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SATURDAY, JULY 4, 1874

not in indecorous haste, certainly, but soon A NARROW ESCAPE. enough to show that he is her own property BT m xuTHOs or ' nnitra nomrs,' '90 ivaxsxtzyi,' &c. &c. still, and that he has not fallen a prey to the wUes o£ that "artful girl." CHAPTER XIV. GENTLE WOEDS In spite of her inability to frame a strong " ' SOME days mnst be dark and dreary,' actof accusation against him. May expresses we are told on the incontrovertible autho­ her resentmisnt in every look and gesture. rity of Longfellow, but he wouldn't have Nevertheless, fnll of resentment as she is, rhymed about the fact so resignedly she claims ther pound of flesh, and will if he had tried a few such days with have him engage himself to sit with her May," I'rank Forest says to himself, one this morning, to drive with her mother morning, when ho finds himself sitting and herself' in the afternoon, and to dine alone with his betrothed. with them at night. Crushed and tamed A light drizzling rain is falling, the stm by a consciousness of the decrepit way in is not making the faintest effort to appear, which he has broken down, Frank yields a and altogether there is that uncomfortable meek assent to these plans, and sits with unseasonableness in the atmosphere, which her, his heart heavy, his mind empty, and his surely depresses the man, woman, or child " brain softening," he almost fancies, from who is compelled to pass the hours in a prolonged contemplation of May's white idleness. Unhappily for himself, Frank expressionless hands, as they move about has been betrayed into pledging himself listlessly, engaged in the production of so to pass them. It is the day after his some new Is^ce stitches. return from Dunster, and in brave but It is no part of Miss Constable's scheme blind obedience to the dictates of duty, to try and beguile the time for him. He he has put himself into the power of has erred in her estimation, and he May at a comparatively early hour of the must be punished by a show of her day. displeasure. As the captive of her bow A sense of her wrongs is paramount in and spear he shall remain close to her, May's mind, and to the best of her ability but she feels vaguely that it is only just she is making it very manifest in her to let him Jfcee that she doesn't want his manner. Unfortunately for her, she has society. ~ no definite accusation to bring against her Frank has tried many topics ia turns, recreant lover. He has been away from and each one has turned to ashes on his her nearly a month, but he avows that he lips, by reason of the terseness—not to has been away on family business, and she say snappish conciseness—of May's re­ cannot gainsay him. During his absence joinders. He has spoken of his work and he has written to her regularly—that is to his sisters, and his friend BeUairs, and to say, he has always answered her letters, all of these subjects May haS shown in­ and though his epistles have not been difference. He has maligned the weather charged with ardent expressions of affec­ and the daily papers, and " everything" tion, they have been sensible and kind—a that is " going on," and May has consist­ little too sensible, perhaps. Lastly, he has ently professed herself pleased and satisfied come to see her shortly after his return. with them all. He has even for the sake I u • •• '^1 I i^p—a^——• 5E !•• I'l ••! • •• ••• • 1 292 266 [July 4,1874.] ALL THE TEAB, BOUND.

of the eiperiment attempted to caress ever dislikes the prospect of connubial May into a milder mood, and May has bliss that is opening before him, as he pettishly repulsed his not very ardent looks at her. demonstration. Under these circnmstences " I never supposed that you were de­ it is not wonderful that he should feel pendent on me entirely for afEection and considerably depressed, by the knowledge attention, May," he says, softly, for he is a that he has to spend nearly the whole of very good-natured fellow, and lie really the day in her society. pities the girl for the pangs he nnavoid. After a silence that has lasted abont ably inflicte upon her. Mentally, he adds, three minutes, May looks up at him with "It would be a bad look-out for yoa if a heightened colour, and a slight waving you were, poor little thing, for I have of the head that betokens anger, and very little of either to bestow upon yon." says, " I am sure I never did a smgle thuw " Tou must have been a pleasant com­ to try and make you propose to me," May panion for your uncle and cousin, if you goes on tearfully, " and why you did it I entertained them by your conversation as can't teU, for you're showing plahJy brilliantly aa yon are entertoining me this enough that you don't want me now • I morning." wish you'd say what you do want, aid The idea of May being "entertained" make an end of it." by any conversation, however brilliant, She winds up her sentence with a jerk. tickles him considerably, consequently, he She is evidently in the very worst and further annoys his already outraged liege weakest stege of feminine fury, and Frank lady, by laughing, as he replies, sees how unbecoming it all is, although he " Ton won't throw the ball back, May; cannot blind himself to the fact of its it's too mnch trouble for me to run after having some foundation. it eaoh time." "I think the leas one wrangles the " Too much trouble to exert yourself better," he says, trying to speak cahnly; the least bit in the world for my entertein- " hard words break no bones, tho old saw ment; oh I Frank! what a prospect for teUs us, bnt they live in the memory, and us; when we are married we shall pro­ they're not pleasant companions. I don't bably have to spend many, many such want to be tempted into saying anytiung days as this " impatient or rude to you. May, dear. I " Heaven forbid!" he intcrmpte. " My should resent it on myself, for your sake dear child, why conjure up such an by-and-by, if I could ever forget myself appalling possibility ? There is always the so far—be a little lenient, a htSe patient chance of a wet day certeinly, bnt you vrith me." can't often be so thoroughly out of gear He makes his request in good fai^ as yon are to-day." apparently. Though, as a student of "Tou mean that I am exacting and human nature, he must have a perception ill-tempered ? " she asks in a subdued, but of the fact that love has as little to do very visible fury. vrith leniency as passion has with either "I mean that you are exacting—all nice patience or prudence. women are," he says, hurriedly, hoping to "I think mamma and you had better avert the storm, "every lady would be have a telk," the girl says, speaking almost queen for life, you know." hystericallyin her futile rage; "it'sdread- "Tou meant more than that, because f nl to me to have to say things to a person that wouldn't be being ' out of gear' in who doesn't feel what I say a bit " your estimation," she says, her voice "My dear May," he interrupts, philoso­ getting shriller with each word she phically and hopefully, " why, if yon feel utters. " It's all very well for you that, why say them f Believe me, I shonld to try and make it smooth vrith me, by be happier if you never uttered hard words repeating, parrot-like, a compliment that to me, and I am sure that yon wonld he you have probably often addressed to better pleased with yourself if yon conld your cousin: but I'm not so easily maintain a golden silence; all this comes deceived as yon seem to think, Frank, and to nothing." I am not so entirely dependent on you for He does not mean to goad the girl, he affection and attention, as you seem to only wants to air his vain, selfish theory of suppose." keeping the bloom on his own life while She pauses, ont of breath, with indig­ he may. He is one of the apostles of the nation and jealousy, and Prank more than creed which declares that it is right and Oharles Dickens.] A NARROW ESCAPE. [July 4k 1874.1 26 7 well to give the greatest happiness to the " Only tell me what way you want to go greatest number. The " individual " may on in, and it shall be so," he laughs ont. suffer! That is nothing to Frank Forest; " I'm prepared for anything, the best or he wishes to avert pain and confusion from the worst; you'll find me most acquiescent. the families of Forest and Constable, and May, only—make up your mind as to —from himself. May will possibly be what you want before you begin." teased, and Kate probably tortured to "Oh! I wiU call mamma," May says, death ; but—what matter? Appearances in a voice that is broken by a sob of very will be preserved, and his own path genuine and justifiable anger, and with smoothed. this she goes oat of the room, with tears " All this comes to nothing," she echoes, rolling down her cheeks. rising up and throwing off the semblance Presently Mrs. Constable advances to of being industrious and engrossed with the attack, quite after the manner of a her lace-work; " how painfully true! mother on the stage. That is to say she You have no more feeling for what I chatters volubly as she comes through the suffer than if you were a block of ice. I hall to some person or persons unseen, and would rather never see you again than go her voice is raised to a very high pitch, on as I have gone on'for the last month or indeed, as she enters the room. Frank two; my life has been a misery to me feels at once that his interview with ever siace your cousin came up." May has been child's-play compared " Do leave my cousia out of the ques­ to that which is to come with May's tion," he says, as she pauses to wipe away mother. her fast-falling tears. " My poor cousin " This is most painful. Prank," she com­ has no great reason to bless the day she mences, the instant she gets into the room. came among us," he adds softly. "I have always said that I never would " Then you have been making love to interfere between my children and their her," May cries; " your own words con­ husbands and wives, but " demn you, Frank, and justify me in all I " I not being May's husband yet, you have said. It's mean of you as well as think you may interfere between us," he cruel to go on keeping up appearances laughs out. "My dear Mrs. Constable, with me while you're lavishing your love this is a mere tempest in a tea-cup ; May on her; what shall I gain by being your has created an ideal wrong and is worry­ wife to compensate me for the knowledge ing herself about it; but I can assure you I have now that you don't care for me, that she must be convinced presently that that you only care for " she has no just cause for annoyance." "Don't say that," he says, sternly; ("No just cause that she knows of, " don't soil your lips by the utterance of poor little thing,") he hae the grace to add an insult that I could never forgive ; you this clause mentally. must think badly of me, indeed, if you " I don't know about that," Mrs. Con­ think that it's only your money I want," stable replies ; " it's all very weU for you he goes on in a contradictory spirit, to come back to May now and take every* wording the very accusation against him­ thing for granted as if you had never gone self which he had entreated her not to away, and never even condescended to make. explain why you went away; but May's " I thought we were going to have such proper pride is hurt as well as her feelings. a happy long day together," May sobs, I'm thankful to say that no child of mine supinely, in response; " and it's turning is deficient in proper pride. She has no ont so miserable, and I can't help it." desire to thrust herself upon you; but " You broached the disagreeable topic," really while you retain her promise and he says, and he doesn't attempt to dry her keep up the pretence of being engaged to teai-s. her, things must be different. I caimot " 0, Frank, how could I help it; I can't see my child suffer." let things go on as they—are—going; it Prank's manly spirit revolts at aU this, wouldn't be just to myself to let myself be and his manly brain whirls round as he treated as ii I were a nonentity. You contemplates the abyss of servitude into must speak to mamma ; I won't go on in which they are striving to drag him. this way." " May tarings all her sufferings on her­ He drives her nearly mad at this juncture self," he says, coolly, "I am' not respon­ by casting himself back in his chair in sible for the imaginary foes to her peace serio-comic dismay. whom she conjures up, and I am no Don =r -^^ ^ 4 [July 4,1874.] ALL THB TBAB BOUND. lOonducted bv

Quixote, to go out and do battle against frame a fitting reply to the half prsy, windmilis. H May—or you for her—are half condemnation, which Mrs. Const,ii not satisfied vrith my line of conduct, has worded, the door is opened impetu. we had better fairly understand each ously, and the married sister, Mrs. Grange, other, and bring the affair to a conclu­ is in their midst. sion." Mrs. Grange has immense natural ad- " Do you mean, break off the engage­ vanteges on her side in every contest into ment I " Mrs. Consteble cries, lifting her which she ventures against the male sex. hands np in horror. "No, no, Mr. Porest; She is gifted with commanding height, a I have put up with much from you, but if shrill voice, and a cuttingly distinct tho engagement is to be broken off, it articulation. She can talk down any must be my child who does it. Do you human being who opposes her, and thia know what yon are under-rating, and vrithout saying anything very particnkr throwing aside? Why, May, with her or to the point that may be iu question. beauty and her 'wealfii, might, as her Under all circumstances she loves to uncle says, and indeed all her friends say, direct the storm, and if there is no special command a coronet." storm to direct, she loves to create one. Frank suppresses a groan, he also She feels now that sbe has come in most suppresses the words, " Let her command opportunely, and charges straight at her it forthwith, and give me my order of victim in a gallant way, that makes her release," and aloud he says, mother blink with admiration for her " Don't misteke me, Mrs. Consteble; it daughter's prowess. rests entirely vrith May; I shall never " Well, Frank," she commences, sweep­ desire to break my engagement vrith May, ing her draperies around and about hnn, whatever I may be, I am a fellow who in an aggressive manner. "I can only keeps his word, and holds a promise to be tell you, that if you had me to deal with, a very ssicred thing." instead of May, yon would find a great He says all this in absolute sincerity. difference: she has told me a word—only He means it all as thoroughly at the time, a word, for I must say May is getting as if he had not been on the brink of most abominably close, mamma—and I breaking his promise a dozen times. In must ask you, if you imagine for a mo­ fact, Frank's theories are admirable, ment that her fainily can permit this sort and he has a habit of airing them, in of thing to go on; it I were in ilay's a way that deludes himself into the place, instead of crying my eyes out as belief that he pnts them into practice she is doing now, I should bid yon go frequently. back to your cousin, about whom I have " I am sure I don't know what to do," just heard some very strange things!" ' Mrs. Consteble says, in perplexity. "Tou're not called upon to do any­ CHAPTEE XV. COMPLICATED. thing," he says, cheerily, in the vain belief THE little impromptu supper of last that the steeam of teUc is arrested in its night, at which not one of the three could flow, and that there is nothing more say anything in secret to another, has disagreeable going to be said. paved the way to a friendly and apparently "But I don't know what to advise," easy and pleasant intercourse between the the harassed mother continues; " it's all trio who find themselves together nnpre- very well for you to be cool and in­ meditatedly at Lynmouth. The two ladies different about it, bnt if you were May's do not evince the faintest surprise, when mother, you would feel very differenldy, Bellairs calls in this morning, before they very differently indeed. When I see that have finished breakfast, to ask them if they dear girl wretched about some trouble will go with him to the darkly, sweetly, that I can't remove from her, do you solitary haunt of the red deer, immor­ think it unnatural that I should speak to talised now by the clever author who has you, and blame you too, Frank ? Though vitalised the old robber story, and mado I'm as fond of you as if you were my son "the Doon," a household name in tiie already, and I'm sure a break would be a land. very terrible thing to us all." In truth, he is delighted to see the She stops, overcome by emotion, and friendship and intimacy which seems to Frank feels painfully low, and quite as if exist between these two women. He he were united in holy matrimony to the knows a goodly portion of tho sad truth whole family already. Before he can concerning poor Mrs. Angerstein. He is =r 4a Charles Diokens.] A NARROW ESCAPE. [July 4,1874.] 269 ready and willing to make Kate Mervyn as she finds herself once more by the side his wife to-morrow if only he can win her. of the man who strove to serve her so At the same time, he does not shrink from wisely and well in the old days ; and, out the thought of the comradeship which has of consideration for him, she tries hard to sprung up between the two, but is, on the think and speak freely and affectionately contrary, desirous of advancing it in any of her husband, and of the probability of way that he possibly can without seeming his joining them to-night. effusive. Por he knows that while Cissy "It's been rather hard on him, poor can never possibly do Kate any harm, fellow, for the last fortnight," she says. Kate will probably do Cissy the great " It's his greatest relaxation, when Ke good of restoring the latter's confidence comes in from his rounds, to play with in the heaven-born tenderness of her his children, and I have been heartless fellow-creatures. enough not only to come away myself, That he gets a little misunderstood by but to bring the children with me. one of these women is only natural. Kate, In every letter he tells "me how wretched the better and brighter of the two as she is, he is without us; that's a good tri­ is the one who falls prone and helpless into bute, isn't it, after being married seven the deepest error. "He wants to show years ?" me that I am nothing more to him than " If you were my wife. Cissy, and I felt she is—that I take rank in his memory wretched without you, I shoidd insist on merely as a girl whose foolish passion was your going home without delay," Captain a pastime to him while it lasted, and to Bellairs, says, in utter unconsciousness of which he is contemptuously tolerant now, the storm of feeling the bare suggestion as he looks back upon it. He thinks we're creates in" Mrs. Angerstein's breast. For a pair of fools, I'm sure—for probably one weak, unguarded moment she looks her worst offence is, that she loved him at hi'm with her heart in her eyes; and too, and let him know it." he, happening to glance up at that Nevertheless, though Kate thinks all moment, meets the look, and would be these, and many other hard and uncom­ more or less than man, if he did not read fortable things, she accepts the situation it aright. of being on apparently friendly terms The knowledge comes upon him with with him again very readily and grace­ humbling, shocking force. In all his ex­ fully. "Perhaps, if he can be made to quite perience of Cissy, he has never surmised realize that I am heartily repentant of or feared anything so infinitely distressing that by-gone folly, and that I blame my­ to himself as this, that she should love self for it all, much more than I blame him with a love so widely different to his him, he will understand me better, and go fraternal feeling for her, that it must out of my way, instead of staying here to poison her happiness, and upset the peace­ patronise me, as he would never attempt ful balance of her life. He does not despise to patronise a woman who hadn't shown nor condemn the woman for the womanly herself weak on his account once;" she weakness of having yielded to a feeling he tells herself in the fervour of her intense has never sought to call into being. He belief in its being a fact that a man is does not feel elated at a conquest he has more lenient to, and has a larger meed of never striven to make. All he feels is forgiveness for, every fault and folly that profound pity and tenderness for the mis­ can be committed by a woman, than this take she has made. " Poor little thing ! I one—that she should love himself without wouldn't have cost her this pain for the his having given her (what he deems world," he thinks, pitifully, as her eyes to be) sufficient cause. droop before his. Then his eyes wander to Kate's observant face, and he feels They drive over to the banks of the sorrowfully that he must throw away river that runs through the heart of the another chance; that he must leave Kate Doon valley, and fish, and read away the before they understand each other, or, at sunny hours of one of the hottest days of any rate, before she understands him ; for the year. As the three keep together, he knows that he is in honour bound to sagaciously, the whole time, there is no get out of Mrs. -Angerstein's orbit as soon opportunity for private communication as possible. between Kate and her old lover; conse­ quently, there is no occasion for jealousy The revelation, spasmodic and slight as tearing Mrs. Angerstein's heart to pieces. it has been, is lasting and powerful in its A soft, lulling sense of rest steals over her. sobering influence over the two whom it

€^ ——^ 270 piUy4,IB7« ALL THB TBAB BOUND. [Omdiutedb; oonoems. The light, easily subdued spirit to seem to speak in a sportive way as if of the married woman is crushed within she were sound and unbui't. her, by the consciousness that this man " I detest that kind of boneless talk must think as little of her as a wife as he about husbands bringing their wives into has heretofore had reason to think of her proper subjection," Kate puts in; "what as a woman. She is as penitential, as she creature is worth anytliing when it'g sits there cowering before him, as if she cowed ? A reasonable meed of consider­ had done him some underhand ill turn. ation for his views, and a reasonable toler­ "He feels that my love is a disgraoe to ation for his sentiments, is oU that any man him, and that I'm ungrateful to make him requires from women at large; why should such a return after all his goodness to he require more from the woman who is me," she thinks in her self-abasement, his wife, and who, therefore, is compelled and he, all the while, is feeling such pity to hear more of them than any oth« for her as he would not dare to aUow person in the world ? " himself to feel, if there was a possibility "Mr. Angerstein never requires blmd of the pity ever merging into anything obedience, and he is so perfectly reasonable warmer. that he wiU never argue with me when " We've come to the end of eaoh other I'm angry," Cissy says, speaking under and ourselves," Kate says presently, as she the feeble impression that it behoves her finds herself becoming gradnaUy infected to say something in defence of her absent by the depression of her companions, lord, who haa never been attacked. "and there's nothing left to eat or drink " There is so mnch vice in viitne as a in the basket; and the coach vriU be in rule," Kate goes on, pursuing her own before we get back to Lynmouth; don't riews on the subject, without much regard you think we had better start ? Mr. for Mrs. Angerstein's inteqioUations; Angerstein will bring down some news "there is so much selfishness in paring and fresh ideas—" away our angles in order to fit ourselves "And we shall not feel ashamed of more comfortebly into our respective resetting and transposing the limited niches ; to me there is no merit in malring stock of words in which we have been the best of it, nnless it means making the expressing our admiration for the beauties best of it for others entirely, and not for of the vaUey, and the invigorating nature ourselves at all." of the breeze on the hills; altogether he " It certeinly is a wife's duty to make wiU be a healthy element, let us go back the best of things for her husband," Mrs. and get him to mingle with ns vrithout Angerstein says, an uneasy feeling po> delay." vading her to the effect that sbe is being Captein Bellairs tries to say all this, in a engulfed in a conversational stream, in way that shall lead Mrs. Angerstein to which she will speedily be out of her believe that he supposes her to be full of depth. pleasure at the idea of the anticipated "It is her inclination, if she loves him arrival of her husband; and she under­ —and if she doesn't love him, it makes stands his intention, and is grateful for it, things smoother and pleasanter for hereelf bnt cannot, for the Ufe of her, respond to, in the long run," Kate replies, "love and or back him np in, his endeavour. expediency are the only two laws that are " I shall feel so glad when he comes, on recognized in reality." account of the chUdren," she says, a Uttle "If you reaUy mean what yon say, awkwardly, " they are thrown out of their Kate, I shall pity the man who marriefl usual routine, and are getting dreadfully you," Mrs. Angerstein says; " if yon don't unruly, aren't they, Kate ? Mr. Anger­ happen to love him, a sense of duty will stein vrill soon bring them into order never make yon a good wife." again though." " A sense of duty never made a woman "He has faUed in bringing you com­ a good wife yet; it may make her a pletely into order, hasn't he. Cissy ? " he capital housekeeper, and a pleasant com­ says, in a jocular way, of which he repente panion (no, a sense of duty isn't what him instently, as she turns away after makes women pleasant companions thongh) giving him an answer with her beseeching and an excellent mother, aud a perfect eyes, that her quivering lips refuse to domestic machine altogether; it may mate nttor. She has bared her wound before her a very comfortable woman to five him so unintentionaUy that it does seem with, but it wiU not make her what I cruel on his part to ignore it utterly, and understand by a 'good wife.'" =?o Oharles Dickons.] A NARROW ESCAPE. [July i, 1874.] 271

He tries to look into her eyes as she side are bejewelled. Thunder rumbles speaks, and make her understand how about morosely in the distance. Big clouds thoroughly he appreciates. All his lower suUenly about, and, occasionally, thoughts are of her as she describes the drop heavy, passioiiate tears, that the woman she is not like, and all her scorching heat quickly dries up. Cows thoughts arc of Frank. in the fields are too tired to stand up, and " You're right, Kate," he whispers, "it too hot to lie down, and too idiotic to un­ is love, and love only, that makes the derstand that they make matters worse perfect woman a combination of child and by herding together. The birds fly low, queen " and the wild flowers hang their heads. " Of tyrant and slave, you mean," she The tempest is nearly upon them as they interrupts; " good gracious ! don't think get to the bottom of the hill, and turn that I'm weak enough not to know that with a flagging air toward Mrs. Anger­ there is a great deal more evil than good stein's lodgings. in it; but it's the only law that is obeyed It bursts out, peal after peal, flash after for itself alone, with no hope of reward, flash before they gain the door, and then and very often in defiance of the certain their progress is delayed by a little terror- knowledge that we shall do ourselves stricken crowd, which is surging about in most deadly damage, if we obey its a helpless way. Several faces in the crowd dictates; I'm speaking about women, it are turned up pityingly towards the dog­ never hurts men," she winds up, a little cart which Captain Bellairs is driving, and bitterly, as she reviews her own experi­ several voices say, " That's her; the little, ences, and sees that a sadder shadow than light lady is the vrife." There are a few she has ever noticed there before, has wild questions asked, a few halting, com­ settled down on the pretty, fair face of miserating answers given, and the cause Mrs. Angerstein. of the crowd is made clear to Mrs. Anger­ " You're anxious to get home, and meet stein. Her husband has slipped in getting your husband, are you not ? " Kate says, off the coach at the top of a perilous hiU, considei-ately, " do drive faster. Captain which' he distrusted descending behind Bellairs ; we have been weakly theorizing four horses, and the two near wheels have while Mrs. Angerstein has been practically passed over his back. " As nice a gentle­ suffering from the pangs of impatience. man as ever sat on that 'ere box-seat," the I always paint mental pictures of what driver of the coach observes to any one people are like, before I see them; who will listen to him. " Coach-driving Mr. Angerstein shall have a little ain't all sweets, I say, thongh there's few portrait of himself, as I imagine him, as have been on the road so long, as has had to-morrow." fewer accidents than I." "My husband is a very good-looking " By road or by sea, there's few of us man," Cissy says, with a feeble effort to women who are wives who don't know infuse an accent of pride into her remark, trouble by one or other on 'em," a gentle- " he's a very good man too; I hope you faced woman, whose husband is a sailor, will like him, Harry," she adds, looking drawls out in the soft lingering accents at him, timidly, and saying it more for the of the west, and even as she is saying sake of calling him by his name, than it her naturally low voice drops lower with any other view. still, and a hush comes over the crowd, " I'm tolerably certain to like any one for Captain Bellairs comes out with the who's fond of you, and of whom you're pallor of horror and sorrow on his face, fond," he replies; and the reply is so and without words bids the crowd dis­ eminently unsatisfactory to Mrs. Anger­ perse itself. stein, that she has no words wherewith They do it without a murmur, for the to carry on the conversation. bright spirit of Hope has fled, and the dark There is intense heat and weight in the spirit of suspense hae vanished at the air as the evening draws on. Torpor settles approach of the black king Death. It is over everything, and the languid horse can all certainty now—as far as those who are hardly exert himself to whisk his tail with left behiud are concerned. The husband sufficient vigour to drive away the swarms is dead, and the vrife is a widow; and the of flies that are humming and buzzing friend who feels as a brother towards her about. Sheet lightning plays around, and is most horribly perplexed. For the land­ glorifies the purple heather and yellow lady tells him— gorse with which wide surfaces on either " His Only words after he was brought

yf' =- 272 [Julyl.lSi't] AT-Ti THB TEAB BOUND. [OoniliKtedbj

into this house, sir, was of his lady and of cheap pocket-handkerchiefs, bought in you; * you'd see justice done to her, and job lots in Ijoughrea, of scarfs and brum­ teke care of her; and he died happy, think­ magem pins. She even presented him with ing he left her to yon,' he said; her brother, a suit of garmente of the deceased Clancy sir, if I may make so bold ? " the small-clothes of which were constructed of corduroy, but she never gave him a coin. " Te'U have it aU after I'm gone, Tim," she LIEUTENANT^ MUDGE'S AUNT. would say, upon his earnest application for A TALE OF ST. PATEICK'S BALL. pecuniary aid, " but not a farden till then— ME. MULLIGAH MUDGE is a lieutenant in not a mag, Tim." Even when she visited that distinguished miUtia regiment, known Dublin, the Ueutenant's head-quarters in peaceful Hibernian circles as the Rings- she would not entrust him with the pay­ end Fusileers. He is an officer of superior ment of as mnch as a car fare; and so far ability, and can screw a glass into his did she carry out her riews upon the sub­ right eye, lounge upon an outside car, ject of coinage control, that even the pay­ and walk up or down Grafton-street, in ment of the halfpenny, to cross the metal a manner at once calculated to attract bridge over the River Liffey, was doled attention, and to impress the vulgar mind ont by herself, and she deteined the galhmt vrith a due sense of his attainments, of his Fnsileer, npon a cutting day in Jannary, miUtery achievemente, and of his dignity. for at least five minutes while she hunted During the period in which his gallant regi­ down a coy sixpence, with numbed and ment is under training. Lieutenant Mudge nervous fingers. is a glory to behold, for he appears in the Seeing that itwas hopeless to endeavtur startling radiance of regimentals, vrith a todevelopeMrs. Clancy's mineral resources. huge sword dangling after him, causing a Lieutenant Mudge turned his thoughts m general clatter all over the street, to the the direction of matrimony, and, before he awe and bewilderment of aU honest had well decided on his line ot action, rate-paying burgesses with whom he may destiny flung a charming girl across his come into contact. path like a rose-bud. Now Lieutenant Mudge, at the period Mrs. Bolgibbie, the mother of the maiden of the opening of this narrative, was ex­ in question, was the relict of a counsel tremely desirous of improving his financial learned in the law, who had died of bram position, his resources being of that genteel fever brought on by consuming the mid- nature known as "limited;" aud as he had night oU over an impossible case, leaving no profession but that of a second-hand Mrs. Bolgibbie disconsolate, with three warrior, and was unable to increase his hundred a year, and a daughter, the income through the medium of the labour image of her defunct sire; especially about market, he, able strategist as he was, per­ the nasal organ, which was very red and ceived at a glance that there were but two very bulbous. To this young crsitnre courses open to him by which he might (age nncertein). Lieutenant Mudgo was attein, if not prosperity, at least an formaUy presented at a little evemng honourable independence. One of these party, given by a mutual friend residing roads to fortune lay through the lottery at Rathmines, and having danced with her of marriage; the other through the life as often as circumstances would permit, of an aunt, who possessed three thousand experienced the inexpressible satisfaction pounds in the simple elegance of the three of escorting her and her engaging mother per cents., in addition to a snug " bit o' to their residence within the city boundary, land " in the neighbourhood of the town and the unutterable chagrin of paying the of Loughrea, npon which she resided, and cabman double fare ; for it was past that whither the gallant Ringsend Fnsileer hour at which the ordinary teriff fails to was wont to repair after the dangers and satisfy and far into that in which fancy glories of the annual training of the dis­ prices reign supreme. But, had he not tinguished corps to which he was attached, made an investment ? Was not that half- in order to recruit his constitution and his crown, composed of two mouldy shillings, pocket. a fourpence, and four haltpence, destined Mrs. Clancy was extremely proud of her to bear golden fruit ? It had been confi­ warlike kinsman, and indulged the gaUant dentially imparted to him that Miss Bol­ lieutenant in anything, everything, but gibbie was in possession of five hundred money. She sent him hampers of fowls, per annum, and this, too, at her own dis­ hams, and vegetables; she made him gifts posal. Here was a light towards which Oharles Dickens.] LIEUTENANT MUDGE'S AUNT. [July i, 1874.] 273

to propel his ricketty bark; here was a Matters were in this satisfactory position, harbour of refuge, worthy the straining of though progressing too slowly for the every nerve to gain, and, once in whose ardent Mudge, when the recurrence of a smooth water, he could ride pleasantly at festival, always held in high esteem in anchor, and calmly survey the bankrupt Dublin, served to precipitate the long- billows dashing harmlessly over the break­ desired crisis. water standing between him and financial The seventeenth of March approached, shipwreck ! Mrs. Bolgibbie was possessed and with it St. Patrick's day, and the ball of genteel proclivities. Miss Bolgibbie went at the " Castle." a step further and spoke of the aristocracy "You are going to Patrick's ball, of with that easy and familiar air with which course," observed the lieutenant to Mrs. people speak of matters of which they Bolgibbie, during one of his visits at know very little, but of which they would No. 000, Blank-street. "It will not faitt know a great deal. Mrs. Bolgibbie be till the twenty-fourth of April this had a relative in the army, to whom year, in consequence of the change of she constantly referred; but whether the Viceroy." gentleman adorned the British, French, Austrian, Russian, or Chinese service, no " Oh, yes, my relative in the Service wishes person could by any possibility deter­ me to go, so I shall do so to oblige him; mine, as when pressed upon the point the besides, our set all go, and it's a pleasant lady evaded a direct answer in a manner rendezvous." that reflected the highest credit upon her Mudge was in raptures. His martial ingenuity, whilst, at the same time, it tunic looked its best at night. The sash effectually closed the inquiry. Mrs. Bol­ was as good as new, and the sword-knot gibbie lived within her means, and as a resplendent by gaslight. To Patrick's ball consequence did not throw much money he would go in all his splendour, and at away upon the modistes of Dublin. She Patrick's ball he would ask Seraphina indulged in the winter season in imitation Bolgibbie to be his. Had not a bank seal-skin, and Ump black silk with a bluish clerk, at whose bank Mrs. Bolgibbie kept shine upon it, as though it had been her account, confidentially, but darkly, polished with black-lead. In summer intimated "it was all right? " Yes, the she affected a mysterious fabric con­ citadel should be stormed without any sisting of a compromise between muslin further delay, and Miss Bolgibbie and her and barege, very cheap, but singularly income should be the spoils of war! showy, and, indeed, glittering. Miss Lieutenant Mudge was enjoying break­ Bolgibbie dressed much after the fashion fast in bed,- in an apartment directly of her parent, and sported a quantity of beneath the slates, shortly after he had bog oak ornaments gaily relieved by cun­ taken this desperate resolve, when the ning and elaborate devices in cut steel. elderly female who attended to his wants, in addition to those of the other lodgers, Lieutenant Mudge sped in his wooing. handed him a letter from Mrs. Clancy. He called repeatedly, and was received A letter from his aunt—what could it with a cordiality by Mamma, and a mean ? This was not the period for her gushing coyness by Mademoiselle that visit to the metropolis ! Hastily thrusting promised well for his ultimate share in aside the venerable and battered tray the fortunes of the house. The gallant containing the breakfast things, he tore Fusileer spared no pains to render himself open the envelope, and read as follows :— agreeable, frequently volunteering to escort the ladies to places of entertainment where " Cabbage Rose Villa, BaUyomuUigan, Longhrea, the entrance fee did not exceed one shil­ " April 20th, 1874. ling ; or to the theatres upon debenture " DEAB NEPHEW,—I have been reading orders; or to Kingstown pier; or for a pro­ the life of Saint Patrick and I'd like to do menade upon the Donnybrook Road. He honour to the holy man's memory by presented Miss Bolgibbie with his photo­ going to his ball. You can do as you like graph taken in fnll regimentals, and she at the Castle, so could my brothei' when in return blushiugly handed him her he commanded the fly-boat on the Grand portrait, taken, injudiciously, in evening Canal, so get me an invitation. I'll be up dress, a costume iu which she displayed a on the 23rd, as I see it's to be on the 24th. larger quanti

=if y 274 [Jnly 1,1871.] ALL THB TEAB BOXmD. [CondadedbT lodgings for me as I had before, near the and the wretched Mudge presently gret;. Chapel in Dominick-street, and teU the girl ing her as became an heir expectau;, to teU Father James I'll be wanting him landed her safely at her lodgings. Hov, in his box on Friday moming. Lay in a fondly he hoped that the fatigues of tht couple of pounds of salmon, as it's a black journey might prove too much for her, fast. I wouldn't tmst St. Peter, let alone that some friendly draught had seized St. Patrick, for eggs, so I bring my own. her, and that one of those rhenmatie Tour affectionate aunt, attacks, to which she was occasionallj " MAET ANSE CLAHOT. subject, waa imminent! But no such luck "P.S. Have afire in my-bed room and was in store for him. Mrs. Clancy was as lively, to use her own words, as a " Boyne see that it's lighted early, and the sheets sahnon," as she expressed a desir« to spread out before it. TeU the girl to have attend "the Castle" before "the candles a better toasting fork, as the last one were lighted," aud not to leave until they burnt my toast." were " snuffed out." Mudge made the The warrior bounded from his bedstead, best excuse he could think of to the and uttered full-flavoured language. The Bolgibbies, arranged an early rendez­ Philistines were upon him. Sinbad the vous, and stiU hoping against hope, pre­ SaUor was troubled vrith the attentions of pared for the worst. an elderly gentleman, here was a son of There was a sound of revelry by night, Mars overwhelmed by those of an elderly and Dublin Castle was Ughted from moat lady. He knew Mrs. Clancy too well to (cellar) to turret (garret), and bright think that she could be put off, baffled, or twenty-candle gas shone o'er fair women, bamboozled. He had tried that once, and arrayed in feathers and lappets, and o'er her soUcitor was in attendance upon her brave men, attired in every description of at an early subsequent date, with a riew uniform, from that of the bullion-breasted to material alterations in her vrill. He had hussars to the thoroughly shrunken tnnicof promised to escort the Bolgibbies. He thehaif-pay infantry captein. But the ex­ dare not present to these aristocratic terior lighte had otherwork to do, especially personages a relative who pronounced in the quadrangle, known as the Upper •inferior infayrior, and was doubtful over Castle Tard, for they had to iUummate such words as meat and heat. What were the roadway for a very ricketty looking his chances with Miss Bolgibbie if she horse and a stiU more ricketty looking came in contect vrith Mrs. Clancy ? vehicle, from which sprang a crimaon- Lieutenant Mudge went back to bed, and olad warrior, to be foUowed after mnch mediteted. It would be madness to lose " Bcrooging " and shrUl ejaculations m a the substance for the shadow. His aunt female voice, by the majestic form of lira. must be considered, i.e. her three thousand Clancy. oundsinthenew threes, before everything. " Te'U be back at four, Rafferty," ob­ SE it had been an ordinary private entertain­ served Mrs. Clancy to the charioteer, "and ment, he could easUy manage to put her off, don't let any shoneen get before ye." and attend the festival himself, but in this " The poliss won't let me out o' me case, his name and regiment would appear turn," said the carman, somewhat gruffly. in print, and all the waters in the Grand " Say it's for Mrs. Clancy of Loughrea, Canal which had floated the bark of Mrs. Rafferty." Clancy's kinsman would fail to wash bim "The diwle a hair they'U care," clean. The case was hopeless, utterly muttered the charioteer, as he moved awiy hopeless, and the gallant Mudge suUenly under the stem dictum of an energetic submitted himself to the Ineriteble. member of the force. The evening of the 23rd of AprU found The Ringsend FusUeer was in an agony the Lieutenant moodUy awaiting the 0^ terror lest the Bolgibbies should arrive arrival of the Galway teain at the Broad- ere he had time to deposit his aunt in stone station of the M. G. W. RaUway. some remoto recess in St. Patrick's Drawn up beside the platform stood an HaU, and earnestly urged that estimable antique and obsolete vehicle known as lady to accelerate her movements. This a covered oar, around which a critical but appeal was somewhat necessary, aa MM. somewhat tattered group were gathered, Clancy was engaged in cui'tsying to and engaged in discussing ite peculiarities. indulging in a running iire of conver­ PunctuaUy the train arrived, bearing sation vrith such persons as liappenedto with it Mrs. Clancy and her baggage. be within range. "It'U be a big ball; =F /T" :>^ Charles Diokens.] LIEUTENANT MUDGE'S AUNT. [July 4,1874.] 275

I never was here before. What a splendid glitter in a myriad sparkles; the brilliant staircase! I came all the way from combination of colours; the uniforms, from Loughrea; ain't I a courageous woman ? the vivid scarlet of the guardsman to the This is my nephew, me sister's son. His dark green of the rifle brigade; the quaint father was a ganger, and died of a cruel court dresses, and the beauty of the fair bad attack of the horrors of drink. Five daughters of Erin, all aid in dazzling and men couldn't hold him in the bed. I hear charming the eye of the delighted spectator. the Lady-Lieutenant isn't here. More's The soft and sensuous music, now sparkling the pity. What regiment do you belong with the glitter of Offenbach, now wailing to, sir ? is it in the horse police you are ? with the dreamy sigh of Strauss, gratifies My nephew is in the militia—the Rings- another sense; and over and above all end Fusileers. This is him." there is a general joyousness, and a mirth, Poor Mudge! how fiercely thy heart savouring more of the revelry of the Car­ beats beneath thy martial dinginess. nival than of the cold-blooded pageantry Wliat full-flavoured language is hovering of a court. about thy lips! In accordance with a time-honoured The grand staircase is scarlet-carpeted custom, the Lord Lieutenant opens the and ornamented with exotics. On the ball with the Lady Mayoress, with a right stands the state porter eyeing keenly country dance, to tiie inspiriting air of any new comer, for to him the appearance " St. Patrick's Day in the Moming." His of the habitues is as familiar as that of the " Ex," as he is familiarly termed, is followed members of the House of Commons to the by a dozen " amorous palming puppies," wary and vigilant doorkeeper. He knows and their fair partners, " up and down the Mudge, and Mudge's tarnished raiment, middle," and upon the present occasion and he looks askance at Mudge's aunt. the Viceroy was footing it away right He win know her again. The staircase, merrily, and "humouring the tune," when in addition to the exotics, is decorated with a shrill f enaale voice was heard to exclaim, pigeon-breasted guardsmen, gazing grimly " Faugh, that's no dancing. Rouse the before them from beneath the serrated griddle, man. Foot it. Welt the floor fringe of their great bearskins as if on now, then heel and toe. Hands across. parade, and beside these waxwork-look­ Faugh, yer a botch. I'U show ye how to ing warriors are vice-regal retainers, dance," and Mrs. Clancy, for t'was she, in bloom-coloured suits cut after the descending from her coign of vantage, fashion of that suppUed to one Oliver made a most determined and energetic Goldsmith a hundred years ago. The move in the direction of the viceregal set, walls are ornamented with quaint devices to the intense amusement of a few, and cunningly constructed of warlike appli­ the evident consternation of the many. ances, and wainscotted upon the present At this crisis. Lieutenant Mudge, with occasion by " a thin red line " of spruce- Miss Bolgibbie upon his arm, approached looking colour-serjeants. Mrs. Clancy's the dancers, and the gallant Fusileer, being admiration recognised no limit; she apos­ anxious to enable his fair partner to trophised everybody and everything, and view the terpsichorean performance, it was almost by sheer force that her pushed gently but firmly into the front nephew was enabled to drag her into rank, and succeeded in " placing " Miss St. Patrick's Hall, and to phice her, much Bolgibbie, in " the line." against her will, upon one of the seats in Horror of horrors! Directly opposite the upper tier. to him stood Mrs. Clancy, for whom a " I ain't going to stick here all night. very considerable space had been expedi­ Tun," she loudly exclaimed, as he was tiously cleared. The excellent lady was moving away, "and if you don't like preparing to " cut in " and with a view to be attentive to me there's others that to an effective demonstration, was engaged wiU." in pinning up her skirts in a manner that disclosed a very muddy pair of side-kced Mudge, mysteriously hinting that mili­ boots, of ancient pattern and formation, tary duties commanded his attention else­ and a scarlet flannel vestment, which hung where, vanished in the crowd in search of in graceful folds till it touched the uppers Miss Seraphina Bolgibbie. of the mediaeval sandals. St. Patrick's Ball, in fuE swing, is a sight never to be forgotten. The noble "Here, you sir," she exclaimed, address­ hall blazing with a thousand lights, and ing a ferocious looking warrior, who was the diamonds scornfully flashing back the glaring at her over an iron-moulded

•^ 276 [July 1,1871.1 ALL THE TBAB BOUND. [Oandocted 1,

moustache, " hold me fan and gloves, and and leave that whey-faced crayture to <- I'll show ye how we dance a country back to where she came from." "^ dance in the West of Ireland." Here was a position for the Ringsend One fist was poised in air, another second PusUeer. and it had acted as pioneer to the rest of her The Scylla of Mrs. Clancy. frame, when with a forcible exclamation, The Charybdis of Miss Bolgibbie. Lieutenant Mudge sprang forward, and If he deserted the frying-pan, it vn.s forcibly seizing his astonished and indig­ only for the purpose of popping delibe- nant relative by the arm, pushed her ratoly into the fire. Three thonsand in the frantically into the rear. distence: Five hundred a year at hand. " Tim Mudge," panted the irate Mrs. Shadow versus substence. Mrs. Clancy Clancy. " What do ye mean be this possessed religious tendencies of a very conduct to yer mother's only sister ? " advanced order, and had frequently hinted " Are you mad, aunt ? " whispered the that his eminence Cardinal CuUen was an Ringsend Fusileer. extremely sensible man and a particnlarly "Are you in liquor, Tim ? " good style of legatee. Miss Bolgihhie " Hush, for Heaven's sake," appealed was sufficiently good-looking, and waa cre­ the wretched Mudge. dibly supposed to have five hundred per Now it is a weU-known fact that to ask annum, paid quarterly. an excited female to moderate her tone is The last consideration decided the about the rashest act of which any man puzzled warrior. can be capable. Taking Miss Bolgibbie's hand, and Mudge rushed on his fate. placing it upon his arm, and drawing It impaled him. himself np to his full height—during " And how dare ye, ye twenty-one day the execution of which manoeuvre two lieutenant, ye ghost of a soldier, yer buttons flew from the dingy tunic—he sketeh of a horse-marine, presume to bid glared at his relative, and, making her me hold me tongue ? " a haughty obeisance, disappeared k the " Aunt !" crowd. " Don't aunt me, sir. Te'U find, to * • * * yer cost, I'm not yer aunt. It's to yer Lieutenant Mudge wiU lead Miss Bol­ uncle ye'U have to go when yer next want gibbie to the hymeneal altar upon an early pocket-money! " date. Mrs. Clancy has not been consulted, Here Miss Bolgibbierejoiued her cavalier, and has had several interviews with her who wished her—well, it doesn't matter solicitor. where—and Mrs. Clancy, perceiving this interesting young female sidling np to her HYACINTH. nephew, and confidingly placing her hand AxL of spring-time's glow and grace upon his arm, immediately, and with true Shone in that ethereal face, feminine instinct, turned her battery upon Sappliire eyes, so winsome-warm, the new-comer. Anel's foot and Fsycbe'e form; Shower of snnny-tirailing tresses. " And who is this minx, I'd like Dancing gleams and daintinesses. for to know ? Who is this painted doUy, Were her sweet and special dowers. vrith as much flour on her face as In the timo of budding flowers, When the crocus cloft its sheaf. wonld give many a poor chUd its break­ And the lindens brake in leaf; fast, that hugs yer as if she was yer When the hyacinth's cuxlt^d hells lawful wife ? " Shook in all the dipping dells; Came she through a clustered glade. " Come away," gasped Miss Bolgibbie, All in April sheen arrayed. " from this mad woman. Who is she ? " Under arch of bough and spray. Whose leafage trailed, as though to stay " Who is she ? " echoed Mrs. Clancy, So sweet a wood-nymph's forward way._ derisively ; " she is a lady, and that's more She moved, she came, a paro-lipped maiden. than you are. She has three thousand Her gathered skirts wild-flower kden; Her rosy fingers wet with dew pounds in the three per cents.; that's more From the wild hyacinth's cnp of blue; than all yer famUy, put together, ever saw. With cheeks too dainty, flushed, and fins Who is she ? " and here the indignant lady For earthly air. Not Proserpine In flowery Buna, ere she wept. addressed the company generally. " She's More lovely looked, more li^tly stept. Mary Anne Clancy, of Cabbage Rose Than she whose dainty foot-step swept The tender grass. It's crisped spires Villa, BaUyomuUigan, Loughrea; that's Shook at her touch in twinkling fires who she is. And now, Tim Mudge, just Of dew, Bun.splendour'd, glory-kist, teke me to some place of refreshment, To rain of liquid amethyst.

=»^ Oharles Dickens.] LEGENDS Aim TRADITIONS. [July 4,1874.] 277

Of molten ruby-drops, and spray the poor creature worn and panting, in his Brighter than the green skirts of May. So I beheld my darling first, saintly compassion, covered him over with My soul, with sudden love athirst. boughs and leaves, believing him to have Had braved chUl death but to have prest been sent of Heaven. Presently, up rode The hyacinth blossom at her breast. Prince Wulfade, hot and impatient, and Spring returns; its glow hath fled, inquired of the saint concerning the lost Grace remains, but decks the dead. Sapphire eyes are veU^d now hart. The saint replied, " I am not a Like violets, by untimely snow. keeper of beasts, but of the souls of men ; No more that fawn-Ught foot shall brush and you, prince, have been sent by God The flower-pied, dew-sprayed grass. The flush here to the fountain of living water as the Of rosy life no more shaU Ught That tender cheek so worn, so white; hart is sent to the water-brook." Further Cheek that had learned for me to glow ! religious conference then ensued between Coldly as snow-flake upon snow the prince and St. Chad, which ended in Lip lies on Hp. Mouth that erewhUe Parted in that swift arrowy sinUe, the two royal brothers embracing Chris­ Or trembled vrith such tender pain. tianity, being baptised by the zealous Thou shalt not smUe nor shake again; saint. The Christian brothers, often My plaints may rise, my kisses fall. But warm thee, move thee, not at all. resorting to a private oratory to perform Oh! spring of life, of love, of youth, their devotions, were one day betrayed by Is wintry death, iu very truth Werbode, their father's steward; and So near thee, that hia shadow Ues O'er thy green swards, and gloiving skies ? King Wolfere, finding them on their She shaU not see the crocus break, knees in this place, slew them both with The lime tree bud, the lilac shake his own hand, and then he and his steward Shower-sUvered spires, the woods awake From the long drowse of vrinter. She demolished the oratoiy, and left the blood­ Sleeps, while the world is wUd with glee. stained bodies buried in the rubbish. Those trailing tresses sweep a shroud; Shortly after this foul and unnatural My soul, vrith utter anguish bowed, murder, Werbode, the steward, was openly Envieth, that it shajres her rest, The hyacinth-blossom at her breast. strangled by the DevU. before the king's house, and King WoKere, racked in con­ science, repaired to St. Chad, confessed LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS OF his offence, and vowed to protect the ENGLISH COUNTIES. Christian religion, restore the ruined tem­ NOETHAMPTONSHIEE: PETEEBOKOUGH, ABBOTS ples above alluded to, aud found a great BAD AND GOOD, A CATHEEDAL WAED- expiatory church to St. Peter, as a per­ EOBE, PUEITAN IMAGE-BEEAKEES. manent memorial of his deep repentance. From the tears, therefore, of a penitent IN the old times of the Heptarchy, when murderer, if the legend bo but true—and Northamptonshire was half forest, half fen, who can doubt it ?—sprang Peterborough Peterborough went by the name of Medes- Cathedral. hamstead, from a deep, cold pit in the river Nene, which was known as Medes That St. Chad, when the penitent's Well, a pool so cold, that, even in summer, prayers were over, hung his robe up on a no swimmer could venture there, and yet sunbeam, those may doubt who will, and in winter never froze. The village of we very much question whether King Wol­ Medeshamstead was also famous for a fere really tried to rival the saint by flinging wonder-working well, consecrated to St. his great hunting-gloves and bossy belt on Lawrence, which stood near the present the same frail support, yet, so the story cathedral. goes. In the western plotter of Peter­ Penda, King of Mercia, founded the borough this legend of Wolfere, King of monastery in 655-6, laying stones for the Mercia, was curiously painted on the foundation so enormous that, as the window; and in the midst of the cloister, tradition goes, eight yoke of oxen could generally called the Laurel Tard, was a scarcely move more than one of them. well, which tradition insisted on as the Penda, betrayed to death by his wife, was place where St. Chad hid the hart. Now, succeeded by his brother Wolfere, who, as King WoKere really held his court after becoming a Christian, returned to at Weedon, in Northamptonshire, the old heathenism, and committed many im­ chroniclers think the cell may have been pieties. By his wife, Ermenilda, Wol­ at Peterborough, though the sons were fere the Pierce had two sons, Wulfade murdered at Stone, in Staffordshire, where and Rufine. Wulfade, one day, pursued a their mother buUt a church in memory goodly hart, which took refuge in a foun­ of their martyrdom, and where King tain near the cell of St. Chad, who, seeing WoKere, when on his better behaviour.

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founded a coUege of regular canons. and at once urged her husband te heln Long after, says Leland, the procurator of restore the monastery. When it was the CoUege of Stone went to Bome, to get rebuUt, King Edgar went to see it, and, ii the Pope to enrol the two martyrs, Wul­ ia said, wept for joy to find that Peter, fade andBufine, among the saints (though borough possessed equal privileges with the pagans had destroyed all records of Rome ; so he, and his nobles, and clergy their miracles), and offered to pass through oifere d such large oblations, both of land a great fire vrith the head of Wulfade in his and gold, and silver, that the monastery hand, on which the Pope remarked— waa christened Gilden or Golden Bnrgh " Thou shaJt not tempt the Lord thy although it soon returned to its old name. God;" yet, in pity at the toU the procurator At this time, Peterborough was held lo be had voluntarily undergone, he enroUed so sacred a spot, that no person came the two names at once in the martyrology. there to pray at the shrine of St. Peter, be On their joyous way back, the procurator he abbot, bishop, lord, or even king, who left the saint's headforonenight atViterbo, did not put off his shoes at the threshold in the church of St. Lawrence, and, and enter barefoot. The country round in the morning, to his horror, found that was so wooded and soUtery, that when the sacred relic refused to go any further Adolphus, ex-chanceUor of King Edgar, and had fixed to remain there. was abbot, the people of the neighbonrmg manors and granges, having no church, It is uncertain whether penitent Wol­ came at special seasons to Peterborough to fere was buried at Peterborough ; but his pay up their religions arrears, receive the brother Ethelred buUt the abbot's house at sacrament, and hand over their church dues. Peterborough, where, in the Great HaU, The Abbot Elsinns, a virtuoso in reUcs on three stetely thrones, sat effigies of the and a coUector of bones on the largest three royal founders of Peterborough, scale, is especiaUy mentioned by Hugo carved, painted, and gUt, which were Candidus, a monk of Peterborough in the puUed down and broken in 1646. reign of Henry the First, in a book saved Abbot Hedda reigned in an unfortunate from Puriten destruction by Hnmfiy time. The savage Danes, who plundered Austin, a chorister of the church in 1643, and burnt Croyland, gave the monks to who bought it of one of CromweU's soldiers the sword and slew the Abbot Theodorus for ten shfllinga. Swapham, a Peterborongh on the very altar, also attacked Peter­ monk, of the time of Henry the Third, hss borough. Tulba, a brother of Earl Hulba, catelogued aU the relics, first and foremost the leader of the Danes, being kiUed by a of which was the arm of St. Oswald, who stone thrown from the toWer, the assailante was tom to pieces in battle by the Pagan were so enraged that they stormed into Mercians. One day, says Bede, when Oswald, the monastery, broke down the altars, King of iN'ortbumberland, was sending burnt the library, tore up the charter, and meat from his dinner table to the poor and finally set fire to the buUding. In their sufEering at tbe gate of his palace, there retreat the Danes lost in the river two was not enough to serve them, on which waggons laden with the choicest riches. he had one of his sflver plates cut to pieces Abbot Godwin, ecHuing, compassionately, and distributed among them. Bishop from Croyland, coUected the dead bodies Aydanus, exulting at this charity, took of the Peterborough monks, and buried the king's right hand and exclaimed, eighty-four of them in one large grave, " Let this hand never grow old," and near the east^front of the monastery; after death, sure enough, the beatified flesh he set np over his brother abbot a refused to grow corrupt. But in this vast smaU pyramidal stone, engraved with bonery in Peterborough, there were also pictures of the slain monks; and every year several of King Oswald's ribs, two teeth risited that place, pitching his tent over the of St. Edward, king and martyi', the stone, and saying mass two days for the shoulder blade of one of tlie Innocents souls of Abbot Hedda and his monks. whom Herod slew, a piece of Aaron's rod, The monastery then lay ninety-six years the shoulder blade of St. Ambrose, 8 in ruins, tUl a vision came to Athelwold, tooth of St. Grimbald, the head and armfl Bishop of Winchester, and bade him go to of St. Bogelida, a bit of the shirt of St. "the midland English" and repair the Winceslaus, the finger of Abbot Loo- monastery of St. Peter. Going to Win­ fridus, three sinews of the hand of St. chester to rouse King Edgar to the good Athelard, the hand of St. Magnus the work, the queen, from behind a door, Martyr, one of the five loaves which fed heard Athelwold praying for God's help.

Ci = Oharles Diokens.] LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS. rJuly4,1874] 279 the ten thousand men, a piece of our allowed to choose an abbot for themselves, Saviour's swaddling clothes, six chips of and elected Godricus, a brother of Abbot the true cross, the head of St. George, and Brand. That same yeat German, French, the tooth of St. Saxburgha. In one case and Flemish thieves got into the cathedral the Abbot Elsinus, who scraped up his through a broken window, and stole a bones in all countries, made a specially cross of beaten gold, many jewels, two lucky hit. There being a great dearth in chalices and patins, and two golden candle­ Normandy, the abbey of St. Plorentinus sticks. The thieves were pursued and taken, having expended all their treasures in food, but the goods passed into the king's hand had at last to sell the shrine of their saint, and he forgot to return them to the abbey. and eventually to dispose of his sacred body In the reign of John of Salisbury a to Elsinus, limb by limb, all but his head, judgment of heaven fell on the monastery. with which, in spite of Elsinus's tempting The story runs that a monk in a bakehouse and repeated bids, they positively refused being slow at Hghting a fire, John, the to part. In the meantime, while Elsinus abbot, being choleric, cried out, "The waspm-chasingthese cart-loads of honoured devil kindle it," upon which the fire flamed bones at enormous price, many of the lands up to the top of the house, ran through all of his monastery at home were wrested the abbot's o£&ces, and thence to the tower, from the absentee, and he had on his sparing only the chapter house, the dor­ return to buy a fourth part of Whittlesea- mitory, and the new refectory, one tower mere to make up for the loss. alone burning nine days together. Abbot The Abbot Leofridus, the next in our John, whose unfortunate lapse had led to traditionary hst, had the misfortune to this lamentable result, began to rebuild rule soon after the Conquest, when Saxon the church, but died soon after of abbots had to look to their doings, for dropsy, a thoroughly monastic disease. A Egelricus, Archbishop of Tork, a prisoner manor for the confirmation of which this of the Conqueror, had been buried in abbot had given sixty marks to the king, chains in St. Nicholas porch, Westminster. was sold at his death to a new purchaser. Lucky for Leopold he died before the In the reign of the next abbot, Henry monastery's troubles began ; but on Brand, of Anjou, who was soon driven out, for fraud his successor, they fell heavily,- and still and covetousness, the legend ran that in heavier on Thoroldus the Norman who the night time throughout Lent, in the succeeded Brand. Thoroldus provoked woods between Stamford and Peter­ the indignation of that last of the Saxons, borough, black huntsmen were seen with Mr. Kingsley's Hereward the Wake, black horns and black dogs. Some of these who, aided by the Danes, forced Bull- goblins rode on goats, were of an ugly dyke-gate, and, unable to cut a way with complexion, had great staring eyes, and his sword, set on fire the outbuildings of the were seen sometimes twenty, sometimes monastery, and carried off all the chxirch thirty, in a company; yet nothing came plate and the relics to Ely. But there the of it. It is not improbable that the deer saints interposed, for during a drunken poachers could have explained these mys­ triumphal feast of the Danes, Adelwaldus, terious appearances. Prior of Peterborough, got together some Martimus de Vecti, or Martin of the Isle of the plunder, and, greatest treasure of aU, of Wight, was a great reformer of Peter­ St. Oswald's arm, which he hid in some borough, for he moved the village to the bed straw, and carried off. At B/amsey west side of the monastery, pulled down a Abbey the prior and the fugitive monks castle near the church, fixed on a new were kindly entertained, but the arm of place of wharfage, and removed the chupch St. Oswald was too tempting, and that and of St. John the Baptist. He entertained the other relics the monks of Ramsey that worthy peer, Kiijg Stephen, who came refused to give up tUl scared by the threats to see the arm of St. Oswald (which, by-the- of Abbot Thoroldus. Tet, even with the by, had been probably burnt twenty-three recovered relics, the Peterborough monks years before in the fire already mentioned) were unfortunate, for in a drunken feast, upon which the delighted king offered in the absence of their abbot, who had his ring on the saint's altar, and gene­ gone to kill Norman soldiers and fight rously forgave the church a debt of forty against Hereward, the monastery of Peter­ marks, which never would have been paid. borough was burnt down. William de Water ville, a Royal chaplain, The monks, giving the king on Thorold's was deposed for breaking into the church death three hundred marks in silver, were with armed men and carrying off the arm

X" •"^ 280 [July 1,1871.] ALL THE TEAB BOUND.

of St. Oswald, to pawn to the Jews, and monks in the procession of Palm Snndaj. wounding the monks, who tried to defend On the Thursday foUowing, the gooi the shrines. It was this abbot who built humble man washed and kissed the feet the cathedral cloister, and founded the of fifty-nine poor people, and, having chapel of Thomas a Becket. Benedict, the dried them, gave each person twelve nextabbot, was belovedby Richard the First, pence, three ells of canvas for a shirt, who used to call him " father." When a pair of shoes, and a portion of red King Richard was seized by the Arch­ herrings. On Easter-Day he went in pro. duke Leopold, on his return to England, cession, in his cardinal's scarlet robes Benedict, faithful as ever, counselled that and sang the High Mass himself solemnly the chalices of aU churches should be sold And so much for the traditions o{ the to pay the king's ransom, which was done. abbots of Peterborough; for now came Two abbote more and we come to the Dissolution, and rough feet trod dom Robertus de Lindsey, who beautified the the shrines, and greedy hands clutched at cathedral with thirty glass windows, the church plate. where, before, only straw had been stufEed The inventory teken of the cathedial in to keep out the weather. Of Abbot wardrobe is still preserved, and is veiy Walker, in the reign of King Henry the curions, marking, as it does, tbe splendonr Third, the tradition goes that he died and wealth mediaeval Peterborough must of a broken heart, after being rebuked have attained. There were altar-cloths of personaUy by the Pope. Johannes de purple velvet, embroidered with eagles Caleto, a later abbot, was chiefly remark­ and fleur-de-lis; an d others of cloth of silver. able for his liberaUty to the convent, Two were embroidered with leopards and giving daUy a gaUon of wine to the sters, whUe another was bordered with president of the refectory, and half a bucks. The albs were embroidered with gallon to the other brothers, excepting the apples of cloth of gold and blue tissue; monk who celebrated high mass, and he eight of them being adorned with crowns had a gallon. At his death the king and moons: and six with Peter's keys. claimed his cup and his palfrey. Robertus Nor were the vestments less splendid. One de Sutton, the next abbot, was certainly was of purple velvet, embroidered with not favoured by fortune. He helped the flowers and angels; another was of red barons to fortify Northampton against the velvet, with ragged steves. The robes king, who, spying his banner on the wall, seem to have been known by special sworo he would soon destroy the nest of names, according to emblems embroidered so iU a bird. On the reduction of the on them—as the kids, the daisies, the popin­ town. Abbot Robert, however, saved him­ jays, the squirrels. The copes, too, were self and his abbey, by paying the offended numerous : there were thirteen of blue silk, king three hundred marks, the queen being caUed the Georges; seven of satin of twenty pounds. Prince Edward sixty Cyprus; four of red needle-work; fonr pounds, and the Lord South six pounds of green velvet; thirteen of white silk-— thirteen shillings and four-pence. The for there was pride and vanity even in result of this was that when the king and these sacred vestments, and, no doubt, the Prince Edward were taken prisoners at priests wrangled over their favourite robe. the battle of Lewes, the abbot had again to buy himself ofP, and when Prince The destruction wrought by the Puritan Edward overthrew the Earl of Leicester, soldiers in this fine cathedral has been at the battle of Evesham, the unhappy abbot recorded by tradition, and also by an eye­ waa again gripped fast till he had paid up witness. Mr. Francis Stondish, a chanter, four thousand three hundred and twenty- furnished the fact to Dean Patrick, tho three pounds eighteen sbUlings and five continuer of Mr. Gunton's history of the pence, for his disgraceful compromise great church. The extent of harm done to with the barons, so it went badly with cathedrals by the fanatics during tho civil him all round. Eventually we hear that wars has been so often so angrily dis­ he died on his way to the CouncU of Lyons, cussed, that a calm, fair stetement ot then- and his heart was brought home in a cup, doings at Peterborough may not be unin­ and buried before the altar of St. Oswald. teresting as a contribution to the subject. In the first year of the last of the long It appears, then, that in April, 161-3, the line of abbots, John Chambers, Cardinal Parliament sent forces from the associated Wolsey spent his Easter at Peterborongh, counties to Peterborough, to besiege Croy­ carrying his palm himself among the land, a small town, seven miles distant, where there was a garrison for the kmg. d = Charles Dickens.] LEGENDS AND TRADITIONS. tJuly 4,1874.] 281

A foot regiment of Colonel Hubbart's Behind the communion table, in the arrived first, but he allowed the church cathedral, stood what was called the old doors to be all locked, and the men did no altar and pinnacle screen of stone-work, harm. Two days after, a regiment of painted and gUt, and reaching almost to horse, under terrible Colonel Cromwell, the roof. There were no obnoxious images trotted into Peterborough, and then the in it. The soldiers, however, pulled it down mischief began, for they had no mercy. with ropes, and contemptuously destroyed Early on the morning after they arrived, it as a reHc of Popery. these troopers broke open the cathedral The troopers were also particularly in­ doors, and at once pulled down the two dignant with a large oval picture on the organs, trampling the pipes to pieces roof of the church, of our Saviour coming with their big cavalry boots. They then to judgment, attended by the four Evan­ clattered into the choir and tore in pieces gelists and the crowned saints. all the obnoxious Common Prayer-books; " So this is the God these people bow and they tore the Apocrypha out of the and cringe to. This is the idol they adore," great folio Bible that lay on the brass cried one, upon which Daniel Wood of eagle for the lessons. They then beat Captain Roger's company, and several down and broke all the seats, stalls, and other soldiers loaded their muskets and wainscot. There were Scripture stories, fired away at it tiU it was destroyed, to the such as Moses's bush and Gideon's fleece, horror of the citizens who reported after­ with Latin distiches written on each seat. wards that one sacrilegious rufiian had While ripping and battering these, one of been struck bUnd by a rebounding bullet, the soldiers found a parchment book hidden and that another had gone mad. But then, away with with twenty pieces of gold. men who would baptize a horse and a mare, The book was Swapham's invaluable MS. as they did at Saxby church, all good chronicle. Mr. Austin, the chanter, offered Cavaliers allowed were capable of anything. ten shillings for the old Latin Bible, as he The cathedral tombs next attracted these called it, and the soldier gave him the fol­ zealots. They broke down the rails of lowing quaint receipt and safeguard— Queen Katherine of Arragon's tomb, "I pray let this Scripture-book alone, for stripped off the hearse its black velvet he hath paid me for it, and therefore I would paU, upset the hearse, and displaced desire you to let it alone. By me, Henry the gravestone that covered the body of Topclyife, soldier under Captain Cromwell, that unhappy woman. There was no Colonel Cromwell's son; you therefore, hearse and pall over the body of Mary I pray, let it alone. Henry Topclyffe." Queen of Scots, but they pulled dovm and The Puritan soldiers, however, could tore to pieces the royal arms, sword and not be all bought off. They beat to pieces, helmet—escutcheons that hung on a pillar with their halberds and muskets, the great near the grave. In the north aisle was brass chandeliers in the choir, with all its the stately tomb of Bishop Dove, that good dozen and a haK sockets, and also another white-haired old man, whom Queen Eliza­ chandelier, near the brass eagle ; and the beth used to call her " Dove with silver brass they hammered together, carried off, wings." The worthy bishop, stretched on and sold, to the dismay of " the malig- a stone bed under a table of black marble, nants," as the Royalists were called. A the Puritan dragoons hacked and hewed well-disposed person, standing near, see­ to pieces, and the same fate befell Mrs. ing that cruel spoil and havoc, begged a Worm's tomb and the tomb of Prebendary Puritan, who seemed to be an oflBcer, to Angier. In what was then called the New restrain the soldiers from such enormities ; BuUding and afterwards the Library, the but all he replied was— same zealots destroyed a splendid monu­ ment, crowded with statues, built by Sir " See how these poor people are con­ Humphrey Orme, then living, for himseK cerned to see their idols pulled down ! " and all his family. The word altar in The choir being now destroyed to a the following epitaph of Sir Humphry's mere heap of shattered lumber, Cromwell's daughter-in-law seems to have enraged men ran to the east end of the cathe­ the bigots— dral, and broke and cut in pieces the com­ munion rails, threw down the table, and Mistake not reader, I thee crave. stolethe table-cloth, andBible, and Common This is an altar, not a grave; Where fire rak't up in ashes lies, Prayer, bound in velvet, a silver-gilt basin, And hearts are made the sacrifice i and two pairs of silver candle-sticks; but Her time and truth, her worth and fame. these last Colonel Hubbert returned again. Revive her embers to a flame.

K^ ^ a<= 282 [July 4,1871.1 ALL THB TEAB ROUND. tOondnoteaii,

Sir Francis himself had the pleasure of finger's length." It was a rniuonr of tl seeing his own effigy carried on a soldier's day that during the window breaking i. back to the maitet-place, troopers pre­ the cathedral, Cromwell, espying a liti!, ceding it wrapped in tom surplices and crucifix *' in a window aloft," got a ladd blovring on organ pipes. Nor did the Puri­ and broke it out zealously with his oivi, tans forget to rip off aU the brasses in the hand. Tet Gunton distinctly tells ns that church, particularly that of poor Abbot CromweU was blamed, not for acting, but Williams of Ramsey, whose large marble for not restraining the soldiers m their gravestone was plated vrith metel. It was outrages. oven reported in the town that Crom­ During the time the cathedral doors lav weU's soldiers had stolen the clappers of open, and the ruin was open to all comcn, the bells, but the truth was that some of the two singular accidente happened. citizens, irriteted at the incessant jingling The first waa this. Two young of the bells by the soldiers, had removed chUdren, not more than five years old, them by night and hid them in the roof. got up into the steeple, and, losing that Among other curiosities of the cathedral way, came to the place where the great destroyed at this time were the two Paschal bells hung. It was Sunday afternoon PickerU windows. The legend of the at sermon-time; and the children, soenig windows was that the devout but ignorant the round passage left for drawing np the artist, thinking that the Last Supper must bells, forty yards from the ground, one of needs be in Lent, had substituted a fish them proposed to jnmp down. " No," sajs for the Paschal Lamb. In one vrindow the other; "let us swarm down this there was a single fish, and in the other rope," the rope hanging down to the three fishes in a dish. These famous clock-case below. Down they went swift vrindows were broken to pieces; but, as arrows, and at the clock-honse they singularly enough, a zealous churchman were thrown off and remained as dead. contrived to preserve the pane of glass The news reaching the parish church that with the three fishes. two chUdren had fallen from tbe Minster, In the chapter-house the soldiers ran­ and were kiUed, the serrice was suspended sacked the records, broke the seals, and for a time, every parent fearing for his or tore aU the deeds and charters to pieces, her own chUd. The chUdren, however, especially those which had large, seals, were only stunned by this dangerous which they mistook for Popish buUs. At fall, and soon recovered. In the other last, however, a gentleman " a grave and case, a scholar of the free school, son sober person" went in and expostulated of a Puritan officer, got on the top of with the men. He told them he knew the cathedral, to look for jackdaws' nest«, the writings were not Popish bulls, but and, going over the roof of tbe body of the evidences of estates, the destruction the church, trod on a rotten board, and of which would undo many. In this way fell down into the organ-loft. Ho was some of the records were snatched from picked up dead, " his pockets filled," saji the fire, and preserved to the cathedral. the grave chronicler, " with those in­ It was during these two or three days of auspicious birds." pUlage and destruction that Cromwell The Pnritens did not end their plnnde^ himself (so the tradition goes), had a ing vrith the departure of Cromwell's men. narrow escape from what the Cavaliers They were as greedy as Henry the Eighth, would have considered a retributive death. and they pulled down and sold the clois­ He was quartered at the house of Mr. ters, the old chapter-house, the library, Arvington, called the vineyard, at the east and the bishop's haU and chapel. The end of the cathedral. Out of the court of lead of the bishop's haU was sold; bnt the this house there was a passage into the ship that conveyed the sacrUegions cargo churchyard ascended by three or four stone sank on her way to HoUand, and the steps. Cromwell was riding up these CavaUer clergy cried out, "a special judg­ steps when his horse fell under him, and ment," rising under the door, dashed his rider's The cathedral continued in ruins till head against the lintel, so that Cromwell Oliver St. John, on his return from an fell to the ground as if dead. It was about embassy to Holland, obtained a grant a fortnight before he recovered, and a of the dUapidated minster, and gra­ Cavalier writer says, erultingly, " there ciously gave it to the town of Peter­ were eye-vritnesses who affirmed that the borough to use aa a parochial chnrcli. blow left splinters in his scalp near a Mr. Samuel WUson, a schoolmaster of SL Oharles Dickens.] A GALE AT THE LAND'S END. [July i, 1874.] 283

Charterhouse, was sent down to be some neighbouring crag inevitably falls into preacher, with a salary of a hundred and them. I could show you rocks which •will twenty pounds a year. In 1660, Dr. Cosin, soon become logans—"rocking-stones," the ancient dean of Peterborough, returned, when a little more of their soft base after twenty years' exile in France, restored is worn away. And as for Cyclopean walls, decorous order inthe cathedral, and revived granite columns, and portals like those at the old services of the Church of England. Mycenae, you get them not here only, but anywhere between this and Porthcumow. A GALE AT THE LAND'S-END. The giant builders must have spread their work over at least seven miles of NEVEE did gale spring up more suddenly coast. And these seven miles are just the than that on Monday, the 13th of last very finest in England, not on account AprU. When we went to bed the night of the height, nor even the steepness of before, there was hardly a breath of wind; the cliffs, but because of this which I have when we woke, it was blowing very great called their architectural character. guns indeed, while, every now and. then, To-day, however, we rather look to came a burst of rain. How about our seaward, and watch the huge rollers, intended trip to Land's-End? Our visitor, foam-crested, coming on as though the the Buckinghamshire rector, would not "armed knight" and all the other out­ be able to see the place at all, if we put lying bastions must go down before it off; and yet, during breakfast, the sky them. Though the sky is all leaden, got so much more leaden, and the fitful there is plenty of colour. Round the rain seemed so determined to come down Longships is a weltering mass of bright steadily, that, after much discussion, the white surf, now and then throwing up caiTiage was countermanded. a huge column which rises high enou^ Fortunately, our message was misun­ almost to overtop the tall new lighthouse. derstood; and, when John drove round, Whiter still is the crest of every wave; towards mid-day, during a temporary lull, and as for the waves, no one would believe we hastily got in, a merry party of five; us if we put down aU their shades of our merriment being none the less because green and blue and violet. Where can the wind across Sennen Green seemed that flash of deep bright emerald, that likely to overturn the whole concern. startles you every now and then, come I have seen the Land's End many times. from ? Can it have caught a ray of sun­ I know by heart all the little zawns light which has shot unobserved through (chasms), up which, even in a calm, the the gloom, or has it brought that intense waves wash in restlessly. If I were a colour from some tropical water where painter I could render, better, I think, there is sunshine even to-day ? even than Tumer has done, the peculiar But, before we go to the so-called chai-acter of the rock—^built up, as it Land's-End, we all agree to try Parden- were, slab above slab, with here and nick Point, the point which Turner there what might well be the jamb of loved, and which so' well deserves its some enormous gateway. No one who name ("the herd of rocks," as if the studies the rocks hereabouts can wonder giant's huge cattle had been turned at the tales of ruined cities,_ hill altars, into stone). It is higher than the Land's- rock basins, and logans poised by the End and finer; so we start boldly, hand of man. It all seems architec­ three parsons and two parsons' wives, tural. There, under Maen Castle, along bent on the picturesque, at all costs. But the face of the cliff, you fancy you can the wind is strong over the moor, and the trace the courses of masonry; one course dashes of rain are blinding; and very really seems arched—the very key-stone soon one wife and one parson succumb, stands in its place, and all about it the and, nestling " in the lewth " of a great reddish-brown rock shows, as it were, boulder, gather courage to return to the inn. the trace of fire. Tou dream of a pre­ The others push on, and are rewarded. historic capital of Lyonesse, of which Pardennick itself, indeed, does not come the eastern extremity may somehow have out so well as in the cahn, for one cannot escaped submersion. Of course it is all a scramble to the edge and take in the dream. I could show you rock basins, rocky chaos from the best points of view. more perfect than any which tradition has Still the sight is a glorious one, when, in connected with the Druids, novv actually a lull between the gusts, you can for in process of formation, as the drip from brief moment enjoy it. Every wave f 284 [Jnly 1,1871.] ALL THB TBAB BOUND. tOmdootadi,,

makes a clean breach over the Armed lieving it is a joy of sea-gods as well Knight, and then comes rushing against The guUs however (antitypes of |1„ Enis Dodnan (" earth-covered islet") and Harpies) don't like it. They are not hen pouring through the tunnel that pierces it. we saw them, as we camo along, settled 1. We try to see who was right, the scores on the ploughed land. Ko Uviu'- Bomans, vrith their flnctus decumanus, or thing, except here and there a cormorant the Greeks, vrith their trihumia, third Tet surely there must be life and intelli­ wave; and, at last, agree that the three gence that we know not of to enjoy all does not mean every third wave, nor has this vrild loveliness. Back we go, keeping it merely an intensifying force; but it nearer to the sea, our courage ha™c accurately describes the groups of three grown, or, perhaps, our feet being steadier vast biUows, each followed by seven or through use. Just under one beethng eight smaller ones. "But," says the crag we find a deUghtful place whence we more heroic of the two parsonesses, " we can quietly Ipok down on the shapes of should judge of the height of the waves Pardennick rocks : some like magnified so much better, if we were down below." Egyptian statues; others, like the lines of So we push on to Nanjizel, where there elephants which are carved at the mouths is a pathway down, and where the SciUy of Indian cave-temples. The very colour cable is carried along the central chine of the rock, warm in spite of the want of of cliff which dirides the Uttle bay. sun, is a delight to one who is condemned Nanjizel is calm, by comparison: the to the black clay-slate of Cape Cornwall. waves are tumbling in, churning up the Without "botanising," (rather ont of place sand; but they are no longer the furious on such a day) we have leisure to notice roUers of the other side. They have done the squUls, and the young thrift, and the their work, and have got to their play­ samphire, and the fat-leaved sea-spinaeh, ground ; and one can't help thinking how and, above all, the furze, with its masses joUy it wonld be to go down and have a of gold, out of which stiU rise the dead game with them. However, the path is steep shoots killed by last winter's salt winds. and miry, there are no very high waves There is no heather yet, but we have to measure ; so we content ourselves vrith colour enough without it. looking southward, towards Tol Pedn and the Logan, and watehing how head­ What a change from the quiet of Nan- land aftef headland disappears and then jizel to the next Uttle zawn, np which comes ont again as each coursing wave the vrind howls as through a funnel. Yon hides it behind a veU of spray and then can't stand against it; fortunately, the passes on. Before us is Pendour, vrith rough granite gives a good foothold, and the white boulders of its "raised beach." the stones, bearded with grey moss, ate Tou think a single wall of cliff stretohes fuU of crannies for your fingers. What thence to the great crags of Tol Pedn; a sight below ! One mass of soUd white, but, see, a wave has got behind it, and as if the whole zawn was full of whipped showers of spray, rising almost to the line cream, out of which a lump is heaved np of the fields a-top, prove that the cliff every now and then and whirled through nearest to you is a mere outwork. the funnel, breaking and rushing past yon like a flight of white birds. On the north Somebody telks of the "runnel-stone;" side of Pardennick is a stUl grander sight; but of what use is its bell, the sound of " the Maid's Pool," so called from a lone which comes so sweetly over the summer rock stending, pillar-like, on the shore, is water, now that the thud of the wave seething away Uke a huge cauldron. Ton against the nearest cliff can scarcely be Uterally have to lay your head on the rock heard for the shrieking of the vrind, whUe, behind which you are sheltering, pnU yonr if you want to shout anything into your felt-hat well down, and look as stealthily companion's ear, you have first to draw as if, instead of blinding spray, that hurts him weU under the lee of a rock ? like little pebbles, you were in fear of the More splashes of rain ; yet the waves shote of hostUe marksmen. When yon do are almost as green as if it were bright cateh a glimpse, it is wonderful—some­ .sunlight. Come away; if we stey longer, thing to be dreamt of. we shall all turn heathen and preach But we must hurry back; the recreants about " old Triton blowing his wreathed vriU be growing hungry. So we push on horn," and of " catching sight of Proteus apace, stumbling over the tussocks, and rising from the sea." It is such a joy of every now and tlien pausing for one more waters, that one can scarcely help be­ good look at the glorious sight to sea-

~;?^ Charles Dickens.] A GALE AT THE LAND'S END. [July 4,1874.] 285 ward. There is a man creeping round the It must have been a grand gale. The cliff. I go up to him, and find he is an news from SciUy is that the lighthouse on unpicturesque descendant of the wreckers the Bishop's Rock was shaken out of its on the look-out for anything that may be place, but happily fell back into it again; cast ashore. He tells me this nearest zawn and, though the sea round it is seven is called " Red Works," a place where those fathoms deep, sand was mixed with the ubiquitous'' old men'' (Phoenicians or Jews water which broke several of the lighthouse or Aborigines P) once streamed for tin. windows. Inland, too, from Whitsand How hastily wc lunched; how eager we Bay, fish of deep-sea varieties, wrass and were to get to the real Land's-End, and others, were found five hundred yards and how, when we got there, we voted Tumer more from high-water mark. The new wrong, and Pardennick a mistake, and Longships lighthouse, too, was only just found the very finest seas bursting over built in time. A good piece of the rock Pedn Maen Dhu (Penmandhu, black on which the former building stood, long rock-head—compare the Welsh Penman- undermined, got its finishing stroke in mawr), just to the north, and how the this wild gale, and quietly gave way not " Irish Lady" was seldom to be seen amid long after. What a day it must have the sheets of foam, there is no need to tell. been on the "Wolf," that lone rock, half­ The whirl of the waves through the way over to Scilly, on which there is often channel that separates the Pele (spire) from no landing for months together ! A light­ the last point of the mainland, was simply house-man's must be a strange life at the tremendous. No one thought of being best of times. Think of him who, when afraid, so grand were the surroundings; light-keepers used to be only two together, one of us even "threaded the needle," was left for weeks beside the dead body of passed round and between the twin rocks his comrade, unable to remove it from which stand on the very verge, and all their common living room, while the of us went where some would scarcely weather was so bad that no boat could have ventured in calm weather. It was put off in answer to his signals. I always altogether a new feeling. " I've seen think, when I see a lighthouse, of those many a good sea off the Mumbles," rocky islets off the coast of Clare and said the more adventurous parsoness, Galway, with their " beehive huts," some "but nothing a bit like this." As the of them still called " the rock of the day wore on, the sea got even wilder. starving bishop; " and of the passage in To lose the Longships lighthouse at the old Brehon code which enacts that every third wave became almost a matter when a church dignitary has done wrong, of course. All Whitsand Bay seemed he shall betake himself to one of them for fiUed with yeasty water. Cape Cornwall voluntary exile. Are light-keepers the backed up by the cliffs of Kenidjack Castle, kind of men, lay or cleric, who choose was looming grandly to the north-east; such a sort of La Trappe for a Hke reason ? and it was not tUl dusk that we could You may fancy so, my imaginative young make up our minds to turn homewards. friend; and you may liken the helpful A wild drive it was. How desolate, light, which they tend night after night, Sennen church-tovm looked ! how needless to the ray amid the darkness which, not the multitude of stone hedges, six to one seldom, as from a smaller lona, gleamed little cottage, chiefly useful for growing usefully forth from the rock of some furze and foxgloves ; and how the " starving bishop." Keep your fancy ; it middens, kitchen and other, came into is pretty and harmless. But in real life unpleasant prominence. But here is you'll find the light-keeper a very prosaic Chapel Cairn Brea, our alp, rising out of person. They often come and live here­ the level, well-pared moor, cut so bare abouts when they've retired; and are well- for fuel that only here and there a f orze behaved, pleasant-faced old men, fond of or heather root is left; one more glimpse basking in the sun, fond of spinning dull of the sea, just where, by Cape Cornwall, yams, not despising grog and tobacco, the waves are making a clean breach though by no means over-addicted to over the "Brisons," (briser) and, then, those "wanities." But, as for romance, good-bye for to-day to the grand doings I never knew men with less of it. Not to of him so well named by old -iEschylus expiate secret sins, but to earn a comfort­ " Zephyr the giant," a very different being able pension did they take to lighthouse from the oft-blowing west wind, the Favo- work. What shall we say then ? Do nius—kindly breeze—of the Latin poets. scenery and surroundings tell on the

y^ A 286 [Jmy 1,1871.] ALL THB TBAB BOUND. tOondaoteJiij

human mind ? They do in tho long I was stending under my favourite run, on the race; they chiefly make one beech tree, in my garden, one fair Sep. race differ from another; but certainly tember afternoon—With those words con^ not in a life-time. Even the " Wolf " to me, in a special manner, the memory of light-keeper wUl come out as he went in, no the beauty of that afternoon. We had more and no less touched vrith the feeling already had light frost at night, enongh of the sublime; although through long to make the leaves begin to chtinge, and vrinter months the billows have been to faU, and enough to cause that'first howling round him, as loudly as they pungent scent of automn to mingle with, were meant to have howled through that and to tinge with pathos, tho sweetness of big copper wolf that was once ineffectnally my late-blovring roses and my mignonette. pegged down on the rock as a warning to The sights, and sounds, and scents of snch saUors; whUe every night the contrast an afternoon, made a special appeal to me. between the dark hearing sea beyond, and It was at this time of the year, the early the circle of which he was the centre— autumn, that had begun the brief summer a circle of intense brightness from that of my Ufe. And, old woman as I am, tho wonderful light, has been, in thought, autumn cawing of rooks circling home­ something avrful. In thought, but not in wards, across a sky colouring towards practice. He soon got used to it; and it sunset, to neste beginning to be revealed is best so, for a romantic light-keeper by the thinning of the russet-glories of might forget to trim his vrick, or to beechwoods, which to the last redden richly properly clean his reflectors, or something. in response to the late gleam, can make On the whole, the prosaic man answers sweet, sad, seul-wrung tears, as from "the best. Bnt even he must have felt as he depths of some dirine despair, rise to my i had seldom felt before, during that me­ heart, and gather to my eyes: " can mafe morable gale on the 13th AprQ, 1874 me feel, though, perhaps, as if throngh a glass and darkly, the vague tremors of new-born self-mistrusting hope, the sad­ SAFELY MARRED. ness and the gladness, the pain, the pathos, ' Tn 1.VTEOB OV "Air sxpisEUroa," "n. the pity, the glow and the glory, the TRIIXS," Ac, to. doubt, the darkness, the despair of that BOOK II. CHAPTEE VI. keen life, and quick death, of my youth and my love. Can make me, liring over DuEnto the next few months, I saw these again, feel young enough to suffer Elfie and her husband pretty often, with­ again, tUl something, a twinge of rheuma­ out seeing much of them. In their drives tism, a glance in a mirror, or some such and rides they constently passed my accident, brings to my consciousness igm cottege, and never vrithout stopping to my red face, set off by its white c»p- speak to me. Often I was in the garden, borders, my nut-cracker nose and chin, my and then it was just a few words at the general Mother-Hnbbard-Uke appearance, gate, perhaps, and no more. and I langh grimly to myself, at myself I They were (should I rather say he was ?) most studiously thoughtful of me. Is one most ssid, or most glad, to be They brought me books from the town, recalled to the knowledge that these they undertook all my fidgetty little com­ things are past and gone, dead and done- missions (I am sure it was Allan who had with, as far as anything spiritual ever is the trouble of these). They inundated past and gone, deaid and done-with ? To me vrith luxuries from Braithwait— the knowledge that the battle of hfe is flowers, fruit, fish, game, poultry. I could almost over, and the end of life—so far as use them for my sick neighbours if I did it ever has end—near ? I am not gladtn not care for them myself, Mr. Braithwait feel the end near. I never remember tK) always said, in answer to any remonstrance have wished for death. Is this that I at his prodigality. have never suffered as some suffer ? And Now and then, but, perhaps, not more yet, what with hate and love, and jealousy than three times during those first three and loss, and pride and pity, 1 suffered months, I saw Edgar Bamsay with them. pretty nigh to the uttermost. Is it that I Gay, careless,^ handsome, his fair, smooth, have not the Faith some are blessed vrith? sunny, apparently open faoe, made my Or is it merely that I have so keen » poor Allan's—he never being in his best vitality? Is it that I am of the earth, earthy? mood when with his cousin—look dark Or is itthat I am strong, mind and body, and and sour, almost forbidding. that it takes mnch to weary me of living ? ^r ^

=to Oharles Dickens.] SAFELT MARRIED. [July i, 1874.] 287

I have friends who are shocked at the By the time I got to the gate they had liveliness, which they call worldliness, of reached it and were waiting there in a so old a woman; who would think more and golden glory of dusky sunbeams. That better of me, if they always found me sitting gate fronts the west, and the sun was still, with my open Bible before me, and already low. I saw them before they saw taking little or no interest in the joys and me. Toung Ramsay's hand was resting sorrows around me, treating the world, in on the pommel of Elfie's saddle, and he fact, as a thing with which, having done was leaning forward to look up into her on my own account, I had no concern for face with laughing audacity. As answer, the sake of others. Well, I will not presumably, to that audacity, Elfie brought dogmatise, will not lay down rules for her whip down upon his fingers—in fun, other people; bnt may just say, that in I suppose, for she laughed, one of her me such conduct would not mean growth sUvery-ringing peals of Elfin laughter, as of saintliness, but of selfishness and of stu­ she did it; in fun, I suppose, but more pidity, the beginning not of new life, but sharply than was pleasant fun to Mr. of living death. Ramsay, as I could see, for there was an I trust I am not in this more a heathen angry heat in his eyes, as, catching sight than a Christian, though such friends as of my approach, he drew off from Elfie. those of whom I spoke have reproached I didn't like what I had seen, and my me with my admiring study of one who, greeting to Elfie was the very sharply condemned to death for the nobleness of spoken question, "Where's your hus­ his life, said, in farewell to his friends— band?" • " The hour of departure has arrived, and " At home," was aU Elfie's answer. ^ we go our ways. I to die, and you to Hve. " How's that ? Which is better, God only knows." "Business detained him. He couldn't • What has led to all this wandering? give up his business, and I couldn't, on My eyes had fastened themselves on the such an afternoon, give up my ride. So, beech tree, under which I was standing on here we are, for once, without him." She • the afternoon of which I began to speak. spoke gaily enough, and her mouth smiled : A beech tree which grows opposite my gaily enough, and yet, as, shading my eyes - own particular windows, on the smoothest •with my hand, I peered up into her lovely bit of lawn, in the best-beloved part of face, I took it into my head that there was my garden, with the marking of whose a new expression in it, a look of unsettled trunk, the weather stains, the delicate trouble. velvetings of lichen, the tracery left by To Mr. Ramsay's profound salute and torn-off ivy, I am so famiUar, that they are fascinating smUe, I had only responded by as vividly real to me when I look towards a nod. ., it in the dark as when I see it standing " I'm thinking of spending a day with ', stately in moonlight or in sunlight. you, soon, Elfie, before the days get any :, That tree seems to stand in the very shorter," I said. " When can I be sure of ' centre of all my life, and the sight of it is finding you at home ? " I had not had any '. always apt to send me back over my life. such thought till something I fancied I saw My cottage is the only home I have ever in the girl's face raised my curious interest. known. My mother came to it on her " Any day. Aunt Hammond." marriage; my father was first curate then " Any day is no day, Blfie, and if I put rector of Braithwait parish. He died my old self, my old man, and my old pony very young ; but, after his death, the real to the trouble of getting to the House, I old Braithwait church was restored and a don't want to run the risk of finding the ' rectory built close to it. My mother lived house empty. Shall you be at home to­ ' on in this cottage; lived on in it a quarter morrow, child ? " of a century after my father's death. The " To-morrow is the archery-meeting at ; period of my life in it now exceeds three- my sister's," prompted Mr. Ramsay. quarters of a century. " The next day, then ? " I asked, keep­ Well, as I began by saying, it was under ing my eyes on Blfie, as if she had spoken. this beech-tree that I was standing one " The next day, Thursday, is the day of fair September afternoon when the clatter the flower-show at Castle Howard," again '^ of hoofs in the road made me go down prompted Edgar Ramsay. ' to my garden-gate to see Elfie and her " Friday ? " I questioned, still, of course, f husband, as I expected, go by. There was of Elfie. ' no husband in the case, however, only " Mrs. Braithwait, I happen to know. •' Elfie and Edgar Ramsay. 288 ALL THB TBAB BOUND. [Wjl,lBt]

promised to go into Tork with my cousin seemed to mo more incompatible than on Friday. Tou remember," he added, those I watohed. turning to Elfio, "Allan asked you to call Tet one could not well have found vrith hjm on his old friends, the Wybarte; lovelier lady or a finer cavalier. he might not be pleased if yon engaged Biding was one of Elfie's pet pleasure. yourself for that day, even to " and natural accomplishments. She had " I remember aU about it," Elfie inter­ had no lessons, save aa a tiny child from rupted, sharply—I liked that sharpness— my old Nicholas, but she sat her horse just as I, out of patience, burst out— always vrith a Ughtly-poised grace and " Is that young man the keeper of yonr safety, as a fairy princess wonld sit her conscience as well as of your engagement- enchanted charger. As I looked after list, Mrs. Braithwait ? " them I noticed, for the first time, iiat " An office he might be equal to, as, Elfie's hair was streaming loose npon tiie according to some people, it would be a vrind. .sinecure," she answered quickly. Then In iteelf a trifle, this seemed to me a she added, with a gentler face and voice— seriously bad sign. " Come on Saturday, dear auntie, now I was foolish enough to run out mto tie do, and stey tUl Monday. Tou like the lane and caU after them. Of course, they little old Braithwait church, and yon could not hear me. I made myself hot know you like Mr. Marchmont's serrices. and breathless for nothing. Without look­ Promise me!" ing round, they rode on aud on, tamed " Tou should warn Miss Hammond that the comer, and were out of sight. your house wiU be somewhat fnll. She Why did I vex myself about the order might prefer to risit you when you are or disorder of Elfie's hair ? alone." Again the irrepressible Mephis­ Allan, I knew, most decidedly objected topheles. to his wife's riding about with all that " I had forgotten," Elfie said, and her bright silken wealth loose about her; face clouded over. "Tou see, whUe the whUe I had once heard Edgar say, that fine weather laste, I have so many engage- Elfie never looked so lovely as thus. mente. My husband likes me to be gay My annoyance did not quite reach ite and to amuse myself. He is so anxious height, however, tiU they passed my cot­ I shonld not find Braithwait dull. Let tage again on their homeward way, later me send the carriage for you, auntie, on than I thought seemly, and I found they the first free day, may I ? " had been into the neighbouring market- " Don't forget it then, my dear, and town. To have gone into Tork itself don't put it off too long. Bemember wonld have been less objectionable; they how, probably, at my age, things post­ would not there have furnished so much poned may be indeed postponed—ad in­ food for gossip. finitum." I caught a severe cold that afternoon. I She stooped and kissed me, and said, had heated myself, and then I stayed out " I'm sure I want to see you as mnch s& after dewfaU. I was, also, both vexed and you want to see me," and then off they depressed; and in such moods eril physical rode. influences take, I think, more hold of ns. I stood looking after them. I had acute bronchitis, and was, more The lane was fuU of stillest sunniest or less, laid np for a month, keeping my shine; its hedge-row glories showed bed entirely for a couple of weeks. motionless against a sky of steinless blue. Directly I waa weU enough to go out— From the tall trees just now and then 'a I am a tough old body, and throw off golden or a russet leaf came floating down, iUness more quickly than most people—I detached by some bird's stirring in the had my old pony put into my old chaise, branches. The rooks were cawing with a my old man into his old driving-coat, wid softened dreamy sort of caw. With that went over to Braithwait. stiUest sunshine and glory, that immacu­ I was both vaguely and deeply nneaay late purity of earth, and air, and sky, that abont things there. I had seen nothing pathos which was the crowning touch of either Elfie or her husband, nor heard upon it all, no two figures conld have anything for all that long sick month.

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