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He feels that, there is something like A l^AMOW ESCAPE. incongruity between this attitude towards BY SHB AUtEOB OV nBins nomrx. 'iro iLn!xiri.nyx," Kate, and the mention of his marriage with another girl. CHAPTER I.—^THE SEEPENT AND THE DOVE. The young lady feels it too. For all "WoMEX—especiaUy if they're love-sick the cousinship between them, for all her to the idiotic degree that Miss Constable greed of admiration, for all her daring is, "will forgive almost anything; but disregard of the absent May's claim upon you're trying her hard, Frank ; even I, Frank as a rule, Kate is ashamed of prejudiced as I am in yonr favour, must herself now. admit that." " I suppose I forgot that you're only The speaker is a good-looking girl of my cousin, not my brother; forgive me, two or three and twenty, richly endowed Frank, for mentioning the matter in that by nature with the gift of seeming to be way." whatever is most fascinating to the person In an instant she is sisterly in a sweet whom it is her current desire to please. insincere way, that is a good bit of acting, Richly endowed too by nature with a and appeals powerfully to Frank Forest's beautiful figure, and a face capable of love of anything dramatic. expressing any emotion which she may be " You may mention any matter, in any desirous of portraying. It expresses light, way that seems good to you, K^te," he half-amused contempt now; nothing more. says, warmly, when his sisters come into But in reality she is keenly anxious as to the room, and Kate saunters to meet them, what will be the effect of her apparent with as unembarrassed an air as if she burst of frankness on her cousin—the man had been engrossed -with the newspaper by her side. she holds in her hand, instead of with " May is a dear little thing," he says, another woman's lover. slowly, " but it does become a bore when " M^.Tnina, is not coming do-wn to break­ a fellow has to go to the same house night fast," one of the girls announces, and the after night, and hear the same things said, other one asks— and " "What do they say of ' DupUcity,' " See exactly the same expression on Frank ? " the face of your beloved," the girl " They say, at least the Scourge says, interrupts quickly. "Yes, that -wUl be that Frank is quite the coming dramatist," trying enough to you, you fickle feUow, Kate replies for him, " don't you both feel when you're married, and must endure very proud of him ? I do." it; but then the mere fact of yonr being She does unmistakably as she turns her compelled to endure it -will enable you lustrous grey hazel eyes full on his, and to do it." smUes the flashing happy smUe that a girl "We won't begin to talk about my can smUe upon the man she loves, or upon marriage yet," he answers, with a sHght the man whom she -wishes to make believe air of confusion, and, as he speaks, he she loves. releases his cousin Kate's hand, which he " He's not at aU bad, as brothers go," has been holding during the brief coUoquy. Gertrude, the elder sister, says, " but if sssi •» vol.. XII. 284 -^ ^ -8 [Condncted by 74 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

the Scourge takes to over-rating him as " Oh dear ! then it -wUl fall to our un­ much as you do Kate, he -wUl lose his happy fate to have to teU May what she head, and become a bore to his sisters, calls ' air about it;' Kate ! yours shall be who can't be expected, to pour out para­ the pleasing task of assuaging her maid, graphs of adulation, whenever his lines enly fears as to her lover's success." happen to be so well given that he is " I -wish yon wouldn't talk such accredited with ha-dng written them weU." nonsense," Frank breaks in angrily; "However, we -wiU go again to-night, " You're only making Kate think May a and mark May's ecstacies," Marian the greater fool than she thinks her already; younger sister adds, patronisingly. "Poor you have the knack, Gertrude, of making May ! if she is always going to be panic- everybody absurd by the way you speak stricken, whenever you bring out a play, of them." Frank, what good will her life be to her P" " Don't be cross because I imply that The two Miss Forests are good-looking May has more of the softness of the dove girls, but they pale before the brighter than the -wisdom of the serpent," his light of their far more attractive cousin, sister laughs carelessly, and Ki,te, who is Kate Mer-vyn. always on the watch to see the sHghtest Buckles fasten nothing on their change in the position of that weathercock, shoulders, and weapons of war are thrust man's fancy, puts in— through their hair and their sashes in the " Softness is far. preferable to -wisdom most approved fashion. Chains of steel in a wife, I should imagine ; fancy break­ suspend all manner of useless articles fasting and dining and going through the from their respective waists. They are daily round with a vrise woman. I mnst girt about -with ferociously appointed go up to aunt Marian now, and read these belts of Russian leather, and sounding notices to her," she says, collecting the brass. Wherever custom decrees that papers. Then, as she is abont lea-ring the they may be puffed, they are puffed to the room, she turns and fires a parting shot. best of the ability of rich silks and buck­ " When I think of what aunt Marian ram. They have about them the swing of •will feel, I can't help feeling that I wish I a life of perpetual small excitements, and were your mother, Frank." they tread the social wheel with the grace She is five or six years younger than her of those who feel they decorate their cousin Frank, therefore the expression of portion of it. Nevertheless, with aU these the "wish is not calculated to raise dis­ natural and acquired attributes of theirs, tressing suspicions of her age in his mind. Kate puts them out effectually. Man as he is, successful di-amatist as he Kate, who in her dress affects the is, he is by no means unwUling to accept matchless lines of the riding-habit,, who these private tributes of sugared laurel banishes bows that tie nothing, and leaves from the hands of his cous-ji Kate. buckles that buckle nothing, and straps Accordingly he is quick to resent the that sustain nothing, from every portion half mocking tone and laugh with which of her toilette, leads the eye off her his eldest sister says— dashing cousins at once. Even they "I should think Kate has had some cannot help feeling a goodly portion of practice in the art of praising men, shouldn't what they had come to believe to be you, Marian? I wonder if she would necessary, superfluous, when she, in that play the part of consoler equaUy weU if studied simplicity of hers, comes between you had failed, Frank." them and throws out their grotesque out­ " She would play it better than you lines. They watch her now, as she walks would," he retorts quickly, " for she is about the room, the while she reads aloud capable of appreciating what's . good in selected passages of praise of the comedy itself, whether it fails or not. What makes which was produced last night. you go to the Constables to-day ?" When Miss Mervyn has exhausted the " Their fond desire to heap honours on published panegyrics on the piece, she sits the head of this fresh member of the down to breakfast and utters a few original famUy. Mrs. Constable and May are both ones, until she is interrupted by Gertrude, ready to adore Kate, and you know when •who has heard quite enough to satisfy her Mrs. Constable is ready to adore man, sisterly heart of her brother's play. woman, or chUd, she always offers him, she, "Are you going to the Constables to or it something to eat; and May is always luncheon with us, Frank ? " delighted to get a new legitimate listener " I am going up to the theatre." to her praises of you."

" Don't chaff any more abont May," he " I -wish my mother 'wouM M toy says, rising' up and walking to the window, affairs alone," he says in a tone of vexa­ " and don't trot her out for Kate's amuse­ tion; "forgetful of May! Why should ment," he adds abruptly, as his conscience you not be forgetful of May ? WTiat claim pricks him at the thought of the desolation has she upon your reooUection ? If I for­ which will pervade May's spirit when she get her now " finds that he is not of the party. " Tell He pauses and his hearer's face falls, and May how busy I am, haven't a moment to she says gently— myself, and all thatsort of thing, -will you ? " " If you forget her! Yon cto't do it, " Yes, of course I will; and look here, Frank." Frank, I won't say a word abont the neat " I should be a scoundrel if I did," he and obliging way in which Kate has copied replies quickly; " but what does my mother out those parts for yon, and those delight­ mean ? why has she been worrying yon? " ful long strolls in Kensington Gtirdens in "She means that I have shown too the afternoons. I'll be as discreet as—as mnch interest in you, Frank," she sSiys Kate herself." •with an effort that sends the blood from " Do you mean to go with the Constables her heart to her brow, and her voice fails to-night, Frank, or with us," the other her, and she stands before him with bent sister asks, and he mutters something about head and trembling hands, for she is not " hardly knowing, but thinking it better acting now. that the Constables should act indepen­ The flattery is very potfent, bnt he dently, as something unforeseen might of does struggle hard with inclination and course arise to detain him." temptation. He recaUs all May's inno­ " Of course we can't all pack into one cent trustfulness, he tries to think of her box; there will be Kate and you and me pure deep love. But aU the while he is in our box; do let the Constables be some­ longing to break through aU bonds, and to where else, Frank." draw this girl to him with kisses warmer " Oh, Marian, Frank must be with May," than any he has ever given May Constable. Gertrude says. She is not going herself, " I -wish she had not opened the ques­ and is indifferent to the prospect of other tion," he says angrily, " at any rate we will people being slightly crushed. With this put it to rest; it shaU not disturb you if I the three separate—the girls to put on can help it. If you are -ko be spoken about their habits for the morning ride; the and misunderstood because of your kind­ brother to go np to the theatre to do away ness to me, why I should be a selfish feUow with two or three little crumples in the if I tried to get you to show it; I wUl not new piece. be selfish in my pursuit of you, Kate; His sisters start off presently, and stUl forgive me for what is past and accept he loiters about in the library, whistling my promise there shall be no more of it." softly, and being restless and uncertain She looks up at him amazed, heart- altogether. Before he can make up his sore, and stricken. She had not antici­ mind to quit the house Kate comes in with pated that he would take her disclosure a look that is new to him on her expressive thus. Then he, overpowered by the face. look which is so full of the interest which " Is there anything the matter P what she has been accused of feeling, and is it?" he asks, going to meet her -with by way, also, of rewarding himself fOr outstretched hands, and she puts hers into the excellent resolutions he has just made, his confidingly, and answers— lowers his head isit last, and lets his lips " Prank, aunt Marian, out of the dearest rest on her forehead. kindness to me, has made me so unhappy." " We are Cousins, you know," he aillt' " That's the form women's kindness very ters, excusingly; and Kate ansWeM^—' often takes, bnt my mother is different to " Surely in that fact there is to be most women; what has vexed you, Kate ? " found sufficient reason Why you shouldn't He lifts one hand up as he speaks and shun me for the future. Prank ? May has is going to kiss it, but Kate stops him. your confidence, your vows, your promise, " No, don't do it; it's just that that is and she wUl have your name; let me have the matter. I ought not to tell you, but your friendship." I've no one else to turn to, and I must tell She -wUl not say, " May has your IcJVe ;" you. Prank, she has accused me of being and he notices the omission, and is partly forgetful of May, and May's claims upon pleased and partly pained by it. He is, you." at thtf same titne, glad and sorry that the =ip \ ^

[Condncted by 7Q [May 9,1874.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. flirtation of the last three weeks should " You are quite right," she says, iu the have developed into a deeper feeling on clear, distinct tones, which offer such a her side; and he is a little annoyed that marked contrast to May's Usping, slightly. the cool quality of his regard_ for May affected pronunciation. "You are quite should be so transparent to his cousin. right. Miss Constable. Frank has been StUl, he aUows himself to be hurried on doing very hard and very unpleasant work by his ardent nature to say, in response to this morning ; if I were in your place, I her request— should see that he was more careful of " You'll always have my warmest friend­ himself in future." ship, Kate, however little I may be able to " Oh Frank ! " May ejaculates, her in­ show -^.t; and as for the rest—^if I had only consequent mind in a state of chaos as been free! " Kate's words conjure up all sorts of possi- " If I had been a man, would I have bUities and impossibUities ; " yon hear let my fetters stand in my way ?" she your cousin caUs it hard, unpleasant work! thinks, in contemptuous anger. Then Why -wUl you go on ? I know so mnch the bitter sensation assails her that, after writing is bad for the health; I get a aU, she may be in the position of the headache, if I only write a letter. It's biter bit. In this case, though she began thinking so much, I suppose; one has to in sport, she has developed into earnest­ think so much when one's -writing a letter. ness ; and Prank can calmly speak about I do -wish you would be satisfied with yonr what he would have done, " if" he had office work: and you don't want the been free! Worse than all, the con­ money." viction smites her that she has let him " You are ambitions for him, indeed," perceive that he has gained an easy Kate says, with cool satire that glances off victory over her, and that, therefore, she May's intelhgence, as shot does ofE an will be at the disadvantage which invariably iron-clad. Prank says, hurriedly, "Don't attends the one who loves most. HappUy be foolish. May," and gets himself a-way for them both, these hnmUiating con­ at last, leaving the serpent and the dove siderations conspire to make her release alone together. her hands from his, and move away from him. She is in the act of doing this ; she CHAPTEE II. THE "DEAE LITTLB THING is only just in safety, when a round-eyed, AT HOME. fair-haired, gentle-faced girl comes in with MAT CONSTABLE is a friendship-at-any- the air of one who is quite at home, and price girl. She has always a bosom friend has a right of possession. on hand, about whom she entwines herself, " I have come to tell you that I won't and in whose ear she reposes perfectly have you waste any more time about those innocent and uninteresting confidences. tiresome plays, Frank," May Constable Frank's sisters have not exactly repulsed, begins, in her effusive, soft way. " I met but they have certainly never inrited the girls, and they told me you were these ebullitions of feeling, consequently going up to the theatre; and, I believe, May thinks them hard. Ha-ving impm- instead of that, you have been at home, dently dropped a well-beloved school­ writing. Now, hasn't he. Miss Mervyn ? fellow who had been as the oak to the ivy and isn't it a shame that he should work to her, previous to her engagement to Frank so hard, and never give himself one plea­ Forest, she has been on the qui -vive for sure ? " the last few months to discover some She is by his side as she speaks her trusty piece of lattice work about which she lo^ving platitudes, clinging to his arm, and may t-wine her tendrUs. It says much for conducting herself as a girl may con­ her subtle and delicate insight into cha­ duct herself who is openly and honestly racter and motives that she should have engaged in. the eyes of aU the world. already mentally appointed Kate to the Frank is crimsoning with shame; not office of her feminine guide, phUosopher, at his half-falseness to May, but that and friend. Kate should be compelled to -witness what Aggrieved as Kate is, disappointed in strikes him at this particular moment as her o-wn strength, outraged by a full sense May's foolish fondness. As for Kate, she of her o-wn weakness, humUiated by the is gnawed by the pangs of jealous wrath, knowledge of the truth that Prank has him­ and, novel as are the sensations, g,nd self driven home to her, namely that he has great as is the charm novelty has for not lost his head entirely, though she has erring humanity, she does not like them. entirely lost her heart, she has stUl a rem- -f Z' 'X Cliarles Diclcens.] A NARROW ESCAPE. [May 9,1874.] 77 nant of honour left -with regard to her As far as the disposition of the money is relations with this girl to whom Frank concerned, she is the sole arbiter of her Forest belongs. She shrinks from May's children's fates and fortunes, for it is caresses. She gives a decided negative to settled unreservedly upon her. But she May's proposition that they "shall go has never been an un-wise woman in this together to her mother's house, and sit in matter. She has been liberal to her chU­ her o-wn dear little room, and have a nice dren. She has made her son feel that he comfortable talk" before the Misses Forest is the master of the house in which they come home to join them. She portrays no aU dweU. In all that concerns himself manner of interest in May in fact, but the alone she has made Prank feel that he is bride-elect displays no consciousness of free as air. But when it came to the being chilled or hurt. matter of his marriage some short time There is a great display of affection be­ since, she told him that "This was a matter tween Frank's mother and Prank's future that concerned his famUy, and that it wife presently, when the former comes do-wn behoved him to clearly ascertain what Miss in a graceful morning -wrapper, a good Constable's prospects were before he com­ deal of motherly pride and of auntly dis­ mitted himself to formaUy proposing to pleasure. Mrs. Forest loves her son as a her." clever reflection of herself, and she likes " Understand this, Frank," she had said, safe girls -with money. Now May is essen­ " if you marry a girl •with money, you wiU tially a safe girl, and her money is an even have your rightful share of the poor equiva­ better established fact than her discretion. lent your father made me for what he lost She is a slight, tall, admirably arranged for me; but if you marry into poverty, woman, this mother of the Forests. One of it wUl very justly go to your sisters, for those women whom the combination of care­ they •will never be able to look for help fully selected phraseology, elegant dresses, from you." and goodly stature, unite in elevating into " Aid supposing they choose to marry an atmosphere of something that almost poor men ? " he had suggested. approaches dignity. A woman who has " In that case they wiU be very uncom­ kno-wn riches and honour in her day, and fortable, for I should certainly never who has had her experience of the black encourage such folly by making them any side of Ufe also, in the shape of pov­ allowance during my life." erty, the falling away of friends, and a The result of this confidential converse general inabUity to keep the wolf from the with his mother was to hurry Prank on door. It must be credited to her powers very perceptibly in his love-making to May of management under these latter circum­ Constable. The cold, frigid opposition to stances, that she always secured to herself any other element than wealth in the affair such an amount of personal comfort and stung all that was generous -within him, freedom from the lower forms of self-ab­ and he had pledged himself and his honour negation as tended materiaUy to preserve pretty deeply to the girl, before he found the good effects of her originaUy graceful out that she amply fulfilled the one con­ figure, and unruffled mien, manners, and dition his mother had named as the face. essential. What marvel that such a woman, she This condition being fairly ascertained being not entirely selfish be it tmderstood, now, Mrs. Forest has little pity on, and no should shrink, now that the sun is shining patience with that nndefinable something upon her again, from any alliance for her which her quick eyes see is gro'wing up chUdren that might cast them into the bleak between her beautiful niece and her hand­ shade of poverty? Her o-wn riches had aU some, clever son. taken -wing once upon a time, and her hus­ " If my brother had only been honest band, a stock-broker, hadtoUedandwearied enough to tell me what a -witch his Kate and dragged on a generaUy miserable ex­ is, I would never have been weak enough istence after that episode, until he achieved to put her in Frank's path. Having com­ a competence for her and her children. mitted that error, I can only repair it by Ha-ving fnlfiUed his destiny by realising putting her out of his path as quickly as this noble aim he died, or as she expresses possible." it to this day—" He was mercifully re­ This thought has been Ijer constant moved before he had the opportunity of companion, day and night, for the last risking all that stood between me and week; but she has been unable to break despair." the chain of habitual intercourse which

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has easUy and naturally formed itself be­ she says, " that, when she pays us the neit tween the young people. This morning, visit, she -will find it much pleasanter; however, there has been somethmg a little you -will be able to chaperone her then." too tender and true in Kate's pride m her "You have never worded the affec­ cousin's success. Therefore his mother has tionate forethought to me, Aunt Marian," spoken—-with what effect has been seen. Kate says, suavely; and then she goes on There is a good deal of barely-sup­ to turn the tables on her perhaps nn- pressed scorn in Kate's face, as she looks conscious tormentor, by speaking of the on in silence whUe Frank's mother and trial that is laid upon every woman Frank's bride-elect embrace and congratu­ during the first year of her married life— late each other about " DupUcity." the dread, namely, that she may bore her "You must go and be very proud of husband out of even the semblance of him to-night, May," Mrs. Forest says; and affection for her. May says she is not sure about going, if " No woman -with a properly-regnlated he -wUl stay home -with her instead. mind need have that dread," Mrs. Forest "He must have had enough of those puts in, hurriedly. " This dear girl, for horrid theatres, poor boy; so I shall make example, even now, though she can't give him stay with me to-night," she says, •with him the fuU sympathy which she -will give an air of having authority over him, which when she is his -wife—it's beautiful to see goads Kate into saying— how he turns to her from all the excite­ " Your suggestion will be most flatter­ ment and intoxication of worldly flattery ing to him—on the second night of his and success. It's beautiful to me, very piece." beautiful." " Ah! but I don't mean to flatter him " So it is to me very beautiful," Kate too much," May says, -with tmfeigned says, quietly ; and May beamingly avows earnestness ; for she is not exactly keen of that she never felt afraid of boring anyone comprehension, and she is extremely de­ in her life, and that Prank likes being sirous that Kate should understand that, quiet: he often doesn't speak a dozen as an engaged young lady, she is in the words to her of an evening. position of the flattered, not the flatterer. "But he likes to hear.mamma and mc To say that Mrs. Forest feels indignant talk," she adds; " and we chatter on abont -with her niece for being cleverer than May —oh, about anything, you know, just as if Constable would be unjust, perhaps. But, he wasn't there." certain it is that she feels mortified and The two Miss Forests come in happily angry, and the anger vents itself on at this juncture; happUy for Mrs. Forest Kate. and Kate, that is, but -with no special air of ",There is something more flattering to a happiness about themselves. man, my dear, iu the fact of the girl he " There was no one out to-day, posi­ loves desiring his society, than in her tively no one," Miss Forest says in •wishing to go and see his play even: the answer to some inquiries as to whom she author is dearer to her than his work." has seen • and then she adds, as if he -were " That's just what Miss Mervyn meant," altogether outside the pale of anybody's self-satisfied May says, bringing all the interest, "We had a bow from Mr. power of her weakness to bear on the ex­ Graham, mamma, and when we camo planation—" but Frank bears spoUing away Marian was weak enough to let him well; we will spoU him aU our Hves, come np and tell her that he would call won't we, Mrs. Forest ? " here to-morrow." " Frank is more likely to spoU yon, " I shaU not be at home to him," Mrs. darling," Mrs. Forest says. Bnt there is Forest says, decisively. Then she goes no genuine ring about her tones; and Kate on to explain to the all-important May has the comfort of feeling that, in order Constable, that she really cannot receive a to keep things straight, the mother has man at her house who has "been dis­ to do a good deal of the love-making for missed the service." May says " of course the son. not," with equal decision, although she For some reason, or other, Mrs. Forest has not the faintest notion as to the amount takes an early opportunity of turning the of ignominy that is the righteous due of conversation away from the dramatic in­ such an offender. terest of the present, and causing it to run " Clement Graham has effrontery enough in the domestic channel of the future. for anything," Gertrude Forest puts in " I have been telling my niece Kate," complainingly, and she is rather surprised

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y "X Charlea Diclnna.] A NARROW ESCAPE. [May 9,1874.] 79 when her cousin Kate comes to her and service which had bound her in such says— grateful chains to him, that now as she "I do admire your thoroughness in hears unjust, sUghting mention made of tracking down misfortune, Gertrude; him, she would give anything to stand what is his unpardonable sin ? " forth and proclaim the truth, and say "He was such a nice young fellow," why Graham fell—if she dared. Marian says, in a superfluous way that is But somehow or other the consciousness infinitely disagreeable to her mother and of her own co^wardice stung her this day sister. "And he used to be here •with to a sharper degree than it had ever Frank a great deal—-it was he introduced done before. So " she is much gentler and Frank to you, May, yon ought to stand by quieter altogether," Mrs. Constable says him—and he was getting on so well in the to the Forests, when luncheon is over, Navy, and he was turned out because he " than she seems to be in society. May is wouldn't tamely submit to being badgered quite taken -with her, I assure you; but by a superior officer; that's the whole then May can afford to be generous to truth, mamma: I may not have put it other pretty girls, you see." prettily, but that is the truth." " Everybody is taken -with Kate ; May " I like the way you have put it," Kate isn't displaying any uncommon gene­ says, coming forward, •with a quiet deter­ rosity," Marian says, uncompromisingly. mination to be heard that ensures her an " If there is a girl in the world of whom audience; " we are aU so lenient to the I could be jealous, it is Kate," Q«rtrudo wrongdoer who escapes unpunished, and adds by •way of making things pleasant. so •virtuously severe on the one who is But i&s. Constable is a tepid natured found out; Marian is in a minority, I woman, steeped in a vapour bath of satis­ know, but I'm. -with her entirely in such faction •with things as they are. And so, a matter as this." ip. answer to these rather outspoken " My dear Kate, I knew you had a good alarmists, she only says:— many girlish follies clinging about you " Ah ! my dears ! you haven't either of stUl, though you have attained years of you kno-wn what true love is yet. May and discretion; but I thought you had passed Frank have found it out before you, and, out of the stage of effusive enthusiasm I have no more fear of either of them about a cause of which you know nothing," changing, than I have of their not being as Mrs. Forest says, and she pats May Con­ happy as my husband and I were, when stable's hand as she speaks, and looks for they are married." a smUe of sympathy on that young lady's May's mother s])eaks vrith. a tear or two face; of sympathy •with the half con­ in her eyes, and the Forest girls feel un­ temptuous tolerance she is expressing commonly sorry for themsel-ves. " Private for her niece. theatricals at three o'clock in the after­ " I hope the foUy of belie^ving that the noon, appalling ! " Gertrude thinks, whUe sin is not one bit the blacker because the Marian, •with real practical kiud-hsarted- sinner is found out, wUl cUng to me to the ness suggests— last. Aunt Marian; for to a certainty aU " Mrs. Constable, May can afford to be my other follies will, and I shall need the generous and aU that sort of thing of leaven of a little charity to Ughten them," course; bnt do you quite think she can Kate makes answer, with great apparent afford to be indifferent P She thinks no good humour ; but all the whUe her heart more of what he has •written for the stage and her mind are in revolt, against the than if he had merely written a motto for absolute necessity circumstances have a bon-bon cracker; do you think now that forced upon her of concealing a natural that can please him ? " hearty womanly paroxysm of remorse, as Mrs. Constable does her best to tackle she listens to the sUghting mention which the question which is asked in earnestness. is being made of a man who had done her She wrinkles up her brow, she purses np a certain good service in by-gone days. A her mouth, she shakes her head, and she ser^vice for which she might never thank sighs ! this last being an utterly mentally- him, which she might never acknowledge bewildered woman's last resource. Having even, for fear of bringing confusion upon done all these things, she says, at last, others—a service which he had rendered reflectively— to her as a woman, and not as the beautiful, " My dear Marian, I think those wives be-witching Kate Mervyn, whom most men are -wise who let all business cares drop delighted to serve. But, for all that, a off from their husbands, as soon as they iP (Oi [Condncted by 80 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

come home. If May takes my advice (and and so kneel do-wn before you— but, indeed, I shaU always be near, I hope, to advise to pray for the queen." And to this old and direct her) she -wUl never refer to custom of loyal prayer for the reigning anything connected -with his work when sovereign has been traced the insertion of her husband comes home for peace. Mr. the words, " Vivat rex," or " Vivat Constable and I were the happiest couple regina," which were wont to appear in the in the world, but I never questioned about playbills, untU quite recent times, when what might be going on in his busmess our programmes became the advertising establishment; he left all those interests media of the perfumers. behind him, when he left the city, and all The main object of the epilogue, how­ through the course of our married life, I ever, was, as Massinger has expressed it in never woke him once from his sleep in the concluding address of his comedy, that arm-chair over there, to ask what he Believe as you List— had bought or sold." The end of epilogues is to enquire "Prank's wares are rather different," The censnre of the play, or to desire Pardon for -what's amiss. Marian says, undauntedly, and Mrs. Con­ stable shakes her head rather sadly, in Sometimes a sort of bluntuess of speech reply to this, as she answers— was affected, as in the epUogue to one of "I know—I know, my dear. He's only Beaumont and Fletcher's comedies:— a literary man, but if he makes her happy, Why there shonld be an epUogue to a play I Imo-w no cause. The old and usual -way I vrill be contented." For -which they were made was to entreat the grace The afternoon is becoming very sleepy, Of such as were spectators. In this place conversation flags, and they one and aU And time, 'tis to no purpose ; for, I Iniow, •wish to get apart from one another. Kate •What you resolve already to bestow "Will not be altered, whatsoe'er I say finaUy breaks the chain that binds them, In the behalf of ns, and of the play; for she requires to rest, and think, rather Only to quit our doubts, if you thmk fit, severely, before she dare trust herself to Tou may or cry it up or silence it. meet the snocessfnl dramatist, her cousin, It was in order, no doubt, the more to to-night. concUiate the audience that epUogues assumed, oftentimes, a playfulness of tone that would scarcely have been tolerated in EPILOGUES. the case of prologues. The deUvery of an epUogue by a woman (i. e. by a boy EPILOGITES went out of fashion with pig- playing the part of a woman) was clearly taUs, the public having at last decided unusual at the time of the first perfonn- that neither of these appendages was ance of "As you Like it." "It is not the really necessary or particularly orna­ fashion to see the lady the epUogue," says mental ; but a very considerable time RosaUnd; " but it is no more unhandsome elapsed before this opinion was definitively than to see the lord the prologue. If it arrived at. The old English moralities or be true that good •wine needs no bush, 'tis moral plays usually concluded, as Mr. true that a good play needs no epUogue. Payne OolUer notes, -with an epUogue in Yet to good -wine they do use good which prayers were offered up by the bushes ; and good plays prove the better actors for the king, queen, clergy and by the help of good epUogues." There sometimes for the commons; the latest can be little doubt that aU Shake- instance of this practice being the epUogue speare's plays were originally foUowed by to a play of 1619, Two Wise Men and all epilogues, although but very few of these the rest Pools. " It resteth now," says have been preserved. The only one that the " epUognizer," "that we render you seems deficient in dignity, and therefore very humble and hearty thanks, and that appropriateness, is that above quoted, aU our hearts pray for the king and his spoken by the dancer, at the conclusion of famUy's enduring happiness, and our the Second Part of King Henry the country's perpetual weMare. Si .placet, Fourth. In no case is direct appeal made, pla-udite." So also the dancer entrusted on the author's behalf, to the tender with the delivery of the epUogue • to mercies of the audience, although the Shakespeare's Second Part of King Henry epUogue to King Henry the Eighth seems the Fourth, may be understood as referring to entertain misgi-vings as to the fate of to this matter, in the concluding words of the play :— his address:—"My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I -wUl bid you good night: 'Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here. Some come to take their case, cki :^

Gharles Diclcens.] EPILOGUES.. [May 9,1874.] 81

An act or two; but those, we fear. We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear urged, "that the minds of the audience They'll say, 'tis naught; others to hear the city must be refreshed, and gentlemen and Abused eirtremely and to cry—that's -wittij; ladies not sent away to their own homes Which we have not done neither; that, I fear. with too dismal and melancholy thoughts Ail the expected good we're like to hear For this play at this time, is only in about them." Certain numbers of the Tho mercifij construction of good women: Spectator were expressly devoted to the For such a one we showed them. discussion of this subject, in the interest, Prospero delivers the epilogue to the it is now apparent, of Ambrose Phillips, Tempest, and the concluding lines of The who had brought upon the stage an Midsummer Night's Dream, and of AU's adaptation of Racine's Andromaque, and Well that Ends WeU—which are not who enjoyed the zealous friendship of described as epUogues, and should, Addison and Steele. To the tragedy of perhaps, rather be riewed as " tags" the Distressed Mother, as it was called, —are spoken by Puck and the King. which can hardly have been seen in the The epilogues to King Henry the Fifth, theatre since the late Mr. Macready, as and to Pericles, are of course spoken by Orestes, made his first bow to a London the Chorus, and Gower, respectively, who, audience in 1816, an epilogue had been throughout those plays, have favoured added which had the good fortune to be the spectators with much discourse and accounted the most admirable production explanation. Twelfth Night terminates of its class. Steele, under the signature -with the clown's nonsense song, which of Physibulus, -wrote to describe his visit may be an addition, due less to the to Drury Lane, in company -with his friend. dramatist than to the comic actor who Sir Roger, to •witness the new perform­ first played the part. ance. "You must know, sir, that it is always my custom, when I have been well The epUogues of the EHzabethan stage, entertained at a new tragedy, to make ;my so far as they have come do-wn to us, are, retreat before the facetious epUogue as a rule, brief and discreet enough; bnt, enters ; not but that these pieces are often after the Restoration, epUogues acquired very weU written, but, having paid down greater length and much more impudence, my half-cro^wn, and made a fair purchase to say the least of it, whUe they clearly of as much of the pleasing melancholy as the had gained importance in the considera­ poet's a'rt can afford me, or my own nature tion of the audience. And now it became the admit of, I am willing to carry some of it custom to foUow np a harrowing tragedy home vrith me, and cannot endure to be at with a most broadly comic epilogue. The once tricked out of all, though by the heroine of the night—for the delivering of •wittiest dexterity in the world." He epUogues now devolved frequently upon describes Sir Roger as entering with equal the actresses—who, but a few moments pleasure into both parts, and as much before, had fallen a most miserable victim satisfied •with Mrs. Oldfield's gaiety as he to the dagger or the bowl, as the case might had been before -with Andromache's great­ be, suddenly reappeared npon the stage, ness ; and continues: " Whether this laughing, alive, and, it may be said, kick­ were no more than an effect of the ing, and favoured the audience with an knight's peculiar humanity, pleased to address designed expressly, it would seem, find that, at last, after all the tragical so to make their cheeks burn with blushes doings, everything was safe and weU, I that their recent tears might the sooner do not know; but, for my o^wn part, I be dried up. It is difficult to conceive must confess I was so dissatisfied, that now, that certain of the prologues and I was sorry the poet had saved Andro­ epUogues of Dryden and his contempo­ mache, and could heartily have wished raries could ever have been delivered, at that he had left her stone dead upon the any time, upon any stage. Yet they were stage. I found my soul, during the action, assuredly spoken, and often by women, graduaUy worked up to the highest pitch, apparently to the complete satisfaction of and felt the exalted passion which all gene­ the playgoers of the time. But, concerning rous minds conceive at the sight of •virtue the scandalous condition of the stage of in distress. . . . But the ludicrous epilogue the Restoration, there is no need to say in the close extinguished all my ardour, anything further. The ludicrous epUogue, and made me look upon all such achieve­ which has been described as the un­ ments as do^wnright sUly and romantic." natural tacking of a comic tail to a To this letter a reply, signed PhUomedes, tragical head, was certainly popular, how­ appeared in the Spectator, a few days ever, and long continued so. It was

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^ 82 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Condncted by

later, expressing, jn the first place, amaze­ plays the principal part in the petite piece; ment at the attack upon the epUogue, and so that I have myself seen at Paris Orestes caUing attention to its extraordinary suc­ and Lubin acted the same night by the cess. " The audience would not permit same man." Mrs. Oldfield to go off the stage the first This famous epUogue to the Distressed night tiU she had repeated it t-wice; the Mother i^ spoken by Andromache, and second night, the noise of the aneoras waa opens with the foUowing lines, which are as loud as before, and she was obliged certainly flippant enough :— again to speak it t-wice ; the third night it I hope you'll own that with becoming a,rt was stiU caUed for a second time: and, in I've played my game and topped the widow's part! short, contrary to all other epUogues, My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play. which are dropped after the third repre­ But died commodiously on Ms wedding-day; •While I, his relict, made, at one bold fling. sentation of the play, this has already Myself a princess, and young Sty a king. been repeated nine times." PhUomedes then points out that, although the pro­ Of this address the reputed author was logue and epUogue were real parts of Eustace Budgel, of the Inner Temple, ancient tragedy, they are on the English whose name is usually found printed in stage distinct performances, entirely de­ connection with it^—" the worthless tached from the play, and in no way Budgel," as Johnson caUs him — "the essential to it. "The moment the play man who caUs me cousin," as Addison ends," he argues, " Mrs. Oldfield is no more used contemptuously to describe him. Andromache, but Mrs. Oldfield; and though In Johnson's Life of Ambrose PhiEps, the poet had left Andromache ' stone dead however, it is stated that Addison was upon the stage' . . . . Mrs. Oldfield might himself the real author of the epUogue, stUl have spoken a merry epilogue; " and but that" when it had been at first printed he refers to the well-known instance of •with his name he came early in the morn­ NeU G-wynne, in the epilogue to Dryden's ing, before the copies were distributed, and tragedy of Tyrannic Love, " where there ordered it to be given to Budgel that it is not only a death but a martyrdom," might add weight to the soUcitation which rising from the stage upon which she was he was then making for a place." It is supposed to be lying stone dead—an probable, moreover, that Addison was not attempt having been made to remove her particiUarly anxious to own a production by those gentlemen "whose business it which, after aU, was but a follo\ving of aa is to carry off the slain in our English example so questionable as Prior's epUogne tragedies"—and breaking out "into that to Pheedra, above-mentioned. The con- abrupt beginning of what was a very troversy in the Spectator was, without ludicrous but at the same time thought a doubt, a matter of pre-arrangement very good epUogue— between Addison and Steele, for the enter­ tainment of the public and the increase of Hold! are you mad ? you damned confoonded dog, I am to rise and speak the epilogue! " the fame of PhUips; and the letter of " This diverting manner," PhUomedes PhUomedes, which, •with the epUogue in proceeds, "was always practised by Mr. question, has been often ascribed to Budgel, Dryden, who, if he was not the best •writer was probably also the work of Addison. of tragedies in his time, was allowed by Por all the rather unaccountable zeal of every one to have the happiest turn for a Addison and Steele on behalf of their prologue or an epUogue." And he further friend, however, the reputation of Philips cites the example of a comic epilogue has not thriven; he is chiefly remembered known to be written by Prior to the now by the nickname of Namby-Pamhy tragedy of Phoadra and Hippolita, Addison bestowed upon him by Pope, who had having suppUed the work •with a prologue always vehemently contested his claims to ridiculing the ItaUan operas. He refers distinction. As Johnson states the case: also to the French stage: " Since every "Men sometimes suffer by injudicious one knows that nation, who are generally kindness; PhU'ps became ridiculous, •with­ esteemed to have as polite a taste as any out his own fault, by the absurd admiration in Europe, always close their tragic enter­ of his friends, who decorated him -with tainment •with what they eaU a petite piece honorary garlands which the first breath which is purposely designed to raise mirth of contradiction blasted." Johnson, by the and send away the audience weU pleased. way, had, at the age of nineteen, -written a The same person who has supported the new epUogue to the Distressed Mother, for chief character in the tragedy very often some young ladies who designed an amateur

^ ==;3 :i =&3l Oharles Biokens.] EPILOGUES. [May 9,1874.] 83 performance of that stUl admired tragedy. drunken saUor," to recite a much admired The epUogue was intended to be delivered " occasional epUogue." Early comedians, by " a lady who was to personate the such as Joe Haines and Pinkethman, ghost of Hormione." now and then entered npon the scene) But although protests were now and " seated upon an ass," to deliver " an then, as in this case of the Distressed occasional epilogue," -with more mirthful Mother, raised against the absurdity of effect. Extravagances of this kiad have the custom, comic epUogues to tragic usually been reserved for benefit nights, plays long remained in favour -with the however. In Tom Bro-wn's works, 1730, patrons of the stage. Pointed reference there is a print of Haines, mounted on an to this fact is contained in the epUogue ass, appearing in front of the stage, with spoken by the beautiful Mrs. Hartley to a view of the side boxes and pit. An Murphy's tragedy of Alzuma produced at " occasional epilogue," was deUvered in Covent Garden in 1773:— 1710, by Powell, and Mrs. SpUler, "on the hardships suffered by lawyers and Our play is o'er; now swells each throbbing breast players in the Long Vacation." With expectation of tho coming jest. By Fashion's law, whene'er the Tragic Muse For some years before their extinction, With sympathotic tears each eye bedews; When some bright Virtue at her call appears. epUogues had greatly declined in worth, Waked from the dead repose of rolling yeai-a j although their loss of public favour was When sacred worthies she bids breathe smew. less apparent. They were in many cases That men may be what she displays to view j By Fashion's law with light fantastic mien wretched doggrel, full of slang terms The Comic Sister trips it o'er the scene ; and of impertinence that was both coarse Armed at all points with wit and wanton wiles,, and duU. With a once famous epilogue- Pla,y3 off her airs, and calls forth all her smiles ; Till each fine feeling of the heart be o'er. writer—MUes Peter Andrews, who was And the gay wonder how they wept before 1 also a dramatist, although, happily, his -writings for the stage have now vanished To Murphy's more famous tragedy of completely—Gifford deals severely in his The Grecian Daughter, Garrick supplied Ba-viad. " Such is the reputation this an epilogue, which commences :— gentleman has obtained for epUogue- The Grecian daughter's compliments to all; •writing, that the minor poets of the day, Begs that for Epilogue you -will not call; despairing of emulating, are now only For leering, giggling, would be out of season. solicitous of assisting him—^happy if they And hopes by me you'll hear a little reason, &o. can obtain admission for a couplet or two The epilogue to Home's tragedy of into the body of his immortal works, and Douglas is simply a remonstrance against thus secure to themselves a small portion the employment of " comic wit," on snch of that popular applause so la-rishly and an occasion. so justly bestowed on everything that An Epilogue I asked; but not one word bears the signature of Miles Andrews ! " Our bard will -ivrite. Ho vows 'tis most absurd A few lines make havoc of quite a covey With comic -wit to contradict the strain Of tragedy, and make your sorrows vain. of " bards " of that period. Sadly he says that pity is the best And noUest passion of the human breast; Too much the applause of fashion I despise j For when its sacred streams the heart o'erflow For mark to what 'tis given and then declare. In gushes pleasure with the tide of woe ; Mean though I am, if it be worth my care. And when its waves retire, like those of NUe, Is it not given to Bste's unmeaning dash, They leave behind them such a golden soil To Topham's fustian, Oolman's flippant trash, That there the virtues without culture grow To Andrews* doggrel, when three "wits combine. There the sweet blossoms of affection blow. To Morton's catchword, Greathead's idiot line. These were his words; void of delusive art And Holcroft's Shug Lane cant, and Merry's Moor- I felt them; for he spoke them from his heart. field's whine, &o. Nor will I now attempt with witty folly To chase away celestial melancholy. Criticism was not mealy-mouthed in Apart from the epUogues that pertained Gifford's day. to particular plays, and could hardly The tag appears to be foUo-wing the be detached from them, were the " occa­ epUogue to obli-rion ; for though it is sional epUogues," -written with no special difficiUt to differentiate them, the tag must relevancy to any dramatic work, but not be confused -with the epilogue, or rather designed to be recitations or riewed as merely an abbre-riated form monologue entertainments, that could be of it. As a rule, the epUogue was dirided delivered at any time, as managers, from the play by the faU of the curtain, players, and public might decide. Garrick, although this could hardly have been the who highly esteemed addresses of the case in regard to the epUogue mentioned class, waa wont, in tho character of "a above, delivered by " Mrs. Ellen," as =^p [Conducted by 84 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND.

Dryden caUs her, after the tragedy of LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS OF Tyrannic Love. But the tag is usually ENGLISH COUNTIES. the few parting words addressed by the NOETHAMPTONSHIEE : LOCAL TEADITIONS OP leading character in a play, before the cur­ THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. tain descends upon it, to " our kind friends in front," entreating their applause. The THICK as the white and orange lichens final couplets of a French vaudeviUe, it may­ that blotch the old embattled tower of be noted, usuaUy contain an appeal of this Naseby church, traditions of Charles and kind; otherwise, tags and epUogues are CromweU cluster around this Northamp­ aUke eschewed upon the Prench stage. tonshire battle-field. To enable our readers But this " coming forward " of the player, better to appreciate them, we -will briefly to deliver his tag, is a practice of old date. epitomise the events that preceded this last The concluding speech in Massinger's New downfall of the Cavalier cause. Way to Pay Old Debts, addressed to the The great battle of Naseby was fought audience, and commencing :— on June 14, 1645. In the July of the Nothing wants then preceding year CromweU had shattered Bnt your allowance—and in that our all the king's forces at Marston Moor, near Is comprehended, York. In every battle between the close- 8 according to the old stage direction, to cropped sad-faced Puritan and the long­ be spoken by Wellborn "coming forward." haired dare-de^ril Cavalier the grapple was So also Cozimo is directed to " come now growing closer and more deadly. One forward," to address to the audience the last struggle for life or death took place on last Imes of the Great Duke of Florence. the high moor ground betweenMarket Har- EpUogues have rarely been employed as borough and Daventry. Charles, unwilling supplementary acts, continuing and com­ to be cooped up in Oxford, had inarched ont pleting the action of a play, as prologues of that loyal city with ten thousand good in modem times have been converted into men and true, and had been soon after joined introductory chapters, explanatory of by his nephews, Prince Rupert and Prince events to be presently exhibited upon the Maurice. He raised the siege of Chester; scene. Yet the interminq,ble drama of while Fairfax was investing Oxford, and Marie Antoinette, by Signer Paolo CromweU guarding the Eastern Counties Giacometti, in which Madame Ristori he had long nursed so carefully; and took lately performed in London, is an instance Leicester by storm, where, among other of this kind. Marie Antoinette is in five prisoners locked up, was one John Bunyan, acts, with a prologue exhibitingthe queen's a common soldier in the Parliamentary life at VersaUles, in 1786, and an epUogue army. Fairfax immediately gaUoped into showing her imprisonment in the Con- Northamptonshire to checkmate the king, ciergerie, and her march to the guiUotine in and getting the House of Commons to the custody of Samson the executioner. appoint Cromwell lieutenant-general of his horse, sent for him post haste from the Isle SEASON SONG. of Ely, where he was busy organising a " SWEET love," said I, " 'tis the birth of the year. God-fearing militia. CromweU joined The snow is gone, and the roses are blowing; Fairfax about six a.m. on June 13, while 0 say my hope may banish my fear, a councU of war was holding, with six For my love grows strong as the flowers are growmg." hundred trusty "dragoons and horse" And she said, for the thrush's glad note was ringing, from the associated Eastern counties. " No need of love when the birds are singing." ** Sweet love," said I, " 'tis the summer's prime. But a word about the field on which the And the leafy earth is a sea of gladness j Cavaliers and Puritans were abont to 0 make it my perfect summer time. Of sun-lit joy after wintry sadness." jostle. And she said, and her voice was sweetly mellow, Naseby, a little obscure Northampton­ " No need of love when the com is yellow." shire village, seventy-eight miles from " Sweet love," said I, "the year grows old j But many a beauty still is staying; London, twelve from Northampton, and 0 be your love like the autumn gold six from Market Harborough, rises on an To gild brown leaves too soon decaying." eminence of land, once moor, which claims And she said, for the reapers an d gleaners were come ,- " No need of love at the harvest-home." now, as it did then, to be the very centre " Sweet love," said I, "the year is dead. or almost the very centre of England. The And the trees are bare in the killing frost ; place stands upwards of four hundred feet The birds are silent, the roses are fled, higher than the level of the Thames in Aud my hope, like the sunshine, is almost lost." And she said, " I take my heart from its cover. London, and from one portion of it caUed For winter is cold without a lover." GaUows-furlong (an ancient place of Oer -f

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CharloB Dickens.] LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS. [May 9,1874.] 85

execution), it has been observed that the Several rivers rise in this battle field. rain which falls on the east side of it flows The lesser Avon starts from a spring near towards the German sea, whUe that which the church, to diride the counties of falls on the west tends towards the Irish Northamptonshire and Leicestershire, and sea, whence local antiquaries were apt to to find its way by Tewkesbury into the call Naseby, most probably erroneously, Severn. The river Nen rises from ChapeU the highest ground in the kingdom. WeU spri^, andeventuaUyfaUs into the sea The blood-soaked field is at present an at Lynn. The river Welland has its source innocent piece of dull com land and near the vicarage at Sibbertoft, and the pasture, of some six thonsand acres, and river Tse from Naseby springs. A certain some twenty miles in circumference. On spring of bluoish water called Warren's the south Ue the lordships of Thornby and WeU, where many a Cavalier's horse must Cold Ashby, on the west Sulby, on the have slaked its thirst—is especially at­ north Sibbertoft and Clipstone, on the tractive to cattle, perhaps from its colour east Kelmarsh, Haselbeech, and Cottes- or some subtle odour unappreciable by brook, obscure fields and hamlets now, but man. St. Dennis's weU, a mUe west of on the 14th of June, 1645, full of angry the •vUlage, was once used as a bath for and frightened faces, fiery-faced pursuers, rheumatic patients, and children were pale fugitives, rejoicing sutlers and weep­ formerly often brought to be dipped there ing women, Rupert's savage troopers and after the old superstitious formula, nine Cromwell's sabring horsemen. mornings in succession. It is now bushed The people of the •rillage, which, a few in •with sedge and mantled with weeds. years ago, consisted of some one hundred On Scrough Hill there is a chalybeate cottages, are very long-lived—so much so spring, of a petrifying qpality. that the oldest of them are known in There is little timber now round Naseby. Northamptonshire markets as " Naseby Ash, however, grows here and there in the chUdren." Naseby, in fact, stands high fences and hedgerows, and there are a above the valleys, bogs, and damps, a fact few elms, oaks, and sycamores; firs thrive which perhaps accounts for a farmer of well; frait trees badly; but the Spanish Naseby, named Corby, liring to his ninety- broom flourishes. Naseby stands so high fourth year, and cutting a complete new that on a clear day from the old bank, set of teeth at the infantine age of seventy. on which a windmill once stood, thirty- It is remarked that these upland dwellers nine or forty parish churches can be seen talk in a shout as if, amid the winds and •with the naked eye, the furthest towers storms of the high land, low and gentle being Honghton-on-the-HUl, eighteen speech was ineffective. mUes distant, and Hunslope in Buck­ The straggling vUlage is a long parallelo­ inghamshire, twenty-two mUes away. gram, dragging on from north to south BUsdon Coppice in Leicestershire, twenty some two-thirds of a mUe. The place miles off, can be pitched on, and eight is supposed to have been once wooded, miles to the south Charles might have seen as the framework of the better houses Holmby House, where Colonel Joyce is chiefly oak; and as the roads were plucked him from the hands of the Par­ formerly always bad, and the village stood liamentary commissioners, and removed high, it is reasonably conjectured that the him to the army. In the extreme dim oak used in the cottages once grew near blue horizon run the hiUs of Mount- the spot. The names round Naseby seem sorrel in LeScestershire. There are plenty also to point to former woods, as the district of hares in Naseby fields, partridges in to the south is called KJnutcoat, and a mUe autumn, and, in the winter, snipes, •wUd and a half off stand the -rillages of Hasel­ geese, ducks, and grey and whistling beech and Thornby. plover. The large, white-headed eagle of Norway has been seen on the grassy In the two-thirds pasture and one of heights, as well as sand-pipers, and curlews arable, the red soU is now devoted to rye, in March and October. The fox-hounds the stronger and blacker lands to wheat of Althorpe and Pytchley are not unac­ and barley. The swine here are famous quainted with the gorses of Naseby. for their size. The land is here and there boggy—the soil gravel and peat. Naseby Prom Naseby spire a good glass can is full of springs, no fewer than six rising discern Boston Deeps, an arm of the sea, in the viUage, and several others in the about sixty miles away in Lincolnshire. lordship; and the water rnnning down Three p.m., when the sun is in the proper the hills is collected in artificial ponds. direction, and the air is free from vapours. =i.^^ .8= AT,T. THE TBAB ROUND. [Conducted by [May «, 1874.1 on the eve of the battle, that a party of is the best hour for this long shot. On the Rupert's horse were surprised by Ireton's top of Naseby spire is poised a large copper men " as they were sitting down to supper.' bA that wiU hold sixty gaUons. This ball A fine spring of soft limpid wat^r flows was brought by Sir Gyles Allington from through a stone reservoir in the cellar, Boulogne, when that town was taken by the for Naseby is a village of springs. English in the reign of Henry the Eighth, and he placed it on the cupola of hia house From a book •vvritten by Joshua Sprigge, at Horseleck, in Cambridgeshu^e, from chaplain to General Fairfax, we gam a whence it-svas sold abont 1789. The church clear view of the battle, which we shall font is very old and has been used for total amplify and clarify by means of the local immersion, a sure proof of age in fonts. traditions of Naseby, aa collected by tho On the treble bell of the church is engraved worthy Vicar of the place, the Rev. John " K-JTig Charles of Britain, France, and Ire­ Mastin, in 1792. On the 12th of Juno, land," and the date 1633. The church is says the exulting Sprigge, Fan-fax's army built of stone from the quarries of 'Weldon, marched to Guilsborongh, four mfles west .Haslebeech, and Harlstone. The great of Northampton, and five miles from "festival at Naseby is on Trinity Monday, Charles's outposts at Borough HUl, a body which is called RothweU Fair Monday. The of Parliament horse surprised the enemy, old church bells are then rung, and there is beat np their camp, and took some prisoners. the usual amount of dancing and drinking. The king was carelessly hunting at the There are remains of a rood loft in the time near Daventry, and the cavalry horses church, and on the carved pulpit stands the were aU at grass. A fierce attack on the iron frame of the old hour-glass. Cavaliers might have been a great success, but the foot were far behind, and night In Domesday Book (Navesbury) was coming on, so nothing more was done i Naseby appears to have belonged to Fairfax, fearing a Cavaher foray, rode up "William Peverel (a natural son of the and down by his horse and foot guards till Conqueror), who held seven hides there. five in the morning, and, forgetting his The inhabitants were eight villanes, a pass-word, was detained a long time by a priest, two socmen, and eleven cottagers. stubborn sentinel. At three a.m., as he The lands of Peveral escheating to the came within a mile and a half of Floor, crown, they were granted to Guy de la where there was an outpost of Cavalier Tal, who paid Henry the Second's ex­ cavalry, Fairfax saw the enemy riding fast chequer twenty shillings for the lordship. over Borough HiU, and apparently firing Naseby was then claimed in the reign their tents and beginning to march. Abont of King John by Roger de Lacey, Con­ five a.m. General Watson, the scoutmaster, stable of Chester, who fought with brought certain news that the enemy were the Crusaders at the siege of Damietta. dra-wing off Borough Hill, where they had This Roger, who saved the Earl of stood in arms all night, and were push­ Chester from the "Welsh by raising an ing toward Harborough. army of minstrels at Chester Fair, estab­ lished a Tuesday market at Naseby. About six a.m., as we have said, Crom­ The stump of the old market cross (injured weU arrived, to the exultation of tho in 1756), still exists in the market-place whole camp, at the very time Fairfax atNasSby. The manor often changed hands, was holding his council of war. A strong passing from the Earl of Gloucester to the party of horse was at once sent to Earl of Albemarle, from Lord Bonrohier Daventry, under trusty Major Harrison, to the Duke of Buckingham. In 1720 (the and another strong party -under Colonel South Sea year, when many lands changed Ireton were to fall on the enemy's flank, if hands), Charles Joye, Esq., bought it, and a weak point offered, while Fairfax, with bmlt a new Manor House. the main body, marched to flank Charles's A third part of the lordship was, for surprised army, on the way to Har­ several generations, in the hands of the borough, camping that night at Giliing. Shuckburgh family,whose old family house The country people welcomed the Par­ was pulled do-wn in 1773, and the materials liament men with joy, as the Cavaliers had used to build a farm-house. Many ancient plundered everywhere, even selling the coins were found in the foundations. The poor Northamptonshire childi-en to tho Irish timber, oak, felled in winter with the bark camp followers, who expected good ransom on, had bidden complete defiance to time. for their return. The old family oak table has been preserved, The Cavaliers' van was that night with and with it a tradition. It was at this table, Prince Rupert at Harborough, the rear

'T =1f =&:. Oharles Dlclcena.] LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS. [May»,W74.] 87 within two miles of Naseby. Upon this advance, that they left many of their guns rash but unsuspecting rear, Ireton fell behind them. that night, taking prisonera many of Prom a curious old plan of the battle Rupert's life guards and Langdale's published by Rushworth, Fairfax's secre­ brigade. At four p.m., Charles heai-ing tary, who was present at the event, we of this, and hitherto quite unconscious gain a clear view of the two armies—the that Fairfax and CromweU were so close gay, eager CavaUers, and the grave, stub- upon him, rode in the emergency to Har­ bom Puritans. Just below Dust hUl, borough; and "resting on a chair iu a where the king's baggage waggons dotted low room," sent and woke up Rupert, to the horizon, came the right wing of the hold a council of war. It was decided, Royal Cavalry, led by fiery Rupert and though -with some distrust, that Charles his brother. Prince Maurice; while tho could not push on to Leicester, or go on left -wing of Newark horse was headed his way to reUeve Pontefract and Scar­ by Sir Marmadnke Langdale. The king borough, without leaving his rear at himself took the command of the main the mercy of Fairfax. The CavaUers body of infantry, with Sir Barnard Astley had more cavalry than Cromwell, and on hia right, and Sir George Lisle on tho they relied on their infantry; so Charles, left; while, as reserve behind him, were against the opinion of his chief ofiicers, Colonel Howard's horse, aud his o-wn and resolved to fight it out then and there, Prince Rupert's regiments of foot. and moreover, not to wait for Fairfax, Pale, sour faces stared at them from bnt to march straight npon him. CromweU's ranks on the right wing, and On Saturday, June fourteenth, at three from Ireton's ranks on the left. The Puri­ a.m., Fairfax marched from Giliing tan reserves were headed by Lieutenant- towards Naseby, intending to press the General Pride, Colonel Hammond, and king hard with his cavalry, till his foot Colonel Rainsborough—Pride's rear pha­ could come up, in case Charles had pushed lanx of pikemen and musketeers being on, towards Leicester. By five a.m. Fair­ posted near MiU hiU, just in front of fax reached the chosen rendezvous at Naseby village, and Colonel Riche's, and Naseby, where his spies brought word Colonel Fleetwood's regiments of horse, that the enemy was at Harborough, stiU below, not far from the baggage train, .seeming irresolute whether to stand or which was ringed with firelock men. retreat. But at that very moment plumes A carbine shot below the brow of the began to show, and armour to sparkle on lull, where the pikemen of Sir Hardress the hiU, the Naseby side of Harborough, "WaUer's, Colonel Pickering's, and Mon­ and no doubt remained that King Charles tague's regiments massed, Fairfax had had at last taken heart, and was ad­ placed a forlorn hope of three hundred of vancing to join battle. The drums at once Skippon's musketeers, while he himself were ordered to beat, the trumpets to rode in front of his own regiment, near sound, and both armies began to draw up Colonel "WhaUey's regiment, the extreme in f uU battaUon. "While massing his troops, left of CromweU's terrible right -wing. and studying the most advantageous So the battle was joined. The field word gi'ound for a fight, Fairfax and his men for the king that day was, " Queen Mary; " saw Charles's army loom suddenly over the for the Parliament " God our strength." hiU, trying to "get the wind of him." A move iu the saddle, a dash of the Upon this Fairfax drew down his army spur, a toss of plumes, a gleam of swords, into a large faUow field, north-west of and down came Rupert on Ireton's left Naseby, flanked on the left hand by a wing, which rode down the brow of hedge. He also, in hia stolid way, tho hiU to meet hiTt, as strides a sturdy occupied the ledge of a hill running east, swimmer forward to breast a breaker. and drew up lus army there, fronting Rupert and his men puUing up sharp, as Charles's men, but keeping one hun- if surprised at this readiness, Ii-eton and di'cd paces below the highest ground, his men halted too, partly from mere so as to hide the form of his battle, and imitation, and partly that the ground was conceal any hurry and confusion from rough, and the right and left divisions did not quite keep pace. Colonel Butler's the CavaUers. The enemy perceiving regiment. Colonel Vermuyden's and Ireton's this -withdrawal, at once leaped to the own were all pushing on together, while conclusion, in their usual rash and con­ Colonel Riche's and Fleetwood's regiments temptuous way, that Fairfax was flying waited for the trumpet, as did the troops to Northampton, which so hurried their =r \ =^ * [Oonduoted by 88 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE TEAR ROUND.

which CromweU had brought with him and scattered them almost to Naseby. It from the Eastern Counties. Again Rupert was at this disagreeable moment that advanced, and Ireton then soundmg a Rushworth himself was startled by a vrild charge, leaped at him lUce a tiger. apparation. What a flutter of scarfs and feathers as " A party of theirs," he says, " that the two seas met! what a chink of steel! broke through the left vring of horse, came what a tinker-like hammering at steel cap quite behind the rear to our train; the and breastplate ! Of Ireton's three right leader of them being a person somewhat hand divisions of horse, two charged in habit Uke the general, in a red montero, home, and routed the sons of Belial, but as the general (Fairfax) had. He came as one missing its cue, the two left divisions a friend; our commander of the guard of being rather too slow, received the full the train went -with his hat, and asked shock of Rupert's -wild and swagger­ him. How the day went ? thinking it ing Hectors. Ireton then seeing Sir had been the general. The Cavalier, who Bernard Astley's brigade of foot pressing we soon heard was Rupert, asked him sore on Skippon's pikemen, ordered his and the rest if they wonld have quarter? division to charge the enemy, and fell They cried, ' No!' gave fire, and in- himself headlong on Astley's musketeers, stantly beat them off. It was a happy but was overpowered—his horse was shot deUverance, -without doubt." under him, his thigh pierced with a pUce, At the same moment CromweU's cavalry his face was struck -with a halbert, and ha-ving broken to fragments the Cavaher he himself for the time taken prisoner. horse, had started off to keep the In the meantime, Cromwell had broken rest of Rupert's cavalry from coming to in like a torrent on Sir Marmadnke Lang- the rescue of the discomfited foot of the dale, and his Northern and Newark horse, central battle, all being smashed up there and had broken them up as a fist wonld a except the brave section of pikemen, band-box. Never did sabres more sharply halberdiers, and musketeers, who had re­ impress -the doctrine of resistance to pulsed countless attacks on their fianks, tyranny, and never did CromweU's men front, and rear, tiU Fairfax caUed np his strike harder or surer. The Cavaliers o-wn regiment of foot, hurried on by Crom­ fought well too, fired at the last moment, weU, who at once feU on the Cavaliers and came hotly to the sword; but Oliver with the butt-end of their muskets. Fair­ broke the Cavalier horse to pieces, and fax, at the same time, gave them a shock pursued them beyond their foot, and near •with his cavalry, which finaUy sent them a quarter of a mile from the battle field. to the four •winds. The king had now Nor had the two main bodies been all only the horse left, and •with them he re­ this time inactive. Astley's and Lisle's mained ; for Fairfax could not charge him pikes and musketeers had met Waller's, tUl the Roundhead foot had come up, and Skippon's, Pickering's, and Montague's they were a quarter of a mile off. They men, and fought foot to foot. The alacrity, soon came cheering loudly, well rallied, confidence, and rush of the CavaUers had at and formed in between the two wings of first pressed back the Puritan's front divi­ victorious horse, within carbine shot of sions—all, indeed, except Pairfax's own the enemy, in a firm battalion. The king, regiment—and the men, as they fell back, eager for a fresh fight, did all he could to had mixed with the reserves of Pride, encourage his cavalry, calling out, " One Hammond, and Rainsborough. The latter charge more, and we recover the day.' advancing, however, like a wall of steel, But the Roundhead dragoons had already repelled the King's men, and at last, with thro-wn themselves from their horses and surly shouts, push of pikes, blows of opened fire from the hedges on the shaken halberds, and splashing fire of musketry, Royalists. There, massed together, dark and drove them to hopeless rout. Brave threatening as thunder-clouds, stood Fair­ Major-General Skippon was shot badly in fax's and CromweU's men — horse, foot, the side, and Fairfax desired him to leave and artUlery ; whUe the Royalist foot and the field; but the tough old man replied, guns were gone for ever. A moments bluntly, " I'll not stir as long as a man wavering look, and the king's ranks wUl stand." And he waited accordingly, loosened, shook, and broke; and far over tUl the last blow was struck. the plain the frightened horsemen, who, a short time before, had been so furious and All this time Rupert was driving among cruel in the onslaught, scattered and fled. Ireton's shattered left division, who were Pairfax's horse pursued some foni'teen impeded by ditches and pools of water,

=*

^ Charles Dickens.] LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS. [May.S, 1874.] 89

miles, nearly, indeed, to the walls of Lei­ an opportunity to rebury them there. cester, slaying, beating do-wn, and taking Sound effectual grinders, one of them prisoner. very large; which ate then- breakfast on Aboutfour thousand private soldiers were the fourteenth morning of June, two hun­ taken, besides six colonels, eight lieutenant- dred years ago, and, except to be clenched colonels, eighteen majors, seventy captains, once m grim battle, had never work to do eighty lieutenants, eighty ensigns, two more in this world!—'A stack of dead hundi-ed inferior officers, and many bodies, perhaps about one hundred, had of the king's inferior household servants. been buried in this trench; pUed as in a There were also captured all the king's wall, a man's length thick; the skeletons artiUery (twenty-two brass pieces of lay in courses, the heads of one course to ordnance), eight thousand arms, forty the heels of the next. One figure, by the barrels of powder, two hundred horse, strange position of the bones, gave us the and all the plunder of Leicester. The king's hideous notion of its having been thrown and the Duke of York's colours and four in in before death! The bones were of the Queen's white colours -with double treated with aU piety; watched rigorously, crosses, beside one hundred other horse over Sunday, till they could be covered in and foot flags were left to the -victors. again.' Sweet friends, for Jesus' sake Above all CromweU's men captured the forbear! " king's cabinet (fuU of dangerous letters), It is said, that in this action, a com­ and all his coaches and personal baggage. mander of the king's, ki||wing Cromwell, Colonel John Piennes, who was sent to advanced briskly from the head of his London -with the prisoners, took with him troops, to exchange a single buUet with eleven colours. There was also captured, him, and was -with equal bravery en­ says Sprigge, a wooden image, which the countered by him, both sides forbearing Cavaliers blasphemously called " the god of to come in, tUl their pistols were dis­ the Roundheads," and had carried about charged. The Cavalier, then, with a slant­ in procession, in contempt of the Puritan ing back blow of a broadsword, chancing army just before the battle began. The to cut the ribbon that held CromweU's king lost twenty ofiicers and some six morrion, -with a jerk threw it off his hundred private soldiers. Most of the head; just as he was going to repeat Cavalier prisoners were lodged that night his stroke, CromweU's party came in in Harborough church, but the wounded and rescued him; and one of them alight­ were sent on to Northampton. Fairfax ing, threw up his head-piece into his marched that victorious night five mUes to saddle, which he hastily catching, clapped Harborough, and made that his head­ it on the vn-ong way, and so bravely quarters. fought vdth it the rest of the day. "An old man now li-dng," says Mr. This iron cap or head-piece, covered Mastin, in his history of Naseby, " remem­ -with black velvet, was m 1792 in the bers very well to have been told by his possession of a Mr. CromweU (a relation grandfather, that he was then a strong of the Protector's) who resided in Essex- boy, about nine or ten years old, and was street in the Strand; and was clerk to St. keeping cows in the field during the Thomas's Hospital in London. whole time of the battle, that he was Fairfax's despatch after Naseby contains present at the burial of the dead, which some characteristic touches of Cromwell. was done by the country people coming in "Had not Major-Gen. Skippon," says from all quarters; some were stripped, Fairfax, "done gallantly, he had not others buried in their clothes; but in received such an early wound in his side; general so shallow, that the bodies, in a and had he not had a spring of resolution, short time, became very offensive, that he had not stayed in the field as he did, liquid issued from the graves and ran tUl the battle wrfs ended; for being several yards upon the ground, which, desired by His ExceUencie to go off the having subsided, the cattle ate those spots, field, he answered, he would not stirre, so for several years, remarkably bare. The long as a man wonld stand. That I graves are stUl very -visible, but are mention not aU those officers and souldiers become concave, and water stands in them particularly, who behaved themselves so in the winter season." gallantly in this action, is to avoyd emu­ "A friend of mine, "says Mr. Carlyle, "has lation and partiality; I shall satisfie my­ in his cabinet, two ancient grinder teeth, self to adde concerning them, and the dug lately from that ground, and waits for whole busenisse, the words of the General, \ =^ [Conducted by 90 [May 9,1874.1 ALL THE TEAR ROUND.

and Lieutenant-General, in then- several If his majesty had taken the adrice of the letters to the speaker of the House of friendly ghost, and marched northward the Commons, with which I shall conclude. next day, where the Parliament had few ' Honest men served you faithf uUy in this English forces, and where the Scots were action; Sir, they are trusty; I beseech becoming very discontented, his affairs you in the name of God, not to discourage might, perhaps, stUl have had a prosperous them ; (which they have not done, blessed issue; or, if he had marched immediately be God, and I hope never vrill.) He into the west, to join the Lord Goreinge, proceeds, and wisheth, this action may who had there a good body of horse, he beget thankfulness and humiUty in aU might afterwards have fought on more that are concerned in it;' and concludes equal terms, But the king, fluctuating thus modestly himself, ' He that ventures between the apprehensions of his imagi- his Ufe for the liberty of his country, I nation and the reproaches of his courage, wish he trust God for the Uberty of his remained another whole day at Daintree conscience, and you for the liberty he in a state of inactivity." fights for,' &c. AU that I desire," says " The day after his majesty arrived at the General, " is that the honour of this SouthweU, walking about the to-wn, as it great, never-to-be-forgotten mercy, may was his practice to do," says the same be given to God, in an extraordmary day writer, " he went into the shop of one of Thanksgiving, and that it may be im­ James Lee, a fanatical shoemaker. Find­ proved to the good of his church, which ing his person was not known, he en­ shall be faithfully endeavoured by. Sir, tered into conversation -with Crispin, and, your most humble servant, THOMAS in the end, was measured for a pair FAIEPAI." of shoes. Lee had no sooner taken his RasteU, in his history of SouthweU, majesty's foot into his hand to measure relates a curious story of the apparition of him, than, eyeing him very attentively, he Lord Strafford appearing to Charles when was suddenly seized -with a panick and he was hesitating at Daventry a month would not go on. The king, surprised at before Naseby. It, at least, serves to his beha-riour, pressed him to proceed; show the vacillation and superstition of but Crispin absolutely refused, saying, he the weak monarch. was the customer himself had been warned "About two hours," says this -writer, of in his sleep the night before; that he " after the king had retired to rest, some was doomed to destruction, and those of his attendants hearing an uncommon would never thrive who worked for him. noise in his chamber, went into it, when The forlorn monarch, whose misfoiiimes they found his majesty sitting np in bed, had opened his mind to the impressions of and much agitated, but nottung which superstition, uttered an ejaculation ex­ could have produced the noise they pressive of his resignation to the wiU of fancied they heard. The king, in a Providence, and retired to the palace, trembling voice, inquired after the cause which was the place of his abode." of their alarm, and told them how mnch Banks, in his life of Cromwell, men­ he had been agitated in a dream, by think­ tions a curious tradition that the Protector ing he saw the apparition of Lord S-trafford, was buried at Naseby, the scene of his who, after upbraiding him with unkind- last great final •rictory, and not, as -was ness, told him he was come to return good supposed, in Westminster Abbey. for evil, and that he advised him by no "Much has been said, and many means to fight the Parliament army that doubts have arisen relative to the burial- was at that time quartered at Northamp­ place of the Protector Cromwell; and tho ton ; for in it was one whom the king author of the Compleat History of England could never conquer by arms. Prince observes that it still remains a question Rupert, in whom courage was the pre­ where his body was really buried. 'It dominant quality, rated the king out of was,' says he, ' in appearance in West­ his apprehensions the next day, and a minster Abbey. Some report he was cawied resolution was again taken to meet the below bridge and thro^wn into the Thames. enemy. The next night, however, the But it is most probable that it was buried in apparition appeared to him a second time, Naseby Field. This account,' he continues, but -with looks of anger, assuring him that ' is given as ready to be deposed, if occa­ would be the last ad-rice he should be per­ sion required, by Mr. Barkstead, the re­ mitted to give him; but that, if he kept gicide's son, who was about fifteen years his resolution of fighting, he was undone. old at the time of Cromwell's death; ' that iRf Charles Dickens.] WE THREE. [May 9,1874.] 91

the said Barkstead, his father, being too. He would go out alone, to take long Lieutenant of the Tower, and a great con­ walks, from which he returned pale, and fidant of CromweU's, did, among other weary, and unrefreshed. snch confidants in the time of his Ulness, _We travelled by short stages, for I was desire to know where he would be buried; still weak. But at length that dreary to which the Protector answered, ' where journey came to an end. The last day, he had obtained the greatest victory and on the evening before George was to leave glory, and as nigh the spot as could be me, I said to him, " WUl you let me know guessed, where the heat of the action where to address a letter to you, George ? was, viz., in the field at Naseby in North­ I shall have to write to you." ampton.' At midnight, soon after his death, the body (being at first embalmed He started, and looked sharply round and -wrapped in a leaden coffin), was in a at me, as he answered, "Let yon know hearse conveyed to the said field, Mr. where to vrrite ? Of course. What a Barkstead himself attending, by order of question! " his father, close to the hearse. Being come " I suppose you -will not spend a very to the field, they found about the midst of long time en route ? " it a grave dug about nine feet deep, with " I shall travel as fast as I can go, night the green sod carefully laid on one side, and day." and the mould on the other; in which the As he said it, he rose np and walked to coffin being put, the grave was instantly the window, as though he were impatient fiUed up, and the green sod laid exactly to be gone at once. He was like a crea­ flat upon it; care being taken that the ture cramped in a cage, that longs to surplus mould should be clean removed. stretch its limbs in freedom. Soon after the like care was taken that " I am sorry," said I,," that yon shonld the ground should be ploughed up, and it have had to make this slow, irksome jour­ was sowed successively with corn.' Several ney with me. I would not have suggested other material circumstances, says the fore- coming with you, if I had not had a mentioned author, the said Mr. Barkstead certain object in -riew." (who now frequents Richards's Coffee He was stUl standing at the window, House within Temple Bar), relates relative with his face turned away from me. to this burial." " Have I complained of the slowness of the journey?" he said, irritably. "Why The following enigmatical anecdote used do you make these indirect reproaches. to be current at Naseby. " Some years Desiree ? " ago," went the story, " on a Shrove "I make no reproaches. It is very Tuesday, two women of the village had natural that you should have found this a -riolent dispute in the churchyard; from journey utterly wearisome and depressing." words they proceeded to blows, and fought George put his hand up to his most furiously; when a man, who was head, and sighed out, under his breath, shot at the battle of Naseby, came out of a " Ah—h—h ! I'm so tired of it aU ! " grave and parted them." Tes; he was "tired of it aU." I knew The fact was, one Humphrey Thomp­ that he was so. Well—it should end. son, a parishioner of Naseby, and quarter­ In my solitude—I was very solitary; it master to King Charles, valiantly fighting was yet early in the summer and the place for his royal master in this field, was was nearly empty of strangers—my reso­ wounded, but not mortally; he, after lution grew and strengthened itself. I quitting the army, was made parish-clerk was getting rapidly stronger. And with and sexton, and was digging a grave when returning strength, grew the desire for the above-mentioned quarrel happened. action and employment. I could no longer sit and stare at the blue sky for hours at a stretch, as I had done in the first days of WE THREE. my recovery. I had made up my mind to IN rOTJE CHAPTEES.—CHAPTEB IV. •write a letter to George. But I had not MT husband left me at Schwalbach, decided on what day I would -write it, nor after seeing me settled in a quiet lodging even very precisely the words I shonld with my maid. All throughout the jour­ use. I was clear as to what I would ney he had been sUent and downcast. He say, but aU uncertain as to how I should had grown thin, and had lost the look of say it. bright -rigour which was formerly his most One morning I went out alone, as usual, striking characteristic. He was restless, and after walking a little way through the

woods, I sat dovm at the foot of a great and faUure, aU seemed to be explained, beech tree, and looked along an avenue, now that it was too late. _ " Too kte!" all fuU of soft green Ught—lUce the Hght The thought made me spring to my feet which comes through sea-water—filtered with a sudden impulse. I hastened home, through the fresh young foliage. At first and sat down at once, without pause or I saw the trees, and the leaf-shadows deliberation, to write to George. So, and dappling their sUver stems and trembling so only, must that letter be -written. I and changing as a little breeze blew fit­ have it here before me. It was returned fully. But soon it was a very different to me, with other papers—afterwards. -rision I was contemplating. It was the This is my letter. vision of three past years, whose months " We have been very unhappy, George. and days passed by in procession. And I I do not know that we were either of us looked at them, as they came one by one much to blame. Let ns part. The past out of the dim caves of memory, as at a cannot be undone. But why shonld all picture being slowly unrolled before me. the rest of your life be clouded by the I saw it all like a revelation! I saw shadow of my sadness ? Let us part. Do George Lester as he first came into my you know why I sent away Amy Bent father's house, handsome, smUing, joyous; before I left England ? It was because I taking all the good things of this life had already the fixed idea that I should which feU to his share, as easUy and as never return to my home there. And 1 Ughtly as though showers of good things wished to know that she was safe in kind were as common as rain. He was pros­ hands. I have been so sorry for you, perous, strong, self-confident. To him, George. It is only since I have seen how the utterances of a soul perplexed by the happy and joyous you might have been ia great problems of this mysterious existence thesocietyofawoman congenial to yon, that in which it finds itself, seemed as mean­ I have understood what a fatal error I ingless as the inarticulate murmurs of one made in consenting to be your -wife. I talking in his sleep. Indeed his answer wUl repair it as far as may be. Let us to such utterances was always, in effect, part. I could not speak to you of this " Come, come, wake up ! Tou're dream­ whUe you were stUl •with me. But now ing." Then to this bright, cheerful that I have once declared openly what has creature, to whom life was such a pleasant been long in my heart, I feel that I shall thing, undimmed by any shadow from the be able to talk to you freely. When yonr sorrows of other people, I saw linked— business is accomplished, come back to myself, to be his comrade in the march this

y^ 'X =43 Charles Dickens.] WE THREE. [May 9,1874.] 93

George's line of conduct; the painful doubt sorry for you. I was not bitter or angry and darkness I was in respecting the so much as sorry, Desiree. And I would spirit in which he had received my letter have done anything on earth to make your —of all this I can give no coherent life brighter. But I could not go on account. lo-ring you as I had loved you at first. It At length, and nearly as soon as I had was not possible. Tou tell me to speak calculated that it was possible, came a sincerely, and I wUl. But I know aU the letter from George. I locked the door of time I am not saying my thoughts and my room, and sat do^wn to read it. I had feelings exactly as they are, because I am a strange sensation of the unreality and not good at putting them ont in -writing. intangibility of aU the objects around me, And besides that, my head is confused as I sat there alone, tearing open the cover now. I have been badgered by business of the letter, which I am unable to describe, matters here, and have been out all day in but which I well remember. I scarcely the sun. And I feel a good deal knocked felt the paper between my fingers. My up. But I must just say this word in feet seemed to rest on clouds rather than answer to your letter. If at the end of on the solid floor of the room. And when the month, when I come back to Schwal­ I had unfolded tho pages of the letter I bach, you are still in the same mind, think­ did not see what was -\vritten on them for ing that it wUl be best for us to part, so a long while ; or for what seemed to me a let it be. I don't -wish to keep you chained to my side, to your sorrow and long while. At length I read—this : discontent. But as to what you say about " Tou know I am not good at writing, my being ' absolutely free to be happy in Desiree. I cannot express myself as well my own way,' there can be no such freedom as you do, who are clever with your pen and happiness for me as you are meaning. as you are clever at everything. But I I mnst bear my o-wn burden. I suppose must try to answer you as well as I can. other folks have as heavy ones. But I For although I shall come back to Schwal­ could not do such a wrong to any innocent bach as soon as possible, yet I shall not be woman—supposing there was any one who able to get away before the end of the would be -wUling to make the sacrifice for month, and I must not leave you without me; and I don't know that there is an answer all that time. Desiree, when I any one who would do it. I could not married you. Heaven knows I was as fond of do any confiding creature snch a wrong you as man could be, and I wished to make as to put her in -the vacant place yon will you happy, and I put you before all the leave in my home, and expose her to con­ world in my mind. Bnt I soon found-that tempt and cold looks. Although you have you were not happy and contented. Tou so much book learning, Desiree, you don't despised all my friends, you hated my know the world as well as I do. At all country, and you treated me like an oaf, events you don't know the English world who could be pleased with good dinners, so well. One great reason why I was but didn't understand anything higher. I anxious to come abroad on this business am not as clever and intellectual as you are, that I am looking after, was to get away Desiree, but I was not too stupid to under­ from the risk of bringing trouble and stand all that. And I am not saying all talk on innocent heads. And, indeed, these things to reproach you. Only to when you told me that you had made justify myself. I don't think I was rash. that arrangement with the GUberts, I I had patience. I made allowances for was not surprised, and I felt you were you. I made allowances for your foreign right. No, no, Desiree, it is hard enough bringing up, and for your finding English that you and I should be unhappy with­ ways and people strange at first. But first out dragging others into our misery. My and last it was all the same. The truth is, actions are in my own power, whatever you did not love me. That was the real my feelings may be. I feel that I have cause of all the trouble. It took a long not said half that I want to say, and yet time to convince me of it. I didn't want my letter is t-wice as long as yours. But to be convinced. But you showed me so my head is getting worse, and I must leave plainly that I was no companion for you off. Don't -write back again to me. It is that at last I went out among my friends, no use •writing. I shall be in Schwalbach and found kind looks and pleasant words. by the end of the month." As to affection, I had to do without that. Tou say you have been 'so sorry for me.' The letter was began in George's free, WeU, there was cause. But I, too, was bold handvmting, •with great broad 94 [May 9,1874.] ALL THE TEAR ROUND. [Conducted by strokes, and Ihies as straight as the "Does he know that I am coming?" furrow made by a strong, skilful plough­ I asked. man. Bnt long before the end of it vyas " Ah, no madame. He knows nothing. reached the letters wavered, and grew in­ He has brain fever, and is ont of his mind distinct. And the Unes slanted crookedly altogether. When he is not raving, he here and there. He was Ul. is in a sort of stupor. I am very glad He iU! George Lester, who seemed to you have come, madame. We do what bear an atmosphere of health and •rigour we can; but it is a great responsibility about -with him ! But, when he left me, and a great anxiety in a house of this he was looking thin and pale and haggard. Mnd." He did not seem to have lost his strength. And then he went on with a string of He could walk out and tramp for miles in complaints, and spoke as if he were injured all weathers. But he was not himself. by my husband's having fallen Ul in hie And now this headache—this confession, house. Whilst he was speaking, the doctor on his o-wn part, that he was feeling very came in, a coarse-faced, heavy man, with much knocked up ^ ! a morose brow. He did not think it neces­ The last lines of the letter seemed to sary to soften what he had to say to me, efface in my mind all that had gone before because I was the patient's -wife, but gave them. I could think of nothing but those his report of tho case in the plainest terms. words, " My head is confused, I have been It all seemed very horrible to me. The a good deal badgered -with business mat­ men were so unmoved, so unfeeling. Both ters, and I feel knocked up." And, again, landlord and doctor seemed chiefly bent " My head is getting worse, and I must on magnifying their own trouble and leave off." responsibUity. Tet, I could not but ac­ I was stUl sitting, holding the letter in knowledge that they had done what was my hand, with my eyes fixed on the almost needful for my husband. A nurse had illegible characters of the last page, when been provided to watch him. there came a hurried knocking at the door " Some people would have sent the gen­ of my room. " Madame, madame, here is tleman to the hospital," said the landlord; a telegram! " cried a voice outside. With " but, as I was assured his malady was trembling fingers I opened the door, and not infectious, I let him remain." took from the hands of my maid a tele­ " It seems to me," I said, turning on graphic despatch. It was from Pesth, him almost fiercely, " that you have done sent by some one whose name was un­ nothing but what can be paid for in known to me, and contained these words money. By good fortune, I am able to in German, " George Lester very Ul at pay. Continue to do all in yonr power this hotel. Friends are requested to com­ for my husband, and I shall not count the municate at once with landlord." cost. Tou can make this known to all the In less than two hours I was on my way servants in yonr establishment. It may to Pesth. I traveUed without more cessa­ stimulate their humanity." tion than was necessitated by the hours of The man bowed, and shrugged his departure of the trains. When I was shoulders deprecatingly. He would do forced to wait at a station, I walked up all that was possible, he said. and down instead of resting. My maid " When may I see him ? " I asked of slept, wrapped in her shawl, on the sofas the doctor, who had stood by, watching of waiting-rooms, in the raUway carriages, me in sUence. or where she could. I did not sleep untU " Ob, whenever you like," he answered we were within a few hours of onr jour­ carelessly. " He won't know you. It will ney's end, when I f eU into a deep slumber, make no difference. Only you must keep from which I was with difficulty roused on quiet." arriving at our destination. I had tele­ My maid, who had been standing at my graphed to the hotel that I -was on my elbow, crying in a feeble manner, and not way, and I was expected. The landlord understanding a syllable of what was met me as I aUghted from the carriage at being said, now perceived that I was the inn-door, and, speaking in French, about to move away after the doctor, and told me that there was no improvement in begged me to take some rest aud refi-esh- Mr. Lester's condition, but he was stiU ment before going into the sick room. alive. But I would not pause then. "I wiU eat StiU alive! The words cut me like a afterwards," I said. " And now I do not knife. feel tired." It waa true, I did not. All Charles Dickens.] WE THREE. [May 9,1874.] 96 fatigue seemed to have fallen off me like a But when he spoke, in the stiU hours garment. of the night, and his mutterings grew I followed the doctor down a long distinct enough to be inteUigible, and he corridor. Without any preliminary word would call upon Amy—always Amy—and of caution he opened the door of a room ask her to sing that song again that his at the end of it, and I saw my husband. mother used to sing in the old times—oh His bed faced the door. He was lying that was hard I I have cut the palms of in it with •wide open eyes raised to about my clenched hands with my naUs as I lay the level of my face, and when I entered, in the dim room listening to him. they seemed to fix themselves on me with " Amy! Amy! Take it away. I can- a tierce glare. His face was flushed and not hear your voice. Take away this haggard. His blue eyes glittered, as they burning coal from my forehead. If looked full into mine. How terrible it you take that away I shall hear you sing. was to see that look! How hard to I only see you move your Ups. Amy! believe that those eager eyes saw, not Amy! " me, at whom they stared so intently, but Then he wonld say, " Poor little thing!" some image projected from the weary as rapidly as his lips could form the burning brain! words, in a low, monotonous voice, over " George, George! " I said softly. He and over again, for an hour together. All showed no consciousness of my voice. I those weeks, and days, and hours he never spoke again. It was in vain. I went to knew me; never was conscious of my the bedside and knelt do^wn, and took his touch; never uttered my name. The battle burning hand in mine. All in vain! went on night and day. The strong man There was a mysterious gulf between us ; struggled -with the fiery serpent that held and neither sight, nor sound, nor touch him in its folds. I sent for a physician of of mine could reach across it. We were note from Vienna. He came and consulted parted more hopelessly than if we had with the Pesth doctor. He could give no been at opposite ends of the earth. And comfort. He could give little help. If in that dreadful moment I knew that I the patient's strength would but last out, loved him with all the passionate strength when the fever left him, he might recover. of my heart. If not—and the physician shook his head, Oh my husband! Oh my poor love ! and looked at me pityingly, and went his Oh blind, unhappy woman that I had way. been ! And now I stood beside him, and At length, one morning, when I raised held his hand, and wetted his forehead my head from the mattress on which I with my tears, and all the whUe he was slept, to look up at George's bed, I per­ shut up away from me in a dreadful ceived that his eyes were open, and that solitude of suffering ! they were looking at me as if they saw For three weeks I scarcely left his me! My heart gave a great start, and room. I lay on the floor beside his bed. began to beat as 3 it woidd suffocate me. There were hired nurses to attend on him But I rose up quietly, and drew near the also, but I would not leave him to their bed. It was a fair summer's dawn. The care. He wandered and talked almost eastern sky was rose-coloured, and birds incessantly. He was of a constitution so were chirping down in the garden of the strong and •rigorous that the fever seemed inn. to rage Uke a furious sentient thing I saw his Ups move, and bent do-wn my against his strength, and battle with him ear to listen. " D6siree," he whispered. for the mastery. I looked on helpless, I put my arms round him, and hid my. quivering with cruel terrors, seeing him face on the pillow beside him, and cried wrestle for his life through the awful silently, curbing my sobs, lest they should silence of the night, and the pitiless disturb him. He feebly kissed my cheek, brightness of the day: forcing myself to which lay against his mouth, and fell be still, and to seem calm, although I again into a deep, tranquil sleep. And I could have screamed aloud in the agony lay stUl, so still, untU I, too, sank into a of my suspense ; helpless always, helpless, profound slumber, of pure exhaustion, but helpless ! Tet I did not flinch, nor break with a strange consciousness of relief and down, nor even shed tears. I kept saying happiness through it all. to myself, " When he recovers conscious­ The nurse woke me with her hand on ness, he must see only serene faces around my shoulder. I looked np, and saw her him." face very white and strange in the mom-

=;ip 4 X. 96 ALL THE TEAR ROUND. Pli'yS. 1S74.J

ing light. " Hush ! He is better! " I Bent shall be made to understand this; said, in a low eager voice. She gently and she will be duly grateful." moved my arms from around him, and With that speech he went away. I had tried to lead me from the bed. told him a Ue about the bequest to Amy. He was dead. But I wished her to be provided for, and that was the easiest way. Tes; as I think • ••••• of it now, I see that he almost hated me, It is a year ago to-day. One year! despite my "scrapnlons exactitude." It I sit and write at my desk, and hold my mattered less than nothing what he pen firm and steady. And when I raise thought of me. my eyes I see that pale plain face in the To-day came an envelope directed to glass opposite. Quite tearless now, the me with a silver love-knot to fasten it eyes are. And they look at me like the Amy Bent is married, and Mrs. Gilbert— eyes of my mother's ghost. the gentle, foolish Uttle thing—sends me How hard they thought me, those people wedding cards! She "writes, too, a line in R ! How cold and stem and un­ inside the envelope to say that Amy is feeling ! I was not displeased that they very happy, and that she (Mrs. Gilbert) thought so. It kept them aloof from me. is " sure Amy wonld be so glad to hear It saved me from their sympathy. Great from me." It is weU that she is happily Heaven! I think there were moments married. He would have wished that when a word of pity, a soft look, would But her happiness has no need of me to • have driven me mad. complete it. I shaU never see her more, Yes; now I remember so weU aU the I am alone in the world with my sorrow. incidents of the day that Dr. Gilbert met me in London. For weeks afterwards I My father's words pf long ago have often could not have recaUed one look or tone recurred to me lately. " D&iree, I wish you of his. I only understood the main fact, had some occnpatio^which brought you that he promised to accept the trust for into direct contact -with suffering and Amy, and to administer the Uttle fortune sorrow. If you could be an hospital I had settled on her. But now, the whole nurse for sir months, I beUeve you wonld scene—the whole manner of the man— be a happier woman for ever after." Ah, comes back to me. He dwelt much on the prescription was a false one: or it was "Mr. Lester's generous thought of the applied too late. Heaven knows that 1 orphan girl to whom he had ever been so see sorrow and suffering enough. M- land and considerate." And he said, " It money and my time are at the servicr seems hard—very hard—to Miss Bent the sick poor. I have no other use : that you -will not see her, Mrs. Lester. I them. But none the less do I bear ab assure you the poor child has felt this with me the burthen of an inconsolii: dreadful blow —• this sad loss — very grief. deeply." (She had "felt it very deeply!") My father wonld have had me retm-n " Bnt of course I cannot presume to insist live with him. But I cannot do that, ^ further, after your very peremptory cannot leave England which holds that refusal." grave in the -viUage churchyard. He was "I cannot see Amy," was all I answered. carried back all the weary miles across I said it in a dry, steady voice that seemed land and sea; and I laid him beside liis to have only one note in it. mother in the West country -viUage. He went away with the coldest farewell I too shaU lie there some day. May it to me. Only at tlie last moment he be soon! turned, before lea-ving the room, and said, " I shall bear testimony to the scrupulous exactitude -with which you have carried Now re&dy, price Bs. 6d., boimd in green dotli, out your late husband's, wishes, Mrs. Lester. I wish to do you justice. There THE ELEVENTH VOLUME being no wiU, you were, of course, not OP THE Nstr SKBIES 07 legally bound to hand over to Miss Bent the bequest which your husband had ALL THE TEAR EOUND. mentioned his intention of making. Miss To be had of all BookaoUere.

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