles do not
mention. How was I to know that I ought
to go to the mast-head for punishment? par-
ticularly when the captain tells me that he
alone is to punish in the ship. If I obey an

 

 

 

     
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
    
    
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   

WR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

order in opposition to the captain’s order, is
not that as bad as disobeying the captain? I
think that I have made outa very strong case,
and my arguments are not to be confuted.’

‘T’m afraid that the master will make out a
very strong case, and that your arguments
will never be heard.’

‘That will be contrary to all the rules of
justice.’ ae

‘ But according to the rules of service.

‘I do believe that I am a great fool,’ ob-
served Jack, after a pause. ‘What do you
imagine made me come to sea, Jolliffe 2

‘Because you did not know when you were
well off,’ replied the mate, dryly.

‘That's true enough; but my reason was,
because I thought I should find that
equality here that I could not find on
shore.’

Jolliffe stared.

‘My dear boy, I heard you say that you
obtained those opinions from your father ; I
mean no disrespect to him, but he must be
either mad or foolish, if at his age he has not
discovered, that there is no such thing in ex-
istence.’

‘I begin to think so,’ replied Jack; ‘ but
that does not prove that there ought not to be.’

‘I beg your pardon; the very non-existence
proves that it ought not to be—‘‘ whatever is,
is right,’’"—you might as well expect to find
perfect happiness or perfection in the indivi-
dual. Your father must be a visionary.’

‘The best thing that I can do is to go
hore again.’

“No, my dear Easy, the best thing that you
can dois, to stay in the service, for it will soon
put an end to all such nonsensical ideas ; and it
will make youa clever, sensible fellow. The
service is a rough, but a good school, where
everybody finds his level,—not the level of
equality, but the level which his natural talent
and acquirements will rise or sink him to, in
proportion as they are plus or minus. Itisa
noble service, but has its imperfections, as
everything in this world must have. I have
little reason to speak in its favour, as far as I
am concerned, for it has been hard bread to
me; but there must be exceptions in every
tule. Do not think of quitting the service
until you have given it a fair trial. Iam aware
that you are an only son, and your father is a
man of property, and, therefore, in the com-
mon parlance of the world, you are indepen-
dent; but, believe me, no man, however rich,
is independent; unless he has a profession,
and you will find no better than this, notwith-
standing——'

‘What ?’

‘That you will be, most certainly, sent to
the mast-head to-morrow.’

‘We'll argue that point,’ replied Jack; ‘at
all events, I will go and turn in to-night.’CHAPTER XIIT.

(N WHICH OUR HERO BEGINS TO ACT AND
THINK FOR HIMSELF.

WHATEVER may have been Jack’s thoughts,
at all events they did not spoil his rest. He
possessed in himself all the materials of a true
philosopher, but there was a great deal of
weeding still required. Joiliffe’s arguments,
sensible as they were, had very little effect
upon him; for, strange to say, it is much
more easy to shake a man’s opinions when he
is wrong, than when he is right ; proving that
we are all of a very perverse nature. ‘ Well,’
thought Jack, ‘if I am to goto the mast-head,
I am, that’s all; but it does not prove that
my arguments are not good, only that they
will not be listened to ;? and then Jack shut
his eyes, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.

The master had reported to the first lieu-
tenant, and the first lieutenant to the captain,
when he came on board the next morning,
the conduct of Mr. Easy, who was sent for in
the cabin, to hear if he had anything to offer
in extenuation of his offence. Jack made an
oration, which lasted more than half an hour,
in which all the arguments he had brought
forward to Jolliffe in the preceding chapter
were entered fullyinto. Mr. Jolliffe was then
examined, and also Mr. Smallsole was inter-
rogated : after which the captain and the
first lieutenant were left alone.

‘Sawbridge, said Captain Wilson, ‘how
true it is, that any deviation from what is right
invariably leads usintoascrape. Ihave done
wrong: wishing to get this boy out of his
father’s hands, and fearful that he would not
join the ship, and imagining him to be by no
means the shrewd fellow that he is in reality,
I represented the service in a much more
favourable light than I should have done ; all
that he says I told him I did tell him, and it
is I who really led the boy into error. Mr.
Smallsole has behaved tyrannically and un-
justly ; he punished the lad for no crime ; so
that between the master and me, I am now
on the horns of a dilemma. If I punish the
boy, I feel that 1 am punishing him more for
my own fault and the fault of others, than his
own. If I do not punish him, I allow a flag-
rant and open violation of discipline to pass
uncensured, which will be injurious to the
service.’

‘He must be punished, sir,’ replied Saw-
bridge.

‘Send for him,’ said the captain.

Jack made his appearance, with a very
polite bow.

‘Mr. Easy, as you suppose that the articles
of war contained all the rules and regulations
of the service, I take it for granted that you
have erred throughignorance. But recollect,

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
      

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 4g

that although you have erred through igno-
rance, such a violation of discipline, if passed
unnoticed, will have a very injurious effect
with the men, whose obedience is enforced by
the example shown to them by the officers.
I feel so convinced of your zeal, which you
showed the other day in the case of Easthupp,
that I am sure you will see the propriety of
my proving to the men, by punishing you,
that discipline must be enforced, and I shall
therefore send for you on the quarter-deck,
and order you to go to the mast-head in pre-
sence of the ship's company, as it was in
presence of the ship's company that you
refused.’

‘With the greatest pleasure, Captain Wil-
son,’ replied Jack.

‘ And in future, Mr. Easy, although I shall
ever set my face against it, recollect that if
any officer punishes you, and you imagine that
you are unfairly treated, you will submit to
the punishment, and then apply to me for
redress.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘now that I
am aware of your wishes.’

‘You will oblige me, Mr. Easy, by going on
the quarter-deck, and wait there till I come

>

a

Ds

Jack made his best bow and exit.

‘Old Jolliffe told me that I should have to
go,’ said Jack to himself, ‘and he was right,
so far; but hang me ifI hadn’t the best of
the argument, and that’s all I care about.’

Captain Wilson sent for the master, and
reprimanded him for his oppression, as it was
evident there was no ground for punishment,
and he forbade him ever to mast-head another
midshipman, but to report his conduct to the
first lieutenant or himself. He then proceeded
to the quarter-deck, and, calling for Mr. Easy,
gave him what appeared a very severe repri-
mand, which Jack looked upon very quietly,
because it was all zeal on the captain's part
to give it and all zeal on his own to take it.
Our hero was then ordered up to the mast-
head.

Jack took off his hat, and took three or four
steps, in obedience to the order—and then re-
turned and made his best bow—inquired of
Captain Wilson whether he wished him to go
to the fore or to the main-mast head.

‘To the main, Mr. Easy,’ replied the cap-
tain, biting his lips.

Jack ascended three spokes of the Jacob's
iadder, when he again stopped, and took off
his hat.

‘T beg your pardon, Captain Wilson—you
have not informed me whether it was your
wish that I should go to the topmast, or the
top-gallant cross-trees.’

‘To the top-gallant cross-trees, Mr. Easy,’
replied the captain.

Jack ascended, taking it very easy; he42 UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

stopped at the main top for breath ; at the
main-topmast head, to look about him ; and,
at last, gained the spot agreed upon, where
he seated himself, and, taking out the articles
of war, commenced them again, to ascertain
whether he could not have strengthened his
arguments. He had not, however, read
through the seventh article before the hands
were turned up—‘Up anchor!’ and Mr.
Sawbridge called, ‘All hands down from
aloft !’ Jack took the hint, folded up his docu-
ments, and came down as leisurely as he
went up. Jack was a much better philosopher
than his father.

The Harpy was soon under way, and made
all sail, steering for Cape de Gatte, where
Captain Wilson hoped to pick up a Spanish
vessel or two, on his way to Toulon to receive
orders of the admiral.

A succession of light breezes and calms
rendered the passage very tedious; but the
boats were constantly out, chasing the vessels
along shore, and Jack usually asked to be em-
ployed on this service: indeed, although so
short a time afloat, he was, from his age and
strength, one of the most effective midshipmen,
and to be trusted, provided a whim did not
come into his head ; but hitherto Jack had
always been under orders, and had always
acquitted himself very well.

When the Harpy was at Tarragona, it so
happened that there were several cases of
dysentery in the ship, and Mr. Asper and Mr.
Jolliffe were two of those who were suffering.
This reduced the number of officers; and, at
the same time, they had received information
from the men of a fishing-boat, who, to obtain
their own release, had given the intelligence,
that a small convoy was coming down from
Rosas as soon as the wind was fair, under the
protection of two gun-boats.

Captain Wilson kept well off shore until the
wind changed, and then, allowing for the time
that the vessels would take to run down the
distance between Tarragona and Rosas, steered
in the night to intercept them; but it again
fell calm, and the boats were therefore hoisted
out, with directions to proceed along the shore,
as it was supposed that the vessels could not
now be far distant. Mr. Sawbridge had the
command of the expedition in the pinnace ;
the first cutter was in charge of the gunner,
Mr. Minus ; and, as the other officers were
sick, Mr. Sawbridge, who liked Jack more and
more every day, at his particular request gave
him the command of the second cutter. As
soon as he heard of it, Mesty declared to our
hero that he would go with him; but without
permission that was not possible. Jack ob-
tained leave for Mesty to go in lieu of a marine :
there were many men ‘sick of the dysentery,
and Mr. Sawbridge was not sorry to take an
idler out of the ship instead of a working man,

especially as Mesty was known to be a good
hand.

It was ten o'clock at night when the boats
quitted the ship ; and, as it was possible that
they might not return till late the next day,
one day’s biscuit and rum were put on board
each, that the crews might not suffer from ex-
haustion. The boats pulled in shore, and
then coasted for three hours without seeing
anything: the night was fine overhead, but
there was no moon. It still continned calm,
and the men began to feel fatigued, when, just
as they were within a mile of a low point, they
perceived the convoy over the land, coming
down with their sails squared, before a light
breeze. aie

Mr. Sawbridge immediately ordered the
boats to lie upon their oars, awaiting their
coming, and arranging for the attack.

The white latteen sails of the gun-boat in
advance were now plainly distinguishable from
the rest, which were all huddled together in her
wake. Down she came like a beautiful swan
in the water, her sails just filled with the wind,
and running about three knots an hour. Mr.
Sawbridge kept her three masts in one, that
they might not be perceived, and winded the
boats with their heads the same way, so that
they might dash on board of her with a few
strokes of the oars. So favourable was the
course of the gun-boat, that she stood right
between the launch on one bow, and the two
cutters on the other ; and they were not per-
ceived until they were actually alongside; the
resistance was trifling, but some muskets and
pistols had been fired, and the alarm was
given. Mr. Sawbridge took possession, with
the crew of the launch, and brought the vessel
to the wind, as he perceived that at the alarm
all the convoy had done the same, directing the
cutters to board the largest vessels, and secure
as many as they could, while he would do the
same with the launch, as he brought them to:
but the other gun-boat, which had not yet
been seen, and had been forgotten, now made
her appearance, and came down in a ‘gallant
manner to the support of her comrade.

Mr. Sawbridge threw half his men into the
launch, as she carried a heavy carronade, and
sent her to assist the cutters, which had made
right for the gun-boat. A smart firing of
round and grape was opened upon the boats,
which continued to advance upon her ; but the
officer commanding that gun-boat, finding
that he had no support from his consort, and
concluding that she had been captured, hauled
his wind again, and stood out in the offing.
Our hero pulled after her, although he could
not see the other boats ; but the breeze had
freshened, and all pursuit was useless: he
therefore directed his course to the convoy,
and, after a hard pull, contrived to get on
board of a one-masted xebeque, of about fiftytons. Mesty, who had éyes as sharp as a
needle, had observed that when the alarm was
given, several of the convoy had not rounded
the point, and he therefore proposed, as this
vessel was very light, that they should. make
short tacks with her, to weather the point, as
if they were escaping, and by that means be
able, particularly if it fell calm again, to
capture some others. Jack thought this ad-
vice good. The convoy who had rounded the
point had all stood out to seaward with the
gun-boat, and: had now a fresh breeze. To
chase them was therefore useless ; and the
only chance was to do as Mesty had proposed.
He therefore stood out into the breeze, and,
after half an hour, tacked in shore, and fetched
well to windward of the low point; but, find-
ing no vessels, he stood out again. Thus had
he made three or four tacks, and had gained,
perhaps, six or seven miles, when he perceived
signals of recall made to leeward, enforced
with guns.

‘Mr. Sawbridge wants us to come back,
Mesty.’

‘Mr. Sawbridge mind him own business,’
replied Mesty, ‘ we nebber take all dis trubble
to ply to windward for noting.’

“But, Mesty, we must obey orders.’

“Ves, sar, when he have him thumb upon
you ; but now, must do what tink most proper.
By de powers, he catch me ‘fore I go back.’

‘But we shall lose the ship.’

‘Find her again, by-and-by, Massa Easy.’

‘But they will think that we are lost.’

“So much the better, nebba look after us,
Massa Easy ; I guess we have a fine cruise
any how. Morrow we take large vessel—
make sail, take more, den we go to Toulon.’

‘But I don’t know my way to Toulon; I
know it lies up this way, and that’s all.’

‘Dat enough, what you want more ? Massa
Easy, ‘pose you not find fleet, fleet soon find
you. By God, nobody nebba lost here. Now,
Massa Easy, let um go bout again. Some-
body else burn biscuit and boil kettle to-
morrow for de gentlemen. Murder Irish!
only tink, Massa Easy—I boil kettle, and
prince in my own country !’

Easy was very much of a mind with Mesty ;
‘for,’ argued Jack, ‘if I go back now, I only
bring a small vessel half full of beans, and I
shall be ashamed to show my face. Now it is
true, that they may suppose that we have been
sunk by che fire of the gun-boat. Well, what
then? they have a gun-boat to show for their
night’s work, and it will appear that there was
harder fighting than there has been, and Mr.
Sawbridge may benefit by it.” (Jack was a
very knowing fellow to have learnt so much
about the service already.) ‘ Well, and when
they discover that we are not lost, how glad
they will be to find us, especially if we bring
some prizes—which 1 will do, or [lk not go

   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 43

back again. It’s not often that one gets a
command before being two months at sea,
and, hang me, now I've got it if I won't keep
it; and Mr. Smallsole may mast-head whom
he. pleases. I’m sorry for poor Gossett,
though ; if Vigors supposes me dead, how he
will murder the poor little fellow—however, it
is all for the good of the service, and I'll re-
venge him when I come back. Hang me Thick
won't take a cruise.’

‘T talk to the men, they say they all tick to
you like leech. Now dat jobsettled, I tink we
better go ‘bout again.’

A short time after this decision on the part
of our hero, the day broke : Jack first looked
to leeward, and perceived the gun-boat and
convoy standing in for the shore about ten
miles distant, followed by the Harpy, under
all sail. He could also perceive the captured
gun-boat lying-to in shore to prevent their
escape.

‘Harpy hab um all, by gosh!’ cried Mesty,
‘1 ab notion dat she soon settle um hash.’

They were so busy looking at the Harpy
and the convoy, that, for some time, they
quite forgot to look to windward. At last
Mesty turned his eyes that way.

‘Dam um, I see right last night; look,
Massa Easy—one chip, one brig tree lateen —
dem for us. By de power, but we make bon
prize to-night.’

The vessels found out by Mesty were not
above three miles to windward ; they were
under all sail, beating up for the protection of
a battery, not far distant.

“Now, massa, suppose they see our boat,
dey tink something ; keep boat alongside, and
shift her when we go ‘bout every time : better
not sail so fast now—keep further off till they
drop anchor for de night ; and den, when it
dark, we take ’em.’

All Mesty’s advice was good, with the ex-
ception perhaps of advising our hero how to
disobey orders and take a cruise. To prevent
the vessel from approaching too near the
others, and at the same time to let her have
the appearance of doing her best, a sail was
towed overboard under the bows, and after
that they watched the motions of the Harpy.

The distance was too great to distinguish
very clearly, but Mesty shinned up the mast of
the vessel, and reported progress.

‘ By Jesus, dare one gun—two gun—go it,
Harpy. Won't she ab um, sure enough.
Now gun-boat fire—dat our gun-boat—no,
dat not ours. Now our gun-boat fire—dat
pretty—fire away. Ah, now de Harpy cum
up. All ’mung ’em. Bung, bung, bung—
rattle de grape, by gosh. I ab notion de
Spaniard is very pretty considerable trouble
just now, anyhow. All hove to, so help me
gosh—not more firing ; Harpy take um all—
dare gun-boat hove-to, she strike um colours.44

By all powers, but suppose dey tink we no
share prize-money—they find it not little mis-
take. Now, my lads, it all over, and,’ con-
tinued Mesty, sliding down the mast, ‘I tink
you better not show yourself too much ; only
two men stay on deck, and dem two take off
um jackets.’

Mesty’s report was correct ; the Harpy had
captured the other gun-boat, and the whole
convoy. The only drawback to their good
fortune was the disappearance of Mr. Easy
and the cutter: it was supposed that a shot
from the gun-boat must have sunk her, and
that the whole crew were drowned. Captain
Wilson and Mr. Sawbridge seriously regretted
the loss of our hero, as they thought that he
would have turned out a shining character as
soon as he had sown his wild oats; so did Mr.
Asper, because our hero's purse went with
him ; so did Jolliffe, because he had taken an
affection for him; so did little Gossett, because
he anticipated no mercy from Vigors. On the
other hand, there were some who were glad
that he was gone; and as for the ship's com-
pany in general, they lamented the loss of the
poor cutter’s crew for twenty-four hours, which,
in a man-of-war, is a very long while, and then
they thought no more about them. We must
leave the Harpy to make the best of her way
to Toulon, and now follow our hero.

‘The cutter’s crew knew very well that Jack
was acting contrary to orders, but anything
was to them a change from the monotony of
a man-of-war; and they, as well as Mesty,
highly approved of a holiday.

It was, however, necessary that they should
soon proceed to business, for they had but
their allowance of bread and grog for one day,
and in the vessel they found nothing except a
few heads of garlic, for the Spaniards coasting
down shore had purchased their provisions as
they required them. ‘There were only three
prisoners on board, and they had been put
down in the hold among the beans; a bag of
which had been roused on deck, and a part
put into the kettle to'make soup. Jack did
not much admire the fare of the first day—it
was bean soup for breakfast, bean soup for
dinner, and if you felt hungry during the
intervals it was still bean soup, and nothing
else.

One of the men could speak a little Lingua
Franca, and the prisoners were interrogated
as to the vessels to windward. The ship was
stated to be valuable, and also one of the
brigs. The ship carried guns, and that was
all that they knew about them. As the sun
went down the vessels dropped their anchors
off the battery. The breeze continued light,
and the vessel which contained Jack and his
fortunes was about four miles to leeward. As
for the Harpy, they had long lost sight of her,
and it was now time to proceed to some arange-

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   

ment. As soon as it was dark Jack turned
his hands up and made a very long speech.
He pointed out to the men that his zeal had
induced him not toreturn tothe ship until he had
brought something with him worth having—
that they had had nothing but beans to eat
during the whole day, which was anything but
agreeable, and that, therefore, it was absolutely
necessary that they should better their condi-
tion: that there was a large ship not four
miles off, and that he intended to take her ;
and as soon as he had taken her he intended
to take some more; that he trusted to their
zeal to support him on this occasion, and that
he expected to do a great deal during the
cruise. He pointed out to them, that they
must consider themselves as on board ofa man-
of-war, and be guided by the articles of war,
which were written for them all—and that in
case they forgot them, he hada copy in his
pocket, which he would read to them to-mor-
row morning, as soon as they were comfort-
ably settled on board of the ship. He then
appointed Mesty as first lieutenant; the marine
as Sergeant; the cockswain as boatswain ; two
men as midshipmen to keep watch; two others
as boatswain’s mates, leaving two more for the
ship’s company, who were divided into the
larboard and starboard watch. The cuttet’s
crew were perfectly content with Jack’s speech
and their brevet rank, and after that they
commenced a more important topic, which
was, how they were to take the ship. After
some discussion, Mesty’s advice was approved
of ; which was, that they should anchor not
far ahead of the ship, and wait till about two
o'clock in the morning, when they would drop
silently down upon her in the cuiter, and take
possession.

About nine o'clock the vessel was anchored
as they proposed, and Jack was a little aston-
ished to find that the ship was much larger
than he hadany idea of; for, although polacca-
rigged, she was nearly the same tonnage as
the Harpy. The Spanish prisoners were first
tied hand and foot, and laid upon the beans,
that they might give no alarm, the sails were
furled and all was kept quiet.

On board of the ship, on the contrary, there
was noise and revelry; and about half-past
ten a boat was seen to leave her and pull for
the shore; after which, the noise gradually
ceased, the lights one by one disappeared, and
then all was silent.

‘What do you think, Mesty? said Jack ;
“do you think we shall take her ?’

‘Is it take her, you mane? sure enough
we'll take her: stop a bit—wait till um all
fast asleep.’

About twelve o'clock there came on a
mizzling heavy rain, which was very favour
able for our hero's operations. But as it pro-
mised soon to clear up, by Mesty’s advicethey did not delay any longer. They crept
softly into the boat, and with two oars to steer
her, dropped under the bows of the vessel,
climbed up the fore chains, and found the
deck empty. ‘Take care not fire pistol,’ said
Mesty to the men, as they came up, putting
his finger to their lips to impress them with
the necessity of silence, for Mesty had been
an African warrior, and knew the advantage
of surprise. All the men being on deck, and
the boat made fast, Jack and Mesty led the
way aft; not a soul was to be seen : indeed,
it was too dark to see anybody unless they
were walking the deck. The companion-
hatch was secured, and the gratings laid on
the after-hatchways, and then they went aft
to the binnacle again, where there was a light
burning. Mesty ordered two of the men to
go forward to secure the hatches, and then to
remain there on guard ; and then the rest of
the men and our hero consulted at the wheel.

“ By the power we ab the ship!’ said Mesty,
‘but must manage plenty yet. I tink der
some d—n lazy rascal sleep ‘tween the guns.
A lilly while it no rain, and den we See better.
Now keep all quiet.’

“There must be a great many men in this
ship,; replied our hero; ‘she is very large,
and has twelve or fourteen guns—how shall
we manage to secure them ?’

‘ All right,’ replied Mesty ;
by-and+by. Don't care
come.

“It has left off raining already,’ observed
Easy ; ‘there is a candle in the binnacle,—
suppose we light it and look round the decks.

“Wes replied Mesty; ‘one man sen
over cabin-hatch, and another over after-
hatch. Now den we light candle, and all the
rest go round the deck. Mind you leave all
your ree on capstern.’

Jack lighted the candle, and they proceeded
round the decks ; they had not walked far,
when, between two of the guns, they dis-
covered a heap covered with gregos. ‘There
de watch,’ whispered Mestv; ‘all fast—not
ready for dem yet.’

Mesty blew out the candle, and they all re-
treated to the binnacle, where Mesty took out
a coil of the ropes about the mizen-mast,
and cutting it into lengths, gave them to the
other men to unlay. “In a few minutes they
had prepared a great many seizings to tie the
men with.

‘ Now den we light candle again, and make
sure of them lazy hounds,’ said Mesty ; ‘very
much oblige to dem all de same: they let us
take des hip—mind now, wake one at a time,
and shut him mouth.’

‘But suppose they get their mouths free and
ery out?’ replied Jack.

‘Den, Mr. Fasy,’ replied Mesty, changing
his countenance to an expression almost

‘manage all dat
how soon daylight

ry

AIR, MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

    
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
    

45

demoniacal — ‘there no help for it,’ — and
Mesty showed his knife which he held in his
right hand.

«Oh no ! do not let us murder them.’

‘No, massa—suppose can help it; but sup-
pose they get upper hand—what become of
us? Spaniar ds hab knives, and use dem too,
by de power !’

‘The observation of Mesty was correct, and
the expression of his countenance when he
showed his. knife proved what a relentless
enemy he could be, if his blood was once
roused ; but Mesty had figured in the Ashan-
tee wars in former days, and after that the
reader need not be surprised. They pro-
ceeded cautiously to where the Spaniards lay.
The arrangements of Mesiy were very good.
There were two men to gag them while the
others were to tie their limbs. Mesty and

Hasy were to kneel by them with the candle,
with raised knives to awe them into silence,

or to strike home, if their own safety re-
quired it.
The gregos were removed off the first man,

who op Sened his eyes at the sight of the
candle, but the coxswain’s hand was on his
mouth—he was secured in silence. ‘The other
two men were awaked, and threw off their
coverings, but they were also secured without
there being occasion to resort to bloodshed.

‘What shall we do now, Mesty ?’

‘Now, sar,’ said Mesty, ‘open the
hatch and watch—suppose more men
up, we make them fast; suppose no
come up, we wait till daylight—-and see
take place.’

Mesty then went forward to see if the men
were watchful on the forecastle ; and having
again gone round the whole of the deck to see
if there were any more men on it, he blew out
the candle, and took his station with the others
at the after-hatchway.

It was just at break of day that the Spaniards
who had to keep the morning watch having
woke up, as people generally do at that hour
at which they expect to be called, dressed
themselves and came on deck, imagining, and
very truly, that those of the middle watch had
fallen asleep, but little imagining that the
deck was in possession of Englishmen. Mesty
and the others retreated, to allow them all to
come up before they could perceive them, and
fortunately this was accomplished. Four men
came on the deck, looked round them, and
tried to make out in the dark where their

ap Dears might be. The grating was slapped

on again by Ja ick, and before they could well
gain their eyesight, they were seized and
secured, not, however, without a scuffle and
some noise.

By the time that these men were secured
and laid between the guns it was daylight,
and they now perceived ‘what a fine vessel they

after=
come
more
whathad fairly taken possession of; but there was
much to be done yet. ‘There was, of course,
a number of men in the ship, and moreover
they were not a mile from a battery of ten
guns. Mesty, who was foremost in every-
thing, left four men abaft, and went forward
on the forecasile, examined the cable, which
was ‘coir’ rope, and therefore easily divided,
and then directed the two men forward to coil
a hawser upon the foregrating, the weight of
which would make all safe in that quarter,
and afterwards to join them on the quarter-
deck.

‘Now, Mr. Easy, the great ting will be to
get hold of captain; we must get him on deck,
Open cabin-hatch now, and keep’ the after-
hatch fast. Two men stay there, the others
all come aft.’

*Yes,’ replied Jack, ‘it will be a great point
to secure the captain ; but how are we to get
him up ?”

“You no know how to get captain up? By
de holy, I know very well.’

And Mesty took up the coils of rope about
the mizenmast, and threw them upon deck,
one after another, making all the noise pos-
sible. In a short time there was a violent
pull of a bell at the cabin-door, and in a
minute afterwards a man in his shirt came up
the cabin-hatchway, who was immediately
secured.

‘Dis de captain’s servant,’ said Mesty; ‘he
come say no make such d—d noise. Stopa
little—captain get in passion, and come up
himself.’

And Mesty renewed the noise with the ropes
over the cabin. Mesty was right ; in a few
minutes the captain himself came up, boiling
with indignation. At the sound of the cabin-
door opening, the seamen and our hero con-
cealed themselves behind the companion-
hatch, which was very high, so as to give the
captain time to get fairly on deck. The men
already secured had been covered over with
the gregos. The captain was a most powerful
man, and it was with difficulty that he was
pinioned, and then not without his giving the
alarm, had there been any one to assist him ;
but as yet no one had turned out ofhis hammock.

“Now we all right,’ said Mesty, ‘and soon
ab de ship ; but I must make him ‘fraid.’

‘The captain was seated down on the deck
against one of the guns, and Mesty, putting
on the look of a demon, extended above him
his long nervous arm, with the sharp knife
clutched, as if ready every instant to strike it
into his heart. The Spanish captain felt his
situation anything but pleasant. Hewas then
interrogated as to the number of men in the
ship, officers, etc., to all which questions he
answered truly ; he cast his eyes at the firm
and relentless countenance of Mesty, who ap-
peared but to wait the signal.

46 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘I tink all pretty safe now,’ said Mesty.
“Mr. Easy, we now go down below and beat
all men into the hold.’

Our hero approved of this suggestion.
Taking their pistols from the capstern, they
rushed down with their cutlasses, and leaving
two men to guard the cabin-door, they were
soon among the crew, who were all naked in
their hammocks : the resistance, although the
numbers were more than double of the
English, was of course trifling. In a few
minutes the Spaniards were all thrown down
into the hold of the vessel, and the hatches
placed over them. Every part of the ship was
now in their possession, except the cabin, and
to that they allepaired. Our hero tried the
door, and found it fast ; they beat it open,
and were received with loud screams from one
side of the cabin, and the discharge of two
pistols from the other, fortunately without
injury : those who had fired the pistols were
an elderly man and a lad about the age of our
hero. ‘They were thrown down and secured .
the cabin was searched, and nobody else found
in it but three women; one old and sbrivelled,
the other two, although with their counte-
nances distorted with terror, were lovely as
houris. So thought Jack, as he took off his
hat, and made them a very low bow with his
usual politeness, as they crouched, — half
dressed, in a corner. He told them in Eng-
lish that they had nothing to fear, and
begged that they would attend to their toi-
lettes. The ladies made no reply, because,
in the first place, they did.not know what
Jack said, and, in the next, they could rot
speak English.

Mesty interrupted Jack in his attentions, by
pointing out that they must all go upon deck
-—so Jack again took off his hat and bowed,
and then followed his men, who led away the
two prisoners taken in the cabin. It was now
five o’clock in the morning, and there was
movement on board the other vessels, which
laid not far from the ship.

‘Now, then,’ said Jack, ‘what shall we do
with the prisoners?—could we not send the
boat and bring our own vessel alongside, and
put them all in, tied as they are? Weshould
then get rid of them.’

‘ Massa Easy, you be one very fine officer
one of these days. Dat d—n good idea, any-
how ;—but suppose we send our own boat,
what they tink on board of de oder vessel ?
Lower down lily boat from stern, put in four
men, and drop vessel ‘longside—dat it.’

This was done ; the cutter was on the sea-
ward side of the ship, and, as the ship was
the outermost vessel, was concealed from the
view of the Spaniards on board of the other
vessels, and in the battery on shore. Assoon
as the latteen vessel was alongside, the men
who had already been secured on Geck,MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 47

amounting to seven, were lowered into her, to the two young ladies, and beckoned the old
and laid upon the beams in the hold: all, ex- one to follow ; the old lady did not think it
cept the captain, the two cabin-prisoners, and advisable to refuse his courtesy, 50 they ac-
the captain’s servant. They then went down companied him.

below, took off one part of the hatches, and As soon as the females came on deck, and
ordered the Spaniards up from the hold : as found the two cabin prisoners bound, they
they came on deck they were made fast and ran to them and embraced them with tears.
treated in the same manner. Mesty and the Jack’s heart melted, and as there was now no
men went down to examine if there were any tear, he asked Mesty for his knife, and cut
left concealed, and finding that they were all loose the two Spaniards, pointing to the
out, returned on deck. The men who had breakfast, and requesting that they would
been beaten down in the hold were twenty-two join them. The Spaniards made a bow, and
in number, making the whole complement of the ladies thanked Jack with a sweet smile ;
thirty. As soon as they had all been put into and the ‘captain of the vessel, who still lay
the xebeque, she was again hauled off and pinioned against the gun, looked, as much as
anchored outside, and Jack found himself in to say, Why the devil don't you ask me? but
possession of a fine ship of fourteen guns, the fact was, they had hadjsuch trouble to secure
with three prisoners male, and three prisoners him, that Jack did not much like the idea of
female. letting him loose again. Jack and the seamen

When the men returned in the boat from commenced their breakfast, and as the ladies

the vessel in which the prisoners had been and prisoners did not appear inclined to eat,
confined (the hatches having been secured they ate their share and their own too ; during
over them, by way of further precaution), by which, the elderly man inquired of Jack if he
the advice of Mesty they put on the jackets could speak French.

and caps of the Spanish seamen, of which Jack, with his mouth full of sausage, replied,

there was a plentiful supply below. that he could ; and then commenced a con-
‘Now, what's to be done, Mesty? inquired versation, from which Jack learnt as fol-
Jack. lows :-—

‘Now, sar, we send some of the men aloft The elderly gentleman was a passenger with
to get sails all ready, and while they do that the young man, who was his son, and the ladies,
I cast loose this fellow,’ pointing to the cap- who were his wife and his two daughters,
tain's servant, ‘and make him get some break- and they were proceeding to ‘Tarragona.
fast, for he know where to find it.’ Whereupon Jack made a bow and thanked

‘Capital idea of yours, Mesty, for I'm tired him; and then the gentleman, whose name was
of bean soup already, and I will go down and Don Cordova de Rimarosa, wished to know

pay my respects to the ladies.’ what Jack intended to do with them, hoping,
Mesty looked over the counter. as a gentleman, he would put theni on shore

‘Yes, and be quick, too, Massa Easy ; d—m with their effects, as they were non-comba-
the women, they toss their handkerchief in tants. Jack explained all this to Mesty and
the air to people in the battery,—quick, Massa the men, and then finished his sausage. The
\asy-’ men, who were a little elevated with the wine

Mesty was right—the Spanish girls were which they had been drinking, proposed that
waving their handkerchiefs for assistance ; it they should take the ladies a ernise, and Jack
was all that they couid do, poor things. Jack at first did not dislike the idea, but he said
hastened into the cabin, laid hold of the two nothing ; Mesty, however, opposed this, say-
young ladies, very politely pulled them out of ing that ladies only made a row in a ship, and
the quarter gallery, and begged that they the coxswain sided with him, saying that they
would not give themselves so much trouble. should all be at daggers drawn. Whereupon
The young ladies looked very much confused, Jack pulled out the ‘articles of war,’ and in-
and as they could no longer wave their hand- formed the men that there was no provision
kerchiefs, they put them to their eyes, and in them for women, and therefore the thing
began to weep, while the elderly lady went on was impossible.

her knees, and held her hands up for mercy. ‘The next question was, as to the propriety
Jack raised her up, and very politely handed of allowing them to take their effects ; and it
her to one of the cabin lockers. was agreed, at last, that they might take them.

In the meantime Mesty, with his gleaming Jack desired the steward to feed his master the
knife and expressive look, had done wonders captain, and then told the Spanish Don the
with the captain’s steward, for such the man result of the consultation, further informing
was : and a breakfast of chocolate, salt meat, him, that as soon as it was dark, he intended
hams and sausages, white biscuit and red to put them all on boatd the small vessel,
wine, had been spread on the quarter-deck. when they would cast loose the men and do
The men had come from aloft, and Jack was as they pleased. The Don and the ladies re-
summoned on deck. Jack offered his hand turned thanks, and went down to pack up

aden tansnttheir baggage; Mesty ordering two men to
help them, but with a caution, that they were
not to encumber themselves with any of the
money, if there should happen to be any on
board.

The crew were busy during the day making
preparations for sailing. The coxswain had
examined the provender in the ship, and found
that there was enough for at least three months
of water, wine, and provisions, independent of
luxuriesfor the cabin. All thoughts oftakinglany
more of the vessels were abandoned, for their
crew was but weak to manage the one which
they had possession of, A fine breeze sprang
up, and they dropped their fore-topsails, just
is a boat was’shoving off from the shore ; but
seeing the fore-topsails loosed, it put back
again. This was fortunate, or all would have
Seen discovered. The other vessels also loosed
their sails, and the crews were héard weighing
the anchors.

But the Nostra Senora del Carmen, which
was Jack’s prize, did not move. At last the
sun went down, the baggage was placed in the
cutter, the ladies and passengers went into the
boat, thanking Jack for his kindness, who put
his hand to his heart and bowed to the deck ;
and the captain was allowed to go with them,
Four men well armed pulled them alongside
of the xebeque, put them and their trunks on
deck, and returned to the ship. The cutter
was then hoisted up, and as the anchor was too
heavy to weigh, they cut the cable and made
sail. The other vessels followed their ex-
ample. Mesty and the seamen cast longing
eyes upon them, but it was of no use; so they
sailed in company for about an hour, and then

Jack hauled his wind for a cruise.

 

CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH OUR HERO TINDS THAT  DIS-
AGREEABLE OCCURRENCES WILL TAKE

PLACE ON A CRUISE.

AS soon as the ship had been hauled to the
wind, Jack's ‘ship’s company seemed to ihink
that there was nothing to do except to make
merry : so they brought out some earthen jars
full of wine, and emptied them so fast that
they were soon fast asleep on the deck, with
the exception of the man at the helm, who,
instead of thirty-two, could clearly make out
sixty-four points in the compass, and of course
was able to steer to a much greater nicety.
Fortunately, the weather was fine, for when
the man at the helm had steered till he could
seé no more, and requested to be released, he
found that his shipmates were so overpowered
with fatigue that it was impossible to wake
them. He kicked them one by one most un-
mercifully in the ribs, but it was of no use ;

48 MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

under these circumstances, he did as they did,
that is, lay down with them, and in ten mi-
nutes it would have taken as much kicking to
awake him as he gave his shipmates.

In the meantime the ship had it all her own
way, and not knowing where she was to go,
she went round and round the compass during
the best part of the night. Mesty had ar-
ranged the watches, Jack had made a speech,
and the men had promised everything, but
the wine had got into their heads, and me-
mory had taken that Opportunity to take a
stroll. Mesty had been down with Jack, ex-
amining the cabin, and in the captain's state-
room they had found fourteen thousand dollars
in bags. Of this they determined not to tell
the men, but tocked up the money and every-
thing else of value, and took out the key.
They then sat dcwn at the cabin table, and,
after some conversation, it was no matter of
Surprise, after having been up all the night
before, that Jack laid his head on the table
and fell fast asleep. Mesty kept his eyes open
for some time, but at last his head sank down
upon his chest, and he also slumbered. Thus,
about one o'clock in the morning, there was
hot a very good watch kept onboard of the
Nostra Senora del Carmen.

About four o'clock in the morning, Mesty
tumbled forward, and he hit his head against
the table, which roused him up.

‘By de mass, .I tink I almost. fall asleep,”
cried he, and he went to the cabin window,
which had been left open, and found that
there was a strong breeze blowing in. ‘By
de Lord, de wind ab come more aft,’ said
Mesty, ‘ why they not tell me? So saying,
he went on deck, where he found no one at
the helm: every one drunk, and the ship with
her yards braced up running before the wind,
just by way of a change. Mesty growled, but
there was no time to lose ; the topsails only
were Set, —these he lowered down, and then
put the helm a-lee, and lashed it, while he
went down to call our hero to his assistance.

Jack roused up, and went on deck,

“This nebber do, Massa Easy ; we all go
to . devil together—together—dam drunken
dogs—I freshen um up anyhow.’ So Mesty
drew some buckets of water, with which he
soused the ship’s company, who then appeared
to be recovering their senses.

‘By heavens !’ says Jack, ‘but this is con-
trary to the articles of war; I shall read them
to them to-morrow morning.’

“I tell what better ting, Massa Easy : we
go lock up all de wine, and sarve out so much
and no more. I go doit at once,
wake up.’

Mesty went down, leaving Jack on deck to
his meditations,

‘I am not sure,’ thought Tack, ‘that I have
done a very wise thing. Here I am witha

?

‘fore theyparcel of fellows who have no respect for the
articles of war, and who get as drunk as
David's sow. I havea large ship, but I have
very few hands; and if it comes on bad
weather, what shall I do ?—for I know very
little—hardly how to take in a sail. Then—
as for where to steer or how to steer, I know
not—nor do any of my men; but, however, as
it was very narrow when we came into the
Mediterranean through the straits, it is hardly
possible to get out of them without perceiving
it : besides, I should know the rock of Gib-
ralter again if I saw it. JI must talk to
Mesty.’

Mesty soon returned with the keys of the
provision-room tied to his bandana.

‘Now,’ says he, ‘they not get drunk again
in a hurry.’

A few more buckets of water soon brought
the men to their senses : they again stood on
their legs, and gradually recovered themselves.
Daylight broke, and they found that the ves-
sel had made an attempt for the Spanish coast,
being within a mile of the beach, and facing
a large battery a fleur d’eau ; fortunately they
had time to square the yards, and steer the
ship along shore under the topsails, before
they were perceived. Had they been seen at
daylight in the position that they were in
during the night, the suspicions of the Span-
jiards would have been awakened ; and had
a boat been sent off, while they were all
drunk, they must have been re-captured.

The men, who perceived what danger they
had been in, listened very penitently to Jack's
remonstrances ; and our hero, to impress them
more strongly on their minds, took out the
articles of war, read that on drunkenness from
beginning to end; but the men had heard it
read so often at the gangway, that it did not
make a due impression. As Mesty said, his
plan was better, andso it proved ; for as soon
as Jack had done, the men went down to get
another jug of wine, and found, to their dis-
appointment, that it was all under lock and
key.

In the meantime, Jack called Mesty aft,
and asked him if he knew the way to Toulon.
Mesty declared that he knew nothing about it.

‘Then, Mesty, it appears to me that we
have a better chance of finding our way back
to Gibraltar ; for you know the land was on
our left side all the way coming up the Medi-
terranean ; and if we keep it, as it is now, on
our right, we shall get back again along the
coast.’ :

Mesty agreed with Jack that this was the
‘ne plus ultra’ of navigation ; and that old
Smallsole could not do better with his ‘pig-
yoke’ and compasses. So they shook a reef
out of the topsails, set top-gallant-sails, and
ran diréctly down the coast from point to

point, keeping about five miles distant. The

 

   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 49

men prepared a good dinner; Mesty gave
them their allowance of wine, which was just
double what they had on board the Harpy—
so they soon appeared to be content. One
man, indeed, talked very big and very mutin-
ously, swearing that if the others would join
him they would soon have liquor enough ; but
Mesty gave him his look, opened his knife,
and swore that he would settle him, and Jack
knocked him down with a handspike ; so
that, what with the punishment received, and
that which was promised, the fellow thought
he might as well say no more about it. The
fact is, that had it not been from fear of Mesty,
the whole of the men would, in all proba-
bility, have behaved equally as bad ; never-
theless, they were a little staggered, it must be
owned, at seeing Jack play so good a stick
with the handspike.

After this night Jack and Mesty kept watch
and watch, and everything went on very well
until they were nearly abreast of Carthagena,
when a gale came on from the northward, and
drove them out of sight of land. Sail after
sail was reduced with difficulty from their
having so few hands, and the gale blew for
three days with great fury. The men were
tired out and discontented. It was Jack’s
misfortune that he had but one good man
with him: even the coxswain of the boat,
although a fine-looking man, was worth no-
thing. Mesty was Jack’s sheet-anchor. The
fourth day the gale moderated, but they had
no idea where they were : they knew that they
had been blown off, but how far they could
not tell, and Jack now began to discover that
a cruise at sea without knowledge of naviga-
tion was a more nervous thing than he had
contemplated. However, there was no help
for it. At night they wore the ship and stood
on the other tack, and at daylight they per-
ceived that they were close to some small
islands, and much closer to some large rocks,
against which the sea beat high, although the
wind had subsided. Again was the helm put
up, and they narrowly escaped. As soon as
the sails were trimmed, the men came aft and
proposed that if they could find anchorage
they should run into it, for they were quite
tired out. ‘This was true, and Jack consulted
with Mesty, who thought it advisable to agree
to the proposal. ‘That the islands were not
inhabited was very evident. The only point
to ascertain was, if there were good anchor-
age. The coxswain offered to go in the boat
and examine; and, with four men, he set off,
and in about an hour returned, stating that
there was plenty of water, and that it was as
smooth as a mill-pond, being land-locked on
every side.» As they could not weigh the
bower-anchor they bent the kedge, and run-
ning in without accident, came to in a small
bay, between the islands, in seven fathoms of

A AAA rea eth50

water. The sails were furled, and everything
put in order by the seamen, who then took
the boat and pulled on shore. ‘They might
as well have asked leave,’ thought dack dn
an hour they returned, and, after a short dis-
cussion, came aft to our hero ina body.

The coxswain was spokesman. He said
that they had had hard work, and required
now to have some rest—that there were pro-
visions on board for three months, so that
there could not be any hurry, and that they
had found they could pitch a tent very well on
shore, and live there for a short time; and
that, as there was no harm in getting drunk
on shore, they expected that they might be
allowed to take provisions and plenty of wine
with them, and that the men had desired him
to ask leave, because they were determined to
go whether or no. Jack was about to answer
with the handspike, but perceiving that the
men had all put on their cutlasses, and had
their pistols at their belts, he thought proper
to consult Mesty, who, perceiving that resist-
ance was useless, advised Jack to suamit, ob-
serving, that the sooner al the wine was gone
the better, as there would be nothing done
while it lasted. Jack, therefore, very gra-
ciously told them that they should have their
own way, and he would stay there as long as
they pleased, Mesty gave them the keys of
the provision-hatch, and told them, with a
grin, to help themselves. The men then in-
formed Jack that he and Mesty shouid stay
on board and take care of the ship for them,
and that they would take the Spaniard on
shore to cook their victuals. But to this Jack
observed that if he had not two hands he
could not obey their orders, in case they
wished him to come on shore for them. The
men thought there was good argument in that
observation, and therefore allowed Jack to re-
tain the Spaniard, that he might be more
prompt to their call from the beach. They
then wished him good-day, and begged that
he would amuse himself with the ‘articles of
war,

As soon as they had thrown a spare sail
into the boat, with some spars to make a tent,
and some bedding, they went down below,
hoisted up two pipes of wine out of the three,
a bag or two of biscuit, arms and ammuni-
tion, and as much of the salt provisions as
they thought they might require. The boat
being full, they shoved off with three cheers
of derision. Jack was sensible to the compli-
ment: he stood at the gangway, took off his
hat, and made them a polite bow.

As soon as they were gone, Mesty grinned
with his sharp-filed teeth, and looking at our
hero, said— 4

‘I tink I make um pay for all dis—stop a
little ; by de piper as played hefore Moses,
but our turn come by-and-by.’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

As for Jack, he said nothing, but he thought
the more. In about an hour the men re-
turned in the boat : they had forgotten many
things they wanted—wood to make a fire,
and several utensils ; they helped themselves
freely, and having now everything that they
could think of, they again went on shore.

‘How d—n lucky, we never tell dem about
the dollars,’ said Mesty, as Jack and he were
watching the motions of the men.

‘It is, indeed,’ replied Jack ; ‘not that they
could spend them here.’

‘No, Massa Easy, but suppose they find all
that money, they take boat and go away with
it. Now,I hab them in my clutch—stop a
little,’

A narrow piece of salt pork had been left at
the gangway ; Jack, without knowing why,
tossed it overboard; being almost all fat it
sank very gradually: Jack watched it as it
disappeared, so did Mesty, both full of
thought, when they perceived a dark object
rising under it : it was a ground shark, who
took it into his maw, sank down, and disap-
peared.

“What was that ?’ said Jack.

‘That ground shark, Massa Easy,—worst
shark of all; you neber see him till you feel
him ;’ and Mesty’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.
‘By de powers, they soon stop de mutiny ;
now I hab ‘em.’

Jack shuddered and walked away.

During the day, the men on shore were seen
to work hard, and make all the preparations
before they abandoned themselves to the sen-
sual gratification of intemperance. The tent
was pitched, the fire was lighted, and all the
articles taken on shore rolled up and stowed
away in their places; they were seen to sit
down and dine, for they were within hail of
the ship, and then one of the casks of wine
was spiled.. In the meantime the Spaniard,
who was a quiet lad, had prepared the dinner
for Easy and his now only companion., The
evening closed, and all was noise and revelry
on shore ; and as they danced, and sung, and
tossed off the cans of wine by the light of the
fire, as they hallooed and screamed, and be-
came more and more intoxicated, Mesty
turned. to Jack with his bitter smile, and only
said—

‘Stop a little.’

At last the noise grew fainter, the fire died
away, and gradually all was silent. Jack was
still hanging over the gangway when Mesty
came up to him. The new moon had just
risen, and Jack’s eyes were fixed upon it.

‘Now, Massa Easy, please you come aft
and lower down little boat ; take your pistols,
and then we go on shore and bring off the
cutter ; they all asleep now.’

‘But why should we leave them without a
boat, Mesty ?’ for Jack thought of the sharks,and the probability of the men attempting to
swim off.

‘I tell you, sar, this night they get drunk,
to-morrow they get drunk again, but drunken
men never keep quiet. Suppose one man say
to others, ‘‘ Let's go ‘board and kill officer,
and then we do as we please,” they all say
yes, and they all come and doit. No, sar—

nust have boat—if not for your sake, I must
hab it, save my own life, anyhow, for they
hate me and kill me first ; by de powers, stop a
little.’

Jack felt the truth of Mesty’s observation ;
he went aft with him, lowered down the small
boat, and they hauled it alongside. Jack
went down with Mesty into the cabin and
fetched his pistols. ‘And the Spaniard,
Mesty, can we leave him on board alone ?

‘Yes, sar, he no got arms, and he see dat
me have ; but suppose he find arms he never
dare do anything—I know de man.’

Our hero and Mesty went into the boat and
shoved off, pulling gently on shore. The
men wete in a state of intoxication, so as not
to be able to move, much less hear. They
cast off the cutter, towed her on board, and
made her fast with the other boat astern.

* Now, sar, we may go to bed; to-morrow
morning you will see.’

‘They have everything they require on
shore,’ replied Easy; ‘all they could want
with the cutter would be to molest us.’

‘Stop a little,’ replied Mesty.

Jack and Mesty went to bed, and as a pre-
caution against the Spaniard, which was hardly
necessary, Mesty locked the cabin door—but
Mesty never forgot anything.

Jack slept little that night—had melancholy
forebodings which he could not shake off;
indeed, Jack had reflected so much since he
had left the ship, he had had his eyes so
much opened, and had felt what a responsi-
bility he had taken by indulging himself in a
whim of the moment, that it might be almost
said that'in the course of one fortnight he had
at once from a boy sprung up into a man.
He was mortified and angry, but he was
chiefly so with himself.

Mesty was up at daylight, and Jack soon
followed him: they watched the party on
shore, who had not yet left the tent. At last,
just as Jack had finished his breakfast, one or
two made their appearance. The men looked
about them as if they were searching for some-
thing, and then walked down to the beach to
where the boat had been made fast. Jack
looked at Mesty, who grinned, and answered
with the words so often repeated—

‘Stop a little.’

The men then walked along the rocks until
they were abreast of the ship.

‘Ship ahoy !'

‘ Halloo,’ replied Mesty.

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  

5r

‘Bring the boat ashore directly with a
beaker of water,’

‘I knew dat,’ cried Mesty, rubbing his
hands with delight. ‘Massa Easy, you must
tell them no.’

‘But why should I not give them water,
Mesty ?’

«Because, sar, den they take boat.’

‘Very true,’ replied Easy.

‘Do you hear on board?’ cried the cox-
swain, who was the man who hailed—‘ send
the boat immediately, or we'll cut the throats
of every mother's son of you, by God!’

‘TI shall not send the boat,’ replied Jack,
who now thought Mesty was right.

‘You won’t—won't you ?—then your doom’s
sealed,’ replied the man, walking up to the
tent with the other. Inashort time all the
seamen turned out of the tent, bringing with
them four muskets, which they had taken on
shore with them.

‘Good heavens! they are not surely going
to fire at us, Mesty.’

‘Stop a hitle.’

The men then came down abreast of the ship,
and the coxswain again hailed and asked if
they would bring the boat on shore.

“You must say no, sar,’ replied Mesty.

‘I feel I must,’ replied Jack ; and then he
answered the coxswain, ‘ No.’

The plan of the mutineers had been fore-
seen by the wily negro—it was to swim off to
the boats which were riding astern, and to fire
at him or Jack if they attempted to haul them
up alongside and defend them. To get into
the boats, especially the smaller one, from out
of the water, was easy enough. Some of the
men examined their priming and held the
muskets at their hips all ready, with the
muzzles towards the ship, while the coxswain
and two men were throwing off their clothes.

‘Stop, for God’s sake, stop!’ cried Jack.
‘The harbour is full of ground sharks; it is,
upon my soul !’

‘Do you think to frighten us with ground
sharks?" replied the coxswain; ‘keep under
cover, my lads; Jack, give iim a shot to prove
we are in earnest, and every time he or that
nigger show their heads give them another,
my lads.’

‘For God’s sake, don’t attempt to swim,’
said Jack, in an agony; ‘I will try some
means to give you water.’

‘Too late now—you’re doomed ;’ and the
coxswain sprang off the rock into the sea, and
was followed by two other men : at the same
moment a musket was discharged, and the
bullet whistled close to our hero’s ear.

Mesty dragged Jack from the gangway, who
was nearly fainting from agonizing feelings.
He sank on the deck for a moment, and then
sprang up and ran to the port to look at the
men in the water. He was just in time to see52

“the coxswain raise himself with a loud yell out
of the sea, and then disappear in a vortex,
which was crimsoned with his blood.

Mesty threw down his musket in his hand,
of which he had several all ready loaded, in
case the men should have gained the boats.

‘ By the powers, dat no use now |’

Jack had covered his face with his hands.
But the tragedy was not complete: the other
men, who were in the water, had immediately
turned and made for the shoré; but before
they could reach it two more of these voracious
monsters, attracted by the blood of the cox-
swain, had flown to the spot, and there was a
contention for the fragments of their bodies.

Mesty, who had seen this catastrophe,
turned towards our hero, who still hid his
face.

‘I’m glad he no see dat, anyhow,’ muttered
Mesty. ,

“See what !’ exclaimed Jack.

‘Shark eat ’em all,’

‘Oh, horrid ! horrid,’ groaned our hero.

‘Yes, sar, very horrid,’ replied Mesty, ‘and
dat bullet at your head very horrid. Suppose
the sharks no take them, what then ? ‘They
jall us and the sharks have our body. I think
that more horrid still.’

‘Mesty,’ replied Jack, seizing the negro
convulsively by the arm, ‘it was not the
sharks—it was I—I who have murdered these
men.’

Mesty looked at Jack with surprise.

‘ How dat possible ?’

‘If I had not disobeyed orders,’ replied our
hero, panting for breath, ‘ if I had not shown
them the example of disobedience, this would
not have happened. How could I expect
submission from them? It's all my fault—I
see it now—and, O God ! when will the sight
be blotted from my memory ?’

‘Massa Easy, I not understand that,’ replied
Mesty : ‘I think you talk foolish—might as
well say, suppose Ashantee men not make
war, this not happen; for suppose Ashantee
not make war, I not slave, I not run away—I
not come board Flarpy—I not go in boat with
you—I not hinder men from getting drunk—
and dat why they make mutiny—and the
mutiny why the shark take um ?’

Jack made no reply, but he felt some con-
solation from the counter-argument of the
negro.

‘The dreadful death of the three mutineers
appeared to have had a sensible effect upon
their companions, who walked away from
the beach with their heads down and with
measured steps. ‘They were now seen to be
perambulating the island, probably in search
of that water which they required. At noon
they returned to their tent, and soon after-
wards were in a state of intoxication, halloo-
ing and shouting as the day hefore. ‘Towards

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

the evening they came down to the beach
abreast of the ship, each with a vessel in their
hands, and perceiving that they had attracted
the notice of our hero and Mesty, tossed the
contents of the vessels up in the air to showthat
they had found water, and hooting and de-
riding, went back, dancing, leaping, and
kicking up their heels, to renew their orgies,
which continued till after midnight, when
they were all stupefied as before.

The next day Jack had recovered from the
first shock which the catastrophe had given
him, and he called Mesty into the cabin to
hold a consultation,

‘ Mesty, how is this to end ?’

‘How you mean, sar ?—end here, or end on
board of the Harpy ?’

‘The Harpy—there appears little chance of
our seeing her again. We are on a desolate
island, or what is the same thing ; but we will
hope that it will be so : but howis this mutiny
to end ?’

‘Massa Easy, suppose I please, I make it
end very soon, but [ not in a hurry.’

‘ How do you mean, Mesty, not ina hurry ?”

“Look, Massa Easy : you wish take a
cruise, and I wish the same ting ; now because
mutiny you want to go back—but by all de
powers, you tink that I, a prince in my own
country, feel wish to go back and boil kettle
for de young gentlemen. No, Massa Easy,
gib me mutiny—gib me anyting—but—once
I was prince,’ replied Mesty, lowering his
voice at the last few emphatic words.

‘You must one of these days tell me your
history,’ replied Jack; ‘but just now let us
argue the point in question. How could you
put an end to this mutiny ?’

‘ By putting an end to all wine. Suppose I
go shore after they all drunk, I spile the
casks in three or four places, and in the morn-
ing all wine gone—den dey ab get sober,
and beg pardon—we take dem on board, put
away all arms, ‘cept yours and mine, and I
like to see the mutiny after dat. Blood and
‘ounds—but I settle um, anyhow.’

‘The idea is very good, Mesty—why should
we not do so?’

‘Because I not like run de risk to
ashore—all for what? to go back boil
kettle for all gentlemans—I very happy here,
massa,’ replied Mesty, carelessly.

‘And I am very miserable,’ replied Jack ;
‘but, however, I am completely in your
power, Mesty, and I must, I suppose, submit.’

‘What you say, Massa Easy—submit to
me? No, sar; when you are on board
Harpy as officer you talk with me as friend,
and not treat me as negrfo servant. Massa
Easy, I feel—I feel what I am,’ continued
Mesty, striking his bosom, ‘TI feel it here—
for all first time since I leave my country, I
feel that I am someting ; but, Massa Easy,

go
deI love my friend as much as I hate my enemy
—and you neber submit to me—I too proud
to allow dat, ‘cause, Massa Easy—I am a
man—and once [| was a prince.’

Although Mesty did not perhaps explain by
words half so well as he did by his countenance
the full tide of feeling which was overflowing
in his heart, Jack fully understood and felt it.
He extended his hand to Mesty, and said—

‘Mesty, that you have been a prince I care
little about, although I doubt it not, because
you are incapable of a lie; but you are a man,
and I respect you, nay, I love you as a friend
—and with my will we never part again.’

Mesty took the hand offered by Jack. It
was the first peace-offering ever extended to
him since he had been torn away from his
mative land—the first compliment, the first
tribute, the first acknowledgment, perhaps,
that he was not an inferior being ; he pressed
it in silence, for he could not speak ; but could
the feelings which were suffocating the negro
but have been laid before sceptics, they must
have acknowledged that at that moment they
were all and only such as could do honour,
not only to the prince, but even to the
Christian. So much was Mesty affected with
what had happened, that when he dropped the
hand of our hero he went down into the cabin,
finding it impossible to continue the conversa-
tion, which was not renewed until the next
morning.

‘What is your opinion, Mesty? ‘Tell me,
and I will be governed by it.’

‘Den, sar, I tell you I tink it right that they
first come and ask to come on board before
you take them—and, sar, I tink it also right
as we are but two and they are five, dat dey
first eat all their provisions. Let ’em starve
plenty, and den dey come on board tame
enough.’

‘ At all events,’ replied Jack, ‘ the first over-
tures of some kind or another must come from
them. I wish I had something to do—I do
not much like this cooping up on board ship.’

‘Massa, why you no talk with Pedro Ds

‘ Because I cannot speak Spanish. ’

‘I know dat, and dat why I ask de question.
You very sorry when you meet the two pretty
women in the ship, you not able to talk with
them, I guess that.’

‘I was very sorry, I grant,’ replied Jack.

‘Well, Massa Easy, by-and-by we see more
Spanish girl. Why not talk all day with
Pedro, and den you able to talk with dem.’

‘Upon my word, Mesty, I never had an
idea of your value. I will learn all the
Spanish that I can,’ replied Jack, who was
glad to have employment found for him, and
was quite disgusted with the articles of war.

As for the men on shore, they continued the
same course. if not as before, one day succeeded
another, and without variety. [t was, however,

   

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 53

   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 

Fe)

to be observed that the fire was now seldomer
lighted, which proved their fuel scarce, and the
weather was not so warm as it had been, for it
was now October. Jack learnt Spanish from
Pedro for a month, during which there was no
appearance of submission on the part of the
mutineers, who, for the first fortnight, when
intoxicated, used to come down and fire at
Jack or Mesty when they made their appear-
ance. Fortunately drunken men are not good
marksmen ; but latterly this had been discon-
tinued, because they had expended their am-
munition, and they appeared to have almost
forgotten that the ship was there, for they
took no notice of her whatever.

On the other hand, Jack had decided that
if he waited there a year the overtures should
come from those who had mutinied; and now,
having an occupation, he passed his time very
quietly, and the days flew so fast that two
months had actually been run off the calendar
before he had an idea of it.

One evening as they were down in the cabin,
for the evening had now become very cold,
Jack asked Mesty whether he had any objec-
tion to give him a history of his life. Mesty
replied that if he wished he was ready to talk,
and at a nod from our hero Mesty commenced
as follows.

(CIB UAE AN SIR DOW

IN WHICH MUTINY, LIKE FIRE, IS QUENCHED
FOR WANT OF FUEL, AND NO WANT OF
WATER.

ALTHOUGH we have made the African negro
hitherto talk in his own mixed jargon, yet, as
we consider that in a long narration it will be
tedious to the reader, we shall now translate
the narrative part into good English, merely
leaving the conversation with which it may be
broken in its peculiar dialect.

‘The first thing I recollect,’ said Mesty, ‘is
that I was carried on the shoulders of a man
with my legs hanging down before, and hold-
ing on by his head.

‘Every one used to look at me and get out
of the way, as I rode through the town and
market-place, so loaded with heavy gold orna-
ments that I could not bear them, and was
glad when the women took them off; but as
I grew older I became proud of them, because
I knew that I was the son of a king. I lived
happy. I did nothing but shoot my arrows,
and I had a little sword which I was taught
to handle, and the great captains who were
about my father showed me how to kill my
enemies. Sometimes I laid under the shady
trees, sometimes I was with the women
belonging to my father; sometimes I was
with him and played with the skulls, and ye-54

peated the names of those to whom they had
belonged, for in our country, when we kill
our enemies, we keep their skulls as trophies.

“As I grew older I did as I pleased ; I beat
the women and the slaves; I think I killed
some of the latter—I know I did one, to try
whether I could strike well with my two-
handed sword, made of hard and heavy wood ;
but that is nothing in our country. I longed
to be a great captain, and I thought of nothing
else but war and fighting, and how many skulls
! should have in my possession when I had a
house and wives of my own, and I was no
longer a boy. I went out in the woods to
hunt, and I stayed for weeks. And one day I
saw a panther basking in the sun, waving his
graceful tail. I crept up softly till I was
behind a rock within three yards of it, and
drawing my arrow to the head, I pierced him
through the body. The animal bounded up
in the air, saw me, roared and made a spring,
but I dropped behind therock, and he passed
over me. He turned again to me, but I had
my knife ready, and, as he fixed his talons
into my shoulder and breast I pierced him to
the heart. ‘This was the happiest day of my
life; I had killed a panther without assistance,
and I had the wounds to show. Although I
was severely hurt, I thought nothing of it. I
took off the skin as my blood dropped down
and mixed with that of the beast—but I
rejoiced in it. Proudly did I go into the town
dripping with gore and smarting with pain.
Every one extolled the feat, called me a hero
and a great captain. I filed my teeth, and I
became a man.

‘From that day Iranked among the warriors,
and, as soon as my wounds were healed, I
went out to battle. In three fights I had
gained five skulls, and when I returned they
weighed me out gold. I then had a house
and wives, and my father appointed me a
Caboceer. I wore the plume of eagle and
ostrich feathers, my dress was covered with
fetishes, I pulled on the boots with bells, and
with my bow and arrows slung on my back,
my spear and blunderbuss, my knives and
my double-handed sword, I led the men to
battle and brought back skulls and slaves.
Every one trembled at my name, and, if my
father threatened to send me out, gold-dust
covered the floor of his hall of council—Now,
I boil the kettle for the young gentlemen !

“There was one man I liked. He was not
a warrior, or I should have hated him, but he
was brought up with me in my father's house,
and was a near relative. I was grave and
fuli of pride, he was gay and fond of music:
and although there was no music to me equal
to the tom-tom, yet I did not always wish for
excitement. I often was melancholy, and
then I liked to lay my head in the lap of one
of my wives, under the shady forest behind my

 

MR, MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

 

house, and listen to his soft music. At last
he went to a town near us where his father
lived, and as he departed I gave him gold-_
dust. Hehad been sent to my father to be
formed into a warrior, but he had nostrength
of body, and he had no soul ; still I loved him,
because he was not like myself. ‘There was a
girl in the town who was beautiful; many
asked for her as their wife, but her father had
long promised her to my friend ; he refused
even the greatest warrior of the place, who
went away in wrath to the fetishman, and
throwing him his gold armlets asked for a
fetish against his rival. It was given, and two
days before he was to be married my _ friend
died. His mother came to me, and it was
enough. “{ put on my war dress, I seized my
weapons, sat for a whole day with my skulls
before me, working up my revenge, called
out my men, and that night set off for the
town where the warrior resided, killed two of
his relatives and carried off ten of his slaves.
When he heard what I had done, he trembled ~
and sent gold; but I knew that he had taken
the girl home as his wife, and I would not
listen to the old man who sought to pacify
me. Again I collected a largerforce, and at-~
tacked him in the night, we fought, for he was
prepared with his men, but after a struggle he
was beaten back. I fired his house, wasted
his provision ground, and taking away more
slaves, I returned home with my men, intend-
ing soon to assault him again. The next day -
there came more messengers, who knelt in
vain ; so they went to my father, and many
warriors begged him to interfere. My father
sent for me, but I would not listen ; the war-
riors spoke, and I turned my back : my father
was wroth and threatened, the warriors bran-
dished their two-handed swords—they dared
to do it ; I looked over my shoulder with con-
tempt, and I returned to my house. I took
down my skulls, and I planned. It was even-
ing, and I was alone, when a woman covered
up to the eyes approached ; she fell down
before me as she exposed her face.

‘« 7 am the girl who was promised to your’
relation, and I am now the wife of your enemy.
I shall be a mother. I could not love your
relation, for he was no warrior. It is not true
that my husband asked for a fetish—it was I
who bought it, for] would not wed him. Kill
me and be satisfied.”

‘She was very beautiful, and I wondered not *
that my enemy loved her—and she was with
child, it was his child, and she had fetished my
friend to death. I raised my sword to strike,
and she did not shrink: it saved her life.
‘Thou art fit to be the mother of warriors,”
said I, as I dropped my sword, ‘‘and thou
shalt be my wife, but first his child shall be
born, and I will have thy husband's skull.”’

No, no,” replied she, ‘‘ I will be the motherof no watriors but my present husband,
whom I love; if you keep me as your slave I
will die.”

“I told her she said foolish things, and sent
her to the women’s apartment, with orders to
be watched—but she hardly had been locked
up before she drew her knife, plunged it into
her heart, and died.

“When the king my father heard this he
sent mea message—‘‘ Be satisfied with the
blood that has been shed, it is enough ;” but
T turned away, for I wished for mine enemy's
skull. That night I attacked him again, and
met. him hand to hand; I killed him, and
carried home his skull, and I was appeased.

‘ But all the great warriors were wroth, and
my father could not restrain them. They
called out their men, and I called out my
men, and I had a large body, for my name
was terrible. But the force raisec against me
was twice that of mine, and I retreated to the
bush—after a while we met and fought, and I
killed many, but my men were too few, and
were overpowered—the fetish had been sent
out against ine, and their hearts melted: at
last I sank down with my wounds, for I bled
at every pore, and I told my men who were
about me to take off my feathers, and my
dress and boots, that my enemies might not
have my skull: they did so, and I crawled
into the bush to die. But I was not to die;
I was recovering, when I was discovered by
those who steal men to sell them: I was
bound, and fastened to a chain with many
more. I, a prince and a warrior, who could
show the white skulls of his enemies—I offered
to procure gold, but they derided me; they
dragged me down to the coast, and sold me
to the Whites. Little did I think, in my
pride, that I should be aslave. I knew that
1 was to die, and hoped to die in battle; my
skull would have been more prized than all
the gold in the earth, and my skin would have
been stuffed and hung up in a fetish-house—
instead of which, I now boil the kettle for the
young gentlemen !’

‘Well,’ replied Jack, ‘that’s better than
being killed and stuffed.’

‘Mayhap it is,’ replied Mesty, ‘I tink very
different now dan I tink den—but siill, it
women’s work and not suit me.

‘They put me with others into a cave until
the ship came, and then we were sent on
board, put in irons, and down in the hold,
where you could not sit upright—I wanted to
die, but could not: others died every day,
but I lived—I was Janded in America, all
bone, and I fetched very little money—they
laughed at me, as they bid their dollars: at
last a man took me away, and I was ona
plantation with hundreds more, but too ill to
work, and not intending to work. The other
slaves asked me if I-was a fetish man ; I said

   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. : 58

yes, and I would fetish any man that I did
not like : one man laughed, and I held up my
finger ; I was too weak to get up, for my
blood had long boiled with fever, and I said
to him, ‘‘ You shall die ;” for I meant to have
killed him as soon as I was well. He went
away, and in three days he was dead. I
don’t know how, but all the slaves feared me,
and my master feared me, for he had seen the
man die, and he, although he was a white
man, believed in fetish, and he wished to sell
me again, but no one would buy a fetish-man,
so he made friends with me; for I told him if
I was beat he should die; and he believed
me. He took me into his house, and I was
his chief man, and I would not Jet the other
slaves steal, and he wascontent. Hetookme
with him to New York, and there after two
years, when I had learnt English, Iran away,
and got on board of an English ship—and
they told me to cook. I left the ship as soon
as I came to England, and offered myself to
another, and they said they did not wanta
cook ; and I weni to another, and they asked
me if I was a good cook : everybody seemed
to think that a black man must bea cook, and
nothing else. At last I starve, and I go on
board a man-of-war, and here I am, after
having been a warrior and a prince, cook,
steward, and everyting else, boiling kettle for
de young gentlemen.’

‘Well,’ replied Jack, ‘at all events that is
better than being a slave.’

Mesty made no reply : any one who knows
the life of a midshipman’s servant will not be
surprised at his silence.

‘Now, tell me, do you think you were right
in being so revengeful, when you were in
your own country ?’ inquired Jack.

‘I tink so den, Massa Easy ; sometimes
when my blood boil, I tink so now—oder time,
T no know what to tink—but whena man love
very much, he hate very much.’

‘But you are now a Christian, Mesty.’

‘T hear all that your people say,’ replied the
negro, ‘and it make me tink—I no longer
believe in fetish, anyhow.’

‘Our religion tells us to love our enemies.’

‘Yes, I heard parson say dat—but deh what
we do with our friends, Massa Easy ?

‘ Love them too.’

‘T no understand dat, Massa’ Easy—I love
you, because you good, and treat me well—
Mr. Vigors, he bully, and treat me ill—how
possible to ldve him? By de power, I hate
him, and wish I had him skull. You tink
little Massa Gossett love him ?’

‘No,’ replied Jack, laughing, ‘ I’m afraid
that he would like to have his skull as well as
you, Mesty—but at all events we must try and
forgive those who injure us.’

‘Then, Massa Easy, I tink so too—too much
revenge very bad—it very easy to hate, but

 

CA Ra a ET scant eee wt56

not very easy to forgive—so I tink that ifa
man forgive, he hab more soul in him, he
more of a man.’

‘After all,’ thought Jack, ‘Mesty is about
as good a Christian as most people.’

‘What that ? cried Mesty, looking out of
the cabin window—‘ Ah! d —n drunken dogs,
they set fire to tent.’

Jack looked. and perceived that the tent on
shore was in flames.

‘I tink these cold nights cool their cou-
rage, anyhow,’ observed Mesty—‘ Massa Easy,
you see they soon ask permission to come on
board.’

Jack thought so too, and was most anxious
to be off ; for, on looking into the lockers in
the state-toom, he had found achart of the
Mediterranean, which he had studied very at-
tentively—he had found out the rock of
Gibraltar, and had traced the Harpy’s course
up to Cape de Gatte, and thence to Tarra-
gona—and, aftera while, had summoned Mesiy
to a cabinet council.

‘See, Mesty,’ said Jack, ‘I begin to make
it out, here is Gibraltar, and Cape de’ Gaitte,
and Tarragona—it was hereabout we were when
we took the ship, and, if you recollect, we had
passed Cape de Gatte two days before we
were blown off from the land, so that we had
gone about twelve inches, and had only four
more to go.’

‘Yes, Massa Easy, I see all dat.’

‘ Well, then, we were blown off shore by
the wind, and must of course have come down
this way ; and here you see are three little
islands, called Zaffarine Islands, and with no
names of towns upon them, and therefore un-
inhabited ; and you see they lie just like the
islands we are anchored among now—we must
be at the Zaffarine Islands—and only six inches
from Gibraltar.’

‘J see, Massa Easy, dat all right—but six
debbelish long inches.’

‘Now, Mesty, you know the compass on
deck has a flourishing thing for the north point
--and. here 1s a compass with a north point
also. Now the north point from the Zaffa-
rine Islands leads out the Spanish coast again,
and Gibraltar lies five or six points of the
compass to this side of it—if we steer that
way we shall get to Gibraltar.’

‘All right, Massa Easy,’ replied Mesty;
and Jack was right, with the exception of
the variation, which he knew nothing about

To make sure, Jack brought one of the
compasses down from deck and compared
them. He then lifted off the glass, counted
the points of the compass to the westward,
and marked the corresponding one on the
binnacle compass with his pen.

‘There,’ said he, ‘that is the way to Gib-
raltar, and as soon as the mutiny is quelled,
and the wind is fair, I'll be off.’

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

 

CHAPTER XVII.

IN WHICH JACK’S CRUISE IS ENDED, AND
HE REGAINS THE HARPY.

A FEW more days passed, and, as was ex-
pected, the mutineers could hold out no longer.
In the first place, they had put in the spile of
the second cask of wine so loosely when they
were tipsy that it dropped out, and all the
wine ran -out, so that there had been none
left for three or four days; in the next their
fuel had long been expended, and they had
latterly eaten their meat raw: the loss of their
tent, which had been fired by their careless-
ness, had been followed by four days and
nights of continual rain. Everything they
had had been soaked through and through,
and they were worn out, shivering with cold,
and starving. Hanging they thought better
than dying by inches from starvation ; and
yielding to the imperious demands of bun-
ger, they came down to the beach, abreast
of the ship, and dropped down on their
knees.

‘I tell you so, Massa Easy,’ said Mesty :

‘d—n rascals, they forget they come down
fire musket at us ev ery day ; by all de powers,
Mesty not forget it.’

‘Ship ahoy !' cried one of the
shore.

‘What do you want ?' replied Jack.

‘Have pity on us, sir—mercy |’ exclaimed
the other men, ‘ we will return to our duty.’

‘Debble doubt em !’

‘What shall I say, Mesty ?’

‘Tell em no, first, Massa Easy
starve and be d—d.’

‘I cannot take mutineers on board,’ replied
Jack.

‘Well, then, ourblood be onyour hands, Mr.
Easy,’ replied the first man who had spoken.
‘ If we are to die, it must not be by inches—
if you will not take us, the sharks shall—it is
but a crunch, and all is over. What do you
say, my lads? let's allrushin together: good-
bye, Mr. Easy, I hope you'll forgive us when
we're dead: it was all that rascal Johnson,
the coxswain, who persuaded us. Come, my
lads, it’s no use t] linking of it, the sooner done
the better—let us shake h: unds, and then make
one run of it.’

It appeared that the poor fellows had al-
ready made up their minds to do this, if our
hero, persuaded by Mesty, had refused to
take them on board; they shook hands all
round, and then w alking a few yards from the
beach, stood in a line while the man gave the
signal—one—tw o—

“ Stop,’ cried Jack, who had not forgotten
the dreadful scene which had already “taken
place,—‘ stop.’

‘The men paused.

men on

tell em to‘What will you promise if I take you on
board ?’

‘To do our duty cheerfully till we join the
ship, and then be hung as an example to all
mutineers,’ replied the men.

‘ Dat very fair,’ replied Mesty : ‘take dem
at their word, Massa Rasy.’

“Very well,’ replied Jack, I accept your
conditions ; and we will come for you.’

Jack and Mesty hauled up the boat, stuck
their pistols in their belts, and pulled to the
shore. The men, as they stepped in, touched
their hats respectfully to our hero, but said
nothing, On their arrival on board, Jack
read that part of the articles of war relative to
mutiny, by which the men were reminded of
the very satisfactory fact, ‘that they were to
suffer death ;’ and then made a speech which,
to men who were starving, appeared to be in-
terminable. However, there is an end to
everything in this world, and so there was to
Jack’s harangue; after which Mesty sgave
them some biscuit, which they devoured in
thankfulness, until they could get something
better. ‘The next morning the wind was fair,
they weighed their kedge with some difficulty,
and ran out of the harbour : the men appeared
very contrite, worked well, but in silence, for
they had no very pleasant anticipations ; but
hope always remains with us; and each of
the men, although he had no doubt but that
the others would be hung, hoped that he
would escape with a sound flogging. The
wind, however, did not allow them to steer
their course long; before night it was con-
trary, and they fell off three points to the
northward. ‘However,’ as Jack observed,
‘at all events we shall make the Spanish
coast, and then we must run down it to Gib-
raltar: I don’t care—I understand naviga-
tion much better than I did.’ The next
morning they found themselves, with a very
light breeze, under a high cape, and, as the
sun rose, they observed a large vessel in shore,
about two miles to the westward of them, and
another outside, about four miles off. Mesty
took the glass and examined the one outside,
which, on a sudden, had let fail all her can-
vas, and was now running for the shore,
steering for the cape under which Jack’s
vessel lay. Mesty put down the glass.

‘ Massa Easy—I tink dat de Harpy.’

One of the seamen took the glass and ex-
amined her. while the others who stood by
showed great agitation.

‘Yes, it is the Harpy,’ said the seaman.
‘Oh! Mr. Easy, will you forgive us? con-
tinued the man, and he and the others fell on
their knees. ‘Do not tell all, for God's sake,
Mr. Easy.’

Jack’s heart melted ; he looked at Mesty.

‘J tink,’ said Mesty apart to our hero, ‘dat
with what them hab suffer already, sup-

   
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
    

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 57

pose they get seven dozen a-piece, dat quite
enough.’

Jack thought that even half that punish-
ment would suffice; so he told the men, that
although he must state what had occurred, he
would not tell all, and would contrive to get
them off as well as he could. He was about
to make a long speech, but a gun from the
Harpy, which had now come up within range,
made him defer it till a more convenient op-
portunity. At the same time the vessel in
shore hoisted Spanish colours, and fired a
gun.

‘ By de powers but we got in the middle of
it,’ cried Mesty. ‘Harpy tink us Spaniard.
Now, my lads, get all gun ready, bring up
powder and shot. Massa, now us fire at
Spaniard—— Harpy not fire at us—no ab
English colours on board—dat all we must
do.’

The men set to with a will; the guns were
all loaded, and were soon cast loose and
primed, during which operations it fell calm,
and the sails of all three vessels flapped
against their masts. The Harpy was then
about two miles from Jack’s vessel, and the
Spaniard about a mile from him, with all her
boats ahead of her, towing towards him;
Mesty examined the Spanish vessel.

‘Dat man-of-war, Massa Easy,—what de
debbel we do for colour ? must hoist someting.’

Mesty ran down below ; he recollected that
there was a very gay petticoat, which had been
left by the old lady who was in the vessel when
they captured her. It was of green silk, with
yellow and blue flowers, but very faded,
having probably been in the Don's family for
a century. Mesty had found it under the
mattrass of one of the beds, and had put it
into his bag, intending probably to cut it up
into waistcoats. He soon appeared with this
under his arm, made it fast to the peak hal-
yards and hoisted it up.

‘Dere, massa, dat do very well—dat what
you call ‘‘all nation colour.” Everybody
strike him flag to dat—men nebber pull it
down,’ said Mesty, ‘anyhow. Now den, ab
hoist colour, we fire away—mind you only
fire one gun at a time, and point um well, den
ab time to load again.’

‘She’s hoisted her colours, sir,’ said Saw-
bridge, on board of the Harpy ; ‘but they do
not show out clear, and it’s impossible to dis-
tinguish them ; but there’s a gun.’

“It?s not at us, sir,’ said Gascoigne, the
midshipman; ‘it’s at the Spanish vessel—I
saw the shot fall ahead of her.’

‘It must be a privateer,’ said Captain Wil-
son ; ‘at all events, it is very fortunate, for
the corvette would otherwise have towed into
Carthagena. Another gun, round and grape,
and well pointed too ; she carries heavy metal.
that craft ; she must be a Maltese privateer,’58

-That's as much as to say that she’s a
pirate,’ replied Sawbridge ; ‘I can make no-
hing of her colours—they appear to me to be
green—she must be a Turk. Another gun—
and devilish well aimed; it has hit the
boats.’

‘Yes, they are all in confusion; we will
have her now, if we can only get a trifle of
wind. That is a breeze coming up in the
offing. ‘Trim the sails, Mr. Sawbridge.’

The yards were squared, and the Harpy
soon had steerage way. In the meantime
Jack and his few men had kept up a steady.
well-directed, although slow, fire with their
larboard guns upon the Spanish corvette ; and
two of her boats had been disabled. The
Harpy brought the breeze up with her, and
was soon within range; she steered to cut off
the corvette, firing only her bow-chasers.

‘ We ab her now,’ cried Mesty ; ‘fire away,
—men take good aim. Breeze come now;
one man go to helm. By de power what
dat ?

The exclamation of Mesty was occasioned
by a shot hulling the ship on the starboard
side. Jack and he ran over, and perceived
that three Spanish gun-boats had just made
their appearance round the point, and had at-
tacked them. The fact was, that on the
Other side of the cape was the port and town
of Carthagena, and these gun-boats had been
sent out to the assistance of the corvette. The
ship had now caught the breeze, fortunately
for Jack, or he would probably have heen
taken into Carthagena; and the corvette,
finding herself cut off by both the Harpy and
Jack's vessel, as soon as the breeze came up
to her, put her head the other way, and tried
to escape by running westward along the
coast close in shore. Another shot, and then
another, pierced the hull of the ship, and
wounded two of Jack’s men ; but as the cor-
vette had turned, and the Harpy followed her,
of course Jack did the same, and in ten
minutes he was clear of the gun-boats, who
did not venture to make sail and stand after
him. The wind now freshened fast, and blew
out the green petticoat, but the Harpy was
exchanging broadsides with the corvette, and
too busy to look after Jack’s ensign. The
Spaniard defended himself well, and had the
assistance of the batteries as he passed, but
there was no anchorage until he had run many
miles farther. About noon, the wind died
away, and at one o'clock it again fell nearly
calm ; but the Harpy had neared her distance.
and was now within three cables’ length of
her antagonist, engaging her and a battery of
four guns. Jack came up again, for he had
the last of the breeze, and was about half-a-
mile from the corvette when” it fell calm. By
the advice of Mesty, he did not fire any more,
as otherwise the Harpy would not obtain so

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

much credit, and it was evident that the fire
of the Spaniard slackéned fast. At three
o'clock the Spanish colours were hauled down,
and the Harpy, sending a boat on board and
taking possession, directed her whole fire upon
the battery, which was soon silenced.

The calm continued, and the Harpy was
busy enough with the prize, shifting the pri-
soners and refitting both vessels, which had
very much suffered in the sails and rigging.
‘There was an occasional wonder on board the
Harpy what that strange vessel might be, who
had turned the corvette and enabled them to.
capture her, but when people are all very
busy, there is not much time for surmise. 4

Jack's crew, with himself, consisted but of
eight, one of which was a Spaniard, and two
were wounded. It therefore left him but
four, and he had also something to do, which
was to assist his wounded men, and secure his
guns. Moreover, Mesty did not think it pru-
dent to leave the vessel a mile from the Harpy
with only two on board ; besides, as Jack
said, he had had no dinner, and was not
quite sure that he should find anything to eat
when he went into the midshipmen’s berth ;
he would therefore have some dinner cooked,
and eat it before he went on board ; in the
meantime, they would try and close with her.
Jack took things always very easy, and he
said he should report himselfat sunset. There
were other reasons which made Jack in no
very great hurry to go on board : he wanted
to have time to consider a little, what he
should say to excuse himself, and also how
he should plead for the men. His natural
correctness of feeling decided him, in the first
place, to tell the whole truth, and in the next,
his kind feelings determined him to tell only
part of it. Jack need not have given himself
this trouble, for, as far as regarded himself,
he had fourteen thousand good excuses in the
bags that lay in the state-room ; and as for
the men, after an action with the enemy, if
they behave well, even mutiny is forgiven. At
last, Jack, who was tired with excitement and
the hard work of the day, thought and
thought until he fell fast asleep, and instead
of waking at sunset, did not wake till two
hours afterwards; and Mesty did not call
him, because he was in no hurry himself to
go on board ‘and boil de kettle for de young
gentlemen.’

When Jack woke up, he was astonished to
find that he had slept so long; he went on
deck ; it was dark and still calm, but he could
easily perceive that the Harpy and corvette
were still hove-to, repairing damages. -He
ordered the men to lower down the small boat,
and, leaving Mesty in charge, with two oars
he pulled to the Harpy. What with wounded
men, with prisoners, and boats going and
coming between the vessels, every one onboard the Harpy was well employed; and
in the dark, Jack’s little boat came along-
side without notice. This should not have
been the case, but it was, and there was some
excuse for it. Jack ascended the side, and
pushed his way through the prisoners, who
were being mustered to be victualled. He
was wrapped zp in one of the gregos, and
many of the prisoners wore the same.

Jack was amused at not being recognized :
he slipped down the main ladder, and had to
stoop under the hammocks of the wounded
men, and was about to go aft to the captain’s
cabin to report himself, when he heard young
Gossett crying out, and the sound of the rope.
‘Fang me, if that brute Vigors ain't thrashing
young Gossett,’ thought Jack. ‘I dare say
the poor fellow has had plenty of it since I
have been away; I'll save him this time, at
least.’ Jack, wrapped up in his grego, went
to the window of the berth, looked in, and
found it was as he expected. He cried out in
an angry voice, ‘Mr. Vigors, I'll thank you to
leave Gossett alone.’ At the sound of the
voice, Vigors turned round with his colt in his
hand, saw Jack’s face at the window, and, im-
pressed with the idea that the reappearance
was supernatural, uttered a yell and fell down
in a fit—little Gossett also, trembling in every
limb, stared with his mouth open. Jack was
satisfied, and immediately disappeared. He
then went aft to the cabin, pushed by the ser-
vant, who was giving some orders from the
captain to the officer on deck, and entering
the cabin, where the captain was seated with
two Spanish officers, took off his hat and
said—

«Come on board, Captain Wilson.

Captain Wilson did not fall down in a fit,
but he jumped up, and upset the glass before
him.

‘Merciful God, Mr. Easy, where did you
come from ?’

‘From that ship astern, sir,’ replied Jack.’

‘That ship astern! what is she ?—where
have you been so long ?’

‘It's'a long story, sir,’ replied Jack.

Captain Wilson extended his hand and
shook Jack’s heartily.

‘At all events, I’m delighted to see you,
boy : now sit down and tell me your story in
a few words; we will have it in detail by-and-
by.’

‘Tf you please, sir,’ said Jack, ‘we captured
that ship with the cutter the night after we
went away—lI’m not a first-rate navigator,
and I was blown to the Zaffarine Islands,
where I remained two months for want of
hands: as soon as I procured them I made
sail again—I have lost three men by sharks,
and I have two wounded in to-day’s fight—
the ship mounts twelve guns, is half laden
with lead and cotton prints, has fourteen thou-

,

 

  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 59

sand dollars in the cabin, and three shot-holes
right through her—and the sooner you send
some people on board of her the better.’

This was not very intelligible; but that
there were fourteen thousand dollars and that
she required hands sent on board, was very
satisfactorily explained. Captain Wilson rang
the bell, sent for Mr. Asper, who started back
at the sight of our hero—desired him to order
Mr. Jolliffe to go on board with one of the
cutters, send the wounded men on board, and
take charge of the vessel, and then told Jack
to accompany Mr. Jolliffe, and to give him
every information ; telling him that he would
hear his story to-morrow, when they were not
so very busy.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN WHICH OUR HERO FINDS OUT THAT
TRIGONOMETRY IS NOT ONLY NECESSARY
TO NAVIGATION, BUT MAY BE/ REQUIRED
IN SETTLING AFFAIRS OF HONOUR.

As Captain Wilson truly said, he was too busy
even to hear Jack’s story that night, for they
were anxious to have both vessels ready to
make sail as soon as a breeze should spring
up, for the Spaniards had vessels of war at
Carthagena, which was not ten miles off, and
had known the result of the action: it was
therefore necessary to change their position
as soon as possible. Mr. Sawbridge was on
board the prize, which was a corvette mount-
ing two guns more than the Harpy, and called
the Cacafuogo.

She had escaped from Cadiz, run through
the straits in the night, and was three miles
from Carthagena when she was capiured,
which she certainly never would have been,
but for Jack’s fortunately blundering against
the cape with his armed vessel, so that Captain
Wilson and Mr: Sawbridge (both of whom
were promoted, the first to the rank of post-
captain, the second to that of commander)
may be said to be indebted to Jack for their
good fortune. The Harpy had lost nineteen
men, killed and wounded, and the Spanish
corvette forty-seven. Altogether, it was a very
creditable affair.

At two o’clock in the morning, the vessels
were ready, everything had been done that
could be done in so short a time, and they
stood under easy sail during the night for
Gibraltar, the Nostra Signora del Carmen,
under the charge of Jolliffe, keeping company.
Jolliffe had the advantage over his shipmates,
of first hearing Jack’s adventures, with which
he was much astonished as well as amused—
even Captain Wilson was not more happy to
see Jack than was the worthy master's mate.
About nine o'clock the Harpy hove fo, and66

sent a boat on board for our hero and the men
who had been so long with him in the prize,
and then hoisted out the pinnace to fetch on
board the dollars, which were of more im-
portance. Jack, as he bade adieu to Jolliffe,
took out of his pocket, and presented him
with the articles of war, which, as they had

_ been so useful to him, he thought Jolliffe could
not do without, and then went down the side :
the men were already in the boat, casting im-
ploring looks upon Jack, to raise feelings of
compassion, and Mesty took his seat by our
hero in avery sulky humour, probably because
he did not like the idea of having again ‘to
boil de kettle for de young gentlemen.’ Even
Jack felt a little melancholy at resigning his
command, and he looked back at the green
petticoat, which blew out gracefully from the
mast, for Jolliffe had determined that he would
not haul down the colours under which Jack
had fought so gallant an action.

Jack's narration, as thay be imagined, occu-
pied a large part of the forenoon ; and although
Jack did not attempt to deny that he had seen
the recall signal of Mr. Sawbridge, yet, as his
account went on, the captain became so inter-
ested, that at the end of it he quite forgot to
point out to Jack the impropriety of not obey-
ing orders. He gave Jack great credit for his
conduct, and was also much pleased with that
of Mesty. Jack took the opportunity of
stating Mesty’s aversion to his present employ-
ment, and his recommendation was graciously
received. Jack also succeeded in obtaining
the pardon of the men, in consideration of
their subsequent good behaviour; but not-
withstanding this promise on the part of
Captain Wilson, they were ordered to be put
in irons for the present. However, Jack told
Mesty, and Mesty told the men, that they
would be released with a reprimand when they
arrived at Gibralter, so all that the men cared
for was a fair wind.

Captain Wilson informed Jack, that after
his joining the admiral he had been sent to
Malta with the prizes, and that, supposing the
cutter to have been sunk, he had written to his
father, acquainting him with his son’s death,
at which our hero was much grieved, for he
knew what sorrow it would occasion, particu-
larly to his poor mother. ‘ But,’ thought Jack,
‘if she is unhappy for three months, she will
be overjoyed for three more when she hears
that I am alive, so it will be all square at the
end of the six; and as soon as I arrive at
Gibraltar I will write, and as the wind is fair,
that will be to-morrow or next day.’

After a long conversation Jack was gra-
ciously dismissed, Captain Wilson being satis-
fied from what he had heard that Jack would
turn out a very good officer, and had already
forgotten all about equality and the rights of
man; but there Captain Wilson was mistaken

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 

  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

—tares sown in infancy are not so soon rooted
out.

Jack went on deck as soon as the captain
had dismissed him, and found the captain and
officers of the Spanish corvette standing aft,
looking very seriously at the Nostra Signora
del Carmen. When they saw our hero, whom
Captain Wilson had told them was the young
officer who had barred their entrance into
Carthagena,- they turned their eyes upon him
not quite so graciously as they might have
done.

Jack, with his usual politeness, took off his
hat to the Spanish captain, and, glad to have
an opportunity of sporting his Spanish, ex-
pressed the usual wish that he might live a
thousand years. "The Spanish captain, who
had reason to wish that Jack had gone to the
devil at least twenty-four hours before, was
equally complimentary, and then begged to be
informed what the colours were that Jack had
hoisted during the action. Jack replied that
they were colours to which every Spanish
gentleman considered it no disgrace to sur-
render, although always ready to engage, and
frequently attempting to board. Upon which
the Spanish captain was very much puzzled.
Captain Wilson, who understood a little
Spanish, then interrupted by observing—

‘ By the-by, Mr. Easy, what colours did you
hoist up? we could not make them out. I
see Mr. Jolliffe still keeps them up at the
peak.’

“Yes, sir,’ replied Jack, rather_puzzled what
to call them, but at last he replied, ‘that’ it
was the banner of equality and the rights of
man.’

Captain Wilson frowned, and Jack, per-
ceiving that he was displeased, then told him
the whole story, whereupon Captain Wilson
laughed; and Jack then also explained in
Spanish, to the officers of the corvette, who
replied, ‘that it was not the first time, and
would not be the last, that men had got into
a scrape through a petticoat.’

The Spanish captain complimented Jack on
his Spanish, which was really very good (for
in two months, with nothing else in the world
to do, he had made great progress), and asked
him where he had learnt it,

Jack replied, ‘At the Zaffarine Islands.’

‘Zaffarine Isles,’ replied the Spanish cap-
tain ; ‘they are not inhabited,’

‘ Plenty of ground-sharks,’ replied Jack.

The Spanish captain thought our hero a
very strange fellow, to fight under a green silk
petticoat and to take lessons in Spanish from
the ground-sharks. Hovwvever, being quite as
polite as Jack, he did not contradict him, but
took a huge pinah of snuff, wishing from the
bottom of his heart that the ground-sharks
had taken Jack before he had hoisted that
confounded green petticoat,MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 62

However, Jack was in high favour with the
Captain, and all the ship’s company, with the
exception of his four enemies—the master,
Vigors, the boatswain, and the purser’s stew-
ard. As for Mr. Vigors, he had come to his
senses again, and had put his colt in his chest
until Jack should take another cruise. Little
Gossett, at any insulting remarks made by
Vigors, pointed to the window of the berth
and grinned ; and the very recollection made
Vigors turn pale, and awed him into
silence.

In two days they arrived at Gibraltar—Mr.
Sawbridge rejoined the ship—so did Mr.
Jolliffe—they remained there a fortnight, dur-
ing which Jack was permitted to be continu-
ally on shore; Mr. Asper accompanied him,
and Jack drew a heavy bill to prove to his
father that he was still alive. Mr. Saw bridge
made our hero relate to him all his adventures,
and was so pleased with the conduct of Mesty
that he appointed him to a situation which
was particularly suited to him,—that of ship's
corporal. Mr. Sawbridge knew that it was
an office of trust, and provided that he could
find a man fit for it, he was very indifferent
about his colour. Mesty walked and strutted
about at least three inches taller than he was
before. He was always clean, did his duty
conscientiously, and seldom used his cane.

‘I think, Mr. Easy,’ said the first lieutenant,
“that as you ate so particularly fond of taking
a cruise '—for Jack had toid the whole truth
—'‘it might be as well that you improve your
navigation.’

‘I do think myself, sir,’ replied Jack, with
great modesty, ‘that I am not yet quite per-
fect.’

‘Well, then, Mr. Jolliffe will teach you; he
is the most competent in this ship : the sooner
you ask him the better ; and if you learn it as
fast as you have Spanish, it will not give you
much trouble.’

Jack thought the advice good: the next
day he*was very busy with his friend Jolliffe,
and made the important discovery that two
parallel lines continued to infinity would never
meet.

t must not be supposed that Captain Wii-
son ana Mr. Sawbridge received their promo-
tion instanter. Promotion is always attended
with delay, as there is a certain routine in the
service which must not be departed from.
Captain Wilson had orders to return to Malta
after his eruise. He therefore carried his own
despatches away from England—from Malta
the despatches had to be forwarded to Toulon
to the admiral, and then the admiral had to
send to England to the Admiralty, whose re-
ply had to come out again. All this, with the
delays arising from vessels not sailing imme-
diately, occupied an interval of between five
and six months—during which time there was

?

  

 

no alteration in the officers and crew of his
Majesty’s sloop Harpy.

There had, however, been one alteration :
the gunner, Mr. Minus, who had charge of
the first cutter in the night action in which
our hero was separated from his ship, care-
lessly loading his musket, had found himself
minus his right hand, which, upon the musket
going off as he rammed down, had gone off
too. He was invalided and sent home during
Jack’s absence, and another had been ap-
pointed, whose name was Tallboys. Mr.
Tallboys was a stout dumpy man, with red
face, and still redder hands ; he had red_ hair
and red whiskers, and he had read a great
deal; for Mr. Tallboys considered that the
gunner was the most important personage in
the ship. He had once been a captain's clerk,
and having distinguished himself very much
in cutting-out service, had applied for and re-
ceived his warrant as a gunner. He had
studied the ‘Art of Gunnery,’ a part of which
he understood, but the remainder was above
his comprehension ; he continued, however,
to read it as before, thinking that by constant
reading he should understand it at last. He
had gone through the work from the title page
to the finis at least forty times, and had just
commenced it over again. He never came on
deck without the gunner’s ‘vade-mecum’ in
his pocket, with his hand always upon it to
refer to it in a moment.

But Mr. Tallboys had, as we observed be-
fore, a great idea of the importance of a
gunner, and, among other qualifications, he
considered it absolutely necessary that he
should be a navigator. He had at least ten
instances to bring forward of bloody actions,
in which the captain and all the commissioned
officers had been killed or wounded, and the
command of the ship had devolved upon the
gunner.

‘Now, sir,’ would he say, ‘if the gunner is
no navigator, be is not fit to take charge of
his Majesty’s ships. The beatswain and
carpenter are merely practical men; but the
gunner, sir, is, or-cught to be, scientific.
Gunnery, sir, is a science—we have our own
disparts and our lines of sight—our windage,
and our parabolas, and projectile forces—and
our point blank, and our reduction of powder
upon a graduated scale. Now, sir, there’s no
excuse for a gunner not being a navigator ;
for knowing his duty as a gunner, he has the
same mathematical tools to work with.’ Upon
this principle, Mr. Tallboys had added John
Hamilton Moore to his library, and had ad-
vanced about as far into navigation as he had in
gunnery—that is, to the threshold—where he
stuck fast, with all his mathematical tools,
which he did not know how to use. To do
him justice, he studied for two or three hours
every day, and it was not his fault if he did62

not advance-—but his head was confused with
technical terms; he mixed all up together ;
and disparts, sines and cosines, parabolas,
tangents, windage, seconds, lines of sight,
logarithms, projectiles, and traverse sailing,
quadrature, and Gunter’s scales, were ail
crowded together, in a brain which had not
capacity to receive the rule of three. ‘Too
much learning,’ said Festus to the apostle,
‘hath made thee mad.’ Mr. Tallboys had
not wit enough to go mad, but his learning
lay like lead upon his brain: the more he
read, the less he understood, at the same time
that he became more satisfied with his sup-
posed acquirements, and could not speak but
in ‘mathematical parables.’

‘I understand, Mr. Easy,’ said the gunner
to him one day, after they had sailed for
Malta, ‘that you have entered into the
science of navigation—at your age it was high
time.’

‘Yes,’ replied. Jack; ‘I can raise a pet-
pendicular, at all events, and box the com-
pass.’

‘Yes, but you have not
dispart of the compass.’

‘ Not come to that yet,’ replied Jack.

« Are you aware that a ship sailing describes
a parabola round the globe ?’

‘ Not come to that yet,’ replied Jack.

‘And that any propelled body striking
against another flies off at a tangent ?

‘Very likely,’ replied jacks) thaticis a
“sine”? that he don't like it.’

‘You have not yet entered into ‘‘acute’
trigonometry ?”

“Not come to that yet,’ replied Jack.

‘That will require very sharp attention.’

©] should think so,’ replied Jack.

‘You will then find out how your pareliels
of longitude and latitude meet.’

‘ Two parallel lines, if continued to infinity,
will never meet,’ replied Jack.

‘T beg your pardon,’ said the gunner.

‘I beg yours,’ said Jack.

Whereupon Mr. ‘Vallboys brought up a
small map of the world, and showed Jack tha
all the paralleis of latitude met at a point at
the top and the bottom.

‘Parallel lines never meet,’ replied Jack,
producing Hamilton Moore.

Whereupon Jack and the gunner argued
the point, until it was agreed to refer the case
to Mr. Jolliffe, who asserted, with a smile,
“That those lines were parallels and not
parallels.’

As both were right, both were satisfied.

It was fortunate that Jack would argue in
this instance : had he believed all the confused
assertions of the gunner, he would have been
as puzzled as the gunner himself, | ‘They never
met without an argument and a reference ;
and as Jack was put right in the end, he only

yet arrived at the

 

  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

By the time that he did
know something about navigation, he dis-
covered that his antagonist knew nothing.
Before they arrived at Malta, Jack could fudge
a day's work.

But at Malta Jack got into another scrape.
Although Mr. Smallsole could not injure him,
he was still Jack’s enemy; the more so as
Jack had become very popular : Vigors also
submitted, planning revenge; but the parties
in this instance were the boatswain- and
purser's steward. Jack still continued his
forecastle conversations with Mesty: and the
boatswain. and jpurser’s steward, probably
from their respective ill-will towards our hero,
had become great allies. Mr. Easthupp now
put on his best jacket to walk the dog-watches
with Mr. Biggs, and they took every oppor-
tunity to talk at our hero.

‘It’s my peculiar hopinion,’ said Mr. East-
hupp, one evening, pulling at the frill of his
shirt, ‘that a gentleman should behave as a
gentleman, and that if a gentleman professes
opinions of hequality and such liberal senti-
ments, that he is bound as a gentleman to
hact up to them.’

‘Very true, Mr. Easthupp ; he is bound to
act up to them; and not because a person,
who was a gentleman as well as himself, hap-
pens not to be on the quarter-deck, to insult
him because he only has perfessed opinions
like his own.’

Hereupon Mr. Biggs struck his rattan
against the funnel, and looked at our hero.

‘Yes,’ continued the purser’s steward, ‘I
should like to see the fellow who would have
done so on shore; however, the time wiil
come when I can hagain pull on my plain
coat, and then the insult shall be vashed out
in blood, Mr. Biggs.’

“And T’ll be cursed if I don't some day
teach a lesson to the blackguard who stole
my trousers.’

‘Vas hall your money right, Mr. Biggs ?
inquired the purser’s steward.

‘TI didn’t count, replied the boatswain,
magnificently.

‘No—gentlemen are above that,’ replied
Easthupp ; ‘ but there are many light-fingered
gentry about. The quantity of vatches and
harticles of value vich were lost ven I valked

3ond Street in former times is incredible.’

‘I can say this, at all events,’ replied the
boatswain, ‘that I should be always ready to
give satisfaction to any person beneath me in
rank, after I had insulted him. I don’t stand
upon my rank, although I don't talk about
equality, damme—no, nor consort with
niggers:’

All this was too plain for our hero not to
understand, so Jack walked up to the boat-
swain, and taking his hat off, with the utmost
politeness, said to him—

learnt the faster.‘Tf I mistake nob Mr. Bigg
Station refers to me

‘Very likely it Boe replied the boatswain.
“Listeners hear no good of themselves.’

‘It appears that gentlemen can’t converse
without being vatched,’ continued Mr. East-
hupp, pulling up his shirt collar.

‘It is not. the first time that you have
thought proper to make very offensive re-
marks, Mr. Biggs; and = as you appear
to consider yourself ill- treated in. the
affair of the trousers—for I tell you at once
that it was I who brought them on board—I
can only say,’ continued our hero, with a
very polite bow, ‘that I shall be most happy
to give you satisfaction.’

‘I am your superior officer, Mr. Easy,’ re-
plied the boatswain.

‘Yes, by the rules of the service; but you
just now asserted that you would waive your
rank—indeed, I dispute it on this occasion ;
I am on the quarter-deck, and you are not.

‘This is the gentleman whom you have in-
sulted;) Mr. Easy;’ ‘replied the boatswai
pointing to the purser’s steward.

‘Yes, Mr. Heasy, quite as good a gentle-
man as yourself, although I av ad misfortunes
—I ham of as old a rane as hany in the
country,’ replied Mr. Easthupp, now backed
by the boatswain ; ‘many the year did I valk
Bond Street, and I ‘ave as good blood in my

veins as you, Mr. Heasy, halthough I have
been misfortunate—I’ve had hadmirals in my
family.’

‘You have grossly insulted this gentleman,’
said Mr. Biggs in continuation; ‘and not-
withstanding all your talk of equality, you are
afraid to give him satisfaction—you shelter
yourself under your quarter-deck.’

‘Mr. Biggs,’ replied our hero, who was now
very wroth, ‘I shall go on shore directly we
arrive at Malta. Let you and this fellow put
on plain clothes, and I will meet you both—
and then I’ll show you whether I am afraid to
give satisfaction.’

‘One at a time,’ said the boatswain.

‘No, sir, not one at the time, but both at
the same time—I will fight both or none. If
you are my superior officer, you must descend,’
replied Jack, with an ironical sneer, ‘ to meet
me, or I will not descend to meet that fellow,
whom I believe to have been little better than

a pickpocket.’

This accidental hit of Jack’s made the
purser’s steward turn pale as a sheet, and
then equally red. He raved and foamed
amazingly, a ane he could not meet Jack’s
indignant look, who then turned round again.

‘Now, Mr. Biggs, is this to be understood,
or do you shelter yourself under your fore-
castle ?’

‘I’m no dodger,’ replied the boatswain,
‘and we will settle the affair at Malta,’

gs, your conver-

    
   
  
 
 
    
   
 
   
   
 
 
        
   
  
 
 
  
    
   
 
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
      
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
     
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 63

At which reply Jack returned to Mesty.

Massa Easy, I look at um face, dat fello,
Eastop, he no li ke it. I go shore wid you, see
fair BL LY, anyhow—suppose I can?’

Mr. Biggs having declared that he would
fight, of course had to Jook out for a second,
and he fixed upon Mr. Tallboys, the gunner,
and requested him to be his friend. Mr.

Tallboys, who had been latterly very much
annoyed by Jack’s victories over him in the
science of navigation, and therefore: felt ill-
will towards him, consented ; but he was very
much puzzled how to arrange that three were
to fight at the same time, for he had no idea of
there being two duels; so he went to his
cabin and commenced reading. Jack, on
other hand, dared not say a w ‘ord to Jolliffe
the subject ; indeed there was no one in che
ship to whom he could confide but Gascoigne:
he therefore went to him, and although Gas-
coigne thought it was excessively ‘infra dig.’
of Jack to meet even the boatswain, as the
challenge had been given there was no re-
tracting. He therefore consented, like all
midshipmen, anticipating fun, and quite
thoughtless of the consequences.

‘The second day after they had been anchored
in Valette harbour, the boatswain and gunner,
Jack and Gascoigne, obtained permission to
go on shore. Mr. Easthupp, the purser’s
steward, dressed in his best biue coat, with
brass buttons and velvet collar, the very one
in which he had been taken up when he had
been vowing and protesting that he was a
gentleman, at the very time that his hand was
abstracting a -pocket-book, went up on ihe
quarter-deck and requested the same indulg-
ence, but Mr. Sawbridge refused, as he re-
quired him to return staves and hoops at the
cooperage. Mesty also, much to his mortifi-
cation, was not to be spared.

This was awkward, but it was got over by
proposing that the meeting should take place
behind the cooperage at a certain hour, on
which Mr. Easthupp might slip out, and
borrow a portion of the time appropriated to
his duty, to heal the breach in his wounded
honour. So the parties all went on shore,
and put up at one of the small inns to make
the necessary arrangements.

Mr. Tallboys then addressed Mr. Gascoigne,
taking him aes while the boatswain amused
himself with a glass of grog, and our hero sat
outside teazing : a monkey.

‘Mr. Gascoigne, ’ said the gunner, ‘I have
been very much puzzled how this duel should
be fought, but I have at last found it out.
You see that there are three parties to fight ;
had there been two or four there would have
been no difficulty, as the right line or square
might guide us in that instance; but we
must arrange it upon the triangle in
this.’64. MR.
Gascoigne stared ;
what was coming.

‘Are you aware, Mr. Gascoigne,
properties of an equilateral triangle ?’

‘Yes,’ replied the midshipman, ‘that it has
three equal sides ; but what the devil has that
to do with the duel?’

‘Everything, Mr. Gascoigne,’ replied the
gunner; ‘it has resolved the great difficulty :
indeed, the duel between three can only be
fought upon that principle. You observe,’ said
the gunner, taking a piece of chalk out of his
pocket, and making a triangle on the table,
‘in this figure we have three points, each
equidistant from each other; and we have
three combatants—so that, placing one at
each point, it is all fair play for the three:
Mr. Easy, for instance, stands here, the boat-
swain here, and the purser’s steward at the
third corner. Now, if the distance is fairly
measured, it will be all right.’

‘ But then,’ replied Gascoigne, delighted at
the idea, ‘how are they to fire?’

‘It certainly is not of much consequence,’
replied the gunner; ‘but still, as sailors, it
appears to me that they should fire with the

he could not imagine

of the

sun: that is, Mr. Easy fires at Mr. Biggs,
Mr. Biggs fires at Mr. Easthupp, and Mr.

Easthupp fires at Mr. Easy ; so that you per-
ceive that each party has his shot at one, and
at the same time receives the fire of another.’

Gascoigne was in ecstasies at the novelty of
the proceeding, the more so as he perceived
that Easy obtained every advantage by the
arrangement.

‘Upon my word, Mr. Tallboys, I give you
great credit; you have a profound mathe-
matical head, and I am delighted with your
arrangement. Of course, in these affairs, the
principals are bound to comply with the
arrangements of the seconds, and I shall
insist upon Mr. Easy consenting to your ex-
cellent and scientific proposal.’

Gascoigne went out, and pulling Jack away
from the monkey, told him what the gunner
had proposed, at which Jack laughed heartily,

The gunner also explained it to the boat-
swain, who did not very well comprehend, but
replied—-

“T dare say it’s all right—shot for shot, and
d—n all favours.’

The parties then repaired to the spot with
two pairs of ship's pistols, which Mr. ‘Tall-
boys had smuggled on shore ; and, as soon as
they were on the ground, the gunner called
Mr. Easthupp out of the cooperage. In the
meantime Gascoigne had been measuring an
equilateral triangle of twelve paces, and
marked it out. Mr. Tallboys, on his return
with the purser’s steward, went over the
ground, and finding that it was ‘ equal angles
subtended by equal sides,’ declared that it
was all right. Easy took his station, the

 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
  
  
   

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

boatswain was put into his, and Mr. East-
hupp, who was quite in a mystery, was led by
the gunner to the third position.

‘But, Mr. ‘Tallboys,’ said the purser’s
steward, ‘I don’t understand this. Mr, Easy
will first fight Mr. Biggs, will he not ?

‘No,’ replied the gunner, ‘ this is a duel of
three. You wili fire at Mr. Easy, Mr. Easy
will fire at Mr. Biggs, and Mr. Biggs will fire
at you. It is all arranged, Mr. Easthupp.’

‘But,’ said Easthupp, ‘I don’t understand
it. Why is Mr. Biggs to fire at me? I have
no quarrel with Mr. Biggs.’

‘Because Mr. Easy fires at Mr. Biggs, and
Mr. Biggs must have his shot as well.’

‘Tf you have ever been in the company of
gentlemen, Mr. Easthupp,’ observed Gas-
coigne, ‘you must know something about
duelling.’

“Yes, yes, I’ve kept the best company, Mr.
Gascoigne, and I can give a gentleman satis-
faction ; but——’

‘Then, sir, if that is the case, you must
know that your honour is in the hands of your
second, and that no gentleman appeals.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that, Mr. Gascoigne ;
but still I’ve no quarrel with Mr. Biggs, and
therefore, Mr. Biggs, of course you “will not
aim at me.’

‘Why, you don't think that lam going ta
be fired at for nothing,’ replied the boat-
swain ; ‘no, no, I'll have my shot anyhow.’

‘ But at your friend, Mr. Biggs ?’

“All the same, I shall fire at somebody :
shot for shot, and hit the luckiest.’

‘Vel, gentlemen, I purtest against these
proceedings,’ replied Mr. Easthupp ; ‘I came
here to have satisfaction from Mr. Easy, and
not to be fired at by Mr. Biggs.’

‘Don’t you have satisfaction when you fire
at Mr. Easy,’ replied the gunner; ‘ what more
would you have ?’

‘I purtest against Mr. Biggs firing at me.’

‘So you would have a shot without receiy-
ing one,’ cried Gascoigne; ‘the fact is, that
this fellow's a confounded cow ard, and ought
to be kicked into the cooperage again.’

At this affront Mr. Easthupp “rallied, and
accepted the pistol offered by the gunner.

‘You ’ear those words, Mr. Biggs ; pretty
language to use toa gentleman. You shall
ear from me, sir, as soon as the ship is paid
off. I purtest no longer, Mr. Tallboys ; death
before dishonour. I’m a gentleman, damme !’

At all events, the swell was not a very
courageous gentleman, for he trembled most
exceedingly as he pointed his pistol.

The gunner gave the word, as if he were
exercising the great guns on board ship.

‘Cock your locks !—Take good aim at the
object !—Fire !—Stop your vents !’

The only one of the combatants who ap-
peared to comply with the latter supplementaryorder was Mr. Easthupp, who clapped his
hand to his trousers behind, gave a loud yell,
and then dropped down; the bullet having
passed clean through his seat of honour, from
his having presented his broadside as a target
to the boatswain as he faced towards our hero.
Jack’s shot had also taken effect, having passed
through both the boatswain’s cheeks, without
further mischief than extracting two of his
best upper double teeth, and forcing through
the hole of the further cheek the boatswain’s
own quid of tobacco. As for Mr. Easthupp’s
ball, as he was very unsettled, and shut his
eyes before he fired, it had gone the Lord
knows where.

The purser's steward lay on the ground and
screamed—the boatswain spit his double teeth
and two or three mouthfuls of blood out, and
then threw down his pistols in a rage.

‘A pretty business, by God !’ sputtered he;
“he’s put my pipe out. How the devil am I
to pipe to dinner when I’m ordered, all my
wind ’scaping through the cheeks ?’

In the meantime the others had gone to the
assistance of the purser’s steward, who con-
tinued his vociferations. They examined him,
and considered a wound in that part not to be
dangerous.

‘ Hold your confounded bawling,’ cried the
gumner, ‘or you'll have the guard down here:
you're not hurt.’

‘Hain’t hi?’ roared the steward :*‘oh, let
me dic, let me die ; don’t move me !’

‘Nonsense,’ cried the gunner, ‘you must
get up and walk down to the boat ; if you
don’t we'll leave you. Hold your tongue,
confound you. You won't? then I'll give you
something to halloo for.’

Whereupon Mr. Tallboys commenced cuff-
ing the poor wretch right and left, who re-
ceived so many swinging boxes of the ear that
he was soon reduced to merely pitiful plaints
of ‘ Oh, dear !—such inhumanity—I purtest—
oh, dear! must I get up? I can't, im
deed.’

‘I do not think he can move, Mr. Tail-
boys,’ said Gascoigne ;.‘I should think the
best plan would be to call up two of the men
from the cooperage, and let them take him at
once to the hospital.’

The gunner went down to the cooperage to
call the men; Mr. Biggs, whohad bound up his
face as if he had a toothache, for the bleeding
had been very slight, came up to the purser's
steward.

‘What the hell are you making such a
howling about ? Look at me, with two shot-
holes through my figure-head, while you have
only got one in your stern: I wish I could
change with you, by heavens, for I could use
my whistle then—now if I attempt to pipe
there will be such a wasteful expenditure of

his Majesty’s stores of wind that I shall never

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

65
get out a note. A wicked shot of yours, Mr.
Easy.’

‘I really am very sorry,’ replied Jack, with
a polite bow, ‘and I beg to offer my best
apology.’

During this conversation the purser’s steward
felt very faint, and thought he was going io
die.

‘Oh, dear! ob, dear! what a fool I was ;
I never was a gentleman—only a swell: I
shall die; I never will pick a pocket again—
never—never—God forgive me!’

‘Why, confound the fellow,’ cried Gas-
coigne, ‘so you were a pickpocket, were
you ?’

‘I never will again,’ replied the fellow in a
faint voice. ‘Hill hamend and lead a good
life—a drop of water—oh ! lagged at last !’

Then the poor wretch fainted away ; and
Mr. Tallboys coming up with the men, he
was taken on their shoulders and walked off
to the hospital, attended by the gunner and
also the boatswain, who thought he might as
well have a little medical advice before he
went on board.

‘Well, Easy,’ said Gascoigne, collecting
the pistols and tying them up in his handker-
chief, ‘I’ll be shot, but we’re in a pretty
scrape ; there’s no hushing this up. ll be
hanged if I care, it’s the best piece of fun I
ever met with.’ And at the remembrance of
it Gascoigne laughed till the tears ran down
his cheeks. Jack’s mirth was not so exces-
Sive, as he was afraid that the purser’s steward
was severely hurt, and expressed his fears.

‘At all events, you did not hit him,’ replied
Gascoigne ; ‘all you have to answer for is the
boatswain’s mug—lI think you've stopped_his
jaw for the future.’

‘I’m afraid that our leave will be stopped
for the future,’ replied Jack.

‘That we may take our oaths of,’ replied
Gascoigne.

“Then look you, Ned,’ said Easy, ‘I've lots
of dollars—we may as well be hanged for a
sheep as a lamb, as the saying is. I vote that
we do not go on board.’

‘Sawbridge will send and fetch us,’ replied
Ned ; ‘but he must find us first,’

‘That won't take long, for the soldiers will
soon have our description and rout us out.
We shall be pinned in a couple of days.’

‘Confound it, and they say that the ship is
to be hove down, and that we shall be here
six weeks at least, cooped up on board in a
broiling sun, and nothing to do but to watch
the pilot-fish playing round the rudder, and
munch bad apricots. I won't go on board.
Look ye, Jack,’ said Gascogne, ‘have you
plenty of money ?’

“I have twenty doubloons, besides dollars,’
replied Jack.

‘Well, then, we will pretend to be so much

3

a Fea66 UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

alarmed at the result of this duel, that we dare from Portsmouth.. Once I was obliged to
not show ourselves lest we should be hung. I come up the side without my trousers, and
will write a note and send it to Jolliffe, to say show my bare stern to the whole ship's com-
that we have hid ourselves until the affairhas pany, and now 1 am coming up and dare not
blown over, and beg him to intercede with the show my figure-head.’ | He reported himself
captain and first lieutenant, I will tell him to the officer of the watch, and hastening to
all the particulars, and refer to the gunner for his cabin went to bed and lay the whole night
the truth of it ; and then I know that, although awake from pain, thinking what excuse he
we should be punished, they will only laugh. could possibly make for not coming on deck
But I will pretend that Easthupp is killed, and next morning to his duty.
we are frightened out of ourlives. -That) will He was, however, saved this trouble, for
be it, and then let’s get on board one of the Mr. Jolliffe brought the letter of Gascoigne up
speronares which come with fruit from Sicily, to Mr. Sawbridge, and the captain had re-
sail in the night for Palermo, and then we'll ceived that of our hero.
have a cruise for a fortnight, and when the Captain Wilson came on board and found
money, is all gone we'll come back.’ that» Mr: Sawbridge’ could communicate
“That’s a capital idea, Ned, and the, sooner all the particulars of which he had not been
we doit the better. Iwill write tothe captain, acquainted by Jack ; and after they had read
begging him to get me off from being hung, over Gascoigne's letter in the cabin, and in-
and telling him’ where we have fled to, and terrogated Mr. Tailboys, who was sent down
that letter shall be given after we have sailed.’ under an arrest, they gave free vent to their
‘They were two very nice lads—our hero and mirth.
Gascoigne. ‘Upon my soul, there's no end to Mr.
Easy's adventures,’ said the captain. ‘I
could laugh at the duel, for after all.it is no-
Riri) URS thing and he would have been let off with a
CHAPTER AIX. severe reprimand. But the foolish boys have
set off in a speronare to Sicily, and how the
devil are we to get them back again ?’

 

 

IN WHICH OUR HERO SETS OFF ON ANOTEER
RUISE eee Ree SESE T ES ee Bett
Rete BEC Ae ee re oaee ‘They'll come back, sir,’ replied Sawbridge,
when all their money's gone.
GASCOIGNE and.our hero were neither of them ‘Yes, if they do not get into any more
in uniform, and they hastened to Nix Mangare scrapes. That young scamp Gascoigne is as
stairs, where they soon picked up the padrone bad as Easy, and now they are together there's
of a speronare. They went with him intoa mosaying what may happen. I dine at the
wineshop, and with the assistance of.a little governor's to-day ; how he will Jaugh when I
English from a Maltese boy, whose shirt hung tell him of this new way of fighting a duel !’
out of his trousers, they made a bargain, by “Yes, sir, it is just the thing that will tickle
which it was agreed that, forthe consideration -old:Tom:’
of two doubloons, he would sail that evening, ‘We must find out if they have got off the
and land them at Gergenti orsome other town island, Sawbridge, which may not be the casé.’
in. Sicily; providing them with something to But it: was the case. Jack and Gascoigne
eat and gregos to sleep upon. had eaten a very good ‘dinner, sent. for ‘the
Our two midshipmen then went back to the monkey to amuse them till it.was ‘dark, and
tayern from which they had set off to fight the there had waited till the padrone came to
duel, and ordering a good dinner to be served them.

in a back room, they amused themselves with ‘ What shall we do with the pistols, Easy ?’
killing flies, as they talked over the events of | ‘Take them with us, and load them’ before
the day, and waited for their dinner. we go—we may want them. Who knows but

As Mr. Tallboys. did not -himself think there may be a mutiny on board of the spero-
proper to go on. board till the evening, and nare? I wish we had Mesty with us.’
Mr. Biggs also wished it to be dark before he | They loaded the pistols, took a pair each
went up the ship's side, the events of the duel and put them in their waists, concealed under
did not transpire till the next morning. Even their clothes, divided the ammunition between
then it was not known from the boatswain or them, and soon afterwards the padrone came
gunner, but by a hospital mate coming on to tell them‘all was ready.
board to inform. the surgeon that there was... Whereupon Messrs. Gascoigne and Easy
one of their.men wounded under their charge, paid their bill and rose to depart, but the

but that he was doing yery well. : 2 __ padrone informed them that he should like to
Mr. Biggs had ascended the side with his see the colour of their money before they went
face bound up, on board. Jack, veryindignantiat the insinu-

‘Confound that Jack Easy,’ said he, “1 ation that he had not sufficient cash, pulled
have only:been on leave iwice since I sailed out a handful of doubloons, and_ tossingALR.

 

two to the padrone, asked him if he was
satisfied.

The padrone untied his sash, put in the
money, and with many thanks and protesta-
tions of service, begged our young gentiemen
to accompany him ; “they did so, and in a few
minutes were clear of Nix Mangare stairs,
and, ‘passing close to his Majesty's ship
were soon out of the harbour of Val-

 

Of all the varieties of vessels which float
upon the wave, there is not, perhaps, one that
bounds over the water so gracefully or so
lightly as a speronare, or any one so pictu-
resque and beautiful to the eye. of those who
watch its progress,

The night was clear, and the stars shone
out brilliantly as the light craft skimmed over
the water, and a fragment ofa descending ame
waning moon threw its soft beams upon the
snow-white sail. The vessel, which had no
deck, was full of baskets, which had contained
grapes. and various fruits brought irom the
ancient granary of Rome, still as fertile and
as luxuriant as ever.- The erew consisted of
the padrone, two men, and a boy; the three
atter, with their gregos, or night great-coats
with hoods, sitting forward before the sail,
with their eyes fixed on the land as-they flew
past point after point, thinking perhaps of
their wives, or perhaps of their sweethearts,
or perhaps not thinking at all,

The padrone remained aft at the helm,
offering every politeness to our two young

entlemen, who only wished to be left alone.
At last they requested the padrone to give
them gregos to ie down upon, as they wished
to go to sleep. He called the boy to oie the
helm, procured them all they req juired, and
thes went forward. And our two midshipmen

ay down looking at the stars above them for
some minutes, ‘without sexchaneins a word.
At last Jack commence

an have been Fiene MG eebiene, that this
is very delightful. My heart bounds with
the vessel, and it almost appears to me as if
the vessel herself was rejoicing in our liberty.
Here she is capering over the waves instead of
being tied by the nose witha cable and anchor.’

‘That’s a touch of the sentimental, Jack,’
replied Gascoigne ; ‘ but she is no more free
than she was. W hen at anchor, for she now is
forced to act in obedience to her steersman,
and go just W here he pleases. You may just
as well say that a horse, if taken out of the
stable, is free, with the curb, and his rider on
his back.’ é nig Dobe

‘'That’s a touch of the rational, Ned, which
destroys the illusion: Never mind, we are
free, at all events... W hat manelanes we are on
board of a man-of-war!. -We walk, talk, eat,
drink, sleep, and get up just like) clock-work ;
we. are wound up to go the tw enty-four

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
     
   
  
   
   
   
     
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
    

hours, and then wound up again ; just like old
smal Isole does. the chronometers.’

‘Very true, Jack; but it does not appear to
me, that, hitherto, you have kept very good
time + you require a little more regulating,’

said Gasc oione.

‘iow can you expect any piece of machinery
to go well; so: damnably iglock ed aboutas a
midshipman is ?? replied our hero:

‘Very true, Jack } but sometimes you don’t
keep any ume, for you don’t keep any watch.
. Asper r don’t wind you up. You don’t go

ata ene

‘No, because he-allows me
but ‘still 1 do go, Ned.’

‘Yes, to your hammock—butit's no go with

to go down;

2

old Sm allsole, if 1 wanta bit of caulk. But,
Jack, wh: ut do you say ?—shall we keep watch
to-night ?

‘Why, :to tell you the truth, I have been
thinking the same thing—I abn mat uch like

the looks of the padrone—he squints.’

‘'That’s no proof of anyth ling, Jack, except
that his eyes are not siraight: but if you do
not like the look of him, Ican tell you: that
he very much liked thé look of your doubloons
—I saw him start, and his eyes twinkled, and
1 thought-at the time it was a pity you had
not p said him in dollars.’

It. was very foolish in me, but at all events
he has not seen all. He saw quite enough,
Ned.’

‘Very true, but you should have let him
see the pistols, and not have let him see the
doublons

‘Well, if he wishes to take what he has
seen, he shall receive what he has not seen—
why, ‘there are only four of them ??

“Oh, I have no fear of them, only it may be
as well to sleep with one eye open.’

‘When shall w e make the land 2

oR CuOR Te evening with this wind, and it
appears to be steady. Suppose we keep
watch and watch, and have our pistols out
ready, with the great-coats just turned over
them, to keep them out of'sight ?”

‘ Agreed—it’s. about twelve o'clock now—
who shall keep the middle watch 2
‘I will, Jack, if you like it.’

‘Well; tl Ra mind you kick
sleep devilish sound.
a sharp look out.’

jack was fast asleep in less’ than’ ten
minutes; and ‘Gascoigne, with his pistols
lying by him all ready for each hand, sat up at
the bottom of the boat.

Vhere certainly is a peculiar providence in
favour of midshipmen compared with the rest
of mankind ; they have more lives than a eat

—always in the greatest danger, but always
escaping from it.

The padrone of the vessel had been capti-
vated with the doubloons which Jack had so

Q-—2

me hard, for I
Good-night, and keep

Sie ita as i tt A ACARD68

foolishly exposed to his view, and he had,
Moreover, resolved to obtain them. At the
very time that our two lads were conversing aft,
the padrone was talking the matter over with
his two men forward, and it was agreed that
they should murder, rifle, and then throw them
overboard.

About two o'clock in thé morning, the
padrone came aft to see if they were asleep,
but found Gascoigne watching. Hereturned
aft again and again, but found the young man
still sitting wp. ‘Tired of waiting, anxious to
possess the money, and not supposing that
the lads were armed, he went once more for-
ward and spoke to the men. Gascoigne had
watched his motions ; he thought it singular
that with three men in the vessel, the helm
should be confided to the boy—and at last
he saw them draw their knives. He pushed
our hero, who woke immediately. Gascoigne
put his hand over Jack’s mouth, that he might
not speak, and then whispered his suspicions.
Jack seized his pistols —they both cocked them
without noise, and then waited in silence,
jack still lying down, while Gascoigne con-
tinued to sit up at the bottom of the boat.
At last Gascoigne saw the three men coming
aft—he dropped one of his pistols fora second
to give Jack a squeeze of the hand, which was
returned, and as Gascoigne watched them
making their way through the piles of empty
baskets he leaned back as if he was slumber-
ing. The padrone, followed by the two men,
was at last aft, —they paused a moment before
they stepped over the strengthening plank,
which ran from side to side of the boat be-
tween them and the midshipmen, and as
neither of them stirred, they imagined that
both were asleep—advanced and raised their
knives, when Gascoigne and Jack, almost at
the same moment, each discharged their
pistols into the breast of the padrone and one
of the men, who was with him in advance,
who both fell with the send aft of the boat, so
as to encumber the midshipmen with the
weight of theirbodies. ‘The third man started
back. Jack, who could not rise, from the
padrone lying across his legs, took a steady
aim with his second pistol, and the third man
fell. The boy at the helm, who, it appeared,
either was aware of what was to be done, or
seeing the men advance with their knives, had
acted upon what he saw, also drew his knife
and struck at Gascoigne from behind ; the
knife fortunately, atter slightly wounding
Gascoigne on the shoulder, had shut on the
boy's hand—Gascoigne sprang up with his
other pistol—the boy started back at the sight
ofit, lost his balance, and fell overboard.

Our two midshipmen took a few seconds to
breathe.

‘I say, Jack,’ said Gascoigne at last, ‘did
you ever——’

  

UR. MIDSIHPMAN BASY.

 

‘No, I never ’ replied Jack.

‘ What’s to be done now ?’

‘Why as we've got possession, Ned, we
had better put a man at the helm—for the
speronare is having it all her own way.’

‘Very true,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘and as I
can steer better than you, I suppose it must
be me.’

Gascoigne went to the helm, brought the
boat up to the wind, and then they resumed
their conversation.

‘That rascal of a boy gave me a devil of a
lick on the shoulder ; I don't know whether
he has hurt me—at all events it’s my left

shoulder, so I can steer just as well. I won-
der whether the fellows are dead.’
“The padrone is, at all events,’ replied

Jack. ‘It was as much as I could do to get
my legs from under him—but we'll wait till
daylight before we see to that—in the mean-
time, I’ll load the pistols again.’

‘The day is breaking now—it will be light
in half an hour or less. What a devil of a
spree, Jack !’

‘Yes, but how can one help it? We ran
away because two men are wounded—and
now we are obliged to kill four in self-defence.’

‘Yes, but that is not the end of it; when
we get to Sicily what are we to do? we shall
be imprisoned by the authorities—perhaps
hung.’

‘We'll argue that point with them,
Jack.

‘We had better argue the point between
ourselves, Jack, and see what will be the best
plan to get out of our scrape.’

‘I think that we have just got out of it—
never fear but we'll get out of the next. Do
you know, Gascoigne, it appears to me very
odd, but I can do nothing but there's a bob-
bery at the bottom of it.’

‘You certainly have a great talent that way,
Jack. Don’t I hear one of these poor fellows
groan ?’

‘I should think that not impossible.’

* What shall we do with them ?”

‘We will argue the point, Ned—we must
either keep their bodies, or we must throw
them overboard. LEither tell the whole story
or say nothing about it.’

“That's very evident ; In short, we must do
something, for your argument goes no fur-
ther. But now let us take up one of your
propositions.’

‘ Well, then, suppose we keep the bodies on
board, run into a seaport, go to the authori-
ties, and state all the facts, what then?’

‘We shall prove, beyond all doubt, that we
have killed three men, if not four ; but we
shall not prove that we were obliged so to do,
Jack. And then we are heretics—e shall be
put in prison till they are satisfied of our in-
nocence, which we never can prove, and there

" repliedwe shall remain until we have written to
Malta, and a man-of-war comes to redeem
us, if we are not stabbed, or something else,
in the meantime.’

‘That will not be a very pleasant cruise,’
replied Jack. ‘ Now let’s argue the point on
the other side.’

‘There is some difficulty there—suppose we
throw their bodies overboard, toss the baskets
after them, wash the boat clean, and make for
the first port. We may chance to hit upon
the very spot from which they sailed, and then
there will be a pack of wives and children,
and a populace with knives, asking us what
has become of the men of the boat !’

‘Tl don’t much like the idea of that,’ said
Jack.

‘And if we don’t have such bad luck, still
we shall be interrogated as to who we are,
and how we were adrift by ourselves.’

‘Vhere will be a difficulty about that again
—wwe must swear that it is a party of pleasure,
and that we are gentlemen yachting.’

‘Without a crew or provisions — yachts
don’t sail with a clean-swept hold, or gentle-
men without a spare shirt—we have nothing
but two gallons of water and two pairs of
pistols.’

‘T have it,’ said Jack—‘ we are two young
gentlemen in our own boat who went out to
Gozo with pistols to shoot sea-mews, were
caught in a gale, and blown down to Sicily—
that will excite interest.’

‘That's the best idea yet, as it will account
for our having riothing in the boat. Well,
then, at all events, we will get rid of the
bodies ; but suppose they are not dead—we
cannot throw them overboard alive—that
will be murder.’

‘Very true,’ replied Jack, ‘then we must
shoot them first, and toss them overboard
afterwards.’

‘Upon my soul, Easy, you are an odd_fel-
low : however, go and examine the men, and
we'll decide that point by-and-by ; you had
better keep your pistol ready cocked, for they
may be shamming.’

‘Devil a bit of sham here, anyhow,’ replied
Jack, pulling at the body of the padrone, ‘and
as for this fellow you shot, you might put
your fist into his chest. Now for the third,’
continued Jack, stepping over the strength-
ening piece—'‘ he’s all among the baskets. I
say, my cock, are you dead?’ and Jack en-
forced his question with a kick in the ribs.
The man groaned. ‘That’s unlucky, Gas-
coigne, but however I'll soon settle him,’ said
Jack, pointing his pistol.

‘Stop, Jack,’ cried Gascoigne, ‘it really will
be murder.’

‘No such thing, Ned; I'll just blow his
brains out, and then I'll come aft and argue
the point with you.’

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘Now do oblige me by coming aft and
arguing the point first. Do, Jack,-I beg of
you—I entreat you.’

‘With all my heart,’ replied Jack, resuming
his seat by Gascoigne ; ‘I assert, that in this
instance killing’s no murder. You will ob-
serve, Ned, that by the laws of society, any
one who attempts the life of another has for-
feited his own ; at the same time, as it is ne-
cessary that the fact should be clearly proved,
and justice be duly administered, the parties
are tried, convicted, and then are sentenced
to the punishment.’

‘I grant all that.’

‘In this instance the attempt has been
clearly proved : we are the witnesses, and are
the judges and jury, and society in general,
for the best of all possible reasons, because
there is nobody else. These men’s lives being
therefore forfeited to society, belong to us ; and
it does not follow because they were not all
killed in the attempt, that therefore they are
not now to be brought out for punishment.
And as there is no common hangman here,
we, of course, must do this duty as well as
every other. I have now clearly proved that
I am justified in what Iam about to do. But
the argument does not stop there—self-pre-
servation is the first law of nature, and if we
do not get rid of this man, what is the conse-
quence ?—that we shall have to account for
his being wounded, and then, instead of
judges, we shall immediately be placed in the
position of culprits, and have to defend our-
selves without witnesses. We therejore risk
our lives from a misplaced lenity towards a
wretch unworthy to live.’

‘Your last argument is strong, Easy, but I
cannot consent to your doing what may oeca-
sion you uneasiness hereafter, when you think
ofits

‘Pooh! nonsense—I am a philosopher.’

‘Of what school, Jack? Oh, I presume
you are a disciple of Mesty’s. I donot mean
to say that you are wrong, but still hear my
proposition. Let us lower down the sail, and
then I can leave the helm to assist you. We
will clear the vessel of everything except the
man who is still alive. At all events, we may
wait a little, and if at last there is no help for
it, I will then agree with you to launch him
overboard, even if he is not quite dead.’

‘Agreed ; even by your own making out, it
will be no great sin. He is half dead already.
I only do half the work of tossing him over,
so it will be only quarter murder on my part,
and he would have shown no quarter on his.’
Here Jack left off arguing and punning, and
went forward and lowered down the sail. I’ve
half a mind to take my doubloons back,’ said
Jack, as they launched over the body of the
padrone, ‘but he may have them—l wonder
whether they'll ever turn up again.’7O

‘Not in our time, Jack,’ replied Gascoigne.

The other body, and ali the basket lumber,
&c., were then tossed over, and the boat was
cleared of ail but the man who was not yet
dead.

‘ Now let’s examine the cee and see if he
has any chance of recovery,’ said Gascoigne.

The man lay on his side; Gascoigne turned
him over, and found that he was dead,

‘Over with him, quick,’ said Jack, ‘ before
he comes to life again.’

The body disappeared under the wave—
they again hoisted the sail, Gascoigne took the
helm, and our hero proceeded to draw water
and wash away the stains of blood; he then
cleared the boat of vine-leaves and rubbish
with which it was strewed, swept it clean fore
and aft, and resumed his seat by his comrade.

‘ There,’ said Jack, ‘now we've swept the

decks, we may pipe to dinner. I wonder
whether there is anything to eat in the
locker.”

and found some bread,

Jack opened it,
le of aquadente, and a

garlic, sausages, a bott
jar of wine.
‘So the padrone did keep his promise, after

INE

‘Yes, and had you not tempted him with
the sight of so much gold, might now have
been. alive.’

“To which I reply, that if you had not ad-
vised our going off in a speronare, he would
now have been alive.’

‘And if you had not fought a duel, Ishould
not have given the advice.’

‘And if the boatswain had not been obliged

to come on board without his trousers, at
Gibraltar, I should not have fought a duel.’
“And if you had not jomed the ship, the

boatswain would have had his trousers on.’

‘And if my father had not been a philoso-
pher. I should not have gone to sea; so that
itis all my father's fault, and he has killed
four men off the coast of Sicily, without know-
ing it—cause and effect. After all, there's
nothing like argument; so, having’ settled
that point, let us go to dinner.’

Having finished their meal, Jack went for-
ward and observed the land ahead: they
steered the same course for three or four
hours.

‘We must haul our wind more,’ said Gas-
coigne ; ‘it will not do to put into any small
town: we have now to choose whether we
shall land on the coast and sink the speronare,
or land at some large town.’

‘We must argue that point,’ replied Jack.

‘Tn the meantime, do vou take the helm,
for my arm is quite tired,’ replied Gascoigne :
‘you can steer well enough: by-the-by, I
may as well look at my shoulder, for it is quite
stiff. Gascoigne pulled off his coat, and
found his shirt bloody and sticking to the

     
  
   
 
  
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
   
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
    

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

wound, which, as we before observed, was

slight. He again took the helm, while Jack

washed it clean, and then bathed it with aqua-
dente.

‘ Now take the helm again,’ said Gascoigne:
‘I’m on the sick list.’

‘And as surgeon—I’m an idler,’ replied
Jack; ‘but what thall we do ?’ continued he ;
‘abandon the speronare at night and sink her,
or run in for a town 2?’

‘We shall fall in with plenty of boats and
vessels if we coast it up to Palermo, and they
may overhaul us.’

‘We shall fall in with plenty of people al
we go on shore, and they will overhaul us.

‘Do you know, Jack, that I wish we were
back and alongside of the Harpy; I’ve had
cruising enough.’

‘My cruises are so unfortunate,’ replied
Jack ; ‘they are too full of adventure; but

then I have never. yet had a cruise on shore.
Now, if we could only get to Palermo, we
should be out of all our difficulties

‘The breeze freshens, Jack,’ replied Gas-
coigne ;.‘ and it begins to look very dirty to
windward. I think we shall haye-a gale.’

‘Pieasant—I know what it is to be short-
handed in a gale; however, there’s one com-
fort, we shall not be blown off shore this
time.’

‘No, but we may be wrecked on a lee shore.
She cannot carry her whole sail, Easy; we
must lower it down, and take in a reef; the
sooner the better, for it will be dark in an

hour. Go forward and lower it down, and
then I'll help you.’

Jack did so, but the sail went into the
water, and he could not drag it in.

“Avast heaving,’ said Gascoigne, stl eel
throw her up and “take the wind out of it.’

This was done; they reefed the sail, but
could not hoist it up: if Gascoigne left the
helm to help J Jack, the sail filled ; if he went
to the helm and took the wind out of the sail,

Jack was not strong enough to hoist it. The
wind increased rapidly, and the sea got up;
the sun went down, and with the sail half
hoisted, they could not keep to the wind, but
were obliged to run right for the land. The
speronare flew, rising on the crest of the waves
with half her keel clear of the water ; the moon

vas already up, and gave them light enough

to perceive that they were not five “miles away

from the coast, w hich was lined with foam.
“At all events, they can’t accuse us of run-

ning away with the boat,’ observed Jack, ‘for
she’s running away with us,’
‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne, dragging at the

tiller with all his strength; ‘she has taken
the bit between her teeth.’

‘I wouldn’t care if I had a bit between
mine,’ replied Jack; ‘for I feel devilish
hunery again. What do you say, Ned?‘With all my heart, replied Gascoigne ;
but, do you know, Easy, it may be the last
meal we ever make.’

‘Then | vote it’s a good one—but why so,
Ned ?”

‘Inhalf an hour, or thereabouts, we shall be
on shore.’

‘Well, that’s where we want to go.’

‘Yes, but the sea runs high, and the boat
may be dashed to pieces on the rocks.’

‘Then we shall be asked no questions about
her or the men.’

‘Very true, but a lee shore is no joke; we
may be knocked to-pieces as well as the boat
—evel swimming may not help us. If we
could find a cove or sandy beach, we might,
perhaps, manage to get on shore.’

‘Well,’ replied Jack, ‘I have not been long
at sea, and, of course, cannot know much
about these things. I have been blown off
shore, but I never have been blown on. It
may be as you say, but I do not see the great
danger—let’s run her right up on the beach at
once.’

‘ That's what I shall try to do,’ replied Gas-
coigne, who had been four years at sea, and
knew very well what he was about.

Jack handed him a huge piece of bread and
sausage.

‘Thank ye, I cannot eat.’

‘T can,’ replied Jack, with his mouth full.

Jack ate while Gascoigne steered ; and the
rapidity with which the speronare rushed to
the beach was almost frightful. She darted
like an arrow from wave to wave, and ap-
peared as if mocking their attempts as they
curled their summits almost over her narrow
stern.. They were within a mile of the beach,
when Jack, who had finished his supper, and
was looking at the foam boiling on the coast,
exclaimed—

‘ That’s very fine—very beautiful, upon my
soul

‘He cares for nothing,’ thought Gascoigne ;
‘he appears to have no idea of danger.’

‘Now, my dear fellow,’ said Gascoigne, ‘in
a few minutes we shail be on the rocks. I
must continue at the helm, for the higher she
is forced up the better chance forus ; but we
may not meet again, so if we do not, good-
bye, and God bless you.’

‘Gascoigne,’ said Jack, ‘you are hurt, and
I am not : your shoulder is stiff, and you can
hardly move your left arm. Now I can steer
for the rocks as well as you. -Do you go to
the bow, and there you will have a better
chance. By-the-by,’ continued he, picking
up his pistols, and sticking them into his
waist, ‘I won't leave them, they've served
us too good a turn already. Gascoigne, give
me the helm.’

‘No, no, Easy.’

‘I say yes,’ replied Jack, ina loud, autho-

 

WR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

ritative tone, ‘and what's more, I will be
obeyed, Gascoigne. I have nerve, if I haven't
knowledge, and at all events I can steer for the
beach. I tell you, give me the helm: ‘Well,
then, if you won't, I must take it’

Easy wrested the tiller from Gascoigne'’s
hand, and gave him a shove forward.

“Now do you look out ahead, and tell me
how to steer.’

Whatever may have been Gascoigne’s feel-
ings at this behaviour of our hero's, it imme~
diately occurred to him that he could not do
better than to run the speronare to the safest
point, and that therefore he was probably
more advantageously employed than if he
were at the helm. He went forward:-and
looked at the rocks, covered at one moment
with the tumultuous waters, and then pouring
down cascades from their sides as the waves
recoiled. ‘He perceived a chasm right ahead,
and he thought if the boat was steered’ for
that, she must be thrown up so as to enable
them to get clear of her, for, at every other
part, escape appeared impossible.

‘Starboard a littie—that'll do. Steady—
port it is—port.—Steer small, for your life,
Easy. Steady now—mind the yard don’t hit
your head—hold on.’ :

The speronare was at this moment thrown
into a large cleft in a rock, the sides of which
were nearly perpendicular ; nothing else could
have saved them, as, had they struck’ the
rock outside, the boat would have been dashed
to pieces, and its fragments have disappeared
in the undertow. As it was, the cleft was
not four feet more than the width of the boat,
and as the waves hurled her up into it, the
yard of the speronare was thrown fore and aft
with great violence, and had not Jack been
warned, he would have been struck overboard
without a chance of being saved; but he
crouched down, and it passed over him.’ As
the water receded, the boat struck, and was
nearly dry between the rocks, but another
wave followed, dashing the boat farther up,
but, at the same time, filling it with water.
The bow of the boat was now several feet
higher than the stern, where Jack held on;
and the weight of the water in her, with the
force of the returning waves, sepatated. her
right across abaft the mast. Jack perceived
that the after part of the boat was going out
again with the wave ; he caught hold of the
yard which had swung fore and aft, and’as he
clung to it, the part of the’ boat on which he
had stood disappeared from under him, and
was swept away by the returning current.

Jack required the utmost of his strength to
maintain his position until another wave
floated him, and dashed him higher up: but
he knew his life depended on holding on to
the yard, which he did, alihough under water,
and advanced several feet. When the wave"2

receded, he found footing on the rock, and
still clinging, he walked till he had gained
the fore part of the boat, which was wedged
firmly into a narrow part of the cleft. The
next wave was not very large, and he had
gained so much that it did not throw him off
his legs. He reached the rock, and as he
climbed up the side of the chasm to gain the
ledge above, he perceived Gascoigne standing
above him, and holding out his hand to his
assistance.

‘Well,’ says Jack, shaking himself to get
rid of the water, ‘here we are ashore, at last
—I had no idea of anything like this. ‘The
rush back of the water was so strong that it
has almost torn my arms out of their sockets.
How very lucky I sent you forward with your
disabled shoulder! By-the-by, now that it’s
all over, and you must see that I was right, I
beg to apologise for my rudeness.’

‘There needs no apology for saving my life,
Easy,’ replied Gascoigne, trembling with the
cald ; ‘and no one but you would ever have
thought of making one at such a moment.’

“T wonder whether the ammunition’s dry,’
said Jack ; ‘I put it all in my hat.’ ;

Jack took off his hat, and found the cart-
ridges had not suffered.

“Now, then, Gascoigne, what shall we do?’

“I hardly know,’ replied Gascoigne.

‘Suppose, then, we sit down and argue the
point.’

“No, I thank you, there will be too much
cold water thrown upon our arguments—!m
half dead ; let us walk on.’

‘With all my heart,’ said Jack, ‘ it’s devilish
steep, but Ican argue up hill or down hill,
wet or dry—I'm used to it—for, as I told you
before, Ned, my father is a philosopher, and
so am I.’

‘By the Lord ! you are,’ replied Gascoigne,
as he walked on.

CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH OUR HERO FOLLOWS HIS DESTINY

AND FORMS A TABLEAU.
OuR hero and his comrade climbed the preci-
pice, and, after some minutes’ severe toil,
arrived at the summit, when they sat down to
recover themselves. ‘The sky was clear, al-
though the gale blew strong. ‘They had an
extensive view of the coast, lashed by the
angry waves.

‘It's my opinion, Ned,’ said Jack, as he
surveyed the expanse of troubled water, ‘ that
we are just as well out of that.’

‘JT agree with you, Jack; but it’s also my
opinion that we should be just as well out of
this, for the wind blows through one. Sup-
pose we go alittle farther inland, where we
may find some shelter till the morning.’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 

 

‘It’s rather dark to find anything,’ rejoined
our hero; ‘but however, a westerly gale on
the top of a mountain, with wet clothes, in the
middle of the night, with nothing to eat or
drink, is not the most comfortable position in
the world, .and we may change for the
better.’

They proceeded over a flat of a hundred
yards, and then descended—the change in
the atmosphere was immediate. As they
continued their march inland, they came
to a high road, which appeared to run along
the shore, and they turned into it; for, as
Jack said very truly, a road must lead to
something. After a quarter of an hour's
walk, they again heard the rolling of the surf,
and perceived the white walls of houses.

‘ Here we are at last,’ said Jack. ‘I won-
der if any one will turn out to take us in, or
shall we stow away for the night in one of
those vessels hauled up on the beach ?’

‘Recollect this time, Easy, said Gascoigne,
‘not to show your money ; that is, show only
a dollar, and say you have no more, or pro-
mise to pay when we arrive at Palermo; and
if they will neither trust us, nor give to us, we
must make it out as we can.’

‘ How the cursed dogs bark; I think
shall do very well this time, Gascoigne; we
do stot look as if we were worth robbing, at
all events, and we have the pistols to defend
ourselves with if we are attacked. Depend
upon it f will show no more gold. And now
let usmake ourarrangements. “Lake you one
pistol and take half the gold—I have it all in
my right-hand pocket—my dollars and pista-
renes in my left. You shall take half of them
too. We have silver enough to go on with
till we are in a safe place.’

Jack then divided the money in the dark,
and also gave Gascoigne a pistol.

‘ Now then, shall we knock for admittance 2?
—Let’s first walk. through the village, and see
if there's anything likean inn. Those yelping
curs will soon be at our heels: they come
nearer and nearer every time. ‘There’sa cart,
and it’s full of straw-—-suppose we go to
bed till to-morrow morning—we shall be
warm, at all events.’

‘Yes, replied Gascoigne, ‘and sleep much
better than in any of the cottages. I have
been in Sicily before, and you have no idea
how the fleas bite.’

Our two midshipmen climbed up into the
cart, nestled themselves into-the straw, or
rather Indian corn leaves, and were soon fast
asleep. As they had not slept for two nights,
itis not to be wondered at that they slept
soundly—so soundly, indeed, that about two
hours after they had got into their comfortable
bed, the peasant, who had brought to the
village some casks of wine to be shipped and
aken down the coast ina felucca, yoked his

webullocks, and not being aware of his freight,
drove off, without in any way disturbing their
repose, although the roads in Sicily are not
yet macadamized.

The jolting of the roads rather increased
than disturbed the sleep of our adventurers :
and, although there were some rude shocks,
it only had the effect of making them fancy
in their dreams that they were again in the
boat, and that she was still dashing against
the rocks. In about two hours, the cart
arrived at its destination—the peasant unyoked
his bullocks and led them away. ‘The same
cause will often produce contrary effects: the
stopping of the motion of the cart disturbed
the rest of our two midshipmen ; they turned
round in the straw, yawned, spread out their
arms, and then awoke, Gascoigne, who felt
considerable pain in his shoulder, was the first
to recall his scattered senses.

‘Easy,’ cried he, as he sat up and shook off
the corn leaves.

+ Port it4s. said Jack, half dreaming.

‘Come, Easy, you are not on board now.
Rouse and bitt.’

Jack then sat up and looked at Gascoigne.
The forage in the cart was so high round
them that they could not see above it; they
rubbed their eyes, yawned, and looked at each
other.

‘Have you any faith in dreams?’ said Jack
to Gascoigne, ‘because I had. avery queer one
last night.’

‘Well, so had I,’ replied Gascoigne. ‘I
dreamt that the cart rolled by itself into the
sea, and went away with us right in the wind’s
eye back to Malta; and considering that it
never was built for such service, she behaved
uncommonly well. Now, what was your
dream ?’

“Mine was that we woke up and found our-
selves in the very town from which the spero-
nare had sailed, and that they had found the
fore part of the speronare among the rocks,
had recognized her, and picked up one of our
pistols. ‘That they had laid hold of us, and
had insisted that we had been thrown on
shore in the boat, and asked us what had
ecome of the crew—they were just seizing us,

when I awoke.’

“Your dream is more likely to come true
than mine, Easy; but still I think we need
not fear that. At the same time, we had
better not remain here any longer; and it
occurs to me, that if we tore our clothes more,
it would be advisable—we shall, in the first
place, look more wretched; and, in the next
place, can replace them with the dress of the
country, and so travel without exciting sus-
picion. You know that I can speak Italian
pretty well.’

‘I have no objection to tear my clothes if
you wish,’ replied Jack; ‘at the same time

 

 

 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
   
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 73

give me your pistol; I will draw the charges
and load them again. They must be wet.’

Having reloaded the pistols and rent their
garments, the two midshipmen stood up in
the cart and looked about them.

‘ Halloo !—why how’s this, Gascoigne ? last
night we were close to the beach, and among
houses, and now—where the devil are we?
You dreamt nearer the mark than I did, for
the cart has certainly taken a cruise.’

“We must have slept like midshipmen,
then,’ replied Gascoigne: “surely it cannot
have gone far.’

‘Here we are, surrounded by hills on every
side, for at least a couple of miles. Surely
some good genius has transported us into the
interior, that we might escape from the rela-
tives of the crew whom I dreamt about,’ said
Jack, looking at Gascoigne.

As it afterwards was known to them, the
speronare had sailed from the very seaport in
which they had arrived that night, and where
they had got into the cart. ‘The wreck of the
Speronare had been found, and had been re-
cognized, and it was considered by the inha-
bitants that the padrone and his crew had
perished in the gale. Had they found ‘our
two midshipmen and questioned them, it is
not improbable that suspicion might have
been excited, and the results have been such
as-our hero had conjured up in his dream.
But, as we said before, there is a peculiar pro-
vidence for midshipmen.

On a minute survey, they found that they
were in an open space which, apparently, had
been used for thrashing and winnowing maize,
and that the cart was standing under a clump
of trees in the shade.

‘There ought to be a house hereabouts,’
said Gascoigne ; ‘I should think that behind
the trees we shall find one. Come, Jack, you
are as hungry as I am, I'll answer for it : we
must look out for a breakfast somewhere.’

‘If they won't give us something to eat, or
sell it,’ replied Jack, who was ravenous, clutch-
ing his pistol, ‘I shall’ take it—I consider it
no robbery. ‘The fruits of the earth were
made for us all, and it never was intended
that one man should have a superfluity and
another starve. ‘he laws of equality——

“May appear very good arguments to a
starving man, I grant, but still, won’t prevent

his fellow-creatures from hanging him,’ re-
plied Gascoigne. ‘None of your confounded
nonsense, Jack ; no man starves with money
in his pocket, and as long as you have that,
leave those that have none to talk about
equality, and the rights of man.’

“TI should like to argue that point with you,
Gascoigne.’

‘Tell me, do you prefer sitting down here

to argue, or to look out for some breakfast,
Jack ?”74, MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

will yourselves, when you are calm, also thank
them for having prevented you from com-
mitting an act which would have loaded you
go on. with remorse, and embittered your future
They went through the copse of wood, existence. Gentlemen, you are free to de-
which was very thick, and soon discovered part: you, Don Silvio, have indeed dis-
the wall of a large house on the other side. appointed me; your gratitude should have
“All right,’ said Jack ; ‘but still let us re- rendered you incapable of such conduct: as
connoitre. It’s not a farm-house ; it must for you, Don Scipio, you have been misled ;
belong to a person of some consequence—all but you both have, in one point, disgraced
the better—they will see that we are gentle- yourselves. Ten days back my sons were
men, notwithstanding our tattered dress. I both here,—why did you not come then?
suppose we are to stick to the story of the sea- If you sought revenge on me, you could not
mews at Gozo? have inflicted. it deeper than through my
‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne ; ‘I can think of children, and at least you would not have
nothing better. But the English are well re- acted the part of assassins in attacking an old
ceived in this island; we have troops at man. Take your swords, gentlemen, and use
Palermo.’ them better henceforth. Against future at-
‘Have we? I wish I was setting down at tacks I shall be well prepared.’
the mess-table—but what’s that? a woman Gascoigne, who perfectly understood what
screaming? Yes, by heavens!—come along, was said, presented the sword to the young
Ned.’ And away dashed Jack towards the gentleman from whom he had taken it—our
house, followed by Gascoigne. As they ad- hero did the same. ‘The two young men re-
vanced the screams redoubled ; they entered turned them to their sheaths, and quitted the
the porch, burst into the room from whence room without saying a word.
they proceeded, and found an elderly gentle- ‘ Whoever you are, I owe toyouand thank
man defending himself againsttwo young men, you for my life,’ said the elderly gentleman,
who were held back by an elderly and a young scanning the outward appearance of our two

‘Oh, the argument may be put off, but

hunger cannot.’
‘That’s very good philosophy, Jack, so let’s

lady. Our hero and his comrade had both midshipmen.
drawn their pistols, and just as they burst ‘We are,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘officers in
open the door, the old gentleman who de- the English navy, and gentlemen; we were

fended himself against such odds had fallen wrecked in our boat last night, and have
down. The two others burst from the women, wandered here in the dark, seeking for as-
and were about to pierce him with their sistance, and food, and some conveyance to
swords, when Jack seized one by the collar of Palermo, where we shall find friends, and the
his coat and held him fast, pointing the muzzle means of appearing like gentlemen.’
of the pistol to his ear : Gascoigne. did the ‘Was your ship wrecked, .gentlemen?’ in-
same to the other. It was a very dramatic quired the Sicilian, ‘and many lives lost?’
tableau. The two women flew to the elderly ‘No, our ship is at Malta; we were ina
gentleman and raised him up; the two as- boat ona party of pleasure, were caught by a
sailants, being held just as dogs hold pigs by gale, and driven on the coast. To satisfy you
the ear, trembling with fright, with the points of the truth, observe that our pistols have the
of their rapiers dropped, looked at the mid- king's mark, and that we are not paupers we
shipmen and the muzzles of their pistols with show you gold.’
equal dismay ; at the same time, the astonish- Gascoigne pulled out his doubloons—and
ment of the elderly gentleman and the women, Jack did the same, coolly observing, —
at such an unexpected deliverance, was ‘I thought we were only to show silver,
equally great. There was a silence for a Ned!
few seconds. ‘It needed not that,’ replied the ‘gentle-
‘Ned,’ at last said Jack, ‘tell these chaps man; ‘your conduct in this affair, your
to drop their swords or we fire.’ manners and address, fully convince me that
Gascoigne gave the order in Italian, and it you are what you represent; but were you
was complied with. ‘The midshipmen then common peasants, I am equally indebted to
possessed themselves of the rapiers, and gave you for my life, and you may command me.
the young men their liberty. Tell me in what way I can be of service.’
The elderly gentleman at last broke the ‘In giving us something to eat, for we
silence. have had nothing for many, many hours.
‘Tt would appear, signors, that there was After that, we may, perhaps, trespass a little
a special interference of Providence, to pre- more upon your kind offices.’
vent you from commiiting a foul and unjust ‘You must, of course, be surprised at what
murder. Who these are who have so oppor- has passed, and curious to know the occasion,’
iunely come to my rescue, I know noi, but said the gentleman; ‘you havea right to be
thanking them as [ do now, 1! think that you informed of it, and shall be, as soon as youare more comfortable ; in the meantime, allow
me to introduce myself as Don Rebiera de
ilva.’

‘I wish,’ said Jack, who, from his know-
ledge of Spanish, could understand the whole
of the last part of the Don's speech, ‘that he
would introduce us to his breakfast.’

‘So do I,’ said Gascoigne ; ‘ but we must
wait a little—he ordered the ladies to prepare
something instantly.’

Your friend does not speak Italian,’ said
Don Rebiera.

"No, Dor Rebiera, he speaks French and
Spanish.’

‘If he speaks Spanish, my daughter can
converse with him; she has but shortly
arrived from Spain. We are closely united
with a noble house in that country.’

Don Rebiera then led the way to another
room, and in a short time there was a repast
brought in, to which our midshipmen did
great justice.

‘I will now,’ said the Don, ‘relate to you,
sir, for the information of yourself and friend,
the causes which produced this scene of
violence, which you so opportunely defeated.
But first, as it must be very tedious to your
friend, I will send for Donna Clara and my
daughter Agnes to talk to him; my. wife
understands a little Spanish, and my daughter,
as I said before, has but just left the country,
where, from circumstances, she remained some
years.’

As soon as Donna Clara and Donna Agnes
made their appearance and were introduced,
Jack, who had not before paid attention to
them, said to himself, ‘I have seen a face
like that girl’s before.’ If so, he had never
seen many like it, for it was the quintessence
of brunette beauty, and. her figure was
equally perfect; although, not naving yet
completed her fifteenth year, it required still
a little more development.

Donna Clara was extremely gracious, and
as, perhaps, she was aware that her voice
would drown that of her husband, she pro-
pesed to our hero to walk in the garden, and
in a few minutes they took their seats in a
pavilion at the end of it. The old lady did
not talk much Spanish, but when at a loss for
a word, she put in an Italian one, and Jack
understood her perfectly well. She told him
her sister had married a Spanish nobleman
many years since, and that before the war
broke out between the Spanish and the English
they had gone over with all their children to
see her ; that when they wished to return, her
daughter Agnes, then a child, was suffering

under a lingering complaint, and it was
thought advisable, as she was very weak, to
leave her under the charge of her aunt, who
had a little girl of nearly the same age; that
they were educated together at aconyent, near

dD

  

 

  
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
    
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
   
  
  

MIR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 75

Tarragona, and that she had only returned
two months ago; that she had a very narrow
escape, as the ship in which her uncle, and
aunt, and cousins, as well as herself, were on
board, returning from Genoa, where her
brother-in-law had been obliged to go to se-
cure a succession to some property bequeathed
to him, had been captured in the night by the
English ; but the officer, who was very polite,
had allowed them to go away next day, and
very handsomely permitted them to take all
their effects.

‘Oh, oh,’ thought Jack; ‘I thought I had
seen her face before; this then was one of the
girls in the corner of the cabin—now I'll have
some fun.’

During the conversation with the mother,
Donna Agnes had remained some paces be-
hind, picking now and then:a flower, and not
attending to what passed.

When our hero and her mother sat down in
the pavilion she joined them, when Jack ad-
dressed her with his usual politeness.

‘Iam almost ashamed to be sitting by you,
Donna Agnes, in this ragged dress—but’ the
rocks of your coast have no respect for per-
sons.

‘We are under great obligations, signor, and
do not regard such trifles.’

‘You are all kindness, signora,’ replied
Jack; ‘TI little thought this morning of my
good fortune,—-I can tell the fortunes of
others, but not my own.’

“You can tell fortunes!’ replied the old lady.

“Yes, madam I am famous for it—shall I
tell your daughter hers ?’

Donna Agnes looked at our hero and
smiled.

‘I perceive that the young lady does not
believe me; I must prove my art, by telling
her of what has already happened to her.
The signora will then give me credit.’

“Certainly, if you do that,’ replied Agnes,

“Oblige me, by showing me the palm of
your hand.’

Agnes extended her little hand, and Jack
felt so very polite that he was nearly kissing it.
However, he restrained himself, and examining
the lines—-

“That you were educated in Spain—that
you arrived here but two months ago—that
you were captured and released by the English,
your mother has already told me; but to prove
to you that I knew all that, I must now be
more particular. You were in a ship mount-
ing fourteen guns—was it not so ?’

Donna Agnes nodded her head.

“I never told the signor that,’ cried Donna
Ciara.

‘She was taken by surprise in the night, and
there was no fighting. The next morning the
English burst open the cabin door ; your uncle
and your cousin fired their pistols.’76 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘Holy Virgin !' cried Agnes, with surprise. Having condescended, they then descended,
‘The English officer was a young man, not and the intimacy between all parties became
very good looking.’ so great that it appeared as if they not only

‘There you are wrong, signor—he was very wore the young men’s clothes but also stood
handsome.’ in their shoes. . Having thus made themselves
‘There is no accounting for taste, signora. presentable, Jack presented his hand to both
You were frightened out of your wits, and ladies and led them into the garden, that Don
with your cousin you crouched down in the Rebiera might finish his long story to Gas-
corner of the cabin. Let me examine that coigne without further interruption, and re-
little line closer. You had—yes, it’s no mis- suming their seats in the pavilion, he enter-
take—you had very little clothes on.’ tained the ladies with a history of his cruise In
Agnes tore away her hand and covered her the ship after her capture. Agnes soon re-
face. covered from her reserve, and Jack had the
‘E vero, é vero; Holy Jesus! how could forbearance not to allude again to the scene
you know that ? in the cabin, which was the only thing she
Of a sudden Agnes looked at our hero, and dreaded. After dinner, when the family, ac-
after a minute appeared to recognize him. cording to custom, had retired for the siesta,
‘Oh, mother, ‘tis he—I recollect now,’tishe!’ Gascoigne and Jack, who had slept enough in
‘Who, my child ?’ replied Donna Clara, who the cart to last for a week, went out together
had been struck dumb with Jack’s astonishing in the garden. :
power of fortune-telling. ‘Well, Ned,’ said Jack, ‘do you wish your-
‘The officer who captured us, and was so self on board the Harpy again?’
kind.’ ‘No,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘we have fallen
Jack burst out intoa fit of laughter not to on our feet at last, but still not without first
be controlled for some minutes, and then being knocked about like peas in a rattle.
acknowledged that she had discovered him. What a lovely little creature that Agnes is!
“At all events, Donna Agnes,’ said he at How strange that you should fall in with her
last, ‘acknowledge that, ragged as I am, 1 again! How odd that we should come here!’
have seen you in a much greater déshabilleé.’ ‘My good fellow, we did not come here.
Agnes sprang up and took to her heels, that Destiny brought us in a cart. She may take
she might hide her confusion, and at the same us to Tyburn in the same way.’

time go to her father and tell him who he had ‘Yes, if you sport your philosophy as you
as his guest. did when we awoke this morning.’
Although Don Rebiera had not yet finished ‘Nevertheless, I'fl be hanged if I’m not

his narrative, this announcement of Agnes, who right. Suppose we argue the point 2?’
ran in breathless to communicate it, immedi- ‘Right or wrong, you will be hanged, Jack ;
ately brought all the parties together, and Jack so, instead of arguing the point, suppose I
received their thanks. tell you what the Don made such a long story
‘I little thought,’ said the Don, ‘that I about.’
should have been so doubly indebted to you, ‘With all my heart—let us go to the pavi-
sir. Command my services as you please, lion.’
both of you. My sons are at Palermo, and I Our hero and his friend took their seats, and
trust you will allow them the pleasure of your Gascoigne then communicated the history of
friendship when you are tired of remaining Don Rebiera, to which we shall dedicate the
with us.’ ensuing chapter.
Jack made his politest bow, and then with
a shrug of his shoulders looked down upon his Ss
habiliments, which, to please Gascoigne, he

had torn into ribands, as much as to say, ‘We CHAPTER XXI.

are not provided for a lengthened stay. ==), roNG STORY, WHICH. THE READER MUST
My brothers’ clothes will fit them, I think, LISTEN TO, AS WELL AS OUR HERO

said Agnes to her father ; ‘they have left plenty : i : cs

in their wardrobes.’ ‘] HAVE already made you acquainted with
‘If the signors will condescend to wear myname, and | have only to add that it is one

them till they can replace their own.’ of the most noble in Siciiy, and that there are

Midshipmen are very condescending. They few families who possess such large estates.
followed Don Rebiera, and condescended to My father was a man who had no pleasure in
put on clean shirts belonging to Don Philip the, pursuits of most of the young men of his
and Don Martin. Also to put on their age; hewas of a weakly constitution, and was
trousers, to select their best waistcoats and with difficulty reared to manhood. When
coats; in short, they condescended to have a_ his studies were completed he retired to his
regular fit-out—and it so happened that the country seat belonging to our family, which
fit-out was not far from a regular fit. is about twenty miles from Palermo, and,shutting himself up, devoted himself wholly
to literary pursuits,

“As he was an only son, his parents were
naturally very anxious that he should marry 5
the more so as his health did not promise him
a very extended existence. Had he consulted
his owninclinations he would have declined, but
he felt that it was his duty to comply with their
wishes ; but he did not trouble himself with
the choice, leaving it wholly to them. They
selected a young lady of high family, and cer-
tainly of most exquisite beauty. I only wish
I could say more in her favour—for she was
my mothe
history without exposing her conduct. The
marriage took place, and my father—having
woke up, as it were, at the celebration—again
returned to his closet, to occupy himself in ab-
struse studies—the results of which have been
published, and have fully established his repu-
tation as a man of superior talent and deep re-
search. But, however much the public may ap-
preciate the works of a man of genius, whether
they be written to instruct or to amuse, certain
it is that a literary man requires in his wife
eithera mind congenial to his own, orthat pride
in her husband's talents which induces her to
sacrifice much of her own domestic enjoyment
to the satisfaction of having his name extolled
abroad. I mention this point as some extenu-
ation of my mother's conduct. She was neg-
lected most certainly, but not neglected for
frivolous amusements, or because another
form had captivated his fancy ; but in his de-
sire to instruct others, and I may add his am-
bition for renown, he applied himself to his
literary pursuits, became abstracted, answered
without hearing, and left his wife to amuse
herself in any way she might please. A literary
husband is, without exception — although
always at home—the least domestic husband
in the world, and must try the best of tempers
—not by unkindness, for my father was kind
and indulgent to excess, but by that state of
perfect abstraction and indifference which he
showed to everything except the favourite pur-
suit which absorbed him. My mother had but
to speak, and every wish was granted—a re-
fusal was unknown. You may say, what
could she want more? I reply, that anything
to a woman is preferable to indifference. The
immediate consent to every wish took away,
in her opinion, all merit in the grant—the
value of everything is only relative, and in
proportion to the difficulty of obtaining it.
The immediate assent to every opinion was
tantamount to insult—it implied that he did
not choose to argue with her.

‘Tt is true that women like to have their
own way—but they like at the same time to
have difficulties to surmount and to con-
quer ; otherwise half the gratification is lost.
Although tempests are to be deplored, still a

                                 

 

    
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 77

certain degree of oscillation and motion are
requisite to keep fresh and clear the lake of
matrimony, the waters of which otherwise soon
stagnate and become foul, and without some
contrary currents of opinion between a married
couple such a stagnation must take place.

‘A woman permitted always and invariably
to have her own way without control is much
in the same situation as the child who insists
upon a whole instead of half a holiday, and
before the evening closes is tired of himself
and everything about him. In short, a little
contradiction, like salt at dinner, seasons and
appetises the repast ; but too much, like the
condiment in question, spoils the whole, and
it becomes unpalatable in proportion to its
excess,

‘My mother was a vain woman in every
sense of the word—vain of her birth and of
her beauty, and accustomed to receive that
homage to which she considered herself en-
titled. She had been spoiled in her infancy,
and as she grew up had learnt nothing, be-
cause she was permitted to do as she pleased ;
she was therefore frivolous, and could not
appreciate what she could not comprehend.
There never was a more ill-assorted union.’

al have always thought that such must be
the case,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘in Catholic
countries, where a young person is taken out
of a convent and mated according to what her
family or her wealth may consider as the most
eligible connection.’

‘On that subject there are many opinions,
my friend, replied Don Rebiera. ‘ It is true,
that- when a marriage of convenience is ar-
ranged by the parents, the dispositions of the
parties are made a secondary point; but then,
again, it must be remembered, that when a
choice is left to the parties themselves, it is at
an age at which there is little worldly consi-
deration ; and led away, in the first place, by
their passions, they form connections with
those inferior in their station which are at-
tended with eventual unhappiness; or, in the
other, allowing that they do choose in their
own rank of life, they make quite as bad or
often a worse choice than if their partners
were selected for them.’

‘TI cannot understand that,’
coigne.

‘The reason is, because there are no means,
or, if means, no ‘wish; to study each other’s
disposition. A young man is attracted by
person, and he admires ; the young woman is
flattered by the admiration, and is agreeable ;
if she has any faults she is not likely to show
them—not concealing them from hypocrisy,
but because they are not called out. The
young man falls in love, so does the young
woman; and when once in love, they can no
longer see faults ;. they marry, imagining that
they haye found perfection. In the blindness

replied Gas-78

of love each raises the other to a standard of
perfection which human nature «can never
attain, and each becomes equally annoyed on
finding, by degrees, that they were in error.
The reaction takes piace, and they then under-
rate, as much as before they had over-rated,
each other. Now, if two young people marry
without this violence of passion, they do not
expect to find each other perfect, and perhaps
have.a better chance of happiness.’

‘I don’t agree with you,’ thought Gas-
coigne; ‘but as you appear to be as fond of
argument as my friend Jack, I shall make no
reply, lest there be no end to the story.’

Don Rebiera proceeded.

“My mother, finding that my father pre-
ferred his closet and his books to gaiety and
dissipation, soon left him to himself, and
amused herself after her own fashion, but not
until 1 was born, which was ten.months after

their marriage. My father was confiding,
and, pleased that my mother should be

amused, he indulged her in everything. Time
flew on, and I had arrived at my fifteenth
year, and came home from my studies, it being
intended that I should enter the army, which
you are aware is generally the only profession
embraced in this country by the heirs of noble
families. Ofcourse, I knew little of what had
passed at home, but still I had occasionally
heard my mother spoken lightly of, when I
was not supposed to be present, and I always
heard my father’s name mentioned with com-
passion, as if an ill-used man, but I knew no-
thing more ; still this was quite sufficient for a
young man, whose blood boiled at the idea of
anything like a stigma being cast upon his
family.» I arrived at my father’s—I found him
at his books; I paid my respects to my mother
—I found ‘her with her con I disliked
the man at first sight ; he was handsome, cer-
tainly : his forehead was high and white, his
eyes large and fiery, and his figure command-
ing ; but there was a dangerous, proud look
about him which disgusted me,—nothing like
humilty or devotion. I might have admired
him as an officer commanding a regiment of
cavalry, but as a churchman he appeared to
be most misplaced. She named me with
kindness, but he appeared to treat me with
disdain; he spoke authoritatively to my mother,
who appeared to yield implicitly,-and T dis-
covered that he was lord of the whole house-
hold. My mother, too, it was said, had given
up gaieties and become devout. I soon per-
ceived more than a common intelligence be-
tween them, and before I had been two
months at home I had certain proofs of my
father's dishonour; and, what was still more
unfortunate for me, they were aware that such
was the case, My first impulse was to ac-
quaint my father; but, on consideration, I
thought it better to say nothing, provided I

 

 

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SOT.

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 

 

could persuade my mother to dismiss Father
Ignatio. I took an opportunity when she was
alone to express my indignation at her con-
duct, and to demand his immediate dismissal,
as a condition of my not divulging her crime.
She appeared frightened, and gave her con-
sent ; but I soon found that her confessor had
more power with her than I had, and he re-
mained. I now resolved to acquaint my
father, and I roused him from his studies that
he might listen to his shame. I imagined
that he would have acted calmly and dis-
creetly; but, on the contrary, his violence was
without bounds, and I had the greatest diffi
culty from. preventing his rushing with his
sword to sacrifice them both. At last he con-
tented himself by turning Father Ignatio out
of the house in the most ignominious manner,
and desiring my mother to prepare for Seclu-
sion in a convent for the remainder of her
days. But he fell their ‘victim; three days
afterwards, as my mother was, by his direc-
tions, about to be removed, he was seized
with convulsions and died: I need hardly say
that he was carried off by poison ; this, how-
ever, could not be established till long after-
wards. Before he died he seemed to be almost
supernaturally prepared for an event. which
never came into my thoughts. He sent for
another confessor, who drew up his confession
in writing at his own request, and afterwards
inserted it in his will! My mother remained
in the house, and Father Ignatio had the inso-
lence to return. I ordered him away, and he
resisted. He was turned out by the servants.
I had an interview with my mother, who de-
fied me, and told me that I should soon have
a brother to share in the succession. I felt
that, if so, it would be the illegitimate progeny
of her adultery, and told her my opinion. She
ed her rage im the bitterest curses, and
I left her. Shortly afterwards she quitted the
house and retired to another of our country
seats, where she lived with Father Ignatio as
before. About four months afterwards; formal
notice was sent to me of the birth of a brother;
but as, when my father’s will was’ opened, he
there had inserted his confession, or the sub-
stance of it, in which he stated, that aware of
my mother’s guilt, and supposing that conse-
quences might ensue, he solemnly declared
before God that he had for years lived apart,
I cared little for this communication. I con-
tented myself with replying that as the child
belonged to the church, it had better be dedi-
cated to its service.

‘I had, however, soon reason to acknow-
ledge the vengeance of my mother and her para-
mour. One night I was attacked by bravoes;
and had I not fortunately received assistance,
I should have forfeited my life ; as it was, I
received a severe wound.

* Against attempts of that kind I took everyprecaution in future, but still every attempt
was made to ruin my character, as wellvas to
take my life. A young sister disappeared from
a convent in my neighbourhood, and on the
ground near the window from which she de-
scended was found a hat, recognized to be
mine. I was proceeded against, and notwith-
standing the strongest interest, it was with
difficulty thatthe affair was arranged, although
I had incontestably proved an alibi.

«A young man of rank was found murdered,
with a stiletto, known to be mine, buried in
his bosom, and it was with difficulty that I
could establish my innocence.

‘Part of a banditti had been seized, and on
being asked the name of their chief, when
they received absolution, they confessed that
I was the chief of the band.

‘Everything that could be attempted was
put into practice; and if I did not lose my
life, at all events J: was avoided by almost
everybody as a dangerous and doubtful
character.

‘At last a nobleman of rank, the father of
Don Scipio, whom you disarmed, was assas-
sinated ; the bravoes were taken, and they
acknowledged that I was the person who
hired them. I defended myself, but the king
imposed upon me a heavy’ fine and banish-
ment. JT had just received the order, and was
efying out’ against the injustice, aud lamenting
my hard fate, as I sat down to. dinner:
Lattetly, aware of what my enemies would
attempt, I had been accustomed to live much
alone. My faithful valet Pedro was my only
attendant. 1 was eating my dinner with little
appetite, and had asked for some wine. Pedro
went to the buffet behind him, to give me
what I required. Accidentally I lifted up my
head, and there being a large pier-glass oppo-
site to me, I saw the figure of my valet, and
that he was pouring a powder in the flagon of
wine which he was about to present tome. I
recollected the hat being found at the nun-
nery, and also the stiletto in the body of the
young man.

‘Like lightning it occurred to me, that I
had been fostering the viper who had assisted
to destroy me. He brought me the flagon. [
rose, locked the door, and drawing my sword,
I addressed him—

© Villain! I know thee; down on your
knees, for your life is forfeited.”

‘He turned pale, trembled, and. sz
his knees.

«*©Now, then,” continued T, ‘‘you shave
but one chance—either drink off this flagon of
wine, or I pass my sword through your body.”
He hesitated, and I put the point to his
preast, even pierced the flesh a quarter of an
inch.

«« Drink,” cried I; is it so very unjust
an order to tell you to drink old. wine?

  

 

   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 7G

Drink,” continued I, ‘‘or my sword does its
duty.”

‘He drank, and would then have quitted
the room. ‘‘No, no,” said I, ‘‘you remain
here, and the wine must have its effect.. If 1
have wronged you I will make amends to you
—hbut IT am suspicious.”

‘In about a quarter of an hour, during
which time I paced up and down the room
with my sword drawn; my servant fell down,
and cried in mercy to let him have a priest.
I sént for my own confessor, and he then ac-
knowledged that he was an agent of my
mother and Father Ignatio, and had been the
means of making it appear that I was the
committer of all the crimes and murders
which had been perpetrated by’them, with a
view to my destruction. . A’ strong emetic
having been administered to him, he partially
-evived, and was taken to Palermo, where he
gave his evidence before he expired.

‘When this was made known, the king re-
voked his sentence, apologized to me, and I
found that once more | was visited and courted
by everybody. My mother was ordered to be
shut up in a convent, where she died, I trust,
in grace; and Father Ignatio fled, to Italy,
and I have been informed is since dead.

‘Having thus rid myself of my principal
enemies, I considered myself safe. 1 married
the lady whom you have just seen, and before
my eldest son was born, Don Silvio, for such
was the name given to my asserted legitimate
brother, came of age, and demand¢d his suc-
cession. Had he asked me for:a proper sup-
port, as my uterine brother, I should not have
refused ; but that the son of Friar Ignatio,
who had so often attempted my life, should,
in case of my decease, succeed to the title and
estates, was not to be borne. A lawsuit was
immediately commenced, which lasted four or
five years, during which Don Silvio married,
and had a son, that young man whom you
heard me address by the same name; but
after much litigation, it was decided that my
father’s confessor and will had proved his ille-
gitimacy, and the suit was in my favour.
From that time to this, there has been a con-
stant enmity. Don Silvio refused all my offers
of assistance, and followed me with a pertina-
city which often endangered my life. At-last
he fell by the hands of his own agents, who
mistook him for me. Don Silvio died without
leaving any provision for his family; his
widow I pensioned, and his son I have had
carefully brought up, and have indeed treated
most liberally, but he appears to have im-
bibed the spirit of his father, and no kind-
ness has been able to embue him with grati-
tude.

‘He had lately been placed. by me in the
army, where he found out my two sons, and
quarrelled with them both upon slight pre-soa

tence ; but, in both instances, he was wounded
and carried off the field.

‘My two sons have been staying with me
these last two months, and did not leave till
yesterday. ‘This morning Don Silvio, accom-
panied by Don Scipio, came to the house,
and after accusing me of being the murderer
of both their parents, drew their rapiers to
assassinate me. My wife and child, hearing
the noise, came down to my assistance—you
know thie rest.’

CHAPTER XXII.

IN WHICH OUR HERO IS BROUGHT UP ALL
STANDING UNDER A PRESS OF SAIL.

OUR limits will not permit us to relate all that
passed during our hero’s stay of a fortnight
at Don Rebiera’s. He and Gascoigne were
treated as if they were his own sons, and the
kindness of the female part of the family was
equally remarkable. \ Agnes, naturally per-
haps, showed a preference or partiality for
Jack : to which Gascoigne willingly submitted,
as he felt that our hero had a prior and
stronger claim, and during the time that they
remained a feeling of attachment was created
between Agnes and the philosopher, which, if
not love, was something very near akin to it ;
but the fact was, that they were both much
too young to think of marriage; and, although
they walked and talked, and laughed, and
played together, they were always at home in
time for their dinner. Still, the young lady
thought she preferred our hero, éven to her
brothers, and Jack thought that the young
lady was the prettiest and kindest girl that he
had ever met with. At the end of the fort-
night our two midshipmen took their leave,
furnished with letters of recommendation to
many of the first nobility in Palermo, and
mounted on two fine mules with bell bridles.
The old Donna kissed them both—the Don
showered down his blessings of good wishes,
and Donna Agnes’ lips trembled as she bade
them adieu ; and, as soon as they were gone,
she went up to her chamber and wept. Jack
also was very grave, and his eyes moistened
at the thoughts of leaving Agnes. Neither of
them were aware, until the hour of parting,
how much they had wound themselves to-
gether,

The first quarter of an hour our two mid-
shipmen followed their guide in silence. Jack
wished to be left to his own thoughts, and
Gascoigne perceived it.

‘Well, Easy,’ said Gascoigne, at last, ‘if I
had been in your place, constantly in com-
pany of, and loved by, that charming girl, I
could never have torn myself away.’

‘Loved by her, Ned !" replied Jack ; ‘what
makes you say that ?’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY

 

‘Because I am sure it was the case ; she /
lived but in your presence. Why, if you were
out of the room, she never spoke a word, but/
sat there as melancholy as a sick monkey—
the moment you came in again, she beamed
out as glorious as the sun, and was all lifé
and spirit.’

‘I thought people were always melancholy
when they were in love,’ replied Jack.

‘ When those that they love are out of their
presence.’

‘Well, then, I am out of her presence, and
I feel very melancholy, so I suppose, by your
argument, I am in love. Can a man be in
love without knowing it ?”

‘I really cannot say, Jack ; I never was in
love myself, but I've seen many others spooney.
My time will come, I suppose, by-and-by.
They say, that for every man made, there is a
woman also made to fit him, if he could only
find her. Now, it’s my opinion that you have
found yours—I’ll lay my life she’s crying at
this moment.’

‘Do you really think so, Ned? let’s go back
—poor little Agnes—let’s go back; I feel I do
love her, and I'll tell her so.’

‘Pooh, nonsense! it’s too late now; you
should have told her that before, when you
walked with her in the garden.’

‘But I did not know it, Ned. However, as
you say, it would be foolish to turn back, so
Ill write to her from Palermo.’

Here an arguinent ensued upon love, which
we shall not trouble the reader with, as it was
not very profound, both sides knowing very
little on the subject. It did, however, end
with our hero being convinced that he was
desperately in love, and he talked about
giving up the service as soon as he arrived at
Malta. It is astonishing what sacrifices mid-
shipmen will make for the objects of their
adoration.

It was not until late in the evening that our
adventurers arrived at Palermo. As soon as
they were lodged at the hotel, Gascoigne sat
down and wrote a letter in their joint names
to Don Rebiera, returning him many thanks
for his great kindness, informing him of their
safe arrival, and trusting that they should soon
meet again ; and Jack took up his pen, and
indited a letter in Spanish to Agnes, in which
he swore that neither tide nor time, nor water,
nor air, nor heaven, nor earth, nor the first
lieutenant, nor his father, nor absence, nor
death itself, should prevent him from coming
back and marrying her, the first convenient
opportunity, begging her toyrefuse a thousand
offers, as come back he would, although there
was no saying when. It was a perfect love-

letter, that is to say, it was the essence of non-
sense; but that made it perfect, for the greater
the love the greater the folly.
These letters were consigned to the manMR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 8r

who was sent as their guide, and also had to to dinner, and they and our hero soon became
return with the mules. He was liberally re- inseparable. They took him to all the theatres,
warded ; and as Jack told him to be very the conversaziones of all the nobility, and as
careful of his letter, the Italian naturally con- Jack lost his money with good humour, and
cluced that it was to be delivered clandes- was a very handsome fellow, he was every-
tinely, and he delivered it accordingly, at a where well received and was made much of:
time when Agnes was walking in the garden many ladies made love to him, but Jack was
thinking of our hero. Nothing was more only very polite, because he thought more and
opportune than the arrival of the letter ; Agnes more of Agnes every day. Three weeks passed
ran to the pavilion, read it over twenty times, away like lightning, and neither Jack nor Gas-
kissed it twenty times, and hid it in her bosom; coigne thought of going back. At last, one
sat for a few minutes in deep and placid fine day H. M. frigate Aurora anchored in
thought, took the letter out of its receptacle, the bay, and Jack and Gascoigne, who were
and read it over and over again. It was very ata party at the Duke of Pentaro’s, met with
bad Spanish and very absurd, but she thought the captain of the Aurora, who was also in-
it delightful, poetical, classical, sentimental, vited. The duchess introduced them to Cap-
argumentative, convincing, incontrovertible, tain Tartar, who imagining them, from their
imaginative, and even grammatical ; for if it being in plain clothes, to be young English-
was not good Spanish, there was no Spanish men of fortune on their travels, was very
half so good. Alas! Agnes was indeed unso- gracious and condescending. Jack was so
phisticated, to be in such ecstasies with a mid- pleased with his urbanity that he requested
shipman's love-letter. Once more she hastened the pleasure of his company to dinner the
to her room to weep, but it was from excess next day : Captain Tartar accepted the invita-
of joy and delight. The reader may think tion, and they parted shaking hands, with
Agnes silly, but he must take into considera- many expressions of pleasure in having made
tion the climate, and that she was not yet his acquaintance. Jack’s party was rather
fifteen. large, and the dinner sumptuous. The Sicilian

Our young gentlemen sent for a tailor, and gentlemen did not drink much wine, but Cap-
each ordered a new suit of clothes ; they de- tain Tartar liked his bottle, afd although the
livered their letters of recommendation, and rest of the company quitted the table to go to
went to the banker to whom they were ad- a ball given that evening by the Marquesa
dréssed by Don Rebiera. Novara, Jack was too polite not to sit it out

“I shail draw for ten pounds, Jack,’ said with the captain. Gascoigne closed his chair
Gascoigne, ‘on the strength of the shipwreck; to Jack's, who, he was afraid, being a little
I shall tell the truth, all except that we forgot affected with the wine, would ‘let the cat out
to ask for leave, which I shall leave out ; and of the bag.’

I am sure the story will be worth ten pounds, The captain was amazingly entertaining.
What shall you draw for, Jack ?' Jack told him how happy he should be to see

‘TI shall draw for two hundred pounds,’ re- him at Forest Hill, which property the captain
plied Jack; ‘I mean to have a good cruise discovered to contain six thousand acres of
while I can,’ land, and also that Jack was an only son; and

‘But will your governor stand that, Easy?’ Captain Tartar was quite respectful when he

‘To be sure he will.’ found that he was in such very excellent com-

“Then you're right—he is a philosopher—I pany. The captain of the frigate inquired of
wish he'd teach mine, for he hates the sight of eee what had brought him out here, and
a bill.’ Jack, whose prudence was departing, told him

‘Then don't you draw, Ned—I have plenty he came in his Majesty’s ship Harpy. Gas-
for both. If every man had his equal share coigne gave Jack a nudge, but it was of no
and rights in the world you would be as able use, for as the wine got into Jack’s brain, so
to draw as much as I; and as you cannot, did his notions of equality.
upon the principles of equality you shall have ‘Oh! Wilson gave you a passage ; hes an
half.’ old friend of mine. :

‘I really shall become a convert to your ‘So he is of ours,’ replied Jack ; ‘he’s a
philosophy, Jack ; it does not appear to be so devilish good sort of a fellow, Wilson.

nonsensical as I thought it. At all events, it ‘Put where have you been since you came
has saved my old governor ten pounds, which out ?’ inquired Captain Tartar.

‘ : Fiz f > Harpy,’ replied Jack ; ‘to be sure
he can ill afford, as a colonel on half-pay. In the Harpy,’ replied Jack ; ‘to be s :

3

On their return to the inn, they found Don I belong to her.
Philip and Don Martin, to whom Don Rebiera ‘You belong to her! _ In what capacity,
had written, who welcomed them with open may I ask? inquired Captain Tartar in a
arms. They were two very fine young men much less respectful and confidential tone.
of eighteen and nineteen, who were finishing ‘Midshipman, replied Jack; ‘so is Mr,
their education in the army. Jack askedthem Gascoigne,82

‘Umph! You are on leave, then ?

‘No, indeed,’ replied Jack ;-‘IU. tell you
how it is, my dear fellow.’

‘Excuse me for one moment,’ replied Cap-
tain Tartar, rising up; ‘1 must give some
directions to my servant which I forgot.’

Captain Tartar hailed his coxswain out of
the window, gave orders just outside of the
door, and then returned to the table. In the
meantime Gascoigne, who expected a breeze,
had been cautioning Jack in a low tone, at
intervals, when Captain Tartar’s back was
turned ; butit was useless : the extra quantity
of wine had got into Jack’s head, and he cared
nothing for Gascoigne’s remonstrance. When
the captain resumed his seat at the table Jack
gave him the true narrative of all that had
passed, to which his guest paid the greatest
attention. Jack wound up his confidence by
saying that ina week or so he should go back
to Don Rebiera, and propose for Donna
Agnes.

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Captain Tartar, drawing
his breath with astonishment and compressing
his lips.

‘Tartar, the wine stands with you,’ said
Jack, ‘allow me to help you.’

Captain Tartar threw himself back in his
chair, and let all the wind out of his chest
with a sort of whistle, as if he could hardly
contain himself.

‘Have you had wine enough?’ said Jack,
very politely ; “if so we will go to the mar-
quesa’s.’

The coxswain came to the door, touched
his hat to the captain, and looked significantly.

‘And so, sir,’ cried Captain Tartar, in a
voice of thunder, rising from his chair,
‘you're a d—d runaway midshipman, who, if
you belonged to my ship, instead of marrying
Donna Agnes, I would marry you to the
gunner's daughter, by G—d; two midship-
men sporting plain clothes in the best society
in Palermo, and having the impudence to ask
a post-captain to dine with them! To ask
me, and address me as ‘‘ Tartar,” and ‘‘ my
dear fellow!” you infernal young scamps !’
continued Captain Tartar, now boiling with
rage, and striking his fist on the table so as
to set all the glasses waltzing.

‘Allow me to observe, ‘sir, said Jack, who
was completely sobered by the address, ‘ that
we do not belong to your ship, and that we
are in plain clothes.

‘In plain clothes—midshipmen in mufti—
yes, you are so : a couple of young swindlers,
without a sixpence in your, pocket, passing
yourselves off as young men of fortune, and
walking off through the window without pay-
ing your bill.’

‘Do you mean to call me aswindler, sir
replied Jack.

‘Yes, sir, you——’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
   
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

 

‘Then you lie!’ exclaimed our hero, in a /
rage. ‘lama gentleman, sir—I am sorry L/
cannot pay you the same compliment.’ {

The astonishment and rage of Captain
Tartar took away his breath. We tried to
speak, but could not—he gasped, and gasped,
and then sat or almost fell down in his chair.
At last he recovered himself.

‘Matthews— Matthews!’

‘Sir,’ replied the coxswain, who had re-
mained at the door.

‘The sergeant of marines.’

‘ Here is, sir.’

The sergeant entered, and raised the back
of his hand to his hat.

‘Bring your marines in—take charge’ of
these two. Directly you are on board» put
them both legs in irons.’

The marines with their bayonets walked in
and took possession ef our hero and. Gas-
coigne.

‘Perhaps, sir,’ replied Jack, who was now
cool again, ‘ you will permit us to pay our bill
before we go on board. Weareno swindlers,
and it is rather a heavy one ; or, as you have
taken possession of our persons, you will, per-
haps, do us the favour to discharge it yourself ;’
and Jack threw on the table a heavy purse of

dollars. ‘1 have only to observe, Captain
Tartar, that I wish to be very liberal to the
waiters.’

‘Sergeant, let them pay their bill,’ said
Captain. Tartar, in a more subdued tone,
taking his hat and sword and walking out of
the room.

‘By heavens, Easy, what have you. done?
You will be tried by a court-martial and turned
out of the service.’

‘T hope so,’ replied Jack ; ‘I was a fool to
come into it. But he called me a swindler,
and I would give the same answer to-
MOLTroW.

‘ff you are ready, gentlemen,’ said the
sergeant, who had been long: enough with
Captain Tartar to be aware that to be punished
by him was no proof of fault having been com-
mitted.

‘J will go and pack up our things, Easy,
while you pay the bill,’ said Gascoigne.
‘Marine, you had better come with me.’

In less than half an hour our hero and his
comrade, instead of finding themselves at the
marquesa’s ball, found themselves very com-
fortably in irons under the half-deck of his
Majesty's frigate Aurora.

We shall leave them, and return to Captain
Tartar, who had proceeded to the ball to
which he had been invited. On his entering
he was accosted by Don Martin and Don _
Philip, who inquired what had become of our
hero and his friend. Captain Tartar, who
was in no very good humour, replied briskly,

‘that they were on board his ship in irons.’‘In irons! for what?’ exclaimed Don
Philip.

‘Because, sir, they are a couple of young

7 7 S
scamps, who have introduced themselves into
the best company, passing themselves off as
people of consequence, when they are only a
couple of midshipmen who have run away
from their ship.’

Now the Rebieras knew very well that Jack
and his friend were midshipmen ; but this did
not appear to them any reason why they should
not be considered as gentlemen and treated
accordingly.

‘Do you mean to say, signor,’ said Don
Philip, ‘that you have accepted their hospi-
tality, laughed, talked, waiked arm-in-arm
with them, pledged them in wine, as we have
seen you this evening, and after they have
confided in you that you have put them in
irons ?”

eNesisir' fdos replied Captain Tartar.

“Then, by heaven, you have my defiance,
and you are no gentleman!’ replied Don
Philip, the elder.

‘And I repeat my brother's words, sir,’ cried
Don Martin.

The two brothers felt so much attachmen
for our hero, who had’ twice rendered such
signal service to their family, that their anger
was without bounds.

In every other service but the English navy
there is not that power of grossly insulting
and then sheltering yourself under your rank ;
nor is it necessary for the discipline of any
service. To these young officers, if the power
did exist, the use of such power under such
circumstances appeared monstrous, and they
were determined, at all events, to show to
Captain Tartar -that in SOCichy, atleast: tt
could be resented. They collected their
friends,- told’ them what had passed, and
begged them to circulate it through the room.
This was soon done, and Captain Tartar
found himself avoided. He went up to the
marquesa and spoke to her; she turned her
head the other way. He addressed a count
he had been conversing with the night before
—he turned short round upon his heel ; while
Don Philip and Don Martin walked up and
down talking, so that he might hear what they
said, and looking at him with eyes flashing
with indignation. Captain Tartar left the

ball-room and returned to the inn, more in-
dignant than ever. When he rose the next
morning he was informed that a gentleman
wished to speak with him ; he sent up his card
as Don Ignatio Verez, colonel commanding
the fourth regiment of infantry. On being
admitted, he informed Captain Tartar that
Don Philip de Rebiera wished to have the
pleasure of crossing swords with him, and re-
quested to know when it would be convenient
for Captain Tartar to meet him,

Cou

    
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 

MR. MIDSEIPMAN EASY. 83

It was not in Captain Tartar’s nature to
refuse a challenge ; his courage was unques-
tionable ; but he felt indignant that a midship-
man should be the cause of his getting into
such a scrape. He accepted the challenge,
but having no knowledge of the small-sword,
refused to fight unless with pistols. To this
the colonel raised no objections, and Captain
‘Tartar despatched his coxswain with a note to
his second lieutenant, for he was not on good
terms with his first. The meeting took place
—at the first fire the ball of Don Philip passed
through Captain Tartar's brain, and he in-
stantly fell dead. The second lieutenant
hastened on board to report the fatal result of
the meeting, and shortly after Don Philip and
his brother, with many of their friends, went
off in the governor's barge to condole with our
hero.

The first lieutenant, now captain ‘pro tem-
pore,’ received them graciously, and listened
to their remonstrances relative to our hero and
Gascoigne.

‘I have never been informed by the captain
of the grounds of complaint against the young
gentlemen,’ replied he, ‘and have therefore no
charge to prefer against them. TI shall there-
fore order them to be liberated. But as I
learn that they are officers belonging to one of
his Majesty’s ships lying at Malta, I feel it my
duty, as I sail immediately, to take them there
and send them on board of their own ship.’

Jack and Gascoigne were then taken out of
irons and permitted to see Don Philip, who
informed them that he ‘had revenged the in-
sult, but Jack and Gascoigne did not wish to
go on shore after what had passed. After an
hour's conversation, and assurances of con-
tinued friendship, Don Philip, his brother,
and their friends took leave of our two mid-
shipmen and rowed on shore.

And now we must be sérious.

We do not write these novels merely to
amuse. We have always had it in our view
to instruct, and it must-not be supposed that
we have no other end in-view than to make
the reader laugh. If we were to write an
elaborate work, telling truths, and plain
truths, confining ourselves only to point out
errors and to demand reform, it would not be
read ; we have therefore selected this light
and trifling species of writing, as it is by many
denominated, as a channel through which we
may convey wholesome advice in a palatable
shape. If we would point out an error, we
draw a character, and although that character

appears to weave naturally into the tale of
fiction, it becomes as much a beacon as it is a
vehicle of amusement. We consider this to
be the true art of novel writing, and thatcrime
and folly and error can be as severely lashed as
virtue and morality can be upheld, bya series
of amusing causes and effects, that entice the84

reader to take a medicine which, although
rendered agreeable to the palate, still pro-
duces the same internal benefit as if it had
been presented to him in its crude state, in
which it would either be refused or nauseated.

In our naval novels we have often pointed
out the errors which have existed, and still do
exist, in a Service which is an honour to our
country ; for what institution is there on earth
that is perfect, or into which, if it once was
perfect, abuses will not creep? Unfortunately
others have written to decry the service, and
many have raised up their voices against our
writings, because they felt that, in exposing
error, we were exposing them. But to this we
have been indifferent ; we felt that we were
doing good, and we have continued. To
prove that we are correct in asserting that we
have done good we will, out of several, state
one single case.

In ‘ The King’s Own,’ a captain, when re-
quested to punish a man instanter for a fault
committed, replies that he never has and never
will punish a man until twenty-four hours
after the offeuce, that he may not be induced
by the anger of the moment to award a
severer punishment than in his cooler mo-
ments he might think commensurate ; and
that he wished that the Admiralty would give
out an order to that effect.

Some time after the publication of that
work, the order was given by the Admiralty
forbidding the punishment until a certain
time had elapsed after the offence; and we
had the pleasure of knowing from the first
lord of the Admiralty at the time that it was in
consequence of the suggestion in the novel.

If our writings had effected nothing else, we
might still lay down our pen with pride and
satisfaction : but they have done more, much
more ; and while they have amused the reader
they have improved the service: they have
held up in their characters a mirror, in which
those who have been in error may see their
own deformity, and many hints which have
been given have afterwards returned to the
thoughts of those who have had influence,
have been considered as their own ideas, and
have been acted upon. ‘The conduct of Cap-
tain Tartar may be considered as a libel on
the service—is it not? The fault of Captain
Tartar was not in sending them on board,
or even putting them in irons as deserters,
although, under the circumstances, he might
have shown more delicacy. The fault was in
stigmatizing a young man as a swindler, and
the punishment awarded to the error is in-
tended to point out the moral, that such an
abuse of power should be severely visited.
The greatest error now in our service is the
disregard shown to the feelings of the junior
officers in the language of their superiors :
that an improvement has taken place I grant,

 

 

 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

but that it still exists, to a degree injurious to /
the service, I know too well. The articles of/
war, as our hero was informed by his captain,
are equally binding on officers and crew }
but what a dead letter do they become if
officers are permitted to break them with im-
punity! The captain of a ship will turn the
hands up to punishment, read the articles of
war for the transgressing of which the punish-
ment is inflicted, and to show at that time their
high respect for the articles of war, the cap-
tain and every officer take off their hats. The
moment the hands are piped down, the second
article of war, which forbids all swearing, etc.,
in derogation of God's honour, is immediately
disregarded. We are not strait-laced,—we
care little about an oath as a mere expletive ;
we refer now to swearing at others, to insult-
ing their feelings grossly by coarse and in-
temperate language. We would never in-

terfere with a man for d—-——g his own eyes,
but we deny the right of his d——-—g those of
another.

The rank of a master in the service is above
that of a midshipman, but still the midship-
man is a gentleman by birth, and the master,
generally speaking, is not. Even at this mo-
ment, in the service, if the master were to
d—n the eyes of a midshipman, and tell him
that he was a liar, would there be any redress,
or if so, would it be commensurate to the
insult? Ifamidshipman were to request acourt-
martial, would it be granted ?—certainly not :
and yet this is a point of more importance
than may be conceived. Our service has been
wonderfully improved since the peace, and
those who are now permitied to enter it must
be gentlemen. We know that even now there
are many who cry out against this as danger-
ous, and injurious to the service ; as if educa-
tion spoiled an officer, and the scion of an
illustrious house would not be more careful to
uphold an escutcheon without blemish for cen-
turies than one who has little more than brute
courage; but those who argue thus are the
very people who are injurious to the service,
for they can have no other reason, except that
they wish that the juniors may be tyrannized
over with impunity.

Be it remembered that these are not the ob-
servations of a junior officer, smarting under
insult—they are the result of deep and calm
reflection. We have arrived to that grade,
that. although we have the power to inflict,
we are too high to receive insult, but we have
not forgotten how our young blood has boiled
when wanton, reckless, and cruel torture has
been heaped upon our feelings, merely because,
as a junior officer, we were not in a position
to retaliate, or even to reply. And another
evil is, that this great error is disseminated.
In observing on it in one of our works, called
‘Peter Simple,’ we have put the followingALR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 8s

true observation in the mouth of O’Brien. nothing else was known, except that they
Peter observes, in his simple, right-minded must have made powerful friends somehow or
way,— another ; and there appeared in the conduct
‘T should think, O’Brien, that the very cir- of Captain Tartar, as well as in the whole
cumstance of having had your feelings so often transaction, somewhat of a mystery.
wounded by such language when you werea _—‘I should like to know what happened to
junior officer would make you doubly careful my friend Jack, who fought the duel,’ said the
not to use it towards others, when you had governor, who had laughed at it till he held

advanced in the service.’ his sides; ‘Wilson, do bring him here to-
‘Peter, that’s just the first feeling, which morrow morning, and let us have his story.’
wears away after a time, till at last your own ‘I am afraid of encouraging him, Sir Vho-

sense of indignation becomes blunted, and mas; he is much too wild aiready. I told you
becomes indifferent to it: you forget, also, of his first cruize. He has nothing but ad-
that you wound the feelings of others, and ventures, and they all end too favourably.’
carry the habit with you, to the great injury ‘Well, but you can send for him here and
and disgrace of the service.’ blow him up just as well as In your own

Let it not be supposed that in making these cabin, and then we will have the truth out of
remarks we want to cause litigation or insub- him.’

ordination. On the contrary, we assert that ‘That you certainly will,’ replied Captain
this error is the cause, and eventually will be Wilson, ‘for he tells it plainly enough.’
much more the cause of insubordination; for ‘ Well, to oblige me, send for him. I don't

as the junior officers who enter the service See he was much to blame in absconding, as
are improved, so will they resist it. The it appears he thought he would be hung. I
complaint here is more against the officers want to see the lad.’

than the captains, whose power has been _ ‘Well, governor, if you wish it,’ replied
perhaps already too much curtailed by late Captain Wilson, who wrote a note to Mr.
teculations: that power must remain, for Sawbridge, requesting he would send Mr.
although there may be some few who are Easy to him at the governor's house at ten
so perverted as to make those whom they o'clock in the morning.

command uncomfortable, in justice to the | Jack made his appearance in his uniform—
service we are proud to assert that the majority he did not much care for what was said to him,
acknowlec ge, by their conduct, that the as he was resolved to leave the service. He had
greatest charm attached to power is to be been put in irons, and the iron had entered
able to make so many people happy. into his soul.

Mr. Sawbridge had gone on shore about an
hour before Jack had been sent on board, and
he had remained on shore all the night. He
CHAPTER XXIIL did not therefore see_ Jack but for a few

minutes, and thinking it his duty to say no-
OUR HERO IS SICK WITH THE SERVICE, BUT thing to him at first, or to express his displea-

RECOVERS WITH PROPER MEDIGINE.—-AN sure, he merely observed to him that the

ARGUMENT, ENDING, AS MOST DO, IN A captain would speak to him as soon as he

BLOW UP.—MESTY LECTURES UPON CRANI- came on board. As Gascoigne and our hero

OLOGY. did not know how far it might be safe, even at

i Z Malta, to acknowledge to what occurred on
THE day after the funeral, H.M. ship Au- board the speronare, which might get wind,
rora sailed for Malta, and on her arrival the they did not even tell their messmates, re-
acting captain sent our two midshipmen on solving only to confide it to the captain.

board the Harpy without any remark, except When Jack was ushered into the presence
‘victualled the day discharged,’ as they had of the captain, he found him sitting with the
been borne on the ship’s books as supernu- governor, and the breakfast on the table
merarles. ready for them. Jack walked in with courage,

Mr. James, who was acting in the Aurora, but respectfully. He was fond of Captain
was anxious to join the admiral at Toulon, Wilson, and wished to show him respect.
and intended to sail the next day. Hemet Captain Wilson addressed him, pointed out
Captain Wilson at the governor’s table, and that he had committed a great error in
stated that Jack and Gascoigne had been put fighting a duel—a greater error in demeaning
in irons by order of Captain Tartar: his sus- himself by fighting the purser's steward, and
piciors, and the report that the duel had in still greater in running away from his ship.
consequence taken place ; but Gascoigne and Jack looked respectfully to Captain Wilson,
Jack had both agreed that they would not acknowledged that he had done wrong, and
communicate the events of their cruise to any- promised to be more careful another time, if
body on board of the Aurora; and therefore Captain Wilson would look over it,86 MR.
‘Captain Wilson, allow me to plead for the
young gentleman,’ said the governor ; ‘I am
convinced that it has only been an error in
judgment.’

‘Well, Mr. Easy, as you express your con-
trition, and the governor interferes in your
behalf, I shall take no more notice of this.
But recollect, Mr. Easy, that you have occa-
sioned me a great deal of anxiety by your mad
pranks, and I trust another time you will re-
member that I am too anxious for your wel-
fare not to be uncomfortable when you run
such risks. You may now go on board to
your duty, ard tell Mr. Gascoigne to do the
same ; and pray let us hear of no more duels
or running away.’

Jack, whose heart softened at this kind
treatment, did not venture to speak ; he made
his bow and was about to quit the room, when
the governor said—

‘Mr. Easy, you have not breakfasted 2’

‘I have, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘before I came
on shore.’

‘But a midshipman can always eat two
breakfasts, particularly when his own comes
first ; so sit down and breakfast with us—it’s
all over now.’

‘Even if it was not,’ replied Captain Wil-
son, laughing, ‘I doubt whether it would
spoil Mr. Easy’s breakfast. Come, Mr. Easy,
sit down.’

Jack bowed, and took his chair, and proved
that his lecture had not taken away his appe-
tite. When breakfast was over, Captain
Wilson observed—

“Mr. Easy, you have generally a few ad-
ventures to speak of when you return, will you
tell the governor and me what has taken place
since you left us ?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘but I ven-
ture to request that it may be under the
promise of secrecy, for it’s rather important to
me and Gascoigne.’

“Yes, if secrecy is really necessary, my boy :
but I’m the best judge of that,’ replied the
governor.

Jack then entered into a detail of his adven-
tures, which we have already described, much
to the astonishment of the governor and his
captain, and concluded. his narration by
stating that he wanted to leave the service; he
hoped that Captain Wilson would discharge
him and send him home.

‘Pooh, nonsense !’ said the governor, ‘you
shan't leave the Mediterranean while I am
here. No, no—you must have more adven-
tures, and come back and tell them to me.
And recollect, my lad, that whenever you
come to Malta, there isa bed at the governor's
house, and a seat at his table, always ready
for you.’

‘You are very kind, Sir Thomas,’

Tate be replied
ack, ‘ but———

    
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
  
    
    
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
   

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘No buts at all, sir—you shan’t leave the
service! Besides, recollect that I can ask for
leave ofabsence for you to go and see Donna
Agnes. Ay, and send you there, too.’

Captain Wilson also remonstrated with our
hero, and he gave up the point. It was harsh
treatment which made him form the resolu-
tion—it was kindness which overcame it.

‘With your permission, Captain Wilson,
Mr. Easy shall dine with us to-day, and bring
Gascoigne with him. You shall first scold
him, and I'll console him with a good dinner,
And, boy, don’t be afraid to tell your story
everywhere. Sit down and tell it at Nix
Mangare stairs, if you please. I’m governor
eres!

Jack made his obeisance, and departed.

‘The lad must be treated kindly, Captain
Wilson,’ said the governor ; ‘he would bea
loss to the service. Good heavens, what ad-
ventures, and how honestly he tells every-
thing! Ishall ask him to stay with me for
the time you are here, if you will allow me:
I want to make friends with him—he must not
leave the service.’

Captain Wilson, who felt that kindness and
attention would be more effectual with our
hero than any other measures, gave his con-
sent to the governor's proposition. So Jack
ate at the governor’s table, and took lessons
in Spanish and Italian until the Harpy had
been refitted, after heaving down. Beforeshe
was ready a vessel arrived from the fleet,
directing Captain Wilson to repair to Mahon
and send a transport, lying there, to procure #
live bullocks for the fleet. Jack did not join
his ship very willingly, but he had promised
he governor to remain in the service, and he |
went on board the evening before she sailed.
He had been living so well that he had, at
first, a horror of midshipman’s fare, but a good
appetite seasons everything, and Jack soon
complained that there was not enough. He
was delighted to see Jolliffe and Mesty after
so long an absence: he laughed at the boat-
swain's cheeks, inquired after the purser’s
steward’s shot-holes, shook hands with Gas-
coigne and his other messmates, gave Vigors
a thrashing, and then sat down to supper.

“Ah, Massa Easy, why you take a cruise
without me?’ said Mesty ; ‘dat very shabby.
By de power, but I wish I was there. You
ab too much danger, Massa Easy, without
Mesty, anyhow.’

The next day the Harpy. sailed, and Jack
went to his duty. Mr. Asper borrowed ten
pounds, and our hero kept as much watch as
he pleased, which, as watching did not please
him, was very little. Mr. Sawbridge had
long conversations with our hero, pointing out
to him the necessity of discipline and obedi-
ence in the service, and that there was no
such thing as equality, and that the rights of

otMR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 87

man secured to every one the property which
he held in possession.

* According to your ideas, Mr. Easy, a man
has no more right to his wife than anything
else, and any other man may claim her.’

Jack thought of Agnes, and he made matri-
mony an exception, as he continued to argue
the point ; but although he argued, still his
philosophy was almost upset at the idea of
any one disputing with him the rights of man,
with respect to Agnes.

The Harpy made the. African coast, the
wind continued contrary, and they were baffled
for many days: at last they espied a brig
under the land, about sixteen miles off: her
rig and appearance made Captain Wilson
suspect that she was a privateer of some de-
scription or another, but it was calm, and
they could not approach her. Nevertheless
Captain Wilson thought it his duty to exa-
mine her ; so at ten o'clock at night the boats
were hoisted out : as this was merely intended
for a reconnoitre, for there was no saying
what she might be, Mr. Sawbridge did not
go. Mr. Asper was in the sick list, so Mr.
Smallsole the master had the command of the
expedition. Jack asked Mr. Sawbridge to let
him have charge of one of the boats. Mr,
Jolliffe and Mr. Vigors went in the pinnace
with the master. “The gunner had the charge
of one cutter, and our hero had the command
of the other. Jack, although not much more

than seventeen, was very strong and tall for
his age; indeed he was a man grown, and
shaved twice a week. His only object in
going was to have a yarn for the governor
when he returned to Malta. Mesty went
with him, and, as the boat shoved off, Gas-
coigne slipped in, telling Jack that he was
come to take care of him, for which conside-
rate kindness Jack expressed his warmest
thanks. The orders to the master were very
explicit ; he was to reconnoitre the vessel, and
if she proved heavily armed not to attack, for
she was embayed, and could not escape the
Harpy as soon as there was wind. If not
armed he was to board her, but he was to do
nothing till the morning: the reason for send-
ing the boats away so soon was, that the men
might not suffer from the heat of the sun
during the daytime, which was excessive, and
had already put many men on the sick-list.
The boats were to pull to the bottom of the
bay, not to go so near as to be discovered,
and then drop their grapnels till daylight.
The orders were given to Mr. Smallsole in
presence of the other officers who were ap-
pointed to the boats, that there might be no
mistake, and the boats then shoved off.
After a three hours’ pull, they arrived to where
the brig lay becalmed, and as they saw no
lights moving on board, they supposed they
were not seen. They dropped their grapnels

in about seven fathoms water, and waited. for
daylight. When Jack heard Captain Wil-
son's orders that they were to lie at anchor till
daylight, he had sent down Mesty for fishing-
lines, as fresh fish is always agreeable ina
midshipman’s~ berth: he and Gascoigne
amused themselves this way, and as they
pulled up the fish they entered into an argu-
ment, and Mr. Smallsole ordered them to be
silent. The point which they discussed was
relative to boat service; Gascoigne insisted
that the boats should all board at once—
while our hero took it into his head that it
was better they should come up one after the
other ; a novel idea, but Jack's ideas on most
points were singular.

‘If you throw your whole force upon the
decks at once, you overpower them,’ observed
Gascoigne ; ‘if you do not, you are beaten in
detail.’

‘Very true,’ replied Jack, ‘supposing that
you have an overpowering force, or they are
not prepared ; but recollect, that if they are,
the case is altered ; for instance, as to fire-
arms—they fire theirs at the first boat, and
they have not time to re-load, when the
second comes up with its fire reserved ; every
fresh boat arriving adds to the courage of
those who have boarded, and to the alarm of
those who defend; the men come on fresh
and fresh. Depend upon it, Gascoigne, there
is nothing like a ‘‘ corps de reserve.” ’

‘Will you keep silence in your boat, Mr.
Easy, or will you not ?’ cried the master ;
‘you're a disgrace to the service, Sir.’

‘Thank ye, sir,’ replied Jack, in a low tone.
‘I've another bite, Ned.’

jack and his comrade continued to fish in
silence till the day broke. The mist rolled
off the stagnant water, and discovered the
brig, who, as soon as she perceived the boats,
threw out the French tricolor, and fired a
gun of defiance.

Mr. Smallsole was undecided; the gun
fired was not a heavy one, and so Mr. Jolliffe
remarked ; the men, as usual, anxious for the
attack, asserted the same, and Mr. Smallsole,
afraid of retreating from the enemy and being
afterwards despised by the ship's company,
ordered the boats to weigh their grapnels.

‘Stop a moment, my lads,’ said Jack to his
men, ‘ I've got a bite.. The men laughed at
Jack’s taking it so easy, but he was their pet :
and they did stop for him to pull up his fish,
intending to pull up to the other boats and
recover their loss of a few seconds.

‘T’'ve hooked him now,’ said Jack; ‘you
may up with the grapnel while I up with the
fish.’ But this delay gave the other boats a
start of a dozen strokes of their oars, which
was a distance not easy to be regained.

‘They will be aboard before us, sir,’ said
the coxswain.88

“Never mind
one must be last.

‘But not the boat I am in,’ replied Gas-
coigne ; ‘if I could help it.’

“I tell you,’ replied Jack, ‘we shall be the
‘‘ corps de reserve,” and have the honour of
turning the scale in our favour.’

‘Give way, my lads,’ cried Gascoigne, per-
ceiving the other boats still kept their distance
ahead of them, which was about a cable’s
length.

‘Gascoigne, I command the boat,’ said
Jack, ‘and I do not wish my men to board
without any breath in their bodies—that’s a
very unwise plan. A steady pull, my lads,
and not too much exertion.’

‘ By heavens, they’ll take the vessel before
we get alongside.’

“Even if they should, I am right, am I not,
Mesty 2"

‘Yes, Massa Easy, you very right—suppose
they take vessel without you, they no want
you—suppose they want you, you come.’
And the negro, who had thrown his jacket off,
bared his arm, as if heintended mischief,

The first cutter, commanded by the gunner,
now gained upon the launch, and was three
boats'-lengths ahead of her when she came
alongside, The brig poured in her broadside
--it was well directed, and down went the
boat.

‘Cutter’s sunk,’ exclaimed Gascoigne ; ‘by
heavens ; give way, my men.’

‘Now, don’t you observe, that had we all
three been pulling up together, the broadside
would have sunk us all? said Jack, very com-
posedly.

“There's board in the launch—give way,
my men, give way,’ said Gascoigne, stamping
with impatience.

The reception was evidently warm; by the
time that the launch had poured in her men,
the second cutter was close under the brig’s
quarter—two more strokes and she was along-
side; when of a sudden, a tremendous ex-
plosion took place on the deck of the vessel,
and bodies and fragments were hurled up in
the air. So tremendous was the explosion,
that the men of the second CHtter, as if transe
fixed, simultaneously stopped pulling, their
eyes directed to the volumes of smoke which
poured through the ports, and hid the whole
of the masts and rigging of the vessel.

‘ Now’s your time, my lads, give Way, and
alongside,’ cried our hero.

The men, reminded by his voice, obeyed—
but the impetus already given to the boat was
sufficient. Before they could drop their oars
in the water they grazed against the vessel's
sides, and, following Jack, were in a few
seconds on the quarter-deck of the vessel. A
dreadful sight presented itself—the whole deck
was black, and corpses lay strewed ; their

that,’ replied Jack ; ‘some

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 

clothes on them still burning, and among the
bodies lay fragments of what once were men.

The capstern was unshipped and turned ‘|

over on its side—the binnacles were in rem-
nants, and many of theropesignited. ‘There
was not one person left on deck to oppose
them.

As they afterwards learned from some of the
men who had saved their lives by remaining
below, the French captain had seen the boats
before they anchored, and had made every
preparation ; he had filled a large ammuni-
tion chest with cartridges for the guns, that
they might not have to hand them up: he
conflict bétween the men of the pinnace and
the crew of the vessel was carried on near the
capstern, and a pistol fired had accidentally
communicated with the powder, which blew
up in the very centre of the dense and despe-
rate sirugele,

The first object was to draw water and
extinguish the flames, which were spreading
over the vessel ; as soon as that was accom-
plished, our hero went aft to the taffrail, and
looked for the cutter which had been sunk. —
‘Gascoigne, jump into the boat with four
men—I see the cutter floats a quarter of a
mile astern: there may be some one alive
yet. I think now I see a head or two.’

Gascoigne hastened away, and soon re-
turned with three of the cutter’s men: the
rest had sunk, probably killed or wounded by
the discharge of the broadside.

“Thank God, there's three saved!’ said
Jack, ‘ for we have lost too many. We must
now see if any of these poor fellows are yet
alive, and clear the decks of the remnants of
those who have been blown to pieces. I say,
Ned, where should we have been if we had
boarded with the pinnace ?’

‘You always fall upon your feet, Easy,’ re-
plied Gascoigne ; ‘but that does not prove
that you are right.’

‘I see there's no convincing you, Ned, you
areso confoundedly fond ofargument. How-
ever, I’ve no time to argue now—we must
look to these poor fellows; some are still
alive.’

Body after body was thrown through the
ports, the habiliments, in most cases, enabling
them to distinguish whether it was that of a
departed friend or foe.

Jack turned round, and observed Mesty
with his foot on a head which had been blown
from a trunk.

‘What are you about, Mesty ?”

‘Massa Easy, I look at dis, and I tink it
Massa Vigors’ head, and den I tink dis skull
of his enemy nice present make to little Massa
Gossett ; and den I tink again, and I say, no,
he dead and nebber thrash any more—so let
him go overboard.’

Jack turned away, forgiving Vigors in hisheart; he thought of the petty animosities of
a midshipman’s berth, as he looked at the
blackened portion of a body half an hour
before possessing intellect.

‘Massa Easy,’ said Mesty, ‘I tink you say
right, anyhow, when you say forgive: den,
Massa Vigors,’ continued Mesty, taking up
the head by the singed hair, and tossing it out
of the port ; ‘ you really very bad man—but
Ashantee forgive you.’

‘ Here's somebody alive,’ said Gascoigne to
Jack, examining a body, the face of which was
black as a cinder and not to be recognized,
‘and he is one of our men, too, by his dress.’

Our hero went up to examine, and to assist
Gascoigne in disengaging the body from a
heap of ropes and half-burnt turpaulings with
which it was entangled. Mesty followed, and
looking at the lower extremities, said, ‘Massa
Easy, dat Massa Jolliffe; I know him trousers ;
marine tailor say he patch um for ever, and so
old dat de thread no hold; yesterday he had
dis patch put in, and marine tailor say he be
d—n if he patch any more, please nobody.’

Mesty was right; it was poor Jolliffe, whose
face was burnt as black as a coal by the ex-
plosion. He had also lost three fingers of the
left hand, but as soon as he was brought out
on the deck he appeared to recover, and
pointed to his mouth for water, which was in-
stantly procured.

‘ Mesty,’ said Jack, ‘TI leave you in charge
of Mr. Jolliffe ; take every care of him till I
Can come back.’

The investigation was then continued, and
four English sailors found who might be ex-
pecied to recover, as well as about the same
number of Frenchmen : the remainder of the
bodies were then thrown overboard. ‘The hat
only of the master was picked up between the
guns, and there were but eleven Frenchmen
found below.

The vessel was the Franklin, a French
privateer, of ten guns and sixty-five men, of
which eight men were away in prizes. The
loss on the part of the vessel was forty-six
killed and wounded. On that of the Harpy,
it was five drowned in the cutter, and eighteen
blown up belonging to the pinnace, out of
which total of twenty-three they had only Mr.
Jolliffe and five seamen alive.

' ‘The Harpy is standing in with a breeze
fiuim the offing,’ said Gascoigne to Easy.

‘So much the better, for I am sick of this,
Ned ; there is something so horrible in it, and
I wish I was on board again. I have just been
to Jolliffe ; he can speak a little; I think he
will recover. I hope so, poor fellow ; he will
then obtain his promotion, for he is the com-
manding officer of all us who are left.’

‘And if he does,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘he
can swear that it was by having been blown
up which spoilt his beauty—but here comes

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
   
   
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
    
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 

89
the Harpy. I have been looking for an
English ensign to hoist over the French, but
cannot find one ; so I will hoist a wheft over
it,—that will do.’

The Harpy was soon hove-to close to the
brig, and Jack went on board in the cutter to
report what had taken place. Captain Wilson
was much vexed and grieved at the loss of so
many men : fresh hands were put in the cutter
to man the pinnace, and he and Sawbridge
both went on board to witness the horrible
effects of the explosion, as described by our
hero,

Jolliffe and the wounded men were taken on
board, and all of them recovered. We have
before stated how disfigured the countenance
of poor Mr. Jolliffe had been by the small-pox
—so severely was it burned that the whole of
the countenance came off in three weeks like
a mask, and every one declared that, seamed
as it still was, Mr. Jolliffe was better looking
than he was before. It may be as well here
to state, that Mr. Jolliffe not only obtained
his promotion, but a pension for his wounds,
and retired from the service. He was still
very plain, but as it was known that he had
been blown up, the loss of his eye as well as
the scars on his face were all put down to the
same accident, and he excited interest as a
gallant and maimed officer. He married, and
lived contented and happy toa good old age.

The Harpy proceeded with her prize to
Makon. Jack, as usual, obtained a great deal
of credit ; whether he deserved it, or whether,
as Gascoigne observed, he always fell upon
his feet, the reader may decide from our nar-
rative ; perhaps there was a little of both.
The seamen of the Harpy, if summoned ina
hurry, used very often to reply, ‘Stop a minute,
I've got a bite :’ as for Jack, he often said to
himself, ‘I have a famous good yarn for the
governor,’

CHAPTER XXIV;

JACK GOES ON ANOTHER CRUISE. — LOVE
AND DIPLOMACY.—JACK PROVES HIMSELF
TOO CLEVER FOR THREE, AND UPSETS ALL
THE ARRANGEMENTS OF THE HIGH CON-
TRACTING POWERS.

A FEW days after the arrival of the Harpy at
Port Mahon a cutter came in with despatches
from the admiral. Captain Wilson found
that he was posted into the Aurora frigate, in
which a vacancy had been made by the result
of our hero's transgressions,

Mr. Sawbridge was raised to the rank of
commander, and appointed to the command
of the Harpy. The admiral informed Captain
Wilson that he must detain the Aurora until
the arrival of another frigate, hourly expected,90

and then she would be sent down to Mahon
for him to take the command of her. Further,
he intimated that a supply of live bullocks
would be very agreeable, and'begged that he
would send to Tetuan immediately.

Captain Wilson had lost so many officers
that he knew not whom to send : indeed, now
he was no longer in command of the Harpy,
and there was but one lieutenant, and no
master or master’s mate. Gascoigne and Jack
were the only two serviceable midshipmen,
and he was afraid to trust them on any expe-
dition in which expedition was required.

‘What shall we do, Sawbridge? shall we
send Easy or Gascoigne, or both, or neither ?
—for if the bullocks are not forthcoming, the
admiral will not let them off as we do.’

‘We must send somebody, Wilson,’ replied
Captain Sawbridge, ‘and it is the custom to
send two officers, as one receives the bullocks
on board, while the other attends to the em-
barkation.

‘Well, then, send both,
lecture them well first.’

‘I don’t think they can get into any mis-
chief there,’ replied Sawbridge; ‘and it’s
such a hole that they will be glad to get away
from it.’

Easy and Gascoigne were summoned,
listened very respectfully to all Captain Saw-
bridge said, promised to conduct Aa enives
with the utmost propriety, received a letter to
the vice-consul, and were sent with their ham-

ocks and chests in the cabin on board the
Eliza Ann, brig, of two hundred and sixteen
tons, chartered by government—the master
and crew of which were all busy forward
heaving up their anchors.

‘The master of the transport came aft to re-
ceive them: he was a short, red-haired young
man, with hands as broad as the flappers of a
turtle; he was broad-faced, broad eee
well-freckled, and pug-nosed ;

Sawbridge, but

  

but if not v
handsome he w as remarkably ¢ cood- fbesouree d.
As soon as the chests and hammocks were on
deck, he told them that when he could get
the anchor up and make sail, he would give
them some bottled porter. Jack proposed
that he should get the porter up, and they
would drink it while he got the anchor up, as
it would save time.

‘It may save time, mayhap, but it won't
save porter,’ replied the master ; ‘ however,
you shall have it.’

He called the boy, ordered him to bring up
the porter, and then went forward. Jack

made the boy bring up two chairs, put the
porter on the companion hatch, and he and
Gascoigne sat down. ‘The anchor was
weighed, and the transport ran out under
her fore-topsail, as they were light-handed,
and had to secure the anchor. The transport
passed within ten yards of the Harpy, and

  
    
    
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
    
  
  
   
   
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

Captain Sawbridge, when he perceived the
two midshipmen taking it so very easy, sitting
in their chairs with their legs crossed, arms
folded, and their porter before them, had a
very great mind to order the transport to
heave-to, but he could spare no other officer,
so he walked away, saying to himself, ‘There'll
be another yarn for the governor, or I’m mis-
taken.’

As soon as sail was made on the transport,
the master, whose name was Hogs, came up
to our hero, and asked him how he found the
porter. Jack Harned that he never could
venture an opinion upon the first bottle—‘ So,
Captain Hogg, w e’ll trouble you for a second’
—after which fey troubled him for a third—
begged for a fourth—must drink his health
in a fifth—and, finally, pointed out the pro-
priety of making up the half-dozen. By this
time they found themselves rather light-
headed ; so, desiring Captain Hogg to keep
a sharp lookout, and not to call them on any
account whatever, they retired to their ham-
mocks

The next morning they awoke late; the
breeze was fresh and fair: they requested
Captain Hogg not to consider the expense,
as they would pay for all they ate and drank,
and all he did, into the bargain, and promised
him a fit-out when they got to Tetuan.

What with this promise and calling him
captain, our hero and Gascoigne won the
masters heart, and being a ns sry good-
tempered fellow, they did what they pleased.
Jack also tossed a doubloon to the men for
them to drink on their arrival, and all the men
of the transport were in a transport at Jack’s

coming to ‘reign over them.’ It must be ac-
knowledged that Jack’s reign was, for the
most part of it, ‘happy and glorious.’ At
last they arrived at Tetuan, and our Pylades

and Orestes went on shore to call upon the
vice-consul, accompanied by Captain Hogs.
They produced their credentials and) de-
manded bullocks. The vice-consul was a
very young man, short and thin, and light-
haired; his father had held the situation
before him, and he had been appointed his
successor because nobody else had. thought
the an worth applying for. Neverthe-
less, Mr. Hicks was impressed with the im-
mense ve onsibility of his office. It was,
however, a place of some little emolument a

this moment, and Mr. Hicks had plenty on
his hands besides his sister, who, being the
only English lady there, set the fashion of the
piace, and usurped all the attention of the
gentlemen mariners mY, occasionally came

for bullocks. But Miss Hicks knew her own
a and had su 1ecessively refused three
midshipmen, one master’s mate, and an acting
purser. African bullocks were plentiful at
‘Tetuan, but English ladies were scarce ; more-over, she had a pretty little fortune of her
own, to wit, three hundred dollars in a can-
vas bag, left her by her father, and entirely
at her own disposal. Miss Hicks was very
like her brother, except that she was more
dumpling in her figure, with flaxen hair ; her
eres were rather pretty and her skin very
fair. As soon as the preliminaries had been
entered into, au arrangements made in a
small room with Bare valls, vhich Mr. Hicks
den minated his. office, they were asked to
walk into the parlov ir to be intro. duce d to the
ue consul’s sister. Miss Hicks tossed her
ead at the two midshipmen, but smiled most
gre rraciously at Captain Hogg. She knew the
relative ranks of midshipman and captain.
After a short time she requested the honour
of Captain Hogg’s company to dinner, and

begged that he would bring his midshipmen
with him, at which Jack and Gascoigne looked

at each other and burst out in a laugh, and
Miss Hicks we as very near rescinding the latter
part of her invitation. As soon as they were
out of the house, they told the captain to go
on board and get all ready whilst they walked
round the town. Having peeped into every
part of it, and stared at Arabs, Moors, and
Jews, till they were tired, they proceeded to the
landing-place, where they met the captain,
who informed them that he had done nothing,
because the men were all drunk with Jack’s
doubloon. Jack replied that a doubloon
would not last for ever, and that the sooner
they drank it out the better. ‘hey then
returned to the vice-consul’s, whom they re-

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

gr
a hundred dollars on account, for Captain
Hogg had a large stock of porter and English
luxuries, w hich he had brought out as a
venture, and of which he had still a con-
siderable portion left. As, therefore, our
midshipmen not only were cheated by the
vice-consul, but they ‘also supplied his table,
Mr. Hicks was very hospitable, and every-
thing was at their service e except Miss Julia,
who turned up hernose ata eee even
upon full pay ; but she made great advances
ie the captain, who, on his part was despe-
rately in love : so the mate and the men made
all an for the buliocks, Jack and Gascoigne
made themselves comfortable, and Cay stain
Hogg made love, and thus passed the first
week.

The chamber of Easy and Gascoigne was at
the top of the house, and finding it excessively
warm, Gascoigne had forced his way up to
the flat roof above (for the houses are all built
in that way in most Mahomedan countries, to
enable the occupants to enjoy the cool of the
evening, a sometimes to sleep there). Those
roofs, where houses are built next to each other,

e savided by a wall of several feet, to insure
that privacy which the Mahomedan customs
demand.

Gascoigne had not been long up there before
he heard ‘the voice of a female singing a plain-
tive air in a low tone, on the other side of the
wall. Gascoigne sang well himsel ; and having
a very fine ear, he was pleased with the correct-
ness of the notes, although he had never heard
the air before. He leant against the wall,

quested to procure for them fifty dozen of smoked his cigar, and listened. It was re-

fowls, twenty sheep, and a great many other
articles which might be obtained at the place ;
for, as Jack said, they would live well going
up to Toulon, and if there were any of the
stock left, they would give them to the admiral,
for Jack had taken the precautidn to put his
father's philosophy once more to the proof,
before he quitted Mahon. As Jacl gave sy ich
a liberal Cae and the vice-consul cheated
him out of at least one-third of what he paid,
Hicks thought he could do no less than
offer beds to our midshipmen as well as to
Captain Hogg; so,as soon as dinner was
over, they ordered Captain Hogg to go on
board and bring their things on shore, which
he did. As the time usual for tran isports re-
maining at Tetuan’before they could be com-
pleted with bullocks was three weeks, our
midshipmen decided upon staying at least so
long if they could find anything to do; orif
they could not, doing nothing was infinitely
preferable to doing duty, So they took up
their quarters at the vice-consul’s, sending for
porter and other things which were not to be
had but from the transport; and Jaek, to
prove that he was not a, swindler, as Captain
Tartar had called him, gave Captain Hoge

 

 

 

 

peated again and again at intervals; Gas-
coigne soon caught the notes, which sounded
so clear and pure in the silence of the night.
At last they ceased, and having waited

another half-hour in vain, our midshipman
returned to his bed, humming the air which
had so pleased his ear. Jt haunted him
during his sleep, and rang in his ears when
he awoke, as it is well known any new air that
pleases us willdo. Before breakfast was ready
Gascoigne had put ee words to it, and
sang them over and overagain. He inquired
of the vice-consul who lived in the next house,
and was answered that it was an old Moor,
who was reported to be wealthy, and to have
a daughter, whom many of the people had
asked in marriage, but whether for her wealth
or for her beauty he could not tell; he had,
however, heard that she was very handsome.
Gascoigne made no further inquiries, but went
out with Jack and Captain Hogg, and on
board to see the water got in for the bullocks.

‘Where did you pick up that air, Gascoigne?
It is very pretty, but I never heard you sing it
before.’

Gascoigne told him, and also what he had
heard from Mr, Hicks.\}
W

92 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘T’m determined, Jack, to see that girl if I
can. Hicks can talk Arabic fast enough ; just
ask him the Arabic for these words—‘* Don’t
be afraid—I love you—I cannot speak your
tongue,’-—and put them down on a paper as
they are pronounced.’

Jack rallied Gascoigne upon his fancy,
which could end in nothing.

‘Perhaps not,’ replied Gascoigne; ‘and I
should have cared nothing about it if she had
not sung so well. I really believe the way to
my heart is through my ear ; however, I shall
try to-night, and soon find if she has the feel-
ing which I think she has. Now let us go
back ; I'm tired of looking at women. In gar-
ments up to their eyes, and men in dirt up to
Aheir foreheads.’

As they entered the house they heard an
altercation between Mr. and Miss Hicks.

‘I shall never give my consent, Julia ; one
of those midshipmen you turn your nose upat
is worth a dozen Hoggs.’

‘Now, if we only knew the price of a hog in
this country,’ observed Easy, ‘we should be
able to calculate our exact value, Ned.’

‘A hog, being an unclean animal, is
not——’

‘Hush !' said Jack.

‘Mr, Hicks,’ replied Miss Julia, ‘I am
mistress of myself and my fortune, and I shall
do as I please.’

‘Depend upon it, you shall not, Julia. I
consider it my duty to prevent you from mak-
ing an improper match ; and, as his Majesty’s
representative here, I cannot allow you to
marry this young man.’

‘Mercy on us! said Gascoigne, ‘his
Majesty’s representative !”

‘T shall not ask your consent,’ replied the
lady.

“Yes, but you shall not marry without my
consent. I have, as you know, Julia, from
my situation here as one of his Majesty's
‘“corps diplomatick,”’ great power, and I shall
forbid the banns ; in fact it is only I who can
marry you.’

‘Then I'll marry elsewhere.’

‘And what will you do on board of the
transport until you are able to be married ?’

‘JT shall do as I think proper,’ replied the
lady ; ‘and I’ll thank you for none of your
indelicate insinuations.” So saying, the lady
bounced out of the room into her own, and
our midshipmen then made a noise in the

passage to intimate that they had come in.
‘They found Mr. Hicks looking very red and
vice-consular indeed, but he recovered him-
self; and Captain Hogg making his appear-
ance, they went to dinner; but Miss Julia
would not make her appearance, and Mr.
Hicks was barely civil to the captain, but he
was soon afterwards called out, and our mid-
shipmen went into the office to enable the

 

two lovers to meet. They were heard then
talking together, and after a time they said
less, and their language was more tender.

‘Let’s see what's going on, Jack,’ said
Gascoigne ; and they walked softly, so as to
perceive the two lovers, who were too busy to
be on the look-out.

Captain Hogg was requesting a lock of his
mistress’s hair. ‘The plump Julia could deny
him nothing; she let fall her flaxen tresses,
and taking out the scissors cut off a thick
bunch from her hair behind, which she pre-
sented to the captain; it was at least a foot
and a half long, and an inch in circumference:
The captain took it in his immense hand, and
thrust it into his coat-pocket behind, but one
thrust down to the bottom would not get it in,
so he thrust again and again until it was all
coiled away like a cable in a tier.

‘That's a liberal girl,’ whispered Jack ; ‘she
gives by wholesale what it will take some time
to retail. But here comes Mr. Hicks; let's
give them warning. I like Hogg, and as she
fancies pork she shall have it, if [ can contrive
to help them.’

That night Gascoigne went again on the
roof, and after waiting for some time heard
the same air repeated. He waited until it
was concluded, and then, in a very low tone,
sung it himself to the words he had arranged
forit. For some time all was silent, and then
the singing re-commenced, but it was not to the
same air. Gascoigne waited until the new air
had been repeated several times, and then,
giving full scope to his fine tenor voice, sang
the first air again. It echoed through the
silence of the night air, and then he waited,
but in vain ; the soft voice of the female was
heard no more, and Gascoigne retired to
rest.

This continued for three or four nights,
Gascoigne singing the same airs the ensuing
night he had heard the preceding, until at
last it appeared that the female had no longer
any fear, but changed the airs so as to be
amused with the repetition of them next even-
ing. On the fifth night she sang the first air,
and our midshipman responding, she then
sang another, until she had sung them all,
waiting each time for the response. The wall
was not more than eight feet high, and Gas-

coigne now determined, with the assistance of
Jack, to have a sight of his unknown song-.|
stress. He asked Captain Hogg to bring on
shore some inch line, and he contrived to
make a ladder with three or four poles which
were upstairs, used for drying linen. He
fixed them against the wall without noise, all
ready for the evening. It was a beautiful,
clear moonlight night when he went up, ac-
companied by ack. ‘The air was again sung,
and repeated by Gascoigne, who then softly
mounted the ladder, held by Jack, and raisedhis head above the wall; he perceived a
young Moorish girl, splendidly dressed, and
lying on an ottoman, with her eyes fixed upon
the moon, whose rays enabled him to observe
that she was indeed beautiful. She appeared
lost in contemplation ; and Gascoigne would
have given the world to have divined her
thoughts. Satisfied with what he had seen,
he descended, and singing one of the airs, he
then repeated the words, ‘Do not be afraid—
I love you—I cannot speak your language.’
He then sang another of the airs, and after
he had finished he again repeated the words
in Arabic ; but there was no reply. He sang
the third air, and again repeated the words,
when, to his delight, he heard an answer in
Lingua Franca.

‘Can you speak in this tongue?’

‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘I can, Allah be
praised! Be not afraid—I love you.’

‘I know you not; who are you? you are
not of my people.’

‘No, but I will be anything that you wish.
I am a Frank, and an English officer.’

At this reply of Gascoigne there was a
pause.

‘Am I then despised ?’ said Gascoigne.

‘No, not despised ; but you are not of my
people, or of my land ; speak no more, or you

will be heard.’

‘I obey,’ replied. Gascoigne, ‘since you
wish it; but I shall pine till to-morrow’s
moon. I gotodream of you. Ailah protect
you !

‘ How amazingly poetical you weré in your
language, Ned,’ said Easy, when they went
down into their room.

‘To be sure, Jack, I’ve read the Arabian
Nights. You never saw such eyes in your
life : what a houri she is !’ .

‘Is she as handsome as Agnes, Ned ?’

‘Twice as handsome by moonlight.’

‘That's all moonshine, and so will be your
courting, for it will come to nothing.’

‘ Not if I can help it.’

‘Why, Gascoigne what would you do with
a wife ?”

‘Just exactly what you would do, Jack.’

‘T mean, my dear Ned, can you afford to
marry ?

‘Not while the old governor lives; but I
know he has some money in the funds. He
told me ane day that I could not expect more
than three thousand pounds. You know I
have sisters.’

‘And before you come into that you'll have
three thousand children.’

‘That’s a large family, Jack,’ replied Gas-
coigne, bursting out into laughter, in which
our hero joined.

‘Well, you know I only wanted to argue
the point with you.’

‘] know that, Jack. But I think we're

 

 

   
  
  
    
  
 
 
    
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 93

counting our chickens before they are hatched,
which is foolish.’

‘In every other case except when we venture
upon matrimony.’

‘Why, Jack, you’re becoming quite sen-
sible.’

‘My wisdom is for my friends, my folly for
myself. Good-night.’

But Jack did not go to sleep.

‘I must not allow Gascoigne to do sucha
foolish thing,’ thought he. ‘Marry a dark
girl on midshipman's pay, if he succeeds—get
his throat cut if he does not.’

As Jack said, his wisdom was for his friends,
and he was so generous that he reserved none
for his own occasions.

Miss Julia Hicks, as we before observed, set
the fashions at ‘Tetuan, and her style of dress
was not unbecoming. The Moorish women
wore large veils, or they may be called what
you will, for their head-dresses descend to
their heels at times, and cover the whole body,
leaving an eye to peep with, and hiding every-
thing else. _Now Miss Hicks found this much
more convenient than the bonnet, as she
might walk out in the heat of the sun without
burning her fair skin, and stare at everybody
and everything without being stared at in
return. She therefore never went out without
one of these overalls, composed of several
yards of fine muslin. Her dress in the house
was usually of coloured sarcenet, for a small
vessel came into the port one day during her
father’s lifetime, unloaded a great quantity of
bales of goodswith English marks, and, as the
vessel had gone out in ballast, there was a sur-
mise on his part by what means they came into
the captain's possession. He therefore cited
the captain up to the governor, but the affair
was amicably arranged by the vice-consul re-
ceiving about one quarter of the cargoin bales
of silks and muslins. Miss Hicks had there-
fore all her dresses of blue, green, and yellow
sarcenet, which, with the white muslin over-
all, made her as conspicuous as the only
Frankish lady in the town hada right to be,
and there was not a dog which barked in
‘Yetuan which did not know the sister of the
vice-consul, although few had seen her face.

Now it occurred to Jack, as Gascoigne was
determined to carry on his amour, that in case
of surprise it would be as well if he dressed
himself as Miss Hicks. .He proposed it to
Gascoigne the next morning, who approved
of the idea, and in the course of the day,
when Miss Hicks was busy with Captain
Hogg, he contrived to abstract one of her
dresses and muslin overalls, which he could
do in safety, as there were plenty of them, for
Miss Hicks was not troubled with mantua-

makers’ bills.

When Gascoigne went up on the roof the

ensuing night he put on the apparel of Miss

csp94

Hicks, and looked very like her as far as
figure went, although a little taller. He
waited for the Moorish girl to sing, but she
did not; so he crept up the ladder and looked
over the wall, when he observed that she was
reclining as before in deep thought. His
head, covered with the muslin, caught her
eye, and she gave a faint scream.

‘Fear not, lady,’ said Gascoigne, ‘it is not
the first time that I have beheld that sweet
face. Isigh fora companion. What would
I not give to be sitting by your side! I am
not of your creed, ’tis true, but does it there-
fore follow that we should not love each
other ?

The Moorish girl was about to reply, when
Gascoigne received an answer from a quarter
whence he little expected it. It was from the
Moor. himself, who, hearing his daughter
scream, had come swiftly up to the roof.

‘Does the Frankish. lily wish to mingle her
perfumes with the dark violet ?’ said he, for he
had often seen the sister of the vice-consul,
and he imagined it was she who had come on
the roof and ascended the wall to speak with
his daughter.

Gascoigne had presence of mind to avail
himself of this fortunate mistake.

‘I am alone, worthy Moor,’ replied he,
pulling the muslin over his face, ‘and I pine
fora companion. [I have been charmed by
the nightingale on the roof of your dwelling ;
but I thought not to meet the face of a man
when I took courage to climb this ladder.’

‘Tf the Frankish lily will have courage to
descend, she can sit by the side of the dark
violet.’

Gascoigne thought it advisable to make no
reply.

‘Fear not,’ said the old Moor; ‘what is
an old man but a woman,’ and the Moor
brought a ladder, which he placed against the
wall.

After a pause Gascoigne said, ‘It is my
fate ; and he then descended, and was led by
the Moor to the mattress upon which his
daughter reclined. The Moor then took his
seat near them, and they entered into con-
versation. Gascoigne knew quite enough of
the vice-consul and his daughter to play his
part, and he thought proper to tell the Moor
that her brother wished to give her as wife to
the captain of the ship, whom she abhorred,
and would take her to a cold and foggy
climate ; that she had been born here, and
wished to live and die here, and would prefer
passing her life in his women’s apartments to
leaving this country. At which, Abd el-Faza,
for such was his name, felt very amorous. He
put his hand to his forehead, salaamed, and
told Gascoigne that his zenana, and all that
were in it, were hers, as well as his house and
himself. , After an hour’s conversation, in

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

which Azar, his daughter, did not join, the old
Moor asked Gascoigne to descend into the
women’s apartment; and observing his
daughter's silence, said to her—

‘ Azar, you are angry that this Frankish
houri should come to the apartments of which
you have hitherto been sole mistress. Fear
not, you will soon be another's, for Osman
Ali has asked thee for his wife, and I have
listened to his request.’

Now Osman Ali was as old as her father,
and Azar hated him. She offered her hand
tremblingly, and led Gascoigne into the zenana.
The Moor attended them to the threshold,
bowed, and-left them.

That Gascoigne had time to press his suit,
and that he did not lose such a golden op-
portunity, may easily be imagined,’ and her
father’s communication relative to Osman
Ali very much assisted our midshipman’s
cause.

He left the zenana, like most midshipmen,
in love ; that is, a little above quicksilver boil-
ing heat. Jack, who had remained in a state
of some suspense all this time, was not sorry
to hear voices in an amicable tone, and in a
few minutes afterwards he perceived that Gas-
coigne was ascending the ladder. » It occurred
to our hero that it was perhaps advisable that
he should not be seen, as the Moor in his
gallantry might come up the ladder with his
supposed lady. He was right, for Abd el
Faza not only followed her up the ladder on
his side, but assisted her to descend on the
other, and with great ceremony took his
leave.

Gascoigne hastened to Jack, who had been
peeping, and gave him a detail of what had
passed, describing Azar as the most beautiful,
fascinating, and fond creature that ever was
created. After half an hour's relation he
stopped short, because he discovered that
Jack was fast asleep.

The visits of Gascoigne were repeated every
night ; old Abd el Faza became every time
more gallant, and our midshipman was under
the necessity of assuming a virtue if he had it
not. He pretended to be very modest.

In the meantime Captain Hoge continued
his attentions to the real Miss Hicks.. The
mate proceeded to get the bullocks on board,
and as more than three weeks had already
passed away, it was time to think of de-
parting for ‘Toulon ; but Captain Hogg was
too much in love ; and as for Gascoigne, he
intended, like all midshipmen in love, to give
up the service. Jack reasoned with the cap-
tain, who appeared to listen to reason, be-

cause Miss Hicks had agreed to follow his
fortunes, and crown his transports in the
transport Mary Ann. He therefore proposed
that they should get away as fast as they
could, and as soon as they had weighed theUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 95

anchor he would come on shore, take off Miss her brother will imagine all danger to be
Hicks, and make all sail for Toulon. over.’

Jack might have suffered this ; the difficulty ‘Many thanks, Mr. Easy,’ replied Captain
was with Gascoigne, who would not hear ofgo- Hogg ; ‘it will be capital, and’ Pll arrange it

Beas
ing away without his lovely Azar. At last Jack all with my Sophy. How very kind of you |
planned a scheme, which he thought would ‘But, Hogg, will you promise me secrecy ?”
succeed, and which would be a good joke to ‘Yes,’ replied the captain.

tellthe governor. He therefore appeated to “That Gascoigne is a very silly fellow, and

consent to Gascoigne’s carrying off his little wants to run away with a girl he has made
Moor, and they canvassed how it was to be acquaintance with here; and what do you
managed. Jack then told Gascoigne that he think he has proposed ? that after the ship
had hit upon a plan which would succeed. ‘I was under way, that I shall carry her off in the
find,’ said he, ‘from Captain Hogg, that he boat; and he has borrowed one of the dresses
has an intention of carrying off Miss Hicks of Miss Hicks, that it may appear to be her.
and when I sounded him as to his having a I have agreed to it, but as I am deter-
lady with him, he objected to it immediately, mined that he shall not commit such a folly, I
saying, that he must have all the cabin to shall bring off Miss Hicks instead :-and, ob-
himself and his intended. Now, in the first serve, Hogg, he is that sort of wild fellow,
place, I have no notion of giving up the cabin that if he was to find that I had cheated him,
to Miss Hicks or Mrs. Hogg. It will be very he would immediately go on shore and be left
uncomfortable to be shut out, because he behind ; therefore we must hand Miss Hicks
wishes to make love; I therefore am deter- down in the cabin, and she will lock the door
mined that he shall not take off Miss Hicks. all night, so that he may not observe the trick
He has proposed to me that he shall go on till the next morning, and then we shall have
board, and get the brig under way, leaving a fine laugh at him.’
me with a boat on shore to sign the vouchers, Captain Hogg replied it would be an ex-
and that Miss Hicks shall slip into the boat cellent joke, as Gascoigne did before him.
when I go off at dusk. Now I wili not bring Now it must be observed, that the water
off Miss Hicks ; if he wants to marry her, let and the bullocks, and the sheep and the fowls,
him‘do it when I am not on board. Ihave were all on board ; and Mr. Hicks, having
paid for everything, and I consider the cabin received his money from Jack, had very much
as mine. altered his manner; he was barely civil, for as
‘Look you, Ned, if you wish to carry off he had got all he could out of our hero, he
your littie Moor, there is but one way, and was anxious to get rid of him as well as of
that is a very simple one ; leave her a dress of Captain Hogg. Our hero was very indignant
Miss Hicks's. when you go there to-morrow at this, but as it would not suit his present
night, and tell her to slip down at dusk, and views, pretended not to notice it—on the con-
come out of the house: all the danger will be trary, he professed the warmest friendship for
in her own house, for as soon as she is out, the vice-consul, and took an opportunity of
she will be supposed to be the vice-consul’s saying that he could not return his kindness
sister, and will not be observed or questioned. in a better way than by informing him of the
I will look out for and bring her on board in- plot which had been arranged. He then told
stead of Miss Hicks. Hogs will have the him of the intended escape of his sister, and
brig under way, and will be too happy to make that he was the person intended to bring her
all sail, and she shall lock the cabin inside, so_ off.

  

that the mistake shall not be discovered till ‘Infamous, by heavens!’ cried the vice-
the next morning, and we shall have a good consul; ‘I shall write to the foreign office on
laugh at Captain Hogg.’ the subject.’

Gascoigne pronounced that Jack’s scheme ‘I think,’ said Jack, ‘it will be much better
was capital, and agreed to it, thanking him, to do what I shall propose, which will end ina
and declaring that he was the best friend that hearty laugh, and to the confusion of Captain
he ever had. ‘So I will be,’ thought Jack, Hogg. Do you dress yourself in your sister's
“but you will not acknowledge it at first.’ clothes, and I will bring you off instead of her.
Jack. then went to Captain Hogg, and Let him imagine that he has your sister se-
appeared to enter warmly into his views, but cure; I will hand you down to the cabin, and
told him that Hicks suspected what was do you lock yourself in. He cannot sail with-
going on, and had told him so, at the same out my orders, and I will not sign the
time declaring that he would not lose sight of vouchers. The next morning we will open
his sister until after Hogg was on board. the cabin-door and have a good laugh at him.

‘Now,’ says Jack, ‘you know you cannot Desire your boat to be off at daylight to take
do the thing by main force ; so the best plan you on shore, and I then will make him pro-
will be for you to go on board and get under ceed to Toulon forthwith. It will be a capi-
way, leaving me to bring off Miss Hicks, when tal joke.’66

So thought the vice-consul, as well as Gas-
coigne and Captain Hogg. He shook hands
with Jack, and was as civil to him as before.

That night Gascoigne left one of Miss
Hicks’s many dresses with Azar, who agreed
to follow his fortunes, and who packed up all
the jewels and money she could lay her hands
upon. Poor little child, she trembled with
fear and delight. Miss Hicks smuggled, as
she thought, a box of clothes on board, and
in the box was her fortune of three hundred
dollars. Mr. Hicks laughed in his sleeve, SO
did Jack ; and every one went to bed with ex-
pectations that their wishes would be realized.
After an early dinner, Captain Hogg and
Gascoigne went on board, both squeezing
Jack's hands as if they were never to see him
again, and looks of intelligence passed be-
tween all the parties.

As soon as they were out of the door the
vice-consul chuckled, and Miss Hicks, who
thought he chuckled at the idea of having rid

himself of Captain Hogg, chuckled still more

as she looked at our hero, who was her con-

fidant ; and our hero, for reasons known to
more than either of

the reader, chuckled

them.

A little before dark, the boat was sent on
shore from the brig, which was now under
way, and Mr. Hicks, as had been agreed,
said that he should go into the office and pre-
pare the vouchers—that is, put on his sister's
Miss Hicks immediately rose, and
wishing our hero a pleasant voyage, as had
been agreed, said that she should retire for
the night, as she had a bad headache—she
wished her brother good-night, and went into
her room to wait another hour, when our hero,
having shoved off the boat to deceive the vice-
consul, was to return, meet her in the garden,
Our hero then
went into the office and assisted the vice-
consul, who took off all his own clothes and
tied them up ina handkerchief, intending to
resume them after he had gone into the cabin.

As soon as he was ready, Jack carried his
bundle’and led the supposed Miss Hicks down
They shoved off in a great
hurry, and Jack took an opportunity of drop-
ping Mr. Hicks’s bundle overboard. As soon
as they arrived alongside, Mr. Hicks as-
cended, and was handed by Jack down into
the cabin: he squeezed Jack's hand as he
entered, saying in a whisper, ‘ To-morrow
morning what a Jaugh we shall have!’ and
In the meantime
the boat was hooked on and hoisted up, and
Jack took the precaution to have the dead
lights lowered, that Mr. Hicks might not be

Gas-
coigne came up to our hero and squeezed his

clothes.

and take her off to the brig.

to the boat.

then he locked the door.

able to ascertain what was going on.

hand.

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘?mso much obliged to you, Jack. Isay, to

   

morrow morning what a laugh we shall
have !

As soonas the boat was up, and the main-
yard filled, Captain Hogg also came up to our
hero, shaking him by the hand and thanking
him ; and he too concluded by saying, ‘I say,
Mr. Easy, to-morrow morning what a laugh
we shall have !’

‘ Let those laugh who win,’ thought Jack.

The wind was fair, the watch was set, the
course was steered, and all went down to
their hammocks, and went to sleep, waiting
for to-morrow morning. Mr. Hicks, also,
having nothing better to do, went to sleep,
and by the morning dawn, the transport Mary
Ann was more than a hundred miles from the
African shore.

CHAPTER KXYV.
OUR HERO PLAYS THE VERY DEVIL.

We must leave the reader to imagine the

effect of the next morning's denouement.

Every one was in a fury except Jack, who did

nothing but laugh. The captain wanted to re-
turn to obtain Miss Hicks, Gascoigne to obtain
Azar, and the vice-consul to obtain his liberty
—Dbut the wind was foul for their return, and
Jack soon gained the captain on his side. He
pointed out to him that, in the first place, if
he presumed to return, he would forfeit his
charter bond ; inthe second, he would have
to pay for all the bullocks that died; in the
third, that if he wished to take Miss Hicks as
his wife, he must not first injure her character
by having her on board before the solemnity ;
and lastly, that he could always go and marry
her whenever he pleased; the brother could
not prevent him. All this was very good ad-
vice, and the captain became quite calm and
rational, and set his studding-sails below and
aloft.

As for Gascoigne, it was no use reasoning
with him, so it was agreed that he should have
satisfaction as soon as they could get on shore
again. Mr. Hicks was the most violent; he
insisted that the vessel should return, which
both Jack and the captain refused, although
he threatened them with the whole Foreign
Office. He insisted upon having his clothes,
but Jack replied that they had tumbled over-
board as they pulled from the shore. He then
commanded the mate and men to take the
vessel back, but they laughed at him and his
woman’s clothes. ‘ At all events, I'll have you
turned out of the service,’ said he to our hero
in his fury. ‘I shall be extremely obliged to
you,’ said Jack—and Captain Hogg was so

ance in his sister's clothes that he quite forgot
his own disappointment in laughing at his
- intended brother-in-law.

 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 

 

much amused with the vice-consul’s appear- —

He made friends ©again with Jack, who regained his ascendancy,
and ordered out the porter on the capstern-
head. They had an excellent dinner, but Mr.
Hicks refused to join them, which however
did not spoil the appetite of Jack or the cap-
tain: as for Gascoigne, he could not eat a
mouthful, but he drank to excess, looking over
the rim of his tumbler, as if he could devour
our hero, who only laughed the more. Mr.
Hicks had applied to the men to lend him
some clothes, but Jack had foreseen that, and
he was omnipotent. There was not a jacket
or a pair of trousers to be had for love or for
money. Mr. Hicks then considered it ad-
visable to lower his tone, and he applied to
Captain Hogg, who begged to be excused
without he consented to his marriage with his
sister, to which Mr. Hicks gave an indignant
negative. He then applied to Gascoigne, who
told him in a very surly tone to go to h—ll.
At last he applied to our hero, who laughed
and said he would see him d d first. So
Mr. Hicks sat down in petticoats and vowed
revenge. Gascoigne, who had drank much
and eaten nothing, turned in and went to
sleep—while Captain Hogg and our hero
drank porter on the capstern. Thus passed
the first day, and the wind was famously fair—
the bullocks lowed, the cocks crew, the sheep
baa'd, and the Mary Ann made upwards of
two hundred miles. Jack took possession of
the other berth in the cabin, and his Majesty's
representative was obliged to lie down in his
petticoats upon a topsail which lay between
decks, with a bullock on each side of him,
who every now and then made a dart at him
with their horns, as if they knew that it was to
him that they were indebted for their em-
barkation and being destined to drive the
scurvy out of the Toulon fleet.

We cannot enter into the details of the pas-
sage, which, as the wind was fair, was accom-
plished in ten days without the less of a
bullock. During this time Mr. Hicks conde-
scended to eat without speaking, imagining
that the hour of retribution would come when
they joined the admiral. Gascoigne gradually
recovered himself, but did not speak to our
hero, who continued to laugh and drink por-
ter. On the eleventh morning they were in
the midst of the Toulon fleet, and Mr. Hicks
smiled exultingly as he passed our hero in his
petticoats, and wondered that Jack showed no
signs of trepidation.

‘The fleet hove-to, Jack ran under the admi-
ral’s stern, lowered down his boat, and went
on board, showed his credentials, and re-
ported his bullocks. The general signal was
made, there was a fair division of the spoil,
and then the admiral asked our hero whether
the master of the transport had any other
stock on board. Jack replied that he had not ;
but that having been told by the governor of

 

 
  
    
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
    
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
   
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 07

Malta that they might be acceptable, he had
bought a few sheep and some dozen of fowls,
which were much at his service, if he would
accept of them. The admiral was much
obliged to the governor, and also to Jack, for
thinking of him, but would not, of course, ac-
cept of the stock without paying for them.
He requested him to send all of them on
board that he could spare, and then asked
Jack to dine with him, for Jack had put on
his best attire, and looked very much of a
gentleman.

‘Mr. Easy,’ said the flag-captain, who had
been looking at the transport with his glass,
‘is that the master's wife on board.’

‘No, sir,’ replied Jack; ‘it's the vice-
consul.’

‘What, in petticoats! the vice-consul.’

‘ Yes, the vice-consul of Tetuan. He came
on board in that dress when the brig was un-
der weigh, and I considered it my duty not to
delay, being aware how very important it was

that the fleet should be provided with fresh

beef.’

‘What is all this, Mr. Easy ?’ said the ad-
miral ; ‘there has been some trick here. You
will oblige me by coming into the cabin.’

Easy followed the admiral and flag-captain
into the cabin, and then boldly told the whole
story how he tricked them all. It was impos-
sible for either of them to help laughing, and
when they began to laugh, it was almost as
impossible to stop.

‘Mr. Easy,’ said the admiral at last, ‘I do
not altogether blame you ; it appears that the
captain of the transport would have delayed
sailing because he was in love—and that Mr.
Gascoigne would have stayed behind because
he was infatuated, independent of the ill-will
against the English which would have been
excited by the abduction of the girl. But I
think you might have contrived to manage all
that without putting the vice-consul in petti-
coats.’

“JT acted to the best of my judgment, sir,’
replied Jack, very humbly.

‘And altogether you have donewell. Cap-
tain Malcolm, send a boat for the vice-
consul.’

Mr. Hicks was too impatient to tell his
wrongs to care for his being in his sister's
clothes : he came on board, and although the
tittering was great, he imagined that it would
soon be all in his favour, when it was known
that he was a diplomatic. He told his story
and waited for the decision of the admiral,
which was to crush our hero, who stood with
the midshipmen on the lee side of the deck ;
but the admiral replied, ‘Mr. Hicks, in the
first place, this appears to me to be a family
affair concerning the marriage of your sister,
with which I have nothing todo. You went
on board of your own free will in woman’s
4MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

clothes. Mr. Easy’s orders were positive, and glad to get there. Do you know, Ned, that T
he obeyed them. It was his duty to sail as feel very much satisfied with myself; I have
soon as the transport was ready. You may got into no scrape this time, and I shall, not-
forward your complaint if you please, but, as withstanding, have a good story to tell the
a friend, I tell you that it will probably occa- governor when I go to Malta.’
sion your dismissal : for these kind of pranks ‘ Partly at my expense,’ replied Gascoigne.
are not understood at the Foreign Office. You “Why, you will figure a little in it, but
miay return to the transport, which, after she others will figure much more.’
has touched at Mahon, will proceed again to ‘I wonder what has become of that poor
‘Letuan. The boat is alongside, sir.’ girl,’ observed Gascoigne, who could not re-
Mr. Hicks, astonished at the want of re- frain from mentioning her; ‘what hurts me
spect paid to a vice-consul, shoved his petti- most is, that she must think me such a brute.’
coats between his legs, and went down the “No doubt of that, Ned,—take another
side amidst the laughter of the whole of the glass of porter.’

ship's company. Our hero dined’ with the ‘Her father, gave me this large diamond.’

admiral, and was well received. He got his “The old goat—sell it, and drink his health

orders to sail that night for Minorea, and as’ with it.’

soon as dinner was over he returned on board, ‘No, Ul keep it in memory of his daugh-
2:

=

where he found Captain Hoge very busy sell- ter.
ing’ his porter—-Gascoigne walking the deck’ | Hete Gascoigne fell into a melancholy re-
in a brown study-—and Mr. Hicks solus abaft, verie, and Jack thought of Agnes,
sulling in his petticoats. In two days they arrived at Mahon, and
As soon as they were clear of the boats, the found the Aurora already there, in the com-
Mary Ann hoisted her ensign and made sail, mand of Captain. Wilson. Mr. Hicks had
and as all the porter was not yet sold, Jack persuaded Captain Hogg to furnish him with
ordered up a bottle. clothes, Jack having taken off the injunction
Jack was much pleased with the result of as soon as he had quitted the admiral. Mr.
his explanation with the admiral, and he felt Hicks was aware, that if the admiral. would
that, for once, he had not only got’into no not Jisten to his complaint, it was no use
scrape himself, but that he had prevented speaking to a captain; so he remained on
others. Gascoigne walked the deck sloomily ; board a pensioner upon Captain Hogg, and
the fact was, ‘that he was very unhappy; he after our midshipmen quitted the transport
had had time to reflect, and now that the first they became very good friends. Mr. Hicks
violence had subsided, he felt that our hero consented to the match, and Captain Hogg
had done him areal service, and had prevented’ was made happy. As for poor Azar, she had
him from commiting an act of egregious wandered about until she was tired, in Miss
folly ; and yet he had summoned this friend Hicks’s dress, and at last returned broken-
to meet him in the field—and such had been hearted to her father’s, and was admitted by
his gratitude. He would have given the Abd el Faza himself; he imagined it was
world to recall what had’ passed, and to make Miss Hicks, and was in transports—he dis-
friends, but he'felt’ashamed, as most people covered it was his daughter, and he was in a
do, to acknowledge his error ; he had, how- fury. The next day she went to the zenana
ever, almost made up his mind to it, and was of Osman Ali.
walking up and down thinking in what man- When Jack reported himself he did not tell
ner he might contrive it, when Jack, who was the history of the elopements, that he might
sitting, as usual, ina chair by the capstern, not hurt the feelings of Gascoigne. Captain
with his porter by him, said to himself, ‘Now Wilson was satished with the manner. in
Tl lay my life that Ned wants to make which he had executed his orders, and asked
friends, and is ashamed to speak first; I may’ him, ‘whether he preferred staying in’ the
be mistaken, and he may fly off ata tangent ; Harpy, or following him into the Aurora.’
but ever if Tam, at all events it will not be I‘ Jack hesitated.
who ‘am wrong—I'll try ‘him." Jack waited ‘Speak frankly, Mr. Easy ; if you prefer
till Gascoigne passed him again, and then Captain Sawbridge to me, I shall not be
said, looking kindly and knowingly in his affronted.’

face,— : : "No, sir,’ replied. Easy, ‘I do not prefer
‘Tsay, Ned, will you have a’ glass of Captain Sawbridge to you; you have both
porter ? been equally kind to me, but I prefer you.

Gascoigne smiled, and ‘Jack held out his But the fact is, sir, that 1 do not much like to
hand; the reconciliation was ‘effected ina part with Gascoigne, or—’
moment, and the subject of quarrel was not “Or who?’ said the captain, smiling.
canvassed by either party. “With Mesty, sir ; you may think me very
‘“We’shall be‘at Minorca in a day or two,’ foolish, but I’should not be alive at this mo-
observed Jack, afier a while'; ‘now I shall be ment if it had not been for him.’MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘ “Ido not consider gratitude to be foolish,
Mr. Easy,’ replied Captain Wilson. + Mr.
Gascoigne I intend to take with me, if he
chooses fo come, as I have a great respect for
his father, and no fault to find with him, that
1S, generally speaking ; but as for Mesty—why
he is a good man ; and as you have behaved hair, with his trident and ‘his horns, and long
yourself, perhaps I may think of it.’ tail, gave a loud scream, and would have
The next day Mesty was included among fallen had it not been for Captain Wilson,
the boat's crew taken with him by Captain who, in his full uniform, was coming in, and
Wilson, according to the regulations of the caught her in his arms: while the old lady
service, and appointed to the same situation thanked him, and Captain Wilson bowed,
under the master-at-arms of the Aurora. Jack hastily retreated. “TI shall make no con-
Gascoigne and our hero were also discharged quests to-night,’ thought’ he; so he entered
into the frigate. the church, and joined the crowd; but it was
As our hero never has shown any remark- so dense that it was hardly possible to move,
able predilection for duty, the reader will not and our hero soon got tired of flourishing his
be surprised at. his requesting from Captain trident, and sticking it into people, who won-
Wilson a few days on shore, previous to his dered what the devil he meant.
going on board of the Aurora, Captain Wil- ‘This is stupid work,’ thought Wackss. or
son allowed the same licence to Gascoigne, as may have more fun outside :’ so Jack put on
they had both been cooped up for some time his cloak, left the masquerade, and went out
on board of a transport. Our hero took up in search of adventures. He walked out into
his quarters at the only tespeciable hotel in the open country, about halfa mile, until he
the town, and whenever he could meet an came toa splendid house, standing in a gar-
officer of the Aurora, he very politely begged den of orange-trees, which he determined to
the pleasure of his company to dinner. Jack's reconnoitre. He observed that a window was
reputation had gone before him, and the mid- open and lights were in the room ; and he
shipmen drank his wine and swore he was a climbed up to the window, and just opened
trump. Not that Jack was to be deceived, the white curtain and looked in. On a bed
but, upon the principles of equality, he argued. lay an elderly person, evidently dying, and by
that it was the duty of those who could afford the side of the bed were three priests, one of
dinners to give them to those who could not. whom held the crucifix in his hand, another
This was a sad error on Jack's part ; but he the censer, and a third was Sitting at a table
had not yet learnt the value of money; he was’ with a paper, pen, and’ink. As Jack -under-
such a fool as to think that the only real use stood Spanish, he listened, and heard one of
of it was to make other people happy. It the priests say—
must, however, be offered in his extenuation
that he was a midshipman and a philosopher, and I cannot give you extreme unction or
and not yet eighteen. absolution unless you make some amends.’
At last Jack had remained so long on shore, ‘I have,’ answered the moribund, ~< left
keeping open house, and the first lieutenant money for ten thousand masses to be said for
of the Aurora found the officers so much more my soul.’
anxious for leave, now that they were at little ‘Five hundred thousand masses are not
or no expense, that he sent-him a very polite sufficient: how have you gained your enor-
message, requesting the pleasure of his com- mous wealth? by usury and robbing the
pany on board that evening. Jack returned poor.’
an equally polite answer, informing the first ‘1 have left a thousand dollars to be distri-
lieutenant that not being aware that he wished buted among the poor on the day of my
to see him, he had promised to accompany funeral.’
some friends to a masquerade that night, but ‘One thousand dollars is _nothing—you
that he would not fail to pay his tespects to must leave all vour property to holy church.’
him the next day. The first lieutenant ad- “And my children !’ replied the dying man,
mitted the excuse, and our hero, after having faintly.
entertained half a dozen of the Auroras, for ‘What are your children compared to your
the Harpy had:sailed two days before, dressed. salvation ?—reply not : either consent, or not
himself for the masquerade, which was held only do I refuse you the consolation of the
in a church about two miles and a half from dying, but I excommunicate ,
Mahon. “Mercy, holy father—mercy !’ said the old
Jack had selected the costume of the devil, man, in a dying voice.
as being the most appropriate, and mounting ‘There is no mercy; you are damned for
a jackass, he rode down in his dress to the ever and ever. Amen. Now hear ; excom-
masquerace, Put, as Jack was just going in, municabo te t

99

he perceived a yellow earriage, with two foot-
men in gaudy liveries, draw up, and with his
usual politeness, when the footman opened
the door, offered his arm to hand out a fat old
dowager covered with diamonds; the lady
looked up, and perceiving Jack covered with

‘Your sins have been enormous, my son,

 

 

 

4—2IOO

‘ Stop—stop—have you the paper ready *

“Tis here, all ready, by which you revoke
all former wills, and endow the holy church
with your property. We will read it, for God
forbid that it should be said that the holy
church received an involuntary gift.’

‘I will sign it,’ replied the dying man ; ‘but
my sight fails me; be quick, absolve me.’
And the paper was signed, with difficulty, as
the priests supported the dying man. ‘And
now—absolve me.’

‘I do absolve thee,’ replied the priest, who
then went through the ceremony.

“Now this is a confounded rascally busi-
ness,’ said Jack to himself ; who then dropped
his cloak, jumped upon the window-sill,
opened wide the window curtains with both
hands, and uttered a yelling kind of ‘ha! ha!
ha! ha!’

The priests turned round, saw the demon as
they imagined—dropped the paper on the
table, and threw themselves with their faces
on the floor.

‘Exarciso te,’ stammered one.

‘Ha! ha! ha! ha!’ repeated Jack, enter-
ing the room, and taking up the paper, which
he burnt by the flame of the candle. Our
hero looked at the old man on the bed; his
jaw had fallen, his eves were turned. He was
dead. Jack then gave one more ‘ha! ha!
ha! ha! to keep the priests in their places,

blew out the candles, made a spring out of J

the window, caught up his cloak, and disap-
peared as fast as his legs could carry him.

Jack ran until he was out of breath, and
then he stopped, and sat down by the side of
the road. It was broad moonlight, and Jack
knew not where he was: ‘ but Minorca has
not many high roads,’ thought Jack, ‘and I
shall find my way home. Now, let me see
I have done some good this evening. I have
prevented those rogues from disinheriting a
‘amily. I wonder who they are: they ought
to be infinitely obliged to me. But if the
priests find me out, what shall I do? I never
dare come on shore again—they'd have me in
the Inquisition. I wonder where I am,’ said
Jack ; ‘I will get on that hill, and see if I can
take a departure.’

The hill was formed by the road being cut
perpendicularly almost through it, and was
perhaps some twelve or fourteen feet high.
Jack ascended it, and looked about him.
‘There is the sea, at all events, with the full
moon silvering the waves,’ said Jack, turning
from the road, ‘and here is the road; then
that must be the way to Port Mahon. But
what comes here ?—it’s a carriage. Why, it’s
the yellow carriage of that old lady with her
diamonds, and her two splashy footmen !’
jack was watching it as it passed the road
under him, when of a sudden, he perceived
about a dozen men rush out, and seize the

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

horses’ heads,—a diseharge of firearms, the
coachman dropped off his box, and the two
footmen dropped from behind. The robbers
then opened the door, and were hauling out
the fat old lady covered with diamonds. Jack
thought a second—it occurred to him, that
although he could not cope with so many, he
might frighten them, as he had frightened one
set of robbers already that night. The old
lady had just been tumbled out of the carriage
door, like a large bundle of clothes tied up
for the wash, when Jack throwing off his
cloak, and advancing to the edge of the preci-
pice, with the full moon behind him throwing
out his figure.in strong relief, raised his tri-
dent, and just as they were raising their knives,
yelled a most unearthly ‘ha, ha, ha, ha?’
The robbers looked up, and forgetting the
masquerade, for there is a double tremor in
guilt, screamed with fear; most of them ran
away, and dropped after a hundred yards;
the others remained paralyzed and insensible.
Jack descended the hill, went to the assistance
of the old lady, who had swooned, and had
to put her into the carriage; but although our
hero was very strong, this was a work of no
small difficulty. After one or two attempts,
he lowered down the steps and contrived to
bump her on the first, from the first he pur-
chased her on the second, and from the second
he at last seated her at the door of the carriage.
ack had no time to be over-polite. He then
threw her back into the bottom of the carriage,
her heels went up to the top, Jack shoved in
her petticoats as fast as he could, for decency,
and then shutting the door, seized the reins,
and jumped upon the box. ‘I don’t know
the way,’ thought Jack, ‘but we must needs
go when the devil drives ; so sticking his tri-
dent into the horses, they set off at a rattling
pace, passing over the bodies of the two rob-
bers, who had held the reins, and who both
lay before him in a swoon. As soon as he
had brought the horses into a trot, he slack-
ened the reins, for, as Jack wisely argued,
they will be certain to go home if T let them
have their own way. ‘The horses, before they
arrived at the town, turned off, and stopped
at a large country house. That he might not
frighten the people, Jack had put on his cloak,
and taken off his mask and head-piece, which
he had laid beside him on the box. At the
sound of the carriage-wheels he servants came
out, when Jack, in few words, told them what
had happened. Some of the servants ran in,
and a young lady made her appearance, while
the others were helping the old lady out of the
carriage, who had recovered her senses, but
had been so much frightened that she had
remained in the posture in which Jack had
put her.

As soon as she was out, Jack descended
from the coach-box and entered the house,He stated to the young lady what had taken
place, and how opportunely he had frightened
away the robbers, just as they were about to
murder her relation ; and also suggested the
propriety of sending after the servants who
had fallen in the attack; which was imme-
diately done by a strong and well-armed party
collected for the occasion. Jack, having made
his speech, made a very polite bow and took
his leave, stating that he was an English offi-
cer, belonging to a frigate in the harbour. He
knew his way back, and in half an hour was
again at the inn, and found his comrades.
Jack thought it advisable to keep his own
secret, and therefore merely said, that he had
taken a long walk in the country ; and soon
afterwards went to bed.

‘The next morning our hero, who was always
aman of his word, packed up his portmanteau,
and paid his bill. He had just completed this
heavy operation, when somebody wanted to
speak to him, and a sort of half-clerical, half-
legal sort of looking gentieman was -intro-
duced, who, with a starched face and prim
air, said that he came to request in writing
the name of the officer who was dressed as a
devil, in the masquerade of the night before.

Jaek looked at his interrogator, and thought
of the priests and the Inquisition. ‘No, no,’
thought he, ‘that won’t do; a name I must
give, but it shall be one that you dare not
meddle with. A midshipman you might get
hold of, but it’s more than the whole island
dare to touch a post-captain of one of his
Majesty's frigates.’ So Jack took the paper
and wrote Captain Henry Wilson, of his
Majesty's ship Aurora.

‘The prim man made a prim bow, folded up
the paper, and left the room.

Jack threw the waiter half a doubloon,
lighted his cigar, and went on board.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH THE OLD PROVERB IS ILLUS-
TRATED, ‘THAT YOU MUST NOT COUNT
YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY ARE
HATCHED.’

THE first lieutenant of the Aurora was a very
good officer in many respects, but, as a mid-
shipman, he had contracted the habjt of put-
ting his hands in his pockets, and could never
keep them out, even when the ship was in a
gale of wind; and hands are of some use ina
heavy lurch. He had more than once received
serious injury from falling on these occasions,
but habit was too powerful; and, although
he had. once broken his leg by falling down
the hatchway, and had moreover a large scar
on his forehead, received from being thrown
to leeward against one of the guns, he still

 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 

UR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY, rot

continued the practice; indeed, it was said
that once when it was necessary for him to go
aloft, he had actually taken the two first
rounds of Jacob’s ladder without withdrawing
them, until, losing his balance, he discovered
that it was not quite so easy to go aloft with
his hands in his pockets. In fact, there was
no getting up his hands, even when all hands
were turned up. He had another peculiarity,
which was, that he had taken a peculiar fancy
to a quack medicine, called Enouy’s Universal
Medicine for all Mankind; and Mr. Pottyfar
was convinced in his own mind that the label
was no libel, except from the greatness of its
truth. In his opinion, it cured everything,
and he spent one of his quarterly bills every
year in bottles of this stuff; which he not only
took himself every time he was unwell, but
occasionally when quite well, to prevent his
falling sick. He recommended it to every-
body in the ship, and nothing pleased him so
much as to give a dose of it to every one who
could be persuaded to take it. The officers
laughed at him, but it was generally behind
his back, for he became very angry if contra-
dicted upon this one point, upon which he
certainly might be considered to be a little
cracked. He was indefatigable in making
proselytes to his creed, and expatiated upon
the virtues of the medicine for an hour run-
ning, proving the truth of his assertions by a
pamphlet, which, with his hands, he always
carried in his trousers’ pockets.

Jack reported himself when he came on
board, and Mr. Pottyfar, who was on the
quarter-deck at the time, expressed a hope
that Mr. Easy would take his share of the
duty, now that he had had such a spell on
shore ; to which Jack very graciously acceded,
and then went down below, where he found
Gascoigne and his new messmates, with most
of whom he was already acquainted.

“Well, Easy,’ said Gascoigne, ‘have you
1ad enough of the shore ?’

‘Quite,’ replied Jack, recollecting that,
after the events of the night before, he was
just as well on board; ‘I don’t intend to ask
for any more leave.’

‘Perhaps it’s quite as well, for Mr. Pottyfar
is not very liberal on that score, I can tell
you; there is but one way of getting leave
from him.’

“Indeed!” replied Jack;
that ?’

“You must pretend that you are not well,
take some of his quack medicine, and then he
will allow you a run on shore to work it off.’

‘Oh! that’s it, is it? well then, as soon as
we anchor in Valette, I'll go through aregular
course, but not till then.’

‘It ought to suit you, Jack ; it’s an equality
medicine ; cures one disorder just as well as
the other.’

‘and what isYO2

‘Or kills—which levels all the patients.
You're right, Gascoigne, I must patronise
that stuff—for more reasons than one. Who
was that person on deck in mufti ?!

‘The mufti, Jack ; in other words, the chap-
lain of the ship ; but he’s a prime sailor, never-
theless.’

‘How's that ?’

* Why, he was brought up on the quarter-
deck, served his time, was acting-lieutenant
for two years, and then, somehow or another,
he bore up for the church.’

‘ Indeed—what were his reasons ?’

“No one knows—but they say he has been
unhappy ever since.’

‘Why so ?’

‘ Because he did a very foolish thing, which
cannot now be remedied. He supposed at
the time that he would make a good parson,
and now that he has long got over his fit, he
finds himself wholly unfit for it—he is stil! the
officer in heart, and is always struggling with
his natural bent, which is very contrary to
what a parson should feel.’

‘Why don’t they allow parsons to be broke
by a court-martial, and turned out of the
service, or to resign their commissions, like
other people ?’

‘Tt won't do, Jack—they serve heaven—
there's a difference between that and serving
his Majesty. ’

‘Well, I don’t understand these things.
When do we sail ?’

‘The day after to-morrow.’

“To join the fleet off Toulon ?’

‘Yes ; but I suppose we shall be driven on
the Spanish coast going there. I never knew
a man-of-war that was not.’

‘No; wind always blows from the south,
going up’ the Mediterranean.’

‘Perhaps you'll take another prize, Jack-—
mind you don’t go away without the articles
of war.’

‘IT won't go away without Mesty if I can
help it. O dear, how abominable a midship-
man’s berth is aftera long run on shore! I
positively must go on deck and look ai the
shore, if I can do nothing else.’

‘Why, ten minutes ago you had had enough
of it?’

_ ©Yes, but ten minutes here has made me
feel quite sick. I shall go to the first lieu-
tenant for a dose,’

‘T say, Easy, we must both be physicked on
the same day.’

‘To be sure; but stop till we get to Malta.’

Jack went on deck, made acquaintance with
the chaplain and some of the officers whom
he had not known, then climbed up into the
maintop, where he took a seat on the armolest,
and, as he looked at the shore, thought over
the events that had passed, until Agnes came
to his memory, and he thought only of her,

    

     
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Mk. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

When a mid is in love, he always goes aloft
to think of the object of his affection ; why, I
don’t know, except that his reverie is not so
likely to be disturbed by an order from a su-
perior officer.

The Aurora sailed on the second day, and,
with a fine breeze, stood across, making as
much northing as easting ; the consequence
was, that one fine morning they saw the Spa-
nish coast before they saw the Toulon fleet.
Mr. Pottyfar took his hands out of his pockets,
because he could not examine the coast
through a telescope without so doing; but
this, it is said, was the first time that he had
done so on the quarter-deck from the day
that the ship had sailed from Port Mahon:
Captain Wilson was also occupied with his
telescope, so were many of the officers and
midshipmen, and the men at the mast-heads
used their eyes, but there was nothing but a
few small fishing-boats to be seen. ‘So they
all went down to breakfast, as the ship was
hove-to close in with the land.

‘ What will Easy bet,’ said one of the mid-
shipmen, ‘that we don't See a prize to-day ?’

‘I will not bet that we do not see a vessel
—but Ill bet you what you please that we do
not take one before twelve o'clock at night.’

‘No, no, that won't do—just let the tea-pot
travel over this way, for its my forenoon
watch.’

‘It's a fine morning,’ observed one of the
mates, of the name of Martin; ‘but I’ve a
notion it won't be a fine evening.’

“Why not?’ inquired another.

‘lve now been eight years in the Mediter-
ranean, and know something about the wea-
ther. There’s a watery sky, and the wind is
very steady. If we are not under double-
reefed topsails to-night, say I’m no conjuror.’

“That you will be, all the same, if we are
under bare poles,’ said another.

‘You're devilish free with your tongue, my
youngster.—Easy, puil his ears for me.’

‘Pull them easy, Jack, then,’ said the boy,
laughing.

“All hands make sail !’ now resounded at
the hatchways.

“There they are, depend upon it,’ cried
Gascoigne, catching up his hat and bolting
out of the berth, followed by all the others
except Martin, who had just been relieved, and
thought that his presence in the waist might
be dispensed with for the short time, at least,
which it took him to swallow a cup of tea.

It was very true; a galliot and four latteen
vessels had just made their appearance round
the easternmost point, and, as soon as they
observed the frigate, had hauled their wind.
In a minute the Aurora was under a press of
canvas, and the telescopes were all directed
to the vessels.

‘All deeply laden,

sir,’ observed. Mr,MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

Hawkins,-the chaplain : “how the topsail of — ‘We shall have it, I ex
the galliot is scored !’ Wilson.

“They have a fresh breeze just now,’ ob- ‘Didn't I say so?’ observed Martin to Gas-
served Captain Wilson, to the first lieutenant, coigne. ‘We take no prizes to-day, depend

* Yes} sir, and it’s coming down fast.’ upon jit.’

‘Hands by the royal halyards, there.’ ‘We must have another hand to the wheel,

The Aurora careened with the canvas to the sir, if you please,’ said the quarter-master,
rapidly-increasing breeze. who was assisting the helmsman.

‘ Top-gallant sheet and halyards.’ Mr. Pottyfar, with his hands concealed as

* Luff you may, quarter-master ; luff, I tell usual, stood by the capstern. ‘I fear, sir, we
you. A small pull, of that weather main- cannot carry the mainsail much longer.’
top-gallant brace—fhat will do,’ said the ‘No,’ observed the chaplain, ‘I was think-
master. ing so.’ ;

‘Top-men aloft there ;—stand by to clew ‘Captain Wilson, if you please, we are very
up the royals—and, Captain Wilson, shallwe close in,’ said the master ; ‘don’t you think we
take them in ?—I’m afraid of that pole—it had better go about ?
bends now likea coach-whip,’ said Mr. Potty- ‘Ves, Mr. Jones.—Hands about ship—and
far, looking up aloft, with his hands in both —yes, by heavens we must !—up mainsail.’
pockets. The mainsail was taken off, and the frigate

‘In royals—lower away.’ appeared to be immediately relieved. She no

“They are going about, sir,’ said the second longer jerked and plunged as before.
lieutenant, Mr. Haswell: ‘We're very néar the land, Captain Wilson ;

‘Look out,’ observed the chaplain, ‘it’s thick as it is, I think I can make out the loom
coming.’ of it—shall we wear round, sir?’ continued
Again the breeze increases, and the frigate the master.
was borne down. ‘Yes,—hands wear ship—put the helm up.’

* Hands reef topsails in stays, Mr. Pottyfar.’ It was but just in time, for as the frigate

‘ Ay, ay, sir— bout ship.’ flew round, describing a circle, as she payed

The helm was put down and the topsails » off before the wind, they could perceive the
lowered and reefed in stays. breakers lashing the precipitous coast, not two

‘Very well, my lads, very well, indeed,’ said cables’ length from them.

Captain Wilson, ‘I had no idea we were so near,’ observed

Again the topsails were hoisted and top- the captain, compressing his lips—‘ can they
gallant sheets home. It was a Strong breeze, see anything of those vessels ?’
although the water was smooth, and the “TI have not seen them this quarter of an
Aurora dashed through at the rate of eight hour, sir,’ replied the signal-man, protecting
miles an hour, with her weather leeches lifting. his glass from the rain under his jacket:

‘Didn't I tet] you so?’ said Martin to his ‘ How’s her head now, quarter-master?
messmates on the gangway ; ‘but there’s more ‘ South-south-east, sir.’
yet, my boys,’ he sky now assumed a different appear-

* We must take the top-gallant sails off her,’ ance—the white clouds had been exchanged
said Captain Wilson, looking aloft—for the for others dark and murky, the wind roared
frigate now careened to her bearings, and the at intervals, and the rain came down in. tor-
wind was increasing and squally. ‘Try them rents. Captain Wilson went down into the
a little longer ;’ but another squall came sud- cabin to examine the barometer.
denly—the halyards were lowered, and the ‘The barometer has risen,’ said he on his
sails clewed up and furled. return on deck. ‘Is the wind steady ?”

Jn the meantime the frigate had rapidly ‘ No, sir, she’s up and off three points.’
gained upon the vessels, which still carried on “This will end ina south-wester,’
every stitch of canvas, making short tacks in- | The wet and heavy sails now flapped from
shore. ‘The Aurora was again put about with the shifting of the wind. 3
her head towards them, and they were not ‘Up with the helm, quarter-master.”
two points on her weather bow. ‘The sky, “Up it is—she’s off to south-by-west.’
which had been clear inthe morning. was now The wind lulled, the rain came down ina
overcast, the sun was obscured with opaque deluge—for a minute it was quite calm, and
white clouds, and the sea was rising fast. the frigate was on an even keel.
Another ten minutes, and then they. were * Man the braces. We shall be taken aback,
under double-reefed topsails and the squalis directly, depend upon it.’
were accompanied with heavy rain. The The braces were hardly stretched along
frigate now dashed.through the waves, foam- before this was the case. The wind flew
ing in her course, and straining under the round to the south-west witha loud roar, and
press of sail. The horizon was so thick that it was fortunate that they were prepared—the
the vessels ahead were no longer to be seen, yards were braced round, and the master

103

pect,’ said Captain164 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

asked the captain, what course they were to to the mizenmast ; the master was also there,
Steen and he cut loose the axes for the seamen to

‘We must give it up,’ observed Captain use; ina few minutes the mizenmast fell over
Wilson, holding on by the belaying pin. the quarter, and the helm being put hard up,
‘ Shape ‘our course for Cape Sicie, Mr. Jones.’ the frigate payed off and slowly righted. But

And the Aurora flew before the gale, under the horror of the scene was not yetovet. The
her foresail and topsails close reefed. ‘The boatswain, who had beenon the forecastle, had
weather was now so thick that nothing could been led below, for his vision was gone for
be observed twenty yards from the vessel; the ever. ‘The men who lay scattered about had
thunder pealed, and the lightning darted in been examined, and they were assisting them
every direction over the dark expanse. ‘The down to the care of the surgeon, when the
watch was called as soon as the sails were cry of ‘Fire !’ issued from the lower deck.
trimmed, and all who could went below, wet, The ship had taken fire at the coal-hole and

uncomfortable, and disappointed. carpenter's store-room, and the smoke that
‘What an old Jonah you are, Martin,’ said now ascended was intense.
Gascoigne. ‘Call the drummer,’ said Captain Wilson,

‘Yes, Iam,’ replied he; ‘but we have the ‘and let him beat to quarters—all hands to
worst to come yet, in my opinion. I recollect, their stations—let the pumps be rigged and the
not two hundred miles from where we are buckets passed along. Mr. Martin, see that
now, we had just such a galein the Favourite, the wounded men are taken down below.
and we as nearly went down, when—— Where's Mr. Haswell? Mr. Pottyfar, station

At this moment a tremendous noise was the men to pass the water on by hand on the
heard above, a shock was felt throughout the lower deck. {i will go there myself. Mr.
whole ship, which trembled fore and aft as if Jones, take charge of the ship.’
it was about to fall into pieces ; loud shrieks Pottyfar, who actually had taken his hands
were followed by plaintive cries, the lower out of his pockets, hastened down to comply
deck was filled with smoke, and the frigate with the captain’s orders on the main deck,
was down on her beam ends. - Without ex- as Captain Wilson descended to the deck
changing a word, the whole of the occupants below.
of the berth flew out, and were up the hatch- ‘I-say, Jack, this is very different from this
way, not knowing what to think, but con- morning,’ observed Gascoigne.
vinced that some dreadful accident had taken ‘Yes,’ replied Jack, ‘so it is; but I say,
place. Gascoigne, what's the best thing to do ?—

On their gaining the deck it was at once when the chimney’s on fire on shore, they put
explained ; the foremast of the frigate had a wet blanket over it.’
been struck by lightning, had been riveninto ‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne ; ‘but when the
several pieces, and had fallen over the larboard coal-holes on fire on board, they will not find
bow, carrying with it the main topmast and that sufficient.’
jib-boom. ‘The jagged stump of the foremast ‘ At all events, wet blankets must be a good
was in flames, and burnt brightly, notwith- thing, Ned, so let us pull out the hammocks ;
standing the rain fell in torrents. The ship, cut the lanyards and get some out—we can
as soon as the foremastand main topmast had but offer them you know, and if they do no
gone overboard, broached-to furiously, throw- good, at least it will show our zeal.’
ing the men over the wheel and dashing them ‘Yes, Jack, and I think when they turn in
senseless against the carronades; the fore- again, those whose blankets you take will
castle, the forepart of the main deck, andeven agree with you, that zeal makes the seryice
the lower deck, were spread with men, either very uncomfortable. However, I think you
killed or seriously wounded, or insensible from are right.’

the électric shock. The frigate was on her ‘Thetwo midshipmen collected three or four
beam ends, and the sea broke furiously over hands, andina very short time they had more
her ; all was dark as pitch, except the light blankets than they could carry—there was no
from the blazing’stump of the foremast, ap- trouble in wetting them, for the main deck
pearing like a torch, held up by the wild was afloat—and followed by the men they had
demons of the storm, or when occasionally collected, Easy and Gascoigne went down
the gleaming lightning cast a momentary with large bundles in their arms to where
glare, threatening every moment to repeat its Captain Wilson was giving directions to the
attack upon the vessel, while the deafening men.
thunder burst almost on their devoted heads. ‘Excellent, Mr. Easy, excellent, Mr. Gas-
All was dismay and confusion for a minute coigne!’ said Captain Wilson. ‘Come, my
or two: at last Captain Wilson, who had lads, throw them over now, and stamp upon
himself lost his sight fora short time, called them well ;’ the men’s jackets and the cap-
for the carpenter and axes—they climbed up, tain’s coat had already been sacrificed to the
that is, two or three of them, and he pointed same object.MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. LOS

Easy called the other midshipmen, and they into the gun-room and take a glass of grog;
went up for a further supply ; but there was nor did he forget Mesty, who received a good
no occasion, the fire had been smothered: allowance at the gun-room door, to which
still the danger had been so great that the Jack gladly consented, as the rum in the
fore magazine had been floated. During all middy’s berth had all been exhausted after the
this, which lasted perhaps a quarter of an rainy morning; but Jack was interrupted in
hour, the frigate had rolled gunwale under, his third glass, by somebody telling him the
and many were the accidents which occurred. captain wanted to speak with Mr. Hawkins
At last all danger from fire had ceased, and and with him.

the men were ordered to return to their quar- Jack went up, and found the captain on the
ters, when three officers and forty-seven men quarter-deck with the officers.
were found absent—seven of them were dead, “‘ Mr. Easy,’ said Captain Wilson, ‘I have

most of them were already under the care of sent for you, Mr. Hawkins, and Mr. Gas-
the surgeon, but some were still lying in the coigne, to thank you on the quarter-deck for
scuppers. your exertions and presence of mind on this
No one had been more active or more brave trying occasion.’ Mr. Hawkins made a bow,
during this time of danger than Mr. Hawkins Gascoigne said nothing, but he thought of
the chaplain. He was everywhere; and when having extra leave when they arrived at Malta.
Captain Wilson went down to put out the fire Jack felt inclined to make a speech, and began
he was there, encouraging the men and exert- something about when there was danger that
ing himself most gallantly. He and Mesty it levelled every one to an equality even on
came aft when all was over, one just as black board of a man-of-war.
as the other. The chaplain sat down and “By no means, Mr. Easy,’ replied Captain
wrung his hands—‘ God forgive me !’ said he, Wilson; ‘it does the very contrary; for it
‘God forgive me !’ proves which is the best man, and those who
“Why so, sir?’ said Easy, who stood near. are the best raise themselves at once above
*T am sure you need not be ashamed of what the rest.’
you have done.’ Jack was very much inclined to argue the
‘No, no, not ashamed of what I’ve done; point, but he took the compliment and held
but, Mr. Easy—I have sworn so, sworn such his tongue, which was the wisest thing he
oaths at the men in haste—I, the chaplain! could have done; so he made his bow, and
God forgive me!—I meant nothing.’ It was was about to go down into the midshipmen’s
very true that Mr. Hawkins had sworna great berth when the frigate was pooped by a tre-
deal during his exertions, but was at that time mendoussea, which washed all those who did
the quarter-deck officer and not the chaplain; not hold on down into the waist. Jack was
the example to the men and his gallantry had among the number, and naturally catching at
been most serviceable. the first object which touched him, he caught
“Indeed, sir,’ said Easy, who saw the hold of the chaplain by the leg, who com
chaplain was in great tribulation, and hoped menced swearing most terribly; but before
to pacify him, ‘J was certainly not there all he could finish the oath, the water which had
the time, but I only heard you say, ‘‘God burst into the cabin through the windows—
bless you, my men! be smart,’’ and so on; for the dead lights, in the confusion, had not

surely, that it is not swearing.’ yet been. shipped—burst out the cross bulk-
‘Was it that I said, Mr. Easy, are yousure? heads, sweeping like a torrent the marine, the
I really had an idea that I had d——d them cabin-door, and everything else in its force,

all in heaps, as some of them deserved—no, and floating Jack and the chaplain with seve-
no, not deserved. Did I really bless them— ral others down the main hatchway on to the
nothing but bless them ?” lower deck. ‘The lower deck being also full
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mesty, who perceived what of water, men and chests were rolling and
Jack wanted ; ‘it was nothing, I assure you, tossing about, and Jack was sometimes in
but ‘‘ God bless you, Captain Wilson !—Bless company with the chaplain, and at other
your heart, my good men !—Bless the king!” times separated ; at last they both recovered
and soon. You donothing but shower down their legs, and gained the midshipmen’s berth,
blessing and wet blanket.’ which, although afloat, was still a haven of
‘I told you so,’ said Jack. security. Mr. Hawkins spluttered and spit,
‘Well, Mr. Easy, you've made me very and so did Jack, until he began to
happy, replied the chaplain ; ‘I was afraid it laugh.
was otherwise.’ ‘This is very trying, Mr. Easy,’ said the
So indeed it was, for the chaplain hadsworn chaplain; ‘ very trying indeed to the temper.
like a boatswain ; but as Jack and Mesty had I hope I have not sworn—I hope not.’
turned all his curses into blessings, the poor ‘Nota word,’ said Jack; ‘I was close to
man gave himself absolution, and shaking you all the time—you only said, ‘'‘ God pre-
hands with Jack, hoped he would come down serve us !”’’

  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
    
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

setts betes tks106

‘Only that? I was afraid that I said ‘‘God
d——n it!”’

‘Quite a mistake, Mr. Hawkins. Let’s go
into the gun-room, and try to wash this salt
water out of our mouths, and then I will tell
you all you said, as far I could hear it, word
for word.’

So Jack by this means got another glass of
grog, which was very acceptable in his wet
condition, and made himself very comfortable,
while those on deck were putting on the dead
lights, and very busy setting the goose-wings
of the mainsail, to prevent the frigate from
being pooped a second time.

CHAPTER XXVIL.

IN WHICH OUR HERO BECOMES EXCES-
SIVELY UNWELL, AND AGREES TO GO
THROUGH A COURSE OF MEDICINE.

Tur hammocks were not piped down that
night : some were taken indiscriminately for
the wounded, but the rest remained in the
nettings, for all hands were busy preparing
jury masts and jury rigging, and Mr. Pottyfar
was so well employed that for twelve hours
his hands were not in his pockets. It was in-
deed a dreadful night : the waves were moun-
tains high, and chased the frigate ‘in their
fury, cresting, breaking, and roaring at her
taffrail. But she flew before them with the
wings of the wind; four men at the helm,
assisted by others at the relieving tackles be-
low. Jack, having been thanked on and
washed off the quarter-deck, thought that he
had done quite enough : he was as deep as he
could swim before he had satisfied all the
scruples of the chaplain, and, stowing himself
away on one of the lockers of the midship-
men's berth, was soon fast asleep, notwith-
standing that the frigate rolled gunwale under.
Gascoigne had done much better; he had
taken down a hammock, as he said, for a poor
wounded man, hung it up and turned in him-
self. The consequence was, that the next
morning the surgeon, who saw him lying in
the hammock, had put him down in the re-
port, but as Gascoigne had got up as well as
ever, he laughed and scratched his name out
of the list of wounded.

Before morning the ship had been pumped
out dry, and all below made as secure and
safe as circumstances would permit ; but_the
gale still continued its violence, and there was
anything but comfort on board.

‘I say, Martin, you ought to be thrown
overboard !’ said Gascoigne ; ‘all this comes
ftom your croaking—you're a Mother. Cary’s
chicken.’

‘I wish I had been any one's chicken,’ re-
plied Martin ; ‘but the devil a thing to nestle

    
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

under have I had since I can well remein-
Den.

“What a bore to have no galley fire lighted,’
said one of the youngsters ; ‘no tea, and not
allowed any gros.’

‘The gale will last three days,’ replied
Martin, ‘and by that time we shall not be far
from the admiral; it won’t blow home there.’

‘ Well, then, we shall be ordered in directly,
and I shall go on shore to-morrow,’ replied
Hasy.

“Yes, if you’re ill,’ replied Gascoigne.

“Never fear I shall be sick enough. We
shall be there at least six weeks, and then
we ll forget all this.’

‘Yes,’ replied Martin, ‘we may forget it,
but will the poor fellows whose limbs are
shrivelled forget it? and will poor Miles, the
boatswain, who is blind for ever ?”

‘Very irue, Martin; we are thinking about
ourselves, not thankful for our escape, and not
feeling for others,’ replied Gascoigne.

‘Give us your hand, Ned, said Jack Easy.

‘And, Martin, we ought to thank you for
telling us the truth—we are a selfish set of
fellows.’

‘Still we took our share with the others,’
replied one of the midshipmen.

‘That's more reason for us to be grateful
and to pity them,’ replied Jack ; ‘suppose
you had lost your arm or your eyesight—we
should have pitied you ; so now pity others.’

‘Well, so I do, now I think of it ’

‘Think oftener, youngster,’ observed Mar-
tin, going on deck.

What a change from the morning of the
day before ; but twenty-four hours had passed
away, and the sea had been smooth ; the fri-
gate dashed through the blue water, proud in
all her canvas, graceful as a swan. Since that
there had been fire, tempest, lightning, disas-
ter, danger, and death; her masts were tossed
about on the snowy wayes, hundreds of miles
away from her, and she—a wreck—was roll-
ing heavily, groaning and complaining in every
timber, as she urged her impetuous race with
the furious running sea.

How wrong are those on shore who assert
that sailors are not religious !—how is it pos-
sible, supposing them to be possessed of feel-
ing, to be otherwise? On shore, where you
have nothing but the change of seasons, each
in its own peculiar beauty—nothing but the
blessings of the earth, its fruits, its flowers—
nothing but the bounty, the comforts, the
luxuries which have been invented, where you
can rise in the morning in peace, and lay
down your head at night in security—God

may be neglected and forgotten for a long

time ; but at sea, when each gale is a warn-

ing, each disaster acts as a check, each escape
as a homily upon the forbearance of Provi-
dence, that man must be indeed brutalizedtwho does not feel that God is there. On shore
‘we seldom view Him but in all His beauty and
kindness; but at sea we are as often reminded
how terrible He is in His wrath. Can it be
Supposed that the occurrences of the last
twenty-four hours were lost upon the minds of
any one man in that ship? No, no. In their
courage and activity they might appear reck-
less, but in their hearts they acknowledged
and bowed unto their God.

Before the day was over, a jury-foremast
had been got up, and sail having been put
upon it, the ship was steered with greater ease
and safety—the main brace had been spliced
to cheer up the exhausted crew, and the ham-
mocks were piped down.

As Gascoigne had observed, some of the
men were not very much pleased to find that
they were minus their blankets, but Captain
Wilson ordered their losses to be supplied by
the purser and expended by the master : this
quite altered the case, as they obtained new
blankets in most cases for old ones, but still it
was impossible to light ihe galley fire, and the
men sat on their chests and nibbled biscuit.
By twelve o’clock that night the gale broke,
and more sail was necessarily put on the scud-
ding vessel, for the sea still ran fast and
mountains high. At daylight the sun burst
out and shone brightly on them, the sea went
gradually down, the fire was lighted, and Mr.
Pottyfar, whose hands were again in his
pockets, at twelve o’clock gave the welcome
order to pipe to dinner. As soon as the men
had eaten their dinner, the frigate was once
more brought to the wind, her jury-mast for-
ward improved upon, and more sail made
upon it. The next morning there was nothing
of the gale left except the dire effects which it
had produced, the black and riven stump of
the foremast still holding up a terrific
warning. of the power and fury of the ele-
ments.

Three days more and the Aurora joined the
Toulon fleet. When she was first seen it was
imagined by those on board of the other ships
that she had been in action, but they soon
learnt that the conflict had been against more
direful weapons than any yet invented by
mottal hands. Captain Wilson waited upon
the admiral, and of course received immediate
orders to repair to port and refit. Ina few
hours the Aurora had shaped her course for
Malta, and by sunset the Toulon fleet were
no longer in sight.

‘By de holy poker, Massa Easy, but that
terrible sort of gale the other day, anyhow.
I tink one time we all go to Davy Joney’s
lacker.’

‘Very true, Mesty ; I hope never to meet
with such another.’

‘Den, Massa Easy, why you go to sea?
When man ab no money, noting to eat, den

 

 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
    
   
    
  
  
   
 
   
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 107

he go to sea ; but everybody say you ab plenty
money—why you come to sea?’ ~

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ replied Jack,
thoughtfully ; ‘I came to sea on account of
equality and the rights of man.’

‘Eh, Massa Easy, you come to wrong
place, anyhow; now I tink a good deal
lately, and by all de power, I tink equality all
stuff.’

‘All stuff, Mesty; why?
think otherwise.’

‘Yes, Massa Easy, but den I boil de kettle
for all young gentleman. Now dat I ship’s
corporal and hab cane I tink so no longer.’

Jack made no reply, but he thought the
more. The reader must have perceived that
Jack's notions of equality were rapidly dis-
appearing ; he defended them more from
habit, and perhaps a wilfulness which would
not allow him to acknowledge himself wrong
—to which may be added his love of argu-
ment. Already he had accustomed. himself
to obedience of his superiors, and; notwith-
standing his arguments, he would admit of
no resistance from those below him; not that
it was hardly ever attempted, for Jack was
anything but a tyrant, and was much beloved
by all in the ship. Every day brought its
lesson, and Captain Wilson was now satisfied
that Jack had been almost cured of the effects
of his father’s ridiculous philosophy.

After a few minutes Mesty tapped his cane
on the funnel and recommenced.

“Then why you stay at sea, Massa Easy ?

“I don’t know, Mesty ; I don’t dislike it.’

‘But, Massa Easy, why you stay in mid-
shipman berth, eat hard biscuit, salt pig, salt
horse, when you can go shore and live like
gentleman? Dat very foolish! Why not be
your own master? By all power! suppose I
had money, catch me board ship. Little sea
very good, Massa Easy, open one’s eyes ; but
tink of the lightning ‘other night. Poor
massa boatswain he shut um eyes for ebber !

‘Very true, Mesty.’

“Me hope you tink of this, sar, and when
you go on shore you take Mesty wid you. He
Sarve you well, Massa Easy, long as he live,
by de holy St. Patrick. And’ den, Massa
Easy, you marry wife—hab pickaninny—lib
like gentleman. You tink of this, Massa
Easy.-

The mention of the word marriage turned
the thoughts of our hero to his Agnes, and he
made no reply. Mesty walked away leaving
our hero in deep thought.

This conversation had more effect upon
Jack than would have been imagined, and he
very often found he was putting to himself
the question of Mesty—‘ Why do you stay at
sea?’ He had not entered the service with
any particular view, except to find equality,
and he could not but acknowledge to himself

You used to£08 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

that, as Mesty observed, he had come to the him, with is feet spread wide open, and,
wrong place. He had never even thought of thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his
staying to serve his time, nor had he looked pockets, as if in determination, said—
forward to promotion, and one day command- ‘Mr. Easy, you know the state of the ship.
ing a ship. He had only cared for the pre- We have everything to do—new masts, new
sent, without indulging in a future anticipa- rigging, everything almost to refit—and yet
tion of any reward, except in a union with you ask to go onshore! Now, sir, you may
Agnes. Mesty’s observations occasioned Jack take this answer for yourself, and all the other
to reflect upon the future for the first time in midshipmen in the ship, that not one soul of
his life; and he was always perplexed when you puts his foot on shore until we are again
lie put the question of Mesty, and tried to all a-taunto.’
answer to himself as to what were his inten- ‘Allow me to observe, sir,’ said our hero,
tions in remaining in the service. ‘that it is very true that all our services may
Nevertheless Jack did his duty very much be required when the duty commences, but
to the satisfaction of Mr. Pottyfar; and after this being Saturday night, and to-morrow
a tedious passage, from baffling and light Sunday, the frigate will not be even moved
winds, the Aurora arrived at Malta. Our till Monday morning ; and as the work cannot
hero had had some conversation with his begin before that, I trust you will permit leave
friend Gascoigne, in which he canvassed his until that time.’
future plans ; all of which, however, ended in ‘My opinion is different, sir,’ replied the
one settled point, which was that he was to first lieutenant.
marry Agnes. As for the rest, Gascoigne ‘Perhaps, sir, you will allow me to argue
was of opinion that Jack ought to follow up the point,’ replied Jack.
the service and become a captain. But there ‘No, sir, I never allow argument; walk
was plenty of time to think about that, as he over to the other side of the deck, if you
observed ; now all they had to consider was please.’
how to get on shore, for the refitting of the ‘Oh certainly, sir,’ said Jack, ‘if you wish
ship was an excuse for detaining them on it.’
board, which they knew Mr. Pottyfar would _ Jack’s first idea was to go on shore without
avail himself of. Jack dined in the gun-room leave, but from this he was persuaded by
on the day of their arrival, and he resolved Gascoigne, who told him that it would dis-
that he would ask that very evening. Cap- please Captain Wilson, and that old Tom,
tain Wilson was already on shore at the the governor, would not receive him. Jack
governor’s. Now, there had been a little agreed to this, and then, after a flourish about
difference of opinion between Mr. Pottyfar the rights of man, tyranny, oppression, and
and Mr. Hawkins, the chaplain, on. a point so forth, he walked forward to the forecastle,
of seamanship, and most of the officers sided where he found his friend Mesty, who had
with the chaplain, who, as we have before heard all that had passed, and who insidiously
observed, was a first-rate seaman. It had said to him in a low tone
ended in high words, for Mr. Hawkins had  ‘ Why you stay at sea, Massa Easy ?”
forgotten himself so far as to tell the first ‘Why, indeed,’ thought Jack, boiling with
lieutenant that he had a great deal to learn, indignation; ‘to be cooped up here at the
not having even got over the midshipman’s will of another? I ama fool—Mesty is right
trick of keeping his hands in his pockets ; and —I'll ask for my discharge to-morrow.’ Jack
Mr. Pottyfar had replied that it was very well went down below and told Gascoigne what he
for him as chaplain to insult others, knowing had determined to do.
that his cassock protected him. ‘This wasa ‘You'll do no such thing, Jack,’ replied
bitter reply to Mr. Hawkins, who at the very Gascoigne; ‘depend upon it, you'll have
time that the insinuation made his blood boil, plenty of leave in a day or two. Pottyfar was
was also reminded that his profession forbade in a pet with the chaplain, who was too much
a retort. He rushed into his cabin, poor for him. Captain Wilson will be on board
fellow, having no other method left, vented by nine o'clock.’
his indignation in tears, and then consoled Nevertheless, Jack walked his first watch in
himself by degrees with prayer. Inthe mean- the ‘magnificents,’ as all middies do when
time Mr. Pottyfar had gone on deck, wroth they cannot go on shore, and turned in at
with Hawkins and with his messmates, as twelve o’clock, with the resolution of sticking
well as displeased with himself. He was, in- to his purpose, and quitting his Majesty's
deed, in a humour to be pleased with nobody, service; in fact, of presenting his Majesty
and in a most unfortunate humourto beasked with his between two and three years’ time,
leave by a midshipman. Nevertheless, Jack served as midshipman, all free, gratis, and
politely took off his hat, and requested leave for nothing, except his provisions and his pay,
to go on shore and see his friend the governor. which some captains are bold enough to assert
Upon which Mr. Pottyfar turned round to that they not only are not worth, but not even

aethe salt that accompanies it ; forgetting that
they were once midshipmen themselves, and
at the period were, of course, of about the
some value.

The next morning Captain Wilson came
off; the ship’s company were mustered, the
service read by Mr. Hawkins, and Jack, as
soon as all the official duties were over, was
about to go up to the captain, when the cap-
tain said to him—

‘Mr. Easy, the governor desired me to
bring you on shore to dine with him, and he
has a bed at your service.’

Jack touched his hat and ran down below
to make his few preparations.

By the time that Mesty, who had taken
charge of his chest, &c., had put his neces-
saries in the boat, Jack had almost made up
his mind that his Majesty should not be de-
prived yet awhile of so valuable an officer.
Jack returned on deck, and found that the
captain was not yet ready; he went up to
Mr. Pottyfar, and told him that the captain
had ordered him to go on shore with him;
and Mr. Pottyfar, who had quite got over his
spleen, said—

‘Very well, Mr. Easy—I wish you a great
deal of pleasure.’

‘This is very different from yesterday,’
thought Jack ; ‘suppose I try the medicine”

‘IY am not very well, Mr. Pottyfar, and
those pills of the doctor’s don’t agree with me
—I always am ill if I am long without air and
exercise.’

‘Very true,’ said the first lieutenant,
‘people require air and exercise. I’ve no
opinion of the doctor's remedies ; the only
thing that is worth a farthing is the universal
medicine.’

‘I should so long to try it, sir,’ replied Jack ;
‘I read the book one day, and it said that if
you took it daily for a fortnight or three
weeks, and with plenty of air and exercise,
it would do wonders.’

‘And it’s very true,’ replied Mr. Pottyfar ;
‘and if you'd like to try it you shall—I have
plenty—shall I give you a dose now ?”

‘If you please, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘and tell
me how often Iam to take it, for my head
aches all day.’

Mr. Pottyfar took Jack down, and putting
into his hand three or four bottles of the pre-
paration, told him that he was to take thirty
drops at night, when he went to bed, not to
drink more than two glasses of wine, and to
avoid the heat of the sun.

‘But, sir,’ replied Jack, who had put the
bottles in his pocket, ‘I am afraid that I can-
not take it long ; for as the ship is ready for
fitting, I shall be exposed to the sun all day.’

‘Yes, if you were wanted, Mr. Easy; but we
have plenty here without you ; and when you

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

replied old ‘Tom.
your room and take possession.’

observed Captain Wilson.
learn his duty, and there is a good opportunity
now.’

There's some story here.
the captain—you've me to back you,’ said the
governor.

109

Take care of your health ; and I trust, indeed
Iam sure, that you will find this medicine
wonderfully efficacious.’

‘I will begin to-night, sir, if you please,’
replied Jack, ‘and I am very much obliged to
you. I sleep at the governor’s—shall I come
on board to-morrow morning ?’

‘No, no; take care of yourself, and get
well; I shall be glad to hear that you get
better. Send me word how it acts.’

‘I will, sir, send you word by the boat every
day,’ replied Jack, delighted; ‘I am very
much obliged to you, sir. Gascoigne and I
were thinking of asking you, but did not like
to do so: he, poor fellow, suffers from head-
aches almost as bad as I do, and the doctor's
pills are of no use to him.’

‘He shall have some, too, Mr. Easy; I
thought he looked pale. I'll see to it this
afternoon. Recollect, moderate exercise, Mr.
Easy, and avoid the sun at mid-day.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘I'll not forget ;’
and off went Jack delighted. He ordered
Mesty to put up his whole portmanteau in-
stead of the small bundle he put into the boat,
and telling Gascoigne what a spoke he had
put into his wheel, was soon in the boat with
the captain, and went on shore, where he was
cordially greeted by the governor.

 

CHAPTER XXVIIL

IN WHICH CAPTAIN WILSON IS REPAID WITH
INTEREST FOR JACK'S BORROWING HIS
NAME; PROVING THAT A GOOD NAME IS
AS GOOD AS A LEGACY.

‘WELL, Jack, my boy, have you any long

story ready for me? inquired the governor.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘I have one or two

very good ones.’

‘Very well, we'll hear them after dinner,’
‘In the meantime find out

‘That must not be for very long, governor,’

‘Mr. Easy must

‘If you please, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘I’m on

the sick: list.’

‘Sick list,’ said Captain Wilson ; ‘ you were

not in the report that Mr. Wilson gave me
this morning.’

‘No, ’m on Mr. Pottyfar’s list, and I’m

oing through a course of the universal
SOllsetuLous
medicine.

‘What's all this, Jack, what’s all this?
Don't be afraid of

Jack was not at ali afraid of the captain, so

are unwell you cannot be expected to work. he told him how the first lieutenant had re-IIo

fused him leave the evening’ before, and how
he had now given him permission to remain,
and try the universal medicine, at which the
governor laughed heartity, nor could Captain
Wilson refrain from joining.

‘But, Mr. Ieasy,” replied the captain, after
a pause, ‘if Mr. Pottyfar will allow you to
stay on shore, I’cannot—you have your duty
to learn. You must be aware that now is your
time, and you must not lose‘opportunities that
do not occur every day. You must acknow-
ledge the truth of what I say.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Jack, ‘I admit it all,
provided I do intend to follow the profession ;’
and so saying, our hero bowed, and left the
verandah, where they had been talking.

This hint of Jack's, thrown out by him,
more with the intention of preventing his
being sent on board than with any definite
idea, was not lost upon either the captain or
the governor.

‘Does he jib, then?’ observed the governor.

‘On the contrary, I never knew him’ more
attentive, and so entirely getting rid of his
former notions. He has behaved most nobly
in the gale, and there has not been one com-
plaint against him—I never was more asto-
nished—he must have meant something.’

‘Tll tell you what he means, Wilson,—that
he does not like to be sent on board, nothing
more. He's not to be cooped up—you may
lead him, but not drive him.’

‘Yes, but. the service will not admit of it.
1 never could allow of it—he must.do his duty
like the rest, and conform to the rules.’

‘Exactly, so he must ; but look ye, Wilson,
you must not lose him : it’s all easily settled
—appoint him your orderly midshipman to
and from the ship ; that will be employment,
and he can always remain here at night. I
will tell him that I have asked, as a favour,
what I now do, and leave me to find out what
he is thinking about.’

‘It may be done that way, certainly,’ re-
plied Captain Wilson, musing ; ‘and you are
more likely to get his intentions from him than
Tam. Iam afraid he has too great a com-
mand of money ever to be fond of the ship ;
it is the ruin of ‘a junior officer to be so
lavishly supplied.’

‘He’s a long way from ruin yet, Wilson—
he’s a very fine fellow, even by your own ac-
knowledgment.. You humoured him out of
gratitude to his father, when he first came into
the service ; humour him a little now to- keep
him in it. Besides; if your first lieutenant
is such a foo! with his universal medicine, can
you wonder at a midshipman taking advantage
of it?’

‘No, but I ought not to allow him to do so
with my eyes open.’

‘He has made it known to you upon
honour, and you ought not to take advantage

MR. MIDSHIPUAN EASY.

. would, I think, be the best, for

  

of his confidence : but still what I proposed
then he will be
at his duty in‘ a way that will suit all parties.
You, because you employ him on service—the
first lieutenant, because Jack can take his me-
dicine —and Jack, because he can dine with
me every day,’

“Well, I suppose it must be so,’ replied
Captain Wilson, laughing ; ‘but still, L trust,
you will discover what is working in his mind
to induce him to give me that answer, go-
vernor.'

“Never fear, Jack shall confess, and lay his
soul'as bare as that of a Catholic bigot before
his padre.’

The party sat down to dinner, and what
with the aide-de-camp and those invited, it
was pretty numerous. After the cloth had
been removed, the governor called upon jack
for his stories, whereupon, much to the sur-
prise of Captain Wilson, who had never heard
one word of it, for the admiral had not men-
tioned anything about it to him during the
short time the Aurora was with the Toulon
fleet, our hero gave the governor and the
company the narrative of all that happened in
the Eliza Ann transport—the loves of Captain
Hogg and Miss Hicks—the adventures of
Gascoigne—and his plan, by which he baulked
them all. The governor was delighted, and
Captain Wilson not a little astonished.

“You prevented a very foolish thing, Mr.
Easy, and behaved very well,’ observed the
captain, laughing again at the idea; ‘but you
never told me of all this,’

‘No, sir,” replied Jack, ‘I have always re-
served my stories for the governor’s table,
where Iam sure to meet you, and then telling
once does for all.’

Jack received his appointment as orderly
midshipman, and ‘everything went on well ;
for, of his own accord, he stayed on board the
major part of the day to learn his duty, which
very much pleased the captain and Mr. Potty-
far. In this Jack showed a great deal of
good sense, and Captain Wilson did not re-
pent of the indulgence he had shown-him.
Jack's health’ improved daily, much to Mr.
‘Pottyfar’s satisfaction, who imagined that he
took the universal medicine night and morn-
ing. Gascoigne also was a patient under the
first lieutenant’s hands, and often on shore
with our hero, who thought no more‘of quit-
ting the service.

For seven weeks they had now remained in
harbour, for even the masts had to be made,
when, one day, Captain Wilson opened a
letter he received at breakfast-time, and having
read it, laid it down with the greatest surprise
depicted in his countenance. ‘Good heavens !
what can this mean ?’ said he.

“What's the matter, Wilson? said the
governor.‘Just hear its contents, Sir Thomas,’
Captain Wilson then read in Spanish as
follows :—

‘ Honourable Sir,

‘It is my duty to advise you that the
Honourable Lady Signora Alforgas de
Guzman, now, deceased, has, in her testa-
ment, bequeathed to you the sum of one
thousand doubloons in gold, as a testimony
of your kind services on the night of the reth
of August. If you will authorize any mer-
chant here to receive the money, it shall be
paid forthwith, or remitted in any way you
please to appoint. May you live a thousand
years !

* Your most obedient Servant,
‘ALFONZO XEREZ.’

Jack heard the letter read, rose quietly,
whistled low, as if not attending to it, and then
slipped out of the room, unperceived by the
governor or Captain Wilson.

The fact was that, although Jack had longed
to tell the governor about the adventures after
the, masquerade, he did not. like yet awhile,
until he was sure that there were no conse-
quences—because he had given the captain’s
name instead of his own. As soon ashe heard
the letter read, he at once perceived that: it
had been the old lady, and not the priests,
who had made the inquiry, and that by giving
Captain Wilson's name, he bad obtained for
him this fine legacy. Jack was delighted, but
still puzzled, so he walked out of the room to
reflect a little.

‘What can it mean?’ said Captain Wilson.
“I never rendered any services to any one on
the reth of August or after it. It is some
mistake—re2th of August —that was the day of
the grand masquerade.’

“A lucky one for you, at all events—for you
know, mistake or not, no-one else can touch
the legacy. It can only be paid to you.’

‘I never heard of anything taking place at
the masquerade—I was there, but I left early,
for I was not very well... Mr.. Easy,’ said
Captain Wilson, turning round ; but Jack was
gone.

“Was he at the masquerade?’ asked the
governor.

‘Yes, I know he was, for the first lieutenant
told me that he requested not to come on
board till the next day.’

‘Depend upon it,’ replied the governor,
striking his fist upon the table, ‘that Jack's at
the bottom of if.’

‘J should not be surprised at his being at
the bottom of anything,’ replied Captain
Wilson, laughing.

‘ Leave it to me, Wilson: I'll find it out.’

After a little more conversation, Captain
Wilson, went on board, leaving Jack on pur-
pose that the governor might pump him, But

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

aed

this Sir Thomas had no occasion to do, for
Jack had made up his mind to make the
governor his confidant, and he immediately
told him the whole story. The governor held
his sides at our hero's description, especially
at his ruse of giving the captain’s name
instead of his own.

‘You'll kill me, Jack, before you’ve done
with me,” said old Tom, at last; * but now
what is to be done?’

Our hero now became grave; he pointed
out to the governor that he himself had plenty
of money, and would come into a large for-
tune, and that Captain Wilson was poor, with
a large family. All Jack wished the governor
to manage was, that Captain Wilson might
consent to accept the legacy.

‘Right, boy, right! you're my own boy,
replied the governor; ‘but we must think of
this, for Wilson is the very soul of honour, and
there may be some difficulty about it. You
have told nobody ?’

‘Not a soul but you, Sir Thomas.’

“Tt never will do to tell him all this, Jack,
for he would insist that the legacy belonged
to you.’

‘T have it, sir,’ replied Jack. ‘ When I was
going into the masquerade, I offered to hand
this very old lady, who was covered with dia-
monds, out of her carriage, and she was so
frightened at my dress of a devil, *hat she
would have fallen down had it not »een for
Captain Wilson, who supported her, and she
was very thankful to him.

‘You are right, Jack,’ replied the governor,
after a short pause; ‘that will, I think, do.
I must tell him the story of the friars, because
I swore you had something to do with it—
but I'll tell him no more: leave it all to me.’

Captain Wilson returned in the afternoon,
and found the governor in the verandah.

‘I have had some talk with’ young Easy,’
said the governor, ‘and he has told me a
strange story about that night, which he was
afraid to tell to everybody.’

The governor then narrated the history of
the friars and the will.

‘Well, but,’ observed Captain Wilson,
‘the history of that will afford no clue to the
legacy.’

‘No, it does not; but still, as I said, Jack
had a hand in this. He frightened the old
lady as a devil, and you caught her in your
arms and saved her from falling, so he had a
hand in it, you see.’

“I do now remember that I did save a very
dowager-like old personage from falling at the
sight of a devil, who, of course, must have
been our friend Easy.’

‘Well, and that accounts for the whole -of

rary
+

“© A thousand doubloons: for picking up an
old lady !’It2

“Yes, why not?—have you not heard of a
man having a fortune left him for merely
opening the pew door of a church to an old
gentleman?’

‘Yes, but it appears so strange.’

‘There's nothing strange in this world,
Wilson, nothing at all—we may slave for
years and get no reward, and do a trifle out
of politeness and become independent. In
my opinion this mystery is unravelled. The
old lady, for { knew the family, must have
died immensely rich ; she knew you in your
full uniform, and she asked your name: a
heavy fall would have been to one so fat a
most serious affair ; you saved her, and she
has rewarded you handsomely.’

‘Well,’ replied Captain Wilson, ‘as I can
give no other explanation, I suppose yours is
the correct one ; but it’s hardly fair to take a
thousand doubloons from her relations merely
for an act of civility.’

‘You really are quite ridiculous; the old
lady owned half Murcia, to my knowledge.
It is no mcre to them than any one leaving
you a suit of mourning in an English legacy.
I wish you joy ; it will help you with a large
family, an¢ in justice to them you are bound
to take it. Everybody does as he pleases with
his own mney,—depend upon it, you saved
her from b. eaking her leg short off at the hip
joint.’

‘Upor that supposition I presume I must
accept o° the legacy,’ replied Captain Wilson,
laughing.

‘Of course ; send for it at once. The rate
of exchange is now high. I will give you go-
vernment bills, which will make it nearly four
thousand pounds.’

‘Four thousand pounds for preventing an
old woman from falling,’ replied Captain
Wilson.

‘Devilish well
tulate you.’

‘For how much am I indebted to the father
of young Easy!’ observed Captain Wilson,
after a silence of some minutes ; ‘if he had
not assisted me when I was appointed to a
ship, I should not have gained my promotion,
—nor three thousand pounds I have made in
prize money—the command of a fine frigate—
and now four thousand pounds in a windfall,’

The governor thought that he was more in-
debted to Jack than to his father for some of
these advantages, but he was careful not to
point them out.

‘It's very true,’ observed the governor,
‘that Mr. Easy was of service to you when
you were appointed ; but allow me to observe
that for your ship, your prize money, and for
your windfall, you have been wholly, indebted
to your own gallantry, in both senses of the
word ; still Mr. Easy isa fine generous fellow,
and so is his son, I can tell you. By-the-by,

paid, Wilson, and I congra-

 

 

 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
   
    
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
    
  
 
  
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

I had a long conversation with him the other
day.’

* About himself ?’ /

‘Yes, all about himself. He appears to me /
to have come into the service without any
particular motive, and will be just as likely to
leave it in the same way. He appears to be
very much in love with that Sicilian noble-
man’s daughter. I find that he has written
to her, and to her brother, since he has been
here.’

‘That he came into the service in search of
what he never will find in this world, I know
very well; and I presume that he has found
that out—and that he will follow up the ser-
vice is also very doubtful; but I do not wish
that he should leave it yet; it is doing him
gteat good,’ replied Captain Wilson.

‘I agree with you there—I have great in-
fluence with him, and he shall stay yet awhile,
He is heir to a very large fortune, is he not ?

‘A clear eight thousand pounds a year, if
not more,’

“If his father dies he must, of course, leave:
a midshipman with eight thousand pounds a
year would indeed be an anomaly.’

“That the service could not Permit. Tht
would be as injurious to himself as it would
to others about him. At present he has almost,
indeed I may say quite, an unlimited command
of money.’

‘That's bad, very bad.
haves so well as he does.’

‘And so do I: but he really is a very
superior lad, with all his peculiarities, and a
general favourite with those whose opinions
and friendship are worth having.’

‘Well, don't curb him up too tight—for
really he does not require it. He goes very
well in a snaffle.’

I wonder he be-

 

CHAPTER XXIX.

“PHILOSOPHY MADE EASY’ UPON AGRARIAN
PRINCIPLES, THE SUBJECT OF SOME UN-
EASINESS TO OUR HERO.—THE FIRST AP-
PEARANCE, BUT NOT THE LAST, OF AN
IMPORTANT PERSONAGE,

THE conversation was here interrupted by a
mail from England which they had been ex-
pecting. Captain Wilson retired with his
letters ; the governor remained equally occu-
pied; and our hero received the first letter
ever written to him by his father. It ran as
follows :—

‘My dear Son,

‘Ihave many times taken up my pen with
the intention of jetting you know. how things
went on in this country. But as I can per-
ceive around but one dark horizon of evil, TMR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. r13

have as often laid it down again without recommended them to make use of it, promis-
venturing to make you unhappy with such ing that if they hold in power they will only
bad intelligence. use that power to the abolition of our farce of
‘The account of your death, and also of a constitution, of a church, and of a king ;
your unexpectedly being yet spared to us, and that if the nation is to be governed at ail,
were duly received, and I trust, 1 mourned it shall only be governed by the many. This
on each occasion with all the moderation is cheering. Hail, patriot lords! all hail! I
characteristic of a philosopher. In the first am in hopes that the great work will be
instancé I consoled myself with the reflection achieved, in spite of the laughs and sneers
that the world you had left was in a state of and shakes of the head which my arguments
slavery, and pressed down by the iron arm of still meet with from that obstinate fellow, Dr.
despotism, and that to die was gain, not only Middleton.
in all the parson tells us, but also in our “Your mother is in a quiet way ; she has
liberty; and, at the second intelligence, I given over reading and working, and even
moderated my joy for nearly about the same her knitting, as useless ; and she now sits all
reasons, resolving, notwithstanding what Dr. day long at the chimney corner twiddling her
Middleton may say, to die as I have lived, a thumbs, and waiting, as she says, for the
true philosopher. millennium. Poor thing! she is very foolish
“The more I reflect the more am I con- with her ideas upon this matter, but as usual
vinced that there is nothing required to make I let her have her own way in everything,
this world happy but equality, and the rights copying the philosopher of old, who was tied
of man being duly observed—-in short, that to his Xantippe.
everything and everybody should be reduced ‘I trust, my dear son, that your principles
to one level. Do we not observe that it is have strengthened with your years, and for-
the law of nature—do not brooks run into tified with your growth, and that, if necessary,
rivers—rivers into seas—mountains crufmble you will sacrifice all to obtain what in my
down upon the plains ?—are not the seasons opinion will prove to be the real millennium.
contented to equalise the parts of the earth? Make all the converts you can, and believe
Why does the sun run round the ecliptic, in- me to be,

stead of the equator, but to give an equal ‘Your affectionate father,

share of his heat to both sides of the world? ‘And true guide,

Are we not all equally born in misery? does NICODEMUS EASsy,’
not death level us all ‘‘zequo pede,” as the

poet hath? are we not all equally hurgty, Jack, who was alone, shook his head as he

thirsty, and sleepy, and thus levelled by our read this letter, and then laid it down with a
natural wants? And such being the case, pish! He did it involuntarily, and was sur-
ought we not to have our equal share of good prised at himself when he found that he had so
things in this world, to which we have un- done. ‘I should like to argue the point,’
doubted equal right? Can any argument be thought Jack, in spite of himself: and then
more solid or more level than this, whatever he threw the letter on the table and went into
nonsense Dr. Middleton may talk ? Gascoigne’s room, displeased with his father
* Yes, my son, if it were not that I still hope and with himself. He asked Ned whether
to see thesun of Justice arise, and disperse the he had received any letters from England,
manifold dark clouds which obscure the land— and, it being near dinner-time, went back to
if I did not still hope, in my time, to see an dress. On his coming down into the receiy-
equal distribution of property—an agrarian law ing-room with Gascoigne, the governor said
passed by the House of Commons, in which to them—
all should benefit alike—I would not care ‘ As you two both speak Italian, you must
how soon I left this vale of tears, created by take charge of a Sicilian officer, who has
tyranny and injustice. At present the same come here with letters of introduction to me,
system is carried on ; the nation is taxed for and who dines here to-day.’ @
the benefit of the few, and it groans under — Before dinner they were introduced to the
oppression and despotism; but I still do party in question, a slight-made, well-looking
think that there is, if I may fortunately ex- young man, but still there was an expression
press myself, a bright star in the west ; and in his countenance which was not agreeable,
signs of the times which comfort me. Already In compliance with the wishes of the governor,
we have had a good deal of incendiarism Don Mathias, for so he was called, was placed
about the country, and some of the highest between our two midshipmen, who immedi-
aristocracy have pledged themselves to raise ately entered into conversation with him, being
the people above themselves, and have ad- themselves anxious to make inquiries about
vised sedition and conspiracy ; have shown their friends at Palermo. In the course of
to the debased and unenlightened multitude conversation, Jack inquired of him whether
that their force is physically irresistible, and he was acquainted with Don Rehbiera, to

\114

which the Sicilian answered in the affirmative,
and they talked about the different members
of the family. Don Mathias, towards the
close of the dinner, inquired of Jack by what
means he had become acquainted with Don
Rebiera ; and Jack, in reply, narrated how he
and his friend Gascoigne had saved him from
being murdered by two villains, After this
reply the young officer appeared fo be less in-
clined for conversation, but, before the party
broke up, requested to have the acquaintance
of our two midshipmen. As soon as he was
gone, Gascoigne observed in a reflective way,
‘I have seen that face before, but where I
cannot exactly say; but you know, Jack,
what a memory of people I have, and I have
seen him before, I am sure.’

‘I can't recollect that ever I have,’ replied
our hero; ‘but I never knew any one who
could recollect in that way as you do.’

The conversation was then dropped between
them, and Jack was for some time listening to
the governor and Captain Wilson, for “the
whole. party were gone away, when Gas-
coigne, who had been in deep thought since
he had made the observation to Jack, sprang
up.

‘T have him at last !' cried he.

‘Have who? demanded Captain Wilson.

‘That Sicilian officer—I could have sworn
that I had seen him before.’

‘That Don Mathias ?’

“No, Sir Thomas! He isnot Don Mathias!
He is the very Don Silvio who was murdering
Don Rebiera when we came to his assistance
and saved him.’

‘I do believe you are.right, Gascoigne.’

‘I'm positive of it,’ replied Gascoigne ;
never made a mistake in my life.’

‘Bring me .those letters, Easy,’ said the
governor, ‘and let us see ‘what they say of
him. Here it is—Don Mathias de Alayeres.
You, may be mistaken, Gascoigne; its a
heavy charge you are making against this
young man,’

‘ Well, Sir Thomas, if that is not Don Silvio
Ud forfeit my commission, if I had it here in
my hand. Besides, I observed the change in
his countenance when we told him it was
Easy and I who had come to Don Rebiera’s
mat and did you opserve after that,
Easy, that he hardly said a word ?

‘Very true,’ replied Jack.

‘Well, well, we must see.to this,’ observed
the governor; if so, this letter of introduction
must be a forgery.’

The party then retired to bed, and the next
morning, while Easy was in Gascoigne’s room
talking over their suspicions, letters from Pa-
lermo were brought up to. him. They were
in answer to those written: by. Jack on his
arrival at Malta: a few lines from Don Re-
biera, a small note from Agnes, and a volu-

gill

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

minous detail from his:friend Don Philip, who
informed him of the good health of all parties,
and of their good-will towards him ; of Agnes
being as partial as ever ; of his having spoken
plainly,'as he had promised Jack, to his father
and mother relative to their mutual attach-
ment ; of their consent being given, and then
withheld, because Father Thomas, their con-
fessor, would not listen to the union of Agnes
with a heretic; but nevertheless telling Jack
this would be got over through the medium
of his brot hen and himself, who were deter-
mined that their sister and he should not be
made unhappy about such a trifle. But the
latter part of the letter contained intelligence
equally important, which was, that Don Silvio
had again attempted the life of. their father,
and would have succeeded had not Father
Thomas, who happened to; he there, thrown
himself between them. ‘That Don Silvio in
his rage had actually stabbed the confessor,
although the wound was not dangerous. That
in consequence of this all further lenity was
denied to him, and that the authorities wee
in search of him to award him the punishment
due to murder and sacrilege. ‘That up to the
present they could not find him, and it was
supposed that he had made his escape to
Malta in one of the speronares.

Such were the contents of the letter, which
were immediately communicated to the gover-
nor and Captain Wilson, upon their meeting
at breakfast.

‘Very well, we must see to this,’ observed
the governor, who then made inquiries as to
the other intelligence contained in the letters.

jack and Gascoigne was uneasy until the
breakfast was over, when they. made their
escape. A few moments afterwards Captain
Wilson rose to go on board, and sent for
them, but they were not to be found,

‘I understand it all, Wilson,’ said the
governor; ‘leave them to me; go on board
and make yourself quite easy.’

In the meantime our two midshipmen had
taken their hats and walked away to the para-
pet of the battery, where they would not be
interrupted.

“Now, Gascoigne,’ observed Jack, ‘you
guess what I’m about—I must shoot that
rascal this very morning, and that’s why 1]

came out with you.

‘But, Easy, the only difference is this, that
I.must shoot him, and not you; he is my
property, for I found him out. :

‘We'll argue that point,’ replied Jack; ‘for
he has attempted the life of myis-to-be, please
God, father-in- claw, and therefore I shave the
best claim to him.’

‘I beg your pardon, Jack, he is mine, for I
discovered him. Now let'me put a. case?
suppose one man walking several yards before
another, picks up a purse, what claim hasthe other to it?
you.’

‘That's all very well, Gascoigne; but sup-
pose the purse you picked up to be mine, then
I have a right to it, although you found it ; he
is my bird by right, and not yours.”

‘ But Ihave another observation to make,
which is very important : he is a blood relation
of Agnes, and if his blood is on your hands,
however much he may deserve it, depend
upon it, it will be raised as an obstacle to
your union; think of that.’

Jack paused in thought.

* And let me induce you by another remark
—you will confer on me a most particular
favour.’

‘It will be the greatest I ever could,’ re-
plied Jack, ‘and you ought to be eternally
indebted to me.’

‘I trust to make him etemaally indebted to
me, replied Gascoigne. ‘

Sailors, if going into action, always begin
to reckon what their share of the prize-money
may be, before a shot is fired—our two mid-
shipmen appear in this instance to be doing
the same.

The point having been conceded to Gas-
coigne, Jack went to the inn where Don Silvio
had mentioned that he had taken up his
quarters, and sending up his card, followed
the waiter upstairs. The waiter opened the
door and presented the card.

‘Very well,’ repliéd Don Silvio, “you can
go.down and show him up.’

‘Jack, hearing these words. did not wait,
but walked in, where he found Don Silvio
very busy removing a hone upon which he
had been whetting a sharp double-edged
stiletto. The Sicilian walked up to him,
offering his hand with apparent. cordiality
but Jack, with a look of defiance, said, ‘Don
Silvio, we know you: my object now is to
demand, on, the part of my friend, the satis-
faction which you do not deserve, but which
our indignation at your second attempt upon
Don Rebiera induces us to offer; for if you
escape from him you will have to do with me.
On the whole, Don Silvio, you may think
yourself fortunate, for it is better to die by
the hands of a gentleman than by the gibbet.’

Don Silvio turned deadly pale—his hand
sought his stiletto in his bosom, but it was
remaining on the table; at last he replied,
*Be it so—I will meet you when and where
you please in an hour from this.’

Jack mentioned the place of meeting, and
then walked out of the room. He and Gas-
coigne then hastened to the quarters of an
officer they were intimate with, and having
provided themselves with the necessary fire-
arms, were at the spot before the time. They
waited for him till the exact time, yet no Don
Silvio made his appearance.

I found him, and not

  

 

 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
    
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
   
   
  

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. IIS

‘ He's off,’ observed GaScoigne; ‘the villain
has escaped us.’

Half an hour over the time had passed, and
still there was no sign of Gascoigne’s antago-
nist, but one of the governor's aides-de-camp
was seen walking. up to them.

‘Here’s Atkins,’ observed Jack; ‘that’s
unlucky, but he won't interfere.’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Atkins, taking off his
hat with much solemnity, ‘the governor par-
ticularly wishes to speak to you both.’

‘We can’t come just now—we’'ll be there
in half an hour.’

‘You must be there in three minutes, both
of you. Excuse me, my orders are positive
—and to see them duly executed I have a
corporal and a file of men behind that wall—
of course, if you walk with me quietly there
will be no occasion to send for their as-
sistance.’

‘This is confounded tyranny,’ cried Jack.
‘Well may they call him ‘‘ King Tom.”"

‘Yes,’ replied Atkins, ‘and he governs here
‘‘in rey absoluto'’—so come along.’

Jack and Gascoigne, having no choice,
walked up to the government house, where
they jound Sir Thomas in the verandah,
which commanded a view of the harbour and
offing.

‘Come here, young gentlemen,’ said: the
governor, in a severe tone; ‘do you see that
vessel- about two miles clear of the port?
Don Silvio is in it, going back to Sicily under
a guard. And now remember what I say as
a maxim through life. Fight with gentle-
men, if you must fight, but not with villains
and murderers. By ‘‘consenting” to fight with
a ‘*‘ blackguard,” you as much disparage your
cloth and compromise your own characters, as
by refusing to give satisfaction toa ‘‘ gentle-
man.’ There, go away, for I’m angry with
you, and don’t let me see you till dinner-
time.

 

IN WHICH OUR HERO SEES A LITTLE MORE
SERVICE, AND IS BETTER EMPLOYED THAN
IN FIGHTING DON SILVIO.

But before they met the governor at his table,
a sloop of war arrived from the fleet with
despatches from the commander-in-chief.
Those to Captain Wilson required him to
make all possible haste in fitting, and then
to proceed and cruise off Corsica, to fall in
witha Russian frigate which was on that coast;
if not there, to obtain intelligence, and to
follow her wherever she might be.

All was now bustle and activity on board of
the Aurora. Captain Wilson, with our hero
and Gascoigne, quitted the governor's house
and repaired on board, where they remainedrx6

day and night. On the third day the Aurora
was complete and ready for sea, and about
noon sailed out of Valette Harbour.

In a week the Aurora had gained the coast
of Corsica, and there was no need of sending
look-out men to the mast-head, for one of the
officers or midshipmen was there from day-
light to dark. She ran up the coast to the
northward without seeing the object of her
pursuit, or obtaining any intelligence.

Calms and light airs detained them for a
few days, when a northerly breeze enabled
them to run down the eastern side of the
island. It was on the eighteenth day after
they had quitted Malta, that a large vessel
was seen ahead about eighteen miles off. ‘The
men were then at breakfast.

‘A frigate, Captain Wilson, I’m sure of it,’
said Mr. Hawkins, the chaplain, whose
anxiety induced him to go to the mast-head.

‘ How is she steering ?”

‘The same way as we are.’

The Aurora was under all possible sail, and
when the hands were piped to dinner, it was
thought that they had neared the chase about
two miles.

paletats will be a lone chase; a stern chase
always is,’ observed Martin to Gascoigne.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so—but I’m more afraid of
her escaping.’

‘That's uot unlikely either,’
mate.

‘You are one of Job's comforters, Martin,’
replied Gascoigne.

‘Then I'm not so often disappointed,’ re-
plied the mate. ‘There are two points to be
ascertained ; the first is, whether we shall
come up with the vessel, or lose her—the next
is, if we do come up with her, whether she is
the vessel we are looking for.’

* You seem very indifferent about it.’

‘Indeed I am not: I am the oldest passed
midshipman in the ship, and the taking of the
frigate will, if I live, give me my promotion,
and if I’m killed, I shan’t want it. But I’ve
been so often disappointed, that I now make
sure of nothing until I have it.’

‘Well, for your sake, Martin, I wilt still
hope that the vessel is the one we seek, that
we shall not be killed, and that you will gain
your promotion.’

‘I thank you, Easy—I wish I was one that
dared hope as you do.’

Poor Martin ! hehad long felt how bitterit was
to meet disappointment upon disappointment.
How true it is, that hope deferred maketh the
heart sick ! and his anticipations of early days,

the buoyant calculations of youth, had been
one by one crushed; and now, having served
his time nearly three times over, the reaction
had become too painful, and, as he truly said,
he dared not hope: still his temper was not
soured, but chastened.

replied the

 

WR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

‘She has hauled her wind, sir,’ bailed the

second lieutenant from the topmast cross-trees.

‘ What think you of that, Martin ? observed
ack.

‘Hither that she is an English frigate, or
that she is a vessel commanded by a very brave
fellow, and well manned.’

It was sunset before the Aurora had arrived

within two miles of the vessel ; the private
signal had been thrown out, but had not been
answered, either because it was too dark to
make out the colours of the flags, or that these
were unknown to an enemy. ‘The stranger
had hoisted the Euglish colours, but that was
no satisfactory proof of her being a friend; and
gust before dark she had put her head towards
the Aurora,“who had now come stem down to
her. ‘The ship’s company of the Aurora were
all at their quarters, as a few minutes would
now decide whether they had to deal with a
friend or foe.

There is no situation perhaps more difficult,
ana demanding so much caution, as the
occasional meeting witha doubtful ship. On
the one hand, it being necessary to be fully
prepared, and not allow the enemy the advan-
tage which may be derived from your inaction ;
and on the other, the necessity of prudence,
that you may not assault your friends and
countrymen. Captain Wilson had hoisted
the private night-signal, but" here again it was
difficult, from his sails intervening, for the
other ship to make it out. Before the two
frigates were within three cables’ lengths of
each other, Captain Wilson, determined that
there should be no mistake from any want of
precaution on his part, hauled up his courses
and brailed up his driver that the night-signal
might be clearly seen.

Lights were seen abaft on the quarter-deck
of the other vessel, as if they were about to an-
swer, but she continued to keep the Aurora to
feeward at about half a cable’s length, and as
the foremost guns of each vessel were abreast
of each, hailed in English—

‘ Ship ahoy ! what ship's that 2”

‘His Majesty’s ship Aurora,’ replied Cap-
tain Wilson, who stood on the hammocks.
“What ship’s that ?’

By this time, the other frigate had passed
half her length clear of the beam of the Aurora,
and at the same time that a pretended reply of

‘His Majesty's ship was heard, a broad-
side from her guns, which had been trained aft
on purpose, was poured into the Auroraand, at
so short a distance, doing considerable execu-

tion. The crew of the Aurora, hearing the
hailing in English, and the vessel passing
them apparently without firing, had imagined
that she had been one of their own cruisers.

The captains of the guns had dropped their
lanyards in disappointment, and the silence
which had been maintained as the two vesselsmet was just breaking up in various ways of
lamentation at their bad luck, when the
broadside was poured in, thundering in their
ears, and the ripping and tearing of the beams
and planks astonished their senses, Many
were carried down below, but it was difficult
to say whether indignation at the enemy’s
ruse, or satisfaction at discovering that they
were not called to quarters in vain, most pre-
dominated. At all events, it was answered
by three voluntary cheers, which drowned the
cries of those who were being assisted to the
cockpit.

‘Man the larboard-guns and about ship !’
cried Captain Wilson, leaping off the ham-
mocks. ‘Look out, my lads, and rake her
in stays! We'll pay him offfor that foul play
before we've done with him. Look out, my
lads, and take good aim as she pays round.’

The Aurora was put about, and her broad-
side poured into the stern of the Russian
frigate—for such she was. It was almost
dark, but the enemy, who appeared as anxious
as the Aurora to come to action, hauled up
her courses to await her coming up. In five
minutes the two vessels were alongside, ex-
changing murderous broadsides at little more
than pistol-shot—running slowly in for the
land, then not more than five miles distant.
The skin-clad mountaineers of Corsica were
aroused by the furious cannonading, watching
the incessant flashes of the guns, and listening
to their reverberating roar.

After half an hour's fierce combat, during
which the fire of both vessels was kept up with
undiminished vigour, Captain Wilson went
down on the main-deck, and himself sepa-
rately pointed each gun after it was ioaded ;
those amidships being direct for the main
channels of the enemy’s ship, while those
abaft the beam were gradually trained more
and more forward, and those before the beam
more and more aft, so as to throw all their shot
nearly into one focus, giving directions that
they were all to be fired at once, at the word
of command. The enemy, not aware of the
cause of the delay, imagined that the fire of
the Aurora had slackened, and loudly cheered.
At the word given, the broadside was poured
in, and, dark as it was, the effects from it
were evident. Two of the midship ports of
the antagonist were blown into one, and her
mainmast was seen to totter, and then to
fall over the side. The Aurora then set her
courses, which had been hauled up, and,
shooting ahead, took up a raking position,
while the Russian was still hampered with her
wreck, and poured in grape and cannister
from her upper-deck carronades to impede
their labours on deck, while she continued her
destructive fire upon the hull of the enemy
from the main-deck battery.

The moon now burst out from a low bank

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

L17

of clouds, and enabled them to accomplish
their work with more precision. Ina quarter
of an hour the Russian was totally dismasted,
and Captain Wilson ordered half of his re-
maining ship's company to repair the
damages, which had been must severe, whilst
the iarboard men at quarters continued the fire
from the main-deck. The enemy continued
to return the fire from four guns, two on each
of her decks, which she could still make bear
upon the Aurora; but after some time even
these ceased, either from the men havirg de-
serted them, or from their being dismounted.
Observing that the fire from her antagonist
had ceased, the Aurora also discontinued,
and the jolly-boat astern being still uninjured,
the second lieutenant was deputed to~ pull
alongside of the frigate to ascertain if she had
struck.

The beams of the bright moon silvered the
rippling water as the boat shoved off; and
Captain Wilson and his officers who were still
unhurt, leant over the shattered sides of the
Aurora, waiting for a reply: suddenly the
silence of the night was broken upon by aloud
splash from the bows of the Russian frigate,
then about three cables’ length distant.

“What could that be ?’ cried Capt. Wilson.
‘Her anchor's down. Mr. Jones, a lead
over the side, and see what water we have,’

Mr. Jones had long been carried down
below, severed in two with a round shot—but
a man leaped into the chains, and lowering
down the lead, sounded in seven fathoms.

“Then I suspect he will give us more trouble
yet,’ observed Captain Wilson ; and so indeed
it proved, for the Russian captain, in reply to
the second lieutenant, had told him in English,
‘that he would answer that question with his
broadside,’ and before the boat was dropped
astern, he had warped round with the springs
on his cable, and had recommenced his fire
upon the Aurora.

Captain Wilson made sail upon his ship,
and sailed round and round the anchored
vessel, so as to give her two broadsides to her
one and from the slowness with which she
worked at her springs upon her cables, it was
evident that she must be now very weak-
handed. Still the pertinacity and decided
courage of the Russian captain convinced
Captain Wilson, that, in all probability, he
would sink at his anchor before he would haul
down his colours ; and not only would he lose
more of the Aurora’s men, but also the Rus-
sian vessel, without he took a more decided
step. Captain Wilson, therefore, resolved to
try her by the board. Having poured ina
raking fire, he stood off fora few moments,
during which he called the officers and men
on deck, and stated his intention. He then
went about, and himself conning the Aurora,
ran her on board the Russian, pouring in his118

reserved broadside as the vessels came into
collision, and heading his men as they leaped
on the enemy's decks.

Although, as Captain Wilson had imagined,
the Russian frigate had not many men to op-
pose to the Aurora's, the deck was obstinately
defended, the voice and the arm of the Rus-
sian captain were to be heard and seen every-
where, and his men, encouraged by him,
were cut down by numbers where they stood.

Our hero, who had the good fortune to be
still unhurt, was for a little while close to
Captain Wilson when he boarded, and was
about to oppose his unequal force against
that of the Russian captain, when he was
pulled back by the collar by Mr. Hawkins,
the chaplain, who rushed in advance with a
sabre in his hand. The Opponents were well
matched, and it may be said that, with little
interruption, a hand-to-hand conflict ensued,
for the moon lighted up the scene of carnage,
and they were well able to distinguish each
other’s faces. At last, the chaplain’s sword
broke; he rushed in, drove the hilt into his
antagonist's face, closed with him, and they
both fell down the hatchway together. After
this, the deck was gained, or rather cleared,
by the crew of the Aurora, for few could be
said to have resisted, and in a minute or two
the frigate was in their possession. ‘The chap-
lain and the Russian captain were hoisted up,
still clinging to each other, bothsenseless from
the fall, but neither of them dead, although
bleeding from several wounds.

As soon as the main-deck had been el
Captain Wilson ordered the hatches to be put
on, and left a party on. board while he
hastened to attend to the condition of his own
ship and ship’s company.

lt was daylight before anything like order
had been restored to the decks of the Aurora :
the water was still smooth, and instead of let-
ting go her own anchor, she had hung on with
a hawser to the prize, but her sails had been
furled, her decks cleared, guns secured, and
the buckets were dashing away the blood from
her planks and the carriages of the guns,
when the sun rose and. shone upon them.
The numerous wounded had, by this time,
been put into their hammocks, although
there were still one or two cases of amputa-
tion to be performed.

The carpenter had repaired all shot-holes
under or too near to the water-line, and then
had proceeded to sound the well of the prize;
but although her upper works had been
dreadfully shattered, there was no reason to
suppose that she had received any serious in-
jury below, and therefore the hatches still re-
mained on, although a few hands were put to
the pumps to try if she made any water. It
was not until the Aurora presented a more
cheerful appearance that Captain Wilson

eared,

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

 

went over to the other ship, whose deck, now
that the light of heaven enabled them to wit-
ness all-the horrors even to minuteness, pre-
sented a shocking spectacle of blood and
carnage. Body after body was thrown over ;
the wounded were supplied with water and
such assistance as could be rendered until the
surgeons could attend them; the hatches
were then taken off, and the remainder of her
crew ordered on deck ; about two hundred
obeyed ‘the summons, but the lower deck was
as crowded with killed and wounded as was
the upper. For the present the prisoners
were handed over down into the fore-hold of
the Aurora, which had been prepared for their
reception, and the work of separation of the
dead from the living then underwent. After
this, such repairs as were immediately neces-
Sary were made, anda portion of the Aurora's
crew, under the orders of the second lieuten-
ant, were sent on board to take charge of her.
It was not till the evening of the day after this
night-conflict that the Aurora was ina situa-
tion to make sail. All hands were then sent
on board.of the Trident, for such was the
name of the Russian frigate, to fit her out as
soon as possible, Before morning, —for there
was no relaxation from their fatigue, nor was
there any wish for it,—all was completed, and
the two frigates, although in a shattered con-
dition, were Prepared to meet any common
conflict with the elements. The Aurora made
sail with the Trident _ in tow; the ham-
mocks were allowed to be taken down, and
the watch below permitted to repose.

In this murderous conflict the Trident had
more than two hundred men_ killed and
wounded. The Aurora’s loss had not been so
great, but still it was severe, having lost sixty-
five men and officers. Among the fallen there
were Mr. Jones, the master, the third lieuten-
ant, Mr. Arkwright, and two midshipmen
killed. Mr. Pottyfar, the first lieutenant,
severely wounded at the commencement of
the action. Martin, the master's mate, and
Gascoigne, the first mortally, and the second
badly wounded. Our hero had also received
a slight cutlass wound, which obliged him to
wear his arm, for a short time, ina sling.

Among the ship’s company who were
wounded was Mesty ; he had been hurt with
a. splinter before the Trident was taken by the
board, but had remained on deck, and had
followed our hero, watching over him and
protecting him as a father. He had done
even more, for he had with Jack thrown him-
seif before Captain Wilson, at a time that he
had received such a blow with the flat of a
sword as to stun him, and bring him down on
his knee. And Jack had taken good care
that Captain Wilson should not be ignorant,
as he really would have been, of this timely
service on the part of Mesty, who certainly,although with a great deal of ‘sang-froid’ in
his composition when in repose, was.a fiend
incarnate when his blood was up.

‘But you must have been with Mesty,’ ob-
served Captain Wilson, ‘when he did me the
service.

‘I was with him, sir,’ replied Jack, with
great modesty; ‘but was of very little
service.’

‘How is your friend Gascoigne this even-
ing ?

“Oh, not very bad, sir—he wants a glass of
grog.’

‘And Mr. Martin?’

Jack shook his head.

‘Why, the surgeon thinks he will do well.’

‘Yes, sir, and so I told Martin; but he
said that it was very well to give him hope—
but that he thought otherwise.’

‘You must manage him, Mr. Easy ; tell
him that he is sure of his promotion.’

‘T have, sir, but he won't believe it. He
never will believe it till he has his cemmission
signed. I really think that an acting order
would do more than the doctor can.’

‘ Well, Mr. Easy, he shall have one to-
morrow morning. Have you seen Mr. Potty-
far ? he, I am afraid, is very bad.’

‘Very bad, sir; and they say he is worse
every day, and. yet his wound is healthy,
and ought to be doing weil.’

Such was the conversation between Jack
and his captain, as they sat at breakfast on the
third morning after the action.

The next day Easy took down an acting
order for Martin, and put it into his hands.
‘The mate read it over as he lay bandaged in
his hammock.

‘It's only anacting order, Jack,’ said he; ‘it
may not be confirmed.’

Jack swore, by all the articles of war, that
it would be; but Martin replied that he was
sure it never would.

‘No, no,’ said the mate, ‘ I knew very well
that I never should be made. If it is not con-
firmed, I may live ; but if it is, I amt sure to
die.’

Every one that went to Martin’s hammock
wished him joy of his promotion; but six
days after the action, poor Martin’s remains
were consigned to the deep.

The next person who followed him was Mr.
Pottyfar, the first lieutenant, who had con-
trived, wounded as he was, to reach a packet
of the universal medicine, and had taken so
many bottles before he was found out, that he
was one morning found dead in his bed, with
more than two dozen empty phials under his
pillow, and by the side of his mattress. He
was not buried with his hands in his pockets,
but when sewed up in his hammock, they
were, at all events, laid in the right position.

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    

11g

CHAPTER XXXI.

MODERN PHILANTHROPY, WHICH, AS USUAL,
IS THE CAUSE OF MUCH TROUBLE AND
VEXATION.

IN three weeks the Aurora, with her prize in
tow, arrived at Malta. The wounded were
sent to the hospital, and the gallant Russian
captain recovered from his wounds about the
same time as Mr. Hawkins, the chaplain.

Jack, who constantly called to see the chap-
lain, had a great deal to do to console him.
He would shake his handsas he lay in his bed
exclaiming against himself. ‘Oh,’ would he
say, ‘the spirit is willing, but the flesh is
weak. ‘That I, a man of God, as they term
me, who ought to have been down with the
surgeons, whispering comfort to the despond-
ing, should have gone on deck (but I could
not help it), and have mixed in such a scene of
slaughter. What will become of me?’

Jack attempted to console him by pointing
out, that not only chaplains, but bishops,
have been known to fight in armour from time
immemorial. But Mr. Hawkins’s recovery was
long doubtful, from the agitation of his mind.
When he was able to walk, Jack introduced
to him the Russian captain, who was also just
out of his bed.

‘TI am most happy to embrace so gallant an
officer,’ said the Russian, who recognized his
antagonist, throwing his arms round the
chaplain, and giving him a kiss on both
cheeks. ‘What is his rank?’ continued he,
addressing himself to Jack, who replied, very
quietly, ‘that he was the ship’s padre.’

‘The padre!’ replied the captain, with
surprise, as Hawkins turned away with con-
fusion. ‘The padre—parexemple! Well, I
always had a great respect for the Church.
Pray, sir,’ said he, turning to Easy, ‘do your
padres always head your boarders ?’

‘ Always, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘its a rule of
the service--and the duty of a padre to show
the men the way to heaven. It’s our ninety-
ninth article of war.’

‘You are a fighting nation,’ replied the
Russian, bowing to Hawkins, and continuing
his walk, not exactly pleased that he had been
floored by a parson.

Mr. Hawkins continued very disconsoiate
for some time; he then invalided, and ap-
plied himself to his duties on shore, where he
would not be exposed to such temptations
from his former habits.

As the Aurora, when she was last at Malta,
had nearly exhausted the dockyard for her re-
pairs, she was even longer fitting out this
time, during which Captain Wilson’s de-
spatches had been received by the admiral,
and had been acknowledged by a brig
sent to Malta. The admiral, in reply,

after complimenting. him upon his gallan-T20

try and success, desired that, as soon as he
was ready, he should proceed to Palermo
with communications of importance to the
authorities, and having remained there for an
answer, was again to return to Malta to pick
up such of his men as might be fit to leave the
hospital, and then join the Toulon fleet. This
intelligence was soon known to our hero,
who was in ecstasies at the idea of again
seeing Agnes and her brothers. Once more
the Aurora sailed away from the high-crowned
rocks of Valette, and with a fine breeze
dashed through the deep blue waves.

But towards the evening the breeze in-
creased, and they were under double-reefed
topsails. On the second day they made the
coast of Sicily, not far from where Easy and
Gascoigne had been driven on shore; the
weather was then more moderate, and the
sea had, to a great degree, subsided. They
therefore stood in close to the coast, as they
had not a leading wind to Palermo. As they
stood in, the glasses, as usual, were directed
to land; observing the villas with which the
valleys were studded, with their white fronts
embowered in orange groves.

“What is that, Gascoigne,’ said Easy,
‘under that precipice ?—it looks like a vessel.’

Gascoigne turned his glass in that direction
—‘Yes, it is a vessel on the rocks: by her
prow she looks like a galley.’

‘It is a galley, sir—one .of the row galleys
—I can make out her bank of oars,’ observed
the signal-man.

This was reported to Captain Wilson, who
also examined her.

‘She is on the rocks, certainly,’ observed
he; ‘and I think I see people on board.
Keep her away a point, quarter-master.’

The Aurora was now steered right for the
vessel, and in the course of an hour was not
more than a mile from her. ‘Their supposi-
tions were correct—it was one of the Sicilian
government galleys bilged on the rocks, and
they now perceived that there were people on
board of her, making signals with their shirts
and pieces of linen.

“They must be the galley-slaves ; for I per-
ceive that they do not one of them change
their positions : the galley must have been
abandoned by their officers and seamen, and
the slaves left to perish.’

“That's very hard,’ observed Jack to Gas-
coigne ; ‘ they were condemned to-the galleys,
but not to death.’

“They will not have much mercy from the
waves, replied Gascoigne; ‘they will all be
in kingdom come to-morrow morning, if the
breeze comes more on the land. We have
already come up two points this forenoon.’

Although Captain Wilson did not join in
this conversation, which he overheard as he
stood en the forecastle gun, with his glass

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

 

over the hammocks, it appears he was of the
same opinion ; but he demurred: he had to
choose between allowing so many of his fellow-
creatures to perish miserably, or to let loose
upon society a set of miscreants, who would
again enter a course of crime until they were
re-captured, and by so doing, probably dis-
please the Sicilian authorities. After some
little reflection he resolved that he would take
his chance of the latter. ‘The Aurora was
hove-to in stays, and the two cutters ordered
to be lowered down, and the boat’s crew to be
armed.

‘Mr. Easy, do you take one cutter, and the
armourers ; pull on board of the galley, re-
lease those people, and land them in small
divisions. Mr. Gascoigne, you will take the
other to assist Mr. Easy, and when he lands
them in his boat, you will pull by his side
ready to act, in case of any hostile attempt on
the part. of the scoundrels ; for we must not
exvect gratitude : of course. land tlem at the
nearest safe spot for debarkation.’

In pursuance of these orders, our two mid-
shipmen pulled away to the vessel. They
found her fixed hard upon the rocks, which
had pierced her slight timbers, and, as they
had supposed, the respectable part of her
crew, with the commander, had taken to the
boats, leaving the galley-slaves to their fate.
She pulled fifty oars, but had only thirty-six
manned. ‘These oars were forty feet long,
and ran in from the thole-pin with a loom six
feet long, each manned by four slaves, who
were chained to their seat before it by a run-
ning chain made fast by a padlock in amid-
ships. A plank of two feet wide ran fore and
aft the vessel between the two banks of oars,
for the boatswain to apply the lash to those
who did not sufficiently exert themselves.

‘ Viva los Ingiesos,’ cried the galley-slaves,
as Easy climbed up over the quarter of the
vessel.

“I say, Ned, did you ever see such a
precious set of villains?’ observed Easy, as
he surveyed the faces of the men who were
chained.

“No,” replied Gascoigne; ‘and I think if
the captain had seen them as we have, that he
would have left them where they were.’

‘I don’t know—but, however, our orders
are positive. Armourer, knock-off all the
padlocks, beginning aft; when we have a
cargo we will land them. How many are
there ?>—twelve dozen ;—twelve dozen villains
to let lose upon society. I have a great mind
to go on board again and report my opinion
to the captain—one hundred and forty-four
villains, who all deserve hanging—for drown-
ing is too good for them.’

‘Our orders are to liberate them, Jack.’

‘Yes ; but I should like to argue this point
with Captain Wilson,’‘They'll send after them fast enough, Jack,
and they'll all be in limbo again before long
replied Gascoigne. me
_ ‘ Well, I suppose we must obey orders; but
it goes against my conscience to save such
villanous-looking rascals. Armourer, ham-
mer away: *

The armourer, who with the seamen ap-
peared very much of Jack’s opinion, and had
not commenced his work, now struck off the
padlocks one by one with his sledge-hammer.
As soon as they were released the slaves were
ordered into the cutter, and when it was suffi-
ciently loaded Jack shoved off, followed by
Gascoigne as guard, and landed them at the
point about a cable length’s distant. It re-
quired six trips before they were all landed ;
the last cargo went on shore, and Easy was
desiring the men to shove off, when one of the
gallerians turned round, and cried out to Jack
in a mocking tone, ‘Addio, signor, a reveder
la.” Jack started, stared, and, in the squalid,
naked wretch who addressed him, he recog-
nized Don Silvio !

_ ‘I wili acquaint Don Rebiera of your ar-
rival, signor,’ said the miscreant, springing up
the rocks, and mixing with the rest, who now
commenced hooting and laughing at their
preservers.

‘Ned,’ observed Easy to Gascoigne, ‘we
have let that rascal loose.’

‘More’s the pity,’ replied Gascoigne ; ‘ but
we have only obeyed orders.’

‘Tt can’t be helped, but I've a notion there
will be some mischief out of this.’

‘We obeyed orders,’ replied Gascoigne.

‘We've ket the rascals loose not ten miles
from Don Rebiera’s.’

‘Obeyed orders, Jack.’

‘With a whole gang to back him, if he goes
there.’

‘Orders, Jack.’

«Agnes at his mercy.’

‘Captain’s orders, Jack.’

‘I shall argue this point when I go
board,’ replied Jack.

‘Too late, Jack.’

‘Yes,’ replied Easy, sinking down on the
stern sheets with a look of despair.

‘Give way, my lads, give way.’

Jack returned on board, and reported what
he had done: also that Don Silvio was among
those liberated ; and he ventured to mention
his fears of what might take place from their
contiguity to the house of Don Rebiera.
Captain Wilson bit his lips: he felt that his
philanthropy had induced him to act without
his usual prudence.

‘T have done a rash thing, Mr. Easy, 1 am
afraid. Ishould have taken them all onboard
and delivered them up to the authorities. I
wish Lhad thought of that before. We must
get to Palermo as fast as we can, and have the

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
   
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
     

Taz

troops seni after these miscreants. Hands
’bout ship, fill the main-yard.’

The wind had veered round, and the
Aurora was now able to lay up clear of
the island of Maritimo. The next morning
she anchored in Palermo Roads—gave im-
mediate notice to the authorities, who, wish-
ing Captain Wilson’s philanthropy at the
devil, immediately despatched a large body of
troops in quest of the liberated malefactors.
Captain Wilson, feeling for Jack’s anxiety
about his friends, called him over to him on
deck, and gave him and Gascoigne permission
to go on shore.

“Will you allow me to take Mesty with me,
sir, if you please?’ said Jack.

‘Ves, Mr. Easy; but recollect that, even
with Mesty, you are no match for one hundred
and fifty men; so be prudent. I send you to
relieve your anxiety, not to run into danger.’

‘Of course, sir, replied Jack, touching his
bat, and walking away quietly till he came to
the hatchway, when he darted down like a
shot, and was immediately occupied with his
preparations.

In half an hour our two midshipmen, with
Mesiy, had landed, and proceeded to the inn
where they had put up before: they were
armed up to the teeth. Their first inquiries
were for Don Philip and his brother.

‘Both on leave of absence,’ replied the
landlord, ‘and staying with Don Rebiera.’

‘That's some comfort,’ thought Jack.
“Now we must get horses as fast as we can.
—Mesty, can you ride ?’

‘ By all de power, can I ride, Massa Easy ;
suppose you ride Kentucky horse, you ride
anyting.’

In half an hour four horses and a guide
were procured, and at eight o’clock in the
morning the party set off in the direction
of Don Rebiera’s country seat.

They had not ridden more than six miles
when they came up with one of the detach-
ments sent out in pursuit of the liberated
criminals. Our hero recognized the com-
manding officer as an old acquaintance, and
imparting to him the release of Don Silvio,
and his fears upon Don Rebiera’s account,
begged him to direct his attention that way.

“Corpo di Bacco—you are right, Signor
Mid,’ replied the officer, ‘but Don Philip is
there, and his brother, too, I believe. I will
be there by ten o'clock to-morrow morning ;
we will march almost the whole night.’

‘ They have no arms,’ observed Fasy.

‘No, but they will soon get them : they will
go to some small town in a body, plunder
it, and then seek the protection of the moun-
tains, Your captain has given us a pretty
job.’

Jack exchanged a few more words, and
then, excusing himself on account of his haste,122
put the spurs to his horse and regained his
Own party, who now proceeded at a rapid
pace. :

‘Oh, signor!’ said the guide, ‘we shall kill
the horses.’

‘I'll pay for them,’ said Jack.

“Yes, but we shall kill them before we get
there, Jack,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘and have to
walk the rest of the way.’

‘Very true, Ned; let's pull up and give
them their wind.’

‘By de holy poker, Massa Easy, but my
shirt stick to my ribs,’ cried Mesty, whose
black face was hung with dewdrops from their
rapid course.

‘ Never mind, ,Mesty.’

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon
when they arrived at the seat of Don Rebiera,
Jack threw himself off his jaded steed, and
hastened into the house, followed by Gas-
coigne. They found the whole family col-
lected in the large sitting-room, quite ignorant
of any danger threatening them, and equally
astonished and pleased at the arrival of their
old friends. Jack flew to Agnes, who screamed
when she saw him, and felt so giddy after-
wards that he was obliged to Support her.
Having seated her again. he was kindly greeted
by the old people and the two young officers.
After a few minutes dedicated to mutual in-
quiries, our hero stated the cause of their ex-
peditious arrival.

‘Don Silvio, with one hundred and fifty
gallerians, let loose on the coast yesterday
afternoon !’ exclaimed Don Rebiera : ‘you are
tight, I only wonder thev were not here last
night. But I expect Pedro from the town ;
he has gone down with a load of Wine: he
will bring us intelligence.’

“At all events we must be prepared,’ said
Don Philip; ‘the troops, you say, will be
here to-morrow morning.’

‘ Holy Virgin? exclaimed the ladies, in a
breath.

‘How many can we muster?’ said Gas-
coigne.

“We have five men here, or we shall have
by the evening,’ replied Don Philip—‘all, I
think, good men—my father, my brother, and
myself.’

“We are three—four with the guide, whom
I know nothing about.’

“Twelve in all—not one too many ; but I
think that now we are prepared, if they attack,
we can hold out till the morning.’

‘Had we not better send the ladies away?’
said Jack.

‘Who is to escort them ?” replied Don
Philip ; ‘we shall only weaken our force ;
besides, they may fall into the miscreants’
hands.’

‘Shall we all leave the house together ? they
ean but plunder it,’ observed Don Rebiera,

 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
   
   
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘Still we may be intercepted by them, and
our whole force will be nothing’ against so
many, observed Don Philip, ‘if we are with-
out ‘defence, whereas in the house we shall
have an advantage.’

‘— vero,’ replied Don Rebiera, thoughtfully;
‘then let us prepare, for depend upon it Don
Silvio will not lose such an Opportunity to
wreak his vengeance. He will be here to-
night : I only wonder he has not been here
with his companions before. However, Pedro
will arrive in two hours.’

‘We must now see what means we have of
defence,’ said Philip. ‘Come, brother—will
you come, sir?

CHAPTER XXXII.

A REGULAR SET-TO, IN WHICH THE PARTIES
BEATEN ARE NOT KNOCKED DOWN, BUT
RISE HIGHER AND HIGHER AT EACH DIS-
COMFITURE—NOTHING BUT THE TROOPS

COULD HAVE PREVENTED THEM FROM
GOING UP TO HEAVEN.

DON REBIERA and his two sons quitted the
room, Gascoigne entered into conversation
with the senora, while Easy took this oppor-
tunity of addressing Agnes. He had been too
much occupied with the consultation to pay
her much attention before. He had spoken,
with his eyes fixed upon her, and had been
surprised ac che improvement which had taken
place in less than a year. He now went to
her, and asked her, in a low voice, ‘ whether
she had received his letter,’

‘Oh, yes!’ replied she, colouring.

“And were you angry with what I said,
Agnes?’ in a low tone.

‘No,’ replied she, casting her eyes down on
the floor.

‘I repeat now what I said, Agnes—I have
never forgotten you.’

‘But

“But what ?
“Father Thomaso.’
“What of him ?’
‘He never will——’
‘Will what ?’

* You are a heretic, he says.”

‘Tell him to mind his own business.’

“He has great influence with my father and
mother.’

‘Your brothers are on our side.’

‘I know that, but there will be great diffi-
culty. Our religion is not the same. He
must talk to you—he will convert you.

‘We'll argue that point, Agnes. I will-con-
vert him if he has common sense ; if not, it’s
No us€ arguing with him. Where is he?

‘ He will soon be at home.’

‘Tell me, Agnes, if you had your own will,
would you marry me ?’‘I don’t know ; I have never seen any one I
liked so well.

“Is that all?’

Is it not enough for a maiden to say ?’ re-
plied Agnes, raising her eyes, and looking re-
proachfully. ‘Signor, let me go, here comes
my father.’

Notwithstanding, Jack cast his eyes to the
window where Gascoigne and the senora were
im converse, and, perceiving that the old lady’s
back was turned, he pressed Agnes to his
bosom before he released her. ‘The gentle-
men then returned with all the firearms and
destructive weapons they could collect.

‘We have enough,’ observed Don Philip,
“to arm all the people we have with us.’

“And we are well armed,’ replied Jack,’
who had left Agnes-standing alone. “What
now are your plans?’

“Those we must now consult about. It
appears’—but at this moment the conversation
was interrupted by the sudden entrance of
Pedro, who had been despatched to the town
with the load of wine. He rushed in, flurried
and heated, with his red cap in his hand.

‘How now, Pedro, back so early !’

“Oh, signor!’ exclaimed the man—‘ they
have taken the cart and the wine, and have
drawn it away, up to the mountains.’

“Who? inquired Don Rebiera.

“ The galley-slaves who have been Jet loose
—and by the body of our blessed saint,
they have done pretty mischief—they have
broken into the houses, robbed everything—
murdered many—clothed themselves with the
best—collected all the arms, provisions, and
wine they could lay their hands on, and have
marched away into the mountains. This took
place last night. As I was coming down
within a mile of the town, they met me with
my loaded cart, and they turned the bullocks
round and drove them away along with the
rest. By the blessed Virgin! but they are
stained with blood, but not altogether of men,
for they have cut up some of the oxen. I heard
this from one of the herdsmen, but he too fled
and could not tell me more. But, signor, I
heard them mention your name.’

‘TJ have no doubt of it,’ replied Don
Rebiera. ‘As for the wine, I only hope they
will drink too much of it to-night. But,
Pedro, they will be here, and we must defend
ourselves—so call the men together ; I must
speak to them.’

‘We shall never see the bullocks again,’
observed Pedro, mournfully.

“No: but we shall never see one another
again, if we do not take care. I have infor-
mation they come here to-night.’

‘Holy Saint Francis! and they say there
are a thousand of then.’

‘Not quite so many, to my knowledge,’
observed Jack,

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

123
_ ‘They told ine that a great many were killed.
in their attack upon the town, before they
mastered it.’

‘So much the better. Go now, Pedro,
drink a cup of wine, and then call the other
men,’

The house was barricaded as well as cir-
cumstances would permit ; the first storey was
also made a fortress by loading the landing-
place with armoires and chests of drawers.
The upper storey, or attic, if it might be so
called, was defended in the same way, that
they might retreat from one to the other if the
doors were forced.

It was eight o'clock in the evening before
all was ready, and they were still occupied
with the last defence, under the superinten-
dence of Mesty, who showed himself an able
engineer, when they heard the sound of an
approaching multitude. They looked out of
one of the windows, and perceived the house’
surrounded by the galley-slaves, in number
apparently about a hundred. They were all
dressed in a most fantastic manner with what-
ever they could pick up : some had fire-arms,
but the most of them were supplied with only
swords or knives. With them came also their
cortége of plunder :-carts of various descrip-
tions, loaded with provisions of all sorts, and
wine ; women lashed down with ropes, sails
from the vessels and boats to supply them
with covering in the mountains, hay and
straw, and mattresses. Their plunder appeared
to be well chosen for their exigencies. To
their carts were tied a variety of cattle, in-
tended to accompany them to their retreat.
They all appeared to be under a leader, who
was issuing directions—that leader was soon
recognized by those in the house to be Don
Silvio.

‘Massa Easy, you show me dat man,’ said
Mesty, when he heard the conversation be-
tween Easy and the Rebieras; ‘only let me
know him.’

“Do you see him there, Mesty, walking
down in front of those men? He has a mus-
ket in his hand, a jacket with silver buttons,
and white trousers.’

“Yes, Massa Easy, me see him well—let
me look little more—dat enough.’

The galley-slaves appeared to be very
anxious to surround the house that no one
should escape, and Don Silvio was arranging
the men.

‘Ned,’ said Jack, ‘let us show him that we
are here. He said that he would acquaint
Don Rebiera with our arrival—let us prove to
him that he is too late.’

‘It would not be a bad plan,’ replied Gas-
coigne ; ‘if it were possible that these fellows
had any gratitude among them, some of them
might relent at the idea of attacking those who
saved them.’ :I24

‘Not a bit ; but it will prove to them that
there are more in the house than they think
for; and we can frighten some of them by
telling them that the soldiers are near at
hand.’

Jack immediately threw up the casement,
and called out in a loud voice, ‘Don Silvio !
galley-slave ! Don Silvio !’

The party hailed turned round, and beheld
Jack, Gascoigne, and Mesty standing at the
window of the upper floor.

‘We have saved you the trouble of announc-
ing us,’ called out Gascoigne. ‘We are here
to receive you.’

‘And in three hours the troops will be here,
so you must be quick, Don Silvio,’ continued
Jack.

A reveder la,’ continued Gascoigne, letting
fly his pistol at Don Silvio.

The window was then immediately closed.
‘The appearance of our heroes, and their com-
munication of the speedy arrival of the troops,
was not without effect. The criminals trem-
bled at the idea; Don Silvio was mad with
rage—he pointed out to the men the necessity
of immediate attack—the improbability of the
troops arriving so soon, and the wealth which
he expected was locked up by Don Rebiera
in his mansion. ‘This rallied them, and they
advanced to the doors, which they attempted
to force without success, losing several men
by the occasional fire from those within the
house. Finding their efforts, after half an
hour’s repeated attempts, to be useless, they
retreated, and then bringing up a long piece
of timber, which required sixty men to carry
it, they ran with it against the door, and the

weight and impetus of the timber drove it off

its hinges, and an entrance was obtained; by
this time it was dark, the lower storey had
been abandoned, but the barricade at the
head of the stairs opposed their progress.
Convenient loop-holes had been prepared by
the defenders, who now opened a smart fire
upon the assailants, the latter having no
means of returning it effectually, had they
had ammunition for their muskets, which for-
tunately they had not been able to procure.
The combat now became fierce, and the
galley-slaves were several times repulsed with
great loss during a contest of two hours ; but,
encouraged by Don Silvio, and refreshed by
repeated draughts of wine, they continued by
degrees removing the barriers opposed to
them.

‘We shall have to retreat,’ exclaimed Don
Rebtera; ‘ very soon they will have torn down
all. What do you think, Signor Easy ?’

“Hold this as long as we can. Howare we
off for ammunition ?’

‘ Plenty as yet—plenty to last for six hours,
I think,’

‘What do you say, Mesty?

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

 

‘By holy St. Patrig, I say hold out here—
they got no fire-arms—and we ab um at arm-
length.’

This decision was the occasion of the first
defence being held for two hours more, an
occasional relief being afforded by the retreat
of the convicts to the covered carts.

At last it was evident that the barricade
was no longer tenable, for the heavy pieces of
furniture they had heaped up to oppose en-
trance, were completely hammered to frag-
ments by poles brought up by the assailants,
and used as battering-rams. The retreat was
sounded; they all hastened to the other storey,
where the ladies were already placed, and the
galley-slaves were soon in possession of the
first floor—exasperated by the defence, mad
With wine and victory, but finding nothing.

Again was the attack made upon the second
anding, but, as the stairs were now narrower,
and their defences stronger in proportion, they,
for a long while, gained no advantage. On
the contrary, many of their men were wounded,
and taken down below.

‘The darkness of the night prevented both
parties from seeing distinctly, which was rather
in favour of the assailants. Many climbed
over the fortress of piled-up furniture, and
were killed as soon as they appeared on the
other side, and, at last, the only ammunition
used was against those who made this rash
attempt. For four long hours did this assault
and defence continue, until daylight came,
and then the plan of assault was altered: they
again brought up the poles, hammered the
pieces of furniture into fragments, and gained
ground. ‘The defenders were worn out with
fatigue, but flinched not ; they knew that
their lives, and the lives of those dearest to
them, were at stake, and they never relaxed
their exertions ; still the criminals, with Silvio
at their head, progressed, the distance between
the parties gradually decreased, and there was
but one massive chest of drawers now defend-
ing the landing-place, and over which there
was a constant succession of blows from long
poles and cutlasses, returned with the bullets
from their pistols.

‘We must now fight for our lives,” ex-
claimed Gascoigne to Easy; ‘for what else
can we do?’

*“Do?—get on the roof and fight there,
then,’ replied Jack.

‘ By-the-by, that’s well thought of, Jack,’
said Gascoigne. ‘Mesty, up and see if there
is any place we can retreat to in case of
need.’

Mesty hastened to obey, and soon returned
with a report that there was a trap-door lead-
ing into the loft under the roof, and that they
could draw the ladder up after them.

“Then we.may laugh at them,’ cried Jack,
‘Mesty, stay here while I and Gascoigne

—assist the ladies up,’ explaining to the Re-
bieras and to their domesties why they went.

Easy and Gascoigne hastened to the signora
and Agnes, conducted them up the ladder
into the loft, and requested them to have no
fear; they then returned to the defences on
the stairs, and joined their companions. They
found them hard pressed, and that there was
little chance of holding out much longer ; but
the stairs were narrow, and. the assailants
could not bring their force against them. But
now, as the defences were nearly destroyed,
although the convicts could not reach them
with their knives, they brought up a large
supply of heavy stones, which they threw
with great force and execution. . Two of Don
Rebiera’s men and Don Martin were struck
down, and this new weapon proved most
fatal.

‘We must retreat, Jack,’ said Gascoigne ;
‘the stones can do no harm where we are go-
ing to. What think you, Don Philip ?

‘I agree with you; let those who are
wounded be first carried up, and then we will
follow.’

This was effected; and as soon as the
wounded men were carried up the ladder, and
the arms taken up to prevent their falling into
the hands of the assailants, for they were now
of little use to them, the ammunition being
exhausted, the whole body went into the large
room which contained the trap-door of the
loft, and, as soon as they were up, they drew
the ladder after them. They had hardly
effected this, when they were followed with
the yells and shoutings of the galley-slaves,
who had passed the last barriers, and thought
themselves sure of their prey: but they were
disappointed—they found them more secure
than ever.

Nothing could exceed the rage of Don Silvio
at the protracted resistance of the party, and
the security of their retreat. To get at them
was impossible, so he determined to set fire to
the room, and suffocate them, if he could do
no otherwise. He gave his directions to his
men, who rushed down for straw, bnt in so
doing, he carelessly passed under the trap-
door, and Mesty, who had carried up with
him two or three of the stones, dashed one
down on the head of Don Silvio, who fell im-
mediately. He was carried away, but his
orders were put in execution ; the room was
filled with straw and fodder, and lighted. The
effects were soon felt ; the trap-door had been
shut, but the heat and smoke burst through ;
after a time, the planks and rafters took fire,
and their situation was terrible. A small trap-

window in the roof, on the side of the house,
was knocked open, and gave them a tempo-
rary relief; but now the rafters burned and
crackled, and the smoke burst on them in
thick columns. They could not see, and with

 

MR, MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   

125

difficulty could breathe. Fortunately the
room below that which had heen fired was
but one out of four on the attics, and, as the
loft they were in spread over the whole of the
roof, they were able to remove far from it.
The house was slated with massive slate of
some hundredweight each, and it was not
found possible to remove them so as to give
air, although frequent attempts were made.
Donna Rebiera sank exhausted in the arms of
her husband, and Agnes fell into those of our
hero, who, enveloped in the smoke, kissed
her again and again; and she, poor girl,
thinking that they must all inevitably perish,
made no scruple, in what she supposed her
last moment, of returning these proofs of her
ardent attachment.

“Massa Easy, help me here,-—Massa Gas-
coigne, come here. Now heab wid all your
might : when we get one off we get plenty.’

Summoned by Mesty, Jack and Gascoigne
put their shoulders to one of the lower slates ;
it yielded, was disengaged, and slid down
with a loud rattling below. The ladies were
brought to it, and their heads put outside ;
they soon recovered ; and now that they had
removed one, they found no difficulty in remoy-
ing others. Ina few minutes they were all
with their heads in the open air, but still the
house was on fire below, and they had no
chance of escape. It was while they were
debating upon this point, and consulting as
to their chance of safety, that a breeze of wind
wafted the smoke that issued from the roof
away from them, and they beheld the detach-
ment of troops making up to the house ; a loud
cheer was given, and attracted the notice of
the soldiers. They perceived Easy and his
companions ; the house was surrounded and
entered in an instant.

The galley-slaves who were in the house,
searching for the treasure reported by Don
Silvio to be concealed, were captured or killed,
and in five minutes the troops had possession.
But how to assist those above was the diffi-
culty. The room below was in flames, and
burning fiercely. There were no ladders that
could reach so high, and there were no means
of getting to them. The commandant made
signs from below, as if to ask what he was to
do.

‘T see no chance,’ observed Don Philip,
mournfully. ‘Easy, my dear fellow, and you,
Gascoigne, I am sorry that the feuds of our
family should have brought you to such a
dreadful death ; but what can be done ?’

‘J don’t know,’ replied Jack, ‘unless we
could get ropes.’

‘You quite sure, Massa Easy, that all galley
rascals below gone?’ asked Mesty.

‘Yes,’ replied Easy, ‘you may see that ;
look at some of them bound there, under
charge of the soldiers,’126

‘Den, gar, I tink it high time we go too.’

‘So do I, Mesty; but how ?’

‘How ? stop a little. Come, help me,
Massa Easy; dis board (for the loft was
floored) is loose ; come help, all of you.’

They all went, and with united strength,
pulled up the board.

‘Now, strike like hell ! and drive down
de plaster,’ said Mesty, commencing the
operation.

In a few minutes they had beaten an open-
ing into one of the rooms below not on fire,
pulled up another board, and Mesty having
fetched the ladder, they all descended in
safety, and, to the astonishment of the com-
mandant of the troops, walked out of the door
of the house, those who had been stunned
with the stones having so far recovered as to
require little assistance.

The soldiers shouted as they saw them ap-
pear, supporting the females. The command-
ing officer, who was an intimate friend of Don
Philip, flew to.his arms. The prisoners were
earefully examined by Mesty, and Don Silvio
was not among them. He might, however,
be among the dead who were left in the house,
which now began to burn furiously. The
galley-slaves who were captured amounted in
number to forty-seven. Their dead they
could not count. The major part of the
plunder, and the carts, were still where they
had been drawn up.

As ‘soon as the culprits had been secured,
the attention of the troops was directed to put-
ting out the flames, but their attempts were
ineffectual ; the mansion was burned to the
bare walls, and but little of the furniture
saved ; indeed, the major part of it had been
destroyed in the attack made by Don Silvio
and his adherents.

Leaving directions with Pedro and_ his
people, that the property collected by the
miscreants should be restored to the owners,
Don Rebiera ordered the horses: and with the
whole party put himself under the protection
of the troops, who, as soon as they had been
refreshed, and taken some repose, bent their
way back to Palermo with the galley-slaves,
bound and linked together in a long double
row.

‘They halted when they had gone half way,
and reniained for the night. Thenext day, at
noon, Don Rebiera and his family were once
more in their palazzo, and our two midship-
men and Mesty took their leave, and repaired
on board to make themselves a little less like
chimney-sweepers.

Captain Wilson was not out of the ship.
Jack made his report, and then went down
below, very much pleased at what had passed,
especially as he would have another long yarn
for the governor on his return to Malta.

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  

CHAPTER XXXIIL

IN WHICH OUR HERO AND GASCOIGNE OUGHT
TO BE ASHAMED OF THEMSELVES, AND
DID FEEL WHAT MIGHT BE CALLED MID-
SHIPMITE COMPUNCTION.

‘THE Aurora continued three weeks at Palermo,

during which the most active search had been
made for the remainder of the galley-slaves,
and some few had been captured, but still
Don Silvio, and a considerable number, were
at large; and it was said that they had retired
to the fastnesses in the mountains. Our hero
was constantly on shore at Don Rebiera’s
house, and} after what had passed, he was
now looked upon as soon to become a mem-
ber of the family. The difference of religion
was overlooked by Don Rebiera and the re-
lations—by all. but the confessor, Father
Thomaso, who now began to agitate and
fulminate into the ears of the Donna Rebiera
all the pains and penalties attending heretical
connection, such as excommunication and
utter damnation. ‘The effects of his remon- .
strances were soon visible, and Jack found
that there was constraint on the part of the
old lady, tears on the part of Agnes, and all
father confessors heartily wished at the devil
ten times a-day, on the part of Don Philip
and his brother. At last he wormed the truth
out of Agnes, who told her tale, and wept
bitterly.

‘Ned, I don’t much like the appearance of
things,’ observed Jack ; ‘I must get rid of that
Father Thomaso.’

‘You'll find that rather difficult,’ observed
Gascoigne ; ‘besides, if you were rid of him
you would have his place filled up with
another.’

‘He has frightened that poor old woman
into the. dismals, and she has the pains of
purgatory on her already. J shall goand talk
to Mesty.’

‘How can Mesty help you?’

‘I don’t know, but you can't; so, for want
of better advice, I’ll try the Ashantee.’

Our hero went to Mesty, and laid the diffi-
cult affair open to him.

‘I see,’ said Mesty, showing his filed teeth,
“you want him skull.’

‘No, I don't, Mesty; but I want him out
of the way.’

‘How that possible, Massa Easy ?—ship sail
day after to-morrow. Now ’pose I ab time,
I soon manage all dat. Stop a little.’

‘Confound it! but there's no stopping,’
replied Jack.

‘Suppose, Massa Easy, you get leave go on
shore—not come off again.’

‘That will be deserting, Mesty.’

‘ By holy poker, I ab it—you ge on shore
and break your leg.’MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 137
‘Break my leg !—break my leave, you “Good heavens, it must be Mr. Easy and
mean ?’ Mr. Gascoigne!’ said Captain Wilson, when
‘No, Massa Easy—you break. your les— the intelligence was communicated ; ‘I saw
den captain leave you shore, and leave me to them galloping down the street like two mad-
take care of you.’ men just now. Coxswain, take the gig on
“ But why should I break my leg, and how board and tell the surgeon to come on shore
am I to break my leg ?

immediately, and bring him up to me at the
* Only pretend break leg, Massa Easy. Go barracks.’

talk Massa Don Philip, he manage all dat.
Suppose man break his leg in seven pieces, it_ buckled on his sword, and hastened to ascer-
is not possible to take him board.’ tain the extent of the injury. Don Philip
‘Seven pieces, Mesty ! that’s rather too kept out of the way, but the captain was
many. However, I’ll think of this.’ ushered into the room by one of the officers,
Jack then went back and consulted Gas- where he found, in two beds, our two midship-
coigne, who approved of Mesty’s advice, and men stretched out, the surgeon of the forces
thought the scheme feasible. and the regimental surgeon in consultation
‘If we could only pretend that we were between them, while attendants were standing
thrown out of a caricola, -you break your leg, by each bed with restoratives. The medical
a compound fracture of course—I break my gentlemen saluted Captain Wilson, and looked
arm—both left on shore at sick quarters, with very grave, talked about fractures, contusions,
Mesty to take care of us.’ injuries, in the most interminable manner—
‘Capital indeed,’ replied Jack; ‘I really hoped that Mr. Easy would recover—but had
would not mind it if it really took place ; at doubts. The other gentleman might do well
all events we'll overturn the caricoia.’ with care ; that is as far as his arm was con-
‘But shall we get leave the last day ?’ cerned, but thereappeared to be a concussion of
‘Yes, it’s two days since I have been on the brain. Captain Wilson looked at the cut
shore, for I have not liked to go to Don and blood-smeared faces of the two young men,
Rebiera’s since what Agnes told me. Besides, and waited with anxiety the arrival of his own
my clothes are all on shore, and that will be an surgeon, who came at last, putfing with the
excuse for a few hours.’ haste he had made, and received the report of
Our two midshipmen applied for leave the the brothers of the faculty.
next morning, to be off in the afternoon. The The leg of Mr. Easy fractured in two places
first lieutenant gave them permission. They —had been set—bone protruding —impossible
hastened to the hotel, sent for Don Philip, to move him. Gascoigne, arm, compound
and made him a party to their plan. He fracture~contusion of the brain not certain.
readily promised his assistance, for he had re- Now that all this would have been discovered
solved that our hero should marry his sister, to be false if the surgeon had been able to ex-
and was fearful of the effect of his absence, ‘amine, is true; but how could he not credit
coupled with Friar Thomaso’s influence over the surgeon of the forces and the regimental
his mother. He went to the surgeon of his surgeon, and how could he put the young men
regiment, who immediately entered into the to jyesh tortures by removing splints and un-
scheme. setting limbs? Politeness, if nothing eise,
Our two midshipmen got into a caricola, prevented his so doing, for it would have been
iattled up and down the streets, and perceiv- “as much as to say that either he did not credit
ing Captain Wilson at his window flogged ‘their report, or that he doubted their skill.
the horse into a gallop : when abreast of the He looked at our hero and his companion,
barracks Jack ran the wheel against a bank, who kept their eyes closed, and breathed
and threw himself and Gascoigne out, Mid- heavily with their mouths open, put ona grave
shipmen are never hurt by. these accidents, face, as well as his brothers in the art, and
but fortunately for the success of the enter- reported to Captain Wilson,
prise their faces were cut and bruised. Don ‘But when can they be moved; Mr. Daly ?’
Philip was standing by: he called the men inquired the latter; ‘I cannot wait ; we must
to pick up our two scamps, carried them into sail to-morrow, or the next day at the
the barracks, and sent for the surgeons, who farthest.’
undressed them, put Jack’s left leg intoa The Surgeon, as in duty bound, put the
multitude of splints, and did the sasie to Gas- question to the others, who replied that there
coigne’s arm. ‘They were then put to bed, would be great risk in moving before the
their contused faces, with the blood, left ‘in fever, which might be expected the next day,
statu quo,’ while Don Philip sent an orderly, and which might last ten days ; but that
as from the commandant, to Captain Wilson, Captain Wilson had better not think of re-
to acquaint him that two. of his offieers had moving them, as they should have every care
been thrown out of a caricola, and were lying and attention where they were, and could res
dangerously hurt at the barracks, join the ship at Malta. Mr. Daly, the sur-

Captain Wilson then put on his hat,728

geon, agreed that this would be the most pru-
dent step, and Captain Wilson then gave his
consent.

That being settled, he walked up to the bed
of Gascoigne, and spoke to him: but Gas-
coigne knew that he was to have a concussion
of the brain, and he made no reply, nor gave
any signs of knowing that Captain Wilson
was nearhim. He then went to cur hero,
who, at the sound of Captain Wilson's voice.
slowly opened his eyes without moving his
head, and appeared to recognise him.

“Are you in much pain, Easy?’ said the
captain, kindly.

Easy closed his eyes again, and murmured,
‘Mesty, Mesty !’

‘He wants his servant, the ship’s corporal,
sir, said the surgeon.

‘Well, replied Captain Wilson, ‘he had
better have him: he is a faithful fellow, and
will nurse him well. When you go on board,
Mr. Daly, desire the first-lieutenant to send
Mesty on shore with Mr. Gascoigne’s and Mr.
Wasy’s chests, and his own bag and hammock.
Good heavens! I would not fora thousand
pounds that this accident had occurred. Poor
foolish boys—they run in couples, and if one's
in a scrap the other is sure to share it. Gen-
tlemen, I return you many thanks for your
kindness,-and I must accept of your promised
care for my unfortunate officers. I sail to-
motrow at daylight. You will oblige me by
informing their friends, the Rebieras, of their
mischance, as I am sure they will contribute
all they can to their comfort.’ So saying,
Captain Wilson bowed and quitted the room,
followed by the surgeon.

As soon as the door was closed the two
midshipmen turned their heads round and
looked at each other, but they were afraid to
speak at first, in case of the return of the sur-
geon. As soon as it was announced to them
that Captain Wilson and Mr. Daly were out-
side the barrack-gates, our hero commenced
—‘Do you know, Ned, that my conscience
simites me, and if it had not been that I should
have betrayed those who wish to oblige us,
when poor Captain Wilson appeared so much
hurt and annoyed at our accident, I was very
near getting up and telling him of the imposi-
tion, to relieve his mind.’

‘T agree with you, Jack, and I felt much
the same—but what's done cannot be undone.
We must now keep up the imposition for the
sake of those who, to help us, have deceived
him.’

‘I don’t think that you would find an Eng-
lish surgeon who would have consented to
such an imposition.’

‘No that is certain; but after all, it is an
imposition that has hurt nobody.’

‘Oh, I do not wish to moralise—but I
repent of my share in the deceit; and had

UR, MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

 

it to be done over again I would not cotisént
to it.’

‘Not even for——? but I won’t mention
her name in barracks.’

‘I don't know,’ replied Jack ; ‘ but let's say
no more about it, and thank these gentlemen
for their kindness.’

‘Yes, but we must keep it up until we see
the Aurora under all sail.’

‘ And longer too,’ replied Jack ; ‘we must
not let the affair get wind even on shore.
We must not recover quickly, but still ap-
pear to recover. Don Rebiera and his wife
must be deceived. I have a plot in my head,
but I cannot work it out clear till I see
Mesty.’

Don Philip now came in. He had seen
Captain Wilson, who had requested him to
look after the two invalids, and stated his
intention to sail the next morning. They con-
sulted with him, and it was agreed that no
one should be acquainted with the real fact
but his brother Martin, and that all Palermo
should be as much deceived as Captain Wil-
son, for if not, it would put Father Thomaso
on the ‘qui vive,” and make him fulminate
more than ever. Our-midshipmen ate an ex-
ceilent dinner, and then remained in bed con-
versing till-it was time to go to sleep; but
long before that, Mesty had made his appear-
ance with theirclothes. ‘The eyes of the Ash-
antee said all that was necessary—he never
spoke a word, but unlashed his hammock and
lay down in a corner, and they were soon all
three asleep.

The next morning Captain Wilson called to
ascertain how our hero and his companion
were, but the room had been darkened, and
he could not see their faces plainly. Easy
thanked him for his kindness in allowing
Mesty to attend them, and having received
his orders as to their joining the ship as soon
as they recovered, and having promised to be
very cautious in their behaviour and keep out
of all scrapes, he wished them a speedy re-
covery, and departed.

In little more than half an hour afterwards,
Mesty, who had been peeping out of the shut-
ters, suddenly threw them open with a loud
laugh.

Ihe Aurora was under way, with studding
sails below and aloft, standing out of the
roads. Jack and Gascoigne got up, threw off
the splints, and danced about in their shirts.
Ass soon as they were quiet again, Mesty said
in a grave tone, ‘Den why you Stay at sea,
Massa Easy ?’

‘Very true, Mesty, I’ve asked myself that
question often enough lately ; because ’m a
fool, I suppose.’

‘And I, because I can’t help it,’ replied
Gascoigne; ‘never mind, we are on shore
now, and I look for a famous cruise,’MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 129

‘ But first we must see what the ground is ‘It would,’ replied the friar; ‘now you
we are to cruise on,’ replied Jack; ‘so, Mesty, shall have it, if you will only give your master
let us have a palaver, as they say in your asmall powder.’
country,’ ‘I understand,’ replied Mesty ; ‘hab those

The two midshipmen got into their-beds, things in my country.’
and Mesty sat on the chest between them, ‘Well—do you consent ?—if so, I will write
looking as grave as a judge. ‘The question the letter to get the money.’
was, how to get rid of the padre Thomaso. ‘Suppose they find me out?’ replied
Was he to be thrown over the molehead to Mesty.
the fishes—or his skull broke—was Mesty's ‘You will be safe, and you shall be sent
knife to be resorted to—was he to be kidnap- away as soon as possible—say, will you con-
ped or poisoned—or were fair means to be sent?”
employed—persuasion, bribery? Every one ‘The whole thousand dollars ?

knows how difficult it is to get rid of a priest. ‘Every one of them.’
As our hero and Gascoigne were not ‘Den give me the powder !’
Italians, they thought that bribery would be ‘Stay a little,’ replied the friar, who went

the more English-like way of doing the out of the cell, and, in about ten minutes, re-
thing ; so they composed a letter, to be de- turned with an answer to our hero's let:
livered by Mesty to the friar, in which Jack ter, and a paper containing a grayish
offered to Father Thomaso the moderatesum powder.
of one thousand dollars, provided he would “Give him this in his soup or anything—
allow the marriage to proceed, and not frigh- spread it on his meat, or mix it up with his
ten the old lady with ecclesiastical squibs and sugar if he eats an orange.’
crackers. ‘I see,’ replied Mesty.

As Mesty was often on shore with Jack, ‘The dollars shall be yours, I swear it on
and knew the friar very well by sight, it was the holy cross.’
agreed that the letter should be confided to Mesty grinned horribly, took his credentials,
his charge ; but as it was not consistent that and then asked, ‘ When I come again?”
a person in such a state as our hero was re- ‘As soon as you have received the money
presented to be should sit up and write letters, bring it tome at Don Rebiera’s—then give
the delivery was deferred for a few days, the powder ; as soon as it is given you must
when, after waiting that time, Mesty delivered let me know, for you must not remain in
the letter to the friar, and made signs that he Palermo. I will myself conduct you to a place
was to take back the answer. The friar of safety.’
beckoned him that he was to accompany him Mesty then quitted the cell, and was shown
to his room, where he read the letter, and out of the monastery.

then again made signs to him to follow him. ‘By de holy poker he one d——n rascal)!’
The friar led the way to his monastery, andas muttered Mesty, as he was once in the open
soon as Mesty was in his cell, he summoned air. ‘But stop a little.’
another who could speak English to act as in- The Ashantee soon arrived at the barracks,
terpreter. and repeated the whole of the conference be-
‘Is your master recovering ?’ tween him and the Friar Thomaso.
‘Yes,’ replied Mesty, ‘he is at present do- ‘It must be poison, of course,’ observed
ing well.’ Gascoigne ; ‘suppose we try it upon some
‘ Have you served him long ?’ animal ??
‘No,’ replied Mesty. ‘No, Massa Gascoigne,’ replied Mesty, ‘I
‘Are you very fond of him? does he treat try it myself, by-and-by. Now what we do ?’
you well, give you plenty of money ?’ ‘TI must give you the order for the thousand

At these questions, the artful black con- dollars, Mesty,’ replied Jack. ‘The rascal
ceived that there was something in the wind, here writes to me that for that sum, he will
and he therefore very quietly replied, ‘I do consent not only not to oppose me, but agrees
not care much for him.’ to assist my cause ; but the great question is,

The friar fixed his keen eye upon Mesty, whether he will keep his word with you,
and perceived there was a savage look about Mesty; if not, I shall lose my money. So
the black, from which he augured that he was therefore we must now. have another palaver,
a man who would suit his purpose. and argue the point.’

“Your master offers me a thousand dollars; | The point was argued between Jack and
would you wish to gain this money for your- Gascoigne. A thousand dollars was a large
Selir sum, but Jack’s father was a philosopher.

Mesty grinned, and showed his sharp-filed After many pros and cons, it was at last de-
teeth. cided that the money should he given to

‘It would make me a rich man in my own Mesty; but Mesty should state, when he took
country,’ the money to the friar, that he had adminis-
5130
tered the powder, and claim it when he pre-
sented it.

The next day the order for the money was
given to Mesty, and he went to the Friar
Thomaso with it. The friar’ hastened with
Mesty to the monastery, and’sent for the in-
terpreter.

“You have given it ?’ inquired the friar.

* Yes—not one hour ago—here de order for
de money.’

‘You must run for the money before he is
dead, for the powder is very rapid.’

‘And me,’ replied Mesty, apparently much
alarmed, ‘where am I to go?’

‘As soon as you bring the money here you
must go back to the barracks. Remain
there till he is dead, and then return here. I
will have all ready, and take you, as soon as
it is dusk, to a monastery of our order in the
mountains, where no one will think of looking
for you, till the affair is blown over ; and then
I will find you a passage in some vessel out of
the island.’

Mesty hastened for the money, and taking
it in a large bag to the monastery, delivered it
to the friars charge, and then returned to the
barracks to Easy and Gascoigne. It was
agreed that he should go with the friar, who
would probably remain away some time; in-
deed, Mesty insisted upon so doing. Mesty
stayed two hours, and then returned about
dusk to the monastery, and reported the death
of our hero. He remained there until it was
dark, and then the friar ordered him to tie
the bag of dollars to his saddle-bow. They
mounted two mules, which stood all ready
caparisoned, and quitted Palermo.

In the morning Don Philip,’ as usual, made
his appearance, and told our hero that the
friar had been summoned away by the abbot,
and would not return for some time.

“IT came to tell you this news,’ said’ Don
Philip, ‘as I thought it would please you ;
the sooner you are now well the better. ‘I mean
to propose your being both removed ‘to my
father’s palazzo, and then you’ can: recover
your lost ground during the conféssor’s ab-
sence.’

‘And I have the means,’ replied Jack,
showing the friar’s letter. Don‘Philip read
it with astonishment, but was still more
surprised when he heard the’ whole story from
Jack. Ue was for a time silent’: at last he
said—

‘Iam sorry for your poor black.’

‘Why so ?’ replied Jack:

‘You will never see him again, depend upon
it. A thousand dollars would sign the death-
watrant of a thousand blacks ; but there is
another reason—they will put him out of the
way that he may not give evidence. Where
is the powder ?”

‘Mesty has it; he would not part with it.’

   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘He is a Shréwd fellow, that black; he
may be too much for the friar,’ replied Don
Philip.

‘He means mischief, I’m sure, replied
Gascoigne.

“Still I feel a great deal of alarm about
him,’ replied Easy ; ‘I wish now that I had
not let him go.’*''

‘Are you sure that he went ?”

‘No, 1am not; but the friar told him that
he should take him to the mountains as soon
as it was dark.’

“And probably he will,’ replied Don Philip,
“as the best place to get rid of him. “How-
ever, the whole of this story must be told both
to my father and mother ; to the former, that
he may take the ‘right measures, and to my
mother, that it may open her eyes. Give me
the copy of the letter vou wrote to the friar,
and then I shall have it all.’

The report ‘of the accident which had
occurred to Easy and Gascoigne had beén
spread and fully believed throughout Pa-
lermo. Indeed, as usual, it had been mag-
nified, and asserted that they could not recover.
To Agnes only had the case been imparted in
confidence by Don Philip, for her distress at
the first intelligence had been so great that
her brother could not conceal it.

Two days after Don Philip had made ‘his
parents acquainted with the villainy of the
friar, the midshipmen were transported to the
palazzo, much to the surprise of everybody,
and much to the renown of the surgeons, who
were indemnified for their duplicity and false-
hood-by an amazing extension of their’ credit
as skilful men.

After their arrival at the palazzo Don Re-
biera was also: entrusted with the secret, but it
went no further. “As now there was no par-
ticular hurry for our hero to get well, he was
contented and happy in the society of Agnes
and her parents ; the old lady, after she had
been informed of the conduct of Friar Tho-
maso, having turned round in ‘our hero's
favour, and made a vow never to have a con-
fessor in the house again. Jack and Gas-
coigne were now as happy as could be; all
their alarm was about Mesty, for whose return
they were most anxious.

To Don Rebiera Jack made known formally
his intentions with regard to Agnes. He
fully satisfied him as to his qualifications and
his property, and Don Rebiera was fully
aware of his debt of gratitude to our hero.
But all he required was the consent of Jack's
father, and until this was obtained he would
hot consent to the marriage taking place.
Jack attempted to argue the point; his father,
he said, had married without consulting him,
and therefore he had a right to marry without
consulting his father. But Don Rebiera, not
having any acquaintance with the tights ofman and equality, did not feel the full force
of Jack’s argument, and made it a ‘sine qua
non’ that his parents should write and consent
to the alliance before it took place.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

IN -WHICEH MESLY. SHOULD -BE CALLED
THROUGHOUT MEPHISTOPHELES, FOR IT
ABOUNDS IN BLACK CLOAKS, DISGUISES,
DAGGERS, AND DARK DEEDS.

ON the fourth evening after the removal of
our two midshipmen to the palazzo of Don
Rebiera, as they were sitting in company with
Agnes and Don Philip in their own room, a
friar made his appearance at the door. ‘They
all started, for by his height they imagined
him to be the Friar Thomaso, but no one ad-
dressed him. ‘The friar shut the door without
saying a word, and then, lifting up his cowl,
which had been drawn over it, discovered the

lack face of Mesty. Agnes screamed, and
all sprang from their seats at this unusual
and unexpected apparition. Mesty grinned,
and there was that in his countenance which
said that he had much to communicate.

‘Where is the friar, Mesty?’ inquired
Easy.

‘Stop a little, massa
first, and den | tell all.’

Taking this precaution, Mesty threw off the
friar's gown, and appeared in his own dress,
with the bag of dollars slung round his body.

‘Now, Massa Easy, I haboa long. story
to tell—so I tink I better begin at the begin-
ning.’

‘It is the most approved method,’ replied
Jack; ‘but stop when I hold up my finger,
that we may translate what you say to the
lady and Don Philip.’

“Dat/all right, sar... Friar and I get on two
mule as soon as it quite dark. He make me
carry all tousand dollars—and we ride out of
town. We go up mountain and mountain,
but the moon get up ‘shine and we go on
cheek by jowl—he nebber say one word, and
I nebber say one word, ’cause I no speak his
lingo, and. he no understand my. English.
About two o'clock in de morning we stop at a
house. and stay dere till eight o’clock, and
den we go on again all next day, up all moun-
tain, only stop once, eat a bit bread and drink
lilly wine. Second night come on, and den
we stop again, and people bow very low to
him, and woman bring in rabbit for make
supper. I go in the kitchen, woman make
stew smell very nice, so I nod my head, and I
say very good; and she make a face, and
throw on table black loaf of bread and garlic,
and make sign dat for my supper’; good
enough for black fellow, and dat rabbit ‘stew

 

suppose we lock door

WR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
    
  
  
 
 
 
    
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   

135

for friar. Den I say to myself, stop a liitle ;
suppose friar hab all de rabbit, I tink I give
him a lilly powder.’

‘The powder, Mesty?’ exclaimed Jack.

‘What does he say ?’ inquired Don Philip.

Gascoigne translated all that Mesty had
communicated. ‘The interest of the narrative
now became exciting. Mesty continued :-—

“Well, Massa Easy, den woman she go for
dish to put stew in, and I take de powder and
drop it in de pot, and den I sit down again
and eat black bread—she say good enough
for black man. She tir up de stew once
more, and den she pour it out into dish and
take it to friar. He lick um chops, by all de
powers, and he like um so well he pick all de
bones, and wipe up gravy with him bread.
You tink it very nice,| Massa Friar, tink 1;
but stop a little. After he drink a whole
bottle of wine, he tell ’em.bring mules to de
door, and he put him hands on de woman
head, and dat de way he pay for him supper.

‘The moon shone bright, and we go up all
mountain, always go up, and ‘bout two. hour
he get off him mule and he put him hand so,
and set down on de rock. He twist, and he
turn, and he groan for half an hour, and den
he look at me, as much as to say, you black
villain, you do this? for he not able to'speak,
and den I pull out de paper of de powder,
and I show him, and make him sign he
swallow it: he look again, and I laugh at
him—and he die.’

‘Oh, Mesty, Mesty,’ exclaimed our hero;
“you should not have done that—there will
mischief come from it.’

‘Now he dead, Massa Easy, so much less
mischief.’

Gascoigne then interpreted to Don Philip
and Agnes, the former of whom looked very
grave, and the latter terrified.

‘Let him go on,’ said Don Philip; ‘I am
most anxious’ to hear what he did with the
body.’

Mesty, at the request of our hero, proceeded:
‘Den I thought what I should do, and I said
I would hide him, and I tink I take his coat
for myself—so I pull off him coat and I pull
off all his oder clothes—he not wear many—
and I take the body in my arm, and carry
him where I find a great split in de rock above
allroad. I throw him in, and den I throw
plenty large pieces rock on him till Ino see
him any more ; den I take de two mules and
get on mine wid de dollars, and lead the other
three four mile, till 1 come to a large wood—
take off him saddle and bridle, turn him
adrift. Den I tear up all clothes all in lilly
bits, hide one piece here, noder piece dere,
and de saddle and bridle in de bush. All
right, now, I say; so I put’ on friar cloak,
hide my face, get on my mule, and den I look
where I shall go—so I say, I not be in ‘dis
5—2132
road anyhow. I passed through wood till I
find nother. I go bout two mile—moon go
down, all dark, five six men catch hold my
bridle, and they all got arms, so I do nothing
—they speak to me, but I no answer, and
neber show my face. ‘They find all dollars
(d—n um) fast enough, and they lead me
away through the wood. Last we come to
large fire in de wood, plenty of men lie ‘bout,
some eat and some drink. ‘They pull me off,
and I hold down my head and fold my arms,
just like friar do. They bring me along to
one man, and pour out all my dollar before
him. He give some order, and they take me
away, and I peep through the cloak, and I
say to myself, he that d—n galley-slave rascal
Don Silvio.’

‘Don Silvio!’ cried Jack.

‘What does he say of Don Silvio?’ de-
manded Don Philip.

Mesty’s narrative was again translated, and
he continued.

‘Dey led me away ‘bout fifty yards, tie me
to tree, and den they leave me, and dey all
drink and make merry, neber offer me any-
thing, so I hab noting den to eat; I eat de
ropes and gnaw them through, and den I stay
there two hour until all go asleep, and all
quiet ; for I say to myself, stop a little. Den
when dey all fast asleep, I take out my knife
and I crawl ‘long de ground, as we do in our
country sometime—and den I stop and look
‘bout me ; no man watch but two, and dey
look out for squarl, not look in board where
Iwas. I crawi ‘gain till I lay down ’longside
that d—n galley-slave Don Silvio. He lie fast
asleep with my bag thousand dollars under
him head. So I tink, ‘you not hab dem
long, you rascal.’ I look round—all right,
and I drive my knife good aim into him heart,
and press toder hand on him mouth, but he
make no noise ; he struggle little and look up,
and den IJ throw off de head of de gown and
show him my black face, and he look and he
try to speak ; but I stop dat, for down go my
knife again, and de d—n galley-slave dead as
herring.’

‘Stop, Mesty, we must tell this to Don
Philip,’ said Gascoigne.

‘Dead! Don Silvio dead: well, Mesty, we
are eternally obliged to you, for there was no
safety for my father while he was living. Let
him go on.’

‘So when I put de knife through his body,
I lie down by him, as if noting had happened,
for ten minute, and den I take de bag of
dollars from under him head, and den I feel
him all over, and I find him pistols and him
purse, which I hab here, all gold. So I take
them and I look—all asleep, and I crawl back
to de tree. Den I stay to tink a little; de
man on watch come up and look at me, but
he tink all right and he go away again. Lucky

       
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
 
  
    
  
 
   
   
 
  
    
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
   

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY

ting, by de power, dat I go back to tree. IT
wait again; and den I crawl and crawl till I
clear of all, and den I take to my heel and
run for um life, till daylight come, and den I
so tired I lie down in bush; I stay in bush all
day, and den I set off again back here, for I
find road and know my way. I not eat den
for one day and one night, and come to house
where I put my head in and find woman there.
I not able to speak, so I help myself, and not
show my face. She not like dat and make a
bobbery, but I lift up my cloak and show my
black face and white teeth, and den she tink
me de debil. She run out of de house and I
help myself very quick, and den set off and
come close here yesterday morning. — I hide
myself all day and come in at night, and now,
Massa Easy, you ab all de whole truth-—and
you ab your tousand dollars—and you ab got
rid of de rascal friar and de d-—n galley-slave,
Don Silvio.’

‘Tell them all this, Ned,’ said Jack, who,
whilst Gascoigne was so employed, talked
with Mesty.

‘I was very much troubled for you, Mesty,’
said Jack: ‘but still I thought you quite as
cunning as the friar and so it has turned out;
but the thousand dollars ought to be yours.’

‘No, sar,’ replied Mesty, ‘the dollars not
mine ; but I hab plenty of gold in Don Silvio’s
purse—plenty, plenty of gold. I keep my
property, Massa Easy, and you keep yours.’

‘Tam afraid that this affair may be found
out, Mesty ; the woman willspread the report
of having been attacked by a black friar, and
that will lead to suspicion, as the other friars
of the convent knew that you left with Friar
Thomaso.’

‘So I tink dat, but when a man starve, he
quite forget his thought.’

‘I don’t blame you ; but now I must talk
to Don Philip.’

‘Suppose you no objection, while you talk
I eat something from the table then, Massa
Kasy, for I hungry enough to eat de friar,
mule and all.’

‘Eat, my good fellow, and drink as much
as you please,’

The consultation between our two midship-
men and Don Philip was not long : they per-
ceived the immediate necessity for the de-
parture of Mesty, and the suspicion which
would attach to themselves. Don Philip and
Agnes left them to go to Don Rebiera, and
make him acquainted with what had passed,
and to ask his advice.

When they went into the room, Don Re-
biera immediately accosted his son.

‘Have you heard, Philip, that Friar Thomaso
has returned at last ?—so the servants tell
me.

‘The report may be fortunate,’ replied Don
Philip ; ‘ but I have another story to tell you,’He then sat down and imparted to Don
Rebiera all the adventures of Mesty. Don
Rebiera was for some time in deep thought ;
at last he replied, —

‘That Don Silvio is no more is fortunate,
and the negro would be entitled to reward for
his destruction—but for the friar, that isa bad
business. The negro might remain and tell
the whole story, and the facts might be proved
by the evidence of Signor Easy, and the
letters ; but what then? we should raise the
whole host of the clergy against our house,
and we have suffered too much from them
already ; the best plan would be the imme-
diate departure, not only of the negro, but of
our two young friends. The supposition of
Friar Thomaso being here, and their departure
with the negro servant to rejoin their ship, wili
remove much suspicion and destroy all inquiry.
‘They must be off immediately. Go to them,
Philip, and point out to them the absolute
necessity of this measure, and tell our young
friend that I rigidly adhere to my promise, and
as soon as he has his father’s sanction I will
bestow upon him my daughter. In the mean-
time I will send down and see if a vessel can
be chartered for Malta.’

Our hero and Gascoigne fully admitted the
wisdom of this measure, and prepared for
their departure; indeed, now that Don
Rebiera’s resolution had been made known
to our hero, he cared more for obtaining his
father’s consent than he did for remaining to
enjoy himself at Palermo ; and before noon of
the next day all was ready, the vessel had been
procured, Jack took his leave of Agnes and her
mother, and, accompanied by Don Rebiera
and Don Philip (for Don Martin was on duty

a few miles from Palermo), went down-to the
beach, and, having bid them farewell, em-
barked with Gascoigne and Mesty on board
of the two-masted latteen which had been
engaged, and before sunset not a steeple of
Palermo was to be seen.

‘What are you thinking of, Jack? said
Gascoigne, after our hero had been silent half
an hour.

‘I have been thinking, Ned, that we are
well out of it.’

‘So do I,’ replied Gascoigne; and here the
conversation dropped for a time.

‘What are you thinking of now, Jack ?”
said Gascoigne, after a long pause.

‘Tve been thinking that I've a good story
for the old governor.’

‘Very true,’ replied Gascoigne; and both
were again silent for some time.

‘What are you thinking of now, Jack?’
said Gascoigne, after another long inter-

al.

‘I’ve been thinking that I shall leave the
service,’ replied Jack.

‘I wish you would take me with you,’

 
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. 133

replied Gascoigne, with a sigh; and again
they were both in deep contemplation.

‘What are you thinking of now, Jack?’ said
Gascoigne again.

* Of Agnes,’ replied our hero.

‘ Well, if that’s the case, I'll call you when
supper’s ready. In the meantime I'll go and
talk with Mesty.’

 

CHAPTER XXXV,

JACK LEAVES THE SERVICE, IN WHICH HE
HAD NO BUSINESS, AND GOES HOME TO
MIND HIS OWN BUSINESS.

ON the fourth day they arrived at Malta, and
our two midshipmen, as soon as they had
settled with the padrone of the vessel, went up
to the government house. They found the
governor in the verandah, who held out both
his hands, one to each.

‘Glad to see you, my lads, Well, Jack,
how’s the leg—all right? don’t limp? “And
your arm, Gascoigne ?’

‘All right, sir, and as sound as ever it was,’
replied they both.

‘Then you're in luck, and have made more
haste than you deserve, after your mad pranks;
but now sit down, and I;suppose, my friend
Jack, you have a story to tell me.’

‘Oh yes, Sir Thomas, and a very long one.’

‘Then I won't have it now, for I expect
people on business ; we'll have it after dinner.
Get your things up and take possession of
your rooms. The Aurora sailed four days
ago. You've had a wonderful recovery.’

‘Wonderful, sir!’ replied our hero; ‘all
Palermo rings with it.’

‘Well, you may go now—I shall see you at
dinner. Wilson will be delighted when he
hears that you have got round again, for he
was low-spirited about it, I can tell you, which
is more than you deserve.’

‘He’s right there,’ said-our hero to Gas-
coigne, as they walked away.

When dinner was over, Jack narrated to the
governor the adventures of Mesty, with which
he was much interested ; but when they were
quite alone in the evening, the governor called
our two midshipmen into the verandah, and
said,—

‘ Now, my lads, I’m not going to preach,
as the saying is, but I’ve been long enough in
the world to know that a compound fracture
of the leg is not cured in fourteen or sixteen
days. Iask you to tell me the truth. Did
not you deceive Captain Wilson on this
point ?’

‘I am ashamed to say that we did, sir,’ res
plied Easy.

_ ‘How did you manage that, and why?134 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

Jack then went into further details relative prophet did to another, and then I will, like
to himself and his amour, stating his wish to him, ascend in glory. ‘
be left behind, and all that had passed. ‘Your affectionate Father, :

‘Well, there's some excuse for you, but ‘ NICODEMUS EASY.
none for the surgeons. If any surgeon here
had played such a trick, I would have hung ‘From this it would appear,’ thought Jack, -
him, as sure as I’m governor, This affair of ‘that my mother is dead, and that my father is
yours has become serious. Mr. Easy, we mad.’ For some time our hero remained in a
must have some conversation on the matter melancholy mood ; he dropped many tears to
to-morrow morning.’ the memory of his mother, whom, if he had

The next morning the packet from England never respected, he had much loved ; and it
was reported off the harbour’s mouth. After was not till half an hour had elapsed, that he
breakfast the letters were brought on shore, thought of opening the other letter. It was
and the governor sent for our hero. from Dr. Middleton.

‘Mr. Easy, here are two letters for you; 1 ‘My DEAR Boy,
am sorry to say, with black seals. T trust that ‘ Although not a correspondent of yours,
they do not bring the intelligence of the death J take the right of having watched you through
of any vety near relative. ° all your childhood, and from a knowledge of

Jack bowed without speaking, took the your disposition, to write you a few nee.
leiters, and went to his room. ‘The first he pyo¢ you have, by this time, discarded vour

opened was from his father. father’s foolish, nonsensica! philosophy, l am
ee A very sure. It was 1 who advised your going
My DEAR JOHN, away for that purpose, and I am sure that, as

‘ = ey
soon petal beaut aleved ther that 9 young man of sense, and the helt 19. ee
for nearly two ears waiting forthe millennium BEC Des yeas ara belore BES AGN ASE ae
y y, = lum, fallacy of your father’s doctrines. Your father
appeared to pine away; whether from disap- telj; me that he has requested you to come
pointment or not I do not know ; but at last, jome, and allow me to add any weight I may
in spite of all Dr. Middleton could do, she have with you in persuading you to do the
departed this life; and, as the millennium <jme. It is fortunate for you that the estate
would not come to her as she expected, it 18 i, entailed, or you might soon be a beggar,
to be hoped she is gone tothe millennium. She 45, there is no saying a ee Here heehee rn
was a. good wife, and I always let her have her is madness, be suilty of. Hehas already been
OE ee Dr. Middleton does not appear to qismissed from the magistracy by the lord-
be satisfied as to the cause of her death, and jieutenant, in consequence of his haranguing .
has wished to examine her; but I said no, for J tie BE entonted peasantry, and, I ree say,
am a philosopher, and it is no use looking for gycitine them to acts of a ed eel ea
causes after effects ; but I have done since her er ardinaton He has been seen dancing
death what she never would permit me to do eS PaRMir iets ae
during her life. I have had her head shaved, ae eo Toe eed Cae ecenee
and examined it very carefully as a phrenolo- 274 allowed all poachers to go over the manor.
gist, and most curiously has she proved the {py short, he is not in his senses; and, although
truth of the sublime science. I will give you J am farjfrom advising coercive measures, I do
the result. Determination, very prominent; Qonsider that it is absolutely necessary that
benevolence, small ; caution, extreme; vener- yoy should immediately return home, and
ation, not very great ; philo-progenitiveness, 149k after what will one day be your property.
strange to say, is very large, considering she you have no occasion to follow the profession
has but one child ; imagmation, very strong : with eight thousand pounds perannum. You
you know, my dear boy, she was always pave distinguished yourself{—now make room
imagining some nonsense or another. Fler f5) those who require it for their subsistence.
other organs were all moderate. Poor dear (Goq pless you. I shall soon hope to shake
creature ! she is gone, and we may well wail, pands Ran cead Hy ‘
for a better mother or a better wife never ex- Me ‘Yours most truly
isted. And now, my dear boy, I must request ‘G MIDDLETON ,
that you call for your discharge, and come : :
home as soon as possible. I cannot exist There was matter for deep reflection in
without you, and I require your assistance in these two letters, and Jack never felt before
the grand work [have incontemplation. ‘The how much his father had been in the wrong.
¢ime is at hand, the cause of equality willsoon That he had gradually been weaned from his
triumph ; the abject slaves now hold up their ideas was true, but still he had, to a certain
heads; I have electrified them with my degree, clung to them, as we do to a habit ;
speeches, but I am getting old and feeble; I but now he felt that his eyes were opened ;
require my son to leave my mantle to, as one the silly, almost unfeeling letter of his fatherupon the occasion of his mother’s death,
opened his eyes. Fora long while Jack was
in a melancholy meditation, and then, casting
his eyes upon his watch, he perceived that it
was almost dinner-time. ‘That he could eat
his dinner was certain, and he scorned to pre-
tend to feel what he did not. He therefore
dressed himself and went down, grave, it is
true, but not in tears. He spoke little at
dinner, and retired as soon as it was over,
presenting his two letters to the governor,
and asking his advice for the next morning.
Gascoigne followed him, and to him he con-
fided his trouble ; and Ned, finding that Jack
was very low-spirited, consoled him to the
best of his power, and brought a bottle of
wine which he procured from the butler.
Before they retired to bed, Jack had given his
ideas to his friend, which were approved of,
and wishing him a good-night, he threw him-
self into bed, and was soon fast asleep.

‘One thing is certain, my good fellow,’ ob-
served the governor to our hero, as he gave
him back his letters at the breakfast table the
next morning, ‘that your father is as mad as
a March hare. I agree with that doctor, who
appears a sensible man, that you had better
go’ home immediately.’

‘And leave the service altogether, sir ?
replied Jack.

‘Why, I must say, that I do not think you
exactly fitted forit. I shall be sorry to lose
you, as you have a wonderful talent for ad-
venture, and I shall have no more yarns to
hear when you return: but, if I understand
right from Captain Wilson, you were brought
into the profession because he thought that
the service might be of use in eradicating false
notions, rather than from any intention or ne-
cessity of your following it up as a profes-
sion.’

‘I suspect that was the case, sir,’ replied
Jack; ‘as, for my own part, I hardly know
why I entered it.’

‘To find a mare’s nest, my lad; I’ve heard
all about it ; but never mind that: the ques-
tion is now about your leaving it, to look after
your own property, and I think I may venture
to say, that I can arrange all that matter at
once, without referring to admiral or captain.
I will be responsible for you, and you may go
homie in the packet, which sails on Wednesday
for England.’

‘Thank you, Sir Thomas, I am
obliged to you,’ replied Jack.

‘You, Mr. Gascoigne, I shall, of course,
send out by the first opportunity to rejoin your
ship.’

‘Thank you, Sir Thomas, I am much
obliged to you,’ replied Gascoigne, making a
bow.

‘You'll break no more arms, if you please,
sir, continued the governor; ‘a man in love

much

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

135
may have some excuse in breaking his leg,
but you had none.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir; if Mr. Easy was
warranted in breaking his lee out of love, I
submit that I could do no less than break my
arm out of friendship.’

‘Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll break your
head from: the very opposite feeling,’ replied
the governor, good-humouredly. ‘But ob-
serve, young man, I shall keep this affair
secret, as in honour bound ; but let me advise
you, as you have only your profession to look
to, to follow it up steadily. It is high time
that you and Mr. Easy were separated. He
is independent of the service, and you are not.

young man possessing such ample means
will never be fitted for the duties of a junior
officer. He can do no good for himself, and
is certain to do much harm to others : a con-
tinuance of his friendship would probably end
in your ruin, Mr. Gascoigne. You must be
aware, that if the greatest indulgence had not
been shown to Mr. Easy by his captain’and
first lieutenant, he never could have remained
in the service so long as he has done.’

As the governor made the last remark in
rather a severe tone, our two midshipmen were
silent for a minute. At last Jack observed,
very quietly—

‘And yet, sir, I think, considering all, I
have behaved pretty well.’

‘You have behaved very well, my good lad,
on all occasions in which your courage and
conduct, as an officer, have been called forth.
1 admit it ; and had you been sent to sea with
a mind properly regulated, and- without. such
an unlimited command of money, I have no
doubt but that you would have proved an
ornament to the service. Even now I think
you would, if you were to remain in the service
under proper guidance and necessary restric-
tions, for you have, at least, learnt to obey,
which is absolutely necessary before you are
fit to command. But recollect what. your
conduct would have brought upon you, if you
had not been under the parental care of Cap-
tain Wilson. But let us say no more about
that: a midshipman with the prospect of eight
thousand pounds a year is an anomaly which
the service cannot admit, especially when that
midshipman is resolved to take to himself a
Wife.’

‘I hope that you approve of that step,
sir.

“That entirely depends upon the merit of
the party, which I know nothing of, except
that she has a pretty face, and is of one of the
best Sicilian families. I think the difference
of religion a ground of objection.’

‘We will argue that point, sir,’ replied
ack.

‘Perhaps it will be the cause of more argu-
ment than you think for, Mr. Hasy; but every¥36
man makes his own bed, and as he makes it,
so must he lie down in it.’

“What am I to do about Mesty, sir? I
cannot bear the idea of parting with him.’

‘Tam afraid that you must ; I cannot well
interfere there.’

‘He is of little use to the service, sir; he
has been sent to sick quarters as my servant :
if he may be permitted to go home with me,
I will procure his discharge as soon as I arrive,
and send him on board the guard-ship till I
obtain it.’

‘J think that, on the whole, he is as well
out of the service as in it, and therefore I will,
on consideration, take upon myself the respon-

_ sibility, provided you do as you say.’

The conversation was here ended, as the
governor had business to attend to, and Jack
and Gascoigne went to their rooms to make
their arrangements.

‘The governor is right,’ observed Gas-
coigne ; ‘it is better that we part, Jack. You
have half unfitted me for the service already ;
I have a disgust of the midshipmen’s berth ;
the very smell of pitch and tar has become
odious to me. This is all wrong ; I must for-
get you and all our pleasant cruises on shore,
and once more swelter in my greasy jacket.

When I think that, if our pretended accidents

were discovered, I should be dismissed the

service, and the misery which that would

cause to my poor father, I tremble at my

The governor is right, Jack; we

must part, but I hope you never will forget
>

escape.

e
‘My hand upon it, Ned. Command my
interest, if ever 1 have any—my money—what
I have, and the house, whether it belongs to
me or my father—as far as you are concerned
at least, I adhere to my notions of perfect

equality.’

‘And abjure them, f trust, Jack, asa uni-

versal principle.’

‘J admit, as the governor asserts, that my

father is as mad as a March hare.’

‘That is sufficient; you don’t know how

glad it makes me to hear you say that.’

The two friends were inseparable during
the short time that they remained together.
They talked over their future prospects, their
hopes and anticipations, and when the con-
versation flagged, Gascoigne brought up the

name of Agnes.

Mesty’s delight at leaving the service, and
going home with his patron, was indescribable.
He laid out a portion of his gold in a suit of
plain clothes, white linen shirts, and in every
respect the wardrobe of a man of fashion ; in
fact, he was now a complete gentleman's gen-
tleman ; was very particular in frizzing his
woolly hair—wore a white neck-cloth, gloves,
Every one felt inclined to laugh
when he made his appearance ; bu‘ there was

and cane.

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   

something in Mesty’s look, which, at all
events, prevented their doing so before his
face. The day for sailing arrived. Jack took
leave of the governor, thanking him for his
great kindness, and stating his intention of
taking Malta in his way out to Palermo ina
month or two. Gascoigne went on board
with him, and did not go down the vessel's
side till it was more than a mile clear of the
harbour.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

MR. EASY'S WONDERFUL INVENTION FULLY
EXPLAINED BY HIMSELF—MUCH TO THE
SATISFACTION OF OUR HERO, AND 0G IS
TO BE PRESUMED TO THAT ALSO OF THE

READER.

Av last the packet anchored in Falmouth
Roads. Jack, accompanied by Mesty, was
soon on shore with his luggage, threw himself
into the mail, arrived in London, and, waiting
there two or three days, to obtain what he
considered necessary from a fashionable tailor,
ordered a chaise to Forest Hill. He had not
written to his father to announce his arrival,
and it was late in the morning when the chaise
drew up at his father’s door.

Jack stepped out and rang the bell. The
servants who opened the door did not know
him; they were not the same as those he left.

‘Where is Mr. Easy?’ demanded Jack.

‘Who are you?’ replied one of the men, in
a gruff tone.

‘By de powers, you very soon find out who
he is,’ observed Mesty.

‘Stay here, and I'll see if he is at home.’

‘Stay here! stay in the hall like a footman ?
What do you mean, you rascal?’ cried Jack,
attempting to push by the man.

‘Oh, that won’t do here, master ; this is
Equality Hall; one man’s as good as an-
other.

‘ Not always,’ replied Jack, knocking him
down. ‘Take that for your insolence, pack
up your traps, and walk out of the house to-
morrow morning.’

Mesty, in the meantime, had seized the
other by the throat.

‘What I do with this fellow, Massa Easy?’

‘Leave him now, Mesty: we'll settle their
account to-morrow morning. I presume I
shall find my father in the library.’

‘Fis father ? said one of the men to the
other; ‘he’s not exactly a chip of the old
block.’

‘We shall have a change, I expect,’ replied
the other, as they walked away.

‘Mesty,’ cried Jack, in an authoritative tone,

‘bring those two rascals back to take the lug-

gage out of the chaise ; pay the postilion, andtell the housekeeper to show you my room and
yours. Come to me for orders.as Soon as you
have done this.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Mesty. ‘Now come here,
you d—n blackguard, and take tings out of
chaise, or by de holy poker I choak your luff,
both of you.’

The filed teeth, the savage look, and deter-
mination of Mesty, had the due effect. The
men sullenly returned, and unloaded the
chaise. In the meantime, Jack walked into
his father’s study ; his father was there—the
study was lighted up with argand lamps, and
Jack looked with astonishment. Mr. Easy
was busy with a plaster cast of a human head,
which he pored over, so that he did not per-
ceive the entrance of his son. The cast of
the skull was divided into many compart-
ments, with writing on each ; but what most
astonished our hero was the alteration in the
apartment. The book-cases and books had
all been removed, and in the centre, suspended
from the ceiling, was an apparatus which
would have puzzled any one, composed of
rods in every direction, with screws at the end
of them, and also tubes in equal number, one
of which communicated with a large air-pump,
which stood on a table. Jack took a short
survey, and then walked up to his father and
accosted him.

‘What ! exclaimed Mr. Easy, ‘is it pos-
sible ?—yes, itis my son John! I’m glad to
see you, John—very glad indeed,’ continued
the old gentleman, shaking him by both hands
—‘very glad that you have come home: I
wanted you—wanted your assistance in my
great and glorious project, which, I thank
Heaven, is now advancing rapidly. Very
soon shali equality and the rights of man be
proclaimed everywhere. The pressure from
without is enormous, and the bulwarks of our
ridiculous and tyrannical constitution must
give way. Kings, lords, and aristocrats;
landholders, tithe-collectors, church and state,
thank God, will soon be overthrown, and the
golden age revived—the millennium, the true
millennium—not what your poor mother talked
about. I am at the head of twenty-nine socie-
ties, and if my health lasts, you will see what
I will accomplish now that I have your assist-
ance, Jack ;’ and Mr. Easy’s eyes sparkled
and flashed in all the brilliancy of incipient
insanity.

Jack sighed, and to turn the conversation
he observed, ‘ You have made a great change
in this room, sir. What may all this be for?
Is it a machine to improve equality and the
rights of man ?

‘My dear son,” replied Mr. Easy, sitting
down and crossing his legs complacently, with
his two hands under his right thigh, accord-
ing to his usual custom, when much pleased
with himself—‘ why, my dear son, that is not

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

137

exactly the case, and yet you have shown
some degree of perception even in your guess;
for if my invention succeeds (and I have no
doubt of it), I shall have discovered the great
art of rectifying the mistakes of nature, and
giving an equality of organization to the whole
species, of introducing all the finer organs-of
humauity, and of destroying the baser. It is
a splendid invention, Jack, very splendid.
They may talk of Gall and Spurzheim, and
all those ; but what have they done? nothing
but divided the brain into sections, classed
the organs, and discovered where they reside ;
but what good result has been gained from
that ? the murderer by nature remained a
murderer—the benevolent man, a benevolent
man—he could not alter his organization. I
have found out how to change all that.’

‘Surely, sir, you would not interfere with
the organ of benevolence ?”

‘ But indeed I must, Jack. I, myself, am
suffering from my organ of benevolence being
too large : I must reduce it, and then I shall
be capable of greater things, shall not be so
terrified by difficulties, shall overlook trifles,
and only carry on great schemes for universal
equality and the supreme rights of man. I
have put myself into that. machine every
morning for two hours, for these last three
months, and I feel now that I am daily losing
a great portion.’

‘Will you do me the favour to explain an

invention so extraordinary, sir?’ said our ~

hero.

‘Most willingly, my boy. You observe
that in the centre there is a frame to confine
the human head, somewhat larger than the
head itself, and that the head rests upon the
iron collar beneath. When the head is thus
firmly fixed, suppose I want to reduce the size
of any particular organ, I take the boss
corresponding to where that organ is situated
in the cranium, and fix it on it. For you
vill observe that all the bosses inside of the
top of the frame correspond to the organs as
described in this plaster cast on the table. I
then screw down pretty tight, and increase
the pressure daily, until the organ disappears
altogether, or is reduced to the size re-
quired.’

‘I comprehend that part perfectly, sir,’ re-
plied Jack ; ‘ but now explain to me by what
method you contrive to raise an organ which
does not previously exist.’

‘That,’ replied Mr. Easy, ‘is the greatest
perfection of the whole invention, for without
I could do that, I could have done little. I
feel convinced that this invention of mine will
immortalize me. Observe all these little bell-
glasses which communicate with the air-
pump ; I shave my patient’s head, grease it a
little, and fix on the bell-glass, which is
exactly shaped to fit the organ in length andMR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

breadth. <I work the air-pump, and raise the knocked my servant down!—are you not
organ by an exhausted receiver. It cannot aware, by the laws of equality-——

fail. There is my butler, now; a man-who ‘T am aware of this, my dear father,’ replied
escaped hanging last spring assizes on an un- Jack, ‘that by all the laws of society we have
doubted chargeof murder. I selected him on aright to expect civility and obedience from
purpose ; I have flattened down murder to those we pay and feed.’

nothing, and I have raised benevolence tili ‘Pay and feed! Why, my dear son,—my
it’s like a wen.’ dear Jack,—you must recollect——’

‘Tam afraid my poor father’s head is an ‘T recollect, sir, very well ; but if your ser-
exhausted receiver,’ thought Jack, who then vants do not come to their recollection in a
replied, ‘ Well, sir, if it succeeds it will be a very short time, either I or they must quit the
good invention.’ house. ’
 * If it succeeds !—why, it has succeeded—it “But, my dear boy, have you forgotten the
cannot fail. It has cost me near two thousand principles I instilled into you? Did you not
pounds. By-the-by, Jack, you have drawn go to sea to obtain that equality foiled by
very liberally lately, and I had some trouble, tyranny and despotism here on shore? Do
with.my own expenses, to meet your bills; not you not acknowledge and support my philo-
that I complain—but what with societies, and. sophy >
my machine, and tenants refusing to.pay their ‘ We'llargue that point to-morrow, sir-—at
rents, on the principle that the farms are no present I want to obtain my supper;’ and
more mine than theirs, which I admit to be Jack rang the bell furiously.
true, I have had some difficulty in meeting all | The butler made his appearance at this last

demands,’ summons, and he was followed by Mesty, who
‘The governor was right,’ thought Jack, looked like a demon with anger.

who now inquired after Dr. Middleton. ‘Mercy on me, whom have we here ?”
“Ah, poor silly man! he’s alive yet—I be- “My servant, father,” exclaimed ‘Jack,

lieve doing well. He is one who will interfere starting up; ‘one that I can trust to, and who
with the business of others, complains of my will obey me. Mesty, I wish some supper
servants—very silly man indeed—but I let and wine to be brought immediately—see that
him have his own way. So I did your poor that scoundrel gets it ready in a moment.
mother. Silly woman, Mrs. Easy—but never If he does not, throw him out of the door,
mind that.’ and lock him out. You understand me.’

“If you please, sir, I have also a complaint ‘Yes, massa,’ grinned Mesty ; ‘now you hab
to make of the servants for their insolence to supper very quick, or Mesty know the reason
me: but we will adjourn, if you please, as I why. Follow me, sar,’ cried Mesty in an im-
wish to have some refreshment.’ perative tone to the butler: ‘quick, sar, or by

‘Certainly, Jack, if you are hungry ; I will de holy poker,I show you what Mesty can
go with you. Complain of my servants, say do;’ and Mesty grinned in his wrath.
you ?>—there must be some mistake—they are ‘Bring supper and wine immediately,’ said
all shaved, and wear wigs, and I put them in Mr. Easy, giving an order such as the butler
the machine every othermorning ; but Imean had never heard since he had been in the
to make an alteration in one respect. You house.
observe, Jack, it requires more dignity: we The butler quitted the room, followed by
must raise the whole machinery some feet, as- the Ashantee.
cend it with state as a throne, for it is the ‘My dear boy—my Jack—I can make every
throne of reason, the victory of mind over allowance for hunger, it is often the cause of
nature.’ theft and crime in the present unnatural state

‘As you please, sir; but Lamreally hungry of society—but really you are too violent.
just now.’ The principles——

Jack and his father went into the -drawing- ‘Your principles are all confounded non-
room and rang the bell ; not being answered, sense, father,’ cried Jack, in a rage.

Jack rose and rang again. ‘What, Jack !—my son—what do I hear?

‘My dear sir,’ observed Mr, Easy, ‘you This from you—nonsense! Why, Jack, what
must not be in a hurry; every man naturally has Captain Wilson been doing with you ?

provides for his own wants first, and aftér- * Bringing me to my senses, sir.’
wards for those of others. Now my ser- ‘Oh dear! oh dear! my dear Jack, you
vants——' will certainly make me lose mine.’
* Are a set of insolent: scoundréls, sir, and ‘Gone already,’ thought Jack.
insolence [I never permit. I. knocked one “That you, my child, so carefully brought

down as I éntered your house, and, with your up in the great and glorious school of philo-
permission, I will discharge two, at least, to- sophy, should behave this way—should be so
morrow.’ violent—forget your sublime philosophy, and

‘My dear son,’ exclaimed Mr, . Easy, ‘you all—just like Esau, selling your birthright foramess of poitage. Oh, Jack, you'll kill me!
and yet I love you, Jack—whom else have I to
love in this world? Never mind, we'll argue
the point, my boy—I’ll conyince you—in a
week all will be right again.’

“Tt shall, sir, if can manage it,’replied Jack.

‘That's right, I love to hear you say so—
that’s consoling, very consoling—but I think
now, I was wrong io let you go to sea, Jack.’

“Indeed you were not, father.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear you say so; I
thought they had ruined you, destroyed all
your philosophy—but it will be all right again
—you shall come to our societies, Jack—I am
president—you shall hear me speak, Jack—
you shall hear me thunder like Demosthenes
—but here comes the tray.’

The butler, followed by Mesty, who at-
tended him as if he was his prisoner, now
made his appearance with the tray, laid it
down in a sulky manner and retired, Jack
desired Mesty to remain.

‘Well, Mesty, how are they getting on in
the servants’ hall ?

‘Regular mutiny, sar—ab swear dat they
no stand our nonsense, and dat we both leave
the house to-morrow.’

‘Do you hear, sir? Your servants declare
that I shall leave your house to-morrow.’

‘You leave my house, Jack, after four years’
absence !—no, no. I'll reason with them—
[ll make them a speech. You don’t know
how I can speak, Jack.’

‘Look you, father, I cannot stand ‘this ;
either give mea carte-blanche to arrange this
household as I please, or I shall quit it myself
to-morrow morning.’

‘Quit my house, Jack! no, no—shake
hands and make friends with them, be civil,
and they will serve you—but you know, upon
the principles ——’

‘Principles of the devil!’ cried Jack, in a
rage.

‘Of the devil, Jack ; dear me! I wish you
had never gone to sea.’

‘In one word, sir, do you consent, or am I
to leave the house ?’

‘Leave the house! O no; not leave the
house, Jack. Ihave noson but you. Then
do as you please—but you must not send away
my murderer, for I must have him cured, and
shown as a proof of my wonderful invention.’

‘Mesty, get my pistols ready for to-morrow
morning, and your own .too—do ye hear ?”

‘All ready, massa,’ replied Mesty ; ‘I tink
dat right.’

‘Right !—pistols, Jack !
mean ?”

‘It is possible, father, that you may not have
yet quite cured your murderer, and therefore it
is as well to be prepared. I will now wish you
good-night ; but before I go, you will be
pleased to summon one of the servants, that

 

What. do you

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

he may inform the others that the household
is under my controi for the future.’

The bell was again rung, and was this time
answered with more expedition. Jack told
the servant, in presence of his father, that,
with the consent of the latter, he should here-
after take the whole control of the establish-
ment, and that Mesty would be the major-
domo from whom they would receive their

rders. The man stared, and cast an ap-
pealing look to Mr. Easy, who hesitated, and
at last said—

‘Yes, William ; you'll apologise to all, and
say that I have made the arrangement.’

“You apologise to none, sir,’ cried Jack;
‘but tell them that I will arrange the whole
business to-motrow morning. Tell the woman
to come here and show me my bedroom.
Mesty, get your supper and then come up to
me ; if they dare to refuse you, recollect who
does, and point them out to-morrow morning.
That will do, sir; away with you, and bring
fiat candlesticks.’

CHAPTER XXXVI.

IN WHICH JACK TAKES UP THE OTHER SIDE
OF THE ARGUMENT, AND PROVES THAT
HE CAN ARGUE AS WELL ON ONE SIDE AS
THE OTHER.

THIS scene may give some idea of the state of
Mr. Easy’s household upon our hero's arrival.
The poor lunatic, for such we must call him,
was at the mercy of his servants, who robbed,
laughed at, and neglected him. ‘The waste
and expense were enormous. Our hero, who
found how matters stood, went to bed, and lay
the best part of the night revolving what to do.
He determined to send for Doctor Middleton,
and consult him.

The next morning, Jack rose early ; Mesty
was in the room with warm water, as soon as
he rang.

‘ By de power, Massa Easy, your fader very
silly old man.’

‘I'm afraid so,’ replied Jack.

‘He not right here,’ observed Mesty, putting
his fingers to his head.

Jack sighed,and desired Mesty to send one of
the grooms up to the door. When the man
knocked he desired him to mount a horse and
ride over to Dr. Middleton, and request his
immediate attendance.

The man, who was a really good servant,
replied ‘Yes, Sir,’ very respectfully, and
hastened away.

Jack went down to breakfast and found it
all ready, but his father was not in the room:
he went to his study, and found him occupied
with a carpenter, who was making a sort of a
frame as the model of a platform or dais,to be raised under the wonderful invention.
Mr. Easy was so busy that he could not come
to breakfast, so Jack took his alone. An hour
after this, Dr. Middleton’s carriage drove up
to the door, The Doctor heartily greeted our
hero.

‘My dear sir—for so I suppose I must now
call you—I am heartily glad that you have re-
turned. I can assure you that it is not a
moment too soon.’

‘I have found out that already, Doctor,’
replied Jack; ‘sit down. Have you break-
fasted ?

‘No, I have not; forI wasso anxious to see
you, that I ordered my carriage at once.’

‘Then sit down, Doctor, and We will talk
over matters quietly.’

“You of course perceive the state of your
father. He has been some time quite unfit to
manage his own affairs.’

‘So I am afraid.’

‘ What do you intend todo, then—put them
in the hands of trustees ?”

‘I will be trustee for myself, Doctor Middle-
ton. Icould not do the other without sub-
mitting my poor father to a process, and con-
finement, which I cannot think of.’

‘I can assure you, that there are not many
in Bedlam worse than he is; but I perfectly
agree with you ; that is, if he will consent to
your taking charge of the property.’

‘A power of attorney will be all that is re-
quisite,’ replied Jack ; ‘that is, as soon as I
have rid the house of the set of miscreants who
are in it ; and who are now in open mutiny.’

‘I think,’ replied the Doctor, ‘that you will
have some trouble. You know the character
of the butler.’

“Yes, I have it from my father’s own mouth.
I really should takeitasa great favour, Doctor
Middleton, if you could stay here a day or two.
I know that you have retired from practice.’

‘I would have made the same offer, my
young friend. I will come here with two of
my servants ; for you must discharge these.’

‘I have one of my own who is worth. his
weight in gold—that will be sufficient. I will
dismiss every man you think I ought ; and as
for the women, we can give them warning, and
replace them at leisure.’

‘That is exactly what I should propose,’
replied the Doctor. ‘I will now go, if you
please, procure the assistance of a couple of
constables, and also of your father's former
legal adviser, who shail prepare a power of
attorney.’

‘Yes,’ replied Jack, ‘and we must then find
out the tenants who refuse to pay upon the
principles of equality, and he shall serve them
with notice immediately.’

‘I am rejoiced, my dear young friend, to
perceive that your father's absurd notions have
not taken root.’

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  

‘They lasted some time, nevertheless,
Doctor,’ replied Jack, laughing.

‘Well, then, I will only quit you for an hour
or two, and then, as you wish it, will take up
my quarters here as long as you find me useful.’

In the forenoon Dr. Middleton again made
his appearance, accompanied by Mr. Hanson,
the solicitor, bringing with him his portmanteau
and his servants. Mr. Easy had come into
the parlour, and was at breakfast when they
entered. He received them very coolly; but
a little judicious praise of the wonderful inven-
tion had its due effect; and after Jack had
reminded him of his promise that, in future,
he was to control the household, he was easily
persuaded to sign the order for his so doing—
that is, the power of attorney.

Mr. Easy also gave up to Jack the key of his
escritoire, and Mr. Hanson possessed himself
of the books, papers, and receipts necessary to
ascertain the state of his affairs, and the rents
which had not yet been paid up. In the
meantime the constables arrived. The servants
were allsummoned; Mr. Hanson showed them
the power of attorney, empowering Jack to act
for his father, and, in less than half an hout
afterwards, all the men-servants, but two
grooms, were dismissed ; the presence of the
constables and Mesty prevented any resistance,
but not without various threats on the part of
the butler, whose name was O'Rourke. Thus,
in twenty-four hours, Jack had made a refor-
mation in the household.

Mr. Easy took no notice of anything ; he
returned to his study and his wonderful inven-
tion. Mesty had received the keys of the
cellar, and had now complete control over
those who remained. Dr. Middleton, Mr.
Hanson, Mr. Easy, and Jack, sat down to
dinner, and everything wore the appearance of
orderand comfort. Mr. Easy ate very heartily,
but said nothing till after dinner, when, as was
his usual custom, he commenced arguing upon
the truth and soundness of his philosophy.

‘By-the- bye, my dear son, if I recollect
right, you told me last night that you were no
longer of my opinion. Now, if you please, we
will argue this point.’

‘T'll argue the point with all my heart, sir,’
replied Jack ; ‘will you begin ?’

‘Let’s fill our glasses,’ cried Mr. Easy,
triumphantly; ‘let's: fili our glasses, and then
I will bring Jack back to the proper way of
thinking. Now then, my son, I trust you will
not Geny that we are all born equal.’

‘I do denyit, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘I deny it
‘‘in toto ”’—I deny it from the evidence of our
own senses, and from the authority of Scrip-
ture. To suppose all men were born equal, is
to suppose that they are equally endowed with
the same strength, and with the same capacity
of mind, which we know is not the case. I
deny it from Scripture, from which I couldquote many passages ; but I will restrict my-

self to one—the parable of the Talents: ‘'To

one he gave five talents, to another but one,”

holding them responsible for the trust reposed

inthem. Weare all intended to fill various

situations in society, and are provided by
eaven accordingly.

‘That may be,’ replied Mr. Easy; ‘but
that does not prove that the earth was not
intended to be equally distributed among all
alike.’

‘1 beg your pardon ; the proof that that was
not the intention of Providence, is, that that
equality, allowing it to be put in practice, could
never be maintained.’

‘Not maintained !—no, because the strong
oppress the weak, tyrants rise up and conquer
—men combine to do wrong.’

- Not so, my dear father ; I say it could not
be maintained without the organization of each
individual had been equalized, and several
other points established. For instance, allow-
ing that every man had, ‘‘ab origine,” a
certain portion of ground. He who was the
strongest or the cleverest would soon cause his
to yield more than the others would, and thus
the -equality be destroyed. Again, if one
couple had ten children, and another had
none, then again would equality be broken in
upon, as the land that supports two iu the one
instance, would have to feed twelve in the
other. You perceive, therefore, that without
rapine or injustice, your equality could not be
preserved.’

‘But Jack, allowing that there might be
some diversity from such causes, that would
be a very different thing from the present
monstrous state of society, in which we have
kings, and lords, and people, rolling in wealth,
while others are in a state of pauperism, and
obliged to steal for their daily bread.’

‘My dear father, I consider that it is to this
inequality that society owes its firmest cementa-
tion—that we are enabled to live in peace and
happiness, protected by just laws, each doing
his duty in that state of life to which he is
called, rising above or sinking in the scale of
society according as he has been entrusted
with the five talents or the one. Equality can
and does exist nowhere. We are told that it
does not exist in heaven itself—how can it
exist upon earth ?’

‘But this is only asserted, Jack, and it is not
proof that it ought not to exist.’

‘Let us argue the point, father, coolly.
Let us examine a little what would be the
effect if all was equality. Were all equal in
beauty, there would be no beauty, for beauty
is only by comparison—were all equal in
strength, conflicts would be interminable—
were all equal in rank, and power, and posses-
sions, the greatest charms of existence would be
destroyed—generosity, gratitude, and half the

    
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
    

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. I4t

finer virtues, would be unknown. The first
principle of our religion, charity, could not be
practised—pity would never be called forth —
benevolence, your great organ, would. be use-
less, and self-denial a blank letter. Were all
equal in ability, there would be no instruction,
no talent, no genius—nothing to admire, no-
thing to copy, to respect--nothing to rouse
emulation, or stimulate to praiseworthy aim-
bition. Why, my dear father, what an idle,
unprofitable, weary world would this be, if it
were based on equality !

‘But, allowing all that, Jack, replied Mr.
Easy, ‘and I will say you argue well in a bad
cause, why should the inequality be carried so
far—kings and lords, for instance >

‘The most lasting and imperishable form of
building is that of the pyramid, which defies
ages, and to that may the most perfect form
of society be compared. It is based upon the
many,-and, rising by degrees, it becomes less
as wealth, talent, and rank increase in the in-
dividual, until it ends at the apex, or monarch,
above all. Yet each several stone from the
apex to the base is necessary for the preser-
vation of the structure, and fulfils its duty
in its allotted place. Could you prove that
those at the summit possess the greatest share
of happiness in this world, then, indeed, you
have a position to argue on; but it is well
known, that such is not the case; and pro-
vided he is of a contented mind, the peasant
is more happy than the king, surrounded as
the latter is by cares and anxiety.’

‘Very well argued, indeed, my dear sir,’
observed Dr. Middleton.

‘But, my dear boy, there are other states
of society than monarchy ; we have republics
and despotisms.’

‘We have, but how long do they last, com-
pared to the first? There is a cycle in the
changes ,which never varies. A monarchy
may be overthrown by a revolution, and
republicanism succeed, but that is shortly
followed by despotism, till, after a time,
monarchy succeeds again by unanimous con-
sent, as the most legitimate and equitable
form of government ; but in none of these do
you find a single advance to equality. Ina
republic, those who govern are more powerlul
than the rulers in a restricted monarchy—a
president is greater than a king, and next to
a despot, whose will is law. Even in small
societies you find that some will naturally take
the lead and assume domination. We com-
mence the system at school, when we are first
thrown into society, and there we are taught
systems of petty tyranny. ‘There are some
few points in which we can obtain equality in
this world, and that equality can only be ob-
tained under a well-regulated form of society,
and consists in an equal administration of
justice and of laws, to which we have agreed2 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

I42
to submit for the benefit of the whole—the | ‘I shall feel his head to-morrow after break-
equal right to live and not be permitted to fast, and if there is anything wrong I shall
starve, Which has been obtained in’ this correct it with my machine.  By-the-by, I

country. And when we are called to account have quite forgot, gentlemen ; you will ex-
we shall have equal justice. Now, my dear cuse me, but I wish to see what the carpenter
father, you have my opinion.’ has done for me, and after that I shall attend

‘Yes, my dear, this is all very well in the the meeting of the society. Jack, my boy,
abstract ; but how does it work?’ won't you come and hear my speech ?’

‘Tt works well. The luxury, the pampered ‘Thank you, sir, but I cannot well leave
state, the idleness—if you please, the wicked- your friends.’
ness—of the rich, all contribute to the support, Mr. Easy quitted the room.
the comfort, and employment of the poor. ‘Are you aware, my dear sir, that your
You may behold extravagance—it isa vice; father has opened his preserves to all the
but that very extravagance circulates money, poachers?’ said Mr. Hanson.
and the vice of one contributes to the happiness ‘The devil he has
of many. The only vice which is not redeemed ‘Yes, he has allowed several gangs of
by producing commensurate good is avarice. gipsies to. locate themselves in his woods,
Tf all were equal there would be no arts, no much to the annoyance of the neighbourhood,
manufactures, no industry, no employment. who suffer from their depredations,’ continued
As it is, the inequality of the distribution of Dr. Middleton.
wealth may be compared to the heart, pouring ‘I find, by the receipts and books, that
forth the biood like a steam-engine through there is nearly two years’ rental of the estate
the human frame, the same blood returning due ; some tenants have paid up in full, others
from the éxtremities by the veins, to be again not forfouryears. I reckon fourteen thousand
propelled, and keep up a healthy and vigorous pounds still in arrear.’
circulation.’ ‘You will oblige me by taking immediate

‘Bravo, Jack!’ said Dr. Middleton. ‘Have steps, Mr. Hanson, for the recovery of. the
you anything to reply, sir?’ continued he, ad- sum due.’
dressing Mr. Easy. ‘Most certainly, Mr. John. 1 trust your

pao reply, sir?’ replied Mr. Easy, with father will not commit himself to-night as he
scorn ; ‘why, he has not given me half an has done lately.’
argument yet: why that black servant even When they rose to retire Dr, Middleton
laug i at him there showing his took our hero by the hand. ‘You do not
teeth. Can he forget the horrors of slavery? know, my dear fellow, what pleasure it gives
can he forget the base unfeeling lash? No, me to find that, in spite of the doting of your
sir, he has suffered, and he can estimate the mother and the madness of your father, you
divine right of equality. Ask him, now, ask have turned out so well. It is very fortunate
him, if you dare, Jack, whether he will admit that you have come home; I trust you will
the truth of your argument.’ now give up the profession.’

‘Well, I'll ask him,” replied Jack, ‘and I ‘I have given it up, sir ; which, by-the-by,
tell you’candidly that he was once one of reminds me that I have not applied for either
your disciples. Mesty, what’s your opinion my discharge or that of my servant ; but I
of equality ?’ cannot spare time yet, so I shall not report

‘quality, Massa Easy?’ replied Mesty, myself.’
pulling up his cravat; ‘I say d—n equality,
now I major-domo.’

< The rascal deserves’ to be a slave all his
life.’ CHAPTER XXXVIII.

‘ = ies ees Q 7 ¥ a
Pe Sree oe xeeceeapteliibewineny toe Ober eke aN
erie! T HAGE? Fe ORPHAN, AND RESOLVES TO GO TO SEA

'Skulls—skulls+do you know anything of pili ne eage edie oe ea pate eS Siete gp e cer

EROS as : % 2 2 OF EQUALITY.
the sublime science? Are you a phrenolo-
gist ? THE next morning, when they met at break-

“JT know man’s skull very well in Ashantee fast, Mr. Easy did not make his appearance,
country, anyhow.’ and Jack inquired of Mesty where he was.

“Then if you know that you must be one. ‘They say down below that the old gentle-
T had no idea that the science had’ extended man not come home last night.’
so far—imaybe it was brought from thence. J ‘Did not come home !’ said Dr. Middleton;

                

 

will have some talk with you to-morrow. ‘this must be looked to.’
This is very curious. Dr. Middleton, is it “He great rascal, dat butler man,’ said
not ?” Mesty to Jack; ‘but de old gentleman not

‘Very, indeed, Mr. Easy.’ sleep in his bed, dat for sure.‘Make inquiries when he went out,’ said
Jack.

‘I hope no accident has happened,’ ob-
served Mr. Hanson; ‘but his company has
lately been very strange.’

‘Nobody see him go out, sar, last night,’
reported Mesty.

‘Very. likely he is in his study,’ observed
Dr. Middleton ; ‘he may have remained all
night, fast asleep, by his wonderful inven-
tion.’

‘Ill go and see,’ replied Jack.

Dr.. Middleton . accompanied him, and
Mesty, followed. They opened the door, and
beheld a spectacle which made them recoil
with horror. There was Mr. Easy, with his
head in the machine, the platform below
fallen from under him, hanging, with his toes
just touching the ground. Dr. Middleton
hastened to him, and, assisted by Mesty and
our hero, took him out of ihe steel collar
which was round his neck ; but life had been
extinct for many hours, and, on examination,
it was found that the poor old gentleman's
neck was dislocated.

It was surmised that the accident must have
taken place the evening before, and it was
easy to account for it. Mr. Easy, who had
had the machine raised four feet higher, for
the platform and steps to be placed under-
neath, must have mounted on the frame
modelled by the carpenter for his work, and
have fixed his head in, for the knob was
pressed on his,bump of benevolence. The
frame-work, hastily put together with a few
short nails, had given way with his weight,
and the sudden fall had dislocated his neck.

Mr, Hanson Jed away our hero, who was
much shocked at this unfortunate and tragical
end of his poor father, while Dr. Middleton
ordered the body to be taken up into a
bed-room, and immediately despatched a
messenger to the coroner of the county.
Poor Mr. Easy had told his son but the day
before that he felt convinced that this wonder-
ful invention would immortalise him, and so
it had, although not exactly in the sense that
he anticipated.

We must pass over the few days of sorrow,
and closed shutters, which always are given
to these scenes. ‘The coroner's inquest and
the funeral over, daylight was again admitted,
our hero’s-spirits revived, and he found him-
self in possession of a splendid property, and
his own master.

He was not of age, it is true, for he wanted
nine months; but on opening the will of his
father he found that Dr.’ Middleton was his
sole guardian. Mr. Hanson, on examining
and collecting the papers, which were in the
greatest confusion, discovered bank-notes in
different corners, and huddled up with bills
and receipts to the amount of two thousand

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

143

pounds, and further, a cheque signed by Cap-
tain Wilson on his banker for the thousand
pounds advanced by Mr. Easy, dated more
that fifteen months back.

Dr. Middleton wrote to the Admiralty, in-
forming them that family affairs necessitated
Mr. John Easy, who had been left at sick
quarters, to leave. his Majesty’s service, re-
questing his discharge from it forthwith.
The Admiralty was graciously pleased to
grant the request, and lose the services of
a midshipman. The Admiralty were also
pleased to grant the discharge of Mesty, on
the sum required for a substitute being paid
in.

The gipsies were routed out of their abodes,
and sent once more to wander. ‘The game-
keepers were restored, the preserves cleared
of all poachers, and the gentry of the country
were not a little pleased at Jack’s succession,
for they had:wished that Mr. Easy’s neck had
been broken long ago. ‘The societies were
dissolved, since now that Mr. Easy no longer
paid for the beer, there was nothing to mee
for. Cards and compliments were sent from
all parts of the county, and every one was
anxious that our hero should come of age, as
then he would be able to marry, to give
dinners, subscribe to the fox-hounds, and live
as a gentleman ought to do.

But during all these speculations Jack had
made Dr.- Middleton acquainted with the
history of his amour with Agnes Rebiera, and
all particulars connected therewith, also with
his determination to go out and bring her
home as his wife. Dr’ Middleton saw no ob-
jection to the match, and he perceived that
our hero was sincere. And Jack had made
inquiries when the packet would sail for
Malta, when Mesty, who stood behind his
chair, observed—

‘Packet bad vessel, Massa Easy.
€o out in man-of-war ?”

‘Very true,’ replied Jack ; ‘but you know,
Mesty,; that is not so easy.’

‘And den how come home, sar? Suppose
you and Missy Agnes taken prisoner—put in
prison ?

‘Very true,” replied Jack; ‘and as for a
passage home in a man-of-war, that will be
more difficult still.’

‘Den I tink, sar, suppose you buy one fine
vessel—plenty of guns—take out letter of

Why not

marque—plenty of men, and bring Missy
Agnes home like a lady. You captain of your

own ship.’

‘That deserves consideration, Mesty,’ re-
plied Jack, who thought of it during that
night ;-and the next day resolved to follow
Mesty’s advice. The Portsmouth paper lay
on the breakfast table. _Jack took it up, and
his eye was caught by an advertisement for
the sale of the Joan d’Arc, prize to H.M, shipThetis, brigantine of 278 tons,
tomed, armed ‘en flute,’
Spars, sails, running and standing rigg-
ing, then lying in the harbour of. Ports-
mouth, to take place on the following Wed-
nesday.

Jack rang the bell, and ordered post-horses.

‘Where are you going, my dear boy ?’ in-
quired Dr. Middleton.

‘To Portsmouth, Doctor.’

‘And pray what for, if not an impertinent
question ?”

Jack then gave Dr. Middleton an insight
into his plan, and requested that he would
allow him to do so, as there was plenty of
ready money.

‘But the expense will be enormous.’

‘It will be heavy, sir, I grant ; but I have
calculated it pretty nearly, and I shall not
spend at the rate of more than my income.
Besides, as letter of marque, I shall have the
right of capture ; in fact, I mean to take out
a privateer's regular licence.’

‘But not to remain there and cruise

‘No, upon my honour; I am too anxious
to get home again. You must not refuse me,
my dear guardian.’

‘As a lady is in the case, I will not,
dear boy ;
about.’

‘Never fear, sir, I will be back in four
months,-at the farthest ; but I must now set
off and ascertain if the vessel answers the de-
Scription given in the advertisement.’

Jack threw himself into the chariot. Mesty
mounted into the rumble, and in two hours
they were at Portsmouth; went tothe agent and
viewed the vessel, which proved to bea very
fine fast-sailing craft, well found, with six
brass carronades on each side. The cabins
were handsome, fitted up with bird's-eye
maple, and gilt mouldings,

his will do, thought Jack; a couple of
long brass nines, forty men and six boys, and
she will be just the thing we require. So
Mesty and Jack went on shore again, and te-
turned to Forest Hill to dinner, when he de-
sired Mr. Hanson to set off for Portsmouth,
and bid at the sale for the vessel, as he wished
to purchase her. This was Monday, and on
Wednesday Mr. Hanson purchased her, as
she stood, for £1750, which was considered
about half her value.

Dr. Middleton had, in the meantime, been
thinking very seriously of Jack's project. He
could see no objection to it, provided that he
was steady and prudent, but in both these
qualities Jack had not exactly been tried. He
therefore determined to look out for some
Steady naval lieutenant, and make it a ‘sine
quix non’ that our hero should be accom-
panicd by him, and that he should go out as
sailing-master. Now that the vessel was pur-

copper-bot-
with all her stores,

my
but be careful what you are

MIR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
 
 
     
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 

 

chased, he informed Jack of his wish ; indeed,
as Dr. Middleton “observed, his duty as
guardian demanded this precaution, and our
hero, who felt very grateful to Dr. Middleton,
immediately acquiesced.

‘And, by-the-by, Doctor, see that he is a
good navigator; for although I can fudge a
day’s work pretty well, latterly I have been
out of practice.’

Every one was now busy ; Jack and Mesty
at Portsmouth, fitting out the vessel, and
offering three guineas ahead to the crimps
for every good able seaman—Mr. Hanson
obtaining the English register, and the letters
of licence, and Dr. Middleton in search of a
good naval dry-nurse. Jack found time to
write to Don Philip and Agnes, apprising
them of the death of his father, and his inten-
tions.

In about six weeks all was ready, and the
brigantine, which had taken out her British
register and licence under the name of the
Rebiera, went out of harbour, and anchored
at Spithead. Dr. Middleton had procured,
as he thought, a very fit person to sail with
Jack, and our hero and Mesty embarked,
wishing the Doctor and Solicitor good-bye,
and leaving them nothing to do but to pay
the bills.

The person selected by Dr. Middleton, by
the advice of an old friend of his, a purser in
the navy, who lived at Southsea, was a Lieu-
tenant Oxbelly, who, with the ship's company
Which had been collected, received our hero
as their captain and owner upon his arrival
on board. ‘There certainly was no small con-
trast between our hero's active slight figure
and handsome person, set off with a blue
coat, something like the present yacht-club
uniform, and that of his second in command,
who waddled to the side to receive him. He
was a very short man, with an uncommon
protuberance of stomach, with shoulders and
arms too short for his body, and hands too
large, more like the paws of a Polar bear than
anything else. He wore trousers, shoes, and
buckles. On his head was a foraging cap,
which, when he took it off, showed that he
was quite bald. His age might be about fifty-
five or sixty; “his complexion florid, no
whiskers, and little beard, nose straight, lips
thin, teeth black with chewing, and always a
little brown dribble from the left corner of his
mouth (there was a leak there, he said). Al-
together his countenance was prepossessing,
for it was honest and manly, but his waist was
preposterous.

‘Steady enough,’ thought Jack, as he re-
turned Mr, Oxbelly’s salute,

* How do you do, sir? said Jack ; ‘I trust
we shall be good shipmates,’ for Jack had not
seen him before.

‘Mr, Easy,’ replied the lieutenant, ‘Jnever quarrel with any one, except (I won't
tell a Story) with my wife.’

“TY am sorry that you have ever domestic
dissensions, Mr. Oxbelly

‘And I only quarrei with her at night, sir.
She will take ‘up more than her share of the
bed, and won't allow me to sleep single; but
never mind that, sir; now will you please to
muster the men ?”

‘If you please, Mr. Oxbelly.’

The men were mustered, and Jack made
them a long speech upon subordination, dis-
cipline, activity, duty, and so forth.

‘A very good speech, Mr. Easy,’ said Mr.
Oxbelly, as the men went forward ; ‘1 wish
my wife had heard it. But, sir, if you please
we'll now get under way as fast as we can, for
there is a Channel cruiser working up at St.
Helen’s, and we may give him the go-by by
running through the Needles.’

‘But what need we care
cruiser ?’

‘You forget, sir, that as soon as she drops
ner anchor she will come on board and take a
jancy to at least ten of our men.

‘But they are protected.’

‘Yes, sir, but that’s no protection, nowa-
days. I have sailed in a privateer at least

three years, and I know that they have
no respect for letters of marque or for priva-
teers.

‘T believe you are right, Mr. Oxbelly ; so,
if you please, we will up with the anchor at
once.’

The crew of the Rebijera had been weil
chosen ; they were prime men-of-war’s men,
most of whom had deserted from the various
ships on thestation, and, of course, were most
anxious to be off. In a few minutes the
Rebiera was under way with all sail set below
and aloft. She was inexcellent trim and flew
through the water ; the wind was fair, and by
night “they had passed Portland Lights, and
the next morning were steering a course for
the Bay of Biscay without having encoun-
tered what they feared more than an enemy,
—a British cruiser to overhaul them.

‘I think we shall do now, sir,’ observed Mr.
Oxbelly to our hero ; ‘we have made a famous
run, It’s twelve o'clock, and if you please
I'll work the latitude, and let you know what
it is. We must shape our course so as not to
run in with the Brest squadron. A little more
westing, sir. Ill be up in one minute. My
wife—but I'll tell you about that when I come
up.’

for the Channel

‘Latitude 40° 12’, sir. I was about to say
that my wife, when she was on board of the
privateer that I commanded

‘ Board of the privateer, Mr. Oxbelly ?’

‘Yes, sir, would go: told her it was impos-
sible, but she wouldn’t listen to reason—came
on board, flopped herself into the standing

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

148

bed-place, and said that there she was for the
cruise,—little Billy with her——

‘What! your child, too”

“Yes, two years old—-fine boy—always
laughed when the guns were fired, while his
mother stood on the ladder and held him on the
top of the booby-hatch.’

‘T wonder that Mrs. Oxbelly let you come
here now ?’

‘So you would, sir, but I’ll explain that—
she thinks I’m in London about my half-pay.
She knows all by this une and frets, I don’t
doubt ; but that will make her thin, and then
there will be more room in the bed. Mrs.
Oxbelly is a very stout woman.’

‘Why you are not a little man !

“No, not little—tending to be lusty, as the
saying is—that is, in good condition. It’s
very strange that Mrs. Oxbelly has an idea
that she is not large. I cannot persuade her
toit. That's the reason we always spar in
bed. She says it is I, and I know that it is
she who takes the largest share of it.’

‘Perhaps you may ‘both be right.’

‘No, no; it is she who creates all the dis-
turbance. If I get nearer to the wail she
jams me up till “T am as thin as a thread-
paper. If I put her inside and stay outside,
she cuts me out as you do a cask, by the
chime, till I tumble out of bed.’

‘Why don't you make your bed larger, Mr.
Oxbelly ?’

‘Sir, I have proposed, but my wife will
have it that the bed is large enough if I would
not tossin my sleep. I can’t convince her.
However, she'll have it all to herself now. I
slept well last night, for the first time since J
left the Boadicea.’

“The Boadicea ?”

“Yes, sir, I was second lieutenant of the
Boadicea for three years.’

‘She’s a fine frigate, I’m told.’

‘On the contrary, such a pinched-up little
craft below I never saw. Why, Mr. Easy, I
could hardly get into the door of my cabin—
and yet, as you must see, I’m not a large
man,

‘Good heavens! is it possible,’ thought
Jack, ‘that this man does not really know
that he is monstrous ?”

Yet such wasthe case. Mr. Oxbelly had no
idea that he was otherwise than in good con-
dition, although he had probably not seen his
knees for years. It was his obesity that was
the great objection to him, for in every other
point there was nothing against him. Hehad,
upon one pretence and another, been shifted,
by the manceuvres of the captains, out of dif-
ferent ships, until he went up to the Admiralty
to know if there was any charge against him.
The first lord at once perceived the charge to
be preferred, and made a mark against his
name as not fit for anything but harbour146

duty. Out of employment, he had taken the
command of a privateer cutter, when his wife,
who was excessively fond, would, as he said,
follow him with little Billy. He was sober,
Steady, knew his duty weil; but he weighed
twenty-six stone, and his weight had swamped
him in the service,

His wish, long indulged, had Decome, as
Shakespeare Says, the father of his thought,
and he had really at last brought himself to
think that he was not by any means what
‘could be considered a fat man. fis wife,
as he said, was also a very stout woman, and
this exuberance of flesh on both sides, was
the only, but continual, ground of dispute.

CHAPTER XXXIX,

IN WHICH OUR HERO, AS USUAL, GETS INTO
THE VERY MIDDLE OF It.

 

ON the eleventh day the Rebiera entered the
straits, and the rock of Gibraltar was in sight
as the sun went down ; after which the wind
fell light, and about midnight it became calm,
and they drifted up. At sunrise they were
roused by the report of heavy guns, and per-
ceived an English frigate about eight miles
farther up the straits, and more in the mid-
channel, engaging nine or ten Spanish gun-
boats, which had come out from Algesiras
toattackher. It still continued a dead calm,
and the boats of the frigate were all ahead
towing her, so as to bring her broadside to
bear upon the Spanish flotilla. ‘The reverbe-
rating of the heavy cannon on both sides over
the placid surface of the watei—the white
smoke ascending as the sun rose in brilliancy
in a clear blue sky—the distant echoes re-
peated from the high hills—had a very beau-
tiful effect for those who are partial to the
picturesque. But Jack thought it advisable
to prepare for action instead of Watching for
tints—and, in a short time, all was ready.

“They'll not come to us, Mr. Easy, as long
as they have the frigate to hammer at; but
still we had better be prepared, for we cannot
well pass them without having a few shot,
When I came up the straits in the privateer
we were attacked by two, and fought them for
three hours ; their shot dashed the water over
our decks till they were wet fore and aft; but
somehow or another they never hit us—we
were as low as they were. I’ll be bound but
they'll hull the frigate though. Mrs. Oxbelly
and Billy were on deck the whole time—and
Billy was quite delighted, and cried when
they took him down to breakfast.’

“Why, Mrs, Oxbelly must be very cou-
rageous,’

‘Cares neither for shot nor shell, sir,—laughs
when they whiz over her head, and tells Billy
to hark. But, sir, it’s not surprising ; her

  

MR, MIDSHIPMAN EASY,

father is a major; and her two brothers are liew.~
tenants in the bombadiers.’

‘That, indeed,’ replied Jack—‘ but see,
there is a breeze springing up from the west-
ward,’

‘Very true, Mr. Easy, anda steady one it
will be, for. it comes up dark and slow ; so
much the better for the frigate, for she'll get
little honour and plenty of mauling at this
work,’

‘I hope we shall take it up with us, ob-
served Jack ; ‘how far do you reckon the gun-
boats from the shore ?’
‘I should think about five miles, or rather
less.’

‘Trim sails, Mr. Oxbelly—perhaps we may
cut one or two of these off—steer in shore of
them,’

*‘ Exactly, Up there, my. lads, set top-
gallant studding sails, top-mast studdings to
hand—rig out the booms—keep as you go
now, my lad—we shall be wellin shore of them,
and out of the range of the batteries.’

The breeze came down fresh, and all sail
was set upon the Rebiera, She took the wind
down with her, and it passed her but little—
half a mile ahead of them all was still and
smooth as a glass mirror, and they neared
and gained in shore at the same time. ‘The
gunboats were still engaging the frigate, and
did not appear to Pay any attention to the
Rebiera coming down. At last the breeze
reached them and the frigate, light first and
then gradually increasing, while the Rebiera
foamed through the water, and had now every
chance of cutting off some of the gun-boats.
The frigate trimmed her sails and steered
towards the flotilla, which how thought proper
to haul off and put their heads in shore, fol-
lowed by the frigate firing her bow-chasers.
But the Rebiera was now within half gun-shot
in shore, and steering so as to intercept them,
As she tapidly closed, the flotilla scarcely
knew how to act ; to attack her would be to
lose time, and allow the frigate to come up and
Occasion their own capture ; so they satisfied
themselves with firing at her as she continued
to run down between them and the land. As
they neared, Jack opened his fire with his
eighteen-pound carronades and long nines.
The gun-boats returned his fire, and they
were within a quarter of a mile, when Jack
shortened sail to his top-sails, and a warm en-
Sagement took place, which ended in one of
the gunboats being, in a few minutes, dis-
masted. The frigate, under all canvas, came
rapidly up, and her shot now fell thick:, The
flotilla then ceased firing, passing about. two
cables’ length ahead of the Rebiera, and

naking all possible sail for the land. Jack
now fired at the flotilla as they passed, with
his larboard broadside, while with his star-
board he poured in Stape and canister uponthe unfortunate gun-boat which was dis-
masted, and which soon hauled down her
colours. In a few minutes more the re-
mainder were too far distant -for the carro-
nades, and, as they did not fire, Jack turned
his attention to take possession of his prize,
sending a boat with ten men on board, and
heaving-to close to her to take her in tow.
Ten minutes more and the frigate was also
hove-to a cable’s length from the Rebiera, and
our hero lowered down his other quarter-boat
to go on board.

‘Have we any men hurt, Mr. Oxbelly ? in-
quired Jack.

‘Only two; Spearling has lost his thumb
witha piece of langrage, and James-hasa bad
wound in the thigh.’

‘Very well; I will ask the surgeon to come
on board.’

Jack pulled to the frigate and went up the
side, touched his hat in due form, and was
introduced by the midshipmen to the other
side, where the captain stood.

‘Mr. Easy !’ exclaimed the captain.

‘ Captain Sawbridge!’ replied our hero, with
surprise.

‘Good heavens! what brought you here?’
said the captain ; ‘and what vessel is that ?

‘The Rebiera, letter of marque, com-
manded and owned by Mr. Easy,’ replied
Jack, laughing.

Captain Sawbridge gave him his hand.
‘Come down with me into the cabin, Mr.
Easy ; I am very glad to see you. Give you
great credit for your conduct, and am still
more anxious to know what has induced you
to come out again. I knew that you had left
the service.’

Jack, in a very few words, told his ebject in
fitting out the Rebiera; ‘but,’ continued
Jack, ‘allow me to congratulate you upon
your promotion, which I was not aware of.
May I ask where you left the Harpy, and
what is the name of your frigate ?’

‘The Latona. I have only been appointed
to her one month, after an action in which
the Harpy took a large corvette, and am
ordered home with despatches to England.
We sailed yesterday evening from Gibraltar,
were becalmed the whole night, and attacked
this morning by the gun-boats.’

‘How is Captain Wilson, sir?’

‘T believe he is very well, but I have not
seen him.’

‘How did you know then, that I had left
the service, Captain Sawbridge lez

‘From Mr. Gascoigne, who is now on
board.’

‘ Gascoigne!’ exclaimed our hero.

‘Yes, he was sent up to join the Aurora by
the governor, but she had left the fleet, and
having served his time, and a passing day
being ordered, he passed, and thought he

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
     

147

might as well go home with me and see if he
could make any interest for his promotion.’

‘Pray, Captain Sawbridge, is the gun-boat
our prize or yours ?”

‘It ought to be wholly yours ; but the fact
is, by the regulations, we share. '

‘With all my heart, sir. Will you send.an
assistant-surgeon on board to look after two
of my men who are hurt ?’

‘Yes, directly ; now send your boat away,
Easy, with directions to your officer in com-
mand. We must go back to Gibraltar, for
we have received some injury, and, [am sorry
to say, lost some men. You are going
then, I presume, to stay on board and dine
with me: we shall be at anchor before
night.’

‘J will with pleasure, sir. But now T will
send my boat away and shake hands with
Gascoigne.’

Gascoigne was under the half-deck waiting
to receive his friend, for he had seen him come
up the side from his station on the forecastle.
A hurried conversation took place, after out
hero had dismissed his boat with the assistant-
surgeon in it to dress the two wounded mien.
Jack then went on deck, talked with the
officers, looked with pleasure at the Rebiera
with the gun-boat in tow, keeping company
with the frigate, although only under the
same canvas—promised Gascoigne to spend
the next day with him either on shore or on
board the Rebiera, and then returned to the
cabin, where he had a long conference with
Captain Sawbridge.

‘When you first entered the service, Easy,’
said Captain Sawbridge, ‘1 thought that the
sooner the service was rid of you the better ;
now that you have left it, I feel that it has lost
one who, in all probability, would have proved
a credit to it.’

‘ Many thanks, sir,’ replied Jack: ‘ but how
can I be a midshipman with eight thousand
pounds a year?’

‘T agree with you that it is impossible :—
but dinner is serving : go into the after-cabin
and the steward will give you all you require.’

Our hero, whose face and hands were not
a little grimed with the gunpowder, washed
himself, combed out his curly black hair, and
found all the party in the fore-cabin. Gas-
coigne, who had not been asked in the fore-
noon, was, by the consideration of Captain
Sawbridge, added to the number. Before
dinner was long oft the table, the first lieu-
tenant reported that it was necessary to turn
the hands up, as they were close to the
anchorage. ‘lhe party, therefore, broke up
sooner than otherwise would have been the
case ; and as soon as the Latona's sails were
furled, Captain Sawbridge went on shore to
acquaint the governor with the results of the
action. He asked Jack to accompany him,148

but our hero, wishing to be with Gascoigne,
excused himself until the next day.

“And now, Easy,’ said Gascoigne, as soon
as the captain had gone over the side, ‘I wil
ask permission to go on board with you—or
will you ask ?’

‘I will ask,’ replied Jack ; ‘a gentleman of
fortune has more weight with a first lieutenant
than a midshipman. '

So Jack went up to the first lieutenant, and
with one of his polite bows hoped, ‘ if duty
would permit, he would honour him by coming
on board that evening with some of his
officers, to see the Rebiera and to drink a
bottle or two of champagne.’

The first lieutenant, as the Rebiera was
anchored not two cables’ lengths from him,
replied, ‘that as soon as he had shifted the
prisoners and secured the gun-boat, he would
be very glad :’ so did three or four more of
the officers, and then Jack beggedas a favour,
that his old friend, Mr. Gascoigne, might be
permitted to go with him now, as he had im-
portant packages to entrust to his care to
England. The first lieutenant was very will-
ing, and Gascoigne and our hero jumped
into the boat, and were once more in all the
confidence of tried and deserved friendship.

‘Jack, I've been thinking of it, and I've
made up my mind,’ said Gascoigne. ‘I shall
gain little or nothing by going home for my
promotion ; I may as well stay here, and as I
have served my time and passed, my pay is
now of little consequence. Will you take me
with you ?"

‘It was exactly what I was thinking of,
Ned. Do you think that Captain Sawbridge
will consent ?’

‘I do: he knows how I am circumstanced,
and that my going home was merely because
I was tired of looking after the Aurora.’

‘We'll go together and ask him to-morrow,’
replied Jack.

“At all events, you'll have a more gentle-
manly companion than Mr. Oxbelly.'

‘ But not so steady, Ned.’

The first lieutenant and officers came on
board, and passed a merry evening. ‘There's
nothing passes time more agreeably away than
champagne, and if you do not affront this
regal wine by mixing him with any other, he
never punishes you the next morning.

—

 

CHAPTER XL.
4 COUNCIL OF WAR, IN WHICH JACK DE-
CIDES THAT HE WILL HAVE ONE MORE
CRUISE.

As Captain Sawbridge did ‘not return on board
that evening, Easy went on shore and called
upon him at the governor's, to whom he was
introduced, and receiyed an invitation to dine

“in the service.’

  

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

with him. As Gascoigne could not come on
shore, our hero took this opportunity of making
his request to Captain Sawbridge, stating that
the person he had with him was not such as
he wished and could confide everything to;
that is, not one to whom he could talk about
Agnes. Jack, as he found that Captain Saw-
bridge did not immediately assent, pressed the
matter hard : at last Captain Sawbridge, who
reflected that Gascoigne’s interest hereafter
would be much greater through his friend
Easy, than any other quarter, and that the
more the friendship was cemented the more
advantageous it might prove to Gascoigne, gave
his consent to our hero’s wish, who called
on board of the Latona to acquaint Gascoigne
and the first lieutenant of Captain Sawbridge’s
intentions, and then went on board of the
Rebiera and ordered Mesty to come with bis
portmanteau on shore to the inn, that he might
dress for dinner. Gascoigne, now considered
as not belonging to the ILatona, was permitted
to accompany him: and Jack found himself
looking out of the window at which he had
hung out his trousers upon the memorable
occasion when the boatswain had to follow
his own precept of ‘duty before decency.’

‘What scenes of adventures I have passed
through since that,’ thought Jack; ‘not much
more than four years ago, then not three weeks
Whereupon Jack fell into a
deep reverie, and thought of the baboon and
of Agnes,

‘The repairs of the Latona were all made
good by the next day, and Gascoigne, having
received his discharge-ticket, went on board
of the Rebiera. The gun-boat was put into
the hands of the agent, and shortly afterwards
purchased by government. The Rebeira’s
crew did not, however, obtain their prize-
money and share of the head-money, for she
had seventy men on board, until their return,
but, as they said, they had broken the ice, and
that was everything. Moreover, it gave them
confidence in themselves, in their vessel, and
in their commander. Our hero weighed a
short time after the Latona, having first taken
leave of Captain Sawbridge, and committed to
his care a letter to Dr. Middleton.

Once more behold the trio together,—the
two midshipmen hanging over the taffrail,
and Mesty standing by them. They had
rounded Europa Point, and, with a fine breeze
off the land, were lying close hauled along the
Spanish shore. Mr. Oxbelly was also walking
near them.

‘When I was cruising here it was very dif-
ferent,’ observed Jack ; ‘I had a vessel which
I did not know how to manage, a crew which
I could not command, and had it not been for
Mesty, what would have become of me !

‘Massa Easy, you know very well how te
get out of scrapes, anyhow,’‘Yes, and how to get into them,’ continued
Gascoigne.

“And how to get others out of them, too,
Ned.’

“No more of that, Hal, an’ thou lovest
me,’ quoted Gascoigne. ‘I have often won-
dered what has been the lot of poor Azar.’

‘The lot of most women, Ned, in every
country—prized at first, neglected afterwards
—the lot she might have had with you.’

‘Perhaps so,’ replied Ned, with a sigh.

‘Massa Easy, you get eberybody out of
scrape ; you get me out of scrape.’

‘TI do not recollect how, Mesty.’

‘You get me out from boil kettle for young
gentlemen—dat devil of a scrape.’

‘And I'm sure I've got you out of a scrape,
Mr. Oxbelly.’

‘How so, Mr. Easy ?’

‘How so !—have I not prevented your quar-
relling with your wife every night?’

‘Certainly, sir, you have been the means.
But do you know when we were engaging the
other day, I could not help saying to myself
‘‘T wish my wife was here now, holding little
Billy at the hatchway.” ’

‘But at night, Mr. Oxbelly.’

* At night !—why, then I'm afraid I should
have wished her home again—it’s astonishing
how comfortable I sleep now every night.
Besides, in this climate it would be intoler-
able. Mrs. Oxbelly is a very large woman—
very large indeed.’

‘Well, but now we must hold a council of
war. Are we to run up the coast, or to shape
a course direct for Palermo ?

“Course direct, and we shall take nothing,
that is certain,’ said Gascoigne.

‘If we take nothing we shall make no prize-
money,’ continued Oxbelly.

‘If we make no prize-money the men will
be discontented,’ said Easy.

‘If no ab noting to do—it will be d—d
*tupid,’ continued Mesty.

‘Now then the other side of the question.
Tf we steer for Palermo, we shall be sooner
there and sooner home.’

‘To which I reply,’ said Gascoigne, ‘ that
the shorter the cruise is, the less I shall have
of your company.’

‘And I shall have to sleep with Mrs. Ox-
belly,’ continued Oxbelly.

‘Hab fine ship, fine gun, fine men, and do
noting,’ cried Mesty. ‘ By de power, I no like
dat, Massa Easy.’

‘You want eight months of coming of age,
Jack,’ observed Gascoigne.

‘It won't make a difference of more than
three or four weeks,’ said Mr. Oxbelly : ‘and
the expenses have been very great.’

‘But——’

‘But what, Jack?’

‘Agnes.’

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
     

149

‘Agnes will be better defended going home
by men who have been accustomed to be in
action. And, as for her waiting a little
longer it will only make her love you a little
more.

‘Sleep single a little longer, Mr. Easy: it’s
very pleasant,’ said Mr. Oxbelly.

‘That's not very bad advice of yours,’ ob-
served Gascoigne.

‘Stop a little, Massa Easy,’ said Mesty,
‘you know dat very good advice.’

‘Well, then,’ replied Jack, ‘I will, as Iam
quite in the minority. We will work up the
whole coast—up to Toulon. After all, there's
something very pleasant in commanding your
own ship, and I’m not in a hurry to resign it
—so that point's decided.’

The Rebiera was steered in to the land, and
at sunset they were not four miles from the
lofty blue mountains which overhang the town
of Malaga. There were many vessels lying at
the bottom of the bay, close in with the town ;
the wind now fell light, and the Rebiera, as
she could not fetch the town, tacked as if
she were a merchant vessel standing in, and
showed American colours, a hint which they
took from perceiving three or four large
vessels lying in the outer roads, with the
colours of that nation hoisted at the peak.

‘What is your intention, Jack? said Gas-
coigne.

‘T’'ll be hanged if I know yet. I think of
working up to the outer roads, and anchoring
at night—boarding the American vessels, and
gaining intelligence.’

‘“Not’a bad idea; we shall then learn if
there is anything to be done, and if not
we may be off at daylight.’

‘ The pratique boat will not come off after
sunset.’

‘And if they did we could pass for an
American, bound to Barcelona or anywhere
else—the outer roads where the vessels lie are
hardly within gun-shot.’

Mesty, who had resumed his sailor's clothes,
now observed, ‘ What we do, Massa Easy, we
do quickly—time for all ting, time for show
face and fight—time for hide face, crawl, and
steal.’

‘Very true, Mesty, we'll crawl this time,
and steal if we can. It’s not the warfare
I like best of the two.’

‘Both good, Massa Easy ; suppose you no
steal board of polacca ship, you not see Missy
Agnes.’

‘Very true, Mesty. ’Bout ship, Mr. Oxbelly.’

‘Mr. Oxbelly not good for boat service,’
observed Mesty, showing his teeth.

It was dark before the Rebiera was anchored
in the outer roads, a cable's length astern of
the outermost American vessel. One of her
quarter-boats was lowered down, and Gas-
coigne and our hero pulled alongside, and,lying on their oars, hailed, and asked the
name of the vessel.

‘So help me Gad, just now I forget her
name, replied a negro, looking over the
gangway.

‘Who's the captain ?’

“So help me Gad, he gone on shore.’

‘Is the mate on board ?’

‘No, so help me Gad—he gone shore, too.’

‘Who is aboard, then ?’

‘So help me Gad, nobody on board but
Pompey—and dat me.’

“Good ship-keepers, at all events,’ said
Jack. ‘A ship in the outer roads, with only a
black fellow on board! I say, Pompey, do
they always leave you in charge of the
vessel?”

‘No, sar; but to-night great pleasure on
shore. Everybody dance and sing, get drunk,
kick up bobbery, and all dat.’

‘What, is it a festival ?’

‘So help me Gad, I no know, sar.’

“Is there any one on board of the other
vessels ?”

‘Everybody gone on shore. Suppose they
have black man, he stay on board.’

“Good-night, Pompey.’

‘Good-night, sar. Who I say call when
captain come on board ?’

‘Captain Easy.’

‘Captain He-see, very well, sar.’

Our hero pulled to another ship, and found
it equally deserted ; but at the third he found
the second mate with his arm in a sling and
from him they gained the information that it
was a great festival, being the last day of the
carnival ; and that every one was thinking of
nothing but amusement.

‘ve a notion,’ said the mate, in reply,
‘that you're American.’

‘You've guessed right,’ replied Jack.

‘What ship, and from what port 2”

‘Rhode Island, the Susan and Mary,’ re-
plied Gascoigne.

‘I thought you were north. We're of New
York. What news do you bring ?’

‘Nothing,’ replied he, ‘ we are from Liver-
pool last.’

A succession of questions was now put
by the American mate, and answered very
skilfully by Gascoigne, who then inquired how
the market was.

It was necessary to make and reply to all
these inquiries before they could ask appa-
rently indifferent questions of American traders;
at last, Gascoigne inquired—

‘Do you think they would allow us to go
on shore? the pratique boat has not been on
board.’

‘ They'll never find you out if you are off
before daylight: I doubt if they know that
you are anchored. Besides, from Liverpool
you would have a clean bill of health, and if

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

they found it out, they would not say much;
they're not over particular, I've a notion,’

‘What are those vessels lying in-shore ?’

‘I guess they have olive oil on board, the
chief on’em. But there are two double lat-
teens come in from Valparaiso the day before
yesterday, with hides and copper. How they
‘scaped the British, I can’t tell, but they did,
that’s sure enough.’

‘Good-night, then.’

‘You won’t take a glass of sling this fine
night with a countryman ?’

‘To-morrow, my good fellow, to-morrow ;
we must go on shore now.’

Our hero and Gascoigne returned on board
the Rebiera, consulted with Oxbelly and
Mesty, and then manned and armed the two
quarter and stern boats. They thought it
advisable not to hoist out their long-boat ; no
fire-arms were permitted to be taken, lest, go-
ing off by accident or otherwise, an alarm
should be given. Our hero and Mesty pro-
ceeded in the first boat, and pulled in for the
town ; Gascoigne shortly after in the second,
and the boatswain in the jolly-boat, followed
at some distance.

There was no notice’ taken of them ; they
pulled gently down to the landing-place,
which was deserted. There was a blaze of
light, and the sounds of revelry in every
quarter on shore; but the vessels appeared
equally deserted as the American ones in the
offing.

Finding themselves unobserved, for they
had taken the precaution to pull only two
oars in each boat, they dropped gently along-
side one of the double-masted latteen vessels,
and Mesty stepped on board. He peeped
down in the cabin, and perceived a man lying
on the lockers ; he came up in his stealthy
manner, closed the hatch softly, and said,
‘All right.’ Jack left Gascoigne to take out
this vessel, which he did very successfully, for
it was very dark; and although there were
sentries posted not far off, their eyes and ears
were turned towards the town, listening to the
music.

A second vessel, her consort, was boarded
in the same way, but here they found a man
on deck, whom they were obliged to seize and
gag. They put him down in the cabin, and
Mesty, with another boat's crew, cut  hér
cables, and swept her gently out towards the
American vessels. One more vessel was re-
quired, and Jack, pulling two oars as usual,
saluted a galliot heavily laden, but of what
her cargo consisted was not known. {n this
vessel they found two men in the cabin play-
ing cards, whom they seized and bound, and,
cutting her cables, were obliged to make sail
upon her, as she was much too large to sweep
out. As they were making sail they, however,
met with an interruption which they did notMR.

expect. The crew belonging “to the vessel,

having had enough amusement for the even-
ing, and intending to sail the next morning,

had thought it right to come off sooner than
the others : it was then about midnight or a
little later, and while some of Jack’s men were
aloft, for he had six with him, Jack, to his
annoyance, heard a boat coming off from the
shore, the men in her singing a a chorus. The
galliot was at that time just under steerage
way, her topsails had been loosed and her jib
hoisted, but the former had not been sheeted
home, for the three men. below could not, in
the dark, find the ropes. The other three
men were on the fore-yard loosing the foresail,
and Jack was undetermined whether to call
them down immediately, or to allow them to
loose the sail, and thus get good way on the
vessel, so as to prevent the boat, which was
loaded with men, from overfaking them. ‘The
boat was not more than twenty yards from
the galliot, when, not finding her where they
left her, they pulled to the right, and lay on
their oars. This gave a moment of time, but
they very soon spied her out. ‘Carambo!’
was the exclamation—and the head of the
boat was pulled round.

‘Down, my lads, in a moment by the
swifters,’ cried Jack. ‘Here’s a boat on board
of us.’

The men were in a few seconds on deck,
and the others, who had now sheeted home
the topsails, hastened aft. The vessel soon
gathered way, but before that her way was
sufficient, the boat had pulled under the
counter, and the Spaniards, letting their oars
swing fore and aft, were climbing up, their
knives in their teeth. A scuffle ensued, and
they were thrown down again, but they re-
newed their attempt. Our hero, perceiving a
small water or wine cask lashed to the gun-
wale, cut it loose with his cutlass, and with
one of the men, who was by his side, pushed
it over, and dropped it into the boat. It
struck the gunwale, stove a plank, and the
boat began to fill rapidly ; in the meantime
the galliot had gained way—the boat could
not longer be held on, from its weight, and
dropped astern with the men in it. Those
who were half in and half out were left cling-
ing to the gunwale of the vessel, and as they
climbed up were secured, and put down in
the cabin. Fortunately, no fire-arms having
been used on either side, the alarm was not
given generally, but the sentry reported fight-
ing on board one of the vessels, and the people
of the guard-boat were collected, and pulled
out ; but they only arrived in time to see that
the ealliot was under way, and that the two
other vessels from Valparaiso were not in their
berths.

‘They hastened on shore, gave the alarm:
the gun-boats, of which there were three at

MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

Ist

the mole, were ordered out, but half the crew
and all the officers were on shore, some at
balls, others drinking At taverns or posadas;
before they could be collected, all three vessels
were alongside of the Rebiera ; and not aware
that anything had been discov ered, our hero
and his crew were lulled in security. Jack had
gone on board, leaving fourteen of his men on
board the galliot Gascoigne had done the
same—Mesty still remained on board his
vessel ; and they were congratulating them-
selves, and ordering the men on board to the
windlass, when they heard the sound of oars.

‘Silence !—what is that?’ exclained Ox-
belly. ‘The gun-boats or row-boats, as sure
as I’m alive!’

At this moment Mesty jumped up the
side.

‘Massa Easy, I hear row-boat not far
off.’

‘So do we, Mesty. Gascoigne, jump into
the boat—tell the men in the prizes to make
all sail right out, and leave us to defend their
retreat—stay on board of one and divide your
men.’

‘Dat all right, Massa Easy. Mr. Gas-
coigne, be smart—and now, sar, cut cable
and make sail; no time get up anchor.’

This order was given, but although the
men were aloft in a moment, and very expe-
ditious, as the Rebiera payed her head round
and the jib was hoisted, they could perceive
the boom of the three gun-boats pulling and
sailing not five cables’ length from them.
Although rather short-handed,  topsails,
courses and top-gallant sails were soon set,
the men down to their quarters, and the guns
cast loose, before the gun-boats were close
under their stern. Then Jack rounded %to,
braced up, and the Rebiera stood across them
to the westward.

‘Why the devil don’t they fire?’ said

ack.
J ‘T tink because they no hab powder,’
Mesty.

Mesty was right—the ammunition chests of
the gun-boats were always landed when they
were at the mole, in case of accidents, which
might arise from the crew being continually
with cigars in their mouths, and in the hurry
they had quite forgotten to put them on
board.

‘At all events, we have powder,’ said Jack,

‘and now well prove it. Grape and canister,
my lads, and take good aim.

‘The commanders of the gun-boats had
hailed each other, and agreed to board the
Rebiera, but she now had. good way on her,
and sailed faster than they pulled. A well-
directed broadside astonished them—they had
no idea of her force; and the execution done
was so great that they first lay on their oats
and then pulled back to the mole with all

said152

speed, leaving the Rebiera in quiet possession
of her prizes, which had already gained two
miles in the offing.

The Rebiera, as soon as Jack perceived
that the gun-boats had retreated, was put
before the wind, and soon closed with her
captures, when she was hove-to till daylight
with the three vessels in company.  Gas-
coigne returned on board, prize-masters were
selected, and Jack determined to keep them
all with him, and take them to Palermo.

CHAPTER XLI.

IN WHICH THERE IS ANOTHER SLIGHT DIF-
FERENCE OF OPINION BETWEEN THOSE
WHO SHOULD BE FRIENDS.

‘THE two latteen vessels proved of consider-
able value, being laden with copper, hides,
and cochineal. The galliot was laden with
sweet-oil, and was also no despicable prize.
At daylight they were all ready, and, to the
mortification of the good people of Malaga,
sailed away to the eastward without interrup-
tion.

‘Me tink we do dat job pretty well, Massa
Easy, observed Mesty, as he laid the break-
fast-table.

‘ Nothing like trying,’ replied Gascoigne ;
‘I’m sure when we stood into the bay I would
have sold all my prize-money for a doubloon.
How do J share, Jack?’

‘Only as one of the crew, Ned, for you are
a supernumerary, and our articles and agree-
ment for prize-money were signed previous to
our sailing.’

‘I ought to share with Mr. Oxbelly’s class
by rights,’ replied Gascoigne.

‘That would be to take half my prize-
money away. I shall want it all, Mr. Gas-
coigne, to pacify my wife for giving her the
slip.’

‘Ah, very well; I'll get all I can.’

For ten days they ran down the coast, going
much too fast for the wishes of the crew, who
were anxious to make more money. They
seized a fishing-boat and put on board of her
the four prisoners, which they had found in
the vessels, and arrived off Barcelona without
falling in witb friend or foe. The next morn-
ing, the wind being very light, they discovered
a Jarge vessel at daylight astern of them to the
westward, and soon made her out to be a
frigate. She made all sail in chase, but that
gave them little uneasiness, as they felt assured
that she wasa British cruiser. One fear, how-
ever, Came over them, that she would, if she
came up with them, impress a portion of their
men.

‘As certain as I’m here, and Mrs, Oxbelly’s

  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  

ATR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

at Southsea,’ said Oxbelly, ‘they’ll take some
of the men—the more So as, supposing us to
be a Spanish convoy, they will be disap-
pointed.’

‘They will hardly take them out of the
prizes,’ observed Easy.

‘TI don't know that ; men must be had for
his Majesty's service somehow. _ It's not their
fault, Mr. Easy—the navy must be manned,
and as things are so, so things must be. _ It's
the king’s prerogative, Mr. Easy, and we
cannot fight the battles of the country with-
out it.’

‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne, ‘and although,
as soon as the services of seamen are no longer
wanted, you find that there are demagogues on
shore who exclaim against impressment, they
are quiet enough on the point when they know
that their lives and property depend upon
sailors’ exertions.’

‘Very true, Mr. Gascoigne, but it’s not our
fault if we are obliged to take men by force ;
it’s the fault of those who do not legislate so
as to prevent the necessity. Mrs. Oxbelly
used to say that she would easily manage the
matter if she were Chancellor of the Ex-
chequer.’

‘I dare say Mrs. Oxbelly would make a
very good Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ re-
plied Gascoigne, smiling; ‘one thing is certain,
that if they gave the subject half the considera-
tion they have others of less magnitude, an
arrangement might be made by which his
Majesty's navy would never be short of men.’

‘No doubt, no doubt, Mr. Gascoigne ; but,
nevertheless, the king’s prerogative must never
be given up.’

‘There I agree with you, Mr. Oxbelly ; it
must be held in case of sudden emergency and
absolute need.’

‘We'll argue that point by-and-by,’ replied
Jack ; ‘now let us consult as to our measures,
My opinion is, that if I made more sail we
should beat the frigate, but she would come
up with the prizes.’

‘That's the best thing we can do, Mr. Easy ;
but let us send a boat on board of them, and
take out all the men that can possibly be
spared, that there may be no excuse for im-
pressing them.’

‘Yes,’ replied Gascoigne ; ‘and as the wind
is falling it is possible it may fall calm, and
they may send their boats ; suppose we
separate a mile or two from each other,’

‘Dat very good advice, Massa Gascoigne,’
observed Mesty.

This plan was acted upon ; only three men
were left in the latteens, and four in the
galliot, and the vessels, in obedience to the
orders, sheered off on both sides of the
Rebiera, who made all sail and started ahead
of the prizes. This manoeuvre was perceived
on board of the frigate, and made them sure

  

  

\that it was a Spanish convoy attempting to
escape. The fire-engine was got on deck,
sails wetted, and every exertion made to come
up. But about four o'clock in the afternoon,
when the frigate was eight or nine miles off, it
fell calm, as Gascoigne had predicted, and the
heads of all the vessels, as well as the frigate,
were now round the compass.

‘There’s our boats,’ said Mr. Oxbelly:
‘they will have a long pull, and all for no-
thing.’

‘ How savage they will be? observed Gas-
coigne.

‘Never mind that,’ replied Jack; ‘Mesty
says that dinner is ready.’

After dinner, they all went on deck, and
found that the boats had separated, one pull-
ing for each of the prizes, and two for the
Rebiera. In less than an hour, they would
probably be alongside.

‘And now let us decide how we are to act.
We must not resist, if they attempt to impress
the men ?

‘T’ve been thinking upon that matter, Mr.
Easy, and it appears to me that the men must
be permitted to act as they please, and that we
must be neuter. I, as a lieutenant in His
Majesty’s service, cannot of course act, neither
can Mr. Gascoigne. You are not in the
service, but I should recommend you to do
the same. That the men have a right to re-
sist, if possible, is admitted ; they always do
so, and never are punished for so doing.
Under the guns of the frigate, of course we
should only have to submit; but these two
boats do not contain more than twenty-five
men, I should think, and our men are the
stronger party. We had better leave it to
them, and stand neuter.’

‘Dat very good advice,’ said Mesty ; ‘leab
it to us;) and Mesty walked away forward
where the seamen were already in consul-
tation.

Jack also agreed to the prudence of this
measure, and he perceived that the seamen,
after a consultation with Mesty, were all arm-
ing themselves for resistance.

The boats were now close on board, and
English colours were hoisted at the gaff.
This did not, however, check the impetus of
the boats, who, with their ensigns trailing in
the still water astern of them, dashed alongside,
and an officer leaped on board, cutlass in hand,
followed by the seamen of the frigate. The
men of the Rebiera remained collected for-
ward—Easy, Gascoigne, and Oxbelly aft.

‘What vessel is this? cried the lieutenant
who commanded the boats.

Jack, with the greatest politeness, took off
his hat, and told him that it was the Rebiera
letter of marque, and that the papers were
ready for his inspection.

« And the other vessels ?”

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

‘Prizes to Rebiera, cut out of Malaga Bay,’
replied Jack.

‘Then you are a privateer,’ observed the
disappointed officer. ‘Where are your papers?”

‘Mr. Oxbelly, oblige me by bringing them
up,’ said Jack.

‘Fat Jack of the bone house,’ observed the
lieutenant, looking at Oxbelly.

‘A lieutenant in His Majesty's service, of
longer standing than yourself, young man,’
replied Oxbelly, firmly ;—‘ and who, if he ever
meets you in any other situation, will make
you answer for your insolent remark.’

‘Indeed !’ observed the lieutenant, ironi-
cally ; ‘now, if you had said you were once a
boatswain or gunner.’

‘Consider yourself kicked,’ roared Oxbelly,
losing his temper.

‘Heyday ! why, you old porpoise !’

‘Sir,’ observed Jack, who listened with in-
dignation, ‘Mr. Oxbelly isa lieutenant in His
Majesty's service, and you have no right to
insult him, even if he were not.’

‘J presume you are all officers,’ replied the
lieutenant.

‘I am, sir,’ retorted Gascoigne, ‘an officer
in His Majesty’s service, and on board of this
vessel by permission of Captain Sawbridge of
the Latona.’

‘And I was, until a few months ago, sit,’
continued Jack; ‘at present I am captain and
owner of this vessel—but here are the papers.
You will have no obstruction from us in the
execution of your duty—at the same time, I
call upon the two young gentlemen by your
side, and your own men, to bear witness to
what takes place.’

‘O, very well, sir—just as you please, Your
papers, I perceive, are all right. Now you will
oblige me by mustering your men.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Jack ; ‘send all the
men aft to muster, Mr. Oxbelly.’

The men came aft to the mainmast, with
Mesty at their head, and answered to their
names. As the men passed over, the lieu-
tenant made a pencil-mark against ten of
them, who appeared the finest seamen : and,
when the roll had been called, he ordered
those men to get their bags and go into the
boat.

‘Sir, as you must observe, I am short-
banded, with my men away in prizes; and I,
as commander of this vessel, protest against
this proceeding ; if you insist upon taking
them, of course I can do nothing,’ observed

ack.

‘I do insist, sir; I’m not going on board
empty-handed, at all events.’

‘Well, sir, I can say no more,’ said Jack,
walking aft to the taffrail, to which Oxbelly
and Gascoigne had retreated.

‘Come, my lads, get those men in the boat,’
said the lieutenant.154

But the men had all retreated forward in a
body, with Mesty at their head, and had
armed themselves. Some of the seamen of
the frigate had gone forward, in obedience to
their officer, to lead the men selected into the
boat ; but they were immediately desired to
keep back. ‘The scuffle forward attracted the
notice of the lieutenant, who immediately
summoned all his men out of the boats.

‘Mutiny, by heavens! Come up all of you,
my lads,’

Mesty then came forward, with a sabre in
one hand and a pistol in the other, and then
addressed the seamen of the frigate :-—

“I tell you dis, my lads—you not so strong
as we—you not got better arms—we not under
gun of frigate now, and ab determination not
to go board. ‘Pose you want us, come take
us—'pose you can. By all de power, but we
make mince-meat of you, anyhow.’

The seamen paused—they were ready to
fight for their country, but not to be killed by
or kill those who were their own countrymen,
and who were doing exactly what they would
have done themselves. The lieutenant thought
otherwise ; he was exasperated at this sensa-
tion.

‘You black scoundrel, I left you out because
I thought you not worth having, but now I'll
add you to the number.’

‘Stop a little,’ replied Mesty.

The lieutenant would not take the Ashan-
tee’s very prudent advice; he flew forward to
seize Mesty, who striking him a blow with the
flat of his sabre, almost levelled him to the
deck. At this the men and other officers of
the frigate darted forward: but after a short
scuffle, in which a few wounds were received,
were beaten back into the boats. The lieu-
tenant was thrown in after them, by the ner-
vous arm of Mesty—and, assailed by cold shot
and other missiles, they sheered off with pre-
cipitation, and pulled back in the direction of
the frigate,

‘There will be a row about this,’ said Ox-
belly, ‘as soon as they come clear of the vessel.
If the frigate gets hold of us she will show us
no mercy. There is a breeze coming from the
north-west. How fortunate! we shall be
three leagues to windward, and may es-
cape.’

‘I doubt if she could catch us at any point
of sailing : they may come up with the prizes,
but can do nothing with them.’

‘No, the boats which boarded them are
already returned to the frigate ; she must wait
for them, and that will give us a start, and it
will be night before they can make sail,’

‘Fire a gun for the prizes to close,’ said
Jack ; ‘we will put the men on board again,
and then be off to Palermo as fast as we can.’

‘We can do no better,’ said Oxbelly; , .‘ If
ever I chance to meet that fellow again, I will

 

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

  
 
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
  
  
 

trouble him to repeat his words. ‘Trim the
sails, my lads.’

‘ His language was unpardonable,’ observed
Jack.

‘Since I've been in the service, Mr, Easy, I
have always observed that some officers appear
to imagine, that because they are under the
king’s pennant, they are warranted in insulting
and tyrannising overall those who have not
the honour to hoist it > whereas, the very fact
of their being king’s officers should be an in-
ducement to them to show an example of
courtesy and gentlemanly conduct in the exe-
cution of their duty, however unpleasant it
may be.’

‘It is only those who, insignificant them-
selves, want to make themselves of importance
by the pennant they serve under,’ replied our
hero.

‘Very true, Mr. Easy ; but you are not
aware that a great part of the ill-will shown to
the service, is owing to the insolence of those
young men in office. The king’s name is a
warrant for every species of tyranny and un-
warrantable conduct. I remember Mrs, Ox-
belly telling one of them, when——’

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Oxbelly,’ inter-
rupted Jack, ‘but we have no time to chat
now ; the breeze is coming down fast, and I
perceive the prizes are closing. Let us lower
down the boat, send the men on board again,
and give them their orders—which I will doin
writing in case they part company.’

‘Very true, sir. It will be dark in half an
hour, and as we are now standing in-shore,
they will think that we intend to remain on
the coast. As soon as it is quite dark we will
shape our course for Palermo. I will go down
and look at the chart.’

CHAPTER XLII.
WHICH WINDS UP THE NAUTICAL AD-
VENTURES OF MR.\MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

IN half an hour the prizes were again along-
side, the men put on board, and the boat
hoisted up. The frigate still remained be-
calmed to leeward, and hoisted in her boats.
‘They watched. until she was hid by the shades
of night, and then wearing round stood away,
with the wind two points free, for the coast of
Sicily. The next morning when the sun rose
there was nothing in sight. Strange anomaly,
in a state of high civilisation, where you find
your. own countrymen avoided and more
dreaded than even your foes!

The run was prosperous, the weather was
fine, and the prizes did not part compaiiy.

On the sixteenth day the Rebiera and her
convoy anchored in Palermo Bay. The wind
was light in the morning that they stood in,

Zand as Jack had alarge blue flag with Rebiera
in white letters hoisted at the main, Don
Philip and Don Martin were on board and
greeting our hero, before the Rebiera’s anchor
had plunged into the clear blue water.

The information which our hero received,
after having been assured of the health” of
Agnes and her parents, was satisfactory. The
disappearance of the friar had, at first,
occasioned much surprise ; but as theservants
of Don Rebiera swore to his return without
the black, and the letter of Don Rebiera, sent
to the convent, requesting his presence, was
opened and read, there was no suspicion
against the family. A hundred conjectures
had been afloat, but gradually they had sub-
sided, and it was at last supposed that he had
been carried off by the banditti, some of whom
had been taken, and acknowledged that they
had seized a friar, on a day which they could
not recollect. The reader willremember that
it was Mesty.

The Rebiera received pratique, and Jack
hastened on shore with Don Philip and his
brother, and was once more in company of
Agnes, who, in our hero's opinion, had im-
proved since his departure. Mostyoung men in
love think the same after an absence, provided
it is not toolong. ‘The prizes were sold and
the money ‘distributed, and every man was
satisfied, as the cargoes fetched a larger sum
than they had anticipated.

We must pass over the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’
of Don Rebiera and his lady, the pleading of
Jack for immediate nuptials, the unwillingness
of the mother to part with her only daughter,
the family consultation, the dowry, and all
these particulars. A month affer his arrival
Jack was married, and was, of course, as
happy as the day was long.

A few days afterwards, Mr. Oxbelly advised
departure, as the expenses of the vessel were
heavy, and it was his duty so to do. Don
Philip and Don Martin obtained leave to go
to England, with their sister and her husband.
Nevertheless, Jack, who found Palermo a very
pleasant residence, was persuaded by the Don
and his wife to remain there a month, and
then there was crying and sobbing, and em-
bracing, and embarking; and at last the
Rebiera, whose cabins had been arranged for
the reception of the party, weighed and made
sail for Malta, Jack having promised to call
upon the governor.

In four days they anchored in Valette
Harbour, and Jack paid his respects to his oid
friend, who was very glad to see him. The
governor sent his own barge for Mrs. Easy,
and she was installed in the state apartments,
which were acknowledged to be very comfort-
able. Our hero had, as usual, a long story to
tell the governor, and the governor listened to
it very attentively, probably because he

MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

   
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 

155

thought it would be the last, which oppor-
tunity Jack employed to narrate the un-
fortunate end of his father.

“TI would not have said so at the time, Mr.
Easy, but now the wound is healed, I tell you
that it is the best thing that could have
happened—poor old gentleman ! he was mad
indeed.’

Our hero remained a fortnight at Malta,
and then Signora Easy was re-embarked, and
once more the Rebiera made sail.

‘Fare you well, my lad ; what I have seen
of your brothers-in-law pleases me much ; and
as for your wife, it will be your own fault if
she is not all that you would wish. If ever 1!
come to England again, I will pay my first
visit to Forest Hill. God bless you !

But Sir Thomas never did go back to
England, and this was their final adieu. Once
more the Rebiera pursued her course, stopped
a day or two at Gibraltar, shared the proceeds
of the captured gun-boat, and then made sail
for England, where she arrived without ad-
venture or accident in three weeks. Thus
ended the last cruise of Mr. Midshipman Easy.
As soon as their quarantine at the Mother-
bank was over, they disembarked, and found
Dr. Middleton and Mr. Hanson waiting for
them at the George Hotel. Our hero scarcely
had time to introduce his wife, when the
waiter said, that a lady wished to speak to
him. She did not wait to know if Jack was
visible, but forced her way past him. Jack
looked at her large proportions, and decided
at once that it must be Mrs. Oxbelly, in which
conjecture he was right.

‘ Pray, sir, what do you mean by carrying
off my husband in that way? exclaimed the
lady, red with anger.

‘God forbid that I should have to carry
your husband, Mrs. Oxbelly, he is rather too
heavy.’

‘Yes, sir, but it’s little better than kidnap-
ping, and there’s a law for kidnapping children,
at all events. I shall send my lawyer to you,
that you may depend upon.’

‘You hardly can consider your husband as
a child, Mrs. Oxbelly,’ replied Jack, laughing.

‘Very well, sir, we shall see. Pray, where
is he now ?”

‘He is on board, Mrs. Oxbelly, and will be
delighted to see you.’

‘I’m not quite so sure of that.’

‘He’s very anxious to see little Billy,’ said
Gascoigne.

‘What do you know of little Billy, young
man ?”

‘And more than anxious to be on shore
again. He's quite tired of sleeping single,
Mrs. Oxbelly.’

‘Ah, very well, he has been talking, has
he? Very well,’ exclaimed the lady, in a
rage.156

‘But,’ said Easy, ‘I am happy to say, that
with pay and prize-money, during his short
absence, he has brought home nearly five
hundred pounds.’

‘Five hundred pounds !—you don’t say So,
sir ?’ exclaimed Mrs, Oxbelly ; ‘are you sure
of that 2’

‘Quite sure,’ rejoined Gascoigne.

‘Five hundred pounds !—Well, that is
comfortable—dear me! how glad I shall be
to see him! Well, Mr. Easy, it was hard to
part with him in so unhandsome a way—but
all’s for the best in this world. What a dear
nice lady your wife is, Mr. Easy—but I won't
intrude—I beg pardon. Where is the brig,
Mr. Easy ?’

‘Now coming into harbour,’ replied Gas-
coigne ; ‘if you bargain, you can get off for
two-pence.’

‘Five hundred pounds!’ exclaimed Mrs.
Oxbelly, whose wrath was now appeased.

‘ By all power, she no fool of a woman dat,’
said Mesty, as she retreated curtseying, ‘I
tink Mr. Oxbelly very right sleep tingle.’

We have now come to the end of our hero's
adventures : that afternoon they all started for
Forest Hill, where everything was ready for
their reception. The Rebiera’s men were
paicl off, and were soon distributed on board

 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
   

MUR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY.

of his Majesty’s ships; the vessel was sold,
and Mr. Oxbelly retired to Southsea, to the
society of his wife and little Billy. Whether
he obtained from his wife a divorce ‘de thoro’
is not handed down.

Our hero, who was now of age, invited all
within twenty miles of home to balls and
dinners, became a great favourite, kept a
pack of hounds, rode with the foremost, re-
ceived a deputation to stand for the county
in the Conservative interest, was elected with-
out much expense, which was very wonderful,
and took his seat in parliament. “Don Philip
and Don Martin, after two months’ stay, took
their passage back to Palermo, fully satisfied
with the prospects of their sister as to com-
petence and happiness. Jack had no occasion
to argue the point with Agnes ; she conformed
at once to the religion of her husband, proved
an excellent and affectionate wife, and eventu-
ally the mother of four children, three boys
and a girl.

Mesty held his post with dignity, and proved
himself trustworthy. Gascoigne, by the in-
terest of the Conservative member, soon ob-
tained the rank of post-captain, and was
always his devoted and sincere friend. And
thus ends the history of Mr, Midshipman
Kasy.

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By ALEXANDRE DuMAS.

The Three Musketeers, Nanon; or, Woman’s War.
Twenty Years After, The Two Dianas,
Doctor Basilius. The Black Tulip.
The Twin Captains. The Forty-Five Guardsmen.
Captain Paul. Taking the Bastile. 2 vols.
Memoirs of a Physician. 2 vols. | Chicot the Jester.
The Queen’s Necklace. The Conspirators.
The Chevalier de Maison Rouge. | Ascanio.
The Countess de Charny. The Page of the Duke of Savoy.
Monte Cristo, 2 vols. Isabel of Bavaria.

By W. H. AINSWORTH,

Windsor Castle. | Guy Fawkes. Lancashire Witches,
Tower of London. The Spendthrift. Ovingdean Grange.
The Miser’s Daughter.| James the Second. St. James’s,
Rookwood. The Star C i-ber. | Auriol.

Old St. Paul’s, The Flitch of Bacon. | Jack Sheppard.
Crichton, Mervyn Clitheroe.

By JANE AUSTEN.

Pride and Prejudice.
Sense and Sensibility.

Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park,
Emma.

 

 

By WILLIAM CARLETON.

Fardorougha. The Tithe Proctor,
The Emigrants,

Jane Sinclair.
’ The Clarionet,

 

By GERALD GRIFFIN,
The Munster Festivals | The Rivals, | The Colleen Bawn,

 

Published by George Routledge and Sons.

 

  
    
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
   

  

 

 

 

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