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THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.
OHN JENKINSON, the signalman at the great Blackstone tunnel of the N.S.E.W.
Railway, had been appointed to
this post, because of his trustworthiness.
He was a sober man, fully impressed with the importance of
the position in which he was
placed; and it was well known to
the directors that, in all weathers,
and under all circumstances, he
would prove true-not an accident
had happened ever since he had
occupied the post.
And, in truth, good John knew
well how much depended on him.
Property to an immense amount
was thus entrusted to his care;
and far more than any amount of
property-life and limb.,
It was not to the directors
alone that John's trustworthiness
was known.
Every enginedriver who went into that tunnel
knew the character of the man
who kept watch at its mouth;
and if only Jenkinson's white
flag were seen; in they dashed
into the darkness Xithout fear or
hesitation of any kind.
And honest John took a
pleasure in seeing this. He

knew he was truste'd; and enjoyed the sight of the confidence
of the engine men, as they rushed
into the black mouth of the
tunnel, at the entrance to which
he kept watch. Sometimes one
went in with folded arms--sometimes with one hand on the side
of the engine, and the other
behind the back; but one and all
went in, evidently looking quite
certain that all was right. And
had it been otherwise, not only
would the honest signalman
have thought it absurd, but he
would have been much hurt; for
it would have been as much as to
say that he could not be absolutely
depended on.
John Jenkinson had plenty of
time for Ihought, for he was
much alone at fhe station
at the tunnel's mouth; and
his meditations often turned
upon his own occupation, and
with it.
matters connected
too, his mind
Frequently,
would pass away to higher
things; and he used his occupation as signalman, guardian of
the tunnel, and his white safety
flag, and the confidence of the
engine-drivers, and the safety of

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

the trains, to set forth heavenly
things, of which his heart was
very fond.
" There is teaching in everything," said our worthy friend
often. to himself, '"in my flag,
and myself, and the enginedrivers; aye, and the black
mouth of the tunnel; where
is there not teaching, if only
folk are willing to be taught ?"
And honest John learned
something also, from the few
flowers which he cultivated on
the little patch of ground suitable
for them, close to the tunnel's
mouth. He found that with a
little care, some would grow
there very well ; and he delighted
in their culture; and thought
that they looked all the brighter
from the dark background
against which they grew.
The signalman's visitors were
very few; still, now and again
an odd passer-by dropped in upon
him, and held a few minutes'
conversation.
But his chief pleasure was an
occasional visit from Lucy Pendleton, the daughter of the great
man of the district, who now
and again walked along the top
of the cutting, and found her
way down by a winding path to
John's station.
Many were the good things
which old John told Lucy Pendleton, in the way
practical
religion; and Lucy's little sister
often picked up an idea too;
while the young lady in. turn
lent John many books, from

of

which

he also learned

some-

thing.
And now, Lucy Pendleton has
not been near the old signalman
for a good month; and he is
wondering what can have become
of her; when looking up, he
spies the flutter of her dress,
and sees her, and little Kate,
coming down the cutting.
" Oh! Miss Lucy, where have
ye been all this time !" said the
old man, " I've been wearying to
see ye, have ye been ill ?
But
I can see ye have; ah, yes, ye'r
grown thin, and ye look white;
ye'r not like yerself at all.
What's the matter with her,
Miss Kate ? "
" We've had a deal of trouble,
John," said Lucy Pendleton,
" since I was here last; I've had
but little sleep; and I'm afraid
'tis a trouble we shall not get
over. Our only brQther has been
sent home to us from his regiment, with what they say is
consumption, and we are afraid
it is; and I have hardly left him
since he came.
' That is bad, but that is not
the worst; he can't get any
peace of mind. The fears of
death are on him, before death is
well in view; and all I say to
comfort him has no effect. You
must pray for him, John; sometimes the Lord's comforts come
in unexpected ways; and the
more there are to pray the
better."
" Well, Miss Lucy, we must
put him in the Lord's hand."

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

"I wish you could talk to
him, John; you have often done
me good; perhaps you might do
him good too."
"What could the like of me
do? " said the old signalman;
" but if 'twould do him good, I'd
talk to him as long as I had
any breath."

and he served God too, and I
daresay never went into those
mad ways those young officers
do-he's terribly afraid of death,
so Miss Lucy says,"-but the
was here
man's meditation
broken by a loud whistle, and
the express train was soon in
sight, and without a moment's

" Well, John, if he's strong,
and well enough, some day I'll
bring him to you ;'" and Lucy
Pendleton left the old man
ruminating much on what she
had said.
" Mr. Richard was a fine boy
when he left this," thought John
Jenkinson; "and now he's in a
dying way; and has no peace,

hesitation, dashed into the dark
Ned
mouth of the tunnel.
Coles, the driver, was standing
on his engine, looking the very
picture of confidence; as though
he were quite certain about everything; and in as short a time as
we take to write these few lines
and
about it, engine-driver,
train, and all were gone.

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

It would be a good long while
before another train came up, so
John sat down and continued his
thoughts about Miss Lucy's
brother; and pondered how,
should he ever come that way, he
could do him any good.
Worthy John was not long
-without a thought. " I have it,"
said he, as he looked at the
white flag in his hand. " Surely
Mr. Richard is afraid of the
tunnel, because he does not see
the flag-aye, Ned Coles would
be afraid of our tunnel, and would
never have gone into it as he did
a moment or two ago, if it had
Mr.
not been for this flag.
does not see the flag;
Richard
and shouldn't I be proud to show
it to him!"
Over and over did good John
Jenkinson turn this subject; and
often did he look up the winding
:path of the cutting, in hopes of
seeing the flutter of Miss Lucy's
dress; but days, and even weeks,
passed on, and no sign of her.
At last, one very bright
sunshiny day, warm and genial,
and just the very day for an
invalid to go out, if he could
bear the air at all, the signalman
saw theilong hoped for fluttering
of a lady's dress; and this time,
Lucy Pendleton 'had a gentleman
with her.
As they .approached the old
man, ;he ,saw that the gentleman
leant heavily on his companion's
arm; and surely, this could be
none other than the lieutenant,
the young girl's brother.

It was indeed Mr. Richard;
but, alas ! only the wivieck of his
former self- the strength gone
from his limbs the colour from
his cheeks-the fire from his eye;
he was more the remains of himself, than his very self indeed.
" Here's Richard come to see
you, John," said Lucy Pendleton.
" Well, John, I'm an altered
man since you saw me."
"Aye, sir," said Jenkinscn,
looking sadly at him.
" I'm not long for this world."
"Then ye'r the sooner for a
better one, Mr. Richard."
"I wish I knew it, John; I
wish I were sure of it. There's
Miss Lucy, she does not have
any fears about the other world;
and she tells me you haven't
either, John, but she can't make
me feel as she does; I am not as
good as she is; nor as good as
you, John; if I were, perhaps, I
should feel different."
The opportunity for which the
signalman had so much longed,
had now arrived; and, although
it was almost too much to hope
for, still what an honour it would
be, if such a poor unlearned man
as he was, should be the instrument of bringing peace to this
young man's mind. Accordingly,
he now brought forth the various
thoughts connected with his flag,
which he had been always in. tending to tell the sick man, if
he could get the chance.
"Ah, Mr. Richard, don't talk
of Miss L~cy or me; she's a deal
better than I am; but what are

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

we, both ofus, but poor creatures-- they were walking in a field of
'tis this that gives us peace," and daisies.
They have nothing in
the signalman unrolled- his flag themselves to look to; :and
from the stick, and :held it indeed they don't think about
steadily out before the lieutenant. themselves at all; they don't
"What comfort .is there in think about the directors of the
that ? " asked Richard Pendleton. line, or anybody or anything,
" Ye see, Mr. Richard, if I may not so far as going into lth

~ ~--~---AK

tell of all I think about this'tis the white flag of safety at
the dark mouth of the grave that
enables a man to go in without
any fear. 'Iwould do ye good,
sir, to see our drivers go into the
mouth of yonder tunnel, looking
for all the world as happy and as
certain of all being right, as if

C

_

/

I

tunnel is concerned, but my flag-they look for that, and if that's
there, then they know all's right,
and in they go. That's what
makes all the difference-and a
great difference it is.
"You see, Mr. Richard, 'tis
all trust in another-that's the
secret of it. There's no fear, no

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

shrinking back, no care, no
flurry, nothing but to go forward,
and right on the Christian should

go."*
"That's

what the Psalmist

says," chimed in Lucy Pendleton,
"' Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil, for
thou art with me, thy rod and
thy staff they comfort me."'
" And that's what the Apostle
says, Miss Lucy, when he says
that 'all things are ours,' and
he counts death one of them;
and when he says that, 'to die is
gain '-he knew that Jesus was
in through that dark passage
before him, and had settled all
about it. Now I like to think of
this white flag, Mr. Richard-white is the colour for peace, and
* Many true believers have an idea as
diough when the time of death came

there would be something to be done-something to be finished up-some
special effort of some kind to be made;
but this is a great mistake. All that
the believer has to do, is to be stilljust to feel that he is with God. At this
time, let us not hurry ourselves, or allow
others to hurry us. Let us associate the
thoughts of our departure with calm-this is very soothing to the spirit. Our
departures in this world are associated
with hurry and bustle; that departure
A fortnight
should be the reverse.
before her death, Lady Maxwell "became
so very feverish, and her pulse so high,
that it was seriously feared that the
time of her departure had come. At
this time her attendant requested that

she

might be permitted to call in some of

her ladyship's relations, but received for
answer, 'No; it will hurry me. I feel

such a divine calm, that I wish not to be
disturbed.' "-Life of Darcy, Lady laxwell.

it stands out well at the "black
mouth of the tunnel; here it is
in the very place where it is
wanted; and ye may be sure
that, man does not take such
care about his fellow-man, with
whom he has no concern, but
just the contract to take him safe;
and that Jesus will be behind
him, and not do as much.
" Ah ! Jesus cares for all His
people, Mr. Richard; He doesn't
like them even to be frightened;
and He certainly won't allow
them to be hurt."
" But a good many of them
are frightened, John," said the
lieutenant; " and can scarce be
brought to think of dying with
any peace at all."
' Aye, aye, Mr. Richard, I
know it; but that's their shortcoming, and their fault-they
don't see the flag; or if they do,
they don't understand it, and all
If our men
that hangs on to it.
didn't understand all about our
flag, do ye think they'd go into
yon tunnel as they do? Not
they. But d'ye see, every man
knows well that everything has
been planned for him, and his
train-he doesn't take his chance
like. He knows that his time is
all arranged with everything to
fit in; and to make all sure, I'm
here with my flag. I sometimes
think, Mr. Richard, what a
wonderful thing it is that, though
no one can see it, no more than
they can the messages as they
fly along the wires, still there's a
something from head-quarters,

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

tying our men, and our directors,
The
and manager together.
brain that orders all about the
hour of the men's coming into
this tunnel; and my being here
with the flag, and everything
else, is far away; but it has been
working about this, for all that;
and not one goes into yon tunnel
but has been thought about, and
special care taken about him too.
" Tis with reverence I say it,
but what could the Lord be thinking about, Mr. Richard, if He
were to forget-His people, and their
affairs, just at the very time that
they want Him most. That's not
His way of doing things-He's
a deal too punctual, and particular,
for that. Folk may be sure He'll
be always on the ground the first.
I don't say that they'll see Him
all in a moment-sometimes they
are dim-sighted, and sometimes
in a flutter, but when they look
around for Him, and call Him,
He'll answer; and they'll find
He's there.
"You know, Mr. Richard, the
tunnel runs into the city; and
'twould be strange indeed, if
after having taken care of everything all the journey through,
those who have the management
of these things were to leave the
train to itself and to chance, just
Not a bit of it.
at the end.
Our men have confidence in our
directors and managers, and in
me too," said old John, somewhat
proudly; "hail, rain, or snow,
they know I've never failed them
here; and surely, the man that

believes in his God and Saviour,
ought not to be behind them.
"Folk don't know how they
dishonour God by unbelief," continued the old signalman; "but I
ask you, Mr. Richard, if there
aren't some people who are trusting our railway managers more
than they are their God--and so
far putting them above Him.
Men are trusting their lives to
our folk, and to my flag, as they
go into you tunnel; and all they
do is to shut up their windows;
and now what is death, but trusting our life to God, in our passage from one place to another;
and being sure that He has arranged everything about it. 'Tis
no use, Mr. Richard, thinking
for ourselves -no more than 'tis
" The Rev. Robert Bruce having live
to a venerable old age, one morning, aft
breakfasting with his family, recline
awhile in his chair silently meditating.
Suddenly he spoke, "Daughter, hark !
ldoth not my Master call me?" Asking
for his Bible, he perceived that his eyes
were dim, and that, he could no longer
" Find for
read the precious words.
me," he said, "the eighth chapter of
Romans, and lay my finger on the passage, 'I am persuaded that, neither death,
nor life, nor angels, nor principalities,
nor powers, nor things present nor things
to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any
other creature shall be able to separate
us from the love of God, which is in
Christ Jesus our Lord;' and now, is my
finger placed upon these blessed words ? "
Being assured that it was, he said,
" Then, God bless you; God bless you
all, dear children, I have refreshed myself with you this morning, and shall be
at the banquet of my Saviour ere it is
night." And thus he died. It was as
the signal-man said, "There was no
failure in the One that was trusted."

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL

for the passengers iii the trainthe thing is, to know that WE
ARE THOUGHT FOR; and who it

is

that has thought."
" But, John, it must be very
gloomy work to be always living
with the mouth of this black
tunnel before you; I don't see
how a man can ever be cheery,
and keep up his spirits, with such
a prospect before him all day
long."
" Well, Mr. Richard, 'tis true
I'm almost always near the tunnel; but that doesn't cast me
down. Perhaps, if I did nothing
all day long but look into it, I
might get mopish and stupid;
but d'ye see, I'm not called upon
to do that. I've grown these
few flowers here; 'tis wonderful
how much pleasure I get from
them; and I have some rarer
sorts over yonder, in pots. They
want more sun, but I'm able to
manage that for them; for at
proper times between trains I can
run up with them, and leave
them for four or five hours at the
top of the bank. You'd be surprised, Miss Lucy, how well they
do here; and how they keep me
from being lonesome I always
seem to have something bright
about me, while I have them."
"It isn't everyone that has
such a flower as that," said Lucy
Pendleton, pointing to one, full
blown and fragrant, in a pot.
"No, Miss; and I shouldn't
have had it, if I hadn't been
thinking about what would make
me comfortable and happy here;

and if I hadn't been "willing to
take trouble about the matter.
You see, Mr. Richard, that's just
the way it is with the tunnel;
we're all to go thrdugh-what
the Scriptures call ' the valley of
the shadow of death.'
The
Almighty never intended folk to
be always looking in there, and
doing nothing else. He has made
lots of flowers, which will do very
well even close to the edge of the
grave - promises which come up
quite naturally there. At any
rate, if they don't come by nature,
they'll do well, if we fetch
them there. I don't deny but
that there.are some delicate-like
promises which want the face of the
Lord to shine specially on them,
to keep them in good health; but
there are lots of bright things to
be enjoyed, even at the mouth of
the grave. They do well there,
aye, very well.
" Do you know, Mr. Richard,
I don't think the Almighty ever
intended His people to be continually looking at death. 'Twould
be poor work, if that were all He
had to show them. I think He
meant them to be looking at
Himself in His promises, and if
they chose to be always looking
at the grave instead, why that's
their fault , and their loss too.
" Don't ye be going home, Mr.
Richard, thinking that a man
must be gloomy because he's
near death-nay, nay, the flowers
and promises of the Lord are
often plentiful about him then."
But death is very dark; I
"'

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL

can't see my way," said Richard
Pendleton.
"No more can our men,"
replied the signalman.
" But,.
if we go back in our lives,
haven't we had many dark journeys, when we could not see but
a very little way before us. But
if God puts a man on the rails,
and he runs on them, he goes
forward all right-the rail and
the flag are provided everywhere
by the Lord for His people."
" But what a comfort 'twould
be, John, if only we could see a
good bit before us."
" It wouldn't make ye one bit
the safer, Mr. Richard: and as
that isn't the comfort the
Almighty has provided, I don't
think 'twould make ye really one
bit more comfortable either. Now
you j ust look at yon tunnel ; must
not there be the same clearance in
the dark, as there is in the light
-'twould never do to allow anything on the rails there, because
it couldn't be seen from a long
distance off, and taken out of the
way. The engine-driver can't
see with his very eyes that all is
clear; but he trusts me, and all
goes well.
"'Twas wanting to know too
much that brought Adam and
Eve into so much trouble.; and
'tis this brings people into trouble
about death. There's no blessing
on wanting to know too much.
I'm content that God knows all
about it, and settles all about
it too - and when He takes
to settling things, I never

heard of His making a mistake.
" And remember, Mr. Richard,
if a poor man like me may speak
to the like of Miss Lucy and you,
no one stops in that tunnel. They
all pass quickly through. All our
engine-men know this when they
go in. And the valley of the
shadow of death isn't a place for
people to stay in; 'tis only one
of the parts to be passed through
on the journey."
"Well, John," said the lieutenant,
know I'm drawing
fast to my journey's end. People
with my complaint are often
deceived, but I am not. Our
doctor was my nearest friend in
the regiment, and I asked him to
tell me the real truth about myself; and he asked me 'if I really
meant it ' and I said I did
then he told me that 'I
never could recover; and that I
had better go home, and die
amongst my own people.' I'm not
far off from the tunnel's mouththat I know."
" And if only ye're resting
upon Jesus, ye need have no
fear, Mr. Richard ; ye'll find the
white flag held out as ye pass
through. Whenever I look in
my Bible, 'tis always ' Peace!
Peace!' I see everywhere for
the people of the Lord. Their
God is a God of Peace-their
Saviour came to make peace. The
Spirit is a Spirit of peace. When
there's trouble, Mr. Richard,
'tis not from God, but from a
man's own self. I believe when
ye come to the tunnel's mouth,

1"I

THE FLAG AND THE TUNNEL.

ye'll find the signal there before
ye; and even if ye don't see it,
because of some weakness in ye'r
sight, 'twill be there all the same.
For our Father won't let us be
hurt, just because we're such
poor creatures as we are. If ye
are on the right rails, Mr.
Richard-if ye're going Gon's
WAY-by that Jesus above, who
says, 'I am the way, and the
truth, and the life,' ye'll be safe;
and ye'll see the signal in its
proper time and place, and where
'tis needed most."
Now round the curve of the
cutting was heard a whistle; it
was a train approaching; and
this was its way of saying that,
when it came in sight of the
tunnel's mouth, it would be
In a
expecting the signal.
moment, old John Jenkinson was
at his post-his little flag held
steadily out; and a long train full
freighted with life and property,
darted into its open mouth.

The lieutenant watched it until
it had passed, and slowly turned
with his sister towards home.
Many new thoughts took possession of his mind. He used to
think that Death could be associated with nothing but gloom,
and lying, nobody knew how long
in the grave-everything about
it was black. But now he was
able to connect it with life to look
on it as a passage through something, and not a tarrying in itas just a part of a journey, and
not the end of it.
He had
learned from old John Jenkinson
the secret of peace. He thought
much of the flag and the flowers,
and of all that his old friend had
said about them; gradually he
began to look on all As SETTLED
FOR

HIM-at

that peace which

could be had through ANOTHER,
and not from anything in himself
-his deathbed's peace came to
him by
"THE FLAG AND THE
TUNNEL."

DEATH.
thou wast once an uncouth
hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,
The sad effect of sadder groans;
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst
not sing.
DEATH,

For we consider'd thee as at some six
Or ten years hence,
After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to
sticks.
We look'd on this side of thee, shooting
short;
Where we did find
The shells of fledge souls left behind,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may
extort.

But since our Saviour's death did put
some blood
Into thy face;
Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for, as a
good.
For we do now behold thee gay and
glad,
As at doomsday;
When souls shall wear their new away,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be
clad.
Therefore we can go die, as sleep, and
trust
Half that we have
Unto an honest, faithful grave;
Making our pillows either down or dust.
G. HERJERT.

THE TALKIN(

IT

was a cold and dreary-looking
day in the month of January,

when the keen north wind swept
through the little town of.
Dismally did this north wind howl
through the streets; and horrible
noises did it make down the chimneys; and sorely did it try the
constitution of every cracked
chimney-pot in the town; and many
a poor half-clad ill-fed creature
did it smite as with a giant's fist.
To look at the almost empty
streets, you would suppose that
every one had been only too glad
to get out of its way, and let it
howl and bellow as much as it
liked; without doing anything
worse, in the shape of killing
them with coughs and colds.
But while folk held their
tongues as they passed through
the streets, for fear the north
wind would get down their
throats; and while they kept
their fingers under their cloaks,
for fear of its nipping them with
frost; they had their revenge
when they got indoors; for then,
they rattled the fire-irons well;
and sent fresh clouds of smoke
up the chimney, as much as to
say, "That will do your business,
old fellow!" and they said all
sorts of things about the weather,
and the wind; while all it could

FIRE-IRONS.
do was to give a great groan up
the chimney, or to whistle harmlessly through the key-hole, or
rattle the window sashes, as much
as to say, ' Only let me get at
"
you-that's all !" but as no one
let it in, it was obliged to vent
its humour in screaming and
howling away, ten times worse
than before.
Never were fire-irons more
active than on this hard-biting
day; mnd some frisky pokers
were on the go from morning to
night; but it was a fair fight
between them and the cold bitter
wind; and though, more than one
tongs had to complain that its
back was nearly broken with the
great lumps it had to lift; and
more than one poker had to
declare that, it couldn't stand
such warm work for long together;
still, all were determined not to be
beaten, but to work away till the
cold wind took itself off.
You may be surprised, kind
reader, to hear of such intelligent
fire-irons, but let me tell you,
that, you are about to be introduced to a poker, tongs, and
shovel which can speak, and also
to a highly respectable coalscuttle ; . and as such domestic
articles don't often let us into
their thoughts, all the more

THE

TALKING

reason why we should listen
attentively when they do.
Now, we have not to do with
fire-irons in general, in this little
book, but only with Mr. Thomas
Swipes's fire-irons; it was to their
sorrow that, they belonged to Mr.
Swipes; butit was their misfortune, and not their fault. " 'Tis
an ill wind," however, " that
blows nobody good;" for if these
irons had not the misfortune to
belong on this particular evening
to Swipes, you might never have
heard all that they have to tell
you now.
I should like to introduce you,
dear reader, to a set of highlypolished fire-irons if I could;
such as were by the side of good
Dame Trudgit, who had worked
hard all her life, and now bobbed
her head in a pleasant doze at
Master Trudgit, her husband, who
bobbed his from the other side of
the fire-place. They did not know,
dear souls, that they were bobbing
at all; if you told them, they
wouldn't believe it; they were
only "having two winks, that's
all !" Buttherethey were; neither
of them ending their days in the
poor-house, for they had worked
hard, and lived hard, and saved
their money; and kept their own
fireside ; and that's how they
came to have fire-irons of their
own at all, at this time of their
life; for there's many an one who
has none.
Or, I should like to introduce
you to those elegant gilt and steel
fire-irons, which- are lolling so

FIRE-IRONS.

comfortably on the fender at Lard
Bumpus's; those are grand folk'
indeed; so grand that the poker
is above doing his own business,
and keeps a little flunkey poker
to do it for him; but, as I said,
we have to do with Tom Swipes's
fire-irons; therefore, reader, you
must be introduced to them.
Mr. Swipes's house, or rather
his cottage, was a miserablelooking place. The walls were a
dirt colour; they had once been
whitewashed ; but smoke, and
filth, and neglect had made them
almost brown. There was scarce
anything about in the way of
furniture; for Swipes had drunk
it all. Yes! he had drunk six
chairs, and a chest of drawers,
and a four-post bedstead, and a
baby's crib, and a frying-pan, and
an eight-day clock, and six knives
and forks, and as many spoons;
and I am afraid to say what else
besides.
All, all that used to
make the room look decent had
gone down Tom Swipes's throat,
trickling down it in gin, or gulped
down in beer and porter, of which
he had drunk almost enough to
turn a mill. Scarce anything was
now left. A heap of shavings in
a sack formed what they called
"bed "; and when poor Swipes's
wife said, " I'll go to bed,'" she
ought to have said, " I'll go to
shavings."
There was also a
broken chair, a few little odds
and ends, such as a cracked teacup or so; and these, with our
friends the fire-irons, made up all
the furniture of the room. The

THE

TALKING

coal-scuttle had left the premises
a few days before the time of
which we write. As it saw one
article after another disappear, it
had melancholy forebodings that
its own turn must soon come; and
after some weeks' suspense, its
worst fears were realised; for one
morning early, while his wretched
wife was still asleep, Swipes
filched it off to a neighbouring
pawn-office, and in ten minutes
he drank it up-he added the
coal-scuttle to all that had gone
before. Often had Swipes cursed
the coal-scuttle for being empty,
when it was his business to fill
it; and many a kick had he given
it in his drunken rage. So, if
the truth were known, the scuttle
was veryglad to go; and, although
it knew that, no respectable coalscuttle should ever be seen
going into a pawn-office, still
it thought any change must be
for the better; and away it went,
to take its place amongst many
another drunkard's pledge, and
hope for better days.
Tom Swipes's fire-irons, however, were left; the truth was,
the tongs and shovel were so old,
that they were not worth the
pawning; and the poker, which
from its more ornamental character, had evidently seen better
days, was not worth pawning
alone.
Something, no doubt,
could have been had for it; but
it never entered into Swipes's
head to take it away by itself;
and so it had survived the general
ruin.

FIRE-IRONS.

On the night of which we now
speak, Mr. Swipes's room bore a
specially melancholy aspect. His
poor wife lay heavily sleeping on
the bed, exhausted with a long
foodless day of washing; and his
two little children, who had cried
themselves to sleep with hunger,
were crouching under their
mother's ragged shawl. Swipes
himself also was in bed; i.e., he
was lying on the shavings; and
was just beginning to recover
consciousness after a drunken
bout.
While thus lying half-awake,
Tom Swipes thought that, he
heard curious voices speaking in
the room; they had a hard, ringing clattering kind of sound, but
still they spoke plainly enough.
There was no one in the room.
Tom rubbed his eyes, and listened
as best he could. The gas lamp
at the other side of the street
shone coldly, but plainly, into the
wretched chamber. Tom could
see no one; and he knew, only
too well, that there was nothing
behind, or under, which anyone
could hide; so he determined to
be still and listen, and try if he
could make it out.
The fact was, the poker, tongs,
and shovel, having had nothing to
do for a long time, had taken to
whiling away their spare hours in
conversation amongst themselves.
For some time they had been
silent; having been much affected
by the loss of their old friend, the
scuttle, which had never refused
them a coal, as long as it had it;

THE TALKING FIRE-IRONS.

and there was something appalling in the suddenness of the manner in which it had been made
away with, which they had not
yet quite got over.
"Brother poker," said the
tongs,
legs are dreadfully
cold; and I feel, if things go on
much longer in this way, I shall
become so stiff that, if even
I get work to do, I shall
never be able to do it. I almost
wonder whether I could take hold
of a coal, even if old mother
scuttle came back, and I got the
chanlce;" so saying, the tongs
tried to stretch its legs asunder
for a moment, for it was as stiff
as if it were frozen. " Neighbour shovel," said the tongs,
" what do you think of affairs ?
Here's the winter nearly over,
and not a thing have we had to
do. The rust is coming thick on
every one of us; and I don't know
what things will come to, before
long."
The shovelhad been accustomed
to do all the tongs' dirty work,
gathering up the ashes made by
the coals it had laid on, and scraping together all the small coal
which that long-legged individual
had thought beneath its notice to
attend to. It had led a comparatively retired life; being generally engaged in this humble
work of economy, and cleanliness.
The shovel had always been
looked upon as more or less of a
drudge; and was rather diffident,
when now asked, to express an
opinion.

1"my

It was very natural the shovel
should take an economical view of
the matter, and so it answered;
" We have come to this pass, and
so have the poor creatures on
yonder heap of shavings, entirely
through wastefulness; there might
have been plenty for us to do;
and yonder poor woman and helpless children might have been
well warmed and fed; if it had
not been for the wicked wastefulness of that unhappy man. You
know, friends, I always think of
the littles; and I can tell you
that it was by wasting little sums;
only three half-pence at a time on
half-pints that, we have all come
to this. I believe, if the devil
has a friend on earth, 'tis that accursed half-pint. It was that
half-pint that drove our worthy
old scuttle away; and made off
with all the things; and made a
beggar of the woman; and made
a beggar, and Worse than a beast
of the man ; and 'twould be a wise
shovel or tongs either, that could
tell what it will do before 'tis
done. I expect 'twill murder
that lot over yonder, and as to us
-well! when they're cold and
in their graves, we shall, I hope,
be in better hands. Any change
for us must be for the better. I
tell you what it is, brother,"
said the shovel; "I'd rather be a
thing than a man, if I were to be
such a man as the creature on the
shavings yonder."
There was a pause for a few
moments after this. The tongs
and shovel had each said their

THE TALKING

say; and they now expected the
poker to take up the conversation; but they were slow to ask
it, because they knew the poker
had seen better days than they
had; and they looked up to it
with a considerable measure of
respect. On the present occasion
they were especially slow to
intrude upon the poker's reserve,
because it was evidently lost in
thought. At last the poker broke
silence, and said: "The words
our friend, the shovel, has just
now spoken, are only too true.
'Twould be far better for the man
to be one of us, or a poor beast of
the field, than to be. a man and
yet be what he is. I know a good
deal about that--"
Here the poker suddenly stopped short ; but after awhile,
at the joint entreaty of its
humble companions broke silence
again.
" You want me to tell you
some of what I know," said the
poker; but, if I do, I must also tell
you how I came to know it. You
are both aware that I am different
from you. I have seen many
.changes in life, and much adversity; but, as you see, the same
rust comes on me, with all my
ornament, that comes on you, and
I know it; and you are witnesses
that I have never been uppish, or
wanted to make myself out anyone great. I have been in a noble
man's family, and in a minister's,
and in a publican's; and this
will account for my knowing
so much, without my putting

FIRE-IRONS:

up for being very clever in
myself.
"I spent my early days," said
the poker," in a very fine shop
in Regent Street; and during my
sojourn there, I saw no small part
of the rank and fashion of London. There were numbers of us
in the same room, and each poker
had a small poker to wait upon it,
and do the business; just as big
butlers have little tigers, or small
boys to do theirs. Even the shovels
had little brushes to wait upon
them, and sweep up all that they
considered beneath them to attend
to; and well I remember how, on
one occasion, the shovel that
belonged to my set, left a little
piece of hot coal on the hearth,
out of spite to the brush; and
burnt the poor little thing's
whiskers in such a way that it
lost its situation, and was turned
out of the drawing-room forthwith. I was first purchased by a
nobleman, a Lord Dolittle; and
a hard life I had with him. He
was a very passionate man; and
when anything vexed him, he
used to lay hold of me, and hit
the coals such a crack, that I was
in daily terror of my life ; besides
which, he was continually poking
and raking at the fire, and never
gave it or me a moment's rest.
Don't tell me, my friends," said
the poker, looking seriously at
the tongs and shovel, "that you
have seen much misery in your
day; no doubt you have; but I
have seen more. There was as
much misery in that Lord Dolit-

THE

TALKING

tie's house, as in many a poor
man's cottage. Idleness brings
fretfulness, and fretfulness brings
wretchedness; and many a time
I heard her ladyship sigh as she
sat alone by the fireside; and to
the present day I have a mark of
her sorrow. You see this little
speck; well ! this comes from hertears which fell hot and fast on
me one day, and rusted me; and
with all their rubbing they could
not get out the mark. Lord
Dolittle had plenty of money; he
had horses, and hounds, and
boats, and everything that money
could buy; but he was a miserable man; he lived for himself,
and he had the curse which,
sooner or later, comes upon such
folk. Her ladyship died, after I
had been with them for about
two years; and then the miserable man cursed himself, and
cursed every one about him; and
I led a worse life than ever; and
right glad was I, when he made
up his mind to give up the house
in London, and go abroad; for
then the whole set of us were
packed off to an auction mart, and
had a chance of a better home.
While there, we made the acquaintance of the kitchen irons.
My kinsman, the kitchen poker,
was a great burly monster, as
strong as a giant; and I was
dreadfully frightened at the sight
of him; but I found him a goodnatured fellow, and inclined to be
very civil, as having lived in the
same house. He told me of the
tremendous fires he had had to

FIRE-IRONS.

keep going; and of the fearful
waste that went on in the kitchen;
and how great strapping fellows,
who had always eaten meat three
times a day, would have a hot
joint for supper; ' and many's the
time," said that honest poker, ' I
longed for some one to take me
up, and lay me well upon their
shoulders, just to make them
jump about a bit, and get an appetite for their beef and mutton;
for, except one or two of the little
tigers, they had nothing to do all
the day. I should have found
the place intolerable, had it not
been that, now and again, I had
to stir up the fire to keep the
oven hot for some of her ladyship's puddings, which she took
with her own hands to some poor
folk. It would have done you
good, to see her little tin pannikins all fitted into a pretty little
basket ; and a white cloth, so clean
and beautiful ; and then to see her
look at the puddings, as I used to
see her when the housekeeper's
door was open! bless you! her
eyes were like the blue sky, so
soft and holy looking; and I
didn't mind how much the mancook thumped me about for a
week after. Ah ! there was sweet
music in those little feet of hers
as they came along the passage,
and

.

.

.

but never mind, I

always feel soft when I think of
her; and it doesn't look well in a
big fellow like me to give in too
much. I must keep myself up;
for I don't know what rough
work's before me in the world

THE TALKING

yet. She's: dead now, and I
believe my lord killed her; for
he broke her gentle heart.'
"I tell you what it is, my
friends,"'' said the ornamental
poker; " there's misery wherever
there's selfishness; there, as well
as here;" and the poker nodded
first towards the empty grate,
and then towards Swipes, and the
heap of shavings.
" But, to go on with my story,
I hadn't been long in the auction
room, before there came a day of
sale, and very anxious was I
I was
about my destiny.
described in the catalogue as No.
120, and a little piece of paper
with a corresponding number
was stuck on me, for I was tied
up with my relations, the shovel
and tongs; and presently the
time came for the decision of our
fate.
You may think how
anxiously I scanned the company,
to see what our chances were of
a decent place; but soon my
attention was diverted, and my
indignation excited, by the lies
the auctioneer began to tell. He
described me as brand-new,
without a single speck or flaw;
he declared I had originally cost
I am really afraid to say how
much; and finally, without even
her permission, he said. 'ten
shillings' for an old lady at the
end of the room, who was too
nervous to shout out ' No ! '
Once started, on we went; until
at last another old lady bid as
high as £1; but she immediately
felt so frightened that, she shrunk

FIRE-IRONS.

back into a corner, and tried to
look as though she had not
spoken at all. The auctioneer
had not at first caught her eye;
and he had to call out two or
three times, ' WHo said £1 ?'
until at last he discovered the
nervous old lady, for everyone
began to look at her; and so we
found a new mistress at last.
Our purchaser insisted on taking
us home, then and there, herself;
so we were wrapped up in brown
paper, and off we went with l'er,_
all the people tittering as he
went away, for they thought it
high sport that the nervous old
lady had been found out. We
soon perceived that we were; not
to do duty in the old lady's
house; for, while we were still
wrapped up in the brown paper,
we heard her conversing with
her sister about our future
destination. We learned that a
nephew of theirs-a ministerhad recently changed his curacy,
and gone to live at the seaside;
and we were intended as a present
for his study.
" Ah! my friends," said the
poker, those were the happiest
days of my life, which I spent
inside those walls.
Then my
relations, the tongs and shovel
together with myself, lived in
peace for seven years, fulfilling
our duties as fire-iron.s ought to
do; and never being required to
enter upon any unreasonable
work. It was in that house that
I gained much of my experience;
and you can understand how

THE TALKING

bitter is the memory of the past,
as I contemplate the position in
which I find myself now.
"When we had been unwrapped
and duly admired, we were
thought rather too grand for the
surrounding furniture; still, as we
were to be in the minister's
study, and as he would not for the
world offend his aunt, we were
installed in our new sphere of
usefulness. I had often heard
parsons called 'a lazy set of
ifAlows;' and you yourselves have
often heard Swipes declare that,
they lie upon sofas all the day,
but I can assure you, my friends,
a parson's life is no joke, if he
try to do his duty; and what is
more, a parson's wife's life is no
You heard that
joke either.
man Swipes tell his wife the
other day that, parsons had
nothing to do but to get up and
speak a lot of stuff for half-anhour on a Sunday; but if ever
you hear folk saying this, don't
believe them; for, let me tell you,
my master had to spend hours
upon hours every week, on what
did certainly not take much
more than twenty minutes or half
Let me tell
an hour to say.
you, my friends that, this is no
sport; for often I saw my master
put his head upon his hand, and
give over dead beat. Folk don't
know these things, especially
poor folk; or may be they
wouldn't carry on as they do
about parsons, and their work.
But that wasn't all; 'twas hurryscurry some days from morning

FIRE-IRONS,

tonight; what with letter-writing,
and folk-visiting, and this one's
wants, and that one's wants, I
can tell you no grass grew on
the floor at the parson's house.
" Ieigh ho!" said the grand
poker to his humble friends, the
tongs and shovel; "I'll tell you
no more about these things. I
think we are all miserable enough
at present, without going into all
the miseries of the past; and I
often heard my poor master
say that, if we didn't trouble
ourselves about miseries past, or
miseries to come, but only about
those on us at the present moment,
we should do very well. Besides
which, as he said, 'twas a minister's calling to put up with all
sorts of people and things; and
never to expect anything, but to
go on straight ahead, and do what
he knew was right; perhaps all
these things are not so strange as
I thought them."
Now, all this time Tom Swipes
had been looking boozily at the
fire-irons; if Tom hated anybody
on earth 'twas a parson; for his
minister would not give him shillings to drink away at the publichouse; and more than once he
put out his hand in a boozy,
drunken kind of way, to grope
for his boot, and fling it at the
poker; but owing to his being
drunk, he could not exactly lay
If the poker had
hold of it.
anything bad to say of a parson,
Tom would have hiccuped out
" B-b-b-b-bravo, old chap; giggig-gig-go it strong "" but in

THE

TALKING

default of this, he hiccuped out
"Shush-ush-ush-shut up there,"
and lo! in a moment, not a sound
was heard; and with the exception of the quick breathing of"
Swipes's poor wife, and the
occasional half-sob of one of the
little children, all was as still as
death.
CHAPTER II.
MANY a timid glance did the
poker cast towards Tom Swipes's
shavings, for he knew that he
had meditated the murderous
attack with the boot; and it did
not want to be sent clattering
about the grate at that hour of
night. At last it whispered to
its companions, "He's gone to
sleep again, and he's pulled most
of the old coverlet off his wife,
and wrapped it round himself;
I wish I could just give him a
crack over the head, the nasty
fellow; he robs his poor wife,
even in her sleep."
At this moment Swipes gave a
loud snore, which seemed to reassure the shovel and tongs; for
they ventured to request their
friend the poker, to tell them
what he knew of the publichouse.

"My. friends," said the poker,
in a half-whisper, " that's a painful subject; 'tis my sorrow and
my shame that ever I went to
such a place. But how could I
help it ? I didn't go there of
my own freewill, as many an
one does. I was obliged to go
where I was taken.

FIRE-IRONS.

" After I had been all those
years at the minister's house, at
last the time came for my happy
days to end. One bitter winter
he caught cold coming out of a
hot room, and that was the beginning of the end; he had been
a long time going, but that cold
finished him. For some weeks
he used to come into the study
later and later of a morning, and
go away to bed earlier and earlier
at night; until, at last, one day
he never came in at all, and we
We
saw him no more after.
heard the rattling of fire-irons
now and again, all through the
night, in the bedroom upstairs;
and we supposed some folk were
sitting up; but one night these
also stopped; and we found out
afterwards that our master was
dead. A few days later, we heard
a great shuffling of feet, and
people moving something heavy
down the stairs; and after that
the house was quite still. But it
was not so for long; in less than
a week, a sharp-faced little man
came in with a pencil and book,
and took an inventory of everything in the room. We were p ut
down amongst the rest, and I
guessed that we were about to
be sent to the auction room
again; and so indeed we were.
"To go off by auction is a
heart-sickening process for anything possessed with feelings;
and we-fire-irons, felt it very
much, when we were held up
again, to be looked at, and
handled, by every one in the

THE TALKING

FIRE-IRONS.

used to see scores upon scores
drinking up their earnings; and
not leaving more than a shilling
or two, if so much, for their poor
w2ives and children. Women too,
used to come, and toss down a
'No blame,
No shame.'
glass of gin, as if it were so
So, we waited patiently to meet much water; and often's the time
our fate. Judge, however, of our I've seen even the parish money
horror, when we saw the quick, drunk away; aye! in a single
sharp eye of Toby Graball, the bout. Part of that money was
landlord of the ' Smash and wrung from many a small tradesCrash,' fixed upon us. Toby, as man, who had stiff work to keep
we afterwards found out, had just his own head above water! who
built a new parlour to the 'Smash had to fare hard to pay his rates;
and Crash;' and he thought this and I often heard our old master
a good opportunity to pick up say, that 'twas a shameless robsome furniture cheap. Toby got bery, as bad as picking a pocket,
us, to our great grief; he seemed or breaking into a house, when a
determined to have us at any man or woman took the parish
price; because he saw a man he money, and spent it in drink.
didn't like, bidding for us as though We now saw he had reason to
he had a special wish to possess say, 'he'd always button up his
us. The reason Toby was deter- pockets, when in company with a
mined that man should not get man who spent parish money
us was, that he was a reformed in drink.' He's a bad man that
drunkard; he used once to spend robs the poor, and I saw many
his money in making Toby rich; a man robbing the poor this way;
but at last he thought, having but I never heard our new master
done so much for the publican, saying, 'That's the parish money,
'twas high time for him to do I can't find it in my heart to take
something for himself, and his that.' The new parson who came
wife, and six small children. So after our old master used never
he gave up the 'public,' and in a to ask much about folk, but
couple of years' time had as threw his half-crowns about,
decent a home as you would wish which made the idle and drunken
to see. Toby Graball took us folk say ' He was the man for
away; and we had to take up them;' but the half-crowns were
our abode in the new parlour of often drunk up at the ',Smash
the 'Smash and Crash.' Ah ! and Crash;' and some had the
my friends, what sights and impudence even to drink the
sounds did we hear in that place. parson's health, in his own halfWVhen the door was open, we crowns. The irst time a saucy
town. Our long habits of retirement made us very unfit for such
publicity; but there was no help
for it; and our old master used
often to say,

THE TALKING FIRE-IRONS.

fellow did that, Toby Graball was
like to die for laughing; he said
it ought to be put in a book;
and gave the parson's health with
three times three. 'Twas enough
to make my old master turn in
his grave; but he was beyond all
such troubles then. Many's the
-beef steak supper I saw eaten in
that parlour ; and many's the
sovereign I saw lost after it; and
more than one young man lost
his situation in that parlour; and,
there began the downward course
that ended in his ruin. However, I was cleared out of. it in a
singular way; and glad was I to
get rid of such a situation, even
though I came into the plight in
which I am now.
One night
the company were more .jolly,
and consequently more uproarious, than usual; and nothing
would do for them but to have
in poor Corny, a wretched brokendown drunkard, who used .to be
seen continually lounging about
the door of the public-house; the
time was when Corny used to be
inside, and to be welcome too;
but all his -money was drunk up,
so now he had to stay outside,
peeping in through the blinds at
the blazing fire within.
"The landlord was summoned,
and the gents signified their wish
to have Corny in; they were determined to give him as much as
ever he could drink.
"'Gentlemen ! gentlemen !'
said the publican.
" 'Corny ! Corny I' shouted
\the gents.

"And to save an uproar, Coriuy
was introduced. From one thing to
another the gents went on, until at
last they determined to put Corny
in the chair.-' No ! no ! on a
barrel,' shouted one ' gentleman'
more drunk than the rest; and,
to make my story short, the publican had to roll in a barrel, and
set it on a table; and on it Corny
soon got astride. But once there
he was like a sailor on horseback ;
up flew his arms, and out roared
his voice; and before ten minutes
had passed, there was a regular
shindy; and every one seized
what he could, either to protect
himself, or fight.
One man
smashed my cousin the shovel,
and another the tongs, and I only
escaped; a youth more sober
than the rest having laid hold of
me to protect himself; and so I
The police
got off unhurt.
cleared the room that night, and
four young men lost their situations next day; and, as to me, I
was now no longer of use, being
alone; so I was sold to the marinestore dealer; and thus I found
my way in here. If ever I had
any pride in me, believe me it
has been knocked out of me long
ago; and now, my friends, I need
not tell you what kind of a life
I have led since I came here; for
you know this as well as I do.
Mr. Swipes isn't awake yet," said
the poker, " and as there's a good
piece of the night before us yet,
I think you might tell me something about yourselves."
"'Tis little we have to tell,"

THE TALKING

said the tongs, who at the shovel's
request undertook to speak; "and
that little is sad enough. We
were always humble, still we
were once a complete set; until
one day Swipes aimed a blow at
his wife with the poker, and hit
the mantel - piece instead, and
smashed our poor relative to
pieces; that is how he came to
buy you at the marine-store.
When Swipes first married he
had good wages, and a certain
place; and many's the kiss he
gave that poor woman yonder;
for, mind you, he loved her in his
heart; 'twas drink drove that
love away.
I've seen Swipes
nurse one of those children by
the hour together; and it may
be that even still ne has some of
the feelings of a man, if only he
got a fair chance to show them;
but how can he, when he's almost
always the worse for drink?
Even when he is not actually
drunk, such is the horrid craving
for liquor of some kind, that he'd
strip those children even of their
clothes, if they had anything
worth pledging, so as to get
drink. Mark that child," said
the tongs; "you would hardly
believe it, but the shovel here,
who saw the deed, will tell you
the same thing; the wretched
creature coaxed the poor little
thing to him one day, and unlaced its little boots, and took
them away under pretence of
getting them mended; but it was
to the pawn-office they went;
and for a week that little child

FIRE-IRONS.

toddled about without a shoe to
its foot.
Didn't it go to my
heart to hear the soft 'thud, thud,'
of the little feet upon the floor,
in place of the sharp ' clack, clack'
of the boots. At the end of the
week the poor woman had saved
enough out of her washing to
redeem the boots; but mark !
the mischief was done; the
seeds of consumption were
planted in that child's chest
and now she's doomed - that
child will die.
Who killed
that child ?" said the tongs;
" Who murdered it ?" said the
shovel.
" That man-there he
lies; he does not know what he
has done; his victim lies by his
side; and if you look closely at
him, neighbour, you'll see a red
mark upon his brow; it is as bad
a mark as what Cain had."
The poker gave almost an
audible groan at their sad
one
words; for the little
whose fate was thus sealed, had
often patted it, and admired
its beauties, and called it " gentleman poker."
"But that's not
all," said the tongs; "you see
that other child; that one is
doomed too; she had so little
food that she'll go off--quite
quiet like, perhaps; but mind
you, Swipes has killed her, just
as much as if he drew a knife
across her throat; he was bound
to feed her; and, he would have
fed her, if he had not drunk
away his money; but, I'll tell
what-better for her to die, than
go to the devil. Mind you, my

THE TALKING

friend, I mean what I say; for
many's the poor girl goes to ruin,
and becomes the devil's prey,
because their drunken parents
starve them, and drive them to
go and meet temptation, before
temptation comes to them; I say
'tis better far for a girl to die
than go to ruin; they'll both die,"
said the tongs, " and a good thing
'
too."

"Let us hope not," said the
shovel, '"'twill be the death of
the mother, I'm sure.''
"Hope ! hope ! you're always
hoping," said the tongs, "but I
tell you they'll die."
But the tongs did not get a
chance to say much more, for with
a thundering crash, Tom Swipes's
boot came bang upon its head,
making its long legs tremble and
clatter, and knocking it clean out
of the fire-place on to the floor;
-in another moment, Swipes
himself leaped up out of bed;
and stood bolt upright on the
ground, rubbing his eyes, and
looking stupidly about.
Tom
Swipes was not, however, the
only waking person in the room ;
his wretched wife sprang up in the
bed, thinking that the house was
coming down; and the two little
ones began to scream. The wonder was that the police did not
come in, for the commotion was
very great. Tom Swipes couldn't
account for the noise at all; he
supposed he had been dreaming,
and thrown his boot into the fireplace ; he never supposed that he
had been drunk, not he ! and the

FIRE-IRONS.

aS

fire-irons had made a clatter,
"Come, mind your sleep, woman,"
growled the drunkard; and well
knowing that a word and a blow
were very near each other with
her husband, Mrs. Swipes cowered
down again, a gainer of this much
at least that, she now had a little
more of the wretched coverlet.
The poor children, also soon
cowered down under the tattred shawl, and lay as close
to each other as they could, their
little hearts beating fast; for
their father's second boot was as
likely as not to be flung at their
heads, if he heard them even
breathe.
All the party went to sleep
again but the father; he tried
two or three times, but in vain.
At last he gave it over as a bad
business; and as he was now
nearly sober, he was able to think
as he lay awake. Had any man
woman or child, amongst his
acquaintances used such language
as the poker and tongs, Swipes
would have tried to break their
heads; but what could he do
with such lifeless things as fireirons; there was no help for it,
but to lie awake and digest what
he heard, as best he could. Now,
the more he did this, the more
miserable he became. Yes! and
the more terrified; perhaps he
had only been dreaming; still he
could not get it out of his head
that the children would die; at
last, by way of easing his mind,
he got up noiselessly, and crept
on tiptoe over to the place where

THE TALKING

FIRE-IRONS.

they were lying. The little ones
were now fast asleep, and their
father looked at them long and
earnestly; he thought he could
see the likeness to their mother,
yes and to himself in them; but
that was not what le was in
search of; a horrible kind of
necessity seemed to force him to
lift the old tattered shawl.
Swipes didn't know why, but he
would have given the world not to

that their arms and legs were
the arms and legs of skeletons, and not of living healthy
children; they were little bones
with a thin covering of skin and
nothing more; but these little
bony arms were interlocked in
loving embrace. After all, the
devil had not the drunkard's
room all to himself. Those bones
acted like a spell upon the being
of that drunken father; he stood

lift the shawl, but he felt he
must; something seemed to drag
his fingers towards it; twice he
touched it, but drew back; but
the third time was the charm,
and he lifted the covering.
Swipes to his dying day, never
forgot what he saw then; his
two children had on a mere rag
by way of a nightgown, and the
scanty garments left their little
And
arms and legs exposed.
now, what terrified Swipes was,

there like one transfixed. At
last he felt a horrible power
drawing his hands towards them,
and he was constrained to feel
them all over; they felt as though
he could crunch them between
his finger and thumb; and all
the while a voice seemed to say,
" You've drunk their flesh and
blood away; you've sucked your
own children's blood, and eaten
their flesh;" and then Swipes
thought he heard a hideous

THE

TALKING

rattling of bones, and voices
shouting Ha! Ha ! Ha ! Long
and earnestly did the wretched
man gaze at his children; and, at
last, he passed his hand over their
faces ; the little faces were flushed
in a measure from sleep, but they
were also very thin; and the
little cheek bones could be
distinctly felt. Slowly and lightly did Swipes pass his hand over
the face of one of them; and the
moment the fingers touched the
mouth, the little lips began to
move as though they were kissing
-then the drunkard father saw
them part and heard a voice come
from them,

FIREIRONS.

27

huddling on his clothes.
This
operation concluded, the unhappy
man bolted out of the house without venturing to look again at his
children-at the wreck and ruin
that his drink had made. For
Tom Swipes there was no peace;
he felt that he was a murderer,
that blood was on his hands, cr
rather on his lips, and that a
mark was on his brow; and away
he wandered from the town, far
off into the fields.
But, even
here, he had no peace; he felt to
want to hide himself; and he
made for the woods as fast as he
could; and then he cowered down
under a thicket. Here, at least,
he was free from the sight of the
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child."
two children, and from the
The poor little creature began reproaches of those cursed fireone of her school hymns, the hymn irons and the empty grate.
she hadjlearned before her father Worse and worse
did the
stole her boots-but Swipes heard wretched man become, as the day
no more; he made one dart back wore on, and he became almost
to his bed, and cowered down in a savage state by night.
beneath his wretched covering, as Bright and beautiful rose the
though he had heard a voice moon, but no thought entered
from another world.
Swipes into Swipes's heart of going
slept no more that night; but home; and so completely was he
trembled and thought, and then now possessed with the idea that
thought and trembled again, until he was a murderer, yes ! that the
the morning broke.
children were dead, that he
pulled out his old clasp knife and
CHAPTER III.
determined to resist to the utterAT early dawn Tom Swipes rose most the officers of justice who
from his heap of shavings, and were sure to be on his track. On
dressed himself.
In picking up sped the night, and at every
his boot from near the grate, all rustle of the dry leaves, Swipes
that he -heard during the night clutched the knife more closely.
just past was brought very At last Swipes became a little
vividly to his remembrance, and more re-assured; perhaps no one
helped to hurry him still more in could find him out; but hark !

THE TALKING

he hears voices.- Yes, men's
voices; they come nearer and
nearer; they are in search of
some one; he hears them say
" The murdering thief was seen
in this very copse a little while
ago;" then up he sprang, and
with a loud defiant whoop brandished his knife, and cried,
" Touch m, who dare."
In another moment, the keepers
were upon him; a stunning blow
of a bludgeon laid him flat upon
the ground, before he had been
able to do any mischief; and
when Swipes came to himself,
he found that he was in the lockup, with his head covered with
plaister, and his shirt stained
with blood. The fact was, the
keepers were out searching for a
notorious poacher, who had been
seen in the neighbourhooda short
time before; and seeing a man
in the wood at that hour of night,
they took him for the one of whom
they were in search. There had
been no time for explanation; as
the knife gleamed in the moonlight, the keepers thought they
had a desperate character to deal
with, and the sooner they quieted
him the better; it had been
therefore a word and a blow; and
Swipes had nearly met with his
death. When the unhappy man
was brought before the magistrates the next day, it was ascertained that he had not been in
the copse for any poaching purpose; no gun was found near the
place where the keepers had met
with him; nor were any wires

FIRE-IRONS.

or poaching implements discovered on the prisoner's person;
and from the incoherent account
which he gave of himself, the
magistrates thought he must be
insane. He made a rambling
statement of something that a
poker had said; and that he had
murdered two children, and eaten
up a chest of drawers; and the
magistrates gave directions that
he should be taken care of until
his friends were ascertained, and
he was handed over to safe
keeping.
"His friends !" what friends had he ? he had
drunk all his friends away; and,
depend upon it, the publican was
not the man to come forward now
and take care of him.
Not he !
if some publicans had to take care
of the people they ruin, they'd
have a fine life of it-their
profits would soon be gone. But
Swipes was not without a friend;
the poor ill-used, starved, and
battered woman, who had the
misfortune to call him " husband,"
stood his friend; she found him
out; she had sought for him
as women alone can seek for those
they love; and she promised to
take care of him. It may be
that Swipes would have remonstrated against going back to his
old home; he probably could not
have borne the sight of the murdered children; but he was very
soon beyond the power of giving
any opinion; in fact, fever was
rapidly setting in; and the police
were very glad to have him taken
off their hands. They paid,

THE TALKING

therefore, willingly for a conveyance; and Swipes was taken
to his own home. The drunkard
was in fever, and soon he was
delirious also; but his delirium
took entirely the form of fright;
and he was always trying to hide
himself under the coverlet, or to
bury himself in the shavings; to
get out of sight was his one great
desire. Then it was that the old
love of the half-starved wife
showed itself, as if it had never
been tried at all, but were span
new; bright as it had been upon
the wedding day. Abuse and
blows, starvation and cold, had
been her lot from the day that
Swipes took to the half-pitnt, and
then rapidly went on to being a
drunkard; but she remembered
none of it to the wretched man;
but shone forth like a true-hearted
woman, full of forgiveness, selfdenial, and love.--Aye, the
drunkard's wife had something
more than a woman's nature to
ennoble her; she was a Christian; she had been forgiven
much by her Lord, and for His
sake she was willing to forgive
much in turn; and day and night
did she tend the unhappy wretch,
as carefully as if he had spent all
his life in strewing her path with
flowers.
For long days and nights did
the fever rage, and the one
thought seemed to fill poor
Swipes's mind throughout, and
that was, that he had killed his
children. True ! kind neighbours
(for in illness poor folk are often

FIRE-IRONS.

very kind to each other) had
taken away the children to be
with them; one fed them, and
another lodged them, and a third
washed for them, and an old man
who lived all by himself in one
small room, and could not take
anyonein, paid fortheir schooling;
and so they were not before
Swipes's eyes, but they were
before his mind; and when the
fever left him, it was some time
before he could bear to see them.
When the fever left Tom
Swipes, and he came to himself,
very much surprised was he .t
the change in his room; ther
were a few decent things about,
and his wife was much better
dressed, and there was some fire
in the grate, and the place looked
a little more like old times than
it had done for many a long day,
The fact was, the minister had
been in and out; and though he
would not give any half-crowns
to drunken Tom Swipes, he had
spent a good many on sick Tom;
and he was now ready to try and
do him good in soul, as well as
body.
Time was when Tom used to
call all ministers "humbugs,"
but what did he know of them ?
He would not let them speak
to him, and he would not speak
to them, though he did not mind
speaking of them; and that,
pretty freely. But now he found
that sin was something real; and
he was brought very low, and
day by day he was thankful to
listen to the words of life, which

30

THE

TALKING

the minister, and, now and again,
Tom
the Bible-woman, read.
Swipes was also very glad of the
little nourishments which the
minister was able to provide for
"I
believe they are
him.
saving my life, sir," said Tom
one day; "and what would a
poor creature like me do, if no
one lent him a helping hand at
" What
such a time as this ?"
indeed, my friend," ' said the

FIRE-IRONS,

it all, and laughed at you into
the bargain, as I used to do at
our last minister. Keep on, sir,
the way parson Folio used to
do--he that was afore the last
one and don't mind what anyone says; and if drunken chaps
such as I was, give you a curse,
the poor sick fellows will give
you a blessing; and a bad man's
curse will do no harm to anyone
but himself."

Days passed away, and Swipes
minister. " I know the value of
nourishments at such a time, and became
in body; months
I know how costly they are also; passed away, and Swipes became
and this is one reason why I keep changed in heart. He was a
the money placed at my disposal drunkard no longer; but alas !
for such purposes, and I don't there were two wan children in
fling it about, as some folk would his room; they were the doomed
little ones, upon whom consumphave me do."''
"As I would once have you tion was now finishing its work.
do," said Tom, "and if you had 'Tis true, Swipes had now money
done it, sir, I would have drunk enough, and he spent all his wages

'-well

"

rTT

IInL

T

AT

TIT

T

ALK II V

TD TT

IrL

TD

TL

E -IRtLVIS.

32

upon them; they were well clad, heard their hollow cough, and saw
and well fed, and well warmed; their wan, pale faces, and heard
but it was too late; the bad effects the thud of the naked little feet
of their former sufferings were too upon the cold flag-stones; and
deeply seated to be got rid of. oh ! he had a terrible time of it.
They were doomed to die ! In Sin surely brings its own misery,
vain did Tom Swipes work hard "as a man sows, so shall he also
for them by day, and watch reap."
But, at last, the poor father was
patiently by them at night; they
He had repented
drooped and died; and were laid comforted.
within a month of each other in and amended, and sought pardon
Terrible were through his Saviour; and though
the one grave.
the father's feelings, as he re- he could not bring back his little
called to mind all that he heard ones to earth, still he knew he
the fire-irons say that dismal might join themin heaven. And
night. He knew that it was all when poor Swipes died a few
too true ; and for weeks after the years after, he told his wife, just
funeral, the poor afflicted man before he went that he saw little
walked about like one daft. He hands beckoning to him; and
soft, childlike voices
thought he saw the two little heard
As he whispering to him, he didn't
he went.
ones wherever
passed the " Smash and Crash " know whose they were, but they
he fancied he saw them crying seemed as though they belonged
outside the door for bread: and he to the little ones that were gone.

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The Plague Ship.

Lord John.

By G. A. HENTY.

By G. MANVILLE FENN.
S,

Gone.

taunch: A Story of Steel,
By G. MANVILLE FENN.

By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID.

Paying the Penalty.
By

CHARLES GIBBONS.

A Living Apparitior1.
By GRANT ALLEN,

B.A.

A Terrible Inheritance.

Brought to Light.

By GRANT ALLEN, B.A.

By Mrs. NEWMAN.

In Volumes (Six Stories in each), paper boards, 6d. each.
SOCIETY

FOR

PROMOTING

CHRISTIAN

KNOWLEDGE,

LONDON : NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.; 43, QUEEN
STREET, E.C.; 97, WESTBOURNE GROVE, W.

VICTORIA

EDWARDS
WORLD

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Preparation in the World which positively RESTORES AND PRODUCES HAIR witho
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,iecay

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WHISKERS AN

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from observation, on receipt of 1/4, 2/10, 8/11, and 6/-.
P.O. preferred.
Lower Stoke, nr Rochester,

o
Sept.
beMr.of Edwards.Sir,-While enclosing husband's another
order for
ttle
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Oxford
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Special Offer to Readers of " S.P.C.K.

5/6

TRIAL

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lovels."

FOR

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We bind ourselves to send to any reader of " S.P C.K. Novels,"
who sends us this Coupon, with a Postal
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postage, package, &c., one regular 5s. 6d. solely for Edwards' Instantaneous
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our specialitimore widely known, without expending enormous sums in advertising, feeling sure that once having
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All comm

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ADVERTISEMENT OF 100 YEARS AGO It

PEAS~ SOAP

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