THE MYSTERY of EDWIN DROOD Chapter Page

THE

MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD;

AND

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

PEOPLE'S DUODECIMO EDITION.

PHILADELPHIA: T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 306 CHESTNUT STREET.

CONTENTS.

THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD Chapter Page

I. —THE DAWN 23

II.—A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO 27

III.—THE nuns' house 39

lY. —MB. SAPSEA • 53

V.—^MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND , • 63

VI.—PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER 71 VII.—MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE 82 VIII.—DAGGERS DRAWN 92 IX.—BIRDS IN THE BUSH 103 X.—SMOOTHING THE WAY 119 XI.—A PICTURE AND A RING...... 135 XII.—A NIGHT WITH DURDLES 151 XIII.—BOTH AT THEIR BEST 167 XIV.—WHEN SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN ? 173 XV.—IMPEACHED 194 XVI.—DEVOTED 204 XVII.—PHILANTHROPY, PROFESSIONAL AND UNPROFESSIONAL.. 215 XVIII.—A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM 232 XIX.—SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL 241 XX.—A FUGHT 250

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22 CONTENTS.

Chapter Pagt XXI.—A RECOGNITION 261 XXII.—A GRITTY STATE OP THINGS COMES ON 267 XXIII.—THE DAWN AGAIN 287

MASTER HDMPHRETS CLOCK.

MASTER HUMPHREY FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY- CORNER 307 THE CLOCK-CASE 314 INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES 315 FIRST NIGHT OP THE GIANT CHRONICLES 322 CORRESPONDENCE.—TO MASTER HUMPHREY 336 MASTER HUMPHREY FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY- CORNER 337

THE CLOCK-CASE.—^A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIMES OP CHARLES THE SECOND 348 CORRESPONDENCE 355

MASTER Humphrey's VISITOR • •.... 359 MR. Pickwick's tale 366 second chapter op MR. pickwick's tale 376 FURTHER PARTICULARS OP MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. THE WELLER FAMILY 388

THE CLOCK COMPANY • 394 MR. weller's watch 404

SAM weller's son , ....••.. 415 INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE 422

MIDNIGHT REVERIES • 430 MASTER Humphrey's death.—the deaf gentleman from

HIS OWN APARTMENT 435 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

CHAPTER I. THE DAWN.

An Ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the

ancient English Cathedral tower be here ! The well-known massive grey square tower of its old Cathedral ? How can

that be here ! There is no spike of rusty iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect. What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up ?

Maybe, it is set up by the Sultan's orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the sunlight, and thrice ten thousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then, follow white elephants caparisoned in countless gorgeous col-

ors, and infinite in number and attendants. Still, the Cathe-

dral Tower rises in the background, where it cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay ! Is the Bpike so low a thing as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an old beadstead that has tumbled all awry ? Some vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted to the consideration of this possibility. Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has thus fantastically pieced itself together, at (23) 24 THE MTSTERY OF EDWIN DEOOD.

length rises, supports his trembling frame upon his arms, and

looks around. He is in the meanest and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain, the light of early day

steals in from a miserable court. He lies, dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has indeed given

way under the weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across the bed, not longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a

haggard woman. The two first are in a sleep or stupor ; the

last is blowing at a kind of pipe, to kindle it. And as she

blows, and shading it with her lean hand, concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning as a lamp to show him what he sees of her. " Another ? ^^ says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. " Have another? " He looks about him, with his hand to his forehead. " YeVe smoked as many as five since ye came in at mid- nigh t,'' the woman goes on, as she chronically complains. " Poor me, poor me, my head is so bad ! Them two came in after ye. Ah, poor me, the business is slack, is slack ! Few Chinamen about the Docks, and fewer Lascars, and no ships coming in, these say ! Here's another ready for ye, deary. Ye'll remember like a good soul, won't ye, that the market price is dreffle high just now ? More nor three shillings and sixpence for a thimbleful ! And ye'll remember that nobody but me (and Jack Chinaman t'other side the court ; but he can't do it as well as me) has the true secret of mixing it ? Ye'U pay up according, deary, won't ye ? '^ She blows at the pipe as she speaks, and, occasionally bubbling at it, inhale's much of its contents. " me, me, my lungs is weak, my lungs is bad ! It's nearly ready for ye, deary. Ah poor me, poor me, my poor hand shakes like to drop off! I see ye coming-to, and I ses to my poor self, ^ I'll have another ready for him, and he'll bear in mind the market-price of opium, and pay according.'

my poor head ! I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles, ye see, deary—this is one—and I fits in a mouthpiece, this " ;

THE BAWlSr. 25 way, and I takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn-spoon ; and so I fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves ! I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen year afore I took to this but this don't hurt me, not to speak of. And it takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary." She hands him the nearly emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on her face. He rises unsteadil}^ from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearthstone, draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into a strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple, and his color, are repeated in her. Said Chinaman convulsively wrestles with one of his many Gods, or Devils, perhaps, and snarls horribly. The Lascar laughs and dribbles at the mouth. The hostess is still. " What visions can she have ? " the waking man muses, as he turns her face towards him, and stands looking down at it. "Visions of many butchers' shops, and public-houses, and much credit ? Of an increase of hideous customers, and this horrible bedstead set upright again, and this horrible court swept clean ? What can she rise to, under any quantity of " opium, higher than that ! —Eh ? He bends down his ear, to listen to her mutterings.

" Unintelligible ! As he watches the spasmodic shoots and darts that break out of her face and limbs, like fitful lightning out of a dark sky, some contagion in them seizes upon him : insomuch that he has to withdraw himself to a lean arm-chair by the hearth

<—placed there, perhaps, for such emergencies—and to sit in it, holding tight, until he has got the better of this unclean spirit of imitation.

Then he comes back, pounces on the Chinaman, and, seizing him with both hands by the throat, turns him violently on the bed. The Chinaman clutches the aggressive hands, resists, gasps, and protests. "

26 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOB.

" « What do you say ? A watchful pause.

'' Unintelligible I Slowly loosening his grasp as he listens to the incoherent jargon with an attentive frown, he turns to the Lascar and fairly drags him forth upon the floor. As he falls, the Lascar starts into a half-risen attitude, glares with his eyes, lashes about him fiercely with his arms, and draws a phantom knife. It then becomes apparent that the woman has taken possession

of his knife, for safety's sake ; for, she too starting up, and restraining and expostulating with him, the knife is visible in her dress, not in his, when they drowsily drop back, side by side. There has been chattering and clattering enough between them, but to no purpose. When any distinct word has been flung into the air, it has had no sense or sequence. Where- fore " unintelligible 1 " is again the comment of the watcher, made with some reassured nodding of his head, and a gloomy smile. He then lays certain silver money on the table, finds his hat, gropes his way down the broken stairs, gives a good morning to some rat-ridden doorkeeper, in bed in a black hutch beneath the stairs, and passes out. That same afternoon, the massive grey square tower of an old Cathedral rises before the sight of a jaded traveler. The bells are going for daily vesper service, and he must needs attend it, one would say, from his haste to reach the open cathedral door. The choir are getting on their sullied white robes, in a hurry, when he arrives among them, gets on his own robe, and falls into the procession filing in to service. Then, the Sacristan locks the iron-barred gates that divide the sanctuary from the chancel, and all of the procession having scuttled into their places, hide their faces ; and then the in- toned words, " When the Wicked Man " rise among groins of arches and beams of roof, awakening muttered thunder. A DEAN, AKD A CHAPTER ALSO, 27

CHAPTEE II.

A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO.

Whosoever has observed that sedate and clerical bird, the rook, may perhaps have noticed that when he wings his way homeward towards nightfall, in a sedate and clerical company, two rooks will suddenly detach themselves from the rest, will retrace their flight for some distance, and will there poise and linger ; conveying to mere men the fancy that it is of some occult importance to the body politic, that this artful couple should pretend to have renounced connection with it. Similarly, service being over in the old cathedral with the square tower, and the choir scuffling out again, and divers venerable persons of rook-like aspect dispersing, two of these latter retrace their steps, and walk together in the echoing Close.

Not only is the day waning, but the year. The low sun is fiery and yet cold behind the monastery ruin, and the Virgin-

ia creeper on the cathedral wall has showered half its deep-red leaves down on the pavement. There has been rain this afternoon, and a wintry shudder goes among the little pools on the cracked uneven flag-stones, and through the giant elm trees as they shed a gust of tears. Their fallen leaves lie strewn thickly about. Some of these leaves, in a timid rush, seek sanctuary within the low arched cathedral door ; but two men coming out, resist them, and cast them forth again with their feet ; this done, one of the two locks the door with a goodly key, and the other flits away with a folio music book. " " Mr. Jasper was that, Tope ? " Yes, Mr. Dean." " He has stayed late." " Yes, Mr. Dean. I have stayed for him, your Eeverence, He has been took a little poorly." "Say * taken,' Tope—to the Dean." The younger rook in- 28 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. terposes in a low tone with this touch of correction, as who should say : "You may offer bad grammar to the laity, or the humbler clergy, not to the Dean." Mr. Tope, Chief Verger and Showman, and accustomed to be high with excursion parties, declines with a silent loftiness to perceive that any suggestion has been tendered to him. " And when and how has Mr. Jasper been taken—for, as Mr. Crisparkle has remarked, it is better to say taken — — " taken " repeats the Dean ; when and how has Mr. Jasper been Taken " " Taken, sir," Tope deferentially murmurs. " " Poorly, Tope ?

" Why, sir, Mr. Jasper was that breathed-

" I wouldn't say ' That breathed,' Tope," Mr. Crisparkle interposes, with the same touch as before. " Not English—-to the Dean." " Breathed to that extent," the Dean (not unflattered by this indirect homage), condescendingly remarks, " would be preferable." " Mr. Jasper's breathing was so remarkably short ; " thus discreetly does Mr. Tope work his way round the sunken rock,

" when he came in, that it distressed him mightily to get his notes out : which was perhaps the cause of his having :^ kind of fit on him after a little. His memory grew Dazed.** Mr. Tope, with his eyes on the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle, shoots

'^ this word out, as defying him to improve upon it : and a dimness and giddiness crept over him as strange as eveif I saw : though he didn't seem to mind it particularly, himself. How- ever, a little time and a little water brought him out of his Daze." Mr. Tope repeats the word and its emphasis, with the air of saying : "As I have made a success, I'll make it again."

" And Mr. Jasper has gone home quite himself, has he ? " asked the Dean. " Your Eeverence, he has gone home quite himself. And

J!m glad to see he's having his fire kindled up, for it's chilly A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO. 29 after the wet, and tlie Cathedral had both a damp feel and a damp touch this afternoon, and he was very shivery." They all three look towards an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close, with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it.

Through its latticed window, a fire shines out upon the fast- darkening scene, involving in shadow the pendent masses of ivy and creeper covering the building's front. As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour, a ripple of wind goes through these at their distance, like a ripple of the solemn sound that hums through tomb and tower, broken niche and defaced statue, in the pile close at hand. "Is Mr. Jasper's nephew with him ? " the Dean asks. " No, sir," replies the Verger, " but expected. There's his own solitary shadow betwixt his two windows—the one looking this- way, and the one looking down into the High Street —drawing his own curtains now." " Well, well," says the Dean, with a sprightly air of breaking up the little conference, " I hope Mr. Jasper's heart may not be too much set upon his nephew. Our affections, however

laudable, in this transitory world, should never master us ; we should guide them, guide them. I find I am not disagreeably reminded of my dinner, by hearing my dinner-bell. Perhaps !Mr. Crisparkle you will, before going home, look in on " Jasper ?

" Certainly, Mr. Dean. And tell him that you had the " kindness to desire to know how he was ?

" Ay ; do so, do so. Certainly. Wished to know how he was. By all means. Wished to know how he was." With a pleasant air of patronage, the Dean as nearly cocks his quaint hat as a Dean in good spirits may, and directs his comely gaiters towards the ruddy dining-room of the snug old red-brick house where he is at present " in residence " with Mrs. Dean and IMiss Dean. Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually pitching himself head-foremost into all the deep running water in the surrounding country ; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, " —

30 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. early riser, musical, classical, cheerful, kind, good-natured, social, contented, and boy-like ; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon and good man, lately " Coach " upon the chief Pagan high roads, hut since promoted by a patron (grateful for a well- taught son) to his present Christian beat ; betakes himself to the gate house, on his way home to his early tea. " Sorry to hear from Tope that you have not been well, Jas- per."

" Oh, it was nothing, nothing ! " You look a little worn." "Do I ? Oh, I don't think so. What is better, I don't feel so. Tope has made too much of it I suspect. It's his trade to make the most of everything appertaining to the Cathedral, you know." '^ I may tell the Dean—I call expressly from the Dean " that you are all right again ? " The reply, with a slight smile, is : Certainly ; with my respects and thanks to the Dean." " Pm glad to hear that you expect young Drood." " I expect the dear fellow every moment." " Ah ! He will do you more good than a doctor, Jasper." " More good than a dozen doctors. For I love him dearly, and I don't love doctors, or doctors' stuff."

Mr. Jasper is a dark man of some six-and-twenty, with thick, lustrous, well-arranged black hair and whisker. He looks older than he is, as dark men often do. His voice is deep and good, his face and figure are good, his manner is a little sombre. His room is a little sombre, and may have had its influence in forming his manner. It is mostly in shadow. Even when the sun shines brilliantly, it seldom touches the grand piano in the recess, or the folio music books on the stand, or the book-shelves on the wall, or the unfinished picture of a blooming school-girl hanging over the chimney-

piece ; her flowing brown hair tied with a blue riband, and her beauty remarkable for a quite childish, almost babyish, touch of saucy discontent, comically conscious of itself. (There is :" " ;

A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO. 31 not the least artistic merit in this picture, which is a mere daub ; but it is clear that the painter has made it humorously —one might almost say, revengefully—like the original.) " We shall miss you, Jasper, at the * Alternate Musical

Wednesdays ' to-night ; but no doubt you are best at home.

^ Good-night. God bless you 1 Tell me, shep-herds te-e-ell

me ; tell me-e-e, have you seen (have you seen, have you seen,

' have you seen) my-y-y Flo-o-ora-a pass this way ! '' Melodi- ously good Minor Canon the Eeverend Septimus Crisparkle thus delivers himself, in musical rhythm, as he withdraws his amiable face from the doorway and conveys it down stairs. Sound of recognition and greeting pass between the Rever- end Septimus and somebody else, at the stair foot. Mr. Jas- per listens, starts from his chair, and catches a young fellow in his arms, exclaiming

" My dear Edwin !

" ! My dear Jack ! So glad to see you

" Get off your greatcoat, bright boy, and sit down here in your own corner. Your feet are not wet ? Pull your boots off. Do pull your boots off." " My dear Jack, I am as dry as a bone. Don't moddley- coddley, there's a good fbllow. I like anything better than being moddley-coddleyed." With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outer coat, hat, gloves, and so forth. Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity—a look of hungry, exact- ing, watchful, and yet devoted affection—is always, now and ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in this direction. And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed it is always concentrated.

" Now I am right, and now I'll take my corner. Jack. Any " dinner. Jack ? Mr. Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and " "

32 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. discloses a small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame is in the act of setting dishes on table.

" What a jolly old Jack it is ! " cries the young fellow, with '' birth- a clap of his hands. Look here, Jack ; tell me ; whose " day is it ? " Not yours, I know," Mr. Jasper answers, pausing to consider.

'' Not mine, you know ? No ; not mine, I know ! Pus-

'' sy's ! Fixed as the look the young fellow meets is, there is yet in

it some strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece. " to Pussy's, Jack ! We must drink Many happy returns her. Come, uncle; take your dutiful and sharp-set nephew in to dinner." As the boy (for he is little more) lays a hand on Jasper's shoulder, Jasper cordially and gaily lays a hand on his shoulder, and so Marseillaise-wise they go in to dinner. " ! " And Lord ! Here's Mrs. Tope " cries the boy. Love-

lier than ever ! " Never you mind me. Master Edwin," retorts the Verger's " wife ; I can take care of myself." " You can't. You're much too handsome. Give me a kiss,

because it's Pussy's birthday." " I'd Pussy you, young man, if I was Pussy, as you call her," Mrs. Tope blushingly retorts, after being saluted. *' Your uncle's too much WTapt up in you, that's where it is. He makes so much of you, that it's my opinion you think you've only to call your Pussys by the dozen to make 'em come." "You forget, Mrs. Tope," Mr. Jasper interposes, taking his place at the table with a genial smile, " and so do you, Ned, that Uncle and Nephew are words prohibited here by common consent and express agreement. For what we are

! going to receive His holy name be praised " Done like the Dean ! Witness, Edwin Drood ! Please to carve, Jack, for I can't." "

A DEAN, AND A CHAPTEK ALSO. 33

This sally ushers in the diuDer. Little to the present pur-

pose, or to any purpose, is said, while it is in course of being

disposed of. At length the cloth is drawn, and a dish of wal- nuts and a decanter of rich-colored sherry are placed upon the table. " flows on I say ! Tell me. Jack," the young fellow then ; ^^ do you really and truly feel as if the mention of our relation- ship divided us at all ? I don't."

*'• Uncles as a rule, Ned, are so much older than their

nephews," is the reply, " that I have that feeling instinctively."

^^ As a rule ? Ah, may-be ! But what is a difference in age of half a dozen years or so ? And some uncles, in large families, are even younger than their nephews. By George, I wish it was the case with us ! " " Why ? " Because if it was, I'd take the lead with you, Jack, and be wise as Begone dull care that turned a young man grey, and begone dull care that turned an old man to clay.—Halloa,

Jack ! Don't drink." " " Why not ? " Ask why not, on Pussy's birthday, and no Happy Eeturns

proposed ! Pussy, Jack, and many of 'em ! Happy returns, I mean." Laying an affectionate and laughing touch on the boy's ex-

tended hand, as if it were at once his giddy head and his light heart, Mr. Jasper drinks the toast in silence. " Hip, hip, hip, and nine times nine, and one to finish with,

and all that, understood. Hooray, hooray, hooray! And now. Jack, let's have a little talk about Pussy. Two pairs of nut-crackers? Pass me one, and take the other." Crack. " " How's Pussy getting on, Jack ? " With her music ? Fairly." "What a dreadfully conscientious fellow you are. Jack. " But / know. Lord bless you ! Inattentive, isn't she ? " She can learn anything, if she will." 2 34 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" " If she will ? Egad, that's it. But if she won't ? Crack. On Mr. Jasper's part. " " How's she looking, Jack ? Mr. Jasper's concentrated face again includes the portrait as he returns : " Very like your sketch indeed." " I am a little proud of it," says the young fellow, glancing up at the sketch with complacency, and then shutting one eye and taking a corrected prospect of it over a level bridge of a " nut-cracker in the air : Not badly hit off from memory. But 1 ought to have caught that expression pretty well, for I have seen it often enough." Crack. On Edwin Drood's part. Crack. On Mr. Jasper's part. " In point of fact," the former resumes, after some silent dipping among his fragments of walnut with an air of pique,

" I see it whenever I go to see Pussy. If I don't find it on her face, I leave it there.—You know I do, Miss Scornful Pert. " Booh ! With a twirl of the nut-crackers at the portrait. Crack. Crack. Crack. Slowly, on Mr. Jasper's part. Crack. Sharply, on the part of Edwin Drood. Silence on both sides. " " Have you lost your tongue, Jack ? " " Have you found yours, Ned ? " " No, but really ; —isn't it, you know, after all ? Mr. Jasper lifts his dark eyebrows inquiringly.

" Isn't it unsatisfactory to be cut off from choice in such a matter ? There, Jack ! I tell you ! If I could choose, I would choose Pussy from all the prettj^ girls in the world." '^ But you have not got to choose."

" That's what I complain of. My dead and gone father and Pussy's dead and gone father must needs marry us together by anticipation. Why the—Devil, I was going to say, if it had been respectful to their memory—couldn't they leave us " alone ? " Tut, tut, dear boy," Mr. Jasper remonstrates, in a tone of gentle deprecation. : :

A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO. 35

" Tut, tut ? Yes, Jack, it's all very well for you. You can take it easily. Your life is not laid down to scale, and lined and dotted out for you, like a surveyor's plan. You have no uncomfortable suspicion that you are forced upon anybody, nor has anybody an uncomfortable suspicion that she is forced upon you, or that you are forced upon her. You can choose for yourself. Life, for you, is a plum with the natural bloom " on ; it hasn't been over-carefully wiped off for you— " Don't stop, dear fellow. Go on." " " Can I anyhow have hurt your feelings. Jack ? " *^ How can you have hurt my feelings ?

" Good Heavens, Jack, you look frightfully ill ! There's a strange film come over your eyes." Mr. Jasper, with a forced smile, stretches out his right hand, as if at once to disarm apprehension and gain time to get better. After a while he says faintly " I have been taking opium for a pain—an agony—that sometimes overcomes me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud, and pass. You see them in the act of passing ; they will be gone directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner." With a scared face, the young man complies, by casting his eyes downward at the ashes on the hearth. Not relaxing his own gaze at the fire, but rather strengthening it with a fierce, firm grip upon his elbow-chair, the elder sits for a few moments rigid, and then, with thick drops standing on his forehead, and a sharp catch of his breath, becomes as he was before. On his so subsiding in his chair, his nephew gently and assidu- ously tends him while he quite recovers. When Jasper is restored, he lays a tender hand upon his nephew's shoulder, and, in a tone of voice less troubled than the purport of his words —indeed with something of raillery or banter in it—thus addresses him

<* There is said to be a hidden skeleton in every house ; but you tbouglit there was none in mine, dear Ned."

" Upon my life, Jack, I did think so. However, when I " ;

36 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. come to consider that even in Pussy's house—if she had one " -—and in mine—if I had one *^ You were going to say (but that I interrupted you in spite of myself) what a quiet life mine is. No whirl and uproar around me, no distracting commerce or calculation, no risk, no change of place, myself devoted to the art I pursue, my business my pleasure." " I was really going to say something of the kind. Jack but you see, you, speaking of yourself, almost necessarily leave out much that I should have put in. For instance : I should have put in the foreground, jout being so much respected as Lay Precentor, or Lay Clerk, or whatever you call it, of this Cathedral ; your enjoying the reputation of having done such wonders with the choir; your choosing your society, and holding such an independent position in this queer old place gift of teaching ; your (why, even Pussy, who don't like being taught, says there never was such a Master as you are !) and your connection." " Yes ; I saw what you were tending to. I hate it."

" Hate it, Jack ? " (Much bewildered.)

** I hate it. The cramped monotony of my existence grinds rae away by the grain. How does our service sound to you?

" Beautiful ! Quite celestial." " It often sounds to me quite devilish. I am so weary of it. The echoes of my own voice among the arches seem to mock .me with my daily drudging round. No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place, before me, can have been more tired of it than I am. He could take for relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and desks. What shall I do ? Must I take to carving them out of my heart ?

" I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack," Edwin Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a sympathetic hand on Jasper's knee, and looking at him with an anxious face.

" I know you thought so. They all think so.'* :

A D^AN, AND A CHAPTEK ALSO. 87

" Well ; I suppose they do/' says Edwin, meditating aioud. " Pussy thinks so." " « When did she tell you that ? " The last time I was here. You remember when. Three months ago." " ^^ How did she phrase it ? " Oh ! She only said that she had become your pupil, and that you were made for your vocation." The younger man glances at the portrait. The elder sees it in him. " Anyhow, my dear Ned," Jasper resumes, as he shakes his " head with a grave cheerfulness : I must subdue myself to

my vocation : which is much the same thing outwardly. It's too late to find another now. This is a confidence between us." " It shall be sacredly preserved. Jack." " " I have reposed it in you, because

*^ I feel it, I assure you. Because we are fast friends, and because you love and trust me, as I love and trust you. Both hands. Jack." As each stands looking into the other's eyes, and as tho

uncle holds the nephew's hands, the uncle thus proceeds : " You know now, don't you, that even a poor, monotonous chorister and grinder of music—in his niche—may be troubled with some stray sort of ambition, aspiration, restlessness, " dissatisfaction, what shall we call it ? " Yes, dear Jack." " " And you will remember ? " My dear Jack, I only ask you, am I likely to forget what " you have said with so much feeling ?

" Take it as a warning, then." In the act of having his hands released, and of moving a step back, Edwin pauses for an instant to consider the application of these last words. The instant over, he says, sensibly touched " I am afraid I am but a shallow, surface kind of a fellow, ;

88 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD*

Jack, and that my headpiece is none of the best. But I

needn't say I am young ; and perhaps I shall not grow worse as I grow older. At all events, I hope I have something im- pressible within me, which feels—deeply feels—the disinter- estedness of your painfully laying your inner self bare, as a warning to me." Mr. Jasper's steadiness of face and figure becomes so marvellous that his breathing seems to have stopped.

" I couldn't fail to notice. Jack, that it cost you a great effort, and that you were very much moved, and very unlike your usual self. Of course I knew that you were extremely fond of me, but I really was not prepared for your, as I may say, sacrificing yourself to me, in that way." Mr. Jasper becoming a breathing man again without the smallest stage of transition between the two extreme states, lifts his shoulders, laughs, and waves his right arm.

" No ; don't put the sentiment away. please Jack ; don't for I am very much in earnest. I have no doubt that that un- healthy state of mind which you have so powerfully described is attended with some real suffering and is hard to bear. But let me reassure you. Jack, as to the chances of its overcoming

Me. I don't think I am in the way of it. In some few months less than another year, you know, I shall carry Pussy off from school as INIrs. Edwin Drood. I shall then go engineering into the East, and Pussy with me. And although we have our little tiffs now, arising out of a certain unavoid- able flatness that attends our love-making, owing to its end being all settled beforehand, still I have no doubt of our getting on capitally then, when it's done and can't be helped. In short, Jack, to go back to the old song I was freely quoting at dinner (and who knows old songs better than you !), my wife shall dance and I will sing, so merrily pass the day.

Of Pussy's being beautiful there cannot be a doubt ;—and when you are good besides, Little Miss Impudence," once more apostrophising the portrait, " I'll burn your comic likeness and paint your music-master another." THE NUl^S' HOUSE. 89

Mr. Jasper, with his hand to his chin, and with an expression of musing benevolence on his face, has attentively watched every animated look and gesture attending the delivery of these words. He remains in that attitude after they are spoken, as if in a kind of fascination attendant on his strong interest in the youthful spirit that he loves so well.

Then, he says with a quiet smile : " " You won't he warned, then ?

" ISTo, Jack.'' " " You can't be warned, then ? " No, Jack, not by you. Besides that I don't really consider myself in danger, I don't like your putting yourself in that position." " " Shall we go and walk in the churchyard ? " By all means. You won't mind my slipping out of it for half a moment to the Nuns' House, and leaving a parcel there ? Only gloves for Pussy ; as many pairs of gloves as " she is years old to-day. Rather poetical. Jack ?

" * Mr. Jasper, still in the same attitude, murmurs : Noth- " ing half so sweet in life,' Ned ! " Here^fe the parcel in my greatcoat pocket. They must be presented to-night, or the poetry is gone. It's against regulations for me to call at night, but not to leave a packet. I am ready. Jack." Mr. Jasper dissolved his attitude, and they go out together.

CHAPTER III.

THE nuns' house.

PoR sufficient reasons which this narrative will itself un- fold as it advances, a fictitious name must be bestowed on the old Cathedral town. Let it stand in these pages as Cloister- ham. It was once possibly known to the Druids by another 40 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD,

name, and certainly to the Eomans by another, and to the

Saxons by another, and to the Normans by another ; and a name more or less in the course of many centuries can be of

little moment to its dusty chronicles. An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one with hankerings after the noisy world. A monotonous, silent city, deriving an earthy flavor throughout, from its cathedral crypt, and so abounding in vestiges of monastic graves, that the Cloisterham children grow small salad in the dust of abbots and abbesses, and make dirt-pies of nuns and

friars ; while every ploughman in its outlying fields renders to once puissant Lord Treasurers, Archbisliops, Bishops, and such-like, the attention which the Ogre in the story-book desired to render to his unbidden visitor, and grinds their bones to make his bread. A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to sup-

pose, with an inconsistency more strange than rare, that all

its changes lie behind it, and that there are no more to come. A queer moral to derive from antiquity, yet older than any traceable antiquity. So silent are the streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest provocation), that of

a summer-day the sunblinds of its shops scarce dare to flap in

the south wind ; while the sun-browned tramps who pass along

and stare, quicken their limp a little, that they may the sooner

get beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability. This

is a feat not difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets

of Cloisterham city, are little more than one narrow street by

which you get into it and get out of it : the rest being mostly disappointing yards with pumps in them and no thoroughfare —exception made of the Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker settlement, in color and general conformation very like a Qua- keress's bonnet, up in a shady corner.

In a word, a city of another and a bygone time is Cloister-

ham, with its hoarse cathedral bell, its hoarse rooks hovering

about the Cathedral tower, its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath. Fragments of old wall, saint's THE NUNS' HOUSE. 41 chapel, chapter-house, convent, and monastery, have got in- congruously or obstructively built into many of its houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become in- corporated into many of its citizens' minds. All things in it are of the past. Even its single pawnbroker takes no pledges, nor has he for a long time, but offers vainly an unredeemed stock for sale, of which the costlier articles are dim and pale old watches apparently in a slow perspiration, tarnished sugar- tongs with ineffectual legs, and odd volumes of dismal books. The most abundant and the most agreeable evidences of pro- gressing life in Cloisterham, are the evidences of vegetable life in its many gardens ; even its drooping and despondent little theatre has its poor strip of garden, receiving the foul fiend, when he ducks from its stage into the infernal regions, among scarlet beans or oyster-shells, according to the season of the year.

In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns' House ; a venerable brick edifice whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard, is a resplendent brass plate " flashing forth the legend : Seminary for Young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton." The house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his blind eye. Whether the nuns of yore, being of a submissive rather than a stiff-necked generation, habitually bent their contemplative heads to avoid collision with the beams in the low ceilings of the many chambers of their House ; whether they sat in its long low windows, telling their beads for their mor- tification instead of making necklaces of them for their adornment ; whether they were ever walled up alive in odd angles and jutting gables of the building for having some ineradicable leaven of busy mother Kature in them which has kept the fermenting world alive ever since; these may be matters of interest to its haunting ghosts (if any), 42 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. but constitute no item in Miss Twinkleton's half-yearly accounts. They are neither of Miss Twinkle ton's inclusive regulars, nor of her extras. The lady who undertakes the poetical department of the establishment at so much (or so little) a quarter, has no pieces in her list of recitals bearing on such unprofitable questions. As, in some cases of drunkenness, and in others of animal magnetism, there are two states of consciousness which never clash, but each of which pursues its separate course as though it were continuous instead of broken (thus if I hide my watch when T am drunk, I must be drunk again before I can remember where), so Miss Twinkleton has two distinct and separate phases of being. Every night, the moment the young ladies have retired to rest, does Miss Twinkleton smarten up her curls a little, brighten up her eyes a little, and become a sprightlier Miss Twinkleton than the young ladies have ever seen. Every night, at the same hour, does Miss Twinkleton resume the topics of the previous night, comprehending the tenderer scandal of Cloisterham, of which she has no knowledge whatever by day, and references to a certain season at Tunbridge Wells (airily called by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her existence " The Wells ''), notably the season wherein a certain finished gentleman (compassionately called by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her existence, " Foolish Mr. Porters ") revealed an homage of the heart, whereof Miss

Twinkleton, in her scholastic state of existence, is as ignorant as a granite pillar. Miss Twinkleton's companion in both states of existence, and equally adaptable to either, is one

Mrs. Tisher : a deferential widow with a weak back, a chronic sigh, arnd a suppressed voice, who looks after the young ladies^ wardrobes, and leads them to infer that she has seen better days. Perhaps this is the reason why it is an article of faith with the servants, handed down from race to race, that the departed Tisher was a hairdresser.

The pet pupil of the Nuns' House is Miss Rosa Bud, of course called Rosebud ; wonderfully pretty, wonderfully child- —

THE NUNS' HOUSE. 43 isb, wonderfully whimsical. An awkward interest (awkward because romantic) attaches to Miss Bud in the minds of the young ladies, on account of its being known to them that a husband has been chosen for her by will and bequest, and that her guardian is bound down to bestow her on that husband when he comes of age. Miss Twinkleton, in her semi- narial state of existence, has combated the romantic aspect of this destiny by affecting to shake her head over it behind Miss Bud's dimpled shoulders, and to brood on the unhappy lot of that doomed little victim. But with no better effect possibly some unfelt touch of foolish Mr. Porters has undermined the endeavor—than to evoke from the young ladies an " unanimous bedchamber cry of Oh ! what a pretending old " thing Miss Twinkleton is, my dear !

The Nuns' House is never in such a state of flutter as when this allotted husband calls to see little Rosebud. (It is unanimously understood by the young ladies that he is lawfully entitled to this privilege, and if Miss Twinkleton disputed it she would be instantly taken up and transported.) When his ring at the gate bell is expected, or takes place, every young lady who can, under any pretence, look out of the window, looks out of the window: while every young lady who is " practising," practises out of time ; and the Trench class becomes so demoralized that the Mark goes round as briskly as the bottle at a convivial party in the last century. On the afternoon of the day next after the dinner of two a-t the Gate House, the bell is rung with the usual fluttering results. " Mr. Edwin Drood to see Miss Rosa.''

This is the announcement of the parlor-maid in chief. Miss Twinkleton, with an exemplary air of melancholy on her, turns to the sacrifice, and says : " You may go down, my dear." Miss Bud goes down, followed by all eyes.

Mr. Edwin Drood is waiting in Miss Twinkleton's own parlor : a dainty room, with nothing more directly scholastic "

44 THE MYSTERT OF EDWIN DROOD. in it than a terrestrial and a celestial globe. These expressive machines imply (to parents and guardians) that even when Miss Twinkleton retires into the bosom of privacy, duty may at any moment compel her to become a sort of Wandering Jewess, scouring the earth and soaring through the skies in search of knowledge for her pupils. The last new maid, who has never seen the young gentleman Miss Rosa is engaged to, and who is making his acquaintance between the hinges of the open door, left open for the purpose, stumbles guiltily down the kitchen stairs, as a charming little apparition wdth its face concealed by a little silk apron thrown over its head, glides into the parlor.

" '^ Oh ! It is so ridiculous ! says the apparition, stopping

'' and shrinking. " Don't, Eddy ! " " Don't what, Eosa ? " Don't come any nearer, please. It is so absurd." " « What is absurd, Eosa ?

" The whole thing is. It is so absurd to be an engaged

orphan ; and it is so absurd to have the girls and the servants scuttling about after one, like mice in the wainscot ; and it is so absurd to be called upon 1

The apparition appears to have a thumb in the corner of its mouth while making this complaint. " You give me an affectionate reception, Pussy, I must say." " Well, I will in a minute, Eddy, but I can't just yet. How are you ? " (very shortly). " I am unable to reply that I am much the better for seeing yon, Pussjr, inasmuch as I see nothing of you." This second remonstrance brings a dark bright pouting eye out from a corner of the apron ; but it swiftly becomes invisi-

ble again, as the apparition exclaims ; "Oh I Good Gracious, !" you have had half your hair cut oif

"I should have done better to have had my head cut off, I think," says Edwin, rumpling the hair in question, with a fierce glance at the looking-glass, and giving an impatient " stamp. " Shall I go ? "

THE NUNS' HOUSE. 45

" 'Ho you needn't go just yet, Eddy. The girls would all ; be asking questions why you went."

" Once for all, Eosa, will you uncover that ridiculous little " head of yours and give me a welcome ?

The apron is pulled off the childish head, as its wearer replies : " You're very welcome, Eddy. There ! I'm sure that's nice. Shake hands. No, I can't kiss you, because I've got an acidulated drop in my mouth." " " Are you at all glad to see me. Pussy ? " Oh, yes, I'm dreadfully glad.—Go and sit down.—Miss Twinkleton."

It is the custom of that excellent lady, when these visits occur, to appear every three minutes, either in her own person or in that of Mrs. Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of Propriety by affecting to look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion, Miss Twinkleton, gracefully gliding " in and out, says, in passing : How do you do, Mr. Drood ? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me. " Tweezers. Thank you ! " I got the gloves last evening, Eddy, and I like them very much. They are beauties." "Well, that's something," the affianced replies, half grumbling. " The smallest encouragement thankfully re- " ceived. And how did you pass your birthday. Pussy ? " Delightfully ! Everybody gave me a present. And we bad a feast. And we had a ball at night." " A feast and a ball, eh ? These occasions seem to go off tolerably well without me, Pussy." " De-lightfully !" cries Eosa, in a quite spontaneous manner, and without the least pretence of reserve.

*^ " Hah ! And what was the feast ? " Tarts, oranges, jellies, and shrimps." " " Any partners at the ball ?

" We danced with one another, of course, sir. But some of the girls made game to be their brothers. It was so droll ! " " Did anybody make game to be "

46 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" " To be you ? Oh dear yes ! cries Rosa, laughing with great enjoyment. " That was the first thing done."

" I hope she did it pretty well," says Edwin, rather doubtfully.

" ! Oh ! It was excellent —I wouldn't dance with you, you know."

Edwin scarcely seems to see the force of this ; begs to know if he may take the liberty to ask why ? " Because I was so tired of you," returns Rosy. But she quickly adds, and pleadingly too, seeing displeasure in his

*^ face : Dear Eddy, you were just as tired of me, you know." " « Did I say so, Rosa ? " Say so ! Do you ever say so ? Ko, you only showed it.

Oh, she did it so well ! " cries Rosa, in a sudden ecstacy with her counterfeit betrothed.

" It strikes me that she must be a devilish impudent girl," says Edwin Drood. " And so. Pussy, you have passed your last birthday in this old house." " " Ah, yes ! Rosa clasps her hands, looks down with a sigh, and shakes her head.

" You seem to be sorr}^, Rosa."

" I am sorry for the poor old place. Somehow, I feel as if it would miss me, when I am gone so far away, so young." " " Perhaps we had better stop short, Rosa ?

She looks up at him with a swift bright look ; next moment shakes her head, sighs, and looks down again.

" That is to say, is it Pussy, that we are both resigned?" She nods her head again, and after a short silence, quaintly " bursts out with : You know we must be married, and married from here, Eddy, or the poor girls will be so dreadfully disappointed !

For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself, in her affianced husband's face, than there is " of love. He checks the look, and asks : Shall I take you out " for a w^alk, Rosa dear ?

Rosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her "

THE NUNS' HOUSE. 4t face, whioh has been comically reflective, brightens. "Oh, yes, Eddy ; let us go for a walk ! And I tell you what we'll do. You shall pretend that you are engaged to somebody else, and I'll pretend that I am not engaged to anybody, and then we shan't quarrel."

Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Kosa ? " " I it know will. Hush ! Pretend to look out of window. —Mrs. Tisher ! Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of a Dowager in silken skirts : " I hope I see Mr. Drood well ; though I needn't ask, if I may judge from his complexion ? I trust I disturb no one ; but there was a " paper-knife—Oh, thank you, I am sure ! and disappears with her prize.

"One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me," says Kosebud. " The moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to the house yourself—squeeze and graze yourself against it." " " By all means, Eosa, if you wish it. Might I ask why ? " Oh ! because I don't want the girls to see you.'' " It's a fine day ; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?"

"Don't be foolish, sir. You haven't got polished leather boots on," pouting, with one shoulder raised.

" Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me," remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them.

" Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen. Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for they are free) that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots.

Hark ! Miss Twinkleton. I'll ask for leave." That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conversational tone as she advances :

*• Eh ? Indeed ! Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of- 48 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. pearl button-holder on the work-table in my room ? '' is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it. And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns' House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood : precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be. " " Which way shall we take, Eosa ?

Kosa replies : " I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop."

t' To the ?" " A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, don't you understand anything? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know that ? '* " " Why, how should I know it, Eosa ?

" Because I am very fond of them. But oh ! I forgot what we are to pretend. No, you needn't know anything about them ; never mind."

So, he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Eosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest : previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps. " Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend, jjind so you " are engaged ? " And so I am engaged." " ^^ Is she nice ? " Charming." " « Tall ? " "Immensely tall ! Eosa being short.

" Must be gawky, I should think," is Eosa's quiet commentary.

" I beg your pardon ; not at all," contradiction rising in

him. " What is termed a fine woman ; a splendid woman."

" Big nose, no doubt," is the quiet commentary again. :

THE NUNS* HOUSE. 49

^' Not a little one, certainly," is the quick reply. (Bosa's being a little one.) " Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. I know the sort of nose," says Bosa, with a satisfied nod, and tran- quilly enjoying the Lumps. " You donH know the sort of nose, Rosa," with Bome " warmth ; because it's nothing of the kind." "Not a pale nose, Eddy ?" ** No." Determined not to assent. " A red nose ? Oh ! I don't like red noses. However ; to be sure she can always powder it." " She would scorn to powder it," says Edwin, becoming heated.

" Would she ? What a stupid thing she must be I Is she " stupid in everything ?

* No. In nothing." After a pause, in which the whimsically wicked face has not been unobservant of him, Rosa says " And this most sensible of creatures likes the idea of being " carried off to Egypt ; does she, Eddy ? " Yes. She takes a sensible interest in triumphs of engineering skill : especially when they are to change the whole condition of an undeveloped country."

" Lor ! " says Rosa, shrugging her shoulders, with a little laugh of wonder. " Do you object," Edwin inquires, with a majestic turn of his eyes downward upon the fairy figure : " do you object, " Rosa, to her feeling that interest ?

" Object ? My dear Eddy ! But really. Doesn't she hate " boilers and things ? " I can answer for her not being so idiotic as to hate Boil-

'* ers," he returns with angry emphasis ; though I cannot answer for her views about Things; really not understanding what Things are meant." " But don't she hate Arabs, and Turks, and Fellahs, and |eople?" 3 " m THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN BROOD.

" Certainly not/' Very firmly. " " At least, she must hate the Pyramids ? Come, Eddy ? " Why should she be such a little—tall, I mean—Goose, as " to hate the Pyramids, Rosa ?

** Ah ! you should hear Miss Twinkleton," often nodding her head, and much enjoying the Lumps, " bore about them,

and then you wouldn^t ask. Tiresome old burying-grounds ! Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and Pharaohses; who cares about them ? And then there was Belzoni or somebody, dragged out by the legs, half choked with bats and dust. All

the girls say serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had been quite choked." The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in- arm, wander discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves. " Well ! " says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. " According to custom. We can't get on, Eosa." Bosa tosses her head, and says she donH want to get on. " That's a pretty sentiment, Rosa, considering." " " Considering what ? " If I say what, you'll go wrong again." ** You'll go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Don't be ungenerous."

" ! Ungenerous ! I like that

" Then I don't like that, and so I tell you plainly," Rosa pouts.

" Now, Rosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my profession, my destination ^" " You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope ? " she interrupts, arching her delicate eyebrows. "You never

said you were. If you are, why haven't you mentioned it to me ? I can't find out your plans by instinct." " Now, Rosa ; you know very well what I mean, my dear." " Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red- nosed Giantesses ? And she would, she would, she would, she " ! ;

THE NUNS' HOUSE. 61

wouW, she WOULD powder it " cries Rosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen.

" Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discussions," says Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned. " How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when you're always wrong ? And as to Belzoni, I suppose he's dead —I'm sure I hope he is—and how can his legs, or his chokes concern you ? '' " It is nearly time for your return, Eosa. We have not had " a very happy walk, have we ? " A happy walk ? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up stairs the moment I get in and cry till I can't take my dancing-lesson, " you are responsible, mind ! " Let us be friends, Rosa." " " Ah ! cries Rosa, shaking her head and bursting into real tears. " I wish we could be friends ! It's because we can't be friends, that we try one another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache ; but I really, really have, sometimes. Don't be angry. I know you have one yourself, too often. We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left, What might have been. I am quite a serious little thing now, and not teasing you. Let each of us forbear, this one time, on our own account, and on the Other's !

Disarmed by this glimpse of a woman's nature in the spoilt child, though for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerchief at her eyes, and then she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her young inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved—leads her to a seat hard by, under the elm trees. " One clear word of understanding. Pussy dear. I am not clever out of ray own line—now I come to think of it I don't know that I am particularly clever in it—but I want to do right. There is not—there may be—I really don't see my way " " :

52 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. to what I want to say, but I must say it before we part—there ^^ is not any other young ? " Oh no, Eddy ! It's generous of you to ask me ; but no, no, no ! They have come very near to the Cathedral windows, and at this moment the organ and the choir sound out sublimely.

As they sit listening to the solemn swell, the confidence of last night rises in young Edwin Drood's mind, and he thinks how unlike this music is, to that discoidance.

" I fancy I can distinguish Jack's voice," is his remark in a low tone in connection with the train of thought. " Take me back at once, please," urges his Affianced,

quickly laying her light hand upon his wrist. " They will all be coming out directly; let us get away. Oh, what a re- sounding chord ! But don't let us stop to listen to it ; let us

get away !

Her hurry is over, as soon as they have passed out of the Close. They go, arm-in-arm now, gravely and deliberately enough, along the old High Street, to the Nuns' House. At the gate, the street being within sight empty, Edwin bends down his face to Rosebud's.

She remonstrates, laughing, and is a childish schoolgirl again.

"Eddy, no ! I'm too stickey to be kissed. But give me your hand, aad I'll blow a kiss into that."

He does so. She breathes a light breath into it, and asks^

retaining it and looking into it " Now say, what do you see ? " "See, Rosa?" " Why, I thought you Egyptian boys could look into a hand and see all sorts of phantoms ? Can't you see a happy " Future ? For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in and the other goes away. MR. SAPSEA. 63

CHAPTER IV.

MR. SAPSEA.

Accepting the Jackass as the type of self-sufficient stupid- ity and conceit—a custom, perhaps, like some few other cus- toms, more conventional than fair—then the purest Jackass in Cloisterham is Mr. Thomas Sapsea, Auctioneer. " Mr. Sapsea dresses at " the Dean ; has been bowed to for the Dean, in mistake ; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of his style. He has even (in selling landed property), tried the experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the real Dean—a modest and worthy gentleman—far behind.

Mr. Sapsea has many admirers ; indeed, the proposition is carried by a large local majority, even including non-belieyers in his wisdom, that he is a credit to Cloisterham. He posses- ses the great qualities of being portentous and dull, and of having a roll in his speech, and another roll in his gait ; not to mention a certain gravely flowing action with his hands, as if he were presently going to Confirm the individual with whom he holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years of age than fifty, with a flowing outline of stomach, and horizontal creases in his waistcoat; reputed to be rich; voting at elections in the strictly respectable interest ; morally satisfied that nothing but he himself has grown since he was a baby ; how can dunder- headed Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than a credit to Cloisterham, and society ? Mr. Sapsea's premises are in the High Street, over against the Nuns' House. They are of about the period of the NuEia' 54 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIK DROOD.

House, irregularly modernized here and there, as steadily deteriorating generations found, more and more, that they preferred air and light to Fever and the Plague. Over the doorway, is a wooden e^gy, ahout half life-size, representing Mr. Sapsea's father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little finger, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.

Mr. Sapsea sits in his dull ground-floor sitting-room, gazing first on his paved back yard and then on his railed-off garden. Mr. Sapsea has a bottle of port wine on a table before the fire —the fire is an early luxury, but pleasant on the cool, chilly autumn evening—and is characteristically attended by his portrait, his eight-day clock, and his weather-glass. Charac- teristicallj'-, because he would uphold himself against mankind, his weather-glass against weather, and his clock against time. By Mr. Sapsea's side on the table are a writing-desk and writing materials. Glancing at a scrap of manuscript, Mr.

Sapsea reads it to himself with a lofty air, and then, slowly pac- ing the room with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, repeats it from memory : so internally, though with much dignity, that the word " Ethelinda " is alone audible. There are three clean wine-glasses in a tray on the table.

His serving-maid entering, and announcing " Mr. Jasper is come, sir,'' Mr. Sapsea waves "Admit him" and draws two wine-glasses from the rank, as being claimed.

" Glad to see you, sir. I congratulate myself on having the honor of receiving you here for the first time.'' Mr. Sapsea does the honors of his house in this wise.

" You are very good. The honor is mine and the self-con- gratulation is mine."

" You are pleased to say so, sir. But I do assure you that it is a satisfaction to me to receive you in my humble home. And that is what I would not say to everybody." Ineffable loftiness on Mr. Sapsea's part accompanies these words, as lear- : "

MR. SAPSEA. 65 ing the sentence " to be understood : You will not easily believe that your society can be a satisfaction to a man like myself; nevertheless, it is." " I have for some time desired to know you, Mr. Sapsea." " And I, sir, have long known you by reputation as a man of taste. Let me fill your glass. I will give you, sir," says Mr. Sapsea, filling his own

" When the French come over. May we meet them at Dover!

This was a patriotic toast in Mr. Sapsea's infancy, and he is therefore fully convinced of its being appropriate to any subsequent era.

'*' You can scarcely be ignorant, Mr. Sapsea," observes Jasper, watching the auctioneer with a smile as the latter stretches out his legs before the fire, " that you know the world." " Well, sir," is the chuckling reply, " I think I know something of it ; something of it." " Your reputation for that knowledge has always interested and surprised me, and made me wish to know you. For,

Cloisterham is a little place. Cooped up in it myself, I know nothing beyond it, and feel it to be a very little place." "If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man," Mr.

Sapsea begins, and then stops : —" You will excuse my calling you young man, Mr. Jasper ? You are much my junior." " By all means."

" If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man, foreign countries have come to me. They have come to me in the way of business, and I have improved upon my opportunities. Put it that I take an inventory, or make a catalogue.

I see a French clock. I never saw him before, in my life, but

I instantly lay my finger on him and say * Paris!' I see some cups and saucers of Chinese make, equally strangers to me personally : I put my finger on them, then and there, and

I say *Pekin, Nankin, and Canton.' It is the same with Japan, with Egypt, and with bamboo and sandal-wood from I

66 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DEOOD,

the East Indies ; I put my finger on them all. I have put my finger on the North Pole before now, and said, < Spear of

'^ Esquimaux make, for half a pint of pale sherry ! " Eeally ? A very remarkable way, Mr. Sapsea, of acquir- ing a knowledge of men and things.'' "I mention it, sir," Mr. Sapsea rejoins, with unspeakable " complacency, because, as I say, it don't do to boast of what you are; but show how you came to be it, and then you prove it."

^* Most interesting. We were to speak of the late Mrs.

" We were, sir." Mr. Sapsea fills both glasses, and takes the decanter into safe keeping again. " Before I consult your opinion as a man of taste — on this little trifle "—holding it up " which is but a trifle, and still has required some thought, sir, some little fever of the brow, I ought perhaps to describe the character of the late Mrs. Sapsea, now dead three quarters of a year." Mr. Jasper, in the act of yawning behind his wineglass, puts down that screen and calls up a look of interest. It is a little impaired in its expressiveness by his having a shut-up gape still to dispose of, with watering eyes. " Half a dozen years ago, or so," Mr. Sapsea proceeds, " when I had enlarged my mind up to—I will not say to what it now is, for that might. seem to aim at too much, but up to the pitch of wanting another mind to be absorbed in it— cast my eye about me for a nuptial partner. Because, as I say, it is not good for man to be alone." Mr. Jasper appears to commit this original idea to memory. " Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rival establishment to the establishment at the Nuns' House opposite, but I will call it the other parallel establishment down town. The world did have it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they took place on half-holidays, or in vacation time. The world did put it about, that she admired my style. The world did notice that as time flowed by, "

MR. SAPSEA. 67 my style became traceable in the dictation exercises of M:s3 Brobity's pupils. Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, that one ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as to object to it by name. But

I do not believe this. For is it likely that any human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to be

'^ pointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn ? Mr. Jasper shakes his head. Not in the least likely. Mr. Sapsea, in a grandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor's glass, which is full already ; and does really refill his own, which is empty. "Miss Brobity's Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind. She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me the honor to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to

! articulate only the two words, * Oh Thou '—meaning myself. Her limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of the parallel establishment, by private contract, and we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favorable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms." Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice. He now abruptly opens them, and says, in " " unison with the deepened voice Ah ! —rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge of adding—" men ! "I have been since," says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, and solemnly enjoying himself with the wine " and the fire, what you behold me ; I have been since a solitary mourner ; I have been since, as I say, wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say that I have reproached myself; but there have been times when I hav© :

6* THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

asked myself the question : What if her husband had been nearer on a level with her ? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might the stimulating action have been " upon the liver ? Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully low spirits, that he, " Supposes it was to be." " We can only suppose so, sir," Mr. Sapsea coincides. " As I say, Man proposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thought in another form ; but that is the way I put it." Mr. Jasper murmurs assent. *' And now, Mr. Jasper," resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap of manuscript, "Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle and dry, let me take your opinion as a man of taste, on the inscription I have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow), drawn out for it.

Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the lines re- quires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with the mind." Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows

Ethelinda, Reverential Wife of MR THOMAS SAPSEA, AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &a, OF THIS CITY, Whose Knowledge of the World, Though somewhat extensive Kever brought him acquainted with A SPIRIT More capable of

LOOKING ITP TO HIM. STRANGER PAUSE And ask thyself the Question, CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE? If Not, WITH A BLUSH RETIRE. MR. SAPSEA. m

Mr. Sapsea having risen and stationed himself with his hack to the fire, for the purpose of observing the eifect of these lines on the countenance of a man of taste, consequently has his face towards the door, when his serving-maid, again appearing, announces, " Durdles is come, sir ! '' He promptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being now claimed, and replies, " Show Durdles in." " " Admirable ! quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper. " You approve, sir ? '' " Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete." The auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving a receipt ; and invites the entering Durdles to take off that glass of wine (handing the same), for it will warm him.

Durdles is a stonemason ; chiefly in the gravestone, tomb, and monument way, and wholly of their color from head to foot. No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the place. Fame trumpets him a wonderful workman—which, for aught that anybody knows, he may be (as he never works) ; and a wonderful sot—which everybody knows he is. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living authority ; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the intimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret place, to lock out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off the fumes of liquor : he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contrac- tor for rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and, in the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement; has seen strange sights. He third being often speaks of himself in the person ; perhaps a perhaps little misty as to his own identity when he narrates ; impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomenclature in reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he will " say, touching his strange sights : Durdles come upon the cJd chap/' in reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and 00 THE MYSTEBT OF EDWIN DROOD. high degree, " by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes, as much as to say ' Is your name Durdles ? Why, my man, Pve been

waiting for you a Devil of a time ! ' And then he turned to powder.'' With a two-foot rule alwa^^s in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about and about the Ca thedral ; and whenever he says to Tope : " Tope, here's another

! old 'un in here " Tope announces it to the Dean as an established discovery. In a suit of coarse flannel with horn buttons, a yellow neckerchief with draggled ends, an old hat more russet- colored than black, and laced boots of the hue of his stony calling, Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sort of life, carrying his dinner about with him in a small bundle, and sitting on all manner of tombstones to dine. This dinner of Durdles's has become quite a Cloisterham institution : not only because of his never appearing in public without it, but because of its having been, on certain renowned occasions, taken into custody along with Durdles (as drunk and incapable), and ex- hibited before the Bench of Justices at the Town Hall. These occasions, however, have been few and far apart : Durdles being as seldom drunk as sober. For the rest, he is an old bachelor, and he lives in a little antiquated hole of a house that was never finished : supposed to be built, so far, of stones stolen from the city wall. To this abode there is an approach, ankle-deep in stone-chips, resembling a petrified grove of tombstones, urns, draperies, and broken columns, in all stages of sculpture. Herein, two journeymen incessantly chip, while other two journeymen, who face each other, incessantly saw stone ; dipping as regularly in and out of their sheltering sentry-boxes, as if they were mechanical figures emblematical of Time and Death. To Durdles, when he has consumed his glass of port, Mr. Sapsea entrusts that precious effort of his Muse. Durdles un- feelingly takes out his two-foot rule, and measures the lines calmly, alloying them with stone-grit. "

MR. SAPSEA. 61

" " This is for the monument, is it, Mr. Sapsea ? " The Inscription. Yes." Mr. Sapsea waits for its effect on a common mind.

« It'll come in to a eighth of a inch," says Durdles. " Your servant, Mr. Jasper. Hope I see you well." " " How are you, Durdles ? " I've got a touch of the Tombatism on me, Mr, Jasper, but that I must expect." " You mean the Eheumatism," says Sapsea, in a sharp tone.

(He is nettled by having his composition so mechanically received.) " No, I don't. I mean, Mr. Sapsea, the Tombatism. It^s another sort from Eheumatism. Mr. Jasper knows what Durdles means. You get among them Tombs afore it's well light on a winter morning, and keep on, as the Catechism says, a-walking in the same all the days of your life, and

2/ow'll know what Durdles means."

" It is a bitter cold place, Mr. Jasper assents, with an anti- pathetic shiver.

" And if it's bitter cold for you, up in the chancel, with a lot of live breath smoking out about you, what the bitterness is to Durdles, down in the crypt among the earthy damps there, and the dead breath of the old 'uns," returns that individual, " Durdles leaves you to judge.—Is this to be put in " hand at once, Mr. Sapsea ? Mr. Sapsea, with an Author's anxiety to rush into publica- tion, replies that it cannot be out of hand too soon. " You had better let me have the key, then," says Durdles.

! " Why, man, it is not to be put inside the monument

" Durdles knows where it's to be put, Mr. Sapsea ; no man better. Ask 'ere a man in Cloisterham whether Durdles knows his work." Mr. Sapsea rises, takes a key from a drawer, unlocks an iron safe let into the wall, and takes from it another key. " When Durdles puts a touch or a finish upon his work, no matter where, inside or outside, Durdles likes to look at hia "

62 THE lilYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

work all round, and see that his work is a doing him credit/' Durdles explains, doggedly. The key proffered him by the bereaved widower being a large one, he slips his two-foot rule into a side pocket of his

flannel trousers made for it, and deliberately opens his flannel

coat, and opens the mouth of a large breast-pocket within it before taking the key to place in that repository. " Why, Durdles ! " exclaims Jasper, looking on amused.

" You are undermined with pockets ! "And I carries weight in 'em too, Mr. Jasper. Feel " those ; producing two large keys.

"Hand me Mr. Sapsea's likewise. Surely this is the heaviest of the three." " You'll find 'em much of a muchness, I expect," says Dur- dles. " They all belong to monuments. They all open Dur- dles's work. Durdles keeps the keys of his work mostly. Not that they are much used."

" By the bye," it comes into Jasper's mind to say, as he idly examines the keys; "I have been going to ask you, many a day, and have always forgotten. You know they .sometimes call you Stony Durdles, don't you ?" " Cloisterham knows me as Durdles, Mr. Jasper." "I am aware of that, of course. But the boys sometimes " " Oh ! If you mind them young Imps of boys—" Dur- dles gruffly interrupts. " I don't mind them, any more than you do. But there was a discussion the other day among the Choir, whether Stony stood for Tony ; " clinking one key against another. (" Take care of the wards, Mr. Jasper.") " Or whether Stony stood for Stephen ; " clinking with a change of keys.

(" You can't make a pitch-pipe of 'em, Mr. Jasper.") " Or whether the name comes from your trade. How stands the fact ? " Mr. Jasper weighs the three keys in his hand, lifts his head MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND. 63 from his idly stooping attitude over the fire, and delivers the keys to Durdles with an ingenuous and friendl}'^ face.

But the stony one is a gruff one likewise, and that hazy state of his is always an uncertain state, highly conscious of its dignity, and prone to take offence. He drops his two keys back into his pocket one by one, and buttons them up ; he takes his dinner-bundle from the chair-back on which he hung it when he came in ; he distributes the weight he carries, by ty- ing the third key up in it, as though he were an Ostrich, and liked to dine off cold iron ; and he gets out of the room, deign- ing no word of answer. Mr. Sapsea then proposes a hit at backgammon, which, sea- soned with his own improving conversation, and terminating in a supper of cold roast beef and salad, beguiles the golden evening until pretty late. Mr. Sapsea's wisdom being, in its delivery to mortals, rather of the diffuse than the epigram-

matic order, is by no means expended even then ; but his visitor intimates that he will come back for more of the precious commodity on future occasions, and Mr. Sapsea lets him off for th-e present, to ponder on the instalment he carries away.

CHAPTER V.

MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND.

John Jasper, on his way home through the Close, is brought to a stand-still by the spectacle of Stony Durdles, dinner-bundle and all, leaning his back against the iron railing of the burial-ground enclosing it from the old cloister-

arches ; and a hideous small boy in rags flinging stones ak him as a well-defined mark in the moonlight. Sometimes the stones hit him, and sometimes they miss him, but Durdles seems indifferent to either fortune. The hideous small boy, on the contrary, whenever he hits Durdles, blows a whistle of ! ! "

64 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. triumph through a jagged gap convenient for the purpose, in the front of his mouth, where half his teeth are wanting; " " and whenever he misses him, yelps out Mulled agin ! and tries to atone for the failure by taking a more correct and vicious aim. "•What are you doing to the man ? " demands Jasper, stepping out into the moonlight from the shade. " Making a cock-shy of him," replies the hideous small boy. " Give me those stones in your hand."

"Yes, I'll give 'em you down your throat, if you come a-ketching hold of me," says the small boy, shaking himself

loose, and backing. " I'll smash your eye, if you don't look out!" "Baby-Devil that you are, what has the man done to you?" " He won't go home." " " What is that to you ? " He gives me a 'apenny to pelt him home if I ketches him out too late," says the boy. And then chants, like a little savage, half stumbling and half dancing among the rags and

laces of his dilapidated boots :

" Widdy widdy wen I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten, Widdy widdy wy Then—E—don't—go—then—I—shy— Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning I

—with a comprehensive sweep on the last word, and one more delivery at Durdles. This would seem to be a poetical note of preparation, agreed upon, as a caution to Durdles to stand clear if he can, or to betake himself homeward. John Jasper invites the boy with a beck of his head to follow

him (feeling it hopeless to drag him, or coax him) and crosses

to the iron railing where the Stony (and stoned) One is profoundly meditating. " Do you know this thing, this child ? " asks Jasper^ at a loss for a word that will define this thing. " ;

MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND. 65

*' Deputy," says Durdles, with a nod. " ^' Is that it's—his—name ? " Deputy," assents Durdles. " I'm man-servant up at the Travellers' Twopenny in Gas Works Garding," this thing explains. " All us man-servants at Travellers Lodgings is named Deputy. When we're chock full and the Travellers is all a-bed I come out for my 'elth." Then withdrawing into the road, and taking aim, he resumes "Widdy Widdy wen! I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—

" Hold your hand," cries Jasper, " and don't throw while I stand so near him, or I'll kill you ! Come, Durdles ; let me " walk home with you to-night. Shall I carry your bundle ?

" Not on any account," replies Durdles, adjusting it. " Durdles was making his reflections here when you come up,

sir, surrounded by his works, like a popular Author.—Your own brother-in-law ; " introducing a sarcophagus within the " railing, white and cold in the moonlight. " Mrs. Sapsea ; introducing the monument of that devoted wife. " Late In- " cumbent ; introducing the Keverend Gentleman's broken column. " Departed Assessed Taxes ; " introducing a vase and towel, standing on what might represent the cake of soap.

*' Former pastrycook and muffin-maker, much respected ; " introducing gravestone. " All safe and sound here, sir, and all

Durdle's work ! Of the common folk that is mere bundled up in turf and brambles, the less said, the better. A poor lot, soon forgot."

"This creature, Deputy, is behind us," says Jasper, looking " back. " Is he to follow us ? The relations between Durdles and Deputy are of a capri-

cious kind ; for, on Durdles's turning himself about with the slow gravity of beery soddenness. Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road and stands on the defensive. " You never cried Widdy Warning before you begun to-

night,'' says Durdles, unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, an injury. 4 66 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD.

of polite « Yer lie, I did," says Deputy, in his only form contradiction. " Own brother, sir," observes Durdles, turning himself about again, and as unexpectedly forgetting his offence as he had " the Wild recalled or conceived it ; own brother to Peter in life." Boy ! But I gave him an object « At which he takes aim ? " Mr. Jasper suggests. satisfied " at which " That's it, sir," returns Durdles, quite ; be takes aim. I took him in hand and gave him an object. What was he before ? A destroyer. What work did he do ? Nothing but destruction. What did he earn by it ? Short terms in Cloisterham Jail. Not a person, not a piece of property, not a winder, not a horse, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird, nor a fowl, nor a pig, but what he stoned, for want of an enlightened object. I put that enlightened object before him, and now he can turn his honest half-penny by the three penn'orth a week." " I wonder he has no competitors." " He has plenty, Mr. Jasper, but he stones 'em all away. Kow, I don't know what this scheme of mine comes to," pursues Durdles, considering about it with the same sodden grav- " precisely call it. It ain't ity ; I don't know what you may " a sort of a—scheme of a—National Education ? " I should say not," replies Jasper. " " then won't try / should say not," assents Durdles ; we

to give it a name." " He still keeps behinds us," repeats Jasper, looking over " " his shoulder ; is he to follow us ? " We can't help going round by the Travellers' Twopenny, if we go the short way, which is the back way," Durdles answers, " and we'll drop him there." one, taking open So they go on ; Deputy, as a rear rank of order, and invading the silence of the hour and place by stoning every wall, post, pillar, and other inanimate object, by the deserted way. " Is there anything new down in the crypt, Durdles ? " asks John Jasper. MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND. 67

'^ Anything old, I think you mean," growls Durdles. "It ain't a spot for novelty.'' " Any new discovery on your part, I meant."

'* There's a old 'un under the seventh pillar on the left as you go down the broken steps of the little underground chapel

as formerly was ; I make him out (so fur as I've made him out yet) to be one of them old 'uns with a crook. To judge from the size of the passages in the walls, and of the steps and doors, by which they came and went, them crooks must have been a good deal in the way of the old 'uns ! Two on 'em meeting promiscuous must have hitched one another by the mitre, pretty often, I should say." Without any endeavor to correct the literality of this opinion, Jasper surveys his companion—covered from head to foot with old mortar, lime, and stone grit—as though he, Jasper, were getting imbued with a romantic interest in his weird life.

" Yours is a curious existence." Without furnishing the least clue to the question, whether he receives this as a compliment or as quite the reverse, Durdles " gruffly answers : Yours is another."

" Well ! Inasmuch as mj^ lot is cast in the same old earthy, chilly, never-changing place, Yes. But there is much more mystery and interest in your connection with the Cathedral than in mine. Indeed, I am beginning to have some idea of asking you to take me on as a sort of student or free 'prentice, under you, and to let me go about with you sometimes, and see some of these odd nooks in which you pass your days." The Stony One replies, in a general way. All right. Every- body knows where to find Durdles, when he's wanted. Which, if not strictly true, is approximately so, if taken to express that Durdles may always be found in a state of vagabondage somewhere. " What I dwell upon most," says Jasper, pursuing his subject of romantic interest, " is the remarkable accuracy with " —!

68 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. which you would seem to find out where people are buried.

What is the matter ? That bundle is in your way ; let me hold it."

Durdles has stopped and backed a little (Deputy, attentive to all his movements, immediately skirmishing into the road) and was looking about for some ledge or corner to place his bundle on, when thus relieved of it. " Just you give me my hammer out of that," says Durdles,

•' and I'll show you."

Clink, clink. And his hammer is handed him. "Kow, lookee here. You pitch your note, don't you, Mr. " Jasper ? "Yes." *•' So I sound for mine. I take my hammer, and I tap." (Here he strikes the pavement, and the attentive Deputy gkirmishes at a rather wider range, as supposing that his head may be in requisition.) " I tap, tap, tap. Solid ! I go on tapping. Solid still ! Tap again. Holloa ! Hollow

Tap again, persevering. Solid in hollow ! Tap, tap, tap, to try it better. Solid in hollow, and inside solid, hollow again !

There you are 1 Old 'un crumbled away in stone coffin in vault!" " Astonishing ! "I have even done this," says Durdles, drawing out his two-foot rule, (Deputy meanwhile skirmishing nearer, as sus- pecting that Treasure may be about to be discovered, which may somehow lead to his own enrichment, and the delicious treat of the discoverers being hanged by the neck, on his evidence, until they are dead). " Say that hammer of mine's a wall

—my work. Two ; four ; and two is six," measuring on the pavement. " Six foot inside that wall is Mrs. Sapsea." "Not really Mrs. Sapsea ?" " Say Mrs. Sapsea. Her wall's thicker, but say Mrs. Sap- sea. Durdles taps that wall represented by that hammer, and

' ! says, after good sounding : Something betwixt us ' Sure enough, some rubbish has been left in that same six foot space by Durdles's men." MR. DURDLES AXD FRIEKD. 69

Jasper opines that such accuracy " is a gift."

" I wouldn't have it at a gift," returns Dardles, by no means receiving the observation in good part. " I worked it out for myself. Durdles comes to his knowledge through grubbing deep for it, and having it up by the roots when it " don't want to come.— Halloa you Deputy ! " Widdy !" is Deputy's shrill response, standing off again. " Catch that ha'penny. And don't let me see an}^ more of you to-night, after we come to the Travellers' Twopenny." "Warning!" returns Deputy, having caught the half- penny, and appearing by this mystic word to express his assent to the arrangement. They have but to cross what was once the vineyard, belonging to what was once the Monastery, to come into the narrow back lane wherein stands the crazy wooden house of two low stories currently known as the Traveller's Twopenny : —a house all warped and distorted, like the morals of the travellers, with scant remains of a lattice-work porch over the door, and also

of a rustic fence before its stamped-out garden ; by reason of the travellers being so bound to the premises by a tender sentiment (or so fond of having a fire by the roadside in the course of the day), that they can never be persuaded oi threatened into departure, without violently possessing themselves of some wooden forget-me-not, and bearing it off.

The semblance of an inn is attempted to be given to this wretched place by fragments of conventional red curtaining in the windows, which rags are made n^uddily transparent in the night-season by feeble lights of rush or cotton dip burning dully in the close air of the inside. As Durdles and Jasper come near, they are addressed by an inscribed paper lantern over the door, setting forth the purport of the house. They are also addressed by some half-dozen other hideous small boys —whether twopenny lodgers or followers or hangers-on of such, who knows ! —who, as if attracted by some carrion-scent of Deputy in the air, start into the moonlight, as vultures might gather in the desert, and instantly fall to stoning him and one another. 70 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIK DROOD.

" Stop, you young brutes," cries Jasper, angrily, " and let

'^ us go by ! This remonstrance being received with yells and flying stones, according to a custom of late years comfortably established among the police regulations of our English communi- ties, where Christians are stoned on all sides, as if the days of Saint Stephen were revived, Durdles remarks of the young savages, with some point, that " they haven't got an object/' and leads the way down the lane. At the corner of the lane, Jasper, hotly enraged, checks his companion and looks back. All is silent. Next moment, a stone coming rattling at his hat, and a distant yell of " Wake-

! '' Cock ! Warning followed by a crow, as from some infer- nally-hatched Chanticleer, apprising him under whose victori- ous fire he stands, he turns the corner into safetj^, and takes

Durdles home : Durdles stumbling among the litter of his stony yard as if he were going to turn head foremost into one of the unfinished tombs. John Jasper returns by another way to his gate house, and entering softly with his key, finds his fire still burning. He takes from a locked press, a peculiar-looking pipe which he fills—but not with tobacco—and, having adjusted the contents of the bowl, very carefully, with a little instrument, ascends an inner staircase of only a few steps, leading to two rooms.

One of these is his own sleeping chamber : the other, is his nephew's. There is a light in each. His nephew lies asleep, calm and untroubled. John Jasper stands looking down upon him, his unlighted pipe in his hand, for some time, with a fixed and deep attention. Then, hushing his footsteps, he passes to his own room, lights his pipe, and delivers himself to the Spectres it invokes at midnight. —

PHILANTHROPY. 11

CHAPTER VI.

PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER.

The Reverend Septimus Crisparkle (Septimus, because six little brother Crisparkles before him went out, one by one, as they were born, like six weak little rushlights, as they were lighted), having broken the thin morning ice near Cloister- ham Weir with his amiable head, much to the invigoration of his frame, was now assisting his circulation by boxing at a looking-glass with great science and prowess. A fresh and healthy portrait the looking-glass presented of the Reverend Septimus, feinting and dodging with the utmost artfulness, and hitting out from the shoulder with the utmost straightness, while his radiant features teemed with innocence, and soft- hearted benevolence beamed from his boxing-gloves. It was scarcely breakfast time yet, for Mrs. Crisparkle mother, not wife, of the Reverend Septimus—was only just down, and waiting for the urn. Indeed, the Reverend Septi- mus left off at this very moment to take the pretty old lady's entering face between his boxing-gloves and kiss it. Having done so with tenderness, the Reverend Septimus turned to again, countering with his left, and putting in his right, in a tremendous manner.

'• I say, every morning of my life, that you'll do it at last, " Sept," remarked the old lady, looking on ; and so you will.'' " " Do what. Ma dear ? " Break the pier-glass, or burst a blood-vessel." " Neither, please God, Ma, dear. Here's wind, Ma. Look " at this ! In a concluding round of great severity, the Reverend Sep- timus administered and escaped all sorts of punishment, and wound up by getting the old lady's cap into Chancery—such is the technical terra used in scientific circles by the learned in the E^oble Art— with a lightness of touch that hardly stir- —

72 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD,

red the lightest lavender or cherry riband on it. Magnani- mously releasing the defeated, just in time to get his gloves into a drawer and feign to be looking out of the window in a contemplative state of mind when a servant entered, the Rev- erend Septimus then gave place to the urn and other preparations for breakfast. These completed, and the two alone

again, it was pleasant to see (or would have been, if there

had been any one to see it, which there never was), the old lady standing to say the Lord's Prayer aloud, and her son,

Minor Canon nevertheless, standing with bent head to hear it,

he being within ^ve years of forty : much as he had stood to hear the same words from the same lips when he was within five months of four. What is prettier than an old lady—except a young lady when her eyes are bright, when her figure is trim and compact, when her face is cheerful and calm, when her dress is as the dress of a china shepherdess : so dainty in its colors, so individually assorted to herself, so neatly moulded on her ?

Nothing is prettier, thought the good Minor Canon frequently, when taking his seat at the table opposite his long-widowed mother. Her thought at such times may be condensed into the two words that oftenest did duty together in all her con-

*^ ! '' versations : My Sept They were a good pair to sit breakfasting together in Minor Canon Corner, Cloisterham. For, Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral, which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers, the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. Swagger- ing fighting men had had their centuries of ramping and rav- ing about Minor Canon Corner, and beaten serfs had had their centuries of drudging and dying there, and powerful monks had had their centuries of being sometimes useful and sometimes harmful there, and behold they were all gone out of Minor Canon Corner, and so much the better. Perhaps one of the highest uses of their ever having been there, was, that PHILANTHKOPY. 73 there might be left behind, that blessed air of tranquillity which pervaded Minor Canon Corner, and that serenely romantic state of the mind—productive for the most part of pity and forbearance—which is engendered by a sorrowful story that is all told, or a pathetic play that is played out. Eed-brick wall harmoniously toned down in color by time, strong-rooted ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places, and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle and the Eeverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast. " And what. Ma dear," inquired the Minor Canon, giving proof of a wholesome and vigorous appetite, • " does the letter say?"

The pretty old lady, after reading it, had just laid it down upon the breakfast-cloth. She handed it over to her son. ^N'ow, the old lady was exceedingly proud of her bright eyes being so clear that she could read writing without spectacles. Her son was also so proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully bent on her deriving the utmost possible gratification from it, that he had invented the pretence that he himself could not read writing without spectacles. Therefore he now assumed a pair of grave and prodigious proportions, which not only seriously inconvenienced his nose and his breakfast, but seriously impeded his perusal of the letter. For, he had the eyes of a microscope and a telescope combined, when they were unassisted. " It's from Mr. Honeythunder, of course,'' said the old lady, folding her arms.

" Of course,'' assented her son. He then lamely read on .

"Haveis^ of Philanthbopy, " Chief OflSces, London, Wednesday " Dear Madam,

; " ' I write in the ' In the what's this ? What does he " — write in ? ^< In the chair," said the old lady. " : "

?4 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

The Eeverend Septimus took off his spectacles, that he might see her face, as he exclaimed " " Why, what should he write in? "Bless me, bless me, Sept," returned the old lady, "you

don't see the context ! Give it back to me, my dear." Glad to get his spectacles off (for they always made his eyes

water) her son obeyed : murmuring that his sight for reading manuscript got worse and worse daily.

" ' I write,' " his mother went on, reading very perspicuously

and precisely, " * from the chair, to which I shall probably be " confined for some hours.' Septimus looked at the row of chairs against the wall, with a half-protesting and half-appealing countenance.

" ^ We have,' " the old lady read on with a little extra emphasis, "*a meeting of our Convened Chief Composite Commit- tee of Central and District Philanthrop^'sts, at our Head Haven

as above ; and it is their unanimous pleasure that I take the chair.' " Septimus breathed more freely, and muttered : Oh ! If he comes to that^ let him."

" * Not to lose a day's post, I take the opportunity of a long report being read, denouncing a public miscreant '

" It is a most extraordinary thing," interposed the gentle Minor Canon, laying down his knife and fork to rub his ear in a vexed manner, " that these Philanthropists are always de-

nouncing somebody. And it is another most extraordinary " thing that they are always so violently flush of miscreants !

! ' " ^ Denouncing a public miscreant "—the old lady re-

sumed, " ' to get our little affair of business off my mind. I nave spoken with my two wards, Neville and Helena Landless, on the subject of their defective education, and they give in

to the plan proposed ; as I should have taken good care they " did, whether they liked it or not.'

" And it is another most extraordinary thing," remarked the Minor Canon in the same tone as before, "that these Philanthropists are so given to seizing their fellow-creatures PHILANTHROPY. 76 by the scruif of the neck, and (as one may say) bumping them into the paths of peace.—I beg your pardon, Ma dear, for in- terrupting."

" * Therefore, dear Madam, you will please prepare your son, the Keverend Mr. Septimus, to expect Neville as an inmate to be read with, on Monday next. On the same day Helena will accompany him to Cloisterham, to take up her quarters at the Nuns' House, the establishment recommended by yourself and son jointly. Please likewise to prepare for her reception and tuition there. The terms in both cases are understood to be exactly as stated to me in writing by yourself, when I opened a correspondence with you on this subject, after the honor of being introduced to you at. your sister's house in town here. With compliments to the Eev. Mr. Septimus, I am, dear Madam, Your affectionate brother (In Philanthropy), Luke Honeythunder.' "

" Well, Ma," said Septimus, after a little more rubbing of his ears, " we must try it. There can be no doubt that we have room for an inmate, and that I have time to bestow upon him, and inclination too. I must confess to feeling rather glad that he is not Mr. Honeythunder himself Though that seems wretchedly prejudiced—does it not ?—for I never saw him. " Is he a large man. Ma ? " I should call him a large man, my dear," the old lady replied after some hesitation, " but that his voice is so much larger." "Than himself?" « Than anybody." " " Hah ! said Septimus. And finished his breakfast as if the flavor of the Superior Family Souchong, and also of the ham and toasf nnd ecrsrs, were a little on the wane. Mrs. Crisparkle's sister, another piece of Dresden china, and matching her so neatly that they would have made a delightful pair of ornaments for the two ends of any capacious old- fashioned chimney-piece, and by right should never have been Been apart, was the childless wife of a clergyman holding Cor- 76 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIK DROOD. poration preferment in London City. Mr. Honej^thunder in his public character of Professor of Philanthropy had come to know Mrs. Crisparkle during the last re-matching of the china ornaments (in other words during her last annual visit to her sister), after a public occasion of a philanthropic nature when certain devoted orphans of tender years had been glutted with plum buns, and plump bumptiousness. These were all the antecedents known in Minor Canon Corner of the coming pupils. " I am sure you will agree with me, Ma," said Mr. Cris- parkle, after thinking the matter over, " that the first thing to be done is to put these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing disinterested in the notion, because we cannot be at our ease with them unless they are at their ease with us. Now, Jasper's nephew is down here at present; and like takes to like, and youth takes to youth. He is a cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister at dinner. That's three. We can't think of asking him, without asking Jasper. That's four. Add Miss

Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to be, and that's six. Add our two selves, and that's eight. Would eight at a friendly dinner at all put you out. Ma ? '' " Nine would, Sept," returned the old lady, visibly nervous, " My dear Ma, I particularize eight." " The exact size of the table and the room, my dear."

So it was settled that way ; and when Mr. Crisparkle called with his mother upon Miss Twinkleton, to arrange for the reception of Miss Helena Landless at the Nuns' House, the two other invitations having reference to that establishment were proffered and accepted. Miss Twinkleton did, indeed, glance at the globes, as regretting that they were not formed to be taken out into society; but became reconciled to leaving them behind. Instructions were then despatched to the Philanthro- pist for the departure and arrival, in good time for dinner, of Mr. Neville and Miss Helena; and stock for soup became fragrant in the air of Minor Canon Corner, PHILANTHROPY. tJ

In those days there was no railway to Cloisterham, and Mr.

Sapsea said there never would be. Mr. Sapsea said more j he said there never should be. And yet, marvellous to consider, it has come to pass, in these days, that Express Trains don't think Cloisterham worth stopping at, but yell and whirl through it on their larger errands, casting the dust off their wheels as a testimony against its insignificance. Some remote fragment of Main Line to somewhere else, there was, which was going to ruin the Money Market if it failed, and Church and State if it succeeded, and (of course), the Constitution, whether or no ; but even that had already so unsettled Clois- terham traffic, that the traffic, deserting the high road, came sneaking in from an unprecedented part of the country by a " back stable-way, for many years labelled at the corner : Be- ware of the Dog." " To this ignominious avenue of approach, Mr. Crisparkle repaired, awaiting the arrival of a short squat omnibus, with a disproportionate heap of luggage on the roof—like a little Elephant with infinitely too much Castle—which was then the daily service between Cloisterham and external mankind. As this vehicle lumbered up, Mr. Crisparkle could hardly see anything else of it for a large outside passenger seated on the box, with his elbows squared, and his hands on his knees, com- pressing the driver into a most uncomfortably small compass, and glowering about him with a strongly marked face. " Is this Cloisterham ? " demanded the passenger, in a tremendous voice.

" It is," replied the driver, rubbing himself as if he ached, after throwing the reins to the ostler. " And I never was so glad to see it.'' " Tell your master to make his box seat wider then," returned the passenger. "Your master is morally bound—and ought to be legally, under ruinous penalties—to provide for the comfort of his fellow-men." The driver instituted, with the palms of his hands, a super- ficial perquisition into the state of his skeleton ; which eeemed to make him anxious. 78 THE MYSTERY OP EDWIN DKOOD.

" Have I sat upon you ? " asked the pass*^nger. " You have/' said the driver, as if he didn't like it at all. " Take that card, my friend." '* I think I won't deprive you on it," returned the driver, casting his eyes over it with no great favor, without taking it. " " What's the good of it to me ? " Be a Member of that Society," said the passenger.

" What shall I get by it ? " asked the driver. " Brotherhood," returned the passenger, in a ferocious voice. " Thankee," said the driver, very deliberately, as he got " down ; my mother was contented with myself, and so am I, I don't want no brothers." " But you must have them," replied the passenger, also descending, " whether you like it or not. I am your brother."

*^ " I say ! expostulated the driver, becoming more chafed in " " temper ; not too fur ! The worm willy when But here Mr. Crisparkle interposed, remonstrating, aside, in a friendly voice : " Joe, Joe, Joe ! Don't forget yourself, Joe, my good fellow ! " " and then, when Joe peaceably touched " " his hat, accosting the passenger with : Mr. Honeythunder ?

" That is my name, sir." " My name is Crisparkle."

" Reverend Mr. Septimus ? Glad to see you, sir. Neville and Helena are inside. Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure of my public labors, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh air, and come down here with them, and return at night. So you are the Eeverend Mr. Septimus, are you ? " surveying him on the whole with disappointment, and twisting a double eye-glass by its ribbon, as if he were roast- " ing it ; but not otherwise using it. Ha ! I expected to see you older, sir." "I hope you will," was the good-humored reply. " Eh ? " demanded Mr. Honeythunder. " Only a poor little joke. Not worth repeating." '^Joke? Aye; I never see a joke," Mr. Honeythunder :

PHILANTHROPY. 79

frowningly retorted. " A joke is wasted upon me, sir. Where

are they ! Helena and Neville, come here ! Mr. Crisparkle has come down to meet you." An unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusual-

tly handsome lithe girl ; much alike ; both very dark, and very

rich in color ; she, of almost the gipsy type ; something un-

tamed about them both j a certain air upon them of hunter withal certain air of and huntress ; yet a being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick

of eye and limb ; half shy, half defiant ; fierce of look ; an indefinable kind of pause coming and going on their Tvhole expression, both of face and form, which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch, or a bound. The rough mental notes made in the first five minutes by Mr. Crisparkle, would have read thus, verbatim. He invited Mr. Honeythunder to dinner, with a troubled mind, (for the discomfiture of the dear old china shepherdess

lay heavy on it), and gave his arm to Helena Landless. Both she and her brother, as they walked all together through the ancient streets, took great delight in what he pointed out of the Cathedral and the Monastery-ruin, and wondered—so his notes ran on—much as if they were beautiful barbaric captives brought from some wild tropical dominion. Mr. Honeythun- der walked in the middle of the road, shouldering the natives out of his way, and loudly developing a scheme he had, for making a raid on all the unemployed persons in the United

Kingdom, laying them every one by the heels in jail, and forc- ing them on pain of prompt extermination to become philanthropists. Mrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an

inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures 80 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

^^ *' Curse yonr souls and bodies, come here and be blessed ! still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine.

You were to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty, to trial by court martial for that oflfence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep oif the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't, or conscientiously couldn't, be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do nothing in private, or on your own account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philan- thropist. Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer said, and what the Committee snid, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the Vice Secretary said. And this was usually said in the unanimously carried resolution under hand and seal, to " the effect : That this assembled Body of Professing Philan- thropists views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence,"—in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them without being at all particular as to fact. The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philai.- thropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove —

PHILANTHROPY. 81

Mr. Tope (who assisted the parlor-maid), to the verge of dia- traction by passing plates and dishes on, over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to every-

body at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a Meeting. He impounded the E-everend Mr. Sep- timus, as an official personage to be addressed, or kind of hu-

man peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask

" And will you, sir, now stultify yourself bj^ telling me " and so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his lips, " nor meant to open them. Or he would say ; Now see, sir, to what a position you are reduced. I will leave you no es-

cape. After exhausting all the resources of fraud and false-

hood, during years upon years ; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such aa the world not often the has witnessed ; you have now hypoc- v\sy to bend the knee before the most degraded of man- " kind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy ! Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant

and in part perplexed : while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavor or

solidity, and very little resistance. But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced by the special activity of Mr.

Tope, a full hour before he wanted it. Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand, for about the same period, lest he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous ia believing that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when

it actually struck but one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty minutes' walk,

when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his great-coat, and shoved him 5 ;

82 THE MYSTEKY OP EDWIN DROOD. out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom the}^ sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so fervent Jn their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut him up in it instantly and left him, with still half an hour to spare.

CHAPTEE VII.

MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE.

" I KNOW very little of that gentleman, sir," said Neville to the Minor Canon as they turned back. "You know very little of your guardian ?^^ the Minor Canon repeated, " Almost nothing." " How came he " "To he my guardian? I'll tell you, sir. I suppose you " know that we come (my sister and I) from Ceylon ?

*' Indeed, no." " I wonder at that. We lived with a stepfather there. Our mother died there, when we were little children. We have had a wretched existence. She made him our guardian, and he was a miserly w^retch who grudged us food to eat, and clothes to wear. At his death, he passed us over to this man for no better reason that I know of, than his being a friend or connection of his, whose name was always in print and catching his attention." " " That was lately, I suppose ?

" Quite lately, sir. This stepfather of ours was a cruel brute as well as a grinding one. It was well he died when he did, or I might have killed him." Mr. Crisparkle stopped short in the moonlight and looked at his hopeful pupil in consternation. :

MOKE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE. 83

" I surprise you, sir ? ^' he said, with a quick change to a submissive manner.

^' You shock me ; unspeakably shock me." The pupil hung his head for a little while, as they walked " on, and then said : You never saw him beat your sister. I have seen him beat, mine, more than once or twice, and T never forgot it." " Nothing," paid Mr. Crisparkle, " not even a beloved and beautiful sister's tears under dastardly ill-usage ; " he becomes

less severe, in spite of himself, as his indignation rose ; " could justify those horrible expressions that you used."

*^ I am sorry I used them, and especially to you, sir. I beg to recall them. But permit me to set you right on one point. You spoke of my sister's tears. My sister would have let him tear her to pieces, before she would have let him believe that he could make her shed a tear." Mr. Crisparkle reviewed those mental notes of his, and was

neither at all surprised to hear it, nor at all disposed to ques-

tion it.

" Perhaps you will think it strange, sir "—^this was said in a hesitating voice—" that I should so soon ask you to allow me to confide in you, and to have the kindness to hear a word " or two from me in my defence ? " Defence ? " Mr. Crisparkle repeated. " You are not on your defence, Mr. Neville."

" I think I am, sir. At least I know I should be, if you were better acquainted with my character. " Well, Mr. Neville," was the rejoinder. " What if you " leave me to find it out ?

" Since it is your pleasure, sir," answered the young man with a quick change in his manner to sullen disappointment

" since it is your pleasure to check me in my impulse, I must submit." There was that in the tone of this short speech which made the conscientious man to whom it was addressed, uneasy. It

hinted to him that he might, without meaning it, turn aside a 84 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. trustfulness beneficial to a mis-shapen young mind and perhaps to his own power of directing and improving it. They were within sight of the lights in his windows, and he stopped. " Let us turn back and take a turn or two up and down, Mr. Neville, or you may not have time to finish what you wish to say to me. You are hasty in thinking that I mean to check you. Quite the contrary. I invite your confidence."

" You have invited it, sir, without knowing it, ever since I

* came here. I say ever since,' as if I had been here a week I

The truth is, we came here (my sister and I) to quarrel with you, and affront you, and break away again." " Keally ? " said Mr. Crisparkle, at a dead loss for anything else to say. " You see, we could not know what you were beforehand, '^ sir ; could we ? " Clearly not," said Mr. Ctisparkle. " And having liked no one else with w^hom we have ever been brought into contact, we had made up our minds not to like you." " Eeally ? " said Mr. Crisparkle again.

" But we do like you, sir, and we see an unmistakeable difference between your house and your reception of us, and anything else we have ever known. This—and my happening to be alone t^ith you — and everything around us seeming so quiet and peaceful after Mr. Honeythunder's departure—and Cloisterham being so old and grave and beautiful, with the moon shining on it—these things inclined me to open my heart."

" I quite understand, Mr. Neville. And it is salutary to listen to such influences."

" In describing my own imperfections, sir, I must ask you jijot to suppose that I am describing my sister's. She has tome out of the disadvantages of our miserable life, as much

VA^tter than I am, as that Cathedral tower is higher than those C4>:mnies." MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE. 85

Mr. Crisparkle in his own breast was not so sure of this.

" I have had, sir, from my earliest remembrance, to suppress a deadly and bitter hatred. This has made me secret and revengeful. I have been always tyrannically held down by the strong hand. This has driven me, in my weakness, to the resource of being false and mean. I have been stinted of education, libert}^, money, dress, the very necessaries of life, the commonest pleasures of childhood, the commonest possessions of youth. This has caused me to be utterly wanting in I don't know what emotions, or remembrances, or good in- stincts—I have not even a name for the thing, you see ! —that you have had to work upon in other young men to whom you have been accustomed."

'' This is evidently true. But this is not encouraging," thought Mr. Crisparkle as they turned again. "And to finish with, sir: I have been brought up among abject and servile dependents, of an inferior race, and I may easily have contracted some affinity with them. Sometimes, I don't know but that it may be a drop of what is tigerish in their blood." "As in the case of that remark just now," thought Mr. Crisparkle.

" In a last word of reference to my sister, sir, (we are twin children), you ought to know, to her honor, that nothing in our misery ever subdued her, though it often cowed me. When we ran away from it (we ran away four times in six years, to be soon brought back and cruelly punished), the flight was always of her planning and leading. Each time she dressed as a boy, and showed the daring of a man. I take it we were seven years old when we first decamped ; but I remember, when I lost the pocket-knife with which she was to have cut her hair short, how desperately she tried to tear it out, or bite it off. I have nothing further to say, sir, except that I hope you will bear with me and make allowance for me." " Of that, Mr. Neville, you may be sure," returned the Minor Canon. " I don't preach more than I can help, and I -;;

86 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. will not repay your confidence with a sermon. But I entreat you to bear in mind, very seriously and steadily, that if I am to do you any good, it can only be with your own assistance and that you can only render that, efficiently, by seeking aid from Heaven."

" I will try to do my part, sir."

" And, Mr. Neville, I will try to do mine. Here is my " hand on it. May God bless our endeavors ! They were now standing at his house-door, and a cheerful sound of voices and laughter was heard within. " We will take one more turn before going in," said Mr. Crisparkle, " for I want to ask you a question. When you said you were in a changed mind concerning me, you spoke, not only for yourself, but for your sister too." " Undoubtedly I did, sir." " Excuse me, Mr. Neville, but I think you have had no opportunity of communicating with your sister, since I met you. Mr. Honeythunder was very eloquent; but perhaps I may venture to say, without ill-nature, that he rather monopolized the occasion. May you not have answered for your sister without sufficient warrant." Neville shook his head with a proud smile.

" You don't know, sir, yet, what a complete understanding can exist between my sister and me, though no spoken word— perhaps hardly as much as a look—may have passed between us. She not only feels as I have described, but she very well knows that I am taking this opportunity of speaking to you, both for her and for myself." Mr. Crisparkle looked in his face, with some incredulity but his face expressed such absolute and firm conviction of the truth of what he said, that Mr. Crisparkle looked at the pavement, and mused, until they came to his door again.

" I will ask for one more turn, sir, this time," said the young man with a rather heightened color rising in his face. " But for Mr. Honeythunder's—I think you called it eloquence, sir ? " (somewhat slyly). —

MORE CONFIDElSrCES THAN ONE. 87

" I jes, I called it eloquence," said Mr. Crisparkle. " But for Mr. Honeythunder's eloquence, I might have had no need to ask you what I am going to ask you. This Mr, " Edwin Drood, sir : I think that's the name ? " Quite correct/' said Mr. Crisparkle. " D-r-double-o-d. " " Does he—or did he—read with you, sir ? "Never, Mr. Neville. He comes here visiting his relation, Mr. Jasper." " " Is Miss Bud his relation too, sir ? (" Now, why should he ask that, with sudden supercilious-

ness ! " thought Mr. Crisparkle.) Then he explained, aloud,

what he knew of the little story of their betrothal. " " " Oh ! Thafs it, is it ? said the young man. I under- " stand his air of proprietorship now ! This was said so evidently to himself, or to anybody rather than Mr. Crisparkle, that the latter instinctively felt as if to notice it would be almost tantamount to noticing a passage in a letter which he had read by chance over the writer's shoulder. A moment afterwards they re-entered the house. Mr. Jasper was seated at the piano as they came into his drawing-room, and was accompanying Miss Rosebud while she sang. It was a consequence of his playing the accompaniment without notes, and of her being a heedless little creature very apt to go wrong, that he followed her lips most attentively, with his eyes as well as hands ; carefully and softly hinting the key-note from time to time. Standing with an arm drawn round her, but with a face far more intent on Mr. Jasper than on her singing, stood Helena between whom and her brother an instantaneous recognition passed, in which Mr. Crisparkle saw, or thought he saw, the understanding that had been

spoken of, flash out. Mr. Neville then took his admiring station, leaning against the piano, opposite the singer; Mr.

Crisparkle sat down by the china shepherdess ; Edwin Drood

gallantly furled and unfurled Miss Twinkleton's fan ; and that lady passivelj^ claimed that sort of exhibitor's proprietorship in the accomplishment on view, which Mr. Tope, the Verger, daily claimed in the Cathedral service. "

88 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

The song went on. It was a sorrowful strain of parting, and the fresh young voice was very plaintive and tender. As

Jasper watched the pretty lips, and ever and again hinted the one note, as though it were a low whisper from himself, the voice became less steady, until all at once the singer broke into a burst of tears, and shrieked out, with her hands over her

'^ eyes ; I can't bear this ! I am frightened I Take me

^' away !

With one swift turn of her lithe figure, Helena laid the little beauty on a sofa, as if she had never caught her up. Then, on one knee beside her, and with one hand upon her rosy mouth, while with the other she appealed to all the rest, " Helena said to them : It's nothing ; it's all over ; don't speak to her for one minute, and she is well ! Jasper's hands had, in the same instant, lifted themselves from the keys, and were now poised above them, as though he waited to resume. In that attitude he yet sat quiet : not even looking round, when all the rest had changed their places and were reassuring one another.

"Pussy's not used to an audience; that's the fact," said Edwin Drood. " She's got nervous, and couldn't hold out. Besides, Jack, you are such a conscientious master, and require so much, that I believe you make her afraid of you. No wonder." "No wonder," repeated Helena. " There, Jack, you hear ! You would be afraid of him, under similar circumstances, wouldn't you, Miss Landless ? '^ "Not under any circumstances," returned Helena. Jasper brought down his hands, looked over his shoulder, and begged to thank Miss Landless for her vindication of his character. Then he fell to dumbly playing, without striking the notes, while his little pupil was taken to an open window for air, and was otherwise petted and restored. When she was brought back, his place was empty. " Jack's gone, Pussy," Edwin told her. I am more than half afraid he didn't like to be charged with being the Monster who had frightened you." MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE. 89

But she answered never a word, and shivered, as if they had made her a little too cold. Miss Twinkleton now opining that indeed these were late hours, Mrs. Crisparkle, for finding ourselves outside the walls of the Nuns' House, and that we who undertook the formation of the future wives and mothers of England (the last words in a lower voice, as requiring to he communicated in confidence) were really hound (voice coming up again) to set a better example than one of rakish habits, wrappers were put in requisition, and the two young cavaliers volunteered to see the ladies home. It was soon done, and the gate of the Nuns' House closed upon them. The boarders had retired, and only Mrs. Tisher in solitary vigil awaited the new pupil. Her bedroom being within Bosa's, very little introduction or explanation was necessary, before she was placed in charge of her new friend, and left for the night.

" This is a blessed relief, my dear," said Helena. " I have been dreading all day, that I should be brought to bay at this time." " There are not many of us," returned Eosa, " and we are

good-natured girls ; at least the others are ; I can answer for them." "I can answer for you," laughed Helena, searching the

lovely little face with her dark fiery eyes, and tenderly caresc ing the small figure. " You will be a friend to me^ won't " you ?

" I hope so. But the idea of my being a friend to you seems too absurd, though."

" Oh ! I am such a mite of a thing, and you are so womanly and handsome. You seem to have resolution and power enough to crush me. I shrink into nothing by the side of your presence even." " I am a neglected creature, my dear, unacquainted with all accomplishments, sensitively conscious that I have everything to j£arn, and deeply ashamed to own my ignorance." : " ";

90 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

" ^' And yet you acknowledge everything to me ! said Eosa.

" My pretty one, can I help it ? There is a fascination in you."

''' " Oh ! Is there though ? pouted Eosa, half in jest and

half in earnest. " What a pity Master Eddy doesn't feel it

more ! Of course her relations towards that young gentleman had been already imparted, in Minor Canon Corner.

" Why, surely he must love you with all his heart ! " cried Helena, with an earnestness that threatened to blaze into

ferocity if he didn't. " Eh ? Oh, well, I suppose he does," said Eosa, pouting

again ; " I am sure I have no right to say he doesn't. Per-

haps it's my fault. Perhaps I am not as nice to him as J

'' ought to be. I don't think I am. But it is so ridiculous ! Helena's eyes demanded what was.

" We are," said Eosa, answering as if she had spoken. '^ We are such a ridiculous couple. And we are always quarrelling." "Why?" " Because we both know we are ridiculous, my dear !

Eosa gave that answer as if it were the most conclusive answer in the world. Helena's masterful look was intent upon her face for a few moments, and then she impulsively put out both her hands and said " " You will be my friend and help me ? " Indeed, my dear, I will,'^ replied Eosa, in a tone of affectionate childishness that went straight and true to her heart " I will be as good a friend as such a mite of a thing can be to such a noble creature as you. And be a friend to me, please for I don't understand myself; and I want a friend who can understand me, very much indeed." Helena Landless kissed her, and retaining both her hands, said: " " Who is Mr. Jasper ? MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE. 91

" Rosa turned aside her head in answering : Eddy's uncle, and my music-master." " " You do not love him ?

" Ugh ! " She put her hands up to her face, and shook with fear or horror. " " You know that he loves you ? "Oh, don't, don't, don't!" cried Rosa, dropping on her knees, and clinging to her new resource. " Don't tell me of dreadful it ! He terrifies me. He haunts my thoughts, like a ghost. I feel that I am never safe from him. I feel as if he could pass in through the wall when he is spoken of" She actually did look round, as if she dreaded to see him standing in the shadow behind her.

" Try to tell me more about it, darling." " Yes, I will, I will. Because you are so strong. But hold me the while, and stay with me afterwards." " in My child ! You speak as if he had threatened you some dark w^ay." " He has never spoken to me about—that. Never." " " What has he done ? " He has made a slave of me with his looks. He has forced

me to understand him, without his saying a word ; and he has forced me to keep silence, without his uttering a threat. When I play, he never moves his eyes from my hands. When I sing, he never moves his eyes from my lips. When he corrects me, and strikes a note, or a chord, or pl^ys a passage, he himself is in the sounds, whispering that he pursues me as a lover, and commanding me to keep his secret. I avoid his eyes, but he forces me to see them without looking at them. Even when a glaze comes over them (which is sometimes the case), and he seems to wander away into a frightful sort of dream in which he threatens most, he obliges me to know it, and to know that

he is sitting close at my side, more terrible to me then than ever."

" What is this imagined threatening, pretty one ? What " is threatened ? —

92 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" I don't know. I have never even dared to think or wonder what it is." " " And was this all to-night ? " This was all ; except that to-night when he watched my lips so closely as I was singing, besides feeling terrified I felt ashamed and passionately hurt. It was as if he kissed me, and I couldn't bear it, but cried out. You must never breathe this to any one. Eddy is devoted to him. But you said to- night that you would not be afraid of him, under any circumstances, and that gives me—who am so much afraid of him courage to tell only you. Hold me ! Stay with me ! I am too frightened to be left by myself." The lustrous gipsy-face drooped over the clinging arms and bosom, and the wild black hair fell down protectingly over the childish form. There was a slumbering gleam of fire in the intense dark eyes, though they were then softened with compassion and admiration. Let whomsoever it most concerned, look well to it I

4 •*»•*> >

CHAPTEE VIII. DAGGERS DBAWN".

The two young men, having seen the damsels, their charges, enter the courtyard of the iN^uns' House, and finding themselves coldly stared at by the brazen door-plate, as if the battered old beau with the glass in his eye were insolent, look at one another, look along the perspective of the moonlit street, and slowly walk away together.

" Do you stay here long, Mr. Drood ? " says ISTeville.

" Not this time," is the careless answer. " I leave for Lon- don again, to-morrow. But I shall be here, off and on, until next Midsummer ; then I shall take my leave of Cloisterham, and England too ; for many a long day, I expect." " ^^ Are you going abroad ? DAGGERS DRAWN. 93

" Going to wake up Egypt a little/' is the condescending answer. " Are you reading ? " " Eeading ! '' repeats Edwin Drood, with a touch of contempt. " No. Doing, working, engineering. My small pat- rimony was left a part of the capital of the Firm I am with, hy my father, a former partner ; and I am a charge upon the

Firm until I come of age ; and then I step into my modest share in the concern. Jack—you met him at dinner—is, until then, my guardian and trustee." " I heard from Mr. Crisparkle of your other good fortune." " '* What do you mean by my other good fortune ? Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing, and yet furtive and shy manner, very expressive of that peculiar air already noticed, of being at once hunter and hunted. Ed-

win has make his retort with an abruptness not at all polite. They stop and interchange a rather heated look.

" I hope," says Neville, " there is no offence, Mr. Drood, in " my innocently referring to your betrothal ? " By George ! " cries Edwin, leading on again at a somewhat quicker pace. " Everybody in this chattering old Clois- terham refers to it. I wonder no Public House has been set up, with my portrait for the sign of The Betrothed's Head. Or Pussy's portrait. One or the other." " I am not accountable for Mr. Crisparkle's mentioning the matter to me, quite openly," Neville begins. " No ; that's true you are not," ; Edwin Drood assents.

" But," resumes Neville, * I am accountable for mentioning it to you. And I did so, on the supposition that you could not fail to be highly proud of it." Now, there are these two curious touches of human nature working the secret springs of this dialogue. Neville Landless is already enough impressed by Little Eosebud, to feel indignant that Edwin Drood (far below her) should hold his prize so lightly. Edwin Drood is already enough impressed by Helena, to feel indignant that Helena's brother (far below her). ;

94 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

should dispose of him so coolly, and put him out of the way so entirely. However, the last remark had better he answered. So, says Edwin " I don't know, Mr. Neville,'^ (adopting that mode of address

from Mr. Crisparkle), " that what people are proudest of, they

usually talk most about ; I don't know either, that what they

are proudest of, they most like other people to talk about.

But I live a busy life, and 1 speak under correction by you readers, who ought to know everything, and I dare say do."

By this time they have both become savage ; Mr. Neville out

in the open ; Edwin Drood under the transparent cover of a popular tune, and a stop now and then to pretend to admire picturesque effects in the moonlight before him. " It does not seem to me very civil in you," remarks Neville, at length, " to reflect upon a stranger who comes here, not having had your advantages to try to make up for lost time.

But, to be sure, 1 was not brought up in * busy life ' and my ideas of civility were formed among Heathens." " Perhaps, the best civility, whatever kind of people we are

brought up among," retorts Edwin Drood, " is to mind our own business. If you will set me that example, I promise to follow it." " Do you know that you take a great deal too much upon yourself," is the angry rejoinder ; " and that in the part of the world I came from, you would be called to account for it?"

'^ By whom, for instance ? " asks Edwin Drood, coming to a halt, and surveying the other with a look of disdain.

But, here a startling right hand is laid on Edwin's shoulder^

and Jasper stands between them. Eor, it would seem that he, too, has strolled round by the Nuns' House, and has come u{ behind them on the shadowy side of the road.

" Ned, Ned, Ned ! " he says. " We must have no more of this. I don't like this. I have overheard high words betweei you two. Remember, my dear boy, you are almost in the posi ;

DAGGEKS DRAWIT. 05

tion of host to-night. You belong, as it were, to the place,

and in a manner represent it towards a stranger. Mr. Neville is a stranger, and you should respect the obligations of hospi-

tality. And, Mr. Keville :" laying his left hand on the inner shoulder of that young gentleman, and thus walking on be-

'^ tween them, hand to shoulder on either side : you will pardon

me ; but I appeal to jon to govern your temper too. Now, what is amiss ? But why ask ! Let there be nothing amiss, and the question is superfluous. We are all three on a good " understanding, are we not ? After a silent struggle between the two young men who shall speak last, Edwin Drood strikes in with : " So far as I am concerned. Jack, there is no anger in me." " Nor in me," says Neville Landless, though not so freely or perhaps so carelessly. " But if Mr. Drood knew all that lies behind me, far away from here, he might know better hov/ it is that sharp-edged words have sharp edges to wound me." " Perhaps," says Jasper, in a smoothing manner, " we had better not qualify our good understanding. We had better not say anything having the appearance of a remonstrance or

condition ; it might not seem generous. Frankly and freely, you see there is no anger in Ned. Frankly and freely, there " is no anger in you, Mr. Neville ?

" None at all, Mr. Jasper." Still, not quite so frankly or so

freely ; or, be it said once again, not quite so carelessly perhaps. " All over then ! Now, my bachelor gate-house is a few yards from here, and the heater is on the fire, and the wine and glasses are on the table, and it is not a stone's throw from Minor Canon Corner. Ned, you are up and away to-morrow. We will carry Mr. Neville in with us, to take a stirrup-cup." « With all my heart. Jack."

" And with all mine, Mr. Jasper." Neville feels it impossible to say less, but would rather not go. He has an impression upon him that he has lost hold of his temper ; feels that Edwin Drood's coolness so far from being infectious, makes him red hot. 96 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

Mr. Jasper, still walking in the centre, hand to shoulder on either side, beautifully turns the Kefrain of a drinking-song, and they all go up to his rooms. There, the first object visible, when he adds the light of a lamp to that of the fire, is the portrait over the chimneypiece. It is not an object calculated to improve the understanding between the two young men, as rather awkwardly reviving the subject of their difi'erence. Accordingly, they both glance at it consciously, but say nothing. Jasper, however (who would appear from his conduct to have gained but an imperfect clue to the cause of their late high words), directly calls attention to it. " You recognize that picture, Mr. Neville ? " shading the lamp to throw the light upon it.

" I recognize it, but it is far from flattering the original."

" Oh, you are hard upon it ! It was done by Ned, who made me a present of it." " I am sorry for that, Mr. Drood." Neville apologizes, with " I in the a real intention to apologize 5 if I had known was " artist's presence

" Oh, a joke, sir, a mere joke," Edwin cuts in, with a pro-

voking yawn. " A little humoring of Pussy's points ! Tm going to paint her gravely, one of these days, if she's good." The air of leisurely patronage and indifference with which

this is said, as the speaker throws himself back in a chair, and clasps his hands at the back of his head, as a rest for it,

is very exasperating to the excitable and excited Neville. Jasper looks observantly from the one to the other, slightly smiles, and turns his back to mix a jug of mulled wine at the

fire. It seems to require much mixing and compounding. " I suppose, Mr. Neville," says Edwin, quick to resent the indignant protest against himself in the face of young Land-

less, which is fully as visible as the portrait, or the fire, or the lamp: "I suppose that if you painted the picture of your " lady love

" I can't paint," is the hasty interruption. " That's your misfortune, and not your fault. You would if DAGGERS DRAWN. 97 you could. But if you could, I suppose you would make her (no matter what she was in reality), Juno, Minerva, Diana, " and Venus, all in one. Eh ? " I have no lady love, and I can't say." " If I were to try my hand," says Edwin, with a boyish boastfulness getting up in him, " on a portrait of Miss Land- less in earnest, mind you in earnest ^you should see — ; — what I could do!"

" My sister's consent to sit for it being first got, I suppose ? As it never will be got, I am afraid I shall never see what you can do. I must bear the loss."

Jasper turns round from the fire, fills a large goblet glass for Neville, fills a large goblet glass for Edwin, and hands

each his own ; then fills for himself, saying : " Come, Mr. Neville, we are to drink to my Nephew, Ned. As it is his foot that is in the stirrup—metaphorically—our stirrup-cup is to be devoted to him. Ned, my dearest fellow, " my love ! Jasper sets the example of nearly emptying his glass, and

Neville follows it. Edwin Drood says, " Thank you both very much," and follows the double example. " Look at him ! " cries Jasper, stretching out his hand, admiringly and tenderly, though rallyingly too. " See where he lounges so easily, Mr. Neville ! The world is all before him where to choose. A life of stirring work and interest, a life of change and excitement, a life of domestic ease and love ! " Look at him ! Edwin Drood's face has become quickly and remarkably flushed by the wine; so has the face of Neville Landless.

Edwin still sits thrown back in his chair, making that rest of clasped hands for his head.

! " See how little he heeds it all " Jasper proceeds in a bantering vein. " It is hardly worth his while to pluck the golden fruit that hangs ripe on the tree for him. And yet consider the contrast, Mr. Neville. You and I have no prospect of stirring work and interest, or of change and excite- 6 98 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DBOOD.

ment, or of domestic ease and love. You and I have no prospect (unless you are more fortunate than I am, which may easily be), but the tedious, unchanging round of this dull place." " Upon my soul, Jack," says Edwin, complacently, " I feel quite apologetic for having my way smoothed as you describe.

But you know what I know, Jack, and it may not be so very

easy as it seems, after all. May it. Pussy ? " To the portrait, with a snap of his thumb and finger. *^ We have got

to hit it oif yet ; haven't we. Pussy ? You know what I mean, Jack." His speech has become thick and indistinct. Jasper, quiet, and self-possessed, looks to Neville, as expecting his answer or comment. When Xeville speaks, his speech is also thick and indistinct. " It might have been better for Mr. Drood to have known some hardships," he says, defiantly. "Pray,*' retorts Edwin, turning merely his eyes in that

direction, " pray why might it have been better for Mr. " Drood to have known some hardships ?

" Aye," Jasper assents with an air of interest ; " let us " know why ? " Because they might have made him more sensible," says

!N"eville, " of good fortune that is not by any means necessarily the result of his own merits." Mr. Jasper quickly looks at his nephew for his rejoinder. " Have you known hardships, may I ask ? " says Edwin Drood, sitting upright. Mr. Jasper quickly looks to the other for his retort. " I have." " And what have they made you sensible of?" Mr. Jasper's play of eyes between the two, holds good throughout the dialogue, to the end. " I have told you once before to-night." " You have done nothing of the sort." " I tell you I have. That you take a great deal too much upon yourself." "

DAGGEES DRAWN". ^9

"You added something else to that, if I remember? '^ " Yes, I did say something else."

" Sa}" it again." " I said that in the part of the world I came from, you would he called to accoui\t for it." " Only there ? " cries Edwin Drood, with a contemptuous " laugh. A long way off, I believe ? Yes I see ! That part ; of the world is at a safe distance." " Say here, then," rejoins the other, rising in a fury. " Say anywhere ! Your vanity is intolerable, your conceit is beyond endurance, you talk as if you were some rare and precious prize, instead of a common boaster. You are a common fellow, and a common boaster." " Pooh, pooh," says Edwin Drood, equally furious, but more " collected ; how should you know ? You may know a black common fellow, or a black common boaster, when you see him

(and no doubt you have a large acquaintance that way) ; but you are no judge of white men." This insulting allusion to his dark skin infuriates Neville to that violent degree, that he flings the dregs of his wine at

Edwin Drood, and is in the act of flinging the goblet after it, when his arm is caught in the nick of time by Jasper.

" ! Ned, my dear fellow " he cries in a loud voice ; " I en- " treat you, I command you, to be still ! There has been a rush of all the three, and a clattering of glasses and overturning of " chairs. Mr. Neville, for shame ! Give this glass to me.

Open your hand, sir. I will have it !

But Neville throws him off, and pauses for an instant, in a raging passion, with the goblet yet in his uplifted hand. Then, he dashes it down under the grate, with such force that the broken splinters fly out again in a shower ; and he leaves the house.

When he first emerges into the night air, nothing around him is still or steady ; nothing around him shows like what it is ; he only knows that he stands with a bare head in the midst of a blood-red whirl, waiting to be struggled with, and to struggle to the death. 100 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

But, nothing happening, and the moon looking down upon him as if he were dead after a fit of wrath, he holds his steam- hammer beating head and heart, and staggers away. Then, he becomes half conscious of having heard himself bolted and barred out, like a dangerous animal ; and thinks what shall he do? Some wildly passionate ideas of the river, dissolve under the spell of the moonlight on the Cathedral and the graves, and the remembrance of his sister, and the thought of what he owes to the good man who has but that very day won his confidence and given him his pledge. He repairs to Minor Canon Corner, and knocks softly at the door.

It is Mr. Crisparkle's custom to sit up last of the early household, very softly touching his piano and practising his favorite parts in concerted vocal music. The south wind that goes where it lists, by way of Minor Canon Corner on a still night, is not more subdued than Mr. Crisparkle at such times, regardful of the slumbers of the china shepherdess.

His knock is immediately answered by Mr. Crisparkle himself. When he opens the door, candle in hand, his cheerful face falls, and disappointed amazement is in it. " " Mr. Neville ! In this disorder 1 Where have you been ? " I have been to Mr. Jasper's, sir. With his nephew." « Come in." The Minor Canon props him by the elbow with a strong hand (in a strictlj^ scientific manner, worthy of his morning trainings), and turns him into his own little book-room, and shuts the door.

" I have begun ill, sir. I have begun dreadfully ill." " Too true. You are not sober, Mr. Neville." " I am afraid I am not, sir, though I can satisfy you at another time that I have had very little indeed to drink, and

that it overcame me in the strangest and most sudden manner." " Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville," says the Minor Canon, shaking " his head with a sorrowful smile 5 I have heard that said before." ;:

DAGGEES DRAWN. Itl

" I think—my mind is much confused, but I think—it is equally true of Mr. Jasper's nephew, sir/^

" Very likely," is the dry rejoinder. "We quarrelled, sir. He insulted me most grossly. He had heated that tigerish blood I told you of to-day, before then." " Mr. Seville/' rejoins the Minor Canon, mildly, but firmly " I request you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand. Unclench it, if you please." "He goaded me, sir," pursues the young man, instantly obeying, " beyond my power of endurance. I cannot say whether or no he meant it at first, but he did it. He certainly meant it at last. In short, sir," with an irrepressible outburst, " in the passion into which he lashed me, I would have cut him down if I could, and I tried to do it." " You have clenched that hand again," is Mr. Crisparkle's quiet commentary. " I beg your pardon, sir." " You know your room, for I showed it to you before dinner but I will accompany you to it once more. Your arm, if you please. Softly, for the house is all a-bed." Scooping his hand into the same scientific elbow-rest as before, and backing it up with the inert strength of his arm, as skilfully as a Police Expert, and with an apparent repose quite unattainable by Novices, Mr. Crisparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and orderly old room prepared for him. Arrived there, the young man throws himself into a chair, and, flinging his arms upon his reading-table, rests his head upon them with an air of wretched self-reproach.

The gentle Minor Canon has had it in his thoughts to leave the room, without a word. But, looking round at the door, and seeing this dejected figure, he turns back to it, touches it " " with a mild hand, and says Good night ! A sob is his only per- acknowledgment. He might have had many a worse ; haps, could have had few better. Another soft knock at the outer door, attracts his attention "

102 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

as he goes down stairs. He opens it to Mr. Jasper, holding in his hand the pupil's hat. " We have had an awful scene with him," says Jasper, in a low voice.

" Has it been so bad as that ? " Murderous !

Mr. Crisparkle remonstrates : " E'o, no, no. Do not use such strong words."

" He might have laid my dear boy dead at my feet. It is no fault of his, that he did not. But that I was, through the mercy of God, swift and strong with him, he would have cut him down on my hearth." " " The phrase smites home. Ah I thinks Mr. Crisparkle.

'^ " His own words ! " Seeing what I have seen to-night, and hearing what I heard," adds Jasper, with great earnestness, " I shall never know peace of mind when there is danger of those two coming together with no one else to interfere. It was horrible.

There is something of the tiger in his dark blood." " " " Ah ! thinks Mr. Crisparkle, " So he said ! " You, my dear sir," pursues Jasper, taking his hand, *^ even you, have accepted a dangerous charge." " You need have no fear for me, Jasper," returns Mr. Cris- parkle, with a quiet smile. " I have none for myself." " I have none for myself," returns Jasper, with an emphasis on the last pronoun, " because I am not, nor am I in the way of being, the object of hostility. But you may be, and my " dear boy has been. Good night ! Mr. Crisparkle goes in, with the hat that has so easily, so almost imperceptibly, acquired the right to be hung up in his hall ; hangs it up ; and goes thoughtfully to bed. ;

BIRDS IN THE BtJSH 103

CHAPTEE IX.

BIRDS IN THE BUSH.

EosA, having no relation that she knew of in the world, had, from the seventh year of her age, known no home hut the Nuns' House, and no mother but Miss Twinkleton. Her remembrance of her own mother was of a pretty little creature like herself (not much older than herself it seemed to her), who had been brought home in her father's arms, drowned. The fatal accident had happened at a party of pleasure. Ev- ery fold and color in the pretty summer dress, and even the long wet hair, with scattered petals of ruined flowers still

clinging to it^ as the dead young figure, in its sad^ sad beauty lay upon the bed, were fixed indelibly in Eosa's recollection. So were the wild despair and subsequent bowed-down grief of her poor young father, who died broken-hearted on the first anniversary of that hard day. The betrothal of Eosa grew out of the soothing of his year of mental distress by his fast friend and old college compan-

ion, Drood : who likewise had been left a widower in his youth. But he, too, went the silent road into which all earthly

pilgrimages merge, some sooner, and some later ; and thus the young couple had come to be as they were. The atmosphere of pity surrounding the little orphan girl

when she first came to Cloisterham, had never cleared away. It had taken brighter hues as she grew older, happier, prettier;

now it had been golden, now roseate, and now azure ; but it had always adorned her with some soft light of its own. The general desire to console and caress her, had caused her to be treated in the beginning as a child much younger than her

years ; the same desire had caused her to be still petted when she was a child no longer. Who should be her favorite, who should anticipate this or that small present, or do her this or

that small service ; who should take her home for the holidays 104 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. who should write to her the oftenest when they were separated, and whom she would most rejoice to see again when they were reunited ; even these gentle rivalries were not without their slight dashes of bitterness in the Nuns' House. Well for the poor Nuns in their day, if they hid no harder strife under their veils and rosaries ! Thus Eosa had grown to be an amiable, giddy, wilful, win- ning little creature ; spoilt, in the sense of counting upon kindness from all around her ; but not in the sense of repay- ing it with indifference. Possessing an exhaustless well of affection in her nature, its sparkling waters had freshened and brightened the Nuns' House for years, and yet its depths had

never yet been moved ; what might betide when that came to pass ; what developing changes might fall upon the heedless

head, and light heart then ; remained to be seen. By what means the news that there had been a quarrel between the two young men over-night, involving even some kind of onslaught by Mr. Neville upon Edwin Drood, got into Miss Twinkleton's establishment before breakfast, it is impossible to say. Whether it was brought in by the birds of the air, or came blowing in with the very air itself, when the

casem-ent windows were set open ; whether the baker brought it kneaded into the bread, or the milkman delivered it as part

of the adulteration of his milk ; or the housemaids, beating the dust out of their mats against the gateposts, received it in exchange deposited on the mats by the town atmosphere ; certain it is that the news permeated every gable of the old building before Miss Twinkleton was down, and that Miss

Twinkleton herself received it through Mrs. Tisher, wh'le yet in the act of dressing ; or (as she might have expressed the phrase to a parent or guardian of a mythological turn), of sacrificing to the Graces.

Miss Landless' s brother had thrown a bottle at Mr. Edwin Drood. Miss Landless's brother had thrown a knife at Mr. Edwin Drood. —

BIKDS IN THE BUSH. 105

A knife became suggestive of a fork, and Miss Landless's brother had thrown a fork at Mr. Edwin Drood. As in the governing precedent of Peter Piper, alleged to liave picked the peck of pickled pepper, it was held physically desirable to have evidence of the existence of the peck of pickled pepper w^hich Peter Piper was alleged to have picked : so, in this case, it was held psychologically important to know Why Miss Landless^s brother threw a bottle, knife, or fork or bottle, knife, and fork—for the cook had been given to understand it was all three—at Mr. Edwin Drood ? Well, then. Miss Landless's brother had said he admired Miss Bud. Mr. Edwin Drood had said to Miss Landless's brother that he had no business to admire Miss Bud. Miss Landless's brother had then "up'd " (this was the cook's exact information), with the bottle, knife, fork, and decanter (the decanter now coolly flying at everybody's head, without the least introduction), and thrown them all at Mr. Edwin Drood. Poor little Eosa put a forefinger into each of her ears when these rumors began to circulate, and retired into a corner,

beseeching not to be told any more ; but Miss Landless, begging permission of Miss Twinkleton to go and speak with her brother, and pretty plainly showing that she would take it if it were not given, struck out the more definite course of going to Mr. Crisparkle's for accurate intelligence.

When she came back (being first closeted with Miss Twin- kleton, in order that anything objectionable in her tidings might be retained by that discreet filter), she imparted to

Rosa only, what had taken place ; dwelling with a flushed cheek on the provocation her brother had received, but almost limiting it to that last gross affront as crowning "some other words between them," and, out of consideration for her new friend, passing lightly over the fact that the other words had originated in her lover's taking things in general so very easily. To E/Osa direct, she brought a petition from her brother that

she would forgive him ; and, having delivered it with sisterly earnestness, made an end of the subject. —

106 THE MYSTERY OP EDWIN DROOD.

It was reserved for Miss Twinkleton to tone down the public mind of the Nuns^ House. That lady, therefore, entering in a stately manner what plebeians might have called the school-room, but what, in the patrician language of the head of the Nuns' House, was euphuistically, not to say round- aboutedly, denominated " the apartment allotted to study," and saying with a forensic air " Ladies ! " all arose. Mrs. Tisher at the same time grouped herself behind her chief, as representing Queen Elizabeth's first historical female friend at Tilbury Fort. Miss Twinkleton then proceeded to remark that E-umor, Ladies, had been represented by the Bard of Avon—needless were it to mention the immortal Shakes- peare, also called the Swan of his native river, not improba- bly with some reference to the ancient superstition that that bird of graceful plumage (Miss Jennings will please stand upright) sang sweetly on the approach of death, for which we have no ornithological authority,—Rumor, Ladies, had been represented by that bard—hem ! " who drew The celebrated Jew," as painted full of tongues. Rumor in Cloisterham (Miss Fer- dinand will honor me with her attention) was no exception to the great limner's portrait of Rumor elsewhere. A slight fracas between two young gentlemen occurring last night within a hundred miles of these peaceful walls (Miss Ferdi- nand, being apparently incorrigible, will have the kindness to write out this evening, in the original language, the first four fables of our vivacious neighbor. Monsieur La Fontaine) had been very grossly exaggerated by Rumor's voice. In the first alarm and anxiety arising from our sympathy with a sweet young friend, not wholly to be dissociated from one of the gladiators in the bloodless arena in question (the impropriety of Miss Reynolds's appearing to stab herself in the band with a pin, is far too obvious, and too glaringly unladylike, to be pointed out), we descended from our maiden elevation to discuss this uncongenial and this unfit theme. Responsible in- BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 107 quiries having assured us that it was but one of those " airy nothings '' pointed at by the Poet (whose name and date of birth Miss Giggles will supply within half an hour), we would now discard the subject, and concentrate our minds upon the grateful labors of the day.

But the subject so survived all day, nevertheless, that Miss Ferdinand got into new trouble by surreptitiously clapping on a paper moustache at dinner-time, and going through the mo- tions of aiming a water-bottle at Miss Giggles, who drew a table-spoon in defence. Now, Eosa thought of this unlucky quarrel a great deal, and thought of it with an uncomfortable feeling that she was involved in it, as cause, or consequence, or what not, through being in a false position altogether as to her marriage engagement. Never free from such uneasiness when she was with her affianced husband, it was not likely that she would be free from it when they were apart. To-day, too, she was cast in upon herself, and deprived of the relief of talking freely with her new friend, because the quarrel had been with Helena's brother, and Helena undisguisedly avoided the subject as a delicate and difficult one to herself. At this critical time, of all times, Rosa's guardian was announced as having come to see her.

Mr. Grewgious had been well selected for his trust, as a man of incorruptible integrity, but certainly for no other appropriate quality discernible on the surface. He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had been put into a grinding-mill, looked as if he would have ground immediately into high-dried snuff. He had a scanty fiat crop of hair, in color and consis- tency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet ; it was so unlike hair, that it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous improbability of anybody's voluntarily sporting such a head. The little play of feature that his face presented, was cut deep into it, in a few hard curves that made it more like work ; and he had certain notches in his forehead, which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them into sensibility or re* "

108 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIK DROOD. finement when she had impatiently thrown away the chisel,

said : " really worried to finish off this and I cannot be man ; let him go as he is." With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle-hone and heel at his lower ; with an awkward and hesitating manner ; with a shambling walk, and with what is called a near sight—which perhaps prevented his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to the public eye, in contrast with his black suit—Mr. Grewgious still had some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable impression. Mr. Grewgious was discovered by his ward, much discomfited by being in Miss Twinkleton's company in Miss Twinkleton's own sacred room. Dim forebodings of being examined in

something, and not coming well out of it, seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these circumstances. " My dear, how do you do ? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much improved you are. Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear.''

Miss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying,

with general sweetness, as to the polite Universe ; " Will you permit me to retire ? '' " By no means madam, iOn my account. I beg that you will not move." " I must entreat permission to move,^' returned Miss Twink-

leton, repeating the word with a charming grace ; " but I will not withdraw, since you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner window, shall I be in the way ? " " ! Madam ! In the way " You are very kind. Rosa, my dear, you will be under no restraint, I am sure."

Here Mr. Grewgious, left by the fire with Eosa, said again : " My dear, how do you do ? I am glad to see you, my dear." And having waited for her to sit down, sat down himself. " My visits," said Mr. Grewgious, " are, like those of the angels—not that I compare myself to an angel,"- " No, sir," said Rosa. BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 109

" Not by any means/' assented Mr. Grewgious. " I merely refer to my visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know ver^- well, upstairs."

Miss Twinldeton looked round with a kind of stiff stare. " I refer, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious, laying his hand on Bosa's, as the possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take the awful liberty of calling Miss " Twinkleton my dear ; I refer to the other young ladies." Miss Twinkleton resumed her writing. Mr. Grewgious, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite as neatly as he might have desired,

smoothed his head from back to front as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out—this smoothing action however superfluous, was habitual with him—and took a pocket- book from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his w^aistcoat pocket. " " I made," he said, turning the leaves : I made a guiding memorandum or so—as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever—to which I will, with your permission, my dear, refer. *Well and happy.' Truly. You are well and happy, my dear ? You look so." " Yes, indeed, sir," answered Kosa. " For which," said Mr. Grewgious, with a bend of his head towards the corner window, " our warmest acknowledgments are due, and I am sure are rendered, to the maternal kindness and the constant care and consideration of the lady whom I have now the honor to see before me." This point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr.

Grewgious, and never got to its destination ; for, Miss Twink- leton, feeling that the courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the conversation, was biting the end of her pen, and looking upward, as waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the Celestial Nine who might have one to spare. Mr. Grewgious smoothed his smooth head again, and then

' made another reference to his pocket-book ; lining out well

and happy ' as disposed of. no THE MYSTERY CF EDWIN DROOD.

*' 'Pounds, shillings, and pence ' is my next note. A dry subject for young lady, but an important subject too. Life is pounds, shillings, and pence. Death is " A sudden recollection of the death of her two parents seemed to stop him, an I l.e said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting the nega- " tive as an after-thought : Death is not pounds, shillings, and pence.'' His voice was as hard and dry as himself, and Fancy might have ground it straight, like himself, into high-dried snuif. And yet, through the very limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express kindness. If Nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his forehead wouldn't fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn't play, what could he do, poor man !

'• ^ Pounds, shillings, and pence.' You find your allowances " always sufficient for your wants, my dear ? Eosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample. " '* And you are not in debt ? Eosa laughed at the idea of being in debt. It seemed, to her inexperience, a comical vagary of the imagination. Mr. Grewgious stretched his near sight to be sure that this was her " " view of the case. Ah ! he said, as comment, with a furtive glance towards Miss Twinkleton, and lining out pounds, shillings, and pence : " I spoke of having got among the angels ! " So I did ! Eosa felt what his next memorandum would prove to be, and was blushing and folding a crease in her dress with one embarrassed hand, long before he found it.

" ' " Marriage.' Hem ! Mr. Grewgious carried his smoothing hand down over his eyes and nose, and even chin, before drawing his chair a little nearer, and speaking a little more " confidentially : I now touch, my dear, upon the point that is the direct cause of my troubling you with the present visit. Otherwise, being a particularly Angular man, I should not have intruded here. I am the last man to intrude into a '

BIRDS IN THE BUSH. Ill sphere for which I am so entirely unfitted. I feel, on these premises, as if I was a bear—with the cramp—in a youthful Cotillon." His ungainliness gave him enough of the air of his simile to set Kosa off laughing heartily. " It strikes you in the same light,'' said Mr. Grewgious, with perfect calmness. " Just so. To return to my memorandum. Mr. Edwin has been to and fro here, as was arranged. You have mentioned that, in your quarterly letter to me. And you like him, and he likes you." " I like him very much, sir," rejoined Rosa. " So I said, my dear," returned her guardian, for whose ear the timid emphasis was much too fine. " Good. And you correspond." " We write to one another," said Eosa, pouting, as she recalled their epistolary differences.

" Such is the meaning that I attach to the word ' correspond in this application, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious. " Good. All goes well, time works on, and at this next Christmas time it will become necessary, as a matter of form, to give the exemplary lady in the corner window, to whom we are so much indebted, business notice of your departure in the ensuing half-year. Your relations with her, are far more than business relations no doubt ; but a residue of business remains in them, and business is business ever. I am a particularly An- gular man," proceeded Mr. Grewgious, as if it suddenly occurred to him to mention it, " and I am not used to give anything away. If, for these two reasons, some competent Proxy would give you away, I should take it very kindly." Eosa intimated, with her eyes on the ground, that she thought a substitute might be found, if required. *' Surely, surely," said Mr. Grewgious. " For instance, the gentleman who teaches Dancing here—he would know how to do it with graceful propriety. He would advance and retire in a manner satisfactory to the feelings of the ofiQciating clergyman, and of yourself, and the bridegroom, and all parties 112 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. concerned. I am—I am a particularly Angular man/' said Mr. Grewgious, as if he had made up his mind to screw it out at last : " and should only blunder."

Rosa sat still and silent. Perha.ps her mind had not got quite so far as the ceremony yet, but was lagging on the way there.

" Memorandum. ^ Will.' Now, my dear," said Mr. Grew- gious, referring to his notes, disposing of ^marriage' with hijs

*' pencil, and taking a paper from his pocket : although I have before possessed you with the contents of your father's will, I think it right at this time to leave a certified copy of it in your hands. And although Mr. Edwin is also aware of its contents, I think it right at this time likewise to place a certified " copy of it in Mr. Jasper's hands " Not in his own ? " asked Rosa, looking up quickly. " " Cannot the copy go to Eddy himself? "Why, yes, my dear, if you particularly wish it; but I spoke of Mr. Jasper as being his trustee."

" I do particularly wish it, if you please," said Rosa, hurriedly and earnestly ; " I don't like Mr. Jasper to come between us, in any way."

" It is natural, I suppose," said Mr. Grewgious, " that your young husband should be all in all. Yes. You observe that

I say, I suppose. The fact is, I am a particularly Unnatural man, and I don't know from my own knowledge." Rosa looked at him with some wonder. " I mean," he explained " that young ways were never my ways. I was the only offspring of parents far advanced in life, and I half believe I was born advanced in life myself. No personality is intended towards the name you will so soon change, when I remark that while the general growth of people seem to have come into existence, buds, I seem to have come into existence a chip. I was a chip—and a very dry one—when I first became aware of myself. Respecting the other certified copy, your wish shall be complied with. Re- specting your inheritance, I think you know all. It is an "

BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 113 annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds. The savings upon that annuity, and some other items to your credit, all duly carried to account, with vouchers, will place you in possession of a lump-sum of money, rather exceeding Seventeen Hundred Pounds. I am empowered to advance the cost of your preparations for your marriage out of that fund. All is told." "Will you please tell me," said Rosa, taking the paper " with a prettily knitted brow, but not opening it ; whether I am right in what I am going to say ? I can understand what you tell me, so very much better than what I read in law-writings. My poor papa and Eddy's father made their agreement together, as very dear and firm and fast friends, in order that we, too, might be very dear and firm and fast " friends after them ? " Just so." *'For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting hap- " piness of both of us ? "Just so." " That we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one another?" " Just so."

" It was not bound upon Eddy, and it was not bound upon " me, by any forfeit, in case " Don't be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your aifectionate eyes even to picture to yourself— in the case of your not marrying one another—no, no forfeiture on either side. You would then have been my ward until you were of age. No worse would have befallen you. Bad enough perhaps ! "And Eddy?" " He would have come into his partnership derived from his father, and into its arrears to his credit (if any), on attaining his majority, just as now." Rosa with her perplexed face and knitted brow, bit the corner of her attested copy, as she sat with her head on one side^ 7 ;

114 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. looking abstractedly on the floor, and smoothing it with her foot. " In short," said Mr. Grewgious, " this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides. That it was strongly felt, and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper, there can be no doubt. When you were both children, you began to be accustomed to it, and it I has prospered. But circumstances alter cases ; and made this visit to-day, partly, indeed principally, to discharge myself of the duty of telling you, my dear, that two young people can only be betrothed in marriage (except as a matter of convenience, and therefore mockery and misery), of their own free will, their own attachment, and their own assurance (it may or may not prove a mistaken one, but we must take our chance of that), that they are suited to each other and will make each

other happy. Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of your fathers were living now, and had any mistrust on that subject, his mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the change of your years ? Untenable,

'' unreasonable, inconclusive, and preposterous ! Mr. Grewgious said all this, as if he were reading it aloud

or, still more, as if he were repeating a lesson. So expression- less of any approach of spontaneity were his face and manner. "I have now, my dear," he added, blurring out ^Will' with his pencil, " discharged myself of what is doubtless a formal duty in this case, but still a duty in such a case.

Memorandum, ' Wishes : ' My dear, is there any wish of yours " that I can further ? Eosa shook her head, with an almost plaintive air of hesitation in want of help. " Is there any instruction that I can take from you with " reference to your affairs ? " I—I should like to settle them with Eddy first, if you please," said Rosa, plaiting the crease in her dress. " Surely. Surely," returned Mr. Grewgious. " You two

should be of one mind in all things. Is the young gentleman expected shortly ? " BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 115

"He has gone away only this morning. He will be back at Christmas.^'

*^ Nothing could happen better. You will, on his return at

all of detail will Christmas, arrange matters with him ; you

then communicate w^ith me ; and I will discharge myself (as a mere business acquittance) of my business responsibilities towards the accomplished lady in the corner window. They will accrue at that season." Blurring pencil once again.

" Memorandum ' Leave.' Yes. I will now, my dear, take my leave."

" Could I,'' said Rosa, rising, as he jerked out of his chair in his ungainly way : " could I ask you, most kindly to come to me at Christmas, if I had anything particular to say to " you ? " Why, certainly, certainly," he rejoined ; apparently—if such a word can be used of one who had no appareat lights or shadows about him—complimented by the question. " As a particularly Angular man, I do not fit smoothly into the social circle, and consequently I have no other engagement at Christmas-time than to partake, on the twenty-fifth, of a boiled turkey and celery sauce with a—with a particularly Angular clerk I have the good fortune to possess, whose father, being a Norfolk farmer, sends him up (the turkey up), as a present to me, from the neighborhood of Norwich. I should be quite proud of your wishing to see me, my dear. As a professional Receiver of rents, so very few people do wish to see me, that the novelty would be bracing." For his ready acquiescence, the grateful Rosa put her hands upon his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and instantly kissed him.

" " ** Lord bless me ! cried Mr. Grewgious. Thank you, my dear ! The honor is almost equal to the pleasure. Miss Twinkleton, Madam, I have had a most satisfactory conversation with my ward, and I will now release you from the incumbrance of my presence." "Nay, sir," rejoined Miss Twinkleton, rising with a gra- " cious condescension : say not incumbrance. Not so, by any means. I cannot permit you to say so." 116 TH.E MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

"Thank you, madam. I have read in the newspapers," said Mr. Grewgious, stammering a little, " that when a distinguished visitor (not that I am one : far from it), goes to a school (not that this is one : far from it), he asks for a holiday, or some sort of grace. It being now the afternoon in the —College—of which you are the eminent head, the young ladies might gain nothing, except in name, by having the rest of the day allowed them. But if there is any young lady at " all under a cloud, might I solicit ?

" Ah, Mr. Grewgious, Mr. Grewgious ! " cried Miss Twin- kleton, with a chastelj'-rallying forefinger. " Oh, you gentlemen, you gentlemen ! Fie for shame, that you are so hard upon us poor maligned disciplinarians of our sex, for your sakes ! But as Miss Ferdinand is at present wjeighed down by an incubus "—Miss Twinkleton might have said a pen-and- ink-ubus of writing out Mr. La Fontaine—"go to her Rosa, my dear, and tell her the penalty is remitted, in deference to the intercession of your guardian, Mr. Grewgious." Miss Twinkleton here achieved a courtesy, suggestive of marvels happening to her respected legs, and which she came out of nobly, three yards behind her starting-point.

As he held it incumbent upon him to call on Mr. Jasper before leaving Cloisterham, Mr. Grewgious went to the Gate

House, and climbed its postern stair. But Mr. Jasper's door being closed, and presenting on a slip of paper the word " Ca- thedral," the fact of its being service-time was borne into the mind of Mr. Grewgious. So, he descended the stair again, and, crossing the Close, paused at the great western folding-door of the Cathedral, which stood open on the fine and bright, though short-lived, afternoon, for the airing of the place.

" Dear me," said Mr. Grewgious, peeping in, " it's like looking down the throat of Old Time." Old Time heaved a mouldy sigh from tomb and arch and vault ; and gloomy shadows began to deepen in corners ; and damps began to rise from green patches of stone ; and jewels, cast upon the pavement of the nave from stained glass by the BIKDS IN THE BUSH. 117 declining sun, began to perish. Within the grill-gate of the chancel, up the steps surmounted loomingly loy the fast darkening organ, white robes could be dimly seen, and one feeble voice, rising and falling in a cracked monotonous mutter, could at intervals be faintly heard. In the free outer air, the river, the green pastures, and the brown arable lands, the teeming hills and dales, were reddened by the sunset ; while the distant little windows in windmills and farm homesteads, shone, patches of bright beaten gold. In the Cathedral, all became grey, murky, and sepulchral, and the cracked monotonous mutter went on like a djang voice, until the organ and the choir burst forth, and drowned it in a sea of music. Then, the sea fell, and the dying voice made another feeble eifort, and then the sea rose high,- and beat its life out, and lashed the roof, and surged among the arches, and pierced the heights of the great

tower ; and then the sea was dr}^ and all was still. " Mr. Grewgious had by that time walked to the chancel- steps, where he met the living waters coming out.

"Nothing is the matter?^' Thus Jasper accosted him, " rather quickly. " You have not been sent for ?

" Not at all, not at all. I came down of my own accord. I have been to my pretty ward's, and am now homeward bound again." " You found her thriving? ''

" Blooming indeed. Most blooming. I merely came to tell her, seriously, what a betrothal by deceased parents is." " " And what is it—according to your judgment ? Mr. Grewgious noticed the whiteness of the lips that asked the question, and put it down to the chilling account of the Cathedral.

" I merely came to tell her that it could not be considered binding, against any such reason for its dissolution as a want of affection, or want of disposition to carry it into effect, on the side of either party." " May I ask, had you any especial reason for telling her "" that ? :

118 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Mr. Grewgious answered somewhat sharply : " The especial reason of doing my duty, sir. Simply that." Then he " added : Come, Mr. Jasper ; I know your affection for your nephew, and that you are quick to feel on his behalf. I assure you that this implies not the least doubt of, or disrespect to, your nephew.'' " You could not," returned Jasper, with a friendly pressure of his arm, as they walked on side by side, " speak more handsomely." Mr. Grewgious pulled off his hat to smooth his head, and, having smoothed it, nodded it contentedly, and put his hat on again.

" I will wager," said Jasper, smiling—his lips were still so white that he was conscious of it, and bit and moistened them " while speaking : I will wager that she hinted no wish to be released from Ned." " And you will win your wager, if you do," retorted Mr. Grewgious. " We should allow some margin for little maid- enly delicacies in a young motherless creature, under such circumstances, I suppose ; it is not in my line ; what do you " think ?

" There can be no doubt of it." " I am glad you say so. Because," proceeded Mr. Grew- gious, who had all this time very knowingly felt his way round to action on his remembrance of what she had said of Jasper himself: "because she seems to have some little delicate instinct that all preliminary arrangements had best be made between Mr. Edwin Drood and herself, don't you see ? She " don't want us, don't you know ? Jasper touched himself on the breast, and said, somewhat " indistinctly : You mean me." Mr. Grewgious touched himself on the breast, and said

" I mean us. Therefore, let them have their little discussions and councils together, -when Mr. Edwin Drood comes back here at Christmas, and then you and I will step in, and put the final touches to the business." SMOOTHING THE WAY. 119

"So, you settled with her that you would come back at " Christmas ? observed Jasper. " I see ! Mr. Grewgious, as you quite fairly said just now, there is such an exceptional attachment between my nephew and me, that I am more sensitive for the dear, fortunate, happy, happy fellow than for myself. But it is only right that the young lady should be considered, as you have pointed out, and that I should accept my cue from you. I accept it. I understand that at Christmas they will complete their preparations for May, and that their marriage will be put in final train by themselves, and that nothing will remain for us but to put ourselves in train also, and have everything ready for our formal release from our trusts, on Edwin's birthday."

" That is my understanding," assented Mr. Grewgious, as " they shook hands to part. " God bless them both ! " " God save them both ! cried Jasper. " I said, bless them," remarked the former, looking back over his shoulder. " I said, save them," returned the latter. " Is there any " difference ?

CHAPTEE X. SMOOTHING THE WAY.

It has been often enough remarked that women have a curious power of divining the characters of men, which would

seem to be innate and instinctive ; seeing that it is arrived at through no patient process of reasoning, that it can give no satisfactory or sufficient account of itself, and that it pronoun- ces in the most confident manner even against accumulated observation on the part of the other sex. But it has not been quite so often remarked that this power (fallible, like every other human attribute), is for the most part absolutely incapa- "

120 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

ble of self-revision ; and that when it has delivered an adverse opinion which by all human lights is subsequently proved to have failed, it is undis'tinguishable from prejudice, in respect of its determination not to be corrected. Nay, the very possibility of contradiction or disproof, however remote, communi- cates to this feminine judgment from the first, in nine cases out of ten, the weakness attendant on the testimony of an interested witness; so personally and strongly does the fair diviner connect herself with her divination. " Now, don't you think, Ma dear," said the Minor Canon to his mother one day as she sat at her knitting in his little " book-room, " that you are rather hard on Mr. Neville ?

^•' No, I do not, Sept," returned the old lady.

" Let us discuss it, Ma."

*^ I have no objection to discuss it, Sept. I trust, my dear, I am always open to discussion." There was a vibration in " the old lady's cap, as though she internally added : and I should like to see the discussion that would change my mind ! *^ Very good, Ma," said her conciliatory son. "There is nothing like being open to discussion." '^ I hope not, my dear," returned the old lady, evidently shut to it.

" Well ! Mr. Neville, on that unfortunate occasion, commits himself under provocation." " And under mulled wine," added the old lady. " I must admit the wine. Though I believe the two young men were much alike in that regard." " " I don't ! said the old lady. "Why not, Ma?" " Because I dorCt^^ said the old lady. " Still, I am quite open to discussion."

" But, my dear Ma, I cannot see how we are to discuss, if you take that line."

" Blame Mr. Neville for it, Sept, and not me," said the old lady, with stately severity. SMOOTHING THE WAY. 121

" " My dear Ma ! Why Mr. Neville ?

"Because/' said Mrs. Crisparkle, retiring on first princi- ples, "he came home intoxicated, and did great discredit to this house, and showed great disrespect to this family.'^

"That is not to be denied, Ma. He was then, and he is now, very sorry for it." " But for Mr. Jasper's well-bred consideration in coming up to me next day, after service, in the Nave itself, with his gown still on, and expressing his hope that I had not been greatly alarmed or had my rest violently broken, I believe I might never have heard of that disgraceful transaction," said the old lady. " To be candid. Ma, I think I should have kept it from you if I could: though I had not decidedly made up my mind. I was following Jasper out, to confer with him on the subject, and to consider the expediency of his and mj^ jointly hushing the thing up on all accounts, when I found him speaking to you. Then it was too late." " Too late, indeed, Sept. He was still as pale as gentlemanly ashes at what had taken place in his rooms over- night.

" If I had kept it from you. Ma, you may be sure it would have been for j^our peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men, and in my best discharge of my duty according to my lights." The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed " him ; saying, Of course, my dear Sept, I am sure of that."

" However, it became the town-talk," said Mr. Crisparkle, rubbing his ear, as his mother resumed her seat, and her knitting, " and passed out of my power." " And I said then, Sept," returned the old lady, " that I thought ill of Mr. Neville. And I say now, that I think ill of Mr. Neville. And I said then, and I say now, that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I don't believe he will." Here the cap vibrated again, considerably. " " I am sorry to hear you say so. Ma " I am sorry to say so, my dear," interposed the old lady, knitting on firmly, " but I can't help it." 122 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

a —For," pursued the Minor Canon, " it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves apace, and that he has—I hope I may say—an attachment to me."

" There is no merit in the last article, my dear,'' said the old lady, quickly ; " and if he says there is, I think the worse of him for the boast." " But, my dear Ma, he never said there was." " " Perhaps not," returned the old lady j still, I don't see that it greatly signifies." There was no impatience in the pleasant look with which Mr. Crisparkle contemplated the pretty old piece of china as it knitted ; but there was, certainly, a humorous sense of its not being a piece of china to argue with very closely. " Besides, Sept. Ask yourself what he would be without his sister. You know what an influence she has over him ; you know what a capacity she has you know that whatever ; he reads with you, he reads with her. Give her her fair share " of your praise, and how much do you leave for him ?

At these words Mr. Crisparkle fell into a little reverie, in which he thought of several things. He thought of the time he had seen the brother and sister together in deep converse over one of his own old college books ; now, in the rimy morn- ings, when he made those sharpening pilgrimages to Cloister- ham Weir ; now, in the sombre evenings, when he faced the wind at sunset, having climbed his favorite outlook, a beetling

fragment of monaster}'' ruin ; and the two studious figures passed below him along the margin of the river, in which the town fires and lights already shone, making the landscape bleaker. He thought how the consciousness had stolen upon

him that in teaching one, he was teaching two ; and how he had almost insensibl^^ adapted his explanations to both minds — that with which his own was daily in contact, and that

which he only approached through it. He thought of the gos- sip that had reached him from the Nuns' House, to the effect that Helena, whom he had mistrusted as so proud and fierce, :

SMOOTHING THE WAY. 123

submitted herself to the fairy-bride (as he called her), and learnt from her what she knew. He thought of the picturesque alliance between those two, externally so very different.

He thought — perhaps most of all — could it be that these things were yet but so many weeks old, and had become an

integral part of his life ?

As, whenever the Reverend Septimus fell a-musing, his

good mother took it to be an infallible sign that he " wanted

support," the blooming old lady made all haste to the dining-

room closet, to produce from it the support embodied in a glass of Constantia and a home-made biscuit. It was a most wonderful closet, worthy of Cloisterham and of Minor Canon

Corner. Above it, a portrait of Handel in a flowing wig beamed down at the spectator, with a knowing air of being up to the contents of the closet, and a musical air of intending to combine all its harmonies in one delicious fugue. No common closet with a vulgar door on hinges openable all at once, and leaving nothing to be disclosed by degrees, this rare closet had a lock in mid-air, where two perpendicular slides met the one falling down, and the other pushing up. The upper slide, on being pulled down (leaving the lower a double mystery), revealed deep shelves of pickle-jars, jam-pots, tin can- nisters, spice-boxes, and agreeably outlandish vessels of blue and white, the luscious lodgings of preserved tamarinds and ginger. Every benevolent inhabitant of this retreat had his name inscribed upon his stomach. The pickles, in a uniform of rich brown double-breasted buttoned coat, and yellow or sombre drab continuations, announced their portly forms, in printed capitals, as Walnut, Gherkin, Onion, Cabbage, Cauli- flower, Mixed, and other members of that noble family. The jams, as being of a less masculine temperament, and as wearing curlpapers, announced themselves in feminine caligraphy, like a soft whisper, to be Raspberry, Gooseberry, Apricot, Plum, Damson, Apple, and Peach. The scene closing on these charmers, and the lower slide ascending, oranges were revealed, attended by a mighty japanned sugar-box, to temper 124 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. their acerbity if unripe. Home-made biscuits waited at the Court of these Powers, accompanied by a goodly fragment of plum-cake, and various slender ladies' fingers, to be dipped into sweet wine and kissed. Lowest of all, a compact leaden vault enshrined the sweet wine and a stock of cordials : whence issued whispers of Seville Orange, Lemon, Almond, and Car- raway seed. There was a crowning air upon this closet of closets, of having been for ages hummed through by the Ca- thedral bell and organ, until those venerable bees had made sublimated honey of everything in store ; and it was always observed that every dipper among the shelves (deep, as has been noticed, and swallowing up head, shoulders, and elbows), came forth again mellow-faced, and seeming to have undergone a saccharine transfiguration. The Eeverend Septimus yielded himself up quite as willing a victim to a nauseous medicinal herb-closet, also presided over by the china shepherdess, as to this glorious cupboard. To what amazing infusions of gentian, peppermint, gilliflower, sage, parsley, thyme, rue, rosemary, and dandelion, did his courageous stomach submit itself ! In what wonderful wrappers enclosing layers of dried leaves, would he swathe his rosy and contented face, if his mother suspected him of a toothache ! What botanical blotches would he cheerfully stick upon his cheek, or forehead, if the dear old lady convicted him of an imperceptible pimple there ! Into this herbaceous peniten- tiary, situated on an upper staircase-landing : a low and narrow whitewashed cell, where bunches of dried leaves hung from rusty hooks in the ceiling, and were spread out upon shelves, in company with portentous bottles : would the Eev- erend Septimus submissively be led, like the highly-popular lamb who has so long and unresistingly been led to the slaughter, and there would he, unlike that lamb, bore nobody but himself Not even doing that much, so that the old lady were busy and pleased, he would quietly swallow what was given him, merely taking a corrective dip of hands and face into the great bowl of dried rose-leaves, and into the other ;

SMOOTHING THE WAY. 125 great bowl of dried lavender, and then would go out, as confident in the sweetening powers of Cloisterham Weir and a wholesome mind, as Lady Macbeth was hopeless of all the seas that roll. In the present instance the good Minor Canon took his glass of Constantia with an excellent grace, and, so supported to his mother's satisfaction, applied himself to the remaining duties of the day. In their orderly and punctual progress they brought round Yesper Service and twilight. The Cathe- dral being very cold, he set oif for a brisk trot after service the trot to end in a charge at his favorite fragment of ruin, which was to be carried by storm, without a pause for breath.

He carried it in a masterly manner, and, not breathed even then, stood looking down upon the river. The river at Clois- terham is sufficiently near the sea to throw up oftentimes a quantity of sea-weed. An unusual quantity had come in with the last tide, and this, and the confusion of the water, and the restless dipping and flapping of the noisy gulls, and an angry light out seaward beyond the brown-sailed barges that were turning back, foreshadowed a stormy night. In his mind he was contrasting the wild and noisy sea with the quiet harbor of Minor Canon Corner, when Helena and Neville Landless passed below him. He had had the two together in his thoughts all day, and at once climbed down to speak to them together. The footing was rough in an uncertain light for any tread save that of a good climber ; but the Minor Canon was as good a climber as most men, and stood beside them before a great many good climbers would have been half-way down. " A wild evening. Miss Landless ! Do you not find your usual walk with your brother too exposed and cold for the time of year ? Or at all events, when the sun is down, and the '' weather is driving in from the sea ? Helena thought not. It was their favorite walk. It was very retired.

'* It is very retired,^' assented Mr. Crisparkle, laying hold of 126 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

his opportunity straightway, and walking on with them. " It is a place of all others where one can speak without interrup-

tion, as I wish to do. Mr. Neville, I believe you tell your " sister everything that passes between us ?

" Everything, sir."

" Consequently," said Mr. Crisparkle, " your sister is aware that I have repeatedly urged you to make some kind of apology for that unfortunate occurrence which befell, on the night of your arrival here."

In saying it he looked to her, and not to him ; therefore it was she, and not he, who replied : " Yes."

"I call it unfortunate. Miss Helena," resumed Mr. Cris- parkle, " forasmuch as it certainly has engendered a prejudice against Keville. There is a notion about, that he is a danger- ousl}' passionate fellow, of an uncontrollable and furious temper : he is really avoided as such."

^' I have no doubt he is, poor fellow," said Helena, with a look of proud compassion at her brother, expressing a deep sense of his being ungenerously treated. " I should be quite sure of it, from your saying so : but what you tell me is confirmed by suppressed hints and references that I meet with every day." " Now," Mr. Crisparkle again resumed, in a tone of mild though firm persuasion, " is not this to be regretted, and ought it not to be amended ? These are early days of Neville's in Cloisterham, and I have no fear of his outliving such a prejudice, and proving himself to have been misunderstood. But how much wiser to take action at once, than to trust to uncertain time ! Besides ; apart from its being politic, it is right. For there can be no question that Neville was wrong," " He was provoked," Helena submitted. " He was the assailant," Mr. Crisparkle submitted.

They walked on in silence, until Helena raised her eyes to " the Minor Canon's face, and said, almost reproachfully : Oh, Mr. Crisparkle, would you have Neville throw himself at :

SliiOOTHING THE WAY. 127 young Drood's feet, or at Mr. Jasper's, who maligns him every day { In your heart you cannot mean it. From your heart you could not do it, if his case were yours." " I have represented to Mr. Crisparkle, Helena," said Ne- ville, with a glance of deference towards his tutor, " that if I could do it from my heart, I would. But I cannot, and I revolt from the pretence. You forget, however, that to pu^ the case to Mr. Crisparkle as his own, is to suppose Mr. Cris- parkle to have done what I did." " I ask his pardon," said Helena. " You see," remarked Mr. Crisparkle, again laying hold of his opportunity, though with a moderate and delicate touch, "you both instinctively acknowledge that Neville did wrong! " Then why stop short, and not otherwise acknowledge it ?

" Is there no difference," asked Helena, with a little faltering in her manner, " between submission to a generous spirit, " and submission to a base or trivial one ? Before the worthy Minor Canon was quite ready with his argument in reference to this nice distinction, Neville struck in "Help me to clear myself with Mr. Crisparkle, Helena. Help me to convince him that I cannot be the first to make concessions without mockery and falsehood. My nature must be changed before I can do so, and it is not changed. I am sensible of inexpressible affront, and deliberate aggravation of inexpressible affront, and I am angry. The plain truth is, I am still as angry when I recall that night as I was that night." " Neville," hinted the Minor Canon, with a steady countenance, " you have repeated that former action of your hands, which I so much dislike."

" I am sorry for it, sir, but it was involuntary. I confessed that I was still as angry.'' "And I confess," said Mr. Crisparkle, "that I hoped for better things."

" I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it would be far worse : ;

128 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

to deceive you, and I should deceive you grossly if I pretended that you had softened me in this respect. The time may come when your powerful influence will do even that with the diffi-

»cult pupil whose antecedents you know ; hut it has not come yet. Is this so, and in spite of my struggles against myself, Helena?" She, whose dark eyes were watching the effect of what he

said on Mr. Crisparkle's face, replied—to Mr. Crisparkle : not

to him : " It is so." After a short pause, she answered the slightest look of inquiry conceivable, in her brother's eyes,

with as slight an affirmative bend of her own head ; and he went on

" I have never yet had the courage to say to you, sir, what in full openness I ought to have said when you first talked

with me on this subject. It is not easy to say, and I have

been withheld by a fear of its seeming ridiculous, which is very strong upon me down to this last moment, and might, but for my sister, prevent my being quite open with you even now.—I admire Miss Bud, sir, so very much, that I cannot

bear her being treated with conceit or indifference ; and even if I did not feel that I had an injury against young Drood on my own account, I should feel that I had an injury against him on hers." Mr. Crisparkle, in utter amazement, looked at Helena for corroboration, and met in her expressive'fece full corroboration, and a plea for advice.

" The young lady of whom you speak is, as you know, Mr. Neville, shortly to be married," said Mr. Crisparkle, gravely

" therefore your admiration, if it be of that special nature which you seem to indicate, is outrageously misplaced. More- over, it is monstrous that you should take upon yourself to be the young lady's champion against her chosen husband. Be- sides, you have seen them only once. The young lady has

become your sister's friend ; and I wonder that your sister, even on her behalf, has not checked you in this irrational and culpable fancy." SMOOTHING THE WAY. 129

*' She has tried, sir, but uselessly. Husband or no husband, that fellow is incapable of the feeling with which I am inspired towards the beautiful young creature whom he treats like a doll. I say he is as incapable of it, as he is unworthy of her. I say she is sacrificed in being bestowed upon him. " I say that I love her, and despise and hate him ! This with a face so flushed, and a gesture so violent, that his sister crossed to his side, and caught his arm, remonstrating, " Ne-

! '' ville, Neville Thus recalled to himself, he quickly became sensible of having lost the guard he had set upon his passionate tendency, and covered his face with his hand, as one repentant, and wretched. Mr. Crisparkle, watching him attentively, and at the same time meditating how to proceed, walked on for some paces in silence. Then he spoke. " Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville, I am sorely grieved to see in you more traces of a character as sullen, angrj-, and wild, as the night now closing in. They are of too serious an aspect to leave me the resource of treating the infatuation you have disclosed, as undeserving serious consideration. I give it very serious consideration, and I speak to you accordingly. This feud between you and young Drood must not go on. I cannot permit it to go on, any longer, knowing what I now know from you, and you living under my roof. Whatever prejudiced and unauthorized constructions your blind and envious wrath may put upon his character, it is a frank, good-natured t'haracter. I know I can trust to it for that. Now, pray observe what I am about to say. On reflection, and on j^-our sister's representation, I am willing to admit that, in making peace with young Drood, you have a right to be met half way. I will engage that you shall be, and even that young Drood shall make the first advance. This condition fulfilled, you will pledge me the honor of a Christian gentleman that the quarrel is for ever at an end on your side. What may be in your heart when you give him your hand, can only be known 8 " "

130 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD.

to the Searcher of all hearts ; but it will never go well with you, if there be any treachery there. So far, as to that ; next as to what I must again speak of as your infatuation. I understand it to have been confided to me, and to be known to no other person save your sister and yourself. Do I under- " stand aright ?

Helena answered in a low voice : " It is only known to us three who are here together."

" It is not at all known to the young lady, your friend ? '' " " On my soul, no ! " I require you, then, to give me your similar and solemn pledge, Mr. Neville, that it shall remain the secret it is, and that you will take no other action whatsoever upon it than endeavoring (and that most earnestly) to erase it from your mind. I will not tell you that it will soon pass ; I will not tell you that it is the fancy of the moment ; I will not tell you that such caprices have their rise and fall among the young and ardent every hour ; I will leave you undisturbed in the belief that it has few parallels or none, that it will abide with you a long time, and that it will be very difficult to conquer. So much the more weight shall I attach to the pledge I require from you, when it is unreservedly given."

The young man twice or thrice essayed to speak, but failed.

" Let me leave you with your sister, whom it is time you took home," said Mr. Crisparkle. " You will find me alone in my room by-and-by." "Pray do not leave us yet," Helena implored him. " Another minute." " I should not," said Keville, pressing his hand upon his face, " have needed so much as another minute, if you had been less patient with me, Mr. Crisparkle, less considerate of me, and less unpretendingly good and true. Oh, if in my childhood I had known such a guide ! " Follow your guide now, Neville," murmured Helena, " and follow him to Heaven ! There was that in her tone which broke the good Minor SMOOTHING THE WAY. 131

Canon's voice, or it would have repudiated her exaltation of him. As it was, he laid a finger on his lips, and looked towards her brother. '* To say that I give both pledges, Mr. Crisparkle, out of my innermost heart, and to say that there is no treachery in

! it, is to say nothing " Thus Neville, greatly moved. " I beg your forgiveness for my miserable lapse into a burst of passion." " Not mine, Neville, not mine. You know with whom forgiveness lies, as the highest attribute conceivable. Miss Hel- ena, you and your brother are twin children. You came into this world with the same dispositions, and you passed your younger days together surrounded by the same adverse circumstances. What you have overcome in yourself, can you not overcome in him ? You see the rock that lies in hia

'' course. Who but you can keep him clear of it ? " Who but you, sir ? " replied Helena. " What is my in- " fluence, or my weak wisdom, compared with yours ! " You have the wisdom of Love," returned the Minor Canon,

" and it was the highest wisdom ever known upon this earth, remember. As to mine—but the less said of that common- " place commodity the better. Good night ! She took the hand he offered her, and gratefully and almost reverently raised it to her lips. ^* Tut ! " said the Minor Canon, softly, " I am much over- " paid ! And turned away. Eetracing his steps towards the Cathedral Close, he tried, as he went along in the dark, to think out the best means of bringing to pass what he had promised to eifect, and what must somehow be done. " I shall probably be asked to marry them," he reflected, " and I would they were married and

gone ! But this presses first." He debated principally, whether he should write to young Drood, or whether he should speak to Jasper. The consciousness of being popular with the whole Cathedral establishment inclined him to the latter course, and the well-timed sight of the lighted gatehouse ;

132 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN" DROOD.

decided him to take it. " I will strike while the iron is hot/' he said, " and see him now.''

Jasper was lying asleep on a couch hefore the fire, when, having ascended the postern-stair, and received no answer to his knock at the door, Mr. Crisparkle gently turned the handle and looked in. Long afterwards he had cause to remember how Jasper sprang from the couch in a delirious state between " sleeping and waking, crying out : What is the matter ? Who " did it ?

*^ It is only T, Jasper ? I am sorry to have disturbed you.'' The glare of his eyes settled down into a look of recognition, and he moved a chair or two, to make a way to the fireside. " I was dreaming at a great rate, and am glad to be disturbed from an indigestive after-dinner sleep, Not to mention that you are always welcome." " Thank you. I am not confident," returned Mr. Crisparkle " as he sat himself down in the easy chair placed for him ; that my subject will at first sight be quite as welcome as myself; but I am a minister of peace, and I pursue my subject in the interests of peace. In a word, Jasper, I want to establish peace between these two young fellows." A very perplexed expression took hold of Mr. Jasper's face a very perplexing expression too, for Mr. Crisparkle could make nothing of it. " How ? " was Jasper's inquiry, in a low and slow voice, after a silence.

" * For the How ' I come to you. I want to ask you to do me the great favor and service of interposing with your nephew (I have already interposed with Mr. Neville), and getting him to write you a short note, in his lively way, saying that he is willing to shake hands. I know what a good-natured fellow he is, and what influence you have with him. And without in the least defending Mr. Neville, we must all admit that he was bitterly stung.'^

Jasper turned that perplexed face towards the fire. Mr.

Crisparkle continuing to observe it, found it even more per- SMOOTHING THE WAY. 133

plexing than before, inasmuch as it seemed to denote (which could hardly be) some close internal calculation. " I know that you are not prepossessed in Mr. Neville's favor/^ the Minor Canon was going on, when Jasper stopped

him :

" You have cause to say so. I am not, indeed." " Undoubtedly, and I admit his lamentable violence of temper, though I hope he and I will get the better of it between us. But I have exacted a very solemn promise from him as to his future demeanor towards your nephew, if you do kindly

interpose ; and I am sure he will keep it." " You are always responsible and trustworthy, Mr. Cris- parkle. Do you really feel sure that you can answ^er for him " so confidently ? " I do." The perplexed and perplexing look vanished. *' Then you relieve my mind of a great dread, and a heavy weight," said Jasper ; " I will do it." Mr. Crisparkle, delighted by the swiftness and completeness of his success, acknowledged it in the handsomest terms.

" I will do it," repeated Jasper, " for the comfort of having your guarantee against my vague and unfounded fears. You " will laugh— but do you keep a Diary ? " A line for a day ; not more." " A line for a day would be quite as much as my uneventful life would need. Heaven knows," said Jasper, taking a book from a desk; "but that my Diary is, in fact, a Diary of Ned's life too. You will laugh at this entry will ; you guess when it was made :

Past midnight.—After what I have just now seen, I have a morbid dread upon me of some horrible consequences resulting to my dear boy, that I cannot reason with or in any way contend against. All my efibrts are vain. The demoniacal passion of this Neville Landless, his strength in his fury, and his savage rage for the destruction of its object, appal me. So profound is tlie impression, that twice since have I gone into my dear boy's room, to assure myself of his sleeping safely, and not lying dead in his blood. 134 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

^^Here is another entry next morning:

Ned up and away. Light-hearted and unsuspicious as ever. He laughed when I cautioned him, and said he was as good a man as Ne- ville Landless any day. I told him that might be, but he was not as bad a man. He continued to make light of it, but I travelled with him as far as I could, and left him most unwillingly. I am unable to shake off these dark intangible presentiments of evil—if feelings founded upon staring facts are to be so called.

" Again and again," said Jasper, in conclusion, twirling the leaves of the book before putting it by, " I have relapsed into these moods, as other entries show. But I have now your assurance at my back, and shall put it in my book, and make it an antidote to my black humors.'' " Such an antidote, I hope,'' returned Mr. Crisparkle, " as will induce you before long to consign the black humors to the flames. I ought to be the last to find any fault with you this evening, when you have met my wishes so freely ; but I must say, Jasper, that your devotion to your nephew has made you exaggerative here." '* You are my witness," said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders, " what my state of mind honestly was, that night, before

I sat down to write, and in what words I expressed it. You remember objecting to a word I used, as being too strong ? It w^as a stronger word than any in my Diary." " Well, well. Try the antidote," rejoined Mr. Crisparkle, " and may it give you a brighter and better view of the case ! We will discuss it no more, now. I have to thank you for myself, and I thank you sincerely." " You shall find," said Jasper, as they shook hands, " that I will not do the thing you wish me to do, by halves. I will take care that Ned, giving way at all, shall give way thoroughly." On the third day after this conversation, he called on Mr.

Crisparkle with the following letter :

"My dear Jack, " I am touched by your account of your interview with Mr. Crisparkle, whom I much respect and esteem. At once I A PICTURE AND A RINa. 135 openly say that I forgot myself on that occasion quite as much as Mr. Landless did, and that I wish that byegone to be a bygone, and all to be right again. " Look here, dear old boy. Ask Mr. Landless to dinner on Christmas Eve (the better the day the better the deed), and let there be only we three, and let us shake hands all round there and then, and say no more about it. " My Dear Jack, " Ever your most affectionate, " Edwin Drood. " P.S.—Love to Miss Pussy at the next music lesson.'^

" You expect Mr. Neville, then ? " said Mr. Crisparkle. " I count upon his coming,'' said Mr, Jasper.

CHAPTER XL

A PICTURE AND A RING.

Behind the most ancient part of Holborn, London, where certain gabled houses some centuries of age still stand looking on the public way, as if disconsolately looking for the Old Bourne that has long run dry, is a little nook composed of two irregular quadrangles, called Staple Inn. It is one of those nooks, the turning into which out of the clashing street, imparts to the relieved pedestrian the sensation of having put cotton in his ears, and velvet soles on his boots. It is one of those nooks where a few smoky sparrows twitter in smoky trees, as though they called to one another, "Let us play at country,^' and where a few feet of garden mould and a few yards of gravel enable them to do that refreshing violence to their tiny understandings. Moreover, it is one of those nooks which are legal nooks; and it contains a little Hall with a little lantern in its roof: to what obstructive purposes devoted, and at whose expense, this history knoweth not. :

136 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD.

In the days wheo Cloisterham took offence at the existence of a railroad afar off, as menacing that sensitive constitution, the property of us Britons: the odd fortune of which sacred institutions it is to be in exactly equal degrees croaked about, trembled for, and boasted of, whatever happens to anything, anywhere in the world : in those days no neighboring archi- tecture of lofty proportions had arisen to overshadow Staple Inn. The westering sun bestowed bright glances on it, and the south-west wind blew into it unimpeded. Neither w^ind nor sun, however, favored Staple Inn, one December afternoon towards six o'clock, when it was filled with fog, and candles shed murky and blurred rays through the windows of all its then-occupied sets of chambers ; notably, from a set of chambers in a corner house in the little inner quadrangle, presenting in black and white over its ugly portal the mysterious inscription P J T 1747.

In which set of chambers, never having troubled his head about the inscription, unless to bethink himself at odd times on glancing up at it, that haply it might mean Perhaps John Thomas, or Perhaps Joe Tyler, sat Mr. Grewgious writing by his fire. Who could have told, by looking at Mr. Grewgious, whether he had ever known ambition or disappointment ? He had been for practice bred to the Bar, and had laid himself out chamber ; " to draw deeds ; convey the wise it call," as Pistol says. But Conveyancing and he had made such a very indifferent marriage of it that they had separated by consent—if there can be said to be separation where there has never been coming together. No. Coy Conveyancing would not come to Mr. Grewgious. She was wooed, not won, and they went their several ways. But an Arbitration being blown towards him by some unac- A PICTURE AND A RING. I'd! countable wind, and he gaining great credit in it as one inde- fatigable in seeking out right and doing right, a pretty fat Ee- ceivership was next blown into his pocket by a wind more traceable to its source. So, by chance, he had found his niche. Receiver and Agent now, to two rich estates, and deputing their legal business, in an amount worth having, to a firm of solicitors on the floor below, he had snuffed out his ambition

(supposing him to have ever lighted it) and had settled down with his snuffers for the rest of his life under the dry vine and fig-tree of P. J. T., who planted in seventeen-forty-seven.

Many accounts and account-books, many files of correspondence, and several strong boxes, garnished Mr. Grew^gious^a room. They can scarcely be represented as having lumbered it, so conscientious and precise was their orderly arrangement. The apprehension of dying suddenly, and leaving one fact or one figure with any incompleteness or obscurity attaching to it, would have stretched Mr. Grewgious stone dead any day. The largest fidelity to a trust was the life-blood of the man. There are sorts of life-blood that course more quickly, more gaily, more attractively ; but there is no better sort in circulation.

There was no luxury in his room. Even its comforts were limited to its being dry and warm, and having a snug though faded fireside. What may be called its private life was confined to the hearth, and an easy chair, and an old-fashioned occasional round table that was brought out upon the rug after business hours, from a corner where it elsewise remained turned up like a shining mahogany shield. Behind it, when standing thus on the defensive, was a closet, usually containing something good to drink. An outer room was the clerk's room ; Mr. Grewgious's sleeping-room was across the common stair ; and he held some not empty cellarage at the bottom of the common stair. Three hundred days in the year, at least, he crossed over to the hotel in FurnivaFs Inn for his dinner, and after dinner crossed back again, to make the most of these simplicities until it should become broad business day once more, with P. J, T., date seventeen-forty-seven. "

138 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

As Mr. Grewgious sat and wrote by his fire that afternoon, so did the clerk of Mr. Grewgious sit and write by his fire. A pale, puffy-faced, dark-haired person of thirty, with big dark

e^^es that wholly wanted lustre, and a dissatisfied doughy complexion, that seemed to ask to be sent to the baker's, this attendant was a mysterious being, possessed of some strange power over Mr. Grewgious. As though he had been called into existence, like a fabulous Familiar, by a magic spell which had failed when required to dismiss him, he stuck tight to Mr. Grewgious's stool, although Mr. Grewgious's comfort and convenience would manifestly have been advanced hy dis- possessing him. A gloomy person with tangled locks, and a general air of having been reared under the shadow of that

baleful tree of Java which has given shelter to more lies than the whole botanical kingdom, Mr. Grewgious, nevertheless, treated him with unaccountable consideration. " Now, Bazzard," said Mr. Grewgious, on the entrance of

his clerk : looking up from his papers as he arranged them " for the night : " what is in the wind besides fog ? " Mr. Drood," said Bazzard. "What of him?" " Has called," said Bazzard. " You might have shown him in."

" I am doing it," said Bazzard. The visitor came in accordingly.

" Dear me ! '' said Mr. Grewgious, looking round his pair

of office candles. " I thought you had called and merely left your name, and gone. How do you do, Mr. Edwin ? Dear me, you're choking ! " " It's this fog," returned Edwin ; And it makes my eyes smart, like Cayenne pepper."

" Is it really so bad as that ? Pray undo your wrappers.

It's fortunate I have so good a fire ; but Mr. Bazzard has taken care of me." " No I haven't," said Mr. Bazzard at the door. " Ah ! Then it follows that I must have taken care of my- "

A PICTUKE AND A RING. 139 pelf without observing it," said Mr. Grewgious. "Pray be seated in my chair. No. I beg ! Coming out of such an atmosphere, in my chair."

Edwin took the easy chair in the corner ; and the fog he had brought in with him, and the fog he took off with his great-coat and neck-shawl, was speedily licked up by the eager fire.

" I look," said Edwin, smiling, "as if I had come to stop.'' <• " —By-the-by," cried Mr. Grewgious ; excuse my interrupt- ing you; do stop. The fog may clear in an hour or two. We can have dinner in from just across Holborn. You had better take your cayenne pepper here than outside ; pray stop and dine." " You are very kind," said Edwin, glancing about him, as though attracted by the notion of a new and relishing sort of gipsy-party. " " Not at all," said Mr. Grewgious ; you are very kind to join issue with a bachelor in chambers, and take pot-luck. And I'll ask," said Mr. Grewgious, dropping his voice, and speaking with a twinkling eye, as if inspired with a bright " thought : ni ask Bazzard. He mightn't like it else. Baz- zard ! Bazzard reappeared. "Dine presently with Mr. Drood and me." " If I am ordered to dine, of course I will, sir," was the gloomy answer. " Save the man ! " cried Mr. Grewgious. " You are not ordered you're invited." ; " Thank you, sir," said Bazzard ; " in that case I don't care \i I do." " That's arranged. And perhaps you wouldn't mind," said Mr. Grewgious, " stepping over to the hotel in Furnival's, and asking them to send in materials for laying the cloth. For dinner we'll have a tureen of the hottest and strongest soup available, and we'll have the best made-dish that can be recommended, and we'll have a joint (such as a haunch of mutton), —

140 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. and we^l have a goose, or a turkey, or any little stuffed thing of that sort that may happen to be in the bill of fare—in short, we'll have whatever there is on hand." These liberal directions Mr. Grewgious issued with his usual air of reading an inventory, or repeating a lesson, or doing anything else by rote. Bazzard, after drawing out the round table, withdrew to execute them.

" I was a little delicate, you see," said Mr. Grewgious, in a lower tone, after his clerk's departure, ''about employing him in the foraging or commissariat department. Because he mightn't like it." " He seems to have his own way, sir," remarked Edwin. " His own way? " returned Mr. Grewgious. ^' Oh dear no! Poor fellow, you quite mistake him. If he had his own way, he wouldn't be here." " " I wonder where he would be ! Edwin thought. But he only thought it, because Mr. Grewgious came and stood himself with his back to the other corner of the fire, and his shoulder-blades against the chimneypiece, and collected his skirts for easy conversation.

" I take it, without having the gift of prophecy, that you have done me the favor of looking in to mention that you are going down yonder—where I can tell you, you are expected and to offer to execute any little commission from me to my charming ward, and perhaps to sharpen me up a bit in any " proceedings ? Eh, Mr. Edwin ?

'^ I called, sir, before going down, as an act of attention."

! " " Of attention " said Mr. Grewgious. Ah ! of course, not of impatience?" " " Impatience, sir ? Mr. Grewgious had meant to be arch—not that he in the remotest degree expressed that meaning—and had brought himself into scarcely supportable proximity with the fire, as

if to burn the fullest effect of his archness into himself, as

otlier subtle impressions are burnt into hard metals. But his archness suddenly flying before the composed face and man- A PICTUEE AISTD A EIKG. 141 ner of his visitor, and only the fire remaining, he started and rubbed himself. " I have lately been down yonder," said Mr. Grewgious, rearranging his skirts ; " and that was what I referred to, when I said I could tell you you are expected. " Indeed, sir ! Yes ; I knew that Pussy was looking out for me." ^^ Do you keep a cat down there ? " asked Mr. Grewgious.

'^ Edwin colored a little, as he explained : I call Rosa Pussy." " Oh, really," said Mr. Grewgious, smoothing down his head; "that's very affable." Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected to the appellation. But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of a clock. " A pet name, sir," he explained again. " Umps," said Mr. Grewgious, with a nod. But with such an extraordinary compromise between an unqualified assent and a qualified dissent, that his visitor was much disconcerted. "Did PEosa " Edwin began, by way of recovering himself. " PEosa ? " repeated Mr. Grewgious. "I was going to say Pussy, and changed my mind;—did " she tell you anything about the Landlesses ?

" No," said Mr. Grewgious. " What is the Landlesses ? " An estate ? A villa ? A farm ? " A brother and sister. The sister is at the Kuns' House, and has become a great friend of P "

" PEosa's," Mr. Grewgious struck in, with a fixed face,

" She is a strikingly'- handsome girl, sir, and I thought she might have been described to you, or presented to you, per- " haps ?

"Neither," said Mr. Grewgious. "But here is Bazzard." Bazzard returned, accompanied by two waiters—an immovable waiter, and a flying waiter^ and the three brought in 142 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DKOOD. with them as much fog as gave a new roar to the fire. The flying waiter, who had brought everything on his shoulders, laid the cloth with amazing rapidity and dexterity ; while the immovable waiter, who had brought nothing, found fault with him. The flying waiter then highly polished all the glasses he had brought, and the immovable waiter looked through them. The flying waiter then flew across Holborn for the soup, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the made-dish, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the joint and poultry, and flew back again, and between whiles took supplementary flights for a great variety of articles, as it was discovered from time to time that the immovable waiter had forgotten them all. But let the flying waiter cleave the air as he might, he was always reproached on his return by the immovable waiter for bringing fOg with him, and being out of breath. At the conclusion of the repast, by which time the flying waiter was severely blown, the immovable waiter gathered up the tablecloth under his arm with a grand air, and having sternly (not to say with indignation) looked on at the flying waiter while he sat clean glasses round, directed a valedictory glance towards Mr. Grewgious, convey- " ing : Let it be clearly understood between us that the reward is mine, and that Nil is the claim of this slave,^^ and pushed the flying waiter before him out of the room. It was like a highly finished miniature painting representing My Lords of the Circumlocutional Department, Com- mandership-in-Chief of any sort. Government. It was quite an edifying little picture to be hung on the line in the !N"a- tional Galler3\ As the fog had been the proximate cause of this sumptuous repast, so the fog served for its general sauce. To hear the outdoor clerks, sneezing, wheezing, and beating their feet on the gravel was a zest far surpassing Dr. Kitchener's. To bid, with a shiver, the unfortunate flying waiter shut the door before he had opened it, was a condiment of a profounder flavor than Harvey. And here let it be noticed, parentheti- A PICTURE AND A RING. 148

cally, that the leg of this young man in its application to the

door, evinced the finest sense of touch : always preceding

himself and tray (with something of an angling air about it),

by some seconds : and always lingering after he and the tray had disappeared, like Macbeth^s leg when accompanying him oiF the stage with reluctance to the assassination of Duncan. The host had gone below to the cellar, and had brought up bottles of ruby, straw-colored, and golden, drinks, which had ripened long ago in lands where no fogs are, and had since lain slumbering in the shade. Sparkling and tingling after so long a nap, they pushed at their corks to help the corkscrew (like prisoners helping rioters to force their gates), and danced out gaily. If P. J. T. in seventeen-forty-seven, or in any other year of his period, drank such wines—then, for a certainty, P. J. T. was Pretty Jolly Too. Externally, Mr. Grewgious showed no signs of being mel- lowed by these glowing vintages. Instead of his drinking them, they might have been poured over him in his high-dried ^nuif form, and run to waste, for any lights and shades they caused to flicker over his face. Neither was his manner influenced. But, in his wooden waj^, he had observant eyes

for Edwin ; and when, at the end of dinner, he motioned Ed- win back to his own easy chair in the fireside corner, and Edwin luxuriously sank into it after very brief remonstrance, Mr.

Grewgious, as he turned his seat round towards the fire too, and smoothed his head and face, might have been seen looking at his visitor between his smoothing fingers. " " Bazzard ! said Mr. Grewgious, suddenly turning to him.

" I follow you, sir," returned Bazzard ; who had done his work of consuming meat and drink, in a workmanlike manner, though mostly in speechlessness. " I drink to you, Bazzard ; Mr. Edwin, success to Mr. Baz- " zard ! ** Success to Mr. Bazzard ! " echoed Edwin, with a totally unfounded appearance of enthusiasm, and with the unspoken '' — ! addition : " What in, I wonder —

144 THE MTSTEEY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" " — And May ! pursued Mr. Grewgious "I am not at liberty to be definite—May ! —my conversational powers are so very limited that I know I shall not come well out of this

May ! —it ought to be put imaginativelj'-, but I have no imagination—May ! —the thorn of anxiety is as nearly the mark ^' as I am likely to get—May it come out at last ! Mr. Bazzard with a frowning smile at the fire, put a hand into his tangled locks, as if the thorn of anxiety were there ;

then into his waistcoat, as if it were there ; then into his pockets, as if it were there. In all these movements he was closely followed by the eyes of Edwin, as if that young gentleman expected to see the thorn in action. It was not pro-

*^ duced, however, and Mr. Bazzard merely said : I follow you, sir, and I thank you.'' "I am going," said Mr. Grewgious, jingling his glass on the table, with one hand, and bending aside under cover of the other, to whisper to Edwin, " to drink to my ward. But

I put Bazzard first. He mightn't like it else."

This was said with a mj^sterious wink ; or what would have been a wink if, in Mr. Grewgious's hands, it could have been quick enough. So Edwin winked responsively, without the least idea what he meant by doing so. " And now," said Mr. Grewgious, *' I devote a bumper to the fair and fascinating Miss E-osa. Bazzard, the fair and fascinating Miss Kosa."

'^ I follow you, sir," said Bazzard, " and I pledge you !'' " " And so do I ! said Edwin.

" Lord bless me ! " cried Mr. Grewgious, breaking the blank silence which of course ensued: though why tliese pauses should come upon us wlien we have performed any small socml rite, not directly inducive of self-examination or mental de- " spondency, who can tell ! I am a particularly Angular man, and yet I fancy (if I may use the word, not having a morsel of fancy), that I could draw a picture of a true lover's state of mind, to-night."

*^ Let us follow you, sir," said Bazzard, " and have the picture." A PICTURE AND A RING. 145

" Mr. Edv\'in will correct it where it's wrong," resumed Mr.

Grewgious, " and will throw in a few touches from the life. I dare say it is wrong in many particulars, and wants many touches from the life, for I was born a Chip, and have neither soft sympathies nor soft experiences. Well ! I hazard the guess that the true lover's mind is completely permeated by the beloved object of his affections. I hazard the guess that her dear name is precious to him, cannot be heard or repeated without emotion, and is preserved sacred. If he has any distinguishing appellation of fondness for her, it is reserved for her, and is not for common ears. A name that it would be a privilege to call her by, being alone with her own bright self, it would be a liberty, a coldness, an insensibility, almost a breach of good faith, to flaunt elsewhere." It was wonderful to see Mr. Grewgious sitting bolt upright, with his hands on his knees, continuously chopping thi^ discourse out of himself: much as a charity boy with a very good memory might get his catechism said : and evincing no correspondent emotion whatever, unless in a certain occasional little tingling perceptible at the end of his nose. " My picture," Mr. Grewgious proceeded, " goes on to represent (under correction from you, Mr. Edwin,) the true lover as ever impatient to be in the presence or vicinity of the beloved object of his affections ; as caring very little for his

ease in any other society ; and as constantly seeking that. If I was to say seeking that, as a bird seeks its nest, I should make an ass of myself, because that would trench upon what

I understand to be poetry ; and I am so far from trenching upon poetry at any time, that I never, to my knowledge, got within ten thousand miles of it. And I am besides totally unacquainted with the habits of birds, except the birds of Staple Inn, who seek their nests on ledges, and in the gutter- pipes and chimneypots, not constructed for them by the beneficent hand of Nature. I beg, therefore, to be understood as foregoing the bird's-nest. But my pictnre does represent the true lover as having no existence separable from that of the 9 "

146 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. beloved object of his affections, and as living at once a doubled life and a halved life. And if I do not clearly express what I mean by that, it is either for the reason that having no conversational powers, I cannot express what I mean, or that having no meaning, I do not mean what I fail to express. Which, to the best of my belief, is not the case.'^ Edwin had turned red and turned white, as certain points of this picture came into the light. He now sat looking at the fire, and bit his lip. " The speculations of an Angular man," resumed Mr. Grew- gious, still sitting and speaking exactly as before, " are probably erroneous on so globular a topic. But I figure to myself (subject, as before, to Mr. Edwin's corrections), that there can be no coolness, no lassitude, no doubt, no indifference, no half fire and half smoke state of mind, in a real lover. Pray, am " I at all near the mark in my picture ? As abrupt in his conclusion as in his commencement and progress, he jerked this inquiry at Edwin, and stopped when one might have supposed him in the middle of his oration. " I should say, sir," stammered Edwin, " as you refer the " question to me

"Yes," said Mr. Grewgious, "I refer it to you, as an authority."

"I should say then, sir," Edwin went on, embarrassed, " that the picture you have drawn, is generally correct j but I submit that perhaps you may be rather hard upon the unlucky lover."

" Likely so," assented Mr. Grewgious, *' likely so. I am a bard man in the grain." " He not " may show," said Edwin, all he feels ; or he may not "

There he stopped so long, to find the rest of his sentence, that Mr. Grewgious rendered his difficulty a thousand times the greater, by unexpectedly striking in with : " No to be sure ; he may not I

After that, they all sat silent ; the silence of Mr. Bazzard being occasioned by slumber. A PICTURE AND A RING. 147

" His responsibility is very great though," said Mr. Grew- gious, at length, with his eyes on the fire.

Edwin nodded assent, with his eyes on the fire. " And let him be sure that he trifles w^ith no one," said Mr. " Grewgious ; neither with himself, nor with any other." Edwin bit his lip again, and still sat looking at the fire. " He must not make a plaything of a treasure. Woe betide him if he does ! Let him take that well to heart," said Mr. Grewgious. Though he said these things in short sentences, much as the supposititious charity boy just now referred to, might have repeated a verse or two from the Book of Proverbs, there was something dreamy (for so literal a man) in the way in which he now shook his right forefinger at the live coals in the grate, and again fell silent. But not for long. As he sat upright and stiff in his chair, he suddenly rapped his knees, like the carved image of some " queer Joss or other coming out of its reverie, and said ; We must finish this bottle, Mr. Edwin. Let me help you. Pll help Bazzard, too, though he is asleep. He mightn't like it else." He helped them both, and helped himself, and drained his glass, and stood it bottom upward on the table, as though be had just caught a bluebottle in it. " And now, Mr. Edwin," he proceeded, wiping his mouth and hands upon his handkerchief; "to a little piece of business. You received from me, the other day, a certified copy of Miss Eosa's father's will. You knew its contents before, but you received it from me as a matter of business. I should have sent it to Mr. Jasper, but for Miss Rosa's wishing it to " come straight to you, in preference. You received it ? " Quite safely, sir." "You should have acknowledged its receipt," said Mr. Grewgious, "business being business all the world over. However, you did not." " I meant to have acknowledged it when I first came in this evening, sir." 148 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIK DROOD.

"JSTot a business-like acknowledgment," returned Mr, " Grewgious ; however, let that pass. Now, in that document

jou have observed a few words of kindly allusion to its being left to me to discharge a little trust, confided to me in conversation, at such time as I in my discretion may think best." " Yes, sir."

" Mr. Edwin, it came into my mind just now, when I was looking at the fire, that I could, in my discretion, acquit myself of that trust at no better time than the present. Favor me with your attention, half a minute." He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, singled out by the candle-light the key he wanted, and then, with a candle in his

hand, went to a bureau or escritoire, unlocked it, touched the

spring of a little secret drawer, and took from it an ordinary ring-case made for a single ring. With this in his hand, he returned to his chair. As he held it up for the young man to see, his hand trembled.

" Mr. Edwin, this rose of diamonds and rubies delicately set in gold, was a ring belonging to Miss Rosa's mother. It was removed from her dead hand, in my presence, with such dis-

tracted grief as I hope it may never be my lot to contemplate again. Hard man as I am, I am not hard enough for that. " " See how bright these stones shine ! opening the case. And yet the eyes that were so much brighter, and that so often looked upon them with a light and a proud heart, have been ashes among ashes, and dust among dust, some years ! If I had any imagination (which it is needless to say I have not), I might imagine that the lasting beauty of these stones was almost cruel." He closed the case again as he spoke. " This ring was given to the young lady who was drowned fio early in her beautiful and happy career, by her husband, when they first plighted their faith to one another. It was he who removed it from her unconscious hand, and it was he who, when his death drew very near, placed it in mine. The trust in which I received it, was, that, you and Miss Rosa growing A PICTURE AND A RING. U9

to manhood and womanhood, and your betrothal prospering

and coming to maturity, I should give it to you to place upon

her finger. Failing those desired results, it was to remain in my possession."

Some trouble was in the young man's face, and some inde- cision was in the action of his hand, as Mr. Grewgious, looking steadfastly at him, gave him the ring. " Your placing it on her finger," said Mr. Grewgious, " will be the solemn seal upon your strict fidelity to the living and the dead. You are going to her, to make the last irrevocable

preparations for your marriage. Take it with you."

The young man took the little case, and placed it in his breast.

" If anything should be amiss, if anything should be even

slightly wrong, between you ; if you should have any secret consciousness that you are committing yourself to this step for no higher reason than because you have long been accustomed

to look forward to it ; then," said Mr. Grewgious, " I charge you once more, by the living and by the dead, to bring that ring " back to me !

Here Bazzard awoke himself by his own snoring ; and, as is usual in such cases, sat apoplectically staring at vacancy, as defying vacancy to accuse him of having been asleep.

" Bazzard ! " said Mr. Grewgious, harder than ever. " I follow you, sir," said Bazzard, " and I have been following you." " In discharge of a trust, I have handed Mr. Edwin Drood " a ring of diamonds and rubies. You see ?

Edwin reproduced the little case, and opened it ; and Baz- zard looked into it. " I follow you both, sir," returned Bazzard, " and I witness the transaction." Evidently anxious to get away and be alone, Edwin Drood now resumed his outer clothing, muttering something about time and appointments. The fog was reported no clearer (by the flying waiter, who alighted from a speculative flight in the ! "

150 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

coffee interest), but he went out into it ; and Bazzard, after his manner, " followed " him. Mr. Grewgious, left alone, walked softly and slowly to and fro, for an hour and more. He was restless to-night, and seemed dispirited. " I hope I have done right," he said. " The appeal to him seemed necessary. It was hard to lose the ring, and yet it must have gone from me very soon." He closed the empty little drawer with a sigh, and shut and locked the escritoire, and came back to the solitary fireside. " Her ring," he went on. " Will it come back to me ? My mind hangs about her ring very uneasily to-night. But that is explainable. I have had it so long, and I have prized it so " much ! I wonder He was in a wondering mood as well as a restless; for, though he checked himself at that point, and took another walk, he resumed his wondering when he sat down again. " I wonder (for the ten thousandth time, and what a weak fool I, for what can it signify now !) whether he confided the charge of their orphan child to me, because he knew Good God, how like her mother she has become " I wonder whether he ever so much as suspected that some one doted on her, at a hopeless, speechless distance, when he struck in and won her. I wonder whether it ever crept into

his mind who that unfortunate some one was !

" I wonder whether I shall sleep to-night ! At all events, I will shut out the world with the bedclothes, and try." Mr. Grewgious crossed the staircase to his raw and foggy bed-room, and was soon ready for bed. Dimly catching sight

of his face in the misty looking-glass, he held his candle to it for a moment. " A likely some one, you^ to come into anybody's thoughts

! in such an aspect " he exclaimed. " There, there ! there !

Get to bed, poor man, and cease to jabber I With that, he extinguished his light, pulled up the bedclothes around him, and with another sigh shut out the world. A NIGHT WITH DURDLES. 161

And yet there are such unexplored romantic nooks in the unlikeliest men, that even old tinderous and touch-woody P. J. T. Possibly Jabbered Thus, at some odd times, in or about seventeen-forty-seven.

CHAPTER XII.

A NIGHT WITH DURDLES.

When Mr. Sapsea has nothing better to do, towards evening, and finds the contemplation of his own profundity becoming a little monotonous in spite of the vastness of the subject, he often takes an airing in the Cathedral Close and there- about. He likes to pass the churchyard with a swelling air of proprietorship, and to encourage in his breast a sort of be- nignant-landlord feeling, in that he has been bountiful towards that meritorious tenant, Mrs. Sapsea, and has publicly given her a prize. He likes to see a stray face or two looking in through the railings, and perhaps reading his inscription. Should he meet a stranger coming from the churchyard with a quick step, he is morally convinced that the stranger is " with a blush retiring," as monumentally directed. Mr. Sapsea's importance has received enhancement, for he has become Mayor of Cloisterham. Without mayors and many of them, it cannot be disputed that the whole frame- work of society—Mr. Sapsea is confident that he invented that forcible figure—would fall to pieces. Mayors have been

'' knighted for " going up with addresses ; explosive machines intrepidly discharging shot and shell into the English Gram- mar. Mr. Sapsea may " go up " with an address. Rise, Sir

Thomas Sapsea ! Of such is the salt of the earth. Mr. Sapsea has improved the acquaintance of Mr. Jasper,

since their first meeting to partake of port, epitaph, backgammon, beef, and salad. Mr. Sapsea has been received at th© !

152 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Gate House with kindred hospitality ; and on that occasion Mr. Jasper seated himself at the piano, and sang to him, tickling his ears—figuratively, long enough to present a considerable area for tickling. What Mr. Sapsea likes in that young man, is, that he is always ready to profit by the wisdom of his elders, and that he is sound, sir, at the core. In proof of which, he sang to Mr. Sapsea that evening, no kickshaw ditties, favorites with national enemies, but gave him the genuine George the Third home-brewed; exhorting him (as " my brave boys") to reduce to a smashed condition all other islands but this island, and all continents, peninsulas, isthmuses, promon- tories, and other geographical forms of land soever, besides

sweeping the seas in all directions. In short, he rendered it pretty clear that Providence made a distinct mistake in origi- nating so small a nation of hearts of oak, and so many other verminous peoples. Mr. Sapsea, walking slowly this moist evening near the church-yard with his hands behind him, on the look out for a blushing and retiring stranger, turns a corner, and comes instead into the goodly presence of the Dean, conversing with the Verger and Mr. Jasper. Mr. Sapsea makes his obeisance,

and is instantly stricken far more ecclesiastical than any Arch- bishop of York, or Canterbury.

" You are evidently going to write a book about us, Mr. " Jasper," quoth the Dean ; to write a book about us. Well We are very ancient, and we ought to make a good book.

We are not so richly endowed in possessions as in age ; but perhaps you will put that in your book, among other things, and call attention to our wrongs."

Mr. Tope, as in duty bound, is greatly entertained by this. " I really have no intention at all, sir," replies Jasper, " of turning author, or archaeologist. It is but a whim of mine.

And even for my whim, Mr. Sapsea here is more accountable than I am." " How so, Mr. Mayor ? " says the Dean, with a nod of

good-natured recognition of his Fetch. " How is that, Mr. " Mayor ? "

A NIGHT WITH DURDLES. 158

" I am not aware," Mr. Sapsea remarks, looking about him for information, " to what the Very Reverend the Dean does me the honor of referring." And then falls to studying his original in minute points of detail. " Durdles," Mr. Tope hints.

" " " ! Ay ! the Dean echoes ; Durdles, Durdles

" The truth is, sir," explains Jasper, " that my curiosity in the man was first really stimulated by Mr. Sapsea. Mr. Sapsea's knowledge of mankind, and power of drawing out whatever is recluse or odd around him, first led to my bestow- ifig a second thought upon the man : though of course I had met him constantly about You would not be surprised by this, Mr. Dean, if you had seen Mr. Sapsea deal with him in his own parlor, as I did."

"Oh ! '' cries Sapsea, picking up the ball thrown to him with ineffable complacency and pomposity ; " yes, yes. The Very Reverend the Dean refers to that ? Yes. I happened to bring Durdles and Mr. Jasper together. I regard Durdles as a Character." " A character, Mr. Sapsea, that with a few skilful touches you turn inside out," says Jasper. ^^Nay, not quite that," returns the lumbering auctioneer.

"I may have a little influence over him, perhaps ; and a little insight into his character, perhaps. The Very Reverend the Dean will please to bear in mind that I have seen the world." Here Mr. Sapsea gets a little behind the Dean, to inspect his coat-buttons. " Well ! " says the Dean, looking about him to see what has become of his copyist : " I hope, Mr. Mayor, you will use your study and knowledge of Durdles to the good purpose of exhorting him not to break our worthy and respected Choir-Master's

neck ; we cannot afford it ; his head and voice are much too valuable to us."

Mr. Tope is again highly entertaining, and, having fallen into respectful convulsions of laughter, subsides into a deferen-

tial murmur, importing that surely any gentleman would deem 154 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

it a pleasure and an honor to have his neck broken, in return for such a compliment from such a source.

" I will take it upon myself, sir," observes Sapsea, loftily,

" to answer for Mr. Jasper's neck. I will tell Durdles to bo

careful of it. He will mind what / say. How is it at present endangered ? " he inquires, looking about him with magnifi- cent patronage. " Only by my making a moonlight expedition with Durdles among the tombs, vaults, towers, and ruins," returns Jasper. " You remember suggesting when you brought us together,

that, as a lover of the picturesque, it might be worth my while?" " " / remember ! replies the auctioneer. And the solemn idiot really believes that he does remember. "Profiting by your hint," pursues Jasper, "I have had some day-rambles with the extraordinary old fellow, and we are to make a moonlight hole-and-corner exploration to-night." " And here he is," says the Dean.

Durdles, with his dinner-bundle in his hand, is indeed beheld slouching towards them. Slouching nearer, and per-

ceiving the Dean, he pulls off his hat, and is slouching away with it under his arm, when Mr. Sapsea stops him. " Mind you take care of my friend," is the injunction Mr. Sapsea lays upon him.

'* What friend o' yourn is dead ? " asks Durdles. " No orders has come in for any friend o' yourn." '* I mean my live friend, there." " " " Oh ! Him ? says Durdles, He can take care of himself, can Mister Jarsper."

•'^ But do you take care of him too," says Sapsea. Whom Durdles (there being a command in his tone), sur- lily surveys from head to foot. " With submission to his Eeverence the Dean, if you'll mind what concerns you, Mr. Sapsea, Durdles he'll mind what concerns him."

" You're out of temper," says Mr. Sapsea, winking to the A NIGHT WITH DUKDLES. 155

company to observe how smoothly he will manage him. *^ My friend concerns me, and Mr. Jasper is my friend. And you are my friend." '^ Don't you get into a bad habit of boasting," retorts Dur-

dles, with a grave cautionary nod. " It'll grow upon you." " You are out of temper," says Sapsea again ; reddening, but again winking to the company.

^^ ^' I own to it," returns Durdles ; I don't like liberties." Mr. Sapsea winks a third wink to the company, as who should say: "I think you will agree with me that I have " settled his business ; and stalks out of the controversy. Durdles then gives the Dean a good evening, and adding, as he puts his hat on, " You'll find me at home. Mister Jarsper,

as agreed, when you want me ; I'm a going home to clean myself," soon slouches out of sight. This going home to clean himself is one of the man's incomprehensible compromises with

inexorable facts ; he, and his hat, and his boots, and his clothes, never showing any trace of cleaning, but being uniformly in one condition of dust and grit. The lamplighter now dotting the quiet Close with specks of light, and running at a great rate up and down his little ladder with that object—his little ladder under the sacred shadow of whose inconvenience generations had grown up, and which all Cloisterham would have stood aghast at the idea of abolishing —the Dean withdraws to his dinner, Mr. Tope to his tea, and Mr. Jasper to his piano. There, with no light but that of the fire, he sits chanting choir-music in a low and beautiful voice, for two or three hours ; in short, until it has been for some time dark, and the moon is about to rise. Then, he closes his piano softly, softly changes his coat for a pea-jacket with a goodly wicker-cased bottle in its largest pocket, and, putting on a low-crowned flap-brimmed hat, goes softly out. Why does he move so softly to-night ? No outward reason is apparent for it. Can there be any sympathetic reason crouching darkly within him ? Repairing to Durdles's unfinished house, or hole in the city ;

156 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. wall, and seeing a light within it, he softly picks his course among the gravestones, monuments, and stony lumber of the yard, already touched here and there, sidewise, by the rising moon. The two journeymen have left their two great saws sticking in their blocks of stone ; and two skeleton journeymen out of the Dance of Death might be grinning in the shadow of their sheltering sentry-boxes, about to slash away at cutting out the gravestones of the next two people destined to die in Cloisterham. Likely enough, the two think little of that now, being alive, and perhaps merry. Curious, to make a guess at the two ; —or say at one of the two ! "Ho! Durdles!'' The light moves, and he appears with it at the door. He would seem to have been "cleaning himself" with the aid of a bottle, jug, and tumbler ; for no other cleansing instruments are visible in the bare brick room with rafters overhead and no plastered ceiling, into which he shows his visitor. " " Are you ready ? " I am ready. Mister Jars per. Let the old uns come out if they dare, when we go among their tombs. My spirits is ready for 'em." " *• Do you mean animal spirits, or ardent ? "The one's the t'other," answers Durdles, "and I mean 'em both." He takes a lantern from a hook, puts a match or two in his pocket wherewith to light it, should there be need, and they go out together, dinner-bundle and all.

Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition ! That Durdlea himself, who is always prowling among old graves and ruins, like a Ghoule—that he should be stealing forth to climb, and dive, and wander without an object, is nothing extraordinary but that the Choir Master or anyone else should hold it worth his while to be with him, and to study moonlight effects in such company, is another affair. Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition therefore ! " 'Ware that there mound by the yard-gate, Mister Jars- per." A NIGHT WITH DUKDLES. 157

" " I see it. What is it ? '' Lime."

Mr. Jasper stops, and waits for him to come up, for he lags " hehind. " What you call quick-lime ? " ! " Ay " says Durdles ; quick enough to eat your hoots. With a little handy stirring, quick enough to eat your hones." They go on, presently passing the red windows of the Trav- ellers' Twopenny, and emerging into the clear moonlight of the Monks' Vineyard. This crossed, they come to Minor

Canon Corner : of which the greater part lies in shadow until the moon shall rise higher in the sky. The sound of a closing house-door strikes their ears, and two men come out. These are Mr. Crisparkle and Neville. Jasper, with a strange and sudden smile upon his face, lays the palm of his hand upon the hreast of Durdles, stopping him where he stands.

At that end of Minor Canon Corner the shadow is profound

in the existing state of the light : at that end, too, there is a piece of old dwarf wall, hreast high, the only remaining

boundary of what was once a garden, but is now the thoroughfare. Jasper and Durdles would have turned this wall in

another instant ; but, stopping so short, stand behind it. " Those two are only sauntering," Jasper whispers ; " they will go out into the moonlight soon. Let us keep quiet here, or they will detain us, or want to join us, or what not." Durdles nods assent, and falls to munching some fragments from his bundle. Jasper folds his arms upon the top of the wall, and, with his chin resting on them, watches. He takes no note whatever of the Minor Canon, but watches Seville, as

though his eyes were at the trigger of a loaded rifle, and he had covered him, and were going to fire. A sense of destructive power is so expressed in his face, that even Durdles pauses in his munching, and looks at him, with an un- munched something in his cheek.

Meanwhile Mr. Crisparkle and !N"eville walk to and fro, quietly talking together. What they say, cannot be heard ;:

158 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

consecutively ; but Mr. Jasper has already distinguished his own name more than once.

" This is the first day of the week," Mr. Crisparkle can be

^' distinctly heard to observe, as they turn back ; and the last day of the week is Christmas Eve."

" You may be certain of me, sir." The echoes were favorable at those points, but as the two approach, the sound of their talking becomes confused again.

The word "Confidence," shattered by the echoes, but still

capable of being pieced together, is uttered by Mr. Crisparkle.

As they draw still nearer, this fragment of a reply is heard " Not deserved yet, but shall be, sir." As they turn away again, Jasper again hears his own name, in connection with " the words from Mr. Crisparkle : Eemember that I said I answered for you confidently." Then the sound of their talk

becomes confused again ; they halting for a little while, and some earnest action on the part of Neville succeeding. When they move once more, Mr. Crisparkle is seen to look up at the sky, and to point before him. Then they slowly disappear passing out into the moonlight at the opposite end of the Cor- ner.

It is not until they are gone, that Mr. Jasper moves. But

then he turns to Durdles, and bursts into a fit of laughter.

Durdles, who still has that suspended something in his cheek,

and who sees nothing to laugh at, stares at him until Mr. Jasper lays his face down on hip arms to have his laugh out.

Then Durdles bolts the something, as if desperately resigning himself to indigestion.

Among these secluded nooks there is very little stir or

movement after dark. There is little enough in the high-tide

of the day, but there is next to none at night. Besides that

the cheerfully frequented High Street lies nearly parallel to

the spot (the old Cathedral rising between the two), and is the

natural channel in which the Cloisterham traffic flows, a certain awful hush pervades the ancient pile, the cloisters, and the churchyard, after dark, which not many people care to en- A NIGHT WITH DURDLES. 159 counter. Ask the first hundred citizens of Cloisterham, met at random in the streets at noon, if they believed in Ghosts,

they would tell you no ; but put the»m to choose at night between these eerie Precincts and the thoroughfare of shops, and you would find that ninety-nine declared for the longer round and the more frequented way. The cause of this is not to be found in any local superstition that attaches to the Precincts —albeit a mysterious lady, with a child in her arms and a rope dangling from her neck, has been seen flitting about there by sundry witnesses as intangible as herself—but it is to be sought in the innate shrinking of dust with the breath of life

in it, from dust out of which the breath of life has passed ; also, in the widely diffused, and almost as widely unacknowledged, " reflection : If the dead do, under any circumstances, become visible to the living, these are such likely surroundings for the purpose that I, the living, will get out of them as soon, as I can." Hence, when Mr. Jasper and Durdles pause to glance around them, before descending into the crypt by a small side door of which the latter has a key, the whole expanse of moonlight in their view is utterly deserted. One might fancy that the tide of life was stemmed by Mr. Jasper's own Gate- house. The murmur of the tide is heard beyond ; but no wave passes the archway, over which his lamp burns red behind his curtain, as if the building were a Lighthouse. They enter, locking themselves in, descend the rugged steps, and are down in the Crypt. The lantern is not wanted, for the moonlight strikes in at the groined windows, bare of glass, the broken frames for which cast patterns on the ground. The heavy pillars which support the roof engender masses of black shade, but between them there are lanes of light. Up and down these lanes, they walk, Durdles discoursing of the " old uns " he yet counts on disinterring, and slapping a wall, in which he considers " a whole family on 'em " to be stoned and earthed up, just as if he were a familiar friend of the family. The taciturnity of Durdles is for the time overcome " "

160 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

by Mr. Jasper's wicker bottle, which circulates freely ; —in the sense, that is to say, that its contents enter freely into Mr. Durdles's circulation, while Mr. Jasper only rinses his mouth once, and casts forth the rinsing. They are to ascend the great Tower. On the steps by which they rise to the Cathedral, Durdles pauses for new store of breath. The steps are very dark, but out of the darkness they can see the lanes of light they have traversed. Durdles seats himself upon a step. Mr. Jasper seats himself upon another. The odor from the wicker bottle (which has somehow passed into T)urdles's keeping), soon intimates that the

cork has been taken out ; but this is not ascertainable through the sense of sight, since neither can descry the other. And yet, in talking, they turn to one another, as though their faces could commune together.

" This is good stuff. Mister Jarsper !

" It is very good stuff, I hope. I bought it on purpose." " They don't show, you see, the old una don't, Mister Jars- per !

" It would be a more confused world than it is, if they could."

" Well, it would lead towards a mixing of things," Durdles acquiesces : pausing on the remark, as if the idea of ghosts had not previously presented itself to him in a merely inconvenient light, domestically, or chronologically. " But do you think there may be Ghosts of other things, though not of men " and women ? " What things ? Flower-beds and watering-pots ? Horses and harness ? " " No. Sounds." " What sounds ? " " Cries." " " What cries do you mean ? Chairs to mend ?

"No. I mean screeches. Now, I'll tell you, Mister Jars- per. Wait a bit till I put the bottle right." Here the cork is evidently taken out again, and replaced again. " There 1 A NIGHT WITH DUKDLES. 101

Now it's right ! This time last year, only a few days later, I happened to have been doing what was correct by the season, in the way of giving it the welcome it had a right to expect, when them townboys set on me at their worst. At length I gave 'em the slip, and turned in here. And here I fell asleep^ And what woke me ? The ghost of a cry. The ghost of one terrific shriek, which shriek was followed by the ghost of the howl of a dog : a long dismal woeful howl, such as a dog gives when a person's dead. That was my last Christmas Eve."

" What do you mean ? " is the very abrupt, and, one might say, fierce retort. " I mean that I made inquiries everywhere about, and that no living ears but mine heard either that cry or that howl.

So I say they was both ghosts ; though why they came to me, I've never made out." " I thought you were another kind of a man," says Jasper, scornfully. "So I thought, myself," answers Durdles with his usual " composure ; and yet I was picked out for it." Jasper had risen suddenly, when he asked him what he " meant, and he now says, Come ; we shall freeze here ; lead the way."

Durdles complies, not *over-steadily ; opens the door at the top of the steps with the key he has already used ; and so emerges on the Cathedral level, in a passage at the side of the chancel. Here, the moonlight is so very bright again that the colors of the nearest stained-glass window are thrown upon their faces. The appearance of the unconscious Dur- dles, holding the door open for his companion to follow, as if from the grave, is ghastly enough, with a purple band across his face, and a yellow splash upon his brow ; but he bears the close scrutiny of his companion in an insensible way, although it is prolonged while the latter fumbles among his pockets for a key confided to him that will open an iron gate so to enable them to pass to the staircase of the great tower. " That and the bottle are enough for you to carry," he says, 10 162 THE MYSTERY OP EDWIN DROOD.

" giving it to Durdles ; hand your bundle to me ; I am younger and longer-winded than you." Durdles hesitates for a mo- preference to ment between bundle and bottle ; but gives the the bottle as being by far the better company, and consigns the dry weight to his fellow-explorer. Then they go up the winding staircase of the great tower, toilsomely, turning and turning, and lowering their heads to avoid the stairs above, or the rough stone pivot around which they twist. Durdles has lighted his lantern, by drawing from the cold hard wall a spark of that mysterious fire which lurks in everything, and, guided by this speck, they clamber up among the cobwebs and the dust. Their way lies through strange places. Twice or thrice they emerge into level low- arched galleries, whence they can look down into the moonlit nave ; and where Durdles, waving his lantern, shows the dim angels^ heads upon the corbels of the roof, seeming to watch their progress. Anon, they turn into narrower and steeper staircases, and the night air begins to blow upon them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or frightened rook precedes the heavy beating of wings in a confined space, and the beating down of dust and straws upon their heads. At last, leaving their light behind a stair—for it blows fresh up here—they look down on Cloisterham, fair to see in the moonlight ; its ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead, at the tower's

base ; its moss-softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick houses of the living, clustered beyond ; its river winding down from the mist on the horizon, as though that were its source, and already

heaving with a restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea.

Once again, an unaccountable expedition this ! Jasper (always moving softly with no visible reason) contemplates the

scene, and especially that stillest part of it which the Cathedral overshadows. But he contemplates Durdles quite as curiously,

and Durdles is by times conscious of his watchful eyes.

Only by times, because Durdles is growing drowsy. As aeronauts lighten the load they carry, when they wish to rise, A NIGHT WITH DUKDLES. 163

similarly Durdles has lightened the wicker bottle in coming up. Snatches of sleep surprise him on his legs, and stop him in his talk. A mild fit of calenture seizes him, in which he deems that the ground, so far below, is on a level with the tower, and

would as lief walk off the tower into the air as not. Such is his state when they begin to come down. And as aeronauts make themselves heavier when they wish to descend, similarly Durdles charges himself with more liquid from the wicker bottle, that he may come down the better. The iron gate attained and locked—but not before Durdles has tumbled twice, and cut an eyebrow open once—they descend into the crypt again, with the intent of issuing forth as they entered. But, while returning among those lanes of light, Durdles becomes so very uncertain, both of foot and speech, that he half drops, half throwns himself down, by one of the heavy pillars, scarcely less heavy than itself, and indistinctly appeals to his companion for forty winks of a second each.

" If you will have it so, or must have it so," replies Jasper, *^ I'll not leave you here. Take them, while I walk to and fro."

Durdles is asleep at once ; and in his sleep he dreams a dream. It is not much of a dream, considering the vast extent of the domains of dreamland, and their wonderful productions; it is only remarkable for being unusually restless, and unusually real. He dreams of lying there, asleep, and yet counting his companion's footsteps as he walks to and fro. He dreams that the footsteps die away into distance of time and of space, and that something touches him, and that something falls from his hand. Then something clinks and gropes about, and he dreams that he is alone for so long a time, that the lanes of light take new directions as the moon advances in her course. Prom succeeding unconsciousness, he passes into a dream of slow uneasiness from cold ; and painfully awakes to a perception of the lanes of light—really changed, much as he had dreamed—and Jasper walking among them, beating his hands and feet. —

164 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

"Holloa!" Durdles cries out, unmeaningly alarmed. " Awake at last ? '' says Jasper, coming up to him. " Do " you know that your forties have stretched into thousands ? "No." " They have though." « What's the time ? " !" " Hark ! The hells are going in the Tower They strike four quarters, and then the great hell strikes. " " " Two ! cries Durdles, scrambling up ; why didn't you " try to wake me, Mister Jarsper ?

" I did. I might as well have tried to wake the dead : your own family of dead, up in the corner there." " " Did you touch me ? " Touch you ? Yes. Shook you." As Durdles recalls that touching something in his dream, he looks down on the pavement, and sees the key of the crypt door lying close to where he himself lay.

" I dropped you, did I ? " he says, picking it up, and recall- ing that part of his dream. As he gathers himself again into an upright position, or into a position as nearly upright as he ever maintains, he is again conscious of being watched by his companion. " Well ? " says Jasper, smiliug. " Are you quite ready ? Pray don't hurry." "Let me get my bundle right, Mister Jarsper, and I'm with you."

As he ties it afresh, he is once more conscious that he is very narrowly observed. " What do you suspect me of, Mister Jarsper ? " he asks, with drunken displeasure. " Let them as has any suspicions of Durdles, name 'em."

" I've no suspicions of you, my good Mr. Durdles ; but I have suspicions that my bottle was filled with something stiffer than either of us supposed. And I also have suspicions," Jab-

ber adds, taking it from the pavement and turning it bottom

upward, " that it's empty." ! : —"

A NIGHT WITH DURDLES. 165

Durdles condescends to laugh at this. Continuing to chuckle when his laugh is over, as though remonstrant with himself on his drinking powers, he rolls to the door and unlocks it. They both pass out, and Durdles relocks it, and pockets his key. " A thousand thanks for a curious and interesting night,'' " says Jasper, giving him his hand ; you can make your own " way home ? " " I should think so ! answers Durdles. " If you was to offer Durdles the affront to show him his way home, he wouldn't go home.

Durdles wouldn^t go home till morning, And then Durdles wouldn't go home,

Durdles wouldn't." This, with the utmost defiance. " Good-night, then."

*^ Good-night, Mister Jarsper."

Each is turning his own way, when a sharp whistle rends the silence, and the jargon is yelped out

" Widdy widdy wen I—ket—ches—Im—out—ar—ter—ten. Widdy widdy wy! Then—E—don't—go—then—I—shy Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning !

Instantly afterwards, a rapid fire of stones rattles at the Cath- edral wall, and the hideous small boy is beheld opposite, dancing in the moonlight.

" ! What ! Is that baby-devil on the watch there " cries Jas- per in a fury : so quickly roused, and so violent, that he seems an older devil himself. " I shall shed the blood of that Imp-

! ish wretch ! I know I shall do it " Eegardless of the fire, though it hits him more than once, he rushes at Deputy, col- lars him, and tries to bring him across. But Deputy is not to be so easily brought across. With a diabolical insight into the strongest part of his position, he is no sooner taken by the throat than he curls up his legs, forces his assailant to hang him, as it were, and gurgles in his throat, and screws his body, — : " ' "

160 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. and twists, as already undergoing the first agonies of strangu- lation. There is nothing for it but to drop him. He instantly gets himself together, backs over to Durdles, and cries to his assailant, gnashing the great gap in front of his mouth with rage and malice

" ni blind yer, s'elp me ! I'll stone yer eyes out, s'elp me I

! If I don't have yer e^' esight, bellows me " At the same time dodging behind Durdles, and snarling at Jasper, now from this side of him, and now from that : prepared, if pounced upon, to dart away in all manner of curvilinear directions, and, if run

*^ down after all, to grovel in the dust, and cry : Now, hit me " when I'm down ! Do it ! " Don't hurt the boy, Mister Jarsper," urges Durdles, shield- ing him. " Eecollect yourself.'^

" He fallowed us to-night, when we first came here ! " " Yer lie, I didn't 1 replies Deputy, in his one form of polite contradiction. " " He has been prowling near us ever since !

" Yer lie, I haven't," returns Deputy. " I'd only jist come out for my 'elth when I see you two a coming out of the Kin- freederel. If

" I—ket—ches~Im—out—ar—ter—ten,'

(with the usual rhythm and dance, though dodging behina " Durdles), " it ain't mt/ fault, is it ? " Take him home, then," retorts Jasper, ferociously, though with a strong check upon himself, " and let my eyes be rid of the sight of you ! Deputy, with another sharp whistle, at once expressing his relief, and his commencement of a milder stoning of Mr. Dur- dles, begins stoning that respectable gentleman home, as if he were a reluctant ox. Mr. Jasper goes to his Gate House, brooding. And thus, as everything comes to an end, the unaccountable expedition comes to an end—for the time. ;

BOTH AT THEIR BEST. 167

CHAPTER XIIL

BOTH AT THEIR BEST.

Miss Twinkleton's establishment was about to undergo a serene hush. The Christmas recess was at hand. What had once, and at no remote period been called, even by the erudite Miss Twinkleton herself, "the half;" but what was now called, as being more elegant and more strictly collegiate " the term," would expire to-morrow. A noticeable relaxation of discipline had for some few days pervaded the Nuns' House. Club suppers had occurred in the bedrooms, and a dressed tongue had been carved with a pair of scissors, and handed round with the curling-tongs. Portions of marmalade had likewise been distributed on a service of plates constructed of curlpaper; and cowslip wine had been quaffed from the

small squat measuring glass in which little Eickitts (a junior of weakly constitution), took her steel drops daily. The housemaids had been bribed with various fragments of riband, and sundry pairs of shoes, more or less down at heel, to make

no mention of crumbs in the beds ; the airiest costumes had been worn on these festive occasions; and the daring Miss Ferdinand had even surprised the company with a sprightly solo on the comb-and-curlpaper, until suffocated in her own pillow by two flowing-haired executioners. Nor were these the only tokens of dispersal. Boxes appeared in the bedrooms (where they were capital at other times), and a surprising amount of packing took place, out of

all proportion to the amount packed. Largesse, in the form of odds and ends of cold cream and pomatum, and also of hairpins, was freely distributed among the attendants. On charges of inviolable secresy, confidences were interchanged respecting golden youth of England expected to call, " at

home," on the first opportunity. Miss Giggles, (deficient in sentiment) did indeed profess that she, for her part, acknowl- 168 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIK DROOD.

edged such homage by making faces at the golden youth ; hut this young lady was outvoted by an immense majority. On the last night before a recess, it was always expressly made a point of honor that nobody should go to sleep, and that Ghosts should be encouraged by all possible means. This compact invariably broke down, and all the young ladies went to sleep very soon, and got up very early. The concluding ceremony came off at twelve o'clock on the

day of departure ; when Miss Twinkleton, supported by Mrs. Tisher, held a Drawing-Eoom in her own apartment (the globes already covered with brown holland), where glasses of white wine, and plates of cut pound-cake were discovered on the table. Miss Twinkleton then said. Ladies, another re- volving year had brought us round to that festive period at which the first feelings of our nature bounded in our Miss Twinkleton was annually going to add " bosoms," but annually stopped on the brink of that expression, and substi- " re- tuted hearts." Hearts ; our hearts. Hem ! Again a volving year, ladies, had brought us to a pause in our studies —let us hope our greatly advanced studies—and, like the mar- iner in his bark, the warrior in his tent, the captive in his dungebn, and the traveller in his various conveyances, we yearned for home. Did we say, on such an occasion, in the opening words of Mr. Addison's impressive tragedy :

" The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, " The great, th' important day ?

Not so. From horizon to zenith all was couleur de rose, for all was redolent of our relations and friends. Might we find them prospering as we expected ; might they find us prospering as they expected ! Ladies, we would now, with our love to one another, wish one another good-bye, and happiness, until we met again. And when the time should come for our resumption of those pursuits which (here a general depression set in all round), pursuits which, pursuits which ; —then let us ever remember what was said by the Spartan General, in BOTH AT THEIR BEST. 169 words too trite for repetition, at the battle it were superfluous to specify. The handmaidens of the establishment, in their best caps, then handed the trays, and the young ladies sipped and crumbled, and the bespoken coaches began to choke the street. Then, leave-taking was not long about, and Miss Twinkleton, in saluting each young lady's cheek, confided to her an exceedingly neat letter, addressed to her next friend at law, " with Miss Twinkleton's best compliments " in the corner. This missive she handed with an air as if it had not the least connection with the bill, but were something in the nature of a delicate and joyful surprise. So many times had Eosa seen such dispersals, and so very little did she know of any other Home, that she was contented to remain where she was, and was even better contented than ever before, having her latest friend with her. And yet her latest friendship had a blank place in it of which she could not fail to be sensible. Helena Landless, having been a party to her brother's revelation about Eosa, and having entered into that compact of silence with Mr. Crisparkle, shrank from any allusion to Edwin Drood's name. Whj'- she so avoided it, was mysterious to Eosa, but she perfectly perceived the fact. But for the fact, she might have relieved her own little perplexed heart of some of its doubts and hesitations, by taking Helena into her confidence. As it was, she had no such vent : she could only ponder on her own difficulties, and wonder more and more why this avoidance of Edwin's name should last, now that she knew—for so much Helena had told her—that a good understanding was to be re-established between the two young men, when Edwin came down. It would have made a pretty picture, so many pretty girls kissing Eosa in the cold porch of the Nuns' House, and that sunny little creature peeping out of it (unconscious of sly faces carved on spout and gable peeping at her), and waving farewells to the departing coaches, as if she represented the spirit of rosy youth abiding in the place to keep it bright and "

170 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. warm in its desertion. The hoarse High street became musical with the cry, in various silvery voices, " Good-bye, Rose- bud, Darling 1 " and the e^gy of Mr. Sapsea's father over the

opposite doorway, seemed to say to mankind : " Gentlemen, favor me with your attention to this charming little last lot left behind, and bid with a spirit worthy of the occasion ! Then the staid street, so unwontedly sparkling, youthful, and fresh for a few rippling moments, ran dry, and Cloisterham was itself again. If Rosebud in her bower oow waited Edwin Drood's coming with an uneasy heart, Edwin for his part was uneasy too. With far less force of purpose in his composition than the childish beauty, crowned by acclamation fairy queen of Miss Twinkleton's establishment, he had a conscience, and Mr.

Grewgious had pricked it. That gentleman's steady convic- tions of what was right and what was wrong in such a case as his, were neither to be frowned aside, nor laughed aside. They would not be moved. But for the dinner in Staple Inn, and but for the ring he carried in the breast-pocket of his coat, he would have drifted into their wedding-day without another pause for real thought, loosely trusting that all would go well, left alone. But that serious putting him on his truth to the living and the dead had brought him to a check. He must

either give the ring to Rosa, or he must take it back. Once put into this narrowed way of action, it was curious that he began to consider Rosa's claims upon him more unselfishly than he had ever considered them before, and began to be less

sure of himself than he had ever been in all his easy-going days. " I will be guided by what she says, and by how we get on," was his decision, walking from the Gate House to the Nuns'

House. "Whatever comes of it, I will bear his words in mind, and try to be true to the living and the dead." Rosa was dressed for walking. She expected him. It was a bright frosty day, and Miss Twinkleton had already gra-

ciously sanctioned fresh air. Thus they got out together be- " : "

BOTH AT THEIK BEST. 171 fore it became necessary for either Miss Twinkleton, or the Deputy High Priest, Mrs. Tisher, to lay even so much as one of those usual offerings on the shrine of Propriety. " My dear Eddy," said Bosa, when they had turned out of the High Street, and had got among the quiet walks in the

'^ neighborhood of the Cathedral and the river : I want to say something very serious to you. I have been thinking about it for a long, long time." " I want to be serious with you too, Eosa dear. I mean to be serious and earnest." " Thank you, Eddy. And you will not think me unkind because I begin, will you ? You will not think I speak for myself only, because I speak first ? That would not be " generous; would it ? And I know you are generous ! He said, " I hope I am not ungenerous to you, Eosa." He called her Pussy no more. Kever again.

" And there is no fear," pursued Eosa, " of our quarrelling, is there ? Because, Eddy," clasping her hand on his arm, " " we have so much reason to be very lenient to each other ! « We will be, Eosa."

" That's a dear good boy ! Eddy, let us be courageous. Let us change to brother and sister from this day forth." " " Never be husband and wife ? " Never ! Neither spoke again for a little while. But after that pause he said, with some effort " Of course I know that this has been in both our minds, Eosa, and of course I am in honor bound to confess freely that ft does not originate with you." "No, nor with you, dear," she returned, with pathetic earnestness. " It has sprung up between us. You are not truly nappy in our engagement ; I am not truly happy in it. O, " [ am so sorry, so sorry ! And there she broke into tears. " I am deeply sorry too, Eosa. Deeply sorry for you."

" ! And I for you, poor boy ! And I for you This pure young feeling, this gentle and forbearing feeling 172 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. of each towards the other, brought with it its reward in a softening light that seemed to shine on their position. The relations between them did not look wilful, or capricious, or a failure, in such a light; they became elevated into something more self-denying, honorable, affectionate, and true. " If we knew yesterday," said Hosa, as she dried her eyes, " and we did know yesterday, and on many, many yesterdaj^s, that we were far from right together in those relations which were not of our own choosing, what better could we do to-day than change them ? It is natural that we should be sorry, and you see how sorry we both are ; but how much better to be " sorrj^ now than then ! "When, Eosa?"

"When it would be too late. And then we should be angry, besides."

Another silence fell upon them. " And you know," said Eosa, innocently, " you couldn't

like me then ; and you can always like me now, for I shall not be a drag upon you, or a worry to you. And I can always like you now, and your sister will not tease or trifle with you. I often did when I was not your sister, and I beg your pardon for it."

" Don't let us come to that^ Eosa ; or I shall want more pardoning than I like to think of." *^No, indeed, Eddy; you are too hard, my generous boy, upon yourself. Let us sit down, brother, on these ruins, and

let me tell you how it was with us. I think I know, for 1

have considered about it very much since you were here, last

time. You liked me, didn't you ? You thought I was f« nice

little thing?" " Everybody thinks that, Eosa." " Do they ? " She knitted her brow musingly for a mo-

ment, and then flashed out with the bright little induction ;

" Well ; but say they do. Surely it was not enough that you " should think of me, only as other people did ; now, was it ? The point was not to be got over. It was not enough. BOTH AT THEIR BEST. 173

" And that is just what I mean ; that is just how it was with us," said Eosa. " You liked me very well, and you had grown used to me, and had grown used to the idea of our being married. You accepted the situation as an inevitable kind of thing, didn't you ? It was to be, you thought, and " why discuss or dispute it ? It was new and strange to him to have himself presented to himself so clearly, in a glass of her holding up. He had always patronized her, in his superiority to her share of woman's wit. Was that but another instance of something radically amiss in the terms on which they had been gliding towards a life-long bondage ?

" All this that I say of you, is true of me as well, Eddy.

Unless it was, I might not be bold enough to say it. Only, the difference between us was, that by little and little there crept into my mind a habit of thinking about it, instead of dismissing it. My life is not so busy as yours, you see, and I have not so many things to think of. So I thought about it very much, and I cried about it very much too (though that

was not your fault, poor boy) ; when all at once my guardian came down, to prepare for my leaving the Nuns' House. I tried to hint to him that I was not quite settled in my mind, but I hesitated and failed, and he didn't understand me. But he is a good, good man. And he put before me so kindly, and yet so strongly, how seriously we ought to consider, in our circumstances, that I resolved to speak to you the next moment we were alone and grave. And if I seemed to come to it easily just now, because I came to it all at once, don't think it was so really, Eddy, for 0, it was very, very hard, and 0, I am " very, very sorrj^ ! Her full heart broke into tears again. He put his arm about her waist, and they walked by the river side together.

'' Your guardian has spoken to me too, Eosa dear. I saw him before I left London.^' His right hand was in his breast, seeking the ring ; but he checked it as he thought : " If I am " to take it back, why should I tell her of it ? " m THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" And that made you more serious about it, didn't it, Eddy ? And if I had not spoken to you, as I have, you would have spoken to me ? I hope you can tell me so ? I don't like it to be all my doing, though it is so much better for us."

" Yes, I should have spoken ; I should have put everything before you ; I came intending to do it. But I never could have spoken to you as you have spoken to me, E-osa." " Don't say you m^an so coldly or unkindly, Eddy, please, if you can help it." " I mean so sensibly and delicately, so wisely and affectionately." " " That's my dear brother ! She kissed his hand in a little rapture. " The dear girls will be dreadfully disappointed," added E-osa, laughing, with the dew-drops glistening in her " bright eyes. " They have looked forward to it so, poor pets ! " Ah ! But I fear it will be a worse disappointment to Jack," said Edwin Drood, with a start. " I never thought of

Jack ! Her swift and intent look at him as he said the words, could no more be recalled than a flash of lightning can. But it appeared as though she would have instantly recalled it, if she could ; for she looked down, confused, and breathed quickly. " " You don't doubt it's being a blow to Jack, Eosa ?

She merely replied, and that, evasively and hurriedly : Why should she ? She had not thought about it. He seemed, to her, to have so little to do with it. " My dear child ! Can you suppose that any one so wrapped up in another—Mrs. Tope's expression : not mine—as Jack is in me, could fail to be struck all of a heap by such a sudden and complete change in my life '/ I say sudden, because it will be sudden to him, you know."

She nodded twice or thrice, and her lips parted as if she would have assented. But she uttered no sound, and her breathing was no slower.

" How shall I tell Jack ! " said Edwin, ruminating. If he " "

BOTH AT THEIE BEST. 175

had been less occupied with the thought, he must have seen her singular emotion. " I never thought of Jack. It must be broken to him, before the town crier knows it. I dine with the dear follow to-morrow and next day—Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—but it would never do to spoil his feast days. He always worries about me, and moddley-coddleys in the

merest trifles. The news is sure to overset him. How on

earth shall thig be broken to Jack ! " He must be told, I suppose ? " said Bosa.

<^ My dear Eosa ! Who ought to be in our confidence, if " not Jack ? a My guardian promised to come down, if I should write and ask him. I am going to do so. Would you like to leave " it to him ? "A bright idea!" cried Edwin. "The other trustee. Nothing more natural. He comes down, he goes to Jack, he relates what we have agreed upon, and he states our case better than we could. He has already spoken feelingly to you, he has abeady spoken feelingly to me, and he'll put the whole

thing feelingly to Jack. That's it ! I am not a coward, Eosa,

but to tell you a secret, I am a little afraid of Jack." " " No, no ! You are not afraid of him ? cried Eosa, turning white and clasping her hands. " Why, sister Eosa, sister Eosa, what do you see from the turret ? " said Edwin, rallying her. " My dear girl ! " You frightened me." " Most unintentionally, but I am as sorry as if I had meant to do it. Could you possibly suppose for a moment, from any loose way of speaking of mine, that I was literally afraid of the dear fond fellow ? What I mean is, that he is subject to a kind of paroxysm, or fit—I saw him in it once—and I don't know but that so great a surprise, coming upon him direct from me whom he is so wrapped up in, might bring it on perhaps. Which—and this is the secret I was going to tell you —is another reason for your guardian's making the communication. He is so steady, precise, and exact, that he will talk ;

176 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Jack's thoughts into shape, in no time : whereas with me

Jack is always impulsive and hurried, and, I may say, almost womanish." Rosa seemed convinced. Perhaps from her own very different point of view of " Jack," she felt comforted and protected by the interposition of Mr. Grewgious between herself and him. And now, Edwin Drood's right hand closed again upon the ring in its little case, and again was checked by the considera- " tion : It is certain, now, that I am to give it back to him then why should I tell her of it ? " That pretty sympathetic nature which could be so sorry for him in the blight of their childish hopes of happiness together, and could so quietly find itself alone in a new world to weave fresh wreaths of' such flowers as it might prove to bear, the old world's flowers being withered, would be grieved by those sorrowful jewels ; and to what purpose ? Why should it be ? They were but a sign of broken joys and baseless projects ; in their very beauty, they were (as the unlikeliest of men had said), almost a cruel satire on the loves, hopes, plans, of humanity, which are able to forecast nothing, and are so much brittle dust. Let them be. He would restore them to her guardian when he came down ; he in his turn would restore them to the cabinet from

which he had unwillingly taken them ; and there, like old letters or old vows, or other records of old aspirations come to nothing, they would be disregarded, until, being valuable, they were sold into circulation again, to repeat their former round. Let them be. Let them lie unspoken of, in his breast. However distinctly or indistinctly he entertained these thoughts, he arrived at the conclusion. Let them be. Among the mighty store of wonderful chains that are for ever forging day and night, in the vast iron-works of time and circumstance, there was one chain forged in the moment of that small conclusion, riveted to the foundations of heaven and earth, and gifted with invincible force to hold and drag. BOTH AT THEIR BEST. 177

They walked on hy the river. They began to speak of their separate plans. He would quicken his departure from Eng- land, and she would remain where she was, at least as long as Helena remained. The poor dear girls should have their disappointment broken to them gently, and, as the first preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in by Rosa, even in advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious. It should be made clear in all quarters that she and Edwin were the best of friends. There had never been so serene an understanding between them since they were first affianced. And

yet there was one reservation on each side ; on hers, that she intended through her guardian to withdraw herself immediately from the tuition of her music-master ; on his, that he did already entertain some wandering speculations whether it might ever come to pass that he would know more of Miss Landless. The bright frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before them, as their walk drew to a close.

The moaning water cast its seaweed duskily at their feet, when

they turned to leave its. margin ; and the rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the darkening air. " I will prepare Jack for my flitting soon,'' said Edwin, in a low voice, " and I will but see your guardian when he comes, then go before they speak together. It will be better done " without my being by. Don't you think so ? '^Yes." " " We know we have done right, Rosa ? « Yes." " " We know we are better so, even now ?

" And shall be far, far better so, by-and-bye."

Still, there was that lingering tenderness in their hearts towards the old position they were relinquishing, that they prolonged their parting. When they came among the elm trees by the cathedral, where they had last sat together, they stopped, as by consent, and Rosa raised her face to his, as she 11 " "

IIH THE MYSTERY OP EDWIN DROOD. had never raised it in the old days ; —for they were old already. " " God bless you, dear ! Good-bye ! " " God bless you, dear ! Good-bye ! They kissed each other, fervently. "Now, please take me home, Eddy, and let me be by myself." " Don't look round, Rosa," he cautioned her, as he drew her arm through his, and led her away. " Didn't you see Jack?" " " No ! Where ? ''Under the trees. He saw us, as we took leave of each other. Poor fellow ! he little thinks we have parted. This will be a blow to him, I am much afraid ! She hurried on, without resting, and hurried on until they had passed under the Gate House into the street ; once there, she asked:

" Has he followed us ? You can look without seeming to. " Is he behind ? " No. Yes ! he is ! He has just passed out under the gateway. The dear sympathetic old fellow likes to keep us in sight. I am afraid he will be bitterly disappointed !

She pulled hurriedly at the handle of the hoarse old bell, and the gate soon opened. Before going in, she gave him one last wide wondering look, as if she would have asked him with " " imploring emphasis : ! don't you understand ? And out of that look he vanished from her view.

CHAPTER XIV. WHEN SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN?

Christmas Eve in Cloisterham. A few strange faces in the streets; a few other faces, half strange and half familiar, :

SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? 179 once the faces of Cloisterham children, now the faces of men and women who come back from the outer world at long intervals to find the city wonderfully shrunken in size, as if it had not washed by any means well in the meanwhile. To these, the striking of the Cathedral clock, and the cawing of tJie rooks from the Cathedral tower, are like voices of their nursery time. To such as these, it has happened in their dying hours afar oif, that they have imagined their chamber floor, to be strewn with the autumnal leaves fallen from the elm trees in the close : so have the rustling sounds and fresh scents of their earliest impressions revived, when the circle of their lives was very nearly traced, and the beginning and the end were drawing close together. Seasonable tokens are about. Eed berries shine here and there in the lattices of Minor Canon Corner ; Mr. and Mrs. Tope are daintily sticking sprigs of holly into the carvings and sconces of the cathedral stalls, as if they were sticking them into the coat-buttonholes of the Dean and Chapter. Lavish profu- sion is in the shops : particularly in the articles of currants, raisins, spices, candied peel, and moist sugar. An unusual air

of gallantr}^ and dissipation is abroad ; evinced in an immense bunch of mistletoe hanging in the greengrocer's shop door-

way, and a poor little Twelfth Cake, culminating in the figure of a Harlequin—such a very poor little Twelfth Cake, that one would rather call it a Twenty Fourth-Cake, or a Forty-Eighth Cake—to be raffled for at the pastrycook's, terms one shilling per member. Public amusements are not wanting. The Wax-Work which made so deo^p an impression on the reflec-

tive mind of the Emperor of Cffina is to be seen by particular desire during Christmas Week only, on the premises of the

bankrupt livery-stable keeper up the lane ; and a new grand

comic Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the Theatre the latter heralded by the portrait of Signer Jacksonini the clown, saying *^ How do you do to-morrow ? ^^ quite as large

as life, and almost as miserably. In short, Cloisterham is up

and doing ; though from this description the High School and 180 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Miss Twinkleton's are to be excluded. Erom the former establishment, the scholars have gone home, every one of them in love with one of Miss Twinkleton's young ladies, (who

knows nothing about it) ; and only the handmaidens flutter

occasion all}'' in the windows of the latter. It is noticed, by- the-bye, that these damsels become, within the limits of deco- rum, more skittish when thus entrusted with the concrete representation of their sex, than when dividing the representation with Miss Twinkleton's young ladies. Three are to meet at the Gate House to-night. How does each one of the three get through the day ?

Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the time by Mr. Crisparkle—whose fresh nature is by no means insensible to the charms of a holiday-—reads and writes in his quiet room, with a concentrated air, until it is two hours past noon. He then sets himself to clearing his table, to arranging his books, and to tearing up and burning his stray papers.

He makes a clean sweep of all untidy accumulations, puts all his drawers in order, and leaves no note or scrap of paper un- destroyed, save such memoranda as bear directly on his studies. This done, he turns to his wardrobe, selects a few articles of ordinary wear—among them, change of stout shoes and socks for walking—and packs these in a knapsack. This knapsack is new, and he bought it in the High Street yesterday. He also purchased, at the same time and at the same place, a heavy walking-stick : strong in the handle for the grip of the hand, and iron-shod. He tries this, swings it, poises it, and lays it by, with the knapsack, on a window-seat. By this time his arrangements are complete. He dresses for going out, and is in the act of going—indeed has left his room, and has met the Minor Canon on the staircase, coming out of his bedroom upon the same story—when he turns back again for his walking-stick, thinking he will

carry it now. Mr. Crisparkle, who has paused on the stair-

case, sees it in his hand on his immediately reappearing, takes SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAI:N'? 181 it from hinij and asks him with a smile how he chooses a stick ? "Eeally I don't know that I understand the subject," he answers. '' I chose it for its weight."

*' Much too heavy, Neville ; much too heavy." " " To rest upon in a long walk, sir ? " Eest upon ? " repeats Mr. Crisparkle, throwing himself

" don't rest it merely into pedestrian form. You upon ; you balance with it."

" I shall know better, with practice, sir. I have not lived in a walking country, you know." " True," says Mr. Crisparkle. " Get into a little training, and we will have a few score miles together. I should leave " you nowhere now. Do you come back before dinner?

^•' I think not, as we dine early." Mr. Crisparkle gives him a bright nod and a cheerful good-

bye : expressing (not without intention), absolute confidence and ease.

Neville repairs to the Nuns ' House, and requests that Miss Landless may be informed that her brother is there, by appointment. He waits at the gate, not even crossing the

threshold ; for he is on his parole not to put himself in Rosa's way.

His sister is at least as mindful of the obligation they have taken on themselves, as he can be, and loses not a moment in joining him. They meet affectionately, avoid lingering there, and walk towards the upper inland country. " I am not going to tread upon forbidden ground, Helena," says Neville, when they have walked some distance and are turning; " j^ou will understand in another moment that I cannot help referring to—what shall I say—my infatuation."

" Had you not better avoid it, Neville ? You know that I can hear nothing." " You can hear, my dear, what Mr. Crisparkle has heard, and heard with approval." " I Yes J can hear so much." 182 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" Well, it is this. I am not only unsettled and unhappy myself, but I am conscious of unsettling and interfering with other people. How do I know that, but for my unfortunate presence, you, and—and—the rest of that former party, our engaging guardian excepted, might be dining cheerfully in

Minor Canon Corner to-morrow ? Indeed it probably would be so. I can see too well that I am not high in the old lady's opinion, and it is easy to understand what an irksome clog I must be upon the hospitalities of her orderly house—especially at this time of year—when I must be kept asunder from this person, and there is such a reason for my not being brought into contact with that person, and an unfavorable reputation has preceded me with such another person, and so on. I have put this very gently to Mr. Crisparkle, for you know his self- denying ways ; but still I have put it. What I have laid much greater stress upon at the same time, is, that I am engaged in a miserable struggle with myself, and that a little change and absence may enable me to come through it the better. So, the weather being bright and hard, I am going on a walking expedition, and intend taking myself out of everybody's way (my own included, I hope), to-morrow morning." " " When to come back ? " In a fortnight." " " And going quite alone ?

" I am much better without company, even if there were any one but you to bear me company, my dear Helena." " " Mr. Crisparkle entirely agrees, you say ?

" Entirely. I am not sure but that at first he was inclined to think it rather a moody scheme, and one that might do a brooding mind harm. But we took a moonlight walk, last

Monday night, to talk it over at leisure, and I represented the case to him as it really is. I showed him that I do want to conquer myself, and that, this evening well got over, it is surely better that I should be away from here just now, than here. I could hardly help meeting certain people walking SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? 183 together here, and that could do no good, and is certainly not the way to forget. A fortnight hence, that chance will proba- last bly be over, for the time ; and when it again arises for the time, why, I can again go away. Purther, I really do feel hopeful of bracing exercise and wholesome fatigue. You know tliat Mr. Crisparkle allows sucb things their full weight in the preservation of his own sound mind in his own sound body, and that his just spirit is not likely to maintain one set of natural laws for himself and another for me. He yielded to my view of the matter, when convinced that I was honestly in earnest, and so, with his full consent, I start to-morrow morning. Early enough to be not only out of the streets, but out of hearing of the bells, when the good people go to church."

Helena thinks it over, and thinks well of it. Mr. Crispar- kle doing so, she would do so ; but she does originally, out of her own mind, think well of it, as a healthy project, denoting a sincere endeavor, and an active attempt at self-correction.

She is inclined to pity him, poor fellow, for going away solitary on the great Christmas festival ; but she feels it much more to the purpose to encourage him. And she does encourage him. He will write to her ? He will write to her every alternate day, and tell her all his adventures. Does he send clothes on, in advance of him ? " My dear Helena, no. Travel like a pilgrim, with wallet and staff. My wallet—or my knapsack—is packed, and ready " for strapping on ; and here is my staff !

He hands it to her; she makes the same remark as Mr.

Crisparkle, that it is very heavy ; and gives it back to him,

asking what wood it is ? Iron-wood. Up to this point, he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps, the having to carry his case with her, and therefore to present it in its brightest aspect, has roused his spirits. Perhaps, the

having done so with success, is followed by a revulsion. As the day closes in, and the city lights begin to spring up before them, he grows depressed. " ;

184 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena." " Dear JSTeville, is it worth while to care much about it 1

Think how soon it will be over."

" How soon it will be over," he repeats, gloomily. *^ Yess But I don't like it." There may be a moment's awkwardness, she cheeringly rep- resents to him, but it can only last a moment. He is quite sure of himself.

" I wish I felt as sure of everything else, as I feel of myself," he answers her. " " How strangely you speak, dear ! What do you mean ?

" Helena, I don't know. I only know that I don't like it.

What a strange dead weight there is in the air ! She calls his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river, and says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again, until he takes leave of her, at the gate of the Nuns' House. She does not immediately enter, when they have parted, but remains looking after him along the street. Twice, he passes the Gate House, reluctant to enter. At length, the cathedral clock chiming one quarter, with a rapid turn he hur- ries in.

And so he goes up the postern stair.

Edwin Drood passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment than he had thought, has gone out of his life ; and in the silence of his own chamber he wept for it last night.

Though the image of Miss Landless still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty little affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he had supposed, occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgivings of his own unworthi- ness that he thinks of her, and of what they might have been to one another, if he had been more in earnest some time ago if he had set a higher value on her; if, instead of accepting his lot in life as an inheritance of course, he had studied the right way to its appreciation and enhancement. And still, for all this, and though there is a sharp heartache in all this, !

SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? 185

the vanity and caprice of youth sustain that handsome figure of Miss Landless in the background of his mind. That was a curious look of Eosa's when they parted at the gate. Did it mean that she saw below the surface of his thoughts, and down into their twilight depths? Scarcely that, for it was a look of astonished and keen inquiry. He decides that he cannot understand it, though it was remarkably expressive. As he only awaits for Mr. Grewgious now, and will depart immediately after having seen him, he takes a sauntering leave of the ancient city and its neighborhood. He recalls the time when Eosa and he walked here and there, mere children, full of the dignity of being engaged. Poor children he thinks, with a pitying sadness. Finding that his watch has stopped, he turns into the jeweller's shop, to have it wound and set. The jeweller is knowing on the subject of a bracelet, which he begs leave to sub-< mit, in a general and quite aimless way. It would suit (he considers) a young bride, to perfection ; especially if of a rather diminutive style of beauty. Finding the bracelet but coldly looked at, the jeweller invites attention to a tray of rings for gentlemen ; here is a style of ring, now, he remarks —a very chaste signet—which gentlemen are much given to purchasing, when changing their condition. A ring of a very responsible appearance. With the date of their wedding day engraved inside, several gentlemen have preferred it to any other kind of memento.

The rings are as coldly viewed as the bracelet. Edwin tells the tempter that he wears no jewelry but his watch and chain, which were his father's ; and his shirt-pin.

" That I am aware of," is the jeweller's reply, " for Mr. Jasper dropped in for a watch-glass the other day, and, in fact,

I showed these articles to him, remarking that if he should wish to make a present to a gentleman relative, on any particular occasion—But he said with a smile that he had an inventory in his mind of all the jewelry his gentleman relative 186 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

ever wore ; namely, his watch and chain, and his shirt-pin. Still (the jeweller considers) that might not apply to all times, though applying to the present time. "Twenty minutes past two, Mr. Drood, I set your watch at. Let me recommend you not to let it run down, sir."

Edwin takes his watch, puts it on, and goes out, thinking " Dear old Jack ! If I were to make an extra crease in my " neck-cloth, he would think it worth noticing ! He strolls about and about, to pass the time until the dinner hour. It somehow happens that Cloisterham seems re- proachful to him to-day ; has fault to find with him, as if he had not used it well ; but is far more pensive with him than angry. His wonted carelessness is replaced by a wistful looking at, and dwelling upon, all the old landmarks. He will soon be far away, and may never see them again, he thinks. Poor youth ! Poor youth ! As dusk draws on, he paces the Monks' Vineyard. He has

walked to and fro, full half an hour by the cathedral chimes, and-it has closed in dark, before he becomes quite aware of a woman crouching on the ground near a wicket gate in a corner. The gate commands a cross bye-path, little used in the

gloaming ; and the figure must have been there all the time, though he has but gradually and lately found it out. He strikes into that path, and walks up to the wicket. By

the light of a lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of a haggard appearance, and that her weazen chin is resting on her hands, and that her eyes are staring—with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness—before her. Always kindly, but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged people he has met, he at once bends down, and speaks to this woman.

'' « Are you ill ? "]^o, deary," she answers, without looking at him, and with no departure from her strange blind stare. " *' Are you blind ? SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAITST? 187

'^ No, deary."

" Are you lost, homeless, faint ? What is the matter, that " you stay here in the cold so long, without moving ?

By slow and stiff efforts, she appears to contract her vision until it can rest upon him ; and then a curious film passes over her, and she begins to shake. He straightens himself, recoils a step, and looks down at her in a dread amazement ; for he seems to know her. " " Good Heaven ! he thinks, next moment. " Like Jack " that night ! As he looks down at her, she looks up at him, and whim- " pers : My lungs is weakly ; my lungs is drefful bad. Poor " me, poor me, my cough is rattling dry ! And coughs in confirmation horribly. " " Where do you come from ?

"Come from London, deary." (Her cough still rending her.) " " Where are you going to ? " Back to London, deary. I came here, looking for a needle in a haystack, and I ain^t found it. Look'ee, deary give ; me three and sixpence, and don't you be afeard for me. Til get back to London then, and trouble no one. I'm in a business.—Ah, me ! It's slack, it's slack, and times is very bad ! —but I can make a shift to live by it." " " Do you eat opium ?

" Smokes it," she replies with difficulty, still racked by her cough. " Give me three and sixpence, and I'll lay it out well, and get back. If you don't give me three and sixpence, don't give me a brass farden. And if you do give me three and sixpence, deary, I'll tell you something."

He counts the money from his pocket, and puts it in her hand. She instantly clutches it tight, and rises to her feet with a croaking laugh of satisfaction.

" Bless ye ! Harkee, dear genl'mn. What's your Chris'en name ?" « Edwin." " "

188 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

"Edwin, Edwin, Edwin/' she repeats, trailing off into a

: " Is drowsy repetition of the word ; and then asks suddenly " the short of that name, Eddy ?

"It is sometimes called so," he replies, with the color starting to his face.

" Don't sweethearts call it so ? '' she asks, pondering.

" How should I know ! " " Haven't you a sweetheart, upon your soul ? « None."

She is moving away with, another "Bless ye, and thank'ee, " " deary ! when he adds : You were to tell me something ; you may as well do so." " So I was, so I was. Well, then. Whisper. You he thank- ful that you name ain't Ned." " " He looks at her, quite steadily, as he asks : Why ?

" Because it's a had name to have just now." " " How a bad name ? " A threatened name. A dangerous name." " The proverb says that threatened men live long," he tells her, lightly. " Then Ned—so threatened is he, wherever he may be while I am a talking to you, deary—should live to all eternity ! replies the woman.

She has leaned forward, to say it in his ear, with her fore finger shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself to-

gether, and with another " Bless ye, and thank'ee ! " goes away in the direction of the Travellers' Lodging House.

This is not an inspiriting close to a dull day. Alone, in a sequestered place, surrounded by vestiges of old time and

decay, it rather has a tendency to call a shudder into being. He makes for the better lighted streets, and resolves as he

walks on to say nothing of this to-night, but to mention it to Jack (who alone calls him Ned), as an odd coincidence, to-mor-

row ; of course only as a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering.

Still, it holds to him, as many things much better worth SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? 189 remembering never did. He has another mile or so, to linger out before the dinner-hour ; and, when he walks over the bridge and by the river the woman's words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo of them, even in the cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the Gate House. And so he goes up the postern stair.

John Jasper passes a more agreeable and cheerful day than either of his guests. Having no music-lessons to give in the holiday season, his time is his own, but for the cathedral services. He is early among the shopkeepers, ordering little luxuries that his nephew likes. His nephew will not be with him long, he tells his provision-dealers, and so must be petted and made much of. While out on his hospitable preparations, he looks in on Mr. Sapsea ; and mentions that dear Ned, and that inflammable young spark of Mr. Crisparkle's, are to dine at the Gate House to-day, and make up their difference. Mr.

Sapsea is by no means friendly towards the inflammable young spark. He says that his complexion is " Un-English.'' And when Mr. Sapsea has once declared anything to be Un-English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in the bottomless pit.

John Jasper is truly sorry to hear Mr. Sapsea speak thus, for he knows right well that Mr. Sapsea never speaks without a meaning, and that he has a subtle trick of being right. Mr.

Sapsea (by a very remarkable coincidence) is of exactly that opinion.

Mr. Jasper is in beautiful voice this day. In the pathetic supplication to have his heart inclined to keep this law, he quite astonishes his fellows by his melodious power. He has never sung difficult music with such skill and harmony, as in this day's Anthem. His nervous temperament is occasionally prone to take difficult music a little too quickly j to-day, hia time is perfect. 190 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

These results are probably attained through a grand composure of the spirits. The mere mechanism of his throat is a little tender, for he wears, both with his singing-robe and with his ordinary dress, a large black scarf of strong close-woven silk, slung loosely round his neck. But his composure is so noticeable, that Mr. Crisparkle speaks of it as they come out from Vespers. " I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which I have heard you to-day. Beautiful ! Delightful ! You could not have so outdone yourself, I hope, without being wonderfully well." " I am wonderfully well." " Nothing unequal," says the Minor Canon, with a smooth " motion of his hand : nothing unsteady, nothing forced, noth-

ing avoided ; all thoroughly done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command."

" Thank you. I hope so, if it is not too much to say." " One would think, Jasper, you had been trying a new medicine for that occasional indisposition of yours." " No, really ? That's well observed ; for I have."

" Then stick to it, my good fellow," saj^s Mr. Crisparkle, clapping him on the shoulder with friendly encouragement,

" stick to it." " I will." " I congratulate you," Mr. Crisparkle pursues, as they come out of the cathedral, " on all accounts." " Thank you again. I will walk round to the Corner with you, if you don't object ; I have plenty of time before my company come ; and I want to say a word to you, which I tliink you will not be displeased to hear."

"What is it?" " Well. We were speaking, the other evening, of my black humors."

Mr. Crisparkle's face falls, and he shakes his head deplor- ingly. " I said, you know, that I should make you an antidote to SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? 191

those Mack humors ; and you said you hoped I would consign them to the flames.'^

" And I still hope so, Jasper."

^^ With the best reason in the world ! I mean to burn this year's Diary at the year's end." '^ Because you- ? " Mr. Crisparkle brightens greatly as he thus begins. " You anticipate me. Because I feel that I have been out of sorts, gloomy, bilious, brain-oppressed, whatever it may be. You said I had been exaggerative. So I hare."

Mr. Crisparkle's brightened face brightens still more.

" I couldn't see it then, because I was out of sorts ; but I am in a healthier state now, and I acknowledge it with genu-

ine pleasure. I made a great deal of a very little ; that's the fact." '^ It does me good," cries Mr. Crisparkle, " to hear you say it!" " A man leading a monotonous life," Jasper proceeds, " and getting his nerves, or his stomach, out of order, dwells upon an idea until it loses its proportions. That was my case with the idea in question. So I shall burn the evidence of my case, when the book is full, and begin the next volume with a clearer vision.

" This is better," says Mr. Crisparkle, stopping at the steps " " of his own door to shake hands, than I could have hoped ! " Why, naturally," returns Jasper. " You had but little reason to hope that I should become more like yourself. You are always training yourself to be, mind and body, as clear as

crystal, and you always are, and never change ; whereas, I am a muddy, solitary, moping weed. However, I have got over that mope. Shall I wait, while you ask if Mr. Neville has left for my place ? If not, he and I may walk round together." " I think," says Mr. Crisparkle, opening the entrance door

with his key, " that he left some time ago ; at least I know

he left, and I think he has not come back. But I'll enquire. " You won't come in ? !

192 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" My company wait," says Jasper, with a smile. The Minor Canon disappears, and in a few moments returns.

As he thought, Mr. Neville had not come back ; indeed, as he remembers now, Mr. Neville said he would probably go straight to the Gate House. " " " Bad manners in a host ! says Jasper. My company will be there before me ! What will you bet that I don't find my company embracing ? ^' " I will bet—or I would, if I ever did bet," returns Mr. Cris- parkle, " that your company will have a gay entertainer this evening." Jasper nods, and laughs Good Night He retraces his steps to the cathedral door, and turns down past it to the Gate House. He sings, in a low voice and with delicate expression, as he walks along. It still seems as if a false note were not within his power to-night, and as if nothing could hurry or retard him. Arriving thus, under the arched entrance of his dwelling, he pauses for an instant in the shelter to pull off that great black scarf, and hang it in a loop upon his arm. For that brief time, his face is knitted and stern. But it immediately clears, as he resumes his singing, and his way.

And so he goes up the postern stair.

The red light burns steadily all the evening in the lighthouse on the margin of the tide of busy life. Softened sounds and hum of traffic pass it and flow on irregularly into the lonely

Precincts ; but very little else goes by, save violent rushes of wind. It comes on to blow a boisterous gale.

The Precincts are never particularly well lighted ; but the strong blasts of wind blowing out many of the lamps (in some instances shattering the frames too, and bringing the glass rattling to the ground), they are unusually dark to-night.

The darkness is augmented and confused, by flying dust from the earth, dry twigs from the trees, and great ragged fragments from the rooks' nests up in the tower. The trees them- :

SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIIST? 193 selves so toss and creak, as this tangible part of the darkness madly whirls about, that they seem in peril of being torn out of the earth : while ever and again a crack, and a rushing fall, denotes that some large branch has yielded to the storm. No such power of wind has blown for many a winter-night. Chimneys topple in the streets, and people hold to posts and corners, and to one another, to keep themselves upon their feet. The violent rushes abate not, but increase in frequency and fury until at midnight, when the streets are empty, the storm goes thundering along them, rattling at all the latches, and tearing at all the shutters, as if warning the people to get up and fly with it, rather than have the roofs brought down upon their brains.

Still, the red light burns steadily. Nothing is steady but the red light. All through the night, the wind blows, and abates not. But

early in the morning when there is barely enough light in the

east to dim the stars, it begins to lull. From that time, with

occasional wild charges, like a wounded monster dying, it drops

and sinks ; and at full daylight it is dead.

It is then seen that the hands of the cathedral clock are torn off; that lead from the roof has been stripped away, rolled

up, and blown into the Close ; and that some stones have been displaced upon the summit of the great tower. Christmas

morning though it be, it is necessary to send up workmen, to

ascertain the extent of the damage done. These, led by Dur • dies, go aloft; while Mr. Tope and a crowd of early idlers gather down in Minor Canon Corner, shading their eyes and watching for their appearance up there.

This cluster is suddenly broken and put aside by the hands

of Mr. Jasper ; all the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by his loudly enquiring of Mr. Crisparkle, at an open window

'^ " Where is my nephew ? " "He has not been here. Is he not with you ? " No. He went down to the river last night, with Mr. Ne- 12 "

194 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD. ville, to look at the storm, and has not been back. Call Mr.

Neville !

" He left this morning, early." " " Left this morning, early ? Let me in, let me in ! There is no more looking up at the tower, now. All the assembled eyes are turned on Mr. Jasper, white, half-dressed, panting, and clinging to the rail before the Minor Canon's house.

CHAPTER XV.

IMPEACHED.

Neville Landless had started so early and walked at so good a pace, that when the church bells began to ring in Clois- terham for morning service, he was eight miles away. As he wanted his breakfast by that time, having set forth on a crust of bread, he stopped at the next roadside tavern to refresh. Visitors in wânt of breakfast—unless they were horses or cattle, for which class of guests there was preparation enough in the way of water-trough and hay—were so unusual at the sign of The Tilted Wagon, that it took a long time to get the wagon into the track of tea and toast and bacon. Neville, in the interval, sitting in a sanded parlor, wondering in how long a time after he had gone, the sneezy fire of damp fagots wôuld begin to make somebody else warm. Indeed, The Tilted Wagon, as a cool establishment on the top of a hill, where the ground before the door wâs puddled with damp hoofs and trodden straw ; where a scolding land- lady slapped a moist baby (with one red sock on and one wanting), in the bar; where the cheese was cast aground upon a shelf, in company with a mouldy tablecloth and a green- handled knife, in a sort of cast-iron canoe ; where the pale- faced bread shed tears of crumb over its shipwreck in another cauoe ; where the family linen, half washed and half dried, IMPEACHED. 195

led a public life of lying about ; where everything to drink was drunk out of mugs, and everything else was suggestive of

a rhyme to mugs ; The Tilted Wagon, all these things consid-

ered, hardly kept its painted promise of providing good entertainment for Man and Beast. However, Man, in the present case, was not critical but took what entertainment he could get, and went on again after a longer rest than he needed. He stopped at some quarter of a mile from the house, hesitating whether to pursue the road, or to follow a cart-track between two high hedgerows, which led across the slope of a breezy heath, and evidently struck into the road again by-and- bye. He decided in favor of this latter track, and pursued it with some toil ; the rise being steep, and the way worn into deep ruts. He was laboring along, when he became aware of some other pedestrians behind him. As they were coming up at a faster pace than his, he stood aside, against one of the high banks, to let them pass. But their manner was very curious. Only four of them passed. Other four slackened speed, and loitered as intending to follow him when he should go on. The remainder of the party (half a dozen perhaps), turned, and went back at a great rate. He looked at the four behind him, and he looked at the four before him. They all returned his look. He resumed his way. The four in advance went on, constantly looking

back ; the four in the rear came closing up. When they all ranged out from the narrow track upon the open slope of the heath, and this order was maintained, let him diverge as he would to either side, there was no longer room to doubt that he was beset by these fellows. He stopped, as a last test ; and they all stopped. " Why do you attend upon me in this way ? " he asked the whole body. " Are you a pack of thieves ? '' " Don't answer him," said one of the number 5 he did not see which. " Better be quiet." " "

196 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

" " Better be quiet ? " repeated Neville. " Who said so ? Kobody replied.

" It's good advice, whichever of you skulkers gave it/' he went on angrily. ^* I will not submit to be penned in between four men there, and four men there. I wish to pass, and I mean to pass, those four in front."

They were all standing still : himself included. *'* If eight men, or four men, or two men, set upon one,'^ he proceeded, growing more enraged, " the one has no chance but to set his mark upon some of them. And by the Lord Pll do it, if I am interrupted any further ! Shouldering his heavy stick, and quickening his pace, he shot on to pass the four ahead. The largest and strongest man of the number changed swiftly to the side on which he came up, and dexterously closed with him and went down

with him ; but not before the heavy stick had descended smartly. " " Let him be ! said this man in a suppressed voice, as they " struggled together on the grass. Fair play ! His is the build of a girl to mine, and he's got a weight strapped to his back besides. Let him. alone. I'll manage him.''

After a little rolling about, in a close scuffle which caused the faces of both to be besmeared with blood, the man took " his knee from Neville's chest, and rose, saying : There ! " Now take him arm-in-arm, any two of you ! It was immediately done. " As to our being a pack of thieves, Mr. Landless," said the man as he spat out some blood, and wiped more from his face : "you know better than that, at midday. We wouldn't have touched you, if you hadn't forced us. We're going to take you round to the high road, anyhow, and you'll find help enough against thieves there, if you want it. Wipe his face

! somebodj'' ; see how it's a-trickling down him When his face was cleansed, Neville recognized in the speaker, Joe, the driver of the Cloisterham omnibus, whom he had seen but once, and that on the day of his arrival. ;

I M P E A C H E D. 197

" And what I recommend you for the present, is, don^t talk, Mr. Landless. You'll find a friend waiting for j^ou, at the high road—gone ahead by the other way when we split into two parties—and you had much better say nothing until you come up with him. Bring that stick along, somebody else, and let's be moving V Utterly bewildered, Neville stared around him and said not a word. Walking between his two conductors, w^bo held his arms in theirs, he went on, as in a dream, until the}^ came again into the high road, and into the midst of a little group of people. The men who had turned back, were among the group ; and its central figures were Mr. Jasper and Mr. Cris- parkle. Neville's conductors took him up to the Minor Canon, and there released him, as an act of deference to that gentleman.

"What is all this, sir? What is the matter? I feel as " if I had lost my senses ! cried Neville, the group closing in around him.

" Where is my nephew ? " asked Mr. Jasper, wildly.

" Where is your nephew ? " repeated Neville. " Why do " you ask me ? " I ask you," retorted Jasper, " because you were the last person in his company, and he is not to be found." " " Not to be found ! cried Neville, aghast. " Stay, stay," said Mr. Crisparkle. " Permit me, Jasper.

Mr. Neville, you are confounded ; collect your thoughts; it is of great importance that you should collect your thoughts attend to me."

" I will try, sir, but I seem mad." " " You left Mr. Jasper's last night, with Edwin Drood? " Yes." "At what hour?"

" Was it at twelve o'clock ? " asked Neville, with his hand to his confused head, and appealing to Jasper.

*•' " Quite right," said IMr. Crisparkle : the hour Mr. Jasper has already named to me. You went down to the river to- " gether ? "

198 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" Undoubtedly. To see the action of the wind there.'' " " What followed ? How long did you stay there ? " About ten minutes ; I should say not more. We then walked together to your house, and he took leave of me at the door." " Did he say that he was going down to the river again ? '' " No. He said that he was going straight back." The bystanders looked at one another, and at Mr. Crispar- kle. To whom, Mr. Jasper, who had been intensely watching " Neville, said : in a low distinct suspicious voice : What are " those stains upon his dress ? All eyes were turned toward the blood upon his clothes. " And here are the same stains upon this stick ! " said Jas- per, taking it from the hand of the man who held it. " I know the stick to be his, and he carried it last night. What " does this mean ? " " In the name of God, say what it means, Neville ! urged Mr. Crisparkle.

" That man and I,*' said Neville, pointing out his late adversary, '' had a struggle for the stick just now, and you may see the same marks on him, sir. What was I to suppose, when I found myself molested by eight people ? Could I dream of " the true reason when they would give me none at all ?

They admitted that they had thought it discreet to be silent, and that the struggle had taken place. And yet the very men who had seen it, looked darkly at the smears which the bright cold air had already dried. " " We must return, Neville," said Mr. Crisparkle ; of course " you will be glad to come back to clear yourself ? " Of course, sir." " Mr. Landless will walk at my side," the Minor Canon continued, looking around him. " Come, Neville !

They set forth on the walk back ; and the others, with one exception, struggled after them at various distances. Jasper walked on the other side of Neville, and never quitted that position. He was silent, while Mr. Crisparkle more than once IMPEACHED. 199

repeated his former questions, and while Neville repeated his

former answers ; also, while thej both hazarded some explan- atory conjectures. He was obstinately silent, because Mr. Crisparkle's manner directly appealed to him to take some part in the discussion, and no appeal would move his fixed face.

When they drew near to the city, and it was suggested hy the Minor Osanon that they might do well in calling on the Mayor

at once, he assented with a stern nod ; but he spake no word until they stood in Mr. Sapsea's parlor.

Mr. Sapsea being informed by Mr. Crisparkle of the circumstances under which they desired to make a voluntary statement before him, Mr. Jasper broke silence by declaring that he placed his whole reliance, humanly speaking, on Mr. Sapsea's penetration. There was no conceivable reason why his nephew should have suddenly absconded, unless Mr. Sapsea could suggest one, and then he would defer. There was no intelligible likelihood of his having returned to the river, and

been accidentally drowned in the dark, unless it should appear likely to Mr. Sapsea, and then again he would defer. He washed his hands as clean as he could, of all horrible suspi-

cions, unless it should appear to Mr. Sapsea that some such were inseparable from his last companion before his disappearance (not on good terms with previouslj^), and then, once more, he would defer. His own state of mind, he being distracted with doubts, and laboring under dismal apprehensions, was not to

be safely trusted ; but Mr. Sapsea's was. Mr. Sapsea expressed his opinion that the case had a dark

look ; in short (and here his eyes rested full on Neville's countenance), an XJn-Engllsb complexion. Having made this grand point, he wandered into a denser haze and maze of non- sense than even a mayer might have been expected to disport

himself in, and came out of it with the brilliant discovery that

to take the life of a fellow-creature was to take something that didn't belong to you. He wavered whether or no he should at once issue his warrant for the committal of Neville Land-

less to jail, under circumstances of grave suspicion ; and he 200 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. might have gone so far as to do it but for the indignant protest of the Minor Canon : who undertook for the young man^s remaining in his own house, and being produced by his own hands, whenever demanded. Mr. Jasper then understood Mr. Sapsea to suggest that the river should be dragged, that its banks should be rigidly examined, that particulars of the disappearance should be sent to all outlying places and to Lon- don, and that placards and advertisements should be widely circulated imploring Edwin Drood, if for any unknown reason he had withdrawn himself from his uncle's home and society, to take pity on that loving kinsman's sore bereavement and distress, and somehow inform him that he was yet alive. Mr. Sapsea was perfectly understood, for this was exactly his

meaning (though he had said nothing about it) ; and measures were taken towards all these ends immediately. It would be difficult to determine which was the more oppressed with horror and amazement : Neville Landless, or John Jasper. But that Jasper's position forced him to be active, while Neville's forced him to be passive, there would have been nothing to choose between them. Each was bowed down and broken.

With the earliest light of the next morning, men were at work upon the river, and other men—most of whokin Yidum- teered for the service—were examining the banks. AH the livelong day, the search went on ; upon the river, with barge and pole, and drag and net ; upon the muddy and rushy shore, with jack-boot, hatchet, spade, rope, dogs, and all imaginable appliances. Even at night, the river was specked with lan- terns, and with lurid fires ; far-off c^eeki^ into which the tide w^ashed as it changed, had their knots of watchers, listening to the lapping of the stream, and looking out for any burden it might bear; remote shingly causeways near the sea, and lonely points oiF which there was a race of water, had their unwonted flaring cressets and rough-coated figures when the next day dawned ; but no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of the sun. IMPEACHED. 201

All that day, again, the search went on. Now, in barge and boat ; and now ashore among the osiers, or tramping amidst mud and stakes and jagged stones in low-lying places, where solitary watermarks and signals of strange shapes showed like spectres, John Jasper worked and toiled. But to no purpose 5 for still no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of tha sun. Setting his watches for that night again, so that vigilant eyes should be kept on every change of tide, he went home exhausted. Unkempt and disordered, bedaubed with mud that had dried upon him, and with much of his clothing torn to rags, he had but just dropped into his easy chair, when Mr. Grewgious stood before him.

" This is strange news," said Mr. Grewgious. " Strange and fearful news."

Jasper had merely lifted up his heavy eyes to say it, and BOW dropped them again as he drooped, worn out, over one side of his easy chair. Mr. Grewgious smoothed his head and face, and stood looking at the fire.

" How is your ward ? " asked Jasper, after a time, in a faint, fatigued voice.

"Poor little thing ! You may imagine her condition." " Have you seen his sister ? " inquired Jasper as before. " " Whose ? The curtness of the counter-question, and the cool slow manner in which, as he put it, Mr. Grewgious moved his eyes from the fire to his companion's face, might at any other time have been exasperating. In his depression and exhaustion, " Jasper merely opened his eyes to say : The suspected young man's." " Do you suspect him ? " asked Mr. Grewgious. " I don't know what to think. I cannot make up my mind." " Nor I," said Mr. Grewgious. " But as you spoke of him as the suspected young man, I thought you had made up your mind.—I have just left Miss Landless." "

202 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" « What is her state ? " Defiance of all suspicioD, and unbounded faith in her brother."

" Poor thing ! "However," pursued Mr. Grewgious, "it is not of her that

I came to speak. It is of my ward. I have a communication to make that will surprise you. At least, it has surprised me." Jasper, with a groaning sigh, turned wearily in his chair.

" Shall I put it off till to-morrow ? " said Mr. Grewgious. " " Mind ! I warn you, that I think it will surprise you ! More attention and concentration came into John Jasper's eyes as they caught sight of Mr. Grewgious smoothing his head com- again, and again looking at the fire ; but now, with a pressed and determined mouth.

" What is it ? " demanded Jasper, becoming upright in his chair. " To be sure," said Mr. Grewgious, provokingly slowly and " internally, as he kept his eyes on the fire : I might have

known it sooner ; she gave me the opening ; but I am such an

exceedingly Angular man, that it never occurred to me ; I took

all for granted."

" What is it ? " demanded Jasper, once more. Mr. Grewgious, alternately opening and shutting the palms of his hands as he warmed them at the fire, and looking fixedly at him sideways, and never changing either his action or his look in all that followed, went on to reply. " This young couple, the lost youth and Miss Eosa, my ward, though so long betrothed, and so long recognizing their be- " trothal, and so near being married Mr. Grewgious saw a staring white face, and two quivering

white lips, in the easy chair, and saw two muddy hands grip-

ping its sides. But for the hands, he might have thought he had never seen the face. "—This young couple came gradually to the discovery, (made on both sides pretty equally, I think), that they would IMPEACHED. 203

be happier and better, both in their present and in their future

lives, as affectionate friends, or say rather as brother and sister, than as husband and wife."

Mr. Grewgious saw a lead-colored face in the easy chair,

and on its surface dreadful starting drops or bubbles, as if of steel.

" This young couple formed at length the healthy resolution of interchanging their discoveries, openly, sensibly, and tenderly. They met for that purpose. After some innocent and generous tjdk, they agreed to dissolve their existing, and their intended, relations, for ever and ever."

Mr. Grewgious saw a ghastly figure rise, open-mouthed,

from the easy-chair, and lift its outspread hands towards its head. " One of this young couple, and that one your nephew, fearful, however, that in the tenderness of your aifection for him you would be bitterly disappointed by so wide a depart-

ure from his projected life, forbore to tell you the secret, for a

few days, and left it to be disclosed by me, when I should come down to speak to you, and he would be gone. I speak to you, and he is gone." Mr. Grewgious saw the ghastly figure throw back its head,

clutch its hair with its hands, and turn with a writhing action from him.

" I have now said all I have to say : except that this young couple parted, firmly, though not without tears and sorrow, on the evening, when you last saw them together." Mr. Grewgious heard a terrible shriek, and saw no ghastly figure, sitting or standing; saw nothing but a heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor. Not changing his action even then, he opened and shut the palms of his hands as he warmed them, and looked down at it. "

204 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

CHAPTEE XVI.

DEVOTED.

When John Jasper recovered from his fit or swoon, he found himself being tended by Mr. and Mrs. Tope, whom his visitor had summoned for the purpose. His visitor, wooden of aspect, sat stiffly in a chair, with his hands upon his knees, watching his recovery.

^' There ! YouVe come to, nicely now, sir,'' said the tear- " ful Mrs. Tope ; you were thoroughly worn out, and no wonder ! " A man,'' said Mr. Grewgious, with his usual air of repeating a lesson, "cannot have his rest broken, and his mind cruelly tormented, and his body overtaxed by fatigue, without being thoroughly worn out." " I fear I have alarmed you ? " Jasper apologized faintly, when he was helped into his easy chair.

" Not at all, I thank you," answered Mr. Grewgious. " You are too considerate."

" Not at all, I thank you," answered Mr. Grewgious again. " You must take some wine, sir," said Mrs. Tope, " and the jelly that I had ready for you, and that you wouldn't put your lips to at noon, though I warned you what would come

it, of you know, and j^ou not breakfasted ; and you must have a wing of the roast fowl that has been put back twenty times if it's been put back once. It shall all be on table in five minutes, and this good gentleman belike will stop and see you take it." This good gentleman replied with a snort, which might mean yes, or no, or anything, or nothing, and which Mrs. Tope would have found highlj^ mystifying, but that her attention was divided by the service of the table. " You will take something with me ? " said Jasper, as the cloth was laid. "

DEVOTED. 205

" I couldn't get a morsel down my throat, I thank you," answered Mr. Grewgious. Jasper both ate and drank almost voraciously. Combined with the hurry in his mode of doing it, was an evident indifference to the taste of what he took, suggesting that he ate and drartk to fortify himself against any other failure of the spirits, far more than to gratify his palate. Mr. Grewgious in the meantime sat upright, with no expression in his face, and a hard kind of imperturbably polite protest all over him : as though he would have said, in reply to some invitation to dis- " course : I couldn't originate the faintest approach to an observation on any subject whatever, I thank you." " Do you know," said Jasper, when he had pushed away his plate and glass, and had sat meditating for a few minutes : " do you know that I find some crumbs of comfort in the com- " munication with which you have so much amazed me ? *•' Do you ? " returned Mr. Grewgious pretty plainly add- ;

" ! ing the unspoken clause ; I don't, I thank you " After recovering from the shock of a piece of news of my dear boy, so entirely unexpected, and so destructive of all the

castles I had built for him ; and after having had time to think of it; yes." " I shall be glad to pick up your crumbs," said Mr. Grew- gious, dryly.

" Is there not, or is there—if I deceive myself, tell me so, and shorten my pain —is there not, or is there, hope that, finding himself in this new position, and becoming sensitively alive to the awkward burden of explanation, in this quarter and that, and the other, with which it would load him, he avoided the awkwardness, and took to flight ? " Such a thing might be," said Mr. Grewgious, pondering. " Such a thing has been. I have read of cases in which people, rather than face a seven days' wonder, and have to account for themselves to the idle and impertinent, have taken themselves away, and been long unheard of." " I believe such things have happened," said Mr. Grew- gious, pondering still. : " —:

206 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD,

" When I had, and could have no suspicion," pursued Jas- per, eagerly following the new track, " that the dear lost boy had withheld anything from me—most of all, such a leading matter as this—what gleam of light was there for me in the whole black sky ? When I supposed that his intended wife was here, and his marriage close at hand, how could I entertain the possibility of his voluntarily leaving this place, in a manner that would be so unaccountable, capricious, and cruel ?

But now that I know what you have told me, is there no little chink through which day pierces ? Supposing him to have disappeared of his own act, is not his disappearance more accountable and less cruel ? The fact of his having just parted from your ward, is in itself a sort of reason for his going away. It does not make his mysterious departure the less cruel to me, it is true ; but it relieves it of cruelty to her." Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this.

" And even to me," continued Jasper, still pursuing the new track, with ardor, and, as he did so, brightening with hope

^' he knew that you were coming to me j he knew that you

were entrusted to tell me what you have told me ; if your doing so has awakened a new train of thought in my perplexed mind, it reasonably follows that, from the same premises, he might have foreseen the inferences that I should draw.

Grant that he did foresee them ; and even the cruelty to me and who am I ! —John Jasper, Music Master ! —vanishes." Once more, Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this. " I have had my distrusts, and terrible distrusts they have " been," said Jasper ; but your disclosure, overpowering as it was at first—showing me that my own dear boy had had a great disappointing reservation from me, who so fondly loved him kindles hope within me. You do not extinguish it when I state it, but admit it to be a reasonable hope. I begin to be- :" lieve it possible here he clasped his hands : "that he may have disappeared from among us of his own accord, and that he may yet be alive and well ! Mr. Crisparkle came in at the moment. To whom Mr. Jas- per repeated "

DEVOTED. 207

" I begin to believe it possible that he may have disappeared of his own accord, and may yet be alive and well !

Mr. Crisparkle taking a seat, and enquiring : "Why so?" Mr. Jasper repeated the arguments he had just set forth. If they had been less plausible than they were, the good Minor Canon's mind would have been in a state of preparation to receive them, as exculpatory of his unfortunate pupil. But he,

too, did reall}'" attach great importance to the lost young man's having been, so immmediatel}'- before his disappearance, placed in a new and embarrassing relation towards every one acquain-

ted with his projects and affairs ; and the fact seemed to him to present the question in a new light. " I stated to Mr. Sapsea, when we waited on him," said

Jasper: as he really had done : "that there was no quarrel or difference between the two young men at their last meeting. We all know that their first meeting was, unfortunately, very

far from amicable ; but all went smoothly and quietly when they were last together at my house. My dear boy was not in his usual spirits ; he was depressed—I noticed that—and I am bound henceforth to dwell upon the circumstance the more, now that 1 know there was a special reason for his being de-

pressed : a reason, moreover, which may possibly have induced him to absent himself." " " I pray to Heaven it may turn out so ! exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle.

"I pray to Heaven it may turn out so ! " repeated Jasper. " You know—and Mr. Grewgious should now know likewise —that I took a great prepossession against Mr. Neville Landless, arising out of his furious conduct on that first occasion. You know that I came to you, extremely apprehensive, on my dear boy's behalf, of his mad violence. You know that I even entered in my Diary, and showed the entry to you, that I had dark forebodings against him. Mr. Grewgious ought to be possessed of the whole case. He shall not, through any sup-

pression of mine, be informed of a part of it, and kept in ig-

norance of another part of it. I wish him to be good enough 208 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

to understand that the communication he has made to me has

hopefull}'- influenced my mind, in spite of its having been, before this mysterious occurrence took place, profoundly impressed against young Landless."

i This fairness troubled the Minor Canon much. He felt that he was not as open in his own dealing. He charged against himself reproachfully that he had suppressed, so far, the two points of a second strong outbreak of temper against Edwin Drood on the part of Neville, and of the passion of jealousy having, to his own certain knowledge, flamed up in Neville's breast against him. He was convinced of Neville's innocence of any part in the ugly disappearance, and yet so many little circumstances combined so wofully against him, that he dreaded to add two more to their cumulative weight. He was

among the truest of men ; but he had been balancing in his

mind, much to its distress, whether his volunteering to tell these two fragments of truth, at this time, would not be tantamount to a piecing together of falsehood in the place of truth. However, here was a model before him. He hesitated no longer. Addressing Mr. Grewgious, as one placed in authority by the revelation he had brought to bear on the mystery (and surpassingly Angular Mr. Grewgious became when he found himself in that unexpected position), Mr. Crisparkle bore his testimony to Mr. Jasper's strict sense of justice, and, expressing his absolute confidence in the complete clearance of his pupil from the least taint of suspicion, sooner or later, avowed that his confidence in that young gentleman had been formed, in spite of his confidential knowledge that his temper was of the hottest and fiercest, and that it was directly incensed against Mr. Jasper's nephew by the circumstance of his ro- mantically supposing himself to be enamored of the same young lady. The sanguine reaction manifest in Mr. Jasper was proof even against this unlooked-for declaration. It turned him paler; but he repeated that he would cling to the hope he

bad derived from Mr. Grewgious ; and that if no trace of his dear boy were found, leading to the dreadful inference that he DEVOTED. 209 had been made away with, he would cherish unto the last stretch of possibility, the idea, that he might have absconded of his own wild will.

Now, it fell out that Mr. Crisparkle, going away from this conference still very uneasy in his mind, and very much troubled on behalf of the young man whom he held as a kind of prisoner in his own house, took a memorable night walk. He walked to Cloisterham Weir. He often did so, and consequently there was nothing remarkable in his footsteps tending that way. But the preoccu- pation of his mind so hindered him from planning any walk, or taking heed of the objects he passed, that his first consciousness of being near the Weir, was derived from the sound of the falling water close at hand.

" How did I come here ! " was his first thought, as ho stopped.

" Why did I come here ! " was his second. Then, he stood intently listening to the water. A familiar passage in his reading, about airy tongues that syllable men's names, rose so unbidden to his ear, that he put it from him with his hand, as if it were tangible. It was starlight. The Weir was full two miles above the spot to which the young men had repaired to watch the storm. No search had been made up here, for the tide had been running strongly down, at that time of the night of Christmas

Eve, and the likeliest places for the discovery of a body, if a fatal accident had happened under such circumstances, all lay —both when the tide ebbed, and when it flowed again—between that spot and the sea. The water came over the Weir, with its usual sound on a cold starlight night, and little could

of it be seen ; yet Mr. Crisparkle had a strange idea that something unusual hung about the place.

He reasoned with himself: What was it ? Where was it ?

Put it to the proof. Which sense did it address ? No sense reported anything unusual there. He listened again, and his sense of hearing again checked the water com- 13 210 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. ing over the Weir, with its usual sound on a cold starlight night. Knowing very well that the mystery with which his mmd was occupied, raight of itself give the place this haunted air^ he strained those hawk's eyes of his for the correction of his sight. He got closer to the Weir, and peered at its well-known posts and timbers. Nothing in the least unusual was Temoielp shadowed forth. But he resolved that he would conne "bacV early in the morning. The Weir ran through his broken sleep, all night, and he was back again at sunrise. It was a bright frosty morning. The whole composition before him, when he stood where he had stood last night, was clearly discernible in its minutest details. He had surveyed it closely for some minutes, and was about to withdraw his eyes, when they were attracted keenly to one spot. He turned his back upon the Weir, and looked far away at the sky, and at the earth, and then looked again at that one spot. It caught his sight again immediately, and he concentrated his vision upon it. He could not lose it now, though it was but such a speck in the landscape. It fascinated his sight. His hands began plucking off his coat. For it struck him that at that spot—a corner of the Weir—something glistened, which did not move and come over with the glistening water-drops, but remained stationary. He assured himself of this, he threw off his clothes, he plunged into the icy water, and swam for the spot. Climbing the timbers, he took from them, caught among their interstices by its chain, a gold watch, bearing engraved upon its back, E. D. He brought the watch to the bank, swam to the Weir again, climbed it, and dived off. He knew every hole and corner of all the depths, and dived and dived and dived, until he could bear the cold no more. His notion was, that he would find the body ; he only found a shirt-pin sticking in some mud and ooze. DEVOTED. 211

With these discoveries he returned to Cloisterham, and, taking NeviHe Landless with him, went straight to the Mayor. Mr. Jasper was sent for, the watch and shirt-pin were identified, Neville was detained, and the wildest frenzy and fatuity of evil report arose against him. He was of that vindictive and violent nature, that but for his poor sister, who alone had influence over him, and out of whose sight he was never to be trusted, he would be in the daily commission of murder. Before coming to England he had caused to be whipped to death sundry " Natives "—nomadic persons, encamping now in Asia, now in Africa, now in the West Indies, and now at the North Pole — vaguely supposed in Cloisterham to be always black, always of great virtue, always calling themselves Me, and everybody else Massa or Missie (according to sex), and always reading tracts of the obscurest meaning, in broken English, but always accurately understanding them in the purest mother tongue. He had nearly brought Mrs. Crisparkle's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. (Those original expressions were Mr. Sapsea's.) He had repeatedly said he would have

Mr. Crisparkle's life. He had repeatedly said he would have everj^body's life, and become in effect the last man. He had been brought down to Cloisterham, from London, by an eminent Philanthropist, and why ? Because that Philanthropist " had expressly declared : I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of Bentham, where he is the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number." These dropping shots from the blunderbusses of blunder- headedness might not have hit him in a vital place. But he had to stand against a trained and well-directed fire of arms of precision too. He had notoriously threatened the lost young man, and had, according to the showing of his owp faithful friend and tutor who strove so hard for him, a caupfc of bitter animosity (created by himself, and stated by himself), against that ill-starred fellow. He had armed himself with an offensive weapon for the fatal night, and he had gone off early in the morning, after making preparations for departure. 212 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

He had been found with traces of blood on him ; truly, they might have been wholly caused as he represented, but they might not, also. On a search-warrant being issued for the examination of his room, clothes, and so forth, it was discovered that he had destroyed all his papers, and rearranged all his possessions, on the very afternoon of the disappearance. The watch found at the Weir was challenged hy the jeweller as one he had wound and set for Edwin Drood, at twenty minutes past two on that same afternoon ; and it had run down, before being cast into the water ; and it was the jeweller's

positive opinion that it had never been re-wound. This would justify the hypothesis that the watch was taken from him not long after he left Mr. Jasper's house at midnight, in company with the last person seen with him, and that it had been thrown away after being retained some hours. Why thrown away ? If he had been murdered, and so artfully disfigured, or concealed, or both, as that the murderer hoped identification to be impossible, except from something that he wore, assuredly the murderer would seek to remove from the body the most lasting, the best known, and the most easily recognizable, things upon it. Those things would be the watch and shirt-pin. As to his opportunities of casting them into the river ; if he were the object of these suspicions, they were easy. For, he had been seen by many persons, wandering about on that side of the city—indeed on all sides of it—in a miserable and seemingly half-distracted manner. As to the choice of the spot, obviously such criminating evidence had better take its chance of being found anywhere, rather than upon himself, or in his possession. Concerning the reconciliatory nature of the appointed meeting between the^two young men, very little could be made of that, in young Landless^s favor; for, it distinctly appeared that the meeting originated, not with him, but with

Mr. Crisparkle, and that it had been urged on by Mr. Crispar- ill-condi- kle ; and who could say how unwillingly, or in what tioned mood, his enforced pupil had gone to it ? The more his case was looked into, the weaker it became in every point. DEVOTED. 21S

Even the broad suggestion that the lost young man bad absconded, was rendered additionally improbable on the showing of the young lady from whom he had so lately parted ; for, what did she say, with great earnestness and sorrow, when interrogated? That he had, expressly and enthusiastically, planned with her, that he would await the arrival of her guardian, Mr. Grewgious. And yet, be it observed, he disappeared before that gentleman appeared. On the suspicions thus urged and supported, Neville was detained and re-detained, and the search was pressed on every hand, and Jasper labored night and day. But nothing more was found. No discovery being made, which proved the lost man to be dead, it at length became necessary to release the person suspected of having made away with him. Neville was set at large. Then, a consequence ensued which Mr. Crisparkle had too well foreseen. Neville must leave the place, for the place shunned him and cast him out. Even had it not been so, the dear old china shepherdess would have worried herself to death with fears for her son, and with general trepidation occasioned by their having such an inmate. Even had that not been so, the authority to which the Minor Canon deferred officially, would have settled the point. "Mr. Crisparkle," quoth the Dean, "human justice may err, but it must act according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This young man must not take sanctuary with us." "You mean that he must leave my house, sir?" " Mr. Crisparkle," returned the prudent Dean, " I claim no authority in your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of your counsel and instruction."

" It is very lamentable, sir," Mr. Crisparkle represented. " Very much so," the Dean assented.

" And if it be a necessity—;" Mr. Crisparkle faltered. " As you unfortunately find it to be," returned the Dean. :

214 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Mr. Crisparkle bowed submissively. "It is hard to pre-

judge bis case, sir, but I am sensible that " .

'* Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,'' interposed the Dean, nodding his head smoothly, " there's nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alterna- tive, as your good sense has discovered." " I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless." " We-e-ell ! " said the Dean, in a more confidential tone, and slightly glancing around him, " I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to— no, I think I would not say so, generally." Mr. Crisparkle bowed again. " It does not become us, perhaps," pursued the Dean, " to be partizans. Not partizans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course."

" I hope you do not object, sir, to my having stated in public emphatically, that he will reappear here, whenever any new suspicion may be awakened, or any new circumstance may " come to light in this extraordinary matter ? " Not at all," returned the Dean. " And yet, do you know, I don't think," with a very nice and neat emphasis on those " two words : I doiiJt think I would state it, emphatically.

State it ? Ye-e-es ! But emphatically ? No-o-o. I think not. In point of fact, Mr. Crisparkle, keeping our hearts warm and our heads cool, we clergy need do nothing emphatically."

So, Minor Canon Row knew Neville Landless no more ; and he went whithersoever he would, or could, with a blight upon his name and fame. It w^as not until then that John Jasper silently resumed his place in the choir. Haggard and red-eyed, his hopes plainly

had deserted him, his sanguine mood was gone, and all his worst misgivings had come back. A day or two afterwards, while unrobing, he took his Diary from a pocket of his coat, turned the leaves, and with an impressive look, and without one spoken word, handed this entry to Mr. Crisparkle to read PHILANTHROPY. 215

" IMy doar boy is murdered. The discovery of the watch and shirt- pin convinces me, that he was murdered that night, and that his jewelry vviis taken from him to prevent identification by its means. All t1i(^ doliisive hopes I had founded on his separation from his betrothed wife, 1 give to the winds. They perish before this fatal discovery. I now swear, and record the oath on this page, that I nevermore will discuss til is mystery with any human creature, until I hold the clue to it in my hand. That I never will relax in my secresy or in my search. That I will fasten the crime of the murder of my dear dead boy, upon the murderer. And That I devote myself to his destruction."

CHAPTEE XVII.

PHILANTHROPY, PROFESSIONAL AND UNPROFESSIONAL.

Full half a year had come and gone, and Mr. Crisparkle sat in a waiting-room in the London chief offices of the Haven of Philanthrophy, until he could have audience of Mr. Honey- thunder. In his college-days of athletic exercises, Mr. Crisparkle had known professors of the Noble Art of fisticuffs, and had attended two or three of their gloved gatherings. He had now an opportunity of observing that as to the phrenological formation of the backs of their heads, the Professing Philanthro- pists were uncommonly like the Pugilists. In the develop- ment of all those organs which constitute, or attend, a propensity to " pitch into " your fellow-creatures, the Philanthropists were remarkably favored. There were several Professors passing in and out, with exactly the aggressive air upon them of being ready for a turn-up with any Novice who might happen to be on hand, that Mr. Crisparkle well remembered in the circles of the Fancy. Preparations were in progress for a moral little Mill somewhere on the rural circuit, and other Professors were backing this or that Heavy-Weight as good for such or such speech-making hits, so very much after the manner of the sporting publicans that the intended Resolu-

tions might have been Rounds. In an official manager of 216 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

these displays much celebrated for his platform tactics, Mr. Crisparkle recognized (iu a suit of black) the counterpart of a deceased benefactor of his species, an eminent public charac-

ter, once known to fame as Frosty-faced Fogo, who in daj'^s of yore superintended the formation of the magic circle with the ropes and stakes. There were only three conditions of resemblance wanting between these Professors and those. Firstly, the Philanthropists were in very bad training; much too fleshy, and presenting, both in face and figure, a superabun-

dance of what is known to Pugilistic Experts as Suet Pudding. Secondly, the Philanthropists had not the good temper of the Pugilists, and used worse language. Thirdly, their fighting code stood in great need of revision, as empowering them not only to bore their man to the ropes, but to bore him to the con-

fines of distraction ; also to hit him when he was down, hit him anywhere and anyhow, kick him, stamp upon him, gouge him, and maul him behind his back without mercy. In these last particulars the Professors of the Noble Art were much nobler than the Professors of Philanthrop3^ Mr. Crisparkle was so completely lost in musing on these similarities and dissimilarities, at the same time watching the

crowd which came and went by, always, as it seemed, on errands of antagonistically snatching something from somebody,

and never giving anything to anybody : that his name was

called before he heard it. On his at length responding, he was shown by a miserably shabby and underpaid stipendiary Phi- lanthropist (who could hardly have done worse if he had taken service with a declared enemj' of the human race) to Mr. Hon- eythunder's room. " Sir," said Mr. Honeythunder, in his tremendous voice, like a schoolmaster issuing orders to a boy of whom he had a bad opinion, " sit down." Mr. Crisparkle seated himself. Mr. Honeythunder, having signed the remaining few score of a few thousand circulars, calling upon a corresponding number of families without means to come forward, stump up :

PHILANTHKOPY. 217 instantly, and be Philanthropists, or go to the Devil, another shabby stipendiary Philanthropist (highly disinterested, if in earnest) gathered these into a basket and walked off with them. "!N"ow, Mr. Crisparkle," said Mr. Honeythunder, turning his chair half round towards him when they were alone, and squaring his arms with his hands on his knees, and his brows knitted, as if he added, I am going to make short work of you " Now, Mr. Crisparkle, we entertain different views, you and

I, sir, of the sanctity of human life.'^ " Do we ? ^^ returned the Minor Canon.

" We do, sir.^' "Might I ask you," said the Minor Canon: "what are your " views on that subject ?

" That human life is a thing to be held sacred, sir." " Might I ask you," pursued the Minor Canon as before " what you suppose to be my views on that subject ? " " " By George, sir ! returned the Philanthropist, squaring

** his arms still more, as he frowned on Mr. Crisparkle : they are best know to yourself." "Readily admitted. But you began by saying that we took different views, you know. Therefore (or you could not say so) you must have set up some views as mine. Pray, what " views have you set up as mine ? " Here is a man— and a young man," said Mr. Honeythun- der, as if that made the matter infinitely worse, and he could have easily borne the loss of an old one : " swept off the face " of the earth by a deed of violence. What do you call that ? " Murder," said the Miner Canon. " " What do you call the doer of that deed, sir ? " A murderer," said the Minor Canon. " 1 am glad to hear you admit so much, sir," retorted Mr.

Honeythunder, in his most offensive manner ; " and I candidly tell you that I didn't expect it." Here he lowered heavily at Mr. Crisparkle again. " Be so good as to explain what you mean by those very unjustifiable expressions." 218 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

"I don't sit here, sir," returned the Philanthropist, raising his voice to a roar, " to be browbeaten." " As the only other person present, no one can possibly \now that better than I do," returned the Minor Canon very (uietly. "But I interrupt your explanation."

" Murder ! " proceeded Mr. Honeythunder, in a kind of boisterous reverie, with his platform folding of his arms, and his platform nod of abhorrent reflection after each short senti-

ment of a word. " Bloodshed ! Abel ! Cain ! I hold no terms vith Cain. I repudiate with a shudder the red hand when it

s offered me." Instead of instantly leaping into his chair and cheering himself hoarse, as the Brotherhood in public meeting assembled would infallibly have done on this cue, Mr. Crisparkle merely reversed the quiet crossing of his legs, and said mild- " ly : Don't let me interrupt your explanation—when you begin

it." " " The Commandments say no murder. NO murder, sir ! proceeded Mr. Honeythunder, platformally pausing as if he took Mr. Crisparkle to task for having distinctly asserted that they said, You may do a little murder and then leave off. " And they also say, you shall bear no false witness," observed Mr. Crisparkle. " " Enough ! bellowed Mr. Honeythunder, with a solemnity and severity that would have brought the house down at a " e meeting, E— —nough ! My late wards being now of age, and I being released from a trust which I cannot contemplate without a thrill of horror, there are the accounts which you have undertaken to accept on their behalf, and there is a statement of the balance which you have undertaken to receive, and which you cannot receive too soon. And let me tell you, sir, I wish, that as a man and a Minor Canon, you were better employed," with a nod. " Better employed," with " " another nod. Bet—ter em—ployed ! with another and the three nods added up.

Mr. Crisparkle rose ; a little heated in the face, but with perfect command of himsel£ PHILANTHEOPY. 219

"Mr. Honeythunder," be said, taking up the papers re- " ferred to : my being better or worse employed than I am at present is a matter of taste and opinion. You might think me better employed in enrolling myself a member of your So- ciety." " " Ay, indeed, sir ! retorted Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head in a threatening manner. "It would have been better for you if you had done that long ago !^' " I think otherwise." " Or," said Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head again, '* I might think one of your profession better employed in devot- ing himself to the discovery and punishment of guilt than in leaving that duty to be undertaken by a layman." "I may regard my profession from a point of view which teaches me that its first duty is towards those who are in necessity and tribulation, who are desolate and oppressed," said Mr. Crisparkle. " However, as I have quite clearly satisfied myself that it is no part of my profession to make pro- fessions, I say no more of that. Biit I owe it to Mr. Neville, and to Mr. Neville's sister (and in a much lower degree to myself), to say that I know I was in the full possession and understanding of Mr. Neville's mind and heart at the time of this occurrence; and that, without in the least coloring or concealing what was to be deplored in him and required to be corrected, I feel certain that his tale is true. Feeling that certainty, I befriend him. As long as that certainty shall last I will befriend him. And if any consideration could shake me in this resolve, I should be so ashamed of myself for my meanness that no man's good opinion—no, nor no woman's—so gained, could compensate me for the loss of my own."

Good fellow ! Manly fellow ! And he was so modest, too. There was no more self-assertion in the Minor Canon than in the schoolboy who had stood in the breezy playing-fields keeping a wicket. He was simply and staunchly true to his duty alike in the large case and in the small. So all true souls ;

220 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DROOD.

ever are. So every true soul ever was, ever is, and ever wil be. There is nothing little to the really great in spirit. " " Then who do you make out did the deed 'i asked Mr, Honeythunder, turning on him abruptly. " Heaven forbid/' said Mr. Crisparkle, " that in my desire to clear one man I should lightly criminate another ! I accuse no one."

" Tcha ! " ejaculated Mr. Honeythunder with great disgust for this was by no means the principle on which the Philan- thropic Brotherhood usually proceeded. "And, sir, yon are not a disinterested witness, we must bear in mind." " How am I an interested one ? " inquired Mr. Crisparkle, smiling innocently, at a loss to imagine.

" There was a certain stipend, sir, paid to you for your pupil, which may have warped your judgment a bit," said Mr. Honeythunder, coarsely. "Perhaps I expect to retain it still?" Mr. Crisparkle " " returned, enlightened ; do you mean that too ? " Well, sir," returned the professional Philanthropist, getting up and thrusting his hands down into his trousers' pock- " ets ; I don't go about measuring people for caps. If people find I have any about me that fit 'em, they can put 'em on and wear 'em, if they like. That's their lookout : not mine." Mr. Crisparkle eyed him with a just indignation, and took him to task thus : "' Mr. Honeythunder, I hoped when I came in here that I might be und^^r no necessity of commenting on the introduction of platform manners or platform manoeuvres among the decent forbearances of private life. But you have given me such a specimen of both, that I should be a fit subject for both if I remained silent respecting them. They are detestable."

" They don't suit you, I dare say, sir." " They are," repeated Mr. Crisparkle, without noticing the interruption, " detestable. They violate equally the justice that should belong to Christians, and the restraints that !!!

PHILANTHROPY. 221 should belong to gentlemen. You assume a great crime to have been committed by one whom I, acquainted with the attendant circumstances, and having numerous reasons on my side, devoutly believe to be innocent of it. Because I differ from you on that vital point, what is your platform resource ? Instantly to turn upon me, charging that I have no sense of the enormity of the crime itself, but am its aider and abettor So, another time—taking me as representing your opponent in other cases—you set up a platform credulity : a moved and seconded and carried unanimously profession of faith in some ridiculous delusion or mischievous imposition. I decline to believe it, and you fall back upon your platform resource of proclaiming that I believe nothing ; that because I will not bow down to a false God of our making, I deny the true God Another time you make the platform discovery that War is a

calamity, and you propose to abolish it by a string of twisted resolutions tossed into the air like the tail of a kite. I do not admit the discovery to be yours in the least, and I have not a grain of faith in your remedy. Again, your platform resource of representing me as revelling in the horrors of a

battle field like a fiend incarnate ! Another time, in another of your indiscriminating platform rushes, you would punish the sober for the drunken. I claim consideration for the com-

fort, convenience, and refreshment, of the sober ; and you presently make platform proclamation that I have a depraved desire to turn Heaven's creatures into swine and wild beasts

In all such cases your movers, and your seconders, and your supporters—your regular Professors of all degrees—run amuck like so many mad Malays; habitually attributing the lowest and basest motives with the utmost recklessness (let me call your attention to a recent instance in yourself for which you should blush), and quoting figures which you know to be as wilfully onesided as a statement of any complicated account

that should be all Creditor side and no Debtor, or all Debtor

side and no Creditor. Therefore it is, Mr. Honeythunder, that I consider the platform a sufficiently bad example and a 222 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

sufficiently bad school, even in public life ; but bold that, carried into private life, it becomes an unendurable nuisance."

" These are strong words, sir ! " exclaimed the Philanthro- pist." " I hope so," said Mr. Crisparkle. " Good-morning." He walked out of the Haven at a great rate, but soon fell into his regular brisk pace, and soon had a smile upon his face as he went along, wondering what the china shepherdess would have said if she had seen him pounding Mr. Honeythunder in the late little lively affair. !For Mr. Crisparkle had just enough of harmless vanity to hope that he had hit hard, and to glow with the belief that he had trimmed the Philanthropic jacket pretty handsomely. He took himself to Staple Inn, but not to P. J. T. and Mr. Grewgious. Full many a creaking stair he climbed before he reached some attic rooms in a corner, turned the latch of their unbolted door, and stood beside the table of Seville Landless. An air of retreat and solitude hung about the rooms, and about their inhabitant. He was much worn, and so were they. Their sloping ceilings, cumbrous rusty locks and grates, and heavy wooden bins and beams, slowly mouldering withal, had a prisonous look, and he had the haggard face of a prisoner. Yet the sunlight shone in at the ugly garret window which

had a penthouse to itself thrust out among the tiles ; and on the cracked and smoke-blackened parapet beyond, some of the deluded sparrows of the place rheumatically hopped, like little nests feathered cripples who had left their crutches in their ; and there was a play of living leaves at hand that changed

the air, and made an imperfect sort of music in it that would have been melody in the country. The rooms were sparely furnished, but with good store of books. Everything expressed the abode of a poor student. That Mr. Crisparkle had been either chooser, lender, or donor of the books, or that he combined the three characters, might have been easily seen in the friendly beam of his eyes upon them as be entered. .

P H I L A N T II R O P y 223

"How goes it, Neville?" " I am in good heart, Mr. Crisparkle, and working away." " I wish your eyes were not quite so large, and not quite so bright," said the Minor Canon, slowly releasing the hand he had taken in his. "They brighten at the sight of you," returned Neville. *^ If you were to fall awa}^ from me, they would soon be dull enough."

" Eally, rally ! " urged the other, in a stimulating tone. " " Fight for it, Neville !

'* If I were dying, I feel as if a word from you would rally

me ; if my pulse had stopped, I feel as if your touch would make it beat again," said Neville. " But I have rallied, and am doing famously."

Mr. Crisparkle turned him with his face a little more towards the light. " I want to see a ruddier touch here, Neville," he said, indi- cating his own healthy cheek by way of pattern ; " I want more sun to shine upon you."

Neville drooped suddenly as he replied in a lowered voice 5

" I am not hardy enough for that, yet. I may become so, but

I cannot bear it yet. If you had gone through those Cloister-

ham streets as I did ; if you had seen, as I did, those averted eyes, and the better sort of people silently giving me too much room to pass, that I might not touch them or come near them,

you wouldn't think it quite unreasonable that I cannot go about in the daylight." " My poor fellow ! " said the Minor Canon, in a tone so

purely sympathetic that the young man caught his hand : " I

never said it was unreasonable : never thought so. But I

should like you to do it."

" And that would give me the strongest motive to do it. But I cannot yet. I cannot persuade myself that the eyes of even the stream of strangers I pass in this vast city look at me without suspicion. I feel marked and tainted, even when I go out—as I do only—at night. But the darkness covers me then, md I take courage from it." 224 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Mr. Crisparkle laid a hand upon his shoulder, and stood looking down at him. " If I could have changed my name/' said Neville, '^ I would

have done so. But as you wisely pointed out to me, I can't do

that, for it would look like guilt. If I could have gone to some distant place, I might have found relief in that, but- the

thing is not to be thought of, for the same reason. Hiding and escaping would be the construction in either case. It seems a

little hard to be so tied to a stake, and innocent ; but I don't complain." "And you must expect no miracle to help you, Neville," said Mr. Crisparkle, compassionately.

" No, sir, I know that. The ordinary fulness of time and

circumstance is all I have to trust to."

" It will right you at last, Neville.'' " So I believe, and I hope I may live to know it." But perceiving that the despondent mood into which he was falling cast a shadow on the Minor Canon, and (it may be) feeling that the broad hand upon his shoulder was not then

quite as steady as its own natural strength had rendered it

when it first touched him just now, he brightened and said •

" Excellent circumstances for study, anyhow ! and you know, Mr. Crisparkle, what need I have of study in all ways. Not to mention that you have advised me to study fbr the difficult profession of the law, specially, and that of course I am guiding myself by the advice of such a friend and helper. Such a good friend and helper !" He took the fortifying hand from his shoulder, and kissed it. Mr. Crisparkle beamed at the books, but not so brightly as when he had entered. "I gather from your silence on the subject that my late " guardian is adverse, Mr. Crisparkle ?

The Minor Canon answered : " Your late guardian is a—-a most unreasonable person, and it signifies nothing to any reason-

able person whether he is a

PHILANTHROPY. 225

upon," sighed Neville, balf wearily and half cheerily, " while

I wait to be learned, and wait to be righted ! Else I might have proved the proverb that while the grass grows, the steed starves !

He opened some books as he said it, and was soon immersed in their interleaved and annotated passages, while Mr. Cris- parkle sat beside him, expounding, correcting, and advising. The Minor Canon's cathedral duties made these visits of his difficult to accomplish, and only to be compassed at intervals of many weeks. But they were as serviceable as they were precious to Neville Landless. When they got through such studies as they had in hand, the}^ stood leaning on the window-sill, and looking down upon the patch of garden. " Next week," said Mr. Crisparkle, " you will cease to be alone, and will have a devoted companion." " And yet," returned Neville, " this seems au uncongenial " place to bring my sister to !

" I don't think so," said the Minor Canon. " There is duty to be done here ; and there are womanly feeling, sense, and courage wanted here." " I meant," explained Neville, " that the surroundings are so dull and unwomanly, and that Helena can have no suitable friend or society here." ^' You have only to remember," said Mr. Crisparkle, " that you are here yourself, and that she has to draw you into the sunlight."

They were silent for a little while, and then Mr. Crisparkle began anew.

" When we first spoke together, Neville, you told me that your sister had risen out of the disadvantages of your past lives as superior to you as the tower of Cloisterham Cathedral is higher than the chimneys of Minor Canon Corner. Do you " remember that ? " « Eight well !

" I was inclined to think it at the time an enthusiastic flight 14 226 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DROOD.

No matter what I think it now. What I would emphasize is, that under the head of Pride your sister is a great and oppor- tune example to you.^^ " Under all heads that are included in the composition of a fine character, she is.'' " Say so ; hut take this one. Your sister has learnt how to govern what is proud in her nature. She can dominate it even when it is wounded through her sympathy with you. No doubt she has suffered deeply in those same streets where you suffered deeply. No doubt her life is darkened by the cloud that darkens yours. But bending her pride into a grand composure that is not haughty or aggressive, but is a sustained confidence in you and in the truth, she has won her way through those streets until she passes along them as high in the general respect as any one who treads them. Every day and hour of her life since Edwin Drood's disappearance, she has faced malignity and folly-—for you—as only a brave nature well directed can. So will it be with her to the end. Another and weaker kind of pride might sink broken-hearted, but "never such a pride as hers : which knows no shrinking, and can get no mastery over her." The pale cheek beside him flushed under the comparison and the hint implied in it. " I will do all I can to imitate her," said Neville.

" Do so, and be a truly brave man as she is a truly brave woman," ans\\'ered Mr. Crisparkle, stoutly. "It is growing dark. Will you go my way with me, when it is quite dark ?

Mind ! It is not I who wait for darkness." Neville replied that he would accompany him directly. But Mr. Crisparkle said he had a moment's call to make on Mr. Grewgious as an act of courtesj^, and would run across to that gentleman's chambers, and rejoin Neville on his own doorstep

if he would come down there to meet him. Mr. Grewgious, bolt upright as usual, sat taking his wine in the dusk at his open window; his wineglass and decanter

on the round table at his elbow \ himself and his legs on the PIIILANTnROPY. 227

windowseat ; only one hinge in his whole body, like a boot- jack. " How do you do, reverend sir ? " said Mr. Grewgious, with abundant offers of hospitality which were as cordially declined as made. " And how is your charge getting on over the way in the set that I had the pleasure of recommending to you as " vacant and eligible ? Mr. Crisparkle replied suitably. " I am glad you approve of them," said Mr. Grewgious, " because I entertain a sort of fancy for having him under my eyeJ' As Mr. Grewgious had to turn his eye up considerably, before he could see the chambers, the phrase was to be taken figuratively and not literally. " And how did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir ? " said Mr. Grewgious. Mr. Crisparkle had left him pretty well. " " And where did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir ? Mr, Crisparkle had left him at Cloisterham. " And when did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir ? '' That morning.

" Umps ! " said Mr. Grewgious. " He didn't say he was " coming, perhaps ? " " Coming where ? " Anywhere, for instance ? " said Mr. Grewgious. "No."

" Because here he is," said Mr. Grewgious, who had asked all these questions with his preoccupied glance directed out at " window. " And he don't look agreeable, does he ? Mr. Crisparkle was craning towards the window, when Mr.

Grewgious added : " If you will kindly step round here behind me, in the gloom of the room, and will cast your eye at the second-floor landing window, in yonder house, I think you will hardly fail to see a slinking individual in whom I recognise our local friend."

'' " You are right I cried Mr. Crisparkle. ^28 THE MYSTIIRY OF EDWIN BROOD.

" Umps !'' said Mr. Grewgious, Then he added, turning his face so abruptly that his head nearly came into collision with " Mr. Crisparkle's : what should you say that our local friend " was up to ? The last passage he had been shown in the Diary returned on Mr. Crisparkle's mind with the force of a strong recoil, and he asked Mr. Grewgious if he thought it possible that Neville was to be harassed by the keeping of a watch upon him ? " " A watch," repeated Mr. Grewgious, musingly. " Ay ! "Which would not only of itself haunt and torture his life," said Mr. Crisparkle, warmly, " but would expose him to the torment of a perpetually reviving suspicion, whatever he " might do, or wherever he might go ?

" Ay ! " said Mr. Grewgious, musingly still. *^ Do I see " him waiting for you ? " No doubt you do." " Then would you have the goodness to excuse my getting up to see you out, and to go out to join him, and to go the way that you were going, and to take no notice of our local friend ?" said Mr. Grewgious. " I entertain a sort of fancy for having " him under my, eye to-night, do you know ? Mr. Crisparkle, with a significant nod, complied, and, re- joining Neville, went away with him. They dined together, and parted at the yet unfinished and undeveloped railway sta-

tion : Mr. Crisparkle to get home ; Neville to walk the streets, cross the bridges, make a wide round of the city in the friendly darkness, and tire himself out. It was midnight when he returned from his solitary expedition, and climbed his staircase. The night was hot, and the windows of the staircase were all wide open. Coming to the top, it gave him a passing chill of surprise (there being no rooms but his up there) to find a stranger sitting on the window-sill, more after the manner of a venturesome glazier than an amateur ordinarily careful of his neck ; in fact, so much more outside the window than inside, as to suggest the thought that he must have oome up by the water-spout instead of the stairs. :

PHILANTHROPY. 229

The stranger said nothing until Neville put his key in his door; then, seeming to make sure of his identity from the action, he spoke " I beg your pardon," he said, coming from the window with a frank and smiling air, and a prepossessing address ; " the beans.'^

!N"eville was quite at a loss. '^ Kunners," said the visitor. " Scarlet. Next door at the back.''

" Oh ! '' returned Neville. " And the mignonette and wallflower ? ''

" The same," said the visitor. " Pray walk in." " Thank you." Neville lighted his candles, and the visitor sat down. A handsome gentleman, with a young face, but an older figure in its robustness and its breadth of shoulder ; say a man of eight-and-twenty, or at the utmost thirty : so extremely sunburnt that the contrast between his brown visage and the white forehead shaded out of doors by his hat, and the glimpses of white throat below the neckerchief, would have been almost ludicrous but for his broad temples, bright blue eyes, clustering brown hair, and laughing teeth. " " I have noticed," said he ; —my name is Tartar." Neville inclined his head. " I have noticed (excuse me) that you shut yourself up a good deal, and that you seem to like my garden aloft here.

If you would like a little more of it, I could throw out a few lines and stays between my windows and yours, which the runners would take to directly. And I have some boxes, both of mignonette and wallflower, that I could shove on along the gutter (with a boat-hook I have by me) to your windows, and draw back again when they wanted watering or gardening, and shove on again when they were ship-shape, so that they would cause you no trouble. I couldn't take this liberty with-

out asking your permission, so I venture to ask it. Tartar,

corresponding set, next door," 230 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" You are very kind."

" Not at all. I ought to apologize for looking in so late. But having noticed (excuse me) that you generall}'' walk out at night, I thought I should inconvenience you least by awaiting your return. I am always afraid of inconveniencing busy men, being an idle man." " I should not have thought so from your appearance."

" "No ? I take it as a compliment. In fact, I was bred in

the Royal 'Na.yy and was First Lieutenant when I quitted it. But, an uncle disappointed in the service leaving me his property on condition that I left the Navy, I accepted the fortune and resigned my commission." " " Lately, I presume ? " Well, I had had twelve or fifteen years of knocking about

first. I came here some nine months before you ; I had had one crop before you came. I chose this place, because, having served last in a little Corvette, I knew I should feel more at home where I had a constant opportunity of knocking my head against the ceiling. Besides; it would never do for a man who had been aboard ship from his boyhood to turn luxurious all at once. Besides, again ; having been accustomed to a very short allowance of land all my life, I thought I'd feel my way to the command of a landed estate, by beginning in boxes." Whimsically as this was said, there was a touch of merry earnestness in it that made it doubly whimsical. " However," said the Lieutenant, ** I have talked quite enough about myself. It is not my way I hope; it has merely been to present myself to you naturally. If you will allow me to take the liberty I have described, it will be a charity, for it will give me something more to do. And you are not to suppose that it will entail any interruption or intrusion on you, for that is far from my intention." Neville replied that he was greatly obliged, and that he thankfully accepted the kind proposal. " I am very glad to take your windows in tow," said the " !!

PHILANTHROPY. 231

Lieutenant. " From what I have seen of you when I have been gardening at mine, and you have been looking on, I have thought you (excuse me) rather too studious and delicate " May I ask, is your health at all affected ? "I have undergone some mental distress," said Neville, confused, " which has stood me in the stead of illness." " Pardon me," said Mr. Tartar. With the greatest delicacy he shifted his ground to the windows again, and asked if he could look at one of them.

On Neville's opening it, he immediately sprang out, as if he were going aloft with a whole watch in an emergency, and were setting a bright example.

" For Heaven's sake ! " cried Neville, " don't do that Where are you going, Mr. Tartar? You'll be dashed to pieces ! " All well ! " said the Lieutenant, coolly looking about him on the housetop. " All taut and trim here. Those lines and stays shall be rigged before you turn out in the morning. May I take this short cut home and say. Good-night ? "

" ! Mr. Tartar " urged Neville. Pray ! It makes me giddy " to see you ! But Mr. Tartar, with a wave of his hand and the deftness of a cat, had already dipped through his scuttle of scarlet runners without breaking a leaf, and " gone below." Mr. Grewgious, his bedroom window-blind held aside with his hand, happened at that moment to have Neville's chambers under his eye for the last time that night. Fortunately his eye was on the front of the house and not the back, or this remarkable appearance and disappearance might have broken his rest as a phenomenon. But, Mr. Grewgious seeing nothing there, not even a light in the windows, his gaze wandered from the windows to the stars, as if he would read in them something that was hidden from him. Many of us would if we could ; but none of us so much as know our letters in the stars yet—or seem likely to do it, in this state of existence—and few languages can be read until their alpha- bets are mastered. ;

232 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM.

At about this time, a stranger appeared in Cloisterham ; a white haired personage with black eyebrows. Being buttoned up in a tightish blue surtout, with a buff waistcoat and grey-

trousers, he had something of a military air ; but he announced himself at the Crozier (the orthodox hotel, where he put up with a portmanteau) as an idle dog who lived upon his means and he further announced that he had a mind to take a lodging in the picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of settling down there altogether. Both announcements were

made in the coffee-room of the Crozier, to all whom it might, or might not, concern, by the stranger as he stood with his back to the empty fireplace, waiting for his fried sole, veal cut-

let, and pint of sherry. And the waiter (business being

chronically slack at the Crozier) represented all whom it might or might not concern, and absorbed the whole of the information. This gentleman^s white head was unusually large, and his shock of white hair was unusually thick and ample. " I suppose, waiter," he said, shaking his shock of hair, as a New- foundland dog might shake his before sitting down to dinner, " that a fair lodging for a single buffer might be found in these " parts, eh ?

The waiter had no doubt of it. " Something old," said the gentleman. " Take my hat down for a moment from that peg, will you ? No, I don't " want it ; look into it. What do you see written there ? " The waiter read : Datchery." " " Now you know my name," said the gentleman ; Dick Datchery. Hang it up again. I was saying something old is what I should prefer, something odd and out of the way; something venerable, architectural, and inconvenient." "

A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM. 233

" We have a good choice of inconvenient lodgings in the town, sir, I think," replied the waiter, with modest confidence in its resources that way ; " indeed, I have no doubt that we could suit you that far, however particular you might be. But a architectural lodging!" That seemed to trouble the waiter's head, and he shook it. " Anything Cathedraly now," Mr. Datchery suggested. " Mr. Tope," said the waiter, brightening, as he rubbed his chin with his hand, " would be the likeliest party to inform in that line."

" Who is Mr. Tope ? " inquired Dick Datchery. The waiter explained that he was the Verger, and that Mrs. Tope had indeed once upon a time let lodgings herself—or

offered to let them ; but that as nobody had ever taken them, Mrs. Tope's window-bill, long a Cloisterham Institution, had disappeared ; probably had tumbled down one day, and never been put up again. " ril call on Mrs. Tope," said Mr. Datchery, " after dinner." So when he had done his dinner, he was duly directed to the spot, and sallied out for it. But the Crozier being an hotel of a most retiring disposition, and the waiter's directions being fatally precise, he soon became bewildered, and went boggling about and about the Cathedral Tower, whenever he could catch a glimpse of it, with a general impression on his mind that

Mrs. Tope's was somewhere very near it, and that, like the children in the game of hot boiled beans and very good butter, he was warm in his search when he saw the Tower, and cold when he didn't see it. He was getting very cold indeed when he came upon a fragment of burial-ground in which an unhappy sheep was grazing.

Unhappy, because a hideous small boy was stoning it through the railings, and had already lamed it in one leg, and was much excited by the benevolent sportsmanlike purpose of breaking its other three legs, and bringing it down.

" ! 'It 'im agin " cried the boy, as the poor creature leaped 5

" and made a dint in his wool 1 " "

234 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" " " Let him be ! said Mr. Datchery. Don't yoii see you have lamed him ? '' " Yer lie," returned the sportsman. " E went and lamed isself. I see 'im do it, and I giv' 'im a shy as a Widdy- warning to 'im not to go a bruisin' 'is master's mutton any more." " Come here."

" I won't ; I'll come when yer can ketch me."

" Stay there then, and show me which is Mr. Tope's."

" Ow can I stay here and show you which is Topeseses,

when Topeseses is t'other side the Kinfreederal, and over the

crossings, and round ever so many corners ? Stoo-pid ! Ya-

a-ah !

" Show me where it is, and I'll give you something."

" Come on, then !

This brisk dialogue concluded, the bo}'' led the way, and by- and-by stopped at some distance from an arched passage, pointing. " " Lookie yonder. You see that there winder and door ? "That's Tope's?" " Yer lie ; it ain't. That's Jarsper's." " Indeed ? " said Mr. Datchery, with a second look of some interest.

" Yes, and I ain't agoin no nearer 'Im, I tell yer." "Why not?" " 'Cos I ain't a going to be lifted off my legs and 'ave my

braces bust and be choked ; not if I knows it and not by 'Im.

Wait till I set a jolly good flint a flyin at the back o' 'is jolly

old 'ed some day ! Now look t'other side the harch ; not tho

side where Jarsper's door is ; t'other side." " I see."

" A little way in, o' that side, there's a low door, down two

steps. That's Topeseses with 'is name on a hoval plate." " Good. See here," said Mr. Datchery, producing a shilling. " You owe me half of this."

" Yer lie ; I don't owe yer nothing ; I never seen yer." A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM. 235

" I tell 3'ou you owe me half of this, because I have no sixpence in my pocket. So the next time you meet me you shall do something else for me, to pay me." " All right, give us 'old." " " What is your name, and where do you live ? " Deputy. Travellers' Twopenny, 'cross the green." The boy instantly darted off with the shilling, lest Mr, Datchery should repent, but stopped at a safe distance, on the happy chance of his being uneasy in his mind about it, to goad him with a demon dance expressive of its irrevocability. Mr. Datchery, taking off his hat to give that shock of white hair of his another shake, seemed quite resigned, and betook himself whither he had been directed. Mr. Tope's official dwelling communicating by an upper stair with Mr. Jasper's (hence Mrs. Tope's attendance on that gentleman), was of very modest proportions, and partook of the character of a cool dungeon. Its ancient walls were massive

and its rooms rather seemed to have been dug out of them, than to have been designed beforehand with any reference to them. The main door opened at once on a chamber of no describable shape, with a groined roof, which in its turn opened on another chamber of no describable shape, with another groined roof: their windows small, and in the thickness of the walls. These two chambers, close as to their atmosphere and swarthy as to their illumination by natural light, were the apartments which Mrs. Tope had so long offered to an un appreciative city. Mr. Datchery, however, was more appreciative. He found that if he sat with the main door open he would enjoy the passing society of all comers to and fro by the gateway, and would have light enough. He found that if Mr. and Mrs. Tope living overhead, used for their own egress and ingress a little side

stair that came plump into the Precincts by a door opening outward, to the surprise and inconvenience of a limited public of pedestrians in a narrow way, he would be alone, as in a separate residence. He found the rent moderate, and everything as quaintly inconvenient as he could desire. He agreed there- 236 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. fore to take the lodging then and there, and money down, possession to be had next evening on condition that reference was permitted him to Mr. Jasper as occupying the Gate House, of which, on the other side of the gateway the Verger's hole in the wall was an appanage or subsidiary part. The poor dear gentleman was very solitary and very sad, Mrs. Tope said, but she had no doubt he would " speak for her.'' Perhaps Mr. Datchery had heard something of what had occurred there last winter ? Mr. Datchery had as confused a knowledge of the event in question, on trying to recall it, as he well could have. He begged Mrs. Tope's pardon when she found it incumbent on her to correct him in every detail of his summary of the facts, but pleaded that he was merely a single buifer getting through life upon his means as idly as he could, and that so many people were so constantly making away with so many other people, as to render it difficult for a buffer of an easy temper to preserve the circumstances of the several cases unmixed in his mind. Mr. Jasper proving willing to speak for Mrs. Tope, Mr. Datchery, who had sent up his card, was invited to ascend the postern staircase. The Mayor was there, Mrs. Tope said ; but he was not to be regarded in the light of company, as he and Mr. Jasper were great friends. " I beg pardon," said Mr. Datchery, making a leg with his hat under his arm, as he addressed himself equally to both " gentlemen ; a selfish precaution on my part and not personally interesting to anybody but myself. But as a buffer living on his means, and having an idea of doing it in this lovely place in peace and quiet, for remaining span of life, beg to ask " if the Tope family are quite respectable ? Mr. Jasper could answer for that without the slightest hesitation.

" That is enough, sir," said Mr. Datchery. ^'My friend the Mayor," added Mr. Jasper, presenting Mr. Datchery with a courtly motion of his hand towards that po- ;

A SETTLER IK CLOISTERHAM. 2S7

tentate; " whose recommendation is actually much more important to a stranger, than that of an obscure person like myself, will testify in their behalf, I am sure." " The Worshipful the Mayor," said Mr. Datchery, with a low bow, " places me under an infinite obligation."

" Very good people, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Tope," said Mr. Sapsea, with condescension. " Very good opinions. Very well behaved. Very respectful. Much approved by the Dean and Chapter." " The Worshipful the Mayor gives them a character," said Mr. Datchery, " of which they may indeed be proud. I would ask His Honor (if I might be permitted) whether there are not many objects of great interest in the city which is " under his beneficent sway ? " We are, sir," returned Mr. Sapsea, " an ancient city, and an ecclesiastical city. We are a constitutional city, as it becomes such a city to be, and we uphold and maintain our glorious privileges." " His Honor," said Mr. Datchery, bowing, " inspires me with a desire to know more of the city, and confirms me in my inclination to end my days in the city." " Ketired from the Army, sir ? " suggested Mr. Sapsea. " His Honor the Mayor does me too much credit," returned Mr. Datchery. " Navy, sir ? " suggested Mr. Sapsea. *^ Again," repeated Mr. Datchery, " His Honor the Mayor does me too much credit."

" Diplomacy is a fine profession," said Mr. Sapsea, as a general remark.

" There, I confess. His Honor the Mayor is too many for me," said Mr. Datchery, with an ingenuous smile and bow

*^ even a Diplomatic bird must fall to such a gun." Now, this was very soothing. Here was a gentleman of a great, not to say a •grand—address, accustomed to rank and dignity, really setting a fine example how to behave to a Mayor. There was something in that third person style of being spoken 288 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. to, that Mr. Sapsea found particularly recognisant of his merits and position, " But I crave pardon," said Mr. Datchery. " His Honor the Mayor will bear with me, if for a moment I have been deluded into occupying his time, and hare forgotten the humble claims upon my own, of my hotel, the Crozier.''

" Not at all, sir," said Mr. Sapsea. " I am returning home, and if you would like to take the exterior of our cathedral in your way, I shall be glad to point it out." " His Honor the Mayor," said Mr. Datchery, " is more than kind and gracious." As Mr Datchery, when he made his acknowledgments to Mr. Jasper, could not be induced to go out of the room before

the Worshipful, the Worshipful led the way down stairs ; Mr. Datchery following with his hat under his arm, and his shock of white hair streaming in the evening breeze. " Might I ask His Hono«," said Mr. Datchery, " whether that gentleman we have just left is the gentleman of whom I have heard in the neighborhood as being much afflicted by the loss of a nephew, and concentrating his life on avenging the " loss ?

" That is the gentleman. John Jasper, sir." " Would His Honor allow me to inquire whether there are " strong suspicions of any one ? " More than suspicions, sir," returned Mr. Sapsea, " all but certainties." "Only think now! " cried Mr. Datchery. " But proof, sir, proof, must be built up stone by stone," said the Mayor. " As I say, the end crowns the work. It is not enough that Justice should be morally certain ; she must be immorally certain—legally, that is." " His Honor," said Mr. Datchery, "reminds me of the na- " ture of the law. Immoral. How true ! " As I say, sir," pompously went on the Mayor, " The arm of the law is a strong arm, and a long arm. That is the way

1 put it. A strong arm and a long arm." ;

A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM. 239

" ! " How forcible —And yet, again, how true ! murmured Mr. Datchery. " And without betraying what I call the secrets of the prison-house/' said Mr. Sapsea ; " the secrets of the prison- house is the term I used on the bench." " And what other term than His Honor's would express it ? " said Mr. Datchery. " Without, I say, betraying them, I predict to you, knowing the iron will of the gentleman we have just left (I take the bold step of calling it iron, on account of its strength), that in this case the long arm will reach, and the strong arm will strike.—This is our cathedral, sir. The best judges are pleased to admire it, and the best among our townsmen own to being a little vain of it." All this time Mr. Datchery had walked with his hat under his arm, and his white hair streaming. He had an odd momentary appearance upon him of having forgotten his hat, when Mr. Sapsea now touched it ; and he clapped his hand up to his head as if with some vague expectation of finding another hat upon it.

" Pray be covered, sir," entreated Mr. Sapsea ; magnifi- cently implying: " I shall not mind it, I assure you."

" His Honor is very good, but I do it for coolness," said Mr. Datchery. Then Mr. Datchery admired the cathedral, and Mr. Sapsea pointed it out as if he himself had invented and built it ; thero were a few details indeed of which he did not approve, but those he glossed over, as if the workmen had made mistakes in his absence. The cathedral disposed of, he led the way by the churchyard, and stopped to extol the beauty of the even- nig—by chance, in the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Sapsea's epitaph.

*^ And by-the-b}'-," said Mr. Sapsea, appearing to descend from an elevation to remember it all of a sudden ; like Apollo shooting down from Olympus to pick up his forgotten lyre

*^ that is one of our small lions. The partiality of our people :

240 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. has made it so, and strangers have been seen taking a copy of it now and then. I am not a judge of it myself, for it is a little work of my own. But it was troublesome to turn, sir; I may say, difficult to turn with elegance." Mr. Datchery became so ecstatic over Mr. Sapsea's composition that, in spite of his intention to end his days in Cloister- ham, and therefore his probably having in reserve many opportunities of copying it, he would have transcribed it into his pocket-book on the spot, but for the slouching towards them of its material producer and perpetrator, Durdles, whom Mr. Sapsea hailed, not sorry to show him a bright example of be- havior to superiors.

" Ah, Durdles ! This is the mason, sir ; one of the Clois- terham worthies ; everybody here knows Durdles. Mr. Datch- ." ery, Durdles ; a gentleman who is going to settle here

" I wouldn't do it if I was him," growled Durdles. " We're a heavy lot." "You surely don't speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles," returned Mr. Datchery, '•' any more than for His Honor." " Who's His Honor ? " demanded Durdles. " His Honor the Mayor." " I never was brought afore him," said Durdles, with anything but the look of a loyal subject of the mayoralty, " and

it'll be time enough for me to Honor him when I am. Until which, and when, and where

" Mister Sapsea is his name, England is his nation, Cloisterham's his dwelling-place, Aukshneer's his occupation." Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene, and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly " chucked " to him by Mr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wages overdue. While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowly found and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler of Durdles's habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation. " I suppose a curious stranger might come to see you, and SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL. 241 your works, Mr. Dnrdles, at any odd time ? " said Mr. DatcH- ery upon that. " Any gentleman is welcome to come and see me any evening if he brings liquor for two with him," returned Durdles, with a penny between his teeth and certain halfpence in his hands. " Or if he likes to make it twice two, he'll be doubly welcome." " I shall come. Master Deputy, what do you owe me ? " "A job." " Mind you pay me honestly with the job of showing me Mr. Durdles's house when I want to go there." Deputy, with a piercing broadside of whistle through the whole gap in his mouth, as a receipt in full for all arrears, vanished.

" The Worshipful and the Worshipper then passed on together until they parted, with many ceremonies, at the Wor- shipfuFs door ; even then, the Worshipper carried his hat under his arm, and gave his streaming white hair to the breeze. Said Mr. Datchery to himself that night, as he looked at his white hair in the gas-lighted looking glass over the coffee-

room chimneypiece at the Crozier, and shook it out : " For a single buffer, of an easy temper, living idly on his means, I " have ha3 a rather busy afternoon I

CHAPTER XIX.

SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL.

Agai" Miss Twinkleton has delivered her valedictory address, with the accompaniments of white wine and pound cake, and again the young ladies have departed to their several homes. Helena Landless has left the Nuns' House to attend

her brother's fortunes, and pretty Rosa is alone. Cloisterham is so bright and sunny in these summer days, 15 242 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

that the cathedral and the monastery-ruin show as if their strong walls were transparent. A soft glow seems to shine from within them, rather than upon them from without, such is their mellowness as they look forth on the hot corn-fields and the smoking roads that distantly wind among them. The Cloisterham gardens blush with ripening fruit. Time was when travel-stained pilgrims rode in clattering parties through

the city's welcome shades ; time is when wayfarers, leading a gipsy life between haymaking time and harvest, and looking as if they were just made of the dust of the earth, so very dusty are they, lounge about on cool doorsteps, trying to mend their unmendable shoes, or giving them to the city kennels as a hopeless job, and seeking others in the bundles that they carry, along with their yet unused sickles swathed in bands of straw. At all the more public pumps there is much cooling of bare feet, together with much bubbling and gurgling of drinking with hand to spout on the part of these Bedouins ; the Cloisterham police meanwhile looking askant from their beats with suspicion, and manifest impatience that the intruders should depart from within the civic bounds, and once more fry themselves on the simmering highroads. On the afternoon of such a day, when the last cathedral service is done, and when that side of the High Street on which the Nuns' House stands is in grateful shade, save where its quaint old garden opens to the west between the boughs of trees, a servant informs Eosa, to her terror, that Mr. Jasper desires to see her. If he had chosen his time for finding her at a disadvan- tage, he could have done no better. Perhaps he has chosen it. Helena Landless is gone, Mrs. Tisher is absent on leave, Miss Twinkleton (in her amateur state of existence) has con- tributed herself and a veal pie to a picnic.

" Oh whjr, why, why, did you say I was at home ! " cries Rosa, helplessly. The maid replies, that Mr. Jasper never asked the question. That he said he knew she was at home, and begged she might be told that he asked to see her. SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL. 243

" What shall I do, what shall I do ? " thinks Rosa, clasp ing her hands. Possessed by a kind of desperation, she adds in the next breath that she will come to Mr. Jasper in the garden. She shudders at the thought of being shut up with him in the house ; but many of its windows command the garden, and she can be seen as well as heard there, and can shriek in the free air and run away. Such is the wild idea that flutters through her mind. She has never seen him since the fatal night, except when she was questioned before the Mayor, and then he was present in gloomy watchfulness, as representing his lost nephew and burning to avenge him. She hangs her garden-hat on her arm, and goes out. ^ The moment she sees him from the porch, leaning on the sun-dial, the old horrible feeling of being compelled by him, asserts its hold upon her. She feels that she would even then go back, but that he draws her feet towards him. She cannot resist, and sits down, with her head bent, on the garden-seat beside the sun-dial. She cannot look up at him for abhorrence,] but she has perceived that he is dressed in deep mourning/ So is she. It was not so at first ; but the lost has long been given up, and mourned for, as dead. He would begin by touching her hand. She feels the intention, and draws her hand back. His eyes are then fixed upon her, she knows, though her own see nothing but the grass. " I have been waiting," he begins, " for some time, to be summoned back to my duty near you." After several times forming her lips, which she knows he is closely watching, into the shape of some other hesitating reply, " and then into none, she answers : " Duty, sir ? " The duty of teaching you, serving you as your faithful music-master." « I have left off that study."

" Not left off, I think. Discontinued. I was told by your guardian that you discontinued it under the shock that wo " have all felt so acutely. When will you resume ? "

244 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

" Never, sir."

" Never ? You could have done no more if you had loved my dear hoy." " " I did love him ! cries Eosa, with a flash of anger. " Yes ; hut not quite—not quite in the right way, shall I say ? Not in the intended and expected way. Much as my dear hoy was, unhappily, too self-conscious and self-satisfied

(I'll draw no parallel between him and you in that respect) to love as he should have loved, or as any one in his place would

have loved—must have loved ! She sits in the same still attitude, but shrinking a little more. " Then, to be told that you discontinued your study with " me, was to be politely told that you abandoned it altogether ? he suggested. " Yes," says E,osa, with sudden spirit. " The politeness was my guardian's, not mine. I told him that I was resolved to leave oif, and that I was determined to stand by my resolution." " " And you still are ?

" I still am, sir. And I beg not to be questioned any more about it. At all events^ I will not answer any more ; I have that in my power." She is so conscious of his looking at her with a gloating admiration of the touch of anger on her, and the fire and ani- mation it brings with it, that even as her spirit rises, it falls again, and she struggles with a sense of shame, affront, and fear, much as she did that night at the piano.

" I will not question you any more, since you object to it so much ; I will confess." " I do not wish to hear you, sir," cries Rosa, rising. This time he does touch her with his outstretched hand.

In shrinking from it, she shrinks into her seat again. " We must sometimes act in opposition to our wishes," he tells her in a low voice. " You must do so now, or do more barm to others than you can ever set right/' SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL. 245

" « What harm ? "Presently, presently. You question me, you see, and surely that's not fair when you forbid me to question you. Nevertheless, I will answer the question presently. Dearest

! '' Rosa ! Charming Rosa She starts up again. " This time he does not touch her. But his face looks so wicked and menacing, as he stands leaning against the sun- dial—setting, as it were, his black mark upon the very face of day—that her flight is arrested by horror as she looks at him. " I do not forget how many windows command a view of us," he says, glancing towards them. " I will not touch you again, I will come no nearer to you than I am. Sit down, and there will be no mighty wonder in your music-master's leaning idly against a pedestal and speaking with you, remembering all that has happened and our shares in it. Sit down, my beloved. She would have gone once more—was all but gone—and once more his face, darkly threatening what would follow if she went, has stopped her. Looking at him with the expression of the instant frozen on her face, she sits down on the seat again. " Rosa, even when my dear boy was affianced to you, I

loved you madly ; even when I thought his happiness in having you for his wife was certain, I loved you madly; even

when I strove to make him more ardently devoted .to you, I

loved you madly ; even when he gave me the picture of your lovely face so carelessly traduced by him, which I feigned to hang always in my sight for his sake, but worshipped in torment for years, I loved you madly. In the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sor- did realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly." If anything could make his words more hideous to her thaA : "

'Z\Q THE MYSTERY OF EDWO' DKOOD. the^^ are in tbemselves, it would be the contrast between the riolence of his look and delivery, and the composure of his assumed attitude.

" I endured it all in silence. So long as you were his, or so long as I supposed you to be his, I hid my secret loyally. Did I not ?^^

This lie, so gross, while the mere words in which it is told are so true, is more than Rosa can endure. She answers with " kindling indignation : You were as false throughout, sir, as you are now. You were false to him, daily and hourly. You

know that you made my life unhappy by your pursuit of me. You know that you made me afraid to open his generous eyes, and that you forced me, for his own trusting, good, good sake,

to keep the truth from him, that you were a bad, bad man ! His preservation of his easy attitude rendering his working features and his convulsive hands absolutely diabolical, he returns, with a fierce extreme of admiration " How beautiful you are ! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask for your love give me yourself ; and your hatred give me yourself and that pretty rage give ; ;

me yourself and that enchanting scorn ; it will be enough for me.''

Impatient tears rise to the eyes of the trembling little

beauty, and her face flames : but as she again rises to leave him in indignation, and seek protection within the house, he stretches out his hand towards the porch, as though he invited

her to enter it. " I told you, you rare charmer, you sweet witch, that you must stay and hear me, or do more harm than can ever be undone. You asked me what harm. Stay, and I will tell

you. Go, and I will do it." Again Bosa quails before his threatening face, though inno-

cent of its meaning, and she remains. Her panting breathing

comes and goes as if it would choke her ; but with a repressive hand upon her bosom, she remains.

" I have made my confession that my love is mad. It is so SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL. 247 mad that, had the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread less strong, I might have swept even him from your side when jon favored him." A film comes over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he had turned her faint.

" Even him," he repeats. " Yes, even him ! Eosa, you see me and you hear me. Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love you and live, whose life is in my hand." " " What do you mean, sir ?

" I mean to show you how mad my love is. It was hawked through the late inquiries by Mr. Crisparkle, that young landless had confessed to him that he was a rival of my lost boy. That is an inexpiable offence in my eyes. The same Mr. Crisparkle knows under my hand that I have devoted myself to the murderer's discovery and destruction, be he whom he might, and that I determined to discuss the mj^^stery with no one until I should hold the clue in which to entangle the murderer as in a net. I have since worked patiently to

wind and wind it round him ; and it is slowly winding as I speak." " Your belief, if you believe in the criminality^ of Mr. Land-

less, is not Mr. Crisparkle's belief, and he is a good man," Bosa retorts. " My belief is my own ; and I reserve it, worshipped of my

soul ! Circumstances may accumulate so strongly even against an innocent man, that, directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him. One wanting link discovered by perseverance against a guilty man, proves his guilt, however slight its evidence before, and he dies. Young Landless stands in deadly peril either way." "If you really suppose," Eosa pleads with him, turning paler, " that I favor Mr. Landless, or that Mr. Landless has ever in any way addressed himself to me, you are wrong." He puts that from him with a slighting action of his hand and a curled lip. " "

248 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" I was going to show you how madly I love you. More madly now than ever, for I am willing to renounce the second

object that has arisen in my life to divide it with you ; and henceforth to have no object in existence but you only. Miss Landless has become your bosom friend. You care for hei peace of mind ? " " I love her dearly." " " You care for her good name ?

"I have said, sir, I love her dearly." " I am unconsciously," he observes, with a smile, as he folds his hands upon the sun-dial and leans his chin upon them, so that his talk would seem from the windows (faces occasionally

** come and go there) to be of the airiest and playfulest ; I am unconsciously giving offence by questioning again. I will simply make statements, therefore, and not put questions. You do care for your bosom friend's good name, and you do care for her peace of mind. Then remove the shadow of the " gallows from her, dear one I " You dare propose to me to ^"

" Darling, 1 dare propose to you. Stop there. If it be bad to idolize you, I am the worst of men ; if it be good, I am the best. My love for you is above all other love, and my truth to you is above all other truth. Let me have hope and favor, and I am a foresworn man for your sake." Rosa puts her hands to her temples, and, pushing back her hair, looks wildly and abhorrently at him, as though she were trying to piece together what it is his deep purpose to present to her only in fragments.

" Reckon up nothing at this moment, angel, but the sacrifices that I lay at those dear feet, which I could fall down among the vilest ashes and kiss, and put upon my head as a poor savage might. There is my fidelity to my dear boy after death.

! Tread upon it With an action of his hands, as though he cast down some thing precious. " There is the inexpiable offence against my adoration of

! you. Spurn it " " ;

SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL. 249

With a similar action. "There are my lahors in the cause of a just vengeance for

six toiling months. Crush them ! With another repetition of the action.

** There is my past and my present wasted life. There is the desolation of my heart and my soul. There is my peace there is my despair. Stamp them into the dust, so that you take me, were it even mortally hating me !

The frightful vehemence of the man, now reaching its full height, so additionally terrifies her as to break the spell that has held her to the spot. She swiftly moves towards the porch ; but in an instant he is at her side, and speaking in her ear. " Eosa, I am self-repressed again. I am. walking calmly beside you to the house. I shall wait for some encouragement and hope. I shall not strike too soon. Give me a sign that you attend to me." She slightly and constrainedly moves her hand.

" Not a word of this to any one, or it will bring down the blow, as certainly as night follows day. Another sign that you attend to me." She moves her hand once more. " I love you, love you, love you. If you were to cast me off now—but you will not—you would never be rid of me. !N"o one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death."

The handmaid coming out to open the gate for him, he quietly pulls off his hat as a parting salute, and goes away with no greater show of agitation than is visible in the e^gy of Mr.

Sapsea's father opposite. Bosa faints iu going up-stairs, and is carefully carried to her room, and laid down on her bed. A thunderstorm is coming on, the maids say, and the hot and stifling air has overset the pretty dear ; no wonder ; they have felt their own knees all of a tremble all day long. %0 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

CHAPTEE XX.

A FLIGHT.

EosA no sooner came to herself than the whole of the late interview was before her. It even seemed as if it had pursued her into her insensibility, and she had not had a moment's unconsciousness of it. What to do, she was at a frightened loss to know : the only one clear thought in her mind, was, that she must fly from this terrible man. But where could she take refuge, and how could she go? She had never breathed her dread of him to any one but Helena. If she went to Helena, and told her what had passed, that very act might bring down the irreparable mischief that he threatened he had the power, and that she knew he had the will, to do. The more fearful he appeared to her excited memory and imagination, the more alarming her responsibility appeared : seeing that a slight mistake on her part, either in action or delay, might let his malevolence loose on Helena's brother. Eosa's mind throughout the last six months had been storm- i\y confused. A half-formed, wholly unexpressed suspicion tossed in it, now heaving itself up and now sinking into the

deep ; now gaining palpability, and now losing it. Jasper's self-^absorption in his nephew when he was alive, and his un-

ceasing pursuit of the inquiry how he came by his death, if he were dead, were themes so rife in the place, that no one appeared able to suspect the possibility of foul play at his hand^. She had asked herself the question, " Am I so wicked in my thoughts as to conceive a wickedness that others cannot imagine ? " Then she had considered. Did the suspicion come of her previous recoiling from him before the fact. And

if so, was not that a proof of its baselessness ? Then she had reflected, " What motive could he have, according to my accusa- tion ? " She was ashamed to answer in her mind, " The mo- A FLIGHT. 251 tive of gaining me / " And covered her face, as if the lightest shadow of the idea of founding murder on such an idle vanity were a crime almost as great.

She ran over iu her mind again, all that he had said hy the sun-dial in the garden. He had persisted in treating the disappearance as murder, consistently with his whole public course since the finding of the watch and shirt-pin. If he were afraid of the crime being traced out, would he not rather encourage the idea of a voluntary disappearance ? He had even declared that if the ties between him and his nephew had been less strong, he might have swept " even him *' away from her side. Was that like his having really done so? He had spoken of laying his six months' labors in the cause of a just vengeance at her feet. Would he have done that, with that violence of passion, if they were a pretence ? Would he have ranged them with his desolate heart and soul, his wasted life, his peace, and his despair ? The very first sacrifice that he represented himself as making for her, was his fidelity to his dear boy after death. Surely these facts were strong against a fancy that scarcely dared to hint itself. And yet he was so terrible a man ! In short, the poor girl (for what could she know of the criminal intellect, which its own professed students perpetually misread, because they persist in trying to reconcile it with the average intellect of average men, instead of identi- fying it as a horrible wonder apart), could get by no road to any other conclusion than that he was a terrible man, and must be fled from. She had been Helena's stay and comfort during the whole time. She had constantly assured her of her full belief in her brother's innocence, and of her sympathy with him in his misery. But she had never seen him since the disappearance, nor had Helena ever spoken one word of his avowal to Mr. Crisparkle in regard of Kosa, though as a part of the interest of the case it was well known far and wide. He was Helena's unfortunate brother to her, and nothing more. The assurance she had given her odious suitor was strictly true, though it 252 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

would have been better (she considered now) if she conld have

restrained herself from so giving it. Afraid of him as the bright and delicate little creature was, her spirit swelled at th#

thought of his knowing it from her own lips. But where was she to go? Anywhere be^^^ond his reach,

was no reply to the question. Somewhere must be thought of. She determined to go to her guardian, and to go immediately. The feelings she had imparted to Helena on the night of their first confidence, was so strong upon her—the feeling of not being safe from him, and of the solid walls of the old convent being powerless to keep out his ghostly following of her—that no reasoning of her own could calm her terrors. The fascination of repulsion had been upon her so long, and now culmina- ted so darkly, that she felt as if he had power to bind her by a Bpell. Glancing out at window, even now, as she rose to dress, the sight of the sun-dial on which he had leaned when he de-

clared himself, turned her cold, and made her shrink from it,

as though he had invested it with some awful quality from his own nature. She wrote a hurried note to Miss Twinkleton, saying that she had sudden reason for wishing to see her guardian promptly,

and had gone to him ; also, entreating the good lady not to be uneasy, for all was well with her. She hurried a few quite useless articles into a very little bag, left the note in a conspic- uous place, and went out, softly closing the gate after her. It was the first time she had ever been in Cloisterham High Street, alone. But knowing all its ways, and windings very well, she hurried straight to the corner from which the omnibus departed. It was, at that very moment, going off. *^ Stop and take me, if you please, Joe. I am obliged to go to London.''

In less than another minute she was on her road to the rail^ way, under Joe's protection. Joe waited on her when she got there, put her safely into the railway carriage, and handed in the very little bag after her, as though it were some enormous trunk, hundredweights heavy^ which she must on no account endeavor to lift. A FLIGHT. 258

" Can you go round when you get back, and tell Miss Twin- " kleton that you saw me safely off, Joe ? " It shall be done. Miss." " With my love, please, Joe." "Yes, Miss—and I wouldn't mind having it myself! " But

Joe did not articulate the last clause j only thought it. Now that she was whirling away for London, in real earnest, Kosa was at leisure to resume the thoughts which her personal hurry had checked. The indignant thought that his declaration of love soiled her ; that she could only bo cleansed from the stain of its impurity by appealing to the honest and true j supported her for a time against her fears, and confirmed her in her hasty resolution. But as the evening grew darker and darker, and the great city impended nearer and nearer, the doubts usual in such cases began to arise. Whether this was not a wild proceeding after all ; how Mr. Grewgious might regard it ; whether she should find him at the journey's end ; how she would act if he were absent ; what might become of her, alone, in a place so strange and crowded 5 how if she had but waited, and taken counsel first ; whether, if she could now go back, she would not do it thankfully : a multitude of such uneasy speculations disturbed her, more and more as they accumulated. At length the train came into London over the housetops ; and down below lay the gritty streets with their yet un-needed lamps aglow, on a hot light summer night. " Hiram Grewgious, Esquire, Staple Inn, London." This was all Rosa knew of her destination ; but it was enough to send her rattling away again in a cab, through deserts of gritty streets, where many people crowded at the corners of courts and byways to get some air, and where many other people walked with a miserably monotonous noise of shuffling feet on hot paving-stones, and where all the people and all their surroundings were so gritty and so shabby.

There was music playing here and there, but it did not enliven the case. No barrel-organ mended the matter, and no big drum beat dull care away. Like the chapel bells that " " ;

254 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. were also going here and there, they only seemed to evoke echoes from brick surfaces, and dust from everything. As to the flat wind instruments, they seemed to have cracked their hearts and souls in pining for the country. Her jingling conveyance stopped at last at a fast-closed gateway which appeared to belong to somebody who had gone to bed very early, and was much afraid of housebreakers Eosa, discharging her conveyance, timidly knocked at this gateway, and was let in, very little bag and all, by a watchman. " " Does Mr. Grewgious live here ? " Mr. Grewgious lives there, Miss," said the watchman, pointing further in.

So Eosa went further in, and, when the clocks were striking ten, stood on P. J. T.'s doorsteps, wondering what P. J. T. had done with his street door. Guided by the painted name of Mr. Grewgious, she went upstairs and softly tapped and tapped several times. But no one answering, and Mr. Grewgious's door-handle yielding to her touch, she went in, and saw her guardian sitting on a window-seat at an open window, with a shaded lamp placed far from him on a table in a corner. Eosa drew nearer to him in the twilight of the room. He " " saw her, and he said in an under-tone ; Good Heaven !

Eosa fell upon his neck, with tears, and then he said, returning her embrace : xj,

'' ! " My child, my child ! I thought you were your mother " But what, what, what," he added, soothingly, " has happened ? My dear, what has brought you here ? Who has " brought you here ? " N"o one. I came alone." " " Lord bless me ! ejaculated Mr. Grewgious. " Carae " alone ! Why didn't you write to me to come and fetch you ? " I had no time. I took a sudden resolution. Poor, poor Eddy !

" Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow ! "

A FLIGHT. 255

" His uncle has made love to me. I cannot bear it," said Rosa, at once with a burst of tears, and a stamp of her little

foot ; " I shudder with horror of him, and I have come to you " to protect me and all of us from him, if you will ? " I will ! " cried Mr. Grewgious, with a sudden rush of amazing energy. " Damn him 1

*^ Confound his politics, Frustrate his knavish tricks! On Thee his hopes to fix ? Damn him again !

After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside himself, plunged about the room, to all appearance undecided whether he was in a fit of loyal enthusiasm, or combative denunciation. " He stopped and said, wiping his face : I beg your pardon, my dear, but you will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, or I might do it again. You must be refreshed and cheered. What did you take last? Was it breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper ? And what will you take next ? Shall it be breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper ? '' The respectful tenderness with which, on one knee before her, he helped her to remove her hat, and disentangle her pretty hair from it, was quite a chivalrous sight. Yet who, knowing him only on the surface, would have expected chivalry—and of the true sort, too : not the spurious—from Mr. Grewgious ? " " Your rest too must be provided for," he went on ; and you shall have the prettiest chamber in EurnivaPs. Your toilet must be provided for, and you shall have everything that an unlimited head chambermaid—by which expression I mean a head chambermaid not limited as to outlay—can pro- " cure. Is that a bag ? he looked hard at it ; sooth to say, it required hard looking at to be seen at all in a dimly-lighted " " room : and is it your property, my dear ?

" Yes, sir. I brought it with me."

" It is not au extensive bag," said Mr. Grewgious, candidly, "

256 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" though admirably calculated to contain a day's provision for " a canary bird. Perhaps you brought a canary bird ? Rosa smiled, and shook her head. " If you had he should have been made welcome," said, Mr. Grewgious, " and I think he would have been pleased to be hung upon a nail outside and pit himself against our Staple

sparrows ; whose execution must be admitted to be not quite

equal to their intention. Which is the case with so many

of us ! You didn't say what meal, my dear. Have a nice jumble of all meals." Eosa thanked him, but said she could only take a cup of tea. Mr. Grewgious, after several times running out, and in again, to mention such supplementary items as marmalade, eggs,

watercresses, salted fish, and frizzled ham, ran across to Fur- nival's without his hat, to give his various directions. And soon afterwards they were realized in practice, and the board was spread. " Lord bless my soul ! " cried Mr. Grewgious, putting the

lamp upon it, and taking his seat opposite Eosa ; " what a " new sensation for a poor old Angular bachelor, to be sure ! Eosa's expressive little eyebrows asked him what he meant ? " The sensation of having a sweet young presence in the

place that whitewashes it, paints it, papers it, decorates it with

! gilding, and makes it Glorious " said Mr, Grewgious. " Ah

! me ! Ah me As there was something mournful in his sigh, Eosa, in touching him with his tea-cup, ventured to touch him with her small hand too.

" Thank you, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious. " Ahem ! Let's talk." " Do you always live here, sir ? " asked Eosa. " Yes, my dear." " " And always alone ?

^* Always alone ; except that I have daily company in a gen-

tleman by the name of Bazzard ; my clerk." " " He doesn't live here ? : "

A FLIGHT. 257

''No, he goes his ways after office hours. In fact, he is off

duty here, altogether, just at present ; and a Firm down stairs with which I have business relations, lend me a substitute. But it would be extremely difficult to replace Mr. Bazzard." " He must be very fond of you," said Bosa.

" He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is," returned Mr. Grewgious, after considering the matter.

" But 1 doubt if he is. Not particularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor fellow." " Why isn't he contented ? " was the natural inquiry. " Misplaced," said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery. Bosa's eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression.

" So misplaced," Mr. Grewgious went on, " that I feel constantly apologetic towards him. And he feels (though ho doesn't mention it) that I have reason to be." Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Bosa did not know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr. Grewgious suddenly jerked out of himself for the second time " Let's talk. We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. It's a secret, and moreover it is Mr. Bazzard's secret ; but the sweet presence at my table makes me so unusually expansive, that I feel I must impart it in inviolable confidence. What do you " th:nk Mr. Bazzard has done ? " Oh dear ! " cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her mind reverting to Jasper, " nothing dreadful, I hope?" " He has written a play," said Mr. Grewgious, in a solemn whisper. " A tragedy." Bosa seemed much relieved. " And nobody," pursued Mr. Grewgious in the same tone, "will hear, on any account whatever, of bringing it out."

Bosa looked reflective, and nodded her head slowly ; as who tfhould say : " Such things are, and why are they I 16 258 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DK-OOD.

" iN'ow, you know," said Mr. Grewgious, " 1 couldn't write a play."

" Not a bad one, sir ? " asked Eosa, innocently, with her eyebrows again in action. "No. Jf I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to be instantly decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon for the condemned convict Grewgious if he wrote a play, I should be under the necessity of resuming the block and begging the executioner to proceed to extremities,—meaning," said Mr. Grewgious, passing his hand under his chin, "the singular number, and this extremity."

Eosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward supposititious case were hers. " Consequently," said Mr. Grewgious, " Mr. Bazzard would have a sense of my inferiority to himself under any circumstances ; but when I am his master, you know, the case is greatly aggravated."

Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the oifence to be a little too much, though of his own committing. " How came you to be his master, sir? " asked Rosa. " A question that naturally follows," said Mr. Grewgious. " Let's talk. Mr. Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid about him with a flail, a pitchfork, and every agricultural implement available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's having written a play. So the son, bringing to me the father's rent (which I receive), imparted his secret, and pointed out that he was determined to pursue his genius, and that it would put him in peril of starvation, and that he was not formed for it."

" For pursuing his genius, sir ? " " No, my dear," said Mr, Grewgious, " for starvation. It was impossible to deny the position that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be starved, and Mr. Bazzard then pointed out that it was desirable that I should stand between him and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his formation. In that way Mr.

Bazzard became my clerk, and he feels it very much." A FLIGHT. 259

" I am glad he is grateful," said Eosa. '' I didn't quite mean that, my dear. I mean that he feels the degradation. There are some other geniuses that Mr. Bazzard has become acquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise nobody will on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these choice spirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyrical manner. Mr. Bazzard has been the subject of one of these dedications. " Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to me I Eosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient of a thousand dedications. " Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard," said Mr. Grewgious. " He is very short with me

sometimes, and then I feel that he is meditating * This block-

head is my master ! A fellow who couldn't write a tragedy on pain of death, and who will never have one dedicated to him with the most complimentary congratulations on the high

! position he has taken in the eyes of posterity ' Very trying, very trying. However, in giving him directions, I reflect

* * beforehand : Perhaps he may not like this,' or, He might

take it ill if I asked that,' and so we get on very well. In- deed, better than I could have expected." ? "Is the tragedy named " asked Eosa.

" Strictly between ourselves," answered Mr. Grewgious, " it has a dreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But Mr. Bazzard hopes—and I hope—that it will come out at last." It was not hard to divine that Mr. Grewgious had related the Bazzard history thus fully, at least quite as much for the recreation of his ward's mind from the subject that had driven her there, as for the gratification of his own tendency to be social and communicative. " And now, my dear," he said at

this point, " if you are not too tired to tell me more of what passed to-day—but only if you feel quite able—I should be

glad to hear it. I may digest it the better, if I sleep on it to-night." " :

260 THE MYSTEKY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

Eosa, composed now, gave him a faithfhl account of the

intervkw* Mr. Grewgious often smoothed his head while it was in progress, and begged to be told a second time those parts which bore on Helena and Neville. When Eosa had finished, he sat, grave, silent, and meditative, for a while. " Clearly narrated,^^ was his only remark at last, " and, I hope, clearly put away here," smoothing his head again "See, my dear," taking her to the open window, "where

they live ! The dark windows over yonder." "I may go to Helena to-morrow ? " asked Eosa. " I should like to sleep on that question to-night," he answered, doubtfully. " But let me take you to your own rest, for you must need it." With that, Mr. Grewgious helped her to get her hat on again, and hung upon his arm the very little bag that was of no earthly use, and led her by the hand (with a certain stately awkwardness, as if he were going to walk a minuet) across Holborn, and into Furnival's Inn. At the hotel door, he confided her to the Unlimited head chambermaid, and said that while she went up to see her room, he would remain below, in case she should wish it exchanged for another, or should find that there was anything she wanted. Eosa's room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay. The

Unlimited had laid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to say, everything she could possibly need), and Eosa tripped down the great many stairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and affectionate care of her.

" Not at all, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gra- " tified ; it is I who thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming company. Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact, and graceful little sitting- room (appropriate to your figure), and I will come to you at ten o'clock in the morning. I hope you don't feel very strange indeed, in this strange place."

" Oh no, I feel so safe 1 " Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof," said A RECOGNITION. 261

Mr. Grewgious, "and that any outbreak of the devouring element would be perceived and suppressed by the watch- men." "I did not mean that," Eosa replied. "I mean, I feel so safe from him."

"There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out," said

Mr. Grewgious, smiling, " and Furnival's is fire-proof and specially watched and lighted, and I live over the way ! " In the stoutness of his knight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection all-sufficient. In the same spirit, he said to the gate-porter as he went out, " If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send across the road to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the messenger." In the same spirit, he walked up and down outside the iron gate for the best part of an hour, with some solicitude : occasionally looking in between the bars, as if he had laid a dove in a high roost in a cage of lions, and had it on his mind that she might tumble out.

CHAPTER XXL A RECOGNITION.

Nothing occurred in the night to flutter the tired dove, and the dove arose refreshed. With Mr. Grewgious when the clock struck ten in the morning, came Mr. Crisparkle, who had come at one plunge out of the river at Cloisterham. " Miss Twinkleton was so uneasy. Miss Rosa," he explained to her, " and came round to Ma and me with your note, in such a state of wonder, that, to quiet her, I volunteered on this service by the very first train to be caught in the morning. I wished at the time that you had come to me ; but now I think it best that you did as you did, and came to your guardian."

" I did think of you," Rosa told him ; " but Minor Canon Corner was so near him ^" "

262 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" I understand. It was quite natural." " I have told Mr. Crisparkle/' said Mr. Grewgious, " all that you told me last night, my dear. Of course I should have written it to him immediately ; but his coming was most op- portune. And it was particularly kind of him to come, for he had but just gone.'' "Have you settled," asked Eosa, appealing to them both " " what is to be done for Helena and her brother ? " Why really," said Mr. Crisparkle, " I am in great per- plexity. If even Mr. Grewgious, whose head is much longer than mine and who is a whole night's cogitation in advance of

me, is undecided, what must I be ! The Unlimited here put her head in at the door—after having rapped, and been authorized' to present herself—announcing that a gentleman wished for a word with another gentleman named Crisparkle, if any such gentleman were there. If no such gentleman were there, he begged pardon for being mistaken."

" Such a gentleman is here," said Mr. Crisparkle, " but is engaged just now."

" Is it a dark gentleman ? " interposed Eosa, retreating on her guardian. " No, Miss, more of a brown gentleman." " You are sure not with black hair ? " asked Eosa, taking courage. " Quite sure of that, Miss. Brown hair and blue eyes." " Perhaps," hinted Mr. Grewgious, with habitual caution,

" it might be well to see him, reverend sir, if you don't object.

When one is in a difficulty, or at a loss, one never knows in what direction a way out may chance to open. It is a business principle of mine, in such a case, not to close up any direction, but to keep an eye on every direction that may pre-

sent itself. I could relate an anecdote in point, but that it would be premature." " If Miss Eosa will allow me then ? Let the gentleman come in," said Mr. Crisparkle. " :

A EECOGNITION. 263

with a frank but mod- The gentleman came in ; apologized, turned to Mr. est grace, for not finding Mr. Crisparkle alone ; Crisparkle, and smilingly asked the unexpected question: " " Who am I ? ** You are the gentleman I saw smoking under the trees in Staple Inn a few minutes ago." " " True. There I saw you. Who else am I ? Mr. Crisparkle concentrated his attention on a handsome face, much sunburnt; and the ghost of some departed boy seemed to rise, gradually and dimly, in the room. The gentleman saw a struggling recollection lighten up the " will Minor Canon's features, and smiling again, said : What you have for breakfast this morning? You are out of jam." " his " Wait a moment ! cried Mr. Crisparkle, raising right " hand. " Give me another instant ! Tartar ! The two shook hands with the greatest heartiness, and then went the wonderful length—for Englishmen—of laying their hands each on the other's shoulders, and looking joyfully each into the other's face.

" My old fag ! " said Mr. Crisparkle. " " My old master ! said Mr. Tartar. " " You saved me from drowning ! said Mr. Crisparkle. " After which you took to swimming, you know ! " said Mr. Tartar. " God bless my soul ! " said Mr. Crisparkle.

" Amen ! " said Mr. Tartar. And then they fell to shaking hands most heartily again. " Imagine," exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle, with glistening eyes "Miss Eosa Bud and Mr. Grewgious, imagine Mr. Tartar, when he was the smallest of juniors, diving for me, catching me, a big heavy senior, by the hair of the head, and striking

! out for the shore with me like a water-giant " Imagine my not letting him sink, as I was his fag ! " said Mr. Tartar. " But the truth being that he was my best protector and friend, and did me more good than all the masters put together, an irrational impulse seized me to pick him up, or go down with him." " !

264 THE MYSTBEY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

" Hem ! Permit me, sir, to have the honor," said Mr. Grew- gious, advancing with extended hand, " for an honor I truly

esteem it. I am proud to make your acquaintance. I hope you didn't take cold. I hope you were not inconvenienced by swallowing too much water. How have you been since ?" It was by no means apparent that Mr. Grewgious knew

what he said, though it was very apparent that he meant to say something highly friendly and appreciative. If Heaven, Rosa thought, had but sent such courage and

skill to her poor mother's aid ! And he to have been so slight and young then

" I don't wish to be complimented upon it, I thank you, but I think I have an idea," Mr. Grewgious announced, _after taking a jog-trot or two across the room, so unexpected and un-

accountable that they had all stared at him, doubtful whether

he was choking or had the cramp. " J. think I have an idea. I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tartar's name as tenant of the top set in the house next the top set in the corner ?

" Yes, sir," returned Mr. Tartar. " You are right so far."

" I am right so far," said Mr. Grewgious. " Tick that off,"

which he did, with his right thumb on his left. " Might you happen to know the name of your neighbor in the top set on the other side of the party-wall ? " coming very close to Mr. Tartar, to lose nothing of his face, in his shortness of sight. " Landless."

" Tick that off," said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, ^nd then coming back. " No personal knowledge, I suppose, sir?" <' SHght, but some."

<^ Tick that off," said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, and again coming back. " Nature of knowledge, Mr. Tar- tar?" " I thought he seemed to be a young fellow in a poor way, and J asked his leave—only within a day or so—to share my flowers up there with him ; that is to say, to extend my 4';wer-garden to his windows." A EEC0GNITI015T. 266

" Would you have the kindness to take seats ? '' said Mr.

^^ Grewgious. " I have an idea !

They complied ; Mr. Tartar none the less readily, for being

all abroad ; and Mr. Grewgious, seated in the centre, with his hands upon his knees, thus stated his idea, with his usual manner of having got the statement by heart.

" I cannot as yet make up my mind whether it is prudent to hold open communication under present circumstances, and on the part of the fair member of the present company, with Mr. Neville or Miss Helena. I have reason to know that a local friend of ours (on whom I beg to bestow a passing but a hearty malediction, with the kind permission of my reverend friend) sneaks to and fro, and dodges up and down. When not doing so himself, he may have some informant skulking about, .in the person of a watchman, porter, or such-like hanger-on of Staple. On the other hand, Miss Rosa very naturally wishes to see her friend Miss Helena, and it would seem important that at least Miss Helena (if not her brother too, through her) should privately know from Miss Eosa's lips what has occurred, and what has been threatened. Am I agreed with generally in the views I take ? '' " I entirely coincide with them," said Mr, Crisparkle, who had been very attentive. "And I have no doubt I should/' added Mr. Tartar, smiling, " if I understood them." " " Fair and softly, sir," said Mr. Grewgious ; we shall fully confide in you directly, if you will favor us with your permission. Now, if our local friend should have any informant on the spot, it is tolerably clear that such informant can only be set to watch the chambers in the occupation of Mr. Neville. He reporting, to our local friend, who comes and goes there, our local friend would supply for himself, from his own previous knowledge, the identity of the parties. Nobody can be set to watch all Staple, or to concern himself with comers and goers

to other sets of chambers : unless, indeed, mine." " I begin to understand to what you tend," said Mr. Cris- parkle, " and highly approve of your caution." 260 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD,

" I needn't repeat that I know nothing yet of the why and wherefore," said Mr. Tartar ; " but I also understand to what you tend, so let me say at once that my chambers are freely at your disposal."

"There!" cried Mr. Grewgious, smoothing his head tri- umphantly. " Now we have all got the idea. You have it, " my dear ?

" I think I have," said Rosa, blushing a little as Mr. Tartar looked quickly towards her. " You see, you go over to Staple with Mr. Crisparkle and

Mr. Tartar," said Mr. Grewgious ; "I going in and out and out and in, alone, in my usual way you go up with those ; look into Tartar's gentlemen to Mr. Tartar's rooms ; you Mr. flower-garden wait for Miss Helena's appearance there, ; you or you signify to Miss Helena that you are close by ; and you communicate with her freely, and no spy can be the wiser." " " I am very much afraid I shall be " Be what, my dear ? " asked Mr. Grewgious, as she hesi- " tated. « Not frightened ?

" No, not that," said Rosa, shyly ;—" in Mr. Tartar's way. We seem to be appropriating Mr. Tartar's residence so very coolly." " I protest to you," returned that gentleman, " that I shall think the better of it for evermore, if your voice sounds in it only once." Rosa not quite knowing what to say about that, cast down her eyes, and turning to Mr. Grewgious, dutifully asked if she should put her hat on ? Mr. Grewgious being of opinion that she could not do better, she withdrew for the purpose. Mr. Crisparkle took the opportunity of giving Mr. Tartar a sum-

mary of the distresses of Neville and his sister ; the opportunity was quite long enough, as the hat happened to require a

little extra fitting on. Mr. Tartar gave his arm to Rosa, and Mr. Crisparkle walked, detached, in front.

" Poor, poor Eddy ! " thought Rosa, as they went along. "

A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 267

Mr. Tartar waved his right hand as he bent his head down over Eosa, talking in an animated way. " It was not so powerful or so sun-browned when it saved " Mr. Crisparkle," thought Eosa, glancing at it ; but it must have been very steady and determined even then." Mr. Tartar told her he had been a sailor, roving everywhere for years and years. " When are you going to sea again ? " asked Eosa. " ISTever ! Eosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her crossing the wide street on the sailor's arm. And she fan- cied that the passers-by must think her very little and very helpless, contrasted with the strong figure that could have caught her up and carried her out of any danger, miles and miles without resting. She was thinking further, that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if they had been used to watch danger afar off, and

to watch it without flinching, drawing nearer and nearer; when, happening to raise her own eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about them. This a little confused Eosebud, and may account for her never afterwards quite knowing how she ascended (with his help) to his garden in the air, and seemed to get into a marvellous country that came into sudden bloom like the country on the summit of the magic beanstalk. May it flourish for ever!

CHAPTEE XXII.

A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS COMES ON.

Mr. Tartar's chambers were the neatest, the cleanest, and the best ordered chambers ever seen under sun, moon, and stars. The floors were scrubbed to that extent, that you might have supposed the London blacks emancipated for ever, 268 THE MYSTEBY OF EDWIN DKOOD.

and gone out of the land for good. Every inch of brass-work in Mr. Tartar's possession was polished and burnished, till it shone like a brazen mirror. No speck, nor spot, nor spatter soiled the purity of any of Mr. Tartar's household gods, large, small, or middle-sized. His sitting-room was like the admiral's cabin, his bath-room was like a dairy, his sleeping-chamber, fitted all about with lockers and drawers, was like a seeds- man's shop ; and his nicely-balanced cot just stirred in the midst, as if it breathed. Everything belonging to Mr. Tar- tar had quarters of its own assigned to it : his maps and charts had their quarters; his books had* theirs; his brushes had theirs ; his boots had theirs ; his clothes had theirs ; his case-bottles had theirs ; his telescopes and other instruments had theirs. Everything was readily accessible. Shelf, brack- et, locker, hook, and drawer were equally within reach, and were equally contrived with a view to avoiding waste of room, and providing some snug inches of stowage for something that would have exactly fitted nowhere else. His gleaming little service of plate was so arranged upon his sideboard as that a slack salt-spoon would have instantly betrayed itself; his toilet implements were so arranged upon his dressing-table as that a toothpick of slovenly deportment could have been reported at a glance. So with the curiosities he had brought home from various voyages. Stuffed, dried, repolished, or otherwise preserved, according to their kind ; birds, fishes, rep- tiles, arms, articles of dress, shells, seaweeds, grasses, or me- morials of coral reef; each was displayed in its especial place, and each could have been displayed in no better place. Paint and varnish seemed to be kept somewhere out of sight, in constant readiness to obliterate stray finger-marks wherever any might become perceptible in Mr. Tartar's chambers. Ko man-of- war was ever kept more spick and span from careless touch. On this bright summer day, a neat awning was rigged over Mr.

Tartar's flower-garden as only a sailor could rig it ; and there

was a sea-going air upon the whole effect, so delightfully complete, that the flower-garden might have appertained to stern- " !

A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 269 windows afloat, and the whole concern might have bowled

away gallantly with all on board, if Mr. Tartar had only clapped to his lips the speaking-trumpet that was slung in a corner, and given hoarse orders to have the anchor up, look alive,

there, men, and get all sail upon her Mr. Tartar doing the honors of this gallant craft, was of a piece with the rest. When a man rides an amiable hobby that shies at nothing and kicks nobody, it is only agreeable to find him riding it with a humorous sense of the droll side of the creature. When the man is a cordial and an earnest man by nature, and withal is perfectly fresh and genuine, it may be doubted whether he is ever seen to greater advantage than at such a time. So Rosa would have naturally thought (even if she hadn't been conducted over the ship with all the homage due to the Pirst Lady of the Admiralty, or Pirst Fairy of the

Sea), that it was charming to see and hear Mr. Tartar half laughing at, and half rejoicing, in his various contrivances. So Rosa would have naturally thought, anyhow, that the sunburnt sailor showed to great advantage when, the inspection finished, he delicately withdrew out of his admiral's cabin, beseeching her to consider herself its Queen, and waving her free of his flower-garden with the hand that had had Mr. Cris- parkle's life in it. " " Helena ! Helena Landless ! Are you there ? " Who speaks to me ? Not Rosa ? " Then a second handsome face appearing. " " Yes, my darling ! " " Why, how did you come here, dearest ? " " I—I don't quite know," said Rosa with a blush ; unless

I am dreaming ! Why with a blush ? Por their two faces were alone with the other flowers. Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic beanstalk. "/ am not dreaming," said Helena, smiling. "I should take more for granted if I were. How do we come together— " or so near together— so very unexpectedly ? " : " )

270 THE MYSTEEY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Unexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimneypots of P. J. T.'s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the salt sea. But Eosa, waking, told in a hurry how they came to be together, and all the why and wherefore of that matter. " And Mr. Crisparkle is here," said Eosa, in rapid conclu- his sion ; "and could you believe it? Long ago, he saved life ! " I could believe any such thing of Mr. Crisparkle," returned Helena, with a mantling face.

(More blushes in the beanstalk country !

" Yes, but it wasn't Mr. Crisparkle," said Eosa, quickly putting in the correction. " I don't understand, love." " It was very nice of Mr. Crisparkle to be saved," said Eosa, " and he couldn't have shown his high opinion of Mr. Tartar more expressively. But it was Mr. Tartar who saved him." Helena's dark eyes looked very earnestly at the bright face among the leaves, and she asked, in a slower and more thoughtful tone " " Is Mr. Tartar with you now, dear ? " No ; because he has given his rooms to me—to us, I mean.

It is such a beautiful place 1 "Is it?"

" It is like the inside of the most exquisite ship that ever " sailed. It is like—it is like " Like a dream ? " suggested Helena. Eosa answered with a little nod, and smelled the flowers. Helena resumed, after a short pause of silence, during which

she seemed (or it was Eosa's fancy) to compassioiiate some- " his room, the sun body ; My poor Neville is reading in own being so very bright on this side just now. I think he had better not know that you are so near."

" Oh, I think so too ! " cried Eosa very readily. " I suppose," pursued Helena, doubtfully, " that he must

know by-and-by all you have told me j but I am not sure. A GPvTTTY STATE OF TniNGS. 271

Ask Mr. Crisparkle's advice, my darling. Ask him whether I may tell Neville as much or as little of what you have told mo as I think best." Bosa subsided into her state-cabin, and propounded the question. The Minor Canon was for the free exercise of Hel- ena's judgment. " I thank him very much," said Helena, when Eosa emerg- ed again with her report. " Ask him whether it would be best to wait until any more maligning and pursuing of Neville on the part of this wretch shall disclose itself, or to try to anticipate it : I mean, so far as to find out whether any such goes " on darkly about us ? The Minor Canon found this point so difficult to give a confident opinion on, that, after two or three attempts and failures, he suggested a reference to Mr. Grewgious. Helena acquiesc- ing, he betook himself (with a most unsuccessful assumption of lounging indifference) across the quadrangle to P. J. T.'s, and stated it. Mr. Grewgious held decidedly to the general principle, that if you could steal a march upon a brigand or a wild beast, you had better do it ; and he also held decidedly to the special case, that John Jasper was a brigand and a wild beast in combination. Thus advised, Mr. Grisparkle came back again and reported to Eosa, who in her turn reported to Helena. She, now steadily pursuing her train of thought at her window, considered thereupon. " We may count on Mr. Tartar's readiness to help us, Eosa ? " she inquired.

yes ! Eosa shyly thought so. yes, Eosa shyly believed she could almost answer for it. But should she ask Mr. Gris- parkle ? " I think your authority on the point as good as his, my dear," said Helena, sedately, " and you needn't disappear

again for that." Gdd of Helena ! *' You see, Neville " Helena pursued after more reflection,

'' knows no one else here : he has not so much as exchanged a word with any one else here. If Mr. Tartar would call to see 272 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

him openly and often ; if he would spare a minute for the purpose, frequently ; if he would even do so, almost daily ; something might come of it."

" Something might come of it, dear ? " repeated Eosa, surveying her friend's beauty with a highly perplexed face, " Something might ? '' " If Neville's movements are really watched, and if the purpose really is to isolate him from all friends and acquaintance and wear his daily life out grain by grain (which would seem to be the threat to you), does it not appear likely," said Helena, " that his enemy would in some way communicate with Mr. Tartar to warn him off from Neville ? In which case, we might not only know the fact but might know from Mr. Tartar what the terms of the communication were."

^' I see ! " cried Eosa. And immediately darted into her state-cabin again. Presently her pretty face reappeared, with a greatly heightened color, and she said that she had told Mr. Crisparkle, and that Mr. Crisparkle had fetched in Mr. Tartar, and that Mr.

Tartar—" who is waiting now in case you want him," added Eosa, with a half look back, and in not a little confusion, between the inside of the state-cabin and out—had declared his readiness to act as she had suggested, and to enter on his task that very day.

" I thank him from my heart," said Helena. " Pray tell him so." Again not a little confused between the Plower Garden and the Cabin, Eosa dipped in with her message, and dipped out again with more assurances from Mr. Tartar, and stood wavering in a divided state between Helena and him, which proved that confusion is not always necessarily awkward, but may sometimes present a pleasant appearance. '^ And now, darling," said Helena, " we will be mindful of the caution that has restricted us to this interview for the present, and will part. I hear Neville moving too. Are you going back?" A GRITTY STATE OF THIKGS. 273

« To Miss Twinkleton's ? " asked Eosa. " Yes." "0, I could never go there any more; rcouldn't indeed, " after that dreadful interview ! said E/Osa. " " Then where art you going, pretty one ? '* Now I come to think of it, I don't know," said Eosa. " I have settled nothing at all yet, but my guardian will take care of me. Don't be uneasy, dear. I shall be sure to be somewhere." (It did seem likely.) " And I shall hear of my Eosebud from Mr. Tartar ? " inquired Helena. " " Yes, I suppose so ; from Eosa looked back again in a flutter, instead of supplying the name. " But tell me one thing before we part, dearest Helena. Tell me that you are sure, sure, sure, I couldn't help it."

'^Help it, love?" " Help making him malicious and revengeful. I couldn't " hold any terms with him, could I ? "You know how I love you, darling," answered Helena, with indignation ; " but I would sooner see you dead at his wicked feet."

" That's a great comfort to me ! And you will tell your poor brother so, won't you ? And you will give him my remembrance and my sympathy ? And you will ask him not to " hate me ? With a mournful shake of the head, as if that would be quite a superfluous entreaty, Helena lovingly kissed her two hands to her friend, and her friend's two hands were kissed to

her ; and then she saw a third hand (a brown one) appear among the flowers and leaves, and help her friend out of sight. The reflection that Mr. Tartar produced in the Admiral's Cabin by merely touching the spring-knob of a locker and the handle of a drawer, was a dazzling enchanted repast. Won- derful macaroons, glittering liqueurs, magically preserved trop- IT 274 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIK DROOD.

ical spices, and jellies of celestial tropical fruits, displayed themselves profusely at an instant's notice. But Mr. Tartar

could not make time stand still ; and time, with his hard- hearted fleetness, strode on so fast, that Rosa was obliged to come down from the Beanstalk country to earth, and her guardian's chambers.

" And now, my dear,'' said Mr. Grewgious, " what is to be

done next ? To put the same thought in another form ; what " is to be done with you ? E.osa could only look apologetically sensible of being very

much in her own wa}^, and in everybody else's. Some passing idea of living fireproof, up a good many stairs in Furni-

val's Inn for the rest of her life, was the only thing in the pature of a plan that occurred to her. " It has come into my thoughts," said Mr. Grewgious, " that as the respected lady. Miss Twinkleton, occasionally repairs to London in the recess, with the view of extending her connection, and being available for interviews with metro- politan parents, if any—whether, until we have time in which to turn ourselves round, we might invite Miss Twinkleton to come and stay with you for a month ? '^ " " Stay where, sir ? " Whether," explained Mr. Grewgious, " we might take a furnished lodging in town for a month, and invite Miss Twin- " kleton to assume the charge of j^ou in it for that period ? " And afterwards ? " hinted Rosa. " And afterwards," said Mr. Grewgious, " we should be no worse off than we are now." " I think that might smooth the way," assented Rosa. " Then let us," said Mr. Grewgious, rising, " go and look for a furnished lodging. ISTothing could be more acceptable to me than the sweet presence of last evening, for all the remaining evenings of my existence ; but these are not fit surroundings for a young lady. Let us set out in quest of adventures, and look for a furnished lodging. In the meantime, Mr. Cris- parkle here, about to return home immediately, will no doubt A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 275

kindly see Miss Tvvinkleton and invite that lady to co-operate in our plan.'' Mr. Crisparkle, willingly accepting the commission, took his

departure ; Mr. Grewgious and his ward set forth on their expedition. As Mr. Grewgious's idea of looking at a furnished lodging was to get on the opposite side of the street to a house with a suitable bill in the window, and stare at it ; and then work his way tortuously to the back of the house, and stare at that; and then not go in, but make similar trial of another house with the same result ; their progress was but slow. At length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers times removed, of Mr. Bazzard's, who had once solicited his influence in the lodger world, and who lived in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. This lady's name, stated in uncompro- mising capitals of considerable size on a brass door-plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was Billickin. Personal faintness, and an overpowering personal candor, were the distinguishing features of Mrs. Billickin's organiza- tion. She came languishing out of her own exclusive back parlor, with the air of having been expressly brought-to for the purpose, from an accumulation of several swoons.

" I hope I see you well, sir," said Mrs. Billickin, recognizing her visitor with a bend. " Thank you, quite well. And you, ma'am ? " returned Mr. Grewgious. '^ I am as well," said Mrs. Billickin, becoming aspirational, with excess of faintness, " as I hever ham." " My ward and an elderly lady," said Mr. Grewgious, " wish to find a genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any " apartments available, ma'am ? " Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, " I will not de-

ceive you ; far from it. I have apartments available."

This, with the air of adding: " Convey me to the stake, if you will ; but while 1 live, I will be candid." " And now, what apartments, ma'am ? " asked Mr. Grew- 276 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

gious, cosily. To tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. Billickin.

" There is this sitting-room—which call it what you will, it is the front parlor, Miss," said Mrs. Billickin, impressing " Rosa into the conversation : the back parlor being what I

cling to and never part with ; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the 'ouse with gas laid on. I do not tell you that your

bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are not. The gas-fitter himself allowed that to make a firm job, he must go right

under your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly

tenant so to do. The piping is carried above your jistes, and

it is best that it should be make known to you." Mr. Grewgious and Rosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what latent horrors this carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billickin put her

hand to hev heart, as having eased it of a load.

" Well ! The roof is all right, no doubt," said Mr. Grew-

gious, plucking up a little. " Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, " if I was to

tell you, sir, that to have nothink above you is to have a floor above you, I should put a deception upon you which I will not

do. No, sir. Your slates will rattle loose at that elewation in windy weather, do your utmost, best or worst ! I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your slates tight, try how you can." Here Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr

Grewgious, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him. " Consequent," proceeded Mrs. Billickin, " more mildly, but still firmly in her incorruptible candor : con-

sequent it would be worse than of no use for me to trapse and travel up to the top of the 'ouse with you, and for you to say,

* Mrs. Billickin, what stain do I notice in the ceiling, for a

stain I do consider it ? ^ and for me to answer, * I do not un*

derstand you, sir.' No sir ; I will not be so underhand. I do

understand you before you pint it out. It is the wet, sir. It

do come in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there,

half your lifetime ; but the time will come, and it is best that A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 277 you should know it, when a dripping sop would be no name for you/^ Mr. Grewgious looked mucli disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle. " Have you any other apartments, ma'am ? " he asked. " Mr. Grewgious,." returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity, " I have. You ask \iie have I, and my open and my honest answer air, I have. The first and second floors is wacant, and sweet rooms."

" Come, come 1 There's nothing against them/' said Mr. Grewgious, comforting himself* " Mr. Grewgious," replied Mrs. Billickin, " pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable disappointment. You cannot, Miss," said Mrs. Billickin, addressing Eosa, reproachfully,

" place a first floor, and far less a second, on the level footing of a parlor. No, you cannot do it. Miss, it is beyond youi " power, and wherefore try ?

Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as if Rosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position. "Can we see these rooms, ma'am ? " inquired her guardian. " Mr. Grewgious," returned Mrs. Billickin, " you can. I will not disguise it from you, sir, you can." Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back parlor for her shawl

(it being a state fiction, dating from immemorial antiquity, that she could never go anywhere without being wrapped up), and having been enrolled by her attendant, led the way. She made various genteel pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in th.e act of taking wing. " And the second floor ? " ^aid Mr. Grewgious, on finding the first satisfactory. " Mr. Grewgious," replied Mrs. Billickin, turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time had now come when a distinct

understanding on a difficult point must be arrived at, and a

solemn confidence established, " the second floor is over this." 278 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" " Can we see that too, ma'am ?

"Yes, sir," returned Mrs. Billickin, "it is open as the day." That also proving satisfactory, Mr. Grewgious retired into a window with Rosa, for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement In the meantime Mrs. Billickin took a seat, and deliv-

ered a kind of Index to, or Abstract of, the general question. " Five-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at

the time of year," said Mrs. Billickin, " is only reasonable to

both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James's Pal-

ace ; but it is not pretended that it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied—for why should it ?—that the Arching leads to a Mews. Mewses must exist. Respecting attendance ; two is kep', at liberal wages. Words has arisen as to tradesmen, but dirty shoes on fresh hearthstoning was attributable, and no wish for a commission on your orders. Coals is either by the fire, or per the scuttle." She emphasized the prepositions as marking a subtle but immense difference. " Dogs is not viewed with favior. Besides litter, they gets stole, and shar- ing suspicions is apt to creep in, and unpleasantness takes place." By this time Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines, and his earnest-money, ready. " I have signed it for the ladies, ma'am," he said, " and you'll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname, there, if you please." " Mr. Grewgious," said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of " candor, no, sir ! You must excuse the Christian name." Mr. Grewgious stared at her.

" The door-plate is used as a protection," said Mrs. Billickin,

" and acts as such, and go from it I will not." Mr, Grewgious stared at Bosa. "No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this

'ouse is known indefinite as Billickin's, and so long as it is a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin', near the street door or down the airy, and what his#weight and size, so A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 279

long I feel safe. But commit myself to a solitary female

statement, no, Miss ! Nor would you for a moment wish," said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, " to take

that advantage of your sex, if you was not brought to it by inconsiderate example.'' Eosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious

to rest content with any signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual Billickin got appended to the document. Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably ex-

pected ; and Rosa went back to Furnival's Inn on her guardian's arm. Behold Mr. Tartar walking up and down Furnival's Inn, checking himself when he saw them coming, and advancing towards them ! ." It occurred to me," hinted Mr. Tartar, " that we might go up the river, the weather being so delicious and the tide serving. I have a boat of my own at the Temple Stairs." " I have not been up the river for this many a day," said Mr. Grewgious, tempted. " I was never up the river," added Eosa. Within half an hour they were setting this matter right by going up the river. The tide was running with them, the afternoon was charming. Mr. Tartar's boat was perfect. Mr. Tartar and Lobley (Mr. Tartar's man) pulled a pair of oars.

Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed, lying somewhere down by

Greenhithe ; and Mr. Tartar's man had charge of this yacht, and was detached upon his present service. He was a jolly favored man, with tawny hair and whiskers and a big red face. He was the dead image of the sun in old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering for rays all round him. Eesplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man-of- war's man's shirt on—or off, according to opinion—and his arms and breast tattoo'd all sorts of patterns. Lobley seemed !

280 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. to take it easily, and so did Tartar their oars Mr. ; yet bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them. Mr. Tar- tar talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who way really doing nothing, and to Mr. Grewgious who was doing this much that he steered all wrong ; but what did that mat ter, when a turn of Mr. Tartar's skilful wrist, or a mere grin of Mr. Lobley's over the bow, put all to rights ! The tide bore them on in the gayest and most sparkling manner, until they stopped to dine in some everlastingly green garden, needing no matter-of-fact identification here ; and then the tide obligingly turned—being devoted to that party alone for that day ; and as they floated idly among some osier beds, Bosa tried what she could do in the rowing way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted ; and Mr. Grewgious tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up with an oar under his chin, being not assisted at all. Then there was an interval of rest under boughs (such rest !) what time Mr. Lobley mopped, and, arranging cushions, stretchers, and the like, danced the tight rope the whole length of the boat like a man to whom shoes were a superstition, and stockings slavery ; and then came the sweet return among delicious odors of limes in bloom, and musical ripplings ; and, all too soon, the great black city cast its shadow on the waters, and its dark bridges spanned them as death spans life, and the everlastingly green garden seemed to be left for everlasting, unregain able and far away.

" Cannot people get through life without gritty stages, I wonder ! " Rosa thought next day, when the town was very gritty again, and everything had a strange and uncomfortable appearance of seeming to wait for something that wouldn't come. ITo. She began to think, that, now the Cloisterham school days had glided past and gone, the gritty stages would begin to set in at intervals and make themselves wearily known Yet what did Rosa expect ? Did she expect Miss Twinkle- ton ? Miss Twinkleton duly came. Forth from her back A GRITTY STATE OF THII^GS. 261

parlor issued the Billickin to receive Miss Twinkleton, and War was in the Billickin's eye from that moment. Miss Twinkleton brought a quantity of luggage with her,

having all Eosa's as well as her own. The Billickin took it

ill that Miss Twinkleton's mind, being sorely disturbed by this luggage, failed to take in her personal identity with that

clearness of perception which was due to its demands. State- liness mounted her gloomy throne upon the Billickin's brow in consequence. And when Miss Twinkleton, in agitation taking stock of her trunks and packages, of which she had seventeen, particularly counted in the Billickin herself as

number eleven, the B found it necessary to repudiate. *^ Things cannot too soon be put upon the footing," said she, with a candor so demonstrative as to be almost obtrusive,

" that the person of the 'ouse is not a box uor yet a bundle,

nor a carpet bag. No, I am 'ily obleeged to you, Miss Twin- kleton, nor yet a beggar." This last disclaimer had reference to Miss Twinkleton's dis- tractedly pressing two and sixpence on her, instead of the cab- man.

Thus cast off. Miss Twinkleton wildly inquired, "which gentleman " was to be paid ? There being two gentlemen in that position (Miss Twinkleton having arrived with two cabs), each gentleman on being paid held forth his two and sixpence on the flat of his open hand, and, with a speechless stare and a dropped jaw, displayed his wrong to heaven and earth. Ter- rified by this alarming spectacle. Miss Twinkleton placed

another shilling in each hand ; at the same time appealing to the law in flurried accents, and recounting her luggage this time with the two gentlemen in, who caused the total to come out complicated. Meanwhile the two gentlemen, each looking very hard at the last shilling grumblingly, as if it might become eighteenpence if he kept his eyes on it, descended the doorsteps, ascended their carriages, and drove away, leaving Miss Twinkleton on a bonnet-box in tears. The Billickin beheld this manifestation of weakness without 282 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. sympathy, and gave directions for " a young man to be got in '' to wrestle with the luggage. When that gladiator had disappeared from the arena, peace ensued, and the new lodgers dined. But the Billickin had somehow come to the knowledge that Miss Twinkleton kept a school. The leap from that knowledge to the inference that Miss Twinkleton set herself to teach her something, was easy. " But you don't do it,'' solilo- quised the Billickin ; " 7 am not your pupil, whatever she," " " meaning Rosa, may be, poor thing ! Miss Twinkleton on the other hand, having changed her dress and recovered her spirits, was animated by a bland desire to improve the occasion in all ways, and to be as serene a model as possible. In a happy compromise between her two states of existence, she had already become, with her work- basket before her, the equably vivacious companion with a slight judicious flavoring of information, when the Billickin announced herself. " I will not hide from you, ladies," said the B, enveloped in the shawl of state, " for it is not my character to hide neither my motives nor my actions, that I take the liberty to look in upon you to express a 'ope that your dinner was to your liking.

Though not Professed but Plain, still her wages should be a sufficient object to her to stimulate to soar above mere roast and biled." " We dined very well indeed," said Rosa, " thank you." " Accustomed," said Miss Twinkleton, with a gracious air which to the jealous ears of the Billickin seemed to add " my good woman "—" Accustomed to a liberal and nutritious, yet plain and salutary diet, we have found no reason to bemoan our absence from the ancient city, and the methodical household, in which the quiet routine of our lot has been hitherto cast."

" I did think it well to mention to my cook," observed the Billickin with a gush of candor, " which I 'ope you will agree with, Miss Twinkleton, was a right precaution, that the young A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS. 283

lady being used to what we should consider here hut poor diet, had better be brought forward by degrees. For, a rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, and from what you may call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of constitution, which is not often found in youth, particular

^' when undermined by boarding-school ! It will be seen that the Billickin now openly pitted herself against Miss Twinkleton, as one whom she had fully ascer- tained to be her natural enemy. " Your remarks," returned Miss Twinkleton, from a remote " moral eminence, are well meant, I have no doubt ; but you will permit me to observe that they develop a mistaken view of the subject, w^hich can only be imputed to your extreme want of accurate information." " My informiation," retorted the Billickin, throwing in an extra syllable for the sake of emphasis at once polite and pow- " erful : My informiation. Miss Twinkleton, were my own experience, which I believe is usually considered to be good guid- ance. But whether so or not, I was put in youth to a very genteel boarding-school, the mistress being no less a lady than yourself, of about your own age or it may be some years younger and a poorness of blood flowed from the table which has ruu through my life."

" Very likely," said Miss Twinkleton, still from her distant " eminence ; and very much to be deplored. E-osa, my dear, " how are you getting on with your work ? *•' Miss Twinkleton," resumed the Billickin, in a courtly manner, " before retiring on the Int, as a lady should, I wish to ask of yourself as a lady, whether I am to consider that my " words is doubted ? " I am not aware on what ground you cherish such a supposition," began Miss Twinkleton, when the Billickin neatly stopped her.

" Do not, if you please, put suppositions betwixt my lips, where none such have been imparted by myself. Your flow

of words is great, Miss Twinkleton, and no doubt is expected 284 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. from you by your pupils, and no doubt is considered wortb the money. No doubt, I am sure. But not paying for flows of words, and not asking to be favored with them here, I wish to repeat my question.'^ "If you refer to the poverty of your circulation," began Miss Twinkleton, when again the Billickin neatly stopped her. " I have used no such expressions." " If you refer then to the poorness of your blood." "Brought upon me," stipulated the Billickin, expressly, '* at a boarding-school."

" Then," resumed Miss Twinkleton, " all 1 can say, is, that

I am bound to believe on your asseveration that it is very poor indeed. I cannot forbear adding, that if that unfortunate circumstance influences your conversation, it is much to be lamented, and it is eminently desirable that your blood were richer. Eosa, my dear, how are you getting on with your " work ? " Hem ! Before retiring, Miss," proclaimed the Billickin to Rosa, loftily cancelling Miss Twinkleton, " I should wish it to be understood between yourself and me that my transactions in future is with you alone. I know no elderly lady here, Miss, none older than yourself" " A highly desirable arrangement, E.osa, my dear," observed Miss Twinkleton.

" It is not. Miss," said the Billickin, with a sarcastic smile,

" that I possess the Mill I have heard of, in which old single ladies could be ground up young (what a gift it would be to some of us !), but that I limit myself to you totally." " When I have any desire to communicate a request to the person of the house, Bosa, my dear," observed Miss Twink- leton, with majestic cheerfulness, " I will make it known to you, and you will kindly undertake, I am sure, that it is conveyed to the proper quarter." " Good-evening, Miss," said the Billickin, at once affectionately and distantly. " Being alone in my eyes, I wish you good-evening with best wishes, and do not find myself drove, : :

A GKITTY STATE OF THINGS 285

I am truly 'appy to say, into expressing my contempt for any indiwidiial, unfortunately for yourself, belonging to you." The Billickin gracefully withdrew with this parting speech^ and from that time Kosa occupied the restless position of shuttlecock between these two battledores. Nothing could b done without a smart match being played out. Thus, on the daily-arising question of dinner, Miss Twinkleton would say, the three being present together " Perhaps, my love, you will consult with the person of the house, whether she can procure us a lamb's fry ; or, failing that, a roast fowl." On which the Billickin would retort (Eosa not having spoken a word), " If you was better accustomed to butcher's meat, Miss, you would not entertain the idea of a lamb's fry. Firstly, because lambs has long been sheep, and secondly, because there is such things as killing-days, and there is not. As to roast fowls. Miss, why you must be quite surfeited with roast fowls, letting alone your buying, when you market for yourself, the agedest of poultry with the scaliest of legs, quite as if you was accustomed to picking 'em out for cheapness. Try a little inwention. Miss. Use yourself to 'ousekeeping a bit. Come now, think of somethink else." To this encouragement, offered with the indulgent toleration of a wise and liberal expert, Miss Twinkleton would rejoin, reddening " Or, my dear, you might propose to the person of the house a duck."

" Well, Miss ! " the Billickin would exclaim (still no word being spoken by Rosa),, " you do surprise me when you speak of ducks ! Not to mention that they're getting out of season and very dear, it really strikes to my heart to see you have a duck ; for the breast, which is the only delicate cuts in a duck, always goes in a direction which I cannot imagine where, and your own plate comes d6wn so miserably skin-and-bony ! Try again. Miss. Think more of yourself and less of others. A dish of sweetbreads now, or a bit of mutton. Somethink at which you can get your equal chance." 286 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Occasionally the game would wax very brisk indeed, and would be kept up with a smartness rendering such an encounter as this quite tame. But the Billickin almost invariably made far the by higher score ; and would come in with side hits of the most unexpected and extraordinary description, when she seemed without a chance. All this did not improve the gritty state of things in Lon- don, or the air that London had acquired in E-osa's eyes of waiting for something that never came. Tired of working and conversing with Miss Twinkleton, she suggested working

and reading : to which Miss Twinkleton readily assented, as an admirable reader, of tried powers. But Eosa soon made the discovery that Miss Twinkleton didn't read fairly. She cut the love scenes, interpolated passages in praise of female celibacy, and was guilty of other glaring pious frauds. As an

instance in point, take the glowing passage : " Ever dearest and best adored, said Edward, clasping the dear head to his breast, and drawing the silken hair through his caressing fin-

gers, from which he suffered it to fall like golden rain ; ever

dearest and best adored, let us fl}^ from the uns^^mpathetic world and the sterile coldness of the stony-hearted, to the rich warm Paradise of Trust and Love." Miss Twinkleton's

'' fraudulent version tamely ran thus : Ever engaged to me with the consent of our parents on both sides, and the appro- bation of the silver-haired rector of the district, said Edward, respectfully raising to his lips the taper fingers so skilful in embroidery, tambour, crotchet, and other truly feminine arts ; let me call on thy papa ^ere to-morrow's dawn has sunk into the west, and propose a suburban establishment, lowly it may be, but within our means, where he will be always welcome as an evening guest, and where every arrangement shall invest economy, and constant interchange of scholastic acquirements, with the attributes of the ministering angel to domestic bliss." As the days crept on and nothing happened, the neighbors began to say that the pretty girl at Billickin's, who looked so wistfully and so much out of the gritty windows of the THE DAWISr AGAIN. 2S1

drawing-room, seemed to be losing her spirits. The pretty girl might have lost them but for the accident of lighting on some books of voyages and sea-adventure. As a compensa- tion against their romance, Miss Twinkleton, reading aloud,

made the most of all the latitudes and longitudes, bearings, winds, currents, offsets, and other statistics (which she felt to be none the less improving because they expressed nothing

whatever to her) ; while Kosa, listening intently, made the most of what was nearest to her heart. So they both did better than before.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DAWN AGAIN.

Although Mr. Crisparkle and John Jasper met daily under the Cathedral roof, nothing at any time passed between them bearing reference to Edwin Drood after the time, more than half a year gone by, when Jasper mutely showed the Minor Canon the conclusion and the resolution entered in his Diary.

It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without the thoughts of each reverting to the subject. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without a sensation on the part of each that the other was a perplexing secret to him. Jasper as the denouncer and pursuer of Neville Landless, and Mr. Crisparkle as his consistent advocate and protector, must at least have stood sufficiently in opposition, to have speculated witli keen interest on the steadiness and the next direction of the other's designs. But neither ever broached the theme. False pretence not being in the Minor Canon's nature, he doubtless displayed openly that he would at any time have re-

vived the subject, and even desired to discuss it. The determined reticence of Jasper, however, was not to be so approached. Impassive, moody, solitary, resolute, so concentrated on one idea, and on its attendant fixed purpose, that he 288 THE MYS,TERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

would share it with no fellow-creature, he lived apart from human life. Constantly exercising an Art which brought him into mechanical harmony with others, and which cou'i not have been pursued unless he and they had been in the nicest mechanical relations and unison, it is curious to consider that the spirit of the man was in moral accordance or interchange with nothing around him. This indeed he had confided to his ^ost nephew, before the occasion for his present inflexibility arose. That he must know of Rosa^s abrupt departuTe, and that he must divine its cause, was not to be doubted. Did he suppose that he had terrified her into silence, or did he suppose that she had imparted to any one—to Mr. Crisparkle himself for instance—the particulars of his last interview with her ? Mr. Crisparkle could not determine this in his mind. He could not but admit, however, as a just man, that it was not, of itself, a crime to fall in love with Eosa, any more than it was a crime to offer to set love above revenge. The dreadful suspicion of Jasper which Eosa was so shocked to have received into her imagination, appeared to have no harbor in Mr. Crisparkle's. If it ever haunted Helena's thoughts, or Neville's, neither gave it one spoken word of utterance. Mr. Grewgious took no pains to conceal his implacable dislike of Jasper, yet he never referred it however distantly to such a source. But he was a reticent as well as an

eccentric man ; and he made no mention of a certain evening when he warmed his hands at the Gate House fire, and looked steadily down at a certain heap of torn and miry clothes upon

the floor. Drowsy Cloisterham, whenever it awoke to a passing recon- sideration of a story above six months old and dismissed by the bench of magistrates, was pretty equally divided in opinion whether John Jasper's beloved nephew had been killed by his

treacherously passionate rival, or in an open struggle : or had, for his own purposes, spirited himself away. It then lifted

up its head, to notice that the bereaved Jasper was still ever THE DAWN AGAIN. 289

devoted to discovery and revenge ; and then dozed off again. This .was the condition of matters, all round, at the period to whic>Kthe present history has now attained.

The Cathedral doors have closed for the night ; and the Choir Master, on a short leave of absence for two or three services, sets his face towards London. He travels thither by the means by which Eosa travelled, and arrives, as Eosa arrived, on a hot, dusty evening.

His travelling baggage is easily carried in his hand, and he repairs with it, on foot, to a hybrid hotel in a little square behind Aldersgate Street, near the General Post Office. It is hotel, boarding-house, or lodging-house, at its visitor's option. It announces itself, in the new Eailway Advertisers, as a novel enterprise, timidly beginning to spring up. It bashfully, almost apologetically, gives the traveller to understand that it does not expect him, on the good old constitutional hotel plan, to order a pint of sweet blacking for his drinking, and throw it away ; but insinuates that he may have his boots blacked instead of his stomach, and maybe also have bed, breakfast, attendance, and a porter up all night, for a certain fixed charge. From these and similar premises, many true Britons in the lowest spirits deduce that the times are levelling times, except in the article of high roads, of which there will shortly be not one in England. He eats without appetite, and soon goes forth again. East- ward and still eastward through the stale streets he takes his way, until he reaches his destination : a miserable court, specially miserable among many such. He ascends a broken staircase, opens a door, looks into a " " dark stifling room, and says : Are you alone here ? " Alone, deary ; worse luck for me and better for you," re-

^* plies a croaking voice. Come in, come in, whoever you be : I can^t see you till I light a match, yet I seem to know the " sound of your speaking. I am acquainted with you ain't I? " Light your match, and try.'' " So I will, deary, so I will j but my hand that shakes, as I 18 " ;

290 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. can't lay it on a match all in a moment. I cough so, that, put my matches where I may, I never find 'em there. They jump and start, as I cough and cough, like live things. Are you of a voyage, deary ? '' " No." " " Not seafaring ? " No/' "Well, there's land customers, and there's water customers. I'm a mother to both. Different from Jack Chinaman t'other side the court. He ain't a father to neither. It ain't in him. And he ain't got the true secret of mixing, though he charges as much as me that has, and more if he can get it. Here's a match, and now where's the candle ? If my cough takes me, I shall cough out twenty matches afore I gets a light."

But she finds the candle, and lights it before the cough comes on. It seizes her in the moment of success, and she sits down rocking herself to and fro, and gasping at intervals, " Oh, my lungs is awful bad, my lungs is wore away to cabbage- nets ! " until the fit is over. During its continuance she has no power of sight, or any other power not absorbed in the struggle ; but as it leaves her, she begins to strain her eyes, and as soon as she is able to articulate, she cries, staring " " Why, it's you ! " " Are you so surprised to see me ? " I thought I never should have seen you again, deary. I thought you was dead, and gone to Heaven." "Wh/?" " I didn't suppose you could have kept away, alive, so long, from the poor old soul with the real receipt for mixing it.

And you are in mourning too ! Why didn't you come and have a pipe or two of comfort ? Did they leave you money, perhaps, and so you didn't want comfort?" " No ! " " Who was they as died, deary ? " A relative." " " Died of what, lovey ? "

THE DAWN AGAIIN". 291

'' Probably, death." " We are short to-night ! " cries the woman, with a propi- tiatory laugh. "Short and snappish, we are ! But we're out of sorts for want of a smoke. We've got the all-overs, haven't us, deary ? But this is the place to cure 'em in ; this is the " place where the all-overs is smoked off! " You may make ready then," replies the visitor, " as soon as you like."

He divests himself of his shoes, loosens his cravat, and lies across the foot of the squalid bed, with his head resting on his left hand. " Now, you begin to look like yourself," says the woman, approvingly. " Now, I begin to know my old customer indeed ! Been trying to mix for yourself this long time, pop- " pet ?

" I have been taking it now and then in my own way."

" Never take it your own way. It ain't good for trade, and it ain't good for you. Where's my inkbottle, and where's my thimble, and where's my little spoon ? He's going to take it in a artful form now, my deary dear ! Entering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the faint spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from time to time, in a tone of snuffling satisfaction, without leaving off. When he speaks, he does so without looking at her, and as if his thoughts were already roaming away by anticipation.

" I've got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and " last, haven't I, chuckey ? " A good many." " When you first came, you was quite new to it ; warn't ye?"

" Yes, I was easily disposed of, then." " But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your pipe with the best of 'em, warn't ye ? " '* Ay. And the worst." " It's just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was 292 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

when you first come ! Used to drop your head, and sing

yourself off, like a bird ! It's ready for you now, deary."

He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouth-

piece to his lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe. After inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubt-

ingly accosts her with : " " Is it as potent as it used to be ? " " What do you speak of, deary ? " " What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth ? ** It's just the same. Always the identical same."

*' It doesn't taste so. And it's slower."

" You've got more used to it, you see." " That may be the cause, certainly. Look here." He stops, becomes dreamy, and seems to forget that he has invited her attention. She bends over him, and speaks in his ear. " I'm attending to you. Says you just now, look here. Says I now, I am attending to ye. We was talking just before of your being used to it."

" I know all that. I was only thinking. Look here. Sup pose you had something in your mind ; something you were going to do.'' " " Yes, deary ; something I was going to do ? " But had not quite determined to do." '* Yes, deary." " Might or might not do, you understand." ^' Yes." With the point of a needle she stirs the contents of the bowl.

" Should you do it in your fancy, when you were lying here doing this? " She nods her head. " Over and over again." " Just like me ! I did it over and over again. I have done it hundreds of thousands of times in this room."

" It's to be hoped it's pleasant to do, deary," " " It was pleasant to do !

He says this with a savage air, and a spring or start at her. Quite unmoved, she retouches and replenishes the contents of THE DAWN AGAIN. 293

the bowl with her little spatula. Seeing her intent upon the occupation, he sinks into his former attitude. " It was a journey, a difficult and dangerous journey. That was the subject in my mind. A hazardous and perilous jour- nejj over abysses where a slip would be destruction. Look " down, look down ! You see what lies at the bottom there ?

He has darted forward to say it, and to point at the ground, as though at some imaginary object far beneath. The woman looks at him, as his spasmodic face approaches close to hers, and not at his pointing. She seems to know what the influ-

ence of her perfect quietude will be ; if so, she has not mis-

calculated it, for he subsides again.

" Well ; I have told you, I did it, here, hundreds of thou-

sands of times. What do I say ? I did it millions and bil-

lions of times. I did it so often, and through such vast ex-

panses of time, that when it was really done, it seemed not

worth the doing, it was done so soon." " That's the journey you have been away upon ? " she quietly remarks.

He glares at her as he smokes ; and then, his eyes becoming filmy, answers ; " That's the journey."

Silence ensues. • His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The woman sits beside him, very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while at his lips.

" I'll warrant," she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of seeming to see her a long way off, " instead of so near him ; I'll warrant you made the journey " in a many ways, when you made it so often ? *^ No, always in one way." " *' Always in the same way ? "Ay."

'' " In the way in which it was really made at last ? "Ay."

^' " And always took the same pleasure in harping on it ? " Ay." :

294 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

For the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that

it is not the assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form* of her next sentence.

*^ Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up " something else for a change ? He struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her " What do you mean ? What did I want ? What did I come for ? '' She gently lays him back again, and, before returning him the instrument he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her

own breath ; then says to him, coaxingly : " Sure, sure, sure ! Yes, yes, yes ! Now, T go along with you. You was too quick for me. I see now. You come o'

purpose to take the journey. Why, I might have known it,

through its standing by you so." He answers first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his teeth : " Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to get the relief, and I got it.

! '' It WAS one ! It was one This repetition with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf. She observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feel- " ing her way to her next remark. It is : There was a fellow- traveller, deary."

" Ha, ha, ha ! " He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell. " To think," he cries, " how often fellow-traveller, and yet not know it ! To think how many times he went the journey, " and never saw the road ! The woman kneels upon the floor, with her arms crossed on the coverlet of the bed, close b}^ him, and her chin upon them.

In this crouching attitude, she watches him. . The pipe is falling from his mouth. She puts it back, and laying her hand upon his chest, moves him slightly from side to side. Upon that he speaks, as if she had spoken. " Yes ! I always made the journey first before the changes " "

THE DAWN AGAIN. 295

of colors and the great landscapes and glittering processions

began. They couldn't begin till it was off my mind. I had no room till then for anything else." Once more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her

hand upon his chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a fat might stimulate a half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken.

" What ? I told you so. When it comes to be real at last,

it is so short that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark ! ^^ Yes, deary. I'm listening." ^' Time and place are both at hand."

He is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, and as if in the dark. '^ Time, place, and fellow-traveller," she suggests, adopting his tone, and holding him softly by the arm. "How could the time be at hand unless the fellow-traveller

was ? Hush ! The journey's made. It's over." " " So soon ?

" That's what I said to you. So soon. Wait a little. This is a vision. I shall sleep it off. It has been too short and easy. I must have a better vision than this ; this is the poor- est of all. No struggle, no consciousness of peril, no entreaty —and yet I never saw that before." With a start. " " Saw what, deary ?

" Look at it ! Look what a poor, mean, miserable thing it

! is ! That must be real. It's over He has accompanied this incoherence with some wild un- meaning gestures ; but they trail off into the progressive inaction of stupor, and he lies a log upon the bed.

The woman, however, is still inquisitive. With a repetition of her catlike action, she slightly stirs his body again, and listens ; stirs again, and listens ; whispers to it, and listens.

Finding it past all rousing for the time, she slowly gets upon her feet, with an air of disappointment, and flicks the face with the back of her hand in turning from it.

But she goes no further away from it than the chair upon "

296 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

the hearth. She sits in it, with an elbow on one of its arms, and her chin upon her hand, intent upon him. " I heard ye say once," she croaks under her breath, " I heard ye say once, when I was lying where you're lying, and you were

* making your speculations upon me, Unintelligible I ' I heard you say so, of two more than me. But don't ye be

! '' too sure always ; don't ye be too sure, beauty Unwinking, cat-like, and intent, she presently adds: "Not

so potent as it once was ? Ah ! Perhaps not at first. You may be more right there. Practice makes perfect. I may have learned the secret how to make ye talk, deary." He talks no more, whether or no. Twitching in an ugly

way from time to time, both as to his face and limbs, he lies heavy and silent. The wretched candle burns down ; the

woman takes its expiring end between her fingers, lights

another at it, crams the guttering frying morsel deep into the

candlestick, and rams it home with the new candle, as if she were loading some ill-savored and unseemly weapon of witchcraft ; the new candle in its turn burns down ; and still he lies insensible. At length what remains of the last candle is blown out, and daylight looks into the room. It has not looked very long, when he sits up, chilled and shaking, slowly recovers consciousness of where he is, and makes himself ready to depart. The woman receives what he pays her with a grateful " Bless ye, bless ye, deary 1 " and seems, tired out, to begin making herself ready for sleep as he leaves the room.

But seeming may be false or true. It is false in this case, for, the moment the stairs have ceased to creak under his tread, " she glides after him, muttering emphatically ; Pll not miss ye twice !

There is no egress from the court but by its entrance. With a weird peep from the doorway, she watches tor his looking back. He does not look back before disappearing, with a wavering step. She follows him, peeps from the court, sees him still faltering on without looking back, and holds him in view. THE DAWN AGAIN, 297

He repairs to the back of Aldersgate Street, where a door immediately opens to his knocking. She crouches in another doorway, watching that one, and easily comprehending that he puts up temporarily at that house. Her patience is unex- hausted by hours. For sustenance she can, and does, buy bread within a hundred yards, and milk as it is carried past her. He comes forth again at noon, having changed his dress, but carrying nothing in his hand, and having nothing carried for

him. He is not going back into the country, therefore, just yet. She follows him a little way, hesitates, instantaneously turns confidently, and goes straight into the house he has quitted. " " Is the gentleman from Cloisterham indoors ? " Just gone out." " Unlucky. When does the gentleman return to Cloister- " ham ? " At six this evening." " Bless ye and thank ye. May the Lord prosper a business where a civil question, even from a poor soul, is so civilly " answered !

! " I'll not miss ye twice " repeats the poor soul in the

street, and not so civilly. " I lost ye last, where that omnibus you got into nigh your journey's end plied betwixt the station and the place. I wasn't so much as certain that you even went right on to the place. Now, I know ye did. My gen-

tleman from Cloisterham, I'll be there before ye and bide your " coming. I've swore my oath that I'll not miss ye twice ! Accordingly, that same evening the poor soul stands in Cloisterham High Street, looking at the many quaint gables of the Nuns' House, and getting through the time as she best

can until nine o'clock ; at which hour she has reason to sup* pose that the arriving omnibus passengers may have some interest for her. The friendly darkness, at that hour, renders

it easy for her to ascertain whether this be so or not ; and it

is so, for the passenger not to be missed twice arrives among the rest. 298 THE MYSTEBT OF EDWIN DROODo

*' " Now, let me see what becomes of you. Go on ! An observation addressed to the air. And yet it might be addressed to the passenger, so compliantly does he go on along the High Street until he comes to an arched gateway, at which

he unexpectedly vanishes. The poor soul quickens her pace ; is swift, and close upon him entering under the gateway ; but only sees a postern staircase on one side of it, and on the other side an ancient vaulted room, in which a large-headed, grey haired gentleman is writing, under the odd circumstances of sitting open to the thoroughfare and eyeing all who pass, as if be were toll-taker of the gateway : though the way is free. " " Halloa ! he cries in a low voice, seeing her brought to a " standstill : " who are you looking for ? " " There was a gentleman passed in here this minute, sir ? " " Of course there was. What do you want with him ? " " Where do he live, deary ? '^Live? Up that staircase." ?" " Bless ye ! Whisper. What's his name, deary "Surname Jasper, Christian name John. Mr. John Jas- per." " " Has he a calling, good gentleman ? " Calling ? Yes. Sings in the choir." " " In the spire ? " Choir." "What's that?" Mr. Datchery rises frcm his papers, and comes to his doorstep. " Do you know what a cathedral is ? " be asks, jo- cosely. The woman nods. " "What is it ? She looks puzzled, casting about in her mind to find a definition, when it occurs to her that it is easier to point out the substantial object itself, massive against the dark-blue sky and the early stars. " That's the answer. Go in there at seven to-morrow morning, and you may see Mr. John Jasper, and hear him too." :

THE DAWN AGAIN. 299

« '' Thank ye ! Thank ye ! The burst of triumph in which she thanks him, does not escape the notice of the single buffer of an easy temper living idly on his means. He glances at her ; clasps his hands behind him, as the wont of such buffers is ; and lounges along the echoing precincts at her side. " Or," he suggests, with a backward hitch of his head, " you can go up at once to Mr. Jasper's rooms there." The woman eyes him with a cunning smile, and shakes her head. " " Oh ! You don't want to speak to him ? She repeats her dumb reply, and forms witb her lips a soundless " No." " You can admire him at a distance three times a day, whenever you like. It's a long way to come for that, though." The woman looks up quickly. If Mr. Datchery thinks she is to be so induced to declare where she comes from, he is of a much easier temper than she is. But she acquits him of such an artful thought, as he lounges along, like the chartered bore of the city, with his uncovered gray hair blowing about, and his purposeless hands rattling the loose money in the pockets of his trousers. The chink of the money has an attraction for her greedy ears. " Wouldn't you help me to pay for my travellers' lodging, dear gentleman, and to pay my way along? I am a poor soul, I am indeed, and troubled with a grievous cough." " You know the travellers' lodging, I perceive, and are making directly for it," is Mr. Datchery's bland comment, still rattling his loose money. " Been here often, my good woman?" " Once in all my life." "Ay,'ayl" They have arrived at the entrance to the Monks' Vineyard. An appropriate remembrance, presenting an exemplary mode for imitation, is revived in the woman's mind by the sight of the place. She stops at the gate, and says energetically "

300 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" By this token, though you mayn't believe it, That a young gentleman gave me three and sixpence as I wsls coughing my breath away on this very grass. I asked him for three and

sixpence, and he gave it me."

" Wasn't it a little cool to name your sum ? " hints Mr.

Datchery, still rattling. "Isn't it customary to leave the amount open ? Mightn't it have had the appearance, to the young gentleman—only the appearance—that he was rather " dictated to ?

" Looke'e here, deary," she replies, in a confidential and per- suasive tone, " I wanted the money to lay it out on a medicine as does me good, and as I deal in. I told the young gentleman so, and he gave it me, and I laid it out honest to the last brass farden. I want to lay out the same sum in the same way now ; and if you'll give it me, I'll lay it out honest to the last brass farden again, upon my soul ! " " What's the medicine ?

" I'll be honest with you beforehand, as well as after. It's opium." Mr. Datchery, with a sudden change of countenance, gives her a sudden look.

" It's opium, deary. Neither more nor less. And it's like a human creetur so far, that you always hear what can be said against it, but seldom what can be said in its praise." Mr. Datchery begins very slowly to count out the sum demanded of him. Greedily watching his hands, she continues to hold forth on the great example set him. " It was last Christmas Eve, just arter dark, the once that I was here afore, when the young gentleman gave me the three and six." Mr. Datchery stops in his counting, finds he had counted wrong, shakes his money together, and begins again, <' And the young gentleman's name," she adds, " was Ed- win."

Mr. Datchery drops some money, stoops to pick it up, and reddens with the exertion as he asks ; THE DAWN AGAIN". 301

" '' How do you know the young gentleman's name ?

" I asked him for it, and he told it me. I only asked him the two questions, what was his Chris'en name, and whether he'd a sweetheart ? And he answered, Edwin, and he hadn't." Mr. Datchery pauses with the selected coins in his hand, rather as if he were falling into a brown study of their value, and couldn^t bear to part with them. The woman looks at him distrustfully, and with her anger brewing for the event of his thinking better of the gift ; but he bestows it on her as if he were abstracting his mind from the sacrifice, and with many servile thanks she goes her way. John Jasper's lamp is kindled, and his Lighthouse is shining when Mr. Datchery returns alone towards it. As mari- ners on a dangerous vogage, approaching an iron-bound coast, may look along the beams of the warning light to the haven lying beyond it that may never be reached, so Mr. Datchery's wistful gaze is directed to this beacon, and beyond.

His object in now revisiting his lodging, is merely to put on the hat which seems so superfluous an article in his wardrobe.

It is half-past ten by the cathedral clock, when he walks out into the Precincts again ; he lingers and looks about him, as though, the enchanted hour when Mr. Durdles may be stoned home having struck, he had some expectation of seeing the

Imp who is appointed to the mission of stoning him.

In eifect, that Power of Evil is abroad. Having nothing living to stone at that moment, he is discovered by Mr. Datch- ery in the unholy office of stoning the dead, through the railings of the chuchyard. The Imp finds this a relishing and piquing pursuit ; firstly, because their resting-place is an-

nounced to be sacred ; and secondly, because the tall head- stones are sufficiently like themselves, on their beat in the dark, to justify the delicious fancy that they are hurt when hit.

'' " ! Mr. Datchery hails him with ; Halloa, Winks " ! He acknowedges the hail with : Halloa, Dick " Their 302 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. acquaintance seemingly having been established on a familiar footing. "But I say," he remonstrates, " don't yer go a making my name public. I never means to plead to no name, mind yer. When they says to me in the Lock-up, a going to put me ? down in the book, ^ What's your name ' I says to them

* Find out.' Likeways when they says * What's your reli- " gion ? ' I says, ^ Find out.'

Which, it may be observed in passing, it would be immensely difficult for the State, however statistical, to do. " Asides which," adds the boy, *' there ain't no family of Winkses." " I think there must be."

" Yer lie, there ain't. The travellers give me the name on account of my getting no settled sleep and being knocked up all night ; whereby I gets one eye roused open afore I've shut the other. That's what Winks means. Deputy's the nighest name to indict me by : but yer wouldn't catch me pleading to that, neither." " Deputy be it always, then. We two are good friends ; eh, " Deputy ? "Jolly good." " I forgave you the debt you owed me when we first became acquainted, and many of my sixpences have come your way " since ; eh. Deputy ?

" Ah ! And what's more, yer ain't no friend o' Jasper's, " What did he go a histing me off my legs for ? " What indeed 1 But never mind him now. A shilling of

mine is going your way to-night. Deputy. You have just

taken in a lodger I have been speaking to ; an infirm woman with a cough." " Puffer," assents Deputy, with a shrewd leer of recognition, and smoking an imaginary pipe, with his head very much on " one side and his eyes very much out of their places : Hope- um Puffer." " " What is her name ? THE DAWN AGAIN. 303

" 'Er Eoyal Highness the Princess Puffer.'^

*^ She has some other name than that ; where does she live?^^ " Up in London. Among the Jacks.'' " " The sailors ?

" I said so ; Jacks. And Chayner men. And hother Knifers." " I should like to know, through you, exactly where she lives."

" All right. Give us 'old.''

A shilling passes ; and, in that spirit of confidence which should pervade all business transactions between principals of honor, this piece of business is considered done. " " " But here's a lark ! cries Deputy. Where did yer think

'Er Eoyal Highness is a goin' to, to-morrow morning ? Blest if she ain't a goin' to the Kin-free-der-el ! " He greatly prolongs the word in his ecstacy, and smites his leg, and doubles himself up in a fit of shrill laughter. " " How do you know that, Deputy ? " Cos she told me so just now. She said she must be hup and hout o' purpose. She ses, ' Deputy, I must 'ave a early wash, and make myself as swell as I can, for I'm goin to take

! " a turn at the Kin-eree-der-el ' He separates the sylla- bles with his former zest, and, not finding his sense of the ludicrous sufficiently relieved by stamping about on the pavement, breaks into a slow and stately dance, perhaps supposed to be performed by the Dean. Mr. Datchery receives the communication with a well-satisfied though a pondering face, and breaks up the conference. Eeturuing to his quaint lodging, and sitting long over the supper of bread and cheese and salad and ale which Mrs. Tope had left prepared for him, he still sits when his supper is finished. At length he rises, throws open the door of a corne^a cupboard, and refers to a few uncouth, chalked strokes on its inner side. "

304 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

" I like;" says Mr. Datchery, " the old tavern way of keeping scores. Illegible, except to the scorer. The scorer not

committed, the scored debited with what is against him.

! Hum ; ha ! very small score this very poor score A ; a

He sighs over the contemplation of its poverty, takes a bit

of chalk from one of the cupboard shelves, and pauses with it in his hand, uncertain what addition to make to the account.

" I think a moderate stroke," he concludes, " is all I am justified in scoring up ; " so, suits the action to the word, closes the cupboard, and goes to bed. A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleam-

ing in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding time—penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odor, and preach the Eesurrection a-nd the Life. The cold stone

tombs of centuries ago grow warm ; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings. Comes Mr. Tope with his large keys, and yawningly unlocks and sets open. Come Mrs. Tope, and attendant sweeping sprites. Come in due time, organist and bellows-boy, peeping

down from the red curtains in the loft, fearlessly flapping dust

from books up at that remote elevation, and whisking it from stops and pedals. Come sundry rooks, from various quarters

of the sky, back to the great tower ; who may be presumed to enjoy vibration, and to know that bell and organ are going to

give it them. Come a very small and straggling congregation indeed : chiefly from Minor Canon Corner and the Preciiu'ts.

Come Mr. Crisparkle, fresh and bright ; and his ministering brethren, not quite so fresh and bright. Come the Choir in a hurry (always in a hurry, and struggling into their niglit- gowns at the last moment, like children shirking bed), and THE DAWN AGAIN. 305

comes John Jasper leading their line. Last of all comes Jlr. Datchery into a stall, one of a choice empty collection very much at his service, and glancing about him for Her Royal Highness the Princess Puffer.

The service is pretty well advanced before Mr. Datchery can discern Her Royal Highness. But by that time he has

made her out, in the shade. She is behind a pillar, carefully withdrawn from the Choir Master's view, but regards him with the closest attention. All unconscious of her presence,

he chants and sings. She grins when he is most musically fervid, and—yes, Mr. Datchery sees her do it ! —shakes her fist at him behind the pillar's friendly shelter. Mr. Datchery looks again to convince himself. Yes,

again ! As ugly and withered as one of the fantastic carvings on the under brackets of the stall seats, as malignant as the Evil One, as hard as the big brass eagle holding the sacred books upon his wings (and, according to the sculptor's

representation of his ferocious attributes, not at all converted by them), she hugs herself in her lean arms, and then shakes both fists at the leader of the Choir. And at that moment, outside the grated door of the Choir, having eluded the vigilance of Mr. Tope by shifty resources in which he is an adept, Deputy peeps, sharp-eyed, through the bars, and stares astounded from the threatener to the threatened. The service comes to an end, and the servitors disperse to breakfast. Mr. Datchery accosts his last new acquaintance outside, when the Choir (as much in a hurry to get their bed-

gowns off, as they were but now to get them on) have scuffled away. " Well, mistress. Good-morning. You have seen him ? "

'' "I've seen him, deary ; 2've seen him ! " " And you know him ? " Know him ! Better far, than all the Reverend Parsons put together know him." 19 806 THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

Mrs. Tope's care has spread a very neat, clean breakfast ready for her lodger. Before sitting down to it, he opens his corner cupboard door ; takes his bit of chalk from its shelf; adds one thick line to the score, extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom ; and then falls to with an appetite. MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

MASTER HUMPHREY, FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

The reader must not expect to know where I live. At present, it is true, my abode may be a question of little or no import to anybody, but if I should carry my readers with me, as I hope to do, and there should spring up, between them and me, feelings of homely affection and regard attaching something of interest to matters ever so slightly connected with my fortunes or my speculations, even my place of residence might one day have a kind of charm for them. Bearing this possible contingency in mind, I wish them to understand in the outset, that they must never expect to know it. I am not a churlish old man. Friendless I can never be, for all mankind are my kindred, and I am on ill terms with no one member of my great family. But for many years I have led a lonely, solitary life ; —what wound I sought to heal, what sorrow to forget, originally, matters not now ; it is sufficient that retirement has become a habit with me, and that I am unwilling to break the spell which for so long a time has shed its quiet influence upon my home and heart. I live in a venerable suburb of London, in an old house, which in bygone days was a famous resort for merry roy- sters and peerless ladies, long since departed. It is a silent, shady place, with a paved court-yard so full of echoes that sometimes I am tempted to believe that faint responses to the noises of old times linger there yet, and that these ghosts of sound haunt my footsteps as I pace it up and down. I am the more confirmed in this belief, because of late years, the echoes that attend my walks have been less loud and marked than they were wont to be ; and it is pleasanter to imagine in (301) ;

308 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

them the rustling of silk brocade, and the light step of somi

lovely girl, than to recognize in their altered note the failin.] tread of an old man. Those who like to read of brilliant rooms and gorgeous fur

niture, would derive but little pleasure from a minute description of my simple dwelling. It is dear to me for the same reason that they would hold it in slight regard. Its worm*

eaten doors, and low ceilings crossed by clumsy beams ; its walls of wainscot, dark stairs and gaping closets ; its small chambers, communicating with each other by winding, passages

or narrow steps ; its many nooks, scarce larger than its corner-

cupboards ; its very dust and dulness, all are dear to me. The moth and spider are my constant tenants, for in my house the one basks in his long sleep, and the other plies his busy loom, secure and undisturbed. I have a pleasure in thinking on a summer's day, how many butterflies have sprung for the first time into light and sunshine from some dark corner of these old walls.

When I first came to live here, which was many years ago, the neighbors were curious to know who I was, and whence I came, and why I lived so much alone. As time went on, and they still remained unsatisfied on these points, I became the centre of a popular ferment, extending for half a mile round, and in one direction for a full mile. Various rumors were circulated to my prejudice. I was a spy, an infic^^l, a conjuror, a kidnapper of children, a refugee, a priest, a monster. Mothers caught up their infants and ran into their houses as I passed men eyed me spitefully, and muttered threats and curses. I was the object of suspicion and distrust; ay, of downright hatred, too. But when in course of time they found that I did no harm, but, on the contrary, inclined towards them despite their unjust usage, they began to relent. I found my footsteps no longer dogged, as tbey had often been before, and observed that the women and children no longer retreated, but would stand and gaze at me as I passed their doors. I took this for a good —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 809 omen, and waited patiently for better times. By degrees I began to make friends among these humble folks, and though they were yet shy of speaking, would give them " good day," and so pass on. In a little time, those whom I had thus accosted, would make a point of coming to their doors and win-

dows at the usual hour, and nod or curtesy to me ; children, too, came timidly within my reach, and ran away quite scared when I patted their heads and bade them be good at school. These little people soon grew more familiar. From exchanging mere words of course with my older neighbors, I gradually became their friend and adviser, the depositary of their cares and sorrows, and sometimes, it may be, the reliever, in my small way, of their distresses. And now I never walk abroad, but pleasant recognitions and smiling faces wait on Master Humphrey. It was a whim of mine, perhaps as a whet to the curiosity of my neighbors, and a kind of retaliation upon them for their suspicions—it was, I say, a whim of mine, when I first took up my abode in this place, to acknowledge no other name than Humphrey. With my detractors, I was Ugly Humphrey. "When I began to convert them into friends, I was Mr. Hum- phrey, and Old Mr. Humphrey. At length I settled down into plain Master Humphrey, which was understood to be the title most pleasant to my ear ; and so completely a matter of course has it become, that sometimes when I am taking my morning walk in my little court-yard, I overhear my barber who has a profound respect for me, and would not, I am sure, abridge my honors for the world—holding forth on the other side of the wall, touching the state of " Master Humphrey's" health, and communicating to some friend the substance of the conversation that he and Master Humphrey have had together in the course of the shaving which he has just concluded. That I may not make acquaintance with my readers under false pretences, or give them cause to complain hereafter, that

I have withheld any matter which it was essential for them to have learnt at first, I wish them to know—and I smile sor- —

310 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

rowfully to think that the time has been when the confession would have given me pain—that I am a misshapen, deformed old man. I have never been made a misanthrope by this cause. I have never been stung by any insult, nor wounded by any jest upon my crooked jBgure. As a child I was melancholy and timid, but that was because the gentle consideration paid to my misfortune sunk deep into my spirit and made me sad, even in those early days. I was but a very young creature when my poor mother died, and yet I remember that often when I hung

around her neck, and oftener still when I played about the room before her, she would catch me to her bosom, and bursting into tears, would sooth me with every term of fondness and affection. God knows I was a happy child at those times happy to nestle in her breast—happy to weep when she did bappy in not knowing why. These occasions are so strongly impressed upon my memory, that they seem to have occupied whole years. I had numbered very, very few when they ceased forever, but before then their meaning had been revealed to me. I do not know whether all children are imbued with a quick perception of childish grace and beauty, and a strong love for it, but I was. I had no thought that I remember, either that

I possessed it myself or that I lacked it, but I admired it with an intensity that I cannot describe. A little knot of play- mates—they must have been beautiful, for I see them now-— were clustered one day round my mother's knee in eager admiration of some picture representing a group of infant angels, which she held in her hand. Whose the picture was, whether it was familiar to me or otherwise, or how all the children came to be there, I forget ; I have some dim thought it was my birthday, but the beginning of my recollection is that we were all together in the garden, and it was summer weather—I am sure of that, for one of the little girls had roses in her sash. There were many lovely angels in this picture, and I remember the fancy coming upon me to point 3IASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 311

out which of them represented each child there, and that when I had gone through my companions, I stopped and hesitated, wondering which was most like me. I remember the children looking at each other, and my turning red aad hot, and their crowding round to kiss me, saying that they loved sorrow came me all the same ; and then, and when the old into my dear mother's mild and tender look, the truth broke upon me for the first time, and I knew, while watching my awkward and ungainly sports, how keenly she had felt for her poor crippled boy. I used frequently to dream of it afterwards, and now my heart aches for that child as if I had never been he, when I think how often he awoke from some fairy change to his own old form, and sobbed himself to sleep again. Well, well—all these sorrows are past. My glancing at them may not be without its use, for it may help in some measure to explain why I have all my life been attached to the inanimate objects that people my chamber and how I have come to look upon them rather in the light of old and constant friends, than as mere chairs and tables which a little money could replace at will. Chief and first among all these is my Clock—my old, cheerful, companionable Clock. How can I ever convey to others an idea of the comfort and consolation that this old

clock has been for years to me 1

It is associated with my earliest recollections. It stood upon the staircase at home (I call it home still mechanically,) nigh sixty years ago. I like it for that, but it is not on that account, nor because it is a quaint old thing in a huge oaken case curiously and richly carved, that I prize it as I do. I

incline to it as if it were alive, and could understand and give me back the love I bear it. And what other thing that has not life could cheer me as it life (I will not say how does ; what other thing that has not few things that have) could have proved the same patient, true, winter untiring friend I How often have I sat in the long 812 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. eveniogs feeling such society in its cricket-voice, that raising my eyes from my book and looking gratefully towards it, the face reddened by the glow of the shining fire has seemed to relax from its staid expression and to regard me kindly ; how often in the summer twilight, when my thoughts have wandered back to a melancholy past, how its regular whisperings recalled them to the calm and peaceful present ; how often in the dead tranquillity of night has its bell broken the oppressive silence, and seemed to give me assurance that the old clock was still a faithful watcher at my chamber door ! My easy -chair, my desk, my ancient furniture, my very books, I can scarcely bring myself to love even these last, like my old clock ! It stands in a snug corner, midway between the fireside and a low arched door leading to my bedroom. Its fame is diffused so extensively throughout the neighborhood, that I have often the satisfaction of hearing the publican, or the baker, and sometimes even the parish-clerk, petitioning my housekeeper (of whom I shall have much to say by-and-by) to inform him the exact time by Master Humphrey's clock. My barber, to whom I have referred, would sooner believe it than the sun. Nor are these its only distinctions. It has acquired, I am happy to say, another, inseparably connecting it not only with my enjoyments and reflections, but with those of other men ; as I shall now relate. I lived alone here for a long time without any friend or acquaintance. In the course of my wanderings by night and day, at all hours and seasons, in city streets and qniet country parts, I came to be familiar with certain faces, and to take it to heart as quite a heavy disappointment if they failed to present themselves each at its accustomed spot. But these were the only friends I knew, and beyond them I had none. It happened, however, when I had gone on thus for a long time, that I formed an acquaintance with a deaf gentleman, which ripened into intimacy and close companionship. To this hour, I am ignorant of his name. It is his humor to conceal MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 313 it, or he has a reason and purpose for so doing. In either case I feel that he has a right to require a return of the trust he has reposed, and as he has never sought to discover my secret, I have never sought to penetrate his. There may have been something in this tacit confidence in each other, jQattering and pleasant to us both, and it may have imparted in the beginning an additional zest, perhaps, to our friendship. Be this as it may, we have grown to be like brothers, and still I only know him as the deaf gentleman. I have said that retirement has become a habit with me, When I add that the deaf gentleman and I have two friends, I communicate nothing that is inconsistent with that declaration. I spend many hours of every day in solitude and study, have no friends or change of friends, but these, only see them at stated periods, and am supposed to be of a retired spirit by the very nature and object of our association. We are men of secluded hahits, with something of a cloud upon our early fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled with age, whose spirit of romance is not yet quenched, who are content to ramble through the world in a pleasant dream, rather than ever waken again to its harsh realities. We are alchemists who would extract the essence of perpetual youth from dust and ashes, tempt coy Truth in many light and airy forms from the bottom of her well, and discover one crumb of comfort or one grain of good in the commonest and least regarded matter that passes through our crucible. Spirits of past times, creatures of imagination, and people of to-day, are alike the object of our seeking, and, unlike the objects of search with most philosophers, we can insure their coming at our command.

The deaf gentleman and I first began to beguile our days with these fancies, and our nights in communicating them to each other. We are now four. But in my room there are six old chairs, and we have decided that the two empty seats shall always be placed at our table when we meet, to remind us that we may yet increase our company by that number, if we 314 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. should find two men to our mind. When one among us dies, his chair will always be set in its usual place, but never oc-

cupied again ; and I have caused my will to be so drawn out, that when we are all dead the house shall be shut up, and the vacant chairs still left in their accustomed places. It is pleasant to think that even then our shades may, perhaps, assemble together as of yore we did, and join in ghostly converse. One night in every week, as the clock strikes ten, we meet. At the second stroke of two, I am alone. And now shall I tell how that my old servant, besides giving us note of time, and ticking cheerful encouragement of our proceedings, lends its name to our society, which for its punctuality and my love, is christened " Master Humphrey's Clock ?'' Now shall I tell, how that in the bottom of the old dark closet, where the steady pendulum throbs and beats with healthy action, though the pulse of him who made it stood still long ago, and never moved again, there are piles of dusty papers constantly placed there by our hands, that we may link our enjoyments with my old friend, and draw means to beguile time from the heart of time itself ? Shall I, or can

I, tell with what a secret pride I open this repository when we meet at night, and still find new store of pleasure in my

dear old Clock I

Friend and companion of my solitude I mine is not a selfish love ; I would not keep your merits to myself, but disperse something of pleasant association with your image through

the whole wide world ; I would have men couple with your

name cheerful and healthy thoughts ; I would have them be-

lieve that you keep true and honest time ; and how it would gladden me to know that they recognized some hearty Eng-

lish work in Master Humphrey's Clock I

THE CLOCK-CASE.

It is my intention constantly to address my readers from the chimney-corner, and I would fain hope that such accounts as I shall give them of our histories and proceedings, our MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 315 quiet speculations or more busy adventures, will never be un- welcome. Lest, however, I should grow prolix in the outset by lingering too long upon our little association, confounding the enthusiasm with which I regard this chief happiness of my life with that minor degree of interest which those to whom I address myself may be supposed to feel for it, I have deemed it expedient to break off as they have seen.

But, still clinging to my old friend, and naturally desirous that all its merits should be known, I am tempted to open (somewhat irregularly and against our laws, I must admit) the clock-case. The first roll of paper on which I lay my hand is in the writing of the deaf gentleman. I shall have to speak of him in my next paper, and how can I better approach that welcome task than by prefacing it with a produc- tion of his own pen, consigned to the safe keeping of my honest clock by his own hands. The manuscript runs thus :—

INTRODUCTION TO THE GIANT CHRONICLES.

Once upon a time, that is to say, in this our time, —the exact year, month, and day, are of no matter,—there dwelt in the city of London a substantial citizen, who united in his single person the dignities of wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, and member of the worshipful company of Patten-makers : who had superadded to these extraordinary distinctions the important post and title of Sheriff, and who at length, and to crown all, stood next in rotation for the high and honorable office of Lord Mayor. He was a very substantial citizen indeed. His face was like the full moon in a fog, with two little holes punched out for his eyes, a very ripe pear stuck on for his nose, and a wide gash to serve for a mouth. The girth of his waistcoat was hung up and lettered in his tailor's shop as an extraordinary curiosity. He breathed like a heavy snorer, and his voiqe in speaking, came thickly forth, as if it were oppressed and stifled by feather-beds. He trod the ground like an elephant, 816 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. and eat and drank like—like nothing but an alderman, as he was. This worthy citizen had risen to his great eminence from small beginnings. He had once been a very lean, weazen little boy, never dreaming of carrying such a weight of flesh upon his bones or of money in his pockets, and glad enough to take his dinner at a baker's door, and his tea at a pump.

But he had long ago forgotten all this, as it was proper that a wholesale fruiterer, alderman, common-councilman, member of the worshipful company of Patten-makers, past sheriff, and above all, a Lord Mayor that was to be, should ; and he never forgot it more completely in all his life than on the eighth of November in the year of his election to the great golden civic chair, which was the day before his grand dinner at Guildhall.

It happened that as he sat that evening all alone in his counting-house, looking over the bill of fare for the next day, and checking off the fat capons in fifties and the turtle-soup by the hundred quarts for his private amusement—it happened that as he sat alone occupied in these pleasant calcu- lations, a strange man came in and asked him how he did, adding, " If I am half as much changed as you, sir, you have no recollection of me, I am sure." The strange man was not over and above well-dressed and was very far from being fat or rich looking in any sense of word, yet he spoke with a kind of modest confidence, and assumed an easy, gentlemanly sort of an air, to which nobody but a rich man can lawfully presume. Besides this he interrupted the good citizen just as he had reckoned three hundred and seventy-two fat capons and was carrying them over to the next column, and as if that were not aggravation enough, the learned recorder for the city of London had only ten minutes previously gone out at that very same door, and had turned round and said, " Good night, my lord.'' Yes, he had said, " my lord ;"—he, a man of birth and education, of the Honor- able Society of the Middle Temple, Barrister at Law—he who —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 81T had an uncle in the House of Commons, and an aunt almost but not quite in the House of Lords (for she had married a feeble peer, and made him vote as she liked) —he, this man, this learned recorder, had said, " my lord." ** 1^11 not wait till to-morrow to give you your title, my Lord Mayor," says he, with a bow and a smile; *'you are Lord Mayor de facto if not dejure. Good night, my lord !

The Lord Mayor elect thought of tjiis, and turning to the stranger, and sternly bidding him "go out of his private counting-house," brought forward the three hundred and seventy-two fat capons, and went on with his account. "Do you remember," said the other, stepping forward " Do you remember little Joe Toddyhigh ?" The port wine fled for a moment from the fruiterer's nose " as he muttered, Joe Toddyhigh I What about Joe Toddy- high ?" " Jam Joe Toddyhigh," oried the visitor. " Look at me, look hard at me—harder, harder. You know me now ? you know little Joe again ? What a happiness to us both to meet the very night before your grandeur I Oh ! give me your hand, Jack—both hands—both, for the sake of old times." "You pinch me, sir. You're a hurting of me," said the Lord Mayor elect pettishly. " Don't—suppose anybody should come—Mr. Toddyhigh, sir." " Mr. Toddyhigh !" repeated the other ruefully. " Oh I don't bother," said the Lord Mayor elect, scratching " his head, Dear me I Why, I thought you was dead. What a fellow you are I"

Indeed, it was a pretty state of things, and worthy the tone of vexation and disappointment in which the Lord Mayor spoke. Joe Toddyhigh had been a poor boy with him at Hull, and had oftentimes divided his last penny and parted his last crust to relieve his wants, for though Joe was a destitute child in those times, he was as faithful and affectionate in his friendship as ever man of might could be. They parted one day to seek their fortunes in different directions. Joe went to sea, 818 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. and the now wealthy citizen begged his way to London. They separated with many tears, like foolish fellows, as they were, and agreed to remain fast friends, and if they lived, soon to communicate again. When he was an errand-boy, and even in the early days of his apprenticeship, the citizen had many a time trudged to the

Post-office to ask if there were any letter from poor little Joe, and had gone home again with tears in his eyes, when he found no news of his only friend. The world is a wide place, and it was a long time before the letter came ; when it did, the writer was forgotten. It turned from white to yellow from lying in the Post-office with nobody to claim it, and in course of time was torn up with five hundred others, and sold for waste paper. And now at last, and when it might least have been expected, here was this Joe Toddyhigh turning up and claiming acquaintance with a great public character, who on the morrow would be cracking jokes with the Prime Minister of England, and who had only, at any time during the next twelve months, to say the word, and he could shut up Temple Bar, and make it no thoroughfare for the king

himself I *'I am sure I don't know what to say, Mr. Toddyhigh," " said the Lord Mayor elect ; I really don^t. It^s very inconvenient. I'd sooner have given twenty pound—it's very inconvenient, really." A thought had come into his mind, that perhaps his old friencf migfit say something passionate which would giva Ulca an excuse for being angry himself. No such thing. Jog looked at him steadily, but very mildly, and did not open his lips. " Of course I shall pay you what I owe you," said the Lord Mayor elect, fidgeting in his chair. " You lent me—I think it was a shilling or some small coin—when we parted company, and that of course I shall pay, with good interest. I can pay my way with any man, and always have done. If you look into the Mansion House the day after to-morrow—some MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 319 time after dusk—and ask for my private clerk, you'll find he has a draft for you. I haven't got time to say anything more just now, unless"—he hesitated, for, coupled with a strong desire to glitter for once in all his glory in the eyes of his former companion, was a distrust of his appearance, which might be more shabby than he could tell by that feeble light —" unless you'd like to come to the dinner to-morrow. I don't mind your having this ticket, if you like to take it, A

great many people would give their ears for it, I can tell you." His old friend took the card without speaking a word, and instantly departed. His sunburnt face and gray hair were present to the citizen's mind for a moment ; but by the time he reached three hundred and eighty-one capons, he had quite forgotten him. Joe Toddyhigh had never been in the capital of Europe before, and he wandered up and down the streets that night amazed at the number of churches and other public buildings, the splendor of the shops, the riches that were heaped up on every side, the glare of light in which they were displayed, and the concourse of people who hurried to and fro, indiffer-

ent, apparently, to all the wonders that surrounded them. But in all the long streets and broad squares, there were none but strangers ; it was quite a relief to turn down a by-way and hear his own footsteps on the pavement. He went home to

his inn ; thought that London was a dreary, desolate place,

and felt disposed to doubt the existence of one true-hearted man in the whole worshipful company of Patten-makers. Finally, he went to bed, and dreamed that he and the Lord Mayor elect were boys again. He went next day to the dinner, and when, in a burst of light and music, and in the midst of splendid decorations and surrounded by brilliant company, his former friend appeared at the head of the Hall, and washailed with shouts and cheering, he cheered and shouted with the best, and for the moment could have cried. The next moment he cursed his weakness in behalf of a man so changed and selfish, and quite hated a 320 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, jolly-lookiDg old gentleman opposite for declaring himself in the pride of his heart a Patten-maker. As the banquet proceeded, he took more and more to heart the rich citizen's unkindness ; and that, not from any envy, but because he felt that a man of his state and fortune could all the better afford to recognize an old friend, even if he were poor and obscure. The more he thought of this, the more lonely and sad he felt. When the company dispersed and adjourned to the ball-room, he paced the hall and passages alone ruminating in a very melancholy condition upon the disappointment he had experienced. It chanced, while he was lounging about in this moody state, that he stumbled upon a flight of stairs, dark, steep, and narrow, which he ascended without any thought about the matter, and so came into a little music-gallery, empty and deserted. From this elevated post, which commanded the whole hall, he amused himself in looking down upon the attendants who were clearing away the fragments of the feast very lazily, and drinking out of all the bottles and glasses with most commendable perseverance.

His attention gradually relaxed, and he fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he thought there must be something the matter with his eyes; but, rubbing them a little, he soon found that the moonhght was really streaming through the

east window, that the lamps were all extinguished, and that he was alone. He listened, but no distant murmur in the echoing passages, not even the shutting of a door, broke the

deep silence ; he groped his way down the stairs, and found that the door at the bottom was locked on the other side. He began now to comprehend that he must have slept a long time, that he had been overlooked, and was shut up there for the night. His first sensation, perhaps, was not altogether a comfortable one, for it was a dark, chilly, earthly-smelling place, and

something too large, for a man so situated, to feel at home in. However, when the momentary consternation of his surprise MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 321 was over, he made light of the accident, and resolved to feel his way up the stairs again, and make himself as comfortable as he could in the gallery until morning. As he turned to execute this purpose, he heard the clock strike three. Any such invasion of a dead stillness as the striking of distant clocks, causes it to appear more intense and insupportable when the sound has ceased. He listened with strained attention in the hope that some clock, lagging behind its fellows, had yet to strike—looking all the time into the profound darkness before him until it seemed to weave itself into a black tissue, patterned with a hundred reflections of his own eyes. But the bells had all pealed out their warning for that once, and the gust of wind that moaned through the place seemed cold and heavy with their iron breath. The time and circumstances were favorable to reflection. He tried to keep his thoughts to the current, unpleasant though it was, in which they had moved all day, and to think with what a romantic feeling he had looked forward to shaking his old friend by the hand before he died, and what a wide and cruel difference there was between the meeting they had had, and that which he had so often and so long anticipated. Still he was disordered by waking to such sudden loneliness, and could not prevent his mind from running upon odd tales of people of undoubted courage, who, being shut up by night in vaults or churches, or other dismal places, had scaled great heights to get out, and fled from silence as they had never done from danger. This brought to his mind the moonlight

through the window, and bethinking himself of it, he groped his way back up the crooked stairs—but very stealthily, as though he were fearful of being overheard. He was very much astonished when he approached the

gallery again, to see a light in the building : still more so, on advancing hastily and looking round, to observe no visible

source from which it could proceed. But how much greater 3'et was his astonishment at the spectacle which this light revealed. 20 —

823 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

The statues of the two giants, Gog and Magog, each above fourteen feet in height, those which succeeded to still older and more barbarous figures after the great fire of London, and which stand in the Guildhall to this day, were endowed with

life and motion. These guardian genii of the City had quitted their pedestals, and reclined in easy attitudes in the great stained glass window. Between them was an ancient cask,

which seemed to be full of wine ; for the younger Giant, clap-

ping his huge hand upon it, and throwing up his mighty leg, burst into an exulting laugh, which reverberated through the hall like thunder. Joe Toddyhigh instinctively stooped down, and, more dead than alive, felt his hair stand on end, his knees knock together, and a cold damp break out upon his forehead. But even at that minute curiosity prevailed over every other feeling, and somewhat reassured by the good-humor of the Giants and their apparent unconsciousness of his presence, he crouched in a corner of the gallery, in as small a space as he could, and peeping between the rails, observed them closely.

FIRST NIGHT OF THE GIANT CHRONICLES.

Turning towards his companion, the elder Giant uttered these

words in a grave, majestic tone : *' Magog, does boisterous mirth beseem the Giant Warder

of this ancient city ? Is this becoming demeanor for a watchful spirit over whose bodiless head so many years have rolled so many changes swept like empty air—in whose impalpable nostrils the scent of blood and crime, pestilence, cruelty, and horror, has been familiar as breath to mortals—in whose sight Time has gathered in the harvest of centuries, and garnered so many crops of human pride, affections, hopes, and sorrows ?

Bethink you of our compact. The night wanes ; feasting, revelry, and music have encroached upon our usual hours of solitude, and morning will be here apace. Ere we are stricken mute again, bethink you of our compact." Pronouncing these latter words with more of impatience than MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 823 quite accorded with his apparent age and gravity, the Giant raised a long pole (which he still bears in his hand) and tapped

his brother Giant rather smartly on the head ; indeed, the blow was so smartly administered, that the latter quickly withdrew his lips from the cask to which they had been applied, and catching up his shield and halberd assumed an attitude of defence. His irritation was but momentary, for he laid these weapons aside as hastily as he had assumed them, and said as he did so :•— " You know, Gog, old friend, that when we animate these shapes which the Londoners of old assigned (and not un- worthily) to the guardian genii of their city, we are suscepti- ble of some of the sensations which belong to human kind.

Thus when I taste wine, I feel blows ; when I relish the one I disrelish the other. Therefore, Gog, the more especially as your arm is none of the lightest, keep your good staff by your side, else we may chance to differ. Peace be between us." *' Amen I" said the other leaning his staff in the window- corner. " Why did you laugh just now ?" ** To think," replied the Giant Magog, laying his hand upon " the cask, of him who owned this wine, and kept— it in a cellar hoarded from the light of day, for thirty years, * till it should

be fit to drink,' quoth he. He was two-score and ten years old when he buried it beneath his house, and yet never

thought that he might be scarcely 'fit to drink' when the

wine became so. I wonder it never occurred to him to make himself unfit to be eaten. There is very little of him left by this time." '' The night is waning," said Gog, mournfully. *'I know it," replied his companion, "and I see you are impatient. But look. Through the eastern window—placed opposite to us, that the first beams of the rising sun may every morning gild our giant faces —the moon-rays fall upon the pavement in a stream of light that to my fancy sinks through the cold stone and gushes into the old crypt below.

The night has scarcely past its noon, and our great charge is sleeping heavily." 324 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

They ceased to speak, and looked upward at the moon. The sight of their large, black, rolling eyes filled Joe Toddy- high with such horror that he could scarcely draw his breath. Still they took no note of him, and appeared to believe themselves quite alone.

" Our compact," said Magog, after a pause, ** is, if I understand it, that, instead of watching here in silence through the dreary nights, we entertain each other with stories of our past future experience ; with tales of the past, the present, and the ; with legends of London and her sturdy citizens from the old simple times. That every night at midnight, when Saint Paul's bell tolls out one and we may move and speak, we thus discourse, nor leave such themes till the first gray gleam of day shall strike us dumb. Is that our bargain, brother ?" " Yes," said the Giant Gog, *' that is the league between us who guard this city, by day in spirit, and by night in body

also ; and never on ancient holidays have its conduits run wine more merrily than we will pour forth our legendary lore. We are old chroniclers from this time hence. The crumbled walls will encircle us once more, the postern gates are closed,

the drawbridge is up, and pent in its narrow den beneath, the water foams and struggles with the sunken starlings. Jerkins and quarter-staves are in the streets again, the nightly watch

is set, the rebel, sad and lonely in his Tower dungeon, tries to sleep and weeps for home and children. Aloft upon the gates and walls are noble heads glaring fiercely down upon the dreaming city, and vexing the hungry dogs that scent them in the air, and tear the ground beneath with dismal bowlings. The axe, the block, the rack, in their dark chambers give signs of recent use. The Thames, floating past long lines of cheerful windows whence comes a burst of music and a stream of light, bears sullenly to the Palace wall the last red stain brought on the tide from Traitor's Gate. But your pardon brother. The night wears, and I am talking idly." The other Giant appeared to be entirely of this opinion, for —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 825 daring the foregoing rhapsody of his fellow-sentinel he had been scratching his head with an air of comical uneasiness, or rather with an air that would have been very comical if he had been a dwarf or an ordinary-sized man. He winked, too, though it could not be doubted for a moment that he winked to himself, still he certainly cocked his enormous eye towards the gallery where the listener was concealed. Nor was this all, for he gaped ; and when he gaped, Joe was horribly reminded of the popular prejudice on the subject of giants, and of their fabled power of smelling out Englishmen, however closely concealed.

His alarm was such that he nearly swooned, and it was some little time before his power of sight or hearing was restored. When he recovered he found that the elder Giant was pressing the younger to commence the Chronicles, and the latter was endeavoring to excuse himself, on the ground that the

night was far spent and it would be better to wait until the next. Well assured by this that he was certainly about to begin directly, the listener collected his faculties by a great effort, and distinctly heard Magog express himself to the fol-

lowing effect :

In the sixteenth century and in the reign of Queen Eliza- beth of glorious memory (albeit her golden days are sadly rusted with blood), there lived in the city of London a bold young 'prentice who loved his master's daughter. There were no doubt within the walls a great many 'prentices in this condition, but I speak of only one, and his name was Hugh Graham. This Hugh was apprenticed to an honest Bowyer, who dwelt in the ward of Cheype and was rumored to possess great wealth. Rumor was quite as infallible in those days as

at the present time, but it happened then as now to be some-

times right by accident. It stumbled upon the truth when it gave the old Bowyer a mint of money. His trade had been a profitable one in the time of King Henry the Eighth, who en- 326 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

couraged English archery to the utmost, and he had been

prudent and discreet. Thus it came to pass that Mistress

Alice, his only daughter, was the richest heiress in all his wealthy ward. Young Hugh had often maintained with staff and cudgel that she was the handsomest. To do him justice, I believe she was. If he could have gained the heart of pretty Mistress Alice by knocking this conviction into stubborn people's heads, Hugh would have had no cause to fear. But though the Bow- yer's daughter smiled in secret to hear of his doughty deeds

for her sake, and though her little waiting-woman reported all her smiles (and many more) to Hugh, and though he was at a vast expense in kisses and small coin to recompense her fidelity he made no progress in his love. He durst not whisper it to Mistress Alice save on sure encouragement, and that she never gave him. A glance of her dark eye as she sat at the door on a summer's evening after prayer time, while he and the neighboring 'prentices exercised themselves in the street with blunted sword and buckler, would fire Hugh's

blood so that none could stand before him ; but then she glanced at others quite as kindly as on him, and where was the use of cracking crowns if Mistress Alice smiled upon the

cracked as well as on the cracker ? Still Hugh went on, and loved her more and more. He thought of her all day, and dreamed of her all night long. He treasured up her every word and gesture, and had a pal- pitation of the heart whenever he heard her footstep on the stairs or her voice in an adjoining room. To him, the old Bow- yer's house was haunted by an angel ; there was enchantment in the air and space in which she moved. It would have been no miracle to Hugh if flowers had .sprung from the rush- strewn floors beneath the tread of lovely Mistress Alice. Never did 'prentice long to distingush himself in the eyes of his lady-love so ardently as Hugh. Sometimes he pictured to himself the house taking fire by night, and he, when all drew back in fear, rushing through flame and smoke and bear- MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 32t

ing her from the ruins in his arms. At other times he thought of a rising of fierce rebels, an attack upon the city, a strong

assault upon the Bowyer's house in particular, and he falling on the threshold pierced with numberless wounds in de- fense of Mistress Alice. If he could only enact some prodigy of valor, do some wonderful deed, and let her know that she had inspired it, he thought he could die contented. Sometimes the Bowyer and his daughter would go out to supper with a worthy citizen at the fashionable hour of six o'clock, and on such occasions Hugh, wearing his blue 'prentice cloak as gallantly as 'prentice might, would attend with a lantern and his trusty club to escort them home. These were the brightest moments of his life. To hold the light while Mistress Alice picked her steps, to touch her hand as he helped her over broken ways, to have her leaning on his arm—it sometimes even came to that—this was happiness indeed I

When the nights were fair, Hugh followed in the rear, his eyes riveted on the graceful figure of the Bowyer's daughter as she and the old man moved on before him. So they threaded the narrow winding streets of the city, now passing beneath the overhanging gables of old wooden houses whence creaking signs even projected into the street, and now emerging from some dark and frowning gate-way into the clear moonlight. At such times, or when the shouts of straggling braw- lers met her ear, the Bowyer's daughter would look timidly back at Hugh beseeching him to draw nearer ; and then how he grasped his club and longed to do battle with a dozen ruf- flers, for the love of Mistress Alice I The old Bowyer was in the habit of lending money on interest to the gallants of the Court, and thus it happened that many a richly dressed gentleman dismounted at his door. More waving plumes and gallant steeds, indeed, were seen at the Bowyer's house, and more embroidered silks and velvets sparkled in his dark shop and darker private closet than at any merchant's in the city. In those times no less than in the 328 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. present it would seem that the richest looking cavaliers often wanted money the most. Of these glittering clients there was one who always came alone. He was always nobly mounted, and having no attendant gave his horse in charge to Hugh while he and the Bow- yer were closeted within. Once as he sprung into the saddle Mistress Alice was seated at an upper window, and before she could withdraw he had doffed his jewelled cap and kissed his hand. Hugh watched him caracoling down the street, and burnt with indignation. But how much deeper was the glow that reddened in his cheeks when, raising his eyes to the casement, he saw that Alice watched the stranger too I He came again and often, each time arrayed more gayly than before, and still the little casement showed him Mistress Alice. At length one heavy day, she fled from home. It had cost her a hard struggle, for all her old father's gifts were strewn about her chamber as if she had parted from them one by one, and knew that the time must come when these tokens of his love would wring her heart—yet she was gone. She left a letter commending her poor father to the care of Hugh, and wishing he might be happier than he could ever have been with her, for he deserved the love of a better and a purer heart than she had to bestow. The old man's forgiveness (she said) she had no power to ask, but she prayed God to bless him—and so ended with a blot upon the paper where her tears had fallen.

At first the old man's wrath was kindled, and he carried his wrong to the Queen's throne itself; but there was no redress he learnt at Court, for his daughter had been conveyed abroad. This afterwards appeared to be the truth, as there came from France, after an interval of several years, a letter in her hand. It was written in trembling characters, and almost illegible. Little could be made out save that she often thought of home and her old dear pleasant room—and that she had dreamt her father was dead and had not blessed her—and that lier heart was breaking. —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 329

The poor old Bowyer lingered on, never suffering Hugh to quit his sight, for he knew now that he had loved his daughter, and that was'the only link that bound him to earth. It broke at length and he died, bequeathing his old 'prentice his trade and all his wealth, and solemnly charging him with his last breath to revenge his child if ever he who had worked her misery crossed his path in life again.

From the time of Alice's flight, the til ting-ground, the fields, the fencing school, the summer evening sports, knew Hugh no more. His spirit was dead within him. He rose to great eminence and repute among the citizens, but was seldom seen to smile, and never mingled in their revelries or rejoicings.

Brave, humane, and generous, he was beloved by all. He was pitied too by those who knew his story, and these were so many that when he walked along the streets alone at dusk, even the rude common people doffed their caps and mingled a rough air of sympathy with their respect.

One night in May—it was her birthnight and twenty years since she had left her home—Hugh Graham sat in the room she had hallowed in his boyish days. He w^as now a graj- haired man though still in the prime of life. Old thoughts had borne him company for many hours, and the chamber had gradually grown quite dark, when he was roused by a low knocking at the outer door.

He hastened down, and opening it, saw by the light of a lamp which he had seized upon the way, a female figure crouching in the portal. It hurried swiftly past him and glided up the stairs. He looked for pursuers. There were none in sight. No, not one.

He was inclined to think it a vision of his own brain, when suddenly a vague suspicion of the truth flashed upon his mind. He barred the door and hastened wildly back. Yes, there she was—there, in the chamber he had quitted—there in her old innocent happy home, so changed that none but he could trace one gleam of what she had been—there upon her knees with her hands clasped in agony and shame before her burning face. 330 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

" " My God, my God I" she cried, now strike me dead I Though I have brought death and shame and sorrow on this roof, oh, let me die at home in mercy 1" There was no tear upon her face then, but she trembled and glanced round the chamber. Everything was in its old place.

Her bed looked as if she had risen from it but that morning. The sight of these familiar objects, marking the dear remembrance in which she had been held, and the blight she had brought upon herself, was more than the woman's better nature that had carried her there could bear. She wept and fell upon the ground. A rumor was spread about, in a few days' time, that the Bowyer's cruel daughter had come home, and that Master Graham had given her lodging in his house. It was rumored too that he had resigned her fortune, in order that she might bestow it in acts of charity, and that he had vowed to guard her in her solitude, but that they were never to see each other more. These rumors greatly incensed all virtuous wives and daughters in the ward, especially when they appeared to receive corroboration from the circumstance of Master Graham taking up his abode in another tenement hard by. The estimation in which he was held, however forbade any questioning on the subject ; and as the Bowyer's house was close shut up7 and nobody came forth when public shows and festivities were in progress, or to flaunt in the public walks, or to buy new fashions at the mercers' booths, all the well-conducted females agreed aujong themselves that there could be no woman there. These reports had scarcely died away when the wonder of every good citizen, male and female, was utterly absorbed and swallowed up by a Royal Proclamation, in which her Majesty, strongly censuring the practice of wearing long Spanish rapiers of preposterous length (as being a bullying and swag- gering custom, tending to bloodshed and public disorder)^ commanded that on a particular day therein named, certain grave citizens should repair to the city gates, and there, in a

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 331 public, break all rapiers worn or carried by persons claiming admission, that exceeded, though it were only by a quarter of an inch, three standard feet in length.

Royal Proclamations usually take their course, let the public wonder never so much. On the appointed day two citizens of high repute took up their stations at each of the gates, attended by a party of the city guard : the main body to enforce the Queen's will, and take custody of all such rebels (if any) as might have the temerity to dispute it : and a few to bear the standard measures and instruments for reducing all un- lawful sword-blades to the prescribed dimensions. In pursu- ance of these arrangements. Master Graham and another were posted at Lud Gate, on the hill before Saint Paul. A pretty numerous company were gathered together at this spot, for, besides the officers in attendance to enforce the proclamation, there was a motley crowd of lookers-on of various degrees, who raised from time to time such shouts and cries as the circumstances called forth. A spruce young courtier was the first who approached ; he unsheathed a weapon of burnished steel that shone and glistened in the sun, and handed it with the newest air to the officer, who, finding it exactly three feet long, returned it with a bow. Thereupon the gallant raised his hat and crying *' God save the Queen," passed on amidst the plaudits of the mob. Then came another— better courtier still—who wore a blade but two feet long, whereat the people laughed much to the disparagement of his honor's dignity. Then came a third, a sturdy old officer of the army girded with a rapier at least a foot and a half

beyond her Majesty's pleasure ; at him they raised a great shout, and most of the spectators (but especially those who were armorers or cutlers) laughed very heartily at the break- age which would ensue. But they were disappointed, for the old campaigner, coolly unbuckling his sword .and bidding his servant carry it home again, passed through unarmed to the great indignation of all the beholders. They relieved themselves in some degree by hooting a tall blustering 332 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

fellow with a prodigious weapon, who stopped short on

coming in sight of the preparations, and after a little considera-

tion turned back again ; but all this time no rapier had been broken although it was high noon, and all cavaliers of any quality or appearance were taking their way toward St. PauPs churchyard. During these proceedings Master Graham had stood apart, strictly confining himself to the duty imposed upon him, and taking little heed of anything beyond. He stepped forward now as a richly-dressed gentleman on foot, followed by a single attendant, was seen advancing up the hill. As this person drew nearer, the crowd stopped their clamor and bent forward with eager looks. Master Graham standing alone in the gateway, and the stranger coming slowly towards him, they seemed as it were, set face to face. The nobleman (for he looked one) had a haughty and disdainful air, which be- spoke the slight estimation in which he held the citizen. The citizen on the other hand preserved the resolute bearing of one who was not to be frowned down or daunted, and who cared very little for any nobility but that of worth and manhood. It was perhaps some consciousness on the part of each, of these feelings in the other that infused a more stern expression into their regards as they came closer together.

" Your rapier, worthy sir I" At the instant that he pronounced these words Graham started, and falling back some paces laid his hand upon the dagger in his belt. ** You are the man whose horse I used to hold before the

Bowyer's door ? You are that man ? Speak 1" " Out, you 'prentice hound 1" said the other.

*' l"ou are he I I know you well now I" cried Graham. " Let no man step between us two, or I shall be his murderer." With that he drew his dagger and rushed in upon him. The stranger had drawn his weapon from the scabbard ready for the scrutiny, before a word was spoken. He made MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 333

a thrust at his assailant, but the dagger which Graham clutched in his left hand being the dirk in use at that time for parrying such blows, promptly turned the point aside. They closed. The dagger fell rattling upon the ground, and Graham wrest-

ing his adversary's sword from his grasp, plunged it through

his heart. As he drew it out it snapped in two, leaving a fragment in the dead man's body. All this passed so swiftly that the by-standers looked on

without an effort to interfere ; but the man was no sooner down than an uproar broke forth which rent the air. The attendant rushing through the gate proclaimed that his master, a nobleman, citizen had been set upon and slain by a ;

the word quickly spread from mouth to mouth ; Saint Paul's Cathedral, and every book shop, ordinary, and smoking house

in the church-yard poured out its stream of cavaliers and their followers, who mingling together in a dense tumultuous body struggled, sword in hand, towards the spot. With equal impetuosity, and stimulating each other by loud cries and shouts, the citizens and common people took up the quarrel on their side, andencirclingMaster Graham a hundred deep, forced him from the gate. In vain he waved the broken sword above his head, crying that he would die on London's threshold for their sacred homes. They bore him on, and ever keeping him in the midst so that no man could attack him, fought their way into the city. The clash of swords and roar of voices, the dust and heat and pressure, the trampling under foot of men, the distracted looks and shrieks of women at the windows above as they recognized their relatives or lovers in the crowd, the rapid tolling of alarm bells, the furious rage and passion of the scene, were fearful. Those who, being on the outskirts of each crowd,

could use their weapons with effect, fought desperately, while those behind, maddened with baffled rage, struck at each other over the heads of those before them, and crushed their own fellows. Wherever the broken swovd was 8eeii above the people's heads, towards that spot the cavaliers made a new 334 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. rush. Every one of these charges was marked bj sodden gaps in the throng where men were trodden down, but as fast as they were made, the tide swept over them, and still the multitude pressed on again, a confused mass of swords, clubs, staves, broken plumes, fragments of rich cloaks and doublets, and angry bleeding faces, all mixed up together in inextricable disorder. The design of the people was to force Master Graham to take refuge in his dwelling, and to defend it until the authorities could interfere or they could gain time for parley. But either from ignorance or in the confusion of the moment they stopped at his old house, which was closely shut. Some time was lost in. beating the doors open and passing him to the front. About a score of the boldest of the other party threw themselves into the torrent while this was being done, and reaching the door at the same moment with himself cut him off from his defenders. " I never will turn in such a righteous cause, so help me Heaven I" cried Graham, in a voice that at last made itself heard, and confronting them as he spoke. *' Least of all will

I turn upon this threshold which owes its desolation to such

1'* men as ye. I give no quarter, and I will have none ! Strike For a moment they stood at bay. At that moment a shot from an unseen hand, apparently fired by some person who had gained access to one of the opposite houses, struck Gra- ham in the brain, and he fell dead. A low wail was heard in the air—many people in the concourse cried that they had seen a spirit glide across the little casement window of the Bowyer^s house — A dead silence succeeded. After a short time some of the flushed and heated throng lay down their arms and softly carried the body within doors. Others fell off or slunk away in knots of two or three, others whispered together in groups, and before a numerous guard which then rode up could muster

in the street, it was nearly empty. Those who carried Master Graham to the bed up stairs MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 835

were shocked to see a woman lying beneath the window with her hands clasped together. After trying to recover her in vain, they laid her near the citizen, who still retained, tightly

grasped in his right hand, the first and last sword that was broken that day at Lud Gate.

The Giant uttered these concluding words with sudden pre-

cipitation, and on the instant the strange light which had filled the hall faded away. Joe Toddyhigh glanced involuntarily at

the eastern window and saw the first pale gleam of morning. He turned his head again towards the other window in which the Giants had been seated. It was empty. The cask of wine was gone, and he could dimly make out that the two great figures stood mute and motionless upon their pedestals. After rubbing his eyes and wondering for full half an hour, during which time he observed morning come creeping on apace, he yielded to the drowsiness which overpowered him and fell into a refreshing slumber. When he awoke it was broad day ; the building was open, and workmen were busily engaged in removing the vestiges of last night's feast.

Stealing gently down the little stairs and assuming the air of some early lounger who had dropped in from the street, he walked up to the foot of each pedestal in turn, and attentively examined the figure it supported. There could be no doubt about the features of either ; he recollected the exact expression they had worn at different passages of their conversation, and recognized in every line and lineament the Giants of the night. Assured that it was no vision, but that he had heard and seen with his own proper senses, he walked forth, deter- mining at all hazards to conceal himself in the Guildhall again that evening, lie further resolved to sleep all day, so that he might be very wakeful and vigilant, and above all that he might take notice of the figures at the precise moment of their becoming animated and subsiding into their old state, which he greatly reproached himself for not having done already. 336 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

CORRESPONDENCE. TO MASTER HUMPHREY. " Sir: —Before you proceed any further in your account of your friends and what you say and do when you meet together, excuse me if I proffer my claim to be elected to one of the vacant chairs in that old room of yours. Don't reject me without full consideration, for if you do you'll be sorry for it afterwards—you will upon my life. " I enclose my card, sir, in this letter. I never was ashamed of my name, and I never shall be. I am considered a devilish gentlemanly fellow, and I act up to the character. If you want a reference, ask any of the men at our club. Ask any fellow who goes there to write his letters, what sort of conversation mine is. Ask him if he thinks I have the sort of voice that will suit your deaf friend and make him hear anything at all. Ask the servants what they think of me. There's not a rascal among 'em, sir, but will tremble to hear my name. That reminds me—don't you say too much about that housekeeper of yours ; it's a low subject, damned low. *' I tell you what, sir. If you vote me into one of those empty chairs, you'll have among you a man with a fund of gentlemanly information that'll rather astonish you. I can let you into a few anecdotes about some fine women of title, that are quite high life, sir—the tip-top sort of thing. I know the name of every man who has been out on an affair of honor within the last five-and-twenty years ; I know the private particulars of every cross and squabble that has taken place upon the turf, at the gaming-table or elsewhere, during the whole of that time. I have been called the gentlemanly chronicle. You may consider yourself a lucky dog ; upon my soul you may congratulate yourself, though I say so. *' It's an uncommon good notion that of yours, not letting anj^body know where you lire. I have tried it, but —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOOK. 831 there has always been an anxiety respecting me which has found me out. Your deaf friend is a cunning fellow to keep his name so close. I have tried that too, but have always failed. I shall be proud to make his acquaintance tell him so, with my compliments. " You must have been a queer fellow when you were a child, confounded queer. It's odd all that about the picture in your first paper,—prosy, but told in a devilish gentlemanly sort of way. In places like that, I could come in with great effect with a touch of life —Don't you feel that? *' I am anxiously waiting for your next paper to know whether your friends live upon the premises, and at your expense, which I take it for granted is the case. If I am right in this impression, I know a charming fellow (an excellent companion and most delightful company) who will be proud to join you. Some years ago he seconded a great many prize-fighters, and once fought an amateur match himself; since then, he has driven several mails, broken at different periods all the lamps on the right hand side of Oxford street, and six times carried away every bell-handle in Bloomsbury Square, besides turning off the gas in various thoroughfares. In point of gentlemanliness he is unrivalled, and I should say that next to myself he is of all men the best suited to your purpose. ** Expecting your reply, " I am, '' &c., &c."

Master Humphrey informs this gentleman that his application, both as it concerns himself and his friend, is re- jected.

MASTER HUMPHREY FROM HIS CLOCK-SIDE IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.

My old companion tells me it is midnight. The fire glows brightly, crackling with a sharp and cheerful sound, as if it loved to burn. The merry cricket on the hearth (my 21 338 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, constant visitor), this rudy blaze, my clock, and I, seemed to share the world among us, and to be the only things awake. The wind, high and boisterous but now, has died away and hoarsely mutters in its sleep. I love all times and seasons each in its turn, and am apt perhaps to think the present one the best ; but past or coming I always love this peaceful time of night, when long buried thoughts, favored by the gloom and silence, steal from their graves, and haunt thescenes of faded happiness and hope. The popular faith in ghosts has a remarkable affinity with the whole current of our thoughts at such an hour as this, and seems to be their necessary and natural consequence. For who can wonder that man should feel a vague belief in tales of disembodied spirits wandering through those places which they once dearly affected, when he himself, scarcely less separated from his old world than they, is forever lingering upon p^st emotions and by-gone times, and hovering, the ghost of his former self, about the places and people that warmed his heart of old ? It is thus that at this quiet hour I haunt the house where I was born, the rooms I used to tread, the scenes of my infancy, my boyhood, and my youth; it is thus" that I prowl around my buried treasure (though not of gold or silver) and mourn my loss ; it is thus that I revisit the ashes of extinguished fires, and take my silent stand at old bed-sides. If my spirit should ever glide back to this chamber when my body is mingled with the dust, it will but follow the course it often took in the old man's lifetime, and add but one more change to the subjects of its contemplation. In all my idle speculations I am greatly assisted by various legends connected with my venerable house, which are current in the neighborhood, and are so numerous that there is scarce a cupboard or corner that has not some dismal story of its own. When I first entertained thoughts of becoming its tenant I was assured that it was haunted from roof to cellar, and I believe the bad opinion in which MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCE, 839 my neighbors once held me had its rise in my not being torn to pieces, or at least distracted with terror, on the night I took possession : in either of which cases I should doubtless have arrived by a short cut at the very summit of popularity. But traditions and rumors all taken into account, who so abets me in every fancy and chimes with my every thought, as my dear deaf friend ; and how often have I cause to bless the day that brought us two together I Of all days in the year I rejoice to think that it should have been Christmas Day, with which from childhood we associate something friendly, hearty, and sincere. I had walked out to cheer myself with the happiness of others, and, in the little tokens of festivity and rejoicing, of which the streets and houses present so many t)n that day, had lost some hours. Now I stopped to look at a merry party hurrying through the snow on foot to their place of meeting, and now turned back to see a whole coachful of children safely deposited at the welcome house. At one time, 1 admired how carefully the working-man carried the baby in its gaudy hat and feathers, and how his wife, trudging patiently on behind, forgot even her care of her gay clothes, in exchanging greetings with the child as it crowed and laughed over the father^s shoulder ; at another, I pleased myself with some passing scene of gallantry or courtship, and was glad to believe that for a season half the world of poverty was gay. As the day closed in, I still rambled through the streets feeling a companionship in the bright fires that cast their warm reflection on the windows as I passed, and losing all sense of my own loneliness in imagining the sociality and kind-fellowship that everywhere prevailed. At length I happened to stop before a tavern, and, encountering a Bill of Fare in the window, it all at once brought it into my head to wonder what kind of people dined alone in Taverns upon Christmas Day. a

840 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

Solitary men are accustomed, I suppose, unconsciously to look upon solitude as their own peculiar property. I had sat alone in my room on many, many anniversaries of this great holida}'-, and had never regarded it but as one of universal assemblage and rejoicing. I had accepted, and with an aching heart, a crowd of prisoners and beggars, but these were not the men for whom the Tavern doors were open. Had they any customers or was it a mere form ? — form no doubt. Trying to feel quite sure of this, I walked away, but before I had gone many paces, I stopped and looked back. There was a provoking air of business in the lamp above the door which I could not overcome. I began to be afraid there might be many customers—young men perhaps struggling with the world, utter strangers in this great place, whose friends lived at a long distance oif, and whose means were too slender to enable them to make the journey. The supposition gave rise to so many distressing little pictures, that, in preference to carrying them home with me, I determined to encounter the realities. So I turned, and walked in. I was at once glad and sorry to find that there was only one person in the dining-room ; glad to know that there were not more, and sorry that he should be there by himself He did not look so old as I, but like me he was advanced in life, and his hair was nearly white. Though I made more noise in entering and seating myself than was quite necessary, with the view of attracting his attention and saluting him in the good old form of that time of year, he did not raise his head, but sat with it resting on his hand, musing over his half-finished meal. I called for something which would give me an excuse for remaining in the room (I had dined early, as my housekeeper was engaged at night to partake of some friend^s good cheer), and sat where I could observe without intruding on him. After a time he looked up. He was aware that MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 841 somebody had entered, but could see very little of me as I sat in the shade and he in the light. He was sad and thoughtful, and I forbore to trouble him hy speaking. Let me believe that it was something better than curiosity which rivetted my attention and impelled me strongly towards this gentleman. I never saw so patient and kind a face. He should have been surrounded by friends, and yet here he sat dejected and alone when all men had their friends about them. As often as he roused himself from his reverie he would fall into it again, and it was plain that whatever were the subjects of his thoughts they were of a melancholy kind, and would not be controlled. He was not used to solitude. I was sure of that, for I know by myself that if he had been, his manner would have been different, and he would have taken some slight interest in the arrival of another. I could not fail to mark that he had no appetite ; that he tried to eat in vain ; that time after time the plate was pushed away, and he relapsed into his former posture. His mind was wandering among old Christmas Bays, I thought. Many of them sprung up together, not with a long gap between each, but in unbroken succession like days of the week. It was a great change to find himself for the first time (I quite settled that it was the first) in an empty silent room with no soul to care for. I could not help following him in imagination through crowds of pleasant faces, and then coming back to that dull place with its bough of misletoe sickening in the gas, and sprigs of holly parched up already by a Simoom of roast and boiled. The very waiter had gone home, and his representative, a poor, lean, hungry man, was keeping Christmas in his jacket. I grew still more interested in my friend. His dinner done, a decanter of wine was placed before him. It remained untouched for a long time, but at length with a quivering hand he filled a glass and raised it to his lips. Some tender wish to which he had been accustomed to give —

342 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

utterance on that day, or some beloved name that he had been used to pledge, trembled upon them at the moment. He put it down very hastily—took it up once more—again put it down—pressed his hand upon his face—yes—and tears stole down his cheeks, I am certain. Without pausing to consider whether I did right or wrong, I stepped across the room, and sitting down beside him laid my hand gently on his arm. ** My friend," I said, " forgive me if I beseech you to take comfort and consolation from the lips of an old man. I will not preach to you what I have not practiced, indeed. What-

ever be your grief, be of a good heart—^be of a good heart, pray I" " I see that you speak earnestly," he replied, " and kindly I am very sure, but" I nodded my head to show that I understood what he would say, for I had already gathered from a certain fixed expression in his face, and from the attention with which he watched me while I spoke, that his sense of hearing was destroyed. " There should be a freemasonry between us," said I, pointing from himself to me to explain my meaning; "if not in our gray hairs, at least in our misfortunes. You see that I am but a poor cripple." I never felt so happy under my affliction since the trying

moment of my first becoming conscious of it, as when he took my hand in his with a smile that has lighted my path in life from that day, and we sat down side by side. This was the beginning of my friendship with the deaf gentleman, and when was ever the slight and easy service of a kind word in season, repaid by such attachment and

devotion as he has shown to me I He produced a little set of tablets and a pencil to facilitate our conversation, on that our first acquaintance, and I well remember how awkward and constrained I was in writing down my share of the dialogue, and how easily he guessed my meaning before I had written half of what I had to say. MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 843

He told me in a faltering voice that he had not been accustomed to be alone on that day—that it had always been a little festival with him—and seeing that I glanced at his dress in the expectation that he wore mourning, he added hastily that it was not that ; if it had been, he thought he could have borne it better. From that time to the present we have never touched upon this theme. Upon every return of the same day we have been together, and although we make it our annual custom to drink to each other hand in hand after dinner, and to recall with affectionate garullity every circumstance of our first meeting, we always avoid this one as if by mutual consent. Meantime we have gone on strengthening in our friendship and regard, and forming an attachment which, I trust and believe, will only be interrupted by death, to be renewed in another existence. I scarcely know how we communicate as we do, but he has long since ceased to be deaf to me. He is frequently the companion of my walks, and even in crowded streets replies to my slightest look or gesture as though he could read my thoughts. From the vast number of objects which pass in rapid succession before our eyes, we frequently select the same for some particular notice or re-

mark ; and when one of these little coincidences occurs, I cannot describe the pleasure which animates my friend, or the beaming countenance he will preserve for half an hour afterwards at least. He is a great thinker from living so much within himself, and having a lively imagination, has a facility ofconceiving and enlarging upon odd ideas, which renders him invaluable to our little body, and greatly astonishes our two friends. His powers in this respect are much assisted by a large pipe, which he assures us once belonged to a German Student.

Be this as it may, it has undoubtedly a very ancient and mysterious appearance, and is of such capacity that it takes three hours and a half to smoke it out. I have reason to believe that my barber, who is the chief authority of a knot 344 MASTER HUMPHKEY'S CLOCK. of gossips who congregate every evening at a small tobacconist's hard by, has related anecdotes of this pipe and the grim figures that are carved upon its bowl at which all the smokers in the neighborhood have stood aghast ; and I know that my housekeeper, while she holds it in high veneration, has a superstitious feeling connected with it which would render her exceedingly unwilling to be left alone in its company after dark. Whatever sorrow my dear friend has known, and whatever grief may linger in some secret corner of his heart, he is now a cheerful, placid, happy creature. Misfortune can never have fallen upon such a man but for some good pur-

pose ; and when I see its traces in his gentle nature and his earnest feeling, I am the less disposed to murmur at such trials as I mayhave undergone myself. With regard to the pipe, I have a theory of my own ; I cannot help thinking that it is in some manner connected with the event that brought us together, for I remember that it was a long time before he even talked about it ; that when he did, he grew reserved and melancholy ; and that it was a long time yet before he brought it forth. I have no curiosity, however, upon this subject, for I know that it promotes his tranquility and comfort, and I need no other inducement to regard it with my utmost favor. Such is the deaf gentleman. I can call up his figure now, clad in sober gray, and seated in the chimney-corner. As he puffs out the smoke from his favorite pipe he casts a look on me brimful of cordiality and friendship, and says all manner of kind and genial things in a cheerful smile ; then he raises his eyes to my clock which is just about to strike, and glancing from it to me and back again, seems to divide his heart between us. For myself, it is not too much to say that I would gladly part with one of my poor limbs, could he but hear the old clock^s voice. Of our two friends the first has been all his life one of that easy, wayward, truant class whom the world is accustomed to designate as nobody's enemies but their own. Bred to MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK:. 815 a profession for which he never qualified himself, and reared in the expectation of a fortune he has never inherited, he has undergone ever}'^ vicissitude of which such an existence is capable. He and his younger brother, both orphans from their childhood, were educated by a wealthy relative who taught them to expect an equal division of his property ; but too indolent to court, and too honest to flatter, the elder gradually lost ground in the affections of a capricious old man, and the younger, who did not fail to improve his opportunity, now triumphs in the possession of enormous wealth. His triumph is to hoard it in solitary wretchedness, and probably to feel with the expenditure of every shilling a greater pang than the loss of his whole inheritance ever cost his brother. Jack Redburn—he was Jack Redburn at the first little school he went to where every other child was mastered and surnamed, and he has been Jack Redburn all his life, or he would perhaps have been a richer man by this time—has been an inmate of my house these eight years past. He is my librarian, secretary, steward, and first minister: director of all my affairs and inspector-general of my household. He is something of a musician, something of an author, something of an actor, something of a painter, very much of a carpenter, and an extraordinary gardener ; having had all his life a wonderful aptitude for learning everything that was of no use to him. He is remarkably fond of children, and is the best and kindest nurse in sickness that ever drew the breath of life. He has mixed with every grade of society and known the utmost distress, but there never was a less selfish, a more tender-hearted, a more enthusiastic, or a more guileless man ; and I dare say if few have done less good, fewer still have done less harm in the world than he. By what chance Nature forms such whimsical jumbles I don't know, but I do know, that she sends them among us very often, and that the king of the whole race is Jack Redburn.

I should be puzzled to say how old he is. Hla health la 346 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK.

none of the best, and be wears a quantity of iron-gray I/air which shades his face and gives it rather a worn app^.ar-

iince ; but we consider him quite a young fellow not^nth- standing, and if a youthful spirit surviving the roughest contact with the world confers upon its possessor any title to be considered young then he is a mere child. The only interruptions to his careless cheerfulness are on a wet Sun- day, when he is apt to be unusually religious and solem»'_, and sometimes of an evening when he has been blowing ^ very slow tune on the flute. On these last-named occasioj^ he is apt to incline towards the mysterious or the terrible As a specimen of his powers in this mood, I refer my readers to the extract from the clock-case which follows this paper : he brought it to me not long ago at midnight, and informed me that the main incident had been suggested by a dream of the night before. His apartments are two cheerful rooms looking towards the garden, and one of his great delights is to arrange and rearrange the furniture in these chambers and put it in every possible variety of position. During the whole time he has been here, I do not think he has slept for two nights running with the head of his bed in the same place, and every time he moves it is to be the last. My housekeeper was at first well-nigh distracted by these frequent changes, but she has become quite reconciled to them by degrees, and has so fallen in with his humor that they often consult together with great gravity upon the next final alteration. Whatever his arrangements are, however, they are always A pattern of neatness, and every one of the manifold articles connected with his manifold occupations, is to be found in its own particular place. Until within the last two or three years he was subject to an occasional fit (which usually came upon him in very fine weather), under the influence of which he would dress himself with peculiar care, and goino- out under pretense of taking a walk, disappear for several days together. At length after the interval between ;

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 34T each outbreak of this disorder had gradually grown longer and longer, it wholly disai)peared, and now he seldom stirs abroad except to stroll out a little way on a summer's evening. Whether he yet mistrusts his own constancy in this respect, and is therefore afraid to wear a coat, I know not but we seldom see him in any other upper garment than an old spectral-looking dressing gown with very disproportionate pockets, full of a miscellaneous collection of odd matters which he picks up wherever he can lay his hands upon them. Everything that is a favorite with our friend is a favorite with us, and thus it happens that the fourth among us is Mr. Owen Miles, a most worthy gentleman who had treated Jack with great kindness before my deaf friend and I en- countered him by an accident, to which I may refer on some future occasion. Mr. Miles was once a very rich merchant, but receiving a severe shock in the death of his wife, he retired from business and devoted himself to a quiet, unosten- tatious life. He is an excellent man of thoroughly sterling character : not of quick apprehension, and not without some amusing prejudices, which I shall leave to their own devel- opment. He holds us all in profound veneration, but Jack Redburn he esteems as a kind of pleasant wonder, that he may venture to approach familiarly. He believes, not only that no man ever lived who could do so many things as Jack, but that no man ever lived who could do anything so well ; and he never calls my attention to any of his inge- nious proceedings but he whispers in my ear, nudging me at the same time with his elbow—" If he had only made it his trade, sir,—if he had only made it his trade I"

They are inseparable companions ; one would almost suppose that although Mr. Miles never by any chance does anything in the way of assistance. Jack could do nothing without him. Whether he is reading, writing, painting,

carpentering, gardening, flute-playing, or what not, there is Mr. Miles beside him, buttoned up to the chin in his blue 348 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. coat, and looking on with a face of incredulous delight, as though he could not credit the testimony of his own senses, and had a misgiving that no man could be so clever but in a dream.

These are my friends ; I have now introduced myself and them.

THE CLOCK-CASE.

A CONFESSION FOUND IN A PRISON IN THE TIME OF CHARLES THE SECOND.

I HELD a lieutenant's commission in His Majesty's army, and served abroad in the campaigns of 167T and 1678. The treaty of Nimeguen being concluded, I returned home, and retiring from the service withdrew to a small estate lying a few miles east of London, which I had recently acquired in right of my wife. This is the last night I have to live, and I will set down the naked truth without disguise. I was never a brave man, and had always been from my childhood of a secret, sullen, distrustful nature. I speak of myself as if I had passed from the world, for while I write this my grave is digging and my name is written in the black book of death. Soon after my return to England, my only brother was seized with mortal illness. This circumstance gave me slight or no pain, for since we had been men we had associated but very little together. He was open-hearted and generous, handsomer than I, more accomplished, and generally beloved. Those who sought my acquaintance abroad or at home, because they were friends of his, seldom attached themselves to me long, and would usuall}^ say in our first conversation that they were surprised to find two brothers so unlike in their manners and appearance. It was my habit to lead them on to this avowal, for I knew what com- parisons they must draw between us, and having a rankling envy in my heart, I sought to justify it to myself. ;

MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 349

We had married two sisters. This additional tie between us, as it may appear to some, only estranged us the more. His wife knew me well. I never struggled with any secret jealousy or gall when she was present but that woman knew it as well as I did. I never raised my eyes at such times but I found hers fixed upon me ; I never bent them on the ground or looked another way, but I felt that she overlooked me always. It was an inexpressible relief to me when we quarrelled, and a greater relief still when I heard abroad that she was dead. It seems to me now as if some strange and terrible foreshadowing of what has happened since, must have hung over us then. I was afraid of her ; she haunted me; her fixed and steady look comes back upon me now, like the memory of a dark dream, and makes my blood run cold. She died shortly after giving birth to a child—a boy. When my brother knew that all hope of his own recovery was passed, he called my wife to his bedside and confided this orphan, a child of four years old, to her protection. He bequeathed to him all the property he had, and willed that in case of his child's death it should pass to my wife, as the only acknowledgment he could make her for her care and love. He exchanged a few brotherly words with me, de- ploring our long separation, and being exhausted fell into a slumber from which he never awoke.

We had no children, and as there had been a strong aflfec- tion between the sisters, and my wife had almost supplied the place of a mother to this boy, she loved him as if he had been her own. The child was ardently attached to her but he was his mother's image in face and spirit, and always mistrusted me. I can scarcely fix the date when the feeling first came upon me, but I soon began to be uneasy when this child was by. I never roused myself from some moody train of thought but I marked him looking at me : not with mere childish wonder, but with something of the purpose and ;

350 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK,

meaning that I had so often noted in his mother. It was no effort of my fancy, founded on close resemblance of feature and expression. I never could look the boy down. He feared me but seemed by some instinct to despise me while he did so ; and even when he drew back beneath my gaze—as he would when we were alone, to get nearer to the door—he would keep his bright eyes upon me still. Perhaps I hide the truth from myself, but I do not think that when this began, I meditated to do him any wrong. I may have thought how serviceable his Inheritance would be to us, and may have wished him dead, but I believe I had no thought of compassing his death. Neither did the idea come upon me at once, but by very slow degrees, presenting itself at first in dim shapes at a very great distance, as men may think of an earthquake or the last day—then drawing nearer and nearer and losing something of its horror and improbability—then coming to be part and parcel, nay nearly the whole sum and substance of my daily thoughts, and resolving itself into a question of means and safety not of doing or abstaining from the deed. While this was going on within me, I never could bear that the child should see me looking at him, and yet I was under a fascination which made it a kind of business with me to contemplate his slight and fragile figure and think how easily it might be done. Sometimes I would steal up stairs and watch him as he slept, but usually I hovered in the garden near the window of the room in which he learnt his little tasks ; and there, as he sat upon a low seat beside my w^ife, I would peer at him for hours together from behind a tree: starting like the guilty wretch I was at every rustling of a leaf, and still gliding back to look and start again.

Hard by our cottage, but quite out of sight, and (if there were any wind astir) of hearing too, was a deep sheet of water. I spent days in shaping with my pocket-knife a rough model of a boat, which I finished at last and dropped MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, 351 in the child*s wa3\ Then I withdrew to a secret place which he must pass if he stole away alone to swim this bauble, and lurked there for his coming. He came neither that day nor the next, though I waited from noon till nightfall. I was sure that I had him in my net, for I had heard him prattling of the toy, and knew that in his infant pleasure he kept it by his side in bed. I felt no weariness or fatigue, but waited patiently, and on the third day he passed me, running joyously along, with his silken hair streaming in the wind, and he singing—God have mercy upon me ! —singing a merry ballad—who could hardly lisp the words. I stole down after him, creeping under certain shrubs which grow in that place, and none but devils know with what terror I, a strong, full-grown man, tracked the footsteps of that baby as he approached the water's brink. I was close upon him, had sunk upon my knee and raised my hand to thrust him in, when be saw my shadow in the stream and turned him round. His mother's ghost was looking from his eyes. The sun burst forth from behind a cloud : it shone in the bright sky, the glistening earth, the clear water, the sparkling drops of rain upon the leaves. There were eyes in everything. The whole great universe of light was there to see the murder done.

I know not what he said ; he came of bold and manly blood, and child as he was, he did not crouch or fawn upon me. I heard him cry that he would try to lov€^ me—not that he did—and then I saw him running back towards the house. The next I saw was my own sword naked in my hand, and he lying at my feet stark dead—dabbled here and there with blood, but otherwise no different from what I had seen him in his sleep—in the same attitude too, with his cheek resting upon his little hand. I took him in my arms and laid him—very gentlj' now that he was dead—in a thicket. My wife was from home that day and would not return until the next. Our bed- —

352 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. room window, the only sleeping room on that side of the house, was but a few feet from the ground, and I resolved to descend from it at night and bury him in the garden. I had no thought that I had failed in my design, no thought that the water would be dragged and nothing found, that the money must now lie waste since I must encourage the idea that the child was lost or stolen. All my thoughts were bound up and knotted together, in the one absorbing necessity of hiding what I had done. How I felt when they came to tell me that the child was missing, when I ordered scouts in all directions, when I gasped and trembled at every one's approach, no tongue can tell or mind of man conceive. I buried him that night. When I parted the boughs and looked into the dark thicket, there was a glow-worm shining like the visible spirit of God upon the murdered child. I glanced down into his grave when I had placed him there, and still it gleamed upon his breast ; an eye of fire looking up to Heaven in supplication to the stars that watched me at my work. I had to meet my wife, and break the news, and give her hope that the child would soon be found. All this I did with some appearance, I suppose, of being sincere, for I was the object of no suspicion. This done, I sat at the bed-room window all day long, and watched the spot where the dreadful secret lay. It was in a piece of ground which had been dug up to be newly turfed, and which I had chosen on that account, as the traces of my spade were less likely to attract attention. The men who laid down the grass must have thought me mad. I called to them continually to expedite their work, ran out and worked beside them, trod down the earth with my feet, and hurried them with frantic eagerness. They had finished their task before night, and then I thought myself comparatively safe. I slept—not as men do who awake refreshed and cheerful, but I did sleep, passing from vague and shadowy dreams of MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 853

being hunted down, to visions of the plot of grass, through which now a hand and now a foot and now the head itself was starting out. At this point I always woke and stole to

the window, to make sure that it was not really so. That

done I crept to bed again, and thus I spent the night in fits and starts, getting up and lying down full twenty times, and dreaming the same dream over and over again—which was far worse than lying awake, for every dream had a whole night's suffering of its own. Once I thought the child was alive and that I had never tried to kill him. To wake from

that dream was the most dreadful agony of all. The next day I sat at the window again, never once

taking my eyes from the place, which, although it was covered by the grass, was as plain to me— its shape, its size, its depth, its jagged sides, and all—as if it had been open to

the light of day. When a servant walked across it, I felt as

if he must sink in ; when he had passed, I looked to see that his feet had not worn the edges. If a bird lighted there,

I was in terror lest by some tremendous interposition it

should be instrumental in the discovery ; if a breath of air

sighed across it, to me it whispered murder. There was not a sight or a sound, —how ordinary, mean, or unimportant soever,—but was fraught with fear. And in this state of ceaseless watching I spent three daj^s. On the fourth, there came to the gate one who had served with me abroad, accompanied by a brother officer of his whom I had never seen. I felt that I could not bear to be out of sight of the place. It was a summer evening, and I bade my people take a table and a flask of wine into the garden. Then I sat down with my chair upon the grave, and being assured that nobody could disturb it now, without my knowledge, tried to drink and talk. They hoped that my wife was well—that she was not obliged to keep her chamber—that they had not frightened her away What could I do but tell them with a faltering tongue about the child ? The ofiBcer whom 1 did not know 22 —

354 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. was a down-looking man, and kept his eyes upon the ground while I was speaking. Even that terrified me I I could not divest myself of the idea that he saw something there which caused him to suspect the truth. I asked him hurriedly if he supposed that—and stopped. " That the child has been " murdered?" said he, looking mildly at me. Oh, no I what could a man gain by murdering a poor child ?" I could have told him what a man gained by such a deed, no one better, but I held my peace and shivered as with an ague. Mistaking my emotion they were endeavoring to cheer me with the hope that the boy would certainly be found great cheer that was for me—when we heard a low, deep howl, and presently there sprung over the wall two great dogs, who, bounding into the garden, repeated the baying sound we had heard before. ** Blood-hounds 1" cried my visitors.

What need to tell me that I I had never seen one of that kind in all my life, but I knew what they were and for what purpose they had come. I grasped the elbows of my chair, and neither spoke nor moved. " They are of the genuine breed," said the man whom I had known abroad, " and being out for exercise have no doubt escaped from their keeper." Both he and his friend turned to look at the dogs, who with their noses to the ground moved restlessly about, running to and fro, and up and down, and across, and round in circles, careering about like wild things, and all this time taking no notice of us, but ever and again repeating the yell we had heard already, then dropping their noses to the ground and tracking earnestly here and there. They now began to snuff the earth more eagerly than they had done yet, and although they were still very restless, no longer beat about in such wide circuits, but kept near to one spot, and constantly diminished the distance between themselves and me. At last they came up close to the great chair on which I MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 855

sat, and raising their frightful howl once more, tried to tear away the wooden rails that kept them from the ground beneath. I saw how I looked, in the faces of the two who were with me. " They scent some prey," said they, both together.

"They scent no prey I" cried I. " In Heaven^s name, move," said the one I knew, very earnestly, " or you will be torn to pieces." " Let them tear me from limb to limb, I'll never leave

this place !" cried I. " Are dogs to hurry men to shameful

deaths ? Hew them down, cut them in pieces." " There is some foul mystery here !" said the officer whom I did not know, drawing his sword. *' In King Charles's name, assist me to secure this man." They both set upon me and forced me away, though I fought and bit and caught at them like a madman. After & struggle they got me quietly between them, and then, my

God I I saw the angry dogs tearing at the earth and throwing it up into the air like water. What more have I to tell ? That I fell upon my knees and with chattering teeth confessed the truth and prayed to be forgiven. That I have since denied and now confess to

it again. That I have been tried for the crime, found guilty, and sentenced. That I have not the courage to anticipate my doom or to bear up manfully against it. That I have no compassion, no consolation, no hope, no friend. That my wife has happily lost for the time those faculties which would enable her to know my misery or hers. That I am alone in this stone dungeon with my evil spirit, and that I die to-morrow 1

CORRESPONDENCE.

Master Humphrey has been favored with the following letter, written on strongly scented paper, and sealed in light blue wax with the representation of two very plump doves, ! —

356 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. interchanging beaks. It does not commence "with any of the usual forms of address, but begins as is here set forth.

Bathy Wednesday Night

Heavens I into what an indiscretion do I suffer myself to be betrayed I To address these faltering lines to a total

stranger, and that stranger one of a conflicting sex ! —and yet I am precipitated into the abyss, and have no power of self-snatchation (forgive me if I coin that phrase) from the yawning gulf before me. Yes, I am writing to a man, but let me not think of that, for madness is in the thought. You will understand my

feelings ? Oh yes I I am sure you will I and you will respect them too, and not despise them—will you ? Let me be calm. That portrait—smiling as once he

smiled on me ; that cane—dangling as I have seen it dangle

from his hand I know not how oft ; those legs that have glided through my nightly dreams and never stopped to speak; the perfectly gentlemanly, though false original

can I be mistaken ? oh no, no.

Let me be calmer yet ; I would be calm as coffins. You have published a letter from one whose likeness is engraved, but whose name (and wherefore 1) is suppressed. Shall /

breathe that name I Is it—^but why ask when my heart tells me too truly that it is I would not upbraid him with his treachery, I would not remind him of those times when he plighted the most eloquent of vows, and procured from me a small pecuniary

accommodation ; and yet I would see him—see him did I — BViy Mm—alas I such is woman's nature. For as the poet beautifully says—but you will already have anticipated the

sentiment. Is it not sweet ? oh yes ! It was in this city (hallowed by the recollection) that I

met him first, and assuredly if mortal happiness be recorded anywhere, then those rubbers with their three-and-sixpenny points are scored on tablets of celestial brass. He always MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 351 held an honor—generally two. On that eventful night, we stood at eight. He raised his eyes (luminous in their se- ductive sweetness) to my agitated face. " Gan you?" said he, with peculiar meaning. I felt the gentle pressure of his " ?" foot on mine ; our corns throbbed in unison. Gan you he said again, and every lineament of his expressive countenance added the words " resist me ?" I murmured '* No," and fainted. They said when I recovered, it was the weather. I said it was the nutmeg in the negus. How little did they suspect the truth I How little did they guess the deep mysterious meaning of that inquiry I He called next morning on his knees : I do not mean to say that he actually came in that position to the house door, but that he went down upon those joints directly the servant had retired. He brought some verses in his hat which he said were original, but which I have since found were Milton's. Likewise a little bottle labelled laudanum : also a pistol and a sword- stick. He drew the latter, uncorked the former, and clicked the trigger of the pocket fire-arm. He had come, he said, to conquer or to die. He did not die. He wrested from me an avowal of my love, and let off the pistol out of a back window previous to partaking of a slight repast.

Faithless, inconstant man 1 How many ages seem to have elapsed since his unaccountable and perfidious dis-

appearance I Could I still forgive him both that and the

borrowed lucre that he promised to pay next week 1 Could I spurn him from my feet if he approached in penitence,

and with a matrimonial object I Would the blandishing

enchanter still weave his spells around me, or should I burst

them all and turn away in coldness I 1 dare not trust my weakness with the thought. My brain is in a whirl again. You know his address, his occupations, his mode of life, —are acquainted, perhaps with his inmost thoughts. You are a humane and philan-

thropic character ; reveal all you know— all ; but especially 358 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. the street and number of his lodgings. The post is departing, the bellman rings—pray heaven it be not the knell of love and hope to Belinda.

P. S. Pardon the wanderings of a bad pen and a distracted mind. Address to the Post-office. The bellman, rendered impatient by delay, is ringing dreadfully in the passage.

P. P. S. I open this to say that the bellman is gone, and that you must not expect it till the next post ; so don^t be surprised when you don't get it.

Master Humphrey does not feel himself at liberty to furnish his fair correspondent with the address of the gentleman in question, but he publishes her letter as a public appeal to his faith and gallantry. MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

When I am in a thoughtful mood, I often succeed in di- verting the current of some mournful reflections, by con- juring up a number of fanciful associations with the objects that surround me, and dwelling upon the scenes and characters they suggest. I have been led by this habit to assign to every room in my house and every old staring portrait on its walls, a separate interest of its own. Thus, I am persuaded that a stately dame, terrible to behold in her rigid modesty, who hangs above the chimney-piece of my bedroom, is the former lady of the mansion. In the court-yard below is a stone face of surpassing ugliness, which I have somehow—in a kind of jealousy, I am afraid—associated with her husband. Above my study is a little room with ivy peeping through the lattice, from which I bring their daughter, a lovely girl of eighteen or nineteen years of age, and dutiful in all respects save one, that one being her devoted attachment to a young gentleman on the stairs, whose grandmother (degraded to a disused laundry in the garden) piques herself upon an old family quarrel, and is the implacable enemy of their love. With such materials as these, I work out many a little drama, whose chief merit is, that I can bring it to a happy end at will ; I have so many of them on hand, that if on my return home one of these evenings I were to find some bluff old wight of two centuries ago comfortably seated in my easy chair, and a love-lorn damsel vainly appealing to his heart and leaning her white arm upon my clock itself, I verily believe I should only express my surprise that they had kept me waiting so long, and never honored me vvitli a call before. (359) SlJO MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR.

I was in such a mood as this, sitting in my garden yesterday morning under the shade of a favorite tree, revelling in all the bloom and brightness about me, and feeling every sense of hope and enjoyment quickened by this most beautiful season of Spring, when my meditations were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of my barber at the end of the walk, who I immediately saw was coming towards me with a hasty step that betokened something remarkable. My barber is at all times a very brisk, bustling, active little man—for he is, as it were, chubby all over, without being stout or unwieldy—but yesterday his alacrity was so very uncommon that it quite took me by surprise. Nor could I fail to observe when he came up to me, that his gray eyes were twinkling in a most extraordinary manner, that

his little red nose was in an unusual glow, that every line in his round, bright face was twisted and curved into an expression of pleased surprise, and that his whole countenance was radiant with glee. I was still more surprised to see my housekeeper, who usually preserves a very staid air and stands somewhat upon her dignity, peeping round the hedge at the bottom of the walk, and exchanging nods and smiles with the barber, who twice or thrice looked over his shoulder for that purpose. I could conceive no announcement to which these appearances could be the prelude, un-

less it were that they had married each other that morning. I was, consequently, a little disappointed when it only came out that there was a gentleman in the house who wished to speak with me.

"And who is it ?'^ said I. The barber, with his face screwed up still tighter than before, replied that the gentleman would not send his name, but wished to see me. I pondered for a moment, wondering who this visitor might be, and I remarked that he embraced the opportunity of exchanging another nod with the

housekeeper, who still lingered in the distance.

" Well I" said I, " bid the gentleman come here.** —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. S61

This seemed to be the consummation of the barber's hopes, for he turned sharp round, and actually ran away. Now, my sight is not very good at a distance, and therefore when the gentleman first appeared in the walk, I was not quite clear whether he was a stranger to me or otherwise. He was an elderly gentleman, but came tripping along in the pleasantest manner conceivable, avoiding the garden-roller and the borders of the beds with inimitable dexterity, picking his way among the flower-pots, and smiling with unspeakable good-humor. Before he was half way up the walk he began to salute me ; then I thought I knew

him ; but when he came towards me with his hat in his hand, the sun shining on his bald head, his bland face, his bright spectacles, his fawn-colored tights and his black gaiters then, my heart warmed towards him and I felt quite certain that it was Mr. Pickwick. ''My dear sir,^'—said that gentleman as I rose to receive him, '' pray be seated. Pray sit down. Now, do not stand on my account. I must insist upon it, really." With these words Mr. Pickwick gently pressed me down into my seat, and taking my hand in his, shook it again and again with a warmth of manner perfectly irresistible. I endeavored to express in my welcome something of that heartiness and pleasure which the sight of him awakened, and made him sit down beside me. All this time he kept alternately releasing my hand and grasping it again, and surveying me through his spectacles with such a beaming countenance as I never beheld.

** You knew me directly I" said Mr. Pickwick. " What a pleasure it is to think that you knew me directly I" I remarked that I had read his adventures very often, and his features were quite familiar to me from the published portraits. As I thought it a good opportunity of adverting to the circumstance, I condoled with him upon the various libels on his character, which had found their way into print. Mr. Pickwick shook his head, and for a 3G2 MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. moment looked very indignant, but smiling again directly, added that no doubt I was acquainted with Cervantes' introduction to the second part of Don Quixote, and that it fully expressed his sentiments on the subject. " But now, said Mr. Pickwick, " don't you wonder how 1 found you out ?'' " I shall never wonder, and, with your good leave, never know," said I, smiling in my turn. " It is enough for me that you give me this gratification. I have not the least desire that you should tell me by what means I have ob- tained it." " You are very kind," returned Mr. Pickwick, shaking me " by the hand again ; you are so exactly what I expected I But for what particular purpose do 3^ou think I have sought you, my dear sir ? Now, what do you think I have come for ?" Mr. Pickwick ptit this question as though he were persuaded that it was morally impossible that I could by any means divine the deep purpose of his visit, and that it must be hidden from all human ken. Therefore, although I was rejoiced to think that I had anticipated his drift, I feigned to be quite ignorant of it, and after a brief consideration shook my head despairingly. '' What should you say," said Mr. Pickwick, laying the fore-finger of his left hand upon my coat-sleeve, and looking at me with his head thrown back, and a little on one side, — *' what should you say if I confessed that after reading your account of yourself and your little society, I had come here, a humble candidate for one of those empty chairs ?" " I should say," I returned, " that I know of only one circumstance which could still further endear that little society to me, and that would be the associating with it my old friend—for you must let me call you so—my old friend, Mr. Pickwick." As I made him this answer every feature of Mr. Pick- wick's face fused itself into one all-pervading expression MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. 363 of delight. After shaking me heartily by both hands at once, he patted me gently on the back, and then—I well understood why—colored up to the eyes, and hoped with great earnestness of manner that he had not hurt me. If he had, I would have been content that he should have repeated the offence a hundred times rather than suppose so ; but as he had not, I had no difficulty in changing the subject by making an inquiry which had been upon my lips twenty times already.

'* You have not told me," said I, " anything about Sam Weller." " " Oh I Sam," replied Mr. Pickwick, is the same as ever. The same true, faithful fellow that he ever was. What should I tell you about Sam, my dear sir, except that he is more indispensable to my happiness and comfort every day of my life ?"

** And Mr. Weller, senior ?" said I. "Old Mr. Weller," returned Mr. Pickwick, "is in no respect more altered than Sam, unless it be that he is a little more opinionated than he was formerly, and perhaps at times more talkative. He spends a good deal of his time now in our neighborhood, and has so constituted himself a part of my body-guard, that when I ask permission for Sam to have a seat in your kitchen on clock nights

(supposing your three friends think me wortliy to fill one of the chairs), I am afraid I must often include Mr. Weller too." I very readily pledged myself to give both Sam and his father a free admission to my house at all hours and seasons, and this point settled, we fell into a lengthy conversation which was carried on with as little reserve on both sides as if we had been intimate friends from our youth, and which conveyed to me the comfortable assurance that Mr. Pickwick^s buoyancy of spirit, and indeed all his old cheerful charac- teristics, were wholly unimpaired. As he had spoken of the consent of my friends as being yet in abeyance, I repeatedly 8G1 MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. assured him that his proposal was certain to receive their most jo3^ful sanction, and several times entreated that he would give me leave to introduce him to Jack Redburn and Mr. Miles (who were near at hand) without further ceremony. To this proposal, however, Mr. Pickwick's delicacy would by no means allow him to accede, for he urged that his eligibility must be formally discussed, and that, until this had been done, he could not think of obtruding himself further. The utmost I could obtain from him was a promise that he would attend upon our next night of meeting, that I might have the pleasure of presenting him immediately on his election. Mr. Pickwick, having with many blushes placed in my hands a small roll of paper, which he termed his " qualifica- tion," put a great many questions to me touching my friends, and particularly Jack Redburn, whom he repeatedly termed " a fine fellow/' and in whose favor I could see he was strongly predisposed. When I had satisfied him on these points, I took him up into my room that he might make acquaintance with the old chamber which is our place of meeting.

** And this," said Mr. Pickwick, stopping short, ** is the

clock I Dear me I And this is really the old clock 1"

I thought he would never have come away from it. After advancing towards it softly, and laying his hand upon it with as much respect and as many smiling looks as

if it were alive, he set himself to consider it in every possible direction, now mounting on a chair to look at the top, now going down upon his knees to examine the bottom, now surveying the sides with his spectacles almost touching

the case, and now trying to peep between it and the wall to get a slight view of the back. Then he would retire a pace or two and look up at the dial to see it go, and then draw

near again and stand with his head on one side to hear it

tick ; never failing to glance towards me at intervals of a MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR. 865 few seconds each, and nod his head with such complacent gratification as I am quite unable to describe. His admiration was not confined to the clock either, but extended itself to every article in the room, and really, when he had gone through them every one, and at last sat himself down in all the six chairs, one after another, to try how they felt, I never saw such a picture of good humor and happiness as he presented, from the top of his shining head down to the very last button of his gaiters. I should have been well pleased, and should have had the utmost enjoyment of his company, if he had remained with me all daj^ but my favorite, striking the hour, reminded him that he must take his leave. I could not forbear telling him once more how glad he had made me, and we shook hands all the way down-stairs. We had no sooner arrived in the Hall than my housekeeper, gliding out of her little room, (she had changed her gown andcap, I observed), greeted Mr. Pickwick with her best smile and curtsey; and the barber, feigning to be accidentally passing on his way out, made him a vast number of bows. When the housekeeper curtseyed, Mr. Pickwick bowed with the utmost politeness, and when he bowed, the

housekeeper curtseyed again ; between the housekeeper and the barber, I should say that Mr Pickwick faced about and bowed with undiminished affability, fifty times at least.

I saw him to the door ; an omnibus was at the moment passing the corner of the lane, which Mr. Pickwick hailed and ran after with extraordinary nimbleness. When he had got about half way he turned his head, and seeing that I

was still looking after him and that I waved my hand, stopped, evidently irresolute whether to come back and shake hands again, or to go on. The man behind the omnibus shouted, and Mr. Pickwick ran a little way towards

him ; then he looked round at me, and ran a little way back again. Then there was another shout, and he turned round once more and ran the other way. After several of these — ;

366 MB. PICKWICK'S TALE. vibrations^ the man settled the question by taking Mr. Pickwick by the arm and putting him into the carriage but his last action was to let down the window and wave his hat to me as it drove off. I lost no time in opening the parcel he had left with me.

The following were its contents :

MR. Pickwick's tale.

A good many years have passed away since old John Podgers lived in the town of Windsor, where he was born, and where, in course of time, he came to be comfortably and snugly buried. You may be sure that in the time of King James the First, Windsor was a very quaint, queer old town, and you may take it upon my authority that

John Podgers was a very quaint, queer old fellow ; consequently he and Windsor fitted each other to a nicety, and seldom parted company even for half a day. John Podgers was broad, sturdy, Dutch-built, short, and a very hard eater, as men of his figure often are. Being a hard sleeper likewise, he divided his time prett}^ equally between these two recreations, always falling asleep when he had done eating, and always taking another turn at the trencher when he had done sleeping, by which means he grew more corpulent and more drowsy every day of his

life. Indeed it used to be currently reported that when he sauntered up and down the sunny side of the street before dinner (as he never failed to do in fair weather), he enjoyed his soundest nap; but many people held this to be a fiction as he had several times been seen to look after fat oxen on market days, and had even been heard, by persons of good credit and reputation, to chuckle at the sight, and say to himself with great glee, "Live beef, live beef!'* It was upon this evidence that the wisest people in Windsor (beginning with the local authorities of course) held that John Podgers was a man of strong sound sense—not what is called smart, perhaps, and it might be of a rather lazy —

MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. 86t and apoplectic turn, but still a man of solid parts, and one "who meant much more than he cared to show. This impression was confirmed by a very dignified way he had of shaking his head and imparting, at the same time, a pendu-

lous motion to his double chin ; in short he passed for one those people who, being plunged into the Thames, would make no vain effort to set it afire, but would straightway flop down to the bottom with a deal of gravity, and be highly respected in consequence by all good men. Being well to do in the world, and a peaceful widower having a great appetite, which, as he could afford to gratify it, was a luxury and no inconvenience, and a power of going to sleep, which, as he had no occasion to keep awake, was a most enviable faculty —you will readily suppose that John Podgers was a happy man. But appearances are often deceptive when they least seem so, and the truth is that, notwithstanding his extreme sleekness, he was rendered uneasy in his mind and exceedingly uncomfortable by a constant apprehension that beset him night and day. You know very well that in those times there flourished divers evil old women who, under the name of Witches, spread great disorder through the land, and inflicted various dismal tortures upon Christian men ; sticking pins and needles into them when they least expected it, and causing them to walk in the air with their feet upwards, to the great terror of their wives and families, who were naturally very much disconcerted when the master of the house unexpect- edl}^ came home, knocking at the door with his heels and combing his hair on the scraper. These were their commonest pranks, but they every day played a hundred others, of which none were less objectionable and many were much more so being improper besides ; the result was that vengeance was denounced against all old women, with whom even the king himself had no sympathy (as he certainly ought to have had), for with his own most Gracious hand he penned a most Gracious consignment of them to everlasting 368 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE.

wrath, and devised most Gracious means for their confusion and slaughter, in virtue whereof scarcely a day passed but one witch at the least was most graciously hanged, drowned or roasted in some part of his dominions. Still the press teemed with strange and terrible news from the North or the South, or the East or the West, relative to witches and their unhappy victims in some corner of the country, and

the Public's hair stood on end to that degree that it lifted its hat off its head, and made its face pale with terror. You may believe that the little town of Windsor did not escape the general contagion. The inhabitants boiled a witch on the King's birthday and sent a bottle of the broth to court, with a dutiful address expressive of their loyalty. The King, being rather frightened by the present, piously bestowed up it on the Archbishop of Canterbury, and returned an answer to the address, wherein he gave them golden rules for discovering witches and laid great stress upon certain protecting charms, and especially horseshoes. Immediately the towns-people went to work nailing up horseshoes over every door, and so many anxious parents apprenticed th^ir children to farriers, to keep them out of harm's way, that it became quite a genteel trade and flourished exceedingly. In the midst of all this bustle John Podgers ate and slept as usual, but shook his head a great deal often er than was his custom, and was observed to look at the oxen less, and at the old women more. He had a little shelf put up in his sitting-room, whereon was displayed, in a row which grew

week, all the witchcraft literature of the time longer ever ; he grew learned in charms and exorcisms, hinted at certain questionable females on broomsticks whom he had seen from his chamber-window, riding in the air at night, and was in constant terror of being bewitched. At length, from perpetually dwelling upon this one idea, which, being a'one in his head, had it all its own way, the fear of witches became the single passion of his life. He, wlio up to that time had never known what it was to dream, began to have MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. CG9 visions of witches whenever he fell asleep; waking, they were incessantly present to his imagination likewise ; and sleeping or waking, he had not a moment's peace. He began to set witch -traps in the highway, and was often seen lying in wait round the corner for hours together, to watch their effect. These engines were of simple construction, usually consisting of two straws disposed in the form of a cross, or a piece of a bible-cover with a pinch of salt upon it ; but they were infallible, and if an old woman chanced to stumble over them (as not unfrequently happened, the chosen spot being a broken and stony place), John started from a doze, pounced out upon her, and hung round her neck till assistance arrived, when she was immediately carried away and drowned. By dint of constantly inveigling old ladies and disposing of them in this sunamary manner,

he acquired the reputation of a great public character ; and as he received no harm in these pursuits beyond a scratched face or so, he came, in course of time, to be considered witch-proof. There was but one person who entertained th^ least doubt of John Podgers' gifts, and that person was his own nephew, a wild, roving young fellow of twenty who had been brought up in his uncle's house and lived there still—that is to say, when he was at home, which was not near as often as it might have been. As he was axi apt scholar, it was he who read aloud every fresh piece of strange and terrible intelligence that John Podgers bought ; and this he alwaj^s did of an evening in the little porch in front of the house, round which the neighbors would flock in crowds to hear the dire- ful news— for people like to be frightened, and when they can be frightened for nothing and at another man's expense, they like it all the better. One fine midsummer evening, a group of persons were gathered in this place, listening intently to Will Marks (that was the nephew's name,)as with his cap very much on one side, his arm coiled slyly round the waist of a pretty girl —

370 MR, PICKWICK'S TALE. who sat beside him, and his face screwed into a comical expression intended to represent extreme gravity, he read with Heaven knows how many embellishments of his own a dismal account of a gentleman down in Northamptonshire nnder the influence of witchcraft and taken forcible possession of by the Devil, who was playing his very self with him. John Podgers, in a high sugar-loaf hat and short cloak, filled the opposite seat, and surveyed the auditory with a look of mingled pride and horror very edifying to see; while the hearers, with their heads thrust forward and their mouths open, listened and trembled, and hoped there was a great deal more to come. Sometimes Will stopped for an instant to look round upon his eager audience, and then, with a more comical expression of face than before and a settling of himself comfortably, which included a squeeze of the young lady before mentioned, he launched into some new wonder surpassing all the others. The setting sun shed his last golden rays upon this little party who, absorbed in their present occupation, took no heed of the approach of night or the glory in which the day went down, when the sound of a horse, approaching at a good round trot, invading the silence of the hour, caused the reader to make a sudden stop and the listeners to raise their heads in wonder. Nor was their wonder diminished when a horseman dashed up to the porch, and abruptly checking his steed, inquired where one John Podgers dwelt. ** Here 1" cried a dozen voices, while a dozen hands pointed out sturdy John, still basking in the terrors of the pamphlet. The rider giving his bridle to one of those who surrounded him, dismounted, and approached John, hat in hand, but with great haste. ** Whence come ye ?" said John. *' From Kingston, master." ** And wherefore?" MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. 311

*' On most pressing business." " Of what nature ?" "Witchcraft."

Witchcraft ! Everybody looked aghast at the breathless messenger, and the breathless messenger looked equally aghast at everybody—except Will Marks, who, finding himself unobserved, not only squeezed the young lady again, but kissed her twice. Surely he must have been bewitched himself, or he never could have done it—and the young lady too, or she never would have let him. '* Witchcraft ?" cried Will, drowning the sound of his last kiss, which was rather a loud one. The messenger turned towards him, and with a frown,

repeated the word more solemnly than before ; then told his errand, which was, in brief, that the people of Kingston had been greatly terrified for some nights past by hideous revels, held by witches beneath the gibbet within a mile of the town, and related and deposed to by chance wayfarers who had passed within ear-shot of the spot ; that the sound of their voices in their wild orgies had been plainly heard by many persons ; that three old women labored under strong suspicion, and that precedents had been consulted and solemn council had, and it was found that to identify the hags some single person must watch upon the spot alone ; that no single person had the courage to perform the task, and that he had been dispatched express to solicit John Podgers to undertake it that very night, as being a man of great renown, who bore a charmed life, and was proof against unholy spells. John received this communication with much composure, and said in a few words, that it would have afforded him inexpressible pleasure to do the Kingston people so slight a service, if it were not for his unfortunate propensity to fall asleep, which no man regretted more than himself upon the present occasion, but which quite settled the question. ^Nevertheless, he said, there was a gentleman present (and 372 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. here he looked very hard at a tall farrier) who, having been engaged all his life in the manufacture of horseshoes, must be quite invulnerable to the power of witches, and who, he had no doubt, from his own reputation for bravery and good nature, would readily accept the commission. The fairier politely thanked him for his good opinion, which it would always be his study to deserve, but added that, with regard to the present little matter, he couldn't think of it on any account, as his departing on such an errand would certainly occasion the instant death of his wife, to whom, as they all knew, he was tenderly attached. Now, so far from this circumstance being notorious, everybody had suspected the reverse, as the farrier was in the habit of beating his lady rather

more than tender husbands usually do ; all the married men present, however, applauded his resolution with great vehemence, and one and all declared that they would stop at home and die if needful (which happily it was not) in defence of their lawful partners. This burst of enthusiasm over, they began to look, as by one consent, toward Will Marks, who, with his cap more on one side than ever, sat watching the proceedings with extraordinary unconcern. He had never been heard openly to express his disbelief in witches, but had often cut such

jokes at their expense as left it to be inferred publicly ; stating on several occasions that he considered a broomstick an inconvenient charger, and one especially unsuited to the dignity of the female character, and indulging in other free remarks of the same tendency, to the great amusement of his wild companions. As they looked at Will, they began to whisper and murmur among themselves, and at length one man cried, ** Why don't you ask Will Marks ?"

As this was what everybody had been thinking of, they

*' all took up the word, and cried in concert, Ah I why don't you ask Will ?" *' He don't care," said the farrier. —

MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. 8T3

*'Not he," added another voice in the crowd.

*' He don't believe in it, you know," sneered a little man with a yellow face and a taunting nose and chin, which he thrust out from under the arm of a long man before him. ^'Besides," said a red-faced gentleman with a gruff voice, "he's a single man."

" That's the point I" said the farrier; and all the married men murmured, ah I that was it, and they only wished they were single themselves ; they would show him what spirit was, very soon. The messenger looked towards Will Marks beseechingly.

*' It will be a wet night, friend, and my gray nag is tired after yesterda^^'s work " Here there was a general titter. "But," resumed Will, looking about him with a smile, " if nobody else puts in a better claim to go, for the credit of the town I am your man, and I would be if I had to go afoot. In five minutes I shall be in the saddle, unless I am depriving any worthy gentleman here of the honor of the adventure, which I wouldn't do for the world." But here arose a double difficulty, for not only did John Podgers combat the resolution with all the words he had, which were not many, but the young lady combatted it too with all the tears she had, which were very many indeed. Will, however, being inflexible, parried his uncle's objections with a joke, and coaxed the young lady into a smile in three short whispers. As it was plain that he would go and set his mind upon it, John Podgers offered him a few first-rate charms out of his own pocket which he dutifully declined to accept, and the young lady gave him a kiss which he also returned.

** You see what a rare thin^ it is to be married," said Will, "and how careful and considerate all these husbands are. There's not a man among them but his heart is leaping to forestall me in this adventure, and yet a strong sense of duty keeps him back. The husbands in this one little 374 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. town are a pattern to the world, and so must the wives be too, for that matter, or they could never boast half the influence they have?" Waiting for no reply to this sarcasm, he snapped his fingers and withdrew into the house, and thence into the stable, while some busied themselves in refreshing the messenger, and others in baiting his steed. In less than the specified time, he returned by another way, with a good cloak hanging over his arm, a good sword girded by his side, and leading his good horse caparisoned for the journey. " Now," said Will, leaping into the saddle at a bound, ** up and away. Upon your mettle, friend, and push on.

Good night I" He kissed his hand to the girl, nodded to his drowsy uncle, waived his cap to the rest—and off they flew pell- mell, as if all the witches in England were in their horses' legs. They were out of sight in a minute. The men who were left behind, shook their heads doubtfully, stroked their chins, and shook their heads again. The farrier said that certainly Will Marks was a good horseman, nobody should ever say he denied that ; but he was rash, very rash, and there was no telling what the end of it might be : what did he go for, that was what he wanted to know ? He wished the young fellow no harm, but why did he go ? Everybody echoed these words, and shook their heads again, having done which they wished John Podgers good-night, and straggled home to bed. The Kingston people were in their first sleep, when Will Marks and his conductor rode through the town and up to the door of a house where sundry grave functionaries were assembled, anxiously expecting the arrival of the renowned Podgers. They were a little disappointed to find a gay young man in his place, but they put the best face upon the matter, and gave him full instructions how he was to conceal himself behind the gibbet, and watch and listen to the witches, and how at a certain time he was to burst forth —

MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. S16 and cut and slash among them vigorously, so that the suspected parties might be found bleeding in their beds next dsiy, and thoroughly confounded. They gave him a great quantity of wholesome advice besides, and—which was more to the purpose with Will—a good supper. AH these things being done, and midnight nearly come, they sallied forth to show him the spot where he was to keep his dreary vigil. The night was by this time dark and threatening. There was a rumbling of distant thunder, and a low sighing of wind among the trees, which was very dismal. The poten- tates of the town kept so uncommonly close to Will that the}^ trod upon his toes, or stumbled against his ankles, or nearly tripped up his heels at every step he took, and, besides these annoyances, their teeth chattered so with fear that he seemed to be accompanied by a dirge of cas- tanets. At last they made a halt at the opening of a lonely, desolate space, and, pointing to a black object at some distance, asked Will if he saw that yonder. " Yes," he replied. " What then ?" Informing him abruptly that it was the gibbet where he was to watch, they wished him good-night in an extremely friendly manner, and ran back as fast as their feet would carry them. Will walked boldly to the gibbet, and, glancing upward when he came under it, saw—certainly with satisfaction that it was empty, and that nothing dangled from the top but some iron chains, which swung mournfully to and fro as they were moved by the breeze. After a careful survey of every quarter, he determined to take his station with his face towards the town ; both because that would place him with his back to the wind, and because if any trick or surprise were attempted, it w^ould probably come from that direction in the first instance. Having taken these precautions, he wrapped his cloak about him so that it left the 3^6 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. handle of his sword free, and ready to his hand, and leaning against the gallows-tree with his cap not quite so much on one side as it had been before, took up his position for the night.

SECOND CHAPTER OP MR. PICKWICK^S TALE.

We left Will Marks leaning under the gibbet with his face towards the town, scanning the distance with a keen eye, which sought to pierce the darkness and catch the earliest glimpse of any person or persons that might approach towards him. But all was quiet, and, save the howling of the wind as it swept across the heath in gusts, and the creaking of the chains that dangled above his head, there was no sound to break the sullen stillness of the night. After half an hour or so, this monotony became more disconcerting to Will than the most furious uproar would have been, and he heartily wished for some one antagonist with whom he might have a fair stand-up fight, if it were only to warm him-

self.

Truth to tell, it was a bitter wind, and seemed to blow to the very heart of a man whose blood, heated but now with rapid riding, was the more sensitive to the chilling blast. Will was a daring fellow, and cared not a jot for hard knocks persuade himself to move or sharp blades ; but he could not or walk about, having just that vague expectation of a sudden assault which made it a comfortable thing to have something at his back, even though that something were a gallows-tree. He had no great faith in the superstitions of the

age, still such of them as occurred to him did not serve to lighten the time, or to render his situation the more endur- able. He remembered how witches were said to repair at that ghostly hour to church-yards and gibbets, and such like dismal spots, to pluck the bleeding mandrake or scrape the flesh from dead men^s bones, as choice ingredients for their spells; how, stealing by night to lonely places, they dug graves with their finger-nails, or anointed themselves MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. STY before riding in the air with a delicate pomatum made of the fat of infants newly boiled. These, and many other fabled practices of a no less agreeable nature, and all having some reference to the circumstances in which he was placed, passed and repassed in quick succession through the mind of Will Marks, and adding a shadowy dread to that distrust and watchfulness which his situation inspired, rendered it, upon the whole, suflSciently uncomfortable. As he had foreseen, too, the rain began to descend heavily, and driving before the wind in a thick mist, obscured even those few objects which the darkness of the night had before imper- fectly revealed. " Look I" shrieked a voice ; "Great Heaven, it has fallen down and stands erect as if it lived !'^

The speaker was close behind him ; the voice was almost at his ear. Will threw off his cloak, drew his sword, and darting swiftly round, seized a woman by the wrist, who recoiling from him with a dreadful shriek, fell struggling upon her knees. Another woman clad, like her whom he had grasped, in mourning garments, stood rooted to the spot on which they were gazing upon his face with wild and glaring eyes that quite appalled him. '*Say," cried Will, when they had confronted each other thus for some time, " what are ye ?'' "Say what are you,^^ returned the woman, "who trouble even this obscene resting-place of the dead, and strip the gibbet of its honored burden ? Where is the body ?" He looked in wonder and affright from the woman who questioned him to the other whose arm he clutched. " Where is the body V^ repeated his questioner more firmly than before. " You wear no livery which marks you for the hireling of the government. You are no friend to us, or I should recognize yoxx, for the friends of such as we are few in number. What are you then, and wherefore are you here ?" " I am no foe to the distressed and helpless,'' said Will. 378 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE.

"Are ye among that number? ye should be by your looks." ** We are !" was the answer,

" It is ye who have been wailing and weeping here, under cover of the night ?" said Will.

'* It is," replied the woman sternly ; and pointing as she spoke, towards her companion, *'she mourns a husband and I a brother. Even the bloody law that wreaks its vengeance on the dead does not make that a crime, and if it did 'twould be alike to us who are past its fear or favor." Will glanced at the two females, and could barely discern that the one whom he addressed was much the elder, and that the other was young and of a slight figure. Both were deadly pale, their garments wet and worn, their hair dis- hevelled and streaming in the wind, themselves bowed down with grief and misery; their whole appearance most dejected, wretched, and forlorn. A sight so different from any he had expected to encounter touched him to the quick, and all idea of anything but their pitiable condition vanished before it. ^'I am a rough, blunt yeoman," said Will. "Why I came here is told in a word : you have been overheard at a distance in the silence of the night, and I have undertaken a watch for hags or spirits. I came here expecting an adventure, and prepared to go through with any. If there be aught that I can do to help or aid you, name it, and on the faith of a man who can be secret and trusty, I will stand by you to the death " '' How comes this gibbet to be empty ?" asked the elder female.

''I swear to you," replied Will, ''that I know as little as 3^ourself But this I know, that when I came here an hour ago or so, it was as it is now ; and if, as I gather from your question, it was not so last night, sure I am that it has been secretly disturbed without the knowledge of the folks in yonder town. Bethink you, therefore, whether you have MR. PICKWICK^S TALE. 3T9 no friends in league with you or with him on whom the law has done its worst, by whom these sad remains have been removed for burial." The women spoke together, and Will retired a pace or two while they conversed apart. He could hear them sob and moan, and saw that they wrung their hands in fruitless agony. He could make out little that they said, but between whiles he gathered enough to assure him that his suggestion was not very wide of the mark, and that they not only suspected by whom the body had been removed, but also whither it had been conveyed. When they had been in conversation a long time, they turned towards him once more. This time the younger female spoke. " You have offered us your help ?" " I have." **And given a pledge that you are still willing to re- deem ?" *' Yes. So far as I may, keeping all plots and con- spiracies at arm's length." '' Follow us, friend." Will, whose self-possession was now quite restored, needed no second bidding, but with his drawn sword in his hand, and his cloak so muffled over his left arm as to serve for a kind of shield without offering any impediment to its free action, suffered them to lead the way. Through mud and mire, and wind and rain, they walked in silence a full mile. At length they turned into a dark lane, where, suddenly starting out from beneath some trees where he had taken shelter, a man appeared having in his charge three saddled horses. One of these (his own apparently), in obedience to a whisper from the women, he consigned to Will, who seeing that they mounted, mounted also. Then without a word spoken, they rode on together, leaving the attendant behind. They made no halt nor slackened their pace until they arrived near Putney. At a large wooden house which stood 380 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. apart from any other, they alighted, and giving their horses to one who was akeady waiting, passed in by a side door, and so up some narrow, creaking stairs into a small panelled chamber, where Will was left alone. He had not been here very long, when the door was softly opened, and there entered to him a cavalier whose face was concealed beneath a black mask. Will stood upon his guard, and scrutinized this figure from head to foot. The form was that of a man pretty far advanced in life, but of a firm and stately carriage. His dress was of a rich and costly kind, but so soiled and disordered that it was scarcely to be recognized for one of those gorgeous suits which the expensive taste and fashion of the time prescribed for men of any rank or station. He was booted and spurred, and bore about him even as many tokens of the state of the road as Will himself. All this he noted, while the eyes behind the mask regarded him with equal attention. This survey over, the cavalier broke the silence. *' Thou'rt young and bold, and wouldst be richer than thou art ?" '' The two first I am," returned Will. " The last I have scarcely thought of. But be it so. Say that I would be ?" richer than I am ; what then *^ The way lies before thee now," replied the Mask. " Show it me." ** First let me inform thee, that thou wert brought here to-night less thou shouldst too soon have told thy tale to those who placed thee on the watch." " I thought as much when I followed," said Will. " But I am no blab, not I." "Good," returned the Mask. "Now listen. He who was to have executed the enterprise of burying that body, which, as thou hast suspected, was taken down to-night, has left us in our need."

Will nodded, and thought within himself that if the Mask MR. PICKWICK»S TALE. 881 were to attempt to play any tricks, the first eyelethole on the left-hand side of his doublet, counting from the buttons up the front, would be a very good place in which to pink him neatly.

" Thou art here, and the emergency is desperate. I propose his task to thee. Convey the body (now coffined in this house) by means that I shall show, to the church of Saint Dunstan in London to-morrow night, and thy services shall be richly paid. Thou'rt about to ask whose corpse it is. Seek not to know. I warn thee, seek not to know. Felons hang in chains on every moor and heath. Believe, as others do, that this was one, and ask no further. The murders of state policy, its victims or avengers, had best remain unknown to such as thee." ** The mystery of this service," said Will, " bespeaks its danger. What is the reward ?" "One hundred golden unities," replied the cavalier. '^ The danger to one who cannot be recognized as the friend of a fallen cause is not great, but there is some hazard to be run. Decide between that and the reward." '' What if I refuse ?" said Will " Depart in peace, in God's name," returned the Mask in

** a melancholy tone, and keep our secret : remembering that those who brought thee here were crushed and stricken women, and that those who bade thee go free could have had thy life with one word, and no man the wiser." Men were readier to undertake desperate adventures in those times, than they are now. In this case the tempta- tion was great, and the punishment, even in case of detec- tion, was not likely to be very severe, as Will came of a loyal stock, and his uncle was in good repute, and a passable tale to account for his possession of the body and his ignorance of the identity, might be easily devised. The cavalier explained that a covered cart had been prepared for the purpose ; that the time of departure could be arranged so that he should reach London Brido:e at dusk. 382 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE.

in and proceed through the citj^ after the day had closed ; that people would be ready at his journey's end to place the

coffin in a vault without a minute's delay ; that officious inquiries in the streets would be easily repelled by the tale that he was carrying for interment the corpse of one who

had died of the plague ; and in short showed him every reason why he should succeed, and none why he should fail. After a time they were joined by another gentleman, masked like the first, who added new arguments to those which had been already urged ; the wretched wife, too, added her

tears and prayers to their calmer representations ; and in the end. Will moved by compassion and good nature, by a love of the marvellous, by a mischievous anticipation of the terrors of the Kingston people when he should be missing next da}'-, and finally by the prospect of gain, took upon himself the task, and devoted all his energies to its successful execution.

The following night, when it was quite dark, the hollow echoes of old London Bridge responded to the rumbling of the cart which contained the ghastly load, the object of Will Marks's care. Sufficiently disguised to attract no attention by his garb. Will walked at the horse's head, as unconcerned as a man could be who was sensible that he had now arrived at the most dangerous part of his undertaking, but full of boldness and confidence. It was now eight o'clock. After nine, none could walk the streets without danger of their lives, and even at this hour robberies and murder were of no uncommon occur-

rence. The shops upon the bridge were all closed ; the low wooden arches thrown across the way were like so many black pits, in every one of which ill-favored fellows lurked in knots of three or four ; some standing upright against the wall, lying in wait ; others skulking in gatewaj^s, and thrusting out their uncorabed h^atls a»d mowYmg eyes; others crossing and recrossing, and constantly jostling both horse and man to provoke a quarrel ; others stealing away MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. 3B3 and summoning their companions in a low whistle. Once, even in that short passage, there was a noise of scuffling and the clash of swords behind him, but Will, who knew the city and its ways, kept straight on and scarcely turned his head. The streets being unpaved, the rain of the night before had converted them into a perfect quagmire, which the splashing water-spouts from the gables, and the filth and offal cast from the different houses, swelled in no small degree. These odious matters being left to putrify in the close and heavy air, emitted an insupportable stench, to which every court and passage poured forth a contribution of its own. Many parts, even of the main streets, with their pro- jecting stories tottering overhead and nearly shutting out the sky, were more like huge chimneys than open ways. At the corners of some of these, great bonfires were burning to prevent infection from the plague, of which it was rumored that some citizens had lately died ; and few, who availing themselves of the light thus afi'orded paused for a moment to look around them, would have been disposed to doubt the existence of the disease, or wonder at its dreadful visitations.

But it was not in such scenes as these, or even in the deep and miry road, that Will Marks found the chief obstacles to his progress. There were kites and ravens feeding in the streets (the only scavengers the city kept), who, 'scenting what he carried, followed the cart or fluttered on its top, and croaked their knowledge of its burden and their raven- ous appetite for prey. There were distant fires, where the poor wood and plaster tenements wasted fiercely, and whither crowds made their way, clamoring eagerly for plunder, beating down all who came within their reach, and yelling like devils let loose. There were single-handed men flying from bands of ruffians, who pursued them with naked weapons, and hunted them savagely ; there were drunken, desperate robbers issuing from their dens and staggering through the open streets where no man dared molest them ; there 384 MR. PICKWICK^S TALE. were vagabond servitors returning from the Bear Garden, where had been good sport that day, dragging after them their torn and bleeding dogs, or leaving them to die and rot upon the road. Nothing was abroad but cruelt}^ violence, and disorder. Many were the interruptions which Will Marks encoun- tered from these stragglers, and many the narrow escapes he made. Now some stout bully would take his seat upon the cart, insisting to be driven to his own home, and now two or three men came down upon him together and demanded that on peril of his life he showed them what he had insiJe. Then a party of the City Watch, upon their rounds, would draw across the road, and not satisfied with his tale, question him closely and revenge themselves by a little cuffing and hustling for maltreatment sustained at other hands that night. All these assailants had to be rebutted, some by fair words, some by foul, and some by blows. But Will Marks was not the man to be stopped or turned back now he had penetrated so far, and though he got on slowly, still he made his way down Fleet street and reached the church at last. As he had been forewarned, all was in readiness. Directly he stopped, the coffin was removed by four men who appeared so suddenly that they seemed to have started from the earth. A fifth mounted the cart, and scarcely allowing Will time to snatch from it a little bundle containing such of his own clothes as he had thrown off on assuming his disguise, drove briskly away. Will never saw cart or man again. He followed the body into the church, and it was well he lost no time in doing so, for the door was immediately closed. There was no light in the building save that which came from a couple of torches borne by two men in cloaks who stood upon the brink of a vault. Each supported a female figure, and all observed a profound silence. By this dim and solemn glare, which made Will feel as though light itself were dead, and its tomb the dreary MR. PICKWICK'S TALE. S85 arches that frowned above, they placed the coflSn in the vault, with uncovered heads, and closed it up. One of the torch- bearers then turned to Will and stretched forth his hand, in which was a purse of gold. Something told him directly that those were the same eyes which he had seen beneath the mask. *' Take it," said the cavalier in a low voice, " and be happy. Though these have been hasty obsequies, and no priest has blest the work, there will not be the less peace with thee hereafter, for having laid his bones beside those of his little children. Keep thy own counsel, for thy sake no less than ours, and God be with thee.'' *^ The blessing of a widowed mother on thy head, good friend!" cried the younger lady through her tears; "the blessing of one who has now no hope or rest but in this grave !" Will stood with the purse in his hand, and involuntarily made a gesture as though he would return it, for though a thoughtless fellow he was of a frank and generous nature. But the two gentlemen, extinguishing their torches, cautioned him to be gone, as their common safety would be endangered by a longer delay ; and at the same time their retreating footsteps sounded through the church. He turned, therefore, towards the point at which he had entered, and seeing by a faint gleam in the distance that the door was again partially open, groped his way towards it and so passed into the street. Meantime the local authorities of Kingston had kept watch and ward all the previous night, fancying every now and then that dismal shrieks were borne towards them on the wind, and frequently winking to each other and drawing closer to the fire as they drank the health of the lonely sentinel, upon whom a clerical gentleman present was especially severe by reason of his levity and youthful folly. Two or three of the gravest in company, who were of a theological turn, propounded to him the question whether such a charac- 24 886 MR. PICKWICK'S TALE, ter was not but poorly armed for single combat with the devil, and whether he himself would not have been a stronger opponent ; but the clerical gentleman, sharply re- proving them for their presumption in divscussing such questions, clearly showed that a fitter champion than Will could scarcely have been selected, not only for that being a child of Satan he was the less likely to be alarmed by the appearance of his own father, but because Satan himself would be at his ease in such company, and would not scruple to kick up his heels to an extent which it was quite certain he would never venture before clerical eyes, under whose influence (as was notorious) he became quite a tame and milk-and-water character.

But when next morning arrived, and with it no Will Marks, and when a strong party repairing to the spot, as a strong party ventured to do in broad day, found Will gone and the gibbet empty, matters grew serious indeed. The day passing away and no news arriving, and the night going on also without any intelligence, the thing grew more tremendous still ; in short the neighborhood worked itself up to such a comfortable pitch of mystery and horror that it is a great question whether the general feeling was not one of excessive disappointment, when, on the second morning, Will Marks returned. However this may be, back Will came in a yery cool and collected state, and appearing not to trouble himself much about anybody except old John Podgers, who having been sent for, was sitting in the Town Hall crying slowly and dozing between whiles. Having embraced his uncle and assured him of his safety, Will mounted on a table and told his story to the crowd. And surely they would have been the most unreasonable crowd that ever assembled together, if they had been in the least respect disappointed with the tale he told them, for besides describing the Witches' Dance to the minutest motion of their legs, and performing it in character on the MR. PICKWICK S TALE. 38T

taT)Ie, with the assistance of a broomstick, he related how they had carried off the body in a copper caldron, and so bewitched him that he lost his senses until he found himself lying under a hedge at least ten miles off, whence he had straightway returned as they then beheld. The story gained such universal applause that it soon afterwards brought down express from London the great witch-finder of the age, the Heaven-born Hopkins, who having examined Will closely on several points, pronounced it the most extraordinary and the best accredited witch story ever known, under which title it was published at the Three-Bibles on London Bridge, in small quarto, with a view of the caldron from an original drawing, and a portrait of the clerical gentleman as he sat by the fire.

On one point Will was particularly careful : and that was to describe for the witches he had seen, three impossible old females whose likenesses never were or will be. Thus he saved the lives of the suspected parties, and of all other old women who were dragged before him to be identified. This circumstance occasioned John Podgers much grief and sorrow, until happening one day to cast his eyes upon his housekeeper and observing her to be plainly afflicted with rheumatism, he procured her to be burnt as an undoubted witch. For this service to the state he was immediately knighted, and became from that time Sir John Podgers. Will Marks never gained any clew to the mystery in which he had been an actor, nor did any inscription in the church, which he often visited afterwards, nor any of the limited inquiries that he dared to make, yield him the least assistance. As he kept his own secret, he was compelled to spend the gold discreetly and sparingly. In the course of time he married the young lady of whom I have already told you, whose maiden name is not recorded, with whom he led a prosperous and happy life. Years and years after this adventure, it was his wont to tell her upon a stormy 388 THE WELLER FAMILY. night that it was a great comfort to him to think those bones, to whomsoever they might have once belonged, were not bleaching in the troubled air, but were mouldering away with the dust of their own kith and kindred in a quiet grave.

FURTHER PARTICULARS OF MASTER HUMPHREY'S VISITOR.

THE WELLER FAMILY.

Being very full of Mr. Pickwick's application, and highly pleased with the compliment he had paid me, it will be readily supposed that long before our next night of meeting

I communicated it to my three friends, who unanimously voted his admission into our body. We all looked forward with some impatience to the occasion which would enroll him among us, but I am greatly mistaken if Jack Redburn and myself were not by many degrees the most impatient of the party. At length the night came, and a few minutes after ten Mr. Pickwick's knock was heard at the street door. He was shown into a lower room, and I directly took my crooked stick and went to accompany him up stairs, in order that he might be presented with all honor and formality. *' Mr. Pickwick," said I, on entering the room, " I am rejoiced to see you—rejoiced to believe that this is but the opening of a long series of visits to this house, and but the beginning of a close and lasting friendship." That gentleman made a suitable reply with a cordiality and frankness peculiarly his own, and glanced with a smile towards two persons behind the door, whom, I had not at first observed, and whom I immediately recognized as Mr. Samuel Weller and his father. It was a warm evening, but the elder Mr. Weller was attired, notwithstanding, in a most capacious great-coat, and his chin enveloped in a large speckled shawl, such as is —"

THE WELLER FAMILY. 389

usually worn by stage coachmen on active service. He looked very rosy and very stout, especially about the legs, which appear to have been compressed into his top-boots with some difficulty. His broad-brimmed hat he held under his left arm, and with the fore-finger of his right hand he touched his forehead a great manv times in acknowledgment of my presence. '' I am very glad to see you in such good health, Mr.

Weller,^^ said I. ''Why, thankee, sir," returned Mr. Weller, "the axle an't broke yet. We keeps up a steady pace—not too sewere but vith a moderate degree o' friction —and the consekens is that ve're still a runnin' and comes in to the time reg'lar. JMy son Saraivel, sir, as you may have read on in history, added Mr. Weller, introducing his first-born. I received Sam very graciously, but before he could say a word his father struck in again. '* Samivel Teller, sir," said the old gentleman, '' has con- ferred upon me the ancient title o' grandfather vich had long laid dormouse, and wos s'posed to be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, relate a anecdote o' vun o^ them boys that ^ere little anecdote about young Tony sayin' as he vould smoke a pipe unbeknown to his mother." *'Be quiet, can't you?" said Sam; '* I never see such a old magpie—never I" " That 'ere Tony is the blessedest boy," said Mr. Weller, heedless of this rebuff, '' the blessedest boy as ever I see in my days ! of all the charmin'est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includin' them as wos kivered over by the robin red- breasts arter they'd committed sooicide with blackberries, there never wos any like that 'ere little Tony. He's alvays a playin' vith a quart pot, that boy is ! To see him a settin' down on the door-step pretending to drink out of it, and fetching a long breath artervards, and smoking a bit of fire-vood and sayin', 'Now I'm grandfather I' —to see him a doin' that at two year old is better than any play as wos 390 THE WS:LLER FAMILY. ever wrote. 'Now I^m grandfather!^ He wouldn^t take a pint pot if you wos to make iiim a present on it, but he gets " his (|uart and then he says, ' Now I^m grandfather I^ Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have been attended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just under his father's chin, shook him to and fro with great violence, at the same time admin- istering some smart blows between his shoulders. By this curious mode of treatment Mr. Weller was finally recovered, but with a very crimson face, and in a state of great exhaustion. ** He'll do, now, Sam,'^ said Mr. Pickwick, who had been in some alarm himself. *' He'll do sir 1" cried Sam looking reproachfully at his parent. " Yes, he will do one o' these days—he'll do for his-self and then he'll wish he hadn't. Did anybody ever see sich a inconsiderate old file —laughing into conwulsions afore company, and stamping on the floor as if he'd brought his own carpet vith him and wos under a wager to punch the pattern out in a given time ? He'll begin again in a minute. There—he's agoin' off— I said he would !" In fact, Mr. Weller, whose mind was still running upon his precocious grandson, was seen to shake his head from side to side, while a laugh, working like an earthquake, below the surface, produced various extraordinp^ry appearances in his face, chest, and shoulders,—the more alarming because unaccompanied by any noise whatever. These emotions, however, gradually subsided, and after three or four short relapses he wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and looked about him with tolerable composure.

"Afore the governor vith-draws," said Mr. Weller, *' there is a pint, respecting vich Sammy has a qvestion to ask. Yile that qvestion is a perwadin this here conwersation, p'raps the genl'men vill permit me to re-tire," ——

THE WBLLER FAMILY. 391

" Wot are you goin' away for ?" demanded Sam, seizing his father by the coat tail. " I never see such a undootiful boy as you, Samivel," returned Mr. Weller. ''Didn^t you make a solemn promise, amountin' almost to a speeches o' wow, that yo^ud put that ere qvestion on my account ?" " Well, I'm agreeable to do it," said Sam, " but not if you go cuttin' away like that, as the bull turned round and mildly observed to the drover ven they vos a goadin' him into the butcher's door. The fact is, sir," said Sam, addressing me, " that he wants to know somethin' respecting that ere lady as is housekeeper here." *' Aye. What is that V *' Yy, sir," said Sam, grinning still more," he wishes to know vether she " "In short," interposed old Mr. Weller, decisively, a perspiration breaking out upon his forehead, " vether that

'ere old creetur is or is not a widder." Mr. Pickwick laughed heartily, and so did I, as I replied, decisively, that "my housekeeper was a spinster." "There!" cried Sam, "now you're satisfied. You hear she's a spinster." " A wot ?" said his father, with deep scorn. " A spinster," replied Sam. Mr. Weller looked very hard at his son for a minute or two, and then said, "Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that's no matter. Wot I say is, is that ere female a widder, or is she not ?" " Wot do you mean by her making jokes ?" demanded Sam, quite aghast at the obscurity of his parent's speech. "Never you mind, Samivel," returned Mr. Weller, " gravely ; puns may be wery good things or they may be wery bad 'uns, and a female may be none the better or she

may be none the vurse for making of 'em ; that's got nothing to do vith widders." "Wy now," said Sam, looking round, "would anybody 392 THE WELLER FAMILY. believe as a man at his time o' life could be a running his head agin spinsters and punsters being the same thing?'' ^* There an't a straw's difference between 'em," said Mr. Weller. " Your father didn't drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekal to his own langvidge as far as that goes, Sammy." Avoiding the question of etymology, upon which the old gentleman's mind was quite made up, he was several times assured that the housekeeper had never been married. He expressed great satisfaction on hearing this, and apologized for the question, remarking that he had been greatly terrified by a widow not long before, and that his natural timidity was increased in consequence. " It wos on the rail," said Mr. Weller, with strong em- " phasis ; I wos a goin' down to Birmingham by the rail, and I wos locked up in a close carriage vith a living widder.

Alone we wos ; the widder and me wos alone ; and I believe it wos only because we wos alone and there was no clergyman in the conwayance, that that 'ere widder didn't marry me afore ve reached the half-way station. Yen I think how she began a screaming as we wos a goin' under them tun- nels in the dark—how she kept on a faintin' and ketchin' hold o' me—and how I tried to bust open the door as was

tight-locked and perwented all escape—Ah ! It was a awful thing, most awful 1" Mr. Weller was so very much overcome hy this retrospect that he was unable, until he had wiped his brow several times, to return any reply to the question whether he approved of railway communication, notwithstanding that it would appear from the answer which he ultimately gave, that he entertained strong opinions on the subject. "I con-sider," said Mr. Weller, ''that the rail is uncon- stitootional and an inwaser o' priwileges, and I should wery much like to know what that 'ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and wun 'em too-—I should like to know wot he vould say if he wos alive now, to Englishmen being "

THE WELLER FAMILY. 393 locked up with widders, or with anybody, again their wills. Wot a old Carter would have said, a old Coachman may say, and I as-sert that in that pint o' view alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort, vere's the comfort o' sittin' in a harm cheer lookin' at brick walls or heaps o' mud, never comin' to a public house, never seein' a glass o^ ale, never goin^ through a pike, never meetin' a change o' no kind (horses or othervise), but alvays comin' to a place, ven you come to one at all, the wery picter o' the last, vith the same p'leesemen standing about, the same blessed old bell a ringin', the same unfort'nate people standing behind the bars, a waitin' to be let in ; and everythin' the same except the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the last name, and vith the same colors. As to the /lonor and dignity o' travelling vere can that be vithout a coachman ; and wot's the rail to sich coachmen and guards as is sometimes forced to go by it, but a outrage and a insult ? As to the pace, wot sort o' pace do you think I, Tony Teller, could have kept a coach goin^ at, for five hundred thousand pound a mile, paid in advance afore the coach was on the road ? And as to the ingein—a nasty, wheezing creaking, gasping, puffing bustin' monster, alvays out o* breath, vith a shiny green and gold back, like a unpleasant beetle in that 'ere gas magnifier—as to the ingein as is alvays a pourin' out red hot coals at night, and black smoke in the day, the sensiblest thing it does in my opinion, is, ven there's somethin' in the vay and it sets up that 'ere frightful scream vich seems to say, ' Now here's two hundred and forty passengers in the wery greatest extremity o' danger, and here's

their two hundred and forty screams in vun I' By this time I began to fear that my friends would be rendered impatient by my protracted absence. I therefore begged Mr. Pickwick to accompany me up stairs, and left the two Mr. Wellers in the care of the housekeeper ; laying strict injunctions upon her to treat them with all possible hospitality. THE CLOCK COMPANY.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

As we were going up stairs, Mr. Pickwick put on his spec tacles, which he had held in his hand hitherto ; arranged his neckerchief, smoothed down his waistcoat, and made many other little preparations of that kind which men are accustomed to be mindful of, when they are going among strangers for the first time, and are anxious to impress them pleasantly.

Seeing that I smiled, he smiled too, and said that if it had occurred to him before he left home, he would certainly have presented himself in pumps and silk stockings.

** ** I would, indeed, my dear sir," he said, very seriously ; I would have shown my respect for the society, by laying aside my gaiters.'' "You may rest assured," said I, *Hhat they would have regretted your doing so very much, for they are quite attached to them."

"No, really I" cried Mr. Pickwick, with manifest pleasure.

" Do you think they care about my gaiters ? Do you seriously think that they identify me at all with my gaiters ?" " I am sure they do," I replied. "Well, now," said Mr. Pickwick, "that is one of the most charming and agreeable circumstances that could possibly have occurred to me 1" I should not have written down this short conversation, but

that it developed a slight point in Mr. Pickwick's character, with which I was not previously acquainted. He has a secret pride in his legs. The manner in which he spoke, and the accompanying glance he bestowed upon his tights, convince me that Mr. Pickwick regards his legs with much innocent vanity. (394) THE CLOCK COMPANY. S95

*' But here are our friends," said I, opening the door and tak- " ing his arm in mine ; let them speak for themselves. Gentle- men, I present to you Mr. Pickwick." Mr. Pickwick and I must have been a good contrast just then. I, leaning quietly on my crutch-stick, with something of a care-worn> patient air; he, having hold of my arm, and bowing in every direction with the most elastic politeness, and an expression of face whose sprightly cheerfulness and good- humor knew no bounds. The difference between us must have been more striking yet as we advanced towards the table, and the amiable gentleman, adapting his jocund step to my poor tread, had his attention divided between treating my in- firmities with the utmost consideration, and affecting to be wholly unconscious that I required any. I made him personally known to each of my friends in turn. First, to the deaf gentleman, whom he regarded with much interest, and accosted with great frankness and cordiality. He had evidently some vague idea, at the moment, that my

friend being deaf must be dumb also ; for when the latter opened his lips to express the pleasure it afforded him to know a gentleman of whom he had heard so much, Mr. Pickwick was so extremely disconcerted that I was obliged to step in to his relief.

His meeting with Jack Redburn was quite a treat to see. Mr. Pickwick smiled, and shook hands, and looked at him through his spectacles, and under them, and over them, and nodded his head approvingly, and then nodded to me, as much as to say, *' This is just the man you quite right ;" ; were and then turned to Jack and said a few hearty words, and then did and said everything over again with unimpaired vivacity. As to Jack himself, he was quite as much delighted with Mr. Pick- wick, as Mr. Pickwick could possibly be with him. Two people never can have met together since the world began, who exchanged a warmer or more enthusiastic greeting. It was amusing to observe the difference between this encounter and that which succeeded between Mr, Pickwick and 896 THE CLOCK COMPANY.

Mr. Miles. It was clear that the latter gentleman viewed our new member as a kind of rival in the affections of Jack Redburn, and besides this, he had more than once hinted to me, in secret, that although he had no doubt Mr. Pickwick

was a very worthy man, still he did consider that some of his exploits were unbecoming a gentleman of his years and gravity.

Over and above these grounds of distrust, it is one of his fixed opinions that the law never can by possibility do anything

wrong ; he therefore looks upon Mr. Pickwick as one who has justly suffered in purse and peace for a breach of his plighted

faith to an unprotected female, and holds that he is called upon to regard him with some suspicion on that account. These

causes led to a rather cald and formal reception ; which Mr. Pickwick acknowledged with the same stateliness and intense politeness as was displayed on the other side. Indeed, he assumed an air of such majestic defiance that I was fearful he might break out into some solemn protest or declaration, and therefore inducted him into his chair without a moment's delay. This piece of generalship was perfectly successful. The instant he took his seat, Mr. Pickwick surveyed us all with a

most benevolent aspect, and was taken with a fit of smiling full five minutes long. His interest in our ceremonies was immense. They are not very numerous or complicated, and a description of them may be comprised in very few words. As our transactions have already been, and must necessarily con- tinue to be, more or less anticipated by being presented in these pages at different times and under various forms, they do not require a detailed account.

Our first proceeding when we are assembled is to shake hands all round, and greet each other with cheerful and pleasant looks. Remembering that we assemble not only for the promotion of our happiness, but with the view of adding something to the common stock, an air of languor or indifference in any member of our body would be regarded by the others as a kind of treason. We have never had an offender in this respect ; but if we had, there is no doubt that he would be taken to task pretty severely. THE CLOCK COMPANY. 39t

Our salutation over, the venerable piece of antiquity from which we take our name is wound up in silence. This cere- monj is always performed by Master Humphrey himself (in treating of the club, I may be permitted to assume the historical style, and speak of myself in the third person), who mounts upon a chair for the purpose, armed with a large key. While

it is in progress, Jack Redburn is required to keep at tlie further end of the room under the guardianship of Mr. Miles, for he is known to entertain certain aspiring and unhallowed thoughts connected with the clock, and has even gone so far

as to state that if he might take the works out for a day or two, he thinks he could improve them. We pardon him his presumption in consideration of his good intentions, and his keeping this respectful distance, which last penalty is insisted on, lest by secretly wounding the object of our regard in some tender part, in the ardor of his zeal for its improvement, he

should fill us all with dismay and consternation. This regulation afforded Mr. Pickwick the highest delight,

and seemed, if possible, to exalt Jack in his good opinion.

The next ceremony is the opening of the clock-case (of which Master Humphrey has likewise the keyj, the taking

from it as many papers as will furnish forth our evening's entertainment, and arranging in the recess such new contribu- tions as have been provided since our last meeting. This is always done with peculiar solemnity. The deaf gentleman

then fills and lights his pipe, and we once more take our seats round the table before-mentioned. Master Humphrey acting as president—if we can be said to have any president, where all are on the same social footing—and our friend Jack as secretary. Our preliminaries being now concluded, we fall into any train of conversation that happens to suggest itself, or proceed immediately to one of our readings. In the latter

case, the paper selected is consigned to Master Humphrey,

who flattens it carefully on the table and makes dog's ears in

the corner of every page, ready for turning over easily ; Jack Redburn trims the lamp with a small machine of his own in- 398 THE CLOCK COMPANY. vention which usually puts it out; Mr. Miles look on with great approval notwithstanding ; the deaf gentleman draws in his chair, so that he can follow the words on the paper or on Master Humphrey's lips as he pleases; and Master Hum- phrey himself, looking round with mighty gratification, and glancing up at his old clock, begins to read aloud. Mr. Pickwick's face while his tale was being read, would have attracted the attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent motion of his head and forefinger as he gently beat time and corrected the air with imaginary punctuation, the smile that mantled on his features at every jocose passage, and the sly look he stole around to observe its effect, the calm manner in which he shut his eyes and listened when there was some little piece of description, the changing expression with which he acted the dialogue to himself, his agony that the deaf gentleman should know what it was all about, and his extraordinary anxiety to correct the reader when he hesitated at a word in the manuscript, or substituted a wrong one, were alike worthy of remark. And wheil at last, endeavoring to communicate with the deaf gentleman by means of the finger alphabet, with which he constructed such words as are unknown in any civilized or savage language, fae took up a slate and wrote in large text, one word in a line, the question, *' How —do —you—like—it?" When he did this, and handing it over the table awaited the reply, with a countenance only brightened and improved by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles relaxed, and could not forbear looking at him for the moment with interest and favor. *' It has occurred to me," said the deaf gentleman, who had watched Mr. Pickwick and everybody else with silent satisfaction, —"it has occurred to me," said the deaf gentleman, taking his pipe from his lips, ** that now is our time for filling our only empty chair." As our conversation had naturally turned upon the vacant seat, we lent a willing ear to this remark, and looked at our friend inquiringly. ;

THE CLOCK COMPANY. 399

" I feel sure," said he, " that Mr. Pickwick must be acquainted with somebody who would be an acquisition to us that he must know the man we want. Pray let us not lose

any time, but set this question at rest. Is it so, Mr. Pick- wick ?" The gentleman addressed was about to return a verbal reply, but remembering our friend's infirmity, he substituted for

this kind of answer some fifty nods. Then taking up the

slate and printing on it a gigantic '* Yes," he handed it across the table, and rubbing his hands as he looked round upon our faces, protested that he and the deaf gentleman quite understood each other already. '* The person I have in my mind," said Mr. Pickwick, "and whom I should not have presumed to mention to you until some time hence, but for the opportunity you have given me,

is a very strange old man. His name is Bamber." "Bamber 1" said Jack. " I have certainly heard the name before " '' I have no doubt, then, *' returned Mr. Pickwick, " that you remember him in those adventures of mine (the Posthum-

ous Papers of our old club, I mean), although he is only inci-

dentally mentioned; and, if I remember right, appears but once."

" That's it," said Jack. " Let me see. He is a person who has a grave interest in old mouldy chambers and the Inns of Court, and who relates some anecdotes having reference to his favorite theme—and an odd ghost-story—is that the man ?" " The very same. Now," said Mr. Pickwick, lowering his voice to a mysterious and confidential tone, " he is a very ex-

traordinary and remarkable person ; living, and talking, and looking, like some strange spirit, whose delight is to haunt old buildings ; and absorbed in that one subject which you have just mentioned, to an extent which is quite wonderful.

When I retired into private life, I sought him out, and I do assure you that the more I see of him, the more strongly 1 am impressed with the strange and dreamy character of his mind." ** Where does he live ?" I inquired. 400 THE CLOCK COMPANY.

" He lives," said Mr. Pickwick, " in one of those dull, lonely old places with which his thoughts and stories are all connected quite alone, and often shut up close, for several weeks ; together. In this dusty solitude he broods upon the fancies he has so long indulged, and when he goes into the world, or anybody from the world without goes to see him, they are still present to his mind and still his favorite topic. I may say, I believe, that he has brought himself to entertain a regard for

me, and an interest in my visits ; feelings which I am certain he would extend to Master Humphrey's Clock if he were once tempted to join us. All I wish you to understand is, that he is a strange secluded visionary, in the world but not of it; and as unlike anybody here as he is unlike anybody elsewhere that I have ever met or known." Mr. Miles received this account of our proposed companion with rather a wry face, and after murmuring that perhaps he was a little mad, inquired if he were rich. " I never asked him," said Mr. Pickwick.

'' You might know, sir, for all that," retorted Mr. Miles, sharply. " Perhaps so, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, no less sharply than the other, *' but I do not. Indeed," he added, relapsing into his usual mildness, **I have no means of judging. He lives poorly, but that would seem to be in keeping with his character.

I never heard him allude to his circumstances, and never fell into the society of any man who had the slightest acquaintance with them. I have really told you all I know about him, and it rests with you to say whether you wish to know more, or know quite enough already." We w^ere unanimously of opinion that we would seek to know more ; and as a sort of compromise with Mr. Miles (who, although he said "Yes—oh certaiuly—he should like to know more about the gentleman—he had no right to put himself in opposition to the general wish," and so forth, shook his head doubtfully and hemmed several times with peculiar

gravity), it was arranged that Mr. Pickwick should carry me THE CLOCK COMPANY. 401 with him on an evening visit to the subject of our discussion, for which purpose an early appointment between that gentle-

man and myself was immediately agreed upon ; it being understood that I was to act upon my own responsibility, and to invite him to join us or not, as I might think proper. This solemn question determined, we returned to the clock-case (where we have been forstalled by the reader), and between

its contents, and the conversation they occasioned, the remainder of our time passed very quickly. When we broke up, Mr. Pickwick took me aside to tell me that he had spent a most charming and delightful evening. Having made this communication with an air of the strictest secrecy, he took Jack Redburn into another corner to tell him the same, and then retired into another corner with the deaf gentleman and the slate, to repeat the assurance. It was amusing to observe the contest in his mind whether he should extend his confidence to Mr. Miles, or treat him with dignified reserve. Half-a-dozen times he stepped up behind him with

a friendly air, and as often stepped back again without saying

a word ; at last, when he was close at that gentleman^s ear and upon the very point of whispering something conciliating and agreeable, Mr. Miles happened suddenly to turn his head, upon which Mr. Pickwick skipped away, and said with some fierceness, '' Good-night, sir—I was about to say good-night, sir—nothing more;'' and so made a bow and left him. "Now, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, when he had got down

stairs.

*'A11 right, sir," replied Mr. Weller. ''Hold hard, sir. Right arm fust—now the left—now one strong conwulsion, and the great-coat's on, sir." Mr. Pickwick acted upon these directions, and being further assisted by Sam, who pulled at one side of the collar, and Mr. Weller, who pulled hard at the other, was speedily en- robed. Mr. Weller, senior, then produced a full-sized stable lantern, which he had carefully deposited in a remote corner, on his arrival, and inquired whether Mr. Pickwick would

have ' the Ir^mps alight." 402 THE CLOCK COMP AN Y»

" I think not to-night," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Then if this here lady vill per-mit," rejoined Mr. Weller,

"we'll leave it here, ready for next journey. This here lantern, mum,'' said Mr. Weller, handing it to the housekeeper, " vunce belonged to the celebrated Bill Blinder as is now at grass, as all on us vill be in our turns. Bill, mum, wos the hostler as had charge o' them two veil known piebald leaders that ran in the Bristol fast coach, and vould never go to no other tune but a sutherly vind and a cloudy sky, which wos consekvently played incessant, by the guard, wenever they wos on duty. He wos took wery bad one arternoon, arter having for been off his feed, and wery shaky on his legs some veeks ; and he says to his mate, ' Matey,' he says, * I think I'm a-goin' the wrong side o' the post, and that my foot's wery near the bucket. Don't say I an't,' he says, 'for I know I am, and don't let me be interrupted,' he says, * for I've saved a little money, and I'm a-goin' into the stable to make my last vill and testymint.' ' I'll take care as nobody interrupts,' says his mate * but you on'y hold up your head, and shake your ears a bit, and you're good for twenty years to come.' Bill Blinder makes him no answer, but he goes avay into the stable, and there he soon artervards lays himself down a'tween the two piebalds, and dies— prevously a-writin' outside the corn-chest,

• This is the last vill and testymint of Yilliam Blinder.' They wos nat'rally wery much amazed at this, and arter looking among the litter, and up in the loft, and vere not, they opened the corn-chest, and finds that he'd been and chalked his vill inside the lid ; so the lid wos obligated to be took off the hinges, and sent up to Doctor Commons to be proved, and under that ere wery instrument this here lantern was passed

to 'Tony Yeller, vich circumstance, mum, gives it a wally in my eyes, and makes me rek-vest, if you vill be so kind, as to take partickler care on it." The housekeeper graciously promised to keep the object of Mr. Weller's regard in the safest possible custody, and Mr. Pickwick, with a laughing face, took his leave. The body- THE CLOCK COMPANY. 403

guard followed, side bj side : old Mr. Weller buttoned and wrapped up from his boots to his chin ; and Sam with his hands in his pockets and his hat half oif his head, remonstrating with his father, as he went, on his extreme loquacity.

1 was not a little surprised, on turning to go up stairs, to encounter the barber in the passage at that late hour ; for his attendance is usually confined to some half-hour in the morning. But Jack Redburn, who finds out (by instinct, I think) everything that happens in the house, informed me with great glee, that a society in imitation of our own had been that night formed in the kitchen, under the title of " Mr. Weller'a

^' Watch, of which the barber was a member ; and that he could pledge himself to find means of making me acquainted with the whole of its future proceedings, which I begged him, both on my own account and that of my readers, by no means to neglect doing. —

MR. WELLER'S WATCH.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

It seems that the housekeeper and the two Mr. Weller* were no sooner left together on the occasion of their first becoming acquainted, than the housekeeper called to her assistance Mr. Slithers the barber, who had been lurking in

the kitchen in expectation of her summons ; and with many- smiles and much sweetness introduced him as one who would assist her in the responsible office of entertaining her distinguished visitors. " Indeed," said she, " without Mr. Slithers I should have been placed in quite an awkward situation." " There is no call for any hock'erdness, mum," said Mr.

*' Weller, with the utmost politeness ; no call wotsumever. A lady," added the old gentleman, looking about him with the air of one who establishes an incontrovertible position, *' a lady can^t be hock^erd. Natur has otherwise pur- wided.' The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more sweetly. The barber who had been fluttering about Mr. Weller and Sam in a state of great anxiety to improve their acquaintance, rubbed his hands and cried " Hear, hear! Yery true, sir ;" whereupon Sam turned about and steadily- regarded him for some seconds in silence. " I never knew," said Sam, fixing his eyes in a rumina- tive manner upon the blushing barber, ** I never knew but vun o' your trade, but he wos worth a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin^ !" "Was he in the easy shaving way, sir," inquired Mr. " Slithers ; or in the cutting and curling line ?"

" '* Both," replied Sam ; easy shaviu' was his natur\ and (404) MR. WELLE R'S WATCH. 405 cuttin^ and cnrlin' was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. He spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for ^em besides, and there they wos a growl- ing avay down in the front cellar all day long, and inaffec- tooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o' their relations and friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the first floor winder wos ornamented with their heads ; not to speak o^ the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to 'em to see a man alvays walkin' up and down the pavement outside, vith the portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath in large letters, 'Another fine animal wos slaugh- tered yesterday at Jinkinson's I^ Hows'ever, there they wos, and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took werry ill with some inn'ard disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos eon- fined to his bed vere he laid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to go down stairs and

' say, Jinkinson's werry low this mornin' ; we must give the bears a stir ;^ and as sure as ever they stirred 'em up a bit and made 'em roar, Jinkinson opened his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, * There's the bears 1' and rewives agin.'^

''Astonishing I" cried the barber. "Not a bit," said Sam, " human natur' neat as imported.

Yun day the doctor happenin' to say, ' I shall look in as usual to-morrow morninV Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and says, ' Doctor,' he says, ' will you grant me one favor ?'

'I will, Jinkinson,' says the doctor. ' Then, doctor,' says

' Jinkinson, * vill j^ou come unshaved, and let me shave you ?

' I will,' says the doctor. ' God bless you,' says Jinkinson. Next day the doctor came, and arter he had been shaved all skilful and reg'lar, he says, 'Jinkinson,' he says, ' it's werry plain this does you good. Now,' he says, ' I've got a coachman as has got a beard that it 'ud warm your heart to work on, and though the footman,' he says, 'hasn't got much of a beard, still he's a trjdng it on vith a pair o' vis- 40G MR. WELLER'S WATCH. kers to that extent that razors is Christian charity. If they take it in turns to mind the carriage wen it's a waitin^ below,' he says, * wot's to hinder you from operatin' on both of 'em ev'ry day as well as upon me? you've got six children,' he says, 'wot's to hinder you from shavin' all their heads and keepin' 'em shaved ? you've got two assistants in the shop down stairs, wot's to hinder you from cuttin' and curlin' them as often as you like? Do this,' he says, 'and you're a man agin.' Jinkinson squeedged the doctor's hand and

begun that wery day ; he kept his tools upon the bed, and wenever he felt his-self gettin' worse, he turned to at vun o' the children who wos a runnin' about the house vith heads like clean Dutch cheeses, and shaved him agin. Yun day the lawyer come to make his vill ; all the time he wos a takin' it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin' avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. * Wot's that 'ere snippin'

' ' noise ? says the law^-^er every now and then ; it's like a man havin' his hair cut.' * It is wery like a man havin' his hair cut,' says poor Jinkinson, hidin' the scissors, and lookin' quite innocent. By the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson wos kept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last vun day he has in all the children vun arter another, shaves each on 'em wery clean, and gives him vun kiss on the crown o' his head ; then he has in the two assistants, and arter cuttin' and curlin' of 'em in the first style of elegance, says he should like to hear the woice of the greasiest bear, vich rekvest is immedetly complied with ; then he says that he feels werry happy in his mind and vishes to be left alone ; and then he dies, prevously cutting his own hair and making one flat curl in the wery middle of his forehead." This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect not only upon Mr. Slithers but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced so much anxiety to please and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with a manner betoking some alarm, conveyed a whispered inquiry to his son whether he had gone " too fur." MR. WELLER'S WATCH. 40T

" Wot do you mean by too fur ? ^' demanded Sam. '^ In that ^ere little compliment respecting the want of hock'erdness in ladies, Sammy, '^ replied his father. '* You don't think she's fallen in love with you in consekens o' that, do you ? " said Sam. *' More unlikelier things have come to pass, my boy," replied *' Mr. Weller in a hoarse whisper ; I'm always afeerd of inadwertent captiwation, Sammy. If I know'd how to

make myself ugly or unpleasant, I'd do it, Samivel, rayther " than live in this here state of perpetival terror I Mr. Weller had, at this time, no further opportunity of dwelling upon the apprehensions which beset his mind, for the immediate occasion of his fears proceeded to lead the way down stairs, apologizing as they went for conducting him into the kitchen, which apartment, however, she was induced to proffer for his accommodation in preference to her

own little room, the rather as it afforded greater facilities for smoking, and was immediately adjoining the ale-cellar. The preparations which were already made, sufficiently proved that these were not mere words of course, for on the deal table were a sturdy ale-jug and glasses, flanked with clean pipes and a plentiful supply of tobacco for the old gentleman and his son, while on a dresser hard by was goodly store of cold meat and other eatables. At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller was at first distracted between his love of joviality and his doubts whether they were not to be considered as so many evidences of captivation having already taken place ; but he soon yielded to his natural impulse, and took his seat at the table with a very jolly countenance. "As to imbibin' any o' this here flagrant veed, mum, in the presence of a lady," said Mr. Weller, taking up a pipe and laying it down again, ^' it couldn't be. Samivel, total abstinence, if you please."

*^ But I like it of all things," said the housekeeper. " No," rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his head. *' No." 408 MR. WELLER'S WATCH.

" Upon my word I do," said the housekeeper. " Mr. Slithers knows I do." Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber's confirmation of the statement, said *' No " again, but more feebly than before. The housekeeper lighted a piece of paper, and insisted on applying it to the bowl of the pipe

with her own fair hands ; Mr. Weller resisted ; the housekeeper cried that her fingers would be burnt; Mr. Weller gave way. The pipe was ignited, Mr. Weller drew a long puff of smoke, and detecting himself in the very act of smiling on the housekeeper, put a sudden constraint upon his countenance and looked sternly at the candle, with a determination not to captivate himself, or encourage thoughts of captivation in others. From this iron frame of mind he was aroused by the voice of his son. '* I don't think/' said Sam, who was smoking with great composure and enjoyment, *' that if the lady wos agreeable it 'ud be wery far out o' the vay for us four to make up a club of our own like the governors does up stairs, and let him," Sam pointed with the stem of his pipe towards his parent, " be the president." The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing she had been thinking of The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said nothing, but he laid down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, and performed the following manoeuvres. Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat, and pausing for a moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this process, he laid violent hands upon his watch-chain and slowly and with extreme difficulty drew from his fob an immense double-cased silver watch, which brought the lining of the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangled but by great exertions and an amusing redness of face. Having fairly got it out at last, he detached the outer case and wound it up with a key of corresponding magnitude ; then put the case on again, and MR. WELLER'S WATCH. 409 having applied the watch to his ear to ascertain that it was still going, gave it some half-dozen hard knocks on the table to improve its performance.

" That,'^ said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face upwards, *' is the title and emblem o' this here society. Sammy, reach them two stools this vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies and gen'lmen, Mr. Weller^s Watch is vound up and now a goin\ Order !" By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller using the watch after the manner of a president's hammer, and remarking with great pride that nothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all kinds materially enhanced the excellence of the works and assisted the regulator, knocked the table a great many times, and declared the association formally constituted. ** And don't let's have no grinnin' at the cheer, Samivel," said Mr. Weller to his son, " or I shall be committin' you to the cellar, and then p'raps we may get into wot the 'Merri- kins call a fix, and the English a question o' privileges." Having uttered this friendly caution, the president settled himself in his chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. Samuel would relate an anecdote.

'* I've told one," said Sam.

** Wery good, sir ; tell another," returned the chair. "We wos a talking just now," said Sam, turning to Slithers, *' about barbers. Pursuing that 'ere fruitful theme, sir, I'll tell you in a wery few words a romantic little story about another barber as p'raps you may never have heerd." " Samivel !" said Mr. Weller, again bringing his watch and the table into smart collision, '' address your obserwa- tions to the cheer, sir, and not to private indiwiduals I" "And if I might rise to order," said the barber, in a soft voice, and looking round him with a conciliatory smile as he leant over the— table, with the knuckles of his left hand T^stmg wpott it, " if I migfit rise to order, I would suggest that * barbers ' is not exactly the kind of language which is 410 MR. WELLER'S WATCH.

agreeable and soothing to our feelings. You, sir, will correct me if I am wrong, but T believe there is such a word in the dictionary as hair-dressers." " Well, but suppose he wasn't a hair-dresser," suggested Sam.

*' Wy then, sir, be parliamentary, and call him vun all the more," returned his father. " In the same vay as ev'ry gen'lman in another place is a /lonorable, ev'ry barber in this place is a hair-dresser. Yen you read the speeches in the papers, and see as vun gen'lman says of another, ' the /honorable member, if he vill allow me to

call him so,' you vill understand, sir, that that means ' if he vill allow me to keep up that 'ere pleasant and uniwersal fiction ?' "

It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, that great men rise with the circumstances in which they are placed. Mr. Weller came out so strong in his capacity of chairman, that Sam was for some time prevented from speaking by a grin of surprise, which held his faculties enchained, and at last subsided in a long whistle of a single note. Xay, the old gentleman appeared even to have astonished himself, and that to no small extent, as was demonstrated bj^ the vast amount of chuckling in which he indulged, after the utterance of these lucid remarks. *' Here's the story," said Sam. '* Yunce upon a time there wos a young hair-dresser as opened a wery smart little shop vith four wax dummies in the winder, two gen'lmen and two ladies—the gen'lmen vith blue dots for their beards, wery large viskers, ou-dacious heads of hair, uncommon clear eyes, and nostrils of amazin pinkness—the ladies vith their heads o' one side, their right forefingers on their lips, and their forms deweloped beautiful, in vich last respect they had the advvantage over the gen'lmen, as was'nt allowed but wery little shoulder, and terminated rayther abrupt, in fancy drapery. He had also a many hair-brushes and tooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, neat glass cases :

MR. WELLER»S WATCH. 411

on the counter, a floor-clothed cntting'-room up-stairs, and a weighin' macheen in the shop, right opposite the door; but the great attraction and ornament wos the dummies, which this here young hair-dresser wos constantly a riin- nin' out in the road to look at, and constantly a runnin^ in

agin to touch up and polish ; in short, he was so proud on ^em that ven Sunday come, he was always wretched and miserable to think they wos behind the shutters, and looked anxiously for Monday on that account. Yun o' these dummies wos a fav'rite vith him beyond the others, and ven any of his acquaintance asked him wy he didn^t get married—as the j^oung ladies he know'd, in particular,

* often did —he used to say, Never ! I never vill enter into the bonds of vedlock,' he says, 'until I meet vith a young 'ooman as realizes my idea o' that 'ere fairest dummy vith

the light hair. Then and not till then,' he says, ' I vill

approach the altar I' All the young ladies he know'd as had got dark hair told him this wos very sinful and that he wos wurshippin' a idle, but them as wos near the same shade as the dummy colored up wery much, and was observed to think him a wery nice young man." " " Samivel," said Mr. Weller, gravely ; a member o' this assosiashun bein' one o' that 'ere tender sex which is now immediately referred to, I have to rekvest that you vil make no reflexions." " I ain't a makin' any, am I ?" inquired Sam. ''Order, sir!" rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe dignity; then, sinking the chairman in the father, he added in his usual tone of voice, " Samivel, drive on I" Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and pro* ceeded " The young hair-dresser hadn't been in the habit o' niakin' this avowal above six months, ven he en-countered a young lady as was the wery picter o' the fairest dummy.

* Now,' he says, * it's all up. I am a slave 1' The young lady wos not only the picter o' the fairest dummy, but she wos wery romantic, as the young hair-dresser wos, too, and 412 MR. WELLER'S WATCH.

!' * he says, ' Oh he says, here^s a community o' feelin', here's a flow o'soul!' he says, ^here's a interchange o' sentiment I' The young lady didn't say much, o' course, but she expressed herself agreeable, and shortly artervards vent to see him vith a mutual friend. The hair-dresser rushes out to meet her, but d'rectly she sees the dummies she changes color and falls a tremblin' wiolently. * Look up, my love,' says the hair-dresser, * behold your imige in my winder, but not correcter than in my art 1' * My imige !' she says. 'Your'n!' replies the hair-dresser. 'But whose imige is that!^ she says, a pinting at vun o' the gen'lmen. 'No vun's, my love,' he says, 'it is but a idea.' 'A idea!' she cries ;' 'it is a portrait, I feel it is a portrait, and that 'ere

noble face must be in the millingtary I' ' Wot do I hear 1'

says he, a crumplin' his curls. ' Villiam Gibbs,' she saj's, quite firm, 'never renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend,' she says, 'but mj affections is set upon that manly brow.' 'This,' says the hair-dresser, 'is a reg'lar blight,

and in it I perceive the hand of Fate. Farevell I' Yith these vords he rushes into the shop, breaks the dummy's nose vith a blow of his curlin' irons, n^elts him down at the parlor fire, and never smiles artervards." " The young lady, Mr. Weller ?" said the housekeeper. " Wy, ma'm," said Sam, "finding that Fate had a spite agin her, and everybody she come into contact vith, she never smiled neither, but read a deal o' poetry and pined avay—by rayther slow degrees, for she an't dead yet. It took a deal o' poety to kill the hair-dresser, and some people say arter all that it was more than gin and water as caused

to run over p'raps it him be ; wos a little o' both, and came o' mixing the two." The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the most interesting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, in which opinion the housekeeper entirelj^ con- curred. "Are you married man, sir?" inquired Sam. MR. WELLER'S WATCH. 413

The barber replied that he had not that honor, "I s'pose you mean to be?'^ said Sam. " Well," replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly,

"I don't know, I don't think it's very likely."

*' That's a bad sign," said Sam; "if you'd said you meant to be vun o' thes^days, I should ha' looked upon you as bein' safe. You're in a wery precarious state."

"I am not conscious of any danger, at all events," returned the barber.

*' No more wos I, sir," said the elder Mr. Weller, inter-

*' posing ; those vere my symptoms, exactly. I've been took that vay twice. Keep your vether eye open, my friend or you're gone." There was something so very solemn about this admoni- tion, both in its matter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller still kept his eye fixed upon the unsus- pecting victim, that nobody cared to speak for some little time, and might not have cared to do so for some time longer, if the housekeeper had not happened to sigh, which called off the old gentleman's attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether, *' there wos anythin* wery piercin' in that 'ere little heart."

*' Dear me, Mr. Weller I" said the housekeeper, laughing.

" No, but is there anythin' as agitates it ?" pursued the old gentleman. *' Has it always been obderrate, always opposed to the happiness o' human creeturs ? Eh ? Has it ? At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the housekeeper discovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily withdrew into the cellar to draw the same, followed by the barber, who insisted on carrying the candle. Having looked after her with a very complacent expression of face, and after him with some disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance to travel slowly round the kitchen until at length it rested on his son. "Sammy," said Mr. Weller, "I mistrust that barber." "Wot for?" returned Sam, " wot's he got to do with —

414 MR. WELLER'S WATCH. you ? You^re a nice man, you are, arter pretendin^ all kinds o^ terror, to go a payin' compliments and talkin' about hearts and piercers." The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller the utmost delight, for he replied in a voice choked by suppressed laughter, and with the tears in his eyes, " Wos I a talkin' about hearts and piercers—was I though, Sammey, eh ?"

" Wos you ? of course you was ?" " She don't know no better, Sammy, there an^t no harm

in it —no danger, Sammy ; she's only a punster. She seemed pleased, though, didn't she? O' course, she wos pleased, it's nat'ral she should be, wery nat'ral.'^

** He's wain of it !" exclaimed Sam, joining in his father's

mirth. '* He's actually wain I" "Hush!" replied Mr. Weller, composing his features, "they're comin' back—the little heart's a comin' back. But mark these wurds o' mine once more, and remember 'em ven your father says he said 'em. Samivel I mistrust that 'ere deceitful barber.*' SAM WELLER'S SON.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

Two or three evenings after the institution of Mr. Weller's Watch, I thought I heard, as I walked in the garden, the voice of Mr. Weller himself at no great distance ; and stopping once or twice to listen more attentively, I found that tiie sounds proceeded from my housekeeper's little sitting-room, which is at the back of the house. I took no further notice of the circumstance at that time, but it formed the subject of a conversation between me and my friend Jack Redburn next morning, when I found that I had not been deceived in my impression. Jack furnished me with the following particulars, and as he appeared to take extraordinary pleasure in relating them, I have begged him in future to jot down any such domestic scenes or occurrences that may please his humor, in order that they may be told in his own way. I must confess that, as Mr. Pickwick and he are constantly together, I have been influenced, in making this request, by a secret desire to know something of their proceedings. On the evening in question, the housekeeper's room was arranged with particular care, and the housekeeper herself was very smartly dressed. The preparations, however, were not confined to mere showy demonstrations, as tea was prepared for three persons, with a small display of preserves and jams and sweet cakes, which heralded some uncommon occasion. Miss Benton (my housekeeper bears that name) was in a state of great expectation, too, frequently going to the front door and looking anxiously down the lane, and more than once observing to the serving girl that she expected company, and hop«d that no accident had happened to delay them. (415) "

416 SAM WELLER'S SON.

A modest ringing at the bell at length allayed her fears, and Miss Benton, hurrying into her own room and shutting herself up in order that she might preserve that appearance of being taken by surprise which is so essential to the polite reception of visitors, awaited their coming with a smiling countenance. "Good ev'nin^, mum,'' said the older Mr. Weller, looking in at the door after a prefatory tap. *'I'm afeerd we've come in rayther arter the time, mum, but the young colt being full o' wice, has been a boltin' and shy in' and gettin' his leg over the traces to sich a extent that if he an't wery soon broke in, he'll wex me into a broken heart, and then he'll never be brought out no more except to learn his letters from the writin' on his grandfather's tombstone. With these pathetic words, which were addressed to something outside the door about two feet six from the ground, Mr. Weller introduced a very small boy firmly set upon a couple of very sturdy legs, who looked as if nothing could ever knock him down. Besides having a very round face strongly resembling Mr. Weller's, and a stout little body of exactly his build, this young gentleman, standing with his little legs very wide apart as if the top-boots were familiar to them, actually winked upon the housekeeper with his infant eye, in imitation of his grandfather. " There's a naughty boy, mum," said Mr. Weller, bursting with delight, " there's a immoral Tony. Wos there ever a little chap o' four years and eight months old as vinked his eye at a strange lady afore ?" As little effected by this observation as by the former appeal to his feelings. Master Weller elevated in the air a small model of a coach whip which he carried in his hand, and addressing the housekeeper with a shrill " ya— hip !" inquired if she was " going down the road ;" at which happy adaptation of a lesson he had been taught from infancy, Mr. W^eller could restrain his feelings no longer, but gave him twopence on the spot. —

SAM WELLER'S SOK. 411

"It^s in wain to deny it, miim," said Mr. Weller, "this here is a boy arter his grandfather's own heart, and beats out all the boys as ever wos or will be. Though at the Bame time, mum," added Mr. Weller, trying to look gravely down upon his favorite, " it was wery wrong* on him to want to—over all the posts as we come along, and wery cruel on him to force poor grandfather to lift him cross-legged over every vun of 'em. He wouldn't pass vun single blessed post, mum, and at the top o' the lane there's seven and-forty on 'em all in a row, and wery close together." Here Mr. Weller, whose feelings were in a perpetual con- flict between pride in his grandson's achievements, and a sense of his own responsibility and the importance of impressing him with moral truths, burst into a fit of laughter, and suddenly checking himself, remarked in a severe tone that little boys as made their grandfathers put 'em over posts, never went to heaven at any price. By this time the housekeeper had made tea, and little Tony, placed on a chair beside her, with his eyes nearly on a level with the top of the table, was provided with various delicacies which yielded him extreme contentment. The housekeeper (who seemed rather afraid of the child, notwithstanding her caresses) then patted him on the head and declared that he was the finest boy she had ever seen. " *' Wy, mum," said Mr. Weller, I don't think you'll see a many sich, and that's the truth. But if my son Samivel vould give me my vay, mum, and dis-pense vith his might I wenter to say the vurd ?" '' What word, Mr. Weller ?" said the housekeeper, blushing slightly. " Petticuts, mum," returned that gentleman, laying his hand upon the garments of his grandson. " If my son Samivel, mum, vould only dis-pense vith these here, you'd see such a alteration in his appearance, as the imagination can't depicter." *' But what would you have the child wear instead, Mr. Weller ?" said the housekeeper. 2a 418 SAM WELLE R'S SON.

" Tv^e offered my son Samivel, mum, agen and agen,'' returned the old gentleman, " to purwide Mm at my own cost vith a suit o^ clothes as 'ud be the makin' on him, and form his mind in infancy for those pursuits as I hope the family o' the Yellers vill alvays dewote themselves to. Tony, my boy, tell the lady wot them clothes are, as grandfather says, father ought to let you vear." *' A little white hat and a little sprig weskut and little knee cords and little top-boots and a little green coat with little bright buttons and a little welwet collar,^' replied Tony, with great readiness and no stops. '* That's the cos-toom, mum," said Mr, Weller, looking proudly at the housekeeper. " Once make sich a model on him as that, and you'd say he wos a angel I'' Perhaps the housekeeper thought that in such a guise young Tony would look more like the angel at Islington than anything else of that name, or perhaps she was disconcerted to find her previously conceived ideas disturbed, as angels are not commonly represented in top-boots and sprig waistcoats. She coughed doubtfully, but said nothing. '* How many brothers and sisters have you, my dear?'' she asked, after a short silence. *' One brother and no sister at all," replied Tony. " Sam his name is, and so's my father's. Do you know my father ?" " Oh yes, I know him," said the housekeeper, graciously. '* Is my father fond of you ?" pursued Tony.

" I hope so," rejoined the smiling housekeeper. Tony considered a moment, and then said, ** Is my grandfather fond of you ?" This would seem a very easy question to answer, but instead of replying to it, the housekeeper smiled in great confusion, and said that really children did ask such extraordinary questions that it was the most difficult thing in the world to talk to them. Mr. Weller took upon himself to reply that he was very fond of the lady ; but the house- SAM WELLER'S SON. 419 keeper entreating that he would not put such things into the child's head, Mr. Weller shook his own while she looked another way, and seemed to be troubled with a misgiving that captivation was in progress. It was, perhaps, on this account that he changed the subject precipitately. " It's wery wrong in little boys to make game o^ their grandfathers, an't it mum ?'' said Mr. Weller, shaking his head waggishly, until Tony looked at him, when he counter- feited the deepest dejection and sorrow. " Oh very sad I" assented the housekeeper. " But I hope no little boys do that V^ " There is vun young Turk, mum," said Mr. Weller, ''as bavin' seen his grandfather a little overcome vith drink on the occasion of a friend's birthday, goes a reelin' and staggerin' about the house, and makin' believe that he's the old gen'lm'n." " Oh quite shocking !" cried the housekeeper. "Yes, mum," said Mr. Weller, "and previousl}^ to so doin', this here young traitor th^t I'm a speakin' of, pinches his little nose to make it red, and then he gives a hiccup and says, * I'm all right,' he says, 'give us another song 1' Ha,

' ha I Give us another song,' he says. Ha, ha, ha I" In his excessive delight, Mr. Weller was quite unmindful of his moral responsibility, until little Tony kicked up his legs, and laughing immoderately, cried, " That was me, that was ;" whereupon the grandfather, by a great effort, became extremely solemn. "No, Tony, not you," said Mr. Weller. "I hope it warn't you, Tony. It must ha' been that 'ere naughty little chap as comes sometimes out o' the empty watch-box round the corner—that same little chap as wos found standing on the table afore the looking-glass, pretending to shave himself vith a oyster-knife." " He didn't hurt himself, I hope ?" observed the housekeeper. "Not he, mum," said Mr. Weller, proudly; "bless vour —

420 SAM WELLER'S SON. heart, you might trust that 'ere boy vith a steam engine almost, he's such a knowin' young "—but suddenly re- collecting himself and observing that Tony perfectly understood and appreciated the compliment, the old gentleman groaned and observed that *'it wos all wery shockin' "wery." *' Oh he's a bad 'un," said Mr.Weller, "is that 'ere watch- box boy, makin' such a noise and litter in the back -yard, he does, waterin' wooden horses and feedin' of 'em vith grass, and perpetivally spillin' his little brother out of a veelbarrow and frightenin' his mother out of her wits, at the wery moment wen she's expectin' to increase his stock of happiness vith another play-feller—oh he's a bad 'un ! He's even gone so far as to put on a pair o' paper spectacles as he got his father to make for him, and walk up and down the garden vith his hands behind him in imitation of Mr. Pickwick—but Tony don't do sich things, oh no I" "Oh no!" echoed Tony. "He knows better, he does," said Mr. Weller. "He knows that if he wos to come sich games as these nobody wouldn't love him, and that his grandfather in partickler couldn't abear the sight on him ; for vich reasons Tony's always good." " Always good," echoed Tony ; and his grandfather immediately took him on his knee and kissed him, at the same time, with many nods and winks, slyly pointing at the child's head with his thumb, in order that the housekeeper, otherwise deceived by the admirable manner in which he (Mr. Weller) had sustained his character, might not suppose that any other young gentleman was referred to, and might clearly understand that the boy of the watch- box was but an imaginary creation, and a fetch of Tony himself, invented for his improvement and reformation. Not confining himself to a mere verbal description of his grandson's abilities, Mr. Weller, when tea was finished, in- cited him by various gifts of pence and halfpence to smoke SAM WELLER'S SON. 421 imaginary pipes, drink visionary beer from real pots, imitate his grandfather without reserve, and in particular to go through the drunken scene, which threw the old gentleman into extacies, and filled the housekeeper with wonder. Kor was Mr. Weller's pride satisfied with even this display, for when he took his leave he carried the child, like some rare and astonishing curiosity, first to the barber's house and afterwards to the tobacconist's, at each of which places he repeated his performances with the utmost effect to ap- plauding and delighted audiences. It was half-past nine o'clock when Mr. Weller was last seen carrying him home upon his shoulder, and it has been whispered abroad that at that time the infant Tony was rather intoxicated. INTRODUCING BAHNABY RUDGE.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

I WAS musing the other evening upon the characters and incidents with which I had been so long engaged ; wondering how I could ever have looked forward with pleasure to the completion of my tale, and reproaching myself for having done so, as if it were a kind of cruelty to those companions of my solitude whom I had now dismissed, and could never again recall ; when my clock struck ten. Punctual to the hour, my friends appeared. On our last night of meeting, we had finished the story which the reader has just concluded. Our conversation took the same current as the meditations which the entrance of my friends had interrupted, and The Old Curiosity Shop was the staple of our discourse. I may confide to the reader now, that in connection with this little history I had something upon my mind ; something to communicate which I had all along with difficulty repressed ; something I had deemed it, during the progress of the story, necessary to its interest to disguise, and which, now that it was over, I wished, and was yet reluctant to disclose. To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached, is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart. This temper, and the consciousness of having done some violence to it in my narrative, laid me under a restraint which I should have had great difficulty in overcoming, but for a timely remark from Mr. Miles, who, as I hinted in a former paper, is a gentleman of business habits, and of great exactness and propriety in ail his transactions. (422) "

INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE. 423

" I could have wished," my friend objected, *^ that we had been made acquainted with the single gentleman's name. I don't like his withholding his name. It made me look upon him at first with suspicion, and caused me to doubt his moral character, I assure you. I am fully satisfied by this time of his being a worthy creature, but in this respect he certainly would not appear to have acted at all like a man of business." ''My friends," said I drawing to the table, at which they were by this time seated in their usual chairs, ** do you remember that this story bore another title besides that one we have so often heard of late ?" Mr. Miles had his pocket-book out in an instant, and referring to an entry therein, rejoined, *' Certainly. Personal

Adventures of Master Humphrey. Here it is. I made a

note of it at the time. I was about to resume what I had to tell them, when the same Mr. Miles again interrupted me, observing that the narrative originated in a personal adventure of my own, and that was no doubt the reason for its being thus desig- nated. This led me to the point at once.

** You will one and all forgive me," I returned, " if, for the greater convenience of the story, and for its better introduction, that adventure was fictitious. I had my share, indeed—no light or trivial one—in the pages we have read, but it was not the share I feigned to have at first. The younger brother, the single gentleman, the nameless actor in this little drama, stands before you now." It was easy to see they had not expected this disclosure. *' Yes," I pursued, " I can look back upon my part in it with a calm, half smiling pity for myself as for some other

man. But I am he, indeed ; and now the chief sorrows of my life are yours." I need not say what true gratification I derived from the syaipathy and kindness with which this acknowledgment ;

424 INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE.

was received ; nor how often it had risen to my lips before nor how difficult I had found it—how impossible, when I came to those passages which touched me most, and most nearly concerned me—to sustain the character I had assumed. It is enough to say that I replaced in the clock case the record of so many trials —sorrowfully, it is true, but with a softened sorrow which was almost pleasure ; and felt that in living through the past again, and communicating to others the lesson it had helped to teach me, I had been a happier man. We lingered so long over the leaves from which I had read, that as I consigned them to their former resting-place, the hands of my trusty clock pointed to twelve, and there came towards us upon the wind the voice of the deep and distant bell of St. Paul's as it struck the hour of midnight. "This,'- said I returning with a manuscript I had taken, at the moment, from the same repository, "to be opened to such music, should be a tale where London's face by night is darkly seen, and where some deed of such a time as this is dimly shadowed out. Which of us here has seen the working of that great machine whose voice has just now ceased ?" Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack and my deaf friend were in the minority.

I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help telling them of the fancy I had had about it. I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the money-changers who sit within the Temple; and falling, after a few turns up and down, into the quiet train of thought which such a place awakens, paced the echoing stones like some old monk whose present world lay all within its walls. As I looked afar up into the lofty dome, I could not help wondering what were his reflections whose genius reared that mighty pile, when, the last small wedge of timber fixed, the last nail driven into its home for many centuries, the clang of hammers, and the hum of busy voices gone, and the Great INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE. 425

Silence whole years of noise had helped to make, reigning undisturbed around, he mused as I did now upon his work, and lost himself amid its vast extent. I could not quite determine whether the contemplation of it would impress

him with a sense of greatness or of insigniiScance ; but when

I remembered how long a time it had taken to erect, in how short a space it might be traversed even to its remotest parts, for how brief a term he, or any of those who cared to bear his name, would live to see it or know of its existence, I imagined him far more melancholy than proud, and looking with great regret upon his labor done. With these thoughts in my mind, I began to ascend, almost unconsciously, the flight of steps leading to the several wonders of the building, and found myself before a barrier where another money- taker sat, who demanded which among them I would choose to see. There were the stone-gallery, he said, and the whispering gallery, the geometrical staircase, the room of models, the clock—the clock being quite in my way, I stopped him there, and chose that sight from all the rest. I groped my way into the Turret which it occupies, and saw before me, in a kind of loft, what seemed to be a great, old, oaken press with folding doors. These being thrown back by the attendant (who was sleeping when I came upon him, and looked a drowsy fellow, as though his close companionship with Time had made him quite indifferent to it,) disclosed a complicated crowd of wheels and chains in iron and brass—great, sturdy, rattling engines—suggestive of breaking a finger put in here or there, and grinding the bone

to powder—and these were the Clock I Its very pulse, if I may use the word, was like no other clock. It did not mark the flight of every moment with a gentle second stroke

as though it would check old Time, and have him stay his

pace in pity, but measured it with one sledge-hammer beat,

as if its business were to crush the seconds as they came trooping on, and remorselessly to olear a path before the Day of Judgment. —

426 INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE.

I sat down opposite to it, and hearing its regular and never-changing voice, that one deep constant note, upper- most amongst all the noise and clatter in the streets below, marking that, let the tumult rise or fall, go on or stop—let it be night or noon, to-morrow or to-day, this year or next, it still performed its functions with the same dull constancy, and regulated the progress of the life around, the fancy came upon me that this was London's Heart, and that when it should cease to beat, the City would be no more. It is night. Calm and unmoved amidst the scenes that darkness favors, the great heart of London throbs in its Giant breast. Wealth and beggary, vice and virtue, guilt and innocence, repletion and the direst hunger, all treading on each other and crowding together, are gathered round it. Draw but a little circle above the clustering house-tops, and you shall have within its space everything, with its opposite extreme and contradiction, close beside. Where yonder feeble light is shining, a man is but this moment dead. The taper at a few yards' distance, is seen by eyes that have this instant opened on the world. There are two houses separated by but an inch or two of wall. In one there are quiet minds at rest; in the other, a waking conscience that one might think would trouble the very air. In that close corner where the roofs shrink down and cower together as if to hide their secrets from the handsome street hard by, there are such dark crimes, such miseries and horrors, as could be hardly told in whispers. In the handsome street, there are folks asleep who have dwelt there all their lives, and have no more knowledge of these things than if they had never been, or were transacted at the remotest limits of the world, —who, if they were hinted at, would shake their heads, look wise, and frown, and say they were impossible, and out of Nature as if all great towns were not. Does not this Heart of Lon- don, that nothing moves, nor stops, nor quickens—that goes on the same let what will be done— does it not express the cilj'fci character well! INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE. 427

The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and noise of life. Those who have spent the night on door-steps and cold stones, crawl off to beg ; they who have slept in beds, come forth to their occupation, too, and business is astir. The fog of sleep rolls slowly off, and London shines awake. The streets are filled with carriages, and people gayly clad. The jails are full, too, to the throat, nor have the workhouses or hospitals much room to spare. The courts of law are crowded. Taverns have their regular fre- quenters by this time, and every mart of traffic has its throng. Each of these places is a world and has its own inhabitants ; each is distinct from, and almost unconscious of the existence of any other. There are some few people well to do, who remember to have heard it said, that num- bers of men and w^omen —thousands, they think it was— get up in London every day, unknowing where to lay their heads at night ; and that there are quarters of the town where misery and famine always are. They don't believe it quite

—there may be some truth in it, but it is exaggerated of course. So, each of these thousand worlds goes on, intent upon itself, until night comes again — first with its lights and pleasures, and its cheerful streets; then with its guilt and darkness.

Heart of London, there is a moral in thy every stroke I as I look on at thy indomitable working, which neither death, nor press of life, nor grief, nor gladness out of doors will influence one jot, I seem to hear a voice within thee which sinks into my heart, bidding me, as I elbow my way among the crowd, have some thought for the meanest wretch that passes, and, being a man, to turn away with scorn and pride from none that bear the human shape. I am by no means sure that I might not have been tempted to enlarge upon the subject, had not the papers that lay before me on the table, been a silent reproach for even this digression. I took them up agayi when I had got thus far, and seriously prepared to read. 428 INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE.

The handwriting was strange to me, for the manuscript had been fairly copied. As it is against our rules, in such a case, to inquire into the authorship nntil the reading is concluded, I could only glance at the different faces around me in search of some expression which should betray the writer. Whoever he might be, he was prepared for this and gave no sign for my enlightenment. I had the jjapers in my hand, when my deaf friend interposed with a suggestion. ** It has occurred to me," he said, "bearing in mind your sequel to the tale we have finished, that if such of us as have any thing to relate of our own lives could interweave it with our contribution to the Clock, it would be well to do so. This need be no restraint upon us, either as to time, or place or incident, since any real passage of this kind may be surrounded by fictitious circumstances, and represented by fictitious characters. What if we make this an article of agreement among ourselves ?'' The proposition was cordially received, but the diflftculty appeared to be that here was a long story written before we had thought of it.

"Unless," said I, "it should have happened that the writer of this tale—which is not impossible, for men are apt to do so when they write—has actually mingled with it something of his own endurance and experience." Nobody spoke, but I thought I detected in one quarter that this was really the case. " If I have no assurance to the contrary," I added, therefore, " I shall take it for granted that he has done so, and that even these papers come within our new agreement Everybody being mute, we hold that understanding, if you please." And here I was about to begin again, when Jack informed us softly, that during the progress of our last narrative, Mr. Weller's Watch had adjourned its sittings from the kitchen, and regularly met outside our door, where he had no doubt —

INTRODUCING BARNABY RUDGE. 429 that august body would be found at the present moment. As this was for the convenience of listening to our stories, he submitted that they might be suffered to come in, and hear them more pleasantly. To this we one and all yielded a ready assent, and the l^arty being discovered, as Jack had supposed, and invited to walk in, entered (though not without great confusion at having been detected,) and were accommodated with chairs at a little distance.

Then, the lamp being trimmed, the fire well-stirred and burning brightlj^ the hearth clean swept, the curtains closely drawn, the clock wound up, we entered on our new story Barnaby Kudqe. MIDNIGHT REVERIES.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

It is again midnight. My fire burns cheerfully ; the room is filled with my old friend's sober voice ; and I am left to muse upon the story we have just now finished. It makes me smile, at such a time at this, to think if there were any one to see me sitting in my easy chair, my gray head hanging down, my eyes bent thoughtfully upon the glowing embers, and my crutch—emblem of my helplessness —lying upon the hearth at my feet, how solitary I should seem. Yet though I am the sole tenant of this chimney- corner, though I am childless and old, I have no sense of loneliness at this hour ; but am the centre of a silent group whose company I love. Thus, even age and weakness have their consolations.

If I were a younger man ; if I were more active ; more strongly bound and tied to life; these visionary friends would shun me, or I should desire to fly from them. Being what I am, I can court their society, and delight in it ; and pass whole hours in picturing to myself the shadows that perchance flock every night into this chamber, and in imagining with pleasure what kind of interest they have in the" frail, feeble mortal, who is its sole inhabitant. All the friends I have ever lost I find again among these visitors. I love to fancy their spirits hovering about me, feeling still some earthly kindness for their old companion, and watching his decay. " He is weaker, he declines apace, he draws nearer and nearer to us, and will soon be conscious of our existence." What is there to alarm me in this ? It is encouragement and hope. These thoughts have never crowded on me half so fast as (430) ;

MIDNIGHT REVERT ES. 431 tliey have done to-night. Faces I had long forgotten have become familiar to me once again ; traits I had endeavored to recall for years, have come before me in an instant nothing is changed but me : and even I can be my former self at will. Raising my eyes but now to the face of my old clock, I remember, quite involuntarily, the veneration, not unmixed with a sort of childish awe, with which I used to sit and watch it as it ticked unheeded in a dark staircase corner. I recollect looking more grave and steady when I met its dusty face, as if, having that strange kind of life within it, and being free from all excess of vulgar appetite, and warning all the house by night and day, it were a sage. How often have I listened to it as it told the beads of time, and wondered at its constancy I How often watched it slowly pointing round the dial, and, while I panted for the eagerly expected hour to come, admired, despite myself, its steadiness of purpose and lofty freedom from all human strife, impatience, and desire I

I thought it cruel once. It was very hard of heart, to my

mind, I remember. It was an old servant, even then ; and

I felt as though it ought to show some sorrow ; as though it wanted sympathy with us in our distress, and were a dull, heartless, mercenary creature. Ah ! how soon I learnt to know that in its ceaseless going on, and in its being checked or stayed by nothings lay its greatest kindness, and the only balm for grief and wounded peace of mind I To-night, to-night, when this tranquillity and calm are on ray spirits, and memory presents so many shifting scenes before me, I take my quiet stand at will by many a fire that has been long extinguished, and mingle with the cheerful group that cluster round it. If I could be sorrowful in such a mood, I should grow sad to think what a poor blot I was upon their youth and beauty once, and now how few remain to put me to the blush; I should grow sad to think that such among them as I sometimes meet with in my 432 MIDHIGHT HEYERTES.

daily walks, are scarcely less infirm than I ; that time has brought us to a level; and that all distinctions fade and vanish as we take our trembling steps towards the grave. But memory was given us for better purposes than this, and mine is not a torment, but a source of pleasure. To muse upon the gayety and 3'outh I have known, suggests to me glad scenes of harmless mirth that may be passing now. From contemplating them apart, I soon become an actor in these little dramas ; and humoring my fancy, lose myself among the beings it invokes. When my fire is bright and high, and a warm blush mantles in the walls and ceiling of this ancient room ; when my clock makes cheerful music, like one of those chirping insects who delight in the warm hearth, and are sometimes, b}^ a good superstition, looked upon as the harbingers of fortune and plenty to that household in whose mercies they put their humble trust; when everything is in a ruddy, genial glow, and there are voices in the crackling flame, and smiles in its flashing light ; other smiles and other voices congregate around me, invading, with their pleasant harmony, the silence of the time. For then a knot of youthful creatures gather round my fireside, and the room reechoes to their merry voices. My solitary chair no longer holds its ample place before the fire, but is wheeled into a smaller corner, to leave more room for the broad circle formed about the cheerful hearth. I have sons, and daughters, and grandchildren ; and we are assembled on some occasion of rejoicing common to us all. It is a birthday, perhaps, or perhaps it may be Christmas time ; but be it what it may, there is rare holiday among us ; we are full of glee.

In the chimney-corner, opposite myself, sits one who has grown old beside me. is She changed, of course ; much

changed ; and yet I recognize the girl even in that gray hair and wrinkled brow. Glancing from the laughing child who half hides in her ample skirts, and half peeps out,— and from MIDNIGHT REVERIES. 433

her to the little matron of twelve years old, who sits so womanly and so demure at no great distance from me,—and from her again, to a fair girl in the full bloom of early womanhood, the centre of the group, who has glanced more than once towards the opening door, and by whom the children, whispering and tittering among themselves, will leave a vacant chair, although she bids them not,—I see her image thrice repeated, and feel how long it is before one form and set of features wholly pass away, if ever, from among the living. While I am dwelling upon this, and tracing out the gradual change from infancy to youth, from youth to perfect growth, from that to age ; and thinking, with an old man's pride, that she is comely yet ; I feel a slight, thin hand upon my arm, and, looking down, see seated at my feet a crippled boy, —a gentle, patient child,—whose aspect I know well. He rests upon a little crutch,—I know it too, —and leaning on it as he climbs my footstool, whispers in my ear, *' I am hardly one of these, dear grandfather, although I love them dearly. They are very kind to me, but you will be kinder still, I know." I have my hand upon his neck, and stoop to kiss him, when my clock strikes, my chair is in its old spot, and I am alone. What if I be ? What if this fireside be tenantless, save for the presence of one weak old man I From my house-top I can look upon a hundred homes, in every one af which these social companions are matters of reality. In my daily walks I pass a thousand men whose cares are all forgotten, whose labors are made light, whose dull routine of work from day to day is cheered and brightened by their glimpses of domestic joy at home. Amid the struggles of this struggling town what cheerful sacrifices are made ; what toil endured with readiness; what patience shown and fortitude displayed for the mere sake of home and its affections 1 Let me thank Heaven that I can people my fireside with shadows such as these ; with shadows of bright objects that exist in crowds about me ; and let me say, *'I am alone no more." I never was less so—T write it with a grateful heart—than .|;M MIDKIGHT REVERIES.

I am to-night. Recolleetions of the past and visions of the present come to bear me company ; the meanest man to whom 1 have ever given alms appears to add his mite of peace and comfort to my stock ; and whenever the fire within me shall grow cold, to light my path upon this earth no more, I pray that it may be at such an hour as this^ and when I love the warld as well as I do uow. MASTER HUMPHREY'S DEATH.

THE DEAF GENTLEMAN PROM HIS OWN APARTMENT.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

Our dear friend laid down his pen at the end of the foregoing paragraph, to take it up no more. I little thought ever to employ mine upon so sorrowful a task as that which he has left me, and to which I now devote it. As he did not appear among us at his usual hour next morning, we knocked gently at his door. No answer being given,

it was softly opened ; and then, to our surprise, we saw him seated before the ashes of his fire, with a little table I was accustomed to set at his elbow when I left him for the night, at a short distance from him, as though he had pushed it away with the idea of rising and retiring to his bed. His crutch and footstool lay at his feet as usual, and he was dressed in his chamber-gown, which he had put on before I left him. He was reclining in his chair, in his accustomed posture, with his face towards the fire, and seemed absorbed in meditation, —indeed, at first, we almost hoped he was. Going up to him, we found him dead. I have often, very often, seen him sleeping, and always peacefully, but I never saw him look so calm and tranquil. His face wore a serene, benign expression, which had impressed me very strongly when we last shook hands ; not that he had ever any other look, God knows ; but there was something in this so very spiritual, so strangely and indefinably allied to youth, although his head was gray and venerable, that it was new even in him. It came upon me all at once when on some slight pretense he called me back upon the previous night to take me by the hand again, and once more say, " God bless you." 436 MASTER HUMPHREY'S DEATH.

A bell-rope hung within his reach, but he had not moved

towards it, nor had he stirred, we all agreed, except, as I have said, to push away his table, which he could have done, and no doubt did, with a very slight motion of his hand. He had relapsed for a moment into his late train of meditation, and, with a thoughtful smile upon his face, had died.

I had long known it to be his wish that whenever this event should come to pass we might be all assembled in the house. I therefore lost no time in sending for Mr. Pickwick and for Mr. Miles, both of whom arrived before the messenger's return.

It is not my purpose to dilate upon the sorrow and affectionate emotions of which I was at once the witness and the sharer. But I may say, of the humbler mourners, that his faith-

ful housekeeper was fairly heart-broken ; that the poor barber

would not be comforted ; and that I shall respect the homely truth and warmth of heart of Mr. Weller and his son to the

last moment of my life. " And the sweet old creetur, sir," said the elder Mr. Wel- ler to me in the afternoon, " has bolted. Him as had no wice, and was so free from temper that a infant might ha^ drove him,

has been took at last with that 'ere unawoidable fit o' staggers

as we all must come to, and gone off his feed forever I I see him," said the old gentleman, with a moisture in his eye,

which could not be mistaken,— *' I see him gettin', every journey, more and more groggy; I says to Samivel, 'My boy I the Grey's a goin' at the knees ;» and now my predilictions is fatally werified, and him as I could never do enough to serve or show my likin' for, is up the great uniwersal spout o' natur'." I was not the less sensible of the old man's attachment be-

cause be expressed it in his peculiar manner. Indeed, I can truly assert of both him and his son, that notwithstanding the extraordinary dialogues they held together, and the strange commentaries and corrections with which each of them illus- tiated the other's speech, I do not think it possible to exceed

the sincerity of their regret j and that I am sure their thought- —

MASTER HUMPHREY'S DEATH. 43t fnlness and anxiety in anticipating the discharge of many little offices of sympathy, would have done honor to the most delicate-minded persons. Our friend had frequently told us that his will would be found in a box in the Clock-case, the key of which was in his writing-desk. As he had told us also that he desired it to be opened immediately after his death, whenever that should happen, we met together that night for the fulfillment of his request.

We found it where he had told us, wrapped in a sealed paper, and with it a codicil of recent date, in which he named Mr. Miles and Mr. Pickwick his executors—as having no need of any greater benefit from his estate, than a generous token (which he bequethed to them) of his friendship and remembrance. After pointing out the spot in which he wished his ashes to repose, he gave to ''his dear old friend," Jack Redburn and myself, his house, his books, his furniture—in short, all that his house contained ; and with this legacy more ample means of maintaining it in his present state than we, with our habits and at our terms of life, can ever exhaust. Besides these gifts, he left to us, in trust, an annual sum of no insignificant amount, to be distributed in charity among his accustomed pensioners they are a long list—and such other claimants on his bounty as might, from time to time, present themselves. And as true charity not only covers a multitude of sins, but includes a multitude of virtues, such as forgiveness, liberal construction, gentleness and mercy to the faults of others, and the remembrance of our own imperfections and advantages, he bade us not inquire too closely into the venial errors of the poor, but finding that they were poor, first to relieve and then endeavor—at an advantage—to reclaim them. To the housekeeper he left an annuity, sufficient for her comfortable maintenance and support through life. For the barber, who had attended him many years, he made a similar provision. And I may make two remarks in this place : first, 438 MASTER HUMPHREY'S DEATH.

that I think this pair are very likely to club their means together and make a match of it; and secondly, that I think my friend had this result in his mind, for I have heard hira say, more than once, that he could not concur with the gener- ality of mankind in censuring equal marriages made in later life, since there were many cases in which such unions could not fail to be a wise and rational source of happiness to both parties.

The elder Mr. Weller is so far from viewing this prospect with any feelings of jealousy, that he appears to be very much

relieved by its contemplation ; and his son, if I am not misr taken, participates in this feeling. We are all of opinion,

however, that the old gentleman's danger, even at its crisis, was very slight, and that he merely labored under one of those transitory weaknesses to which persons of his temperament are now and then liable, and which becomes less and less alarming at every return, until they wholly subside. I have no doubt he will remain a jolly old widower for the rest of his

life, as he has already inquired of me, with much gravity, whether a writ of habeas corpus would enable him to settle

his property upon Tony beyond the possibility of recall ; and has, in my presence, conjured his son, with tears in his eyes, that in the event of his ever becoming amorous again, he will

put him in a straight-waistcoat until the fit is passed, and dis-

tinctly inform the lady that his property is ''made over."

Although I have very little doubt that Sam would dutifully comply with these injunctions in a case of extreme necessity, and that he would do so with perfect composure and coolness, I do not apprehend things will ever come to that pass, as the old gentleman seems perfectly happy in the society of his son, his pretty daughter-in-law, and his grandchildren, and has solemnly

announced his determination to " take arter the old un in all

respects ;" from which I infer that it is his intention to regulate his conduct by the model of Mr. Pickwick, who will certainly set him the example of a single life I have diverged for a moment from the subject with which I ;

MASTER HUMPHREY'S DEATH. 45^

set out, for I know that my friend was interested in these little matters, and I have a natural tendency to linger upon any topic that occupied his thoughts or gave him pleasure and amusement. Hisremainingwishesare very briefly told. He desired that we would make him the frequent subject of our conversa-

tion ; at the same time, that we would never speak of him with an air of gloom or restraint, but frankly, and as one whom we still loved and hoped to meet again. He trusted that the old

house would wear no aspect of mourning, bul that it would be

lively and cheerful ; and that we would not remove or cover

up his picture, which hangs in our dining-room, but make it our companion as he had been. His own room, our place of

meeting, remains, at his desire, in its accustomed state ; our

seats are placed about the table as of old ; his easy chair, his desk, his crutch, his footstool, hold their accustomed places, and the clock stands in its familiar corner. We go into the

chamber at stated times to see that all is as it should be, and to take care that the light and air are not shut out, for on that

point he expressed a strong solicitude. But it was his fancy

that the apartment should not be inhabited ; that it should be religiously preserved in this condition, and that the voice of his old companion should be heard no more. My own history may be summed up in very few words and even those I should have spared the reader but for my friend^s allusion to me some time since. I have no deeper sorrow than the loss of a child—an only daughter, who is living, and who fled from her father's house but a few weeks before our friend and I first met. I had never spoken of this even to him, because I have always loved her, and I could not bear to tell him of her error until I could tell him also of her sorrow and regret. Happily I was enabled to do so some time ago. And it will not be long, with Heaven's leave, before she is restored to me; before I find in her and her husband the support of my declining years.

For my pipe, it is an old relic of home, a thing of no great worth, a poor trifle, but sacred to me for her sake. 440 MASTER HU3IPHKEY'S DEATH,

Thus, since the death of our venerable friend, Jack Redburn and I have been the sole tenants of the old house ; and, day by day, have lounged together in his favorite walks. Mindful of his injunctions, we have long been able to speak of hira with ease and cheerfulness, and to remember him as he would be remembered. From certain allusions which Jack has dropped, to his having been deserted and cast off in early life, I am inclined to believe that some passages of his youth may possibly be shadowed out in the history of Mr. Chester and his son, but seeing that he avoids the subject, I have not pursued it

My task is done. The chamber in which we have whiled away so many hours, not, I hope, without some pleasure and some profit, is deserted ; our happy hour of meeting strikes

no more ; the chimney-corner has grown cold ; and Mastee Humphrey's Clock has stopped forever.

THE END.