The Poacher, by Captain Marryat. 

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Captain Frederick Marryat was born July 10 1792, and died August 8 1848. He retired from the British navy in 1828 in order to devote himself towriting. In the following 20 years he wrote 26 books, many of which areamong the very best of English literature, and some of which are stillin print. 

Marryat had an extraordinary gift for the invention of episodes in hisstories. He says somewhere that when he sat down for the day's work, henever knew what he was going to write. He certainly was a literarygenius. 

"The Poacher" was published in 1841, the eighteenth book to flow fromMarryat's pen. 

This e-text was transcribed in 1998 by Nick Hodson, and was reformattedin 2003, and again in 2005. 

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THE POACHER, BY CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

IN WHICH THERE IS MORE ALE THAN ARGUMENT. 

It was on a blusterous windy night in the early part of November, 1812, that three men were on the high road near to the little village ofGrassford, in the south of Devonshire. The moon was nearly at the full, but the wild scud, and occasionally the more opaque clouds, passed overin such rapid succession, that it was rarely, and but for a moment ortwo, that the landscape was thrown into light and shadow; and the wind, which was keen and piercing, bent and waved the leafless branches of thetrees which were ranged along the hedgerows, between which the road hadbeen formed. 

The three individuals to whom we have referred appeared all of them tohave been indulging too freely in the ale which was sold at thepublic-house about half a mile from the village, and from which they hadjust departed. Two of them, however, comparatively speaking, sober, were assisting home, by their _joint_ efforts, the third, who, supportedbetween them, could with difficulty use his legs. Thus did theycontinue on; the two swayed first on the one side of the road, and thenon the other, by the weight of the third, whom they almost carriedbetween them. At last they arrived at a bridge built over one of thoseimpetuous streams so common in the county, when, as if by mutualunderstanding, for it was without speaking, the two more sober depositedthe body of the third against the parapet of the bridge, and then forsome time were silently occupied in recovering their breath. One of thetwo who remained leaning on the parapet by the side of their almostlifeless companion was a man of about forty years of age, tall andslender, dressed in a worn-out black coat, and a pair of trousers muchtoo short for him, the original colour of which it would have beendifficult to have surmised; a sort of clerical hat, equally the worsefor wear, was on his head. Although his habiliments were mean, stillthere was something about his appearance which told of better days, andof having moved in a different sphere in society; and such had been thecase. Some years before he had been the head of a grammar-school, witha comfortable income; but a habit of drinking had been his ruin, and hewas now the preceptor of the village of Grassford, and gained hislivelihood by instructing the children of the cottagers for the smallmodicum of twopence a head per week. This unfortunate propensity toliquor remained with him and he no sooner received his weekly stipendthan he hastened to drown his cares, and the recollection of his formerposition, at the ale-house which they had just quitted. The secondpersonage whom we shall introduce was not of a corresponding height withthe other: he was broad, square-chested, and short-dressed inknee-breeches, leggings, and laced boots--his coat being of a thickfustian, and cut short like a shooting-jacket: his profession was thatof a pedlar. 

"It's odd to me, " said the pedlar, at last breaking silence, as helooked down upon the drunken man who lay at his feet, "why ale shouldtake a man off his legs; they say that liquor gets into the head, notthe feet. "

"Well, " replied the schoolmaster, who was much more inebriated than thepedlar, "there's argument even in that and, you see, the perpendiculardeviation must arise from the head being too heavy, that's clear; andthen, you see, the feet, from the centre of gravity being destroyed, become too light; and if you put that and that together, why, a mancan't stand. You understand my demonstration?"

"It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I suppose it's all right, " repliedthe pedlar; "but still ale a'n't poured into the head or into the feetof a man, but into the internals, which are right in the middle of aman; so, how do you make out your case, Mr Furness?"

"Why, Byres, you talk of the residuum. "

"Never said a word about it; and, as I stand here, never even heard theword before. "

"Perhaps not: the residuum is, you see, Byres, what is left. "

"If that's residgium, I didn't mean to say a word about it; there wasnone left, for you drained the pot. "

"Good, Byres; you have never been to college, that's clear. Now, observe, when a man pours down into his stomach a certain quantity ofliquor, the spirituous or lighter part ascends to his head, and thatmakes his head heavy. Do you understand?"

"No; what's light can't make things heavy. "

"Can't it?--you know nothing about the matter. Have you not a proofbefore you?" replied the schoolmaster, reeling, and catching hold of theparapet for support; "look at that unfortunate man, who has yielded toexcess. "

"Very true; I see that he's drunk, but I want to know how it is that hegot drunk?"

"By drinking. "

"That I knew before. "

"Then why ask any more questions? Had we not better proceed, and takehim home to his expectant and unhappy wife? 'Tis a sad, sad thing, thata man should `put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains. '"

"Half a pint will do that with Rushbrook, " replied the pedlar; "they saythat he was wounded on his head, and that half his brains are gonealready, and that's why he has a pension. "

"Yes, seventeen pounds a year; paid quarterly, without deduction, andonly to walk four miles to get it, " replied Furness; "yet how misplacedis the liberality on the part of the government. Does he work? No; hedoes nothing but drink and lie in bed all day, while I must be up earlyand remain late, teaching the young idea at twopence per week. FriendByres, `mercy is not itself which oft looks so. ' Now, it is my opinionthat it would be a kindness to this poor wretch if we were to toss him, as he now is, over the bridge into the rushing stream; it would end allhis troubles. "

"And save us the trouble of getting him home, " replied Byres, whodetermined to humour his more inebriated companion. "Well, Mr Furness, I've no objection. Why should he live? Is he not a sinecurist--one ofthe locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood of the people, as theSunday paper says? Don't you remember my reading it this morning?"

"Very true, Master Byres. "

"What d'ye say, then?--shall we over with him?"

"We must think a little, " replied the schoolmaster, who put his hand upto his chin, and remained silent for a minute or two. "No, " resumed he, at last; "on second thoughts I cannot do it. He halves his beer withme. No pension--no beer; that's a self-evident proposition andconclusion. It were ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent toyour proposal, " continued the schoolmaster; "nay, more, I will defendhim against your murderous intentions to the very last. "

"Why, Master Furness, you must be somewhat the worse for liquoryourself: it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine. "

"Take care what you say, " replied the schoolmaster; "would you accuse meof murder, or intent to murder?"

"No, not by no means--only you proposed heaving him over the bridge: Iwill say that. "

"Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say anything but your prayers; butin your present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have twomen to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms, while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mileto the cottage. "

Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the more sober of the two, didnot think it worth his while to reply to the pedagogue. After a fewstaggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and ledaway between them. 

The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that hemoved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at thecottage-door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make itrattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall, handsome woman, holding a candle in her hand. 

"I thought so, " said she, shaking her head. "The old story: now he willbe ill all night, and not get up till noon. "

"What a weary life it is with a drunken husband. Bring him and thankyou kindly for your trouble. "

"It has been hard work and hot work, " observed the schoolmaster, sittingdown in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed. 

"Indeed, and it must be, " replied the wife. "Will you have a drop ofsmall beer, Mr Furness?"

"Yes, if you please, and so will Mr Byres, too. What a pity it is yourgood man will not keep to small beer. "

"Yes, indeed, " replied the wife, who went into the back premises, andsoon returned with a quart mug of beer. 

The schoolmaster emptied half the mug, and then handed it to the pedlar. 

"And my little friend Joey, fast asleep, I'll warrant!"

"Yes, poor child, and so should I have been by this time; the clock hasgone twelve. "

"Well, Mrs Rushbrook, I wish you a good night. Come, Mr Byres, MrsRushbrook must want to be in bed. "

"Good night, Mr Furness, and good night, sir, and many thanks. "

The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the cottage. Mrs Rushbrook, afterhaving watched them for a minute, carefully closed the door. 

"They're gone now, " said she, as she turned to her husband. 

What would have created much astonishment could anybody else havewitnessed it, as soon as his wife had spoken, Rushbrook immediatelysprang upon his feet, a fine-looking man, six feet in height, very erectin his bearing, --and proved to be perfectly sober. 

"Jane, my dear, " said he, "there never was such a night: but I must bequick, and lose no time. Is my gun ready?"

"Everything's ready; Joey is lying down on his bed, but all readydressed, and he awakes in a minute. "

"Call him, then, for there is no time to lose. That drunken fool, Furness, proposed throwing me over the bridge. It was lucky for themthat they did not try it, or I should have been obliged to settle themboth, that they might tell no tales. Where's Mum?"

"In the wash-house. I'll bring him and Joey directly. "

The wife left the room, while Rushbrook took down his gun andammunition, and prepared himself for his expedition. In a minute or twoa shepherd's dog, which had been released from the wash-house, made hisappearance, and quietly lay down close to his master's feet; it was soonfollowed by Mrs Rushbrook, accompanied by Joey, a thin, meagre-lookingboy, of about twelve years old, very small for his age, but apparentlyas active as a cat, and with energy corresponding. No one would havethought he had been roused from his sleep; there was no yawning orweariness of motion--on the contrary, his large eye was as bright as aneagle's, as he quietly, although quickly, provided himself with a sack, which he threw over his shoulders, and a coil of line, which he held inhis hand, waiting until his father was ready to start. The wife put outthe lights, softly opened the cottage-door, looked well round, and thenreturned to her husband, who, giving a low whistle, as a summons to Joeyand the dog, walked out of the door. Not a word was spoken; the doorwas softly shut to; and the trio crept stealthily away. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

IN WHICH THE HERO OF THE TALE IS FORMALLY INTRODUCED. 

Before we proceed with our narrative, perhaps it will be better toexplain what may appear very strange to the reader. Joseph Rushbrook, who has just left the cottage with his son and his dog, was born in thevillage in which he was then residing. During his younger days, someforty years previous to his present introduction to the reader, the lawwas not so severe, or the measures taken against poachers so strong asthey were at the period of which we write. In his youth he had beenvery fond of carrying a gun--as his father had been before him--but henever was discovered; and after having poached for many years, andgained a perfect knowledge of the country for miles round, he waspersuaded, in a fit of semi-intoxication, at a neighbouring fair, toenlist in a marching regiment. He had not been more than three monthsat the depot when he was ordered out to India, where he remained elevenyears before he was recalled. He had scarcely been six months inEngland, when the exigency of the war demanded the services of theregiment in the Mediterranean, where he remained for twelve years, andhaving received a severe wound in the head, he was then pensioned offand discharged. He resolved to return to his native village, and settledown quietly, hoping by moderate labour and his pension, to gain acomfortable living. On his return he was hardly known; many hademigrated to a foreign clime; many had been transported for offencesagainst the laws, particularly for the offence of poaching: and as mostof his former allies had been so employed, he found himself almost astranger where he expected to meet with friends. The property alsoabout the village had changed hands. People recollected SquireSo-and-So, and the Baronet, but now their lands were held by wealthymanufacturers or retired merchants. All was new to Joe Rushbrook, andhe felt himself anywhere but at home. Jane Ashley, a very beautifulyoung woman, who was in service at the Hall, the mansion appertaining tothe adjacent property, and the daughter of one of his earliest friends, who had been transported for poaching, was almost the only one who couldtalk to him after his absence of twenty-four years; not that she knewthe people at the time, for she was then an infant, but she had grown upwith them after Joe had left, and could narrate anecdotes of them, andwhat had been their eventual destinies. Jane having been the daughterof a man who had been transported for poaching, was to Joe a sort ofrecommendation, and it ended in his taking her for his wife. They hadnot been long settled in their cottage before Joe's former propensitiesreturned; in fact, he could not be idle, he had carried a musket toolong, and had lived such a life of excitement in the service of hiscountry, that he found it impossible to exist without shooting atsomething. All his former love of poaching came strong upon him, andhis wife, so far from checking him, encouraged him in his feelings. Theconsequence was, that two years after his marriage, Joe Rushbrook wasthe most determined poacher in the county. Although often suspected, hehad never been detected; one great cause of this was his appearing to besuch a drunkard, a plan hit upon by his wife, who had observed thatdrunken men were not suspected of being poachers. This scheme hadtherefore been hit upon, and very successfully; for proving before amagistrate that a man was carried home dead drunk and speechless atmidnight, was quite as good an _alibi_ as could be brought forward. JoeRushbrook had, therefore, the credit of being a worthless drunkenfellow, who lived upon his pension and what his wife could earn; but noone had an idea that he was not only earning his livelihood, but layingby money from his successful night labours. Not that Joe did not like adrop occasionally--on the contrary, he would sometimes drink freely;but, generally speaking, the wounds in his head were complained of; andhe would, if the wind was fresh and set in the right quarter, contriveto be carried home on the night in which he had most work to do. Suchwas the case, as we have represented in the first chapter. 

Little Joey, who, as the reader may anticipate, will be our future hero, was born the first year after marriage, and was their only child. Hewas a quiet, thoughtful, reflective boy for his years, and had imbibedhis father's love of walking out on a dark night to an extraordinarydegree: it was strange to see how much prudence there was, mingled withthe love of adventure, in this lad. True it is, his father had trainedhim early, first to examine the snares and conceal the game, which alittle shrimp like Joey could do, without being suspected to beotherwise employed than in picking blackberries. Before he was sevenyears old, Joey could set a springe as well as his father, and was wellversed in all the mystery and art of unlawful taking of game. Indeed, he was very valuable to his father, and could do what his father couldnot have ventured upon without exciting suspicion. It was, perhaps, from his constant vigils, that the little boy was so small in size; atall events, his diminutive size was the cause of there being nosuspicion attached to him. Joey went very regularly to the day-schoolof Mr Furness; and although often up the best part of the night, he wasone of the best and most diligent of the scholars. No one could havesupposed that the little fair-haired, quiet-looking boy, who was so busywith his books or his writing, could have been out half the night on aperilous excursion, for such it was at the time we are speaking of. Itneed hardly be observed that Joey had learned one important lesson, which was to be _silent_; not even _Mum_, the dog, who could not speak, was more secret or more faithful. 

It is astonishing how much the nature and disposition of a child may bealtered by early tuition. Let a child be always with its nurse, evenunder the guidance of a mother, regularly brought up as children usuallyare, and it will continue to be a child, and even childish, afterchildhood is gone. But take the same child, put it by degrees insituations of peril, requiring thought and observation beyond its years, accustom it to nightly vigils, and to watching, and to hold its tongue, and it is astonishing how the mind of that child, however much its bodymay suffer, will develop itself so as to meet the demand upon it. Thusit is with lads that are sent early to sea, and thus it was with littleJoey. He was a man in some points, although a child in others. Hewould play with his companions, laugh as loudly as the others, but stillhe would never breathe a hint of what was his father's employment. Hewent to church every Sunday, as did his father and mother; for theyconsidered that poaching was no crime, although punished as such by thelaws; and he, of course, considered it no crime, as he only did what hisfather and mother wished. Let it not be thought, therefore, that themorals of our little hero were affected by his father's profession, forsuch was not the case. 

Having entered into this necessary explanation, we will now proceed. Noband of North American Indians could have observed a better trail thanthat kept by our little party. Rushbrook walked first, followed by ourhero and the dog Mum. Not a word was spoken; they continued their routeover grass-lands and ploughed fields, keeping in the shade of thehedgerows: if Rushbrook stopped for a while to reconnoitre, so did Joey, and so did Mum at their relative distances, until the march was resumed. For three miles and a half did they thus continue, until they arrivedat a thick cover. The wind whistled through the branches of the baretrees, chiefly oak and ash; the cold, damp fog was now stationary, andshrouded them as they proceeded cautiously by the beaten track in thecover, until they had passed through it, and arrived on the other side, where the cottage of a gamekeeper was situated. A feeble light wasburning, and shone through the diamond-paned windows. 

Rushbrook walked out clear of the cover, and held up his hand toascertain precisely the direction of the wind. Having satisfiedhimself; he retreated into the cover, in a direction so as to be exactlyto leeward of the keeper's house, that the noise of the report of hisgun might not be heard. Having cleared the hedge, he lowered his gun, so as to bring the barrel within two or three inches of the ground, andwalked slowly and cautiously through the brushwood, followed, as before, by Joey and Mum. After about a quarter of a mile's walk, a rattling ofmetal was heard, and they stopped short; it was the barrel of thefowling-piece which had brushed one of the wires attached to aspring-gun, set for the benefit of poachers. Rushbrook lifted up hisleft hand, as a sign to Joey not to move; and following the wire, bycontinually rattling his barrel against it, he eventually arrived at thegun itself; opened the pan, threw out all the priming, leaving it withthe pan open, so that it could not go off; in case they fell in withanother of the wires. Rushbrook then proceeded to business, for he wellknew that the gun would be set where the pheasants were most accustomedto roost; he put a small charge of powder in his fowling-piece, that, being so near, he might not shatter the birds, and because the noise ofthe report would be much less; walking under an oak-tree he soondiscovered the round black masses which the bodies of the roostingpheasants presented between him and the sky, and raising his piece, hefired; a heavy bound on the earth near his feet followed the discharge;Joey then slipped forward and put the pheasant into his bag; another andanother shot, and every shot brought an increase to Joey's load. Seventeen were already in it when Mum gave a low growl. This was thesignal for people being near. Rushbrook snapped his finger; the dogcame forward to his side, and stood motionless, with ears and tailerect. In a minute's time was heard the rustling of branches as theparty forced their way through the underwood. Rushbrook stood still, waiting the signal from Mum, for the dog had been taught, if the partiesadvancing had another dog with them, always to raise his fore-feet up toRushbrook's knees, but not otherwise; Mum made no such sign, and thenRushbrook lay down in the brushwood, his motions being closely followedby his son and his dog. 

Voices in whispers were now heard, and the forms of two men with gunswere to be seen not four yards from where they were lying. 

"Somewhere about here, I'll swear, " said one. 

"Yes, I think so; but it may be further on--the wind has brought downthe sound. "

"Very true, let's follow them, and they may fall back upon thespring-gun. "

The parties then advanced into the cover, and were soon out of sight;after a time Rushbrook held his ear to the wind, and, satisfied that allwas safe, moved homewards, and arrived without further adventure, havingrelieved Joey of the heavy sack as soon as they were in the open fields. 

At three o'clock in the morning, he tapped at the back door of thecottage. Jane opened it, and the spoils of the night having been putaway in a secret place, they were all soon in bed and fast asleep. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

TRAIN A CHILD IN THE WAY HE SHOULD GO, AND HE WILL NOT DEPART FROM IT. 

It is an old saying, that "if there were no receivers there would be nothieves, " and it would have been of very little use for Rushbrook totake the game if he had not had the means of disposing of it. In thispoint, Byres, the pedlar, was a valuable accessory. Byres was a radicalknave, who did not admire hard work. At first he took up the professionof bricklayer's labourer, one that is of a nature only affordingoccasional work and moderate wages. He did this that he might apply tothe parish for relief; and do nothing for the major portion of the year. But even a few months' work would not suit him, and subsequently hegained his sustenance by carrying on his head a large basket ofcrockery, and disposing of his wares among the cottagers. At last hetook out a pedlar's license--perhaps one of the most dangerous permitsever allowed by a government, and which has been the cause of much ofthe ill-will and discontent fomented among the lower classes. Latterly, the cheapness of printing and easiness of circulation have rendered theprofession of less consequence: twenty years ago the village ale-houseswere not provided with newspapers; it was an expense never thought of;the men went to drink their beer and talk over the news of the vicinity, and if there was a disturbance in any other portion of the UnitedKingdom, the fact was only gained by rumour, and that vaguely and longafter it had taken place. But when the pedlar Byres made hisappearance, which he at last did, weekly or oftener, as it might happen, there was a great change; he was the party who supplied information, and, in consequence, he was always welcome, and looked upon as anoracle; the best seat near the fire was reserved for him, and havingdeposited his pack upon the table or in a corner, he would then producethe _Propeller_, or some other publication full of treason andblasphemy, and read it aloud for the benefit of the labourers assembled. A few months were more than sufficient to produce the most seriouseffects: men who had worked cheerfully through the day, and retired tobed satisfied with their lot, and thankful that work was to be obtained, now remained at the public-house, canvassing the conduct of government, and, leaving their resort, satisfied in their own minds that they wereill-used, harshly treated, and in bitter bondage. If they met theirsuperiors, those very parties to whom they were indebted for employment, there was no respect shown to them as formerly or, if so, it was sullenand forced acknowledgement. The church was gradually deserted--theappearance of the pastor was no longer a signal for every hat to belifted from the head; on the contrary, boys of sixteen or seventeenyears of age would lean against the church, or the walls of thechurchyard, with their hands in both pockets, and a sort of leer upontheir faces, as though they defied the pastor on his appearance--andthere would they remain outside during the service, meeting, unquailedand without blushing, his eyes, cast upon them as he came out again. Such was the state of things in the village of Grassford in one yearafter the pedlar had added it to his continual rounds--and Byres was agreat favourite, for he procured for the women what they commissionedhim to obtain, supplied the girls with ribbons and gewgaws, and trustedto a considerable extent. His reappearance was always anxiously lookedfor; he lived scot-free at the public-house, for he brought so muchcustom, and was the occasion of the drinking of so much ale, that thelandlord considered his coming as a godsend. His box of ware was wellsupplied in the sunnier months, for the fine weather was the time forthe wearing of gay ribbons; but in the winter he travelled more toreceive orders, or to carry away the game supplied to him by thepoachers, with whom he was in league. Had his box been examined duringthe shooting season, it would have been found loaded with pheasants, notwith trinkets and ribbons. It need hardly be observed after this thatByres was the party who took off the hands of Rushbrook all the gamewhich he procured, and which he had notice to call for before daylight, generally the _second_ morning after it had been obtained; for Rushbrookwas too cautious to trust Byres with his secret, that of never going outof a night without having previously pretended intoxication, and havingsuffered himself to be led or carried home. 

Our readers will acknowledge that little Joey was placed in a verydangerous position; it is true that he was not aware that he was doingwrong in assisting his father; nevertheless, being a reflective boy, itdid sometimes occur to him that it was odd that what was right should bedone so secretly; and he attempted to make out how it was that the birdsthat flew about everywhere, and appeared to belong to every one, mightnot be shot in the open day. He knew that the laws forbade it; but heinquired of himself why such laws should be. Joey had heard but oneside of the question, and was therefore puzzled. It was fortunate forhim that the pastor of the parish, although he did not reside in it, didat least once a week call in at Mr F's school, and examine the boys. Mr Furness, who was always sober during the school hours, was veryproud of these visits, and used to point out little Joey as his mostpromising scholar. This induced the pastor to take more immediatenotice of our hero, and the commendation which he received, and theadvice that was bestowed upon him, was probably the great cause why Joeydid attend assiduously to his lessons, which his otherwise vagrant lifewould have disinclined him to do; and also kept a character for honestyand good principle, which he really deserved. Indeed, his father andmother, setting aside poaching, and the secrecy resorted to inconsequence, were by no means bad examples in the ordinary course oflife; they did to their neighbours as they would be done by, were fairand honest in their dealings, and invariably inculcated probity and aregard to truth on their son. This may appear anomalous to many of ourreaders, but there are many strange anomalies in this world. It maytherefore be stated in a very few words, that although our little herohad every chance of eventually following the road to ruin, yet, up tothe present time, he had not entered it. 

Such was the life led by little Joey for three years subsequent to ourintroduction of him to the reader; every day he became more useful tohis father; latterly he had not attended school but in the forenoon, for, as we have before observed, Joey could, from his diminutive sizeand unsuspicious appearance, do much that his father would not haveventured to attempt. He was as well versed in the art of snaring as hisfather, and sauntering like a child about the fields and hedge-rows, would examine his nooses, take out the game, and hide it till he couldbring it home. Sometimes he would go out at night attended only by Mum, and the dog would invariably give him mute notice, by simply standingwith his ears and tail erect, when the keepers had discovered thesnares, and were lying in wait for the poacher, to lay hold of him whenhe came to ascertain his success. Even in such a case, Joey very oftenwould not retreat, but, crawling on his stomach, would arrive at thesnare, and take out the animal without the keepers perceiving him; fortheir eyes were invariably directed to the horizon, watching theappearance of some stout figure of a man, while Joey crawled along, bearing away the prize unseen. At other times, Joey would reap a richharvest in the broad day, by means of his favourite game-cock. Havingput on the animal his steel spurs, he would plunge into the thickest ofthe cover, and, selecting some small spot of cleared ground for thecombat, he would throw down his gallant bird, and conceal himself in thebrushwood; the game-cock would immediately crow, and his challenge wasimmediately answered by the pugnacious male pheasant, who flew down tomeet him: the combat was short, for the pheasant was soon pierced by thesharp steel of his adversary; and as one antagonist fell dead, againwould the game-cock crow, and his challenge be accepted by another. Inan hour or two the small arena was a field of blood Joey would creepforward, put his victorious cock into his bag together with many deadadversaries, and watch an opportunity for a safe retreat. 

Such was the employment of our hero; and although suspicion had oftenbeen attached to his father, none had an idea that there had been aviolation of the laws on the part of the son, when an event took placewhich changed our hero's destiny. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS ENDEAVOURED, WITH ALL HIS POWER, TO SUIT THEPRESENT TASTE OF THE PUBLIC. 

We have said that Byres was the receiver of the game obtained byRushbrook. It so happened, that in these accounts Byres had not adheredto his duty towards his neighbour; in fact, he attempted to over-reach, but without success, and from that time Byres became Rushbrook'sdetermined, but secret, enemy. Some months had passed since theirdisagreement, and there was a mutual mistrust (as both men were equallyrevengeful in their tempers), when they happened to meet late on aSaturday night at the ale-house, which was their usual resort. Furnessthe schoolmaster was there; he and many others had already drunk toomuch; all were boisterous and noisy. A few of the wives of thosedrinking were waiting patiently and sorrowfully outside, their armsfolded in their aprons as a defence against the cold, watching for theirhusbands to come out, that they might coax them home before the majorpart of the week's earnings had been spent in liquor. Byres had thepaper in his hand--he had taken it from the schoolmaster, who was toofar gone to read it, and was declaiming loudly against all governments, monarchy, and laws when a stranger entered the tap-room where they wereall assembled. Rushbrook was at the time sitting down, intendingquietly to take a pint and walk home, as he had too much respect for theSabbath to follow his profession of poacher on the morning of that day:he did not intend, therefore, to resort to his usual custom ofpretending to be intoxicated; but when the stranger came in, to hisgreat surprise he observed a glance of recognition between him andByres, after which they appeared as if they were perfect strangers. Rushbrook watched them carefully, but so as not to let them perceive hewas so doing, when a beckon from the stranger to Byres was again made. Byres continued to read the paper and to harangue, but at the same timetook an opportunity of making a signal in reply. There was something inthe stranger's appearance which told Rushbrook that he was employed as akeeper, or something in that way, for we often single out our enemies byinstinct. That there was mischief in the wind Rushbrook felt sure, andhis heart misgave him the more so, as occasionally the eyes of both wereturned towards him. After a little reflection, Rushbrook determined tofeign intoxication, as he had so often done before: he called foranother pint, for some time talked very loud, and at last laid his headon the table; after a time he lifted it up again, drank more, and thenfell back on the bench. By degrees the company thinned, until there wasno one left but the schoolmaster, the pedlar, and the stranger. Theschoolmaster, as usual, offered to assist the pedlar in helpingRushbrook to his cottage; but Byres replied that he was busy, and thathe need not wait for Rushbrook; the friend he had with him would assisthim in taking home the drunken man. The schoolmaster reeled home, leaving the two together. They sat down on the bench, not far fromRushbrook, who appeared to them to be in the last stage of inebriety. Their conversation was easily overheard. The pedlar stated that he hadwatched several nights, but never could find when Rushbrook left hiscottage, but he had traced the boy more than once; that R had promisedto have game ready for him on Tuesday, and would go out on Monday nightfor it. In short, Rushbrook discovered that Byres was about to betrayhim to the man, whom, in the course of their conversation, he found outto be a game-keeper newly hired by the lord of the manor. After a whilethey broke up, Byres having promised to join the keeper in hisexpedition, and to assist in securing his former ally. Having madethese arrangements, they then took hold of Rushbrook by the arms, and, shaking him to rouse him as much as they could, they led him home to thecottage, and left him in charge of his wife. As soon as the door wasclosed, Rushbrook's long-repressed anger could no longer be restrained:he started on his feet, and striking his fist on the table so as toterrify his wife, swore that the pedlar should pay dear for hispeaching. Upon his wife's demanding an explanation, Rushbrook, in a fewhurried sentences, explained the whole. Jane, however she might agreewith him in his indignation, like all women, shuddered at the thought ofshedding blood. She persuaded her husband to go to bed. He consented;but he slept not: he had but one feeling, which was vengeance towardsthe traitor. When revenge enters into the breast of a man who has livedpeaceably at home, fiercely as he may be impelled by the passion, hestops short at the idea of shedding blood. But when a man who had, likeRushbrook, served so long in the army, witnessed such scenes of carnage, and so often passed his bayonet through his adversary's body, is rousedup by this fatal passion, the death of a fellow-creature becomes amatter of indifference, provided he can gratify his feelings. Thus itwas with Rushbrook, who, before he rose on the morning of that Sabbathin which, had he gone to church, he could have so often requested histrespasses might be forgiven, as he "forgave them who trespassed againsthim, " had made up his mind that nothing short of the pedlar's deathwould satisfy him. At breakfast he appeared to listen to his wife'sentreaties, and promised to do the pedlar no harm; and told her that, instead of going out on the Monday night, as he had promised, he shouldgo out on that very night, and by that means evade the snare laid forhim. Jane persuaded him not to go out at all; but this Rushbrook wouldnot consent to. He told her that he was determined to show them that hewas not to be driven off his beat, and would make Byres believe onTuesday night that he had been out on the Monday night. Rushbrook'sobject was to have a meeting with Byres, if possible, alone, to tax himwith his treachery, and then to take summary vengeance. 

Aware that Byres slept at the ale-house, he went down there a littlebefore dark, and told him that he intended going out on that night; thatit would be better if, instead of coming on Tuesday, he were to meet himat the corner of one of the covers, which he described, at an houragreed upon, when he would make over to him the game which he might haveprocured. Byres, who saw in this an excellent method of trappingRushbrook, consented to it, intending to inform the keeper, so that heshould meet Rushbrook. The time of meeting was arranged for two o'clockin the morning. Rushbrook was certain that Byres would leave theale-house an hour or two before the time proposed, which would be morethan sufficient for his giving information to the keeper. He thereforeremained quietly at home till twelve o'clock, when he loaded his gun, and went out without Joey or the dog. His wife perceiving this, wasconvinced that he had not gone out with the intention to poach, but waspursuing his scheme of revenge. She watched him after he left thecottage, and observed that he had gone down in the direction of theale-house; and she was afraid that there would be mischief between himand Byres, and she wakened Joey, desiring him to follow and watch hisfather, and do all he could to prevent it. Her communication was madein such a hurried manner, that it was difficult for Joey to know what hewas to do, except to watch his father's motions, and see what tookplace. This Joey perfectly understood; and he was off in an instant, followed, as usual, by Mum, and taking with him his sack. Our herocrept softly down the pathway, in the direction of the ale-house. Thenight was dark, for the moon did not rise till two or three hours beforethe morning broke, and it was bitterly cold: but to darkness and coldJoey had been accustomed, and although not seen himself; there was noobject could move without being scanned by his clear vision. He gaineda hedge close to the ale-house. Mum wanted to go on, by which Joey knewthat his father must be lurking somewhere near to him: he pressed thedog down with his hand, crouched himself; and watched. In a few minutesa dark figure was perceived by Joey to emerge from the ale-house, andwalk hastily over a turnip-field behind the premises: it had gainedabout half over, when another form, which Joey recognised as hisfather's, stealthily followed after the first. Joey waited a littletime, and was then, with Mum, on the steps of both; for a mile and ahalf each party kept at their relative distances, until they came near afurze bottom, which was about six hundred yards from the cover; then thesteps of Rushbrook were quickened, and those of Joey in proportion; theconsequence was, that the three parties rapidly neared each other. Byres for it was he who had quitted the ale-house--walked alongleisurely, having no suspicion that he was followed. Rushbrook was nowwithin fifteen yards of the pedlar, and Joey at even less distance fromhis father, when he heard the lock of his father's gun click as hecocked it. 

"Father, " said Joey, not over loud, "don't--"

"Who's there?" cried the pedlar, turning round. The only reply was theflash and report of the gun; and the pedlar dropped among the furze. 

"Oh father--father!--what have you done?" exclaimed Joey, coming up tohim. 

"You here, Joey!" said Rushbrook. "Why are you here?"

"Mother sent me, " replied Joey. 

"To be evidence against me, " replied his father, in wrath. 

"Oh no!--to stop you. What have you done, father?"

"What I almost wish I had not done now, " replied he, mournfully; "but itis done, and--"

"And what, father?"

"I am a murderer, I suppose, " replied Rushbrook. "He would havepeached, Joey--have had me transported, to work in chains for the restof my days, merely for taking a few pheasants. Let us go home;" butRushbrook did not move, although he proposed so doing. 

He leant upon his gun, with his eyes fixed in the direction where Byreshad fallen. 

Joey stood by him--for nearly ten minutes not a word was spoken. Atlast Rushbrook said--

"Joey, my boy, I've killed many a man in my time, and I have thoughtnothing of it; I slept as sound as ever the next night. But then, yousee, I was a soldier, and it was my trade, and I could look on the man Ihad killed without feeling sorrow or shame; but I can't look upon thisman, Joey. He was my enemy; but--I've murdered him--I feel it now. Goup to him, boy--you are not afraid to meet him--and see if he be dead. "

Joey, although generally speaking fear was a stranger to him, did, however, feel afraid; his hands had often been dyed with the blood of ahare or of a bird, but he had not yet seen death in hisfellow-creatures. He advanced slowly and tremulously through the darktowards the furze-bush in which the body laid; Mum followed, raisingfirst one paw and pausing, then the other, and as they came to the body, the dog raised his head and gave such a mournful howl, that it inducedour hero to start back again. After a time Joey recovered himself; andagain advanced to the body. He leant over it, he could distinguish butthe form; he listened, and not the slightest breathing was to be heard;he whispered the pedlar's name, but there was no reply; he put his handupon his breast, and removed it reeking with warm blood. 

"Father, he must be dead, quite dead, " whispered Joey, who returnedtrembling. "What shall we do?"

"We must go home, " replied Rushbrook; "this is a bad night's work;" and, without exchanging another word until their arrival, Rushbrook and Joeyproceeded back to the cottage, followed by Mum. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED UPON THE CHILD. 

Jane had remained in a state of great anxiety during her husband'sabsence, watching and listening to every sound; every five minutesraising the latch of the door, and looking out, hoping to see himreturn. As the time went on, her alarm increased; she laid her headdown on the table and wept; she could find no consolation, noalleviation of her anxiety; she dropped down on her knees and prayed. 

She was still appealing to the Most High, when a blow on the doorannounced her husband's return. There was a sulken gloom over hiscountenance as he entered: he threw his gun carelessly on one side, sothat it fell, and rattled against the paved floor; and this one act wasto her ominous of evil. He sat down without speaking; falling back inthe chair, and lifting his eyes up to the rafters above, he appeared tobe in deep thought, and unconscious of her presence. 

"What has happened?" inquired his wife, trembling as she laid her handon his shoulder. 

"Don't speak to me now, " was the reply. 

"Joey, " said the frightened woman in a whisper, "what has he done?"

Joey answered not, but raised his hand, red with the blood which was nowdried upon it. 

Jane uttered a faint cry, dropped on her knees, and covered her face, while Joey walked into the back kitchen, and busied himself in removingthe traces of the dark deed. 

A quarter of an hour had elapsed--Joey had returned, and taken his seatupon his low stool, and not a word had been exchanged. 

There certainly is a foretaste of the future punishment which awaitscrime; for how dreadful were the feelings of those who were now sittingdown in the cottage! Rushbrook was evidently stupefied from excess offeeling; first, the strong excitement which had urged him to the deed;and now from the reaction the prostration of mental power which hadsucceeded it. Jane dreaded the present and the future--whichever wayshe turned her eyes the gibbet was before her--the clanking of chains inher ears; in her vision of the future, scorn, misery, and remorse--shefelt only for her husband. Joey, poor boy, he felt for both. Even thedog showed, as he looked up into Joey's face, that he was aware that afoul deed had been done. The silence which it appeared none wouldventure to break, was at last dissolved by the clock of the villagechurch solemnly striking two. They all started up--it was a warning--itreminded them of the bell tolling for the dead--of time and of eternity;but time present quickly effaced for the moment other ideas; yes, it wastime to act; in four hours more it would be daylight, and the blood ofthe murdered man would appeal to his fellow-men for vengeance. The sunwould light them to the deed of darkness--the body would be broughthome--the magistrates would assemble--and who would be the partysuspected?

"Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed Jane, "what can be done?"

"There is no proof;" muttered Rushbrook. 

"Yes, there is, " observed Joey, "I left my bag there, when I stoopeddown to--"

"Silence!" cried Rushbrook. "Yes, " continued he, bitterly, to his wife, "this is your doing; you must send the boy after me, and now there willbe evidence against me; I shall owe my death to you. "

"Oh, say not so! say not so!" replied Jane, falling down on her knees, and weeping bitterly as she buried her face in his lap; "but there isyet time, " cried she, starting up; "Joey can go and fetch the bag. Youwill, Joey: won't you, dear? you are not afraid--you are innocent. "

"Better leave it where it is, mother, " replied Joey, calmly. 

Rushbrook looked up at his son with surprise; Jane caught him by thearm; she felt convinced the boy had some reason for what he said--probably some plan that would ward off suspicion--yet how could that be, it was evidence against them, and after looking earnestly at the boy'sface, she dropped his arm. "Why so, Joey?" said she, with apparentcalmness. 

"Because, " replied Joey, "I have been thinking about it all this time; Iam innocent, and therefore I do not mind if they suppose me guilty. Thebag is known to be mine--the gun I must throw into a ditch two fieldsoff. You must give me some money, if you have any; if not, I must gowithout it; but there is no time to be lost. I must be off and awayfrom here in ten minutes; to-morrow ask every one if they have seen orheard of me, because I have left the house some time during the night. I shall have a good start before that; besides, they may not find thepedlar for a day or two, perhaps; at all events, not till some timeafter I am gone; and then, you see, mother, the bag which is found byhim, and the gun in the ditch, will make them think it is me who killedhim; but they will not be able to make out whether I killed him byaccident, and ran away from fear, or whether I did it on purpose. Sonow, mother, that's my plan, for it will save father. "

"And I shall never see you again, my child!" replied his mother. 

"That's as may be. You may go away from here after a time, mother, whenthe thing has blown over. Come, mother, there is no time to lose. "

"Rushbrook, what say you--what think you?" said Jane to her husband. 

"Why, Jane, at all events, the boy must have left us, for, you see, Itold Byres, and I've no doubt but he told the keeper, if he met him, that I should bring Joey with me. I did it to deceive him; and, as sureas I sit here, they will have that boy up as evidence against hisfather. "

"To be sure they will, " cried Joey; "and what could I do? I dare not--Idon't think I could tell a lie; and yet I would not peach upon father, neither. What can I do--but be out of the way?"

"That's the truth--away with you, then, my boy, and take a father'sblessing with you--a guilty father's, it is true; God forgive me. Janegive him all the money you have; lose not a moment: quick, woman, quick. " And Rushbrook appeared to be in agony. 

Jane hastened to the cupboard, opened a small box, and poured thecontents into the hands of Joey. 

"Farewell, my boy, " said Rushbrook; "your father thanks you. "

"Heaven preserve you, my child!" cried Jane, embracing him, as the tearsrained down her cheeks. "You will write--no! you must not--mercy!--mercy!--I shall never see him again!"--and the mother fainted on thefloor. 

The tears rose in our hero's eyes as he beheld the condition of his poormother. Once more he grasped his father's hand; and then, catching upthe gun, he went out at the back door, and driving back the dog, whowould have followed him, made over the fields as fast as his legs wouldcarry him. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

"THE WORLD BEFORE HIM, WHERE TO CHOOSE. "

We have no doubt but many of our readers have occasionally, when on ajourney, come to where the road divides into two, forking out indifferent directions, and the road being new to them, have not knownwhich of the two branches they ought to take. This happens, as it oftendoes in a novel, to be our case just now. Shall we follow little Joey, or his father and mother?--that is the question. We believe that when aroad does thus divide, the wider of the two branches is generallyselected, as being supposed to be the continuation of the high road. Weshall ourselves act upon that principle; and, as the hero of the tale isof more consequence than characters accessory, we shall follow up thefortunes of little Joey. As soon as our hero had deposited the gun sothat it might be easily discovered by any one passing by, he darted intothe high road, and went off with all the speed that he was capable of, and it was not yet light when he found himself at least ten miles fromhis native village. As the day dawned, he quitted the high road, andtook to the fields, keeping a parallel course, so as to still increasethe distance; it was not until he had made fifteen miles, that, findinghimself exhausted, he sat down to recover himself. 

From the time that he had left the cottage until the present, Joey hadhad but one overwhelming idea in his head, which was, to escape frompursuit, and by his absence to save his father from suspicion; but nowthat he had effected that purpose, and was in a state of quiescence, other thoughts rushed upon his mind. First, the scenes of the last fewhours presented themselves in rapid array before him--he thought of thedead man, and he looked at his hand to ascertain if the bloody marks hadbeen effaced; and then he thought of his poor mother's state when hequitted the cottage, and the remembrance made him weep bitterly: his ownposition came next upon him, --a boy, twelve years of age, adrift uponthe world--how was he to live--what was he to do? This reminded himthat his mother had given him money; he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled it out to ascertain what he possessed. He had 1 pound, 16shillings; to him a large sum, and it was all in silver. As he hadbecome more composed, he began to reflect upon what he had better do;where should he go to?--London. It was a long way, he knew, but thefarther he was away from home, the better. Besides, he had heard muchof London, and that every one got employment there. Joey resolved thathe would go to London; he knew that he had taken the right road so far, and having made up his mind, he rose up, and proceeded. He knew that, if possible, he must not allow himself to be seen on the road for a dayor two, and he was puzzled how he was to get food, which he already feltwould be very acceptable; and then, what account was he to give ofhimself if questioned? Such were the cogitations of our little hero ashe wended his way till he came to a river, which was too deep and rapidfor him to attempt to ford--he was obliged to return to the high road tocross the bridge. He looked around him before he climbed over the lowstone wall, and perceiving nobody, he jumped on the footpath, andproceeded to the bridge, where he suddenly faced an old woman with abasket of brown cakes something like ginger-bread. Taken by surprise, and hardly knowing what to say, he inquired if a cart had passed thatway. 

"Yes, child, but it must be a good mile ahead of you, " said the oldwoman, "and you must walk fast to overtake it. "

"I have had no breakfast yet, and I am hungry; do you sell your cakes?"

"Yes, child, what else do I make them for? three a penny, and cheaptoo. "

Joey felt in his pocket until he had selected a sixpence, and pulling itout, desired the old woman to give him cakes for it, and, taking thepile in his hand, he set off as fast as he could. As soon as he was outof sight, he again made his way into the fields, and breakfasted uponhalf his store. He then continued his journey until nearly one o'clock, when, tired out with his exertions, as soon as he had finished theremainder of his cakes, he laid down under a rick of corn, and fell fastasleep, having made twenty miles since he started. In his hurry toescape pursuit, and the many thoughts which occupied his brain, Joey hadmade no observation on the weather; if he had, he probably would havelooked after some more secure shelter than the lee-side of a haystack. He slept soundly, and he had not been asleep more than an hour, when thewind changed, and the snow fell fast; nevertheless, Joey slept on, andprobably never would have awakened more, had it not been that a shepherdand his dog were returning home in the evening, and happened to passclose to the haystack. By this time Joey had been covered with a layerof snow, half an inch deep, and had it not been for the dog, who went upto where he laid, and commenced pawing the snow off of him, he wouldhave been passed by undiscovered by the shepherd, who, after sometrouble, succeeded in rousing our hero from his torpor, and halfdragging, half lifting him, contrived to lead him across one or twofields, until they arrived at a blacksmith's shop, in a small village, before Joey could have been said to have recovered his scattered senses. Two hours' more sleep and there would have been no further history togive of our little hero. 

He was dragged to the forge, the fire of which glowed under the force ofthe bellows, and by degrees, as the warmth reached him, he was restoredto self-possession. To the inquiries made as to who he was, and fromwhere he came, he now answered as he had before arranged in his mind. His father and mother were a long way before him; he was going toLondon, but having been tired, he had fallen asleep under the haystack, and he was afraid that if he went not on to London directly, he nevermight find his father and mother again. 

"Oh, then, " replied the shepherd, "they have gone on before, have they?Well, you'll catch them, no doubt. "

The blacksmith's wife, who had been a party to what was going on, nowbrought up a little warm ale, which quite re-established Joey; and atthe same time a waggon drove up to the door, and stopped at theblacksmith's shop. 

"I must have a shoe tacked on the old mare, my friend, " said the driver. "You won't be long?"

"Not five minutes, " replied the smith. "You're going to London?"

"Yes, sure. "

"Here's a poor boy that has been left behind by his father and mothersomehow--you wouldn't mind giving him a lift?"

"Well, I don't know; I suppose I must be paid for it in the world tocome. "

"And good pay too, if you earn it, " observed the blacksmith. 

"Well, it won't make much difference to my eight horses, I expect, " saidthe driver, looking at Joey; "so come along, youngster: you may perchyourself on top of the straw, above the goods. "

"First come in with me, child, " said the wife of the blacksmith; "youmust have some good victuals to take with you--so, while you shoe thehorse, John, I'll see to the boy. "

The woman put before Joey a dish in which were the remains of more thanone small joint, and our hero commenced his attack without delay. 

"Have you any money, child?" inquired the woman. 

Joey, who thought she might expect payment, replied, "Yes ma'am, I'vegot a shilling;" and he pulled one out of his pocket and laid it out onthe table. 

"Bless the child! what do you take me for, to think that I would touchyour money? You are a long way from London yet, although you have gotsuch a chance to get there. Do you know where to go when you getthere?"

"Yes, ma'am, " replied Joey; "I shall get work in the stables, Ibelieve. "

"Well, I dare say that you will; but in the meantime you had better saveyour shilling--so we'll find something to put this meat and bread up foryour journey. Are you quite warm now?"

"Yes, thank'ee, ma'am. "

Joey, who had ceased eating, had another warm at the fire, and in a fewminutes, having bade adieu, and giving his thanks to the humane people, he was buried in the straw below the tilt of the waggon, with hisprovisions deposited beside him, and the waggon went on his slow andsteady pace, to the tune of its own jingling bells. Joey, who had quiterecovered from his chill, nestled among the straw, congratulatinghimself that he should now arrive safely in London, without morequestioning. And such was the case: in three days and three nights, without any further adventure, he found himself, although he was notaware of it, in Oxford-street, somewhat about eight or nine o'clock inthe evening. 

"Do you know your way now, boy?" said the carman. 

"I can ask it, " replied Joey, "as soon as I can go to the light and readthe address. Good-bye, and thank you, " continued he, glad at last to beclear of any more evasive replies. 

The carman shook him by the hand as they passed the Boar and Castle, andbade him farewell, and our hero found himself alone in the vastmetropolis. 

What was he to do? He hardly knew--but one thought struck him, whichwas, that he must find a bed for the night. He wandered up and downOxford Street for some time, but every one walked so quick that he wasafraid to speak to them: at last a little girl, of seven or eight yearsof age, passed by him, and looked him earnestly in the face. 

"Can you tell me where I can get a bed for the night?" said Joey. 

"Have you any brads?" was the reply. 

"What are those?" said Joey. 

"Any money, to be sure; why, you're green--quite. "

"Yes, I have a shilling. "

"That will do--come along, and you shall sleep with me. "

Joey followed her very innocently, and very glad that he had been sofortunate. She led him to a street out of Tottenham-court-road, inwhich there were no lamps--the houses, however, were large, and manystories high. 

"Take my hand, " said the girl, "and mind how you tread. "

Guided by his new companion, Joey arrived at a door that was wide open:they entered, and, assisted by the girl, he went up a dark staircase, tothe second storey. She opened a room-door, when Joey found himself incompany with about twenty other children, of about the same age, of bothsexes. Here were several beds on the floor of the room, which wasspacious. In the centre were huddled together on the floor, round atallow candle, eight or ten of the inmates, two of them playing with afilthy pack of cards, while the others looked over them: others werelying down or asleep on the several beds. "This is my bed, " said thegirl; "if you are tired you can turn in at once. I shan't go to bedyet. "

Joey was tired, and he went to bed; it was not very clean, but he hadbeen used to worse lodgings lately. It need hardly be observed thatJoey had got into very bad company, the whole of the inmates of the roomconsisting of juvenile thieves and pickpockets, who in the course oftime obtain promotion in their profession, until they are ultimatelysent off to Botany Bay. Attempts have been made to check thesenurseries of vice: but pseudo-philanthropists have resisted suchbarbarous innovation: and upon the Mosaic principle, that you must notseethe the kid in the mother's milk, they are protected and allowed toarrive at full maturity, and beyond the chance of being reclaimed, untilthey are ripe for the penalties of the law. 

Joey slept soundly, and when he awoke next morning found that his littlefriend was not with him. He dressed himself; and then made anotherdiscovery, which was, that every farthing of his money had beenabstracted from his pockets. Of this unpleasant fact he ventured tocomplain to one or two boys, who were lying on other beds with theirclothes on; they laughed at him, called him a greenhorn, and made use ofother language, which at once let Joey know the nature of the companywith whom he had been passing the night. After some altercation, threeor four of them bundled him out of the room, and Joey found himself inthe street without a farthing, and very much inclined to eat a goodbreakfast. 

There is no portion of the world, small as it is in comparison with thewhole, in which there is more to be found to eat and to drink, morecomfortable lodgings, or accommodation and convenience of every kind, than in the metropolis of England, provided you have the means to obtainit; but notwithstanding this abundance, there is no place, probably, where you will find it more difficult to obtain a portion of it, if youhappen to have an empty pocket. 

Joey went into a shop here and there to ask for employment--he wasturned away everywhere. He spent the first day in this manner, and atnight, tired and hungry, he laid down on the stone steps of a portico, and fell asleep. The next morning he awoke shivering with the cold, faint with hunger. He asked at the areas for something to eat, but noone would give him anything. At a pump he obtained a drink of water--that was all he could obtain, for it cost nothing. Another day passedwithout food, and the poor boy again sheltered himself for the night ata rich man's door in Berkeley-square. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

IF YOU WANT EMPLOYMENT GO TO LONDON. 

The exhausted lad awoke again, and pursued his useless task of appealsfor food and employment. It was a bright day, and there was some littlewarmth to be collected by basking in the rays of the sun, when our herowended his way through Saint James's Park, faint, hungry, anddisconsolate. There were several people seated on the benches; andJoey, weak as he was, did not venture to go near them, but crawledalong. At last, after wandering up and down, looking for pity ineverybody's face as they passed, and receiving none, he felt that hecould not stand much longer, and emboldened by desperation, heapproached a bench that was occupied by one person. At first he onlyrested on the arm of the bench, but, as the person sitting down appearednot to observe him, he timidly took a seat at the farther end. Thepersonage who occupied the other part of the bench was a man dressed ina morning suit _a la militaire_ and black stock. He had clean glovesand a small cane in his hand, with which he was describing circles onthe gravel before him, evidently in deep thought. In height he was fullsix feet, and his proportions combined strength with symmetry. Hisfeatures were remarkably handsome, his dark hair had a natural curl, andhis whiskers and mustachios (for he wore those military appendages) wereevidently the objects of much attention and solicitude. We may as wellhere observe, that although so favoured by nature, still there wouldhave been considered something wanting in him by those who had beenaccustomed to move in the first circles, to make him the refinedgentleman. His movements and carriage were not inelegant, but there wasa certain _retinue_ wanting. He bowed well, but still it was notexactly the bow of a gentleman. The nursery-maids as they passed bysaid, "Dear me, what a handsome gentleman!" but had the remark been madeby a higher class, it would have been qualified into "What a handsomeman!" His age was apparently about five-and-thirty--it might have beensomething more. After a short time he left off his mechanicalamusements, and turning round, perceived little Joey at the farther end. Whether from the mere inclination to talk, or that he thought itpresuming in our hero to seat himself upon the same bench, he said tohim--

"I hope you are comfortable, my little man; but perhaps you've forgotyour message. "

"I have no message, sir, for I know no one: and I am not comfortable, for I am starving, " replied Joey, in a tremulous voice. 

"Are you in earnest now, when you say that, boy; or is it that you'rehumbugging me?"

Joey shook his head. "I have eaten nothing since the day beforeyesterday morning, and I feel faint and sick, " replied he at last. 

His new companion looked earnestly in our hero's face, and was satisfiedthat what he said was true. 

"As I hope to be saved, " exclaimed he, "it's my opinion that a littlebread and butter would not be a bad thing for you. Here, " continued he, putting his hand into his coat-pocket, "take these coppers, and go andget some thing into your little vitals. "

"Thank you, sir, thank you, kindly. But I don't know where to go: Ionly came up to London two days ago. "

"Then follow me as fast as your little pins can carry you, " said theother. They had not far to go, for a man was standing close toSpring-garden-gate with hot tea and bread and butter, and in a fewmoments Joey's hunger was considerably appeased. 

"Do you feel better now, my little cock?"

"Yes, sir, thank you. "

"That's right, and now we will go back to the bench, and then you shalltell me all about yourself; just to pass away the time. Now, " said he, as he took his seat, "in the first place, who is your father, if youhave any; and if you haven't any, what was he?"

"Father and mother are both alive, but they are a long way off. Fatherwas a soldier, and he has a pension now. "

"A soldier! Do you know in what regiment?"

"Yes, it was the 53rd, I think. "

"By the powers, my own regiment! And what is your name, then, and his?"

"Rushbrook, " replied Joey. 

"My pivot man, by all that's holy. Now haven't you nicely dropped onyour feet?"

"I don't know, sir, " replied our hero. 

"But I do; your father was the best fellow I had in my company--the bestforager, and always took care of his officer, as a good man should do. If there was a turkey, or a goose, or a duck, or a fowl, or a pig withinten miles of us, he would have it: he was the boy for poaching. And nowtell me (and mind you tell the truth when you meet with a friend) whatmade you leave your father and mother?"

"I was afraid of being taken up--" and here Joey stopped, for he hardlyknew what to say; trust his new acquaintance with his father's secret hedare not, neither did he like to tell what was directly false; as thereader will perceive by his reply, he partly told the truth. 

"Afraid of being taken up! Why, what could they take up a spalpeen likeyou for?"

"Poaching, " replied Joey; "father poached too: they had proof againstme, so I came away with father's consent. "

"Poaching! well, I'm not surprised at that, for if ever it was in theblood, it is in yours--that's truth. And what do you mean to do now?"

"Anything I can to earn my bread. "

"What can you do--besides poaching, of course? Can you read and write?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Would you like to be a servant--clean boots, brush clothes, standbehind a cab, run messages, carry notes, and hold your tongue?"

"I could do all that, I think--I am twelve years old. "

"The devil you are! Well then, for your father's sake, I'll see what Ican do for you, till you can do better. I'll fit you out as a tiger, and what's more, unless I am devilish hard up, I won't sell you. Socome along. What's your name?"

"Joey. "

"Sure that was your father's name before you, I now recollect and shouldany one take the trouble to ask you what may be the name of your master, you may reply, with a safe conscience, that it's Captain O'Donahue. Nowcome along. Not close after me--you may as well keep open file justnow, till I've made you look a little more decent. "

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

A DISSERTATION UPON PEDIGREE. 

Our readers will not perhaps be displeased if we introduce CaptainO'Donahue more particularly to their notice: we shall therefore devotethis chapter to giving some account of his birth, parentage, andsubsequent career. If the father of Captain O'Donahue was to bebelieved, the race of the O'Donahues were kings in Ireland long beforethe O'Connors were ever heard of. How far this may be correct we cannotpretend to offer an opinion, further than that no man can be supposed toknow so much of a family's history as the descendant himself. Thedocuments were never laid before us, and we have only the positiveassertion of the Squireen O'Donahue, who asserted not only that theywere kings in Ireland before the O'Connors, whose pretensions toancestry he treated with contempt, but further, that they were renownedfor their strength, and were famous for using the longest bows in battlethat were ever known or heard of. Here we have circumstantial evidence, although not proof. If strong, they might have been kings in Ireland, for there "might has been right" for many centuries; and certainly theiracquirements were handed down to posterity, as no one was more famousfor drawing the long bow than the Squireen O'Donahue. Upon thesepoints, however, we must leave our readers to form their own opinions. Perhaps some one more acquainted with the archives of the country may beable to set us right if we are wrong, or to corroborate our testimony ifwe are right. In his preface to "Anne of Geierstein, " Sir Walter Scottobserves, that "errors, however trivial, ought, in his opinion, never tobe pointed out to the author without meeting with a candid andrespectful acknowledgement. " Following the example of so great a man, we can only say, that if any gentleman can prove or disprove theassertion of the Squireen O'Donahue, to wit, that the O'Donahues werekings of Ireland long before the O'Connors were heard of; we shall bemost happy to acknowledge the favour, and insert his remarks in the nextedition. We should be further obliged to the same party, or indeed, anyother, it they would favour us with an idea of what was implied by aking of Ireland in those days; that is to say, whether he held a court, taxed his subjects, collected revenue, kept up a standing army, sentambassadors to foreign countries, and did all which kings do nowadays?or whether his shillelagh was his sceptre, and his domain somefurze-crowned hills and a bog, the intricacies of which were known onlyto himself? whether he was arrayed in jewelled robes, with a crown ofgold weighing on his temples? or whether he went bare-legged andbare-armed, with his bare locks flowing in luxurious wildness to thebreeze? We request an answer to this in full simplicity. We observethat even in Ireland now, a fellow six feet high, and stout inproportion, is called a "prince of a fellow, " although he has notwherewithal to buy a paper of tobacco to supply his dhudeen: and, arguing from this fact, we are inclined to think that a few more inchesin stature, and commensurate muscular increase of power, would in formertimes have raised the "heir-apparent" to the dignity of the Irishthrone. But these abstruse speculations have led us from our history, which we must now resume. 

Whatever may once have been the importance of the house of O'Donahue, one thing is certain, that there are many ups and downs in this world;every family in it has its wheel of fortune, which revolves faster orslower as the fates decree, and the descendant of kings before theO'Connor's time was now descended into a species of Viceroy, SquireenO'Donahue being the steward of certain wild estates in the county ofGalway, belonging to a family who for many years had shown a decidedaversion to the natural beauties of the country, and had thought properto migrate to where, if people were not so much attached to them, theywere at all events more civilised. These estates were extensive, butnot lucrative. They abounded in rocks, brushwood, and woodcocks duringthe season; and although the Squireen O'Donahue did his best, if not forhis employer, at least for himself; it was with some difficulty that hecontrived to support, with anything like respectability (which in thatpart of the country means "dacent clothes to wear"), a very numerousfamily, lineally descended from the most ancient of all the kings ofIreland. 

Before the squireen had obtained his employment, he had sunk his rankand travelled much--as a courier--thereby gaining much knowledge of theworld. If, therefore, he had no wealth to leave his children, at allevents he could impart to them that knowledge which is said to be betterthan worldly possessions. Having three sons and eight daughters, all ofthem growing up healthy and strong, with commensurate appetites, he soonfound that it was necessary to get rid of them as fast as he could. Hiseldest, who, strange to say, for an O'Donahue, was a quiet lad, he hadas a favour lent to his brother, who kept a small tobacconist andgrocer's shop in Dublin, and his brother was so fond of him, thateventually O'Carroll O'Donahue was bound to him as an apprentice. Itcertainly was a degradation for the descendant of such ancient kings tobe weighing out pennyworths of sugar, and supplying halfpenny papers oftobacco to the old apple and fish women; but still there we must leavethe heir-apparent while we turn to the second son, Mr PatrickO'Donahue, whose history we are now relating, having already made thereader acquainted with him by an introduction in Saint James's Park. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

IN WHICH THE ADVICE OF A FATHER DESERVES PECULIAR ATTENTION. 

It may be supposed that, as steward of the estates, Squireen O'Donahuehad some influence over the numerous tenants on the property, and thisinfluence he took care to make the most of. His assistance in apolitical contest was rewarded by the offer of an ensigncy for one ofhis sons, in a regiment then raising in Ireland, and this offer was toogood to be refused. So, one fine day, Squireen O'Donahue came home fromDublin, well bespattered with mud, and found his son Patrick also wellbespattered with mud, having just returned home from a very successfulexpedition against the woodcocks. 

"Patrick, my jewel, " said the Squireen, taking a seat and wiping hisface, for he was rather warm with his ride, "you're a made man. "

"And well made too, father, if the girls are anything of judges, "replied Patrick. 

"You put me out, " replied the Squireen; "you've more to be vain of thanyour figure. "

"And what may that be that you're discoursing about father?"

"Nothing more nor less, nor better nor worse, but you're an ensign inhis Majesty's new regiment--the number has escaped my memory. "

"I'd rather be a colonel, father, " replied Patrick, musing. 

"The colonel's to come, you spalpeen, " said the Squireen. 

"And the fortune to make, I expect, " replied Patrick. 

"You've just hit it but haven't you the whole world before you to pickand choose?"

"Well, " replied Patrick, after a pause; "I've no objection. "

"No objection! Why don't you jump out of your skin with delight? Atall events, you might jump high enough to break in the caling. "

"There's no ceiling to break, " replied Patrick, looking up at therafters. 

"That's true enough; but still you might go out of your seven senses ina rational sort of a way. "

"I really can't see for why, father dear. You tell me I'm to leave mypoor old mother, who doats upon me; my sisters, who are fond of me; myfriends here, " patting the dogs, "who follow me; the hills, that I love;and the woodcocks, which I shoot; to go to be shot at myself, and buriedlike a dead dog, without being skinned, on the field of battle. "

"I tell you to go forth into the world as an officer, and make yourfortune; to come back a general, and be the greatest man of your family. And don't be too unhappy about not being skinned. Before you are olderor wiser, dead or alive, you'll be skinned, I'll answer for it. "

"Well, father, I'll go; but I expect there'll be a good deal of groundto march over before I'm a general. "

"And you've a good pair of legs. "

"So I'm told every day of my life. I'll make the best use of them whenI start; but it's the starting I don't like, and that's the real truth. "

The reader may be surprised at the indifference shown by Patrick at theintelligence communicated by his father; but the fact was, Mr PatrickO'Donahue was very deep in love. This cooled his national ardour; andit must be confessed that there was every excuse, for a more lovelycreature than Judith McCrae never existed. To part with her was theonly difficulty, and all his family feelings were but a cloak to thereal cause of his unwillingness. 

"Nevertheless, you must start to-morrow, my boy, " said his father. 

"What must be, must, " replied Patrick, "so there's an end of the matter. I'll just go out for a bit of a walk, just to stretch my legs. "

"They require a deal of stretching, Pat, considering you've been twentymiles, at least, this morning, over the mountains, " replied theSquireen. But Patrick was out of hearing; he had leapt over a stonewall which separated his father's potato ground from Cornelius McCrae's, and had hastened to Judith, whom he found very busy getting the dinnerready. 

"Judith, my dear, " said Patrick, "my heart's quite broke with the badnews I have to tell you. Sure I'm going to leave you to-morrowmorning. "

"Now, Patrick, you're joking, surely. "

"Devil a joke in it. I'm an ensign in a regiment. "

"Then I'll die, Patrick. "

"More like that I will, Judith; what with grief and a bullet to help it, perhaps. "

"Now, what d'ye mean to do, Patrick?"

"Mean to go, sure; because I can't help myself; and to come back again, if ever I've the luck of it. My heart's leaping out of my mouthentirely. "

"And mine's dead, " replied Judith, in tears. 

"It's no use crying, mavourneen. I'll be back to dance at my ownwedding, if so be I can. "

"There'll be neither wedding for you, Patrick, nor wake either, foryou'll lie on the cold ground, and be ploughed in like muck. "

"That's but cold comfort from you, Judith, but we'll hope for a betterending; but I must go back now, and you'll meet me this evening beyondthe shealing. "

"Won't it be for the last time, Patrick, " replied Judith, with her apronup to her eyes. 

"If I've any voice in the matter, I say no. Please the pigs, I'll comeback a colonel. "

"Then you'll be no match for Judith McCrae, " replied the sobbing girl. 

"Shoot easy, my Judith, that's touching my honour; if I'm a general itwill be all the same. "

"Oh, Patrick! Patrick!"

Patrick folded Judith in his arms, took one kiss, and then hastened outof the house, saying--"Remember the shealing, Judith, dear, there we'lltalk the matter over easy and comfortable. "

Patrick returned to his house, where he found his mother and sisters intears. They had received orders to prepare his wardrobe, which, by thebye, did not give them much trouble from its extent; they only had tomend every individual article. His father was sitting down by thehearth, and when he saw Patrick he said to him, --"Now just come here, myboy, and take a stool, while you listen to me and learn a little worldlywisdom, for I may not have much time to talk to you when we are atDublin. "

Patrick took a seat, and was all attention. 

"You'll just observe, Pat, that it's a very fine thing to be an officerin the king's army; nobody dares to treat you ill, although you mayill-treat others, which is no small advantage in this world. "

"There's truth in that, " replied Patrick. 

"You see, when you get into an enemy's country, you may help yourself;and, if you look sharp, there's very pretty pickings--all in a quietway, you understand. "

"That, indeed. "

"You observe, Pat, that, as one of his officers, the king expects you toappear and live like a gentleman, only he forgets to give you the meansof so doing; you must, therefore, take all you can get from his Majesty, and other people must make up the difference. "

"That's a matter o' course, " said Patrick. 

"You'll soon see your way clear, and find out what you may be permittedto do, and what you may not; for the king expects you to keep up thecharacter of a gentleman as well as the appearance. "

"O' course. "

"Mayhap you may be obliged to run in debt a little--a gentleman may dothat; mayhap you may not be able to pay--that's a gentleman's case veryoften: if so, never go so far as twenty pounds; first, because the lawdon't reach; and secondly, because twenty pound is quite enough to makea man suffer for the good of his country. "

"There's sense in that, father. "

"And, Patrick, recollect that people judge by appearances in this world, especially when they've nothing else to go by. If you talk small, yourcredit will be small; but if you talk large, it will be just inproportion. "

"I perceive, father. "

"It's not much property we possess in this said county of Galway, that'scertain; but you must talk of this property as if I was the squire, andnot the steward; and when you talk of the quantity of woodcocks you havebagged, you must say on _our_ property. "

"I understand, father. "

"And you must curse your stars at being a younger brother; it will be anexcuse for your having no money, but will make them believe it's in thefamily, at all events. "

"I perceive, " replied Patrick. 

"There's one thing more, Pat; it's an Irish regiment, so you must getout of it as soon as possible by exchange. "

"For why?"

"This for why. You will be among those born too near home, and who maydoubt all you say, because your story may interfere with their own. Getinto an English regiment by all means, and there you'll be beyond thereach of contradiction, which ain't pleasant. "

"True enough, father. "

"Treasure up all I have told you--it's worldly wisdom, and you have yourfortune to make; so now recollect, never hold back at a forlorn hope;volunteer for everything; volunteer to be blown from a cannon's mouth, so that they will give you promotion for that same; volunteer to go allover the world, into the other world, and right through that again intothe one that comes after that, if there is any, and then one thing willbe certain, either that you'll be colonel or general, or else--"

"Else what, father?"

"That you won't require to be made either, seeing that you'll be pastall making; but luck's all, and lucky it is, by the bye, that I have alittle of the squire's rent in hand to fit you out with, or how weshould have managed, the saints only know. As it is, I must sink it onthe next year's account; but that's more easy to do than to fit you outwith no money. I must beg the tenants off, make the potato crop failentirely, and report twenty, by name at least, dead of starvation. Serve him right for spending his money out of Old Ireland. It's onlyout of real patriotism that I cheat him--just to spend the money in thecountry. And now, Patrick, I've done; now you may go and square youraccounts with Judith, for I know now where the cat jumps; but I'll leaveold Time alone for doing his work. "

Such was the advice of the Squireen to his son; and, as worldly wisdom, it was not so bad; and, certainly, when a lad is cast adrift in theworld, the two best things you can bestow on him are a little worldlywisdom and a little money, for without the former, the latter and hewill soon part company. 

The next day they set off for Dublin, Patrick's head being in a confusedjumble of primitive good feeling, Judith McCrae, his father's advice, and visions of future greatness. He was fitted out, introduced to theofficers, and then his father left him his blessing and his own way tomake in the world. In a fortnight the regiment was complete, and theywere shipped to Liverpool, and from Liverpool to Maidstone, where, beingall newly raised men, they were to remain for a time to be disciplined. Before the year had expired, Patrick had followed his father's advice, and exchanged, receiving a difference, with an ensign of a regimentgoing on foreign service. He was sent to the West Indies: but theseasons were healthy, and he returned home an ensign. He volunteeredabroad again after five years, and gained his lieutenant's commission, from a death vacancy, without purchase. 

After a fifteen years' hard service, the desired Captain's commissioncame at last, and O'Donahue, having been so unsuccessful in his militarycareer, retired upon half-pay, determined, if possible, to offer hishandsome person in exchange for competence. But, during the fifteenyears which had passed away, a great change had come over the ingenuousand unsophisticated Patrick O'Donahue; he had mixed so long with aselfish and heartless world, that his primitive feelings had graduallyworn away. Judith had, indeed, never been forgotten; but she was now atrest, for, by mistake, Patrick had been returned dead of the yellowfever, and at the intelligence she had drooped like a severed snowdrop, and died. The only tie strong enough to induce him to return to Irelandwas therefore broken, his father's worldly advice had not beenforgotten, and O'Donahue considered the world as his oyster. Expensivein his habits and ideas, longing for competence, while he vegetated onhalf-pay, he was now looking out for a matrimonial speculation. Hisgenerosity and his courage remained with him--two virtues not to bedriven out of an Irishman--but his other good qualities lay in abeyance;and yet his better feelings were by no means extinguished; they weredormant, but by favourable circumstances were again to be brought intoaction. The world and his necessities made him what he was; for manywere the times, for years afterwards, that he would in his reveriessurmise how happy he might have been in his own wild country, wherehalf-pay would have been competence, had his Judith been spared to him, and he could have laid his head upon her bosom. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

IN WHICH MAJOR MCSHANE NARRATES SOME CURIOUS MATRIMONIAL SPECULATIONS. 

Our hero was soon fitted out with the livery of a groom, and installedas the confidential servant of Captain O'Donahue, who had lodgings onthe third floor in a fashionable street. He soon became expert anduseful, and, as the captain breakfasted at home, and always orderedsufficient for Joey to make another cold meal of during the day, he wasat little or no expense to his master. 

One morning, when Captain O'Donahue was sitting in his dressing-gown atbreakfast, Joey opened the door, and announced Major McShane. 

"Is it yourself, O'Donahue?" said the major, extending his hand; "and, now, what d'ye think has brought me here this fine morning? It's to doa thing that's rather unusual with me, --neither more nor less than topay you the 20 pounds which you lent me a matter of three years ago, andwhich, I dare say, you never expected to see anything but the ghost of. "

"Why, McShane, if the truth must be told, it will be something of aresurrection when it appears before me, " replied O'Donahue; "Iconsidered it dead and buried; and, like those who are dead and buried, it has been long forgotten. "

"Nevertheless, here it is in four notes--one, two, three, four: fourtimes five are twenty; there's arithmetic for you, and your money toboot, and many thanks in the bargain, by way of interest. And now, O'Donahue, where have you been, what have you been doing, what are youdoing, and what do you intend to do? That's what I call a comprehensiveinquiry, and a very close one too. "

"I have been in London a month, I have done nothing, I am doing nothing, and I don't know what I intend to do. You may take that for acomprehensive answer. "

"I'll tell you all about myself without your asking. I have been inLondon for nearly two years, one of which I spent in courting, and theother in matrimony. "

"Why, you don't mean to say that you are married, McShane; if so, asyou've been married a year, you can tell me, am I to give you joy?"

"Why, yes, I believe you may; there's nothing so stupid, O'Donahue, asdomestic happiness, that's a fact; but, altogether, I have been so largea portion of my life doubtful where I was to get a dinner, that I thinkthat on the whole I have made a very good choice. "

"And may I inquire who is the party to whom Major McShane hascondescended to sacrifice his handsome person?"

"Is it handsome you mane? As the ugly lady said to the looking-glass, Ibeg no reflections--you wish to know who she is; well, then, you must becontent to listen to all my adventures from the time we parted, for sheis at the end of them, and I can't read backwards. "

"I am at your service, so begin as you please. "

"Let me see, O'Donahue, where was it that we parted?"

"If I recollect, it was at the landing made at ---, where you werereported killed. "

"Very true, but that, I gave my honour, was all a lie; it was fatSergeant Murphy that was killed, instead of me. He was a terriblefellow, that Sergeant Murphy; he got himself killed on purpose, becausehe never could have passed his accounts; well, he fought like a devil, so peace be with him. I was knocked down, as you know, with a bullet inmy thigh, and as I could not stand, I sat upon the carcass of SergeantMurphy, bound up my leg, and meditated on sublunary affairs. I thoughtwhat a great rogue he was, that Sergeant Murphy, and how he'd gone outof the world without absolution; and then I thought it very likely thathe might have some money about him, and how much better it would be thatI should have it to comfort me in prison than any rascally Frenchman, soI put my hand in his pocket and borrowed his purse, which was, takingthe difference of size, as well lined as himself. Well, as you had allretreated and left me to be taken prisoner, I waited very patiently tillthey should come and carry me to the hospital, or wherever else theypleased. They were not long coming for me: one fellow would have passedhis bayonet through me, but I had my pistol cocked, so he thought itadvisable to take me prisoner. I was taken into the town, not to thehospital or the prison, but quartered at the house of an old lady ofhigh rank and plenty of money. Well, the surgeon came and very politelytold me that he must cut off my leg, and I very politely told him to goto the devil; and the old lady came in and took my part, when she sawwhat a handsome leg it was, and sent for another doctor at her ownexpense, who promised to set me on my pins in less than a month. Well, the old lady fell in love with me; and although she was not quite thevision of youthful fancy, as the saying is, for she had only one toothin her head, and that stuck out half an inch beyond her upper lip, stillshe had other charms for a poor devil like me; so I made up my mind tomarry her, for she made cruel love to me as I laid in bed, and before Iwas fairly out of bed the thing was settled, and a week afterwards theday was fixed; but her relatives got wind of it, for, like an old fool, she could not help blabbing, and so one day there came a file ofsoldiers, with a corporal at their head, informing me that I was nowquite well, and therefore, if it was all the same to me, I must go toprison. This was anything but agreeable, and contrary to rule. As anofficer, I was entitled to my parole; and so I wrote to the commandingofficer, who sent for me, and then he told me I had my choice, to giveup the old lady, whose friends were powerful, and would not permit herto make a fool of herself (a personal remark, by the bye, which it wasunhandsome to make to a gentleman in my circumstances), or to be refusedparole, and remain in prison, and that he would give me an hour todecide; then he made me a very low bow, and left me. I was twisting theaffair over in my mind, one moment thinking of her purse and carriageand doubloons, and another of that awful long tooth of hers, when one ofher relatives came in and said he had a proposal to make, which was, that I should be released and sent to Gibraltar, without any conditions, with a handsome sum of money to pay my expenses, if I would promise togive up the old lady now and for ever. That suited my book; I took themoney, took my leave, and a small vessel took me to Gibraltar; so afterall, you see, O'Donahue, the thing did not turn out so bad. I lost onlyan old woman with a long tooth, and I gained my liberty. "

"No; you got out of that affair with credit. "

"And with money, which is quite as good; so when I returned and provedmyself alive, I was reinstated, and had all my arrears paid up. Whatwith Sergeant Murphy's purse, and the foreign subsidy, and my arrears, Iwas quite flush; so I resolved to be circumspect, and make hay while thesun shone: notwithstanding which, I was as nearly trapped by a cunningdevil of a widow. Two days more, and I should have made a pretty kettleof fish of it. "

"What, at your age, McShane?"

"Ah, bother! but she was a knowing one--a widow on a first floor, good-looking, buxom, a fine armful, and about thirty--met her at aparty--pointed out to me as without encumbrance, and well off--made upto her, escorted her home--begged permission to call, was graciouslyreceived--talked of her departed husband, thought me like him--everything so comfortable--plenty of plate--good furniture--followed herup--received notes by a little boy in sky-blue and silver sugar-loafbuttons--sent me all her messages--one day in the week to her banker'sto cash a check. Would you believe the cunning of the creature? Sheused to draw out 25 pounds every week, sending me for the money, and, asI found out afterwards, paid it in again in fifties every fortnight, andshe only had 50 pounds in all. Wasn't I regularly humbugged? Madeproposals--was accepted--all settled, and left off talking about herdeparted. One day, and only two days before the wedding, found thestreet-door open, and heard a noise between her and her landlady of thetop of the stairs, so I waited at the bottom. The landlady wasinsisting upon her rent, and having all her plate back again--mycharming widow entreating for a little delay, as she was to be married--landlady came downstairs, red as a turkey-cock, so I very politelybegged her to walk into the parlour, and I put a few questions, when Idiscovered that my intended was a widow with a pension of 80 poundsa-year, and had six children, sent out of the way until she could findanother protector, which I resolved, at all events, should not be MajorMcShane; so I walked out of the door, and have never seen her since. "

"By the head of Saint Patrick, but that was an escape!"

"Yes, indeed, the she-devil with six children, and 80 pounds a year;it's a wicked world this, O'Donahue. Well, I kept clear of such cunningarticles, and only looked after youth and innocence in the city. Atlast I discovered the only daughter of a German sugar-baker in theMinories, a young thing about seventeen, but very little for her age. She went to a dancing-school, and I contrived, by bribing the maid, tocarry on the affair most successfully, and she agreed to run away withme: everything was ready, the postchaise was at the corner of thestreet, she came with her bundle in her hand. I thrust it into thechaise, and was just tossing her in after it, when she cried out thatshe had forgotten something, and must go back for it; and away she went, slipping through my fingers. Well, I waited most impatiently for herappearance, and at last saw her coming; and what d'ye think she'd goneback for? By the powers, for _her doll_, which she held in her hand!And just as she came to the chaise, who should come round the corner buther father, who had walked from Mincing Lane. He caught my mincing Missby the arm, with her doll and her bundle, and bundled her home, leavingme and the postchaise, looking like two fools. I never could see heragain, or her confounded doll either. "

"You have been out of luck, McShane. "

"I'm not sure of that, as the affair has ended. Now comes anotheradventure, in which I turned the tables, anyhow. I fell in with a verypretty girl, the daughter of a lawyer in Chancery Lane, who was said tohave, and (I paid a shilling at Doctors' Commons, and read the will) itwas true enough, an independent fortune from her grandmother. She wasalways laughing full of mischief and practical jokes. She pretended tobe pleased, the hussey, with my addresses, and at last she consented, asI thought, to run away with me. I imagined that I had clinched thebusiness at last, when one dark night I handed her into a chaise, wrapped up in a cloak, and crying. However, I got her in, and away wewent as if the devil was behind us. I coaxed her and soothed her, andpromised to make her happy; but she still kept her handkerchief up toher eyes, and would not permit me a chaste salute--even pushed me awaywhen I would put my arm round her waist; all which I ascribed to theextra shame and modesty which a woman feels when she is doing wrong. Atlast, when about fifteen miles from town, there was a burst of laughter, and `I think we have gone far enough, Major McShane. ' By all the saintsin the calendar, it was her scamp of a brother that had taken her place. `My young gentleman, ' said I, `I think you have not only gone farenough, but, as I shall prove to you, perhaps a little too far, ' for Iwas in no fool of a passion. So I set to, beat him to a mummy, brokehis nose, blackened both his eyes, and knocked half his teeth down histhroat; and when he was half dead, I opened the chaise door as itwhirled along, and kicked him out to take his chance of the wheels, orany other wheels which the wheel of fortune might turn up for him. Sohe went home and told his sister what a capital joke it was, I've nodoubt. I'll be bound the young gentleman has never run away with anIrishman since that: however, I never heard any more about him, or hislovely sister. "

"Now, then, for the wind up, McShane. "

"Courting's very expensive, especially when you order postchaises fornothing at all, and I was very nearly at the end of my rhino; so I saidto myself, `McShane, you must retrench. ' And I did so; instead ofdining at the coffee-house, I determined to go to an eating-house, andwalked into one in Holborn, where I sat down to a plate of good beef andpotatoes, and a large lump of plum-pudding, paid 1 shilling and 6 pence, and never was better pleased in my life; so I went there again, andbecame a regular customer; and the girls who waited laughed with me, andthe lady who kept the house was very gracious. Now, the lady wasgood-looking, but she was rather too fat; there was an amiable lookabout her, even when she was carving beef; and by degrees we becameintimate, and I found her a very worthy creature, and as simple-mindedas a child, although she could look sharp after her customers. It was, and is now, a most thriving establishment--nearly two hundred peopledine there every day. I don't know how it was, but I suppose I firstfell in love with her beef; and then with her fair self; and findingmyself well received at all times, I one day, as she was carving abeefsteak-pie which might have tempted a king for its fragrance, put thequestion to her, as to how she would like to marry again. She blushed, and fixed her eyes down upon the hole she had made in the pie, and thenI observed that if there was a hole in my side as big as there was inthe pie before her, she would see her image in my heart. This prettysimile did the business for me, and in a month we were married; and Inever shall want a dinner as long as I live, either for myself orfriend. I will put you on the free list, O'Donahue, if you cancondescend to a cook's shop: and I can assure you that I think I havedone a very wise thing, for I don't want to present any wife at Court, and I have a very comfortable home. "

"You have done a wise thing, in my opinion, McShane--you have a wife whomakes money, instead of one who spends it. "

"And, moreover, I have found my bargain better that I anticipated, whichis seldom the case in this world of treachery and deceit. She hasplenty of money, and is putting by more every year. "

"Which you have the control of, at your disposition, do you mean tosay?"

"Why, yes, I may say that now; but, O'Donahue, that is owing to mycircumspection and delicacy. At first starting, I determined that sheshould not think that it was only her money that I wanted; so, after wewere married, I continued to find myself, which, paying nothing forboard and lodging and washing, I could easily do upon my half-pay; and Ihave done so ever since, until just now. "

"I had not been married a week before I saw that she expected I wouldmake inquiries into the state of her finances, but I would not. Atlast, finding that I would not enter into the business, she did, andtold me that she had 17, 000 pounds Consols laid by, and that thebusiness was worth 1, 000 pounds per annum (you may fish at Cheltenham along while, O'Donahue, before you get such a haul as that). So I toldher I was very glad she was well off, and then I pretended to go fastasleep, as I never interfered with her, and never asked for money. Atlast she didn't like it, and offered it to me; but I told her I hadenough, and did not want it; since which she has been quite annoyed atmy not spending money; and when I told her this morning that there was abrother officer of mine arrived in town, to whom I had owed some moneyfor a long while, she insisted upon my taking money to pay it, put apile of bank-notes in my had, and was quite mortified when she found Ionly wanted 20 pounds. Now you see, O'Donahue, I have done this fromprinciple. She earns the money, and therefore she shall have thecontrol of it as long as we are good friends; and upon my honour, Ireally think I love her better than I ever thought I could love anywoman in the world for she has the temper, the kindness, and the charityof an angel, although not precisely the figure; but one can't haveeverything in this world; and so now you have the whole of my story, andwhat do you think of it?"

"You must present me to your wife, McShane. "

"That I will with pleasure. She's like her rounds of beef--it's cut andcome again; but her heart is a beauty, and so is her beefsteak-pie--whenyou taste it. "

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

IN WHICH AN INTERCHANGE AND CONFIDENCE TAKE PLACE. 

"And now, O'Donahue, " said McShane, "if you are not yet tired of mycompany, I should like to hear what you have been doing since we parted:be quite as explicit, but not quite so long-winded, as myself; for Ifear that I tired you. "

"I will be quite as explicit, my good fellow; but I have no suchmarvellous adventures to relate, and not such a fortunate wind up. Ihave been to Bath, to Cheltenham, to Harrogate, to Brighton, andeverywhere else where people meet, and people are met with, who wouldnot meet or be met with elsewhere. I have seen many nice girls; but thenice girls were, like myself, almost penniless; and I have seen manyill-favoured, who had money: the first I could only afford to look at--the latter I have had some dealings with. I have been refused by one ortwo, and I might have married seven or eight; but, somehow or other, when it came near the point, the vision of a certain angel, now inheaven, has risen before me, and I have not had the heart or theheartlessness to proceed. Indeed, I may safely say that I have seen butone person since we parted who ever made the least impression on me, orwhom I could fancy in any degree to replace her whom I have lost, andshe, I fear, is lost also; so we may as well say no more about it. Ihave determined to marry for money, as you well know; but it appears tome as if there was something which invariably prevents the step beingtaken; and, upon my honour, fortune seems so inclined to balk me in mywishes, that I begin to snap my fingers at her, and am becoming quiteindifferent. I suffer now under the evil of poverty; but it isimpossible to say what other evils may be in store if I were to changemy condition, as the ladies say. Come what will, in one thing I amdetermined--that if I marry a girl for money, I will treat her well, andnot let her find it out; and as that may add to the difficulty of aman's position when he is not in love with his wife, why, all I can sayis, Captain O'Donahue doesn't go cheap--that's decided. "

"You're right, my jewel; there's not such a broth of a boy to be pickedup every day in the week. Widows might bid for you, for withoutflattery, I think you a moral of a man, and an honour to Old Ireland. But O'Donahue, begging your pardon, if it's not a secret, who may havebeen this lady who appears to have bothered your brains not a little, since she could you forget somebody else?"

"I met her at the Lakes of Cumberland, and being acquainted with some ofthe party, was invited to join them. I was ten days in her company atWindermere, Ambleside, Derwentwater, and other places. She was aforeigner, and titled. "

"Murder and Irish! you don't say so?"

"Yes; and moreover, as I was informed by those who were with her, haslarge property in Poland. She was, in fact, everything that I coulddesire--handsome, witty, speaking English and several other languages, and about two or three and twenty years old. "

"And her name, if it's no offence to ask it?"

"Princess Czartorinski. "

"And a princess in the bargain? And did you really pretend to make loveto a princess?"

"Am not I an Irishman, McShane? and is a princess anything but a woman, after all? By the powers! I'd make love to, and run away with, thePope himself; if he were made of the same materials as Pope Joan is saidto have been. "

"Then, upon my faith, O'Donahue, I believe you--so now go on. "

"I not only made love to her, but in making love to her, I got mostterribly singed myself; and I felt, before I quitted her, that if I hadten thousand a-year, and she was as poor as my dear Judith was, that sheshould have taken her place--that's the truth. I thought that I nevercould love again, and that my heart was as flinty as a pawnbroker's; butI found out my mistake when it was too late. "

"And did she return you the compliment?"

"That I was not indifferent to her, I may without vanity believe. I hada five minutes alone with her just before we parted, and I took thatopportunity of saying how much pain it was to part with her, and foronce I told the truth, for I was almost choking when I said it. I'mconvinced that there was sincerity in my face, and that she saw that itwas there; so she replied, `If what you say is true, we shall meet atSaint Petersburg next winter; good-bye, I shall expect you. '"

"Well, that was as much as to say, come, at all events. "

"It was; I stammered out my determination so to do, if possible; but Ifelt at the time that my finances rendered it impossible--so there wasan end of that affair. By my hopes of salvation, I'd not only go toSaint Petersburg, but round the whole world, and to the north poleafterwards, if I had the means only to see her once more. "

"You're in a bad way, O'Donahue; your heart's gone and your money too. Upon my soul, I pity you; but it's always the case in this world. WhenI was a boy, the best and ripest fruit was always on the top of thewall, and out of my reach. Shall I call to-morrow, and then, if youplease, I'll introduce you to Mrs McShane?"

"I will be happy to see you and your good wife, McShane; health andhappiness to you. Stop, while I ring for my little factotum to let youout. "

"By the bye, a sharp boy that, O'Donahue, with an eye as bright as ahawk. Where did you pick him up?"

"In Saint James's Park. "

"Well, that's an odd place to hire a servant in. "

"Do you recollect Rushbrook in my company?"

"To be sure I do--your best soldier, and a famous caterer he was at alltimes. "

"It is his son. "

"And, now I think of it, he's very like him, only somewhatbetter-looking. "

O'Donahue then acquainted McShane with the circumstances attending hismeeting with Joey, and they separated. 

The next day, about the same time, McShane came to see his friend, andfound O'Donahue dressed, and ready to go out with him. 

"Now, O'Donahue, you mustn't be in such a hurry to see Mrs McShane, forI have something to tell you which will make her look more pretty inyour eyes than she otherwise might have done upon first introduction. Take your chair again, and don't be putting on your gloves yet, whileyou listen to a little conversation which took place between us lastnight, just before we dropped into the arms of Murfy. I'll pass overall the questions she asked about you, and all the compliments I paidyou behind your back: because, if I didn't, it would make you blush, Irishman as you are; but this she did say, --that it was great kindnesson your part to lend me that money, and that she loved you for it; uponwhich I replied, I was sorry you were not easy in your mind, and so veryunhappy: upon which she, in course, like every woman, asked me why; andthen I told her merely that it was a love-affair, and a long story, asif I wished to go to sleep. This made her more curious, so, to obligeher, I stayed awake, and told her just what you told me, and how thewinter was coming on and you not able to keep your appointment. Andwhat d'ye think the good soul said? `Now, ' says she, `McShane, if youlove me, and have any gratitude to your friend for his former kindness, you will to-morrow take him money enough, and more than enough, to do ashe wishes, and if he gains his wife he can repay you; if not, the moneyis not an object. ' `That's very kind of you, dearest, ' said I; `butthen will you consent to another thing? for this may prove a difficultaffair, and he may want me with him; and would you have any objection tothat, dearest?' for you see, O'Donahue, I took it into my head that Imight be of the greatest use to you: and, moreover, I should like thetrip, just by way of a little change. `Couldn't he do without you?'replied she, gravely. `I'm afraid not; and although I thought I was inbarracks for life, and never to leave you again, yet still for his sake, poor fellow, who has been such a generous fellow to me--' `An' how longwould you be away?' said she. `Why, it might be two months at themost, ' replied I; `but who can tell it to a day?' `Well, ' said she, `Idon't like that part of the concern at all; but still, if it isnecessary, as you say, things shouldn't be done by halves, ' and then shesighed, poor soul. `Then I won't go, ' says I. `Yes, ' says she, after apause; `I think it's your duty, and therefore you must. ' `I'll do justwhat you wish, my soul, ' replied I; `but let's talk more about itto-morrow. ' This morning she brought up the subject, and said that shehad made up her mind, and that it should be as we had said last night;and she went to the drawer and took out three hundred pounds in gold andnotes, and said that if it was not enough, we had only to write formore. Now ain't she a jewel, O'Donahue? and here's the money. "

"McShane, she is a jewel, not because she has given me money, butbecause her heart's in the right place, and always will be. But Ireally do not like taking you away with me. "

"Perhaps you don't think I'd be of any use?"

"Yes; I do not doubt but that you will be, although at present I do notknow how. "

"But I do, for I've thought upon it, and I shall take it very unkind ifyou don't let me go with you. I want a little divarsion; for you see, O'Donahue, one must settle down to domestic happiness by degrees. "

"Be it so, then; all I fear is, I shall occasion pain to your excellentwife. "

"She has plenty to do, and that drives care away; besides, only considerthe pleasure you'll occasion to her when I come back. "

"I forgot that. Now, if you please, I'll call and pay my respects, andalso return my grateful thanks. "

"Then, come along. "

Captain O'Donahue found Mrs McShane very busily employed supplying hercustomers. She was, as McShane had said, a very good-looking woman, although somewhat corpulent: and there was an amiability, frankness, andkindness of disposition so expressed in her countenance, that it wasimpossible not to feel interested with her. They dined together. O'Donahue completely established himself in her good graces, and it wasagreed that on that day week the gentlemen should embark for Hamburg, and proceed on to Petersburg, Joey to go with them as their littlevalet. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

AN EXPEDITION, AS OF YORE, ACROSS THE WATERS FOR A WIFE. 

The first step taken by O'Donahue was to obtain a passport for himselfand suit; and here there was a controversy, McShane having made up hismind that he would sink the officer, and travel as O'Donahue's servant, in which capacity he declared that he would not only be more useful, butalso swell his friend's dignity. After a long combat on the part ofO'Donahue, this was consented to, and the passport was filled upaccordingly. 

"But, by Saint Patrick! I ought to get some letters of introduction, "said O'Donahue; "and how is that to be managed--at all events to theEnglish ambassador? Let me see--I'll go to the Horse Guards. "

O'Donahue went accordingly, and, as was always the case there, wasadmitted immediately to an audience with the Commander of the Forces. O'Donahue put his case forward, stating that he was about to proceed ona secret mission to Russia, and requested his Royal Highness to give hima few letters of introduction. His Royal Highness very properlyobserved, that if sent on a secret mission, he would, of course, obtainall the necessary introductions from the proper quarters, and theninquired of O'Donahue what his rank was, where he had served, etcetera. To the latter questions O'Donahue gave a very satisfactory reply, andconvinced the Duke that he was an officer of merit. Then came thequestion as to his secret mission, which his Royal Highness had neverheard of. "May it please your Royal Highness, there's a little mistakeabout this same secret mission; it's not on account of government thatI'm going, but on my own secret service;" and O'Donahue, finding himselffairly in for it, confessed that he was after a lady of high rank, andthat if he did not obtain letters of introduction, he should notprobably find the means of entering the society in which she was to befound, and that as an officer who had served faithfully, he trusted thathe should not be refused. 

His Royal Highness laughed at his disclosure, and, as there was noobjection to giving O'Donahue a letter or two, with his usualgood-nature he ordered them to be written, and having given them to him, wished him every success. O'Donahue bowed to the ground, and quittedthe Horse Guards, delighted with the success of his impudent attempt. 

Being thus provided, the party set off in a vessel bound to Hamburg, where they arrived without any accident, although very sea-sick; fromHamburg they proceeded to Lubeck, and re-embarked at Travemunde in abrig, which was bound for Riga; the wind was fair, and their passage wasshort. On their arrival they put up at an hotel, and finding themselvesin a country where English was not understood, O'Donahue proceeded tothe house of the English consul, informing him that he was going on asecret mission to Petersburg, and showing, as evidences of hisrespectability and the truth of his assertions, the letters given him byhis Royal Highness. These were quite sufficient for the consul, whoimmediately offered his services. Not being able to procure at Riga acourier who could speak French or English, the consul took a great dealof trouble to assist them in their long journey to Petersburg. He madeout a list of the posts, the number of versts, and the money that was tobe paid; he changed some of O'Donahue's gold into Russian paper-money, and gave all the necessary instructions. The great difficulty was tofind any carriage to carry them to the capital, but at last they foundan old cabriolet on four wheels which might answer, and, bidding adieuto the consul, they obtained horses, and set off. 

"Now, McShane, you must take care of the money, and pay the driver, "said O'Donahue, pulling out several pieces of thick paper, some colouredred, some blue, and others of a dirty white. 

"Is this money?" said McShane, with astonishment. 

"Yes, that's roubles. "

"Roubles, are they? I wonder what they'd call them in Ireland; theylook like soup-tickets. "

"Never mind. And now, McShane, there are two words which the consul hastold me to make use of: one is _Scoro_, and when you say that, it means`_Go fast_, ' and you hold up a small bit of money at the same time. "

"_Scoro_! well, that's a word I sha'n't forget. "

"But, then, there's another, which is _Scorae_. "

"And what may be the English of that?"

"Why, that means `_Go faster_, ' and with that you hold up a larger pieceof money. "

"Why, then, it's no use remembering _Scoro_ at all, for _Scorae_ will domuch better; so we need not burden ourselves with the first at all. Suppose we try the effect of that last word upon our bear-skin friendwho is driving!"

McShane held up a rouble, and called out to the driver--"_Scorae_!" Thefellow turned his head, smiled, and lashed his horses until they were atthe full speed, and then looked back at them for approval. 

"By the powers, that's no fool of a word! it will take us all the way toSaint Petersburg as fast as we wish. "

"We do not sleep on the road, but travel night and day, " said O'Donahue, "for there is no place worth sleeping at. "

"And the 'ating, O'Donahue?"

"We must get that by signs, for we have no other means. "

On that point they soon found they had no difficulty; and thus theyproceeded, without speaking a word of the language, day and night, untilthey arrived at the capital. 

At the entrance their passports were demanded, and the officer at theguard-house came out and told them that a Cossack would accompany them. A Cossack, with a spear as long as a fir-tree, and a beard not quite solong, then took them in charge, and trotted before the carriage, thedriver following him at a slow pace. 

"An't we prisoners?" inquired McShane. 

"I don't know, but it looks very like it, " replied O'Donahue. 

This, however, was not the case. The carriage drove to a splendidstreet called the Neffsky Perspective, and as soon as it stopped at theentrance of an hotel, the Cossack, after speaking to the landlord, whocame out, took his departure. 

A journey of four hundred miles, day and night, is no joke: ourtravellers fell fast asleep in their spacious apartment, and it was nottill the next day that they found themselves clean and comfortable, Joeybeing dressed in a rich livery, as a sort of page, and McShane doingduty as valet when others were present, and when sitting alone withO'Donahue, taking his fair share of the bottle. 

Two days after their arrival, the landlord procured for O'Donahue acourier who could speak both English and French as well as Russian, andalmost every other language. It was resolved by O'Donahue and McShane, in council, to dress him up in a splendid uniform; and a carriage havingbeen hired for the month, O'Donahue felt that he was in a position topresent his credentials to the English ambassador and the other partiesfor whom he had received letters of introduction. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

IN WHICH THERE IS SOME INFORMATION RELATIVE TO THE CITY OF ST. PETERSBURG. 

For 300 roubles a month, O'Donahue had procured a drosky, veryhandsomely fitted up; the shaft horse was a splendid trotter, and theother, a beautiful-shaped animal, capered about curving his neck, untilhis nose almost touched his knee, and prancing, so as to be theadmiration of the passers-by. His coachman, whose name was Athenasis, had the largest beard in Saint Petersburg; Joey was the smallest tiger;Dimitri, one of the tallest and handsomest yagers. Altogether, CaptainO'Donahue had laid out his money well; and on a fine, sunny day he setoff to present his letters to the English ambassador and other parties. Although the letters were very short, it was quite sufficient that theywere written by so distinguished and so universally beloved a person ashis Royal Highness. The ambassador, Lord Saint H, immediately desiredO'Donahue to consider his house open to him, requesting the pleasure ofhis company to dinner on the following day, and offered to present himto the Emperor at the first levee. O'Donahue took his leave, delightedwith his success, and then drove to the hotel of the Princess Woronzoff, Count Nesselrode, and Prince Gallitzin, where he found himself equallywell received. After his visits were all paid, O'Donahue sported hishandsome equipage on the English and Russian quays, and up and down theNeffsky Perspective for an hour or two, and then returned to the hotel. 

"I am very sorry, " said O'Donahue, after he had narrated to McShane allthat had taken place, "that I permitted you to put yourself down on thepassport as valet in the foolish way you have. You would have enjoyedyourself as much as I probably shall, and have been in your properposition in society. "

"Then I'm not sorry at all, O'Donahue, and I'll tell you why. I shouldhave enjoyed myself, I do not doubt--but I should have enjoyed myselftoo much; and, after dining with ambassadors, and princes, and counts, and all that thing--should I ever have gone back comfortable andcontented to Mrs McShane, and the cook's shop? No, no--I'm not exactlyreconciled, as it is; and if I were to be drinking champagne, and 'atingFrench kickshaws with the Russian nobility for three or four months, dancing perhaps with princesses, and whispering in the ears ofduchesses, wouldn't my nose turn up with contempt at the beefsteak pie, and poor Mrs McShane, with all her kind smiles, look twice as corpulentas ever? No, no, I'm better here, and I'm a wise man, although I say itmyself. "

"Well, perhaps you are, McShane; but still I do not like that I shouldbe spending your money in this way without your having your share of itat least. "

"My share of it--now, O'Donahue, suppose I had come over here on my ownaccount, where should I have been? I could not have mustered up theamiable impudence you did, to persuade the commander-in-chief to give meletters to the ambassador: nor could I have got up such a turn-out, norhave fitted the turn-out so well as you do. I should have been asstupid as an owl, just doing what I have done the whole of the blessedmorning for want of your company--looking after one of the floatingbridges across the river, and spitting into the stream, just to add mymite to the Baltic Sea. "

"I'm sorry you were not better amused. "

"I was amused; for I was thinking of the good-humoured face of MrsMcShane, which was much better than being in high company, andforgetting her entirely. Let me alone for amusing myself after my ownfashion, O'Donahue, and that's all I wish. I suppose you have heardnothing in your travels about your Powlish princess?"

"Of course not; it will require some tact to bring in her name--I mustdo it as if by mere accident. "

"Shall I ask the courier if she is an acquaintance of his?"

"An acquaintance, McShane?"

"I don't mean on visiting terms; but if he knows anything about thefamily, or where they live?"

"No, McShane, I think you had better not; we do not know much of him atpresent. I shall dine at the ambassador's tomorrow, and there will be alarge party. "

During the day invitations for evening parties were brought in from thePrince Gallitzin and Princess Woronzoff. 

"The plot thickens fast, as the saying is, " observed McShane; "you'll becertain to meet your fair lady at some of these places. "

"That is what I trust to do, " replied O'Donahue; "if not, as soon as I'mintimate, I shall make inquiries about her; but we must first see howthe land lies. "

O'Donahue dined at the ambassador's, and went to the other parties, butdid not meet with the object of his search. Being a good musician, hewas much in request in so musical a society as that of Saint Petersburg. The emperor was still at his country palace, and O'Donahue had beenmore than a fortnight at the capital without there being an opportunityfor the ambassador to present him at court. 

Dimitri, the person whom O'Donahue engaged as courier, was a veryclever, intelligent fellow; and as he found that O'Donahue had all theliberality of an Irishman, and was in every respect a most indulgentmaster, he soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the more peculiarintimacy between O'Donahue and McShane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri informing a good opinion of the former, as the hauteur and distancegenerally preserved by the English towards their domestics are verydispleasing to the Continental servants, who, if permitted to befamiliar, will not only serve you more faithfully, but be satisfied withmore moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English and French pretty well, German and Russian of course perfectly. He was a Russian by birth, hadbeen brought up at the Foundling Hospital, at Moscow, and therefore wasnot a serf. He soon became intimate with McShane: and as soon as thelatter discovered that there was no intention on the part of Dimitri tobe dishonest, he was satisfied, and treated him with cordiality. 

"Tell your master this, " said Dimitri, "never to give his opinion onpolitical matters before any one while in Petersburg, or he will bereported to the government, and will be looked upon with suspicion. Allthe servants and couriers here, indeed every third person you meet, isan agent of police. "

"Then it's not at all unlikely that you are one yourself, " repliedMcShane. 

"I am so, " replied Dimitri, coolly, "and all the better for your master. I shall be ordered to make my report in a few days, and I shall notfail to do so. "

"And what will they ask you?" said McShane. 

"They will ask me first who and what your master is? Whether I havediscovered from you, if he is of family and importance in his owncountry? whether he has expressed any political opinions? and whether Ihave discovered the real business which brought him here?"

"And what will you reply to all this?" answered McShane. 

"Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew what he wishes me to say, for he isa gentleman whom I am very fond of, and that's the truth; perhaps youcan tell me?"

"Why, yes, I know a good deal about him, that's certain. As for hisfamily, there's not a better in Ireland or England, for he's royal if hehad his right. "

"What!" exclaimed Dimitri. 

"As sure as I'm sitting in this old arm-chair, didn't he bring lettersfrom the brother of the present king? does that go for nothing in thiscountry of yours? or do you value men by the length of their beards?"

"Men are valued here not by their titles, but by their rank as officers. A general is a greater man than a prince, " replied Dimitri. 

"With all my heart, for then I'm somebody, " replied McShane. 

"You?" replied the courier. 

"I mean my master, " returned McShane, correcting himself; "for he's anofficer, and a good one, too. "

"Yes, that may be; but you said yourself, " replied the courier, laughing. "My good friend, a valet to any one in Petersburg is nobetter than one of the mujiks who work in the streets. Well, I knowthat our master is an officer, and of high rank; as for his politicalopinions, I have never heard him express any, except his admiration ofthe city, and of course of the emperor. "

"Most decidedly; and of the empress also, " replied McShane. 

"That is not at all necessary, " continued Dimitri, laughing. "In fact, he has no business to admire the empress. "

"But he admires the government and the laws, " said McShane; "and you mayadd, my good fellow--the army and the navy--by the powers, he's alladmiration, all over!--you may take my word for it. "

"Well, I will do so; but then there is one other question to reply to, which is, why did he come here? what is his business?"

"To look about him, to be sure; to spend his money like a gentleman; togive his letters of introduction; and to amuse himself, " repliedMcShane. "But this is dry talking, so, Dimitri, order a bottle ofchampagne, and then we'll wet our whistle before we go on. "

"Champagne! will your master stand that?" inquired Dimitri. 

"Stand it? to be sure, and he'd be very angry if he thought I did notmake myself comfortable. Tell them to put it down in the bill for me;if they doubt the propriety, let them ask my master. "

Dimitri went and ordered the champagne. As soon as they had a glass, Dimitri observed, "Your master is a fine liberal fellow, and I wouldserve him to the last day of my life; but you see that the reasons yougive for your master being here are the same as are given by everybodyelse, whether they come as spies or secret emissaries, or to fomentinsurrection; that answer, therefore, is considered as no answer at allby the police (although very often a true one), and they will try tofind out whether it is so or not. "

"What other cause can a gentleman like him have for coming here? He isnot going to dirty his hands with speculation, information, or any otherbotheration, " replied McShane, tossing off his glass. 

"I don't say so; but his having letters from the king's brother will beconsidered suspicious. "

"The devil it will. Now in our country that would only create asuspicion that he was a real gentleman--that's all. "

"You don't understand this country, " replied Dimitri. 

"No, it beats my comprehension entirely, and that's a fact; so fill upyour glass. I hope it's not treason; but if it is, I can't help sayingit. My good friend Dimitri--"

"Stop, " said Dimitri, rising and shutting the door, "now, what is it?"

"Why, just this; I haven't seen one good-looking woman since I've beenin this good-looking town of yours; now, that's the truth. "

"There's more truth than treason in that, " replied the courier; "butstill there are some beautiful women among the higher classes. "

"It's to be hoped so; for they've left no beauty for the lower, at allevents. "

"We have very beautiful women in Poland, " said the courier. 

"Why don't you bring a few here, then?"

"There are a great many Polish ladies in Petersburg at this moment. "

"Then go down and order another bottle, " said McShane, "and we'll drinktheir healths. "

The second bottle was finished, and McShane, who had been drinkingbefore, became less cautious. 

"You said, " observed he, "that you have many Polish ladies inPetersburg; did you ever hear of a Princess Czartowinky?--I think that'sthe name. "

"Czartorinski, you mean, " replied Dimitri; "to be sure I did; I servedin the family some years ago, when the old prince was alive. But wheredid you see her?"

"In England, to be sure. "

"Well, that's probable, for she has just returned from travelling withher uncle. "

"Is she now in Petersburg, my good fellow?"

"I believe she is--but why do wish to know?"

"Merely asked--that's all. "

"Now, Macshanovich, "--for such was the familiar way in which Dimitriaddressed his supposed brother-servant--"I suspect this PrincessCzartorinski is some way connected with your master's coming here. Tellme the truth--is such the case? I'm sure it is. "

"Then you know more than I do, " replied McShane, correcting himself, "for I'm not exactly in my master's secrets; all that I do know is, thatmy master met her in England, and I thought her very handsome. "

"And so did he?"

"That's as may be; between ourselves, I've an idea he was a littlesmitten in that quarter; but that's only my own opinion, nothing more. "

"Has he ever spoken about her since you were here?" said Dimitri. 

"Just once, as I handed his waistcoat to him; he said--`I wonder if allthe ladies are as handsome as that Polish princess that we met inCumberland?'"

"If I thought he wished it, or cared for her, I would make inquiry, andsoon find out all about her; but otherwise, it's no use taking thetrouble, " replied the courier. 

"Well, then, will you give me your hand, and promise to servefaithfully, if I tell you all I know about the matter?"

"By the blessed Saint Nicholas, I do!" replied Dimitri; "you may trustme. "

"Well, then, it's my opinion that my master's over head and ears in lovewith her, and has come here for no other purpose. "

"Well, I'm glad you told me that; it will satisfy the police. "

"The police; why murder and Irish! you're not going to inform thepolice, you villain?"

"Not with whom he is in love, most certainly, but that he has come hereon that account; it will satisfy them, for they have no fear of a manthat's in love, and he will not be watched. Depend upon it, I cannot doa better thing to serve our master. "

"Well, then, perhaps you are right. I don't like this champagne--get abottle of Burgundy, Dimitri. Don't look so hard--it's all right. Thecaptain dines out every day, and has ordered me to drink for the honourof the house. "

"He's a capital master, " replied Dimitri, who had begun to feel theeffects of the former bottles. 

As soon as the third bottle was tapped, McShane continued--

"Now, Dimitri, I've given my opinion, and I can tell you, if my masterhas, as I suspect, come here about this young lady, and succeeds inobtaining her, it will be a blessed thing for you and me; for he's asgenerous as the day, and has plenty of money. Do you know who she is?"

"To be sure I do; she is an only daughter of the late PrinceCzartorinski, and now a sort of ward under the protection of theEmperor. She inherits all the estates, except one which was left tofound an hospital at Warsaw, and is a rich heiress. It is supposed theemperor will bestow her upon one of his generals. She is at the palace, and a maid of honour to the empress. "

"Whew!" whistled McShane; "won't there be a difficulty. "

"I should think so, " replied the courier, gravely. 

"He must run away with her, " said McShane, after a pause. 

"How will he get to see her?"

"He will not see her, so as to speak with her, in the palace; that isnot the custom here; but he might meet her elsewhere. "

"To be sure, at a party or a ball, " said McShane. 

"No, that would not do; ladies and gentlemen keep very apart here ingeneral company. He might say a word or two when dancing, but that isall. "

"But how is he to meet her, when, in this cursed place of yours, if menand women keep at arm's length?"

"That must depend upon her. Tell me, does she love him?"

"Well, now, that's a home question: she never told him she did, and shenever told me, that's certain; but still I've an idea that she does. "

"Then all I can say, Macshanovich, is, that your master had better bevery careful what he is about. Of course, he knows not that you havetold me anything; but as soon as he thinks proper to trust me, I thenwill do my utmost in his service. "

"You speak like a very rational, sensible, intelligent courier, " repliedMcShane, "and so now let us finish the bottle. Here's good luck toCaptain O'Donahue, alive or dead: and now--please the fleas--I'll beasleep in less than ten minutes. "

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

GOING TO COURT, AND COURTING. 

When McShane awoke the next morning he tried to recall what had passedbetween him and Dimitri, and did not feel quite convinced that he hadnot trusted him too much. "I think, " said he, "it was all upon an _if_. Yes, sure; _if_ O'Donahue was in love, and _if_ she was. Yes, I'm surethat it was all upon _ifs_. However, I must go and tell O'Donahue whathas taken place. "

McShane did so; and O'Donahue, after a little thought, replied, "Well, Idon't know: perhaps it's all for the best; for you see I must havetrusted somebody, and the difficulty would have been to know whom totrust, for everybody belongs to the police here, I believe: I think, myself, the fellow is honest; at all events, I can make it worth hiswhile to be so. "

"He would not have told me he belonged to the police if he wished totrap us, " replied McShane. 

"That's very true, and on the whole I think we could not do better. Butwe are going on too fast; who knows whether she meant anything by whatshe said to me when we parted; or, if she did then, whether she may nothave altered her mind since?"

"Such things have been--that's a fact, O'Donahue. "

"And will be, as long as the world lasts. However, to-morrow I am to bepresented--perhaps I may see her. I'm glad that I know that I maychance to meet her, as I shall now be on my guard. "

"And what shall I say to Dimitri?"

"Say that you mentioned her name, and where she was, and that I had onlyreplied, that I should like to see her again. "

"Exactly; that will leave it an open question, as the saying is, "replied McShane. 

The next day O'Donahue, in his uniform, drove to the ambassador's hotel, to accompany him to the Annishkoff palace, where he was to be presentedto the emperor. O'Donahue was most graciously received, the emperorwalking up to him, as he stood in the circle, and inquiring after thehealth of his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief, what service he hadbeen employed upon, etcetera. He then told O'Donahue that the Empresswould be most glad to make his acquaintance, and hoped that he wouldmake a long stay at Saint Petersburg. 

It was with a quickened pulse that O'Donahue followed the ambassadorinto the empress's apartments. He had not waited there more than fiveminutes, in conversation with the ambassador when the doors opened, andthe empress, attended by her chamberlain, and followed by her ladies inwaiting and maids of honour, entered the room. O'Donahue had made uphis mind not to take his eyes off the empress until the presentation wasover. As soon as he had kissed hands, and answered the few questionswhich were graciously put to him, he retired to make room for others, and then, for the first time, did he venture to cast his eyes on thegroup of ladies attending the empress. The first that met his view wereunknown, but, behind all the rest, he at length perceived the PrincessCzartorinski, talking and laughing with another lady. After a shorttime she turned round, and their eyes met. The princess recognised himwith a start, and then turned away and put her hand up to her breast, asif the shock had taken away her breath. Once more she turned her faceto O'Donahue, and this time he was fully satisfied by her looks that hewas welcome. Ten minutes after, the ambassador summoned O'Donahue, andthey quitted the palace. 

"I have seen her, McShane, " said O'Donahue; "she is more beautiful, andI am more in love than ever. And now, what am I to do?"

"That's just the difficulty, " replied McShane. "Shall I talk withDimitri, or shall I hold my tongue, or shall I think about it while yougo to dinner at the ambassador's?"

"I cannot dine out to-day, McShane. I will write an excuse. "

"Well, now, I do believe you're in for it in good earnest. My lovenever spoiled my appetite; on the contrary, it was my appetite that mademe fall in love. "

"I wish she had not been a princess, " said O'Donahue, throwing himselfon the sofa. 

"That's nothing at all here, " replied McShane. "A _princess_ is to behad. Now, if she had been a _general_ it would have been all up withyou. Military rank is everything here, as Dimitri says. "

"She's an angel, " replied O'Donahue, with a sigh. 

"That's rank in heaven, but goes for nothing in Petersburg, " repliedMcShane. "Dimitri tells me they've _civil_ generals here, which Iconceive are improvements on our staff, for devil a civil general I'vehad the pleasure of serving under. "

"What shall I do, " said O'Donahue, getting up and preparing to write hisnote to the ambassador. 

"Eat your dinner, drink a bottle of champagne, and then I'll come andtalk it over with you, that's all you can do at present. Give me thenote, and I'll send Dimitri off with it at once, and order up yourdinner. "

McShane's advice not being very bad, it was followed. O'Donahue hadfinished his dinner, and was sitting by the fire with McShane, whenthere was a knock at the door. McShane was summoned, and soon returned, saying, "There's a little fellow that wants to speak with you, and won'tgive his message. He's a queer little body, and not so bad-lookingeither, with a bolster on the top of his head, and himself not higherthan a pillow; a pigeon could sit upon his shoulder and peck up peas outof his shoes; he struts like a grenadier, and, by the powers! agrenadier's cap would serve as an extinguisher for him. Shall I showhim in?"

"Certainly, " replied O'Donahue. 

The reader may not be aware that there is no part of the globe wherethere are so many dwarfs as at Saint Petersburg; there is scarcely anhotel belonging to a noble family without one or two, if not more; theyare very kindly treated, and are, both in appearance and temper, verysuperior to the dwarfs occasionally met with elsewhere. One of thisdiminutive race now entered the room, dressed in a Turkish costume; hewas remarkably well made and handsome in person; he spoke sufficientFrench to inquire if he addressed himself to Captain O'Donahue; and onbeing replied to in the affirmative, he gave him a small billet, andthen seated himself on the sofa with all the freedom of a petted menial. O'Donahue tore open the note; it was very short:--

"As I know you cannot communicate with me, I write to say that I wasdelighted at your having kept your promise. You shall hear from meagain as soon as I know where I can meet you; in the meantime, becautious. The bearer is to be trusted; he belongs to me. 

 "C. "O'Donahue pressed the paper to his lips, and then sat down to reply. Weshall not trouble the reader with what he said; it is quite sufficientthat the lady was content with the communication, and also at the reportfrom her little messenger of the Captain's behaviour when he had readher billet. 

Two or three days afterwards, O'Donahue received a note from a Germanwidow lady, a Countess Erhausen, particularly requesting he would callupon her in the afternoon, at three o'clock. As he had not as yet hadthe pleasure of being introduced to the countess, although he had oftenheard her spoken of in the first society, O'Donahue did not fail in hisappointment, as he considered that it was possible that the PrincessCzartorinski might be connected with it; nor was he deceived, for on hisentering the saloon, he found the princess sitting on the sofa withMadame Erhausen, a young and pretty woman, not more than twenty-fiveyears of age. The princess rose, and greeted Captain O'Donahue, andthen introduced the countess as her first cousin. A few minutes afterhis introduction, the countess retired, leaving them alone. O'Donahuedid not lose this opportunity of pouring out the real feelings of hisheart. 

"You have come a long way to see me, Captain O'Donahue, and I ought tobe grateful, " replied the princess: "indeed, I have much pleasure inrenewing our acquaintance. "

O'Donahue, however, did not appear satisfied with this mere admission:he became eloquent in his own cause, pointed out the cruelty of havingbrought him over to see her again if he was not to be rewarded, andafter about an hour's pleading he was sitting on the sofa by her side, with her fair hand in his, and his arm round her slender waist. Theyparted, but through the instrumentality of the little dwarf, they oftenmet again at the same rendezvous. Occasionally they met in society, butbefore others they were obliged to appear constrained and formal; therewas little pleasure in such meetings, and when O'Donahue could not seethe princess his chief pleasure was to call upon Madame Erhausen andtalk about her. 

"You are aware, Captain O'Donahue, " said the countess one day, "thatthere will be a great difficulty to overcome in this affair. Theprincess is a sort of ward of the emperor's, and it is said that he hasalready, in his own mind, disposed of her hand. "

"I am aware of that, " replied O'Donahue; "and I know no other means thanrunning away with her. "

"That would never do, " replied the countess; "you could not leavePetersburg without passports; nor could she leave the palace for morethan an hour or two without being missed. You would soon be discovered, and then you would lose her for ever. "

"Then what can I do, my dear madame? Shall I throw myself upon theindulgence of the emperor?"

"No, that would not answer either; she is too rich a prize to bepermitted to go into foreign hands. I'll tell you what you must firstdo. "

"I'm all attention. "

"You must make love to me, " replied the countess. "Nay, understand me. I mean that you must _appear_ to make love to me, and the report of ourmarriage must be spread. The emperor will not interfere in such a case;you must do so to avoid suspicion. You have been here very often, andyour equipage has been constantly seen at the door. If it is supposedyou do not come on my account, it will be inquired why you do come; andthere is no keeping a secret at Petersburg. After it is supposed thatit is a settled affair between us, we then may consider what next oughtto be done. My regard for my cousin alone induces me to consent tothis; indeed, it is the only way she could avoid future misery. "

"But is the emperor so despotic on these points?"

"An emperor is not to be trifled with; a ward of the emperor isconsidered sacred--at least, so far, that if a Russian were to wed onewithout permission, he probably would be sent to Siberia. With anEnglishman it is different, perhaps; and, once married, you would besafe, as you could claim the protection of your ambassador. The greatpoint is, to let it be supposed that you are about to marry some oneelse; and then, suspicion not being awakened, you may gain your wish. "

"But tell me, madame, --that I may be safe from the emperor's displeasureis true--but would the princess, after he discovered it? Could he nottake her away from me, and send her to Siberia for disobedience?"

"I hope, by the means I propose, to get you both clear of the emperor--at least, till his displeasure is softened down. Me he cannot hurt; hecan only order me out of his dominions. As for the princess, I shouldthink that, if once married to you, she would be safe, for you couldclaim the protection of the ambassador for her, as your wife, as well asfor yourself. Do you comprehend me now?"

"I do, madame; and may blessings follow you for your kindness. I shallin future act but by your directions?"

"That is exactly what I wished you to say; and so now, CaptainO'Donahue, farewell. "

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

A RUNAWAY AND A HARD PURSUIT. 

"Well, now, " said McShane, after he had been informed by O'Donahue ofwhat had passed between him and the countess, --"this is all very pretty, and looks very well; but tell me, are we to trust that fellow Dimitri?Can we do without him? I should say not when it comes to the finale;and is it not dangerous to keep him out of our confidence, being such asharp, keen-witted fellow? Nay, more, as he has stated his wish toserve you in any way, it is only treating him fairly. He knows thelittle dwarf who has been here so often; indeed, they werefellow-servants in the Czartorinski family, for he told me so. I wouldtrust him. "

"I think so, too; but we must not tell him all. "

"No, that we certainly need not, for he will find it out withouttelling. "

"Well, McShane, do as you please; but on second thoughts, I will speakto the countess to-morrow. "

O'Donahue did so, the countess called upon the princess at the palace, and the next morning O'Donahue received a note stating that Dimitri wasto be trusted. O'Donahue then sent for the courier, and told him thathe was about to put confidence in him on a promise of his fidelity. 

"I understand you, sir, and all you intend to do; there is no occasionto say anything more to me, until you want my assistance. I will not, in the meantime, neglect your interest, for I hope to remain with you, and that is the only reward I ask for any services I may perform. Ihave only one remark to make now, which is, that it will be necessary, afew days before you leave Petersburg, to let me know, that I mayadvertise it. "

"Advertise it!"

"Yes, sir, you must advertise your departure, that you may not run awayin debt. Such is the custom; and without three notices being put in the_Gazette_, the police will not give you your passport. "

"I am glad that you mentioned it. Of course you are aware that I ampaying attention to the Countess Erhausen, and shall leave Petersburgwith her, I trust, as my wife?"

"I understand sir, and shall take care that your intimacy there shall beknown to everybody. "

So saying, Dimitri left the room. 

The winter now set in with unusual severity. The river was one mass ofice, the floating bridges had been removed, the Montagnes-Russes becamethe amusement of the day, and the sledges were galloping about in everydirection. For more than a month O'Donahue continued his pretendedaddresses to the fair cousin of the princess, and during that time hedid not once see the real object of his attachment: indeed, the dwarfnever made his appearance, and all communication, except an occasionalnote from her to the countess, was, from prudence, given up. The widowwas rich, and had often been pressed to renew her bonds, but hadpreferred her liberty. O'Donahue, therefore, was looked upon as afortunate man, and congratulated upon his success. Nor did the widowdeny the projected union, except in a manner so as to induce people tobelieve in the certainty of its being arranged. O'Donahue's equipagewas always at her door, and it was expected that the marriage wouldimmediately take place, when O'Donahue attended a levee given by theemperor on the Feast of Saint Nicholas. The emperor, who had been verycivil to O'Donahue, as he walked past him, said, "Well, CaptainO'Donahue, so I understand that you intend to run away with one of ourfairest and prettiest ladies--one of the greatest ornaments of mycourt?"

"I trust that I have your Majesty's permission so to do, " repliedO'Donahue, bowing low. 

"Oh, certainly you have; and, moreover, our best wishes for yourhappiness. "

"I humbly thank your Majesty, " replied O'Donahue; "still I trust yourMajesty does not think that I wish to transplant her to my own countryaltogether, and that I shall be permitted to reside, for the major partof the year, in your Majesty's dominions. "

"Nothing will give me greater pleasure; and it will be a satisfaction tofeel that I shall gain instead of losing by the intended marriage. "

"By the powers! but I will remind him of this, some day or another, "thought O'Donahue. "Haven't I his permission to the marriage, and toremain in the country?"

Everything was now ripe for the execution of the plot. The countessgave out that she was going to her country-seat, about ten miles fromSaint Petersburg; and it was naturally supposed that she was desirousthat the marriage should be private, and that she intended to retirethere to have the ceremony performed; and O'Donahue advertised hisdeparture in the _Gazette_. 

The Princess Czartorinski produced a letter from the countess, requesting her, as a favour, to obtain leave from the empress to passtwo or three days with her in the country; and the empress, as thecountess was first-cousin to the princess, did not withhold her consent;on the contrary, when the princess left the palace, she put a case ofjewels in her hand, saying, "These are for the bride, with the goodwishes and protection of the empress, as long as she remains in thiscountry. " One hour afterwards O'Donahue was rewarded for all his longforbearance by clasping his fair one in his arms. A priest had beenprovided, and was sent forward to the country chateau, and at ten in themorning all the parties were ready. The princess and her cousin set offin the carriage, followed by O'Donahue, with McShane and his suite. Everything was _en regle_. The passports had been made out for Germany, to which country it was reported the countess would proceed a few daysafter the marriage, and the princess was to return to the palace. Assoon as they arrived at the chateau the ceremony was performed, andO'Donahue obtained his prize; and to guard against any mishap, it wasdecided that they should leave the next morning, on their way to thefrontier. Dimitri had been of the greatest use, had prepared againstevery difficulty, and had fully proved his fidelity. The partingbetween the countess and her cousin was tender. "How much do I owe, dear friend!" said the princess. "What risk do you incur for me! Howwill you brave the anger of the emperor?"

"I care little for his anger. I am a woman, and not a subject of his;but, before you go, you must both write a letter--your husband to theemperor, reminding him of his having given his consent to the marriage, and his wish that he should remain in his dominions; and let him add hissincere wish, if permitted, to be employed in his Majesty's service. You, my dear cousin, must write to the empress, reminding her of herpromise of protection, and soliciting her good offices with the emperor. I shall play my own game; but, depend upon it, it will all end in alaugh. "

O'Donahue and his wife both wrote their letters, and O'Donahue alsowrote one to the English ambassador, informing him of what had takenplace, and requesting his kind offices. As soon as they were finished, the countess bade them farewell, saying, "I shall not send these lettersuntil you are well out of reach, depend upon it;" and, with many thanksfor her kindness, O'Donahue and his bride bade her adieu, and set off ontheir long journey. 

The carriage procured for their journey was what is called a German_batarde_, which is very similar to an English chariot with coach-box, fixed upon a sleigh. Inside were O'Donahue and his young bride, McShanepreferring to ride outside on the box with Joey, that he might not be inthe way, as a third person invariably is, with a newly married couple. The snow was many feet deep on the ground; but the air was dry, and thesun shone bright. The bride was handed in, enveloped in a rich mantleof sable; O'Donahue followed, equally protected against the cold; whileMcShane and Joey fixed themselves on the box, so covered up in robes ofwolf-skins, and wrappers of bear-skins for their feet, that you couldsee but the tips of their noses. On the front of the sleigh, below thebox of the carriage, were seated the driver and the courier; four fieryyoung horses were pawing with impatience; the signal was given, and offthey went at the rate of sixteen miles an hour. 

"Where's the guns, Joey, and the pistols, and the ammunition?" inquiredMcShane; "we're going through a wild sort of country, I expect. "

"I have put them in myself, and I can lay my hands on them immediately, sir, " replied Joey; "the guns are behind us, and your pistols and theammunition are at my feet; the captain's are in the carriage. "

"That's all right, then; I like to know where to lay my hands upon mytools. Just have the goodness to look at my nose now and then, Joey;and if you see a white spot on the tip of it, you'll be pleased to tellme, and I'll do the same for you. Mrs McShane would be anything butpleased if I came home with only half a handle to my face. "

The journey was continued at the same rapid pace until the close of theday, when they arrived at the post-house; there they stopped, McShaneand Joey, with the assistance of the courier, preparing their supperfrom the stores which they brought with them. After supper theyretired, O'Donahue and his wife sleeping in the carriage, which wasarranged so as to form a bed if required; while McShane and Joey made itout how they could upon the cloaks and what little straw they couldprocure, on the floor of the post-house, where, as McShane said the nextmorning, they "had more bed-fellows than were agreeable, although hecontrived to get a few hours' sleep in spite of the jumping vagabonds. "When they rose the next morning, they found that the snow had just begunto fall fast. As soon as they had breakfasted they set out, nevertheless, and proceeded at the same pace. McShane telling Joey, whowas, as well as himself, almost embedded in it before the day was halfover, that it was "better than rain, at all events;" to be sure that wascold comfort, but any comfort is better than none. O'Donahue's requestfor McShane to come inside was disregarded; he was as tough as littleJoey, at all events, and it would be a pity to interrupt theconversation. About four o'clock they had changed their horses at asmall village, and were about three miles on their last stage, for thatday's journey, when they passed through a pine-forest. 

"There's a nice place for an ambuscade, Joey, if there were any robbersabout here, " observed McShane. "Murder and Irish! what's those chapsrunning among the trees so fast, and keeping pace with us? I say, Dimitri, " continued McShane, pointing to them, "what are those?"

The courier looked in the direction pointed out, and as soon as he haddone so, spoke to the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in thedirection, applied the lash to his horses, and set off with doublespeed. 

"Wolves, sir, " replied the courier, who then pulled out his pistols, andcommenced loading them. 

"Wolves!" said McShane, "and hungry enough, I'll warrant; but they don'thope to make a meal of us, do they? At all events we will give them alittle fight for it. Come, Joey, I see that Dimitri don't like it, sowe must shake off the snow, and get our ammunition ready. "

This was soon done; the guns were unstrapped from the back of thecoach-box, the pistols got from beneath their feet, and all were soonready, loaded and primed. 

"It's lucky there's such a mist on the windows of the carriage, that thelady can't see what we're after, or she'd be frightened, perhaps, " saidJoey. 

The rapid pace at which the driver had put his horses had for a timeleft the wolves in the rear; but now they were seen following thecarriage at about a quarter of a mile distant, having quitted the forestand taken to the road. 

"Here they come, the devils! one, two, three--there are seven of them. I suppose this is what they call a covey in these parts. Were you everwolf-hunting before, Joey?"

"I don't call this wolf-hunting, " replied Joey; "I think the wolves arehunting us. "

"It's all the same, my little poacher--it's a hunt, at all events. Theyare gaining on us fast; we shall soon come to an explanation. "

The courier now climbed up to the coach-box to reconnoitre, and he shookhis head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it;that he had heard that the wolves were out in consequence of the extremeseverity of the weather, and that he feared that these seven were onlythe advance of a whole pack; that they had many versts to go, for thestage was a long one, and it would be dark before they were at the endof it. 

"Have you ever been chased by them before?" said Joey. 

"Yes, " replied the courier, "more than once; it's the horses that theyare so anxious to get hold of. Three of our horses are very good, butthe fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that hewill not hold out; however, we must keep them off as long as we can; wemust not shoot at them till the last moment. "

"Why not?" inquired McShane. 

"Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redoubletheir efforts to come up with us. There is an empty bottle by you, sir;throw it on the road behind the carriage; that will stop them for atime. "

"An empty bottle stop them! well, that's queer: it may stop a mandrinking, because he can get no mote out of it. However, as you please, gentlemen; here's to drink my health, bad manners to you, " said McShane, throwing the bottle over the carriage. 

The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, thewolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there is atrap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round itcautiously; the carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animalswere nearly out of sight. 

"Well, that bothers me entirely, " said McShane; "an empty bottle is asgood to them as a charged gun. "

"But look, sir, they are coming on again, " said Joey, "and faster thanever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it. "

The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and McShane werestanding. "I think you had a ball of twine, " said he to Joey, "when youwere tying down the baskets; where is it?"

"It is here under the cushion, " replied Joey, searching for the twineand producing it. 

"What shall we find to tie to it?" said the courier; "something not tooheavy--a bottle won't do. "

"What's it for?" inquired McShane. 

"To trail, sir, " replied the courier. 

"To trail! I think they're fast enough upon our trail already; but ifyou want to help them, a red herring's the thing. "

"No, sir, a piece of red cloth would do better, " replied the courier. 

"Red cloth! One would think you were fishing for mackerel, " repliedMcShane. 

"Will this piece of black cloth do, which was round the lock of thegun?" said Joey. 

"Yes, I think it will, " replied the courier. 

The courier made fast the cloth to the end of the twine, and throwing itclear of the carriage, let the ball run out, until he had little morethan the bare end in his hand, and the cloth was about forty yardsbehind the carriage, dragging over the snow. 

"They will not pass the cloth, sir, " said the courier; "they think thatit's a trap. "

Sure enough the wolves, which had been gaining fast on the carriage, nowretreated again; and although they continued the pursuit, it was at agreat distance. 

"We have an hour and a half more to go before we arrive, and it will bedark, I'm afraid, " said the courier; "all depends upon the horse holdingout; I'm sure the pack is not far behind. "

"And how many are there in a pack?" inquired McShane. 

The courier shrugged up his shoulders. "Perhaps two or three hundred. "

"Oh! the devil! Don't I wish I was at home with Mrs McShane. "

For half an hour they continued their rapid pace, when the horsereferred to showed symptoms of weakness. Still the wolves had notadvanced beyond the piece of black cloth which trailed behind thecarriage. 

"I think that, considering that they are so hungry, they are amazing shyof the bait, " said McShane. "By all the powers, they've stopped again!"

"The string has broke, sir, and they are examining the cloth, " criedJoey. 

"Is there much line left?" inquired the courier, with some alarm. 

"No, it has broken off by rubbing against the edge of the carriagebehind. "

The courier spoke to the driver, who now rose from his seat and lashedhis horses furiously; but although three of the horses were still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with them, and there was every prospect ofhis being dragged down on his knees, as more than once he stumbled andnearly fell. In the meantime the wolves had left the piece of clothbehind them, and were coming up fast with the carriage. 

"We must fire on them now, sir, " said the courier, going back to hisseat, "or they will tear the flanks of the horses. "

McShane and Joey seized their guns, the headmost wolf was now nearlyahead of the carriage; Joey fired, and the animal rolled over in thesnow. 

"That's a good shot, Joey; load again; here's at another. "

McShane fired, and missed the animal, which rushed forward; thecourier's pistol, however, brought it down, just as he was springing onthe hindmost horses. 

O'Donahue, astonished at the firing, now lowered down the glass, andinquired the reason. McShane replied, that the wolves were on them, andthat he'd better load his pistols in case they were required. 

The wolves hung back a little upon the second one falling, but stillcontinued the chase, although at a more respectable distance. The roadwas now on a descent, but the sick horse could hardly hold on his legs. 

"A little half-hour more and we shall be in the town, " said the courier, climbing up to the coach-seat, and looking up the road they had passed;"but Saint Nicholas preserve us!" he exclaimed; and he turned round andspoke in hurried accents to the driver in the Russian language. 

Again the driver lashed furiously, but in vain; the poor horse wasdead-beat. 

"What is the matter now?" inquired McShane. 

"Do you see that black mass coming down the hill? it's the main pack ofwolves; I fear we are lost; the horse cannot go on. "

"Then why not cut his traces, and go on with the three others?" criedJoey. 

"The boy is right, " replied the man, "and there is no time to lose. "The courier went down on the sleigh, spoke to the driver in Russian, andthe horses were pulled up. The courier jumped out with his knife, andcommenced cutting the traces of the tired horse, while the other three, who knew that the wolves were upon them, plunged furiously in theirharness, that they might proceed. It was a trying moment. The fivewolves now came up; the first two were brought down by the guns ofMcShane and Joey, and O'Donahue killed a third from the carriagewindows. 

One of the others advanced furiously, and sprang upon the horse whichthe courier was cutting free. Joey leapt down, and put his pistol tothe animal's head, and blew out his brains, while McShane, who hadfollowed our hero, with the other pistol disabled the only wolf thatremained. 

But this danger which they had escaped from was nothing compared to thatwhich threatened them; the whole pack now came sweeping like a torrentdown the hill, with a simultaneous yell which might well strike terrorinto the bravest. The horse, which had fallen down when the wolf seizedhim, was still not clear of the sleigh, and the other three were quiteunmanageable. McShane, Joey, and the courier, at last drew him clearfrom the track; they jumped into their places, and away they startedagain like the wind, for the horses were maddened with fear. The wholepack of wolves was not one hundred yards from them when they recommencedtheir speed, and even then McShane considered that there was no hope. But the horse that was left on the road proved their salvation; thestarved animals darted upon it, piling themselves one on the other, snarling and tearing each other in their conflict for the feast. It wassoon over; in the course of three minutes the carcass had disappeared, and the major portion of the pack renewed their pursuit; but thecarriage had proceeded too far ahead of them, and their speed being nowuninterrupted, they gained the next village, and O'Donahue had thesatisfaction of leading his terrified bride into the chamber of thepost-house, where she fainted as soon as she was placed in a chair. 

"I'll tell you what, Joey, I've had enough of wolves for all my life, "said McShane; "and Joey, my boy, you're a good shot in the first place, and a brave little fellow in the next; here's a handful of roubles, asthey call them, for you to buy lollipops with, but I don't think you'llfind a shop that sells them hereabouts. Never mind, keep your sweettooth till you get to old England again; and after I tell Mrs McShanewhat you have done for us this day, she will allow you to walk into aleg of beef, or round a leg of mutton, or dive into a beefsteak pie, aslong as you live, whether it be one hundred years more or less. I'vesaid it, and don't you forget it; and now, as the wolves have not madetheir supper upon us, let us go and see what we can sup upon ourselves. "

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

RETURN TO ENGLAND. 

The remainder of the journey was completed without any furtheradventure, and they at last found themselves out of the Russiandominions, when they were met by the uncle of the princess, who, as aPole, was not sorry that his niece had escaped from being wedded to aRussian. He warmly greeted O'Donahue, as his connection, andimmediately exerted all the interest which he had at the court to pacifythe emperor. When the affair first became known, which it soon did, bythe princess not returning to court, his Majesty was anything butpleased at being outwitted; but the persuasions of the empress, thepleading of the English ambassador, who exerted himself strenuously forO'Donahue, with the efforts made in other quarters, and more than all, the letter of O'Donahue, proving that the emperor had given his consent(unwittingly, it is true), coupled with his wish to enter into hisservice, at last produced the desired effect, and after two months anotice of their pardon and permission to return was at last despatchedby the empress. O'Donahue considered that it was best to take immediateadvantage of this turn in his favour, and retrace his way to thecapital. McShane, who had been quite long enough in the situation of adomestic, now announced his intention to return home; and O'Donahue, aware that he was separating him from his wife, did not, of course, throw any obstacle in the way of his departure. Our little hero, whohas lately become such a cipher in our narrative, was now the subject ofconsideration. O'Donahue wished him to remain with him, but McShaneopposed it. 

"I tell you, O'Donahue, that it's no kindness to keep him here; the boyis too good to be a page at a lady's shoestring, or even a servant to sogreat a man as you are yourself now: besides, how will he like beingburied here in a foreign country, and never go back to old England?"

"But what will he do better in England, McShane?"

"Depend upon it, major, " said the princess, for she was now aware ofMcShane's rank, "I will treat him like a son. "

"Still he will be a servant, my lady, and that's not the position--although, begging your pardon, an emperor might be proud to be yourservant; yet that's not the position for little Joey. "

"Prove that you will do better for him, McShane, and he is yours: butwithout you do, I am too partial to him to like to part with him. Hisconduct on the journey--"

"Yes, exactly, his conduct on the journey, when the wolves would haveshared us out between them, is one great reason for my objection. He istoo good for a menial, and that's the fact. You ask me what I intend todo with him; it is not so easy to answer that question, because you see, my lady, there's a certain Mrs McShane in the way, who must beconsulted; but I think that when I tell her, what I consider to be asnear the truth as most things which are said in this world, that if ithad not been for the courage and activity of little Joey, a certainMajor McShane would have been by this time eaten and digested by a packof wolves, why, I then think, as Mrs McShane and I have no child, norprospect of any, as I know of, that she may be well inclined to comeinto my way of thinking, and of adopting him as her own son; but, ofcourse, this cannot be said without my consulting with Mrs McShane, seeing as how the money is her own, and she has a right to do as shepleases with it. "

"That, indeed, alters the case, " replied O'Donahue, "and I must notstand in the way of the boy's interest; still I should like to dosomething for him. "

"You have done something for him, O'Donahue; you have prevented hisstarving; and if he has been of any use to you, it is but your reward--so you and he are quits. Well, then, it is agreed that I take him withme?"

"Yes, " replied O'Donahue. "I cannot refuse my consent after what youhave said. "

Two days after this conversation the parties separated: O'Donahue, withhis wife, accompanied by Dimitri, set off on their return to SaintPetersburg; while McShane, who had provided himself with a properpassport, got into the diligence, accompanied by little Joey, on his wayback to England. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

THE DAY AFTER THE MURDER. 

We must now return to the village of Grassford, and the cottage in whichwe left Rushbrook and his wife, who had been raised up from the floor, by her husband, and, having now recovered from her swoon, was cryingbitterly for the loss of her son, and the dread of her husband's crimebeing discovered. For some time Rushbrook remained in silence, lookingat the embers in the grate: Mum sometimes would look piteously in hismaster's face, at other times he would slowly approach the weepingwoman. The intelligence of the animal told him that something waswrong. Finding himself unnoticed, he would then go to the door by whichJoey had quitted, snuff at the crevice, and return to his master's side. 

"I'm glad that he's off, " at last muttered Rushbrook; "he's a fine boy, that. "

"Yes, he is, " replied Jane; "but when shall I behold him again?"

"By-and-bye, never fear, wife. We must not stay in this place, providedthis affair blows over. "

"If it does, indeed!"

"Come, come, Jane, we have every reason to hope it will; now, let's goto bed; it would not do, if any one should happen to have been near thespot, and to have found out what has taken place, for us to bediscovered not to have been in bed all night, or even for a light to beseen at the cottage by any early riser. Come, Jane, let's to bed. "

Rushbrook and his wife retired, the light was extinguished, and all wasquiet, except conscience, which still tormented and kept Rushbrookturning to the right and left continually. Jane slept not: she listenedto the wind; the slightest noise--the crowing of the cock--startled her, and soon footsteps were heard of those passing the windows. They couldremain in bed no longer. Jane arose, dressed, and lighted the fire:Rushbrook remained sitting on the side of the bed in deep thought. 

"I've been thinking, Jane, " said he, at last, "it would be better tomake away with Mum. "

"With the dog? Why, it can't speak, poor thing. No--no--don't kill thepoor dog. "

"He can't speak, but the dog has sense; he may lead them to the spot. "

"And if he were to do so, what then? it would prove nothing. "

"No! only it would go harder against Joey. "

"Against the boy! yes, it might convince them that Joey did the deed;but still, the very killing of the animal would look suspicious: tie himup, Rushbrook; that will do as well. "

"Perhaps better, " replied he; "tie him up in the back-kitchen, there's agood woman. "

Jane did so, and then commenced preparing the breakfast; they had takentheir seats, when the latch of the door was lifted up, and Furness, theschoolmaster, looked in. This he was often in the habit of doing, tocall Joey out to accompany him to school. 

"Good morning, " said he; "now, where's my friend Joey?"

"Come in, come in, neighbour, and shut the door, " said Rushbrook; "Iwish to speak to you. Mayhap you'll take a cup of tea; if so, my missuswill give you a good one. "

"Well, as Mrs Rushbrook does make everything so good, I don't care if Ido, although I have had breakfast. But where's my friend Joey? the lazylittle dog; is he not up yet? Why Mrs Rushbrook, what's the matter?you look distressed. "

"I am, indeed, " replied Jane, putting her apron to her eyes. 

"Why, Mrs Rushbrook, what is it?" inquired the pedagogue. 

"Just this; we are in great trouble about Joey. When we got up thismorning we found that he was not in bed, and he has never been homesince. "

"Well, that is queer; why, where can the young scamp be gone to?"

"We don't know; but we find that he took my gun with him, and I'mafraid--" and here Rushbrook paused, shaking his head. 

"Afraid of what?"

"That he has gone poaching, and has been taken by the keepers. "

"But did he ever do so before?"

"Not by night, if he did by day. I can't tell; he always has had ahankering that way. "

"Well, they do whisper the same of you, neighbour. Why do you keep agun?"

"I've carried a gun all my life, " replied Rushbrook, "and I don't chooseto be without one: but that's not to the purpose; the question is, whatwould you advise us to do?"

"Why, you see, friend Rushbrook, " replied the schoolmaster, "advice inthis question becomes rather difficult. If Joey has been poaching, asyou imagine, and has been taken up, as you suspect, why, then, you willsoon hear of it: you, of course, have had no hand in it?"

"Hand in it--hand in what?" replied Rushbrook. "Do you think we trust achild like him with a gun?"

"I should think not; and therefore it is evident that he has actedwithout the concurrence of his parents. That will acquit you; butstill, it will not help Joey; neither do I think you will be able torecover the gun, which I anticipate will become a deodand to the lord ofthe manor. "

"But, the child--what will become of him?" exclaimed Jane. 

"What will become of him?--why, as he is of tender years, they will nottransport him--at least, I should think not; they may imprison him for afew months, and order him to be privately whipped. I do not see whatyou can do but remain quiet. I should recommend you not to say onesyllable about it until you hear more. "

"But suppose we do not hear?"

"That is to suppose that he did not go out with the gun to poach, butupon some other expedition. "

"What else could the boy have gone out for?" said Rushbrook, hastily. 

"Very true; it is not very likely that he went out to commit murder, "replied the pedagogue. 

At the word "murder" Rushbrook started from his chair; but, recollectinghimself, he sat down again. 

"No, no, Joey commit murder!" cried he. "Ha, ha, ha--no, no, Joey is nomurderer. "

"I should suspect not. Well, Master Rushbrook, I will dismiss myscholars this morning, and make every inquiry for you. Byres will beable to ascertain very soon, for he knows the new keeper at the manorhouse. "

"Byres help you, did you say? No, no, Byres never will, " repliedRushbrook, solemnly. 

"And why not, my friend?"

"Why, " replied Rushbrook, recollecting himself, "he has not been overcordial with me lately. "

"Nevertheless, depend upon it, he will if he can, " replied Furness; "ifnot for you, he will for me. Good morning, Mrs Rushbrook, I willhasten away now; but will you not go with me?" continued Furness, appealing to Rushbrook. 

"I will go another way; it's no use both going the same road. "

"Very true, " replied the pedagogue, who had his reasons for not wishingthe company of Rushbrook, and Furness then left the house. 

Mr Furness found all his boys assembled in the school-room, very busilyemployed thumbing their books; he ordered silence, and informed themthat in consequence of Joey being missing, he was going to assist hisfather to look after him: and therefore they would have a holiday forthat day. He then ranged them all in a row, made them turn to the rightface, clap their hands simultaneously, and disperse. 

Although Mr Furness had advised secrecy to the Rushbrooks, he did notfollow the advice he had given; indeed, his reason for not having wishedRushbrook to be with him was, that he might have an opportunity ofcommunicating his secret through the village, which he did by calling atevery cottage, and informing the women who were left at home, that JoeyRushbrook had disappeared last night, with his father's gun, and that hewas about to go in quest of him. Some nodded and smiled, others shooktheir heads, some were not at all surprised at it, others thought thatthings could not go on so for ever. 

Mr Furness having collected all their various opinions, then set off tothe ale-house, to find Byres the pedlar. When he arrived, he found thatByres had not come home that night, and where he was nobody knew, whichwas more strange, as his box was up in his bed-chamber. Mr Furnessreturned to the village intending to communicate this information toRushbrook, but on calling, he found that Rushbrook had gone out insearch of the boy. Furness then resolved to go up at once to thekeeper's lodge, and solve the mystery. He took the high road, and metRushbrook returning. 

"Well, have you gained any tidings, " inquired the pedagogue. 

"None, " replied Rushbrook. 

"Then it's my opinion, my worthy friend, that we had better at onceproceed to the keeper's cottage and make inquiry; for, strange to say, Ihave been to the ale-house, and my friend Byres is also missing. "

"Indeed!" exclaimed Rushbrook, who had now completely recovered hisself-possession. "Be it so, then; let us go to the keeper's. "

They soon arrived there, and found the keeper at home, for he hadreturned to his dinner. Rushbrook, who had been cogitating how toproceed, was the first to speak. 

"You haven't taken my poor Joey, have you, sir?" said he to the keeper. 

"Not yet, " replied the keeper, surlily. 

"You don't mean to say that you know nothing about him?" repliedRushbrook. 

"Yes, I know something about him and about you too, my chap, " repliedthe keeper. 

"But, Mr Lucas, " interrupted the pedagogue, "allow me to put you inpossession of the facts. It appears that this boy--a boy of greatnatural parts, and who has been for some time under my tuition, did lastnight, but at what hour is unknown to his disconsolate parents, leavethe cottage, taking with him his father's gun, and has not been heard ofsince. "

"Well, I only hope he's shot himself, that's all, " replied the keeper. "So you have a gun, then, have you, my honest chap?" continued he, turning to Rushbrook. 

"Which, " replied Furness, "as I have informed him already, willcertainly be forfeited as a deodand to the lord of the manor; but, MrLucas, this is not all; our mutual friend, Byres, the pedlar, is alsomissing, having left the Cat and Fiddle last night, and not having beenheard of since. "

"Indeed! that makes out a different case, and must be inquired intoimmediately. I think you were not the best of friends, were you?" saidthe keeper, looking at Rushbrook; and then he continued, "Come, Mary, give me my dinner, quick, and run up as fast as you can for Dick andMartin: tell them to come down with their retrievers only. Never fear, Mr Furness, we will soon find it out. Never fear, my chap, we'll findyour son also, and your gun to boot. You may hear more than you thinkfor. "

"All I want to know, " replied Rushbrook, fiercely, for his choler wasraised by the sneers of the keeper, "is, where my boy may be. " Sosaying, he quitted the cottage, leaving the schoolmaster with thekeeper. 

As Rushbrook returned home, he revolved in his mind what had passed, anddecided that nothing could be more favourable for himself, however itmight turn out for Joey. This conviction quieted his fears, and whenthe neighbours came in to talk with him, he was very cool and collectedin his replies. In the meantime the keeper made a hasty meal, and, withhis subordinates and the dogs, set off to the covers, which they beattill dark without success. The gun, however, which Joey had thrown downin the ditch, had been picked up by one of the labourers returning fromhis work, and taken by him to the ale-house. None could identify thegun, as Rushbrook had never permitted it to be seen. Lucas, the keeper, came in about an hour after dusk, and immediately took possession of it. 

Such were the events of the first day after Joey's departure. Notwithstanding that the snow fell fast, the Cat and Fiddle was, as itmay be supposed, unusually crowded on that night. Various were thesurmises as to the disappearance of the pedlar and of little Joey. Thekeeper openly expressed his opinion that there was foul play somewhere, and it was not until near midnight that the ale-house was deserted, andthe doors closed. 

Rushbrook and his wife went to bed; tired with watching and excitement, they found oblivion for a few hours in a restless and unrefreshingsleep. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

A CORONER'S INQUEST. 

Day had scarcely dawned when the keeper and his satellites were again onthe search. The snow had covered the ground for three or four inches, and, as the covers had been well examined on the preceding day, they nowleft them and went on in the direction towards where the gun had beenpicked up. This brought them direct to the furze bottom, where the dogsappeared to quicken their movements, and when the keepers came up withthem again, they found them lying down by the frozen and stiffenedcorpse of the pedlar. 

"Murder, as I expected, " said Lucas, as they lifted up the body, andscraped off the snow which covered it; "right through his heart, poorfellow; who would have expected this from such a little varmint? Lookabout, my lads, and see if we can find anything else. What is Napscratching at?--a bag--take it up, Martin. Dick, do you go for somepeople to take the body to the Cat and Fiddle, while we see if we canfind anything more. "

In a quarter of an hour the people arrived, the body was carried away, while the keeper went off in all haste to the authorities. 

Furness, the schoolmaster, as soon as he had obtained the information, hastened to Rushbrook's cottage, that he might be the first to conveythe intelligence. Rushbrook, however, from the back of the cottage, hadperceived the people carrying in the body, and was prepared. 

"My good people, I am much distressed, but it must be told; believe me, I feel for you--your son, my pupil, has murdered the pedlar. "

"Impossible!" cried Rushbrook. 

"It is but too true; I cannot imagine how a boy, brought up under mytuition--nay, Mrs Rushbrook, don't cry--brought up, I may say, withsuch strict notions of morality, promising so fairly, blossoming sosweetly--"

"He never murdered the pedlar!" cried Jane, whose face was buried in herapron. 

"Who then could have?" replied Furness. 

"He never shot him intentionally, I'll swear, " said Rushbrook; "if thepedlar has come to his death, it must have been by some accident. Isuppose the gun went off somehow or other; yes, that must be it: and mypoor boy, frightened at what had taken place, has run away. "

"Well, " replied the schoolmaster, "such may have been the case; and I docertainly feel as if it were impossible that a boy like Joey, brought upby me, grounded in every moral duty--I may add, religiously and piouslyinstructed--could ever commit such a horrible crime. "

"Indeed, he never did, " replied Jane; "I am sure he never would do sucha thing. "

"Well, I must wish you good-bye now, my poor people; I will go down tothe Cat and Fiddle, and hear what they say, " cried the pedagogue, quitting the cottage. 

"Jane, be careful, " said Rushbrook; "our great point now is to saynothing. I wish that man would not come here. "

"Oh, Rushbrook!" cried Jane, "what would I give if we could live theselast three days over again. "

"Then imagine, Jane, what I would give!" replied Rushbrook, striking hisforehead; "and now say no more about it. "

At twelve o'clock the next day the magistrates met, and the coroner'sinquest was held upon the body of the pedlar. On examination of thebody, it was ascertained that a charge of small shot had passed directlythrough the heart, so as to occasion immediate death; that the murderhad not been committed with the view of robbing, it was evident, as thepedlar's purse, watch, and various other articles were found upon hisperson. 

The first person examined was a man of the name of Green, who had foundthe gun in the ditch. The gun was produced, and he deposed to its beingthe one which he had picked up, and given into the possession of thekeeper; but no one could say to whom the gun might belong. 

The next party who gave his evidence was Lucas, the game-keeper. Hedeposed that he knew the pedlar, Byres, and that being anxious toprevent poaching, he had offered him a good sum if he would assist himin convicting any poacher; that Byres had then confessed to him that hehad often received game from Rushbrook, the father of the boy, and stillcontinued to do so, but Rushbrook had treated him ill, and he wasdetermined to be revenged upon him, and get him sent out of the country;that Byres had informed him on the Saturday night before the murder wascommitted, that Rushbrook was to be out on Monday night to procure gamefor him, and that if he looked out sharp he was certain to be taken. Byres had also informed him that he had never yet found out whenRushbrook left his cottage or returned, although he had been trackingthe boy, Joey. As the boy was missing on Monday morning, and Byres didnot return to the ale-house, after he went out on Saturday night, hepresumed that it was on the Sunday night that the pedlar was murdered. 

The keeper then farther deposed as to the finding of the body, and alsoof a bag by the side of it; that the bag had evidently been used forputting game in, not only from the smell, but from the feathers of thebirds which were still remaining inside of it. 

The evidence as to the finding of the body and the bag was corroboratedby that of Martin and Dick, the underkeepers. 

Mr Furness then made his appearance to give voluntary evidence, notwithstanding his great regard expressed for the Rushbrooks. Hedeposed that, calling at the cottage, on Monday morning, for his pupil, he found the father and mother in great distress at the disappearance oftheir son, whom they stated to have left the cottage some time duringthe night, and to have taken away his father's gun with him, and thattheir son had not since returned; that he pointed out to Rushbrook theimpropriety of his having a gun, and that Rushbrook had replied that hehad carried one all his life, and did not choose to be without one; thatthey told him they supposed that he had gone out to poach, and was takenby the keepers, and had requested him to go and ascertain if such wasthe fact. Mr Furness added that he really imagined that to be the casenow that he saw the bag, which he recognised as having been once broughtto him by little Joey with some potatoes, which his parents had made hima present of; that he could swear to the bag, and so could severalothers as well as himself. Mr Furness then commenced a long flourishabout his system of instruction, in which he was stopped by the coroner, who said that it had nothing to do with the business. 

It was then suggested that Rushbrook and his wife should be examined. There was a demur at the idea of the father and mother giving evidenceagainst their child, but it was over-ruled, and in ten minutes they bothmade their appearance. 

Mrs Rushbrook, who had been counselled by her husband, was the firstexamined; but she would not answer any question put to her. She didnothing but weep; and to every question her only reply was, "If he didkill him, it was by accident; my boy would never commit murder. "Nothing more was to be obtained from her; and the magistrates were somoved by her distress, that she was dismissed. 

Rushbrook trembled as he was brought in and saw the body laid out on thetable; but he soon recovered himself, and became nerved and resolute, aspeople often will do in extremity. He had made up his mind to answersome questions, but not all. 

"Do you know at what time your son left the cottage?"

"I do not. "

"Does that gun belong to you?"

"Yes, it is mine. "

"Do you know that bag?"

"Yes, it belongs to me. "

"It has been used for putting game into--has it not?"

"I shall not answer that question. I'm not on trial. "

Many other questions were put to him, but he refused to answer them; andas they would all more or less have criminated himself as a poacher, hisrefusals were admitted. Rushbrook had played his game well in admittingthe gun and bag to be his property, as it was of service to him, and noharm to Joey. After summing up the whole evidence, the coroneraddressed the jury, and they returned a unanimous verdict of WilfulMurder against Joseph Rushbrook the younger; and the magistratesdirected the sum of 200 pounds to be offered for our hero'sapprehension. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED. 

Rushbrook and Jane returned to their cottage. Jane closed the door, andthrew herself into her husband's arms. "You are saved at least, " shecried: "thank Heaven for that! You are spared. Alas! we do not knowhow much we love till anger comes upon us. "

Rushbrook was much affected: he loved his wife, and had good reason tolove her. Jane was a beautiful woman, not yet thirty; tall in herperson, her head was finely formed, yet apparently small for her heighther features were full of expression and sweetness. Had she been bornto a high station, she would have been considered one of the greatestbelles. As it was, she was loved by those around her; and there was adignity and commanding air about her which won admiration and respect. No one could feel more deeply than she did the enormity of the offencecommitted by her husband; and yet never in any moment since her marriagedid she cling so earnestly and so closely by him as she did now. Shewas of that bold and daring temperament, that she could admire thecourage that propelled to the crime, while the crime itself sheabhorred. It was not, therefore, anything surprising that, at such amoment, with regard to a husband to whom she was devoted, she thoughtmore of the danger to which he was exposed than she did of the crimewhich had been committed. 

To do Rushbrook himself justice, his person and mind were of no plebeianmould. He was a daring, venturous fellow, ready at any emergency, cooland collected in danger, had a pleasure in the excitement created by thedifficulty and risk attending his nocturnal pursuits, caring little ornothing for the profits. He, as well as his wife, had not beenneglected in point of education: he had been born in humble life, andhad, by enlisting, chosen a path by which advancement became impossible;but had Rushbrook been an officer instead of a common soldier, histalents would probably have been directed to more noble channels, andthe poacher and pilferer for his captain might have exerted hisdexterity so as to have gained honourable mention. His courage hadalways been remarkable, and he was looked upon by his officers--and sohe was by his companions--as the most steady and collected man underfire to be found in the whole company. 

We are the creatures of circumstances. Frederick of Prussia had noopinion of phrenology; and one day he sent for the professor, anddressing up a highwayman and a pickpocket in uniforms and orders, hedesired the phrenologist to examine their heads, and give his opinion asto their qualifications. The _savant_ did so, and turning to the king, said, "Sire, this person, " pointing to the highwayman, "whatever he maybe, would have been a great general, had he been employed. As for theother, he is quite in a different line. He may be, or, if he is not, hewould make, an admirable financier. " The king was satisfied that therewas some truth in the science; "for, " as he very rightly observed, "whatis a general but a highwayman, and what is a financier, but apickpocket?"

"Calm yourself, dear Jane, " said Rushbrook; "all is well now. "

"All well!--yes; but my poor child--200 pounds offered for hisapprehension! If they were to take him!"

"I have no fear of that; and if they did, they could not hurt him. Itis true that they have given their verdict; but still they have nopositive proof. "

"But they have hanged people upon less proof before now, Rushbrook. "

"Jane, " replied Rushbrook, "our boy shall never be hanged--I promise youthat; so make your mind easy. "

"Then you must confess, to save him; and I shall lose you. "

A step at the door interrupted their colloquy. Rushbrook opened it, andMr Furness, the schoolmaster, made his appearance. 

"Well, my good friends, I am very sorry the verdict has been such as itis, but it cannot be helped; the evidence was too strong, and it was asad thing for me to be obliged to give mine. "

"You!" exclaimed Rushbrook; "why, did they call you up?"

"Yes, and put me on my oath. An oath, to a moral man, is a very seriousresponsibility; the nature of an oath is awful; and when you consider myposition in this place, as the inculcator of morals and piety to theyounger branches of the community, you must not be surprised at mytelling the truth. "

"And what had you to tell?" inquired Rushbrook, with surprise. 

"Had to tell--why, I had to tell what you told me this morning; and Ihad to prove the bag as belonging to you; for you know you sent me somepotatoes in it by little Joey, poor fellow. Wilful Murder, and twohundred pounds upon apprehension and conviction!"

Rushbrook looked at the pedagogue with surprise and contempt. 

"Pray, may I ask how they came to know that anything had passed betweenus yesterday morning, for if I recollect right, you desired me to besecret. "

"Very true, and so I did; but then they knew what good friends we alwayswere, I suppose, and so they sent for me, and obliged me to speak uponmy oath. "

"I don't understand it, " replied Rushbrook; "they might have asked youquestions, but how could they have guessed that I had told youanything?"

"My dear friend, you don't understand it; but in my situation, lookingup to me, as every one does, as an example of moral rectitude andcorrectness of conduct--as a pattern to the juvenile branches of thecommunity, --you see--"

"Yes, I do see that, under such circumstances, you should not go to theale-house and get tipsy two days, at least, out of the week, " repliedRushbrook, turning away. 

"And why do I go to the ale-house, my dear friend, but to look afterthose who indulge too freely--yourself, for instance? How often have Iseen you home?"

"Yes, when you were drunk and I was--" Jane put her hand upon herhusband's mouth. 

"And you were what, friend?" inquired Furness, anxiously. 

"Worse than you, perhaps. And now, friend Furness, as you must be tiredwith your long evidence, I wish you a good night. "

"Shall I see you down at the Cat and Fiddle?"

"Not for some time, if ever, friend Furness, that you may depend upon. "

"Never go to the Cat and Fiddle! A little wholesome drink drowns care, my friend; and, therefore, although I should be sorry that you indulgedtoo much, yet, with me to look after you--"

"And drink half my ale, eh? No, no, friend Furness, those days aregone. "

"Well, you are not in a humour for it now but another time. MrsRushbrook, have you a drop of small beer?"

"I have none to spare, " replied Jane, turning away; "you should haveapplied to the magistrates for beer. "

"Oh, just as you please, " replied the pedagogue; "it certainly doesruffle people's temper when there is a verdict of wilful murder, and twohundred pounds for apprehension and conviction of the offender. Goodnight. "

Furness banged the cottage door as he went out. 

Rushbrook watched till he was out of hearing, and then said, "He's ascoundrel. "

"I think so too, " replied Jane; "but never mind, we will go to bed now, thank God for his mercies, and pray for his forgiveness. Come, dearest. "

The next morning Mrs Rushbrook was informed by the neighbours that theschoolmaster had volunteered his evidence. Rushbrook's indignation wasexcited, and he vowed revenge. 

Whatever may have been the feelings of the community at the time of thediscovery of the murder, certain it is that, after all was over, therewas a strong sympathy expressed for Rushbrook and his wife, and thecondolence was very general. The gamekeeper was avoided, and his friendFurness fell into great disrepute, after his voluntarily coming forwardand giving evidence against old and sworn friends. The consequence was, his school fell off, and the pedagogue, whenever he could raise themeans, became more intemperate than ever. 

One Saturday night, Rushbrook, who had resolved to pick a quarrel withFurness, went down to the ale-house. Furness was half drunk, andpot-valiant. Rushbrook taunted him so as to produce replies. One wordbrought on another, till Furness challenged Rushbrook to come outsideand have it out. This was just what Rushbrook wished, and after half anhour Furness was carried home beaten to a mummy, and unable to leave hisbed for many days. As soon as this revenge had been taken, Rushbrook, who had long made up his mind so to do, packed up and quitted thevillage, no one knowing whither he and Jane went; and Furness, who hadlost all means of subsistence, did the same in a very few daysafterwards, his place of retreat being equally unknown. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

IN WHICH WE AGAIN FOLLOW UP OUR HERO'S DESTINY. 

After the resolution that Major McShane came to, it is not to besurprised that he made, during the journey home, every inquiry of Joeyrelative to his former life. To these Joey gave him a very honest replyin everything except that portion of his history in which his father wasso seriously implicated; he had the feeling that he was bound in honournot to reveal the circumstances connected with the murder of the pedlar. McShane was satisfied, and they arrived in London without furtheradventure. As soon as McShane had been embraced by his wife, he gave anarrative of his adventures, and did not forget to praise little Joey ashe deserved. Mrs McShane was all gratitude, and then it was thatMcShane expressed his intentions towards our hero, and, as he expected, he found his amiable wife wholly coincide with him in opinion. It wastherefore decided that Joey should be put to a school, and be properlyeducated, as soon as an establishment that was eligible could be found. 

Their full intentions towards him, however, were not communicated to ourhero; he was told that he was to go to school, and he willinglysubmitted: it was not, however, for three months that McShane would partwith him: a difficulty was raised against every establishment that wasnamed. During this time little Joey was very idle, for there wasnothing for him to do. Books there were none, for Mrs McShane had notime to read, and Major McShane no inclination. His only resort was torummage over the newspapers which were taken in for the benefit of thecustomers, and this was his usual employment. One day, in turning overthe file, he came to the account of the murder of the pedlar, with thereport of the coroner's inquest. He read all the evidence, particularlythat of Furness, the schoolmaster, and found that the verdict was wilfulmurder, with a reward of 200 pounds for his apprehension. The term, wilful murder, he did not exactly comprehend; so, after laying down thepaper, with a beating heart he went to Mrs McShane, and asked her whatwas the meaning of it. 

"Meaning, child?" replied Mrs McShane, who was then very busy in heroccupation, "it means, child, that a person is believed to be guilty ofmurder, and, if taken up, he will be hanged by the neck till he isdead. "

"But, " replied Joey, "suppose he has not committed the murder?"

"Well then, child, he must prove that he has not. "

"And suppose, although he has not committed it, he cannot prove it?"

"Mercy on me, what a number of supposes! why, then he will be hanged allthe same, to be sure. "

A fortnight after these queries, Joey was sent to school; the master wasa very decent man, the mistress a very decent woman, the tuition wasdecent, the fare was decent, the scholars were children of decentfamilies; altogether, it was a decent establishment, and in thisestablishment little Joey made very decent progress, going home everyhalf year. How long Joey might have remained there it is impossible tosay; but having been there for a year and a half, and arrived at the ageof fourteen, he had just returned from the holidays with three guineasin his pocket, for McShane and his wife were very generous and very fondof their protege, when a circumstance occurred which again ruffled thesmooth current of our hero's existence. 

He was walking out as all boys do walk out in decent schools, that is, in a long line, two by two, as the animals entered Noah's Ark, when asort of shabby-genteel man passed their files. He happened to cast hiseyes upon Joey, and stopped. "Master Joseph Rushbrook, I am most happyto see you once more, " said he extending his hand. Joey looked up intohis face; there was no mistake; it was Furness, the schoolmaster. "Don't you recollect me, my dear boy? Don't you recollect him whotaught the infant idea how to shoot? Don't you recollect your oldpreceptor?"

"Yes, " replied Joey, colouring up, "I recollect you very well. "

"I am delighted to see you; you know you were my fairest pupil, but weare all scattered now; your father and mother have gone no one knowswhere; you went away, and I also could no longer stay. What pleasure itis to meet you once more!"

Joey did not respond exactly to the pleasure. The stoppage of the linehad caused some confusion, and the usher, who had followed it, now cameup to ascertain the cause. "This is my old pupil, or rather I shouldsay, my young pupil; but the best pupil I ever had. I am most delightedto see him, sir, " said Furness, taking off his hat. "May I presume toask who has the charge of this dear child at this present moment?"

The usher made no difficulty in stating the name and residence of thepreceptor, and, having gained this information, Furness shook Joey bythe hand, bade him farewell, and, wishing him every happiness, walkedaway. 

Joey's mind was confused during the remainder of his walk, and it wasnot until their return home that he could reflect on what had passed. That Furness had given evidence upon the inquest he knew, and he hadpenetration, when he read it, to feel that there was no necessity forFurness having given such evidence. He also knew that there was areward of two hundred pounds for his apprehension; and when he thoughtof Furness's apparent kindness, and his not reverting to a subject soimportant as wilful murder having been found against him, he made up hismind that Furness had behaved so with the purpose of lulling him intosecurity, and that the next day he would certainly take him up, for thesake of the reward. 

Now, although we have not stopped our narrative to introduce thesubject, we must here observe that Joey's love for his parents, particularly his father, was unbounded; he longed to see them again;they were constantly in his thoughts, and yet he dared not mention them, in consequence of the mystery connected with his quitting his home. Hefully perceived his danger: he would be apprehended, and being so, hemust either sacrifice his father or himself. Having weighed all this inhis mind, he then reflected upon what should be his course to steer. Should he go home to acquaint Major McShane? He felt that he couldtrust him, and would have done so, but he had no right to intrust anyone with a secret which involved his father's life. No, that would notdo; yet, to leave him and Mrs McShane after all their kindness, andwithout a word, this would be too ungrateful. After much cogitation, heresolved that he would run away, so that all clue to him should be lost;that he would write a letter for McShane, and leave it. He wrote asfollows:--

 "DEAR SIR, --Do not think me ungrateful, for I love you and Mrs McShane dearly, but I have been met by a person who knows me, and will certainly betray me. I left my father's home, not for poaching, but a murder that was committed; _I was not guilty_. This is the only secret I have held from you, and the secret is not MINE. I could not disprove it, and never will. I now leave because I have been discovered by a bad man, who will certainly take advantage of having fallen in with me. We may never meet again. I can say no more, except that I shall always pray for you and Mrs McShane, and remember your kindness with gratitude. 

 "Yours truly, JOEY MCSHANE. "

Since his return from Saint Petersburg, Joey had always, by theirrequest, called himself Joey McShane, and he was not sorry when theygave him the permission, although he did not comprehend the advantageswhich were to accrue from taking the name. 

Joey, having finished his letter, sat down and cried bitterly--but in aschool there is no retiring place for venting your feelings, and he wascompelled to smother his tears. He performed his exercise, and repeatedhis lessons, as if nothing had happened and nothing was about to happen, for Joey was in essence a little stoic. At night he went to his roomwith the other boys; he could only obtain a small portion of hisclothes, these he put up in a handkerchief, went softly downstairs aboutone o'clock in the morning, put his letter, addressed to McShane, on thehall-table, opened the back door, climbed over the play-ground wall, andwas again on the road to seek his fortune. 

But Joey was much improved during the two years since he had quitted hisfather's house. Before that, he was a reflective boy; now, he was morecapable of action and decision. His ideas had been much expanded fromthe knowledge of the world gained during his entry, as it were, intolife; he had talked much, seen much, listened much, and thought more;and naturally quiet in his manner, he was now a gentlemanlike boy. Atthe eating-house he had met with every variety of character; and asthere were some who frequented the house daily, with those Joey hadbecome on intimate terms. He was no longer a child, but a lad ofundaunted courage and presence of mind; he had only one fear, which wasthat his father's crime should be discovered. 

And now he was again adrift, with a small bundle, three guineas in hispocket, and the world before him. At first, he had but one idea--thatof removing to a distance which should elude the vigilance of Furness, and he therefore walked on, and walked fast. Joey was capable of greatfatigue; he had grown considerably, it is true, during the last twoyears; still he was small for his age; but every muscle in his body wasa wire, and his strength, as had been proved by his school-mates, wasproportionate. He was elastic as india-rubber, and bold and determinedas one who had been all his life in danger. 

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

THE SCENE IS AGAIN SHIFTED, AND THE PLOT ADVANCES. 

It will be necessary that for a short time we again follow up thefortunes of our hero's parents. When Rushbrook and Jane had quitted thevillage of Grassford, they had not come to any decision as to theirfuture place of abode; all that Rushbrook felt was a desire to remove asfar as possible from the spot where the crime had been committed. Suchis the feeling that will ever possess the guilty, who, although they mayincrease their distance, attempt in vain to fly from their consciences, or that All-seeing Eye which follows them everywhere. Jane had asimilar feeling, but it arose from her anxiety for her husband. Theywandered away, for they had sold everything before their departure, until they found themselves in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and therethey at length settled in a small village. Rushbrook easily obtainedemployment, for the population was scanty, and some months passed awaywithout anything occurring of interest. 

Rushbrook had never taken up his employment as a poacher since the nightof the murder of the pedlar; he had abjured it from that hour. Hisknowledge of woodcraft was, however, discovered, and he was appointedfirst as under, and eventually as head keeper to a gentleman of landedproperty in the neighbourhood. In this situation they had remainedabout a year, Rushbrook giving full satisfaction to his employer, andcomparatively contented (for no man could have such a crime upon hisconscience, and not pass occasional hours of misery and remorse), andJane was still mourning in secret for her only and darling child, whenone day a paper was put into Rushbrook's hands by his master, desiringhim to read an advertisement which it contained, and which was asfollows:--"If Joseph Rushbrook, who formerly lived in the village ofGrassford, in the county of Devon, should be still alive, and will makehis residence known to Messrs. Pearce, James, and Simpson, of 14, Chancery-lane, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage. Should he be dead, and this advertisement meet the eye of his heirs, they are equally requested to make the communication to the aboveaddress. "

"What does it mean, sir?" inquired Rushbrook. 

"It means that, if you are that person, in all probability there is somelegacy bequeathed to you by a relative, " replied Mr S---; "is it you?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Rushbrook, changing colour; "I did once live atGrassford. "

"Then you had better write to the parties and make yourself known. Iwill leave you the newspaper. "

"What think you, Jane?" said Rushbrook, as soon as Mr --- had quitted. 

"I think he is quite right, " replied Jane. 

"But, Jane, you forgot--this may be a trap; they may have discoveredsomething about--you know what I mean. "

"Yes, I do, and I wish we could forget it; but in this instance I do notthink you have anything to fear. There is no reward offered for yourapprehension, but for my poor boy's, who is now wandering over the wideworld; and no one would go to the expense to apprehend you, if there wasnothing to be gained by it. "

"True, " replied Rushbrook, after a minute's reflection; "but, alas! Iam a coward now: I will write. "

Rushbrook wrote accordingly, and, in reply, received a letter inclosinga bank-bill for 20 pounds, and requesting that he would come to townimmediately. He did so, and found, to his astonishment, that he was theheir-at-law to a property of 7, 000 pounds per annum--with the onlycontingency, that he was, as nearest of kin, to take the name of Austin. Having entered into all the arrangements required by the legalgentleman, he returned to Yorkshire, with 500 pounds in his pocket, tocommunicate the intelligence to his wife; and when he did so, andembraced her, she burst into tears. 

"Rushbrook, do not think I mean to reproach you by these tears; but Icannot help thinking that you would have been happier had this neverhappened. Your life will be doubly sweet to you now, and Joey's absencewill be a source of more vexation than ever. Do you think that you willbe happier?"

"Jane, dearest! I have been thinking of it as well as you, and, onreflection, I think I shall be safer. Who would know the poacherRushbrook in the gentleman of 7, 000 pounds a year, of the name ofAustin? Who would dare accuse him, even if there were suspicion? Ifeel that once in another county, under another name, and in anothersituation, I shall be safe. "

"But our poor boy, should he ever come back--"

"Will also be forgotten. He will have grown up a man, and, havinganother name, will never be recognised: they will not even know what ourformer name was. "

"I trust that it will be as you say. What do you now mean to do?"

"I shall say that I have a property of four or five hundred pounds leftme, and that I intend to go up to London, " replied Rushbrook. 

"Yes, that will be wise; it will be an excuse for our leaving thisplace, and will be no clue to where we are going, " replied Jane. 

Rushbrook gave up his situation, sold his furniture, and quittedYorkshire. In a few weeks afterwards he was installed into his newproperty, a splendid mansion, and situated in the west of Dorsetshire. Report had gone before them; some said that a common labourer had comeinto the property, others said it was a person in very moderatecircumstances; as usual, both these reports were contradicted by athird, which represented him as a half-pay lieutenant in the army. Rushbrook had contrived to mystify even the solicitor as to hissituation in life; he stated to him that he had retired from the army, and lived upon the government allowance; and it was in consequence of areference to the solicitor, made by some of the best families in theneighbourhood, who wished to ascertain if the newcomers were people whocould be visited, that this third report was spread, and universallybelieved. We have already observed that Rushbrook was a fine, tall man;and if there is any class of people who can be transplanted with successfrom low to high life, it will be those who have served in the army. The stoop is the evidence of a low-bred, vulgar man; the erect bearingequally so that of the gentleman. Now, the latter is gained in thearmy, by drilling and discipline, and being well-dressed will providefor all else that is required, as far as mere personal appearance isconcerned. When, therefore, the neighbours called upon Mr and MrsAustin they were not surprised to find an erect, military-looking man, but they were very much surprised to find him matched with such a fine, and even elegant-looking woman, as his wife. Timid at first, Jane hadsufficient tact to watch others and copy; and before many months werepassed in their new position, it would have been difficult to supposethat Mrs Austin had not been born in the sphere in which she thenmoved. Austin was _brusque_ and abrupt in his manners as before; butstill there was always a reserve about him, which he naturally felt, andwhich assisted to remove the impression of vulgarity. People who aredistant are seldom considered ungentlemanlike, although they may beconsidered unpleasant in their manners. It is those who are toofamiliar who obtain the character of vulgarity. 

Austin, therefore, was respected, but not liked; Jane, on the contrary, whose beauty had now all the assistance of dress, and whose continuedinward mourning for her lost son had improved that beauty by the pensiveair which she wore, was a deserved and universal favourite. People ofcourse said that Austin was a harsh husband, and pitied poor MrsAustin; but that people always do say if a woman is not inclined tomirth. 

Austin found ample amusement in sporting over his extensive manor, andlooking after his game. In one point the neighbouring gentlemen weresurprised, that, although so keen a sportsman himself, he never could beprevailed upon to convict a poacher. He was appointed a magistrate, andbeing most liberal in all his subscriptions, was soon considered as agreat acquisition to the county. His wife was much sought after, but itwas invariably observed that, when children were mentioned, the tearsstood in her eyes. Before they had been a year in their new position, they had acquired all the knowledge and tact necessary; theirestablishment was on a handsome scale; they were visited and paid visitsto all the aristocracy and gentry, and were as popular as they couldhave desired to be. But were they happy? Alas! no. Little did thosewho envied Austin his property and establishment imagine what a load wason his mind--what a corroding care was wearing out his existence. Little did they imagine that he would gladly have resigned all, and beenonce more the poacher in the village of Grassford, to have removed fromhis conscience the deed of darkness which he had committed, and oncemore have his son by his side. And poor Jane, her thoughts were day andnight upon one object--where was her child? It deprived her of rest atnight; she remained meditating on her fate for hours during the day; itwould rush into her mind in the gayest scenes and the happiest moments;it was one incessant incubus--one continual source of misery. Of herhusband she thought less; for she knew how sincerely contrite he was forthe deed he had done--how bitterly he had repented it ever since, andhow it would, as long as he lived, be a source of misery--a worm thatwould never die, but gnaw till the last hour of his existence. But herboy--her noble, self-sacrificed little Joey!--he and his destiny wereever in her thoughts; and gladly would she have been a pauper applyingfor relief, if she had but that child to have led up in her hand. Andyet all the county thought how happy and contented the Austins ought tobe, to have suddenly come into possession of so much wealth. 'Tis Godalone that knows the secrets of the heart of man. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

A VERY LONG CHAPTER, BUT IN WHICH OUR HERO OBTAINS EMPLOYMENT IN A VERYSHORT TIME. 

The preparatory establishment for young gentlemen to which our hero hadbeen sent, was situated on Clapham-rise. Joey did not think it prudentto walk in the direction of London; he therefore made a cut across thecountry, so as to bring him, before seven o'clock in the morning, notvery far from Gravesend. The night had been calm and beautiful, for itwas in the month of August; and it had for some time been broad daylightwhen our hero, who had walked fifteen or sixteen miles, sat down torepose himself; and, as he remained quietly seated on the green turf onthe way side, he thought of his father and mother, of the kindness ofthe McShanes, and his own hard fate, until he became melancholy andwept; and, as the tears were rolling down his cheeks, a little girl, ofabout ten years old, very neatly dressed, and evidently above the lowerrank of life, came along the road, her footsteps so light as not to beperceived by Joey; she looked at him as she passed, and perceived thathe was in tears, and her own bright, pretty face became clouded in amoment. Joey did not look up, and after hesitating awhile, she passedon a few steps, and then she looked round, and observing that he wasstill weeping, she paused, turned round, and came back to him; for aminute or two she stood before him, but Joey was unconscious of herpresence, for he was now in the full tide of his grief, and, not havingforgotten the precepts which had been carefully instilled into him, hethought of the God of Refuge, and he arose, fell on his knees, andprayed. The little girl, whose tears had already been summoned by pityand sympathy, dropped her basket, and knelt by his side--not that sheprayed, for she knew not what the prayer was for, but from aninstinctive feeling of respect towards the Deity which her new companionwas addressing, and a feeling of kindness towards one who was evidentlysuffering. Joey lifted up his eyes, and beheld the child on her knees, the tears rolling down her cheeks; he hastily wiped his eyes, for untilthat moment, he imagined that he had been alone; he had been praying onaccount of his loneliness--he looked up, and he was not alone, but therewas one by his side who pitied him, without knowing wherefore; he feltrelieved by the sight. They both regained their feet at the same time, and Joe went up to the little girl, and, taking her by the hand, said, "Thank you. "

"Why do you cry?" said the little girl. 

"Because I am unhappy; I have no home, " replied Joey. 

"No home!" said the little girl; "it is boys who are in rags andstarving, who have no home, not young gentlemen dressed as you are. "

"But I have left my home, " replied Joey. 

"Then go back again--how glad they will be to see you!"

"Yes, indeed they would, " replied Joey, "but I must not. "

"You have not done anything wrong, have you? No, I'm sure you havenot--you must have been [be] a good boy, or you would not have prayed. "

"No, I have done nothing wrong, but I must not tell you any more. "

Indeed, Joey was much more communicative with the little girl than hewould have been with anybody else; but he had been surprised into it, and, moreover, he had no fear of being betrayed by such innocence. Henow recollected himself, and changed the conversation. 

"And where are you going to?" inquired he. 

"I am going to school at Gravesend. I go there every morning, and staytill the evening. This is my dinner in my basket. Are you hungry?"

"No, not particularly. "

"Are you going to Gravesend?"

"Yes, " replied Joey. "What is your name?"

"Emma Phillips. "

"Have you a father and mother?"

"I have no father; he was killed fighting, a little while after I wasborn. "

"And your mother--"

"Lives with grandmother, at that house you see there through the largetrees. And what are you going to do with yourself? Will you come homewith me? and I'll tell my mother all you have told me, and she is verykind, and will write to your friends. "

"No, no; you must not do that; I am going to seek for employment. "

"Why, what can you do?"

"I hardly know, " replied Joey; "but I can work, and am willing to work, so I hope I shall not starve. "

With such conversation they continued their way, until the little girlsaid, "There is my school, so now I must wish you good-bye. "

"Good-bye; I shall not forget you, " replied Joey, "although we may nevermeet again. " Tears stood in the eyes of our hero, as they reluctantlyunclasped their hands and parted. 

Joey, once more left alone, now meditated what was the best course forhim to pursue. The little Emma's words, "Not young gentlemen dressed asyou are, " reminded him of the remarks and suspicions which must ensue ifhe did not alter his attire. This he resolved to do immediately; theonly idea which had presented itself to his mind was, if possible, tofind some means of getting back to Captain O'Donahue, who, he was sure, would receive him, if he satisfied him that it was not safe for him toremain in England; but, then, must he confess to him the truth or not?On this point our hero was not decided, so he put off the solution of ittill another opportunity. A slop warehouse now attracted his attention;he looked into the door after having examined the articles outside, andseeing that a sailor-boy was bargaining for some clothes, he went in asif waiting to be served, but in fact, more to ascertain the value of thearticles which he wished to purchase. The sailor had cheapened a redfrock and pair of blue trousers, and at last obtained them from the Jewfor 14 shillings. Joey argued that, as he was much smaller than thelad, he ought to pay less; he asked for the same articles, but the Jew, who had scanned in his own mind the suit of clothes which Joey had on, argued that he ought to pay more. Joey was, however, firm, and about toleave the shop, when the Jew called him back, and after much haggling, Joey obtained the dress for 12 shillings. Having paid for the clothes, Joey begged permission to be permitted to retire to the back shop andput them on, to ascertain if they fitted him, to which the Jewconsented. A Jew asks no questions when a penny is to be turned; whoJoey was, he cared little; his first object was to sell him the clothes, and having so done he hoped to make another penny by obtaining those ofJoey at a moderate price. Perceiving that our hero was putting his ownclothes, which he had taken off; into a bundle, the Jew asked himwhether he would sell them, and Joey immediately agreed; but the priceoffered by the Jew was so small, that they were returned to the bundle, and once more was Joey leaving the shop, when the Jew at last offered toreturn to him the money he had paid for the sailor's dress, and take hisown clothes in exchange, provided that Joey would also exchange his hatfor one of tarpaulin, which would be more fitting to his presentcostume. To this our hero consented, and thus was the bargain concludedwithout Joey having parted with any of his small stock of ready money. No one who had only seen him dressed as when he quitted the school, would have easily recognised Joey in his new attire. Joey sallied forthfrom the shop with his bundle under his arm, intending to look out for abreakfast, for he was very hungry. Turning his head right and left todiscover some notice of where provender might be obtained, he observedthe sailor lad, who had been in the shop when he went in, with his newpurchase under his arm, looking very earnestly at some prints in a shopwindow. Joey ranged up alongside of him, and inquired of him where hecould get something to eat; the lad turned round, stared, and, after alittle while, cried, "Well, now, you're the young gentleman chap thatcame into the shop; I say aren't you after a rig, eh? Given them legbail, I'll swear. No consarn of mine, old fellow. Come along, I'llshow you. "

Joey walked by his new acquaintance a few yards, when the lad turned tohim, "I say, did your master whop you much?"

"No, " replied Joey. 

"Well, then, that's more than I can say of mine, for he was at it allday. Hold out your right hand, now your left, " continued he, mimicking;"my eyes! how it used to sting. I don't think I should mind it muchnow, continued the lad, turning up his hand; it's a little harder thanit was then. Here's the shop, come in; if you haven't no money I'llgive you a breakfast. "

The lad took his seat on one side of a narrow table, Joey on the other, and his new acquaintance called for two pints of tea, a twopenny loaf, and two penny bits of cheese. The loaf was divided between them, andwith their portion of cheese and pint of tea each they made a goodbreakfast. As soon as it was over, the young sailor said to Joey, "Now, what are you going arter; do you mean to ship?"

"I want employment, " replied Joey; "and I don't much care what it is. "

"Well, then, look you; I ran away from my friends and went to sea, anddo you know I've only repented of it once, and that's ever since. Better do anything than go to sea--winter coming on and all; besides, you don't look strong enough; you don't know what it is to be coastingin winter time; thrashed up to furl the top-gallant sail when it is sodark you can't see your way, and so cold that you can't feel yourfingers, holding on for your life, and feeling as if life, after all, was not worth caring for; cold and misery aloft, kicks and thumps below. Don't you go to sea; if you do, after what I've told you, why thenyou're a greater fool than you look to be. "

"I don't want to be a sailor, " replied Joey, "but I must do something toget my living. You are very kind: will you tell me what to do?"

"Why, do you know, when I saw you come up to me, when I was looking atthe pictures, in your frock and trousers, you put me in mind, becauseyou are so much like him, of a poor little boy who was drowned the otherday alongside of an India ship; that's why I stared, for I thought youwere he, at first. "

"How was he drowned, poor fellow?" responded Joey. 

"Why, you see, his aunt is a good old soul, who keeps a bumboat, andgoes off to the shipping. "

"What's a bumboat?"

"A boat full of soft tommy, soldiers, pipes, and backey, rotten apples, stale pies, needles and threads, and a hundred other things; besides afat old woman sitting in the stern sheets. "

Joey stared; he did not know that "soft tommy" meant loaves of bread, orthat "soldiers" was the term for red-herrings. He only thought that theboat must be very full. 

"Now, you see that little Peter was her right-hand man, for she can'tread and write. Can you? but of course you can. "

"Yes, I can, " replied Joey. 

"Well, little Peter was holding on by the painter against a hard sea, but his strength was not equal to it, and so when a swell took the boathe was pulled right overboard, and he was drowned. "

"Was the painter drowned too?" inquired Joey. 

"Ha! ha! that's capital; why, the painter is a rope. Now, the old womanhas been dreadfully put out, and does nothing but cry about littlePeter, and not being able to keep her accounts. Now, you look very likehim, and I think it very likely the old woman would take you in hisplace, if I went and talked her over; that's better than going to sea, for at all events you sleep dry and sound on shore every night, even ifyou do have a wet jacket sometimes. What d'ye think?"

"I think you are very kind; and I should be glad to take the place. "

"Well, she's a good old soul, and has a warm heart, and trusts them whohave no money; too much, I'm afraid, for she loses a great deal. So nowI'll go and speak to her, for she'll be alongside of us when I go onboard; and where shall I find you when I come on shore in the evening?"

"Wherever you say, I will be. "

"Well, then, meet me here at nine o'clock; that will make all certain. Come, I must be off now. I'll pay for the breakfast. "

"I have money, I thank you, " replied Joey. 

"Then keep it, for it's more than I can do; and what's your name?"

"Joey. "

"Well then, Joey, my hearty, if I get you this berth, when we come in, and I am short, you must let me go on tick till I can pay. "

"What's tick?"

"You'll soon find out what tick is, after you have been a week in thebumboat, " replied the lad, laughing. "Nine o'clock, my hearty;good-bye. "

So saying, the young sailor caught up his new clothes, and hastened downto the beach. 

The room was crowded with seamen and women, but they were too busytalking and laughing to pay any attention to Joey and his comrade. Ourlittle hero sat some little time at the table after his new acquaintancehad left, and then walked out into the streets, telling the people ofthe house that he was coming back again, and requesting them to takecare of his bundle. 

"You'll find it here, my little fellow, all right when you ask for it, "said the woman at the bar, who took it inside and put it away under thecounter. 

Joey went out with his mind more at ease. The nature of his newemployment, should he succeed in obtaining it, he could scarcelycomprehend, but still it appeared to him one that he could accomplish. He amused himself walking down the streets, watching the movements ofthe passers-by, the watermen in their wherries, and the people on boardof the vessels which were lying off in the stream. It was a busy andanimating sight. As he was lolling at the landing-place, a boat came onshore, which, from the description given by his young sailor friend, hewas convinced was a bumboat; it had all the articles described by him, as well as many others, such as porter in bottles, a cask probablycontaining beer; leeks, onions, and many other heterogeneous matters, and, moreover, there was a fat woman seated in the stern. 

The waterman shoved in with his boat-hook, and the wherry grounded. Thefat personage got out, and the waterman handed to her a basket, a longbook, and several other articles, which she appeared to considerindispensable; among others, a bundle which looked like dirty linen forthe wash. 

"Dear me! how shall I get up all these things?" exclaimed the woman;"and, William, you can't leave the boat, and there's nobody here to helpme. "

"I'll help you, " said Joey, coming down the steps: "what shall I carryfor you?"

"Well, you are a good kind boy, " replied she; "can you carry thatbundle? I'll manage all the rest. "

Joey tossed the bundle on his shoulder in a moment. 

"Well, you are a strong little chap, " said the waterman. 

"He is a very nice little fellow, and a kind one. Now, come along, andI'll not forget you. "

Joey followed with the bundle, until they arrived at a narrow door, noteighty yards from the landing-place, and the woman asked him if he wouldcarry it upstairs to the first floor, which he did. 

"Do you want me any more?" said Joey, setting down the bundle. 

"No, dear, no; but I must give you something for your trouble. What doyou expect?"

"Nothing at all, " replied Joey; "and I shall not take anything; you'revery welcome; good-bye;" and so saying, Joey walked downstairs, althoughthe woman halloed after him, and recommenced his peregrination in thestreets of Gravesend; but he was soon tired of walking on the pavement, which was none of the best, and he then thought that he would go outinto the country, and enjoy the green fields; so off he set, the sameway that he came into the town, passed by the school of little Emma, andtrudged away on the road, stopping every now and then to examine whatattracted his notice; watching a bird if it sang on the branch of atree, and not moving lest he should frighten it away; at times sittingdown by the road-side, and meditating or the past and the future. Theday was closing in, and Joey was still amusing himself as every boy whohas been confined to a schoolroom would do; he sauntered on until hecame to the very spot where he had been crying, and had met with littleEmma Phillips; and as he sat down again, he thought of her sweet littleface, and her kindness towards him--and there he remained some time tillhe was roused by some one singing as they went along the road. Helooked up, and perceived it was the little girl, who was returning fromschool. Joey rose immediately, and walked towards her to meet her, butshe did not appear to recognise him, and would have passed him if he hadnot said, "Don't you know me?"

"Yes, I do now, " replied she, smiling, "but I did not at first--you haveput on another dress; I have been thinking of you all day--and, do youknow, I've got a black mark for not saying my lesson, " added the littlegirl, with a sigh. 

"And, then, it is my fault, " replied Joey; "I'm very sorry. "

"Oh, never mind; it is the first that I have had for a long while, and Ishall tell mamma why. But you are dressed as a sailor-boy--are yougoing to sea?"

"No, I believe not--I hope to have employment in the town here, and thenI shall be able to see you sometimes, when you come from school. May Iwalk with you as far as your own house?"

"Yes, I suppose so, if you like it. "

Joey walked with her until they came to the house, which was about twohundred yards farther. 

"But, " said Joey, hesitating, "you must make me a promise. "

"What is that?"

"You must keep my secret. You must not tell your mother that you saw mefirst in what you call gentleman's clothes--it might do me harm--andindeed it's not for my own sake I ask it. Don't say a word about myother clothes, or they may ask me questions which I must not answer, forit's not my secret. I told you more this morning than I would have toldany one else--I did, indeed. "

"Well, " replied the little girl, after thinking a little, "I suppose Ihave no right to tell a secret, if I am begged not to do it, so I willsay nothing, about your clothes. But I must tell mother that I metyou. "

"Oh, yes; tell her you met me, and that I was looking for some work, andall that, and to-morrow or next day I will let you know if I get any. "

"Will you come in now?" said Emma. 

"No, not now; I must see if I can get this employment promised for me, and then I shall see you again; if I should not see you again, I shallnot forget you, indeed I won't--Good-bye. "

Emma bade him adieu, and they separated, and Joey remained and watchedher till she disappeared under the porch of the entrance. 

Our hero returned towards Gravesend in rather a melancholy mood; therewas something so unusual in his meeting with the little girl--somethingso uncommon in the sympathy expressed by her--that he felt pain atparting. But it was getting late, and it was time that he kept hisappointment with his friend, the sailor boy. 

Joey remained at the door of the eating-house for about a quarter of anhour, when he perceived the sailor lad coming up the street. He wentforward to meet him. 

"Oh, here we are. Well, young fellow, I've seen the old woman, and hada long talk with her, and she won't believe there can be another in theworld like her Peter, but I persuaded her to have a look at you, and shehas consented; so come along, for I must be on board again in half anhour. "

Joey followed his new friend down the street, until they came to thevery door to which he had carried the bundle. The sailor boy mountedthe stairs, and turning into the room at the first landing, Joey beheldthe woman whom he had assisted in the morning. 

"Here he is, Mrs Chopper, and if he won't suit you, I don't know whowill, " said the boy. "He's a regular scholar, and can sum up likewinkin'. "

This character, given so gratuitously by his new acquaintance, made Joeystare, and the woman looked hard into Joey's face. 

"Well, now, " said she, "where have I seen you before? Dear me! and _heis_ like poor Peter, as you said, Jim; I vow he is. "

"I saw you before to-day, " replied Joey, "for I carried a bundle up foryou. "

"And so you did, and would have no money for your trouble. Well, Jim, he is like poor Peter. "

"I told you so, old lady; ay, and he'll just do for you as well as Peterdid; but I'll leave you to settle matters, for I must be a-board. "

So saying, the lad tipped a wink to Joey, the meaning of which our herodid not understand, and went downstairs. 

"Well, now, it's very odd; but do you know you are like poor Peter, andthe more I look at you the more you are like him: poor Peter! did youhear how I lost him?"

"Yes, the sailor lad told me this morning. "

"Poor fellow! he held on too fast; most people drown by not holding onfast enough: he was a good boy, and very smart indeed; and so it was youwho helped me this morning when I missed poor Peter so much? Well, itshowed you had a good heart, and I love that; and where did you meetwith Jim Paterson?"

"I met him first in a slop-shop, as he calls it, when I was buying myclothes. "

"Well, Jim's a wild one, but he has a good heart, and pays when he can. I've been told by those who know his parents, that he will have propertyby-and-bye. Well, and what can you do? I am afraid you can't do allPeter did. "

"I can keep your accounts, and I can be honest and true to you. "

"Well, Peter could not do more: are you sure you can keep accounts, andsum up totals?"

"Yes, to be sure I can; try me. "

"Well, then, I will: here is pen, ink, and paper. Well, you are thevery image of Peter, and that's a fact. Now write down beer, 8 pence;tobacco, 4 pence; is that down?"

"Yes. "

"Let me see: duck for trousers, 3 shillings, 6 pence; beer again, 4pence; tobacco, 4 pence; is that down? Well, then, say beer again, 8pence. Now sum that all up. "

Joey was perfect master of the task, and, as he handed over the paper, announced the whole sum to amount to 5 shillings, 10 pence. 

"Well, " says Mrs Chopper, "it looks all right; but just stay here aminute while I go and speak to somebody. " Mrs Chopper left the room, went downstairs, and took it to the bar-girl at the next public-house toascertain if it was all correct. 

"Yes, quite correct, Mrs Chopper, " replied the lass. 

"And is it as good as Peter's was, poor fellow?"

"Much better, " replied the girl. 

"Dear me! Who would have thought it? and so like Peter too!"

Mrs Chopper came upstairs again, and took her seat--"Well, " said she, "and now what is your name?"

"Joey. "

"Joey what?"

"Joey--O'Donahue, " replied our hero, for he was fearful of giving thename of McShane. 

"And who are your parents?"

"They are poor people, " replied Joey, "and live a long way off. "

"And why did you leave them?"

Joey had already made up his mind to tell his former story; "I leftthere because I was accused of poaching, and they wished me to go away. "

"Poaching; yes, I understand that--killing hares and birds. Well, butwhy did you poach?"

"Because father did. "

"Oh, well, I see; then, if you only did what your father did we must notblame his child; and so you come down here to go to sea?"

"If I could not do better. "

"But you shall do better, my good boy. I will try you instead of poorPeter, and if you are an honest and good, careful boy, it will be muchbetter than going to sea. Dear me! how like he is, --but now I _must_call you Peter; it will make me think I have him with me, poor fellow!"

"If you please, " said Joey, who was not sorry to exchange his name. 

"Well, then, where do you sleep to-night?"

"I did intend to ask for a bed at the house where I left my bundle. "

"Then, don't do so; go for your bundle, and you shall sleep in Peter'sbed (poor fellow, his last was a watery bed, as the papers say), andthen to-morrow morning you can go off with me. "

Joey accepted the offer, went back for his bundle, and returned to MrsChopper in a quarter of an hour; she was then preparing her supper, which Joey was not sorry to partake of; after which she led him into asmall room, in which was a small bed without curtains; the room itselfwas hung round with strings of onions, papers of sweet herbs, andflitches of bacon; the floor was strewed with empty ginger-beer bottles, oakum in bags, and many other articles. Altogether, the smell wasanything but agreeable. 

"Here is poor Peter's bed, " said Mrs Chopper; "I changed his sheets thenight before he was drowned, poor fellow! Can I trust you to put thecandle out?"

"Oh, yes; I'll be very careful. "

"Then, good night, boy. Do you ever say your prayers? poor Peter alwaysdid. "

"Yes, I do, " replied Joey; "good night. "

Mrs Chopper left the room. Joey threw open the window--for he wasalmost suffocated--undressed himself, put out the light, and, when hehad said his prayers, his thoughts naturally reverted to the little Emmawho had knelt with him on the road-side. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO GOES ON DUTY. 

At five o'clock the next morning Joey was called up by Mrs Chopper; thewaterman was in attendance, and, with the aid of Joey, carried down thevarious articles into the boat. When all was ready, Mrs Chopper andJoey sat down to their breakfast, which consisted of tea, bread andbutter, and red herrings; and, as soon as it was finished, theyembarked, and the boat shoved off. 

"Well, Mrs Chopper, " said the waterman, "so I perceive you've got a newhand. "

"Yes, " replied Mrs Chopper; "don't you think he's the moral of poorPeter?"

"Well, I don't know; but there is a something about the cut of his jibwhich reminds me of him, now you mention it. Peter was a good boy. "

"Aye, that he was, and as sharp as a needle. You see, " said MrsChopper, turning to Joey, "sharp's the word in a bumboat. There's manywho pay, and many who don't; some I trust, and some I don't--that is, those who won't pay me old debts. We lose a bit of money at times, butit all comes round in the end; but I lose more by not booking the thingstaken than in any other way, for sailors do pay when they have themoney--that is, if ever they come back again, poor fellows. Now, Peter. "

"What! is his name Peter, too?"

"Yes, I must call him Peter, William; he is so like poor Peter. "

"Well, that will suit me; I hate learning new names. "

"Well, but, Peter, " continued Mrs Chopper, "you must be very careful;for, you see, I'm often called away here and there after wash clothesand such things; and then you must look out, and if they do take upanything, why, you must book it, at all events. You'll learn by-and-byewho to trust, and who not to trust; for I know the most of my customers. You must not trust a woman--I mean any of the sailors' wives--unless Itell you; and you must be very sharp with them, for they play all mannerof tricks; you must look two ways at once. Now, there's a girl on boardthe brig we are pulling to, called Nancy; why, she used to weather poorPeter, sharp as he was. She used to pretend to be very fond of him, andhug him close to her with one arm, so as to blind him, while she stolethe tarts with the other; so, don't admit her familiarities; if you do, I shall pay for them. "

"Then, who am I to trust?"

"Bless the child! you'll soon find out that; but mind one thing; nevertrust a tall, lanky seaman without his name's on the books; those chapsnever pay. There's the book kept by poor Peter; and you see names uponthe top of each score--at least, I believe so; I have no learningmyself, but I've a good memory; I can't read nor write, and that's whyPeter was so useful. "

That Peter could read his own writing it is to be presumed; but certainit was that Joey could not make it out until after many daysexamination, when he discovered that certain hieroglyphics were meant torepresent certain articles; after which it became more easy. 

They had now reached the side of the vessel, and the sailors came downinto the boat, and took up several articles upon credit; Joey bookedthem very regularly. 

"Has Bill been down yet?" said a soft voice from the gangway. 

"No, Nancy, he has not. "

"Then he wants two red herrings, a sixpenny loaf, and some 'baccy. "

Joey looked up, and beheld a very handsome, fair, blue-eyed girl with amost roguish look, who was hanging over the side. 

"Then he must come himself, Nancy, " replied Mrs Chopper, "for, youknow, the last time you took up the things he said that you were nevertold to do so, and he would not pay for them. "

"That's because the fool was jealous; I lost the tobacco, Mrs Chopper, and he said I had given it to Dick Snapper. "

"I can't help that; he must come himself. "

"But he's away in the boat, and he told me to get the things for him. Who have you there? Not Peter; no, it's not Peter; but, what a dearlittle boy. "

"I told you so, " said Mrs Chopper to our hero; "now, if I wasn't in theboat, she would be down in it in a minute, and persuade you to let herhave the things--and she never pays. "

Joey looked up again, and, as he looked at Nancy, felt that it would bevery unkind to refuse her. 

"Now, what a hard-hearted old woman you are, Mrs Chopper. Bill willcome on board; and, as sure as I stand here, he'll whack me. He willpay you, you may take my word for it. "

"Your word, Nancy!" replied Mrs Chopper, shaking her head. 

"Stop a moment, " said Nancy, coming down the side with very littleregard as to showing her well-formed legs; "stop, Mrs Chopper, and I'llexplain to you. "

"It's no use coming down, Nancy, I tell you, " replied Mrs Chopper. 

"Well, we shall see, " replied Nancy, taking her seat in the boat, andlooking archly in Mrs Chopper's face; "the fact is Mrs Chopper, youdon't know what a good-tempered woman you are. "

"I know, Nancy, what you are, " replied Mrs Chopper. 

"Oh, so does everybody: I'm nobody's enemy but my own, they say. "

"Ah! that's very true, child; more's the pity. "

"Now, I didn't come down to wheedle you out of anything, Mrs Chopper, but merely to talk to you, and look at this pretty boy. "

"There you go, Nancy; but ain't he like Peter?"

"Well, and so he is! very like Peter; he has Peter's eyes and his nose, and his mouth is exactly Peter's--how very strange!"

"I never see'd such a likeness!" exclaimed Mrs Chopper. 

"No, indeed, " replied Nancy, who, by agreeing with Mrs Chopper in allshe said, and praising Joey, and his likeness to Peter, at last quitecame over the old bumboat-woman; and Nancy quitted her boat with the twoherrings, the loaf; and the paper of tobacco. 

"Shall I put them down, Mrs Chopper?" said Joey. 

"Oh, dear, " replied Mrs Chopper, coming to her recollection, "I'mafraid that it's no use; but put them down, anyhow; they will do for baddebts. Shove off, William, we must go to the large ship now. "

"I do wish that that Nancy was at any other port, " exclaimed MrsChopper, as they quitted the vessel's side; "I do lose so much money byher. "

"Well, " said the waterman, laughing, "you're not the only one; she canwheedle man or woman, or, as they say, the devil to boot, if she wouldtry. "

During the whole of the day the wherry proceeded from ship to ship, supplying necessaries; in many instances they were paid for in readymoney, in others Joey's capabilities were required, and they were bookeddown against the customers. At last, about five o'clock in the evening, the beer-barrel being empty, most of the contents of the baskets nearlyexhausted, and the wherry loaded with the linen for the wash, biscuits, empty bottles, and various other articles of traffic or exchange, MrsChopper ordered William, the waterman, to pull on shore to thelanding-place. 

As soon as the baskets and other articles had been carried up to thehouse, Mrs Chopper sent out for the dinner, which was regularlyobtained from a cook's-shop. Joey sat down with her, and when his mealwas finished, Mrs Chopper told him he might take a run and stretch hislegs a little if he pleased, while she tended to the linen which was togo to the wash. Joey was not sorry to take advantage of thisconsiderate permission, for his legs were quite cramped from sitting solong jammed up between baskets of eggs, red herrings, and the othercommodities which had encompassed him. 

We must now introduce Mrs Chopper to the reader a little moreceremoniously. She was the widow of a boatswain, who had set her up inthe bumboat business with some money he had acquired a short time beforehis death, and she had continued it ever since on her own account. People said that she was rich, but riches are comparative, and if aperson in a seaport town, and in her situation, could show 200 or 300pounds at her bankers, she was considered rich. If she was rich innothing else, she certainly was in bad and doubtful debts, having sevenor eight books like that which Joey was filling up for her during thewhole day, all containing accounts of long standing, and most of whichprobably would stand for ever; but if the bad debts were many, theprofits were in proportion; and what with the long standing debts beingoccasionally paid, the ready-money she continually received, and theprofitable traffic which she made in the way of exchange, etcetera, sheappeared to do a thriving business, although it is certain the one-halfof her goods were as much given away as were the articles obtained fromher in the morning by Nancy. 

It is a question whether these books of bad debts were not a source ofenjoyment to her, for every night she would take one of the books down, and although she could not read, yet, by having them continually read toher, and knowing the pages so exactly, she could almost repeat everyline by heart which the various bills contained; and then there wasalways a story which she had to tell about each--something relative tothe party of whom the transaction reminded her; and subsequently, whenJoey was fairly domiciled with her, she would make him hand down one ofthe books, and talk away from it for hours; they were the ledgers of herreminiscences; the events of a considerable portion of her life were allentered down along with the 'baccy, porter, pipes, and red herrings; abill for these articles was to her time, place and circumstance; andwhat with a good memory, and bad debts to assist it, many were the hourswhich were passed away (and pleasantly enough, too, for one liked totalk, and the other to listen) between Mrs Chopper and our little hero. But we must not anticipate. 

The permission given to Joey to stretch his legs induced him to set offas fast as he could to gain the high road before his little friend, EmmaPhillips, had left her school. He sat down in the same place, waitingfor her coming. The spot had become hallowed to the poor fellow, for hehad there met with a friend--with one who sympathised with him when hemost required consolation. He now felt happy, for he was no longer indoubt about obtaining his livelihood, and his first wish was to impartthe pleasing intelligence to his little friend. She was not long beforeshe made her appearance in her little straw bonnet with blue ribbons. Joey started up, and informed her that he had got a very nice place, explained to her what it was, and how he had been employed during theday. 

"And I can very often come out about this time, I think, " added Joey, "and then I can walk home with you, and see that you come to no harm. "

"But, " replied the little girl, "my mother says that she would like tosee you, as she will not allow me to make acquaintance with people Imeet by accident. Don't you think that mother is right?"

"Yes, I do; she's very right, " replied Joey; "I didn't think of that. "

"Will you come and see her, then?"

"Not now, because I am not very clean. I'll come on Sunday, if I canget leave. "

They separated, and Joey returned back to the town. As he walked on, hethought he would spend the money he had got in a suit of Sunday clothes, of a better quality than those he had on, the materials of which werevery coarse. On second thoughts, he resolved to apply to Mrs Chopper, as he did not exactly know where to go for them, and was afraid that hewould be imposed upon. 

"Well, Peter, " said his new mistress, "do you feel better for yourwalk?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am. "

"Peter, " continued Mrs Chopper, "you appear to be a very handy, goodboy, and I hope we shall live together a long while. How long have youbeen at sea?"

"I was going to sea; I have never been to sea yet, and I don't want togo; I would rather stay with you. "

"And so you shall, that's a settled thing. What clothes have you got, Peter?"

"I have none but what I stand in, and a few shirts in a bundle, and theyare Sunday ones; but when I left home I had some money given me, and Iwish to buy a suit of clothes for Sunday, to go to church in. "

"That's a good boy, and so you shall; but how much money have you got?"

"Quite enough to buy a suit of clothes, " replied Joey, handing out twosovereigns, and seventeen shillings in silver. 

"Oh, I suppose they gave you all that to fit you out with when you lefthome; poor people, I dare say they worked hard for it. Well, I don'tthink the money will be of any use to you; so you had better buy aSunday suit, and I will take care you want for nothing afterwards. Don't you think I'm right?"

"Yes, I wish to do so. To-day is Tuesday; I may have them made by nextSunday?"

"So you can; and as soon as William comes in, which he will soon, fromthe washerwoman's, we will go out and order them. Here he comes up thestairs--no, that foot's too light for his. Well, it's Nancy, I declare!Why, Nancy, now, " continued Mrs Chopper, in a deprecating tone, "whatdo you want here?"

"Well, I leave you to guess, " replied Nancy, looking very demurely, andtaking a seat upon a hamper. 

"Guess, I fear there's no guess in it, Nancy; but I will not--now it'sno use--I will not trust another shilling. "

"But I know you will, Mrs Chopper. Lord love you, you're such agood-natured creature, you can't refuse any one, and certainly not me. Why don't you take me in your boat with you as your assistant? thenthere would be something in it worth looking at. I should bring youplenty of custom. "

"You're too wild, Nancy; too wild, girl. But, now, what do you want?recollect you've already had some things to-day. "

"I know I have, and you are a good-natured old trump, that you are. NowI'll tell you--gold must pass between us this time. "

"Mercy on me, Nancy, why you're mad. I've no gold--nothing but baddebts. "

"Look you, Mrs Chopper, look at this shabby old bonnet of mine. Don'tI want a new one?"

"Then you must get somebody else to give you money, Nancy, " replied MrsChopper, coolly and decidedly. 

"Don't talk so fast, Mrs Chopper: now, I'll let you know how it is. When Bill came on board he asked the captain for an advance; the captainrefused him before, but this time he was in a good humour, and heconsented. So then I coaxed Bill out of a sovereign to buy a newbonnet, and he gave it me; and then I thought what a kind soul you were, and I resolved that I would bring you the sovereign, and go without thenew bonnet; so here it is, take it quick, or I shall repent. "

"Well, Nancy, " said Mrs Chopper, "you said right; gold has passedbetween us, and I am surprised. Now I shall trust you again. "

"And so you ought; it's not every pretty girl, like me, who will give upa new bonnet. Only look what a rubbishy affair this is, " continuedNancy, giving her own a kick up in the air. 

"I wish I had a sovereign to give away, " said Joey to Mrs Chopper; "Iwish I had not said a word about the clothes. "

"Do as you like with your own money, my dear, " said the bumboat-woman. 

"Then, Nancy, I'll give you a sovereign to buy yourself a new bonnetwith, " said Joey, taking one out of his pocket and putting into herhand. 

Nancy looked at the sovereign, and then at Joey. "Bless the boy!" saidshe, at last, kissing him on the forehead; "he has a kind heart; may theworld use him better than it has me! Here, take your sovereign, child;any bonnet's good enough for one like me. " So saying, Nancy turnedhastily away, and ran downstairs. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

IN WHICH MRS. CHOPPER READS HER LEDGER. 

"Ah, poor girl, " said Mrs Chopper, with a sigh, as Nancy disappeared. "You are a good boy, Peter; I like to see boys not too fond of money, and if she had taken it (and I wish she had, poor thing) I would havemade it up to you. "

"Is the man she calls Bill her husband?" inquired Joey. 

"Oh, I know nothing about other people's husbands, " replied MrsChopper, hastily. "Now then, let us go and order the clothes, and thenyou'll be able to go to church on Sunday; I will do without you. "

"What, won't you go to church?"

"Bless you, child! who is to give the poor men their breakfast and theirbeer? A bumboat-woman can't go to church any more than a baker's man, for people must eat on a Sunday. Church, like everything else in thisworld, appears to me only to be made for the rich; I always take myBible in the boat with me on Sunday, but then I can't read it, so it'sof no great use. No, dear, I can't go to church, but I can contrive, ifit don't rain in the evening, to go to meeting and hear a little of theWord; but you can go to church, dear. "

A suit of blue cloth, made in sailor's fashion, having been ordered byMrs Chopper, she and Joey returned home; and, after their tea, MrsChopper desired Joey to hand her one of the account-books, which she putupon her knees and opened. 

"There, " said she, looking at the page, "I know that account well; itwas Tom Alsop's--a fine fellow he was, only he made such a bad marriage:his wife was a very fiend, and the poor fellow loved her, which wasworse. One day he missed her, and found she was on board anothervessel; and he came on shore, distracted like, and got very tipsy, assailors always do when they're in trouble, and he went down to thewharf, and his body was picked up next day. "

"Did he drown himself?"

"Yes, so people think, Peter; and he owed me 1 pound, 3 shillings, 4pence, if I recollect right. Aren't that the figure, Peter?"

"Yes, ma'am, " replied Joey; "that's the sum total of the account, exactly. "

"Poor fellow!" continued Mrs Chopper, with a sigh, "he went to his longaccount without paying me my short one. Never mind; I wish he wasalive, and twice as much in my debt. There's another--I recollect thatwell, Peter, for it's a proof that sailors are honest; and I do believethat, if they don't pay, it's more from thoughtlessness than anythingelse; and then the women coax all their money from them, for sailorsdon't care for money when they do get it--and then those Jews are suchshocking fellows; but look you, Peter, this is almost the first bill runup after I took up the business. He was a nice fair-haired lad fromShields; and the boy was cast away, and he was picked up by anothervessel, and brought here; and I let him have things and lent him moneyto the amount of a matter of 20 pounds, and he said he would save alland pay me, and he sailed away again, and I never heard of him for nineyears. I thought that he was drowned, or that he was not an honest lad;I didn't know which, and it was a deal of money to lose; but I gave itup; when one day a tall, stout fellow, with great red whiskers, calledupon me, and said, `Do you know me?' `No, ' said I, half-frightened;`how should I know you? I never see'd you before. '--`Yes, you did, 'says he, `and here's a proof of it;' and he put down on the table a lotof money, and said, `Now, missus, help yourself: better late than never. I'm Jim Sparling, who was cast away, and who you were as good as amother to; but I've never been able to get leave to come to you since. I'm boatswain's mate of a man-of-war, and have just received my pay, andnow I've come to pay my debts. ' He would make me take 5 pounds morethan his bill, to buy a new silk gown for his sake. Poor fellow! he'sdead now. Here's another, that was run up by one of your tall, lankysailors, who wear their knives in a sheath, and not with a lanyard roundtheir waists; those fellows never pay, but they swear dreadfully. Letme see, what can this one be? Read it, Peter; how much is it?"

"4 pounds, 2 shillings, 4 pence, " replied our hero. 

"Yes, yes, I recollect now--it was the Dutch skipper. There's murder inthat bill, Peter: it was things I supplied to him just before he sailed;and an old man was passenger in the cabin: he was a very rich man, although he pretended to be poor. He was a diamond merchant, they say;and as soon as they were at sea, the Dutch captain murdered him in thenight, and threw him overboard out of the cabin-window; but one of thesailors saw the deed done, and the captain was taken up at Amsterdam, and had his head cut off. The crew told us when the galliot came backwith a new captain. So the Dutch skipper paid the forfeit of his crime;he paid my bill, too, that's certain. Oh, deary me!" continued the oldlady, turning to another page. "I shan't forget this in a hurry. Inever see poor Nancy now without recollecting it. Look, Peter; I knowthe sum--8 pounds, 4 shillings 6 pence--exactly: it was the things takenup when Tom Freelove married Nancy, --it was the wedding dinner andsupper. "

"What, Nancy who was here just now?"

"Yes, that Nancy; and a sweet, modest young creature she was then, andhad been well brought up too; she could read and write beautifully, andsubscribed to a circulating library, they say. She was the daughter ofa baker in this town. I recollect it well: such a fine day it was whenthey went to church, she looking so handsome in her new ribbons andsmart dress, and he such a fine-looking young man. I never seed such ahandsome young couple; but he was a bad one, and so it all ended inmisery. "

"Tell me how, " said Joey. 

"I'll tell all you ought to know, boy; you are too young to be told allthe wickedness of this world. Her husband treated her very ill; beforehe had been married a month he left her, and went about with otherpeople, and was always drunk, and she became jealous and distracted, andhe beat her cruelly, and deserted her; and then, to comfort her, peoplewould persuade her to keep her spirits up, and gave her something todrink, and by degrees she became fond of it. Her husband was killed bya fall from the mast-head; and she loved him still and took more toliquor, and that was her ruin. She don't drink now, because she don'tfeel as she used to do; she cares about nothing; she is much to bepitied, poor thing, for she is still young, and very pretty. It's onlyfour years ago when I saw her come out of church, and thought what ahappy couple they would be. "

"Where are her father and mother?"

"Both dead. Don't let's talk about it any more. It's bad enough when aman drinks; but if a woman takes to it, it is all over with her; butsome people's feelings are so strong, that they fly to it directly todrown care and misery. Put up the book, Peter; I can't look at it anymore to-night; we'll go to bed. "

Joey every day gave more satisfaction to his employer, and upon his ownresponsibility, allowed his friend the sailor lad to open an account assoon as his money was all gone. Finding that the vessel was going upthe river to load, Joey determined to write a few lines to the McShanes, to allay the uneasiness which he knew his absence must have occasioned, Jim Paterson promising to put the letter in the post as soon as hearrived at London. 

Our hero simply said, "My dear sir, I am quite well, and have foundemployment, so pray do not grieve about me, as I never shall forget yourkindness. --Joey McShane. "

On the following Sunday Joey was dressed in his sailor's suit, andlooked very well in it. He was not only a very good-looking, but agentlemanlike boy in his manners. He went to church, and after churchhe walked out to the abode of his little friend, Emma Phillips. She ranout to meet him, was delighted with his new clothes, and took him by thehand to present him to her mother. Mrs Phillips was a quiet-looking, pleasing woman, and the old lady was of a very venerable appearance. They made many inquiries about his friends, and Joey continued in thesame story, that he and his father had been poachers, that he had beendiscovered and obliged to go away, and that he went with the consent ofhis parents. They were satisfied with his replies, and prepossessed inhis favour; and as Joey was so patronised by her little daughter, he wasdesired to renew his visits, which he occasionally did on Sundays, butpreferred meeting Emma on the road from school; and the two children (ifJoey could be called a child) became very intimate, and felt annoyed ifthey did not every day exchange a few words. Thus passed the first sixmonths of Joey's new life. The winter was cold, and the water rough, and he blew his fingers, while Mrs Chopper folded her arms up in herapron; but he had always a good dinner and a warm bed after the day'swork was over. He became a great favourite with Mrs Chopper, who atlast admitted that he was much more useful than even Peter; and William, the waterman, declared that such was really the case, and that he was, in his opinion, worth two of the former Peter, who had come to such anuntimely end. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

IN WHICH THE BITER IS BIT. 

The disappearance of Joey from the school was immediately communicatedto McShane by the master, who could not imagine how such an incidentcould have occurred in such a decent establishment as his preparatoryseminary; it was an epoch in his existence, and ever afterwards hischronology was founded upon it, and everything that occurred was so manymonths or weeks before or after the absconding of young Master McShane. The letter had, of course, been produced, and as soon as theschoolmaster had taken his departure, McShane and his wife were in deepcouncil. "I recollect, " said Mrs McShane, who was crying in an easychair--"I recollect, now, that one day the boy came up and asked me themeaning of wilful murder, and I told him. And now I think of it, I doalso remember the people at Number 1 table, close to the counter, sometime ago, talking about a murder having been committed by a mere child, and a long report of it in the newspapers. I am sure, however (as Joeysays in his letter), that he is not guilty. "

"And so am I, " replied McShane. "However, bring up the file ofnewspapers, dear, and let me look over them. How long back do you thinkit was?"

"Why, let me see; it was about the time you went away with CaptainO'Donahue, I think, or a little before--that was in October. "

McShane turned over the file of newspapers, and after a quarter of anhour's search found the report of the coroner's inquest. 

"Here it is, my dear, sure enough, " said McShane. 

As soon as he had read it over, and came to the end, he said, "Yes;wilful murder against Joseph Rushbrook the younger, and 200 pounds forhis apprehension. This it was that drove the boy away from home, andnot poaching, although I have no doubt that poaching was the cause ofthe murder. Now, my dear, " continued McShane, "I think I can unravelall this; the murder has been committed, that's evident, by somebody, but not by Joey, I'll be sworn; he says that he is not guilty, and Ibelieve him. Nevertheless, Joey runs away, and a verdict is foundagainst him. My dear wife, I happen to know the father of Joey well; hewas a fine, bold soldier, but one who would stick at nothing; and if Icould venture an opinion, it is, that the murder was committed byRushbrook, and not by the boy, and that the boy has absconded to savehis father. "

The reader will acknowledge that McShane was very clear-sighted. 

"That's my opinion, " continued McShane. "How it has been managed tomake the boy appear as the party, I cannot tell; but knowing the father, and knowing the son, I'd stake my commission that I've guessed at thetruth. "

"Poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs McShane; "well, the Commandments say that thesins of the father shall be visited upon the children. What can bedone, McShane?"

"Nothing at present; it would injure Joey to raise a hue and cry afterhim; for, you see, if he is apprehended, he must either be tried for hislife, and convicted himself, or prove that he did not do it, whichprobably he could not do without convicting his father; I will, however, make some inquiries about Rushbrook himself, and if I can I will seehim. "

The same evening the schoolmaster again called upon McShane, to say thattwo persons had come to the school in the afternoon and asked to seehim; that one of them, shabbily dressed, but evidently a person who wasnot of so low a class in life as the other, had accosted him, when hecame into the parlour, with, "I believe I have the pleasure of speakingto Mr Slappum; if so, may I request the favour to see my little friendJoey, whom I met yesterday walking out with the other young gentlemenunder your care, as I have a message to him from his father and mother?The dear boy was once under my tuition, and did me much credit, as Ihave no doubt that he has done you. "

Now, the usher had told Mr Slappum that Joey had been addressed by thisperson the day before, and the schoolmaster presuming, of course, thatit was Joey McShane, replied, --"I am sorry to say that he left thishouse last night, and has absconded we know not where. He left a letterfor Major McShane, which I have this day delivered to him, acquaintinghim with the unpleasant circumstance. "

"Bolted, by all that's clever!" said the second personage to the first, who looked very much surprised and confounded. 

"You really have astonished me, my dear sir, " replied the first person, whom the reader will of course recognise to be Furness; "that a ladbrought up by me in such strict moral principles, such correct notionsof right and wrong, and, I may add, such pious feelings, should havetaken such a step, is to me incomprehensible. Major McShane, I thinkyou said, lives at ---?"

"Major McShane lives at Number --- in Holborn, " replied theschoolmaster. 

"And the lad has not gone home to him?"

"No, he has not; he left a letter, which I took to Major McShane; but Idid not break the seal, and am ignorant of its contents. "

"I really am stupefied with grief and vexation, " replied Furness, "andwill not intrude any longer. Bless the poor boy! what can have come ofhim?"

So saying, Furness took his departure with the peace-officer, whom hehad intrusted with the warrant, which he had taken out to secure theperson of our hero. 

McShane heard the schoolmaster's account of this visit withoutinterruption, and then said, "I have no doubt but that this person whohas called upon you will pay me a visit; oblige me, therefore, bydescribing his person particularly, so that I may know him at firstsight. "

The schoolmaster gave a most accurate description of Furness, and thentook his leave. 

As the eating-house kept by Mrs McShane had a private door, Furness(who, as McShane had prophesied, came the next afternoon), after havingread the name on the private door, which was not on the eating-house, which went by the name of the Chequers, imagined that it was anestablishment apart, and thought it advisable to enter into it, andascertain a little about Major McShane before he called upon him. Although McShane seldom made his appearance in the room appropriated forthe dinners, it so happened that he was standing at the door whenFurness entered and sat down in a box, calling for the bill of fare, andordering a plate of beef and cabbage. McShane recognised him by thedescription given of him immediately, and resolved to make hisacquaintance incognito, and ascertain what his intentions were; hetherefore took his seat in the same box, and winking to one of the girlswho attended, also called for a plate of beef and cabbage. Furness, whowas anxious to pump any one he might fall in with, immediately enteredinto conversation with the major. 

"A good house this, sir, and well attended apparently?"

"Yes, sir, " replied McShane; "it is considered a very good house. "

"Do you frequent it much yourself?"

"Always, sir; I feel much interested in its success, " replied McShane;"for I know the lady who keeps it well, and have a high respect forher. "

"I saw her as I passed by--a fine woman, sir! Pray may I ask who isMajor McShane, who I observe lives in the rooms above?"

"He is a major in the army, sir--now on half-pay. "

"Do you know him?"

"Remarkably well, " replied McShane; "he's a countryman of mine. "

"He's married, sir, I think? I'll trouble you for the pepper. "

"He is married, sir, to a very amiable woman. "

"Any family, sir?"

"Not that I know of; they have a young _protege_, I believe, now atschool--a boy they call Joey. "

"Indeed! how very kind of them; really, now, it's quite refreshing forme to see so much goodness of heart still remaining in this bad world. Adopted him, I presume?"

"I really cannot exactly say that; I know that they treat him as theirown child. "

"Have you seen Major McShane lately, sir?"

"Saw him this morning, sir, just after he got up. "

"Indeed! This is remarkably good ale, sir--will you honour me bytasting it?"

"Sir, you are very kind; but the fact is I never drink malt liquor. Here, girl, bring a half pint of brandy. I trust, sir, you will notrefuse to join me in a glass, although I cannot venture to accept yourpolite offer. "

Furness drank off his pot of ale, and made ready for the brandy whichhad been offered him; McShane filled his own glass, and then handed thedecanter over to Furness. 

"I have the pleasure of drinking your good health, sir, " said McShane. "You are from the country, I presume; may I inquire from what part?"

"I am from Devonshire; I was formerly head of the grammar school at ---;but, sir, my principles would not allow me to retain my situation;rectitude of conduct, sir, is absolutely necessary to the professionwhich inculcates morality and virtue, as well as instruction to youth, sir. Here's to our better acquaintance, sir. "

"Sir, to your's; I honour your sentiments. By the powers! but you'reright, Mr ---, I beg your pardon--but I don't catch your name exactly. "

"Furness, sir, at your service. Yes, sir, the directors of thefoundation which I presided over, I may say, with such credit to myself, and such advantage to the pupils under my care, wished to make a job--yes, sir--of a charity; I could not consent to such deeds, and Iresigned. "

"And you have been in London ever since?"

"No, sir; I repaired to the small village of Grassford, where I set up aschool, but circumstances compelled me to resign, and I am now about toseek for employment in another hemisphere; in short, I have an idea ofgoing out to New South Wales as a preceptor. I understand they are ingreat want of tuition in that quarter. "

"I should think so, " replied McShane; "and they have a great deal tounlearn as well as to learn. "

"I speak of the junior branches--the scions or offsets, I may say--bornin the colony, and who I trust, will prove that crime is nothereditary. "

"Well, I wish you luck, sir, " replied McShane; "you must oblige me bytaking another glass, for I never shall be able to finish this decantermyself. "

"I gladly avail myself of the pleasure of your company, sir. "

As the reader is well aware that Furness was an intemperate man, it isnot surprising that he accepted the offer; and before the second glasswas finished, the ale and brandy had begun to have the effect, and hehad become very communicative. 

"What was the name of the village which you stated you had resided inlately, sir?" inquired McShane. 

"The village of Grassford. "

"There is something I recollect about that village; let me see--something that I read in the newspapers. I remember now--it was themurder of a pedlar. "

"Very true, sir, such a circumstance did take place; it was a dreadfulaffair--and, what is more strange, committed by a mere child, whoabsconded. "

"Indeed! What was his name?"

"Rushbrook, sir; his father was a well-known poacher--a man who had beenin the army, and had a pension for wounds. There is an old saying, sir, of high authority--`Bring up a child in the way he should go, and hewill not depart from it. ' I instructed that boy, sir; but alas! whatavails the instruction of a preceptor when a father leads a child intoevil ways?"

"That's the truth, and no mistake, " replied McShane. "So the boy ranaway? Yes; I recollect now. And what became of the father?"

"The father, sir, and mother have since left the village, and gonenobody knows where. "

"Indeed! are you sure of that?"

"Quite sure, sir; for I was most anxious to discover them, and tookgreat pains, but without success. "

"What did the people say thereabouts? Was there no suspicion of thefather being implicated?"

"I do not think there was. He gave evidence at the inquest, and so didI, sir, as you may suppose, most unwillingly; for the boy was afavourite of mine. I beg your pardon, sir--you say you are acquaintedwith Major McShane, and saw him this morning; is the interesting littleboy you speak of as under his protection now at home or still atschool?"

"I really cannot positively say, " replied McShane; "but this is notholiday-time. Come, sir, we must not part yet; your conversation is toointeresting. You must allow me to call for some more brandy; poor as Iam, I must treat myself and you too. I wish I knew where I could pickup a little money; for, to tell you the truth, cash begins to run low. "

Furness was now more than half drunk. "Well, sir, " said he; "I haveknown money picked up without any difficulty: for instance, now, supposewe should fall in with this young rascal who committed the murder; thereis 200 pounds offered for his apprehension and conviction. "

"I thought as much, " muttered McShane; "the infernal scoundrel! Isuspect that you will find him where you are going to, Mr Furbish, he'sgot that far by this time. "

"Between you and I, I think not, sir. My name is Furness, sir--I begyour pardon--not Furbish. "

"Why you do not think he would be such a fool as to remain in thecountry after such an act?"

"The wicked are foolish, sir, as well as others, " replied Furness, putting his finger to his nose, and looking very knowingly. 

"That's truth, sir. Help yourself; you drink nothing. Excuse me oneminute; I'll be back directly. "

McShane left the box for a few minutes to explain to his wife what hewas about, and to give time for the liquor to operate upon Furness. Ashe expected, he found, on his return, that Furness had finished hisglass, and was more tipsy than when he left him. 

The conversation was renewed, and McShane again pleading his poverty, and his wish to obtain money, brought out the proposal of Furness, whoinformed him that he had recognised the _protege_ of Major McShane to bethe identical Joseph Rushbrook; that the boy had absconded from theschool, and was concealed in the house. He concluded by observing toMcShane, that, as he was so intimate with the major, it would be veryeasy for him to ascertain the fact, and offered him 50 pounds, as hisshare of the reward, if he would assist him in the boy's capture. Itwas lucky for Furness that McShane was surrounded by others, or in allprobability there would have been another murder committed. The major, however, said he would think of it, and fell back in deep thought; whathe was thinking of was what he should do to punish Furness. At last anidea came into his head; the rascal was drunk, and he proposed that heshould go to another house, where they might find the major, and hewould present him. Furness consented, and reeled out of the box;McShane, although he would as soon have touched a viper, controlledhimself sufficiently to give Furness his arm, and leading him down bytwo or three back courts, he took him into an ale-house where there wasa rendezvous for enlisting marines for the navy. As soon as they wereseated, and had liquor before them, McShane spoke to the sergeant, tipped him a guinea, and said he had a good recruit for him, if he couldbe persuaded to enlist. He then introduced the sergeant as the major, and advised Furness to pretend to agree with him in everything. Thesergeant told long stories, clapped Furness, who was now quiteintoxicated, on the back, called him a jolly fellow, and asked him toenlist. "Say `yes, ' to please him, " said McShane in his ear. Furnessdid so, received the shilling, and when he came to his senses next day, found his friend had disappeared, and that he was under an escort forPortsmouth. All remonstrances were unavailing; McShane had feed [paid afee to] the sergeant, and had promised him a higher fee not to letFurness off; and the latter, having but a few shillings in his pocket, was compelled to submit to his fate. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO AGAIN FALLS IN WITH AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

For nearly two years Joey had filled his situation as chancellor of theexchequer to Mrs Chopper. He certainly did not feel himself always inthe humour or the disposition for business, especially during the hardwinter months, when, seated almost immovably in the boat during the bestportion of the day, he would find his fingers so completely dead, thathe could not hold his pen. But there is no situation, under any of thepowers that be, that has not some drawback. People may say that asinecure is one that has not its disadvantages; but such is not thecase--there is the disgrace of holding it. At all events, Joey's placewas no sinecure, for he was up early, and was employed the whole of theday. 

Nancy, the young woman we have introduced to our readers, had contracteda great regard for our hero, ever since his offering her his money; andJoey was equally partial to her, for she possessed a warm heart and muchgood feeling, she would very often run upstairs into Mrs Chopper'sroom, to talk with the old lady and to see Joey, and would then take outher thimble and needle, examine his clothes, and make the necessaryrepairs. 

"I saw you walking with little Emma Phillips, Peter, " said Nancy: "wheredid you come to know her?"

"I met her in the road the day that I came down to Gravesend. "

"Well, I'm sure! and do you speak to every young lady you chance tomeet?"

"No; but I was unhappy, and she was very kind to me. "

"She's a very sweet child, or rather, I can only say that she was, whenI knew her?"

"When did you know her?"

"Four or five years ago. I lived for a short time with Mrs Phillips;that was when I was a good girl. "

"Yes, indeed, Nancy, " said Mrs Chopper, shaking her head. 

"Why ain't you good, now, Nancy?" replied Joey. 

"Because--" said Nancy. 

"Because why?"

"Because I am not good, " replied the girl; "and now, Peter, don't askany more questions, or you'll make me cry. Heigho! I think crying verypleasant now and then; one's heart feels fresher, like flowers after therain. Peter, where are your father and mother?"

"I don't know; I left them at home. "

"You left them at home! but do you never hear from them? do you neverwrite?"

"No. "

"But why not? I am sure they have brought you up well. They must bevery good people--are they not?"

Joey could not answer; how could he say that his father was a good manafter what had passed?

"You don't answer me, Peter; don't you love your father and motherdearly?"

"Yes, indeed I do; but I must not write to them. "

"Well, I must say there is something about Peter and his parents which Icannot understand, and which I have often tried to make him tell, and hewill not, " said Mrs Chopper. "Poaching ain't such a great crime, especially in a boy. I can't see why he should not write to his fatherand mother, at all events, I hope, Peter, you have told me the truth?"

"I have told you what is true; but my father was a poacher, and theyknow it; and if they did not punish me, they would him, and transporthim, too, if I gave evidence against him, which I must do, if put to myoath. I've told you all I can tell; I must not tell of father, must I?"

"No, no, child; I dare say you are right, " replied Mrs Chopper. 

"Now, I don't ask you to tell me, Peter, " said Nancy, "for I can guesswhat has taken place; you and your father have been out poaching, therehas been a scuffle with the keepers, and there has been blood shed; andthat's the reason why you keep out of the way. Ain't I right?"

"You are not far wrong, " replied Joey; "but I will not say a word moreupon it. "

"And I won't ask you, my little Peter; there--that's done--and now Ishall have a peep out of the window, for it's very close here, MrsChopper. "

Nancy threw the window open and leaned out of it, watching thepassers-by. "Mercy on us! here's three soldiers coming up the streetwith a deserter handcuffed, " cried she. "Who can it be? he's a sailor. Why, I do believe it's Sam Oxenham, that belongs to the _Thomas andMary_ of Sunderland. Poor fellow! Yes, it is him. "

Joey went to the window, and took his stand by the side of Nancy. 

"What soldiers are those?" inquired he. 

"They're not soldiers, after all, " replied Nancy; "they are jollies--asergeant and two privates. "

"Jollies! what are they?"

"Why, marines, to be sure. "

Joey continued looking at them until they passed under the window, whenNancy, who had a great disgust at anything like arbitrary power, couldnot refrain from speaking. 

"I say, master sergeant, you're a nice brave fellow, with your twojollies. D'ye think the young man will kill you all three, that youmust put the darbies on so tight?"

At this appeal, the sergeant and privates looked up at the window, andlaughed when they saw such a pretty girl as Nancy. The eyes of one ofthe privates were, however, soon fixed on our hero's face, and deeplyscrutinising it, when Joey looked at him. As soon as Joey recognisedhim, he drew back from the window, pale as death, the private stillremaining staring at the window. 

"Why, what's the matter, Peter?" said Nancy; "what makes you look sopale? do you know that man?"

"Yes, " replied Joey, drawing his breath, "and he knows me, I'm afraid. "

"Why do you fear?" replied Nancy. 

"See if he's gone, " said Joey. 

"Yes, he has; he has gone up the street with the sergeant; but every nowand then he looks back at this window; but perhaps that's to see me. "

"Why, Peter, what harm can that marine do you?" inquired Mrs Chopper. 

"A great deal; he will never be quiet until he has me taken up, and thenwhat will become of my poor father?" continued Joey, with the tearsrunning down his cheeks. 

"Give me my bonnet, Peter. I'll soon find out what he is after, " saidNancy, leaving the window. She threw her bonnet on her head, and randownstairs. 

Mrs Chopper in vain endeavoured to console our hero, or make himexplain--he did nothing but sit mournfully by her side, thinking what hehad best do, and expecting every minute to hear the tramp of Furness(for it was he who had recognised Joey) coming up the stairs. 

"Mrs Chopper, " at last said Joey, "I must leave you, I'm afraid; I wasobliged to leave my former friends on this man's account. "

"Leave me, boy! no, no, you must not leave me--how could I get onwithout you?"

"If I don't leave you myself, I shall be taken up, that is certain; butindeed I have not done wrong--don't think that I have. "

"I'm sure of it, child; you've only to say so, and I'll believe you; butwhy should he care about you?"

"He lived in our village, and knows all about it; he gave evidence at--"

"At what, boy?"

"At the time that I ran away from home; he proved that I had the gun andbag which were found. "

"Well, and suppose you had; what then?"

"Mrs Chopper, there was a reward offered, and he wants to get themoney. "

"Oh, I see now--a reward offered; then it must be as Nancy said, therewas blood shed, " and Mrs Chopper put her apron up to her eyes. 

Joey made no answer. After a few minutes' silence he rose, and went tohis room where he slept, and put his clothes up in a bundle. Having sodone, he sat down on the side of his bed and reflected what was thecourse he ought to pursue. 

Our hero was now sixteen, and much increased in stature; he was nolonger a child, although, in heart, almost as innocent. His thoughtswandered--he yearned to see his father and mother, and reflected whetherhe might not venture back to the village, and meet them by stealth; hethought of the McShanes, and imagined that he might in the same wayreturn to them; then little Emma Phillips rose in his imagination, andhis fear that he should never see her again; Captain O'Donahue was atlast brought to his recollection, and he longed to be once more with himin Russia; and, lastly, he reviewed the happy and contented life he hadlately led with his good friend Mrs Chopper, and how sorry he should beto part with her. After a time he threw himself on his bed and hid hisface in the pillow; and, overcome with the excess of his feelings, he atlast fell asleep. 

In the mean time Nancy had followed the marines up the street, and sawthem enter, with their prisoner, into a small public-house, where shewas well known; she followed them, spoke a few kind words to the seamanwho had been apprehended, and with whom she was acquainted, and then satdown by Furness to attract his attention. 

Furness had certainly much improved in his appearance since he had (muchagainst his will) been serving his Majesty. Being a tall man, he had, by drilling, become perfectly erect, and the punishment awarded todrunkenness, as well as the difficulty of procuring liquor, had kept himfrom his former intemperance, and his health had in consequenceimproved. He had been more than once brought up to the gangway upon hisfirst embarkation, but latterly had conducted himself properly, and wasin expectation of being made a corporal, for which situation hiseducation certainly qualified him. On the whole, he was now afine-looking marine, although just as unprincipled a scoundrel as ever. 

"Well, my pretty lass, didn't I see you looking out of a window justnow?"

"To be sure you did, and you might have heard me too, " replied Nancy;"and when I saw such a handsome fellow as you, didn't I put on my bonnetin a hurry, and come after you? What ship do you belong to?"

"The _Mars_, at the Nore. "

"Well, I should like to go on board of a man-of-war. Will you take me?"

"To be sure I will; come, have a drink of beer. "

"Here's to the jollies, " said Nancy, putting the pewter pot to her lips. "When do you go on board again?"

"Not till to-morrow; we've caught our bird, and now we'll amuseourselves a little. Do you belong to this place?"

"Yes, bred and born here; but we hardly ever see a man-of-war; they stayat the Nore, or go higher up. "

Nancy did all she could to make Furness believe she had taken a fancy tohim, and knew too well how to succeed. Before an hour had passed, Furness had, as he thought, made every arrangement with her, andcongratulated himself on his good fortune. In the mean time the beerand brandy went round; even the unfortunate captive was persuaded todrink with them, and drown reflection. At last, Furness said to Nancy, "Who was that lad that was looking out of the window with you? Was ityour brother?"

"My brother! bless you, no. You mean that scamp, Peter, who goes in thebumboat with old Mother Chopper. "

"Does he?--well, I have either seen him before, or some one like him. "

"He's not of our town, " replied Nancy; "he came here about two yearsago, nobody knows where from, and has been with Mrs Chopper eversince. "

"Two years ago, " muttered Furness, "that's just the time. Come, girl, take some more beer. "

Nancy drank a little, and put down the pot. 

"Where does Mrs Chopper live?" inquired Furness. 

"Where you saw me looking out of the window, " replied Nancy. 

"And the boy lives with her? I will call upon Mrs Chopper by-and-bye. "

"Yes, to be sure he does; but why are you talking so about the boy? Whydon't you talk to me, and tell me what a pretty girl I am, for I like tobe told that. "

Furness and his comrades continued the carouse, and were getting fastinto a state of intoxication; the sergeant only was prudent; but Furnesscould not let pass this opportunity of indulging without fear ofpunishment. He became more loving towards Nancy as he became moretipsy; when Nancy, who cajoled him to the utmost of her power, againmentioned our hero; and then it was that Furness, who, when inebriated, could never hold a secret, first told her there was a reward offered forhis apprehension, and that if she would remain with him they would spendthe money together. To this Nancy immediately consented, and offered toassist him as much as she could, as she had the entrance into MrsChopper's house, and knew where the lad slept. But Nancy was determinedto gain more from Furness, and as he was now pretty far gone, sheproposed that they should take a walk out, for it was a beautifulevening. Furness gladly consented. Nancy again explained to him howshe should manage to get Joey into her power, and appeared quitedelighted at the idea of there being a reward, which they were toobtain; and finding that Furness was completely deceived, and that thefresh air had increased his inebriety, she then persuaded him to confideto her all the circumstances connected with the reward offered for ourhero's apprehension. She then learned what had occurred at theinquest--Joey's escape--his being again discovered by Furness--and hissecond escape from the school, to which he had been put by the McShanes. 

"And his father and mother, where are they? When I think of them I mustsay that I do not much like to assist in taking up the boy. Poorpeople, how they will suffer when they hear of it? Really I don't knowwhat to say, " continued Nancy, biting the tip of her finger, as ifhesitating. 

"Don't let them stop you, " said Furness; "they will not be likely evento hear of it; they left the village before me, and no one knows wherethey are gone. I tried to find out myself, but could not. It's veryclear that they are gone to America. "

"Indeed!" said Nancy, who had put the questions because she wished togive Joey some information relative to his parents; "gone to America, doyou say?"

"Yes, I am inclined to think so, for I lost all trace of them. "

"Well, then, " replied Nancy, "that scruple of mine is got over. "

She then pointed out to Furness the propriety of waiting an hour or two, till people were in bed, that there might be no chance of a rescue; andthey returned to the public-house. Furness took another glass of ale, and then fell fast asleep on the bench, with his head over the table. 

"So, " thought Nancy, as she left the public-house, "the drunken foolmakes sure of his 200 pounds; but there is no time to be lost. "

Nancy hastened back to Mrs Chopper, whom she found sitting with acandle turning over the leaves of one of the old account books. 

"O, Nancy, is that you? I was just sighing over you, here's the thingsthat were ordered for your wedding. Poor girl! I fear you have notoften been to church since. "

Nancy was silent for a short time. "I'm sick of my life and sick ofmyself, Mrs Chopper: but what can I do?--a wretch like me! I wish Icould run away, as poor Peter must directly, and go to where I never wasknown; I should be so happy. "

"Peter must go, do you say, Nancy? Is that certain?"

"Most certain, Mrs Chopper, and he must be off directly I have beenwith the marines, and the fellow has told me everything; he is onlywaiting now for me to go back, to come and take him. "

"But tell me, Nancy, has Peter been guilty?"

"I believe from my heart that he has done nothing; but still murder wascommitted, and Peter will be apprehended, unless you give him the meansof running away. Where is he now?"

"Asleep, fast asleep: I didn't like to wake him, poor fellow!"

"Then he must be innocent, Mrs Chopper: they say the guilty neversleep. But what will he do--he has no money?"

"He has saved me a mint of money, and he shall not want it, " repliedMrs Chopper. "What shall I do without him? I can't bear to part withhim. "

"But you must, Mrs Chopper; and, if you love him, you will give him themeans, and let him be off directly. I wish I was going too, " continuedNancy, bursting into tears. 

"Go with him, Nancy, and look after him, and take care of my poorPeter, " said Mrs Chopper, whimpering; "go, my child, go, and lead agood life. I should better part with him, if I thought you were withhim, and away from this horrid place. "

"Will you let me go with him, Mrs Chopper--will you, indeed?" criedNancy, falling on her knees. "Oh! I will watch him as a mother wouldher son, as a sister would her brother! Give us but the means to quitthis place, and the good and the wicked both will bless you. "

"That you shall have, my poor girl, it has often pained my heart to lookat you; for I felt that you are too good for what you are, and you willbe again a good honest girl. You both shall go. Poor Peter! I wish Iwere young enough, I would go with you; but I can't. How I shall becheated again when he is gone! but go he must. Here Nancy, take themoney; take all I have in the house:" and Mrs Chopper put upwards of 20pounds into Nancy's hand as she was kneeling before her. Nancy fellforward with her face in the lap of the good old woman, suffocated withemotion and tears. "Come, come, Nancy, " said Mrs Chopper, after apause, and wiping her eyes with her apron, "you mustn't take on so, mypoor girl. Recollect poor Peter; there's no time to lose. "

"That is true, " replied Nancy, rising up. "Mrs Chopper you have done adeed this night for which you will have your reward in heaven. May theGod of mercy bless you! and, as soon as I dare, night and morning will Ipray for you. "

Mrs Chopper went into Joey's room with the candle in her hand, followedby Nancy. "See, how sound he sleeps!" said the old woman; "he is notguilty. Peter! Peter! come get up, child. "

Joey rose from his bed, confused at first with the light in his eyes, but soon recovered himself. 

"Peter, you must go, my poor boy, and go quickly, Nancy says. "

"I was sure of it, " replied Joey: "I am very, very sorry to leave you, Mrs Chopper. Pray think well of me, for, indeed, I have done nothingwrong. "

"I am sure of it; but Nancy knows it all, and away you must go. I wishyou were off; I'm getting fidgety about it, although I cannot bear tolose you; so good-bye at once, Peter, and God bless you! I hope weshall meet again yet. "

"I hope so, indeed, Mrs Chopper; for you have been very kind to me, askind as a mother could be. "

Mrs Chopper hugged him to her breast, and then said, in a hurried tone, as she dropped on the bed, --"There; go, go. "

Nancy took up Joey's bundle in one hand and Joey by the other, and theywent down stairs. As soon as they were in the street, Nancy turnedshort round, and went to the house where she usually slept, desiringJoey to wait a moment at the door. She soon returned with her ownbundle, and then, with a quick pace, walked on, desiring Joey to followher. They proceeded in this manner until they were clear of the town, when Joey came up to Nancy, and said, "Thank you, Nancy; I suppose we'dbetter part now?"

"No, we don't part yet, Peter, " replied Nancy. 

"But where are you going, and why have you that bundle?"

"I am going with you, Peter, " replied Nancy. 

"But, Nancy--, " replied Joey; and then, after a pause, "I will do all Ican for you--I will work for you--but I have no money, and I hope weshall not starve. "

"Bless you, boy! bless you for that kind feeling! but we shall notstarve; I have Mrs Chopper's leave to go with you; indeed, she wishedme so to do, and she has given me money for you--it is for you, althoughshe said for both. "

"She is very kind; but why should you go with me, Nancy? You havenothing to fear. "

"We must not talk now, Peter; let us walk on; I have more to fear thanyou. "

"How is that? I fear being taken up for that of which I am not guilty, but you have nothing to fear. "

"Peter, dear, " replied Nancy, solemnly, "I do not fear for anything theworld can do to me--but don't talk now; let us go on. "

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

IN WHICH THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE BRINGS OUR HERO'S NOSE TO A GRINDSTONE. 

When Nancy and our hero had proceeded about three miles on their way, Nancy slackened her pace, and they entered into conversation. 

"Which way are you going?" demanded Joey. 

"I'm cutting right across the country, Peter, or rather Joey, as I shallin future call you, for that is your real name--the marine told me itwas Joseph Rushbrook; is it not?"

"Yes, it is, " replied Joey. 

"Then in future I shall call you so, for I do not want to hear even aname which would remind me of the scene of my misery; and Joey, do younever call me Nancy again, the name is odious to me; call me Mary. "

"I will if you wish it; but I cannot imagine why you should run awayfrom Gravesend, Mary. What do you mean to do? I ran away from fear ofbeing taken up. "

"And I, Joey, do more; I fly from the wrath to come. You ask me what Iintend to do; I will answer you in the words of the catechism which Iused once to repeat, `to lead a new life, have a thankful remembrance ofChrist's death, and be in charity with all men. ' I shall seek forservice; I care not how humble--it will be good enough. I will siftcinders for brick-making, make bricks, do anything, as long as what I dois honest. "

"I am very glad to hear you say that, Mary, " replied Joey, "for I wasalways very fond of you. "

"Yes, Joey, and you were the first who offered to do a kind thing for mefor a long while; I have never forgotten it, and this night I have donesomething to repay it. "

Nancy then entered into a detail of all that had passed between her andFurness, of which Joey had been ignorant, and which proved to him what anarrow escape he had had. 

"I little thought you had done all this while I slept, " replied Joey;"but I am very grateful, Mary. "

"I know you are, so say no more about it. You see, Joey, he gave me allyour history, and appears to believe that you committed the murder. Ido not believe it; I do not believe you would do such a thing, althoughyour gun might have gone off by accident. "

"No, Mary, I did not do it, either on purpose or by accident; but youmust ask me no more questions, for if I were put on my trial, I shouldnot reveal the secret. "

"Then I will never speak to you any more about it, if I can help it. Ihave my own thoughts on the business, but now I drop it. It is nearlydaylight, and we have walked a good many miles; I shall not be sorry tosit down and rest myself. "

"Do you know how far we have to go before we come to any town, Mary?"

"We are not far from Maidstone; it is on our right, but it will be aswell not to go through so large a town so near to Gravesend. Besides, some of the soldiers may know me. As soon as we come to a good place, where we can find a drink of water, we will sit down and restourselves. "

About a mile further on they came to a small rivulet which crossed theroad. 

"This will do, Joey, " said Nancy; "now we'll sit down. "

It was then daylight; they took their seats on their bundles as soon asthey had drunk from the stream. 

"Now, Joey, " said Mary (as we shall call her for the future), let us seewhat money we have. Mrs Chopper put all she had in my hands; poor, good old woman, bless her! Count it. Joey; it is yours. 

"No, Mary; she gave it for both of us. "

"Never mind; do you keep it: for you see, Joey, it might happen that youmight have to run off at a moment's warning, and it would not do for youto be without money. "

"If I was to run off at a minute's warning, I should then take it allwith me, and it would not do for you to be left without any money, Mary;so we must halve it between us, although we will always make one purse. "

"Well, be it so; for if you were robbed, or I were robbed, on the way, the other might escape. "

They then divided the money, Joey putting his share into his pocket, andtying it in with a string. Mary dropped hers down into the usualdeposit of women for bank-notes and billets-doux. As soon as thismatter had been arranged, Mary opened her bundle, and took out ahandkerchief, which she put on her shoulders; combed out the ringletswhich she had worn, and dressed her hair flat on her temples; removedthe gay ribbons from her bonnet, and substituted some plain brown intheir stead. 

"There, " says she; "now, Joey, don't I look more respectable?"

"You do look more neat and more--"

"More modest, you would say, Joey. Well, and I hope in future to becomewhat I look. But I look more fit to be your sister, Joey, for I havebeen thinking we had better pass off as brother and sister to avoidquestioning. We must make out some story to agree in. Who shall we saythat we are (as we dare not say who we really are)? I am looking outfor service, and so are you, that's very clear; father and mother areboth dead; father was a baker. That's all true, as far as relates tome: and as you are my brother, why you must take my father and mother. It's no very great story, after all. "

"But it won't do to say we came from Gravesend. "

"No; we need not say that, and yet tell no story; the village we passedthrough last night was Wrotham, so we came from thence. "

"But where do you think of going, Mary?"

"A good way farther off yet; at all events, before we look out forservice, we will get into another county. Now, if you are ready, wewill go on Joey, and look out for some breakfast, and then I shall beable to change my gown for a quieter one. "

In half an hour they arrived at a village, and went into a public-house. Mary went up stairs and changed her dress; and now that she hadcompleted her arrangements, she looked a very pretty, modest youngwoman, and none could have supposed that the day before she had beenflaunting in the street of a seafaring town. Inquiries were made, asmight be supposed, and Mary replied that she was going to service, andthat her brother was escorting her. They had their breakfast, and, after resting two hours, they proceeded on their journey. 

For some days they travelled more deliberately, until they foundthemselves in the village of Manstone, in Dorsetshire, where they, asusual, put up at an humble public-house. Here Mary told a differentstory; she had been disappointed in a situation, and they intended to goback to their native town. 

The landlady of the hotel was prepossessed in favour of such a verypretty girl as Mary, as well as with the appearance of Joey, who, although in his sailor's dress, was very superior in carriage andmanners to a boy in his supposed station in life, and she said that ifthey would remain there a few days she would try to procure them somesituation. The third day after their arrival, she informed Mary thatshe had heard of a situation as under-housemaid at the squire's, about amile off, if she would like to take it, and Mary gladly consented. MrsDerborough sent up word, and received orders for Mary to make herappearance, and Mary accordingly went up to the hall, accompanied byJoey. When she arrived there, and made known her business, she wasdesired to wait in the servants' hall until she was sent for. In abouta quarter of a hour she was summoned, and, leaving Joey in the hall, shewent up to see the lady of the house, who inquired whether she had everbeen out at service before, and if she had a good character. 

Mary replied that she had never been out at service, and that she had nocharacter at all (which, by the bye, was very true). 

The lady of the house smiled at this apparently _naive_ answer from sovery modest-looking and pretty a girl, and asked who her parents were. 

To this question Mary's answer was ready, and she further added that shehad left home in search of a place, and had been disappointed; that herfather and mother were dead, but her brother was down below, and hadescorted her; and that Mrs Chopper was an old friend of her mother's, and could answer to her character. 

The lady was prepossessed by Mary's appearance, by the report of MrsDerborough, and by the respectability of her brother travelling withher, and agreed to try her; but at the same time said she must have MrsChopper's address, that she might write to her; but, the place beingvacant, she might come to-morrow morning: her wages were named, andimmediately accepted; and thus did Mary obtain her situation. 

People say you cannot be too particular when you choose servants; and, to a certain degree, this is true; but this extreme caution, howeverselfishness and prudence may dictate it, is but too often the cause ofservants who have committed an error, and have in consequence beenrefused a character, being driven to destitution and misery, when theyhad a full intention, and would have, had they been permitted, redeemedtheir transgression. 

Mary was resolved to be a good and honest girl. Had the lady of thehouse been very particular, and had others to whom she might afterwardshave applied been the same, all her good intentions might have beenfrustrated, and she might have been driven to despair, if not to herformer evil courses. It is perhaps fortunate that everybody in theworld is not so particular as your very good people, and that there isan occasional loophole by which those who have erred are permitted toreturn to virtue. Mary left the room delighted with her success, andwent down to Joey in the servants' hall. The servants soon found outfrom Mary that she was coming to the house, and one of the men chuckedher under the chin, and told her she was a very pretty girl. Mary drewback, and Joey immediately resented the liberty, stating that he wouldnot allow any man to insult his sister, for Joey was wise enough to seethat he could not do a better thing to serve Mary. The servant wasinsolent in return, and threatened to chastise Joey, and ordered him toleave the house. The women took our hero's part. The housekeeper camedown at the time, and hearing the cause of the dispute, was angry withthe footman; the butler took the side of the footman; and the end of itwas that the voices were at the highest pitch when the bell rang, andthe men being obliged to answer it, the women were for the time left inpossession of the field. 

"What is that noise below?" inquired the master of the house. 

"It is a boy, sir--the brother, I believe of the girl who has come asunder-housemaid, who has been making a disturbance. "

"Desire him to leave the house instantly. "

"Yes, sir, " replied the butler, who went down to enforce the order. 

Little did the master of the house imagine that in giving that order hewas turning out of the house his own son; for the squire was no otherthan Mr Austin. Little did the inconsolable Mrs Austin fancy that herdear, lamented boy was at that moment under the same roof with her, andbeen driven out of it by her menials; but such was the case. So Joeyand Mary quitted the hall, and bent their way back to the village inn. 

"Well, Mary, " said Joey, "I am very glad that you have found asituation. "

"And so I am very thankful, indeed, Joey, " replied she; "and only hopethat you will be able to get one somewhere about here also, and then wemay occasionally see something of one another. "

"No, Mary, " replied Joey, "I shall not look for a situation about here;the only reason I had for wishing it was that I might see you; but thatwill be impossible now. "

"Why so?"

"Do you think that I will ever put my foot into that house again, afterthe manner I was treated to-day? Never. "

"I was afraid so, " replied Mary, mournfully. 

"No, Mary, I am happy that you are provided for; for I can seek my ownfortune, and I will write to you, and let you know what I do; and youwill write to me, Mary, won't you?"

"It will be the greatest pleasure that will be left to me, Joey; for Ilove you as dearly as it you were my own brother. "

The next day our hero and Mary parted, with many tears on her side, andmuch sorrow on his. Joey refused to take more of the money than what hehad in his possession, but promised; in case of need, to apply to Mary, who said that she would hoard up everything for him; and she kept herword. Joey, having escorted Mary to the hall lodge, remained at the inntill the next morning, and then set off once more on his travels. 

Our hero started at break of day, and had walked, by a western road, from Manstone, about six miles, when he met two men coming towards him. They were most miserably clad--neither of them had shoes or stockings;one had only a waistcoat and a pair of trousers, with a sack on hisback; the other had a pair of blue trousers torn to ribbons, a Guernseyfrock, and a tarpaulin hat. They appeared what they representedthemselves to be, when they demanded charity, two wrecked seamen, whowere travelling to a northern port to obtain employment; but had thesefellows been questioned by a sailor, he would soon have discovered, bytheir total ignorance of anything nautical, that they were impostors. Perhaps there is no plan more successful than this, which is now carriedon to an enormous extent by a set of rogues and depredators, whooccasionally request charity, but too often extort it, and add to theirspoils by robbing and plundering everything in their way. It isimpossible for people in this country to ascertain the truth of theassertions of these vagabonds, and it appears unfeeling to refuseassistance to a poor seaman who has lost his all: even the cottageroffers his mite, and thus do they levy upon the public to an extentwhich is scarcely credible; but it should be known that, in all cases ofshipwreck, sailors are now invariably relieved and decently clothed, andsupplied with the means of travelling to obtain employment; and whenevera man appeals for charity in a half-naked state, he is invariably animpostor or a worthless scoundrel. 

The two men were talking loud and laughing when they approached ourhero. As soon as they came near, they looked hard at him, and stoppedright before him, so as to block up the footpath. 

"Hilloah, my little sailor! where are you bound to?" said one to Joey, who had his common sailor's dress on. 

"And, I say, what have you got in that bundle?" said the other; "and howare you off for brads?--haven't you something to spare forbrother-seamen? Come, feel in your pockets; or shall I feel for you?"

Joey did not much like this exordium; he replied, stepping into the roadat the same time, "I've no money, and the bundle contains my clothes. "

"Come, come, " said the first, "you're not going to get off that way. Ifyou don't wish your brains beaten out, you'll just hand over that bundlefor me to examine;" and so saying, the man stepped into the road towardsJoey, who continued to retreat to the opposite side. 

There was no footpath at the side of the road to which Joey retreated, but a very thick quick-set hedge, much too strong for any man to forcehis way through. Joey perceived this; and as the man came at him toseize his bundle, he contrived, by a great effort, to swing it over thehedge into the field on the other side. The man, exasperated at thismeasure on the part of our hero, ran to seize him; but Joey dodged underhim, and ran away down the road for a few yards, where he picked up aheavy stone for his defence, and there remained, prepared to defendhimself, and not lose his bundle if he could help it. 

"You get hold of him, Bill, while I go round for the bundle, " said theman who had followed across the road, and he immediately set off to findthe gate, or some entrance into the field, while the other man madeafter Joey. Our hero retreated at full speed; the man followed, butcould not keep pace with our hero, as the road was newly-gravelled, andhe had no shoes. Joey, perceiving this, slackened his pace, and whenthe man was close to him, turned short round, and aiming the stone withgreat precision, hit him on the forehead, and the fellow fell downsenseless. In the meantime the other miscreant had taken the road inthe opposite direction to look for the gate; and Joey, now rid of hisassailant, perceived that in the hedge, opposite to the part of the roadwhere he now stood, there was a gap which he could get through. Hescrambled into the field, and ran for his bundle. The other man, whohad been delayed, the gate being locked, and fenced with thorns, had butjust gained the field when Joey had his bundle in his possession. Ourhero caught it up, and ran like lightning to the gap, tossed over hisbundle, and followed it, while the man was still a hundred yards fromhim. Once more in the high road, Joey took to his heels, and having runabout two hundred yards, he looked back to ascertain if he was pursued, and perceived the man standing over his comrade, who was lying where hehad fallen. Satisfied that he was now safe, Joey pursued his journey ata less rapid rate, although he continued to look back every minute, justby way of precaution; but the fellows, although they would not lose anopportunity of what appeared such an easy robbery, had their own reasonsfor continuing their journey, and getting away from that part of thecountry. 

Our hero pursued his way for two miles, looking out for some water bythe wayside to quench his thirst, when he observed in the distance thatthere was something lying on the roadside. As he came nearer, he madeit out to be a man prostrate on the grass, apparently asleep, and a fewyards from where the man lay was a knife-grinder's wheel, and a fewother articles in the use of a travelling tinker; a fire, nearlyextinct, was throwing up a tiny column of smoke, and a saucepan, whichappeared to have been upset, was lying beside it. There was somethingin the scene before him which created a suspicion in the mind of ourhero that all was not right; so, instead of passing on, he walked rightup to where the man lay, and soon discovered that his face and dresswere bloody. Joey knelt down by the side of him, and found that he wassenseless, but breathing heavily. Joey untied the handkerchief whichwas round his neck, and which was apparently very tight, and almostimmediately afterwards the man appeared relieved and opened his eyes. After a little time he contrived to utter one word, "Water!" and Joey, taking up the empty saucepan, proceeded in search of it. He soon foundsome, and brought it back. The tinker had greatly recovered during hisabsence, and as soon as he had drunk the water, sat upright. 

"Don't leave me, boy, " said the tinker; "I feel very faint. "

"I will stay by you as long as I can be of any use to you, " repliedJoey; "what has happened?"

"Robbed and almost murdered!" replied the man, with a groan. 

"Was it by those two rascals without shoes and stockings who attemptedto rob me?" inquired Joey. 

"Yes, the same, I've no doubt. I must lie down for a time, my head isso bad, " replied the man, dropping back upon the grass. 

In a few minutes the exhausted man fell asleep, and Joey remainedsitting by his side for nearly two hours. At last, his new companionawoke, raised himself up, and, dipping his handkerchief into thesaucepan of water, washed the blood from his head and face. 

"This might have been worse, my little fellow, " said he to Joey, afterhe had wiped his face; "one of those rascals nearly throttled me, hepulled my handkerchief so tight. Well, this is a wicked world, this, totake away a fellow-creature's life for thirteenpence-halfpenny, for thatwas all the money they found in my pocket. I thought an itineranttinker was safe from highway robbery, at all events. Did you not saythat they attacked you, or did I dream it?"

"I did say so; it was no dream. "

"And how did a little midge like you escape?"

Joey gave the tinker a detail of what had occurred. 

"Cleverly done, boy, and kindly done now to come to my help, and toremain by me. I was going down the road, and as you have come down, Ipresume we are going the same way, " replied the tinker. 

"Do you feel strong enough to walk now?"

"Yes, I think I can; but there's the grindstone. "

"Oh, I'll wheel that for you. "

"Do, that's a good boy, for I tremble very much, and it would be tooheavy for me now. "

Joey fixed his bundle with the saucepan, etcetera, upon theknife-grinder's wheel, and rolled it along the road, followed by thetinker, until they came to a small hamlet, about two miles from the spotfrom which they had started; they halted when they were fifty yards fromthe first cottage, and the tinker, having selected a dry place under thehedge, said, "I must stop here a little while?"

Joey, who had heard the tinker say that the men had robbed him ofthirteenpence-halfpenny, imagined that he was destitute, and as hewished to proceed on his way, he took out two shillings, and held themout to the man, saying, "This will keep you till you can earn some more. Good-bye now; I must go on. "

The tinker looked at Joey. "You're a kind-hearted lad, at all events, and a clever, bold one, if I mistake not, " said he; "put up your money, nevertheless, for I do not want any. I have plenty, if they had onlyknown where to look for it. "

Joey was examining his new companion during the time that he wasspeaking to him. There was a free and independent bearing about theman, and a refinement of manner and speech very different from whatmight be expected from one in so humble a situation. The tinkerperceived this scrutiny, and, after meeting our hero's glance, said, "Well, what are you thinking of now?"

"I was thinking that you have not always been a tinker. "

"And I fancy that you have not always been a sailor, my young master;but, however, oblige me by going into the village and getting somebreakfast for us. I will pay you the money when you return, and then wecan talk a little. "

Joey went into the village, and finding a small chandler's shop, boughtsome bread and cheese, and a large mug which held a quart of beer, bothof which he also purchased, and then went back to the tinker. As soonas they had made their breakfast, Joey rose up and said--"I must go onnow; I hope you'll find yourself better to-morrow. "

"Are you in a very great hurry, my lad?" inquired the tinker. "I wantto find some employment, " replied Joey; "and, therefore, I must look forit. "

"Tell me what employment you want. What can you do?"

"I don't exactly know; I have been keeping accounts for a person. "

"Then you are a scholar, and not a seafaring person?"

"I am not a sailor, if you mean that; but I have been on the river. "

"Well, if you wish to get employment, as I know this country well and agreat many people, I think I may help you. At all events, a few dayscan make no difference; for you see, my boy, to-morrow I shall be ableto work, and then, I'll answer for it, I'll find meat and drink for bothof us, so, what do you say? Suppose you stay with me, and we'll traveltogether for a few days, and when I have found work that will suit you, then we can part?"

"I will if you wish it, " replied Joey. 

"Then that's agreed, " said the tinker; "I should like to do you a goodturn before we part, and I hope I shall be able; at all events, if youstay with me a little while, I will teach you a trade which will serveyou when all others fail. "

"What, to mend kettles and to grind knives?"

"Exactly; and, depend upon it, if you would be sure of gaining yourlivelihood, you will choose a profession which will not depend upon thecaprice of others, or upon patronage. Kettles, my boy, will wear out, knives will get blunt, and, therefore, for a good trade, give me`kettles to mend, knives to grind. ' I've tried many trades, and thereis none that suits me so well. And now that we've had our breakfast, wemay just as well look out for lodgings for the night, for I suppose youwould not like the heavens for your canopy, which I very often prefer. Now, put yourself to the wheel, and I'll try my old quarters. "

The knife-grinder walked into the village, followed by Joey, who rolledthe wheel, until they stopped at a cottage, where he was immediatelyrecognised and welcomed. Joey was ordered to put the wheel under ashed, and then followed the tinker into the cottage. The latter toldhis story, which created a good deal of surprise and indignation, andthen complained of his head and retired to lie down, while Joey amusedhimself with the children. They ate and slept there that night, thepeople refusing to take anything for their reception. The next day thetinker was quite recovered, and having mended a kettle and ground threeor four knives for his hostess, he set off again, followed by Joey, whorolled the wheel. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

ON THE SCIENCE OF TINKERING AND THE ART OF WRITING DESPATCHES. 

They had proceeded about two miles when the tinker said--"Come, my lad, let us sit down now, and rest ourselves a bit, for it is past noon, andyou must be tired with shoving that wheel along. I would have taken itfrom you before this, but the fact is, I'm rather stiff yet about thehead and shoulders; I feel it more than I thought I should. Here's anice spot; I like to sit down under a tree, not too well covered withleaves, like this ash; I like to see the sunshine playing here and thereupon the green grass, shifting its spots as the leaves are rustled bythe wind. Now, let us lie down here, and not care a fig for the world. I am a philosopher; do you know that?"

"I don't exactly know what it means; a very clever, good man--is itnot?"

"Well, not exactly; a man may be a philosopher without being very good, or without being very clever. A philosopher is a man who never fretsabout anything, cares about nothing, is contented with a little, anddoesn't envy any one who appears better off than himself, at least thatis my school of philosophy. You stare, boy, to hear a tinker talk inthis way--I perceive that; but you must know that I am a tinker bychoice; and I have tried many other professions before, all of whichhave disgusted me. "

"What other professions have you been?"

"I have been--let me see--I almost forget; but I'll begin at thebeginning. My father was a gentleman, and until I was fourteen yearsold I was a gentleman, or the son of one; then he died, and thatprofession was over, for he left nothing; my mother married again, andleft me; she left me at school, and the master kept me there for a year, in hopes of being paid; but, hearing nothing of my mother, and notknowing what to do with me, he at last (for he was a kind man) installedme as under usher of the school; for, you see, my education had beengood, and I was well qualified for the situation, as far as capabilitywent: it was rather a bathos, though, to sink from a gentleman's son toan under usher; but I was not a philosopher at that time. I handed thetoast to the master and mistress, the head ushers and parlour boarders, but was not allowed any myself; I taught Latin and Greek, and EnglishGrammar, to the little boys, who made faces at me, and put crooked pinson the bottom of my chair; I walked at the head of the string when theywent out for an airing, and walked upstairs the last when it was time togo to bed. I had all the drudgery, and none of the comforts I was upfirst, and held answerable for all deficiencies; I had to examine alltheir nasty little trowsers, and hold weekly conversation with thebotcher, as to the possibility of repairs; to run out if a hen cackled, that the boys should not get the egg; to wipe the noses of my mistress'schildren, and carry them if they roared; to pay for all broken glass, ifI could not discover the culprit to account for all bad smells, for allnoise, and for all ink spilled; to make all the pens, and to keep onehundred boys silent and attentive at church; for all which, withdeductions, I received 40 pounds a year, and found my own washing. Istayed two years, during which time I contrived to save about 6 pounds;and with that, one fine morning, I set off on my travels, fullysatisfied that, come what would, I could not change for the worse. "

"Then you were about in the position that I'm in now, " said Joey, laughing. 

"Yes, thereabouts; only a little older, I should imagine. I set offwith good hopes, but soon found that nobody wanted educated people--theywere a complete drug. At last I obtained a situation as waiter, at aposting-house on the road, where I ran along all day long to thetinkling of bells, with hot brandy-and-water ever under my nose; Ianswered all the bells, but the head-waiter took all the money. However, I made acquaintances there; and at last obtained a situation asclerk to a corn-chandler, where I kept the books; but he failed, andthen I was handed over to the miller, and covered with flour for thewhole time I was in his service. I stayed there till I had an offerfrom a coal-merchant (that was going from white to black); but, however, it was a better place. Then, by mere chance, I obtained the situationof clerk on board of a fourteen-gun brig, and cruised in the Channel forsix months; but, as I found that there was no chance of being a purser, and as I hated the confinement and discipline of a man-of-war, I cut andrun as soon as I obtained my pay. Then I was shopman at a draper's, which was abominable, for if the customers would not buy the goods, Igot all the blame; besides, I had to clean my master's boots and mymistress's shoes, and dine in the kitchen on scraps, with a slipshod, squinting girl, who made love to me. Then I was a warehouseman; butthey soon tacked on to it the office of light porter, and I had to carryweights enough to break my back. At last I obtained a situation asforeman in a tinman and cutler's shop, and by being constantly sent intothe workshop I learnt something of the trade; I had made up my mind notto remain much longer, and I paid attention, receiving now and then alesson from the workmen, till I found that I could do very well; for, you see, it's a very simple sort of business, after all. "

"But still a travelling tinker is not so respectable as being in any ofthe situations you were in before, " replied Joey. 

"There I must beg your pardon, my good lad; I had often serious thoughtsupon the subject, and I argued as follows:--What is the best professionin this world of ours?--That of a gentleman; for a gentleman does notwork, he has liberty to go where he pleases, he is not controlled, andis his own master. Many a man considers himself a gentleman who has notthe indispensables that must complete the profession. A clerk in theTreasury, or public offices, considers himself a gentleman; and so he isby birth, but not by profession; for he is not his own master, but is asmuch tied down to his desk as the clerk in a banker's counting-house, orin a shop. A gentleman by profession must be his own master, andindependent; and how few there are in this world who can say so!Soldiers and sailors are obliged to obey orders, and therefore I do notput them down as perfect gentlemen, according to my ideas of what agentleman should be. I doubt whether the prime minister can beconsidered a gentleman until after he is turned out of office. Do youunderstand me, boy?"

"O yes, I understand what you mean by a gentleman; I recollect reading astory of a negro who came to this country, and who said that the pig wasthe only gentleman in the country, for he was the only living being whodid not work. "

"The negro was not far wrong, " resumed the tinker. "Well, afterthinking a long while, I came to the decision that, as I could not be aperfect gentleman, I would be the nearest thing to it that was possible;and I considered that the most enviable situation was that of atravelling tinker. I learned enough of the trade, saved money topurchase a knife-grinder's wheel, and here I have been in this capacityfor nearly ten years. "

"And do you hold to the opinion that you formed?"

"I do; for, look you, work I must; therefore, the only question was, totake up the work that was lightest, and paid best. I know no tradewhere you can gain so much with so little capital and so little labour. Then, I am not controlled by any living being; I have my liberty andindependence: I go where I please, stop where I please, work when Iplease, and idle when I please; and never know what it is to want anight's lodging. Show me any other profession which can say the same!I might be better clothed--I might be considered more respectable; but Iam a philosopher, and despise all that; I earn as much as I want, and dovery little work for it. I can grind knives and scissors and mendkettles enough in one day to provide for a whole week; for instance, Ican grind a knife in two minutes, for which I receive twopence. Now, allowing that I work twelve hours in the day, at the rate of one pennyper minute, I should earn 3 pounds per day, which, deducting Sundays, is939 pounds a year. Put that against 40 pounds a year, as a drudge to aschool, or confined to a desk, in a shop, or any other profession, andyou see how lucrative mine is in proportion. Then I am under nocontrol; not ordered here or there, like a general or admiral; notattacked in the House of Commons or Lords, like a prime minister; on thecontrary, half a day's work out of the seven is all I require; and Itherefore assert, that my profession is nearer to that of a gentlemanthan any other that I know of. "

"It may be as you style it, but you don't look much like one, " repliedJoey, laughing. 

"That's prejudice; my clothes keep me as warm as if they were of thebest materials, and quite new. I enjoy my victuals quite as much as awell-dressed gentleman does--perhaps more; I can indulge in my ownthoughts; I have leisure to read all my favourite authors, and canafford to purchase new books. Besides, as I must work a little, it ispleasant to feel that I am always in request, and respected by those whoemploy me. "

"Respected! on what account?"

"Because I am always wanted, and therefore always welcome. It is thelittle things of this life which annoy, not the great and a kettle thatwon't hold water, or a knife that won't cut, are always objects ofexecration; and as people heap their anathemas upon the kettle and theknife, so do they long for my return; and when I come, they are glad tosee me, glad to pay me, and glad to find that their knives are sharp, and their kettles, thrown on one side, are useful again, at a triflingcharge. I add to people's comforts; I become necessary to every poorperson in the cottages; and therefore, they like me and respect me. And, indeed, if it is only considered how many oaths and execrations areused when a person is hacking and sawing away with a knife which willnot cut, and how by my wheel I do away with the cause of crime, I thinkthat a travelling tinker may be considered, as to his moral influenceupon society, more important than any parson in his pulpit. You observethat I have not rendered the profession degrading by marriage, as manydo. "

"How do you mean?"

"I hold that, whatever may be the means of a gentleman, he must beconsidered to lose the most precious advantages appertaining to hisprofession when he marries; for he loses his liberty, and can no longerbe said to be under no control. It is very well for other professionsto marry, as the world must be peopled; but a gentleman never should. It is true, he may contrive to leave his clog at home, but then he paysdear for a useless and galling appendage but, in my situation as atravelling tinker, I could not have done so; I must have dragged my clogafter me through the mud and mire, and have had a very differentreception than what I have at present. "

"Why so?"

"Why, a man may stroll about the country by himself--find lodging andentertainment for himself; but not so, if he had a wife in rags, and twoor three dirty children at his heels. A single man, in every stage ofsociety, if he pays his own way, more easily finds admission than amarried one--that is, because the women regulate it and, although theywill receive him as a tinker, they invariably object to his wife, who isconsidered and stigmatised as the tinker's trull. No, that would notdo--a wife would detract from my respectability, and add very much to mycares. "

"But have you no home, then, anywhere?"

"Why, yes, I have, like all single men on the _pave_, as the Frenchsay--just a sort of `chambers' to keep my property in, which willaccumulate in spite of me. "

"Where are they?"

"In Dudstone, to which place I am now going. I have a room for sixpounds a year; and the woman in the house takes charge of everythingduring my absence. And now, my boy, what is your name?"

"Joey Atherton, " replied our hero, who had made up his mind to take thesurname of his adopted sister, Nancy. 

"Well, Joey, do you agree with me that my profession is a good one, andare you willing to learn it? If so, I will teach you. "

"I shall be very glad to learn it, because it may one day be useful; butI am not sure that I should like to follow it. "

"You will probably change your opinion; at all events, give it a fairtrial. In a month or so you will have the theory of it by heart, andthen we will come to the practice. "

"How do you mean?"

"It's of no use your attempting anything till you're well grounded inthe theory of the art, which you will gain by using your eyes. All youhave to do at first is to look on; watch me when I grind a knife or apair of scissors; be attentive when you see me soldering a pot, orputting a patch upon a kettle; see how I turn my hand when I'm grinding, how I beat out the iron when I mend; and learn how to heat the toolswhen I solder. In a month you will know how things are to be done intheory, and after that we shall come to the practice. One only thing, in the way of practice, must you enter upon at once, and that is turningthe wheel with your foot; for you must learn to do it so mechanically, that you are not aware that you are doing it, otherwise you cannotdevote your whole attention to the scissors or knife in your hand. "

"And do you really like your present life, then, wandering about fromplace to place?"

"To be sure I do. I am my own master; go where I like; stop where Ilike; pay no taxes or rates. I still retain all the gentleman exceptthe dress, which I can resume when I please. Besides, mine is aphilanthropic profession; I go about doing good, and I've the means ofresenting an affront like a despot. "

"As how?"

"Why, you see, we travellers never interfere in each other's beats; mineis a circuit of many miles of country, and at the rate I travel it issomewhat about three months until I am at the same place again; theymust wait for me if they want their jobs done, for they cannot get anyone else. In one village they played me a trick one Saturday night, when all the men were at the ale-house, and the consequence was, I cutthe village for a year; and there never was such a village full of oldkettles and blunt knives in consequence. However, they sent me adeputation, hoping I would forget what had passed, and I pardoned them. "

"What is your name?" inquired Joey. 

"Augustus Spikeman. My father was Augustus Spikeman, Esquire; I wasMaster Augustus Spikeman, and now I'm Spikeman, the tinker; so now we'llgo on again. I have nearly come to the end of my beat; in two days weshall be at Dudstone where I have my room, and where we shall probablyremain for some days before we start again. "

In the afternoon they arrived at a small hamlet, where they supped andslept. Spikeman was very busy till noon grinding and repairing; theythen continued their journey, and on the second day, having waitedoutside the town till it was dusk Spikeman left his wheel in the chargeof the landlord of a small ale-house, to whom he appeared well known, then walked with Joey to the house in which he had a room, and led himupstairs to his apartments. 

When our hero entered the chamber of Spikeman, he was very muchsurprised to find it was spacious, light, and airy, and very clean. Alarge bed was in one corner; a sofa, mahogany table, chest of drawers, and chairs, composed the furniture; there was a good-sized looking-glassover the chimney-piece, and several shelves of books round the room. Desiring Joey to sit down and take a book, Spikeman rang for water, shaved off his beard, which had grown nearly half an inch long, washedhimself, and then put on clean linen, and a very neat suit of clothes. When he was completely dressed, Joey could hardly believe that it wasthe same person. Upon Joey expressing his astonishment, Spikemanreplied, "You see, my lad, there is no one in this town who knows whatmy real profession is. I always go out and return at dusk, and thetravelling tinker is not recognised; not that I care for it so much, only other people do, and I respect their prejudices. They know that Iam in the ironmongery line, and that is all; so I always make it a ruleto enjoy myself after my circuit, and live like a gentleman till part ofmy money is gone, and then I set out again. I am acquainted with a goodmany highly respectable people in this town, and that is the reason whyI said I could be of service to you. Have you any better clothes?"

"Yes; much better. "

"Then dress yourself in them, and keep those you wear for our travels. "

Joey did as he was requested, and Spikeman then proposed that theyshould make a call at a friend's, where he would introduce our hero ashis nephew. They set off, and soon came to the front of a neat-lookinghouse, at the door of which Spikeman rapped. The door was opened by oneof the daughters of the house, who, on seeing him, cried out, "Dear me, Mr Spikeman, is this you? Why, where have you been all this while?"

"About the country for orders, Miss Amelia, " replied Spikeman; "businessmust be attended to. "

"Well, come in; mother will be glad to see you, " replied the girl, atthe same time opening the door of the sitting-room for them to enter. 

"Mr Spikeman as I live!" exclaimed another girl, jumping up, andseizing his hand. 

"Well, Mr Spikeman, it's an age since we have seen you, " said themother, "so now sit down and tell us all the news; and Ophelia, my love, get tea ready; and who is it you have with you, Mr Spikeman?"

"My little nephew, madam; he is about to enter into the mysteries of thecutlery trade. "

"Indeed! well, I suppose, as you are looking out for a successor, yousoon intend to retire from business and take a wife, Mr Spikeman?"

"Why, I suppose it will be my fate one of these days, " replied Spikeman;"but that's an affair that requires some consideration. "

"Very true, Mr Spikeman, it is a serious affair, " replied the old lady;"and I can assure you that neither my Ophelia nor Amelia should marry aman, with my consent, without I was convinced the gentleman consideredit a very serious affair. It makes or mars a man, as the saying is. "

"Well, Miss Ophelia, have you read all the books I lent you the lasttime I was here?"

"Yes, that they have, both of them, " replied the old lady; "they are sofond of poetry. "

"But we've often wished that you were here to read to us, " replied MissAmelia, "you do read so beautifully; will you read to us after tea?"

"Certainly, with much pleasure. "

Miss Ophelia now entered with the tea-tray; she and her sister then wentinto the kitchen to make some toast, and to see to the kettle boiling, while Mr Spikeman continued in conversation with the mother. MrsJames was the widow of a draper in the town, who had, at his death lefther sufficient to live quietly and respectably with her daughters, whowere both very good, amiable girls; and it must be acknowledged, neitherof them unwilling to listen to the addresses of Mr Spikeman had he beenso inclined; but they began to think that Mr Spikeman was not amarrying man, which, as the reader must know by this time, was the fact. 

The evening passed very pleasantly. Mr Spikeman took a volume ofpoetry, and, as Miss Ophelia had said, he did read very beautifully: somuch so, that Joey was in admiration, for he had never yet known thepower produced by good reading. At ten o'clock they took their leave, and returned to Spikeman's domicile. 

As soon as they were upstairs, and candles lighted, Spikeman sat down onthe sofa. "You see, Joey, " said he, "that it is necessary not tomention the knife-grinder's wheel, as it would make a difference in myreception. All gentlemen do not gain their livelihood as honestly as Ido; but, still prejudices are not to be overcome. You did me a kindact, and I wished to return it; I could not do so without letting youinto this little secret, but I have seen enough of you to think you canbe trusted. "

"I should hope so, " replied Joey: "I have learnt caution, young as Iam. "

"That I have perceived already, and therefore I have said enough on thesubject. I have but one bed, and you must sleep with me, as you did onour travels. "

The next morning the old woman of the house brought up their breakfast. Spikeman lived in a very comfortable way, very different to what he didas a travelling tinker; and he really appeared to Joey to be, with theexception of his conversation, which was always superior, a verydifferent person from what he was when Joey first fell in with him. Formany days they remained at Dudstone, visiting the different houses, andwere always well received. 

"You appear so well known, and so well liked in this town, " observedJoey, "I wonder you do not set up a business, particularly as you sayyou have money in the bank. "

"If I did, Joey, I should no longer be happy, no longer be my ownmaster, and do as I please; in fact, I should no longer be thegentleman, that is, the gentleman by profession, as near as I can beone--the man who has his liberty, and enjoys it. No, no, boy; I havetried almost everything, and have come to my own conclusions. Have youbeen reading the book I gave you?"

"Yes; I have nearly finished it?"

"I am glad to see that you like reading. Nothing so much improves orenlarges the mind. You must never let a day pass without reading two orthree hours, and when we travel again, and are alone by the way-side, wewill read together: I will choose some books on purpose. "

"I should like very much to write to my sister Mary, " said Joey. 

"Do so, and tell her that you have employment; but do not say exactlyhow. There are pens and paper in the drawer. Stop, I will find themfor you. " Spikeman went to the drawer, and when taking out the pens andpaper, laid hold of some manuscript writing. "By the bye, " said helaughing, "I told you, Joey, that I had been a captain's clerk on boardthe _Weasel_, a fourteen-gun brig; I wrote the captain's despatches forhim; and here are two of them of which I kept copies, that I might laughover them occasionally. I wrote all his letters; for he was no greatpenman in the first place, and had a very great confusion of ideas inthe second. He certainly was indebted to me, as you will acknowledge, when you hear what I read and tell you. I served under him, cruising inthe Channel; and I flatter myself that it was entirely through mywritings that he got his promotion. He is now Captain Alcibiades AjaxBoggs, and all through me. We were cruising off the coast of France, close in to Ushant, where we perceived a fleet of small vessels, calledchasse-marees (coasting luggers), laden with wine, coming round; and aswe did not know of any batteries thereabouts, we ran in to attempt acapture. We cut off three of them, but just as we had compelled them, by firing broadsides into them, to lower their sails, a battery, whichour commander did not know anything of, opened fire upon us, and beforewe could get out of range, which we did as soon as we could, one shotcame in on deck, and cut the top-sail halyard's fall, at the very timethat the men were hoisting the sail (for we had been shaking anotherreef out), and the rope being divided, as the men were hauling upon it, of course they all tumbled on the deck, one over another. The othershot struck our foremast, and chipped off a large slice, besides cuttingaway one of the shrouds, and the signal halyards. Now, you do not knowenough about ships to understand that there was very little harm done, or that the coasting vessels were very small, with only three or fourmen on board of each of them; it therefore required some littlemanagement to make a flaming despatch. But I did it--only listen, now--I have begun in the true Nelson style:--

 "`TO THE SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY. 

 "`Sir, --It has pleased the Great Disposer to grant a decided victory to his Majesty's arms, through the efforts of the vessel which I have the honour to command. On the 23rd day of August last, Ushant then bearing South West three quarters West, wind West, distant from three to four leagues, perceived an enemy's fleet, of three-masted vessels, rounding the point, with the hopes, I presume, of gaining the port of Cherbourg. Convinced that I should have every support from the gallant officers and true British tars under my command, I immediately bore down to the attack; the movements of the enemy fully proved that they were astounded at the boldness of the manoeuvre, and instead of keeping their line, they soon separated, and sheered off in different directions, so as to receive the support of their batteries. '

"You see, Joey, I have said three-masted vessels, which implies ships, although as in this case, they were only small coasting luggers. 

 "`In half an hour we were sufficiently close to the main body to open our fire, and broadside after broadside were poured in, answered by the batteries on the coast, with unerring aim. Notwithstanding the unequal contest, I have the pleasure of informing you, that in less than half an hour we succeeded in capturing three of the vessels (named as per margin), and finding nothing more could be done for the honour of his Majesty's arms, as soon we could take possession, I considered it my duty to haul off from the incessant and galling fire of the batteries. 

 "`In this well-fought and successful contest, I trust that the British flag has not been tarnished. What the enemy's loss may have been it is impossible to say; they acknowledge themselves, however, that it has been severe. '"

"But did the enemy lose any men?" demanded Joey. 

"Not one; but you observe I do not say loss of life, although theAdmiralty may think I refer to it--that's not my fault. But I wasperfectly correct in saying the enemy's loss was great; for the poordevils who were in the chasse-marees, when they were brought on board, wrung their hands, and said, that they had _lost their all_. Now, whatloss can be greater than _all_?

 "`His Majesty's vessel is much injured in her spars and rigging from the precision of the enemy's fire; her lower rigging--running rigging being cut away, her foremast severely wounded, and, I regret to add, severely injured in the hull; but such was the activity of the officers and men, that with the exception of the foremast, which will require the services of the dockyard, in twenty-four hours we were ready to resume the contest. I am happy to say, that although we have many men hurt, we have none killed; and I trust that, under the care of the surgeon they will, most of them, be soon able to resume their duty. '"

"But you had no men wounded?" interrupted Joey. 

"None wounded! I don't say wounded, I only say hurt. Didn't a dozen ofthe men, who were hoisting the main-topsail when the fall was cut away, all tumble backwards on the deck? And do you think they were not hurtby the fall?--of course they were; besides, one man nearly had hisfinger jammed off, and another burnt his hand by putting too much powderto the touch-hole of his carronade. So I continue:--

 "`It now becomes my duty to point out to their Lordships the very meritorious conduct of Mr John Smith, an old and deserving officer, Mr James Hammond, Mr Cross, and Mr Byfleet; indeed, I may say that all the officers under my command vied in their exertions for the honour of the British flag. '

"You see the commander had quarrelled with some of his officers at thattime, and would not mention them. I tried all I could to persuade him, but he was obstinate. 

 "`I have the honour to return a list of casualties, and the names of the vessels taken, and have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, ALCIBIADES AJAX BOGGS. 

 "`Report of killed and wounded on board of his Majesty's brig _Weasel_, in the action of the 23rd of August:--Killed, none; wounds and contusions, John Potts, William Smith, Thomas Snaggs, William Walker, and Peter Potter, able seamen; John Hobbs, Timothy Stout, and Walter Pye, marines. 

 "`Return of vessels captured in the action of the 23rd of August, by his Majesty's brig _Weasel_:--Notre Dame de Misericorde, de Rochelle; La Vengeur, de Bourdeaux; L'Etoile du Matin, de Charent. 

 "`Signed ALCIBIADES AJAX BOGGS, Commander. '"

"Well, I'm sure, if you had not told me otherwise, I should have thoughtit had been a very hard fight. "

"That's what they did at the Admiralty, and just what we wanted; but nowI come to my other despatch, which obtained the rank for my captain; andupon which I plume myself not a little. You must know, that whencruising in the Channel, in a thick fog, and not keeping a very sharplook-out, we ran foul of a French privateer. It was about nine o'clockin the evening, and we had very few hands on deck, and those on deckwere most of them, if not all, asleep. We came bang against oneanother, and carried away both spars and yards; and the privateer, whowas by far the most alert after the accident happened, cut away a gooddeal of our rigging, and got clear of us before our men could be got upfrom below. Had they been on the look out, they might have boarded usto a certainty, for all was confusion and amazement; but they clearedthemselves and got off before our men could get up and run to theirguns. She was out of sight immediately, from the thickness of the fog;however, we fired several broadsides in the direction we supposed shemight be; and there was an end to the matter. Altogether, as youperceive, it was not a very creditable affair. "

"Why, no, " replied Joey; "I don't see how you could make much out ofthat. "

"Well, if you can't see, now you shall hear:--

 "`TO THE SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY. 

 "`Sir, --I have the honour to acquaint you that, on the night of the 10th of November, cruising in the Channel, with the wind from South East, and foggy, a large vessel hove in sight, on our weather bow. '

"You see, I didn't say we perceived a vessel, for that would not havebeen correct. 

 "`As she evidently did not perceive us, we continued our course towards her; the men were summoned to their quarters, and, in a very short time, were ready to uphold the honour of the English flag. The first collision between the two vessels was dreadful; but she contrived to disengage herself, and we were therefore prevented carrying her by boarding. After repeated broadsides, to which, in her disabled and confused state, she could make no return, she gradually increased her distance; still, she had remained in our hands, a proud trophy--I say, still she had been a proud trophy--had not the unequal collision'--[it was a very unequal collision, for she was a much smaller vessel than we were]--`carried away our foreyard, cat-head, fore-top-gallant mast, jibboom, and dolphin-striker, and rendered us, from the state of our rigging, a mere wreck. Favoured by the thick fog and darkness of the night, I regret that, after all our efforts, she contrived to escape, and the spoils of victory were wrested from us after all our strenuous exertions in our country's cause. 

 "`When all performed their duty in so exemplary a manner, it would be unfair, and, indeed, invidious, to particularise, still, I cannot refrain from mentioning the good conduct of Mr Smith, my first lieutenant; Mr Bowles, my second lieutenant; Mr Chabb, my worthy master; Mr Jones and Mr James, master's mates; Messrs. Hall, Small, Ball, and Pall, midshipmen; and Messrs. Sweet and Sharp, volunteers. I also received every assistance from Mr Grulf, the purser, who offered his services, and I cannot omit the conduct of Mr Spikeman, clerk. I am also highly indebted to the attention and care shown by Mr Thorn, surgeon, who is so well supported in his duties by Mr Green, assistant-surgeon, of this ship. The activity of Mr Bruce, the boatswain, was deserving of the highest encomiums; and it would be an act of injustice not to notice the zeal of Mr Bile, the carpenter, and Mr Sponge, gunner of the ship. James Anderson, quarter-master, received a severe contusion, but is now doing well; I trust I shall not be considered presumptuous in recommending him to a boatswain's warrant. 

 "`I am happy to say that our casualties, owing to the extreme panic of the enemy, are very few. I have the honour to be, Sir, your very obedient and humble servant, ALCIBIADES AJAX BOGGS. 

 "`Wounded--Very severely, James Anderson, quarter-master. Contusions--John Peters, able seaman; James Morrison, marine; Thomas Snowball, captain's cook. '

"There, now; that I consider a very capital letter; no Frenchman, noteven an American, could have made out a better case. The Admiralty weresatisfied that something very gallant had been done, although the fogmade it appear not quite so clear as it might have been; and theconsequence was, that my commander received his promotion. There, now, write your letter, and tell your sister that she must answer it as soonas possible, as you are going out with me for orders in three or fourdays, and shall be absent for three months. "

Joey wrote a long letter to Mary; he stated the adventure with the twoscoundrels who would have robbed him, his afterwards falling in with agentleman who dealt in cutlery, and his being taken into his service;and, as Spikeman had told him, requested her to answer directly, as hewas about to set off on a circuit with his master, which would occasionhis absence for three months. 

Mary's reply came before Joey's departure. She stated that she wascomfortable and happy, that her mistress was very kind to her, but thatshe felt that the work was rather too much; however, she would do herduty to her employers. There was much good advice to Joey, muchaffectionate feeling, occasional recurrence to past scenes, andthankfulness that she was no longer a disgrace to her parents and hersex; it was a humble, grateful, contrite, and affectionate effusion, which did honour to poor Mary, and proved that she was sincere in herassertions of continuing in the right path, and dotingly attached to ourhero. Joey read it over and over again, and shed tears of pleasure ashe recalled the scenes which had passed. Poor Joey had lost his fatherand mother, as he supposed, for ever; and it was soothing to the boy'sfeelings to know that there were some people in the world who loved him;and he remained for hours thinking of Mary, Mrs Chopper, and his goodand kind friends, the McShanes. 

Two days after the receipt of Mary's letter, Spikeman and Joey went tothe houses of their various acquaintances, and bade them adieu, announcing their intention to set off on the circuit. Spikeman paid upeverything, and put away many articles in his room which had been takenout for use. Joey and he then put on their travelling garments, and, waiting till it was dusk, locked the chambers and set off to the littlepublic-house, where the knife-grinder's wheel had been deposited. Spikeman had taken the precaution to smudge and dirty his face, andJoey, at his request, had done the same. When they entered thepublic-house, the landlord greeted Spikeman warmly, and asked him whathe had been about. Spikeman replied that, as usual, he had been to seehis old mother, and now he must roll his grindstone a bit. Afterdrinking a pot of beer at the kitchen fire, they retired to bed; and thenext morning, at daylight, they once more proceeded on their travels. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

IN WHICH THE TINKER FALLS IN LOVE WITH A LADY OF HIGH DEGREE. 

For many months Spikeman and our hero travelled together, during whichtime Joey had learnt to grind a knife or a pair of scissors as well asSpikeman himself, and took most of the work off his hands; they suitedeach other, and passed their time most pleasantly, indulging themselvesevery day with a few hours' repose and reading on the wayside. 

One afternoon, when it was very sultry, they had stopped and ensconcedthemselves in a shady copse by the side of the road, not far from an oldmansion, which stood on an eminence, when Spikeman said, "Joey, I thinkwe are intruding here; and, if so, may be forcibly expelled, which willnot be pleasant; so roll the wheel in, out of sight, and then we mayindulge in a siesta, which, during this heat, will be very agreeable. "

"What's a siesta?" said Joey. 

"A siesta is a nap in the middle of the day, universally resorted to bythe Spaniards, Italians, and, indeed, by all the inhabitants of hotclimates; with respectable people it is called a siesta, but with atravelling tinker it must be, I suppose, called a snooze. "

"Well, then, a snooze let it be, " said Joey, taking his seat on the turfby Spikeman, in a reclining position. 

They had not yet composed themselves to sleep, when they heard a femalevoice singing at a little distance. The voice evidently proceeded fromthe pleasure-grounds which were between them and the mansion. 

"Hush!" said Spikeman, putting up his finger, as he raised himself onhis elbow. 

The party evidently advanced nearer to them, and carolled in verybeautiful tones, the song of Ariel:--

 "Where the bee sucks, there lurk I, In the cowslip's bell I lie, " etcetera. 

"Heigho!" exclaimed a soft voice, after the song had been finished; "Iwish I could creep into a cowslip-bell. Miss Araminta, you are notcoming down the walk yet; it appears you are in no hurry, so I'll beginmy new book. "

After this soliloquy there was silence. Spikeman made a sign to Joey toremain still, and then, creeping on his hands and knees, by degreesarrived as far as he could venture to the other side of the copse. 

In a minute or two another footstep was heard coming down thegravel-walk, and soon afterwards another voice. 

"Well, Melissa, did you think I never would come? I could not help it. Uncle would have me rub his foot a little. "

"Ay, there's the rub, " replied the first young lady. "Well, it was asacrifice of friendship at the altar of humanity. Poor papa! I wish Icould rub his foot for him; but I always do it to a quadrille tune, andhe always says I rub it too hard. I only follow the music. "

"Yes, and so does he; for you sometimes set him a dancing, you giddygirl. "

"I am not fit for a nurse, and that's the fact, Araminta. I can feelfor him, but I cannot sit still a minute; that you know. Poor mamma wasa great loss; and, when she died, I don't know what I should have done, if it hadn't been for my dear cousin Araminta. "

"Nay, you are very useful in your way, for you play and sing to him, andthat soothes him. "

"Yes, I do it with pleasure, for I can do but little else; but, Araminta, my singing is that of the caged bird. I must sing where theyhang my cage. Oh, how I wish I had been a man!"

"I believe that there never was a woman yet who has not, at one time ofher life, said the same thing, however mild and quiet she may have beenin disposition. But, as we cannot, why--"

"Why, the next thing is to wish to be a man's wife, Araminta--is itnot?"

"It is natural, I suppose, to wish so, " replied Araminta; "but I seldomthink about it. I must first see the man I can love before I thinkabout marrying. "

"And now tell me, Araminta, what kind of a man do you think you couldfancy?"

"I should like him to be steady, generous, brave, and handsome; ofunexceptionable family, with plenty of money; that's all. "

"Oh, that's all! I admire your `that's all. ' You are not very likelyto meet with your match, I'm afraid. If he's steady, he is not verylikely to be very generous; and if to those two qualifications you tackon birth, wealth, beauty, and bravery, I think your `that's all' is verymisplaced. Now, I have other ideas. "

"Pray let me have them, Melissa. "

"I do not want my husband to be very handsome; but I wish him to be fullof fire and energy--a man that--in fact, a man that could keep me intolerable order. I do not care about his having money, as I have plentyin my own possession to bestow on any man I love; but he must be of goodeducation--very fond of reading--romantic, not a little; and hisextraction must be, however poor, respectable, --that is, his parentsmust not have been tradespeople. You know I prefer riding a spiritedhorse to a quiet one; and, if I were to marry, I should like a husbandwho would give me some trouble to manage. I think I would master him. "

"So have many thought before you, Melissa; but they have been mistaken. "

"Yes, because they have attempted it by meekness and submission, thinking to disarm by that method. It never will do, any more thangetting into a passion. When a man gives up his liberty, he does make agreat sacrifice--that I'm sure of; and a woman should prevent himfeeling that he is chained to her. "

"And how would you manage that?" said Araminta. 

"By being infinite in my variety, always cheerful, and instead ofpermitting him to stay at home, pinned to my apron-string, order him outaway from me, join his amusements, and always have people in the housethat he liked, so as to avoid being too much _tete-a-tete_. The cagedbird ever wants to escape; open the doors, and let him take a flight, and he will come back of his own accord. Of course, I am supposing mygentleman to be naturally good-hearted and good-tempered. Sooner thanmarry what you call a steady, sober man, I'd run away with a captain ofa privateer. And, one thing more, Araminta, I never would, passionately, distractedly fond as I might be, acknowledge to my husbandthe extent of my devotion and affection for him. I would always havehim to suppose that I could still love him better than what I yet did--in short, that there was more to be gained; for, depend upon it, when aman is assured that he has nothing more to gain, his attentions areover. You can't expect a man to chase nothing, you know. "

"You are a wild girl, Melissa. I only hope you will marry well. "

"I hope I shall; but I can tell you this, that if I do make a mistake, at all events my husband will find that he has made a mistake also. There's a little lurking devil in me, which, if roused up by badtreatment, would, I expect, make me more than a match for him. I'malmost sorry that I've so much money of my own, for I suspect every manwho says anything pretty to me; and there are but few in this world whowould scorn to marry for money. "

"I believe so, Melissa; but your person would be quite sufficientwithout fortune. "

"Thanks, coz; for a woman that's very handsome of you. And so now wewill begin our new book. "

Miss Melissa now commenced reading; and Spikeman, who had not yet seenthe faces of the two young ladies, crept softly nearer to the side ofthe copse, so as to enable him to satisfy his curiosity. In thisposition he remained nearly an hour; when the book was closed, and theyoung ladies returned to the house, Melissa again singing as she went. 

"Joey, " said Spikeman, "I did not think that there was such a woman inexistence as that girl; she is just the idea that I have formed of whata woman ought to be; I must find out who she is; I am in love with her, and--"

"Mean to make her a tinker's bride, " replied Joey, laughing. 

"Joey, I shall certainly knock you down, if you apply that term to her. Come let us go to the village, --it is close at hand. "

As soon as they arrived at the village, Spikeman went into the alehouse. During the remainder of the day he was in a brown study, and Joeyamused himself with a book. At nine o'clock the company had all quittedthe tap-room, and then Spikeman entered into conversation with thehostess. In the course of conversation, she informed him that themansion belonged to Squire Mathews, who had formerly been a greatmanufacturer, and who had purchased the place; that the old gentlemanhad long suffered from the gout, and saw no company, which was very badfor the village; that Miss Melissa was his daughter, and he had a son, who was with his regiment in India, and, it was said, not on very goodterms with his father; that the old gentleman was violent and cholericbecause he was always in pain; but that every one spoke well of MissMelissa and Miss Araminta, her cousin, who were both very kind to thepoor people. Having obtained these particulars, Spikeman went to bed:he slept little that night, as Joey, who was his bedfellow, could vouchfor; for he allowed Joey no sleep either, turning and twisting round inthe bed every two minutes. The next morning they arose early, andproceeded on their way. 

"Joey, " said Spikeman, after an hour's silence, "I was thinking a greatdeal last night. "

"So I suppose, for you certainly were not sleeping. "

"No, I could not sleep; the fact is, Joey, I am determined to have thatgirl, Miss Mathews, if I can; a bold attempt for a tinker, you will say, but not for a gentleman born as I was. I thought I never should carefor a woman; but there is a current in the affairs of men. I shall nowdrift with the current, and if it leads to fortune, so much the better;if not, he who dares greatly does greatly. I feel convinced that Ishould make her a good husband, and it shall not be my fault if I do notgain her. "

"Do you mean to propose in form with your foot on your wheel?"

"No, saucebox, I don't; but I mean to turn my knife-grinder's wheel intoa wheel of fortune; and with your help I will do so. "

"You are sure of my help if you are serious, " replied Joey; "but how youare to manage I cannot comprehend. "

"I have already made out a programme, although the interweaving of theplot is not yet decided upon; but I must get to the next town as fast asI can, as I must make preparations. "

On arrival, they took up humble quarters, as usual; and then Spikemanwent to a stationer's, and told them that he had got a commission toexecute for a lady. He bought sealing-wax, a glass seal, with"Esperance" as a motto, gilt-edged notepaper, and several otherrequisites in the stationery line, and ordered them to be packed upcarefully, that he might not soil them; he then purchased scented soap, a hair-brush, and other articles for the toilet; and having obtained allthese requisites, he added to them one or two pair of common beavergloves, and then went to the barber's to get his hair cut. 

"I am all ready now, Joey, " said he, when he returned to the alehouse;"and to-morrow we retrace our steps. "

"What! back to the village?"

"Yes; and where we shall remain some time, perhaps. "

On reaching the village next morning, Spikeman hired a bedroom, and, leaving Joey to work the grindstone, remained in his apartments. WhenJoey returned in the evening, he found Spikeman had been very busy withthe soap, and had restored his hands to something like their propercolour; he had also shaved himself, and washed his hair clean andbrushed it well. 

"You see, Joey, I have commenced operations already; I shall soon beprepared to act the part of the gentleman who has turned tinker to gainthe love of a fair lady of high degree. "

"I wish you success: but what are your plans?"

"That you will find out to-morrow morning; now we must go to bed. "

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

PLOTTING, READING AND WRITING. 

Spikeman was up early the next morning. When they had breakfasted, hedesired Joey to go for the knife-grinder's wheel, and follow him. Assoon as they were clear of the village, Spikeman said, "It will not doto remain at the village; there's a cottage half a mile down the roadwhere they once gave me a lodging; we must try if we can get it now. "

When they arrived at the cottage, Spikeman made a very satisfactorybargain for board and lodging for a few days, stating that they chargedso much at the village alehouse that he could not afford to stay there, and that he expected to have a good job at Squire Mathews's, up at themansion-house. As soon as this arrangement was completed, they returnedback to the copse near to the mansion-house, Joey rolling theknife-grinder's wheel. 

"You see, Joey, " said Spikeman, "the first thing necessary will be tostimulate curiosity; we may have to wait a day or two before theopportunity may occur; but, if necessary, I will wait a month. ThatMiss Mathews will very often be found on the seat by the copse, eitheralone or with her cousin, I take to be certain, as all ladies have theirfavourite retreats. I do not intend that they should see me yet; I mustmake an impression first. Now, leave the wheel on the outside, and comewith me: do not speak. "

As soon as they were in the copse, Spikeman reconnoitred very carefully, to ascertain if either of the young ladies were on the bench, andfinding no one there, he returned to Joey. 

"They cannot come without our hearing their footsteps, " said Spikeman;"so now we must wait here patiently. "

Spikeman threw himself down on the turf in front of the copse, and Joeyfollowed his example. 

"Come, Joey, we may as well read a little to pass away the time; I havebrought two volumes of Byron with me. "

For half an hour they were thus occupied, when they heard the voice ofMiss Mathews singing as before as she came down the walk. Spikeman roseand peeped through the foliage. "She is alone, " said he, "which is justwhat I wished. Now, Joey, I am going to read to you aloud. " Spikemanthen began to read in the masterly style which we have before referredto:--

 "`I loved, and was beloved again; They tell me, Sir, you never knew Those gentle frailties; if 'tis true I shorten all my joys and pain, To you 'twould seem absurd as vain; But all now are not born to reign, Or o'er their passions, or as you There, o'er themselves and nations too, I am, or rather was, a Prince, A chief of thousands, and could lead Them on when each would foremost bleed, But would not o'er myself The like control. But to resume: I loved, and was beloved again; In sooth it is a happy doom-- But yet where happiness ends in pain. '

"I am afraid that is but too true, my dear boy, " said Spikeman, layingdown the book; "Shakespeare has most truly said, `The course of truelove never did run smooth. ' Nay, he cannot be said to be original inthat idea, for Horace and most of the Greek and Latin poets have saidmuch the same thing before him; however, let us go on again--

 "`We met in secret, and the hour Which led me to my lady's bower Was fiery expectation's dower; The days and nights were nothing--all Except the hour which doth recall, In the long lapse from youth to age, No other like itself. '

"Do you observe the extreme beauty of that passage?" said Spikeman. 

"Yes, " said Joey, "it is very beautiful. "

"You would more feel the power of it, my dear boy, if you were in love, but your time is not yet come; but I am afraid we must leave off now, for I expect letters of consequence by the post, and it is useless, Ifear, waiting here. Come, put the book by, and let us take up the wheelof my sad fortunes. "

Spikeman and Joey rose on their feet. Joey went to the knife-grinder'swheel, and Spikeman followed him without looking back; he heard arustling, nevertheless, among the bushes, which announced to him thathis manoeuvres had succeeded; and, as soon as he was about fifty yardsfrom the road, he took the wheel from Joey, desiring him to look back, as if accidentally. Joey did so, and saw Miss Mathews following themwith her eyes. 

"That will do, " observed Spikeman; "her curiosity is excited, and thatis all I wish. "

What Spikeman said was correct. Araminta joined Miss Mathews shortlyafter Spikeman and Joey had gone away. 

"My dear Araminta, " said Melissa, "such an adventure I can hardly creditmy senses. "

"Why, what is the matter, dear cousin?"

"Do you see that man and boy, with a knife-grinder's wheel, just insight now?"

"Yes, to be sure I do; but what of them? Have they been insolent?"

"Insolent! they never saw me; they had no idea that I was here. I heardvoices as I came down the walk, so I moved softly, and when I gained theseat, there was somebody reading poetry so beautifully; I never heardany one read with such correct emphasis and clear pronunciation. Andthen he stopped, and talked to the boy about the Greek and Latin poets, and quoted Shakespeare. There must be some mystery. "

"Well, but if there is, what has that to do with the travellingtinkers?"

"What! why it was the travelling tinker himself; dearest; but he cannotbe a tinker; for I heard him say that he expected letters ofconsequence, and no travelling tinker could do that. "

"Why, no; I doubt if most of them can read at all. "

"Now, I would give my little finger to know who that person is. "

"Did you see his face?"

"No; he never turned this way; the boy did when they were some distanceoff. It's very strange. "

"What was he reading?"

"I don't know; it was very beautiful. I wonder if he will ever comethis way again? If he does--"

"Well, Melissa, and if he does?"

"My scissors want grinding very badly; they won't cut a bit. "

"Why, Melissa, you don't mean to fall in love with a tinker?" saidAraminta, laughing. 

"He is no tinker, I'm sure; but why is he disguised? I should like toknow. "

"Well, but I came out to tell you that your father wants you. Comealong. "

The two young ladies then returned to the house, but the mystery of themorning was broached more than once, and canvassed in every possibleway. 

Spikeman, as soon as he had returned to the cottage, took out hiswriting materials to concoct an epistle. After some time in correcting, he made out a fair copy, which he read to Joey. 

 "`I tremble lest at the first moment you cast your eyes over the page, you throw it away without deigning to peruse it; and yet there is nothing in it which could raise a blush on the cheek of a modest maiden. If it be a crime to have seen you by chance, to have watched you by stealth, to consider hallowed every spot you visit--nay, more, if it be a crime to worship at the shrine of beauty and of innocence, or, to speak more boldly, to adore you--then am I guilty. You will ask, why I resort to a clandestine step. Simply, because, when I discovered your name and birth, I felt assured that an ancient feud between the two families, to which nor you nor I were parties, would bar an introduction to your father's house. You would ask me who I am. A gentleman, I trust, by birth and education; a poor one, I grant; and you have made me poorer, for you have robbed me of more than wealth--my peace of mind and my happiness. I feel that I am presumptuous and bold; but forgive me. Your eyes tell me you are too kind, too good, to give unnecessary pain; and if you knew how much I have already suffered, you would not oppress further a man who was happy until he saw you. Pardon me, therefore, my boldness, and excuse the means I have taken of placing this communication before you. '

"That will do, I think, " said Spikeman; "and now, Joey, we will go outand take a walk, and I will give you your directions. "

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. 

IN WHICH THE PLOT THICKENS. 

The next day our hero, having received the letter with his instructions, went with the wheel down to the copse near to the mansion-house. Herehe remained quietly until he heard Miss Melissa coming down thegravel-walk; he waited till she had time to gain her seat, and then, leaving his wheel outside, he walked round the copse until he came toher. She raised her eyes from her book when she saw him. 

"If you please, miss, have you any scissors or knives for me to grind?"said Joey, bowing with his hat in his hand. 

Miss Mathews looked earnestly at Joey. 

"Who are you?" said she at last; "are you the boy who was on this roadwith a knife-grinder and his wheel yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes, madam, we came this way, " replied Joey, bowing again verypolitely. 

"Is he your father?"

"No, madam, he is my uncle; he is not married. "

"Your uncle. Well, I have a pair of scissors to grind, and I will gofor them: you may bring your wheel in here, as I wish to see how yougrind. "

"Certainly, miss, with the greatest pleasure. "

Joey brought in his wheel, and observing that Miss Mathews had left herbook on the seat, he opened it at the marked page and slipped the letterin; and scarcely had done so, when he perceived Miss Mathews and hercousin coming towards him. 

"Here are the scissors; mind you make them cut well. "

"I will do my best, miss, " replied Joey, who immediately set to work. 

"Have you been long at this trade?" said Miss Mathews. 

"No, miss, not very long. "

"And your uncle, has he been long at it?"

Joey hesitated on purpose. "Why, I really don't know exactly how long. "

"Why is your uncle not with you?"

"He was obliged to go to town, miss--that is, to a town at some distancefrom here on business. "

"Why, what business can a tinker have?" inquired Araminta. 

"I suppose he wanted some soft solder, miss; he requires a great deal. "

"Can you read and write, boy?" inquired Melissa. 

"Me, miss! how should I know how to write and read?" replied Joey, looking up. 

"Have you been much about here?"

"Yes, miss, a good deal; uncle seems to like this part; we never were solong before. The scissors are done now, miss, and they will cut verywell. Uncle was in hopes of getting some work at the mansion-house whenhe came back. "

"Can your uncle write and read?"

"I believe he can a little, miss. "

"What do I owe you for the scissors?"

"Nothing, miss, if you please; I had rather not take anything from you. "

"And why not from me?"

"Because I never worked for so pretty a lady before. Wish you goodmorning, ladies, " said Joey, taking up his wheel and rolling it away. 

"Well, Araminta, what do you think now? That's no knife-grinder's boy;he is as well-bred and polite as any lad I ever saw. "

"I suspect that he is a little story-teller, saying that he could notwrite and read, " Araminta replied. "And so do I; what made him in sucha hurry to go away?"

"I suppose he did not like our questions. I wonder whether the unclewill come. Well, Melissa, I must not quit your father just now, so Imust leave you with your book, " and, so saying, Araminta took her way tothe house. 

Miss Mathews was in a reverie for some minutes; Joey's behaviour hadpuzzled her almost as much as what she had overheard the day before. Atlast she opened the book, and, to her great astonishment, beheld theletter. She started--looked at it--it was addressed to her. Shedemurred at first whether she should open it. It must have been putthere by the tinker's boy--it was evidently no tinker's letter; it mustbe a love-letter, and she ought not to read it. There was something, however, so very charming in the whole romance of the affair, if itshould turn out, as she suspected, that the tinker should prove agentleman who had fallen in love with her, and had assumed the disguise. Melissa wanted an excuse to herself for opening the letter. At lastshe said to herself, "Who knows but what it may be a petition from somepoor person or other who is in distress? I ought to read it, at allevents. "

Had it proved to be a petition, Miss Melissa would have been terriblydisappointed. "It certainly is very respectful, " thought Melissa, aftershe had read it, "but I cannot reply to it; that would never do. Therecertainly is nothing I can take offence at. It must be the tinkerhimself, I am sure of that: but still he does not say so. Well, I don'tknow, but I feel very anxious as to what this will come to. O, it cancome to nothing, for I cannot love a man I have never seen, and I wouldnot admit a stranger to an interview; that's quite decided. I must showthe letter to Araminta. Shall I? I don't know, she's so particular, sosteady, and would be talking of propriety and prudence; it would vex herso, and put her quite in a fever, she would be so unhappy; no, it wouldbe cruel to say anything to her, she would fret so about it; I won'ttell her, until I think it absolutely necessary. It is a verygentleman-like hand, and elegant language too; but still I'm not goingto carry on a secret correspondence with a tinker. It must be thetinker. What an odd thing altogether! What can his name be? An oldfamily quarrel, too. Why, it's a Romeo and Juliet affair, only Romeo'sa tinker. Well, one mask is as good as another. He acknowledgeshimself poor, I like that of him, there's something so honest in it. Well, after all, it will be a little amusement to a poor girl like me, shut up from year's end to year's end, with opodeldocs always in mynose; so I will see what the end of it may be, " thought Melissa, risingfrom her seat to go into the house, and putting the letter into herpocket. 

Joey went back to Spikeman and reported progress. 

"That's all I wish, Joey, " said Spikeman; "now you must not go thereto-morrow; we must let it work a little; if she is at all interested inthe letter, she will be impatient to know more. "

Spikeman was right. Melissa looked up and down the road very oftenduring the next day, and was rather silent during the evening. Thesecond day after, Joey, having received his instructions, set off, withhis knife-grinder's wheel, for the mansion-house. When he went roundthe copse where the bench was, he found Miss Mathews there. 

"I beg your pardon, miss, but do you think there is any work at thehouse?"

"Come here, sir, " said Melissa, assuming a very dignified air. 

"Yes, miss, " said Joey, walking slowly to her. 

"Now, tell me the truth, and I will reward you with half-a-crown. "

"Yes, miss. "

"Did you not put this letter in my book the day before yesterday?"

"Letter, miss! what letter?"

"Don't you deny it, for you know you did; and if you don't tell me thetruth, my father is a magistrate, and I'll have you punished. "

"I was told not to tell, " replied Joey, pretending to be frightened. "But you must tell; yes, and tell me immediately. "

"I hope you are not angry, miss. "

"No, not if you tell the truth. "

"I don't exactly know, miss, but a gentleman--"

"What gentleman?"

"A gentleman that came to uncle, miss. "

"A gentleman that came to your uncle; well, go on. "

"I suppose he wrote the letter, but I'm not sure; and uncle gave me theletter to put it where you might see it. "

"Oh, then, a gentleman, you say, gave your uncle this letter, and youruncle gave it to you to bring to me. Is that it?"

"Uncle gave me the letter, but I dare say uncle will tell you all aboutit, and who the gentleman was. "

"Is your uncle come back?"

"He comes back to-night, madam. "

"You're sure your uncle did not write the letter?"

"La, miss! uncle write such a letter as that--and to a lady like you--that would be odd. "

"Very odd, indeed!" replied Miss Melissa, who remained a minute or twoin thought. "Well, my lad, " said she at last, "I must and will know whohas had the boldness to write this letter to me; and as your uncleknows, you will bring him here to-morrow, that I may inquire about it;and let him take care that he tells the truth. "

"Yes, miss; I will tell him as soon as he comes home. I hope you arenot angry with me, miss; I did not think there was any harm in puttinginto the book such a nice clean letter as that. "

"No, I am not angry with you; your uncle is more to blame; I shallexpect him to-morrow about this time. You may go now. "

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. 

IN WHICH THE TINKER MAKES LOVE. 

Joey made his obeisance, and departed as if he was frightened, MissMelissa watched him: at last she thought, "Tinker or no tinker? that isthe question. No tinker, for a cool hundred, as my father would say;for, no tinker's boy, no tinker; and that is no tinker's boy. Howclever of him to say that the letter was given him by a gentleman! NowI can send to him to interrogate him, and have an interview without anyoffence to my feelings; and if he is disguised, as I feel confident thathe is, I shall soon discover it. "

Miss Melissa Mathews did not sleep that night; and at the time appointedshe was sitting on the bench, with all the assumed dignity of anewly-made magistrate. Spikeman and Joey were not long before they madetheir appearance. Spikeman was particularly clean and neat, although hetook care to wear the outward appearance of a tinker; his hands were, bycontinual washing in hot water, very white, and he had paid everyattention to his person, except in wearing his rough and sulliedclothes. 

"My boy tells me, miss, that you wish to speak to me, " said Spikeman, assuming the air of a vulgar man. 

"I did, friend, " said Melissa, after looking at Spikeman for a fewminutes; "a letter has been brought here clandestinely, and your boyconfesses that he received it from you; now, I wish to know how you cameby it. "

"Boy, go away to a distance, " said Spikeman, very angrily; "if you can'tkeep one secret, at all events you shall not hear any more. "

Joey retreated, as had been arranged between them. 

"Well, madam, or miss (I suppose miss), " said Spikeman, "that letter waswritten by a gentleman that loves the very ground you tread upon. "

"And he requested it to be delivered to me?"

"He did, miss; and if you knew, as I do, how he loves you, you would notbe surprised at his taking so bold a step. "

"I am surprised at your taking so bold a step, tinker, as to send it byyour boy. "

"It was a long while before I would venture, miss; but when he had toldme what he did, I really could not help doing so; for I pitied him, andso would you, if you knew all. "

"And pray what did he tell you?"

"He told me, miss, " said Spikeman, who had gradually assumed his ownmanner of speaking, "that he had ever rejected the thoughts ofmatrimony--that he rose up every morning thanking Heaven that he wasfree and independent--that he had scorned the idea of ever beingcaptivated with the charms of a woman; but that one day he had by chancepassed down this road, and had heard you singing as you were coming downto repose on this bench. Captivated by your voice, curiosity inducedhim to conceal himself in the copse behind us, and from thence he had aview of your person: nay, miss he told me more, that he had played theeaves-dropper, and heard all your conversation, free and unconstrainedas it was from the supposition that you were alone; he heard you expressyour sentiments and opinions, and finding that there was on this earthwhat, in his scepticism, he thought never to exist--youth, beauty, talent, principle, and family, all united in one person--he had bowed atthe shrine, and had become a silent and unseen worshipper. "

Spikeman stopped speaking. 

"Then it appears that this gentleman, as you style him, has been guiltyof the ungentlemanly practice of listening to private conversation--novery great recommendation. "

"Such was not his intention at first; he was seduced to it by you. Donot blame him for that--now that I have seen you, I cannot; but, miss, he told me more. He said that he felt that he was unworthy of you, andhad not a competence to offer you, even if he could obtain your favour;that he discovered that there was a cause which prevented his gaining anintroduction to your family; in fact, that he was hopeless anddespairing. He had hovered near you for a long time, for he could notleave the air you breathed; and, at last, that he had resolved to sethis life upon the die and stake the hazard. Could I refuse him, miss?He is of an old family, but not wealthy; he is a gentleman by birth andeducation, and therefore I did not think I was doing so very wrong ingiving him the chance, trifling as it might be. I beg your pardon, madam, if I have offended; and any message you may have to deliver tohim, harsh as it may be--nay, even if it should be his death--it shallbe faithfully and truly delivered. "

"When shall you see him, Master Tinker?" said Melissa, very gravely. 

"In a week he will be here, he said, not before. "

"Considering he is so much in love, he takes his time, " replied Melissa. "Well, Master Tinker, you may tell him from me, that I've no answer togive him. It is quite ridiculous, as well as highly improper, that Ishould receive a letter or answer one from a person whom I never saw. Iadmit his letter to be respectful, or I should have sent a much harshermessage. "

"Your commands shall be obeyed, miss; that is, if you cannot bepersuaded to see him for one minute. "

"Most certainly not; I see no gentleman who is not received at myfather's house, and properly presented to me. It may be the customamong people in your station of life, Master Tinker, but not in mine;and as for yourself, I recommend you not to attempt to bring anotherletter. "

"I must request your pardon for my fault, miss; may I ask, after I haveseen the poor young gentleman, am I to report to you what takes place?"

"Yes, if it is to assure me that I shall be no more troubled with hisaddresses. "

"You shall be obeyed, miss, " continued Spikeman; then, changing his toneand air, he said, "I beg your pardon, have you any knives or scissors togrind?"

"No, " replied Melissa, jumping up from her seat, and walking towards thehouse to conceal her mirth. Shortly afterwards she turned round to lookif Spikeman was gone; he had remained near the seat, with his eyesfollowing her footsteps. "I could love that man, " thought Melissa, asshe walked on. "What an eye he has, and what eloquence; I shall runaway with a tinker I do believe; but it is my destiny. Why does he saya week--a whole week? But how easy to see through his disguise! He hadthe stamp of a gentleman upon him. Dear me, I wonder how this is toend! I must not tell Araminta yet; she would be fidgeted out of herwits! How foolish of me! I quite forgot to ask the name of this_gentleman_. I'll not forget it next time. "

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. 

WELL DONE TINKER. 

"It is beyond my hopes, Joey, " said Spikeman, as they went back to thecottage; "she knows well enough that I was pleading for myself, and notfor another, and she has said quite as much as my most sanguine wishescould desire; in fact, she has given me permission to come again, andreport the result of her message to the non-existent gentleman, which isequal to an assignation. I have no doubt now I shall ultimatelysucceed, and I must make my preparations; I told her that I should notbe able to deliver her message for a week, and she did not like thedelay, that was clear; it will all work in my favour; a week'sexpectation will ripen the fruit more than daily meetings. I must leavethis to-night; but you may as well stay here, for you can be of no useto me. "

"Where are you going, then?"

"First to Dudstone, to take my money out of the bank; I have a good sum, sufficient to carry me on for many months after her marriage, if I domarry her. I shall change my dress at Dudstone, of course, and thenstart for London, by mail, and fit myself out with a most fashionablewardrobe and etceteras, come down again to Cobhurst, the town we were inthe other day, with my portmanteau, and from thence return here in mytinker's clothes to resume operations. You must not go near her duringmy absence. "

"Certainly not; shall I go out at all?"

"No, not with the wheel; you might meet her on the road, and she wouldbe putting questions to you. "

That evening Spikeman set off; and was absent for five days, when heagain made his appearance early in the morning. Joey had remainedalmost altogether indoors, and had taken that opportunity of writing toMary. He wrote on the day after Spikeman's departure, as it would giveample time for an answer before his return; but Joey received no replyto his letter. 

"I am all prepared now, my boy, " said Spikeman, whose appearance wasconsiderably improved by the various little personal arrangements whichhe had gone through during the time he was in London. "I have my moneyin my pockets, my portmanteau at Cobhurst, and now it depends upon therapidity of my success when the day is to come that I make theknife-grinder's wheel over to you. I will go down now, but without youthis time. "

Spikeman set off with his wheel, and soon arrived at the usual place ofmeeting; Miss Mathews, from the window, had perceived him coming downthe road; she waited a quarter of an hour before she made herappearance; had not she had her eyes on the hands of the time-piece, andknew that it was only a quarter of an hour, she could have sworn that ithad been two hours at least. Poor girl! she had, during this week, runover every circumstance connected with the meeting at least a thousandtimes; every word that had been exchanged had been engraven on hermemory, and, without her knowledge almost, her heart had imperceptiblyreceived the impression. She walked down, reading her book veryattentively, until she arrived at the bench. 

"Any knives or scissors to grind, ma'am?" asked Spikeman, respectfullycoming forward. 

"You here again, Master Tinker! Why, I had quite forgot all about you. "

(Heaven preserve us! how innocent girls will sometimes tell fibs out ofmodesty. )

"It were well for others, Miss Mathews, if their memory were equallytreacherous, " rejoined Spikeman. 

"And why so, pray?"

"I speak of the gentleman to whom you sent the message. "

"And what was his reply to you?"

"He acknowledged, Miss Mathews, the madness of his communication to you, of the impossibility of your giving him an answer, and of your admittinghim to your presence. He admired the prudence of your conduct, but, unfortunately, his admiration only increased his love. He requested meto say that he will write no more. "

"He has done wisely, and I am satisfied. "

"I would I could say as much for him, Miss Mathews; for it is myopinion, that his very existence is now so bound up with the possessionof you, that if he does not succeed he cannot exist. "

"That's not my fault, " replied Melissa, with her eyes cast down. 

"No, it is not. Still, Miss Mathews, when it is considered that thisman had abjured, I may say, had almost despised women, it is no smalltriumph to you, or homage from him, that you have made him feel thepower of your sex. "

"It is his just punishment for having despised us. "

"Perhaps so; yet if we were all punished for our misdeeds, asShakespeare says, who should escape whipping?"

"Pray, Master Tinker, where did you learn to quote Shakespeare?"

"Where I learnt much more. I was not always a travelling tinker. "

"So I presumed before this. And pray how came you to be one?"

"Miss Mathews, if the truth must be told, it arose from an unfortunateattachment. "

"I have read in the olden poets that love would turn a god into a man;but I never heard of its making him a tinker, " replied Melissa, smiling. 

"The immortal Jove did not hesitate to conceal his thunderbolts when hedeigned to love; and Cupid but too often has recourse to the aid ofProteus to secure success. We have, therefore, no mean warranty. "

"And who was the lady of thy love, good Master Tinker?"

"She was, Miss Mathews, like you in everything. She was as beautiful, as intelligent, as honest, as proud, and, unfortunately, she was, likeyou, as obdurate, which reminds me of the unfortunate gentleman whoseemissary I now am. In his madness he requested me--yes, Miss Mathews, me a poor tinker--to woo you for him--to say to you all that he wouldhave said had he been admitted to your presence--to plead for him--tokneel for him at your feet, and entreat you to have some compassion forone whose only misfortune was to love--whose only fault was to be poor. What could I say, Miss Mathews--what could I reply to a person in hisstate of desperation? To reason with him, to argue with him, had beenuseless; I could only soothe him by making such a promise, provided thatI was permitted to do it. Tell me, Miss Mathews, have I your permissionto make the attempt?"

"First, Mr Tinker, I should wish to know the name of this gentleman. "

"I promised not to mention it, Miss Mathews; but I can evade thepromise. I have a book which belongs to him in my pocket, on the insideof which are the arms of his family, with his father's name underneaththem. "

Spikeman presented the book. Melissa read the name, and then laid it onthe bench, without saying a word. 

"And now, Miss Mathews, as I have shown you that the gentleman has nowish to conceal who he is, may I venture to hope that you will permit meto plead occasionally, when I may see you, in his behalf. "

"I know not what to say, Master Tinker. I consider it a measure fraughtwith some danger, both to the gentleman and to myself. You have quotedShakespeare--allow me now to do the same:--

 "`Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the affairs and offices of love, Therefore all hearts use your own tongues. '

"You observe, Master Tinker, that there is the danger of your pleadingfor yourself, and not for your client; and there is also the danger ofmy being insensibly moved to listen to the addresses of a tinker. Now, only reflect upon the awful consequences, " continued Melissa, smiling. 

"I pledge you my honour, Miss Mathews, that I will only plead for theperson whose name you have read in the book, and that you shall never behumiliated by the importunities of a mender of pots and pans. "

"You pledge the honour of a tinker; what may that be worth?"

"A tinker that has the honour of conversing with Miss Mathews, has anhonour that cannot be too highly appreciated. "

"Well, that is very polite for a mender of old kettles; but theschoolmaster is abroad, which, I presume, accounts for such strangeanomalies as our present conversation. I must now wish you goodmorning. "

"When may I have the honour of again presenting myself in behalf of thepoor gentleman?"

"I can really make no appointments with tinkers, " replied Melissa; "ifyou personate that young man, you must be content to wait for days ormonths to catch a glimpse of the hem of my garment; to bay the moon andbless the stars, and I do not know what else. It is, in short, catch mewhen you can; and now farewell, good Master Tinker, " replied Melissa, leaving her own book, and taking the one Spikeman had put into her hand, which she carried with her to the house. It was all up with MissMelissa Mathews, that was clear. 

We shall pass over a fortnight, during which Spikeman, at first everyother day, and subsequently every day or evening, had a meeting withMelissa, in every one of which he pleaded his cause in the third person. Joey began to be very tired of this affair, as he remained idle duringthe whole time, when one morning Spikeman told him that he must go downto the meeting-place without the wheel, and tell Miss Mathews his unclethe tinker was ill, and not able to come that evening. 

Joey received his instructions, and went down immediately. Miss Mathewswas not to be seen, and Joey, to avoid observation, hid himself in thecopse, awaiting her arrival. At last she came, accompanied by Araminta, her cousin. As soon as they had taken their seats on the bench, Araminta commenced: "My dear Melissa, I could not speak to you in thehouse, on account of your father; but Simpson has told me this morningthat she thought it her duty to state to me that you have been seen, notonly in the day time, but late in the evening, walking and talking witha strange-looking man. I have thought it very odd that you should nothave mentioned this mysterious person to me lately; but I do think itmost strange that you should have been so imprudent. Now, tell meeverything that has happened, or I must really make it known to yourfather. "

"And have me locked up for months, --that's very kind of you, Araminta, "replied Melissa. 

"But consider what you have been doing, Melissa. Who is this man?"

"A travelling tinker, who brought me a letter from a gentleman, who hasbeen so silly as to fall in love with me. "

"And what steps have you taken, cousin?"

"Positively refused to receive a letter, or to see the gentleman. "

"Then why does the man come again?"

"To know if we have any knives or scissors to grind. "

"Come, come, Melissa, this is ridiculous. All the servants are talkingabout it; and you know how servants talk. Why do you continue to seethis fellow?"

"Because he amuses me, and it is so stupid of him. "

"If that is your only reason, you can have no objection to see him nomore, now that scandal is abroad. Will you promise me that you willnot? Recollect, dear Melissa, how imprudent and how unmaidenly it is. "

"Why, you don't think that I am going to elope with a tinker, do you, cousin?"

"I should think not; nevertheless, a tinker is no companion for MissMathews, dear cousin. Melissa, you have been most imprudent. How faryou have told me the truth I know not; but this I must tell you, if youdo not promise me to give up this disgraceful acquaintance, I willimmediately acquaint my uncle. "

"I will not be forced into any promise, Araminta, " replied Melissa, indignantly. 

"Well, then, I will not hurry you into it. I will give you forty-eighthours to reply, and if by that time your own good sense does not pointout your indiscretion, I certainly will make it known to your father;that is decided. " So saying. Araminta rose from the bench and walkedtowards the house. 

"Eight-and-forty hours, " said Melissa, thoughtfully; "it must be decidedby that time. "

Joey, who had wit enough to perceive how matters stood, made up his mindnot to deliver his message. He knew that Spikeman was well, andpresumed that his staying away was to make Miss Mathews more impatientto see him. Melissa remained on the bench in deep thought; at last Joeywent up to her. 

"You here, my boy! what have you come for?" said Melissa. 

"I was strolling this way, madam. "

"Come here; I want you to tell me the truth; indeed, it is useless toattempt to deceive me. Is that person your uncle?"

"No, miss, he is not. "

"I knew that. Is he not the person who wrote the letter, and agentleman in disguise? Answer me that question, and then I have amessage to him which will make him happy. "

"He is a gentleman, miss. "

"And his name is Spikeman, is it not?"

"Yes, miss, it is. "

"Will he be here this evening? This is no time for trifling. "

"If you want him, miss, I am sure he will. "

"Tell him to be sure and come, and not in disguise, " said Melissa, bursting into tears. "That's no use, my die is cast, " continued she, talking to herself. Joey remained by her side until she removed herhands from her face. "Why do you wait?"

"At what hour, miss, shall he come?" said Joey. 

"As soon as it is dusk. Leave me, boy, and do not forget. "

Joey hastened to Spikeman, and narrated what he had seen and heard, withthe message of Melissa. 

"My dear boy, you have helped me to happiness, " said Spikeman. "Sheshed tears, did she? Poor thing! I trust they will be the last sheshall shed. I must be off to Cobhurst at once. Meet me at dark at thecopse, for I shall want to speak to you. "

Spikeman set off for the town as fast as he could, with his bundle onhis head. When half way he went into a field and changed his clothes, discarding his tinker's dress for ever, throwing it into a ditch for thebenefit of the finder. He then went into the town to his rooms, dressedhimself in a fashionable suit, arranged his portmanteau, and ordered achaise to be ready at the door at a certain time, so as to arrive at thevillage before dusk. After he had passed through the village, heordered the postboy to stop about fifty yards on the other side of thecopse, and getting out desired him to remain till he returned. Joey wasalready there, and soon afterwards Miss M made her appearance, comingdown the walk in a hurried manner, in her shawl and bonnet. As soon asshe gained the bench, Spikeman was at her feet; he told her he knew whathad passed between her and her cousin; that he could not, would not partwith her--he now came without disguise to repeat what he had so oftensaid to her, that he loved and adored her, and that his life should bedevoted to make her happy. 

Melissa wept, entreated, refused, and half consented; Spikeman led heraway from the bench towards the road, she still refusing, yet stilladvancing, until they came to the door of the chaise. Joey let down thesteps; Melissa, half fainting and half resisting, was put in; Spikemanfollowed, and the door was closed by Joey. 

"Stop a moment, boy, " said Spikeman. "Here, Joey, take this. "

As Spikeman put a packet into our hero's hand, Melissa clasped her handsand cried, "Yes--yes! stop, do stop, and let me out; I cannot go, indeedI cannot. "

"There's lights coming down the gravel walk, " said Joey; "they arerunning fast. "

"Drive on, boy, as fast as you can, " said Spikeman. 

"Oh, yes! drive on, " cried Melissa, sinking into her lover's arms. 

Off went the chaise, leaving Joey on the road with the packet in hishand; our hero turned round and perceived the lights close to him, and, not exactly wishing to be interrogated, he set off as fast as he could, and never checked his speed until he arrived at the cottage where he andSpikeman had taken up their quarters. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. 

A VERY LONG CHAPTER, NECESSARY TO FETCH UP THE REMAINDER OF THE CONVOY. 

As it was late that night, Joey did not open the packet delivered to himfrom Spikeman until he arose the next morning, which he did very early, as he thought it very likely that he might be apprehended, if he was notoff in good time. The packet contained a key, 20 pounds in money, and apaper, with the following letter:--

 "My dear boy, --As we must now part, at least for some time, I have left you money sufficient to set you up for the present; I have inclosed a memorandum, by which I make over to you the knife-grinder's wheel, and all the furniture, books, etcetera, that are in my rooms at Dudstone, the key of which is also inclosed. I should recommend you going there and taking immediate possession, and as soon as I have time, I shall write to the woman of the house, to inform her of the contents of the memorandum; and I will also write to you, and let you know how I get on. Of course you will now do as you please; at all events, I have taught you a profession, and have given you the means of following it. I only hope, if you do, that some day you may be able to retire from business as successfully as I have done. You will, of course, write to me occasionally, after you know where I am. Depend upon it, there is no profession so near to that of a gentleman as that of a travelling tinker. 

 "Yours ever truly, AUGUSTUS SPIKEMAN. 

 "NB. There is some money in the old place to pay the bill at the cottage. "

Our hero considered that he could not do better than follow the adviceof Spikeman. He first wrote a few lines to Mary, requesting that shewould send her answer to Dudstone; and then, having settled with thehostess, he set off with his knife-grinder's wheel on his return home towhat were now his apartments. As he was not anxious to make money, hedid not delay on his road, and on the fifth day he found himself at thedoor of the alehouse near to Dudstone, where he had before left thewheel. Joey thought it advisable to do so now, telling the landlordthat Spikeman had requested him so to do; and as soon as it was dusk, our hero proceeded to the town, and knocked at the door of the house inwhich were Spikeman's apartments. He informed the landlady thatSpikeman would not in all probability return, and had sent him to takepossession, showing her the key. The dame was satisfied, and Joey wentupstairs. As soon as he had lighted the candle, and fairly installedhimself, our hero threw himself down on the sofa and began to reflect. It is pleasant to have property of our own, and Joey never had had anybefore; it was satisfactory to look at the furniture, bed, and books, and say, "All this is _mine_. " Joey felt this, as it is to be presumedeverybody would in the same position, and for some time he continuedlooking round and round at his property. Having satisfied himself witha review of it externally, he next proceeded to open all the drawers, the chests, etcetera. There were many articles in them which Joey didnot expect to find, such as a store of sheets, table linen, and allSpikeman's clothes, which he had discarded when he went up to London, some silver spoons, and a variety of little odds and ends; in short, Spikeman had left our hero everything as it stood. Joey put his moneyaway, and then went to bed, and slept as serenely as the largest landedproprietor in the kingdom. When he awoke next morning, our hero beganto reflect upon what he should do. He was not of Spikeman's opinionthat a travelling tinker was the next thing to a gentleman, nor did hemuch like the idea of rolling the wheel about all his life;nevertheless, he agreed with Spikeman that it was a trade by which hecould earn his livelihood, and if he could do no better, it would alwaysbe a resource. As soon as he had taken his breakfast, he sat down andwrote to Mary, acquainting her with all that had taken place, andstating what his own feelings were upon his future prospects. Havingfinished his letter, he dressed himself neatly, and went out to callupon the widow James. Miss Ophelia and Miss Amelia were both at home. 

"Well, Master Atherton, how do you do? and pray where is Mr Spikeman?"said both the girls in a breath. 

"He is a long way from this!" replied Joey. 

"A long way from this! Why, has he not come back with you?"

"No! and I believe he will not come back any more. I am come, as hisagent, to take possession of his property. "

"Why, what has happened?"

"A very sad accident, " replied our hero, shaking his head; "he fell--"

"Fell!" exclaimed the two girls in a breath. 

"Yes, fell in love, and is married. "

"Well now!" exclaimed Miss Ophelia, "only to think!"

Miss Amelia said nothing. 

"And so he is really married?"

"Yes; and he has given up business. "

"He did seem in a great hurry when he last came here, " observed Amelia. "And what are you going to do?"

"I am not going to follow his example just yet, " replied Joey. 

"I suppose not; but what are you going to do?" replied Ophelia. 

"I shall wait here for his orders; I expect to hear from him. Whether Iam to remain in this part of the country, or sell off and join him, orlook out for some other business, I hardly know; I think myself I shalllook out for something else; I don't like the cutlery line andtravelling for orders. How is your mamma, Miss Ophelia?"

"She is very well, and has gone to market. Well, I never did expect tohear of Mr Spikeman being married! Who is he married to, Joseph?"

"To a very beautiful young lady, daughter of Squire Mathews, with alarge fortune. "

"Yes; men always look for money nowadays, " said Amelia. 

"I must go now, " said Joey, getting up; "I have some calls and someinquiries to make. Good morning, young ladies. "

It must be acknowledged that the two Misses James were not quite socordial towards Joey as they were formerly; but unmarried girls do notlike to hear of their old acquaintances marrying anybody savethemselves. There is not only a flirt the less, but a chance the lessin consequence; and it should be remarked, that there were very few_beaux_ at Dudstone. Our hero was some days at Dudstone before hereceived a letter from Spikeman, who informed him that he had arrivedsafely at Gretna (indeed, there was no male relation of the family topursue him), and the silken bands of Hymen had been made more secure bythe iron rivets of the blacksmith; that three days after he had writtena letter to his wife's father, informing him that he had _done him thehonour_ of marrying his daughter; that he could not exactly say when hecould find time to come to the mansion and pay him a visit, but that hewould as soon as he conveniently could; that he begged that the roomprepared for them upon their arrival might have a _large_ dressing-roomattached to it, as he could not dispense with that convenience; that hewas not aware whether Mr Mathews was inclined to part with the mansionand property, but, as his wife had declared that she would prefer livingthere to anywhere else, he had not any objection to purchase it of MrMathews, if they could come to terms; hoped his gout was better, and washis "very faithfully, AUGUSTUS SPIKEMAN. " Melissa wrote a few lines toAraminta, begging her, as a favour, not to attempt to palliate herconduct, but to rail against her incessantly, as it would be the surestmethod of bringing affairs to an amicable settlement. 

To her father she wrote only these few words:--

 "My dear Papa, --You will be glad to hear that I am married. Augustus says that, if I behave well, he will come and see you soon. Dear papa, your dutiful child, MELISSA SPIKEMAN. "

That the letters of Spikeman and Melissa put the old gentleman in nosmall degree of rage, may be conceived; but nothing could be morejudicious than the plan Spikeman had acted upon. It is useless to pleadto a man who is irritated with constant gout; he only becomes moredespotic and more unyielding. Had Araminta attempted to soften hisindignation, it would have been equally fruitless; but the compliancewith the request of her cousin of continually railing against her, hadthe effect intended. The vituperation of Araminta left him nothing tosay; there was no opposition to direct his anathemas against; there wasno coaxing or wheedling on the part of the offenders for him to repulse;and when Araminta pressed the old gentleman to vow that Melissa shouldnever enter the doors again, he accused her of being influenced byinterested motives, threw a basin at her head, and wrote an epistlerequesting Melissa to come and take his blessing. Araminta refused toattend her uncle after this insult, and the old gentleman became stillmore anxious for the return of his daughter, as he was now left entirelyto the caprice of his servants. Araminta gave Melissa an account ofwhat had passed, and entreated her to come at once. She did so, and ageneral reconciliation took place. Mr Mathews, finding his newson-in-law very indifferent to pecuniary matters, insisted upon makingover to his wife an estate in Herefordshire, which, with Melissa's ownfortune, rendered them in most affluent circumstances. Spikemanrequested Joey to write to him now and then, and that, if he requiredassistance, he would apply for it; but still advised him to follow upthe profession of travelling tinker as being the most independent. 

Our hero had hardly time to digest the contents of Spikeman's letterwhen he received a large packet from Mary, accounting for her not havingreplied to him before, in consequence of her absence from the Hall. Shehad, three weeks before, received a letter written for Mrs Chopper, acquainting her that Mrs Chopper was so very ill that it was notthought possible that she could recover, having an abscess in the liverwhich threatened to break internally, and requesting Mary to obtainleave to come to Gravesend, if she possibly could, as Mrs Chopperwished to see her before she died. Great as was Mary's repugnance torevisit Gravesend, she felt that the obligations she was under to MrsChopper were too great for her to hesitate; and showing the letter toMrs Austin, and stating at the same time that she considered MrsChopper as more than a mother to her, she obtained the leave which sherequested, and set off for Gravesend. 

It was with feelings of deep shame and humiliation that poor Mary walkeddown the main street of the town, casting her eyes up fearfully to thescenes of her former life. She was very plainly attired, and had athick veil over her face, so that nobody recognised her; she arrived atthe door of Mrs Chopper's abode, ascended the stairs, and was once morein the room out of which she had quitted Gravesend to lead a new life;and most conscientiously had she fulfilled her resolution, as the readermust be aware. Mrs Chopper was in bed and slumbering when Mary softlyopened the door; the signs of approaching death were on hercountenance--her large, round form had wasted away--her fingers were nowtaper and bloodless; Mary would not have recognised her had she fallenin with her under other circumstances. An old woman was in attendance;she rose up when Mary entered, imagining that it was some kind lady cometo visit the sick woman. Mary sat down by the side of the bed, andmotioned to the old woman that she might go out, and then she raised herveil and waited till the sufferer roused. Mary had snuffed the candletwice that she might see sufficiently to read the Prayer Book which shehad taken up, when Mrs Chopper opened her eyes. 

"How very kind of you, ma'am!" said Mrs Chopper; "and where is Miss---? My eyes are dimmer every day. "

"It is me, Mary--Nancy that was!"

"And so it is! O, Nancy, now I shall die in peace! I thought at firstit was the kind lady who comes every day to read and to pray with me. Dear Nancy, how glad I am to see you! And how do you do? And how ispoor Peter?"

"Quite well when I heard from him last, my dear Mrs Chopper. "

"You don't know, Nancy, what a comfort it is to me to see you looking asyou do, so good and so innocent; and when I think it was by my humblemeans that you were put in the way of becoming so, I feel as if I haddone one good act, and that perhaps my sins may be forgiven me. "

"God will reward you, Mrs Chopper; I said so at the time, and I feel itnow, " replied Mary, the tears rolling down her cheeks; "I trust by yourmeans, and with strength from above, I shall continue in the same path, so that one sinner may be saved. "

"Bless you, Nancy!--You never were a bad girl in heart; I always saidso. And where is Peter now?"

"Going about the country earning his bread; poor, but happy. "

"Well, Nancy, it will soon be over with me; I may die in a second, theytell me, or I may live for three or four days; but I sent for you that Imight put my house in order. There are only two people that I care forupon earth--that is you and my poor Peter; and all I have I mean toleave between you. I have signed a paper already, in case you could notcome, but now that you are come, I will tell you all I wish; but give mesome of that drink first. "

Mary having read the directions on the label, poured out a wine-glass ofthe mixture, and gave it to Mrs Chopper, who swallowed it, and thenproceeded, taking a paper from under her pillow--

"Nancy! this is the paper I told you of. I have about 700 pounds in thebank, which is all that I have saved in twenty-two years; but it hasbeen honestly made. I have, perhaps, much more owing to me, but I donot want it to be collected. Poor sailors have no money to spare, and Irelease them all. You will see me buried, Nancy, and tell poor Peterhow I loved him, and I have left my account books, with my bad debts andgood debts, to him. I am sure he would like to have them, for he knowsthe history of every sum-total, and he will look over them and think ofme. You can sell this furniture; but the wherry you must give toWilliam; he is not very honest, but he has a large family to keep. Dowhat you like, dearest, about what is here; perhaps my clothes would beuseful to his wife; they are not fit for you. There's a good deal ofmoney in the upper drawer; it will pay for my funeral and the doctor. Ibelieve that is all now; but do tell poor Peter how I loved him. Poorfellow, I have been cheated ever since he left; but that's no matter. Now, Nancy, dear, read to me a little. I have so longed to have you bymy bedside to read to me, and pray for me! I want to hear you praybefore I die. It will make me happy to hear you pray, and see that kindface looking up to heaven, as it was always meant to do. " Poor Maryburst into tears. After a few minutes she became more composed, and, dropping down on her knees by the side of the bed, she opened the PrayerBook, and complied with the request of Mrs Chopper; and as shefervently poured forth her supplication, occasionally her voicefaltered, and she would stop to brush away the tears which dimmed hersight. She was still so occupied when the door of the room was gentlyopened, and a lady, with a girl about fourteen or fifteen years old, quietly entered the room. Mary did not perceive them until they alsohad knelt down. She finished the prayer, rose, and, with a shortcurtsey, retired from the side of the bed. 

Although not recognised herself by the lady, Mary, immediatelyremembered Mrs Phillips and her daughter Emma, having as we have beforeobserved, been at one time in Mrs Phillips's service. 

"This is the young woman whom you so wished to see, Mrs Chopper, is itnot?" said Mrs Phillips. "I am not surprised at your longing for her, for she appears well suited for a companion in such an hour; and, alas!how, few there are! Sit down, I request, " continued Mrs Phillips, turning to Mary. "How do you find yourself to-day, Mrs Chopper?"

"Sinking fast, dear madam, but not unwilling to go, since I have seenNancy, and heard of my poor Peter; he wrote to Nancy a short time ago. Nancy, don't forget my love to Peter. "

Emma Phillips, who had now grown tall and thin, immediately went up toMary, and said, "Peter was the little boy who was with Mrs Chopper; Imet him on the road when he first came to Gravesend, did I not?"

"Yes, miss you did, " replied Mary. 

"He used to come to our house sometimes, and very often to meet me as Iwalked home from school. I never could imagine what became of him, forhe disappeared all at once without saying good-bye. "

"He was obliged to go away, miss. It was not his fault; he was a verygood boy, and is so still. "

"Then pray remember me to him, and tell him that I often think of him. "

"I will, Miss Phillips, and he will be very happy to hear that you havesaid so. "

"How did you know that my name was Phillips? O, I suppose poor MrsChopper told you before we came. "

Mrs Phillips had now read some time to Mrs Chopper, and this put anend to the conversation between Mary and Emma Phillips. It was notresumed. As soon as the reading was over, Mrs Phillips and herdaughter took their leave. 

Mary made up a bed for herself by the side of Mrs Chopper's. About themiddle of the night, she was roused by a gurgling kind of noise; shehastened to the bedside, and found that Mrs Chopper was suffocating. Mary called in the old woman to her aid, but it was useless, the abscesshad burst, and in a few seconds all was over; and Mary, struggling withemotion, closed the eyes of her old friend, and offered up a prayer forher departed spirit. 

The remainder of the night was passed in solemn meditation and a renewalof those vows which the poor girl had hitherto so scrupulously adheredto, and which the death-bed scene was so well fitted to encourage; butMary felt that she had her duties towards others to discharge, and didnot give way to useless and unavailing sorrow. It was her duty toreturn as soon as possible to her indulgent mistress, and the nextmorning she was busy in making the necessary arrangements. On the thirdday Mary attended the funeral of her old friend, the bills were allpaid, and having selected some articles which she wished to retain as aremembrance, she resolved to make over to William, the waterman, notonly the wherry, but all the stock in hand, furniture and clothes ofMrs Chopper. This would enable him and his wife to set up in businessthemselves and provide for their family. Mary knew that she had noright to do so without Joey's consent, but of this she felt she wassure; having so done, she had nothing more to do but to see the lawyerwho had drawn up the will, and having gone through the necessary forms, she received an order on the county bank nearest to the Hall for themoney, which, with what was left in the drawers, after paying everydemand, amounted to more than 700 pounds. She thought it was her dutyto call upon Mrs Phillips, before she went away, out of gratitude forher kindness to Mrs Chopper; and as she had not been recognised, shehad no scruple in so doing. She was kindly received, and blushed at thepraise bestowed upon her. As she was going away, Emma Phillips followedher out, and putting into her hand a silver pencil-case, requested shewould "give it to Peter as a remembrance of his little friend, Emma. "The next day Mary arrived at the Hall, first communicated to Mrs Austinwhat had occurred, and then, having received our hero's two lastepistles, sat down to write the packet containing all the intelligencewe have made known, and ended by requesting Joey to set off with hisknife-grinder's wheel, and come to the village near to the Hall, that hemight receive his share of Mrs Chopper's money, the silver pencil-case, and the warm greeting of his adopted sister. Joey was not long indeciding. He resolved that he would go to Mary; and, having locked uphis apartments, he once more resumed his wheel, and was soon on his wayto Hampshire. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. 

A RETROSPECT THAT THE PARTIES MAY ALL START FAIR AGAIN. 

We must now leave our hero on his way to the Hall, while we acquaint ourreaders with the movements of other parties connected with our history. A correspondence had been kept up between O'Donahue and McShane. O'Donahue had succeeded in obtaining the pardon of the emperor, andemployment in the Russian army, in which he had rapidly risen to therank of general. Five or six years had elapsed since he had married, and both O'Donahue and his wife were anxious to visit England; a letterat last came, announcing that he had obtained leave of absence from theemperor, and would in all probability arrive in the ensuing spring. 

During this period McShane had continued at his old quarters, MrsMcShane still carrying on the business, which every year became morelucrative; so much so, indeed, that her husband had for some timethought very seriously of retiring altogether, as they had alreadyamassed a large sum, when McShane received the letter from O'Donahue, announcing that in a few months he would arrive in England. MajorMcShane, who was very far from being satisfied with his negativeposition in society, pressed the matter more earnestly to his wife, who, although she was perfectly content with her own position, did not opposehis entreaties. McShane found that after disposing of the goodwill ofthe business, and of the house, they would have a clear 30, 000 pounds, which he considered more than enough for their wants, uncumbered as theywere with children. 

Let it not be supposed that McShane had ceased in his inquiries afterour hero; on the contrary, he had resorted to all that his inventioncould suggest to trace him out, but, as the reader must be aware, without success. Both McShane and his wife mourned his loss, as if theyhad been bereaved of their own child; they still indulged the idea thatsome day he would reappear, but when, they could not surmise. McShanehad not only searched for our hero, but had traced his father with aslittle success, and he had now made up his mind that he should see nomore of Joey, if he ever did see him again, until after the death of hisfather, when there would no longer be any occasion for secrecy. Ourhero and his fate were a continual source of conversation betweenMcShane and his wife; but latterly, after not having heard of him formore than five years, the subject had not been so often renewed. Assoon as McShane had wound up his affairs, and taken his leave of theeating-house, he looked out for an estate in the country, resolving tolay out two-thirds of his money in land, and leave the remainder in thefunds. After about three months' search he found a property whichsuited him, and, as it so happened, about six miles from the domainsheld by Mr Austin. He had taken possession and furnished it. As aretired officer in the army he was well received; and if Mrs McShanewas sometimes laughed at for her housekeeper-like appearance, still hersweetness of temper and unassuming behaviour soon won her friends, andMcShane found himself in a very short time comfortable and happy. TheO'Donahues were expected to arrive very shortly, and McShane had now adomicile fit for the reception of his old friend, who had promised topay him a visit as soon as he arrived. 

Of the Austins little more can be said that has not been said already. Austin was a miserable, unhappy man; his cup of bliss--for he had everymeans of procuring all that this world considers as bliss, being inpossession of station, wealth, and respect--was poisoned by the oneheavy crime which passion had urged him to commit, and which was now asource of hourly and unavailing repentance. His son, who should haveinherited his wealth, was lost to him, and he dared not mention that hewas in existence. Every day Austin became more nervous and irritable, more exclusive and averse to society; he trembled at shadows, and hisstrong constitution was rapidly giving way to the heavy weight on hisconscience. He could not sleep without opiates, and he dreaded to sleeplest he should reveal everything of the past in his slumbers. Each yearadded to the irascibility of his temper, and the harshness with which hetreated his servants and his unhappy wife. His chief amusement washunting, and he rode in so reckless a manner that people often thoughtthat he was anxious to break his neck. Perhaps he was. Mrs Austin wasmuch to be pitied; she knew how much her husband suffered; how the wormgnawed within; and, having that knowledge, she submitted to all hisharshness, pitying him instead of condemning him; but her life was stillmore embittered by the loss of her child, and many were the bitter tearswhich she would shed when alone, for she dared not in her husband'spresence, as he would have taken them as a reproof to himself. Herwhole soul yearned after our hero, and that one feeling rendered herindifferent, not only to all the worldly advantages by which she wassurrounded, but to the unkindness and hard-heartedness of her husband. Mary, who had entered her service as kitchen-maid, was very soon afavourite, and had been advanced to the situation of Mrs Austin's ownattendant Mrs Austin considered her a treasure, and she daily becamemore partial to and more confidential with her. Such was the state ofaffairs, when one morning, as Austin was riding to cover, a gentleman ofthe neighbourhood said to him, in the course of conversation--

"By-the-bye, Austin, have you heard that you have a new neighbour?"

"What!--on the Frampton estate, I suppose; I heard that it had beensold. "

"Yes; I have seen him. He is one of your profession--a lively, amusingsort of Irish major; gentlemanlike, nevertheless. The wife not veryhigh-bred, but very fat, and very good-humoured, and amusing from herdownright simpleness of heart. You will call upon them, I presume?"

"Oh, of course, " replied Austin. "What is his name did you say?"

"Major McShane, formerly of the 53rd Regiment, I believe. "

Had a bullet passed through the heart of Austin, he could not havereceived a more sudden shock, and the start which he made from hissaddle attracted the notice of his companion. 

"What's the matter, Austin, you look pale; you are not well. "

"No, " replied Austin, recollecting himself; "I am not; one of thosetwinges from an old wound in the breast came on. I shall be betterdirectly. "

Austin stopped his horse, and put his hand to his heart. His companionrode up, and remained near him. 

"It is worse than usual; I thought it was coming on last night; I fearthat I must go home. "

"Shall I go with you?"

"O, no; I must not spoil your sport. I am better now a great deal; itis going off fast. Come, let us proceed, or we shall be too late atcover. "

Austin had resolved to conquer his feelings. His friend had nosuspicion, it is true; but when we are guilty we imagine that everybodysuspects us. They rode a few minutes in silence. 

"Well I am glad that you did not go home, " observed his friend; "for youwill meet your new neighbour; he has subscribed to the pack, and theysay he is well mounted; we shall see how he rides. "

Austin made no reply; but, after riding on a few yards farther, hepulled up, saying that the pain was coming on again, and that he couldnot proceed. His companion expressed his sorrow at Austin'sindisposition, and they separated. 

Austin immediately returned home, dismounted his horse, and hastened tohis private sitting-room. Mrs Austin, who had seen him return, andcould not imagine the cause, went in to her husband. 

"What is the matter, my dear?" said Mrs Austin. 

"Matter!" replied Austin, bitterly, pacing up and down the room; "heavenand hell conspire against us!"

"Dear Austin, don't talk in that way. What has happened?"

"Something which will compel me, I expect, to remain a prisoner in myown house, or lead to something unpleasant. We must not stay here. "

Austin then threw himself down on the sofa, and was silent. At last thepersuasions and endearments of his wife overcame his humour. He toldher that McShane was the major of his regiment when he was a private;that he would inevitably recognise him; and that, if nothing elseoccurred from McShane's knowledge of his former name, at all events, thegeneral supposition of his having been an officer in the army would becontradicted, and it would lower him in the estimation of the countygentlemen. 

"It is indeed a very annoying circumstance, my dear Austin; but are yousure that he would, after so long a period, recognise the privatesoldier in the gentleman of fortune?"

"As sure as I sit here, " replied Austin, gloomily; "I wish I were dead. "

"Don't say so, dear Austin, it makes me miserable. "

"I never am otherwise, " replied Austin, clasping his hands. "Godforgive me! I have sinned, but have I not been punished?"

"You have, indeed; and as repentance is availing, my dear husband, youwill receive God's mercy. "

"The greatest boon, the greatest mercy, would be death, " replied theunhappy man; "I envy the pedlar. " Mrs Austin wept. Her husband, irritated at tears which, to him, seemed to imply reproach, sternlyordered her to leave the room. 

That Austin repented bitterly of the crime which he had committed is notto be doubted; but it was not with the subdued soul of a Christian. Hispride was continually struggling within him, and was not yet conquered;this it was that made him alternately self-condemning and irascible, andit was the continual warfare in his soul which was undermining hisconstitution. 

Austin sent for medical advice for his supposed complaint. The countrypractitioner, who could discover nothing, pronounced it to be anaffection of the heart. He was not far wrong; and Mr Austin's illnesswas generally promulgated. Cards and calls were the consequence, andAustin kept himself a close but impatient prisoner in his own house. His hunters remained in the stables, his dogs in the kennel, and everyone intimated that Mr Austin was labouring under a disease from whichhe would not recover. At first this was extremely irksome to Austin, and he was very impatient; but gradually he became reconciled, and evenpreferred his sedentary and solitary existence. Books were his chiefamusement, but nothing could minister to a mind diseased, or drive outthe rooted memory of the brain. Austin became more morose andmisanthropic every day, and at last would permit no one to come near himbut his valet and his wife. 

Such was the position of his parents, when Joey was proceeding to theirabode. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. 

OUR HERO FALLS IN WITH AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE, AND IS NOT VERY MUCHDELIGHTED. 

We left our hero rolling his knife-grinder's wheel towards his father'shouse. It must be confessed that he did it very unwillingly. He wasnever very fond of it at any time; but, since he had taken possession ofSpikeman's property, and had received from Mary the intelligence that hewas worth 350 pounds more, he had taken a positive aversion to it. Itretarded his movements, and it was hard work when he had not to get hislivelihood by it. More than once he thought of rolling it into ahorsepond, and leaving it below low-water mark; but then he thought it asort of protection against inquiry, and against assault, for it told ofpoverty and honest employment; so Joey rolled on, but not with anyfeelings of regard towards his companion. 

How many castles did our hero build as he went along the road! The sumof money left to him appeared to be enormous. He planned and plannedagain; and, like most people, at the close of the day, he was just asundetermined as at the commencement. Nevertheless, he was very happy, as people always are, in anticipation; unfortunately, more so than whenthey grasp what they have been seeking. Time rolled on, as well as thegrindstone, and at last Joey found himself at the ale-house where he andMary had put up previously to her obtaining a situation at the Hall. Heimmediately wrote a letter to her, acquainting her with his arrival. Hewould have taken the letter himself, only he recollected the treatmenthe had received, and found another messenger in the butcher's boy, whowas going up to the Hall for orders. The answer returned by the sameparty was, that Mary would come down and see him that evening. WhenMary came down Joey was astonished at the improvement in her appearance. She looked much younger than she did when they had parted, and herdress was so very different that our hero could with difficulty imaginethat it was the same person who had been his companion from Gravesend. The careless air and manner had disappeared; there was a _retenue_--adignity about her which astonished him and he felt a sort of respect, mingled with his regard, for her, of which he could not divest himself. But, if she looked younger (as may well be imagined) from her change oflife, she also looked more sedate, except when she smiled, or whenoccasionally, but very rarely, her merry laughter reminded him of thecareless, good-tempered Nancy of former times. That the greeting waswarm need hardly be said. It was the greeting of a sister and youngerbrother who loved each other dearly. 

"You are very much grown, Joey, " said Mary. "Dear boy, how happy I amto see you!"

"And you, Mary, you're younger in the face, but older in your manners. Are you as happy in your situation as you have told me in your letters?"

"Quite happy; more happy than ever I deserve to be, my dear boy; and nowtell me, Joey, what do you think of doing? You have now the means ofestablishing yourself. "

"Yes, I have been thinking of it; but I don't know what to do. "

"Well, you must look out, and do not be in too great a hurry. Recollect, Joey, that if anything offers which you have any reason tobelieve will suit you, you shall have my money as well as your own. "

"Nay, Mary, why should I take that?"

"Because, as it is of no use to me, it must be idle; besides, you know, if you succeed, you will be able to pay me interest for it; so I shallgain as well as you. You must not refuse your sister, my dear boy. "

"Dear Mary, how I wish we could live in the same house!"

"That cannot be now, Joey; you are above my situation at the Hall, evenallowing that you would ever enter it. "

"That I never will, if I can help it; not that I feel angry now, but Ilike to be independent. "

"Of course you do. "

"And as for that grindstone, I hate the sight of it; it has madeSpikeman's fortune, but it never shall make mine. "

"You don't agree then with your former companion, " rejoined Mary, "thata tinker's is the nearest profession to that of a gentleman which youknow of. "

"I certainly do not, " replied our hero; "and as soon as I can get rid ofit I will; I have rolled it here, but I will not roll it much farther. I only wish I knew where to go. "

"I have something in my pocket which puts me in mind of a piece of newswhich I received the other day, since my return. First let me give youwhat I have in my pocket, "--and Mary pulled out the pencil-case sent toJoey by Emma Phillips. "There you know already who that is from. "

"Yes, and I shall value it very much, for she was a dear, kind littlecreature; and when I was very, very miserable, she comforted me. "

"Well, Joey, Miss Phillips requested me to write when I came back, asshe wished to hear that I had arrived safe at the Hall. It was verykind of her, and I did so, of course. Since that I have received aletter from her, stating that her grandmother is dead, and that hermother is going to quit Gravesend for Portsmouth, to reside with herbrother, who is now a widower. "

"I will go to Portsmouth, " replied our hero. 

"I was thinking that, as her brother is a navy agent, and Mrs Phillipsis interested about you, you could not do better. If anything turns up, then you will have good advice, and your money is not so likely to bethrown away. I think, therefore, you had better go to Portsmouth, andtry your fortune. "

"I am very glad you have mentioned this, Mary, for, till now, one placewas as indifferent to me as another; but now it is otherwise, and toPortsmouth I will certainly go. "

Our hero remained two or three days longer at the village, during whichtime Mary was with him every evening, and once she obtained leave to goto the banker's about her money. She then turned over to Joey's accountthe sum due to him, and arrangements were made with the bank so thatJoey could draw his capital out whenever he pleased. 

After which our hero took leave of Mary, promising to correspond morefreely than before; and once more putting the strap of hisknife-grinder's wheel over his shoulders, he set off on his journey toPortsmouth. 

Joey had not gained two miles from the village when he asked himself thequestion, "What shall I do with my grindstone?" He did not like toleave it on the road; he did not know to whom he could give it away. Herolled it on for about six miles farther, and then, quite tired, heresolved to follow the plan formerly adopted by Spikeman, and repose alittle upon the turf on the road-side. The sun was very warm, and aftera time Joey retreated to the other side of the hedge, which was shaded;and having taken his bundle from the side of the wheel where it hung, hefirst made his dinner of the provender he had brought with him, andthen, laying his head on the bundle, was soon in a sound sleep, fromwhich he was awakened by hearing voices on the other side of the hedge. He turned round, and perceived two men on the side of the road, close tohis knife-grinder's wheel. They were in their shirts and trousers onlyand sitting down on the turf. 

"It would be a very good plan, " observed one of them; "we should thentravel without suspicion. "

"Yes; if we could get off with it without being discovered. Where canthe owner of it be. "

"Well, I dare say he is away upon some business or another, and has leftthe wheel here till he comes back. Now, suppose we were to take it--howshould we manage?"

"Why, we cannot go along this road with it. We must get over the gatesand hedges till we get across the country into another road; and then bytravelling all night, we might be quite clear. "

"Yes, and then we should do well; for even if our description asdeserters was sent out from Portsmouth, we should be considered astravelling tinkers and there would be no suspicion. "

"Well, I'm ready for it. If we can only get it off the road, andconceal it till night, we may then easily manage it. But first let'ssee if the fellow it belongs to may not be somewhere about here. "

As the man said this, he rose up and turned his face towards the hedge, and our hero immediately perceived that it was his old acquaintance, Furness, the schoolmaster and marine. What to do he hardly knew. Atlast he perceived Furness advancing towards the gate of the field, whichwas close to where he was lying, and, as escape was impossible, our herocovered his face with his arms, and pretended to be fast asleep. Hesoon heard a "Hush!" given, as a signal to the other man, and, after awhile, footsteps close to him. Joey pretended to snore loudly, and awhispering then took place. At last he heard Furness say--

"Do you watch by him while I wheel away the grindstone. "

"But if he wakes, what shall I do?"

"Brain him with that big stone. If he does not wake up when I am pastthe second field, follow me. "

That our hero had no inclination to wake after this notice may be easilyimagined; he heard the gate opened, and the wheel trundled away, much tohis delight, as Furness was the party who had it in charge; and Joeycontinued to snore hard, until at last he heard the departing footstepsof Furness's comrade, who had watched him. He thought it prudent tocontinue motionless for some time longer, to give them time to be wellaway from him, and then he gradually turned round and looked in thedirection in which they had gone; he could see nothing of them, and itwas not until he had risen up, and climbed up on the gate, that heperceived them two or three fields off running away at a rapid pace. Thanking heaven that he had escaped the danger that he was in, anddelighted with the loss of his property, our hero recommenced hisjourney with his bundle over his shoulder, and before night he was safeoutside one of the stages which took him to a town, from which there wasanother which would carry him to Portsmouth, at which sea-port hearrived the next evening without further adventure. 

As our hero sat on the outside of the coach and reflected upon his lastadventure, the more he felt he had reason to congratulate himself. ThatFurness had deserted from the Marine Barracks at Portsmouth was evident;and if he had not, that he would have recognised Joey some time or otherwas almost certain. Now, he felt sure that he was safe at Portsmouth, as it would be the last place at which Furness would make hisappearance; and he also felt that his knife-grinder's wheel, insupplying Furness with the ostensible means of livelihood, and therebypreventing his being taken up as a deserter, had proved the best friendto him, and could not have been disposed of better. Another piece ofgood fortune was his having secured his bundle and money; for had heleft it with the wheel, it would have, of course, shared its fate. "Besides, " thought Joey, "if I should chance to fall, in with Furnessagain, and he attempts to approach me, I can threaten to have him takenas a deserter, and this may deter him from so doing. " It was with agrateful heart that our hero laid his head upon his pillow, in thehumble inn at which he had taken up his quarters. 

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO RETURNS TO HIS FORMER EMPLOYMENT, BUT ON A GRANDERSCALE OF OPERATION. 

Our hero had received from Mary the name and address of Mrs Phillips'sbrother, and, on inquiry, found that he was known by everybody. Joeydressed himself in his best suit, and presented himself at the doorabout ten o'clock in the morning, as Joseph O'Donahue, the name which hehad taken when he went to Gravesend, and by which name he had been knownto Mrs Phillips and her daughter Emma, when he made occasional visitsto their house. He was admitted, and found himself once more in companywith his friend Emma, who was now fast growing up into womanhood. Afterthe first congratulations and inquiries, he stated his intentions incoming down to Portsmouth, and their assistance was immediatelypromised. They then requested a detail of his adventures since hequitted Gravesend, of which Joey told everything that he safely could;passing over his meeting with Furness, by simply stating that, while hewas asleep, his knife-grinder's wheel had been stolen by two men, andthat when he awoke he dared not offer an opposition. Mrs Phillips andher daughter both knew that there was some mystery about our hero, whichhad induced him to come to, and also to leave Gravesend; but, beingassured by Mary and himself; that he was not to blame, they did notpress him to say more than he wished; and, as soon as he finished hishistory, they proposed introducing him to Mr Small, the brother of MrsPhillips, in whose house they were then residing, and who was then inhis office. 

"But, perhaps, mamma, it will be better to wait till tomorrow, and inthe meantime you will be able to tell my uncle all about Joey, " observedEmma. 

"I think it will be better, my dear, " replied Mrs Phillips; "but thereis Marianne's tap at the door, for the second time; she wants medownstairs, so I must leave you for a little while; but you need not goaway, O'Donahue; I will be back soon. "

Mrs Phillips left the room, and our hero found himself alone with Emma. 

"You have grown very much, Joey, " said Emma; "and so have I, too, theytell me. "

"Yes, you have indeed, " replied Joey; "you are no longer the little girlwho comforted me when I was so unhappy. Do you recollect that day?"

"Yes, indeed I do, as if it were but yesterday. But you have never toldme why you lead so wandering a life; you won't trust me. "

"I would trust you with anything but that which is not mine to trust, asI told you four years ago; it is not my secret; as soon as I can I willtell you everything; but I hope not to lead a wandering life any longer, for I have come down here to settle, if I can. "

"What made you think of coming down here?" asked Emma. 

"Because you were here; Mary told me so. I have not yet thanked you foryour present, but I have not forgotten your kindness in thinking of apoor boy like me, when he was far away; here it is, " continued Joey, taking out the pencil-case, "and I have loved it dearly, " added he, kissing it, "ever since I have had it in my possession. I very oftenhave taken it out and thought of you. "

"Now you are so rich a man, you should give me something to keep foryour sake, " replied Emma; "and I will be very careful of it, for oldacquaintance' sake. "

"What can I offer to you? you are a young lady; I would give you all Ihad in the world, if I dared, but--"

"When I first saw you, " rejoined Emma, "you were dressed as a younggentleman. "

"Yes, I was, " replied Joey, with a sigh; and as the observation of Emmarecalled to his mind the kindness of the McShanes, he passed his handacross his eyes to brush away a tear or two that started. 

"I did not mean to make you unhappy, " said Emma, taking our hero's hand. 

"I am sure you did not, " replied Joey, smiling. "Yes, I was then as yousay; but recollect that lately I have been a knife-grinder. "

"Well, you know, your friend said, that it was the nearest thing to agentleman; and now I hope you will be quite a gentleman again. "

"Not a gentleman, for I must turn to some business or another, " repliedJoey. 

"I did not mean an idle gentleman; I meant a respectable profession, "said Emma. "My uncle is a very odd man, but very good-hearted; you mustnot mind his way towards you. He is very fond of mamma and me, and Ihave no doubt will interest himself about you, and see that your moneyis not thrown away. Perhaps you would like to set up a bumboat on yourown account?" added Emma, laughing. 

"No, I thank you; I had enough of that. Poor Mrs Chopper! what a kindcreature she was! I'm sure I ought to be very grateful to her forthinking of me as she did. "

"I believe, " said Emma, "that she was a very good woman, and so doesmamma. Recollect Joey, when you speak to my uncle, you must notcontradict him. "

"I am sure I shall not, " replied Joey; "why should I contradict a personso far my superior in years and everything else?"

"Certainly not; and as he is fond of argument, you had better give up tohim at once; and, indeed, " continued Emma, laughing, "everybody elsedoes in the end. I hope you will find a nice situation, and that weshall see a great deal of you. "

"I am sure I do, " replied Joey, "for I have no friends that I may see, except you. How I wish that you did know everything!"

A silence ensued between the young people, which was not interrupteduntil by the appearance of Mrs Phillips, who had seen Mr Small, andhad made an engagement for our hero to present himself at nine o'clockon the following morning, after which communication our hero took hisleave. He amused himself during the remainder of that day in walkingover the town, which at that time presented a most bustling appearance, as an expedition was fitting out; the streets were crowded with officersof the army, navy, and marines, in their uniforms; soldiers and sailors, more or less tipsy; flaunting ribbons and gaudy colours, and everyvariety of noise was to be heard that could be well imagined, from thequacking of a duck, with its head out of the basket in which it wasconfined to be taken on board, to the martial music, the rolling of thedrums, and the occasional salutes of artillery, to let the world knowthat some great man had put his foot on board of a ship, or had againdeigned to tread upon _terra firma_. All was bustle and excitement, hurrying, jostling, cursing, and swearing; and Joey found himself, bythe manner in which he was shoved about right and left, to be in the wayof everybody. 

At the time appointed our hero made his appearance at the door, and, having given his name, was asked into the counting-house of theestablishment, where sat Mr Small and his factotum, Mr Sleek. It maybe as well here to describe the persons and peculiarities of these twogentlemen. 

Mr Small certainly did not accord with his name, for he was a man fullsix feet high, and stout in proportion; he was in face extremely plain, with a turned-up nose; but, at the same time, there was a lurkinggood-humour in his countenance, and a twinkle in his eye, whichimmediately prepossessed you, and in a few minutes you forgot that hewas not well-favoured. Mr Small was very fond of an argument and ajoke, and he had such a forcible way of maintaining his argument when hehappened to be near you, that, as Emma had told our hero, few peopleafter a time ventured to contradict him. This mode of argument wasnothing more than digging the hard knuckles of his large hand into theribs of his opponent--we should rather say gradually gimleting, as itwere, a hole in your side--as he heated in his illustrations. He wasthe last person in the world in his disposition to inflict pain, evenupon an insect--and yet, from this habit, no one perhaps gave more, orappeared to do so with more malice, as his countenance was radiant withgood-humour, at the very time when his knuckles were taking away yourbreath. What made it worse, was, that he had a knack of seizing thecoat lappet with the other hand, so that escape was difficult; and whenhe had exhausted all his reasoning, he would follow it up with apressure of his knuckles under the fifth rib, saying, "Now you feel theforce of my argument, don't you?" Everybody did, and no one wouldoppose him unless the table was between them. It was much the same withhis jokes: he would utter them, and then with a loud laugh, and theinsidious insertion of his knuckles, say, "Do you take that, eh?" MrSleek had also his peculiarity, and was not an agreeable person to arguewith, for he had learnt to argue from his many years' constantcompanionship with the head of the firm. Mr Sleek was a spare man, deeply pock-marked in the face, and with a very large mouth; and, whenspeaking, he sputtered to such a degree, that a quarter of an hour'sconversation with him was as good as a shower-bath. At long range MrSleek could heat his superior out of the field; but if Mr Smallapproached once to close quarters, Mr Sleek gave in immediately. Thecaptains of the navy used to assert that this fibbing enforcement of his_truths_, on the part of Small, was quite contrary to all the rules ofmodern warfare, and never would stand it, unless they required anadvance of money; and then, by submitting to a certain quantity of digsin the ribs in proportion to the unreasonableness of their demand, theyusually obtained their object; as they said he "knuckled down" in theend. As for Mr Sleek, although the best man in the world, he was theirabhorrence; he was nothing but a watering-pot, and they were not plantswhich required his aid to add to their vigour. Mr Sleek, even in thelargest company, invariably found himself alone, and could never imaginewhy. Still he was an important personage; and when stock is to be goton board in a hurry, officers in his Majesty's service do not care abouta little spray. 

Mr Small was, as we have observed, a navy agent--that is to say, he wasa general provider of the officers and captains of his Majesty'sservice. He obtained their agency on any captures which they might sendin, or he cashed their bills, advanced them money, supplied them withtheir wine, and every variety of stock which might be required; and inconsequence was reported to be accumulating a fortune. As is usuallythe case, he kept open house for the captains who were his clients, andoccasionally invited the junior officers to the hospitalities of histable, so that Mrs Phillips and Emma were of great use to him, and hadquite sufficient to do in superintending such an establishment. Havingthus made our readers better acquainted with our new characters, weshall proceed. 

"Well, young man, I've heard all about you from my sister. So you wishto leave off vagabondising, do you?"

"Yes, sir, " replied Joey. 

"How old are you? can you keep books?"

"I am seventeen, and have kept books, " replied our hero, in innocence;for he considered Mrs Chopper's day-books to come under thatdenomination. 

"And you have some money--how much?"

Joey replied that he had so much of his own, and that his sister had somuch more. 

"Seven hundred pounds; eh, youngster? I began business with 100 poundsless; and here I am. Money breeds money; do you understand that?" andhere Joey received a knuckle in his ribs, which almost took his breathaway, but which he bore without flinching, as he presumed it was a markof good will. 

"What can we do with this lad, Sleek?" said Mr Small; "and what can wedo with his money?"

"Let him stay in the counting-house here for a week, " replied Mr Sleek, "and we shall see what he can do; and, as for his money, it will be assafe here as in a country bank, until we know how to employ it, and wecan allow five per cent for it. " All this was said in a shower ofspray, which induced Joey to wipe his face with his pocket-handkerchief. 

"Yes, I think that will do for the present, " rejoined Mr Small; "butyou observe, Sleek, that this young lad has very powerful interest, andwe shall be expected to do something for him, or we shall have the worstof it. You understand that?" continued he, giving Joey a knuckle again. "The ladies! no standing against them!"

Joey thought there was no standing such digs in the ribs, but he saidnothing. 

"I leave him to you, Sleek. I must be off to call upon Captain James. See to the lad's food and lodging. There's an order from the gun-roomof the _Hecate_. " So saying, Mr Small departed. 

Mr Sleek asked our hero where he was stopping; recommended him anotherlodging close to the house, with directions how to proceed, and whatarrangements to make; told him to haste as much as he could, and thencome back to the counting-house. 

In a couple of hours our hero was back again. 

"Look on this list; do you understand it?" said Mr Sleek to Joey; "itis sea-stock for the _Hecate_ which sails in a day or two. If I send aporter with you to the people we deal with, would you be able to get allthese things which are marked with a cross? the wine and the others wehave here. "

Joey looked over it, and was quite at home; it was only bumboating on alarge scale. "O, yes; and I know the prices of all these things, "replied he; "I have been used to the supplying of ships at Gravesend. "

"Why then, " said Mr Sleek, "you are the very person I want; for I haveno time to attend to out-door work now. "

The porter was sent for, and our hero soon executed his task, not onlywith a precision but with a rapidity that was highly satisfactory to MrSleek. As soon as the articles were all collected, Joey asked whetherhe should take them on board--"I understand the work, Mr Sleek, and noteven an egg shall be broke, I promise you. " The second part of thecommission was executed with the same precision by our hero, whoreturned with a receipt of every article having been delivered safe andin good condition. Mr Sleek was delighted with our hero, and told MrSmall so when they met in the evening. Mr Sleek's opinion was given inthe presence of Mrs Phillips and Emma, who exchanged glances ofsatisfaction at Joey's fortunate _debut_. 

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. 

IN WHICH THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE TURNS A SPOKE OR TWO IN FAVOUR OF OURHERO. 

If we were to analyse the feelings of our hero towards Emma Phillips, weshould hardly be warranted in saying that he was in love with her, although at seventeen years young men are very apt to be, or so to fancythemselves. The difference in their positions was so great, that, although our hero would, in his dreams, often fancy himself on mostintimate terms with his kind little patroness, in his waking thoughtsshe was more an object of adoration and respect, --a being to whom he wasmost ardently and devotedly attached, --one whose friendship and kindnesshad so wrought upon his best feelings, that he would have thought it nosacrifice to die for her; but the idea of ever being closer allied toher than he now was had not yet entered into his imagination; all heever thought was that, if ever he united himself to any female for life, the party selected must be like Emma Phillips; or, if not, he wouldremain single. All his endeavours were to prove himself worthy of herpatronage, and to be rewarded by her smiles of encouragement when theymet. She was the lodestar which guided him on to his path of duty, and, stimulated by his wishes to find favour in her sight, Joey never relaxedin his exertions; naturally active and methodical, he was indefatigable, and gave the greatest satisfaction to Mr Sleek, who found more thanhalf the labour taken off his hands; and, further, that if Joey oncesaid a thing should be done, it was not only well done, but done to thevery time that was stipulated for its completion. Joey cared not formeals, or anything of that kind, and often went without his dinner. 

"Sleek, " said Small, one day, "that poor boy will be starved. "

"It's not my fault, sir; he won't go to his dinner if there is anythingto do; and, as there is always something to do, it's as clear as the daythat he can get no dinner. I wish he was living in the housealtogether, and came to his meals with us after the work was done; itwould be very advantageous, and much time saved. "

"Time is money, Sleek. Time saved is money saved; and therefore he isworthy of his food. It shall be so. Do you see to it. "

Thus, in about two months after his arrival, Joey found himselfinstalled in a nice little bedroom, and living at the table of hispatron, not only constantly in company with the naval officers, but, what was of more value to him, in the company of Mrs Phillips and Emma. 

We must pass over more than a year, during which time our hero hadbecome a person of some importance. He was a great favourite with thenaval captains, as his punctuality and rapidity corresponded with theirideas of doing business; and it was constantly said to Mr Sleek or toMr Small, "Let O'Donahue and I settle the matter, and all will goright. " Mr Small had already established him at a salary of 150 poundsper annum, besides his living in the house, and our hero was comfortableand happy. He was well known to all the officers, from his beingconstantly on board of their ships, and was a great favourite: Joey soondiscovered that Emma had a fancy for natural curiosities; and as heboarded almost every man-of-war which came into the port, he soon filledher room with a variety of shells and of birds, which he procured her. These were presents which he could make, and which she could accept, andnot a week passed without our hero adding something to her museum oflive and dead objects. Indeed, Emma was now grown up, and was paid suchattention to by the officers who frequented her uncle's house (not onlyon account of her beauty, but on account of the expectation that heruncle, who was without children, would give her a handsome fortune), that some emotions of jealousy, of which he was hardly conscious, wouldoccasionally give severe pain to our hero. Perhaps as his fortunesrose, so did his hopes; certain it is, that sometimes he was very grave. 

Emma was too clear-sighted not to perceive the cause, and hastened, byher little attentions, to remove the feeling: not that she had anydefinite ideas upon the subject any more than Joey; but she could notbear to see him look unhappy. 

Such was the state of things, when one day Mr Small said to Joey, as hewas busy copying an order into the books, "O'Donahue, I have been layingout some of your money for you. "

"Indeed, sir! I'm very much obliged to you. "

"Yes; there was a large stock of claret sold at auction to-day: it wasgood, and went cheap. I have purchased to the amount of 600 pounds onyour account. You may bottle and bin it here, and sell it as you can. If you don't like the bargain, I'll take it off your hands. "

"I am very grateful to you, sir, " replied Joey, who knew the kindness ofthe act, which in two months more than doubled his capital; and, as hewas permitted to continue the business on his own account, he was verysoon in a position amounting to independence, the French wine businessbeing ever afterwards considered as exclusively belonging to our hero. 

One morning, as Joey happened to be in the counting-house by himself--which was rather an unusual occurrence, --a midshipman came in. Joeyremembered him very well, as he had been often there before. "Goodmorning, Mr O'Donahue, " said the midshipman; "is Mr Small within?"

"No, he is not; can I do anything for you?"

"Yes, if you can tell me how I am to persuade Mr Small to advance me alittle money upon my pay, you can do something for me. "

"I never heard of such an application before, " replied Joey, smiling. 

"No, that I venture you did not, and it requires all the impudence of amidshipman to make such a one; but the fact is, Mr O'Donahue, I am amate with 40 pounds a year, and upon that I have continued to assist mypoor old mother up to the present. She now requires 10 pounds inconsequence of illness, and I have not a farthing. I will repay it if Ilive, that is certain; but I have little hopes of obtaining it, andnothing but my affection for the old lady would induce me to risk themortification of a refusal. It's true enough that `he who goesa-borrowing goes a-sorrowing. '"

"I fear it is; but I will so far assist you as to let you know what youronly chance is. State your case to Mr Small as you have to me to-day, and then stand close to him while he answers; if he puts his knucklesinto your ribs to enforce his arguments, don't shrink, and then wait theresult without interrupting him. "

"Well, I'd do more than that for the old lady, " replied the poormidshipman, as Mr Small made his appearance. 

The midshipman told his story in very few words, and Mr Small heard himwithout interruption. When he had finished, Mr Small commenced, "Yousee my man, you ask me to do what no navy-agent ever did before--to lendupon a promise to pay, and that promise to pay from a midshipman. Inthe first place, I have only the promise without the security; that'sone point, do you observe? (A punch with the knuckles. ) And then thepromise to pay depends whether you are in the country or not. Again, ifyou have the money, you may not have the inclination to pay; that'sanother point. (Then came another sharp impression into the ribs of themiddy. ) Then, again, it is not even personal security, as you may bedrowned, shot, blown up, or taken out of the world before any pay is dueto you; and by your death you would be unable to pay, if so inclined;there's a third point. (And there was a third dig, which the middystood boldly up against. ) Insure your life you cannot, for you have nomoney; you therefore require me to lend my money upon no securitywhatever; for even allowing that you would pay if you could, yet yourdeath might prevent it; there's another point, (and the knuckles againpenetrated into the midshipman's side who felt the torture increasing ashope was departing. ) But, " continued Mr Small, who was evidently muchpleased with his own ratiocination, "there is another point not yettouched upon, which is, that as good Christians, we must sometimes lendmoney upon no security, or even give it away, for so are we commanded;and therefore, Mr O'Donahue, you will tell Mr Sleek to let him havethe money; there's the last and best point of all, eh?" wound up MrSmall, with a thumping blow upon the ribs of the middy, that almost tookaway his breath. We give this as a specimen of Mr Small's style ofpractical and theoretical logic combined. 

"The admiral, sir, is coming down the street, " said Sleek, entering, "and I think he is coming here. "

Mr Small, who did not venture to chop logic with admirals, but wasexcessively polite to such great people, went out to receive theadmiral, hat in hand. 

"Now, Mr Small, " said the admiral, "the counting-house for business, ifyou please. I have very unexpected orders to leave Portsmouth. I mustsave the next tide, if possible. The ships will be ready, for you knowwhat our navy can do when required: but as you know, I have not one atomof stock on board. The flood-tide has made almost an hour, and we mustsail at the first of the ebb, as twelve hours' delay may be mostserious. Now, tell me--here is the list of what is required; boats willbe ready and men in plenty to get it on board;--can you get it ready bythat time?"

"By that time, Sir William?" replied Small, looking over the tremendouscatalogue. 

"It is now eleven o'clock; can it all be down by four o'clock--that isthe latest I can give you?"

"Impossible, Sir William. "

"It is of the greatest importance that we sail at five o'clock; the factis, I must and will; but it's hard that I must starve for a wholecruise. "

"Indeed, Sir William, " said Mr Small, "if it were possible; but twocows, so many sheep, hay, and everything to be got from the country; wenever could manage it. To-morrow morning, perhaps. "

"Well, Mr Small, I have appointed no prize-agent yet; had you obligedme--"

Our hero now stepped forward and ran over the list. 

"Can you inform me, sir, " said he to the flag-captain, "whether the_Zenobia_ or _Orestes_ sail with the squadron?"

"No, they do not, " was the reply. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr Small, " said Joey, "but I do think we canaccomplish this with a little arrangement. "

"Indeed!" cried Sir William. 

"Yes, Sir William; if you would immediately make the signals for twoboats to come on shore, with steady crews to assist me, I promise itshall be done. "

"Well said, O'Donahue!" cried the captain; "we are all right now, admiral; if he says it shall be done, it will be done. "

"May I depend upon you, Mr O'Donahue. "

"Yes, Sir William; everything shall be as you wish. "

"Well, Mr Small, if your young man keeps his word, you shall be myprize-agent. Good morning to you. "

"How could you promise?" cried Small, addressing our hero, when theadmiral and suite had left the counting-house. 

"Because I can perform, sir, " replied Joey; "I have the cows and sheepfor the _Zenobia_ and _Orestes_, as well as the fodder, all ready in thetown; we can get others for them to-morrow, and I know where to lay myhands on everything else. "

"Well, that's lucky! but there is no time to be lost. "

Our hero, with his usual promptitude and activity, kept his promise;and, as Mr Small said, it was lucky, for the prize-agency, in a fewmonths afterwards, proved worth to him nearly 5, 000 pounds. 

It is not to be supposed that Joey neglected his correspondence eitherwith Mary or Spikeman, although with the latter it was not so frequent. Mary wrote to him every month; she had not many subjects to enter upon, chiefly replying to Joey's communications, and congratulating him uponhis success. Indeed, now that our hero had been nearly four years withMr Small, he might be said to be a very rising and independent person. His capital, which had increased very considerably, had been thrown intothe business, and he was now a junior partner, instead of a clerk, andhad long enjoyed the full confidence both of his superior and of MrSleek, who now entrusted him with almost everything. In short, Joey wasin the fair way to competence and distinction. 

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. 

CHAPTER OF INFINITE VARIETY, CONTAINING AGONY, LAW, LOVE, QUARRELLING, AND SUICIDE. 

It may be a subject of interest on the part of the reader to inquirewhat were the relative positions of Emma Phillips and our hero, now thatfour years had passed, during which time he had been continually in hercompany, and gradually, as he rose in importance, removing the distancethat was between them. We have only to reply that the consequencesnatural to such a case did ensue. Every year their intimacy increased--every year added to the hopes of our hero, who now no longer looked uponan alliance with Emma as impossible; yet he still never felt sufficientconfidence in himself or his fortunes to intimate such a thought to her;indeed, from a long habit of veneration and respect, he was in theposition of a subject before a queen who feels a partiality towards him;he dared not give vent to his thoughts, and it remained for her to havethe unfeminine task of intimating to him that he might venture. But, although to outward appearance there was nothing but respect andfeelings of gratitude on his part, and condescension and amiability onhers, there was a rapid adhesion going on within. Their interviews weremore restrained, their words more selected; for both parties felt howstrong were the feelings which they would repress; they were bothpensive, silent, and distant--would talk unconnectedly, running from onesubject to another, attempting to be lively and unconcerned when theywere most inclined to be otherwise, and not daring to scrutinise toominutely their own feelings when they found themselves alone; but whatthey would fain conceal from themselves their very attempts to concealmade known to other people who were standing by. Both Mrs Phillips andMr Small perceived how matters stood, and, had they any objections, would have immediately no longer permitted them to be in contact; butthey had no objections, for our hero had long won the hearts of bothmother and uncle, and they awaited quietly the time which should arrivewhen the young parties should no longer conceal their feelings for eachother. 

It was when affairs were between our hero and Emma Phillips as we havejust stated, that a circumstance took place which for a time embitteredall our hero's happiness. He was walking down High Street, when heperceived a file of marines marching towards him, with two men betweenthem, handcuffed, evidently deserters who had been taken up. A feelingof alarm pervaded our hero; he had a presentiment which induced him togo into a perfumer's shop, and to remain there, so as to have a view ofthe faces of the deserters as they passed along, without their beingable to see him. His forebodings were correct: one of them was his oldenemy and persecutor, Furness, the schoolmaster. 

Had a dagger been plunged into Joey's bosom, the sensation could nothave been more painful than what he felt when he once more found himselfso near to his dreaded denouncer. For a short time he remained sotransfixed, that the woman who was attending in the shop asked whethershe should bring him a glass of water. This inquiry made him recollecthimself, and, complaining of a sudden pain in the side, he sat down, andtook the water when it was brought; but he went home in despair, quiteforgetting the business which brought him out, and retired to his ownroom, that he might collect his thoughts. What was he to do? This manhad been brought back to the barracks; he would be tried and punished, and afterwards be set at liberty. How was it possible that he couldalways avoid him, or escape being recognised? and how little chance hadhe of escape from Furness's searching eye! Could he bribe him? Yes, hecould now; he was rich enough; but, if he did, one bribe would only befollowed up by a demand for another, and a threat of denouncement if herefused. Flight appeared his only chance; but to leave his presentposition--to leave Emma--it was impossible. Our hero did not leave hisroom for the remainder of the day, but retired early to bed, that hemight cogitate, for sleep he could not. After a night of misery, theeffects of which were too visibly marked in his countenance on theensuing morning, Joey determined to make some inquiries relative to whatthe fate of Furness might be; and, having made up his mind, he accosteda sergeant of marines, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and whomhe fell in with in the streets. He observed to him that he perceivedthey had deserters brought in yesterday, and inquired from what shipthey had deserted, or from the barracks. The sergeant replied that theyhad deserted from the _Niobe_ frigate, and had committed theft previousto desertion; that they would remain in confinement at the barracks tillthe _Niobe_ arrived; and that then they would be tried by acourt-martial, and, without doubt, for the double offence, would gothrough the fleet. 

Joey wished the sergeant good morning, and passed on in his way home. His altered appearance had attracted the notice of not only hispartners, but of Mrs Phillips, and had caused much distress to thelatter. Our hero remained the whole day in the counting-house, apparently unconcerned, but in reality thinking and rethinking, over andover again, his former thoughts. At last he made up his mind that hewould wait the issue of the court-martial before he took any decidedsteps; indeed, what to do he knew not. 

We leave the reader to guess the state of mind in which Joey remainedfor a fortnight previous to the return of the _Niobe_ frigate from aChannel cruise. Two days after her arrival, the signal was made for acourt-martial. The sentence was well known before night; it was, thatthe culprits were to go through the fleet on the ensuing day. 

This was, however, no consolation to our hero; he did not feel animosityagainst Furness so much as he did dread of him; he did not want hispunishment, but his absence, and security against future annoyance. Itwas about nine o'clock on the next morning, when the punishment was totake place, that Joey came down from his own room. He had been thinkingall night, and had decided that he had no other resource but to quitPortsmouth, Emma, and his fair prospects for ever; he had resolved so todo, to make this sacrifice; it was a bitter conclusion to arrive at, butit had been come to. His haggard countenance when he made hisappearance at the breakfast-table, shocked Mrs Phillips and Emma; butthey made no remarks. The breakfast was passed over in silence, andsoon afterwards our hero found himself alone with Emma, who immediatelywent to him, and, with tears in her eyes, said, "What is the matter withyou?--you look so ill, you alarm us all, and you make me quitemiserable. "

"I am afraid, Miss Phillips--"

"Miss Phillips!" replied Emma. 

"I beg your pardon; but, Emma, I am afraid that I must leave you. "

"Leave us!"

"Yes, leave you and Portsmouth for ever, perhaps. "

"Why, what has occurred?"

"I cannot, dare not tell. Will you so far oblige me to say nothing atpresent; but you recollect that I was obliged to leave Gravesend on asudden. "

"I recollect you did, but why I know not; only Mary said that it was notyour fault. "

"I trust it was not so; but it was my misfortune. Emma, I am almostdistracted; I have not slept for weeks; but pray believe me, when I saythat I have done no wrong; indeed--"

"We are interrupted, " said Emma, hurriedly; "there is somebody comingupstairs. "

She had hardly time to remove a few feet from our hero, when CaptainB---, of the _Niobe_, entered the room. 

"Good morning, Miss Phillips, I hope you are well; I just looked in fora moment before I go to the Admiral's office; we have had a catastropheon board the _Niobe_, which I must report immediately. "

"Indeed, " replied Emma; "nothing very serious, I hope. "

"Why, no, only rid of a blackguard not worth hanging; one of themarines, who was to have gone round the fleet this morning, when he wentto the forepart of the ship under the sentry's charge, leaped overboard, and drowned himself. "

"What was his name, Captain B---?" inquired Joey, seizing him by thearm. 

"His name--why, how can that interest you, O'Donahue? Well, if you wishto know, it was Furness. "

"I am very sorry for him, " replied our hero; "I knew him once when hewas in better circumstances, that is all;" and Joey, no longer daring totrust himself with others, quitted the room, and went to his ownapartment. As soon as he was there, he knelt down and returned thanks, not for the death of Furness, but for the removal of the load which hadso oppressed his mind. In an hour his relief was so great that he felthimself sufficiently composed to go downstairs; he went into thedrawing-room to find Emma, but she was not there. He longed to havesome explanation with her, but it was not until the next day that he hadan opportunity. 

"I hardly know what to say to you, " said our hero, "or how to explain myconduct of yesterday. "

"It certainly appeared very strange, especially to Captain B---, whotold me that he thought you were mad. "

"I care little what he thinks, but I care much what you think, Emma; andI must now tell you what, perhaps, this man's death may permit me to do. That he has been most strangely connected with my life is most true; heit was who knew me, and who would, if he could, have put me in asituation in which I must either have suffered myself to be thoughtguilty of a crime which I am incapable of; or, let it suffice to say, have done, to exculpate myself, what, I trust, I never would have done, or ever will do. I can say no more than that, without betraying asecret which I am bound to keep, and the keeping of which may stillprove my own destruction. When you first saw me on the wayside, Emma, it was this man who forced me from a happy home to wander about theworld; it was the reappearance of this man, and his recognition of methat induced me to quit Gravesend so suddenly. I again met him, andavoided him when he was deserting; and I trusted that, as he haddeserted, I could be certain of living safely in this town withoutmeeting with him. It was his reappearance here, as a deserter taken up, which put me in that state of agony which you have seen me in for theselast three weeks; and it was the knowledge that, after his punishment, he would be again free, and likely to meet with me when walking abouthere, which resolved me to quit Portsmouth, as I said to you yesterdaymorning. Can you, therefore, be surprised at my emotion when I heardthat he was removed, and that there was now no necessity for my quittingmy kind patrons and you?"

"Certainly, after this explanation, I cannot be surprised at youremotion; but what does surprise me, Mr O'Donahue, is that you shouldhave a secret of such importance that it cannot be revealed, and whichhas made you tremble at the recognition of that man, when at the sametime you declare your innocence. Did innocence and mystery ever walkhand in hand?"

"Your addressing me as Mr O'Donahue, Miss Phillips, has pointed out tome the impropriety I have been guilty of in making use of your Christianname. I thought that that confidence which you placed in me when, as amere boy, I told you exactly what I now repeat, that the secret was notmy own, would not have been now so cruelly withdrawn. I have nevervaried in my tale, and I can honestly say that I have never feltdegraded when I have admitted that I have a mystery connected with me;nay, if it should please Heaven that I have the option given me tosuffer in my own person, or reveal the secret in question, I trust thatI shall submit to my fate with constancy, and be supported in mymisfortune by the conviction of my innocence. I feel that I was notwrong in the communication that I made to you yesterday morning that Imust leave this place. I came here because you were living here--you towhom I felt so devoted for your kindness and sympathy when I was poorand friendless; now that I am otherwise, you are pleased to withdraw notonly your good will, but your confidence in me; and as the spell isbroken which has drawn me to this spot, I repeat, that as soon as I can, with justice to my patrons, I shall withdraw myself from your presence. "

Our hero's voice faltered before he had finished speaking; and thenturning away slowly, without looking up, he quitted the room. 

CHAPTER FORTY. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO TRIES CHANGE OF AIR. 

The reader will observe that there has been a little altercation at theend of the last chapter. Emma Phillips was guilty of letting drop areceived truism, or rather a metaphor, which offended our hero. "Didinnocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand?" If Emma had put thatquestion to us, we, from our knowledge of the world, should havereplied, "Yes, very often, my dear Miss Phillips. " But Emma was wrong, not only in her metaphor, but in the time of her making it. Why did shedo so? Ah! that is a puzzling question to answer; we can only say, atour imminent risk, when this narrative shall be perused by the othersex, that we have made the discovery that women are not perfect; thatthe very best of the sex are full of contradiction, and that Emma was awoman. That women very often are more endowed than the generality ofmen we are ready to admit; and their cause has been taken up by LadyMorgan, Mrs Jamieson, and many others who can write much better than wecan. When we say their cause, we mean the right of equality they wouldclaim with our sex and not subjection to it. Reading my Lady Morgan theother day, which, next to conversing with her, is one of the greatesttreats we know of we began to speculate upon what were the causes whichhad subjected woman to man; in other words, how was it that man had gotthe upper hand, and kept it? That women's minds were not inferior tomen's we were forced to admit; that their aptitude for cultivation isoften greater, was not to be denied. As to the assertion that man makeslaws, or that his frame is of more robust material, it is no argument, as a revolt on the part of the other sex would soon do away with suchadvantage; and men, brought up as nursery-maids, would soon succumb towomen who were accustomed to athletic sports from their youth upwards. After a great deal of cogitation we came to the conclusion, that thereis a great difference between the action in the minds of men and women;the machinery of the latter being more complex than that of our own sex. A man's mind is his despot: it works but by one single action; it hasone ruling principle--one propelling power to which all is subservient. This power or passion (disguised and dormant as it may be in feebleminds) is the only one which propels him on; this _primum mobile_, as itmay be termed, is ambition, or, in other words, self-love; everything issacrificed to it. 

Now, as in proportion as a machine is simple so is it strong in itsaction--so in proportion that a machine is complex, it becomes weak; andif we analyse a woman's mind, we shall find that her inferiority arisesfrom the simple fact, that there are so many wheels within wheelsworking in it, so many compensating balances (if we may use the term, and we use it to her honour), that although usually more right-mindedthan man, her strength of action is lost, and has become feeble by thetime that her decision has been made. What will a man allow to stand inthe way of his ambition--love? no--friendship? no--he will sacrifice thebest qualities, and, which is more difficult, make the worst that are inhis disposition subservient to it. He moves only one great principle, one propelling power--and the action being single, it is strong inproportion. But will a woman's mind decide in this way? Will shesacrifice to ambition, love, or friendship, or natural ties? No; in hermind the claims of each are, generally speaking, fairly balanced--andthe quotient, after the calculation has been worked out, althoughcorrect, is small. Our argument, after all, only goes to prove thatwomen, abstractedly taken, have more principle, more conscience, andbetter regulated minds than men--which is true if--if they could alwaysgo correct as timekeepers; but the more complex the machine, the moredifficult it is to keep it in order, the more likely it is to be out ofrepair, and its movements to be disarranged by a trifling shock, whichwould have no effect upon one of such simple and powerful constructionas that in our own sex. Not only do they often go wrong, but sometimesthe serious shocks which they are liable to in this world will put themin a state which is past all repair. 

We have no doubt that by this time the reader will say, "Never mindwomen's minds, but mind your own business. " We left Emma in thedrawing-room, rather astonished at our hero's long speech, and stillmore by his (for the first time during their acquaintance) venturing tobreathe a contrary opinion to her own sweet self. 

Emma Phillips, although she pouted a little, and the colour had mountedto her temples, nevertheless looked very lovely as she pensivelyreclined on the sofa. Rebuked by him who had always been so attentive, so submissive--her creature as it were--she was mortified, as everypretty woman is, at any loss of power--any symptoms of rebellion on thepart of a liege vassal; and then she taxed herself; had she done wrong?She had said, "Innocence and mystery did not walk hand in hand. " Wasnot that true? She felt that it was true, and her own opinion wascorroborated by others, for she had read it in some book, either inBurke, or Rochefoucault, or some great author. Miss Phillips bit thetip of her nail and thought again. Yes, she saw how it was; our herohad risen in the world, was independent, and was well received insociety; he was no longer the little Joey of Gravesend; he was now aperson of some consequence, and he was a very ungrateful fellow; but theworld was full of ingratitude; still she did think better of our hero;she certainly did. Well; at all events she could prove to him that--what?--she did not exactly know. Thus ended cogitation the second, after which came another series. 

What had our hero said--what had he accused her of? That she no longerbestowed on him her confidence placed in him for many years. This wastrue; but were not the relative positions, was not the case different?Should he now retain any secret from her?--there should be no secretsbetween them. There again there was a full stop before the sentence wascomplete. After a little more reflection, her own generous mind pointedout to her that she had been in the wrong; and that our hero had causeto be offended with her; and she made up her mind to make reparation thefirst time that they should be alone. 

Having come to this resolution, she dismissed the previous question, andbegan to think about the secret itself, and what it possibly could be, and how she wished she knew what it was; all of which was very natural. In the meantime our hero had made up his mind to leave Portsmouth, for atime at all events. This quarrel with Emma, if such it might beconsidered, had made him very miserable, and the anxiety he had latelysuffered had seriously affected his health. 

We believe that there never was anybody in this world who had grown toman's or woman's estate and had mixed with the world, who couldafterwards say that they were at any time perfectly happy; or who, having said so, did not find that the reverse was the case a moment ortwo after the words were out of their mouth. "There is alwayssomething, " as a good lady said to us; and so there always is, andalways will be. The removal of Furness was naturally a great relief tothe mind of our hero; he then felt as if all his difficulties weresurmounted, and that he had no longer any fear of the consequences whichmight ensue from his father's crime. He would now, he thought, be ableto walk boldly through the world without recognition, and he had builtcastles enough to form a metropolis when his rupture with Emma broke themagic mirror through which he had scanned futurity. When most buoyantwith hope, he found the truth of the good lady's saying--"There isalways something. "

After remaining in his room for an hour, Joey went down to thecounting-house, where he found Mr Small and Mr Sleek both at work, fortheir labours had increased since Joey had so much neglected business. 

"Well, my good friend, how do you find yourself?" said Mr Small. 

"Very far from well, sir. I feel that I cannot attend to business, "replied Joey, "and I am quite ashamed of myself; I was thinking that, ifyou had no objection to allow me a couple of months' leave of absence, change of air would be very serviceable to me. I have something to doat Dudstone, which I have put off ever since I came to Portsmouth. "

"I think change of air would be very serviceable to you, my dearfellow, " replied Mr Small; "but what business you can have at DudstoneI cannot imagine. "

"Simply this--I locked up my apartments, leaving my furniture, books, and linen, when I went away, more than four years ago, and have neverfound time to look after them. "

"Well, they must want dusting by this time, O'Donahue, so look afterthem if you please; but I think looking after your health is of moreconsequence, so you have my full consent to take a holiday, and remainaway three months, if necessary, till you are perfectly re-established. "

"And you have mine, " added Mr Sleek, "and I will do your work while youare away. "

Our hero thanked his senior partners for their kind compliance with hiswishes, and stated his intention of starting the next morning by theearly coach, and then left the counting-house to make preparations forhis journey. 

Joey joined the party, which was numerous, at dinner. It was not untilthey were in the drawing-room after dinner, that Mr Small had anopportunity of communicating to Mrs Phillips what were our hero'sintentions. Mrs Phillips considered it a very advisable measure, asJoey had evidently suffered very much lately: probably over-exertionmight have been the cause, and relaxation would effect the cure. 

Emma, who was sitting by her mother, turned pale; she had not imaginedthat our hero would have followed up his expressed intentions of themorning, and she asked Mr Small if he knew when O'Donahue would leavePortsmouth. The reply was, that he had taken his place on the earlycoach of the next morning: and Emma fell back on the sofa, and did notsay anything more. 

When the company had all left, Mrs Phillips rose and lighted a chambercandlestick to go to bed, and Emma followed the motions of her mother. Mrs Phillips shook hands with our hero, wishing him a great deal ofpleasure, and that he would return quite restored in health. Emma, whofound that all chance of an interview with our hero was gone, musteredup courage enough to extend her hand and say, --"I hope your absence willbe productive of health and happiness to you, Mr O'Donahue, " and thenfollowed her mother. 

Joey, who, was in no humour for conversation, then bade farewell to MrSmall and Mr Sleek, and, before Emma had risen from not a veryrefreshing night's rest, he was two stages on his way from Portsmouth. 

CHAPTER FORTY ONE. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO HAS HIS HEAD TURNED THE WRONG WAY. 

Although it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, toshow that we feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much uponimpulse and carry measures to extremities; and this our hero felt as thecoach wheeled him along, every second increasing his distance from EmmaPhillips; twenty times he was inclined to take a postchaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame preventedhim; so he went on until he reached the metropolis, and on arrivingthere, having nothing better to do, he went to bed. The next day hebooked himself for the following day's coach to Manstone, and having sodone, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and MrsMcShane, and, now that Furness was no longer to be dreaded, make hisexistence known to them. He went to Holborn accordingly, and found theshop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth fromthe grating which gave light and air to the kitchen; but he perceivedthat there was no longer the name of McShane on the private door, andentering the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where MrsMcShane usually stood carving the joint, he discovered a personsimilarly employed whose face was unknown to him; in fact, it could notbe Mrs McShane, as it was a man. Our hero went up to him, and inquiredif the McShanes still carried on the business, and was told that theyhad sold it some time back. His next inquiry, as to what had become ofthem, produced an "I don't know, " with some symptoms of impatience atbeing interrupted. Under such circumstances, our hero had nothing moreto do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises. Hepreferred the latter, and was once more at the hotel, where he dedicatedthe remainder of the day to thinking of his old friends, as fate haddebarred him from seeing them. 

The next morning Joey set off by the coach, and arrived at Manstone alittle before dusk. He remained at the principal inn of the village, called the Austin Arms, in honour of the property in the immediatevicinity; and, having looked at the various quarterings of arms that thesignboard contained, without the slightest idea that they appertained tohimself, he ordered supper, and looking out of the window of the firstfloor, discovered, at no great distance down the one street whichcomposed the village, the small ale-house where he had before met Mary. Our hero no longer felt the pride of poverty; he had resented thetreatment he had received at the Hall when friendless, but, now that hewas otherwise, he had overcome the feeling, and had resolved to go up tothe Hall on the following day, and ask for Mary. He was now welldressed and with all the appearance and manners of a gentleman: and, moreover, he had been so accustomed to respect from servants, that hehad no idea of being treated otherwise. The next morning, therefore, hewalked up to the Hall, and, knocking at the door, as soon as it wasopened, he told the well-powdered domestics that he wished to speak afew words to Miss Atherton, if she still lived with Mrs Austin. Hisappearance was considered by these gentlemen in waiting as sufficient toinduce them to show him into a parlour, and to send for Mary, who in afew minutes came down to him, and embraced him tenderly. "I shouldhardly have known you, my dear boy, " said she, as the tears glistened inher eyes; "you have grown quite a man. I cannot imagine, as you nowstand before me, that you could have been the little Joey that wasliving at Mrs Chopper's. "

"We are indebted to that good woman for our prosperity, " replied Joey. "Do you know, Mary, that your money has multiplied so fast that I almostwish that you would take it away, lest by some accident it should belost? I have brought you an account. "

"Let me have an account of yourself, my dear brother, " replied Mary; "Ihave no want of money; I am here well and happy. "

"So you must have been, for you look as young and handsome as when Ilast saw you, Mary. How is your mistress?"

"She is well, and would, I think, be happy, if it were not for thestrange disease of Mr Austin, who secludes himself entirely, and willnot even go outside of the park gates. He has become more overbearingand haughty than ever, and several of the servants have quitted withinthe last few months. "

"I have no wish to meet him, dear Mary, after what passed when I washere before? I will not put up with insolence from any man, even in hisown house, " replied our hero. 

"Do not speak so loud, his study is next to us, and that door leads toit, " replied Mary; "he would not say anything to you, but he would findfault with me. "

"Then you had better come to see me at the Austin Arms, where I amstopping. "

"I will come this evening, " replied Mary. 

At this moment the door which led to the study was opened, and a voicewas heard--

"Mary, I wish you would take your sweethearts to a more convenientdistance. "

Joey heard the harsh, hollow voice, but recognised it not; he would notturn round to look at Mr Austin, but remained with his back to him, andthe door closed again with a bang. 

"Well, " observed Joey, "that is a pretty fair specimen of what he is, atall events. Why did you not say I was your brother?"

"Because it was better to say nothing, " replied Mary; "he will not comein again. "

"Well, I shall leave you now, " said Joey, "and wait till the evening;you will be certain to come?"

"O yes, I certainly shall, " replied Mary. "Hush! I hear my mistresswith Mr Austin. I wish you could see her, you would like her verymuch. "

The outer door of the study was closed to, and then the door of the roomin which they were conversing was opened, but it was shut againimmediately. 

"Who was that?" said our hero, who had not turned round to ascertain. "Mrs Austin; she just looked in, and seeing I was engaged, she onlynodded to me to say that she wanted me, I presume, and then went awayagain, " replied Mary. "You had better go now, and I will be sure tocome in the evening. "

Our hero quitted the hall; he had evidently been in the presence of hisfather and mother without knowing it, and all because he happened onboth occasions to have his face turned in a wrong direction, and he leftthe house as unconscious as he went in. As soon as our hero had leftthe hall, Mary repaired to her mistress. 

"Do you want me, madam?" said Mary, as she went to her mistress. 

"No, Mary, not particular, but Mr Austin sent for me; he was annoyed atyour having a strange person in the house, and desired me to send himaway. "

"It was my brother, madam, " replied Mary. 

"Your brother! I am very sorry, Mary, but you know how nervous MrAustin is, and there is no reasoning against nerves. I should haveliked to have seen your brother very much; if I recollect rightly, youtold me he was doing well at Portsmouth, is he not?"

"Yes, madam; he is now a partner in one of the first houses there. "

"Why, Mary, he will soon have you to keep his own house, I presume, andI shall lose you; indeed, your are more fit for such a situation thanyour present one, so I must not regret it if you do. "

"He has no idea of taking a house, madam, " replied Mary, "nor have I anyof quitting you; your place is quite good enough for me. I promised togo down and meet him this evening, with your permission, at the AustinArms. "

"Certainly, " replied Mrs Austin; and then the conversation dropped. 

Our hero remained at the inn two days, a portion of which Mary passedwith him, and then he set off for Dudstone; he did not make Mary aconfident of his attachment to Emma Phillips, although he imparted toher the death of Furness, and the relief it had afforded him, promisingto return to see her before he went back to Portsmouth. 

Joey once more set off on his travels, and without incident arrived atthe good old town of Dudstone, where he put up at the Commercial Hotel;his only object was, to ascertain the condition of his lodgings: for thefirst two years he had sent the rent of the room to the old woman towhom the house belonged, but latterly no application had been made forit, although his address had been given; and, occupied by other businessmore important, our hero had quite forgotten the affair, or if he didoccasionally recall it to his memory, it was soon dismissed again. Hiskey he had brought with him, and he now proceeded to the house andknocked at the door, surmising that the old woman was possibly dead, andhis property probably disposed of; the first part of the surmise wasdisproved by the old woman coming to the door; she did not recognise ourhero, and it was not until he produced the key of his room that she wasconvinced that he was the lawful owner of its contents. She told himshe could not write herself, and that the party who had written toPortsmouth for her was dead, and that she felt sure he would come backat some time and settle with her; and, moreover, she was afraid that thefurniture would be much injured by having been shut up so long, whichwas not only very likely, but proved to be the case when the door wasopened; she also said that she could have made money for him, had heallowed her to let the lodgings furnished, as she had had severalapplications. Our hero walked into his apartment, which certainly had avery mothy and mouldy appearance. As soon as a fire had been lighted, he collected all that he wanted to retain for himself, the books, plate, and some other articles, which he valued for Spikeman's sake, and as oldreminiscences, and putting them up in a chest, requested that it mightbe sent to the inn; and then, upon reflection, he thought he could do nobetter with the remainder than to make them a present to the old woman, which he did, after paying up her arrears of rent, and by so doing madeone person, for the time, superlatively happy, which is something worthdoing in this chequered world of ours. Joey, as soon as he had returnedto the inn, sat down to write to Spikeman, and also to Mr Small, atPortsmouth, and having posted his letters, as he did not quit Dudstoneuntil the next morning, he resolved to pay a visit to his formeracquaintances, Miss Amelia and Miss Ophelia. His knock at the door wasanswered by Miss Amelia, as usual, but with only one arm unoccupied, ababy being in the other, and the squalling in the little parlour gavefurther evidence of matrimony. Our hero was obliged to introducehimself, as he was stared at as an utter stranger; he was thenimmediately welcomed, and requested to walk into the parlour. In a fewminutes the whole of the family history was communicated. The old ladyhad been dead three years, and at her death the young ladies foundthemselves in possession of one thousand pounds each. This thousandpounds proved to them that husbands were to be had, even at Dudstone andits vicinity. Miss Amelia had been married more than two years to amaster builder, who had plenty of occupation, not so much in buildingnew houses at Dudstone as in repairing the old ones, and they were doingwell, and had two children. Her sister had married a young farmer, andshe could see her money every day in the shape of bullocks and sheepupon the farm; they also were doing well. Joey remained an hour: MrsPotts was very anxious that he should remain longer, and give her hisopinion of her husband; but this, Joey declined, and, desiring to bekindly remembered to her sister, took his leave, and the next morningwas on his way to London. 

CHAPTER FORTY TWO. 

VERY PLEASANT CORRESPONDENCE. 

As soon as Joey arrived at the metropolis, he went to the correspondentof the house at Portsmouth to inquire for letters. He found one of thegreatest interest from Mr Small, who, after some preliminaries relativeto the business and certain commissions for him to transact in town, proceeded as follows:--

 "Your health has been a source of great anxiety to us all, not only in the counting-house, but in the drawing-room; the cause of your illness was ascribed to over-exertion in your duties, and it must be admitted, that until you were ill there was no relaxation on your part; but we have reason to suppose that there have been other causes which may have occasioned your rapid change from activity and cheerfulness to such a total prostration of body and mind. You may feel grieved when I tell you that Emma has been very unwell since you left, and the cause of her illness is beyond the skill of Mr Taylor, our medical man. She has, however, confided so much to her mother as to let us know that you are the party who has been the chief occasion of it. She has acknowledged that she has not behaved well to you, and has not done you justice; and I really believe that it is this conviction which is the chief ground of her altered state of health. I certainly have been too much in the counting-house to know what has been going on in the parlour, but I think that you ought to know us better than to suppose that we should not in every point be most anxious for your happiness, and your being constantly with us. That Emma blames herself is certain; that she is very amiable, is equally so; your return would give us the greatest satisfaction. I hardly need say I love my niece, and am anxious for her happiness; I love you, my dear friend, and am equally anxious for yours; and I do trust that any trifling disagreement between you (for surely you must be on intimate terms to quarrel, and for her to feel the quarrel so severely) will be speedily overcome. From what her mother says, I think that her affections are seriously engaged (I treat you with the confidence I am sure you deserve), and I am sure that there is no one upon whom I would so willingly bestow my niece; or as I find by questioning, no one to whom Mrs Phillips would so willingly entrust her daughter. If; then, I am right in my supposition, you will be received with open arms by all, not even excepting Emma--she has no coquetry in her composition. Like all the rest of us, she has her faults; but if she has her faults, she is not too proud to acknowledge them, and that you will allow when you read the enclosed, which she has requested me to send to you, and at the same time desired me to read it first. I trust this communication will accelerate your recovery, and that we shall soon see you again. At all events, answer my letter, and if I am in error, let me know, that I may undeceive others. "

The enclosure from Emma was then opened by our hero; it was in fewwords:--

 "My dear friend, --On reflection, I consider that I have treated you unjustly; I intended to tell you so, if I had had an opportunity, before you quitted us so hastily. My fault has preyed upon my mind ever since, and I cannot lose this first opportunity of requesting your forgiveness, and hoping that when we meet we shall be on the same friendly terms that we always had been previous to my unfortunate ebullition of temper. --Yours truly, EMMA. "

That this letter was a source of unqualified delight to our hero, may beeasily imagined. He was at once told by the uncle, and certainly Emmadid not leave him to suppose the contrary, that he might aspire andobtain her hand. Our hero could not reply to it by return of post. Ifdistress had occasioned his illness, joy now prostrated him still more;and he was compelled to return to his bed; but he was happy, almost toohappy, and he slept at last, and he dreamt such visions as only can beconjured up by those who have in anticipation every wish of their heartgratified. The next day he replied to Mr Small's, acknowledging, withfrankness, his feelings towards his niece, which a sense of his ownhumble origin and unworthiness had prevented him from venturing todisclose, and requesting him to use his influence in his favour, as hedared not speak himself; until he had received such assurance of hisunmerited good fortune as might encourage him so to do. To Emma, hisreply was in a few words; he thanked her for her continued good opinionof him, the idea of having lost which had made him very miserable, assuring her that he was ashamed of the petulance which he had shown, and that it was for him to have asked pardon, and not one who hadbehaved so kindly, and protected him for so long a period; that he feltmuch better already, and hoped to be able to shorten the time of absencewhich had been demanded by him and kindly granted by his patrons. Having concluded and despatched these epistles, our hero determined thathe would take a stroll about the metropolis. 

CHAPTER FORTY THREE. 

A VERY LONG CHAPTER, WITH A VERY LONG STORY, WHICH COULD NOT WELL BE CUTIN HALF. 

A man may walk a long while in the city of London without having anydefinite object, and yet be amused, for there are few occupations morepleasant, more instructive, or more contemplative, than looking into theshop windows; you pay a shilling to see an exhibition, whereas in thisinstance you have the advantage of seeing many without paying afarthing, provided that you look after your pocket-handkerchief. Thuswas our hero amused: at one shop he discovered that very gay shawls wereto be purchased for one pound, Bandanas at 3 shillings 9 pence, andsoiled Irish linen remarkably cheap; at another he saw a row of watches, from humble silver at 2 pounds 10 shillings, to gold and enamelled attwelve or fourteen guineas, all warranted to go well; at another hediscovered that furs were at half price, because nobody wore them in thesummer. He proceeded further, and came to where there was a quantity ofoil-paintings exposed for sale, pointing out to the passer-by thatpictures of that description were those which he ought not to buy. Aprint-shop gave him an idea of the merits of composition and designshown by the various masters; and as he could not transport himself tothe Vatican, it was quite as well to see what the Vatican contained; histhoughts were on Rome and her former glories. A tobacconist'stransported him to the State of Virginia, where many had beentransported in former days. A grocer's wafted him still farther to theWest Indies and the negroes, and from these, as if by magic, to theSpice Islands and their aromatic groves. But an old curiosity-shop, with bronzes, china, marqueterie, point-lace, and armour, embraced atonce a few centuries; and he thought of the feudal times, the fifteenthcentury, the belle of former days, the amber-headed cane and snuff boxof the beaux who sought her smiles, all gone, all dust; the workmanshipof the time, even portions of their dresses, still existing--everythingless perishable than man. 

Our hero proceeded on, his thoughts wandering as he wandered himself, when his attention was attracted by one of those placards, the breed ofwhich appears to have been very much improved of late, as they getlarger and larger every day; what they will end in there is no saying, unless it be in placards without end. This placard intimated that therewas a masquerade at Vauxhall on that evening, besides tire-works, water-works, and anything but good works. Our hero had heard ofVauxhall, and his curiosity was excited, and he resolved that he wouldpass away the evening in what was at that time a rather fashionableresort. 

It was half past six, and time to go, so he directed his steps overWestminster-bridge, and, having only lost three minutes in peepingthrough the balustrades at the barges and wherries proceeding up anddown the river, after asking his way three times, he found himself atthe entrance, and, paying his admission, walked in. There was a goodlysprinkling of company, but not many masks; there was a man clad in brassarmour, who stood quite motionless, for the armour was so heavy that hecould hardly bear the weight of it. He must have suffered a very greatinconvenience on such a warm night, but people stared at him as theypassed by, and he was more than repaid by the attention which heattracted; so he stood and suffered on. There were about twenty-fiveclowns in their motley dresses, seven or eight pantaloons, three devils, and perhaps forty or fifty dominoes. Joey soon found himself close tothe orchestra, which was a blaze of light, and he listened veryattentively to a lady in ostrich feathers, who was pouring out abravura, which was quite unintelligible to the audience, while thegentlemen behind her, in their cocked hats, accompanied her voice. Hewas leaning against one of the trees, and receiving, without knowing it, the drippings of a leaky lamp upon his coat, when two men came up andstopped on the other side of the trunk of the tree, and one said to theother--"I tell you, Joseph, she is here, and with the Christian. Manasseh traced her by the driver of the coach. She will never returnto her father's house if we do not discover her this night. "

"What! will she become a _Meshumed_--an apostate!" exclaimed the other;"I would see her in her grave first. Holy Father! the daughter of arabbi to bring such disgrace upon her family! Truly our sins, and thesins of our forefathers, have brought this evil upon our house. If Imeet him here I will stab him to the heart!"

"_Leemaan Hashem_! for the sake of the holy name, my son, think of whatyou say; you must not be so rash. Alas! alas! but we are mixed with theheathens. She must be concealed in one of the Moabitish garments, "continued the elder of the two personages, whom our hero had of courseascertained to be of the house of Israel. "Manasseh tells me that hehas discovered from another quarter, that the Christian had procured adomino, black, with the sleeves slashed with white. That will be adistinguishing mark; and if we see that dress we must then follow, andif a female is with it, it must be thy sister Miriam. "

"I will search now, and meet you here in half an hour, " replied theyounger of the two. 

"Joseph, my son, we do not part; I cannot trust you in your anger, andyou have weapons with you, I know; we must go together. Rooch Hakodesh!may the Holy Spirit guide us, and the daughter of our house be restored, for she is now my heart's bitterness, and my soul's sorrow!"

"Let me but discover the _Gaw_--the infidel!" replied the son, followingthe father; and our hero observed him put his hand into his breast andhalf unsheath a poniard. 

Joey easily comprehended how the matter stood: a Jewish maiden had metby assignation or had been run away with by some young man, and thefather and son were in pursuit to recover the daughter. 

"That is all very well, " thought our hero; "but although they may veryproperly wish to prevent the marriage, I do not much like the cold steelwhich the young Israelite had in his hand. If I do meet with the party, at all events I will give him warning;" and Joey, having made thisresolution, turned away from the orchestra and went down the coveredway, which led to what are usually termed the dark walks he had justarrived at the commencement of them, when he perceived coming towardshim two dominoes, the shorter hanging on the arm of the taller so as toassure him that they were male and female. When they came to within tenyards of the lighted walk, they turned abruptly, and then Joey perceivedthat the taller had white slashed sleeves to his domino. 

"There they are, " thought our hero; "well, it's not safe for them towalk here, for a murder might be committed without much chance of theparty being found out. I will give them a hint, at all events;" andJoey followed the couple so as to overtake them by degrees. As hewalked softly, and they were in earnest conversation, his approach wasnot heeded until within a few feet of them, when the taller dominoturned impatiently round, as if to inquire what the intruder meant. 

"You are watched, and in danger, sir, if you are the party I think youare, " said Joey, going up to him, and speaking in a low voice. 

"Who are you, " replied the domino, "that gives this notice?"

"A perfect stranger to you, even if your mask was removed, sir; but Ihappened to overhear a conversation relative to a person in a dominosuch as you wear. I may be mistaken, and if so, there is no harm done;"and our hero turned away. 

"Stop him, dear Henry, " said a soft female voice. "I fear that there isdanger: he can have told you but from kindness. "

The person in the domino immediately followed Joey, and accosted him, apologising for his apparent rudeness at receiving his communication, which he ascribed to the suddenness with which it was given, andrequested, as a favour, that our hero would inform him why he hadthought it necessary. 

"I will tell you, certainly; not that I interfere with other people'sconcerns; but when I saw that one of them had a poniard--"

"A poniard!" exclaimed the female, who had now joined them. 

"Yes, " replied Joey; "and appeared determined to use it. In one word, madam, is your name, Miriam? If so, what I heard concerns you; if not, it does not, and I need say no more. "

"Sir, it does concern her, " replied the domino; "and I will thank you toproceed. "

Our hero then stated briefly what he had overheard, and that the partieswere then in pursuit of them. 

"We are lost!" exclaimed the young woman. "We shall never escape fromthe gardens! What must we do? My brother in his wrath is as a lion'swhelp. "

"I care little for myself, " replied the domino. "I could defend myself;but, if we meet, I shall lose you. Your father would tear you awaywhile I was engaged with your brother. "

"At all events, sir, I should recommend your not remaining in these darkwalks, " replied our hero, "now that you are aware of what may takeplace. "

"And yet, if we go into the lighted part of the gardens, they will soondiscover us, now that they have, as it appears, gained a knowledge of mydress. "

"Then put it off, " said Joey. 

"But they know my person even better, " rejoined the domino. "Yourconduct, sir, has been so kind, that perhaps you would be inclined toassist us?"

Our hero was in love himself, and, of course, felt sympathy for othersin the same predicament; so he replied that, if he could be of service, they might command him. 

"Then, Miriam, dear, what I propose is this; will you put yourself underthe protection of this stranger? I think you risk nothing, for he hasproved that he is kind. You may then, without fear of detection, passthrough the gardens, and be conducted by him to a place of safety. Iwill remain here for half an hour; should your father and brother meetme, although they may recognise my dress, yet not having you with me, there will be no grounds for any attack being made, and I will, after atime, return home. "

"And what is to become of me?" exclaimed the terrified girl. 

"You must send this gentleman to my address to-morrow morning, and hewill acquaint me where you are. I am giving you a great deal oftrouble, sir; but at the same time I show my confidence; I trust it willnot interfere with your other engagements. "

"Your confidence is, I trust, not misplaced, sir, " replied our hero;"and I am just now an idle man. I promise you, if this young lady willventure to trust herself with a perfect stranger, that I will do yourrequest. I have no mask on, madam; do you think you can trust me?"

"I think I can, sir; indeed, I must do so, or there will be shedding ofblood; but Henry, they are coming; I know them; see--right up the walk. "

Joey turned round, and perceived the two persons whose conversation hehad overheard. "It is they, sir, " said he to the gentleman in thedomino; "leave us and walk back farther into the dark part. I must takeher away on my arm and pass them boldly. Come, sir, quick!"

Our hero immediately took the young Jewess on his arm and walked towardsthe father and brother. He felt her trembling like an aspen as theycame close to them, and was fearful that her legs would fail her. Asthey passed, the face of our hero was severely scrutinised by the darkeyes of the Israelites. Joey returned their stare, and proceeded on hisway; and after they had separated some paces from the father andbrother, he whispered to the maiden, "You are safe now. " Joey conductedhis charge through the gardens, and when he arrived at the entrance, hecalled a coach, and put the lady in. 

"Where shall we drive to?" inquired our hero. 

"I don't know; say anywhere, so that we are away from this!"

Joey ordered the man to drive to the hotel where he had taken up hisabode, for he knew not where else to go. 

On his arrival he left the young lady in the coach, while he went in toprepare the landlady for her appearance. He stated that he had rescuedher from a very perilous situation, and that he would feel much obligedto his hostess if she would take charge of the young person until shecould be restored to her friends on the ensuing morning. People like tobe consulted, and to appear of importance. The fat old lady, who hadbridled up at the very mention of the introduction of a lady in adomino, as soon as she heard that the party was to be placed under herprotection, relaxed her compressed features, and graciously consented. 

Our hero having consigned over his charge, whose face he had not yetseen, immediately retired to his own apartment. The next morning, aboutnine o'clock, he sent to inquire after the health of his protegee andwas answered by a request that he would pay her a visit. When heentered the room he found her alone. She was dressed somewhat in theOriental style, and he was not a little surprised at her extreme beauty. Her stature was rather above the middle size: she was exquisitelyformed; and her hands, ankles, and feet, were models of perfection. Shewas indeed one of the most exquisite specimens of the Jewish nation, andthat is quite sufficient for her portrait. She rose as he entered, andcoloured deeply as she saluted him. Our hero, who perceived herconfusion, hastened to assure her that he was ready to obey any ordershe might be pleased to give him, and trusted that she had not been toomuch annoyed with her very unpleasant position. 

"I am more obliged to you, sir, than I can well express, " replied she, "by your kind consideration in putting me into the charge of thelandlady of the house: that one act assured me that I was in the handsof a gentleman and man of honour. All I have to request of you now is, that you will call at Number --- Berkeley Square, and inform Mr S--- ofwhat you have kindly done for me. You will probably hear from him thecause of the strange position in which you found us and relieved usfrom. "

As our hero had nothing to reply, he wrote down the address and took hisleave, immediately proceeding to the house of Mr S---; but, as he waswalking up Berkeley Street, he was encountered by two men, whom heimmediately recognised as the father and brother of the young Israelite. The brother fixed his keen eye upon our hero, and appeared to recognisehim; at all events, as our hero passed them they turned round andfollowed him, and he heard the brother say, "He was with her, " orsomething to that purport. Our hero did not, however, consider that itwas advisable to wait until they were away before he knocked at thedoor, as he felt convinced they were on the watch, and that any delaywould not obtain the end. He knocked, and was immediately admitted. Hefound Mr S--- pacing the room up and down in great anxiety, thebreakfast remaining on the table untouched. He warmly greeted thearrival of our hero. Joey, as soon as he had informed him of what hehad done, and in whose hands he had placed the young lady, stated thecircumstance of the father and brother being outside on the watch, andthat he thought that they had recognised him. 

"That is nothing more than what I expected, " replied Mr S---; "but Itrust easily to evade them; they are not aware that the back of thishouse communicates with the stables belonging to it in the mews, and wecan go out by that way without their perceiving us. I've so many thanksto offer you, sir, for your kind interference in our behalf, that Ihardly know how to express them. To one thing you are most certainlyentitled, and I should prove but little my sincerity if I did notimmediately give it you; that is my confidence, and a knowledge of theparties whom you have assisted, and the circumstances attending thisstrange affair. The young lady, sir, is, as you know, a Jewess bybirth, and the daughter of a rabbi, a man of great wealth and highancestry, for certainly Jews can claim the latter higher than any othernation upon earth. I am myself a man of fortune, as it is usuallytermed, --at all events, with sufficient to indulge any woman I shouldtake as my wife with every luxury that can be reasonably demanded. Imention this to corroborate my assertion, that it was not her father'swealth which has been my inducement. I made the acquaintance of thefather and daughter when I was travelling on the Continent; he was onhis way to England, when his carriage broke down, in a difficult pass onthe mountains, and they would have been left on the road for the night, if I had not fortunately come up in time, and, being alone, was able toconvey them to the next town. I have always had a great respect for theJewish nation. I consider that every true Christian should have; but Iwill not enter upon that point now. It was probably my showing such afeeling, and my being well versed in their history, which was theoccasion of an intercourse of two days ripening into a regard for oneanother; and we parted with sincere wishes that we might meet again inthis country. At the time I speak of, which was about three years ago, his daughter Miriam was, comparatively speaking, a child, and certainlynot at that period, or indeed for some time after our meeting again inEngland, did it ever come into my ideas that I should ever feel anythingfor her but good-will; but circumstances, and her father's confidence inme, threw us much together. She has no mother. After a time I foundmyself growing attached to her, and I taxed myself, and reflected on theconsequences. I was aware how very severe the Jewish laws were upon thesubject of any of their family uniting themselves to a Christian. Thatit was not only considered that the party concerned was dishonouredbefore the nation, but that the whole family became vile, and weredenied the usual burial rites. Perhaps you are aware that if a Jewembraces Christianity, the same disgrace is heaped upon the relations. With this knowledge, I determined to conquer my feelings for Miriam, andof course I no longer went to her father's house; it would have beencruel to put my friend (for such he certainly was) in such a positionthe more so as, being a rabbi, he would have to denounce himself and hisown children. 

"My absence was, however, the cause of great annoyance to the father. He sought me, and I was so pressed by him to return, that I had nochoice, unless I confessed my reasons, which I did not like to do. Itherefore visited the house as before, although not so frequently, andcontinually found myself in company with Miriam, and, her father beingconstantly summoned away to the duties of his office, but too oftenalone. I therefore resolved that I would once more set off on mytravels, as the only means by which I could act honourably, and get ridof the feeling which was obtaining such a mastery over me. I went tothe house to state my intention, and at the same time bid them farewell;when, ascending the stairs, I slipped and sprained my ankle so severely, that I could not put my foot to the ground. This decided our fate; andI was not only domiciled for a week in the house, but, as I lay on thesofa, was continually attended by Miriam. Her father would not hear ofmy removal, but declared that my accident was a judgment against me formy rash intention. 

"That Miriam showed her regard for me in every way that a modest maidencould do, is certain. I did, however, make one last struggle; I did notdeny my feelings towards her, but I pointed out to her the consequenceswhich would ensue, which it was my duty as a friend, and her duty as adaughter, to prevent. She heard me in silence and in tears, and thenquitted the room. 

"The next day she appeared to have recovered her composure, and enteredfreely into general conversation, and, after a time, referred to therites of their Church. By degrees she brought up the subject ofChristianity; she demanded the reasons and authority for our belief; inshort, she induced me to enter warmly into the subject, and to prove, tothe best of my ability, that the true Messiah had already come. Thisconversation she took a pleasure in renewing, during my stay in thehouse; and as I considered that the subject was one that diverted ourattention from the one I wished to avoid, I was not sorry to enter uponit, although I had not the least idea of converting her to our faith. 

"Such was the state of affairs when I quitted the house, and againseriously thought of removing myself from so much temptation, when herbrother Joseph arrived from Madrid, where he had been staying with anuncle for some years, and his return was the occasion of a jubilee, atwhich I could not refuse to appear. He is a fine young man, veryintelligent and well informed, but of a very irascible disposition; andhis long residence in Spain has probably given him those ideas ofretaliation which are almost unknown in this country. He conceived avery strong friendship for me, and I certainly was equally pleased withhim; for he is full of talent, although he is revengeful, proud of hislineage, and holding to the tenets of his faith with all the obstinacyof a Pharisee. Indeed, it is strange that he could ever become sopartial to a Christian, respecting as he does the rabbinical doctrinesheld forth to the Jewish people, and which it must be admitted have beeninculcated, in consequence of the unwearied and unjustifiablepersecution of the tribes for centuries, by those who call themselvesChristians, but whose practice has been at open variance with theprecepts of the founder of their faith. However, so it was. Josephconceived a great regard for me, was continually at my house, andcompelled me but too often to visit at his father's. At last I made upmy mind that I would leave the country for a time, and was activelypreparing, intending to go without saying a word to them, when I foundmyself one morning alone with Miriam. She walked up to me as I wassitting on the couch I motioned to her to sit by me, but she stoodbefore me with a stately air, fixing upon me her dark gazelle-like eyes. 

"`Do you, ' said she, in a slow and solemn tone of voice, `do youremember the conversation which we had upon our respective creeds? Doyou recollect how you pointed out to me your authorities and yourreasons for your faith, and your sincere belief that the Messiah hadalready come?'

"`I do, Miriam, ' replied I; `but not with any view to interfere withyour non-belief; it was only to uphold by argument my own. '

"`I do not say nay to that; I believe you, ' said Miriam, `nevertheless, I have that in my vest which, if it was known to my father or brother, would cause them to dash me to the earth, and to curse me in the name ofthe great Jehovah;' and she pulled out of her vest a small copy of theNew Testament. `This is the book of your creed; I have searched andcompared it with our own; I have found the authorities; I have read thewords of the Jews who have narrated the history and the deeds of Jesusof Nazareth, and--I am a _Christian_. '

"It may appear strange, but I assure you, sir, you cannot imagine thepain I felt when Miriam thus acknowledged herself a convert to ourfaith: to say to her that I was sorry for it would have argued littlefor my Christian belief; but when I reflected upon the pain and disgraceit would bring upon her family, and that I should be the cause, I wasdreadfully shocked. I could only reply, `Miriam, I wish that we hadnever met!'

"`I know what your feelings are but too well, ' replied she; `but we havemet, and what is done cannot be undone. I, too, when I think of myrelations, am torn with anxiety and distress; but what is now my duty?If I am, and I declare, not only by the great Jehovah, but by thecrucified Messiah, that I am a sincere believer in your creed, must Ishrink--must I conceal it on account of my father and my brother? Doesnot He say, "Leave all and follow me!" Must I not add my feeble voicein acknowledgement of the truth, if I am to consider myself a Christian?Must not my avowal be public? Yes, it must be, and it shall be! Canyou blame me?'

"`Oh, no! I dare not blame you, ' replied I; `I only regret thatreligious differences should so mar the little happiness permitted to usin this world, and that neither Jew nor Christian will admit what ourSaviour has distinctly declared--that there is no difference between theJew and the Greek, or Gentile. I see much misery in this, and I cannothelp regretting deeply that I shall be considered as the cause of it, and be upbraided with ingratitude. '

"`You did your duty, ' replied Miriam. `I have been converted by yourhaving so done. Now I have my duty to do. I am aware of the pain itwill occasion my father, my relations, and the whole of our tribe; butif they suffer, shall I not suffer more? Thrust out from my father'sdoor; loaded with curses and execration; not one Jew permitted to offerme an asylum, not even to give me a morsel of bread, or a drop of water;a wanderer and an outcast! Such must be my fate. '

"`Not so, Miriam; if your tribe desert you--'

"`Stop one moment, ' interrupted Miriam; `do you recollect theconversation you had with me before we entered into the subject of ourrelative creeds? Do you remember what you then said; and was it true, or was it merely as an excuse?'

"`It was as true, Miriam, as I stand here. I have loved you long anddevotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, on account of themisery your marriage with a Christian would have occasioned yourrelations; but if you persist in avowing your new faith, the misery willbe equally incurred; and, therefore, I am doubly bound, not only by mylove, but because I have, by converting you, put you in such a dreadfulposition, to offer you not only an asylum, but, if you will accept them, my heart and hand. '

"Miriam folded her arms across her breast, and knelt down, with her eyesfixed upon the floor. `I can only answer in the words of Ruth, ' repliedshe, in a low voice and with trembling lips. I hardly need observe, that after this interview the affair was decided, --the great difficultywas to get her out of the house; for you must have been inside of one ofthe houses of a Jew of rank to be aware of their arrangements. It wasimpossible that Miriam could be absent an hour without being missed; andto go out by herself without being seen was equally difficult. Hercousin is married to a Jew, who keeps the masquerade paraphernalia andcostumes in Tavistock Street, and she sometimes accompanies her fatherand brother there, and, as usual, goes up to her cousin in the women'sapartment, while her male relations remain below. We therefore hit uponthis plan: That on the first masquerade-night at Vauxhall she shouldpersuade her father and brother to go with her to her cousin's; that Ishould be close by in a coach, and, after she had gone in, I was todrive up as the other customers do, and obtain two dominoes, and thenwait while she escaped from the women's apartment, and came down-stairsto the street door, where I was to put her in the coach, and drive offto Vauxhall. You may inquire why we went to Vauxhall. Because as butfew minutes would elapse before she would be missed, it would have beenalmost impossible to have removed her without being discovered, for Iwas well known to the people. You recollect that Manasseh, who was inthe shop, informed them that my domino was slashed with white in mysleeves; he knew me when I obtained the dominoes. Had I not been awareof the violence of the brother, I should have cared little had hefollowed me to my house, or any other place he might have traced me to;but his temper is such that his sister would certainly have beensacrificed to his rage and fury, as you may imagine from what you haveseen and heard. I considered, therefore, that if we once became mixedwith the crowd of masks and dominoes at Vauxhall, I should elude them, and all trace of us be lost. I believe, now, that I have made youacquainted with every circumstance, and trust that you will still affordme your valuable assistance. "

"Most certainly, " replied our hero; "I am in duty bound. I cannot helpthinking that they have recognised me as the party conducting her out ofthe dark walk. Did you meet them afterwards?"

"No, " rejoined Mr S---; "I allowed them to walk about without coming upto me for some time, and then when they were down at the farthest end, Imade all haste and took a coach home, before they could possibly come upwith me, allowing that they did recognise me, which I do not think theydid until they perceived me hastening away at a distance. "

"What, then, are your present intentions?" inquired our hero. 

"I wish you to return with me to your hotel, " replied Mr S---; "I willthen take a chaise, and leave for Scotland as fast as four horses cancarry us, and unite myself to Miriam, and, as soon as I can, I shallleave the country, which will be the best step to allow their rage andindignation to cool. "

"I think your plan is good, " replied Joey, "and I am at your service. "

In a few minutes Mr S--- and our hero went out by the back way into themews, and, as soon as they came to a stand, took a coach and drove tothe hotel. 

They had not, however, been in company with Miriam more than fiveminutes, when the waiter entered the room in great alarm, stating thattwo gentlemen were forcing their way upstairs in spite of the landlordand others, who were endeavouring to prevent them. The fact was, thatour hero and Mr S--- had been perceived by Joseph and his father asthey came out of the mews, and they had immediately followed them, taking a coach at the same stand, and desiring the coachman to followthe one our hero and Mr S--- had gone into. 

The waiter had hardly time to make the communication before the door wasforced open, and the man was so terrified, that he retreated behind ourhero and Mr S---, into whose arms Miriam had thrown herself forprotection. The father and brother did not, however, enter withoutresistance on the part of the landlord and waiters, who followed, remonstrating and checking them; but Joseph broke from them with hisdagger drawn: it was wrenched from him by our hero, who dashed forward. The enraged Israelite then caught up a heavy bronze clock which was onthe sideboard, and crying out, "This for the Gaw and the Meshumed!"(the infidel and the apostate), he hurled it at them with all hisstrength: it missed the parties it was intended for, but striking thewaiter who had retreated behind them, fractured his skull, and he fellsenseless upon the floor. 

Upon this outrage the landlord and his assistants rushed upon Joseph andhis father; the police were sent for, and after a desperate resistance, the Israelites were taken away to the police office, leaving MrS--- and Miriam at liberty. Our hero was, however, requested by thepolice to attend at the examination, and, of course, could not refuse. The whole party had been a quarter of an hour waiting until another casewas disposed of, before the magistrate could attend to them, when thesurgeon came in and acquainted them that the unfortunate waiter hadexpired. The depositions were taken down, and both father and son werecommitted, and Joey, and some others bound over to appear as witnesses. In about two hours our hero was enabled to return to the hotel, where hefound that Mr S--- had left a note for him, stating that he consideredit advisable to start immediately, lest they should require hisattendance at the police-court, and he should be delayed, which wouldgive time to the relations of Miriam to take up the question: he had, therefore, set off, and would write to him as soon as he possibly could. 

This affair made some noise, and appeared in all the newspapers, and ourhero therefore sat down and wrote a detailed account of the wholetransaction (as communicated to him by Mr S---), which he despatched toPortsmouth. He made inquiries, and found that the sessions would comeon in a fortnight, and that the grand jury would sit in a few days. Hetherefore made up his mind that he would not think of returning toPortsmouth until the trial was over, and in his next letter he madeknown his intentions, and then set off for Richmond, where he had beenadvised to remain for a short time, as being more favourable to aninvalid than the confined atmosphere of London. 

Our hero found amusement in rowing about in a wherry, up and down theriver, and replying to the letters received from Mary and fromPortsmouth. He also received a letter from Mr S---, informing him ofhis marriage, and requesting that as soon as the trial was over he wouldwrite to him. Our hero's health also was nearly re-established, when hewas informed that his attendance was required at the court to give hisevidence in the case of manslaughter found by the grand jury againstJoseph, the brother of Miriam. 

He arrived in town, and attended the court on the following day, whenthe trial was to take place. A short time after the cause came on hewas placed in the witness-box. At the time that he gave his depositionsbefore the magistrate he had not thought about his name having beenchanged; but now that he was sworn, and had declared he would tell thetruth, and nothing but the truth, when the counsel asked him if his namewas not Joseph O'Donahue, our hero replied that it was Joseph Rushbrook. 

"Your deposition says Joseph O'Donahue. How is this? Have you an_alias_, like many others, sir?" inquired the counsel. 

"My real name is Rushbrook, but I have been called O'Donahue for sometime, " replied our hero. 

This reply was the occasion of the opposite counsel making some verysevere remarks; but the evidence of our hero was taken, and was indeedconsidered very favourable to the prisoner, as Joey stated that he wasconvinced the blow was never intended for the unfortunate waiter, butfor Mr S---. 

After about an hour's examination our hero was dismissed, and in casethat he might be recalled, returned as directed to the room where thewitnesses were assembled. 

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. 

IN WHICH THE TIDE OF FORTUNE TURNS AGAINST OUR HERO. 

As soon as Joey had been dismissed from the witness-box he returned tothe room in which the other witnesses were assembled, with melancholyforebodings that his real name having been given in open court wouldlead to some disaster. He had not been there long before apeace-officer came in, and said to him, --"Step this way, if you please, sir; I have something to say to you. "

Joey went with him outside the door, when the peace-officer, looking athim full in the face, said, "Your name is Joseph Rushbrook; you said soin the witness-box?"

"Yes, " replied Joey, "that is my true name. "

"Why did you change it?" demanded the officer. 

"I had reasons, " replied our hero. 

"Yes, and I'll tell you the reasons, " rejoined the other. "You wereconcerned in a murder some years ago; a reward was offered for yourapprehension, and you absconded from justice. I see that you are theperson; your face tells me so. You are my prisoner. Now, come awayquietly, sir; it is of no use for you to resist, and you will only beworse treated. "

Joey's heart had almost ceased to beat when the constable addressed him;he felt that denial was useless, and that the time was now come wheneither he or his father must suffer; he, therefore, made no reply, butquietly followed the peace officer, who, holding him by the arm, calleda coach, into which he ordered Joey to enter, and following him, directed the coachman to drive to the police-office. 

As soon as the magistrate had been acquainted by the officer who theparty was whom he had taken into custody, he first pointed out to ourhero that he had better not say any thing which might criminate himself, and then asked him if his name was Joseph Rushbrook. 

Joey replied that it was. 

"Have you anything to say that might prevent my committing you on thecharge of murder?" demanded the magistrate. 

"Nothing, except that I am not guilty, " replied Joey. 

"I have had the warrant out against him these seven years, orthereabouts, but he escaped me, " observed the peace-officer; "he was buta lad then. "

"He must have been a child, to judge by his present appearance, "observed the magistrate, who was making out the committal. "I nowperfectly recollect the affair. "

The officer received the committal, and in half an hour our hero waslocked up with felons of every description. His blood ran cold when hefound himself enclosed within the massive walls; and as soon as thegaoler had left him alone, he shuddered and covered his face with hishands. Our hero had, however, the greatest of all consolations tosupport him--the consciousness of his innocence; but when he called tomind how happy and prosperous he had lately been, when he thought ofEmma--and that now all his fair prospects and fondest anticipations werethrown to the ground, it is not surprising that for a short time he weptin his solitude and silence. To whom should he make known hissituation? Alas! it would too soon be known; and would not every one, even Emma, shrink from a supposed murderer? No! there was one who wouldnot--one on whose truth he could depend; Mary would not desert him, evennow; he would write to her, and acquaint her with his situation. Ourhero, having made up his mind so to do, obtained paper and ink from thegaoler when he came into his cell, which he did in about two hours afterhe had been locked up. Joey wrote to Mary, stating his position in fewwords, and that the next morning he was to be taken down to Exeter toawait his trial; and expressed a wish, if possible, that she would comethere to see him; and giving a guinea to the turnkey, requested him toforward the letter. 

"It shall go safe enough, young master, " replied the man. "Now, do youknow, yours is one of the strangest cases which ever came to myknowledge?" continued the man; "we've been talking about it amongourselves: why the first warrant for your apprehension was out more thaneight years ago; and, to look at you now, you cannot be more thanseventeen or eighteen. "

"Yes, I am, " replied Joey; "I am twenty-two. "

"Then don't you tell anybody else that, and I will forget it. You seeyouth goes a great way in court; and they will see that you must havebeen quite a child when the deed was done--for I suppose by the evidencethere is no doubt of that--and it won't be a hanging matter, that youmay be certain of; you'll cross the water, that's all: so keep up yourspirits, and look as young as you can. "

Mary received the letter on the following day, and was in the deepestdistress at its contents. She was still weeping over it, her work hadbeen thrown down at her feet, when Mrs Austin came into thedressing-room where she was sitting. 

"What is the matter, Mary?" said Mrs Austin. 

"I have received a letter from my brother, madam, " replied Mary; "he isin the greatest distress; and I must beg you to let me go to himimmediately. "

"Your brother, Mary! what difficulty is he in?" asked Mrs Austin. 

Mary did not reply, but wept more. 

"Mary, if your brother is in distress, I certainly will not refuse yourgoing to him; but you should tell me what his distress is, or how shallI be able to advise or help you? Is it very serious?"

"He is in prison, madam. "

"In prison for debt, I suppose?"

"No, madam; on a charge of murder, which he is not guilty of. "

"Murder!" exclaimed Mrs Austin, "and not guilty! Why--when--and wheredid this murder take place?"

"Many years ago, madam, when he was quite a child. "

"How very strange!" thought Mrs Austin, panting, for breath, anddropping into a chair. "But where, Mary?"

"Down in Devonshire, madam, at Grassford. "

Mrs Austin fell senseless from her chair. Mary, very much surprised, hastened to her assistance, and, after a time succeeded in restoringher, and leading her to the sofa. For some time Mrs Austin remainedwith her face buried in the cushions, while Mary stood over her. Atlast Mrs Austin looked up, and laying her head upon Mary's arm, said ina solemn tone--

"Mary, do not deceive me; you say that that boy is _your_ brother--tellme, is not that false? I am sure that it is. Answer me, Mary. "

"He is not my born brother, madam, but I love him as one, " replied Mary. 

"Again answer me truly, Mary, if you have any regard for me. You knowhis real name; what is it?"

"Joseph Rushbrook, madam, " replied Mary, weeping. 

"I was certain of it!" replied Mrs Austin, bursting into tears; "I knewit! The blow has come at last! God have mercy on me! What can bedone?" And again Mrs Austin abandoned herself to bitter grief. 

Mary was in amazement: how Mrs Austin should know any thing of Joey'shistory, and why she should be in such distress, was to her a completemystery: she remained for some time at the side of her mistress, whogradually became more composed. Mary at last said, --"May I go to him, madam?"

"Yes, " replied Mrs Austin, "most certainly. Mary, I must have nosecrets now; you must tell me everything. You see that I am deeplyinterested about this young man as well as yourself: it is quitesufficient for you at present to know that; before I say anything more, you must be candid with me, and tell me how you became acquainted withhim, and all that you know relative to his life; that I will assist youand him in every way in my power; that neither money nor interest shallbe spared, you may be assured; and I think, Mary, that, after thispromise, you will not conceal anything from me. "

"Indeed I will not, madam, " replied Mary, "for I love him as much as Ican love. " Mary then commenced by stating that she was living atGravesend when she first met with Joey. There was a little hesitationat the commencement of her narrative, which Mrs Austin pretended not toobserve; she then continued, winding up with the information which shehad obtained from Furness, the marine, their escape, and her admissioninto Mrs Austin's family. 

"And it was Joseph Rushbrook that came with you to this house?"

"Yes, madam, " replied Mary; "but one of the men was quite rude to me, and Joey took it up. Mr Austin, hearing a noise, sent down to inquirethe cause; the servants threw all the blame upon Joey, and he wasordered out of the house immediately. He refused even to come back tothe Hall, after the treatment he had received, for a long while; but itwas he who was in the parlour when you opened the door, if yourecollect, a few weeks ago. "

Mrs Austin clasped her hands, and then pressed them to her forehead;after a while she said--

"And what has he been doing since he came here?"

Mary then informed her mistress of all she knew of Joey's subsequentcareer. 

"Well, Mary, " said Mrs Austin, "you must go to him directly. You willwant money; but, Mary, promise me that you will not say a word to himabout what has passed between us, --that is, for the present; by-and-byeI may trust you more. "

"You may trust me, madam, " replied Mary, looking her mistress in theface; "but it is too late for me to go this afternoon; I will, if youplease, now wait till to-morrow morning. "

"Do so, Mary; I am glad that you do not go to-night, for I wish you tostay with me; I have many questions to ask of you. At present I wish tobe alone, my good girl. Tell Mr Austin that I am very unwell, and donot dine below. "

"Shall I bring your dinner up here, madam?" asked Mary. 

"Yes, you may _bring_ it, Mary, " replied Mrs Austin, with a faintsmile. 

Never did two people leave one another both so much wishing to be aloneas Mary and Mrs Austin. The former quitted the room, and, having firstexecuted her commission, returned to her own apartment, that she mightreflect without being disturbed. What could be the reason of MrsAustin's behaviour? What could she know of Joey Rushbrook? and why sointerested and moved? She had heard among the servants that Mr andMrs Austin were formerly in a humbler sphere of life; that he was ahalf-pay officer; but there was still no clue to such interest aboutJoey Rushbrook. Mary thought and thought over and over again, revolvedall that had passed in her mind, but could make nothing of it; and shewas still trying to solve the mystery when the housemaid came into theroom, and informed her that Mrs Austin's bell had rung twice. MrsAustin, on her part, was still more bewildered; she could not regainsufficient calmness to enable her to decide how to act. Her son inprison, to be tried for his life for a crime he had not committed!Would he divulge the truth, and sacrifice the father? She thought not. If he did not, would he not be condemned? and if he were, could sheremain away from him? or ought she not to divulge what the boy wouldconceal? And if he did confess the truth, would they find out that MrAustin and Joseph Rushbrook were one and the same person? Would therebe any chance of his escape? Would he not, sooner or later, berecognised? How dreadful was her situation! Then, again, should sheacquaint her husband with the position of his son? If so, would he comeforward? Yes, most certainly he would never let Joey suffer for hiscrime. Ought she to tell her husband? And then Mary, who knew so muchalready, who had witnessed her distress and anguish, who was so fond ofher son, could she trust her? Could she do without trusting her? Suchwere the various and conflicting ideas which passed in the mind of MrsAustin. At last she resolved that she would say nothing to her husband;that she would send Mary to her son, and that she would that eveninghave more conversation with the girl, and decide, after she had talkedwith her, whether she would make her a confidant or not. Having made upher mind so far, she rang the bell for Mary. 

"Are you better, madam?" asked Mary, who had entered the room, veryquietly. 

"Yes, I thank you, Mary; take your work and sit down; I wish to havesome more conversation with you about this young person, JosephRushbrook; you must have seen that I am much interested about him. "

"Yes, madam. "

"There were some portions of your story, Mary, which I do not quiteunderstand. You have now lived with me for five years, and I have hadevery reason to be satisfied with your behaviour. You have conductedyourself as a well-behaved, modest, and attentive young woman. "

"I am much obliged to you, madam, for your good opinion. "

"And I hope that you will admit that I have not been a hard mistress toyou, Mary, but, on the contrary, have shown you that I have been pleasedwith your conduct. "

"Certainly, madam, you have; and I trust I am grateful. "

"I believe so, " replied Mrs Austin. "Now, Mary, I wish you to confidein me altogether. What I wish to know is how did you in so short a timebecome acquainted with this Furness, so as to obtain this secret fromhim? I may say, whom did you live with, and how did you live, when atGravesend? for you have not mentioned that to me. It seems so odd to methat this man should have told to a person whom he had seen but for afew hours a secret of such moment. "

Mary's tears fell fast, but she made no reply. 

"Cannot you answer me, Mary?"

"I can, madam, " said she, at last; "but if I tell the truth--and Icannot tell a lie now--you will despise me, and perhaps order me toleave the house immediately; and if you do what will become of me?"

"Mary, if you think I intend to take advantage of a confession extortedfrom you, you do me wrong I ask the question because it is necessarythat I should know the truth--because I cannot confide in you withoutyou first confide in me; tell me, Mary, and do not be afraid. "

"Madam, I will; but pray do not forget that I have been under your rooffor five years, and that I have been during that time an honest andmodest girl. I was not so once, I confess it, " and Mary's cheeks werered with shame, and she hung down her head. 

"We are all sinful creatures, Mary, " replied Mrs Austin; "and who isthere that has not fallen into error? The Scriptures say, `Let him whois without sin cast the first stone;' nay more, Mary, `There is more joyover one sinner that repenteth than over ninety and nine who need norepentance. ' Shall I then be harsh to you, my poor girl? No, no. Bytrusting me you have made me your friend; you must be mine, Mary, for Iwant a friend now. "

Poor Mary fell on her knees before Mrs Austin, and wept over her handas she kissed it repeatedly. 

Mrs Austin was much affected, and as the contrite girl recoveredherself, Mrs Austin leaned on her elbow, and putting her arm roundMary's neck, drew her head towards her, and gently kissed her on thebrow. 

"You are, indeed, a kind friend, madam, " said Mary, after a pause, "andmay the Almighty reward you! You are unhappy; I know not why, but Iwould die to serve you. I only wish that you would let me prove it. "

"First, Mary, tell me as much of your own history as you choose to tell;I wish to know it. "

Mary then entered into the details of her marriage, her husband'sconduct, her subsequent career, and her determination to lead a newlife, which she had so sincerely proved by her late conduct. 

Mary having concluded her narrative, Mrs Austin addressed her thus:--

"Mary, if you imagine that you have fallen in my good opinion, afterwhat you have confessed to me, you are much mistaken; you have, on thecontrary, been raised. There have been few, very few, that have had thecourage and fortitude that you have shown, or who could have succeededas you have done. I was afraid to trust you before, but now I am not. I will not ask you not to betray me, for I am sure you will not. On twopoints only my lips are sealed; and the reason why they are sealed isthat the secret is not mine alone, and I have not permission to divulgeit. That I am deeply interested in that boy is certain; nay, that he isa near and very dear connection is also the case; but what his exactrelationship is towards me I must not at present say. You have assertedyour belief of his innocence, and I tell you that you are right; he didnot do the deed; I know who did, but I dare not reveal the name. "

"That is exactly what Joey said to me, madam, " observed Mary, "and, moreover, that he never would reveal it, even if he were on his trial. "

"I do not think that he ever will, Mary, " rejoined Mrs Austin, burstinginto tears. "Poor boy! it is horrible that he should suffer for anoffence that he has not committed. "

"Surely, madam, if he is found guilty they will not hang him, he wassuch a child. "

"I scarcely know. "

"It's very odd that his father and mother have disappeared in the mannerthey did; I think it is very suspicious, " observed Mary. 

"You must, of course, have your own ideas from what you have alreadyheard, " replied Mrs Austin, in a calm tone; "but, as I have alreadysaid, my lips on that subject are sealed. What I wish you to do, Mary, is not at first to let him know that I am interested about him, or eventhat I know anything about him. Make all the inquiries you can as towhat is likely to be the issue of the affair, and, when you have seenhim, you must then come back and tell me all that he says, and all thathas taken place. "

"I will, madam. "

"You had better go away early tomorrow; one of the grooms shall driveyou over to meet the coach which runs to Exeter. While I think of it, take my purse, and do not spare it, Mary; for money must not be thoughtof now. I am very unwell, and must go to bed. "

"I had better bring up the tray, madam; a mouthful and a glass of winewill be of service to you. "

"Do so, dear Mary; I feel very faint. "

As soon as Mrs Austin had taken some refreshment, she entered againinto conversation with Mary, asking her a hundred questions about herson. Mary, who had now nothing to conceal, answered freely; and whenMary wished her good night, Mrs Austin was more than ever convincedthat her boy's rectitude of principle would have made him an ornament tosociety. Then came the bitter feeling that he was about to sacrificehimself; that he would be condemned as a felon, disgraced, and perhapsexecuted; and as she turned on her restless pillow, she exclaimed, "Thank God that he is innocent--his poor father suffers more. "

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. 

IN WHICH MARY MAKES A DISCOVERY OF WHAT HAS BEEN LONG KNOWN TO THEREADER. 

It was hardly ten o'clock on the second morning when Mary arrived atExeter, and proceeded to the gaol. Her eyes were directed to theoutside of the massive building, and her cheeks blanched when she viewedthe chains and fetters over the entrance, so truly designating thepurport of the structure. There were several people at the steps and inthe passage, making inquiries, and demanding permission of the turnkeyto visit the prisoners; and Mary had to wait some minutes before shecould make her request. Her appearance was so different to the usualclass of applicants, that the turnkey looked at her with some surprise. 

"Whom do you wish to see?" inquired the man, for Mary's voice hadfaltered. 

"Joseph Rushbrook, my brother, " repeated Mary. 

At this moment the head gaoler came to the wicket. 

"She wishes to see her brother, young Rushbrook, " said the turnkey. 

"Yes, certainly, " replied the gaoler; "walk in, and sit down in theparlour for a little while, till I can send a man with you. "

There was a gentleness and kindness of manner shown by both the mentowards Mary, for they were moved with her beauty and evident distress. Mary took a seat in the gaoler's room; the gaoler's wife was there, andshe was more than kind. The turnkey came to show her to the cell; andwhen Mary rose, the gaoler's wife said to her, "After you have seen yourbrother, my dear child, you had better come back again, and sit downhere a little while, and then, perhaps, I can be of some use to you, inletting you know what can be done, and what is not allowed. "

Mary could not speak, but she looked at the gaoler's wife, her eyesbrimming over with tears. The kind woman understood her. "Go now, "said she, "and mind you come back to me. "

The turnkey, without speaking, led her to the cell, fitted the key tothe ponderous lock, pushed back the door, and remained outside. Maryentered, and in a second was in the arms of our hero, kissing him, andbedewing his cheeks with her tears. 

"I was sure that you would come, Mary, " said Joey; "now sit down, and Iwill tell you how this has happened, while you compose yourself; youwill be better able to talk to me after a while. "

They sat down on the stretchers upon which the bed had been laid duringthe night, their hands still clasped, and as Joey entered into anarrative of all that had passed, Mary's sobs gradually diminished, andshe was restored to something like composure. 

"And what do you intend to do when you are brought to trial, my dearboy?" said Mary at last. 

"I shall say nothing, except `Not Guilty, ' which is the truth, Mary; Ishall make no defence whatever. "

"But why will you not confess the truth?" replied Mary. "I have oftenthought of this, and have long made up my mind, Joey, that no one couldact as you do if a parent's life were not concerned; you, or anybodyelse, would be mad to sacrifice himself in this way, unless it were tosave a father. "

Joey's eyes were cast down on the stone pavement; he made no reply. 

"Why, then, if I am right in my supposition, " continued Mary--"I do notask you to say yes or no on that point--why should you not tell thetruth? Furness told me that your father and mother had left thevillage, and that he had attempted to trace them, but could not; and heexpressed himself sure that they were gone to America. Why, then, supposing I am right, should you sacrifice yourself for nothing?"

"Supposing you are right, Mary, " replied Joey, with his eyes still castdown, "what proof is there that my parents have left the country? Itwas only the supposition of Furness, and it is my conviction that theyhave not. Where they may be, I know not; but I feel positive that mymother would not leave the country without having first found out whereI was, and have taken me with her. No, Mary, my father and mother, ifalive, are still in this country. "

"Recollect again, my dear boy, that your father may be dead. "

"And if so, my mother would have by this time found me out; she wouldhave advertised for me--done everything--I feel that she would have--shewould have returned to Grassford, and--"

"And what, Joey?"

"I must not say what, Mary, " replied our hero; "I have thought a greatdeal since I have been shut up here, and I have taken my resolution, which is not to be changed; so let us say no more upon the subject, dearMary. Tell me all about yourself. "

Mary remained another hour with Joey, and then bade him farewell; shewas anxious to return to Mrs Austin, and acquaint her with the resultof her interview; with a heavy heart she walked away from the cell, andwent down into the parlour of the gaoler. 

"Would you like to take anything?" said the gaoler's wife, after Maryhad sat down. 

"A little water, " replied Mary. 

"And how is your brother?"

"He is innocent, " replied Mary: "he is indeed; but he won't tellanything, and they will condemn him. "

"Well, well; but do not be afraid; he must have been very young at thetime, innocent or guilty, and he won't suffer, that I know; but he willbe sent out of the country. "

"Then I will go with him, " replied Mary. 

"Perhaps he will be pardoned, dear; keep your spirits up, and, if youhave money, get a good lawyer. "

"Can you tell me who would be a good lawyer to apply to?"

"Yes; Mr Trevor; he is a very clever man, and comes the WesternCircuit; if any one can save him, he can. "

"I will take his name down, if you please, " said Mary. 

The gaoler's wife gave Mary a piece of paper and pen and ink; Mary wrotedown the name and address of Mr Trevor, and then with many thanks tookher leave. 

On her return to the Hall, Mary communicated to Mrs Austin what hadpassed. Mrs Austin perceived that Joey would not swerve from hisresolution, and that all that could be done was to procure the bestlegal assistance. 

"Mary, my poor girl, " said Mrs Austin, "here is money, which you willfind necessary for your adopted brother's assistance. You say that youhave obtained the name of the best legal person to be employed in hisbehalf. To-morrow you must go to London, and call upon that gentleman. It may be as well not to mention my name. As his sister, you of courseseek the best legal advice. You must manage all this as if fromyourself. "

"I will, madam. "

"And, Mary, if you think it advisable, you can remain in town for two orthree days; but pray write to me every day. "

"I will, madam. "

"Let me know your address, as I may wish to say something to you when Iknow what has been done. "

"I will, madam. "

"And now you had better go to bed, Mary, for you must be tired; indeed, you look very fatigued, my poor girl; I need not caution you not to sayanything to any of the servants; good night. "

Mary threw herself on the bed, she was indeed worn out with anxiety andgrief; at last she slept. The next morning she was on her way to town, having, in reply to the curiosity of the servants, stated that the causeof her journey was the dangerous illness of her brother. 

As soon as she arrived in London, Mary drove to the chambers of thelawyer, whose direction she had obtained from the Exeter gaoler's wife;he was at home, and after waiting a short time, she was ushered by theclerk into his presence. 

"What can I do for you, young lady?" inquired Mr Trevor, with somesurprise: "it is not often that the den of a lawyer has such a brightvision to cheer it. Do me the favour to take a chair. "

"I am not a young lady, sir, " replied Mary; "I have come to you torequest that you will be so kind as to defend my brother, who is aboutto be tried. "

"Your brother! what is he charged with?"

"Murder, " replied Mary; "but indeed, sir, he is not guilty, " shecontinued, as she burst into tears. 

Mr Trevor was not only a clever, but also a kind and considerate man. He remained silent for some minutes to allow Mary time to recoverherself. When she was more composed, he said--

"What is your brother's name?"

"Joseph Rushbrook. "

"Rushbrook! Rushbrook! I well remember that name, " remarked MrTrevor; "strange, the Christian name also the same! it is singularcertainly. The last time I was concerned for a person of that name, Iwas the means of his coming into a large landed property; now I amrequested to defend one of the same name accused of murder. "

Mary was astonished at this observation of Mr Trevor's, but made noreply. 

"Have you the indictment? Where did the murder take place?"

"In Devonshire, sir, many years ago. "

"And he is now in Exeter gaol? Come, tell me all the particulars. "

Mary told all that she knew, in a very clear and concise manner. 

"Now, my good girl, " said Mr Trevor, "I must see your brother. In twodays I shall be down at Exeter. If you write to him, or see him beforeI do, you must tell him he must trust in his lawyer, and have noreservation, or I shall not be able to do him so much service. Allow meto ask you have you any relations in Yorkshire?"

"No, sir, none. "

"And yet the name and Christian name are exactly the same. It's an oddcoincidence! They, however, changed their name, when they came into theproperty. "

"Changed the name of Rushbrook, sir!" said Mary, who now thought thatshe had a clue to Joey's parents. 

"Yes, changed it to Austin; they live now in Dorsetshire. I mention itbecause, if interest is required for your brother, and he could proveany relationship, it might be valuable. But, bless me! what is thematter? Smithers, " cried Mr Trevor, as he ran and supported Mary, "some water! quick! the girl has fainted!"

It was surprise at this astounding intelligence, her regard for MrsAustin, and the light now thrown upon the interest she had shown for ourhero, and the conviction of what must be her suffering, which hadovercome the poor girl. In a short time she recovered. 

"I thank you, sir, but I have suffered so much anxiety about my poorbrother, " said Mary, faltering, and almost gasping for breath. 

"He cannot be a very bad boy, since you are so fond of him, " said MrTrevor. 

"No, indeed; I wish I was half as good, " murmured Mary. 

"I will do all I possibly can, and that immediately; indeed, as soon asI have the documents, and have perused them, I will go to your brother aday sooner than I intended. Do you feel yourself well enough to go now?If you do, my clerk shall procure you a coach. Do you stay in London?If so, you must leave your address. "

Mary replied that she intended to set off to Exeter that evening by themail, and would meet him there. 

Mr Trevor handed her out, put her into the coach, and she ordered theman to drive to the inn where she was stopping. Mary's senses werequite bewildered. It was late, and the mail was to start in an hour ortwo. She secured her place, and during her long journey she hardly knewhow time passed away. On her arrival, in the morning, she hastened tothe prison. She was received kindly, as before, by the gaoler and hiswife, and then attended the turnkey into Joey's cell. As soon as thedoor was closed she threw herself down on the bedstead, and weptbitterly, quite heedless of our hero's remonstrance or attempts tosoothe her. 

"Oh! it is horrible--too horrible!" cried the almost fainting girl. "What can--what must be done! Either way, misery--disgrace! Lord, forgive me! But my head is turned. That you should be here! That youshould be in this strait! Why was it not me? I--I have deserved alland more! prison, death, everything is not too bad for me; but you, mydear, dear boy!"

"Mary, what is the reason of this? I cannot understand. Are mattersworse than they were before?" said Joey. "And why should you talk insuch a way about yourself? If you ever did wrong, you were driven to itby the conduct of others; but your reformation is all your own. "

"Ah, Joey!" replied Mary; "I should think little of my repentance if Iheld myself absolved by a few years' good conduct. No, no; a whole lifeof repentance is not sufficient for me; I must live on, ever repenting, and must die full of penitence, and imploring for pardon. But why do Italk of myself?"

"What has made you thus, Mary?"

"Joey, I cannot keep it a secret from you; it is useless to attempt it. I have discovered your father and mother!"

"Where are they? and do they know anything of my position?"

"Yes; your mother does, but not your father. "

"Tell me all, Mary, and tell me quickly. "

"Your father and mother are Mr and Mrs Austin. "

Joey's utterance failed him from astonishment; he stared at Mary, but hecould not utter a word. Mary again wept; and Joey for some minutesremained by her side in silence. 

"Come, Mary, " said Joey at last, "you can now tell me everything. "

Joey sat down by her side, and Mary then communicated what had passedbetween herself and Mrs Austin; her acknowledgement that he was herrelation; the interest she took in him; the money she had lavished; hersufferings, which she had witnessed; and then she wound up with theconversation between her and Mr Trevor. 

"You see, my dear boy, there is no doubt of the fact. I believe I didpromise Mrs Austin to say nothing to you about it; but I forgot mypromise all just this minute. Now, Joey, what is to be done?"

"Tell me something about my father, Mary, " said Joey; "I wish to knowhow he is estimated, and how he behaves in his new position. "

Mary told him all she knew, which was not a great deal; he wasrespected; but he was a strange man, kept himself very much aloof fromothers and preferred seclusion. 

"Mary, " said Joey, "you know what were my intentions before; they arenow still more fixed. I will take my chance; but I never will say oneword. You already know and have guessed more than I could wish; I willnot say that you are right, for it is not my secret. "

"I thought as much, " replied Mary, "and I feel how much my argumentsmust be weakened by the disclosures I have made. Before, I only feltfor you; now I feel for all. Oh, Joey! why are you, so innocent, to bepunished this way, and I, so guilty, to be spared?"

"It is the will of God that I should be in this strait, Mary; and nowlet us not renew the subject. "

"But, Joey, Mr Trevor is coming here to-morrow; and he told me to tellyou that you must have no reservation with your lawyer, if you wish himto be of service to you. "

"You have given your message, Mary; and now you must leave me to dealwith him. "

"My heart is breaking, " said Mary, solemnly. "I wish I were in my graveif that wish is not wicked. "

"Mary, recollect one thing;--recollect it supports me, and let itsupport you;--I am innocent. "

"You are, I'm sure; would to Heaven that I could say the same foranother! But tell me, Joey, what shall I do when I meet your mother? Iloved her before; but, oh! how much I love her now! What shall I do?Shall I tell her that I have discovered all? I do not know how I cankeep it from her. "

"Mary, I see no objection to your telling her, but tell her also that Iwill not see her till after my trial; whatever my fate may be, I shouldlike to see her after that is decided. "

"I will take your message the day after to-morrow, " replied Mary; "now Imust go and look out for lodgings, and then write to your mother. Blessyou!"

Mary quitted the cell; she had suffered so much that she could hardlygain the gaoler's parlour, where she sat down to recover herself. Sheinquired of the gaoler's wife if she could procure apartments near theprison, and the woman requested one of the turnkeys to take her to alodging which would be suitable. As soon as Mary was located, she wrotea letter to Mrs Austin, informing her of her having seen the lawyer, and that his services were secured; and then, worn out with the anxietyand excitement of the three last days, she retired to bed, and in hersleep forgot her sufferings. 

CHAPTER FORTY SIX. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO MAKES UP HIS MIND TO BE HANGED. 

Our hero was not sorry to be left alone; for the first time he felt theabsence of Mary a relief. He was almost as much bewildered as poor Marywith the strange discovery; his father a great landed proprietor, one ofthe first men in the county, universally respected--in the firstsociety! his mother, as he knew by Mary's letters written long ago, courted and sought after, loved and admired! If he had made aresolution--a promise he might say--when a mere child that he would takethe onus of the deed upon his own shoulders, to protect his father, thena poacher and in humble life, how much more was it his duty, now thathis father would so feel any degradation--now that, being raised sohigh, his fall would be so bitter, his disgrace so deeply felt, and thestigma so doubly severe! "No, no, " thought Joey, "were I to impeach myfather now--to accuse him of a deed which would bring him to thescaffold--I should not only be considered his murderer, but it would besaid I had done it to inherit his possessions; I should be consideredone who had sacrificed his father to obtain his property. I should bescouted, shunned, and deservedly despised; the disgrace of my fatherhaving been hanged would be a trifle compared with the reproach of a sonhaving condemned a parent to the gallows. Now I am doubly bound to keepto my resolution; and come what may the secret shall die with me:" andJoey slept soundly that night. 

The next morning Mr Trevor came into his cell. 

"I have seen your sister, Rushbrook, " said he, "and at her request, havecome to assist you, if it is in my power. She has been here since, Ihave been informed, and if so, I have no doubt that she has told youthat you must have no secrets with your lawyer: your legal friend andadviser in this case is your true friend: he is bound in honour tosecrecy, and were you to declare now that you were guilty of thismurder, the very confidence would only make me more earnest in yourdefence. I have here all the evidence at the coroner's inquest, and theverdict against you; tell me honestly what did take place, and then Ishall know better how to convince the jury that it did not. "

"You are very kind, sir; but I can say nothing even to you, except that, on my honour, I am not guilty. "

"But, tell me, then, how did it happen. "

"I have nothing more to say, and, with my thanks to you, sir, I will saynothing more. "

"This is very strange: the evidence was strong against you, was theevidence correct?"

"The parties were correct in their evidence, as it appeared to them. "

"And yet you are not guilty!"

"I am not; I shall plead not guilty, and leave my fate to the jury. "

"Are you mad? Your sister is a sweet young woman, and has interested megreatly; but, if innocent, you are throwing away your life. "

"I am doing my duty, sir; whatever you may think of my conduct, thesecret dies with me. "

"And for whom do you sacrifice yourself in this way, if as, you say, andas your sister declares, you are not guilty?"

Joey made no reply, but sat down on the bedstead. 

"If the deed was not done by you, by whom was it done?" urged MrTrevor. "If you make no reply to that, I must throw up my brief. "

"You said just now, " returned Joey, "that if I declared myself guilty ofthe murder, you would still defend me; now, because I say I am not, andwill not say who is, you must throw up your brief. Surely you areinconsistent. "

"I must have your confidence, my good lad. "

"You never will have more than you have now. I have not requested youto defend me. I care nothing about defence. "

"Then, you wish to be hanged?"

"No, I do not; but, rather than say anything, I will take my chance ofit. "

"This is very strange, " said Mr Trevor: after a pause, he continued, "Iobserve that you are supposed to have killed this man, Byres, whennobody else was present; you were known to go out with your father'sgun, and the keeper's evidence proved that you poached. Now, as thereis no evidence of intentional murder on your part, it is not impossiblethat the gun went off by accident, and that, mere boy as you must havebeen at that age, you were so frightened at what had taken place, thatyou absconded from fear. It appears to me that that should be our lineof defence. "

"I never fired at the man at all, " said Joey. 

"Who fired the gun, then?" asked Mr Trevor. 

Joey made no reply. 

"Rushbrook, " said Mr Trevor, "I am afraid I can be of little use toyou; indeed, were it not that your sister's tears have interested me, Iwould not take up your cause. I cannot understand your conduct, whichappears to me to be absurd; your motives are inexplicable, and all I canbelieve is, that you have committed the crime, and will not divulge thesecret to any one, not even to those who would befriend you. "

"Think of me what you please, sir, " rejoined our hero; "see mecondemned, and, if it should be so, executed; and, after all _that_ hastaken place, believe me, when I assert to you--as I hope for salvation--I am not guilty. I thank you, sir, thank you sincerely, for theinterest you have shown for me; I feel grateful, excessively grateful, and the more so for what you have said of Mary; but if you were toremain here for a month, you could gain no more from me than you havealready. "

"After such an avowal, it is useless my stopping here, " said Mr Trevor;"I must make what defence I can, for your sister's sake. "

"Many, many thanks, sir, for your kindness; I am really grateful toyou, " replied Joey. 

Mr Trevor remained for a minute scanning the countenance or our hero. There was something in it so clear and bright, so unflinching, soproclaiming innocence, and high feeling, that he sighed deeply as heleft the cell. 

His subsequent interview with Mary was short; he explained to her thedifficulties arising from the obstinacy of her brother; but at the sametime expressed his determination to do his best to save him. 

Mary, as soon as she had seen Mr Trevor, set off on her return to theHall. As soon as she went to Mrs Austin, Mary apprised her of MrTrevor's having consented to act as counsel for our hero, and also ofJoey's resolute determination not to divulge the secret. 

"Madam, " said Mary, after some hesitation, "it is my duty to have nosecret from you: and I hope you will not be angry when I tell you that Ihave discovered that which you would have concealed. "

"What have you discovered, Mary?" asked Mrs Austin, looking at her withalarm. 

"That Joseph Rushbrook is your own son, " said Mary, kneeling down andkissing the hand of her mistress. "The secret is safe with me, dependupon it, " she continued. 

"And how have you made the discovery, Mary; for I will not attempt todeny it?"

Mary then entered into a detail of her conversation with Mr Trevor. "He asked me, " said she, "as the sister of Joey, if we had anyrelatives, and I replied, `No;' so that he has no suspicion of the fact. I beg your pardon, madam, but I could not keep it from Joey; I quiteforgot my promise to you at the time. "

"And what did my poor child say?"

"That he would not see you until after his trial; but, when his fate wasdecided, he should like to see you once more. Oh, madam, what a painfulsacrifice! and yet, now, I do not blame him; for it is his duty. "

"My dread is not for my son, Mary; he is innocent; and that to me iseverything; but if my husband was to hear of his being about to betried, I know not what would be the consequence. If it can only be keptfrom his knowledge! God knows that he has suffered enough! But what amI saying? I was talking nonsense. "

"Oh, madam! I know the whole; I cannot be blinded either by Joey oryou. I beg your pardon, madam; but although Joey would not reply, Itold him that his father did the deed. But do not answer me, madam; besilent, as your son has been: and believe me when I say that mysuspicion could not be wrenched from me even by torture. "

"I do trust you, Mary; and perhaps the knowledge that you have obtainedis advantageous. When does the trial come on?"

"The assizes commence to-morrow forenoon, madam, they say. "

"Oh! how I long to have him in these arms!" exclaimed Mrs Austin. 

"It is indeed a sad trial to a mother, madam, " replied Mary; "but stillit must not be until after he is--"

"Yes; until he is condemned! God have mercy on me; Mary, you had betterreturn to Exeter; but write to me every day. Stay by him and comforthim; and may the God of comfort listen to the prayers of an unhappy anddistracted mother! Leave me now. God bless you, my dear girl! you haveindeed proved a comfort. Leave me now. "

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. 

IN WHICH OUR HERO PROVES GAME TO THE VERY LAST. 

Mary returned to Exeter. The trial of our hero was expected to come onon the following day. She preferred being with Joey to witnessing theagony and distress of Mrs Austin, to whom she could offer no comfort;indeed, her own state of suspense was so wearing, that she almost feltrelief when the day of trial came on. Mr Trevor had once moreattempted to reason with Joey, but our hero continued firm in hisresolution, and Mr Trevor, when he made his appearance in the court, wore upon his countenance the marks of sorrow and discontent; he didnot, nevertheless, fail in his duty. Joey was brought to the bar, andhis appearance was so different from that which was to be expected inone charged with the crime of murder, that strong interest wasimmediately excited; the spectators anticipated a low-bred ruffian, andthey beheld a fair, handsome young man, with an open brow andintelligent countenance, whose eye quailed not when it met their own, and whose demeanour was bold without being offensive. True that therewere traces of sorrow on his countenance, and that his cheeks were pale;but no one who had any knowledge of human nature, or any feeling ofcharity in his disposition, could say that there was the leastappearance of guilt. The jury were empannelled, the counts of theindictment read over, and the trial commenced, and, as the indictmentwas preferred, the judge caught the date of the supposed offence. 

"What is the date?" said the judge; "the year, I mean?"

Upon the reply of the clerk, his lordship observed, "Eight years ago!"and then looking at the prisoner, added, "Why, he must have been achild. "

"As is too often the case, " replied the prosecuting counsel; "a child inyears, but not in guilt, as we shall soon bring evidence tosubstantiate. "

As the evidence brought forward was the same, as we have alreadymentioned, as given on the inquest over the body, we shall pass it over;that of Furness, as he was not to be found, was read to the court. Asthe trial proceeded, and as each fact came forth more condemning, peoplebegan to look with less compassion on the prisoner: they shook theirheads, and compressed their lips. 

As soon as the evidence for the Crown was closed, Mr Trevor rose in ourhero's defence. He commenced by ridiculing the idea of trying a merechild upon so grave a charge, for a child the prisoner must have been atthe time the offence was committed. "Look at him now, gentlemen of thejury; eight years ago the murder of the pedlar, Byres, took place; why, you may judge for yourselves whether he is now more than seventeen yearsof age; he could scarcely have held a gun at the time referred to. "

"The prisoner's age does not appear in the indictment, " observed thejudge. 

"May we ask his age, my lord?" demanded one of the jury. 

"The prisoner may answer the question if he pleases, " replied the judge, "not otherwise; perhaps he may not yet be seventeen years, of age. Doyou wish to state your age to the jury, prisoner?"

"I have no objection, my lord, " replied Joey, not regarding the shakesof the head of his counsel: "I was twenty-two last month. "

Mr Trevor bit his lips at this unfortunate regard for truth in ourhero, and, after a time, proceeded, observing that the very candour ofthe prisoner, in not taking advantage of his youthful appearance todeceive the jury, ought to be a strong argument in his favour. MrTrevor then continued to address the jury upon the vagueness of theevidence, and, as he proceeded, observed--"Now, gentlemen of the jury, if this case had been offered to me to give an opinion upon, I should, without any previous knowledge of the prisoner, have just come to thefollowing conclusion--I should have said (and your intelligence and goodsense will, I have no doubt, bear me out in this supposition), that, allowing that the pedlar, Byres, did receive his death by the prisoner'shand--I say, gentlemen, that _allowing_ such to have been the case, forI deny that it is borne out by the evidence--that it must have been_that_, at the sudden meeting with the pedlar, when the lad's consciencetold him that what he was doing was wrong, that the gun of the prisonerwas discharged unintentionally, and the consequence was fatal; I shouldthen surmise, further, that the prisoner, frightened at the deed whichhe had unintentionally committed, had absconded upon the first impulse. That, gentlemen I believe to be the real state of the case; and what wasmore natural than that a child under such circumstances should have beenfrightened, and have attempted to evade the inquiry which must haveeventually ensued?"

"You state such to be your opinion, Mr Trevor; do you wish me to inferthat the prisoner pleads such as his defence?" asked the judge. 

"My lord, " replied Mr Trevor, in a hesitating way, "the prisoner haspleaded not guilty to the crime imputed to him. "

"That I am aware of, but I wish to know whether you mean to say that theprisoner's defence is, not having anything to do with the death of thepedlar, or upon the plea of his gun going off by accident?"

"My lord, it is my duty to my client to make no admission whatever. "

"I should think that you would be safe enough, all circumstancesconsidered, if you took the latter course, " observed the judge, humanely. 

Mr Trevor was now in a dilemma; he knew not how to move. He wasfearful, if he stated positively that our hero's gun went off byaccident, that Joey would deny it; and yet if he was permitted to assertthis to be the case, he saw, from the bearing of the judge, that theresult of the trial would be satisfactory. It hardly need be observedthat both judge, prosecuting counsel, jury, and everybody in court, weremuch astonished at this hesitation on the part of the prisoner'scounsel. 

"Do you mean to assert that the gun went off by accident, Mr Trevor?"asked the judge. 

"I never fired the gun, my lord, " replied Joey, in a calm steady voice. 

"The prisoner has answered for me, " replied Mr Trevor, recoveringhimself; "we are perfectly aware that by making a statement ofaccidental murder, we could safely have left the prisoner in the handsof an intelligent jury; but the fact is, my lord, that the prisonernever fired the gun, and therefore could not be guilty of the murderimputed to him. "

Mr Trevor had felt, upon our hero's assertion, that his case washopeless; he roused up, however, to make a strong appeal to the jury;unfortunately, it was declamation only, not disproof of the charges, andthe reply of the prosecuting counsel completely established the guilt ofour hero upon what is called presumptive evidence. The jury retired fora few minutes after the summing up of the judge, and then returned averdict against our hero of Guilty, but recommended him to mercy. Although the time to which we refer was one in which leniency was seldomextended, still there was the youth of our hero, and so much mystery inthe transaction, that when the judge passed the sentence, he distinctlystated that the royal mercy would be so far extended, that the sentencewould be commuted to transportation. Our hero made no reply; he bowed, and was led back to his place of confinement, and in a few minutesafterwards the arms of the weeping Mary were encircled round his neck. 

"You don't blame me, Mary?" said Joey. 

"No, no, " sobbed Mary; "all that the world can do is nothing when we areinnocent. "

"I shall soon be far from here, Mary, " said Joey, sitting down on thebedstead; "but, thank Heaven! it is over. "

The form of Emma Phillips rose up in our hero's imagination, and hecovered up his face with his hands. 

"Had it not been for her!" thought he. "What must she think of me! aconvicted felon! this is the hardest of all to bear up against. "

"Joey, " said Mary, who had watched him in silence and tears, "I must gonow; you will see her now, will you not?"

"She never will see me! she despises me already, " replied Joey. 

"Your mother despise her noble boy? Oh, never! How can you think so?"

"I was thinking of somebody else, Mary, " replied Joey. "Yes, I wish tosee my mother. "

"Then I will go now; recollect what her anxiety and impatience must be. I will travel post to-night, and be there by to-morrow morning. "

"Go, dear Mary, go, and God bless you! hasten to my poor mother, andtell her that I am quite--yes--quite happy and resigned. Go now, quickly. "

Mary left the cell, and Joey, whose heart was breaking at the momentthat he said he was happy and resigned, for he was thinking of hiseternal separation from Emma, as soon as he was alone, threw himself onthe bed, and gave full vent to those feelings of bitter anguish which hecould no longer repress. 

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. 

IN WHICH EVERYBODY APPEARS TO BE ON THE MOVE EXCEPT OUR HERO. 

Mary set off with post-horses and arrived at the Hall before daylight. She remained in her own room until the post came in, when her firstobject was to secure the newspapers before the butler had opened them, stating that her mistress was awake, and requested to see them. Shetook the same precaution when the other papers came in late in the day, so that Mr Austin should not read the account of the trial; this wasthe more easy to accomplish, as he seldom looked at a newspaper. Assoon as the usual hour had arrived, Mary presented herself to hermistress, and communicated the melancholy result of the trial. MrsAustin desired Mary to say to the servants that she was going to remainwith a lady, a friend of hers, some miles off, who was dangerously ill;and should in all probability, not return that night, or even the next, if her friend was not better; and, her preparations for the journeybeing completed, she set off with Mary a little before dark on her wayto Exeter. 

But, if Mr Austin did not look at the newspapers, others did, andamongst the latter was Major McShane, who, having returned from histour, was sitting with O'Donahue and the two ladies in the library ofhis own house when the post came in. The major had hardly looked at thenewspapers, when the name of Rushbrook caught his eye; he turned to it, read a portion, and gave a loud whistle of surprise. 

"What's the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs McShane. 

"Murder's the matter, my jewel, " returned the major; "but don'tinterrupt me just now, for I'm breathless with confusion. "

McShane read the whole account of the trial, and the verdict, and thenwithout saying a word, put it into the bands of O'Donahue. As soon asO'Donahue had finished it, McShane beckoned him out of the room. 

"I didn't like to let Mrs McShane know it, as she would take it sorelyto heart, " said McShane: "but what's to be done now, O'Donahue? You seethe boy has not peached upon his father, and has convicted himself. Itwould be poor comfort to Mrs McShane, who loves the memory of that boybetter than she would a dozen little McShanes, if it pleased Heaven togrant them to her, to know that the boy is found, when he is only foundto be sent away over the water; so it is better that nothing should besaid about it just now: but what is to be done?"

"Well, it appears to me that we had better be off to Exeter directly, "replied O'Donahue. 

"Yes, and see him, " rejoined the major. 

"Before I saw him, McShane, I would call upon the lawyer who defendedhim, and tell him what you know about the father, and what oursuspicions, I may say, convictions, are. He would then tell us how toproceed, so as to procure his pardon, perhaps. "

"That's good advice; and now what excuse are we to make for runningaway?"

"As for my wife, " replied O'Donahue, "I may as well tell her the truth;she will keep it secret; and as for yours, she will believe anything youplease to tell her. "

"And so she will, the good creature, and that's why I never can bear todeceive her about anything; but, in this instance, it is all for her ownsake and therefore, suppose your wife says that you must go to townimmediately, and that I had better accompany you, as it is upon aserious affair?"

"Be it so, " replied O'Donahue; "do you order the horses to be put towhile I settle the affair with the females. "

This was soon done, and in half an hour the two gentlemen were on theirway to Exeter; and as soon as they arrived, which was late in theevening, they established themselves at the principal hotel. 

In the mean time Mrs Austin and Mary had also arrived and had taken uptheir quarters at another hotel where Mrs Austin would be less exposed. It was, however, too late to visit our hero when they arrived, and thenext morning they proceeded to the gaol, much about the same hour thatMcShane and O'Donahue paid their visit to Mr Trevor. 

Perhaps it will be better to leave to the imagination of our readers thescene which occurred between our hero and his mother, as we have had toomany painful ones already in this latter portion of our narrative. Thejoy and grief of both at meeting again, only to part for ever--thestrong conflict between duty and love--the lacerated feelings of thedoting mother, the true and affectionate son, and the devoted servantand friend--may be better imagined than expressed; but their grief wasraised to its climax when our hero, pressed in his mother's arms as henarrated his adventures, confessed that another pang was added to hissufferings in parting with the object of his earliest affections. 

"My poor, poor boy, this is indeed a bitter cup to drink!" exclaimedMrs Austin. "May God, in His mercy, look down upon you, and consoleyou!"

"He will, mother: and when far away--not before, not until you cansafely do so, promise me to go to Emma, and tell her that I was notguilty. I can bear anything but that she should despise me. "

"I will, my child, I will; and I will love her dearly for your sake. Now go on with your history, my dear boy. "

We must leave our hero and his mother in conversation, and return toMcShane and O'Donahue, who, as soon as they had breakfasted, repaired tothe lodgings of Mr Trevor. 

McShane, who was spokesman, soon entered upon the business which broughtthem there. 

Mr Trevor stated to him the pertinacity of our hero, and theimpossibility of saving him from condemnation, remarking, at the sametime, that there was a mystery which he could not fathom. 

McShane took upon himself to explain that mystery, having, as we havebefore observed, already been sufficiently clear-sighted to fathom it;and referred to O'Donahue to corroborate his opinion of the elderRushbrook's character. 

"And this father of his is totally lost sight of; you say?" observed MrTrevor. 

"Altogether: I have never been able to trace him, " replied McShane. 

"I was observing to his sister--" said Mr Trevor. 

"He has no sister, " interrupted McShane. 

"Still there is a young woman--and a very sweet young woman, too--whocame to me in London, to engage me for his defence, who representedherself as his sister. "

"That is strange, " rejoined McShane, musing. 

"But, however, " continued Mr Trevor, "as I was about to say, I wasobserving to this young woman how strange it was, that the first time Iwas legally employed for the name of Rushbrook, it should be a casewhich, in the opinion of the world, should produce the highestgratification, and that in the second in one which has ended in misery. "

"How do you mean?" inquired McShane. 

"I put a person of the name of Rushbrook in possession of a largefortune. I asked our young friend's sister whether he could be anyrelation; but she said no. "

"Young Rushbrook had no sister, I am sure, " interrupted McShane. 

"I now recollect, " continued Mr Trevor, "that this person who came intothe fortune stated that he had formerly held a commission in the army. "

"Then, depend on it, it's Rushbrook himself, who has given himselfbrevet rank, " replied McShane. "Where is he now?"

"Down in Dorsetshire, " said Mr Trevor. "He succeeded to the Austinestates, and has taken the name. "

"'Tis he--'tis he--I'll swear to it, " cried McShane. "Phillaloo!Murder and Irish! the murder's out now. No wonder this gentlemanwouldn't return my visit, and keeps himself entirely at home. I begyour pardon, Mr Trevor, but what sort of a looking personage may he be, for as I have said, I have never seen this Mr Austin?"

"A fine, tall, soldierly man; I should say rough, but still not vulgar;dark hair and eyes, aquiline nose; if I recollect right--"

"'Tis the man!" exclaimed O'Donahue. 

"And his wife--did you see her?" asked McShane. 

"No I did not, " replied Mr Trevor. 

"Well, I have seen her very often, " rejoined McShane; "and a very nicecreature she appears to be. I have never been in their house in mylife. I called and left my card, that's all; but I have met her severaltimes; however, as you have not seen her, that proves nothing; and now, Mr Trevor, what do you think we should do?"

"I really am not prepared to advise; it is a case of great difficulty; Ithink, however, it would be advisable for you to call upon youngRushbrook, and see what you can obtain from him; after that, if you comehere to-morrow morning, I will be better prepared to give you ananswer. "

"I will do as you wish, sir; I will call upon my friend first, and myname's not McShane if I don't call upon his father afterwards. "

"Do nothing rashly, I beg, " replied Mr Trevor; "recollect you have cometo me for advice, and I think you are bound at least to hear what I haveto propose before you act. "

"That's the truth, Mr Trevor; so now with many thanks, we will take ourleave, and call upon you to-morrow. "

McShane and O'Donahue then proceeded to the gaol, and demandedpermission to see our hero. 

"There are two ladies with him, just now, " said the gaoler; "they havebeen there these three hours, so I suppose they will not be muchlonger. "

"We will wait, then, " replied O'Donahue. 

In about a quarter of an hour Mrs Austin and Mary made theirappearance; the former was closely veiled when she entered the gaoler'sparlour, in which O'Donahue and McShane were waiting. It had not beenthe intention of Mrs Austin to have gone into the parlour, but heragitation and distress had so overcome her that she could scarcely walk, and Mary had persuaded her as she came down to go in and take glass ofwater. The gentlemen rose when she came in; she immediately recognisedMcShane, and the sudden rush into her memory of what might be the issueof the meeting, was so overwhelming, that she dropped into a chair andfainted. 

Mary ran for some water, and while she did so, McShane and O'Donahuewent to the assistance of Mrs Austin. The veil was removed; and, ofcourse, she was immediately recognised by McShane, who was now fullyconvinced that Austin and Rushbrook were one and the same person. 

Upon the first signs of returning animation, McShane had the delicacy towithdraw, and making a sign to the gaoler, he and O'Donahue repaired tothe cell of our hero. The greeting was warm on both sides. McShane waseager to enter upon the subject; he pointed out to Joey that he knew whocommitted the murder; indeed, plainly told him, that it was the deed ofhis father. But Joey, as before, would admit nothing; he was satisfiedwith their belief in his innocence, but, having made up his mind tosuffer, could not be persuaded to reveal the truth, and McShane andO'Donahue quitted the cell, perceiving that, unless most decided stepswere taken, without the knowledge of our hero, there was no chance ofhis being extricated from his melancholy fate. Struck with admirationat his courage and self-devotion towards an unworthy parent, they badehim farewell, simply promising to use all their endeavours in hisbehalf. 

CHAPTER FORTY NINE. 

THE INTERVIEW. 

According to their arrangement, on the following morning, McShane andO'Donahue called upon Mr Trevor, and after half an hour's consultation, it was at last decided that they should make an attempt to see Austin, and bide the issue of the interview, when they would again communicatewith the lawyer, who was to return to town on the following day. Theythen set off as fast as four horses could convey them, and drove directto the Hall, where they arrived about six o'clock in the evening. 

It had so happened that Austin had the evening before inquired for hiswife. The servant reported to him what Mary had told them, and Austin, who was in a fidgety humour, had sent for the coachman who had driventhe carriage, to inquire whether Mrs Austin's friend was very ill. Thecoachman stated that he had not driven over to the place in question, but to the nearest post-town, where Mrs Austin had taken a postchaise. This mystery and concealment on the part of his wife was not veryagreeable to a man of Mr Austin's temper; he was by turns indignant andalarmed; and after having passed a sleepless night, had been all the dayanxiously waiting Mrs Austin's return, when the sound of wheels washeard, and the carriage of McShane drove up to the door. On inquiry ifMr Austin was at home, the servants replied that they would ascertain;and Austin, who imagined that this unusual visit might be connected withhis wife's mysterious absence, desired the butler to show in thevisitors. Austin started at the announcement of the names, butrecovering himself; he remained standing near the table, drawn up to hisfull height. 

"Mr Austin, " said O'Donahue, "we have ventured to call upon you upon anaffair of some importance: as Mr Austin, we have not the pleasure ofyour acquaintance, but we were formerly, if I mistake not, serving hismajesty in the same regiment. "

"I do not pretend to deny, gentlemen, that you once knew me underdifferent circumstances, " replied Austin, haughtily; "will you please tobe seated, and then probably you will favour me with the cause of thisvisit. "

"May I inquire of you, Mr Austin, " said McShane, "if you may havehappened to look over the newspapers within these few days?"

"No! and now I recollect--which is unusual--the papers have not beenbrought to me regularly. "

"They were probably withheld from you in consequence of the intelligencethey would have conveyed to you. "

"May I ask what that intelligence may be?" inquired Austin, surprised. 

"The trial, conviction, and sentence to transportation for life of oneJoseph Rushbrook, for the murder of a man of the name of Byres, " repliedMcShane; "Mr Austin, you are of course aware that he is your son. "

"You have, of course, seen the party, and he has made that statement toyou?" replied Mr Austin. 

"We have seen the party, but he has not made that statement, " repliedO'Donahue; "but do you pretend to deny it?"

"I am not aware upon what grounds you have thought proper to come hereto interrogate me, " replied Austin. "Supposing that I had a son, andthat son has as you say been guilty of the deed, it certainly is noconcern of yours. "

"First, with your leave, Mr Austin, " said McShane, "let me prove thathe is your son. You were living at Grassford, where the murder wascommitted; your son ran away in consequence, and fell into the hands ofCaptain (now General) O'Donahue; from him your son was made over to me, and I adopted him; but having been recognised when at school, byFurness, the schoolmaster of the village, he absconded to avoid beingapprehended; and I have never seen him from that time till yesterdaymorning, when I called upon him, and had an interview as soon as hismother, Mrs Austin, had quitted the cell in Exeter gaol, where he is atpresent confined. "

Austin started--here was the cause of Mrs Austin's absence explained;neither could he any longer refuse to admit that Joey was his son. After a silence of a minute, he replied--

"I have to thank you much for your kindness to my poor boy, MajorMcShane; and truly sorry am I that he is in such a dilemma. Now that Iam acquainted with it, I shall do all in my power. There are otherRushbrooks, gentlemen, and you cannot be surprised at my not immediatelyadmitting that such a disgrace had occurred to my own family. Of MrsAustin's having been with him I assure you I had not any idea; herhaving gone there puts it beyond a doubt, although it has been carefullyconcealed from me till this moment. "

It must not be supposed that, because Austin replied so calmly to MajorMcShane, he was calm within. On the contrary, from the very first ofthe interview he had been in a state of extreme excitement, and thestruggle to command his feelings was terrible; indeed, it was now sopainfully expressed in his countenance, that O'Donahue said--

"Perhaps, Mr Austin, you will allow me to ring for a little water?"

"No, sir, thank you, " replied Austin, gasping for breath. 

"Since you have admitted that Joseph Rushbrook is your son, Mr Austin, "continued McShane, "your own flesh and blood, may I inquire of you whatyou intend to do in his behalf? Do you intend to allow the law to takeits course, and your son to be banished for life?"

"What can I do, gentlemen? He has been tried and condemned: of courseif any exertion on my part can avail--but I fear that there is no chanceof that. "

"Mr Austin, if he were guilty I should not have interfered; but, in myopinion, he is innocent; do you not think so?"

"I do not believe, sir, that he ever would have done such a deed; butthat avails nothing, he is condemned. "

"I grant it, unless the real murderer of the pedlar could be broughtforward. "

"Y-e-s, " replied Austin, trembling. 

"Shall I denounce him, Mr Austin?"

"Do you know him?" replied Austin, starting on his feet. 

"Yes, Rushbrook, " replied McShane, in a voice of thunder, "I do knowhim, --'tis yourself!"

Austin could bear up no longer, he fell down on the floor as if he hadbeen shot. O'Donahue and McShane went to his assistance; they raisedhim up, but he was insensible; they then rang the bell for assistance, the servant came in, medical advice was sent for, and McShane andO'Donahue, perceiving there was no chance of prosecuting theirintentions, in Mr Austin's present state, quitted the Hall just as thechaise with Mrs Austin and Mary drove up to the door. 

CHAPTER FIFTY. 

IN WHICH IT IS TO BE HOPED THAT THE STORY WINDS UP TO THE SATISFACTIONOF THE READER. 

It was not for some time after the arrival of the medical men that MrAustin could be recovered from his state of insensibility, and when hewas at last restored to life, it was not to reason. He raved wildly, and it was pronounced that his attack was a brain fever. As, in hisincoherent exclamations, the name of Byres was frequently repeated, assoon as the medical assistants had withdrawn, Mrs Austin desired allthe servants, with the exception of Mary, to quit the room; they did sowith reluctance, for their curiosity was excited, and there wasshrugging of the shoulders, and whispering, and surmising, and repeatingof the words which had escaped from their unconscious master's lips, andhints that all was not right passed from one to another in the servants'hall. In the mean time, Mrs Austin and Mary remained with him; andwell it was that the servants had been sent away, if they were not toknow what had taken place so long ago, for now Austin played the wholescene over again, denounced himself as a murderer, spoke of his son, andof his remorse, and then he would imagine himself in conflict withByres--he clenched his fists--and he laughed and chuckled and then wouldchange again to bitter lamentations for the deed which he had done. 

"Oh, Mary, how is this to end?" exclaimed Mrs Austin, after one of theparoxysms had subsided. 

"As guilt always must end, madam, " replied Mary, bursting into tears andclasping her hands, --"in misery. "

"My dear Mary, do not distress yourself in that manner; you are nolonger guilty. "

"Nor is my master then, madam; for I am sure that he has repented. "

"Yes, indeed, he has repented most sincerely; one hasty deed hasembittered his whole life--he never has been happy since, and never willbe until he is in heaven. "

"Oh, what a happy relief it would be to him!" replied Mary, musing. "Iwish that I was, if such wish is not sinful. "

"Mary, you must not add to my distress by talking in that manner; I wantyour support and consolation now. "

"You have a right to demand everything of me, madam, " replied Mary, "andI will do my best, I will indeed. I have often felt this before, and Ithank God for it; it will make me more humble. "

The fever continued for many days, during which time Mr Austin wasattended solely by his wife and Mary; the latter had written to ourhero, stating the cause of her absence from him in so trying a period, and she had received an answer, stating that he had received from verygood authority the information that he was not likely to leave thecountry for some weeks, and requesting that Mary would remain with hismother until his father's dangerous illness was decided one way or theother he stated that he should be perfectly satisfied if he only saw heronce before his departure, to arrange with her relative to her affairs, and to give her legal authority to act for him, previously to hisremoval from the country. He told her that he had perceived anadvertisement in the London papers, evidently put in by his friends atPortsmouth, offering a handsome reward to any one who could give anyaccount of him--and that he was fearful that some of those who were atthe trial would read it, and make known his position; he begged Mary towrite to him every day if possible, if it were only a few lines, andsent his devoted love to his mother. Mary complied with all our hero'srequests, and every day a few lines were despatched; and it was nowascertained by the other domestics, and by them made generally known, that a daily correspondence was kept up with a prisoner in Exeter gaol, which added still more mystery and interest to the state of Mr Austin. Many were the calls and cards left at the Hall, and if we were toinquire whether curiosity or condolence was the motive of those who wentthere, we are afraid that the cause would, in most cases, have proved tohave been the former. Among others, O'Donahue and McShane did not failto send every day, waiting for the time when they could persuade Austinto do justice to his own child. 

The crisis, as predicted by the medical attendants, at last arrived, andMr Austin recovered his reason; but, at the same time, all hopes of hisagain rising from his bed were given over. This intelligence wascommunicated to his wife, who wept and wished, but dared not utter whatshe wished; Mary, however took an opportunity, when Mrs Austin hadquitted the room, to tell Mr Austin, who was in such a feeble statethat he could hardly speak, that the time would soon come when he wouldbe summoned before a higher tribunal, and conjured him, by the hopes hehad of forgiveness, now that the world was fading away before his eyes, to put away all pride, and to do that justice to his son which ourhero's noble conduct towards him demanded--to make a confession, eitherin writing or in presence of witnesses, before he died--which wouldprove the innocence of his only child, the heir to the property and thename. 

There was a straggle, and a long one, in the proud heart of Mr Austinbefore he could consent to this act of justice. Mary had pointed outthe propriety of it early in the morning, and it was not until late inthe evening, after having remained in silence and with his eyes closedfor the whole day, that Austin made a sign to his wife to bend down tohim, and desired her in a half-whisper to send for a magistrate. Hisrequest was immediately attended to; and in an hour the summons wasanswered by one with whom Austin had been on good terms. Austin madehis deposition in few words, and was supported by Mary while he signedthe paper. It was done; and when she would have removed the pen fromhis fingers, she found that it was still held fast, and that his headhad fallen back; the conflict between his pride and this act of duty hadbeen too overpowering for him in his weak condition, and Mr Austin wasdead before the ink of his signature had time to dry. 

The gentleman who had been summoned in his capacity of magistrate, thought it advisable to remove from the scene of distress withoutattempting to communicate with Mrs Austin in her present sorrow. Hehad been in conversation with O'Donahue and McShane at the time that hewas summoned, and Mr Austin's illness and the various reports abroadhad been there canvassed. O'Donahue and McShane had reserved thesecret; but when their friend was sent for, anticipating some suchresult would take place, they requested him to return to them from theHall: he did so, and acquainted them with what had passed. 

"There's no time to lose, then, " said McShane; "I will, if you please, take a copy of this deposition. "

O'Donahue entered into a brief narrative of the circumstances and thebehaviour of our hero; and, as soon as the copy of the deposition hadbeen attested by the magistrate, he and McShane ordered horses, and setoff for London. They knocked up Mr Trevor at his private house in themiddle of the night, and put the document into his hands. 

"Well, Major McShane, I would gladly have risen from a sick bed to havehad this paper put into my hands; we must call upon the Secretary ofState to-morrow, and I have no doubt but that the poor lad will bespeedily released, take possession of his property, and be an honour tothe county. "

"An honour to old England, " replied McShane; "but I shall now wish yougood night. "

McShane, before he went to bed, immediately wrote a letter to MrsAustin, acquainting her with what he had done, and the intentions of MrTrevor, sending it by express; he simply stated the facts, without anycomments. 

But we must now return to Portsmouth. The advertisement of Mr Smalldid not escape the keen eye of the police-constable who had arrested ourhero--as the reader must recollect the arrest was made so quietly thatno one was aware of the circumstance, and as the reward of 100 poundswould be a very handsome addition to the 200 pounds which he had alreadyreceived--the man immediately set off for Portsmouth on the outside ofthe coach, and went to Mr Small, where he found him in thecounting-house with Mr Sleek. He soon introduced himself; and hisbusiness with them; and such was Mr Small's impatience that heimmediately signed a cheque for the amount, and handed it to thepolice-officer, who then bluntly told him that our hero had been triedfor murder, and sentenced to transportation, his real name beingRushbrook, and not O'Donahue. 

This was a heavy blow to Mr Small: having obtained all the particularsfrom the police-constable, he dismissed him, and was for some time inconsultation with Mr Sleek; and as it would be impossible long towithhold the facts, it was thought advisable that Mrs Phillips and Emmashould become acquainted with them immediately, the more so as Emma hadacknowledged that there was a mystery about our hero, a portion of whichshe was acquainted with. 

Mrs Phillips was the first party to whom the intelligence wascommunicated, and she was greatly distressed. It was some time beforeshe could decide upon whether Emma, in her weak state, should be madeacquainted with the melancholy tidings, but as she had suffered so muchfrom suspense, it was at last considered advisable that thecommunication should be made. It was done as cautiously as possible;Emma was not so shocked as they supposed she would have been at theintelligence. 

"I have been prepared for this, or something like this, " replied she, weeping in her mother's arms, "but I cannot believe that he has done thedeed; he told me that he did not, when he was a child; he has assertedit since. Mother, I must--I will go and see him. "

"See him, my child! he is confined in gaol. "

"Do not refuse me, mother, you know not what I feel--you know not--Inever knew myself till now how much I loved him. See him I must, andwill. Dearest mother, if you value my life, if you would not drivereason from its seat, do not refuse me. "

Mrs Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with MrSmall, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma)decided that her request should be granted, and that very day heaccompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they arrived atExeter. 

In the mean time, Mrs Austin had remained in a state of great distress;her husband lay dead; she believed that he had confessed his guilt, butto what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard whatpassed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary toconfide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. Shethought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous, and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from McShane, whicharrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once; she felt that her boywas safe. 

"Mary, dear, read this; he is safe, " exclaimed she. "God of heaven, accept a mother's grateful tears. "

"Cannot you spare me, madam?" replied Mary, returning the letter. 

"Spare you. Oh, yes! quick, Mary, lose not a moment; go to him, andtake this letter with you. My dear, dear child. " Mary did not wait asecond command; she sent for post-horses, and in half an hour was on herway to Exeter; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, shearrived there but a few hours after them. 

Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary's daily communication; thepost time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard fromlong confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, whenthe bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle, entered thecell. At the sight of her, our hero uttered a cry, and staggeredagainst the wall; he appeared to have lost his usual self-control. "Oh, " said he, "this might have been spared me; I have not deserved thispunishment. Emma, hear me. As I hope for future happiness I aminnocent; I am--I am, indeed--" and he fell senseless on the pavement. 

Mr Small raised him up and put him on the bed; after a time he revived, and remained where he had been laid, sobbing convulsively. 

As soon as he became more composed, Emma, who had been sitting by him, the tears coursing each other down her pale cheeks, addressed him in acalm voice. 

"I feel--I am sure that you are innocent, or I should not have beenhere. "

"Bless you for that, Emma, bless you; those few words of yours havegiven me more consolation than you can imagine. Is it nothing to betreated as a felon, to be disgraced, to be banished to a distantcountry, and that at the very time that I was full of happiness, prosperous, and anticipating?--but I cannot dwell upon that. Is it nothard to bear, Emma? and what could support me, but the consciousness ofmy own innocence, and the assurance that she whom I love so, and whom Inow lose for ever, still believes me so? Yes, it is a balm; aconsolation; and I will now submit to the will of Heaven. "

Emma burst into tears, leaning her face on our hero's shoulder. After atime she replied, "And am I not to be pitied? Is it nothing to lovetenderly, devotedly, madly--to have given my heart, my whole thoughts, my existence to one object--why should I conceal it now?--to have beendwelling upon visions of futurity so pleasing, so delightful, allpassing away as a dream, and leaving a sad reality like this? Make meone promise; you will not refuse Emma--who knelt by your side when youfirst met her, she who is kneeling before you now?"

"I dare not, Emma, for my heart tells me that you would propose a stepwhich must not be--you must leave me now, and for ever. "

"For ever! for ever!" cried Emma springing on her feet. "No! no! uncle, he says I am to leave him for ever? Who is that?" continued the franticgirl. "Mary! yes 'tis! Mary, he says I must leave him for ever!" (Itwas Mary who had just come into the cell. ) "Must I, Mary?"

"No--no!" replied Mary, "not so! he is saved, and his innocence isestablished; he is yours for ever!"

We shall not attempt to describe the scene we could not do justice to. We must allow the day to pass away; during which Emma and our hero, McShane and Mary, were sitting together; tears of misery wiped away--tears of joy still flowing and glistening with the radiance ofintermingled smiles. 

The next morning McShane and O'Donahue arrived, the Secretary of Statehad given immediate orders for our hero's release, and they had broughtthe document with them. 

The following day they were all _en route_, Emma and her uncle toPortsmouth, where they anxiously awaited the arrival of our hero as soonas he had performed his duty to his parents. 

We must allow the reader to suppose the joy of Mrs Austin in once moreholding her child in her embrace, and the smiles and happiness of Maryat his triumphant acquittal; the wondering of the domestics, the scandaland rumour of the neighbourhood. Three days sufficed to make all known, and by that time Joey was looked upon as the hero of a novel. On thefourth day he accompanied the remains of his father as chief mourner. The funeral was quiet without being mean; there was no attendance, nocarriages of the neighbouring gentry followed. Our hero was quite aloneand unsupported; but when the ceremony was over, the want of respectshown to the memory of his father was more than atoned for by thekindness and consideration shown towards the son, who was warmly, yetdelicately, welcomed as the future proprietor of the Hall. 

Three months passed away, and there was a great crowd before the houseof Mr Small, navy agent at Portsmouth. There was a large companyassembled, the O'Donahues, the McShanes, the Spikemans, and many others. Mrs Austin was there, looking ten years younger; and Mary wasattending her at the toilet, both of them half smiles, half tears, forit was the morning of our hero's wedding-day. Mr Small strutted aboutin white smalls, and Mr Sleek spluttered over everybody. Theprocession went to the church, and soon after the ceremony, one coupleof the party set off for the Hall; where the others went is of noconsequence. 

We have now wound up the history of little Joey Rushbrook, the poacher. We have only to add, that the character of our hero was not the worse ashe grew older, and was the father of a family. The Hall was celebratedfor hospitality, for the amiability of its possessors, and the art whichthey possessed of making other people happy. Mary remained with themmore as a confidante than as a servant; indeed, she had so much money, that she received several offers of marriage, which she invariablyrefused, observing, with the true humbleness of a contrite heart, thatshe was undeserving of any honest, good man. Everybody else, even thosewho knew her history, thought otherwise; but Mary continued firm in herresolution. As for all the rest of the personages introduced into thesepages, they passed through life with an average portion of happiness, which is all that can be expected. 

In conclusion, we have only one remark to make. In this story we haveshown how a young lad, who commenced his career with poaching, ultimately became a gentleman of 7, 000 pounds a year; but we must remindour youthful readers, that it does not follow that every one whocommences with poaching is to have the same good fortune. We advisethem, therefore, not to attempt it, as they may find that instead of7, 000 pounds a year, they may stand a chance of going to where our herovery narrowly escaped from being sent; that is, to a certain portion ofher Majesty's dominions beyond the seas, latterly termed Australia, butmore generally known by the appellation of Botany Bay. 

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. 

A RENCONTRE. 

A SHORT STORY. 

One evening I was sitting alone in the _salle a manger_ of the _Couronned'Or_, at Boulogne, when Colonel G---, an old acquaintance, came in. After the first greeting, he took a chair, and was soon as busilyoccupied as I was with a cigar, which was occasionally removed from ourlips, as we asked and replied to questions as to what had been ourpursuits subsequently to our last rencontre. After about half an hour'schit-chat, he observed, as he lighted a fresh cigar--

"When I was last in this room, I was in company with a very strangepersonage. "

"Male or female?" inquired I. 

"Female, " replied Colonel G---. "Altogether it's a story worth telling, and, as it will pass away the time, I will relate it to you--unless youwish to retire. "

As I satisfied him that I was not anxious to go to bed, and very anxiousto hear his story, he narrated it, as nearly as I can recollect, in thefollowing words:--

"I had taken my place in the diligence from Paris, and when I arrived at_Notre Dame des Victoires_ it was all ready for a start; the luggage, piled up as high as an English haystack, had been covered over andbuckled down, and the _conducteur_ was calling out for the passengers. I took my last hasty whiff of my cigar, and unwillingly threw away morethan half of a really good Havannah; for I perceived that in the_interieur_, for which I had booked myself, there was one female alreadyseated: and women and cigars are such great luxuries in their respectiveways, that they are not to be indulged in at one and the same time--theworld would be too happy, and happiness, we are told, is not for us herebelow. Not that I agree with that moral, although it comes from veryhigh authority; there is a great deal of happiness in this world, if youknew how to extract it, --or, rather, I should say, of pleasure; there isa pleasure in doing good; there is a pleasure, unfortunately, in doingwrong; there is a pleasure in looking forward, ay, and in lookingbackward also; there is pleasure in loving and being loved, in eating, and drinking, and, though last, not least, in smoking. I do not mean tosay that there are not the drawbacks of pain, regret, and even remorse;but there is a sort of pleasure even in them; it is pleasant to repent, because you know that you are doing your duty; and if there is no greatpleasure in pain, it precedes an excess when it has left you. I sayagain that, if you know how to extract it, there is a great deal ofpleasure and of happiness in this world, especially if you have, as Ihave, a very bad memory. 

"`_Allons, messieurs_!' said the _conducteur_; and when I got in I foundmyself the sixth person, and opposite to the lady: for all the otherpassengers were of my own sex. Having fixed our hats up to the roof, wriggled and twisted a little so as to get rid of coat-tails, etcetera, all of which was effected previously to our having cleared _Rue NotreDame des Victoires_, we began to scrutinise each other. Our femalecompanion's veil was down and doubled so that I could not well make herout; my other four companions were young men--all Frenchmen, --apparentlygood-tempered, and inclined to be agreeable. A few seconds weresufficient for my reconnoitre of the gentlemen, and then my eyes werenaturally turned towards the lady. She was muffled up in a wintercloak, so that her figure was not to be made out; and the veil stillfell down before her face, so that only one cheek and a portion of herchin could be deciphered: that fragment of her physiognomy was verypretty, and I watched in silence for the removal of the veil. 

"I have omitted to state that, before I got into the diligence, I sawher take a very tender adieu of a very handsome woman; but, as her backwas turned to me at the time, I did not see her face. She had nowfallen back in her seat, and seemed disposed to commune with her ownthoughts: that did not suit my views, which were to have a view of herface. Real politeness would have induced me to leave her to herself, but pretended politeness was resorted to that I might gratify mycuriosity; so I inquired if she wished the window up. The answer was inthe negative, and in a very sweet voice; and then there was a pause, ofcourse so I tried again. 

"`You are melancholy at parting with your handsome sister, ' observed I, leaning forward with as much appearance of interest as I could put intomy beautiful phiz. 

"`How could you have presumed that she was my sister?' replied she. 

"`From the _strong family_ likeness, ' replied I. `I felt certain ofit. '

"`But she is only my sister-in-law, sir, --my brother's wife. '

"`Then, I presume, he chose a wife as like his sister as he could find;nothing more natural--I should have done the same. '

"`Sir, you are very polite, ' replied the lady, who lowered down thewindow, adding, `I like fresh air. '

"`Perhaps you will find yourself less incommoded if you take off yourveil?'

"`I will not ascribe that proposition to curiosity on your part, sir, 'replied the lady, `as you have already seen my face. '

"`You cannot, then, be surprised at my wishing to see it once more. '

"`You are very polite, sir. '

"Although her voice was soft, there was a certain quickness and decisionin her manner and language which were very remarkable. The otherpassengers now addressed her, and the conversation became general. Theveiled lady took her share in it, and showed a great deal of smartnessand repartee. In an hour more we were all very intimate. As we changedhorses, I took down my hat to put into it my cigar-case, which I hadleft in my pocket, upon which the lady observed, `You smoke, I perceive;and so, I dare say, do all the rest of the gentlemen. Now, do not mindme; I am fond of the smell of tobacco--I am used to it. '

"We hesitated. 

"`Nay, more, I smoke myself, and will take a cigar with you. '

"This was decisive. I offered my cigar-case--another gentleman struck alight. Lifting up her veil so as to show a very pretty mouth, withteeth as white as snow, she put the cigar in her mouth, and set us theexample. In a minute both windows were down, every one had a cigar inhis mouth. 

"`Where did you learn to smoke, madam?' was a question put to theincognita by the passenger who sat next to her. 

"`Where?--In the camp--Africa--everywhere. I did belong to the army--that is, my husband was the captain of the 47th. He was killed, poorman! in the last successful expedition to Constantine:--_c'etait unbrave homme_. '

"`Indeed! Were you at Constantine?'

"`Yes, I was; I followed the army during the whole Campaign. '

"The diligence stopped for supper or dinner, whichever it might beconsidered, and the _conducteur_ threw open the doors. `Now, ' thoughtI, `we shall see her face;' and so, I believe, thought the otherpassengers; but we were mistaken; the lady went upstairs and had a basinof soup taken to her. When all was ready we found her in the diligence, with her veil down as before. 

"This was very provoking, for she was so lively and witty inconversation, and the features of her face which had been disclosed wereso perfect, that I was really quite on a fret that she would leave mewithout satisfying my curiosity:--they talk of woman's curiosity, but wemen have as much, after all. It became dark;--the lady evidentlyavoided further conversation, and we all composed ourselves as well aswe could. It may be as well to state in few words, that the nextmorning she was as cautious and reserved as ever. The diligence arrivedat this hotel--the passengers separated--and I found that the lady and Iwere the only two who took up our quarters there. At all events, theFrenchmen who travelled with us went away just as wise as they came. 

"`You remain here?' inquired I, as soon as we had got out of thediligence. 

"`Yes, ' replied she. `And you--'

"`I remain here, certainly; but I hope you do not intend to remainalways veiled. It is too cruel of you. '

"`I must go to my room now, and make myself a little more comfortable;after that, Monsieur l'Anglais, I will speak to you. You are going overin the packet, I presume?'

"`I am, by to-morrow's packet. '

"`I shall put myself under your protection, for I am also going toLondon. '

"`I shall be most delighted. '

"`_Au revoir_. '

"About an hour afterwards a message was brought to me by the _garcon_, that the lady would be happy to receive me at Number 19. I ascended tothe second floor, knocked, and was told to come in. 

"She was now without a veil; and what do you think was her reason forthe concealment of her person?"

"By the beard of Mokhanna, how can I tell?"

"Well, then, she had two of the most beautiful eyes in the world; hereyebrows were finely arched; her forehead was splendid; her mouth wastempting, --in short, she was as pretty as you could wish a woman to be, only she had _broken her nose_, --a thousand pities, for it must oncehave been a very handsome one. Well, to continue, I made my bow. 

"`You perceive now, sir, ' said she, `why I wore my veil down. '

"`No, indeed, ' replied I. 

"`You are very polite, or very blind, ' rejoined she; `the _latter_ Ibelieve not to be the fact. I did not choose to submit to theimpertinence of my own countrymen in the diligence; they would haveasked me a hundred questions upon my accident. But you are anEnglishman, and have respect for a female who has been unfortunate. '

"`I trust I deserve your good opinion, madam; and if I can be in any wayuseful to you--'

"`You can. I shall be a stranger in England. I know that in Londonthere is a great man, one Monsieur Lis-tong, who is very clever. '

"`Very true, madam. If your nose instead of having been slightlyinjured as it is, had been left behind you in Africa, Mr Liston wouldhave found you another. '

"`If he will only repair the old one, I ask no more. You give me hopes. But the bones are crushed completely, as you must see. '

"`That is of no consequence. Mr Liston has put a new eye in, to myknowledge. The party was short-sighted, and saw better with the one putin by Mr Liston than with the one which had been left him. '

"`_Est-il possible? Mais, quel homme extraordinaire_! Perhaps you willdo me the favour to sit with me, monsieur; and, if I mistake not, youhave a request to make of me--_n'est-ce pas_?'

"`I felt such interest about you, madam, that I acknowledge, if it wouldnot be too painful to you, I should like to ask a question. '

"`Which is, How did I break my nose? Of course you want to know. Andas it is the only return I can make for past or future obligations toyou, you shall most certainly be gratified. I will not detain you now. I shall expect you to supper. Adieu, monsieur. '

"I did not, of course, fail in my appointment; and after supper shecommenced:--

"`The question to be answered, ' said she, `is, How did you break yournose?--is it not? Well then, at least, I shall answer it after my ownfashion. So, to begin at the beginning, I am now exactly twenty-twoyears old. My father was tambour-majeur in the Garde Imperiale. I wasborn in the camp--brought up in the camp--and, finally, I was married inthe camp, to a lieutenant of infantry at the time. So that, youobserve, I am altogether _militaire_. As a child, I was wakened up withthe drum and fife, and went to sleep with the bugles; as a girl, Ibecame quite conversant with every military manoeuvre; and now that I ama woman grown, I believe that I am more fit for the _baton_ thanone-half of those marshals who have gained it. I have studied littleelse but tactics and have as my poor husband said, quite a genius forthem; but of that hereafter. I was married at sixteen, and have eversince followed my husband. I followed him at last to his grave. Hequitted my bed for the bed of honour, where he sleeps in peace. We'lldrink to his memory. '

"We emptied our glasses, when she continued:--

"`My husband's regiment was not ordered to Africa until after the firstdisastrous attempt upon Constantine. It fell to our lot to assist inretrieving the honour of our army in the more successful expeditionwhich took place, as you, of course, are aware, about three months ago. I will not detain you with our embarkation or voyage. We landed from asteamer at Bona, and soon afterwards my husband's company was ordered toescort a convoy of provisions to the army which was collecting at MzezAmmar. Well, we arrived safely at our various camps of Drean, NechMeya, and Amman Berda. We made a little _detour_ to visit Ghelma. Ihad curiosity to see it, as formerly it was an important city. I mustsay, that a more tenable position I never beheld. But I tire you withthese details. '

"`On the contrary, I am delighted. '

"`You are very good. I ought to have said something about thetravelling in those wild countries, which is anything but pleasant. Thesoil is a species of clay, hard as a flint when the weather is dry, butrunning into a slippery paste as soon as moistened. It is, therefore, very fatiguing, especially in wet weather, when the soldiers slip aboutin a very laughable manner to look at, but very distressing tothemselves. I travelled either on horseback or in one of the waggons, as it happened. I was too well known, and, I hope I may add, too wellliked, not to be as well provided for as possible. It is remarkable howsoon a Frenchman will make himself comfortable, wherever he may chanceto be. The camp of Mzez Ammar was as busy and as lively as if it waspitched in the heart of France. The followers had built up littlecabins out of the branches of trees, with their leaves on, interwoventogether, all in straight lines, forming streets, very commodious, andperfectly impervious to the withering sun. There were _restaurants, cafes, debis de vin et d'eau-de-vie_, sausage-sellers, butchers, grocers--in fact, there was every trade almost, and everything yourequired; not very cheap certainly, but you must recollect, that thislittle town had sprung up, as if by magic, in the heart of the desert. 

"`It was in the month of September that Damremont ordered a_reconnoissance_ in the direction of Constantine, and a battalion of myhusband's regiment, the 47th, was ordered to form a part of it. I havesaid nothing about my husband. He was a good little man, and a braveofficer, full of honour, but very obstinate. He never would takeadvice, and it was nothing but "_Tais-toi, Coralie_, " all day long--butno one is perfect. He wished me to remain in the camp, but I made it arule never to be left behind. We set off; and I rode in one of thelittle carriages called _cacolets_ which had been provided for thewounded. It was terrible travelling, I was jolted to atoms, in theascent of the steep mountain called the Rass-el-akba; but we gained thesummit without a shot being fired. When we arrived there, and lookeddown beneath us, the sight was very picturesque. There were about fouror five thousand of the Arab cavalry awaiting our descent; their whitebournous, as they term the long dresses in which they enfold themselves, waving in the wind as they galloped at speed in every direction; whilethe glitter of their steel arms flashed like lightning upon our eyes. We closed our ranks and descended; the Arabs, in parties of forty orfifty, charging upon our flanks every minute, not coming to closeconflict, but stopping at pistol-shot distance, discharging their guns, and then wheeling off again to a distance--mere child's play, sir;nevertheless, there were some of our men wounded, and the little waggon, upon which I was riding, was ordered up in the advance to take them in. Unfortunately, to keep clear of the troops, the driver kept too much onone side of the narrow defile through which we passed: the consequencewas, that the waggon upset, and I was thrown out a considerable distancedown the precipice. ' `And broke your nose, ' interrupted I. 

"`No, indeed, sir, I did not. I escaped with only a few contusionsabout the region of the hip, which certainly lamed me for some time, andmade the jolting more disagreeable than ever. Well, the_reconnoissance_ succeeded. Damremont was, however, wrong altogether. I told him so when I met him; but he was an obstinate old fool, and hisanswer was not as polite as it might have been, considering that at thattime I was a very pretty woman. We returned to the camp at Mzez Ammar;a few days afterwards we were attacked by the Arabs, who showed greatspirit and determination in their desultory mode of warfare, which, however, can make no impression on such troops as the French. Theattack was continued for three days, when they decamped as suddenly asthey had come. But this cannot be very interesting to you, monsieur. '

"`On the contrary, do not, I beg, leave out a single remark orincident. '

"`You are very good. I presume you know how we _militaires_ like tofight our battles over again. Well, sir, we remained in camp until thearrival of the Duc de Nemours, --a handsome, fair lad, who smiled upon mevery graciously. On the 1st of October we set off on our expedition toConstantine; that is to say, the advanced guard did, of which myhusband's company formed a portion. The weather, which had been veryfine, now changed, and it rained hard all the day. The whole road wasone mass of mud, and there was no end to delays and accidents. However, the weather became fine again, and on the 5th we arrived within twoleagues of Constantine, when the Arabs attacked us, and I was verynearly taken prisoner. '

"`Indeed?'

"`Yes; my husband, who, as I before observed to you, was very obstinate, would have me ride on a _caisson_ in the rear; whereas I wished to be inthe advance, where my advice might have been useful. The charge of theArabs was very sudden; the three men who were with the _caisson_ weresabred, and I was in the arms of a chieftain, who was wheeling round hishorse to make off with me when a ball took him in the neck, and he fellwith me. I disengaged myself, seized the horse by the bridle, andprevented its escape; and I also took possession of the Arab's pistolsand scymitar. '

"`Indeed!'

"`My husband sold the horse the next day to one of our generals, whoforgot to pay for it after my husband was killed. As for the scymitarand pistols, they were stolen from me that night: but what can youexpect?--our army is brave, but a little demoralised. The next day wearrived before Constantine, and we had to defile before the enemy'sguns. At one portion of the road, men and horses were tumbled over bytheir fire; the _caisson_ that I was riding upon was upset by a ball, and thrown down the ravine, dragging the horses after it. I lay amongthe horses' legs--they kicking furiously; it was a miracle that my lifewas preserved: as it was--'

"`You broke your nose, ' interrupted I. 

"`No, sir, indeed I did not. I only received a kick on the arm, whichobliged me to carry it in a sling for some days. The weather becamevery bad; we had few tents, and they were not able to resist the stormsof rain and wind. We wrapped ourselves up how we could, and sat in deeppools of water, and the Arabs attacked us before we could open the fireof our batteries; we were in such a pickle that, had the bad weatherlasted, we must have retreated; and happy would those have been whocould have once more found themselves safe in the camp of Mzez Ammar. Idon't think that I ever suffered so much as I did at that time--theweather had even overcome the natural gallantry of our nation; and sofar from receiving any attention, the general remark to me was, "Whatthe devil do _you_ do here?" This to be said to a pretty woman!

"`It was not till the 10th that we could manage to open the fire of ourbatteries. It was mud, mud, and mud again; the men and horses werecovered with mud up to their necks--the feathers of the staff werecovered with mud--every ball which was fired by the enemy sent upshowers of mud; even the face of the Duc de Nemours was disfigured withit. I must say that our batteries were well situated, all except thegreat mortar battery. This I pointed out to Damremont when he passedme, and he was very savage. Great men don't like to be told of theirfaults; however, he lost his life three days afterwards from not takingmy advice. He was going down the hill with Rhullieres when I said tohim, "Mon General, you expose yourself too much; that which is duty in asubaltern is a fault in a general. " He very politely told me to go towhere he may chance to be himself now; for a cannonball struck him a fewseconds afterwards, and he was killed on the spot. General Perregauxwas severely wounded almost at the same time. For four days thefighting was awful; battery answered to battery night and day: whilefrom every quarter of the compass we were exposed to the fierce attacksof the Arab cavalry. The commander of our army sent a flag of truce totheir town, commanding them to surrender: and, what do you think was thereply?--"If you want powder, we'll supply you; if you are without bread, we will send it to you: but as long as there is one good Mussulman leftalive, you do not enter the town. "--Was not that grand? The very reply, when made known to the troops, filled them with admiration of theirenemy, and they swore by their colours that if ever they overpoweredthem they would give them no quarter. 

"`In two days, General Vallee, to whom the command fell upon the deathof Damremont, considered the breach sufficiently wide for the assault, and we every hour expected that the order would be given. It came atlast. My poor husband was in the second column which mounted. Strangeto say, he was very melancholy on that morning, and appeared to have apresentiment of what was to take place. "Coralie, " said he to me, as hewas scraping the mud off his trousers with his pocket-knife, "if I fall, you will do well. I leave you as a legacy to General Vallee--he willappreciate you. Do not forget to let him know my testamentarydispositions. "

"`I promised I would not. The drums beat. He kissed me on both cheeks. "Go, my Philippe, " said I; "go to glory. " He did; for a mine wassprung, and he with many others was blown to atoms. I had watched theadvance of the column and was able to distinguish the form of my dearPhilippe when the explosion with the vast column of smoke took place. When it cleared away, I could see the wounded in every directionhastening back; but my husband was not among them. In the mean time theother columns entered the breach--the firing was awful, and the carnagedreadful. It was more than an hour after the assault commenced beforethe French tricolor waved upon the minarets of Constantine. 

"`It was not until the next day that I could make up my mind to searchfor my husband's body; but it was my duty. I climbed up the breach, strewed with the corpses of our brave soldiers, intermingled with thoseof the Arabs; but I could not find my husband. At last a head which hadbeen blown off attracted my attention. I examined it--it was myPhilippe's, blackened and burnt, and terribly disfigured: but who candisguise the fragment of a husband from the keen eyes of the wife of hisbosom? I leaned over it. "My poor Philippe!" exclaimed I: and thetears were bedewing my cheeks when I perceived the Duc de Nemours closeto me, with all his staff attending him. "What have we here?" said hewith surprise, to those about him. "A wife, looking for her husband'sbody, mon prince, " replied I. "I cannot find it; but here is his head. "He said something very complimentary and kind, and then walked on. Icontinued my search without success, and determined to take up myquarters in the town. As I clambered along, I gained a battered wall;and, putting my foot on it it gave way with me, and I fell down severalfeet. Stunned with the blow, I remained for some time insensible; whenI came to, I found--'

"`That you had broken your nose. '

"`No, indeed; I had sprained my ankle and hurt the cap of my knee, butmy nose was quite perfect. You must have a little patience yet. 

"`What fragments of my husband were found, were buried in a large grave, which held the bodies and the mutilated portions of the killed: andhaving obtained possession of an apartment in Constantine, I remainedthere several days, lamenting his fate. At last, it occurred to me thathis testamentary dispositions should be attended to, and I wrote toGeneral Vallee, informing him of the last wishes of my husband. Hisreply was very short; it was, that he was excessively flattered, --butpress of business would not permit him to administer to the will. Itwas not polite. 

"`On the 26th I quitted Constantine with a convoy of wounded men. Thedysentery and the cholera made fearful ravages, and I very soon had a_caisson_ all to myself. The rain again came on in torrents, and it wasa dreadful funeral procession. Every minute wretches, jolted to death, were thrown down into pits by the road-side, and the cries of those whosurvived were dreadful. Many died of cold and hunger; and after threedays we arrived at the camp of Mzez Ammar, with the loss of more thanone-half of our sufferers. 

"`I took possession of one of the huts built of the boughs of the treeswhich I formerly described, and had leisure to think over my futureplans and prospects. I was young and pretty, and hope did not desertme. I had recovered my baggage, which I had left at the camp, and wasnow able to attend to my toilet. The young officers who were in thecamp paid me great attention, and were constantly passing and repassingto have a peep at the handsome widow, as they were pleased to call me:and now comes the history of my misfortune. 

"`The cabin built of boughs which I occupied was double; one portion wasfenced off from the other with a wattling of branches, which ran upabout seven feet, but not so high as the roof. In one apartment I waslocated, the other was occupied by a young officer who paid meattention, but who was not to my liking. I had been walking out in thecool of the evening, and had returned, when I heard voices in the otherapartment. I entered softly and they did not perceive my approach; theywere talking about me, and I must say that the expressions were verycomplimentary. At last one of the party observed, "Well, she is asplendid woman, and a good soldier's wife. I hope to be a generalby-and-bye, and she would not disgrace a marshal's baton. I think Ishall propose to her before we leave the camp. "

"`Now, sir, I did not recognise the speaker by his voice, and, flatteredby the remark, I was anxious to know who it could be who was thusprepossessed in my favour. I thought that if I could climb up on theback of the only chair which was in my apartment, I should be able tosee over the partition and satisfy my curiosity. I did so, and withoutnoise; and I was just putting my head over to take a survey of thetenants of the other apartment when the chair tilted, and down I came onthe floor, and on my face. Unfortunately, I hit my nose upon the edgeof the frying-pan, with which my poor Philippe and I used to cook ourmeat; and now, sir, you know how it was that I broke my nose. '

"`What a pity!' observed I. 

"`Yes; a great pity. I had gone through the whole campaign without anyserious accident, and--But, after all, it was very natural: the twobesetting evils of women are Vanity and Curiosity, and if you were toascertain the truth, you would find that it is upon these twostumbling-blocks that most women are upset and break their noses. '

"`Very true, madam, ' replied I. `I thank you for your narrative, andshall be most happy to be of any use to you. But I will detain you fromyour rest no longer, so wish you a very good night. '"

"Well, colonel, " said I, as he made a sudden stop, "what occurred afterthat?"

"I took great care of her until we arrived in London, saw her safe tothe hotel in Leicester Square, and then took my leave. Whether Listonreplaced her nose, and she is now _flanee_-ing about Paris, as beautifulas before her accident; or, whether his skill was useless to her, andshe is among the _Soeurs de Charite_, or in a convent, I cannot say: Ihave never seen or heard of her since. "

"Well, I know Liston, and I'll not forget to ask him about her the veryfirst time that I meet him. Will you have another cigar?"

"No, I thank you. I've finished my cigar, my bottle, and my story, andso now good night!"

THE END.