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VOL.  VI. 

RICHARD      B  E  N  T  L  E  Y, 




lidiigor  House,  Shoe  Liine. 


JACK  SHEPPARD,  by  W.  Harrison  Ainsworth,   Pages  1.  109.  221.  325.  429.  543 

How  to  Feed  a  Lion,  by  Joyce  Jocund,         .                                  .  23 

The  Crayon  Papers,  by  Washington  Irving,  24,  159 

The  Samphire  Gatherer's  Story,  by  A.  H.  Plunkett,        .  33 

Adventures  of  the  Cannon  Family,  by  the  Author  of"  The  Bee-hive,"  .       37 

Old  Morgan  at  Panama,         )  \     r-    v   i                         •                  •  45 

r™     ,-,     6         ,    /-,       •>  •        I  by  G.  E.  Inman,  _ 

The  Conqueror  s  Grandsire,    )                                      •  .271 

No  Silver  Spoon,  by  Thomas  Haynes  Bayly,  46 

To  a  Lady  Singing,                                       .                  •                 •  .50 
Retiring  from  Business, 

The  Withered  Rose, 
The  Dead  Bird, 
To  Julia, 
To  Alura,     . 
Farewell  Sonnet, 

by  J.  A.  Wade, 


.  380 
.  597 

The  Veterans  of  Chelsea  Hospital,  by  the  Author  of"  The  Subaltern,"  51.  450 
Tales  and  Legends  of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  by  A.  Elder,  66.  253.  3G8 

Adventures   of  a   Maintop-crosstree-man,     by    Olinthus   Jenkinson, 

Barrister-at-Lavv,         .....  73 

The  Blind  Girl  and  her  Mother,  .       78 

Rambles  among  the  Rivers,        ) ,      ,,,     ,      Mackav          '  79>  151>  20G 

Ancient  and  Modern  Mohocks,  \ by  L  .  .     357 

A  Lay  of  St.  Dunstan,  ~|  88 

Ccelebs  in  search  of  a  Cenotaph,  >by  Thomas  Ingoldsby,  .     3f>3 

Some  account  of  a  new  Play,       j  .  .  639- 

Colin  Clink,  by  Charles  Hooton,       .  .  96.  206.  414.  528.  623 

To  a  Young  Girl,  by  M.  T.  H.  .  .  .  .108 

The  Old  Elm,  by  J.  N.  M'Jilton,      .  140 

The  Dog  Hospital  of  Paris,  } ,     T  1  v  Alknv  •  •     14* 

Chronicles  of  the  Place  Vendome,    \    y  381 

Vincent  Eden,  or  the  Oxonian,  by  Quip,  .  .172.  341.  546 

Recollections  of  the  Alhambra,  }  by  the  Author  of  185 

The  Enchanted  Island,  $"  The  Sketch-Book,"  .     274 

Legends  of  the  Lochs  and  Glens,  communicated  by  the  Author  of  "  The 

Subaltern,"  .  .  195 

American  Niggers,  .  .  .     262 

The  Hatchment,  by  Teutha,  ....  286 

The  Spalpeen,  .      ]    .  288.  396 

Those  sweet  Days  '.  those  happy  Days  !  >by  P.  M'Tcague,  .  574 

The  Moonbeam,  .     J  .614 

National  Songs,  by  Mrs.  Gore,  .  .  .  295 

London  by  Moonlight,  by  Camilla  Toulmin,  .  .     303 

Character  and  Conduct  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  by  George  Hogarth,  305 

Baron  Von  Dullbrainz,  by  William  Jerdan,  .  .316 

Captain  Jack,  by  a  Colonist,  .  .  322 

Mathews,  John  Kemble,  and  Mustapha  the  Cat,       .  .  .     350 

The  First  Farewell,  .  352 

The  Grave ;  from  the  German  of  Roscgarten,  .  .  .     366 

The  Power  of  Beauty,         ....  388 

The  Harem  Unveiled,  .  .  .     319 

The  Toledo  Rapier,  by  It.  B.  Peake,  .  -.  .     463.584 


Moral  Economy  of  large  Towns,  by  Dr.  W.  Taylor,  .  476.  575 

The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers,  by  Henry  Wordsworth  Longfellow,      .  482 

The  Patron  King,  by  Mrs  Trotlope,  .  483 

The  Pyrenean  Hunter,  by  the  Hon.  James  Erskine  Murray,  496 

The  Abbot's  Oak,  by  Dalton,     .  .  .     508 

Remarkable  Suicides,  by  Dr.  Millingen,  ,  .  .516 

Prospectus  of  a  New  Joint  Stock  Suicide  Company,  .  .     540 

Sonnet  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  by  Edward  Herbert,     542 
Katerina,  the  Dwarf  of  the  Jungfernstieg,  .  .  .  561 

Poetry         .  .583 

Lines  on  a  Spot  where  it  is  intended  to  build  a  Church,    .  .  598 

Prospectus  of  on  intended  Course  of  Lectures  on  the  Philosophy  of  Hum- 
bug, by  Professor  von  Bibundtiicker,  .  .  .     599 
The  Inquest,  by  Lieut.  Johns,             .                 .                  .  603 
The  City  of  the  Doge,  or  Letters  from  Venice,  by  the  author  of  "  A  Sum- 
mer in  Andalusia,"         .                 .                 .                 .                 .615 



Jack  Sheppard  and  Blueskin  in  Mr.  Wood's  Bedroom,  .  Page  1 

Jack  Sheppard,  in  company  with  Edgeworth  Bess,  escaping  from  Clerken- 

well  Prison,              .                  .                 .                                   .  22 

Audacity  of  Jack  Sheppard,        .....  109 

Jack  Sheppard  visits  his  Mother  in  Bedlam,      .                  .                 .  133 

Jonathan  Wild  throwing  Sir  Rowland  Trenchard  down  the  Well-Hole,     .  221, 

Jack  Sheppard  escaping  from  the  Condemned  Hold,          .                 .  236' 

Jack  Sheppard  tricking  Shotbolt  the  Gaoler,                .                                  .  325 

Mr.Mathews  as  Caleb  Pipkin,  in"  "  The  May  Queen,"  by  W.  Greatbach,  352 

The  Portrait  of  Jack  Sheppard,                   .                                   .                  .  429 

The  Patron  King — "  Exquisitely  beautiful !" — by  A.  Hervieu,           .  492 
Jack  Sheppard 's  Escapes: — 
,'  No.  I.  — The  Castle.     The  Red  Room.     Door  of  the  Red- Room.     A 

Door  between  the  Red  Room  and  the  Chapel,        .                  .  543 
No.  II.  — Door  going  into  the  Chapel.    Door  leading  out  of  the  Chapel. 

First  Door  between  the  Chapel  and  the  Leads.     Second  Door  in 

the  same  passage,    .....  546 
/No.  III.  —  Lower  Leads.     The  Highest  Leads,  and  the  Leads  of  the 

Turner's  House,       .....  550 




AUTHOR   OP    "  ROOKWOOD  "    AND    "  CRICHTON." 


KPOCH    THE    THIRD. 1724. 

THE       RETURN. 

NEARLY  nine  years  after  the  events  last  recorded,  and  about 
the  middle  of  May,  1724,  a  young  man  of  remarkably  prepos- 
sessing appearance  took  his  way,  one  afternoon,  along  Wych- 
street ;  and,  from  the  curiosity  with  which  he  regarded  the 
houses  on  the  left  of  the  road,  seemed  to  be  in  search  of  some 
particular  habitation.  The  age  of  this  individual  could  not  be 
more  than  twenty-one;  his  figure  was  tall,  robust,  and  gracefully 
proportioned  ;  and  his  clear  grey  eye  and  open  countenance  be- 
spoke a  frank,  generous,  and  resolute  nature.  His  features  were 
regular,  and  finely-formed  ;  his  complexion  bright  and  bloom- 
ing,— a  little  shaded,  however,  by  travel  and  exposure  to  the 
sun  ;  and,  with  a  praiseworthy  contempt  for  the  universal  and 
preposterous  fashion  then  prevailing,  of  substituting  a  peruke 
for  the  natural  covering  of  the  head,  he  allowed  his  own  dark- 
brown  hair  to  fall  over  his  shoulders  in  ringlets  as  luxuriant 
as  those  that  distinguished  the  court  gallant  in  Charles  the 
Second's  days — a  fashion,  which  we  do  not  despair  of  seeing  re- 
vived in  our  own  days.  He  wore  a  French  military  undress  of 
the  period",  with, high  jack-boots,  and  a  laced  hat ;  and,  though 
his  attire  indicated  no  particular  rank,  he; -had  compjetejy.tjie  air 
of  a  person  of  distinction.  Such  was  the  effect  produced  upon' 
the  passengers  by  his  good  looks  and  manly  deportment,  that 
few  —  especially  of  the  gentler  and  more  susceptible  sex — failed 
to  turn  round  and  bestow  a  second  glance  upon  the  handsome 
stranger.  Unconscious  of  the  interest  he  excited,  and  entirely 
occupied  by  his  own  thoughts  —  which,  if  his  bosom  could  have 
been  examined,  would  have  been  found  composed  of  mingled  hopes 
and  fears  —  the  young  man  walked  on  till  he  came  to  an  old 
house,  with  great,  projecting,  bay  windows  on  the  first  floor,  and 
situated  as  nearly  as  possible  at  the  back  of  St.  Clement's  church. 
Here  he  halted ;  and,  looking  upwards,  read,  at  the  foot  of  an 
immense  sign-board,  displaying  a  gaudily-painted  angel  with 
expanded  pinions  and  an  olive-branch,  not  the  name  he  expected 
to  find,  but  that  of  WILLIAM  KNEKBONE,  WOOLLEN- 

VOL.   VI.  B 


Tears  started  to  the  young  man's  eyes  on  beholding  the 
change,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  command  himself 
sufficiently  to  make  the  inquiries  he  desired  to  do  respecting 
the  former  owner  of  the  house.  As  he  entered  the  shop,  a  tall 
portly  personage  advanced  to  meet  him,  whom  he  at  once  recog- 
nised as  the  present  proprietor.  Mr.  Kneebone  was  attired  in 
the  extremity  of  the  mode.  A  full-curled  wig  descended  half- 
way down  his  back  and  shoulders  ;  a  neckcloth  of  "  right  Mech- 
lin "  was  twisted  round  his  throat  so  tightly  as  almost  to  de- 
prive him  of  breath,  and  threaten  him  with  apoplexy;  he  had 
lace,  also,  at  his  wrists  and  bosom  ;  gold  clocks  to  his  hose,  and 
red  heels  to  his  shoes.  A  stiff,  formally-cut  coat  of  cinnamon- 
coloured  cloth,  with  rows  of  plate  buttons,  each  of  the  size  of 
a  crown  piece,  on  the  sleeves,  pockets,  and  skirts,  reached  the 
middle  of  his  legs ;  and  his  costume  was  completed  by  the  silver- 
hiked  sword  at  his  side,  and  the  laced  hat  under  his  left  arm. 

Bowing  to  the  stranger,  the  woollen-draper  very  politely 
requested  to  know  his  business. 

"  I  'm  almost  afraid  to  state  it,"  faltered  the  other ;  "  but, 
may  I  ask  whether  Mr.  Wood,  the  carpenter,  who  formerly  re- 
sided here,  is  still  living?" 

"  If  you  feel  any  anxiety  on  his  account,  sir,  1  'm  happy  to 
be  able  to  relieve  it,"  answered  Kneebone,  readily.  "  My  good 
friend,  Owen  Wood,  —  heaven  preserve  him  !• — is  still  living. 
And,  for  a  man  who'll  never  see  sixty  again,  he's  in  excellent 
preservation,  I  assure  you." 

"  You  delight  me  with  the  intelligence,"  said  the  stranger,  en- 
tirely recovering  his  cheerfulness  of  look.  "  I  began  to  fear, 
from  his  having  quitted  the  old  place,  that  some  misfortune 
must  have  befallen  him." 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  rejoined  the  woollen-draper,  laugh- 
ing good-humouredly.  "  Everything  has  prospered  with  him 
in  an  extraordinary  manner.  His  business  has  thriven;  legacies 
have  unexpectedly  dropped  into  his  lap ;  and,  to  crown  all,  he 
has  made  a  large  fortune  by  a  lucky  speculation  in  South-Sea 
stock,  —  made  it,  too,  where  so  many  others  have  lost  fortunes, 
your  humble  servant  amongst  the  number — ha  !  ha  !  In  a  word, 
sir,  Mr.  Wood  is  now  in  very  affluent  circumstances.  He  stuck  to 
the  shop  as  long  as  it  was  necessary,  and  longer,  in  my  opinion. 
When  he  left  these  premises,  three  years  ago,  1  took  them  from 
him  ;  or  rather  —  to  deal  frankly  with  you,  —  he  placed  me  in 
them  rent-free  ;  for,  I  'm  not  ashamed  to  confess  it,  1  've  had 
losses,  and  heavy  ones;  and,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  1  don't 
know  where  1  should  have  been.  Mr.  Wood,  sir,"  he  added,  with 
much  emotion,  "  is  one  of  the  best  of  men,  and  would  be  the 
happiest,  were  it  not  that "  and  he  hesitated. 

"  Well,  sir  ?  "  cried  the  other,  eagerly. 

"  His  wife  is  still  living,"  returned  Kneebone,  drily. 

"  I   understand,"  replied   the   stranger,  unable  to  repress   a 


smile.     "But,  it  strikes  me,   I've  heard  that  Mrs.  Wood  was 
once  a  favourite  of  yours." 

"So  she  was,"  replied  the  woollen-draper,  helping  himself  to 
an  enormous  pinch  of  snuff,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  does  not 
dislike  to  be  rallied  about  his  gallantry, — *'  so  she  was.  But 
those  days  are  over — quite  over.  Since  her  husband  has  laid  me 
under  such  a  weight  of  obligation,  I  couldn't,  in  honour,  con- 
tinue— hem  !  "  and  he  took  another  explanatory  pinch.  '•  Added 
to  which,  she  is  neither  so  young  as  she  was,  nor  is  her  temper 
by  any  means  improved — hem  !  " 

"  Say  no  more  on  the  subject,  sir,"  observed  the  stranger, 
gravely;  "'but,  let  us  turn  to  a  more  agreeable  one  —  her 

"  That  is  a  far  more  agreeable  one,  I  must  confess,"  returned 
Kneebone,  with  a  self-sufficient  smirk. 

The  stranger  looked  at  him  as  if  strongly  disposed  to  chastise 
his  impertinence. 

'•  Is  she  married  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  Married  ! — no — no,"  replied  the  woollen-draper.  "  Winifred 
Wood  will  never  marry,  unless  the  grave  can  give  up  its  dead. 
When  a  mere  child,  she  fixed  her  affections  upon  a  youth  named 
Thames  Darrell,  whom  her  father  brought  up,  and  who  perish- 
ed, it  is  supposed,  about  nine  years  ago  ;  and  she  has  determined 
to  remain  faithful  to  his  memory." 

"  You  astonish  me,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  voice  full  of 

"  Why,  it  is  astonishing,  certainly,"  remarked  Kneebone,  "  to 
find  any  woman  constant — especially  to  a  girlish  attachment; 
but,  such  is  the  case.  She  has  hail  offers  innumerable  ;  for, 
where  wealth  and  beauty  are  combined,  as  in  her  instance,  suitors 
are  seldom  wanting.  But  she  was  not  to  be  tempted." 

"  She  is  a  matchless  creature  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

"  So  I  think,"  replied  Kneebone,  again  applying  to  the  snuff- 
box, and  by  that  means  escaping  the  angry  glance  levelled  at 
him  bv  his  companion. 

"  I  have  one  inquiry  more  to  make  of  you,  sir,"  said  the 
stranger,  as  soon  as  he  had  conquered  his  displeasure,  "  and  I 
will  then  trouble  you  no  further.  You  spoke  just  now  of  a 
youth  whom  Mr-  Wood  brought  up.  As  far  as  I  recollect,  there 
were  two.  What  has  become  of  the  other?  " 

"  Why,  surely  you  don't  mean  Jack  Sheppard  ?  "  cried  the 
woollen-draper,  in  surprise. 

"  That  was  the  lad's  name,1"  returned  the  stranger. 

"  I  guessed  from  your  dress  and  manner,  sir,  that  you  must 
have  been  long  absent  from  your  own  country,"  said  Kneebone; 
"  and  now  I  'm  convinced  of  it,  or  you  wouldn't  have  asked  that 
question.  Jack  Sheppard  is  the  talk  and  terror  of  the  whole 
town.  The  ladies  can't  sleep  in  their  beds  for  him;  and  as  to 
the  men,  they  daren't  go  to  bed  at  all.  He-'s  the  most  daring 

B  2 


and  expert  housebreaker  that  ever  used  a  crow-bar.  He  laughs 
at  locks  and  bolts ;  and  the  more  carefully  you  guard  your  pre- 
mises from  him,  the  more  likely  you  are  to  insure  an  attack. 
His  exploits  and  escapes  are  in  everybody's  mouth.  He  has 
been  lodged  in  every  roundhouse  in  the  metropolis,  and  has 
broken  out  of  them  all,  and  boasts  that  no  prison  can  hold  him. 
We  shall  see.  His  skill  has  not  yet  been  tried.  At  present,  he 
is  under  the  protection  of  Jonathan  Wild.'1 

"  Does  that  villain  still  maintain  his  power  ? "  asked  the 
stranger  sternly. 

"  He  does,"  replied  Kneebone,  "  and,  what  is  more  surpri- 
sing, it  seems  to  increase.  Jonathan  completely  baffles  and  de- 
rides the  ends  of  justice.  It  is  useless  to  contend  with  him,  even 
with  right  on  your  side.  Some  years  ago,  in  1715,  just  before 
the  Rebellion,  I  was  rash  enough  to  league  myself  with  the  Ja- 
cobite party,  and  by  Wild's  machinations  got  clapped  into 
Newgate,  whence  I  was  glad  to  escape  with  my  head  upon  my 
shoulders.  I  charged  the  thief-taker,  as  was  the  fact,  with  having 
robbed  me,  by  means  of  the  lad  Sheppard,  whom  he  instigated 
to  the  deed,  of  the  very  pocket-book  he  produced  in  evidence 
against  me  ;  but  it  was  of  no  avail  — I  couldn't  obtain  a  hearing. 
Mr.  Wood  fared  still  worse.  Bribed  by  a  certain  Sir  Rowland 
Trenchard,  Jonathan  kidnapped  the  carpenter's  adopted  son, 
Thames  Darrell,  and  placed  him  in  the  hands  of  a  Dutch  skip- 
per, with  orders  to  throw  him  overboard  when  he  got  out  to  sea ; 
and,  though  this  was  proved  as  clear  as  day,  the  rascal  managed 
matters  so  adroitly,  and  gave  such  a  different  complexion  to  the 
whole  affair,  that  he  came  off'  with  flying  colours.  One  reason, 
perhaps,  of  his  success  in  this  case  might  be,  that  having  arrested 
his  associate  in  the  dark  transaction,  Sir  Rowland  Trenchard,  on 
a  charge  of  high  treason,  he  was  favoured  by  Walpole,  who 
found  his  account  in  retaining  such  an  agent.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
Jonathan  remained  the  victor  ;  and  shortly  afterwards, — at  the 
price  of  a  third  of  his  estate,  it  was  whispered,  — 'he  procured 
Trenchard's  liberation  from  confinement." 

At  the  mention  of  the  latter  occurrence,  a  dark  cloud  gathered 
upon  the  stranger's  brow. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  further  of  Sir  Rowland  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing  more  than  this,"1  answered  Kneebone, — "  that  after 
the  failure  of  his  projects,  and  the  downfal  of  his  party,  he 
retired  to  his  seat,  Ash  ton  Hall,  near  Manchester,  and  has 
remained  there  ever  since,  entirely  secluded  from  the  world." 

The  stranger  was  for  a  moment  lost  in  reflection. 

"  And  now,  sir,"  he  said,  preparing  to  take  his  departure, 
"  will  you  add  to  the  obligation  already  conferred  by  informing 
me  where  I  can  meet  with  Mr.  Wood  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  the  woollen-draper.  "  He  lives  at 
Dollis  Hill,  a  beautiful  spot  near  Willesden,  about  four  or  five 
miles  from  town,  where  he  has  taken  a  farm.  If  you  ride 


out  there, — and  the  place  is  well  worth  a  visit,  for  the  magnifi- 
cent view  it  commands  of  some  of  the  finest  country  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  London,  —  you  are  certain  to  meet  with  him. 
I  saw  him.  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  he  shouldn't  stir  from 
home  for  a  week  to  come.  He  called  here  on  his  way  back, 
after  he  had  been  to  Bedlam  to  visit  poor  Mrs.  Sheppard." 

"  Jack's  mother  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  Gracious 
heaven  ! — is  she  the  inmate  of  a  mad-house?  " 

"  She  is,  sir,"  answered  the  woollen-draper,  sadly,  "  driven 
there  by  her  son's  misconduct.  Alas  !  that  the  punishment  of 
his  offences  should  fall  on  her  head.  Poor  soul  !  she  nearly  died 
when  she  heard  he  had  robbed  his  master  ;  and  it  might  have 
been  well  if  she  had  done  so,  for  she  never  afterwards  recovered 
her  reason.  She  rambles  continually  about  Jack,  and  her  hus- 
band, and  that  wretch  Jonathan,  to  whom,  as  far  as  can  be 
gathered  from  her  wild  raving,  she  attributes  all  her  misery.  I 
pity  her  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  But,  in  the  midst  of  all 
her  affliction,  she  has  found  a  steady  friend  in  Mr.  Wood,  who 
looks  after  her  comforts,  and  visits  her  constantly.  Indeed,  I  'vc- 
heard  him  say  that,  but  for  his  wife,  he  would  shelter  her  under 
his  own  roof.  That,  sir,  is  what  I  call  being  a  Good  Samaritan." 

The  stranger  said  nothing,  but  hastily  brushed  away  a  tear. 
Perceiving  he  was  about  to  take  leave,  Kneebone  ventured  to 
ask  whom  he  had  had  the  honour  of  addressing. 

Before  the  question  could  be  answered,  a  side-door  was 
opened,  and  a  very  handsome  woman  of  Arna/onian  proportions 
presented  herself,  and  marched  familiarly  up  to  Mr.  Kneebone. 
She  was  extremely  showily  dressed,  and  her  large  hooped  petti- 
coat gave  additional  effect  to  her  lofty  stature.  As  soon  as  she 
noticed  the  stranger,  she  honoured  him  with  an  extremely  impu- 
dent stare,  and  scarcely  endeavoured  to  disguise  the  admiration 
with  which  his  good  looks  impressed  her. 

"  Don't  you  perceive,  my  dear  Mrs.  Maggot,  that  I  'm  en- 
gaged," said  Kneebone,  a  little  disconcerted. 

"  Who've  you  got  with  you  .'''"demanded  the  Amazon  boldly. 

"The  gentleman  is  a  stranger  to  me,  Poll,"  replied  the  wool- 
len-draper, with  increased  embarrassment.  "  I  don't  know  his 
name."  And  he  looked  at  the  moment  as  if  he  had  lost  all 
desire  to  know  it. 

"Well,  he's  a  pretty  fellow,  at  all  events,"  observed  Mrs. 
Maggot,  eyeing  him  from  head  to  heel  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion ; — "  a  devilish  pretty  fellow  !" 

"  Upon  my  word,  Poll,"  said  Kneebone,  becoming  very  red, 
"  you  might  have  a  little  more  delicacy  than  to  tell  him  so  be- 
fore my  face." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maggot,  drawing  up  her  fine  figure 
to  its  full  height;  "because  I  condescend  to  live  with  you, am 
I  never  to  look  at  another  man,  —  especially  at  one  so  much  to 
my  taste  as  this?  Don't  think  it !" 


"  You  had  better  retire,  madam,"  said  the  woollen-draper, 
sharply,  "  if  you  can't  conduct  yourself  with  more  propriety." 

"  Order  those  who  choose  to  obey  you,"  rejoined  the  lady  scorn- 
fully. "  Though  you  lorded  it  over  that  fond  fool,  Mrs.  Wood, 
you  shan't  lord  it  over  me,  I  can  promise  you.  That  for  you  !' 
And  she  snapped  her  fingers  in  his  face. 

"  Zounds!"  cried  Kneebone,  furiously.  "Go  to  your  own 
room,  woman,  directly,  or  I'll  make  you  !" 

"  Make  me  ! "  echoed  Mrs.  Maggot,  bursting  into  a  loud 
contemptuous  laugh.  "  Try  P 

Enraged  at  the  assurance  of  his  mistress,  the  woollen-draper 
endeavoured  to  carry  his  threat  into  execution,  but  all  his  efforts 
to  remove  her  were  unavailing.  At  length,  after  he  had  given 
up  the  point  from  sheer  exhaustion,  the  Amazon  seized  him  by 
the  throat,  and  pushed  him  backwards  with  such  force  that  he 
rolled  over  the  counter. 

"There!"  she  cried,  laughing,  "that  '11  teach  you  to  lay 
hands  upon  me  again.  You  should  remember,  before  you 
try  your  strength  against  mine,  that  when  I  rescued  you  from 
the  watch,  and  you  induced  me  to  come  and  live  with  you,  I 
beat  off  four  men,  any  of  whom  was  a  match  for  you  —  ha  ! 

"  My  dear  Poll !"  said  Kneebone,  picking  himself  up,  "  I  in- 
treat  you  to  moderate  yourself." 

"  Intreat  a  fiddlestick  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Maggot :  "  I  'm  tired 
of  you,  and  will  go  back  to  my  old  lover,  Jack  Sheppard.  He  's 
worth  a  dozen  of  you.  Or,  if  this  good-looking  young  fellow 
will  only  say  the  word,  I  '11  go  with  him." 

"You  may  go,  and  welcome,  madam  !"  rejoined  Kneebone, 
spitefully.  "But,  I  should  think,  after  the  specimen  you  Ve 
just  given  of  your  amiable  disposition,  no  person  would  be  like- 
ly to  saddle  himself  with  such  an  incumbrance." 

"  What  say  you,  sir  ?  "  said  the  Amazon,  with  an  engaging 
leer  at  the  stranger.  "  You  will  find  me  tractable  enough  ;  and, 
with  me  by  your  side,  you  need  fear  neither  constable  nor  watch- 
man. I  Ve  delivered  Jack  Sheppard  from  many  an  assault.  I 
can  wield  a  quarter-staff  as  well  as  a  prize-fighter,  and  have 
beaten  Figg  himself  at  the  broadsword.  Will  you  take  me  ?" 

However  tempting  Mrs.  Maggot's  offer  may  appear,  the 
young  man  thought  fit  to  decline  it,  and,  after  a  few  words  of 
well-merited  compliment  upon  her  extraordinary  prowess,  and 
renewed  thanks  to  Mr.  Kneebone,  he  took  his  departure. 

"Good  b'ye  !"  cried  Mrs.  Maggot,  kissing  her  hand  to  him. 
"  I  ll  find  you  out.  And  now,"  she  added,  glancing  contempt- 
uously at  the  woollen-draper,  "  I  '11  go  to  Jack  Sheppard." 

"  You  shall  first  go  to  Bridewell,  you  jade  !  "  rejoined  Knee- 
bone.  "  Here,  Tom,"  he  added,  calling  to  a  shop-boy,  "  run, 
and  fetch  a  constable." 

"  He  had  better  bring  half-a-dozen,"  said  the  Amazon,  taking 


up  a  cloth-yard  wand,  and  quietly  seating  herself;   "one  won't 

On  leaving  Mr.  Kneebone's  house,  the  young  man  hastened 
to  a  hotel  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Covent  Garden,  where, 
having  procured  a  horse,  he  shaped  his  course  towards  the  west 
end  of  the  town.  Urging  his  steed  along  Oxford  Road, — as  that 
great  approach  to  the  metropolis  was  then  termed, — he  soon 
passed  Marylebone  Lane,  beyond  which,  with  the  exception  of  a 
few  scattered  houses,  the  country  was  completely  open  on  the 
right,  and  laid  out  in  pleasant  fields  and  gardens ;  nor  did  he 
draw  in  the  rein  until  he  arrived  at  Tyburn-gate,  where,  be- 
fore he  turned  off  upon  the  Eclgeware  Road,  he  halted  for  a 
moment,  to  glance  at  the  place  of  execution.  This  "  fatal  re- 
treat for  the  unfortunate  brave  "  was  marked  by  a  low  wooden 
railing,  within  which  stood  the  triple  tree.  Opposite  the  gal- 
lows was  an  open  gallery,  or  scaffolding,  like  the  stand  at  a 
race-course,  which,  on  state  occasions,  was -crowded  \\ith  spec- 
tators. Without  the  inclosure  were  reared  several  lofty  gibbets, 
with  their  ghastly  burthens.  Altogether,  it  was  a  hideous  and 
revolting  sight.  Influenced,  probably,  by  what  he  had  heard  from 
Mr.  Kneebone,  respecting  the  lawless  career  of  Jack  Shep- 
pard,  and  struck  with  the  probable  fate  that  awaited  him,  the 
young  man,  as  he  contemplated  this  scene,  fell  into  a  gloomy 
reverie.  While  he  was  thus  musing,  two  horsemen  rode  past 
him  ;  and,  proceeding  to  a  little  distance,  stopped  likewise.  One 
of  them  was  a  stout  square-built  man,  with  a  singularly  swarthy 
complexion,  and  harsh  forbidding  features.  He  was  well 
mounted,  as  was  his  companion  ;  and  had  pistols  in  his  holsters, 
and  a  hanger  at  his  girdle.  The  other  individual,  who  was  a 
little  in  advance,  was  concealed  from  the  stranger's  view.  Pre- 
sently, however,  a  sudden  movement  occurred,  and  disclosed 
his  features,  which  were  those  of  a  young  man  of  nearly  his 
own  age.  The  dress  of  this  person  was  excessively  showy,  and 
consisted  of  a  scarlet  riding-habit,  lined  and  faced  with  blue, 
and  bedizened  with  broad  gold  lace,  a  green  silk-knit  waistcoat, 
embroidered  with  silver,  and  decorated  with  a  deep  fringe,  toge- 
ther with  a  hat  tricked  out  in  the  same  gaudy  style.  His  figure 
was  slight,  but  well-built ;  and,  in  stature  he  did  not  exceed  five 
feet  four.  His  complexion  was  pale  ;  and  there  was  something 
sinister  in  the  expression  of  his  large  black  eyes.  His  head  was 
small  and  bullet-shaped,  and  he  did  not  wear  a  wig,  but  had  his 
sleek  black  hair  cut  off  closely  round  his  temples.  A  mutual  re- 
cognition took  place  at  the  same  instant  between  the  stranger 
and  this  individual.  Both  started.  The  latter  seemed  inclined 
to  advance  and  address  the  former;  but  suddenly  changing  his 
mind,  he  shouted  to  his  companion  in  tones  familiar  to  the  stran- 
ger's ear;  and,  striking  spurs  into  his  steed,  dashed  off  at  full  speed 
along  the  Edgeware  Road.  Impelled  by  a  feeling,  into  which  we 
shall  not  now  pause  to  inquire,  the  stranger -started  after  them ; 

8  JACK    S11EPPARD. 

but  they  were  better  mounted,  and  soon  distanced  him.  Re- 
marking that  they  struck  off' at  a  turning  on  the  left,  he  took  the 
same  road,  and  soon  found  himself  on  Paddington-Green.  A  row 
of  magnificent,  and  even  then  venerable,  elms  threw  their  broad 
arms  over  this  pleasant  spot.  From  a  man,  who  was  standing 
beneath  the  shade  of  one  of  these  noble  trees,  information  was 
obtained  that  the  horsemen  had  ridden  along  the  Harrow  Road. 
With  a  faint  view  of  overtaking  them,  the  pursuer  urged  his 
steed  to  a  quicker  pace.  Arrived  at  Westbourne-Green  —  then 
nothing  more  than  a  common  covered  with  gorse  and  furze- 
bushes,  and  boasting  only  a  couple  of  cottages  and  an  alehouse 
— he  perceived  through  the  hedges  the  objects  of  his  search 
slowly  ascending  the  gentle  hill  that  rises  from  Ken  sail-Green. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  summit  of  this  hill,  he  had 
lost  all  trace  of  them  ;  and  the  ardour  of  the  chase  having  in 
some  measure  subsided,  he  began  to  reproach  himself  for  his  folly, 
in  having  wandered — as  he  conceived — so  far  out  of  his  course. 
Before  retracing  his  steps,  however,  he  allowed  his  gaze  to  range 
over  the  vast  and  beautiful  prospect  spread  out  beneath  him, 
which  is  now  hidden  from  the  traveller's  view  by  the  high  walls 
of  the  National  Cemetery,  and  can,  consequently,  only  be  com- 
manded from  the  interior  of  that  attractive  place  of  burial, — and 
which,  before  it  was  intersected  by  canals  and  railroads,  and 
portioned  out  into  hippodromes,  was  exquisite  indeed.  After 
feasting  his  eye  upon  this  superb  panorama,  he  was  about  to 
return,  when  he  ascertained  from  a  farmer  that  his  nearest 
road  to  Willesderi  would  be  down  a  lane  a  little  further  on,  to 
the  right.  Following  this  direction,  he  opened  a  gate,  and 
struck  into  one  of  the  most  beautiful  green  lanes  imaginable ; 
which,  after  various  windings,  conducted  him  into  a  more 
frequented  road,  and  eventually  brought  him  to  the  place  he 
sought.  Glancing  at  the  finger-post  over  the  cage,  which  has 
been  described  as  situated  at  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and 
seeing  no  direction  to  Dollis  Hill,  he  made  fresh  inquiries  as 
to  where  it  lay,  from  an  elderly  man.  who  was  standing  with 
another  countryman  near  the  little  prison. 

"  Whose  house  do  you  want,  master  ?  "  said  the  man,  touch- 
ing his  hat. 

"  Mr.  Wood's,"  was  the  reply. 

"  There  is  Dollis  Hill,"  said  the  man,  pointing  to  a  well- 
wooded  eminence  about  a  mile  distant,  "  and  there,"  he  added, 
indicating  the  roof  of  a  house  just  visible  above  a  grove  of  trees 
"  is  Mr.  Wood's.  If  you  ride  past  the  church,  and  mount  the 
hill,  you  ?11  come  to  Neasdon,  and  then  you  '11  not  have  above 
half  a  mile  to  go." 

The  young  man  thanked  his  informant,  and  was  about  to  fol- 
low his  instructions,  when  the  other  called  after  him — 

"  I  say,  master,  did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  Mr.  Wood's  famous 
'prentice  ?  " 


"  What  apprentice?"  asked  the  stranger,  in  surprise. 

*'  Why,  Jack  Sheppard,  the  notorious  housebreaker, — him  as 
has  robbed  half  Lunnun,  to  be  sure.  You  must  know,  sir, 
when  he  was  a  lad,  the  day  after  he  broke  into  his  master's 
house  in  Wych  Street,  he  picked  a  gentleman's  pocket  in  our 
church,  during  sarvice  time,  —  that  he  did,  the  heathen.  The 
gentleman  catched  him  i'  th'  fact,  and  we  shut  him  up  for  safety 
i'  that  pris'n.  But,"  said  the  fellow,  with  a  laugh,  "  he  soon 
contrived  to  make  his  way  out  on  it,  though.  Ever  since  he's 
become  so  famous,  the  folks  about  here  ha'  christened  it  Jack 
Sheppard's  cage.  His  mother  used  to  live  i'  this  village,  just 
down  yonder  ;  but  when  her  son  took  to  bad  ways,  she  went  dis- 
tracted,—  and  now  she's  i'  Bedlam,  I  've  heerd." 

"  I  tell  e'e  what,  John  Dump,"  said  the  other  fellow,  who  had 
hitherto  preserved  silence,  "  I  don't  know  whether  your  talkin' 
o'  Jack  Sheppard  has  put  him  into  my  head  or  not;  but  I  once 
had  him  pointed  out  to  me,  and  if  that  were  him  as  I  seed  then, 
he  's  just  now  ridden  past  us,  and  put  up  at  the  Six  Bells." 

"  The  deuce  he  has  !  "  cried  Dump.  "  If  you  were  sure  o' 
that,  we  might  seize  him,  and  get  the  reward  for  his  appre- 

"  That  'ud  be  no  such  easy  matter,"  replied  the  country- 
man. "Jack's  a  desperate  fellow,  and  is  always  well  armed; 
besides,  he  has  a  comrade  with  him.  But  I  '11  tell  e'e  what  we 
might  do " 

The  young  man  heard  no  more.  Taking  the  direction  pointed 
out,  he  rode  off.  As  he  passed  the  Six  Bells,  he  noticed  the 
steeds  of  the  two  horsemen  at  the  door  ;  and  glancing  into  the 
house,  perceived  the  younger  of  the  two  in  the  passage.  The 
latter  no  sooner  beheld  him  than  he  dashed  hastily  into  an 
adjoining  room.  After  debating  with  himself  whether  he  should 
further  seek  an  interview,  which,  though  now  in  his  power,  was 
so  sedulously  shunned  by  the  other  party,  he  decided  in  the 
negative  ;  and  contenting  himself  with  writing  upon  a  slip  of 
paper  the  hasty  words, — "  You  are  known  by  the  villagers, — be 
upon  your  guard," — he  gave  it  to  the  ostler,  with  instructions  to 
deliver  it  instantly  to  the  owner  of  the  horse  he  pointed  out, 
and  pursued  his  course. 

Passing  the  old  rectory,  and  still  older  church,  with  its 
reverend  screen  of  trees,  and  slowly  ascending  a  hill  side,  from 
whence  he  obtained  enchanting  peeps  of  the  spire  and  college  of 
Harrow,  he  reached  the  cluster  of  well-built  houses  which  con- 
stitute the  village  of  Neasdon.  From  this  spot  a  road,  more 
resembling  the  drive  through  a  park  than  a  public  thoroughfare, 
led  him  gradually  to  the  brow  of  Dollis  Hill.  It  was  a  serene 
and  charming  evening,  and  twilight  was  gently  stealing  over  the 
face  of  the  country.  Bordered  by  fine  timber,  the  road  occa- 
sionally offered  glimpses  of  a  lovely  valley,  until  a  wider  open- 
ing gave  a  full  view  of  a  delightful  and  varied  prospect.  On 


the  left  lay  the  heights  of  Hampstead,  studded  with  villas, 
while  farther  off  a  hazy  cloud  marked  the  position  of  the  metro- 
polis. The  stranger  concluded  he  could  not  be  far  from  his 
destination,  and  a  turn  in  the  road  showed  him  the  house. 

Beneath  two  tall  elms,  whose  boughs  completely  overshadowed 
the  roof,  stood  Mr.  Wood's  dwelling, — a  plain,  substantial,  com- 
modious farmhouse.  On  a  bench  at  the  foot  of  the  trees,  with 
a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  a  tankard  by  his  side,  sat  the  worthy 
carpenter,  looking  the  picture  of  good-heartedness  and  benevo- 
lence. The  progress  of  time  was  marked  in  Mr.  Wood  by  in- 
creased corpulence  and  decreased  powers  of  vision, — by  deeper 
wrinkles  and  higher  shoulders,  by  scantier  breath  and  a  fuller 
habit.  Still  he  looked  hale  and  hearty,  and  the  country  life  he 
led  had  imparted  a  ruddier  glow  to  his  cheek.  Around  him 
were  all  the  evidences  of  plenty.  A  world  of  hay-stacks,  bean- 
stacks,  and  straw-ricks  flanked  the  granges  adjoining  his  habita- 
tion ;  the  yard  was  crowded  with  poultry,  pigeons  were  feeding 
at  his  feet,  cattle  were  being  driven  towards  the  stall,  horses 
led  to  the  stable,  a  large  mastiff  was  rattling  his  chain,  and 
stalking  majestically  in  front  of  his  kennel,  while  a  number  of 
farming-men  were  passing  and  repassing  about  their  various 
occupations.  At  the  back  of  the  house,  on  a  bank,  rose  an  old- 
fashioned  terrace-garden,  full  of  apple-trees  and  other  fruit-trees 
in  blossom,  and  lively  with  the  delicious  verdure  of  early  spring. 

Hearing  the  approach  of  the  rider,  Mr.  Wood  turned  to  look 
at  him.  It  was  now  getting  dusk,  and  he  could  only  imper- 
fectly distinguish  the  features  and  figure  of  the  stranger. 

"  I  need  not  ask  whether  this  is  Mr.  Wood's,"  said  the  latter, 
"  since  I  find  him  at  his  own  gate." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  the  worthy  carpenter,  rising.  "  I 
am  Owen  Wood,  at  your  service." 

"  You  do  not  remember  me,  I  dare  say,"  observed  the 

"  1  can't  say  I  do,"  replied  Wood.  "  Your  voice  seems  fa- 
miliar to  me — and  yet — but  I  'm  getting  a  little  deaf — and  my 
eyes  don't  serve  me  quite  so  well  as  they  used  to  do,  especially 
by  this  light." 

"  Never  mind," returned  the  stranger,  dismounting;  "  you  '11 
recollect  me  by  and  by,  I  Ve  no  doubt.  I  bring  you  tidings  of 
an  old  friend." 

"  Then  you  "re  heartily  welcome,  sir,  whoever  you  are.  Pray, 
walk  in.  Here,  Jem,  take  the  gentleman's  horse  to  the  stable — 
see  him  dressed  and  fed  directly.  Now,  sir,  will  you  please  to 
follow  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Wood  then  led  the  way  up  a  rather  high  and,  according 
to  modern  notions,  incommodious  flight  of  steps,  and  introduced 
his  guest  to  a  neat  parlour,  the  windows  of  which  were  dark- 
ened by  pots  of  flowers  and  creepers.  There  was  no  light  in 
the  room  ;  but,  notwithstanding  this,  the  young  man  did  not 


fail  to  detect  the  buxom  figure  of  Mrs.  Wood,  now  more  buxom 
and  more  gorgeously  arrayed  than  ever, — as  well  as  a  young 
and  beautiful  female,  in  whom  he  was  at  no  loss  to  recognise 
the  carpenter's  daughter.. 

Winifred  Wood  was  now  in  her  twentieth  year.  Her  fea- 
tures were  still  slightly  marked  by  the  disorder  alluded  to  in 
the  description  of  her  as  a  child,  —  but  that  was  the  only  draw- 
back to  her  beauty.  Their  expression  was  so  amiable,  that  it 
would  have  redeemed  a  countenance  a  thousand  times  plainer 
than  hers.  Her  figure  was  perfect, — tall,  graceful,  rounded, — 
and,  then,  she  had  deep  liquid  blue  eyes,  that  rivalled  the  stars 
in  lustre.  On  the  stranger's  appearance,  she  was  seated  near 
the  window  busily  occupied  with  her  needle. 

"  My  wife  and  daughter,  sir,"  said  the  carpenter,  introducing 
them  to  his  guest. 

Mrs.  Wood,  whose  admiration  for  masculine  beauty  was  by 
no  means  abated,  glanced  at  the  well-proportioned  figure  of 
the  young  man,  and  made  him  a  very  civil  salutation.  Winifred's 
reception  was  kind,  but  more  distant,  and  after  the  slight  cere- 
monial she  resumed  her  occupation. 

"  This  gentleman  brings  us  tidings  of  an  old  friend,  my  dear,"" 
said  the  carpenter. 

"  Ay,  indeed  !     And  who  may  that  be  ?  "  inquired  his  wife. 

"  One  whom  you  may  perhaps  have  forgotten,'1''  replied  the 
stranger,  "  but  who  can  never  forget  the  kindness  he  expe- 
rienced at  your  hands,  or  at  those  of  your  excellent  husband." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  every  vestige  of  colour  fled  from 
Winifred's  cheeks,  and  the  work  upon  which  she  was  engaged 
fell  from  her  hand. 

"  I  have  a  token  to  deliver  to  you,"'1  continued  the  stranger, 
addressing  her. 

"  To  me  ?  "  gasped  Winifred. 

"  This  locket,"  he  said,  taking  a  little  ornament  attached 
to  a  black  riband  from  his  breast,  and  giving  it  her,  —  "  do 
you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  —  I  do  !  "  cried  Winifred. 

"  What  's  all  this  ?  "  exclaimed  Wood,  in  amazement. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me,  father?"  said  the  young  man,  ad- 
vancing towards  him,  and  warmly  grasping  his  hand.  *'  Have 
nine  years  so  changed  me,  that  there  is  no  trace  left  of  your 
adopted  son  ?  " 

"  God  bless  me  ! "  ejaculated  the  carpenter,  rubbing  his  eves, 
"  can  —  can  it  be  ? " 

"  Surely,"  screamed  Mrs.  Wood,  joining  the  group,  "  it  isn't 
Thames  Darrell  come  to  life  again  ?  " 

"  It  is  —  it  is!"  cried  Winifred,  rushing  towards  him,  and 
flinging  her  arms  round  his  neck,  —  "  it  is  my  dear — dear  bro- 
ther ! " 

"  Well,  this  is  what   I  never  expected  to. see,"  said  the  car- 


penter,  wiping  his  eyes  ;  "  I  hope  I  "m  not  dreaming  !  Thames, 
my  dear  boy,  as  soon  as  Winny  has  done  with  you,  let  me  em- 
brace you.11 

"  My  turn  comes  before  yours,  sir,"  interposed  his  better 
half.  "  Come  to  my  arms,  Thames  !  Oh  !  dear  !  Oh!  dear  !  " 

To  repeat  the  questions  and  congratulations  which  now  en- 
sued, or  describe  the  extravagant  joy  of  the  carpenter,  who, 
after  he  had  hugged  his  adopted  son  to  his  breast  with  such 
warmth  as  almost  to  squeeze  the  breath  from  his  body,  capered 
around  the  room,  threw  his  wig  into  the  empty  fire-grate,  and 
committed  various  other  fantastic  actions,  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
his  superfluous  satisfaction — to  describe  the  scarcely  less  extrava- 
gant raptures  of  his  spouse,  or  the  more  subdued,  but  not  less 
heartfelt  delight  of  Winifred,  would  be  a  needless  task,  as  it  must 
occur  to  every  one^s  imagination.  Supper  was  quickly  served  ; 
the  oldest  bottle  of  wine  was  brought  from  the  cellar ;  the 
strongest  barrel  of  ale  was  tapped ;  but  not  one  of  the  party 
could  eat  or  drink — their  hearts  were  too  full. 

Thames  sat  with  Winifred's  hand  clasped  in  his  own,  and 
commenced  a  recital  of  his  adventures,  which  may  be  briefly 
told.  Carried  out  to  sea  by  Van  Galgebrok,  and  thrown  over- 
board, while  struggling  with  the  waves,  he  had  been  picked 
up  by  a  French  fishing-boat,  and  carried  to  Ostend.  After 
encountering  various  hardships  and  privations  for  a  long 
term,  during  which  he  had  no  means  of  communicating  with 
Kngland,  he,  at  length,  found  his  way  to  Paris,  where  he  was 
taken  notice  of  by  Cardinal  Dubois,  who  employed  him  as  one 
of  his  secretaries,  and  subsequently  advanced  to  the  service  of 
Philip  of  Orleans,  from  whom  he  received  a  commission.  On 
the  death  of  his  royal  patron,  he  resolved  to  return  to  his  own 
country  ;  and,  after  various  delays,  which  had  postponed  it  to 
the  present  time,  he  had  succeeded  in  accomplishing  his  object. 

Winifred  listened  to  his  narration  with  the  profoundest  atten- 
tion ;  and,  when  it  concluded,  her  tearful  eye  an.d  throbbing 
bosom  told  how  deeply  her  feelings  had  been  interested. 

The  discourse,  then,  turned  to  Darrell's  old  playmate,  Jack 
Sheppard ;  and  Mr.  Wood,  in  deploring  his  wild  career,  advert- 
ed to  the  melancholy  condition  to  which  it  had  reduced  his 

"  For  my  part,  it 's  only  what  I  expected  of  him,"  observed 
Mrs.  Wood,  "  and  I  'm  sorry  and  surprised  he  hasn't  swung  for 
his  crimes  before  this.  The  gallows  has  groaned  for  him  for 
years.  As  to  his  mother,  I  've  no  pity  for  her.  She  deserves 
what  has  befallen  her." 

"  Dear  mother,  don't  say  so,"  returned  Winifred.     "  One  of 

the  consequences  of  criminal  conduct,  is  the  shame  and  disgrace 

which  —  worse   than  any   punishment  the  evil-doer   can    suffer 

-is  brought  by  it   upon  the  innocent  relatives;   and,  if  Jack 

had    considered    this,    perhaps  he   would    not    have    acted    as 

JACK    SHEPPAllD.  lo 

he  has  clone,  and  have  entailed  so  much  misery  on  his  unhappy 

"  I  always  detested  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  cried  the  carpenter's 
wife  bitterly  ;  "  and,  I  repeat,  Bedlam  's  too  good  for  her." 

"  My  dear,"  observed  Wood,  "  you  should  be  more  chari- 

"  Charitable  !  "  repeated  his  wife,  "  that 's  your  constant  cry. 
Marry,  come  up  !  I  've  been  a  great  deal  too  charitable.  Here  's 
Winny  always  urging  you  to  go  and  visit  Mrs.  Sheppard  in  the 
asylum,  and  take  her  this,  and  send  her  that ; — and  I  've  never 
prevented  you,  though  such  mistaken  liberality  's  enough  to  pro- 
voke a  saint.  And  then,  forsooth,  she  must  needs  prevent  your 
hanging  Jack  Sheppard  after  the  robbery  in  Wych-Street,  when 
you  might  have  done  so.  Perhaps  you  '11  call  that  charity  ;  / 
call  it  defeating  the  ends  of  justice.  See  what  a  horrible  rascal 
you  've  let  loose  upon  the  world  !  " 

"  I  'm  sure,  mother,"  rejoined  Winifred,  "  if  any  one  was 
likely  to  feel  resentment,  I  was  ;  for  no  one  could  be  more  fright- 
ened. But  I  was  sorry  for  poor  Jack — as  I  am  still,  and  hoped 
lie  would  mend." 

'*  Mend  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Wood,  contemptuously,  "he'll  never 
mend  till  he  comes  to  Tyburn." 

"At  least,  I  will  hope  so,"  returned  Winifred.  "But,  as  I 
was  saying,  I  was  most  dreadfully  frightened  on  the  night  of  the 
robbery.  Though  so  young  at  the  time,  I  remember  every  cir- 
cumstance distinctly.  I  was  sitting  up,  lamenting  your  depart- 
ure, dear  Thames,  when,  hearing  an  odd  noise,  I  went  to  the 
landing,  and,  by  the  light  of  a  dark  lantern,  saw  Jack  Sheppard 
stealing  up  stairs,  followed  by  two  men  with  crape  on  their 
faces.  I  'm  ashamed  to  say  that  I  was  too  much  terrified  to 
scream  out  —  but  ran  and  hid  myself." 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  cried  Mrs.  Wood.  "I  declare  you 
throw  me  into  an  ague.  Do  you  think  /forget  it  ?  Didn't  they 
help  themselves  to  all  the  plate  and  the  money  —  to  several 
of  my  best  dresses,  and,  amongst  others,  to  my  favourite  kincob 
gown  ;  and  I  've  never  been  able  to  get  another  like  it  !  Marry, 
come  up  !  I  'd  hang  "em  all,  if  I  could.  Were  such  a  thing  to 
happen  again,  I  'd  never  let  Mr.  Wood  rest  till  he  brought  the 
villains  to  justice." 

"  I  hope  such  a  thing  never  will  happen  again,  my  dear,"  ob- 
served Wood,  mildly  ;  "  but,  when  it  does,  it  will  be  time  to 
consider  what  course  we  ought  to  pursue." 

"  Let  them  attempt  it,  if  they  dare  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Wood,  who 
had  worked  herself  into  a  passion  ;  "  and,  1 11  warrant  'em,  the 
boldest  robber  among  'em  all  shall  repent  it,  if  he  comes  across 

"  No  doubt,  my  dear,"  acquiesced  the  carpenter,  "  no  doubt." 
Thames,  who  had  been  more  than  once  on  the  point  of  men- 
tioning his  accidental  rencounter  with  Jack  S-heppard,  not  being 


altogether  without  apprehension,  from  the  fact  of  his  being  in 
the  neighbourhood, — now  judged  it  more  prudent  to  say  nothing 
on  the  subject,  from  a  fear  of  increasing  Mrs.  Wood's  displea- 
sure; and  he  was  the  more  readily  induced  to  do  this,  as  the  con- 
versation began  to  turn  upon  his  own  affairs.  Mr.  Wood  could 
give  him  no  furtherinformation  respecting  Sir  Rowland  Trenchard 
than  what  he  had  obtained  from  Kneebone  ;  but  begged  him  to 
defer  the  further  consideration  of  the  line  of  conduct  he  meant 
to  pursue  until  the  morrow,  when  he  hoped  to  have  a  plan  to 
lay  before  him,  of  which  he  would  approve. 

The  night  was  now  advancing,  and  the  party  began  to  think 
of  separating.  As  Mrs.  Wood,  who  had  recovered  her  good 
humour,  quitted  the  room,  she  bestowed  a  hearty  embrace  on 
Thames,  and  told  him,  laughingly,  that  she  would  "  defer  all 
she  had  to  propose  to  him  until  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  !     She  never  beheld  it. 

After  an  affectionate  parting  with  Winifred,  Thames  was 
conducted  by  the  carpenter  to  his  sleeping  apartment — a  com- 
fortable cosy  chamber;  such  a  one,  in  short,  as  can  only  be 
met  with  in  the  country,  with  its  dimity-curtained  bed,  its 
sheets  fragrant  of  lavender,  its  clean  white  furniture,  and  an 
atmosphere  breathing  of  freshness.  Left  to  himself,  he  took  a 
survey  of  the  room,  and  his  heart  leaped  as  he  beheld  over  the 
chimney-piece  a  portrait  of  himself.  It  was  a  copy  of  the  pencil 
sketch  taken  of  him  nine  years  ago  by  Winifred,  and  awakened 
a  thousand  tender  recollections. 

When  about  to  retire  to  rest,  the  rencounter  with  Jack  Shep- 
pard  again  recurred  to  him,  and  he  half  blamed  himself  for 
not  acquainting  Mr.  Wood  with  the  circumstance,  and  putting 
him  upon  his  guard  against  the  possibility  of  an  attack.  On 
weighing  the  matter  over,  he  grew  so  uneasy  that  he  resolved 
to  descend,  and  inform  him  of  his  misgivings.  But,  when 
he  got  to  the  door  with  this  intention,  he  became  ashamed  of 
his  fears;  and  feeling  convinced  that  Jack — bad  as  he  might  be 
— was  not  capable  of  such  atrocious  conduct  as  to  plunder  his 
benefactor  twice,  he  contented  himself  with  looking  to  the 
priming  of  his  pistols,  and  placing  them  near  him,  to  be  ready 
in  case  of  need,  lie  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and  speedily  fell 


THAMES  DARRELL'S  fears  were  not,  however,  groundless.  Dan- 
o-er,  in  the  form  he  apprehended,  was  lurking  outside :  nor  was 
he  destined  to  enjoy  long  repose.  On  receiving  the  warning 
note  from  the  ostler,  Jack  Sheppard  and  his  companion  left 
Willesdtn,  and  taking  —  as  a  blind  —  the  direction  of  Harrow, 


returned  at  nightfall  by  a  by-lane  to  Neasdon,  and  put  up  at  a 
little  public-house  called  the  Spotted  Dog.  Here  they  remained 
till  midnight  when,  calling-  for  their  reckoning  and  their  steeds, 

C^  •»  Q  O  7 

they  left  the  house. 

it  was  a  night  well-fitted  to  their  enterprise, — calm,  still,  and 
profoundly  dark.  As  they  passed  beneath  the  thick  trees  that 
shade  the  road  to  Dollis  Hill  the  gloom  was  almost  impenetra- 
ble. The  robbers  proceeded  singly,  and  kept  on  the  grass 

skirting  the  road,  so  that  no  noise  was  made  by  their  horses' 

,,  J 


As  they  neared  the  house,  Jack  Sheppard,  who  led  the  way, 
halted,  and  addressed  his  companion  in  a  low  voice:  — 

"  I  don't  half  like  this  job,  Blueskin,"  he  said  ;  "it  always 
went  against  the  grain.  But,  since  I  Ve  seen  the  friend  and 
companion  of  my  childhood,  Thames  Darrell,  I  've  no  heart  for 
it.  Shall  we  turn  back  ?" 

"  And  disappoint  Mr.  Wild,  captain  ?"  remonstrated  the 
other,  in  a  deferential  tone.  "  You  know  this  is  a  pet  project. 
It  might  be  dangerous  to  thwart  him." 

"  Pish  !  "  cried  Jack  :  "  I  don't  value  his  anger  a  straw.  All 
our  fraternity  are  afraid  of  him  ;  but  /  laugh  at  his  threats. 
He  daren't  quarrel  with  me  :  and,  if  he  does,  let  him  look  to 
himself.  I've  my  own  reasons  for  disliking  this  job." 

"Well,  you  know  I  always  act  under  you  orders,  captain," 
returned  Blueskin  ;  "  and,  if  you  give  the  word  to  retreat,  I  shall 
obey,  of  course :  but  I  know  what  Edgeworth  Bess  will  say 
when  we  go  home  empty-handed." 

"  Why,  what  will  she  say  ?"  inquired  Sheppard. 

"  That  we  were  afraid,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  never  mind 

"  Ay;  but  I  do  mind  her,"  cried  Jack,  upon  whom  his  com- 
rade's observation  had  nroduced  the  desired  effect.  "We'll 
do  it." 

"  That's  right,  captain,"  rejoined  Blueskin.  "You  pledged 
yourself  to  Mr.  Wild-  -". 

"  1  did,"  interrupted  Jack  ;  "  and  I  never  yet  broke  an  en- 
gagement. "  Though  a  thief,  Jack  Sheppard  is  a  man  of  his 

"  To  be  sure  he  is,"  acquiesced  Blueskin  ;  "  I  should  like  to 
meet  the  man  who  would  dare  to  gainsay  it." 

"  One  word  before  we  begin,  Blueskin,"  said  Jack,  authori- 
tatively ;  "  in  case  the  family  should  be  alarmed — mind,  no  vio- 
lence. There 's  one  person  in  the  house  whom  I  wouldn't 
frighten  for  the  world." 

"  Wood's  daughter,  I  suppose  ?"  observed  the  other. 

"  You  've  hit  it,"  answered  Sheppard. 

"  What  say  you  to  carrying  her  off,  captain  ? "  suggested 
Blueskin.  "  If  you  've  a  fancy  for  the  girl,  we  might  do  it." 

"  No  —  no,"  laughed  Jack.     "  Bess  woilld'nt  bear  a  rival. 

l(j  JACK    SIIKPPAR1). 

But  if  you  wish  to  do  old  Wood  a  friendly  turn,  you  may  bring 
off  his  wife." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  ridding  him  of  her,"  said  Blueskin, 
gruffly  ;  "  and  if  she  comes  in  my  way,  may  the  devil  seize  me 
if  I  don't  make  short  work  with  her  !  " 

"  You  forget,"  rejoined  Jack,  sternly,  "  I've  just  said  I  '11 
have  no  violence — mind  that." 

With  this  they  dismounted  ;  and  fastening  their  horses  to  a 
tree,  proceeded  towards  the  house.  It  was  still  so  dark,  that 
nothing  could  be  distinguished  except  the  heavy  masses  of 
timber  by  which  the  premises  were  surrounded  ;  but  as  they 
advanced,  lights  were  visible  in  some  of  the  windows.  Pre- 
sently, they  came  to  a  wall,  on  the  other  side  of  which  the  dog- 
began  to  bark  violently  ;  but  Blueskin  tossed  him  a  piece  of 
prepared  meat,  and  uttering  alow  growl,  he  became  silent.  They 
then  clambered  over  a  hedge,  and  scaling  another  wall,  got  into 
the  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Treading  with  noiseless  step 
over  the  soft  mould,  they  soon  reached  the  building.  Arrived 
there,  Jack  felt  about  for  a  particular  window  ;  and  having  dis- 
covered the  object  of  his  search,  and  received  the  necessary  im- 
plements from  his  companion,  he  instantly  commenced  operations. 
In  a  few  seconds,  the  shutter  flew  open, — then  the  window, — and 
they  were  in  the  room.  Jack  now  carefully  closed  the  shutters, 
while  Blueskin  struck  a  light,  with  which  he  set  fire  to  a  candle. 
The  room  they  were  in  was  a  sort  of  closet,  with  the  door  locked 
outside ;  but  this  was  only  a  moment's  obstacle  to  Jack,  who 
with  a  chisel  forced  back  the  bolt.  The  operation  was  effected 
with  so  much  rapidity  and  so  little  noise,  that  even  if  any  one 
had  been  on  the  alert,  he  could  scarcely  have  detected  it.  They 
then  took  off  their  boots,  and  crept  stealthily  up  stairs,  tread- 
ing upon  the  points  of  their  toes  so  cautiously,  that  not  a  board 
creaked  beneath  their  weight.  Pausing  at  each  door  on  the  land- 
ing, Jack  placed  his  ear  to  the  key-hole,  and  listened  intently. 
Having  ascertained  by  the  breathing  which  room  Thames  oc- 
cupied, he  speedily  contrived  to  fasten  him  in.  He  then  tried 
the  door  of  Mr.  Wood's  bedchamber  —  it  was  locked,  with 
the  key  left  in  it.  This  occasioned  a  little  delay;  but  Jack, 
whose  skill  as  a  workman  in  the  particular  line  he  had  chosen 
was  unequalled,  and  who  laughed  at  difficulties,  speedily  cut  out 
a  panel  by  means  of  a  centre-bit  and  knife,  took  the  key  from 
the  other  side,  and  unlocked  the  door.  Covering  his  face 
with  a  crape  mask,  and  taking  the  candle  from  his  associate, 
Jack  entered  the  room  ;  and,  pistol  in  hand,  stepped  up  to  the 
bed,  and  approached  the  light  to  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers. 
The  loud  noise  proceeding  from  the  couch  proved  that  their 
slumbers  were  deep  and  real ;  and,  unconscious  of  the  danger 
in  which  she  stood,  Mrs.  Wood  turned  over  to  obtain  a  more 
comfortable  position.  During  this  movement,  Jack  grasped  the 
barrel  of  his  pistol,  held  in  his  breath,  and  motioned  to  Blue- 


skin,  who  had  bared  a  long-knife,  to  keep  still.  The  momentary 
alarm  over,  he  threw  a  piece  of  wash-leather  over  a  bureau,  so  as  to 
deaden  the  sound,  and  instantly  broke  it  open  with  a  small  crow- 
bar. While  he  was  filling'  his  pockets  with  golden  coin  from  this 
store,  Blueskin  had  pulled  the  plate-chest  from  under  the  bed ; 
and  having  forced  it  open,  began  filling  a  canvas  bag  with  its  con- 
tents,—  silver  coffee-pots,  chocolate-dishes,  waiters,  trays,  tank- 
ards, goblets,  and  candlesticks.  It  might  be  supposed  that  these 
articles,  when  thrust  together  into  the  bag,  would  have  jingled  ; 
but  these  skilful  practitioners  managed  matters  so  well  that  no 
noise  was  made.  After  rifling  the  room  of  everything  portable, 
including  some  of  Mrs.  Wood's  ornaments  and  wearing  apparel, 
they  prepared  to  depart.  Jack  then  intimated  his  intention  of 
visiting  Winifred's  chamber,  in  which  several  articles  of  value 
were  known  to  be  kept ;  but  as,  notwithstanding  his  reckless 
character,  he  still  retained  a  feeling  of  respect  for  the  object  of 
his  boyish  affections,  he  would  not  suffer  Blueskin  to  ac- 
company him,  so  he  commanded  him  to  keep  watch  over  the 
sleepers — strictly  enjoining  him,  however,  to  do  them  no  injury. 
Again  having  recourse  to  the  centre-bit, — for  Winifred's  door 
was  locked,  —  Jack  had  nearly  cut  out  a  panel,  when  a  sud- 
den outcry  was  raised  in  the  carpenters  chamber.  The  next 
moment,  a  struggle  was  heard,  and  Blueskin  appeared  at  the 
door,  followed  by  Mrs.  Wood. 

Jack  instantly  extinguished  the  light,  and  called  to  his  com- 
rade to  come  after  him. 

But  Blueskin  found  it  impossible  to  make  off,  —  at  least  with 
the  spoil, — Mrs.  Wood  having  laid  hold  of  the  canvas-bag. 

"  Give  back  the  things  !  "  cried  the  ladv.  "  Help  !  —  help, 
Mr.  Wood  !  " 

"  Leave  go  !  "  thundered  Blueskin, — "  leave  go — you  'd  bet- 
ter !  " —  and  he  held  the  sack  as  firmly  as  he  could  with  one 
hand,  while  with  the  other  he  searched  for  his  knife. 

"  No,  I  won't  leave  go  ! "  screamed  Mrs.  Wood.  "  Fire  !  — 
murder  ! — thieves  !— I  've  got  one  of  'em  !  " 

"  Come  along,""  cried  Jack. 

"  I  can't,"  answered  Blueskin.  "  This  she-devil  has  got  hold 
of  the  sack.  Leave  go,  1^  tell  you  ! "  and  he  forced  open  the 
knife  with  his  teeth. 

"  Help  !  —  murder  !  —  thieves  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Wood  ;  — 
"  Owen— Owen  !— Thames,  help  !  " 

*'  Coming  !  "  cried  Mr.  Wood,  leaping  from  the  bed.  "  Where 
are  you  ? " 

"  Here,"  replied  Mrs.  Wood.     «  Help— I  '11  hold  him  ! " 

"  Leave  her,"  cried  Jack,  darting  down  stairs,  amid  a  furious 
ringing  of  bells,  —  "  the  house  is  alarmed,  —  follow  me  !  " 

"  Curses  light  on  you  ! "  cried  Blueskin,  savagely  ;  "  since  you 
won't  be  advised,  take  your  fate." 

And  seizing  her  by  the  hair,  he  pulled  Hack  her  head,  and 

VOL.  VI.  c 

18  JACK    SIlEl'PARD. 

drew  the  knife  with  all  his  force  across  her  throat.  There 
was  a  dreadful  stifled  groan,  and  she  fell  heavily  upon  the 

The  screams  of  the  unfortunate  woman  had  aroused  Thames 
from  his  slumbers.  Snatching  up  his  pistols,  he  rushed  to  the 
door,  but  to  his  horror  found  it  fastened.  He  heard  the  struggle 

'  CJCJ 

on  the  landing,  the  fall  of  the  heavy  body,  the  groan,  —  and 
excited  almost  to  frenzy  by  his  fears,  he  succeeded  in  forcing 
open  the  door.  By  this  time,  several  of  the  terrified  domestics 
appeared  with  lights.  A  terrible  spectacle  was  presented  to  the 
young  man's  gaze  :  —  the  floor  deluged  with  blood,  —  the  man- 
gled and  lifeless  body  of  Mrs.  Wood,  - —  Winifred  fainted  in 
the  arms  of  a  female  attendant,  —  and  Wood  standing  beside 
them  almost  in  a  state  of  distraction.  Thus,  in  a  few  minutes, 
had  this  happy  family  been  plunged  into  the  depths  of  misery. 
At  this  juncture,  a  cry  was  raised  by  a  servant  from  below, 
that  the  robbers  were  flying  through  the  garden.  Darting  to  a 
window  looking  in  that  direction,  Thames  threw  it  up,  and  dis- 
charged both  his  pistols,  but  without  effect.  In  another  minute, 
the  tramp  of  horses'  feet  told  that  the  perpetrators  of  the  outrage 
had  effected  their  escape. 


SCARCELY  an  hour  after  the  horrible  occurrence  just  related, 
as  Jonathan  Wild  was  seated  in  the  audience-chamber  of  his 
residence  at  the  Old  Bailey,  occupied,  like  Peachum,  (for  whose 
portrait  he  sat,)  with  his  account-books  and  registers,  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  Quilt  Arnold,  who  an- 
nounced Jack  Sheppard  and  Blueskin. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Wild,  laying  down  his  pen  and  looking  up  with 
a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  1  was  just  thinking  of  you,  Jack. 
What  news.  Have  you  done  the  trick  at  Dollis  Hill  ? — 
brought  off  the  swag — eh  ?" 

"  No  ;"  answered  Jack,  flinging  himself  sullenly  into  a  chair, 
"  I  've  not." 

"  Why,  how  's  this  ?"  exclaimed  Jonathan.  "  Jack  Sheppard 
failed  !  I  \\  not  believe  it,  if  any  one  but  himself  told  me  so." 

"  I  \e  not  failed,"  returned  Jack,  angrily  ;  "  but  we've  done 
too  much." 

"  I  'm  no  reader  of  riddles,"  said  Jonathan.    "  Speak  plainly." 

*c  Let  this  speak  for  me,"  said  Sheppard,  tossing  a  heavy  bag 
of  money  towards  him.  "  You  can  generally  understand  that 
language.  There  's  more  than  I  undertook  to  bring.  It  has 
been  purchased  by  blood  ! " 

"What!  have  you  cut  old  Wood's  throat?"  asked  Wild, 
with  great  unconcern,  as  he  took  up  the  bag. 

"  If  I  had,  you  'd  not  have  seen  me  here,"  replied  Jack, 
sullenly.  "  The  blood  that  has  been  spilt  is  that  of  his  wife." 


"  It  was  her  own  fault,"  observed  Blueskin,  moodily.  "  She 
wouldn't  let  me  go.  I  did  it  in  self-defence." 

"  I  care  not  why  you  did  it,"  said  Jack,  sternly.  "  We  work 
together  no  more." 

"Come,  come,  captain,"  remonstrated  Blueskin.  "I  thought 
you'd  have  got  rid  of  your  ill-humour  by  this  time.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  it  was  accident." 

"  Accident,  or  not,"  rejoined  Sheppard  ;  "  you  're  no  longer 
pal  of  mine." 

"  And  so  this  is  my  reward  for  having  made  you  the  tip-top 
cracksman  you  are,"  muttered  Blueskin; — "to  be  turned  off 
at  a  moment's  notice,  because  I  silenced  a  noisy  woman.  It 's 
too  hard.  Think  better  of  it." 

"  My  mind  's  made  up,"  rejoined  Jack,  coldly, — "  we  part  to- 

"  I  '11  not  go,"  answered  the  othei*.  "  I  love  you  like  a  son, 
and  will  follow  you  like  a  dog.  You  'd  not  know  what  to  do 
without  me,  and  shan't  drive  me  off." 

"Well!"  remarked  Jonathan,  who  had  paid  little  attention 
to  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation  ;  "  this  is  an  awkward 
business  certainly  ;  but  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  in  it. 
You  must  keep  out  of  the  way  till  it's  blown  over.  I  can 
accommodate  you  below." 

"  I  don't  require  it,"  returned  Sheppard.  "  I  'm  tired  of  the 
life  I  'm  leading.  I  shall  quit  it  and  go  abroad." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,"  said  Blueskin. 

"  Before  either  of  you  go,  you  will  ask  my  permission,"  said 
Jonathan,  coolly. 

"  How  ! "  exclaimed  Sheppard.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
will  interfere  — " 

"  I  mean  to  say  this,"  interrupted  Wild,  with  contemptuous 
calmness,  "that  I  '11  neither  allow  you  to  leave  England  nor 
the  profession  you  've  engaged  in.  I  wouldn't  allow  you  to 
be  honest  even  if  you  could  be  so, — which  I  doubt.  You  are 
my  slave  —  and  such  you  shall  continue." 

"  Slave  ?"  echoed  Jack. 

"  Dare  to  disobey,"  continued  Jonathan :  "neglect  my  orders, 
and  I  will  hang  you." 

Sheppard  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Hear  me,"  he  cried,  restraining  himself  with  difficulty. 
"  It  is  time  you  should  know  whom  you  have  to  deal  with. 
Henceforth,  t  utterly  throw  off  the  yoke  you  have  laid  upon 
me.  I  will  neither  stir  hand  nor  foot  for  you  more.  Attempt  to 
molest  me,  and  I  split.  You  are  more  in  my  power  than 
I  am  in  yours.  Jack  Sheppard  is  a  match  for  Jonathan  Wild, 
any  day." 

"  That  he  is,"  added  Blueskin,  approvingly. 

Jonathan  smiled  contemptuously. 

"  One  motive  alone  shall  induce  me  to  go  "on  with  you,"  said 
Jack.  c  2 


"  What's  that  r"  asked  Wild. 

"  The  youth  whom  you  delivered  to  Van-Galgebrok, — 
Thames  Darrell,  is  returned." 

"  Impossible  !"  cried  Jonathan.  "  He  was  thrown  overboard, 
and  perished  at  sea." 

"  He  is  alive,"  replied  Jack,  "  I  have  seen  him,  and  might 
have  conversed  with  him  if  1  had  chosen.  Now,  I  know  you 
can  restore  him  to  his  rights,  if  you  choose.  Do  so  ;  and  I  am 
yours  as  heretofore." 

"  Humph  !"  exclaimed  Jonathan. 
"  Your  answer  !  "  cried  Sheppard.     "  Yes,  or  no  ?  " 
"  I  will  make  no  terms  with  you,"  rejoined   Wild,   sternly. 
"  You   have  defied  me,  and   shall  feel  my  power.     You  have 
been  useful  to  me,  or  I  would  not  have  spared  you  thus  long.     I 
swore  to  hang  you  two  years  ago,  but  I  deferred  my  purpose." 
"  Deferred  !"  echoed  Sheppard. 

"  Hear  me  out,"  said  Jonathan.  "  You  came  hither  under 
my  protection,  and  you  shall  depart  freely, — nay,  more,  you 
shall  have  an  hour's  grace.  After  that  time,  I  shall  place  my 
setters  on  your  heels." 

"  You  cannot  prevent  my  departure,"  replied  Jack,  daunt- 
lessly,  "  and  therefore  your  offer  is  no  favour.  But  I  tell  you 
in  return,  I  shall  take  no  pains  to  hide  myself.  If  you  want 
me,  you  know  where  to  find  me." 

"  An  hour,"  said  Jonathan,  looking  at  his  watch, — "  re- 
member ! " 

"  If  you  send  for  me  to  the  Cross  Shovels  in  the  Mint,  where 
I'm  going  with  Blueskin,  I  will  surrender  myself  without  resist- 
ance," returned  Jack. 

"  You  will  spare  the  officers  a  labour  then,"  rejoined  Jona- 

"  Can't  I  settle  this  business,  captain,"  muttered  Blueskin, 
drawing  a  pistol. 

*'  Don't  harm  him,"  said  Jack,  carelessly :  "  he  dares  not  do 

So  saying,  he  left  the  room. 

"  Blueskin,"  said  Jonathan,  as  that  worthy  was  about  to 
follow,  "  I  advise  you  to  remain  with  me." 

"  No,"  answered  the  ruffian,  moodily.  "  If  you  arrest  him, 
you  must  arrest  me  also." 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Jonathan,  seating  himself. 
Jack  and  his  comrade  went  to  the  Mint,  where  he  was  joined 
by  Edgeworth  Bess,  with  whom  he  sat  down  most  unconcernedly 
to  supper.  His  revelry,  however,  was  put  an  end  to  at  the  expi- 
ration of  the  time  mentioned  by  Jonathan  by  the  entrance  of  a 
posse  of  constables  with  Quilt  Arnold  and  Abraham  Mendez  at 
their  head.  Jack,  to  the  surprise  of  all  his  companions,  at  once 
surrendered  himself;  but  Blueskin  would  have  made  a  fierce 
resistance,  and  attempted  a  rescue  if  he  had  not  been  ordered 


by  his  leader  to  desist.  He  then  made  off.  Edgeworth  Bess, 
who  passed  for  Sheppard's  wife,  was  secured.  They  were  hur- 
ried before  a  magistrate,  and  charged  by  Jonathan  Wild  with 
various  robberies  ;  but,  as  Jack  Sheppard  stated  that  he  had 
most  important  disclosures  to  make,  as  well  as  charges  to  bring 
forward  against  his  accuser,  he  was  committed  with  his  female 
companion  to  the  New  Prison  in  Clerkenwell  for  further  exa- 


IN  consequence  of  Jack  Sheppard's  desperate  character,  it  was 
judged  expedient  by  the  keeper  of  the  New  Prison  to  load  him 
with  fetters  of  unusual  weight,  and  to  place  him  in  a  cell  which, 
from  its  strength  and  security,  was  called  the  Newgate  Ward. 
The  ward  in  which  he  was  confined,  was  about  six  yards  in 
length,  and  three  in  width,  and  in  height  might  be  about  twelve 
feet.  The  windows  which  were  about  nine  feet  from  the  floor, 
had  no  glass ;  but  were  secured  by  thick  iron  bars,  and  an  oaken 
beam.  Along  the  floor  ran  an  iron  bar  to  which  Jack's  chain 
was  attached,  so  that  he  could  move  along  it  from  one  end  of  the 
chamber  to  the  other.  No  prisoner  except  Edgeworth  Bess  was 
placed  in  the  same  cell  with  him.  Jack  was  in  excellent  spirits  ; 
and  by  his  wit,  drollery,  and  agreeable  demeanour,  speedily  be- 
came a  great  favourite  with  the  turnkey,  who  allowed  him  every 
indulgence  consistent  with  his  situation.  The  report  of  his  de- 
tention caused  an  immense  sensation.  Numberless  charges 
were  preferred  against  him,  amongst  others,  information  was 
lodged  of  the  robbery  at  Dollis  Hill,  and  murder  of  Mrs. 
Wood,  and  a  large  reward  offered  for  the  apprehension  of 
Blueskin  ;  and  as,  in  addition  to  this,  Jack  had  threatened  to 
impeach  Wild,  his  next  examination  was  looked  forward  to 
with  the  greatest  interest. 

The  day  before  this  examination  was  appointed  to  take  place 
— the  third  of  the  prisoner's  detention — an  old  man,  respectably 
dressed,  requested  permission  to  see  him.  Jack's  friends  were 
allowed  to  visit  him ;  but,  as  he  had  openly  avowed  his  inten- 
tion of  attempting  an  escape,  their  proceedings  were  narrowly 
watched.  The  old  man  was  conducted  to  Jack's  cell  by  the 
turnkey,  who  remained  near  him  during  the  interview.  He 
appeared  to  be  a  stranger  to  the  prisoner,  and  the  sole  motive 
of  his  visit,  curiosity.  After  a  brief  conversation,  which  Shep- 
pard sustained  with  his  accustomed  liveliness,  the  old  man 
turned  to  Bess  and  addressed  a  few  words  of  common-place 
gallantry  to  her.  While  this  was  going  on,  Jack  suddenly 
made  a  movement  which  attracted  the  turnkey's  attention ;  and 
during  that  interval  the  old  man  slipped  some  articles  wrapped 
in  a  handkerchief  into  Bess's  hands,  whq.  instantly  secreted 
them  in  her  bosom.  The  turnkey  looked  round  the  next  mo- 


merit,  but  the  manoeuvre  escaped  his  observation.  After  a 
little  further  discourse  the  old  man  took  his  departure. 

Left  alone  with  Edgeworth  Bess,  Jack  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh  of  exultation. 

"  Blueskin  's  a  friend  in  need,"  he  said.  "  His  disguise  was 
capital ;  but  I  detected  it  in  a  moment.  Has  he  given  you  the 

"  He  has,"  replied  Bess,  producing  the  handkerchief. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Sheppard,  examining  its  contents,  which 
proved  to  be  a  file,  a  chisel,  two  or  three  gimblets,  and  a  piercer. 
"  Jonathan  Wild  shall  find  it 's  not  so  easy  to  detain  me.  As 
sure  as  he  "s  now  living,  I  "11  pay  him  a  visit  in  the  Old  Bailey 
before  morning.  And  then  I  "11  pay  off  old  scores.  It 's  almost 
worth  while  being  sent  to  prison  to  have  the  pleasure  of  es- 
caping. I  shall  now  be  able  to  test  my  skill."  And,  running 
on  in  this  way,  he  carefully  concealed  the  tools. 

Whether  the  turnkey  entertained  any  suspicions  of  the  old 
man,  Jack  could  not  tell,  but  that  night  he  was  more  than 
usually  rigorous  in  his  search  ;  and  having  carefully  examined 
the  prisoners  and  finding  nothing  to  excite  his  suspicions,  he  de- 
parted tolerably  satisfied. 

As  soon  as  he  was  certain  he  should  be  disturbed  no  more 
that  night,  Jack  set  to  work,  and  with  the  aid  of  the  file  in  less 
than  an  hour  had  freed  himself  from  his  fetters.  With  Bess's 
assistance  he  then  climbed  up  to  the  window,  which,  as  has 
just  been  stated,  was  secured  by  iron  bars  of  great  thickness 
crossed  by  a  stout  beam  of  oak.  The  very  sight  of  these  im- 
pediments, would  have  appalled  a  less  courageous  spirit  than 
Sheppard's — but  nothing  could  daunt  him.  To  \vork  then  he 
went,  and  with  wonderful  industry  filed  off  two  of  the  iron  bars. 
Just  as  he  completed  this  operation,  the  file  broke.  The  oaken 
beam,  nine  inches  in  thickness,  was  now  the  sole  but  most 
formidable  obstacle  to  his  flight.  With  his  gimblet  he  con- 
trived to  bore  a  number  of  holes  so  close  together  that  at  last 
one  end  of  the  bar,  being  completely  pierced  through,  yielded  ; 
and  pursuing  the  same  plan  with  the  other  extremity,  it  fell 
out  altogether. 

This  last  operation  was  so  fatiguing,  that  for  a  short  time 
he  was  obliged  to  pause  to  recover  the  use  of  his  fingers.  He 
then  descended ;  and  having  induced  Bess  to  take  off  some 
part  of  her  clothing,  he  tore  the  gown  and  petticoat  into 
shreds  and  twisted  them  into  a  sort  of  rope  which  he  fastened 
to  the  lower  bars  of  the  window.  With  some  difficulty  he 
contrived  to  raise  her  to  the  window,  and  with  still  greater 
difficulty  to  squeeze  her  through  it  —  her  bulk  being  much 
greater  than  his  own.  He  then  made  a  sort  of  running  noose, 
passed  it  over  her  body,  and  taking  firmly  hold  of  the  bars, 
prepared  to  guide  her  descent.  But  Bess  could  scarcely  sum- 
mon resolution  enough  to  hazard  the  experiment ;  and  it  was 
only  on  Jack's  urgent  intreaties,  and  even  threats,  that  she  could 

QAorafr  fi 



HOW    TO   FEED   A   LION.  23 

be  prevailed  upon  to  trust  herself  to  the  frail  tenure  of  the 
rope  he  had  prepared.  At  length,  however,  she  threw  herself 
off;  and  Jack  carefully  guiding  the  rope  she  landed  in  safety. 

The  next  moment  he  was  by  her  side. 

But  the  great  point  was  still  unaccomplished.  They  had 
escaped  from  the  New  Prison,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  wall  of 
Clerkenwell  Bridewell,  by  which  that  jail  was  formerly  sur- 
rounded, and  which  was  more  than  twenty  feet  high,  and  pro- 
tected by  formidable  and  bristling  chevaux  de  frise,  remained  to 
be  scaled.  Jack,  however,  had  an  expedient  for  mastering  this 
difficulty.  He  ventured  to  the  great  gates,  and  by  inserting 
his  girnblets  into  the  wood  at  intervals,  so  as  to  form  points 
upon  which  he  could  rest  his  foot,  he  contrived  to  ascend 
them ;  and  when  at  the  top,  having  fastened  a  portion  of  his 
dress  to  the  spikes,  he  managed,  not  without  considerable  risk, 
to  draw  up  his  female  companion.  Once  over  the  iron  spikes, 
Bess  exhibited  no  reluctance  to  be  let  down  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wall.  Having  seen  his  mistress  safe  down,  Jack  instantly 
descended,  leaving  the  best  part  of  his  clothes,  as  a  memorial  of 
his  flight,  to  the  jailor. 

And  thus  he  effected  his  escape  from  the  New  Prison. 


BY   J.   JOCUND. 

TAKE  a  wonder, — no  matter  what  monster  it  be, — 

A  doctor  of  medicine,  a  pompous  D.D., 

An  actor,  an  author,  a  fiddler,  a  fool, 

(In  choosing  a  Lion  the  calling's  no  rule,) 

Let  the  beast  be  eccentric,  or  learned,  or  sad, 

A  martyr  to  science,  a  poet  half  mad  ; 

Then,  having  assembled  the  greatest,  the  least 

Of  your  friends,  make  this  Lion  the  first  at  a  feast ; 

Give  him  the  choice  fare,  'mid  the  choicest  of  things, 

Through  soup,  fish,  and  meat,  to  the  game's  breast  and  wings, 

The  pastry,  the  liqueurs,  the  ices,  the  pines, 

The  nicest  of  morsels,  the  choicest  of  wines  ! 

Let  him  be  your  party,  your  guest,  and  your  care, 

.Devote  not  a  look  to  another  one  there*; 

And,  as  for  good  humour,  bestow  not  a  tittle, 

Your  lion  looks  greater,  yourj'riends  feel  more  little, 

(Sufficient  for  them  that  they  come,  and  you  victual !) 

Have  no  eyes,  and  no  ears,  no  thoughts  save  for  him. 

If  he  smile,  'tis  his  wit ;  if  he  growl,  'tis  his  whim  ; 

Dare  not  to  disturb  ;  beware  how  you  teaze ; 

Let  him  frisk  if  he  like;  let  him  sulk  if  he  please; 

Whene'er  he  's  pathetic  you  tears  mustn't  fail ; 

And  with  laughter  expire  as  he  "  flashes  his  tail.'  " 

Let  it  be  understood,  (yet  not  strictly  true,) 

Though  brutish  to  others,  he 's  gentle  to  you ; 

And  when  'gainst  your  pet  curs  open  "full  cry  "  on, 

You  vow  "they  don't  know  how  to  treat  such  a  Lion  ! 

They  ought  to  be  silent  whenever  he  roars, 

For  the  Lion 's  above  such  a  parcel  of '  bores.' "  . 

And,  though  'gainst  this  Lion  they  storm,  rave,  and  swear, 

They  're  agreed  on  one  point — "  lie  's  the  biggest  BEAST  there! ' 





I  HAVK  observed  that  as  a  man  advances  in  life,  he  is  subject  to 
a  kind  of  plethora  of  the  mind,  doubtless  occasioned  by  the  vast 
accumulation  of  wisdom  and  experience  upon  the  brain.  Hence,  he 
is  apt  to  become  narrative  and  admonitory,  that  is  to  say,  fond  of 
telling  long  stories,  and  of  doling  out  advice,  to  the  small  profit  and 
great  annoyance  of  his  friends.  As  I  have  a  great  horror  of  becom- 
ing the  oracle,  or,  more  technically  speaking,  the  "  bore,"  of  the  do- 
mestic circle,  and  would  much  rather  bestow  my  wisdom  and  tedi- 
ousness  upon  the  world  at  large,  I  have  always  sought  to  ease  off 
this  surcharge  of  the  intellect  by  means  of  my  pen,  and  hence  have 
inflicted  divers  gossipping  volumes  upon  the  patience  of  the  public. 
I  am  tired,  however,  of  writing  volumes;  they  do  not  afford  exactly 
the  relief  I  require;  there  is  too  much  preparation,  arrangement, 
and  parade,  in  this  set  form  of  coming  before  the  public.  I  am  grow- 
ing too  indolent  and  unambitious  for  any  thing  that  requires  labour 
or  display.  I  have  thought,  therefore,  of  securing  to  myself  a  snug 
corner  in  some  periodical  work,  where  I  might,  as  it  were,  loll  at  my 
ease  in  my  elbow  chair,  and  chat  sociably  with  the  public  as  with  an 
old  friend,  on  any  chance  subject  that  might  pop  into  my  brain. 

Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  was  one  of  mv  earliest  and  most  va- 
lued friends,  and  the  recollection  of  him  is  associated  with  some  of 
the  pleasantest  scenes  of  my  youthful  days.  To  explain  this,  and  to 
show  how  I  came  into  possession  of  sundry  of  his  posthumous  works, 
which  I  have  from  time  to  time  given  to  the  world,  permit  me  to 
relate  a  few  particulars  of  our  early  intercourse.  I  give  them  with 
the  more  confidence,  as  I  know  the  interest  taken  in  that  departed 

My  first  acquaintance  with  that  great  and  good  man,  —  for  such  I 
may  venture  to  call  him,  now  that  the  lapse  of  some  thirty  years 
has  shrouded  his  name  with  venerable  antiquity,  and  the  popular 
voice  has  elevated  him  to  the  rank  of  the  classic  historians  of  yore, 
—  my  first  acquaintance  with  him  was  formed  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson,  not  far  from  the  wizard  region  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  He  had 
come  there  in  the  course  of  his  researches  among  the  Dutch  neigh- 
bourhoods for  materials  for  his  immortal  history.  For  this  purpose 
he  was  ransacking  the  archives  of  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  histo- 
rical mansions  in  the  country.  It  was  a  lowly  edifice,  built  in  the 
time  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  and  stood  on  a  green  bank,  overshadow- 
ed by  trees,  from  which  it  peeped  forth  upon  the  Great  Tappan  Zee, 
so  famous  among  early  Dutch  navigators.  A  bright,  pure  spring 
welled  up  at  the  foot  of  the  green  bank  ;  a  wild  brook  came  babbling 
down  a  neighbouring  ravine,  and  threw  itself  into  a  little  woody 
cove  in  front  of  the  mansion.  It  was,  indeed,  as  quiet  and  sheltered 
a  nook  as  the  heart  of  man  could  require,  in  which  to  take  refuge 
from  the  cares  and  troubles  of  the  world ;  and,  as  such,  it  had  been 
chosen  in  old  times,  by  Wolfert  Acker,  one  of  the  privy-councillors 
of  the  renowned  Peter  Stuyvesant. 


This  worthy  but  ill-starred  man  had  led  a  weary  and  worried  life, 
throughout  the  stormy  reign  of  the  chivalric  Peter,  being  one  of 
those  unlucky  wights  with  whom  the  world  is  ever  at  variance,  and 
who  are  kept  in  a  continual  fume  and  fret  by  the  wickedness  of 
mankind.  At  the  time  of  the  subjugation  of  the  province  by  the 
English,  he  retired  hither  in  high  dudgeon ;  with  the  bitter  determi- 
nation to  bury  himself  from  the  world,  and  live  here  in  peace  and 
quietness  for  the  remainder  of  his  days.  In  token  of  this  fixed  reso- 
lution, he  inscribed  over  his  door  the  favourite  Dutch  motto,  "  Lust 
in  Rust,"  (pleasure  in  repose.)  The  mansion  was  then  called  "  Wol- 
fert's  Rust" — Wolfert's  Rest ;  but  in  process  of  time,  the  name  was 
vitiated  into  Wolfert's  Roost,  —  probably  from  its  quaint  cock-loft 
look,  or  from  its  having  a  weather-cock  perched  on  every  gable.  This 
name  it  continued  to  bear  long  after  the  unlucky  Wolfert  was  driven 
forth  once  more  upon  a  wrangling  world,  by  the  tongue  of  a  terma- 
gant wife  ;  for  it  passed  into  a  proverb  through  the  neighbourhood, 
and  has  been  handed  down  by  tradition,  that  the  cock  of  the  Roost 
was  the  most  hen-pecked  bird  in  the  country. 

This  primitive  and  historical  mansion  has  since  passed  through 
many  changes  and  trials,  which  it  may  be  my  lot  hereafter  to  notice. 
At  the  time  of  the  sojourn  of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  it  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  gallant  family  of  the  Van  Tassels,  who  have  figured 
so  conspicuously  in  his  writings.  What  appears  to  have  given  it 
peculiar  value,  in  his  eyes,  was  the  rich  treasury  of  historical  facts 
here  secretly  hoarded  up,  like  buried  gold  ;  for,  it  is  said  that  Wol- 
fert Acker,  when  he  retreated  from  New  Amsterdam,  carried  off 
with  him  many  of  the  records  and  journals  of  the  province,  pertain- 
ing to  the  Dutch  dynasty  ;  swearing  that  they  should  never  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  English.  These,  like  the  lost  books  of  Livy,  had 
baffled  the  research  of  former  historians ;  but,  these  did  I  find  the 
indefatigable  Diedrich  diligently  deciphering.  He  was  already  a 
sage  in  years  and  experience,  I  but  an  idle  stripling  ;  yet  he  did  not 
despise  my  youth  and  ignorance,  but  took  me  kindly  by  the  hand, 
and  led  me  gently  into  those  paths  of  local  and  traditional  lore 
which  he  was  so  fond  of  exploring.  I  sat  with  him  in  his  little  cham- 
ber at  the  Roost,  and  watched  the  antiquarian  patience  and  per- 
severance with  which  he  deciphered  those  venerable  Dutch  docu- 
ments, worse  than  Herculanean  manuscripts.  I  sat  with  him  by  the 
spring,  at  the  foot  of  the  green  bank,  and  listened  to  his  heroic  tales 
about  the  worthies  of  the  olden  time,  the  paladins  of  New  Amster- 
dam. I  accompanied  him  in  his  legendary  researches  about  Tarry- 
town  and  Sing-Sing,  and  explored  with  him  the  spell-bound  recesses 
of  Sleepy  Hollow.  I  was  present  at  many  of  his  conferences  with 
the  good  old  Dutch  burghers  and  their  wives,  from  whom  he  derived 
many  of  those  marvellous  facts  not  laid  down  in  books  or  records, 
and  which  give  such  superior  value  and  authenticity  to  his  history, 
over  all  others  that  have  been  written  concerning  the  New  Nether- 

But,  let  me  check  my  proneness  to  dilate  upon  this  favourite 
theme  ;  I  may  recur  to  it  hereafter.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  intimacy 
thus  formed  continued  for  a  considerable  time ;  and,  in  company 
with  the  worthy  Diedrich,  I  visited  many  of  the  places  celebrated  by 
his  pen.  The  currents  of  our  lives  at  length  diverged.  He  remained 
at  home  to  complete  his  mighty  work,  while  a -vagrant  fancy  led  me 

2<3  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

to  wander  about  the  world.  Many,  many  years  elapsed  before  I  re- 
turned to  the  parent  soil.  In  the  interim  the  venerable  historian  of 
the  New  Netherlands  had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers,  but  his  name 
had  risen  to  renown.  His  native  city — that  city  in  which  he  so 
much  delighted, — had  decreed  all  manner  of  costly  honours  to  his 
memory.  I  found  his  effigy  imprinted  upon  new-year  cakes,  and  de- 
voured with  eager  relish  by  holiday  urchins ;  a  great  oyster-house 
bore  the  name  of  "  Knickerbocker  Hall ;"  and  I  narrowly  escaped 
the  pleasure  of  being  run  over  by  a  Knickerbocker  omnibus  ! 

Proud  of  having  associated  with  a  man  who  had  achieved  such 
greatness,  I  now  recalled  our  early  intimacy  with  tenfold  pleasure, 
and  sought  to  revisit  the  scenes  we  had  trodden  together.  The  most 
important  of  these  was  the  mansion  of  the  Van  Tassels,  the  Roost  of 
the  unfortunate  Wolfert.  Time,  which  changes  all  things,  is  but 
slow  in  its  operations  upon  a  Dutchman's  dwelling.  I  found  the 
venerable  and  quaint  little  edifice  much  as  I  had  seen  it  during  the 
sojourn  of  Diedrich.  There  stood  his  elbow  chair  in  the  corner  of 
the  room  he  had  occupied  ;  the  old-fashioned  Dutch  writing-desk  at 
which  he  had  pored  over  the  chronicles  of  the  Manhattoes ;  there 
was  the  old  wooden  chest,  with  the  archives  left  by  Wolfert  Acker, 
many  of  which,  however,  had  been  fired  off  as  wadding  from  the  long 
duck-gun  of  the  Van  Tassels.  The  scene  around  the  mansion  was 
still  the  same,  —  the  green  bank,  the  spring  beside  which  I  had  lis- 
tened to  the  legendary  narratives  of  the  historian,  the  wild  brook 
babbling  down  to  the  woody  cove,  and  the  overshadowing  locust 
trees,  half  shutting  out  the  prospect  of  the  Great  Tappan  Zee. 

As  I  looked  round  upon  the  scene,  my  heart  yearned  at  the  recol- 
lection of  my  departed  friend,  and  I  wistfully  eyed  the  mansion 
which  he  had  inhabited,  and  which  was  fast  mouldering  to  decay. 
The  thought  struck  me  to  arrest  the  desolating  hand  of  time,  to 
rescue  the  historic  pile  from  utter  ruin,  and  to  make  it  the  closing 
scene  of  my  wanderings;  a  quiet  home,  where  I  might  enjoy  "  lust 
in  rust"  for  the  remainder  of  my  days.  It  is  true,  the  fate  of  the 
unlucky  Wolfert  passed  across  my  mind ;  but  I  consoled  myself 
with  the  reflection  that  I  was  a  bachelor,  and  that  I  had  no  terma- 
gant wife  to  dispute  the  sovereignty  of  the  Roost  with  me. 

I  have  become  possessor  of  the  Roost !  I  have  repaired  and  reno- 
vated it  with  religious  care,  in  the  genuine  Dutch  style,  and  have 
adorned  and  illustrated  it  with  sundry  reliques  of  the  glorious  days 
of  the  New  Netherlands.  A  venerable  weather-cock,  of  portly 
Dutch  dimensions,  which  once  battled  with  the  wind  on  the  top  of 
the  Stadt-House  of  New  Amsterdam,  in  the  time  of  Peter  Stuyve- 
sant,  now  erects  its  crest  on  the  gable  end  of  my  edifice,  a  gilded 
horse,  in  full  gallop,  once  the  weather-cock  of  the  great  Vander  Hey- 
den  Palace  of  Albany,  now  glitters  in  the  sunshine,  and  veers  with 
every  breeze,  on  the  peaked  turret  over  my  portal :  my  sanctum 
sanctorum  is  the  chamber  once  honoured  by  the  illustrious  Diedrich, 
and  it  is  from  his  elbow-chair,  and  his  identical  old  Dutch  writing, 
desk,  that  I  pen  this  rambling  epistle. 

Here,  then,  have  I  set  up  my  rest,  surrounded  by  the  recollec- 
tions of  early  days,  and  the  mementos  of  the  historian  of  the  Man- 
hattoes, with  that  glorious  river  before  me,  which  flows  with  such 
majesty  through  his  works,  and  which  has  ever  been  to  me  a  river 
of  delight. 


I  thank  God  I  was  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  !  I  think  it 
an  invaluable  advantage  to  be  born  and  brought  up  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  some  grand  and  noble  object  in  nature,  a  river,  a  lake,  or  a 
mountain.  We  make  a  friendship  with  it,  we  in  a  manner  ally  our- 
selves to  it  for  life.  It  remains  an  object  of  our  pride  and  affections, 
a  rallying  point  to  call  us  home  again  after  all  our  wanderings. 
"  The  things  which  we  have  learned  in  our  childhood/'  says  an  old 
writer,  "  grow  up  with  our  souls,  and  unite  themselves  to  it."  So 
it  is  with  the  scenes  among  which  we  have  passed  our  early  days ; 
they  influence  the  whole  course  of  our  thoughts  and  feelings ; 
and  I  fancy  I  can  trace  much  of  what  is  good  and  pleasant  in  my 
own  heterogeneous  compound  to  my  early  companionship  with  this 
glorious  river.  In  the  warmth  of  my  youthful  enthusiasm,  I  used  to 
clothe  it  with  moral  attributes,  and  almost  to  give  it  a  soul.  I  ad- 
mired its  frank,  bold,  honest  character,  its  noble  sincerity,  and  per- 
fect truth.  Here  was  no  specious  smiling  surface  covering  the  dan- 
gerous sand-bar  or  perfidious  rock;  but  a  stream  deep  as  it  was 
broad,  and  bearing  with  honourable  faith  the  bark  that  trusted  to  its 
waves.  I  gloried  in  its  simple,  quiet,  majestic  epic  flow,  ever  straight 
forward.  Once,  indeed,  it  turns  aside  for  a  moment,  forced  from  its 
course  by  opposing  mountains ;  but  it  struggles  bravely  through 
them,  and  immediately  resumes  its  straightforward  march.  Behold, 
thought  I,  an  emblem  of  a  good  man's  course  through  life;  ever 
simple,  open,  and  direct ;  or  if,  overpowered  by  adverse  circum- 
stances, he  deviate  into  error,  it  is  but  momentary  ;  he  soon  recovers 
his  onward  and  honourable  career,  and  continues  it  to  the  end  of  his 

Excuse  this  rhapsody,  into  which  I  have  been  betrayed  by  a  revi- 
val of  early  feelings.  The  Hudson  is,  in  a  manner,  my  first  and 
last  love;  and,  after  all  my  wanderings  and  seeming  infidelities,  I 
return  to  it  with  a  heartfelt  preference  over  all  the  other  rivers  in 
the  world.  I  seem  to  catch  new  life,  as  I  bathe  in  its  ample  billows, 
and  inhale  the  pure  breezes  of  its  hills.  It  is  true,  the  romance  of 
youth  is  past  that  once  spread  illusions  over  every  scene.  I  can  no 
longer  picture  an  Arcadia  in  every  green  valley,  nor  a  fairy  land 
among  the  distant  mountains,  nor  a  peerless  beauty  in  every  villa 
gleaming  among  the  trees;  but  though  the  illusions  of  youth  have 
faded  from  the  landscape,  the  recollections  of  departed  years  and 
departed  pleasures  shed  over  it  the  mellow  charm  of  evening  sun- 

I  have  much  to  say  about  what  I  have  seen,  heard,  felt,  and 
thought,  through  the  course  of  a  varied  and  rambling  life,  and  some 
lucubrations,  that  have  long  been  encumbering  my  port-folio,  to- 
gether with  divers  reminiscences  of  the  venerable  historian  of  the 
New  Netherlands,  that  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  those  who  have 
taken  an  interest  in  his  writings,  and  are  desirous  of  anything  that 
may  cast  a  light  back  upon  our  early  history.  Rest  assured,  that, 
though  retired  from  the  world,  I  am  not  disgusted  with  it  ;  and  that 
if,  in  my  communings  with  it,  I  do  not  prove  very  wise,  I  trust  I 
shall  at  least  prove  very  good  natured. 



About  five-and-twenty  miles  from  the  ancient  and  renowned  city 
of  Manhattan,  formerly  called  New- Amsterdam,  and  vulgarly  called 
New  York,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  that  expansion  of  the  Hudson, 
known  among  Dutch  mariners  of  yore  as  the  Tappan  Zee,  being,  in 
fact,  the  great  Mediterranean  Sea  of  the  New  Netherlands,  stands  a 
little  old-fashioned  stone  mansion,  all  made  up  of  gable-ends,  and  as 
full  of  angles  and  corners  as  an  old  cocked  hat.  Though  but  of  small 
dimenions,  yet,  like  many  small  people,  it  is  of  mighty  spirit,  and 
values  itself  greatly  on  its  antiquity,  being  one  of  the  oldest  edifices, 
for  its  size,  in  the  whole  country.  It  claims  to  be  an  ancient  seat  of 
empire,  I  may  rather  say  an  empire  in  itself,  and,  like  all  empires, 
great  and  small,  has  had  its  grand  historical  epochs.  In  speaking  of 
this  doughty  and  valorous  little  pile,  I  shall  call  it  by  its  usual  appel- 
lation of  "  The  Roost ;  "  though  that  is  a  name  given  to  it  in  modern 
days,  since  it  became  the  abode  of  the  white  man. 

Its  origin,  in  truth,  dates  far  back  in  that  remote  region  commonly 
called  the  fabulous  age,  in  which  vulgar  fact  becomes  mystified,  and 
tinted  up  with  delectable  fiction.  The  eastern  shore  of  the  Tappan 
Sea  was  inhabited  in  those  days  by  an  unsophisticated  race,  existing 
in  all  the  simplicity  of  nature;  that  is  to  say,  they  lived  by  hunting 
and  fishing,  and  recreated  themselves  occasionally  with  a  little  toma- 
hawking and  scalping.  Each  stream  that  flows  down  from  the  hills 
into  the  Hudson,  had  its  petty  sachem,  who  ruled  over  a  hand's 
breadth  of  forest  on  either  side,  and  had  his  seat  of  government  at  its 
mouth.  The  chieftain  who  ruled  at  the  Roost,  was  not  merely  a  great 
warrior,  but  a  medicine-man,  or  prophet,  or  conjurer,  for  they  all 
mean  the  same  thing  in  Indian  parlance.  Of  his  fighting  propensities 
evidences  still  remain,  in  various  arrow-heads  of  flint,  and  stone  battle- 
axes,  occasionally  dug  up  about  the  Roost:  of  his  wizard  powers, 
we  have  a  token  in  a  spring  which  wells  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bank,  on 
the  very  margin  of  the  river,  which,  it  is  said,  was  gifted  by  him  with 
rejuvenating  powers,  something  like  the  renowned  Fountain  of  Youth 
in  the  Floridas,  so  anxiously,  but  vainly,  sought  after  by  the  veteran 
Ponce  de  Leon.  This  story,  however,  is  stoutly  contradicted  by  an 
old  Dutch  matter-of-fact  tradition,  which  declares  that  the  spring  in 
question  was  smuggled  over  from  Holland  in  a  churn,  by  Femmetie 
Van  Blarcom,  wife  of  Goosen  Garret  Van  Blarcom,  one  of  the  first 
settlers,  and  that  she  took  it  up  by  night,  unknown  to  her  husband, 
from  beside  their  farm-house  near  Rotterdam ;  being  sure  she  should 
find  no  water  equal  to  it  in  the  new  country — and  she  was  right. 

The  wizard  sachem  had  a  great  passion  for  discussing  territorial 
questions,  and  settling  boundary  lines ;  this  kept  him  in  continual 
feud  with  the  neighbouring  sachems,  each  of  whom  stood  up  stoutly 
for  his  hand-breadth  of  territory  ;  so  that  there  is  not  a  petty  stream 
nor  ragged  hill  in  the  neighbourhood,  that  has  not  been  the  subject 
of  long  talks  and  hard  battles.  The  sachem,  however,  as  has  been 
observed,  was  a  medicine-man  as  well  as  warrior,  and  vindicated  his 
claims  by  arts  as  well  as  arms ;  so  that,  by  dint  of  a  little  hard  fighting 
here,  and  hocus-pocus  there,  he  managed  to  extend  his  boundary- 
line  from  field  to  field,  and  stream  to  stream,  until  he  found  himself 


in  legitimate  possession  of  that  region  of  hills  and  valleys,  bright 
fountains  and  limpid  brooks,  locked  in  by  the  mazy  windings  of  the 
Neperan  and  the  Pocantico.* 

This  last-mentioned  stream,  or  rather  the  valley  through  which  it 
flows,  was  the  most  difficult  of  all  his  acquisitions.  It  lay  half  way 
to  the  stronghold  of  the  redoubtable  sachem  of  Sing-Sing,  and  was 
claimed  by  him  as  an  integral  part  of  his  domains.  Many  were  the 
sharp  conflicts  between  the  rival  chieftains  for  the  sovereignty  of  this 
valley,  and  many  the  ambuscades,  surprisals,  and  deadly  onslaughts, 
that  took  place  among  its  fastnesses,  of  which  it  grieves  me  much  that 
I  cannot  furnish  the  details,  for  the  gratification  of  those  gentle,  but 
bloody-minded  readers  of  both  sexes,  who  delight  in  the  romance  of 
the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  wizard 
chieftain,  was  at  length  victorious,  though  his  victory  is  attributed,  in 
Indian  tradition,  to  a  great  medicine,  or  charm,  by  which  he  laid  the 
sachem  of  Sing-Sing  and  his  warriors  asleep  among  the  rocks  and  re- 
cesses of  the  valley,  where  they  remain  asleep  to  the  present  day, 
with  their  bows  and  war-clubs  beside  them.  This  was  the  origin  of 
that  potent  and  drowsy  spell  which  still  prevails  over  the  valley  of 
the  Pocantico,  and  which  has  gained  it  the  well-merited  appellation 
of  Sleepy  Hollow.  Often,  in  secluded  and  quiet  parts  of  that  valley, 
where  the  stream  is  overhung  by  dark  woods  and  rocks,  the  plough- 
man, on  some  calm  and  sunny  day,  as  he  shouts  to  his  oxen,  is  sur- 
prised at  hearing  faint  shouts  from  the  hill  sides  in  reply ;  being,  it 
is  said,  the  spell-bound  warriors,  who  half  start  from  their  rocky 
couches,  and  grasp  their  weapons,  but  sink  to  sleep  again. 

The  conquest  of  the  Pocantico  was  the  last  triumph  of  the  wizard 
sachem.  Notwithstanding  all  his  medicine  and  charms,  he  fell  in 
battle,  in  attempting  to  extend  his  boundary  line  to  the  east,  so  as  to 
take  in  the  little  wild  valley  of  the  Sprain,  and  his  grave  is  still  shown, 
near  the  banks  of  that  pastoral  stream.  He  left,  however,  a  great 
empire  to  his  successors,  extending  along  the  Tappan  Zee,  from 
Yonkers  quite  to  Sleepy  Hollow  ;  all  which  delectable  region,  if 
every  one  had  his  right,  would  still  acknowledge  allegiance  to  the 
lord  of  the  Roost — whoever  he  might  be.t 

The  wizard  sachem  was  succeeded  by  a  line  of  chiefs,  of  whom 
nothing  remarkable  remains  on  record.  The  last  who  makes  any 

*  As  every  one  may  not  recognise  these  boundaries  by  their  original  Indian 
names,  it  may  be  well  to  observe,  that  the  Neperan  is  that  beautiful  stream  vulgar- 
ly called  the  Saw-Mill  River,  which,  after  winding  gracefully  for  many  miles 
through  a  lovely  valley,  shrouded  by  groves,  and  dotted  by  Dutch  farm-houses, 
empties  itself  into  the  Hudson,  at  the  ancient  dorp  of  Yonkers.  The  Pocantico  is 
that  hitherto  nameless  brook,  that,  rising  among  woody  hills,  winds  in  many  a 
wizard  maze  through  the  sequestered  haunts  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  We  owe  it  to  the 
indefatigable  researches  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  that  those  beautiful  streams  are 
rescued  from  modern  common-place,  and  reinvested  with  their  ancient  Indian 
names.  The  correctness  of  the  venerable  historian  may  be  ascertained,  by  reference 
to  the  records  of  the  original  Indian  grants  to  the  Herr  Frederick  Philipsen,  pre- 
served in  the  county  clerk's  office  at  White  Plains. 

f  In  recording  the  contest  for  the  sovereignty  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  I  have  called 
one  sachem  by  the  modern  name  of  his  castle  or  strong-hold,  viz.  Sing-Sing.  This, 
I  would  observe,  for  the  sake  of  historical  exactness,  is  a  corruption  of  the  old  In- 
dian name  O-sin-sing,  or  rather  O-sin-song ;  that  is  to  say,  a  place  where  any 
thing  may  be  had  for  a  song —  a  great  recommendation  for  a  market  town.  The 
modern  and  melodious  alteration  of  the  name  to  Sing- Sing,  is  said  to  have  been 
made  in  compliment  to  an  eminent  Methodist  singing-master,  who  first  introduced 
into  the  neighbourhood  the  art  of  singing  through  the  nose. 


figure  in  history,  is  the  one  who  ruled  here  at  the  time  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  country  by  the  white  man.  This  sachem  is  said  to 
have  been  a  renowned  trencherman,  who  maintained  almost  as  potent 
a  sway  by  dint  of  good  feeding,  as  his  warlike  predecessor  had  done 
by  hard  fighting.  He  diligently  cultivated  the  growth  of  oysters 
along  the  aquatic  borders  of  his  territories,  and  founded  those  great 
oyster  beds  which  yet  exist  along  the  shores  of  the  Tappan  Sea. 
Did  any  dispute  occur  between  him  and  a  neighbouring  sachem,  he 
invited  him,  and  all  his  principal  sages  and  fighting  men,  to  a  solemn 
banquet,  and  seldom  failed  of  feeding  them  into  terms.  Enormous 
heaps  of  oyster-shells,  which  encumber  the  lofty  banks  of  the  river, 
remain  as  monuments  of  his  gastronomical  victories  ;  and  have  been 
occasionally  adduced,  through  mistake,  by  amateur  geologists  from 
town,  as  additional  proofs  of  the  deluge.  Modern  investigators,  who 
are  making  such  indefatigable  researches  into  our  early  history,  have 
even  affirmed  that  this  sachem  was  the  very  individual  on  whom 
Master  Hendrick  Hudson,  and  his  mate  Robert  Juet,  made  that  sage 
and  astounding  experiment,  so  gravely  recorded  by  the  latter  in  his 
narrative  of  the  voyage  : — "  Our  master  and  his  mate  determined  to 
try  some  of  the  cheefe  men  of  the  country,  whether  they  had  any 
treacherie  in  them.  So  they  took  them  down  into  the  cabin,  and  gave 
them  so  much  wine  and  aqua  vita?,  that  they  were  all  very  merrie ; 
one  of  them  had  his  wife  with  him,  which  sate  so  modestly  as  any 
of  our  countrywomen  would  do  in  a  strange  place.  In  the  end,  one 
of  them  was  drunke ;  and  that  was  strange  to  them,  for  they  could 
not  tell  how  to  take  it."* 

How  far  Master  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  worthy  mate  carried 
their  experiment  with  the  sachem's  wife,  is  not  recorded,  neither  does 
the  curious  Robert  Juet  make  any  mention  of  the  after-consequences 
of  this  grand  moral  test  ;  tradition,  however,  affirms  that  the  sachem, 
on  landing,  gave  his  modest  spouse  a  hearty  rib-roasting,  according 
to  the  connubial  discipline  of  the  aboriginals;  it  farther  affirms,  that 
he  remained  a  hard-drinker  to  the  day  of  his  death,  trading  away  all 
his  lands,  acre  by  acre,  for  aquavits  ;  by  which  means  the  Roost  and 
all  its  domains,  from  Yonkers  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  came,  in  the  regu- 
lar course  of  trade,  and,  by  right  of  purchase,  into  the  possession  of 
the  Dutchmen. 

Never  has  a  territorial  right,  in  these  new  countries,  been  more 
legitimately  and  tradefully  established ;  yet,  I  grieve  to  say,  the 
worthy  government  of  the  New  Netherlands  was  not  suffered  to 
enjoy  this  grand  acquisition  unmolested:  for,  in  the  year  1654,  the 
losel  Yankees  of  Connecticut, — those  swapping,  bargaining,  squatting 
enemies  of  the  Manhattoes,  made  a  daring  inroad  into  this  neighbour- 
hood, and  founded  a  colony  called  Westchester,  or,  as  the  ancient 
Dutch  records  term  it,  Vest  Dorp,  in  the  right  of  one  Thomas  Pell, 
who  pretended  to  have  purchased  the  whole  surrounding  country  of 
the  Indians ;  and  stood  ready  to  argue  their  claims  before  any  tri- 
bunal of  Christendom. 

This  happened  during  the  chivalrous  reign  of  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
and  it  roused  the  ire  of  that  gunpowder  old  hero ;  who,  without 
waiting  to  discuss  claims  and  titles,  pounced  at  once  upon  the  nest  of 
nefarious  squatters,  carried  off  twenty-five  of  them  in  chains  to  the 
Manhattoes ;  nor  did  he  stay  his  hand,  nor  give  rest  to  his  wooden 
*  See  Juet's  Journal,  Purchas  Pilgrim. 


leg,  until  he  had  driven  every  Yankee  back  into  the  bounds  of  Con- 
necticut, or  obliged  him  to  acknowledge  allegiance  to  their  High 
Mightinesses.  He  then  established  certain  out-posts,  far  in  the  Indian 
country,  to  keep  an  eye  over  these  debateable  lands :  one  of  these 
border  holds  was  the  Roost,  being  accessible  from  New  Amsterdam 
by  water,  and  easily  kept  supplied.  The  Yankees,  however,  had  too 
great  a  hankering  after  this  delectable  region  to  give  it  up  entirely. 
Some  remained,  and  swore  allegiance  to  the  Manhattoes  ;  but,  while 
they  kept  this  open  semblance  of  fealty,  they  went  to  work  secretly 
and  vigorously  to  intermarry  and  multiply,  and,  by  these  nefarious 
means,  artfully  propagated  themselves  into  possession  of  a  wide  tract 
of  those  open  arable  parts  of  Westchester  county,  lying  along  the 
Sound,  where  their  descendants  may  be  found  at  the  present  day  ; 
while  the  mountainous  regions  along  the  Hudson,  with  the  valleys 
of  the  Neperan  and  the  Pocantico,  are  tenaciously  held  by  the  lineal 
descendants  of  the  Copperheads. 

QThe  chronicle  of  the  venerable  Diedrich  here  goes  on  to  relate 
how  that,  shortly  after  the  above-mentioned  events,  the  whole  pro- 
vince of  the  New  Netherlands  was  subjugated  by  the  British;  how 
that  Wolfert  Acker,  one  of  the  wrangling  councillors  of  Peter  Stuy  ve- 
sant,  retired  in  dudgeon  to  this  fastness  in  the  wildei'ness,  determining 
to  enjoy  "  lust  in  rust  "  for  the  remainder  of  his  days,  whence  the  place 
first  received  its  name  of  Woolf ert's  Roost.  As  these  and  sundry 
other  matters  have  been  laid  before  the  public  in  a  preceding  article, 
I  shall  pass  them  over,  and  resume  the  chronicle  where  it  treats  of 
matters  not  hitherto  recorded.] 

Like  many  men  who  retire  from  a  worrying  world,  says  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker,  to  enjoy  quiet  in  the  country,  Wolfert  Acker  soon 
found  himself  up  to  the  ears  in  trouble.  He  had  a  termagant  wife  at 
home,  and  there  was  what  is  profanely  called  "the  deuce  to  pay" 
abroad.  The  recent  irruption  of  the  Yankees  into  the  bounds  of  the 
New  Netherlands  had  left  behind  it  a  doleful  pestilence,  such  as  is 
apt  to  follow  the  steps  of  invading  armies.  This  was  the  deadly 
plague  of  witchcraft,  which  had  long  been  prevalent  to  the  eastward. 
The  malady  broke  out  at  Vest  Dorp,  and  threatened  to  spread 
throughout  the  country.  The  Dutch  burghers  along  the  Hudson, 
from  Yonkers  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  hastened  to  nail  horse-shoes  to 
their  doors,  which  have  ever  been  found  of  sovereign  virtue  to  repel 
this  awful  visitation.  This  is  the  origin  of  the  horse-shoes  which 
may  still  be  seen  nailed  to  the  doors  of  barns  and  farm-houses,  in 
various  parts  of  this  sage  and  sober-thoughted  region. 

The  evil,  however,  bore  hard  upon  the  Roost;  partly,  perhaps,  from 
its  having  in  old  times  been  subject  to  supernatural  influences,  during 
the  sway  of  the  wizard  sachem ;  but  it  has  always,  in  fact,  been 
considered  a  fated  mansion.  The  unlucky  Wolfert  had  no  rest  day 
nor  night.  When  the  weather  was  quiet  all  over  the  country,  the 
wind  would  howl  and  whistle  round  his  roof;  witches  would  ride  and 
whirl  upon  his  weather-cocks,  and  scream  down  his  chimneys.  His 
cows  gave  bloody  milk,  and  his  horses  broke  bounds,  and  scampered 
into  the  woods.  There  were  not  wanting  evil  tongues  to  whisper 
that  Wolfert's  termagant  wife  had  some  tampering  with  the  enemy ; 
and  that  she  even  attended  a  witches'  Sabbath  in  Sleepy  Hollow ;  nay, 


a  neighbour,  who  lived  hard  by,  declared  that  he  saw  her  harnessing 
a  rampant  broomstick,  and  about  to  ride  to  the  meeting ;  though 
others  presume  it  was  merely  flourished  in  the  course  of  one  of  her 
curtain  lectures,  to  give  energy  and  emphasis  to  a  period.  Certain  it 
is,  that  Wolfert  Acker  nailed  a  horse-shoe  to  the  front-door,  during 
one  of  her  nocturnal  excursions,  to  prevent  her  return  ;  but,  as  she 
re-entered  the  house  without  any  difficulty,  it  is  probable  she  was 
not  so  much  of  a  witch  as  she  was  represented.* 

After  the  time  of  Wolfert  Acker,  a  long  interval  elapses,  about 
which  but  little  is  known.  It  is  hoped,  however,  that  the  antiquarian 
researches  so  diligently  making  in  every  part  of  this  new  country, 
may  yet  throw  some  light  upon  what  may  be  termed  the  Dark  Ages 
of  the  Roost. 

The  next  period  at  which  we  find  this  venerable  and  eventful  pile 
rising  to  importance,  and  resuming  its  old  belligerent  character,  is 
during  the  revolutionary  war.  It  was  at  that  time  owned  by  Jacob 
Van  Tassel,  or  Van  Texel,  as  the  name  was  originally  spelled,  after 
the  place  in  Holland,  which  gave  birth  to  this  heroic  line.  He  was 
strong-built,  long-limbed,  and  as  stout  in  soul  as  in  body  ;  a  fit  suc- 
cessor to  the  warrior  sachem  of  yore,  and,  like  him,  delighting  in 
extravagant  enterprises,  and  hardy  deeds  of  arms.  Before  I  enter 
upon  the  exploits  of  this  worthy  cock  of  the  Roost,  however,  it  is 
fitting  I  should  throw  some  light  upon  the  state  of  the  mansion,  and 
of  the  surrounding  country,  at  the  time.  In  your  succeding  Miscel- 
lany this  may  be  done. 

*  HISTORICAL  NOTE. —  The  annexed  extracts  from  the  early  colonial  records, 
relate  to  the  irruption  of  witchcraft  into  Westchester  county,  as  mentioned  in  the 
chronicle  : — 

"  July  7,  1670 — Katharine  Harrysoii  accused  of  witchcraft  on  complaint  of  Tho- 
mas Hunt  and  Edward  Waters,  in  behalf  of  the  town,  who  pray  that  she  may  he 
driven  from  the  town  of  Westchester.  The  woman  appears  before  the  council. 
*  *  *  She  was  a  native  of  England,  and  had  lived  a  year  in  Weathersfield, 
Connecticut,  where  she  had  been  tried  for  witchcraft,  found  guilty  by  the  jury,  ac- 
quitted by  the  bench,  and  released  out  of  prison,  upon  condition  she  would  remove. 
Affair  adjourned. 

"  August  24 — Affair  taken  up  again,  when,  being  heard  at  large,  it  was  referred 
to  the  general  court  of  assize.  Woman  ordered  to  give  security  for  good  behaviour, 

In  another  place  is  the  following  entry  : — 

"  Order  given  for  Katharine  Harryson,  charged  with  witchcraft,  to  leave  West- 
Chester,  as  the  inhabitants  are  uneasy  at  her  residing  there,  and  she  is  ordered  to 
go  off." 



"  IT  was  here,  sir,  that  Mr.  Clements  descended." 

"  How  fearful ! "  I  exclaimed,  scarcely  venturing  to  look  down  a 
precipice  at  least  six  hundred  feet  in  depth. 

To  repeat  in  a  few  words  what  had  occupied  nearly  an  hour,  and 
omitting  his  numerous  digressions,  the  samphire  gatherer's  tale  ran 
thus: — 

At  the  close  of  the  last  century  he  and  his  father,  samphire  ga- 
therers by  trade,  had  assisted  in  lowering  one  Mr.  Clements  down 
the  cliff  under  rather  extraordinary  circumstances.  Mr.  Clements 
was  returning  home  along  the  downs,  from  the  then  retired,  but  now 

fashionable  town  of ,  when  he  recognised  a  boat  about  a  mile 

from  the  shore,  strongly  resembling  one  in  which  his  wife  and  sister 
were  in  the  frequent  habit  of  passing  hours,  in  a  little  bay  or  inlet  of 
the  sea  near  his  house.  He  hastened  home  only  to  have  all  doubts 
removed  as  to  their  identity ;  and,  hurrying  back  to  the  spot  where 
he  had  first  observed  them,  found,  to  his  extreme  terror,  that  the 
boat  had  been  deserted  by  its  occupants,  who  had  been  seen  wan- 
dering on  the  rocks  under  the  cliff.  To  approach  them  by  the  sea 
on  either  side  in  time  to  rescue  them  from  their  impending  danger 
was  impossible.  The  tide  was  rising  fast,  and  their  destruction  ap- 
peared to  be  inevitable.  In  this  emergency  the  samphire  gatherers 
were  thought  of,  and  sought  for ;  and,  declining  all  their  offers, 
Clements  insisted  upon  descending  the  cliff,  in  the  hope  of  placing 
his  wife  upon  some  rock  or  spot  where  she  might  remain  in  safety 

till  the  arrival  of  the  boats  from  .     Thus  far  had  the  samphire 

gatherer  got  in  his  story  which  he  was  relating  to  me  as  I  was 
strolling  along  the  cliffs,  when  he  paused,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, and  pointed  to  the  spot  where  Mr.  Clements  descended. 

Following  his  example,  and  taking  a  seat  on  the  grass  near  him, 
the  old  man  continued  his  tale.  I  give  it  in  his  own  words. 

"  Well,  sir ;  when  we  found  we  could  not  persuade  him  to  let  one 
of  us  go  down  in  his  place,  father,  as  usual,  secured  a  crow-bar  into 
the  earth,  a  few  feet  from  the  edge  of  the  cliff;  and  then  twining 
the  rope  once  round  it,  in  order  to  give  us  the  steadier  hold  on  Mr. 
Clements,  fastened  it  under  his  arms.  We  then  made  him  change 
his  coat  for  one  of  our  frocks,  such  as  you  see  the  common  people 
wear  in  these  parts ;  and  taught  him  how  to  put  his  feet  steadily 
against  the  side  of  the  cliff — as  it  were  thus  ;  and  made  him  take  the 
rope  between  his  hands  just  above  the  knot,  and  told  him  to  lean  out 
from  the  rock  as  far  as  he  could,  and  to  work  downwards  with  his 
feet,  and  to  look  up,  and  keep  a  watch  out  for  the  stones  and  rubbish 
which  the  rope  might  dislodge.  We  told  him  all  this,  sir  ;  and  bade 
him  not  be  frightened  at  the  birds,  as  they  would  not  harm  him ; 
— the  sun  had  set,  sir;  and  they  always  make  a  horrid  screeching  if 
you  go  down  the  cliff  after  they  are  gone  to  roost ;  —  and,  that  if  he 
altered  his  mind,  and  wished  to  come  back,  he  had  only  to  give  the 
rope  a  couple  of  pulls,  and  that  we  'd  haul  him  up  directly.  '  No — 
no,'  says  Mr.  Clements, '  there  's  no  necessity  for  that.'  When  I  get 
to  the  bottom,  wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  if  at  the  end  of  that 
time  I  give  no  signal  for  you  to  pull  me  up,  you-will  know  that  the 
ladies  are  safe,  and  then  make  what  haste  you  can,  and  get  a  boat 

VOL.  VI.  D 


from .  I  am  ready  now,'  says  he,  in  a  faint  voice,  and  his  teeth 

all  the  while  chattering  with  fear.  Never  was  a  man  so  frightened 
as  he  was  at  that  moment.  Well,  sir,  father  and  I  once  more  lifted 
the  rope,  and  Mr.  Clements  leaned  back  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
Down  he  went.  We  soon  lost  sight  of  him. 

"  Working  with  his  feet,  as  father  had  told  him,  we  slowly  sup- 
plying out  rope  as  he  required  it,  he  moved  safely  down  for  a  bit ; 
then  he  rested  on  a  jutting  rock.  All  this  time  he  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  sky.  Pressing  cautiously  with  his  feet  against  the  chalk  ; 
his  body  almost  at  right-angles  with  the  cliff;  his  hands  grasping 
the  rope,  or  sheltering  his  face  from  the  shower  of  stones  and  dirt 
which  it  dislodged.  He  had  got  about  a  hundred  feet  from  the  top, 
when,  suddenly  slipping  from  the  cliff,  his  chest  and  face  were  flung 
violently  against  it.  He  endeavoured  to  regain  his  footing  against 
the  rocks,  and  in  so  doing  broke  through  a  resolution  which  he  had 
formed,  and  looked  beneath  him.  It  is  a  rare  sight  that  for  the  first 
time.  Well  do  I  remember  how  my  head  swam  as  I  looked  at  the 
water  far  far  below  ;  and  the  waves  that  one  could  see,  but  not  hear, 
as  they  broke  over  the  shingles.  Presence  of  mind,  on  which  Mr. 
Clements  so  vaunted  himself,  where  was  it  then  ?  He  was  about  to 
pull  the  rope  ;  but  he  thought  of  his  poor  wife,  and  one  thought  of 
her  was  enough.  On  he  went.  To  regain  a  footing  was  impossible. 
Father  and  I  kept  gradually  lowering  the  rope  ;  and,  with  his  face 
to  the  cliff;  his  hands  outstretched,  catching  at  each  object  as  he 
passed ;  enveloped  in  a  shower  of  chalk  and  stones,  which  he  had 
not  the  strength  to  avoid ;  gasping  and  panting  for  breath,  poor  Mr. 
Clements  slided  down  for  about  another  hundred  feet.  Here  the 
cliff  arched  inwards,  forming  an  immense  hollow,  like  yonder  rock, 
sir  ;  and,  swinging  to  and  fro,  and  round  and  round,  as  it  were  be- 
twixt heaven  and  earth,  down  he  went.  At  one  moment  the  wide 
ocean  met  his  dizzy  gaze ;  at  another,  flocks  of  the  startled  birds 
flew  around  his  head,  uttering  their  shrill  and  angry  cries.  Again, 
sir,  he  found  himself  sliding  down  against  the  side  of  the  cliff,  his 
flesh  all  sore  and  torn,  and  his  body  and  arms  in  absolute  torture 
from  the  pressure  of  the  rope.  Again  in  agony  he  made  a  frantic 
effort  to  regain  a  footing  ;  but,  in  so  doing,  fastened  one  of  his  legs 
in  a  narrow  fissure,  or  opening  in  the  rock.  Vain  was  the  struggle 
to  release  it,  sir  ;  Mr.  Clements  was  either  too  weak  and  faint,  or  the 
limb  too  firmly  secured  in  the  rock.  All  his  efforts  were  useless ; 
and,  I  shudder  at  the  bare  recollection  while  I  tell  it,  we  continued  to 
supply  the  rope !  Hanging  by  his  leg,  head  downwards,  there  he 
lay  ;  the  cormorants  and  sea-mews  flitting  around  him,  and  joining 
in  his  frightful  shrieks." 

"  Horrible  !  was  he  long  thus?  " 

"  Not  long,  sir.  Father  soon  discovered  that  there  was  no  weight 
or  pull  upon  the  rope  ;  and,  judging  from  his  experience  of  what  had 
occurred,  we  raised  it  a  few  feet,  and  released  Mr.  Clements  from 
his  painful  situation.  From  this  moment,  he  told  me,  he  was  uncon- 
cious  as  to  whether  he  was  ascending  or  descending,  until  he  heard 
his  name  called  in  a  faint  voice.  He  opened  his  eyes.  We  had 
lowered  him  over  the  arch  of  an  immense  cavern,  within  which  all 
was  darkness.  The  sea  was  rolling  in  beneath  him  ;  his  feet  touched 
it ;  he  felt  that  he  must  either  swim  or  drown ;  he  feebly  grasped 
the  rope;  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through  his  veins  as  he  found  an  unex- 
pected footing  on  a  rock  concealed  by  the  waves  in  about  three  feet 


water ;  the  depth  around  for  the  present  mattered  not.  He  remained 
for  a  few  moments  motionless  on  the  rock.  His  name  was  again 
called  ;  it  sounded  from  within  the  cave. 

"  Extricating  himself  from  the  rope,  he  made  an  effort  to  swim  ; 
found  that  he  had  more  strength  than  he  had  thought,  —  swam  for- 
ward through  the  darkness  up  the  cavern  ;  struggled  —  sank  —  rose 
again  —  heard  his  name  called  louder  and  nearer,  —  made  one  effort 
more  —  felt  the  sand,  the  smooth  sand,  under  his  feet,  —  staggered 
forward, — reeled,  and  fell,  exhausted,  into  the  arms  of  his  wife." 

"And  his  sister?  " 

"  The  ladies  were  both  there,  sir.  The  cavern  was  about  fifty  feet 
in  depth,  sloping  upwards  towards  the  back,  and  partly  filled  with 
weeds,  stones,  and  sand.  Here  Mrs.  Clements  and  her  sister  had 
been  driven  to  take  refuge  by  the  rising  tide.  They  had  landed 
from  the  boat  on  the  rocks,  at  some  distance  below  the  cave,  in  the 
hope  of  finding  a  pathway  or  outlet,  by  which  they  could  escape  up 
the  cliff.  After  a  long  and  hopeless  search,  they  bethought  them  of 
the  boat ;  and,  to  their  extreme  terror,  found  that  it  had  been  carried 
away  by  the  rising  tide,  which  now  partly  covered  the  rocks.  They 
had  just  time  to  climb  into  the  cavern  over  the  fallen  rocks  under  the 
arch,  when  the  waters  sweeping  in,  closed  up  all  entrance  to  any  but 
a  swimmer.  Although  the  tide  was  fast  rising,  the  ladies  cheered 
each  other  Avith  the  hope  that  they  should  escape.  Fortunately  the 
darkness  at  the  back  of  the  cavern  was  sufficient  to  prevent  their 
discovering  the  height  to  which  the  water  usually  rose. 

"  As  you  may  imagine,  Mr.  Clements  was  some  time  before  he  re- 
covered his  senses.  His  wife  was  kneeling  beside  him,  chafing  his 
brows,  when  her  sister,  starting  up,  called  their  attention  to  the  rope 
by  which  he  had  descended.  We  were  pulling  it  up  ;  and  he  shook 
his  head  as  it  disappeared  over  the  arch  of  the  cavern.  Well  he 
knew  how  useless  it  would  have  been  for  them  to  use  it.  '  It  matters 

not,'  he  said  ;  they  (meaning  us)  have  gone  to .     We  shall  have 

boats  here  soon  ;  we  are  safe  —  quite  safe,'  and  so  on,  endeavouring 
to  keep  their  spirits  up,  while  he  well  knew  that  in  the  darkness  the 
chances  were  that  the  boat  would  never  find  the  cave. 

"  Two  hours,  sir,  —  two  long  hours  passed  on  in  this  way,  and 
Mr.  Clements  had  given  up  all  hope.  The  water  kept  rising  and 
rising,  till  at  last  the  waves  broke  at  their  feet,  and  each  instant 
threatened  their  destruction.  The  ladies  were  almost  dead  with  fear 
and  cold,  when  a  large,  heavy,  Dutch-built  boat — you  don't  see  such 
now,  sir, — swept,  with  scarcely  a  sound,  under  the  arch  into  the 
cavern,  her  prow  coming  in  close  upon  the  spot  where  Mr.  Clements 
and  the  ladies  were.  They  did  not  hear  her  until  she  was  within  the 
cave;  and  no  wonder,  for  the  oars  were  muffled,  and  those  who 
were  in  her  were  as  silent  as  the  grave.  It  was  part  of  the  cargo  of 
a  French  smuggler,  lying  a  few  miles  off,  that  her  crew,  assisted  by 
some  of  the  fishermen,  were  about  to  land,  and  they  had  taken  shel- 
ter in  the  cavern,  having  been  alarmed  at  the  approach  of  a  boat  up 
the  coast.  Fortunate  was  it  that  Mr.  Clements  prevented  the  ladies 
from  calling  out  for  assistance  from  them " 

"  Why  I  should  have  thought  at  such  a  moment  that  even  smug- 
glers  " 

"  Not  they,  sir, — not  they  ;  and  Mr.  Clements  knew  it.  Desperate 
men  like  them  would  have  left  the  poor  things  to  drown,  or  have 
murdered  them.  No  ;  Mr.  Clements  knew  better.  He  tried  a  last 


and  a  dangerous  chance  ;  but  it  was  his  only  one.  Listen,  sir :  while 
the  men  had  their  heads  turned  to  the  opening  of  the  cavern,  watch- 
ing the  boat  pass,  the  sight  of  which  had  driven  them  into  it,  he 
lifted  the  ladies  gently  into  the  end  of  the  boat.  They  couldn't  hear 
him  for  the  noise  of  the  waves ;  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  them, 
and  he  drew  a  sail  over  them,  and  was  just  stepping  in  himself  after 
them,  when  one  of  the  men  turned,  and  he  had  only  time  to  conceal 
himself  under  the  bows  of  the  boat  before  she  was  again  moving 
silently  out  of  the  cave  with,  as  her  crew  little  suspected,  the  addition 
of  two  to  their  number  since  she  had  entered  it. 

"  They  went  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  under  the  cliff,  and 
landed  a  boy,  who  disappeared  like  a  cat  up  the  rocks.  A  dead 
silence  ensued ;  no  one  ventured  to  speak  ;  the  men  rested  on  their 
oars,  and  the  boat  gently  rose  and  sank  on  the  waves.  At  last  the 
silence  was  broken ;  something  dark  was  hurled  down  the  cliff  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  boat.  It  fell  heavily  on  the  rocks.  '  God 
forgive  him,  he 's  tossed  him  over/  muttered  one  of  the  men.  And  so 
it  was,  sir.  The  poor  man  on  the  look-out  was  asleep  near  the  top 
of  the  cliff;  and  we  often  hear  of  these  men  rolling  over  in  their  sleep. 
There  's  always  a  reason  for  it,  sir.  They  were  going  to  land  their 
cargo,  when  they  heard  a  gun  in  the  offing  from  one  of  the  King's 
cutters.  The  alarm  had  been  given.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost ; 
and,  straining  every  nerve,  they  bore  out  to  sea. 

"  They  were  about  two  miles  from  the  shore,  when  some  of  the 
men  declared  it  was  a  lost  job,  and  that  they  could  go  no  further. 
Mrs.  Clements  was  quite  senseless  with  cold  and  exhaustion,  but  her 
sister  listened  eagerly  to  what  the  men  said.  They  had  some  angry 
words,  but  the  meaning  of  their  conversation  she  could  not  under- 
stand. There  was  a  little  boat  astern  of  the  larger  one,  which  they 
drew  to  it,  and  entered  one  by  one,  the  last  man  calling  out  as  he 
stepped  in  — -  '  Now  then,  boys,  pull  for  your  lives ;  they  '11  make 
after  us  when  they  find  they  've  lost  their  prize.' 

"  The  boat  had  disappeared  in  the  surrounding  darkness  before 
the  terrified  lady  comprehended  all ;  and  then,  sir,  in  a  moment  the 
frightful  truth  flashed  upon  her.  The  devils  had  scuttled  the  boat, 
and  it  was  sinking  fast.  She  said  one  prayer,  and  turned  to  kiss  her 
sleeping  sister,  when  Mr.  Clements's  voice  sounded  almost  at  her  side  ! 
There  he  was,  sir, — there  he  was,  in  the  self-same  little  pleasure-boat 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  all  their  misfortunes.  He  had  just  time 
to  lift  the  ladies  out  of  the  boat,  and  to  get  clear  of  her,  when  she 
went  down.  The  revenue-cutter  came  up,  and  took  them  on  board 
all  alive ;  but  many  months  passed  before  Mrs.  Clements  recovered 
the  events  of  that  dreadful  night." 

"  What  became  of  Mr.  Clements  when  they  left  him  in  the  cave  ?  " 

"  He  held  on  to  the  boat  for  a  few  minutes  till  they  got  outside, 
and  then  swam  to  the  rocks,  where  he  found  the  little  pleasure-boat, 
and  entering  it,  followed  in  the  track  of  the  larger  vessel  in  time  to 
save  the  life  of  Mrs.  Clements  and  that  of  her  sister.  The  sun  is  set- 
ting, sir,"  said  the  samphire  gatherer,  touching  his  hat  to  me.  "  I 
must  be  going  homewards.  Mayhap,"  he  added,  as  he  turned  away 
on  his  path,  "  one  of  these  days,  when  you  are  strolling  on  the  rocks 
below,  sir,  you  will  look  at  the  cavern  where  Mr.  Clements  found 
his  wife.  You  can  imagine  much  better  than  I  can  describe  what 
must  have  been  their  feelings  in  such  a  place,  an^  at  such  a  time. 
Good  evening,  sir." 




IT  was  night  before  the  cavalcading  party  returned  to  the  once- 
famed  Bonomia,  but  in  modern  times  the  no  less  celebrated  Boulogne. 
What  could  they  have  been  about  all  this  time  in  a  humble  cottage  ? 
Miss  Molly  Cannon  frightened  out  of  her  life,  and  Lucy  Cannon 
terrified  to  death ;  one  Frenchman  wounded  in  the  head,  both  smitten 
in  the  heart.  The  fact  simply  was,  that  they  were  making  love  in 
the  most  approved  and  scientific  manner,  which  we  unsophisticated 
English  should  endeavour  to  imitate,  since,  by  curious  ancient  ma- 
nuscripts lately  discovered  in  Pompeii,  it  is  clearly  proved  that  Ovid 
was  a  native  of  Gascony. 

The  Comte  des  Oripeaux  possessed  a  heart  of  crystal,  suspended 
round  his  Byronic  neck  by  a  chain  of  jet-black  hair,  evidently  ap- 
pertaining to  the  head  that  had  belonged  to  the  possessor  of  the 
aforesaid  heart,  and  from  whence  had  also  been  ravished  or  bestow- 
ed a  raven-lock. 

As  Molly  was  pretending  to  play  with  affected  indifference  with 
the  dangling  jewel,  Des  Oripeaux  heaved  a  sigh  ;  Molly  responded  ; 
Des  Oripeaux  groaned  ;  Molly  hemmed ;  and  timidly  asked — unso- 
phisticated child  !  —  if  that  hair  belonged  to  his  sister  ?  Oripeaux 
was  silent.  He  drooped  his  head  in  his  hands  ;  he  then  grasped  his 
throat.  He  seemed  a  prey  to  the  pangs  of  upbraiding  conscience ; 
while,  in  fact,  he  was  merely  squeezing  his  jugular  veins,  to  pro- 
duce a  crimson  suffusion  in  his  face.  An  English  lover  who  has  no 
knowledge  of  anatomy,  would  never  have  hit  upon  such  an  ingeni- 
ous stratagem.  But  here  his  friend,  De  la  Blagne,  who  was  instilling 
in  Lucy's  ear  all  the  devoted  spirit  of  love's  distillation,  perceived  his 
embarrassment,  and  hastened  to  his  relief. 

"  Mon  ami,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Moli,  is  too  subject — to  bad  shame  — 
vere  bad  shame — mauvaise  hontc — and  his  impressionability  is  vere 
much — ridicule — ma  foi.  Sometime  he  is  quite  assommant, —  quite 
knocky  me  down.  De  fac  of  de  mattaire  is,  dat  dis  dere  meche  de  chc- 
veux — dat  nick  of  hair  did  belong  to  a  vere  silly,  foolish,  susceptible 
lady,  one  Duchesse  de  Gringullet  ;  and  she  did  one  day  fancy  him  one 
infidele,  and  she  went  for  to  travel  for  distraction  ;  till,  one  morning, 
she  take  one  chump  in  de  river,  from  de  top  of  de  Euxine  Bridge 
— de  Pont  Euxine." 

"  Gracious  me  !  "  exclaimed  Molly  Cannon.  "  The  duchess — a  real 
duchess  drowned  herself! — noyau  herself  in  the  riviere — oh,  dear  1 " 

"  Allans,  mon  ami,"  added  De  la  Blagne,  giving  him  a  choke- 
chicken  thump,  which  would  have  rectified  a  hunchback.  "  Du 
courage  !  You  know  you  naver  did  loaf  dat  foolish  duchesse,  whose 
husband  was  saretainly  the  most  magnifique  gentleman  I  ever  saw. 
But,  if  de  lady  do  chump  into  de  vater  for  loaf,  ve  are  no  jisha- 
man  to  chump  aftaire.  Eh,  done  ! — for,  though  one  lady  may  be  de 
toste  of  de  societie — eh  ! — vhen  she  chumps  in  the  river  no  gentel- 
man  likes  toste  in  vater.  No,  by  Gar  !  dat  is  no  cliam-paign,  —  ha ! 
ha  !  eh !  done  ! "  This  last  ejaculation  might  lead  one  to  suspect 
that  our  witty  Frank  was  a  countryman  of  Ovid. 


And  now  the  count  raised  his  head,  with  an  appolectic-looking 
face,  as  red  as  a  cardinal's  hat,  and,  hitting  himself'  a  thump  upon 
the  breast,  that  resounded  like  a  double  drum,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Miss  Moli,  loaf  it  is  like  de  coqueluche,  de  hopping-cough,  which 
can  nay  vare  be  hid ;  it  only  affecte  one  once  in  de  life  ;  and  my  time 
is  to  come.  Je  sens,  I  do  smell  dat  you  are  mon  tout,  my  hawl,  my 
ev'ry  ting ;"  and,  so  saying,  he  ferociously  tore  off  the  love-token  of 
former  days,  dashed  it  upon  the  ground,  and  began  cutting  sixes 
over  it,  like  an  opera-dancer  expressing  pantomimic  despair. 

The  effect  was  amusing — quite  un  coup  de  theatre.  Molly  Cannon, 
beholding  her  triumph  over  a  drowned  duchess's  mortal  remains, 
threw  herself  in  the  arms  of  the  Frenchman ;  when,  —  such  is  the 
power  of  sympathy  in  pleasure  and  in  pain,  that,  mechanically,  spon- 
taneously, combustively,  and  instinctively,  Lucy,  in  a  flood  of  tears, 
sought  the  pocket-handkerchief  of  her  lover's  bosom, — an  act  which 
La  Blagne  termed  les  delices  d'un  doux  abandon  ;  but  which  a  fasti- 
dious surly  Englishman  would  translate  the  "  delights  of  an  aban- 
doned woman. 

It  was  night  before  the  young  ladies  recollected  that  it  was  rather 
late,  while  the  gentlemen  had  never  forgotten  that  they  had  only  eaten 
an  early  dinner.  The  ladies  would  most  willingly  have  lingered 
longer,  for  they  were  feasted  upon  oaths  the  most  solemn,  promises 
the  most  stringent,  and  vows  the  most  terrific ;  but,  the  gentlemen 
were  hungry,  and  talked  of  prudence,  to  secure  future  hours  of  bliss  ; 
and  of  their  virtuous  papa,  and  their  interesting  mamma  :  and,  as 
they  slowly  jogged  back  to  town,  their  amatory  vocabulary  being 
pretty  nearly  exhausted,  they  sang  together  amorous  nocturnes,  com- 
pared to  which  Orpheus's  strains  were  Grub-street  ballads. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  the  party  entered  the  Rue  de  I'Enfcr,  when 
two  mustachioed  Frenchmen  staggered  out  of  the  billiard-room;  and 
in  the  most  outrageous,  unmanly,  unchivalrous  manner,  one  of  them 
apostrophised  Miss  Molly  Cannon  in  an  Anglo-Gallic  language, 
doubly  rich  in  energy,  which  would  have  made  Minerva  herself 
hide  her  blushes  under  her  shield,  —  language  which  assimilated  the 
ladies  to  persons  whose  virtue  could  not  be  insured  at  any  pre- 
mium, even  at  Lloyd's.  Such  an  unprovoked  insult  could  not  pass 
unpunished,  and  the  Comte  des  Oripeaux  rushed  forward,  and  gave 
the  insolent  intruder  a  slap  in  the  face,  which  —  to  use  a  French 
poetical  and  metaphorical  expression — made  him  see  all  the  lamps  of 
the  town  twinkling  in  his  eyes.  The  only  reply  was  a  furious  (C  Sa- 
cre  Dieu  !  "  and  "  a  demain,  Monsieur  le  Comte  !  "  accompanied  with 
a  grasp  of  the  hand ;  then  another  "  a  demain "  in  a  treble  key,  to 
which  the  Count  replied  with  another  shake  of  the  hand ;  and  two 
"  a  demains  "  in  contralto  intonations. 

The  parties  separated ;  the  ladies,  terrified  and  trembling,  leaning 
on  their  companions'  arms,  while  these  walked  on  in  the  silence  of 
concentrated  passion,  until  Des  Oripeaux  exclaimed,  "  Demain,  I 
vil  punish  dis  barbare  !" 

"Oh,  mon  hamy  !"  sighed  Molly  Cannon.  "Surely  you  will  not 
batter  yourself  against  a  barber  ?  " 

"  A  barber  !  "  exclaimed  the  Count.  "  He  is  no  barber, — he  is  one 
general,  —  de  General  Comte  de  Gongibus.  Ha !  ha  !  Monsieur  de 
Gongibus  a  barber,  zfriseur  !  Ha  !  ha !  I  vill  tak  a  my  pistolles 
for  a  curling-iron.  I  vill  skin  him  alive  like  one  anguille,  one  eel, — to 


make  him  papillotes.  But,  if  de  fortune  de  guerre,  de  property  of 
war,  de  decret,  that  I  shall  peris  for  you,  Moli ;  you  shall  have  all 
my  little  tresors  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  vip  over  de  cinders  of  your 
maleroo  loafer, — les  cendres  de  votre  inalheureux  amant !  " 

And  here  mutual  sobbings  interrupted  their  louder  effusions  until 
they  were  at  the  gate  of  the  hotel.  Commodus  Cannon  was  out, 
having  gone  to  "  take  a  turn  in  the  rooms."  Mrs.  Cannon,  some- 
what to  their  surprise,  they  found  weeping  over  her  sins  and  a  bowl 
of  punch  a.  la  Romaine,  abjuring  all  reformation  under  the  spiritual 
guidance  of  a  French  priest,  L'Abbe  Caffard,  a  plenipo.  of  the  Pro- 
paganda mission  ;  but,  as  Molly  and  Lucy  cared  very  little  whether 
their  mother  turned  or  returned,  Unitarian,  Latitudinarian,  Longitu- 
dinarian,  or  Anythingarian,  provided  she  did  not  bother  them,  they 
withdrew  to  their  chambers,  to  give  vent  to  their  grief,  and,  at 
the  same  time  to  ease  their  afflictions  through  the  safety-valve  of 
vanity  by  comparing  the  qualities  of  their  lovers. 

Shortly  afterwards  the  chambermaid  brought  in  a  parcel,  with  the 
adieux  of  M.  le  Comte ;  which  the  girl  could  scarcely  deliver  from 
the  agonized  state  of  her  feelings,  as  she  expatiated  upon  all  the 
qualifications  of  a  beau  jeune  liomme,  with  a  mourir  si  jeune,  followed 
by  an  helas !  that  would  have  done  credit  to  any  French  theatrical 
utilite.*  Molly  was  too  much  moved  to  examine  the  precious  trust ; 
a  task  readily  undertaken  by  her  curious  sister.  This  was  the  more 
easily  performed,  as  the  sundry  articles  contained  in  the  box  were 
specified  in  an  inventory,  of  which  the  untravelled  reader  may 
wish  to  have  a  translation.  Here  it  is. 

"Inventory  of  the  effects  of  Charles  Joseph  Ame  des  Auguste  de 
la  Vesse,  Comte  des  Oripeaux,  Officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honour, 
and  of  the  Iron  Crown,  Colonel  of  Cavalry,  &c.  &c. 

"  1.  A  book,  containing  the  journal  of  my  amours. 

"2.  A  key  to  decipher  the  ladies'  names  therein  contained. 

"«3.  The  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  given  to  me  on  the  field  of 
Wagram,  after  having  broken  through  14,000  cavalry  with  my  regi- 

"  4.  A  baton,  taken  by  me  from  Vellington  at  the  victory  of  Vittoria, 
when  I  pared  the  claws  of  the  British  leopard  with  my  bancal.^ 

"  5.  A  musket-ball  extracted  from  my  leg  at  Austerlitz  ;  a  musket- 
ball  extracted  from  (blank)  during  the  fatal  retreat  of  Leipsic, 
occasioned  by  the  misconduct  of  a  drunken  corporal. 

"  6.  A  nosegay  given  to  me  by  the  Queen  of  Prussia  at  Sans 
Sou^i ;  and  the  key  of  the  back-door  of  her  aforesaid  majesty's 

"  7«  A  pair  of  garters,  given  to  me  as  a  '  true  lover's  knot '  by  the 
aforesaid  queen,  they  having  fallen  on  her  ancles  when  her  calves 
were  dispelled  by  grief  a  mon  depart. 

"  8.  A  paper  of  poison  (mort  aux  rats),  which  I  fortunately  took 
from  the  Polish  Princess  Ratowowwowsky,  who  was  about  to  destroy 
her  husband  to  follow  me  to  France. 

"  9.  The  busk  of  her  daughter,  whom  I  carried  off  instead  of  the 
mother,  but  who  was  unfortunately  drowned  in  the  Beresina. 

*  The  French  call  utilites  all  the  inferior  performers  who  are  compelled  to  per- 
form any  character, — to  make  themselves,  in  fact,  generally  useful, 
j-  Familiar  name  of  the  crooked  cavalry  sabre. 


"  10.  727  love-letters  in  various  languages. 

"  11.  97  locks  of  hair — not  the  wig  of  a  Dutch  Chancellor, — given 
to  me  by  his  lovely  young  frau,  as  a  token  of  her  ineffable  contempt 
for  the  old  frump.* 

"  12.  The  spy-glass  with  which  the  Princess  of  Asturias  used  to 
look  out  for  me  from  the  windows  of  the  Aranjuez  Palace. 

"  13.  Two  front  teeth  of  the  Princess  Hohenlinden,  knocked  out  in 
a  fit  of  jealousy  by  her  barbarous  husband  ;  and  part  of  her  beauti- 
ful hair,  which  was  cut  off  when  she  was  immured  in  a  nunnery  for 

"  14.  The  veil  of  the  abbess  of  St.  Clara  of  Valladolid  (gage 
d'amour} ;  with  the  beard  of  the  Capuchin  friar  who  detected  us 
(gage  dc  vengeance). 

"  15.  The  papillotes  of  the  Princess  of  Hohenlohe,  made  out  of  her 
husband's  prayer-books. 

"  The  entire  intrusted  to  the  care,  and  sacrificed  to  the  charms  of 
the  only  person  whom  I  ever  truly  loved  and  adored  a  la  vie, — a  la 
mort.  Mademoiselle  Moli  du  Cannon,  Anglaise." 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  what  effect  this  examination  had  upon 
the  young  ladies.  Molly  was  dissolved  in  tears  ;  while  Lucy  bit  her 
lips  in  the  vexatious  apprehension  that  her  lover  could  not  exhibit 
similar  testimonials  of  successful  gallantry.  Her  only  consolation 
resulted  from  some  slight  doubts  as  to  the  genuineness  of  these  trea- 
sures. Examining  one  of  the  bullets,  she  said  it  looked  very  like 
one  of  her  brother's  dumps;  having,  no  doubt,  been  flattened  on 
a  bone ;  and  that  she  did  not  think  he  was  so  old  as  to  have  been 
at  Austerlitz.  Then  she  made  various  strange  observations  in  re- 
gard to  the  other  vulgar  ball,  of  nameless  extraction,  during  the 
flight  of  Leipsic:  but  love — true  love  is  credulous,  callous  to  advice, 
and  heedless  even  of  irony.  Lucy,  finding  that  her  words  were  idle, 
thought  it  wiser  to  retire  to  rest :  but  jealousy,  it  is  to  be  apprehend- 
ed, cropped  the  poppies  that  might  have  been  shed  over  her  couch ; 
while  Molly  Cannon  was  kept  awake  by  the  conflicting  pangs  of  fear, 
hope,  and  despair.  She  was  sitting  upon  her  couch  like  an  aban- 
doned damsel  of  romance,  or,  perhaps,  like  the  lady  in  DubufFe's 
Family  Souvenirs.  She  was  silently  weeping ;  but  her  streaming 
eyes  were  devouring  the  treasures  of  her  lover  displayed  before  her, 
and  which  to  her  were  more  precious  than  the  most  sacred  regalia, — 
nay,  than  the  oriflamme  of  France.  Soon,  however,  her  anguish  was 
relieved.  The  clock  had  scarcely  struck  seven  when  the  door  was 
violently  thrown  open,  and  in  an  instant  Des  Oripeaux  was  locked  in 
her  fond  embrace.  He,  poor  fellow  !  could  not  throw  his  arms  round 
her  swanlike  neck,  —  for  one  of  them  was  in  a  sling,  stained  with  his 
precious  blood,  shed  in  her  defence,  in  the  cause  of  her  honour.  She 
looked  an  encyclopaedia  of  human  horrors;  but  he  calmly  smiled 
upon  her,  adding — 

"  Dis  is  noting,  my  Moli — my  vife — my  ev'ry  ting  ;  but,  de  general, 
— ha  !  ha  ! — une — deux — ha  !  ha  ! — he  do  bite  de  dust." 

However  delighted  Molly  Cannon  might  have  been,  Lucy  affected 
to  be  "  mightily  shocked  "  at  this  untimely  and  unceremonious  in- 
trusion in  their  bedchamber,  and  forthwith  sought  to  hide  herself 
under  the  bed-clothes,  ordering  the  count,  in  a  subterraneous  sort  of 

*  The  French  term  was  casse'dos,  which  I  think  the  word  frump  tolerably  conveys. 


a  voice,  to  "  allez  vous  ong ;"  but  her  modest  wrath  soon  subsided 
when  she  heard  the  intruder  tell  her  sister  that  on  that  very  morning 
he  and  his  dear  friend,  De  la  Blagne,  would  ask  the  consent  of  their 
amiable  papa  and  mamma. 

Mrs.  Cannon,  who  had  gone  to  hear  early  mass  with  Abbe  Caf- 
fard,  had  returned  to  breakfast;  and  at  the  supplication  of  her 
daughters,  granted  her  consent,  provided  that  their  lovers  were 
good  Catholics,  and  could  show  proper  certificates  of  confession  and 
absolution ;  while,  to  use  her  own  expression,  her  daughters  should 
decant  their  former  errors  and  heresies  in  the  presence  of  at  least  a 
bishop  in  partibus,  —  for  such,  it  appears,  was  the  Abbe  Caifard. 

It  was  now  requisite  to  obtain  the  approbation  of  Old  Cannon,  who 
was  at  breakfast,  writhing  under  the  severe  losses  he  had  experienced 
on  the  preceding  evening,  when  he,  or  rather  the  gallery,  had  detected 
two  French  sharpers  "  doing  him,"  or  "  cleaning  him  out,"  at  ecarte  ; 
and  who,  upon  being  taken  in  the  fact,  told  the  old  gentleman  that 
he  should  have  to  meet  them  the  following  morning  to  give  them 
satisfaction.  When  Count  des  Oripeaux  and  his  friend  were  ushered 
into  his  presence,  taking  them  for  the  seconds,  he  trembled  from 
head  to  foot ;  but  when  he  was  made  acquainted  with  the  busi- 
ness that  brought  them,  his  courage  rose  with  his  wrath,  and  he 
asked  the  bold  intruders  how  dirty  French  adventurers  could  dare 
aspire  to  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  an  English  gentleman,  a 
magistrate,  a  churchwarden,  a  chairman  of  a  committee  ?  The  count 
indignantly  replied  that  it  was  doing  honour  to  a  shopkeeper,  who 
ought  to  feel  proud  in  cutting  off  a  yard  of  bobinet  for  a  Chevalier 
Fran9ais ;  and,  moreover,  that  a  current  of  the  noble  blood  of  a 
French  count  would  purify  a  tradesman's  puddle. 

Cannon  was  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy ;  and,  although 
little  disposed  to  joke  or  to  pun,  roared  out, 

"  Then,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Monseer  Crapo,  —  or  whatever  you 
are,  — •  Monseer  count  of  Tag-rag-and-bob-tail,  that  you  have 
counted  without  your  host,  and  take  this  on  a-count  to  settle  the 

So  saying,  he  pitched  an  omelette  aux  ragous,  that  was  smoking 
on  his  table,  at  the  head  of  the  indignant  count,  who  thought  proper 
to  retreat,  exclaiming  with  much  dignity,  "  If  you  vas  not  de  papa, 
de  author  of  the  days  of  Molt,  you  vas  one  dead  man  !  "  He  had 
scarcely  concluded  the  sentence,  when  a  potage  de  vermicelle  followed 
the  omelette.  It  was  during  this  interesting  scene  that  the  Misses 
Cannon  expressed  their  readiness  to  follow  their  lovers  as  far  as 
the  antipodes,  when  certain  words  were  dropped  about  fortune, 
and  funded  property,  and  cutting  off  to  a  shilling,  and  so  forth;  by 
which  the  Frenchmen  learnt  that  Molly  Cannon's  fortune  was  in 
her  own  power,  and  derived  from  certain  legacies ;  but  that  Lucy's 
depended  entirely  upon  the  pleasure  of  her  crusty  father.  A  light 
beamed  upon  M.  de  la  Blagne,  the  intimateyHe«</  of  the  count,  and 
he  withdrew  his  friend  to  consult  upon  what  was  best  to  be  done 
before  they  decided  upon  an  elopement. 

What  passed  between  these  worthies  is  not  recorded  ;  but  the 
issue,  alas  !  is  but  too  well  known.  The  conscience  of  La  Blagne 
smote  him.  With  penitential  looks  he  sought  an  interview  with 
Molly  Cannon ;  he  fell  upon  one  knee,  then  upon  both ;  then  drew 
a  pistol,  (an  amatory  weapon  without  a  touchhole  made  expressly  for 


disappointed  and  desperate  lovers,)  he  then  threatened  suicide, 
homicide,  or  anyside,  if  she  did  not  forgive  him  his  base  and  atro- 
cious conduct  in  aiding  and  abetting  a  deceit  foul  and  infamous.  He 
then  confessed  that  he  was  not  a  soldier,  —  as  his  mustachios  might 
have  indicated,  and  his  swearing  confirmed, — but  the  eldest  son  of  a 
calicot  manufacturer  of  great  wealth  and  renown ;  that  his  ami  was 
neither  a  count,  nor  a  cavalry  colonel,  but  simply  a  melodramatic  per- 
former, enacting  tyrants  at  the  Ambign  Comique  of  Paris  ;  that  no 
duel  had  been  fought  for  her ;  and  that  General  Gongibus  was  no 
other  than  a  billiard-room  marker.  That  the  supposed  quarrel  had 
been  "  got  up  "  to  produce  "  an  effect ;"  and  that  the  distinguished 
blood  of  the  Oripeaux  that  had  stained  his  scarf,  had  been  obtained, 
en  passant,  from  a  calf's  head  suspended  at  a  butcher's  stall. 

The  only  reply  that  Molly  could  make  to  this  awful  disclosure 
was  to  fall  in  a  befitting  fit ;  but  Monsieur  de  la  Blagne — whose  true 
name  was  Francois  Blageur,  —  who  well  knew  that  when  a  lady 
closed  her  eyes  in  a  faint,  her  ears  were  more  than  usually  open, 
whispered  into  one  of  them  that  he  merely  had  paid  his  addresses  to 
her  sister,  that  he  might  have  access  to  her,  and  glut  his  eyes  upon 
her  divine  charms.  When,  perceiving  that  she  remained  silent,  he 
loaded  his  pistol  with  half-a-dozen  bullets  and  pellets,  knelt  down  to 
say  his  prayers,  and  then  put  the  muzzle  of  the  weapon  in  his  mouth. 
Seeing  this  Molly  jumped  up,  and  roaring  "  murder  !  "  and  "  voleur  !  " 
rushed  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the  disappointed  Frenchman  in 
utter  dismay. 

The  first  step  that  the  indignant  Molly  Cannon  adopted  was  to 
inform  Lucy,  like  an  affectionate  sister,  that  De  la  Blagne  had  merely 
made  love  to  her  as  a  matter  of  convenience ;  that  she  had  always 
been  the  true  object  of  his  devotions,  and  that  he  must  really  be  a 
most  honest  and  upright  young  man  thus  to  have  saved  her  from  ruin 
and  disgrace  by  marrying  a  strolling  player  ;  and,  finally,  (for  Molly 
was  a  warm  advocate  of  finality,}  that  she  would  send  back  to  the 
wretch  all  his  treasures  and  valuables,  which  she  now  dignified  with 
the  appellation  of  his  "  pitiful  dirty  traps.5' 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  this  business  might  have  terminated,  and 
how  far  Miss  Molly  Cannon  might  have  felt  it  incumbent  on  her  to 
reward  Monsieur  Blageur  for  his  candour  (not,  of  course,  to  vex  her 
disappointed  sister)  ;  but  women  propose,  and  sometimes  the  public 
dispose.  The  fracas  of  this  untoward  event  was  even  too  great  for 
Boulogne  ;  and,  by  the  advice  of  Abbe  Caff'ard,  the  parties  thought  it 
expedient  to  set  out  for  Paris  after  a  family  council.  The  Misses 
Cannon  concluded  that  they  should  all  become  wives  of  some  nobles  ; 
their  brothers,  that  they  should  move  in  a  society,  in  which  they  could 
not  have  dared  to  thrust  their  provincial  noses  in  London.  Mrs. 
Cannon  was  anxious  to  behold  the  rites  of  the  Roman  Catholic  and 
Apostolic  Church  performed  in  all  its  splendour ;  and  old  Commo- 
dus, — who  had  taken  a  vast  fancy  to  ecarte  playing,  (and  who,  more- 
over, had  greatly  admired  a  Parisian  opera-dancer,  who  had  been 
"  starring  it "  at  Boulogne,  on  her  return  to  Paris  from  a  London 
eclipse  in  the  opening  season,)  fancied  that  in  the  French  metropolis 
he  could  afford  to  "  do  the  genteel  thing." 



IN  the  hostel-room  we  were  seated  in  gloom,  old  Morgan's  trustiest  crew ; 
No  mirthful  sound,  no  jest  went  round,  as  it  erst  was  wont  to  do. 
Wine  we  had  none,  and  our  girls  were  gone,  for  the  last  of  our  gold  was  spent ; 
And  some  swore  an  oath,  and  all  were  wroth,  and  stern  o'er  the  table  bent ; 
Till  our  chief  on  the  board  hurl'd  down  his  sword,  and  spake  with  his  stormy 


"  Hell  and  the  devil !  an'  this  be  revel,  we  had  better  arm  and  out. 
Let  us  go  and  pillage  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  I  " 

Straight  at  the  word  each  girt  on  his  sword,  five  hundred  men  and  more  ; 
And  we  clove  the  sea  in  our  shallops  free,  till  we  reached  the  mainland  shore. 
For  many  a  day  overland  was  our  way,  and  our  hearts  grew  weary  and  low, 
And  many  would  back  on  their  trodden  track,  rather  than  farther  go; 
But  the  wish  was  quell'd,  though  our  hearts  rebell'd,  by  old  Morgan's  stormy 

roar, — 

"  The  way  ye  have  sped  is  farther  to  tread,  than  the  way  which  lies  before." 
So  on  we  march'd  upon  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

T  was  just  sunset  when  our  eyes  first  met  the  sight  of  the  town  of  gold  ; 
And  down  on  the  sod  each  knelt  to  his  god,  five  hundred  warriors  bold  ; 
Each  bared  his  blade,  and  we  fervent  pray'd  (for  it  might  be  our  latest  prayer), 
"  Hansom  from  hell,  if  in  fight  we  fell, — if  we  lived,  for  a  booty  rare  !  " 
And  each  as  he  rose  felt  a  deep  repose,  and  a  calm  o'er  all  within ; 
For  he  knew  right  well,  whatever  befell,  his  soul  was  assoil'd  from  sin, 
Then  down  we  march'd  on  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

The  town  arose  to  meet  us  as  foes,  and  in  order  beheld  us  come  ; — 
They  were  three  to  one,  but  warriors  none, — traders,  and  such  like  scum, 
Unused  to  wield  either  sword  or  shield ;  but  they  plied  their  new  trade  well. 
I  am  not  told  how  they  bought  and  sold,  but  they  fought  like  fiends  of  hell. 
They  fought  in  despair  for  their  daughters  fair,  their  wives,  and  their  wealth, 

God  wot ! 

And  throughout  the  night  made  a  gallant  fight, — but  it  mattered  not  a  jot. 
For  had  we  not  sworn  to  take  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers? 

O'er  dying  and  dead  the  morn  rose  red,  and  o'er  streets  of  a  redder  dye ; 
And  in  scatter'd  spots  stood  men  in  knots,  who  would  not  yield  or  fly. 
With  souls  of  fire  they  bay'd  our  ire,  and  parry'd  the  hurl  and  thrust ; 
But  ere  the  sun  its  noon  had  won  they  were  mingled  with  the  dust. 
Half  of  our  host  in  that  night  we  lost, — but  we  little  for  that  had  care  ; 
We  knew  right  well  that  each  that  fell  increased  the  survivor's  share 
Of  the  plunder  we  found  in  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

We  found  bars  of  gold,  and  coin  untold,  and  gems  which  to  count  were  vain ; 
We  had  floods  of  wine,  and  girls  divine,  the  dark-eyed  girls  of  Spain. 
They  at  first  were  coy,  and  baulk'd  our  joy,  and  seem'd  with  their  fate  downcast, 
And  wept  and  groan'd,  and  shriek'd  and  swoon 'd ;  but 't  was  all  the  same  at  last. 
Our  wooing  was  short,  of  the  warrior's  sort,  and  they  thought  it  rough,  no  doubt ; 
But,  truth  to  tell,  the  end  was  as  well  as  had  it  been  longer  about. 
And  so  we  revell'd  in  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers! 

We  lived  in  revel,  sent  care  to  the  devil,  for  two  or  three  weeks  or  so, 
When  a  general  thought  within  us  wrought  that  'twas  getting  time  to  go. 
So  we  set  to  work  with  dagger  and  dirk  to  torture  the  burghers  hoar, 
And  their  gold  conceal'd  compell'd  them  to  yield,  and  add  to  our  common  store. 
And  whenever  a  fool  of  the  miser  school  declared  he  had  ne'er  a  groat, 
In  charity  due  we  melted  a  few,  and  pour'd  them  down  bis  throat. 
This  drink  we  invented  at  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 


When  the  churls  were  eased,  their  bags  well  squeezed,  we  gave  them  our  bless- 
ing full  fain, 

And  we  kiss'd  our  girls  with  the  glossy  curls,  the  dark-eyed  girls  of  Spain ; 
Our  booty  we  shared,  and  we  all  prepared  for  the  way  we  had  to  roam, 
When  there  rose  a  dispute  as  to  taking  our  route  by  land  or  by  water  home. 
So  one  half  of  the  band  chose  to  travel  by  land,  the  other  to  travel  by  sea  : 
Old  Morgan's  voice  gave  the  sea  the  choice,  and  I  followed  his  fortunes  free, 

And  hasten'd  our  leaving  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

A  bark  we  equipp'd,  and  our  gold  we  shipp'd,  and  gat  us  ready  for  sea ; 
Seventy  men,  and  a  score  and  ten,  mariners  bold  were  we. 
Our  mates  had  took  leave,  on  the  yester-eve,  their  way  o'er  the  hills  to  find, 
When,  as  morning's  light  pierced  through  the  night,  we  shook  her  sails  to  the 


With  a  fresh'ning  breeze  we  walked  the  seas,  and  the  land  sunk  low  and  lower ; 
A  dreary  dread  o'er  our  hearts  there  sped  we  never  should  see  land  more — 

And  away  we  departed  from  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

For  a  day  or  two  we  were  busy  enow  in  setting  ourselves  to  rights, 
In  fixing  each  berth,  our  mess,  and  so  forth,  and  the  day's  watch  and  the  night's ; 
But  when  these  were  done,  over  every  one  came  the  lack  of  aught  to  do, 
We  listless  talk'd,  we  listless  walk'd,  and  we  pined  for  excitement  new. 
Oh  !  how  we  did  hail  any  shift  in  the  gale,  for  it  gave  us  a  sail  to  trim ! 
We  began  to  repent  that  we  had  not  bent  our  steps  with  our  comrades  grim. 

And  thus  we  sail'd  on  from  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

Day  after  day  we  had  stagger'd  away,  with  a  steady  breeze  abeam ; 
No  shift  in  the  gale ;  no  trimming  a  sail ;  how  dull  we  were,  ye  may  deem  ! 
Wre  sung  old  songs  till  we  wearied  our  lungs ;  we  pushed  the  flagon  about ; 
And  told  and  re-told  tales  ever  so  old,  till  they  fairly  tired  us  out. 
There  was  a  shark  in  the  wake  of  our  bark  took  us  three  days  to  hook ; 
And  when  it  was  caught  we  wished  it  was  not,  for  we  missed  the  trouble  it  took. 

And  thus  we  sail'd  on  from  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

At  last  it  befell,  some  tempter  of  hell  put  gambling  in  some  one's  head  ; 
The  devil's  device,  the  cards  and  the  dice,  broke  the  stagnant  life  we  led  : 
From  morn  till  night,  ay,  till  next  morn's  light,  we  plied  the  bones  right  well; 
Day  after  day  the  rattle  of  play  clatter'd  thorough  the  caravel. 
How  the  winners  laugh'd,  how  the  losers  quaff'd!  't  was  a  madness,  as  it  were. 
It  was  a  thing  of  shuddering  to  hark  to  the  losers'  swear. 

And  thus  we  sail'd  on  from  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

From  morn  till  night,  ay,  till  next  morn's  light,  for  weeks  the  play  kept  on  : 
'Twas  fearful  to  see  the  winner's  glee,  and  the  losers  haggard  and  wan; 
You  well  might  tell,  by  their  features  fell,  they  would  ill  brook  to  be  crost ; 
And  one  morn  there  was  one,  who  all  night  had  won,  jeer'd  some  who  all  night 

had  lost. 

He  went  to  bed — at  noon  he  was  dead — I  know  not  from  what,  nor  reck ; 
But  they  spake  of  a  mark,  livid  and  dark,  about  the  dead  man's  neck! 

And  thus  we  sail'd  on  from  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

This  but  begun  :  and  those  who  had  won  lived  a  life  of  anxious  dread  ; 
Day  after  day  there  was  bicker  and  fray  ;  and  a  man  now  and  then  struck  dead. 
Old  Morgan  stern  was  laugh'd  to  scorn,  and  it  worry'd  his  heart,  I  trow ; 
Five  days  of  care,  and  his  iron-grey  hair  was  as  white  as  the  winter's  snow: 
The  losers  at  last  his  patience  o'erpast,  for  they  drew  their  sword  each  one, 
And  cried,  with  a  shout,  "Hell  take  you  !  come  out,  and  fight  for  the  gold  ye 
have  won — 

The  gold  that  our  blood  bought  at  Panama  : 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers !  " 

OLD    MORGAN    AT    PANAMA.  45 

We  never  were  slow  at  a  word  and  a  blow,  so  we  cross'd  our  irons  full  faiu  ; 
And  for  death  and  life  had  begun  the  strife,  when  old  Morgan  stopt  it  amain, 
And  thunder'd  out  with  his  stormy  shout, — "  Dogs,  ye  have  had  your  day  ! 
To  your  berths  \  "  he  roar'd.     "  Who  sheaths  not  his  sword,  Heaven  grant  him 

its  grace,  I  pray ! 
For  I  swear,  by  God,  I  will  cleave  him  like  wood  !  "     There  was  one  made  an 

angry  sign  ; 

Old  Morgan  heard,  and  he  kept  his  word  ;  for  he  clove  him  to  the  chine. 
So  ended  his  exploits  at  Panama : 

He,  the  mighty  Buccaneer ! 

At  this  we  quail'd,  and  we  henceforth  sail'd,  in  a  smouldering  sort  of  truce  ; 
But  our  dark  brows  gloom'd,  and  we  inward  fumed  for  a  pretext  to  give  us 

loose : 
When  early  one  morn — •"  A  strange  sail  astern !  "  we  heard  the  lookout-man 


And  old  Morgan  shout,  "  Put  the  ship  about,  and  crowd  every  stitch  of  sail !  " 
And  around  went  we,  surging  through  the  sea  at  our  island  wild  buck's  pace  ; 
In  wonderment  what  old  Morgan  meant,  we  near'd  to  the  fated  chase — 
We,  the  pillagers  of  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

She  went  right  fast,  but  we  took  her  at  last.     T  was  a  little  brigantine  thing  ; 
With  some  four  men  for  crew,  and  a  boy  or  two — a  bark  built  for  trafficking ; 
Besides  this  crew  were  three  women,  too  :  her  freight  was  salt-fish  and  oil : 
For  the  men  on  board,  they  were  put  to  the  sword ;  the  women  we  spared 


And  all  was  surmise  what  to  do  with  the  prize,  when  old  Morgan,  calling  us  aft, 
Roar'd,  "  Ye  who  have  fooled  yourselves  out  of  your  gold  take  possession  of 

yonder  craft, 

And  go  pillage  some  other  Panama, 

Ye,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

We  were  reckless  and  rude,  we  had  been  at  feud  till 't  was  war  to  the  very  knife  ; 
But  it  clove  each  heart  when  we  came  to  part  from  comrades  in  many  a  strife  : 
Over  one  and  all  a  gloom  seemed  to  fall,  and  in  silence  they  packed  their  gear, 
Amid  curses  and  sighs,  and  glistening  eyes,  and  here  and  there  a  tear. 
We  gave  brooches  and  things  for  keepsakes  and  rings  ;  and  some  trucked  the 

weapons  they  wore : 

This  Spanish  gun  was  a  token  from  one  who  had  fought  me  a  week  before, 
While  we  diced  for  the  spoils  of  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers ! 

Their  traps  all  pack'd,  there  was  nothing  lack'd,  but  sharing  the  women  three : 
The  odd  one's  choice  was  left  to  the  dice,  and  she  fell  to  the  rich  so  free ; 
When  the  losers'  'gan  swear  the  dice  were  unfair,  and  brawl'd  till  our  chief  gat 


And,  without  more  ado,  cut  the  woman  in  two,  as  Solomon  shared  the  child. 
Then  each  of  each  baud  shook  each  old  mate's  hand,  and  we  parted  with  hearts 

full  sore; 

We  all  that  day  watch 'd  them  lessen  away.    They  were  never  heard  of  more ! 
We  kept  merrily  on  from  old  Panama, 

We,  the  mighty  Buccaneers  ! 

Their  sufferings  none  know,  but  ours,  I  trow,  were  very,  oh !  very  sore  ; 

We  had  storm  and  gale  till  our  hearts  'gan  fail,  and  then  calms,|  which  harassed 

us  more ; 

Then  many  fell  sick;  and  while  all  were  weak,  we  rounded  the  fiery  cape; 
As  I  hope  for  bliss  in  the  life  after  this,  'twas  a  miracle  our  escape  ! 
Then  a  leak  we  sprung,  and  to  lighten  us,  flung  all  our  gold  to  the  element: 
Our  perils  are  past,  and  we  're  here  at  last,  but  as  penniless  as  we  went. 
And  such  was  the  pillage  of  Panama 

By  the  mighty  Buccaneers! 

G.  E.  INMAN. 


"  Take  a  poon,  pig."— Miss  EDGEWORTH'S  "  Simple  Susan." 

IT  has  been,  time  out  of  mind,  a  common  saying,  that  young  gentle- 
men or  ladies  who  come  into  the  world  on  high  days  or  holidays,  for- 
tunate days  for  the  family,  or  days  when  unexpected  legacies  had 
been  received,  or  wealth  realized,  were  born  with  silver  spoons  in 
their  mouths.  Nay,  in  some  modern  farce  a  pert  abigail  declares  that 
such  has  been  her  young  mistress's  luck,  that  she  could  not  have  en- 
tered existence  with  anything  in  her  throat  less  valuable  than  a  sil- 
ver soup  ladle  !  Whether  such  massive  accompaniments  are  incon- 
venient to  the  innocent  babes  I  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  ;  but 
I  do  think  that  all  mothers  who  have  given  birth  to  such  treasures, 
ought  ever  after  to  be  treated  with  high  respect.  On  the  list  of  great 
and  illustrious  persons  they  ought  surely  only  to  be  placed  second  to 
the  far-famed  goose,  that  laid  a  golden  egg  for  her  mistress  daily.  I 
made  my  appearance  a  few  days  earlier  than  I  was  expected ;  and  the 
very  morning  of  my  arrival  intelligence  was  brought  of  the  death  of 
an  old  Uncle  Somebody,  who  died  out  somewhere,  and  who  had  been 
supposed  dead  for  years,  having  left  my  father  five  thousand  pounds 
a-year.  My  father  and  mother,  who  had  been  some  years  married, 
had  long  sighed  for  a  baby  ;  nor  can  it  be  doubted  that,  like  other 
folks  but  moderately  off  in  the  world,  they  had  also  sighed  for  a  little 
accession  of  fortune.  Two  aspirations  were  thus  propitiously  realized 
in  one  day ;  and,  as  I  really  seemed  to  make  my  appearance  accom- 
panied by  the  fortune  which  I  was  destined  to  inherit,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  my  mother's  only  brother,  a  bachelor,  Mr.  Tidyman 
Twig,  who  had  undertaken  the  responsibility  of  being  my  godfather, 
should  give  me  what  was  intended  for  a  fondling  caress,  squeeze  the 
breath  almost  out  of  my  little  body,  set  me  howling,  and  then  re- 
placing me  in  the  arms  of  my  nurse,  emphatically  exclaim.  "  There, 
if  ever  a  boy  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,  that 's  the 
very  boy" 

From  this  time  my  father  seemed  to  become  a  new  raan  ;  his  habits 
had  hitherto  been  indolent.  He  was  a  merchant ;  but,  not  having  a 
sufficient  capital  to  enable  him  to  engage  in  large  and  immediately 
profitable  speculations,  and,  being  at  the  same  time  deficient  in  the 
industry  and  perseverance  which  so  often  make  a  small  property  ex- 
pand itself  into  a  large  one,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  live  upon 
his  moderate  income. 

Now,  however,  affairs  began  to  wear  a  different  aspect.  He  took 
a  suburban  villa ;  he  kept  his  carriage ;  a  well-situated  and  commo- 
dious counting-house  was  fitted  up  ;  and  a  round,  ruddy,  active,  un- 
exceptionable, sort  of  gentlemanlike  partner  was  daily  seated  in  an 
inner  room,  where  he  represented  the  moiety  of  the  firm  of  "  Messrs. 
Goodman  and  Cute." 

Master  Twig  Goodman  (meaning  myself)  having  attained  the  age 
of  twelve  years,  was  to  be  sent  to  school ;  and  godpapa  having  on  all 
eventful  occasions  taken  me  rather  under  his  own  jurisdiction,  he 
selected  the  seminary ;  and,  under  his  protection,  and  in  his  own 
chaise,  I  was  carried  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sloane's ;  a  large,  airy,  old- 

NO    SILVER    SPOON.  47 

fashioned,  but  cheerful-looking  brick  building,  standing  in  the  midst 
of  a  charming  garden.  Perhaps  it  was  fortunate  for  me  that  Godpapa 
Tidyman  did  take  me  under  his  wing ;  for  my  father,  as  is  generally 
the  case  with  persons  of  not  very  strong  minds,  had  flown  rather 
hastily  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  and  had  latterly  become  as 
fussy,  fidgetty,  over-anxious,  and  perplexed  about  his  mercantile  mat- 
ters, as  he  had  formerly  been  passive  and  even  puerile.  My  poor  mo- 
ther, too,  who  never  had  been  very  strong,  found  time  since  she  became 
rich  to  complain  of,  and  give  way  to  any  extent  of  debility  which  in- 
dolence might  require  as  a  veil  for  its  helplessness,  or  which  doctors 
who  devote  themselves  to  ladies'  nervous  systems  might  sanction, 
never  seemed  to  have  time  to  do  anything.  She  kissed  rne,  and 
coaxed  me,  and  gave  me  cakes,  and  called  me  pet,  darling,  and  all 
other  endearing  names ;  and  then  it  was  evidently  quite  a  relief  to  her 
when  she  again  put  me  into  the  nurse's  arms,  and,  sinking  back  on 
her  cushions  with  a  smelling-bottle  to  her  nose,  said,  "  Take  him 
away,  nurse.  Ta,  ta,  pet !  Don't  let  him  cry  here.  Ma  '11  see  her 
darling  again  to-morrow." 

And  thus  it  was  from  infancy  to  boyhood  I  was  indulged  and 
spoiled,  and  she  was  always  telling  me  how  much  she  loved  me.  But 
then  she  would  check  the  more  natural  spirits  of  my  age  ;  my  noise 
was  too  much  for  her  ;  and,  alas  !  her  love  was  too  little  for  me.  Thus 
it  happened,  I  believe,  that  Godpapa  Tidyman  became  to  me  a  sort 
of  papa,  and  mamma,  and  godpapa,  all  in  one ;  and,  when  he  kindly 
and  affectionately  placed  me  under  Mr.  Sloane's  care,  there  certainly 
was  no  one  in  the  world  so  dear  to  me  as  himself.  I  was  very  happy 
at  Mr.  Sloane's.  I  liked  the  place  and  the  people ;  and,  above  all,  my 
schoolfellows,  with  whom,  however,  I  certainly  did  at  first  involve 
myself  in  a  little  personal  annoyance,  and  entirely  through  my  own 
egotistical  garrulity.  I  must  needs  tell  them  of  my  first  birthday, 
and  the  fortune  of  which  I  was  the  unconscious  accompaniment. 
This  was  nothing  ;  but  I  told  them  of  the  old  adage,  that  with  which 
Godpapa  Tidyman  still  never  failed  to  greet  me,  and  which,  caught 
from  him,  had  daily  been  echoed  by  guests  of  every  degree,  and  by 
every  servant  who  could  take  the  liberty  of  addressing  me  so  freely. 

Yes,  I  told  all  the  boys  that  I  had  been  born  with  a  silver  spoon 
in  my  mouth  !  How  little  did  I  then  anticipate  the  result !  From 
that  day  to  the  day  of  my  departure  from  school,  I  never  failed  to  be 
greeted  as  "  little  spoomj  !  " 

But  little  spoony  managed  to  make  his  own  way,  —  ay,  and  with- 
out fighting  to.  I  do  not  say  that  now  and  then  I  had  not  a  skir- 
mish, which  ended  in  a  black  eye  or  cracked  crown  ;  but  it  never 
was  my  lot  to  encounter  perpetual  squabbles  and  bickerings  with 
those  companions  with  whom  I  was  in  hourly  intercourse ;  and  the 
notion  of  a  boy's  Jtghling  his  way  through  a  school  has  always 
struck  me  as  a  most  unamiable  and  unpromising  way  of  beginning 
life.  "  Little  spoony  "  was  still  my  nickname;  but  I  had  names  just 
as  applicable  for  them ;  and,  when  I  bore  mine  with  good  humour, 
I  very  soon  found  that  the  zest  with  which  it  was  given  had  worn 

Passing  rapidly  from  infancy  to  boyhood,  and  thence  to  maturity, 
is  very  like  shortening  my  own  life.  But  I  am  only  skipping,  and 
skipping  in  the  memoirs  of  a  boy  is  surely  highly  characteristic. 
When  I  had  become  "  young  master  "  at  home,  and  possessed  dogs, 


horses,  a  cab,  and  all  other  advantages  usually  sported  by  the  only 
sons  of  rich  merchants,  I  heard  more  of  the  silver  spoon  than  ever. 
Godpapa  Tidyman,  when  he  greeted  me,  never  had  it  off  his  tongue's 
tip  ;  and  certainly,  taking  it  figuratively  and  metaphorically,  when  I 
glanced  around  at  the  worldly  advantages,  comforts,  and  prospects  I 
possessed,  I  could  not  help  admitting  that  something  bright  had  been 
propitious  to  my  birth  ;  but,  whether  it  was  a  radiant  planet,  or  a 
silver  spoon,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  me  to  determine. 

And  now  came  the  brightest  event  that  ever  blessed  me  under  the 
influence  of  that  silver  talisman  ;  I  fell  in  love  with  youth,  beauty, 
amiability,  accomplishments,  ay,  and  greatest  wonder  of  all,  with  a 
girl  of  large  and  independent  fortune,  and  without  my  being  at  all 
aware  of  it,  with  the  very  girl  long  since  chosen  for  my  destined 
bride  by  my  father,  my  mother,  and,  above  all,  by  dear  Godpapa 

No  two  people  could  be  happier  than  we  were.  My  father  and 
her  uncle  were  constantly  closetted  together,  —  as  old  people,  I  be- 
lieve, always  are  on  such  occasions,  —  while  we  spent  our  mornings 
rambling  through  the  green-lanes  of  our  pretty  neighbourhood,  and 
in  the  evening  went  to  some  theatre,  to  which  we  inveigled  my  poor 
mother.  Anna  Maria  was  herself  motherless.  Godpapa  Tidyman 
was  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  joy  and  excitement,  lavishing  upon  my 
fair  intended  the  most  delicate  presents  ;  and  on  myself  he  seemed 
determined  to  bestow  a  regular  matrimonial  outfit, — chests  of  linen, 
hampers  of  wine,  packages  of  china,  and  a  most  elegant  and  useful 
carriage,  with  imperials,  cap-cases,  bonnet-boxes,  and  I  know  not 
what,  all  out  of  consideration  for  Anna  Maria. 

Nor  did  he  forget  the  silver  forks  and  spoons. 

At  this  time  I  know  not  whether  my  silver  spoon  melted  away ; 
certain  it  is,  that  all  my  own  bright  prospects  seemed  to  vanish  one 
by  one.  Bankruptcy,  that  old  infirmity  of  firms,  fell  heavy  on  the 
house  of  Goodman  and  Cute.  That  is,  most  decidedly  on  one  half 
of  the  house ;  for  it  was  whispered  that  Cute  had  been  too  much  for 
Goodman,  and,  having  well  feathered  his  own  nest,  had  left  my  fa- 
ther, nay,  without  a  dry  hard  twig,  unless,  in  his  emergency  he  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  find  one  in  Godpapa  Tidyman  Twig. 

Since  the  death  of  my  poor  mother,  who  had  long  since  suf- 
fered from  the  worrying  indications  of  an  approaching  calamity — the 
untimely  knocks  and  rings,  the  unseasonable  visits  of  men  in  low- 
crowned  hats  with  broad  brims  and  shabby  drab  coats ;  and  had 
pined  away  and  perished  even  before  the  lean  visage  of  want  had 
been  suffered  to  encroach  upon  her  actual  wants  ; — since  her  death, 
my  father's  health  had  rapidly  declined.  Always  of  an  indolent,  in- 
active, and  inflammatory  habit,  he  had  latterly  neglected  himself; 
and  utterly  unprepared  for  a  reverse  of  fortune,  and  deeply  hurt  by 
the  conduct  of  his  partner  Cute,  he  was  unable  to  endure  the  blow, 
and  a  very  few  days  after  the  failure,  died  of  apoplexy. 

When  I  met  Godpapa  Tidyman  again,  I  of  course  expected  to 
hear  nothing  but  condolences.  These  were,  indeed,  lavished  on  me 
on  account  of  my  recent  severe  family  losses,  and  the  excellent  old 
gentleman  shed  many  tears  over  the  memory  of  his  sister  and  her 
husband.  But,  when  we  came  to  speak  of  the  failure,  to  my  utter 
amazement  he  was  full  of  congratulations,  and  actually  exclaimed, 

"  Well,  my  dear  godson,  I  always  said  you  were  born  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  your  mouth,  and  you  see  I  was  not  wrong." 

NO    SILVER    SPOON.  49 

"  Not  wrong,  dear  sir  ?  "  said  I.  "  Why,  my  father  died  a  beggar. 
Everything  he  possessed  in  the  world  must  be  sold  off;  and,  even 
then  nothing  will  be  raised  to  provide  me  with  an  income  adequate 
to  the  common  necessaries  of  life." 

"  Oh  !  but  with  your  resources " 

"  My  resources  !  I  was  so  completely  in  ignorance  of  the  real  state 
of  my  father's  affairs ;  and,  from  the  expectations  held  out  to  me, 
was  so  little  cautious  as  to  the  extent  of  my  expenditure,  that  every 
article  I  possess  in  the  world  must  be  sold  off  also !  " 

"  Well ;  and  what  can  that  signify?  "  replied  my  still  placid,  and 
now  most  incomprehensible  Godpapa  Tidyman.  He  paused ;  and 
then,  with  a  very  knowing  look,  continued,  "Have  you  forgot  Anna 

"  Forget  Anna  Maria  !  "  cried  I,  starting  from  my  chair.  "  Forget 
her!  As  soon  could  I  forget " 

"  There,  there,  waste  no  rhapsodies  on  me.  You  do  not  forget  her ; 
can  you  suspect  that  she  ceases  to  remember  you  ?  That  all  your 
vows,  and  promises,  and  protestations  are  cherished  in  her  heart ; 
and  that  she  will  rush  to  your  arms,  and  be  proud  to  replace  you  in 
the  position  of  wealth  and  luxurious  comforts  in  whicli  you  were 
when  you  first  met,  and  which,  with  all  the  lover's  fond  enthusiasm, 
you  invited  her  to  share?" 

"True,"  I  replied.  "But  —  but  then,  there's  nothing  to  share 
now  ;  and  sheha<$.  And  yet,  those  sweet  blue  eyes  they  never  could 
deceive,  so  full  of — of — of —  Do  you  really  think  she  loved  me  for 
myself  alone  ?  "  turning  to  my  placid  companion  with  a  forlorn  as- 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  Go  to  her  at  once.  Fix  your  black  eyes  most 
intently  on  her  blue  ones  ;  press  both  her  hands  in  yours ;  place 
your  lips  on  her  own — on  her  cheek,  or  any  place  most  accessible  at 
the  moment ;  and  return  to  me  in  an  hour,  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world,  confessing  to  me  that  after  all  I  was  right,  and  that  you 
were  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  your  mouth.  I  will  wait  for  you 

To  the  feet  of  the  gentle  blue-eyed  Anna  Maria  flew  the  impatient 
Twig  Goodman.  We  hate  a  twice-told  tale ;  and,  as  the  result  of 
this  amatory  interview  must  be  briefly  detailed  by  the  lover  to  the 
very  sanguine  godpapa,  we  will  let  that  one  disclosure  of  an  unsatis- 
factory tale  suffice. 

The  young  lady  had  been  speechless  (so  judicious  when  we  have 
nothing  to  say  that  we  are  not  ashamed  and  afraid  to  utter).  Her 
blue  eyes  were  invisible,  partly  from  tears,  but  principally  from  her 
pocket-handkerchief;  when  the  kiss  was  offered  it  was  evaded;  and 
when  two  hands  were  outstretched  to  press  hers,  a  packet  was  placed 
in  them,  evidently  containing  letters,  trinkets,  and  a  picture.  The 
fragile  Anna  Maria  then  rose,  and  tottered  out  of  one  door,  while 
the  scarcely  less  fragile  Twig  Goodman  pressed  his  forehead  with  his 
clenched  fist,  and  tottered  out  of  the  other ! 

Godpapa  Tidyman  was  in  despair,  —  that  is,  for  a  moment,  not  in 
hopeless  comfortless  despair ;  he  paced  the  room  for  a  short  time, 
and  then,  with  a  smiling  countenance,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  me, 
and  said, 

"Well,  after  all,  I  said  you  were  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  your 
mouth,  and  so  you  are.  The  more  frequent  your  disappointments, 

VOL.    VI.  K 

50  NO    SILVER    SPOON. 

the  greater  your  luck  in  the  end.  I  always  intended  you  to  inherit 
my  property ;  but  so  many  better  and  brighter  things  seemed  to 
spring  up  in  your  way,  that  I  never  thought  of  speaking  to  you  on  a 
subject  that  seemed  unimportant,  nor  did  I  think  it  necessary  to  make 
a  will ;  now,  however,  everything  shall  be  arranged  to  your  satisfac- 
tion ;  and,  though  your  income  will  not  realize  what  I  could  have 
wished,  nor  what  you  once  expected,  I  know  you  will  be  satisfied. 

I  was  full  of  gratitude ;  and,  as  he  considerately  advised  me  to 
change  the  air  and  scene,  and  go  to  some  distant  watering-place 
while  the  sale  of  my  effects  was  going  on,  I  set  off  to  Brighton,  pro- 
mising to  return  to  him  in  ten  days,  when  he  said  his  arrangements 
in  my  favour  would  be  legally  and  satisfactorily  arranged. 

To  Brighton  I  went ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  was  recalled  by 
a  letter,  bearing  a  huge  black  seal,  and  written  by  the  lawyer  of  my 
dear  friend. 

Before  the  will  was  signed  he  had  died  suddenly ;  the  heir-at-law 
had  immediately  taken  possession  of  the  property,  removing  from 
the  house  all  but  a  few  tables  and  chairs,  cracked  crockery,  knives 
and  forks,  and  an  old  japan  waiter. 

One  old  woman — or  rather  charwoman,  I  believe  they  call  them, 
— was  left  to  do  anybody's  bidding  who  might  come ;  and,  broken- 
spirited  as  I  was,  I  was  still  alive  to  the  cravings  of  hunger.  After 
much  solicitation  she  promised  me  a  mutton-chop,  and  it  was  pre- 
pared on  a  very  rickety  table,  and  exceedingly  dirty  table  cloth. 

At  length  it  came ;  black  outside,  red  inside,  and  cold  gravy. 
"  Mustard,"  said  I ;  there  was  none.  Pepper,  the  coarsest  and 
the  blackest,  was  set  before  me. 

"  Is  there  no  Harvey's  sauce  ?  " 

"  La  no,  sir  !  they  left  no  delicacies  here." 

"  Well — well ;  a  spoon — a  spoon  for  the  gravy." 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  sir  !  what  could  make  you  ask  for  such  a  thing  as 
that  ?  There's  no  silver  spoon  !  " 


THERE  is  a  light  about  those  eyes, 

Warm,  rich,  but  tender,  like  the  hue 
That  *s  left  upon  the  vesper  skies 

When  day  has  turn'd  to  misty  blue : 
A  mild  repose,  as  if  the  sun 

Of  joy  had  not  been  long  departed  ; 
And  twilight  thoughts  had  just  begun 

Half  blissfully — half  broken-hearted  ! 
Oh  !  lady,  look  but  thus, 
And  I  could  gaze  for  ever  ! 

Within  thy  voice  there  is  a  tone, 

Soft,  sweet,  and  trembling,  like  the  sighs 
That  night-birds  through  the  valleys  moan, 

Thinking  they  sing  gay  melodies! 
A  tranquil  sound,  as  if  the  tide, 

The  noisy  tide  of  mirth  and  laughter, 
Had  fall'n  adown  youth's  green  hill  side, 

To  flow  in  quiet  ever  after ! 

Oh !  lady,  sing  but  thus —         . 

And  I  could  hear  for  ever !  J.  A.  WADE. 



BY    THE    KEV.    G.    R.    GLEIG,    AUTHOR    OF    "THE    SUBALTERN,"    ETC. 


Proving  that  Jack  himself  can  run  rusty  at  times,  and  gains  nothing  by  it. 

IT  took  us  several  weeks  after  our  arrival  in  Malta,"  said  John 
Bain,  resuming  the  thread  of  his  narrative,  "  to  complete  the  repairs 
of  which  we  were  in  need  ;  for  the  island  was  not  then  in  pos- 
session of  the  English,  neither  was  there  English  energy  in  any 
of  its  establishments.  But  the  job,  though  slowly  done,  was  done 
effectually  ;  after  which  we  hastened  back  to  rejoin  the  admiral. 
We  found  him  before  Cadiz,  blockading  the  port,  and  amusing  him- 
self from  time  to  time  by  bombarding  the  fleet  that  found  shelter 
therein,  the  effects  of  which  practice  were  to  knock  down  a  good 
many  houses,  without,  as  far  as  I  could  discover,  doing  any  serious 
damage  to  the  ships.  But  the  shipping  did  not  escape  uninjured 
neither.  Signals  would  occasionally  order  the  boats  of  particular 
vessels  to  be  manned,  which  after  night-fall  stole  in  beneath  the 
batteries  ;  and  more  than  one  prize,  acquired  by  skill,  and  now  and 
then  by  hard  fighting,  testified  to  the  excellency  of  the  arrange- 
ment. A  cutting  out,  from  such  a  situation  as  the  harbour  of  Ca- 
diz, at  least,  is  under  every  circumstance  a  nervous  affair ;  so  it 
may  not  be  amiss  if  I  describe  in  detail  a  service  of  the  kind  in  which 
I  was  once  engaged. 

The  inshore  squadron,  to  which  all  the  frigates  were  attached,  had 
it  in  charge  to  observe  narrowly  whether  any  vessels  passed  to  or  from 
the  harbour,  and  to  report  such  changes  of  position  as  the  fleet  which 
lay  at  moorings  within  the  basin  might  attempt.  One  day  a  fine  brig, 
taking  advantage  of  a  skiff  of  wind,  which  did  not  reach  us,  came  creep- 
ing along  the  shore,  and,  in  spite  of  a  sharp  chase  from  the  boats,  which 
were  immediately  ordered  out,  succeeded  in  passing  the  cape,  and 
brought  up  under  the  guns  of  a  strong  battery.  There  was  a  sort  of 
bravado  in  this  which  Nelson,  who  commanded  our  squadron,  did 
not  quite  relish,  so  he  determined  to  convince  the  Spaniard  that  he 
was  not  so  safe  as  he  fancied  himself  to  be.  Accordingly,  up  went 
the  well-known  signal  for  the  boats  of  our  ship  and  the  Terpsichore 
to  get  ready  for  service  soon  after  nightfall,  while  the  captains  were 
desired  to  come  on  board  the  admiral  to  receive  orders.  What 
passed  in  the  admiral's  cabin  I  can't  tell;  but  when  the  skippers 
returned,  the  whisper  soon  went  about  that  we  were  going  to  make  a 
prize  of  the  saucy  Spaniard;  and,  as  volunteers  were  looked  for  to 
execute  a  service  of  some  hazard,  every  soul  on  board  hastened  to 
give  in  his  name.  I  had  the  good  luck  to  be  heard  among  the  first, 
and  so  was  chosen ;  and  good  luck  I  call  it,  because  all  the  credit 
and  very  little  of  the  risk  of  hard  service  came  to  me.  Well,  we 
stowed  away  our  cutlasses  and  pistols  in  the  proper  place,  ate  a 
merry  supper  with  our  comrades,  drank  our  grog  to  the  toast  of  suc- 
cess, and  about  ten  o'clock  at  night  went  quietly  over  the  ship's  side, 
and  awaited  the  order  to  start. 

It  was  a  calm  and  beautiful  night.  There  was  no  moon  in  the 
sky,  but  the  stars  were  out  by  millions,  and  the'sea  lay  under  their 

E  2 


soft  pale  glitter  as  still  as  a  baby  when  it  is  sleeping.  We  were  at 
this  time  above  five  miles  from  the  shore,  yet  upon  the  gentle  air 
there  came  off  to  us,  even  at  that  distance,  the  perfume  of  the  many 
scented  shrubs  which  grow  in  abundance  among  the  gardens  that 
surround  the  town.  I  don't  know  whence  it  came  about,  but  I  felt 
unusually  sobered  down  that  night.  I  had  no  fear  of  death  ;  I  did 
not  even  fancy  that  I  was  going  to  be  killed;  but  I  became  grave 
and  thoughtful  to  a  degree  which,  without  making  me  unhappy, 
acted  upon  my  spirits  as  in  some  situations  we  are  apt  to  be  affected 
by  melancholy  music.  I  was  sitting  next  one  of  my  messmates, 
with  whom  I  had  long  lived  on  terms  of  great  intimacy ;  a  fine  bold 
rollicking  fellow,  called  Ben  Hartley,  a  capital  singer,  a  famous  spin- 
ner of  a  yarn,  and  the  best  dancer  of  Jacky-tar  among  all  the  ship's 
company.  We  had  been  merry  enough  between  decks  while  the 
grog  was  circulating,  and  Ben  seemed  nowise  inclined  to  check  his 
mirth  now ;  for  he  was  the  most  thoughtless  of  mortals,  and  would 
have  cracked  his  joke,  I  verily  believe,  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows. 
However,  I  did  not  join  chorus  with  my  laugh,  and  once  or  twice  I 
gave  him  no  answer. 

"  Why,  Jack,"  said  he,  "  what 's  the  matter  ?  Art  out  o'  sorts,  or 
out  o'  spirits, — or  what  ails  thee  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  Ben," answered  I  ;  "only,  I  can't  tell  how,  but  I  fancy 
that  both  you  and  I  had  better  be  grave  than  merry  just  at  this  mo- 

"  Why  so,  messmate?  "  answered  he.  "Afraid,  I  know  you  aint ; 
but  has  the  old  fellow  under  hatches  there  been  'sinuating  that  he 
might  want  you  by  and  by  ?  " 

"  No,  Ben,"  replied  I ;  "  I  think  that  /  shall  see  the  ship  again ; 
but  others  will  not,  and  mayhap  yourself  rnay  be  of  the  number." 

"  So  be  it/'  replied  Ben  gaily.  "  If  it  come  to-night,  it  won't 
come  to-morrow  ;  and  if  it  don't  come  now,  it  must  come  hereafter. 
And  yet,  Jack,  if  it  should  be  so,  don't  forget  poor  Sail.  Give  her 
my  backy-box,  and  tell  her — Pooh  ! — what 's  the  use  of  grieving." 

The  word  was  by  this  time  passed  to  give  way,  and  we  stretched 
on  our  oars  lustily.  Silence,  too,  was  the  order  of  the  night ;  for  the 
brig  lay  within  half-musket  shot  of  one  battery,  and  was  commanded 
by  the  guns  at  a  very  narrow  range  of  another.  It  was  therefore  as 
much  as  many  lives  were  worth  that  we  should  at  least  reach  her 
unobserved.  Fortunately  for  us,  the  shadows  of  the  land  fell  darkly 
and  strongly  on  us ;  for  we  did  not  pull  straight  to  the  harbour's 
mouth,  but  rather  obliquely  towards  it ;  so  we  succeeded  beyond 
our  most  sanguine  expectations,  and  the  prize  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  our  very  hands.  But  we  had  reckoned  a  little  beyond  our  host. 
There  was  an  open  space  to  cross  ;  the  harbour,  though  narrow,  lay 
between  us  and  the  brig,  and  we  could  not  hope  to  pass  it  unnoticed. 
Quietly,  therefore,  but  resolutely,  each  said  to  his  other,  "  Hurrah ! 
hurrah ! "  and  at  her  we  dashed  like  men  who  pull  for  their  lives. 
There  was  a  challenge  from  the  brig's  forecastle,  —  a  single  musket 
was  discharged,  and  we  lay  under  her  bows.  Up  we  sprang,  and  in 
five  seconds  she  was  ours. 

Yet  a  blow  or  two  had  been  struck  while  we  were  scrambling  up, 
and  there  was  one  plunge  back  into  the  water,  nobody  at  the  in- 
stant could  tell  of  whom.  And  now  began  the  hoisting  of  canvass, 
the  cutting  of  cables,  and  the  turning,  with  might  and  main,  our  prize 


into  mid-channel,  that  she  might  catch  the  land-wind,  which  blew 
gently  but  steadily  in  our  favour.  It  is  astonishing  to  me  even  at 
this  moment  that  we  should  have  been  permitted  to  go  through  with 
our  work  so  quietly.  Not  a  gun  from  the  shore-battery  opened ; 
indeed  we  were  actually  under  weigh,  and  leaving  all  danger  behind, 
before  the  Dons  appeared  to  become  conscious  of  our  proceedings. 
Then,  indeed,  there  arose  a  prodigious  bustle  everywhere.  Men 
shouted,  drums  beat,  and  all  Cadiz  was  roused, — but  it  was  too  late. 
The  batteries  began  to  fire  only  when  we  were  so  far  distant  as  to 
render  their  efforts  of  small  avail,  and  we  escaped  without  having 
been  once  struck.  We  brought  our  prize  in  triumph  under  the 
admiral's  quarter,  and  were  thanked  for  the  skill  and  gallantry 
which  we  had  displayed  in  securing  her. 

During  the  hurry  of  active  operations,  especially  when  they  are 
carried  on  at  night,  there  is  neither  time  nor  opportunity  to  inquire 
into  the  casualties  that  may  have  taken  place.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
till  we  broke  up  to  return,  each  boat's-crew  to  its  own  ship,  that  the 
absence  of  Ben  Hartley  was  noticed,  and  even  then  we  were  slow  to 
believe  that  he  had  not  joined  himself  to  the  other  party.  But  when 
we  met  on  our  own  quarter-deck,  and  Ben  answered  not  to  his 
name,  all  doubt  on  the  subject  was  removed.  I  recollected  the  cir- 
cumstance of  which  I  have  already  spoken, — the  splash  that  was 
heard  while  we  scrambled  up  the  brig's  sides,  and  Ben's  fate  was  no 
longer  a  mystery.  How  strange  it  is  that  the  death  of  one  man 
should,  when  it  occurs  under  such  circumstances  as  this,  affect  us 
much  more  powerfully  than  the  loss  of  hundreds  whom  a  general  ac- 
tion have  swept  away !  I  declare  that  there  was  deeper  and  more 
sincere  lamentation  over  Ben  than  we  had  thought  of  paying  to  the 
memory  of  all  of  whom  the  battle  of  Cape  St.  Vincent  had  deprived 
us.  For  myself,  I  felt  for  a  while  like  one  whom  some  terrible  per- 
sonal calamity  had  overtaken,  and  there  was  not  a  soul  in  our  mess 
that  did  not  mourn  with  me. 

Besides  this,  and  other  expeditions  of  the  kind,  we  moved  in  more 
than  once  to  cover  the  fire-ships,  which  in  their  endeavours  to 
destroy  the  Spanish  fleet  at  its  moorings  wrought  the  town  of  Cadiz 
no  little  damage.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  Nelson  with 
his  boat's  crew  encountered  and  made  prisoner  of  the  Spanish  com- 
mandant Don  Miguel  Tyrason.  I  was  not  personally  engaged  in  that 
affair  ;  I  only  witnessed  it  from  a  distance,  —  I  cannot  therefore  un- 
dertake to  describe  it.  But  the  superiority  of  British  seamen  was 
fully  proved  by  it,  inasmuch  as  Nelson  had  but  fifteen  hands  to  back 
him,  while  his  adversary  was  supported  by  six-and-twenty.  Out  of 
these  eighteen  were  killed  in  the  melee,  and  of  the  remainder  all 
received  wounds  before  they  surrendered. 

And  now  I  come  to  a  matter  concerning  which  I  would  willingly 
keep  silence, — first,  because  I  really  cannot  sjieak  in  full  of  it  as  to 
the  designs  of  those  engaged ;  and  next,  because  it  forms  the  one 
dark  page  in  the  volume  of  England's  naval  history.  There  was  a 
sad  spirit  of  disaffection  in  those  days  throughout  the  British  fleet. 
Grounds  of  complaint  the  seamen  doubtless  had,  and  serious  grounds 
too  when  the  movement  began ;  but  these,  at  the  period  when  Lord 
St.  Vincent's  crews  caught  the  infection,  had  been  removed ;  as  far, 
at  least,  as  a  compliance  with  the  demands  of  the  Portsmouth  muti- 
neers could  remove  them.  The  truth,  however,  I  believe  to  be,  that 


a  good  deal  of  the  misfortune  is  attributable  to  the  mistaken  means 
which  were  then  adopted  of  filling  the  King's  ships.  Neither  by 
voluntary  enlistment  nor  the  use  of  the  press-gang  could  hands 
enough  be  picked  up,  and  recourse  was  had  in  an  evil  hour  to  the 
prisons.  Rogues  and  vagabonds  from  all  quarters,  pickpockets, 
thieves,  and  swindlers;  fellows  who,  if  tried,  were  sure  to  cross  the 
herring-pond,  if  indeed  they  escaped  the  gallows,  were  allowed, 
when  brought  before  the  magistracy,  to  volunteer  for  his  Majesty's 
navy, — nay,  I  am  mistaken  if,  in  some  instances,  the  very  inmates  of 
condemned  cells  were  not  cleared  out,  and  handed  over  to  the 
officers  commanding  tenders.  Now  these  fellows  had  all  a  certain 
degree  of  education,  with  a  great  deal  of  cunning,  and  the  gift  of 
the  gab  ;  and  they  were  always  ready,  not  only  to  get  up  grievances 
for  themselves,  but  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  those  about  them, 
that  they  were  aggrieved  also.  I  know  that  in  Lord  St.  Vincent's 
fleet  we  had  our  own  share  of  these  land-sharks,  and  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  was  by  them  that  our  mutiny  was  got  up.  But,  how- 
ever this  may  be,  the  crews  of  several  of  the  ships  began  about 
the  end  of  June  to  run  rusty,  and  the  officers  found  it  no  easy  matter 
to  maintain  even  the  appearance  of  discipline.  And  here  again  I 
must  take  care  to  add,  that  I  make  these  statements  rather  from 
hearsay  than  personal  knowledge ;  for  our  ship  never  caught  the 
infection,  though  no  efforts  were  spared  to  inoculate  us.  There 
never  came  a  boat  from  the  St.  George,  for  example,  that  did  not 
bring  one  or  more  disseminators  of  mischief,  who  did  their  very  best  to 
make  us  discontented  with  our  lot,  and  seemed  both  astonished  and 
annoyed  that  we  would  not  adopt  their  views.  But  they  had  a 
taut  hand  to  deal  with  in  old  Jarvis,  who  made  such  good  use  of 
the  yard-arm,  when  the  necessities  of  the  case  required,  that  he 
came  to  be  familiarly  spoken  of  among  the  seamen  as  hanging  Jarvis. 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  ever  hanged  a  man  improperly ;  and  am 
quite  sure  that  the  gentlemen  whom  he  strung  up  on  the  present 
occasion,  richly  deserved  their  fate. 

Mutiny  is  the  very  last  means  to  which  either  sailor  or  soldier  will 
think  of  resorting  for  the  purpose  of  getting  redress  even  of  serious 
grievances;  but  mutiny  in  the  presence  of  an  enemy — the  man  who 
can  think  of  that  deserves  more  than  hanging.  Now  such  was  pre- 
cisely the  situation  of  our  fleet  when  symptoms  of  discontent  became 
so  frequent  and  so  glaring  among  us,  as  to  render  the  interference 
of  authority  prompt,  bold,  and  ruthless,  absolutely  necessary.  I 
think  it  was  in  the  St.  George  that  this  spirit  first  showed  itself, 
though  it  was  not  there  that,  in  the  outset,  at  least,  matters  were 
carried  to  an  extreme ;  but  the  admiral  having  caused  three  rare 
jail-birds  to  be  tried  by  court-martial,  determined  that  the  St. 
George's  crew  should  have  the  honour  of  casting  them  off.  The 
people  looked  exceedingly  blank  when  the  prisoners  came  on  board, 
though  they  said  nothing,  neither  was  any  opposition  offered  to  the 
arrangement  which  placed  them,  in  close  irons,  under  charge  of  the 
marines ;  but  the  same  evening  a  remonstrance  was  presented  to 
Captain  Peard,  by  which  the  delegates  declared  that  the  whole  ship's 
company  would  stand,  and  which  he  was  required  to  lay  before  the 
admiral.  He  took  it,  of  course, — he  could  not  well  avoid  taking  it, 
— and  he  carried  it  to  the  flag-ship.  But  the  mutineers,  if  they  cal- 
culated on  overawing  Lord  St.  Vincent,  had  entirely  mistaken  their 


man.  Captain  Peard  was  directed  to  return  their  paper  to  his 
people,  and  to  tell  them  that  the  culprits  should  be  executed,  as  their 
sentence  required,  at  the  yard-arm  of  their  ship. 

Captain  Peard  was  a  resolute  man,  and  he  was  well  supported  by 
his  officers,  especially  by  his  first  lieutenant,  John  Hatley.  He  saw, 
from  the  bearing  of  his  crew,  that  there  was  mischief  brewing,  and 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  deal  with  it  vigorously  whenever  it  should 
come  to  a  head.  Accordingly,  when  on  the  evening  previous  to  the 
day  which  had  been  fixed  for  the  execution,  intelligence  reached  him 
that  their  plans  had  all  been  matured,  he  boldly  threw  himself  with  his 
first  lieutenant  into  the  waste,  where  the  ship's  company  were  assem- 
bled.— "  I  know  what  you  are  up  to,  my  lads,"  said  he.  "  You  have 
spoken  of  seizing  the  ship,  turning  the  officers  adrift,  and  giving  these 
scoundrels  their  liberty.  I  warn  you  that  the  attempt  to  do  so  will 
cost  you  dear,  for  I  will  resist  you  to  the  utmost  of  my  power ;  and, 
as  I  know  the  ringleaders,  I  will  bring  them,  at  all  events,  to  justice." 
—The  men  heard  him  ;  but  either  fancying  that  matters  had  gone 
too  far,  or  worked  upon  by  the  obstinacy  of  their  leaders,  they  not 
only  refused  to  go  to  their  quarters,  but  gave  utterance  to  threats  of 
defiance.  Captain  Peard  and  Mr.  Hatley  had  taken  their  part,  and 
they  went  through  with  it.  They  rushed  into  the  middle  of  the 
throng,  grasped  the  ringleaders  by  the  collar,  and  dragging  them  out 
unopposed,  except  by  the  efforts  of  the  mutineers  themselves,  put 
them  in  irons.  There  is  nothing  like  a  display  of  courage  and  self- 
possession  in  such  cases  for  getting  rid  of  difficulties.  The  mutinous 
seamen  returned  at  once  to  their  allegiance,  and  the  same  night  there 
was  not  a  better  conducted  crew  in  all  the  fleet  than  that  of  the  St. 

We  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened,  and  were  therefore  at  a 
loss  to  assign  a  cause  for  the  appearance  of  a  signal,  which  as  a 
repeating  frigate  we  sent  on,  requiring  all  the  ships  to  draw 
together  round  the  St.  George.  This  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening  of  the  6th  of  June.  But  we  obeyed  it  of  course ;  and  I  can 
testify  to  the  fact,  that  decks  more  quiet  than  those  of  the  ship  in 
question  were  not  to  be  seen  throughout  the  fleet.  We  knew, 
indeed,  that  an  execution  had  been  appointed  for  the  morrow ;  and 
as  the  causes  of  that  execution  were  more  than  usually  stringent,  we 
should  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  object  of  this  concentration 
was  to  give  to  it  all  the  weight  of  an  extended  example,  had  not  the 
position  of  the  St.  George  been  such  as  to  carry  us  farther  than 
seemed  to  be  convenient  from  the  harbour's  mouth.  But  as  the  case 
stood,  this  hardly  satisfied  us,  and  we  demanded  one  of  another 
whether  all  were  right.  No  boats  were  permitted  all  that  night  to 
pass  from  ship  to  ship  ;  no  certain  information  therefore  reached  us. 
Yet  the  care  with  which  the  admiral  laid  the  Ville  de  Paris  along- 
side the  St.  George,  and  kept  her  there,  left  very  little  for  a  more 
direct  messenger  to  communicate.  We  suspected  that  here,  as  well  as 
elsewhere,  evil  spirits  had  been  busy,  and  we  watched  for  the  dawn 
of  day  with  some  anxiety.  It  came  at  last,  and  with  it  the  firing  of 
the  gun,  and  the  hoisting  of  the  pennant  half-mast  high,  which  told 
of  preparations  going  on  for  the  violent  extinction  of  human 
life.  There  is  something  very  awful,  I  had  well-nigh  said  humilia- 
ting, in  such  a  scene  as  that  of  which  I  am  now  speaking.  We  may 
hate  the  crime,  and  think  hardly  of  the  criminal ;  but  as  the  moment 


approaches  which  is  to  put  an  end  to  his  career,  we  shrink  almost 
involuntarily  from  the  sight  of  his  last  agonies.  I  defy  you,  indeed, 
to  close  your  eyes,  or  even  to  turn  them  away,  so  soon  as  the  second 
gun  gives  notice  that  all  is  in  readiness  ;  and  when  the  booming  of 
the  third  is  followed  by  the  running  up  of  the  doomed  men  to  the 
yard-arm,  you  watch  them  while  they  spin  aloft,  as  if  you  were  com- 
pelled to  do  so  by  the  influence  of  a  spell.  Poor  devils  !  the  suffer- 
ings of  these  three  seemed  to  be  very  short.  They  never  stirred  a 
muscle  after  their  heads  reached  the  block. 

Let  me  hurry  over  this  part  of  my  story.  There  was  another 
court-martial  on  the  leaders  of  the  revolt  in  the  St.  George,  another 
condemnation,  and  another  hanging  match;  but  there  the  matter 
ended.  Both  in  her  and  in  the  rest  of  the  ships  the  people  returned 
to  their  senses,  and  the  blockade  was  continued  with  unremitting 
energy  and  perfect  success. 


Containing  some  account  of  other  perils  than  war  which  accompany  a  soldier's 
life,  and  show  ing  how  a  man  may  establish  a  quiet  claim  of  admission  into  Chelsea 

FROM  this  date,  up  to  the  conclusion  of  the  short  peace  in  1802,  I 
continued  knocking  about,  through  the  Mediterranean,  along  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  now  and  then  takirg  a  cruise  in  the  Adriatic,  but 
never  setting  foot  on  shore,  at  least  in  an  English  port.  At  last  the 
order  arrived  —  a  pleasant  one  for  us  —  to  make  the  best  of  our  way 
to  Portsmouth,  outside  uhich  we  no  sooner  anchored  than  the  cap- 
tain left  us.  By  and  by  came  the  signal  to  work  in  from  Spithead 
to  the  harbour,  and  to  dismantle  and  strip  the  frigate,  preparatory 
to  her  being  laid  up  in  ordinary  ;  while  to  us,  who  were  still  kept 
together,  berths  were  assigned  in  an  old  hulk  hard  by,  with  full 
liberty  to  go  on  shore  as  often  as  we  liked.  I  enjoyed  this  season  of 
half  work  half  play  exceedingly,  but  it  did  not  last  long  ;  for  just  as 
we  were  reckoning  on  being  paid  off,  and  sent  adrift  in  concert, 
fresh  instructions  were  received,  and  the  frigate  was  again  put  in 
order  of  service.  Away  we  next  went  to  Deptford,  where  the  Alarm, 
of  twenty-eight  guns  was  lying,  and  into  her  we  were,  without  the 
smallest  ceremony,  bundled.  But  it  soon  came  out  that  our  con- 
nexion with  the  new  ship  was  not  intended  to  be  a  lasting  one.  We 
carried  her  round  to  Portsmouth,  and  almost  immediately  afterwards 
got  our  discharge. 

I  had  not  forgotten  Ben  Hartley's  injunction  to  seek  out  Sail,  and 
give  her  his  dying  message.  I  knew  that  she  was  to  be  heard  of  in 
Portsmouth  ;  for,  if  the  truth  must  be  spoken,  Sail  was  not,  more 
than  sailors'  sweethearts  in  general,  very  fastidious  as  to  the  sort  of 
company  which  she  kept ;  yet,  somehow  or  another,  I  had  not  been 
able,  when  there  with  the  Caroline  frigate,  to  discover  any  trace  of 
her.  This  time  I  was  more  fortunate.  We  were  paid  off  on  the 
23d  of  April,  and  that  same  day  I  met  her  at  the  Point.  Why  should 
I  make  a  short  tale  long  ?  Sail  was  a  kind  creature  ;  she  wept  when 
she  saw  Ben's  backy-box,  and  she  smiled  through  her  tears  as  I  endea- 
voured to  comfort  her.  We  became  sworn  messmates  on  the  spot, 
and  the  very  next  day  we  were  married. 

My  wife  was  a  native  of  a  village  near  Birmingham ;  and,  as  all 
parts  of  the  world  were  the  same  to  me,  I  agreed,  at  her  suggestion, 


to  remove  thither,  and  begin  housekeeping.  We  went  accordingly, 
and  for  several  years  I  spent  my  days  there  very  pleasantly,  if 
at  times  somewhat  hardly  ;  for  Sail  was  an  excellent  manager ;  my 
pension  was  regularly  paid,  I  picked  up  an  odd  job  wherever  I 
could  get  it,  and  the  arrears  of  my  pay,  which  were  at  the  time  of 
our  marriage  considerable,  helped  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door 
even  when  work  was  slack.  But  the  war  broke  out  again,  and  the 
press  for  seamen  became  by  and  by  so  great,  that  I  could  not  reckon 
from  day  to  day  on  an  escape  from  capture.  Now  I  had  got  tired  of 
a  sea  life,  before  I  abandoned  it  in  1802,  and  the  thought  of  returning 
to  it,  after  so  long  a  rest  on  shore,  was  very  disagreeable  to  me. 
Yet,  as  rewards  were  offered  to  such  as  would  report  to  the  officer 
on  the  impress  service  where  seamen  might  be  found,  I  knew  that  I 
was  continually  at  the  mercy  of  any  person  who  might  think  it 
worth  his  while  to  sell  me.  I  became  annoyed  and  irritable,  and 
said  to  myself,  let  come  what  will,  I  won't  go  to  sea.  Therefore,  in 
order  to  avoid  that  risk,  I  went  one  day  to  a  public-house,  where  a 
recruiting  party  from  the  thirty-eighth  regiment  hung  out,  and 
having  drunk  pretty  freely,  I  offered  myself,  and  was  accepted,  as  a 
soldier.  It  was  in  the  second  battalion  of  the  thirty-eighth,  which 
was  then  newly  formed,  that  I  enlisted.  I  cannot  say  that  I  retain 
any  very  agreeable  impression  of  the  effect  which  was  produced 
upon  me  by  my  early  career  as  a  soldier.  The  perpetual  drill  was 
a  nuisance  intolerable,  especially  to  me,  who  could  not  for  a  long 
while  be  made  to  understand  their  words  of  command  ;  and  the  stiff 
stocks,  and  the  pipe-clay,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  —  I  did  not  know 
whether  to  laugh  at  the  whole  concern,  or  to  be  driven  to  my  wits' 
end  by  it.  But  custom  reconciles  us  wonderfully  to  all  things. 
When  we  got  our  route  for  Ireland,  about  four  months  after  I  joined 
the  corps,  I  had  beccme,  though  I  say  it  myself,  a  smart  soldier; 
and  during  the  entire  period  of  my  service  with  the  regiment,  I  am 
not  aware  that  I  ever  forfeited  the  character. 

I  am  not  sure  that  much  good  would  be  accomplished  were  I  to 
give  a  detailed  account  of  my  home  service,  which  wore  itself  out 
partly  in  Ireland,  partly  in  the  inland  of  Guernsey.  In  the  former 
of  these  countries  we  went  through  the  usual  routine  of  marching, — 
from  Waterford  to  Cork,  from  Cork  to  Kinsale,  from  Kinsale  to 
Dublin,  where  for  some  time  we  were  stationary.  In  the  latter, 
which  we  reached  in  the  early  part  of  1810,  we  did  not  linger  long. 
We  were  ordered  soon  after  our  arrival  to  join  the  army  in  Portugal, 
and  embarked  for  that  purpose.  It  was  now,  for  the  first  time  since 
our  marriage,  that  I  parted  from  my  poor  wife,  and  a  sore  heart  the 
parting  occasioned  to  both  ;  for,  in  spite  of  the  haste  with  which  the 
wedding  was  got  up,  we  loved  each  other  tenderly.  But  there  was 
no  help  for  it,  inasmuch  as  her  name  did  not  come  up  in  the  list  of 
those  who  were  to  accompany  the  regiment.  Accordingly  she  be- 
took herself  to  her  native  village,  unencumbered,  happily  for  her, 
with  any  children ;  while  I  went  away  with  my  comrades  on  board 
of  the  transport,  which  waited  to  receive  us. 

We  had  a  fair  passage,  tedious  perhaps,  but  not  otherwise  uncom- 
fortable, and  landed  in  Lisbon,  where  we  were  put  into  quarters  till 
the  necessary  field  equipments  should  be  supplied.  These  came  in 
due  time  ;  after  which  we  were  marched  up  the-country,  and  joined 
the  army  in  its  position  behind  the  Coa,  just  as  the  French,  under 


Massena,  were  advancing  to  besiege  Ciudad  Rodrigo.  We  were  im- 
mediately attached  to  General  Leith's  division,  and  brigaded  with 
the  first  battalion  of  the  ninth  regiment,  as  gallant  a  corps  as  ever 
shouldered  arms,  or  drew  trigger  in  presence  of  an  enemy. 

I  am  not  going  to  describe  the  retreat  to  the  lines  of  Torres 
Vedras,  nor  yet  the  battle  of  Busaco,  which  broke  in  upon  its  mo- 
notony. These  tales  have  been  told  at  least  a  hundred  times,  and  I 
could  add  nothing  to  the  interest  which  others  have  shed  over  them. 
For  what  could  I  relate,  except  that  we  toiled  on  day  after  day, 
heavily  laden,  indifferently  fed,  and  witnessing  all  round  us  spec- 
tacles of  desolation  which  wrung  our  very  hearts.  So  also  in  refer- 
ence to  the  battle ;  if  I  were  to  give  my  version  of  it,  there  are  fifty 
chances  to  one  if  it  would  not  be  found  to  be  at  variance  with  the 
versions  of  others.  I  saw  nothing,  and  heard  nothing,  except  the 
line  of  Frenchmen  whom  my  own  regiment  opposed,  and  the  noise 
of  their  and  our  musketry,  enlivened  by  a  heavy  fire  of  cannon  ;  and 
as  to  the  rest,  soldiers  have  described  their  feelings  both  before  and 
after  so  frequently,  that  there  really  seems  to  me  nothing  of  which  I 
can  make  mention.  Enough,  then,  is  done  when  I  state,  that  I  went 
through  the  day's  work  unscathed,  and  that  the  following  morning  I 
retired  with  the  rest  of  the  army,  pleased  with  the  victory  which  we 
had  gained,  yet  well  knowing  that  to  retire  was  necessary. 

I  am  not,  and  never  was,  a  very  strong  man  ;  and  even  at  the  date 
of  the  battle  of  Busaco  I  had  passed  my  prime.  My  early  habits, 
too,  were  all  against  me  in  sustaining  the  fatigues  of  such  a  cam- 
paign, and  I  sank  before  long  under  them.  At  Coimbra  I  fell  sick, 
and  could  keep  my  place  in  the  ranks  no  longer.  Together  with  many 
others,  whose  case  was  similar  to  mine,  I  was  accordingly  put  into 
a  waggon,  and  sent  on  under  an  escort  to  the  general  hospital  at 
Belem.  I  cannot  say  that  everything  was  arranged  here  on  the 
scale  of  abundance  which  marked  the  arrangement  of  affairs  in  the 
naval  hospital  at  Plymouth;  yet  we  had  no  right  to  complain,  for 
the  medical  gentlemen  were  unremitting  in  their  attentions,  and  all 
was  done  for  us,  I  verily  believe,  which  the  state  of  the  magazines 
would  allow.  But  it  was  found,  after  I  had  been  an  inmate  of  the 
hospital  for  some  time,  that  I  was  not  likely  to  be  of  farther  vise  in 
Portugal ;  so  they  sent  me  home,  together  with  a  whole  batch  of 
invalids,  to  be  disposed  of  as  the  commander-in-chief  might  deem 
expedient.  To  have  kept  me  on  the  strength  of  the  thirty -eighth 
regiment,  under  such  circumstances,  would  have  been  clearly  an  act 
of  imposture.  I  was  accordingly  transferred  to  the  third  garrison 
battalion,  and  joined  it  in  the  autumn  of  1812,  while  it  was  doing 
duty  among  the  forts  and  batteries,  which  at  that  period  overlooked 
in  all  directions  the  entrance  of  Cork  harbour. 

I  do  not  know  how  far  the  composition  of  the  garrison  battalions, 
as  they  then  existed,  may  be  generally  understood.  Originally  embo- 
died as  an  army  of  reserve,  these  corps,  fourteen  in  number,  were 
never  expected  to  serve  beyond  the  limits  of  the  United  Kingdom, — • 
that  is  to  say,  they  were  liable  to  be  sent  anywhere  throughout  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,  and  the  islands  adjacent,  but  could  not  be  called 
upon  to  cross  the  seas,  even  for  the  purpose  of  occupying  one  of  our 
more  distant  possessions.  As  the  war  thickened,  however,  this 
reservation  of  their  usefulness  was  found  to  be  inconvenient ;  so, 
instead  of  enlisting  fresh  men,  they  had  their  casualties  supplied  by 


drafts  from  regiments  of  the  line,  those  persons  being  selected  to  do 
duty  with  them  whom  wounds  or  natural  infirmities  had  rendered 
incapable  of  active  service.  As  soon  as  by  such  means  the  numbers 
of  two  or  three  of  them  became  abundant,  the  limited-service  men 
were  all  drafted  out  of  them,  and  thus  they  became  available,  as  far 
as  a  body  of  invalids  could  well  be,  for  any  service,  in  any  part  of 
the  world,  to  which  the  government  might  send  them.  The  third 
battalion  was  one  of  those  which  had  been  thus  dealt  with.  In  point 
of  numbers,  too,  it  was,  when  I  joined  it,  exceedingly  strong.  I 
believe  that  our  muster-roll  told  a  tale  of  twelve  hundred  rank  and 
file,  at  the  least.  But  such  a  collection  of  halt  and  lame,  and  blind, 
and  sick,  and  lazy  !  I  verily  believe  that  a  single  good  light  com- 
pany would  have  thrashed  us  all.  Nevertheless,  we  were  considered 
quite  efficient  enough  for  garrison  duty  either  at  home  or  abroad  ; 
and  abroad,  it  soon  came  out,  that  we  were  destined  to  go.  I 
had  not  occupied  my  barrack-room  on  Spike  Island  a  month,  when 
we  received  orders  to  prepare  for  foreign  service,  and  two  or  three 
troop-ships  coming  in  soon  afterwards,  we  were  with  all  practicable 
haste  put  on  board  and  sent  to  sea. 

I  had  been  rejoined  by  my  wife  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  whither,  on 
my  return  from  Portugal,  I  was  sent,  and  had  brought  her  thence,  not 
anticipating  another  separation,  to  Ireland.  We  both  pleaded  hard 
for  leave  to  make  the  voyage  together  ;  but  this  was  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  the  service,  and  could  not  be  acceded  to.  Once  more,  there- 
fore, we  bade  each  other  farewell,  and  once  again  she  went  back  sor- 
rowful and  faint-hearted  to  her  relatives  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Birmingham.  Meanwhile  the  regiment  pursued  its  voyage,  and 
early  in  the  spring  of  1813  reached  Malta.  It  may  perhaps  be  sup- 
posed that  of  service  in  that  most  quiet  of  quiet  stations  I  can  have 
absolutely  nothing  to  tell;  and  had  Malta  been  circumstanced  as  it 
usually  is,  the  supposition  would  have  been  well  founded.  But  the 
case  was  quite  otherwise.  When  we  reached  the  place  the  plague 
was  raging  with  excessive  violence,  and  the  state  of  excitement  in 
which  we  were  kept  by  it  was  extreme.  I  am  quite  ignorant  whether 
or  not  any  account  of  that  terrible  visitation  has  ever  appeared ;  but 
to  what  1  myself  both  saw  and  heard  I  may  in  either  case  bear  my 
testimony,  warning  you  that  mine  must  necessarily  be  but  a  meagre 
narrative,  inasmuch  as  the  utmost  care  was  taken  to  hinder  the 
corps  in  garrison  from  holding  any  communication,  verbal  or  other- 
wise, with  the  inhabitants. 

I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  plague  was  imported  into  Malta 
so  early  as  the  year  1810  or  1811,  and  that  it  was  brought  thither  by 
a  ship  from  the  coast  of  Barbary,  of  which  the  lading  was  cotton.  I 
believe,  too,  that  the  infected  goods  were  smuggled  on  shore ;  for 
the  ship  was  put  into  quarantine  as  usual — and  yet  the  disease 
broke  out.  Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  weeks  and  even  months 
elapsed  before  the  authorities  became  aware  of  its  prevalence  in 
the  island;  so  fearful  were  the  Maltese  of  the  consequences  which 
were  sure  to  follow,  and  of  the  total  stop  which  the  discovery 
would  put  to  their  trade  and  their  amusements.  But  by  degrees 
things  came  to  such  a  pitch,  that  an  universal  alarm  was  created. 
People  died  by  dozens  and  scores  daily  ;  and  the  knell  rang  so 
often,  and  funeral  processions  became  so  frequent,  that  the  attention 
of  the  government  was  called  to  it,  and  an  inquiry  was  instituted. 


The  result  of  that  inquiry  was  to  confirm  beyond  dispute  the  terrible 
suspicions  which  were  afloat.  It  was  found  that  the  disease,  which 
cut  off  so  many  of  all  ages  and  sexes,  was  no  ordinary  malady.  It 
did  not  show  itself  in  all  cases  in  the  same  way,  neither  were  its 
issues  invariably  fatal;  but  there  was  a  character  about  it  which 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  Persons  might  be,  or  seem  to  be,  in  perfect 
health  up  to  a  given  moment ;  they  eat,  and  drank,  and  went  about 
their  business  as  usual,  till  all  at  once  a  slight  swelling,  accompanied 
by  redness,  made  its  appearance  in  some  part  of  their  bodies,  arid 
health  and  strength,  and  not  unfrequently  life  itself,  disappeared 
with  extraordinary  rapidity.  The  boils  in  question  affected  often 
the  forehead,  but  more  frequently  still,  the  armpits.  They  showed 
themselves,  however,  on  other  parts  of  the  body  likewise,  and  their 
progress  to  maturity  was  marvellously  quick.  If  the  patient  was 
vigorous  enough  to  hold  out  till  they  burst,  then  were  his  chances 
of  recovery  considerable ;  if  they  did  not  burst,  he  invariably  died. 
But  this  was  not  the  only  mode  in  which  disease  did  its  work. 
People  might  be  seen  walking  the  street  apparently  in  the  highest 
health  and  spirits,  till  suddenly  they  were  seized  Avith  giddiness, 
which  did  not  throw  them  down,  but  spun  them  round  and  round, 
like  sheep  when  afflicted  by  the  complaint  which  is  called  the  stag- 
gers. There  was  no  instance  of  a  patient  surviving  where  the  plague 
took  this  form.  He  fell  from  one  fit  into  another,  and  dying  in  a  few 
hours,  becoming  immediately  afterwards  black  and  livid,  like  one 
who  has  been  poisoned. 

No  sooner  was  the  presence  of  the  pest  made  known  than  the 
governor  adopted  every  possible  precaution,  in  order  to  hinder  the 
contagion  from  being  carried  into  the  barracks,  where  as  yet  no 
symptoms  of  the  malady  had  shown  themselves.  The  gates  of  all  were 
shut,  and  guards  mounted,  with  orders  to  shoot  those  who  should 
attempt  to  pass,  either  from  the  military  stations  into  the  town,  or 
from  the  town  into  the  military  stations.  Outposts  likewise  were 
established,  and  a  cordon  drawn  round  the  forts,  any  attempt  to 
break  which  was  to  be  dealt  with  in  like  manner;  while  the  troops 
were  ordered  to  send  out  the  reliefs  with  bayonets  fixed,  and  to 
clear  the  way  for  themselves  in  passing  along  the  streets,  as  if  they 
had  been  dealing  with  an  enemy.  In  like  manner  each  guard  and 
piquet,  after  it  had  been  relieved  at  its  post,  was  marched  into  one 
of  the  casemated  apartments,  where  the  men  were  required  to  strip 
to  the  skin,  and  to  bathe  in  huge  jars  of  oil.  At  the  same  time  their 
garments,  and  belts,  and  accoutrements  were  suspended  over  a  fire 
of  charcoal,  and  thoroughly  smoked  ;  a  process  which  was  said  to 
have  contributed  much  to  keep  infection  at  a  distance,  but  which 
was  certainly  not  of  a  nature  to  gratify  the  colonels  of  regiments, 
who  might  have  looked  for  a  handsome  reserve  out  of  the  government 
allowance  for  clothing. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  these  precautions,  or  that  the  style  of 
living  in  barracks  had  something  to  do  with  it,  or  that  Providence 
took  more  care  of  us  than  we  either  expected  or  deserved,  I  cannot 
tell ;  but  it  is  as  certain  as  it  is  remarkable,  that  not  one  British  sol- 
dier died  of  the  plague.  Two  years  it  was  in  the  island,  committing 
fearful  ravages  everywhere,  and  sparing  in  its  wrath  neither  the  old 
nor  the  young ;  but  it  came  not  near  the  quarters  of  the  garrison, 
except  in  one  instance,  and  that  was  a  very  remarkable  one.  Under 
the  cavalier  of  St.  Jaques,  in  the  counter-force  of  the  Port,  there 


is  a  casemate,  or  bomb-proof  lodging,  in  and  near  to  which  dwelt 
two  families,  between  whom  all  direct  communication  was,  on  ac- 
count of  the  plague,  cut  off,  though,  in  other  and  brighter  days,  they 
had  been  the  best  friends  possible.  One  of  these  consisted  of  a  Mal- 
tese functionary,  the  captain,  as  he  was  called,  of  the  magazine, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  take  care  of  the  stores  in  that  quarter,  and  of 
whom  all  men  spoke  and  thought  favourably.  He  was  an  old  man, 
whom  his  very  style  of  dress  had  rendered  remarkable,  for  he  wore 
a  scarlet  coat,  in  shape  resembling  that  which  I  now  wear,  scarlet 
breeches,  and  crimson  stockings,  with  a  cocked-hat  trimmed  with 

gold  lace,  and  hooked  with  bands  that  were  made  of  gold  . 

He,  with  his  two  daughters,  inhabited  apartments  in  the  casemate, 
and  very  quietly,  albeit  very  contentedly,  they  passed  their  days 
there.  The  other  family  of  whom  I  have  spoken  was  that  of  Sergeant 
Crighton,  of  the  British  artillery,  and  which  consisted  of  the  sergeant 
himself,  his  wife,  and  two  children,  who  dwelt  in  a  small  detached 
house  hard  by.  Both  parties  had  gardens,  which  a  wall  only  divided  ; 
both  parties,  too,  had  goats,  or  rather  the  goats  were  their  common 
property  ;  and  so  just  were  they  in  their  dealings  one  with  the 
other,  that,  rather  than  divide  the  produce  on  each  occasion  of 
milking,  they  took  it  by  turns  to  milk,  and  alternately  kept  the 
whole.  Thus,  if  the  Maltese  milked  the  goats  in  the  morning,  the 
goats  were  driven  to  Sergeant  Crighton's  for  milking  in  the  evening  ; 
if  the  evening's  gift  went  to  the  captain  of  the  magazine,  the  Bri- 
tish soldier  put  in  his  claim  to  whatever  the  morning  might  produce. 

So  long  as  the  bills  of  health  were  everywhere  clean,  there  neither 
occurred,  nor  could  occur,  any  interruption  to  this  device ;  indeed, 
the  goats  soon  came  to  understand  as  well  as  their  owners  what  was 
expected  of  them,  and  of  their  own  accord  went  from  house  to 
house  at  the  appointed  seasons.  It  came  to  pass,  however,  some 
time  after  the  plague  had  broken  out,  that  Mrs.  Crighton  observed, 
from  the  appearance  of  the  goats'  udders  when  they  arrived,  that 
they  had  never  been  milked  that  morning.  She  was  surprised  ;  but 
either  because  no  thought  of  evil  entered  into  her  mind,  or  that  she 
looked  upon  the  circumstance  as  the  result  of  accident,  she  took  no 
notice  of  it.  The  animals  were  milked,  —  they  were  turned  loose 
again,  and  betook  themselves,  as  usual,  to  the  place  of  pasturage. 
When,  however,  the  same  appearances  presented  themselves  again 
and  again,  Mrs.  Crighton  became  alarmed,  and,  without  communi- 
cating her  intention  to  her  husband,  she  determined  to  ascertain 
whether  all  were  well  with  her  neighbours.  For  this  purpose  she 
clambered  over  the  wall,  and  made  her  way  to  the  apartments  of  the 
casemate ;  but,  though  she  knocked  several  times,  nobody  paid 
attention  to  the  signal.  She  then  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 
In  one  room  lay  the  father  in  bed,  and  his  two  daughters  stretched 
at  length  along  the  floor  beside  him.  The  Maltese  family  were  dead, 
and  the  appearance  of  the  bodies  left  no  room  to  doubt  that  they  had 
died  of  the  prevailing  malady. 

Mrs.  Crighton  returned  to  her  own  home  a  sadder,  if  not  a  wiser 
woman, — but  she  returned  not  unscathed.  Either  she  had  contracted 
the  seeds  of  the  pest  during  the  brief  space  which  she  stood  in  the 
dead  chamber,  or  the  udders  of  the  goats  which  she  milked  conveyed 
to  her  the  infection,  —  for  she  had  caught  the  plague.  She  commu- 
nicated it,  moreover,  to  her  children,  and  within  the  customary  period 
all  became  its  victims ;  for  it  was  one  of  the  horrible  parts  of  this 


horrible  tragedy,  that  people  and  houses  which  were  suspected  of 
infection  became  things  to  be  shunned  by  all  around  them,  and  that 
the  very  consciousness  of  this,  as  well  as  of  other  consequences 
which  were  sure  to  follow,  caused  the  unhappy  creatures  themselves 
to  conceal  their  misery.  Hence  both  of  these  families,  as  well  as 
many  more  which  became  utterly  extinguished  in  Malta,  died  in 
secret ;  no  one  being  aware  that  there  was  illness  among  them,  till 
its  results  became  palpable  to  the  whole  world. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  one  of  the  first  measures  adopted  by  govern- 
ment, as  soon  as  the  state  of  the  city  became  known,  was  to  erect 
everywhere,  in  the  ditches,  and  resting  against  the  scarps  of  the 
glacis,  numerous  temporary  hospitals.  These  were  composed  of  a 
few  boards  only,  which  being  hastily  fastened  together,  were  run 
up  beside  the  breast-work  of  the  fortifications,  and  covered  over,  so 
as  to  be  impervious  to  the  weather,  with  light  deals  and  tarpaul- 
ins. The  orders  issued  were,  that  every  person  who  was  taken 
with  the  plague,  no  matter  of  what  age,  sex,  rank,  or  condition, 
should  be  immediately  conveyed  to  one  of  these  pest-houses,  and 
that  all  the  wearing  apparel  and  cotton  and  linen  furniture  belonging 
to  the  invalid,  or  to  the  house  of  which  he  might  have  been  an  inmate, 
should  be  immediately  burned.  These  were  terrible,  though  perhaps 
necessary,  orders, — with  which  no  human  being  complied  who  could 
avoid  it ;  for  cupidity  is  in  the  human  breast  a  stronger  passion  than 
the  love  of  life  itself;  and  men  preferred  running  the  almost  inevi- 
table risk  of  infection,  rather  than  that  their  property  should  be 
destroyed.  In  like  manner  there  were  particular  persons  appointed 
to  remain  and  bury  the  dead,  —  a  body  of  wild  Burgomotes  from 
Smyi*na,  whom  the  temptation  of  large  pay  lured  over  to  face  the 
enemy,  and  to  die  or  not,  as  chance,  or  rather  Providence,  might 
determine.  There  was  something  fearfully  picturesque  in  the  dress 
and  bearing  of  these  charnelites.  They  wore  coarse  canvass  smock- 
frocks,  with  gloves  which  reached  above  the  elbow,  boots  of  untan- 
ned  leather,  and  caps  which,  buttoning  down  over  the  ears,  left  only 
a  small  portion  of  their  swarthy  visages  exposed.  Their  implement 
of  office,  again,  was  a  long  hook,  in  form  and  size  nbt  unlike  to  a 
boat-hook,  with  which  they  seized  the  dead  body,  and  dragged  it 
from  the  place  where  it  lay,  and  threw  it  in  the  cart ;  for  in  Malta, 
as  in  London  long  ago,  the  dead-cart  traversed  the  streets  both  day 
and  night,  that  corpses  might  be  piled  upon  it,  —  that  unceremo- 
niously torn  from  hands  which  would  have  naturally  prepared  them 
for  the  grave,. —  they  might  be  cast  unshrived,  unblest,  unmourned, 
into  holes  which  the  strange  scavengers  dug. 

The  plague  in  Malta  was,  as  I  believe  it  generally  is,  very  capri- 
cious in  its  operations.  Multitudes  caught  it  no  one  could  tell  how, 
and  perished  ;  whereas  others  who  came  in  perpetual  contact  with 
the  dying  and  the  dead  escaped.  Sergeant  Crighton,  of  whom  men- 
tion has  already  been  made,  offered  a  striking  example  of  this  fact. 
His  wife  and  children  died  beside  him  ;  he  watched  them  in  their 
decline;  and,  when  life  became  extinct,  he  did  for  them  the  last 
offices  which  he  was  permitted  to  do.  He  sewed  the  corpses  in  linen 
bags,  took  them  one  after  another  on  his  shoulder,  carried  them  to 
the  top  of  the  garden- wall  by  means  of  a  ladder,  and  dropped  them 
one  after  another  into  the  dead- cart,— yet  he  never  caught  the  infec- 
tion. The  Burgomotes,  on  the  other  hand,  though  they  carefully 


abstained  from  handling  the  dead  bodies, — though  they  never  touched 
them  except  with  their  hooks,  and  underwent  frequent  ablutions  in 
jars  of  oil  and  vinegar, — all,  to  a  man,  contracted  the  loathsome  dis- 
ease, and  all  died  under  its  ravages.  Ay,  and  more  remarkable 
still,  a  thorough-paced  ruffian  of  an  Irish  seaman,  who,  being  under 
sentence  of  death  for  murdering  his  captain,  had  accepted  the  alter- 
native which  was  offered  to  him,  and  became  a  charnel-man,  —  ate 
and  drank,  and  grasped  the  infected  corpses  with  his  naked  hands, 
and  went  about  unwashed  and  unmasked,  and  almost  always  in  a 
state  of  intoxication,  yet  exhibited  no  symptoms  of  plague  to  the 
last.  What  became  of  him  eventually  I  do  not  know;  but  that  the 
pest  had  no  influence  over  him  is  certain. 

There  occurred,  as  was  to  be  expected  in  a  place  so  visited,  fre- 
quent cases  both  of  tenderness  and  its  opposite,  which  were  very 
remarkable.  Among  others,  the  following  struck  me  at  the  time, 
and  is  remembered  now  as  more  than  commonly  affecting.  At  a 
place  called  Vittorosia,  not  far  from  the  magazine  where  Mrs. 
Crighton  died,  there  dwelt  a  Maltese  family,  —  to  what  rank  of  life 
belonging  I  cannot  tell,  but  certainly  none  of  the  meanest,  though 
scarcely  noble.  From  the  non-appearance  in  public  of  any  member 
of  that  household,  it  was  surmised  that  the  plague  had  broken  out 
among  them,  and  by  and  by  this  suspicion  became  confirmed  in  a 
way  which  moved  all  who  saw  it  even  to  tears.  There  came  to  the 
balcony  of  that  house  one  day  two  little  children,  the  eldest  about 
five,  the  youngest  scarcely  four  years  old,  who,  weeping  bitterly,  said 
that  their  father  and  mother,  and  all  the  rest,  were  asleep,  and  that 
they  could  not  waken  them.  The  fact  was,  that  in  that  infected 
habitation  there  was  no  living  thing  except  these  children.  All  had 
died, — and  such  was  the  horror  effacing  such  a  danger,  that  nobody 
could  be  prevailed  upon  to  remove  the  little  ones  from  their  living 
tomb.  Yet  they  were  not  wholly  neglected.  Day  after  day  they 
came  to  the  balcony,  and  letting  down  a  basket  by  a  string,  their 
neighbours  supplied  them  with  food  and  drink,  which  they  drew  up 
for  themselves  and  consumed.  I  have  forgotten  how  long  this  state 
of  things  continued ;  but  I  know  that  it  went  on  for  some  time.  At 
last  intelligence  of  the  matter  came  to  the  governor's  ears,  and  the 
police  received  orders  to  remove  the  children  to  a  place  more  suited 
to  their  condition,  while  the  house  was  cleansed  of  its  putrefying  in- 
mates, and  all  the  furniture  burned. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  obstinacy  of  the  inhabitants  in 
concealing  the  ravages  which  the  plague  was  making  among  them 
rose  to  such  a  height,  that  the  authorities  were  obliged  to  counter- 
work it  by  means  the  most  vigorous.  Not  only  would  each  deny 
that  there  was  sickness  in  his  dwelling,  but  their  dead  they  buried 
under  the  hearths  of  their  kitchens,  in  the  very  wells, — anywhere,  in 
short,  so  that  they  might  only  escape  the  vigilance  of  the  officers  of 
the  sanitary  corps,  and  the  confiscation  of  property  which  went 
along  with  it.  The  practice,  shocking  under  any  circumstances,  but 
in  such  a  case  as  the  present  pregnant  with  danger  to  themselves 
and  others,  began  by  degrees  to  be  suspected  by  the  police ;  and  an 
order  went  forth,  that  the  names  of  all  who  inhabited  each  particular 
house  should  be  posted  on  the  door,  and  that  twice  a-day  they  should 
be  required  to  answer  from  the  balcony,  when  the  roll  was  called 
over.  By  these  means  many  a  train  of  infection  came  to  light,  which 


would  have  otherwise  been  concealed  for  ever,  and  many  lives  were 
saved,  though  at  the  expense  of  a  great  deal  of  valuable  but  polluted 
property.  Yet  a  bad  feeling  was  engendered  by  it  in  the  minds  of 
the  inhabitants.  They  began  to  hate  the  troops,— first,  because  they 
regarded  them  as  instruments  of  oppression  ;  and  next,  because  they 
learned,  to  their  astonishment,  that  not  a  single  case  of  plague  had 
appeared  in  any  of  the  barracks.  To  what  horrible  inventions  will 
men  not  be  carried,  if  a  spirit  of  rancorous  and  deadly  hate  towards 
their  fellow-creatures  once  obtain  a  mastery  over  them  !  Seeing 
that  our  guards  were  incorruptible,  and  their  vigilance  untiring,  - 
that  nothing  was  permitted  to  pass  the  barrack-gates,  not  even  pro- 
visions or  other  necessaries,  till  they  should  have  undergone  a  pro- 
cess of  fumigation, — the  Maltese  adopted  the  expedient  of  throwing 
money,  and  especially  paper  money,  in  the  way  of  the  men  on  duty, 
in  the  hope  that  by  it  infection  might  be  carried  into  their  quarters. 
The  motive  which  actuated  them  in  this  proceeding  was  not  for  a 
while  suspected;  but  the  probable  consequence  of  bringing  any  un- 
clean thing,  even  money,  within  the  barricade  could  not  be  over- 
looked ;  so  the  soldiers  were  forbidden,  on  pain  of  death,  to  lift 
aught  from  the  streets,  and  positive  orders  were  given,  in  case  any 
man  should  be  caught  in  the  act  of  disobedience,  to  shoot  him  on  the 
spot.  I  do  not  believe  that  in  a  single  instance  our  people  disobeyed 
these  orders ;  but  there  were  others  whose  sense  of  duty  was  not 
capable  of  overmastering  their  thirst  of  gain,  and  who  followed  their 
ruling  impulse  to  their  sorrow. 

In  addition  to  the  ordinary  police,  a  number  of  Maltese  were  at 
this  time  enrolled  as  a  sanitary  force,  whose  exclusive  business  it 
was  to  take  care  that  the  orders  of  government  in  reference  to 
the  sick  and  their  effects  were  not  violated.  In  particular,  they  had 
it  in  charge  to  burn  the  effects  of  all  who  died  of  the  plague ;  and  as 
they  were  regularly  officered,  and  the  officers  paid  upon  a  liberal 
scale,  little  apprehension  was  entertained  that  they  would  fail  in 
their  duty.  The  government  was  deceived  in  this  respect.  Several 
of  the  officers  were  accused  of  appropriating  to  their  own  use  large 
quantities  of  valuable  stuff,  which  ought  to  have  been  consumed ; 
and  being  put  upon  their  trial,  the  charge  was  brought  home  to 
them.  They  were1  condemned  to  death  ;  and  a  gallows  being  erected 
in  the  principal  square  of  Fort  Manuel,  they  were  all  hanged  without 
mercy.  Moreover,  the  better  to  impress  the  people  with  the  wisdom 
of  paying  obedience  to  the  laws,  the  names  of  the  several  culprits, 
with  a  statement  of  their  respective  ranks,  and  of  the  offences  for 
which  they  suffered,  were  inscribed  on  marble  slabs,  which  slabs 
were  introduced  into  the  piers  of  the  gallows,  and  may  yet,  I  dare 
say,  be  seen.  I  believe  that  the  effect  of  this  example  was  good  ;  at 
all  events,  the  burnings  became  more  frequent  after  it  had  taken 
place  than  ever, — and  the  heaps  of  ashes  which  were  thus  accumu- 
lated, as  they  lay  in  sheltered  corners,  chiefly  in  the  ditches,  have 
often  been  turned  over  since  in  search  of  jewels  and  coins,  and  not 
always,  as  I  ascertained,  unsuccessfully. 

My  tale  of  active  life  is  told ;  and  the  residue  of  a  personal  history 
such  as  mine  may  be  expressed  within  the  compass  of  a  few  words. 
I  continued  to  do  duty  with  the  third  garrison  battalion  till  the  year 
1816,  when,  my  term  of  service  having  expired,  I  was  ordered  home 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  my  discharge.  The  board  at  Chelsea 


obtained  me  a  pension  of  sevenpence  a-day,  which,  together  with  my 
fourpence  from  Greenwich,  brought  me  within  a  penny  of  the  shil- 
ling ;  and,  as  my  wife  was  still  alive,  I  betook  me  once  more  to 
Wassail,  where  for  some  time  we  lived  in  tolerable  comfort.  But  it 
was  God's  will  to  separate  us  in  1825,  and  I  became  after  her  decease 
a  homeless  man.  Under  these  circumstance,  I  applied  for  admission 
into  the  Hospital, — and  here  I  am. 


POOR  Love  growing  old,  sent  a  message  to  Wealth, 

A  friendly  one  though,  by  the  by  ; 
Hot  rivals  were  they,  till  the  little  god's  health 

Began,  like  his  business,  to  die. 
"  Friend  Wealth,"  said  Dan  Cupid,  "  I  wish  to  retire,  — 

I  'm  weary  of  dealing  in  hearts  : 
I  've  a  large  stock  on  hand,  which  I  hope  you  '11  admire  — 

I  '11  sell  them  en  gros  or  in  parts. 

"  N°  1  is  a  lot  that  I  started  with  first  — 

They  were  Sweethearts  —  poor  sensitive  things  ! 
By  Hope  and  myself  they  were  carefully  nursed, 

Till  Jealousy  shot  forth  her  stings, 
And  poison'd  one  so  with  her  venomous  pain, 

That  Hope  left  the  other  to  moan  ;  — 
Though  I  think  I  could  manage  to  join  them  again, 

If  Pride  would  but  let  them  alone. 


"  N°  2  is  a  Spinster  lot  —  obstinate  —  tough  —  • 

Which  has  hung  a  long  time  upon  hand  ; 
But,  with  your  assistance,  I  think  soon  enough 

A  sale  it  is  sure  to  command. 
N°  3  is  a  heart  that  was  broken  by  me 

Once,  forgetting  its  frangible  mould  : 
I  tried  oft  to  mend  it,  —  but  fail'd,  as  you  '11  see, 

And  I  fear  that  it  ne'er  can  be  sold. 


"  N°  4  is  a  lot  that  I  grieve  to  resign,  — 

The  material  is  all  of  the  best  ; 
But  whether  it  comes  from  their  being  too  fine, 

They  've  not  had  a  chance  like  the  rest  ! 
In  short,  you  will  see  that,  on  setting  up  trade, 

I  laid  in  a  various  supply, 
And  am  sure,  in  your  hands,  that  the  stock  can  be  made 

To  fetch  cent,  per  cent,  by  and  by  !  " 

Says  Wealth,  in  response,  "  My  dear  Love,  for  your  sake 

The  proposal  I  gladly  will  meet. 
The  goods  at  your  own  valuation  I  '11  take  ; 

So  send  them  per  bearer  tout-de-suite  .'" 
For  well  did  the  cunning  old  alchymist  know,  , 

Let  them  e'en  of  their  kinds  be  the  worst, 
He  had  only  to  gild  them,  and  custom  would  flow 

To  buy  them  all  up  as  the  first  ! 

.1.  A.  WADE. 

VOL.  VI. 





"  ST.  NICHOLAS,  Bishop  of  Myra  in  the  fourth  century,  was  a  saint 
of  great  virtue,  and  disposed  so  early  in  life  to  conform  to  ecclesias- 
tical rule,  that  when  an  infant  at  the  breast  he  fasted  on  Wednesday 
and  Friday,  and  sucked  but  once  on  each  of  those  days,  and  that 
towards  night.*  An  Asiatic  gentleman  sending  his  two  sons  to 
Athens  for  education,  ordered  them  to  wait  on  the  bishop  for  his 
benediction.  On  arriving  at  Myra  with  their  baggage,  they  took  up 
their  lodging  at  an  inn,  purposing,  as  it  was  late  in  the  day,  to  defer 
their  visit  till  the  morrow  ;  but  in  the  mean  time  the  innkeeper,  to 
secure  their  effects  to  himself,  killed  the  young  gentlemen,  cut  them 
into  pieces,  salted  them,  and  intended  to  sell  them  for  pickled  pork. 
St.  Nicholas,  being  favoured  with  a  sight  of  these  proceedings  in  a 
vision,  went  to  the  inn  and  reproached  the  cruel  landlord  for  his 
crime,  who  immediately  confessing  it,  entreated  the  saint  to  pray  to 
Heaven  for  his  pardon.  The  bishop,  moved  by  his  confession  and 
contrition,  besought  forgiveness  for  him,  and  supplicated  restoration 
of  life  to  the  children.  He  had  scarcely  finished  when  the  pieces 
reunited,  and  the  animated  youths  threw  themselves  from  the  brine- 
tub  at  the  bishop's  feet.  He  raised  them  up,  exhorted  them  to  return 
thanks  to  God  alone,  gave  them  good  advice  for  the  future,  bestowed 
his  blessing  upon  them,  and  sent  them  to  Athens  with  great  joy  to 
prosecute  their  studies. 

"  St.  Nicholas  was  the  patron  of  scholars  and  of  youth,  of  sailors, 
and  of  the  company  of  parish  clerks  of  London.  He,,  was  called  the 
Child  Bishop,  on  account  of  the  strictness  with  which  he  fasted 
when  an  infant  at  the  breast.  Formerly,  in  all  our  cathedrals,  his 
anniversary,  the  Gth  of  December,  was  thus  celebrated  :  A  boy  to 
represent  the  boy  bishop  was  elected  from  among  the  choristers. 
He  was  invested  with  great  authority,  and  had  the  state  of  a  diocesan 
bishop  from  the  time  of  his  election  until  Innocents'  Day  (the  28th 
of  the  same  month).  He  was  to  bear  the  name  and  maintain  the 
state  of  a  bishop,  habited  with  a  crosier  or  pastoral-staff  in  his  hand, 
and  a  mitre  on  his  head.  His  fellows,  the  rest  of  the  children  of  the 
choir,  were  to  take  upon  them  the  style  and  office  of  prebendaries, 
and  yield  the  bishop  canonical  obedience  ;  and  further,  the  same 
service  as  the  very  bishop  himself,  with  his  dean  and  prebendaries, 
had  thus  been  used  to  officiate,  were  to  have  performed,  the  very 
same,  mass  excepted,  was  done  by  the  chorister  and  his  canons  upon 
the  eve  and  holiday.  It  further  appears  that  this  infant  bishop  did, 
to  a  certain  limit,  receive  to  his  own  use  rents,  capons,  and  other 
emoluments  of  the  church.  In  case  the  little  bishop  died  within  the 

*  Ribandineira,  vol.  ii.  p.  503. 

TALES    AND    LEGENDS    OF    THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.          67 

month,  his  exequies  were  solemnized  with  great  pomp,  and  he  was 
interred,  like  other  bishops,  with  all  his  ornaments.  There  is  still  to 
be  seen  in  the  cathedral  at  Salisbury  a  monument  erected  to  one  of 
these  boy  bishops.  On  the  stone  is  sculptured  the  figure  of  a  child 
clad  in  the  episcopal  habits.  It  has  sorely  puzzled  many  respectable 

"  St.  Nicholas  was  also  considered  to  be  the  patron  of  maidens, 
In  many  convents  it  is  said  that  he  used  to  come  in  the  night  of  the 
eve  of  his  feast-day  and  fill  the  nuns'  stockings  with  sugar-plums 
whilst  they  were  asleep." 

"  Pray  what  is  the  latest  date  at  which  these  boy  bishops  made 
their  appearance  ?  "  asked  the  tutor  ;  "  for  the  ceremony  seems  very 

"  Queen  Elizabeth  finally  put  an  end  to  it.  But  it  is  not  near  so 
extraordinary  as  the  Feast  of  Fools,  that  was  annually  celebrated  in 
the  neighbouring  abbey  of  Quarr,  or  Quarraria.  Upon  New-year's- 
day  they  elected  a  Fool  Abbot,  who  was  dressed  out  in  imitation  of 
the  real  abbot.  He  was  attended  by  his  proper  officers,  ridiculously 
habited.  One  of  the  ceremonies  was  to  shave  the  precentor  of  fools 
upon  a  stage  erected  before  the  chapel,  in  the  presence  of  the  people, 
who  were  amused  during  the  operation  by  his  loose  and  vulgar  dis- 
courses, accompanied  by  actions  equally  reprehensible. 

"  They  afterwards  entered  the  chapel,  and  performed  the  service, 
attended  by  every  species  of  buffoonery  ;  some  wearing  masks  repre- 
senting monsters,  or  with  their  faces  smutted  or  chalked;  some 
personated  females,  and  conducted  themselves  indecorously.  During 
divine  service  they  sang  indecent  songs  in  the  choir,  ate  rich  pud- 
dings upon  the  altar,  and  burnt  old  shoes  for  incense,  and  ran 
jumping  all  over  the  chapel.  The  Abbot  of  Fools  performed  the 
service  habited  in  pontifical  garments,  and  gave  his  benediction. 
The  mass,  however,  was  composed  for  the  occasion,  and  was  called 
the  Fool's  Prose. 

"  These  abominable  and  impious  ceremonies  were  probably  ori- 
ginally instituted  with  a  view  to  Christianise  the  Bacchanalia  and 
Saturnalia.  They  were  called  the  December  Liberties." 

"  Pray,  sir,  who  was  this  King  Stuff,  sole  monarch  of  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  that  you  spoke  of  just  now?  "  asked  the  tutor. 

"  Never  heard  of  King  Stuff?  "  said  the  antiquary.  "  Why,  Mr. 
Elder  informed  me  that  you  were  a  Master  of  Arts,  and  had  taken 
first-class  honours  at  Oxford.  You  must  at  least  have  read  of  Stuff 
and  Witgar  in  the  Saxon  Chronicles  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  Saxon  Chronicles,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Never  heard  of  the  Saxon  Chronicles  !  "  said  the  antiquary,  lift- 
ing up  his  hands  in  astonishment.     "  Perhaps  you  never  heard  of 
King  Alfred  ?  " 

"  I  read  about  him  at  school ;  but  I  never  troubled  myself  about 
the  history  of  England  after  I  got  to  the  University.  A  man 
may  take  every  degree  that  Oxford  confers  without  even  having 
heard  of  William  the  Conqueror.  But  I  can  tell  you  all  about  Ju- 
piter, and  Mars,  and  Venus ;  and  I  could  give  you  a  very  correct 
account  of  the  lives  and  the  amours  of  the  heathen  gods  and  god- 
desses, all  which  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  learn ;  besides 
which — " 


68  TALES    AND    LEGENDS    OF 

"  But  am  I  to  understand,  then,  that  the  study  of  the  language 
and  the  history  of  England  is  totally  neglected  ?  " 

"  Oh  no, — not  the  language  certainly.  We  study  diligently  the 
Greek  and  Latin  languages,  from  which  our  English  tongue  is 

The  antiquary  puffed  out  both  his  cheeks,  and  gave  a  very  long 
peculiar  whistle,  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  all  of  us,  of  me  not  the 
least,  for  I  had  never  heard  the  old  gentleman  whistle  before.  I  had 
no  idea  that  he  knew  how  to  whistle.  The  two  undergraduates, 
convulsed  with  laughter,  dropped  behind  to  enjoy  their  laugh  more 
at  their  ease.  The  tutor  and  myself  looked  at  one  another,  and  con- 
trived to  keep  our  countenance.  After  a  long  pause,  the  antiquary 

"  And  so  you  think  that  the  English  tongue  is  derived  from  the 
Greek  and  Latin  !  Pray  young  man,"  said  he,  addressing  one  of  the 
Oxonians,  "  what  do  you  consider  the  Latin  word  homo  to  be  derived 
from  ?  " 

"  Quasi  ex  hnmo"  was  the  reply. 
.    "  Right,"  said  the  tutor. 

"  Quasi  ex  fiddlestick  !  "  said  the  antiquary.  "Homo  is  derived 
from  the  English  word  man,  or  at  least  from  the  Gothic,  which  is 
only  an  old  form  of  the  English."  The  tutor  smiled,  and  arched  up 
his  eyebrows.  The  antiquary  continued — "  Homo,  like  most  of  the 
common  words  in  every  language,  has  been  much  corrupted  and,  as 
it  were,  worn  by  use.  We  meet  with  the  root,  however,  in  the  ge- 
nitive case  ho?>«/m.  The  adjective  humanus  is,  however,  quite  clear. 
Hu-man  signifies  the  good  man." 

"  Eu,  certainly  does  mean  good,"  said  the  tutor. 

"  In  Greek,"  added  one  of  the  younger  ones. 

"  Signifies  good  ! — to  be  sure  it  does,"  said  the  antiquary  ;  "  what 
is  more,  it  is  derived  from  the  word  good."  The  tutor's  eyebrows 
went  up  again.  The  antiquary  went  on  —  "  G  and  y  were  formerly 
pronounced  alike  ;  so  that  good  is  that  which  yoo'd,  or  made  good. 
It  is  a  regular  participle-past,  though  the  rest  of  tshe  verb  is  ob- 

"  I  do  not  quite  follow  your  meaning,"  said  the  tutor. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  antiquary,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  the 
word  humanus  ?  It  means — like  the  action  of  a  good  man.  Inhu- 
manus  means  —  unlike  the  action  of  a  good  man.  Now  let  us  leave 
out  the  hu,  and  see  what  becomes  of  it.  Immanis  means  monstrous, 
or  unlike  the  action  of  a  man  at  all." 

"  This  is  very  curious,  it  must  be  confessed,"  replied  the  tutor, 
who  was  completely  puzzled  by  this  display  of  learning.  But  you 
forgot  to  tell  me  who  this  King  Stuff  was." 

"  King  Stuff,"  replied  the  antiquary,  "  was  the  nephew  of  Cerdic, 
King  of  the  West  Saxons,  who  was  the  son  of  Elesa,  who  was  the 
son  of  Esla,  who  was  the  son  of  Gewis,  the  son  of  Wye,  the  son  of 
Frewin,  the  son  of  Frithgar,  the  son  of  Brand,  the  son  of  Baldav, 
the  son  of  Woden." 

Thank  you,  thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  tutor,  fearing  that 
the  antiquary  was  only  stopping  to  take  breath  before  he  carried  the 
pedigree  up  to  Adam. 

THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.  69 

Here  ragged  Jack  impudently  put  in  his  word  in  support  of  his 
patron  —  "I  can  assure  you,  sir,  that  he  came  of  a  very  respectable 

But  the  antiquary  reproved  him  with  dignity,  saying,  "Jack,  you 
can  know  nothing  about  it." 

"And  pray,  Mr.  Winterblossom,  who  succeeded  King  Stuff  in  his 
island  kingdom  ?  " 

"  There  is  very  little  known  of  the  history  of  the  island  after  that 
time  till  the  invasion  of  Wulfhere,  about  which  there  is  a  very  plea- 
sant history  still  remaining." 

"  We  should  consider  ourselves  under  great  obligations  to  you,  if 
you  would  favour  us  with  it." 

"  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  doing  so." 


"  In  the  year  661,  Wulfhere,  the  son  of  Penda,  invaded  the  Isle 
of  Wight.  He  penetrated  with  his  ships  up  the  lake  of  Brerding 
(now  called  Brading  Haven),  and  sei/ed  upon  the  town  of  Woolver- 
ton,  to  which  he  did  no  injury  ;  for  he  came  to  free  the  inhabitants 
from  the  cruelties  of  Sebert,  who  reigned  over  them,  and  to  cause 
the  Christian  truths  to  be  preached  to  the  Jutes,*  who  then  dwelt  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight.  But  the  Jutes,  when  they  saw  the  Angles  under 
Wulfhere  land  and  take  possession  of  their  town  by  force  of  arms, 
would  not  trust  to  their  offers  of  friendship ;  but  they  assembled  on 
the  hills  around,  under  the  banners  of  Sebert,  and  descending  like 
a  storm  from  the  mountain,  fell  upon  the  army  of  Wulfhere ;  and 
Redwald,  surnamed  the  Bold,  with  twenty  followers  penetrated  to 
where  the  chief  of  the  Angles  fought  in  person.  But  as  they  lifted 
their  spears  to  throw  them,  Wulfhere  said,  '  Before  our  blood  flows, 
let  me  speak  one  word.  I  come  not  here  for  conquest,  or  to  destroy 
the  lives  of  the  Jutes,  but  to  free  them  from  the  cruelties  of  Sebert.' 
Then  Redwald  the  Bold  answered,  '  The  Jutes  trust  not  to  the 
Angles  when  they  come  in  arms  and  wet  their  spears  in  our  blood.' 
Balday  threw  his  spear,  but  Wulfhere  avoided  it ;  and  the  spear  of 
Wulfhere  struck  the  shield  of  Redwald,  but  did  him  no  injury.  But 
the  Angles  were  in  great  power,  and  the  Jutes  were  driven  back  to 
their  hills.  Many,  indeed,  fled  early  in  the  day,  for  they  loved  not 
their  leader  Sebert. 

"  Wulf  here  crossed  the  river  Yar,  and  rested  at  Brerding.t  Here 
he  built  a  Christian  church,  and  Eoppa.a  mass-priest  who  came  with 
him,  consecrated  it,  and  stood  ready  to  baptize  the  Pagan  Jutes. 

"  After  which  Wulfhere  pursued  Sebert,  and  burned  his  castle 
of  Witgarisberig.+  Afterwards  they  met  in  battle,  and  Sebert  was 
slain  ;  but  Redwald  still  held  them  at  bay.  He  was  left  almost  alone, 

*  Jutis, — Bede,  Hist.  Ecdes.vol.  i.  p.  IT),  —  not  Vitis,  as  Gibson  quotes  him. 
The  Goths,  Jutes,  and  GetiE  were  the  same  people  ;  whence  the  peninsula  of  Jut- 
land, as  well  as  the  isle  of  Gothland,  is  called  Gotland  hy  King  Alfred  in  the  peri- 
plus  of  Oht-here.  From  Jutna-cynn,  Jeatna-kyn,  come  Jenkyn,  Jenkyns,  Jen- 
kins, &c.  facts  highly  interesting  to  a  number  of  persons  at  present  inhabiting  the 
principality  of  Wales. 

•j-  Brading.  t  Carisbrook. 

70  TALES    AND    LEGENDS    OF 

and  the  spears  of  several  were  lifted  to  strike  him,  when  a  maiden 
rushed  in  and  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Wulf here. 

"  '  Save  him  !  save  him  !  oh  Wulfhere,  surnamed  the  Kind- 
hearted  !  ' 

"  Her  arms  were  clasped  round  his  knees,  and  her  long  yellow 
hair  poured  in  flowing  ringlets  on  the  ground ;  her  face,  as  it  looked 
up  for  pity,  was  the  fairest  he  had  ever  beheld.  Wulfhere's  voice 
was  heard,  and  the  points  of  his  warriors'  spears  were  turned  up- 

"  '  Maiden,  thy  prayer  is  granted.'  He  raised  her  from  the 
ground.  '  And  who  art  thou  ?  '  he  said. 

"  '  I  am  Edith  of  Stenbury,'  she  replied. 

"  Kedwald  threw  down  his  weapon,  and  crossed  his  arms  upon  his 

"  '  King  of  the  Angles,  I  am  your  prisoner.' 

"  '  Chieftain/  Wulf  here  replied,  '  I  take  no  prisoners.  You  are 
free  to  come  and  to  go  as  the  winds  of  heaven, — free  to  walk  in 
peaceful  garb  or  wear  the  arms  of  a  warrior.  The  cruelties  of  Sebert 
are  no  more; — let  those  who  have  suffered  injuries  come  to  me,  and 
I  will  right  them.' 

"  '  Wulfhere,'  answered  Redwald,  '  you  are  justly  surnamed  the 
Kind-hearted.  We  doubted  the  word  of  a  stranger ;  but  now  we 
know  you.  You  have  brought  freedom  and  happiness  to  ouv 

"  After  which  Wulfhere  and  Redwald  became  as  brothers,  and  for 
a  time  they  ruled  the  island  together. 

"  Wulfhere  loved  the  chase,  and  he  said  one  day  to  Redwald, 

"  '  Where  shall  we  chase  the  boar  ?  ' 

"  Redwald  replied,  '  The  stag  is  on  all  our  hills,  but  the  finest 
boars  harbour  in  the  forest  of  Bordwood.' 

"  Foresters  were  sent  to  track  the  boars  to  their  lairs,  and  in  the 
evening  the  two  chieftains  took  up  their  abode  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Bordwood,  with  their  dogs  and  foresters.  The  fire  was  lighted 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  the  smoke  rolled  up  through  the 
opening  in  the  roof.  While  the  venison  for  their  evening  meal  was 
being  roasted,  Wulfhere  and  Redwald  related  to  one  another  the  tra- 
ditions of  other  days,  and  the  deeds  of  arms  that  their  fathers  had 
done.  At  length  the  meat  is  placed  upon  the  board,  and  the  wine- 
cup  passes  round ;  the  foresters  and  henchmen  share  the  feast,  and 
the  dogs  sit  watching  for  their  portion  by  their  master's  knee.  The 
time  wore  on— at  length  the  straw  is  spread  upon  the  ground.  The 
two  chieftains  sleep  side  by  side  —  chiefs,  foresters,  and  hounds  are 
soon  wrapped  in  sleep.  But  Cuthin,  the  henchman  of  Wulfhere, 
lies  with  his  body  across  the  wicker  door,  and  his  two  rough  boar- 
hounds  sleep  beside  him.  Long  before  the  dawn  of  day  the  morning 
meal  was  broiling  on  the  fire,  and  the  wine-cup  again  passed  round  ; 
and  before  the  sun  had  risen  from  the  sea  they  were  threading  the 
tangled  copsewood  of  Bordwood. 

"  Wulfhere  and  Redwald  at  length  stop,  and  Cuthin,  the  henchman 
of  Wulfhere,  holding  a  single  boar-hound  in  a  leash,  stands  a  little 
behind  them.  The  forester  has  gone  round  with  his  two  hounds  to 
rouse  the  boar,  and  drive  him  towards  the  hunters.  The  forester's 
horn  is  heard— the  boar  is  up.  Wulfhere  motions  to  Redwald  to  take 

THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.  71 

the  first.  Presently  the  boar  is  heard  crashing  through  the  copse- 
wood ;  Redwald  stands  beside  the  open  pathway,  and  raises  his  spear 
on  high.  As  the  boar  rushed  past,  the  spear  struck  him  behind  the 
shoulder,  and  he  fell  dead. 

"  '  Well  struck,  Prince  of  the  Island  ! '  shouted  Wulf here.  '  The 
next  is  mine/ 

"  They  went  to  another  spot.  The  forester's  horn  is  heard  again. 
Wulfhere  takes  his  place;  but  the  huge  monster  saw  the  hunter  in 
his  track,  and  would  have  turned  off'  on  one  side,  but  one  of  the 
hounds  that  followed  saw  him  swerve,  and  sprung  forward  and 
drove  him  back  again  towards  the  hunter.  But  the  boar's  course 
was  unsteady,  and  Wulfhere's  spear  gave  no  mortal  wound,  but 
glanced  down  the  side  of  his  rib,  and  stuck  into  the  ground.  The 
boar  passed  by,  and  then  turning  round  with  blood-shot  eye  and 
foaming  mouth,  he  rushes  full  upon  Wulfhere.  Wulfhere  drew  his 
sword,  and  holding  his  cloak  before  him  with  his  left  hand,  he  dropt 
upon  his  knee,  and  awaited  the  attack.  The  boar's  tusk  had  already 
stirred  the  folds  of  the  cloak  before  Wulfhere  moved ;  he  then 
sprang  from  behind  the  cloak,  and  plunged  his  sword  into  the  side 
of  the  boar. 

"  '  Well  struck,  King  of  the  Angles  !  "  shouted  Redwald. 

"  '  It 's  a  fine  beast !     The  next  is  yours,  Redwald.' 

"  '  I  '11  try  if  I  can  spit  him  on  the  spear's  point,  as  the  Britons 
do,'  was  the  reply. 

"  When  they  came  to  where  the  next  boar  was  harboured,  Redwald 
threw  off  his  short  cloak,  and  gave  it  to  his  henchman,  unbelted  his 
sword,  and  laid  the  naked  blade  upon  the  ground  by  his  feet;  he 
placed  the  spear  under  his  arm,  shortening  it  so  that  his  arm  was 
about  the  middle  of  the  shaft ;  he  held  the  point  firmly  before  him 
with  both  his  hands  ;  and  as  the  boar  approached,  he  dropped  upon 
one  knee.  The  boar,  which  was  very  large  and  fierce,  ran  straight 
at  him,  and  pierced  himself  dead  upon  the  spear. 

"  '  That  boar  was  right  well  slain,  Redwald.  If  the  forester  has 
another  harboured,  I  will  try  my  luck  with  the  spear's  point.' 

"  Another  boar  was  found,  —  the  forester's  horn  sounded.  Wulf- 
here had  prepared  himself  as  Redwald  had  done:  there  came,  how- 
ever, only  two  half-grown  swine.  Wulfhere  stood  aside,  and  let 
them  pass;  but  as  he  was  turning  away,  he  heard  the  brushwood 
crackling,  and  the  dogs  barking  behind.  He  had  hardly  time  to 
drop  upon  his  knee  and  bring  his  spear  up  before  the  boar  was  upon 
him.  The  spear's  point  did  not  strike  the  animal  truly  ;  and  before 
Wulfhere  could  leap  aside,  the  beast's  tusk  was  fixed  in  his  thigh, 
and,  had  not  Redwald  quickly  spitted  the  animal  with  his  spear, 
Wulfhei'e's  body  would  have  been  ripped  up  by  the  tusk.  As  it 
was,  though  it  had  not  time  to  tear  the  flesh,  the  tusk  had  made  a 
fearful  hole. 

"  The  foresters  made  a  litter  of  boughs,  and  carried  Wulfhere 
home,  and  melancholy  were  the  countenances  of  all,  both  Saxons 
and  Jutes.  The  fair  Edith  of  Stenbury  attended  his  bedside, 
and  bound  up  his  wound.  Night  and  day  she  sat  by  his  couch 
watching  the  changes  of  the  fever,  or  altering  the  bindings,  or 
putting  ointments  to  his  wound.  At  length  the  fever  left  him, 
and  strength  was  returning  to  his  limb.  He  walked  about  leaning 

72         TALES    AND    LEGENDS    OF   THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT. 

on  his  staff.  One  evening  that  he  was  alone  with  Edith,  he  said 
to  her, 

"  '  Edith,  I  enjoy  everything  that  wealth,  and  power,  and  honour 
can  give ;  yet  one  thing  is  wanting  to  make  me  truly  happy.'  He 
paused  —  Edith  also  remained  silent.  '  Before  I  landed  on  this 
island,  my  mind  was  free  as  the  air,  I  had  no  care  beyond  that  of  the 
passing  moment;  but  now  my  mind  is  full  of  anxious  thoughts,  and 
hopes,  and  fears.  Since  I  first  beheld  you,  my  fairest  Edith,  my 
bosom  burns  with  love  :  be  mine,  and  I  shall  be  the  happiest  of  men. 
Say  that  you  love  me  not,  and  I  shall  be  the  most  unhappy.' 

"  Edith  coloured  deeply,  and  her  looks  were  bent  upon  the 
ground.  At  length  she  said, 

"  O  generous  Prince  of  the  Angles !  my  hand  and  my  life  are  at 
your  disposal.  Edith  of  Stenbury  is  an  orphan,  and  you  are  her 
only  chieftain  ;  it  is  for  you  to  bestow  her  hand  and  her  lands  upon 
whom  it  may  please  you.  She  knows  the  duty  of  a  Saxon  maiden 
too  well  to  question  your  authority,  or  to  speak  of  her  own  wishes. 
But  as  you  have  thought  to  honour  me  above  all  the  maidens  that 
you  have  ever  seen,  to  bestow  upon  me  the  pri/e  that  the  fairest  of 
my  sex  are  sighing  for,  it  is  but  right  that  I  should  tell  you,  that 
though  I  would  serve  you  in  all  humility  and  duty  ;  yet  that  love 
which  is  already  possessed  by  another  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  be- 
stow. Wulfhere,  I  am  not  worthy  of  you — I  could  not  render  you 

"  Wulfhere  and  the  maiden  long  looked  upon  the  ground  in 
silence — they  were  both  very  sorrowful.  At  length  Wulfhere  asked, 

"  '  Does  he  who  holds  your  affection  love  you  in  return.' 

"  '  That  I  know  not.' 

"  '  Now  it  flashes  across  my  mind.  The  tone  of  voice  —  the  de- 
voted energy  with  which  you  prayed  for  Eedwald's  life  —  Have 
I  guessed  right  ?  ' 

"  The  maiden  gave  no  answer,  but  her  cheek  was  tinged  with  a 
deeper  crimson.  Wulfhere  called  his  henchman. 

"  '  Bring  Redwald  here.  —  Kedwald,  speak  truly.  Do  you  love 
this  maiden  ? ' 

4f  Redwald  replied,  '  I  do  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart;  but  I  fear 
she  returns  not  my  love.' 

"  Wulfhere  said,  '  You  are  both  believers  in  the  Christian  truth  : 
let  Eoppa  pronounce  his  blessing  on  you,  that  God  may  prosper  the 

"  It  was  done  so. 

"  Then  said  Wulfhere,  '  The  south  wind  which  now  blows  will 
to-morrow  fill  my  sail.  J  shall  leave  you,  my  dear  friends,  and  this 
beautiful  island,  never  to  return  again.  Govern  the  islanders  in 
justice,  as  I  have  done.  Ethel  ward,'  the  king  of  the  South  Saxons, 
will  protect  you  with  his  powerful  arms,  for  I  was  his  sponsor  in 

''  The  next  day  Wulfhere  entered  his  ship;  and  as  he  took  his 
leave  of  Redwald  and  Edith  he  passed  his  rough  hand  across  his  eyes. 
'  Farewell !  Farewell  for  ever ! ' " 




IN  order  to  prove  to  you  that  my  power  of  execution  is  in 
no  way  inferior  to  my  imagination,  I  send  you  the  enclosed  com- 
mencement of  a  nautical  tale,  which  I  had  prepared  some  time  ago 
for  a  magazine ;  and,  would  you  believe  it,  it  was  returned  to  me. 
Since  then,  fifteen  long  years  have  elapsed.  But,  even  now,  except 
a  few  trifling  professional  inaccuracies  (too  trivial  to  be  mentioned,) 
I  can  see  no  reason  why  the  laurels  that  decorate  the  heads  of  other 
men  should  not  also  flourish  round  the  head  of  Olinthus  Jenkinson. 
Judge  between  us. 


"  I  was  born  of  respectable  and  affluent  parents  in  the  town  of 
Sunderland,  and  at  my  baptism  received  the  name  of  Theophilus 
Gangway.  I  had  always  had  a  penchant  for  a  sailor's  life,  and  at 
last  rny  desires  were  gratified.  Many  were  the  tears  that  my  poor 
mother  shed  when  the  fatal  post  brought  the  letter  from  my  uncle, 
Sir  Hector  Blowhard,  ordering  me  to  join  the  Outrageous,  then 
lying  at  Portsmouth,  and  fitting  up  for  the  West  Indies.  It  was  an 
event  I  had  long  earnestly  desired ;  but  when  I  came  to  see  all  the 
preparations  for  my  knapsack  (so  I  understood  that  one's  clothes, 
and  the  portmanteau  that  contained  them  were  termed  in  the  navy), 
I  must  own  that  my  feelings  fairly  got  the  better  of  me.  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  I  had  better  have  remained  at  the  classical 
and  commercial  academy  where  I  was  in  course  of  being  instructed  in 
every  single  thing  that  could  render  a  man  a  useful  or  agreeable 
member  of  society :  but  it  was  now  too  late,  my  maintop-crosstree- 
man's  commission  had  received  the  royal  signature,  and  I  was  an 
officer  and  a  gentleman.  My  knapsack  was  carefully  stocked  with 
all  the  little  comforts  that  might  be  necessary  for  my  voyage; 
it  contained  six  flannel  waistcoats,  two  pairs  of  stockings,  four- 
teen pairs  of  Angola  gloves,  one  of  white  kid,  and  a  piece  of 
Indian-rubber  to  clean  them,  for  the  balls  at  Bermudas,  one  pair 
of  Scotch  galligaskins  in  case  of  a  hurricane,  a  package  of  sootjee, 
or  vital  potion,  and  a  tureen  full  of  portable  soup  in  case  of  a  wreck, 
one  flowered  dressing-gown,  two  pairs  of  superfine  black  kersey- 
meres, with  large  fobs  to  keep  the  watches  in,  and  lastly,  two  dozen 
toothbrushes,  and  a  few  copies  of  Byron's  Corsair.  By  making 
presents  of  these  last,  it  was  my  intention  to  conciliate  to  myself  the 
good  will  of  the  sailors.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  we  sat 
down  to  dinner  that  day ;  my  father  employed  the  few  moments  that 
were  left  in  giving  me  a  few  useful  admonitions  for  mv  conduct. 
*  Offey,  my  boy,'  said  he,  '  you  are  about  to  leave  us  for  a  watery 
home  :'  he  also  quoted  Burns,  and  informed  me  that  my  march  was 
to  be  on  the  mounting  wave,  my  home  within  the  deep ;  this  was  to 
support  his  last  observation.  '  Ay,  ay,  sir !'  said  I  (this  I  under- 
stood to  be  the  correct  expression). — '  Eye,  eye,  sir?  mind  your  own 
eye,  I  tell  you ;  and  take  this  as  my  last  paternal  warning  : — Never- 
smoke  except  in  a  gale  ;  and  never,  oh  never  touch  ardent  spirits 


except  in  a  fog !' — '  Lor,  father/  said  my  little  sister,  '  I  just  fancy  I 
see  our  Offey  ordering  the  men  about.  What  will  you  say  to  them,, 
Offey?' — 'You  be  hung!'  replied  I,  in  my  altitudes.  '  Offey, 
Offey,  you  '11  break  your  mother's  heart  if  you  take  to  swearing  like 
a  trooper  in  that  fashion  !' — 'A  trooper,'  said  I,  bristling  up  like  a 
lieutenant ;  '  ah,  mamma,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  do  not  British  tars 
always  swear  ?' — (  Never  you  swear,  whatever  other  naughty  boys 
do ;  but  try  to  engage  your  companions'  affections  by  uniformly 
amiable  conduct,  gentlemanly  manners,  and  virtuous  habits  ;  sooner 
or  later,  my  dear  boy,  depend  on  it,  you  will -gain  the  esteem  of  the 
whole  fleet,  and  be  consulted  by  the  port  admiral  as  long  as  he 
lives !' 

"  All  things  must  come  to  an  end,  and  so  did  our  dinner.  It  was 
now  four  o'clock,  and  the  mail  in  which  my  place  had  been  booked 
was  to  pass  at  six ;  we  therefore  cried  and  kissed  alternately  for  the 
hundred  and  twenty  minutes  that  were  yet  remaining.  My  mother 
as  a  parting  gift  provided  me  with  six  cambric  pocket  handker- 
chiefs, in  case  I  should  be  troubled  with  catarrhs  ;  my  father,  on  his 
part,  presented  me  with  his  blessing,  and  three  deal  planks  for 
boarding,  taken  from  poor  Carlo's  kennel.  These  last  were  tied  to 
the  top  of  my  gun  case, — or,  as  I  afterwards  learned  to  call  it,  gun- 
carriage, — and  were,  I  understood,  indispensable  as  a  part  of  my 
outfit :  lastly,  my  little  sister,  hanging  round  my  neck,  pressed  into 
my  hand  a  little  pink  box,  with  a  white  lable  on  the  middle,  on 
which  was  inscribed  in  gold  characters,  '  A  Souvenir  from  Sunder- 
land.'  At  last,  bidding  them  all  good  b'ye,  and  giving  Carlo  a  pinch 
on  the  ear  to  keep  him  in  mind  of  me,  for  which  he  gave  me  a  bite 
on  the  thumb  to  keep  me  in  mind  of  him,  I  left  the  home  of  my 
youth :  Tom,  the  footman,  accompanied  me  down  to  the  mail,  which 
had  already  heaved-to  opposite  the  Hen  and  Chickens.  My  knap- 
sack, consisting  of  two  trunks  and  the  gun-carriage,  was  shipped  on 
board,  and  I  stowed  myself  away  in  the  hold. 

"  There  were  already  in  before  me  one  old  gentleman,  and  a  boy 
about  my  own  age,  who,  with  his  aunt,  was  proceeding  to  a  semi- 
nary in  the  vicinity  of  London.  My  language  now  became  strictly 
technical.  '  Well,  messmate,  what  'cheer  ?  '  said  I,  poking  the  boy 
amidships,  for  I  wished  to  impress  him  with  proper  notions  of  my 
dignity.  '  Sir  ! ' — <  What  cheer,  eh,  brother  ?  ' — '  I  do  not  know  what 
you  allude  to,  sir.' — '  Here's  a  hay-making  son  of  a  sea-cook  !  May- 
hap, old  lady,  this  youngster  a'nt  in  the  service?  ' — '  In  service,  sir  ! 
do  you  take  my  nephew  for  a  footboy  ?  ' — <  Avast !  avast !  old  lady, 
slow  your  jaw,  and  mind  your  helm,  will  you  ?  I  only  wished  to 
know  if  this  youngster  had  the  honour  of  serving  his  king  and  coun- 
try, as  I  have,  instead  of  wearing  out  his  lubberly  carcass  at  home 
in  idleness.' — '  A  tea-pot  in  a  storm  !'  said  the  old  gentleman  in  the 
corner,  who  had  as  yet  said  nothing. — '  A  tea-pot,  sir  ?  Do  you 
allude  to  me  ?  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  old  fellow,  I  will  clear 
away  my  guns,  and  fire  into  you  in  a  pig's  whisper,  if  you  poke 
your  fun  at  me  in  that  fashion.' — '  Ah,  you  '11  clear  away  your  guns 
and  fire  into  me  in  a  pig's  whisper,  if  I  poke  my  fun  at  you  ;  you 
will,  will  you? '—'Ay,  that  will  I,  old  fellow;  so  mind  your  eye, 
my  hearty,  and  haul  down  your  foretopmast  stay-sail !  If  you  don't 
look  to  yourself  1  '11  luff  you  in  less  than  no  time,  and  have  you  into 
the  latter  end  of  next  week  before  you  know  where  you  are ! ' 


As  this  last  observation  produced  nothing  but  a  laugh,  I  felt 
somewhat  nettled;  but  I  durst  scarcely  proceed  to  open  demon- 
strations of  hostility  as  I  might  have  chanced  to  get  the  worst  of 
it,  so  I  pretended  not  to  hear,  but  put  my  head  out  of  the  window, 
and  hailed  the  coachman  with  '  Maintop  a  hoy  !  how 's  the  weather  ? ' 
— '  Pretty  well,  youngster  ;  how  are  you  ? ' 

"  This  second  rebuff'  fairly  drove  me  into  port ;  but  I  contented 
myself  with  thinking  of  the  old  proverb  of  the  pearls  and  swine, 
and  kept  my  nautical  demonstrations  to  myself  for  the  rest  of  the 
voyage.  Suppose  this  ended,  and  me  landed  at  the  White  Horse, 
Fetter  Lane.  Here  I  found  a  servant  waiting  for  .me,  who  con- 
ducted me  to  a  dark-looking  house  in  Fore  Street  in  the  city,  te- 
nanted by  a  wholesale  draper,  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  trans- 
acting all  my  father's  pecuniary  business  for  him.  He  was  a  little, 
short,  middle-aged  man,  by  name  and  surname  John  Stubbs,  and 
had  lately  provided  himself  with  a  helpmate,  who  was  amazingly 
fine  on  the  strength  of  having  received  her  education  at  a  boarding- 
school  at  Peckham :  to  me  she  was  all  sugar,  to  her  husband  all 
lemon.  She  talked  a  good  deal  of  Italian  skies,  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  seen  the  last  Keepsake,  and  when  I  had  last  had  the  felicity  of 
meeting  with  my  revered  uncle  Sir  Hector,  and  how  Lady  Blow- 
hard  and  the  olive  branches  were  getting  on.  I  returned  satisfac- 
tory answers  to  the  queries ;  and  as  all  evenings  must  come  to  an 
end,  so  did  this,  although  it  was  somewhat  of  the  longest.  Next 
day  I  had  a  private  conference  with  Mr.  Stubbs  as  touching  my 
outfit,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  most  of  the  articles  with  which 
I  had  provided  myself  were,  comparatively  speaking,  useless.  This, 
however,  he  undertook  to  set  to  rights  for  me.  Accordingly  he 
acted  as  my  guide  to  a  house  in  Cornhill,  well  known  to  all  those 
gentlemen  whose  fate  it  is  to  be  outward  bound ;  and  here  I  was 
provided  with  all  things  that  might  be  necessary  as  a  viaticum  in  my 
future  progress  to  the  Nelsonship  of  England.  All  these  matters 
being  settled,  and  my  place  taken  in  the  Portsmouth  mail,  I  partook 
of  my  farewell  dinner  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stubbs,  and  wended  on 
my  way,  like  John  Bunyan's  pilgrim,  rejoicing. 

"  I  could  not  help  feeling  rather  surprised  at  finding  the  same  old 
gentleman  as  a  companion,  with  whom  I  had  travelled  up  from 
Sunderland ;  he,  too,  seemed  to  recognize  me,  but  did  not  show  any 
outward  symptoms  of  being  aware  of  my  presence.  I  must  own 
that  I  felt  somewhat  cowed,  I  scarcely  knew  why,  and  refrained 
from  demonstrating  my  nautical  ardour  by  any  outward  tokens,  so 
the  journey  passed  heavily  enough,  being  only  interrupted  by  a 
dispute  between  two  drunken  sailors  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  and  a 
cheating  pot-boy.  It  is,  however,  scarcely  worth  while  recording 
all  the  questions  and  answers  delivered  on  both  sides  till  the  matter 
ended  by  the  pot-boy  being  knocked  head  over  heels  by  one  of  the 
sailors  whom  he  attempted  to  cheat.  Suppose  us,  then,  to  have 
arrived  at  Portsmouth,  and  to  be  fairly  deposited  at  the  Fountain  ; 
and  now  having  smelt  the  salt  water,  I  felt  myself  all  alive  again. 
I  ought  at  once  to  have  reported  myself,  but  this  I  was  determined 
not  to  do  until  I  had  aired  my  uniform  a  little.  -I  proceeded,  there- 
fore, down  the  street,  and  called  in  at  the  Blue  Posts  for  a  nor'- 
wester,  requesting  the  waiter  to  amalgamate  the  alcohol  and  lymph 
in  the  proportions  of  one  half  grog  and  the  other  half  spirits  neat, 


thus  speedily  setting  at  nought  my  father's  precepts,  as  it  was  as 
bright  a  day  as  a  man  would  Avish  to  look  upon.  But,  as  before 
remarked,  I  was  now  an  officer  and  gentleman,  and  wished  in  this 
manner  to  demonstrate  my  independence. 

"  I  now  lighted  a  weed,  and  proceeded  onwards  ready  for  any 
adventure  that  might  befall  me.  My  first  impulse  was  to  stop  at  a 
small  optician's  shop,  to  contemplate  my  epaulettes  in  one  of  those 
round  mirrors  which  are  there  to  be  found  suspended  in  the  win- 
dow. Upon  seeing  my  mouth  elongated  to  an  unnatural  size,  and 
my  head  degenerated  into  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a  Norfolk 
biffin,  I  Avas  immediately  seized  with  the  not  unnatural  desire  to 
proceed  to  the  voir  du  fait,  and  retaliate  this  insult  upon  the  ag- 
gressor. In  pursuance  of  this  object,  I  shoved  my  fist  through  the 
window,  thereby  breaking  and  creating  many  panes,  and  was  imme- 
diately collared  by  a  whey-faced  apprentice,  who  demanded  my 
name,  and  the  sum  of  fourteen  and  sixpence  for  damages.  With 
the  first  I  was  very  ready,  —  Maintop-crosstree-man,  Theophilus 
Gangway,  H.M.S.  Outrageous,  now  lying  at  Portsmouth,  and  fitting 
out  for  the  West  Indies,  nephew  to  Sir  Hector  Blowhard,  now  one 
of  the  Lords'  Commissioners  of  the  Admiralty  ;  but  as  to  the  latter 
demand,  I  could  only  reply — no  effects;  for  although  I  had  the  where- 
withal about  me  to  satisfy  the  demand,  I  thought  that  it  must  be 
beneath  the  dignity  of  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  to  pay  for  that 
which  he  had  damaged.  Accordingly,  I  left  my  dirk  in  pledge, 
and  being  somewhat  rudely  ejected  from  the  tenement,  I  snatched 
a  parting  glance  at  my  epaulettes,  and  proceeded  down  the  High 
Street,  with  the  most  professional  swagger  I  could  muster  up. 

"  I  was  much  surprised  at  the  small  respect  which  was  paid  me, 
as  also  at  the  ill-suppressed  sneer,  and  the  impertinent  stare  with 
which  the  announcement  of  my  rank  was  received.  I  determined, 
however,  to  gain  that  by  my  own  exertions  which  was  denied  to  me 
by  the  ignorant  vulgar.  I  soon  found  myself  at  the  Battery, 
where  there  were  two  or  three  sentinels  upon  duty  ;  and  being- 
somewhat  nettled  by  the  ill-usage  I  had  met,  I  determined  to 
prove  to  the  world  the  extent  of  that  authority  with  which  his 
Majesty  had  been  pleased  to  invest  me ;  so  I  saluted  the  sentries 
with,  '  Heave-to,  ye  lubbers,  and  bear  up  on  the  topsail  tack ;  fore 
and  main-sails  haul  up,  now  back  the  maintop-sail,  and  fire  a  broad- 
side up  to  larboard,  d  'ye  hear  ! ' — '  Ay,  ay,  sir  ;  if  you  tells  us,  I 
suppose  we  must;  but  it's  clear  ag'in  orders!  I  say,  Bill,  does  he 
take  us  for  marines  ?  but  if  this  officer  says  we  must  do  it,  I  'spose  we 
must,  so  bear  a  hand — sharp  's  the  word  ! — But,  please  your  honour, 
the  admiral's  stopped  our  allowance  of  powder,  as  he  says,  to  re- 
trench the  expenditure  of  the  executive :  how  can  we  manage  ?  '- 
'  Why  double  shot  the  guns,  to  be  sure,  you  set  of  know  nothings  ! ' 
This  last  observation  proceeded  from  a  gentleman  habited  like  myself, 
and  I  of  course,  ashamed  to  have  been  non-plushed,  chimed  in  with, 
«  Bear  a  hand,  and  about  it  smartly  ! ' — '  Knock  off  the  guns  ! '  said  my 
new  friend,  '  Stand  by — cant 'em  round — all  ready  there  forward?  '— 
'  Ay,  ay,  sir ! ' — '  Fire  away  then  !' 

"  I  had  screwed  myself  up  to  concert  pitch  to  hear  the  explosion ; 
but  instead  of  the  guns  going  off,  I  was  surprised  to  hear  all  my 
friends  bursting  out  into  a  laugh  that  seemed  to  be  a  direct  insult  to 
me,  so  I  addressed  them  with,  '  1  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  line  ft-1- 

A    NAUTICAL    TALE.  77 

lows,  if  you  do  not  put  your  helm  up,  and  stand  by  to  run  right  up 
to  the  top  of  the  square-sail  in  less  than  no  time,  I  will  have  you  all 
confined  in  the  court  martial,  as  sure  as  I  am  an  officer  and  a  gen- 
tleman !' 

"  Having  thus  expectorated  my  spleen,  and  shown  them  who  it  was 
they  had  to  deal  with,  I  prepared  to  evacuate  the  ground,  as  I  felt 
myself  scarcely  equal  to  carry  on  the  dialogue.  My  brother  officer 
turned  round,  and  severely  reprimanded  the  military  ;  and  then  join- 
ing me,  took  my  arm,  and  requested  to  know  to  what  ship  I  belonged, 
at  the  same  time  expressing  a  wish  to  improve  my  acquaintance.  He 
told  me  that  he  had  made  physiognomy  a  study,  and  had  never  seen 
so  fine  a  developement  of  countenance  as  mine  ;  indeed  he  might  say 
that  he  had  dabbled  in  bumpology,  and  could  at  once  inform  me  in 
what  part  of  the  service  I  was  likely  to  succeed :  if  I  would  but  permit 
him,  he  thought  that  he  might  be  of  some  service  to  me  in  this  way. 
He  then  twitched  off  my  cap,  and  proceeded  to  demonstrate.  '  Hem  ! 
a  large  organ  of  boarding. — Well,  I  never  !  I  say,  messmate,  have  you 
met  with  an  accident  here  ?  the  organ  of  rising  in  the  service  most 
prominent ! — Destruction  clearly  marked  !  A  most  promising  indi- 
cation of  secretiveness ;  why  you'll  be  a  treasure  to  the  mess!' — 
'  Mess,  sir ! '  said  I,  bristling  up,  '  what  d  'ye  mean  ?  ' — '  Why  that  you 
are  a  broth  of  a  boy,  as  the  Kilkenny  cats  are  in  the  habit  of  observ- 
ing ;  and  that  you  'II  prig  bottles  of  wine  from  the  gunroom,  till  all 's 
blue  again.  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  hearty,  we  'd  better  get 
on  board,  for  the  chancellor  of  the  exchequer  has  issued  orders  to  that 
effect.' — '  No,  you  don't  say  so  ! ' — '  Yes,  but  I  do,  though  ;  so  we  '11 
get  into  the  gig,  and  be  on  board  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post  ! ' 
c  In  a  gig  ?  None  of  your  tricks  upon  travellers  ;  I  'm  up  to  snuff,  my 
fine  fellow  ! ' — '  Ay,  and  a  pinch  or  two  over;  we  shan't  do  you  in  a 
hurry,  I  see !' 

"  I  felt  invigorated  by  this  compliment,  and  accompanied  my  new 
friend  down  to  the  Point,  where  we  stepped  into  a  boat  and  shoved 
off.  He  soon  pointed  out  to  me  a  black-looking  ship  with  two  masts, 
which  he  informed  me  was  H.M.S.  Outrageous,  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  guns,  only  the  guns  were  not  yet  on  board.  There  were  a 
number  of  dark  men  in  tarpaulin  hats,  hauling  sacks  of  coals  up  the 
side ;  he  observed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  the  junior  lieutenants 
had  taken  more  than  usual  exercise  this  morning.  As  my  cue  was 
not  to  be  surprised  at  anything,  I  contented  myself  with  agreeing  with 
him,  and  we  pulled  up  alongside.  My  friend  observed  that  the  com- 
panion-ladder had  been  removed  in  consequence  of  the  equinoctial 
gales,  but  that  we  could  easily  mount  by  means  of  a  rope.  In  a  few 
moments  I  had  scrambled  up  the  side,  and  every  vein  swelled  with 
patriotic  pride,  as  I  trod  for  the  first  time  the  quarter-deck  of  my 
gallant  ship."  *  *  * 

My  gentle  public,  when  you  were  a  little  boy  (I  speak  of  you  col- 
lectively), was  it  ever  your  fate  in  those  halcyon  days,  when  a  nail 
brush  and  a  dancing-master  were  things  "  to  dream  of  not  to  tell  ;" 
when  you  despised  your  sisters  because  they  were  girls,  and  liked 
lollypops  and  Bonaparte's  ribs  because  they  were  sweet ; — was  it,  I 
say,  ever  your  fate  to  come  across  two  compilations,  or  either  of  them, 
of  which  one  was  called  Tales  of  Terror,  the  other  Legends  of  Hor 
ror  ?  In  these  were  to  be  found  Agnes,  or  the  Bloody  Nun,  and  the 
Field  of  the  Forty  Footsteps,  in  all  their  primal  glory.  You  have,  I 


am  sure.  Then  you  must  remember  that  the  style  of  conclusion  to 
each  number  was  this, — that  they  wound  your  infant  mind  up  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  expectation,  and  then,  when  you  had  twisted  one  or 
more  of  the  metal  buttons  off  your  bottle-green  suit  with  intensity  of 
interest,  that  you  were  let  down  short  (like  an  upset  at  the  corner  of 
Hatton  Garden,  where  the  eight  pennyworth  of  danger  rises  to  its 
highest  power),  by  one  of  the  conjunctions  copulative  or  disjunctive. 
"  The  lady  sate  in  that  lone  and  distant  turret,  listening  to  the  fitful 
sobbing  of  the  moaning  breeze ;  she  clasped  her  infant  to  her  breast, 
and  looked  at  the  clock,  for  well  she  knew  that  the  fatal  hour  was 
come  when  that  dark  and  malignant  spirit  might  no  more  influence 
the  destiny  of  Sir  Bertoldo's  heiress.  The  hand  is  now  upon  the 
hour  !  one  second  more,  and  she  is  safe  ! — one — only  one  !  Merciful 
Heaven  !  a  sound  of  footsteps  is  heard  in  the  corridor,  the  door  bursts 
open,  and — " 

So,  even  so,  by  the  malignity  of  that  base  and  degrading  editor  is 
the  public  cut  off  from  the  conclusion  of  the  history  of  this  gallant 
youth;  all  the  sprees  in  Portsmouth,  the  metaphysical  allusions  to 
soap,  the  quarter-deck  scene,  the  cockpit  scene,  the  gunroom  scene, 
the  maintop  scene,  the  nigger  scene,  two  shipwreck  scenes,  and  one 
of  famine  —  unmitigated  famine,  two  battle  scenes,  and  a  ball  at 
Bermuda  ! 


O  mother  dear  !  I  *m  sure  'tis  spring — 

Pray  lead  me  forth  among  the  flowers 
To  where  my  gentle  brothers  play, 

And  pass  such  happy  hours; 
To  where  the  stream  runs  purling  by, 

Whose  tiny  waves,  as  I  am  told, 
Look,  when  reflected  by  the  sun, 

Like  beauteous  dazzling  gold. 

0  mother  dear  !  my  sisters  kind 
They  bring  me  flowers  I  cannot  soe, 

And  talk  of  things  so  beautiful, 

The  sight  of  which  is  not  for  me ; 
Of  how  the  sun  shines  forth  at  day, 

And  decks  a  sky  most  fair  to  view ; 
How  moon  and  stars  appear  at  night, 

Amid  a  space  of  azure  blue. 
While,  mother  dear,  the  sun,  and  moon, 

And  stars  to  me  are  all  the  same, — 
Flowers,  and  streams,  and  budding  trees, 

I  know  them  only  by  their  name. 
But  yet,  clear  mother,  I  'm  not  sad  ; 

For,  when  I  'in  seated  on  thy  knee, 

1  hear  thee  whisper  "  God  is  love," — 

That  He  will  ever  watch  o'er  me. 
And  when,  dear  mother,  thou  art  gone, 

And  sisters,  brothers  pass'd  away, 
I  hear  thee  whisper,  <•  lie  '11  be  near, 

To  guide  my  steps  and  cheer  my  way." 
My  mind  you  fill  with  holy  things ; 

And,  though  I  cannot  see, 
That  unto  others  seeming  dark 

Is  light  and  clear  to  me.  J.  j\f   Q 




Approach  to  Richmond. — The  grave  of  Thomson. — Wit  among  the  Tomhstones.— 
Richmond  Palace. — The  Battle  of  the  Gnats. — View  from  Richmond  Hill. — A 
Song  by  Mallet — Gay,  the  poet. — Traditions  of  Ham  House. — Eel-pie  Island. — 
The  Poetical  Sawyer. — Anecdote  of  Kean. 

As  we  passed  Kew-Bridge  our  mind  was  filled  with  a  multitude 
of  confused  thoughts,  reminiscences  intricately  blended,  of  poetry 
and  the  poets;  of  Jeanie  Deans,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyl ;  of  Rich- 
mond Hill,  and  the  -charms  of  its  far-famed  lass  ;  and  of  "  maids  of 
honour  " — the  chief  delicacies  of  the  place, — which,  with  a  carnivor- 
ous appetite,  we  longed  to  devour.  But,  as  we  approached  nearer 
our  thoughts  became  more  distinct,  and  finally  fixed  themselves 
upon  the  memory  of  James  Thomson,  the  delightful  bard  of  the  Sea- 
sons, who  is  buried  upon  the  spot.  "  O  !  yes,"  said  we,  quoting  the 
ode  of  his  friend  Collins, 

"  Remembrance  oft  shall  haunt  the  shore 

When  Thames  in  summer  wreaths  is  drest, 
And  oft  suspend  the  dashing  oar, 
To  bid  thy  gentle  spirit  rest." 

We  were  thus  musing,  when  a  merry  strain  now  broke  in  upon  our 
meditations.  The  band  which  had  accompanied  the  steam-boat  from 
London  struck  up  the  familiar  air,  "  The  lass  of  Richmond  Hill ;"  a 
custom  which  has  been  observed  ever  since  steam-boats  have  plied 
in  this  part  of  the  river,  to  give  us  notice  that  we  were  at  our  jour- 
ney's end. 

Without  stopping  to  ascend  the  hill,  we  struck  at  once  into  the 
lower  parts  of  the  town,  and,  by  dint  of  inquiry,  found  ourselves  in  a 
few  moments  in  front  of  the  ancient,  humble,  but,  in  our  eyes,  beau- 
tiful church  of  Richmond.  We  forthwith  strolled  through  the 
churchyard,  in  search  of  the  sexton  or  door-keeper,  that  we  might 
give  him  his  fee,  and  be  admitted  inside.  One  of  the  first  objects 
that  caught  our  attention  was  a  neat  marble  tablet  upon  the  wall, 
with  a  medallion  head  sculptured  upon  it,  and  inscribed  with  the 
simple  words,  "  To  the  memory  of  Edmund  Kean :  erected  by  his 
son,  Charles  Edmund  Kean,  1839."  We  paused  a  moment,  and  took 
off  our  hat,  for  we  are  of  the  number  of  those  who  pay  reverence  to 
the  inanimate  sod,  and  the  senseless  ashes  beneath  it,  if  those  ashes 
have  ever  been  warmed  by  the  soul  of  genius,  or  of  goodness.  We 
are  also  of  the  number  of  those  who  are  critical  in  monumental  in- 
scriptions, and  we  considered  this  brief  one  for  awhile,  and,  owning 
that  it  was  enough,  passed  on.  After  inquiry  at  one  of  the  cottages 
that  skirt  the  churchyard,  we  were  directed  next  door,  to  the  pew- 
opener,  and  that  personage  readily  undertook  to  escort  us  over  her 
little  building ;  as  important  to  her,  and  containing  monuments  as 
magnificent,  and  as  well  worth  looking  at,  as  either  St.  Paul's  or 
Westminster  Abbey.  If  we  were  pleased  with  the  outside  appear- 
ance of  the  church,  we  were  still  better  pleased  when  we  entered 

80  THE    THAMES. 

within.  It  is  an  old-fashioned  edifice,  just  large  enough  for  a  village, 
with  a  fine  organ,  neatly  carved,  and  well-covered  pews,  and  walls 
almost  hidden  by  monumental  tablets,  and  the  whole  looking  as 
grand  and  modest  as  true  piety  itself. 

Our  cicerone,  like  one  who  was  well  accustomed  to  her  task,  was 
leading  us  round  the  church,  beginning  from  the  beginning,  and 
showing  us  in  due  order  the  tombs  of  the  worthies  of  Richmond, 
when  we  broke  in  upon  her  established  practice,  and  requested  her 
to  point  out  at  once  the  grave  of  Thomson.  She  led  the  way  imme- 
diately to  the  darkest  corner  of  the  church,  when,  opening  a  pew- 
door,  she  bade  us  enter.  We  had  heard  much  talk  of  the  munifi- 
cence of  the  Earl  of  Buchan  in  erecting  a  memorial  over  the  poet's 
ashes,  and  we  looked  around  us  accordingly  for  some  handsome  piece 
of  monumental  marble,  which  might  be  worthy  of  the  donor,  and 
sufficient  for  its  avowed  purpose, — the  satisfaction  of  the  bard's  ad- 
mirers. We  could  not  conceal  the  expression  of  our  disappointment, 
when  the  pew-opener,  bidding  us  mount  upon  the  seat  of  the  pew, 
pointed  out  to  us  a  piece  of  copper  about  eighteen  inches  square,  so 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  ordinary  observer, — so  blackened  by  time, — 
and  so  incrusted  by  the  damp,  that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  read 
one  line  of  the  inscription. 

"  Then  you  have  not  many  visiters  to  this  tomb  ?  "  said  we  to  the 

"  O  !  yes,  we  have,"  replied  she  ;  "  but  they  are  not  so  particular 
as  you,  sir  :  not  one  in  a  hundred  cares  to  read  the  incription  ;  they 
just  look  at  it  from  below,  and  pass  on." 

We  took  out  our  pocket-handkerchief,  and  began  to  rub  the  damp 
verdigrise  from  the  copper  as  the  pew-opener  spoke  ;  which,  she 
observing,  mounted  also  upon  the  bench,  and,  taking  her  own  hand- 
kerchief from  her  pocket,  rubbed  away  with  as  much  earnestness  as 
we  did.  The  dirt  was  an  inch  thick  upon  it ;  besides  which,  the 
letters  were  of  the  same  colour  as  the  plate  on  which  they  are  en- 
graven, so  that,  after  all,  we  were  afraid  we  should  be  obliged  to  give 
over  the  attempt  as  quite  hopeless. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  now  I  think  you  will  be  ablo  to  read  it,"  as 
the  rust,  by  a  vigorous  application  of  her  hands,  was  transferred 
from  the  tablet  to  her  handkerchief.  "  I  think  you  might  manage 
to  make  it  out,  if  you  are  particularly  anxious  about  it." 

We  tried  again  accordingly,  and,  with  some  trouble,  read  the  fol- 
lowing inscription. 

"  In  the  earth  below  this  tablet  are  the  remains  of  James  Thom- 
son, author  of  the  beautiful  poems,  entitled,  '  The  Seasons,'  e  The 
Castle  of  Indolence,'  &c.  who  died  at  Richmond  on  the  22nd  of  Au- 
gust, and  was  buried  there  on  the  29th,  O.S.  1748.  The  Earl  of 
Buchan,  unwilling  that  so  good  a  man,  and  sweet  a  poet,  should  be 
without  a  memorial,  has  denoted  the  place  of  his  interment  for  the 
satisfaction  of  his  admirers,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1792. 

"  Father  of  light  and  life  !     Thou  good  supreme  ! 
Oh  !  teach  me  what  is  good  !     Teach  me  Thyself! 
Save  me  from  folly,  vanity,  and  vice, 
From  every  low  pursuit,  and  feed  my  soul, 
With  knowledge,  conscious  peace,  and  virtue  pure, 
Sacred,  substantial,  never-fading  bliss  ! '' 


"  We  wish,"  said  we  to  ourselves,  "  that  his  lordship's  taste  had 
been  as  good  as  his  intentions,  and  that,  instead  of  this  trumpery 
piece  of  brass, — which  cannot  have  cost  him  much  more  than  five 
pounds, — he  had  put  up  a  marble  tablet,  which  one  might  have  read 
without  all  this  scrubbing.  How  much  better,  too,  it  would  have 
been,  if  his  lordship  had  not  obtruded  his  own  name  upon  it!"  If  we 
had  continued  our  soliloquy  much  longer,  we  should  have  found 
fault  not  only  with  the  taste  and  liberality,  but  with  the  motives  of 
his  lordship ;  but  we  were  saved  from  the  uncharitableness  by  the 
pew-opener,  who  broke  in  upon  our  meditation  to  remind  us  that 
immediately  under  the  pew  on  which  we  stood  lay  the  ashes  of  the 

"What,  was  he  buried  within  the  church  ?  "  said  we. 

" No,"  replied  the  pew-opener,  "on  the  outside,  just  against  the 
wall ;  but  the  church  has  been  enlarged  since  that  day  to  make 
room  for  the  organ ;  so  that  the  wall  passes  right  across  his  coffin, 
and  cuts  the  body  in  two,  as  it  were." 

"Cuts  the  body  in  two!"  repeated  we,  "and,  did  no  charitable 
soul,  when  this  thing  was  proposed,  so  much  as  hint  that  the  church 
might  have  been  made  a  little  larger,  so  that  the  whole  body  might 
have  been  brought  inside  ?  " 

"  I  never  inquired,"  said  the  pew-opener  ;  "  but,  surely,  sir, 
you  '11  go  and  see  the  grave  of  the  great  Mary  Ann  Yates  ?  Lord 
bless  you,  sir,  more  people  go  to  see  that  grave  than  any  other  in  the 
church !  " 

"  The  great  Mary  Ann  Yates  !  "  said  we  in  some  perplexity ;  for, 
to  our  shame  be  it  spoken,  we  had  forgotten  the  name,  and  we  did 
not  like  to  expose  our  ignorance  to  the  pew-opener.  "  Oh,  by  all 
means,"  said  we,  making  the  best  of  the  matter,  and  following  our 
conductress  to  the  other  end  of  the  church  towards  the  communion- 

"  There,"  said  the  pew-opener,  removing  a  small  mat  with  her  foot, 
and  directing  our  attention  to  a  plain  slab  on  the  floor,  "  there  lies 
the  body.  Of  course  you  've  heard  of  her  ?  " 

We  said  nothing,  but  made  a  feint  of  being  so  engrossed  with  the 
epitaph  as  not  to  have  heard  the  inquiry. 

"She  was  very  celebrated,  I've  been  told,"  added  she,  after  a 
pause;  "and,  indeed,  I've  heard  that  Mrs.  Siddons  wasn't  anything 
like  equal  to  her." 

This  observation  enlightened  us ;  our  ignorance  was  cleared  up. 
We  gazed  upon  the  grave  of  the  great  Mary  Ann  Yates, —  the  tragic 
actress,  Mrs.  Yates,  so  greatly  admired  in  her  day,  and  a  woman 
of  undoubted  genius  in  the  pursuit  she  had  chosen.  "  And  such," 
thought  we,  "  is  fame  ;  a  mere  matter  of  circles  and  classes.  Pilgrims 
come  to  the  tomb  of  a  person  celebrated  in  one  sphere,  who  are  ig- 
norant that  in  the  next  grave  sleeps  one  who  was  just  as  celebrated  in 
another,  and  who  do  not  even  know  that  such  a  person  ever  existed. 
The  worshippers  of  poetry  never  heard  of  the  actress;  the  admirers 
of  the  actress,  in  all  probability,  never  heard  of  the  poet,  and  so  on, 
through  all  the  various  ranks  and  denominations  of  society."  We 
were  thus  cogitating,  when  the  pew-opener  told  us-  that  she  had  some 
other  very  fine  tombs  to  show  us,  and  with  such  an  emphasis  upon 
the  -wordjine,  as  impressed  us  with  the  notion  that  she  would  think 
we  slighted  her  monuments,  (and  she  was  evidently  proud  of  them  ) 

VOL.  vi.  <; 


if  we  refused  to  look  at  them.  We  went  round  accordingly,  and 
up  into  the  galleries,  where  several  tablets  were  pointed  out  to  us, 
with  warm  eulogia  upon  the  sculptured  cherubim,  or  other  or- 
naments that  supported  them.  But  one  only  struck  us  as  remarka- 
ble, a  plain  blue  stone,  with  a  Latin  inscription  to  the  memory  of 
Robert  Lewes,  a  Cambro-Briton  and  a  lawyer,  who  died  in  the  year 
1649,  "and  who,"  said  the  epitaph,  "  was  such  a  great  lover  of  peace 
and  quiet,  that  when  a  contention  began  in  his  body  between  life 
and  death,  he  immediately  gave  up  the  ghost  to  end  the  dispute." 
There  is  wit  and  humour  even  in  the  grave.  There  is  an  entertain- 
ing French  work,  entitled  "  Des  grands  Hommes  qui  sont  morts  en 
plaisantant ;"  one  as  entertaining  might  be  made  upon  the  subject  of 
"  Wit  among  the  tombstones."  It  would  not  be  uninstructive  either, 
and  would  afford  numberless  illustrations  of  that  unaccountable  pro- 
pensity of  many  people  to  choose  the  most  solemn  things  as  the  ob- 
jects of  their  merriment.  The  richest  comedy  ever  penned  fails  to 
excite  more  laughter  than  the  lugubrious  jokes  of  the  grave-diggers 
in  Hamlet ;  and  sextons,  mutes,  and  undertakers,  are  the  legitimate 
butts  of  the  jester  and  caricaturist  all  over  the  world. 

Having  lingered  in  the  church  until  we  had  satisfied  our  curi- 
osity, we  proceeded  towards  Rosedale  House,  where  Thomson  re- 
sided, and  where  the  chair  on  which  he  sat,  the  table  on  which  he 
wrote,  and  the  peg  on  which  he  hung  his  hat,  are  religiously  pre- 
served, as  relics  of  departed  genius.  Greatly  to  our  sorrow,  we 
were  unable  to  procure  admission.  It  was  an  inconvenient  hour  for 
the  family,  and  we  had  not  come  properly  provided  with  an  intro- 
duction. There  was  no  help  for  it,  and  we  therefore  walked  on  to- 
wards the  Green.  The  house,  after  the  poet's  death,  was  purchased 
by  a  Mr.  Ross,  who  had  so  much  veneration  for  his  memory  that  he 
forbore  to  pull  it  down,  though  small  and  inconvenient,  but  enlarged 
and  repaired  it,  at  an  expense  of  nine  thousand  pounds.  It  was 
afterwards  inhabited  by  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Boscawen,  the  widow 
of  the  admiral,  who  participated  in  this  feeling  of  her  predecessor, 
and  repaired  the  alcove  in  the  garden,  where  the  poet  used  to  write 
in  the  fine  weather.  Within  it  she  replaced  his  tablj?,  and  inscribed 
over  the  entrance, 

"  Here  Thomson  sung  the  seasons,  and  their  change." 

Over  the  back  seat  at  this  table  hangs  a  board,  upon  one  side  of 
which  are  the  following  words,  "  James  Thomson  died  at  this  place, 
August  22nd,  1748 ;"  and,  upon  the  other  a  longer  memorial,  with  a 
strange  and  unpleasing  affectation  of  fine  writing  about  it,  which 
runs  as  follows  : — "  Within  this  pleasing  retirement,  allured  by  the 
music  of  the  nightingale,  which  warbled  in  soft  unison  to  the  melody 
of  his  soul,  in  unaffected  cheerfulness,  and  genial  though  simple  ele- 
gance, lived  James  Thomson.  Sensibly  alive  to  all  the  beauties  of 
nature,  he  painted  their  images  as  they  rose  in  review,  and  poured 
the  whole  profusion  of  them  into  his  inimitable  '  Seasons.'  Warmed 
with  intense  devotion  to  the  Sovereign  of  the  Universe,  its  flame 
glowing  through  all  its  compositions,  animated  with  unbounded  be- 
nevolence, with  the  tenderest  social  sensibility,  he  never  gave  one 
moment's  pain  to  any  of  his  fellow-creatures,  save  by  his  death, 
which  happened  at  this  place  on  the  22nd  of  August,  1748." 


From  Rosedale  House,  the  present  name  of  this  dwelling,  we 
strolled  up  Kew  Foot-Lane,  and  soon  arrived  at  the  Green,  a  large 
open  space,  which  does  not  belie  its  name,  surrounded  with  many 
comfortable-looking  houses,  and  rows  of  venerable  trees. 

The  ancient  palace  of  the  Kings  of  England  stood  upon  this  spot. 
There  is  little  of  it  left  now  except  the  gateway,  and  that  little 
offers  nothing  to  satisfy  the  gaze  of  any  but  the  mere  antiquary.  It 
does  not  look  old  and  venerable  enough  for  the  lover  of  the  pic- 
turesque, being  so  patched  up  by  and  wedged  in  between  surrounding 
houses  as  to  have  almost  lost  its  distinctive  character.  Several  kings 
and  queens  of  England  lived  and  died  upon  this  spot,  Edward  I. 
and  II.  resided  here,  and  Edward  III.  died  here,  deserted  in  that  last 
hour  by  all  the  flatterers  and  parasites  who  had  fattened  upon  his 
bounty  ;  even  Alice  Pierce,  the  mistress  of  his  bosom,  flying  from  his 
side,  and  leaving  him  to  die  with  no  more  attendance  than  if  he  had 
been  a  beggar,  giving  up  the  ghost  in  a  ditch.  Richard  II.  the  next 
king,  passed  much  of  his  time  at  this  manor  ;  in  whose  days,  at  Sheen, 
as  we  are  informed  by  that  veracious  chronicler,  Stowe,  "  there  was  a 
great  fighting  among  the  gnats  !  They  were  so  thick  gathered,"  says 
he,  "  that  the  air  was  darkened  with  them,  and  they  fought  and  made 
a  great  battle.  Two  parts  of  them  being  slain,  fell  down  to  the 
ground,  the  third  part  having  got  the  victory,  flew  away,  no  man 
knew  whither.  The  number  of  the  dead  was  such  that  they  might 
be  swept  up  with  besoms,  and  bushels  filled  with  them."  With  what 
a  gusto  does  the  old  historian  describe  this  battle  !  how  persuaded  he 
seems  of  its  truth  !  and,  with  what  a  relish  for  the  marvellous,  and 
expectation  to  find  the  same  in  his  reader,  does  he  note  every  circum- 
stance !  Many  of  the  battles  between  the  rival  houses  of  York  and 
Lancaster,  are  dismissed  by  him  with  hardly  more  notice. 

Anne,  the  queen  of  Richard  II.  died  in  this  building.  She  was  so 
tenderly  beloved  by  her  husband,  that  he  cursed  the  place  where  she 
died,  and  would  never  afterwards  inhabit  it.  The  very  sight  of  the 
building  so  moved  him  to  grief,  that  he  gave  directions  that  it  should 
be  pulled  down.  The  order  was  only  partially  executed,  but  the 
building  remained  in  a  ruinous  condition  until  the  time  of  Henry  V. 
who  repaired  it,  and  founded  three  religious  houses  near  it.  It  was 
destroyed  by  fire  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII,  who  built  it  up  again 
more  magnificently  than  before,  and  first  altered  the  name  of  the 
village  from  Sheen  to  Richmond,  which  it  has  ever  since  borne. 
Henry  VIII.  also  resided  here  in  the  early  part  of  his  reign,  and 
once  instituted  a  grand  tournament  on  the  Green,  at  which  he  fought 
in  disguise.  He  afterwards  exchanged  it  with  Wolsey,  for  the  more 
magnificent  palace  of  Hampton  Court ;  but,  after  the  fall  and  death 
of  that  minister,  the  palace  again  reverted  to  the  crown.  Elizabeth 
was  confined  in  it  for  a  short  time,  during  the  reign  of  her  sister,  and 
here  she  died  broken-hearted  for  the  death  of  the  Earl  of  Essex. 
During  the  dissensions  of  the  revolution,  this  palace  met  some  rough 
treatment  from  the  hands  of  the  republicans,  and  the  greater  part  of 
it  was  pulled  down.  It  has  never  since  held  up  its  head  in  the  world, 
but  has  gradually  pined  away  to  its  present  condition. 

There  are  fewr,  and  those  few  must  be  insensible  to  the  charms  of 
natural  beauty,  who  ever  pass  Richmond  without  ascending  its  far- 
famed  hill,  and  gazing  upon  the  landscape  which  stretches  beneath 
it.  How  beautiful  is  the  oft-quoted  exclamation  of  her  poet. 

81  THE    THAMES 

"  Enchanting  vale,  beyond  whate'er  (he  muse 
Has  of  Achaia  or  Hesperia  sung! 
O,  vale  of  bliss  !     (),  softly-swelling  hills, 
On  which  the  power  of  cultivation  lies, 
And  joys  to  see  the  wonder  of  his  toil. 
Heavens  !  what  a  goodly  prospect  spreads  around 
Of  hills  and  dales,  and  woods  and  lawns,  and  spires, 
And  glittering  towns,  and  gilded  streams  !  " 

We  have  read  many  descriptions  of  this  favourite  spot ;  and,  be- 
fore we  had  seen  it  we  were  almost  afraid  to  visit  it,  for,  like  Words- 
worth and  the  Yarrow,  "  we  had  a  vision  of  our  own/'  and  dreaded 
lest  the  reality  should  "  undo  it."  But  curiosity  was  at  last  tri- 
umphant, and  we  went,  and  found  reality  more  lovely  than  the  pic- 
tures which  had  been  drawn  of  her  either  by  the  pencil  or  the  pen. 
The  first  time  we  ever  ascended  the  hill,  the  landscape  was  illumined 
by  the  rays  of  a  bright  noon-tide  sun,  and  the  waters  of  the  Thames, 
stretching  out  right  before  us,  were  illumined  with  a  long  streak  of 
light,  and  the  far  forests  gleamed  in  the  radiancy  as  their  boughs 
were  waved  to  and  fro  by  a  strong,  but  pleasant,  south-west 
wind.  Distant  Windsor  was  visible  ;  and,  hundreds  of  neat  villas, 
and  other  pleasing  objects,  gratified  the  eye,  to  whichever  side  it 
turned ;  the  Thames  freshening  and  enlivening  the  whole.  As  we 
stood  the  sky  became  overcast ;  dark  clouds  arose  upon  the  horizon ; 
the  wind  blew  colder  than  its  wont ;  while  a  few  large  drops  of  rain 
gave  notice  of  an  impending  storm.  The  Terrace  was  soon  bare  of 
its  visiters ;  all  sought  shelter  from  the  rain ;  but  we  remained  to 
watch  the  tempest,  and  the  changes  it  wrought  upon  the  landscape. 
It  was  glorious  to  see  how  the  trees  waved,  like  fields  of  corn,  as  the 
storm  blew  over  them,  and  the  smart  showers  whirled  around ;  now 
hiding  one  spot  by  the  thickness  of  the  rain,  and  now  wheeling  past 
another,  and  obscuring  it  in  like  manner.  The  distant  heights  were 
no  longer  visible,  and  we  could  just  see  the  Thames  winding  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  and  curling  itself  into  tiny  waves  under  the  breath 
of  the  storm.  The  blossoms  of  the  wild  chestnut  trees  fell  thick 
around  us,  as  we  stood,  diffusing  a  more  delicious  fragrance  through 
the  air ;  and  the  very  dust  of  the  ground  seemed  odorous  as  the 
moisture  fell  upon  it.  Suddenly  there  was  a  flash  right  over  Wind- 
sor Castle,  and  all  its  towers  were  perceptible  for  an  instant,  and 
then  hidden  again.  Successive  flashes  illumined  other  spots ;  and, 
while  the  rain  was  piercing  through  our  garments,  we  had  no  other 
thought  than  a  strong  desire  to  become  an  artist  by  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment,  and  at  one  touch  of  our  pencil,  to  fasten  upon  enduring 
canvass  a  faithful  representation  of  the  scene. 

It  was  admiration  of  this  spot  that  inspired  the  now  neglected 
Mallet,  the  friend  of  Thomson,  and  a  dweller  in  the  neighbourhood, 
to  write  that  beautiful  song  of  his  in  praise  of  the  Thames,  which 
deserves  to  be  better  known. 

"Where  Thames,  along  the  daisy'd  meads, 
His  wave,  in  lucid  mazes  leads, 

Silent,  slow, — serenely  flowing, 

Wealth  on  either  shore  bestowing, 
There,  in  a  safe,  though  small  retreat, 
Content  and  Love  have  fixed  their  seat; 


Love,  that  counts  his  duty  pleasure ; 
Content,  .that  knows  and  hugs  his  treasure. 

"  From  art,  from  jealousy  secure, 
As  faith  unblamed,  as  friendship  pure, 

Vain  opinion  nobly  scorning, 

Virtue  aiding,  life  adorning, 
Fair  Thames,  along  thy  flowery  side, 
May  those  whom  Truth  and  Reason  guide, 

All  their  tender  hours  improving, 

Live  like  us,  beloved  and  beloving." 

Descending  the  terrace,  and  crossing  the  bridge,  how  pleasant  is  the 
walk  along  the  Middlesex  bank  of  the  river  to  the  village  of  Twick- 
enham, and  its  old  grey  church,  where  Pope  lies  buried  !  But,  plea- 
santer  still  is  it  to  take  a  boat,  and  be  rowed  up  the  middle  of  the 
stream,  unlocking  the  stores  of  memory  as  we  pass,  and  saying  to 
ourselves,  "Here,  on  the  right,  lived  Bacon. — Yonder,  at  West 
Sheen,  lived  Sir  William  Temple ;  and  there  was  born  the  cele- 
brated Stella  ;  and  at  the  same  place  Swift  first  made  her  acquaint- 
ance. —  And  here,  again,  is  Marble  Hall,  where  the  beauteous  Lady 
Suffolk  kept  open  house  for  all  the  wits  of  the  neighbourhood." 

Among  the  most  conspicuous  of  the  places  we  pass  there  is  a  neat 
little  rural  hut,  called  Gay's  Summer-house,  where,  according  to 
tradition,  that  amiable  poet  wrote  his  celebrated  fables  for  the  infant 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  currying  court  favour,  but  getting  nothing 
but  neglect  for  his  pains.  "  Dear  Pope,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother 
poet,  "  what  a  barren  soil  I  have  been  striving  to  produce  something 
out  of!  Why  did  I  not  take  your  advice  before  my  writing  fables 
for  the  Duke,  not  to  write  them,  or  rather  to  write  them  for  some 
young  nobleman.  It  is  my  hard  fate,  —  I  must  get  nothing,  write 
for  or  against  them."  Poor  Gay  !  Too  well  he  knew,  as  Spenser  so 
feelingly  sings  in  his  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale, 

"  What  hell  it  was  in  suing,  long  to  bide, 
To  lose  good  days,  that  might  be  better  spent ; 
To  waste  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent; 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow ; 
To  fret  the  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares ; 
To  eat  the  heart  through  comfortless  despairs; 
To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undone  !" 

Yet  one  cannot  help  thinking,  after  all,  that  it  served  him  right ;  for, 
according  to  his  own  confession,  he  was  ready  to  wield  his  pen  either 
for  or  against  the  court,  as  might  be  most  profitable.  Who  but  must 
regret  that  a  man  of  genius  should  ever  have  been  reduced  to 
so  pitiful  an  extremity  ?  Who  but  must  sigh  that  he  should,  even 
to  his  bosom  friend,  have  made  such  a  confession  ? 

At  a  short  distance  beyond  Gay's  Summer-house,  and  on  the  same 
side  of  the  river,  stands  Ham  House,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
noted  Duke  of  Lauderdale,  and  where  he  and  his  four  colleagues, 
Clifford,  Ashley,  Buckingham,  and  Arlington,  "held  those  secret 
meetings,  which  acquired  for  them  a  name  infamous  in  English  his- 
tory, the  Cabal, — a  word  which  their  initials  happened  to  compose. 

86  THE    THAMES 

In  the  house,  now  the  residence  of  the  Countess  of  Dysart,  are  pre- 
served many  memorials  of  the  Lauderdale  family.  According  to 
tradition,  this  is  one  of  the  places  in  which  Charles  the  Second  took 
refuge  after  the  battle  of  Worcester ;  and  it  is  also  said  that  the 
great  gate  leading  to  the  Ham  avenue,  has  never  been  opened  to  any 
meaner  visiter  since  the  hour  when  the  fugitive  king,  after  he  left 
the  wood  of  Boscabel,  was  admitted  within  it  for  a  night's  shelter. 
Another  tradition,  which  is  still  more  questionable,  asserts  that  here 
also,  as  at  Boscabel,  he  hid  himself  among  the  branches  of  an  oak  to 
escape  a  party  of  his  eager  pursuers.  A  shattered  trunk  of  a  tree  in 
Ham  Lane  was  formerly  shown  to  the  visiter  as  the  identical  royal 
oak ;  and  a  fair  which  is  annually  held  on  the  spot  on  the  29th  of 
May,  has  tended  to  countenance  the  belief  among  the  people  of  the 
neighbourhood,  who  have  no  notion  that  any  incredulous  and  too 
precise  examiner  into  dates  and  facts  should  deprive  them  of  their 
traditions.  However,  "  truth  is  strong,"  and  truth  compels  us  to 
say,  that  their  royal  oak  is  only  a  counterfeit. 

Just  before  we  arrive  at  Twickenham,  there  is  a  small  island  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  called  by  some  "  Twickenham  Ait,"  but 
better  known  to  the  people  of  London  as  "  Eel-pie  Island."  The 
tavern  upon  the  island  is  famous  for  its  eels,  and  the  mode  of  dress- 
ing them,  and  during  the  summer  season  is  visited  by  great  crowds 
from  the  metropolis.  Clubs,  benefit  societies,  trades'  unions,  and 
other  confederations,  frequently  proceed  thither,  each  member  with 
his  wife  and  children,  or  his  sweetheart,  to  feast  upon  the  dainties  of 
the  spot.  On  a  fine  Sunday  especially,  Eel-pie  Island  is  in  all  its 
glory,  thronged  with  "  spruce  citizens,"  "  washed  artisans,"  and 
"  smug  apprentices,"  who  repair  hither,  as  Byron  has  it,  "  to  gulp 
their  weekly  air," 

"  And  o'er  the  Thames  to  row  the  ribbon'd  fair," 

or  to  wander  in  the  park,  which,  thanks  to  the  public  spirit  of  one 
humble  individual,  is  still  open  to  every  pedestrian.  Though  some- 
what of  an  episode,  the  history  of  the  right  of  way  through  this 
pleasant  park  is  deserving  of  mention.  In  the  year  1758,  the  Princess 
Amelia,  daughter  of  George  the  Second,  who  was  ranger,  thought 
fit  to  exclude  the  public ;  but  an  action  was  brought  against  her  by 
Mr.  John  Lewis,  a  brewer,  and  inhabitant  of  Richmond,  which  he 
gained,  and  the  princess  was  forced  to  knock  down  her  barriers. 
The  public  right  has  never  since  been  disputed,  and  the  memory  of 
the  patriotic  brewer  is  still  highly  esteemed  in  all  the  neighbourhood, 
and  his  portraits  sought  after,  as  memorials  of  his  courage  and  per- 

But  to  return  again  to  Eel-pie  Island.  The  place  was  the  favourite 
resort  of  Kean  for  a  few  months  before  his  death.  The  boatman  we 
were  fortunate  enough  to  hire  was  the  boatman  generally  employed 
by  the  great  actor,  and  from  him  we  learned,  that  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  night  were  over  at  the  theatre,  he  often  caused  himself  to  be 
rowed  to  Eel-pie  Island,  and  there  left  to  wander  about  by  moon- 
light till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  tavern  used  at 
that  time  to  be  frequented  by  a  poetical  sawyer  of  Twickenham, 
whose  poetry  Kean  greatly  admired.  The  first  time  he  heard  the 
sawyer  s  rhymes,  he  was  so  delighted  that  he  made  him  a  present  of 


two  sovereigns,  and  urged  him  to  venture  upon  the  dangerous  seas 
of  authorship.  By  his  advice  the  sawyer  rushed  into  print,  and 
published  a  twopenny  volume  upon  the  beauties  of  Eel-pie  Island, 
the  delights  of  pie-eating,  and  various  other  matters  of  local  and 
general  interest.  Keaii  at  this  time  was  so  weak,  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  lift  him  in  and  out  of  the  wherry,  —  a  circumstance  which 
excited  the  boatman's  curiosity  to  go  and  see  him  in  Richard  the 
Third  at  the  Richmond  theatre.  "  There  was  some  difference  then, 
I  reckon/'  said  the  honest  fellow ;  'f  so  much,  that  I  was  almost 
frightened  at  him.  He  seemed  on  the  stage  to  be  as  strong  as 
a  giant,  and  strutted  about  so  bravely,  that  I  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve it  was  the  same  man.  Next  morning  he  would  come  into 
my  boat  with  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  his  coat-pocket,  as  weak  as  a 
child,  until  he  had  drunk  about  half  the  brandy,  when  he  plucked 
up  a  little.  One  morning  he  came  on  board,  —  I  shall  never  forget 
him, — he  was  crying  like  a  child,  and  sobbing  as  if  his  heart  was 
breaking, — 'twas  the  morning  when  his  '  lady '  ran  away  from  him, 
and  he  told  me  all  about  it  as  well  as  he  could  for  his  tears.  He  had 
a  bottle  of  brandy  with  him  then.  He  gave  me  a  quartern  of  it, 
and  drank  all  the  rest  before  we  got  to  Twickenham,  and  then  he 
was  much  better.  But  he  was  never  the  same  man  afterwards  ;  he 
said  his  heart  was  broken ;  and  I  believe  it  was,  for  he  never  held 
up  his  head  again,  poor  fellow  !  " 

We  thought  the  boatman  (we  should  mention  his  name  —  George 
Cripps)  seemed  affected  at  the  thought,  and  we  asked  if  Kean  had 
been  kind  to  him. 

tc  Many  's  the  time,"  replied  he,  "  that  I  have  carried  him  in  mv 
arms  in  and  out  of  the  boat,  as  if  he  were  a  baby  :  —  but  he  wasn't 
particularly  kind.  He  always  paid  me  my  fare,  and  never  grumbled 
at  it,  and  was  very  familiar  and  free-like.  But  all  the  watermen 
were  fond  of  him.  He  gave  a  new  boat  and  a  purse  of  sovereigns  to 
be  rowed  for  every  year." 

"  Ah  !  that  accounts  for  it,"  said  we. 

"  When  he  died,"  continued  the  boatman,  "  a  great  many  of  the 
watermen  subscribed  their  little  mite  towards  his  monument. 

"  Was  there  much  gathered  ?  "  inquired  we. 

"  About  seven  or  eight  hundred  pounds,  I  think,"  replied  the 
boatman,  "  and  it  was  to  have  been  placed  in  Richmond  church  ; 
but  we  hear  nothing  of  it  now,  or  whether  it 's  ever  to  be  erected  at 
all.  But  here  we  are,  sir,  at  Twickenham  church  ;  and  if  you  please 
to  step  ashore,  I  '11  wait  for  you,  and  then  row  you  up  to  the 

This  was  exactly  the  arrangement  that  suited  us,  and  we  walked 
into  the  dirty  village  of  Twickenham,  to  pay  our  homage  at  the 
grave  of  Pope. 





"Ojt's  f)oh>  djiRte  Dunston  toas  fcornc  fn  ge  i?rre  of  our  Horlic 
$  xxv.  tfiat  tgtne  rrgmmgr  in  tfjis  lonlrc  IStngc  attjdston.  *  *  * 

"5123fjan  if  so  teas  tfiat  Sagnt  Bunston  teas  terry  of  prater  tfian  nsrti 
to  tocrfte  in  golUsmytfifs  tocrfec  toitf)  fjis  oton  fian&es  for  to  escfietoe  u&eln 


ST.  DUNSTAN  stood  in  his  ivy'd  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  were  there  ; 
When  in  came  Nick  to  play  him  a  trick, 
In  guise  of  a  damsel  passing  fair. 
Every  one  knows 
How  the  story  goes  : 

He  took  up  the  tongs  and  caught  hold  of  his  nose. 
But  I  beg  that  you  won't  for  a  moment  suppose 
That  I  mean  to  go  through  in  detail  to  you 
A  story  at  least  as  trite  as  it  's  true  ; 
Nor  do  I  intend 
An  instant  to  spend 

On  the  tale,  how  he  treated  his  monarch  and  friend, 
When,  bolting  away  to  a  chamber  remote, 
Inconceivably  bored  by  his  Witen-gemote, 
Edwy  left  them  all  joking, 
And  drinking,  and  smoking, 

So  tipsily  grand,  they  'd  stand  nonsense  from  no  King, 
But  sent  the  Archbishop 
Their  Sovereign  to  fish  up, 

With  a  hint  that  perchance  on  his  crown  he  might  feel  taps, 
Unless  he  came  back  straight  and  took  off  his  heel-taps. 
You  don't  want  to  be  plagued  with  the  same  story  twice, 
And  may  see  this  one,  painted  by  \V.  DYCE, 
Exhibited  now,  at  a  moderate  price, 
In  the  Royal  Academy,  very  well  done, 
And  mark'd  in  the  catalogue  Four,  seven,  one. 

You  may  there  view  the  Saint,  who  in  sable  array'd  is, 
Coercing  the  Monarch  away  from  the  Ladies  ; 
His  right  hand  has  hold  of  his  Majesty's  jerkin, 
The  left  points  to  the  door,  and  he  seems  to  say,  "  Sir  King, 
Your  most  faithful  Commons  won't  hear  of  your  shirking  ; 
Quit  your  tea,  and  return  to  your  Barclai  and  Perkyn, 
Or,  by  Jingo,*  ere  morning  no  longer  alive,  a 
Sad  victim  you  '11  lie  to  your  love  for  Elgiva  !  " 

No  farther  to  treat 

Of  this  ungallant  feat, 

What  I  mean  to  do  now  is  succinctly  to  paint 
A  particular  fact  in  the  life  of  the  Saint, 

*  St.  Jingo,  or  Gengo  (Gengulphus),  sometimes  styled  "  The  Living  Jingo," 
from  the  great  tenaciousness  of  vitality  exhibited  by  his  severed  members.  For  his 
Legend,  see  BENTLEY'S  MISCELLANY  for  March  last. 

A   LAY   OF    ST.    DUNSTAN. 

Which  somehow,  for  want  of  due  care,  I  presume, 
Has  escaped  the  researches  of  Rapin  and  Hume, 
In  recounting  a  miracle,  both  of  them  men  who  a 
Great  deal  fall  short  of  Jaques  Bishop  of  Genoa, 
An  historian  who  likes  deeds  like  these  to  record — 
See  his  Aurea  Legenda,  by  5KHimfcim  fcc  ^ortlf . 
St.  Dunstan  stood  again  in  his  tower, 

Alembic,  crucible,  all  complete ; 
He  had  been  standing  a  good  half  hour, 
And  now  he  utter'd  the  words  of  power, 

And  call'd  to  his  Broomstick  to  bring  him  a  seat. 

The  words  of  power  ! — and  what  be  they 

To  which  e'en  Broomsticks  bow  and  obey  ? 

Why,  'twere  uncommonly  hard  to  say, 

As  the  prelate  I  named  has  recorded  none  of  them, 

What  they  may  be, 

But  I  know  they  are  three, 

And  ABRACADABRA,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them  : 
For  I  'm  told  that  most  Cabalists  use  that  identical 
Word,  written  thus,  in  what  they  call  "  a  Pentacle :" 


However  that  be, 

You  '11  doubtless  agree 
It  signifies  little  to  you  or  to  me, 
As  not  being  dabblers  in  Grammarye  ; 
Still,  it  must  be  confess'd,  for  a  Saint  to  repeat 
Such  language  aloud  is  scarcely  discreet ; 
For,  as  Solomon  hints  to  folks  given  to  chatter, 
"  A  Bird  of  the  air  may  carry  the  matter  ;" 

And,  in  sooth, 

From  my  youth 
I  remember  a  truth 
Insisted  on  much  in  my  earlier  years, 
To  wit,  "  Little  Pitchers  have  very  long  ears !" 
Now,  just  such  a  "  Pitcher"  as  those  I  allude  to 
Was  outside  the  door,  which  his  "  ears"  appeared  glued  to. 


Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Five  feet  one  in  his  sandal-shoon, 
While  the  Saint  thought  him  sleeping, 
Was  listening  and  peeping, 

And  watching  his  master  the  whole  afternoon. 

This  Peter  the  Saint  had  pick'd  out  from  his  fellows, 
To  look  to  his  fire,  and  to  blow  with  the  bellows, 
To  put  on  the  Wall's-Ends  and  Lambton's  whenever  he 
Chose  to  indulge  in  a  little  orfeverie  ; 

For,  of  course,  you  have  read 

That  St.  Dunstan  was  bred 

A  Goldsmith,  and  never  quite  gave  up  the  trade ; 
The  Company — richest  in  London,  'tis  said — 
Acknowledge  him  still  as  their  Patron  and  Head  ; 
Nor  is  it  so  long 
Since  a  capital  song 

In  his  praise — now  recorded  their  archives  among — 
Delighted  the  noble  and  dignified  throng 
Of  their  guests,  who,  the  newspapers  told  the  whole  town, 
With  cheers  "  pledged  the  wine-cup  to  Dunstan's  renown," 
When  Lord  Lyndhurst,  THE  DUKE,  and  Sir  Robert,  were  dining 
Last  year  at  the  Hall  with  the  Prime  Warden  Twining. 

I  am  sadly  digressing — a  fault  which  sometimes 
One  can  hardly  avoid  in  these  gossiping  rhymes — 
A  slight  deviation  's  forgiven  ;  but  then  this  is 
Too  long,  I  fear,  for  a  decent  parenthesis, 
So  I  '11  rein  up  my  Pegasus  sharp,  and  retreat,  or 
You  '11  think  I  've  forgotten  the  Lay-brother  Peter, 

Whom  the  Saint,  as  I  said, 

Kept  to  turn  down  his  bed, 

Dress  his  palfreys  and  cobs, 

And  do  other  odd  jobs, — 

As  reducing  to  writing 

Whatever  he  might,  in 

The  course  of  the  day  or  the  night,  be  inditing, 
And  cleaning  the  plate  of  his  mitre  with  whiting; 
Performing,  in  short,  all  those  duties  and  offices 
Abbots  exact  from  Lay-brothers  and  Novices. 

It  occurs  to  me  here 

You'll  perhaps  think  it  queer 
That  St.  Dunstan  should  have  such  a  personage  near, 

When  he  'd  only  to  say 

Those  words, — be  what  they  may, — 
And  his  Broomstick  at  once  his  commands  would  obey. — 

That 's  true — but  the  fact  is 

'Twas  rarely  his  practice 
Such  aid  to  resort  to,  or  such  means  apply, 
Unless  he  'd  some  "  dignified  knot "  to  untie, 
Adopting,  though  sometimes,  as  now,  he  'd  reverse  it, 
Old  Horace's  maxim,  "  Nee  Broomstick  inicrsit" 

A    LAY    OF   ST.  DUNSTAN.  91 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  meagre  and  thin, 

Heard  all  the  Saint  was  saying  within  ; 

Peter,  the  Lay-brother,  sallow  and  spare, 

Peep'd  through  the  key-hole,  and — what  saw  he  there  ? — 


dfotte  JHK 

What  Shakspeare  observes,  in  his  play  of  King  John, 

Is  undoubtedly  right, 

That  Cl  ofttimes  the  sight 
Of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  will  make  ill  deeds  done." 

Here  's  Peter  the  Lay-brother,  pale-faced  and  meagre, 

A  good  sort  of  man,  only  rather  too  eager 

To  listen  to  what  other  people  are  saying, 

When  he  ought  to  be  minding  his  business,  or  praying, 

Gets  into  a  scrape, — and  an  awkward  one  too, 

As  you  '11  find,  if  you  've  patience  enough  to  go  through, 

The  whole  of  the  story 

I  'm  laying  before  ye, 

Entirely  from  having  "  the  means  "  in  his  view 
Of  doing  a  thing  which  he  ought  not  to  do ! 

Still  rings  in  his  ear 

Distinct  and  clear 
Abracadabra  !  that  word  of  fear  ! 
And  the  two  which  I  never  yet  happen'd  to  hear. 

Still  doth  he  spy 

With  Fancy's  eye 

The  Broomstick  at  work,  and  the  Saint  standing  by ; 
And  he  chuckles,  and  says  to  himself  with  glee, 
"  Aha  !  that  Broomstick  shall  work  for  me  !  " 

Hark  ! — that  swell 

O'er  flood  and  o'er  fell, 

Mountain,  and  dingle,  and  moss-cover'd  dell ! 
List ! — 'tis  the  sound  of  the  Compline  bell, 
And  St.  Dunstan  is  quitting  his  ivy'd  cell ; 

Peter,  I  wot, 

Is  off  like  a  shot, 

Or  a  little  dog  scalded  by  something  that 's  hot, 
For  he  hears  his  Master  approaching  the  spot 
Where  he  'd  listen'd  so  long,  though  he  knew  he  ought  not. 
Peter  remember'd  his  Master's  frown — 
He  trembled — he  'd  not  have  been  caught  for  a  crown ; 

Howe'er  you  may  laugh, 

He  had  rather,  by  half, 
Have  run  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower  and  jump'd  down. 

The  Compline  hour  is  past  and  gone, 
Evening  service  is  over  and  done  ; 


The  monks  repair 

To  their  frugal  fare, 
A  snug  little  supper  of  something  light 
And  digestible,  ere  they  retire  for  the  night. 
For,  in  Saxon  times,  in  respect  to  their  cheer, 
St.  Austin's  Rule  was  by  no  means  severe, 
But  allowed,  from  the  Beverley  Roll  'twould  appear, 
Bread  and  cheese,  and  spring  onions,  and  sound  table  beer, 
And  even  green  peas,  when  they  were  not  too  dear ; 
Not  like  the  Rule  of  La  Trappe,  whose  chief  merit  is 
Said  to  consist  in  its  greater  austerities ; 
And  whose  monks,  if  I  rightly  remember  their  Jaws, 

Ne'er  are  suffer'd  to  speak, 

Think  only  in  Greek, 

And  subsist,  as  the  Bears  do,  by  sucking  their  paws. 
Hence,  a  monk  of  La  Trappe  is  as  thin  as  a  rat, 
While  an  Austin  Friar  was  jolly  and  fat ; 
Though,  of  course,  the  fare  to  which  I  allude, 
With  as  good  table-beer  as  ever  was  brew'd, 
Was  all  "  caviare  to  the  multitude," 
Extending  alone  to  the  clergy,  together  in 
Hall  assembled,  and  not  to  Lay-brethren. 

St.  Dunstan  himself  sits  there  at  his  post, 

On  what  they  say  is 

Called  a  Dais, 

O'erlooking  the  whole  of  his  clerical  host, 
And  eating  poached  eggs  with  spinach  and  toast ; 
Five  Lay-brothers  stand  behind  his  chair, 
But  where  is  the  sixth  ?     Where  's  Peter  ? — Aye,  WHERE  ? 

'Tis  an  evening  in  June, 

And  a  little  half  moon, 
A  brighter  no  fond  lover  ever  set  eyes  on, 

Gleaming,  and  beaming, 

And  dancing  the  stream  in, 
Has  made  her  appearance  above  the  horizon  ; 
Just  such  a  half  moon  as  you  see,  in  a  play, 
On  the  turban  of  Mustapha  Muley  Bey, 

Or  the  fair  Turk  who  weds  with  the  "  Noble  Lord  Bateman  ;" 
—  FzWeplate  in  George  Cruickshank's  memoirs  of  that  great  man , 

She  shines  on  a  turret  remote  and  lone, 

A  turret  with  ivy  and  moss  overgrown, 

And  lichens  that  thrive  on  the  cold  dank  stone; 

Such  a  tower  as  a  Poet  of  no  mean  calibre 

I  once  knew  and  loved,  poor,  dear  Reginald  Heber, 

Assigns  to  Oblivion*— a  den  for  a  She  bear ; 

Within  it  are  found, 

Strew'd  above  and  around, 

*  And  cold  Oblivion,  midst  the  ruin  laid, 
Folds  her  dank  wing  beneath  the  ivy  shade. 


A    LAY   OF    ST.    DUNSTAN.  93 

On  the  hearth,  on  the  table,  the  shelves,  and  the  ground, 
All  sorts  of  instruments,  all  sorts  of  tools, 
To  name  which  and  their  uses  would  puzzle  the  Schools, 
And  make  very  wise  people  look  very  like  fools  ; 

Pincers,  and  hooks, 

And  black-letter  books, 
All  sorts  of  pokers,  and  all  sorts  of  tongs, 
And  all  sorts  of  hammers,  and  all  that  belongs 
To  Goldsmiths'  work,  chemistry,  alchymy,  —  all, 

In  short,  that  a  Sage 

In  that  erudite  age 

Could  require,  was  at  hand,  or  at  least  within  call. 
In  the  midst  of  the  room  lies  a  Broomstick  !  —  and  there 
A  Lay-brother  sits  in  a  rush-bottom'd  chair  ! 

Abracadabra,  that  fearful  word, 

And  the  two  which,  I  said,  I  have  never  yet  heard, 

Are  utter'd  —  'Tis  done  ! 

Peter,  full  of  his  fun, 

Cries  "  Broomstick  !  you  lubberly  Son  of  a  gun  ! 
Bring  ale  !  bring  a  flagon,  —  a  hogshead,  —  a  tun  ! 

'Tis  the  same  thing  to  you  ; 

I  have  nothing  to  do  ; 
And,  'fore  George,  I  '11  sit  here,  and  I  '11  drink  till  all  's  blue  ! 

No  doubt  you  've  remark'd  how  uncommonly  quick 

A  Newfoundland  puppy  runs  after  a  stick, 

Brings  it  back  to  his  master,  and  gives  it  him  —  Well, 

So  potent  the  spell, 

The  Broomstick  perceived  it  was  vain  to  rebel, 
So  ran  off  like  that  puppy;  —  some  cellar  was  near, 
For,  in  less  than  ten  seconds  'twas  back  with  the  beer. 

Peter  seizes  the  flagon  ;  but  ere  he  can  suck 

Its  contents,  or  enjoy  what  he  thinks  his  good  luck, 

The  Broomstick  comes  in  with  a  tub  in  a  truck  ; 

Continues  to  run 

At  the  rate  it  begun, 

And,  au  pied  de  lettre,  next  brings  in  a  tun  ! 
A  fresh  one  succeeds,  then  a  third,  then  another, 
Discomfiting  much  the  astounded  Lay-brother  ; 
Who,  had  he  possess'd  fifty  pitchers  or  stoups, 
They  had  all  been  too  few,  for,  arranging  in  groups 
The  barrels,  the  Broomstick  next  started  the  hoops  ; 

The  ale  deluged  the  floor, 

But,  still,  through  the  door, 
Said  Broomstick  kept  bolting,  and  bringing-  in  more. 

E'en  Macbeth  to  MacdufF 

Would  have  cried  "  Hold  !  enough  !  " 
If  half  as  well  drench'd  with  such  "  perilous  stun0," 


And  Peter,  who  did  not  expect  such  a  rough  visit, 

Cried  lustily,  "  Stop  !     That  will  do,  Broomstick  ! — Svfficit  f ' 

But  ah,  well-a-day  ! 

The  devil,  they  say, 
Tis  easier  at  all  times  to  raise  than  to  lay. 

Again  and  again 

Peter  roar'd  out  in  vain 
His  Abracadabra,  and  t'  other  words  twain; — 

As  well  might  one  try 

A  pack  in  full  cry 

To  check,  and  call  off  from  their  headlong  career, 
By  bawling  out  "  Yoicks  I  "  with  one's  hand  at  one's  ear. 
The  longer  he  roar'd,  and  the  louder  and  quicker, 
The  faster  the  Broomstick  was  bringing  in  liquor. 

The  poor  Lay-brother  knew 

Not  on  earth  what  to  do — 
He  caught  hold  of  the  Broomstick  and  snapt  it  in  two. — 

Worse  and  worse  ! — Like  a  dart 

Each  part  made  a  start, 

And  he  found  he  'd  been  adding  more  fuel  to  fire, 
For  both  now  came  loaded  with  Meux's  Entire ; 
Combe's,  Delafield's,  Hanbury's,  Truman's — no  stopping — 
Coding's,  Charenton's,  Whitbread's  continued  to  drop  in, 
With  Hodson's  pale  ale,  from  the  Sun  Brewhouse,  Wapping. 
The  firms  differ'd  then,  but  I  can't  put  a  tax  on 
My  memory  to  say  what  their  names  were  in  Saxon. 

To  be  sure  the  best  beer 

Of  all  did  not  appear; 

For  I  've  said  'twas  in  June,  and  so  late  in  the  year 
The  "  Trinity  Audit  Ale  "  is  not  come-at-able, 
As  I  found  to  my  great  grief  last  month  when  at  that  table. 

Now  extremely  alarm'd,  Peter  scream'd  without  ceasing, 
For  a  flood  of  Brown-stout  he  was  up  to  his  knees  in, 
Which,  thanks  to  the  Broomsticks,  continued  increasing; 

He  fear'd  he  'd  be  drown'd, 

And  he  yell'd  till  the  sound 

Of  his  voice,  wing'd  by  terror,  at  last  reach'd  the  ear 
Of  St.  Dunstan  himself,  who  had  finish'd  his  beer, 
And  had  put  off  his  mitre,  dalmatic,  and  shoes, 
And  was  just  stepping  into  his  bed  for  a  snooze. 

His  Holiness  paused  when  he  heard  such  a  clatter ; 

He  could  not  conceive  what  on  earth  was  the  matter. 

Slipping  on  a  few  things,  for  the  sake  of  decorum, 

He  issued  forthwith  from  his  sanctum  sanctorum, 

And  calling  a  few  of  the  lay-brothers  near  him, 

Who  were  not  yet  in  bed,  and  who  happen'd  to  hear  him, 

At  once  led  the  way, 

Without  farther  delay, 
To  the  tower  where  he  'd  been  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

A    LAY    OF   ST.  DUNSTAN.  95 

Poor  Peter  ! — alas!  though  St.  Dunstan  was  quick, 
There  were  two  there  before  him — Grim  Death  and  Old  Nick! — 
When  they  opened  the  door  out  the  malt-liquor  flow'd, 
Just  as  when  the  great  Vat  burst  in  Tot'nam  Court  Road  ; 
The  Lay-brothers  nearest  were  up  to  their  necks 
In  an  instant,  and  swimming  in  strong  double  X  ; 
While  Peter,  who,  spite  of  himself,  now  had  drank  hard, 
After  floating  awhile,  like  a  toast  in  a  tankard, 

To  the  bottom  had  sunk, 

And  was  spied  by  a  monk, 
Stone  dead,  like  poor  Clarence,  half  drown'd  and  half  drunk. 

In  vain  did  St.  Dunstan  exclaim  "  Vade  retro 
Strongbeerum  !  discede  a  Lay-fratre  Petro  !  " — 

Queer  Latin,  you  '11  say 

That  praefix  of  "  Lay" 

And  Strongbeerum! — I  own  they'd  have  call'd  me  a  blockhead  if 
At  school  I  had  ventured  to  use  such  a  Vocative, 
'Tis  a  barbarous  word,  and  to  me  it 's  a  query 
If  you'll  find  it  in  Patrick,  Morell,  or  Moreri  ; 
But,  the  fact  is,  the  Saint  was  uncommonly  flurried, 
And  apt  to  be  loose  in  his  Latin  when  hurried ; 
At  a  time,  too,  like  this,  you  can  well  understand, 
That  he  had  not,  like  Bentley,  an  Ainsworth  at  hand. 
The  Brown-stout,  however,  obeys  to  the  letter, 
Quite  as  well  as  if  talk'd  to,  in  Latin  much  better, 

By  a  grave  Cambridge  Johnian, 

Or  graver  Oxonian, 

WThose  language,  we  all  know,  is  quite  Ciceronian. 
It  retires  from  the  corpse,  which  is  left  high  and  dry ; 
But,  in  vain  do  they  snuff  and  hot  towels  apply, 
And  other  means  used  by  the  faculty  try. 

When  once  a  man  's  dead 

There 's  no  more  to  be  said, 
Peter's  "  Beer  with  an  e  "  was  his  "  Bier  with  an  i  !!  " 


Byway  of  a  moral,  permit  me  to  pop  in 
The  following  maxims  : — Beware  of  eaves-dropping  ! — 
Don't  make  use  of  language  that  isn't  well  scann'd  !  — 
Don't  meddle  with  matters  you  don't  understand! — 
Above  all,  what  I  'd  wish  to  impress  on  both  sexes 
Is, — Keep  clear  of  Broomsticks,  Old  Nick,  and  three  XXXs. 


In  Goldsmith's  Hall  there  's  a  handsome  glass  case, 

And  in  it  a  stone  figure  found  on  the  place, 

When,  thinking  the  old  Hall  no  longer  a  pleasant  one, 

They  pull'd  it  all  down,  and  erected  the  present  one. 

If  you  look,  you'll  perceive  that  this  ston»  figure  twists 

A  thing  like  a  broomstick  in  one  of  its  fists. 

It 's  so  injured  by  time,  you  can't  make  out  a  feature  ; 

But  it  is  not  St.  Dunstan, — so  no  doubt  it 's  Peter. 




Briefly  details  a  slight  love-skirmish  between  Sammy  and  Miss  Sowersoft,  which 
took  place  before  Colin,  while  that  youth  was  supposed  to  be  asleep,  and  also 
illustrates  the  manner  in  which  old  maids  sometimes  endeavour  to  procure 
themselves  husbands — Colin's  employment  at  the  lodge. — He  becomes  involved 
in.  a  dilemma,  which  threatens  unheard  of  consequences. 

AFTER  Colin  had  spent  some  twenty  minutes  where  we  left 
him  at  the  conclusion  of  the  eleventh  chapter,  he  crept  into 
bed.  The  room  in  which  he  lay  being  partly  in  the  roof,  ad- 
mitted only  of  a  very  small  window  in  the  upright  portion  of 
the  wall,  and  that  was  placed  so  close  to  the  floor  as  to  throw 
very  little  light  into  the  apartment,  except  during  a  strong  day 
or  moonlight. 

The  candle  being  extinguished,  Colin  could  see  nothing  save 
a  small  square  of  dim  light  where  the  window  was.  Below 
stairs  he  could  hear  the  muttering  of  voices,  as  Miss  Sowersoft 
dabbed  Palethorpe's  eyes  with  her  cloth  and  warm  water ;  and 
in  the  false  floor  over  his  head  the  sound  of  rats,  who  were  at 
work  in  the  roof,  making  noise  sufficient  over  their  labours  to 
have  kept  awake,  during  the  whole  night,  any  person  less  accus- 
tomed to  that  kind  of  nocturnal  entertainment  than  the  inhabit- 
ants of  country-houses  usually  are.  Colin  could  usually  have 
slept  soundly  had  all  the  rats  in  Christendom  been  let  loose  in  a 
legion  about  him,  but  he  could  not  sleep  to-night.  It  was  pitch- 
dark  ;  he  was  in  a  strange  place,  with  brutal  employers,  who 
disliked  him  only  because  he  had  offered  to  relieve  a  poor  old 
man  of  some  portion  of  his  labours.  Who  knew  —  for  such 
things  had  been  heard  of,  and  passionate  men  often  took  their 
revenge,  regardless  of  consequences — who  knew,  as  Mr.  Pale- 
thorpe  was  to  occupy  the  adjoining  bed,  that  he  might  not  take 
advantage  of  his  sleep,  and  steal  out  in  the  night  to  murder 
him  ?  He  might  do  so,  and  then  throw  him  down  the  brook, 
as  he  had  threatened,  or  perhaps  bury  him  deep  in  the  garden, 
and  say  in  the  morning  that  he  had  run  away. 

With  these,  and  similar  imaginations,  did  Colin  keep  himself 
awake  in  a  feverish  state  of  terror  during  a  space  of  time 
which  to  him  seemed  almost  endless  ;  for,  however  groundless 
and  ridiculous  such  fears  may  be  deemed  by  the  stout-hearted 
reader  who  peruses  this  by  broad  daylight,  he  must  be  pleased 
to  call  to  mind  that  poor  Colin  was  neither  of  an  age  nor  in  a 
situation  in  which  great  account  is  commonly  made  of  probabi- 
lities. The  boy's  fancies  were  at  length  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  something  more  real.  A  light  shot  through  the 
chinks  of  the  door,  and  run  an  ignis-fatuus  kind  of  chase 

COLIN    CLINK.  97 

round  the  walls  and  ceiling,  as  it  advanced  up  stairs  in  the 
hands  of  the  maid  Sally.  'Shortly  afterwards  the  door  was  gently 
pushed  open  ;  and  while  Colin's  heart  beat  violently  against  the 
bars  of  its  cage,  and  his  breath  came  short  and  loud,  like  that 
of  a  sleeper  in  a  troubled  dream,  he  saw  a  huge  warming-pan 
flaring  through  its  twenty  eyes  with  red-hot  cinders,  protruded 
through  the  opening,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  handle  Miss 
Sally  herself.  She  placed  her  candle  down  in  the  passage,  in 
order  to  avoid  awakening  Colin  with  its  light,  and  then  com- 
menced warming  Mr.  Palethorpe's  bed  with  that  peculiar  skill 
and  delicacy  of  touch,  which  at  once  betrayed  the  experienced 
hand  of  a  mistress.  By  the  time  that  operation  was  about 
finished,  the  feet  of  two  other  individuals  creeping  cautiously 
up  were  heard  on  the  stairs.  Then  a  voice  whispered  circum- 
spectly, but  earnestly, 

"  Now,  Sammy,  make  haste  and  get  in  while  it  is  nice  and 
hot,  or  else  it  will  do  you  no  good  ;  and  in  a  minute  or  two  1  '11 
be  up  again  with  that  warm  posset,  so  that  you  can  have  it 
when  you  Ve  lain  down." 

Sammy  and  Miss  Sowersoft  then  entered,  the  latter  having 
come  up  stairs  with  no  other  intention,  apparently,  than  that  of 
frustrating  by  her  presence  any  design  which  Palethorpe  might 
else  have  had  of  rewarding  Sally  for  her  trouble  with  a  gentle 
salute  upon  the  cheek.  Having  seen  the  maid  safe  out  of  the 
chamber,  Miss  Maria  returned  down  stairs. 

Colin  now  began  to  tremble  in  earnest ;  for  he  indistinctly 
heard  Palethorpe  muttering  words  of  violence  against  every  one 
of  them  without  exception,  and  threatening  to  kick  the  house 
upside  down  before  another  day  was  over  his  head.  By  and  by 
the  cautious  approach  of  his  footsteps  towards  Colin's  bed 
caused  the  boy  to  peep  out  through  the  merest  chink  between 
his  eyelids,  when  he  beheld  the  hideous  face  of  the  farming-man 
almost  close  to  his  own,  with  its  huge  swollen  and  blackened 
features  fixed  in  an  expression  of  deep  malice  upon  him,  and  a 
ponderous  clenched  fist  held  threateningly  near  his  face,  as  the 
horrible  gazer  muttered  between  his  forcibly  closed  teeth. 

"  I  '11  pay  you  your  wages  for  this,  young  man  !  I  '11  reckon 
with  you  in  a  new  fashion  before  long  !  You  shall  repent  this 
night  to  the  last  end  of  your  life,  that  shall  you  !  I  could  split 
your  skull  now,  if  you  were  not  asleep.  But  you  may  rest  this 
time  ! " 

Saying  which,  he  retired  to  bed.  Immediately  afterwards 
Miss  Maria  Sowersoft  glided  noiselessly  in,  with  a  huge  basin  of 
treacle-posset  in  one  hand,  and  one  of  her  own  linen  nightcaps, 
which  she  had  been  heating  by  the  fire,  in  the  other.  This  last- 
named  article  she  at  once  proceeded  to  place  on  Sammy's  head, 
and  tie  under  his  chin ;  because  the  long  tabs' with  which  it  was 
supplied,  would  cover  his  bruised  face  much  better  than  any 
cap  of  his  own.  As  Colin  glanced  from  under  the  clothes  he 

VOL.  vi.  a 

98  COLIN    CLINK. 

could  scarcely  forbear  laughing,  in  spite  of  his  fears,  at  the  odd 
combination  which  his  mistress's  Cupid  suggested, — of  a  copper- 
coloured,  black-bearded  face,  with  the  primly-starched,  snowy 
trillings  of  a  woman's  nightcap. 

"  Is  he  asleep,  Sammy  ?"  asked  Miss  Maria  in  a  low  whisper. 

"  A  deal  faster  than  he  deserves  to  be,"  replied  that  worthy. 

"  I  will  just  step  across,  and  see,"  observed  the  lady  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly trod  lightly  over  the  floor  in  order  to  assure  herself  of 
the  fact.  Colin's  closed  eyes,  his  silence,  and  his  quick  full 
breathing,  confirmed  her  in  the  pleasing  delusion  ;  and  she  re- 
turned to  Palethorpe's  bedside,  and  deposited  herself  in  a  chair 
with  the  remark  that,  under  those  circumstances,  she  would  sit 
with  him  a  few  minutes.  As  she  gazed  with  admiration  on  the 
uncouth  countenance  of  Palethorpe,  set,  like  a  picture,  in  the 
white  frame  of  her  own  cap  ;  and  watched  him  deliberately  trans- 
fer spoonful  after  spoonful  of  the  posset  from  the  basin  into  the 
ill-shaped  hole  in  his  own  face,  she  heaved  a  profound  sigh, 
which  seemed  one  moment  to  inflate  her  bosom  like  a  balloon, 
and  the  next  to  collapse  it  again  as  closely  as  poor  Cooking's  pa- 
rachute. Palethorpe  went  on  with  his  posset. 

"  Ay,  dear  !  "  she  sighed  again. 

"  What's  amiss,  meesis  ? "  asked  Sammy  as  soon  as  the  emp- 
tied basin  left  him  at  liberty  to  speak. 

"  Nothing,  Sammy, —  nothing.  Ay,  dear  !  I  'm  quite  well, 
as  far  as  that  goes,"  replied  Miss  Maria  very  despondingly. 

"  But  you  have  summat  not  right,  I  'm  sure,"  persisted  he. 

"  Oh,  it  is  of  no  matter  !  "  she  sighed  again. 

"  But,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  a  third  time  asked. 

"  It  does  not  signify  much,"  she  again  remarked ;  "  it  will  be 
all  the  same  a  few  years  hence." 

"  You  Ve  tired  yourself  to  death  with  that  mangle,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  said  Sammy. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  voice  which  betrayed 
some  slight  offence  at  the  vulgarity  of  his  suggestion  ;  "  it  is  a 
very  different  sort  of  mangle  to  that.  I  am  sure  I  am  mangled 
enough  by  people's  indifference." 

"  Why,  as  for  that,"  replied  Sammy,  trying  to  exculpate  him- 
self from  any  charge  of  neglect,  "  you  are  meesis  of  th1  house, 
and  don't  want  to  be  pressed  to  your  meat  and  drink  like  a 

"  Meat  and  drink  !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  though  indignant  that 
such  animal  ideas  should  degrade  the  present  elevation  of  her 
soul,  "  I  care  nothing  about  meat  and  drink,  not  I.  You  seem 
as  if  you  could  see  nothing,  though  people  make  the  plainest 
allusions  that  female  propriety  considers  decent  for  any  woman 
to  do." 

Mr.  Palethorpe  looked  astonished  as  he  observed, 

"  Well,  I  'm  sure,  meesis,  you  can't  say  that  ever  I  made  any 
allusions  to  female  propriety." 

COLIN    CLINK.  99 

«  NO?  — that 's  it  !  there  it  is  !  "  sighed  Miss  Maria  ;  "  though 
you  get  all  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  are  treated  more  like  a  gen- 
tleman in  the  house  than  like  what  you  are,  you  never  make  the 
least  allusions." 

Palethorpe  protested  that  under  those  circumstances  he  ought 
to  feel  all  the  more  ashamed  of  himself  if  he  did  make  allusions, 
or  else  other  people  would  think  it  very  odd  of  him. 

"Oh,  then  the  truth's  out  at  last,  is  it?"  said  Miss  Maria, 
"  you  have  other  people,  have  you  ?  Ay,  dear  !  "  and  she  ap- 
parently fell  a-crying.  "  It 's  impossible,  then,  for  all  the  good- 
ness in  the  world  to  make  any  impression.  Oh,  Sammy  — 
Sammy  !" 

Saying  which  she  rose  up,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
and  walked  towards  the  door,  muttering  as  she  went,  that  since 
he  seemed  so  very  fond  of  other  people,  other  people  might  feed 
him,  as  that  was  the  last  posset  he  would  ever  have  from  her 
hands.  Mr.  Palethorpe  endeavoured  several  times  to  recall  her; 
but  Miss  Sowersoft's  new  jealousy  of  other  people  had  rendered 
her  inexorable  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  a  few  more  seconds  her  own 
chamber-door  was  heard  to  slam  to,  and  to  be  most  resolutely 
bolted  and  locked  behind  her.  Our  worthy  uttered  a  discontented 
groan,  and  composed  himself  to  sleep;  an  example  which  Colin 
was  enabled  some  long  time  after  to  follow ;  though  not  before 
his  weariness  had  completely  overpowered  his  fears  of  danger 
from  the  savage  sharer  of  his  dormitory. 

While  yet  in  the  middle  of  his  slumber,  and  busy  with  a  dream 
of  home,  which  placed  him  again  in  the  bright  warm  sunshine 
by  the  step  of  his  mother's  door,  Colin  was  suddenly  startled 
by  the  dragging  of  every  inch  of  bed-covering  from  off  him, 
and  the  not  very  sparing  application  of  a  hand-whip  about 
his  body,  while  the  voice  of  Palethorpe  summoned  him,  under 
the  courteous  title  of  a  lazy  heavy-headed  young  rascal,  to  turn 
out,  and  get  himself  off  to  work.  It  was  nearly  broad  day -light ; 
and  our  hero  obeyed  the  summons  with  considerable  alacrity, 
though  not  without  informing  his  driver  at  the  same  time  that 
there  was  no  occasion  for  a  whip  to  him,  because  a  word  would 
have  done  quite  as  well,  if  not  better. 

"  Then  you  shall  have  both,  to  make  sure,  and  plenty  of 
them  too,"  replied  Mr.  Palethorpe.  "  If  long  scores  are  ever  to 
be  cleared  off',  we  should  begin  to  pay  ""em  betimes  ;  and  I  have  a 
score  chalked  on  for  you  that  will  want  interest  before  it  is  dis- 
charged, I  know.  Mark,  you  will  have  this  every  morning  re- 
gularly if  you  are  not  down  stairs  as  the  clock  strikes  six,  neither 
sooner  nor  later.  If  you  get  up  too  soon,  I  shall  lay  on  you  just 
the  same  as  if  you  got  up  too  late,  — for  a  right  hour  is  a  right 
hour,  and  six  exactly  is  our  time.  I  '11  make  you  feel  where 
your  mistake  was,  my  boy,  when  you  thought  of  coming  mester 
here  !  There's  last  night's  job  I  owe  you  for  yet,  and  a  good 
price  you  shall  pay  for  it,  or  else  I  don't  know  how  to  reckon." 


A  blow  on  the  right  ear,  and  another  on  the  left,  immediately 
after,  in  order  to  keep  his  head  in  the  middle,  fell  to  Colin's  lot 
at  the  conclusion  of  this  harangue ;  and  a  push  at  the  back  of 
the  neck  which  followed  directly,  enabled  him  to  get  out  of  the 
room  somewhat  more  speedily  than  he  would  have  done  without 
that  assistance.  But  to  all  this — though  taken  much  in  dudgeon 
—being  mildness  itself  as  compared  with  what  might  have  been 
expected,  Colin  submitted  in  a  sturdy  mood,  and  without  saying 
anything ;  though  he  did  not  forget  to  promise  himself  at  some 
future  day  to  adjust  the  balances  between  them. 

In  consequence  of  the  lack-a-daisical  turn  which  Miss  Sower- 
sofVs  interview  with  Sammy  had  taken  on  the  preceding  night, 
that  lady  denied  to  the  household  the  pleasure  of  her  company 
at  breakfast,  as  she  could  not  meet  the  ungrateful  Mr.  Pale- 
thorpe  before  company  again,  until  an  explanation  in  private 
had  taken  place.  Poor  old  George,  all  benignity,  and  looking 
like  an  elder  of  some  by -gone  age,  seemed  more  than  usually 
anxious  to  promote  good  feeling  amongst  his  fellows,  and  to 
restore  that  harmony  which  had  been  destroyed  the  evening 
before,  on  his  account.  But  Palethorpe  was  unforgiving,  and 
Abel  unrepentant :  so  that,  whatever  might  be  the  disposition 
of  others,  those  two  characters  at  least  regarded  each  other 
over  the  table  much  in  the  same  manner  as,  it  might  be  sup- 
posed, would  two  of  Mr.  WombwelFs  beasts  placed  on  opposite 
sides  of  his  menagerie,  when  before  a  meal-time  they  address 
each  other  in  that  language  of  the  eyes  of  which  poets  speak, 
and  seem  to  intimate  a  very  unequivocal  desire  to  dine  upon  one 

That  day  Master  Colin  took  his  first  lesson  in  field-craft,  by 
being  set  to  gather  stones  from  off  the  wheat-sown  lands,  before 
the  blade  was  more  than  an  inch  or  two  out  of  the  ground. 
His  out-door  labours  were  concluded  at  six  in  the  evening  ; 
after  which  time,  as  the  horses  remained  to  be  put  up,  he  was 
drilled  in  the  art  of  cleaning,  bedding,  harnessing,  and  manag- 
ing those  animals:  and,  after  that  was  done,  he  was  allowed, 
by  way  of  amusement,  to  spend  the  remaining  few  hours  be- 
fore bed-time  in  setting  rat-traps,  or  accompanying  some  one 
or  other  of  the  men  in  weasel-shooting  along  the  banksides 
and  hedges. 

Some  few  days  elapsed  without  a  reconcilement  having  taken 
place  between  Palethorpe  and  his  mistress  ;  during  which  time 
our  hero  fared  considerably  better  than  otherwise  he  might 
have  done  ;  partly  because  Miss  Sowersoft's  attention  was  not 
now  so  completely  engrossed  as  it  had  hitherto  been,  by  her 
favourite;  and  partly  because  that  very  pleasant  personage 
himself,  while  unsupported  by  the  smiles  and  attentions  of  his 
mistress,  was  by  no  means  so  formidable  in  his  displays  of 
courage  as  otherwise  he  would  have  been.  The  prospect  which 
had  broken  on  Colin's  mind  on  his  first  introduction  to  Snitter- 

COLIN    CLINK.  101 

ton  began  accordingly  to  brighten  considerably.  He  liked  his 
employment  in  the  fields,  as  well  as  all  that  followed  it,  so 
well,  that,  when  on  the  ensuing  Sunday  he  asked  for  leave  to 
walk  over  to  Bramleigh  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  his  mother 
and  Fanny,  and  was  at  once  peremptorily  denied,  he  felt  that 
denial  as  no  very  great  hardship  ;  but  soon  made  up  his  mind  to 
spend  the  day  as  pleasantly  as  he  could,  and  to  write  a  letter  to 
Fanny,  detailing  his  thoughts  and  opinions,  his  likings  and  dis- 
likings,  instead. 

These  resolves  he  eventually  put  into  execution  :  and  every- 
thing very  probably  might  have  gone  on  smoothly  enough,  had 
not  a  circumstance  utterly  unforeseen,  occurred,  whereby  lie 
himself  was  brought  into  a  second  dilemma  with  his  mistress 
and  Palethorpe,  still  worse  than  the  previous  one ;  and  whereby, 
also,  the  plain-spoken  epistle  which  he  had  secretly  indited  for 
the  private  and  especial  perusal  of  his  mother  and  Fanny,  was, 
in  an  evil  hour,  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the  identical  parties 
about  whom,  in  its  honest  simplicity,  it  told  so  many  truthful 
libels.  But  the  shame  of  Miss  Sowersoft  was  so  deep,  and  the 
rage  of  Palethorpe  so  high,  and  the  consequences  of  both  to  our 
hero  so  important,  that  I  verily  believe  it  will  occupy  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  next  chapter  to  describe  them. 


Demonstrates,  in  the  case  of  Miss  Sowersoft  and  Mr.  Samuel  Palethorpe,  the  folly 
of  people  being  too  curious  about  the  truth,  in  matters  better  left  in  the  dark. 
Colin  is  subjected  to  a  strict  examination,  in  which  the  judge,  instead  of  the  cul- 
prit, is  convicted.  Colin's  punishment. 

THAT  period  of  the  year  having  now  arrived  when  the  days 
were  materially  lengthened,  as  well  as  increased  in  warmth,  Colin 
selected  an  hour  or  two  one  evening  after  his  day's  labour  was  over, 
for  the  purpose  of  writing  that  letter  to  his  mother  and  Fanny 
which  he  had  projected  some  short  time  before.  In  order  to  do 
this,  both  by  a  good  light,  and  away  from  the  probability  of  in- 
trusion, he  selected  a  little  spot  of  ground,  formed  by  an  obtuse 
angle  of  the  brook,  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden  ;  though  divided 

•  • 

from  it  by  a  thick  clump  of  holly,  intermingled  with  hawthorn 
and  wild  briar.  On  this  grassy  knoll  he  sat  down  to  his  task ; 
making  a  higher  portion  of  its  slope  serve  as  a  natural  table  to 
hold  his  ink  and  paper. 

Those  vespers  which  Nature  herself  offers  up  to  her  Creator 
amidst  the  magnificent  cathedral  columns  of  her  own  tall  trees; 
the  loud  songs  of  the  blackbird  and  the  thrush,  and  the  occa- 
sional shrill  cry  of  the  discontented  pewet  as  it  swept  in  tem- 
pestuous circles  over  the  distant  arable  land,  were  loudly  heard 
around  him ;  while,  some  two  or  three  yards  below  the  spot 
where  he  sat,  a  ridge  of  large  stones,  placed  across  the  rivulet 
for  the  greater  convenience  of  crossing,  partially  held  up  the 

102  COLIN   CLINK. 

water,  and  caused  an  eternal  poppling  murmur,  as  that  portion 
which  forced  its  escape  between  them,  rushed  with  mimic  velo- 
city into  the  tiny  gulf  that  lay  some  ten  or  twelve  inches  below. 
Colin  felt  elevated  and  happy.  He  could  scarcely  write  many 
complainings  there ;  although  he  had  been  so  disappointed  and 
ill-used  on  his  arrival.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  bound  to  tell  the 
truth  as  far  as  it  went,  though  not  to  represent  himself  as  mate- 
rially unhappy  in  consequence  of  the  behaviour  which  had  been 
adopted  towards  him.  In  this  task,  then,  he  proceeded,  until 
the  hundreds  of  bright  twinkling  leaves  which  at  first  glittered 
around  him  in  the  stray  beams  of  sunlight,  had  all  resolved 
themselves  into  one  mass  of  broad  shade  ;  to  this  succeeded  a 
red  horizontal  light  upon  the  upper  portions  of  the  trees  to  the 
eastward,  as  though  their  tops  were  tipped  with  fire  ;  which 
also  rapidly  faded,  and  left  him,  by  the  time  he  had  about  con- 
cluded his  letter,  scarcely  able  any  longer  to  follow  with  his 
sight  the  course  of  his  pen  upon  the  paper. 

Having  wrapped  his  epistle  awkwardly  up,  he  placed  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  was  about  to  emerge  from  his  rural  study,  when  the 
leisurely  tread  of  feet  approaching  down  the  garden-path,  and 
the  subdued  sound  of  tongues  which  he  too  well  knew,  caused 
him  to  step  back,  and  closer  to  the  clumps  of  holly,  in  the  hope 
of  getting  away  unobserved  when  the  individuals  whom  he 
wished  to  avoid,  had  passed.  They  still  continued  to  converse; 
and  the  first  distinct  words  Colin  heard  were  these  : — 

"  I  am  sure,  out  of  the  many,  very  many  excellent  offers,  I 
have  had  made  me, — excellent  offers  they  were, — I  might  have 
done  so  over  and  over  again  ;  but  I  never  intended  to  be  mar- 
ried. I  always  liked  to  be  my  own  mistress  and  my  own  master ; 
and,  besides  that,  it  does  entail  so  much  trouble  on  people  in 
one  way  or  another.  Really,  when  I  look  on  that  great  family 
of  my  brother  Ted,  I  am  fit  to  fancy  it  is  pulling  him  down  to 
the  ground  ;  and,  I  positively  believe  it  would,  if  he  did  not 
take  advantage  of  his  situation  in  trade,  and  rap  and  wring  every 
farthing  out  of  everybody  in  any  way  that  he  possibly  can, 
without  being  at  all  particular  ;  —  though  they  are  sweet  chil- 
dren, they  are  I  Ay,  but  something  must  be  risked,  and  some- 
thing must  be  sacrificed  ;  we  cannot  have  it  both  ways, — at  least 
— a — humph  ! — I  mean  to  say,  that  when  people  do  get  married, 
they  must  make  up  their  minds  to  strike  the  best  balance  between 
them  mutually  that  they  are  able.  That  is  my  candid  opinion 
of  things;  and,  when  I  look  upon  them  in  that  light — when  I 
think  about  them  in  that  manner,  and  say  to  myself,  there  is 
this  on  this  side,  and  nothing  on  that  side,  which  should  I  take? 
I  lose  my  resolution,  — •  I  don't  know  ;  I  feel  that,  by  a  person 
to  whom  I  had  no  objection  in  any  other  shape,  I  might  perhaps 
be  superinduced  to  do  as  others  have  done,  and  to  make  a  sacri- 
fice of  my  little  something,  whatever  it  is,  for  the  sake  of  spend- 
ing our  lives  in  that  kind  of  dome>tic  combination  which  binds 

COLIN    CLINK.  103 

people  together  more  than  anything  else  ever  can.  I  am  weak 
on  that  point,  I  know  ;  'but  then,  the  home  affections,  as  Mr. 
Longstaff  says,  constitute  a  very  worthy  and  amiable  weakness." 
Miss  Sowersoft  uttered  this  last  sentence  in  such  a  peculiar 
tone  of  self-satisfied  depreciation,  as  evidently  proved  that  she 
considered  herself  a  much  more  eligible  subject,  on  account  of 
that  identical  weakness  which  she  had  verbally  condemned,  than 
she  would  have  been  if  wholly  free  from  it. 

"  Well,  meesis,"  replied  Mr.  Palethorpe,  with  considerate  deli- 
beration, "  I  should  have  no  objection  to  our  union,  if  it  so  hap- 
pened that  we  were  not  doing  very  well  as  we  are  at  present ; 
and,  while  we  are  making  a  little  money  to  put  by  every  week,  I 
think  it  is  as  well  just  now  to  let  good  alone.  1  should  like — 

"Oh,  you  misunderstand  me !"  exclaimed  Miss  Maria;  "I 
did  not  make  any  allusions  to  you  in  particular.  Oh,  no  !  I  have 
had  very  many  most  excellent  offers,  and  could  have  them  now 
for  that  matter;  but  then,  you  see,  I  was  only  just  saying, 
as  the  thought  came  across  my  mind,  that  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  said  against  being  married,  and  something  against 
keeping  single.  I  remember  the  time  when  I  could  not  bear 
the  very  thoughts  of  a  man  about  me  ;  but,  somehow,  as  one 
gets  older  we  see  so  much  more  of  the  world,  and  ont's  ideas 
change  almost  as  much  as  one's  bodies;  really,  I  am  as  different 
as  another  woman  to  what.  I  once  was.  Somehow,  I  don't  know 
how,  but  so  it  happens  —  Ah  !  "  shrieked  Miss  Sowersoft,  in- 
terrupting herself  in  the  demonstration  of  this  very  meta- 
physical and  abstruse  point  in  her  discourse,  "  take  hold  of  me, 
dear,  —  take  hold  of  me  !  I  \e  trod  on  a  toad,  I  believe  !  " 

At  the  same  time  she  threw  her  arms  up  to  Mr.  Palethorpe 
for  protection  ;  and,  very  accidentally,  of  course,  they  chanced 
to  alight  round  that  worthy's  neck.  A  round  dozen  of  rough- 
bearded  kisses,  which  even  he,  stoic  as  he  was,  could  not  refrain 
from  bestowing  upon  her,  in  order  to  revive  and  restore  her  spi- 
rits, smacked  loudly  on  the  dusky  air,  and  set  poor  little  Colin 
a-laughing  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  that !"  earnestly  whispered  the  farming- 
man.  "  There 's  somebody  under  the  brook  bank  !  "  and,  as  he 
instantly  disengaged  Miss  Sowersoft  from  his  arms,  he  rushed 
round  the  holly-bushes,  and  caught  fast  hold  of  Colin,  just  as 
that  unlucky  lad  was  making  a  speedy  retreat  across  the  rivulet 
into  the  opposite  orchard.  "  What !  it  is  you,  you  young  divel, 
is  it  ?  "  exclaimed  he  in  a  fury,  as  he  dragged  the  boy  up  the 
sloping  bank,  and  bestowed  upon  him  sundry  kicks,  scarcely  in- 
ferior to  those  of  a  vicious  horse,  with  his  heavy,  clench-nailed, 
quarter-boots.  "  You  're  listening  after  your  meesis,  now,  are 
you  ?  Dang  your  meddling  carcass  !  I  '11  stop  your  ears  for  you  ! " 
And,  bang  went  his  ponderous  fist  on  Colin's  organs  of  Secre- 
iveness  and  Acquisitiveness,  until  his  head  sung  again  through- 
out, like  a  seething  caldron. 

1C4<  COLIN    CLINK. 

"  Tliat  's  right ! "  cried  Miss  Sowersoft ;  "  make  him  feel ; 
drag  him  up  ;  my  face  burns  with  shame  at  him  ;  I  'm  as  hot  as 
a  scarlet-fever,  I  am  —  a  young  scoundrel !" 

And  Colin  was  pulled  up  on  to  the  level  part  of  the  garden, 
more  like  a  half-killed  rat  than  a  half-grown  human  being. 

"  We'll  know  how  this  is,  meesis,"  said  Mr.  Palethorpe,  when 
he  had  fairly  landed  his  cargo.  "  I  '11  see  to  th'  bottom  of  it  be- 
fore he  goes  into  th'  house.  He  sha'n't  have  a  chance  of  being 
backed  up  in  his  impudence  as  he  was  t'other  night." 

"  Take  him  into  the  thrashing-barn,"  advised  Miss  Sowersoft, 
"and  we  can  have  him  there  in  private." 

Colin  now  found  breath  to  put  in  a  protest  against  the  bill  of 
indictment  which  they  were  preferring  against  him. 

"  I  was  not  listening,"  said  he ;  "I  was  only  writing  a  letter 
to  my  mother,  I  'm  sure  !" 

"  What !  at  dark  hour  ?  "  ejaculated  Palethorpe  with  a  laugh. 
"  Come  along,  you  young  liar  !  you  sha'n't  escape  that  way." 

Accordingly  he  dragged  the  lad  up  the  garden,  and  behind 
the  house,  into  the  spacious  barn,  of  which  Miss  Sowersoft  had 
spoken:  and,  while  that  innocent  lady  went  to  procure  a  lan- 
tern, her  favourite  held  him  tightly  by  the  collar;  save  when, 
occasionally,  to  beguile  the  time  until  her  return,  he  regaled  him 
with  a  severe  shake,  and  an  additional  curse  or  two  upon  his 
vagabond  and  mischievous  carcass. 

"  Do  you  think  he  knows  anything  about  it  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Sowersoft  aside  to  Palethorpe,  as  she  entered  the  barn,  and  the 
dim  light  of  her  horn-lantern  summoned  to  view  the  spectral  ap- 
pearances— rather  than  the  distinct  objects  themselves — of  vari- 
ous implements  of  husbandry,  and  of  heaps  of  thrashed  wheat 
and  straw  scattered  around. 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  but  I  should  think  not  much,"  said  he. 

"  I  hope  not,"  rejoined  Miss  Maria,  "  or  it  will  get  into  every- 
body's mouth.  But,  we  will  question  him  very  closely;  we'll 
have  it  out  of  him  by  hook  or  by  crook." 

She  then  held  a  broken  side  of  the  lantern  a  little  above 
Colin's  face,  in  order  to  cast  the  better  light  upon  it ;  and  pro- 
ceeded to  question  the  culprit. 

"  Now,  before  I  ask  you  a  single  question,  promise  to  tell  me 
the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  Now,  mark ;  I  shall 
know  whether  you  speak  the  truth  or  not,  so  it  will  be  of  no  use 
to  try  to  deceive  me.  Tell  me  whether  you  heard  me  and 
Sammy  talking  in  the  garden  ;  and  whether  you  saw  him  pick 
me  up  so  very  kindly  when  I  slipped  down  ;  and  then  tell  me  for 
what  purpose  you  were  standing  behind  those  trees  ?  No  false- 
hoods, now.  The  truth,  nothing  else.  Take  care ;  because  if 
you  say  anything  untrue  I  shall  know  it  directly  ;  and  then  woe 
be  to  you  for  your  trouble  !  " 

"  I  always  do  tell  truth,"  replied  Colin,  crying,  "  without 
being  frightened  into  it  that  way.  I  'm  sure  I  had  only  been 

COLIN    CLINK.  105 

writing  a  letter  to  my  mother  and  Fanny  ;  and  I  stood  there 
because  I  did  not  want  anybody  to  catch  me." 

"  And  why  did  not  you  want  anybody  to  catch  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  because  I  didn't,"  answered  Colin. 

"  Because  you  didn't  !  "  exclaimed  Sammy,  as  he  emerged 
from  out  the  shadow  of  Miss  Sowersoft's  figure  ;  "  what  answer 
is  that,  you  sulky  ill-looking  whelp?  Give  her  a  proper  answer, 
or  I  '11  send  my  fist  in  your  face  in  a  minnit !  " 

Miss  Maria  put  her  hand  on  Sammy's  arm  to  keep  him  back, 
—  not  so  much  to  prevent  him  carrying  his  threat  into  exe- 
cution, as  because  his  interference  seemed  to  imply  a  doubt 
of  her  own  abilities  in  worming  all  she  wanted  to  know  out  of 
the  boy  before  her. 

"  But  why  didn't  you  ?  "  she  asked  again,  more  emphatically. 

"  Because  they  might  want  to  read  my  letter." 

"  Oh,  —  there  "s  something  in  it  not  to  be  seen,  is  there  ?  " 
continued  the  inquisitor,  as  her  cheeks  reddened  with  fears  of 
she  knew  not  what. 

"  It  is  all  truth, — every  word  of  it  !  "  contended  Colin. 

"  Ay,  ay,  my  lad,  we  must  see  about  that.  I  cannot  let  you 
send  a  whole  pack  of  falsehoods  over  to  Bramleigh,  and  make 
as  much  mischief  in  my  family  as  your  mother  made  in  Mr. 
Longstaff's.  It  is  needful  to  look  after  your  doings.  Is  the 
letter  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

Having  received  an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  she  directed 
Palethorpe  to  search  him  for  it ;  an  operation  which  that  amiable 
individual  very  soon  concluded  by  drawing  the  desired  document 
from  his  trowsers. 

"  Oh,  this  is  it,  is  it  ?"  said  Miss  Maria,  as  she  partly  opened 
it  to  assure  herself.  "  Well,  well,"  folding  it  up  again  :  "  we  11 
read  this  by  and  by.  Now,  what  did  you  hear  us  talking 
about  ?  If  you  say  anything  shameful,  now,  —  and  we  shall 
know  whether  it  is  true  or  not  directly  that  we  hear  it,  —  if  you 
do  not  say  something — a — .  You  know  what  Scripture  tells 
you,  —  always  to  speak  well  of  your  mistress  and  master.  Be 
careful,  now.  What  did  we  say  ?  " 

"  Please,  'um,"  replied  Colin,  "  you  said,  that  when  people 
get  married  they  strike  a  balance  between  them  ;  and  that  if 
one  thing  was  on  one  side,  and  nothing  on  the  other,  you  should 
lose  your  resolution,  and  make  a  sacrifice  of  your  little  some- 
thing, whatever  it  is." 

"  Oh,  you  little  wretch  !  "  ejaculated  Maria.  "  Go  on  with 
your  lies,  go  on  !  and  you  shall  have  it  on  your  shoulders  when 
you  have  done.  What  else,  you  vile  toad  ?" 

Colin  stood  mute. 

"  What  next,  I  say  !  "  stormed  the  lady,  with  a  furious  stamp 
of  the  right  foot. 

"  Why,  then,  mum,"  added  Colin,  "  I  heard  Palethorpe  kiss- 
ing you  as  hard  as  he  could." 

VOL.   VI.  J 

!()(>  COLIN    CLINK. 

"  Kissing  me  !  — kissing  me,  you  young  rascal  !  "  and  the 
face  of  Miss  Sowersoft  became  as  red  as  the  gills  of  one  of 
her  own  turkey-cocks  at  the  discovery.  "  If  you  dare  to  say 
such  a  thing  as  that  again,  I  ""II  strip  the  very  skin  off  your 
back,  —  I  will,  you  caitiff  !  Kissing  me,  indeed  !  A  pretty 
tale  to  tell  as  ever  I  heard  !  " 

"  I  'm  sure  it 's  true,"  blubbered  the  boy  ;  "  for  I  heard  it 
ever  so  many  times."1 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  virtuous  Miss  Sowersoft,  "  so  we  have 
got  it  out  of  you  at  last.  What  ! — your  mother  has  set  you  to 
watch  your  mistress,  has  she  ?  That 's  all  her  schooling,  is  it  ? 
But  Mr.  Palethorpe  shall  learn  you  to  spy  about  this  house,  — 
he  shall,  you  dog  !  " 

That  worthy  was  now  about  to  pounce  upon  his  victim,  but 
was  again  arrested  by  his  mistress. 

"  Stop,  stop  !  —  we  have  not  done  yet,"  pulling  the  letter 
before  mentioned  from  her  bosom  ;  "  there  is  a  pretty  budget 
here,  I  '11  be  bound  to  say.  After  such  as  this,  we  may  expect 
anything.  There  is  nothing  too  bad  for  him." 

While  Palethorpe  held  the  culprit  fast  by  one  hand,  and  the 
lantern  in  the  other,  he  and  Miss  Sowersoft  enjoyed  the  high 
gratification  of  perusing  together  the  authenticated  letter  which 
follows : — 


"  As  I  promised  to  write  if  they  would  not  let  me  come  on 
Sunday,  which  they  did  not  do,  I  take  this  opportunity  after 
tea  to  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  like  this  house  very  well,  and 
have  caught  fourteen  rats  with  traps  of  my  own  setting,  besides 
helping  Abel  to  shoot  foomards,  which  he  fired  at,  and  I  looked 
on  while.  I  can  harness  a  horse  and  curry  him  down  already. 
But  when  I  first  got  here  I  did  not  think  I  should  like  it  at  all, 
as  Palethorpe  flew  at  me  like  a  yard-dog  because  I  spoke  to  him, 
and  Miss  Sowersoft  was  mangling,  and  as  cross  as  patch.  I  did 
think  of  coming  home  again  ;  but  then  I  said  to  myself,  '  Well, 
I  '11  lay  a  penny  if  I  do,  mother  will  send  me  back  ;  so  it  will  be 
of  no  use,  and  I  shall  have  my  walk  for  nothing.'  I  do  not  like 
mistress  a  bit.  When  she  was  at  our  house,  she  told  you  a  pack 
of  the  biggest  fibs  in  the  world.  I  never  heard  of  a  bigger 
fibber  than  she  is  in  my  life ;  for  all  the  good  victuals  she  made 
such  a  bother  about  are  made  up  for  Sammy,  and  I  have  to  eat 
his  leavings.  He  is  like  a  master-pig  in  a  sty,  because  he 
crunches  up  the  best  of  everything.  Mistress  seems  very  fond  of 
him,  though ;  for  after  we  had  had  a  shindy  the  first  night,  and 
Palethorpe  made  my  nose  bleed,  I  went  to  bed,  and  saw  her  tie 
her  nightcap  on  his  head,  and  feed  him  with  a  posset.  I  could 
not  help  laughing,  he  looked  such  a  fool.  Then  I  heard  her 
courting  him  as  plain  as  sunshine ;  for  she  tries  as  hard  as  she 
can  to  get  him  to  marry  her  ;  but  I  would  not  have  her,  if  I 

COLIN    CLINK.  107 

were  him,  she  is  so  very  mean  and  pretending.  But  then  he  is 
a  savage  idle  fellow  himself:  and  as  Abel  said  to  him,  said  he, 
*  You  never  touch  plough  nor  bill-hook  once  a- week,' —  no  more 
he  does.  Our  mistress  backs  him  up  in  it,  and  that  is  the  reason. 
I  shall  come  over  as  soon  as  I  can,  as  I  want  to  see  you  and 
Fanny  very  much  indeed. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 


At  all  events  the  murder  was  out  here,  and  no  mistake.  The 
letter  dropped  from  Miss  Sowersoft's  hand,  and  she  almost  fainted 
in  Mr.  Palethorpe's  arms,  as  she  faintly  sighed, 

"  Oh,  Sammy,  Sammy  ! — he'll  be  the  death  of  me  !" 

When  Miss  Maria  was  somewhat  recovered,  Palethorpe  turn- 
ed in  great  wrath  towards  Colin,  uttering  a  more  fearful  as- 
severation than  I  can  repeat,  that  if  he  could  make  no  better 
use  than  that  of  his  eyes  when  he  went  to  bed,  he  would  knock 
them  out  of  his  head  for  him.  Seizing  the  boy  ferociously  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck  with  one  hand,  and  a  portion  of  his 
clothes  with  the  other,  he  lifted  him  from  the  ground,  like  a  dog 
by  head  and  tail,  and  carried  him  straight  into  the  yard,  dashing 
him  violently  into  the  horse-trough,  very  much  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  indignant  Miss  Sowersoft,  who  had  suddenly  reco- 
vered on  beholding  this  spectacle,  and  followed  her  favourite 
with  the  lantern.  While  Palethorpe  held  him  down  in  the 
trough,  Miss  Sowersoft  proceeded  with  great  alacrity  to  pump 
upon  him  very  vigorously  until  her  arms  were  tired. 

The  boy's  cries  soon  brought  several  of  the  domestics  of  the 
establishment  together.  Sally  rushed  out  of  her  kitchen  in- 
quiring what  Colin  had  done  to  be  ducked. 

"  Spying  after  the  private  things  of  meesis !  "  exclaimed  the 
wrathful  Mr.  Palethorpe. 

"  Spying  !  "  echoed  the  maid. 

"  Yes,  spying  ! "  added  Maria,  in  corroboration  of  Pale- 
thorpe1 s  statement.  "  We  have  caught  him  out,  according  to  his 
own  confession,  in  spying  after  the  secrets  of  everybody  about 
the  premises,  and  sending  it  all  in  writing  to  his  mother  !  " 

"  Ay  !  I  "d  souse  him  well  !  "  observed  Sally,  who  began  to 
fear  that  some  of  her  own  secret  interviews  with  Abel  had  very 
probably  been  registered  in  black  and  white,  for  the  edification 
of  the  good  people  of  Bramleigh. 

"  What  has  he  been  a-gate  of  ?  "  asked  Abel,  who  had  come 
up  just  in  time  to  catch  the  end  of  the  above  conversation. 

"  Oh,  he 's  been  watching  you  come  into  the  dairy  when  I 
was  there  ! "  added  Sally,  accompanying  her  remark  with  a 
broad  simper,  and  a  sly  blushing  glance  at  Abel,  which  caused 
Abel  to  shuffle  on  his  feet,  and  dangle  his  legs  about,  as  though 
at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  them. 

"  Then  a  sheep-washing  will  do  him   no   harm  for  sheep's 

108  COLIN    GLINK. 

eyes,""  rejoined  Abel,  rounding  off  his  sharp-pointed  wit  with  a 
broad  laugh. 

When  the  ducking  was  concluded,  they  drove  him,  bruised, 
drenched,  and  weeping,  into  the  kitchen.  Old  George,  who  had 
been  a  distant  and  silent  spectator  of  the  scene,  stood  at  the  door 
as  he  entered. 

"  Ay,  poor  boy  ! "  said  he,  pityingly,  as  the  child  passed  by 
him,  "  they  'd  more  need  to  nurse  him  by  the  fireside  than  half 
drown  him  this  way.  It  ^s  sad  wages — sad  wages,  indeed,  for  a 
nest-babe  like  him  !  But  they  don't  heed  what  I  say.  I  'm  an 
old  man,  and  have  no  right  to  speak." 

Miss  Sowersoft  seized  the  earliest  opportunity  she  could  to 
place  Colin's  letter  upon  the  fire,  which  she  did  with  a  spoonful 
of  salt  upon  it,  in  order  that  its  flames  should  be  of  the  same 
colour  as  its  contents. 

In  the  mean  time  Colin  had  shuffled  off  his  mortal  coil  of  wet 
clothes,  and  in  a  moist  skin  gone  silently  off  to  bed.  At  supper- 
time  old  George  carried  him  up  the  pint  of  warm  ale  which  had 
been  served  out  for  himself.  Colin  accepted  it,  less  because  he 
relished  it,  than  because  he  knew  not  how  at  that  moment  to 
refuse  the  hand  by  which  it  was  offered  ;  and  within  ten  minutes 
afterwards,  notwithstanding  all  his  troubles,  he  fell  into  a  sound 
state  of  repose. 



"  Pourquoi  te  plaindre,  tendre  fille, 
Ses  jours  n'appartiennent-ils  pas  a  la  premiere  jeunesse." 

ALL  infancy's  sweet  joys  thou  canst  not  tell ; 

Yet,  envy  not,  fair  child,  our  riper  years, 
\Vhen  the  heart  bleeds  or  struggles  to  rebel, 

And  e'en  our  smiles  are  sadder  than  thy  tears. 
Thy  gentle  age  passes  without  a  trace, 

Softly,  as  sighs  that  mingle  with  the  breeze, 
As  joyous  sounds  which  distance  must  efface, 

Or  Halcyon  floating  o'er  the  summer  seas. 

Let  thy  thoughts  blossom  in  their  later  hours, 

But  now  enjoy  the  dawn  !     Enjoy  the  spring  ! 
Thy  days  are  like  a  wreath  of  budding  flowers, 

Spare  them,  till  scatter'd  by  Time's  blighting  wing. 
Await  the  future,— fate,  alas  !  for  thee,— 

As  for  us  all, — has  deep  regrets  in  store ; 
Falsehood,  and  every  ill,  we  blush  to  see, 

And  worthless  pleasures,  that  we  should  deplore. 
Yet,  laugh  !  unconscious  of  all  evil  now, 

No  shade  should  cloud  the  azure  of  thine  eyes ! 
The  peaceful  innocence  of  that  fair  brow 

Reveals  thy  spirit,  and  reflects  the  skies.  M.  T  H. 





EPOCH    THE    THIRD. 1724. 


IN  a  hollow  in  the  meadows  behind  the  prison  whence  Jack 
Sheppard  had  escaped,  —  for,  at  this  time,  the  whole  of  the 
now  thickly-peopled  district  north  of  Clerkenwell  Bridewell 
was  open  country,  stretching  out  in  fertile  fields  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Islington, — and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  stood  a 
solitary  hovel,  known  as  Black  Mary's  Hole.  This  spot,  which 
still  retains  its  name,  acquired  the  appellation  from  an  old  crone 
who  lived  there,  and  who,  in  addition  to  a  very  equivocal  cha- 
racter for  honesty,  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  witch. 
Without  inquiring  into  the  correctness  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
story,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  state,  that  Black  Mary  was  a  person 
in  whom  Jack  Sheppard  thought  he  could  confide,  and,  as 
Edgeworth  Bess  was  incapable  of  much  further  exertion,  he 
determined  to  leave  her  in  the  old  woman's  care  till  the  follow- 
ing night,  while  he  shifted  for  himself,  and  fulfilled  his  design— 
for,  however  rash  or  hazardous  a  project  might  be,  if  once  con- 
ceived, Jack  always  executed  it,  —  of  visiting  Jonathan  Wild  at 
his  house  in  the  Old  Bailey. 

It  was  precisely  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  Whitmonday, 
the  25th  of  May  1724,  when  the  remarkable  escape  before  de- 
tailed was  completed :  and,  though  it  wanted  full  two  hours  to 
daybreak,  the  glimmer  of  a  waning  moon  prevented  it  from 
being  totally  dark.  Casting  a  hasty  glance,  as  he  was  about  to 
turn  an  angle  of  the  wall,  at  the  great  gates  and  upper  windows 
of  the  prison,  and  perceiving  no  symptoms  of  pursuit,  Jack  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  hovel  at  a  very  deliberate  pace,  carefully 
assisting  his  female  companion  over  every  obstacle  in  the  road, 
and  bearing  her  in  his  arms  when,  as  was  more  than  once  the 
case,  she  sank  from  fright  and  exhaustion.  In  this  way  he 
crossed  one  or  two  public  gardens  and  a  bowling-green,  —  the 
neighbourhood  of  Clerkenwell  then  abounded  in  such  places  of 
amusement, — passed  the  noted  Ducking  Pond,  where  Black 
Mary  had  been  frequently  immersed;  and,  striking  off  to  the 
left  across  the  fields,  arrived  in  a  few  minutes  at  his  destination. 

Descending  the  hollow,  or  rather  excavation, — 'for  it  was 
an  old  disused  clay-pit,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  cottage  was 

VOL.  vi.  K 


situated, — he  speedily  succeeded  in  arousing  the  ancient  sibyl, 
and  having  committed  Edgeworth  Bess  to  her  care,  with  a  pro- 
mise  of  an  abundant  reward  in  case  she  watched  diligently  over 
her  safety,  and  attended  to  her  comforts  till  his  return,  —  to  all 
which  Black  Mary  readily  agreed,  —  he  departed  with  a  heart 
lightened  of  half  its  load. 

Jack's  first  object  was  to  seek  out  Blueskin,  whom  he  had 
no  doubt  he  should  find  at  the  New  Mint,  at  Wapping,  for 
the  Old  Mint  no  longer  offered  a  secure  retreat  to  the  rob- 
ber ;  and,  with  this  view,  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  along  a 
bye-lane  leading  towards  Hockley-in-the-hole.  He  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  when  he  was  alarmed  by  the  tramp  of  a  horse,  which 
seemed  to  be  rapidly  approaching,  and  he  had  scarcely  time  to 
leap  the  hedge  and  conceal  himself  behind  a  tree,  when  a  tall 
man,  enveloped  in  an  ample  cloak,  with  his  hat  pulled  over  his 
brows,  rode  by  at  full  speed.  Another  horseman  followed 
quickly  at  the  heels  of  the  first  ;  but  just  as  he  passed  the 
spot  where  Jack  stood,  his  steed  missed  its  footing,  and  fell. 
Either  ignorant  of  the  accident,  or  heedless  of  it,  the  foremost 
horseman  pursued  his  way  without  even  turning  his  head. 

Conceiving  the  opportunity  too  favourable  to  be  lost,  Jack 
sprang  suddenly  over  the  hedge,  and  before  the  man,  who  was 
floundering  on  the  ground  with  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  could 
extricate  himself  from  his  embarrassing  position,  secured  his 
pistols,  which  he  drew  from  the  holsters,  and  held  them  to  his 
head.  The  fellow  swore  lustily,  in  a  voice  which  Jack  instant- 
ly recognised  as  that  of  Quilt  Arnold,  and  vainly  attempted  to 
rise  and  draw  his  sword. 

"  Dog ! "  thundered  Sheppard,  putting  the  muzzle  of  the 
pistol  so  close  to  the  janizary's  ear,  that  the  touch  of  the  cold 
iron  made  him  start,  "  don't  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Blood  and  thunder  !  "  exclaimed  Quilt,  opening  his  eyes 
with  astonishment.  "  It  can't  be  Captain  Sheppard  !  " 

"  It  z's,"  replied  Jack  ;  "  and  you  had  better  have  met  the 
devil  on  your  road  than  me.  Do  you  remember  what  I  said 
when  you  took  me  at  the  Mint  four  days  ago.  I  told  you  my 
turn  would  come.  It  has  come,  —  and  sooner  than  you  ex- 

"  So  I  find,  captain,"  rejoined  Quilt,  submissively ;  "  but 
you  're  too  noble-hearted  to  take  advantage  of  my  situation. 
Besides,  I  acted  for  others,  and  not  for  myself." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Sheppard,  "  and  therefore  I  spare  your 

"  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't  injure  me,  captain,"  remarked  Quilt, 
in  a  wheedling  tone,  while  he  felt  about  for  his  sword;  "  you're 
far  too  brave  to  strike  a  fallen  man." 

"  Ah  !  traitor  !"  cried  Jack,  who  had  noticed  the  movement ; 
"  make  such  another  attempt,  and  it  shall  cost  you  your  life." 


So  saying,  he  unbuckled  the  belt  to  which  the  janizary's  hanger 
was  attached,  and  fastened  it  to  his  own  girdle. 

"  And  now,"  he  continued,  sternly,  "  was  it  your  master  who 
has  just  ridden  by  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Quilt,  sullenly. 

"  Who,  then  ?  "  demanded  Jack.     "  Speak,  or  I  fire  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  it  's  Sir  Rowland  Trenchard." 

"Sir  Rowland  Trench  ard  !"  echoed  Jack,  in  amazement. 
"  What  are  you  doing  with  him  ?" 

"  It's  a  long  story,  captain,  and  I  \e  no  breath  to  tell  it,  — 
unless  you  choose  to  release  me,"  rejoined  Quilt. 

"  Get  up,  then,"  said  Jack,  freeing  his  foot  from  the  stirrup. 
«  Now— begin." 

Quilt,  however,  seemed  unwilling  to  speak. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  proceed  to  extremities,"  continued 
Sheppard,  again  raising  the  pistol. 

"  Well,  since  you  force  me  to  betray  my  master's  secrets," 
replied  Quilt,  sullenly,  "I've  ridden  express  to  Manchester  to 
deliver  a  message  to  Sir  Rowland." 

"  Respecting  Thames  Darrell  ?  "  observed  Jack. 

"  Why,  how  the  devil  did  you  happen  to  guess  that  ?  "  cried 
the  janizary. 

"  No  matter,"  replied  Sheppard.  "  I  'm  glad  to  find  I  'm 
right.  You  informed  Sir  Rowland  that  Thames  Darrell  was 
returned  ? " 

"  Exactly  so,"  replied  Quilt,  "  and  he  instantly  decided  upon 
returning  to  London  with  me.  We  've  ridden  post  all  the  way, 
and  I  'm  horribly  tired,  or  you  wouldn't  have  mastered  me  so 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Jack,  to  whom  an  idea  had  suddenly 
occurred.  "  Now,  sir,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your  coat.  I  've  left 
mine  on  the  spikes  of  the  New  Prison,  and  must  borrow  yours." 

"  Why,  surely  you  can't  be  in  earnest,  captain.  You 
wouldn't  rob  Mr.  Wild's  chief  janizary  ?  " 

"I'd  rob  Mr.  Wild  himself  if  I' met  him,"  retorted  Jack. 
"  Come,  off  with  it,  sirrah,  or  I  '11  blow  out  your  brains,  in  the 
first  place,  and  strip  you  afterwards." 

"  Well,  rather  than  you  should  commit  so  great  a  crime,  cap- 
tain, here  it  is,"  replied  Quilt,  handing  him  the  garment  in  ques- 
tion. "  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  Your  waistcoat." 

"  'Zounds !  captain,  I  shall  get  my  death  of  cold.  I  was  in 
hopes  you  'd  be  content  with  my  hat  and  wig." 

"I  shall  require  them  as  well,"  rejoined  Sheppard;  "and 
your  boots." 

"  My  boots  !  Fire  and  fury  !  They  won't  fit  you  ;  they're 
too  large.  Besides,  how  am  1  to  ride  home  without  them  ?  " 

"Don't   distress  yourself,"  returned  Jack,  "  you  shall  walk. 



Now,"  he  added,    as    his  commands  were  reluctantly  obeyed, 
"  help  me  on  with  them." 

Quilt  knelt  down,  as  if  he  meant  to  comply  ;  but,  watching 
his  opportunity,  he  made  a  sudden  grasp  at  Sheppard's  leg, 
with  the  intention  of  overthrowing  him. 

But  Jack  was  too  nimble  for  him.  Striking  out  his  foot,  he 
knocked  half  a  dozen  teeth  down  the  janizary's  throat ;  and, 
seconding  the  kick  with  a  blow  on  the  head  from  the  butt-end 
of  the  pistol,  stretched  him,  senseless  and  bleeding,  on  the 

"  Like  master  like  man,"  observed  Jack  as  he  rolled  the  inani- 
mate body  to  the  side  of  the  road.  "  From  Jonathan  Wild's 
confidential  servant  what  could  be  expected  but  treachery  ?  " 

With  this,  he  proceeded  to  dress  himself  in  Quilt  Arnold's 
clothes,  pulled  the  wig  over  his  face  and  eyes  so  as  com- 
pletely to  conceal  his  features,  slouched  the  hat  over  his  brows, 
drew  the  huge  boots  above  his  knees,  and  muffled  himself  up  in 
the  best  way  he  could.  On  searching  the  coat,  he  found,  amongst 
other  matters,  a  mask,  a  key,  and  a  pocket-book.  The  latter 
appeared  to  contain  several  papers,  which  Jack  carefully  put  by, 
in  the  hope  that  they  might  turn  out  of  importance  in  a  scheme 
of  vengeance  which  he  meditated  against  the  thieftaker.  He 
then  mounted  the  jaded  hack,  which  had  long  since  regained  its 
legs,  and  was  quietly  browsing  the  grass  at  the  road-side,  and, 
striking  spurs  into  its  side,  rode  off.  He  had  not  proceeded  far 
when  he  encountered  Sir  Rowland,  who  having  missed  his  at- 
tendant, had  returned  to  look  after  him. 

"  What  has  delayed  you  ? "  demanded  the  knight,  impa- 

"  My  horse  has  had  a  fall,"  replied  Jack,  assuming  to  perfec- 
tion —  for  he  was  a  capital  mimic —  the  tones  of  Quilt  Arnold. 
"  It  was  some  time  before  I  could  get  him  to  move." 

"  I  fancied  I  heard  voices,"  rejoined  Sir  Rowland. 

"  So  did  I,"  answered  Jack  ;  "  we  had  better  move  on.  This 
is  a  noted  place  for  highwaymen." 

"  I  thought  you  told  me  that  the  rascal  who  has  so  long  been 
the  terror  of  the  town — Jack  Sheppard — was  in  custody." 

"  So  he  is,"  returned  Jack  ;  "  but,  there  's  no  saying  how  long 
he  may  remain  so.  Besides,  there  are  greater  rascals  than  Jack 
Sheppard  at  liberty,  Sir  Rowland." 

Sir  Rowland  made  no  reply,  but  angrily  quickened  his  pace. 
The  pair  then  descended  Saffron-hill,  threaded  Field-lane,  and, 
enteringHolborn,  passed  over  the  little  bridge  which  then  cross- 
ed the  muddy  waters  of  Fleet-ditch,  mounted  Snow-hill,  and 
soon  drew  in  the  bridle  before  Jonathan  Wild's  door.  Aware  of 
Quilt  Arnold's  mode  of  proceeding,  Jack  instantly  dismounted, 
and,  instead  of  knocking,  opened  the  door  with  the  pass-key. 
The  porter  instantly  made  his  appearance,  and  Sheppard  ordered 
him  to  take  care  of  the  horses. 


"  Well,  what  sort  of  journey  have  you  had,  Quilt  ?  "  asked 
the  man  as  he  hastened  to  assist  Sir  Rowland  to  dismount. 

"  Oh  !  we  've  lost  no  time,  as  you  perceive,"  replied  Jack. 
"  Is  the  governor  within  ?  " 

"  Yes;  you'll  find  him  in  the  audience-chamber.  He  has  got 
Blueskin  with  him." 

"  Ah  !  indeed  !   what 's  he  doing  here  ?  "  inquired  Jack. 

"  Come  to  buy  off  Jack  Sheppard,  I  suppose,"  replied  the 
fellow.  "  But  it  won't  do.  Mr.  Wild  has  made  up  his  mind  ; 
and,  when  that's  the  case,  all  the  persuasion  on  earth  won't 
turn  him.  Jack  will  be  tried  to-morrow;  and,  as  sure  as 
my  name's  Obadiah  Lemon  he'll  take  up  his  quarters  at  the 
KingVHead,"  pointing  to  Newgate,  "  over  the  way." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  replied  Jack.  "  Look  to  the  horses, 
Obadiah.  This  way,  Sir  Rowland." 

As  familiar  as  Quilt  Arnold  himself  with  every  part  of  Wild's 
mysterious  abode,  as  well  as  with  the  ways  of  its  inmates,  Jack, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  took  up  a  lamp  which  was  burn- 
ing in  the  hall,  and  led  his  companion  up  the  great  stone  stairs. 
Arrived  at  the  audience-chamber,  he  set  down  the  light  upon  a 
stand,  threw  open  the  door,  and  announced  in  a  loud  voice,  but 
with  the  perfect  intonation  of  the  person  he  represented, — "  Sir 
Rowland  Trenchard." 

Jonathan,  who  was  engaged  in  conversation  with  Blueskin, 
instantly  arose,  and  bowed  with  cringing  ceremoniousness  to  the 
knight.  The  latter  haughtily  returned  his  salutation,  and  flung 
himself,  as  if  exhausted,  into  a  chair. 

"  You  've  arrived  sooner  than  I  expected,  Sir  Rowland," 
observed  the  thief-taker.  *'  Lost  no  time  on  the  road — eh? — I 
didn't  expect  you  till  to-morrow  at  the  earliest.  Excuse  me  an 
instant  while  1  dismiss  this  person. — You  Ve  your  answer,  Blue- 
skin,"  he  added,  pushing  that  individual,  who  seemed  unwilling 
to  depart,  towards  the  door ;  "  it 's  useless  to  urge  the  matter 
further.  Jack  is  registered  in  the  Black  Book." 

"  One  word  before  I  go,"  urged  Blueskin. 

"  Not  a  syllable,"  replied  Wild.  "  If  you  talk  as  long  as  an 
Old  Bailey  counsel,  you  '11  not  alter  my  determination." 

"  Won't  my  life  do  as  well  as  his  ?  "  supplicated  the  other. 

"  Humph  !  "  exclaimed  Jonathan,  doubtfully.  "  And  you 
would  surrender  yourself — eh  ?  " 

"  I'll  surrender  myself  at  once,  if  you '11  engage  to  bring  him 
off;  and  you  '11  get  the  reward  from  old  Wood.  It's  two  hun- 
dred pounds.  Recollect  that." 

"  Faithful  fellow  ! "  murmured  Jack.  "  I  forgive  him  his 

"  Will  you  do  it  ?  "  persisted  Blueskin. 

"  No,"  replied  Wild  ;  "  and  I  've  only  listened  to  your  ab- 
surd proposal  to  see  how  far  your  insane  attachment  to  this  lad 
would  carry  you." 

1  11  JACK.   SHKITARD. 

"  I  (/o  love  him,"  cried  Klueskin,  "  and  that 's  the  long  niul 
short  of  it.  1  've  taught  him  all  he  can  tin  ;  and  there  isn't  his 
fellow,  and  never  will  be  again.  1  've  seen  ninny  a  elever 
cracksman,  but  never  one  like  him.  If  you  hang'  Jack  Shep- 
pard,  you  '11  cut  oil'  the  flower  o'  the  purfession.  l>nt  1  '11  not 
believe  it  of  yon.  It  's  all  very  well  to  read  him  a  lesson,  and 
teach  him  obedience  ;  but  yon  've  gone  far  enough  for  that." 

u  Not  quite,"  rejoined  the  thieftaker,  significantly. 

"  "NVell,"  growled  lllueskin,  "  yon  've  had  my  oiler." 

"  And  von  mv  warning,"  retorted  Wild.     "  Good  ni<iht  !  " 

"  Hlueskin,''  whispered  Jack,  in  his  natural  tones,  as  the  other 
passed  him,  ••  wait  without." 

"  Powers  o'  mercy  !  "  cried  Blueskin,  starting. 

"  What  's  the  matter?  "  demanded  Jonathan,  harshly. 

"  Nothin'—  nothin',"  returned  Blneskin;  "only  1  thought — " 

"  Yon  saw  the  hangman,  no  doubt,"  said  Jack.  "  Take  con- 
rage,  uian  ;  it 's  only  Quilt  Arnold.  Come,  make  yourself  scarce. 
l>on't  you  see  Mr.  Wild's  busy."  And  then  he  added,  in  an 
under  tone,  "  Conceal  yourself  outside,  and  be  within  call." 

Hlneskin  nodded,  and  left  the  room.  Jack  affected  to  close 
the  door,  but  left  it  slightly  ajar. 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?"  inquired  Jonathan,  suspi- 

t%  1  advised  him  not  to  trouble  you  farther  about  Jack  Shep- 
pard,"  answered  the  supposed  jani/arv. 

"  He  seems  infatuated  about  the  lad,"  observed  Wild.  "  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  hang  him  to  keep  him  company. — And  now, 
Sir  Rowland/'  he  continued,  turning  to  the  knight,  '*  to  our 
own  concerns.  It  *s  a  long  time  since  we  met  —  eight  years,  and 
more.  1  hope  you've  enjoyed  your  health.  'S  life  !  you're 
wonderfully  altered.  1  should  scarcely  have  known  yon." 

The  knight  was  indeed  greatly  changed.  Though  not  much 
past  the  middle  term  of  life,  he  seemed  prematurely  stricken 
with  old  age.  His  frame  was  wasted,  and  slightly  "bent  ;  his 
eyes  were  hollow,  his  complexion  haggard,  and  his  beard, 
which  had  remained  unshorn  during  his  hasty  journey,  was 
perfectly  white.  His  manner,  however,  was  as  stern  and 
haughty  as  ever,  and  his  glances  retained  their  accustomed  tire. 

*"  1  did  not  come  hither  to  consult  you  as  to  the  state  of  my 
health,  sir,"  he  observed,  displeased  by  Jonathan's  allusion  to 
the  alteration  in  his  appearance. 

"  True,"  replied  Wild.  "  You  were  no  doubt  surprised  by 
the  unlooked-for  intelligence  1  sent  yon  of  your  nephew's  re- 
turn ?" 

»«  Was  it  unlooked-for  on  your  part  ? "  demanded  the  knight, 

»'  On  my  soul,  yes,"  rejoined  Jonathan.  "  1  should  as  soon 
have  expected  the  bones  of  Tom  Sheppard  to  reunite  themselves 
*nd  walk  out  of  that  case,  as  Thames  Pairell  to  return.  The 


skipper,  Van  Galgebrok,  afKnueil  to  me,  —  nay,  gave  me  the 
additional  testimony  of  two  of  his  crew,  —  that  he  was  thrown 
overboard.  But  it  appears  he  was  picked  up  by  fishermen,  and 
carried  to  France,  where  he  has  remained  ever  since,  and  where 
it  would  have  been  well  for  him  if  he  had  remained  altogether." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  "  asked  Trent-hard. 

"  I  have,"  replied  Wild  ;  l%  and  nothing  but  the  evidence  of 
my  senses  would  have  made  me  believe  he  was  living,  after  the 
positive  assurance  I  received  to  the  contrary.  He  is  at  pre- 
sent with  Mr.  Wood,  —  the  person  whom  you  may  remember 
adopted  him,  —  at  Dollis  Hill,  near  Willesden  ;  and  it  's  a  sin- 
gular but  fortunate  circumstance,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned, 
that  Mrs.  Wood  chanced  to  be  murdered  by  Blueskin,  the 
fellow  who  just  left  the  room,  on  the  very  night  of  his  return, 
us  it  has  thrown  the  house  into  such  confusion,  and  so  dis- 
tracted them,  that  he  has  had  no  time  as  yet  for  hostile  move- 

*'  And  what  course  do  you  propose  to  pursue  in  reference  to 
him  ?  "  asked  Sir  Rowland. 

"  My  plan  is  a  very  simple  one,"  rejoined  the  thief-taker, 
smiling  bitterly.  "  1  would  treat  him  as  you  treated  his  father, 
JSir  Rowland." 

"  Murder  him  !"  cried  Trent-hard,  shuddering. 

"  Ay,  murder  him,  if  you  like  the  term,"  returned  Wild.  "  I 
should  call  it  putting  him  out  of  the  way.  Hut,  no  matter 
how  you  phrase  it,  the  end  is  the  same." 

"  1  cannot  consent  to  it,"  replied  Sir  Rowland,  firmly. 
*'  Since  the  sea  has  spared  him,  I  will  spare  him.  It  is  in  vain 
to  struggle  against  the  arm  of  fate.  1  will  shed  no  more  blood." 

"  And  perish  upon  the  gibbet,"  rejoined  Jonathan,  contemp- 

"  Flight  is  still  left  me,"  replied  Trent-hard.  **  I  can  escape 
to  France." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  "11  allow  you  to  depart,"  cried  Jonathan, 
in  a  menacing  tone,  "  and  compromise  tin/  safety  ?  No,  no. 
We  are  linked  together  in  this  matter,  and  must  go  through 
"with  it.  You  cannot — shall  not  retreat." 

"  Death  and  hell !  "  cried  Sir  Rowland,  rising  and  drawing 
his  sword;  '•  do  you  think  you  can  shackle  my  free  will,  vil- 

"  In  this  particular  instance  I  do,  Sir  Rowland,"  replied  Jo- 
nathan, calmly,  "  because  you  are  wholly  in  my  power.  But  be 
patient.  1  am  your  fast  friend.  Thames  Darrell  MUST  die.  Our 
mutual  safety  requires  it.  Leave  the  means  to  me." 

"  More  blood  !  more  blood  ! "  cried  Trenchard,  passing  his 
hand  with  agony  across  his  brow.  "  Shall  I  .never  banish  those 
horrible  phantoms  from  my  couch — the  father  with  his  bleeding- 
breast  and  dripping  hair  ! — the  mother  with  her  wringing  hands, 
and  looks  of  vengeance  and  reproach  !  —  And  must  another  be 


added  to  their  number — their  son  !  Horror  ! — let  me  be  spared 
this  new  crime  !  And  yet  the  gibbet  —  my  name  tarnished  — - 
my  escutcheon  blotted  by  the  hangman  ! — No.  I  cannot  submit 
to  that." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  observed  Jonathan,  "  who  had  some 
practice  in  the  knight's  moods,  and  knew  how  to  humour  him. 
"  It 's  a  miserable  weakness  to  be  afraid  of  bloodshed,,  The 
general  who  gives  an  order  for  wholesale  carnage  never  sleeps  a 
wink  the  less  soundly  for  the  midnight  groans  of  his  victims, 
and  we  should  deride  him  as  a  coward  if  he  did.  And  life  is 
much  the  same,  whether  taken  in  battle,  on  the  couch,  or  by  the 
road-side.  Besides  those  whom  I  've  slain  with  my  own  hand, 
I  've  brought  upwards  of  thirty  persons  to  the  gallows.  Most 
of  their  relics  are  in  yonder  cases ;  but  I  don't  remember  that 
any  of  them  have  disturbed  my  rest.  The  mode  of  destruction 
makes  no  difference.  It 's  precisely  the  same  thing  to  me  to  bid 
my  janizaries  cut  Thames  Darrell's  throat,  as  to  order  Jack 
Sheppard's  execution." 

As  Jonathan  said  this,  Jack's  hand  involuntarily  sought  a 

"  But  to  the  point,"  continued  Wild,  unconscious  of  the  peril 
in  which  the  remark  had  placed  him,  —  "  to  the  point.  On  the 
terms  that  procured  your  liberation  from  Newgate,  I  will  free 
you  from  this  new  danger." 

"  Those  terms  were  a  third  of  my  estate,"  observed  Tren- 
chard,  bitterly. 

"  What  of  that  ?  "  rejoined  Jonathan.  "  Any  price  was  better 
than  your  head.  If  Thames  Darrell  escapes,  you  will  lose  both 
life  and  property." 

"  True,  true,"  replied  the  knight,  with  an  agonized  look ; 
"  there  is  no  alternative." 

"  None  whatever,"  rejoined  Wild.     "  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 
"  Take  half  of  my  estate — take  all  —  my  life,  if  you  will — I 
am  weary  of  it ! "  cried  Trenchard,  passionately. 

"  No,"  replied  Jonathan,  "  I  '11  not  take  you  at  your  word, 
as  regards  the  latter  proposition.  We  shall  both,  I  hope,  live 
to  enjoy  our  shares — long  after  Thames  Darrell  is  forgotten  — 
ha !  ha !  A  third  of  your  estate  I  accept.  And,  as  these 
things  should  always  be  treated  as  matters  of  business,  I'll  just 
draw  up  a  memorandum  of  our  arrangement." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  he  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  hastily 
traced  a  few  lines  upon  it. 

"  Sign  this,"  he  said,  pushing  the  document  towards  Sir 

The  knight  mechanically  complied  with  his  request. 
"  Enough  !"  cried  Jonathan,  eagerly  pocketing  the  memoran- 
dum.     "And  now,  in  return  for  your  liberality,   I'll  inform 
you    of  a  secret  with  which    it   is   important  you  should  be 


"  A  secret !  "  exclaimed  Trenchard.     "  Concerning  whom  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  replied  Jonathan,  mysteriously. 

"  Mrs.  Sheppard  ! "  echoed  Jack,  surprised  out  of  his  caution. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Wild,  looking  angrily  towards  his  sup- 
posed attendant. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  replied  Jack,  with  the  accent  and  man- 
ner of  the  janizary  ;  "  I  was  betrayed  into  the  exclamation  by 
my  surprise  that  anything  in  which  Sir  Rowland  Trenchard 
was  interested  could  have  reference  to  so  humble  a  person  as 
Mrs.  Sheppard." 

"  Be  pleased,  then,  in  future  not  to  let  your  surprise  find 
vent  in  words,"  rejoined  Jonathan,  sternly.  "  My  servants, 
like  Eastern  mutes,  must  have  eyes,  and  ears,  —  and  hands,  if 
need  be, — but  no  tongues.  You  understand  me,  sirrah  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  Jack.     "  I  'in  dumb." 

"  Your  secret  ?  "  demanded  Trenchard,  impatiently. 

"  I  need  not  remind  you,  Sir  Rowland,"  replied  Wild,  "  that 
you  had  two  sisters — Aliva  and  Constance." 

"  Both  are  dead,"  observed  the  knight,  gloomily. 

*c  Not  so  ;  "  answered  Wild.     "  Constance  is  yet  living." 

"  Constance  alive  !     Impossible  !  "  ejaculated  Trenchard. 

"  1  've  proofs  to  the  contrary,"  replied  Jonathan. 

"  If  this  is  the  case,  where  is  she?  " 

"  In  Bedlam,"  replied  the  thieftaker,  with  a  Satanic  grin. 

**  Gracious  heaven !  "  exclaimed  the  knight,  upon  whom  a 
light  seemed  suddenly  to  break.  "  You  mentioned  Mrs.  Shep- 
pard. What  has  she  to  do  with  Constance  Trenchard  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Sheppard  is  Constance  Trenchard,"  replied  Jonathan, 

Here  Jack  Sheppard  was  unable  to  repress  an  exclamation  of 

"  Again,"  cried  Jonathan,  sternly  ;   "  beware  !  " 

"  What !  "  vociferated  Trenchard.  '''  My  sister  the  wife  of  one 
condemned  felon  !  the  parent  of  another  !  It  cannot  be." 

"  It  is  so,  nevertheless,"  replied  Wild.  "  Stolen  by  a  gipsy 
when  scarcely  five  years  old,  Constance  Trenchard,  after  various 
vicissitudes,  was  carried  to  London,  where  she  lived  in  great 
poverty,  with  the  dregs  of  society.  It  is  useless  to  trace  out 
her  miserable  career;  though  I  can  easily  do  so  if  you  re- 
quire it.  To  preserve  herself,  however,  from  destitution,  or 
what  she  considered  worse,  she  wedded  a  journeyman  carpenter, 
named  Sheppard." 

"  Alas  !  that  one  so  highly  born  should  submit  to  such  a  de- 
gradation ?  "  groaned  the  knight. 

"  I  see  nothing  surprising  in  it,"  rejoined  Jonathan.  "  In  the 
first  place,  she  had  no  knowledge  of  her,  birth  ;  and,  con- 
sequently, no  false  pride  to  get  rid  of.  In  the  second,  she 
was  wretchedly  poor,  and  assailed  by  temptations  of  which 
you  can  form  no  idea.  Distress  like  hers  might  palliate  far 


greater  offences  than  she  ever  committed.  With  the  same 
inducements  we  should  all  do  the  same  thing.  Poor  girl  I 
she  was  beautiful  once ;  so  beautiful  as  to  make  me,  who  care 
little  for  the  allurements  of  women,  fancy  myself  enamoured 
of  her." 

Jack  Sheppard  again  sought  his  pistol,  and  was  only  withheld 
from  levelling  it  at"  the  thieftaker's  head,  by  the  hope  that  he 
might  gather  some  further  information  respecting  his  mother. 
And  he  had  good  reason  before  long  to  congratulate  himself  on 
his  forbearance. 

"  What  proof  have  you  of  the  truth  of  this  story  ?  "  inquired 

"This,"  replied  Jonathan,  taking  a  paper  from  a  portfolio, 
and  handing  it  to  the  knight,  "  this  written  evidence,  signed  by 
Martha  Cooper,  the  gipsy,  by  whom  the  girl  was  stolen,  and 
who  was  afterwards  executed  for  a  similar  crime.  It  is  attested, 
you  will  observe,  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Purney,  the  present  or- 
dinary of  Newgate." 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  Mr.  Purney's  hand-writing,"  said 
Jack,  advancing,  "  and  can  at  once  decide  whether  this  is  a  for- 
gery or  not." 

"  Look  at  it,  then,"  said  Wild,  giving  him  the  portfolio. 

"  It 's  the  ordinary's  signature,  undoubtedly,"  replied  Jack. 

And  as  he  gave  back  the  portfolio  to  Sir  Rowland  he  con- 
trived, unobserved,  to  slip  the  precious  document  into  his  sleeve, 
and  from  thence  into  his  pocket. 

"  And,  does  any  of  our  bright  blood  flow  in  the  veins  of  a  ruf- 
fianly housebreaker?"  cried  Trenchard,  with  a  look  of  bewilder- 
ment. "  I  '11  not  believe  it." 

"Others  may,  if  you  won't,"  muttered  Jack,  retiring.  "Thank 
heaven  !  I  'm  not  basely  born." 

"Now,  mark  me,""  said  Jonathan,  "and  you'll  find  I  don't 
do  things  by  halves.  By  your  father,  Sir  Montacute  Tren- 
chard's  will,  you  are  aware,  —  and,  therefore,  I  need  not  repeat 
it,  except  for  the  special  purpose  I  have  in  view,  —  you  are 
aware,  1  say,  that,  by  this  will,  in  case  your  sister  Aliva,  died 
without  issue,  or,  on  the  death  of  such  issue,  the  property  re- 
verts to  Constance  and  her  issue." 

"  I  hear,"  said  Sir  Rowland,  moodily. 

"  And  I,"  muttered  Jack. 

"  Thames  Darrell  once  destroyed,"  pursued  Jonathan,  "  Con- 
stance— or,  rather,  Mrs.  Sheppard  — becomes  entitled  to  the  es- 
tates; which  eventually  —  provided  he  escaped  the  gallows  — 
would  descend  to  her  son." 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  Jack,  drawing  in  his  breath,  and  leaning 
forward  with  intense  curiosity. 

"  Well,  sir  ?  "  gasped  Sir  Rowland. 

"But  this  need  give  you  no  uneasiness,"  pursued  Jonathan  ; 
"  Mrs.  Sheppard,  as  I  told  you,  is  in  Bedlam,  an  incurable  ma- 


niac ;  while  her  son  is  in  the  New  Prison,  whence  he  will  only 
be  removed  to  Newgate  and  Tyburn." 

"  So  you  think,"  muttered  Jack,  between  his  ground  teeth. 

"  To  make  your  mind  perfectly  easy  on  the  score  of  Mrs. 
Sheppard,''  continued  Jonathan ;  "  after  we  Ve  disposed  of 
Thames  Darrell,  111  visit  her  in  Bedlam  ;  and,  as  I  understand 
I  form  one  of  her  chief  terrors,  I  '11  give  her  such  a  fright 
that  I  '11  engage  she  shan't  long  survive  it.1' 

"  Devil !  "  muttered  Jack,  again  grasping  his  pistol.  But, 
feeling  secure  of  vengeance,  he  determined  to  abide  his  time. 

"  And  now,  having  got  rid  of  the  minor  obstacles,"  said  Jo- 
nathan, "  I  '11  submit  a  plan  for  the  removal  of  the  main  diffi- 
culty. Thames  Darrell,  I  've  said,  is  at  Mr.  Wood's  at  Dollis- 
hill,  wholly  unsuspicious  of  any  designs  against  him,  and,  in 
fact,  entirely  ignorant  of  your  being  acquainted  with  his  return, 
or  even  of  his  existence.  In  this  state,  it  will  be  easy  to  draw 
him  into  a  snare.  To-morrow  night — or  rather  to-night,  for  we 
are  fast  verging  on  another  day  —  I  propose  to  lure  him  out  of 
the  house  by  a  stratagem  which  I  am  sure  will  prove  infallible ; 
and,  then,  what  so  easy  as  to  knock  him  on  the  head.  To  make 
sure  work  of  it,  1  '11  superintend  the  job  myself.  Before  mid- 
night, I'll  answer  for  it,  it  shall  be  done.  My  janizaries  shall 
go  with  me.  You  hear  what  I  say,  Quilt  ?  "  he  added,  look- 
ing at  Jack. 

"  I  do,"  replied  Sheppard. 

"  Abraham  Mendez  will  like  the  task, — for  he  has  entertained 
a  hatred  to  the  memory  of  Thames  Darrell  ever  since  he  received 
the  wound  in  the  head,  when  the  two  lads  attempted  to  break 
out  of  St.  Giles's  roundhouse.  I  've  despatched  him  to  the  New 
Prison.  But  I  expect  him  back  every  minute." 

"  The  New  Prison  !  "  exclaimed  Sheppard.  "  What  is  he 
gone  there  for  ?  " 

"  With  a  message  to  the  turnkey  to  look  after  his  prisoner," 
replied  Wild,  with  a  cunning  smile.  "  Jack  Sheppard  had  a 
visiter,  I  understand,  yesterday,  and  may  make  an  attempt  to 
escape.  It's  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

"  It  is,"  replied  Jack. 

At  this  moment,  his  quick  ears  detected  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps on  the  stairs.  He  drew  both  his  pistols,  and  prepared  for 
a  desperate  encounter. 

"  There  is  another  mystery  I  would  have  solved,"  said  Tren- 
chard,  addressing  Wild;  "you  have  told  me  much,  but  not 

"  What  do  you  require  further  ?  "'  asked  Jonathan. 

"  The  name  and  rank  of  Thames  DarrelFs  father,"  said  the 

**  Another  time,"  replied  the  thieftaker,  evasively. 

"  I  will  have  it  now,"  rejoined  Trenchard,  "  or  our  agreement 
is  void." 


"  You  cannot  help  yourself,  Sir  Rowland,"  replied  Jonathan, 


"  Indeed  ! w"  replied  the  knight,  drawing  his  sword,  "  the 
secret,  villain,  or  I  will  force  it  from  you." 

Before  Wild  could  make  any  reply,  the  door  was  thrown 
violently  open,  and  Abraham  Mendez  rushed  into  the  room, 
•with  a  face  of  the  utmost  consternation. 

"He  hash  eshcaped  !  "  cried  the  Jew. 

*'  Who  ?     Jack  !  "  exclaimed  Jonathan. 

"  Yesh,"  replied  Abraham.  "  I  vent  to  de  New  Prish'n,  and 
on  wishitin'  his  shell  vid  de  turnkey,  vot  should  ve  find  but  de 
shains  on  de  ground,  de  vinder  broken,  and  Jack  and  Ageoorth 
Besh  gone." 

"  Damnation  !  "  cried  Jonathan,  stamping  his  foot  with  un- 
controllable rage.  "  I  'd  rather  have  given  a  thousand  pounds 
than  this  had  happened.  But  he  might  have  broken  out  of 
prison,  and  yet  not  get  over  the  wall  of  Clerkenwell  Bridewell. 
Did  you  search  the  yard,  fool?" 

"  Ve  did,"  replied  Abraham  ;  "  and  found  his  fine  coat  and 
ruffles  torn  to  shtrips  on  de  shpikes  near  de  creat  cate.  It  vosh 
plain  he  vent  dat  vay." 

Jonathan  gave  utterance  to  a  torrent  of  imprecations. 

While  he  thus  vented  his  rage,  the  door  again  opened,  and 
Quilt  Arnold  rushed  into  the  room,  bleeding,  and  half-dressed. 

"  'Sblood  !  what 's  this  ?  "  cried  Jonathan,  in  the  utmost  sur- 
prise. "  Quilt  Arnold,  is  that  you  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir,"  sputtered  the  janizary.  "  I  "ve  been  robbed,  mal- 
treated, and  nearly  murdered  by  Jack  Sheppard." 

"By  Jack  Sheppard  !"  exclaimed  the  thieftaker. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  hope  you  '11  take  ample  vengeance  upon  him," 
said  Quilt. 

"  I  will,  when  I  catch  him,  rely  on  it,"  rejoined  Wild. 

"  You  needn't  go  far  to  do  that,"  returned  Quilt ;  "  There  he 

"  Ay,  here  I  am,"  said  Jack,  throwing  off  his  hat  and  wig, 
and  marching  towards  the  group,  amongst  whom  there  was  a 
general  movement  of  surprise  at  his  audacity.  "  Sir  Rowland, 
1  salute  you  as  your  nephew." 

"  Back,  villain  !"  said  the  knight,  haughtily.  "  I  disown  you. 
The  whole  story  of  your  relationship  is  a  fabrication." 

"Time  will  show,"  replied  Jack  with  equal  haughtiness. 
"  But,  however,  it  may  turn  out,  I  disown  you" 

"•  Well,  Jack,"  said  Jonathan,  who  had  looked  at  him  with 
surprise  not  unmixed  with  admiration,  "you  are  a  bold  and 
clever  fellow,  I  must  allow,  Were  I  not  Jonathan  Wild,  1  'd 
be  Jack  Sheppard.  I  'm  almost  sorry  I  've  sworn  to  hang  you. 
But,  it  can't  be  helped.  I  'm  a  slave  to  my  word.  Were  I  to 
let  you  go,  you  'd  say  I  feared  you.  Besides,  you  've  secrets 


which  must  not  be  disclosed.  Nab  and  Quilt  to  the  door  !  Jack, 
you  are  my  prisoner." 

"  And  you  flatter  yourself  you  can  detain  me  ?  "  laughed  Jack. 

"  At  least  I  '11  try,"  replied  Jonathan,  sarcastically.  "  You 
must  be  a  cleverer  lad  than  even  /  take  you  for,  if  you  get 
out  of  this  place.1' 

"  What  ho  !  Blueskin  !  "  shouted  Jack. 

"  Here  I  am,  captain,"  cried  a  voice  from  without.  And  the 
door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  the  two  janizaries  felled  to 
the  ground  by  the  strong  arm  of  the  stalwart  robber. 

"  Your  boast,  you  see,  was  a  little  premature,  Mr.  Wild," 
said  Sheppard.  "  Adieu,  my  worthy  uncle.  Fortunately,  I  've 
secured  the  proof  of  my  birth." 

"  Confusion  !  "  thundered  Wild.  "  Close  the  doors  below  ! 
Loose  the  dogs  !  Curses  !  they  don't  hear  me  !  I  '11  ring  the 
alarm-bell."  And  he  raised  his  arm  with  the  intention  of  exe- 
cuting his  purpose,  when  a  ball  from  Jack's  pistol  passed  through 
the  back  of  his  hand,  shattering  the  limb.  "  Aha  !  my  lad  !  " 
he  cried,  without  appearing  to  regard  the  pain  of  the  wound  ; 
*' now  111  show  you  no  quarter."  And,  with  the  uninjured 
hand  he  drew  a  pistol,  which  he  fired,  but  without  effect,  at 

"  Fly,  captain,  fly  !  "  vociferated  Blueskin ;  "  I  shan't  be  able 
to  keep  these  devils  down.  Fly  !  They  shall  knock  me  on  the 
head  —  curse  'em  !  —  before  they  shall  touch  you." 

"  Come  along  !  "  cried  Jack,  darting  through  the  door.  "  The 
key  's  on  the  outside  —  quick  !  quick  !  " 

Instantly  alive  to  this  chance,  Blueskin  broke  away.  Two 
shots  were  fired  at  him  by  Jonathan;  one  of  which  passed 
through  his  hat,  and  the  other  through  the  fleshy  part  of  his 
arm ;  but  he  made  good  his  retreat.  The  door  was  closed — 
locked, — and  the  pair  were  heard  descending  the  stairs. 

"  Hell's  curses  !  "  roared  Jonathan.  "  They  '11  escape.  Not 
a  moment  is  to  be  lost." 

So  saying,  he  took  hold  of  a  ring  in  the  floor,  and  disclosed  a 
flight  of  steps,  down  which  he  hurried,  followed  by  the  janizaries. 
This  means  of  communication  instantly  brought  them  to  the 
lobby.  But,  Jack  and  his  companion  were  already  gone. 

Jonathan  threw  open  the  street-door.  Upon  the  pavement 
near  the  court  lay  the  porter,  who  had  been  prostrated  by  a  blow 
from  the  butt-end  of  a  pistol.  The  man,  who  was  just  able  to 
move,  pointed  towards  Giltspur-street.  Jonathan  looked  in  that 
direction,  and  beheld  the  fugitives  riding  off  in  triumph. 

"  To-night  it  is  their  turn,"  said  Jonathan,  binding  up  his 
wounded  fingers  with  a  handkerchief.  "To-morrow  it  will  be 



THE  tragical  affair  at  Dollis  Hill,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  was 
a  dreadful  blow  to  the  family.  Mr.  Wood  bore  up  with  great 
fortitude  against  the  shock,  attended  the  inquest,  delivered  his 
evidence  with  composure,  and  gave  directions  afterwards  for  the 
funeral,  which  took  place  on  the  day  but  one  following  —  Sun- 
day. As  soon,  however,  as  the  last  solemn  rites  were  over,  and 
the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  woman  committed  to  their  final 
resting-place  in  Willesden  churchyard,  his  firmness  completely 
deserted  him,  and  he  sank  beneath  the  weight  of  his  affliction. 
It  was  fortunate  that  by  this  time  Winifred  had  so  far  recovered, 
as  to  be  able  to  afford  her  father  the  best  and  only  solace  that, 
under  the  circumstances,  he  could  have  received,  — her  personal 

The  necessity  which  had  previously  existed  of  leaving  the 
ghastly  evidence  of  the  murderous  deed  undisturbed, — the  pre- 
sence of  the  mangled  corpse,  —  the  bustle  of  the  inquest,  at 
which  her  attendance  was  required,  —  all  these  circumstances 
produced  a  harrowing  effect  upon  the  young  girl's  imagination. 
But  when  all  was  over,  a  sorrowful  calm  succeeded,  and,  if 
not  free  from  grief,  she  was  tranquil.  As  to  Thames,  though 
deeplv  and  painfully  affected  by  the  horrible  occurrence  that 
had  marked  his  return  to  his  old  friends,  he  was  yet  able  to 
control  his  feelings,  and  devote  himself  to  the  alleviation  of  the 
distress  of  the  more  immediate  sufferers  by  the  calamity. 

It  was  Sunday  evening — a  soft  delicious  evening,  and,  from 
the  happy,  cheerful  look  of  the  house,  none  would  have  dreamed 
of  the  dismal  tragedy  so  lately  acted  within  its  walls.  The 
birds  were  singing  blithely  amid  the  trees,  —  the  lowing  of  the 
cows  resounded  from  the  yard,  —  a  delicious  perfume  from  the 
garden  was  wafted  through  the  open  window,  —  at  a  distance, 
the  church-bells  of  Willesden  were  heard  tolling  for  evening  ser- 
vice. All  these  things  spoke  of  peace ;  —  but  there  are  seasons 
when  the  pleasantest  external  influences  have  a  depressing  effect 
on  the  mind,  by  painfully  recalling  past  happiness.  So,  at  least, 
thought  one  of  two  persons  who  were  seated  together  in  a  small 
back-parlour  of  the  house  at  Dollis  Hill.  She  was  a  lovely  girl, 
attired  in  deep  mourning,  and  having  an  expression  of  profound 
sorrow  on  her  charming  features.  Her  companion  was  a  portly 
handsome  man,  also  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  the  deepest  mourn- 
ing, with  the  finest  of  lace  at  his  bosom  and  wrists,  and  a  sword 
in  a  black  sheath  by  his  side.  These  persons  were  Mr.  Knee- 
bone  and  Winifred. 

The  funeral,  it  has  just  been  said,  took  place  on  that  day. 
Amongst  others  who  attended  the  sad  ceremony  was  Mr.  Knee- 
bone.  Conceiving  himself  called  upon,  as  the  intimate  friend 
of  the  deceased,  to  pay  this  last  tribute  of  respect  to  her  me- 


mory,  he  appeared  as  one  .of  the  chief  mourners.  Overcome  by 
his  affliction,  Mr.  Wood  had  retired  to  his  own  room,  where  he 
had  just  summoned  Thames.  Much  to  her  annoyance,  therefore, 
Winifred  was  left  alone  with  the  woollen-draper,  who,  following 
up  a  maxim  of  his  own,  that  "  nothing  was  gained  by  too  much 
bashfulness,"  determined  to  profit  by  the  opportunity.  He  had 
only  been  prevented,  indeed,  by  a  fear  of  Mrs.  Wood  from 
pressing  his  suit  long  ago.  This  obstacle  removed,  he  thought 
he  might  now  make  the  attempt.  Happen  what  might,  he 
could  not  be  in  a  worse  position. 

"  We  have  had  a  sad  loss,  my  dear  Winifred,"  he  began, — 
"  for  I  must  use  the  privilege  of  an  old  friend,  and  address  you 
by  that  familiar  name,  —  we  have  had  a  sad  loss  in  the  death  of 
your  lamented  parent,  whose  memory  I  shall  for  ever  revere." 

Winifred's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  This  was  not  exactly  what 
the  woollen-draper  desired.  So  he  resolved  to  try  another  tack. 

"  What  a  very  remarkable  thing  it  is,"  he  observed,  applying 
to  his  snuff-box,  "  that  Thames  Darrell,  whom  we  all  supposed 
dead," — Kneebone  in  his  heart  sincerely  wished  he  had  been  so, 
— "should  turn  out  to  be  alive  after  all.  Strange,  I  shouldn't 
know  him  when  he  called  on  me." 

"  It  is  strange,"  replied  Winifred,  artlessly.  "  /  knew  him. 
at  once." 

"  Of  course,"  rejoined  Kneebone,  a  little  maliciously  ;  "  but 
that's  easily  accounted  for.  May  I  be  permitted,  as  a  very  old 
and  very  dear  friend  of  your  lamented  parent,  whose  loss  I  shall 
ever  deplore,  to  ask  you  one  question  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  Winifred. 

"  And  you  will  answer  it  frankly  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Now  for  it,"  thought  the  woollen-draper.  "  I  shall,  at 
least,  ascertain  how  the  land  lies. — Well,  then,  my  dear,"  he 
added  aloud,  "  do  you  still  entertain  the  strong  attachment  you 
did  to  Captain  Darrell  ?  " 

Winifred's  cheeks  glowed  with  blushes,  and  fixing  her  eyes, 
Avhich  flashed  with  resentment,  upon  the  questioner,  she  said, 

"  I  have  promised  to  answer  your  question,  and  I  will  do  so. 
I  love  him  as  a  brother." 

"  Only  as  a  brother  ?  "  persisted  Kneebone. 

If  Winifred  remained  silent,  her  looks  would  have  disarmed  a 
person  of  less  assurance  than  the  woollen-draper. 

"  If  you  knew  -how  much  importance  I  attach  to  your 
answer,"  he  continued,  passionately,  "  you  would  not  refuse  me 
one.  Were  Captain  Darrell  to  offer  you  his  hand,  would  you 
accept  it  ?  " 

"  Your  impertinence  deserves  very  different  treatment,  sir," 
said  Winifred  ;  "  but,  to  put  an  end  to  this  annoyance,  I  will 
tell  you — I  would  not." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  asked  Kneebone,  eagerly. 

124  JACK    SHErPARD. 

"  I  will  not  submit  to  be  thus  interrogated,"  said  Winifred, 

"  In  the  name  of  your  lamented  parent,  whose  memory  I  shall 
for  ever  revere,  I  implore  you  to  answer  me,"  urged  Kneebone, 
"  why — why  would  you  not  accept  him  ?  " 

"  Because  our  positions  are  different,1'1  replied  Winifred,  who 
could  not  resist  this  appeal  to  her  feelings. 

"  You  are  a  paragon  of  prudence  and  discretion,"  rejoined  the 
woollen-draper,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  hers.  "  Disparity 
of  rank  is  ever  productive  of  unhappiness  in  the  married  state. 
When  Captain  DarrelFs  birth  is  ascertained,  I've  no  doubt 
he'll  turn  out  a  nobleman's  son.  At  least  1  hope  so  for  his 
sake,  as  well  as  my  own,"  he  added,  mentally.  *"  He  has  quite 
the  air  of  one.  And  now,  my  angel,  that  I  am  acquainted  with 
your  sentiments  on  this  subject,  I  shall  readily  fulh'l  a  promise 
which  I  made  to  your  lamented  parent,  whose  loss  I  shall  ever 

"A  promise  to  my  mother  ?"  said  Winifred,  unsuspiciously. 

"  Yes,  my  angel,  to  her — rest  her  soul  !  She  extorted  it  from 
me,  and  bound  me  by  a  solemn  oath  to  fulfil  it." 

"Oh!  name  it?"' 

"  You  are  a  party  concerned.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not 
disobey  the  injunctions  of  her  whose  memory  we  must  both  of 
us  ever  revere.  Promise  me." 

"  If  in  my  power  —  certainly.  But,  what  is  it  ?  What  did 
you  promise  ?  " 

"  To  offer  you  my  heart,  my  hand,  my  life,"  replied  Knee- 
bone,  falling  at  her  feet. 

"  Sir  !  "  exclaimed  Winifred,  rising. 

"  Inequality  of  rank  can  be  no  bar  to  our  union,"  continued 
Kneebone.  "  Heaven  be  praised,  /  am  not  the  son  of  a  noble- 

In  spite  of  her  displeasure,  Winifred  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  absurdity  of  this  address.  Taking  this  for  encouragement, 
her  suitor  proceeded  still  more  extravagantly.  Seizing  her 
hand,  he  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"  Adorable  girl !  "  he  cried,  in  the  most  impassioned  tone,  and 
with  the  most  impassioned  look  he  could  command.  "  Adora- 
ble girl,  I  have  long  loved  you  to  desperation.  Your  lamented 
mother,  whose  loss-  I  shall  ever  deplore,  perceived  my  pas- 
sion, and  encouraged  it.  Would  she  were  alive  to  back  my 
suit !" 

"  This  is  beyond  all  endurance,"  said  Winifred,  striving  to 
withdraw  her  hand.  "•  Leave  me,  sir  ;  I  insist." 

" Never!"  rejoined  Kneebone,  with  increased  ardour, — 
"  never,  till  I  receive  from  your  own  lips  the  answer  which  is  to 
make  me  the  happiest  or  the  most  miserable  of  mankind.  Hear 
me,  adorable  girl  !  You  know  not  the  extent  of  my  devotion. 
No  mercenary  consideration  influences  me.  Love  —  admiration 


for  your  matchless  beauty  alone  sways  me.  Let  your  father — if 
he  chooses — leave  all  his  wealth  to  his  adopted  son.  I  care  not. 
Possessed  of  you-)  I  shall  have  a  treasure  such  as  kings  could 
not  boast." 

"Pray,  cease  this  nonsense,"  said  Winifred,  "and  quit  the 
room,  or  I  will  call  for  assistance." 

At  this  juncture  the  door  opened,  and  Thames  entered  the 
room.  As  the  woollen-draper's  back  was  towards  him,  he  did 
not  perceive  him,  but  continued  his  passionate  addresses. 

"  Call  as  you  please,  beloved  girl,1'  he  cried  ;  "  I  will  not 
stir  till  I  am  answered.  You  say  that  you  only  love  Captain 
Darrell  as  a  brother " 

"  Mr.  Kneebone!" 

"  That  you  would  not  accept  him  were  he  to  offer " 

"  Be  silent,  sir  !  " 

*'  He  then,""  continued  the  woollen-draper,  "  is  no  longer  to 
considered " 

"  How,  sir  ?"  cried  Thames,  advancing.  "What  is  the  mean- 
ing of  your  reference  to  my  name  ?  Have  you  dared  to  insult 
this  lady  ?  If  so— 

"  Insult  her  !  "  replied  Kneebone,  rising,  and  endeavouring  to 
hide  his  embarrassment  under  a  look. of  defiance.  "  Far  from  it, 
sir.  I  have  made  her  an  honourable  proposal  of  marriage,  in 
compliance  with  the  request  of  her  lamented  parent,  whose  me- 

"Dare  to  utter  that  falsehood  in  my  hearing  again,  scoun- 
drel," interrupted  Thames,  fiercely,  "  and  I  will  put  it  out  of 
your  power  to  repeat  the  offence.  Leave  the  room  !  leave  the 
house,  sir  !  and,  enter  it  again  at  your  peril." 

"  I  shall  do  neither,  sir,"  replied  Kneebone,  "  unless  I  am  re- 
quested by  this  lady  to  withdraw,  —  in  which  case  I  shall  com- 
ply with  her  request.  And  you  have  to  thank  her  presence, 
hot-headed  6oy,  that  I  do  not  chastise  your  insolence  as  it  de- 

"  Go,  Mr.  Kneebone  —  pray  go !  "  implored  Winifred. 
"  Thames,  I  entreat " 

"  Your  wishes  are  my  laws,  beloved  girl,"  replied  Kneebone, 
bowing  profoundly.  "  Captain  Darrell,11  he  added,  sternly, 
"  you  shall  hear  from  me." 

"  When  you  please,  sir,11  said  Thames,  coldly. 

And  the  woollen-draper  departed. 

"  What  is  all  this,  dear  Winny  ?  "  inquired  Thames,  as  soon 
as  they  were  alone. 

"  Nothing  —  nothing,"  she  answered,  bursting  into  tears. 
"  Don't  ask  me  about  it  now." 

"  Winny,"  said  Thames,  tenderly,  "  something  which  that 
self-sufficient  fool  said  has  so  far  done  me  a  service  in  enabling 
me  to  speak  upon  a  subject  which  I  have  long  had  upon  my 
lips,  but  have  not  had  courage  to  utter." 

VOL.  vi.  L 


"  Thames  ! " 

"  You  seem  to  doubt  my  love,"  he  continued,  —  "  you  seem 
to  think  that  change  of  circumstances  may  produce  some  change 
in  my  affections.  Hear  me  then,  now,  before  I  take  one  step  to 
establish  my  origin,  or  secure  my  rights.  Whatever  those 
rights  may  be,  whoever  I  am,  my  heart  is  yours.  Do  you  ac- 
cept it." 

"  Dear  Thames  ! " 

"  Forgive  this  ill-timed  avowal  of  my  love.  But,  answer  me. 
Am  I  mistaken  ?  Is  your  heart  mine  ?  " 

«  It  is — it  is ;  and  has  ever  been,"  replied  Winifred,  falling 
upon  his  neck. 

Lovers'  confidences  should  be  respected.  We  close  the 


ON  the  following  night — namely,  Monday, — the  family  assem- 
bled together,  for  the  first  time  since  the  fatal  event,  in  the 
chamber  to  which  Thames  had  been  introduced  on  his  arrival  at 
Dollis  Hill.  As  this  had  been  Mrs.  Wood's  favourite  sitting- 
room,  and  her  image  was  so  intimately  associated  with  it,  nei- 
ther the  carpenter  nor  his  daughter  could  muster  courage  to  en- 
ter it  before.  Determined,  however,  to  conquer  the  feeling  as 
soon  as  possible,  Wood  had  given  orders  to  have  the  evening 
meal  served  there  ;  but,  notwithstanding  all  his  good  resolutions 
upon  his  first  entrance,  he  had  much  ado  to  maintain  his  self- 
command.  His  wife's  portrait  had  been  removed  from  the 
walls,  and  the  place  it  had  occupied  was  only  to  be  known  by 
the  cord  by  which  it  had  been  suspended.  The  very  blank, 
however,  affected  him  more  deeply  than  if  it  had  been  left. 
Then,  a  handkerchief  was  thrown  over  the  cage,  to  prevent  the 
bird  from  singing ;  it  was  her  favourite  canary.  The  flowers 
upon  the  mantel-shelf  were  withered  and  drooping  —  she  had 
gathered  them.  All  these  circumstances — slight  in  themselves, 
but  powerful  in  their  effect,  —  touched  the  heart  of  the  widowed 
carpenter,  and  added  to  his  depression. 

Supper  was  over.  It  had  been  discussed  in  silence.  The 
cloth  was  removed,  and  Wood,  drawing  the  table  as  near  the  win- 
dow as  possible — for  it  was  getting  dusk — put  on  his  spectacles, 
and  opened  that  sacred  volume  from  which  the  best  consolation 
in  affliction  is  derived,  and  left  the  lovers  —  for  such  they  may 
now  be  fairly  termed — to  their  own  conversation.  Having  al- 
ready expressed  our  determination  not  to  betray  any  confidences 
of  this  sort,  which,  however  interesting  to  the  parties  concerned, 
could  not  possibly  be  so  to  others,  we  shall  omit  also  the  "  love 
passages,"  and,  proceeding  to  such  topics  as  may  have  general 
interest,  take  up  the  discourse  at  the  point  when  Thames  Dar- 


rell,  expressed  his  determination  of  starting  for  Manchester  as 
soon  as  Jack  Sheppard's  examination  had  taken  place. 

"  I  am  surprised  we  have  received  no  summons  for  attendance 
to-day,"  he  remarked  ;  "  perhaps  the  other  robber  may  be  se- 

"  Or  Jack  have  escaped,"  remarked  Winny. 

"  I  don't  think  that 's  likely.  But,  this  sad  affair  disposed 
of,  I  will  not  rest  till  I  have  avenged  my  murdered  parents." 

"  *  The  avenger  of  blood  himself  shall  slay  the  murderer  J  "  said 
Wood,  who  was  culling  for  himself  certain  texts  from  the  scrip- 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  inspiration,"  said  Thames  ;  "  and  I  receive 
it  as  a  solemn  command.  The  villain  has  enjoyed  his  security 
too  long." 

"  '  Bloody  and  deceitful  men  shall  not  live  half  their  days?  " 
said  Wood,  reading  aloud  another  passage. 

"  And  yet,  he  has  been  spared  thus  long;  perhaps  with  a  wise 
purpose,"  rejoined  Thames.  "  But,  though  the  storm  has 
spared  him,  /  will  not." 

"'No  doubt? "  said  Wood,  who  had  again  turned  over  the 
leaves  of  the  sacred  volume,  —  "  '  no  doubt  this  man  is  a  mur- 
derer, whom,  though  he  escaped  the  seas,  yet  vengeance  sujfereth 
not  to  live.'' " 

"  No  feelings  of  consanguinity  shall  stay  my  vengeance,"  said 
Thames,  sternly.  "  I  will  have  no  satisfaction  but  his  life." 

"  '  Thou  shalt  take  no  satisfaction  for  the  life  of  a  murderer 
which  is  guilty  of  death,  but  he  shall  surely  be  put  to  death,"  said 
Wood,  referring  to  another  text. 

"  Do  not  steel  your  heart  against  him,  dear  Thames,"  inter- 
posed Winifred. 

"  '  And  thine  eye  shall  not  pity,  "  said  her  father,  in  a  tone 
of  rebuke,  "  '  but,  life  shall  be  for  life,  eye  for  eye,  tooth  for 
tooth,  hand  for  hand,  foot  for  foot?" 

As  these  words  were  delivered  by  the  carpenter  with  stern 
emphasis,  a  female  servant  entered  the  room,  and  stated  that  a 
gentleman  was  at  the  door,  who  wished  to  speak  with  Captain 
Darrell  on  business  of  urgent  importance. 

"  With  me  ?  "  said  Thames.     "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  give  his  name,  sir,"  replied  the  maid  ;  "but  he's 
a  young  gentleman." 

"  Don't  go  near  him,  dear  Thames,"  said  Winifred ;  "  he  may 
have  some  ill  intention." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  cried  Thames.  "  What !  refuse  to  see  a  person 
who  desires  to  speak  with  me.  Say  I  will  come  to  him." 

"  Law !  miss,"  observed  the  maid,  "  there 's  nothing  mis- 
chievous in  the  person's  appearance,  I  'm  sure.  He 's  as  nice 
and  civil-spoken  a  gentleman  as  need  be ;  by  the  same  token," 
she  added,  in  an  under  tone,  "  that  he  gave  me  a  span  new  crown 



"'The  thief  cometh  in  the  night,  and  the  troop  of  rolltra 
spoikth  without?"  said  Wood,  who  had  a  text  for  every  emer- 

"  Lor'  ha'  mussy,  sir  !  —  how  you  do  talk,"  said  the  woman  ; 
"  this  is  no  rohber,  I  'm  sure.  I  should  have  known  at  a  glance 
if  it  was.  He's  more  like  a  lord  than 

As  she  spoke,  steps  were  heard  approaching  ;  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  a  young  man  marched  boldly  into  the  room. 

The  intruder  was  handsomely,  even  richly,  attired  in  a  scar- 
let riding-suit,  embroidered  with  gold;  a  broad  belt,  to  which  a 
hanger  was  attached,  crossed  his  shoulders  ;  his  boots  rose  above 
his  knee,  and  he  carried  a  laced  hat  in  his  hand.  Advancing  to 
the  middle  of  the  chamber,  he  halted,  drew  himself  up,  and 
fixed  his  dark,  expressive  eyes,  on  Thames  Darrell.  His  appear- 
ance excited  the  greatest  astonishment  and  consternation  amid 
the  group.  Winifred  screamed.  Thames  sprang  to  his  feet, 
and  half  drew  his  sword,  while  Wood,  removing  his  spectacles 
to  assure  himself  that  his  eyes  did  not  deceive  him,  exclaimed  in 
a  tone  and  with  a  look  that  betrayed  the  extremity  of  surprise — 
"  Jack  Sheppard  !  " 

"Jack  Sheppard  !"  echoed  the  maid.  "Is  this  Jack  Shep- 
pard ?  Oh,  la  !  I  'm  undone  !  We  shall  all  have  our  throats 
cut !  Oh !  oh  !  "  And  she  rushed,  screaming,  into  the  pas- 
sage, where  she  fell  down  in  a  fit. 

The  occasion  of  all  this  confusion  and  dismay,  meanwhile,  re- 
mained perfectly  motionless  ;  his  figure  erect,  and  with  some- 
what of  dignity  in  his  demeanour.  He  kept  his  keen  eyes 
steadily  fixed  on  Thames,  as  if  awaiting  to  be  addressed. 

"  Your  audacity  passes  belief,"  cried  the  latter,  as  soon  as  his 
surprise  would  allow  him  utterance.  "  If  you  have  contrived  to 
break  out  of  your  confinement,  villain,  this  is  the  last  place 
where  you  ought  to  show  yourself/"1 

"  And,  therefore,  the  first  I  would  visit,"  replied  Jack,  boldly. 
"  But,  pardon  my  intrusion.  I  was  resolved  to  see  you.  And, 
fearing  you  might  not  come  to  me,  I  forced  my  way  hither,  even 
with  certainty  of  discomposing  your  friends." 

"  Well,  villain  !  "  replied  Thames,  "  I  know  not  the  motive  of 
your  visit.  But,  if  you  have  come  to  surrender  yourself  to  jus- 
tice, it  is  well.  You  cannot  depart  hence." 

"  Cannot  !  "  echoed  Jack,  a  slight  smile  crossing  his  features. 
"  But,  let  that  pass.  My  motive  in  coming  hither  is  to  serve 
you,  and  save  your  life.  If  you  choose  to  requite  me  by  detain- 
ing me,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  I  shall  make  no  defence. 
That  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  reward  offered  for  my  capture 
this  will  show,"  he  added,  taking  a  large  placard  headed  '  Mur- 
der"1  from  his  pocket,  and  throwing  it  on  the  floor.  "  My  de- 
meanour ought  to  convince  you  that  I  came  with  no  hostile 
intention.  And,  to  show  you  that  I  have  no  intention  of  flying, 
I  will  myself  close  and  lock  the  door.  There  is  the  key.  Are 
you  now  satisfied  ?  " 


"  No,"  interposed  Wood,  furiously,  "  I  shall  never  be  satisfied 
till  I  see  you  hanged  on  the  highest  gibbet  at  Tyburn." 

u  A  time  may  come  when  you  will  be  gratified,  Mr.  Wood," 
replied  Jack,  calmly. 

"  May  come  ! — it  will  come  ! — it  shall  come  !  "  cried  the  car- 
penter, shaking  his  hand  menacingly  at  him.  "  I  have  some 
difficulty  in  preventing  myself  from  becoming  your  executioner. 
Oh  !  that  I  should  have  nursed  such  a  viper  !  " 

"  Hear  me,  sir,"  said  Jack. 

"  No,  I  won't  hear  you,  murderer,"  rejoined  Wood. 

"  I  am  no  murderer,"  replied  Sheppard.  "  I  had  no  thought 
of  injuring  your  wife,  and  would  have  died  rather  than  commit 
so  foul  a  crime." 

"  Think  not  to  delude  me,  audacious  wretch,"  cried  the  car- 
penter. "  Even  if  you  are  not  a  principal,  you  are  an  accessary. 
If  you  had  not  brought  your  companion  here,  it  would  not  have 
happened.  But  you  shall  swing,  rascal, — you  shall  swing." 

'*  My  conscience  acquits  me  of  all  share  in  the  offence,"  re- 
plied Jack,  humbly.  "  But  the  past  is  irremediable,  and  I  did 
not  come  hither  to  exculpate  myself.  I  came  to  save  your  life," 
he  added,  turning  to  Thames. 

**  I  was  not  aware  it  was  in  danger,"  rejoined  Darrell. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to  me  for  the  warning. 
You  are  in  danger." 

"  From  some  of  your  associates  ?  " 

"  From  your  uncle, — from  my  uncle, — Sir  Rowland  Trench- 

"  What  means  this  idle  boasting,  villain  ? "  said  Thames. 
"  Your  uncle,  Sir  Rowland  ?  " 

"  It  is  no  idle  boasting,"  replied  the  other.  "  You  are  cousin 
to  the  housebreaker,  Jack  Sheppard." 

"  If  it  were  so,  he  would  have  great  reason  to  be  proud  of  the 
relationship,  truly,"  observed  Wood,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  easy  to  make  an  assertion  like  this,"  said  Thames,  con- 

"  And  equally  easy  to  prove  it,"  replied  Jack,  giving  him  the 
paper  he  had  abstracted  from  Wild.  "  Read  that." 

Thames  hastily  cast  his  eyes  over  it,  and  transferred  it  with  a 
look  of  incredulity  to  Wood. 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  this  is  more  wonderful  than  all  the  rest," 
cried  the  carpenter,  rubbing  his  eyes.  "  Thames,  this  is  no 

"•  You  believe  it,  father  ?  " 

"  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  always  thought  Mrs. 
Sheppard  superior  to  her  station." 

"  So  did  1,"  said  Winifred.     "  Let  me  look  at  the  paper." 

"  Poor  soul  ! — poor  soul !  "  groaned  Wood,  brushing  the  tears 
from  his  vision.  "Well,  I'm  glad  she's  spared  this.  Oh! 
Jack,  Jack,  you  've  much  to  answer  for  !  " 


"  I  have,  indeed,"  replied  Sheppard,  in  a  tone  of  contrition. 

"  If  this  document  is  correct,"  continued  Wood,  "  and  I  am 
persuaded  it  is  so, — you  are  as  unfortunate  as  wicked.  See  what 
your  misconduct  has  deprived  you  of— see  what  you  might  have 
been.  This  is  retribution." 

"  I  feel  it,"  replied  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  agony,  "  and  I  feel  it 
more  on  my  poor  mother's  account  than  my  own." 

"  She  has  suffered  enough  for  you,"  said  Wood." 

"  She  has,  she  has,"  said  Jack,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  Weep  on,  reprobate,"  cried  the  carpenter,  a  little  softened 
"  Those  tears  will  do  you  good." 

"  Do  not  distress  him,  dear  father,"  said  Winifred  ;  "  he  suffers 
deeply.  Oh,  Jack  !  repent,  while  it  is  yet  time,  of  your  evil 
conduct.  I  will  pray  for  you." 

*'  I  cannot  repent. —  I  cannot  pray,"  replied  Jack,  recovering 
his  hardened  demeanour.  "  I  should  never  have  been  what  I 
am,  but  for  you." 

"  How  so  ?"  inquired  Winifred. 

"  I  loved  you,"  replied  Jack, — "  don't  start  —  it  is  over  now 
— I  loved  you,  I  say,  as  a  boy,  hopelessly,  and  it  made  me  des- 
perate. And  now  I  find,  when  it  is  too  late,  that  I  might  have 
deserved  you — that  I  am  as  well  born  as  Thames  Darrell.  But 
I  mustn't  think  of  these  things,  or  I  shall  grow  mad.  I  have 
said  your  life  is  in  danger,  Thames.  Do  not  slight  my  warning. 
Sir  Rowland  Trenchard  is  aware  of  your  return  to  England.  I 
saw  him  last  night  at  Jonathan  Wild's,  after  my  escape  from  the 
New  Prison.  He  had  just  arrived  from  Manchester,  whence  he 
had  been  summoned  by  that  treacherous  thief-taker.  I  over- 
heard them  planning  your  assassination.  It  is  to  take  place  to- 

"  Oh  heavens  !  "  screamed  Winifred,  while  her  father  lifted 
up  his  hands  in  silent  horror. 

"  And  when  I  further  tell  you,"  continued  Jack,  "  that,  after 
yourself  and  my  mother,  /  am  the  next  heir  to  the  estates  of  my 
grandfather,  Sir  Montacute  Trenchard,  you  will  perhaps  own 
that  my  caution  is  sufficiently  disinterested." 

"  Could  I  credit  your  wild  story,  I  might  do  so,"  returned 
Thames,  with  a  look  of  perplexity. 

"  Here  are  Jonathan  Wild's  written  instructions  to  Quilt  Ar- 
nold," rejoined  Sheppard,  producing  the  pocket-book  he  had 
found  in  the  janizary's  clothes.  "  This  letter  will  vouch  for  me 
that  .a  communication  has  taken  place  between  your  enemies." 

Thames  glanced  at  the  despatch,  and,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, inquired,  "  In  what  way  is  the  attempt  upon  my  life  to  be 
made  ? " 

"  That  I  couldn't  ascertain,"  replied  Jack  ;  "  but  I  advise 
you  to  be  upon  your  guard.  For  aught  I  know,  they  may  be 
in  the  neighbourhood  at  this  moment." 


"  Here  !"  ejaculated  Wood,  with  a  look  of  alarm.  "  Oh  lord  ! 
I  hope  not." 

"  This  I  do  know,"  continued  Jack, — "  Jonathan  Wild  super- 
intends the  attack." 

"  Jonathan  Wild ! "  repeated  the  carpenter,  trembling.  "  Then 
it  's  all  over  with  us.  Oh  dear  !  —  how  sorry  I  am  I  ever  left 
Wych-street.  We  may  be  all  murdered  in  this  unprotected 
place,  and  nobody  be  the  wiser." 

"  There  ""s  some  one  in  the  garden  at  this  moment,"  cried 
Jack ;  "  I  saw  a  face  at  the  window." 

"  Where — where  ?  "  cried  Thames. 

"  Don't  stir,"  replied  Jack.  "  I  will  at  once  convince  you  of 
the  truth  of  my  assertions,  and  ascertain  whether  the  enemy 
really  is  at  hand." 

So  saying,  he  advanced  towards  the  window,  threw  open  the 
sash,  and  called  out  in  the  voice  of  Thames  Darrell, 

"  Who's  there?" 

He  was  answered  by  a  shot  from  a  pistol.  The  ball  passed 
over  his  head,  and  lodged  in  the  ceiling. 

"  I  was  right,"  replied  Jack,  returning  as  coolly  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  "  It  is  Jonathan.  Your  uncle  —  our  uncle  is 
with  him.  I  saw  them  both." 

"  May  I  trust  you  ?  "  cried  Thames,  eagerly. 

"  You  may,"  replied  Jack  ;  "  I  '11  fight  for  you  to  the  last 

"  Follow  me,  then,"  cried  Thames,  drawing  his  sword,  and 
springing  through  the  window. 

"  To  the  world's  end,"  answered  Jack,  darting  after  him. 

"  Thames  ! — Thames  !  "  cried  Winifred,  rushing  to  the  win- 
dow. "  Oh  !  he  will  be  murdered  ! — oh  !  " 

"  My  child  !  —  my  love  !  "  cried  Wood,  dragging  her  forcibly 

Two  shots  were  fired,  and  presently  the  clashing  of  swords 
was  heard  below. 

After  some  time,  the  scuffle  grew  more  and  more  distant,  until 
nothing  could  be  heard. 

Wood,  meanwhile,  had  summoned  his  men-servants,  and 
having  armed  them  with  such  weapons  as  could  be  found,  they 
proceeded  to  the  garden,  where  the  first  object  they  encountered 
was  Thames  Darrell,  extended  on  the  ground,  and  weltering  in 
his  blood.  Of  Jack  Sheppard  or  the  assailants  they  could  not 
discover  a  single  trace. 

As  the  body  was  borne  to  the  house  in  the  arms  of  the  farm- 
ing-men, Mr.  Wood  fancied  he  heard  the  exulting  laugh  of 
Jonathan  Wild. 



WHEN  Thames  Darrell  and  Jack  Sheppard  sprang  through 
the  window,  they  were  instantly  assailed  by  Wild,  Trenchard, 
and  their  attendants.  Jack  attacked  Jonathan  with  such  furv» 
that  he  drove  him  into  a  shrubbery,  and  might  perhaps  have 
come  off  the  victor,  if  his  foot  had  not  slipped  as  he  made  a  des- 
perate lunge.  In  this  state  it  would  have  been  all  over  with 
him,  as,  being  stunned  by  the  fall,  it  was  some  moments  before 
he  could  recover  himself,  if  another  party  had  not  unexpectedly 
come  to  his  rescue.  This  was  Blueskin,  who  burst  through  the 
trees,  and  sword  in  hand  assaulted  the  thief-taker.  As  soon  as 
Jack  gained  his  legs,  he  perceived  Blueskin  lying,  as  he  thought, 
dead  in  the  plantation,  with  a  severe  cut  across  his  temples,  and 
while  he  was  stooping  to  assist  him,  he  heard  groans  at  a  little 
distance.  Hastening  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  he  discovered 
Thames  Darrell  stretched  upon  the  ground. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  Thames  ?  "  asked  Jack,  anxiously. 

"  Not  dangerously,  I  hope,"  returned  Thames;  "  but  fly- 
save  yourself." 

"  Where  are  the  assassins  ?  "  cried  Sheppard. 

"  Gone,"  replied  the  wounded  man.     "  They  imagine  their 
work  is  done.     But  I  may  yet  live  to  thwart  them." 

"  I  will  carry  you  to  the  house,  or  fetch  Mr.  Wood,""  urged 

"  No,  no,"  rejoined  Thames;  "  fly — or  I  will  not  answer  for 
your  safety.     If  you  desire  to  please  me,  you  will  go." 

"  And  leave  you  thus  ?"  rejoined  Jack.     "  I  cajinot  do  it." 

"Go,  I  insist,"  cried  Thames,  "or  take  the  consequences 
upon  yourself.  I  cannot  protect  you." 

Thus  urged,  Jack  reluctantly  departed.  Hastening  to  the 
spot  where  he  had  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  he  vaulted  into  the 
saddle,  and  rode  off  across  the  fields,  —  for  he  was  fearful  of  en- 
countering the  hostile  party,  —  till  he  reached  the  Edgeware 
Road.  Arrived  at  Paddington,  he  struck  across  Marylebone 
Fields,  —  for  as  yet  the  New  Road  was  undreamed  of,  —  and 
never  moderated  his  speed  until  he  reached  the  city.  His  desti- 
nation was  the  New  Mint.  At  this  place  of  refuge,  situated  in 
the  heart  of  Wapping,  near  the  river-side,  he  arrived  in  less 
than  an  hour,  in  a  complete  state  of  exhaustion. 

In  consequence  of  the  infamous  abuse  of  its  liberties,  an  act 
for  the  entire  suppression  of  the  Old  Mint  was  passed  in  the 
ninth  year  of  the  reign  of  George  the  First,  not  many  months 
oefore  the  date  of  the  present  epoch  of  this  history  ;  and  as, 
after  the  destruction  of  Whitefriars,  which  took  place  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  in  consequence  of  the  protection 


••fa  a'-//-'  •_  /f^'^/?^  //7  s?/-s,0,(  /.. 


.-tcuijn.  Richaxc 


afforded  by  its  inmates  to  the  Levellers  and  Fifth- monarchy- 
men,  when  the  inhabitants  of  Alsatia  crossed  the  water,  and 
settled  themselves  in  the  borough  of  Southwark,  • —  so  now, 
driven  out  of  their  fastnesses,  they  again  migrated,  and  re- 
crossing  the  Thames,  settled  in  Wapping,  in  a  miserable  quarter 
between  Artichoke  Lane  and  Nightingale  Lane,  which  they 
termed  the  New  Mint.  Ousted  from  his  old  retreat,  the  Cross 
Shovels,  Baptist  Kettleby  opened  another  tavern,  conducted 
upon  the  same  plan  as  the  former,  which  he  denominated  the 
Seven  Cities  of  Refuge.  His  subjects,  however,  were  no  longer 
entirely  under  his  control ;  and,  though  he  managed  to  enforce 
some  little  attention  to  his  commands,  it  was  evident  his  autho- 
rity was  waning  fast.  Aware  that  they  would  not  be  allowed  to 
remain  long  unmolested,  the  New  Minters  conducted  them- 
selves so  outrageouslv,  and  with  such  extraordinary  insolence, 
that  measures  were  at  this  time  being  taken  for  their  effectual 

To  the  Seven  Cities  of  Refuge  Jack  proceeded.  Having  dis- 
posed of  his  steed,  and  swallowed  a  glass  of  brandy,  without 
taking  any  other  refreshment,  he  threw  himself  on  a  couch, 
where  he  sank  at  once  into  a  heavy  slumber.  When  he  awoke  it 
was  late  in  the  day,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  Blueskin  seated 
by  his  bed-side,  watching  over  him  with  a  drawn  sword  on  his 
knee,  a  pistol  in  each  hand,  and  a  blood-stained  cloth  bound 
across  his  brow. 

"  Don't  disturb  yourself,11  said  his  follower,  motioning  him  to 
keep  still ;  "  it 's  all  right." 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Jack. 

"  Past  noon,"  replied  Blueskin.  "  I  didn't  awake  you,  be- 
cause you  seemed  tired." 

"  How  did  you  escape?"  asked  Sheppard,  who,  as  he  shook 
off  his  slumber,  began  to  recall  the  events  of  the  previous  night. 
"  Oh,  easily  enough,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  I  suppose  I 
must  have  been  senseless  for  some  time;  for,  on  coming  to  my- 
self, I  found  this  gash  in  my  head,  and  the  ground  covered  with 
blood.  However,  no  one  had  discovered  me,  so  I  contrived  to 
drag  myself  to  my  horse.  I  thought  if  you  were  living,  and  not 
captured,  I  should  find  you  here,  —  and  I  was  right.  I  kept 
watch  over  you,  for  fear  of  a  surprise  on  the  part  of  Jonathan. 
But  what 's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"The  first  thing  I  do,"  replied  Jack,  "will  be  to  visit  my 
poor  mother  in  Bedlam." 

"  You  'd  better  take  care  of  your  mother's  son  instead,"  re- 
joined Blueskin.  "  It 's  runnin1  a  great  risk." 

"  Risk,  or  no  risk,  I  shall  go,"  replied  Jack.     "  Jonathan  has 
threatened  to  do  her  some  mischief.     I  am  resolved  to  see  her, 
without  delay,  and  ascertain  if  it 's  possible  to  remove  her." 
"It's  a  hopeless  job,"  grumbled  Blueskin,  "and  harm  will 


come  of  it.  What  are  you  to  do  with  a  mad  mother  at  a  time 
when  you  need  all  your  wits  to  take  care  of  yourself  ?" 

"  Don't  concern  yourself  further  about  me,"  returned  Jack. 
"  Once  for  all,  I  shall  go." 

"  Won't  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  No  ;  you  must  await  my  return  here." 

*'  Then  I  must  wait  a  long  time,"  grumbled  Blueskin. 
"  You  11  never  return." 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  Jack.  "  But,  if  I  should  not  return, 
take  this  purse  to  Edgeworth  Bess.  You  '11  find  her  at  Black 
Mary's  Hole." 

And,  having  partaken  of  a  hasty  breakfast,  he  set  out. 
Taking  his  way  along  East  Smithfield  ;  mounting  Little  Tower- 
hill,  and  threading  the  Minories  and  Hounsditch,  he  arrived 
without  accident  or  molestation,  at  Moorfields. 

Old  Bethlehem,  or  Bedlam, — every  trace  of  which  has  been 
swept  away,  and  the  hospital  for  lunatics  removed  to  Saint 
George's  Field, — was  a  vast  and  magnificent  structure.  Erected 
in  Moorfields  in  1675,  upon  the  model  of  the  Tuileries,  it  is  said 
that  Louis  the  Fourteenth  was  so  incensed  at  the  insult  offered 
to  his  palace,  that  he  had  a  counterpart  of  St.  James's  built  for 
offices  of  the  meanest  description.  The  size  and  grandeur  of  the 
edifice,  indeed,  drew  down  the  ridicule  of  several  of  the  wits  of 
the  age  :  by  one  of  whom  —  the  facetious  Tom  Brown  —  it  was 
said,  "  Bedlam  is  a  pleasant  place,  and  abounds  with  amuse- 
ments ; — the  first  of  which  is  the  building  so  stately  a  fabric  for 
persons  wholly  insensible  of  the  beauty  and  use  of  it :  the  out- 
side being  a  perfect  mockery  of  the  inside,  and  admitting  of  two 
amusing  queries, — Whether  the  persons  that  ordered  the  build- 
ing of  it,  or  those  that  inhabit  it,  were  the  maddest  ?  and, 
whether  the  name  and  thing  be  not  as  disagreeable  as  harp  and 
harrow."  By  another  —  the  no  less  facetious  Ned  Ward  —  it 
was  termed,  "  A  costly  college  for  a  crack-brained  society, 
raised  in  a  mad  age,  when  the  chief  of  the  city  were  in  a  great 
danger  of  losing  their  senses,  and  so  contrived  it  the  more 
noble  for  their  own  reception  ;  or  they  would  never  have  flung 
away  so  much  money  to  so  foolish  a  purpose."  The  cost  of  the 
building  exceeded  seventeen  thousand  pounds.  However  the 
taste  of  the  architecture  may  be  questioned,  which  was  the  formal 
French  style  of  the  period,  the  general  effect  was  imposing.  In- 
cluding the  wings,  it  presented  a  frontage  of  five  hundred  and 
forty  feet.  Each  wing  had  a  small  cupola ;  and,  in  the  centre 
of  the  pile  rose  a  larger  dome,  surmounted  by  a  gilded  ball  and 
vane.  The  asylum  was  approached  by  a  broad  gravel  walk, 
leading  through  a  garden  edged  on  either  side  by  a  stone  balus- 
trade, and  shaded  by  tufted  trees.  A  wide  terrace  then  led  to 
large  iron  gates,  over  which  were  placed  the  two  celebrated 
figures  of  Raving  and  Melancholy  Madness,  executed  by  the 


elder  Gibber,  and  commemorated  by  Pope  in  the  Dunciad,  in 
the  well-known  lines  : — 

"  Close  to  those  walls  where  Folly  holds  her  throne, 
And  laughs  to  think  Monroe  would  take  her  down, 
Where,  o'er  the  gates,  by  his  famed  father's  hand, 
Great  Gibber's  brazen,  brainless  brothers  stand." 

Internally,  it  was  divided  by  two  long  galleries,  one  over  the 
other.  These  galleries  were  separated  in  the  middle  by  iron 
grates.  The  wards  on  the  right  were  occupied  by  male  patients, 
on  the  left  by  the  females.  In  the  centre  of  the  upper  gallery 
was  a  spacious  saloon,  appropriated  to  the  governors  of  the 
asylum.  But,  the  besetting  evil  of  the  place,  and  that  which 
drew  down  the  severest  censures  of  the  writers  above-mentioned, 
was  that  this  spot,  —  which  of  all  others  should  have  been  most 
free  from  such  intrusion — was  made  a  public  exhibition.  There 
all  the  loose  characters  thronged,  assignations  were  openly  made, 
and  the  spectators  diverted  themselves  with  the  vagaries  of  its 
miserable  inhabitants. 

Entering  the  outer  gate,  and  traversing  the  broad  gravel  walk 
before-mentioned,  Jack  ascended  the  steps,  and  was  admitted, 
on  feeing  the  porter,  by  another  iron  gate,  into  the,  hospital. 
Here  he  was  almost  stunned  by  the  deafening  clamour  resound- 
ing on  all  sides.  Some  of  the  lunatics  were  rattling  their  chains; 
some  shrieking ;  some  singing ;  some  beating  with  frantic  vio- 
lence against  the  doors.  Altogether,  it  was  the  most  dreadful 
noise  he  had  ever  heard.  Amidst  it  all,  however,  there  were 
several  light-hearted  and  laughing  groups  walking  from  cell  to 
cell,  to  whom  all  this  misery  appeared  matter  of  amusement. 
The  doors  of  several  of  the  wards  were  thrown  open  for 
these  parties,  and  as  Jack  passed,  he  could  not  help  glancing 
at  the  wretched  inmates.  Here  was  a  poor  half-naked  crea- 
ture, with  a  straw  crown  on  his  head,  and  a  wooden  sceptre 
in  his  hand,  seated  on  the  ground  with  all  the  dignity  of  a  mo- 
narch on  his  throne.  There  was  a  mad  musician,  seemingly 
rapt  in  admiration  of  the  notes  he  was  extracting  from  a  child's 
violin.  Here  was  a  terrific  figure  gnashing  his  teeth,  and  howl- 
ing like  a  wild  beast ;  —  there  a  lover,  with  hands  clasped  to- 
gether, and  eyes  turned  passionately  upward.  In  this  cell  was 
a  huntsman,  who  had  fractured  his  skull  while  hunting,  and  was 
perpetually  hallooing  after  the  hounds ; — in  that,  the  most  me- 
lancholy of  all,  the  grinning  gibbering  lunatic,  the  realization  of 
"  moody  madness,  laughing  wild." 

Hastening  from  this  heart-rending  spectacle,  Jack  soon  reached 
the  grating  that  divided  the  men's  compartment  from  that  appro- 
priated to  the  women.  Inquiring  for  Mrs.  -Sheppard,  a  matron 
offered  to  conduct  him  to  her  cell. 

"  You  11  find  her  quiet  enough  to-day,  sir,"  observed  the 
woman,  as  they  walked  along ;  "  but  she  has  been  very  out- 
rageous latterly.  Her  nurse  says  she  may  live  some  time  ;  but 
she  seems  to  me  to  be  sinking  fast."" 


"  Heaven  help  her  !  "  sighed  Jack.     "  I  hope  not.1' 

"  Her  release  would  be  a  mercy,"  pursued  the  matron.  "  Oh  ! 
sir,  if  you  'd  seen  her  as  I  've  seen  her,  you  ""d  not  wish  her  a 
continuance  of  misery." 

As  Jack  made  no  reply,  the  woman  proceeded. 

"  They  say  her  son  's  taken  at  last,  and  is  to  be  hanged.  I  'm 
glad  of  it,  I  'm  sure  ;  for  it  ""s  all  owing  to  him  his  poor  mother  's 
here.  See  what  crime  does,  sir.  Those  who  act  wickedly  bring 
misery  on  all  connected  with  them.  And  so  gentle  as  the  poor 
creature  is,  when  she 's  not  in  her  wild  fits  —  it  would  melt  a 
heart  of  stone  to  see  her.  She  will  cry  for  days  and  nights  to- 
gether. If  Jack  Sheppard  could  behold  his  mother  in  this  state, 
he  'd  have  a  lesson  he  'd  never  forget — ay,  and  a  severer  one  than 
even  the  hangman  could  read  him.  Hardened  as  he  is,  that 
would  touch  him.  But  he  has  never  been  near  her — never." 

Rambling  in  this  way,  the  matron  at  length  came  to  a  halt, 
and  taking  out  a  key,  pointed  to  a  door  and  said,  "  This  is  Mrs. 
Sheppard's  ward,  sir." 

"  Leave  us  together,  my  good  woman,"  said  Jack,  putting  a 
guinea  into  her  hand. 

"  As  long  as  you  please,  sir,11  answered  the  matron,  dropping 
a  curtsey.  "  There,  sir,"  she  added,  unlocking  the  door,  "  you 
can  go  in.  Don't  be  frightened  of  her.  She  's  not  mischievous, 
— and  besides,  she 's  chained,  and  can't  reach  you." 

So  saying,  she  retired,  and  Jack  entered  the  cell. 

Prepared  as  he  was  for  a  dreadful  shock,  and  with  his  nerves 
strung  to  endure  it,  Jack  absolutely  recoiled  before  the  appalling 
object  that  met  his  gaze.  Cowering  in  a  corner  upon  a  heap  of 
straw  sat  his  unfortunate  mother,  the  complete  wreck  of  what 
she  had  been.  Her  eyes  glistened  in  the  darkness  —  for  light 
was  only  admitted  through  a  small  grated  window— like  flames, 
and,  as  she  fixed  them  on  him,  their  glances  seemed  to  penetrate 
his  very  soul.  A  piece  of  old  blanket  was  fastened  across  her 
shoulders,  and  she  had  no  other  clothing  except  a  petticoat.  Her 
arms  and  feet  were  uncovered,  and  of  almost  skeleton  thinness. 
Her  features  were  meagre,  and  ghastly  white,  and  had  the  fixed 
and  horrible  stamp  of  insanity.  Her  head  had  been  shaved,  and 
around  it  was  swathed  a  piece  of  rag,  in  which  a  few  straws 
were  stuck.  Her  thin  fingers  were  armed  with  nails  as  long  as 
the  talons  of  a  bird.  A  chain,  riveted  to  an  iron  belt  encircling 
her  waist,  bound  her  to  the  wall.  The  cell  in  which  she  was 
confined  was  about  six  feet  long  and  four  wide ;  the  walls  were 
scored  all  over  with  fantastic  designs,  snatches  of  poetry,  short 
sentences  and  names, — the  work  of  its  former  occupants,  and  of 
its  present  inmate. 

When  Jack  entered  the  cell,  she  was  talking  to  herself  in  the 
muttering  unconnected  way  peculiar  to  her  distracted  condition  ; 
but,  after  her  eye  had  rested  on  him  some  time,  the  fixed  ex- 
pression of  her  features  relaxed,  and  a  smile  crossed  them.  This 
smile  was  more  harrowing  even  than  her  former  rigid  look. 


"  You  are  an  angel,"  she  cried,  with  a  look  beaming  with  de- 

"  Rather  a  devil,"  groaned  her  son,  "  to  have  done  this."" 
"  You  are  an  angel,  I  say,"  continued  the  poor  maniac  ;  "  and 
my  Jack  would  have  been  like  you,  if  he  had  lived.     But  he 
died  when  he  was  a  child — long  ago — long  ago — long  ago." 

"  Would  he  had  done  so  !  "  cried  Jack. 

"  Old  Van  told  me  if  he  grew  up  he  would  be  hanged.  He 
showed  me  a  black  mark  under  his  ear,  where  the  noose  would 
be  tied.  And  so  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  did — " 

And  she  burst  into  a  laugh  that  froze  Jack's  blood  in  his 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  I  strangled  him  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  —  strangled  him  while  he 
was  at  my  breast — ha  !  ha  !  " — And  then  with  a  sudden  and  fear- 
ful change  of  look  she  added.  "  That's  what  has  driven  me 
mad.  I  killed  my  child,  to  save  him  from  the  gallows — oh  !  oh  ! 
One  man  hanged  in  a  family  is  enough.  If  I  'd  not  gone  mad, 
they  would  have  hanged  me." 

"  Poor  soul !  "  ejaculated  her  son. 

u  I  '11  tell  you  of  a  dream  I  had  last  night,"  continued  the 
unfortunate  being.  "  I  was  at  Tyburn.  There  was  a  gallows 
erected,  and  a  great  mob  round  it  —  thousands  of  people,  and 
all  with  white  faces  like  corpses.  In  the  midst  of  them  there 
was  a  cart  with  a  man  in  it  —  and  that  man  was  Jack —  my  son 
Jack — they  were  going  to  hang  him.  And  opposite  to  him,  with 
a  book  in  his  hand, — but  it  couldn't  be  a  prayer-book, — sat  Jo- 
nathan Wild,  in  a  parson's  cassock  and  band.  I  knew  him  in 
spite  of  his  dress.  And  when  they  came  to  the  gallows,  Jack 
leaped  out  of  the  cart,  and  the  hangman  tied  up  Jonathan  in- 
stead —  ha  !  ha  !  How  the  mob  shouted  and  huzzaed  —  and  I 
shouted  too — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

"  Mother  !  "  cried  Jack,  unable  to  endure  this  agonizing  scene 
longer.  "  Don't  you  know  me,  mother  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Sheppard.  "  What's  that  ?  —Jack's 
voice ! " 

"  It  is,"  replied  her  son. 

"  The  ceiling  is  breaking  !  the  floor  is  opening  !  he  is  coming 
to  me  ! "  cried  the  unhappy  woman. 

"  He  stands  before  you,"  rejoined  her  son. 

"  Where  ?  "  she  cried.     "  I  can't  see  him.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Here,"  answered  Jack. 

"  Are  you  his  ghost,  then  ?  " 

"No  —  no,"  answered  Jack.  "I  am  your  most  unhappy 

"  Let  me  touch  you,  then  ;  let  me  feel  if  you  are  really  flesh 
and  blood,"  cried  the  poor  maniac,  creeping  towards  him  on  all 

Jack  did  not  advance  to  meet  her.     He  could  not  move  ;  but 


stood  like  one  stupified,  with  his  hands  clasped  together,  and 
eyes  almost  starting  out  of  their  sockets,  fixed  upon  his  unfortu- 
nate parent. 

"  Come  to  me ! "  cried  the  poor  maniac,  who  had  crawled 
as  far  as  the  chain  would  permit  her,  —  "  come  to  me ! "  she 
cried,  extending  her  thin  arm  towards  him. 

Jack  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Sheppard,  passing  her  hands 
over  his  face,  and  gazing  at  him  with  a  look  that  made  him 

"  Your  son,"  replied  Jack,  —  "  your  miserable,  repentant 

"  It  is  false,"  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard.  "  You  are  not.  Jack 
was  not  half  your  age  when  he  died.  They  buried  him  in  Wil- 
lesden  churchyard  after  the  robbery." 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  cried  Jack,  "  she  does  not  know  me.  Mother — 
dear  mother  ! "  he  added,  clasping  her  in  his  arms.  "  Look  at 
me  again." 

"  Oft' ! "  she  exclaimed,  breaking  from  his  embrace  with  a 
scream.  "  Don't  touch  me.  I  '11  be  quiet.  1 11  not  speak  of 
Jack  or  Jonathan.  I  won't  dig  their  graves  with  my  nails. 
Don't  strip  me  quite.  Leave  me  my  blanket  !  1 'm  very  cold 
at  nights.  Or,  if  you  must  take  off  my  clothes,  don't  dash  cold 
water  on  my  head.  It  throbs  cruelly." 

'*  Horror  !  "  cried  Jack. 

"  Don't  scourge  me,"  she  cried,  trying  to  hide  herself  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  cell.  "  The  lash  cuts  to  the  bone.  I 
can't  bear  it.  Spare  me,  and  I  '11  be  quiet — quiet — quiet ! " 

"  Mother  ! "  said  Jack,  advancing  towards  her. 

"  Off!  "  she  cried,  with  a  prolonged  and  piercing  shriek.  And 
she  buried  herself  beneath  the  straw,  which  she  tossed  above  her 
head  with  the  wildest  gestures. 

"  I  shall  kill  her  if  I  stay  longer,"  muttered  her  son,  com- 
pletely terrified. 

While  he  was  considering  what  it  would  be  best  to  do,  the 
poor  maniac,  over  whose  bewildered  brain  another  change  had 
come,  raised  her  head  from  under  the  straw,  and,  peeping  round 
the  room,  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "  If  they  were  gone  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  "  inquired  Jack. 

"  The  nurses,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  they  treat  you  ill  ?  "  asked  her  son. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said,  putting  her  lean  fingers  to  her  lips. 
"  Hush  ! — come  hither,  and  I  '11  tell  you." 

Jack  approached  her. 

"  Sit  beside  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Sheppard.  "  And,  now  I  '11 
tell  you  what  they  do.  Stop !  we  must  shut  the  door,  or 
they  '11  catch  us.  See  !  "  she  added,  tearing  off'  the  rag  from  her 
head, — "  I  had  beautiful  black  hair  once.  But,  they  cut  it  all 


"  I  shall  go  mad  myself  if  I  listen  to  her  longer,"  said  Jack, 
attempting  to  rise.  "  I  must  go." 

"  Don't  stir,  or  they  ""II  chain  you  to  the  wall,"  said  his 
mother,  detaining  him.  "  Now,  tell  me  why  they  brought  you 
here  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  dear  mother  ! "  answered  Jack. 

"  Mother  !  "  she  echoed,  — "  mother  !  why  do  you  call  me  by 
that  name  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  my  mother." 

"  What  !  "  she  exclaimed,  staring  eagerly  in  his  face.  "  Are 
you  my  son  ?  Are  you  Jack  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  replied  Jack.  "  Heaven  be  praised,  she  knows  me  at 

"  Oh,  Jack  ! "  cried  his  mother,  falling  upon  his  neck,  and 
covering  him  with  kisses. 

"  Mother — dear  mother  ! "  said  Jack,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  You  will  never  leave  me,"  said  the  poor  woman,  straining 
him  to  her  breast. 

"  Never — never  ! " 

The  words  were  scarcely  pronounced,  when  the  door  was  vio- 
lently thrown  open,  and  two  men  appeared  at  it.  They  were 
Jonathan  Wild  and  Quilt  Arnold. 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Jack,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"Just  in  time,"  said  the  thieftaker.  "  You  are  my  prisoner, 

"  You  shall  take  my  life  first,"  rejoined  Sheppard. 

And,  as  he  was  about  to  put  himself  into  a  posture  of  defence, 
his  mother  clasped  him  in  her  arms. 

"  They  shall  not  harm  you,  my  love  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

The  movement  was  fatal  to  her  son.  Taking  advantage  of 
his  embarrassed  position,  Jonathan  and  his  assistant  rushed  upon 
him,  and  disarmed  him. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  cried  the  thieftaker,  as  he 
slipped  a  pair  of  handcuffs  over  Jack's  wrists,  "  for  the  help 
you  have  given  us  in  capturing  your  son.  Without  you,  we 
might  have  had  some  trouble." 

Aware,  apparently  in  some  degree,  of  the  mistake  she  had 
committed,  the  poor  maniac  sprang  towards  him  with  frantic 
violence,  and  planted  her  long  nails  in  his  cheek. 

"  Keep  off,  you  accursed  jade  !  "  roared  Jonathan,  —  "  Keep 
off,  I  say,  or  — "  And  he  struck  her  a  violent  blow  with  his 
clenched  hand. 

The  miserable  woman  staggered,  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and 
fell  senseless  on  the  straw. 

"  Devil !  "  cried  Jack  ;  "  that  blow  shall  cost  you  your  life." 

"  It  '11  not  need  to  be  repeated,  at  all  events,"  rejoined  Jona- 
than, looking  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  at  the  body.  "  And, 
now, — to  Newgate." 



THOU  standest  on  the  forest's  edge,  proud  monarch  of  the  wood, 
Thy  sturdy  form  the  goings  forth  of  many  a  storm  bath  stood  ; 
Age  doth  not  seem  to  weaken  thee;  thy  greenness  doth  not  fail  ; 
In  years  to  come  thy  hoary  head  shall  bow  before  the  gale. 

Thou  art  a  faithful  sentinel,  and  Time  hath  fix'd  thee  there 

To  mark  the  flight  of  fleeting  years  as  ever  on  they  wear  ; 

And,  though  the  winter's  sweeping  blasts  thy  leaves  have  often  slain, 

The  flowering  summer  hath  renew'd  thy  emerald  robes  again. 

Like  a  true  friend,  old  favour'd  Elm,  thy  form  to  me  appears  ; 
Strange  visions  of  wild  fantasy  come  up  from  other  years  ; 
And  shades  of  dark  mysterious  gloom  are  o'er  my  senses  cast 
While  musing  on  the  varied  scenes  that  crowd  the  fertile  past. 

How  many  young  and  happy  hearts  have  thrilled  in  wild  delight, 
Anticipating  richer  bliss  in  manhood's  glorious  might; 
Trusting  the  world's  bright  promises — more  bright,  alas!  than  true, — 
Beneath  the  deep  and  ample  shade  thy  towering  branches  threw  ! 

And  many  forms  of  fairest  mould,  and  cheeks  of  youthful  bloom, 
Have  pass'd  to  manhood,  and  to  age,  and  to  the  dreary  tomb, 
While  thou  wert  waving  in  thy  pride, — a  prince  among  the  trees, 
With  all  thy  glowing  pinions  spread  in  beauty  on  the  breeze. 

Oft  hast  thou  seen  the  flaxen  locks  on  childhood's  brow  of  snow, 
Uplifted  by  the  slightest  breeze,  in  graceful  ringlets  flow ; 
Hast  seen  them  thicken  and  assume  a  darker,  sterner  hue, 
Until  the  hand  of  age  at  length  the  silver  o'er  them  threw. 

And  thou  hast  mark'd  the  ruddy  cheek,  and  forehead  bright  and  fair, 
Before  Time's  iron  hand  had  writ  on  them  a  line  of  care; 
The  cheek  before  thy  sight  has  blanch'd,  the  forehead  furrow'd  o'er, 
And  both  were  placed  beneath  the  sod,  to  bloom  and  blanch  no  more. 

My  grandsire,  when  a  thoughtless  boy,  beneath  thy  boughs  has  laid ; 
My  father's  form  of  infancy  was  cradled  in  thy  shade; 
And  thou  hast  seen  life's  changing  flood  full  often  o'er  them  sweep, 
Now  shelter'd  from  the  winter's  storms,  and,  watch'd  by  thee,  they  sleep. 

And  I — the  wayward  youth,  the  man — have  wandered  near  thy  side  ; 
Matured  in  strength  before  thee  now,  I  stand  in  manhood's  pride ; 
Beside  the  dead  a  narrow  place  untenanted  I  see ; 
Soon  with  my  fathers  I  may  rest, — that  place  is  left  for  me. 

Ere  long  the  greensward  at  thy  base  will  show  another  grave, 
And  over  me  as  green  as  now  will  thy  long  branches  wave ; 
And  other  feet  shall  wander  here,  and  other  hearts  be  gay, 
When  I,  like  my  ancestral  race,  from  earth  have  passed  away. 

And  summer  suns  will  roll  on  high  as  brilliantly  as  e'er, 
And  summer  skies,  as  broad,  as  blue,  as  beautiful,  as  clear, 
Will  shine  above  the  busy  world  when  life  with  me  is  done, 
And  few,  ah  !  very  few  indeed,  will  know  that  I  am  gone. 

J.  N.  MC  JlLTON. 

Baltimore,  U.  S. 



MY  friend  Leonard  d'Egoville  is  one  of  the  happiest  rascals  of  my 
acquaintance ;  there  is  a  provoking  self-satisfaction  in  the  fellow's 
looks,  which  is  apt  to  put  the  rest  of  the  world  out  of  humour 
with  his  prosperity.  D'Egoville  is  always  triumphant,  ever  exult- 
ing,—  overpowering  one  with  his  selfish  sense  of  enjoyment,  and 
perpetual  demands  on  one's  admission  of  inferiority.  Why  not,  for 
instance,  allow  me  to  eat  my  mutton  cutlets  in  peace,  without  in- 
forming me  that  yesterday  he  dined  on  chevreuil?  Why  not  let  me 
enjoy  my  humble  dish  of  larks,  without  boasting,  with  a  punch  in 
the  ribs,  that  last  ni^ht  lie  supped  on  beccaficos  ?  For  my  part,  I 
can  contentedly  swallow  my  paltry  pint  of  Pouilly  under  the  acacia- 
trees  of  the  "  Vendanges  de  Bourgogne,"  without  insulting  the  porteur 
d'eau  I  see  making  wry  faces  at  the  nearest  guinguctte,  over  his  viti 
de  Surcne,  by  enlarging  upon  its  delicate  flavour ;  and,  methinks,  I 
have  a  right  to  expect  similar  forbearance  on  the  part  of  the  chuck- 
ling Monsieur  d'Egoville,  when  he  comes  parading  to  me  about  his 
iced  St.  Peray  or  choice  Sauterne.  I  am  not  more  envious  than  my 
neighbours,  yet  I  swear  there  are  moments  when  it  would  be  a 
relief  to  me  to  see  my  friend  Leonard  receive  a  whacking  box  on  the 
ear,  in  retribution  of  his  exultations. 

For  several  years  past,  D'Egoville  has  been  in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
capital  bachelor's  apartment  on  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines,  and  a 
charming  little  villa  at  Montmorency,  —  and  I  admit  that  he  would 
be  an  ungrateful  dog,  were  he  not  to  thank  Heaven  morning,  even- 
ing, and  at  odd  times  between,  for  the  auspicious  ordering  of  his  des- 
tinies ;  but  he  has  no  right  to  tantalize  a  poor  wretch  of  a  scribbler 
like  myself  by  bragging  of  the  coolness  of  his  cellars,  the  marrow- 
like  softness  of  his  sofa-cushions,  the  sharpness  of  his  razors,  or  the 
smoothness  of  his  parquets. 

"  This  is  a  cheering  sight,"  said  I,  on  meeting  him  the  other  day 
at  the  exhibition  of  the  arts  and  manufactures  of  France,  now  open 
in  the  Champs  Elysees,  "  a  most  gratifying  thing  for  Louis  Philippe 
and  the  French  nation,  to  perceive  how  vast  a  progress  has  been 
made  during  the  last  five  years  in  the  texture  of  their  cloths,  the 
growth  of  their  wool,  and  the  temper  of  their  cutlery.  The  jury 
will  find  it  a  difficult  task,  I  conceive,  to  award  their  medals  and 
prizes  among  so  many  meritorious  competitors." 

"  What  the  devil  do  /  care  for  the  jury,  its  medals,  or  prizes !  " 
exclaimed  D'Egoville,  with  a  self-complacent  laugh.  "  I  come  here, 
my  dear  fellow,  solely  on  my  own  errand.  Happening  to  look  yes- 
terday at  my  banker's  book,  and  to  find  the  balance,  as  usual,  on  the 
right  side,  I  instantly  drew  a  cheque  for  a  few  thousand  francs,  with 
the  view  of  adding  more  comforts  to  my  bachelor's  hall,  yonder  at 
Montmorency.  For  a  man  who  has  a  little  money  to  throw  away, 
this  place  is  really  a  resource.  One  sees  all  the  new  inventions,  all 
the  last  improvements,  without  the  bore  of  driving  from  shop  to 
shop,  to  be  bored  and  solicited  to  death  ;  and  after  all,  perhaps, 
flummeried  into  the  purchase  of  a  service  of  plate  or  a  boot-jack  of 

VOL.  VI.  M 


last  year's  fashion.  Look  at  this  magnificent  stained  crystal  from 
Alsace  —  I  have  just  ordered  myself  a  most  exquisite  little  cabaret 
for  my  eau  sucree,  white  embossed  with  garnet  colour,  for  two  hun- 
dred francs.  I  should  have  paid  half  as  much  again  for  some  rococo 
machine  or  other  of  the  same  kind,  had  I  contented  myself  with  a 
puny  look  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Again,  yonder  magnificent  carpet 
of  Sallandrouze's,  with  the  peacock  waving  his  gorgeous  tail  as  a 
centre-piece — I  have  bought  it  for  my  drawing-room,  for  two  thou- 
sand francs,  instead  of  closing  for  the  quizzical  Aubusson  for  which 
I  was  bargaining  with  my  upholsterer.  I  am  now  on  my  road  to 
the  next  gallery,  to  settle  about  some  carved  ebony  consoles.  I 
can't  make  up  my  mind  exactly  which  I  like  best,  —  those  with  or 
without  the  ivory  inlaying." 

"  The  difference  of  price  between  the  two  must  be  considerable," 
I  inadvertently  observed. 

"  Ay,  ay, — that  is  the  point  always  uppermost  in  the  thoughts  of 
you  pen-and-ink  gentry.  Luckily,  a  thousand  or  two  of  francs  more 
or  less  in  the  cost  signifies  very  little  to  me  !  All  I  have  to  consider 
is,  which  kind  will  harmonize  best  with  the  new  Venetian  hangings 
which  Lesage  is  putting  up  in  my  saloon.  And,  by  the  way,  what 
think  you  of  those  mechanical  beds  yonder,  with  their  reading-desk, 
lamp-stand,  and  table-service,  appearing  and  disappearing  by  the 
touch  of  a  spring  ?  I  have  some  thoughts  of  getting  one  against  my 
first  fit  of  the  gout.  Even  in  this  hot  weather  it  is  pleasant  enough 
to  be  waited  upon,  without  being  offended  by  the  sight  of  one's 
footmen's  shining  faces." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  I,  striving  to  get  away,  and  follow 
my  own  devices  in  the  examination  of  the  curious  works  of  art  and 
science  abounding  in  the  gallery. 

"Why,  where  the  deuce  are  you  hurrying  to?"  cried  Leonard 
d'Egoville  ;  "  what  can  you  want  here  ?  "  he  continued,  with  a  su- 
percilious glance  from  my  seedy  coat  to  one  of  Ancoq's  gorgeous 
dressing-cases  of  sculptured  gold. 

"  Not  much,  indeed  ! "  I  replied,  forcing  a  laugh.  "  But  there  is 
some  consolation  in  examining  and  philosophising  upon  yonder 
anatomical  model  of  an  unsophisticated  man,  (with  its  demonstration 
of  veins  and  arteries,  proving  all  the  sons  of  Adam  to  be  condemned 
to  the  same  organization,)  in  comparison  with  the  various  displays 
of  finery,  lace,  embroidery,  and  brocade,  which  furnish  the  worldly 
distinction  between  my  lord  and  his  valet, — between  the  Croesus  and 
the  beggar !  " 

My  irony  was  thrown  away. 

"  Brocade  ? — embroidery  ?  "  cried  D'Egoville,  catching  at  the  only 
sounds  comprehensible  to  him  in  my  harangue ;  "  where  the  devil 
are  they  ?  I  have  seen  only  those  devoted  to  the  service  of  the 
altar,  which,  by  the  way,  your  millionary  Roman  Catholic  English 
Lord*  has  been  buying  up  by  the  waggon-load  for  his  new  church. 
There  is  nothing  worth  speaking  of  in  the  way  of  embroidery  that  I 
am  aware  of." 

"  Not  even  the  exquisite  court  train  and  cushion  marked  with 
the  initials  of  the  young  Queen  of  England  ?  "  cried  I,  with  indigna- 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  I  am  in  search  only  of  objects  applicable 

*  The  Earl  of  Shrewsbury. 


to  my  own  use.  What  are  court-trains  to  me  ?  But,  by  the  way," 
continued  Leonard,  pointing  to  a  stall  we  were  passing  covered  with 
toupets  and  peruques,  of  every  size,  shape,  sort,  and  shade,  betwixt 
black,  chinchjlli,  and  hoary  silver,  betwixt  the  full-bottom  and  the 
astucian's  lour  de  tete,}  "even  you  might  surely  find  things  here 
adapted  both  to  your  wants  and  pockets.  See,  my  poor  friend !  — . 
cauls  of  very  decent  aspect  for  your  bald  crown,  at  ten  francs 
a-piece  !  And  look  beyond — superb  rateliers  of  teeth  for  three  louis 
a-set,  or  half-a-crown  by  the  single  grinder.  Ears,  too,  in  gold, 
silver,  or  caoutchouc,  permanent  or  temporary,  with  acoustic  tubes, 
affixable  at  pleasure. — And,  as  I  live,  glass  eyes  !  of  every  hue,  from 
sparkling  black  to  sentimental  blue.  But  you  enjoy,  I  fancy,  the 
use  of  both  your  eyes,  eh  ? — your  imperfect  vision  being  merely 
the  result  of  your  time  of  life.  Well — no  need  to  despair  !  Plere 
is  an  optician  who  promises  that,  by  the  use  of  a  pair  of  five-franc 
spectacles,  you  shall  be  able  to  read  diamond  editions  by  candle- 

"•  There  are  also  yonder  crutches  for  the  lame,  iron  bandages  for 
the  deformed,  and  even  strait-waistcoats  for  the  insane,"  cried  I, 
enraged  beyond  my  patience  by  his  insolent  egotism.  "  I  natter 
myself  that  I  stand  in  need  of  neither  ;  yet  I  am  thankful  to  Heaven 
that  I  am  able  to  admire  the  progress  of  human  ingenuity,  without 
reference  to  my  personal  wants  or  deficiencies." 

"  Why,  by  Jupiter,  I  do  believe  you  are  affronted ! "  cried  D'Ego- 
ville.  "'  My  dear  fellow,  ten  million  of  pardons  !  Perhaps  I  am  a 
little  too  apt  to  overlook  the  raws  and  sores  of  other  people ;  yet  I 
have  certainly  no  reason  to  disparage  those  arising  from  —  from  a 
deficiency  in  the  financial  department,"  said  he,  afraid  of  again 
offending  me.  "  Only  a  few  years  ago,  I  used  to  come  here  myself 
with  wistful  eyes  and  watering  mouth,  like  the  chimney-sweepers 
who  thaw  their  noses  in  hard  weather  against  the  panes  of  the  pasti-y- 
cooks'  shops.  I  did  not  then  dare  so  much  as  lift  my  ambition  to  a 
cane  and  tassel,  by  way  of  equipage, — /  who,  this  very  season,  have 
launched  a  couple  of  carriages  and  a  fourgon!" 

I  was  amazed  —  though  the  bragging  propensities  of  Leonard 
D'Egoville  ought  to  have  forewarned  me  of  the  parvenu, — his  hard- 
ness of  heart  had  caused  me  to  set  him  down  in  my  mind  as  one 
born  and  nurtured  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity.  So  little  had  he 
learned  mercy,  that  I  could  not  conceive  he  had  ever  suffered  perse- 

"  You  look  surprised,"  cried  he,  detecting  my  amazement.  "  Did 
I  never  confide  to  you  the  strange  origin  of  my  fortune  ?  Let  me 
see  —  when  we  first  made  our  acquaintance  crossing  St.  Bernard, 
four  years  ago — " 

"  You  were,  as  now,  in  the  enjoyment  of  wealth  and  independ- 
ence," said  I.  "  During  the  illness  following  the  accident  which 
then  befell  me,  —  me,  a  poor  wayfarer,  —  you  were  lavish  in  your 
offers  of  assistance — " 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  —  I  have  heard  enough  of  that  —  it  was  not  of  that 
we  were  talking,"  cried  D'Egoville.  "  I  was  telling  you,  or  wanting 
to  tell  you,  how,  from  a  poor  devil  in  arrears  for  the  rent  of  his 
fusty  lodging  in  the  Quartier  Latin,  I  achieved  my  present  position. 
The  story  is  a  long  one,  and  would  do  me  little  honour  in  the  ears  of 
the  idlers  of  the  Exposition,  should  it  chance  to  be  overheard. 

M  2 


Come  down,  therefore,  with  me  to  Montmorency, — my  Pelham  is  at 
the  door,  —  come  down  with  me,  I  say,  to  Montmorency,  and  dine 
and  sleep,  and  you  shall  have  the  narrative  of  my  chequered  life, 
including  a  description  of  the  memorable  temple  of  Esculapius,  — 
PHopital  des  chiens, — which  was  the  making  of  me." 

"  You  kept  a  dog-hospital !  "  cried  I,  inexpressibly  astonished. 
"  Not  exactly,"  replied  Leonard,  more  diverted,  however,  than 
indignant  at  the  accusation.  "  Trust  me,  I  had  not  wherewithal  to 
entertain  any  establishment  half  so  costly.  But  I  see  that  your  cu- 
riosity is  excited; — let  us  be  going.  I  dine  at  six  precisely,  —  ay, 
precisely,  even  to  a  friend." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  accept  your  obliging  invitation,"  said  I, 
drawing  up.  "  Although  I  lodge  in  a  cinquicme,  and  the  meal  awaiting 
me  is  only  my  daily  soupe  and  bouilli,  the  good  woman  who  prepares 
it  would  be  apt  in  her  anxiety  to  go  and  interrogate  the  police, 
should  her  methodical  master  commit  so  strange  a  breach  of  routine 
as  to  tarry  from  home  for  board  and  bed,  without  having  duly  ap- 
prized her." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  !  We  will  take  the  Rue  Miromenil  in  our 
way  out  of  town,  instead  of  crossing  through  Les  Thermes  ;  and  you 
may  at  once  apprize  your  Megara,  and  snatch  up  a  change  of  linen, 
in  case  you  are  tempted  to  remain  with  me  to-morrow,"  cried 
D'Egoville.  "  Come,  come  !  —  we  must  not  lose  our  time.  A  good 
entree  waits  for  no  man  ;  and  owcjilels  dc  canatan  will  be  spoiled,  if 
you  stand  hem-ing  and  ha-ing  thus." 

And  though  I  did  my  utmost  to  evade  the  engagement,  between 
threats,  promises,  and  cajolements,  Monsieur  d'Egoville  took  such 
forcible  possession  of  my  rnind  and  body,  that  we  had  reached  St. 
Omer  before  I  was  half  reconciled  to  my  own  inconsistency  of  pur- 

"  How  full  of  historical  reminiscences  are  all  the  environs  of 
Paris !  "  cried  D'Egoville,  with  a  sentimental  air,  as  we  drove  within 
view  of  the  aristocratic  parks  of  St.  Omers,  "  betwixt  the  great  De 
Stael,  Du  Cayla,  and  Ferrand  of  Merino-sheep  renown, — how  many 
illustrious  names  connect  themselves  with  the  history  of  St.  Omers ! 
But  I  forget  —  I  have  promised  to  talk  to  you  of  a  person  less  illus- 
trious— of  my  obscure  self." 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  began  to  caress  his  crossed  leg  with  an  air  of 
complacency,  implying  that,  in  his  own  estimation,  Charlemagne  was 
a  footboy  to  him. 

"I  have  a  tale  to  tell  which,  as  my  coachman  has  no  more  ear  for 
Christian  discourse  than  one  of  the  brutes  he  is  driving,  can  never 
be  more  safely  adventured  than  here  on  the  Citizen  King's  high- 
way," he  resumed.  "  In  the  first  place,  know  that,  high  as  I  have 
ascended  in  the  scale  of  society,  your  humble  servant  was  born  in 
the  confined  sphere  of  a  porter's  lodge.  The  cordon,  my  natural 
inheritance,  was  neither  that  of  the  St.  Esprit  nor  of  the  Golden 
Fleece,  but  simply  that  cord  by  which  my  tender  mother  let  in  and 
out  the  visiters  to  an  obscure  house  in  the  Rue  Vendome.  Ay — 
shrug  your  shoulders  !  —  gay  and  brilliant  as  you  behold  me,  I  am 
actually  a  native  of  that  most  humdrum  quarter  of  Paris,  the  Ma- 
rais !  Superior  to,  or  perhaps  only  ashamed  of,  her  humble  voca- 
tion, my  mother  announced  herself  to  me,  as  I  grew  to  boy's  estate, 
as  the  widow  of  a  captain  of  the  grande  armee  ;  in  witness  whereof, 


she  kept  among  the  edibles  in  her  corner-cupboard  an  old  ribbon  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour,  and  a  bottle  of  eau  de  Cologne  cast  in  the 
effigy  of  Napoleon,  —  incontestable  evidence  of  my  parentage,  to 
which  I  did  due  homage  every  time  I  paid  my  devoirs  to  her  Gru- 
yere  cheese.  I  have  my  doubts  whether  the  lodgers  of  the  old  den 
to  which  her  services  were  attached  were  equally  respectful ;  for  I 
remember  that  rny  venerable  parent  was  apt  to  treat  them  (behind 
their  backs)  with  sovereign  contempt,  from  the  retired  clockmaker, 
whose  family  occupied  the  first  floor,  to  the  employes  in  the  marc/ie 
mix  viei/x  linges,  who  lodged  on  the  sixieme.  Of  the  whole  hordes 
who  dealt  out  their  five-franc  pieces  to  her  on  New  Year's  Day,  and 
their  discontents  and  damn-mes  the  remaining  three  hundred  and 
sixty-four,  there  was  only  one  whom  Madame  Goville — " 

"  Goville?  "  I  indiscreetly  reiterated. 

"  Ay,  my  good  sir.  Since  I  have  consented  to  deliver  my  round 
unvarnished  tale,  I  may  as  well  admit  that  only  the  two  latter  syl- 
lables of  my  name  are  derived  from  the  ghost  of  the  captain  of  the 
grande  a  mice,  or  from  his  soi-disant  widow.  To  resume, — where  you 
so  unnecessarily  suspended  my  story,  —  there  was  only  one  among 
the  lodgers  especially  recommended  by  my  mother  to  my  assiduity 
and  forbearance. 

"  '  Be  sure,'  she  used  to  say,  as  she  sat  with  her  Roman  nose 
crooked  into  the  stocking  she  was  mending,  (for,  in  spite  of  the 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  Madame  Goville  stooped  to  follow 
the  calling  of  a  ravaudeuse,} — '  be  sure,  Leonard,  never  to  pass  on  the 
stairs  or  in  the  entry  without  a  salutation  either  to  Mademoiselle 
Brigitte,  the  maiden  lady  on  the  second  floor,  or  la  mere  Pinson,  her 
woman  of  all  work.  Of  all  the  abiders  in  this  dog-hole  of  a  house, 
they,  my  dear  son,  are  to  be  respected.  So  little  trouble  as  they 
give,  and  such  handsome  vails ! — two  three-livre  crowns  on  the  first 
of  January,  and  another  on  mademoiselle's  fete  day, — and  yet  in  bed 
every  night  of  the  blessed  year  by  eight  o'clock,  and  not  a  single 
visiter  from  one  year's  end  to  another,  either  to  mistress  or  maid,  to 
take  the  needle  out  of  my  hand,  or  give  me  the  trouble  of  saying 
"  At  home,"  or  "  Not  at  home ! "  To  be  sure,  there  is  the  nuisance 
of  opening  the  gate  three  times  a-day  for  her  beast  of  a  poodle, 
when,  for  discretion  sake,  la  mere  Pinson  brings  him  down  to  the 
street;  to  say  nothing  of  my  anxieties  in  keeping  the  peace  betwixt 
Mademoiselle  Brigitte  and  Madame  Alain,  the  old  cat  on  the  first 
floor,  who  swears  that  her  mignionette  arid  nasturtiums  are  as  good 
as  ruined  by  the  noisy  beast  of  a  cockatoo  that  hangs  out  of  ma'am- 
selle's  window.' 

"  '  Say  what  you  will  against  ma'amselle's  cockatoo,  mother,'  cried 
I,  '  but  not  a  word  against  poor  Mouton.  Mouton  is  the  cleverest 
dog  and  the  best  creature  in  the  wide  world.' 

"  '  Ay,  ay, — as  troublesome  and  mischievous  as  thyself,'  was  the 
rejoinder  of  the  captain's  widow.  '  But  no  matter  ;  leave  the  poodle 
to  itself,  Nanard,  and  the  poodle  will  leave  thee.  But  whatever 
thou  dost,  be  sure  never  to  lose  an  opportunity  of  obliging  or 
serving  Mademoiselle  Brigitte  or  her  maid.  I  have  heard  it  whis- 
pered by  a  little  bird,  who  never  sings  false,  that  mademoiselle  (who 
has  not  a  relation  upon  earth)  is  inscribed  in  the  great  bank  of 
France  as  owner  of  twice  as  large  an  amount  of  fortune  as  the 
richest  proprietors  in  the  Rue  de  Vendome ! ' 


"  You  -will  admit  that  Madame  Goville,  good  woman,  took  a 
stupid  way  of  interesting  the  feelings  of  a  child.  The  great  bank 
of  France  was  a  mystery  beyond  my  powers  of  developement ;  and 
it  was  chiefly  as  the  mistress  of  Mouton  that  I  felt  inclined  to  love, 
honour,  or  obey  Mademoiselle  Brigitte  Duval ;  for  Mouton  was  the 
joy  of  my  days,  the  dream  of  my  nights, — a  huge,  woolly,  rusty- 
coated  poodle,  unanimously  kicked  and  cuffed  by  its  mistress's  fel- 
low-lodgers whenever  occasion  offered, — the  poor  beast  bestowed 
upon  myself,  his  solitary  friend,  the  rich  treasure  of  his  affections. 
Harassed  out  of  his  life  by  the  exaction  of  the  two  old  women,  to 
whom  his  antics  afforded  the  sole  diversion  of  their  unincidental 
life,  Mouton  was  only  too  rejoiced  to  escape  from  the  stifling  atmo- 
sphere of  Mademoiselle  Brigitte's  apartment  to  frolic  with  me  in 
the  narrow  court-yard,  or,  when  opportunity  favoured  our  escape, 
to  play  truant  with  me  for  a  course  among  the  chestnut-trees  of  the 
Place  Koyale.  Right  happy  were  we,  Mouton  and  I,  when  we 
could  fly  together,  —  ay,  even  at  the  risk  of  a  good  beating  a-piece 
on  our  return  to  those  in  authority  over  us. 

"  All  my  regard  for  Mouton,  however,  did  not  prevent  my  perpe- 
tually incurring  the  displeasure  of  his  mistress.  A  spell  seemed  set 
upon  my  endeavours  to  recommend  myself  to  Mademoiselle  Bri- 
gitte Duval's  favour.  I  it  was  who  admitted  into  the  house  the 
identical  bundled  cat  by  which  the  hopes  of  her  first  brood  of  ca- 
naries was  demolished  ;  the  cherry-stone  over  which  la  mere  Pin- 
son's  luckless  foot  slipped  one  summer  morning,  thereby  originating 
a  fracture  which  might  have  cost  her  her  life,  and  did  cost  her  lady 
a  fortune  in  doctors'  bills,  was  traced  to  a  pound  of  bigarreaux 
which  I  had  purchased  on  the  sly,  and  devoured  on  the  staircase,  by 
way  of  giving  a  lesson  to  Mouton  in  fetching  and  carrying  with  the 
stones.  In  short,  whatever  evil  chanced  to  the  lady  or  the  lady's 
maid,  Leonard  Goville  was  sure  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Luckily 
enough  for  me,  for  to  insure  my  absence  six  days  out  of  the  seven, 
Mademoiselle  Brigitte  finally  consented  to  unclose  her  purse-strings 
to  pay  for  my  schooling ;  and,  but  for  my  indefatigability  in  para- 
ding poor  Mouton  on  the  landing-place  every  morning,  with  his 
mistress's  purloined  parasol  for  a  musket,  to  go  through  his  manual 
exercise,  I  might  have  remained  guiltless  of  the  common  rudiments 
of  learning. 

"  I  was  almost  repaid  for  the  afflictions  of  exile  from  my  illiterate 
home  by  the  howl  of  rapture  wherewith  Mouton  used  to  greet  me 
every  Sunday,  the  moment  my  well-known  step  was  heard  on  the 
stairs.  Mademoiselle  Brigitte  grumbled,  indeed,  that  even  this  Sab- 
batical release  from  the  labours  of  learning  should  be  conceded  to 
me ;  but  on  that  point  I  was  firm,  swearing  that,  unless  allowed  to 
return  home  on  Sundays,  in  order  to  pay  my  respects  to  my  beloved 
parent  and  my  beloved  poodle,  I  would  not" go  to  school  at  all. 

"  Three  years  had  I  been  toiling  through  the  labyrinth  of  letters  ; 
and  the  clumsy  booby  often  was  stretching  into  the  lanky  youth  of 
thirteen,  when  my  domestic  happiness  was  overcast  by  perceiving 
that  my  faithful  friend  no  longer  enjoyed  the  blessings  of  vigorous 
health.  In  proportion  as  my  frame  became  elongated,  that  of  the 
pampered  poodle  grew  globose  ;  and,  instead  of  the  saltatorial  salu- 
tations wherewith  he  was  wont  to  denote  his  joy  at  my  weekly  ar- 


rival,  he  began  to  find  some  difficulty  in  wheezing  his  way  to  the 
head  of  the  staircase  to  do  me  honour.  It  could  not  be  old  age ;  for 
Mouton,  when  introduced  into  my  mother's  lodge  five  years  before 
in  the  apron  of  Madame  Pinson,  was  a  mere  puppy  — round,  white, 
helpless,  and  featureless,  as  if  he  had  rolled  out  of  a  filbert-nut.  So 
sudden  a  progress  of  decay  must  clearly  arise  from  inward  disease  ; 
and  tears  burst  on  more  than  one  occasion  from  my  eyes,  on  learning 
that  Mouton  was  given  over  by  the  faculty  as  under  the  influence  of 
a  confirmed  liver-complaint !  It  was  a  tender  subject  to  Mademoi- 
selle Brigitte :  she  who  had  witnessed  without  a  pang  the  extinc- 
tion of  her  numerous  family  could  not  summon  courage  to  contem- 
plate the  day  when  Mouton  was  to  be  removed  from  her. 

" '  They  have  fed  the  poor  dog  to  death,  and  there  's  an  end  of  it,' 
was  the  reply  of  Captain  Goville's  widow  when  I  appealed  to  her 

"  '  No,  no, — not  an  end  of  it ! '  cried  I.  '  Something  might  surely 
be  done.  Abounding,  as  this  great  metropolis  does,  in  scientific 
practitioners,  Mouton  might  yet  be  saved.  Yes,  mother,  —  yes, 
madam,  Mouton  might  yet  be  saved.' 

"  '  I  'm  sure  I  shouldn't  care  a  pinch  of  snuff  if  he  were  strung  up 
to  yonder  clothes-line  ! '  was  the  hard-hearted  rejoinder  of  Madame 
Goville.  '  But,  true  it  is  that  the  grand  dog-doctor  who  came  last 
week  all  the  way  from  the  Champs  Elysees  in  his  own  carriage  for  a 
consultation,  swore  that  the  dog  had  a  do/en  years'  life  in  him,  if  his 
mistress  would  only  consent  to  put  him  upon  a  regiment.' 

"  '  Into  a  regiment  ?'  said  I,  somewhat  astonished. 

"  '  No,  child  !  To  starve  him  till  the  bones  come  through  his  skin. 
That 's  what  the  faculty  call  (  putting  upon  a  regiment.'  Yet,  for  all 
I  can  argue,  or  the  doctor  can  devise,  mademoiselle  persists  in  kill- 
ing him  with  kindness,  The  last  gentleman  who  attended  him, 
from  the  famous  Hopilal  des  Chiens  in  the  Rue  de  Clichy,  swore 
that  if  they  went  on  stuffing  the  poor  beast,  Mouton  hadn't  a  month 
to  live ;  and  then,'  continued  my  mother  with  a  grim  smile,  '  if 
they  like  they  may  stuff  him  for  good  and  all.' 

"  She  ought  not  to  have  jested, — for  the  tears  were  coursing  each 
other  down  her  son's  innocent  nose.  Escaping  from  her  presence,  I 
hurried  to  the  Rue  de  Clichy.  I  resolved  to  know  the  worst.  I 
chose  to  see  the  Dupuytren  of  the  canine  race,  and  learn  the  fate  of 
Mouton  from  scientific  lips. 

"  Did  you  ever  happen  to  notice  in  your  wanderings,"  continued 
D'Egoville,  turning  abruptly  towards  me,  "just  opposite  to  the  gates 
of  the  Tivoli  Gardens,  and  perfumed  by  the  fragrant  atmosphere  of 
its  lilacs  and  roses,  an  elegant  architectural-looking  edifice,  the  door 
of  which  is  surmounted  by  the  effigy  of  a  dog  ?  That  airy  structure 
is  the  Hopital  des  Chiens,  —  I  say  '  the '  par  excellence,  to  distinguish 
it  from  the  numerous  dog-hospitals  which  drain  the  purses  of  the 
dowagers  of  Paris.  After  a  timid  ring  at  the  bell  I  was  admitted 
into  the  bureau  of  the  establishment ;  a  handsome  room,  furnished 
with  illustrated  editions  of  the  best  physiological  authorities,  and  a 
desk,  on  which  lay  the  day-books  and  ledgers  of  the  hospital.  It 
had  not  struck  eleven ;  till  which  hour  I  knew  that  Dr.  Mirabeau 
received  patients  previous  to  setting  forth  in  his  carriage  for  his 
daily  consultations. 


"I  had  not  yet  ventured  to  take  a  seat,  when  the  doctor  appeared, 
• — a  snug,  smiling,  greyheaded  gentleman,  habited  in  professional 
black,  and  wearing  diamond  studs  in  his  shirt,  and  at  his  button- 
hole the  riband  of  the  national  order.  He  entered,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  the  self-gratulating  air  peculiar  to  his  obnoxious  species. 

"In  a  few  words  I  explained  my  errand. 

"  '  Let  me  see,'  said  he,  taking  from  his  pockect  a  richly-gilt  mo- 
rocco pocket-book,  containing  notes  of  his  consultation.  '  Last  week, 
you  say;  a  grey  poodle,  in  the  Rue  de  Vendome?  Exactly.  Here 
we  have  him.  Mouton,  aged  five  years  and  three  months,  the  pro- 
perty of  Mademoiselle  Brigitte  Duval.  A  very  serious  case,  sir,'  he 
continued,  shaking  his  head.  '  Complete  derangement  of  the  epi- 
gastric region,  hepatic  inflammations,  irregular  action  of  the  pulse, — 
altogether  an  important  complication.  Nevertheless,  I  have  hope, 
removed  from  the  disadvantages  under  which  he  at  present  labours, 
my  patient  might  still  live  to  be  a  delight  to  the  Duval  family.  But 
it  is  one  of  the  misfortunes,  sir,  which  beset  the  gentlemen  of  my 
profession,  that  our  best  endeavours  are  counteracted  by  the  injudi- 
cious indulgence  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  whom  we  look  for 
the  reward  of  our  labours.  If  the  individual  in  question,  for  in- 
stance, were  to  be  only  one  month  an  inmate  of  my  establishment,  I 
would  answer  for  restoring  him  to  perfect  health.' 

"  With  a  heavy  sigh  (for  I  was  painfully  aware  that,  sooner  than 
part  with  poor  Mouton,  even  for  a  day,  Mademoiselle  Brigitte 
would  resign  her  right  hand)  I  now  put  into  Monsieur  Mira- 
beau's  hand  the  two- franc  piece,  which  I  understood  to  be  his  fee ; 
and  received,  in  return,  a  low  bow,  and  the  tariff  of  his  establish- 

"  '  Monsieur  would,  perhaps,  like  to  inspect  the  hospital  ?  '  said 
he,  accompanying  me  forth  ;  and,  on  my  eager  assent  he  conducted 
me  across  a  yard  sanded  with  scrupulous  neatness,  and  adorned  with 
orange-trees,  and  other  flowering  shrubs,  to  an  airy  building  divided 
into  several  wards ;  one  partitioned  into  kennels,  others  having  com- 
modious beds,  while  a  third  consisted  in  rows  of  perches  and  cages, 
as  an  infirmary  for  birds.  Of  the  patients  with  which  they  were 
filled,  both  bipeds  and  quadrupeds  bestowed  on  my  conductor  most 
affectionate  greetings,  which  were  requited  by  Monsieur  Mirabeau 
with  an  air  of  tender  affability,  such  as  may  have  been  assumed  by 
Bonaparte  in  visiting  the  lazaretto  of  Jaffa;  or,  by  Louis  Philippe, 
when  parading  the  Hotel  Dieu,  after  the  revolution  of  July.  From 
the  asthmatic  pug,  panting  on  its  straw,  to  the  opera-dancer's  deli- 
cate Italian  greyhound,  about  to  be  in  the  straw,  all  present  turned 
their  eyes  gratefully  on  the  benefactor  of  their  race. 

'' '  They  love  me,  poor  little  animals  !  '  said  Monsieur  le  Docteur, 
with  a  magnanimous  glance  along  the  ward.  '  One  of  my  most 
exquisite  rewards  is  the  gratitude  of  the  little  beings  committed 
to  my  care.' 

"  As  we  re-crossed  the  yard  he  was  accosted  by  a  mincing  grisette, 
elegantly  attired,  with  inquiries  after  the  health  of  <  cette  pauvre  Ze- 

"  '  Zf'phyrine  ? '  reiterated  the  doctor  in  an  inquiring  tone. 
'  The  griffon  of  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Montgelas.' 

"  'Allow  me  to  consult  my  registers,'  replied  Monsieur  Mirabeau, 


hurrying  into  his  sanctum,  while  I  waited  with  the  waiting-maid  at 
the  door,  and  saw  him,  spectacles  on  nose,  examine  his  books  of 

"  '  DEAD/  was  the  result  of  the  investigation ;  a  monosyllable  that 
called  forth  a  torrent  of  ejaculation  from  the  sonbrette  ;  while  Mon- 
sieur Mirabeau  proceeded  to  read  aloud,  "  Zephyrine,  a  while  griffon, 
introduced  into  the  establishment  on  the  13th  of  May ;  died  on  the 
27th."  Out,  mademoiselle!  On  Wednesday  last  my  little  patient 
breathed  her  last.  According  to  custom,  I  performed  the  autopsy 
of  the  body.  The  disease  proved  to  be  inflammation  of  the  brain, 
precisely  as  I  hinted  to  Madame  la  Baronne,  on  first  pointing  out  to 
her  that  the  fits  of  her  griffon  were  of  an  epileptic  nature.' 

"  Leaving  the  doctor  and  the  lady  to  discuss  the  disease  of  Ze- 
phyrine together,  I  hastened  to  reflect  upon  the  doom  of  a  being  more 
interesting  to  my  affections.  But  already  my  determination  was 

"  That  evening,  my  dear  sir,  Mouton  disappeared  from  the  Rue  de 
Vendome.  I  leave  you  to  guess  the  astonishment,  anguish,  and 
surmises  produced  by  his  inexplicable  disparition.  Though  in- 
capable, by  reason  of  his  malady,  of  descending  the  staircase, 
he  was  gone  ;  either  the  victim  of  malice,  or  the  prey  of  cupidity  ; 
either  assassinated  by  a  fellow-lodger,  or  stolen  for  the  sake  of  his 
skin.  A  handsome  reward  was  instantly  offered  for  his  recovery ; 
and  the  walls  of  the  Marais  were  covered  with  handbills.  But  in 

"  I  leave  you  to  guess  the  indignant  agonies  of  Mademoiselle 
Brigitte  and  her  maid  ;  more  especially  as  every  soul  in  the 
house  evinced  unequivocal  symptoms  of  satisfaction.  Three  whole 
weeks  did  they  pass  in  tears,  —  three  whole  weeks  did  Madame 
Pinson,  according  to  her  own  account,  remain  utterly  sleepless. 
The  two  disconsolate  women  were  accustomed  to  sit  in  the  dusk 
every  evening,  recounting  to  each  other's  sympathy  the  feats  and 
accomplishments  of  their  lost  favourite  —  now  probably  numbered 
with  the  dead.  When,  lo !  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  week, 
Mademoiselle  Brigitte  was  startled  out  of  her  sleep  one  Sunday 
morning  by  an  unwonted  scratching  at  her  door ;  and,  on  unclosing 
it,  in  bounded  a  handsome  healthy  quadruped,  faintly  resembling 
the  idol  of  other  time.  The  well-combed  coat,  and  shapely  form  of 
the  new-comer,  bore,  however,  little  affinity  to  the  wheezing  lump, 
which  in  latter  days  had  answered  to  the  name  of  Mouton  ;  and 
when,  at  the  ejaculation  of  that  once-loved  name,  the  intruder  raised 
himself  on  his  hinder  legs,  and,  advancing  towards  Ma'mselle 
Brigitte's  head,  performed  a  succession  of  well-remembered  feats  of 
agility,  the  astonished  old  lady  began  to  fancy  that  the  grave  had 
yielded  up  its  dead.  ; Mouton  !'  cried  she  again;  and,  laying  its 
now  gelid  muzzle  to  her  beloved  hand,  the  faithful  beast  licked  it  in 
a  paroxysm  of  tenderness.  Yes  ;  it  ivas  her  Mouton  —  her  own  — 
her  only, — restored  to  health,  beauty,  youth,  and  happiness. 

"  But,  by  what  extraordinary  interposition  was  the  miracle  ac- 
complished ?  None  could  say.  The  delighted  mistress  and  maid 
were  forced  to  content  themselves  with  the  belief  that  supernatural 
aid  had  been  vouchsafed  to  restore  their  darling — a  new  Eurydice — 
to  their  affections. 

150  THE    DOG-HOSPITAL    Oi-'    PARIS. 

«  It  was  not  till,  on  the  following  winter,  I  received  something 
nearly  approaching  to  a  thrashing  from  Madame  Goville,  on  the 
discovery  that  my  warm  great  coat  had  disappeared  as  unaccounta- 
bly as  poor  Mouton  ;  that,  by  way  of  defence  I  ventured  to  place  in 
her  hand  the  card  of  the 


Chats,  Olseaux,  ct.  (nitres  Ammaux,  ienu  par  M.  LE  DOCTEUR 
lUiRABEAU,  qui  prcnd  aussi  des  pensionnaircs. 

1  consultation        .         .         2  francs 
1  visite     .         .         .         .3     — 
1  saignee       .         .         .         3     — 

1  coupe  d'oreilles     .         .     2  francs 
1  idem  de  queue  .         .         1     — 
1  autopsie        .         .         .3     — 

1  pose  de  sangsues    .         .3     — • 

Pour  les  fractures  et  autres  operations,  on  traite  de  convenance,  &c.  &c. 

having  on  the  reverse  a  lithographic  vignette,  representing  the  Dog 

"•  '  I  see  how  it  is ! '  cried  Madame  Goville,  after  casting  her  eyes 
over  an  annexed  bill,  amounting  to  forty-three  francs,  ten  sous,  for 
a  month's  board  of  a  sick  poodle,  bran  baths,  sea-weed  poultices, 
drugs,  and  other  remedies,  supplied  for  the  same.  '  Unprincipled 
little  wretch  !  You  actually  disposed  of  your  warm  paletot  in  order 
to  insure  the  restoration  of  that  beast  of  a  dog.  Just  as  you  please! 
but  /  will  take  care  that  you  have  never  another  great  coat  to  your 
back  till  you  have  earned  one  by  your  own  exertions.' 

" '  He  has  earned  one  !  '  was  Mademoiselle  Brigitte's  exclamation 
when  the  secret  transpired,  and  reached  her  ears.  '  And,  so  long  as 
Leonard  lives,  he  shall  never  want  a  warm  coat  to  his  back.' 

"  Such,  my  dear  sir,  (for  here  we  are  within  view  of  my  gate,) 
such  was  the  trivial  cause  which  determined  the  old  lady  to  give 
me  the  education  of  a  gentleman.  Three  years  afterwards,  on  the 
opening  of  her  last  will  and  testament,  it  was  discovered  that  Made- 
moiselle Brigitte  had  left  me  her  universal  legatee.  The  ill-natured 
world  persists  in  believing  rne  to  be  her  son.  But  it  is  no  such 
thing.  Like  other  great  men,  I  am  lejfls  de  mes  ccuvrcs ;  and,  my 
chef  d'ceuvre  was  my  preservation  of  the  life  of  poor  Mouton  by 
kidnapping  him  to  L'HOPITAL  DES  CHIENS." 





Twickenham.  —  The  Poet's  Grave. — Pope's  Grotto. — Relics  of  Genius. — Straw- 
berry Hill.  —  Etymology  and  Chronology.  —  The  Heart  of  Paul  Whitehead 

Swans  upon  the  Thames.  —  The  tragical  story  of  Edwy  and  Elgiva.  —  An  odd 
petition  of  the  inhabitants  of  Kingston. 

How  simple,  neat,  quiet,  and  unassuming  are  all  the  village 
churches  of  England !  It  is  worth  a  man's  while,  whose  unlucky 
destiny  compels  him  to  fritter  himself  away  among  brick  walls  for 
six  days  of  the  week,  to  walk  out  on  a  Sunday  morning  ten  or 
twelve  miles  to  church, — far  away  from  the  tumult  and  the  dust,  to 
some  secluded  hamlet  or  village,  where  he  may  worship  his  Maker, 
— not  more  earnestly,  indeed,  but  more  refreshed  in  mind  and  body, 
than  he  could  in  one  of  the  more  pompous  temples  of  the  metro- 
polis, where  saucy  wealth  elbows  him  still,  and  where  he  cannot 
procure  a  seat,  unless  he  gives  evidence  of  his  gentility  by  the  tender 
of  a  shilling.  It  was  not  Sunday  when  we  strayed  into  Twicken- 
ham church :  but  even  in  its  emptiness  we  could  not  help  con- 
trasting its  unostentatious  sanctity,  its  meek  elegance,  to  the  more 
spacious  places  in  town,  and  forming,  but  not  expressing,  a  slight 
wish  that  we  lived  in  a  village.  We  checked  it,  however,  almost  as 
soon  as  it  was  formed,  for  we  thought,  after  all,  that  if  we  lived  in  a 
village,  we  should  not  so  much  prize  a  country  walk,  or  have  such 
affection  for  a  country  church  as  now,  when  we  wander  forth  from 
busy  London,  thirsting  after  the  fresh  air,  and  pining  for  the  ver- 
dure and  the  simplicity  of  rural  spots,  and  enjoying  them  so  much 
the  more  for  our  long  and  forced  abstinence.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
knowledge  that  we  were  at  the  grave  of  a  great  poet  that  made  us 
take  so  sudden  a  liking  to  village  churches  in  general,  and  to  Twick- 
enham church  above  all  others.  It  ought  not  to  have  been  so,  we 
are  aware.  The  mere  fact  that  the  remains  of  a  clay  creature,  of 
more  than  common  note,  was  lying  within  its  precincts  was  no  true 
motive  for  any  additional  reverence  to  the  temple  of  God — but  so  it 
was.  Even  Westminster  Abbey  itself  and  all  its  treasured  ashes 
ought,  strictly  speaking,  to  inspire  no  more  awe  than  the  humblest 
chapel  where  the  Great  Spirit  is  truly  worshipped  ;  but  the  me- 
mory of  the  illustrious  dead  —  a  sort  of  half  persuasion  that  their 
dim  ghosts,  though  unseen,  may  be  hovering  above  us,  works  upon 
the  fancy  in  spite  of  the  reason,  telling  us  that 

"  Where'er  we  tread,  'tis  haunted  holy  ground," 

and  forcing  us  into  more  solemn  reverence  than  we  might  otherwise 
feel.  Some  such  influence  it  was,  no  doubt,  that  impressed  us  with 
unwonted  awe,  as  we  wandered  alone  from  tomb-stone  to  tomb- 
stone in  search  of  the  tablet  to  the  memory  of  Pope.  We  were 
without  the  aid,  or,  as  it  very  often  happens,  the  impediment  of 
a  professional  guide  to  point  out  to  us  the  "  thought-deserving- 

152  THE   THAMES 

nesses"  (to  borrow  an  expressive  German  phrase)  of  the  spot.  Our 
eyes,  however,  soon  caught  a  view  of  a  very  large  tablet  in  the  gal- 
lery, with  a  Latin  inscription,  to  the  memory  of  Alexander  Pope. 
We  ascended  accordingly,  and  found  that  it  was  the  one  erected  by 
the  poet  to  the  memory  of  his  ftither  and  mother.  His  own  was  not 
far  off,  and  was  equally  ostentatious  as  regarded  size,  being  about 
three  times  larger  than  any  other  tablets  in  the  church.  The  in- 
scription, also  in  Latin,  bore  that  it  was  erected  to  the  Poet's 
memory  by  his  friend  the  Bishop  of  Gloucester.  Underneath,  in 
English,  follow  Pope's  own  lines,  "  for  one  who  would  not  be 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey," 

Poeta  loquitur. 

'  Heroes  and  kings,  your  distance  keep, 
In  peace  let  one  poor  poet  sleep, 
Who  never  flatter'd  folks  like  you — 
Let  Horace  blush  and  Virgil  too." 

Here  again,  thought  we,  is  vanity  in  death.  Horace  and  Virgil 
were  no  greater  courtiers  to  rank  and  wealth  than  Pope  was.  In 
fact,  it  may  be  questioned  whether  they  were  so  much  so  ;  for 
among  all  the  literati  of  the  age,  Pope  stands  pre-eminent  for  his 
constant  respect  to  mere  title.  If  he  did  not  flatter  heroes,  he  flat- 
tered lords,  and  would  have  been  sorry  indeed  if  they  had  kept 
at  a  distance  from  him  when  he  was  living.  But  in  every  sense 
the  inscription  is  faulty  and  singularly  inappropriate.  While 
we  stood  uncovered  at  the  spot,  and  while  these  thoughts  passed 
rapidly  through  our  mind,  we  remembered  that  the  fault  of 
this  bad  taste,  if  such  it  were,  was  not  chargeable  upon  Pope,  but 
upon  his  friend  the  bishop,  who  had  erected  the  monument.  In 
short,  the  epitaph  was  written  by  Pope  in  a  fit  "  of  that  ambitious 
petulance,  "  (to  use  the  words  of  Johnson,)  "  with  which  he  affected 
to  insult  the  great,"  and  ought  never  to  have  been  placed  upon  his 
grave-stone.  With  this  impression  we  turned  again  to  the  me- 
morial that  Pope  himself  had  erected  to  his  parents,  and  there  we 
found  no  such  evidences  of  vanity.  The  inscription  was  simple  and 
unpretending,  and  set  forth,  in  terms  such  as  a  son  should  use,  the 
piety  and  the  probity  of  the  honoured  dead.  So,  venting  our  harm- 
less displeasure  upon  Warburton,  and  exonerating  Pope  from  all 
offence,  we  strolled  down  to  the  river  side,  where  our  boatman  was 
awaiting  us. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  we  reached  the  building  now  known  as 
Pope's  villa.  The  poet's  residence  itself  has  been  demolished,  with 
the  exception  of  the  grotto  near  which  it  stood.  Much  indignation 
has  been  lavished  upon  Lady  Howe,  who  pulled  down  the  original 
building,  and  erected  the  present  enlarged  edifice  by  the  side  of  it. 
She  has  been  accused  of  barbarism,  want  of  feeling,  deadness  of 
soul,  Vandalism,  and  many  other  offences.  We  will  not  join  in  this 
mouthing  of  the  pack;  because,  however  much  she  may  have 
destroyed  of  the  poet's  dwelling,  she  has  left  the  grotto  for  the  reve- 
rence of  posterity,  —  by  far  the  most  valuable  part  of  it,  containing 
the  rooms  in  which  he  was  accustomed  to  study,  and  in  which  he 
entertained  his  friends,  his  St.  John  and  his  Marchmont,  with  his 
wisdom  and  his  wit.  There  was  formerly  a  willow  tree  overhanging 
the  river,  which  has  also  been  removed ;  but  with  the  destruction  of 


this  Lady  Howe  is  not  chargeable.  So  numerous  were  the  visiters, 
and  such  pilferers  were  they,  where  a  relic  was  concerned,  that  the 
tree  was  soon  stripped  both  of  leaves  and  branches.  Slips  of  it  were 
sent  for  from  all  parts  of  the  world  ;  and  the  owner  was  at  last  so 
pestered,  that  she  was  obliared  in  self-defence  to  uproot  the  tree,  and 
make  a  relic  of  it,  which  would  not  entail  so  much  trouble  upon  its 
possessor.  Nothing  but  the  root  now  remains,  which  is  safely  housed 
in  the  grotto :  forming  a  substance  too  hard  to  be  taken  away  in 
little  bits  by  the  penknife  of  the  visiter,  and  too  bulky  to  be  carried 
off  entire.  Visiters  formerly  used  to  play  the  same  tricks  with  the 
very  stones  and  spars  of  the  grotto ;  but,  upon  inquiry  of  our  guide, 
we  were  informed  that  such  was  not  the  case  now  to  any  great 
extent,  although  occasionally  a  person  is  detected  trying  to  notch  off 
a  flint  or  a  shell,  and  a  lady  holding  an  open  reticule  ready  to  receive 
it.  The  grotto  was  made  by  Pope  about  the  year  1715.  "  Being," 
as  Dr.  Johnson  says,  "  under  the  necessity  of  making  a  subterra- 
neous passage  to  a  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  he  adorned 
it  with  fossil  bodies,  and  dignified  it  with  the  title  of  a  grotto,  —  a 
place  of  silence  and  retreat,  from  which  he  endeavoured  to  persuade 
his  friends  and  himself  that  cares  and  passions  could  be  excluded. 
*  *  *  The  excavation  was  necessary  as  an  entrance  to  his  garden  ; 
and,  as  some  men  try  to  be  proud  of  their  defects,  he  extracted  an 
ornament  from  an  inconvenience,  and  vanity  produced  a  grotto, 
•where  necessity  enforced  a  passage."  And  quite  right  too.  It  was 
a  little  spark  of  the  true  philosophy,  after  all ;  and  men  in  general 
would  be  much  happier  if  they  would  imitate  the  example,  and  ex- 
tract ornaments  from  all  their  inconveniences,  and  good  out  of  all 
their  evils.  Some  years  after  its  construction,  Pope  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing lines  in  reference  to  his  grotto,  which  some  of  the  guide- 
books inform  us  are  actually  inscribed  upon  it.  We  made  diligent 
search,  and  were  not  able  to  discover  them. 

"Thou  who  shall  stop  where  Thames'  translucent  wave 
Shines,  a  broad  mirror,  through  the  shady  cave, 
Where  lingering  drops  from  mineral  roofs  distil, 
And  pointed  crystals  break  the  sparkling  rill ; 
Unpolish'd  gems  no  ray  on  pride  bestow, 
And  latent  metals  innocently  glow. 
Approach  !  great  Nature  studiously  behold, 
And  eye  the  mine,  without  a  wish  for  gold  ! 
Approach  !  but  awful.     Lo  !  the  Egerian  grot, 
W  here,  nobly  pensive,  St.  John  sat  and  thought, 
Where  British  sighs  from  dying  Wyndham  stole, 
And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  through  Marchmont's  soul. 
Let  such,  such  only,  tread  this  sacred  floor, 
Who  dare  to  love  their  country  and  be  poor." 

Mentally  repeating  these  lines,  we  entered  the  grotto,  and  were  first 
shown  by  the  gardener  of  Sir  Wathen  Waller,  the  present  owner  of 
the  villa,  who  officiated  as  the  cicerone,  into  the  cell  on  the  left  hand 
side,  which  used  to  be  the  study.  At  every  convenient  place,  and 
wherever  the  stones  presented  a  surface  sufficiently  large,  visiters 
had  scratched  their  names  ;  but  we  noticed  none  of  any  note  among 
the  defacers.  At  the  end,  upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  plaster  bust  of  the 
poet.  The  cell  on  the  right  hand  side  used  to  be  the  kitchen,  —  at 
least  so  said  our  guide, — and  in  this  is  placed  the  root  of  the  willow- 


tree,  with  a  skull  upon  it.  We  took  the  latter  in  our  hands,  and 
found  it  to  be  a  plaster  cast  from  the  veritable  skull  of  the  poet, 
which  was  disturbed  accidentally  a  few  years  ago,  upon  digging  a 
grave  in  Twickenham  churchyard  ;  it  struck  us  as  being  remark- 
ably small.  The  skull  was  re-buried  with  due  reverence,  after  the 
cast  had  been  taken.  In  this  cell  the  present  proprietor  has  placed 
a  statue  of  honest  John  Bunyan,  which,  when  we  saw  it,  put  us  in 
mind  of  the  well-known  lines  upon  the  spider  in  amber, 

"  Not  that  the  thing  was  either  rich  or  rare, — 
One  wondered  how  the  devil  it  came  there." 

To  our  mind,  it  marred  the  uniformity  of  the  grotto.  In  that  place, 
Bunyan  seemed  an  intruder  upon  the  privacy  of  Pope,  and  we 
wished  the  statue  of  the  good  Christian  had  been  placed  somewhere 
else,  no  matter  where,  and  we  would  have  gone  to  visit  it,  and  paid 
it  all  honour. 

Though  some  of  the  "  pointed  crystals  "  alluded  to  in  the  lines 
above  quoted  still  remain,  the  "sparkling  rill"  trickles  no  more. 
The  ingenious  contrivance  by  which  the  roof  was  transformed  into 
a  sort  of  camera  obscura  has  been  removed,  and  the  fragments  of 
mirrors  that  still  remain  have  experienced  so  many  of  the  buffettings 
of  time,  that  they  have  lost  their  original  brilliancy,  and  reflect  but 
indistinct  images  of  the  passing  objects  on  the  river. 

In  the  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  to  which  the 
grotto  forms  the  passage,  are  two  tall  cedar-trees,  which,  according 
to  our  friend  the  gardener,  who  laid  claim  to  a  knowledge  of  such 
matters,  must  be  about  a  hundred  years  old.  If  so,  they  must  have 
been  planted  in  the  time  of  Pope,  perhaps  by  the  bard  himself. 
Hitherto,  however,  they  have  escaped  that  reputation,  which,  if  it 
became  general  or  well-authenticated,  might  perchance  be  the  means 
in  a  short  time  of  denuding  them  of  all  their  verdure,  like  their 
predecessor  the  willow. 

As  we  walked  along  the  terrace,  we  noticed  more  particularly 
than  we  did  when  we  entered,  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
water.  This,  said  we,  must  be  the  place  where  Martha  Blount,  the 
best-beloved  of  the  poet,  made  use  of  that  unfeeling  expression  about 
his  death,  which  Johnson  has  preserved  to  her  eternal  discredit. 
"  While  he  (Pope)  was  yet  capable  of  amusement  and  conversation," 
says  the  biographer,  "  as  he  was  one  day  sitting  in  the  air,  with  Lord 
Bolingbroke  and  Lord  Marchmont,  he  saw  his  favourite,  Martha 
Blount,  at  the  bottom  of  the  terrace,  and  asked  Lord  Bolingbroke  to 
go  and  hand  her  up.  Bolingbroke,  not  liking  his  errand,  crossed  his 
legs  and  sat  still ;  but  Lord  Marchmont,  who  was  younger  and  less 
captious,  waited  on  the  lady,  who,  when  he  came  to  her,  asked, 
'  What,  is  he  not  dead  yet?'  It  does  not  appear  that  this  thoughtless 
and  unkind  expression  ever  reached  the  ear  of  Pope ;  but  he  took 
her  general  inattention  and  neglect  of  him  in  his  days  of  sickness  and 
decay,  very  deeply  to  heart.  She  who  had  sat  a  loving  and  enrap- 
tured listener,  when  his  faculties  were  in  all  their  brightness,  turned 
away  from  him  not  only  with  neglect,  but  with  scorn,  in  the  time 
of  his  tribulation.  How  unlike  her  sex  in  general, 

"  Who  still  are  the  kindest 
When  fortune  is  blindest, 
And  brightest  in  love  'raid  the  darkness  of  fate." 


Alas  !  poor  Pope  !  alas  !  for  the  boasted  intellect  of  our  kind.  What 
can  be  more  affecting,  or  afford  more  matter  for  solemn  thought, 
than  the  last  hours  of  this  great  man.  "  On  the  6th  of  May,  1744," 
says  Johnson,  "  he  was  all  day  delirious,  which  he  mentioned  four 
days  afterwards  as  a  sufficient  humiliation  of  the  vanity  of  man.  He 
afterwards  complained  of  seeing  things  as  through  a  curtain,  and  in 
false  colours  ;  and  one  day,  in  the  presence  of  Dodsley,  asked  what 
arm  it  was  that  came  out  of  the  wall  ?  He  said  that  his  greatest  in- 
convenience was  inability  to  think.  Bolingbroke  sometimes  Avept 
over  him  in  this  state  of  helpless  decay,  and  was  tolcl  by  Spence,  that 
Pope,  at  the  intermission  of  his  deliriousness,  was  always  saying 
something  kind  either  of  his  present  or  absent  friends,  and  that  his 
humanity  seemed  to  have  survived  his  understanding."  Almost  his 
last  expressions  were,  "  There  is  nothing  meritorious  but  virtue  and 
friendship :  friendship  itself  is  only  a  part  of  virtue." 

We  were  thinking  of  these  things,  and  were  so  wrapt  in  them,  that 
we  hardly  noticed  that  we  had  re-entered  the  boat,  and  were  only 
recalled  to  a  consciousness  of  surrounding  objects  by  the  voice  of  our 
boatman,  who  stopped  on  his  oars,  and  called  out  that  we  were  at 
Strawberry  Hill. 

This  place  also  has  its  reminiscences.  It  was  originally  a  very 
small  house,  built  about  the  year  1698,  by  a  coachman  and  let  as  ;i 
lodging-house.  Colley  Gibber  was  at  one  time  a  tenant  of  it,  and 
there  wrote  one  of  his  comedies,  — ct  The  Refusal ;  or  the  Lady's  Phi- 
losophy." It  was  some  years  afterwards  let  on  lease  to  Mrs.  Cheve- 
nix,  a  toywoman ;  from  whose  possession  it  came  into  that  of  Horace 
Walpole.  The  latter  amused  himself  for  many  years  in  enlarging 
and  beautifying  it,  and  made  quite  a  plaything  of  it.  Writing  to  his 
friend,  General  Con  way,  on  the  8th  of  June,  1747,  and  dating  from 
this  place,  he  says,  "  You  perceive  that  I  have  got  into  a  new  camp, 
and  have  left  my  tub  at  Windsor.  It  is  a  little  plaything  house  that 
I  have  got  out  of  this  Chevenix's  shop,  and  is  the  prettiest  bauble 
you  ever  saw.  It  is  set  in  enamelled  meadows,  with  filigree  hedges ; 

A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  rolled, 
And  little  fishes  wave  their  wings  of  gold. 

Two  delightful  roads,  that  you  would  call  dusty,  supply  me  continu- 
ally with  coaches,  and  chaises ;  and  barges,  as  solemn  as  barons  of  the 
exchequer,  move  under  my  window.  Richmond  Hill  and  Ham 
Walks  bound  my  prospect ;  but,  thank  God  !  the  Thames  is  between 
me  and  the  Duchess  of  Queensbury.  Dowagers,  as  plenty  as  floun- 
ders, inhabit  all  around;  and  Pope's  ghost  is  just  now  skimming 
under  my  window  by  a  most  poetical  moonlight." 

Horace  Walpole  succeeded  in  making  a  very  pretty  residence  of 
it,  and  stored  it  with  "  fouth  of  auld  nick-nackets,"  pictures,  busts, 
and  antiques  of  every  description.  There  were  scarcely  any  of  his 
contemporaries  eminent  for  their  wit  or  their  learning,  who  were  not 
at  one  time  or  another  his  guests  here.  It  now  belongs  to  the  Earl 
of  Waldegrave. 

Between  this  place  and  Teddington  is  the  cottage  given  by  Wal- 
pole to  Mrs.  Clive,  the  actress.  At  her  death  he  place!  an  urn  in  the 
gardens,  with  this  inscription — 

"  Ye  Smiles  and  Jests  still  hover  round, 
This  is  Mirth's  consecrated  ground  ; 

156  THE    THAMES 

Here  lived  the  laughter-loving  dame, 
A  matchless  actress,  Clive  her  name. 
The  comic  Muse  with  her  retired, 
And  shed  a  tear  when  she  expired." 

Teddington  is  a  small  place,  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  first  or  last 
lock  upon  the  Thames,  in  aid  of  the  navigation.  Etymologists  found 
a  very  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  name  of  this  village,  and 
plumed  themselves  mightily  upon  their  cleverness.  The  tides  flow 
up  no  further  than  Teddington,  and  therefore,  said  they,  the  deriva- 
tion of  the  word  is  obvious,  "Tide-ending-town  —  from  whence,  by 
corruption  and  abbreviation,  —  Tide-ing-ton  —  Teddington."  This 
was  all  very  satisfactory :  there  was  not  a  word  to  be  said  against 
it.  Unluckily,  however,  Mr.  Lysons,  one  of  your  men  of  dates 
and  figures ;  one  of  those  people,  whose  provoking  exactitude  so 
often  upsets  theories,  discovered  that  the  original  name  of  the  place 
was  not  Teddington,  but  Totyngton.  After  this,  the  etymologists 
had  nothing  to  say  for  themselves ;  "  a  plain  tale  put  them  down," 
unless,  like  the  French  philosopher,  in  similar  circumstances,  they 
consoled  themselves  with  the  reflection  that  it  was  very  unbecoming 
in  a  fact  to  rise  up  in  opposition  to  their  theory. 

Among  the  most  celebrated  residents  of  Teddington  were  the  Earl 
of  Leicester,  the  favourite  of  Elizabeth ;  Penn  the  Quaker  ;  and 
Paul  Whitehead  the  poet.  The  last  is  buried  in  Teddington 
church,  with  the  exception  of  his  heart,  which  was  removed  to  High 
Wycombe,  and  deposited  in  a  mausoleum  belonging  to  his  patron, 
the  Lord  le  Despencer.  Paul  bequeathed  fifty  pounds  for  the  urn 
which  was  to  contain  it.  The  ceremony  of  depositing  it  in  the  mau- 
soleum was  very  curious.  It  was  attended  from  the  house  by  a  mili- 
tary procession,  and  a  choir  of  vocalists.  Dr.  Arne  composed  a  piece 
of  music  for  the  occasion  to  the  following  poetry  —  we  beg  pardon, 
words — which  were  sung  as  the  urn  was  deposited  : — 

"  From  earth  to  heaven  Paul  Whitehead's  soul  is  fled ! 
Refulgent  glories  beam  about  his  head  ! 
His  Muse  concording  with  resounding  strings, 
Gives  angel's  words  to  praise  the  King  of  Kings." 

The  ceremony  itself  was  sufficiently  absurd  ;  but  these  lines  were  the 
topping  absurdity  of  all. 

At  this  place  we  dismissed  our  boatman ;  and,  landing  on  the 
Surrey  shore,  walked  on  towards  Kingston,  sometimes  stopping  by 
the  river's  brink  to  watch  the  minnows  at  the  bottom  of  the  water, 
(for  it  is  as  clear  as  crystal,)  scudding  away  in  shoals  as  we  ap- 
proached them,  and  sometimes  in  idle  mood  watching  the  swans 
disporting  themselves,  or  turning  over  the  leaves  of  our  favourite 
Spencer,  to  find  the  lines  which  describe  them : — 

"  See  the  fair  swans  on  Thamis'  lovely  side, 

The  which  do  trim  their  pennons  silver  bright ; 
In  shining  ranks  they  down  the  water's  glide  ; 
Oft  have  mine  eyes  devoured  the  gallant  sight!  " 

There  are  great  numbers  of  these  birds  upon  the  river.  They  are 
under  the  special  guardianship  of  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  who 
annually,  either  by  himself  or  deputy,  goes  up  the  river  in  his  state 


barge,  accompanied  by  the  Vintners  and  Dyers,  to  mark  the  young 
ones — which  ceremony  bears  the  name  of  swan-hopping.  The  legis- 
lature has  often  made  these  swans  its  peculiar  care.  By  an  act  of  Ed- 
ward IV.  it  was  declared  a  felony,  punishable  with  imprisonment  for 
a  year  and  a  day,  and  a  fine  at  the  king's  will,  to  steal  their  eggs.  A 
curious  custom  at  one  time  existed  with  regard  to  the  stealing  of 
these  birds,  which  is  mentioned  in  Coke's  reports.  Whoever  stole  a 
swan,  lawfully  marked,  in  any  open  or  common  river,  was  mulcted 
in  the  following  manner :  —  The  swan  was  taken  and  hung  by  the 
beak  from  the  roof  of  any  house,  so  that  the  feet  just  touched  the 
ground.  Wheat  was  then  poured  over  the  head  of  the  swan,  until 
there  was  a  pyramid  of  it  from  the  floor  sufficient  to  cover  and  hide 
the  bird  completely.  A  like  quantity  of  wheat,  or  its  value,  was  the 
fine  to  be  paid  to  the  owner. 

Upon  our  arrival  at  the  very  ancient  town  of  Kingston  we  pro- 
ceeded straight  to  the  market-place,  the  spot  where,  nearly  a  thou- 
sand years  ago,  the  old  Saxon  monarchs  of  England  were  crowned 
in  sight  of  all  the  people.  Egbert,  the  first  king  of  all  England,  held 
a  grand  council  here  in  the  year  838 ;  and,  in  the  records  of  that 
event,  the  town  is  styled  "  Kyngngeston,  that  famous  place."  The 
following  is  a  list  of  the  kings  crowned  here,  — most  of  them  on  a 
raised  platform  in  the  open  air,  and  the  rest  in  the  church.  Edward 
the  Elder,  in  the  year  900 ;  Athelstan,  in  925  ;  Edmund,  in  940  ; 
Edred,  in  946  ;  Edwy,  in  955 ;  Edward  the  Martyr,  in  975 ;  and 
Ethelred,  in  978.  Kingston,  although  the  fact  has  been  overlooked 
by  nearly  every  writer,  was  the  scene  of  one  of  the  most  romantic  in- 
cidents in  early  English  history — the  loves  and  misfortunes  of  Edwy 
and  Elgiva.  It  gives  one  but  a  poor  notion  of  the  value  of  history, 
or  the  fidelity  of  historians,  to  consult  about  a  dozen  writers  for  a 
record  of  the  same  event.  Your  hero,  or  principal  personage,  is 
called  a  monster  by  one,  a  saint  by  another,  or  a  fool  by  a  third :  the 
actions  of  his  life  are  exaggerated  in  their  good  parts  by  one,  and  in 
their  evil  by  the  next ;  while  another,  perhaps,  dismisses  him  and  his 
whole  career  as  altogether  insignificant  and  unworthy  of  notice.  It 
is  a  hard  matter  to  get  at  the  truth,  even  upon  the  most  trivial  point, 
and  you  are  tempted  to  sweep  your  dozen  of  historians  from  your 
table  at  a  blow  of  your  hand,  and  whistle  the  chorus  of  the  old 
ballad,  "  Tanta-ra-rara — rogues  all!"  Upon  reading  the  touch- 
ing history  of  King  Edwy  and  his  bride,  as  recorded  in  Hume,  we 
turned  to  Osborne,  Stowe,  Grafton,  Holinshed,  Harding,  William 
of  Malmesbury,  Fabian,  Rapin,  and  others  ;  but  the  only  facts  that 
seemed  to  be  really  well  established  were,  that  Edwy  was  king  of 
England,  and  that  he  banished  Saint  Dunstan  from  his  dominions. 
All  the  rest  was  a  mass  of  confusion.  A  chaos  of  antagonist  opinions, 
assertions,  and  denials,  or  a  most  scandalous  conflict,  in  which  Hatred, 
Superstition,  Revenge,  Self-interest,  Party  Motives,  Carelessness, 
and  Indolence,  all  set  upon  poor  Truth,  shouting  and  hallooing,  with 
a  view  to  prevent  her  voice  from  being  heard  at  all  amid  their  hub- 
bub. To  Hume's  account,  therefore,  we  adhered  ;  not  because  it  is 
the  most  interesting  and  romantic,  but  because  it  is  the  most  fair 
and  probable,  merely  supplying  such  particulars  of  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy  as  he  has  left  unnoticed. 

King  Edwy,  in  his  seventeenth  year,  was  crowned  with  great  mag- 
nificence in  the  market-place  of  Kingston.  He  was  of  a  handsome 

VOL.   VI.  N 


figure  and  a  most  amiable  disposition.  Before  his  accession  he  had 
been  smitten  with  the  charms  of  Elgiva,  a  noble  lady,  his  kinswo- 
man, whom  he  married  secretly,  in  spite  of  the  fulminations  of  Saint 
Dunstan,  and  Odo,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who  had  repre- 
sented to  him  that  their  relationship  was  too  near  to  allow  of  their 
union.  Upon  the  day  of  his  coronation  a  grand  feast  was  prepared 
for  all  the  nobles ;  but  the  king,  disliking  their  rude  merriment  and 
drunkenness,  took  an  early  opportunity  to  withdraw,  and  spend  the 
remainder  of  the  day  in  the  more  congenial  society  of  his  best-be- 
loved Elgiva.  The  nobles,  after  he  was  gone,  expressed  great  dissa- 
tisfaction at  the  indignity  with  which  they  were  treated  in  being 
abandoned  by  their  entertainer;  and  Saint  Dunstan,  best  known  to 
posterity  as  the  devil's  nose  pincher,  was  deputed  by  the  rest  to 
bring  back  the  monarch  to  the  table.  Saint  Dunstan,  who  was  in 
all  probability  drunk  at  the  time,  readily  undertook  the  mission,  and 
accompanied  by  Odo,  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who  was  also 
highly  indignant  at  the  disrespect  Edwy  had  shown  to  the  church, 
rushed  into  the  royal  apartment,  and  found  the  king  dallying  with 
his  bride.  The  brutal  Dunstan  immediately  tore  him  from  her  arms, 
and,  applying  an  opprobrious  epithet  to  the  queen,  dragged  the 
young  monarch  by  force  into  the  banquetting-hall  of  the  nobles.  It 
was  not  to  be  expected  that  any  woman,  however  mild  her  temper, 
could  forgive  so  deep  an  insult  as  this,  and  Elgiva  exercised  all  the 
influence  she  possessed  over  her  husband's  mind  to  bring  about  the 
ruin  of  the  presuming  and  unmannerly  priest.  An  opportunity 
was  soon  found ;  charges  were  brought  against  him,  from  which 
he  could  not  clear  himself,  and  he  was  finally  banished  from 
the  kingdom,  and  forced  to  take  refuge  in  Flanders.  But  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  still  remained  behind.  The  unhappy 
Elgiva,  in  espousing  the  king,  had  gained  to  herself  a  host  of 
troubles  and  of  enemies ;  and,  instead  of  intimidating,  had  only 
embittered  the  latter  by  the  means  she  had  adopted.  Intrigues 
were  fomented  against  the  young  couple,  who  had  lovsd  so  well,  but 
so  unwisely.  The  queen,  all  fresh  in  youth,  and  all  radiant  in  her 
beauty,  was  seized  by  the  archbishop,  at  the  head  of  a  party  of  ruf- 
fians, and  held  forcibly  upon  the  ground,  while  a  wretch  with  a  hot 
iron  burnt  her  "damask  cheeks  "to  obliterate  the  traces  of  that 
transcendent  loveliness  which  had  set  enmity  between  the  civil  and 
ecclesiastical  power.  She  was  then  carried  away  to  the  sea-coast, 
and  hidden  for  some  days,  till  an  opportunity  was  found  to  convey 
her  to  Ireland.  She  remained  in  that  country  for  some  months, 
when  she  effected  her  escape.  The  scars  on  her  face  had  healed  ; 
the  brutal  work  had  not  been  effectually  done,  and  she  shone  in  as 
great  beauty  as  ever,  and  was  hastening  to  Kingston,  to  the  embraces 
of  her  royal  spouse,  when  she  was  intercepted  at  Gloucester  by  the 
spies  of  the  relentless  archbishop.  At  this  time  revolt  was  openly 
declared  against  the  authority  of  Edwy,  and,  to  show  him  how 
strong  and  how  reckless  the  conspirators  were,  the  archbishop  gave 
orders  that  the  unhappy  princess  should  be  put  to  death  by  the 
most  horrible  tortures  which  could  be  devised.  It  was  finally  re- 
solved that  she  should  be  hamstrung.  The  cruel  sentence  was  car- 
ried into  execution,  and  the  poor  queen  was  left  to  linger  on  a  couch 
of  straw,  without  nourishment  or  attendance  of  any  sort,  until  death 
put  a  period  to  her  sufferings  a  few  days  afterwards.  Edwy  was 

THE    CRAYON    PAPERS.  159 

soon  afterwards  deposed.  He  did  not  long  survive  his  Elgiva : 
crownless,  and  what  to  him  was  worse — wifeless,  he  died  of  a  broken 
heart  before  he  attained  his  twentieth  year. 

Portraits  of  all  these  old  Saxon  kings,  and  of  Edwy  among  the 
rest,  used  formerly  to  adorn  the  walls  of  Kingston  Church,  and  we 
procured  admission  into  the  sacred  edifice  with  the  full  expectation 
of  seeing  them,  upon  the  faith  of  two  or  three  guide-books  which  we 
had  consulted.  We  ascertained,  however,  that  our  guides  were  not 
to  be  trusted,  the  portraits  having  been  removed  to  Windsor  Castle 
more  than  a  century  ago. 

We  also  made  inquiry  after  another  relic  —  the  stone  upon  which 
these  old  monarchs  were  crowned,  and  which  formerly  stood  in  the 
market-place.  We  were  informed  that  it  was  at  present  in  the  safe 
custody  of  the  mayor,  where  it  will  remain  until  the  new  town-hall 
is  built ;  in  which  it  is  proposed  to  set  apart  an  honourable  place  for 
it.  This  may  be  now  considered  the  only  relic — and  that  but  a  poor 
one,  which  Kingston  possesses  of  all  its  former  grandeur.  Part  of 
the  chapel  in  which  the  coronation  ceremony  was  sometimes  per- 
formed, fell  down  in  the  year  1730,  and  has  not  been  rebuilt  in  its 
former  style,  but  merely  patched  up  to  keep  the  wind  and  the  rain 
out.  The  site  of  the  chapel  is  the  same ;  but  the  original  edifice, 
which  saw  the  inauguration  of  Athelstan  and  Edwy  must  have  long 
since  disappeared. 

Kingston  at  one  time  sent  members  to  parliament ;  but  the  practice 
of  election,  very  different  to  what  it  is  now,  imposing  upon  the  consti- 
tuent body,  and  not  upon  the  candidates,  the  necessity  of  spending 
money,  the  good  people  grumbled  at  the  expense,  and  finally  prayed 
to  be  relieved  from  it  for  evermore  by  a  formal  petition  to  King 
Edward  III.  Their  prayer  was  granted  ;  and  Kingston,  penny-wise 
and  pound-foolish,  has  dwindled  away  into  a  very  inconsiderable 

A  small,  but  very  clear  stream,  called  the  Hog's  Mill  river,  runs 
into  the  Thames  at  Kingston.  It  takes  its  rise  near  Ewell,  and  is 
much  frequented  by  anglers. 




THE  situation  of  the  Roost  is  in  the  very  heart  of  what  was  the 
debatable  ground  between  the  American  and  British  lines  during 
the  war.  The  British  held  possession  of  the  city  of  New- York,  and 
the  island  of  Manhattan,  on  which  it  stands.  The  Americans  drew 
up  toward  the  Highlands,  holding  their  head-quarters  at  Peekskill. 
The  intervening  country,  from  Croton  River  to  Spiting  Devil  Creek, 
was  the  debatable  land,  subject  to  be  harried  by  friend  and  foe,  like 
the  Scottish  borders  of  yore.  It  is  a  rugged  country,  with  a  line  of 
rocky  hills  extending  through  it,  like  a  back  bdhe,  sending  ribs  on 
either  side ;  but,  among  these  rude  hills  are  beautiful  winding  valleys, 
like  those  watered  by  the  Pocantico  and  the  Neperan.  In  the  fast- 
nesses of  these  hills,  and  along  these  valleys,  exist  a  race  of  hard- 
headed,  hard-handed,  stout-hearted  Dutchmen,  descendants  of  the 


160  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

primitive  Nederlanders.  Most  of  these  were  strong  Whigs  through- 
out the  war,  and  have  ever  remained  obstinately  attached  to  the  soil, 
and  neither  to  be  fought  nor  bought  out  of  their  paternal  acres. 
Others  were  Tories,  and  adherents  to  the  old  kingly  rule  ;  some  of 
whom  took  refuge  within  the  British  lines,  joined  the  royal  bands  of 
refugees, — a  name  odious  to  the  American  ear, — and  occasionally  re- 
turned to  harass  their  ancient  neighbours. 

In  a  little  while  this  debatable  land  was  overrun  by  predatory 
bands  from  either  side  ;  sacking  hen-roosts,  plundering  farm-houses, 
and  driving  off'  cattle.  Hence  arose  those  two  great  orders  of  border 
chivalry,  the  Skinners  and  the  Cow-boys,  famous  in  the  heroic 
annals  of  Westchester  county.  The  former  fought,  or  rather  ma- 
rauded, under  the  American,  the  latter  under  the  British  banner ; 
but  both,  in  the  hurry  of  their  military  ardour,  were  apt  to  err  on 
the  safe  side,  and  rob  friend  as  well  as  foe.  Neither  of  them  stopped 
to  ask  the  politics  of  horse  or  cow  which  they  drove  into  captivity  ; 
nor,  when  they  wrung  the  neck  of  a  rooster,  did  they  trouble  their 
heads  to  ascertain  whether  he  were  crowing  for  Congress  or  King 

While  this  marauding  system  prevailed  on  shore,  the  Great  Tap- 
pan  Sea,  which  washes  this  belligerent  region,  was  domineered  over 
by  British  frigates,  and  other  vessels  of  war,  anchored  here  and  there, 
to  keep  an  eye  upon  the  river,  and  maintain  a  communication  be- 
tween the  various  military  posts.  Stout  galleys  also,  armed  with 
eighteen-pounders,  and  navigated  with  sails  and  oars,  cruised  about 
like  hawks,  ready  to  pounce  upon  their  prey. 

All  these  were  eyed  with  bitter  hostility  by  the  Dutch  yeomanry 
along  shore,  who  were  indignant  at  seeing  their  great  Mediterranean 
ploughed  by  hostile  prows ;  and  would  occasionally  throw  up  a  mud 
breast- work  on  a  point  or  promontory,  mount  an  old  iron  field-piece, 
and  fire  away  at  the  enemy,  though  the  greatest  harm  was  apt  to 
happen  to  themselves,  from  the  bursting  of  their  ordnance;  nay 
there  was  scarcely  a  Dutchman  along  the  river  that  would  hesitate  to 
fire  with  his  long  duck  gun  at  any  British  cruiser  that  came  within 
reach,  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  fire  at  water-fowl. 

I  have  been  thus  particular  in  my  account  of  the  times  and  neigh- 
bourhood, that  the  reader  might  the  more  readily  comprehend  the 
surrounding  dangers,  in  this  the  Heroic  Age  of  the  Roost. 

It  was  commanded  at  the  time,  as  I  have  already  observed,  by  the 
stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel.  As  I  wish  to  be  extremely  accurate  in  this 
part  of  my  chronicle,  I  beg  that  this  Jacob  Van  Tassel  of  the  Roost 
may  not  be  confounded  with  another  Jacob  Van  Tassel,  commonly 
known  in  border  story  by  the  name  of  "Clump-footed  Jake,"  a 
noted  Tory,  and  one  of  the  refugee  band  of  Spiting  Devil.  On  the 
contrary,  he  of  the  Roost  was  a  patriot  of  the  first  water,  and,  if  we 
may  take  his  own  word  for  granted,  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  enemy. 
As  the  Roost,  from  its  lonely  situation  on  the  water's  edge,  might  be 
liable  to  attack,  he  took  measures  for  defence.  On  a  row  of  hooks 
above  his  fire-place,  reposed  his  great  piece  of  ordnance,  ready 
charged  and  primed  for  action.  This  was  a  duck,  or  rather  goose- 
gun,  of  unparalleled  longitude,  with  which  it  was  said  he  could  kill 
a  wild  goose,  though  half-way  across  the  Tappan  Sea.  Indeed,  there 
are  as  many  wonders  told  of  this  renowned  gun,  as  of  the  enchanted 
weapons  of  the  heroes  of  classic  story. 


In  different  parts  of  the  stone  walls  of  this  mansion  he  had  made 
loop-holes,  through  which  he  might  fire  upon  an  assailant.  His  wife 
was  stout-hearted  as  himself,  and  could  load  as  fast  as  he  could  fire ; 
and  then,  he  had  an  ancient  and  redoubtable  sister,  Nochie  Van  Wur- 
mer, — a  match,  as  he  said,  for  the  stoutest  man  in  the  country.  Thus 
garrisoned,  the  little  Roost  was  fit  to  stand  a  siege,  and  Jacob  Van 
Tassel  was  the  man  to  defend  it  to  the  last  charge  of  powder. 

He  was,  as  I  have  already  hinted,  of  pugnacious  propensities  ; 
and,  not  content  with  being  a  patriot  at  home,  and  fighting  for  the 
security  of  his  own  fire-side,  he  extended  his  thoughts  abroad,  and 
entered  into  a  confederacy  with  certain  of  the  bold,  hard-riding  lads 
of  Tarry  town,  Petticoat-Lane,  and  Sleepy  Hollow,  who  formed  a 
kind  of  Holy  Brotherhood,  scouring  the  country  to  clear  it  of  Skin- 
ner and  Cow-boy,  and  all  other  border  vermin.  The  Roost  was  one 
of  their  rallying  points.  Did  a  band  of  marauders  from  Manhattan 
island  come  sweeping  through  the  neighbourhood,  and  driving  off 
cattle,  the  stout  Jacob  and  his  compeers  were  soon  clattering  at 
their  heels,  and  fortunate  did  the  rogues  esteem  themselves  if  they 
could  but  get  a  part  of  their  booty  across  the  lines,  or  escape  them- 
selves without  a  rough  handling.  Should  the  moss-troopers  succeed 
in  passing  with  their  cavalgada,  with  thundering  tramp  and  dusty 
whirlwind,  across  Kingsbridge,  the  Holy  Brotherhood  of  the  Roost 
would  rein  up  at  that  perilous  pass,  and,  wheeling  about,  would  in- 
demnify themselves  by  foraging  the  refugee  region  of  Morrissania. 

When  at  home  at  the  Roost,  the  stout  Jacob  was  not  idle ;  but 
was  prone  to  carry  on  a  petty  warfare  of  his  own,  for  his  private 
recreation  and  refreshment.  Did  he  ever  chance  to  espy,  from  his 
look-out  place,  a  hostile  ship  or  galley  anchored  or  becalmed  near 
shore,  he  would  take  down  his  long  goose-gun  from  the  hooks  over 
the  fire-place,  sally  out  alone,  and  lurk  along  shore,  dodging  be- 
hind rocks  and  trees,  and  watching  for  hours  together,  like  a  veteran 
mouser  intent  on  a  rat-hole.  So  sure  as  a  boat  put  off  for  shore,  and 
came  within  shot,  bang !  went  the  great  goose-gun ;  a  shower  of 
slugs  and  buck-shot  whistled  about  the  ears  of  the  enemy,  and  before 
the  boat  could  reach  the  shore,  Jacob  had  scuttled  up  some  woody 
ravine,  and  left  no  trace  behind. 

About  this  time  the  Roost  experienced  a  vast  succession  of  warlike 
importance,  in  being  made  one  of  the  stations  of  the  water-guard. 
This  was  a  kind  of  aquatic  corps  of  observation,  composed  of  long, 
sharp,  canoe-shaped  boats,  technically  called  whale-boats,  that  lay 
lightly  on  the  water,  and  could  be  rowed  with  great  rapidity.  They 
were  manned  by  resolute  fellows,  skilled  at  pulling  an  oar,  or  hand- 
ling a  musket.  These  lurked  about  in  nooks  and  bays,  and  behind 
those  long  promontories  which  run  out  into  the  Tappan  Sea,  keeping 
a  look-out  to  give  notice  of  the  approach  or  movements  of  hostile 
ships.  They  roved  about  in  pairs ;  sometimes  at  night,  with  muffled 
oars,  gliding  like  spectres  about  frigates  and  guard-ships  riding  at 
anchor,  cutting  off  any  boats  that  made  for  shore,  and  keeping  the 
enemy  in  constant  uneasiness.  These  musquito-cruisers  generally 
kept  aloof  by  day,  so  that  their  harbouring  places  might  not  be  dis- 
covered, but  would  pull  quietly  along,  under  shadow  of  the  shore  at 
night,  to  take  up  their  quarters  at  the  Roost.  Hither,  at  such  time, 
would  also  repair  the  hard-riding  lads  of  the  hills,  to  hold  secret 
councils  of  war  with  the  "  ocean  chivalry ;"  and  in  these  nocturnal 


meetings  were  concerted  many  of  those  daring  forays,  by  land  and 
water,  that  resounded  throughout  the  border. 

The  chronicle  here  goes  on  to  recount  divers  wonderful  stories  of 
the  wars  of  the  Roost,  from  which  it  would  seem  that  this  little  war- 
rior nest  carried  the  terror  of  its  arms  into  every  sea,  from  Spiting 
Devil  Creek  to  Antony's  Nose ;  that  it  even  bearded  the  stout  island 
of  Manhattan,  invading  it  at  night,  penetrating  to  its  centre,  and 
burning  down  the  famous  Delancy  house,  the  conflagration  of  which 
makes  such  a  blaze  in  revolutionary  history.  Nay  more,  in  their 
extravagant  daring,  these  cocks  of  the  Roost  meditated  a  nocturnal 
descent  upon  New  York  itself,  to  swoop  upon  the  British  com- 
manders, Howe  and  Clinton,  by  surprise,  bear  them  oft'  captive,  and 
perhaps  put  a  triumphant  close  to  the  war ! 

All  these  and  many  similar  exploits  are  recorded  by  the  worthy 
Diedrich  with  his  usual  minuteness  and  enthusiasm,  whenever  the 
deeds  in  arms  of  his  kindred  Dutchmen  are  in  question ;  but  though 
most  of  these  warlike  stories  rest  upon  the  best  of  all  authority,  that 
of  the  warriors  themselves,  and  though  many  of  them  are  still  cur- 
rent among  the  revolutionary  patriarchs  of  this  heroic  neighbourhood, 
yet  I  dare  not  expose  them  to  the  incredulity  of  a  tamer  and  less 
chivalric  age.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  frequent  gatherings  at  the  Roost, 
and  the  hardy  projects  set  on  foot  there,  at  length  drew  on  it  the 
fiery  indignation  of  the  enemy  ;  and  this  was  quickened  by  the  con- 
duct of  the  stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel,  with  whose  valorous  achieve- 
ments we  resume  the  course  of  the  chronicle. 

This  doughty  Dutchman,  continues  the  sage  Diedrich  Knicker- 
bocker, was  not  content  with  taking  a  share  in  all  the  magnanimous 
enterprises  concocted  at  the  Roost,  but  still  continued  his  petty  war- 
fare along  shore.  A  series  of  exploits  at  length  raised  his  confidence 
in  his  prowess  to  such  a  height,  that  he  began  to  think  himself  and 
his  goose-gun  a  match  for  anything.  Unluckily,  in  .the  course  of 
one  of  his  prowlings,  he  descried  a  British  transport  aground,  not 
far  from  shore,  with  her  stern  swung  toward  the  land,  within  point- 
blank  shot.  The  temptation  was  too  great  to  be  resisted  ;  bang !  as 
usual,  went  the  great  goose-gun,  shivering  the  cabin  windows,  and 
driving  all  hands  forward.  Bang !  bang  !  the  shots  were  repeated. 
The  reports  brought  several  sharpshooters  of  the  neighbourhood  to 
the  spot ;  before  the  transport  could  bring  a  gun  to  bear,  or  land  a 
boat,  to  take  revenge,  she  was  soundly  peppered,  and  the  coast  eva- 
cuated. This  was  the  last  of  Jacob's  triumphs.  He  fared  like  some 
heroic  spider  that  has  unwittingly  ensnared  a  hornet,  to  his  immortal 
glory,  perhaps,  but  to  the  utter  ruin  of  his  web. 

It  was  not  long  after  this,  during  the  absence  of  Jacob  Van  Tassel 
on  one  of  his  forays,  and  when  no  one  was  in  garrison  but  his  stout- 
hearted spouse,  his  redoubtable  sister,  Nochie  Van  Wurmer,  and  a 
strapping  negro  wench,  called  Dinah,  that  an  armed  vessel  came  to 
anchor  off  the  Roost,  and  a  boat  full  of  men  pulled  to  shore.  The 
garrison  flew  to  arms,  that  is  to  say,  to  mops,  broomsticks,  shovels, 
tongs,  and  all  kinds  of  domestic  weapons ;  for  unluckily  the  great 
piece  of  ordnance,  the  goose-gun,  was  absent  with  its  owner.  Above 
all,  a  vigorous  defence  was  made  with  that  most  potent  of  female 
weapons,  the  tongue.  Never  did  invaded  hen-roost  make  a  more 


vociferous  outcry.  It  was  all  in  vain.  The  house  was  sacked  and 
plundered,  fire  was  set  to  each  corner,  and  in  a  few  moments  its 
blaze  shed  a  baleful  light  far  over  the  Tappan  Sea.  The  invaders 
then  pounced  upon  the  blooming  Laney  Van  Tassel,  the  beauty  of 
the  Roost,  and  endeavoured  to  bear  her  off  to  the  boat.  But  here 
was  the  real  tug  of  war.  The  mother,  the  aunt,  and  the  strapping 
negro  wench,  all  flew  to  the  rescue.  The  struggle  continued  down 
to  the  very  water's  edge,  when  a  voice  from  the  armed  vessel  at 
anchor  ordered  the  spoilers  to  let  go  their  hold ;  they  relinquished 
their  prize,  jumped  into  their  boats,  and  pulled  off,  and  the  heroine 
of  the  Roost  escaped  with  a  mere  rumpling  of  the  feathers. 

The  fear  of  tiring  my  readers,  who  may  not  take  such  an  interest 
as  myself  in  these  heroic  themes,  induces  me  to  close  here  my  ex- 
tracts from  this  precious  chronicle  of  the  venerable  Diedrich.  Suffice 
it  briefly  to  say,  that  shortly  after  the  catastrophe  of  the  Roost,  Jacob 
Van  Tassel,  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  forays,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  British,  was  sent  prisoner  to  New  York,  and  was  detained  in 
captivity  for  the  greater  part  of  the  war.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
Roost  remained  a  melancholy  ruin,  its  stone  walls  and  brick  chim- 
neys alone  standing,  blackened  by  fire,  and  the  resort  of  bats  and 
owlets.  It  was  not  until  the  return  of  peace,  when  this  belligerent 
neighbourhood  once  more  resumed  its  quiet  agricultural  pursuits, 
that  the  stout  Jacob  sought  the  scene  of  his  triumphs  and  disasters, 
rebuilt  the  Roost,  and  reared  again  on  high  its  glittering  weather- 

Does  any  one  want  farther  particulars  of  the  fortunes  of  this  event- 
ful little  pile  ?  Let  him  go  to  the  fountain-head,  and  drink  deep  of 
historic  truth.  Reader  !  the  stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel  still  lives,  a 
venerable,  grey-headed  patriarch  of  the  Revolution,  now  in  his  ninety- 
fifth  year  !  He  sits  by  his  fireside,  in  the  ancient  city  of  the  Man- 
hattoes,  and  passes  the  long  winter  evening  surrounded  by  his  chil- 
dren, and  grand-children,  and  great-grand-children,  all  listening  to 
his  tales  of  the  border  wars,  and  the  heroic  days  of  the  Roost.  His 
great  goose-gun,  too,  is  still  in  existence,  having  been  preserved  for 
many  years  in  a  hollow  tree,  and  passed  from  hand  to  hand  among 
the  Dutch  burghers,  as  a  precious  relique  of  the  revolution.  It  is 
now  actually  in  possession  of  a  contemporary  of  the  stout  Jacob, 
one  almost  his  equal  in  years,  who  treasures  it  up  at  his  house  in  the 
Bowerie  of  New  Amsterdam,  hard  by  the  ancient  rural  retreat  of 
the  chivalric  Peter  Stuy vesant.  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  one  day 
seeing  this  formidable  piece  of  ordnance  restored  to  its  proper  station 
in  the  arsenal  of  the  Roost. 

Before  closing  this  historic  document,  I  cannot  but  advert  to  cer- 
tain notions  and  traditions  concerning  the  venerable  pile  in  question. 
Old-time  edifices  are  apt  to  gather  odd  fancies  and  superstitions  about 
them,  as  they  do  moss  and  weather-stains,  and  this  is  in  a  neighbour- 
hood a  little  given  to  old-fashioned  notions,  and  who  look  upon  the 
Roost  as  somewhat  of  a  fated  mansion.  A  lonely",  rambling,  down- 
hill lane  leads  to  it,  overhung  with  trees,  with  a  wild  brook  dashing 
along,  and  crossing  and  re-crossing  it.  This  lane  I  found  some  of 
the  good  people  of  the  neighbourhood  shy  of  treading  at  night ;  why 
I  could  not  for  a  long  time  ascertain,  until  I  learned  that  one  or  two 

164  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

of  the  rovers  of  the  Tappan  Sea,  shot  by  the  stout  Jacob  during  the 
war,  had  been  buried  hereabout  in  unconsecrated  ground. 

Another  local  superstition  is  of  a  less  gloomy  kind,  and  one  which 
I  confess  I  am  somewhat  disposed  to  cherish.  The  Tappan  Sea,  in 
front  of  the  Roost,  is  about  three  miles  wide,  bordered  by  a  lofty 
line  of  waving  and  rocky  hills.  Often,  in  the  still  twilight  of  a  sum- 
mer evening,  when  the  sea  is  like  glass,  with  the  opposite  hills  throw- 
ing their  purple  shadows  half  across  it,  a  low  sound  is  heard,  as  of 
the  steady,  vigorous  pull  of  oars,  far  out  in  the  middle  of  the  stream, 
though  not  a  boat  is  to  be  descried.  This  I  should  have  been  apt  to 
ascribe  to  some  boat  rowed  along  under  the  shadows  of  the  western 
shore,  for  sounds  are  conveyed  to  a  great  distance  by  water,  at 
such  quiet  hours,  and  I  can  distinctly  hear  the  baying  of  the  watch- 
dogs at  night,  from  the  farms  on  the  sides  of  the  opposite  mountains. 
The  ancient  traditionists  of  the  neighbourhood,  however,  religiously 
ascribe  these  sounds  to  a  judgment  upon  one  Rumbout  Van  Dam, 
of  Spiting  Devil,  who  danced  and  drank  late  one  Saturday  night,  at 
a  Dutch  quilting  frolic  at  Kakiat,  and  set  off  alone  for  home  in  his 
boat,  on  the  verge  of  Sunday  morning,  swearing  he  would  not  land 
till  he  reached  Spiting  Devil,  if  it  took  him  a  month  of  Sundays.  He 
was  never  seen  afterward,  but  is  often  heard  plying  his  oars  across 
the  Tappan  Sea,  a  Flying  Dutchman  on  a  small  scale,  suited  to  the 
size  of  his  cruising-ground ;  being  doomed  to  ply  between  Kakiat 
and  Spiting  Devil  till  the  day  of  judgment,  but  never  to  reach  the 

There  is  one  room  in  the  mansion,  which  almost  overhangs  the 
river,  and  is  reputed  to  be  haunted  by  the  ghost  of  a  young  lady 
who  died  of  love  and  green  apples.  I  have  been  awakened  at  night 
by  the  sound  of  oars  and  the  tinkling  of  guitars  beneath  the  window, 
and  seeing  a  boat  loitering  in  the  moonlight,  have  been  tempted  to 
believe  it  the  Flying  Dutchman  of  Spiting  Devil,  and  to  try  whether 
a  silver  bullet  might  not  put  an  end  to  his  unhappy  cruisings ;  but, 
happening  to  recollect  that  there  was  a  living  young  lady  in  the 
haunted  room,  who  might  be  terrified  by  the  report  of  fire-arms,  I 
have  refrained  from  pulling  trigger. 

As  to  the  enchanted  fountain,  said  to  have  been  gifted  by  the 
wizard  sachem  with  supernatural  powers,  it  still  wells  up  at  the  foot 
of  the  bank,  on  the  margin  of  the  river,  and  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Indian  spring ;  but  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  its  rejuvenating  powers; 
for  though  I  have  drunk  oft  and  copiously  of  it,  I  cannot  boast  that 
I  find  myself  growing  younger. 


Having  pitched  my  tent,  probably  for  the  remainder  of  my  days, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  I  am  tempted  to  give  some 
few  particulars  concerning  that  spell-bound  region ;  especially  as  it 
has  risen  to  historic  importance,  under  the  pen  of  my  revered  friend 
and  master,  the  sage  historian  of  the  New  Netherlands.  Beside,  I 
find  the  very  existence  of  the  place  has  been  held  in  question  by 
many;  who,  judging  from  its  odd  name,  and  from  the  odd  stories 
current  among  the  vulgar  concerning  it,  have  rashly  deemed  the 
whole  to  be  a  fanciful  creation,  like  the  Lubber  Land  of  mariners.  I 


must  confess  there  is  some  apparent  cause  for  doubt,  in  consequence 
of  the  colouring  given  by  the  worthy  Diedrich,  to  his  descriptions 
of  the  Hollow,  who,  in  this  instance,  has  departed  a  little  from  his 
usually  sober,  if  not  severe,  style ;  beguiled,  very  probably,  by  his 
predilection  for  the  haunts  of  his  youth,  and  by  a  certain  lurking 
taint  of  romance,  whenever  anything  connected  with  the  Dutch  was 
to  be  described.  I  shall  endeavour  to  make  up  for  this  amiable 
error,  on  the  part  of  my  venerable  and  venerated  friend,  by  present- 
ing the  reader  with  a  more  precise  and  statistical  account  of  the 
Hollow ;  though  I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  not  be  prone  to  lapse,  in 
the  end,  into  the  very  error  I  am  speaking  of,  so  potent  is  the 
witchery  of  the  theme. 

I  believe  it  was  the  very  peculiarity  of  its  name,  and  the  idea  of 
something  mystic  and  dreamy  connected  with  it,  that  first  led  me  in 
my  boyish  ramblings  into  Sleepy  Hollow.  The  character  of  the 
valley  seemed  to  answer  to  the  name ;  the  slumber  of  past  ages 
apparently  reigned  over  it ;  it  had  not  awakened  to  the  stir  of  im- 
provement, which  had  put  all  the  rest  of  the  world  in  a  bustle.  Here 
reigned  good  old  long-forgotten  fashions  ;  the  men  were  in  home- 
spun garbs,  evidently  the  product  of  their  own  farms,  and  the  ma- 
nufacture of  their  own  wives ;  the  women  were  in  primitive  short 
gowns  and  petticoats,  with  the  venerable  sun-bonnets  of  Holland 
origin.  The  lower  part  of  the  valley  was  cut  up  into  small  farms, 
each  consisting  of  a  little  meadow  and  corn-field ;  an  orchard  of 
sprawling  gnarled  apple-trees,  and  a  garden,  where  the  rose,  the 
marigold,  and  the  hollyhock  were  permitted  to  skirt  the  domains  of 
the  capacious  cabbage,  the  aspiring  pea,  and  the  portly  pumpkin. 
Each  had  its  prolific  little  mansion  teeming  with  children ;  with  an 
old  hat  nailed  against  the  wall  for  the  house-keeping  wren  ;  a  mo- 
therly hen  under  a  coop  on  the  grass-plot,  clucking  to  keep  around 
her  a  brood  of  vagrant  chickens ;  a  cool  stone  well,  with  the  moss- 
covered  bucket  suspended  to  the  long  balancing-pole,  according  to 
the  antediluvian  idea  of  hydraulics ;  and  its  spinning-wheel  hum- 
ming within  doors  the  patriarchal  music  of  home  manufactui'e. 

The  Hollow  at  that  time  was  inhabited  by  families  which  had 
existed  there  from  the  earliest  times,  and  which,  by  frequent  inter- 
marriage, had  become  so  interwoven,  as  to  make  a  kind  of  natural 
commonwealth.  As  the  families  had  grown  larger,  the  farms  had 
grown  smaller,  every  new  generation  requiring  a  new  subdivision, 
and  few  thinking  of  swarming  from  the  native  hive.  In  this  way 
that  happy  golden  mean  had  been  produced,  so  much  extolled  by 
the  poets,  in  which  there  was  no  gold,  and  very  little  silver.  One 
thing  which  doubtless  contributed  to  keep  up  this  amiable  mean  was 
a  general  repugnance  to  sordid  labour.  The  sage  inhabitants  of 
Sleepy  Hollow  had  read  in  their  Bible,  which  was  the  only  book 
they  studied,  that  labour  was  originally  inflicted  upon  man  as  a 
punishment  of  sin;  they  regarded  it,  therefore,  with  pious  abhor- 
rence, and  never  humiliated  themselves  to  it  but  in  cases  of  extre- 
mity. There  seemed,  in  fact,  to  be  a  league  and  covenant  against  it 
throughout  the  Hollow,  as  against  a  common  enemy.  Was  any  one 
compelled  by  dire  necessity  to  repair  his  house,  mend  his  fences, 
build  a  barn,  or  get  in  a  harvest,  he  considered  it  a  great  evil,  that 
entitled  him  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  his  friends.  He  accordingly 
proclaimed  a  "  bee,"  or  rustic  gathering ;  whereupon  all  his  neigh- 

16()  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

hours  hurried  to  his  aid,  like  faithful  allies,  attacked  the  task  with 
the  desperate  energy  of  lazy  men  eager. to  overcome  a  job;  and 
when  it  was  accomplished,  fell  to  eating  and  drinking,  fiddling  and 
dancing,  for  very  joy  that  so  great  an  amount  of  labour  had  been 
vanquished  with  so  little  sweating  of  the  brow. 

Yet  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  this  worthy  community  was  with- 
out its  periods  of  arduous  activity.  Let  but  a  flock  of  wild  pigeons 
fly  across  the  valley,  and  all  Sleepy  Hollow  was  wide  awake  in  an 
instant.  The  pigeon  season  had  arrived :  every  gun  and  net  was 
forthwith  in  requisition.  The  flail  was  thrown  down  on  the  barn 
floor,  the  spade  rusted  in  the  garden,  the  plough  stood  idle  in  the 
furrow  ;  every  one  was  to  the  hill-side  and  stubble-field  at  day- 
break, to  shoot  or  entrap  the  pigeons  in  their  periodical  migrations. 

So,  likewise,  let  but  the  word  be  given  that  the  shad  were  ascend- 
ing the  Hudson,  and  the  worthies  of  the  Hollow  were  to  be  seen 
launched  in  boats  upon  the  river,  setting  great  stakes,  and  stretching 
their  nets,  like  gigantic  spider-webs,  half 'across  the  stream,  to  the 
great  annoyance  of  navigators.  Such  are  the  wise  provisions  of 
Nature,  by  which  she  equalizes  rural  affairs.  A  laggard  at  the  plough 
is  often  extremely  industrious  with  the  fowling-piece  and  fishing- 
net  ;  and  whenever  a  man  is  an  indifferent  farmer,  he  is  apt  to  be  a 
first-rate  sportsman.  For  catching  shad  and  wild  pigeons,  there  were 
none  throughout  the  country  to  compare  with  the  lads  of  Sleepy 

As  I  have  observed,  it  was  the  dreamy  nature  of  the  name  that 
first  beguiled  me,  in  the  holiday  rovings  of  boyhood,  into  this  se- 
questered region.  I  shunned,  however,  the  populous  parts  of  the 
Hollow,  and  sought  its  retired  haunts,  far  in  the  foldings  of  the  hills, 
where  the  Pocantico  "  winds  its  wizard  stream,"  sometimes  silently 
and  darkly  through  solemn  woodlands,  sometimes  sparkling  between 
grassy  borders  in  fresh  green  meadows,  sometimes  stealing  along  the 
feet  of  ragged  heights,  under  the  balancing  sprays  of  beech  and 
chestnut  trees.  A  thousand  crystal  springs,  with  which  this  neigh- 
bourhood abounds,  sent  down  from  the  hill-sides  their  whimpering 
rills,  as  if  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Pocantico.  In  this  stream  I  first 
essayed  my  unskilful  hand  at  angling.  I  loved  to  loiter  along  it, 
with  rod  in  hand,  watching  my  float  as  it  whirled  among  the  eddies, 
or  drifted  into  dark  holes,  under  twisted  roots  and  sunken  logs, 
where  the  largest  fish  are  apt  to  lurk.  I  delighted  to  follow  it  into 
the  brown  recesses  of  the  woods ;  to  throw  by  my  fishing  gear,  and 
sit  upon  rocks  beneath  toAvering  oaks  and  clambering  grape-vines ; 
bathe  my  feet  in  the  cool  current,  and  listen  to  the  summer  breeze 
playing  among  the  tree-tops.  My  boyish  fancy  clothed  all  nature 
around  me  with  ideal  charms,  and  peopled  it  with  the  fairy  beings  I 
had  read  of  in  poetry  and  fable.  Here  it  was  I  gave  full  scope  to 
my  incipient  habit  of  day-dreaming,  and  to  a  certain  propensity  to 
weave  up  and  tint  sober  realities  with  my  own  whims  and  imagin- 
ings, which  has  sometimes  made  life  a  little  too  much  like  an  Arabian 
tale  to  me,  and  this  "  working-day  world  "  rather  like  a  region  of 

The  great  gathering  place  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  in  those  days,  was 
the  church.  It  stood  outside  of  the  Hollow,  near  the  great  highway, 
on  a  green  bank  shaded  by  trees,  with  the  Pocantico  sweeping  round 
it,  and  emptying  itself  into  a  spacious  mill-pond.  At  that  time  the 


Sleepy  Hollow  church  was  the  only  place  of  worship  for  a  wide 
neighbourhood.  It  was  a  venerable  edifice,  partly  of  stone  and  partly 
of  brick,  the  latter  having  been  brought  from  Holland  in  the  early 
days  of  the  province,  before  the  arts  in  the  New  Netherlands  could 
aspire  to  such  a  fabrication.  On  a  stone  above  the  porch  were  in- 
scribed the  names  of  the  founders,  Frederick  Filipsen,  a  mighty 
patroon  of  the  olden  time,  who  reigned  over  a  wide  extent  of  this 
neighbourhood,  and  held  his  seat  of  power  at  Yonkers  ;  and  his  wife, 
Katrina  Van  Courtlandt,  pf  the  no  less  potent  line  of  the  Van  Court- 
landts  of  Croton,  who  lorded  it  over  a  great  part  of  the  Highlands. 

The  capacious  pulpit,  with  its  wide-spreading  sounding-board, 
were  likewise  early  importations  from  Holland,  as  also  the  commu- 
nion-table, of  massive  form  and  curious  fabric.  The  same  might  be 
said  of  a  weather-cock  perched  on  top  of  the  belfry,  and  which  was 
considered  orthodox  in  all  windy  matters,  until  a  small  pragmatical 
rival  was  set  up  on  the  other  end  of  the  church  above  the  chancel. 
This  latter  bore,  and  still  bears,  the  initials  of  Frederick  Filipsen, 
and  assumed  great  airs  in  consequence.  The  usual  contradiction 
ensued  that  always  exists  among  church  weather-cocks,  which  can 
never  be  brought  to  agree  as  to  the  point  from  which  the  wind 
blows,  having  doubtless  acquired,  from  their  position,  the  Christian 
propensity  to  schism  and  controversy. 

Behind  the  church,  and  sloping  up  a  gentle  acclivity,  was  its  ca- 
pacious burying-ground,  in  which  slept  the  earliest  fathers  of  this 
rural  neighbourhood.  Here  were  tombstones  of  the  rudest  sculp- 
ture, on  which  were  inscribed,  in  Dutch,  the  names  and  virtues  of 
many  of  the  first  settlers,  with  their  portraitures  curiously  carved  in 
similitude  of  cherubs.  Long  rows  of  grave-stones,  side  by  side,  of 
similar  names,  but  various  dates,  showed  that  generation  after  gene- 
ration of  the  same  families  had  followed  each  other,  and  been  gar- 
nered together  in  this  last  gathering-place  of  kindred. 

Let  me  speak  of  this  quiet  grave-yard  with  all  due  reverence,  for 
I  owe  it  amends  for  the  heedlessness  of  my  boyish  days.  I  blush  to 
acknowledge  the  thoughtless  frolic  with  which,  in  company  with 
other  whipsters,  I  have  sported  within  its  sacred  bounds  during  the 
intervals  of  worship,  chasing  butterflies,  plucking  wild  flowers,  or 
vieing  with  each  other  who  could  leap  over  the  tallest  tombstones, 
until  checked  by  the  stern  voice  of  the  sexton. 

The  congregation  was  in  those  days  of  a  really  rural  character. 
City  fashions  were  as  yet  unknown,  or  unregarded,  by  the  country 
people  of  the  neighbourhood.  Steam-boats  had  not  as  yet  confounded 
town  with  country.  A  weekly  market-boat  from  Tarrytown,  the 
"  Farmers'  Daughter,"  navigated  by  the  worthy  Gabriel  Requa,  was 
the  only  communication  between  all  these  parts  and  the  metropolis. 
A  rustic  belle  in  those  days  considered  a  visit  to  the  city  in  much 
the  same  light  as  one  of  our  modern  fashionable  ladies  regards  a 
visit  to  Europe;  an  event  that  may  possibly  take  place  once  in  the 
course  of  a  lifetime,  but  to  be  hoped  for  rather  than  expected. 
Hence  the  array  of  the  congregation  was  chiefly  after  the  primitive 
fashions  existing  in  Sleepy  Hollow ;  or  if  by  cliance  there  was  a 
departure  from  the  Dutch  sun-bonnet,  or  the  apparition  of  a  bright 
gown  of  flowered  calico,  it  caused  quite  a  sensation  throughout  the 
church.  As  the  dominie  generally  preached  by  the  hour,  a  bucket 
of  water  was  providently  placed  on  a  bench  near  the  door  in  sum- 

168  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

mer,  with  a  tin  cup  beside  it,  for  the  solace  of  those  who  might  be 
athirst,  either  from  the  heat  of  the  weather  or  the  drouth  of  the 

Around  the  pulpit,  and  behind  the  communion-table,  sat  the  elders 
of  the  church,  reverend,  grey-headed,  leathern-visaged  men,  whom  I 
regarded  with  awe,  as  so  many  apostles.  They  were  stern  in  their 
sanctity,  kept  a  vigilant  eye  upon  my  giggling  companions  and  my- 
self, and  shook  a  rebuking  finger  at  any  boyish  device  to  relieve  the 
tediousness  of  compulsory  devotion.  Vain,  however,  were  all  their 
efforts  at  vigilance.  Scarcely  had  the  preacher  held  forth  for  half  an 
hour,  in  one  of  his  interminable  sermons,  than  it  seemed  as  if  the 
drowsy  influence  of  Sleepy  Hollow  breathed  into  the  place:  one 
by  one  the  congregation  sank  into  slumber ;  the  sanctified  elders 
leaned  back  in  their  pews,  spreading  their  handkerchiefs  over  their 
faces,  as  if  to  keep  off  the  flies ;  while  the  locusts  in  the  neighbour- 
ing trees  would  spin  out  their  sultry  summer  notes,  vicing  with  the 
sleep-provoking  tones  of  the  dominie. 

I  have  thus  endeavoured  to  give  an  idea  of  Sleepy  Hollow  and  its 
church,  as  I  recollect  them  to  have  been  in  the  days  of  my  boyhood. 
It  was  in  my  stripling  days,  when  a  few  years  had  passed  over  my 
head,  that  I  revisited  them,  in  company  with  the  venerable  Diedrich. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  antiquarian  reverence  with  which  that  sage 
and  excellent  man  contemplated  the  church.  It  seemed  as  if  all  his 
pious  enthusiasm  for  the  ancient  Dutch  dynasty  swelled  within  his 
bosom  at  the  sight.  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  regarded  the 
pulpit  and  the  communion-table  ;  even  the  very  bricks  that  had  come 
from  the  mother  country  seemed  to  touch  a  filial  chord  within  his 
bosom.  He  almost  bowed  in  deference  to  the  stone  above  the  porch, 
containing  the  names  of  Frederick  Filipsen  and  Katrina  Van  Court- 
landt,  regarding  it  as  the  linking  together  of  those  patronymic  names 
once  so  famous  along  the  banks  of  the  Hudson;  or,  rather  as  a  key- 
stone, binding  that  mighty  Dutch  family  connexion  of  yore,  one  foot 
of  which  rested  on  Yonkers,  and  the  other  on  the  Croton.  Nor  did 
he  forbear  to  notice  with  admiration  the  windy  contest  which  had 
been  carried  on  since  time  immemorial,  and  with  real  Dutch  perse- 
verance, between  the  two  weathercocks  ;  though  I  could  easily  per- 
ceive he  coincided  with  the  one  which  had  come  from  Holland. 

Together  we  paced  the  ample  church-yard.  With  deep  veneration 
would  he  turn  down  the  weeds  and  brambles  that  obscured  the  mo- 
dest brown  grave-stones,  half  sunk  in  earth,  on  which  were  recorded 
in  Dutch  the  names  of  the  patriarchs  of  ancient  days,  the  Ackers, 
the  Van  Tassels,  and  the  Van  Warts.  As  we  sat  on  one  of  the  tomb- 
stones he  recounted  to  me  the  exploits  of  many  of  these  worthies ; 
and  my  heart  smote  me  when  I  heard  of  their  great  doings  in  days 
of  yore,  to  think  how  heedlessly  I  had  once  sported  over  their 

From  the  church  the  venerable  Diedrich  proceeded  in  his  re- 
searches up  the  Hollow.  The  genius  of  the  place  seemed  to  hail  its 
future  historian.  All  nature  was  alive  with  gratulation.  The  quail 
whistled  a  greeting  from  the  corn-field ;  the  robin  carolled  a  song  of 
praise  from  the  orchard ;  the  loquacious  cat-bird  flew  from  bush  to 
bush,  with  restless  wing,  proclaiming  his  approach  in  every  variety 
of  note,  and  anon  would  whisk  about,  and  perk  inquisitively  into  his 
face,  as  if  to  get  a  knowledge  of  his  physiognomy  ;  the  wood-pecker 


also  tapped  a  tattoo  on  the  hollow  apple-tree,  and  then  peered  know- 
ingly round  the  trunk,  to  see  how  the  great  Diedrich  relished  his  sa- 
lutation ;  while  the  ground-squirrel  scampered  along  the  fence,  and 
occasionally  whisked  his  tail  over  his  head,  by  way  of  a  huzza ! 

The  worthy  Diedrich  pursued  his  researches  in  the  valley  with 
characteristic  devotion  ;  entering  familiarly  into  the  various  cottages, 
and  gossipping  with  the  simple  folk  in  the  style  of  their  own  simpli- 
city. I  confess  my  heart  yearned  with  admiration  to  see  so  great  a 
man,  in  his  eager  quest  after  knowledge,  humbly  demeaning  himself 
to  curry  favour  with  the  humblest ;  sitting  patiently  on  a  three- 
legged  stool,  patting  the  children,  and  taking  a  purring  grimalkin  on 
his  lap,  while  he  conciliated  the  good  will  of  the  old  Dutch  house- 
wife, and  drew  from  her  long  ghost  stories,  spun  out  to  the  hum- 
ming accompaniment  of  her  wheel. 

His  greatest  treasure  of  historic  lore,  however,  was  discovered  in 
an  old  goblin-looking  mill,  situated  among  rocks  and  waterfalls,  with 
clanking  wheels,  and  rushing  streams,  and  all  kinds  of  uncouth  noises. 
A  horse-shoe,  nailed  to  the  door  to  keep  off  witches  and  evil  spirits, 
showed  that  this  mill  was  subject  to  awful  visitations.  As  we  ap- 
proached it  an  old  negro  thrust  his  head,  all  dabbled  with  flour,  out 
of  a  hole  above  the  water-wheel,  and  grinned  and  rolled  his  eyes, 
and  looked  like  the  very  hobgoblin  of  the  place.  The  illustrious 
Diedrich  fixed  upon  him  at  once  as  the  very  one  to  give  him  that  in- 
valuable kind  of  information  never  to  be  acquired  from  books.  He 
beckoned  him  from  his  nest,  sat  with  him  by  the  hour  on  a  broken 
millstone  by  the  side  of  the  waterfall,  heedless  of  the  noise  of  the 
water  and  the  clatter  of  the  mill ;  and  I  verily  believe  it  was  to  his 
conference  with  this  African  sage,  and  the  precious  revelations  of  the 
good  dame  of  the  spinning  wheel,  that  we  are  indebted  for  the  sur- 
prising, though  true,  history  of  Ichabod  Crane,  and  the  headless 
horseman,  which  has  since  astounded  and  edified  the  world. 

But,  I  have  said  enough  of  the  good  old  times  of  my  youthful 
days  ;  let  me  speak  of  the  Hollow  as  I  found  it  after  an  absence  of 
many  years,  when  it  was  kindly  given  me  once  more  to  revisit  the 
haunts  of  my  boyhood.  It  was  a  genial  day  as  I  approached  that 
fated  region.  The  warm  sunshine  was  tempered  by  a  slight  haze,  so 
as  to  give  a  dreamy  effect  to  the  landscape.  Not  a  breath  of  air 
shook  the  foliage.  The  broad  Tappan  Sea  was  without  a  ripple  ;  and 
the  sloops,  with  drooping  sails,  slept  on  its  glassy  bosom.  Columns 
of  smoke  from  burning  brushwood  rose  lazily  from  the  folds  of  the 
hills,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  slowly  expanded  in  mid 
air.  The  distant  lowing  of  a  cow,  or  the  noontide  crowing  of  a  cock, 
coming  faintly  to  the  ear,  seemed  to  illustrate  rather  than  disturb 
the  drowsy  quiet  of  the  scene. 

I  entered  the  Hollow  with  a  beating  heart.  Contrary  to  my  appre- 
hensions, I  found  it  but  little  changed.  The  march  of  intellect,  which 
had  made  such  rapid  strides  along  every  river  and  highway,  had 
not  yet,  apparently,  turned  down  into  this  favoured  valley.  Perhaps 
the  wizard  spell  of  ancient  clays  still  reigned  over  the  place,  binding 
up  the  faculties  of  the  inhabitants  in  happy  contentment  with  things 
as  they  had  been  handed  down  to  them  from  yore.  There  were  the 
same  little  farms  and  farm-houses,  with  their  old  hats  for  the  house- 
keeping wren ;  their  stone  wells,  moss-covered  buckets,  and  long 
balancing  poles.  There  were  the  same  little  rills  whimpering  down 

170  THE    CRAYON    PAPERS. 

to  pay  their  tributes  to  the  Pocantico  ;  while  that  wizard  stream  still 
kept 'on  its  course,  as  of  old,  through  solemn  woodlands  and  fresh 
green  meadows:  nor  were  there  wanting  joyous  holiday  boys,  to 
loiter  along  its  banks,  as  I  had  done;  throw  their  pin-hooks  in  the 
stream,  or  launch  their  mimic  barks.  I  watched  them  with  a  kind  of 
melancholy  pleasure,  wondering  whether  they  were  under  the  same 
spell  of  the  fancy  that  once  rendered  this  valley  a  fairy-land  to  me. 
Alas  !  alas  !  to  me  everything  now  stood  revealed  in  its  simple  reality  ; 
The  echoes  no  longer  answered  with  wizard  tongues ;  the  dream  of 
youth  was  at  an  end ;  the  spell  of  Sleepy  Hollow  was  broken  ! 
'  I  sought  the  ancient  church  on  the  following  Sunday.  There  H 
stood  on  its  green  bank  among  the  trees  ;  the  Pocantico  swept  by  it 
in  a  deep,  dark  stream,  where  I  had  so  often  angled  ;  there  expanded 
the  mill-pond,  as  of  old,  with  the  cows  under  the  willows  on  its  mar- 
gin, knee-deep  in  water,  chewing  the  cud,  and  lashing  the  flies  from 
their  sides  with  their  tails.  The  hand  of  improvement,  however,  had 
been  busy  with  the  venerable  pile.  The  pulpit  fabricated  in  Hol- 
land had  been  superseded  by  one  of  modern  construction  ;  and  the 
front  of  the  semi-Gothic  edifice  was  decorated  by  a  semi-Grecian 
portico.  Fortunately  the  two  weathercocks  remained  undisturbed 
on  their  perches  at  each  end  of  the  church,  and  still  kept  up  a  diame- 
trical opposition  to  each  other  on  all  points  of  windy  doctrine. 

On  entering  the  church  the  changes  of  time  continued  to  be  appa- 
rent. The  elders  round  the  pulpit  were  men  whom  I  had  left  in  the 
gamesome  frolic  of  their  youth,  but  who  had  succeeded  to  the  sanc- 
tity of  station  of  which  they  once  had  stood  so  much  in  awe.  What 
most  struck  my  eye  was  the  change  in  the  female  part  of  the  congre- 
gation. Instead  of  the  primitive  garbs  of  homespun  manufacture  and 
antique  Dutch  fashion,  I  beheld  French  sleeves,  French  capes,  and 
French  collars,  and  a  fearful  fluttering  of  French  ribands. 

When  the  service  was  ended,  I  sought  the  church-yard  in  which 
I  had  sported  in  my  unthinking  days  of  boyhood.  Several  of  the 
modest  brown  stones,  on  which  were  recorded  in  Dutch  the  names 
and  virtues  of  the  patriarchs,  had  disappeared ;  and  had  been  suc- 
ceeded by  others  of  white  marble,  with  urns,  and  wreaths,  and  scraps 
of  English  tombstone  poetry,  marking  the  intrusion  of  taste  and  lite- 
rature, and  the  English  language,  in  this  once  unsophisticated  Dutch 

As  I  was  stumbling  about  among  these  silent,  yet  eloquent,  memo- 
rials of  the  dead,  I  came  upon  names  familiar  to  me  ;  of  those  who 
had  paid  the  debt  of  nature  during  the  long  interval  of  my  absence. 
Some  I  remembered  my  companions  in  boyhood,  who  had  sported 
with  me  on  the  very  sod  under  which  they  were  now  mouldering ; 
others  who  in  those  days  had  been  the  flower  of  the  yeomanry, 
figuring  in  Sunday  finery  on  the  church-green  ;  others,  the  white- 
haired  elders  of  the  sanctuary,  once  arrayed  in  awful  sanctity  around 
the  pulpit,  and  ever  ready  to  rebuke  the  ill-timed  mirth  of  the  wan- 
ton stripling,  who,  now  a  man,  sobered  by  years,  and  schooled  by  vi- 
cissitudes, looked  down  pensively  upon  their  graves.  "  Our  fathers," 
thought  I,  "  where  are  they  !  —  and  the  prophets,  can  they  live  for 
ever !  " 

I  was  disturbed  in  my  meditations  by  the  noise  of  a  troop  of  idle 
urchins,  who  came  gambolling  about  the  place  where  I  had  so  often 
gambolled.  They  were  checked,  as  I  arid  my  playmates  had  often 


been,  by  the  voice  of  the  sexton,  a  man  staid  in  years  and  demeanour, 
I  looked  wistfully  in  his  face ;  had  I  met  him  anywhere  else,  I 
should,  probably,  have  passed  him  by  without  remark  ;  but,  here  I 
was  alive  to  the  traces  of  former  times,  and  detected  in  the  demure 
features  of  this  guardian  of  the  sanctuary  the  lurking  lineaments  of 
one  of  the  very  playmates  I  have  alluded  to.  We  renewed  our  ac- 
quaintance. He  sat  down  beside  me  on  one  of  the  tombstones  over 
which  we  had  leaped  in  our  juvenile  sports,  and  we  talked  together 
about  our  boyish  days,  and  held  edifying  discourse  on  the  instability 
of  all  sublunary  things,  as  instanced  in  the  scene  around  us.  He  was 
rich  in  historic  lore,  as  to  the  events  of  the  last  thirty  years,  and  the 
circumference  of  thirty  miles,  and  from  him  I  learned  the  appalling 
revolution  that  was  taking  place  throughout  the  neighbourhood.  AH 
this  I  clearly  perceived  he  attributed  to  the  boasted  march  of  intel- 
lect, or  rather,  to  the  all-pervading  influence  of  steam.  He  bewailed 
the  times  when  the  only  communication  with  town  was  by  the  week- 
ly market  boat — the  "  Farmers'  Daughter,"  which,  under  the  pilotage 
of  the  worthy  Gabriel  Requa,  braved  the  perils  of  the  Tappan  Sea. 
Alas  !  Gabriel,  and  the  "  Farmers'  Daughter"  slept  in  peace.  Two 
steam-boats  now  splashed  and  paddled  up  daily  to  the  little  rural 
port  of  Tarrytown.  The  spirit  of  speculation  and  improvement  had 
seized  even  upon  that  once  quiet  and  unambitious  little  dorp.  The 
whole  neighbourhood  was  laid  out  into  town  lots.  Instead  of  the 
little  tavern  below  the  hill,  where  the  farmers  used  to  loiter  on  mar- 
ket-days, and  indulge  in  cider  and  ginger-bread,  an  ambitious  hotel, 
with  cupola  and  verandahs,  now  crested  the  summit,  among  churches 
built  in  the  Grecian  and  Gothic  styles,  showing  the  great  increase  of 
piety  and  polite  taste  in  the  neighbourhood.  As  to  Dutch  dresses 
and  sun-bonnets,  they  were  no  longer  tolerated,  or  even  thought  of ; 
not  a  farmer's  daughter  but  now  went  to  town  for  the  fashions  ;  nay, 
a  city  milliner  had  recently  set  vip  in  the  village,  who  threatened  to 
reform  the  heads  of  the  whole  neighbourhood. 

I  had  heard  enough  !  I  thanked  my  old  playmate  for  his  intelli- 
gence, and  departed  from  the  Sleepy  Hollow  church,  with  the  sad 
conviction  that  I  had  beheld  the  last  lingerings  of  the  good  old 
Dutch  times,  in  this  once-favoured  region.  If  anything  were  want- 
ing to  confirm  this  impression,  it  would  be  the  intelligence  which  has 
just  reached  me,  that  a  bank  is  about  to  be  established  in  the  aspiring 
little  port  just  mentioned.  The  fate  of  the  neighbourhood  is,  there- 
fore, sealed.  I  see  no  hope  of  averting  it.  The  golden  mean  is  at 
an  end.  The  country  is  suddenly  to  be  deluged  with  wealth.  The 
late  simple  farmers  are  to  become  bank-directors,  and  drink  claret 
and  champagne  ;  and  their  wives  and  daughters  to  figure  in  French 
hats  and  feathers  ;  for  French  wines  and  French  fashions  commonly 
keep  pace  with  paper  money.  How  can  I  hope  that  even  Sleepy 
Hollow  may  escape  the  general  awakening  ?  In  a  little  while  I  fear 
the  slumber  of  ages  will  be  at  an  end ;  the  strum  of  the  piano  will 
succeed  to  the  hum  of  the  spinning-wheel ;  the  trill  of  the  Italian 
opera  to  the  nasal  quaver  of  Ichabod  Crane  ;  and  the  antiquarian 
visitor  to  the  Hollow,  in  the  petulance  of  his  disappointment,  may 
pronounce  all  that  I  have  recorded  of  that  once  spell-bound  region, 
a  fable. 








THUS  terminated,  as  recorded  in  our  last  chapter,  the  Fresh- 
man's first  adventure  with  the  Proctor;  and,  after  a  due  partici- 
pation in  the  sympathetic  condolences  of  the  social  circle  at 
present  engaged  in  the  discussion  of  Raffleton's  champagne,  on 
the  subject  of  that  gentleman's  rustication,  and  a  full  explana- 
tion of  the  somewhat  ludicrous  circumstances  which  had  led  to 
it,  he  took  his  leave  of  the  party,  and  prepared  to  return  once 
more  to  his  rooms,  with  the  firm  determination  of  losing  no  time 
in  setting  about  his  imposition  for  the  Reverend  Burnaby 

Just  as  he  had  descended  the  staircase  a  mild-looking  person- 
age with  a  snowy  neckcloth,  neatly- trimmed  whiskers,  and  an 
appearance  altogether  strongly  resembling  that  of  a  beneficed 
clergyman  of  the  established  church,  glided  into  the  passage, 
and,  with  the  sweetest  of  smiles,  volunteered  to  open  the  street- 
door  for  him. 

"  I  beg  you  won't  think  of  giving  yourself  any  such  trouble, 
sir,11  said  Eden,  wondering  who  the  polite  gentleman  could  be, 
and  surmising  that  it  might  possibly  be  Raffleton1s  private  tutor, 
lodging  in  the  same  house  with  him.  "  Really',  sir — I  must 
beg " 

"  Trouble,  sir  !  "  said  the  mild  man  ;  "  there  are  moments 
when  trouble  becomes  a  pleasure.  Dear  me  ! "  added  he,  after 
fumbling  at  the  door-handle  for  some  time,  —  "  dear  me,  this 
handle  does  stick  so.  Perhaps  you  would'nt  mind  walking 
round.  This  way,  sir,  if  you  please.  I  say,1'  resumed  the  mild 
man,  as  Eden  followed  him  through  the  passage, —  "I  say,  I  'm 
afraid  our  friend  up  there  has  got  into  a  scrape  with  the  Proctor 
this  morning — eh  ?  " 

More  fully  convinced  than  ever  of  the  relation  in  which  the 
mild  man  stood  to  Raffleton  by  the  interest  which  he  evidently 
took  in  his  welfare,  Eden  briefly  narrated  the  circumstances  of 
his  friend's  rustication. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  ejaculated  the  mild  man.  "  Ah  !  "  pro- 
ceeded he,  halting  suddenly,  and  catching  Eden  gently  by  the 
arm,  — "  ah  !  what  a  pity  it  is,  my  dear  young  sir,  that  youth 
will  still  be  youth  !  What  a  pity  it  is,  I  say,  that  all  those  fine 
feelings,  all  those  fervid  aspirations,  all  that  buoyancy  and  elasti- 
city of  spirit  which  belong  to  the  spring-time  of  life,  should  only 

VINCENT    EDEN.  173 

tempt  their  gay  possessor  to  pass  the  rubicon  of  prudence  as 
easily  as — as — he  would  a  double  post  and  rail.     Ah  !  " 

Here  the  mild  man  stopped  short,  and  scrutinized  Eden's  face 
for  a  moment. 

"  Sir,"  he  then  resumed,  — "  sir,  I  give  you  my  honour  that, 
in  losing  Mr.  Raffleton,  I  shall  lose  more  than  I  can  express. 
By  the  playfulness  of  his  disposition,  the  profuseness  of  his  libe- 
rality, the  —  I  had  almost  said  nobility  of  his  manners,  he  has 
endeared  himself  to  all  the  house.  Ah  !  why  will  not  Proctors 
remember  that  they  too  have  once  been  young  ?  " 

Here  the  mild  man  suddenly  threw  open  a  door  which  led 
into  a  most  extensive  shop,  evidently  devoted  to  the  tailoring 

"  You  appear,  sir,"  said  the  mild  man,  "  to  have  been  but  a 
short  time  in  Oxford.  In  that  short  time,  however,  it  is  not  ab- 
solutely impossible  that  the  name  of  Mr.  Walrus  and  his  Hiero- 
kosmion  may  have  reached  you." 

"  Mr.  Walrus  and  his  what  ?"  asked  Eden,  fairly  astonished 
at  last  beyond  all  power  of  suppression. 

"  Hierokosmion,"  said  the  mild  man.  "  I  am  that  Mr.  Wal- 
rus— this  is  my  Hierokosmion." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Eden,  becoming  at  once  alive  to  the  reason  why 
the  street-door  had  stuck,  and  he  himself  been  invited  to  make 
his  exit  through  the  shop.  "  Oh  !  I  see  now." 

"  Yes,"  resumed  Mr.  Walrus,  looking  with  an  air  of  ineffable 
dignity,  blended  with  extreme  sweetness,  round  the  shop  ;  "  this 
is  my  Hierokosmion,  or  temple  of  fashion  ;  being  a  Greek  word 
— as  I  need  not  tell  yow,  sir,  compounded  of  hieron  —  fashion, 
and  kosmos  —  a  temple.  Bring  down  some  of  them  summer 
waistcoatings,  Jemes." 

Jemes,  who  was  the  shop-boy,  with  a  rival  white  tie  to  his 
master's,  instantly  proceeded  to  obey. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Eden,  "  I  'm  not  exactly  in  want  of " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Walrus ;  "  I  should  only  wish  you,  as  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Raffleton's,  just  to  glance  over  the  establishment, 
with  a  view  to  future  favours.  More  stripes,  Jemes.  Our 
waterproof  cloaks,  sir,  are  unrivalled  —  allow  me.  There  is  a 
fact,  sir,  connected  with  these,  which  is,  I  believe,  not  generally 
known.  You  have  heard  of  Grace  Darling,  of  course,  sir." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Eden,  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  know  what  was 
coming  next.  "  The  lady  who  saved  some  lives  at  a  wreck,  you 
mean.  Yes.  Well- 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Walrus,  mysteriously  sinking  his  voice 
to  a  whisper, — "  well,  sir,  it  is  not  generally  known,  —  as  I  said 
before, — but,  during  the  whole  of  that  tremendous  storm,  when 
the  waves  ran  mountains  high,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents 
round  the  frail  boat  in  which  they  had  embarked,  that  heroic 
girl  and  her  aged  parent  were  enveloped  in  two  of  my  patent 
waterproofs,  and  were  thus  enabled  to  brave  alike  the  blast  and 

VOL.  vi.  o 

174  VINCENT    EDEN. 

the  billow  in  the  cause  of  suffering  humanity.  I  never  see  the 
picture  of  her,  sir,  but  I  identify  myself  in  a  manner  with  that 
cause.  You  smile,  sir  ;  I  can  refer  to  my  books  for  the  fact. 
«  Walrus  waterproofs '  we  used  to  call  them  before;  'Darling 
dreadnoughts'  we  call  them  ever  since,  for  the  alliteration,  you 
perceive,  sir.— Some  of  them  figured  Egyptian  silks  in  the  win- 
dow, Jemes." 

"Yes,"  said  Eden,  "it's  all  very  well;  and  you're  very 
poetical,  Mr.  Walrus ;  but  really  I  don't  happen  to " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Walrus;  "of  course  not — that  is,  at 
present.  Sweet  thing  this  rose  and  rhododendron  pattern,  sir. 
This  is  a  nice  quiet  thing,  too,  for  breakfasting  with  a  tutor,  or 
anything  in  a  mild  way.  Allow  me,  sir  ;  more  to  the  light — so." 

"  You  seem  to  have  reduced  the  study  of  dress  to  a  science," 
said  Eden. 

"  Science,  sir,"  said  the  mild  man  ;  "  I  believe  you.  Science  ! 
ah  !  where  should  we  be  without  it  ?  We,  sir,  who  breathe  a 
classical  air — who  live,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  in  a 
logical  atmosphere,  unconsciously  learn  to  systematise  our  ideas 
on  the  most  trifling  matters,  —  much  more  so  on  such  a  noble 
study  as  that  of  dress.  There  are  in  Oxford,  sir,  four  sorts  of 
dress:  in  a  logical  moment  I  divided  them.  There  is,  first,  the 
quiet,  or  gentlemanly ;  secondly,  the  romantic,  or  ultra-gorgeous; 
and  thirdly,  the  sporting,  or  cord-and-cut-away  costume ;  and, 
fourthly,  the  domestic,  or  dirty;  which  last  is  confined  solely  to 
reading-men.  Jemes,  show  the  gentleman  that  romantic  dress- 
waistcoat  we  made  for  the  Earl  of  May  to  go  to  the  Woodstock 
ball  in.  Singularly  ultra-gorgeous,  is  it  not,  sir  ?" 

If  there  be  any  among  my  readers  whose  lot  it  has  been,  even 
as  it  once  was  mine,  to  be  exposed,  as  Freshmen,  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  Mr.  Walrus,  they  will  readily  believe  that  our  hero 
found  himself  utterly  unable  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
meshes  of  the  "  Hierokosmion,"  until  he  had  been  fairly  (or  ra- 
ther unfairly)  seduced  into  an  order  for  a  full  suit  of  "  quiet  or 
gentlemanly  "  vestments. 

"  And,  mind  you  let  me  have  them  soon,  Mr.  Walrus,"  said 
Eden ;  or  else,  you  know,  '  youth  will  still  be  youth,'  and  I 
shall  come  and  blow  you  up." 

"  Youth  be  d — d ! "  said  the  mild  man,  in  the  surliest  of 
tones,  and  with  a  total  change  of  manner,  as  his  new  customer 
quitted  the  shop.  "  I  say,  Jemes,"  shouted  this  double-faced 
Janus  of  the  Temple  of  Fashion,  — "  Jemes,  that  Raffleton  's 
been  and  got  rusticated  at  last.  I  knew  he  would  before  long. 
You  see  and  get  the  money  for  his  lodgings  out  of  him  this 
blessed  day,  and  make  him  give  me  a  note  of  hand,  payable  at 
three  months,  for  his  tailor's  bill,  or  else  I  '11  put  him  in  the 
Vice-Chancellor's  Court  before  he  goes,  and  keep  him  there  all 
the  Long  Vacation,  tell  him." 

Shortly  after  Eden's  departure  from  the  «  Temple  of  Fashion," 

VINCENT    EDEN.  175 

he  was  joined  in  his  rooms  by  Mr.  Richardson  Lane,  who  had 
stopped  at  Raffleton's  to  see  the  champagne  out. 

"That  Raffleton,"  said  he,  "is  a  most  extraordinary  fellow." 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  Eden.  "  And  you  're  something  in  the 
same  way,"  he  thought. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  think  he's  going  to  do  before  he 
goes  ?  "  pursued  his  friend. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea,"  was  the  answer  —  and 
the  truth. 

"  Soon  after  you  left  us,"  said  Mr.  Lane,  "  his  landlord,  Wal- 
rus— you  've  seen  Walrus,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  replied  Eden  ;  and  a  vision  of  the  "  quiet  or  gen- 
tlemanly "  suit  that  was  to  be,  rose  up  in  judgment  before  him  as 
he  said  so. 

"Well,"  said  his  friend,  "  well -- Walrus  took  it  into  his 
head  to  send  up  his  compliments  and  his  bill  to  Raffleton,  and 
said  he  was  going  to  be  paid,  or  some  such  nonsense — which,  of 
course,  our  friend  seemed  to  think  was  a  fiction.  Well,  Wal- 
rus came  up  himself,  — got  rather  savage,  — and  began  to  talk 
about  the  Vice-Chancellor's  Court,  and  so  on.  Raffleton's  con- 
duct was  beautiful  ;  an  angel  couldn't  have  behaved  better. 
'  Mr.  Walrus,'  said  he,  ;  will  you  take  a  glass  of  champagne  to 
begin  with  ? ' 

"  '  No,  sir,'  said  the  infuriated  Walrus,  '  I  will  not  take  a 
glass  of  champagne  to  begin  with.  I  want  my  money  —  that  's 
all  about  it." 

"  '  Mr.  Walrus,'  said  Raffleton,  '  don't  let  us  quarrel.  I  am 
about,  as  you  see,  to  do  a  little  "  Future  in  r//s," — as  the  school- 
boy said  when  he  got  to  the  last  but  one  of  the  Latin  parti- 

"'I  don't  want  any  of  your  jokes,'  said  the  monster,  'I  want 
my  money,  or  a  note  of  hand.' 

"'Well,  Mr.  Walrus,' said  our  friend;  'of  course,  if  you 
must  have  the  note  of  hand,  you  must.  At  three  months,  you 

"  The  mercenary  monster  assented. 

"  *  You  shall  have  it,'  said  Raffleton,  who  had  evidently  got 
some  scheme  into  his  head.  '  Give  it  me  now,  and  I  '11  sign  it. 
Now,  will  you  take  a  glass  of  champagne  ?  ' 

"  The  mollified  Walrus  took  the  wine,  and  drank  it. 

"  '  Walrus,'  said  our  friend, — '  Walrus,  you  are  a  trump  !  " 

"  The  trump  looked  as  if  he  was  about  to  deny  the  cha- 

"  *  You  are,'  said  Raffleton,  — '  you  know  ^ou  are.  Now  I 
know  I  behaved  very  rudely  to  you  on  Saturday  night,  and  I 
should  like  to  make  you  some  amends.  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is. 
To-morrow  is  the  terminal  jubilee  of  "  The  Brothers," —  a  club 
of  which  I  am  president,  and  I  've  engaged  to  dine  at  Nuneham 
with  them,  and  so  start  by  the  mail  afterwards.  Now,  if  you 

o  2 

176  VINCENT    EDEN. 

like  to  come  down  and  dine  with  us  —  I  can  take  a  friend  —  at 
Nuneham,  —  house-boat,  and  so  on,  you  know— why,  the  club 
will  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  that's  all.  Eh  ?  what  do  you  say  ?  ' 
"  The  Walrus,"  said  Mr.  Lane,  "  was  in  such  a  good  humour 
at  getting  his  promissory  note,  that  he  assented  immediately. 
Now,  I  know  our  friend  means  to  make  a  fool  of  him  somehow  ; 
but  how  he  wouldn't  say.  All  I  know  is,  there's  sure  to^be 
some  fun  or  other  ;  and,  if  you  like  to  come  and  meet  the  Wal- 
rus, each  member  can  take  a  friend,  and  you  shall  dine  with 


It  is  needless  to  say  that  Eden  accepted  Mr.  Richardson  Lane's 
invitation  for  the  following  day  ;  having  conceived  a  violent 
curiosity  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  plot 
which  it  was  too  evident  had  been  formed  against  the  unsus- 
pecting Walrus,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  become  a  witness  of 
the  proceedings  of  a  club  so  original  as  one  boasting  "  The 
Brothers  "  for  its  name,  Mr.  John  Raffleton  for  its  president, 
and  Mr.  Richardson  Lane  for  one  of  its  members,  could  not 
possibly  fail  to  prove. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  our  hero  was  carried  off  by 
Mr.  Richardson  Lane  to  the  scene  of  embarkation  for  Nune- 
ham. On  their  arrival  at  the  river  side,  they  found  the  barge 
belonging  to  Messrs.  Davis  and  King  already  thronged  with  a 
large  assembly  of  "  Brothers,"  some  smoking,  some  stepping 
first  out  of  the  barge  into  the  house-boat,  and  then  back  again 
out  of  the  house-boat  into  the  barge ;  some  making  very  parti- 
cular inquiries  concerning  the  quantity  of  champagne  ordered, 
and  others  following  their  example  respecting  the  number  of 
quarts  of  ice  ;  all,  however,  behaving  in  the  most  fraternal  man- 
ner, and  all  clad  alike  in  the  full  uniform  of  the  club,  with  white 
hats,  white  trowsers,  white  waistcoats,  and  elegant  buttons  to 
their  light  green  coats,  with  the  delicately  chased  initials  of  the 
"Brothers'  Club"  in  deep  relief  upon  their  surface.  In  the 
centre  stood  Raffleton,  exhorting  and  imploring  everybody  to 
get  into  the  house-boat,  which  was  a  capital  imitation  of  the 
children's  pictures  of  Noah's  Ark,  and  about  to  be  manned  by 
almost  as  miscellaneous  and  extraordinary  a  crew,  as  soon  as 
they  possibly  could  ;  and  close  to  him  appeared  a  mild,  benevo- 
lent-looking individual,  whom,  in  spite  of  the  total  alteration  of 
costume  which  he  had  adopted,  Eden  had  no  difficulty  in  recog- 
nising as  the  illustrious  proprietor  of  the  Hierokosmion. 

The  theory  on  dress  with  which  the  mild  man  had  favoured 
Eden  on  the  preceding  day  had  certainly  been  reduced  to  prac- 
tice on  the  present  occasion,  in  the  adornment  of  the  theorist's 
own  proper  person.  The  "  quiet,  or  gentlemanly  "  suit  of  black 
had  been  replaced  by  a  most  "romantic,  or  ultra-gorgeous" 
blue  checked  shirt,  with  a  picturesque  and  nautically-knotted 
neckcloth  ;  a  bluejacket,  with  fancy  buttons  representing  a  dol- 
phin in  the  act  of  swallowing  an  anchor,  which  seemed  uncom- 

VINCENT    EDEN.  177 

monly  likely  to  choke  him  ;  a  pair  of  voluminous  white  trow- 
sers,  and  blue  ribbed  silk  stockings,  terminating  in  what  might, 
at  first  sight,  have  been  taken  for  two  small  and  shining  patches 
of  black  sticking-plaster,  but  which  in  reality  were  pumps,  with 
an  enormous  pair  of  horns  to  them,  which  looked  a  great  deal 
more  like  pump-handles  than  pump-strings. 

In  short,  Mr.  Walrus  had  done  it,  and  he  was  fully  aware  of 
the  circumstance.  Meanwhile  Raffleton  kept  alternately  tread- 
ing on  the  patches  of  sticking-plaster,  and  stirring  him  up  with 
a  boat-hook,  to  make  him  lay  aside  his  benevolent  and  solemn 
air,  and  look  what  he  called  "  lively."  After  which  he  would 
turn  to  another  tall,  stout,  jolly-looking  personage,  who  was  the 
crack  hatter  and  mercer  of  Oxford,  and  had  been  asked,  as  well 
for  his  own  convivial  qualities,  as  to  keep  the  proprietor  of  the 
Hierokosmion  in  countenance,  and  inquire  with  a  grave  air  "  if 
he  did  not  think  Walrus  was  quite  the  sailor?"  And  then  the 
mercer  would  acquiesce,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  Hierokosmion 
would  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  look  more  benevolent  than 
ever,  and  say  it  was  the  least  he  could  do  upon  such  an  occasion 
as  the  present. 

Just  before  the  house-boat  was  about  to  be  put  in  motion  by 
two  antique  animals  meant  for  horses,  and  attached  (with  a  boy) 
to  the  other  end  of  a  chain  extending  from  the  boat  itself,  Raffle- 
ton  returned  from  a  private  conference  which  he  had  been  hold- 
ing for  the  last  five  minutes  with  Mr.  King,  the  proprietor  of 
the  various  craft  destined  to  convey  the  "  Brothers"  and  their 
fortunes  on  their  expedition. 

"  I  think,"  said  Raffleton,  "  upon  consideration,  that  the  din- 
ner and  the  champagne,  and  all  that,  will  be  safer  with  me  than 
with  you.  You  shall  all  go  in  the  house-boat,  and  I  '11  go  on 
with  the  eatables  in  a  four-oar.  Let  me  see  —  who  is  there  will 
come  with  me  ?  Eden,  you  're  light,  you  shall  steer ;  I  '11  look 
after  the  provisions — and  the  crew  must  be  Duffil,  Dean, — yes, 
and  Ravelall," — (here  he  winked  at  the  mercer,  who  returned  it) 
— "  and — ah,  to  be  sure — and  Walrus  for  bow-oar.  Yes." 

The  proprietor  of  the  Hierokosmion  began  to  say  that  he 
wasn't  much  of  a  hand  at  pulling,  but  was  instantly  cut  short. 

"  Not  pull ! "  said  Raffleton,  with  an  expression  of  supreme 
incredulity.  "  Do  you  mean  for  one  moment  to  tell  me  that 
that  shirt,  and  those  trowsers,  and  those  pumps,"  (here  he  trod 
heavily  upon  the  last-mentioned  articles,)  "  and  those  stockings, 
haven't  been  used  to  pulling  all  their  lives  ?  Oh  !  come — that 's 
too  good.  Come  along — in  with  you — none  of  your  modesty — 
eh  ?  Not  pull ! — that's  capital.  Come  along*!  " 

The  unfortunate  man  was  immediately  bundled  into  the  boat 
by  Ravelall,  the  mercer,  who  seemed  to  have  received  private 
orders  to  make  him  as  miserable  as  possible ;  and  away  went  the 
four-oar,  Eden  steering,  and  Raffleton  sitting  on  six  dozen  of 
champagne  and  a  portable  ice-house  in  the  bows,  and,  as  he 

178  VINCENT    EDEN. 

said,  looking  out  for  rocks  a-head,  but  in  reality  gloating  with  a 
fiend-like  satisfaction  upon  the  evident  anxiety  of  the  would-be- 
gentlemanly  Walrus  concerning  the  management  of  his  oar. 
First  of  all  he  struck  himself  a  severe  blow  on  the  nose  with  it ; 
and  then  somehow  or  other  it  would  slip  out  of  the  rowlock,  and 
nearly  drag  him  into  the  water  after  it;  while,  to  make  his 
misery  complete,  the  athletic  mercer,  who  was  a  sort  of  Crichton 
in  Oxford,  and  could  do  everything  better  than  anybody  else, 
gave  a  tremendously  fast  and  fatiguing  stroke,  admirably  fol- 
lowed up  by  Messrs.  Duffil  and  Dean,  who  both  belonged  to  a 
racing-boat ;  and  Raffleton,  after  searching  through  a  provision- 
basket,  was  busily  engaged  in  painting  a  miniature  representa- 
tion of  the  interior  of  the  Hierokosmion,  in  mustard,  upon  the 
exterior  of  its  proprietor's  white  trowsers,  as  he  bobbed  back- 
wards and  forwards.  Every  now  and  then  the  miserable  man 
caught  a  crab,  and  up  went  the  patches  of  sticking-plaster  into 
the  air,  and  down  went  his  head  into  his  tormentor's  lap. 

"Time!"  shouted  Raffleton,  and  "Time!"  echoed  Messrs. 
Ravelall,  Duffil,  and  Dean  to  the  wretched  Walrus,  to  whom 
the  voyage  to  Nuneham  seemed  a  great  deal  more  like  a  very 
painful  fore-glimmering  of  eternity. 

On  —  on  they  went. —  Iffley  and  Sandford,  each  in  their  turn 
receded  and  disappeared  from  the  seared  and  scorched  eyesight 
of  the  miserable  man,  till  NunehairTs  gay  green  shores,  with 
their  rustic  bowers  and  picturesque  bridge,  received  the  gliding 
boat,  and  the  unfortunate  galley-slave  was  allowed  at  last  to 
throw  himself  upon  the  grass  with  a  countenance  tortured  into 
the  fac-simile  of  a  full-blown  peony  after  a  heavy  shower,  and 
listen  to  Raffleton 's  encomiums  on  the  beauty  o£  the  day  and 
refreshing  warmth  of  the  sun,  with  sundry  little  parentheses  as 
to  what  a  deal  of  good  it  would  do,  and  how  thankful  they  ought 
to  be  for  it.  It  might  have  been  a  mistake,  too,  —  but  Eden 
certainly  did  fancy,  as  he  assisted  the  waiters,  who  had  preceded 
them,  in  removing  the  cargo  up  the  bank,  that  he  heard  some- 
thing very  like  an  actual  and  formal  denunciation  of  the  whole 
"  Brotherhood,"  and  everything  appertaining  to  them,  issue 
from  the  parched  and  panting  lips  of  their  prostrate  and  un- 
grateful guest. 

"  Bill  at  three  months,  eh  ?  "  muttered  Raffleton,  as  he  passed 
the  prostrate  Walrus. 

The  arrival  of  the  house-boat,  and  the  landing  of  the  "  Bro- 
thers," was  hailed  by  the  most  tremendous  shouts ;  three  musi- 
cians, hired  for  the  occasion,  struck  up  a  lively  tune  ;  dinner 
served  up  on  a  long  range  of  tables  on  the  lawn,  and  down  they 
sat,  with  the  president  at  the  head  of  the  table,  ably  supported  by 
Mr.  Richardson  Lane  at  the  other  extremity,  and  the  once  more 
mild  and  benevolent  looking  proprietor  of  the  Hierokosmion 
carefully  encased,  within  drinking  distance  of  everybody,  be- 
tween the  jovial  mercer  and  a  tnree-bottle  gentleman  from  Bra- 

VINCENT    EDEN.  17f) 

zen-Nose,  specially  retained  for  the  purpose,  as  Raffleton  said,  of 
putting  the  Walrus  into  his  native  element,  and  seeing  him  half 
seas  over  when  he  got  there.  Shortly  after,  every  one  seemed  to  be 
seized  with  a  violent  desire  to  drink  wine  with  him  ;  and,  the  effect 
probably  of  his  health  being  drunk  so  often,  his  benevolent  face 
began  gradually  to  assume  an  aspect  of  the  most  roseate  and  sa- 
lubrious hue.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Duffil,  who  was  seated  next  Eden, 
began  to  compliment  him  on  the  manner  in  which  he  had  steered 
the  boat. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  used  to  the  water,"  said  Eden  ;  "I  live  near  the  sea." 

"This  is  your  first  term  in  Trinity,"  said  Mr.  Duffil,  who  was 
also  of  that  college.  "  I  wish  we  had  some  more  Freshmen  like 

"Why?  "asked  Eden. 

"  You  look  very  strong,"  remarked  Mr.  Duffil,  answering  his 
question  somewhat  indirectly. 

"  I  am,  pretty  well,"  said  Eden,  "  thank  you." 

"  I  know  you  must  be,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  I  saw  you  move 
the  college-roller  in  the  garden  yesterday." 

Eden  smiled.  This  was  the  identical  college-roller  for  the 
loan  of  which  Mr.  John  Tomes  had  petitioned  the  Dean. 

"  Noble  exercise  boating,"  said  Mr.  Duffil.  "  Some  cham- 
pagne ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Eden.     "  It  is  a  fine  exercise." 

"  The  honour  of  Trinity,"  said  Mr.  Duffil,  who  was  getting 
rather  excited, — "  the  honour  of  Trinity  must  be  maintained." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,"  said  Eden,  not  exactly  seeing  how. 

"  Thews  and  sinews  are  the  things,"  said  Mr.  Duffil,  who  re- 
sembled a  Hercules  in  white  trowsers,  minus  his  club. 

"  They  are,"  said  Eden,  rather  wondering  what  they  were  the 
things  for. 

"  Take  another  glass  of  champagne,"  said  Mr.  Duffil.  "  Would 
— would  you  like  to  belong  to  our  racing-boat  ?  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Eden,  beginning  at  last  to  understand.  "  I  don't 
know.  I  know  nothing  about  your  rules,  —  your  system  of 
racing  here, — your " 

"  Very  simple,"  said  Mr.  Duffil.  "  You  subscribe  five  pounds." 

"  Yes,"  said  Eden.     "  Very  simple  that." 

"  You  get  up  at  five  o'clock  every  morning,  and  practise 
down  to  Iffley  in  a  two-oar." 

"  Hem  !  "  said  Eden,  who,  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  was 
rather  too  fond  of  his  bed  for  a  hero. 

"  Then,  in  the  evening  you  go  down  to  Sandford  in  the  regu- 
lar racing-boat,  play  skittles,  and  come  up  again  best  pace,"  said 
his  informant. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Eden,  "  I  see." 

"  The  diet  is  the  principal  thing,"  said  Mr.  Duffil.  "You  are 
fined  a  shilling  every  time  you  touch  ice,  or  pastry,  or  drink 
more  than  two  glasses  of  wine." 

180  VINCENT    EDEN. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Eden,  eyeing  his  friend's  glass,  and  a  large  vase 
of  ice  which  had  just  been  placed  before  him,  alternately. 

"  And  a  guinea  every  time  you  speak  to  a  pretty  girl,"  said 
Mr.  Duffil. 

"  What's  that  for?"  asked  Eden. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,'1  said  Mr.  Duffil.  "  They  say  it  tends 
to — to  make  one  effeminate,  I  believe." 

"  Ah  I "  said  Eden.  "  I  really—  I  don't  think  I  should  like 
it  much.  I  say,  what 's  going  to  be  done  ?  "  The  cloth  had  been 
removed,  and  the  jolly  mercer  had  been  called  upon  for  a  song, 
not  in  vain. 

"  I  will  give  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Ravelall,  if  you  will 
allow  me,  one  I  had  the  honour  of  composing  myself  for  the 
gentlemen  of  a  certain  college,  which  shall  be  nameless,  on  the 
occasion  of  their  commons  being  somewhat  unmercifully  curtail- 
ed by  their  head.  It  is  called 


"  Oh  !  feel  you  no  shame,  Mr.  Dean, 

For  your  pitiful  '  Rules  of  Reduction  ? ' 
Fire  and  famine  !  it  soon  will  be  seen 
That  we  can't  live,  like  snipes,  upon  suction. 

"Who  can  doubt  but  you  like  '  quantum  sujf.  ?' 

And  you  have  it,  or  else  I  'm  mistaken  ; 
Then,  surely  you  should  not  speak  gruff 
Because  gentlemen  fry  their  own  bacon ; 

"Because  noblemen  gridirons  keep, 

A  steak  or  a  kidney  to  put  on ; 
Or,  now  and  then  ride  over  sheep, 
Being  compelled,  sir,  to  kill  their  own  mutton. 

"  Are  we  sent  here  apprenticed  to  cooks, 

To  learn  to  dress  larks,  or  pluck  pigeons? 
How  can  we  attend  to  our  books 

While  dangling  our  woodcocks  or  widgeons  ? 
"  As  gentlemen,  gentlemen  treat ; 

And  you  '11  never  have  reason  to  rue  it; 
But,  in  Heaven's  name  !  sir,  give  us  more  meat — 
Or  we  '11 — yes,  sir,  you  'd  better  look  to  it. 

"  We  '11  pull  down  old  Wolsey,  and  stew  him  ; 

Vi  et  armis  the  larder  we  '11  storm ; 
We  '11  appeal  to  some  Rad — nor  cease  through  him 
To  clamour  for  'Victualling  Reform." 

"  And,  although  we  should  fail  in  this  measure, 

Still  no  longer  we  '11  bow  to  your  rod ; 
For,  we  '11  e'en  come  it  Nebuchadnezzar, 
And  eat  all  the  grass  in  <  Tom  Quad.'  " 

Tumultuous  cheers  from  the  whole  family  of  Brothers  crown- 
ed the  conclusion  of  the  merry  mercer's  endeavour  to  promote 
the  hilarity  of  the  meeting ;  in  the  midst  of  which  the  thin,  shrill 
treble  of  the  by  this  time  uproarious  Walrus  was  distinctly 
heard  above  the  universal  din. 

"  I  say,"  screamed  he,  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Ravelall.  If 
you  '11  just  write  me  a  bang-up  puff  about  the  Hierokosmion,  to 

VINCENT    EDEN.  181 

sing  at  public  meetings,  eh  !  I  wouldn't — no,  that  I  wouldn't — 
grudge  finding  you  in  the  Irish  labourer's  dress,  a  stock,  and  a 
pair  of  gaiters,  gratis  for  nothing  all  the  year  round  ; — eh  ? 
come,  that 's  fair :  or,  I  wouldn't  mind,  if  it  couldn't  be  done 
without,  flinging  you  a  flash  cut-away  coat  in,  with  fly-away 
flaps,  and  buttons — Lord  bless  you  ! — as  bang  these  here  Brum- 
magem concerns  of  the  Brothers,  or  whatever  they  call  them- 
selves, all  to  bits — eh  ?  " 

"  Silence  !  "  shouted  Ravelall,  cramming  both  fists  into  the 
open  mouth  of  the  obstreperous  Walrus,  who  had  long  ago  for- 
gotten all  that  he  ever  knew  about  playing  it  gentlemanly  ;  and 
"  Silence  !  "  shouted  the  whole  chorus  of  Brothers.  The  vice- 
president  was  on  his  legs.  He  was  proposing  the  health  of  their 
inestimable  but  exiled  president,  John  Raffleton,  Esq.,  and  his 
speedy  return. 

Enthusiastically  was  that  toast  drunk,  and  majestically  did 
the  subject  thereof  glance  round  the  festive  board,  as,  after  a 
glance  expressive  of  supreme  satisfaction  at  the  rapid  progress 
which  the  Walrus  was  evidently  making  under  the  joint  auspices 
of  the  jovial  mercer  and  his  coadjutor  from  Brazen-Nose,  he 
slowly  and  solemnly  rose  to  return  thanks  for  the  honour  just 
done  him.  He  commenced  by  observing  that  hitherto,  in  ad- 
dressing them,  his  feelings  had  ever  been,  like  the  champagne  be- 
fore them,  unadulterated  and  sparkling.  But,  upon  the  present 
occasion,  the  chalk  of  pain  was  mingled  with  the  cream  of  plea- 
sure— so  much  so  that  his  sensations  rather  resembled  the  half- 
and-half  in  which  his  friend,  Mr.  Walrus,  had  indulged  at  the 
villages  where  theyshad  halted  on  their  voyage.  (Several  "  Hear, 
hears  !  "  and  a  particularly  drunken  one  from  Mr.  Walrus.)  And 
how  had  that  chalk  been  inserted  ?  By  whom  had  that  half-and- 
half  been  compounded  ?  By  one  whose  very  name  would  cast  a 
cloud  over  their  present  happiness;  by  one  whom  he  would 
leave  to  the  cries  of  his  own  conscience,  and  those  of  that  innocent 
babe,  to  whom,  he  trusted,  he  had  by  this  time  rendered  the  jus- 
tice which  was  its  due.  That  individual — he  might  be  permitted 
to  say,  that  miscreant — had  doomed  him  to  a  temporary  exile 
from  the  Brothers  whom  he  had  loved  so  long  and  so  well.  (Loud 
groans  and  hisses.)  It  was  not  his  intention  to  expatiate  upon 
the  origin  or  merits  of  that  festive  and  fraternal  society,  which 
he  now  saw  around  him,  he  feared,  for  the  last  time.  Everybody 
knew,  who  knew  anything  at  all,  that,  while  there  were  Political 
Clubs,  Professional  Clubs,  Boating  Clubs,  Boxing  Clubs,  Sing- 
ing Clubs,  Archery  Clubs,  Military  Clubs,  and_  Naval  Clubs,  to 
be  met  with  in  all  directions,  there  was  but  one  club  which  had 
for  its  express  aim  and  object,  its  sole  and  common  bond  of 
union,  it 's  very  essence  of  fraternity,  the  promotion  of  FUN  ! 
(Tremendous  cheering.)  He  called  upon  them  all,  as  men  and 
brethren,  to  state  whether,  during  the  presidency  of  the  unwor- 
thy ("No  !  no  !  ")  individual  who  now  addressed  them,  the  cause 

182  VINCENT    EDEN. 

of  "Fun"  had,  or  had  not,  been  promoted  to  the  best  of  his 
ability.  It  would  be  egotism  on  his  part  to  recount  the  various 
funny  exploits  which  lie  had,  as  a  member  of  the  brotherhood, 
instigated,  participated  in,  or  performed.  He  would  not  pay  so 
poor  a  compliment  to  the  memory  of  any  individual  present  as  to 
suppose  that  he  could  by  any  possibility  have  forgotten  the  cele- 
brated cracker  case,  ("  Hear,  hear  !")  when  squibs  were  inserted  in 
the  box  intended  for  the  reception  of  the  Prize  Poems;  and  the 
Registrar  of  the  University  was  thrown  into  fits,  which  lasted 
ten  days,  in  consequence.  Neither  could  he  imagine  that  that 
njght —  that  memorable  night  — would  ever  fade  from  their  me- 
mories, when  a  chosen  band  of  Brothers  sallied  forth  with  carv- 
ing-knives from  a  late  supper,  scaled  the  school-railings,  and 
brouo-ht  away  the  noses  and  whiskers  of  three  out  of  the  thir- 
teen illustrious  stone  busts  which  surmounted  them.  The  ab- 
duction of  the  sign-board  from  the  "  Three  Goats,"  and  its  subse- 
quent elevation  over  the  Vice-Chancellor's  door, — was  that  a 
thino-  to  be  forgotten  ?  It  was  not :  neither  was  the  similar  case 
of  the  optician's  sign ;  the  gigantic  spectacles  taken  forcibly 
from  over  the  shop-door,  and  adapted,  he  might  say,  by  his  par- 
ticular request,  to  the  large  metal  proboscis  which  looked  down 
from  the  gates  of  Brazen-Nose  College.  In  all  these  feats, 
trifling  as  they  might  be,  he  might  without  vanity  be  permitted 
to  remind  them  that  he,  as  their  president,  as  their  elder  brother, 
had  played  a  prominent  part.  (Here  the  applause  became  per- 
fectly frightful.)  He  trusted  that,  ere  he  that  night  left  them,  he 
should  be  enabled  to  show  them  yet  more  fun.  The  painful 
part  of  his  duty  now  remained  for  him  to  discharge.  He  must 
resign  that  post,  which  would  ever  be  cherished  by  him  in  me- 
mory as  a  sign-post  which  pointed  back  to  the  blissful  days 
which  he  had  spent  among  them. 

The  orator  concluded  by  proposing  Mr.  Richardson  Lane,  of 
Trinity,  as  their  future  president,  and  Mr.  Fluke,  of  Christ 
Church,  as  vice-president ;  and,  the  motion  being  carried  unani- 
mously and  univocally,  sat  down,  covered  with  applause  and 

Here  a  somewhat  inebriated  Brother  rose  to  propose  the 
rather  curious  toast  of  "  The  health  of  that  sporting  gentleman, 
the  Archbishop  of  York,  who  kindly  permits  his  grounds  to 
be  devoted  to  such  jolly  meetings  as  the  present."  This  being 
drunk,  another,  and  still  more  inebriated  Brother,  suggested  the 
propriety  of  the  admission  of  the  statues  of  Cain  and  Abel  in 
the  Brazen-Nose  quadrangle  as  honorary  members  of  the  Bro- 
thers' Club.  This  was,  however,  overruled  by  the  new  Presi- 
dent whose  health  followed,  backed  by  a  long  and  somewhat 
inarticulate  speech ;  after  which  the  Brothers  got  rather  noisy, 
and  gradually  deserted  their  seats  to  join  in  the  classical  games 
of  leap-frog  and  foot-racing.  And  a  truly  edifying  spectacle  it 
was  to  see  the  mild,  the  philanthropic  Walrus  knuckling  down 
for  everybody,  knocked  down  by  everybody,  and  picked  up  by 

VINCENT    EDEN.  183 

Ravelall  on  purpose  to  be  knocked  down  as  soon  as  anybody 
was  ready  at  the  former  of  those  noble  pastimes. 

At  last,  to  Eden's  unspeakable  delight,  Raffleton  proposed 
that  they  should  mount  the  two  jaded  wretches  of  quadrupeds 
who  had  dragged  the  house-boat,  and  revive  the  tilts  and  tour- 
naments of  bygone  days.  This  device  was,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
specially  designed  for  the  further  torture  of  the  unsuspecting 
Walrus ;  who,  accordingly,  being  a  great  deal  too  far  gone  to 
make  any  resistance,  was  speedily  equipped  in  a  table-cloth  for 
a  mantle,  a  boat-hook  for  a  lance,  and  a  dish- cover  tied  on  his 
head  with  a  handkerchief  for  a  helmet.  He  was  then  placed, 
forthwith,  upon  the  worst  horse,  and  ridden  at  by  Raffleton  with 
another  boat-hook  on  the  other  animal,  for  the  space  of  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  at  the  rate  of  two  severe  pokes  with  the  boat- 
hook  and  one  tumble  per  minute,  to  the  excessive  gratification 
of  the  Brothers  assembled,  —  particularly  those  who  owed  him 

"  Bill  at  three  months,  eh  ?  "  said  Raffleton,  as  he  helped  to 
pick  him  up  for  the  last  time. 

Evening  closed  in  upon  the  frolicsome  festivities  of  the  Bro- 
thers ;  the  hour  for  parting  arrived ;  the  house-boat  was,  after 
considerable  difficulty  in  collecting  straggling  members  of  the 
fraternity,  once  more  manned ;  the  four-oar  fastened  astern  ; 
the  three  musicians  installed  upon  the  roof,  and  a  merry  tune 
struck  up  for  the  more  lively  of  the  Brothers  to  dance  to  ;  while 
Messrs.  Raffleton,  Richardson  Lane,  and  Duffil  sat  down  to  play 
whist  with  a  "  Dummy "  below.  This  amusement,  however, 
they  were  shortly  compelled  to  abandon,  in  consequence  of  Mr. 
Lane's  manifesting  a  strange  disposition  to  kick  the  aforesaid 
"Dummy"  under  the  table  for  not  playing  right,  as  he  said; 
and,  failing  in  discovering  the  exact  pair  of  legs  belonging  to  that 
much  calumniated  gentleman,  kicking  all  those  that  he  could 
find  instead. 

Night  came  on  before  they  reached  Oxford  ;  but  there  was  a 
moon  for  those  on  deck,  and  a  lamp,  which  shone  dimly  down 
upon  the  cabin-table,  shone  also  down  upon  three  figures.  One 
of  these  was  passive,  being  extended  at  full  length  upon  the 
table  with  his  eyes  closed  and  his  mouth  open.  The  other  two 
were  anxiously  inspecting  him. 

"  He 's  sound  asleep  at  lust,"  whispered  one  of  them.  It  was 
the  jovial  mercer. 

"  I  see,"  was  the  answer.     "  Hush  !   I  think  it  will  do  now." 

And  Raffleton,  for  he  it  was,  went  cautiously  towards  a  little 
cupboard.  When  he  returned  to  the  table,  one  "hand  held  a  large 
iron  pot,  full  of  something  which  smelt  uncommonly  like  tar, 
and  the  other  a  small  canvass-bag. 

"  Now  then,"  whispered  Raffleton.     "  Gently !" 

So  soundly  did  their  victim  slumber, — so  well  had  the  cham- 
pagne done  its  work, — that  not  a  quiver  of  the  limbs,  not  a  mur- 
mur of  the  lips  escaped  from  the  lifeless-looking  mass  of  human- 

184  VINCENT    EDEN. 

ity,  till  a  layer  of  tar,  and  a  thick  sprinkling  of  feathers,  had  so 
diso-uised  that  once  mild  and  benevolent  countenance,  that  an 
ormthologist  would  have  hailed  it  as  a  most  felicitous  and  full- 
grown  specimen  of  an  hitherto  undiscovered  tribe  of  owls. 

"  Bill  at  three  months,  eh  ?  "  said  the  late  president  of  the 
Brothers'  Club,  hardly  able  to  restrain  himself  and  Ravelall 
from  shouting  aloud  in  their  glee. 

"  This  is  delicious,"  said  the  mercer.     "  Hush  !  he'll  awake." 

The  fear  was  vain.  The  eyes  opened  once,  but  the  Walrus  saw 
not  out  of  them  ;  champagne  was  over  all  his  faculties, — he  was 

As  the  clocks  gave  out  the  last  quarter  to  eleven,  a  long  pro- 
cession might  have  been  seen  proceeding  through  several  by- 
lanes  in  the  direction  of College.  It  was  not  exactly  the 

shortest  way  that  they  took  ;  but  it  was  the  quietest.  There 
was  no  policeman  in  their  route. 

The  four  first  and  steadiest  of  the  procession  bore  a  man's 
body  and  an  owl's  head  along  upon  their  shoulders.  At  the  gate 
of  the  College  these  four  halted,  set  the  figure  upon  its  legs, 
threw  a  handkerchief  over  his  head,  knocked,  entered  unchal- 
lenged by  the  porter,  and  halted  once  more  at  a  door  on  the 
ground-floor.  The  rest  of  the  procession  remained  outside  the 

The  handkerchief  was  removed,  —  the  figure  placed  upon  its 
knees  at  the  door, — a  tremendous  series  of  knocks  given, — and  a 
retreat  effected  to  their  companions  outside  the  gate. 

That  knock  was  no  common  knock.  He  who  heard  it  had 
been  used  to  knocks  of  all  kinds.  The  cunning  single  knock  of 
a  dun  had  been  familiar  to  him  of  yore,  —  the  timid  double 
knock  of  an  undergraduate  was  his  daily  delight,  —  but  he  had 
never  heard  such  a  knocking  as  this !  He  was  undressing,  but 
he  rushed  out. 

To  have  seen  the  Reverend  Burnaby  Birch  at  any  time  would 
have  been  a  treat,  —  to  have  seen  him  in  a  flannel  waistcoat, 
flannel  dressing-gown,  and  flannel  drawers  a  great  treat ;  but  to 
have  seen  him,  as  he  now  stood,  with  the  face  of  astonishment 
which  crowned  those  articles  of  clothing,  would  have  been  a 
treat  far  greater  than  either. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  Reverend  Burnaby  was  trying  to 
remember  which  it  was,— Guy  Faux  Day,  or  the  First  of  May. 
Neither  Guy  Faux  nor  the  chimney-sweepers  wore  feathers  on 
their  face  —  it  could  be  neither.  In  speechless  horror  he  gazed 
on  the  prostrate  figure  before  him,  who  had  fallen  off  his  knees 
on  his  head,  where  he  lay  face  upwards. 

"  Who — what — are  you  ? "  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  hav- 
ing ascertained  that  the  figure  did  not  bite. 

No  answer, — and  a  tremendous  shake  from  the  interrogator. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  roared  he. 

**  Hier — Hiero  — "  came  faintly  from  the  feathers. 

"  Who 's  Hiero  ?  "  said  the  Reverend  Burnaby. 


'  Kos — kosmion,"  said  the  feathers. 

'  Eh  ? "  screamed  the  Proctor. 

<  Bro — brothers,"  in-articulated  the  feathers. 

1  What 's  your  name  ?  "  shrieked  the  Reverend  Burnaby. 

'  It 's — it 's  on — my  shirt,"  was  the  interesting  and  indistinct  reply. 

The  Reverend  Burnaby  grew  furious.  It  must  be  another  practi- 
cal joke  of  the  departed  and  distinguished  foreigners.  He  rushed  to 
the  opposite  door,  knocked  the  Reverend  James  Smiler  up,  and  held 
a  consultation  over  him  of  the  feathers. 

At  last  an  undergraduate  who  was  passing  by,  amid  screams  of 
laughter,  recognised  the  proprietor  of  the  Hierokosmion. 

The  Reverend  James  Smiler  first  said  "  Good  Heavens  !  "  and  then 
thought  it  would  be  best  to  take  him  home.  Accordingly  they  sum- 
moned the  only  scout  not  gone  out  of  College,  and  dragged  their  half 
insensible  burthen  up  the  High  Street.  The  door  opened,  and  a  fe- 
male mouth  with  it ;  there  was  a  fearful  scream,  and  the  talons  of  the 
female  Walrus  were  imbedded  in  the  cheeks  of  the  Reverend  Burnaby 

"  Stand — stand  off,  woman  !  "  roared  the  Reverend  Burnaby. 

"  Murder  !  "  screamed  the  Reverend  James  Smiler. 

"  I  '11  murder  everybody  !  "  burst  from  the  feminine  fury. 

"  Hurrah ! "  said  the  undergraduate,  pulling  at  the  gown  of  the 

"  Who  did  it  ?  "  shouted  Mrs.  Walrus. 

"  I  'm  the  Proctor  ! "  screamed  Burnaby. 

The  light  fell  upon  the  velvet  sleeves — he  was  the  Proctor.  In  an 
instant  his  assailant  fell  off,  cried  out  for  pardon,  caressed  the  fea- 
thers, and  sobbed  unceasingly. 

From  the  yard  of  the  Mitre,  about  twenty  individuals  witnesses 
the  whole  transaction.  They  saw  also  that  the  conflicting  parties  ap- 
peared to  part  amicably  at  last ;  and  as  soon  as  they  saw  this,  and  the 
door  was  closed  upon  the  feathers,  a  triumphant  laugh  broke  from 
them.  It  is  supposed  from  this,  and  from  the  additional  circum- 
stance of  one  of  the  party  taking  a  most  affectionate  leave  of  them  at 
the  Angel,  from  his  inquiring  for  sundry  articles  of  luggage  and 
clothing  which  had  been  sent  there  some  time  before,  from  his 
shortly  after  ascending  the  box  of  the  London  and  Worcester  mail, 
as  well  as  from  the  words,  "  Bill  at  three  months,  eh  ?  "  which  escaped 
him  as  he  did  so, — that  those  twenty  individuals  composed  the  Bro- 
thers' Club,  and  that  the  passenger  to  London  was  no  other  than 
their  rusticated  president. 



DURING  a  summer's  residence  in  the  old  Moorish  palace  of  the 
Alhambra,  of  which  I  have  already  given  numerous  anecdotes  to  the 
public,  I  used  to  pass  much  of  my  time  in  the  beautiful  hall  of  the 
Abencerrages,  beside  the  fountain  celebrated  in  the  tragic  story  of 
that  devoted  race.  Here  it  was  that  thirty-six  cavaliers  of  that  he- 
roic line  were  treacherously  sacrificed,  to  appease  the  jealousy  or 
allay  the  fears  of  a  tyrant.  The  fountain,  which  now  throws  up  its 
sparkling  jet,  and  sheds  a  dewy  freshness  around,  ran  red  with 


the  noblest  blood  of  Granada  ;  and  a  deep  stain  on  the  marble  pave- 
ment is  still  pointed  out  by  the  cicerones  of  the  pile,  as  a  san- 
guinary record  of  the  massacre.  I  have  regarded  it  with  the  same 
determined  faith  with  which  I  have  regarded  the  traditional  stains  of 
Rizzio's  blood  on  the  floor  of  the  chamber  of  the  unfortunate  Mary, 
at  Holyrood.  I  thank  no  one  for  endeavouring  to  enlighten  my  cre- 
dulity on  such  points  of  popular  belief.  It  is  like  breaking  up  the 
shrine  of  the  pilgrim  ;  it  is  robbing  a  poor  traveller  of  half  the  re- 
ward of  his  toils  ;  for,  strip  travelling  of  its  historical  illusions,  and 
what  a  mere  fag  you  make  of  it ! 

For  my  part,  I  gave  myself  up  during  my  sojourn  in  the  Alham- 
bra,  to  all  the  romantic  and  fabulous  traditions  connected  with  the 
pile.  I  lived  in  the  midst  of  an  Arabian  tale,  and  shut  my  eyes  as 
much  as  possible  to  everything  that  called  me  back  to  every-day 
life  ;  and,  if  there  is  any  country  in  Europe  where  one  can  do  so,  it 
is  in  poor,  wild,  legendary,  proud-spirited,  romantic  Spain,  where 
the  old  magnificent  barbaric  spirit  still  contends  against  the  utilitari- 
anism of  modern  civilization. 

In  the  silent  and  deserted  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  surrounded  with 
the  insignia  of  regal  sway,  and  the  still  vivid  though  dilapidated 
traces  of  oriental  voluptuousness,  I  was  in  the  stronghold  of  Moorish 
story,  and  everything  spoke  and  breathed  of  the  glorious  days  of 
Granada  when  under  the  dominion  of  the  crescent.  When  I  sat  in 
the  hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  I  suffered  my  mind  to  conjure  up  all 
that  I  had  read  of  that  illustrious  line.  In  the  proudest  days  of  Mos- 
lem domination,  the  Abencerrages  were  the  soul  of  everything  noble 
and  chivalrous.  The  veterans  of  the  family,  who  sat  in  the  royal 
council,  were  the  foremost  to  devise  those  heroic  enterprises  which 
carried  dismay  into  the  territories  of  the  Christians ;  and  what  the 
sages  of  the  family  devised,  the  young  men  of  the  name  were  the 
foremost  to  execute.  In  all  services  of  hazard,  in  all  adventurous 
forays  and  hair-breadth  hazards,  the  Abencerrages  were  sure  to  win 
the  brightest  laurels.  In  those  noble  recreations,  too,  which  bear  so 
close  an  affinity  to  war, — in  the  tilt  and  tourney,  the  riding  at  the  ring, 
and  the  daring  bull-fight, — still  the  Abencerrages  carried  off  the  palm. 
None  could  equal  them  for  the  splendour  of  their  array,  the  gallantry 
of  their  devices  ;  for  their  noble  bearing  and  glorious  horsemanship. 
Their  open-handed  munificence  made  them  the  idols  of  the  populace, 
while  their  lofty  magnanimity  and  perfect  faith  gained  them  golden 
opinions  from  the  generous  and  high-minded.  Never  were  they 
known  to  decry  the  merits  of  a  rival,  or  to  betray  the  confidings  of  a 
friend  ;  and  the  "  word  of  an  Abencerrage  "  was  a  guarantee  that 
never  admitted  of  a  doubt. 

And  then  their  devotion  to  the  fair  !  Never  did  Moorish  beauty 
consider  the  fame  of  her  charms  established  until  she  had  an  Abencer- 
rage for  a  lover  ;  and  never  did  an  Abencerrage  prove  recreant  to  his 
vows.  Lovely  Granada !  City  of  delights  !  Who  ever  bore  the 
favours  of  thy  dames  more  proudly  on  their  casques,  or  championed 
them  more  gallantly  in  the  chivalrous  tilts  of  the  Vivarambla  ?  Or 
who  ever  made  thy  moon-lit  balconies,  thy  gardens  of  myrtles  and 
ro?es,  of  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates,  respond  to  more  tender 
serenades  ? 

I  speak  with  enthusiasm  on  this  theme ;  for  it  is  connected  with 
the  recollection  of  one  of  the  sweetest  evenings  and  sweetest  scenes 


that  ever  I  enjoyed  in  Spain.  One  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  the 
Spaniards  is,  to  sit  in  the  beautiful  summer  evenings,  and  listen  to 
traditional  ballads  and  tales  about  the  wars  of  the  Moors  and  Chris- 
tians, and  the  "  buenas  andanzas  "  and  " grandcs  hechos,"  the  "  good 
fortunes"  and  "great  exploits"  of  the  hardy  warriors  of  yore.  It  is 
worthy  of  remark,  also,  that  many  of  these  songs,  or  romances,  as 
they  are  called,  celebrate  the  prowess  and  magnanimity  in  war,  and 
the  tenderness  and  fidelity  in  love,  of  the  Moorish  cavaliers,  once 
their  most  formidable  and  hated  foes.  But  centuries  have  elapsed  to 
extinguish  the  bigotry  of  the  zealot  ;  and  the  once  detested  warriors 
of  Granada  are  now  held  up  by  Spanish  poets  as  the  mirrors  of 
chivah-ic  virtue. 

Such  was  the  amusement  of  the  evening  in  question.  A  number  of 
us  were  seated  in  the  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  listening  to  one  of  the 
most  gifted  and  fascinating  beings  that  I  had  ever  met  with  in  my 
wanderings.  She  was  young  and  beautiful ;  and  light  and  ethereal ; 
full  of  fire,  and  spirit,  and  pure  enthusiasm.  She  wore  the  fanciful 
Andalusian  dress  ;  touched  the  guitar  with  speaking  eloquence ;  im- 
provised with  wonderful  facility  ;  and,  as  she  became  excited  by  her 
theme,  or  by  the  rapt  attention  of  her  auditors,  would  pour  forth  in 
the  richest  and  most  melodious  strains  a  succession  of  couplets  full 
of  striking  description  or  stirring  narration,  and  composed,  as  I  was 
assured,  at  the  moment.  Most  of  these  were  suggested  by  the  place, 
and  related  to  the  ancient  glories  of  Granada,  and  the  prowess  of  her 
chivalry.  The  Abencerrages  were  her  favourite  heroes ;  she  felt  a 
woman's  admiration  of  their  gallant  courtesy  and  high-souled  ho- 
nour;  and  it  was  touching  and  inspiring  to  hear  the  praises  of  that 
generous  but  devoted  race  chaunted  in  this  fated  hall  of  their  cala- 
mity by  the  lips  of  Spanish  beauty. 

Among  the  subjects  of  which  she  treated  was  a  tale  of  Moslem 
honour,  and  old-fashioned  Spanish  courtesy,  which  made  a  strong 
impression  on  me.  She  disclaimed  all  merit  of  invention,  however, 
and  said  she  had  merely  dilated  into  verse  a  popular  tradition ;  and, 
indeed,  I  have  since  found  the  main  facts  inserted  at  the  end  of 
Conde's  History  of  the  Domination  of  the  Arabs,  and  the  story  itself 
embodied  in  the  form  of  an  episode  in  the  Diana  of  Montemayor.  From 
these  sources  I  have  drawn  it  forth,  and  endeavoured  to  shape  it  ac- 
cording to  my  recollection  of  the  version  of  the  beautiful  minstrel ;  hut 
alas  !  what  can  supply  the  want  of  that  voice,  that  look,  that  form,  that 
action,  which  gave  magical  effect  to  her  chaunt,  and  held  every  one  rapt 
in  breathless  admiration  !  Should  this  mere  travesty  of  her  inspired 
numbers  ever  meet  her  eye  in  her  stately  abode  at  Granada,  may  it 
meet  with  that  indulgence  which  belongs  to  her  benignant  nature. 
Happy  should  I  be  if  it  could  awaken  in  her  bosom  one  kind  recollec- 
tion of  the  lonely  stranger  and  sojourner  for  whose  gratification  she  did 
not  think  it  beneath  her  to  exert  those  fascinating  powers  which  were 
the  delight  of  brilliant  circles ;  and  who  will  ever  recall  with  enthusi- 
asm the  happy  evening  passed  in  listening  to  her  stcains  in  the  moon- 
lit halls  of  the  Alhambra. 



On  the  summit  of  a  craggy  hill,  a  spur  of  the  mountains  of  Ronda, 
stands  the  castle  of  Allora,  now  a  mere  ruin,  infested  bv  bats  and 


owlets,  but  in  old  times  one  of  the  strong  border  holds  of  the  Chris- 
tians, to  keep  watch  upon  the  frontiers  of  the  warlike  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  to  hold  the  Moors  in  check.  It  was  a  post  always  con- 
fided to  some  well-tried  commander ;  and,  at  the  time  of  which  we 
treat,  was  held  by  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  a  veteran  famed  both  among 
Moors  and  Christians,  not  only  for  his  hardy  feats  of  arms,  but  also  for 
that  magnanimous  courtesy  which  should  ever  be  entwined  with  the 
sterner  virtues  of  the  soldier. 

The  castle  of  Allora  was  a  mere  part  of  his  command ;  he  was 
Alcayde,  or  military  governor  of  Antiquera,  but  he  passed  most  of  his 
time  at  this  frontier  post,  because  its  situation  on  the  borders  gave 
more  frequent  opportunity  for  those  adventurous  exploits  which  were 
the  delight  of  the  Spanish  chivalry.  His  garrison  consisted  of  fifty 
chosen  cavaliers,  all  well  mounted  and  well  appointed;  with  these  he 
kept  vigilant  watch  upon  the  Moslems,  patrolling  the  roads,  and  paths, 
and  defiles  of  the  mountains,  so  that  nothing  could  escape  his  eye ;  and 
now  and  then  signalizing  himself  by  some  dashing  foray  into  the  very 
Vega  of  Granada. 

On  a  fair  and  beautiful  night  in  summer,  when  the  freshness  of  the 
evening  breeze  had  tempered  the  heat  of  day,  the  worthy  Alcayde  sallied 
forth,  with  nine  of  his  cavaliers,  to  patrol  the  neighbourhood,  and  seek 
adventures.  They  rode  quietly  and  cautiously,  lest  they  should  be 
overheard  by  Moorish  scout  or  traveller ;  and  kept  along  ravines  and 
hollow  ways,  lest  they  should  be  betrayed  by  the  glittering  of  the  full 
moon  upon  their  armour.  Coming  to  where  the  road  divided,  the  Al- 
cayde directed  five  of  his  cavaliers  to  take  one  of  the  branches,  while 
he,  with  the  remaining  four,  would  take  the  other.  Should  either 
party  be  in  danger,  the  blast  of  a  horn  was  to  be  the  signal  to  bring  their 
comrades  to  their  aid. 

The  party  of  five  had  not  proceeded  far,  when,  in  passing  through  a 
defile  overhung  with  trees,  they  heard  the  voice  of  a  man  singing. 
They  immediately  concealed  themselves  in  a  grove  on  the  brow  of  a  de- 
clivity, up  which  the  stranger  would  have  to  ascend.  The  moonlight, 
which  left  the  grove  in  deep  shadow,  lit  up  the  whole  person  of  the 
wayfarer  as  he  advanced,  and  enabled  them  to  distinguish  his  dress  and 
appearance  with  perfect  accuracy.  He  was  a  Moorish  cavalier ;  and  his 
noble  demeanour,  graceful  carriage,  and  splendid  attire,  showed  him  to 
be  of  lofty  rank.  He  was  superbly  mounted  on  a  dapple-grey  steed,  of 
powerful  frame  and  generous  spirit,  and  magnificently  caparisoned.  His 
dress  was  a  marlota,  or  tunic,  and  an  albernoz  of  crimson  damask, 
fringed  with  gold.  His  Tunisian  turban,  of  many  folds,  was  of  silk 
and  cotton  striped,  and  bordered  with  golden  fringe.  At  his  girdle 
hung  a  scimitar  of  Damascus  steel,  with  loops  and  tassels  of  silk  and 
gold.  On  his  left  arm  he  bore  an  ample  target,  and  his  right  hand 
grasped  a  long  double-pointed  lance.  Thus  equipped,  he  sat  negli- 
gently on  his  steed,  as  one  who  dreamed  of  no  danger,  gazing  on  the 
moon,  and  singing,  with  a  sweet  and  manly  voice,  a  Moorish  love- 

Just  opposite  the  place  where  the  Spanish  cavaliers  were  concealed, 
was  a  small  fountain  in  the  rock,  beside  the  road,  to  which  the  horse 
turned  to  drink ;  the  rider  threw  the  reins  on  his  neck,  and  continued 
his  song. 

The  Spanish  cavaliers  conferred  together  ;  they  were  all  so  pleased 
with  the  gallant  and  gentle  appearance  of  the  Moor  that  they  resolved 


not  to  harm,  but  to  capture  him,  which,  in  his  negligent  mood,  pro 
raised  to  be  an  easy  task ;  rushing,  therefore,  from  their  concealment, 
they  thought  to  surround  and  seize  him.  Never  were  men  more  mis- 
taken. To  gather  up  his  reins,  wheel  round  his  steed,  brace  his  buck- 
ler, and  couch  his  lance,  was  the  work  of  an  instant ;  and  there  he  sat, 
fixed  like  a  castle  in  his  saddle,  beside  the  fountain. 

The  Christian  cavaliers  checked  their  steeds,  and  reconnoitred  him 
warily,  loath  to  come  to  an  encounter  which  must  end  in  his  de- 

The  Moor  now  held  a  parley:  "  If  you  be  true  knights,"  said  he, 
"  and  seek  for  honourable  fame,  come  on  singly,  and  I  am  ready  to  meet 
each  in  succession;  but,  if  you  be  mere  lurkers  of  the  road,  intent  on 
spoil,  come  all  at  once,  and  do  your  worst  !  " 

The  cavaliers  communed  for  a  moment  apart,  when  one,  advancing 
singly,  exclaimed  :  "Although  no  law  of  chivalry  obliges  us  to  risk  the 
loss  of  a  prize  when  clearly  in  our  power,  yet  we  willingly  grant,  as  a 
courtesy,  what  we  might  refuse  as  a  right.  Valiant  Moor  !  defend 

So  saying,  he  wheeled,  took  proper  distance,  couched  his  lance,  and, 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  made  at  the  stranger.  The  latter  met  him 
in  mid  career,  transpierced  him  with  his  lance,  and  threw  him  head- 
long from  his  saddle.  A  second  and  a  third  succeeded,  but  were  un- 
horsed with  equal  facility,  and  thrown  to  the  earth,  severely  wounded. 
The  remaining  two,  seeing  their  comrades  thus  roughly  treated,  forgot 
all  compact  of  courtesy,  and  charged  both  at  once  upon  the  Moor.  He 
parried  the  thrust  of  one,  but  was  wounded  by  the  other  in  the  thigh, 
and,  in  the  shock  and  confusion,  dropped  his  lance.  Thus  disarmed, 
and  closely  pressed,  he  pretended  to  riy,  and  was  hotly  pursued. 
Having  drawn  the  two  cavaliers  some  distance  from  the  spot,  he  sud- 
denly wheeled  short  about,  with  one  of  those  dexterous  movements  for 
which  the  Moorish  horsemen  were  renowned ;  passed  swiftly  between 
them,  swung  himself  down  from  his  saddle,  so  as  to  catch  up  his  lance; 
then,  lightly  replacing  himself,  turned  to  renew  the  combat. 

Seeing  him  thus  fresh  for  the  encounter,  as  if  just  issued  from  his 
tent,  one  of  the  cavaliers  put  his  lips  to  his  horn,  and  blew  a  blast  that 
soon  brought  the  Alcayde  and  his  four  companions  to  the  spot. 

The  valiant  Narvaez,  seeing  three  of  his  cavaliers  extended  on  the 
earth,  and  two  others  hotly  engaged  with  the  Moor,  was  struck  with 
admiration,  and  coveted  a  contest  with  so  accomplished  a  warrior.  In- 
terfering in  the  fight,  he  called  upon  his  followers  to  desist,  and,  ad- 
dressing the  Moor  with  courteous  words,  invited  him  to  a  more  equal 
combat.  The  latter  readily  accepted  the  challenge.  For  some  time 
their  contest  was  fierce  and  doubtful,  and  the  Alcayde  had  need 
of  all  his  skill  and  strength  to  ward  off  the  blows  of  his  antagonist. 
The  Moor,  however,  was  exhausted  by  previous  fighting,  and  byloss  of 
blood.  He  no  longer  sat  his  horse  firmly,  nor  managed  him  with  his 
wonted  skill.  Collecting  all  his  strength  for  a  last  assault,  he  rose  in 
his  stirrups,  and  made  a  violent  thrust  with  his  lance;  the  Alcayde 
received  it  upon  his  shield,  and  at  the  same  time  wounded  the  Moor 
in  the  right  arm  ;  then,  closing  in  the  shock,  he  grasped  him  in  his 
arms,  dragged  him  from  his  saddle,  and  fell  with  him  to  the  earth : 
when,  putting  his  knee  upon  his  breast,  and  his  dagger  to  his  throat, 
"  Cavalier ! "  exclaimed  he,  "  render  thyself  my  prisoner,  for  thy  life  is 
in  my  hands  !  " 

VOL.  vi.  p 


«  Kill  me  rather,"  replied  the  Moor,  "  for  death  would  be  less  griev- 
ous than  loss  of  liberty." 

The  Alcayde,  however,  with  the  clemency  of  the  truly  brave,  as- 
sisted the  Moor  to  rise,  ministered  to  his  wounds  with  his  own  hands, 
and  had  him  conveyed  with  great  care  to  the  castle  of  Allora.  His 
wounds  were  slight,  and  in  a  few  days  were  nearly  cured ;  but  the 
deepest  wound  had  been  inflicted  on  his  spirit.  He  was  constantly 
buried  in  a  profound  melancholy. 

The  Alcayde,  who  had  conceived  a  great  regard  for  him,  treated 
him  more  as  a  friend  than  a  captive,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  cheer 
him,  but  in  vain ;  he  was  always  sad  and  moody,  and,  when  on  the 
battlements  of  the  castle,  would  keep  his  eyes  turned  to  the  south, 
with  a  iixed  and  wistful  gaze. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Alcayde,  reproachfully,  "  that  you, 
who  were  so  hardy  and  fearless  in  the  field,  should  lose  all  spirit  in 
prison  ?  If  any  secret  grief  preys  on  your  heart,  confide  it  to  me  as 
to  a  friend,  and  I  promise  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  cavalier,  that  you 
shall  have  no  cause  to  repent  the  disclosure." 

The  Moorish  knight  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Alcayde.  "  Noble 
cavalier,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  cast  down  in  spirit  is  not  from  my 
wounds,  which  are  slight ;  nor  from  my  captivity,  for  your  kindness 
has  robbed  it  of  all  gloom  ;  nor  from  my  defeat,  for  to  be  conquered 
by  so  accomplished  and  renowned  a  cavalier  is  no  disgrace.  But,  to 
explain  to  you  the  cause  of  my  grief,  it  is  necessary  to  give  you 
some  particulars  of  my  story ;  and  this  I  am  moved  to  do  by  the 
great  sympathy  you  have  manifested  toward  me,  and  the  magnani- 
mity that  shines  through  all  your  actions. 

"  Know,  then,  that  my  name  is  Abendaraez,  and  that  I  am  of  the 
noble  but  unfortunate  line  of  the  Abencerrages  of  Granada.  You 
have  doubtless  heard  of  the  destruction  that  fell  upon  our  race. 
Charged  with  treasonable  designs,  of  which  they  were  entirely  inno- 
cent, many  of  them  were  beheaded,  the  rest  banished ;  so  that  not  an 
Abencerrage  was  permitted  to  remain  in  Granada,  excepting  my 
father  and  my  uncle,  whose  innocence  was  proved,  even  to  the  sa- 
tisfaction of  their  persecutors.  It  was  decreed,  however,  that, 
should  they  have  children,  the  sons  should  be  educated  at  a  dis- 
tance from  Granada,  and  the  daughters  should  be  married  out  of  the 

"  Conformably  to  this  decree,  I  was  sent,  while  yet  an  infant,  to 
be  reared  in  the  fortress  of  Cartama,  the  worthy  Alcayde  of  which 
was  an  ancient  friend  of  my  father.  He  had  no  children,  and  re- 
ceived me  into  his  family  as  his  own  child,  treating  me  with  the 
kindness  and  affection  of  a  father,  and  I  grew  up  in  the  belief  that  he 
really  was  such.  A  few  years  afterwards  his  wife  gave  birth  to  a 
daughter ;  but  his  tenderness  towards  me  continued  undiminished. 
I  thus  grew  up  with  Xarisa,  for  so  the  infant  daughter  of  the  Alcayde 
was  called,  as  her  own  brother,  and  thought  the  growing  passion 
which  I  felt  for  her  was  mere  fraternal  affection.  I  beheld  her 
charms  unfolding,  as  it  were,  leaf  by  leaf,  like  the  morning  rose,  each 
moment  disclosing  fresh  beauty  and  sweetness. 

"  At  this  period  I  overheard  a  conversation  between  the  Alcayde 
and  his  confidential  domestic,  and  found  myself  to  be  the  subject. 
'  It  is  time/  said  he,  '  to  apprise  him  of  his  parentage,  that  he  may 
adopt  a  career  in  life.  I  have  deferred  the  communication  as  long 


as  possible,  through  reluctance  to  inform  him  that  he  is  of  a  pro- 
scribed and  an  unlucky  race.' 

"  This  intelligence  would  have  overwhelmed  me  at  an  earlier 
period ;  but  the  intimation  that  Xarisa  was  riot  my  sister  operated 
like  magic,  and  in  an  instant  transformed  my  brotherly  affection  into 
ardent  love. 

"  I  sought  Xarisa,  to  impart  to  her  the  secret  I  had  learned.  I 
found  her  in  the  garden,  in  a  bower  of  jessamines,  arranging  her 
beautiful  hair  by  the  mirror  of  a  crystal  fountain.  The  radiance  of 
her  beauty  dazzled  me.  I  ran  to  her  with  open  arms,  and  she 
received  me  with  a  sister's  embraces.  When  we  had  seated  ourselves 
beside  the  fountain,  she  began  to  upbraid  me  for  leaving  her  so  long 

l<  In  reply,  I  informed  her  of  the  conversation  I  had  overheard. 
The  recital  shocked  and  distressed  her.  (  Alas  ! '  cried  she,  '  then  is 
our  happiness  at  an  end  ! ' 

"  '  How  ! '  exclaimed  I,  <  wilt  thou  cease  to  love  me,  because  I  am 
not  thy  brother  ?  ' 

"  '  Not  so/  replied  she;  '  but  do  you  not  know  that  when  it  is 
once  known  we  are  not  brother  and  sister,  we  can  no  longer  be  per- 
mitted to  be  thus  always  together  ?  ' 

"  In  fact,  from  that  moment  our  intercourse  took  a  new  character. 
We  met  often  at  the  fountain  among  the  jessamines ;  but  Xarisa  no 
longer  advanced  with  open  arms  to  meet  me.  She  became  reserved 
and  silent,  and  would  blush,  and  cast  down  her  eyes,  when  I  seat- 
ed myself  beside  her.  My  heart  became  a  prey  to  the  thousand 
doubts  and  fears  that  ever  attend  upon  true  love.  I  was  restless  and 
uneasy,  and  looked  back  with  regret  to  the  unreserved  intercourse 
that  had  existed  between  us,  when  we  supposed  ourselves  brother 
and  sister ;  yet  I  would  not  have  had  the  relationship  true  for  the 

"  While  matters  were  in  this  state  between  us,  an  order  came  from 
the  king  of  Granada  for  the  Alcayde  to  take  command  of  the  for- 
tress of  Coyn,  which  lies  directly  on  the  Christian  frontier.  He 
prepared  to  remove  with  all  his  family,  but  signified  that  I  should 
remain  at  Cartama.  I  exclaimed  against  the  separation,  and  declared 
that  I  could  not  be  parted  from  Xarisa.  '  That  is  the  very  cause,' 
said  he,  '  why  I  leave  thee  behind.  It  is  time,  Abendaraez,  that 
thou  shouldest  know  the  secret  of  thy  birth, — that  thou  art  no  son  of 
mine,  neither  is  Xarisa  thy  sister.'  — '  I  know  it  all ! '  exclaimed  I, 
'  and  I  love  her  with  tenfold  the  affection  of  a  brother.  You  have 
brought  us  up  together ;  you  have  made  us  necessary  to  each 
other's  happiness;  our  hearts  have  entwined  themselves  with  our 
growth  ;  do  not  now  tear  them  asunder.  Fill  up  the  measure  of 
your  kindness;  be  indeed  a  father  to  me,  by  giving  me  Xarisa 
for  my  wife.' 

"  The  brow  of  the  Alcayde  darkened  as  I  spoke.  '  Have  I  then 
been  deceived  ?  '  said  he.  '  Have  those  nurtured  m  my  very  bosom 
been  conspiring  against  me?  Is  this  your  return  for  my  paternal 
tenderness  ? — to  beguile  the  affections  of  my  child,  and  teach  her  to 
deceive  her  father  ?  It  was  cause  enough  to  refuse  thee  the  hand  of 
my  daughter  that  thou  wert  of  a  proscribed  race,  who  can  never 
approach  the  walls  of  Granada.  This,  however,  I  might  have  passed 

p  2 


over  ;  but  never  will  I  give  my  daughter  to  a  man  who  has  endea- 
voured to  win  her  from  me  by  deception.' 

"  All  mv  attempts  to  vindicate  myself  and  Xarisa  were  unavailing. 
I  retired  in  anguish  from  his  presence,  and,  seeking  Xarisa,,  told  her 
of  this  blow,  which  was  worse  than  death  to  me.  '  Xarisa,'  said  I, 
'  we  part  for  ever  !  I  shall  never  see  thee  more  !  Thy  father  will 
o-uard  thee  rigidly.  Thy  beauty  and  his  wealth  will  soon  attract 
some  happier  rival,  and  I  shall  be  forgotten  !  ' 

"  Xarisa  reproached  me  with  my  want  of  faith,  and  promised  me 
eternal  constancy.  I  still  doubted  and  desponded,  until,  moved  by 
my  anguish  and  despair,  she  agreed  to  a  secret  union.  Our  espousals 
made,  \ve  parted,  with  a  promise  on  her  part  to  send  me  word  from 
Coyn,  should  her  father  absent  himself  from  the  fortress.  The  very 
day  after  our  secret  nuptials,  I  beheld  the  whole  train  of  the  Alcayde 
depart  from  Cartama;  nor  would  he  admit  me  to  his  presence,  or 
permit  me  to  bid  farewell  to  Xarisa.  I  remained  at  Cartama,  some- 
what pacified  in  spirit  by  this  secret  bond  of  union  ;  but  everything 
around  me  fed  my  passion,  and  reminded  me  of  Xarisa.  I  saw  the 
windows  at  which  1  had  so  often  beheld  her.  I  wandered  through 
the  apartment  she  had  inhabited,  the  chamber  in  which  she  had 
slept.  I  visited  the  bower  of  jessamines,  and  lingered  beside  the 
fountain  in  which  she  had  delighted.  Everything  recalled  her  to 
my  imagination,  and  filled  my  heart  with  tender  melancholy. 

"At  length  a  confidential  servant  brought  me  word  that  her  father 
was  to  depart  that  day  for  Granada  on  a  short  absence,  inviting  me 
to  hasten  to  Coyn,  describing  a  secret  portal  at  which  I  should  apply, 
and  the  signal  by  which  I  would  obtain  admittance. 

"  If  ever  you  have  loved,  most  valiant  Alcayde,  you  may  judge  of 
the  transport  of  my  bosom.  That  very  night  I  arrayed  myself  in 
my  most  gallant  attire,  to  pay  due  honour  to  my  bride,  and  arming 
myself  against  any  casual  attack,  issued  forth  privately  from  Cartama. 
You  know  the  rest,  and  by  what  sad  fortune  of  war  I  "found  myself, 
instead  of  a  happy  bridegroom  in  the  nuptial  bower  of  Coyn,  van- 
quished, wounded,  and  a  prisoner,  within  the  walls  of  Allora.  The 
term  of  absence  of  the  father  of  Xarisa  is  nearly  expired.  Within 
three  days  he  will  return  to  Coyn,  and  our  meeting  will  no  longer 
be  possible.  Judge,  then,  whether  I  grieve  without  cause,  and 
whether  I  may  not  well  be  excused  for  showing  impatience  under 

Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  was  greatly  moved  by  this  recital ;  for, 
though  more  used  to  rugged  war  than  scenes  of  amorous  softness,  he 
was  of  a  kind  and  generous  nature. 

"  Abendaraez,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  seek  thy  confidence  to  gratify 
an  idle  curiosity.  It  grieves  me  much  that  the  good  fortune  which 
delivered  thee  into  my  hands  should  have  marred  so  fair  an  enter- 
prise. Give  me  thy  faith  as  a  true  knight  to  return  prisoner  to  my 
castle  within  three  days,  and  I  will  grant  thee  permission  to  accom- 
plish thy  nuptials." 

The  Abencerrage  would  have  thrown  himself  at  his  feet  to  pour 
out  protestations  of  eternal  gratitude,  but  the  Alcayde  prevented 
him.  Calling  in  his  cavaliers,  he  took  the  Abencerrage  by  the  right 
hand  in  their  presence,  exclaiming  solemnly,  «  You  promise,  on  the 
faith  of  a  cavalier,  to  return  to  my  castle  of  Allora  within  three  days, 
and  render  yourself  my  prisoner?  "  And  the  Abencerrao-e  said  "  I 


Then  said  the  Alcayde,  "  Go  !  and  may  good  fortune  attend  you  ! 
If  you  require  any  safeguard,  I  and  my  cavaliers  are  ready  to  be 
your  companions. ' 

The  Abencerrage  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Alcayde  in  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment. "  Give  me,"  said  he,  "  my  own  armour  and  my 
steed,  and  I  require  no  guard.  It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  again 
meet  with  so  valorous  a  foe." 

The  shades  of  night  had  fallen  when  the  tramp  of  the  dapple  grey 
steed  resounded  over  the  draw-bridge,  and  immediately  afterwards 
the  light  clatter  of  hoofs  along  the  road  bespoke  the  neetness  with 
which  the  youthful  lover  hastened  to  his  bride.  It  Avas  deep  night 
when  the  Moor  arrived  at  the  castle  of  Coyn.  He  silently  and  cau- 
tiously walked  his  panting  steed  under  its  dark  Avails,  and,  having 
nearly  passed  round  them,  came  to  the  portal  denoted  by  Xarisa. 
He  paused  and  looked  round  to  see  that  he  Avas  not  observed,  and 
then  knocked  three  times  with  the  butt  of  his  lance.  In  a  little  while 
the  portal  was  timidly  unclosed  by  the  duenna  of  Xarisa.  "  Alas  ! 
senor,"  said  she,  "  what  has  detained  you  thus  long?  Every  night 
have  I  watched  for  you,  and  my  lady  is  sick  at  heart  with  doubt  and 

The  Abencerrage  hung  his  lance,  and  shield,  and  scimitar  against 
the  wall,  and  then  folloAved  the  duenna  with  silent  steps  up  a  winding 
staircase  to  the  apartment  of  Xarisa.  Vain  would  be  the  attempt  to 
describe  the  raptures  of  that  meeting.  Time  fle\v  too  SAviftly,  and 
the  Abencerrage  had  nearlv7  forgotten  until  too  late  his  promise  to 
return  a  prisoner  to  the  Alcayde  of  Allora.  The  recollection  of  it 
came  to  him  with  a  pang,  and  suddenly  aAvoke  him  from  his  dream 
of  bliss.  Xarisa  saw  his  altered  looks,  and  heard  with  alarm  his 
stifled  sighs ;  but  her  countenance  brightened  when  she  heard  the 
cause.  "  Let  not  thy  spirit  be  cast  down,"  said  she,  throwing  her 
white  arms  around  him.  "  I  have  the  keys  of  my  father's  treasures; 
send  ransom  more  than  enough  to  satisfy  the  Christian,  and  remain 
with  me." 

"  No/'  said  Abendaraez,  "  I  have  given  my  word  to  return  in 
person,  and,  like  a  true  knight,  must  fulfil  my  promise.  After  that, 
fortune  must  do  Avith  me  as  it  pleases." 

"  Then,"  said  Xarisa,  "  I  will  accompany  thee.  Never  shall  you 
return  a  prisoner,  and  I  remain  at  liberty." 

The  Abencerrage  was  transported  Avith  joy  at  this  new  proof  of 
devotion  in  his  beautiful  bride.  All  preparations  were  speedily 
made  for  their  departure.  Xarisa  mounted  behind  the  Moor  on  his 
powerful  steed  ;  they  left  the  castle  walls  before  day-break,  nor  did 
they  pause  until  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  the  castle  of  Allora, 
which  Avas  flung  wide  to  receive  them. 

Alighting  in  the  court,  the  Abencerrage  supported  the  steps  of  his 
trembling  bride,  who  remained  closely  veiled,  into  the  presence  of 
Rodrigo  de  Narvaez.  "  Behold,  valiant  Alcayde,"  said  he,  "  the  way 
in  which  an  Abencerrage  keeps  his  word.  I  promised  to  return  to 
thee  a  prisoner,  but  I  deliver  two  captives  into  your  power.  Behold 
Xarisa,  and  judge  whether  I  grieved  without  reason  over  the  loss  of 
such  a  treasure.  Receive  us  as  your  OAvn,  for  I  confide  my  life  and 
her  honour  to  your  hands." 

The  Alcayde  was  lost  in  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  the  lady,  and 
the  noble  spirit  of  the  Moor.  "  I  know  not,"  said  he,  "  which  of 
you  surpasses  the  other ;  but  I  know  that  my  castle  is  graced  and 


honoured  by  your  presence.  Enter  into  it,  and  consider  it  your  own 
while  you  deign  to  reside  with  me." 

For  several  days  the  lovers  remained  at  Allora,  happy  in  each 
other's  love,  and  in  the  friendship  of  the  brave  Alcayde.  The  latter 
wrote  a  letter  full  of  courtesy  to  the  Moorish  king  of  Granada,  relat- 
ing the  whole  event,  extolling  the  valour  and  good  faith  of  the  Aben- 
cerrage,  and  craving  for  him  the  royal  countenance. 

The  king  was  moved  by  the  story,  and  was  pleased  with  an  op- 
portunity of  showing  attention  to  the  wishes  of  a  gallant  and  chival- 
rous enemy ;  for  though  he  had  often  suffered  from  the  prowess  of 
Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  he  admired  the  heroic  character  he  had 
gained  throughout  the  land.  Calling  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  into  his 
presence,  he  gave  him  the  letter  to  read.  The  Alcayde  turned  pale, 
and  trembled  with  rage  on  the  perusal.  "  Restrain  thine  anger," 
said  the  king ;  "  there  is  nothing  that  the  Alcayde  of  Allora  could 
ask  that  I  Avould  not  grant,  if  in  my  power.  Go  thou  to  Allora ; 
pardon  thy  children ;  take  them  to  thy  home.  I  receive  this  Aben- 
cerrage  into  my  favour,  and  it  will  be  my  delight  to  heap  benefits 
upon  you  all." 

The  kindling  ire  of  the  Alcayde  was  suddenly  appeased.  He 
hastened  to  Allora,  and  folded  his  children  to  his  bosom,  who  would 
have  fallen  at  his  feet.  The  gallant  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  gave  liberty 
to  his  prisoner  without  ransom,  demanding  merely  a  promise  of  his 
friendship.  He  accompanied  the  youthful  couple  and  their  father  to 
Coyn,  where  their  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings. 
When  the  festivities  were  over,  Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  returned 
to  his  fortress  of  Allora. 

After  his  departure,  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  addressed  his  children : 
"  To  your  hands,"  said  he,  "  I  confide  the  disposition  of  my  wealth. 
One  of  the  first  things  I  charge  you,  is  not  to  forget  the  ransom  you 
owe  to  the  Alcayde  of  Allora.  His  magnanimity  you  can  never 
repay,  but  you  can  prevent  it  from  wronging  him  of  his  just  dues. 
Give  him,  moreover,  your  entire  friendship ;  for  he  merits  it  fully, 
though  of  a  different  faith." 

The  Abencerrage  thanked  him  for  his  generous  proposition,  which 
so  truly  accorded  with  his  own  wishes.  He  took  a  large  sum  of  gold, 
and  inclosed  it  in  a  rich  coffer,  and,  on  his  own  part,  sent  six  beau- 
tiful horses,  superbly  caparisoned,  with  six  shields  and  lances, 
mounted  and  embossed  with  gold.  The  beautiful  Xarisa  at  the  same 
time  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Alcayde,  filled  with  expressions  of  grati- 
tude and  friendship  ;  and  sent  him  a  box  of  fragrant  cypress  wood, 
containing  linen  of  the  finest  quality  for  his  person.  The  valiant 
Alcayde  disposed  of  the  present  in  a  characteristic  manner.  The 
horses  and  armour  he  shared  among  the  cavaliers  who  had  accom- 
panied him  on  the  night  of  the  skirmish.  The  box  of  cypress  wood 
and  its  contents  he  retained  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  Xarisa,  and 
sent  her  by  the  hands  of  the  messenger  the  sum  of  gold  paid  as  a 
ransom,  entreating  her  to  receive  it  as  a  wedding  present.  This 
courtesy  and  magnanimity  raised  the  character  of  the  Alcayde  Ro- 
drigo de  Narvaez  still  higher  in  the  estimation  of  the  Moors,  who 
extolled  him  as  a  perfect  mirror  of  chivalric  virtue  ;  and  from  that 
time  forward  there  was  a  continual  exchange  of  good  offices  between 





AT  the  distance  of  several  miles  from  the  scene  which  in  a  former 
legend  we  described,  there  is  a  winding  passage  through  the  hills, 
which  leads  to  a  very  narrow  and  precipitous  defile,  called  Glenshee, 
or  Glensheich, — that  is  to  say,  the  Valley  of  Spirits.  The  glen  itself 
is  formed  by  the  bases  of  the  mountains,  which  fall,  many  of  them, 
in  a  sharp  declivity,  for  several  hundred  feet,  and  is  in  its  gorge 
filled  with  the  waters  of  a  small  dark  lake,  over  which  no  ray 
of  sunshine  has  ever  been  known  to  shed  a  character  of  gladness. 
Along  its  farther  margin  there  occur  here  and  there  nooks  or  corners 
of  table-land.  Narrow  they  are,  and  always  of  a  grotesque  forma- 
tion ;  for  the  hills  are  peculiarly  wild  and  sterile  in  their  character, 
inasmuch  as  a  shelving  mass  of  debris  is  the  only  surface  which 
many  of  them  present,  while  others  are  composed  entirely  of  broken 
and  rugged  rocks.  Yet,  although  narrow,  there  was  a  time  when 
one,  and  not  the  broadest,  of  these  table-lands  sustained  a  hearth 
round  which  a  poor  but  honest  family  were  wont  to  assemble.  The 
hut  which  contained  that  hearth  was  indeed  of  the  very  humblest 
order.  It  lay  beneath  the  shelter  of  the  precipice  ;  and,  save  that 
its  wicker  chimney  emitted  at  all  seasons  a  delicate  wreath  of  smoke, 
something  more  than  a  careless  glance  would  have  been  re- 
quired to  convince  you  that  such  a  thing  was  there.  Moreover, 
round  it,  or  near  at  hand,  were  such  traces  of  man's  industry  as 
such  a  spot  might  alone  be  expected  to  exhibit.  A  patch  of  green 
was  beside  the  cabin  door,  which,  from  the  strong  contrast  it 
presented  to  the  brown  and  stunted  herbage  near,  you  were  at  no 
loss  to  determine  must  be  a  potato  field.  A  couple  of  goats,  too, 
were  tethered  beside  the  threshold;  while  a  few  fowls,  less  than 
half-domesticated,  scraped  a  scanty  subsistence  for  themselves  from 
among  the  roots  of  the  heather.  But  in  other  respects  sign  there 
was  none,  that  in  this  melancholy  defile  man  had  set  up  his  rest ; 
for  the  very  roof  of  the  cottage  waved  with  long  rank  grass,  and 
the  blue-bell  and  wild  thyme  were  abundantly  intermixed  with  it. 

Wild  as  Glenshee  is,  however,  and  desolate,  and  lonely,  there  are 
not  wanting  features  here  and  there  which  effectually  redeem  it  from 
the  hazard  of  being  condemned  as  utterly  repulsive.  A  clear  moun- 
tain stream  comes  tumbling  down  the  hill,  making  the  ear  glad  with  its 
everlasting  music,  and  falls  into  the  lake,  not  till  it  has  threaded  its  way 
for  a  long  space  amid  overhanging  rows  of  mountain-ash  and  the  deli- 
cate alder.  Over  its  banks,  too,  the  sward  grows  rich  and  sweet,  as  if 
the  soil  were  fertilized  by  the  course  of  the  torrent ;  while  here  and 
there  the  intervention  of  a  rock  gathers  the  waters  into  a  heap,  that 
they  may  spring  off'  again  in  a  tiny  cataract  of  most  pellucid  beauty. 
But  this  is  not  all.  The  rivulet  in  question  flows  westward, — a  cir- 
cumstance not  to  be  overlooked,  as  connected  with  the  burthen  of 
our  history ;  for  streams  which  take  this  course  have  a  virtue  pecu- 


liarly  their  own.  When  the  shadows  of  the  trees  fall  on  them,  or 
of  the  rocks,  or  even  of  the  clouds  above,  they  become  scrolls  in 
which  the  favoured  among  men  "  may  read  strange  matters  ;"  and 
many  a  time  and  oft  has  this  particular  rivulet  shown  to  the  eyes 
which  studied  them  events  that  were  to  come. 

A  good  many  years  ago,  the  hut  of  which  I  have  spoken  was 
inhabited  by  old  Robin  Ure,  the  shepherd  of  Glenshee,  a  thoughtful 
and  somewhat  contemplative  man,  who  had  arrived  at  one  of  the 
latter  stages  of  human  existence,  through  some  enjoyment,  and  a 
good  deal  of  suffering.     Robin  was   one  of  those  philosophers  of 
nature's  forming,  who  feel  that  perfect  happiness  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected upon  earth,  and  who  therefore  school  themselves  to  bear  with 
patience,  to  look  back  with  resignation,  and  forward  in  hope.    Robin 
was  also  a  religious  man    in  his    own   peculiar  way ;   for,   though 
he  seldom  went  to  church,  from  which,  indeed,  his  occupation  cut 
him  off,  he  carried  his  Bible  with  him  to  the  hill-side,  and  read  it 
gratefully.     And  much  need  there  was  that  Robin  should  find  both 
there,  and  in  the  world   of  imagination   which  his  native   poetry 
created,  some  solace   for  the  trials  which  the  world  of  busy  men 
brought  him.     He  had  a  kind,  cheerful,  and  industrious  partner, 
to  be  sure,  who  used  her  best  endeavours  to  render  his  home  happy  ; 
but,   woe  is  me  !   even   the    tenderness  of  a  wife   will  not  always 
suffice  if  it  come  alone.     Out  of  the  seven  children,  all  of  them 
daughters,  whom  God  had  given  them,  one  only  survived ;   and  she,^ 
albeit  the  very  apple  of  their  eyes,  was  to  her  parents  a  source  of 
unremitting  anxiety.     She  was  a  fragile  and  a  delicate  thing,  tender 
and  sensitive  in  her  frame,  which  was  but  little  adapted  to  struggle 
against  the  rude  blasts  of  her  native  glen,   and  the  privations  to 
•which  at  times  she  was  subjected.    Indeed  Mary,  or,  as  the  wild  and 
poetic  dialect  of  the  glen  has  it,  Mari,  was  a  living  instance  of  that 
caprice  of  nature,  which  plants  flowers  in  a  glacier,  and  scatters  rills 
through  a  desert  waste.     Yet  hers  was  not  a  mere  physical  debility, 
— that  is  to  say,  the  feebleness  of  the  frame  had  a  deeper  source  than 
ordinary  disease.     The  order  of  her  destiny  had  entailed  upon  Mari 
a  supernatural  gift,  which  sapped  the  foundations  of  her  life,  and 
stript  her  of  every  source  of  interest  and  employment  belonging  to 
her  sex  and  to  her  nature.     She  was  born  to  the  inheritance  of  the 
second-sight, — that  strange  and  most  mysterious  faculty,  which  may 
be  traced  nowhere  except  in   the  Highlands  of  Scotland ;    and  the 
consequence  was,  that  from  her  very  cradle  she  had  been  an  object  of 
awe,  I  had  almost  said  of  terror,  even  to  those  who  loved  her  with  the 
tenderest  affection.     Accordingly  the  poor  child  grew  almost  to  wo- 
man's estate  without  having  even  an  ordinary  acquaintance  with  any 
beyond  her  own  narrow  family  circle ;  and,  as  Robin  and  his  wife 
could  not  fail  to  fall  in  some  degree  under  the  shadow  of  their  un- 
happy child's  proscription,  a  stranger  within  the  narrow   vale  of 
Glenshee — unless,  indeed,  it  mi^ht  be  Murdoch,  the  shepherd  of  the 
opposite  mountain,  who  sometimes  came  with  a  bonnet-full  of  black- 
berries, or  a  lamb's-skin  for  Mari's  winter  bed-quiit, — would  have  been 
almost  as  much  an  object  of  curiosity  as  Gulliver  in  Brobdignag,  or 
the  first  ship  to  the  South  Sea  Islanders.      Yet,  as  matters  stood 
within,  the  household  of  Glenshee  was  by  no  means  an  unhappy  one, 
when  the  spirit  of  the  lonely  maiden  rested  from  the  trouble  of  its 
waters ;  for  in  the  long  nights  of  winter,  when  the  wooden  boards 


were  drawn  snugly  over  the  window,  and  the  logs  of  dried  fir  glowed 
and  crackled  on  the  hearth,  the  good  wife  turned  her  wheel  cheerily, 
and  Mari  rested  her  chin  upon  her  father's  knee,  and  turned  up  to 
him  the  lustrous  eyes  which  seemed  to  form  quite  the  largest  half  of 
the  pale  face  they  lighted,  to  listen  to  the  wonders  of  \vild  poesie 
which  he  drew  from  a  Gaelic  volume  of  Ossian, —  the  commonest 
study  of  such  among  the  Highlanders  as  study  at  all.  When 
summer  came  again,  the  wizard  maiden  loved  well  to  carry  to  the 
mountain's  brow  afar  off  the  broth  or  sowens  which  formed  her 
father's  simple  meal,  and  to  linger  upon  some  bare  peak  which  over- 
hung the  lake,  till  the  sun  went  down  in  his  glory,  and  the  stars 
came  forth  in  their  gentleness.  For  it  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of 
this  strange  malady,  if  malady  it  may  be  called,  that  the  fit  of  inspi- 
ration neither  comes  when  the  seer  may  desire  its  coming,  nor  admits 
of  control  or  repression.  There  is,  and  there  has  been,  divination 
everywhere.  The  Pythoness  of  old,  the  astrologer  of  the  middle 
ages,  the  fortune-teller  of  our  own  times,  all  have,  or  pretend  to 
have,  intercourse  with  unseen  powers  which  they  control  ;  but  the 
second-sight  is  peculiar  to  the  Scottish  Highlanders,  and  a  heavy 
burthen  it  is  upon  those  individuals  on  whom  destiny  may  lay  it. 

Mari  was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  her  fifteenth  year  when  my 
tale  commences,  though  her  weak  frame  and  stinted  proportions  did 
not  seem  to  claim,  by  several  years,  a  period  of  life  so  far  advanced 
towards  maturity.  If  the  healthful  breeze  of  the  mountains  had 
blown  upon  her  cheek  with  the  invigorating  influence  which  so  often 
attends  upon  it,  she  would  probably  have  been  a  beautiful  specimen 
of  her  peculiar  style  of  peasant  loveliness ;  for  her  features  were 
regular  and  open,  and  in  the  period  of  health,  which  she  occasionally 
enjoyed,  wore  an  expression  of  touching  sweetness  which  spoke  to 
the  heart.  She  had  a  beseeching  light  in  her  deep  grey  eyes,  which 
gave  you  an  impression  that  there  was  some  fervent  and  unuttered 
desire  within  which  this  world  could  not  grant ;  and  the  melan- 
choly languor  of  the  other  features,  and  the  frequency  with  which 
her  face  was  turned  towards  heaven,  suggested  the  idea  that  her 
longing  was  to  be  at  rest. 

One  clear,  blue,  biting  evening  at  the  end  of  October,  that  beautiful 
Scottish  season  when  the  varied  covering  of  tree  and  mountain  is  yet 
stationary  under  the  bright  frosty  atmosphere  of  winter,  Murdoch, 
the  shepherd,  took  his  way  up  the  margin  of  Lochshee  with  his  plaid 
drawn  round  him,  and  his  bonnet  pulled  over  his  eyes,  in  testimony 
of  the  sharpness  of  the  air.  The  breeze  came  keenly  over  the 
mountain-tops,  and  swept  the  atmosphere  of  every  trace  of  cloud  or 
haze ;  but  without  rippling  the  surface  of  the  water,  which  lay,  as 
usual,  dark,  clear,  and  motionless,  as  if  under  the  spell  of  some 
viewless  influence.  The  leaves  of  the  mountain-ash  were  falling 
with  that  sad  sighing  motion,  which  seems  to  say  that  they  are 
grieving  to  resign  their  bright  and  brief  existence  ;  but  the  hardier 
wych-elms  yet  retained  their  dark  green  foliage,  and,  though  rare 
and  straggling,  they  connected  the  bright  blue  sky  and  the  delicate 
tint  of  the  sunset  with  the  departing  season  to  which  they  seemed  to 

Murdoch  took  less  heed  of  the  beauty  of  the  evening  than  we 
have  done,  for  he  was  pushing  briskly  forward,  and  appeared  to 
view  with  some  complacency  the  unusual  breadth  of  the  column  of 


smoke  which  rose  from  the  cottage  chimney,  as  if  betokening  the 
additional  warmth  of  the  blaze  within.  The  shepherd  had  rounded 
the  last  turn  of  the  rocky  footpath,,  which  led  him  by  a  long  sweep 
from  the  opposite  margin  of  the  lake,  and  had  put  his  foot  upon  the 
nearest  of  the  stepping-stones  which  were  to  take  him  dry-shod  over 
the  broad  part  of  the  stream,  as  it  flowed  over  the  level  ground, 
when  his  eye  caught  the  flutter  of  a  plaid,  and  he  looked  hastily  up 
the  river  to  discover  the  owner  of  it,  not  doubting  that  Elspeth's  hour 
of  milking  had  arrived,  and  that  she  had  wrapt  herself  up  to  follow 
its  duties  out  of  doors.  The  plaid,  however,  as  his  quick  eye  soon 
perceived,  was  suspended  from  a  tree,  and  its  folds  prevented  him 
from  tracing  any  figure  to  whom  it  might  belong,  or  which  might 
have  sheltered  behind  it.  The  thought  glanced  across  him  that  Mari 
might  have  retreated  to  her  favourite  haunt,  and  he  pushed  his  way 
through  the  brechans,  with  the  intention  of  winning  her  home  out  of 
the  chill  autumn  air  to  her  mother's  warm  hearth  ;  but  when  he 
drew  aside  the  plaid,  which  hung  like  a  screen  from  some  hazels,  he 
became  like  one  transfixed  at  the  vision  which  met  him.  The  poor 
child  stood  like  one  spell-stricken  close  by  the  verge  of  the  stream- 
let, with  her  small  fleshless  feet  touching  the  water,  her  hands 
pressed  convulsively  over  her  breast,  and  her  eyes  fixed  with  a  wild 
and  rigid  stare  upon  the  surface  of  the  stream,  while  the  masses  of 
long  black  hair,  which  waved  by  the  action  of  the  wind  back  from 
her  unearthly  and  colourless  features,  gave  her,  even  in  the  eyes 
that  were  familiar  with  her  wildest  moods,  an  expression  of  frenzied 

Murdoch  hesitated  for  a  moment,  in  doubt  whether  or  not  he 
could  with  safety  arrest  the  young  Pythoness  in  her  mood  of  inspi- 
ration ;  but  apprehension  for  the  afflicted  creature's  bodily  health 
prevailed,  and  he  advanced  slowly,  yet  with  a  warning  noise,  to  her 
side,  and  said  softly, 

"  The  burn  side  is  ower  chilly  for  you,  Mari  dear ;  come  with  me 
to  your  mother's  fire.  See  how  the  chimney  smokes ;  I  warrant  it  is 
cozier  by  the  nook  this  bitter  even  than  standing  there  without  plaid 
or  brogues  upon  you.  Come  your  ways,  Mari." 

And  he  advanced  nearer  and  nearer,  with  always  a  deeper  tone  of 
entreaty.  The  maiden  stretched  out  her  hand  without  looking  to- 
wards him,  and  drew  her  friendly  visitant  closer  to  the  water's  edge. 

"  Look  you  there,  and  see  what  your  morning  work  will  be.  You 
are  come  to  ask  Robin  Ure  to  hunt  the  fox  on  Craig  Caillach  —  ay, 
ay;  but  Heaven  sends  me  the  power  to  keep  him.  And  I  would 
keep  you  too ;  for  you  are  one  half  o'  my  treasure  of  dust.  There  ! 
— there ! — Will  you  do  as  I  have  warned  you,  or  will  ye  dree  the 
weird  that  mun  surely  come  ?  " 

Murdoch  looked  eagerly  into  the  water,  but  his  gaze  discovered 
nothing,  except  a  dark  spot  upon  its  surface,  caused  by  the  sha- 
dow from  one  of  the  sharp  cliffs  as  it  deepened  in  the  increasing 

"  Well,  well,  Mari  dear,"  answered  he  at  last,  "  there  is  nothing 
but  the  figure  of  the  craig  —  there  is  surely  nothing  to  frighten  you 
in  a  rock  near  which  you  have  lived  all  your  life.  And  if  I  do  wile 
your  father  to  the  fox-hunt  the  morn,  he  kens  all  the  wild  places  in 
the  corri  ower  well  to  make  it  a  dangerous  chase  to  him." 


Mari  made  a  movement  of  impatience,  and  exclaimed  hastily,  and 
as  it  seemed  angrily, 

"  Ah  !  dull  dark  eye-balls  —  clogged  with  worldly  wisdom  —  see 
you  not  that  withered  cluster  of  beechen  leaves  that  floats  upon  the 
burn?  —  there  is  blood  in  its  track,  and  it  has  lodged  in  the  shadow 
of  the  Devil's  Dyke.  See  !  —  see  ! — it  shivers  and  trembles,  and  the 
water  gurgles  under  it.  Blood  —  blood  and  brains  !  —  God  be  with 
us,  Murdoch !  —  one  of  ye  will  find  his  last  chase  on  yon  craig  to- 
morrow. Come — come  !  " 

The  unfortunate  young  prophetess,  overcome  by  the  terrible 
frenzy  of  her  vision,  staggered  backwards,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of 
the  terrified  and  compassionate  shepherd. 

Murdoch's  blood  ran  cold  at  the  mysterious  language  of  the  ex- 
cited creature  before  him.  That  he  had  sought  the  cottage  of  Glen- 
shee  for  the  express  purpose  of  persuading  Robin  to  join  in  the  sport 
to  which  she  had  alluded  was  true  ;  but  it  was  equally  certain  that 
no  living  thing  had  as  yet  been  apprised  of  that  intention  ;  and  the 
information  of  Mari  must  have  been  conveyed  by  a  channel  such  as 
Murdoch  was  far  too  genuine  a  Highlander  to  contemplate  without 
a  shudder.  He  carried  his  unconscious  burthen  to  her  home,  and 
committed  her  to  the  mournful  and  anxious  attendance  of  Elspeth, 
who  found  a  ready  solution  to  the  riddle  of  Murdoch's  scared  and 
solemn  looks  in  the  situation  of  the  poor  little  sufferer,  whom  he 
loved,  as  she  well  knew,  like  a  sister,  and  whom  he  had  but  seldom 
before  seen  in  the  paroxysms  of  her  disease.  Robin  was  from  home 
far  over  the  mountain,  and,  although  the  good  wife  was  in  hourly 
expectation  of  his  return,  yet  Murdoch  was  not  to  be  prevailed  upon 
to  wait  for  him,  but  avowed  his  intention  of  returning  straight  to  his 
home,  as  the  business  which  brought  him  to  the  glen  was  not  of 
so  pressing  a  nature  as  to  demand  his  longer  sojourn.  He  satisfied 
himself,  accordingly,  that  the  hour  of  Robin's  return  from  a  toilsome 
trudge  over  the  hill  would  place  his  accidental  attendance  on  the 
fox-chase  out  of  the  question ;  and  having  so  secured  the  safety  of 
the  old  man  from  the  perils  which  threatened  him,  he  availed  him- 
self of  the  good  wife's  proffered  repast  of  cheese  and  bannocks,  and 
once  more  retraced  his  steps  down  the  side  of  the  lake,  forbearing, 
from  motives  which  may  be  traced  to  the  sensitiveness  of  the  super- 
stitious, to  lighten  the  load  that  weighed  him  down  with  its  mystery 
by  imparting  any  portion  of  it  to  the  maternal  heart  of  Elspeth. 

A  fox-chase  over  the  giant  hills,  cliffs,  and  crags  of  the  Highlands 
is,  no  doubt,  a  species  of  amusement  that  may  prove  somewhat 
startling  to  the  ear  of  a  southern  sportsman  ;  but  when  the  hunt  is 
described  as  performed  on  foot,  and  for  the  sole  purpose  of  exter- 
minating the  creature,  which  the  sheep-farmer  finds  so  inimical  to 
the  interests  of  his  fold,  the  practicability  of  the  exploit  may  be 
admitted,  though  the  perils  attending  it  continue  as  before ;  for 
they  who  have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the.  stout  and  fearless 
agility  with  which  the  young  Highlander  springs  from  crag  to 
crag  after  his  prey,  or  follows  the  hounds  down  the  shelving 
sides  of  scaur  and  corri,  will  confess  that  the  chamois  is  won 
through  scarcely  superior  hazard.  Accordingly,  Mari's  prediction  of 
danger  to  the  hunters  on  that  rugged  and  most  dangerous  promon- 
tory of  the  mountain  called  the  Devil's  Dyke  was  by  no  means  chi- 
merical, as  Murdoch,  with  all  his  strength  of  limb  and  nerve, 


acknowledged ;  and  he  waited  in  considerable  anxiety  the  reports  of 
the  chase  throughout  the  early  part  of  the  morning  that  followed  its 
occurrence.  It  was  not  long  that  his  suspense  continued  ;  for  before 
noontide  a  gilly  from  the  other  side  of  the  hill  came  over  to  tell  him 
that  Angus^Bane  had  slid  from  the  uppermost  pinnacle  of  the  craig, 
and  dashed  his  head  to  atoms  among  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  corri 
called  the  Devil's  Stair,  and  to  bid  Murdoch  come  over  to  his  funeral 
on  the  day  following. 

A  thoughtful  and  an  awe-stricken  man  was  Murdoch  that  evening, 
as  he  once  more  took  his  solitary  way  over  the  path  that  led  him  to 
Glenshee.  His  blood  curdled  in  his  veins  as  he  considered  the  veri- 
fication of  Mari's  prophecy,  with  the  natural  timidity  which,  even 
among  the  most  steady  believers  in  the  supernatural,  fails  not  to  assail 
them  on  any  immediate  experience  of  its  effects.  He  longed  to  be 
himself  the  first  to  communicate  to  the  girl  the  fulfilment  of  her  wild 
prediction,  partly  because  he  wished  to  judge  of  her  faith  in  her  own 
powers  by  her  manner  of  receiving  it,  and  partly  because  he  was 
apprehensive  of  evil  consequences,  should  she  hear  of  the  accident 
from  a  less  heedful  informant.  His  heart  beat  quickly  as  he  passed 
the  scene  of  his  last  night's  adventure,  and  he  asked  himself  if  it 
were  possible  that  a  frame  so  feeble  could  struggle  long  with 
such  fierce  emotions  as  he  had  witnessed  there  ;  and,  as  the  question 
arose,  he  involuntarily  quickened  his  pace,  as  if  in  anxiety  to  learn 
the  well-being  of  the  unfortunate  Mari.  The  shadows  had  deepened 
as  he  sped  along,  and  before  Murdoch  had  crossed  the  burn  its  surface 
was  dimmed  by  the  descending  night ;  but  a  bright  spark  glowed 
from  the  cottage  window,  and  the  wayfarer  strode  forward  enli- 
vened, and  almost  reassured,  by  the  picture  his  fancy  presented  of 
the  snug  group,  and  the  warm  welcome  which  awaited  him.  His 
visions,  however,  were  interrupted  ;  for  before  he  crossed  the 
threshold  he  saw  the  door  open,  and  a  figure  closely  muffled,  which 
he,  nevertheless,  recognised  to  be  Mari,  stepped  out  into  the  dark- 
ness. He  drew  aside  for  an  instant  to  watch  her  motions,  half 
afraid  to  cross  the  young  prophetess  for  the  second  time  by  his  pre- 
sence, and  yet  determined,  if  possible,  to  prevent  so  dismal  a  triumph  of 
her  disease  as  that  to  which  he  had  been  witness  on  the  previous  night. 
He  was  concealed  under  the  hazel  bushes  as  she  passed,  but  her 
garments  touched  him,  and  from  within  the  folds  of  her  plaid  he 
heard  a  loud  sob  and  a  plaining  sound,  that  convinced  him  she  was 
weeping  bitterly,  and  there  was  something  in  the  natural  and  fami- 
liar evidence  of  such  suffering  which  transformed  the  afflicted  being 
before  him  from  an  object  of  dread  and  horror  to  one  of  sympathy 
and  compassion. 

"  Is  it  you,  Mari  dear  ?  "  said  he  in  a  gentle  voice,  and  walking  up 
to  her  from  behind.  "  What  's  takin'  you  out  at  this  time  o'  night, 
an'  the  sky  sae  dark,  an'  the  wind  sae  snell  as  it  is  e'en  now  ?  Surely 
the  beasts  are  a'  closed  in  by  this  time ;  an'  your  mother  could  ha'e 
nae  bit  errand  to  tak'  ye  doon  the  loch  side  after  gloaming.  Come 
your  ways  hame  again,  dearie,  and  leave  that  silly  moon  to  look  frae 
behind  the  clouds  at  her  ain  white  face  in  the  water,  an'  ye  shall  see 
her  some  other  night,  when  there  is  nae  wind  to  drive  the  black  cur- 
tain ower,  an'  to  cut  ye  through  as  this  does." 

The  girl  turned  round  to  him  at  once,  and  answered  in  a  plaintive 
and  sorrowful  tone  as  she  withdrew  the  screen  from  her  face. 


"  Is  it  you,  Murdoch  ?  I  am  thankful  to  God  for  sending  you  to 
me.  I  would  have  had  a  cold  walk  over  Ben  Shee  if  you  had  not 

"  Ben  Shee !"  repeated  the  shepherd.  "Was  it  over  Ben  Shee 
that  ye  were  bound,  Mari,  and  in  search  o'  me?  What  can  I  do  for 
you?  Tell  me  that.  I  'se  do  it,  whatever  it  may  be,"  and  he  drew 
her  towards  him,  and  wrapt  the  sheltering  plaid  closer  round  her 
shivering  frame,  while  she  continued  to  weep  piteously,  and  clung 
to  his  strong  arm,  as  if  in  entreaty. 

"  Promise  me  one  thing,  Murdoch  of  Ben  Shee  —  promise  me," 
said  she  in  a  paroxysm  of  anxiety,  —  "  promise,  as  ye  would  on  a 
dying  bed,  one  thing  that  I  shall  ask  you ;  for,  if  you  refuse,  it 
will  bring  me  to  the  grave.  Old  Robin  Ure,  my  father,  the  kindest 
of  fathers,  and  the  wisest  and  the  best,  he  that  would  not  break  one 
of  the  least  of  the  commands  of  God,  nor  teach  others  to  disregard 
them,  has  refused  me,  and  the  sin  shall  be  upon  his  head,  and  the 
suffering  upon  mine.  Promise  me  that  you  will  be  less  headstrong, 
Murdoch,  and  that  you  will  add  your  words  to  mine,  that  we  may 
move  the  old  man  from  his  purpose ;  promise  that  you  will  not  at- 
tend the  funeral  of  Angus  Bane." 

Murdoch  gave  the  excited  creature  the  promise  she  desired,  and 
then  stood  silent  for  a  few  moments,  surprised  and  bewildered. 

"Oh,  Murdoch!  Murdoch !"  said  Mari  in  a  voice  of  utter  de- 
spair, "what  shall  we  do  to  keep  my  father  at  home?  Remember 
my  words  last  night,  and  then  ask  if  any  childish  whim  is  on  my 
spirit  now.  You,  Murdoch,  you  can  testify  to  the  truth  of  mine  ob- 
servance. You  can  say  whether  phantasies  struggle  with  truth 
within  my  brain  till  it  be  crazed.  Oh,  Murdoch  !  Murdoch  !  tell  you 
the  old  man,  that  if  he  go  to  the  burial,  he  will  never  return.  Tell 
him  that  he  will  leave  his  child  an  orphan,  and  his  wife  a  widow, 
and  that  his  own  old  bones  shall  whiten  where  never  a  voice  will 
wail  his  coronach,  nor  kindly  hand  be  nigh  to  close  his  eyelids,  or  to 
streak  his  corpse ;  that  no  lyke  wake  will  be  held  over  him,  nor 
grass  grow  green  upon  his  heart.  Oh,  Murdoch  !  Murdoch  !  is  it 
not  an  awful  thing  to  die  unblessed,  and  by  our  own  wilful  agency  ? 
to  sleep  with  unhallowed  things,  and  to  leave  those  we  love  best  with- 
out a  prayer  for  them  or  ourselves?  " 

The  poor  girl  stopped  her  gasping  address,  and  her  whole  form 
seemed  to  heave  with  agitation.  Murdoch  soothed  her  for  a  while 
with  promises  of  his  uttermost  endeavours  to  move  the  resolution  of 
her  father,  and  she  grew  calmer  under  the  hopes  of  success  with 
which  he  strove  to  reassure  her. 

"  An'  what  for  should  we  no  follow  poor  old  Angus  to  his  lang 
hame,  Mari  ?  "  asked  he  at  last.  "  Angus  was  one  of  your  father's 
oldest  friends  on  all  Ben  Shee;  an'  he  must  hae  a  glide  reason  for  't 
before  he  agree  to  stay  at  hame,  an'  let  others  mourn  for  him.  Tell 
me,  Mari  dear,  what  ye  are  afraid  for?  " 

Mari  flung  the  plaid  far  back  from  her  face  and  head,  and  turned 
her  forehead  up  to  the  white  moonshine,  till  Murdoch  could  see  that 
the  beam  itself  was  not  more  wan  and  deathlike.  Her  features  were  all 
at  work  with  the  spell  of  her  malady ;  she  waved  her  arms  for  him 
to  follow,  and  then  flitted  past  him  to  a  small  ridge,  or  knoll,  on  the 
margin  of  her  favourite  stream.  When  she  had  gained  the  summit, 
she  stood  with  her  back  towards  the  waters,  her  face  turned  fully 


up  to  the  sky,  and  her  arms  stretched  out  over  the  valley  at  her  feet, 
the  impersonation  of  an  inspired  priestess. 

"  See,  see,  they  are  coming,"  said  she  in  an  eager  and  concen- 
trated tone,  and  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  some  object  in  the  val- 
ley, which  Murdoch  fancied  the  dim  night  alone  prevented  him 
from  tracing :  "  they  are  coming  slowly  —  slowly  —  a  bonny  burial, 
an'  six  mourners  at  the  bier:  they  are  coming  o'er  the  moor  o' 
Chrom  Dhu,  and  their  black  shadows  are  following  them  like 
spirits.  Stand  aside,  Murdoch  ;  they  will  pass  even  now,  and  we 
may  count  the  bearers,  and  see  if  Robin  Ure  be  among  them." 

Murdoch  stared  wistfully  at  the  spell-bound  creature  before  him, 
and,  as  he  scanned  the  deathly  features  and  gleaming  eyes,  his  heart 
swelled  with  a  compassionate  longing  to  arrest,  even  in  its  progress, 
the  destroying  influence  that  was  upon  her.  He  felt  that  it  could  be 
no  visible  shadow  on  which  her  gaze  was  fixed  with  such  a  fearful 
intensity,  for  the  moor  of  Chrom  Dhu  was  far  away  over  the  other 
side  of  the  mountain.  He  took  both  her  cold  hands,  and,  chafing 
them  gently  with  his  own,  spoke  kindly  to  her  in  words  of  comfort 
and  remonstrance. 

"  Yon  's  no  Chrom  Dhu,  Mari  dear  ;  it 's  your  ain  bonnie  Glen- 
shee,  an'  there 's  nae  living  shadows  moving  on  it ;  it  is  but  the 
waving  of  your  ain  black  firs  you  are  looking  at,  and  the  clouds  that 
are  scudding  so  mirkily  ower  the  moor.  Let  us  go,  Mari ;  ye  will 
catch  your  very  death  in  this  dreary  night." 

"  Trees  and  clouds  !  "  said  the  maiden  with  a  terrible  laugh  :  "  do 
they  bury  each  other,  and  walk  in  such  goodly  ranks  as  these  do? 
Kneel  down,  poor  clay,  and  you  shall  see." 

Murdoch  almost  unconsciously  obeyed  her,  and  she  stood  hanging 
over  him,  so  as  to  bring  their  figures  into  the  closest  possible  contact ; 
then,  placing  one  hand  upon  her  side,  she  made  him  look  through  the 
angle  formed  by  her  elbow,  and  speak  not  till  his  gaze  was  done. 
The  prohibition  was  unnecessary.  Murdoch  drew  his  breath  be- 
tween his  closed  teeth,  the  blood  stood  still  in  his  veins,  his  flesh 
moved,  and  his  brain  sickened  with  horror. 

A  funeral  procession,  in  solemn  and  regular  array,  moved  steadily 
along  within  a  few  paces  of  the  spot  where  he  stood.  The  pall,  the  bier, 
the  coffin,  and  the  mourning  habiliments,  all  were  as  distinct  and  pal- 
pable as  the  commonest  occurrences  of  life,  and  they  gradually  ap- 
proached nearer  and  nearer  with  their  slow  and  measured  move- 
ment, and  their  noiseless  tread,  till  the  gazer  felt  his  eye-strings 
crack  as  he  measured  the  diminishing  distance.  On  they  came  — 
dark,  dismal,  and  solemn — nearer,  nearer,  and  nearer, — on  they  came 
with  a  tread  which  was  the  more  horrible  because  it  gave  back  no 
sound.  Murdoch  felt  the  atmosphere  of  a  crowd  ;  felt  their  gar- 
ments stir  the  air  as  they  passed  him  ;  felt  the  burial-pall  flap  beside 
his  very  cheek,  and  his  soul  shuddered  with  horror.  The  faces  of 
friends  and  kinsmen  were  among  that  company  of  wraiths,  and 
Murdoch  felt  the  arm  of  Mari  grasp  his  neck  with  a  convulsive 
clutch  as  the  last  stragglers  passed  the  spot.  Another,  and  another 
lingered  ;  one  more,  —  it  was  Robin  Ure.  A  white  mist  fell  upon 
the  vision  of  Murdoch,  and,  with  a  scream  of  agony,  he  fell  senseless 
upon  the  heather. 

When  Murdoch  awoke  from  his  trance  he  was  alone.  Mari  had 
disappeared,  the  sky  was  pure  and  cloudless,  and  the  full  moon 


shed  light  and  gladness  over  the  valley.  The  shepherd  arose, 
with  a  heavy  sickness  at  his  heart,  and  a  bewilderment  in  his  brain, 
that  rendered  his  memory  dim.  He  was  gradually  conscious  of  some 
deadly  peril  that  hung  over  his  old  and  valued  friend ;  a  peril  which 
he  had  promised  all  his  efforts  to  avert,  and  which  rendered  his  pre- 
sence in  the  cottage  an  immediate  necessity. 

The  next  moment  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  shealing, 
and  was  wending  his  way  with  enfeebled  steps  towards  his  home. 
"  I  have  seen  the  future,"  was  his  reflection,  "  and  is  mine  a  hand  to 
change  the  decrees  of  Providence  ?  "  Human  companionship  at  that 
moment  would  have  shaken  again  the  scarcely-established  intellect, 
and  he  walked  homeward.  Sleep  was  not  destined  to  visit  the  eyes  of 
Murdoch  during  that,  nor  many  succeeding  nights  of  his  existence, 
and  the  whole  of  the  next  day  he  walked  about  like  one  in  a  dream, 
with  the  horrible  spell  of  his  memory  clinging  to  him  like  a  fiend, 
and  making  the  very  sunshine  black  with  its  presence. 

A  dreadful  mystery  was  before  him :  he  knew  not  what  evil  it 
portended,  but,  to  look  upon  the  similitude  of  the  living,  he  well 
knew,  was  to  number  them  shortly  with  the  dead,  and  he  felt,  as  it 
were,  instinctively  that  he  had  seen  Robin  for  the  last  time.  A  fe- 
verish desire  was  upon  him  to  make  one  in  that  company  of  wraiths; 
and,  despite  his  solemn  vow  to  Mari,  the  temptation  rose  strong  and 
vivid  to  follow  in  the  train  of  Angus's  funeral,  and  witness,  even  at 
the  cost  of  participating  in,  the  danger  that  threatened  it. 

The  burial  would  take  place  at  early  morning  ;  and,  as  the  church- 
yard lay  far  away,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  set  out  overnight, 
that  he  might  join  the  procession  in  its  march.  He  was  resolved  to 
go.  The  clouds  of  the  previous  night  had  fulfilled  their  omen,  for  a 
heavy  fall  of  snow  continued  throughout  the  day,  and,  by  the  hour 
of  starting,  had  rendered  the  mountain-path  neither  pleasant  nor 
safe  to  traverse ;  but  Murdoch  was  determined  to  share  the  peril  of 
which  he  alone  had  received  the  warning,  and  by  midnight  he  was 
prepared  to  start.  The  storm  still  raged,  and  the  wind  drifted  the 
snow  about  in  wreaths,  till  the  density  of  the  atmosphere  became 
appalling;  yet  the  spell-stricken  shepherd  did  not  waver  in  his 
purpose.  He  folded  his  plaid  about  him,  and  quenched  his  solitary 
fire,  and  was  about  to  extinguish  the  lamp  before  he  went  forth,  when 
a  low  knocking  at  the  door,  and  a  feeble  and  continued  moan,  sent  the 
blood  to  his  heart,  and  the  tremor  to  his  limbs,  which  a  less  myste- 
rious incident  might  have  lent  them  in  the  present  fever  of  his 

After  a  few  moments  of  hesitation,  however,  the  knocking  was  re- 
peated, and  Murdoch  advanced  to  the  door,  wondering  if  any  human 
applicant  could  indeed  seek  shelter  on  such  a  night.  The  gust  blew 
out  the  lamp  as  he  slowly  undid  the  fastening  of  the  door,  and 
looked  abroad  upon  the  tempest.  A  dim  object  lay  half  across  the 
threshold,  and  he  moved  it  with  his  hand  before,  he  could  be  con- 
vinced that  thence  issued  the  piteous  moaning  which  met  his 
ear.  A  very  slight  exertion  was  sufficient  to  place  the  creature — by 
whatever  denomination  it  went — upon  its  feet,  and  Murdoch  turned 
it  to  the  half-open  door,  that  the  vague  light  of  the  sky  might  give 
him  the  means,  which  the  darkened  cottage  withheld,  of  identifying 

"God  pity  you,  poor  shorn  lamb  !  is  it  you  ?  "  exclaimed  the  stout 


Highlander  in  a  faltering  voice,  as  the  wasted  lineaments  of  Mari  be- 
came visible  from  the  folds  of  the  plaid;  "is  it  you,  or  is 't  your 
wraith  that  has  breasted  the  wind  and  the  storm  for  nae  purpose  but 
to  scare  the  little  sense  that  ye  left  me,  clean  awa'  ?" 

"  Murdoch  !  Murdoch  !  "  answered  the  poor  maiden  in  a  spent 
and  feeble  tone,  that  sounded  itself  like  the  wail  of  the  tempest, 
"  come  your  ways ;•  it  was  indeed  the  spirit  that  brought  this  wretch- 
ed body  over  the  mountain  in  life.  Blessings  on  you,  Murdoch,  for 
expecting  me  ;  the  plaid  and  the  brogues  will  not  be  to  seek.  Come 
quickly,  Murdoch.  My  strength  failed  me,  or  I  should  have  been 
earlier.  Come  —  come!  they  are  near  the  Chrom  by  this  time," 
and  she  pulled  the  corner  of  his  plaid,  and  turned  once  more  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  An'  where  is  it  ye  would  lead  me  now,  Mari  ?  "  said  the  shep- 
herd. "  Ye  are  no  able  for  a  longer  walk  the  night.  Sit  down,  an' 
rest  ye,  Mari  dear,  and  take  off  that  snowy  plaid,  and  I  '11  kindle  up 
the  logs  again  ;  and  here  's  new  milk  in  the  corner,  that  I  brought 
in,  little  thinking  ye  would  need  it,  and  you'll  soon  be  warm  and 
strong  again;  and  by  morning  dawn  we'll  set  off  to  Glenshee. 
Your  poor  mother  will  be  half-crazed  when  she  misses  you."  And 
he  strove  earnestly  to  lead  her  mind  from  the  subject  of  her  con- 
tinued ramble,  but  it  was  all  in  vain ;  she  stamped  her  foot  upon 
the  ground  impatiently.  "  Warmed  and  fed  !  "  said  she  indignantly, 
"  when  I  might  be  looking  my  last  upon  those  who  will  never  be 
warmed  or  fed  again  !  Man  !  I  tell  you  to  come  with  me,  if  you 
would  not  rue  it  to  the  last  moment  of  your  life,"  and  she  turned 
from  him  again  with  a  gesture  of  command. 

"Whither  then,  Mari,"  said  the  shepherd  submissively,  "whither 
am  I  to  follow  you  ?  You  cannot  reach  Chrom  Dhu,  were  you  as 
strong  as  I  am,  before  morning,  unless  you  climb  the  south  shoulder 
of  the  Devil's  Dyke;  and,  when  ye  are  even  on  the  tjpp  o'  the  crag, 
it  takes  a  stronger  limb  and  a  firmer  foot  than  yours  to  make  its  way 
down  the  other  side." 

"  There  is  no  need,  Murdoch,"  answered  the  unfortunate  in  her 
former  tone  of  helplessness.  "  We  can  but  look  upon  the  work  of 
doom  were  we  beside  it,  —  that  may  as  well  be  done  from  the  crao- 

•  A        i  />  y>  *  ° 


The  storm  was  somewhat  abated  when  they  set  forth,  and,  though 
the  snow  still  fell  heavily,  there  was  no  impenetrable  mist  of  moving 
wreaths  to  make  their  progress  one  of  danger  as  well  as  of  difficulty. 
Murdoch  was  hurried  along  by  his  frail  conductress  with  an  activity 
that  seemed  the  effect  of  some  supernatural  gift.  She  made  her  way 
through  the  drifted  snow  with  a  speed  which  taxed  even  his  own 
powers  ;  and  glided  up  the  toilsome  ascent  which  led  to  the  Devil's 
Dyke  so  quickly  and  easily,  that  Murdoch  felt  his  blood  chill  with 
the  remembrance  that  she  was  not  gifted  like  himself.  At  length  the 
summit  of  the  crag  was  gained,  and  Mari  stood  fearlessly  on  its 
ridge,  and  looked  over  into  the  wild  hollow  of  Chrom  Dhu. 

The  Chrom  was  a  lonely  moor,  or,  rather  a  peat-hagg,  leafless  and 
trackless,  that  yawned  in  one  long  stripe  of  savage  sterility  at  the 
foot  of  the  precipice.  In  the  middle  of  the  waste  lay  a  small  sheet 
of  moss-water,  unfathomably  deep,  but  generally  discernible  from 
all  points,  stagnant  and  motionless  as  it  was,  from  the  pitchy  colour 
of  its  surface,  which  was  esteemed  a  sufficient  warrant  for  the  safety 


of  the  cattle,  that  might  otherwise  have  been  tempted  to  its  mar- 
gin. The  wild  singularity  of  the  Chrom  was  this  night  completely 
veiled  by  the  pure  covering  of  snow  that  lay  deep  and  spotless  upon 
its  bosom.  Even  the  black  pool  had  been  previously  frozen  up, 
and  retained,  in  consequence,  its  share  of  the  universal  shroud.  The 
dull  white  light  of  the  sky,  and  the  uniformity  of  the  earth,  made 
every  object,  even  at  the  foot  of  the  crag,  distinctly  visible  ;  and 
Murdoch  stood  motionless,  gazing  downwards,  expecting  each  mo- 
ment that  he  numbered  to  see  the  funeral  procession  of  Angus  Bane 
enter  the  Chrom  on  its  progress  to  the  churchyard. 

The  snow  had  ceased,  and  the  dawn  was  far  advanced,  leaving  the 
whole  sweep  of  the  valley  at  their  command ;  and  before  Murdoch 
had  recovered  breath  from  the  steep  .ascent  of  the  crag,  the  foremost 
of  the  train  of  mourners  appeared  in  view.  They  came  in  one  large 
group,  closely  gathered  about  the  bier,  and  followed  by  one  or  two 
straggling  lingerers,  exactly  as  Murdoch  remembered  their  arrange- 
ment in  his  vision  of  the  night.  On  they  went, — their  black  figures 
clearly  traced  upon  the  white  ground,  and  each  one  casting  a  long 
shadow,  that  loomed  far  over  the  earth,  with  a  strange  and  frightful 
appearance  in  the  solitude.  On  they  came ;  and  Mari's  breath  came 
in  suffocating  gasps,  and  she  tossed  her  arms  wildly  to  the  sky. 
Murdoch  watched  them  with  an  eagerness  that  bound  every  sense 
into  one  long  gaze.  On  they  came,  slowly,  steadily, — on  and  on,  till 
they  had  reached  the  middle  of  the  moor.  Murdoch's  heart  quailed 
and  sickened  within  him,  and  Mari  laughed  in  her  agony  with  a  cry 
of  madness. 

"  God  be  merciful !  The  pool !  the  pool !  "  shouted  Murdoch  till 
his  broad  chest  heaved  and  strained  with  the  effort. 

It  was  in  vain :  the  doomed  train  had  missed  their  way  on  that 
trackless  desert,  and  were  all  in  the  centre  of  the  lake  before  the 
treacherous  ice  gave  way.  It  was  the  work  of  an  instant.  One 
crackling  sound  reached  even  to  the  ears  of  the  watchers, — one  fell 
plunge,  and  the  bier  and  the  mourners,  the  dead  and  the  doomed, 
were  engulfed  for  ever.  Murdoch  caught  Mari  in  his  arms,  as  in 
her  frenzy  she  would  have  leapt  from  the  crag  at  the  moment  of  their 
immersion,  and,  flinging  her  over  his  shoulder  like  a  three  years 
child,  he  took  his  sorrowful  way  to  the  desolate  cottage  of  Glenshee. 

The  afflicted  creature  moaned  and  sobbed  for  awhile  in  his  arms, 
as  if  the  fury  of  her  paroxysm  were  subsiding,  and  as  each  gasp  came 
feebler  and  feebler,  Murdoch  pleased  himself  with  the  thought  that 
her  terrible  exertions  were  repaid  by  sleep.  At  last  the  sounds  of 
her  mourning  ceased  entirely ;  her  head  hung  heavier  and  heavier 
on  his  neck,  and  Murdoch  reached  the  shealing  like  one  who  walks 
in  a  dream.  Mari  was  dead ;  and  Murdoch  gave  to  poor  old  Els- 
peth  the  body  of  her  child,  and  the  news  of  her  widowhood,  at  the 
same  moment. 

Murdoch's  experience  of  second  sight  was  not  fatal.  He  is  still 
alive,  and, 

A  better  and  a  wiser  man 
He  rose  the  morrow  morn. 

VOL.  VI. 




The  benefits  of  being  soused  in  a  horse-trough.  —  Some  farther  specimens  of  Miss 
Sowersoft's  moral  excellence.  —  An  unlooked-for  discovery  is  partially  made, 
which  materially  concerns  Miss  Fanny  Woodruff  and  Dr.  Rowel. 

ON  the  following  morning  Palethorpe  arose,  and  finding  Colin 
still  asleep,  was  proceeding,  whip  in  hand,  to  help  him  up  ac- 
cording to  custom,  when,  as  he  turned  down  the  clothes  that 
almost  enveloped  the  child's  head,  the  unusual  appearance  of 
his  countenance  arrested  the  man's  attention  as  well  as  his  hand. 
His  veins  were  swollen  with  rapid  bounding  blood,  and  his  heart 
thumped  audibly  in  its  place,  and  with  doubly  accelerated  mo- 
tion, as  though  eagerly  hastening  to  beat  out  its  appointed 
number  of  pulsations,  and  leave  the  little  harassed  life  it  con- 
tained again  free  from  the  pains  and  vexations  of  this  lower 

A  blush  of  remorse  passed  for  a  moment  over  the  man's 
dark  countenance  as  he  gazed.  What  had  they  done  to  him  ? 
—  what  was  amiss  ?  He  covered  the  boy  carefully  up  again, 
and  hastened  down  stairs  to  communicate  the  news  to  Miss 

"  Oh, — it 's  all  nonsense  !  "  she  exclaimed,  on  hearing  all  that 
Mr.  Palethorpe  had  to  say  about  it.  "  The  lad  \  got  a  bit  of  a 
cold, — that  ?s  all.  I  '11  make  him  a  basin  of  milk,  with  a  little  of 
that  nice  feverfew  out  of  the  garden  boiled  in  it,  and  then  if 
you  wake  him  up,  and  let  him  take  that,  it  will  stick  to  his 
ribs,  and  do  him  an  amazing  deal  of  good." 

But  as  there  was  no  hurry  about  such  a  matter,  Miss  Maria 
very  leisurely  took  her  own  breakfast  before  she  set  about  car- 
rying her  very  charitable  project  into  execution.  When  the 
milk,  with  some  sprigs  of  feverfew  boiled  in  it,  was  ready,  Sally 
was  sent  up  stairs  with  it.  She  found  Colin  awake,  but  weak 
and  ill;  and,  much  to  her  surprise,  on  presenting  him  with  a 
lump  of  bread  and  the  basin  of  milk,  which  more  closely  re- 
sembled a  light  green  wash  for  stencilling  walls,  than  any  true 
Christian  dish,  he  could  neither  touch  nor  bear  the  sight  of 

"  La  !"  cried  Sally,  "  why,  I  never  heard  anything  like  it,  as 
to  neither  eat  nor  drink  !  Come,  cram  a  bit  down  your  throat 
with  your  finger,  and  see  if  it  will  not  get  you  an  appetite. 
Why,  /can  eat  and  drink  very  well,  and  why  shouldn't  you? 
Come,  come,-— don't  be  soft,  and  refuse  what  Goramighty  sends 
you,  while  jt  lies  in  your  power  to  get  it.  I  'm  sure  this  milk  is 
very  nice,  indeed.11 


In  corroboration  of  her  statement  she  took  a  sip.  But  Colin 
shook  his  head  feebly  and  heavily,  and  declared  it  would  do  him 
no  good.  He  could  take  nothing, — he  wanted  nothing,  but  to 
be  left  alone,  that  he  might  think  and  wish,  and  weep  as  he 
thought  and  wished,  that  he  were  but  once  more  at  home,  or 
that  his  mother  or  Fanny  were  but  with  him. 

Shortly  after  Sally  had  returned  below  stairs,  and  communi- 
cated the  astounding  intelligence  that  Colin  would  take  neither 
bit  nor  sup,  Miss  Sowersoft  herself  crept  up  stairs.  She  assured 
him  he  had  plenty  of  colour  in  his  face;  that  there  could  not  be 
anything  particularly  amiss  with  him  ;  advised  him  against  put- 
ting on  pretences  of  sickness,  lest  he  should  be  struck  with 
sickness  in  reality  as  a  judgment  on  him,  like  the  children  that 
mocked  the  prophet  Elijah,  and  were  eaten  up  by  bears;  and 
concluded  by  insinuating,  that  if  he  were  tickled  with  a  whip- 
thong,  he  would  in  all  probability  be  a  great  deal  better  directly. 
"  Send  me  home.'1'  bitterly  ejaculated  Colin,  bursting  into 
tears.  "  Put  me  in  a  cart,  and  send  me  home  !  —  I  want  to  go 
home  !  —  I  must  go  home  !  —  Mother  !  —  Fanny  !  —  Oh,  come 
to  me  ! — I  shall  die — I  shall  die  !  " 

Miss  Sowersoft  felt  rather  alarmed  ;  but  reflecting  that  there 
was  nothing  like  showing  a  liitle  spirit  and  resolution  when 
young  folks  took  such  whims  as  those  into  their  heads,  she 
severely  taunted  him  with  being  home-sick  and  mother-sick; 
told  him  that  neither  she  nor  Fanny,  if  they  were  present,  could 
do  more  for  him  than  she  could  ;  and  threatened  that,  if  he  did 
not  leave  off  that  hideous  noise,  which  was  disgraceful  to  a  great 
lad  of  his  age,  she  would  tie  a  stocking  round  his  mouth,  and 
stop  him  that  way.  There  being  no  great  consolation  in  all  this, 
it  is  not  surprising  that  our  hero  made  such  slight  application  of 
it,  that,  for  the  matter  of  any  difference  it  made  in  him,  Miss 
Sowersoft  might  just  as  well  have  tied  her  stocking  across  her 
own  mouth,  or  stuffed  it  in  either,  which  ever  she  might  prefer, 
as  have  given  utterance  to  it.  She  was  therefore  constrained  to 
submit  to  the  lad's  own  way,  and  to  confess  in  her  own  mind  that 
there  really  was  something  more  amiss  with  him  than  at  first  she 
had  believed. 

By  mid-day  he  had  become  a  great  deal  worse  ;  and  in  the 
afternoon,  as  his  disorder  still  rapidly  increased,  Mr.  Palethorpe 
was  despatched  on  horseback  to  Bramleigh,  for  the  purpose  of 
consulting  Dr.  Rowel. 

About  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  returned  home,  bringing 
with  him  a  packet  of  white  powders  in  little  blue  papers,  tied 
together  much  in  the  fashion  of  that  little  pyrotechnic  engine  of 
mischief  usually  denominated  a  cracker. 

Certain  fears  which  had  by  this  time  crept  over  the  mind  of 
Miss  Sowersoft  caused  her  to  be  more  than  usually  charitable 
and  eager  in  her  inquiries  after  the  doctor's  opinion  about  Colin  : 
but  the  answers  she  received  were  neither  very  conclusive  nor 

Q  2 

<>08  COLIN    CLINK. 

very  satisfactory.  She  was,  in  fact,  obliged  to  seek  for  consola- 
tion, for  the  present,  in  the  belief,  which  she  struggled  hard  to 
impress  firmly  upon  herself,  that  the  boy's  illness  had  arisen 
wholly  in  consequence  of  his  sitting  on  the  ground  so  late  in 
the  evening  to  write  his  letter  ;  and  that  his  subsequent  sousing 
in  the  horse-trough  had  no  connexion  whatever  with  it ;  as  he 
might  very  easily  have  fallen  accidentally  into  a  river  instead, 
and  received  no  more  harm  from  it  than  he  had  from  the  afore- 
said pumping. 

During  several  subsequent  days,  the  boy  continued  in  such  a 
state  as  filled  his  mistress's  heart  with  continual  apprehensions 
lest  her  house  should  eventually  be  troubled  with  his  corpse. 
About  his  death,  considering  that  event  solely  by  itself,  she 
cared  very  little ;  he  might  live  or  die,  just  as  his  constitution 
inclined  him,  for  aught  she  would  choose  between  the  two  ; 
only,  in  case  he  should  not  survive,  it  would  annoy  her  very 
much  indeed  to  have  all  the  trouble  of  getting  another  body's 
corpse  prepared  for  the  ground,  without,  in  all  likelihood,  ever 
receiving  from  Mrs.  Clink  a  single  halfpenny  in  return  for  it. 
She  mentioned  her  apprehensions  to  Mr.  Palethorpe,  who  replied, 
that  it  was  all  silly  childishness  to  allow  herself  to  be  imposed 
on  by  her  own  good  feelings,  and  that  talk  about  humanity 
would  never  do  for  folks  so  far  north  as  they  were.  On  this 
unquestioned  authority  Miss  Sowersoft  would  inevitably  have 
acted  that  very  day,  and  removed  our  hero,  at  any  risk,  to 
Bramleigh,  in  order  to  give  him  a  chance  of  dying  comfortably 
at  home,  had  not  fortune  so  ordered  it,  that,  while  preparations 
were  being  made  for  taking  him  from  a  bed  of  fever  into  an 
open  cart  which  stood  ready  in  the  yard,  Dr.  Rowel  chanced  to 
ride  up,  and  at  once  put  his  veto  upon  their  proceedings.  Not 
that  the  doctor  would  by  any  means  have  purposely  ridden  half 
the  distance  for  the  sake  of  such  a  patient ;  but  as  chance 
not  unfrequently  favours  those  whom  their  own  species  despise, 
it  happened  that  his  professional  assistance  had  that  after- 
noon been  required  in  the  case  of  a  wealthy  old  lady  in  the 
neighbourhood ;  and,  as  the  doctor's  humanity  was  not,  at  all 
events,  so  very  short-legged  as  not  to  be  able  to  carry  him  one 
quarter  of  a  mile  when  it  lay  in  his  way,  he  took  Snitterton 
Lodge  in  his  circuit,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  Master  Colin. 

It  will  readily  be  supposed  that  during  these  few  days,  (as 
the  boy  had  not  made  his  appearance  at  home  on  the  previous 
Sunday,  according  to  conditional  promise,)  both  his  mother  and 
Fanny  had  almost  hourly  been  expecting  to  hear  from  him.  Nor 
had  various  discussions  on  the  cause  of  his  silence  been  by  any 
means  omitted.  Mrs.  Clink  attributed  it  to  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing found  everything  so  very  pleasant  at  Snitterton  Lodge,  that 
he  really  had  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  wean  himself 
for  a  few  short  hours  from  the  delights  with  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded ;  but  Fanny,  whose  mind  had  been  dwelling  ever  since 

COLIN   CLINK.  209 

his  departure  upon  the  dismal  forebodings  with  which  Miss 
Sowersoft's  appearance  had  filled  it,  expressed  to  Mrs.  Clink  her 
full  belief  that  something  had  happened  to  Colin,  or  he  would 
never  have  neglected  either  to  come  himself,  or  to  write,  as  he 
had  promised. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  continued,  very  pensively,  "  it  has  made 
me  so  uneasy  all  this  last  week,  that  I  have  dreamed  about  him 
almost  every  night.  Something  has  happened  to  him,  I  am  as 
certain  as  if  I  had  seen  it ;  for  I  can  trust  to  Colin's  word 
just  as  well  as  though  he  had  taken  his  oath  about  it.  How- 
ever, I  will  walk  over  this  afternoon  and  see  ;  for  I  shall  never 
rest  until  I  know  for  a  certainty."" 

"  Walk,  fiddlesticks  I"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clink.  "  If  you  go 
over  there  in  that  suspicious  manner,  as  though  you  fancied 
they  had  murdered  him,  it  is  a  hundred  to  one  but  you  will 
affront  Miss  Sowersoft,  and  get  Colin  turned  out  of  a  situation 
that  may  be  the  making  of  him.  Stay  where  you  are — do;  and 
if  you  cannot  make  anything,  do  not  mar  it  by  interfering  in 
a  matter  that  you  know  nothing  about.  I  have  had  trouble 
enough  with  him  one  way  or  another,  without  his  being  brought 
back  on  my  hands,  when  he  is  as  comfortable,  I  dare  say,  as  he 
possibly  can  be." 

Though  the  latter  remark  was  evidently  intended  to  apply  to 
Fanny's  supposed  injudicious  solicitude  for  Colin's  welfare,  the 
girl  passed  it  by  without  observation.  She  hurried  her  day's 
work  forwards,  in  order  to  gain  the  necessary  time  for  making 
her  projected  visit ;  and  at  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
suddenly  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Clink,  without  in- 
forming her  previously  touching  her  place  of  destination. 

While  Dr.  Rowel  was  yet  in  attendance  on  Colin,  Fanny 
arrived,  and  introduced  herself  to  Miss  Sowersoft,  as  she  was 
employing  herself  in  picking  the  pips  off  a  handful  of  cowslips 
which  lay  in  her  lap.  On  seeing  Fanny  thus  unexpectedly,  and 
under  circumstances  which  she  felt  would  require  some  very 
ingenious  explanation  or  evasion,  her  countenance  seemed  to 
darken  as  though  a  positive  shadow  had  been  cast  upon  it.  A 
struggle  between  her  real  feelings  and  her  consciousness  of  the 
necessity  to  disguise  them  ensued  ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
brief  seconds  the  darkness  of  her  countenance  passed  away,  and 
she  affected  to  salute  her  unwelcome  visiter  with  much  cor- 

In  reply  to  Fanny's  inquiry  respecting  Colin,  Miss  Maria 
stated  that  he  was  improving  very  nicely  under  Mr.  Palethorpe's 
tuition,  although  they  had  had  some  trouble  to  make  him  do  as 
he  was  bid ;  that  he  had  enjoyed  the  most  extraordinary  good 
health  until  a  few  days  ago,  when  he  took  a  little  cold,  which  had 
made  him  rather  poorly. 

"  There  ! — I  was  sure  of  it ! "  cried  Fanny,  interrupting  her  ; 
"  I  said  so  to  his  mother  before  I  came  away.  I  knew  there  was 

210  COLIN   CLINK. 

something  amiss,  or  he  would  have  written  to  us  before  now. 
And  how  did  he  take  such  a  cold,  Miss  Sowersoft  ?  " 

"  Take  cold  ! why,  you  know  there  are  a  hundred  different 

ways  of  taking'  cold,  and  it  is  impossible  sometimes  for  even 
a  person  himself  to  say  how  he  took  it.  I  am  sure  Palethorpe 
gets  tremendous  colds  sometimes,  and  how  he  gets  them  is  a 
perfect  miracle.  But,  on  my  word,  cold  is  so  insinuating,  that 
really,  as  I  say  sometimes,  there  is  not  a  part  but  it  will  find 
its  way  to  at  one  time  or  another." 

«  Yes  but  where  is  Colin  now  ?  —  because  I  shall  want  to 

see  him  before  I  go  back." 

"  Oh,  he  is  somewhere  about  the  house,"  replied  Miss  Maria, 
with  an  unprecedented  degree  of  effrontery  ;  "  but  your  seeing 
him  is  not  of  the  least  consequence.  It  cannot  cure  his  cold; 
and  as  for  anything  else,  it  would  very  likely  make  him  all  the 
more  discontented  when  you  were  gone  again.  If  you  take  my 
advice,  you  would  not  see  him,  especially  when  I  can  tell  you 
everything  just  the  same  as  though  you  saw  it  yourself?1 

At  this  moment  the  foot  of  the  doctor,  as  he  groped  his  way 
down  stairs,  was  overheard  by  the  speaker.  She  started  up 
instantly,  and  endeavoured  to  hurry  Fanny  out  of  the  room 
before  that  professional  gentleman  should  enter  it ;  but  her 
manoeuvre  failed,  and  before  Miss  Sowersoft  could  caution  him 
to  be  silent  the  doctor  remarked,  in  a  sufficiently  loud  tone  to 
be  heard  distinctly  by  both,  that  unless  the  boy  was  taken  great 
care  of,  there  was  little  chance  left  of  his  recovery. 

"  What  boy  ?  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  rushing  forward.  "  What ! 
is  he  so  ill  as  that  ?  For  God's  sake  let  me  see  hin\!  " 

Concluding  from  the  direction  in  which  the  doctor  had  come 
that  Colin  was  somewhere  in  the  regions  above,  she  flew  rather 
than  walked  up  stairs,  without  waiting  for  an  invitation  or  a 
conductor,  and  soon  threw  her  arms  in  an  ecstasy  of  grief  upon 
his  neck. 

"  Oh,  Colin  !  God  has  sent  me  on  purpose  to  save  you  !  Do 
be  better,  and  you  shall  go  home  again  very  soon." 

But  Colin  could  only  put  up  his  pallid  arms  in  an  imploring 
action,  and  cry  for  very  joy,  as  he  gazed  in  the  face  of  one  of 
those  only  two  who  had  occupied  his  day  and  night  thoughts, 
and  been  the  unconscious  subjects  of  his  unceasing  and  most 
anxious  wishes. 

The  trouble  of  this  first  meeting  being  over,  some  more  quiet 
conversation  ensued  ;  and,  although  almost  too  ill  and  weak  to 
be  allowed  to  talk,  Colin  persisted  in  stating  briefly  to  the  horror- 
stricken  Fanny  the  kind  of  reception  he  had  met  with  on  his 
arrival,  his  treatment  afterwards,  the  taking  of  his  letter  from 
him,  and  the  brutal  conduct  which  had  caused  his  present  ill- 
ness. The  girl  stood  silent,  merely  because  she  knew  not  what 
to  think,  what  to  believe,  what  to  doubt ;  and  was  besides  utterly 
lost  for  words  to  express  properly  her  strangely  mingled 


thoughts.  It  was  almost  impossible — incredible  !  Why  could 
they  do  it  ?  There  was  no  cause  for  it — there  could  be  no  cause 
for  it.  Human  nature,  and  especially  human  nature  in  the 
shape  of  woman,  was  incapable  of  anything  so  infamous.  Yet 
Colin  was  sensible — he  had  told  an  intelligible  tale  ;  and,  most 
true  of  all,  there  he  lay,  a  mere  vision  of  what  he  was  so 
brief  a  time  ago, —  a  warranty  plain  and  palpable  that  griev- 
ous wrong  had  been  endured.  Her  brain  was  absolutely 
bewildered  —  she  looked  like  one  hovering  on  the  doubtful 
boundary  between  sense  and  insanity.  She  cast  her  eyes  around 
for  surety  —  on  the  bed  —  at  him.  A  burst  of  tears,  as  of  a 
spring  that  for  the  first  time  breaks  its  bounds,  succeeded,  — 
and  then  another  and  another,  as  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  clothes  that  covered  him. 

By  and  by,  the  doctor  and  Miss  Maria  were  present  in  the 
room  with  her.  Fanny  raised  her  head  and  beheld  Colin's  mis- 
tress attempting,  in  the  presence  of  the  doctor,  to  do  the  at- 
tentive, by  adjusting  the  sheet  about  the  boy's  neck  to  keep  off 
the  external  air. 

"  Do  not  touch  him  ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  springing  to  her 
feet ;  "  he  shall  have  nothing  from  your  hands,  for  you  are  a 
disgrace  to  the  name  of  a  woman  !  " 

"  Ay  !  "  cried  the  doctor :  "  young  woman,  what  now,  what 
now  ?  " 

'*  What  now  ?  Sir,  you  may  well  say  what  now !  I  have 
heard  all  about  it  —  he  has  told  me  all —  and  I  say  that  woman 
shall  not  touch  him  while  I  am  here.  She  has  nearly  killed  him, 
and  now  wants  to  show,  because  you  are  here,  how  kind  and 
good  she  is  !  " 

So  saying,  Fanny  resolutely  set  about  making  the  arrange- 
ment which  Miss  Sowersoft  had  contemplated  with  her  own 

"  Why — what  —  who  is  this  young  woman  ?  "  asked  the  doc- 
tor, somewhat  astonished  at  the  unexpected  scene  which  had 
just  passed  before  him. 

"  Nobody  ! "  replied  Miss  Sowersoft ;  "  she  is  only  Mrs. 
Clink's  servant,  and  a  pert  impudent  hussey  too." 

At  the  same  time  she  looked  in  the  doctor's  face,  and  endea- 
voured to  smile  contemptuously,  though  it  "  came  off"  in  such 
a  manner  as  would  inevitably  have  frightened  anybody  less 
accustomed  than  was  Dr.  Rowel  to  witness  the  agonies  of  the 
human  countenance. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  added  Fanny,  "  I  am  only  a  servant ;  but  I  am 
a  woman,  whether  servant  or  mistress.  I  nursed  this  lad  when 
I  was  but  six  years  old  myself,  and  have  taken  care  of  him  ever 
since.  She  shall  not  drown  him  like  a  blind  puppy,  though  she 
thinks  she  will !  " 

"  Me  drown  him  ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Sowersoft  in  feigned 


"  Yes,1' replied  Fanny,  "you  drown  him.  If  you  had  not 
half  murdered  him  in  that  trough,  he  would  never  have  been 
here  now." 

"  Do  let  us  go  down  stairs,  doctor,"  observed  Miss  Sower- 
soft  ;  "  it  is  not  worth  hearing  such  rubbish  as  this."  And  she 
made  her  way  towards  the  door. 

"  Where  is  that  letter  ? "  cried  Fanny  eagerly,  fearful  lest 
the  lady  to  whom  she  addressed  herself  should  escape. 

"  Pshaw  !  nonsense!  don't  catechise  me  !"  replied  Miss  Sower- 
soft,  as  she  tripped  down  stairs ;  while  the  doctor,  half  in  solilo- 
quy and  half  addressing  Miss  Sowersoft,  remarked,  in  allusion 
to  Fanny, 

"  She 's  a  damsel  of  some  spirit  too  !  "  Then  addressing  the 
girl  herself,  "  Are  you  the  little  girl  I  saw  at  Mrs.  Clink's  when 
this  boy  was  born  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am,"  answered  Fanny,  as  her  passion  sunk  al- 
most to  nothing,  and  she  blushed  to  be  so  questioned. 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  cried  Doctor  Rowel.  "  Well,  I  should  not 
have  thought  it.  Why,  you  are  quite  a  fine  young  woman  now. 
Dear-a-me  !  I  had  quite  lost  sight  of  you.  I  could  not  have 
believed  it.  Humph  !  "  And  the  doctor  surveyed  her  fair  pro- 
portions with  something  of  astonishment,  and  a  great  deal  of 
satisfaction.  To  think  that  from  such  a  little  pale,  half-fed,  un- 
happy thing  of  work  and  thought  beyond  her  years  as  she  then 
was  there  should  have  sprung  up  the  full-sized,  the  pretty  fea- 
tured, and  naturally  genteel-looking  girl  now  before  him  !  But 
then,  he  had  not  that  benefit  which  the  reader  enjoys,  of  reflecting 
how  worldly  circumstances,  how  poverty  and  plenty,  sway  the 
tempers  of  mankind  ;  and  that,  as  Mistress  Clink's  circumstances 
improved,  so  had  Fanny  improved  likewise  ;  and  from  seven  or 
eight  years  old  upwards,  Fanny  had  enjoyed  a  much  more  com- 
fortable home  than,  on  his  first  introduction  to  her  might  rea- 
sonably have  been  expected. 

Lest  the  reader  should  unnecessarily  marvel  how  her  indi- 
viduality should  have  been  unrecognised  by  the  physician,  I 
beg  to  inform  him,  that  while  the  person  of  every  great  man  is 
as  familiar  to  all  the  poor  eyes  of  the  neighbourhood  as  though 
he  were  their  born  and  natural  uncle,  he  himself  remains  as 
much  in  the  dark  as  to  the  identity  of  every  poor  face  he  meets, 
even  though  he  chance  to  meet  it  every  day,  as  though  he  had 
never  seen  it  once  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 
Doctor  Rowel  resumed  his  conversation. 

"And,  how  came  you  to  be  put  to  service  so  very  early  ?  for 
you  had  not,  if  I  remember  rightly,  either  health  or  strength  to 
recommend  you." 

Colin's  eyes  as  he  lay  were  fixed,  as  it  might  have  been  the 
eyes  of  a  picture,  on  the  doctor's  countenance. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,  sir,"  replied  Fanny  :  but  after  a  few 
moments'  hesitation,  added,  "  I  suppose  it  was  because  I  had  no 

COLIN    CLINK.  213 

**  No  friends  !  "  the  doctor  repeated,—"  why,  where  were  your 
father  and  mother  ?  " 

**  I  never  knew  them,  sir." 

"  Indeed  !  never  knew  them  !  " 

"  No,  sir  !  "  and  Fanny  sobbed  at  the  very  recollection  of  her 
childhood's  helplessness. 

"  Hunlph  ! "  ejaculated  the  doctor ;  "  you  scarcely  seem  to 
have  been  born  for  a  servant.  Where  did  Mrs.  Clink  find 
you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.     She  never  told  me." 

"  Ah  !  —  oh  !  oh  !  —  well !  It 's  odd  she  never  told  you.  So 
you  do  not  know  either  who  your  father,  or  your  mother,  or 
your  friends  were  ?  " 

"  No,  sir, — I  do  not.     But  I  remember " 

"  Well, — go  on, — you  remember, — what  do  you  remember? 
where  did  you  come  from  ?  Do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  think,  from  Leeds,  sir." 

"  Leeds  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor  ;  "  and,  what  else  now  do 
you  remember  ?  " 

"  I  can  remember,  sir, — though  I  but  just  remember  it, — that 
my  father  was  taken  away  from  me  once,  and  I  never  saw  him 

"  And,  what 's  your  name  ?  "  continued  the  doctor  in  evident 

"  Fanny  Woodruff,"  she  replied. 

The  doctor's  features  looked  pale  and  rigid,  and  his  eyes  were 
fixed  almost  immovably  upon  her." 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  he  slowly  ejaculated,  as  he  rose  to 
leave  the  room ;  "she  should  have  been  lost,  or  dead  !" 

But  he  turned  again  when  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Now,  young  woman,  —  if  you  can  keep  a  secret,  —  tell  no- 
body, not  even  your  mistress,  what  has  passed.  Take  no  notice ; 
and  perhaps,  I  may  do  something  for  you.  But  I  thought  we 
had  seen  the  last  of  your  face  seventeen  years  ago  ! " 

Fanny  and  Colin  were  left  alone. 

"  He  knows  something  about  me  !  "  was  the  first  thought  that 
arose  in  Fanny's  mind.  But  she  did  not  utter  it,  and  only  asked 
very  softly,  if  Colin  had  heard  what  the  doctor  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  But,  say  nothing,"  added  the  girl :  "  he  promised  to  do 
something  for  me.  I  wonder  what  it  is  !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  added  Colin ;  "  something  worjh  having,  I  dare 

Thus  they  talked  till  evening.  Colin  said  how  much  bet- 
ter he  felt  since  she  had  been  with  him;  and  Fanny  declared 
she  would  not  leave  him  again  for  another  day,  until  he  was 
well ;  and,  when  he  was  well,  then  she  would  get  him  away  from 
such  unfeeling  people,  even  though  she  had  to  go  down  on  her 
knees  to  beg  another  situation  for  him  elsewhere. 

214  COLIN    CLINK. 

When,  some  little  time  afterwards,  Fanny  went  down  stairs, 
and  informed  the  mistress  of  the  house  of  her  resolution  to  stay 
and  attend  on  Colin  until  he  was  better,  that  amiable  creature 

"  I  think  you  won't,  then.  We  have  not  any  room  to  spare. 
As  if  I  was  going  to  keep  beds  at  liberty,  to  accommodate  any 
trunnion  that  may  think  fit  to  cram  herself  into  my  house  ! 
We've  plenty  of  work  on  our  hands  without  having  to  wait  on 
other  people's  servants.  What  do  you  say,  Sammy  t  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  meesis,"  replied  Mr.  Palethorpe  ;  "  it 
seems  as  if  Mr.  Rowel  was  understood  to  say  he  was  very  bad, 
and  must  be  waited  on  pretty  constantly." 

"Pm  sure  /  shan't  wait  on  him  neither  constantly  nor  in- 
constantly !"  very  pertly  exclaimed  Miss  Sowersoft;  and,  cer- 
tainly giving  a  very  ingenious  turn  to  her  own  views,  as  soon  as 
she  found  which  way  her  lover's  needle  pointed  ;  "I'm  not  go- 
ing to  trot  up  and  down  stairs  a  thousand  times  a  day  for  the 
sake  of  such  a  thing  as  a  plough-lad.  Them  may  wait  on  him 
that  likes  him,  if  he  is  to  be  waited  on  ;  but  I  'm  positive  / 
shan't,  nor  anybody  else  that  belongs  to  me  ! " 

This  conclusion  left,  without  another  word,  the  field  wholly 
open  to  Fanny  ;  and,  as  Miss  Sowersoft,  on  concluding  her 
speech,  bounced  off,  into  the  dairy,  not  another  word  was 

Whatever  might  be  the  views  entertained  by  the  lady  of  the 
house,  touching  the  treatment  most  proper  for  Colin,  there  still 
were  individuals  amongst  that  rude  community,  whose  feelings 
were  of  a  somewhat  more  Catholic  kind  than  tliose  of  their 
mistress ;  so  that  Fanny  found  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  vo- 
lunteer, in  the  person  of  Abel,  to  go  over  to  Bramleigh  for  the 
purpose  of  informing  Mistress  Clink  how  affairs  stood,  and  of 
bringing  back  such  few  needful  articles  as  Fanny  might  require 
during  her  stay  at  the  farm. 

All  that  night  she  passed  a  sleepless  watch  by  the  side  of 
Colin's  bed,  beguiling  the  hours  not  devoted  to  immediate  attend- 
ance on  him,  partly  by  looking  over  the  little  books  which  had 
come  from  home  in  his  box,  but  more  by  employing  her  mind 
in  the  creation  of  every  possible  description  of  fanciful  suppo- 
sitions touching  her  own  origin,  her  history,  her  parents,  and  the 
knowledge  which  the  doctor  appeared  to  have  of  her  earliest  life. 
What  was  it?  —  what  could  it  be?  and,  what  could  he  mean 
by  enjoining  her  to  mention  nothing  of  all  this  to  any  second 
person  ?  In  her  he  had  unexpectedly  found  one  whom  he  had 
known  a  baby,  and  had  believed  to  be  dead,  or  lost  in  the  vast 
promiscuous  crowds  of  poverty  long  ago.  Had  she  been  born  to 
better  things  than  surrounded  her  now  ?  Had  she  been  de- 
frauded of  her  rights  ?  And,  did  the  doctor  bid  her  be  silent 
because  he  might  have  to  employ  stratagem  in  order  to  recover 
them  again  ?  Perhaps  she  was  born — nay  !  she  knew  not  what 

COLIN    CLINK.  215 

she  was  born  ;  nor  dare  she  trust  herself  to  think,  scarcely  ; 
though,  certain  it  is  that  a  visionary  world  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, and  fine  things,  and  wealth  to  set  Colin  up  in  the  world  and 
to  make  his  mother  comfortable,  and  to  exalt  herself  over  all  the 
petty  enemies  by  whom  they  were  now  surrounded,  passed  in 
pleasant  state  before  her  prolific  imagination  :  while,  it  is  equally 
certain,  that — blushing,  though  unseen  and  in  secret,  at  the 
very  consciousness, — a  prouder  feeling  sprung  up  in  her  bosom, 
and  she  began  to  feel  as  though  she  must  be  more  genteel,  and 
more  particular,  and  less  like  a  common  servant,  than  she  had 
hitherto  been. 

Such  were  the  golden  fancies,  and  the  pretty  resolves,  that 
crowded  round  her  brain  that  night.  Neither,  as  a  honest 
chronicler  of  human  nature,  would  I  take  upon  me  to  assert  that 
she  did  not  once  or  twice  during  these  reveries  rise  to  contem- 
plate her  own  features  in  the  glass,  and  to  adj  ust  her  hair  more 
fancifully,  and  wonder — if  it  should  be  so, — what  kind  of  look- 
ing lady  she  should  make.  Truly,  it  was  a  pretty  face  that 
met  her  eyes  in  the  mirror.  As  Colin  woke  up  from  a  partial 
slumber,  and  raised  his  head  slightly  from  the  pillow,  to  see  for 
his  guardian,  and  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  her,  the  re- 
flection of  her  countenance  as  she  was  "  looking  the  lady," 
chanced  to  catch  his  eye :  and,  though  he  smiled  as  he  gently 
sunk  down  again,  he  thought  that  that  face  would  never  again 
pass  from  before  him. 


Fanny  is  deceived  by  the  doctor. — A  scene  in  Rowel's  "  Establishment  for  the  In- 
sane "  at  Nabbfield. 

POOR  girl  !  What  pains  she  takes — if  not  to  "  curse  herself," 
at  least  to  form  that  paradise  out  of  the  chaos  of  her  own 
thoughts,  which  her  supposed  benefactor,  the  physician,  never  in- 
tended to  realize.  She  was  deceived,  utterly  and  deeply  deceived  ; 
and  deceived,  too,  by  the  very  means  which  the  doctor  had  re- 
commended to  her  apparently  for  the  attainment  of  success.  For, 
great  as  some  of  our  modern  diplomatists  have  incontestably 
been  considered  in  the  noble  and  polite  art  of  deception,  I 
much  question  whether  the  man  more  capable  of  aspiring  to 
higher  honours  in  it  than  was  Doctor  Rowel  of  Nabbfield,  is 
not  yet  to  be  born. 

As  the  doctor  rode  homewards,  after  his  interview  with 
Fanny,  recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter,  true  enough  it  is 
that  he  did  several  times  over,  and  with  inexpressible  inward 
satisfaction,  congratulate  and  compliment  himself  upon  having 
achieved  such  a  really  fine  stroke  of  policy  at  a  very  critical  mo- 
ment, as  no  other  man  living  could,  he  verily  believed,  have  at 
all  equalled.  Within  the  space  of  a  few  brief  moments  he  had 
to  his  infinite  astonishment,  discovered,  in  the  person  of  a  serv- 

216  COLIN    CLINK. 

ing-girl,  one  whom  he  himself  had  endeavoured,  while  she  was 
yet  an  infant,  to  put  out  of  the  way  ;  and  upon  whose  father  he 
had  perpetrated  one  of  the  most  atrocious  of  social  crimes,  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  obtaining  the  management  of  his  property  while 
he  lived,  and  its  absolute  possession  on  his  decease.  He  had 
ascertained  that  the  girl  retained  some  indistinct  recollection 
of  the  forcible  arrest  and  carrying  away  of  her  parent,  of 
which  he  himself  had  been  the  instigator;  and  thus,  suddenly 
he  found  himself  placed  in  a  position  which  demanded  both 
promptitude  and  ingenuity  in  order  to  secure  his  own  safety 
and  the  permanency  of  all  he  held  through  this  unjust  tenure. 
Since  any  discovery  by  Fanny  of  what  had  passed  between 
them  would  inevitably  excite  public  question  and  inquiry,  the 
very  brilliant  idea  had  instantaneously  suggested  itself  to  his 
mind  that  —  as  in  the  girl's  continued  silence  alone  lay  his  own 
hopes  of  security,  —  no  project  in  the  capacity  of  man  to  con- 
ceive was  more  likely  to  prove  successful  in  obtaining  and  pre- 
serving that  silence,  than  that  of  representing  it  as  vital  to  her 
own  dearest  interest  to  keep  the  subject  deeply  locked  for  the 
present  in  her  own  bosom.  This  object,  he  flattered  himself,  he 
had  already  succeeded  in  achieving,  without  exciting  in  the 
mind  of  Fanny  herself  the  least  suspicion  of  his  real  and  ulti- 
mate purpose.  At  the  same  time  he  inwardly  resolved  not  to 
stop  here,  but  to  resort  to  every  means  in  his  power  calculated 
still  more  deeply  to  bind  the  unsuspecting  young  woman  to  the 
preservation  of  that  silence  upon  the  subject,  which,  if  once 
broken,  might  lead  to  the  utter  overthrow  of  a  system  which 
he  had  now  maintained  for  many  years. 

Elated  with  the  idea  of  his  own  uncommon  cleverness,  he  can- 
tered along  the  York  road  from  the  moor  with  corresponding 
briskness  ;  turned  down  a  green  lane  to  the  left ;  cleared  several 
fences  and  a  pair  of  gates  in  his  progress  ;  and  reached  within 
sight  of  his  "Establishment  for  the  Insane"  at  Nabbfield,  as 
the  last  light  of  another  unwished-for  and  unwelcome  sun  shot 
through  the  barred  and  grated  windows  of  the  house,  and  served 
dimly  to  show  to  the  melancholy  habitants  of  those  cells  the  ex- 
tent of  their  deprivations  and  their  misery. 

Far  advanced  as  it  was  in  the  evening,  the  doctor  had  not  yet 
dined  ;  his  professional  duties,  together  with  some  other  causes 
already  explained,  having  detained  him  beyond  his  usual  hour. 
Nevertheless,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  but  which,  it 
may  be  supposed,  the  events  of  the  afternoon  had  operated  in 
producing,  the  doctor  had  no  sooner  dismounted,  and  resigned 
his  steed  to  the  care  of  a  groom,  who  appeared  in  waiting  the 
instant  that  the  clatter  of  his  hoofs  sounded  on  the  stones  of  the 
yard,  than,  instead  of  retiring  to  that  removed  portion  of  the 
building,  in  which,  for  the  purpose  of  being  beyond  reach  of  the 
cries  of  those  who  were  kept  in  confinement,  his  own  private 
apartments  were  situated,  he  demanded  of  one  of  the  keepers  the 
key  of  a  particular  cell.  Having  obtained  it, — 

COLIN    CLINK.  217 

"  Shall  I  attend  you,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  No,  Robson.  James  is  harmless.  I  will  see  him  into  his 
cell  myself  to-night." 

"  He  is  in  the  patient's  yard,  sir,"  replied  the  keeper. 

"  Very  well — very  well.  Wait  outside ;  and,  if  I  want  assist- 
ance, I  will  call  you." 

The  man  retired,  while  Doctor  Rowel  proceeded  down  a  long 
and  ill-lighted  passage,  or  corridor,  in  which  were  several  angu- 
lar turns  and  windings ;  and  when  nearly  lost  in  the  gloom  of 
the  place,  he  might  have  been  heard  to  draw  back  a  heavy  bolt, 
and  raise  a  spring-latch  like  an  iron  bar,  which  made  fast  the 
door  that  opened  upon  the  yard,  or  piece  of  ground  to  which 
the  keeper  had  alluded. 

It  was  just  at  that  brief,  but  peculiar  time,  at  the  turn  of  day 
and  night,  which  every  observer  of  Nature  must  occasionally 
have  remarked,  when  the  light  of  the  western  atmosphere,  and 
that  of  a  rayless  moon  high  up  the  southern  heaven,  mingle 
together  in  subdued  harmony,  and  produce  a  kind  of  illumina- 
tion, issuing  from  no  given  spot,  but  pervading  equally  the 
whole  atmosphere,  —  like  that  which  we  might  imagine  of  a 
Genii's  palace,  —  without  any  particular  source,  neither  wholly 
of  heaven  nor  of  earth,  but  partaking  partially  of  each. 

The  passage-door  was  thrown  back,  and  the  doctor  stood 
upon  its  threshold.  A  yard  some  forty  feet  square,  surrounded 
by  a  wall  about  six  yards  high,  and  floored  with  rolled  gravel, 
like  the  path  of  a  garden,  was  before  him.  Near  the  centre 
stood  a  dismal-looking  yew-tree,  its  trunk  rugged,  and  indented 
with  deep  natural  furrows,  as  though  four  or  five  shoots  had 
sprung  up  together,  and  at  last  become  matted  into  one  ;  its  black 
lines  of  foliage,  harmonizing  in  form  with  the  long  horizontal 
clouds  of  the  north-west  quarter,  which  now  marked  the  close  ap- 
proach of  night.  Nothing  else  was  to  be  seen.  As  the  eye,  how- 
ever, became  somewhat  more  accustomed  to  the  peculiar  dusky 
light  which  pervaded  this  place,  the  figure  of  a  man  standing 
against  the  tree-trunk,  became  visible;  with  his  arms  tightly 
crossed  upon  his  breast,  and  bound  behind  him,  as  though  they 
had  almost  grown  into  his  sides;  and  his  hair  hanging  long 
upon  his  shoulders,  somewhat  like  that  of  a  cavalier,  or  royalist, 
of  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  doctor  raised  his  voice,  and  called,  in  a  lusty  tone, 

The  patient  returned  no  answer,  nor  did  he^move. 
"  James  Woodruff ! "  again  shouted  the  doctor. 

A  slight  turn  of  the  head,  which  as  quickly  resumed  its  pre- 
vious attitude,  was  the  only  response  made  to  the  doctor's  sum- 

Finding  he  could  not  call  this  strange  individual  to  him, 
Doctor  Rowel  stepped  across  the  yard,  and  advanced  up  to 

"  James,"  said  he  mildly,  "  it  is  time  you  were  in  your  cell." 

218  COLIN    CLINK. 

The  man  looked  sternly  in  his  face,  and  replied, 

"  I  have  been  there  some  thousands  of  times  too  often  already." 

"  Never  heed  that,"  answered  Rowel.  "  You  must  go  to 
rest,  you  know." 

"  Must  go — ay  ?  Ah  !  and  so  I  must.  I  am  helpless.  But, 
had  I  one  hand  free — only  one  hand — nay,  with  one  finger  and 
thumb,  I  would  first  put  you  to  rest  where  you  should  never 
wake  again  !  When  am  I  to  go  free  ?  " 

"  Will  you  go  to  your  room  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  without  re- 
garding his  question. 

"  I  ask  again,"  cried  the  alleged  madman,  "  as  I  have  asked 
every  day  past  counting,  when  am  I  to  be  loosed  of  this  accursed 
place  ?  How  long  is  this  to  last  ?  " 

"  Only  until  you  are  better,"  remarked,  with  deep  dissimula- 
tion, this  worthy  member  of  the  faculty. 

"Better!"  exclaimed  Woodruff,  with  rising  passion,  as  he 
tugged  to  loosen  his  arms  from  the  jacket  which  bound  him, 
though  as  ineffectually  as  a  child  might  have  tugged  at  the  roots 
of  an  oak  sapling.  "  I  could  curse  you  again  and  doubly  for 
that  word,  but  that  I  have  cursed  till  language  is  weak  as  water, 
and  words  have  no  more  meaning.  I  am  sick  of  railing.  Bet- 
ter !  Till  I  am  better!  Thief! — liar! — villain! — for  you  are 
all  '^these,  and  a  thousand  more, — I  am  WELL.  You  know  it. 
Sound  in  mind  and  body, —  only  that  these  girths  have  crippled 
me  before  my  time.  How  am  I  mad?  I  can  think,  reason, 
talk,  argue,  —  hold  memory  of  past  life.  I  remember,  villain  ! 
when  you  and  your  assassins  seized  me ;  stole  my  child  from 
me  ;  swore  that  I  was  mad  ;  and  brought  me  here,  rlow  seventeen 
years  ago  ;  and  all  that  you  might  rob  me  of  my  property  !  — 
I  remember  that.  Is  that  madness  ?  I  remember,  before  that, 
that  I  married  your  sister.  Was  it  not  so  ?  I  remember  that 
she  died,  and  left  me  a  little  pattern  of  herself,  that  called  you 
uncle.  Was  not  that  so  ?  Where  is  that  child?  What  has 
become  of  her  ?  Or  are  you  a  murderer  besides  ?  All  this  I 
remember  :  and  I  know  now  that  I  have  power  of  will,  and  apt- 
ness to  do  all  that  man^s  mind  is  called  to  do.  How,  then,  am 
I  mad  ?  Oh  !  for  one  hand  free  !  One  hand  and  arm.  Only 
one  !  Give  me  that  half  chance  to  struggle  with  you.  Let  us 
end  it  so,  if  I  am  never  to  go  free  again.  Take  two  to  one ;  and 
if  you  kill  me,  you  shall  stand  free  of  the  scaffold ;  for  I  will 
swear  with  my  last  breath  that  you  did  it  in  self-defence.  Do 
that.  Let  me  have  one  grapple — a  single  gripe — and,  if  you  can 
master  me,  why  God  forgive  you  !  " 

The  doctor  smiled,  as  in  contempt  of  the  impotent  ravings 
and  wild  propositions  of  his  brother-in-law  ;  for  such,  it  is  al- 
most needless  to  state,  James  Woodruff  was.  But  the  alleged 
maniac  continued  his  discourse. 

"  Then,  as  you  are  such  a  rank,  arrant  coward,  give  me  my 
whole  liberty ;  let  me  go  beyond  this  house,  and  I  will  never 
touch  you.  I  will  not  ruffle  a  hair  of  your  accursed  head.  Do 

COLIN   CLINK.  219 

that,  and  I  will  leave  you  to  God  for  the  reward  of  all  you  have 
done  to  me  and  mine  !  Set  me  free  !  Untie  my  limbs,  and  let 
me  out  this  night !  It  is  dark.  Nobody  can  tell  where  I  came 
from.  Let  me  go,  and  I  will  never  mention  your  name  in  com- 
plaint, nor  lift  a  hand  against  you.  Think,  man, — do  but  think  ! 
To  spend  seventeen  years  of  nights  in  that  dungeon,  and  seven- 
teen years  of  days  on  this  speck  of  ground  !  To  you  who  have 
been  at  liberty  to  walk,  and  breathe  freely,  and  see  God's  crea- 
tion, it  may  be  idle ;  but  I  have  seen  nothing  of  seventeen 
springs  but  their  light  skies ;  nor  of  summers,  but  their  heat 
and  their  strong  shadows ;  nor  of  autumn,  but  the  random 
leaves  which  the  wind  whirled  over  into  this  yard ;  nor  of  win- 
ter, but  its  snow  and  clouds.  I  want  to  be  upon  the  green 
earth, — the  grass, — amongst  the  fields.  I  want  to  see  my  wife's 
grave  again  ! — some  other  human  face  than  yours  ! — and — and 
—  Man, —  if  you  be  man, —  I  want  to  find  my  daughter  !  " 

He  flung  himself  on  the  ground,  and  groaned  as  in  utter 

The  doctor  was  accustomed  to  witness  these  fits  of  frenzy, 
and  therefore  paid  no  farther  attention  now  than  consisted  in  an 
effort  to  raise  the  man  again  upon  his  feet,  and  a  renewed  soli- 
citation to  him  to  retire  into  his  room. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "I  have  something  to  speak  of  yet.  I  have 
come  to  another  determination.  In  my  mind,  villain  !  there  has 
been  seventeen  years  of  rebellion  against  your  wrong  ;  and  I 
have  sworn,  and  have  kept  my  oath  till  now,  that  you  should 
never  compel  me  to  give  up  my  rights,  in  virtue  of  my  wife,  to 
you.  But  time  has  outworn  the  iron  of  my  soul :  and  seventeen 
years  of  this  endurance  cannot  be  set  against  all  the  wealth  of 
the  world.  What  is  it  to  me  ?  To  dig  the  earth,  and  live  on 
roots  ;  but  to  be  free  with  it ;  to  go  and  come  as  I  list ;  to  be  at 
liberty,  body  and  limb  !  This  would  be  paradise  compared  with 
the  best  palace  that  ever  Mammon  built  in  hell.  Now,  take  these 
straps  from  off  me,  and  set  me  free.  Time  is  favourable.  Take 
me  into  your  house  peaceably  and  quietly,  and  I  will  make  over 
to  you  all  I  have,  as  a  free  gift.  What  you  have  stolen,  you 
shall  keep.  Land,  houses,  gold,  everything;  I  will  not  retain 
of  them  a  grain  of  sand,  a  stone,  or  a  sparkle  of  metal.  But  let 
me  out !  Let  me  see  this  prison  behind  me !  " 

"  It  would  be  the  act  of  a  lunatic,  and  of  no  effect,"  replied 
the  doctor. 

"  How  lunatic  ?  To  give  that  which  is  of,  no  use  to  me  for 
that  which  is  dearer  than  life  ?  Besides,  I  am  sane  —  sound  of 

"  No,"  interrupted  the  doctor,  "  you  are  wrong  on  one  ques- 
tion. Your  disease  consists  in  this  very  thing.  You  fancy  I 
keep  you  confined  in  order  to  hold  your  property  myself." 

"  Fancy  you  do  !  "  savagely  exclaimed  Woodruff,  stamping 
the  ground  with  rage ;  "  this  contradiction  is  enough  to  drive 
me  mad.  I  know  it  !  You  know  it.  There  is  no  fancy  in  the 


case.     It  is  an  excuse,  a  vile  pretence,  a  lie  of  seventeen  years' 
standing.     It  was  a  lie  at  first.     Will  you  set  me  free  ?  " 

"  It  cannot  be,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  go  to  your  room." 

"  It  shall  be  !  "  replied  Woodruff;  "  I  will  not  go." 

*'  Then  I  must  call  assistance,"  observed  Rowel,  as  he  at- 
tempted to  approach  the  door  at  which  he  had  entered. 

"  You  shall  not ! "  replied  the  patient,  placing  himself  in 
front  of  the  doctor,  as  though  resolutely  bent  on  preventing  his 
approach  to  the  door,  although  he  had  not  the  least  use  of  his 
arms,  which  might  have  enabled  him  to  effect  his  purpose. 

**  Stand  aside,  fool !  "  Rowel  exclaimed,  as  he  threw  out  his 
right  arm  in  order  to  strike  off  the  intruder.  But  Woodruff 
anticipated  him  ;  and,  by  a  sudden  and  dexterous  thrust  of  his 
foot  in  a  horizontal  line,  he  knocked  the  doctor's  legs  from 
under  him,  and  sent  him  sprawling  on  the  ground.  Woodruff 
fell  upon  him  instantly,  in  order  to  keep  him  down,  and  to  stifle 
the  loud  cries  of  "  Robson  !  Robson  !  "  which  were  now  issuing 
in  rapid  succession  from  the  doctor's  larynx.  At  the  same  time 
a  tremendous  struggle,  rendered  still  more  desperate  by  the 
doctor's  fears,  took  place  on  the  ground  ;  during  which  the  un- 
happy Woodruff  strove  so  violently  to  disengage  his  hands  from 
the  ligatures  of  the  waistcoat  which  bound  him,  that  the  blood 
gushed  somewhat  copiously  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  His 
efforts  were  not  altogether  unavailing.  He  partly  disengaged 
one  hand ;  and,  with  a  degree  of  activity  and  energy  only 
to  be  accounted  for  from  the  almost  superhuman  spirit  which 
burned  within  him,  and  for  which  his  antagonist,  with  all  his 
advantages,  was  by  no  means  an  equal  match,  he  succeeded  in 
planting  his  forefinger  and  thumb,  like  the  bite  of  a  crocodile, 
upon  the  doctor's  throat. 

"  Swear  to  let  me  free,  or  I  '11  kill  you  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  —  y — e — s,  —  I  sw— ear  !  "  gurgled  through  the  wind- 
pipe of  the  vanquished  physician  as  he  kicked  and  plunged  like 
a  horse  in  a  bog  to  shake  off  his  foe.  The  light  of  a  lamp 
flashed  upon  them,  and  Robson  rushed  into  the  yard. 

"  Let  me  out !  "  again  demanded  Woodruff. 

"  I  will ;    I  will !  "  replied  the  doctor. 

Before  Robson  could  interfere,  the  grasp  upon  his  neck  was 
loosed,  and  Woodruff  stood  quietly  upon  his  feet.  The  doctor 
soon  followed. 

"  Seize  him,  Robson  ! "  said  he ;  and,  in  an  instant,  before 
Woodruff  was  aware,  the  strong  man  had  him  grasped  as  in  a 

"  You  swore  to  set  me  free  !  "  cried  the  patient. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  triumphant  sneer,  as  he 
followed  the  keeper  until  he  had  pitched  Woodruff  into  his 
room,  and  secured  the  entrance.  «  Yes,"  he  repeated,  staring 
maliciously  at  his  prisoner  through  the  little  barred  opening  in 
the  door, — "yes,  you  shall  be  let  out — of  this  cell  into  that  yard 
again,  when  you  have  grown  a  little  tamer  ! " 




EPOCH    THE    THIRD. 1724. 


AT  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century,  —  whether  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  the  First,  or  Stephen  is  uncertain, —  a  fifth  gate 
was  added  to  the  four  principal  entrances  of  the  city  of  London  ; 
then,  it  is  almost  needless  to  say,  surrounded  by  ramparts, 
moats,  and  other  defences.  This  gate,  called  Newgate,  "  as 
being  latelier  builded  than  the  rest,"  continued,  for  upwards  of 
three  hundred  years,  to  be  used  as  a  place  of  imprisonment  for 
felons  and  trespassers  ;  at  the  end  of  which  time,  having  grown 
old,  ruinous,  and  "  horribly  loathsome,"  it  was  rebuilt  and  en- 
larged by  the  executors  of  the  renowned  Sir  Richard  Whitting- 
ton,  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  :  whence  it  afterwards  obtained 
amongst  a  certain  class  of  students,  whose  examinations  were 
conducted  with  some  strictness  at  the  Old  Bailey,  and  their 
highest  degrees  taken  at  Hyde-park-corner,  the  appellation  of 
Whittington's  College,  or,  more  briefly,  the  Whit.  It  may  here 
be  mentioned  that  this  gate,  destined  to  bequeath  its  name  —  a 
name,  which  has  since  acquired  a  terrible  significance, — to  every 
successive  structure  erected  upon  its  site,  was  granted,  in  1400, 
by  charter  by  Henry  the  Sixth  to  the  citizens  of  London,  in 
return  for  their  loyal  services,  and  thenceforth  became  the  com- 
mon gaol  to  that  city  and  the  county  of  Middlesex.  Nothing 
material  occurred  to  Newgate,  until  the  memorable  year  1666, 
when  it  was  utterly  destroyed  by  the  Great  Fire.  It  is  with  the 
building  raised  after  this  direful  calamity  that  our  history  has 
to  deal. 

Though  by  no  means  so  extensive  or  commodious  as  the 
modern  prison,  Old  Newgate  was  a  large  and  strongly-built 
pile.  The  body  of  the  edifice  stood  on  the  south  side  of  New- 
gate Street,  and  projected  at  the  western  extremity  far  into  the 
area  opposite  Saint  Sepulchre's  Church.  One  small  wing  lay  at 
the  north  of  the  gate,  where  Giltspur  Compter'novv  stands  ;  and 
the  Press  Yard,  which  was  detached  from  the  main  building,  was 
situated  at  the  back  of  Phoenix  Court.  The  south,  or  principal 
front,  looking  doiun  the  Old  Bailey,  and  not  upon  it,  as  is  the 
case  with  the  present  structure,  with  its  massive  walls  of  rough- 
ened free-stone, —  in  some  places  darkened  by  the  smoke,  in 
others  blanched  by  exposure  to  the  weather,  —  its  heavy  pro- 

VOL.  VI.  R 


jecting  cornice,  its  unglazed  doubly-grated  windows,  its  gloomy 
porch  decorated  with  fetters,  and  defended  by  an  enormous  iron 
door,  had  a  stern  and  striking  effect.     Over  the  Lodge,  upon 
a  dial,  was  inscribed  the  appropriate  motto,  "Venio  siMi/itr" 
The  Gate,  which  crossed  Newgate  Street,  had  a  wide  arch  for 
carriages,  and  a  postern,  on  the  north  side,  for  foot-passengers. 
Its  architecture  was  richly  ornamental,  and  resembled  the  style  of 
a  triumphal  entrance  to  a  capital,  rather  than  a  dungeon,  having 
battlements  and   hexagonal  towers,   and  being  adorned  on  the 
western  side  with  a  triple  range  of  pilasters  of  the  Tuscan  order, 
amid  the  intercolumniations  of  which  were  niches  embellished 
with  statues.     The  chief  of  these  was  a  figure  of  Liberty,  with  a 
cat  at  her  feet,  in  allusion  to  the  supposed  origin  of  the  fortunes 
of  its  former  founder,  Sir  Richard  Whittington.  On  the  right  of 
the  postern  against  the  wall  was  affixed  a  small  grating,  sustain- 
ing the  debtor's  box ;   and  any  pleasure  which   the  passer-by 
might  derive  from  contemplating  the  splendid  structure  above- 
described  was  damped  at  beholding  the  pale  faces  and  squalid 
figures    of  the  captives  across  the  bars  of  its  strongly-grated 
windows.    Some  years  after  the  date  of  this  history,  an  immense 
ventilator  was  placed  at  the  top  of  the  Gate,  with  the  view  of 
purifying  the  prison,  which,  owing  to  its  insufficient  space  and 
constantly-crowded  state,  was  never  free  from  that  dreadful  and 
contagious  disorder,  now  happily  unknown,  the  gaol-fever.     So 
frightful,  indeed,  were  the  ravages  of  this  malady,  to  which 
debtors  and  felons  were  alike  exposed,  that  its  miserable  victims 
were  frequently  carried  out  by  cart-loads,  and  thrown  into  a  pit 
in  the  burial-ground  of  Christ-church,  without  ceremony. 

Old  Newgate  was  divided  into  three  separate  prisons,  —  the 
Master's  Side,  the  Common  Side,  and  the  Press  Yard.  The  first 
of  these,  situated  at  the  south  of  the  building,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  one  ward  over  the  gateway,  was  allotted  to  the  better 
class  of  debtors,  whose  funds  enabled  them  to  defray  their 
chamber-rent,  fees,  and  garnish.  The  second,  comprising  the 
bulk  of  the  gaol,  and  by  many  degrees  worse  in  point  of  accom- 
modation, having  several  dismal  and  noisome  wards  under- 
ground, was  common  both  to  debtors  and  malefactors,  —  an  as- 
sociation little  favourable  to  the  morals  or  comforts  of  the 
former,  who,  if  they  were  brought  there  with  any  notions  of 
honesty,  seldom  left  with  untainted  principles.  The  last,  —  in 
all  respects  the  best  and  airiest  of  the  three,  standing,  as  has 
been  before  observed,  in  Phrenix  Court,  at  the  rear  of  the  main 
fabric,  —  was  reserved  for  state-offenders,  and  such  persons  as 
chose  to  submit  to  the  extortionate  demands  of  the  keeper  :  from 
twenty  to  five  hundred  pounds  premium,  according  to  the  rank 
and  means  of  the  applicant,  in  addition  to  a  high  weekly  rent, 
being  required  for  accommodation  in  this  quarter.  Some  excuse 
for  this  rapacity  may  perhaps  be  found  in  the  fact,  that  five 
thousand  pounds  was  paid  for  the  purchase  of  the  Press  Yard 


by  Mr.  Pitt,  the  then  governor  of  Newgate.  This  gentleman, 
tried  for  high  treason,  in  1716,  on  suspicion  of  aiding  Mr. 
Forster,  the  rebel  general's  escape,  but  acquitted,  reaped  a 
golden  harvest  during  the  occupation  of  his  premises  by  the 
Preston  rebels,  when  a  larger  sum  was  obtained  for  a  single 
chamber  than  (in  the  words  of  a  sufferer  on  the  occasion) 
"  would  have  paid  the  rent  of  the  best  house  in  Saint  James's 
Square  or  Piccadilly  for  several  years." 

Nor  was  this  all.  Other,  and  more  serious  impositions,  inas- 
much as  they  affected  a  poorer  class  of  persons,  were  practised 
by  the  underlings  of  the  gaol.  On  his  first  entrance,  a  prisoner, 
if  unable  or  unwilling  to  comply  with  the  exactions  of  the  turn- 
keys, was  thrust  into  the  Condemned  Hold  with  the  worst  de- 
scription of  criminals,  and  terrified  by  threats  into  submission. 
By  the  old  regulations,  the  free  use  of  strong  liquors  not  being 
interdicted,  a  tap-house  was  kept  in  the  Lodge,  and  also  in  a 
cellar  on  the  Common  Side, — under  the  superintendence  of  Mrs. 
Spurling,  formerly,  it  may  be  remembered,  the  hostess  of  the 
Dark  House  at  Queenhithe,  —  whence  wine,  ale,  and  brandy 
of  inferior  quality  were  dispensed,  in  false  measures,  and  at 
high  prices',  throughout  the  prison,  which  in  noise  and  de- 
bauchery rivalled,  if  it  did  not  surpass,  the  lowest  tavern. 

The  chief  scene  of  these  disgusting  orgies  —  the  cellar,  just  re- 
ferred to, — was  a  large  low-roofed  vault,  about  four  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  street,  perfectly  dark, —  unless  when  illumined  by  a 
roaring  fire,  and  candles  stuck  in  pyramidal  lumps  of  clay, — with 
a  range  of  butts  and  barrels  at  one  end,  and  benches  and  tables  at 
the  other,  where  the  prisoners  —  debtors  and  malefactors,  male 
and  female  —  assembled  as  long  as  their  money  lasted,  and  con- 
sumed the  time  in  drinking,  smoking,  and  gaming  with  cards 
and  dice.  Above,  was  a  spacious  hall,  connected  with  it  by  a 
flight  of  stone  steps,  at  the  further  end  of  which  stood  an 
immense  grated  door,  called  in  the  slang  of  the  place  "  The 
Jigger,"  through  the  bars  of  which  the  felons  in  the  upper  wards 
were  allowed  to  converse  with  their  friends,  or  if  they  wished 
to  enter  the  room,  or  join  the  revellers  below,  they  were  at 
liberty  to  do  so,  on  payment  of  a  small  fine.  Thus,  the  same 
system  of  plunder  was  everywhere  carried  on.  The  gaolers  rob- 
bed the  prisoners :  the  prisoners  robbed  one  another. 

Two  large  wards  were  situated  in  the  Gate ;  one  of  which, 
the  Stone  Ward,  appropriated  to  the  master  debtors,  looked 
towards  Holborn  ;  the  other  called  the  Stone  Hall,  from  a 
huge  stone  standing  in  the  middle  of  it,  upon  which  the  irons 
of  criminals  under  sentence  of  death  were  knocked  off  previously 
to  their  being  taken  to  the  place  of  execution,  faced  Newgate- 
street.  Here,  the  prisoners  took  exercise ;  and,  a  quaint,  but 
striking  picture  has  been  left  of  their  appearance  when  so  en- 
gaged, by  the  author  of  the  English  Rogue.  "  At  my  first  being 
acquainted  with  the  place,"  says  this  writer,  in  the  '  Miseries  of 

R  2 


a  Prison,' — "  the  prisoners,  methought,  walking  up  and  clown  tlie 
Stone  Hall,  looked  like  so  many  wrecks  upon  the  sea.  Here  the 
ribs  of  a  thousand  pounds  beating  against  the  Needles  —  those 
dangerous  rocks,  credulity  ;  here  floated,  to  and  fro,  silks,  stuffs, 
camlets,  and  velvet,  without  giving  place  to  each  other,  accord- 
ing to  their  dignity ;  here  rolled  so  many  pipes  of  canary,  whose 
bungholes  lying  open,  were  so  damaged  that  the  merchant  may 
go  rToop  for  his  money."  A  less  picturesque,  but  more  truthful, 
and,  therefore,  more  melancholy  description  of  the  same  scene,  is 
furnished  by  the  shrewd  and  satirical  Ned  Ward,  who  informs 
us,  in  the  "  Delectable  History  of  Whittington's  College,"  that 
"  When  the  prisoners  are  disposed  to  recreate  themselves  with 
walking,  they  go  up  into  a  spacious  room,  called  the  Stone  Hall ; 
where,  when  you  see  them  taking  a  turn  together,  it  would  puz- 
zle one  to  know  which  is  the  gentleman,  which  the  mechanic,  and 
which  the  beggar,  for  they  are  all  suited  in  the  same  garb  of 
squalid  poverty,  making  a  spectacle  of  more  pity  than  execu- 
tions; only  to  be  out  at  the  elbows  is  in  fashion  here,  and  a 
great  indecorum  not  to  be  threadbare." 

In  an  angle  of  the  Stone  Hall  was  the  Iron  Hold  ;  a  chamber 
containing  a  vast  assortment  of  fetters  and  handcuffs  of  all 
weights  and  sizes.  Four  prisoners,  termed  "  The  Partners,"  had 
charge  of  this  hold.  Their  duty  was  to  see  who  came  in,  or 
went  out ;  to  lock  up,  and  open  the  different  wards ;  to  fetter 
such  prisoners  as  were  ordered  to  be  placed  in  irons ;  to  distri- 
bute the  allowances  of  provision  ;  and  to  maintain  some  show  of 
decorum  ;  for  which  latter  purpose  they  were  allowed  to  carry 
whips  and  truncheons.  When  any  violent  outrage  was  com- 
mitted,—  and  such  matters  were  of  daily,  sometimes  hourly,  oc- 
currence,— a  bell,  the  rope  of  which  descended  into  the  hall, 
brought  the  whole  of  the  turnkeys  to  their  assistance.  A  nar- 
row passage  at  the  north  of  the  Stone  Hall  led  to  the  Bluebeard's 
room  of  this  enchanted  castle,  a  place  shunned  even  by  the  reck- 
less crew  who  were  compelled  to  pass  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  cooking- 
room,  with  an  immense  fire-place  flanked  by  a  couple  of  caldrons  ; 
and  was  called  Jack  Ketch's  Kitchen,  because  the  quarters  of  per- 
sons executed  for  treason  were  there  boiled  by  the  hangman  in 
oil,  pitch  and  tar,  before  they  were  affixed  on  the  city  gates,  or 
on  London  Bridge.  Above  this  revolting  spot  was  the  female 
debtor's  ward  ;  below  it  a  gloomy  cell,  called  Tangier ;  and, 
lower  still,  the  Stone  Hold,  a  most  terrible  and  noisome  dungeon, 
situated  underground,  and  unvisited  by  a  single  ray  of  day- 
light. Built  and  paved  with  stone,  without  beds,  or  any  other 
sort  of  protection  from  the  cold,  this  dreadful  hole,  account- 
ed the  most  dark  and  dismal  in  the  prison,  was  made  the  re- 
ceptacle of  such  miserable  wretches  as  could  not  pay  the  cus- 
tomary fees.  Adjoining  it  was  the  Lower  Ward, — "  Though,  in 
what  degree  of  latitude  it  was  situated,"  observes  Ned  Ward, 
"  I  cannot  positively  demonstrate,  unless  it  lay  ninety  degrees 


beyond  the  North  Pole ;  for,  instead  of  being  dark  there  but 
half  a  year,  it  is  dark  all  the  year  round."  It  was  only  a  shade 
better  than  the  Stone  Hold.  Here  were  imprisoned  the  fines; 
and,  "  perhaps,"  adds  the  before-cited  authority,  "  if  he  behaved 
himself,  an  outlawed  person  might  creep  in  among  them."  As- 
cending the  gate  once  more  on  the  way  back,  we  find  over  the 
Stone  Hall  another  large  room,  called  Debtors1  Hall,  facing  New- 
gate-street, with  "very  good  air  and  light."  A  little  too  much  of 
the  former,  perhaps  ;  as  the  windows  being  unglazed,  the  pri- 
sonere  were  subjected  to  severe  annoyance  from  the  weather  and 
easterly  winds. 

Of  the  women  felons'  rooms  nothing  has  yet  been  said.  There 
were  two.  One  called  Waterman's  Hall,  a  horrible  place  adjoining 
the  postern  under  the  gate,  whence,  through  a  small  barred  aper- 
ture, they  solicited  alms  from  the  passengers  :  the  other,  a  large 
chamber,  denominated  My  Lady's  Hold,  was  situated  in  the 
highest  part  of  the  gaol  at  the  northern  extremity.  Neither 
of  these  wards  had  beds,  and  the  unfortunate  inmates  were 
obliged  to  take  their  rest  on  the  oaken  floor.  The  condition  of 
the  rooms  was  indescribably  filthy  and  disgusting  ;  nor  were  the 
habits  of  the  occupants  much  more  cleanly.  In  other  respects, 
they  were  equally  indecorous  and  offensive.  "  It  is  with  no  small 
concern,"  writes  an  anonvmous  historian  of  Newgate,  "  that  I 
am  obliged  to  observe  that  the  women  in  every  ward  of  this 
prison  are  exceedingly  worse  than  the  worst  of  the  men,  not 
only  in  respect  to  their  mode  of  living,  but  more  especially  as  to 
their  conversation,  which,  to  their  great  shame,  is  as  profane  and 
wicked  as  hell  itself  can  possibly  be." 

There  were  two  Condemned  Holds,  —  one  for  each  sex.  That 
for  the  men  lay  near  the  Lodge,  with  which  it  was  connected  by 
a  dark  passage.  It  was  a  large  room,  about  twenty  feet  long 
and  fifteen  broad,  and  had  an  arched  stone  roof.  In  fact,  it  had 
been  anciently  the  right  hand  postern  under  the  gate  leading  to- 
wards the  city.  The  floor  was  planked  with  oak,  and  covered  with 
iron  staples,  hooks,  and  ring-bolts,  with  heavy  chains  attached 
to  them.  There  was  only  one  small  grated  window  in  this  hold, 
which  admitted  but  little  light. 

Over  the  gateway  towards  Snow  Hill  were  two  strong  wards, 
called  the  Castle  and  the  Red  Room.  They  will  claim  particular 
attention  hereafter. 

Many  other  wards, — especially  on  the  Master  Debtors'  side, — 
have  been  necessarily  omitted  in  the  foregoing  hasty  enumeration. 
But  there  were  two  places  of  punishment  whieh  merit  some  no- 
tice from  their  peculiarity.  The  first  of  these,  the  Press  Room,  a 
dark  close  chamber,  near  Waterman's  Hall,  obtained  its  name 
from  an  immense  wooden  machine  kept  in  it,  with  which  such 
prisoners  as  refused  to  plead  to  their  indictments  were  pressed 
to  death — a  species  of  inquisitorial  torture  not  discontinued  until 
so  lately  as  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  George  the  Third,  when 

'226  JACK    SHEPPARD. 

it  was  abolished  by  an  express  statute.  Into  the  second,  deno- 
minated the  Bilbowes, — also  a  dismal  place, — refractory  prisoners 
were  thrust,  and  placed  in  a  kind  of  stocks,  whence  the  name. 

The  Chapel  was  situated  in  the  south-east  angle  of  the  gaol ; 
the  ordinary  at  the  time  of  this  history  being  the  -Reverend 
Thomas  Purney  ;  the  deputy  chaplain,  Mr.  Wagstaff. 

Much  has  been  advanced  by  modern  writers  respecting  the  de- 
moralising effect  of  prison  society ;  and  it  has  been  asserted  that 
a  youth  once  confined  in  Newgate,  is  certain  to  come  out  a  con- 
firmed thief.  However  this  may  be  now,  it  was  unquestionably 
true  of  Old  Newgate.  It  was  the  grand  nursery  of  vice, — "  a 
famous  university,"  observes  Ned  Ward,  in  the  London  Spy, 
"  where,  if  a  man  has  a  mind  to  educate  a  hopeful  child  in 
the  daring  science  of  padding ;  the  light-fingered  subtlety  of 
shop-lifting ;  the  excellent  use  of  jack  and  crow  ;  for  the 
silently  drawing  bolts,  and  forcing  barricades  ;  with  the  knack 
of  sweetening ;  or  the  most  ingenious  dexterity  of  picking 
pockets ;  let  him  but  enter  him  in  this  college  on  the  Common 
Side,  and  confine  him  close  to  his  study  but  for  three  months  ; 
and,  if  he  does  not  come  out  qualified  to  take  any  degree  of 
villainy,  he  must  be  the  most  honest  dunce  that  ever  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  such  eminent  tutors." 

To  bring  down  this  imperfect  sketch  of  Newgate  to  the  pre- 
sent time,  it  may  be  mentioned  that,  being  found  inadequate  to 
the  purpose  required,  the  old  gaol  was  pulled  down  in  1770. 
Just  at  the  completion  of  the  new  gaol,  in  1780,  it  was  assailed 
by  the  mob  during  the  Gordon  riots,  fired,  and  greatly  damaged. 
The  devastations,  however,  were  speedily  made  ,  good  ;  and, 
in  two  years  more  it  was  finished. 

It  is  a  cheering  reflection,  that  in  the  present  prison,  with  its 
clean,  well-whitewashed,  and  well-ventilated  wards,  its  airy 
courts,  its  infirmary,  its  improved  regulations,  and  its  humane 
and  intelligent  officers,  many  of  the  miseries  of  the  old  gaol  are 
removed.  For  these  beneficial  changes  society  is  mainly  indebted 
to  the  unremitting  exertions  of  the  philanthropic  HOWARD. 


MONDAY,  the  31st  of  August  1724,  —  a  day  long  afterwards 
remembered  by  the  officers  of  Newgate,  —  was  distinguished  by 
an  unusual  influx  of  visitors  to  the  Lodge.  On  that  morning 
the  dead  warrant  had  arrived  from  Windsor,  ordering  Sheppard 
for  execution,  (since  his  capture  by  Jonathan  Wild  in  Bedlam, 
as  related  in  a  former  chapter,  Jack  had  been  tried,  convicted, 
and  sentenced  to  death,)  together  with  three  other  malefactors, 
on  the  following  Friday.  Up  to  this  moment,  hopes  had  been 
entertained  of  a  respite,  strong  representations  in  his  favour 
having  been  made  in  the  highest  quarter  ;  but  now  that  his  fate 
seemed  sealed,  the  curiosity  of  the  sight- seeing  public  to  behold 


him  was  redoubled.  The  prison  gates  were  besieged  like  the 
entrance  of  a  booth  at  a  fair ;  and  the  Condemned  Hold,  where 
he  was  confined,  and  to  which  visitors  were  admitted  at  the  mo- 
derate rate  of  a  guinea  a-head,  had  quite  the  appearance  of  a 
show-room.  As  the  day  wore  on,  the  crowds  diminished, — many 
who  would  not  submit  to  the  turnkey's  demands  were  sent  away 
ungratified,  —  and  at  five  o'clock,  only  two  strangers,  Mr.  Shot- 
bolt,  the  head  turnkey  of  Clerkenwell  Prison,  and  Mr.  Griffin, 
who  held  the  same  office  in  Westminster  Gatehouse,  were  left  in 
the  Lodge.  Jack,  who  had  formerly  been  in  the  custody  of 
both  these  gentlemen,  gave  them  a  very  cordial  welcome:  apolo- 
gized for  the  sorry  room  he  was  compelled  to  receive  them  in; 
and  when  they  took  leave,  insisted  on  treating  them  to  a  double 
bowl  of  punch,  which  they  were  now  discussing  with  the  upper 
gaoler,  Mr.  Ireton,  and  his  two  satellites,  Austin  and  Langley. 
At  a  little  distance  from  the  party,  sat  a  tall  sinister-looking  per- 
sonage, with  harsh  inflexible  features,  a  gaunt  but  muscular 
frame,  and  large  bony  hands.  He  was  sipping  a  glass  of  cold 
gin  and  water,  and  smoking  a  short  black  pipe.  His  name  was 
Marvel,  and  his  avocation,  which  was  as  repulsive  as  his  looks, 
was  that  of  public  executioner.  By  his  side  sat  a  remarkably 
stout  dame,  to  whom  he  paid  as  much  attention  as  it  was  in  his 
iron  nature  to  pay.  She  had  a  nut-brown  skin,  a  swarthy  upper 
lip,  a  merry  black  eye,  a  prominent  bust,  and  a  tun-like  circum- 
ference of  waist.  A  widow  for  the  fourth  time,  Mrs.  Spurling, 
(for  she  it  was,)  either  by  her  attractions  of  purse  or  person, 
had  succeeded  in  moving  the  stony  heart  of  Mr.  Marvel,  who, 
as  he  had  helped  to  deprive  her  of  her  former  husbands,  thought 
himself  in  duty  bound  to  offer  to  supply  their  place.  But  the 
lady  was  not  to  be  so  easily  won  ;  and  though  she  did  not  abso- 
lutely reject  him,  gave  him  very  slight  hopes.  Mr.  Marvel, 
therefore,  remained  on  his  probation.  Behind  Mrs.  Spurling 
stood  her  negro  attendant,  Caliban  ;  a  hideous,  misshapen,  mali- 
cious monster,  with  broad  hunched  shoulders,  a  flat  nose,  and 
ears  like  those  of  a  wild  beast,  a  head  too  large  for  his  body,  and 
a  body  too  long  for  his  legs.  This  horrible  piece  of  deformity, 
who  acted  as  drawer  and  cellarman,  and  was  a  constant  butt  to 
the  small  wits  of  the  gaol,  was  nicknamed  the  Black  Dog  of 

In  the  general  survey  of  the  prison,  taken  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  but  little  was  said  of  the  Lodge.  It  may  be  well, 
therefore,  before  proceeding  farther,  to  describe  it  more  minute- 
ly. It  was  approached  from  the  street  by  a  flight  of  broad 
stone  steps,  leading  to  a  ponderous  door,  plated  with  iron,  and 
secured  on  the  inner  side  by  huge  bolts,  and  a  lock,  with  wards 
of  a  prodigious  size.  A  little  within  stood  a  second  door,  or  ra- 
ther wicket,  lower  than  the  first,  but  of  equal  stength,  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  row  of  sharp  spikes.  As  no  apprehension  was  en- 
tertained of  an  escape  by  this  outlet, — nothing  of  the  kind 


having  been  attempted  by  the  boldest  felon  ever  incarcerated  in 
Newgate, — both  doors  were  generally  left  open  during  the  day- 
time. At  six  o'clock,  the  wicket  was  shut ;  and  at  nine,  the  gaol 
•was  altogether  locked  up.  Not  far  from  the  entrance,  on  the 
left,  was  a  sort  of  screen,  or  partition- wall,  reaching  from  the 
floor  to  the  ceiling,  formed  of  thick  oaken  planks  riveted  toge- 
ther by  iron  bolts,  and  studded  with  broad-headed  nails.  In  this 
screen,  which  masked  the  entrance  of  a  dark  passage  communi- 
cating with  the  Condemned  Hold,  about  five  feet  from  the 
ground,  was  a  hatch,  protected  by  long  spikes  set  six  inches 
apart,  and  each  of  the  thickness  of  an  elephant's  tusk.  The 
spikes  almost  touched  the  upper  part  of  the  hatch  ;  scarcely 
space  enough  for  the  passage  of  a  hand  being  left  between  their 
points  and  the  beam.  Here,  as  has  already  been  observed,  con- 
demned malefactors  were  allowed  to  converse  with  such  of  their 
guests  as  had  not  interest  or  money  enough  to  procure  ad- 
mission to  them  in  the  hold.  Beyond  the  hatch,  an  angle, 
formed  by  a  projection  in  the  wall  of  some  three  or  four  feet, 
served  to  hide  a  door  conducting  to  the  interior  of  the  prison. 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  Lodge,  the  floor  was  raised  to  the 
l\eight  of  a  couple  of  steps ;  whence  the  whole  place,  with  the 
exception  of  the  remotest  corner  of  the  angle  before-mentioned, 
could  be  commanded  at  a  single  glance.  On  this  elevation  a 
table  was  now  placed,  around  which  sat  the  turnkeys  and  their 
guests,  regaling  themselves  on  the  fragrant  beverage  provided 
by  the  prisoner.  A  brief  description  will  suffice  for  them.  They 
were  all  stout  ill-favoured  men,  attired  in  the  regular  gaol- 
livery  of  a  scratch  wig  and  a  snuff-coloured  suit  ;  and  had  all  a 
strong  family  likeness  to  each  other.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween the  officers  of  Newgate  and  their  brethren  was,  that  they 
had  enormous  bunches  of  keys  at  their  girdles,  while  the  latter 
had  left  their  keys  at  home. 

"  Well,  I  've  seen  many  a  gallant  fellow  in  my  time,  Mr. 
Ireton,"  observed  the  chief  turnkey  of  Westminster  Gatehouse, 
as  he  helped  himself  to  his  third  glass  of  punch  ;  "  but  I  never 
saw  one  like  Jack  Sheppard." 

"  Nor  I,"  returned  Ireton,  following  his  example  :  "  and  I  've 
had  some  experience  too.  Ever  since  he  came  here,  three 
months  ago,  he  has  been  the  life  and  soul  of  the  place;  and  now 
the  dead  warrant  has  arrived,  instead  of  being  cast  down,  as  most 
men  would  be,  and  as  all  the  others  ore,  he  's  gayer  than  ever. 
Well,  /  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  him,  Mr.  Griffin.  We  've  made  a 
pretty  penny  by  him— sixty  guineas  this  blessed  day." 

"No  more!  "cried  Griffin,  incredulously;  "I  should  have 
thought  you  must  have  made  double  that  sum  at  the  least." 

"Not  a  farthing  more,  I  assure  you,"  rejoined  Ireton, 
pettishly;  "  we're  all  on  the  square  here.  I  took  the  money  my- 
self, and  ought  to  know." 

"  Oh  !  certainly,"  answered  Griffin  ;   "certainly." 


"  I  offered  Jack  five  guineas  as  his  share,"  continued  Ireton  ; 
"  but  he  wouldn't  take  it  himself,  and  gave  it  to  the  poor 
debtors  and  felons,  who  are  now  drinking  it  out  in  the  cellar  on 
the  Common  Side." 

"  Jack  's  a  noble  fellow,"  exclaimed  the  head-gaoler  of  Clerken- 
well  Prison,  raising  his  glass;  "and,  though  he  played  me  a 
scurvy  trick,  I  '11  drink  to  his  speedy  deliverance." 

"  At  Tyburn,  eh,  Mr.  Shotbolt  ?  "  rejoined  the  executioner. 
"  I  "11  pledge  you  in  that  toast  with  all  my  heart." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  observed  Mrs.  Spurling,  "  I  hope  he 
may  never  see  Tyburn.  And,  if  I  'd  my  own  way  with  the  Se- 
cretary of  State,  he  never  should.  It's  a  thousand  pities  to  hang 
so  pretty  a  fellow.  There  haven't  been  so  many  ladies  in  the 
Lodge  since  the  days  of  Claude  Du  Val,  the  gentleman  high- 
wayman ;  and  they  all  declare  it  '11  break  their  hearts  if  he  's 

"  Bah  !  "  ejaculated  Marvel,  gruffly. 

"  You  think  our  sex  has  no  feeling,  I  suppose,  sir,"  cried 
Mrs.  Spurling,  indignantly  ;  "  but  I  can  tell  you  we  have. 
And,  what  's  more,  I  tell  you,  if  Captain  Sheppard  is  hanged, 
you  need  never  hope  to  call  me  Mrs.  Marvel." 

"  ""Zounds  !  "  cried  the  executioner,  in  astonishment.  "  Do 
you  know  what  you  Ye  talking  about,  Mrs.  Spurling?  Why,  if 
Captain  Sheppard  should  get  off',  it  'ud  be  fifty  guineas  out  of 
my  way.  There's  the  grand  laced  coat  he  wore  at  his  trial, 
which  I  intend  for  my  wedding-dress." 

"  Don't  mention  such  a  thing,  sir,"  interrupted  the  tapstress  ; 
"  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  you  in  it.  You  're  speaking  of  the  trial 
brings  the  whole  scene  to  my  mind.  Ah  !  I  shall  never  forget 
the  figure  Jack  cut  on  that  occasion.  What  a  buzz  of  admiration 
ran  round  the  court  as  he  appeared  !  And,  how  handsome  and 
composed  he  looked  !  Everybody  wondered  that  such  a  strip- 
ling could  commit  such  desperate  robberies.  His  firmness 
never  deserted  him  till  his  old  master,  Mr.  Wood,  was  exa- 
mined. Then  he  did  gave  way  a  bit.  And  when  Mr.  Wood's 
daughter, — to  whom,  I  've  heard  tell,  he  was  attached  years  ago, 
— was  brought  up,  his  courage  forsook  him  altogether,  and  he 
trembled,  and  could  scarcely  stand.  Poor  young  lady  !  She 
trembled  too,  and  was  unable  to  give  her  evidence.  When  sen- 
tence was  passed  there  wasn't  a  dry  eye  in  the  court." 

"  Yes,  there  was  one,"  observed  Ireton. 

"  I  guess  who  you  mean,"  rejoined  Shotbolt.     "  Mr.  Wild's." 

"  Right,"  answered  Ireton.  "It's  strange  the  antipathy  he 
bears  to  Sheppard.  I  was  standing  near  Jack  at  that  awful 
moment,  and  beheld  the  look  Wild  fixed  on  him.  It  was  like 
the  grin  of  a  fiend,  and  made  my  flesh  creep  on  my  bones. 
When  the  prisoner  was  removed  from  the  dock,  we  met  Jona- 
than as  we  passed  through  the  yard.  He  stopped  us,  and,  ad- 
dressing Jack  in  a  taunting  tone,  said,  *  Well,  I  've  been  as 


good  as  my  word  ! ' — '  True,'  replied  Sheppard  ;  '  and  I  '11  be  as 
good  as  mine  !  '  And  so  they  parted." 

"And  I  hope  he  will,  if  it's  anything  to  Jonathan's  disad- 
vantage," muttered  Mrs.  Spurling,  half  aside. 

"  I  'm  surprised  Mr.  Wild  hasn't  been  to  inquire  after  him 
to-day,"  observed  Langley  ;  "it's  the  first  time  he's  missed 
doing  so  since  the  trial." 

"  He 's  gone  to  Enfield  after  Blueskin,  who  has  so  long 
eluded  his  vigilance,"  rejoined  Austin.  "  Quilt  Arnold  called 
this  morning  to  say  so.  Certain  information,  it  seems,  has  been 
received  from  a  female,  that  Blueskin  would  be  at  a  flash-ken 
near  the  Chase  at  five  o'clock  to-day,  and  they  're  all  set  out 
in  the  expectation  of  nabbing  him." 

"  Mr.  Wild  had  a  narrow  escape  lately,  in  that  affair  of 
Captain  Darrell,"  observed  Shotbolt. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  the  rights  of  that  affair,"  rejoined 
Griffin,  with  some  curiosity. 

"  Nor  any  one  else,  I  suspect,"  answered  Ireton,  winking  sig- 
nificantly. "  It 's  a  mysterious  transaction  altogether.  But, 
as  much  as  is  known  is  this.  Captain  Darrell,  who  resides  with 
Mr.  Wood  at  Dollis  Hill,  was  assaulted  and  half-killed  by  a 
party  of  ruffians,  headed,  he  swore,  by  Mr.  Wild,  and  his  uncle 
Sir  Rowland  Trenchard.  Mr.  Wild,  however,  proved,  on  the 
evidence  of  his  own  servants,  that  he  was  at  the  Old  Bailey  at 
the  time ;  and  Sir  Rowland  proved  that  he  was  in  Manchester. 
So  the  charge  was  dismissed.  Another  charge  was  then  brought 
against  them  by  the  captain,  who  accused  them  of  kidnapping  him 
when  a  boy,  and  placing  him  in  the  hands  of  a  Dutch  skipper, 
named  Van  Galgebrok,  with  instructions  to  throw  him  over- 
board, which  was  done,  though  he  afterwards  escaped.  But  this 
accusation,  for  want  of  sufficient  evidence,  met  with  the  same 
fate  as  the  first,  and  Jonathan  came  off"  victorious.  It  was 
thought,  however,  if  the  skipper  could  have  been  found  that  the 
result  of  the  case  would  have  been  materially  different.  This 
was  rather  too  much  to  expect ;  for  we  all  know,  if  Mr.  Wild 
wishes  to  keep  a  man  out  of  the  way,  he  '11  speedily  find  a 
way  to  do  so." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  the  gaolers,  laughing. 

"  /could  have  given  awkward  evidence  in  that  case,  if  I'd 
been  so  inclined,"  said  Mrs.  Spurling,  "  ay,  and  found  Van 
Galgebrok  too.  But  I  never  betray  an  old  customer." 

"  Mr.  Wild  is  a  great  man,"  said  the  hangman,  replenishing 
his  pipe,  "  and  we  owe  him  much,  and  ought  to  support  him. 
Were  anything  to  happen  to  him,  Newgate  wouldn't  be  what 
it  is,  nor  Tyburn  either." 

"  Mr.  Wild  has  given  you  some  employment,  Mr.  Marvel," 
remarked  Shotbolt. 

"  A  little,  sir,"  replied  the  executioner,  with  a  grim  smile. 
"  Out  of  the  twelve  hundred  subjects  I  've  tucked  up,  I  may 


safely  place  half  to  his  account.  If  ever  he  requires  my  ser- 
vices, he  shall  find  I  'm  not  ungrateful.  And  though  1  say  it 
who  shouldn't  say  it,  no  man  can  tie  a  better  knot.  Mr.  Wild, 
gentlemen,  and  the  nubbin'-cheat." 

"  Fill  your  glasses,  gentlemen,"  observed  Ireton,  "  and  I  rll 
tell  you  a  droll  thing  Jack  said  this  morning.  Amongst  others 
who  came  to  see  him,  was  a  Mr.  Kneebone,  a  woollen-draper  in 
Wych  Street,  with  whose  pockets,  it  appears,  Jack,  when  a  lad, 
made  a  little  too  free.  As  this  gentleman  was  going  away,  he 
said  to  Jack  in  a  jesting  manner,  '  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see 
him  to-night  at  supper.'  Upon  which  the  other  answered,  '  that 
he  accepted  his  invitation  with  pleasure,  and  would  make  a  point 
of  waiting  upon  him.'  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! " 

"  Did  he  say  so?"  cried  Shotbolt.  "  Then  I  advise  you  to 
look  sharply  after  him,  Mr.  Ireton  ;  for  may  I  be  hanged  myself 
if  I  don't  believe  he  '11  be  as  good  as  his  word." 

At  this  juncture,  two  women,  very  smartly  attired  in   silk 
hoods  and  cloaks,  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  Lodge. 
"  Ah  !  who  have  we  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Griffin. 
*'  Only  Jack's  two  wives  —  Edgeworth  Bess  and  Poll  Mag- 
got," replied  Austin,  laughing. 

"  They  can't  go  into  the  Condemned  Hold,"  said  Ireton,  con- 
sequentially ;  "  it 's  against  Mr.  Wild's  orders.  They  must  see 
the  prisoner  at  the  hatch." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Austin,  rising  and  walking  towards 
them.  "  Well,  my  pretty  dears,"  he  added,  —  "  come  to  see 
your  husband,  eh  ?  You  must  make  the  most  of  your  time.  You 
won't  have  him  long.  You  've  heard  the  news,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  That    the  dead  warrant  's  arrived,"  returned   Edgeworth 
Bess,  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears  ;  "  oh,  yes  !  we've  heard  it." 
"  How  does  Jack  bear  it  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Maggot. 
"  Like  a  hero,"  answered  Austin. 

"  I  knew  he  would,"  replied  the  Amazon.     "  Come,  Bess,  — 
no  whimpering.     Don't  unman  him.     Are  we  to  see  him  here?" 
"  Yes,  my  love." 

"  Well,  then,  lose  no  time  in  bringing  him  to  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Maggot.  "  There 's  a  guinea  to  drink  our  health,"  she  added, 
slipping  a  piece  of  money  into  his  hand. 

"  Here,  Caliban,"  shouted  the  under-turnkey,  "  unlock  Cap- 
tain Sheppard's  padlock,  and  tell  him  his  wives  are  in  the  Lodge 
waiting  to  see  him." 

"  Iss,  Massa  Austin,"  replied  the  black.  And  taking  the 
keys,  he  departed  on  the  errand. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  the  two  women  divested  themselves 
of  their  hoods  and  cloaks,  and  threw  them,  as  if  inadvertently, 
into  the  farthest  part  of  the  angle  in  the  wall.  Their  beau- 
tifully proportioned  figures  and  rather  over-displayed  shoulders 
attracted  the  notice  of  Austin,  who  inquired  of  the  chief  turnkey 
"  whether  he  should  stand  by  them  during  the  interview  ?  " 


"  Oh  !  never  mind  them,"  said  Mrs.  Spurling,  who  had  been 
hastily  compounding  another  bowl  of  punch.  "  Sit  down,  and 
enjoy  yourself.  I  '11  keep  a  look  out  that  nothing  happens."" 

By  this  time  Caliban  had  returned,  and  Jack  appeared  at  the 
hatch.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  loose  dressing-gown  of  light  ma- 
terial, and  stood  near  the  corner  where  the  women's  dresses  had 
just  been  thrown  down,  quite  out  of  sight  of  all  the  party, 
except  Mrs.  Spurling,  who  sat  on  the  right  of  the  table. 

"  Have  you  got  Jonathan  out  of  the  way  ?"  he  asked,  in  an 
eager  whisper. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Edgeworth  Bess.  "  Patience  Kite  has 
lured  him  to  Knfield  on  a  false  scent-after  Blueskin.  You  need 
fear  no  interruption  from  him,'  or  any  of  his  myrmidons." 

"  That's  well  !  "  cried  Jack.  "  Now  stand  before  me,  Poll. 
I  've  got  the  watch-spring  saw  in  my  sleeve.  Pretend  to  weep 
both  of  you  as  loudly  as  you  can.  This  spike  is  more  than  half 
cut  through.  I  was  at  work  at  it  yesterday  and  the  day  before. 
Keep  up  the  clamour  for  live  minutes,  and  I  11  finish  it." 

Thus  urged,  the  damsels  began  to  raise  their  voices  in  loud 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  howling  about  ?"  cried  Langley. 
"  Do  you  think  we're  to  be  disturbed  in  this  way  ?  Make  less 
noise,  hussies,  or  1 11  turn  you  out  of  the  Lodge." 

"  For  shame,  Mr.  Langley,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Spurling  :  "  I 
blush  for  you,  sir  !  To  call  yourself  a  man,  and  interfere  with 
the  natural  course  of  affection  !  Have  you  no  feeling  for  the 
situation  of  those  poor  disconsolate  creatures,  about  to  be  be- 
reaved of  all  they  hold  dear  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  part  with  a  hus- 
band to  the  gallows  ?  I  've  lost  four  in  the  same  way,  and  know 
what  it  is."  Here  she  began  to  blubber  loudly  for  sympathy. 

44  Comfort  yourself,  my  charmer,"  said  Mr.  Marvel,  in  a  tone 
intended  to  be  consolatory.  "  1 11  be  their  substitute." 

"  You !"  cried  the  tapstress,  with  a  look  of  horror  :  "  Never!" 

"  Confusion  ! "  muttered  Jack,  suddenly  pausing  in  his  task, 
*'  the  saw  has  broken  just  as  I  am  through  the  spike." 

"  Can't  we  break  it  off?"  replied  Mrs.  Maggot. 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  Jack,  despondingly. 

"  Let 's  try,  at  all  events,"  returned  the  Amazon. 

And  grasping  the  thick  iron  rod,  she  pushed  with  all  her 
force  against  it,  while  Jack  seconded  her  efforts  from  within. 
After  great  exertions  on  both  parts,  the  spike  yielded  to  their 
combined  strength,  and  snapped  suddenly  off. 

"  Halloa  ! — what's  that  ?"  cried  Austin,  starting  up. 

"  Only  my  darbies,"  returned  Jack,  clinking  his  chains. 

"Oh  !  that  was  all,  was  it?"  said  the  turnkey,  quietly  re- 
seating himself. 

"  Now,  give  me  the  woollen  cloth  to  tie  round  my  fetters," 
whispered  Sheppard.  "  Quick  !  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  replied  Edgeworth  Bess. 

JACK  SHEl'PABD.  233 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Poll,  to  help  me  through,"  cried  Jack, 
as  he  accomplished  the  operation.  "  Keep  a  sharp  look  out, 

"  Stop  !  "  interposed  Edgeworth  Bess  ;  "  Mr.  Langley  is  get- 
ting up,  and  coming  this  way.  We  're  lost !  " 

**  Help  me  through  at  all  hazards,  Poll,"  cried  Jack,  straining 
towards  the  opening. 

"  The  danger's  past,"  whispered  Bess.  "  Mrs.  Spurling  has 
induced  him  to  sit  down  again.  Ah  !  she  looks  this  way,  and 
puts  her  finger  to  her  lips.  She  comprehends  what  we  're  about. 
We  're  all  safe  !  " 

"Don't  lose  a  moment,  then,"  cried  Jack,  forcing  himself 
into  the  aperture,  while  the  Amazon,  assisted  by  Bess,  pulled 
him  through  it. 

"  There  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Maggot,  as  she  placed  him  without 
noise  upon  the  ground  ;  "  you  're  safe  so  far." 

"  Come,  my  disconsolate  darlings,"  cried  Austin,  "  it  only 
wants  five  minutes  to  six.  I  expect  Mr.  Wild  here  presently. 
Cut  it  as  short  as  you  can." 

"  Only  two  minutes  more,  sir,"  intreated  Edgeworth  Bess, 
advancing  towards  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to  screen  Jack,  who 
crept  into  the  farthest  part  of  the  angle,  —  "  only  two  minutes, 
and  we  've  done." 

"  Well,  well,  I  'm  not  within  a  minute,"  rejoined  the  turnkey. 
"  We  shall  never  be  able  to  get  you  out  unseen,  Jack,"  whis- 
pered Poll  Maggot.     "  You  must  make  a  bold  push." 

"  Impossible,"  replied  Sheppard,  in  the  same  tone.  "  That 
would  be  certain  destruction.  I  can't  run  in  these  heavy  fetters. 
No  :  I  must  face  it  out.  Tell  Bess  to  slip  out,  and  1  '11  put  on 
her  cloak  and  hood." 

Meanwhile,  the  party  at  the  table  continued  drinking  and 
chatting  as  merrily  as  before. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  of  Jack  Sheppard's  speech  to  Mr. 
Kneebone,"  observed  Shotbolt,  as  he  emptied  his  tenth  tumbler  ; 
"  I'm  sure  he's  meditating  an  escape,  and  hopes  to  accomplish 
it  to-night." 

"Poh  !  poh  !"  rejoined  Ireton ;  "it  was  mere  idle  boasting. 
I  examined  the  Condemned  Hold  myself  carefully  this  morning, 
and  didn't  find  a  nail  out  of  its  place.  Recollect,  he's  chained 
to  the  ground  by  a  great  horse-padlock,  and  is  never  unloosed 
except  when  he  comes  to  that  hatch.  If  he  escapes  at  all,  it 
must  be  before  our  faces." 

"  It  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  he  did,"  remarked  Griffin.  "  He's 
audacity  enough  for  anything.  He  got  out  in  much  the  same 
way  from  the  Gatehouse, —  stole  the  keys,  and  passed  through  a 
room  where  I  was  sitting  half-asleep  in  a  chair." 

"Caught  you  napping,  eh?"  rejoined  Ireton,   with  a  laugh. 
"Well,  he  won't  do  that  here.     I  '11  forgive  him  if  he  does." 
"And   so  will  I,"  said  Austin.     "We're  too  wide  awake  for 


that.     Ain't    we,   partner  ? "  he  added,    appealing  to  Langley, 
whom  punch  had  made  rather  dozy. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  responded  the  lethargic  turnkey,  with  a 

During  this  colloquy,  Jack  had  contrived  unobserved  to  put 
on  the  hood  and  cloak,  and  being  about  the  size  of  the  rightful 
owner,  presented  a  very  tolerable  resemblance  to  her.  This 
done,  Edgeworth  Bess,  who  watched  her  opportunity,  slipped 
out  of  the  Lodge. 

"  Halloa  !  "  exclaimed  Austin,  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  departing  figure, — "  one  of  the  women  is  gone  ?  " 

"  No — no,"  hastily  interposed  Mrs.  Spurling  ;  "  they  're  both 
here.  Don't  you  see  they  're  putting  on  their  cloaks  ?  " 

"  That 's  false  !  "  rejoined  Marvel,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  I  perceive 
what  has  taken  place." 

"  Oh  !  goodness  !  "  ejaculated  the  tapstress,  in  alarm.  "  You 
won't  betray  him." 

"  Say  the  word,  and  I  'm  mum,"  returned  the  executioner. 
"  Will  you  be  mine  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  very  unfair  advantage  to  take  —  very,"  replied  Mrs. 
Spurling;  "  however,  I  consent." 

"  Then  I  "11  lend  a  helping  hand.  I  shall  lose  my  fees  and  the 
laced  coat.  But  it's  better  to  have  the  bride  without  the  wed- 
din'-dress,  than  the  weddin'-dress  without  the  bride." 

At  this  moment,  Saint  Sepulchre's  clock  struck  six. 

"  Close  the  wicket,  Austin,"  vocifereated  Ireton,  in  an  autho- 
ritative tone. 

"  Good  b'ye  !  "  cried  Jack,  as  if  taking  leave  of  his  mistresses, 
"  to-morrow,  at  the  same  time." 

"  We  11  be  punctual,"  replied  Mrs.  Maggot.  "  Good  b'ye, 
Jack  !  Keep  up  your  spirits." 

*'  Now  for  it ! — life  or  death  !  "  exclaimed  Jack,  assuming  the 
gait  of  a  female,  and  stepping  towards  the  door. 

As  Austin  rose  to  execute  his  principal's  commands,  and  usher 
the  women  to  the  gate,  Mrs.  Spurling  and  Marvel  rose  too.  The 
latter  walked  carelessly  toward  the  hatch,  and,  leaning  his  back 
against  the  place  whence  the  spike  had  been  removed,  so  as  com- 
pletely to  hide  it,  continued  smoking  his  pipe  as  coolly  as  if  no- 
thing had  happened. 

Just  as  Jack  gained  the  entrance,  he  heard  a  man's  footstep 
behind  him  ;  and,  aware  that  the  slightest  indiscretion  would 
betray  him,  he  halted,  uncertain  what  to  do. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  my  dear,"  cried  Austin.  "  You  forget  that 
you  promised  me  a  kiss  the  last  time  you  were  here." 

"  Won't  one  from  me  do  as  well  ?  "  interposed  Mrs.  Maggot. 

"  Much  better,"  said  Mrs.  Spurling,  hastening  to  the  rescue. 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  Edgeworth  Bess  myself." 

So  saying,  she  planted  herself  between  Jack  and  the  turnkey. 
It  was  a  moment  of  breathless  interest  to  all  engaged  in  the 


"  Come  —  the  kiss  !  "  cried  Austin,  endeavouring  to  pass  his 
arm  familiarly  round  the  Amazon's  waist. 

"  Hands  off !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  or  you  '11  repent  it." 

"  Why,  what  '11  you  do  ?  "  demanded  the  turnkey. 

"  Teach  you  to  keep  your  distance  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Maggot, 
dealing  him  a  buffet  that  sent  him  reeling  several  yards  back- 

"  There  !  off  with  you  !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Spurling,  squeezing 
Jack's  arm,  and  pushing  him  towards  the  door,  "  and,  don't 
come  here  again." 

Before  Austin  could  recover  himself,  Jack  and  Mrs.  Maggot 
had  disappeared. 

"  Bolt  the  wicket ! "  shouted  Ireton,  who,  with  the  others,  had 
been  not  a  little  entertained  by  the  gallant  turnkey's  discom- 

This  was  done,  and  Austin  returned  with  a  crest-fallen  look 
to  the  table.  Upon  which  Mrs.  Spurling,  and  her  now  accepted 
suitor,  resumed  their  seats. 

"  You  '11  be  as  good  as  your  word,  my  charmer,"  whispered 
the  executioner. 

"  Of  course,"  responded  the  widow,  heaving  a  deep  sigh. 
';  Oh!  Jack!  Jack! — you  little  know  what  a  price  I've  paid 
for  you  ! " 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  those  women  are  gone,"  remarked  Shotbolt. 
"  Coupling  their  presence  with  Jack's  speech,  I  couldn't  help 
fearing  some  mischief  might  ensue." 

"  That  reminds  me  he 's  still  at  large,"  returned  Ireton.  "  Here, 
Caliban,  go  and  fasten  his  padlock.1' 

"  Iss,  Massa  Ireton,"  replied  the  black. 

"Stop,  Caliban,"  interposed  Mrs.  Spurling,  who  wished  to 
protract  the  discovery  of  the  escape  as  long  as  possible. 
"  Before  you  go,  bring  me  the  bottle  of  pine-apple  rurn  I 
opened  yesterday.  I  should  like  Mr.  Ireton  and  his  friends  to 
taste  it.  It 's  in  the  lower  cupboard.  Oh  !  you  haven't  got  the 
key  —  then  /  must  have  it,  I  suppose.  How  provoking  !  "  she 
added,  pretending  to  rummage  her  pockets ;  "  one  never  can 
find  a  thing  when  one  wants  it." 

"  Never  mind  it,  my  dear  Mrs.  Spurling,"  rejoined  Ireton  ; 
"  we  can  taste  the  rum  when  he  returns.  We  shall  have  Mr. 
Wild  here  presently,  and  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  —  Zounds  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  as  the  figure  of  the  thieftaker  appeared  at  the 
wicket,  '*  here  he  is.  Off  with  you,  Caliban  !  Fly,  you  ras- 

"  Mr.  Wild  here  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Spurling  in  alarm.  "  Oh 
gracious  !  he 's  lost !  " 

"  Who 's  lost  ?  "  demanded  Ireton. 

"  The  key,"  replied  the  widow. 

All  the  turnkeys  rose  to  salute  the  thieftaker,  whose  habitu- 
ally-sullen countenance  looked  gloomier  than  usual.  Ireton 
rushed  forward  to  open  the  wicket  for  him. 


"  No  Blueskin,  I  perceive,  sir,"  he  observed,  in  a  deferential 
tone,  as  Wild  entered  the  Lodge. 

"  No,11  replied  Jonathan,  moodily.  "  I  Ve  been  deceived  by 
false  information.  But  the  wench  who  tricked  me  shall  bitterly 
repent  it.  I  hope  this  is  all.  I  began  to  fear  I  might  be  pur- 
posely got  out  of  the  way.  Nothing  has  gone  wrong  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  replied  Ireton.  "  Jack  is  just  gone 
back  to  the  Condemned  Hold.  His  two  wives  have  been  here." 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  Jonathan,  with  a  sudden  vehemence  that 
electrified  the  chief  turnkey  ;  "  what 's  this  ! — a  spike  gone  ! — 
'Sdeath  ! —  the  women,  you  say,  have  been  here.  He  has  es- 

"  Impossible,  sir,"  replied  Ireton,  greatly  alarmed. 

"  Impossible ! "  echoed  Wild,  with  a  fearful  imprecation. 
"  No,  sir,  it 's  quite  possible — more  than  possible.  It 's  certain. 
I  '11  lay  my  life  he's  gone.  Come  with  me  to  the  Condemned 
Hold  directly,  and,  if  1  find  my  fears  confirmed,  I'll— 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  the  black, 
who  rushed  precipitately  into  the  room,  letting  fall  the  heavy 
bunch  of  keys  in  his  fright. 

"  O  Massa  Ireton  !  —  Massa  Wild  ! "  ejaculated  Caliban,  - 
"  Shack  Sheppart  gone  !  " 

"  Gone  !  you  black  devil ! — Gone  ?"  cried  Ireton. 

"  Iss,  Massa.  Caliban  sarch  ebery  hole  in  de  place,  but 
Shack  no  dere.  Only  him  big  hoss  padlock — noting  else." 

"  I  knew  it,"'  rejoined  Wild,  with  concentrated  rage  ;  "  and 
he  escaped  you  all — in  broad  day — before  your  faces.  You  may 
well  say  it  's  impossible  !  His  Majesty's  gaol  of  Newgate  is 
admirably  guarded,  I  must  say.  Ireton,  you  are  in  league  with 

"  Sir  ! "  said  the  chief  turnkey,  indignantly. 

"  You  are,  sir,"  thundered  Jonathan  ;  "  and,  unless  you  find 
him,  you  shan't  hold  your  place  a  week.  I  don't  threaten  idly, 
as  you  know.  And  you,  Austin,  —  and  you,  Langley,  —  I  say 
the  same  thing  to  you." 

"  But,  Mr.  Wild — "  implored  the  turnkeys. 

"  I've  said  it,"  rejoined  Jonathan,  peremptorily.  "  And  you, 
Marvel,  you  must  have  been  a  party — " 

"  I,  sir  !  " 

"  If  he's  not  found,  I  '11  get  a  new  hangman." 

"  Zounds  !"  cried  Marvel,  "  I—" 

"  Hush!"  whispered  the  tapstress,  "  or  I  retract  my  pro- 

"  Mrs.  Spurling,"  said  Jonathan,  who  overheard  the  whisper, 
"  you  owe  your  situation  to  me.  If  you  have  aided  Jack  Shep- 
pard's  escape,  you  shall  owe  your  discharge  to  me  also." 

"  As  you  please,  sir,"  replied  the  tapstress,  coolly.  "  And 
the  next  time  Captain  Darrell  wants  a  witness,  I  promise  you 
he  shan't  look  for  one  in  vain." 


"  Ha  !  hussy,  dare  you  threaten  ?  "  cried  Wild  ;  but,  checking 
himself,  he  turned  to  Ireton  and  asked,  "  How  long  have  the 
women  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  five  minutes,"  replied  the  latter. 

"  One  of  you  fly  to  the  market,"  returned  Jonathan,  "  an- 
other to  the  river,  —  a  third  to  the  New  Mint.  Disperse  in 
every  direction.  We  '11  have  him  yet.  A  hundred  pounds  to 
the  man  who  takes  him." 

So  saying,  he  rushed  out,  followed  by  Ireton  and  Langley. 

"•  A  hundred  pounds!"  exclaimed  Shotbolt.  "  That's  a  glo- 
rious reward.  Do  you  think  he'll  pay  it?" 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it,"  replied  Austin. 

"  Then  I  '11  have  it  before  to-morrow  morning,"  said  the 
keeper  of  the  New  Prison,  to  himself.  "  If  Jack  Sheppard  sups 
with  Mr.  Kneebone,  I  '11  make  one  of  the  party." 


ON  the  same  evening,  and  about  an  hour  after  the  occurrences 
at  Newgate,  the  door  of  the  small  back-parlour  already  de- 
scribed at  Dollis  Hill  was  opened  by  Winifred,  who,  gliding 
noiselessly  across  the  room,  approached  a  couch,  on  which  was 
extended  a  sleeping  female,  and,  gazing  anxiously  at  her  pale 
careworn  countenance,  murmured,  — "  Heaven  be  praised  !  she 
still  slumbers  —  slumbers  peacefully.  The  opiate  has  done  its 
duty.  Poor  thing  !  how  beautiful  she  looks  !  but  how  like 
death  !  " 

Deathlike,  indeed,  was  the  repose  of  the  sleeper,  —  deathlike 
and  deep.  It 's  very  calmness  was  frightful.  Her  lips  were  apart, 
but  no  breath  seemed  to  issue  from  them  ;  and,  but  for  a  slight 
— very  slight  palpitation  of  the  bosom,  the  vital  principle  might 
be  supposed  to  be  extinct.  This  lifeless  appearance  was  height- 
ened by  the  extreme  sharpness  of  her  features  —  especially  the 
nose  and  chin, —  and  by  the  emaciation  of  her  limbs,  which  was 
painfully  distinct  through  her  drapery.  Her  attenuated  arms 
were  crossed  upon  her  breast ;  and  her  black  brows  and  eye- 
lashes contrasted  fearfully  with  the  livid  whiteness  of  her  skin. 
A  few,  short,  dark  locks,  escaping  from  beneath  her  head-dress, 
showed  that  her  hair  had  been  removed,  and  had  only  been  re- 
cently allowed  to  grow  again. 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Sheppard  !  "  sighed  Winifred,  as  she  contem- 
plated the  beautiful  wreck  before  her, — "  Pool'  Mrs.  Sheppard  ! 
when  I  see  her  thus,  and  think  of  all  she  has  endured,  of  all  she 
may  yet  have  to  endure,  I  could  almost  pray  for  her  release 
from  trouble.  I  dare  not  reflect  upon  the  effect  that  her  son's 
fate, — if  the  efforts  to  save  him  are  ineffectual, — may  have  upon 
her  enfeebled  frame,  and  still  worse  upon  her  mind.  What  a 
mercy  that  the  blow  aimed  at  her  by  the  ruffian,  Wild,  though 

VOL.  vi.  s 


it  brought  her  to  the  brink  of  the  grave,  should  have  restored 
her  to  reason  !  Ah  !  she  stirs." 

As  she  said  this,  she  drew  a  little  aside,  while  Mrs.  Sheppard 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  opened  her  eyes,  which  now  looked 
larger,  blacker,  and  more  melancholy  than  ever. 

'*  Where  am  I  ?  "  she  cried,  passing  her  hand  across  her  brow. 

"  With  your  friends,  dear  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  replied  Winifred, 

"  Ah  !  you  are  there,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  widow, 
smiling  faintly  ;  "when  I  first  waken,  I'm  always  in  dread  of 
finding  myself  again  in  that  horrible  asylum." 

"  You  need  never  be  afraid  of  that,"  returned  Winifred,  affec- 
tionatelv  ;  "  my  father  will  take  care  you  never  leave  him  more." 

"  Oh  !  how  much  I  owe  him  !  "  said  the  widow,  with  fervour, 
"  for  bringing  me  here,  and  removing  me  from  those  dreadful 
sights  and  sounds,  that  would  have  driven  me  distracted,  even  if 
I  had  been  in  my  right  mind.  And  how  much  I  owe  yow,  too, 
dearest  Winifred,  for  your  kindness  and  attention.  Without 
you  I  should  never  have  recovered  either  health  or  reason.  I 
can  never  be  grateful  enough.  But,  though  /  cannot  reward 
you,  Heaven  will.'1 

"Don't  say  anything  about  it,  dear  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  rejoined 
Winifred,  controling  her  emotion,  and  speaking  as  cheerfully  as 
she  could ;  "  I  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  and  so 
would  my  father,  and  so  would  Thames ;  but  he  ought,  for  he 's 
your  nephew,  you  know.  We  all  love  you  dearly." 

"  Bless  you  !  bless  you  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard,  averting  her 
face  to  hide  her  tears. 

"  I  mustn't  tell  you  what  Thames  means  to  do  for  you  if  ever 
he  gains  his  rights,"  continued  Winifred  ;  "  but  I  may  tell  you 
what  my  father  means  to  do.'1 

"  He  has  done  too  much  already,'1  answered  the  widow.  "  I 
shall  need  little  more." 

**  But,  do  hear  what  it  is,"  rejoined  Winifred ;  "you  know 
I  'm  shortly  to  be  united  to  your  nephew,  — that  is,"  she  added, 
blushing,  "when  he  can  be  married  by  his  right  name,  for  my 
father  won't  consent  to  it  before." 

"  Your  father  will  never  oppose  your  happiness,  my  dear,  I  'm 
sure,"  said  Mrs.  Sheppard  ;  "  but,  what  has  this  to  do  with 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  Winifred  ;  "  when  this  marriage 
takes  place,  you  and  I  shall  be  closely  allied,  but  my  father 
wishes  for  a  still  closer  alliance." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Sheppard. 

"  To  be  plain,  then,"  said  Winifred,  "  he  has  asked  me  whe- 
ther I  have  any  objection  to  you  as  a  mother." 

"  And  what — what  was  your  answer  ?  "  demanded  the  widow, 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  "  returned  Winifred,  throwing  her  arms 


about  her  neck.    s<That  he  couldn't  choose  any  one  so  agreeable 
to  me." 

'(  Winifred,1'  said  Mrs.  Sheppard,  after  a  brief  pause,  during 
which  she  appeared  overcome  by  her  feelings, — "  Winifred,"  she 
said,  gently  disengaging  herself  from  the  young  girl's  embrace, 
and  speaking  in  a  firm  voice,  "  you  must  dissuade  your  father 
from  this  step." 

"  How  ?  "  exclaimed  the  other.     "  Can  you  not  love  him  ?  " 

"  Love  him  1 "  echoed  the  widow.  "  The  feeling  is  dead  within 
my  breast.  My  only  love  is  for  my  poor  lost  son.  I  can  esteem 
him,  regard  him;  but,  love  him  as  he  ought  to  be  loved — that 
I  cannot  do." 

"  Your  esteem  is  all  he  will  require,"  urged  Winifred. 

"  He  has  it,  and  will  ever  have  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Sheppard, 
passionately,  —  "  he  has  my  boundless  gratitude  and  devotion. 
But  I  am  not  worthy  to  be  any  man's  wife  —  far  less  his  wife. 
Winifred,  you  are  deceived  in  me.  You  know  not  what  a 
wretched  guilty  thing  I  am.  You  know  not  in  what  dark 
places  my  life  has  been  cast;  with  what  crimes  it  has  been 
stained.  But  the  offences  1  have  committed  are  venial  in  com- 
parison with  what  I  should  commit  were  I  to  wed  your  father. 
No — no,  it  must  never  be." 

"  You  paint  yourself  worse  than  you  are,  dear  Mrs.  Shep- 
pard," rejoined  Winifred  kindly.  "  Your  faults  were  the 
faults  of  circumstances." 

"  Palliate  them  as  you  may,"  replied  the  widow,  gravely, 
"  they  were  faults ;  and  as  such,  cannot  be  repaired  by  a  greater 
wrong.  If  you  love  me,  do  not  allude  to  this  subject  again." 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  mentioned  it  at  all,  since  it  distresses  you,"  re- 
turned Winifred  ;  "  but,  as  I  knew  my  father  intended  to  pro- 
pose to  you,  if  poor  Jack  should  be  respited " 

"T/^he  should  be  respited!1'  repeated  Mrs.  Sheppard,  with 
startling  eagerness.  "  Does  vour  father  doubt  it  ?  Speak  ! 
tell  me  ?  " 

Winifred  made  no  answer. 

"  Your  hesitation  convinces  me  he  does,"  replied  the  widow. 
"  Is  Thames  returned  from  London  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  I  expect  him  every 
minute.  My  father's  chief  fear,  I  must  tell  you,  is  from  the 
baneful  influence  of  Jonathan  Wild." 

"  That  fiend  is  ever  in  my  path,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sheppard, 
with  a  look,  the  wildness  of  which  greatly  alarmed  her  compa- 
nion. "  I  cannot  scare  him  thence." 

"  Hark  I"  cried  Winifred,  "  Thames  is  arrived.  I  hear  the 
sound  of  his  horse's  feet  in  the  yard.  Now  you  will  learn  the 

"  Heaven  support  me  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard,  faintly. 

"  Breathe  at  this  phial,"  said  Winifred. 

Shortly  afterwards, — it  seemed  an  age  to  the  anxious  mother, 

s  2 


— Mr.  Wood  entered  the  room,  followed  by  Thames.  The  latter 
looked  very  pale,  either  from  the  effect  of  his  wound,  which  was 
not  yet  entirely  healed,  or  from  suppressed  emotion,  — partly, 
perhaps,  from  both  causes, — and  wore  his  left  arm  in  a  sling. 

"  Well !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard,  raising  herself,  and  looking 
at  him  as  if  her  life  depended  upon  the  answer.  "  He  is 
respited  ?" 

"  Alas  !  no,"  replied  Thames,  sadly.  "  The  warrant  for  his 
execution  is  arrived.  There  is  no  further  hope." 

"  My  poor  son  !  "  groaned  the  widow,  sinking  backwards. 

"  Heaven  have  mercy  on  his  soul  !  "  ejaculated  Wood. 

"  Poor  Jack  ! "  cried  Winifred,  burying  her  face  in  her  lover's 

Not  a  word  was  uttered  for  some  time,  nor  any  sound  heard 
except  the  stifled  sobs  of  the  unfortunate  mother. 

At  length,  she  suddenly  started  to  her  feet;  and,  before  Wini- 
fred could  prevent  her,  staggered  up  to  Thames. 

"  When  is  he  to  suffer?"  she  demanded,  fixing  her  large 
black  eyes,  which  burnt  with  an  insane  gleam,  upon  him. 

"  On  Friday,"  he  replied. 

"  Friday  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Sheppard  ;  "  and  to-day  is  Monday. 
He  has  three  days  to  live.  Only  three  days.  Three  short  days. 
Horrible ! " 

"  Poor  soul  !  her  senses  are  going  again,"  said  Mr.  Wood, 
terrified  by  the  wildness  of  her  looks.  "  I  was  afraid  it  would 
be  so." 

"  Only  three  days,"  reiterated  the  widow,  "  three  short,  short 
days,  —  and  then  all  is  over.  Jonathan's  wicked  threat  is  ful- 
filled at  last.  The  gallows  is  in  view  —  I  see  it,  with  all  its 
hideous  apparatus!  —  ough  ! "  and  shuddering  violently,  she 
placed  her  hands  before  her,  as  if  to  exclude  some  frightful 
vision  from  her  sight. 

"  Do  not  despair,  my  sweet  soul,"  said  Wood,  in  a  soothing 

"  Do  not  despair  !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Sheppard,  with  a  laugh  that 
cut  the  ears  of  those  who  listened  to  it  like  a  razor, — "  Do  not 
despair  !  And  who  or  what  shall  give  me  comfort  when  my  son 
is  gone  ?  I  have  wept  till  my  eyes  are  dry,  —  suffered  till  my 
heart  is  broken, — prayed  till  the  voice  of  prayer  is  dumb, — and 
all  of  no  avail.  He  will  be  hanged  —  hanged  —  hanged.  Ha  ! 
ha  !  What  have  I  left  but  despair  and  madness  ?  Promise  me 
one  thing,  Mr.  Wood,"  she  continued,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  and  convulsively  clutching  the  carpenter's  arm,  "  promise 
it  me." 

"  Anything,  my  dear,"  replied  Wood.     "  What  is  it  ?" 

"  Bury  us  together  in  one  grave  in  Willesden  churchyard. 
There  is  a  small  yew-tree  west  of  the  church.  Beneath  that 
tree  let  us  lie.  In  one  grave,  mind.  Do  you  promise  to  do  this  ?" 

"  Solemnly,"  rejoined  the  carpenter. 


"  Enough,"  said  the  widow,  gratefully.  "  I  must  see  him 

"  Impossible,  dear  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  said  Thames.  "  To- 
morrow I  will  take  you  to  him." 

"  To-morrow  will  be  too  late,"  replied  the  widow,  in  a  hollow 
voice,  **  I  feel  it  will.  I  must  go  to-night,  or  I  shall  never  be- 
hold him  again.  I  must  bless  him  before  I  die.  I  have  strength 
enough  to  drag  myself  there,  and  I  do  not  want  to  return." 

"  Be  pacified,  sweet  soul,"  said  Wood,  looking  meaningly  at 
Thames ;  "  you  shall  go,  and  I  will  accompany  you." 

"  A  mother's  blessing  on  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Sheppard,  fer- 
vently. "  And  now,"  she  added,  with  somewhat  more  composure, 
"  leave  me,  dear  friends,  I  entreat,  for  a  few  minutes  to  collect 
my  scattered  thoughts  —  to  prepare  myself  for  what  I  have  to 
go  through — to  pray  for  my  son." 

"  Shall  we  do  so  ?  "  whispered  Winifred  to  her  father. 

"  By  all  means,"  returned  Wood  ;  "  don't  delay  an  instant." 
And,  followed  by  the  young  couple,  who  gazed  wistfully  at  the 
poor  sufferer,  he  hastily  quitted  the  room,  and  locked  the  door 
after  him. 

Mrs.  Sheppard  was  no  sooner  alone  than  she  fell  upon  her 
knees  by  the  side  of  the  couch,  and  poured  forth  her  heart  in 
prayer.  So  absorbed  was  she  by  her  passionate  supplications, 
that  she  was  insensible  to  anything  passing  around  her,  until 
she  felt  a  touch  upon  her  shoulder,  and  heard  a  well-known 
voice  breathe  in  her  ear — "  Mother  !  " 

She  started  at  the  sound  as  if  an  apparition  had  called  her, 
screamed,  and  fell  into  her  son's  outstretched  arms. 

"  Mother  !  dear  mother ! "  cried  Jack,  folding  her  to  his 

"  My  son  !  my  dear,  dear  son  ! "  returned  Mrs.  Sheppard,  re- 
turning his  embrace  with  all  a  parent's  tenderness. 

Jack  was  completely  overcome.  His  chest  heaved  violently, 
and  big  tears  coursed  rapidly  down  his  cheeks. 

"  I  don't  deserve  it,"  he  said,  at  length  ;  "  but  I  would 
have  risked  a  thousand  deaths  to  enjoy  this  moment's  happi- 

"  And  you  must  have  risked  much  to  obtain  it,  my  love. 
I  have  scarcely  recovered  from  the  shock  of  hearing  of  your 
condemnation,  when  I  behold  you  free  ! " 

"  Not  two  hours  hence,"  rejoined  Jack,  "  I  was  chained  down 
in  the  Condemned  Hold  in  Newgate.  With  a  small  saw,  con- 
veyed to  me  a  few  days  since  by  Thamesr  Darrell,  which  I 
contrived  to  conceal  upon  my  person,  I  removed  a  spike  in 
the  hatch,  and,  with  the  aid  of  some  other  friends,  worked 
my  way  out.  Having  heard  from  Thames  that  you  were  better, 
and  that  your  sole  anxiety  was  about  me,  I  came  to  give 
you  \\\e  first  intelligence  of  my  escape.." 

"  Bless  you  for  it.     But  you  will  stay  here  ?  " 


"  I  dare  not.     I  must  provide  for  my  safety." 

"  Mr.  Wood  will  protect  you,"  urged  Mrs.  Sheppard. 

"  He  has  not  the  power  —  perhaps  not  the  will  to  do  so. 
And  if  he  would,  /  would  not  subject  him  to  the  annoyance. 
The  moment  my  escape  is  known,  a  large  reward  will  be  placed 
on  my  head.  My  dress,  my  person  will  be  minutely  described. 
Jonathan  Wild  and  his  blood-hounds,  with  a  hundred  others, 
incited  by  the  reward,  will  be  upon  my  track.  Nay,  for  aught 
I  know,  some  of  them  may  even  now  have  got  scent  of  me." 

"  You  terrify  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard.  "  Oh  !  if  this  is 
the  case,  do  not  stay  an  instant.  Fly  !  fly  !  " 

*'  As  soon  as  I  can  do  so  with  safety,  I  will  return,  or  send 
to  you,"  said  Jack. 

"  Do  not  endanger  yourself  on  my  account,"  rejoined  his 
mother.  "  I  am  quite  easy  now ;  receive  my  blessing,  my  dear 
son ;  and  if  we  never  meet  again,  rest  assured  my  last  prayer 
shall  be  for  you." 

"  Do  not  talk  thus,  dear  mother,"  returned  Jack,  gazing  an- 
xiously at  her  pale  countenance,  "  or  I  shall  not  be  able  to  quit 
you.  You  must  live  for  me." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so,"  replied  the  widow,  forcing  a  smile. 
"  One  last  embrace.  I  need  not  counsel  you  to  avoid  those 
fatal  courses  which  have  placed  you  in  such  fearful  jeopardy." 

"  You  need  not,"  replied  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  com- 
punction. "  And,  oh  !  forgive  me,  though  I  can  never  forgive 
myself,  for  the  misery  I  have  caused  you." 

"  Forgive  you  !"  echoed  his  mother,  with  a  look  radiant  with 
delight.  "I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  Ah!"  she  screamed, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  manner ;  and  pointing  to  the  win- 
dow, which  Jack  had  left  open,  and  at  which  a  dark  figure  was 
standing,  "  there  is  Jonathan  Wild  !  " 

"  Betrayed  !  "  exclaimed  Jack,  glancing  in  the  same  direction. 
"  The  door  ! — the  door  ! —  death  !  "  he  added,  as  he  tried  the 
handle,  "  it  is  locked — and  I  am  unarmed.  Madman  that  I  am 
to  be  so  !  " 

"  Help  ! "  shrieked  Mrs.  Sheppard. 

"  Be  silent,"  said  Jonathan,  striding  deliberately  into  the 
room  ;  "  these  cries  will  avail  you  nothing.  Whoever  answers 
them  must  assist  me  to  capture  your  son.  Be  silent,  I  say,  if 
you  value  his  safety." 

Awed  by  Jonathan's  manner,  Mrs.  Sheppard  repressed  the 
scream  that  rose  to  her  lips,  and  both  mother  and  son  gazed 
with  apprehension  at  the  heavy  figure  of  the  thieftaker,  which, 
viewed  in  the  twilight,  seemed  dilated  to  twice  its  natural  size, 
and  appeared  almost  to  block  up  the  window.  In  addition  to  his 
customary  arms,  Jonathan  carried  a  bludgeon  with  a  large  heavy 
knob,  suspended  from  his  wrist  by  a  loop  ;  a  favourite  weapon, 
which  he  always  took  with  him  on  dangerous  expeditions,  and 
which,  if  any  information  had  been  requisite,  would  have  told 
Sheppard  that  the  present  was  one  of  them. 


"  Well,  Jack,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  are  you  disposed 
to  go  back  quietly  with  me  ?  " 

"  You  '11  ascertain  that  when  you  attempt  to  touch  me,"  re- 
joined Sheppard,  resolutely. 

"  My  janizaries  are  within  call,"  returned  Wild.  u  I  'm  armed  . 
you  are  not." 

"  It  matters  not.     You  shall  not  take  me  alive." 

"  Spare  him  !  spare  him  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard,  falling  on 
her  knees. 

"  Get  up,  mother,"  cried  Jack  ;  "  do  not  kneel  to  him.  I 
wouldn't  accept  my  life  from  him.  I  've  foiled  him  hitherto, 
and  will  foil  him  yet.  And,  come  what  will,  I  '11  baulk  him  of 
the  satisfaction  of  hanging  me." 

Jonathan  raised  his  bludgeon,  but  controlled  himself  by  a 
powerful  effort. 

"  Fool ! "  he  cried,  "do  you  think  I  wouldn't  have  secured 
you  before  this  if  I  hadn't  some  motive  for  my  forbearance  ?  " 

"  And  that  motive  is  fear,"  replied  Jack,  contemptuously. 

"  Fear  !  "  echoed  Wild,  in  a  terrible  tone, — "  fear !  Repeat 
that  word  again,  and  nothing  shall  save  you." 

"  Don't  anger  him,  my  dear  son,"  implored  the  poor  widow, 
with  a  look  of  anguish  at  Jack.  "  Perhaps  he  means  well." 

"  Mad  as  you  are,  you  're  the  more  sensible  of  the  two,  I  must 
say,"  rejoined  Jonathan. 

"  Spare  him  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard,  who  fancied  she  had 
made  some  impression  on  the  obdurate  breast  of  the  thieftaker, 
—  "  spare  him  !  and  I  will  forgive  you,  will  thank  you,  will 
bless  you.  Spare  him  !  spare  him  !  " 

"  On  one  condition  I  will  spare  him,"  returned  Wild ;  "  on 
one  condition  only." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  poor  woman. 

"  Either  he  or  you  must  return  with  me,"  answered  Jonathan. 

"  Take  me,  then,"  replied  the  widow.  And  she  would  have 
rushed  to  him,  if  she  had  not  been  forcibly  withheld  by  her  son- 

"  Do  not  go  near  him,  mother,"  cried  Jack ;  "do  not  believe 
him.  There  is  some  deep  treachery  hidden  beneath  his  words." 

"  I  will  go/'  said  Mrs.  Sheppard,  struggling  to  get  free. 

"Attend  to  me,  Mrs.  Sheppard,"  said  Jonathan,  looking  calm- 
ly on  at  this  distressing  scene.  "  Attend  to  me,  and  do  not 
heed  him.  I  swear  to  you,  solemnly  swear  to  you,  I  will  save 
your  son's  life,  nay  more,  will  befriend  him,  will  place  him  out 
of  the  reach  of  his  enemies,  if  you  consent  to  become  my  wife." 

"  Execrable  villain  !  "  exclaimed  Jack. 

"  You  hear  that,"  cried  Mrs.  Sheppard  ;  "  he  swears  to  save 

"  Well,"  replied  her  son  ;  "  and  you  spurn  the  proposal." 

"No;  she  accepts  it,"  rejoined  Jonathan,  triumphantly* 
"  Come  along,  Mrs.  Sheppard.  I've  a  carriage  within  call  shall 
convey  you  swiftly  to  town.  Come  !  come  !  " 


"  Hear  me,  mother,"  cried  Jack,  "  and  I  will  explain  to  you 
whij  the  villain  makes  this  strange  and  revolting  proposal.  He 
well  knows  that  but  two  lives  —  those  of  Thames  Darrell  and 
Sir  Rowland  Trenchard,  —  stand  between  you  and  the  vast  pos- 
sessions of  the  family.  Those  lives  removed, — and  Sir  Rowland 
is  completely  in  his  power,  the  estates  would  be  yours — HIS  !  if 
he  were  your  husband.  Now  do  you  see  his  motive  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  but  your  danger,"  replied  his  mother,  ten- 

"  Granted  it  were  as  you  say,  Jack,"  said  Wild ;  —  "  and  I 
shaVt  take  the  trouble  to  contradict  you  —  the  estates  would 
be  yours  hereafter." 

"  Liar !"  cried  Jack.  "  Do  you  affect  ignorance  that  I  am 
a  condemned  felon,  and  can  inherit  nothing  ?  But  do  not  ima- 
gine that  under  any  circumstances  I  would  accept  your  terms. 
My  mother  shall  never  degrade  herself  by  a  connection  with 

"Degrade  herself,"  rejoined  Jonathan,  brutally.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  take  a  harlot  to  my  bed,  if  it  didn't  suit  my 
purposes  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  He  says  right,"  replied  Mrs.  Sheppard,  distractedly.  "  I  am 
only  fit  for  such  as  him.  Take  me  !  take  me  !  " 

"  Before  an  hour  you  shall  be  mine,"  said  Jonathan,  advan- 
cing towards  her. 

"  Back  ! "  cried  Jack,  fiercely ;  "  lay  a  finger  on  her,  and  I 
will  fell  you  to  the  ground.  Mother  !  do  you  know  what  you 
do  ?  Would  you  sell  yourself  to  this  fiend  ?  " 

"  I  would  sell  myself,  body  and  soul,  to  save  you,"  rejoined 
his  mother,  bursting  from  his  grasp. 
Jonathan  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
"  Come  away  !  "  he  cried,  with  the  roar  of  a  demon. 
This  laugh  and  his  looks  alarmed  her. 

"  It  is  the  fiend  !  "  she  exclaimed,  recoiling.  "  Save  me  ! — 
save  me ! " 

"  Damnation  !  "  vociferated  Jonathan,  savagely.  "  We  've  no 
time  for  any  Bedlam  scenes  now.  Come  along,  you  mad  jade. 
I  '11  teach  you  submission  in  time." 

With  this,  he  endeavoured  to  force  her  off;  but,  before  he 
could  accomplish  his  purpose,  he  was  arrested,  and  his  throat 
seized  by  Jack.  In  the  struggle,  Mrs.  Sheppard  broke  from 
him,  and  filled  the  room  with  her  shrieks. 

"  I  '11  now  pay  the  debt  I  owe  you,"  cried  Jack,  tightening 
his  gripe  till  the  thieftaker  blackened  in  the  face. 

"  Dog  ! "  cried  Wild,  freeing  himself  by  a  powerful  effort, 
and  dealing  Jack  a  violent  blow  with  the  heavy  bludgeon,  which 
knocked  him  backwards,  "you  are  not  yet  a  match  for  Jonathan 
Wild.  Neither  you  nor  your  mother  shall  escape  me.  But  I 
must  summon  my  janizaries."  So  saying,  he  raised  a  whistle  to 
his  lips,  and  blew  a  loud  call;  and,  as  this  was  unanswered, 


another  still  louder.  "  Confusion  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  something  has 
happened.  But  I  won't  be  cheated  of  my  prize." 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  shrieked  Mrs.  Sheppard,  fleeing  from  him  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

But  it  was  of  no  avail.  Jonathan  again  seized  her,  when  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  Thames  Darrell,  followed  by  Mr. 
Wood  and  several  serving-men,  all  well  armed,  rushed  into  the 
room.  A  glance  sufficed  to  show  the  young  man  how  matters 
stood.  He  flew  to  the  window,  and  would  have  passed  his 
sword  through  the  thieftaker's  body,  if  the  latter  had  not  quickly 
interposed  the  person  of  Mrs.  Sheppard,  so  that  if  the  blow  had 
been  stricken  she  must  have  received  it. 

"  Quilt !  —  Mendez  !  —  Where  are  you  ?  "  vociferated  Wild, 
sounding  his  whistle  for  the  third  time. 

"  You  call  in  vain,"  rejoined  Thames.  "  Your  assistants 
are  in  my  power.  Yield,  villain  !  " 

"  Never  ! "  replied  Jonathan. 

"  Put  down  your  burthen,  monster  !  "  shouted  Wood,  point- 
ing an  immense  blunderbuss  at  him. 

"  Take  her,"  cried  Jonathan  ;  and,  flinging  the  now  inanimate 
body  of  the  poor  widow,  who  had  fainted  in  the  struggle,  into 
the  arms  of  Thames,  he  leapt  through  the  window,  and  by  the 
time  the  latter  could  consign  her  to  Wood,  and  dart  after  him, 
he  had  disappeared. 

"  Pursue  him,"  cried  Thames  to  the  attendants,  "  and  see 
that  he  does  not  escape." 

The  order  was  promptly  obeyed. 

"  Jack,"  continued  Thames,  addressing  Sheppard,  who  had 
only  just  recovered  from  the  blow,  and  regained  his  feet,  "  I 
don't  ask  how  you  came  here,  nor  do  I  blame  your  rashness  in 
doing  so.  Fortunately,  ever  since  Wild's  late  murderous  at- 
tack, the  household  has  all  been  well  armed.  A  postchaise 
seen  in  the  road  first  alarmed  us.  On  searching  the  grounds, 
we  found  two  suspicious-looking  fellows  in  the  garden,  and  had 
scarcely  secured  them  when  your  mother's  cries  summoned  us 
hither,  just  in  time  to  preserve  her." 

"  Your  arrival  was  most  providential,"  said  Jack. 

"  You  must  not  remain  here  another  instant,"  replied  Thames. 
"  My  horse  is  at  the  door,  saddled,  with  pistols  in  the  holsters, 
— mount  him  and  fly." 

"  Thames,  I  have  much  to  say,"  said  Jack,  "  much  that  con- 
cerns your  safety." 

"  Not  now,"  returned  Thames,  impatiently.  "  I  cannot—- 
will not  suft'er  you  to  remain  here." 

"  I  will  go,  if  you  will  consent  to  meet  me  at  midnight  near 
the  old  house  in  Wych  Street,"  replied  Jack.  "  By  that  time, 
I  shall  have  fully  considered  a  plan  which  occurs  to  me  for  de- 
feating the  schemes  of  your  enemies.1' 

"  Before  that  time  you  will  be  captured,  if  you  expose  your- 


self  thus,"  rejoined  Thames.  "  However,  I  will  be  there.  Fare- 

"  Till  midnight,"  replied  Jack. 

And  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  his  mother's  cold  lips,  he  left  the 
room.  He  found  the  horse  where  Thames  told  him  he  would 
find  him,  mounted,  and  rode  off  across  the  fields  in  the  direc- 
tion of  town. 


JONATHAN  WILD'S  first  object,  as  soon  as  he  had  made  good 
his  retreat,  was  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  his  janizaries, 
and,  if  possible,  to  release  them.  With  this  view,  he  hurried  to 
the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  post-chaise,  and  found  it  drawn 
up  at  the  road-side,  the  postilion  dismounted,  and  in  charge  of 
a  couple  of  farming-men.  Advancing  towards  them,  sword  in 
hand,  Jonathan  so  terrified  the  hinds  by  his  fierce  looks  and  de- 
termined manner,  that,  after  a  slight  show  of  resistance,  they 
took  to  their  heels,  leaving  him  master  of  the  field.  He  then 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  vehicle,  in  which  he  found  his 
janizaries  with  their  arms  pinioned,  and,  leaping  into  it,  or- 
dered the  man  to  drive  off'.  The  postilion  obeyed,  and 
dashed  off  as  hard  as  his  horses  could  gallop  along  the  beau- 
tiful road  leading  to  Neasdon  and  Willesden,  just  as  the 
serving-men  made  their  appearance.  Arrived  at  the  latter 
place,  Jonathan,  who,  meanwhile,  had  contrived  to  liberate 
his  attendants  from  their  bonds,  drew  up  at  the  Six  Bells, 
and  hiring  a  couple  of  horses,  despatched  his  attendants  in 
search  of  Jack  Sheppard,  while  he  proceeded  to  town.  Dis- 
missing the  post-chaise  at  the  Old  Bailey,  he  walked  to  Newgate 
to  ascertain  what  had  occurred  since  the  escape.  It  was  just 
upon  the  stroke  of  nine  as  he  entered  the  Lodge,  and  Mr.  Aus- 
tin was  dismissing  a  host  of  inquirers  who  had  been  attracted 
thither  by  the  news,  —  for  it  had  already  been  extensively 
noised  abroad.  Some  of  these  persons  were  examining  the  spot 
where  the  spike  had  been  cut  off;  others  the  spike  itself,  now 
considered  a  remarkable  object ;  arid  all  were  marvelling  how 
Jack  could  have  possibly  squeezed  himself  through  such  a  nar- 
row aperture,  until  it  was  explained  to  them  by  Mr.  Austin 
that  the  renowned  housebreaker  was  of  slender  bodily  con- 
formation, and  therefore  able  to  achieve  a  feat,  which  he,  Mr. 
Austin,  or  any  man  of  similar  dimensions,  would  have  found 
wholly  impossible.  Affixed  to  the  wall,  in  a  conspicuous  situa- 
tion, was  a  large  placard,  which,  after  minutely  describing  Shep- 
pard's  appearance  and  attire,  concluded  thus  : — "  Whoever  will 
discover  or  apprehend  the  above  JOHN  SHEPPARD,  so  that  he  be 
brought  to  justice,  shall  receive  ONE  HUNDRED  GUI- 
NEAS REWARD,  to  be  paid  by  MR.  PITT,  the  keeper  of 


This  placard  attracted  universal  attention.  While  Jonathan 
was  conversing  with  Austin,  from  whom  he  took  care  to  conceal 
the  fact  of  his  having  seen  Sheppard  since  his  escape,  Ireton 
entered  the  Lodge. 

"  Altogether  unsuccessful,  sir,"  said  the  chief  turnkey,  with  a 
look  of  disappointment,  not  unmixed  with  apprehension,  as  he 
approached  Wild.  "  I  've  been  to  all  the  flash  cases  in  town, 
and  can  hear  nothing  of  him  or  his  wives.  First,  I  went  to 
Country  Tom's,  the  Goat,  in  Long  Lane.  Tom  swore  he  hadn't 
set  eyes  on  him  since  the  trial.  I  next  proceeded  to  Jenny 
Bunch's,  the  Ship,  in  Trig  Lane — there  I  got  the  same  answer. 
Then  to  the  Feathers,  in  Drury  Lane.  Then  to  the  Golden 
Ball,  in  the  same  street.  Then  to  Martin's  brandy-shop,  in 
Fleet  Street.  Then  to  Dan  Ware's,  in  Hanging  Sword  Court. 
Then  to  the  Dean's  Head,  in  St.  Martin's  Le  Grand.  And, 
lastly,  to  the  Seven  Cities  o'  Refuge,  in  the  New  Mint.  And 
nowhere  could  I  obtain  the  slightest  information." 

"  Humph  I"  exclaimed  Wild. 

"  Have  you  been  more  successful,  sir  ?  "  ventured  Ireton. 

Jonathan  shook  his  head. 

"  Mr.  Shotbolt  thinks  he  has  a  scheme  that  can't  fail,"  inter- 
posed Austin  ;  "  but  he  wishes  to  know  whether  you  '11  be  as 
good  as  your  word,  in  respect  to  the  great  reward  you  offered  for 
Jack's  capture." 

"  Have  I  ever  broken  my  word  in  such  matters,  that  he  darea 
put  the  question  ?  "  rejoined  Jonathan,  sternly.  "  Tell  Mr. 
Shotbolt  that  if  he,  or  any  other  person,  takes  Jack  Sheppard 
before  to-morrow  morning,  I'll  double  it.  Do  you  hear?" 

*'  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Austin,  respectfully. 

"  Two  hundred  pounds,  if  he's  lodged  in  Newgate  before  to- 
morrow morning,"  continued  Wild.  "  Make  it  known  among 
your  friends."  And  he  strode  out  of  the  place. 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  !  "  exclaimed  Ireton,  "  besides  the 
governor's  offer  —  that 's  three  hundred.  I  must  go  to  work 
again.  Keep  a  sharp  look  out,  Austin,  and  see  that  we  lose  no 
one  else.  I  should  be  sorry  if  Shotbolt  got  the  reward." 

"  Devilish  hard  !  I  'm  not  allowed  a  chance,"  grumbled  Aus- 
tin, as  he  was  left  alone.  "  However,  some  one  must  look  after 
the  gaol ;  and  they  're  all  gone  but  me.  It 's  fortunate  we  've 
no  more  Jack  Sheppards,  or  I  should  stand  but  a  poor  chance. 
Well,  I  don't  think  they'll  any  of  'em  nab  him,  that's  one 

On  quitting  the  Lodge,  WTild  repaired  te  his  own  habita- 
tion. Telling  the  porter  that  he  would  attend  to  the  house 
himself,  he  bade  him  go  in  search  of  Jack  Sheppard. 
There  was  something  in  Jonathan's  manner,  as  he  issued  this 
command,  that  struck  the  man  as  singular,  and  he  afterwards 
recalled  it.  He,  however,  made  no  remark  at  the  time,  but  in- 
stantly prepared  to  set  out.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Jonathan 


went  up  stairs  to  the  audience-chamber;  and,  sitting  down,  ap- 
peared for  some  time  buried  in  reflection.  The  dark  and  de- 
sperate thoughts  that  were  passing  through  his  mind  at  this  time 
will  presently  be  shown.  After  a  while,  he  raised  his  eyes  ;  and, 
if  their  glance  could  have  been  witnessed  at  the  moment,  it 
could  not  have  been  easily  forgotten.  Muttering  something  to 
himself,  he  appeared  to  be  telling  upon  his  fingers  the  advan- 
tages and  disadvantages  of  some  scheme  he  had  in  contempla- 
tion. That  he  had  resolved  upon  its  execution,  whatever  it 
might  be,  was  evident  from  his  saying  aloud, — 

"  I  will  do  it.  So  good  an  opportunity  may  never  occur 

Upon  this  he  arose,  and  paced  the  room  hastily  backwards 
and  forwards,  as  if  further  arranging  his  plans.  He  then  un- 
locked a  cabinet,  opened  a  secret  drawer;  and,  after  ransacking 
its  contents,  discovered  a  paper  he  was  in  search  of,  and  a 
glove.  Laying  these  carefully  aside,  he  restored  the  drawer 
to  its  place.  His  next  occupation  was  to  take  out  his  pistols, 
examine  the  priming,  and  rub  the  flints.  His  sword  then  came 
in  for  his  scrutiny  :  he  felt  at,  and  appeared  satisfied  with  its 
edge.  This  employment  seemed  to  afford  him  the  highest  satis- 
faction ;  for  a  diabolical  grin  —  it  cannot  be  called  a  smile  — 
played  upon  his  face  all  the  time  he  was  engaged  in  it.  His 
sword  done  with,  he  took  up  the  bludgeon  ;  balanced  it  in  his 
hand;  upon  the  points  of  his  fingers;  and  let  it  fall  with  a 
smash,  intentionally,  upon  the  table. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  safest  weapon.  No  instru- 
ment I  've  ever  used  has  done  me  such  good  service.  It  shall 
be  the  bludgeon."  So  saying,  he  slung  it  upon  his  wrist. 

Taking  up  a  link,  which  was  blazing  beside  him,  he  walked 
across  the  room  ;  and  touching  a  spring  in  the  wall,  a  secret  door 
flew  open.  Beyond  was  a  narrow  bridge,  crossing  a  circular 
building,  at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  a  deep  well.  It  was  a  dark 
mysterious  place,  and  what  it  was  used  for  no  one  exactly  knew ; 
but  it  was  called  by  those  who  had  seen  it  the  Well  Hole. 
The  bridge  was  protected  on  either  side  by  a  railing  with 
banisters  placed  at  wide  intervals.  Steps  to  aid  the  descent, 
which  was  too  steep  to  be  safe  without  them,  led  to  a  door  on 
the  opposite  side.  This  door,  which  was  open,  Jonathan  locked 
and  took  out  the  key.  As  he  stood  upon  the  bridge,  he  held 
down  the  light,  and  looked  into  the  profound  abyss.  The  red 
glare  fell  upon  the  slimy  brick-work,  and  tinged  the  inky  wa- 
ters below.  A  slight  cough  uttered  by  Jonathan  at  the  moment 
awakened  the  echoes  of  the  place,  and  was  returned  in  hollow 
reverberations.  "  There  '11  be  a  louder  echo  here  presently," 
thought  Jonathan.  Before  leaving  the  place  he  looked  up- 
wards, and  could  just  discern  the  blue  vault  and  pale  stars  of 
heaven  through  an  iron  grating  at  the  top. 

On  his  return  to  the  room,  Jonathan  purposely  left  the  door 

JACK    S1IEPPARD.  249 

of  the  Well  Hole  ajar.  Unlocking  a  cupboard,  he  then  took 
out  some  cold  meat  and  other  viands,  with  a  flask  of  wine,  and 
a  bottle  of  brandy,  and  began  to  eat  and  drink  voraciously.  He 
had  very  nearly  cleared  the  board,  when  a  knock  was  heard  be- 
low, and  descending  at  the  summons,  he  found  his  two  janizaries. 
They  had  both  been  unsuccessful.  As  Jonathan  scarcely  ex- 
pected a  more  satisfactory  result,  he  made  no  comment ;  but, 
ordering  Quilt  to  continue  his  search,  and  not  to  return  until 
he  had  found  the  fugitive,  called  Abraham  Mendez  into  the 
house,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  I  want  you  for  the  job  I  spoke  of  a  short  time  ago,  Nab," 
he  said.  "  I  mean  to  have  no  one  but  yourself  in  it.  Come  up 
stairs,  and  take  a  glass  of  brandy." 

Abraham  grinned,  and  silently  followed  his  master,  who,  as 
soon  as  they  reached  the  audience-chamber,  poured  out  a  bum- 
per of  spirits,  and  presented  it  to  him.  The  Jew  swallowed  it 
at  a  draught. 

"  By  my  shoul !"  he  exclaimed,  smacking  his  lips,  "  dat  ish 
goot — very  goot." 

tl  You  shall  finish  the  bottle  when  the  job  's  done,"  replied 

"  Vat  ish  it,  Mishter  Vild  ? "  inquired  Mendez.  "  Shir  Row- 
land Trenchard's  affair — eh  ?  " 

"  That 's  it,"  rejoined  Jonathan ;  "  I  expect  him  here  every 
minute.  When  you've  admitted  him,  steal  into  the  room,  hide 
yourself,  and  don't  move  till  I  utter  the  words,  '  You  've  a  long- 
journey  before  you.'  That 's  your  signal." 

"  And  a  famoush  goot  shignal  it  ish,"  laughed  Abraham. 
"  He  hash  a  long  journey  before  him — ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  Peace  !  "  cried  Jonathan.  "  There  's  his  knock.  Go,  and 
let  him  in.  And  mind  you  don't  arouse  his  suspicions." 

"  Never  fear — never  fear,"  rejoined  Abraham,  as  he  took  up 
the  link,  and  left  the  room. 

Jonathan  cast  a  hasty  glance  around,  to  see  that  all  was  pro- 
perly arranged  for  his  purpose ;  placed  a  chair  with  its  back  to 
the  door ;  disposed  the  lights  on  the  table  so  as  to  throw  the  en- 
trance of  the  room  more  into  shadow ;  and  then  flung  himself 
into  a  seat  to  await  Sir  Rowland's  arrival. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long.  Enveloped  in  a  large  cloak,  Sir 
Rowland  stalked  into  the  room,  and  took  the  seat  assigned  him ; 
while  the  Jew,  who  received  a  private  signal  from  Jonathan, 
set  down  the  link  near  the  entrance  of  the  well-hole,  and,  having 
made  fast  the  door,  crept  behind  one  of  the  ca'ses. 

Fancying  they  were  alone,  Sir  Rowland  threw  aside  his  cloak, 
and  producedaheavy  bag  of  money,  which  he  flung  upon  the  table; 
and,  when  Wild  had  feasted  his  greedy  eyes  sufficiently  upon  its 
golden  contents,  he  handed  him  a  pocket-book  filled  with  notes. 

"  You  have  behaved  like  a  man  of  honour,  Sir  Rowland,"  said 
Wild,  after  he  had  twice  told  over  the  money.  "  Right  to  a 


"  Give  me  an  acquittance,"  said  Trenchard. 

"  It 's  scarcely  necessary,"  replied  Wild  ;  "  however,  if  you 
require  it,  certainly.  There  it  is.  '  Received  from  Sir  Row- 
land Trenchard,  ^15,000—  Jonathan  Wild  :  August  31st,  1724.' 
Will  that  do  ? " 

"  It  will,""  replied  Trenchard.  "  This  is  our  last  transaction 

"  I  hope  not,"  replied  Wild. 

"  It  is  the  last,"  continued  the  knight,  sternly ;  "  and  I  trust 
we  may  never  meet  again.  I  have  paid  you  this  large  sum  — 
not  because  you  are  entitled  to  it,  for  you  have  failed  in  what 
you  undertook  to  do,  but  because  I  desire  to  be  troubled  with 
you  no  further.  I  have  now  settled  my  affairs,  and  made  every 
preparation  for  my  departure  to  France,  where  I  shall  spend  the 
remainder  of  my  days.  And  I  have  made  such  arrangements 
that  at  my  decease  tardy  justice  will  be  done  my  injured 

"  You  have  made  no  such  arrangements  as  will  compromise 
me,  I  hope,  Sir  Rowland  ?  "  said  Wild,  hastily. 

"  While  I  live  you  are  safe,"  rejoined  Trenchard  ;  "  after  my 
death  I  can  answer  for  nothing." 

"  'Sblood  !  "  exclaimed  Wild,  uneasily.  "  This  alters  the 
case  materially.  When  were  you  last  confessed,  Sir  Rowland?" 
he  added  abruptly. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?"  rejoined  the  other,  haughtily. 

"  Because  —  because  I  'm  always  distrustful  of  a  priest,"  re- 
joined Jonathan. 

"  I  have  just  parted  from  one,"  said  Trenchard.  ., 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  replied  Jonathan,  rising  and  taking  a 
turn,  as  if  uncertain  what  to  do. 

"So  much  the  better,"  rejoined  Sir  Rowland.  "He  who 
stands  on  the  verge  of  the  grave,  as  I  do,  should  never  be  un- 

"  You  're  strangely  superstitious,  Sir  Rowland,"  said  Jona- 
than, halting,  and  looking  steadfastly  at  him. 

"  If  I  were  so,  I  should  not  be  here,"  returned  Trenchard. 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Wild,  curiously. 

"  I  had  a  terrible  dream  last  night.  I  thought  my  sister  and 
her  murdered  husband  dragged  me  hither,  to  this  very  room, 
and  commanded  you  to  slay  me." 

"A  terrible  dream,  indeed,"  said  Jonathan,  thoughtfully. 
"  But  you  mustn't  indulge  these  gloomy  thoughts.  "  Let  me 
recommend  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  My  penance  forbids  it,"  said  Trenchard,  waving  his  hand. 
*'  I  cannot  remain  here  long." 

"  You  will  remain  longer  than  you  anticipate,"  muttered 

"  Before  I  go,"  continued  Sir  Rowland,  "  I  must  beg  of  you 
to  disclose  to  me  all  you  know  relative  to  the  parentage  of 
Thames  Darrell." 


"  Willingly,"  replied  Wild.  "  Thinking  it  likely  you  might 
desire  to  have  this  information,  I  prepared  accordingly.  First, 
look  at  this  glove.  It  belonged  to  his  father,  and  was  worn  by 
him  on  the  night  he  was  murdered.  You  will  observe  that  a 
coronet  is  embroidered  on  it." 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  Trenchard,  starting,  "  is  he  so  highly 
born  ?  " 

**  This  letter  will  inform  you,"  replied  Wild,  placing  a  docu- 
ment in  his  hand. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  cried  Sir  Rowland.  "  I  know  the  hand  — 
ha  !  my  friend  !  and  I  have  murdered  him  !  And  my  sister  was 
thus  nobly, — thus  illustriously  wedded.  O  God  !  O  God  !  " 

And  he  appeared  convulsed  with  agony. 

"  Oh !  if  I  had  known  this,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  guilt, 
what  remorse  might  have  been  spared  me  ! " 

"  Repentance  comes  too  late  when  the  deed  's  done,"  returned 
Wild,  bitterly. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  to  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done  my 
nephew,"  cried  Trenchard.  "  I  will  set  about  it  instantly.  He 
shall  have  the  estates.  I  will  return  to  Manchester  at  once." 

"  You  had  better  take  some  refreshment  before  you  start," 
rejoined  Wild.  "  '  You  've  a  long  journey  before  you?  " 

As  the  signal  was  given,  the  Jew,  who  had  been  some  time  in 
expectation  of  it,  darted  swiftly  and  silently  behind  Sir  Row- 
land, and  flung  a  cloth  over  his  head,  while  Jonathan  rushing 
upon  him  in  front,  struck  him  several  quick  and  violent  blows 
in  the  face  with  the  bludgeon.  The  white  cloth  was  instantly 
dyed  with  crimson  ;  but,  regardless  of  this,  Jonathan  con- 
tinued his  murderous  assault.  The  struggles  of  the  wound- 
ed man  were  desperate  —  so  desperate,  that  in  his  agony  he 
overset  the  table,  and,  in  the  confusion  tore  off  the  cloth,  and 
disclosed  a  face  horribly  mutilated,  and  streaming  with  blood. 
So  appalling  was  the  sight,  that  even  the  murderers — familar 
as  they  were  with  scenes  of  slaughter, — looked  aghast  at  it. 

During  this  dreadful  pause  the  wretched  man  felt  for  his 
sword.  It  had  been  removed  from  the  scabbard  by  the  Jew. 
He  uttered  a  deep  groan,  but  said  nothing. 

Despatch  him  !  "  roared  Jonathan. 

Having  no  means  of  defence,  Sir  Rowland  cleared  the  blood 
from  his  vision  ;  and,  turning  to  see  whether  there  was  any  means 
of  escape,  he  descried  the  open  door  behind  him  leading  to  the 
Well  Hole,  and  instantly  darted  through  it. 

"As  I  could  wish!"  cried  Jonathan.  *<•  Bring  the  light, 

The  Jew  snatched  up  the  link,  and  followed  him. 

A  struggle  of  the  most  terrific  kind  now  ensued.  The 
wounded  man  had  descended  the  bridge,  and  dashed  himself 
against  the  door  beyond  it;  but,  finding  it  impossible  to  force 
his  way  further,  he  turned  to  confront  his  assailants.  Jonathan 


aimed  a  blow  at  him,  which,  if  it  had  taken  place,  must  ave 
.instantly  terminated  the  strife;  but,  avoiding  this,  he  sprang  at 
the  thieftaker,  and  grappled  with  him.  Firmly  built,  as  it  was, 
the  bridge  creaked  in  such  a  manner  with  their  contending  ef- 
forts, that  Abraham  durst  not  venture  beyond  the  door,  where 
he  stood,  holding  the  light,  a  horrified  spectator  of  the  scene. 
The  contest,  however,  though  desperate,  was  brief.  Disengag- 
ing his  right  arm,  Jonathan  struck  his  victim  a  tremendous  blow 
on  the  head  with  the  bludgeon  that  fractured  his  skull ;  and, 
exerting  all  his  strength,  threw  him  over  the  rails,  to  which  he 
clung  with  the  tenacity  of  despair. 

"  Spare  me  !  "  he  groaned,  looking  upwards.     "  Spare  me  !  " 

Jonathan,  however,  instead  of  answering  him,  searched  for 
his  knife,  with  the  intention  of  severing  his  wrist.  But  not  find- 
ing it,  he  had  again  recourse  to  the  bludgeon,  and  began  beating 
the  hand  fixed  on  the  upper  rail,  until,  by  smashing  the  fingers, 
he  forced  it  to  relinquish  its  hold.  He  then  stamped  upon  the 
hand  on  the  lower  banister,  until  that  also  relaxed  its  gripe. 

Sir  Rowland  then  fell. 

A  hollow  plunge,  echoed  and  re-echoed  by  the  walls,  marked 
his  descent  into  the  water. 

"  Give  me  the  link,"  cried  Jonathan. 

Holding  down  the  light,  he  perceived  that  the  wounded  man 
had  risen  to  the  surface,  and  was  trying  to  clamber  up  the  slip- 
pery sides  of  the  well. 

"  Shoot  him  !  shoot  him!  Put  him  out  r  of  hish  mishery," 
cried  the  Jew. 

"What's  the  use  of  wasting  a  shot?''  rejoined  Jonathan, 
savagely.  "  He  can't  get  out." 

After  making  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  keep  himself 
above  water,  Sir  Rowland  sunk,  and  his  groans,  which  had  be- 
come gradually  fainter  and  fainter,  were  heard  no  more. 

"All  's  over,"  muttered  Jonathan. 

"  Shall  ve  go  back  to  de  other  room  ?  "  asked  the  Jew.  "  I 
shall  breathe  more  freely  d  ere.  Oh  !  Chrisht  !  de  door  "s  shut  ! 
It  musht  have  schwung  to  during  de  schuffle  ! " 

"•  Shut !  "  exclaimed  Wild.  "  Then  we  're  imprisoned.  The 
spring  can't  be  opened  on  this  side." 

"Dere's  de  other  door  !  "  cried  Mendez,  in  alarm. 

"  It  only  leads  to  the  fencing  crib,"  replied  Wild.  "  There's 
no  outlet  that  way." 

"  Can't  ve  call  for  asshistanche  ?  " 

"  And  who  '11  find  us,  if  we  do  ?  "  rejoined  Wild,  fiercely. 
"  But  they  will  find  the  evidences  of  slaughter  in  the  other 
room,  —  the  table  upset,  —  the  bloody  cloth, —  the  dead,  man's 
sword, — the  money, — and  my  memorandum,  which  I  forgot  to 
remove.  Hell's  curses  !  that  after  all  my  precautions  I  should 
be  thus  entrapped.  It 's  all  your  fault,  you  shaking  coward  ! 
and,  but  that  1  feel  sure  you  '11  swing  for  your  carelessness,  I  'd 
throw  you  into  the  well,  too." 


.  Rickarl  IJ 




BORTHWOOD  forest  was  an  extensive  tract  of  wild  and  well- wooded 
country,  lying  on  this  side  of  Shanklin.  You  will  see,,  when  you 
pass  that  way,  a  singularly-pointed  conical  hill,  with  a  peasant's 
cottage  perched  upon  the  top  of  it,  rising  out  of  a  comparatively 
level  country.  It  is  known  to  this  day  by  the  name  of  "  The 
Queen's  Bower."  Its  use,  and  the  origin  of  its  name,  are  as  fol- 
low : — 

It  was  the  custom  of  our  Norman  ancestors,  when  they  gave  a 
grand  hunting  entertainment,  to  select  an  open  space,  as  near  as 
might  be  in  the  centre  of  their  hunting-ground  ;  and  choosing  some 
natural  mount,  or  forming  an  artificial  one,  they  erected  upon  it  a 
pavilion,  in  which  were  placed  the  ladies,  and  such  of  their  company 
as  did  not  intend  personally  to  take  a  part  in  the  chase.  A  large 
portion  of  the  forest  was  then  surrounded  by  as  many  of  the  chief 
retainers  as  could  be  got  together.  These  advanced  in  a  circle, 
making  a  great  noise,  gradually  contracting  the  area  of  the  circle, 
until  at  length  all  the  beasts  that  they  had  disturbed  were  driven 
into  the  appointed  hunting-ground.  Here  the  knights  who  had 
assembled  for  the  chase,  lay  in  wait  for  them  near  the  openings 
through  which  it  was  probable  that  the  game  would  issue  from  the 
forest.  The  knights  were  generally  on  horseback,  armed  with  bows 
and  arrows,  and  attended  with  their  squires  holding  their  dogs  in 
leash.  As  the  deer  passed,  they  shot  their  arrows,  and  let  their  dogs 
loose  upon  the  game,  and  generally  with  fatal  effect ;  for  skill  in 
every  branch  of  the  art  of  hunting  appears  to  have  been  the  great 
test  of  a  man's  being  a  gentleman. 

The  hill  still  called  the  Queen's  Bower  derives  its  name  from  the 
circumstance  of  Isabella  de  Fortibus,  the  lady  of  the  Isle  of  Wight 
in  the  reign  of  Edward  the  First,  having  there  erected  her  hunting- 
pavilion.  This  lady,  so  celebrated  in  the  local  history  of  the  island, 
was  sometimes  styled  the  Queen  of  the  Isle  of  Wight;  and,  indeed, 
though  feudally  subject  to  the  Crown  of  England,  her  authority 
within  her  own  dominions  was  quite  despotic,  and  she  lived  in  her 
castle  of  Carisbrook  in  a  magnificence  and  state  worthy  of  royalty. 

A  very  curious  account  of  a  hunting  of  this  lady,  or  Queen  of  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  in  Borthwood  forest,  is  preserved  in  an  ancient  manu- 
script* in  the  British  Museum.  It  appears  that  a  certain  knight 
visited  her  court  in  disguise;  and  Isabella,  wishing  to  satisfy  her 
doubts  as  to  whether  he  was  come  of  noble  blood  or  not,  without 
committing  a  breach  of  ancient  hospitality  by  asking  him  questions, 
proposes  a  grand  hunting-match,  that  he  might  prove  his  noble 
breeding  by  his  skill  in  the  chase.  The  manuscript  is  as  follows : — 

"  On  the  morrow,  whan  yt  was  day, 
To  her  men  she  gan  to  say, 

•  Ancient  MS.  Brit.  Mus.  Harl.  MSS.  2252,44.     Wart.  Eng.  Poet.  vol.  i.  p.  198. 
VOL.    VI.  T 

254'  LEGENDS    OF 

'  To-morrow,  whan  it  is  daylight, 

Lok  ye  be  all  redy  dight, , 

With  your  houndis  more  and  lesse 

In  forrest  to  take  my  gresse,* 

And  tharc  I  will  myself  be, 

Your  games  to  beholde  and  see.' 

Ippomedon  had  houndis  three, 

That  he  brot  from  his  countrec, 

Whan  they  were  to  the  wood  gone, 

This  ladye  and  her  men  ichone,f 

And  with  hem  her  houndis  ladde,^ 

All  that  any  houndis  hadde, 

Syr  Tholomevv  forgate  he  nought 

His  maistres  houndis  thythere  he  brought, 

That  many  a  day  he  had  run  ere  ; 

Full  well  he  thought  to  note  hem  there. 

Whan  they  came  to  the  lande  on  hight, 

The  queen's  pavylyon  there  was  pight,§ 

That  she  might  see  all  the  best 

All  the  game  of  the  forrest; 

And  to  the  ladye  brought  many  a  best, 

Herte  and  hynd,  buck  and  doe, 

And  other  bestis  many  mo. 

The  houndis  that  were  of  gret  prise 

Plucked  down  deer  all  atryse. 

Ippomedon,  he  with  his  houndis  throo,|| 

Drew  down  both  buck  and  doo, 

More  he  took  with  houndis  three 

Than  all  that  othir  compagnie. 

Their  squyers  uridydlf  their  deer, 

Eche  man  after  his  mauere: 

Ippomedon  a  deer  gede  unto, 

That  full  konningly  gon  he  it 

So  fair,  that  very  son  he  gan  to  dight 

That  both  him  byheld  squyre  and  knighte  ;    k 

The  ladye  looked  out  of  her  pavylyon, 

And  saw  hitn  dight  the  venyson  ; 

There  she  had  grete  daintee, 

And  so  had  alle  that  dyd  hym  see. 

She  sawe  all  that  he  down  threu, 

Of  huntynge  she  wist  he  could  enou, 

And  thought  in  her  heart  then 

That  he  was  come  of  gentilmen. 

She  bad  Jason  her  men  to  calle, 

Home  then  passed  gret  and  smalle. 

Home  thei  come  soon  anon, 

This  ladye  to  her  meat  gan  gon,** 

And  of  venery4-  had  her  fill, 

For  they  had  taken  game  at  will." 

Thus  this  royal  lady  having  ascertained  that  Sir  Ippomedon  was  a 
good  shot  with  a  bow,  that  his  greyhounds  were  of  the  right  breed, 
and  that  he  knew  how  to  cut  up  his  deer  when  he  had  brought  it 
down,  goes  home  to  dinner  satisfied  that  the  stranger  knight  is 
a  gentleman  every  inch  of  him. 

*  Gresse — game.  -f  Ichone — each  one,  i.  e.  all.  £  Ladde — led. 

§  Fight — pitched.  ||   Three.  1f   To  undo  a  deer,  is  to  cut  it  up. 

**  To  her  meat  gan  gon — went  to  dinner.  4.  Veuery — hunting. 

THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.  255 


Having  received  a  letter  from  Captain  Nosered,  of  Violet  Cottage, 
Ventnor,  containing  an  invitation  for  Mr.  Winterblossom  and  myself 
to  spend  the  day  with  him,  stating  at  the  same  time  that  he  had  a 
tale  for  me  connected  with  that  neighbourhood,  very  curious,  and 
well-authenticated,  which  he  wished  to  show  me  ;  as  the  captain 
was  an  old  friend  of  mine,  we  accepted  the  invitation,  and  set  out  in 
a  car  together  the  next  day. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  I,  as  we  went  along,  "  what  is  that  church  that 
I  see  yonder  perched  up  at  the  top  of  a  hill  ?  " 

"  Godshill,"  answered  the  antiquary. 

"  Godshill !  Pray  can  you  inform  me  how  it  got  that  name  ?  It 
cannot  be  because  it  is  nearer  to  heaven  than  the  country  round  it." 

c<  I  certainly  never  heard  that  reason  for  it  before.  1  always  un- 
derstood that  it  had  been  named  Godshill  in  commemoration  of  a 
miracle  that  tradition  tells  us  was  performed  at  the  building  of  the 
church.  The  story,  as  it  is  now  told,  and  by  many  still  believed,  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight,  is  as  follows  : — 

"A  sum  of  money  having  been  given  by  certain  pious  individuals, 
whose  names  unfortunately  are  now  lost,  for  the  erection  of  a  church, 
the  religious  authorities  of  the  island,  under  whose  direction  it  was 
to  be  erected,  looked  out  for  a  proper  site  for  it.  After  mature  de- 
liberation, they  fixed  upon  a  spot  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  eminence 
upon  which  the  present  church  stands. 

"  Having  arranged  this  to  their  own  satisfaction,  they  sent  a  mes- 
senger to  the  proprietor  of  the  land,  informing  him  that  the  Bishop 
of  the  Isle  of  Wight,  after  a  solemn  consultation  with  a  council  com- 
posed of  ancient  and  holy  men,  having  at  heart  the  spiritual  welfare 
of  his  island  flock,  had  at  length  decided  upon  conferring  upon  him 
the  high  honour  and  distinction  of  allowing  the  church  to  be  built 
upon  his  land ;  and  he  begged  him  moreover  riot  to  be  puffed  up 
with  pride  thereat,  but  to  receive  the  favour  thus  conferred  upon 
him  with  all  humility  and  gratitude. 

"  Now  it  so  happened  that  the  owner  of  this  land  was  a  poor 
franklin  (a  freeholder),  of  very  limited  means  and  a  very  large  family, 
and  moreover  he  was  by  no  means  of  a  religious  turn  of  mind.  In 
his  heart  he  hated  all  priests  and  monks ;  he  went  to  sleep  at  mass 
when  he  did  attend  it ;  fast-day  and  feast  were  to  him  alike ;  and  as 
for  confession,  he  avoided  it  altogether, — not  because  he  had  nothing 
to  confess,  but  because  he  was  afraid  of  frightening  the  priests  if  he 
told  the  truth ;  and  where  was  the  good  of  confession  if  he  told  lies. 

"  There  were,  however,  occasional  exceptions  to  this  rule.  There 
was  a  certain  jolly  wandering  friar,  who  used  to  visit  him  occasion- 
ally and  shrive  him,  without  being  too  particular  about  trifles  ;  and, 
besides,  he  used  to  hear  his  confession  after  supper,  which  tended  to 
make  it  pass  off  very  smoothly.  Once,  indeed,  the  friar  ordered^  him 
a  slight  penance ;  but  then  upon  that  visit  he  found  his  landlord's  ale 
a  little  turned,  which  might  in  some  degree  have  soured  his  temper. 
The  franklin  used  to  say,  that  a  simmering  mug  of  ale,  with  a  roasted 
crab  bobbing  about  in  it,  would  get  him  absolution  from  any  sin  in 
the  world. 

"  This  being  the  character  of  the  man  who  owned  the  land,  it  may 
easily  be  imagmed  that,  although  he  avoided  the  first  evil  of  being 

256  LEGENDS    OF 

puffed  up  with  pride,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  acknowledge 
the  favour  conferred  upon  him  with  all  the  humility  and  gratitude 
required  of  him. 

"  He  did  not,  however,  dare  to  fly  in  the  face  of  his  powerful  self- 
styled  benefactors.  He  hemmed,  and  hawed,  and  coughed,  and  then 
remarked  what  a  splendid  site  for  the  church  there  was  just  at  the 
top  of  the  hill. 

"  He  was  informed  that  that  situation  had  been  well  considered, 
and  it  was  thought  to  be  too  much  exposed. 

"  The  franklin  then  changed  his  tone,  and,  looking  down  to  the 
ground  with  well-feigned  humility,  he  said  to  the  monk — 

"  '  Father,  the  fact  is,  I  am  a  very  great  sinner  ;  and  if  the  church 
is  built  upon  land  belonging  to  me,  it  will  be  erected  upon  unholy 
ground.  I  pray  you,  father,  consider  this  well.  My  neighbours  on 
both  sides  are  pious  persons,  and  their  land  contains  magnificent  sites 
for  building  churches.  If  you  build  your  church  upon  their  land,  it 
will  not  stand  upon  unholy  ground ;  and  the  high  honour  will  be 
conferred  upon  a  pious  person,  who  is  worthy  to  be  distinguished  by 
the  favour  of  the  bishop  and  his  reverend  council.' 

"  The  monk  replied,  '  Your  being  a  sinner  is  no  obstacle,  but  the 
reverse  ;  for,  when  the  foundation-stone  is  laid,  you  will  receive  ab- 
solution for  all  your  sins,  be  they  ever  so  black  ;  and  as  for  the  land 
being  tainted  with  unholiness,  we  can  consecrate  that.' 

"  The  franklin  now  was  sorely  puzzled  what  to  say.  He  muttered 
something  about  the  largeness  of  his  family  and  the  smallness  of  his 
farm,  and  how  the  spot  fixed  upon  was  the  best  bit  of  the  whole,  and 
how  he  might  be  reduced  to  poverty. 

"The  monk,  however,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  this,  affecting  either 
not  to  hear  or  not  to  understand  the  drift  of  his  argument ;  and  so, 
without  in  the  least  committing  himself  by  any  hint  about  the  possi- 
bility of  compensation,  he  hied  him  back  to  his  masters,  and  told 
them  how,  when  he  had  delivered  his  message,  the  franklin  bent  his 
eyes  with  all  humility  towards  the  ground,  and  replied,  that  he  was 
too  great  a  sinner  for  so  high  an  honour  to  be  conferred  upon  him. 

"  In  the  due  course  of  time  the  bishop's  architect  came  to  survey 
the  spot,  and  trace  out  the  lines  of  the  foundation,  and  some  stones 
from  the  quarry  at  Binstead  were  piled  in  a  heap,  ready  for  the 
commencement  of  the  building.  The  next  morning  the  architect  and 
the  masons  made  their  appearance.  How  great  was  their  astonish- 
ment to  find  not  a  single  stone  remaining  where  they  had  placed  it, 
and  not  a  single  peg  or  mark  put  in  by  the  architect  remaining 
there ! 

"  They  stood  here  for  some  time,  first  staring  at  the  bare  field, 
then  looking  at  one  another,  and  then  staring  at  the  ground  again. 
"  '  Where  are  all  the  building-stones  gone  to  ?  "  said  one. 
"  '  Where  are  all  my  pegs  that  marked  out  the  lines  of  the  found- 
ation ?  '  said  the  architect. 

"  <  Where  are  all  the  stones  and  the  pegs  gone  to,  Master  Franklin  ? 
What  tricks  have  you  been  playing  us,  Master  Franklin  ?  '  said  one 
of  them  to  the  owner  of  the  field. 

'  The  franklin  looked  innocence  itself,  then  opened  his  eyes  and 
fiis  mouth,  and  raised  up  his  hands  in  mute  astonishment. 

"  '  It  strikes  me,'  said  one  of  the  labourers,  scratching  his  head, 

THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.  257 

'  that  we  must  just  have  mistaken  our  way,  and  come  to  the  wrong 

"  '  That 's  quite  impossible  ! '  said  two  or  three  of  the  others, 
speaking  together. 

"  While  they  were  thus  debating,  the  owner  of  the  land  at  the  top 
of  the  hill  made  his  appearance  among  them. 

"  '  Is  this  fair  ? — is  this  right  ? — is  this  honourable? '  said  he. 

"  '  What  fair  ? — what  right  ?  '  rejoined  the  architect.  '  We  do  not 
understand  you.' 

"  '  I  know  well/  said  the  man  from  the  top  of  the  hill,  '  that  land 
is  oftentimes  seized  to  erect  a  church  upon,  without  compensation 
being  given  to  the  owner ;  but  I  ask  you  is  it  not  hard,  very  hard, 
that  the  foundations  of  a  church  should  be  pegged  out,  and  the 
stones  placed  ready  for  the  builder,  upon  my  land,  without  my  being 
told  a  word  about  it  beforehand  ?  Sir,  I  honour  the  priesthood  and 
holy  men,  as  a  good  man  ought ;  but  not  when  they  come  like 
a  thief  in  the  night  to  plunder  me  of  my  patrimony.  Fie  !  fie !  Master 
Architect.  What ! — must  you  come  in  the  night,  while  I  am  asleep, 
to  mark  out  your  foundations,  and  place  your  building-stones  all 
ready  to  begin  with  ?  Why,  if  I  had  overslept  myself,  I  might  al- 
most have  found  when  I  awoke  my  best  field  converted  into  build- 
ings and  churchyards.' 

"  (  What  can  the  man  mean  ?  '  said  the  architect,  when  the  little 
man  from  the  top  of  the  hill  stopped  to  take  breath. 

"  e  Why,  it  is  just  what  I  thought/  said  one  of  the  masons ; 
'  there  must  be  two  fields  somehow  or  other  so  exactly  alike,  that 
we  must  have  mistaken  the  one  for  the  other.' 

"  '  I  can  assure  you/  said  our  friend  the  franklin,  putting  in  his 
word,  '  that,  although  he  appears  a  little  excited  at  present,  he  is  a 
very  sensible,  respectable,  pious  man ;  but  what  he  is  talking  about 
I  cannot  imagine.' 

"  '  Look  up  there/  said  the  little  man  from  the  top  of  the  hill ; 
'  there  they  have  already  brought  stones  to  commence  a  church  with, 
and  have  actually  begun  to  mark  out  the  direction  of  the  found- 

"  In  consequence,  everybody  did  look  up  in  the  direction  he 
pointed,  and  certainly  they  did  perceive  the  tops  of  two  heaps  of 
stones  showing  themselves  above  the  brow  of  the  hill.  The  architect 
and  his  assistants  immediately  directed  their  steps  there,  and,  to  their 
great  astonishment,  they  found  the  building-stones  disposed  in  much 
the  same  order  on  the  top  of  the  hill  that  they  had  placed  them  in 
the  field  below. 

"  What  was  to  be  done?  The  bishop  had  arranged  that  he  should 
come  that  very  afternoon  to  lay  the  first  stone  of  the  church  himself. 
There  was,  therefore,  no  time  to  be  lost ;  so,  without  speculating 
farther  how  the  stones  had  contrived  to  get  up  to  the  top  of  a  steep 
hill  without  assistance,  they  set  themselves  to  work  in  good  earnest 
to  bring  them  down  again ;  and  before  the  appointed  time  for  the 
bishop's  arrival  the  stones  were  all  heaped  up  as  they  were  before, 
the  architect  had  pegged  out  the  shape  of  the  new  church,  and 
a  little  part  of  the  foundation  had  been  dug,  ready  to  receive  the  first 

"  Shortly  after  the  hour  at  which  the  bishop  was  expected,  a 

258  LEGENDS    OF 

group  of  monks  and  other  ecclesiastics  were  seen  collected  together 
in  the  distance  waiting  for  him.  After  the  lapse  of  about  twenty 
minutes,  the  dignitary  himself,  riding  on  a  mule,  attended  by  about 
six  or  seven  mounted  attendants,  joined  their  inferior  brethren,  who 
•were  awaiting  him.  They  now  formed  themselves  into  a  procession, 
walking  two  and  two,  those  on  foot  marching  first,  then  the  bishop ; 
his  mounted  companions  followed  two  and  two,  and  a  few  more  at- 
tendants on  foot  brought  up  the  rear. 

"  As  they  advanced  at  a  slow  pace,  they  chaunted  a  psalm.  One 
half  of  them  chaunted  the  first  verse,  the  other  half  replied  to  them 
in  a  higher  note,  while  here  and  there  their  united  voices  swelled 
into  a  loud  chorus. 

"  The  workmen  and  the  peasantry,  who  were  assembled  round  the 
destined  site  of  the  new  church,  listened  with  deep  devotion  to  the 
solemn  notes  of  the  holy  song,  now  swelling  loud,  now  dying  away 
upon  the  summer  wind. 

"  When  the  procession  arrived  at  the  spot,  the  monks  on  foot  filed 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  still  raising  their  voices,  and  turning  up 
their  eyes  towards  heaven.  The  bishop  on  his  mule  now  arrived  in 
front,  and  it  was  expected  that  he  would  dismount  and  offer  up  a 
prayer  for  the  success  of  their  undertaking.  Had  he  been  on  foot, 
there  is  no  doubt  but  that  he  would  have  done  so ;  but  mules  are 
animals  proverbially  obstinate,  delighting  in  showing  that  they  have 
a  will  of  their  own,  independent  of  their  master's.  So  was  it  in  the 
present  instance  ;  for  the  animal,  instead  of  stopping  short,  as  he  was 
directed  to  do,  continued  to  walk  leisurely  on,  till  at  length  he 
quickened  his  pace  into  a  trot,  and  he  had  actually  ascended  half  way 
up  the  steep  hill  in  front  before  he  could  be  brought  to  a  full  stop. 
At  length  the  bishop  returned  crest-fallen  and  out  of  humour,  and 
having  taken  his  appointed  place,  he  commenced  his  prayer  for  the 
success  of  the  undertaking,  resting  his  knee  upon  aij  embroidered 
footstool,  while  the  rest  of  the  congregation  knelt  upon  the  ground. 
After  his  prayer  was  concluded,  some  masonic  tools  and  a  small  silver 
coin  were  given  to  him.  He  now,  with  the  assistance  of  two  masons, 
deposited  the  coin,  and  settled  down  the  stone  upon  it.  They 
chaunted  a  psalm  ;  and  when  this  was  concluded,  the  bishop's  at- 
tendant deacon  called  for  the  franklin  by  name.  When  he  had 
come,  the  bishop  said,  '  Kneel  down.' 

"  The  franklin  knelt. 

"  The  bishop  then,  after  praising  him  for  his  piety,  pronounced  a 
full  absolution  for  all  his  sins,  and  all  the  ecclesiastics  responded  in  a 
deep  '  Amen.'  The  bishop  then  gave  the  whole  assembly  his  parting 
benediction,  and  the  ceremony  was  at  an  end. 

"  As  the  venerable  fathers  rode  home  together,  they  discussed  and 
re-discussed,  and  commented  upon  the  curious  tale  of  which  they 
had  heard  several  versions  that  morning ;  how  all  the  building-stones, 
together  with  the  architect's  markers  and  pegs,  had  been  myste- 
riously conveyed  away  from  their  allotted  spot  to  the  top  of  a  steep 
hill  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  could  not  have  been  chance.  If  the 
stones  had  rolled  from  the  top  of  the  hill  down  to  the  bottom,  it 
would  have  been  another  thing  ;  but  stones  cannot  roll  up  a  hill. 

"  Was  it  a  miracle  ?  Catholic  priests  in  all  ages  of  the  world  are 
supposed  to  be  oftener  preachers  than  believers  of  the  miracles  that 
take  place  under  their  own  eyes ;  so,  though  the  possibility  of  its 

THE    ISLE    OF    WIGHT.  259 

having  been  a  miracle  was  thrown  out  once  or  twice,  the  majority 
were  decidedly  against  the  opinion  that  a  miracle  had  been  workeu 
in  the  present  instance. 

"  Then  there  was  a  third  supposition.  It  might  have  been  a  trick 
played  upon  them  by  some  base  reprobate.  This  appeared  to  them 
all  to  be  much  more  unlikely  than  either  of  the  two  foregoing  sup- 
positions. Where  could  a  man  be  found  so  utterly  wicked  as  to  wish 
to  do  such  an  action  ?  Certainly  not  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  so  cele- 
brated for  its  piety.  But  even  suppose  such  a  man  was  found,  how 
was  it  possible  to  imagine  for  a  moment  that  he  would  dare  to  do  it  ? 
The  Church  can  excommunicate  as  well  as  bless ;  besides,  people 
had  been  burnt  alive  for  sacrilege  before ;  then  Avhat  object  could 
any  person  possibly  have  in  doing  so?  It  certainly  could  not  be 
merely  for  the  sake  of  running  the  chance  of  being  burnt  alive,  with 
the  addition  of  the  curses  of  the  Church,  and  the  execration  of  all 
mankind.  Then,  again,  how  could  he  possibly  carry  his  intentions 
into  execution,  even  if  he  was  mad  enough  to  desire  it  ?  It  could 
have  been  no  light  labour  to  have  carried  all  the  stones  up  the  hill  ; 
and  it  was  evidently  quite  impossible  to  have  done  it  without  being 
observed  by  some  of  the  neighbours ;  and  what  neighbour  would 
dare  to  conceal  such  an  action  from  the  Holy  Church  ? 

"  At  length  one  of  the  brothers  interrupted  this  discussion,  saying 
in  a  most  solemn  tone, 

"  '  In  the  blindness  of  your  hearts,  and  in  the  eagerness  of  your 
talking,  you  have  altogether  forgotten  the  most  important  fact  of  all.' 
"  '  What  is  that  ?  '  demanded  two  or  three  at  once. 
"  '  Had  it  not  been  for  the  assistance  of  two  strong  men  in  stop- 
ping his  mule,  the  bishop  himself  would  have  been  carried  up  to  the 
top  of  the  hill.' 

"  It  would  never  have  done  for  the  other  ecclesiastics  to  have  cast 
any  reflections  upon  the  horsemanship  of  their  superior  ;  so  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  for  them  all  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
was  something  very  supernatural  and  wonderful  in  the  whole  affair. 
Thus  ostensibly,  at  any  rate,  the  theory  of  the  miracle  carried  it 

"  The  bishop,  however,  between  whom  and  the  mule  similar  dif- 
ferences of  opinion,  attended  with  precisely  the  same  results,  had 
frequently  occurred  before,  could  not  in  his  heart  subscribe  to  the 
proof  that  appeared  to  have  convinced  the  rest ;  so  he  thus  addressed 
his  attendants. 

"  '  Brethren,  however  singular  may  have  appeared  what  we  have 
heard  and  seen  this  day,  we  ought  not  lightly  to  adopt  an  opinion 
that  anything  has  occurred  out  of  the  common  order  of  nature,  lest 
other  causes,  simple  and  obvious  to  the  unlearned,  should  by  chance 
be  brought  to  light,  sufficient  to  account  for  what  has  happened,  and 
thus  the  authority  of  the  Church  be  brought  into  jeopardy.  I  will 
therefore  order  two  men  to  be  placed  to  watch  the  spot  to-night,  and 
to-rnorrow  we  will  discuss  this  matter  again,  after  they  shall  have 
made  their  report.' 

"  One  of  his  attendants  was  in  consequence  sent  back  to  direct 
two  of  the  workmen  to  remain  on  the  spot  all  night,  and  to  give 
them  his  blessing,  which  was  accordingly  done. 

"  A  messenger  from  the  bishop  was  sent  to  them  again  in  the 
morning,  to  see  whether  all  had  remained  quiet  during  the  night. 

260  LEGENDS    OF 

The  account  that  he  brought  back  was,  that  he  found  the  two  men 
lying  upon  the  ground  in  a  helpless  state,  like  men  weary  in  body, 
and  oppressed  with  strong  drink.  lie  roused  them  with  some 
trouble,  and  they  then  gave  a  very  strange  and  marvellous  account 
of  what  they  had  seen  and  heard  during  the  night. 

"  The  most  extraordinary  fact,  however,  that  the  messenger  had 
to  report  was,  that  the  stones  had  all  contrived  to  get  up  to  the  top 
of  this  hill  again  ;  the  foundation-stone  had  been  taken  away,  and 
the  trench  filled  up,  and  the  turf  laid  smooth  again. 

"  Upon  ascending  the  hill,  they  found  the  building-stones  bestowed 
in  the  same  form  they  were  the  morning  before  ;  the  lines  of  the 
foundation  were  in  the  same  manner  pegged  out  by  the  architect's 
marks  ;  a  small  portion  of  the  foundation  had  been  dug,  and  the  first 
stone  had  been  laid,  —  the  identical  first  stone  that  had  been  laid  by 
the  bishop  in  another  place  the  evening  before. 

"  The  bishop,  upon  hearing  this,  ordered  the  two  watchers  and  all 
the  other  persons  who  had  been  employed  the  day  previous  to  be 
brought  before  him.  The  account  that  the  two  watchers  gave  was,  that 
about  midnight  they  were  startled  by  a  low  rumbling  noise,  which 
appeared  to  issue  from  the  heaps  of  stones.  Presently  the  stones 
were  observed  to  move,  rolling  about  one  against  another,  just  as  if 
there  was  a  large  body  moving  about  and  kicking  in  the  midst  of  the 
heap  ;  then  a  little  stone  rolled  off  the  top  of  the  heap,  and  tumbled 
on  the  ground  ;  but  it  quite  made  their  hair  stand  on  end  to  see  that, 
instead  of  stopping  there,  it  kept  on  rolling  and  rolling, — where  the 
ground  was  rough  it  hopped  and  skipped,  and  then  went  on  rolling 
again  in  the  direction  of  the  hill.  Then  out  came  another  stone,  and 
rolled,  and  skipped,  and  rolled  like  the  first.  In  a  little  time,  when 
the  stones  had  contrived  to  shake  themselves  out  of  the  heap,  where 
they  seemed  to  be  very  much  in  one  another's  way,  they  all  began 
rolling  away  together, — the  little  ones  going  faster  and  more  nimbly 
than  the  others.  The  watchers  said  that  they  had  some  difficulty  in 
getting  out  of  their  way,  there  were  so  many  of  them  on  the  move 
together.  A  large  stone,  indeed,  did  come  foul  of  one  of  them,  hit 
him  on  the  shin,  and  knocked  him  out  of  the  way,  nearly  breaking 
his  leg,  and  then  went'bowling  on,  as  if  it  did  not  care  whether  his 
leg  was  broken  or  not. 

"  When  the  stones  had  all  gone  by,  they  determined,  though  they 
were  very  much  frightened  at  the  time,  t