Peay iit COAST- HU AND OTHER SLU Lay ALDERMAN STACKS PS 1769 .G27 T3 1800zaT; Nn) 7 | Fm > ; | \ ' . JIL TH\O"7 XLIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA FROM THE BOOKS OF Mrs. Charles Edwaré McMurdo and Miss Doris E. McMurdo ye ke Rid B BEPITOSSL DVT eS STA: a eo Rtg Pas Pes he ek ere 5 Pie PGs EESTCS tel s | Specs ae eg en a eS er anna‘a ao pa a co : 4 — — | Be 1 a : [ h i Sela ig = ecTHE COAS T-CUR AND OTHER STORIES - te ae : oe Matncnten fhatape Be P eliotn gtr GAY. Ae Sn Gel BIR tele are ra i ny ap were 2 Lieto ths A OE A + nt eee Pert Pea a BN ha ! PDP Ei OM Apt - : a gente A Meaty das = ee PP Se TN Ten a + em Bs oe bey bo Ip EERE ee ap LD Ss pe Na rman aGIFT JUN 20 56 | : : i. 2 iaCONTENTS. TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD— = CHAPTER 1.— MY, HARLEY DAWG). 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T’ may be as well to observe at starting, that the slight, unpretending sketches I am about to jot down of a few rough adventures in the Pre- J ee ventive Service of this country, will present no on . fancy pictures of high-souled, dashing smugglers, a ) such as I have seen spouting herore at minor j theatres—rollicking gentlemen, who abound in all the first-rate virtues of generosity, daring, gallantry, and skill, slightly clouded, if at all, by an irresistible propensity for defrauding the revenue—more, it is usually made to appear, for the fun and dash of the thing, or to rig out amiable sweethearts or devoted wives with expensive knick- knacks, than for any liking for the, in the main, idle and skulking life of the professional smuggler. I never ran athwart any such gentry ; but then it is right to state that my experience was confined to about a hundred miles or thereabouts of the southern coasts of England, and those heroes, I fancy, are only to be found, if at all, in latitudes frequented by their relatives—the horse-marines. The fellows I now and then overhauled were of quite another stamp, and seldom sailors either, at least not of the true ST ee en a ene ee eee LL eees Ta aD ee ho aa aa al ae nha oa pcp ratio 6 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. salt-water lick. Handy enough in a boat, no doubt, but with much better land than sea legs, as many an unsuccess- ful shore-chase has but too frequently proved to my entire conviction. I am speaking of between thirty and forty years ago, at which time your genuine sea-dog but little relished such a hide-and-seek along-shore life, especially if anything better could be had; and it can, I should think, be hardly otherwise in these days of steam revenue-cruisers, -admirably organised coast-guard, reduced duties, and, con- ‘sequently, consumptive profits. Thus much hinted by way of warning to readers of a romantic taste, I proceed with the narrative of my first adventure in the revenue-service, pre- facing it with a brief chapter of my earlier history, without which it would be nearly if not altogether unintelligible. My name is Warneford—at least it is not very unlike that—and I was born at Itchen, a village distant in those days about a mile and a half, by land and ferry, from | Southampton. How much nearer the, as I hear and read, rapidly increasing town has since approached I cannot say, as it will be twenty-nine years next July since I finally quitted the neighbourhood. The village, at that time chiefly inhabited by ferry and fishermen, crept in a straggling sort of way up a declivity from the margin of the Itchen river, which there reaches and joins the Southampton estuary, till it arrives at Pear-Tree Green, an eminence commanding one of the finest and most varied land-and-water views the eye of man has, I think, ever rested upon. My father, a retired lieutenant of the royal navy, was not a native of the place, as his name alone would sufficiently indicate to a person acquainted with the then Itchen people—almost every one of whom was either a Dible or a Diaper—but he had been many years settled there, and Pear-Tree Church- yard contained the dust of his wife and five children—I and my sister Jane, who was a year older than myself, being allMY EARLY DAYS. t of his numerous family who survived their childhood. We were in fair circumstances, as my father, in addition to his half-pay, possessed an income of something above a hundred pounds a year. Jane and I were carefully, though of course not highly or expensively educated; and as soon as I had attained the warrior-age of fifteen, I was despatched to sea to fight my country’s battles—Sir Joseph Yorke having, at my father’s request, kindly obtained a midshipman’s warrant for me ; and not many weeks after joining the ship to which I was appointed, I found myself, to my great astonishment, doubling the French line at the Nile—an exploit which I have since read of with far more satisfaction than I remember to have experienced during its performance. Four years passed before I had an opportunity of revisit- ing home; and it was with a beating as well as joyful heart, and light, elastic step, that I set off to walk the distance from Gosport to Itchen. I need hardly say that I was welcomed by Jane with tears of love and happiness. It was not long, however, before certain circumstances occurred which induced my worthy but peremptory father to cut my leave of absence suddenly and unmercifully short. I have before noticed that the aborigines of my native place were for the most part Dibles or Diapers. Well, it happened that among the former was one Ellen Dible, the daughter of a fisherman somewhat more prosperous than many of his fellows. This young lady was a slim, active, blue-eyed, bright-haired gipsy, about two years younger than myself, but somewhat tall and womanly for her age, of a light, charming figure, and rather genteel manners ; which latter quality, by the by, must have come by nature, for but little education of any kind had fallen to her share. She was, it may be supposed, the belle of the place, and very numer- ous were her rustic admirers; but they all vanished in a twinkling, awe-struck by my Graigent and especially by the er ane a ata en meen ae ee a iain is Oi Hy en ilae ais iT ad pore Parent emenanee ern ene neo eer C REED Tree nT Nene Teer er eT asthe ah

Chetahaeeh sr sian ames dateieeaenieinm iit tiie om aa ate 46 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. by whom. ‘The five fellows—for the look-out had not returned to his perch—became rigid and breathless with eager attention. The whistling was repeated. ‘That’s Martha White,’ said Squibb: ‘what but mischief can bring her here again?’ He then grasped the little boy, who had been for some time awake, with fierce violence by the hair. ‘Dare to whimper,’ he said in low, deadly tones, ‘ or breathe louder than usual—only dare !’ ‘Lend me a back,’ said one of the fellows, ‘that I may look out at the window.’ ‘Hark!’ cried Squibb. ‘There is some one unlocking the front gate. Who should that be? Look over the stairs, Stokes—quick! quick! By all the demons, if it be, as I suspect, I will blow this imp’s brains out whatever be the consequence—quick !’ and the ruthless savage held the muzzle of the pistol within six inches of the head of the boy, who seemed dumb with terror. I hesitated for a moment how to act. To shew myself, and rush upon the scoundrel, would in all probability pre- cipitate the child’s fate, Squibb now being at a distance of four or five, yards from me. Adopting another expedient, in full reliance upon my oft-tried skill and coolness, I took deliberate aim at the ruffian’s head, steadying my arm upon a hay-truss, and waiting only to be sure as to who the new- comers were. ‘Who is it?’ again fiercely demanded Squibb. will you?’ ‘ Betrayed!’ shrieked Stokes. us 1? _ As the first syllable left the man’s lips I fired. The report was followed by a frightful yell from Squibb. The bullet had struck his right jaw and broken it. He whirled round with the sudden agony, and the pistol in his hand dropped harmlessly on the floor. The next moment all was ‘ Speak, ‘The coast-guard are upon c : 5 Elke Bebe ee hh he Wak oie ha bao BE OS AS ee ee LN 8a 8k ae ee eee ee aah ek ee a ee ae ee ee AC et ak Sa ee ae PRL eae rele ee ees 5:4THE SMUGGLERS HOSTAGE. 47 uproar, confusion, and dismay—the loud shouts of the sailors, the frenzied screams of the woman, and the male- dictions of the smugglers, who, after a vain show of resist- ance, essayed to escape by the way I had entered, mingling in deafening uproar and confusion. ‘They were all secured except Rawlings, who contrived to escape ; and very luckily for him that he did so, or unquestionably the reward for his share in the business would have been an hour’s dangle at the yard-arm. The instant I shewed myself, Squibb, though frightfully mangled, and for some moments stunned with pain, snatched another pistol from his belt, covered me, fired, missed, and I immediately grappled him. He was a burly, powerfully-framed man, but he was so enfeebled by drink, his recent illness, and present wound, that I pinned him to the floor almost without an effort ; and as soon as the bustle was over he was properly secured, and carried off, foaming and blaspheming with rage. Mrs White hugged her child, so fortunately rescued, with con- vulsive passion, while incoherently pouring forth joy and thanksgiving to Heaven and blessings upon me. The prisoners were tried and found guilty of the capital charge, Richard White being admitted as approver, but neither of them suffered the extreme penalty of the law. They were all, however, transported—three for life, and the others for varying terms. White and family removed, I believe, to London. They never claimed the reward. i iP) be i i. Oaks A mae eer bry yey a gi Fe eS ened my rig a Fi r i eynny at os Da a ee rte lle ea end em! A oe ae TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD, CHAP Li WV; ALLY SOMERS. When I joined the Scorpion sloop of war, then (1810) on the West India station, there were a father and son amongst the crew, whose names, as borne on the ship’s books, were John Somers and John Alice Somers. The oddity in this country of giving a boy a female baptismal name had been no doubt jestingly remarked upon by those who were aware of it, but with the sailors the lad passed as Ally Somers. The father was approaching fifty, the son could not have been more than seventeen years of age. The elder Somers, who had attained to the rating of a boatswain, was a stern, hard, silent man, with a look as cold and clear as polished steel, and a cast-iron mouth, indicative of inflexible, indomitable firmness of will and resolution. ‘The son, on the contrary, though somewhat resembling his father in outline of feature, had a mild, attractive, almost feminine aspect, and a slight graceful frame. J was not long in discovering that, obdurate and self-engrossed as the man appeared, the boy was really the idol-image in which his affections and his hopes were centred. His eye constantly followed the motions of the lad, and it appeared to be his unceasing aim and study to lighten the duties he had to perform, and to shield him from the rough usage to which youngsters in his position were generally subjected by the motley crews of those days. One day a strong instance in proof of this master- feeling occurred. Ally Somers some time previously, when on shore with a party despatched to obtain a supply of water, had, during the temporary absence of the officer in command, been rather severely rope’s-ended by one of the seamen for some trifling misconduct, and a few slight marksALLY SOMERS. 49 were left on the lad’s back. The rage of the father, when informed of the circumstance, was extreme, and it was with difficulty that he was restrained from inflicting instant chastisement on the offender. An opportunity for partially wreaking his hoarded vengeance occurred about six weeks afterwards, and it was eagerly embraced. The sailor who had ill-used young Somers was sentenced to receive two dozen lashes for drunkenness and insubordination. He was ordered to strip, placed at the gratings, and the punishment began. Somers the boatswain, iron or sour-tempered ‘as he might be, was by no means harsh or cruel in his office, and his assistants, upon whom the revolting office of flogging usually devolved, influenced by him, were about the ' gentlest-handed boatswain’s-mates I ever saw practise. On this occasion he was in another and very different mood. Two blows only had been struck when Somers, with an angry rebuke to the mate for not doing his duty, snatched the cat from his hand, and himself lashed the culprit with a ferocity so terribly effective, that Captain Boyle, a merciful and just officer, instantly remitted half the number of lashes, and the man was rescued from the unsparing hands of the vindictive boatswain. Other instances of the intensity of affection glowing within the stern man’s breast for his comparatively weak and delicate boy manifested themselves. Once in action, when the lad, during a tumultuous and murderous struggle, in beating off a determined attempt to carry the sloop by boarding, chanced to stumble on the slippery deck, he was overtaken before he could. recover himself, and involved in the fierce assault which at the forecastle was momently successful. I was myself hotly engaged in another part of the fight ; but attention being suddenly called to the fore- part of the ship by the enemy’s triumphant shouts, I glanced round just in time to see the boatswain leap, with the yell Drae ae an ve , See s 4 ancien one YANO AA SS EE OAR BEN ERAS HNN IP LMT BLEND TMM EET NT Oe edo ried ol see ae es geet ee, rt ry a6 ine 50 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. and bound of a tiger, into the mélée, and strike right and left with such tremendous ferocity and power as instantly to check the advancing rush. Our men promptly rallied, and the deck was in a few minutes cleared of every living foe that had recently profaned it. Ally Somers, who had received a rather severe flesh wound, and fainted from loss of blood, was instantly caught up by his father, and carried with headlong impatience below. When the surgeon, after a brief look at the hurt, said: ‘There is no harm done, Somers,’ the high-strung nerves of the boatswain gave way, and he fell back upon a locker temporarily prostrate and insensible from sudden revulsion of feeling. Several times IT was an unintentional auditor of scraps of conversation between the two whilst the lad was on the sick-list, from which I gathered that Ally was the sole issue of a marriage which had left bitter memories in the mind of the father ; but whether arising from the early death of his wife, or other causes, I did not ascertain. Somers was, it appeared, a native of the west of England, and it was quite evident had received a much better education than usually falls to individuals of his class. At the close of the war Somers and his son were, with thousands of others, turned adrift from the royal service. Some months after my appointment to the command of the revenue-cutter, I chanced to meet the-father in the village of Talton, about four miles out of Southampton, on the New Forest Road. He had I found re-entered the navy, but chancing to receive a hurt by the falling of a heavy block on his right knee, had been invalided with a small pension, upon which he was now living at about a hundred yards from the spot where we had accidentally met. Ally, he informed me, was the skipper of a small craft trading between Guernsey and Southampton. There was little change in the appearance of the man except that the crippled EER ON ody EC yg eek eaeALLY SOMERS. br condition of his leg appeared to have had an effect the reverse of softening upon his stern and rugged aspect and temper. When paid off, he was, I knew, entitled to a considerable sum in prize-money, the greater part of which he told me he had recently received. About a couple of months after this meeting with the father I fell in with the son. I was strolling at about eleven in the forenoon along the front of the Southampton custom-house, when my eye fell upon a young man, in a seaman’s dress, busily engaged with three others in loading a cart with bundles of laths which had been landed shortly before from a small vessel alongside the quay. It was Ally Somers sure enough; and so much improved in looks since I last saw him, that but for a certain air of fragility—in- herited probably from his mother—he might have been pro- nounced a handsome fine young fellow. The laths, upwards of two hundred bundles, which he was so busily assisting to cart, he had brought from Guernsey, and were a very common importation from that island: Guernsey possessing the right of sending its own produce customs-free to Eineg- land, a slight duty, only tantamount to what the foreign timber of which the laths were made would have been liable to, was levied upon them, and this was ascertained by the proper officer simply measuring the length and girth of the bundles. This had been done, and the laths marked as ‘passed.’ It struck me that the manner of Ally Somers was greatly flurried and excited, and when he saw me approaching, evidently with an intention to accost him, this agitation perceptibly increased. He turned deadly pale, and absolutely trembled with ill-concealed apprehension. He was somewhat reassured by my frank salutation ; and after afew commonplace inquiries I walked away, evidently to his great relief, and he with his sailors continued their eager work of loading the cart. I could not help suspecting thatLe eC ee NE ee ee el a ie eatin 2 vee ha ET lO ep sa ea = : . ‘ ; ; aes a — aein gia shiabsas apciticip-apaie * ni - - $ i y ot mae oh 5 oe seas 3 4s w t Ce IR eS it Sis dy as ps 52 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. something was wrong, though I could not make up my mind to verify the surmise his perturbed and hurried manner excited. Once in a skirmish on shore, his father, the boatswain, had saved my life by sending a timely bullet through the head of a huge negro who held me for the moment at his mercy. Besides I might be wrong after all, and I had no right to presume that the officer who had passed the laths had not made a sufficient examination of | them. The flurry of the young man might arise from physical weakness and the severe labour he was performing in such hot weather. These reasons, or more truly these excuses for doing nothing, were passing through my brain, | when I observed the hasty approach of the collector of customs himself towards the cart, followed by several of his | subordinates. Young Somers saw him as quickly as I did, and the young man’s first impulse, it was quite plain, was | flight. A thought no doubt of the hopelessness of such an | attempt arrested his steps, and he stood quaking with terror | by the side of the cart, his right hand grasping for support | | at one of the wheel-spokes. ‘One of you lend me a knife,’ said the collector, addregs- | ing the officers of customs. A knife was quickly opened and handed to him: he ) severed the strong cords which bound one of the bundles of ‘ laths together, and they flew asunder, disclosing a long tin tube of considerable diameter, closely rammed with tobacco ! All the other bundles contained a similar deposit ; and so large was the quantity of the heavily-taxed weed thus unex- pectedly made lawful prize of, that a profit, I was assured, of not less than five or six hundred pounds would have been made by the audacious smuggler had he succeeded in his bold and ingenious attempt. The ends of the bundles had been filled up with short pieces of lath, so that, except by the process now adopted, it was impossible to detect that the cargo was oda Och sik eS aes a aoe etALLY SOMERS. 53 not bond jide what it had been declared to be. The penalties to which Somers had rendered himself liable were immense, the vessel also was forfeited, and the unfortunate young man’s liberty at the mercy of the crown. He looked the very picture of despair, and I felt assured that ruin, utter and complete, had fallen upon him. He was led off in custody, and had gone some dozen paces when he stopped shortly, appeared to make some request to the officers by whom he was escorted, and then turning round, intimated by a supplicatory gesture that he wished to speak to me. I drew near, and at my request the officers fell back out of hearing. He was so utterly pros- trated by the calamity by which he had been so suddenly overtaken, that he could not for several moments speak intelligibly. I felt a good deal concerned for so mere a boy, and one too so entirely unfitted by temperament and nerve to carry through such desperate enterprises, or bear up against their failure. ‘This is a bad business,’ I said ; ‘but the venture has not, I trust, been made with your own or your father’s money?’ ‘Every penny of it,’ he repled in a dry, fainting voice, ‘was our own. Father lent me all his prize-money, and we are both miserable beggars.’ ‘What in the name of madness could induce you to venture your all upon a single throw in so hazardous a came 4’ ‘T will tell you,’ he went on hurriedly to say in the same feeble and trembling tone: ‘I am not fitted for a sea-life— not strong, not hardy enough. I longed for a quiet, peace- ful home ashore. A hope of one offered itself. I made the acquaintance of Richard Sylvester, a miller near Ealing. He is a good man, but griping as far as money is concerned. I formed an attachment for his eldest daughter Maria; and SE See aea ON TOSS et 0 eat erent ee TI aed eeEi eee Pe a ee : RS RAR MESO ITD BI rg aI ee nme crema earns em Bm ae hin ape we “54 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. he consented to our union, and to taking me as a partner in his business, if I could pay down five hundred pounds. I was too eager to wait long; besides I thought that per- haps But it boots not to speak of that now: I set more than life upon this cast; I have lost, and am now bankrupt of resource or hope! Will you break this news to my father, and see’ His remaining firmness gave way as the thought he would have uttered struggled to his lips, and the meek-hearted young man burst into tears, and wept piteously like a girl. A number of persons were col- lecting round us, and I gently urged him to walk.on to the ‘custom-house. A few minutes afterwards I left him there, with a promise to comply with his request without delay. I found John Somers at home, and had scarcely uttered ‘twenty words when he jumped at once to the true con- ‘clusion. ‘Out with it, sir!’ exclaimed the steel-nerved man. ‘But you need not; I see it all. Ally has failed—the tobacco has been seized—and he is in prison.’ Spite of himself his breath came thick and short, and he presently added with a fierce burst, whilst a glance of fire leaped from his eyes: ‘He has been betrayed, and I think I know by whom.’ ‘Your suspicion that he has been informed against is very likely correct, but you will, I think, have some difficulty in ascertaining by whom. The custom-house authorities are careful not to allow the names of their informants to leak through their office-doors.’ ‘I would find him were he hidden in the centre of the earth !’ rejoined the ex-boatswain with another vengeful outcry which startled one like an explosion. ‘But,’ added the strong and fierce-willed man after a few moments’ silence, ‘it’s useless prating of the matter like a wench. We must part company at once. I thank you, sir, and will es Ss eS as EA"ALLY SOMERS. BB tell Ally you have called’ I mentioned the other request made by his son. ‘That is a rotten plank to hold by,’ he said. ’ a a ae ea ea eer eecnet : 5 sco ciel dc alee aL ca eed " el a cea ene onl—a aaed sae 6 vee os é bpp 56 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD, ‘that is wise counsel—very wise ; but that which I want now more than wise counsel is ten pounds—ten pounds, which I shall never be able to repay.’ ‘Ten pounds !’ ‘Yes; you may remember that I once saved your life. If that piece of service was worth the sum I have men- tioned, you can now discharge the obligation. I have parted with everything, and Ally’s last prayer was to be buried beside his Beside a grave, an early and un- timely one, like his own, many miles away,’ pl understand : it is a natural and pious wish, and you shall have the money.’ ‘Thank you. The funeral over, Th thing to do in life, and that is to assist you in securing Cocquerel whilst running one of his most valuable cargoes,’ “Cocquerel, the Guernseyman, you mean ?” ‘Ay, so he calls himself ; but I fancy he hailed from another port. He is the m secret to the revenue-officers !? ‘Are you sure?’ ‘As death! He wag Ally’s only confidant, and Ally’s father is now in Cocquerel’s confidence. It is but natural,’ added Somers—and a bitter, deadly sneer curled his ashy lips—‘it is but natural, you know, that I should be eager to assist in pillaging a government which caged my son, and held him under its iron bars till life had fled. Cocquerel understands this, and trusts me fully ; but that which he does not understand, know, or suspect,’ continued the fierce old man, sinking his voice to a whisper, and leaning forward with his face close to mine, ‘is that John Somers has found out who it was that sold his boy’s life! Did he know that, and know me too, there would be sounder sleepers than he in these dark nights,’ ! ‘What do you mean ?? ave but one more at one time an who sold Ally’sALLY SOMERS. 57 ‘Nothing more, of course,’ he replied in a more checked and guarded tone, ‘than to retort the trick he played Ally something after his own fashion.’ ‘That is a fair revenge enough, and Ill not balk you. Now, then, for your plan.’ Various details were discussed, and it was settled that on that day week Somers was again to communicate with me. He then took leave. At the appointed time Somers returned, and appeared to be in high but flighty spirits. Everything was, he said, arranged, and success all but certain. His scheme was then canvassed and finally agreed upon, and he again left the vessel. The arrangement for the surprise and capture of Cocquerel was this: That notorious smuggler intended running a large cargo on the coast of Dorsetshire, on the north of Portland, at a place where the cliffs are high, precipitous, and abrupt, and at that time very inefficiently watched by the shore-force. Near the spot selected is or was a kind of cavern worn by the action of the sea in the chalky stratum, which at neap-tides was partially dry, and at the time of our enterprise would effectually conceal a boat from the observa- tion of any one who did not actually peer in directly at its mouth. Cocquerel was to leave Guernsey the next day in a large boat, with two lug-sails, but chiefly depending for speed upon its sweeps. It was calculated that he would reach his destination about midnight. Somers had under- taken the duty of shore-signalman, and if danger were appre- hended, was to warn the smugglers that hawks were abroad by burning a blue-light. The manner of running the cargo was to be this: Somers was provided with a windlass and sufficient length of rope, with a kind of rope-cradle at the end of it, in which a man could sit, or a couple of kegs be slung, to reach the boat. The windlass he was to secure Fh oak Pieter eT poner en Smee _~ aE Ne a Ae eH a a ST Se Ten eee re Ree ee ee eae oe tea Sead ener ae a Bo end a Berea a ae ~ apy — dibtdntiicttiealialal Sean - So ig re 3 ca A ms oe “4 58 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. firmly at the edge of the cliff, and two or three of the men having been drawn up, other windlasses were to be fixed, by means of which it was calculated that in about half an hour the entire cargo would be safely carried off by the carts which Somers had undertaken to have ready on the spot. The signal for our appearance on the scene of action, the positive old man persisted, should be that agreed upon for the warning of the smugglers—the sudden ignition of a blue-light. This did not seem the cleverest possible mode of procedure ; but as the cavern in which we were to con- ceal ourselves was but afew yards northward of the spot marked out for the landing, and Somers promised he would only give the signal when the smugglers were in full work, I had little fear that, if other accidents did not c&psize our scheme, they would be able to escape us. The next afternoon the largest boat belonging to the Rose was fully manned ; and leaving the cutter quietly at anchor in the Southampton river just above Calshot, we pulled with the tide—for there was but a light air, and that favour- able for the smugglers, not for us—to our hiding-place, which we reached about eight o’clock in the evening. The hours crept very slowly and dismally away, amidst the darkness and hoarse echoes and moanings of the cavern, into which the sea and wind, which were gradually rising, dashed and howled with much and increasing violence. Occasional peeps at my watch, by the light of the lantern carefully shaded seaward, warned us that ten, eleven, twelve, one o'clock had passed, without bringing the friends we so anxiously expected, and fears of ultimate disappointment were chilling us far more than the cold night-breeze, when a man in the bow of the boat said in a whisper that he could hear the dash of oars. We all instantly listened with eager attention ; but it was not till we had brought the boat to the entrance of the opening that the man’s assertion was ee eo ek ee ok SE aN Se a Ae Sek ae ey oh a eee ke he Mo goa 2 Sa) 2 he ed eeALLY SOMERS. 59 verified. There it was clear enough ; and the near approach of a large boat, with the regular jerk of the oars or sweeps, was distinctly audible. The loud, clear hail of their shore- sicnalman, answered by the ‘ All right’ of the smugglers, left no doubt that the expected prey was within our grasp ; and I had a mind to pounce upon them at once, but was withheld by a promise which I had been obliged several times to repeat, that I would not under any circumstances do so till the signal-flame sent its light over the waters. As soon as the noise and bustle of laying in the sweeps, lowering the sails, and unstepping the masts, had subsided, we heard Somers hail the boat, and insist that the captain should come up before any of the others, as there was a difficulty about the carts which he alone could settle. The reply was a growl of assent, and we could hear by the click of the check to the cogwheel of the windlass that Somers was paying out the rope. Presently Cocquerel was heard to get into the cradle I have spoken of, to which a line was fastened in order to steady his ascent from below. ‘The order was given to turn away, and the renewed click, click, announced that he was ascending the face of the cliff. I could hardly comprehend this manceuvre, which seemed to indicate the escape of the man we were the most anxious to secure, and the order to shove off was just on my lips when a powerful blue-light flamed suddenly forth, accompanied by a fierce but indistinct shout, or roar rather, from Somers. The men replied by a loud cheer, and we shot smartly out ; but having, to avoid a line of reef, to row in a straight direction for about a cable’s length, the smugglers, panic- stricken and bewildered as they were, had time to get way upon their lugger, and were plying their sweeps with desperate energy before the revenue-boat was fairly turned in direct pursuit. The frantic effort to escape was vain, and so was the still more frantic effort at resistance offered Pay sod I el SL eeeLy es Ge SEAT on 8 fest mee re as ee nT a anette em ene eee =Bis AF | pete oy 4 nee et = ata San a agra aici ec a a a a ce ae cman 60 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. when we ran alongside. We did not hurt them much: one or two were knocked down by the sailors’ brass-butted pistols ; and after being secured, they had leisure to vent their rage in polyglot curses, part French, part English, and part Guernsey patois, and I to look round and see what had become of Cocquerel. The blue-light still shed a livid radiance all around, and to my inexpressible horror and dismay, I saw that the unfortunate man was suspended in the rope-cradle, within about a fathom’s length of the brow of the cliff, upon which Somers was standing and gazing at his victim with looks of demoniac rage and triumph. The deadly trap contrived by the inexorable old man was instantly apparent, and to Cocquerel’s frenzied screams for help I replied by shouting to him to cut himself loose at once, as his only chance, for the barrel of a pistol gleamed distinctly in the hands of Somers. ‘Lieutenant Warneford,’ cried the exulting maniac—he was nothing less—‘ I have caught this Cocquerel nicely for you—got him swinging here in the prettiest cradle he was ever rocked in in his life—Ha! ha! ha!’ ‘Cut loose at once!’ I again shouted; and the men, as terribly impressed as myself with the horror of the wretched smugglers position, swept the boat rapidly towards the spot. ‘Somers, if you shoot that man you shall die on the gallows.’ ‘Cut himself loose, do you say, lieutenant?’ screamed Somers, heedless of my last observation. ‘He can’t! He has no knife—ha! ha! ha! And if he had, this pistol would be swifter than that; but I’ll cut him loose presently, never fear. Look here, Jacques Cocquerel,’ he continued, laying himself flat down on the cliff, and stretching his right arm over it till the mouth of his pistol was within a yard of Cocquerel’s head, this contains payment in full for o4 Pos is eoALLY SOMERS. 61 your kindness to Ally Somers—a debt which I could in no other manner completely repay.’ At this moment the blue-light suddenly expired, and we were involved in what by contrast was total darkness. We could still, however, hear the frantic laughter and exulting cibes of the merciless old man in answer to Cocquerel’s shriek- ing appeals for mercy ; and after a while, when the figures of the two men had become partially visible, we could distinguish the words, ‘ One, two, three,’ followed by the report of a pistol, and a half minute afterwards a dark body shot down the white face of the cliff, and disappeared beneath the waters! The body of Cocquerel never reappeared ; and the only tidings I ever heard of Somers were contained in the follow- ing paragraph which I read some years afterwards in the Hampshire Telegraph, a journal at that time published at Portsmouth : ‘The body of an aged, wretched man was found frozen to death in the churchyard on Wednesday morning last, near two adjoining graves, one of which, that of Alice Maynard, recalls the painful circumstances connected with the sad story of the death of that ill-fated and, as we believe, entirely innocent person. At the inquest holden on Friday, it was ascertained beyond a doubt that the deceased is John Maynard, who, after his wife’s untimely death, assumed the name of Somers, and was, we believe, the person who shot a French smuggler, with whom he had quarrelled, at the back of the Isle of Wight, under somewhat peculiar circum- stances, about seven years ago. He was buried in the grave that contains the body of his son, John Alice Maynard, which was interred there shortly before the commission of the homicide just alluded to. ‘There has never been to our knowledge any regular investigation of that affair, but we believe that then, as before, Maynard’s pistol was pointed by a frantic and causeless jealousy.—| Plymouth paper. |’ bo al a eee I eee en a ate at ee nT re NT oS Lt eaeCoS My ee i oe il kas i i Soa sialic deal er at Li ga Ti EA SE EL Oe i 0 sh nl Be pt = a ee Sa a a A a ek rae eA pe feos eae 62 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. There are several mistakes sufficiently obvious to the reader in this 'paragraph, but of the main fact that John Somers, alias Maynard, perished as described in the Devon- shire journal, there can be no reasonable doubt. CHA PLIER Vt PROMISE UNFULFILLED. The Rose had been becalmed for several days in Cowes Harbour, and utterly at a loss how else to cheat the time, I employed myself one afternoon in sauntering up and down the quay, whistling for a breeze, and listlessly watching the slow approach of a row-boat, bringing the mail and a few passengers from Southampton, the packet-cutter to which the boat belonged being as hopelessly immovable, except for such drift as the tide gave her, as the Rose. The slowness of its approach—for I expected a messenger with letters—added to my impatient weariness ; and as, according to my reckoning, it would be at least an hour before the boat reached the landing-steps, I returned to the Fountain Inn in the High Street, called for a glass of negus, and as I lazily sipped it, once more turned over the newspapers lying on the table, though with scarcely a hope of coming athwart a line that I had not read half a dozen times before. I was mistaken. There was a Cornwail Gazette amongst them which I had not before seen, and in one corner of it I lit upon this, to me in all respects new and extremely interesting paragraph: ‘We copy the following statement from a contemporary, solely for the purpose of contradicting it: “It is said that the leader of the smugglers in the late desperate affray with the coast-guard in St Michael's Bay was no other than Mr George PolwhelePROMISE UNFULFILLED. 63 Hendrick, of Lostwithiel, formerly, as our readers are aware, a lieutenant in the royal navy, and dismissed the king’s service by sentence of court-martial at the close of the war.” There is no foundation for this imputation. Mrs Hendrick, of Lostwithiel, requests us to state that her son, from whom she heard but about ten days since, commands a first-class ship in the merchant navy of the United States.’ I was exceedingly astonished. The court-martial I had not heard of, and having never overhauled the Navy List for such a purpose, the absence of the name of G. P. Hendrick had escaped my notice. What could have been his offence? Some hasty, passionate act, no doubt; for of misbehaviour before the enemy, or of the commission of deliberate wrong, it was impossible to suspect him. He was, I personally knew, as eager as flame in combat ; and his frank, perhaps heedless generosity of temperament, was abundantly apparent to every one acquainted with him. I had known him for a short time only; but the few days of our acquaintance were passed under circumstances which bring out the true nature of a man more prominently and unmistakably than might twenty years of humdrum, every- day life. The varnish of pretension falls quickly off in presence of sudden and extreme peril—peril especially requiring presence of mind and energy to beat it back. It was in such a position that I recognised some of the high qualities of Lieutenant Hendrick. ‘The two sloops of war in which we respectively served were consorts for awhile on the South African coast, during which time we fell in with a Franco-Italian privateer or pirate—for the distinc- tion between the two is much more technical than real. She was to leeward when we sighted her, and not very distant from the shore, and so quickly did she shoal her water, that pursuit by either of the sloops was out of the question. Being a stout vessel of her class, and full of bad Eo eM m4 he oes Po a ae ‘ag ES ce eet en oes See eee ae mam eT AON oyna aOR TROON mae OE OTT Dame te) CL a ee any ets! cs aei o, * Seem a ii De ee nee ere ee ee ce en re arg ee Tare Be il oer ad Be a Pip tip cnnsese . arsenate 5 Se ie See ee hatter tact cme on WEL italia gst ON 5 seein . Mie sobre Biter +7) | re ere : es aa ane epee ~ 64 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. men, four boats—three of the Scorpion’s and one of her | consort’s—were detached in pursuit. The breeze gradually | failed, and we were fast coming up with our friend when he vanished behind a headland, on rounding which we found | he had disappeared up a narrow, winding river, of no great depth of water. We of course followed, and after about a | quarter of an hour’s hard pull found, on suddenly turning a | sharp elbow of the stream, that we had caught a Tartar. | We had, in fact, come upon a complete nest of privateers | —a rendezvous or depot they termed it. The vessel was already anchored across the channel, and we were flanked | on each shore by a crowd of desperadoes, well provided with small-arms, and with two or three pieces of light | ordnance amongst them. The shouts of defiance with | which they greeted us as we swept into the deadly trap | were instantly followed by a general and murderous dis- | charge of both musketry and artillery ; and as the smoke | cleared away I saw that the leading pinnace, commanded | by Hendrick, had been literally knocked to pieces, and that | the little living portion of the crew were splashing about in the river, There was time but for one look, for if we allowed the rascals time to reload their guns our own fate would inevit- ably be a similar one. The men understood this, and with a loud cheer swept eagerly on towards the privateer, whilst the two remaining boats engaged the flanking shore forces, and I was soon involved in about the fiercest mélée I ever had the honour to assist at. The furious struggle on the deck of the privateer lasted about five minutes only, at the end of which all that remained of us were thrust over the side. Some tumbled into the boat; others, like myself, were pitched into the river. As soon as I came to the surface, and had time to shake my ears and look about me, I saw Lieutenant Hendrick, who, the instant the pinnace as ‘ Se hee 7 ES PITTS PETS ATS TAL Sk BESS OE ETS CE Teen ere SELES OLR LGkU MME REA hE ST OCLC PERE SPLOT RC AA EE SCECHO LG be he kebek oe Rohe hho cheba seve ae oe ey | ens Poe wt Are Tete ae we : cae Uva at ine th a eTPROMISE UNFULFILLED, 65 he commanded was destroyed, had, with equal daring and presence of mind, swum towards a boat at the privateer’s stern, cut the rope that held her with the sword he carried between his teeth, and forthwith began picking up his half-drowned boat’s crew. This was already accomplished, and he now performed the same service for me and mine, This done, we again sprang at our ugly customer, he at the bow, and I about midships. Hendrick was the first to leap on the enemy’s deck; and so fierce and well sustained was the assault this time, that in less than ten minutes we were undisputed victors so far as the vessel was concerned. The fight on the shore continued obstinate and bloody, and it was not till we had twice discharged the privateer’s guns amongst the desperate rascals that they broke and filed. The dashing, yet cool and skilful bravery evinced by Lieu- tenant Hendrick in this brief but tumultuous and sangui- nary affair was admiringly remarked upon by all who witnessed it, few of whom, whilst gazing at the sinewy, active form, the fine, pale, flashing countenance, and the dark, thunderous eyes of the young officer—if I may use such a term, for in their calmest aspect a latent volcano appeared to slumber in their gleaming depths—could refuse to subscribe to the opinion of a distinguished admiral, who more than once observed that there was no more promis- ing officer in the British naval service than Lieutenant Hendrick. Well, all this, which has taken me so many words to relate, flashed before me like a scene in a theatre, as I read the paragraph in the Cornish paper. The Scorpion and her consort parted company a few days after this fight, and I had not since then seen or heard of Hendrick till now. I was losing myself in conjectures as to the probable or possible cause of so disgraceful a termination to a career that promised so brilliantly, when the striking of the bar E os ‘alB — en en er ae ht oe Be ener aed ee Dat bil arian te aia dh ated alee CD PAP Seep Gt e nd Sa Be - *s sp - “® “ 66 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. clock warned me that the mail-boat was by this time arrived. I sallied forth and reached the pier-steps just a minute or so before the boat arrived there. The messenger I expected was in her, and I was ttrning away with the parcel he handed me, when my attention was arrested by a stout, unwieldy fellow, who stumbled awkwardly out of the boat, and hurriedly came up the steps. The face of the man was pale, thin, hatchet-shaped, and anxious, and the eray, ferrety eyes were restless and perturbed; whilst the stout, round body was that of a yeoman of the bulkiest class, but so awkwardly made up that it did not require any very lengthened scrutiny to perceive that the shrunken carcass appropriate to such a lanky and dismal visage occupied but a small space within the thick casing of padding and extra garments in which it was swathed. His light-brown wig, too, surmounted by a broad-brimmer, had got a little awry, suspiciously revealing the scanty locks of iron-gray beneath. It was not difficult to run up these little items to a pretty accurate sum-total, and I had little doubt that the hasting and nervous traveller was | fleeing either from a constable or a sheriff’s officer. It was, however, no affair of mine, and I was soon busy with the letters just brought me. The most important tidings they contained was that Captain Pickard—the master of a smuggling craft of some celebrity, called Les Trois Fréres, in which for the last twelve months or more he had been carrying on a daring and successful trade throughout the whole line of the southern and western coasts—was likely to be found at this particular time near a particular spot in the back of the Wight. This information was from a sure source in the enemy’s camp, and it was consequently with great satis- faction that I observed indications of the coming on of a breeze, and in all probability a stiff one. I was not disap- rh ay ey cy ak ae Ak a ae ec ae pg at aE Tas ee OY Oak ae A aes a ee Oe age "A es eae a fi \ PE Sea ais aod Sh ay Se ey ted SE am ad ae a ae apointed ; and in less than an hour the Rose was stretching her white wings beneath a brisk north-wester over to Ports- mouth, where I had some slight official business to transact previous to looking after friend Pickard. This was speedily despatched, and I was stepping into the boat on my return to the cutter when a panting messenger informed me that the port-admiral desired to see me instantly. ‘The semaphore telegraph has just announced,’ said the admiral, ‘that Sparkes, the defaulter, who has for some time successfully avoided capture, will attempt to leave the kingdom from the Wight, as he is known to have been in communication with some of the smuggling gentry there. He is supposed to have a large amount of government moneys in his possession; you will therefore, Lieutenant Warneford, exert yourself vigilantly to secure him.’ ‘What is his description ?’ ‘Mr James,’ replied the admiral, addressing one of the telegraph clerks, ‘give Lieutenant Warneford the description transmitted.’ Mr James did so, and I read: ‘Is said to _have disguised himself as a stout countryman ; wears a blue coat with bright buttons, buff waistcoat, a brown wig, and a Quaker’s hat. He is of a slight, lanky figure, five feet nine inches in height. He has two pock-marks on his fore- head, and lisps in his speech.’ ‘By Jove, sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘I saw this fellow only about two hours ago!’ I then briefly related what had occurred, and was directed not to lose a moment in hastening to secure the fugitive. The wind had considerably increased by this‘time, and the Rose was soon again off Cowes, where Mr Roberts, the first mate, and six men, were sent on shore with orders to make the best of his way to Bonchurch—about which spot I knew, if anywhere, the brown-wigged gentleman would endea- your to embark—whilst the Rose went round to intercept PROMISE UNFULFILLED, 67 Ay! ee ee See cae nr preg oe i ONS RE ANDAR RED SEBS a See RNY Se a tent pes aaT 68 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. him seaward; which she did at a spanking rate, for it was now blowing half a gale of wind. Evening had fallen before we reached our destination, but so clear and bright with moon and stars that distant objects were as visible as | by day. I had rightly guessed how it would be, for we had | no sooner opened up Bonchurch shore or beach than Roberts signalled us that our man was on board the cutter running off at about a league from us in the direction of Cape La Hogue, I knew, too, from the cutter’s build,‘and the cut and set of her sails, that she was no other than Captain Pickard’s boasted craft, so that there was a chance of killing two birds with one stone. We evidently gained, though slowly, upon Les Trois Fréres; and this, after about a quarter of an hour’s run, appeared to be her captain’s own opinion, for he suddenly changed his course, and stood towards the Channel Islands, in the hope, I doubted not, that I should not follow him in such weather as was likely | to come on through the dangerous intricacies of the iron- bound .coast about Guernsey and the adjacent islets. Master Pickard was mistaken ; for knowing the extreme probability of being led such a dance, I had brought a pilot with me from Cowes, as well acquainted with Channel navigation as the smuggler himself could be. Les Trois Freres, 1b was soon evident, was now upon her best point of sailing, and it was all we could do to hold our own with her. This was vexatious; but the aspect of the heavens forbade me shewing more canvas, greatly as I was tempted to do so. It was lucky I did not. The stars were still shining over our heads from an expanse of blue without a cloud, and the full moon also as yet held her course unobscured, but there had gathered round her a glittering halo-like ring, and away to windward huge masses of black cloud, piled confusedly on each other, were fast spreading over the heavens. The “e Pericerune aire Betas) | oi on, tac sarian rate 5 APROMISE UNFULFILLED, 69 thick darkness had spread over about half the visible sky, presenting a singular contrast to the silver brightness of the other portion, when suddenly a sheet of vivid flame broke out of the blackness, instantly followed by deafening explo- sions, as if a thousand cannon were bursting immediately over our heads. At the same moment the tempest came leaping and. hissing along the white-crested waves, and struck the Rose abeam with such terrible force, that for one startling moment I doubted if she would right again. It was a needless fear ; and.in a second or two she was tearing through the water at a tremendous rate. Les Trois Freres had not been so lucky: she had carried away her topmast, and sustained other damage ; but so well and boldly was she handled, and so perfectly under command appeared her crew, that these accidents were, so far as it was possible to do so, promptly repaired ; and so little was she crippled in comparative speed, that although it was clear enough, after a time, that the Rose gained something on her, it was so slowly that the issue of the chase continued extremely doubtful. The race was an exciting one; the Caskets of Alderney were swiftly passed, and at about two o’clock in the morning we made the Guernsey lights. We were by this time within a mile of Les Trois Freres ; and she, determined at all risks to get rid of her pursuer, ventured upon passing through a narrow opening between the small islets of Herm and Jethou, abreast of Guernsey—the same passage, I believe, by which Captain, afterwards Admiral Lord Saumarez escaped with his frigate from a French squadron in the early days of the last war. Fine and light as the night had again become, the attempt, blowing as it did, was a perilous, and proved to be a fatal one. Les Zrois Freres struck upon a reef on the side of Jethou—a rock with then but one poor habitation upon it, which one might throw a biscuit over; and by the ee ; EA anne ects aS eT ee tee, Sateen aren een 7~~ ed » ee a aa oe ore oe eae liad sahadhene Met eae Sri alanis Pi 7 oa Pt a soi i é yeep Be vn “70 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. time the Rose had brought up in the Guernsey Roads, the ‘smuggler, as far as could be ascertained by our night-glasses, had entirely disappeared. What had become of the crew and the important passenger was the next point to be ascer- tained ; but although the wind had by this time somewhat abated, it was not, under the pilot’s advice, till near eight -o’clock that the Rose’s boat, with myself and a stout crew, pulled off for the scene of the catastrophe. We needed not to have hurried ourselves. The halfdrowned smugglers, all but three of whom had escaped with life, were in a truly -gorry plight, every one of them being more or less maimed, bruised, and bleeding. Les Trois Fréres had gone entirely to pieces, and as there was no possible means of escape from the desolate place, our arrival, with the supplies we brought, was looked upon rather asa deliverance than otherwise. ‘To my inquiries respecting their passenger, the men answered by saying he was in the house with the captain. I immediately proceeded thither, and found one of the two rooms on the sround-floor occupied by four or five of the worst injured of the contrabandists, and the gentleman I was chiefly in pursuit of, Mr Samuel Sparkes. There was no mistaking Mr Sparkes, notwithstanding he had substituted the dis- cuise of a sailor for that of a jolly agriculturist. ‘You are, I believe, sir, the Mr Samuel Sparkes for whose presence certain personages in London are just now rather anxious ?’ His death-like face grew more corpse-like as I spoke, but he nevertheless managed to stammer out: ‘No; Jamth Edward, thir.’ “At all events, that pretty lisp, and those two marks on the forehead, belong to Samuel Sparkes, Esquire, and you must be detained till you satisfactorily explain how you came by them.—Stevens, take this person into close custody, and have him searched at once.—And now, gentlemen eh ee ON ES EN py a Ee ee ae east PEELE SS He Tae Pe eS eS eS PARTS eS ATER RS A A ae 8 Ug ay ok fi \ a Bay op BoE a Soe ts He 9 ie Seta oh GS [ae ie 24 Ee eePROMISE UNFULFILLED. <1: smugglers,’ I continued, ‘pray inform me where I may see your renowned captain ?’ ‘He is in the next room,’ replied a decent-tongued chap sitting near the fire ; ‘and he desired me to give his compli- ments to Lieutenant Warneford, and say he wished to see him alone.’ ‘Very civil and considerate, upon my word! In this room, do you say ?’ ‘Yes, sir, in that room.’ I pushed open a rickety door, and found myself in a dingy hole of a room, little more than about a couple of yards square, at the farther side of which ‘stood a lithe, sinewy man in a blue pea-jacket, and with a fur-cap on his head. His back was towards me ; and as my entrance did not cause him to change his posi- tion, I said : ‘ You are Captain Pickard, I am informed?’ He swung sharply round as I spoke, threw off his cap, and said briefly and sternly: ‘ Yes, Warneford, I am Captain Pickard.’ The sudden unmasking of a loaded battery immediately in my front could not have so confounded and startled me as these words did, as they issued from the lips of the man before me. The curling black hair, the dark flashing eyes, the marble features, were those of Lieutenant Hendrick—of the gallant seaman whose vigorous arm I had seen turn the tide of battle against desperate odds on the deck of the privateer ! ‘Hendrick!’ I at length exclaimed, for the sudden inrush of painful emotion choked my speech for a time— ‘can it indeed be you 2’ ‘ Ay, truly, Warneford. The Hendrick of whom Colling- wood prophesied high things is fallen thus low ; and worse remains behind. ‘There is a price set upon ngy capture, as you know ; and escape is, I take it, out of the question.’ I comprehended the slow, meaning tone in which the last ba) ad al a eee one Sn eee) ee a Rint ean PoP nlite PP Sev > kan mare farenaes ” PRR Sete mr eee ner arcoee ee eee ee easier teehee eee ee ee ee ao Be ee ed alae Fa BE ok gh It Rr ltt tc 72 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. sentence was spoken, and the keen glance that accompanied it. Hendrick, too, instantly read the decisive though unspoken reply. ‘Of course it is out of the question,’ he went on. ‘I was but a fool to even seem to doubt that it was. You must do your duty, Warneford, I know; and since this fatal mishap was to occur, I am glad for many reasons that I have fallen into your hands.’ ‘So am not I; and I wish with all my heart you had successfully threaded the passage you essayed.’ ‘The fellow who undertook to pilot us failed in nerve at the critical moment. Had he not done go, Les Trois Freres would have been long since beyond your reach. But the past is past, and the future of dark and bitter time will be swift and brief.’ ‘What have you especially to dread? I know a reward has been offered for your apprehension, but not for what precise offence.’ ‘The unfortunate business in St Michael’s Bay.’ “Good heavens! The newspaper was right then! But neither of the wounded men have died, I hear,so that-— that’ ‘The mercy of transportation may, you think, be substi- tuted for the capital penalty.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Or—or,’ I hesitatingly suggested, ‘you may not be identified—that is, legally so.’ “Easily, easily, Warneford. I must not trust to that rotten cable. Neither the coast-guard nor the fellows with me know me indeed as Hendrick, ex-lieutenant of the royal navy ; and that is a secret you will, I know, religiously respect.’ I promised to do so: the painful interview terminated ; and in about two hours the captain and surviving crew of Les Trois Fréres, and Mr Samuel Sparkes, were safely on eRe RON S) ep et Woy ep Sk a ak ee SVC Leee ee ees SSS OS ey ae eaePROMISE UNFULFILLED, 13 board the Rose. Hendrick had papers to arrange; and as the security of his person was all I was responsible for, he was accommodated in my cabin, where I left him to confer with the Guernsey authorities, in whose bailiwick Jethou is situated. The matter of jurisdiction—the offences with which the prisoners were charged having been committed in England—was soon arranged ; and by five o’clock in the evening the Rose was on her way to England, under an eight-knot breeze from the south-west. As soon as we were fairly underweigh, I went below to have a last conference with unfortunate Hendrick. There was a parcel on the table directed to ‘Mrs Hendrick, Lost- withiel, Cornwall—care of Lieutenant Warneford.’ Placing it in my hands, he entreated me to see it securely conveyed to its address unexamined and unopened. I assured him that I would do so; and tears, roughly dashed away, sprang to his eyes as he grasped and shook my hand. I felt half choked; and when he again solemnly adjured me, under no circumstances, to disclose the identity of Captain Pickard and Lieutenant Hendrick, I could only reply by a seaman’s hand-erip, requiring no additional pledge of words. We sat silently down, and I ordered some wine to be brought in. ‘You promised to tell me,’ I said, ‘how all this unhappy business came about.’ ‘T am about to do so,’ he answered. ‘It is an old tale, of which the last black chapter owes its colour, let me frankly own, to my own hot and impatient temper as much as to a complication of adverse circumstances.’ He poured out a glass of wine, and proceeded at first slowly and calmly, but gradually, as passion gathered strength and way upon him, with flushed and impetuous eagerness to the close. ‘TI was born near Lostwithiel, Cornwall. My father, a younger and needy son of no profession, died when I was eight years of age. My mother has about eighty pounds a ison ree Re a eee prea eT ee eee ere eee tae~ “| ae: - . Dr et a DR ee Ta eC al ee ee ae cnt etnias enh ada dahl dha ti etean caine aealeinata bbe cil lara te ieee 2 renter PPP PORE Ne NE bo Ae Nir i ROE LS ee pL Dehslunumtoneaein wing poi “tbc srbintig i ee isons en bs veh ¥ 7. od , Seige ‘ ee ee “ res ~ vo hine oy - ae “2 S é Te ete eee PSP ce entered 22a es See Be Oh eG ae SLE Ete ter koh ERE eRe 74. TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. year in her own right, and with that pittance, helped by self-privation, unfelt because endured for her darling hoy, she gave me a sufficient education, and fitted me out respect- ably ; when, thanks to Pellew, I obtained a midshipman’s warrant in the British service. ‘This occurred in my six- teenth year. Dr Redstone, at whose “High School” I acquired what slight classical learning, long since forgotten, I once possessed, was married in second nuptials to a virago of a wife, who brought him, besides her precious self, a red- headed cub by a former marriage. His, the son’s, name was Kershaw. The doctor had one child about my own age, a daughter, Ellen Redstone. Iam not about to prate to you of the bread-and-butter sentiment of mere children, nor of Ellen’s wonderful graces of mind and person: I doubt, indeed, if I thought her very pretty at the time; but she was meekness itself, and my boy’s heart used, I well remember, to leap as if it would burst my bosom at witnessing her patient submission to the tyranny of her mother-in-law; and one of the greatest pleasures I ever experienced was giving young Kershaw, a much bigger fellow than myself, a good thrashing for some brutality towards her—an exploit that of course rendered me a remarkable favourite with the great bumpkin’s mother. ‘Well, I went to sea, and did not again see Ellen till seven years afterwards, when, during absence on sick-leave, I'met her at Penzance, in the neighbourhood of which. place the doctor had for some time resided. She was vastly improved in person, but was still meek, dove-eyed, gentle Ellen, and pretty nearly as much dominated by her mother- in-law as formerly. Our child-acquaintance was renewed ; and, suffice it to say, that I soon came to love her with a fervency surprising even to myself. My affection was recip- rocated: we pledged faith with each other 5 and it was agreed that at the close of the war, whenever that should ree ‘ ae wes ee Ne Pepe eke ee eee eE aes eae aT Oe Ate Ney aa reer ae Le cee Ge Lee Ce Ine |RIS ed Oe PROMISE UNFULFILLED. be, we were to marry, and dwell together like turtle-doves in the pretty hermitage that Ellen’s fancy loved to conjure up, and with her voice of music untiringly dilate upon. I was again at sea, and the answer to my first letter brought the surprising intelligence that Mrs Redstone had become quite reconciled to our future union, and that I might con- sequently send my letters direct to the High School. Elen’s letter was prettily expressed enough, but somehow I did not like its tone. It did not read like her spoken language at all events. This, however, must, I concluded, be mere fancy ; and our correspondence continued for a couple of years—till the peace in fact—when the frigate, of which I was now second lieutenant, arrived at Plymouth to be paid off. "We were awaiting the admiral’s inspection, which for some reason or other was unusually delayed, when a bag of letters was brought on board, with one for me bearing the Penzance postmark. I tore it open, and found that it was subscribed by an old and intimate friend. He had accident- ally met with Ellen Redstone for the first time since I left. She looked thin and ill, and in answer to his persistent questioning, had told him she had only heard once from me since I went to sea, and that was to renounce our engage- ment; and she added that she was going to be married in a day or two to the Rev. Mr Williams, a dissenting minister of fair means and respectable character. My friend assured her there must be some mistake, but she shook her head incredulously ; and with eyes brimful of tears, and shaking voice, bade him, when he saw me, say that she freely for- gave me, but that her heart was broken. This was the substance, and as I read, a hurricane of dismay and rage possessed me. There was not, I felt, a moment to be lost. Unfortunately the captain was absent, and the frigate temporarily under the command of the first lieutenant. You knew Lieutenant 0? sees Ee ae ear NY ee Se Ne deleted tn etn hn er ee Se aE iSO TOE ih tM oak~ se er plc cee Nk RO — A dna ; ait a " bi z Ce ea we = - oe 5 Pe aa ae : 76 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. ‘I did, for one of the most cold-blooded martinets that ever trod a quarter-deck.’ ‘Well, him I sought, and asked temporary leave of absence. He refused. I explained, hurriedly, imploringly explained the circumstances in which I was placed. He sneeringly replied, that sentimental nonsense of that kind could not be permitted to interfere with the king’s service. You know, Warneford, how naturally hot and impetuous is my temper, and at that moment my brain seemed literally aflame: high words followed, and in a transport of rage I struck the taunting coward a violent blow on the face— following up the outrage by drawing my sword, and chal- lenging him to instant combat. You may guess the sequel. I was immediately arrested by the guard, and tried a few days afterwards by court-martial. Exmouth stood my friend, or I know not what sentence might have been passed, and I was dismissed the service.’ ‘I was laid up for several weeks by fever about that time, I remarked’; ‘and it thus happened, doubtless, that I did not see any report of the trial.’ ‘Ihe moment I was liberated I hastened, literally almost in a state of madness, to Penzance. It was all true, and I was too late! Ellen had been married something more than a week. It was Kershaw and his mother’s doings. Him I half-killed; but it is needless to go into details of the frantic violence with which I conducted myself. I broke madly into the presence of the newly married couple: Ellen swooned with terror, and her husband, white with consternation, and trembling in every limb, had barely, I remember, sufficient power to stammer out, “that he would pray for me.” The next six months is a blank. I went to London; fell into evil courses, drank, gambled ; heard after awhile that Ellen was dead—the shock of which partially checked my downwardPROMISE UNFULFILLED. 7 progress—partially only. I left off drinking, but not gambling, and ultimately I became connected with a number of disreputable persons, amongst whom was your prisoner Sparkes. He found part of the capital with which I have been carrying on the contraband trade for the last two years. I had, however, fully determined to withdraw myself from the dangerous though exciting pursuit. This was to have been my last trip; but you know,’ he added bitterly, ‘it is always upon the last turn of the dice that the devil wins his victim.’ He ceased speaking, and we both remained silent for several minutes. What on my part could be said or suggested 2 ‘You hinted just now,’ I remarked after awhile, ‘ that all your remaining property was in this parcel. You have, however, of course reserved sufficient for your defence?’ A strange smile curled his lip, and a wild, brief flash of light broke from his dark eyes, as he answered: ‘O yes; more than enough—more, much more than will be required.’ ‘I am glad of that.’ We were again silent, and I pres- ently exclaimed : ‘Suppose we take a turn on deck—the heat here stifles one.’ ‘With all my heart,’ he answered ; and we both left the cabin. We continued to pace the deck side by side for some time without interchanging a syllable. The night was beau- tifully clear and fine,and the cool breeze that swept over the star and moon lit waters gradually allayed the feverish nervousness which the unfortunate lieutenant’s narrative had excited. ‘A beautiful, however illusive world,’ he by and by sadly resumed, ‘this Death—now so close at my heels—wrenches us from. And yet you and I, Warneford, have seen menoo are ee oa oie cme mc ee he oad “ Batata Gpoprtia ite abs Ep ire pa ; acehakeanteetintns P eae i sees saat , ak . ae Te a , os re ot ee aed ° ri a fail ~ 7 78 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. rush to encounter the King of Terrors, as he is called, as readily as if summoned to a bridal.’ ‘A sense of duty and a habit of discipline will always overpower, in men of our race and profession, the vulgar fear of death.’ ‘Is it not also, think you, the greater fear of disgrace, dishonour in the eyes of the world, which outweighs the lesser dread ?’ ‘No doubt that has an immense influence. What would our sweethearts, sisters, mothers say if they heard we had turned craven? What would they say in England? Nelson well understood this feeling, and appealed to it in his last great signal.’ ‘Ay, to be sure,’ he musingly replied; ‘what would our mothers say—feel rather—at witnessing their sons’ dis- honour? ‘That is the master-chord.’ We once more re- lapsed into silence; and after another dozen or so turns on the deck, Hendrick seated himself on the combings of the main hatchway. His countenance, I observed, was still pale as marble, but a livelier, more resolute expression had gradually kindled in his brilliant eyes. He was, I con- cluded, nerving himself to meet the chances of his position with constancy and fortitude. i ‘I shall go below again,’ I said. ‘Come; it may be some weeks before we have another glass of wine together.’ ‘I will be with you directly,’ he answered, and I went down. He did not, however, follow, and I was about calling him, when I heard his step on the stairs. He stopped at the threshold of the cabin, and there was a flushing intensity of expression about his face which quite startled me. Asif moved by second thoughts, he stepped in. ‘One last glass with you, Warneford: God bless you!’ He drained and set the glass on the table. ‘The lights at the corner of the Wight are just made,’ he hurriedly went ee CS OS Ee he ok Pee eo aL ae es oe ee ae ag bap ha eee on ae ee ees A Bs ty a es RePROMISE UNFULFILLED. 79 on. ‘It is not likely I shall have an opportunity of again speaking with you ; and let me again hear you say that you will under any circumstances keep secret from all the world —my mother especially—that Captain Pickard and Lieu- tenant Hendrick were one person.’ ‘T will; but why’ ‘God bless you!’ he broke in. ‘I must on deck again.’ He vanished as he spoke, and a dim suspicion of his purpose arose in my mind; but before I could act upon it, a loud confused outcry arose on the deck, and as I rushed ‘up the cabin stairs, I heard, amidst the hurrying to and fro of feet, the cries of ‘Man overboard !’—‘’Bout ship !’— ‘Down with the helm!’ The cause of the commotion was soon explained: Hendrick had sprung overboard; and looking in the direction pointed out by the man at the wheel, I plainly discerned him already considerably astern of the cutter. :|His face was turned towards us, and the instant I appeared he waved one arm wildly in the air: I could hear the words, ‘Your promise!’ distinctly, and the next instant the moonlight played upon the spot where he had vanished. Boats were lowered, and we passed and repassed over and near the place for nearly half an hour. Vainly: he did not reappear ! I have only further to add, that the parcel intrusted to me was safely delivered, and that I have reason to believe Mrs Hendrick remained to her last hour ignorant of the sad fate of her son. It was her impression, induced by his last letter, that he was about to enter the South-American. service under Cochrane, and she ultimately resigned herself to a belief that he had there met a brave man’s death, My promise was scrupulously kept, nor is it by this publication in the slightest degree broken; for both the names of Hendrick and Pickard are fictitious, and so is the place assigned as that of the lieutenant’s birth. That rascal ee I oh a ee ' A * - Pee Se ee ae Peay ae ” ae Opa Tet ES SS ee ena a ae ee ee ~e aL x Se a IN AE DR I CSR EN Oe eS te ee Ce Se 3 “ sans an shee at a ro atm oe WeeFoal en leat a ag tr aici gee denen starsat ermal chaiahalicibniahakieat leita daa cea 4 O98 et atlerin Sam ing - s = oa e arte 2 ae a) Fi ° ror - es y 7 aaa a ierindintanie 4 ee eeceche) 80 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. Sparkes, I am glad to be able to say—chasing whom made me an actor in the melancholy affair—was transported for life. CHAPTER WVWtE THE LAST REVEL. When I was quite a lad, a servant lived with us of the name of Anne Stacey. She had been in the service of William Cobbett, the political writer, who resided for some years at Botley, a village a few miles distant from Itchen. Anne might be about two or three and twenty years of age when she came to us; and a very notable, industrious servant she was, and remarked, moreover, as possessing a strong religious bias. Her features, everybody agreed, were comely and intelligent. But that advantage in the matri- monial market was more than neutralised by her unfor- tunate figure, which, owing, as we understood, to a fall in her childhood, was hopelessly deformed, though still strongly set and muscular. Albeit, a sum of money— about fifty pounds—scraped together by thrifty self-denial during a dozen years of servitude, amply compensated in the eyes of several idle and needy young fellows for the unlovely outline of her person ; and Anne, with an infatua- tion too common with persons of her class and condition, and in spite of repeated warnings, and the secret misgivings, - one would suppose, of her own mind, married the best- looking, but most worthless and dissipated of them all. This man, Henry Ransome by name, was, I have been in- formed, constantly intoxicated during the first three months of wedlock, and then the ill-assorted couple disappeared from the neighbourhood of Itchen, and took up their abode in one of the hamlets of the New Forest. Keke he pepe he aa ae See ie eae |THE LAST REVEL. 81 Many years afterwards, when I joined the Preventive Service, I heard mention of his name as that of a man singularly skilful in defrauding the revenue, as well as in avoiding the penalties which surround that dangerous voca- tion. One day, he was pointed out to me when standing by the Cross-House near the Ferry, in company with a comparatively youthful desperado, whose real name was John Wyatt, though generally known amongst the smug- gling fraternity and other personal intimates, by the sobriquet of Black Jack—on account, I suppose, of his dark, heavy-browed, scowling fioure head: Anne’s husband, Fens Ransome, seemed, so far as very brief Sbcorvanin enabled me to judge, quite a different person from his much younger, as well as much bigger and brawnier asso- ciate. I did not doubt that, before excessive indulgence had wasted his now pallid features, and sapped the vigour of his thin and shaking frame, he had-been a smart, good- looking chap enough; and there was, it struck me, spite of his reputation as ‘a knowing one,’ considerably more of the dupe than the knave, of the fool than the villain, in the dreary, downcast, skulking expression that flitted over his features as his eyes caught mine intently regarding him. I noticed also that he had a dry, hard cough, and I set it down in my own mind as certain that he would, ere many months passed away, be consigned, like scores of his fellows, to a brandy-hastened grave. He indicated my presence— proximity, rather—to Wyatt by a nudge of the elbow, whereupon that respectable personage swung sharply round, and returned my scrutinismg gaze by one of insolent defi- ance and bravado, which he contrived to render still more emphatic by thrusting his tongue into his cheek. ‘This done, he gathered up a coil of rope from one of the seats of the Cross-House, and said: ‘Come, Harry, let’s be off. That gentleman seems to want to take our pictures—on F ny) So Se St eee nn ee ES a ee BE CE Bs oe Ge PA (7454NS ity , 9s ceracmt I RL RENNIE IL LN L INTL LEE DTN LO ae Area ne ah oe or 3 pee sane ee ee en ee ar el a a Si ie Se ea Se a 7 er ncaa a el a eee ae au " et A pee ha lal aa hts . 5 2 SFP Beihai a5 lap aaes ie : : oa : ae ore . ee ; s 82 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. account that our faces are such handsome ones, no doubt; | and if it was a mildish afternoon, I shouldn’t mind having mine done; but as the weather’s rather nippy-like, we’d | better be toddling, I think.’ They then swaggered off, and crossed the Ferry. Two or three weeks afterwards, I again met with them, under the following circumstances : I landed from the Rose — at Lymington, for the purpose of going by coach to. Lynd- hurst, a considerable village in the New Forest, from which | an ex-chancellor derives his title. I had appointed to meet a confidential agent there at the Fox and Hounds Inn, a third-rate tavern, situate at the foot of the hill upon which the place is built; and as the evening promised to be clear and fine, though cold, I anticipated a bracing, cross-country walk afterwards in the direction of Hythe, in the neigh- — bourhood whereof dwelt a person—neither a seaman nora | smuggler—whose favour I was just then very diligently cultivating. It was the month of November; and on being seb down at the door of the inn somewhere about six o’clock in the evening, I quietly entered and took a seat in the smoking-room unrecognised, as I thought, by any one —for I was not in uniform. My man had not arrived ; and after waiting a few minutes, I stepped out to inquire at | the bar if such a person had been there. To my great sur- prise, a young woman—girl would be a better word, for she could not be more than seventeen, or at the utmost eighteen years old—whom I had noticed on the outside of the coach, was just asking if one Dr Lee was expected. This was precisely the individual who was to mect me, and I looked with some curiosity at the inquirer. She was a coarsely, but neatly attired person, of a pretty figure, interesting, but dejected cast of features, and with large, dark, sorrowing eyes. Thoughtfulness and care were not less marked in the humble, subdued tone in which she spoke. ‘ ‘ at : ° er One mar i ce Teco Pale Pe oe ee ee eT eT TPT eT ONE LGD EL ERED CLO ES LE REV C BU RS ye be bogTHE LAST REVEL. ‘Could I sit down anywhere till he comes?’ she timidly asked, after hearing the bar-woman’s reply. The servant civilly invited her to the bar-fire, and I returned, without saying anything, to the smoking-room, rang the bell, and ordered a glass of brandy-and-water and some biscuits, I had been seated a very short time only, when the quick, consequential step, and sharp, cracked voice of Dr Lee. sounded along the passage; and after a momentary pause at the bar, his round, smirking, good-humoured, knavish face looked in at the parlour door, where, seeing me alone, he winked with uncommon expression, and said aloud: ‘A prime fire in the smoking-room, I see ; I shall treat myself to a whiff there presently.” This said, the shining face vanished, in order, I doubted not, that its owner might confer with the young girl who had been inquiring for him. This Lee, I must observe, had no legal right to the prefix of doctor tacked to his name. He was merely a peripatetic quacksalver and vender of infallible medicines, who, having wielded the pestle in an apothecary’s shop for some years during his youth, had acquired a little skill in the use of drugs, and could open a vein or draw a tooth with consider- able dexterity. He had a large, but not, I think, very remunerative practice amongst the poaching, deer-stealing, smuggling community of those parts, to whom it was of vital importance that the hurts received in their desperate pursuits should be tended by some one not inclined to babble of the number, circumstances, or whereabouts of his patients. This essential condition Lee, hypocrite and knave as he was, strictly fulfilled; and no inducement could, I think, have prevailed upon him to betray the hiding-place of a wounded or suffering client. In other respects, he permitted himself a more profitable freedom of action ; thereto compelled, he was wont apologetically to remark, by the wretchedly poor remuneration obtained by mo oe Se ee nef osel aie oft ar at Ps oe a 2: em te eee coos aera! ERE eae SoM a _ aE : i : i ae i : ae on ona pecemraaan : s oar rar, SRR a eleanor ares Lien ansRtatis ae est th SEs etirtt aa gakent dhttllh ninth selena iit abetanal eiinnlotiin tod tid, et dt ae ~ ” - . eit ; . é 34 4 4 r mi epee eS en nd - es ; d : oe : : - ipo rapt sa— | Sr PE Si 84 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. his medical practice. If, however, specie was scarce amongst his clients, spirits, as his rubicund, carbuncled face flamingly testified, were very plentiful. There was a receipt in full painted there for a prodigious amount of drugs and chemi- cals, so that, on the whole, he could have had no great reason to complain. He soon reappeared, and took a chair by the fire, which, after civilly saluting me, he stirred almost fiercely, eyeing as he did so the blazing coals with a half-abstracted and sullen, cowed, disquieted look altogether unusual with him. At least wherever I had before seen him, he had been as loquacious and boastful as a Gascon. ‘What is the matter, doctor?’ I said. ‘You appear strangely down upon your luck all at once.’ ‘Hush—hush! Speak lower, sir, pray. The fact is, I have just heard that a fellow is lurking about here You have not, I hope, asked for me of any one ?’ ‘T have not; but what if I had?’ ‘Why, you see, sir, that suspicion—calumny, Shakspeare says, could not be escaped, even if one were pure as snow— and more especially, therefore, when one is not quite so— Ahem !—you understand? ‘Very well, indeed. You would say, that when one is not actually immaculate—calumny, suspicion takes an earlier and firmer hold.’ ‘Just so; exactly—and, in fact Ha!’ The door was suddenly thrown open, and the doctor fairly leaped to his feet with ill-disguised alarm. It was only the bar-maid, to ask if he had rung. He had not done so, and as it was perfectly understood that I paid for all on these occasions, that fact alone was abundantly conclusive as to the disordered state of his intellect. He now ordered brandy-and-water, a pipe, and a screw of tobacco. ‘These ministrants to a mind disturbed, somewhat calmed the SO et n u PAPERS SARL SG Bee AAR Le TE eee LAS CE PAT RT eh ee PL eee SST NEA TE LS eee ee te ta oat ee ee a tee ce aoe Oa em oom chan . ea 4 7 a eee take ole ee ore ee CAPA Pee ate ee eS eae Shae i hE Be A ot SR ea ic Be 16 Py Sy kg a “EaTHE LAST REVEL. 85 doctor's excitement, and his cunning gray eyes soon brightly twinkled again through a haze of curling smoke. ‘Did you notice,’ he resumed, ‘a female sitting in the bar? She knows you.’ ‘A young, intelligent-looking girl? Yes. Who is she?’ ‘Young!’ replied Lee, evasively, I thought. ‘ Well, it’s true she 7s young in years, but not in experience—in suffer- ing, poor girl, as I can bear witness,’ ‘There are, indeed, but faint indications of the mirth and lightness of youth or childhood in those timid, apprehensive eyes of hers.’ ‘She never had a childhood. Girls of her condition seldom have. Her father’s booked for the next world, and by an early stage too, unless he mends his manners, and I hardly see how he’s to do that. The girl’s been to Lymington to see after a place. Can’t have it. Her father’s character is against her. Unfortunate ; for she’s a good girl,’ ‘T am sorry for her.—But come ; to business. How about the matter you wot of?’ “Here are all the particulars,’ answered Lee, with an easy transition from a sentimental to a common-sense, business-like tone, at the same time unscrewing the lid of a tortoise-shell tobacco-box, and taking a folded paper from it. ‘I keep these matters generally here; for if I were to drop such an article—just now, especially—I might as well be hung out to dry at once.’ I glanced over the paper. ‘Place, date, hour, correct, and thoroughly to be depended upon, you say, eh?’ ‘Correct as Cocker, I’ll answer for it. It would be a spicy run for them, if there were no man-traps in the way.’ I placed the paper in my waistcoat-pocket, and then handed the doctor his preliminary fee. The touch of gold had not its usual electrical effect upon him. His nervous hd eal al ee re er a nt Oe Cet ee en ee Sr ae‘te: » ea 5 NN sneha cit anes te o “36 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD. fit was coming on again. ‘I wish,’ he puffed out—‘ I wish I was safe out of this part of the country, or else that a certain person I know was transported ; then indeed’ ‘And who may that certain person be, doctor?’ demanded -a grim-looking rascal, as he softly opened the door. ‘ Not me, I hope?’ I instantly recognised the fellow, and so did the doctor, who had again bounded from his chair, and was shaking all ‘over as if with ague, whilst his very carbuncles became pallid with affright. ‘ You—-u—u,’ he stammered—‘ You— ‘u—u, Wyatt: Heaven forbid !’ Wyatt was, I saw, muddled with liquor. This was lucky for poor Lee. ‘ Well, never mind if it was me, old brick,’ rejoined the fellow; ‘or at least you have been a brick, though I’m misdoubting you’ll die a pantile after all. But here’s luck; all’s one for that.’ He held a pewter- pot in one hand, and a pipe in the other, and as he drank, his somewhat confused but baleful look continued levelled savagely along the pewter at the terrified doctor. There was, I saw, mischief in the man. ‘I’d drink yours,’ continued the reckless scamp, as he paused for breath, drew the back of his pipe-hand across his mouth, and stared as steadily as he could in my face—‘I’d drink your health, if I only knew your name.’ ‘Youll hear it plainly enough, my fine fellow, when you ’re in the dock one of these days, just before the judge sends you to the hulks, or, which is perhaps the likelier, to the gallows.—And this scamp too,’ I added, with a gesture towards Lee, whom I hardly dared venture to look at, ‘who has been pitching me such a pretty rigmarole, is, I see, a fellow-rogue to yourself. This house appears to be little better than a thieves’ rendezvous, upon my word.’ Wyatt regarded me with a deadly scowl as he answered : ‘ Ay, ay, you’re a brave cock, Master Warneford, upon your fe eh Woe eeTHE LAST REVEL. 87 own dunghill. It may be my turn some day.—Here, doctor, a word with you outside.’ They both left the room, and I rang the bell, discharged the score, and was just going when Lee returned. He was still pale and shaky, though consid- erably recovered from the panic terror excited by the sudden entrance of Wyatt. ‘Thank Heaven, he’s gone!’ said the doctor; ‘and less sour and suspicious than I feared him to be. But tell me, sir, do you intend walking from here to Hythe?’ ‘I so purpose. Why do you ask?’ ‘Because the young girl you saw in the bar went off ten minutes ago by the same road. She was too late for a farmer’s cart which she expected to return by. Wyatt, too, is off in the same direction.’ ‘She will have company then.’ ‘Evil company, I fear. Her father and he have lately quarrelled ; and I know he bears a grudge against her, for refusing, as the talk goes, to have anything to say to him.’ ‘Very well; don’t alarm yourself. I shall soon overtake them, and you may depend the big drunken bully shall neither insult nor molest her. Good-night.’ Tt was a lonely walk for a girl to take ona winter even- ing, although the weather was brilliantly light and clear, and it was not yet much past seven o’clock. xcept, perchance, a deer-keeper or a deer-stealer, it was not likely she would meet a human being for two or three miles together, and farm and other houses near the track were very sparsely scattered here and there. I walked swiftly on, and soon came within sight of Wyatt; but so eagerly was his attention directed ahead, that he did not observe me till we were close abreast of each other. ‘You here!’ he exclaimed, fairly gnashing his teeth with rage. ‘I only wish’ taal = eRe eT ee cee SERN AA te LR ET ne ee ee SE Dect ety Rt ie AME ti “ “i os ‘as ies CEN at a ot a et acento esPPerFevir gia) 88 TALES OF THE COAST-GUARD, ‘That you had one or two friends within hail, eh? Well, it’s better for your own health that you had not, depend upon it. I have four barrels with me, and each of them, as you well know, carries a life, one of which should be yours, as sure as that black head is on your shoulders,’ He answered only by a snarl and a malediction, and we proceeded on pretty nearly together. He appeared to be much soberer than before ; perhaps the keen air had cooled him somewhat, or he might have been shamming it a little at the inn to hoodwink the doctor. Five or six minutes brought us to a sharp turn of the road, where we caught sight of the young woman, who was not more than thirty or forty yards ahead, Presently, the sound of footsteps appeared to strike her ear, for she looked quickly round, and an expression of alarm escaped her. I was in the shadow of the road, so that, in the first instance, she saw only Wyatt. Another moment, and her terrified glance rested upon me, “Lieutenant Warneford !’ she exclaimed, ‘Ay, my good girl, that is my name. You appear fright- ened—not at me, I hope?’ ‘O no, not at you,’ she hastily answered, the colour vividly returning to her pale cheeks, ‘This good-looking person is, I daresay, a sweetheart of yours ; soll just keep astern out of ear-shot, My road lies past your dwelling.’ The girl appeared to understand me, and, reassured, walked on, Wyatt lopping sullenly along beside her. I did not choose to have a fellow of his stamp, and in his present mood, walking behind me, Nothing was said that I heard for about a mile and a half, when Wyatt, with a snarling ‘ good-night’ to the girl, turned off by a path on the left, and was quickly out of sight. sitchin i ae a , | asa Sean el beetle iain aia ie a ah se ae a Ro ioe tachoupaneniir 1 ee ale E PLM ag oe Sere CO to ae.THE LAST REVEL, 89 ‘Iam not very far from home now, sir,’ said the young woman hesitatingly. She thought, perhaps, that I might leave her, now Wyatt had disappeared. ‘Pray go on, then,’ I said; ‘I will see you safe there, though somewhat pressed for time.’ We walked side by side, and after awhile she said in a low tone, and with still downcast eyes: ‘My mother lived servant in your family once, sir.’ ‘Indeed! Your name is Ransome, then, I suspect 2?’ ‘Yes, sir—Mary Ransome.’ ably surprised—as I sat musing on the evening of my arrival in the ancient city of York, upon the capricious mode in which those powerful person- ages the attorneys distributed their valuable favours —hby the entrance of one of the most eminent of the race practising in that part of the country, and the forthwith tender of a bulky brief in the Crown Court, on which, as my glance instinctively fell on the interesting figures, I perceived that the large fee, in criminal cases, of fifty guineas was marked. ‘The local newspapers, from which I had occasionally seen extracts, had been for some time busy with the case; and I knew it therefore to be, relatively to the condition in life of the principal person implicated, an important one. Rumour had assigned the conduct of the defence to an eminent leader on the circuit—since one of our ablest judges; and on looking more closely at the brief, I perceived that that gentleman’s name had been crossed out, and mine substituted. The fee also—a much less agreeable alteration—had been, I saw, considerably reduced ; J le = = en eee en eee tr ee ‘ a eat — eta ee ae Pe eee re eo nce ee ee rs Peta APpeas yt | 2 1 = : : , aan o ” ot " ee aoe a ee eee apace aera tikka hahaa cabin ial cen Te es RS aaa Se eit Beth ies sing + S 100 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. in accordance, doubtless, with the attorney’s appreciation of the difference of value between a silk and a stuff gown. ‘You are not, sir, I believe, retained for the prosecution in the Crown against Everett?’ said Mr Sharpe, the attor- ney, in his brief, business manner. ‘I am not, Mr Sharpe.’ ‘In that case, I beg to tender you the leading brief for the defence. It was intended, as you perceive, to place it in the hands of our great nist prius leader, but he will be so completely occupied in that court, that he has been compelled to decline it. He mentioned you; and from what I have myself seen of you in several cases, I have no doubt my unfortunate client will have ample justice done him. Mr Kingston will be with you.’ I thanked Mr Sharpe for his compliment, and accepted his brief. As the commission would be opened on the following morning, I at once applied myself to a perusal of the bulky paper, aided as I read by the verbal explana- tions and commentaries of Mr Sharpe. Our conference lasted several hours; and it was arranged that another should be held early the next morning at Mr Sharpe’s office, at which Mr Kingston would assist. Dark, intricate, compassed with fearful mystery, was the case so suddenly submitted to my guidance; and the few faint gleams of light derived from the attorney’s research, prescience, and sagacity, served but to render dimly visible a still profounder and blacker abyss of crime than that dis- closed by the evidence for the crown. Young as I then was in the profession, no marvel that I felt oppressed by the weight of the responsibility cast upon me; or that, when wearied with thinking, and dizzy with profitless ‘conjecture, I threw myself into bed, perplexing images and shapes of guilt and terror pursued me through my troubled sleep ! Happily the next day was not that of trial; for I awoke i ‘fo Ps BY ha aS eT or aie pan Wl Rik a © ob ¢ tS toe Soe ae See tee Pe PRA PS ES Rae SPR Ve SOARS eee ee eee tae Tee ATS TCS poe Ta pe Pee ee ae eee Ae Dr EEUU SAAR LSCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 101. with a throbbing pulse and burning brain, and should have been but poorly prepared for a struggle involving the issues of life and death. Extremely sensitive, as, under the cir- cumstances, I must necessarily have been, to the arduous nature of the grave duties so unexpectedly devolved upon me, the following résumé of the chief incidents of the case, as confided to me by Mr Sharpe, will, I think, fully account to the reader for the nervous irritability under which I for the moment laboured. Mr Frederick Everett, the prisoner about to be arraigned before a jury of his countrymen for the frightful crime of murder, had, with his father, Captain Antony Everett, resided for several years past at Woodlands Manor-house, the seat of Mrs Eleanor Fitzhugh, a rich, elderly maiden* lady, aunt to the first, and sister by marriage to the last-named gentleman. A generous, pious, high-minded person Mrs Fitz- hugh was represented to have been, but extremely sensitive withal on the score of ‘family.’ The Fitzhughs of York- shire, she was wont to boast, ‘came in with the Conqueror;’ and any branch of the glorious tree then firmly planted in the soil of England that degraded itself by an alliance with wealth, beauty, or worth, dwelling without the pale of her narrow prejudices, was inexorably cut off from her affections, and, as far as she was able, from her memory. One—the principal of these offenders—had been Mary Fitzhugh, her young, fair, gentle, and only sister. In utter disdain and slight of the dignity of ancestry, she had chosen to unite herself to a gentleman of the name of Mordaunt, who,'though possessed of great talents, an unspotted name, and, for his age, high rank in the civil service of the East India Com- pany, had—inexpiable misfortune—a trader for his grand- father! This crime against her ‘house’ Mrs Eleanor Fitz- * Tt was formerly the custom to address elderly spinsters by the digni- fied title of Mistress, es GE eee Bee | SAS eee amo sia pais OR LN I te eS SiSa ee“ oper ee einem int ihc cen ee a a eS a a a a = es * td i sini atihnliaiaphclh tie ees . . a e : -% as ae : s eae ° : - 3 - © ais - 102 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. hugh resolved never to forgive; and she steadily returned, unopened, the frequent letters addressed to her by her sister, who pined in her distant Indian home for a renewal of the old sisterly love which had watched over and gladdened her life from infancy to womanhood. A long silence—a silence of many years—succeeded ; broken at last by the sad announcement that the unforgiven one had long since found an early grave in a foreign land. The letter which brought ‘the intelligence bore the London post-mark, and was written by Captain Everett; to whom, on the death of her first hus- “band Mr Mordaunt, Mrs Eleanor Fitzhugh’s sister had been ‘united in second nuptials, and by whom she had borne a son, Frederick Everett, now nearly twenty years of age. The long-pent-up affection of Mrs Fitzhugh for her once idolised sister burst forth at this announcement of her death, with uncontrollable violence; and, as some atonement for her past sinful obduracy, she immediately invited the husband and son of her long-lost Mary to Woodlands Manor-house, to be henceforth, she said, she hoped their home. Soon after their arrival, Mrs Fitzhugh made a will—the family property was entirely at her disposal—revoking a former one which bequeathed the whole of the real and personal property to a distant relative whom she had never seen, and by which all was devised to her nephew Frederick, who was immediately proclaimed sole heir to the Fitzhugh estates, yielding a yearly rental of at least twelve thousand pounds. Nay, so thoroughly was she softened towards the memory of her deceased sister, that the will—of which no secret was made—provided, in the event of Frederick dying child- less, that the property should pass to his father, Mary Fitz- hugh’s second husband. No two persons could be more unlike than were the father and son—mentally, morally, physically. Frederick Everett was a fair-haired, blue-eyed young man, of amiable, aS oS hs FieCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 103 caressing manners, gentlest disposition, and ardent poetic temperament. His father, on the contrary, was a dark- featured, cold, haughty, repulsive man, ever apparently wrapped up in selfish and moody reveries. Between him and his son there appeared to exist but little of cordial intercourse, although the highly sensitive and religious tone of mind of Frederick Everett caused him to treat his parent with unvarying deference and respect. The poetic temperament of Frederick Everett brought him at last, as poetic temperaments are apt to do, into trouble. Youth, beauty, innocence, and grace, united in the person of Lucy Carrington—the only child of Mr Stephen Carrington, a respectable retired merchant of moderate means, residing within afew miles of Woodlands Manor-house—crossed his path; and spite of his shield of many quarterings, he was vanquished in an instant, and almost without resistance. The at least tacit consent and approval of Mr Carrington and his fair daughter secured, Mr Everett, junior—hasty, headstrong lover that he was —immediately disclosed his. matrimonial projects to his father and aunt. Captain Everett received the announce- ment with a sarcastic smile, coldly remarking, that if Mrs Fitzhugh was satisfied, he had no objection to offer. But alas! no sooner did her nephew, with much periphrastic eloquence, impart his passion for the daughter of a mere merchant to his aunt, than a vehement torrent of indignant rebuke broke from her lips. She would die rather than consent to so degrading a mésalliance ; and should he persist in yielding to such gross infatuation, she would not only disinherit, but banish him her house, and cast him forth a beggar on the world. Language like this, one can easily understand, provoked language from the indignant young man which in less heated moments he would have disdained to utter; and the aunt and nephew parted in ri A fi LOLS BS | a Oe Be Ral Wk Seg ee ee beter ne ck Gre War tae eee Wee ina: Ww mG wy eee Ge rh eee eI OY te A ee oe ee ea ee inne s Lae hs eo nee aL ra Sy ea eer a aren eeewees de | esteem te es ~ en na as aN 0 natant el artic da haat i al a 104 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. fierce anger, and after mutual denunciation of each other— he as a disobedient ingrate; she as an imperious, ungenerous tyrant, The quarrel was with some difficulty patched up by Captain Everett ; and with the exception of the change which took place in the disappointed lover's demeanour— from light-hearted gaiety to gloom and sullenness—things, after a few days, went on pretty nearly as betore. The sudden rupture of the hopes Mrs Eleanor Fitzhugh had reposed in her nephew as the restorer of the glories of her ancient ‘ house,’ tarnished by Mary Fitzhugh’s marriage, affected dangerously, it soon appeared, that lady’s already failing health. A fortnight after the quarrel with her nephew, she became alarmingly ill. Unusual and baffling symptoms shewed themselves ; and after suffering during eight days from alternate acute pain, and heavy, unconquer- able drowsiness, she expired in her nephew’s arms. ‘This sudden and fatal illness of his relative appeared to reawaken all Frederick Everett's tenderness and affection’ for her. He was incessant in his close attendance in the sick-chamber, permitting no one else to administer to his aunt either aliment or medicine. On this latter point, indeed, he insisted, with strange fierceness, taking the medicine with his own hand from the man who brought it; and after administering the prescribed quantity, carefully locking up the remainder in a cabinet in his bedroom. On the morning of the day that Mrs Fitzhugh died, her ordinary medical attendant, Mr Smith, alarmed and _ per- plexed by the urgency of the symptoms exhibited by his patient, called in the aid of a locally eminent physician, Dr Archer, or Archford—the name is not very distinctly written in my memoranda of these occurrences; but we will call him Archer—who at once changed the treatment till then pursued, and ordered powerful emetics to be administered, without, however, as we have seen, producing ee a a a a a PANES TAVIS RG BRA RR AA Se Ee EPL ES PS ee 2 ee PS Se SSS BS ee es Pe BS Pe TSE eR AD AGA Le LG Oe Te ee ee a ek Fy Oy SAS ae ey ey ee ae Oe eA ee ee he ee ee 2CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 105 any saving or sensible effect. The grief of Frederick Everett, when all hope was over, was unbounded. He threw himself, in a paroxysm of remorse or frenzy, upon the bed, accusing himself of having murdered her, with other strange and incoherent expressions, upon which an intima- tion soon afterwards made by Dr Archer threw startling light. That gentleman, conjointly with Mr Smith, requested an immediate interview with Captain Everett, and Mr Hardyman, the deceased lady’s land-steward and solicitor, who happened to be in the house at the time. The request was of course complied with, and Dr Archer at once bluntly stated that, in his opinion, poison had been administered to the deceased lady, though of what precise kind he was some- what at a loss to conjecture—opium essentially, he thought, though certainly not in any of its ordinary preparations— one of the alkaloids probably which chemical science had recently discovered. be this as it may, a post-mortem examination of the body would clear up all doubts, and should take place as speedily as possible. Captain Everett at once acceded to Dr Archer’s proposal, at the same time observing that he was quite sure the result would entirely disprove that gentleman’s assumption. Mr Hardyman also fully concurred in the necessity of a rigid investigation ; and the post-mortem examination should, it was arranged, take place early on the following morning. ‘I have another and very painful duty to perform,’ con- tinued Dr Archer, addressing Captain Everett. ‘I find that your son, Mr Frederick Everett, alone administered medicine and aliment to Mrs Fitzhugh during her illness. Strange, possibly wholly frenzied expressions, but which sounded vastly like cries of remorse, irrepressible by a person unused to crime, escaped him in my hearing just after the close of the final scene; and But perhaps, Captain Lverett, you had better retire : this is scarcely a subject’ en eee — ed ; in ra one ini om : me me oie tet Betti ‘ Ae ices TS i Redes hotly ClO Lp alg Petia tig tr Ryman hes AGE i tele _ tet <4 s " nn e pr EE Rhy 8 ni otpaie Beis re e ave < ; ~ or ear ee ans ar ag rt al a es i cS oe Seen S = * . pena * ry et eer bY Se RE TRIE FO ee oO EC a a ee ita ee aes? er Car me co 4 * et ee ted ol or iain ics aaa =e Ce id Pepe tpt 7 - pdpteniigs se’ | 106 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. ‘Go on, sir,’ said the captain, over whose countenance a strange expression—to use Dr Archer’s own words—had Slashed ; ‘go on: I am better now.’ ‘We all know,’ resumed Dr Archer, ‘how greatly Mr Frederick Everett gains in wealth by his aunt’s death ; and that her decease, moreover, will enable him to conclude the marriage to which she was so determinedly opposed. I think, therefore, that, under all the circumstances, we shall be fully justified in placing the young gentleman under such —I will not say custody, but surveillance, as will prevent him either from leaving the house, should he imagine him- self suspected, or from destroying any evidence which may possibly exist of his guilt, if indeed he be guilty.’ ‘I entirely agree with you, Dr Archer,’ exclaimed Mr Hardyman, who had listened with much excitement to the doctor’s narrative ; ‘and will, upon my own responsibility, take the necessary steps for effecting the object you have in view.’ ‘Gentlemen,’ said Captain Everett, rising from his chair, ‘you will of course do your duty; but I can take no part, nor offer any counsel, in such a case: I must leave you to your own devices.’ He then left the apartment. He had been gone but a few minutes, when Frederick Everett, still in a state of terrible excitement, entered the room, strode fiercely up to Dr Archer, and demanded how he dared propose, as the butler had just informed him he had done, a dissection of his aunt’s body. ‘I will not permit it,’ continued the agitated young man: ‘Tam master here, and I say it shall not be done. What new horror would you evoke? Is it not enough that one of the kindest, best of God’s creatures, has perished, but another sacrifice must What do I say? Enough that T will not permit it. I have seen similar cases—very similar cases In—in India !’ ole Ree en PS Tae ee oe ae ee kdCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 107 The gentlemen so strangely addressed had exchanged significant glances during the delivery of this incoherent speech ; and, quite confirmed in their previous impression, Mr Hardyman, as their spokesman, interrupted the speaker, to inform him that he was the suspected assassin of his aunt! The accusing sentences had hardly passed the solicitor’s lips, when the furious young man sprang towards him with the bound of a tiger, and at one blow prostrated him on the floor. He was immediately seized by the two medical gentlemen, and help having been summoned, he was with much difficulty secured, and placed in strict confinement, to await the result of the next day’s inquiry. The examination of the body disclosed the terrible fact, that the deceased lady had perished by acetate of morphine ; thus verifying the sagacious guess of Dr Archer. A minute search was immediately made throughout Mr Frederick Everett’s apartments ; and behind one of the drawers of a cabinet in his bedroom—at the back of the shelf or partition upon which the drawer rested, and of course completely hidden by the drawer itself when in its place—was found a flat tin flask, fluted on the outside, and closed with a screw stopper : it was loosely enveloped in a sheet of brown paper, directed ‘ Everett, Esq., Woodlands Manor- house, Yorkshire ;? and upon close examination, a small quantity of white powder, which proved to be acetate of morphine, was found in the flask. Suspicion of young Everett’s guilt now became conviction ; and, as if to con- firm beyond all doubt the soundness of the chain of circum- stantial evidence in which he was immeshed, the butler, John Darby, an aged and trusty servant of the late Mrs Fitzhugh, made on the next day the following deposition before the magistrates : ‘He had taken in, two days before his late mistress was seized with her fatal illness, a small brown paper parcel, Be el el rtp oe reg lier nen) ete Par a el Lee es Se ee eRe Oe Pita SP Ne Pip et ster Oe PS tei et 1 aot eee oaPa ena ee teen nal aettnet eens cas ° Ret ad rt Mex ee. + Lares ~ ma aR tl aden trata liana ata ail adalat dail b paipiape sail lita cia i eal err g me 3A mar ad 8 mana tia 8 peng arene alia cigar pnninhpienanad gaptintion a i ; ‘ ; ae een , s ae Se Rar ag gh ses , - fs s a i : - Seda d oo 108 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. which had been brought by coach from London, and for which two shillings and tenpence carriage was charged and paid. The paper found in Mr Frederick Everett’s cabinet was, he could positively swear, from the date and figures marked on it, and the handwriting, the paper wrapper of that parcel. He had given it to young Mr Everett, who happened to be in the library at the time. About five minutes afterwards, he had occasion to return to the library to inform him that some fishing-tackle he had ordered was sent home. The door was ajar; and Mr Frederick did not at first perceive his entrance, as he was standing with his back to the door. ‘The paper parcel he, the butler, had just before delivered was lying open on the table, and Mr Everett held in one hand a flat tin flask—the witness had no doubt the same found in the cabinet—and in the other a note, which he was reading. He, the witness, coughed, to attract Mr Everett’s attention, who hurriedly turned round, clapped down the flask and the note, shuffling them under the paper wrapper, as if to conceal them, and then, in a very confused manner, and his face as red as flame, asked witness what he wanted there. Witness thought this behaviour very strange at the time; but the incident soon passed from his mind, and he had thought no more of it till the finding of the paper and flask as described by the other witnesses.’ Mr Frederick Everett, who had manifested the strangest impassibility, a calmness as of despair, throughout the inquiry, which perplexed and disheartened Mr Sharpe, whose services had been retained by Captain Everett, allowed even this mischievous evidence to pass without a word of comment or explanation ; and he was, as a matter of course, fully committed for the wilful murder of his relative. The chain of circumstantial evidence, motive in- cluded, was, it was felt, complete—not a link was wanting.CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 109 These were the chief incidents disclosed to me by Mr Sharpe during our long and painful consultation. Of the precise nature of the terrible suspicions which haunted and disturbed me, I shall only in this place say that neither Mr Sharpe nor, consequently, myself would in all probability have guessed or glanced at them, but for the persistent assertions of Miss Carrington, that her lover was madly sacrificing himself from some chimerical motive of honour or duty. ‘You do not know, Mr Sharpe, as I do,’ she would frequently exclaim with tearful vehemence, ‘the generous childlike simplicity, the chivalric enthusiasm, of his char- acter, his utter abnegation of self, and readiness on all occasions to sacrifice his own ease, his own wishes, to forward the happiness of others ; and above all, his fantastic notions of honour—duty, if you will—which would, I feel assured, prompt him to incur any peril, death itself, to shield from danger any one who had claims upon him either of blood or of affection. You know to whom my suspicions point; and how dreadful to think that one so young, so brave, so pious, and so true, should be sacrificed for such a monster as I believe that man to be !’ To all these passionate expostulations the attorney could only reply that vague suspicions were not judicial proofs ; and that if Mr Frederick Everett would persist in his obstinate reserve, a fatal result was inevitable. But Mr Sharpe readily consented to gratify the wishes of Mr Car- rington and his daughter on one point: he returned the money, not a very large sum, which Captain Everett had sent him, and agreed that Mr Carrington should supply the funds necessary for the defence of the prisoner. Our consultation the next day at Mr Sharpe’s was a sad and hopeless one. Nowhere did a gleam of cheerful light break in. The case was overwhelmingly complete against al ed Se tos he fe ES ete aerate een ee Pas ea Ee Ee Ite eee Ee es Sashes a sans2 sce aace hae ta Sohbet an salen Salatetiseatambiohaeadgte etnaa ; peer et Sa Su oe tae eee ih i nat 110 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. the prisoner. The vague suspicions we entertained pointed to a crime so monstrous, so incredible, that we felt it could not be so much as hinted at upon such, legally considered, slight grounds. The prisoner was said to be an eloquent speaker, and I undertook to draw up the outline of a defence, impugning, with all the dialectic skill I was master of, the conclusiveness of the evidence for the crown. On this and a host of testimony to character which we proposed to call, rested our faint hopes of ‘a good deliverance !’ Business was over, and we were taking a glass of wine with Mr Sharpe, when his chief clerk entered to say that Sergeant Edwards, an old soldier—who had spoken to them some time before relative to a large claim which he asserted he had against Captain Everett, arising out of a legacy bequeathed to him in India, and the best mode of assuring its payment by an annuity, as proposed by the captain— had now called to say that the terms were at last finally arranged, and that he wished to know when Mr Sharpe would be at leisure to draw up the bond. ‘ He need not fear for his money !’ exclaimed Sharpe tartly: ‘the captain will, I fear, be rich enough before another week has passed over our heads. ‘Tell him to call to-morrow evening; I will see him after I return from court.’ A few minutes afterwards, Mr Kingston and I took our leave. The Crown Court was thronged to suffocation on the following morning, and the excitement of the auditory appeared to be of the intensest kind. Miss Carrington, closely veiled, sat beside her father on'‘one of the side benches. A true bill against the prisoner had been found on the previous afternoon; and his trial, it had been arranged, to suit the convenience of counsel, should be the first proceeded with. The court was presided over by Mr Justice Grose; and Mr Gurney—afterwards Mr Baron See RAVE EON AHSCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. Lit Gurney—with another gentleman appeared for the prosecu- tion. As soon as the judge had taken his seat, the prisoner was ordered to be brought in, and a hush of expectation pervaded the assembly. In a few minutes he made his appearance in the dock. His aspect—calm, mournful, and full of patient resignation—spoke strongly to the feelings of the audience, and a low murmur of sympathy ran through the court. He bowed respectfully to the Bench, and then his sad, proud eye wandered round the auditory, till it rested on the form of Lucy Carrington, who overcome by sudden emotion, had hidden her weeping face in her father’s bosom. Strong feeling, which he with difficulty mastered, shook his frame, and blanched to a still deeper pallor his fine intellectual countenance. He slowly withdrew his gaze from the agitating spectacle, and his troubled glance meeting that of Mr Sharpe, seemed to ask why proceedings, which could only have one termination, were delayed. He had not long to wait. The jury were sworn, and Mr Gurney rose to address them for the crown. Clear, terse, logical, powerful, without the slightest pretence to what is called eloquence, his speech produced a tremendous impression upon all who heard it ; and few persons mentally withheld their assent to his assertion, as he concluded what was evidently a painful task, ‘that should he produce evidence substantiating the statement he had made, the man who could then refuse to believe in the prisoner’s guilt, would equally refuse credence to actions witnessed by his own bodily eyes.’ The different witnesses were then called, and testified to the various facts I have before related. Vainly did Mr Kingston and I exert ourselves to invalidate the irresistible proofs of guilt so dispassionately detailed. ‘It is useless,’ whispered Mr Sharpe, as I sat down after the cross-examination of the aged butler. ‘You have done all that could be done; but he is a doomed man, spite of his PAE) a ee, ae eee eee Stee re0 Livan et rane a Je cratenente snow aS alpine ar 2 TRE RUE MEE Si Eee CTT ‘ a ei ee a 2 a a ams i a : se ca se as a TO A ald rata Te aca a Ta a ce a ee SL a el eel - ‘ ‘ aes i foe Ca eh gti ia mg ‘ ‘ ’ “ mee’ sein te S - — : = . = ’ * s * y I eae At | 112 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. innocence, of which I feel, every moment that I look at him, the more and more convinced. God help us! we are poor, fallible creatures, with all our scientific machinery for getting at truth.’ The case for the crown was over, and the prisoner was told that now was the time for him to address the jury in answer to the charge preferred against him. He bowed courteously to the intimation, and drawing a paper from his pocket, spoke, after a few preliminary words, nearly as follows : ‘T hold in my hand a very acute and eloquent address prepared for me by one of the able and zealous gentlemen who appear to-day as my counsel, and which, but for the iniquitous law* which prohibits the advocate of a presumed felon, but possibly quite innocent person, from addressing the jury, upon whose verdict his client’s fate depends, would no doubt have formed the subject-matter of an appeal to you not to yield credence to the apparently irre- fragable testimony arrayed against me. ‘The substance ot this defence you must have gathered from the tenor of the cross-examinations; but so little effect did it produce, I saw, in that form, however ably done, and so satisfied am I that though it were rendered with an angel’s eloquence it would prove utterly impotent to shake the strong conclusions of my guilt, which you, short-sighted, fallible mortals—short- sighted and fallible because mortal !—_I mean no disrespect —rmust have drawn from the body of evidence you have heard, that I will not weary you or myself by reading it. I will only observe that it points especially to the over- proof, so to speak, arrayed against me—to the folly of supposing that an intentional murderer would ostentatiously 7 persist in administering the fatal potion to the victim with * At the time when the circumstances here related occurred, the law precluded a prisoner’s counsel from addressing the jury on his behalf. Le becke bt}CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 113 his own hands, carefully excluding all others from a chance of incurring suspicion. There are other points, but this is by far the most powerful one; and as I cannot believe that will induce you to return a verdict rescuing me from what the foolish world, judging from appearances, will call a shameful death, but which I, knowing my own heart, feel to be sanctified by the highest motives which can influence man—it would be merely waste of time to repeat them. from the first moment, gentlemen, that this accusation was preferred against me, I felt that I had done with this world, and, young as I am, but for one beloved being whose presence lighted up and irradiated this else cold and barren earth, I should, with little reluctance, have accepted this gift of an apparently severe, but perhaps merciful fate. This life, gentlemen,’ he continued after a short pause, ‘it has been well said, is but a battle and a march. I have been struck down early in the combat; but of what moment is that, if it be found by Him who witnesses the world- unnoticed deeds of ali His soldiers, that I have earned the victors crown? Let it be your consolation, gentlemen, if hereafter you should discover that you have sent me to an undeserved death, that you at least will not have hurried a soul spotted with the awful crime of murder before its Maker. And oh,’ he exclaimed in conclusion, with solemn earnestness, ‘may all who have the guilt of blood upon them hasten, whilst life is still granted them, to cleanse themselves by repentance of that foul sin, so that not only the sacrifice of one poor life, but that most holy and tre- mendous one offered in the world’s consummate hour, may not for them have been made in vain! My lord and gentle- men, I have no more to say. You will doubtless do your duty : I have done mine.’ I was about, a few minutes after the conclusion of this strange and unexpected address, to call our witnesses to H A ee Ae ok ee Rea a en ie Bee 7 ad et A NES aS SRT eee YY ties A Tie ll Age Ti EIN Bie Dae ed : Sy tt tiegyteegc Re Ry the Ne AIA CES PAA OEY Re Sat iO IEEE PAA Ei Pate PAM Pi te Seth OAL Pa AIR LA A Mh ete Pin “ ss Bee ans y PN ns a) m9 eases om Bh " 75%oT ee en ard at an sak ah, nea aetna Nat a a he a once ic Sa ett li a et ci Sma eee pero nner 114 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. character, when, to the surprise of the whole court, and the consternation of the prisoner, Miss Carrington started up, threw aside her veil, and addressing the judge, demanded to be heard. Queenly, graceful, and of touching loveliness did she look in her vehemence of sorrow—radiant as sunlight in her days of joy she must have been—as she stood up, affection- prompted, regardless of self, of the world, to make one last effort to save her affianced husband. ‘What would you say, young lady?’ said Mr Justice Grose kindly. ‘If you have anything to testify in favour of the prisoner, you had better communicate with his counsel,’ ‘Not that—not that,’ she hurriedly replied, as if fearful that her strength would fail before she had enunciated her purpose. ‘Put, my lord, put Frederick—the prisoner, I mean—on his oath. Bid him declare, as he shall answer at the bar of Almighty God, who is the murderer for whom he is about to madly sacrifice himself, and you will then find’ ‘Your request is an absurd one,’ interrupted the judge with some asperity. ‘I have no power to question a prisoner.’ ‘Then,’ shrieked the unfortunate lady, sinking back faint- ing and helpless in her father’s arms, ‘he is lost—lost !’ She was immediately carried out of court ; and as soon as the sensation caused by so extraordinary and painful an incident had subsided, the trial proceeded. A cloud of witnesses to character were called; the judge summed up ; the jury deliberated for a few minutes; and a verdict of ‘ouilty’ was returned. Sentence to die on the day after the next followed,* and all was over ! Yes; all was, we deemed, over ; but happily a decree, * Short shrift for condemned prisoners in those days.reversing that of Mr Justice Grose, had gone forth in heaven. I was sitting at home about an hour after the court had closed, painfully musing on the events of the day, when the door of the apartment suddenly flew open, and in rushed Mr Sharpe in a state of great excitement, accompanied by Sergeant Edwards, who, the reader will remember, had called the previous day at that gentleman’s house. In a few minutes I was in possession of the follow- ing important information, elicited by Mr Sharpe from the half-willing, half-reluctant sergeant, whom he had found waiting for him at his office : In the first place, Captain Everett was not the father of the prisoner! The young man was the son of Mary Fitz- hugh by her first marriage; and his name, consequently, was Mordaunt, not Everett. His mother had survived her second marriage barely six months. Everett, calculating doubtless upon the great pecuniary advantages which would be likely to result to himself as the reputed father of the heir to a splendid English estate, should the quarrel with Mrs Eleanor Fitzhugh—as he nothing doubted—be ulti- mately made up, had brought his deceased wife’s infant son up as his own. ‘This was the secret of Edwards and his wife ; and to purchase their silence, Captain Everett had agreed to give the bond for an annuity which Mr Sharpe was to draw up. ‘The story of the legacy was a mere pre- tence. When Edwards was in Yorkshire before, Everett pacified him for the time with a sum of money, and a promise to do more for him as soon as his reputed son came into the property. He then hurried the ci-devant ser- geant back to London; and at the last interview he had with him, gave him a note addressed to a person living in one of the streets—I forget which—leading out of the Hay- market, together with a five-pound note, which he was to pay the person to whom the letter was addressed for some CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE, 115: eh al oe hae te tee ee ee p rer enn ates ee thal ers al aes rn a en A er ere a en eas nay ay ere et ee aa aa saichicenehiataddemmadeeeatneenneee a ee emeamntt eel penile : es ap as ta aba “sek Ps a e Fa a AD ne ae Ba ee oe ee ial ee af gh Saye seo 2 ‘ io Heat «arta Ha % : iy é dike a eae eens zt . . - 7 8 oe aT | 116 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. very rare and valuable powder, which the captain wanted for scientific purposes, and which Edwards was to forward by coach to Woodlands Manor-house. Edwards obeyed his instructions, and delivered the message to the queer bushy- bearded foreigner to whom it was addressed, who told him that, if he brought him the sum of money mentioned in the note on the following day, he should have the article required. He also bade him bring a well-stoppered bottle to put it in. As the bottle was to be sent by coach, Edwards purchased a tin flask, as affording a better security against breakage; and having obtained the powder, packed it nicely up, and told his niece, who was staying with him at the time, to direct it, as he was in a hurry to go out, to Squire Everett, Woodlands Manor-house, Yorkshire, and then take it to the booking-office. He thought, of course, though he said Squire in a jocular way, that she would have directed it Captain Everett, as she knew him well; but it seemed she had not. Edwards had returned to Yorkshire only two days since, to get his annuity settled, and fortunately was present in court at the trial of Frederick Mordaunt, alias Everett, and at once recognised the tin flask as the one he had purchased and forwarded to Woodlands, where it must in due course have arrived on the day stated by the butler. Terrified and bewildered at the consequences — of what he had done, or helped to do, Edwards hastened to Mr Sharpe, who, by dint of exhortations, threats, and promises, judiciously blended, induced him to make a clean breast of it. As much astounded as elated by this unlooked-for infor- mation, it was some minutes before I could sufficiently con- centrate my thoughts upon the proper course to be pursued. I was not, however, long in deciding. Leaving Mr Sharpe to draw up an affidavit of the facts disclosed by Edwards, and to take especial care of that worthy, I hastened off to BE RAE Le LeeCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. INT the jail, in order to obtain a thorough elucidation of all the mysteries connected with the affair, before I waited upon Mr Justice Grose. The revulsion of feeling in the prisoner’s mind when he learned that the man for whom he had so recklessly sacri- ficed himself was not only not his father, but a cold- blooded villain, who, according to the testimony of Sergeant Edwards, had imbittered, perhaps shortened, his mother’s last hours, was immediate and excessive, ‘I should have taken Lucy’s advice!’ he bitterly exclaimed, as he strode to and fro his cell; ‘have told the truth at all hazards, and have left the rest to God.’ His explanation of the incidents that had so puzzled us all was as simple as satisfactory. He had always, from his earliest days, stood much in awe of his father, who in the, to young Mordaunt, sacred char- acter of parent, exercised an irresistible control over him ; and when the butler entered the library, he believed for an instant it was his father who had surprised him in the act of reading his correspondence ; an act which, however unin- tentional, would, he knew, excite Captain Everett’s fiercest wrath. Hence arose the dismay and confusion which the butler had described. On discovering that the parcel was intended not for him but for his father, he resealed it, and placed it in his reputed father’s dressing-room ; and thought little more of the matter, till, on entering his aunt’s bedroom on the first evening of her illness, he beheld Everett pour a small portion of white powder from the tin flask into the bottle containing his aunt’s medicine. The terrible truth at once flashed upon him. A fierce altercation immediately ensued in the father’s dressing-room, whither Frederick followed him. Everett persisted that the powder was a celebrated Eastern medicament, which would save, if any- thing could, his aunt’s life. The young man was not of course deceived by this shallow falsehood, and from that eR? a ee TEN NI AT en ot eae nen eee ar is aedeee sce oe as eee el ee wr ~~ icin toneincrae ei te ea a ee" enc ee a a a eae ee setae data 118 CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. moment administered the medicine to the patient with his own hands, and kept the bottles which contained it locked up in his cabinet. ‘Fool that I was!’ he exclaimed in conclusion, ‘to trust to such a paltry precaution to defeat that accomplished master of wile and fraud! On the very morning of my aunt’s death, I surprised him shutting and locking one of my cabinet drawers. So dumfounded was I with horror and dismay at the sight, that I allowed him to leave the room by a side-door without challenging him. You have now the key to my conduct. I loathed to look upon the murderer; but I would have died a thousand ‘deaths rather than attempt to save my own life by the -sacrifice of a father’s—how guilty soever he might be.’ Furnished with this explanation and the affidavit of Edwards, I waited upon the judge, and obtained not only ‘a respite for the prisoner, but a warrant for the arrest of Captain Everett. It was a busy evening. Edwards was despatched to London in the friendly custody of an intelligent officer, to secure the person of the foreign-looking vendor of subtle poisons; and Mr Sharpe, with two constables, set off in a postchaise for Woodlands Manor-house. It was late when they arrived there, and the servants informed them that Captain Everett had already retired. ‘They of course insisted upon seeing him; and he presently appeared, wrapped in a dressing-gown, and hauchtily demanded their business with him at such an hour. The answer smote him as with a thunderbolt, and he staggered backwards, till arrested by the wall of the apartment, and then sank feebly, nervelessly, into a chair. Lagerly, after a pause, he questioned the intruders upon the nature of the evidence against him. Mr Sharpe briefly replied that Edwards was in custody, and had revealed everything. ‘Is it indeed so?’ rejoined Everett, seeming to derive beekeeopseo ry keyCIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 119 resolution and fortitude from the very extremity of despair. ‘Then the game is unquestionably lost. It was, however, boldly and skilfully played, and I am not a man to whimper over a fatal turn of the dice. In a few minutes, gentlemen,’ he added, ‘I shall have changed my dress, and be ready to accompany you.’ ‘We cannot lose sight of you for an instant,’ replied Mr Sharpe. ‘One of the officers must accompany you.’ ‘Be it so: I shall not detain either him or you long.’ Captain Everett, followed by the officer, passed into his dressing-room. He pulled off his gown ; and pointing to a coat suspended on a peg at the farther extremity of the apartment, requested the constable to reach it for him. The man hastened to comply with his wish. Swiftly, Everett opened a dressing-case which stood on a table near him: the officer heard the sharp clicking of a pistol-lock, and turned swiftly round. Too late! A loud report rang through the house; the room was filled with smoke ; and the wretched assassin and suicide lay extended on the floor a mangled corpse ! It would be useless to minutely recapitulate the final winding-up of this eventful drama. Suftice it to record, that the previously recited facts were judicially established, and that Mr Frederick Mordaunt was, after a slight delay, restored to freedom and a splendid position in society. After the lapse of a decent interval, he espoused Lucy Carrington. The union proved, I believe, a very happy one; and they were blessed, I know, with a somewhat numerous progeny. Scnindainiascso 2 ania ataeareeaia naan sieeanbhadinmenmignmianickea ea OEMS 3984 ey aaa ah tes easy Pa Ce a Pa rete tere raed aie at ia a Sa Sone ated eee aoac caer tee ammceirhae el ta cede ei eS i ea A a ne oe 9 pas ead Pel SS ih gE Erte urns a ee meee sr naan ite arena aa ovina rs a bt a ae a CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. (WRITTEN IN 1849.) ‘So sweet the blush of bashfulness, Even pity scarce can wish it less,’ ILE miseries of a bashful man have often been (fe \ the subject of pity to the kind-hearted, but I do ‘<{E7,|\ not remember ever to have seen the miseries of a bashful girl touched upon ; and, believe me, heer) they are as keenly felt, although not so severely remarked upon by the world, as the other. I received w what is called a very careful education—that is, I was taught all that other girls are taught—but was kept so strictly confined to my schoolroom, and so entirely secluded from company, even the society of companions of my own age, that to me it was positively a painful sight that of the ‘human face divine ;’ and when, at sweet seventeen, I was told that it was now time to form my manners by seeing a little good company, I think I would rather have heard that my friends designed me for a convent. I was not very easy even when conversing only with my own sex, if they were entire strangers to me; but when a gentleman asked | me the simplest question—requested me to drink wine with him (as was the custom in the bygone days I speak of), or, in short, shewed the slightest wish to be commonly civil—I was In an agony, wished myself at home, blushed crimson, SEILER ERSSCONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. 121 stammered, and answered confusedly I knew not what, and actually, for the moment, hated the innocent cause of my unpleasant sensations, and indeed myself at the same time for my folly in being abashed by a person I may have despised, and whose conversation, when I heard it addressed to others, perhaps appeared to me absolutely silly. In order to improve my mind, I had been encouraged to read a great deal; but as novels and tales were strictly forbidden, and the only books put into my hands were history, moral philosophy, and other grave useful books, my studies gave me little assistance towards bearing a part in conversation . in the gay populous country neighbourhood where we resided. Observing on one or two occasions, when I timidly introduced the names of those books, and of the heroes and sages I had been taught to revere, looks of contempt and suppressed laughter, and overhearing the words ‘blue-stocking,’ &c., I resolved never to name literature again until I was able to dilate upon the last novel. My parents, however, had little patience with my shamefaced- ness, and most injudiciously lectured me in private, and looked at me in public. One day, after a long sermon, I was desired to prepare for a dinner at Oakfield Park; and ‘I beg,’ added my mother, ‘you will not sit like a stick and look stupid, but try to talk, and make yourself as agreeable at least as you can. People will really begin to imagine you are a fool.’ ‘It is better,’ answered I, ‘ to be mistaken for a fool, than to open my mouth and prove myself one, which I should infallibly do; for whenever strangers enter into conversa- tion with me, I lose every rational faculty.’ ‘Oh, nonsense. You might talk just as well as other people if you chose it. I am sure, if you listen, you will see how very little there is in the general conversation that goes on.’ Be a eds =) Rs eee ea ono a) Pissa os oe 122 CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. ‘Very little indeed’ I replied. ‘I have seldom heard anything worth remembering.’ ‘Oh,’ cried my father, “’tis just as I feared ; vanity is at the bottom of all this modest humility. You won’t speak unless you bring out something wondrous wise.’ So saying, he left the room, and mamma, in following him, said more kindly : ‘Do now, my dear, let me see you behave to-day more like other people ;’ but unfortunately added : ‘ J shall keep my eye upon you.’ I was neither sulky nor obstinate, and had every wish to oblige my parents, and overcome my bashfulness, which I felt was foolish ; so, upon finding myself at table, seated next to a middle-aged, quiet-looking man in a brown wig and spectacles, I resolved to address him, as soon at least as I could think of anything to say. While coursing in vain through the realms of imagination for a subject, the words ‘sovernment,’ ‘corn laws,’ ‘radical publication,’ struck on my ear; and taking it for granted that a man with a brown wig and spectacles must be a politician, and, for the same wise reason—added to a certain pomposity in his look and manner—a Tory, I resolved to converse upon a squib that had recently appeared in the John Bull. Just as 1 was turing towards him, I unluckily caught my mother’s eye making a sign for me to begin some conversation, which so completely bouleversed the little resolution with which I had ‘screwed my courage to the sticking-place,’ that I instantly lost all my self-possession ; but not now daring to sit any longer silent, I began with a fluttering manner and unsteady voice: ‘Pray, do you ever read Tom Thumb ?? The respectable man, not sure what could possibly be my meaning, and wondering whether I was a wit, a quiz, or an imbecile, after a pause, answered : ‘ Not for a long while.’ ‘I thought,’ answered J, unconscious of the blunder I had made, and gaining courage from what I considered to naa a ee a oe Soros , 3 : aaa rae ae irs ap esol fib eer seine ag A ea ee er . Grew) ee EE he Re et Be 8eee CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. 123 ‘be the stupid old gentleman’s evident ignorance of what was passing in the world, ‘that it had not been published many months.’ ‘Not many months! replied my astonished auditor ; ‘oh —oh—ah! A new edition, I suppose! It used to be my delight, as was Goody Twoshoes.’ Goody Twoshoes! thought I; the poor man is insane; and I began to feel more uncomfortable than ever, when, from my amazed and distressed countenance, suspecting some mistake, he, with a benevolent smile, requested to know what question I had asked him. ‘I begged to inquire,’ I answered in a displeased voice, looking as steady and stern as I could, in order to awe him, ‘if you read the John Bull ?’ ‘You doubtless, my dear young lady, meant to have done:so ; but you did, in fact, question me concerning Tom Thumb,’ I tried to laugh, though tears of shame stood in my eyes, begged pardon, said I was absent, &c.; and tingling to my fingers’ ends, prayed for the ground to open and swallow me up, then sat mute, looking like a condemned criminal, until the joyful signal was made for the ladies to retire. I did not recover my self-possession the whole evening, and had to endure a severe lecture in the carriage going home, with pretty strong hints accompanying it, that certainly there must be something defective in my understanding. ‘If you were punished as you deserve to be for your stupidity,’ said mamma, ‘you ought to be made to send an excuse to an invitation for a ball to be given by the officers of the Light Dragoons, and to which General and Mrs Calderhall have kindly offered to take you.’ Go to a ball! go to a prison rather, I felt: it is ten times worse than a dinner-party. But as it was settled that I was to go, I endeavoured to discipline my mind to the dread trial, and console myself with the sight of my white crape- ere ee ea ie ea eee ee bd had ere rep btn Ss aL me _ Parse o: a eS Soe Tt eee ey tee ta 315%a Speer aris, SS ese nprscprst sn a ih in we 9 wg anaes MELO I 2 MEN SACRE WPL SP LRT ST tee SEDs ee E DON ee eee eae ~ on Veta 124 CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. dress, trimmed most appropriately with blush roses. The awful night arrived! My terrors rose thicker and thicker at every whirl of the carriage-wheels, which brought me nearer to the place of punishment; and when we entered the barrack-yard, I became literally sick with apprehension, and was nearly fainting when we stopped. The steps were let down quickly, and I was carried off—scarcely knowing whether I stood upon my head or my heels—by one of the officers appointed to receive the company, through files of soldiers holding flambeaux, into a reception-room as full as if could hold of ladies, in every colour of the rainbow, and gen- tlemen in uniform, where I was presented to the colonel’s wife, and placed in a chair almost gasping. When in some degree I recovered my recollection, I began to look about me; but was soon alarmed afresh by finding a pair of black-bead eyes looking fixedly upon me; and whichever way I turned, those horrid eyes seemed to glare upon me. ‘Their possessor was a tall slender young man, who looked as stiff as if he had swallowed a ramrod, who seemed to amuse-himself at my agitation, and succeeded so completely in annoying me, that I considered all the rest as nothing ; and that, could I only get rid of the eternal glare of those horrid eyes, I should be quite at my ease. At last we adjourned to the dancing-room ; and I, rejoicing in having got rid of my tormentor, sat down beside my chaperon, and fervently thanking goodness no one had asked, or was, I hoped, likely to ask me to dance, as I knew nobody in the room, felt a lively interest in observing what was passing around. But alas! scarcely had I begun to feel something like calmness, and to hope for amusement from a scene so new to me, when I descried Mrs Fitzbattle advancing with a smile, my bead-eyed tormentor by her side. She introduced him as Mr Stonefield; and when he asked me to dance, and presented his arm, I did not dare do otherwise than accept it. We took our place in SPEER ES LSCONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. 125 the quadrille; and after my unfortunate partner had ex- hausted every subject, and received for a reply a sheepish undertoned ‘Yes, sir;’ ‘No, sir;’ or perhaps, ‘Oh, sir’—or the ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ and ‘Oh,’ without the sir, when I remem- bered having heard it was vulgar to str any gentleman— he turned in despair to converse with a fine-looking brother- officer, whose open good-humoured countenance made me wish he had been my partner rather than Mr Stonefield. But my observations on Captain Riversdale’s personal attractions were cut short by the horrible certainty that the top string of my frock had either broken or come unloosed, and that any attempt to dance would cause it to fall off my shoulders. Anything seemed preferable to such a climax; and with the courage despair gives, I turned hastily round, and observing Mrs Fitzbattle not far off, told her my tale of woe, and begged .her to retire with me, which she good- naturedly did. Upon my return, the first object I beheld was Mr Stonefield, and the first words I heard were : ‘ Eead ! my partner’s eloped! Can’t find her.’ ‘Stolen or strayed, a meek little maid,’ cried another, laughing aloud at his own silly wit. ‘Poor little thing,’ I overheard Captain Riversdale say, ‘she is very young, and must be quite new to this wicked world, for she seems sadly afraid of us all.’ At that moment Mr Stonefield spied his victim; and coming up, claimed me as his property, and proposed we should finish the dance. My next partner was Lord Bothwell, who did not make much inroad on my peace of mind, inasmuch as he seldom spoke ; and when he did, said nothing that required an answer. Soon after, released from him, I so far recovered my self-possession as to begin a discussion with a young lady who sat next to me, and whose lively yet gentle manner emboldened me to chatter even familiarly. ‘Can you tell me who that handsome, pleasant-looking (3X ot iv ots eax D Fe teat any tre Pao as le sastespcaanaues pen apacetiaiacaytebeteleleindetaaszata adesbaten apie gas age aps ce nO —s oe oe eePsat oat ot alma scm roe cereene ens Sor epoca dace enone ic a el ie a rail vs aye Pe Ee i -* ies B ‘s sea - - lad Lh 7 Co arta tay E Pea She rae res ei a a 126 CONFESSIONS OF A BASHFUL MISS. man is whom I danced with last? I did not catch his name, and I like him so much.’ ‘Yes,’ replied she, looking as if amused, ‘I can—it is Major Dale.’ At this moment the object in question advanced, and requested me to go with him to supper; and there, with the help of champagne and his good-natured attentions together, T found I could talk even to an ‘officer and a gentleman.’ ‘Do you know who that pretty girl is to whom I was talking when you asked me to come to supper ?’ ‘Yes: she is Mrs Dale, my wife.’ ‘Your wife! I didn’t know you were married. You don’t look like a married man.’ ‘Dont 1? But I am that unfortunate individual, never- theless.’ ‘Oh, oh! Don’t you know it is very wrong to speak so?’ My silliness or innocence had by this time attracted the attention of those seated near me, among whom was Captain Riversdale ; who, at the next public assembly I went to, convinced me that balls were not so very dreadful, and could even prove agreeable, when among those who com- posed the party there was one we preferred. What could make that strange man fallin love with a bashful miss, I am sure I cannot tell, and far less could I describe the wild agitation into which I was thrown by the discovery that he had done so. Such matters, however, they say, are managed in a very different place from a ball-room ; and somehow or other it did happen that my extraordinary defect was the cause of my lasting happiness. ‘The gallant captain, in short, was so much to my taste as a partner in the dance, that he had little difficulty in persuading me he would make quite as agreeable a partner for life. So, in four months from my first appearance, 1 bade adieu to my name and my bashful- ness, and have never repented losing either. . Lat a Toe Le Ree re DRE ae Phe E RE hie beng i ba ker a Ries tobe oe ERE bee pe PEEL ELCSEL teh URE REESE POETR LER ELIS LER aS Rah SFIRST QUARRELS. A SKETCH FROM LIFE DRAWN IN 1849. Ze, 5 ag AM one of the many from whom Heaven has : N ( seen fit to take away the individual interests of Al a 5 life, that, perchance, they might become unt = wes versal. Sometimes I could almost liken myself to a mirror, which receives on its silent solitary breast the fleeting images that pass it by, and so takes them, for the time being, as companions to its own void heart, while it makes of them life-pictures to be reflected abroad. These passing interests I create for myself continually. They seem, too, to meet me voluntarily on every side, not merely in society, but in chance rencounters along the waysides of life. I rarely journey five miles from my home without discovering or, if you will, manufacturing some pleasant and useful passage in human life, which makes me feel one with my fellow-creatures, as though the world stretched out lovingly its hand to the solitary one and called her ‘Sister !’ The other day I took my way homeward. Reader, I may as well tell the truth, that I am a little old maid, living in London, and working hard that I may live at all ; also that, in order to add a small mite to my slender modicum of health, I had abided for a brief space at that SR Se Gh Oe ee Be | Bie ee te) Ue ey fee te Eee ‘ f S | sg = Pads wrt om oo ‘ & en ey ne or ~ St EAR A SLOT NE Se POLE A ON SOY SIT TES ec ee rae aa MS aaa te ee piesad 128 FIRST QUARRELS. paradise of Cockneys—Southend. A very respectable para- dise it is too, with its lovely green lanes extending close to the shore of what is all but the sea; its pleasant cliffs feathered with rich underwood, which the tide almost kisses at high-water ; making the whole neighbourhood as pretty a compound of seaside and rural scenery as the lovers of both would wish. When my ‘fairie barque’ (the steamboat Dryad, please, reader) wafted me towards London, I felt a slight pain at my heart. One suffers many such on quitting earth’s pleasant nooks. ‘I ought to have got used to “good-by” by this time,’ thought I to myself, half patiently, half sadly, and began to divert my attention by noticing the various groups on deck. JI always do so on principle, and it is hard if I do not find some ‘bit’ of human nature to study, or some form of outward beauty in man, woman, or child to fall in love with. ‘Travelling alone (as I ever do travel—what should I fear, with my quiet face and my forty years?), I had plenty of opportunity to look around, and soon my eye fell on two persons, meet subjects to awaken interest. They were a young couple who sat opposite to me—so close, that I could hear every word above a whisper. But whispering with them seemed pleasantest, at least for a long time. I should have taken them for lovers, save for a certain air of cheerful unreserve which lovers never have, and an occasional undisguised ‘My dear’ falling from both their lips. At last, keeping a watch over the girl’s left hand, I saw it ungloved, and thereon the wedding-ring! It rested with a sort of new importance, as though the hand were unused to its weight. Unconsciously she played and fidgeted with its shining circlet, and then recollected herself with a smile and blush. It was quite clear my new pets were a bridegroom and bride. Here, then, was a page in human life open before me: [ aes — Cee eee enn sn enn Le at ae BB a Bl el al a alae eid rs 7 ie pt niet ~ the gn a) Sats Se et eT Te et earn i eer eae nen eesa STN pep ce ene , etl ba oe aire - -r 2 PADDY THE TINKER. 138 It was one morning after he had returned from one of those merry meetings that Paddy called his mother aside, and told her that he had offered himself to Nancy Maguire and been accepted. It was in a thoughtless moment that poor Paddy had proffered his heart and hand; but it must be confessed that his thoughtless moments were neither few nor far between ; seeing that they generally continued from the time he opened his eyes in the morning till he closed them at night. The news was anything but pleasant to his mother, particularly as she found that Paddy was to leave her and set up for himself in Maguire’s cabin, which was ~ to be given up rent free to him and Nancy by her father, who meant to settle a few miles farther on. Considering Paddy’s great talents and his high reputation for tinkering, Mrs Callaghan looked on the whole affair as a take-in on the part of the Maguires. She thought too that the girl might go gadding about; but after all, that would have made her the fitter for a tinker’s wife. Paddy only knew that she was pretty and could dance a jig right well; and he hoped all the rest. He left his home with a sigh; for though it was but a mud cabin, he loved it dearly. His father resolved that he should have an equivalent for the cabin ; so bestowed on him a supply of sheet-iron and the necessary tools for working at his business. He was soon settled im his new abode with his pretty little wife, and it was not his fault if they were not always good-humoured and gay. Some folks, however, said that Nancy was better tempered at a wedding or a dance than she was at home; and others went so far as to say that she never gave Paddy an easy minute, but that she was ever at him. Nancy’s friends told a different story; and said that if the girl thwarted and snubbed him, it was all out of good-nature and for his good. Constant dropping, they say, wears the smoothest stone, and however it was, poor Paddy lost all oe ry rh ey Bis eos iad "eePADDY THE TINKER. 139 his fine spirits; and his eyes, that used to be for ever dancing in his head, looked dull and heavy; and instead of the hop, skip, and jump which had distinguished his gait, he now moved listlessly on, as if it was all one to him where he went. It was said that he had on two or three occasions threatened to go away for good ; but Nancy, let matters have been how they might, would have been sorry if he had parted in anger. ‘What is come over our Paddy?’ Mrs Callaghan said to his father. ‘He’s not the same boy he was—the half of him ain’t in it—and his cheeks, that were like the reddest roses I ever seen, have no more colour in them than the drivellin’ snows; and no jokes and laughs any more. I’m afraid of my life that Nancy has a contrary temper ; and he is one that never was come across since the day he was born—one that was used to have his own way in anything he’d take into his head, from the first moment that he could use his little fists and came to his natural speech.’ ‘Maybe,’ replied her husband, ‘ his sheet-iron is out; but that needn’t trouble the boy, for I’ll share what I have with him.’ : One day, as Mrs Callaghan was sitting on the low stool by the fire, and the bellows with which she had been blow- ing it lying on her lap, Paddy walked in, and passed by the children, who were standing about the door, without speak- ing. He went over to the fire and drew the other stool, and sat down by his mother. ‘Mother,’ said he, after a moment’s silence, ‘I’m come to bid yees all good-bye; for a can’t put up with Nancy’s tongue no longer—it ’s beyond the beyonds: she’s all too cantankerous : the very heart’s fairly scalded in me. Sol think it better to go quiet and aisy at onst; and so I have listed with the party that’s baitin’ up for recruits ; and I’m come to lave my blessin with yees all, mother darlint , aS SRPEEL CIS CS a eS SRE SA Pelee cas ie Sa a eee . siete comma ee eee en eees toe ee - , = . = siti tial italian ich ay = ee 140 | PADDY THE TINKER. His poor mother burst into violent fits of crying; and Paddy’s eyes, which had been full when he entered the room, overflowed and the big tears rolled down his cheeks : the children all hung about him, and with sobs joined their entreaties to their mother’s that he would not leave them. But Paddy could not back out of his engagement, and go he must. A sorrowful parting to them all. He never had been longer from home than for a few days, when he happened to go with a cargo of tins to a place too distant to admit of his return on the same day. On these occasions he was always missed, and his return eagerly watched for by the whole family: the children would be up and away at the first dawn of day to look for him from the point which commanded the most extensive view of the road. There would they remain, straining their eyes, till the donkey-car, with Paddy by its side, came in sight ; then, with shouts, they would bound on to meet him. And now he was to go beyond the seas—perhaps to foreign parts, and might stay away for years upon years; and if he did come back, he might find the green grass growing over those who would have been the most delighted to give him the welcome home. It was thus the poor mother thought ; but all couldn’t keep him. He shared his bounty with his parents ; but the money looked hateful in the eyes of his mother. A few days and he was away with the party with whom he had enlisted. None grieved more after him than his wife ; for she blamed herself, and thought that he would not have left her if she had not been so cross. She feared to call on his people, for she felt that they were angry with her; and so left the neighbourhood without seeing them, and went to stay with her father. The cabin in which she and Paddy had lived was soon inhabited by other inmates. Paddy’s mother fretted sorely after him—and she was for ever talking of him. She never wearied of telling of all the le Le eS Sees bela? Bee ’ N ; Pye Teer ee oe es ay Rh eae bisey ae OA La | SER OV SESSLER CHAR SESE PORE ROP ELST EER ERP EERRR TAD CeCe oe ORC ES EOD Bee eRePADD TELE TLNGEE, 141 arch ways and ‘cute remarks of his boyish days. ‘The neighbours heard the stories so often that they had them by heart. Every one observed from this time what a favourite little Jack was with his mother ; he was hke what Paddy had been at his age, and he was always by her side. Paddy liked a soldier’s life at first when it was new to him ; but its monotony after a time tired him. He felt as if one sight of the green fields and the little mountain rill at home would do him good. The very cabin, humble as it was, seemed to his fancy, in the distance, a very paradise. Vague longings to return it is said at length formed them- selves into regular plans; and in the third year of his service we have heard he did actually desert. It would lead us into too great length were we to detail all that he suffered in his vain endeavours to reach home ; all the harassing expedients to which he was driven to elude the police, who were on the look-out for deserters, and who he had often reason to think were on his track ; the days of concealment and the nights of watching ; or if slumber came, the troubled dreams, in which grim-visaged police and fiendish drum-majors were sure to present them- selves in the most appalling attitudes. To escape from this wretched state he entreated the aid of an uncle, in whose house in Clogher he had sought refuge. His uncle applied to the Roman Catholic bishop, who, through the instru- mentality of an officer of rank in the army—to whom he had once rendered an essential service—effected all that was required, and Paddy was extricated from his perilous situa- tion on condition of his immediately returning to quarters. Arrived there, he must have thought himself very fortunate in being let off with a good scolding and a few days’ retire- ment in the guard-house. To do him justice, after his pro- bation he shewed himself grateful for the lenity he had experienced ; and by the strictest attention to his duty, Re eee. ee a rere er TN ma ee Eee ee Gnd ek eee Me Ged | Ce av EPR ELS7 ae PAs = whiteeiage . ae Beh si et esp 3 “ ex ; 142 PADDY THE TINKER. proved how anxious he was to reinstate himself in the good opinion of his officers. After serving for another year, he got his discharge; and now he might go home with an easy conscience and free from all anxiety. He took a kind farewell of the comrades whom he had before left with so little ceremony. His excitement and hurry to reach home were very great; he took passage in the first vessel which he — found bound for Ireland. Unfortunately, she was not sea-: worthy, and he narrowly escaped being wrecked. They found much difficulty in reaching the port; and poor Paddy was so worn out by his exertions in assisting at the pumps, that a little rest would have been necessary; but the moment he put his foot upon his native soil his heart got up, and slinging his worldly goods, which were tied up in a blue-and- white handkerchief, on his stick, which he rested on his shoulder in musket-fashion, he set out in double-quick time, singing and whistling snatches of merry songs for the first two or three miles, and thinking of the joy with which he would be greeted on his unexpected arrival, especially by his poor mother. But his hmbs grew weary and his hands and feet burned with heat, his head ached, and he was tormented with parching thirst. He put up on his way for the night at a little shebeen shop (so are the humble houses of entertainment designated); but he could partake of none of the good cheer spread before him; the smoking dish of potatoes and the tempting rashers of bacon and fried eggs utterly failing in provoking his appetite. The bed to which he retired was no resting-place to him, for he rose from it in the morning guiltless of a slumber. The people of the house saw that he was ill; but he said the air would do him good. So hepaid his reckoning for the dinner which he had not tasted and for the bed in which he had not slept, and pursued his way. He was indeed ill; and how he ever reached his uncle’s house was wonderful. Te Le Ee ee VPS we VORA LER ES EESPADDY THE TINKER. 143 The pleasure which his relations felt at seeing him come back his own master, was subdued when they saw how weak and ill he appeared. ‘They, however, gave him a hearty welcome: he sat shivering and cowering over the fire, complaining of the cold, though his face was flushed and his hand was burning. He lay upon the bed; but sleep would not come: the headache and thirst increased. His uncle and aunt whispered that it was the sickness which he had (the term always used to express fever). They imparted their fears to him in the morning ; spoke of their dread of infection, and proposed his removal to the hospital of the workhouse. Paddy acquiesced in the propriety of the measure; and he was accordingly brought there and instantly put to bed, which, from the crowded state of the establishment, was shared with another fever patient. The fever ran high and bad symptoms came on. On the eighth day his case was pronounced to be hopeless; and at his earnest request a messenger was sent to tell his parents that he was in Clogher—ill and in hospital. What would have been such joyful news to his family, who had no expecta- tion of his coming back, was embittered by the account of his illness ; but he was young and had always been strong and healthy; so they hoped he would soon be well and among them once more. It was resolved that his father and his favourite sister Peggy should go to see him, and bring him back on the donkey-car, if he could be removed with safety. The poor mother stayed at home to take care of the cabin and of the children ; she stayed at the door till the travellers were out of sight ; then offered up a prayer for Paddy’s recovery and safe return with his father and sister. The way seemed long to them, who burned with impa- tience to see him. At length they arrived at the house of their relations : the accounts of poor Paddy were most dis- heartening; he was so much worse that his death was wert! ee ae a a a are a arr Ree ete IT >)as ; ; ies a a he i ed Be ee Peo Sr a a aes - beet alt af tiga Hy ee 144 PADDY THE TINKER. every moment expected. His father and sister gained admittance to the ward: he was ill indeed ; and they wept bitterly when they looked at him. His eyes were directed towards the door; and after a moment he hid hig face in the bed-clothes, exclaiming: ‘Why didn’t my mother come to see me?’ His father and Peggy caressed him, and wept over him; but still he would interrupt their fond words with: ‘Why didn’t my mother come to see me?’ These were the last words they heard him speak, as they left the ward at the hour prescribed for visitors to take their leave. They were at the door at daybreak the next morning, when they learned, what they most dreaded to hear, that poor Paddy had died at twelve o’clock the night before. From the nature of the complaint—which made every precaution for the prevention of the spread of infec- tion necessary—but a few hours had been allowed to pass till the remains were consigned to a coffin. The erief of the father and the girl affected those who witnessed it ; and the earnest request that they might be allowed to take poor Paddy’s remains home to his own burying-place was com- plied with ; and the coffin was placed in the donkey-car. Bitter were the tears which Callaghan shed as he adjusted it and covered it with straw, that it might not shock the eyes of the poor woman till the sad news was broken to her. In the meantime she had cleaned up the cabin and put everything in order. She made the bed as comfortable as she could for her darling, having fixed on the snuggest corner for his resting-place ; ‘for wake and Weary my poor child will be,’ she said, as she made all her little arrange- ments. She had made some purchases for the jubilee which she was determined to have to welcome him. The tea and sugar and the bread and butter were all ready on the shelf — for a refreshing repast. The sound of every distant car and the bark of every dog brought her to the cabin door. Ce a ae eee esPADDY. TEE, TENKER, 145 At length, nearly at nightfall, she caught a glimpse of a car and persons walking by its side. She called to the children within to blow up the fire and to make a good blaze. She soon ascertained that the travellers were her own people ; but Paddy was not with them. She tried to comfort her- self for the disappointment which she felt by saying: ‘ It was better not to bring the dear creature so far till he gathers a little strength; and the night-air, sure enough, might give him cold. But it won’t be long till he comes to; for sickness never lay heavy upon him.’ When they reached the door, she perceived by the face of her husband that something was amiss ; and when she looked at Peggy, she saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. She feared to ask what was the matter: but the sad tale was soon told; and the coffin was laid upon a table, and the poor mother knelt by it, wringing her hands and calling Paddy by the fondest epithets ; and telling the poor lifeless clay how she loved him; and asking why he had parted from her. Her husband tried to calm her; but the words of comfort which he spoke fell coldly on her ear and did not reach her heart. Paddy, wild and thoughtless as he had been, had always been the joy of that heart. It was agony to think she was never to see him again who had been the very hight of her eyes! She asked for any message he might have sent—for every word that he had spoken. They repeated his last words: ‘Why didn’t my mother come to see me?’ They cut her to the very heart, and seemed as if they would for ever mar any hope of peace ; for while they spoke of his love, they told too plainly that he had felt her neglect. Oh, how she accused herself for having let anything on earth detain her away from him at such a time! ‘Why didn’t my mother come to see me 2” seemed for ever to ring in her ears, and vibrate through her very heart—‘ Why didn’t my mother come to see me ?’ J 6G ee en ek ate ee | rene TE PEATAS AG Sateen ee ca cpceeh eed ae eT TR SET ARN Ay — oe PrN at ee ee ee RT a Oar aT RT RE IT). ae ” petininsas claim eerraaescseemecaanmneietmeeminee emmmesienetimeeninmaadeinidanaetadiiaialadidandinat i taiacnnaaaien ieee aoe kai a hme eBid wap to ; : ue! | 146 PADDY THE TINKER. The remains were borne the next day to the quiet old churchyard about two miles off, and were followed by a great concourse of persons ; for all the neighbours wished to pay the last mark of respect to one who had been born and bred among them, and who had been so well liked ; and as they walked along, many were the anecdotes of his good- nature and pleasantry which were recounted. It was with difficulty that the friends, who had lingered behind the rest, could prevail on the poor mother to leave the grave, on which she had thrown herself in wild agony. A few days more and she might be seen about her usual occupations. The poor cannot afford to indulge their grief; but still as they go about their business it lies heavy at their heart ; and though they cannot sit apart for hours and days and let their tears flow on without restraint, yet they find time in all their active hurry for passionate bursts of agony. The poor mother might still often be seen wending her way with her cargo of tins to some neighbouring fair or market. Many an object that she had been wont to pass heedlessly by told stories of other days that wrung her heart. As she passed the rich pasture-lands and heard the tinkling of the sheep-bells, she remembered how often Paddy, who was ever at her side when a child, would make her stop that he might dance to their merry chime. The very primroses glinting out on the green banks seemed painfully sweet, now that Paddy, who loved to gather them when a boy, was gone. ‘The little birds chirping and hopping gaily among the green branches, seemed, as it were, too happy without him, who was wont to seek out their nests and attend the young brood. She would sometimes stop on her way and let the donkey feed by the roadside, while she sat near the hedge to think of Paddy ; and she would clasp her hands and utter mournful wails, and exclaim: ‘Why didn’t my mother come to see me?’Strangers who went along thought she was some poor demented creature, and passed on to the other side. The neighbours knew it was grief that ailed her, and pitied her the more because they thought that she was crazed. As she sat thus one day, she might have heard the step of one close by, if she had heeded anything. A trembling hand was laid upon her shoulder, and in a tone, low almost as a whisper, Nancy—Paddy’s wife—said: ‘Won’t you turn round? Won’t you give me one kiss?’ She did turn round, but it was to give an angry look; for she blamed her for his having gone away. The poor girl said no more ;. but gathering the end of the mother’s cloak in her hand, she kissed it passionately and went on her way. After a moment, the unhappy woman thought she had been too harsh, and she called after her; but Nancy had hurried on, and was already out of hearing: and this too weighed upon her heart ; and so months passed on. One evening when she had returned late from market she sat down to reckon her gains. She was weary after her long day’s journey ; but she did not neglect to see that the poor dumb baste was comfortable. He was in his own corner of the cabin, and the children were busy about him. The dusk of the evening had come on and the blaze from the turf-fire was not strong, so the cabin was rather dark and gloomy. ‘The latch of the door was raised, and those within thought it was by the goodman of the house, who was expected home about that hour; but it was a stranger who entered. He said nothing, but went over to the fire, drew a stool and sat down; and having taken a pipe from his waistcoat pocket, lit it, and applied himself intently to smoke. Mrs Callaghan concluded that he meant to pass the night there, as it is very usual for wayfarers at nightfall to turn into the cabins by the wayside to seek a night’s lodging. The required hospitality is seldom refused, except eA tee Oe oe Gee Wee Ee PADDY THE TINKER. 1477 PS nc aes) BO eee ears giao lea eann aca a Ssecisn Badbichasain SutheananineBishganacSnauniananes Pp teer ent a rao mena ee)oy cacao me sot te tate erential aes ahahen doadiaath tiie a MEET Tee eT ec Scat 7 eee ae rs Manteo ca re rit PI 148 PADDY THE TINKER. in cases where there is sickness within, or too many in the family to admit of room for another. ‘The latter being the case in Callaghan’s cabin, his wife told the unbidden guest that she would give him a night’s lodging and welcome if there was room; but added, as she pointed to the group of children, that they were too many, and advised the traveller to push on to the next house, which was not far, and where there was plenty of room. As he made no reply, she con- cluded that he had not heard her, and repeated what she had said. After a dense whiff from his pipe, he merely said he was very well where he was, and did not mean to go farther, and then resumed his smoking with increased energy. The unwilling hostess felt a little alarmed, lest he should be one of those bad characters who sometimes intruded into houses with a design of robbing the inmates. She wished most anxiously for Callaghan’s return, as she did not know how to act by a person who appeared deter- mined to have his own way. The children looked frightened, and stood motionless, observing the intruder : little Mary, summoning up her courage, came from among them, and went to the obscure corner where he sat, that she might take an accurate survey of his features: when she got close to him and looked up in his face she called out: ‘Mammy, it’s our own Paddy!’ The poor woman rushed over, took one look, and fell to the floor in a state of insensibility. The children raised her; but she had not quite come to herself when her husband entered: the children ran to him, exclaiming : ‘That’s our Paddy!’ as they pointed to the man, who went on smoking at the fire. Callaghan looked at the man, and ran in terror for pro- tection behind the donkey. ‘Don’t go nigh it, childer— it’s a sperrit; don’t go nigh it.’ Then turning to the donkey, he inquired of him: ‘Wasn’t it you that brought SeDepe hae ralsPADDY THE TINKER. 149 home our Paddy from Clogher hospital? Wasn’t it your- self that drew the cart with his coffin and himself in it all the ways? Hadn’t we a wake, though he was shut in it? Didn’t we lay out every pinny we had to buy candles, and pipes and tobacco, and all that was right and requisite ? And didn’t all the neighbours come? And hadn’t they a pleasant night? And didn’t they all go to the funeral? And didn’t we lave him with his own people, that had been there for these hundreds of years? And what is it, then, that can make his sperrit unaisy ? ‘Oh, Paddy, darlint!’ exclaimed Mrs Callaghan, ‘what is ib disturbs you out of your grave? Is it more masses you want for the repose of your poor sowl? Sure if it is, you have only to spake the word; and if every screed in the house was to go to the pawn-office, it shall be done.’ Taking the pipe deliberately out of his mouth, the man or spirit rose, and came forward into the middle of the room, and waving his hand, said: ‘Iam Paddy! Paddy sure enough; and though I’ve made my ways to yees, it’s only to tell yees all my mind, and to go away for good and all; for I don’t feel mighty well plaised with any of yees. Mother, you never came nigh me at all, though you heard I was so bad in the hospital, and that the doctors had given me up. Why didn’t you come to see me? Father, you and Peggy seen me dyin’ in my bed, and left me there, and never axed for a sight of me again. You wouldn’t have sarved a dog so. There was I left; and the comrade that was in the bed with me died by my side that very night you seen me. He was put in his coffin, and his friends came next mornin’ and took him away. I suppose ye all thought I was dead, and thrown out upon some dunghill, and that you had fairly got shot of me for the rest of your days. But you see I’ve come back to tell you my mind, and to say to yees eee Seger eee Tee Re Te ERE Se Re TE Re ERT Pl POPC U ETON Cee rea eer Cee ee eRe eOre rae eee ORL eee by Beer eee Us pee ee ger Oe ee ee fee one oes Narr carta Wen We Asa aee e ggel Sera, pe gk gs VEL A ees Sy isa seine ni rice cae IT seteae amie sa <¢ ig ~ a , , : ae , _ RE EO Ss oe at ld coe ot ae aed Dt A ~ 150 PADDY THE TINKER. call that I never will darken your doors again after your unkind tratement. But I lave yees my blessin’ Paddy would have gone out, but they all clung to him. Everything was soon cleared up by the explanation which took place. Paddy’s father had brought home the remains of the poor man who had died, and who had been supposed by the nurses to have been his son. He had been wept over and waked by strangers, attended to the grave by those who had never seen him, and laid with those with . whom he had never claimed kindred or friendship. Shut ‘up in a coffin, none of the wakers or even the heart-broken ‘relatives had seen the face of the corpse. The supposed Paddy had been interred with the accessories of grief ‘common to such mournful oecasions ! Paddy and his mother were in each other’s arms crying for joy. His father was by his side, and the children gathered round him, laughing and crying by turns. An hour had scarcely passed, when Nancy, who had been on her way home with some purchases for her father and mother, heard the strange report, and rushed into the cabin in breathless haste. Paddy’s arms and heart were open to receive her, and she wept for a moment in silence on his bosom ; then looking up in his face, she said: ‘I have got you back, Paddy, and you will never lave me again; never will a cross or contrary word pass my lips any more.’ ‘And as for myself,’ said Paddy, ‘I was all out too care- less and too fond of rovin’; but I have more sinse now : and now that I’m back with yees all again, I’ll never lave you while the breath’s in me.’ No friends ever came to look after the man who had been buried in Paddy’s stead. ‘We ll let him stay where he is, the poor lonely stranger,’ said Mrs Callaghan ; ‘for never again, will I be the one to turn out livin’ or dead.’ a | , 5 FidePHEBE GRANT. y [ss AMMA,’ said Phebe Grant, looking up from a frill which she had been dreaming over for Y})\q| half an hour, ‘do you know Kate Collins was Ss,» at the theatre on Wednesday night ?’ = ‘Well, Phcebe, and what then? said her % mother quietly. ‘Why—why, mamma, only that I should lke so dreadfully to go too.’ ‘ Dreadfully, Phoebe?’ ‘No, no—not exactly that, but very much ; you know what I mean ? ‘I know well what you mean, my dear child; but I remember having often told you how much I dislike those strong expressions which you constantly make use of for the most trivial things. You will find out the disadvantage of it yourself some day ; for when you really wish and require a strong word, you will not be able to find one which will express your feelings.’ Phoebe was silent, and the frill advanced a little. At last she could contain herself no longer. ‘Mamma, may I go to the theatre v ¢ Which theatre, Phoebe? there are so many in London.’ ‘T mean the prettiest of all, mamma ; the one that Kate CRESS TS ETE 1 4 eS os ea a ee te a et are a oe Pe ay of ee ae enn Nee PNET Yt) te ae Beth NT a) ee oe Pe a es i gi naan Fon Sp Bin BioMol ae pt od So a OE PO ee Pe Oe ere tree ©.~ f Pe te es a a ale ae ak eet oe Se eed bed oceteeene enne anemia ieee 152 PHGBE GRANT. was at, where Beauty and the Beast is acted exactly as it 1s written in the fairy-tale book. It is not like a silly Christmas pantomime, mamma, which I never understand, but it is the dear old tale that you used to tell me so often ; and Kate says the last scene, where Beauty consents to marry the Beast, and when he changes all at once into a handsome young prince, is the most beautiful thing she ever saw. Oh, may I go?’ Mrs Grant thought for a little, and then said: ‘You know I have not been quite pleased with you lately, Phoebe. You have been very idle indeed for two or three days. That piece of work in your hands ought to have been finished long ago, yet here it is not nearly done. You allowed the least thing to distract your attention.’ ‘O mamma, I will finish this horrid frill to-day, and be so good that you won’t know me.’ Her mother smiled, and replied: ‘That is not very flatter- ing to yourself, my dear child ; however, as a little idleness has been your only fault lately, you shall go and see Beauty and the Beast, and this very night too ; but upon three conditions,’ Phoebe gave a little scream of delight; and her mother continued : ‘Your aunt and cousins are going this evening, and I will join them, and fake you too, if you do as I wish.’ “Yes, yes, dear, kind, good mamma: tell me what it is I must do ?’ ‘It is now twelve o’clock, Phebe: well, one of my con- ditions is, that by two this frill shall be finished, and neatly too.’ ‘O mamma, there is so much of it to do! ‘Not more than you can easily manage if you are busy, Pheebe. Another is, that during these two hours you do not go into the garden, but stay in this room: I know if you leave it, the frill will never be done. The third is, thatPHG@BE GRANT. 153 you do not have a word to say to Luna during that time. —Do not interrupt me. I know she will come and scratch at the window, and wag her tail, and entreat you to come and play with her; but keep your eyes upon your work, and she will soon go away. After two o’clock you may play or do what you choose. I am now going to town upon some business which will occupy me till three o’clock ; but remember the frill must be finished by two.’ Phoebe joyfully promised ; and a short time after, her mamma left her and went out. At first all went on smoothly : Phoebe worked busily—so busily that she be- came very warm, and accordingly opened the window and placed her stool beside it. All was pleasant and refreshing, and the mignonette and sweet-peas which were under the window smelt deliciously, and the air cooled Pheebe’s brow. Her work fell from her hands, and she began to think how charming it would be to see her favourite fairy tale acted. One thought led to another. Thinking of Beauty sug- gested the rose which had cost her father so much pain to procure. ‘How much I should like a rose just now! My own little garden, where the best roses grow, is not very far from this; I might run to it and come back again in an instant. But mamma said I was not to play in the garden. True—but then she said it was because she knew I should not work if I were there. Now I am so hot here, and it looks so cool in my honeysuckle bower, that I am sure I should work a great deal better there. I am quite certain if mamma had known I could work better in the garden, she would have told me to go. I can tell her when she returns that I was very hot, and if I had stayed in the house, could not have finished my frill. I know she will not be displeased.’ All these thoughts passed through Phoebe’s brain very rapidly ; and acting upon the impulse of the moment, she ere Gee ee Cee are Cay fee | Pee) as eee ie) a Pr ao ae ae pinay og a 14. ee ae ee ot ar ee erent eee eT (eat neat en ee ey Se eee ene PEoe a nara aoc it cement cane a haal A aial Gi a et ol ol erie a od et ao ts ete FE 1d J ° = . - Sipe 5 154 PH@BE GRANT. ran down the steps which led from the window upon the lawn. She first plucked the rose she coveted, and then proceeded to the bower of honeysuckles, which was her favourite retreat when she was tired of everything else. ‘How pleasant it is here!’ she thought. ‘How much nicer than being in the house! ‘The sun is so bright, and seems to kiss the little flowers, that nod and say how glad they are to see him. How happy the bees are to feed upon this delicious honeysuckle: I should almost like to be a bee!’ and thinking of this, the work fell from Phcebe’s idle hands. ‘Oh, what a beautiful butterfly !’ she exclaimed, as one of a delicate blue colour settled upon a carnation which was near the bower. ‘It is just the kind that Robert wished so much, and how delighted he would be if I were to get it for him.’ With noiseless steps Phoebe went on tiptoe to the carnation: her apron raised in both hands, she stooped to entrap the beautiful creature which was fluttering on the flower. Her heart beating, her eyes glis- tening, she was just going to encircle it, when something behind pulled her dress. The movement startled the butterfly, which flew off immediately, and Pheebe, dis- appointed of her prey, turned round to see what had touched her. To her dismay she saw Luna scampering off with the frill, which she had left lying in the bower. ‘O Luna, Luna! lay down my frill. O you naughty dog, lay it down instantly !’ But Luna evidently thought her mistress was playing with her as usual, and ran round and round the beds with the frill in her mouth, enjoying the fun of being chased amazingly. ‘O naughty, naughty dog; you shall be beaten if you do not give me my frill.’ But off flew Luna, regardless of the threatening words, which doubtless she knew well would never be fulfilled. The gate leading to the road at the end of the garden was open, and the dog darted out, followed by the distracted ee a ei Ps ee 2 morePHQG@BE GRANT. 155 Phoebe. When she got upon the road, she saw Luna at a little distance rolling over and over with the frill in the mud, and barking with all her might. Phcebe rushed up, and this time succeeded in seizing it. Alas! it was scarcely fit to be touched, being covered with mud. ‘ What shall I dot —what shall I do?’ thought Phoebe. ‘Oh, this comes of going into the garden when I was forbidden ! How disobedient I have been! Oh, what shall I do?’ Pheebe walked slowly into the house, revolving in her mind what she could do to mend matters. ‘The frill is not torn. Ah, I know what will make it all right,’ she cried joyfully, as a happy thought struck her mind: ‘I will wash it—not very clean though, for it was dirty before—and iron it, and then no one will be any the wiser. ‘There is always a fire in mamma’s dressing-room, where I can heat the iron nicely.’ Phoebe flew into the bedroom, where she carefully washed the frill, although it took longer than she had expected: she then rushed down to the closet in the laundry, where she knew the irons were kept, and succeeded in finding a small one. The fire In the dressing-room was excellent, so that the iron did not take very long to heat, although it seemed hours to the impatient Phoebe, who trembled lest any of the servants should come in. The clock struck two as she finished ironing the frill. Phoebe was in despair. ‘How unfor- tunate I am,’ she said; ‘there is two o'clock, and the frill not nearly done!’ Then she began again to reason within herself, forgetting into how much trouble her reasoning powers had brought her before. ‘Mamma said I was to finish the frill in two hours; now I have worked at it one hour only: since one o’clock I have not put a stitch in. Mamma does not come in till three; if I am busy, I shall finish it by that time, and perhaps she will not ask me when it was done. Thus it will be only two hours after all.’ WES Ges Ct ek gee | pncabeaciedacacecacevamencteinceiesa REE See me 3 Peter Osetia lo Sahin oo A oe “ Een % Bon m aie A ee He wr oS Sh isto Da errno ep ee MR Te TR Rd ee Se ee ed ae ae ee ee ee A ee TS CR OC a Te ae aa la ea Ee a ee EE te EB ee ap Pc erat ri] all - ae rats ail aha air a aac 156 PHGBE GRANT. Pheebe accordingly set to work in right-down earnest, never looking up once till she had come to the end. As the last stitch was put in, the hands of the timepiece pointed to five minutes past three. ‘Good gracious!’ said Phoebe to herself, ‘mamma will be home immediately, and there is the iron still on the grate. I must take it into the garden to get cold before I put it away.’ Hastily she seized the iron, forgetting that it must be very hot, although it had not been exactly on the fire. But she threw it down in a moment, and drew back with a scream. Her hand was dreadfully burned. Phoebe knew that cotton-wool was an excellent thing for a burn, but she did not remember where to get any. Look- ing round the room vaguely, as if she expected to see some of the wished-for article lying near, she espied her mamma’s jewel-box upon the toilet-table. ‘Ah, I know there will be some there, and the key is always in that little drawer.’ Lo the little drawer she went, took out the key, opened the jewel-box, touched a spring which she knew of, and to her great joy saw a quantity of cotton-wool, which her mamma generally kept there. She pulled out a large piece, but im doing so did not perceive that she also pulled with it an ear-ring which was lying there, and which fell unheard on the floor. Phcebe locked the box, put the key back again in the drawer, wrapped her hand in the wool, which she found soothed the pain very much, and carefully took the iron into the garden, where it soon got cold. She had Just placed it in the closet, when the carriage drew up to the door, and her mamma stepped out. Phoebe flew up-stairs, and was met in the hall by her mamma, who kissed her affectionately, and asked if the frill was done. ‘Yes, mamma, quite done,’ said Pheebe.PHQBE GRANT. 157 ‘IT am glad of that, darling,’ said her kind mamma. ‘And did you finish it in two hours?’ ‘In two hours and five minutes exactly.’ ‘Ah, well, five minutes don’t matter,’ said her mother, smiling: ‘it will make no difference. Jane and Laura are quite delighted at the prospect of having you with them to-night. They are to be here at five o'clock pre- cisely; and see—here, Phoebe: I have been to your favourite Piver’s in Regent Street, and brought you two pairs of gloves, one of which you must wear this evening. I have also got some of that Tea-rose scent for you which you lke so much.’ ‘Oh, thank you, dear mamma,’ said Phcebe in a low voice, stretching out her left hand to take the gloves and scent. The right hand was employed in searching for a refractory handkerchief, which was supposed to be at the bottom of her pocket, but somehow never made its appear- ance. Her mamma’s kindness quite staggered Phoebe, and as she followed her up-stairs, her eyes were full of tears. The frill, the sight of which made her quite sick, was lying upon the dressing-room table. Mrs Grant took it up, and admired the work. ‘It is very nicely done indeed, my dear child,’ she said: ‘you see what can be done if you set your mind to it. You have worked this very well indeed. Did you fulfil my other conditions ?’ At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and one of the servants entered to speak to Mrs Grant on some household matters. Phoebe, rejoicing at the oppor- tunity, was just going to leave the room, when her mother called out to her: ‘Do not go away, dear; I wish to speak to you.’ Phoebe was obliged to remain, and wondered what her mamma could have to say. When young people’s Cae Oe ee ice er aac CL oe er Le eon eee ea ee ase een Pa ent iy De ai I A ae IT AI TN ie Reaot care 158 PHG@BE GRANT. consciences are not very clear, there is always something indefinitely awful in being desired to speak with mamma upon anything not specified; and as Phcebe’s conscience was far from being calm, she felt rather uneasy. She wandered about the room, sometimes ready to scream with the pain of her hand, which now became almost intolerable. ‘How shall I get on my gloves to-night?’ she thought : ‘my hand is all in blisters! I cannot deceive mamma any more. I might say that my foot slipped, and that I fell forward with my hand on the ribs of the grate ; but I could not say that—it is wrong even to think of it. But how shall I tell mamma? O dear, O dear, how wicked I have been !’ The household matters being arranged, Phcebe stood with her eyes cast down, her lips compressed, waiting to hear what her mamma had to say. At this moment Mrs Grant, who was crossing the room, trampled upon some- thing, and stooped to see what it was. ‘How extraordinary !’ she said aloud. ‘Why, how can this be?—my ear-ring on the ground, when I distinctly recollect putting it this morning in the secret drawer of my jewel-box! No one knows the spring—except indeed Phoebe. My dear child,’ she said, looking round; but the ‘dear child’ had sunk upon a couch, exhausted with pain and shame. ‘ My darling !’ she cried, rushing towards her, ‘how pale you are—how ill you look! ‘Tell your mother what is the matter?’ Phebe silently raised her poor hand, still enveloped in the cotton-wool. ‘Phebe! how is this? Ah, I see—my poor child has burned her hand, and has concealed it from her mother for fear of agitating her. My dear good child, how nobly you have borne the pain! Ah, it is frightful!’ she continued with a shudder, as she unbound the wool, paré of which stuck to the unfortunate hand,PH@BE GRANT. 159 Phoebe could bear it no longer. Bursting into tears, she threw herself into her mother’s arms, and sobbed as if her heart would break. ‘O no, mamma—no, dear darling mamma!’ she said as soon as she could speak. ‘T have not borne it nobly !—I do not deserve your kind- ness, my own beloved mamma! I have been naughtier to-day than I ever was before. I have disobeyed you in everything: I have been in the garden ; I did not finish the frill till three o’clock. You do not know how wicked I have been ; but I have been punished, for my hand is dreadful. J may say that word now, mamma. But my shame at having deceived such a good mamma is worse.’ Mrs Grant kindly soothed the poor child, and begged her not to say any more till she was composed. A short time. afterwards, when Phoebe was lying cushioned on the soft couch in the dressing-room, with her mamma beside her—that dear mamma, one touch of whose gentle hand seemed to soothe the pain she suffered, and almost to_ chase it away—she eased her heart by confessing every- thing. The tears were in the mother’s eyes when Phcebe had finished. ‘You are sufficiently punished already, my child, and I will not say anything more about it. We will put away the unfortunate frill.’ ‘QO no, mamma, the poor frill shall not be put away. It was intended for you, mamma; but if you will allow me, I shall have it sewn on to my cap, so that when I pub it on at night, I may remember why it is there. I do not think, mamma,’ she continued, smiling, ‘that I shall ever be disobedient again. No; Iam sure I shall not. Do you know, mamma, I am so very glad I burned my hand ?’ ‘Glad, Phoebe! Why ?’ ‘Because, mamma, I am afraid that if it had not been Se GS ek Reed BO Ts RI Der isd Pika Da ee ih JS a re at ta eae aoe gh ee ee reo See sia it i a A r —% = aaa he aye ss = iF f e | P = cy f Ed ae a4 i an Ssete et De ; a, 7 160 PHQGBE GRANT. for that, I should not have told you about going into the garden and not finishing the frill; and then how miserable I should have been at the theatre after having deceived you so much !’ ‘That is very true, my dear child, said her mamma, affectionately kissing her. ‘And Iam glad too, for I feel confident that the misery and pain you have endured to-day is a lesson which will be remembered by you all your life.’TAFFY LEWIN’S GREENERIE. (gpK woven many years have intervened, the a remembrance is still fresh in my memory W A |e? \\ of a certain spot which excelled all others | I have since looked upon in its bright emerald hue and verdant freshness. It was on the \ay outskirts of a village, which was only redeemed ‘Ae from positive ugliness by most of its tenements being ancient, though stretching away in a long straight line, and without either water or trees to vary the monot- onous aspect of the turnpike-road. Turning abruptly from this road into a narrow lane, seemingly never-ending, and sloping gently downwards, a pleasing surprise was afforded on emerging into a deep valley, where the interminable winding of many sparkling tiny rivulets kept up a con- tinual murmur, enchanting to listen to on a hot summer’s day. Here were many fine old walnut-trees also, bencath whose thick-spreading boughs the rays of a burning sun never penetrated. Innumerable rows of osier-willows, used in the art of basket-making, were planted on the banks, the osiers being of the finest and whitest kind, while everywhere and all around extended beds of water-cresses. Yet it was not altogether the streamlets or the beautiful trees which made this spot so peculiarly refreshing: no- where did grass appear so rich and green as in this quiet K } f ORE Cae ee ee ee Bae | Sy Ls rf Po er ae sa rik FOL Ve BN ep eae ee MN ene TE Ne Peter aes " et ane Ree | Piyoaie Pd pt oC oe ee 7 ee ee ee ne STN ere Oy ee ee neat Poe a ite rae ct seh aok, e he Soret i SAG Cote cb Di Si eA AIT I a tac Sarec saree wcducrasiaarpmngerliaes ciirapeomre oe eaT te -% _ Sr ee 162 TAPFY LEWIN’S GREENERIE. valley ; it looked always as if it had just rained, the earth sending up the delicious perfume, andthe thrush singing meanwhile, as it does after a shower in summer weather. Yet was there nothing indicative of damp or marsh land ; all was healthy and hilarious-looking, and no plants throve here indigenous to unhealthy soils. Narrow planks of rough wood were thrown across the bright waters, which had to be crossed many times before reaching the dwelling- place of Taffy Lewin, the presiding genius of the place. This dwelling-place was a thatched cottage, containing three rooms; and Taffy herself, when I first saw her, almost realised my idea of the superannuated or dowager- queen of the fairies: she was then seventy years of age, and one of the least specimens of perfectly formed humanity that I have ever beheld. So agile and quick was she in all her movements, that a nervous person would*have been frequently startled ; while her little black bead-like eyes sparkled in a most unearthly manner when her ire was aroused. She always wore a green skirt and a white calico jacket, her gray hair being tucked back beneath her mob- cap; she was, in short, the prettiest little old fairy it is possible to imagine ; and as neat, clean, and bright-looking In her exterior, as if an enchanter’s wand had just conjured her up from amid the crystal streams and water-cress beds. “And so it is from hence the fine water-cresses come that I have enjoyed so much each morning at breakfast?’ said I to the friend who accompanied me on my first introduc- tion to Springhead, for so the valley was named. ‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘and Taffy Lewin is the sole proprietress and gatherer of the cresses, for which she finds a ready sale in the immediate neighbourhood > her musical but clear and piercing cry of “ Water-cress fresh gathered—fine cress,” being as well recognised and duly attended to as the chimes of our venerable church clock.’TAFFY LEWIN’S GREENERIE. 163° ‘And has the old dame no other means of support?’ quoth I; for the glimpse I had obtained of the interior of the cottage in the midst of this ‘greenerie’ certainly hinted that the trade of gathering this simple root was a most lucrative one; not only order and neatness, but com- fort apparently reigning within. ‘She disposes of the produce of these fine walnut-trees,’ answered my friend; ‘and she has also a companion residing with her, who manufactures the most beautiful baskets from these delicate osiers, which always fetch a high price. Taffy pays a very low rent to the gentleman who owns this valley and the adjacent lands;: and excepting, I believe, a small sum in the savings-bank, to which she only resorts on emergencies, I da not know that she has any other means of support either for herself or her companion. Her story is a singular one, and I think you would like to hear it after we have made our purchases of baskets from poor Miss Clari.’ Miss Clari, as she was called, was a middle-aged female of plain appearance ; and my interest and pity were excited on observing, from her lustreless eyes, that she was an imbecile. She was, however, animated with the spirit of industry. Her long and thin fingers rapidly and dex- terously plied their task: she took no notice of ws, but continued chanting in a low sad voice the words of a quaint French ditty. When Taffy approached her, she looked up and smiled : such a smile it was; I have never forgotten it. ‘We have only these two baskets left, ladies,’ said Tafly Lewin; ‘for Miss Clari cannot make them fast enough for the sale they have; and yet, poor dear soul! she never ceases, save when she sleeps, for her fingers go on even when she is eating.’ ‘And are you not afraid that such close application may injure her health?’ said I. :