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UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 __PZ10.7 
 •V813 
 1850a 
 
This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 DATE RET 
 DUE 
 
 DATE RET 
 DUE 
 
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 ob 5 (\ *>■[ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Form No. 5 1 3 
 Rev, 1/84 
 
 
 
 
THE VIOLET. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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THE VIOLET 
 
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 L E A V I T T AND ALLEN, 
 
 
 379 BEOADfAY. 
 
 
 -^ IC 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 82CQ55 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Papa, I am making a collection of seals," 
 said my dear little daughter Clara to me one 
 evening. " Will you give me some from those 
 belonging to your watch ?" 
 
 So I made three good impressions of the 
 seals I usually carried ; but Clara was not yet 
 quite satisfied, for after examining them for 
 some minutes she said, 
 
 " Papa, are you very busy just now ?" 
 
 " No, my dear, not very busy : I am only 
 making a few artificial flies, and putting my 
 tackle in order, for spring will certainly be 
 here in a few weeks, though I believe that my 
 
 7 
 
8 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 dear little impatient girl quite despairs of ever 
 seeing violets or primroses again." 
 
 " Oh then, papa, will you be so kind as to 
 tell me the meaning of the seals you have given 
 me ? I mean of the two smaller ones ; for the 
 other has only your coat of arms. Mamma 
 has explained to me all the other seals in my 
 collection." 
 
 " I can do that, Clara, while I go on with 
 my fly making. Tell me then what you see 
 upon the seal you are now looking at." 
 
 " I see a pillar standing upright, surrounded 
 by other broken pillars, and ruins on the 
 ground; and the motto is Latin, I believe, 
 ' Urectus, tutus/ — what is the meaning of that, 
 papa ?" 
 
 " The English of ■ the two words is ' Safe 
 whilst upright,' which you can easily under- 
 stand as applied to the pillar; but it also 
 means, that men, or women, or little children 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 9 
 
 are safe, so long as they are upright and 
 honest, in their conduct towards God and man. 
 Now what does the other seal bear?" 
 
 " I do not much like it. There is a sort of 
 tower, which I am pretty sure is meant for a 
 lighthouse, and no motto, but the date, July 
 21st. Ah, I cannot make out the year, be- 
 cause it is in those tiresome letters which al- 
 ways puzzle me so. What can be the mean- 
 ing of the lighthouse, papa? What do you 
 whisper to mamma for, and why do you nod at 
 each other so?" 
 
 " I asked your mamma whether she thought 
 her daughter Clara was old enough to be made 
 acquainted with the history of a family who 
 once inhabited this lighthouse. She says I 
 may relate the story to you. Well then, to 
 explain this mysterious seal, which you say 
 you do not much like, but which I would not 
 part with for all the seals in the world, I will 
 
10 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 read you a little tale which I wrote several 
 years ago, on purpose for my dear Clara's 
 amusement and instruction." 
 
 " A tale, papa ! I thought you were going 
 to relate a true history." 
 
 " It is quite true, my child ; so bring your 
 chair close to mine, and if possible, remain 
 patiently, without asking any questions, till I 
 have finished ; and above all things, take care 
 that you do not run these fish-hooks into your 
 arm. I have called the tale 
 
 THE LIGHTHOUSE OF FLY-AWAY 
 POINT. 
 
 Old Tom Haddock, the fisherman, had had 
 a lucky day with his nets, and was sitting in 
 the porch, at the door of his cottage, enjoy- 
 ing his pipe and cup of cider, and now and 
 then talking to his wife, who was busily en- 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 11 
 
 gaged in-doors, making a savoury dish of 
 fried fish and potatoes. 
 
 " I say, old woman," exclaimed Tom, 
 "good-bye to the fine weather ; we shall cer- 
 tainly have a blow to-night. A regular gale, 
 you know ; if we don't, you may say I know 
 nothing about wind and weather." 
 
 No reply was heard from within, and Tom 
 remained silent for some time, during which 
 he finished his pipe and drained his cider- 
 cup to the bottom, and pulled out his old 
 turnip-shaped watch to observe the exact 
 minute when the light would appear in the 
 lighthouse on Fly-away Point, on the oppo- 
 site side of the bay. This Point was distant 
 from Haddock's cottage about five miles in 
 a direct line, but more than six by land. 
 Now you must know that it is a rule for all 
 lighthouses to be lighted up exactly at sun- 
 set, which, according to Tom's almanack, 
 
12 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 took place at three minutes past eight o'clock 
 on the evening our tale begins. On this 
 particular evening, however, there appeared 
 to be an unaccountable difference between 
 the time at the Point and at the fisherman's 
 cottage; for though his watch declared that 
 it was twenty minutes past eight o'clock, 
 and the increasing twilight confirmed the 
 assertion, still no light was visible on Ply- 
 away Point. 
 
 Half-past eight ! and Tom could keep 
 silence no longer. So hobbling into the 
 house, he exclaimed, " Here, wife ! Betty ! 
 There's something the matter over the other 
 side. Here, it is twenty-seven minutes past 
 sun-down, and Hawkins don't show a light 
 yet. And he such a careful, steady fellow 
 too, and one that knows his duty so well! 
 Many's the time he has .told me that he 
 wouldn't be ten minutes behind-hand in light- 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 13 
 
 ing up for as many guineas; for, says he, 
 ( My masters, the Trinity Gentlemen, are good, 
 kind-hearted masters in the main, but they 
 make their servants do their duty. If I 
 neglect mine, out of this house I go, that's 
 certain.' So you see there must be some- 
 thing terribly wrong at the Point, for even 
 if Hawkins was ill, his wife can manage 
 the lamps pretty nearly as well as he can." 
 
 Mrs. Haddock, however, did not appear 
 so much interested about the affair as her 
 helpmate, and rather nettled him by saying, 
 " Pooh, nonsense ! What a fuss the man 
 makes ! Depend upon it, it is all right : 
 either your watch is too fast, or there's a 
 fog over the Point, so that you can't see the 
 light." 
 
 " I tell ye my watch is never too fast, nor 
 
 too slow neither ; and though it does rain 
 
 pretty smartly over the other side, I can seo 
 2 
 
14 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 the lighthouse, but not a glimmer of light in 
 the lantern. ' My life for it, there is some- 
 thing amiss,' as the lobster said when the 
 cook threw him into the hot water." 
 
 " Well, but my good man," replied his 
 wife, leaving her cookery for a moment, and 
 going to the door, "there must be ' some- 
 thing amiss' with your old eyes, for I can 
 see the light plainly enough." 
 
 " So can I now, I declare !" said the fish- 
 erman. "Ah! now it brightens up fast. Thank 
 Heaven, Hawkins has come to himself at 
 last ! But what could have made him half 
 an hour behind his time? Well, let us 
 hope the Trinity Gentlemen will never hear 
 of it : they shall never know any thing of it 
 from me, for that Hawkins is as kind-hearted 
 a man as ever breathed, and so is his wife — a 
 kind-hearted woman, I mean. How good she 
 Was to you, Betty, last winter, when you 
 
» 4^ 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 15 
 
 were laid on your beam-ends with the plum- 
 bago, or whatever they call it." 
 
 "Ah ! Heaven bless her," replied Betty. 
 " If ever angels live in lighthouses, she's one. 
 But who can this be coming across the sands ? 
 Get your glass, Tom, and take a look at her." 
 
 Haddock's old-fashioned wooden spy-glass 
 was as great a favourite as his watch, though 
 the tube was split and bound round with 
 twine, and one of the glasses was cracked so 
 as to divide the field of view into three 
 pretty nearly equal portions. But Tom had 
 looked through this glass for so many years 
 that the cracks did not incommode him in the 
 least; and after half a minute's examination 
 of the approaching stranger, he exclaimed, 
 "'Tis your lighthouse angel, Betty! No 
 'tisn't. — It is though: — 'tis Mrs. Hawkins 
 herself! I should have known her before 
 if her face hadn't been hidden behind her 
 
16 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 umbrella. She has got the rain before us, 
 but we shall soon have it here by buckets- 
 full ; and look what a squall there is over the 
 Point. But to think of her walking over by 
 herself! 'What's going to happen .next ?' as 
 the mackerel said when he saw the sprat with 
 an admiral's gold-laced hat upon his head." 
 
 Never were three pair of eyes opened 
 wider in astonishment than those of Mrs. Haw- 
 kins, Haddock, and his wife, after they had 
 exchanged a few hurried questions and replies,, 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins said that, early in the 
 afternoon, a man dressed like a sailor, with 
 a handkerchief tied over his eye, had called 
 at the lighthouse, and begged that she would 
 lose no time in going over to the fisherman's 
 cottage, as Mrs. Haddock was taken sud- 
 denly and dangerously ill. So, as soon as 
 she had arranged her family affairs, the 
 benevolent woman packed up a few simple 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 17 
 
 medicines in a basket, for she had no con- 
 temptible knowledge of the healing art, and 
 set off by herself for a six miles' walk over 
 the sands, not without many expressions of 
 regret from her husband that he was unable 
 to accompany her. 
 
 Sadly perplexed she was when she found 
 that old Betty Haddock was in excellent 
 health, that she had sent no message, and 
 that she knew nothing of the sailor-like man 
 with the handkerchief tied oyer his eye. Of 
 course Mrs. Hawkins could not explain the 
 mysterious affair of the late appearance of 
 the Fly-away light that evening, as she 
 left home long before sunset; but she was 
 firm in her belief that her good man had not 
 neglected his trust. So all the blame was 
 laid upon Tom's old watch. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins willingly consented to re- 
 main that night at the cottage ; and the rest 
 
lb THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 of the evening was spent in endeavouring to 
 discover some motive for this ill-natured 
 hoax, and in discussing the supper of fried 
 fish and potatoes. 
 
 Old Tom, as he rolled over in his bed for 
 the last time before he finally settled for the 
 night, muttered to himself: "My watch 
 serve me such a trick as this? — Impossible! 
 Well, we shall see all about it in the morn- 
 ing, for I'll walk to the Point with Mrs. 
 Hawkins, on purpose to ask her husband 
 about it. But how it does blow and rain ! 
 A bad time of it for them that are at sea ! 
 'Poor fellows, I pity them,' as the porpoise 
 said when he"— 
 
 The sentence was finished by an incipient 
 snore, and the sentiment expressed by the 
 benevolent porpoise is lost to posterity for 
 ever. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 19 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 Let us now cross the little bay, and ascer- 
 tain for ourselves whether honest James 
 Hawkins was a trustworthy light-keeper or 
 not. But before we enter his house, we 
 must take a view of the barren and desolate 
 headland on which it was perched. 
 
 Desolate indeed, and almost out of the 
 world it seemed! Not a trace of vegetable 
 life, not the slightest tint of green, could be 
 detected on the face of its perpendicular 
 cliffs, of more than three hundred feet in 
 height; and although the level space on 
 which the lighthouse stood had a scanty 
 covering of soil, only a little parched-up 
 
20 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 grass and a few hardy stunted plants could 
 be found even there. Hardy indeed must 
 the constitution of a plant be, to bear the 
 tremendous winds and driving salt mist 
 which at times visited the summit of Cape 
 Fly-away. 
 
 But how did this Point obtain such a 
 remarkable and inappropriate name ? I can- 
 not tell you ; but perhaps it might have been 
 so called because, when seen from a distance, 
 its gray colour and rounded outline gave it 
 somewhat the appearance of a fog or cloud 
 upon the horizon. Now, when a young 
 sailor, or a landsman, sees what he believes 
 to be distant land, but which his more ex- 
 perienced companions detect to be nothing 
 but a bank of clouds, they say, " 'Tis only 
 Cape Fly-away." And well would it have 
 been for many a shipwrecked mariner if our 
 Cape Fly-away had been composed of mate- 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 21 
 
 rials as unsubstantial as a bank of clouds; 
 for, alas ! many and very dreadful had been 
 the disasters which these gray cliffs had wit- 
 nessed. In consequence of these frequent 
 wrecks on the Point, or rather upon a trea- 
 cherous reef of rocks which extended several 
 miles beyond it, about two years before 
 our tale begins, the lighthouse had been 
 erected, and had proved so effectual in warn- 
 ing vessels from too near an approach to the 
 dangerous coast, that during that time only 
 one wreck had occurred. Can you then be- 
 lieve that there were demons in the human 
 form who regretted the establishment of this 
 light? I grieve to say that such wretches 
 existed, and that their wicked devices had 
 nearly succeeded in bringing about the de- 
 struction of some hundreds of their fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 In a deep, sheltered bay, on the other 
 
22 THE. LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 side of the Point, was the miserable little 
 village of Crabton Magna, consisting of not 
 more than thirty houses, or rather hovels. 
 I could never discover where Crabton Parva 
 was situated, or what was its size, or popula- 
 tion ; but that has nothing to do with my tale. 
 Our Crabton was inhabited by men calling 
 themselves fishermen, but whose subsistence 
 depended chiefly upon smuggling ; and, be- 
 fore the erection of the lighthouse, upon the 
 rich booty which they obtained from the 
 vessels whose evil destiny threw them upon 
 the reef. Finding, then, that this source of 
 profit was taken from them, they had devised 
 a plan for extinguishing this warning beacon, 
 for a short time at least ; for, said they, " If 
 we can but put out the light for one good, 
 blowing, dark night, we shall be pretty sure 
 to have two or three vessels ashore before 
 morning." 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 23 
 
 So they consulted together, and laid their 
 plans accordingly. We have seen that they 
 succeeded in deceiving Mrs. Hawkins, by 
 a feigned message from the Haddocks, 
 which induced her to leave home for a 
 night ; but how to manage with her husband 
 was a much more difficult matter. To learn 
 how this part of their scheme was brought 
 about, we must take a peep at the light- 
 house shortly after good Mrs. Hawkins had 
 set off on her expedition. 
 
 A thoroughly substantial, well-constructed 
 building this lighthouse was ; and very 
 needful it was that it should be well-con- 
 structed, to enable it to withstand the awful 
 gales it was frequently exposed to. It con- 
 sisted of a round tower, eighty feet in height, 
 with a circular stone staircase ; and on the 
 top of the tower was the lantern, or the place 
 in which the light was exhibited. But if 
 
24 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 you have never visited a lighthouse, you can 
 have very little idea of the sort of place 
 this lantern was. Perhaps you think it 
 might have been something like the small 
 glass lanterns which you have seen people 
 carrying in their hands on dark nights. 
 Not at all like them, my dear little girl or 
 boy, who may have honoured me by taking 
 this book into your hand. The lantern of 
 this lighthouse was an octagonal room, large 
 enough to contain ten or twelve persons. 
 The roof was made of copper, and the sides 
 were composed partly of copper and partly 
 of large panes of very thick plate-glass, set 
 in iron frames. This very strong glass is 
 always used in lighthouses, and is quite 
 necessary, because they are generally built 
 in very exposed, windy situations, where 
 common window-glass would be blown to 
 pieces. Sometimes, also, it happens, that 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 25 
 
 sea-fowl are attracted by the light, as moths 
 often are by a candle ; and such heavy birds 
 as wild ducks and geese, dashing themselves 
 against the glass, would shiver it to atoms, 
 if it were not unusually thick and strong. 
 Notwithstanding this precaution, it has some- 
 times happened that a large bird has flown 
 with such violence against the lantern 
 that the glass has been broken ; and I have 
 myself seen a pane of very thick plate-glass 
 which had been so broken by a wild-duck. 
 The bird was killed by the blow, of course : 
 and in this manner light-keepers sometimes 
 obtain a nice meal, which is particularly 
 acceptable to those who are stationed on 
 rocks, or small islands, where a supply of 
 fresh meat cannot always be procured. 
 
 Sometimes the whole of the sides of the 
 lantern are of glass; but in the Fly-away 
 lighthouse the part towards the land was 
 
26 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 composed of copper plates, for there would 
 have been no use in exhibiting a light in that 
 direction. 
 
 In the middle of the lantern was an iron 
 frame, on which were hung eight large 
 lamps, very similar to those which we use 
 in our parlours ; but instead of a globe of 
 ground glass, they were each surrounded 
 by a very large reflector made of copper, 
 and coated with silver on the inside. By 
 means of these reflectors, which were always 
 kept as bright and polished as a looking- 
 glass, the light of the lamps was so much 
 increased, that, in clear weather, it could be 
 seen at the distance of thirty miles. 
 
 James Hawkins and his family did not 
 live in the tower, but in a very nice, well- 
 built house at the foot of it ; and no expense 
 had been spared in making this house as 
 comfortable as it was possible to be, in 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 27 
 
 such a dreary exposed situation. You 
 would have been pleased to have seen how 
 thick the walls were, how strongly the doors 
 and window-frames were made, and how 
 tightly they fitted. But all the comfort 
 was inside of the house; for if you looked 
 out of the door or window, the prospect was 
 dreary enough. To be sure, there was a 
 magnificent view of the ocean, and of 
 the stupendous cliffs, whose base was washed 
 by the waves; but a prospect of water 
 and rock alone would soon have wearied 
 your eyes, and made you long for a 
 sight of green trees and of quiet meadows 
 again. 
 
 But a naturalist might have found some 
 employment on these cliffs. He might have 
 collected some rare and beautiful lichens 
 which grow on the rocks, and which are never 
 to be found at a distance from the sea ; and 
 
28 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 he would have been delighted with watching 
 the immense flocks of sea-birds that had 
 chosen Cape Fly-away for a summer home, 
 and reared their families in the caverns and 
 ledges of the cliffs. Here might be seen 
 puffins, razor-bills, guillemots, and several 
 different kinds of gulls ; but for a description 
 of these birds I must refer you to books of 
 natural history. I will, however, inform you, 
 that though they differ very much from 
 each other in form and colour, they are 
 alike in this, they are all extremely fond 
 of fish, and very expert in catching it. A 
 little boy of my acquaintance once remark- 
 ed to me, that there was another point of 
 resemblance between them. 
 
 "It seems to me," said he, "that white 
 waistcoats are quite the fashion with these 
 sea-birds." 
 
 He was right, for the breasts of the birds 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 29 
 
 I have mentioned, and of many other sea- 
 fowl, are as white as snow ; and even those 
 that frequent the shores of muddy rivers, 
 and are constantly swimming and diving in 
 dirty water, almost always contrive to keep 
 their " waistcoats" clean and spotless. But 
 I am so fond of birds myself, and es- 
 pecially of these beautiful sea-birds, that 
 I forget that others may not feel much in- 
 terest on the subject. I must now tell you 
 something more about the inhabitants of the 
 lighthouse. 
 
 The father of Hawkins had been a mate 
 of a ship, and James himself had been bred 
 up a sailor, and had made many voyages, 
 but had been induced to leave the sea, partly 
 because he did not much like the employ- 
 ment, but chiefly because he had married a 
 wife, and thought it his duty to stay at 
 
 home, and take care of .her and of his 
 3* 
 
30 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 child. So, being fond of reading and re- 
 tirement, he applied for his present situa- 
 tion, and succeeded in obtaining it, through 
 the interest of a merchant, his former 
 employer. Mrs. Hawkins is known to 
 you already, and I have very little more 
 to say about her, except that she was 
 the daughter of a respectable tradesman, 
 and that a better wife or mother never 
 existed. 
 
 And her sweet little girl, Clara, now just 
 ten years of age, deserved a good and care- 
 ful mother. Must I draw Clara's picture? 
 No, I shall not attempt to do so, for I have 
 no talent in describing persons ; and, indeed, 
 where is the artist who can portray form 
 and features with no better materials than 
 pen and paper? Even the skilful portrait- 
 painter finds it his most difficult task to 
 transfer childish beauty to his canvas, and 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 31 
 
 it generally happens that, after a rigid side- 
 by-side examination of the painting and the 
 original, we are obliged to confess, " The 
 eyes are exactly the right colour, so are the 
 hair and eyebrows, and how well the artist 
 has succeeded with the beautiful transpa- 
 rent complexion ! I can find no fault with 
 the form of the features; and that sweet 
 smile upon the lips is like, oh, very 
 like ! — still — it is unreasonable, certainly — , 
 but so it is — altogether I am sadly disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 Let me endeavour to assign a cause for 
 this melancholy failure ; but I am an ec- 
 centric being, and my explanation may ap- 
 pear foolishness to others. Who ivas it 
 that had compassion upon little children, 
 and caressed them, saying, " Of such is the 
 kingdom of heaven ?" Now, to me, these 
 tv ords explain the mystery : and thus we see 
 
32 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 in many sweet young faces an expression 
 of heavenly innocence and purity, which we 
 look for in vain in those of riper years ; and 
 this expression the utmost skill of the artist 
 never has been and never will be able to 
 portray ! His clumsy materials cannot imi- 
 tate it; with an equal chance of success 
 might he attempt to paint a sweet sound or 
 odour. 
 
 Well, then, if I cannot describe little 
 Clara's features, what shall I say of her 
 temper and disposition ? Young ladies who 
 may chance to read these pages, I assure 
 you that she possessed almost all the good 
 with hardly any of the unpleasant parts of 
 your characters, if you will pardon me for 
 supposing that you may not be quite per- 
 fect. 
 
 Young gentlemen, if you will have pa- 
 tience to read this story to the end, you will 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 33 
 
 see that she showed courage and determina- 
 tion which yon might have been proud of at 
 her age. But I must leave off praising her, 
 and go on with my tale. 
 
34: THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Clara and her father had accompanied Mrs. 
 Hawkins for a short distance on her way to 
 the fisherman's, and, since their retnrn, had 
 been amusing themselves by reading and 
 conversing, for James was never weary of the 
 society of his dear little girl. Then they 
 walked together to a curious valley, or fis- 
 sure in the cliffs, where, under the shelter 
 of an overhanging rock, James had erected 
 a covered seat of rough boards. Clara 
 called it her summer-7iouse, but it had more 
 the appearance of a large, ill-built watch- 
 box. However, it was a very favourite sta- 
 tion of hers in fine weather, especially when 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 35 
 
 the birds were breeding, for at this spot the 
 rocks below and on each side were thronged 
 by the numerous flocks of sea-fowl I have 
 mentioned. On almost every projecting 
 ledge might now be seen a company of 
 queer, demure-looking puffins and guille- 
 mots, sitting erect on their tails, apparently, 
 for the legs of these birds are placed so far 
 back that they cannot stand in any other 
 position. Not only on the rocks, but in the 
 air, and on the water below, almost as far as 
 the eye could distinguish them, might be seen 
 myriads of these birds, swimming, diving, 
 and flying backwards and forwards with 
 food for their young families. A sensitive 
 nose might even have detected a faint, in- 
 describable odour diffused through the at- 
 mosphere, by the near neighbourhood of so 
 many fish-fed bodies. It was very amus- 
 ing to observe the old birds as they came 
 
36 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 in from the sea, with a sprat, or other small 
 fish, hanging out at each side of their bills; 
 and little Clara laughed heartily at a mis- 
 chance which sometimes befell them. For 
 the wings of these birds are extremely small 
 in proportion to the size of their bodies, and 
 though their great strength enables them to 
 fly very fast, they cannot do what a robin 
 or a sparrow would find very easy. They 
 cannot fly from one ledge of rock to an- 
 other immediately above them, without first 
 taking a wide circuit in the air, till they 
 have gradually raised their heavy bodies 
 to the necessary height. It therefore some- 
 times happened, much to Clara's amuse- 
 ment, that when an old bird, with his mouth 
 full of fish, had arrived just opposite to his 
 intended landing place, he would find that he 
 had made a little mistake in calculating the 
 distance, and that he was not high enough 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 31 
 
 by a few feet. The discovery was very an- 
 noying, no doubt, to a parent anxious tc 
 satisfy the cravings of a hungry family ; bul 
 there was only one way of remedying the 
 mistake: — the long, circuitous flight must be 
 taken, till the clumsy bird had reached the 
 proper elevation. 
 
 About an hour before sunset James re- 
 collected that it was time for him to perform 
 his usual evening task of fetching a small cask 
 of water from the spring, for there was no 
 well at the lighthouse. So, leaving his little 
 girl at home, with the cask on his shoulder, 
 and a small tin cup and a funnel in his 
 hand, he proceeded, first for about half a 
 mile along the edge of the cliff towards 
 Crabton, and then descended by a steep 
 and rugged path, till he reached a little 
 pebbly beach, where the spring trickled slowly 
 down from the rock. But a long dry sea- 
 
38 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 son had so much diminished the supply, that 
 when James had about half filled his cask 
 he was obliged to wait some time before the 
 little pool from which he dipped the water had 
 . again filled. 
 
 Seated on a flat stone, with his eyes 
 directed towards the top of the cliff, he 
 observed three men standing in a narrow 
 part of the path, and apparently watching 
 his movements. He wondered what they 
 could be doing there, for the little beach 
 was quite unfrequented, except by those 
 who came for water, and if these men 
 wanted a supply, why did they not descend? 
 But as honest James Hawkins had never 
 given any man cause to be his enemy, he 
 did not suspect them of an evil design, and 
 he was proceeding to fill his water cask, 
 when, accidentally casting his eyes sea- 
 wards, he beheld a sight which might have 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 39 
 
 made no impression whatever upon any 
 man but a light -keeper, but which caused 
 him to desist from his employment, and 
 hasten homewards immediately. In short, 
 he beheld the angry, stormy-looking sun 
 so near the horizon, that it was evident he 
 had not a moment to lose, if he wished to 
 reach home before lighting-up time. There- 
 fore, with his half-filled cask on his shoulder, 
 he ascended the steep, zigzag path, without 
 pausing to rest, till, in a narrow pass between 
 two masses of rock, he found his progress 
 obstructed by the three men he had before 
 observed from below, but in his haste to reach 
 home he had entirely forgotten them. 
 
 Although his face was concealed as much 
 as possible by a handkerchief, and by a large 
 black wig, which ill agreed with his fiery red 
 whiskers, James immediately recognised one 
 of these men as Ben Bludgeon, a notorious 
 
40 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 wrecker and smuggler, living at Crabton ; but 
 the other two men were strangers to him, for 
 he had very little communication with the 
 half-civilized inhabitants of this village. 
 
 " Good evening," said Hawkins, in a civil 
 tone, finding that the men did not make way 
 for him : "I will thank you to let me pass, 
 my friends." 
 
 " Keep your friendship to yourself I" 
 growled Bludgeon ; " you don't pass this way 
 to-night, I can tell ye : so trot down again, 
 my man, or 'twill be all the worse for you." 
 
 " Not pass ! what do you mean ? I tell you 
 I must pass, and immediately, too, for I am 
 already too late. Perhaps you don't know 
 me ? I am Hawkins, of the lighthouse ; and, 
 depend upon it, you will be made to repent 
 this uncivil treatment, Mr. " 
 
 Here James checked himself suddenly, 
 recollecting how imprudent it was to show 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 41 
 
 that he had detected a man who evidently 
 wished to remain disguised. Well was it for 
 him that he did not mention Bludgeon's 
 name, for the ruffian, laying his hand upon 
 the hilt of a long knife, concealed under his 
 coat, muttered in a hollow voice : — 
 
 " Mr. who ? Why don't you go on ? Come, 
 you know me, do you, my lad?" 
 
 Our friend saw that he was in iminent 
 danger, and, with great presence of mind, 
 replied : 
 
 " To be sure I do, Mr. Barton, and I 
 entreat you to let me pass quietly. You 
 know of what importance it is that I should 
 be at my post, to-night especially, for we are 
 going to have a rough time of it." 
 
 James said this with a steady countenance, 
 
 with his eye fixed on the villain's face, and 
 
 saw that he had succeeded in quieting his 
 
 suspicions, for Ben merely replied : 
 4* 
 
42 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 "Ay, ay, other people can tell when 'tis 
 going to blow as well as you can. But, come, 
 let us have no more of this nonsense ; either 
 go back quietly, or we'll serve ye this way," 
 giving James's water-cask a kick, which sent 
 it rolling down the path, and it was dashed 
 to pieces long before it reached the bottom. 
 
 After some further remonstrance, James 
 saw that it was useless to contend any longer 
 with these men, who were three to one, and 
 probably all armed. He was therefore com- 
 pelled, most reluctantly, and in great distress 
 of mind, to accompany them down the path 
 to the beach, Ben Bludgeon going before 
 him, and the others keeping close behind. 
 When at the bottom, his conductors desired 
 him to retire a few paces, while they held a 
 consultation, apparently not a very amicable 
 one, for Ben's hand was more than once laid 
 upon the handle of his knife. Probably their 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 43 
 
 dispute related to the further disposal of theif 
 prisoner, for, as they approached him, James 
 overheard the leader say to his companions, 
 " I tell ye, not if you can help it. But if he 
 makes a noise, — you understand me ; — 'tis of 
 no use to flinch now !" 
 
 So Ben proceeded to ascend the cliff 
 again by the path, for there was no other 
 Way of leaving Freshwater Cove, as it was 
 called ; and the two men left behind led 
 James along the beach for a few hundred 
 yards, till they came to an overhanging part 
 of the rock, where they were sheltered from 
 the rain, which now came down in torrents. 
 Here they all sat clown on a heap of dry sea- 
 weed, the prisoner in the middle. As his 
 keepers appeared rather more civilly dis- 
 posed than the surly Bludgeon, James endea- 
 voured to make them converse with him, not 
 altogether without a hope that he might be 
 
44 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 able to persuade or bribe them to give him 
 his liberty. But although his first attempt 
 at conversation was simply a remark about 
 the weather, he was immediately cut short 
 with — 
 
 "I tell ye what it is, Master — We are 
 under orders as well as yourself, and those 
 orders are — 'Not a single word, good or 
 bad.' So keep quiet till morning, and what- 
 ever happens, you will come to no harm." 
 
 So poor James Hawkins was left to his 
 own meditations, and very gloomy and dis- 
 tressing his thoughts were. For himself he 
 had not much anxiety, either on account of 
 his personal safety, or from supposing that 
 any blame would attach to him for neglecting 
 his duty. But James was a humane, good 
 man, and his feelings may be imagined when 
 he considered what tremendous mischief 
 would probably be occasioned by the light 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 45 
 
 being extinguished on such a night as this; 
 and he remembered of what great importance 
 it was that it should be constantly kept up 
 when once established, for seamen, knowing 
 that a light was usually exhibited on the 
 Point, and seeing none, would be altogether 
 out of their reckoning, and would suppose 
 themselves to be at a much greater distance 
 from the land than they really were. 
 
 But these dismal forebodings were not 
 James's greatest sources of uneasiness, for 
 when he thought of his dear little girl, left at 
 home by herself, his distress amounted to 
 agony, and he exclaimed — 
 
 " God be merciful to my sweet Clara this 
 night ! She will die of terror before the 
 morning I" 
 
46 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 And how did poor Clara pass that fearful 
 night ? 
 
 When James left her to go to the spring, 
 she proceeded to arrange the supper -table and 
 to put some water on the fire to boil, for her 
 father's very moderate glass of grog; for he 
 still retained so much of a sailor's habits as to 
 like a comforter before bed-time. 
 
 Young as little Clara was, her mother had 
 taught her many domestic duties ; and though 
 she possessed very few of what are called 
 accomplishments, she could do some things 
 perfectly well, which it would puzzle many of 
 you, my dear accomplished young ladies, even 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 47 
 
 to attempt. For instance, she could make 
 an excellent pudding, and had many times 
 gone through the whole process without any 
 assistance, or even a word of advice from her 
 mother. Then, what intense delight she felt 
 when her father, having tasted the produce 
 of her skill, would exclaim, as he held his 
 plate for a second helping, " A famous good 
 pudding, this ! Who made it ? Not my 
 Clara, to be sure !" 
 
 The notable little girl had placed every 
 thing ready for supper, and the water was 
 just beginning to sing, when she thought it 
 must be quite time to expect her father's 
 return, and she went out to look for him. 
 But a sudden squall of wind and rain soon 
 drove her back again, saying to herself, 
 "Ah ! how wet he will be !" and then she 
 went up -stairs to fetch another jacket for him 
 to put on when he returned, and got ready 
 
48 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 the little lantern which he used when he 
 lighted the lamps, for she knew that he would 
 perform that duty before he sat down to 
 supper. Soon it began to grow dusk, and 
 the poor child's surprise at her father's long 
 absence was changed into fearful misgivings 
 that some terrible accident had happened to 
 prevent his return. She remembered how 
 punctual he always was in discharging his 
 duty, and she knew that the sun had set for 
 some time, for from the window she had 
 watched him go down, like a ball of molten 
 brass, into the ocean. 
 
 " Oh ! if he has fallen down over those 
 terrible cliffs !" exclaimed she, opening the 
 door a little, to see if the weather would 
 allow her to go in search of him, but a tre- 
 mendous gust blew it instantly wide open, 
 and she had no little difficulty in closing it 
 again. And now the rain poured down like 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 49 
 
 a cataract, and the lightning flashed, while 
 the thunder could scarcely be heard, so ter- 
 rible was the roar of the wind. That poor 
 little child might as well have attempted to 
 have fled to the moon as to have walked fifty 
 yards against that night's gale. She saw 
 that it was impossible for her to venture out, 
 and she returned, almost heart-broken, into 
 the snug little kitchen. Here the sight of 
 her poor father's jacket, hanging over the 
 back of a chair by the fire, entirely overcame 
 her, and she burst into tears, exclaiming, 
 
 " He is dead — he is dead ! He will never 
 wear it again ! I am sure he would come 
 back to me before this if he was alive." Then 
 down she sank upon a chair, in an agony of 
 terror and distress. 
 
 And now I am coming to a part of my tale 
 
 which, perhaps, some of my readers may think 
 
 improbable ; but it must be remembered, that 
 5 
 
50 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 Clara "was no common child, and she per- 
 formed no common action that night. In the 
 midst of her bitter grief for her father's 
 loss, and terror at her own situation, she 
 recollected that they had been employed that 
 afternoon in reading together an account 
 of a most melancholy shipwreck, in which 
 more than a hundred persons, and several of 
 her own sex and age, had perished. She 
 remembered also that she had asked her 
 father whether, if there had been a lighthouse 
 on that part of the coast, the shipwreck 
 would not have been prevented. He replied 
 that most probably it would, and added, "If 
 I were so wicked as to neglect my duty, and 
 not light our lamps, on some very dark 
 windy night, perhaps, before morning, a dis- 
 aster as terrible as that we have just been 
 reading about would happen on the Fly-away 
 Beef." 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 51 
 
 All this had made a deep impression upon 
 the mind of the intelligent little girl at the 
 time ; and now, as she sat with her face 
 buried between her knees, and sobbing as if 
 her heart would burst, the remembrance of 
 the whole story, with her father's observations 
 upon it, appeared, she knew not why, to be 
 strangely mixed up with her present sorrow. 
 Then, by degrees, a fresh feeling of distress 
 came over her, — an indistinct fear that she 
 had some painful duty to perform ; and she 
 began to say to herself, " If I could but light 
 the lamps ! Ah, no ! I can never do it. — 
 And to keep them burning all night, too ! 
 And then I must go up that frightful stair- 
 case by myself! Oh, my dear, dear father, 
 if I could but tell what has become of you !" 
 
 Then she remained perfectly still for some 
 minutes — so quiet that you would have 
 thought she had been asleep. But no, she 
 
52 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 was not asleep, for a terrible conflict was 
 going on in her breast, and the good spirit 
 gained the victory over her fears I So she 
 arose from her seat, wiped her eyes, and 
 lighted the little lantern, saying aloud, "I 
 will try to light the lamps. If I can but get 
 to the top of the frightful stairs, the worst 
 will be over." 
 
 Now I must confess that Clara, though a 
 very sensible child, was rather silly in one 
 respect, for she had always had a great 
 dread of this cold, dark, gusty staircase, with 
 its one hundred and seventeen stone steps ; 
 and she could never be persuaded to ascend 
 them by herself, even in the day-time. 
 Therefore you may imagine how terrified 
 the poor child was, when she opened the 
 door of the passage which connected the 
 dwelling-house with the bottom of the tower, 
 and found herself at the foot of the dreaded 
 
,.,,,,."■ I - •'iiPll'illi " -■ ' i ' |, r".-t^ 1 '' 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 53 
 
 stairs. The tower had no windows in it, 
 but here and there a long, narrow slit, or 
 loophole, in the wall, to admit a little light 
 and air, and through these openings the 
 wind whistled, and roared, and almost scream- 
 ed in the ears of the lonely tenant of 
 the tower. Clara has often said that she can 
 remember very little of what happened after 
 she had ascended a few steps, for her fright 
 almost deprived her of her senses; but she 
 thinks that in her frantic haste to reach the 
 top she must have fallen down several times, 
 for her knees and elbows were sadly cut and 
 bruised. But she reached the lantern, closed 
 the little door, and was happy ! 
 
 Yes, she felt comparatively happy, in having 
 accomplished that part of her task which she 
 most dreaded ; though you would have thought 
 that to have spent the night in the lantern 
 
 of a lighthouse, in such a gale, would have 
 5* 
 
54 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 been very terrible indeed. As you nave 
 never been in such a situation, you can form 
 no idea of it whatever. Not only did the 
 awful "wind and thunder roar ten times louder 
 than below, but the rock-based tower itself 
 yielded to the blast, and trembled fearfully. 
 Clara had not been two minutes in the lan- 
 tern before she repented of her attempt, and 
 heartily wished herself safe in the house be- 
 low again. But the terrible stairs, like an 
 impassable gulf, lay between her and the 
 place of refuge, and as her courage revived 
 by degrees, she remembered the resolution 
 she had made to endeavour to light the lamps* 
 These were all ready-trimmed, and as she 
 had often seen her father light them, she 
 began to hope that the difficulty was not so 
 very great. So she took off one of the 
 glasses, and after turning round the top of 
 the lamp till it would go no further, she 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 55 
 
 found she was wrong, and moving it in the 
 contrary direction, soon, to her great joy, the 
 circular wick made its appearance. Then, 
 after several trials, she succeeded in lighting 
 one side of the wick with a piece of paper : 
 she replaced the glass, and went on to the 
 next lamp. She turned this the right way at 
 once, and had just persuaded the obstinate 
 wick to burn, when, crack ! went the glass of 
 the first lamp, some of the fragments falling 
 on the floor ; and Clara beheld the long, red 
 flame towering up, and terminated by a 
 column of black smoke. She had raised the 
 wick a great deal too high ; and now, in her 
 haste to remedy the error, she turned it down 
 so low that the flame was quite extinguished. 
 
 " Oh ! I never shall manage it," said she, 
 removing the remaining part of the broken 
 glass ; but here, alas ! was a fresh misfortune, 
 for it was very hot and burnt her fingers 
 
56 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 so that she could not help crying out with 
 pain. The poor little girl's spirit was al- 
 most broken, and another mishap would 
 probably have made her abandon the at- 
 tempt in despair, when, looking at the se- 
 cond lamp, she saw that the wick had lighted 
 all round, and was burning with a beautiful, 
 clear, white flame. Forgetting her smarting 
 fingers, Clara immediately placed a glass over 
 it, and soon found that, by turning the top 
 round carefully and slowly, she had full com - 
 mand of the flame, and could diminish or in- 
 crease it at pleasure. So she raised it gra- 
 dually till it gave a brilliant light, but without 
 any smoke; and now the quick-witted child 
 fully understood her business. In a short 
 time all the lamps were burning beautifully, 
 while Clara for a while almost forgot her 
 grief and terror in her admiration of the bril- 
 liant suns she had created. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 57 
 
 Never had the Fly-away lighthouse sent a 
 brighter gleam across the waters than it did 
 on that night ! The watchful mariner hailed 
 the appearance of that warning star from a 
 distance, and was sure, by its position, that 
 he was safe from the dangers of the fatal 
 reef. But could he have known that its 
 splendour was maintained by the hand of 
 a weak and trembling child, he would surely 
 have bowed in gratitude to that Being who 
 is so often pleased to confer his greatest 
 benefits upon mankind by means which would 
 appear to us altogether inadequate for the 
 purpose. 
 
 What was to be done next? Clara knew 
 that the lamps would not burn brightly for 
 more than four or five hours without trim- 
 ming and a fresh supply of oil ; but here no 
 difficulty would occur, for another set of 
 eight lamps stood ready to take the places 
 
58 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 of the first. But here lay the great and 
 Sore difficulty — to prevent herself from fall- 
 ing asleep, and neglecting her trust ! For 
 the first hour or two of her lonely watch 
 she was wakeful enough, for the novelty of 
 her situation and the uproar around her 
 prevented her from feeling drowsy, to say 
 nothing of her own sad thoughts. But sleep, 
 though long chased away by sorrow, will at 
 length weigh down the eyelids of the most 
 wretched, even of the condemned criminal 
 in his cell; and now Clara began to feel 
 its oppressive influence stealing over her, 
 and by far the most difficult part of her 
 task remained to be performed. But she 
 resisted nobly, and repelled the unwelcome 
 visitor with a determination which can be 
 sufficiently admired only by those who have 
 seen how overpowering are the attacks of 
 Bleep upon very young eyelids. Clara knew 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 59 
 
 that if slie could by any means keep herself 
 awake till it was time to change the lamps, 
 she might then sleep in peace, for in a few 
 hours after it would be daylight. 
 • And she did keep awake till nearly two 
 o'clock in the morning, as was afterwards 
 ascertained by the quantity of oil consumed ; 
 and then, finding that the lamps would no 
 longer burn brightly, she was sure that it was 
 past midnight. So she lighted up the fresh 
 set without the smallest accident or difficulty ; 
 she watched them for a few minutes, to be 
 quite sure that all was right, and then, the 
 sweet child having faithfully discharged the 
 duty which had so strangely fallen to her lot, 
 sank down upon the cold stone floor, and was 
 in thfc I md of dreams in an instant. 
 
60 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 We left James Hawkins seated on the heap 
 of sea-weed between his two keepers, who 
 kept watch alternately. But James never 
 once closed his eyes, for he had not suf- 
 ficient confidence in his companions to be 
 sure that it would be quite safe for him to 
 do so. Heavily and slowly passed the time, 
 till about an hour before dawn, and then 
 was heard at a distance the sound of some 
 one walking over the loose pebbles. 
 
 Here I must tell you that the lighthouse 
 could not be seen from any pait of Fresh- 
 water Cove ; and though the top of the tower 
 was visible to the inhabitants of Crabton, 
 the dark side of the lantern was towards 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 61 
 
 them, and in order to see the light, it was 
 necessary to sail out into the bay for three 
 or four miles, or to walk about the same dis- 
 tance from the village to Fly-away Point. 
 
 When the stranger had approached within 
 speaking distance of our party, he was hailed 
 by the watchman with a gruff, "Who's 
 there?" 
 
 "Tom Grummage," was the reply; "and 
 I've got news for ye ; so leave your man, one 
 of you, and come here." 
 
 Hawkins could hear nothing of the con- 
 versation that ensued, but he feared, from 
 the earnestness of their manner, that the 
 scheme of the Crabton wreckers had suc- 
 ceeded, and that a ship had been discovered 
 stranded on the reef. He was mistaken, how- 
 ever, for in a few minutes the two men came 
 up to him, and he that had guarded him 
 during the night said, 
 
62 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hawkins, you may go home 
 as soon as you like ; and as you've behaved 
 quietly, I'll tell ye for your comfort that your 
 light is burning as brightly as ever it did, and 
 has been burning all night, for what I know 
 to the contrary. But I say, Hawkins, when 
 this comes to be talked of, and we get 
 into trouble for to-night's work, say a good 
 word, will you, for Jack Bracey; for I can 
 tell ye that, if it had not been for me, Ben 
 would have pitched you over the cliff, as he 
 did your water-cask. He's a rough fellow, 
 that Ben Bludgeon. — There, now, I have let 
 out his name ! But you knew him well 
 enough before, in spite of his wig ; and though 
 you cheated him with your 'Mr. BartonJ you 
 didn't take me in." 
 
 Of course, Hawkins coulcl promise nothing, 
 but he thanked Bracey for his interference ; 
 and being now at liberty, need I tell you that 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. b6 
 
 he ascended the cliff, and ran to his home in 
 half the time that he had ever taken to tra- 
 verse the same distance before ? 
 
 Panting and breathless he stood before 
 his own door. It was on the latch. He 
 entered the kitchen and struck a light. The 
 object of his eager search was not there. 
 Then he examined every room of the house, 
 calling with faltering voice for his child, but 
 his ears were gladdened by no reply — his 
 home was silent and desolate. " God of 
 heaven," he cried, "she has ventured out in 
 search of me, and has perished miserably in 
 the storm !" Suddenly a new thought struck 
 him, and a faint gleam of hope shone upon 
 the father's heart. " Ha ! the light has been 
 burning all night ! Can it be possible ?" 
 In an agony of suspense he ascended the 
 lighthouse stairs — he gained the lantern, and 
 there, stretched upon the floor in child- 
 
64 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 hood's death-like sleep, was his lost one, his 
 own beautiful Clara. She was soon aroused 
 by the sound of her father's well-known 
 voice, and as James pressed her to his heart, 
 this strong man was overcome, and he min- 
 gled his tears with hers. After a few brief 
 questions, James carried his little girl down 
 into her own room, and left her to enjoy a 
 sound repose. Then he lay down upon his 
 own bed, but sleep visited not his eyes, for 
 his thoughts were with his dear little child : 
 and as he pondered over the events of the 
 night, he exclaimed, " I never knew what hap- 
 piness was till now ! May God give me a 
 thankful heart !" 
 
 About ten in the morning, the weather hav- 
 ing cleared up, Mrs. Hawkins, with old Tom 
 Haddock and Betty, made their appearance. 
 Very much astonished they were when the 
 events of the past night were related to 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 65 
 
 theni, and you may be sure that the fisher- 
 man was delighted to find that his old watch 
 had not deceived him. Then little Clara, 
 who appeared in very good spirits after her 
 fright and want of sleep, gave the particu- 
 lars of her share of the night's adventures. 
 Nothing can be more affecting than a tale 
 of sorrow related in the simple but eloquent 
 language of childhood ; and as the little girl 
 described her grief for her father's supposed 
 loss, Mrs. Hawkins and Betty could not 
 restrain their tears. James sat in silence 
 with his dear Clara on his knee, "but the 
 water stood in his eyes !" 
 
 Now this most expressive manifestation of 
 intense happiness was a phenomenon which 
 old Tom could not at all comprehend, and he 
 muttered to himself — 
 
 " What both of 'em a crying ? And, I 
 
 declare, James seems half a mind to join 
 6* 
 
66 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 in with the women too, because he's alive 
 and able to eat his breakfast this morning, 
 instead of being pitched over the cliff and 
 made into victuals for the crabs and dog- 
 fish. Well, I am not so foolish as that, 
 neither; though, "when I look at that pretty 
 little maid, and think of what she has gone 
 through this night, < I do feel uncommonly 
 queer, to be sure,' as the hermit-crab ob- 
 served when he fitted himself into a fresh 
 shell." 
 
 But let us leave this funny old man, and 
 get on to the end of our tale as quickly as 
 possible. Mr. Hawkins lost no time in ac- 
 quainting his masters, the gentlemen of the 
 Trinity-House, with the particulars of this 
 affair, and prompt, measures were taken to 
 secure the Crabton conspirators; but those 
 most deeply concerned in the plct had put 
 to sea in their boat, and it was feared had 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 67 
 
 escaped to the coast of France. However, 
 they were captured at last, at a small English 
 seaport, more than fifty miles from Crabton. 
 
 It came out on their trial, that the original 
 design of the wreckers was to have marched 
 in a body to the lighthouse, to have utterly 
 demolished the lantern, and to have mur- 
 dered the inmates of the house if they had 
 made the least resistance. This was the 
 amiable Bludgeon's favourite plan ; but his 
 companions, either more humane than him- 
 self, or more fearful of the consequences, had 
 compelled him to abandon it. The gang 
 knew that the little girl was left in the light- 
 house, but they did not believe it possible 
 that such a child would be able to frustrate 
 their evil designs, neither were they aware 
 that their scheme for extinguishing; the light 
 
 o o o 
 
 had failed till the night was almost past. 
 So Ben received his deserts in a sentence 
 
68 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 of transportation for life, for^it was proved 
 that he was the leader of the gang ; but 
 Hawkins said all he could in favour of Bracey 
 and his companion, believing that he owed 
 his life to their interference, and in con- 
 sequence they were let off with two years' 
 imprisonment. 
 
 And so much for punishments — now for 
 rewards. It was ascertained that, on the 
 night when Clara kept her lonely watch in 
 the lantern, several very richly-laden ships, 
 with many passengers on board, had passed 
 Fly-away Point, and the captains and pilots 
 had no doubt that they should have been 
 lost on the reef, if the light had been extin- 
 guished. 
 
 The owners of these ships and the passen- 
 gers were therefore determined that the 
 young light-keeper, who had been the means 
 of saving so many lives and so much pro- 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 69 
 
 perty, should be "well rewarded for her good 
 conduct; so they began a subscription, to 
 which many of the wealthy merchants in 
 London contributed, and the Trinity Gen- 
 tlemen liberally engaged to double the sum, 
 whatever it might amount to. This promise 
 induced many to increase their donations, 
 and one old, cross East Indian merchant, 
 who at first had refused to subscribe any 
 thing, when he heard of this engagement, 
 immediately put his name down for fifty 
 pounds, for he had a long-standing feud 
 with the Trinity Board, and, said he, as he 
 wrote his name in the list, " I care nothing 
 for this silly chit of a girl, but I hate those 
 lighthouse people, and I'll make them pay an- 
 il ther fifty pounds." 
 
 But Clara's other friends gave from better 
 motives; and though the " lighthouse peo- 
 ple" had to pay a great deal more than they 
 
70 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 had expected, they did not begrudge their 
 money, and our young friend was now a 
 wealthy little lady, with a fortune of more 
 than a thousand pounds. 
 
 As this money was placed in her father's 
 hands for her benefit, James determined to 
 give up his situation as light-keeper. He 
 therefore took a farm in an adjoining county; 
 and though at first, as might have been 
 expected, he made some sad blunders in 
 his new employment, he soon succeeded in 
 getting out of his difficulties, by industry 
 and attention, and an occasional word of 
 advice from his neighbours. In a few years 
 he was a thriving man, and was able to afford 
 the means of giving his daughter Clara, to 
 whom he owed his good fortune, a much better 
 education than farmers generally consider ne- 
 cessary for their children. 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 71 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In order to explain the introductory conver- 
 sation at the beginning of this tale, I must 
 now entreat my readers to pardon me for 
 bringing part of my own history before their 
 notice. But I -will be as brief as possible. 
 
 About eight years after Mr. Hawkins be- 
 came a farmer, my parents being both dead, 
 I went to reside with my uncle, who had 
 been appointed my guardian. From him I 
 first heard the story of the Fly-away light- 
 house, and learned that James Hawkins was 
 a tenant on his estate. My good uncle, 
 finding that I was much interested in the 
 account, took me with him the first oppor- 
 
72 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 trinity to call at the farm, giving me this cau- 
 tion as we dismounted from our horses : — 
 
 " Now, Fred, take care of your heart ! for 
 the young light-keeper is a marvel of beauty, 
 I can tell you. Even my old eyes can see 
 that." 
 
 I was ever the most perverse, disobedient 
 creature in the world ! Even when I really 
 meant to be particularly good and tractable, 
 something or other was sure to happen to 
 raise the spirit of opposition within me. So 
 it was * in this instance. I loved my uncle 
 sincerely ; he was my benefactor, my second 
 father; and when I took up my abode under 
 his roof, I wished, and fully intended, to obey 
 him in every thing. How did I abide by this 
 resolution ? He had desired me not to be cap- 
 tivated with the beauty of " the young light- 
 keeper," as he always called her, and I had 
 not been half-an-hour in her company before I 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 73 
 
 said to myself, " Either Clara or nobody 1 I 
 will marry her, if she will have me, in spite of 
 all the uncles in existence ; and if she won't 
 have me, I will join the army, and fly to the 
 uttermost parts of the earth from her pre- 
 sence. Welcome danger and death, if sweet 
 ' Clara may not be mine." 
 
 I had a sad ride home ! My uncle 
 teased me with questions about my college 
 doings, and received very silly answers, no 
 doubt. The only question of his which I 
 fully comprehended was, whether I did not 
 think Miss Hawkins pretty. I answered as 
 coolly as I could, and was glad to take 
 refuge by starting another topic, rather than 
 endure my uncle's cross-examination on this 
 subject. 
 
 I walked over to the farm by myself the 
 
 next day, with my fishing-rod in my hand, 
 
 and requested Mr. Hawkins, who was a most 
 7 
 
74 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 accomplished fly-fisher, to show me the best 
 pools in the stream which ran close by his 
 house. He said that it would be quite use- 
 less to attempt to fish that morning, for the 
 wind was decidedly east, and very cold. I 
 knew all this before I set out, and I quite 
 agreed with him that it would be better to 
 defer our fishing excursion. So I sat two 
 hours talking with Clara and Mrs. Hawkins, 
 and returned home more than ever determined 
 to be disobedient. 
 
 My uncle was much engaged, settling some 
 business with his lawyer, for a week or two 
 after this, and I made almost daily calls 
 at the farm, sometimes with a tolerable ex- 
 cuse for my intrusion, sometimes with a very 
 lame one, at last with none whatever, except 
 that I had not seen Clara for four-and-twenty 
 hours. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins always received me 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 75 
 
 with perfect civility, though I fancied, from 
 their manner, that my frequent visits were 
 not quite acceptable to them. But the grave 
 looks of the parents could not scare me away, 
 when their sweet daughter smiled like a 
 morning in spring. So we went on thus for 
 two or three months longer, and my fate was 
 decided. I did not join the army, but I won 
 the heart of "the young light-keeper;" though 
 the consent of her parents was not to be ob- 
 tained, except upon the hard condition that 
 my uncle should approve of my choice. My 
 uncle approve of it, indeed ! How could he 
 be expected to approve of a match between his 
 heir, the last hope of his ancient family, and 
 the daughter of a man who had been a com- 
 mon sailor, and who could not even tell 
 you the name of his great-grandfather. But 
 I did not know my uncle when I reasoned 
 thus. Though eccentric in his habits, and 
 
76 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 somewhat rough and hasty in his manners, he 
 had a kind and feeling heart. 
 
 One morning, after a very silent breakfast, 
 I observed with some alarm that the old 
 gentleman followed the servant to the door, 
 and said to him, in a low tone, " If anybody 
 wants me, say I am engaged, and not to be 
 disturbed on any account till I ring." He 
 then resumed his seat, and addressed me. 
 
 "Fred, my dear boy," said he, "I am 
 sorry to observe that you have seemed out 
 of spirits lately. When you first came to 
 me, you were just the sort of companion I like 
 — all rattle and fun ; but now — come, make a 
 friend of your old uncle, and tell him all about 
 it. WJiat's the matter with you, Fred ?" 
 
 "I am sure, sir, you are very kind, but there 
 is nothing the matter with me, that I know 
 of. I beg pardon if I have seemed out of 
 spirits, but I am perfectly well, I assure you." 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 77 
 
 " Oh, very good ! I am not your physician, 
 young gentleman. Then perhaps you will 
 allow me to ask you what you mean to do with 
 yourself till dinner-time ?" 
 
 " I meant to try for a trout, if you have no 
 objection, sir — I mean, if you do not want me 
 this morning." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what stream do you mean to 
 exercise your skill upon?" 
 
 " I think I shall try the Red-Brook to-day. 
 The fish are finer there, and the banks are 
 less encumbered with brushwood, and the 
 water " 
 
 "Now, my dear Fred, I have fished in 
 
 every river within a dozen miles of us, for 
 
 more than half a century; so you need not 
 
 tell me what sort of a stream the Red-Brook 
 
 is. If I pleased, I could trace the course of 
 
 twenty rivers for miles, could tell you every 
 
 field they pass through, and every house that 
 7* 
 
78 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 stands on their banks. For instance, I know 
 that the Red-Brook runs very near the house 
 of my tenant, honest James Hawkins, though 
 perhaps you might have forgotten that fact, 
 when you enumerated its other merits." 
 
 Never was a poor detected lover in a 
 worse predicament ! I tried to look uncon- 
 cerned, but failed entirely; and I blundered, 
 and stammered sadly, while I answered my 
 cruel questioner, by saying that I believed 
 the Red-Brook did pass pretty near the Haw- 
 kins's house. 
 
 "So!" said my uncle, "you are beginning 
 to learn a little of the geography of the 
 country, I see ! But now I will leave jesting, 
 and will thank you for your serious attention 
 for a few minutes. To come to the point at 
 once then — Fred, I Jcnoio the whole affair I 
 I know that, like a foolish fellow, you have 
 engaged to marry Miss Hawkins — I know all 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 79 
 
 tliis ; and a great deal more, though you have 
 not thought proper to make a friend of 
 your old uncle. Yesterday morning, James 
 Hawkins came up here, saying that he wished 
 to quit his farm, and, like an honest, open- 
 hearted fellow, he gave me his reasons for 
 this step. He said that as he knew I should 
 never give my consent that a nephew of mine 
 should marry his daughter, he thought it 
 better to remove her to a distance, hoping 
 that she might then forget her silly lover. 
 He did not call you silly, though: that's an 
 improvement of mine. 
 
 " Now, Fred, I don't approve of this match 
 at all. I never have approved of unequal 
 matches ; and let me tell you that the young 
 light-keeper, pshaw ! that Miss Hawkins, with 
 all her beauty and excellent qualities, is not 
 a suitable match for you. I am not thinking 
 about her want of fortune. You will have 
 
80 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 enough of your own, and I despise a man 
 who would take a trip to the altar to pick 
 up a bag of gold. My poor father used 
 to give me this advice, and if you can 
 put it into fewer or better words, you are 
 a clever fellow; ' Tom,' said my father, 
 'when you marry, seek for a fortune in 
 a wife, and not with a wife;' meaning thereby 
 that she should be a treasure herself from her 
 good qualities. 
 
 "Well, Fred," continued my uncle, "I 
 have given you a long lecture, but I have not 
 quite finished yet. I have said that I do not 
 approve of unequal matches, but I like them 
 better than broken hearts I So, if you assure 
 me, which of course you will, that you and 
 your pretty little Clara are both determined 
 to break yours all to pieces, if you are not 
 allowed to marry, why I suppose I must give 
 my consent, that's all. There, give me your 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 81 
 
 hand, my dear boy, and now go and see how 
 the trout will rise in the Eed-Brook this 
 morning." 
 
 My heart was too full to reply to my kind, 
 generous uncle. I pressed his hand in silence, 
 and was leaving the room, when he called me 
 back. 
 
 " Oh ! I have forgotten one thing ; don't 
 catch all the trout in the Eed-Brook this 
 morning, Fred, for I mean to wet a line there 
 myself some fine day, if my rheumatism will 
 let me — and, stop a minute, what a hurry the 
 silly fellow is in ! You may take back to 
 Mr. Hawkins his notice to quit the farm. 
 He won't think it necessary to leave the 
 neighbourhood now, I suppose : we must find 
 him a larger farm, though, and a better house, 
 if he is to be my nephew's father-in-law." 
 
82 THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 I closed my book, and my dear little 
 Clara, who, like a good child, had not once 
 interrupted me while I was reading, now 
 opened wide the floodgate of her impatience, 
 and broke forth into a torrent of exclamations 
 and questions. When these had been ans- 
 wered, she said : 
 
 "Yes, papa, I think I understand it all 
 now. But is mamma really a common sailor's 
 daughter?" 
 
 "Your mamma, my dear Clara, is the 
 daughter of James Hawkins, who, though 
 now the possessor of wealth and land of his 
 own, was formerly what you call ' a common 
 sailor ;' do you love her the less on that 
 account ?" 
 
 "Oh no ! nothing can possibly make me 
 love dear mamma less. Ah! now I under- 
 stand why you had a lighthouse engraved on 
 your seal. I am sure I shall value the impres- 
 
THE LIGHTHOUSE. 83 
 
 sion of that seal more than all the rest in my 
 collection." 
 
 "I hope you will not forget the history 
 connected with it, my dear child; and when 
 you look at the seal, reason thus with your- 
 self : — My mamma was but a very little girl, 
 and yet by her good conduct she saved the 
 lives of many persons, and prevented the 
 destruction of much valuable property. For 
 this action she was rewarded, and was at 
 length raised to a situation in which she has 
 had the means of being much more useful to 
 her fellow-creatures than she could possibly 
 have been, had she remained all her days an 
 inhabitant of a lighthouse. 
 
 " Can I, her daughter, imitate her in any 
 way r ' 
 
 " Ah, no ! I never in all my life shall have 
 an opportunity of doing so much good as 
 she has done ; and even if I had the op- 
 
84: THE LIGHTHOUSE. 
 
 portunity, I have not her courage and deter- 
 mination," 
 
 " Perhaps not. Still I think that every lit- 
 tle child may be of some use in the world, for 
 we know that God has created nothing in 
 vain, not even the smallest insect or plant 
 which we trample under our feet, as if they 
 were altogether worthless and insignificant." 
 
 " Well, then, I am certainly better than a 
 plant or an insect, for God has given me un- 
 derstanding, to teach me to distinguish be- 
 tween right and wrong, and to enable me to 
 do good to others. 
 
 " But how can I, a little, helpless child, who 
 require assistance myself, almost every hour 
 in the day, how can I be of the smallest use to 
 others. Ah ! I will not puzzle about it any 
 longer, but will go directly to my dear mamma, 
 and beg her to teach me how to imitate i The 
 young light-keeper of Fly-away Point.' ''' 
 
THE INCENDIAEY. 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "How many hands will you have in the 
 hayfield to-day ?" said I, one morning at break- 
 fast, to my host, farmer Trimmer, under whose 
 roof I had been lodging for more than a 
 twelvemonth. 
 
 "How many, sir!" replied the farmer, 
 
 "why as many as we can possibly muster, 
 
 you may be sure ; for 1 never in all my life 
 
 had so much hay down together as I have 
 
 just now. If we had but more hands, three 
 
 days of this hot sun and lovely breeze would 
 
 make it all safe for us. But the quicksilver 
 
 is settling down this morning, I see, so we 
 
 87 
 
88 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 can't expect this fine weather to last many 
 days longer. Well, we must work hard while 
 we have it, and hope for the best. Let me 
 see, there will be seven of our own people, 
 and those six new men I hired yesterday, and 
 if you reckon nephew Walter, here, and my- 
 self to make one more between us, there will 
 be fourteen altogether." 
 
 Now the farmer spoke very modestly of his 
 own powers when he said this: for though 
 "Nephew Walter" was a slight-made lad of 
 about thirteen, James Trimmer himself was a 
 man of such unusual proportions and strength, 
 that he could easily do as much work as any 
 two of his labourers. 
 
 "Fourteen, we shall be altogether, and I 
 wish we were forty" continued the farmer; 
 " but perhaps my good woman and the maids 
 will come out and handle the forks by-and-by." 
 
 "Not we, indeed!" replied Mrs. Trimmer, 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 89 
 
 " till we have finished our own work, at any 
 rate. How are the victuals for fourteen hun- 
 gry people to be got ready, if we go a hay- 
 making, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " Then I shall be the only idle person on 
 the premises," said I to myself; " perhaps the 
 only thoroughly idle, useless being within ten 
 miles of us. To be sure I am not very strong, 
 nor used to hard work; but at haymaking- 
 time anybody can be useful, and I could do 
 as much as little Walter there, at any rate. 
 Come. I will try to spend one day of my life 
 usefully and industriously." 
 
 " So, telling Mr. Trimmer that he had made 
 
 a mistake in his reckoning, and that he would 
 
 have one more haymaker in his employ than 
 
 he expected, I accompanied him into the field, 
 
 where, under the tuition of my friend Walter, 
 
 I soon learned to perform my part very much 
 
 to my own satisfaction. 
 8* 
 
90 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 Here I must introduce my young friend 
 more particularly than by merely saying that 
 he was James Trimmer's nephew. His father, 
 a poor hard-working curate, preaching two 
 or three sermons a week, and with difficulty 
 maintaining his family upon an income which 
 did not amount to the yearly earnings of 
 a skilful journeyman tailor or shoemaker, 
 had died when little "Walter was about two 
 years old. His wife soon followed her hus- 
 band, and as she had offended her own family 
 by her imprudent choice, poor Walter was 
 left without a friend or protector in the wide 
 world, except his uncle and aunt Trimmer. 
 Now this early bereavement, unfortunate 
 in most instances, had proved a blessing 
 to the little boy; for which is the most 
 enviable .condition, that of a very poor 
 curate's son, or that of a thriving farmer's 
 nephew and adopted child ? It is true that as 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 91 
 
 the former lie would have had more right to 
 the title of gentleman; but give me well-fed 
 and warm-clad respectability, rather than 
 starving and half-ragged gentility. And I 
 mean to show that Walter, though his work- 
 ing-clothes were of coarse texture, and his 
 shoes were often adorned by half a pound 
 weight of hob-nails, had nevertheless prin- 
 ciples and feelings that would have done hon- 
 our to any station in life. Neither was he so 
 deficient in learning as boys of his class 
 usually are ; for his uncle, who had received 
 some education himself, was too sensible of 
 the advantages he had derived from it, to 
 neglect his nephew in this respect. So the 
 long winter evenings were spent by Walter 
 very pleasantly and profitably, in reading 
 and writing, and in learning the first rules of 
 arithmetic. 
 
 But after a few years' instruction there 
 
92 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 followed a consequence which the farmer had 
 himself foreseen, and had predicted to his 
 wife very soon after he had taken upon him- 
 self the office of tutor to his nephew. The 
 intelligent child had imbibed all the learning 
 the teacher had it in his power to impart, 
 and longed for more. 
 
 At this crisis, when Mr. and Mrs. Trimmer 
 were debating whether they could make up 
 their minds to part with their nephew, and 
 send him for a year or two to a school in the 
 neighbouring town, I first became an inmate 
 of their comfortable abode. Compelled by 
 ill health to give up my profession, and to 
 take refuge in the genial climate of our 
 southern coast, I had spent several weeks 
 in rambling about, seeking for a quiet resting- 
 place, and finding none exactly suited to my 
 wishes. One place was too public, another 
 too lonely and out of the world, even for 
 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 93 
 
 such a lover of retirement as myself; and 
 many situations, though agreeable in other re- 
 spects, were far too expensive for my very 
 slender income. 
 
 One afternoon, during my uncertain wan- 
 derings, as I was sitting on a stile, contem- 
 plating a glorious ocean-view, and inhaling 
 with delight the perfumed sea-breeze that 
 blew softly over the land, I was startled from 
 my musings by a voice behind me, very 
 civilly requesting permission to pass by. 
 I stepped aside to comply, and then my 
 acquaintance with little Walter Trimmer com- 
 menced. 
 
 There was something wonderfully engag- 
 ing in the boy's manner and appearance. 
 Though not absolutely handsome, the expres- 
 sion of his face combined so much intel- 
 ligence with the greatest simplicity and in- 
 nocence, that the absence of perfect beauty 
 
94 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 and regularity of feature was forgotten. His 
 was a face on which the finger of the Creator 
 had written in characters not to be misunder- 
 stood, " Trust me, try me ; I cannot deceive 
 
 you." 
 
 As in our pilgrimage through this world 
 of deceit and treachery, such a perfectly 
 ingenuous countenance as I have attempted 
 to describe does not often refresh our sight, I 
 determined to make an acquaintance with its 
 owner, and accordingly I entered into conver- 
 sation with Walter, who soon became very 
 sociable and communicative. He showed me, 
 at the distance of about half-a-mile, the chim- 
 neys of his uncle's house, peeping up behind 
 a forest of apple-trees, and as it lay near- 
 ly in my way to the little village where I 
 lodged, I determined to accompany my new 
 acquaintance there. I asked Walter if he 
 thought his aunt would spare me a little milk. 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 95 
 
 "Yes, I am sure she will, sir," replied he; 
 a and you can have it fresh and warm from 
 the cow, for it is just about milking-time. 
 Or, if you like it better, aunt will give you a 
 glass of ale or of cider. Oh, such capital 
 cider we make, sir ! Uncle often says that 
 ours is the very best cider in all Devonshire. 
 Aunt always gives me a good large cup full 
 with my supper : aunt is very kind to me, 
 sir ; oh, so kind ! and I am sure she will be 
 glad to give you any thing to eat or drink you 
 like. Only I must tell you one thing; you 
 must not do what some very fine grand ladies 
 did a little while ago." 
 
 Here my little talkative friend paused, and 
 looked rather confused; so I inquired what 
 these fine grand ladies had been guilty of. 
 
 "Why, they came as you are going to do 
 now, sir," replied Walter, " and asked for 
 some milk; and aunt gave them some, of 
 
96 THE INCENDIAKY. 
 
 course, and some bread and butter, and some 
 honey, and what do you think they did, sir, 
 when they were going away ? Why they 
 wanted to pay for it! I declare aunt looked 
 downright angry. Her face was as red as 
 fire with anger; and I never in all my life 
 saw her so but once before, and that was 
 when she caught our boy Joe tying a squib 
 to the cat's tail. However, she managed to 
 keep quiet till the ladies were outside of the 
 door, and then she said, so loudly that I am 
 pretty sure they heard her, 'When I keep 
 a public-house I'll hang out a sign !' " 
 
 I promised Walter that I would not imitate 
 the conduct of these offending ladies; and 
 now, crossing a winding, narrow pond or 
 moat, by a bridge formed by a prostrate 
 willow-tree, we passed through a long avenue 
 of magnificent hollyhocks, and entered the 
 house. My conductor showed me into a 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 97 
 
 small, neatly-furnished parlour, and went to 
 call his aunt. As they came along the pas- 
 sage, I could not help overhearing Walter's 
 description of his new acquaintance. " He 
 is so pale and thin, and walks so slowly !" 
 
 I beheld in Mrs. Trimmer the personifi- 
 cation of neatness and good order. Her 
 round, plump face was so radiant with be- 
 nevolence and kindness, that I could easily 
 believe it would become " as red as fire with 
 anger," at the sight of Joe's naughty pyro- 
 technic experiment, or of any other act of 
 inhumanity towards man or beast. Perhaps 
 my sickly appearance and "Walter's account 
 of my weakness interested the good woman's 
 compassionate feelings in my favour, for she 
 received me with the most winning kindness, 
 and with genuine rustic good breeding. Wal- 
 ter was immediately despatched into the field 
 for a refreshing draught of new milk. 
 
98 THE INCENDIAKY. 
 
 As some excuse for my intrusion, I asked 
 Mrs. Trimmer if she knew any person in the 
 neighbourhood who had comfortable lodgings 
 to let. She replied that there were no regu- 
 lar lodging-houses in or near the village ; but 
 that she and her husband had been think- 
 ing of taking a lodger, if they could meet 
 with one who would be content with humble 
 accommodations and plain fare. As she said 
 this, she looked doubtfully, first at the low 
 ceiling and simple furniture of the little par- 
 lour, and then at myself. No doubt she came 
 to the conclusion that the man and the apart- 
 ment were not very unsuitable for each other, 
 for she added: — "If you, sir, would like to 
 try our lodgings for a few weeks and could 
 put up with our plain farm-house victuals, 
 I'm sure I would do my best to make you 
 comfortable, and so would my good man, for 
 that matter." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 99 
 
 So I did try Mrs. Trimmer's lodgings for a 
 month or two, and liked my quarters and my 
 entertainers so well that I became a yearly, 
 instead of a weekly boarder. As for "the 
 plain farm-house victuals," I envy not the 
 man who could not be content with the sub- 
 stantial, wholesome meals Mrs. Trimmer pro- 
 vided for her family. And to one who, like 
 myself, had never before tasted any thing 
 more genuine than London " sky-blue," an 
 unlimited supply of the richest milk and 
 cream was a delicious novelty; neither must 
 I omit to praise the "best cider in all De- 
 vonshire," which well deserved the name of 
 "apple-wine" as the good farmer delighted 
 to call it. 
 
 Walter and I soon became fast friends ; 
 and the plan of sending him to a school was 
 joyfully abandoned by his uncle and aunt, 
 when I told them that it would be a pleasure 
 
100 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 to me to devote an hour or two in the day to 
 his instruction. Had I not in this manner 
 been the means of altering my young friend's 
 destination, I would not have obtruded so in- 
 significant a personage as myself upon the 
 reader's notice, for I had rather he Walter's 
 historian than my own. Let us return to the 
 hay-field 
 
l-HE INCENDIARY. 101 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The scene of our labours was a large field 
 on the side of a very gently-rising ground, 
 close to the house. Here the whole of Mr. 
 Trimmer's hay-making force was assembled; 
 for the mowers had but just finished their part 
 of the work, and the farmer was anxious that 
 the very heavy crop of grass should be spread 
 abroad to the sun and wind as soon as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Among the additional haymakers hired the 
 
 day before, I could not help noticing a man 
 
 of the most repulsive and unearthly aspect 
 
 imaginable. With prodigiously long legs and 
 
 arms, he would have been as tall a man 
 9* 
 
102 THE INCENDIAKY. 
 
 as Mr. Trimmer, if nature or an accident had 
 not crooked his spine, and shortened his 
 body to about half its proper proportions. 
 But how can I describe his countenance? 
 This was so fearfully distorted, and the 
 nose and mouth were thrust so much to one 
 side, that his only remaining eye, which 
 gleamed like a burning coal, really appeared 
 to be placed nearly in the middle of his 
 face. 
 
 "That's Polyphemus, sir!" whispered Wal- 
 ter to me, remembering the description of 
 the King of the Cyclops, in one of my 
 books, which he had lately been reading. I 
 found, on inquiry, that this man had but 
 lately appeared in the neighbourhood, and 
 that very little was known about him, except 
 that his name was Joe Brindle, and that he 
 had several times given proof that his dispo- 
 sition was as savage as his appearance. 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 103 
 
 Some incendiary misdeeds of his were also 
 talked about, and I was surprised that the 
 farmer would employ such a man. "Why 
 sir, I believe he's a bad fellow/' said he : "but 
 he is a capital hand for the work : only see 
 how famously he tosses his fork about, with 
 those long arms of his ! I don't much like 
 the man, but when labourers are scarce 
 we must not look too closely at them. At 
 haymaking-time we are glad to get any- 
 body." 
 
 For more than two hours I continued 
 using my fork very steadily, following " in 
 the wake," as sailors say, of Walter and his 
 uncle, for the sake of an occasional word of 
 instruction or encouragement. But before 
 noon I was compelled to give up: though 
 \ery desirous of making a whole day's work 
 of it, the unusual exertion, and the intense 
 heat of the sun, entirely exhausted my small 
 
104 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 measure of strength, and made me retreat 
 to a shady corner at the upper end of the 
 field, where, reposing on the grass, I con- 
 templated the busy scene before me. 
 
 I do not believe that I slept, because be- 
 tween the undoubted reality of the scene and 
 the visionary character of what followed, there 
 was the most perfect connection, without a 
 moment's forgetfulness. The fearful and fiery 
 appearances that troubled my sight, were, no 
 doubt, the delirious imaginings of a brain 
 half roasted by an unusual exposure to 
 the fierce heat of the sun. I am convinced 
 that I was suffering from a slight " coup 
 de soleil;" but it is not easy to under- 
 stand why the events that really took place 
 soon afterwards, should have been in some 
 measure foreshown in this vision, or trance, 
 or. whatever the reader may please to call 
 it. 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 105 
 
 I continued gazing at the busy group of 
 haymakers, slowly moving, in two zigzag 
 ranks, across the field. One body was headed 
 by the stout farmer, followed by his nephew 
 and his servants ; and the other rank was 
 composed of the six strangers, including 
 " Polyphemus." For some time every thing 
 went on very quietly and orderly. Pre- 
 sently Walter began to appear fidgetty and 
 uneasy; and at last he said to Mr. Trim- 
 mer: 
 
 " Uncle ! uncle James ! I am sure it is so. 
 I saw it then quite plainly ; only look when 
 he passes us again." 
 
 " Nonsense, lad ! thou art dreaming, or if 
 it did smoke a little, it was from the heat of 
 this burning sun, I suppose : I am half on fire 
 myself." 
 
 "But why should it smoke and crackle, 
 when he treads upon it? Oh, frightful! 
 
106 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 Look at his shoes uncle ! Only look at the 
 bottoms of his shoes, when he lifts his feet 
 up." 
 
 "I say, master," said Parsons, the farmer's 
 head man, coming up close to him, and 
 speaking in a mysterious tone ; " Master, I 
 don't like that Brindle's way of making hay 
 at all ! Don't ye see how it s?noJces, when 
 he kicks it about with his feet, in that strange 
 fashion : depend upon it, there's something 
 wrong about that fellow : — look at his shoes 
 master ! — look at those great iron heels on his 
 shoes !" 
 
 "Ha, well, they do look as if they were 
 rather hot, to be sure. But this sun dazzles 
 my eyes so. Well, well, as I told Mr. Ernest 
 this morning, when men are scarce we mustn't 
 look at them too closely, for at these times 
 we are glad of anybody. Come, my lads, 
 keep moving." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 107 
 
 Parsons fell back into his place, but ap- 
 peared dissatisfied ; and I determined, not- 
 withstanding the farmer's advice, to look very 
 closely indeed at Polyphemus and his ex- 
 traordinary method of making hay. Walter 
 and Parsons were right. The green grass 
 certainly smoked and fizzed, under the long- 
 legged monster's feet ; and when he passed 
 near me, I saw with horror that the large iron 
 heels of his shoes were not merely red-hot, 
 but absolutely glowing and sparkling with 
 intensity of heat. Presently, a lock of hay, 
 which, in his strange antics, he had kicked 
 aloft into the air, actually took fire, and be- 
 fore it reached the ground was entirely con- 
 sumed. 
 
 " Hallo ! Brindle !" exclaimed the farmer, 
 who now seemed convinced that mischief 
 was in the wind ; "I say, Brindle, let us 
 have no more of that; do you hear? — I 
 
108 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 can't afford to have my hay wasted in that 
 way." 
 
 "I can't help it," replied he of the fiery 
 heel, in a voice that sounded like the lower 
 notes of an ill-played basoon. " 'Tisn't my 
 fault, I tell you. The foolish shoemaker 
 would put upon these shoes iron heels that 
 had been made by some newfangled ma- 
 chine or other. I told him that mischief 
 would come of it, for all machines are inven- 
 tions of Satan, and they will do their mas 
 ter's work in some way or other. No won- 
 der these heels are hot, though they were 
 made a twelvemonth ago! Confusion to the 
 inventors of all machines and contrivances 
 for taking the bread out of the poor man's 
 mouth I" 
 
 "Well, that beats every thing!" said the 
 farmer. " What does he say ? Iron keep hot 
 for a twelvemonth ! Well, well, it may be 
 
THE INCEKDIARY. 109 
 
 bo, though, it does seem odd, to be sure : we 
 have got something to learn yet, nephew 
 Walter ; hut we'll ask Mr. Ernest all about it, 
 this evening. But as for those queer shoes 
 of yours, Brindle, I can't have my hay burnt 
 up, you know. So just run down to that 
 pond, at the bottom of the field, and try if 
 water won't cool those smoking heels ; do ye 
 hear?" 
 
 The man obeyed, muttering a fresh male- 
 diction upon all machines and their inven- 
 tors, while the farmer and his men stood 
 leaning on their forks, waiting to see what 
 would take place upon the meeting of the 
 two adverse elements, fire and water. The 
 result was sufficiently extraordinary to have 
 gratified any lover of the marvellous, who 
 had witnessed it. When he reached the 
 pond, or moat, which separated the field 
 
 from tne garden, the man-monster seated 
 10 
 
110 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 himself astride on the willow-tree bridge, with 
 his long legs hanging down on each side. 
 
 The instant his feet touched the water, there 
 was heard a noise like the roaring of a thou- 
 sand sky-rockets, and such a dense volume of 
 steam rose up, that the machine-hater was 
 almost entirely concealed by it. At times, 
 however, when the breeze blew this cur- 
 tain of vapour aside, he might be seen 
 swinging his arms and legs about, after his 
 own extraordinary manner, while his demo- 
 niac laugh mingled with the roar of the 
 boiling cauldron beneath him. "Words, al- 
 so, of strange and fearful import were 
 heard : 
 
 " Fire, fierce and inextinguishable ! The 
 torch of revenge to his roof, and the sharp 
 knife to his throat, of the man who shall dare 
 to cheat the labourer of his hire !" 
 
 "Impertinent fellow!" said Mr. Trimmer. 
 
THE INCENDIAItY. Ill 
 
 " What does he mean ? But I wish we had 
 never sent him down to the pond, for he'll 
 soon make the water so hot that all the eels 
 will be killed. Poor things ! I fancy they 
 are beginning to perspire in their holes al- 
 ready." 
 
 "And the water-cresses!" cried Walter; 
 "the water-cresses that aunt is so fond of 
 having with her supper ! They will all be 
 spoilt. Only think of that, uncle !" 
 
 "And worse than that, master," said Par- 
 sons ; "ten times worse than that; all the 
 pretty little tadpoles will be boiled to 
 a jelly, and made into frog-broth, poor 
 things !" 
 
 "Shameful!" exclaimed the farmer. "I 
 can't bear that. I am a peaceable man, but I 
 will protect the tadpoles! Their poor mo- 
 thers, the frogs, laid their eggs in my pond, 
 with the understanding that the water should 
 
112 THE INCENDIARY 
 
 always be kept cool and comfortable for 
 their children. 'Tis what they call a 'breach 
 of confidence, nephew Walter, and whoever 
 is guilty of that don't deserve the name of 
 an Englishman. Follow me, my men, and 
 we'll soon drive this fiery-footed fellow out 
 of the parish." 
 
 So the whole company, with the indignant 
 farmer at their head, rushed down to the moat 
 with their hay-forks in their hands. Brindle 
 was prepared for the attack. As the formid- 
 able body of pikemen approached, gather- 
 ing up his long legs under him, with a tre- 
 mendous spring he leaped far over the head 
 of the foremost man, who had made an un- 
 successful thrust at him with his fork, and 
 away up the field the monster ran with the 
 speed of a greyhound. And now the chase 
 commenced in earnest. In hopes of sur- 
 rounding the enemy, the farmer and his men 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 113 
 
 dispersed themselves over the field, shouting 
 to each other, "Brindle with the fiery heel! 
 After him ! Down with him ! Death to the 
 incendiary !" 
 
 The monster's method of progression was 
 singular. It was neither running, nor leap- 
 ing, nor flying over the ground, but a fearful 
 and supernatural rolling 1 . Stretching out 
 his long arms and legs, he became an ani- 
 mated wheel, of which his shortened body 
 formed the nave ; and, as it revolved with ex- 
 treme rapidity, a rim was supplied by a bright 
 band of fire and sparks proceeding from the 
 glowing heels* 
 
 What chance had human pursuers of over- 
 taking such a demon wheel as this ? None 
 whatever; and they soon wished that they 
 had not disturbed him from his seat on the 
 bridge, for the incendiary's evil intentions 
 
 were now but too apparent. As the rolling 
 10* 
 
114 THE INCENDIAEY. 
 
 monster coursed rapidly up and down the 
 field, he seemed to be trying to imitate the 
 action of a haymaking machine, his arms 
 and legs seizing the grass in his course, and 
 throwing it aloft in the air. Like a haymak- 
 ing machine, but with a difference I For 
 instead of suffering the hay thus tossed up 
 to fall quietly on the ground behind it, this 
 fearful machine set it in a blaze, and its 
 destructive course was marked by a long 
 train of fire and smoke. Breathless with 
 running, the farmer and his men ceased from 
 the hopeless pursuit, and stood in a corner of 
 the field, contemplating with dismay the pro- 
 gress of the incendiary. 
 
 " 'Tis the best crop of hay I ever cut in 
 my life," exclaimed the poor farmer ; " and 
 this villain won't leave us a single blade of 
 it." 
 
 "And worse still, master," said Parsons; 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 115 
 
 " ten thousand times worse than that ! — the 
 pond is all dried up, and the tadpoles are 
 left half dead on the mud. And as for the 
 eels, I don't believe there's a lively one among 
 them all. I asked one great creature, as 
 big as my arm, who was lying with his head 
 out of his hole, how he felt himself after 
 his hot bath. Says the eel to me, c Par- 
 sons, I am ruined ! — I'm boiled, I declare ! 
 The cook that skins me won't have much 
 trouble with the job. She needn't put any 
 sand upon her hands ! I can't move an 
 inch out of my hole, for fear I should 
 leave my skin behind me. If I don't 
 sue that Brindle for damages at the next 
 sessions, may I be broiled and eaten alive !'" 
 The incidents of my vision now became 
 still more confused and extravagant. Wal- 
 ter declared that, if nobody else would stop 
 the progress of the fiery wheel, he would 
 
116 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 try what he could do. Placing himself in 
 the monster's way, he was immediately 
 dashed to the ground, and arose with a 
 torrent of blood flowing from his temples. 
 
 "That's just what I wanted," said he; 
 "there's nothing like blood for quench- 
 ing fire. 'Tis better than an ocean of 
 water." 
 
 Then I saw that he also became a wheel, 
 spouting forth a crimson torrent instead 
 of fire ; and as he followed close in the 
 track of the other, the train of flame and 
 sparks was quenched, till at length the 
 discomfited incendiary demon, finding he 
 could do no more mischief, rolled himself 
 out of the field, and I saw him no more. 
 But in the reverberations of a terrible thun- 
 der-clap, which burst over-head at the in- 
 stant he disappeared, I could distinguish the 
 words, 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 117 
 
 " Confusion ! — Out-witted by a powerless 
 child!" 
 
 I found myself lying on the grass, sur- 
 rounded by the farmer and several of his men. 
 Walter was kneeling by my side. 
 
 "Don't drop the blood upon my face!" 
 said I to the boy. 
 
 "Blood, Mr. Ernest ! 'Tis water : we found 
 you in a fainting-fit, and uncle said that bath- 
 ing your face would be the best way to bring 
 you round again." 
 
 " Where did you get the water from, Wal- 
 ter?" 
 
 "Out of the moat, sir. It is not very 
 clean, to be sure, but it was the nearest I 
 could find." 
 
 " Then Brindle has not dried up the 
 water after all ! And the tadpoles and the 
 
118 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 eels, eh, Walter, are they all well and com- 
 fortable?" 
 
 The boy laughed, and one of the men 
 whispered to his companions, " The gen- 
 tleman has been making free with that cider- 
 keg, I am thinking, and the liquor has been 
 rather too strong for him." 
 
 "Come, sir," said the farmer, "take hold 
 of my arm, and let us go into the house. 
 The work and the heat have been too much 
 for you. I never felt such a roasting sun in 
 all my life. You must lie down on the bed 
 for an hour or two, and you will soon be 
 better." 
 
 I took Mr. Trimmer's advice, and after a 
 sound sleep of some hours, I awoke with no 
 remains of my sun-stroke but a slight head- 
 ache. I said nothing about the strange 
 spectral illusions of the hay-field; but when 
 closely questioned by Walter on the subject, 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 119 
 
 I told hini I had been in a kind of a trance. 
 However, I assured my friends that I had 
 not been " making free with the cider- 
 keg." 
 
120 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I MISSED the farmer at breakfast the next 
 morning, and found, on inquiry, that he had 
 mounted his horse soon after daybreak, and 
 had galloped off, without saying whither he 
 was bound, or upon what errand. He re- 
 turned before we had finished our meal, and 
 Mrs. Trimmer inquired if he had been to seek 
 for more haymakers. 
 
 "Yes, I have, sure enough," replied he: 
 " and I have found one, and hired him ; and a 
 famous good hand he is too." 
 
 " One haymaker, indeed ! Well, to be sure, 
 one is just better than none at all ; but I was 
 in hopes you would have brought back 
 twenty." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 121 
 
 "But the one I have hired will do the work 
 of any twenty haymakers in the country ; aye, 
 and do it better than they would, into the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 " The man is dreaming !" cried the dame. 
 
 " Uncle has been in a trance, like you were 
 yesterday, Mr. Ernest," said Walter, slyly 
 looking at me. 
 
 "Hold your tongues, wife and nephew, 
 and I'll tell you all about it. As I lay 
 awake last night, thinking how we should 
 manage to get in our hay without more 
 hands, all of a sudden it popped into my 
 head that Squire Thornley had got a hay- 
 making machine. Said I to myself, ' They 
 are earlier down in that warm bottom than 
 we are here, by a week or more ; and I dare 
 say the squire has got all his hay in by this 
 time. I'll ride over to-morrow, and ask him 
 
 to lend me the machine for a day or two, 
 11 
 
122 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 your aunt round to our way of thinking. For 
 my part, I am too busy eating to do any thing 
 but listen to you. Now, wife, it is your turn : 
 Walter says you use machines." 
 
 "I use a machine! no never. I think 
 you must be in a trance now, Walter." 
 
 "Well, aunt, I am sure that harrel-chum 
 of yours is a machine, and so are all churns. 
 Only fancy how cross Sally, the dairy-maid, 
 would be, if you were to tell her that she must 
 never use a churn." 
 
 "But she couldn't make butter without 
 some sort of a churn, Walter." 
 
 "I think she might, aunt. If she was to 
 take a whisk, and beat the cream about for 
 half a day, I am pretty sure the butter would 
 come at last. But stop, she must not use a 
 whisk, for that is a sort of a machine too. So 
 the only thing she could do, would be to 
 thrust those great red arms of hers into the 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 123 
 
 these new machines, whether for haymaking, 
 or thrashing, or what not. My father and 
 his father before him would never use any- 
 thing of the kind, and they were the best 
 farmers in all the county. Ah ! Mr. Ernest, 
 you may smile, but depend upon it, sir, these 
 machines will be the ruin of the country, in 
 spite of what that book you were talking about 
 may say to the contrary." 
 
 Mrs. Trimmer alluded to a very clever 
 little work, called " The Results of Ma- 
 chinery," which had been sent to me in a 
 packet of other literary food, by a kind friend 
 in London. 
 
 "Aunt will never agree with the man 
 who wrote that book," said Walter: "and 
 yet she uses machines every day of her 
 fife." 
 
 " That's right, Walter," said Mr. Trimmer. 
 " That's a good boy : see if you can bring 
 
124 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 and then a fig for these haymakers.' Well, I 
 rode over to the squire's and found that he 
 was in bed, and that he wouldn't be down for 
 an hour or more. Thinks I to myself, ' There's 
 no time to be lost. He is a kind-hearted gen- 
 tleman, and one that won't take offence when 
 none is intended, and he has seen enough of 
 farming business himself to know what it is to 
 be in trouble for want of hands. I'll venture 
 to disturb him from his nap.' So I wrote a 
 bit of a note, and got his man to take it up to 
 him. Well, in a minute or two, down comes 
 my note again, and on the back the good gen- 
 tleman had written with a pencil, 'Yes, and 
 welcome.' So that's the clever haymaker I 
 have engaged, and in half-an-hour he will 
 be here. Well, my good woman, what now ? 
 I think you don't look altogether pleased 
 about it." 
 
 " No, I never am pleased when I hear of 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 125 
 
 cream, and work them about till she was tired. 
 Ha ! ha ! I think butter would soon be half-a- 
 crown a pound, if people were obliged to make 
 it that way." 
 
 "Well, then, I suppose we must have a 
 churn, that's all. But I never heard it said 
 that butter was made by machinery before. 
 However, churns have been used these hun- 
 dreds of years, that's one comfort, and 'tis 
 these new-fangled machines that I dislike." 
 
 " Capital ! there's one point gained. Now, 
 nephew Walter, now !" cried the farmer. 
 
 "Then, aunt, there is that patent cheese- 
 press, that uncle bought at farmer Bright's 
 sale, last winter. I am sure that is a ma- 
 chine, and quite a neiv-fangled one too. 
 You must turn that out of the dairy, aunt, and 
 press the cheeses with a board and some 
 heavy stones laid upon it. But I suppose 
 
 the author of 'The Results of Machinery,' 
 11* 
 
126 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 would say that the board and stones were 
 machinery too. So then, the dairy-maids 
 must sit upon the cheeses day and night, like 
 so many brood-hens hatching their eggs, till 
 they were pressed dry enough. What a num- 
 ber of dairy-maids you must have, aunt ! and 
 only fancy a row of about a dozen of them, all 
 sitting on their eggs — on their cheeses, I 
 mean !" 
 
 "What nonsense the boy is talking !" 
 
 " Then there is the winch and chain at 
 the well, that's another machine, aunt; and 
 the smoke-jack, and the chaff-cutter, and 
 the " 
 
 "Walter," interrupted the farmer, "cut me 
 one more slice of bacon, and then I shall do 
 till dinner-time." 
 
 " I can't uncle," said the boy, with a 
 roguish look at Mrs. Trimmer. " A knife is 
 a sort of machine, and aunt will be angry 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 127 
 
 if I use one. Shall I tear off a piece of bacon 
 •with my fingers, aunt?" 
 
 " My patience !" cried the good dame, 
 rising up from the table ; " this boy is get- 
 ting a great deal too learned for me. I 
 must go and see after those lazy maids of 
 mine." 
 
 " And I must go and see after my new hay- 
 maker," said the farmer : " he isn't lazy, at 
 any rate." 
 
 In a short time this new haymaker ar- 
 rived, and was immediately put to work in 
 the field ; and though I had no wish for an- 
 other sun-stroke, with its accompanying fiery 
 vision, I could not help going out for a 
 short time, to witness its performance. To 
 those who have never seen a haymaking 
 machine, a short description may be neces- 
 sary. 
 
 The principal part was a long barrel, or 
 
128 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 roller, covered -with iron spikes, and mounted 
 on a low, strong carriage, running on two 
 wheels, which were connected with the 
 spiked roller by wheelwork. But it was so 
 contrived that, when the- wheels turned 
 round, the roller revolved much faster than 
 they did, and it was placed at such a height 
 that the iron spikes almost touched the 
 ground. 
 
 This clever haymaker did its work beauti- 
 fully. The machine was drawn slowly over 
 the field by horses, and as the roller revolved 
 the spikes caught up the hay, throwing it 
 aloft in a finely divided shower, so that 
 every blade of grass was separated, and ex- 
 posed to the drying influences. Walter, 
 who had never seen a haymaking machine 
 before, was in ecstasies. As he examined 
 the hay deposited on the ground behind 
 the machine, he exclaimed, " Look, uncle ! 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 129 
 
 only look how beautifully it spreads it about ! 
 I do hope that aunt will come out by and 
 by, and see it. Huzza ! machinery for ever ! 
 But there is aunt, I declare, feeding the 
 ducks in the moat; when she turns round 
 this way again I'll wave my hat to her. 
 Now she sees us! Ah, and she shakes her 
 head too ; she doesn't like machinery yet> un- 
 cle James." 
 
 And there -were some others present who 
 held the same opinions as Mrs. Trimmer. 
 There was some low grumbling and angry 
 looks among the newly-hired men; and a 
 circumstance soon occurred which proved 
 that there was at least one determined 
 enemy to machinery in the field that day. 
 For presently, those who were near the ma- 
 chine were alarmed by a loud crash, while at 
 the same instant a hay-fork was tossed up in- 
 to the air by the roller, and Walter narrowly 
 
130 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 escaped being impaled by it, as it fell to the 
 ground. Fortunately the machine was but 
 little injured. Some of the spikes were bent 
 out of their places, but the smith could easily 
 set them to rights in the evening, and in the 
 mean time the machine would perform its work 
 very nearly as well as before. 
 
 "Master," said Parsons, in a whisper, to 
 the farmer, " I say, master, that fork was put 
 in the way on purpose. If it wasn't, I'll eat 
 it for dinner, iron and all. I am sure 'twas 
 hid under the hay on purpose ; for I was walk- 
 ing just before the horses, and I must have 
 seen it, if it had not been covered up. Take 
 my word for it, master, that Brindle is the 
 man that did it." 
 
 "Likely enough," replied the farmer: 
 " Likely enough, Parsons ; but we can't prove 
 it, you know. However, I wish we had never 
 hired him." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 131 
 
 "Uncle," said "Walter, who had been exam- 
 ining the handle of the fork, "just look here, 
 uncle!" 
 
 " Well, lad, I see nothing there, but the 
 marks of the teeth of the machine." 
 
 "It isn't those marks I mean, but just 
 here, and here again, there are spots of 
 blood, and they are hardly dry yet. The 
 man that used this fork last has hurt his 
 hand; and I think you may find him out 
 that way, for nobody has touched it be- 
 sides myself, since the machine threw it 
 up. I have no cut on my hands, have I, 
 uncle ?" 
 
 "That will do the business for us, I de- 
 clare ! so call all the men together, Parsons, 
 and make them stand in a row. "Well done, 
 nephew Walter ! that was a lucky thought ; 
 we shall find the rogue out this way, I do be- 
 lieve." 
 
132 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 When the men were all assembled, the far- 
 mer addressed them. 
 
 " Now, my men," said he, " I don't want 
 to accuse any of you of playing this shabby 
 trick, but somebody must have done it, you 
 know. Now then, listen to me. If any man 
 has a mind to confess that he put that fork 
 under the hay, let him step forward and beg 
 pardon ; but all of you that declare you 
 know nothing about it, hold up both your 
 hands!" 
 
 " I was sure of it ! — Thee art the man !" — 
 cried Parsons, suddenly flying at Polyphemus, 
 and grasping him by the throat. " Take hold 
 of his arm, master ! make him show his hand 
 again. There ! 'Tis all bloody, you see. 
 Oh, thou villain !" 
 
 Notwithstanding the strong testimony of 
 the bleeding hand, Brindle sulkily denied 
 that lie was the offender. And, after a little 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 133 
 
 consideration, Mr. Trimmer came to the con- 
 clusion, that if he were to take the man before 
 the squire, besides losing much valuable time, 
 he should find it difficult to prove that he laid 
 the fork under the hay with an evil inten- 
 tion. Parsons and some of the men proposed 
 a ducking in the moat, but the farmer would 
 not allow it ; so all the punishment Brin- 
 dle received was instant dismissal, without his 
 wages. 
 
 He departed, grumbling like an enraged 
 bear, and one of the men declared he heard 
 the words — "hear of me again before you 
 die !" 
 
 " What dost say," exclaimed the indig- 
 nant Parsons, " Hear of thee again ! — Likely 
 enough ! For my part, I hope to hear of 
 thee swinging on a gallows, before long. 
 Master, we must look sharp, or he'll do 
 
 us a mischief one of these days. I've heard 
 12 
 
134 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 say that that Joe Brindle, or ' Polly Famous,' 
 as master Walter calls him, has been famous, 
 sure enough, for these sort of doings, before 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 135 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In three days after the dismissal of Brindle, 
 by the valuable assistance of the machine, and 
 by the greatest exertions on the part of men 
 and horses, Mr. Trimmer's hay was all se- 
 cured, and deposited in the rick-yard, in the 
 form of three prodigious haymows. -Not four 
 hours after the last load had been brought 
 home, the rain, which had been threatening all 
 day, began to descend, first, in a light, almost 
 invisible mist, increasing by degrees to a 
 heavy, downright deluge. 
 
 The farmer stood at the window, contem- 
 plating his haymows, safe under the shelter 
 of the tarpaulins, and prophesying that 
 
136 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 the wet weather would last for a week at 
 least. I was surprised to observe that he was 
 in an unusually grave and meditative mood. 
 When I congratulated him on his good for- 
 tune, he said : 
 
 " Better than I deserve, sir ! Far better 
 than I deserve : for I am ashamed to say 
 that I have grumbled a little sometimes 
 when it has pleased God to send us such 
 weather as this before the crops were se- 
 cured. Mr. Ernest, I have been trying to 
 think how I should have felt, and ivhat 1 
 should have said, if this rain had come yes- 
 terday ! Ah ! I am not half so patient and 
 grateful as my poor father was ! He ne- 
 ver complained of too much rain, or too 
 much drought, 'for,' said he, 'what is bad 
 for one crop may be good for another.' I 
 remember once, when I was a boy, father 
 had got his hay in that very field we have 
 
f 
 
 THE INCENDIARY. 137 
 
 been working in to-day, all beautifully made, 
 without a drop of wet upon it, and they were 
 just going to begin to carry it home, when 
 all of a sudden, a storm came up over the 
 water, down came the rain, five times harder 
 than it does now, and in ten minutes every 
 bit of hay was entirely soaked. "Well, sir, 
 father came into this very room, (I remem- 
 ber I was sitting by the fire at the time, for 
 I was just out of the measles,) he came in 
 smiling and cheerful, and as he took off his 
 dripping wet coat, he said to me, 'Ah, 
 Jemmy, my boy ! this is a lovely rain for the 
 turnips !'* That was five and thirty long 
 years ago, Mr. Ernest, but I haven't for- 
 gotten it yet. Well, my good dame," con- 
 tinued the farmer to his wife, who just then 
 entered the room; "well, what dost say to it 
 
 now?" 
 
 * A fact. 
 12* 
 
t 
 
 138 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 "Say to what, I should like to know ?" 
 
 " Why, to this change of weather, and to 
 our good luck in getting every bit of our hay 
 in just in time." 
 
 " Well, I say I am heartily glad of it, sure 
 enough." 
 
 " But, aunt, this is one of ' the results of 
 machinery, " said Walter. 
 
 "True enough, boy," replied his uncle, 
 "for without the help of that machine, our 
 hay, instead of being snug under shelter 
 there, would be lying abroad, soaking and 
 spoiling in this rain. Now, my good woman, 
 confess. Machinery isn't such a bad thing as 
 you thought, is it ?" 
 
 " Why, if no more harm came of it than 
 this haymaking machine has done just now, 
 I wouldn't complain. But I have heard 
 of poor people being thrown out of work 
 and half starved by some of these new 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 139 
 
 schemes. That's the sort of machinery I 
 don't like." 
 
 "Now, nephew Walter," said the farmer, 
 "come, you shall go on with it, for I am get- 
 ting out of my depth. But you have read the 
 book through from beginning to end. Now 
 then, what have ye got to say to that?" 
 
 "Why, aunt, the author of the book says 
 that — but Mr. Ernest can explain it a thou- 
 sand times better than I can." 
 
 I told Walter that I should much rather 
 hear him go on with the argument himself, so 
 he continued. 
 
 "He says that, whenever a machine is 
 invented to do any sort of work quicker than 
 it could be done by hand, it generally hap- 
 pens that a good many people who used 
 to get their bread by working at that trade, 
 lose their employment, and of course that 
 seems a bad thing. But then this new 
 
140 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 machine, suppose 'tis a machine for weaving 
 cloth, makes it so much cheaper than it 
 could be done by hand, that people can buy 
 three or four times as much for their money 
 as they did before. So there's more good 
 than harm done, you see, aunt. Then, by 
 and by, such a quantity of this cheap cloth, 
 or whatever the thing may be, is used, that 
 there are more people wanted to manage 
 the machines than ever worked at that trade 
 before they were invented. So nobody need 
 complain." 
 
 As Walter paused in his harangue, I whis- 
 pered to him a single word which started him 
 off again directly. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ! I had forgotten all about 
 that. Aunt, how would you like that all the 
 books in the world should be burnt; Bibles 
 and all, and that nobody should be allowed to 
 print any more ?" 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 141 
 
 " Why, I should not like it at all, Walter. 
 What is the boy talking about now ?" 
 
 "Well, aunt, before the machine they call 
 a printing-press was invented, every book 
 was obliged to be written with a pen, and 
 there were a great many people who got 
 their living entirely by copying books ; so 
 you may be sure they were very dear at that 
 time. But when the printing machine was 
 invented, these copying people complained 
 sadly, because they had nothing more to 
 do, for the printed books were much neater 
 than the written ones, and didn't cost half a 
 quarter as much. So almost everybody that 
 could read bought some books, and then 
 they taught their children to read too, and 
 more books were wanted for them. And 
 though the poor copyers lost their employ- 
 ment at first, I dare say they soon learned 
 to be printers, for so many books were 
 
142 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 wanted that the printing-machines could find 
 work for them all, and for a great many more 
 people besides." 
 
 "Well, boy," replied Mrs. Trimmer, "I 
 hope 'tis all for the best, but I can't argue 
 with thee. If father was alive though, I 
 think he would answer thee or the man that 
 wrote that famous book either. He would 
 soon drive you up into a corner, depend 
 upon it. — But come, I want thee to stop up a 
 rat-hole for me in the fowl-house, for the ver- 
 min got in last night and sucked half-a-dozen 
 eggs." 
 
 " Uncle is going to buy me a rat-catching 
 machine" said the boy, following his aunt, 
 laughing ; " and I am to have a penny a piece 
 for all the rats I catch. But if our poor cats 
 could speak, I dare say they would say that it 
 was very unfair to do their work for them by 
 machinery." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 143 
 
 For several weeks after this discussion 
 nothing worth recording took place at the 
 farm, except that Walter's rat-catching ma- 
 chine, otherwise a common gin, was pro- 
 cured from the town, and soon gained a 
 very agreeable addition of pocket-money 
 for its owner. But at length a circumstance 
 occurred which gave Walter a good deal of 
 uneasiness. He generally set his gin in the 
 barn at night, and paid his last visit to it 
 just before he went to bed ; but one morning, 
 instead of seeing his usual pennyworth dead 
 in its close embrace, he was shocked to find 
 a mangled leg remaining in the gin, the 
 poor animal to whom it had belonged having 
 made its escape. Now my young friend 
 had one good quality, which, I grieve to 
 say, is very rare indeed with boys of his 
 class. Walter Trimmer was exceedingly hu- 
 mane and kind-hearted. Therefore, when 
 
144 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 he considered what suffering he had been 
 the means of inflicting upon this poor rat, 
 he determined never again to set his gin at 
 night, and in the daytime only, when he could 
 have an opportunity of visiting it frequently. 
 This resolution proved that his humane feel- 
 ings were powerful and unfeigned, for by 
 adhering to it he would lose a great part 
 both of his profits and amusement. For 
 Walter, like other boys of his age, (and like 
 many grown-up boys also,) took great de- 
 light in rat-catching, which he esteemed a 
 very noble and interesting sport. To those 
 who are not of his opinion, and who may think 
 that too much has already been said on this 
 subject, I must apologise, by reminding them 
 that important events often arise from small 
 and insignificant causes ; and so it was in this 
 instance. To preserve the regularity of the 
 story, I shall relate the events that followed 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 145 
 
 m the order in which they occurred, not as 
 they came to my knowledge. 
 
 One night, after Walter was in bed, he 
 suddenly remembered he had omitted to pay 
 his usual visit to his gin, before he retired 
 to rest, and that it still remained set in one 
 of the barns. What should he do? He 
 could not sleep comfortably with the idea that, 
 owing to his neglect, it was quite possible 
 that an unfortunate rat might be caught, and 
 be compelled to endure the pain of a broken 
 leg till the morning. Then, on the other hand, 
 it was a dismally wet, blowing night, and the 
 barn was a considerable distance from the 
 house. To some boys, the mere idea of go- 
 ing out alone in the dark would have had 
 its terrors, but Walter had no superstitious 
 fears, and he was constantly in the habit of 
 wandering about the premises by himself at 
 
 night. 
 
 13 
 
146 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 For some time the boy endeavoured to 
 silence the promptings of humanity, by think- 
 ing, that of all the rats he had ever caught 
 there was only one that had not been put 
 out of its pain instantly, and it was very im- 
 probable that another instance of the kind 
 should occur just at this time. So he de- 
 termined to think no more about it, but to 
 lie quietly till the morning. But of all the 
 enemies of comfortable sleep an uneasy 
 mind is the most certain and unappeasable ; 
 and so poor Walter found it on this occasion. 
 He could not sleep. Therefore, after vainly 
 combating with the enemy till past midnight, 
 he was obliged to yield at last : so putting on 
 his clothes in the dark, he groped his way 
 sis quietly as possible down into the kitchen, 
 and lighted the candle of a lantern at the re- 
 mains of the wood-fire. 
 
 " Now, then, if I can but contrive to open 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 147 
 
 this door quietly!" said he to himself, as 
 he carefully drew back the bolt; "if uncle 
 and aunt don't hear me, I'll never tell them 
 a word about it, for perhaps they would laugh 
 at me for what I am doing. What a dis- 
 mally dark night ! I hope I shan't fall into 
 the moat. But it doesn't rain now, that's one 
 comfort." 
 
 Walter crossed the moat by a tolerably 
 wide bridge of planks, which connected the 
 garden with the farm-yard. As he passed 
 over, he held down his lantern to ascertain 
 if the heavy rains had raised the water much 
 above its usual level; for if this were the 
 case, he knew that he should have the plea- 
 sure in the morning of opening the flood- 
 gate, in the field at the further end of the 
 moat, and of witnessing the beautiful rush 
 of water. By mean3 of this floodgate, the 
 moat could be entirely emptied, if necessary. 
 
148 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 "Why, the water is lower than common, 
 instead of being higher!" said "Walter to him- 
 self, as he kneeled upon the bridge, and held 
 down his lantern as low as he could reach. 
 "I can't see the water at all! Well, I de- 
 clare, 'tis every drop of it run out, for there 
 are the three great stones at the bottom that 
 were too heavy to be got up when the mud 
 was cleaned out last winter. How angry un- 
 cle will be ! It must have been that tiresome 
 boy, Joe, that opened the floodgate last night, 
 to lower the water, and forgot to shut it again. 
 He had no business to touch it at all, for he 
 knows that is my job always. Now I must go 
 into the field and shut it clown again. 'Tis 
 lucky I came out to-night. But I'll go and 
 fetch the gin first." 
 
 When Walter reached the barn he was ob- 
 liged to crawl on his hands and knees through 
 a long, narrow passage, between sacks of 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 149 
 
 corn, over which some trusses of straw had 
 been placed. At the further end of this 
 cavern, as it may be called, the gin was set ; 
 for a drain ran close by, which was a favourite 
 resort of the long-tailed game. Thinking it 
 would be dangerous to take the lantern 
 among such combustible materials, Walter 
 had left it outside, on the floor of the barn ; 
 but he soon found the gin in the dark, by 
 feeling about with a short stick, and ascer- 
 tained that a rat was caught fast by the neck. 
 Then he crawled backwards out of his narrow 
 den, and when he raised himself on his feet, 
 to his utter amazement, he was in total dark- 
 ness ! 
 
 " What can have happened to the lan- 
 tern?" said he, feeling about for it with his 
 hands. "I am sure the candle was not 
 nearly burnt out. Perhaps I left the barn- 
 door open, and the wind may have blown 
 13* 
 
150 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 it out, for I know one of the sides was 
 broken." 
 
 Here the poor boy's cogitations were inter- 
 rupted by a violent blow, which beat his hat 
 down over his eyes ; and before he could utter 
 a cry, his throat was clasped by a pair of un- 
 seen hands, so tightly that the feeling of suffo- 
 cation, joined to his terror, almost deprived 
 him of his senses. By degrees the terrible 
 hands relaxed a little, but tightened again in- 
 stantly, when the trembling captive attempted 
 to call for help ; and then a low, growling 
 voice, which once heard could never be mis- 
 taken, muttered in his ear : — 
 
 " Hold your tongue, boy, will you ! If you 
 make that noise again I'll twist your head off. 
 What business have you got out here at this 
 time of night, I should like to know ?• Now, 
 listen to me. I haven't half finished the job 
 I came about yet ; and if vou don't make a 
 
THE INCENDIAKT. 151 
 
 noise and disturb the house, perhaps I mayn't 
 think it worth while to hurt you ; but if you 
 do give me any more of your noise, I'll tie 
 you hand and foot, and toss you into the 
 middle of the little bonfire I shall light up 
 presently. Now, come with me, and I'll show 
 you some sport." 
 
 Poor Walter was then half led, half 
 dragged out of the barn, into the rick-yard, 
 into a narrow passage between two large 
 haymows, where the ruffian's evil designs 
 were soon made apparent. Holding the boy 
 by the collar with one hand, with the other 
 he opened the door of a dark lantern, and 
 began to complete the arrangements which 
 Walter's unexpected appearance had inter- 
 rupted. He had already raised a large heap 
 of fagots in the space between the haymows, 
 and nothing remained to be done but to 
 dispose some gunpowder and brimstone among 
 
152 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 the straw, at the bottom of the pile, in a way 
 that would ensure the rapid communication of 
 the fire to every part of it. The villain 
 seemed to take a pleasure in this part of his 
 work, and muttered to himself, as he carefully 
 arranged the materials : 
 
 " Now, farmer Trimmer, we shall soon see ! 
 So, so, this was the hay that machine helped 
 to make. "Very well ! people say they have a 
 right to use machines if they like ; and I have 
 a right to make a bonfire if I like ; that's all. 
 Ha ! ha ! I wonder who will be tired of the 
 sport first ! Well, boy, dost understand what 
 these fagots are for ?" 
 
 Walter understood it all perfectly. Natu- 
 rally of a very courageous disposition, though, 
 like many other bold spirits, mild and tracta- 
 ble in his behaviour to those he loved, the 
 boy had recovered from his first terrible 
 fright, and he watched the proceedings of 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 153 
 
 his ferocious companion with extraordinary 
 calmness and self-possession. He saw what 
 the villain's intentions were, and he deter- 
 mined to prevent him from carrying them into 
 effect, if possible. 
 
 " Uncle has taken care of me," said he to 
 himself, " ever since I was a baby. He never 
 gave me a cross word in all his life. He and 
 aunt have been as kind to me as if I was their 
 own child, and nobody shall ever say that I 
 stood by and saw their property burnt without 
 trying to save it." 
 
 Then he said to the incendiary, who still 
 held him fast by the collar, while he completed 
 the arrangement of his combustibles ; 
 
 " Brindle, if you will only go away quietly 
 without doing any mischief, I promise I'll 
 never tell anybody that I have seen you here 
 to-night." 
 
 The boy's clear, childish voice contrasted 
 
154 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 strangely with the husky, growling throat of 
 Brindle, who replied : 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! my boy, you'll promise, will 
 you ? You are a pretty fellow ! you'll pro- 
 mise one minute and tell a lie the next. 
 I'm too cunning a bird to be caught with 
 that sort of nonsense. Now, listen to me : 
 I came fifty miles to do this job, and Til 
 -finish it if I was sure you would not tell. 
 There, I think that will do ; I shall just put 
 a light to that bit of touch-paper, and then 
 you and I will go up to the top of the hill 
 yonder, and enjoy the blaze. Ha ! ha ! 
 they won't find much water in the pond to 
 put it out with, I have taken care of that. 
 But mind our agreement, young fellow! 
 If you keep quiet, I'll let you go home 
 again as soon as the mows are well lighted 
 up ; and then you may tell your uncle 'twas 
 I did the job, and he may catch me if he 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 155 
 
 can. But if you offer to call out before I give 
 leave — you understand me. D'ye see this 
 little bit of a stick ? One cry, and it shall be 
 your last !" 
 
 The boy heard him in silence, and saw him 
 light the touch-paper, or slowmatch, which ap- 
 peared long enough to burn for eight or ten 
 minutes. Walter judged that it would last 
 about that time, for he had lately assisted Par- 
 sons in the delightful employment of blasting 
 with gunpowder, some trunks of trees for fire- 
 wood, and he remembered the length of the 
 touchpaper they had used to fire the train, and 
 the time it had burnt before the explosion took 
 place. 
 
 "Now, then," said the incendiary, " 'tis all 
 safe : we may as well be off to the hill and en- 
 joy the sport at our ease." 
 
 "D'ye think the mows will make a good 
 blaze, Brindle?" inquired Walter, quietly. 
 
156 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 " A good blaze ! Ay, ay ; better than 
 ever you saw on Guy Fawkes's night. Come, 
 I see thee art a sensible lad. 'Tis not thy 
 fault that the mows are burnt, and so thee art 
 determined to enjoy the sight quietly. Dost 
 love a good bonfire, lad?" 
 
 "Yes, sometimes," replied "Walter; "we 
 had better go now, hadn't we ?" 
 
 The ruffian, Brindle, though generally 
 cunning and wary as an old fox, was de- 
 ceived by the boy's quiet and fearless man- 
 ner; and though he still held him fast, he 
 followed his advice in taking, what Walter 
 assured him was a nearer way, across the 
 fields to the neighbouring hill-top, instead of 
 going along the lane. It was a nearer way, 
 but that was not Walter's motive for propos- 
 ing it ; for though they would not pass quite 
 so near the house as if they had followed 
 the lane, he knew that they should be on 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 157 
 
 that side in which were the windows of his un- 
 cle's, and of all the inhabited bedrooms, except 
 his own. 
 
 When they were opposite that side of the 
 house, Walter stopped his companion, and 
 said to him in a whisper : 
 
 " Brindle, I almost wish now that you 
 wouldn't burn the mows. I know they will 
 make a fine blaze, but uncle has been kind to 
 me, and the hay is worth a great deal of 
 money. So if you will let me go back and 
 take the fire away, I'll never tell anybody 
 who put the fagots there, as long as I live. 
 I never told a lie in my life, and I wouldn't 
 tell a lie to you now, to save all the hay in the 
 country from being burnt." 
 
 "Come on," said Brindle, grasping his 
 prisoner's throat, for his suspicions were some- 
 what aroused. " Come on, directly, and hold 
 
 your tongue, or I'll strangle you !" 
 14 
 
158 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 " God be merciful to me, then!" said the 
 boy. Then, with a stout pocket-knife which 
 he had taken out and opened unperceived, he 
 gashed the back of the villain's hand to the 
 bone, and as the pain obliged him to relax his 
 grasp, Walter shouted with all his strength, 
 " Help ! help ! uncle James ! Fire ! Help !" 
 
 The next instant a heavy blow from the in- 
 cendiary's bludgeon laid him bleeding and 
 senseless on the ground. 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 159 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " What noise was that ?" said the farmer to 
 his wife ; " didst hear a noise, or was I dream- 
 ing about it?" 
 
 " I dare say thee wast, for I heard nothing. 
 The cock crowing, likely enough." 
 
 " The farmer thought it very likely was 
 the cock, and he was on the point of closing 
 his sleepy eyes again, when a faint gleam of 
 light shone across the window for an in- 
 stant. 
 
 "Wife, there's a flash of lightning! We 
 are going to have a thunder-storm." 
 
 " Oh, then, do get up and shut the shutters, 
 or I shall be frightened to death." 
 
-160 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 Mr. Trimmer arose to comply with his 
 dame's request; but before he closed the 
 shutters he stood at the window for a little 
 while, waiting for the next flash, that he 
 might see in what quarter the storm was 
 gathering. 
 
 " The night is as dark as pitch," said he, 
 opening the window and putting his head out ; 
 "but it don't seem like a storm, and I can 
 hear no thunder." 
 
 " Now, my good man, do shut the window, 
 for we shall have a storm, I am sure. I can 
 smell the lightning already." 
 
 "Well, I never could smell lightning, though 
 I have heard other people say they could. 
 But I declare, I can smell something now, 
 though I've got a bad cold in my head. 'Tis 
 like a brimstone match, exactly." 
 - "Yes, that's the sort of smell. I have 
 smelt it fifty times. There, now, do shut the 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 161 
 
 window, and the shutters too, as close as you 
 
 can." 
 
 "Silence!" said the farmer, in a half 
 
 whisper, but in a tone which the practised 
 
 ears of Mrs. Trimmer understood at once as 
 
 signifying that he was in earnest, and would 
 
 be obeyed. After a few seconds, he added, 
 
 as he began to dress himself in the utmost 
 
 haste, " Don't be frightened, Mary, but 
 
 there's mischief abroad ! I heard the gate 
 
 at the end of the Long patch fall to, as 
 
 plainly as possible. I am sure of it, for I 
 
 should know the sound of that gate among a 
 
 thousand. Directly after I heard somebody 
 
 running, as if for his life, over the new-laid 
 
 stones in the lane. There's some villany 
 
 stirring. Ah ! there it is, sure enough. I see 
 
 the light now! There's a fire somewhere 
 
 behind the house ; but, by the blessing of 
 
 God, we shall be in time to put it out before it 
 14* 
 
162 THE INCENDIAEY. 
 
 has made much head. So, my good dame, don't 
 be frightened, but get up and call everybody. 
 — Villains, I'll be amongst ye in a minute !" 
 
 The stout farmer made such a fearful clat- 
 ter, as he half ran, half jumped down the un- 
 carpeted stairs, that everybody in the house 
 was thoroughly aroused, long before the trem- 
 bling Mrs. Trimmer could knock at their 
 doors. I looked into Walter's room, as I 
 passed, to learn the cause of the disturbance, 
 for the poor woman was unable to give me 
 much information on the subject ; but she sat 
 on the stairs sobbing and wringing her hands, 
 and exclaiming, 
 
 " Ah ! I told ye so ! I told ye so ! The 
 results of machine?*?/, indeed ! here they are 
 come upon us at last, for we shall all 
 be murdered, or burnt alive ! I told ye 
 all, that something bad would come of it, and 
 nobody would believe me !" 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 163 
 
 Finding that Walter was not in his room, I 
 went down into the kitchen, and then, through 
 the open door, the cause of the alarm was ap- 
 parent. A column of dense smoke, illumin- 
 ated by the fire underneath, was rising up 
 among the mows. 
 
 I hastened into the yard, and found Mr. 
 Trimmer and Parsons, with hayforks and 
 rakes, throwing out the blazing straw and 
 fagots from the narrow space where the pile 
 was laid. For some minutes the issue was 
 very doubtful. One of the mows had already 
 kindled, and nothing but the greatest exer- 
 tions, on the part of the farmer and his trusty 
 foreman prevented the fire from spreading. 
 However, this was at last accomplished, by 
 tearing down the burning hay with rakes, 
 till at length the danger was past, and all the 
 flaming materials were collected together in a 
 heap in an open part of the yard. 
 
164 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 " Now God be praised for all his mercies I" 
 exclaimed Mr. Trimmer, panting with heat 
 and exertion. " Five minutes later, only five 
 minutes later, and nothing could have saved 
 the mows ! And if the mows had burnt, the 
 barns, and every thing else in the yard, would, 
 most likely, have gone too, with the wind this 
 way. Run in, Parsons, and tell your mistress 
 'tis all safe. I can't leave this heap till the 
 flame is gone down a little, for the villains 
 have taken care not to leave us a drop of 
 water to put it out with." 
 
 I asked Mr. Trimmer if he knew where Wal- 
 ter was. 
 
 " In the house, I believe, sir," replied he, 
 " t with his aunt. I called out to him as I 
 passed his door, and told him to stay and take 
 care of her, for she is almost out of her senses 
 with fright. But did ye ever see anybody iv 
 such a mess as I am, Mr. Ernest." 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 165 
 
 I now, for the first time, observed that he 
 was plastered with black mud from head to 
 foot. He said that, as he crossed the bridge 
 he had plunged a milk-pail down hastily, 
 intending to bring it up full of water : but 
 not meeting with the resistance he had ex- 
 pected, he lost his balance, and fell over into 
 the muddy bed' of the moat : and with this 
 most convincing proof that the water had been 
 drawn off, the poor farmer first became aware 
 of the sly trick that had been played him. 
 
 Scarcely had we begun to recover a lit- 
 tle from our fright, when we were thrown 
 into a fresh consternation, by finding that 
 Walter had not been seen since the alarm 
 of fire was first given. When every part 
 of the premises had been searched with- 
 out success, and poor Mrs. Trimmer and her 
 maids were uttering lamentable cries of dis- 
 tress, the farmer beckoned me aside. 
 
166 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 "I needn't ask what you think of this 
 terrible business, sir," said he; "I can see 
 it all in your face, plainly enough. I re- 
 member now that I found the kitchen door 
 unbolted. The poor boy must have run out 
 into the yard, before any of us, and the 
 villains have murdered him ! Oh ! if it had 
 pleased God that every stick and straw be- 
 longing to me had been burnt to ashes, ra- 
 ther than that boy should have come to 
 harm, I should have been a happy man! 
 I know I must not complain, but I loved 
 Walter! we all loved him; nobody could 
 help loving him ! Now I must ride off to 
 the town, to give information to the magis- 
 trates ; though what they can do, I'm sure I 
 don't know." 
 
 I went with Mr. Trimmer into the stable, 
 to hold the lantern for him while he saddled 
 his horse, for Parsons had been despatched 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 167 
 
 with the bad tidings to the nearest neigh- 
 bour. The farmer was already in the saddle, 
 when a piercing shriek of distress reached our 
 ears, from the house. 
 
 "They have found him," said he, hastily 
 dismounting from his horse. " They have 
 found the boy, and he is (Lead I" 
 
 As we entered the kitchen, Parsons was en- 
 deavouring to comfort his mistress. "He's not 
 dead, missis, I am sure ; though I'm afraid 
 he's hurt badly enough ; but he isn't dead, for 
 he keeps on groaning and moaning; and 
 that's how 'twas I found him as I went across 
 the fields. I didn't like to take" him up in my 
 arms, for fear I should hurt him, for perhaps 
 some of his poor bones are broken; but if 
 master likes, we two can carry him easily in 
 this great arm-chair." 
 
 When poor Walter was brought into the 
 house, I felt convinced that the terrible wound 
 
168 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 he had received on his head would prove fatal 
 in a few hours ; for he was perfectly insensi- 
 ble, and, though he still breathed, it was in a 
 heavy, laborious manner, and with a sound re- 
 sembling snoring ; a fearful token that the 
 brain was injured. Mr. Trimmer galloped off 
 for a surgeon, who, when he came, either 
 could not or would not give us any consola- 
 tion ; for he was one of those brutal practi- 
 tioners who disgrace their profession, by their 
 rude and ungentlemanly behaviour, and who 
 seem to think that, because a late celebrated 
 surgeon (the letters of whose name most for- 
 tunately can be transposed into " Johnny the 
 Bear") was both surly and skilful, therefore 
 it is only necessary for them to ape his rough, 
 uncivil manners, to make their patients be- 
 lieve that they possess his talents also. How- 
 ever, this bear, though he would not answer 
 any questions, appeared to take great pains 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 169 
 
 in examining and dressing the poor boy's 
 wound ; and when that operation was finished, 
 he condescended to swallow a very potent 
 draught of brandy and water. Thinking that 
 this might have the effect of molifying his 
 surly temper a little, Mrs. Trimmer ventured 
 to inquire if he thought the boy would re- 
 cover. 
 
 " Recover!" said he, "what in the name of 
 nonsense does the woman mean by asking such 
 a stupid question as that? How can I tell 
 whether the boy will recover or not? D'ye 
 think that his skull is made of glass, that I 
 can look into his head and see what's the mat- 
 ter with the brain. The boy has had a terri- 
 ble blow, I tell you, and nobody can say what 
 the consequences may be. Now, my good 
 man, is my horse ready ?" 
 
 It was more than three weeks before time 
 
 solved the question, which the surly doctor 
 15 
 
170 THE INCENDIAET. 
 
 could not answer. By careful nursing, and, 
 to give the bear his due, by very skilful sur- 
 gical treatment, Walter did recover, though it 
 was many months before he was restored to 
 his former health and strength. He was in- 
 capable of answering any question for several 
 days after the night of the fire, therefore Brin- 
 dle had time to escape to a great distance, be- 
 fore it was known that he was the culprit, 
 though his conduct in the hayfield made us 
 strongly suspect that he was concerned in the 
 outrage. But the man's extraordinary mal- 
 formation of face and body proved his ruin. 
 Having some little talent in drawing like- 
 nesses, I made from memory a sketch of the 
 incendiary, which was printed at the head 
 of the handbills offering a reward for his 
 apprehension ; and though it certainly did 
 not merit the praise bestowed upon it by Wal- 
 ter, who called it " a most beautiful likeness 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 171 
 
 of Polyphemus," it proved sufficiently correct 
 for the purpose. You might have seen an 
 outline of Brindle's long, straggling limbs and 
 shortened body, pasted on the walls of al- 
 most every town and village in the south of 
 England. "'Twill find him out!" said the 
 farmer. "We shall catch him, sooner or 
 later, if he is above ground." 
 
 It did find him out, though he was not above 
 ground; for, after remaining concealed for 
 more than six months, Brindle was at length 
 apprehended, many fathoms beneath the sur- 
 face, working in a mine in Cornwall. At 
 his trial, Walter was the principal evidence 
 against him ; but his muttered threat of ven- 
 geance in the hayfield was not forgotten. 
 The man had found the means of engaging 
 the services of a lawyer, who did his best 
 for his client, and strove, by a bullying cross- 
 examination, to weaken Walter's testimony. 
 
172 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 As easily might he have overturned a church, 
 by pushing against it with his shoulder. 
 Confident in truth and innocence, the boy 
 remained firm and undaunted, and the most 
 vexatious and intricate questionings of his 
 adversary could not beguile him into saying a 
 single word more than the truth ; consequently 
 he was in no danger of contradicting himself 
 in his answers. I believe the jury had al- 
 most decided upon their verdict before the 
 trial was half over, and Brindle was con- 
 demned to pass the remainder of his days in 
 banishment. 
 
 As I am writing the last pages of this little 
 history, the delicious fragrance of new-made 
 hay, from the adjoining meadow, breathes in 
 through the open window, and reminds me 
 that a year has passed away since the gath- 
 ering in of the last crop, which, but for Wal- 
 ter's courage and letermination, would have 
 
THE INCENDIARY. 173 
 
 been consumed by the revengeful incendiary's 
 torch. Occasionally, as it approaches the 
 house, I can hear the whirring noise of the 
 haymaking machine ; for the farmer, not de- 
 terred by the disasters of last year, is again 
 availing himself of the services of this useful 
 invention. He is even seriously contemplat- 
 ing the erection of a thrashing-machine. 
 
 "All the incendiary villains in the world," 
 he says, "shall not frighten me from doing 
 a thing, when I know that it is right and pro- 
 per to be done. However, we needn't put 
 ourselves into a fidget about it, for we have 
 heard nothing of these nightly fires for some 
 time, so let us hope that the people are get- 
 ting wiser or better." 
 
 Brindle's knock-down argument, although it 
 very nearly deprived Walter of his life, has 
 not altered his opinions in the least. I be- 
 lieve he knows a great part of " The .Results 
 15* 
 
174 THE INCENDIARY. 
 
 of Machinery" by heart; and his uncle often 
 appeals to nephew Walter, when he finds him- 
 self likely to be overcome in his discussions 
 with his brother farmers on the subject. 
 
 As for my kind hostess, she still calls her- 
 self a determined enemy to the use of ma- 
 chinery ; though, with great good humour, she 
 soon becomes partially reconciled to any im- 
 provements of that nature which her husband 
 introduces. The subject is still frequently 
 discussed by the members of the Trimmer 
 family ; but if differences of opinion were al- 
 ways maintained with their moderation and 
 good temper, the world we live in would be a 
 quiet resting-place indeed. 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 175 
 
MARGARET BEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 A STORM ! a very terrible storm indeed. A 
 shipwreck ! A noble vessel, after a prosper- 
 ous voyage from the East, with a valuable 
 lading, and a still more precious freightage of 
 three-score human beings — a ship, upon whose 
 construction the most skilful builder had 
 spared no pains nor expense, to ensure speed 
 and safety, is cast upon the shores of her na- 
 tive island; and no earthly power can save 
 from present destruction, this, the most mag- 
 nificent of the works of man's hands. The 
 
 instant the ill-fated ship touches the rocks 
 
 177 
 
178 MARGARET SEATOlTS VICTORY. 
 
 the shrouds snap like packthread, and the 
 lofty masts fall over the side, carrying with 
 them yards, and sails, and rigging. And now 
 the terrible power of the waves is manifested. 
 The hull is lifted up on their crests, and 
 dashed again upon the rocks with irresistible 
 violence — torrents of water pour over the 
 decks, sweeping away men, and boats, and 
 heavy iron guns. Another lift and fall 
 on the rocks, and the strong oaken timbers 
 and planks are rent asunder, the deck is 
 torn up, and in a very short time nothing 
 but disjointed fragments remain of the 
 noble ship, " The Margaret Seaton, of Lon- 
 don." 
 
 Alas for the crew and passengers ! All lost 
 save one; and that one, the weakest and 
 most helpless being in the ship, escaped 
 to land almost by a miracle. For when the 
 hardy sailor and practised swimmer appeared 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 179 
 
 to have no chance of prolonging his exis- 
 tence for many minutes, in the fearful surf 
 that broke upon the shore, the mysterious 
 interference of Providence was clearly shown 
 in the preservation of this only survivor, a 
 poor little helpless child, not five years of 
 age. 
 
 And this was the manner of its preserva- 
 tion. When the ship struck, many of the 
 crew endeavoured to save themselves by cling- 
 ing to planks and loose spars, and some 
 of the passengers, who were provided with 
 life-preservers, threw themselves overboard, 
 trusting to reach the shore by these means. 
 Vain hope ! The planks and life-preservers 
 indeed kept the unfortunate creatures from 
 sinking, but their existence was only pro- 
 longed for a few minutes, till they reached 
 the rocky shore, upon which they were 
 cast with violence, and miserably perished. 
 
180 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 It was about mid-day when the catastrophe 
 happened, and as the ship had been seen 
 making signals of distress for some time 
 before she struck, many of the inhabitants 
 of the neighbourhood were assembled on the 
 shore, though there appeared but little chance 
 of rendering any assistance ; for not only 
 was this part of the coast so rocky that 
 no boats were kept for several miles, but even 
 if there had been boats, and expert sailors 
 to manage them, it would have been impos- 
 sible to have reached the wreck against that 
 terrible gale and sea. So all that the spec- 
 tators could do was to station themselves, 
 with ropes in their hands, in the most conve- 
 nient places they could find, in the hopes of 
 rescuing any drowning wretch whom'the waves 
 might cast within reach. 
 
 It chanced that two young farmers, who 
 
 were brothers, (there were no seamen or 
 I 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 181 
 
 fishermen on that part of the coast,) had 
 placed themselves, one on each side of a 
 small creek or deep fissure in the rocks, at 
 the mouth of which was a low, flat rock, and 
 over this obstruction the sea would occasion- 
 ally break furiously, filling the little bay 
 within. After one of these violent eruptions, 
 which took place at pretty regular intervals 
 of a minute or more between each, the young 
 men perceived, struggling in the foaming 
 water of the creek, a man, supported by a 
 short, thick piece of bamboo-cane, fastened 
 to his shoulders, and holding in his arms a 
 very young and apparently lifeless child. 
 Both were nearly naked, for clothes would 
 have. been no protection, but a great incum- 
 brance to them, during their perilous voyage. 
 Of course not a moment was lost- in attempt- 
 ing their rescue, and a rope was skilfully 
 thrown, the end of which fell over Hhe man's 
 
 16 % 
 
182 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 shoulders. But instead of immediately seiz- 
 ing it, appearing more anxious for the child's 
 safety than for his own, he suffered a few 
 seconds to elapse while he raised his precious 
 burden higher . out of the water, and, alas ! 
 this short delay was fatal; for at this junc- 
 ture, a giant wave overtopped the rock at the 
 entrance of the little basin, the almost rescued 
 swimmer was carried out of reach of the rope, 
 and for some time was invisible to the young 
 men, who narrowly escaped being drowned, or 
 dashed to pieces themselves, in the watery 
 turmoil that ensued. 
 
 When this had a little subsided, the ob- 
 ject of their eager search was again disco- 
 vered, near the upper end of the creek, hold- 
 ing up the child, which he still retained, and 
 exclaiming, " Save her! save my child, for 
 mercy's sake !" 
 
 Again the rope was cast over him; but now 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 183 
 
 it was evident that lie had been so much 
 injured by beating against the rocks, as he 
 was washed up the creek, that he had no 
 power to save himself. Blood was flowing 
 from his head, and one arm appeared quite 
 useless, but with the other he still endeavoured 
 to keep his child above water. His lips 
 moved, but he had no longer strength to utter 
 a sound, and he cast a look of most earnest 
 entreaty upon the young men. The mute 
 appeal was successful ; and though but an 
 indifferent swimmer, James Winter, the 
 elder, fastened a rope round his middle, and 
 giving the other end to his brother he boldly 
 leaped into the water. He reached the 
 father and child, and all three were drawn to 
 the shore, and landed upon the rocks, just in 
 time to escape the fury of another fearful 
 deluge, which burst into the little basin, and 
 Would probably have been the destruction of 
 
184 
 
 the whole party, had they been exposed to its 
 violence. 
 
 But how were the feeling hearts of the 
 brothers grieved, when they perceived the 
 dreadful condition of the unfortunate man 
 they had rescued. Not only was his arm 
 terribly shattered, but he had sustained a 
 very severe injury in the side, so deep and 
 extensive that it required no surgical know- 
 ledge to convince the Winters that human 
 skill could not prolong his life for many 
 minutes. In fact, he was already dying, and 
 a slight change of position, occasioned by 
 his head and shoulders being gently raised 
 proved immediately fatal. Life had fled past 
 recall. 
 
 "It is all over with him!" exclaimed 
 James. "May Heaven have mercy upon his 
 soul ! Get some help, Joe, and carry the 
 body further up, for the tide is coming in 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 185 
 
 amain. We can do nothing more for Mm; 
 and as for this poor little innocent, I'm 
 afraid she is gone too. But who can tell? 
 I heard Dr. Forrester say the other day, 
 that people may be brought round again 
 long after they seem stone dead. Why 
 she hasn't got a scratch, or a bruise up- 
 on her body! By God's mercy her fa- 
 ther's arms have protected her, though it 
 does seem almost a miracle, to be sure. 
 She must be one of Heaven's pet lambs, 
 as mother says; and so you may depend 
 upon it, Joe, her life is in her yet. Give 
 me your jacket, it is dryer than mine; 
 I'll wrap her up in it, and carry her at 
 once to Dr. Forrester's : his house is nearer 
 than ours by a good bit, and if anybody can 
 bring her life back again he can." 
 
 "Yes, to be sure," replied Joe, "he 
 
 can if he likes ; but now I think of it, you 
 16* 
 
186 MARGARET SEATON's VICTOEY. 
 
 won't be able to see him. He is in one • 
 of his sullen fits. Thinking that we might 
 want his help, I called as I came down, to 
 tell him what was going on, and old Mrs. 
 Walters said she didn't dare to go into his 
 room, for he had been in a fine way ever 
 since yesterday, when some letters were 
 brought to him. Better take the child up to 
 mother, and see what she can do for it." 
 
 "No — I'll go to the doctor's. Nothing 
 but his clever ways can save it. I shall be 
 haunted with that poor fellow's dying look 
 all my days, if I don't do my best for his 
 child. I'll go to Dr. Forrester, Joe, and 
 I will see him. If Mrs. Walters don't 
 choose to speak to him, I'll kick his door open. 
 Half-crazy as he is, his heart is in the right 
 place, as he showed the other day about Simp- 
 son's child. Come, my pretty dear, Heaven 
 send thee a better nurse than I am!" 
 
MARGARET SEATON's VICTORY. 18T 
 
 So saying, the benevolent young man care- 
 fully covered up the child, and hastened to 
 Dr. Forrester's house, which was situated at 
 about a quarter of a mile from the water's 
 side. 
 
188 MARGARET SEATON's VICTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 
 
 Who was this half-crazy Dr. Forrester ? — ■ 
 An oddity, an eccentric being about whom all 
 the gossips in the neighbourhood were com- 
 pletely puzzled, in their attempts to decide 
 upon his character. 
 
 Just twelve months before our tale begins, 
 he had come to the village in a post-chaise, 
 from the county-town, distant nearly twenty 
 miles, and for a few days had taken up his 
 quarters at the little inn. Some weeks before 
 his arrival, the sudden death of the proprietor, 
 an old major in the army, had left vacant a 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 189 
 
 pretty little cottage, comfortably furnished, 
 and exactly in a condition, as the advertise- 
 ment, with a very unusual regard for truth, 
 described it, " to be entered upon immediate- 
 ly." Even the old housekeeper and the cook 
 of the late major remained in the house, seem- 
 ing to consider themselves as much entitled 
 to the name of fixtures as the doors and win- 
 dow-shutters, and truly these most respect- 
 able-looking old ladies did not appear to 
 be the least desirable part of the establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Whether this consideration influenced Dr. 
 Forrester in his decision I cannot say; but 
 he looked at the house, asked a few ques- 
 tions of Mrs. Walters, and immediately went 
 back to the town. Next day he returned 
 with the attorney, who had the charge of 
 the property, and formally took possession 
 of " The Last Halt," as the poor old soldiei- 
 
190 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 had whimsically named his cottage ; and such 
 it had proved to him, after a very short 
 enjoyment of ease and retirement. The two 
 domestics were included in the transfer ©f the 
 property, Dr. Forrester, unsolicited, giving 
 them additional wages; for it was soon dis- 
 covered by every person who had rendered 
 him the smallest service, that whatever his 
 character might prove to be, stinginess was 
 not one of his faults. It was equally certain 
 that whatever misfortunes had fallen to his 
 lot, poverty was not among them. Alas ! it 
 soon appeared that poverty would have been 
 a light affliction, compared to the heavy 
 burden which oppressed him; for his whole 
 manner and appearance testified that some 
 terrible remembrance preyed upon his spirit, 
 and threatened, by its consuming fire, to 
 destroy both mind and body. Hidden sorrow 
 had produced the usual melancholy effects 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 191 
 
 apon a fine figure and a very noble coun- 
 tenance, both of which were wasted, and, I 
 might almost say, appeared scorched, by its 
 influence ; and though the mind had not 
 suffered in an equal degree, there were 
 times when reason and insanity held nearly 
 equal shares in the government of his ac- 
 tions. 
 
 At such times the unfortunate young man 
 would shut himself up in his room for seve- 
 ral days together, neither eating nor drink- 
 ing; and when the housekeeper would knock 
 at his door, and timidly inquire if he wanted 
 any thing, a savage "Begone, woman! don't 
 torture me with your nonsense," was the 
 mildest reply she would receive. So the 
 two old women, though terribly frightened 
 at first, became accustomed to these fits 
 after a little while, and wisely left their 
 master undisturbed, saying to each other, 
 
192 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 "His evil spirit has hirn now; we must wait 
 till it pleases Heaven to drive it away." 
 
 In the intervals between these overwhelm- 
 ing visitations, Forrester, though almost al- 
 ways moody and wayward in his temper, 
 would employ part of his time most usefully, 
 in visiting the sick poor in the neighbour- 
 hood; and his assistance in this way was 
 the more valuable, as the parish doctor lived 
 five miles off, and was both inattentive to 
 his duties and sadly deficient in skill. Our 
 melancholy friend's first patient was a poor 
 man, in whose cottage he had taken refuge 
 from a shower. He was confined to his bed 
 by ague, and his visitor naturally inquired 
 what medicines he was taking. His wife 
 showed him a bottle containing a draught, 
 and said that the parish doctor had sent it. 
 "Blockhead !" exclaimed Forrester, when he 
 had tasted the medicine; "throw that trash 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 193 
 
 away, and send up to my house in the morn- 
 ing ; your husband shall be able to work in 
 six days. 
 
 The man recovered within that time, and 
 the fame of "the crazy doctor," which appel- 
 lation he soon obtained, was spread abroad, 
 so that many others applied for, and received 
 relief for divers maladies. Now as Dr. 
 Forrester really possessed unusual skill, both 
 as a physician and surgeon, and as no prac- 
 titioner of even moderate abilities had re- 
 sided in the neighbourhood for some years, 
 his cures seemed nearly miraculous in the 
 eyes of the simple inhabitants, who almost 
 believed that he kept the keys of life and 
 death in the little room which contained his 
 medicines and instruments. 
 
 But notwithstanding his wonderful cures, 
 
 this strange young man was much more 
 
 feared than loved, for his manner was almost 
 17 
 
194 - MARGARET SEATON S VICTORY. 
 
 invariably distant, and even surly, especially 
 when he fancied that his assistance had been 
 asked when there was little or no oocasion for 
 it. A still worse offence was the unfortunate 
 offer of a fee from the wife of a respectable 
 farmer, who had benefited by his advice. The 
 experiment was never repeated, for the terri- 
 fied woman declared that she was convinced it 
 was her sex alone that saved her from a beat- 
 ing. 
 
 There had, however, been one or two occa- 
 sions when Forrester had gained somewhat up- 
 on the affections of his poor patients, by his 
 great attention, and almost kindness, in cases 
 of severe and dangerous illness ; and an in- 
 stance of this kind had occurred a short time 
 before the shipwreck of the "Margaret Sea- 
 ton," when a little boy, named Simpson, had 
 -met with a terrible injury, by falling down 
 over the cliffs, while searching for sea-birds' 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY 195 
 
 eggs. Forrester, who was in an unusually 
 sane mood just then, was so much interested 
 in the case, that he sat up with the poor child 
 two nights, and supplied him with every neces- 
 sary, till he recovered. It was his kindness to 
 this child that had convinced James Winter 
 that the heart of " the crazy doctor'* was in 
 the right place. 
 
196 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE REVIVAL. 
 
 Enough has now been said to show the cha- 
 racter of the person worthy James Winter had 
 to encounter, when, breathless with running, 
 he knocked at the back door of "The Last 
 Halt," fully determined to see and obtain 
 the assistance of its master, though he knew 
 that his dark hour was upon him. But James 
 felt that he was engaged in a good cause; 
 moreover, he fancied that he was somewhat 
 of a favourite with the doctor, who had 
 certainly treated him with more civility than 
 he was accustomed to show to his neighbours. 
 Winter found Mrs. Walters quite terrified, 
 
MARGAKET SEATON'S VICTORY. 197 
 
 as his brother Joe had said, at the thoughts 
 of disturbing her master at such a time; 
 but the young man's earnest entreaties, 
 joined to her own compassionate feelings 
 for the poor little innocent he held in his 
 arms, at length induced the good lady to 
 knock at the parlour-door, James standing by 
 her side, at her own desire, to keep up her 
 courage. 
 
 No notice was taken of the first timid 
 knocking, which was perhaps unheard ; but a 
 much more decided application of James's 
 knuckles brought a furious "Who's there? 
 "Who dares disturb me now?" 
 
 It was some time before the poor house- 
 keeper could reply, " I beg pardon, sir, 
 I'm sure ; but indeed you are very badly 
 wanted. Here's young Mr.. Winter has 
 brought you a dead baby, and wants you 
 
 to " 
 
 17* 
 
198 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 "Silence, woman!" thundered the recluse, 
 " another word and you quit my service for 
 ever. Begone ! I say, instantly." 
 
 The housekeeper's small stock of courage 
 not enabling her to proceed any further in 
 the attempt, James, knowing that every mo- 
 ment was precious, now thought it quite time 
 for him to put in a word, and he endeavoured 
 to open the door, saying, " Doctor ! Doctor 
 Forrester ! 'tis a matter of the greatest con- 
 sequence. I must see you, sir ! For the love 
 of Heaven open the door and give us your 
 help." 
 
 Here James, in his impatience, gave a 
 very moderate push; the weak lock yielded 
 unexpectedly, and he staggered forward with 
 his burden into the presence of the aston- 
 ished Forrester. Now it is well known to 
 those who have the care of insane persons, 
 that nothing controls their violence so ef- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 199 
 
 fectually as a determined and fearless man- 
 ner; and though our unhappy doctor was 
 not absolutely insane, the young farmer's 
 sudden intrusion and resolute countenance 
 had the effect of calming his irritation, in- 
 stead of increasing it, as would certainly have 
 been the case had his mind been perfectly free 
 from disease. Forrester addressed his un- 
 ceremonious visiter in a subdued but agitated 
 tone ; — 
 
 " Winter, you are a rude fellow ! I am 
 busy now. I am ill — very ill. Call to- 
 morrow, and I will do what I can for you. — 
 There, good bye, leave me now, I beseech 
 you." 
 
 "No, sir," replied Winter; "there isn't 
 a minute to be lost. Look here!" added 
 he, uncovering the child; "this looks like 
 a dead body, but the life is in it, I am 
 pretty sure, and you can preserve it if 
 
you choose to try. — Refuse your assistance, 
 and this child's blood will be upon your 
 hands." 
 
 At these words Forrester fell back upon a 
 sofa, and gasped for breath, like one who had 
 received a deadly thrust, while his features 
 were so terribly convulsed that "Winter thought 
 he was dying. When he recovered his speech, 
 apparently quite unconscious of his visitor's 
 presence, he exclaimed in a voice of agony 
 and terror : " Blood ! where ? What ! a se- 
 cond time ? Blood upon my hands ! Will 
 nothing wash out the stain ? Oh ! God be 
 merciful!" 
 
 While poor Winter stood aghast at the 
 extraordinary effect his words had produced, 
 thinking that he really had a madman to deal 
 with, Dr. Forrester became gradually more 
 composed, and when James again ventured 
 to urge his request, he suddenly started 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 201 
 
 up, and took the child into his arms to exa- 
 mine it. 
 
 "My good fellow," said he, "what do you 
 want ? I cannot bring a corpse to life ; and 
 this poor little thing seems stone dead, 
 and — no, it is not quite cold ! I will do my 
 utmost to save its life. Here, Mrs. Walters ! 
 bring the softest blanket you can find. Get a 
 quantity of soft flannel besides, and put them 
 all by the kitchen fire. Tell Betty to have 
 plenty of hot water ready. Quick, quick, 
 Mrs. Walters ! don't stand there staring at 
 me. Winter, take the child into the kitchen : 
 if it please Almighty God she shall breathe 
 again." 
 
 Forrester's energies were now thoroughly 
 aroused, and all the usual means for cherish- 
 ing the doubtful spark of existence into a 
 flame were vigorously used by himself and 
 the two old women, the young farmer watch- 
 
202 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 ing their operations with an interest as intense 
 as if his future happiness depended upon the 
 issue. 
 
 But when these measures had been per- 
 sisted in for more than an hour, without any 
 appearance of success, Winter and the old 
 women began to give up all hopes, and whis- 
 pered to each other, " 'Tis of no use ! her 
 spirit has been in heaven long ago." Even 
 Forrester became anxious and fidgety ; when 
 suddenly recollecting himself, he exclaimed, 
 " How foolish not to have thought of that 
 before ! Winter, come with me." 
 
 And now Betty's tongue, before awed into 
 silence by the presence of her master, began 
 to vibrate freely again. 
 
 " Ah ! Mrs. Walters!" said she, " master's 
 mortal after all. He can't do every thing, 
 you see, and I don't know that I shan't like 
 him all the better for it. Now, if it had been 
 
MARGARET SEATOX'S VICTORY. 203 
 
 sruch a poor old woman as me, I fancy master 
 wouldn't have taken all this trouble to have 
 brought me about again, if I had been 
 under water a fortnight or more. Ah ! if 
 he had only taken my advice, and instead 
 of all this rubbing and scrubbing, and puff- 
 ing and blowing, had given the child a " 
 
 Betty was prevented from finishing her 
 description of her peculiar process for re- 
 storing suspended animation by the return 
 of Forrester and James from the surgery, 
 carrying on a table a small galvanic ap- 
 paratus, the strange form of which, joined 
 to the unpleasant smell of the hydrogen 
 gas which it evolved, caused the eyes and 
 mouths of the women to dilate with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Out of the way, Betty," said the doctor; 
 and as the poor old cook did not obey fast 
 enough to please her impatient master, he 
 
204 MARGARET SEATONS VICTORY. 
 
 touched her elbows, whether intentionally 
 or not was never known, with the two wires 
 of the apparatus. A convulsive leap and 
 a yell of terror proved that the arrange- 
 ment was perfect, and Betty, quite uncon- 
 scious of the cause of her strange feel- 
 ings, threw herself into a chair, crying, " Oh 
 the paralytics ! I've had a fit, sure enough. 
 I am in a fit now ; but nobody cares for 
 me." 
 
 Taking no notice of this new patient, For- 
 rester now hastened to try the efficacy of 
 galvanism on the child. The first applica- 
 tion caused such a fearful convulsion of the 
 limbs that the terrified spectators could not 
 refrain from imitating the action, appearing as 
 if they had received a share of the shock them- 
 selves. But Forrester remained perfectly 
 calm, knowing that violent motion may be thus 
 produced in a body when life has long been 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 205 
 
 extinct. And now a different direction of 
 the galvanic fluid brought the lungs under 
 its exciting influence. Breathing, at first 
 weak and irregular, now commenced, and 
 soon gained strength and steadiness. An 
 uncertain fluttering, first over the heart, then 
 at the wrist, began to be perceptible to the 
 practised and sensitive touch of the doctor. 
 Soon the whole body was strangely affected 
 by a shuddering motion. Then, oh sight of 
 joy ! the eyes slowly opened, and though 
 dim and rayless, and closed again immedi- 
 ately, they gave certain proof that the child's 
 spirit still remained the tenant of her body. 
 I need not describe the methods that were 
 used to ensure its remaining in the abode it 
 had so nearly quitted for ever. It is enough 
 to say, that in another hour, the little girl, 
 though still very weak and ill, was sufficient- 
 ly recovered tc be able to swallow some warm 
 18 
 
206 MARGARET SE ATOM'S VICTORY. 
 
 milk, and soon after this, she fell into a 
 sound sleep in the temporary bed which For- 
 rester had ordered to be prepared for her in 
 the kitchen, as being the warmest room in the 
 house. 
 
 Which of the two felt the greatest joy at 
 this resuscitation, Forrester or Winter, it is 
 difficult to say. Both were well rewarded for 
 their exertions, but they expressed their sen- 
 sations very differently. 
 
 James capered about the kitchen, entreat- 
 ing that one of the old women would dance 
 with him, for he declared that he must either 
 dance or die. In fact, he was almost insane 
 with joy. Still I think that Forrester's hap- 
 piness must have been greater, for when the 
 little girl first opened her languid blue eyes, 
 a faint smile for a moment gleamed across 
 his pallid face, which had not been glad- 
 dened by such an expression for many months. 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 207 
 
 The particulars of the preceding account 
 of a recovery from apparent death by means 
 of galvanism were related to me by James 
 Winter himself. But I have heard that 
 Betty gave rather a different version of the 
 story, a few days afterwards, to a party of 
 her gossips, at a farm-house in the neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 " They were something like Chaney pig- 
 troughs," said she; "and the stuff that was 
 in them smelt like pig's-wash too, only a 
 hundred times worse. Then master took a 
 couple of long, sharp-pointed skewers, and 
 ran them right through the child's body ! 
 'Tis true, I tell you, for I myself saw the 
 ends come quite through ; and sure enough 
 she'll carry the marks of them to her grave 
 with her. And so the smell of the stuff 
 and the pain of the skewers made the poor 
 dear child sneeze and jump. Yes, I believe 
 
i 
 
 208 MAEGAEET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 she did jump, indeed ! and we all jumped ; 
 and that's how it was, you see, that master 
 brought her to life again." 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 209 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PLOT. 
 
 The morning after the shipwreck, when 
 young Winter called at Dr. Forrester's he was 
 delighted to find that the little girl was going 
 on as favourably as could be wished, and that 
 a few days' careful nursing would probably 
 completely restore her to health and strength. 
 The exertions of yesterday, and the happy re- 
 sult of his skill, had produced such a favour- 
 able effect upon Forrester's mind, that his two 
 domestics agreed in the opinion that, if he 
 could be provided with a half-drowned child 
 to operate upon every clay, he would soon 
 
 forget his miseries, and become like other 
 18* 
 
210 
 
 people. Though, still wild and abstracted in 
 his manner, Winter found him more affable 
 and cheerful than he expected ; and he made 
 many inquiries about the shipwreck, and 
 seemed much interested in the account of 
 the child's wonderful escape. Now it was 
 very unusual for Forrester to address a ques- 
 tion or an observation to any person, unless 
 absolutely necessary, and the animation he 
 showed on this subject was the more remark- 
 able. 
 
 Winter informed him that the child he 
 had saved was the only survivor from the 
 wreck. Many bodies, most of them dread- 
 fully mangled, had been washed up, and 
 much valuable property had been recovered 
 and placed in a large barn, till the owners of 
 the ship should appear ; for the people on this 
 part of the coast had never been known to ex- 
 hibit any wrecking propensities. 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 211 
 
 The name of the ship had been discovered, 
 from part of a stern of a boat which had been 
 thrown on shore, with "Margaret Seaton" 
 painted on it ; but nothing had been found, 
 either on the dead bodies or among the re- 
 covered cargo, by which the names of any 
 of the passengers could be known. But 
 the nature of the goods which had been 
 saved proved that the ship was from the East 
 Indies, and her name being ascertained, 
 there would be no difficulty in finding the 
 owners. 
 
 Having been absent from home for several 
 days at a distant fair, the kind-hearted young 
 Winter, at his next visit, was not surprised 
 to find the little girl perfectly restored to 
 health, and radiant with childish beauty; 
 but he was surprised to see where she had 
 snugly established herself — in the lap of the 
 poor, half-insane Forrester ; and from this 
 
212 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 situation it was not very easy to remove 
 her when he was present. He had relapsed 
 into his usual abstracted, melancholy mood, 
 and was contemplating the child's lovely 
 face with an expression in which compas- 
 sion was singularly mingled with an air of 
 surprise at her perfect freedom and untiring 
 volubility. Though her face and complexion 
 showed that she was of European parent- 
 age, the little creature was merrily chat- 
 tering away in some foreign giberish, pro- 
 bably Hindostanee, which she had learned 
 from her Indian attendants, while her know- 
 ledge of English was so imperfect, and it 
 was so difficult to induce her to use this 
 language at all, that very little information 
 could be obtained from her, except that her 
 name was "Peggy." She seemed much sur- 
 prised at her protector's silence and grave 
 demeanor, and now and then gave his face 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 213 
 
 a playful slap with her hand, as if to insist 
 upon her right to a portion of his attention. 
 When this happened, it was amusing to ob- 
 serve how he would draw back, as if, half 
 offended at her familiarity, he intended to 
 set the child upon the floor ; but this was 
 not to be done without absolute force, for a 
 wonderful instinct seemed to have taught 
 her to cling with affection to him who had 
 conferred upon her a second life. So For- 
 rester bent his head down over her again, 
 as if he hoped to find consolation and hap- 
 piness by gazing intently into her pure blue 
 eyes, 
 
 " What do you mean to call her, sir ?" 
 at length said Winter. "I mean, till some- 
 body shall be found to claim her, which seems 
 not very likely from the account received from 
 London." 
 
 "What do I mean to call her, James?" 
 
214 
 
 replied the doctor, starting as from a trance ; 
 "'tis no concern of mine. You saved her 
 from the waves, and now she is recovered 
 you must take her to your own house, and 
 give her what name you please. You do not 
 suppose that I am going to sit all day nursing 
 a baby ?" 
 
 "Very well, sir, just as you please — only 
 I thought that perhaps — however, I am sure 
 mother will do her best for the child. Then, 
 sir, for a name, what do you think of ' Mar- 
 garet Seaton,' as that was the name of the 
 ship, and the poor little girl calls herself 
 'Peggy.'" 
 
 " Margaret Seaton ! a very good name ! — 
 any name you please, James," replied Forres- 
 ter : and the young man took his leave, saying 
 that his mother would call for the child the 
 next day. 
 
 James was met in the hall by Mrs. Wal- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 215 
 
 ters, who begged to have a few minutes' con- 
 versation with him in the kitchen. When 
 she heard what had passed, the old lady 
 looked very grave indeed, and said, "Mr. 
 Winter, this will never do ! this child must 
 not leave the house ; nor she shan't, if I can 
 help it." 
 
 " But the doctor says she must, Mrs. Wal- 
 ters." 
 
 " Well, never mind that, James, only you 
 do what I ask, and I'll engage that we shall 
 manage it all very well. Now when you go 
 home, get your mother to send a message, 
 saying that you are all so busy just now with 
 your hay, (which is true enough, you know,) 
 that she can't conveniently take the child for 
 a fortnight or so. Will you do this, James ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Mrs. Walters, for you may be 
 sure that I dont want to trouble mother 
 with the child : only if the doctor wc^'t 
 
216 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 keep her, 1 will ; for when I was helping to 
 put her poor father into his coffin, I made a 
 vow over his body, that his child should never 
 want any thing as long as I had it to give. 
 But I'll take your message to mother, and 
 hope 'twill all be for the best." 
 
 "Very well," replied Mrs. Walters, "that's 
 all I want you to do ; for I cannot help think- 
 ing, that if we could but contrive to make my 
 poor master really fond of the child, he would 
 soon forget his melancholy. He'd have some- 
 body to talk to and to attend to when he 
 comes home from those dismal, solitary walks, 
 instead of sitting moping by himself for hours 
 together. Now, I verily believe," continued 
 the benevolent old lady, taking little Margaret 
 in her arms, " I verily believe that this child 
 was sent from heaven on purpose ; and as long 
 as she is in the house, I'll take care to put her 
 in his way as much as possible. Master al- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 217 
 
 ways speaks more kindly to children than to 
 any one else, and this child is as sweet a little 
 creature as ever breathed; and though she 
 can't speak much English, she has got as many 
 winning, coaxing ways with her as an angel. 
 So if she don't contrive to twist and twine her- 
 self round master's heart in a fortnight, why I 
 don't know what sort of stuff his heart is made 
 of, that's all! Mark my words, James Win- 
 ter, if he don't soon love her like his own child, 
 he's no man at all, but an evil sjririt, and I am 
 sure he doesn't deserve that any respectable 
 woman should live with him." 
 
 19 
 
218 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CONFLICT. 
 
 "Was Mrs. Walters correct in her judgment 
 of the composition of her master's heart, and 
 of the insinuating, and love-compelling quali- 
 ties of the little Margaret Seaton? 
 
 Did Forrester prove himself to be no man, 
 but a demon in the human form, by rejecting, 
 as a worthless gift, the pure free-will of- 
 ferings of childish affection and confidence? 
 
 Nearly a fortnight had passed since the 
 day when Mrs. Walters had communicated 
 to James Winter her scheme for her poor 
 master's benefit, and, according to her pro- 
 mise, she had contrived that the little girl 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 219 
 
 should spend a great part of her time in the 
 parlour, when he was at home. 
 
 In the first few days hut little progress 
 was made. Forrester would rarely inquire 
 for the child, and often appeared to have 
 forgotten that she was in the house. But 
 Margaret had not forgotten him, and, en- 
 couraged by Mrs. "Walters, was always heard 
 knocking at the parlour-door, and calling 
 "Peggy," very soon after his return home. 
 He could not refuse to admit his gentle 
 visitor; and when once in the room, she 
 would often be seated on his knee, or 
 when that coveted situation was denied her, 
 close by his side on the sofa, either en- 
 gaged with her playthings, or trying to excite 
 her melancholy companion to a game of 
 romps. 
 
 So the child, by her constant endearments 
 and winning partiality, laid close siege to 
 
520 MAKGARET SEATON'S YICTORY. 
 
 the hypochondriac's heart, and at length the 
 approaches were won. 
 
 One afternoon, Forrester returned home 
 from visiting a poor man upon whom he had 
 performed a difficult, but very successful 
 operation. He was therefore in a more 
 cheerful and reasonable mood than usual. 
 Mrs. Walters observed this, and said to Betty, 
 "Now Betty, we'll try a little bit of an ex- 
 periment. Master looks better than he has 
 for some time, so I'll tell you what I'll do. 
 I won't let the child go and knock at his door, 
 and we shall see whether he will miss her, 
 and ask for her. We shall see, Betty, we 
 shall see." 
 
 "Ah! we shall see, indeed!" said Betty, 
 shaking her head. 
 
 No very easy matter was it to persuade 
 little Margaret to remain in the kitchen, 
 when she knew that her papa, as she already 
 
MARGARET SEATCN'S VICTORY. 221 
 
 began to call him, was returned. But by 
 means of coaxing, and bribes of buttered toast, 
 the women managed to keep her tolerably 
 quiet for about a quarter of an hour, till the 
 parlour bell rang, and then the gathering 
 storm of her indignation burst at once, when 
 she found that Mrs. Walters would not let 
 her accompany her. But the old lady, deter- 
 mined to go through her " little bit of an ex- 
 periment," remained inexorable, and poor 
 Margaret was left kicking and screaming in 
 Betty's lap. 
 
 And now Mrs. Walters stood before her 
 master, trying with all her might to do that 
 which every one knows is exceedingly diffi- 
 cult, and to most persons absolutely impos- 
 sible. Mrs. Walters endeavoured to make her 
 face appear perfectly calm and unconcerned, 
 when her kind heart was fluttering with 
 
 anxiety for the success of her scheme, and 
 19* 
 
222 MAEGAEET SEATON'S VICTOEY. 
 
 her motherly feelings sorely distressed in 
 consequence of her assumed severity to the 
 little girl. No marvel then that the good 
 woman's face would not obey her will, and 
 so she blew her nose, and wiped her eyes, 
 saying, " Beg pardon, sir, but this cold in my 
 
 head " 
 
 Taking no notice of her agitation or 
 apology, her master made her happy, by in- 
 quiring at once where Margaret was, and why 
 she did not come into the parlour as usual. 
 Here, in justice to Forrester, it should be 
 known that he had missed his affectionate 
 little friend, and even felt a half-acknow- 
 ledged desire for her company, as soon as 
 he found himself in the solitude of his own 
 room; but, since his return, he had been 
 engaged in searching among his books, for 
 a parallel case to that of the poor man 
 whose bedside he had just quitted. But 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 223 
 
 his investigations were finished, and so he in- 
 quired, " Where is Margaret, Mrs. Walters ? 
 and why does she scream so ?" 
 
 " In the kitchen, sir, with Betty." 
 
 " Why does she stay there ? does she like 
 the kitchen better than the parlour ?" 
 
 " Oh dear no, sir," said the delighted house- 
 keeper; "she wants to come in badly enough; 
 but I was afraid she might trouble you, and 
 she's making a fine noise about it. I'll go and 
 bring her in directly." 
 
 When Mrs. Walters said this, she no 
 doubt fully intended to perform her promise, 
 but Margaret's impatience prevented her 
 from doing so. She did not wait to be 
 brought in. After exerting to the utmost 
 her small ability in kicking, biting, scratching, 
 and struggling, till she had worked herself 
 almost out of her clothes, and quite into a 
 furious passion, the little girl, finding that 
 
224 
 
 nothing else could induce Betty to relax her 
 iron grasp, at last effected her object by seiz- 
 ing a cup of hot tea, and dashing it over her 
 tormentor's face and neck. 
 
 " Away with thee, then !" said the discom- 
 fited cook. "There, run in to master, do. 
 Thee art as wild and unmanageable as he is, I 
 do declare." 
 
 As some excuse for the child's outrageous 
 conduct, we must remember her Indian edu- 
 cation, and that this was probably the first 
 time that any serious opposition had been 
 offered to her inclinations. Moreover, her 
 imperfect knowledge of English made her 
 still more unreasonable and difficult to man- 
 age. 
 
 While Betty was engaged in wiping up 
 the scalding deluge from her face, the vic- 
 torious Margaret reached the door, dashed 
 past Mrs. Walters, who at that moment en- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 225 
 
 tered the kitchen, and before the stiff old lady 
 could commence a pursuit, she was in the par- 
 lour. How different did she appear from the 
 smiling, neatly dressed little Peggy, that For- 
 rester had been accustomed to see ! Alas ! she 
 bore about her many marks of the recent fierce 
 contest. Her frock was rumpled and torn en- 
 tirely off one shoulder ; her shoes were kicked 
 off in the struggle and left in the kitchen ; her 
 beautiful curls were in grievous disorder ; and 
 her face, neck, and bosom crimsoned with an- 
 ger and exertion. As for her eyes, no one 
 could have supposed that their mild, heavenly 
 expression could have so soon been exchanged 
 for a look of rage and defiance. But nature 
 had been so bountiful in her gifts to this child, 
 that though her appearance was that of a little 
 fury, it was still of a very beautiful fury. 
 
 As the little Margaret Seaton, by the well- 
 timed application of hot water, had gained an 
 
undoubted victory over her antagonist in the 
 kitchen, so now, by this passionate exhibition 
 of her attachment, and by her tears of joy, 
 when she found herself in Forrester's arms, 
 she triumphed at length over his half-yielding 
 coldness and indifference, and secured for her- 
 self a friend and protector, in place of the fa- 
 ther who had sacrificed his own life for her 
 safety. 
 
 When Mrs. Walters followed her unruly 
 charge into the parlour, she found her master 
 tenderly embracing the weeping child, and 
 drying the tears that flowed down her cheeks. 
 The good woman declared that the handker- 
 chief was also occasionally applied to his own 
 eyes ; but as her vision was greatly obscured 
 at the time by a superabundant supply of 
 moisture, she might have been mistaken as to 
 this point. So, as Forrester took no notice of 
 her, and seemed quite unconscious of her pre- 
 
MARGARET SEATOX'S VICTORY. 227 
 
 sence, she left the room, but not till she had 
 heard him exclaim, in a voice faltering with 
 emotion, " Sent from heaven to comfort me ? 
 Thrown up by the mighty deep to rescue from 
 utter misery and despair a wretch unworthy of 
 such a blessing ? Oh ! if the agony I have en- 
 dured might be received as some atonement ! 
 Come, then, sweet child, I accept thee as a 
 most precious token that a merciful God has 
 not cast me off for eyer." 
 
228 MARGARET SEATON S VICTORY 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 The next day Forrester could not be easy 
 till he had seen young Winter, and informed 
 him of the alteration in his plans respecting 
 little Margaret. James heard of his deter- 
 mination with great joy upon all accounts. 
 He was glad to be relieved of the charge of 
 the little girl, who would also be much better 
 provided for in her present situation, than 
 by a man of his own limited means ; and he 
 rejoiced on Forrester's account, that he had 
 become attached to the child; for he fully 
 agreed with Mrs. Walters, that his having 
 such an object of interest and affection, 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S YICTGRY. 229 
 
 would be the most effectual means of chas- 
 ing away those terrible recollections of the 
 past, which, if indulged in, seemed likely t*o 
 end in confirmed insanity. Even if the 
 doctor's mental disease should not mend, or 
 should increase, so as to render him an un- 
 fit protector for the child, James knew that 
 he should receive certain information on the 
 subject from his friend Mrs. "Walters, and in 
 this case proper steps might be taken to re- 
 move her. 
 
 Several persons who met Forrester on his 
 way home from the farm that morning, could 
 not help being struck with his altered de- 
 meanor. Instead of creeping slowly along 
 in deep abstraction, and sometimes sitting 
 motionless for an hour or more on a stile or 
 bank, with his head sunk upon his chest, he 
 now walked erect, at a brisk pace, and ex- 
 ceedingly astonished his humble acquaint- 
 20 
 
230 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 ance by cheerfully returning their salutes 
 as lie passed them. Such an act of con- 
 descension from "the crazy doctor" was in- 
 deed most unusual and unexpected. 
 
 But though this sudden excitement had 
 had the happy effect of arousing Forrester's 
 energies, and of causing him for a time to 
 throw off his secret weight of sorrow, it was 
 very evident that the cause still remained, 
 and could not long be forgotten. He was 
 still a most melancholy creature, and at 
 times almost heart-broken: but his seasons 
 of terrible depression were certainly of 
 shorter duration and of less frequent oc- 
 currence than formerly. It seemed as if 
 the foul demon despair must at length be 
 vanquished, by the gentle influence of such an 
 affectionate, merry-hearted little companion, 
 is Margaret Seaton. 
 
 Some months passed away, and the attach- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 231 
 
 ment of this strangely-assorted pair increased 
 almost daily. As little Margaret began to 
 talk English instead of her Indian jargon, 
 she became more of a companion to Forres- 
 ter, who would take great delight in teaching 
 his dear little adopted child the names of 
 various objects, by means of sketches on a 
 slate. So the dull rainy days, which, by 
 confining him to the house, were formerly 
 terrible visitations to him, would now often 
 pass away happily, and cast no shadow over 
 his spirits. Still he was occasionally sub- 
 ject, sometimes without any apparent cause, 
 to grievous fits of despondency, out of which 
 even the endearments of his little Margaret 
 could not always arouse him. Mrs. Waiters 
 had remarked that a dark day was sure to 
 follow the receipt of a certain letter with the 
 London post-mark, and directed in a crampt 
 lawyer's hand. What could Margaret do to 
 
232 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 console her miserable companion at these 
 seasons of despair ? When the affectionate 
 and sensitive child found that her prattle 
 and playful attempts to engage his attention 
 were unheeded, suddenly throwing off her 
 gaiety, she would creep close to his side, 
 and endeavour to get possession of his hand. 
 There she would stand, peering into his wo- 
 begone face with a most melancholy and in- 
 quiring look ; and the scene generally ended 
 in a passionate flood of tears, when she 
 found that her attentions and caresses were 
 still unnoticed and unreturned. Now this 
 affecting display of her love had often the 
 effect of rousing the melancholy man from 
 his trance, and in endeavouring to soothe 
 her distress he would for a time forget his 
 own sorrows. One thing was remarkable, 
 and proved that the child had gained a 
 strong hold on his affections — though in 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 233 
 
 his clouded moments he was generally mo- 
 rose, and even savage in his manner to 
 others, he was never known to show the least 
 symptom of anger or impatience to Mar- 
 garet, though the child, with confiding love, 
 would frequently climb into his lap, and en- 
 deavour to draw away his hands from his 
 face. 
 
 One day, when Forrester was out, the black, 
 ominous-looking London letter arrived. 
 
 " There, Betty," said Mrs. Walters, as she 
 
 returned with it in her hand ; "there's an end 
 
 of the fine weather ! and poor master has been 
 
 so cheerful for the last week or more. I'm 
 
 pretty sure he's getting fatter too, Betty. 
 
 Oh ! if it wasn't for this tiresome letter ! The 
 
 writing isn't like a Christian's writing, neither, 
 
 but all black and crooked. I declare I've half 
 
 a mind ." Here Mrs. Walters looked 
 
 significantly at the fire. 
 20* 
 
234 
 
 "Now do !" cried Betty, "do burn it, Mrs. 
 Walters ! I'll never tell ; and by good luck the 
 child is gone out a walking with him, so he'll 
 never know anything about it." 
 
 The temptation to commit this messenger of 
 evil tidings to the flames was hardly to be re- 
 sisted ; but a discovery would be dreadful, and 
 Mrs. Walters stood undecided. 
 
 It is impossible to say how the matter might 
 have been settled, but at this moment Forres- 
 ter was heard in the hall. He had met the 
 postman, and now sent Margaret into the 
 kitchen for the letter. Mrs. Walters gave it 
 into her hand with a melancholy shake of the 
 head, saying, " Ah, poor dear ! it will be a dull 
 time of it for thee now." 
 
 When Forrester had retired to his own bed- 
 room, he read the following : — 
 "Dear Sir, 
 
 " I am sorry to inform you that all my en- 
 
'MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 235 
 
 deavours to ascertain the fate of your brother, 
 Captain Richard Forrester, are still, as I 
 feared would be the case, entirely unsuccess- 
 ful. Not the smallest additional information 
 has been obtained since my last. 
 
 " An overland mail from India brings intel- 
 ligence respecting the ship wrecked on your 
 coast last summer. Her name, as you sup- 
 posed, was the 'Margaret Seaton,' and she was 
 the property of a Mr. Frederick Seaton, who, 
 with his only child, a little girl about five years 
 of age, were returning to England,, in her. 
 It appears that this gentleman had no near re- 
 lations, either in India or England, therefore 
 there is no probability whatever that any per- 
 son will claim the child you have taken under 
 your protection." 
 
 Here followed a statement of some money 
 transactions ; and the letter was wound up by 
 the writer, Simon Searchwell, offering his 
 
236 MAEGAEET SEATON'S VICTOEY. 
 
 usual assurance of "devoted services," &c. 
 &c. 
 
 At the first paragraph of Simon's communi- 
 cation, the face of the reader became much 
 disturbed, and he threw -the letter from him, 
 exclaiming: — "No hope! none whatever! I 
 must bear my heavy burden still — till it 
 presses me down to the grave !" Then, after 
 musing for some time, his eye accidentally fell 
 upon the name "Margaret Seaton," in the 
 latter part of the letter, which he had no 
 sooner finished than he hastened down stairs, 
 saying, " Old Simon has sent me good tidings 
 for once. Margaret, Margaret, my dear ! 
 Where is little Margaret, Mrs. Walters?" 
 
 She was close at hand, and Mrs. Walters, 
 expecting that the dreaded letter would have 
 had a very different effect upon her master, 
 was surprised and delighted to see him take 
 the child in his arms, kissing her most affec- 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 237 
 
 tionately, and calling her "his own darling 
 girl," — "his own dear little Margaret." 
 
 "None can tear thee from me now," said 
 Forrester, placing the sweet child on his knee, 
 and gazing on his treasure with an expression 
 of as much happiness as it was possible for his 
 melancholy face to wear. He had felt great 
 uneasiness about the possibility of the little 
 girl's being claimed by some relation, and 
 Simon Searchwell's information on the subject 
 more than neutralized the effect of the bad 
 tidings contained in the first part of his epistle. 
 
 "Now this will teach me never to have any 
 hand in burning other people's letters," said 
 Betty, when she heard the good news. 
 
238 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE VICTORY. 
 
 The sweet-toned voice and merry laugh 
 of the little Margaret Se'aton have now been 
 heard in the Last Halt for more than four 
 years. That time has not elapsed without 
 producing a gradual, but decided change, 
 both in the once half-crazed Forrester, 
 and in his adopted daughter. Margaret is 
 much grown, of course, and, if possible, much 
 improved ; though that the latter result is not 
 so inevitable as the former, sad experience in 
 the mental and personal changes of children 
 will testify. But little Margaret is improved ; 
 time has added a more perfect beauty to her 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 239 
 
 face ; and as Betty has had no more cups of 
 tea thrown over her, she is able and willing to 
 add her testimony that the little girl's fiery 
 and ungovernable temper has been quite sub- 
 dued by the kind and judicious management 
 of her protector. 
 
 (Within the safe enclosure of a parenthesis, 
 which impatient readers may pass by at their 
 pleasure, and which perhaps one reader alone 
 will fully understand, the faithful historian of 
 these early spring days of Margaret Seaton 
 cannot refrain from inscribing a few words, in 
 remembrance of her many endearing quali- 
 ties, and of those most happy hours he has 
 passed in her society. For little Margaret, 
 though delightfully simple and child-like in 
 her manners, possessed intelligence and 
 companionable qualities very far beyond her 
 years. And her voice — so sweet and clear, so 
 melodious in its tones ! Will its music ever 
 
240 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 visit my ears again? A warm friend and 
 admirer of the very young portion of the 
 human race, (pure, bright blossoms, amidst a 
 howling wilderness of grim and ungraceful 
 maturity !) I am happy in the society of 
 all children, and can number among my 
 dearest and most valued friends, many 
 sweet young creatures, whose smiles might 
 banish melancholy from the most deso- 
 late heart. Thanks for your affection, my 
 dear little friends ! It is gratefully re- 
 ceived and returned with interest. But 
 when I think of Margaret and of bright 
 days that are past, ah ! then I cannot but 
 repeat with a sigh, " Heu ! quanto minus est 
 cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse !"*) 
 
 * I think of thee ! — And as the purer ray 
 Of sunshine maketh tapers dimly gleam, 
 So fond remembrance of a brighter day 
 Outshineth present joys ; all these I deem 
 Faint stars extinguish'd in the morning's beam. 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 241 
 
 How has Margaret been employed during 
 these four years ? In learning to speak and 
 read English, and in acquiring such know- 
 ledge as little girls of her age and station in 
 life usually possess ? We may be certain 
 that Forrester has not neglected his duties as 
 a gentle instructor to a most intelligent and 
 attentive scholar. But his instructions have 
 not been conveyed in the manner usually 
 adopted by salaried teachers, and the happy 
 Margaret knows very little of stated tasks, 
 or of fixed hours for learning them. Still 
 more ignorant is this fortunate child of the 
 name and uses of that melancholy apartment, 
 a school-room. Forrester and his gentle pupil 
 may often be seen pursuing their studies, with- 
 out the aid of books, — in the river-side mea- 
 dows, in the silent woods, by the rocky margin 
 of the sea. 
 
 But besides the usual occupations of a 
 21 
 
242 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 happy country-bred child, Margaret has un- 
 consciously been engaged in a more im- 
 portant work. By the irresistible influence 
 of her affection and sweet companionship, 
 she has accomplished the difficult task al- 
 lotted to her to perform. She has gained 
 a victory! triumphed over grim despair — 
 chased away insanity from an over-sensitive 
 mind, clouded by fearful recollections and 
 remorse. The struggle is ended, and the 
 victory is hers, for it has pleased a merciful 
 God that the weak should overcome the 
 strong. 
 
 Is Forrester then no longer a melancholy, 
 sour-tempered man ? He is a thoughtful 
 man, and sometimes even a slight shade of 
 melancholy will steal over his spirits ; but per- 
 haps we should not wonder at this, nor wish it 
 to be otherwise, if the history of his past life 
 could be disclosed to us. 
 
MARGARET SEATOtf'S VICTORY. . 2-13 
 
 And those visitations of terrible depression, 
 those doubtful contests between reason and 
 insanity? Many months have now passed 
 away without the recurrence of the dreaded 
 infliction : Forrester can even break the seal 
 of a letter from his faithful agent, Simon 
 Searchwell, with a steady hand, and can 
 read the contents with calmness, though still 
 not without some expression of disappoint- 
 ment. "It is a useless search," he will say; 
 "Yet I would fain know the worst, — God 
 willing : — but his mercy hath soothed the 
 wound." 
 
 And in Forrester's manners and beha- 
 viour to his humble neighbours, what a 
 change has taken place ! Kind and affable 
 to all, no provocation of silly question or 
 remark can ruffle his temper, 01 call forth an 
 angry reply. Even a fee might now be 
 offered with impunity, though certainly with 
 
244: MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 as little chance of acceptance as ever. The 
 name of the "crazy doctor" has long been 
 discontinued, and almost forgotten, by his 
 grateful pensioners, among whom he con- 
 tinues to labour with untiring zeal and 
 benevolence. By day or night, in fine wea- 
 ther or foul, a call to the bedside of a suffer- 
 ing brother or sister is always promptly 
 obeyed ; for this benevolent young man seems 
 to act strictly upon the principle, that the 
 enviable and godlike power of healing has 
 been bestowed upon him for the benefit of his 
 fellow-creatures, and that he is fully account- 
 able for the diligent use of the gift. 
 
 But though the "good Dr. Forrester," as he 
 is now generally called, is kind and attentive 
 to all his humble patients, he shows a strong 
 partiality, for which he was always remark- 
 able. His favourite patients are young chil- 
 dren. If these require the aid of his skill, his 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 245 
 
 kindness and affectionate interest have no 
 bounds; and where a cure cannot be hoped 
 for, his attention is unwearied in devising the 
 most effectual means for the alleviation of 
 their sufferings. When Forrester's troubles 
 occasioned him to leave an already extensive 
 practice in London, his departure was deeply 
 regretted by many an anxious mother, whose 
 darlings had been snatched from the jaws 
 of death by his extraordinary skill in 
 this most interesting branch of his profes- 
 sion. . 
 
 It is a glorious morning in June, and For- 
 rester and Margaret are seated in the shade 
 of a thick-leaved chestnut, in the trim little 
 garden of the " Last Halt." Beautiful sight, 
 that pensive, noble-looking man and graceful 
 child, who love each other with such a pure, 
 undivided affection ! Forrester is reading, 
 
 but not so attentively that he cannot take his 
 21* 
 
246 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 eyes from his book, to render prompt and 
 oft-requested advice or assistance to little 
 Margaret, who is endeavouring to copy a 
 drawing, which, for want of a better support, 
 she has pinned to the trunk of the tree before 
 her. 
 
 But is not that the old postman hobbling up 
 to the gate ? Forrester comes forward to meet 
 him, repeating, with deep feeling, from the 
 book he has just laid down, 
 
 " Give me but 
 Something whereunto I may bind my heart, 
 Something to love, to lean upon, to clasp 
 Affection's tendrils round." 
 
 " But how is this ?" he continues, when he 
 has received the letters. " What means this ? 
 Old Simon again ! Earlier by some weeks 
 than I expected to hear from him. Doubtless 
 the same evil tidings.' ' 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 247 
 
 So Forrester leisurely opens the letter, 
 repeating almost unconsciously, "Something 
 whereunto I may bind my heart, something 
 — Ha ? what means this ? Do I dream V he 
 exclaims, when the lawyer's cramped charac- 
 ters are at length unfolded to his view. He 
 reads with eager, flashing eyes, and with face 
 deadly pale and red by turns. Lo ! now 
 the irresistible truth is before him. It is no 
 dreamy illusion, then, but a glorious cer- 
 tainty of happiness. Forrester clasps his 
 hands together, and falls down on his 
 knees upon the grass; but though his lips 
 move, his thanksgivings are inaudible, save 
 to that Being before whose throne they 
 are offered up. Little Margaret, astonished 
 at this violent emotion, throws her arms 
 round his neck, and bursts into tears. For- 
 rester presses her to his heart in silence, 
 
248 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 for how can words express the overflowings 
 of his happiness and love ? 
 
 But what can old Simon have said to 
 have occasioned this extraordinary scene? 
 Read! 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " I have at length the happiness to inform 
 you that the investigation in which, at your 
 desire, I have so long been engaged, has 
 now, quite unexpectedly to me, terminated 
 most successfully. One of the many agents 
 employed by me in this business has just 
 arrived from the West Indies, and has 
 furnished me with most certain proofs that 
 Captain Richard Forrester did not perish in 
 the terrible affray on the river, when in self- 
 defence your hand was raised against your 
 brother's life. Severely wounded the unfor- 
 tunate young man certainly was ; but I have 
 now before me documents which prove that he 
 
MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 249 
 
 perfectly recovered from his injury, and that 
 two years after the encounter, he perished 
 disgracefully in a drunken brawl in the West 
 Indies. I grieve to add that the letter 
 you received soon after the encounter, in- 
 forming you that your brother had died of 
 the wound you had inflicted, was written at 
 his own request, by one of his profligate 
 companions, who assisted in the attack, and 
 who would have shared in the property Cap- 
 tain Forrester fancied would have fallen to 
 him, in the event of your death. By this de- 
 ception it is probable that your unfortunate 
 brother hoped to put you off your guard, in 
 case an opportunity should offer for another 
 attack upon your life. 
 
 "I have only to add, that I shall re- 
 tain the important documents above re- 
 ferred to, till I receive your orders respecting 
 them. 
 
250 MARGARET SEATON'S VICTORY. 
 
 " I have the honour to be, with continued 
 offers of my best services, 
 " Sir, 
 "Your most obedient and devoted servant, 
 " Simon Searchwell." 
 
 THE END.