ALTON LOCKE, TAILOR AND POET

An Autobiography. 

BY THE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY, CANON OF WESTMINSTER, RECTOR OF EVERSLEY, AND CHAPLAIN IN ORDINARY TO THE QUEEN AND PRINCE OF WALES, _NEW EDITION_, WITH A PREFATORY MEMOIR BY THOMAS HUGHES, ESQ. , Q. C. , AUTHOR OF "TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. "

CONTENTS. 

PREFATORY MEMOIR

CHEAP CLOTHES AND NASTY

PREFACE--TO THE UNDERGRADUATES OF CAMBRIDGE

PREFACE--TO THE WORKING MEN OF GREAT BRITAIN

CHAPTER I. A POET'S CHILDHOOD

CHAPTER II. THE TAILORS' WORKROOM

CHAPTER III. SANDY MACKAYE

CHAPTER IV. TAILORS AND SOLDIERS

CHAPTER V. THE SCEPTIC'S MOTHER

CHAPTER VI. THE DULWICH GALLERY

CHAPTER VII. FIRST LOVE

CHAPTER VIII. LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE

CHAPTER IX. POETRY AND POETS

CHAPTER X. HOW FOLKS TURN CHARTISTS

CHAPTER XI. "THE YARD WHERE THE GENTLEMEN LIVE"

CHAPTER XII. CAMBRIDGE

CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST IDOL FOUND

CHAPTER XIV. A CATHEDRAL TOWN

CHAPTER XV. THE MAN OF SCIENCE

CHAPTER XVI. CULTIVATED WOMEN

CHAPTER XVII. SERMONS IN STONES

CHAPTER XVIII. MY FALL

CHAPTER XIX. SHORT AND SAD

CHAPTER XX. PEGASUS IN HARNESS

CHAPTER XXI. THE SWEATER'S DEN

CHAPTER XXII. AN EMERSONIAN SERMON

CHAPTER XXIII. THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS

CHAPTER XXIV. THE TOWNSMAN'S SERMON TO THE GOWNSMAN

CHAPTER XXV. A TRUE NOBLEMAN

CHAPTER XXVI. THE TRIUMPHANT AUTHOR

CHAPTER XXVII. THE PLUSH BREECHES TRAGEDY

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MEN WHO ARE EATEN

CHAPTER XXIX. THE TRIAL

CHAPTER XXX. PRISON THOUGHTS

CHAPTER XXXI. THE NEW CHURCH

CHAPTER XXXII. THE TOWER OF BABEL

CHAPTER XXXIII. A PATRIOT'S REWARD

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE TENTH OF APRIL

CHAPTER XXXV. THE LOWEST DEEP

CHAPTER XXXVI. DREAMLAND

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TRUE DEMAGOGUE

CHAPTER XXXVIII. MIRACLES ASD SCIENCE

CHAPTER XXXIX. NEMESIS

CHAPTER XL. PRIESTS AND PEOPLE

CHAPTER XLI. FREEDOM, EQUALITY, AND BROTHERHOOD

PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

The tract appended to this preface has been chosen to accompany thisreprint of _Alton Locke_ in order to illustrate, from another side, adistinct period in the life of Charles Kingsley, which stands out very muchby itself. It may be taken roughly to have extended from 1848 to 1856. Ithas been thought that they require a preface, and I have undertaken towrite it, as one of the few survivors of those who were most intimatelyassociated with the author at the time to which the works refer. 

No easy task; for, look at them from what point we will, these years mustbe allowed to cover an anxious and critical time in modern English history;but, above all, in the history of the working classes. In the first of themthe Chartist agitation came to a head and burst, and was followed by thegreat movement towards association, which, developing in two directions andby two distinct methods--represented respectively by the amalgamated TradesUnions, and Co-operative Societies--has in the intervening years entirelychanged the conditions of the labour question in England, and the relationsof the working to the upper and middle classes. It is with this, the socialand industrial side of the history of those years, that we are mainlyconcerned here. Charles Kingsley has left other and more important writingsof those years. But these are beside our purpose, which is to give somesuch slight sketch of him as may be possible within the limits of apreface, in the character in which he was first widely known, as the mostoutspoken and powerful of those who took the side of the labouring classes, at a critical time--the crisis in a word, when they abandoned their oldpolitical weapons, for the more potent one of union and association, whichhas since carried them so far. 

To no one of all those to whom his memory is very dear can this seem asuperfluous task, for no writer was ever more misunderstood or betterabused at the time, and after the lapse of almost a quarter of a centurythe misunderstanding would seem still to hold its ground. For through allthe many notices of him which appeared after his death in last January, there ran the same apologetic tone as to this part of his life's work. While generally, and as a rule cordially, recognizing his merits as anauthor and a man, the writers seemed to agree in passing lightly over thisground. When it was touched it was in a tone of apology, sometimes tingedwith sarcasm, as in the curt notice in the "Times"--"He was understood, tobe the Parson Lot of those 'Politics for the People' which made no littlenoise in their time, and as Parson Lot he declared in burning languagethat to his mind the fault in the 'People's Charter' was that it did notgo nearly far enough. " And so the writer turns away, as do most of hisbrethren, leaving probably some such impression as this on the minds ofmost of their readers--"Young men of power and genius are apt to start withwild notions. He was no exception. Parson Lot's sayings and doings may wellbe pardoned for what Charles Kingsley said and did in after years; so letus drop a decent curtain over them, and pass on. "

Now, as very nearly a generation has passed since that signature used toappear at the foot of some of the most noble and vigorous writing of ourtime, readers of to-day are not unlikely to accept this view, and so tofind further confirmation and encouragement in the example of Parson Lotfor the mischievous and cowardly distrust of anything like enthusiasmamongst young men, already sadly too prevalent in England. If it were onlyas a protest against this "surtout point de zèle" spirit, against which itwas one of Charles Kingsley's chief tasks to fight with all his strength, it is well that the facts should be set right. This done, readers maysafely be left to judge what need there is for the apologetic tone inconnection with the name, the sayings, and doings of Parson Lot. 

My first meeting with him was in the autumn of 1848, at the house of Mr. Maurice, who had lately been appointed Reader of Lincolns Inn. No parochialwork is attached to that post, so Mr. Maurice had undertaken the charge ofa small district in the parish in which he lived, and had set a number ofyoung men, chiefly students of the Inns of Court who had been attracted byhis teaching, to work in it. Once a week, on Monday evenings, they usedto meet at his house for tea, when their own work was reported upon andtalked over. Suggestions were made and plans considered; and afterwards achapter of the Bible was read and discussed. Friends and old pupils of Mr. Maurice's, residing in the country, or in distant parts of London, werein the habit of coming occasionally to these meetings, amongst whom wasCharles Kingsley. He had been recently appointed Rector of Eversley, andwas already well known as the author of _The Saint's Tragedy_, his firstwork, which contained the germ of much that he did afterwards. 

His poem, and the high regard and admiration which Mr. Maurice had forhim, made him a notable figure in that small society, and his presence wasalways eagerly looked for. What impressed me most about him when we firstmet was, his affectionate deference to Mr. Maurice, and the vigour andincisiveness of everything he said and did. He had the power of cuttingout what he meant in a few clear words, beyond any one I have ever met. The next thing that struck one was the ease with which he could turn fromplayfulness, or even broad humour, to the deepest earnest. At first I thinkthis startled most persons, until they came to find out the real deepnature of the man; and that his broadest humour had its root in a faithwhich realized, with extraordinary vividness, the fact that God's Spiritis actively abroad in the world, and that Christ is in every man, and madehim hold fast, even in his saddest moments, --and sad moments were notinfrequent with him, --the assurance that, in spite of all appearances, theworld was going right, and would go right somehow, "Not your way, or myway, but God's way. " The contrast of his humility and audacity, of hisdistrust in himself and confidence in himself, was one of those puzzleswhich meet us daily in this world of paradox. But both qualities gave him apeculiar power for the work he had to do at that time, with which the nameof Parson Lot is associated. 

It was at one of these gatherings, towards the end of 1847 or early in1848, when Kingsley found himself in a minority of one, that he saidjokingly, he felt much as Lot must have felt in the Cities of the Plain, when he seemed as one that mocked to his sons-in-law. The name Parson Lotwas then and there suggested, and adopted by him, as a familiar _nom deplume_, He used it from 1848 up to 1856; at first constantly, latterlymuch more rarely. But the name was chiefly made famous by his writings in"Politics for the People, " the "Christian Socialist, " and the "Journal ofAssociation, " three periodicals which covered the years from '48 to '52; by"Alton Locke"; and by tracts and pamphlets, of which the best known, "CheapClothes and Nasty, " is now republished. 

In order to understand and judge the sayings and writings of Parson Lotfairly, it is necessary to recall the condition of the England of thatday. Through the winter of 1847-8, amidst wide-spread distress, the cloudof discontent, of which Chartism was the most violent symptom, had beengrowing darker and more menacing, while Ireland was only held down by mainforce. The breaking-out of the revolution on the Continent in Februaryincreased the danger. In March there were riots in London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Liverpool, and other large towns. On April 7th, "the Crownand Government Security Bill, " commonly called "the Gagging Act, " wasintroduced by the Government, the first reading carried by 265 to 24, and the second a few days later by 452 to 35. On the 10th of April theGovernment had to fill London with troops, and put the Duke of Wellingtonin command, who barricaded the bridges and Downing Street, garrisoned theBank and other public buildings, and closed the Horse Guards. 

When the momentary crisis had passed, the old soldier declared in the Houseof Lords that "no great society had ever suffered as London had during thepreceding days, " while the Home Secretary telegraphed to all the chiefmagistrates of the kingdom the joyful news that the peace had been keptin London. In April, the Lord Chancellor, in introducing the Crown andGovernment Security Bill in the House of Lords, referred to the factthat "meetings were daily held, not only in London, but in most of themanufacturing towns, the avowed object of which was to array the peopleagainst the constituted authority of these realms. " For months afterwardsthe Chartist movement, though plainly subsiding, kept the Government inconstant anxiety; and again in June, the Bank, the Mint, the Custom House, and other public offices were filled with troops, and the Houses ofParliament were not only garrisoned but provisioned as if for a siege. 

From that time, all fear of serious danger passed away. The Chartists werecompletely discouraged, and their leaders in prison; and the upper andmiddle classes were recovering rapidly from the alarm which had converteda million of them into special constables, and were beginning to doubtwhether the crisis had been so serious after all, whether the disaffectionhad ever been more than skin deep. At this juncture a series of articlesappeared in the _Morning Chronicle_ on "London Labour and the London Poor, "which startled the well-to-do classes out of their jubilant and scornfulattitude, and disclosed a state of things which made all fair minded peoplewonder, not that there had been violent speaking and some rioting, but thatthe metropolis had escaped the scenes which had lately been enacted inParis, Vienna, Berlin, and other Continental capitals. 

It is only by an effort that one can now realize the strain to which thenation was subjected during that winter and spring, and which, of course, tried every individual man also, according to the depth and earnestness ofhis political and social convictions and sympathies. The group of men whowere working under Mr. Maurice were no exceptions to the rule. The work ofteaching and visiting was not indeed neglected, but the larger questionswhich were being so strenuously mooted--the points of the people's charter, the right of public meeting, the attitude of the labouring-class to theother classes--absorbed more and more of their attention. Kingsley wasvery deeply impressed with the gravity and danger of the crisis--more so, I think, than almost any of his friends; probably because, as a countryparson, he was more directly in contact with one class of the poor than anyof them. How deeply he felt for the agricultural poor, how faithfully hereflected the passionate and restless sadness of the time, may be read inthe pages of "Yeast, " which was then coming out in "Fraser. " As the wintermonths went on this sadness increased, and seriously affected his health. 

"I have a longing, " he wrote to Mr. Ludlow, "to do _something_--what, Godonly knows. You say, 'he that believeth will not make haste, ' but I thinkhe that believeth must _make_ haste, or get damned with the rest. But Iwill do anything that anybody likes--I have no confidence in myself or inanything but God. I am not great enough for such times, alas! '_nè pourfaire des vers_, ' as Camille Desmoulins said. "

This longing became so strong as the crisis in April approached, that hecame to London to see what could be done, and to get help from Mr. Maurice, and those whom he had been used to meet at his house. He found them adivided body. The majority were sworn in as special constables, and severalhad openly sided with the Chartists; while he himself, with Mr. Maurice andMr. Ludlow, were unable to take active part with either side. The followingextract from a letter to his wife, written on the 9th of April, shows howhe was employed during these days, and how he found the work which he wasin search of, the first result of which was the publication of "those'Politics for the People' which made no small noise in their times"--

"_April_ 11th, 1848. --The events of a week have been crowded into a fewhours. I was up till four this morning--writing posting placards, underMaurice's auspices, one of which is to be got out to-morrow morning, therest when we can get money. Could you not beg a few sovereigns somewhereto help these poor wretches to the truest alms?--to words, texts from thePsalms, anything which may keep even one man from cutting his brother'sthroat to-morrow or Friday? _Pray, pray, help us. _ Maurice has given mea highest proof of confidence. He has taken me to counsel, and we are tohave meetings for prayer and study, when I come up to London, and we are tobring out a new set of real "Tracts for the Times, " addressed to the higherorders. Maurice is _à la hauteur des circonstances_--determined to make adecisive move. He says, if the Oxford Tracts did wonders, why should notwe? Pray for us. A glorious future is opening, and both Maurice and Ludlowseem to have driven away all my doubts and sorrow, and I see the blue skyagain, and my Father's face!"

The arrangements for the publication of "Politics for the People" were soonmade; and in one of the earliest numbers, for May, 1848, appeared the paperwhich furnishes what ground there is for the statement, already quoted, that "he declared, in burning language, that the People's Charter did notgo far enough" It was No. 1 of "Parson Lot's Letters to the Chartists. " Letus read it with its context. 

"I am not one of those who laugh at your petition of the 10th of April: Ihave no patience with those who do. Suppose there were but 250, 000 honestnames on that sheet--suppose the Charter itself were all stuff--yet youhave still a right to fair play, a patient hearing, an honourable andcourteous answer, whichever way it may be. But _my only quarrel with theCharter is that it does not go far enough in reform_. I want to see you_free_, but I do not see that what you ask for will give you what you want. I think you have fallen into just the same mistake as the rich, of whom youcomplain--the very mistake which has been our curse and our nightmare. Imean the mistake of fancying that _legislative_ reform is _social_ reform, or that men's hearts can be changed by Act of Parliament. If any one willtell me of a country where a Charter made the rogues honest, or the idleindustrious, I will alter my opinion of the Charter, but not till then. Itdisappointed me bitterly when I read it. It seemed a harmless cry enough, but a poor, bald constitution-mongering cry as ever I heard. The French cryof 'organization of labour' is worth a thousand of it, but yet that doesnot go to the bottom of the matter by many a mile. " And then, after tellinghow he went to buy a number of the Chartist newspaper, and found it in ashop which sold "flash songsters, " "the Swell's Guide, " and "dirty milksopFrench novels, " and that these publications, and a work called "The Devil'sPulpit, " were puffed in its columns, he goes on, "These are strange times. I thought the devil used to befriend tyrants and oppressors, but he seemsto have profited by Burns' advice to 'tak a thought and mend. ' I thoughtthe struggling freeman's watchword was: 'God sees my wrongs. ' 'He hathtaken the matter into His own hands. ' 'The poor committeth himself untoHim, for He is the helper of the friendless. ' But now the devil seems allat once to have turned philanthropist and patriot, and to intend himself tofight the good cause, against which he has been fighting ever since Adam'stime. I don't deny, my friends, it is much cheaper and pleasanter to bereformed by the devil than by God; for God will only reform society on thecondition of our reforming every man his own self--while the devil is quiteready to help us to mend the laws and the parliament, earth and heaven, without ever starting such an impertinent and 'personal' request, as thata man should mend himself. _That_ liberty of the subject he will alwaysrespect. "--"But I say honestly, whomsoever I may offend, the more I haveread of your convention speeches and newspaper articles, the more I amconvinced that too many of you are trying to do God's work with the devil'stools. What is the use of brilliant language about peace, and the majestyof order, and universal love, though it may all be printed in letters afoot long, when it runs in the same train with ferocity, railing, mad, one-eyed excitement, talking itself into a passion like a street woman? Doyou fancy that after a whole column spent in stirring men up to fury, a fewtwaddling copybook headings about 'the sacred duty of order' will lay thestorm again? What spirit is there but the devil's spirit in bloodthirstythreats of revenge?"--"I denounce the weapons which you have been deludedinto employing to gain you your rights, and the indecency and profligacywhich you are letting be mixed up with them! Will you strengthen andjustify your enemies? Will you disgust and cripple your friends? Will yougo out of your way to do wrong? When you can be free by fair means will youtry foul? When you might keep the name of Liberty as spotless as the Heavenfrom which she comes, will you defile her with blasphemy, beastliness, andblood? When the cause of the poor is the cause of Almighty God, will youtake it out of His hands to entrust it to the devil? These are bitterquestions, but as you answer them so will you prosper. "

In Letter II. He tells them that if they have followed, a different"Reformer's Guide" from his, it is "mainly the fault of us parsons, whohave never told you that the true 'Reformer's Guide, ' the true poor man'sbook, the true 'Voice of God against tyrants, idlers, and humbugs, was theBible. ' The Bible demands for the poor as much, and more, than they demandfor themselves; it expresses the deepest yearnings of the poor man's heartfar more nobly, more searchingly, more daringly, more eloquently than anymodern orator has done. I say, it gives a ray of hope--say rather a certaindawn of a glorious future, such as no universal suffrage, free trade, communism, organization of labour, or any other Morrison's-pill-measure cangive--and yet of a future, which will embrace all that is good in these--afuture of conscience, of justice, of freedom, when idlers and oppressorsshall no more dare to plead parchments and Acts of Parliament for theiriniquities. I say the Bible promises this, not in a few places only, butthroughout; it is the thought which runs through the whole Bible, justicefrom God to those whom men oppress, glory from God to those whom mendespise. Does that look like the invention of tyrants, and prelates? Youmay sneer, but give me a fair hearing, and if I do not prove my words, thencall me the same hard name which I shall call any man, who having readthe Bible, denies that it is the poor man's comfort and the rich man'swarning. "

In subsequent numbers (as afterwards in the "Christian Socialist, " and the"Journal of Association") he dwells in detail on the several popular cries, such as, "a fair day's wage for a fair day's work, " illustrating them fromthe Bible, urging his readers to take it as the true Radical Reformer'sGuide, if they were longing for the same thing as he was longing for--tosee all humbug, idleness, injustice, swept out of England. His othercontributions to these periodicals consisted of some of his best shortpoems: "The Day of the Lord;" "The Three Fishers;" "Old and New, " andothers; of a series of Letters on the Frimley murder; of a short storycalled "The Nun's Pool, " and of some most charming articles on the picturesin the National Gallery, and the collections in the British Museum, intended to teach the English people how to use and enjoy their ownproperty. 

I think I know every line which was ever published under the signatureParson Lot; and I take it upon myself to say, that there is in all that"burning language" nothing more revolutionary than the extracts given abovefrom his letters to the Chartists. 

But, it may be said, apart from his writings, did not Parson Lot declarehimself a Chartist in a public meeting in London; and did he not preach ina London pulpit a political sermon, which brought up the incumbent, who hadinvited him, to protest from the altar against the doctrine which had justbeen delivered?

Yes! Both statements are true. Here are the facts as to the speech, thoseas to the sermon I will give in their place. In the early summer of 1848some of those who felt with C. Kingsley that the "People's Charter" had nothad fair play or courteous treatment, and that those who signed it had realwrongs to complain of, put themselves into communication with the leaders, and met and talked with them. At last it seemed that the time was come forsome more public meeting, and one was called at the Cranbourn Tavern, overwhich Mr. Maurice presided. After the president's address several verybitter speeches followed, and a vehement attack was specially directedagainst the Church and the clergy. The meeting waxed warm, and seemedlikely to come to no good, when Kingsley rose, folded his arms across hischest, threw his head back, and began--with the stammer which always cameat first when he was much moved, but which fixed every one's attention atonce--"I am a Church of England parson"--a long pause--"and a Chartist;"and then he went on to explain how far he thought them right in their claimfor a reform of Parliament; how deeply he sympathized with their sense ofthe injustice of the law as it affected them; how ready he was to help inall ways to get these things set right; and then to denounce their methods, in very much the same terms as I have already quoted from his letters tothe Chartists. Probably no one who was present ever heard a speech whichtold more at the time. I had a singular proof that the effect did notpass away. The most violent speaker on that occasion was one of the staffof the leading Chartist newspaper. I lost sight of him entirely for morethan twenty years, and saw him again, a little grey shrivelled man, byKingsley's side, at the grave of Mr. Maurice, in the cemetery at Hampstead. 

The experience of this meeting encouraged its promoters to continue theseries, which they did with a success which surprised no one more thanthemselves. Kingsley's opinion of them may be gathered from the followingextract from a letter to his wife:--

"_June_ 4, 1848, Evening. --A few words before bed. I have just come homefrom the meeting. No one spoke but working men, gentlemen I should callthem, in every sense of the term. Even _I_ was perfectly astonished by thecourtesy, the reverence to Maurice, who sat there like an Apollo, theireloquence, the brilliant, nervous, well-chosen language, the deep simpleearnestness, the rightness and moderation of their thoughts. And these arethe _Chartists_, these are the men who are called fools and knaves--who arerefused the rights which are bestowed on every profligate fop. .. . It isGod's cause, fear not He will be with us, and if He is with us, who shallbe against us?"

But while he was rapidly winning the confidence of the working classes, hewas raising up a host of more or less hostile critics in other quarters byhis writings in "Politics for the People, " which journal was in the midstof its brief and stormy career. At the end of June, 1848, he writes to Mr. Ludlow, one of the editors--

"I fear my utterances have had a great deal to do with the 'Politics''unpopularity. I have got worse handled than any of you by poor and rich. There is one comfort, that length of ears is in the donkey species alwayscompensated by toughness of hide. But it is a pleasing prospect for me (ifyou knew all that has been said and written about Parson Lot), when I lookforward and know that my future explosions are likely to become more andmore obnoxious to the old gentlemen, who stuff their ears with cotton, andthen swear the children are not screaming. "

"Politics for the People" was discontinued for want of funds; but itssupporters, including all those who were working under Mr. Maurice--who, however much they might differ in opinions, were of one mind as to thedanger of the time, and the duty of every man to do his utmost to meet thatdanger--were bent upon making another effort. In the autumn, Mr. Ludlow, and others of their number who spent the vacation abroad, came back withaccounts of the efforts at association which were being made by theworkpeople of Paris. 

The question of starting such associations in England as the best meansof fighting the slop system--which the "Chronicle" was showing to lie atthe root of the misery and distress which bred Chartists--was anxiouslydebated. It was at last resolved to make the effort, and to identify thenew journal with the cause of Association, and to publish a set of tractsin connection with it, of which Kingsley undertook to write the first, "Cheap Clothes and Nasty. "

So "the Christian Socialist" was started, with Mr. Ludlow for editor, thetracts on Christian Socialism begun under Mr. Maurice's supervision, andthe society for promoting working-men's associations was formed out of thebody of men who were already working with Mr. Maurice. The great majorityof these joined, though the name was too much for others. The question oftaking it had been much considered, and it was decided, on the whole, to bebest to do so boldly, even though it might cost valuable allies. Kingsleywas of course consulted on every point, though living now almost entirelyat Eversley, and his views as to the proper policy to be pursued may begathered best from the following extracts from letters of his to Mr. Ludlow--

"We must touch the workman at all his points of interest. First andforemost at association--but also at political rights, as grounded bothon the Christian ideal of the Church, and on the historic facts of theAnglo-Saxon race. Then national education, sanitary and dwelling-housereform, the free sale of land, and corresponding reform of the land laws, moral improvement of the family relation, public places of recreation (onwhich point I am very earnest), and I think a set of hints from history, and sayings of great men, of which last I have been picking up from Plato, Demosthenes, &c. "

1849. --"This is a puling, quill-driving, soft-handed age--among ourown rank, I mean. Cowardice is called meekness; to temporize is to becharitable and reverent; to speak truth, and shame the devil, is tooffend weak brethren, who, somehow or other, never complain of their weakconsciences till you hit them hard. And yet, my dear fellow, I still remainof my old mind--that it is better to say too much than too little, and moremerciful to knock a man down with a pick-axe than to prick him to deathwith pins. The world says, No. It hates anything demonstrative, or violent(except on its own side), or unrefined. "

1849. --"The question of property is one of these cases. We must face it inthis age--simply because it faces us. "--"I want to commit myself--I wantto make others commit themselves. No man can fight the devil with a longladle, however pleasant it may be to eat with him with one. A man neverfishes well in the morning till he has tumbled into the water. "

And the counsels of Parson Lot had undoubtedly great weight in giving anaggressive tone both to the paper and the society. But if he was largelyresponsible for the fighting temper of the early movement, he, at any rate, never shirked his share of the fighting. His name was the butt at which allshafts were aimed. As Lot "seemed like one that mocked to his sons-in-law, "so seemed the Parson to the most opposite sections of the British nation. As a friend wrote of him at the time, he "had at any rate escaped thecurse of the false prophets, 'Woe unto you when all men shall speak wellof you. '" Many of the attacks and criticisms were no doubt aimed not somuch at him personally as at the body of men with whom, and for whom, he was working; but as he was (except Mr. Maurice) the only one whosename was known, he got the lion's share of all the abuse. The stormbroke on him from all points of the compass at once. An old friend andfellow-contributor to "Politics for the People, " led the Conservativeattack, accusing him of unsettling the minds of the poor, making themdiscontented, &c. Some of the foremost Chartists wrote virulently againsthim for "attempting to justify the God of the Old Testament, " who, theymaintained, was unjust and cruel, and, at any rate, not the God "of thepeople. " The political economists fell on him for his anti-Malthusianbelief, that the undeveloped fertility of the earth need not be overtakenby population within any time which it concerned us to think about. Thequarterlies joined in the attack on his economic heresies. The "DailyNews" opened a cross fire on him from the common-sense Liberal battery, denouncing the "revolutionary nonsense, which is termed ChristianSocialisms"; and, after some balancing, the "Guardian, " representing inthe press the side of the Church to which he leant, turned upon him in avery cruel article on the republication of "Yeast" (originally writtenfor "Fraser's Magazine"), and accused him of teaching heresy in doctrine, and in morals "that a certain amount of youthful profligacy does no realpermanent harm to the character, perhaps strengthens it for a useful andreligious life. "

In this one instance Parson Lot fairly lost his temper, and answered, "aswas answered to the Jesuit of old--_mentiris impudentissime_. " With therest he seemed to enjoy the conflict and "kept the ring, " like a candidatefor the wrestling championship in his own county of Devon against allcomers, one down another come on. 

The fact is, that Charles Kingsley was born a fighting man, and believedin bold attack. "No human power ever beat back a resolute forlorn hope, "he used to say; "to be got rid of, they must be blown back with grape andcanister, " because the attacking party have all the universe behind them, the defence only that small part which is shut up in their walls. And hefelt most strongly at this time that hard fighting was needed. "It is apity" he writes to Mr. Ludlow, "that telling people what's right, won'tmake them do it; but not a new fact, though that ass the world has quiteforgotten it; and assures you that dear sweet 'incompris' mankind onlywants to be told the way to the millennium to walk willingly into it--whichis a lie. If you want to get mankind, if not to heaven, at least out ofhell, kick them out. " And again, a little later on, in urging the policywhich the "Christian Socialist" should still follow--

1851. --"It seems to me that in such a time as this the only way to fightagainst the devil is to attack him. He has got it too much his own wayto meddle with us if we don't meddle with him. But the very devil hasfeelings, and if you prick him will roar. .. Whereby you, at all events, gainthe not-every-day-of-the-week-to-be-attained benefit of finding out wherehe is. Unless, indeed, as I suspect, the old rascal plays ventriloquist (asbig grasshoppers do when you chase them), and puts you on a wrong scent, by crying 'Fire!' out of saints' windows. Still, the odds are if you pricklustily enough, you make him roar unawares. "

The memorials of his many controversies lie about in the periodicals ofthat time, and any one who cares to hunt them up will be well repaid, andstruck with the vigour of the defence, and still more with the completechange in public opinion, which has brought the England of to-day cleanround to the side of Parson Lot. The most complete perhaps of his fugitivepieces of this kind is the pamphlet, "Who are the friends of Order?"published by J. W. Parker and Son, in answer to a very fair and moderatearticle in "Fraser's Mazagine. " The Parson there points out how he andhis friends were "cursed by demagogues as aristocrats, and by tories asdemocrats, when in reality they were neither. " And urges that the very factof the Continent being overrun with Communist fanatics is the best argumentfor preaching association here. 

But though he faced his adversaries bravely, it must not be inferred thathe did not feel the attacks and misrepresentations very keenly. In manyrespects, though housed in a strong and vigorous body, his spirit was anexceedingly tender and sensitive one. I have often thought that at thistime his very sensitiveness drove him to say things more broadly andincisively, because he was speaking as it were somewhat against the grain, and knew that the line he was taking would be misunderstood, and woulddisplease and alarm those with whom he had most sympathy. For he was bynature and education an aristocrat in the best sense of the word, believedthat a landed aristocracy was a blessing to the country, and that nocountry would gain the highest liberty without such a class, holding itsown position firmly, but in sympathy with the people. He liked their habitsand ways, and keenly enjoyed their society. Again, he was full of reverencefor science and scientific men, and specially for political economy andeconomists, and desired eagerly to stand well with them. And it was a mostbitter trial to him to find himself not only in sharp antagonism withtraders and employers of labour, which he looked for, but with theseclasses also. 

On the other hand many of the views and habits of those with whom he foundhimself associated were very distasteful to him. In a new social movement, such as that of association as it took shape in 1849-50, there is certainto be great attraction for restless and eccentric persons, and in pointof fact many such joined it. The beard movement was then in its infancy, and any man except a dragoon who wore hair on his face was regarded as adangerous character, with whom it was compromising to be seen in any publicplace--a person in sympathy with _sansculottes_, and who would dispensewith trousers but for his fear of the police. Now whenever Kingsleyattended a meeting of the promoters of association in London, he wassure to find himself in the midst of bearded men, vegetarians, and othereccentric persons, and the contact was very grievous to him. "As if weshall not be abused enough, " he used to say, "for what we must say and dowithout being saddled with mischievous nonsense of this kind. " To lesssensitive men the effect of eccentricity upon him was almost comic, aswhen on one occasion he was quite upset and silenced by the appearance ofa bearded member of Council at an important deputation in a straw hat andblue plush gloves. He did not recover from the depression produced by thosegloves for days. Many of the workmen, too, who were most prominent in theAssociations were almost as little to his mind--windy inflated kind ofpersons, with a lot of fine phrases in their mouths which they did not knowthe meaning of. 

But in spite of all that was distasteful to him in some of itssurroundings, the co-operative movement (as it is now called) entirelyapproved itself to his conscience and judgment, and mastered him so that hewas ready to risk whatever had to be risked in fighting its battle. Oftenin those days, seeing how loath Charles Kingsley was to take in hand, muchof the work which Parson Lot had to do, and how fearlessly and thoroughlyhe did it after all, one was reminded of the old Jewish prophets, such asAmos the herdsman of Tekoa--"I was no prophet, neither was I a prophet'sson, but I was an herdsman and a gatherer of sycamore fruit: and the Lordtook me as I followed the flock, and said unto me, Go prophesy unto mypeople Israel. "

The following short extracts from his correspondence with Mr. Ludlow, as tothe conduct of the "Christian Socialist, " and his own contributions to it, may perhaps serve to show how his mind was working at this time:--

_Sept. , 1850_. --"I cannot abide the notion of Branch Churches or Free(sect) Churches, and unless my whole train of thought alters, I will resistthe temptation as coming from the devil. Where I am I am doing God's work, and when the Church is ripe for more, the Head of the Church will put themeans our way. You seem to fancy that we may have a _Deus quidam Deceptor_over us after all. If I did I'd go and blow my dirty brains out and be ridof the whole thing at once. I would indeed. If God, when people ask Him toteach and guide them, does not; if when they confess themselves rogues andfools to Him, and beg Him to make them honest and wise, He does not, butdarkens them, and deludes them into bogs and pitfalls, is he a Father? Youfall back into Judaism, friend. "

_Dec. , 1850_. --"Jeremiah is my favourite book now. It has taught me morethan tongue can tell. But I am much disheartened, and am minded to speakno more words in this name (Parson Lot); and yet all these bullyings teachone, correct one, warn one--show one that God is not leaving one to goone's own way. 'Christ reigns, ' quoth Luther. "

It was at this time, in the winter of 1850, that "Alton Locke" waspublished. He had been engaged on it for more than a year, working at itin the midst of all his controversies. The following extracts from hiscorrespondence with Mr. Ludlow will tell readers more about it than anycriticism, if they have at all realized the time at which it was written, or his peculiar work in that time. 

_February, 1849_. --"I have hopes from the book I am writing, which hasrevealed itself to me so rapidly and methodically that I feel it comesdown from above, and that only my folly can spoil it, which I pray againstdaily. "

1849. --"I think the notion a good one (referring to other work for thepaper which he had been asked to do), but I feel no inspiration at allthat way; and I dread being tempted to more and more bitterness, harshjudgment, and evil speaking. I dread it. I am afraid sometimes I shall endin universal snarling. Besides, my whole time is taken up with my book, and _that_ I do feel inspired to write. But there is something else whichweighs awfully on my mind--(the first number of _Cooper's Journal_, whichhe sent me the other day). Here is a man of immense influence openlypreaching Strausseanism to the workmen, and in a fair, honest, manly waywhich must tell. Who will answer him? Who will answer Strauss? [Footnote:He did the work himself. After many interviews, and a long correspondencewith him, Thomas Cooper changed his views, and has been lecturing andpreaching for many years as a Christian. ] Who will denounce him as a vilearistocrat, robbing the poor man of his Saviour--of the ground of alldemocracy, all freedom, all association--of the Charter itself? _Oh, simihi centum voces et ferrea lingua!_ Think about _that_. "

_January, 1850_. --"A thousand thanks for your letter, though it only showsme what I have long suspected, that I know hardly enough yet to make thebook what it should be. As you have made a hole, you must help to fill it. Can you send me any publication which would give me a good notion of theIndependents' view of politics, also one which would give a good notion ofthe Fox-Emerson-Strauss school of Blague-Unitarianism, which is supersedingdissent just now. It was with the ideal of Calvinism, and its ultimatebearing on the people's cause, that I wished to deal. I believe that theremust be internecine war between the people's church--_i. E. _, the futuredevelopment of Catholic Christianity, and Calvinism even in its mildestform, whether in the Establishment or out of it--and I have counted thecost and will give every _party_ its slap in their turn. But I will alter, as far as I can, all you dislike. "

_August, 1850_. --"How do you know, dearest man, that I was not right inmaking the Alton of the second volume different from the first? In showingthe individuality of the man swamped and warped by the routine of miseryand discontent? How do you know that the historic and human interest of thebook was not intended to end with Mackay's death, in whom old radicalismdies, 'not having received the promises, ' to make room for the radicalismof the future? How do you know that the book from that point was notintended to take a mythic and prophetic form, that those dreams come in forthe very purpose of taking the story off the ground of the actual into thedeeper and wider one of the ideal, and that they do actually do what theywere intended to do? How do you know that my idea of carrying out Eleanor'ssermons in practice were just what I could not--and if I could, dared not, give? that all that I could do was to leave them as seed, to grow by itselfin many forms, in many minds, instead of embodying them in some actionwhich would have been both as narrow as my own idiosyncrasy, gain thereproach of insanity, and be simply answered by--'If such things have beendone, where are they?' and lastly, how do you know that I had not a specialmeaning in choosing a civilized fine lady as my missionary, one of a classwhich, as it does exist, God must have something for it to do, and, asit seems, plenty to do, from the fact that a few gentlemen whom I couldmention, not to speak of Fowell Buxtons, Howards, Ashleys, &c. , havedone, more for the people in one year than they have done for themselvesin fifty? If I had made her an organizer, as well as a preacher, yourcomplaint might have been just. My dear man, the artist is a law untohimself--or rather God is a law to him, when he prays, as I have earnestlyday after day about this book--to be taught how to say the right thingin the right way--and I assure you I did not get tired of my work, butlaboured as earnestly at the end as I did at the beginning. The rest ofyour criticism, especially about the interpenetration of doctrine andaction, is most true, and shall be attended to. --Your brother, "G. K. "

The next letter, on the same topic, in answer to criticisms on "AltonLocke, " is addressed to a brother clergyman--

"EVERSLEY, _January 13, 1851_. 

"Rec. Dear Sir, --I will answer your most interesting letter as shortly asI can, and if possible in the same spirit of honesty as that in which youhave written to me. 

"_First_, I do not think the cry 'Get on' to be anything but a devil's cry. The moral of my book is that the working man who tries to get on, to deserthis class and rise above it, enters into a lie, and leaves God's path forhis own--with consequences. 

"_Second_, I believe that a man might be as a tailor or a costermonger, every inch of him a saint, a scholar, and a gentleman, for I have seen somefew such already. I believe hundreds of thousands more would be so, iftheir businesses were put on a Christian footing, and themselves given byeducation, sanitary reforms, &c. , the means of developing their own latentcapabilities--I think the cry, 'Rise in Life, ' has been excited by the veryincreasing impossibility of being anything but brutes while they strugglebelow. I know well all that is doing in the way of education, &c. , butI do assert that the disease of degradation has been for the last fortyyears increasing faster than the remedy. And I believe, from experience, that when you put workmen into human dwellings, and give them a Christianeducation, so far from wishing discontentedly to rise out of their class, or to level others to it, exactly the opposite takes place. They becomesensible of the dignity of work, and they begin to see their labour as atrue calling in God's Church, now that it is cleared from the accidentiawhich made it look, in their eyes, only a soulless drudgery in a devil'sworkshop of a _World_. 

"_Third_, From the advertisement of an 'English Republic' you send, I canguess who will be the writers in it, &c. , &c. , being behind the scenes. It will come to nought. Everything of this kind is coming to nought now. The workmen are tired of idols, ready and yearning for the Church and theGospel, and such men as your friend may laugh at Julian Harney, FeargusO'Connor, and the rest of that smoke of the pit. Only we live in a greatcrisis, and the Lord requires great things of us. The fields are white toharvest. Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He may send forthlabourers into His harvest. 

"_Fourth_, As to the capacities of working-men, I am afraid that yourexcellent friend will find that he has only the refuse of workingintellects to form his induction on. The devil has got the best long ago. By the neglect of the Church, by her dealing (like the Popish Church andall weak churches) only with women, children, and beggars, the creamand pith of working intellect is almost exclusively self-educated, and, therefore, alas! infidel. If he goes on as he is doing, lecturing onhistory, poetry, science, and all the things which the workmen crave for, and can only get from such men as H----, Thomas Cooper, &c. , mixed up withStraussism and infidelity, he will find that he will draw back to hisLord's fold, and to his lecture room, slowly, but surely, men, whose powerswill astonish him, as they have astonished me. 

"_Fifth_, The workmen whose quarrels you mention are not Christians, orsocialists either. They are of all creeds and none. We are teaching themto become Christians by teaching them gradually that true socialism, trueliberty, brotherhood, and true equality (not the carnal dead level equalityof the Communist, but the spiritual equality of the church idea, whichgives every man an equal chance of developing and using God's gifts, andrewards every man according to his work, without respect of persons) isonly to be found in loyalty and obedience to Christ. They do quarrel, butif you knew how they used to quarrel before association, the improvementsince would astonish you. And the French associations do not quarrelat all. I can send you a pamphlet on them, if you wish, written by aneyewitness, a friend of mine. 

"_Sixth_, If your friend wishes to see what can be made of workmen'sbrains, let him, in God's name, go down to Harrow Weald, and there see Mr. Monro--see what he has done with his own national school boys. I have hisopinion as to the capabilities of those minds, which we, alas! now so sadlyneglect. I only ask him to go and ask of that man the question which youhave asked of me. 

"_Seventh_, May I, in reference to myself and certain attacks on me, say, with all humility, that I do not speak from hearsay now, as has beenasserted, from second-hand picking and stealing out of those 'Reports onLabour and the Poor, ' in the 'Morning Chronicle, ' which are now beingreprinted in a separate form, and which I entreat you to read if you wishto get a clear view of the real state of the working classes. 

"From my cradle, as the son of an active clergyman, I have been broughtup in the most familiar intercourse with the poor in town and country. Mymother, a second Mrs. Fry, in spirit and act. For fourteen years my fatherhas been the rector of a very large metropolitan parish--and I speak what Iknow, and testify that which I have seen. With earnest prayer, in fear andtrembling, I wrote my book, and I trust in Him to whom I prayed that He hasnot left me to my own prejudices or idols on any important point relatingto the state of the possibilities of the poor for whom He died. Any usewhich you choose you can make of this letter. If it should seem worth yourwhile to honour me with any further communications, I shall esteem them adelight, and the careful consideration of them a duty. --Believe me, Rev. And dear Sir, your faithful and obedient servant, "C. KINGSLEY. "

By this time the society for promoting associations was thoroughlyorganized, and consisted of a council of promoters, of which Kingsley was amember, and a central board, on which the managers of the associations anda delegate from each of them sat. The council had published a number oftracts, beginning with "Cheap Clothes and Nasty, " which had attracted theattention of many persons, including several of the London clergy, whoconnected themselves more or less closely with the movement. Mr. Maurice, Kingsley, Hansard, and others of these, were often asked to preach onsocial questions, and when in 1851, on the opening of the Great Exhibition, immense crowds of strangers were drawn to London, they were speciallyin request. For many London incumbents threw open their churches, andorganized series of lectures, specially bearing on the great topic of theday. It was now that the incident happened which once more brought uponKingsley the charge of being a revolutionist, and which gave him more painthan all other attacks put together. One of the incumbents before referredto begged Mr. Maurice to take part in his course of lectures, and toask Kingsley to do so; assuring Mr. Maurice that he "had been readingKingsley's works with the greatest interest, and earnestly desired tosecure him as one of his lecturers. " "I promised to mention this request tohim, " Mr. Maurice says, "though I knew he rarely came to London, and seldompreached except in his own parish. He agreed, though at some inconvenience, that he would preach a sermon on the 'Message of the Church to theLabouring Man. ' I suggested the subject to him. The incumbent intimatedthe most cordial approval of it. He had asked us, not only with a previousknowledge of our published writings, but expressly because he had thatknowledge. I pledge you my word that no questions were asked as to what wewere going to say, and no guarantees given. Mr. Kingsley took preciselythat view of the message of the Church to labouring men which every readerof his books would have expected him to take. "

Kingsley took his text from Luke iv. Verses 16 to 21: "The spirit of theLord is upon me because He hath anointed me to preach the gospel to thepoor, " &c. What then was that gospel? Kingsley asks, and goes on--"I assertthat the business for which God sends a Christian priest in a Christiannation is, to preach freedom, equality, and brotherhood in the fullest, deepest, widest meaning of those three great words; that in as far as he sodoes, he is a true priest, doing his Lord's work with his Lord's blessingon him; that in as far as he does not he is no priest at all, but a traitorto God and man"; and again, "I say that these words express the verypith and marrow of a priest's business; I say that they preach freedom, equality, and brotherhood to rich and poor for ever and ever. " Then he goeson to warn his hearers how there is always a counterfeit in this world ofthe noblest message and teaching. 

Thus there are two freedoms--the false, where a man is free to do what helikes; the true, where a man is free to do what he ought. 

Two equalities--the false, which reduces all intellects and all characters, to a dead level, and gives the same power to the bad as to the good, to thewise as to the foolish, ending thus in practice in the grossest inequality;the true, wherein each man has equal power to educate and use whateverfaculties or talents God has given him, be they less or more. This is thedivine equality which the Church proclaims, and nothing else proclaims asshe does. 

Two brotherhoods--the false, where a man chooses who shall be his brothers, and whom he will treat as such; the true, in which a man believes thatall are his brothers, not by the will of the flesh, or the will of man, but by the will of God, whose children they all are alike. The Church hasthree special possessions and treasures. The Bible, which proclaims man'sfreedom, Baptism his equality, the Lord's Supper his brotherhood. 

At the end of this sermon (which would scarcely cause surprise to-dayif preached by the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Chapel Royal), theincumbent got up at the altar and declared his belief that great part ofthe doctrine of the sermon was untrue, and that he had expected a sermon ofan entirely different kind. To a man of the preacher's vehement temperamentit must have required a great effort not to reply at the moment. Thecongregation was keenly excited, and evidently expected him to do so. He only bowed his head, pronounced the blessing, and came down from thepulpit. 

I must go back a little to take up the thread of his connection with, andwork for, the Society for Promoting Working Men's Associations. After ithad passed the first difficulties of starting, he was seldom able toattend either Council or Central Board. Every one else felt how much moreimportant and difficult work he was doing by fighting the battle in thepress, down at Eversley, but he himself was eager to take part in theeveryday business, and uneasy if he was not well informed as to what wasgoing on. 

Sometimes, however, he would come up to the Council, when any matterspecially interesting to him was in question, as in the following example, when a new member of the Council, an Eton master, had objected to somestrong expressions in one of his letters on the Frimley murder, in the"Christian Socialist":--

1849. --"The upper classes are like a Yankee captain sitting on the safetyvalve, and serenely whistling--but what will be will be. As for the worthyEton parson, I consider it infinitely expedient that he be entreated tovent his whole dislike in the open Council forthwith, under a promise on mypart not to involve him in any controversy or reprisals, or to answer inany tone except that of the utmost courtesy and respect. Pray do this. Itwill at once be a means of gaining him, and a good example, please God, to the working men; and for the Frimley letter, put it in the fire if youlike, or send it back to have the last half re-written, or 'anything elseyou like, my pretty little dear. '"

But his prevailing feeling was getting to be, that he was becoming anoutsider--

"Nobody deigns to tell me, " he wrote to me, "how things go on, and whohelps, and whether I can help. In short, I know nothing, and begin to fancythat you, like some others, think me a lukewarm and timeserving aristocrat, after I have ventured more than many, because I had more to venture. "

The same feeling comes out in the following letter, which illustratestoo, very well, both his deepest conviction as to the work, the mixtureof playfulness and earnestness with which he handled it, and his humbleestimate of himself. It refers to the question of the admission of a newassociation to the Union. It was necessary, of course, to see that therules of a society, applying for admission to the Union, were in properform, and that sufficient capital was forthcoming, and the decision laywith the Central Board, controlled in some measure by the Council ofPromoters. 

An association of clay-pipe makers had applied for admission, and had beenrefused by the vote of the central board. The Council, however, thoughtthere were grounds for reconsidering the decision, and to strengthen thecase for admission, Kingsley's opinion was asked. He replied:--

"EVERSLEY, _May 31, 1850_. 

"The sight of your handwriting comforted me--for nobody takes any notice ofme, not even the printers; so I revenge myself by being as idle as a dog, and fishing, and gardening, and basking in this glorious sun. But yourletter set me thanking God that he has raised up men to do the work ofwhich I am not worthy. As for the pipe-makers, give my compliments to theautocrats, and tell them it is a shame. The Vegetarians would have quiteas much right to refuse the Butchers, because, forsooth, theirs is nowdiscovered not to be a necessary trade. Bosh! The question is this--Ifassociation be a great Divine law and duty, the realization of the Churchidea, no man has _a right_ to refuse any body of men, into whose heartGod has put it to come and associate. It may be answered that these men'smotives are self-interested. I say, 'Judge no man. ' You dare not refusea heathen baptism because you choose to think that his only motive forturning Christian is the selfish one of saving his own rascally soul. Nomore have you a right to refuse to men an entrance into the social Church. They must come in, and they will, because association is not men's dodgeand invention but God's law for mankind and society, which He has made, andwe must not limit. I don't know whether I am intelligible, but what's moreimportant, I know I am right. Just read this to the autocrats, and tellthem, with my compliments, they are Popes, Tyrants, Manichees, Ascetics, Sectarians, and everything else that is abominable; and if they used asmany pipes as I do, they would know the blessing of getting them cheap, and start an associate baccy factory besides. Shall we try? But, this onelittle mistake excepted (though, if they repeat it, it will become a greatmistake, and a wrong, and a ruinous wrong), they are much better fellowsthan poor I, and doing a great deal more good, and at every fresh news oftheir deeds I feel like Job's horse, when he scents the battle afar off. "

No small part of the work of the Council consisted in mediating andarbitrating in the disputes between the associates and their managers;indeed, such work kept the legal members of the board (none of whom werethen overburdened with regular practice) pretty fully occupied. Some suchdispute had arisen in one of the most turbulent of these associations, andhad been referred to me for settlement. I had satisfied myself as to thefacts, and considered my award, and had just begun to write out the draft, when I was called away from my chambers, and left the opening lines lyingon my desk. They ran as follows:--"The Trustees of the Mile End Associationof Engineers, seeing that the quarrels between the associates have notceased"--at which word I broke off. On returning to my chambers a quarterof an hour later, I found a continuation in the following words:--

 "And that every man is too much inclined to behave himself like a beast, In spite of our glorious humanity, which requires neither God nor priest, Yet is daily praised and plastered by ten thousand fools at least-- Request Mr. Hughes' presence at their jawshop in the East, Which don't they wish they may get it, for he goes out to-night to feast At the Rev. C. Kingsley's rectory, Chelsea, where he'll get his gullet greased With the best of Barto Valle's port, and will have his joys increased By meeting his old college chum, McDougal the Borneo priest-- So come you thief, and drop your brief, At six o'clock without relief; And if you won't may you come to grief, Says Parson Lot the Socialist Chief, Who signs his mark at the foot of the leaf--thus"

and, at the end, a clenched fist was sketched in a few bold lines, andunder it, "Parson Lot, his mark" written. 

I don't know that I can do better than give the history of the rest of theday. Knowing his town habits well, I called at Parker, the publisher's, after chambers, and found him there, sitting on a table and holding forthon politics to our excellent little friend, John Wm. Parker, the juniorpartner. 

We started to walk down to Chelsea, and a dense fog came on before we hadreached Hyde Park Corner. Both of us knew the way well; but we lost it halfa dozen times, and his spirit seemed to rise as the fog thickened. "Isn'tthis like life, " he said, after one of our blunders: "a deep yellow fog allround, with a dim light here and there shining through. You grope your wayon from one lamp to another, and you go up wrong streets and back again;but you get home at last--there's always light enough for that. " After ashort pause he said, quite abruptly, "Tom, do you want to live to be old?"I said I had never thought on the subject; and he went on, "I dread it morethan I can say. To feel one's powers going, and to end in snuff and stink. Look at the last days of Scott and Wordsworth, and Southey. " I suggestedSt. John. "Yes, " he said, "that's the right thing, and will do for Bunsen, and great, tranquil men like him. The longer they live the better for all. But for an eager, fiery nature like mine, with fierce passions eating one'slife out, it won't do. If I live twenty years I know what will happen tome. The back of my brain will soften, and I shall most likely go blind. "

The Bishop got down somehow by six. The dinner did not last long, for thefamily were away, and afterwards we adjourned to the study, and Parson Lotrose to his best. He stood before the fire, while the Bishop and I took thetwo fireside arm chairs, and poured himself out, on subject after subject, sometimes when much moved taking a tramp up and down the room, a longclay pipe in his right hand (at which he gave an occasional suck; it wasgenerally out, but he scarcely noticed it), and his left hand passed behindhis back, clasping the right elbow. It was a favourite attitude with him, when he was at ease with his company. 

We were both bent on drawing him out; and the first topic, I think, raisedby the Bishop was, Fronde's history, then recently published. He took upthe cudgels for Henry VIII. , whom we accused of arbitrariness. Henry wasnot arbitrary; arbitrary men are the most obstinate of men? Why? Becausethey are weak. The strongest men are always ready to hear reason and changetheir opinions, because the strong man knows that if he loses an opinionto-day he can get just as good a one to-morrow in its place. But the weakman holds on to his opinion, because he can't get another, and he knows it. 

Soon afterwards he got upon trout fishing, which was a strong bond of unionbetween him and me, and discoursed on the proper methods of fishing chalkstreams. "Your flies can't be too big, but they must be on small gut, noton base viol fiddle strings, like those you brought down to Farnham lastyear. I tell you gut is the thing that does it. Trout know that flies don'tgo about with a ring and a hand pole through their noses, like so manyprize bulls of Lord Ducie's. "

Then he got on the possible effect of association on the future of England, and from that to the first International Exhibition, and the building whichwas going up in Hyde Park. 

"I mean to run a muck soon, " he said, "against all this talk about geniusand high art, and the rest of it. It will be the ruin of us, as it has beenof Germany. They have been for fifty years finding out, and showing peoplehow to do everything in heaven and earth, and have done nothing. They aredead even yet, and will be till they get out of the high art fit. We weredead, and the French were dead till their revolution; but that brought usto life. Why didn't the Germans come to life too? Because they set to workwith their arts, sciences, and how to do this, that, and the other thing, and doing nothing. Goethe was, in great part, the ruin of Germany. He waslike a great fog coming down on the German people, and wrapping them up. "

Then he, in his turn, drew the Bishop about Borneo, and its people, andfauna and flora; and we got some delightful stories of apes, and converts, and honey bears, Kingsley showing himself, by his questions, as familiarwith the Bornean plants and birds, as though he had lived there. Later onwe got him on his own works, and he told us how he wrote. "I can't think, even on scientific subjects, except in the dramatic form. It is what Tomsaid to Harry, and what Harry answered him. I never put pen to paper till Ihave two or three pages in my head, and see them as if they were printed. Then I write them off, and take a turn in the garden, and so on again. " Wewandered back to fishing, and I challenged his keenness for making a bag. "Ah!" he said, "that's all owing to my blessed habit of intensity, whichhas been my greatest help in life. I go at what I am about as if there werenothing else in the world for the time being. That's the secret of allhard-working men; but most of them can't carry it into their amusements. Luckily for me I can stop from all work, at short notice, and turn headover heels in the sight of all creation, and say, I won't be good or bad, or wise, or anything, till two o'clock to-morrow. "

At last the Bishop would go, so we groped our way with him into the King'sRoad, and left him in charge of a link-boy. When we got back, I saidsomething laughingly about his gift of talk, which had struck me more thatevening than ever before. 

"Yes, " he said, "I have it all in me. I could be as great a talker as anyman in England, but for my stammering. I know it well; but it's a blessedthing for me. You must know, by this time, that I'm a very shy man, andshyness and vanity always go together. And so I think of what every foolwill say of me, and can't help it. When a man's first thought is notwhether a thing is right or wrong, but what will Lady A. , or Mr. B. Sayabout it, depend upon it he wants a thorn in the flesh, like my stammer. When I am speaking for God, in the pulpit, or praying by bedsides, I neverstammer. My stammer is a blessed thing for me. It keeps me from talking incompany, and from going out as much as I should do but for it. "

It was two o'clock before we thought of moving, and then, the fog being asbad as ever, he insisted on making me up a bed on the floor. While we wereengaged in this process, he confided to me that he had heard of a doctorwho was very successful in curing stammering, and was going to try him. Ilaughed, and reminded him of his thorn in the flesh, to which he replied, with a quaint twinkle of his eye, "Well, that's true enough. But a man hasno right to be a nuisance, if he can help it, and no more right to go aboutamongst his fellows stammering, than he has to go about stinking. "

At this time he was already at work on another novel; and, in answer to aremonstrance from a friend, who was anxious that he should keep ail hisstrength for social reform, writes--

1851. --"I know that He has made me a parish priest, and that that is theduty which lies nearest me, and that I may seem to be leaving my callingin novel writing. But has He not taught me all these very things _by my_parish priest life? Did He, too, let me become a strong, daring, sporting, wild man of the woods for nothing? Surely the education He has given me sodifferent from that which authors generally receive, points out to me apeculiar calling to preach on these points from my own experience, as itdid to good old Isaac Walton, as it has done in our own day to that trulynoble man, Captain Marryat. Therefore I must believe, '_si tu sequi la tua, stella_, ' with Dante, that He who ordained my star will not lead me _into_temptation, but _through_ it, as Maurice says. Without Him all places andmethods of life are equally dangerous--with Him, all equally safe. Pray forme, for in myself I am weaker of purpose than a lost grey hound, lazierthan a dog in rainy weather. "

While the co-operative movement was spreading in all directions, the sameimpulse was working amongst the trades unions, and the engineers had setthe example of uniting all their branches into one society. In this winterthey believed themselves strong enough to try conclusions with theiremployers. The great lock-out in January, 1852, was the consequence. Theengineers had appealed to the Council of Promoters to help them in puttingtheir case--which had been much misrepresented--fairly before the public, and Kingsley had been consulted as the person best able to do it. He haddeclined to interfere, and wrote me the following letter to explain hisviews. It will show how far he was an encourager of violent measures orviews:--

"EVERSLEY, _January 28, 1852_. 

"You may have been surprised at my having taken no part in this AmalgamatedIron Trades' matter. And I think that I am bound to say why I have not, andhow far I wish my friends to interfere in it. 

"I do think that we, the Council of Promoters, shall not be wise ininterfering between masters and men; because--1. I question whether thepoints at issue between them can be fairly understood by any persons notconversant with the practical details of the trade. .. 

"2. Nor do I think they have put their case as well as they might. Forinstance, if it be true that they themselves have invented many, or most, of the improvements in their tools and machinery, they have an argument infavour of keeping out unskilled labourers, which is unanswerable, and yet, that they have never used--viz. : 'Your masters make hundreds and thousandsby these improvements, while we have no remuneration for this inventivetalent of ours, but rather lose by it, because it makes the introductionof unskilled labour more easy. Therefore, the only way in which we can getanything like a payment for this inventive faculty of which we make you apresent over and above our skilled labour, for which you bargained, is todemand that we, who invent the machines, if we cannot have a share in theprofits of them, shall at least have the exclusive privilege of using them, instead of their being, as now, turned against us. ' That, I think, is afair argument; but I have seen nothing of it from any speaker or writer. 

"3. I think whatever battle is fought, must be fought by the menthemselves. The present dodge of the Manchester school is to cry outagainst us, as Greg did. 'These Christian Socialists are a set of mediævalparsons, who want to hinder the independence and self-help of the men, andbring them back to absolute feudal maxims; and then, with the most absurdinconsistency, when we get up a corporation workshop, to let the men workon the very independence and self-help of which they talk so fine, theyturn round and raise just the opposite yell, and cry, The men can't beindependent of capitalists; these associations will fail _because_ the menare helping themselves'--showing that what they mean is, that the men shallbe independent of every one but themselves--independent of legislators, parsons, advisers, gentlemen, noblemen, and every one that tries to helpthem by moral agents; but the slaves of the capitalists, bound to them bya servitude increasing instead of lightening with their numbers. Now, theonly way in which we can clear the cause of this calumny is to let the menfight their own battle; to prevent any one saying, 'These men are the toolsof dreamers and fanatics, ' which would be just as ruinously blackening tothem in the public eyes, as it would be to let the cry get abroad, 'This isa Socialist movement, destructive of rights of property, communism, LouisBlanc and the devil, &c. ' You know the infernal stuff which the devil getsup on such occasions--having no scruples about calling himself hard names, when it suits his purpose, to blind and frighten respectable old women. 

"Moreover, these men are not poor distressed needlewomen or slop-workers. They are the most intelligent and best educated workmen, receiving incomesoften higher than a gentleman's son whose education has cost £1000, and ifthey can't fight their own battles, no men in England can, and the peopleare not ripe for association, and we must hark back into the competitiverot heap again. All, then, that we can do is, to give advice when asked--tosee that they have, as far as we can get at them, a clear stage and nofavour, but not by public, but by private influence. 

"But we can help them in another way, by showing them the way to associate. That is quite a distinct question from their quarrel with their masters, and we shall be very foolish if we give the press a handle for mixing upthe two. We have a right to say to masters, men, and public, 'We know andcare nothing about the iron strike. Here are a body of men coming to us, wishing to be shown how to do that which is a right thing for them todo--well or ill off, strike or no strike, namely, associate; and we willhelp and teach them to do _that_ to the very utmost of our power. '

"The Iron Workers' co-operative shops will be watched with lynx eyes, calumniated shamelessly. Our business will be to tell the truth about them, and fight manfully with our pens for them. But we shall never be able toget the ears of the respectabilities and the capitalists, if we appear atthis stage of the business. What we must say is, 'If you are needy andenslaved, we will fight for you from pity, whether you be associated orcompetitive. But you are neither needy, nor, unless you choose, enslaved;and therefore we will only fight for you in proportion as you becomeassociates. Do that, and see if we can't stand hard knocks for yoursake. '--Yours ever affectionate, C. KINGSLEY. "

In the summer of 1852 (mainly by the continued exertions of the members ofthe Council, who had supplied Mr. Slaney's committee with all his evidence, and had worked hard in other ways for this object) a Bill for legalizingIndustrial Associations was about to be introduced into the House ofCommons. It was supposed at one time that it would be taken in hand by theGovernment of Lord Derby, then lately come into office, and Kingsley hadbeen canvassing a number of persons to make sure of its passing. On hearingthat a Cabinet Minister would probably undertake it, he writes--

"Let him be assured that he will by such a move do more to carry out trueConservatism, and to reconcile the workmen with the real aristocracy, thanany politician for the last twenty years has done. The truth is, we are ina critical situation here in England. Not in one of danger--which is thevulgar material notion of a crisis, but at the crucial point, the point ofdeparture of principles and parties which will hereafter become great andpowerful. Old Whiggery is dead, old true blue Toryism of the Robert Inglisschool is dead too-and in my eyes a great loss. But as live dogs are betterthan dead lions, let us see what the live dogs are. 

"1. --The Peelites, who will ultimately, be sure, absorb into themselves allthe remains of Whiggery, and a very large proportion of the Conservativeparty. In an effete unbelieving age, like this, the Sadducee and theHerodian will be the most captivating philosopher. A scientific laziness, lukewarmness, and compromise, is a cheery theory for the young men ofthe day, and they will take to it _con amore_. I don't complain of Peelhimself. He was a great man, but his method of compromise, though usefulenough in particular cases when employed by a great man, becomes a mostdastardly "_schema mundi_" when taken up by a school of little men. Therefore the only help which we can hope for from the Peelites is thatthey will serve as ballast and cooling pump to both parties, but their verytrimming and moderation make them fearfully likely to obtain power. Itdepends on the wisdom of the present government, whether they do or not. 

"2. --Next you have the Manchester school, from whom Heaven defend us; forof all narrow, conceited, hypocritical, and anarchic and atheistic schemesof the universe, the Cobden and Bright one is exactly the worst. I have nolanguage to express my contempt for it, and therefore I quote what Mauricewrote me this morning. 'If the Ministry would have thrown Protection tothe dogs (as I trust they have, in spite of the base attempts of the CornLaw Leaguers to goad them to committing themselves to it, and to hold themup as the people's enemies), and thrown themselves into social measures, who would not have clung to them, to avert that horrible catastropheof a Manchester ascendency, which I believe in my soul would be fatalto intellect, morality, and freedom, and will be more likely to move arebellion among the working men than any Tory rule which can be conceived. '

"Of course it would. To pretend to be the workmen's friends, by keepingdown the price of bread, when all they want thereby is to keep down wages, and increase profits, and in the meantime to widen the gulf between theworking man and all that is time-honoured, refined, and chivalrous inEnglish society, that they may make the men their divided slaves, thatis-perhaps half unconsciously, for there are excellent men amongstthem--the game of the Manchester School. "

"I have never swerved from my one idea of the last seven years, that thereal battle of the time is, if England is to be saved from anarchy andunbelief, and utter exhaustion caused by the competitive enslavement ofthe masses, not Radical or Whig against Peelite or Tory--let the dead burytheir dead-but the Church, the gentlemen, and the workman, against theshop-keepers and the Manchester School. The battle could not have beenfought forty years ago, because, on one side, the Church was an idlephantasm, the gentleman too ignorant, the workman too merely animal; while, on the other, the Manchester cotton-spinners were all Tories, and theshopkeepers were a distinct class interest from theirs. But now thesetwo latter have united, and the sublime incarnation of shop-keeping andlabour-buying in the cheapest market shines forth in the person of Moses &Son, and both cotton-spinners and shop-keepers say 'This is the man!'" andjoin in one common press to defend his system. Be it so: now we know ourtrue enemies, and soon the working-men will know them also. But if thepresent Ministry will not see the possibility of a coalition between them, and the workmen, I see no alternative but just what we have been strainingevery nerve to keep off--a competitive United States, a democracy beforewhich the work of ages will go down in a few years. A true democracy, suchas you and I should wish to see, is impossible without a Church and aQueen, and, as I believe, without a gentry. On the conduct of statesmen itwill depend whether we are gradually and harmoniously to develop Englandon her ancient foundations, or whether we are to have fresh paralyticgovernments succeeding each other in doing nothing, while the workmen andthe Manchester School fight out the real questions of the day in ignoranceand fury, till the '_culbute generale_' comes, and gentlemen of ancientfamily, like your humble servant, betake themselves to Canada, to escape, not the Amalgamated Engineers, but their 'masters, ' and the slop-workingsavages whom their masters' system has created, and will by that time havemultiplied tenfold. 

"I have got a Thames boat on the lake at Bramshill, and am enjoyingvigorous sculls. My answer to 'Fraser' is just coming out; spread it whereyou can. "

In the next year or two the first excitement about the co-operativemovement cooled down. Parson Lot's pen was less needed, and he turned toother work in his own name. Of the richness and variety of that work thisis not the place to speak, but it all bore on the great social problemswhich had occupied him in the earlier years. The Crimean war weighed onhim like a nightmare, and modified some of his political opinions. On theresignation of Lord Aberdeen's Government on the motion for inquiry intothe conduct of the war, he writes, February 5, 1855, "It is a very bad job, and a very bad time, be sure, and with a laughing House of Commons we shallgo to Gehenna, even if we are not there already--But one comfort is, thateven Gehenna can burn nothing but the chaff and carcases, so we shall benone the poorer in reality. So as the frost has broken gloriously, I wishyou would get me a couple of dozen of good flies, viz. , cock a bondhues, red palmers with plenty of gold twist; winged duns, with bodies of hare'sear and yellow mohair mixed well; hackle duns with grey bodies, and a weesilver, these last tied as palmers, and the silver ribbed all the way down. If you could send them in a week I shall be very glad, as fishing beginsearly. "

In the midst of the war he was present one day at a council meeting, afterwhich the manager of one of the associations referring to threatened breadriots at Manchester, asked Kingsley's opinion as to what should be done. "There never were but two ways, " he said, "since the beginning of the worldof dealing with a corn famine. One is to let the merchants buy it up andhold it as long as they can, as we do. And this answers the purpose best inthe long run, for they will be selling corn six months hence when we shallwant it more than we do now, and makes us provident against our wills. The other is Joseph's plan. " Here the manager broke in, "Why didn't ourGovernment step in then, and buy largely, and store in public granaries?""Yes, " said Kingsley, "and why ain't you and I flying about with wings anddewdrops hanging to our tails. Joseph's plan won't do for us. What ministerwould we trust with money enough to buy corn for the people, or power tobuy where he chose. " And he went on to give his questioner a lecture inpolitical economy, which the most orthodox opponent of the popular notionsabout Socialism would have applauded to the echo. 

By the end of the year he had nearly finished "Westward Ho!"--the mostpopular of his novels, which the war had literally wrung out of him. Hewrites--

? "_December 18, 1855_. 

"I am getting more of a Government man every day. I don't see how theycould have done better in any matter, because I don't see but that _I_should have done a thousand times worse in their place, and that is theonly fair standard. 

"As for a ballad--oh! my dear lad, there is no use fiddling while Rome isburning. I have nothing to sing about those glorious fellows, except 'Godsave the Queen and them. ' I tell you the whole thing stuns me, so I cannotsit down to make fiddle rhyme with diddle about it--or blundered withhundred like Alfred Tennyson. He is no Tyrtæus, though he has a glimpse ofwhat Tyrtæus ought to be. But I have not even that; and am going rabbitshooting to-morrow instead. But every man has his calling, and my novelis mine, because I am fit for nothing better. The book" ('Westward Ho!')"will be out the middle or end of January, if the printers choose. It isa sanguinary book, but perhaps containing doctrine profitable for thesetimes. My only pain is that I have been forced to sketch poor Paddy as avery worthless fellow then, while just now he is turning out a hero. I havemade the deliberate _amende honorable_ in a note. "

Then, referring to some criticism of mine on 'Westward Ho!'--"I suppose youare right as to Amyas and his mother; I will see to it. You are probablyright too about John Hawkins. The letter in Purchas is to me unknown, but your conception agrees with a picture my father says he has seen ofCaptain John (he thinks at Lord Anglesey's, at Beaudesert) as a prim, hard, terrier-faced, little fellow, with a sharp chin, and a dogged Puritan eye. So perhaps I am wrong: but I don't think _that_ very important, for theremust have been sea-dogs of my stamp in plenty too. " Then, referring to theCrimean war--"I don't say that the two cases are parallel. I don't askEngland to hate Russia as she was bound to hate Spain, as God's enemy; butI do think that a little Tudor pluck and Tudor democracy (paradoxical asthe word may seem, and inconsistently as it was carried out then) is justwhat we want now. "

"Tummas! Have you read the story of Abou Zennab, his horse, in Stanley's'Sinai, ' p. 67? What a myth! What a poem old Wordsworth would have writthereon! If I didn't cry like a babby over it. What a brick of a horse hemust have been, and what a brick of an old head-splitter Abou Zennab musthave been, to have his commandments keeped unto this day concerning of hishorse; and no one to know who he was, nor when, nor how, nor nothing. Iwonder if anybody'll keep _our_ commandments after we be gone, much lesssay, 'Eat, eat, O horse of Abou Kingsley!'"

By this time the success of "Westward Ho!" and "Hypatia" had placed him inthe first rank of English writers. His fame as an author, and his characteras a man, had gained him a position which might well have turned any man'shead. There were those amongst his intimate friends who feared that itmight be so with him, and who were faithful enough to tell him so. And Icannot conclude this sketch better than by giving his answer to that oneof them with whom he had been most closely associated in the time when, asParson Lot, every man's hand had been against him--

"MY DEAR LUDLOW, "And for this fame, &c. , "I know a little of her worth. 

"And I will tell you what I know, "That, in the first place, she is a fact, and as such, it is not wise toignore her, but at least to walk once round her, and see her back as wellas her front. 

"The case to me seems to be this. A man feels in himself the love ofpraise. Every man does who is not a brute. It is a universal human faculty;Carlyle nicknames it the sixth sense. Who made it? God or the devil? Isit flesh or spirit? a difficult question; because tamed animals grow topossess it in a high degree; and our metaphysician does not yet allowthem spirit. But, whichever it be, it cannot be for bad: only bad whenmisdirected, and not controlled by reason, the faculty which judges betweengood and evil. Else why has God put His love of praise into the heart ofevery child which is born into the world, and entwined it into the holiestfilial and family affections, as the earliest mainspring of good actions?Has God appointed that every child shall be fed first with a necessarylie, and afterwards come to the knowledge of your supposed truth, that thepraise of God alone is to be sought? Or are we to believe that the child isintended to be taught as delicately and gradually as possible the painfulfact, that the praise of all men is not equally worth having, and to usehis critical faculty to discern the praise of good men from the praiseof bad, to seek the former and despise the latter? I should say that thelast was the more reasonable. And this I will say, that if you bring upany child to care nothing for the praise of its parents, its elders, itspastors, and masters, you may make a fanatic of it, or a shameless cynic:but you will neither make it a man, an Englishman, or a Christian. 

"But 'our Lord's words stand, about not seeking the honour which comes frommen, but the honour which comes from God only!' True, they do stand, andour Lord's fact stands also, the fact that He has created every child tobe educated by an honour which comes from his parents and elders. Both aretrue. Here, as in most spiritual things, you have an antinomia, an apparentcontradiction, which nothing but the Gospel solves. And it does solve it;and your one-sided view of the text resolves itself into just the samefallacy as the old ascetic one. 'We must love God alone, therefore we mustlove no created thing. ' To which St. John answers pertinently 'He wholoveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hathnot seen?' If you love your brethren, you love Christ in them. If you lovetheir praise, you love the praise of Christ in them. For consider this, you cannot deny that, if one loves any person, one desires that person'sesteem. But we are bound to love all men, and that is our highest state. Therefore, in our highest state, we shall desire all men's esteem. Paradoxical, but true. If we believe in Christmas-day; if we believe inWhitsunday, we shall believe that Christ is in all men, that God's spiritis abroad in the earth, and therefore the dispraise, misunderstanding, andcalumny of men will be exquisitely painful to us, and ought to be so; and, on the other hand, the esteem of men, and renown among men for doing gooddeeds will be inexpressibly precious to us. They will be signs and warrantsto us that God is pleased with us, that we are sharing in that 'honour andglory' which Paul promises again and again, with no such scruples as yours, to those who lead heroic lives. We shall not neglect the voice of Godwithin us; but we shall remember that there is also a voice of God withoutus, which we must listen to; and that in a Christian land, _vox populi_, patiently and discriminately listened to, is sure to be found not far offfrom the _vox Dei_. 

"Now, let me seriously urge this last fact on you. Of course, in listeningto the voice of the man outside there is a danger, as there is in the useof any faculty. You may employ it, according to Divine reason and grace, for ennobling and righteous purposes; or you may degrade it to carnal andselfish ones; so you may degrade the love of praise into vanity, intolonging for the honour which comes from men, by pandering to their passionsand opinions, by using your powers as they would too often like to usetheirs, for mere self-aggrandisement, by saying in your heart--_quampulchrum digito monstrari el diceri hic est_. That is the man who wrote thefine poem, who painted the fine picture, and so forth, till, by giving wayto this, a man may give way to forms of vanity as base as the red Indianwho sticks a fox's tail on, and dances about boasting of his brute cunning. I know all about that, as well as any poor son of Adam ever did. But Iknow, too, that to desire the esteem of as many rational men as possible;in a word, to desire an honourable, and true renown for having done goodin my generation, has nothing to do with that; and the more I fear andstruggle against the former, the more I see the exceeding beauty anddivineness, and everlasting glory of the latter as an entrance into thecommunion of saints. 

"Of course, all this depends on whether we do believe that Christ is inevery man, and that God's spirit is abroad in the earth. Of course, again, it will be very difficult to know who speaks by God's spirit, and whosees by Christ's light in him; but surely the wiser, the humbler path, isto give men credit for as much wisdom and rightness as possible, and tobelieve that when one is found fault with, one is probably in the wrong. For myself, on Looking back, I see clearly with shame and sorrow, that theobloquy which I have brought often on myself and on the good cause, hasbeen almost all of it my own fault--that I have given the devil and badmen a handle, not by caring what people would say, but by _not caring_--byfancying that I was a very grand fellow, who was going to speak what I knewto be true, in spite of all fools (and really did and do intend so to do), while all the while I was deceiving myself, and unaware of a canker atthe heart the very opposite to the one against which you warn me. I meanthe proud, self-willed, self-conceited spirit which made no allowance forother men's weakness or ignorance; nor again, for their superior experienceand wisdom on points which I had never considered--which took a pride inshocking and startling, and defying, and hitting as hard as I could, andfancied, blasphemously, as I think, that the word of God had come to meonly, and went out from me only. God forgive me for these sins, as wellas for my sins in the opposite direction; but for these sins especially, because I see them to be darker and more dangerous than the others. 

"For there has been gradually revealed to me (what my many readings in thelives of fanatics and ascetics ought to have taught me long before), thatthere is a terrible gulf ahead of that not caring what men say. Of courseit is a feeling on which the spirit must fall back in hours of need, andcry, 'Thou, God, knowest mine integrity. I have believed, and therefore Iwill speak; thou art true, though all men be liars!' But I am convincedthat that is a frame in which no man can live, or is meant to live;that it is only to be resorted to in fear and trembling, after deepestself-examination, and self-purification, and earnest prayer. For otherwise, Ludlow, a man gets to forget that voice of God without him, in hisdetermination to listen to nothing but the voice of God within him, and sohe falls into two dangers. He forgets that there is a voice of God withouthim. He loses trust in, and charity to, and reverence for his fellow-men;he learns to despise, deny, and quench the Spirit, and to despiseprophesyings, and so becomes gradually cynical, sectarian, fanatical. 

"And then comes a second and worse danger. Crushed into self, and his ownconscience and _schema mundi_, he loses the opportunity of correcting hisimpression of the voice of God within, by the testimony of the voice of Godwithout; and so he begins to mistake more and more the voice of that veryflesh of his, which he fancies he has conquered, for the voice of God, and to become, without knowing it, an autotheist. And out of that springseclecticism, absence of tenderness _for_ men, for want of sympathy _with_men; as he makes his own conscience his standard for God, so he makes hisown character the standard for men; and so he becomes narrow, hard, andif he be a man of strong will and feelings, often very inhuman and cruel. This is the history of thousands-of Jeromes, Lauds, Puritans who scourgedQuakers, Quakers who cursed Puritans; nonjurors, who though they would dierather than offend their own conscience in owning William, would plot withJames to murder William, or to devastate England with Irish Rapparees andAuvergne dragoons. This, in fact, is the spiritual diagnosis of those manypious persecutors, who though neither hypocrites or blackguards themselves, have used both as instruments of their fanaticism. 

"Against this I have to guard myself, you little know how much, and toguard my children still more, brought up, as they will be, under a father, who, deeply discontented with the present generation, cannot but expressthat discontent at times. To make my children '_banausoi_, ' insolent andscoffing radicals, believing in nobody and nothing but themselves, would beperfectly easy in me if I were to make the watchword of my house, 'Nevermind what people say. ' On the contrary, I shall teach them that there areplenty of good people in the world; that public opinion has pretty surelyan undercurrent of the water of life, below all its froth and garbage;and that in a Christian country like this, where, with all faults, a man(sooner or later) has fair play and a fair hearing, the esteem of good men, and the blessings of the poor, will be a pretty sure sign that they havethe blessing of God also; and I shall tell them, when they grow older, thatere they feel called on to become martyrs, in defending the light withinthem against all the world, they must first have taken care most patiently, and with all self-distrust and humility, to make full use of the lightwhich is around them, and has been here for ages before them, and would behere still, though they had never been born or thought of. The antinomybetween this and their own conscience may be painful enough to them someday. To what thinking man is it not a life-long battle? but I shall notdream that by denying one pole of the antinomy I can solve it, or doanything but make them, by cynicism or fanaticism, bury their talent in theearth, and _not_ do the work which God has given them to do, because theywill act like a parson who, before beginning his sermon, should first kickhis congregation out of doors, and turn the key; and not like St. Paul, whobecame all things to all men, if by any means he might save some. 

"Yours ever affectionately, with all Christmas blessings, "C. KINGSLEY. 

"FARLY COURT, _December 26, 1855_. 

"I should be very much obliged to you to show this letter to Maurice. "

One more letter only I will add, dated about the end of the "Parson Lot"period. He had written to inform me that one of the old Chartist leaders, a very worthy fellow, was in great distress, and to ask me to do what Icould for him. In my reply I had alluded somewhat bitterly to the apparentfailure of the Association movement in London, and to some of our blunders, acknowledging how he had often seen the weak places, and warned us againstthem. His answer came by return of post:--

"EVERSLEY, _May, 1856_. 

"DEAR TOM, --It's an ill bird that fouls its own nest; and don't crystinking fish, neither don't hollow till you're out of the wood--which yououghtn't to have called yourself Tom fool, and blasphemed the holy namethereby, till you knowed you was sich, which you wasn't, as appears byparticulars. And I have heard from T---- twice to-day, and he is agreeable, which, if he wasn't, he is an ass, and don't know half a loaf is betterthan no bread, and you musn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but all is asright as a dog-fox down wind and vi. _millia passuum_, to the next gorse. But this £25 of his is a grueller, and I learnt with interest that you areinclined to get the fishes nose out of the weed. I have offered to lend him£10--hopes it may be lending--and have written a desperate begging letterto R. Monckton Milnes, Esq. , which 'evins prosper. Poor T---- says to-nightthat he has written to Forster about it--which he must have the small ofhis back very hard against the ropes so to do, so the sooner we get theginger-beer bottle out the longer he'll fight, or else he'll throw up thesponge at once; for I know his pride. I think we can raise it somehow. Ihave a last card in old ----, the judge who tried and condemned him, and isthe dearest old soul alive, only he will have it T---- showed dunghill, anddon't carry a real game nackle. If I am to tackle he you must send me backthose letters to appeal to his piety and 'joys as does abound, ' as yourincomparable father remarks. When _will_ you give me that canticle? Hesays Tom Taylor (I believe all the world is called Thomas) has behaved tohim like a brother, which, indeed, was to be expexed, and has promisedhim copying at a shilling an hour, and _will_ give him a chop daily freegracious; but the landlord won't wait, which we musn't neither. 

"Now, business afore pleasure. You are an old darling, and who says no, I'd kick him, if it warn't for my cloth; but you are green in cottoning tome about our '48 mess. Because why? I lost nothing--I risked nothing. Youfellows worked like bricks, spent money, and got midshipman's half-pay(nothing a-day and find yourself), and monkey's allowance (more kicks thanhalfpence). I risked no money; 'cause why, I had none; but _made_ money outof the movement, and fame too. I've often thought what a dirty beast I was. I made £150 by Alton Locke, and never lost a farthing; and I got, not inspite of, but by the rows, a name and a standing with many a one who wouldnever have heard of me otherwise, and I should have been a stercoraceousmendicant if I had hollowed when I got a facer, while I was winning by thecross, though I didn't mean to fight one. No. And if I'd had £100, 000, I'dhave, and should have, staked and lost it all in 1848-50. I should, Tom, for my heart was and is in it, and you'll see it will beat yet; but weain't the boys. We don't see but half the bull's eye yet, and don't see_at all_ the policeman which is a going on his beat behind the bull's eye, and no thanks to us. Still, _some_ somedever, it's in the fates, thatAssociation is the pure caseine, and must be eaten by the human race if itwould save its soul alive, which, indeed, it will; only don't you think mea good fellow for not crying out, when I never had more to do than scratchmyself and away went the fleas. But you all were real bricks; and if youwere riled, why let him that is without sin cast the first stone, or let mecast it for him, and see if I don't hit him in the eye. 

"Now to business; I have had a sortér kindèr sample day. Up at 5, to see adying man; ought to have been up at 2, but Ben King the rat-catcher, whocame to call me, was taken nervous!!! and didn't make row enough; was from5. 30 to 6. 30 with the most dreadful case of agony--insensible to me, butnot to his pain. Came home, got a wash and a pipe, and again to him at8. Found him insensible to his own pain, with dilated pupils, dying ofpressure of the brain--going any moment. Prayed the commendatory prayersover him, and started for the river with West. Fished all the morningin a roaring N. E. Gale, with the dreadful agonized face between me andthe river, pondering on THE mystery. Killed eight on 'March brown' and'governor, ' by drowning the flies, and taking _'em out gently to see_ ifought was there--which is the only dodge in a north-easter. 'Cause why? Thewater is warmer than the air--_ergo_, fishes don't like to put their nosesout o' doors, and feeds at home down stairs. It is the only wrinkle, Tom. The captain fished a-top, and caught but three all day. They weren't goingto catch a cold in their heads to please him or any man. Clouds burn up at1 P. M. I put on a minnow, and kill three more; I should have had lots, butfor the image of the dirty hickory stick, which would 'walk the waters likea thing of life, ' just ahead of my minnow. Mem. --Never fish with the sun inyour back; it's bad enough with a fly, but with a minnow it's strichnineand prussic acid. My eleven weighed together four and a-half pounds--threeto the pound; not good, considering I had spased many a two-pound fish, I_know_. 

"Corollary. --Brass minnow don't suit the water. Where is your wonderfulminnow? Send him me down, or else a _horn_ one, which I believes indesperate; but send me something before Tuesday, and I will send you P. O. O. Horn minnow looks like a gudgeon, which is the pure caseine. One pounder Icaught to-day on the 'March brown' womited his wittles, which was rude, butinstructive; and among worms was a gudgeon three inches long and more. Blowminnows--gudgeon is the thing. 

"Came off the water at 3. Found my man alive, and, thank God, quiet. Satwith him, and thought him going once or twice. What a mystery that long, insensible death-struggle is! Why should they be so long about it? Then hadto go Hartley Row for an Archdeacon's Sunday-school meeting--three hoursuseless (I fear) speechifying and 'shop'; but the Archdeacon is a goodman, and works like a brick beyond his office. Got back at 10:30, and sitwriting to you. So goes one's day. All manner of incongruous things todo--and the very incongruity keeps one beany and jolly. Your letter wasdelightful. I read part of it to West, who says, you are the best fellow onearth, to which I agree. 

"So no more from your sleepy and tired--C. KINGSLEY. "

This was almost the last letter I ever received from him in the Parson Lotperiod of his life, with which alone this notice has to do. It shows, Ithink, very clearly that it was not that he had deserted his flag (as hasbeen said) or changed his mind about the cause for which he had fought sohard and so well. His heart was in it still as warmly as ever, as he sayshimself. But the battle had rolled away to another part of the field. Almost all that Parson Lot had ever striven for was already gained. Theworking-classes had already got statutory protection for their tradeassociations, and their unions, though still outside the law, had becomestrong enough to fight their own battles. And so he laid aside his fightingname and his fighting pen, and had leisure to look calmly on the greatstruggle more as a spectator than an actor. 

A few months later, in the summer of 1856, when he and I were talkingover and preparing for a week's fishing in the streams and lakes of hisfavourite Snowdonia, he spoke long and earnestly in the same key. I wellremember how he wound it all up with, "the long and short of it is, I ambecoming an optimist. All men, worth anything, old men especially, havestrong fits of optimism--even Carlyle has--because they can't help hoping, and sometimes feeling, that the world is going right, and will go right, not your way, or my way, but its own way. Yes; we've all tried ourHolloway's Pills, Tom, to cure all the ills of all the world--and we'veall found out I hope by this time that the tough old world has more inits inside than any Holloway's Pills will clear out. " A few weeks later Ireceived the following invitation to Snowdon, and to Snowdon we went in theautumn of 1856. 

THE INVITATION. 

 Come away with me, Tom, Term and talk is done; My poor lads are reaping, Busy every one. Curates mind the parish, Sweepers mind the Court, We'll away to Snowdon For our ten days' sport, Fish the August evening Till the eve is past, Whoop like boys at pounders Fairly played and grassed. When they cease to dimple, Lunge, and swerve, and leap, Then up over Siabod Choose our nest, and sleep. Up a thousand feet, Tom, Round the lion's head, Find soft stones to leeward And make up our bed. Bat our bread and bacon, Smoke the pipe of peace, And, ere we be drowsy, Give our boots a grease. Homer's heroes did so, Why not such as we? What are sheets and servants? Superfluity. Pray for wives and children Safe in slumber curled, Then to chat till midnight O'er this babbling world. Of the workmen's college, Of the price of grain, Of the tree of knowledge, Of the chance of rain; If Sir A. Goes Romeward, If Miss B. Sings true, If the fleet comes homeward, If the mare will do, -- Anything and everything-- Up there in the sky Angels understand us, And no "_saints_" are by. Down, and bathe at day-dawn, Tramp from lake to lake, Washing brain and heart clean Every step we take. Leave to Robert Browning Beggars, fleas, and vines; Leave to mournful Ruskin Popish Apennines, Dirty Stones of Venice And his Gas-lamps Seven; We've the stones of Snowdon And the lamps of heaven. Where's the mighty credit In admiring Alps? Any goose sees "glory" In their "snowy scalps. " Leave such signs and wonders For the dullard brain, As æsthetic brandy, Opium, and cayenne; Give me Bramshill common (St. John's harriers by), Or the vale of Windsor, England's golden eye. Show me life and progress, Beauty, health, and man; Houses fair, trim gardens, Turn where'er I can. Or, if bored with "High Art, " And such popish stuff, One's poor ears need airing, Snowdon's high enough. While we find God's signet Fresh on English ground, Why go gallivanting With the nations round? Though we try no ventures Desperate or strange; Feed on common-places In a narrow range; Never sought for Franklin Round the frozen Capes; Even, with Macdougall, Bagged our brace of apes; Never had our chance, Tom, In that black Redan; Can't avenge poor Brereton Out in Sakarran; Tho' we earn our bread, Tom, By the dirty pen, What we can we will be, Honest Englishmen. Do the work that's nearest, Though it's dull at whiles; Helping, when we meet them Lame dogs over stiles; See in every hedgerow Marks of angels' feet, Epics in each pebble Underneath our feet; Once a-year, like schoolboys, Robin-Hooding go. Leaving fops and fogies A thousand feet below. 

T. H. 

CHEAP CLOTHES AND NASTY. 

King Ryence, says the legend of Prince Arthur, wore a paletot trimmed withkings' beards. In the first French Revolution (so Carlyle assures us)there were at Meudon tanneries of human skins. Mammon, at once tyrant andrevolutionary, follows both these noble examples--in a more respectableway, doubtless, for Mammon hates cruelty; bodily pain is his devil--theworst evil of which he, in his effeminacy, can conceive. So he shrieksbenevolently when a drunken soldier is flogged; but he trims hispaletots, and adorns his legs, with the flesh of men and the skins ofwomen, with degradation, pestilence, heathendom, and despair; and thenchuckles self-complacently over the smallness of his tailors' bills. Hypocrite!--straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel! What is flogging, or hanging, King Ryence's paletot, or the tanneries of Meudon, to theslavery, starvation, waste of life, year-long imprisonment in dungeonsnarrower and fouler than those of the Inquisition, which goes on amongthousands of free English clothes-makers at this day?

"The man is mad, " says Mammon, smiling supercilious pity. Yes, Mammon; madas Paul before Festus; and for much the same reason, too. Much learning hasmade us mad. From two articles in the "Morning Chronicle" of Friday, Dec. 14th, and Tuesday, Dec. 18th, on the Condition of the Working Tailors, we learnt too much to leave us altogether masters of ourselves. But thereis method in our madness; we can give reasons for it--satisfactory toourselves, perhaps also to Him who made us, and you, and all tailorslikewise. Will you, freshly bedizened, you and your footmen, fromNebuchadnezzar and Co. 's "Emporium of Fashion, " hear a little about howyour finery is made? You are always calling out for facts, and have a firmbelief in salvation by statistics. Listen to a few. 

The Metropolitan Commissioner of the "Morning Chronicle" called twomeetings of the Working Tailors, one in Shad well, and the other at theHanover Square Rooms, in order to ascertain their condition from theirown lips. Both meetings were crowded. At the Hanover Square Rooms therewere more than one thousand men; they were altogether unanimous in theirdescriptions of the misery and slavery which they endured. It appearsthat there are two distinct tailor trades--the "honourable" trade, nowalmost confined to the West End, and rapidly dying out there, and the"dishonourable" trade of the show-shops and slop-shops--the plate-glasspalaces, where gents--and, alas! those who would be indignant at thatname--buy their cheap-and-nasty clothes. The two names are the tailors'own slang; slang is true and expressive enough, though, now and then. Thehonourable shops in the West End number only sixty; the dishonourable, fourhundred and more; while at the East End the dishonourable trade has it allits own way. The honourable part of the trade is declining at the rate ofone hundred and fifty journeymen per year; the dishonourable increasing atsuch a rate that, in twenty years it will have absorbed the whole tailoringtrade, which employs upwards of twenty-one thousand journeymen. At thehonourable shops the work is done, as it was universally thirty years ago, on the premises and at good wages. In the dishonourable trade, the work istaken home by the men, to be done at the very lowest possible prices, whichdecrease year by year, almost month by month. At the honourable shops, from36s. To 24s. Is paid for a piece of work for which the dishonourable shoppays from 22s. To 9s. But not to the workmen; happy is he if he reallygets two-thirds, or half of that. For at the honourable shops, the masterdeals directly with his workmen; while at the dishonourable ones, thegreater part of the work, if not the whole, is let out to contractors, ormiddle-men--"_sweaters_, " as their victims significantly call them--who, intheir turn, let it out again, sometimes to the workmen, sometimes to freshmiddlemen; so that out of the price paid for labour on each article, notonly the workmen, but the sweater, and perhaps the sweater's sweater, and athird, and a fourth, and a fifth, have to draw their profit. And when thelabour price has been already beaten down to the lowest possible, how muchremains for the workmen after all these deductions, let the poor fellowsthemselves say!

One working tailor (at the Hanover Square Rooms Meeting) "mentioned anumber of shops, both at the east and west ends, whose work was alltaken by sweaters; and several of these shops were under royal and noblepatronage. There was one notorious sweater who kept his carriage. He was aJew, and, of course, he gave a preference to his own sect. Thus, anotherJew received it from him second hand and at a lower rate; then it went to athird-till it came to the unfortunate Christian at perhaps the eighth rate, and he performed the work at barely living prices; this same Jew required adeposit of 5_l_. In money before he would give out a single garment to bemade. He need not describe the misery which this system entailed upon theworkmen. It was well known, but it was almost impossible, except for thosewho had been at the two, to form an idea of the difference between thepresent meeting and one at the East-end, where all who attended worked forslop-shops and sweaters. The present was a highly respectable assembly; theother presented no other appearance but those of misery and degradation. "

Another says--"We have all worked in the honourable trade, so we know theregular prices from our own personal experience. Taking the bad work withthe good work we might earn 11s. A week upon an average. Sometimes we doearn as much as 15s. ; but, to do this, we are obliged to take part of ourwork home to our wives and daughters. We are not always fully employed. Weare nearly half our time idle. Hence, our earnings are, upon an averagethroughout the year, not more than 5s. 6d. A week. " "Very often I have madeonly 3s. 4d. In the week, " said one. "That's common enough with us all, Ican assure you, " said another. "Last week my wages was 7s. 6d. , " declaredone. "I earned 6s. 4d. , " exclaimed the second. "My wages came to 9s. 2d. The week before I got 6s. 3d. " "I made 7s. 9d. , " and "I 7s. Or 8s. , I can'texactly remember which. " "This is what we term the best part of our winterseason. The reason why we are so long idle is because more hands thanare wanted are kept on the premises, so that in case of a press of workcoming in, our employers can have it done immediately. Under the day worksystem no master tailor had more men on the premises than he could keepcontinually going; but since the change to the piecework system, mastersmade a practice of engaging double the quantity of hands that theyhave any need for, so that an order may be executed 'at the shortestpossible notice, ' if requisite. A man must not leave the premises when, unemployed, --if he does, he loses his chance of work coming in. I have beenthere four days together, and had not a stitch of work to do. " "Yes; thatis common enough. " "Ay, and then you're told, if you complain, you can go, if you don't like it. I am sure twelve hands would do all they have done athome, and yet they keep forty of us. It's generally remarked that, howeverstrong and healthy a man may be when he goes to work at that shop, in amonth's time he'll be a complete shadow, and have almost all his clothes inpawn. By Sunday morning, he has no money at all left, and he has to subsisttill the following Saturday upon about a pint of weak tea, and four slicesof bread and butter per day!!!"

"Another of the reasons for the sweaters keeping more hands than they wantis, the men generally have their meals with them. The more men they havewith them the more breakfasts and teas they supply, and the more profitthey make. The men usually have to pay 4d. , and very often, 5d. For theirbreakfast, and the same for their tea. The tea or breakfast is mostly apint of tea or coffee, and three to four slices of bread and butter. _Iworked for one sweater who almost starved the men; the smallest eater therewould not have had enough if he had got three times as much. They had onlythree thin slices of bread and butter, not sufficient for a child, and thetea was both weak and bad. The whole meal could not have stood him in 2d. A head, and what made it worse was, that the men who worked there couldn'tafford to have dinners, so that they were starved to the bone. _ Thesweater's men generally lodge where they work. A sweater usually keepsabout six men. These occupy two small garrets; one room is called thekitchen, and the other the workshop; and here the whole of the six men, andthe sweater, his wife, and family, live and sleep. One sweater _I workedwith had four children and six men, and they, together with his wife, sister-in-law, and himself, all lived in two rooms, the largest of whichwas about eight feet by ten. We worked in the smallest room and slept thereas well--all six of us. There were two turnup beds in it, and we sleptthree in a bed. There was no chimney, and, indeed, no ventilation whatever. I was near losing my life there--the foul air of so many people workingall day in the place, and sleeping there at night, was quite suffocating. Almost all the men were consumptive, and I myself attended the dispensaryfor disease of the lungs. The room in which we all slept was not more thansix feet square. We were all sick and weak, and both to work. _ Each of thesix of us paid 2s. 6d. A week for our lodging, or 15s. Altogether, and Iam sure such a room as we slept and worked in might be had for 1s. A week;you can get a room with a fire-place for 1s. 6d. A week. The usual sum thatthe men working for sweaters pay for their tea, breakfasts, and lodgingis 6s. 6d. To 7s. A week, and they seldom earn more money in the week. Occasionally at the week's end they are in debt to the sweater. This isseldom for more than 6d. , for the sweater will not give them victuals ifhe has no work for them to do. Many who live and work at the sweater's aremarried men, and are obliged to keep their wives and children in lodgingsby themselves. Some send them to the workhouse, others to their friendsin the country. Besides the profit of the board and lodging, the sweatertakes 6d. Out of the price paid for every garment under 10s. ; some take1s. , and I do know of one who takes as much as 2s. This man works for alarge show-shop at the West End. The usual profit of the sweater, over andabove the board and lodging, is 2s. Out of every pound. Those who workfor sweaters soon lose their clothes, and are unable to seek for otherwork, because they have not a coat to their back to go and seek it in. _Last week, I worked with another man at a coat for one of her Majesty'sministers, and my partner never broke his fast while he was making his halfof it. _ The minister dealt at a cheap West End show-shop. All the workmanhad the whole day-and-a-half he was making the coat was a little tea. Butsweaters' work is not so bad as government work after all. At that, wecannot make more than 4s. Or 5s. A week altogether--that is, counting thetime we are running after it, of course. _Government contract work is theworst of all, and the starved-out and sweated-out tailor's last resource. _But still, government does not do the regular trade so much harm as thecheap show and slop shops. These houses have ruined thousands. They havecut down the prices, so that men cannot live at the work; and the masterswho did and would pay better wages, are reducing the workmen's pay everyday. They say they must either compete with the large show shops or go intothe 'Gazette. '"

Sweet competition! Heavenly maid!--Now-a-days hymned alike bypenny-a-liners and philosophers as the ground of all society--the onlyreal preserver of the earth! Why not of Heaven, too? Perhaps there iscompetition among the angels, and Gabriel and Raphael have won their rankby doing the maximum of worship on the minimum of grace? We shall know someday. In the meanwhile, "these are thy works, thou parent of all good!"Man eating man, eaten by man, in every variety of degree and method! Whydoes not some enthusiastic political economist write an epic on "TheConsecration of Cannibalism"?

But if any one finds it pleasant to his soul to believe the poorjourneymen's statements exaggerated, let him listen to one of the sweatersthemselves:--

"I wish, " says he, "that others did for the men as decently as I do. Iknow there are many who are living entirely upon them. Some employ as manyas fourteen men. I myself worked in the house of a man who did this. Thechief part of us lived, and worked, and slept together in two rooms, on thesecond floor. They charged 2s. 6d. Per head for the lodging alone. Twelveof the workmen, I am sure, lodged in the house, and these paid altogether30s. A week rent to the sweater. I should think the sweater paid 8s. A weekfor the rooms--so that he gained at least 22s. Clear out of the lodgingof these men, and stood at no rent himself. For the living of the men hecharged--5d. For breakfasts, and the same for teas, and 8d. For dinner--orat the rate of 10s. 6d. Each per head. Taking one with the other, andconsidering the manner in which they lived, I am certain that the cost forkeeping each of them could not have been more than 5s. This would leave 5s. 6d. Clear profit on the board of each of the twelve men, or, altogether, £3, 6s. Per week; and this, added to the £1, 2s. Profit on the rent, wouldgive £4, 8s. For the sweater's gross profit on the board and lodging ofthe workmen in his place. But, besides this, he got 1s. Out of each coatmade on his premises, and there were twenty-one coats made there, upon anaverage, every week; so that, altogether, the sweater's clear gains out ofthe men were £5, 9s. Every week. Each man made about a coat and a half inthe course of the seven days (_for they all worked on a Sunday--they weregenerally told to 'borrow a day off the Lord_. ') For this coat and a halfeach hand got £1, 2s. 6d. , and out of it he had to pay 13s. For board andlodging; so that there was 9s. 6d. Clear left. These are the profits of thesweater, and the earnings of the men engaged under him, when working forthe first rate houses. But many of the cheap houses pay as low as 8s. Forthe making of each dress and frock coat, and some of them as low as 6s. Hence the earnings of the men at such work would be from 9s. To 12s. Perweek, and the cost of their board and lodging without dinners, for thesethey seldom have, would be from 7s. 6d. To 8s. Per week. Indeed, the menworking under sweaters at such prices generally consider themselves welloff if they have a shilling or two in their pockets for Sunday. The profitsof the sweater, however, would be from £4 to £5 out of twelve men, workingon his premises. The usual number of men working under each sweater isabout six individuals; and the average rate of profit, about £2, 10s. , without the sweater doing any work himself. It is very often the case thata man working under a sweater is obliged to pawn his own coat to get anypocket-money that he may require. Over and over again the sweater makes outthat he is in his debt from 1s. To 2s. At the end of the week, and whenthe man's coat is in pledge, he is compelled to remain imprisoned in thesweater's lodgings for months together. In some sweating places, there isan old coat kept called a "reliever, " and this is borrowed by such men ashave none of their own to go out in. There are very few of the sweaters'men who have a coat to their backs or a shoe to their feet to come out intothe streets on Sunday. Down about Fulwood's Rents, Holborn, I am sure Iwould not give 6d. For the clothes that are on a dozen of them; and it issurprising to me, working and living together in such numbers and in suchsmall close rooms, in narrow close back courts as they do, that they arenot all swept off by some pestilence. I myself have seen half-a-dozen menat work in a room that was a little better than a bedstead long. It was asmuch as one could do to move between the wall and the bedstead when it wasdown. There were two bedsteads in this room, and they nearly filled theplace when they were down. The ceiling was so low, that I couldn't standupright in the room. There was no ventilation in the place. There was nofireplace, and only a small window. When the window was open, you couldnearly touch the houses at the back, and if the room had not been at thetop of the house, the men could not have seen at all in the place. Thestaircase was so narrow, steep, and dark, that it was difficult to gropeyour way to the top of the house--it was like going up a steeple. This isthe usual kind of place in which the sweater's men are lodged. The reasonwhy there are so many Irishmen working for the sweaters is, because theyare seduced over to this country by the prospect of high wages and plentyof work. They are brought over by the Cork boats at 10s. A-head, and whenthey once get here, the prices they receive are so small, that they areunable to go back. In less than a week after they get here, their clothesare all pledged, and they are obliged to continue working under thesweaters. 

"The extent to which this system of 'street kidnapping' is carried onis frightful. Young tailors, fresh from the country, are decoyed by thesweaters' wives into their miserable dens, under extravagant promises ofemployment, to find themselves deceived, imprisoned, and starved, oftenunable to make their escape for months--perhaps years; and then onlyfleeing from one dungeon to another as abominable. "

In the meantime, the profits of the beasts of prey who live on these poorfellows--both masters and sweaters--seem as prodigious as their cruelty. 

Hear another working tailor on this point:--"In 1844, I belonged to thehonourable part of the trade. Our house of call supplied the presentshow-shop with men to work on the premises. The prices then paid were atthe rate of 6d. Per hour. For the same driving capes that they paid 18s. Then, they give only 12s. For now. For the dress and frock coats they gave15s. Then, and now they are 14s. The paletots and shooting coats were 12s. ;there was no coat made on the premises under that sum. At the end of theseason, they wanted to reduce the paletots to 9s. The men refused to makethem at that price, when other houses were paying as much as 15s. For them. The consequence of this was, the house discharged all the men, and got aJew middle-man from the neighbourhood of Petticoat-lane, to agree to dothem all at 7s. 6d. A piece. The Jew employed all the poor people who wereat work for the slop warehouses in Houndsditch and its vicinity. ThisJew makes on an average 500 paletots a week. The Jew gets 2s. 6d. Profitout of each, and having no sewing trimmings allowed to him, he makes thework-people find them. The saving in trimmings alone to the firm, sincethe workmen left the premises, must have realized a small fortune to them. Calculating men, women, and children, I have heard it said that the cheaphouse at the West End employs 1, 000 hands. The trimmings for the work doneby these would be about 6d. A week per head, so that the saving to thehouse since the men worked on the premises has been no less than £1, 300a year, and all this taken out of the pockets of the poor. The Jew whocontracts for making the paletots is no tailor at all. A few years ago hesold sponges in the street, and now he rides in his carriage. The Jew'sprofits are 500 half-crowns, or £60 odd, per week--that is upwards of£3, 000 a-year. Women are mostly engaged at the paletot work. When I came towork for the cheap show-shop I had £5, 10s. In the saving bank; now I havenot a half-penny in it. All I had saved went little by little to keep meand my family. I have always made a point of putting some money by when Icould afford it, but since I have been at this work it has been as much asI could do to _live_, much more to _save_. One of the firm for which I workhas been heard publicly to declare that he employed 1, 000 hands constantly. Now the earnings of these at the honourable part of the trade would be uponan average, taking the skilful with the unskilful, 15s. A week each, or£39, 000 a year. But since they discharged the men from off their premises, they have cut down the wages of the workmen one-half--taking one garmentwith another--_though the selling prices remain the same to the public_, sothat they have saved by the reduction of the workmen's wages no less than£19, 500 per year. Every other quarter of a year something has been 'docked'off our earnings, until it is almost impossible for men with families tolive decently by their labour; and now, for the first time, they pretendto feel for them. They even talk of erecting a school for the children oftheir workpeople; but where is the use of erecting schools, when they knowas well as we do, that at the wages they pay, the children must be workingfor their fathers at home? They had much better erect workshops, and employthe men on the premises at fair living wages, and then the men couldeducate their own children, without being indebted to their charity. "

On this last question of what the master-cannibals had "much better do, " wehave somewhat to say presently. In the meantime, hear another of the thingswhich they had much better _not_ do. "Part of the fraud and deception ofthe slop trade consists in the mode in which the public are made believethat the men working for such establishments earn more money than theyreally do. The plan practised is similar to that adopted by the armyclothier, who made out that the men working on his establishment made perweek from 15s. To 17s. Each, whereas, on inquiry, it was found that aconsiderable sum was paid out of that to those who helped to do the loopingfor those who took it home. When a coat is given to me to make, a ticket ishanded to me with the garment, similar to this one which I have obtainedfrom a friend of mine. 

 +--------------------------------------------+ | 448 | | Mr. _Smith_ 6, 675 Made by _M_ | | _Ze_ = 12s. = _lined lustre | | quilted double stitched | | each side seams_ | | | | 448. No. 6, 675. | | o'clock _Friday_ | | | | Mr. _Smith_ | +--------------------------------------------+

On this you see the price is marked at 12s. , " continued my informant, "andsupposing that I, with two others, could make three of these garments inthe week, the sum of thirty-six shillings would stand in the books of theestablishment as the amount earned by me in that space of time. This wouldbe sure to be exhibited to the customers, immediately that there was theleast outcry made about the starvation price they paid for their work, asa proof that the workpeople engaged on their establishment received thefull prices; whereas, of that 36s. Entered against my name, _I should havehad to pay 24s. To those who assisted me_; besides this, my share of thetrimmings and expenses would have been 1s. 6d. , and probably my share ofthe fires would be 1s. More; so that the real fact would be, that I shouldmake 9s. 6d. Clear, and this it would be almost impossible to do, if I didnot work long over hours. I am obliged to keep my wife continually at workhelping me, in order to live. "

In short, the condition of these men is far worse than that of the wretchedlabourers of Wilts or Dorset. Their earnings are as low and often lower;their trade requires a far longer instruction, far greater skill andshrewdness; their rent and food are more expensive; and their hours ofwork, while they have work, more than half as long again. Conceive sixteenor eighteen hours of skilled labour in a stifling and fetid chamber, earning not much more than 6s. 6d. Or 7s. A week! And, as has been alreadymentioned in one case, the man who will earn even that, must work allSunday. He is even liable to be thrown out of his work for refusing to workon Sunday. Why not? Is there anything about one idle day in seven to befound among the traditions of Mammon? When the demand comes, the supplymust come; and will, in spite of foolish auld-warld notion about keepingdays holy--or keeping contracts holy either, for, indeed, Mammon has noconscience--right and wrong are not words expressible by any commerciallaws yet in vogue; and therefore it appears that to earn this wretchedpittance is by no means to get it. "For, " says one, and the practice isasserted to be general, almost universal, "there is at our establishment amode of reducing the price of our labour even lower than we have mentioned. The prices we have stated are those _nominally_ paid for making thegarments; but it is not an uncommon thing in our shop for a man to make agarment, and receive nothing at all for it. I remember a man once having awaistcoat to do, the price of making which was 2s. , and when he gave thejob in he was told that he owed the establishment 6d. The manner in whichthis is brought about is by a system of fines. We are fined if we arebehind time with our job, 6d. The first hour, and 3d. For each hour that weare late. " "I have known as much as 7s. 6d. To be deducted off the price ofa coat on the score of want of punctuality, " one said; "and, indeed, veryoften the whole money is stopped. It would appear, as if our employersthemselves strove to make us late with our work, and so have an opportunityof cutting down the price paid for our labour. They frequently put offgiving out the trimmings to us till the time at which the coat is due hasexpired. If to the trimmer we return an answer that is considered 'saucy, 'we are find 6d. Or 1s. , according to the trimmer's temper. " "I was called athief, " another of the three declared, "and because I told the man I wouldnot submit to such language, I was fined 6d. These are the principal ofthe in-door fines. The out-door fines are still more iniquitous. There arefull a dozen more fines for minor offences; indeed, we are fined upon everypetty pretext. We never know what we have to take on a Saturday, for themeanest advantages are taken to reduce our wages. If we object to pay thesefines, we are told that we may leave; but they know full well that we areafraid to throw ourselves out of work. "

Folks are getting somewhat tired of the old rodomontade that a slave isfree the moment he sets foot on British soil! Stuff!--are these tailorsfree? Put any conceivable sense you will on the word, and then say--arethey free? We have, thank God, emancipated the black slaves; it would seema not inconsistent sequel to that act to set about emancipating thesewhite ones. Oh! we forgot; there is an infinite difference between the twocases--the black slaves worked for our colonies; the white slaves work for_us_. But, indeed, if, as some preach, self-interest is the mainspringof all human action, it is difficult to see who will step forward toemancipate the said white slaves; for all classes seem to consider itequally their interest to keep them as they are; all classes, though bytheir own confession they are ashamed, are yet not afraid to profit by thesystem which keeps them down. 

Not only the master tailors and their underlings, but the retail tradesmen, too, make their profit out of these abominations. By a method which smacksat first sight somewhat of benevolence, but proves itself in practice to beone of those "precious balms which break, " not "the head" (for that wouldsavour of violence, and might possibly give some bodily pain, a thingintolerable to the nerves of Mammon) but the heart--an organ which, beingspiritual, can of course be recognized by no laws of police or commerce. The object of the State, we are told, is "the conservation of body andgoods"; there is nothing in that about broken hearts; nothing which shouldmake it a duty to forbid such a system as a working-tailor here describes--

"Fifteen or twenty years ago, such a thing as a journeyman tailor havingto give security before he could get work was unknown; but now I and suchas myself could not get a stitch to do first handed, if we did not eitherprocure the security of some householder, or deposit £5 in the hands of theemployer. The reason of this is, the journeymen are so badly paid, that theemployers know they can barely live on what they get, and consequently theyare often driven to pawn the garments given out to them, in order to savethemselves and their families from starving. If the journeyman can manageto scrape together £5, he has to leave it in the hands of his employer allthe time that he is working for the house. I know one person who gives outthe work for a fashionable West End slop-shop that will not take householdsecurity, and requires £5 from each hand. I am informed by one of theparties who worked for this man that he has as many as 150 hands inhis employ, and that each of these has placed £5 in his hands, so thataltogether the poor people have handed over £750 to increase the capitalupon which he trades, and for which he pays no interest whatsoever. "

This recalls a similar case (mentioned by a poor stay-stitcher in anotherletter, published in the "Morning Chronicle"), of a large wholesalestaymaker in the City, who had amassed a large fortune by beginning totrade upon the 5s. Which he demanded to be left in his hands by hisworkpeople before he gave them employment. 

"Two or three years back one of the slopsellers at the East End becamebankrupt, and the poor people lost all the money that had been depositedas security for work in his hands. The journeymen who get the securityof householders are enabled to do so by a system which is now in generalpractice at the East End. Several bakers, publicans, chandler-shop keepers, and coal-shed keepers, make a trade of becoming security for those seekingslop-work. They consent to be responsible for the workpeople upon thecondition of the men dealing at their shops. The workpeople who requiresuch security are generally very good customers, from the fact of theireither having large families, all engaged in the same work, or else severalfemales or males working under them, and living at their house. The partiesbecoming securities thus not only greatly increase their trade, but furnisha second-rate article at a first-rate price. It is useless to complain ofthe bad quality or high price of the articles supplied by the securities, for the shopkeepers know, as well as the workpeople, that it is impossiblefor the hands to leave them without losing their work. I know one bakerwhose security was refused at the slop-shop because he was alreadyresponsible for so many, and he begged the publican to be his deputy, sothat by this means the workpeople were obliged to deal at both baker'sand publican's too. I never heard of a butcher making a trade of becomingsecurity, _because the slopwork people cannot afford to consume much meat_. 

"The same system is also pursued by lodging-house keepers. They will becomeresponsible if the workmen requiring security will undertake to lodge attheir house. "

But of course the men most interested in keeping up the system are thosewho buy the clothes of these cheap shops. And who are they? Not merelythe blackguard gent--the butt of Albert Smith and Punch, who flaunts atthe Casinos and Cremorne Gardens in vulgar finery wrung out of the soulsand bodies of the poor; not merely the poor lawyer's clerk or reducedhalf-pay officer who has to struggle to look as respectable as his classcommands him to look on a pittance often no larger than that of the daylabourer--no, strange to say--and yet not strange, considering our moderneleventh commandment--"Buy cheap and sell dear, " the richest as well as thepoorest imitate the example of King Ryence and the tanners of Meudon, Ata great show establishment--to take one instance out of many--the veryone where, as we heard just now, "however strong and healthy a man may bewhen he goes to work at that shop, in a month's time he will be a completeshadow, and have almost all his clothes in pawn"--

"We have also made garments for Sir ---- ----, Sir ---- ----, Alderman----, Dr. ----, and Dr. ----. We make for several of the aristocracy. Wecannot say whom, because the tickets frequently come to us as Lord ---- andthe Marquis of ----. This could not be a Jew's trick, because the buttonson the liveries had coronets upon them. And again, we know the house ispatronized largely by the aristocracy, clergy, and gentry, by the number ofcourt-suits and liveries, surplices, regimentals, and ladies' riding-habitsthat we continually have to make up. _There are more clergymen among thecustomers than any other class, and often we have to work at home uponthe Sunday at their clothes, in order to get a living. _ The customers aremostly ashamed of dealing at this house, for the men who take the clothesto the customers' houses in the cart have directions to pull up at thecorner of the street. We had a good proof of the dislike of gentlefolks tohave it known that they dealt at that shop for their clothes, for when thetrousers buttons were stamped with the name of the firm, we used to havethe garments returned, daily, to have other buttons put on them, and nowthe buttons are unstamped"!!!

We shall make no comment on this extract. It needs none. If these men knowhow their clothes are made, they are past contempt. Afraid of man, and notafraid of God! As if His eye could not see the cart laden with the plunderof the poor, because it stopped round the corner! If, on the other hand, they do _not_ know these things, and doubtless the majority do not, --it istheir sin that they do not know it. Woe to a society whose only apology toGod and man is, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Men ought to know the conditionof those by whose labour they live. Had the question been the investmentof a few pounds in a speculation, these gentlemen would have been carefulenough about good security. Ought they to take no security when they investtheir money in clothes, that they are not putting on their backs accursedgarments, offered in sacrifice to devils, reeking with the sighs of thestarving, tainted--yes, tainted, indeed, for it comes out now that diseasesnumberless are carried home in these same garments from the miserableabodes where they are made. Evidence to this effect was given in 1844; butMammon was too busy to attend to it. These wretched creatures, when theyhave pawned their own clothes and bedding, will use as substitutes thevery garments they are making. So Lord ----'s coat has been seen coveringa group of children blotched with small-pox. The Rev. D---- finds himselfsuddenly unpresentable from a cutaneous disease, which it is not polite tomention on the south of Tweed, little dreaming that the shivering dirtybeing who made his coat has been sitting with his arms in the sleeves forwarmth while he stitched at the tails. The charming Miss C---- is swept offby typhus or scarlatina, and her parents talk about "God's heavy judgmentand visitation"--had they tracked the girl's new riding-habit back to thestifling undrained hovel where it served as a blanket to the fever-strickenslopworker, they would have seen _why_ God had visited them, seen that Hisjudgments are true judgments, and give His plain opinion of the systemwhich "speaketh good of the covetous whom God abhorreth"--a system, touse the words of the "Morning Chronicle's" correspondent, "unheard ofand unparalleled in the history of any country--a scheme so deeply laidfor the introduction and supply of under-paid labour to the market, thatit is impossible for the working man not to sink and be degraded, by itinto the lowest depths of wretchedness and infamy--a system which issteadily and gradually increasing, and sucking more and more victims outof the honourable trade, who are really intelligent artizans, living incomparative comfort and civilization, into the dishonourable or sweatingtrade in which the slopworkers are generally almost brutified by theirincessant toil, wretched pay, miserable food, and filthy homes. "

But to us, almost the worse feature in the whole matter is, that thegovernment are not merely parties to, but actually the originators of thissystem. The contract system, as a working tailor stated, in the name of therest, "had been mainly instrumental in destroying the living wages of theworking man. Now, the government were the sole originators of the systemof contracts and of sweating. Forty years ago, there was nothing known ofcontracts, except government contracts; and at that period the contractorswere confined to making slops for the navy, the army, and the West Indiaslaves. It was never dreamt of then that such a system was to comeinto operation in the better classes of trade, till ultimately it wasdestructive of masters as well as men. The government having been the causeof the contract system, and consequently of the sweating system, he calledupon them to abandon it. The sweating system had established the show shopsand the ticket system, both of which were countenanced by the government, till it had become a fashion to support them. 

"Even the court assisted to keep the system in fashion, and the royal armsand royal warrants were now exhibited common enough by slopsellers. "

Government said its duty was to do justice. But was it consistent withjustice to pay only 2s. 6d. For making navy jackets, which would be paid10s. For by every 'honourable' tradesman? Was it consistent with justicefor the government to pay for Royal Marine clothing (private's coat andepaulettes) 1s. 9d. ? Was it consistent with justice for the government topay for making a pair of trousers (four or five hours' work) only 2-1/2d?And yet, when a contractor, noted for paying just wages to those heemployed, brought this under the consideration of the Admiralty, theydeclared they had nothing to do with it. Here is their answer:--

"Admiralty, March 19, 1847. 

"Sir, --Having laid before my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, yourletter of the 8th inst. , calling their attention to the extremely lowprices paid for making up articles of clothing, provided for Her Majesty'snaval service, I am commanded by their lordships to acquaint you, thatthey have no control whatever over the wages paid for making up contractclothing. Their duty is to take care that the articles supplied are of goodquality, and well made: the cost of the material and the workmanship arematters which rest with the contractor; and if the public were to pay him ahigher price than that demanded, it would not ensure any advantage to themen employed by him, as their wages depend upon the amount of competitionfor employment amongst themselves. I am, Sir, your most obedient servant, "H. G. WARD. 

"W. Shaw, Esq. "

Oh most impotent conclusion, however officially cautious, and"philosophically" correct! Even if the wages did depend entirely on theamount of competition, on whom does the amount of competition depend?Merely on the gross numbers of the workmen? Somewhat, too, one would think, on the system according to which the labour and the wages are distributed. But right or wrong, is it not a pleasant answer for the poor workingtailors, and one likely to increase their faith, hope, and charity towardsthe present commercial system, and those who deny the possibility of anyother?

"The government, " says another tailor at the same meeting, "had really beenthe means of reducing prices in the tailoring trade to so low a scale thatno human being, whatever his industry, could live and be happy in his lot. The government were really responsible for the first introduction of femalelabour. He would clearly prove what he had stated. He would refer firstto the army clothing. Our soldiers were comfortably clothed, as they hada right to be; but surely the men who made the clothing which was socomfortable, ought to be paid for their labour so as to be able to keepthemselves comfortable and their families virtuous. But it was in evidence, that the persons working upon army clothing could not, upon an average, earn more than 1s. A-day. Another government department, the post-office, afforded a considerable amount of employment to tailors; but those whoworked upon the post-office clothing earned, at the most, only 1s. 6d. A-day. The police clothing was another considerable branch of tailoring;this, like the others, ought to be paid for at living prices; but the menat work at it could only earn 1s. 6d. A-day, supposing them to work hardall the time, fourteen or fifteen hours. The Custom House clothing gaveabout the same prices. Now, all these sorts of work were performed by timeworkers, who, as a natural consequence of the wages they received, were themost miserable of human beings. Husband, wife, and family all worked atit; they just tried to breathe upon it; to live it never could be called. _Yet the same Government which paid such wretched wages, called upon thewretched people to be industrious, to be virtuous, and happy_, How wasit possible, whatever their industry, to be virtuous and happy? The factwas, the men who, at the slack season, had been compelled to fall backupon these kinds of work, became so beggared and broken down by it, notwithstanding the assistance of their wives and families, that they werenever able to rise out of it. "

And now comes the question--What is to be done with these poor tailors, tothe number of between fifteen and twenty thousand? Their condition, as itstands, is simply one of ever-increasing darkness and despair. The systemwhich is ruining them is daily spreading, deepening. While we write, freshvictims are being driven by penury into the slopworking trade, freshdepreciations of labour are taking place. Like Ulysses' companions inthe cave of Polyphemus, the only question among them is, to scramble sofar back as to have _a chance of being eaten at last_. Before them isever-nearing slavery, disease, and starvation. What can be done?

First--this can be done. That no man who calls himself a Christian--noman who calls himself a man--shall ever disgrace himself by dealing atany show-shop or slop-shop. It is easy enough to know them. The ticketedgarments, the impudent puffs; the trumpery decorations, proclaimthem, --every one knows them at first sight, He who pretends not to do so, is simply either a fool or a liar. Let no man enter them--they are thetemples of Moloch--their thresholds are rank with human blood. God's curseis on them, and on those who, by supporting them, are partakers of theirsins. Above all, let no clergyman deal at them. Poverty--and many clergymenare poor--doubly poor, because society often requires them to keep up thedress of gentlemen on the income of an artizan; because, too, the demandson their charity are quadruple those of any other class--yet poverty is noexcuse. The thing is damnable--not Christianity only, but common humanitycries out against it. Woe to those who dare to outrage in private theprinciples which they preach in public! God is not mocked; and his cursewill find out the priest at the altar, as well as the nobleman in hiscastle. 

But it is so hard to deprive the public of the luxury of cheap clothes!Then let the public look out for some other means of procuring thatpriceless blessing. If that, on experiment, be found impossible--if thecomfort of the few be for ever to be bought by the misery of the many--ifcivilization is to benefit every one except the producing class--then thisworld is truly the devil's world, and the sooner so ill-constructed andinfernal a machine is destroyed by that personage, the better. 

But let, secondly, a dozen, or fifty, or a hundred journeymen say toone another: "It is competition that, is ruining us, and competition isdivision, disunion, every man for himself, every man against his brother. The remedy must be in association, co-operation, self-sacrifice for thesake of one another. We can work together at the honourable tailor'sworkshop--we can work and live together in the sweater's den for theprofit of our employers; why should we not work and live together in ourown workshops, or our own homes, for our own profit? The journeymen ofthe honourable trade are just as much interested as the slopworkers inputting down sweaters and slopsellers, since their numbers are constantlydecreasing, so that their turn must come some day. Let them, if no one elsedoes, lend money to allow us to set up a workshop of our own, a shop of ourown. If the money be not lent, still let us stint and strain ourselves tothe very bone, if it were only to raise one sweater's security-money, whichone of us should pay into the slopseller's hands, in his own name, but onbehalf of all: that will at least save one sweater's profit out of ourlabour, and bestow it upon ourselves; and we will not spend that profit, but hoard it, till we have squeezed out all the sweaters one by one. Thenwe will open our common shop, and sell at as low a price as the cheapestof the show shops. We _can_ do this, --by the abolition of sweaters'profits, --by the using, as far as possible, of one set of fires, lights, rooms, kitchens, and washhouses, --above all, by being true and faithfulto one another, as all partners should be. And, then, all that the masterslopsellers had better do, will be simply to vanish and become extinct. "

And again, let one man, or half-a-dozen men arise, who believe that theworld is not the devil's world at all, but God's: that the multitude ofthe people is not, as Malthusians aver, the ruin, but as Solomon believed, "the strength of the rulers"; that men are not meant to be beasts of prey, eating one another up by competition, as in some confined pike pond, wherethe great pike having despatched the little ones, begin to devour eachother, till one overgrown monster is left alone to die of starvation. Let afew men who have money, and believe that, arise to play the man. 

Let them help and foster the growth of association by all means. Let themadvise the honourable tailors, while it is time, to save themselves frombeing degraded into slopsellers by admitting their journeymen to a share inprofits. Let them encourage the journeymen to compete with Nebuchadnezzar &Co. At their own game. Let them tell those journeymen that the experimentis even now being tried, and, in many instances successfully, by no lessthan one hundred and four associations of journeymen in Paris. Let themremind them of that Great Name which the Parisian "ouvrier" so oftenforgets--of Him whose everlasting Fatherhood is the sole ground of allhuman brotherhood, whose wise and loving will is the sole source of allperfect order and government. Let them, as soon as an association isformed, provide for them a properly ventilated workshop, and let it outto the associate tailors at a low, fair rent. I believe that they willnot lose by it--because it is right. God will take care of their money. The world, it comes out now, is so well ordered by Him, that modellodging-houses, public baths, wash-houses, insurance offices, all pay areasonable profit to those who invest money in them--perhaps associateworkshops may do the same. At all events, the owners of these show-shopsrealize a far higher profit than need be, while the buildings required fora tailoring establishment are surely not more costly than those absurdplate-glass fronts, and brass scroll-work chandeliers, and puffs, and paidpoets. A large house might thus be taken, in some central situation, theupper floors of which might be fitted up as model lodging-rooms for thetailor's trade alone. The drawing-room floor might be the work-room; on theground floor the shop; and, if possible, a room of call or registrationoffice for unemployed journeymen, and a reading-room. Why should not thissucceed, if the owners of the house and the workers who rent it are onlytrue to one another? Every tyro in political economy knows that associationinvolves a saving both of labour and of capital. Why should it not succeed, when every one connected with the establishment, landlords and workmen, will have an interest in increasing its prosperity, and none whatever inlowering the wages of any party employed?

But above all, so soon as these men are found working together for commonprofit, in the spirit of mutual self-sacrifice, let every gentleman andevery Christian, who has ever dealt with, or could ever have dealt with, Nebuchadnezzar and Co. , or their fellows, make it a point of honour andconscience to deal with the associated workmen, and get others to do thelike. _It is by securing custom, far more than by gifts or loans of money, that we can help the operatives. _ We should but hang a useless burthen ofdebt round their necks by advancing capital, without affording them themeans of disposing of their produce. 

Be assured, that the finding of a tailors' model lodging house, work rooms, and shop, and the letting out of the two latter to an association, wouldbe a righteous act to do. If the plan does not pay, what then? only a partof the money can be lost; and to have given that to an hospital or analmshouse would have been called praiseworthy and Christian charity; howmuch more to have spent it not in the cure, but in the prevention ofevil--in making almshouses less needful, and lessening the number ofcandidates for the hospital!

Regulations as to police order, and temperance, the workmen must, and, ifthey are worthy of the name of free men, they can organize for themselves. Let them remember that an association of labour is very different froman association of capital. The capitalist only embarks his money on theventure; the workman embarks his time--that is, much at least of hislife. Still more different is the operatives' association from the singlecapitalist, seeking only to realize a rapid fortune, and then withdraw. Theassociation knows no withdrawal from business; it must grow in length andin breadth, outlasting rival slopsellers, swallowing up all associationssimilar to itself, and which might end by competing with it. "Monopoly!"cries a free-trader, with hair on end. Not so, good friend; there willbe no real free trade without association. Who tells you that tailors'associations are to be the only ones?

Some such thing, as I have hinted, might surely be done. Where there is awill there is a way. No doubt there are difficulties--Howard and ElizabethFry, too, had their difficulties. Brindley and Brunel did not succeed atthe first trial. It is the sluggard only who is always crying, "There is alion in the streets. " Be daring--trust in God, and He will fight for you;man of money, whom these words have touched, godliness has the promiseof this life, as well as of that to come. The thing must be done, andspeedily; for if it be not done by fair means, it will surely do itselfby foul. The continual struggle of competition, not only in the tailors'trade, but in every one which is not, like the navigator's or engineer's, at a premium from its novel and extraordinary demand, will weaken andundermine more and more the masters, who are already many of themspeculating on borrowed capital, while it will depress the workmen to apoint at which life will become utterly intolerable; increasing educationwill serve only to make them the more conscious of their own misery; theboiler will be strained to bursting pitch, till some jar, some slightcrisis, suddenly directs the imprisoned forces to one point, and then--

What then?

Look at France, and see. 

PARSON LOT. 

PREFACE

_To the UNDERGRADUATES of CAMBRIDGE. _

I have addressed this preface to the young gentlemen of the University, first, because it is my duty to teach such of them as will hear me, ModernHistory; and I know no more important part of Modern History than thecondition and the opinions of our own fellow-countrymen, some of which areset forth in this book. 

Next, I have addressed them now, because I know that many of them, atvarious times, have taken umbrage at certain scenes of Cambridge life drawnin this book. I do not blame them for having done so. On the contrary, Ihave so far acknowledged the justice of their censure, that while I havealtered hardly one other word in this book, I have re-written all thatrelates to Cambridge life. 

Those sketches were drawn from my own recollections of 1838-1842. Whetherthey were overdrawn is a question between me and men of my own standing. 

But the book was published in 1849; and I am assured by men in whom I havethe most thorough confidence, that my sketches had by then at least becomeexaggerated and exceptional, and therefore, as a whole, untrue; that aprocess of purification was going on rapidly in the University; and that Imust alter my words if I meant to give the working men a just picture ofher. 

Circumstances took the property and control of the book out of my hand, andI had no opportunity of reconsidering and of altering the passages. Thosecircumstances have ceased, and I take the first opportunity of altering allwhich my friends tell me should be altered. 

But even if, as early as 1849, I had not been told that I must do so, Ishould have done so of my own accord, after the experiences of 1861. I havereceived at Cambridge a courtesy and kindness from my elders, a cordialwelcome from my co-equals, and an earnest attention from the undergraduateswith whom I have come in contact, which would bind me in honour to saynothing publicly against my University, even if I had aught to say. But Ihave nought. I see at Cambridge nothing which does not gain my respect forher present state and hope for her future. Increased sympathy between theold and young, increased intercourse between the teacher and the taught, increased freedom and charity of thought, and a steady purpose of internalself-reform and progress, seem to me already bearing good fruit, by makingthe young men regard their University with content and respect. Andamong the young men themselves, the sight of their increased earnestnessand high-mindedness, increased sobriety and temperance, combined with amanliness not inferior to that of the stalwart lads of twenty years ago, has made me look upon my position among them as most noble, my work amongthem as most hopeful, and made me sure that no energy which I can employ inteaching them will ever have been thrown away. 

Much of this improvement seems to me due to the late High-Church movement;much to the influence of Dr. Arnold; much to that of Mr. Maurice; much tothe general increase of civilization throughout the country: but whateverbe the causes of it, the fact is patent; and I take delight in thusexpressing my consciousness of it. 

Another change I must notice in the tone of young gentlemen, not onlyat Cambridge, but throughout Britain, which is most wholesome and mosthopeful. I mean their altered tone in speaking to and of the labouringclasses. Thirty years ago, and even later, the young men of the labouringclasses were "the cads, " "the snobs, " "the blackguards"; looked on with adislike, contempt, and fear, which they were not backward to return, andwhich were but too ready to vent themselves on both sides in ugly words anddeeds. That hateful severance between the classes was, I believe, an evilof recent growth, unknown to old England. From the middle ages, up to thelatter years of the French war, the relation between the English gentry andthe labourers seems to have been more cordial and wholesome than in anyother country of Europe. But with the French Revolution came a change forthe worse. The Revolution terrified too many of the upper, and excited toomany of the lower classes; and the stern Tory system of repression, withits bad habit of talking and acting as if "the government" and "the people"were necessarily in antagonism, caused ever increasing bad blood. Besides, the old feudal ties between class and class, employer and employed, had been severed. Large masses of working people had gathered in themanufacturing districts in savage independence. The agricultural labourershad been debased by the abuses of the old Poor-law into a condition uponwhich one looks back now with half-incredulous horror. Meanwhile, thedistress of the labourers became more and more severe. Then arose Ludditemobs, meal mobs, farm riots, riots everywhere; Captain Swing and hisrickburners, Peterloo "massacres, " Bristol conflagrations, and all theugly sights and rumours which made young lads, thirty or forty years ago, believe (and not so wrongly) that "the masses" were their natural enemies, and that they might have to fight, any year, or any day, for the safety oftheir property and the honour of their sisters. 

How changed, thank God! is all this now. Before the influence of religion, both Evangelical and Anglican; before the spread of those liberalprinciples, founded on common humanity and justice, the triumph of which weowe to the courage and practical good sense of the Whig party; before theexample of a Court, virtuous, humane, and beneficent; the attitude of theBritish upper classes has undergone a noble change. There is no aristocracyin the world, and there never has been one, as far as I know, which has sohonourably repented, and brought forth fruits meet for repentance; whichhas so cheerfully asked what its duty was, that it might do it. It is notmerely enlightened statesmen, philanthropists, devotees, or the workingclergy, hard and heartily as they are working, who have set themselves todo good as a duty specially required of them by creed or by station. Inthe generality of younger laymen, as far as I can see, a humanity (in thehighest sense of the word) has been awakened, which bids fair, in anothergeneration, to abolish the last remnants of class prejudices and classgrudges. The whole creed of our young gentlemen is becoming more liberal, their demeanour more courteous, their language more temperate. They inquireafter the welfare, or at least mingle in the sports of the labouring man, with a simple cordiality which was unknown thirty years ago; they areprompt, the more earnest of them, to make themselves of use to him on theground of a common manhood, if any means of doing good are pointed out tothem; and that it is in any wise degrading to "associate with low fellows, "is an opinion utterly obsolete, save perhaps among a few sons of squireensin remote provinces, or of parvenus who cannot afford to recognize theclass from whence they themselves have risen. In the army, thanks to thepurifying effect of the Crimean and Indian wars, the same altered toneis patent. Officers feel for and with their men, talk to them, strive toinstruct and amuse them more and more year by year; and--as a proof thatthe reform has not been forced on the officers by public opinion fromwithout, but is spontaneous and from within, another instance of thealtered mind of the aristocracy--the improvement is greatest in thoseregiments which are officered by men of the best blood; and in care forand sympathy with their men, her Majesty's Footguards stands first of all. God grant that the friendship which exists there between the leaders andthe led may not be tested to the death amid the snow-drift or on thebattle-field; but if it be so, I know too that it will stand the test. 

But if I wish for one absolute proof of the changed relation betweenthe upper and the lower classes, I have only to point to the volunteermovement. In 1803, in the face of the most real and fatal danger, theAddington ministry was afraid of allowing volunteer regiments, and LordEldon, while pressing the necessity, could use as an argument that if thepeople did not volunteer for the Government, they would against it. Sobroad was even then the gulf between the governed and the governors. Howmuch broader did it become in after years! Had invasion threatened us atany period between 1815 and 1830, or even later, would any ministry havedared to allow volunteer regiments? Would they have been justified in doingso, even if they had dared?

And now what has come to pass, all the world knows: but all the worldshould know likewise, that it never would have come to pass save for--notmerely the late twenty years of good government in State, twenty yearsof virtue and liberality in the Court, but--the late twenty years ofincreasing right-mindedness in the gentry, who have now their reward infinding that the privates in the great majority of corps prefer beingofficered by men of a rank socially superior to their own. And as goodalways breeds fresh good, so this volunteer movement, made possible by thegoodwill between classes, will help in its turn to increase that goodwill. Already, by the performance of a common duty, and the experience of acommon humanity, these volunteer corps are become centres of cordialitybetween class and class; and gentleman, tradesman, and workman, the morethey see of each other, learn to like, to trust, and to befriend each othermore and more; a good work in which I hope the volunteers of the Universityof Cambridge will do their part like men and gentlemen; when, leaving thisUniversity, they become each of them, as they ought, an organizing pointfor fresh volunteers in their own districts. 

I know (that I may return to Cambridge) no better example of the way inwhich the altered tone of the upper classes and the volunteer movementhave acted and reacted upon each other, than may be seen in theCambridge Working Men's College, and its volunteer rifle corps, the 8thCambridgeshire. 

There we have--what perhaps could not have existed, what certainly did notexist twenty years ago--a school of a hundred men or more, taught for thelast eight years gratuitously by men of the highest attainments in theUniversity; by a dean--to whom, I believe, the success of the attempt ismainly owing; by professors, tutors, prizemen, men who are now head-mastersof public schools, who have given freely to their fellow-men knowledgewhich has cost them large sums of money and the heavy labour of years. Without insulting them by patronage, without interfering with theirreligious opinions, without tampering with their independence in any wise, but simply on the ground of a common humanity, they have been helping toeducate these men, belonging for the most part, I presume, to the veryclass which this book sets forth as most unhappy and most dangerous--themen conscious of unsatisfied and unemployed intellect. And they have theirreward in a practical and patent form. Out of these men a volunteer corpsis organized, officered partly by themselves, partly by gentlemen of theUniversity; a nucleus of discipline, loyalty, and civilization for thewhole population of Cambridge. 

A noble work this has been, and one which may be the parent of works noblerstill. It is the first instalment of, I will not say a debt, but a duty, which the Universities owe to the working classes. I have tried to expressin this book, what I know were, twenty years ago, the feelings of cleverworking men, looking upon the superior educational advantages of our class. I cannot forget, any more than the working man, that the Universitieswere not founded exclusively, or even primarily, for our own class; thatthe great mass of students in the middle ages were drawn from the lowerclasses, and that sizarships, scholarships, exhibitions, and so forth, werefounded for the sake of those classes, rather than of our own. How the casestands now, we all know. I do not blame the Universities for the change. Ithas come about, I think, simply by competition. The change began, I shouldsay, in the sixteenth century. Then, after the Wars of the Roses, and therevival of letters, and the dissolution of the monasteries, the youngersons of gentlemen betook themselves to the pursuit of letters, fightinghaving become treasonable, and farming on a small scale difficult (perhapsowing to the introduction of large sheep-farms, which happened in thosedays), while no monastic orders were left to recruit the Universities, asthey did continually through the middle ages, from that labouring-class towhich they and their scholars principally belonged. 

So the gentlemen's sons were free to compete against the sons of workingmen; and by virtue of their superior advantages they beat them out ofthe field. We may find through the latter half of the sixteenth and thebeginning of the seventeenth centuries, bequest after bequest for thepurpose of stopping this change, and of enabling poor men's sons to enterthe Universities; but the tendency was too strong to be effectuallyresisted then. Is it too strong to be resisted now? Does not the increasedcivilization and education of the working classes call on the Universitiesto consider whether they may not now try to become, what certainly theywere meant to be, places of teaching and training for genius of everyrank, and not merely for that of young gentlemen? Why should not wealthyChurchmen, in addition to the many good deeds in which they employ theirwealth now-a-days, found fresh scholarships and exhibitions, confined tothe sons of working men? If it be asked, how can they be so confined? Whatsimpler method than that of connecting them with the National Society, andbestowing them exclusively on lads who have distinguished themselves in ourNational Schools? I believe that money spent in such a way, would be wellspent both for the Nation, the Church, and the University. As for theintroduction of such a class of lads lowering the tone of the University, Icannot believe it. There is room enough in Cambridge for men of every rank. There are still, in certain colleges, owing to circumstances which I shouldbe very sorry to see altered, a fair sprinkling of young men who, at leastbefore they have passed through a Cambridge career, would not be calledwell-bred. But they do not lower the tone of the University; the tone ofthe University raises them. Wherever there is intellectual power, goodmanners are easily acquired; the public opinion of young men expressesitself so freely, and possibly coarsely, that priggishness and forwardness(the faults to which a clever National School pupil would be most prone)are soon hammered out of any Cambridge man; and the result is, that some ofthe most distinguished and most popular men in Cambridge, are men who have"risen from the ranks. " All honour to them for having done so. But if theyhave succeeded so well, may there not be hundreds more in England who wouldsucceed equally? and would it not be as just to the many, as useful to theUniversity, in binding her to the people and the people to her, to inventsome method for giving those hundreds a fair chance?

I earnestly press this suggestion (especially at the present time ofagitation among Churchmen on the subject of education) upon the attention, not of the University itself, but of those wealthy men who wish well bothto the University and to the people. Not, I say, of the University: it isnot from her that the proposal must come, but from her friends outside. Sheis doing her best with the tools which she has; fresh work will requirefresh tools, and I trust that such will be some day found for her. 

I have now to tell those of them who may read this book, that it is notaltogether out of date. 

Those political passions, the last outburst of which it described, have, thank God, become mere matter of history by reason of the good governmentand the unexampled prosperity of the last twelve years: but fresh outburstsof them are always possible in a free country, whenever there is anyconsiderable accumulation of neglects and wrongs; and meanwhile it iswell--indeed it is necessary--for every student of history to know whatmanner of men they are who become revolutionaries, and what causes drivethem to revolution; that they may judge discerningly and charitably oftheir fellow-men, whenever they see them rising, however madly, against thepowers that be. 

As for the social evils described in this book, they have been muchlessened in the last few years, especially by the movement for SanatoryReform: but I must warn young men that they are not eradicated; that forinstance, only last year, attention was called by this book to the workingtailors in Edinburgh, and their state was found, I am assured, to beeven more miserable than that of the London men in 1848. And I must warnthem also that social evils, like dust and dirt, have a tendency tore-accumulate perpetually; so that however well this generation may haveswept their house (and they have worked hard and honestly at it), therising generation will have assuredly in twenty years' time to sweep itover again. 

One thing more I have to say, and that very earnestly, to the young men ofCambridge. They will hear a "Conservative Reaction" talked of as imminent, indeed as having already begun. They will be told that this reaction ismade more certain by the events now passing in North America; they will bebidden to look at the madnesses of an unbridled democracy, to draw fromthem some such lesson as the young Spartans were to draw from the drunkenHelots, and to shun with horror any further attempts to enlarge thesuffrage. 

But if they have learnt (as they should from the training of thisUniversity) accuracy of thought and language, they will not be content withsuch vague general terms as "Conservatism" and "Democracy": but will askthemselves--If this Conservative Reaction is at hand, what things is itlikely to conserve; and still more, what ought it to conserve? If theviolences and tyrannies of American Democracy are to be really warningsto, then in what points does American Democracy coincide with BritishDemocracy?--For so far and no farther can one be an example or warning forthe other. 

And looking, as they probably will under the pressure of presentexcitement, at the latter question first, they will surely see that noreal analogy would exist between American and English Democracy, even wereuniversal suffrage to be granted to-morrow. 

For American Democracy, being merely arithmocratic, provides norepresentation whatsoever for the more educated and more experiencedminority, and leaves the conduct of affairs to the uneducated andinexperienced many, with such results as we see. But those results are, Ibelieve, simply impossible in a country which possesses hereditary Monarchyand a House of Lords, to give not only voice, but practical power tosuperior intelligence and experience. Mr. J. S. Mill, Mr. Stapleton, andMr. Hare have urged of late the right of minorities to be represented aswell as majorities, and have offered plans for giving them a fair hearing. That their demands are wise, as well as just, the present condition of theFederal States proves but too painfully. But we must not forget meanwhile, that the minorities of Britain are not altogether unrepresented. In ahereditary Monarch who has the power to call into his counsels, private andpublic, the highest intellect of the land; in a House of Lords not whollyhereditary, but recruited perpetually from below by the most successful(and therefore, on the whole, the most capable) personages; in a freePress, conducted in all its most powerful organs by men of character andof liberal education, I see safeguards against any American tyranny ofnumbers, even if an enlargement of the suffrage did degrade the generaltone of the House of Commons as much as some expect. 

As long, I believe, as the Throne, the House of Lords, and the Press, arewhat, thank God, they are, so long will each enlargement of the suffrage bea fresh source not of danger, but of safety; for it will bind the masses tothe established order of things by that loyalty which springs from content;from the sense of being appreciated, trusted, dealt with not as children, but as men. 

There are those who will consider such language as this especiallyill-timed just now, in the face of Strikes and Trades' Union outrages. They point to these things as proofs of the unfitness of workmen for thesuffrage; they point especially to the late abominable murder at Sheffield, and ask, not without reason, would you give political power to men whowould do that?

Now that the Sheffield murder was in any wise planned or commanded by theTrades' Unions in general, I do not believe; nor, I think, does any oneelse who knows aught of the British workman. If it was not, as some of theSheffield men say, a private act of revenge, it was the act of only oneor two Trades' Unions of that town, which are known; and their conducthas been already reprobated and denounced by the other Trades' Unions ofEngland, But there is no denying that the case as against the Trades'Unions is a heavy one. It is notorious that they have in past years plannedand commanded illegal acts of violence. It is patent that they are too apt, from a false sense of class-honour, to connive at such now, instead ofbeing, as they ought to be, the first to denounce them. The workmen willnot see, that by combining in societies for certain purposes, they makethose societies responsible for the good and lawful behaviour of all theirmembers, in all acts tending to further those purposes, and are bound tosay to every man joining a Trades' Union: "You shall do nothing to carryout the objects which we have in view, save what is allowed by BritishLaw. " They will not see that they are outraging the first principles ofjustice and freedom, by dictating to any man what wages he should receive, what master he shall work for, or any other condition which interferes withhis rights as a free agent. 

But, in the face of these facts (and very painful and disappointingthey are to me), I will ask the upper classes: Do you believe that theaverage of Trades' Union members are capable of such villanies as that atSheffield? Do you believe that the average of them are given to violenceor illegal acts at all, even though they may connive at such acts in theirfoolish and hasty fellows, by a false class-honour, not quite unknown, I should say, in certain learned and gallant professions? Do you fancythat there are not in these Trades' Unions, tens of thousands of loyal, respectable, rational, patient men, as worthy of the suffrage as anyaverage borough voter? If you do so, you really know nothing about theBritish workman. At least, you are confounding the workman of 1861 with theworkman of 1831, and fancying that he alone, of all classes, has gainednothing by the increased education, civilization, and political experienceof thirty busy and prosperous years. You are unjust to the workman; andmore, you are unjust to your own class. For thirty years past, gentlemenand ladies of all shades of opinion have been labouring for and among theworking classes, as no aristocracy on earth ever laboured before; and doyou suppose that all that labour has been in vain? That it has bred in theworking classes no increased reverence for law, no increased content withexisting institutions, no increased confidence in the classes sociallyabove them? If so, you must have as poor an opinion of the capabilities ofthe upper classes, as you have of those of the lower. 

So far from the misdoings of Trades' Unions being an argument against theextension of the suffrage, they are, in my opinion, an argument for it. Iknow that I am in a minority just now. I know that the common whisper isnow, not especially of those who look for a Conservative reaction, thatthese Trades' Unions must be put down by strong measures: and I confessthat I hear such language with terror. Punish, by all means, most severely, all individual offences against individual freedom, or personal safety;but do not interfere, surely, with the Trades' Unions themselves. Do nottry to bar these men of their right as free Englishmen to combine, if theychoose, for what they consider their own benefit. Look upon these strugglesbetween employers and employed as fair battles, in which, by virtue of theirreversible laws of political economy, the party who is in the right isalmost certain to win; and interfere in no wise, save to see fair play, andlawful means used on both sides alike. If you do more; if you interferein any wise with the Trades' Unions themselves, you will fail, and faildoubly. You will not prevent the existence of combinations: you will onlymake them secret, dark, revolutionary: you will demoralize the working manthereby as surely as the merchant is demoralized by being converted into asmuggler; you will heap up indignation, spite, and wrath against the dayof wrath; and finally, to complete your own failure, you will drive theworking man to demand an extension of the suffrage, in tones which willvery certainly get a hearing. He cares, or seems to care, little aboutthe suffrage now, just because he thinks that he can best serve his owninterests by working these Trades' Unions. Take from him that means ofredress (real or mistaken, no matter); and he will seek redress in a way inwhich you wish him still less to seek it; by demanding a vote and obtainingone. 

That consummation, undesirable as it may seem to many, would perhaps be thebest for the peace of the trades. These Trades' Unions, still tainted withsome of the violence, secrecy, false political economy which they inheritfrom the evil times of 1830-40, last on simply, I believe, because theworkman feels that they are his only organ, that he has no other means ofmaking his wants and his opinions known to the British Government. Had he avote, he believes (and I believe with him) he could send at least a few mento Parliament who would state his case fairly in the House of Commons, andwould not only render a reason for him, but hear reason against him, ifneed were. He would be content with free discussion if he could get that. It is the feeling that he cannot get it that drives him often into crookedand dark ways. If any answer, that the representatives, whom he wouldchoose would be merely noisy demagogues, I believe them to be mistaken. No one can have watched the Preston strike, however much he may havedisapproved, as I did, of the strike itself, without seeing from thetemper, the self-restraint, the reasonableness, the chivalrous honour ofthe men, that they were as likely to choose a worthy member for the Houseof Commons as any town constituency in England; no one can have watched theleaders of the working men for the last ten years without finding amongthem men capable of commanding the attention and respect of the House ofCommons, not merely by their eloquence, surprising as that is, but by theirgood sense, good feeling, and good breeding. 

Some training at first, some rubbing off of angles, they might require:though two at least I know, who would require no such training, and whowould be ornaments to any House of Commons; the most inexperienced of therest would not give the House one-tenth the trouble which is given by acertain clique among the representatives of the sister Isle; and would, moreover, learn his lesson in a week, instead of never learning it at all, like some we know too well. Yet Catholic emancipation has pacified Ireland, though it has brought into the House an inferior stamp of members: and muchmore surely would an extension of the suffrage pacify the trades, whileit would bring into the House a far superior stamp of member to those whocompose the clique of which I have spoken. 

But why, I hear some one say impatiently, talk about this subject of allothers at this moment, when nobody, not even the working classes, caresabout a Reform Bill?

Because I am speaking to young men, who have not yet entered public life;and because I wish them to understand, that just because the question ofparliamentary reform is in abeyance now, it will not be in abeyance tenyears or twenty years hence. The question will be revived, ere they arein the maturity of their manhood; and they had best face that certainprospect, and learn to judge wisely and accurately on the subject, beforethey are called on, as they will be, to act upon it. If it be true that thepresent generation has done all that it can do, or intends to do, towardsthe suffrage (and I have that confidence in our present rulers, that Iwould submit without murmuring to their decision on the point), it isall the more incumbent on the rising generation to learn how to do (asassuredly they will have to do) the work which their fathers have leftundone. The question may remain long in abeyance, under the influence ofmaterial prosperity such as the present; or under the excitement of a war, as in Pitt's time; but let a period of distress or disaster come, and itwill be re-opened as of yore. The progress towards institutions more andmore popular may be slow, but it is sure. Whenever any class has conceivedthe hope of being fairly represented, it is certain to fulfil its ownhopes, unless it employs, or provokes, violence impossible in England. The thing will be. Let the young men of Britain take care that it is donerightly when it is done. 

And how ought it to be done? That will depend upon any circumstances nowfuture and uncertain. It will depend upon the pace at which sound educationspreads among the working classes. It will depend, too, very much--I fearonly too much--upon the attitude of the upper classes to the lower, in thisvery question of Trades' Unions and of Strikes. It will depend upon theirattitude toward the unrepresented classes during the next few years, uponthis very question of extended suffrage. And, therefore, I should advise, I had almost said entreat, any young men over whom I have any influence, to read and think freely and accurately upon the subject; taking, ifI may propose to them a text-book, Mr. Mill's admirable treatise on"Representative Government. " As for any theory of my own, if I had oneI should not put it forward. How it will not be done, I can see clearlyenough. It will not be done well by the old charter. It will not be donewell by merely lowering the money qualification of electors. But it maybe done well by other methods beside; and I can trust the freedom andsoundness of the English mind to discover the best method of all, when itis needed. 

Let therefore this "Conservative Reaction" which I suspect is going on inthe minds of many young men at Cambridge, consider what it has to conserve. It is not asked to conserve the Throne. That, thank God, can take good careof itself. Let it conserve the House of Lords; and that will be conserved, just in proportion as the upper classes shall copy the virtues of Royalty;both of him who is taken from us, and of her who is left. Let the upperclasses learn from them, that the just and wise method of strengtheningtheir political power, is to labour after that social power, which comesonly by virtue and usefulness. Let them make themselves, as the presentSovereign has made herself, morally necessary to the people; and then thereis no fear of their being found politically unnecessary. No other courseis before them, if they wish to make their "Conservative Reaction" apermanent, even an endurable fact. If any young gentlemen fancy (and somedo) that they can strengthen their class by making any secret alliance withthe Throne against the masses, then they will discover rapidly that thesovereigns of the House of Brunswick are grown far too wise, and far toonoble-hearted, to fall once more into that trap. If any of them (and somedo) fancy that they can better their position by sneering, whether inpublic or in their club, at a Reformed House of Commons and a Free Press, they will only accelerate the results which they most dread, by forcingthe ultra-liberal party of the House, and, what is even worse, the mostintellectual and respectable portion of the Press, to appeal to the peopleagainst them; and if again they are tempted (as too many of them are) togive up public life as becoming too vulgar for them, and prefer ease andpleasure to the hard work and plain-speaking of the House of Commons; thenthey will simply pay the same penalty for laziness and fastidiousness whichhas been paid by the Spanish aristocracy; and will discover that if theythink their intellect unnecessary to the nation, the nation will rapidlybecome of the same opinion, and go its own way without them. 

But if they are willing to make themselves, as they easily can, thebest educated, the most trustworthy, the most virtuous, the most trulyliberal-minded class of the commonweal; if they will set themselves tostudy the duties of rank and property, as of a profession to which they arecalled by God, and the requirements of which they must fulfil; if they willacquire, as they can easily, a sound knowledge both of political economy, and of the social questions of the day; if they will be foremost withtheir personal influence in all good works; if they will set themselvesto compete on equal terms with the classes below them, and, as they may, outrival them: then they will find that those classes will receive them notaltogether on equal terms; that they will accede to them a superiority, undefined perhaps, but real and practical enough to conserve their classand their rank, in every article for which a just and prudent man wouldwish. 

But if any young gentlemen look forward (as I fear a few do still) to aConservative Reaction of any other kind than this; to even the least returnto the Tory maxims and methods of George the Fourth's time; to even theleast stoppage of what the world calls progress--which I should defineas the putting in practice the results of inductive science; then dothey, like king Picrochole in Rabelais, look for a kingdom which shall berestored to them at the coming of the Cocqcigrues. The Cocqcigrues arenever coming; and none know that better than the present able and moderateleaders of the Conservative party; none will be more anxious to teach thatfact to their young adherents, and to make them swim with the great stream, lest it toss them contemptuously ashore upon its banks, and go on its wayunheeding. 

Return to the system of 1800--1830, is, I thank God, impossible. Eventhough men's hearts should fail them, they must onward, they know notwhither: though God does know. The bigot, who believes in a system, and notin the living God; the sentimentalist, who shrinks from facts because theyare painful to his taste; the sluggard, who hates a change because itdisturbs his ease; the simply stupid person, who cannot use his eyes andears; all these may cry feebly to the world to do what it has never donesince its creation--stand still awhile, that they may get their breaths. But the brave and honest gentleman--who believes that God is not thetempter and deceiver, but the father and the educator of man--he willnot shrink, even though the pace may be at moments rapid, the path be atmoments hid by mist; for he will believe that freedom and knowledge, aswell as virtue, are the daughters of the Most High; and he will follow themand call on the rest to follow them, whithersoever they may lead; and willtake heart for himself and for his class, by the example of that greatPrince who is of late gone home. For if, like that most royal soul, he andhis shall follow with single eye and steadfast heart, freedom, knowledge, and virtue; then will he and his be safe, as Royalty is safe in Englandnow; because both God and man have need thereof. 

PREFACE. 

_Written in 1854. _

ADDRESSED TO THE WORKING MEN OF GREAT BRITAIN. 

My Friends, --Since I wrote this book five years ago, I have seen a gooddeal of your class, and of their prospects. Much that I have seen has givenme great hope; much has disappointed me; nothing has caused me to alter theopinions here laid down. 

Much has given me hope; especially in the North of England. I believe thatthere, at least, exists a mass of prudence, self-control, genial and sturdymanhood, which will be England's reserve-force for generations yet to come. The last five years, moreover, have certainly been years of progress forthe good cause. The great drag upon it--namely, demagogism--has crumbled topieces of its own accord; and seems now only to exhibit itself in anilitieslike those of the speakers who inform a mob of boys and thieves that wheathas lately been thrown into the Thames to keep up prices, or advise themto establish, by means hitherto undiscovered, national granaries, onlypossible under the despotism of a Pharaoh. Since the 10th of April, 1848(one of the most lucky days which the English workman ever saw), the tradeof the mob-orator has dwindled down to such last shifts as these, to whichthe working man sensibly seems merely to answer, as he goes quietly abouthis business, "Why will you still keep talking, Signor Benedick? Nobodymarks you. "

But the 10th of April, 1848, has been a beneficial crisis, not merely inthe temper of the working men, so called, but in the minds of those who aredenominated by them "the aristocracy. " There is no doubt that the classespossessing property have been facing, since 1848, all social questions withan average of honesty, earnestness, and good feeling which has no parallelsince the days of the Tudors, and that hundreds and thousands of "gentlemenand ladies" in Great Britain now are saying, "Show what we ought to do tobe just to the workman, and we will do it, whatsoever it costs. " They maynot be always correct (though they generally are so) in their conceptionsof what ought to be done; but their purpose is good and righteous; andthose who hold it are daily increasing in number. The love of justice andmercy toward the handicraftsman is spreading rapidly as it never did beforein any nation upon earth; and if any man still represents the holders ofproperty, as a class, as the enemies of those whom they employ, desiringtheir slavery and their ignorance, I believe that he is a liar and a childof the devil, and that he is at his father's old work, slandering anddividing between man and man. These words may be severe: but they aredeliberate; and working men are, I hope, sufficiently accustomed to hear mecall a spade a spade, when I am pleading for them, to allow me to do thesame when I am pleading to them. 

Of the disappointing experiences which I have had I shall say nothing, save in as far as I can, by alluding to them, point out to the working manthe causes which still keep him weak: but I am bound to say that thosedisappointments have strengthened my conviction that this book, in themain, speaks the truth. 

I do not allude, of course, to the thoughts, and feelings of the hero. Theyare compounded of right and wrong, and such as I judged (and working menwhom I am proud to number among my friends have assured me that I judgedrightly) that a working man of genius would feel during the course ofhis self-education. These thoughts and feelings (often inconsistent andcontradictory to each other), stupid or careless, or ill-willed persons, have represented as my own opinions, having, as it seems to me, turnedthe book upside down before they began to read it. I am bound to pay theworking men, and their organs in the press, the compliment of saying thatno such misrepresentations proceeded from them. However deeply some ofthem may have disagreed with me, all of them, as far as I have been ableto judge, had sense to see what I meant; and so, also, have the organs ofthe High-Church party, to whom, differing from them on many points, I amequally bound to offer my thanks for their fairness. But, indeed, the wayin which this book, in spite of its crudities, has been received by personsof all ranks and opinions, who instead of making me an offender for aword, have taken the book heartily and honestly, in the spirit and not inthe letter, has made me most hopeful for the British mind, and given mea strong belief that, in spite of all foppery, luxury, covetousness, andunbelief, the English heart is still strong and genial, able and willingto do and suffer great things, as soon as the rational way of doing andsuffering them becomes plain. Had I written this book merely to pleasemy own fancy, this would be a paltry criterion, at once illogical andboastful; but I wrote it, God knows, in the fear of God, that I might speakwhat seems to me the truth of God. I trusted in Him to justify me, in spiteof my own youth, inexperience, hastiness, clumsiness; and He has done it;and, I trust, will do it to the end. 

And now, what shall I say to you, my friends, about the future? Yourdestiny is still in your own hands. For the last seven years you have letit slip through your fingers. If you are better off than you were in 1848, you owe it principally to those laws of political economy (as they arecalled), which I call the brute natural accidents of supply and demand, orto the exertions which have been made by upright men of the very classeswhom demagogues taught you to consider as your natural enemies. Pardon meif I seem severe; but, as old Aristotle has it, "Both parties being myfriends, it is a sacred duty to honour truth first. " And is this not thetruth? How little have the working men done to carry out that idea ofassociation in which, in 1848-9, they were all willing to confess theirsalvation lay. Had the money which was wasted in the hapless Preston strikebeen wisely spent in relieving the labour market by emigration, or inmaking wages more valuable by enabling the workman to buy from co-operativestores and mills his necessaries at little above cost price, how muchsorrow and heart-burning might have been saved to the iron-trades. Had thereal English endurance and courage which was wasted in that strike beenemployed in the cause of association, the men might have been, ere now, farhappier than they are ever likely to be, without the least injury to themasters. What, again, has been done toward developing the organizationof the Trades' Unions into its true form, Association for distribution, from its old, useless, and savage form of Association for the purpose ofresistance to masters--a war which is at first sight hopeless, even were itjust, because the opposite party holds in his hand the supplies of his foeas well as his own, and therefore can starve him out at his leisure? Whathas been done, again, toward remedying the evils of the slop system, whichthis book especially exposed? The true method for the working men, if theywished to save their brothers and their brothers' wives and daughters fromdegradation, was to withdraw their custom from the slopsellers, and todeal, even at a temporary increase of price, with associate workmen. Havethey done so? They can answer for themselves. In London (as in the countrytowns), the paltry temptation of buying in the cheapest market has stillbeen too strong for the labouring man. In Scotland and in the North ofEngland, thank God, the case has been very different; and to the North Imust look still, as I did when I wrote Alton Locke, for the strong men inwhose hands lies the destiny of the English handicraftsman. 

God grant that the workmen of the South of England may bestir themselvesere it be too late, and discover that the only defence against want isself-restraint; the only defence against slavery, obedience to rule; andthat, instead of giving themselves up, bound hand and foot, by their ownfancy for a "freedom" which is but selfish and conceited license, to thebrute accidents of the competitive system, they may begin to organizeamong themselves associations for buying and selling the necessaries oflife, which may enable them to weather the dark season of high prices andstagnation, which is certain sooner or later, to follow in the footsteps ofwar. 

On politics I have little to say. My belief remains unchanged that trueChristianity, and true monarchy also, are not only compatible with, butrequire as their necessary complement, true freedom for every man of everyclass; and that the Charter, now defunct, was just as wise and as righteousa "Reform Bill" as any which England had yet had, or was likely to have. But I frankly say that my experience of the last five years gives me littlehope of any great development of the true democratic principle in Britain, because it gives me little sign that the many are fit for it. Rememberalways that Democracy means a government not merely by numbers of isolatedindividuals, but by a Demos--by men accustomed to live in Demoi, orcorporate bodies, and accustomed, therefore, to the self-control, obedienceto law, and self-sacrificing public spirit, without which a corporate bodycannot exist: but that a "democracy" of mere numbers is no democracy, but a mere brute "arithmocracy, " which is certain to degenerate into an"ochlocracy, " or government by the mob, in which the numbers have no realshare: an oligarchy of the fiercest, the noisiest, the rashest, and themost shameless, which is surely swallowed up either by a despotism, as inFrance, or as in Athens, by utter national ruin, and helpless slavery toa foreign invader. Let the workmen of Britain train themselves in thecorporate spirit, and in the obedience and self-control which it brings, asthey easily can in associations, and bear in mind always that _only he whocan obey is fit to rule_; and then, when they are fit for it, the Chartermay come, or things, I trust, far better than the Charter; and till theyhave done so, let them thank the just and merciful Heavens for keepingout of their hands any power, and for keeping off their shoulders anyresponsibility, which they would not be able to use aright. I thank Godheartily, this day, that I have no share in the government of GreatBritain; and I advise my working friends to do the same, and to believethat, when they are fit to take their share therein, all the powers ofearth cannot keep them from taking it; and that, till then, happy is theman who does the duty which lies nearest him, who educates his family, raises his class, performs his daily work as to God and to his country, notmerely to his employer and himself; for it is only he that is faithful overa few things who will be made, or will be happy in being made, ruler overmany things. 

Yours ever, C. K. 

ALTON LOCKE, TAILOR AND POET. 

CHAPTER I. 

A POET'S CHILDHOOD. 

I am a Cockney among Cockneys. Italy and the Tropics, the Highlandsand Devonshire, I know only in dreams. Even the Surrey Hills, of whoseloveliness I have heard so much, are to me a distant fairy-land, whosegleaming ridges I am worthy only to behold afar. With the exception of twojourneys, never to be forgotten, my knowledge of England is bounded by thehorizon which encircles Richmond Hill. 

My earliest recollections are of a suburban street; of its jumble of littleshops and little terraces, each exhibiting some fresh variety of capriciousugliness; the little scraps of garden before the doors, with their dusty, stunted lilacs and balsam poplars, were my only forests; my only wildanimals, the dingy, merry sparrows, who quarrelled fearlessly on mywindow-sill, ignorant of trap or gun. From my earliest childhood, throughlong nights of sleepless pain, as the midnight brightened into dawn, andthe glaring lamps grew pale, I used to listen, with pleasant awe, to theceaseless roll of the market-waggons, bringing up to the great city thetreasures of the gay green country, the land of fruits and flowers, forwhich I have yearned all my life in vain. They seemed to my boyish fancymysterious messengers from another world: the silent, lonely night, inwhich they were the only moving things, added to the wonder. I used to getout of bed to gaze at them, and envy the coarse men and sluttish women whoattended them, their labour among verdant plants and rich brown mould, onbreezy slopes, under God's own clear sky. I fancied that they learnt whatI knew I should have learnt there; I knew not then that "the eye only seesthat which it brings with it the power of seeing. " When will their eyes beopened? When will priests go forth into the highways and the hedges, andpreach to the ploughman and the gipsy the blessed news, that there too, inevery thicket and fallow-field, is the house of God, --there, too, the gateof Heaven?

I do not complain that I am a Cockney. That, too, is God's gift. Hemade me one, that I might learn to feel for poor wretches who sitstifled in reeking garrets and workrooms, drinking in disease with everybreath, --bound in their prison-house of brick and iron, with their ownfuneral pall hanging over them, in that canopy of fog and poisonous smoke, from their cradle to their grave. I have drunk of the cup of which theydrink. And so I have learnt--if, indeed, I have learnt--to be a poet--apoet of the people. That honour, surely, was worth buying with asthma, and rickets, and consumption, and weakness, and--worst of all to me--withugliness. It was God's purpose about me; and, therefore, all circumstancescombined to imprison me in London. I used once, when I worshippedcircumstance, to fancy it my curse, Fate's injustice to me, which keptme from developing my genius, asserting my rank among poets. I longed toescape to glorious Italy, or some other southern climate, where naturalbeauty would have become the very element which I breathed; and yet, whatwould have come of that? Should I not, as nobler spirits than I have done, have idled away my life in Elysian dreams, singing out like a bird into theair, inarticulately, purposeless, for mere joy and fulness of heart; andtaking no share in the terrible questionings, the terrible strugglings ofthis great, awful, blessed time--feeling no more the pulse of the greatheart of England stirring me? I used, as I said, to call it the curse ofcircumstance that I was a sickly, decrepit Cockney. My mother used to tellme that it was the cross which God had given me to bear. I know now thatshe was right there. She used to say that my disease was God's will. I donot think, though, that she spoke right there also. I think that it wasthe will of the world and of the devil, of man's avarice and laziness andignorance. And so would my readers, perhaps, had they seen the shop inthe city where I was born and nursed, with its little garrets reekingwith human breath, its kitchens and areas with noisome sewers. A sanitaryreformer would not be long in guessing the cause of my unhealthiness. Hewould not rebuke me--nor would she, sweet soul! now that she is at rest andbliss--for my wild longings to escape, for my envying the very flies andsparrows their wings that I might flee miles away into the country, andbreathe the air of heaven once, and die. I have had my wish. I have madetwo journeys far away into the country, and they have been enough for me. 

My mother was a widow. My father, whom I cannot recollect, was a smallretail tradesman in the city. He was unfortunate; and when he died, mymother came down, and lived penuriously enough, I knew not how till Igrew older, down in that same suburban street. She had been broughtup an Independent. After my father's death she became a Baptist, fromconscientious scruples. She considered the Baptists, as I do, as the onlysect who thoroughly embody the Calvinistic doctrines. She held it, as I do, an absurd and impious thing for those who believe mankind to be childrenof the devil till they have been consciously "converted, " to baptiseunconscious infants and give them the sign of God's mercy on the merechance of that mercy being intended for them. When God had proved byconverting them, that they were not reprobate and doomed to hell by Hisabsolute and eternal will, then, and not till then, dare man baptise theminto His name. She dared not palm a presumptuous fiction on herself, and call it "charity. " So, though we had both been christened duringmy father's lifetime, she purposed to have us rebaptised, if ever thathappened--which, in her sense of the word, never happened, I am afraid, tome. 

She gloried in her dissent; for she was sprung from old Puritan blood, which had flowed again and again beneath the knife of Star-Chamberbutchers, and on the battle-fields of Naseby and Sedgemoor. And on winterevenings she used to sit with her Bible on her knee, while I and my littlesister Susan stood beside her and listened to the stories of Gideon andBarak, and Samson and Jephthah, till her eye kindled up, and her thoughtspassed forth from that old Hebrew time home into those English times whichshe fancied, and not untruly, like them. And we used to shudder, and yetlisten with a strange fascination, as she told us how her ancestor calledhis seven sons off their small Cambridge farm, and horsed and armed themhimself to follow behind Cromwell, and smite kings and prelates with "thesword of the Lord and of Gideon. " Whether she were right or wrong, whatis it to me? What is it now to her, thank God? But those stories, and thestrict, stern Puritan education, learnt from the Independents and not theBaptists, which accompanied them, had their effect on me, for good and ill. 

My mother moved by rule and method; by God's law, as she considered, andthat only. She seldom smiled. Her word was absolute. She never commandedtwice, without punishing. And yet there were abysses of unspoken tendernessin her, as well as clear, sound, womanly sense and insight. But she thoughtherself as much bound to keep down all tenderness as if she had been someascetic of the middle ages--so do extremes meet! It was "carnal, " sheconsidered. She had as yet no right to have any "spiritual affection" forus. We were still "children of wrath and of the devil, "--not yet "convincedof sin, " "converted, born again. " She had no more spiritual bond with us, she thought, than she had with a heathen or a Papist. She dared not evenpray for our conversion, earnestly as she prayed on every other subject. For though the majority of her sect would have done so, her clear logicalsense would yield to no such tender inconsistency. Had it not been decidedfrom all eternity? We were elect, or we were reprobate. Could her prayersalter that? If He had chosen us, He would call us in His own good time:and, if not, --. Only again and again, as I afterwards discovered from ajournal of hers, she used to beseech God with agonized tears to set hermind at rest by revealing to her His will towards us. For that comfort shecould at least rationally pray. But she received no answer. Poor, belovedmother! If thou couldst not read the answer, written in every flower andevery sunbeam, written in the very fact of our existence here at all, whatanswer would have sufficed thee. 

And yet, with all this, she kept the strictest watch over our morality. Fear, of course, was the only motive she employed; for how could our stillcarnal understandings be affected with love to God? And love to herselfwas too paltry and temporary to be urged by one who knew that her life wasuncertain, and who was always trying to go down to the deepest eternalground and reason of everything, and take her stand upon that. So our god, or gods rather, till we were twelve years old, were hell, the rod, the tencommandments, and public opinion. Yet under them, not they, but somethingdeeper far, both in her and us, preserved us pure. Call it naturalcharacter, conformation of the spirit, --conformation of the brain, if youlike, if you are a scientific man and a phrenologist. I never yet coulddissect and map out my own being, or my neighbour's, as you analysts do. Tome, I myself, ay, and each person round me, seem one inexplicable whole; totake away a single faculty whereof, is to destroy the harmony, the meaning, the life of all the rest. That there is a duality in us--a lifelong battlebetween flesh and spirit--we all, alas! know well enough; but which isflesh and which is spirit, what philosophers in these days can tell us?Still less bad we two found out any such duality or discord in ourselves;for we were gentle and obedient children. The pleasures of the worlddid not tempt us. We did not know of their existence; and no foundlingseducated in a nunnery ever grew up in a more virginal and spotlessinnocence--if ignorance be such--than did Susan and I. 

The narrowness of my sphere of observation only concentrated the facultyinto greater strength. The few natural objects which I met--and they, ofcourse, constituted my whole outer world (for art and poetry were tabooedboth by my rank and my mother's sectarianism, and the study of human beingsonly develops itself as the boy grows into the man)--these few naturalobjects, I say, I studied with intense keenness. I knew every leaf andflower in the little front garden; every cabbage and rhubarb plant inBattersea fields was wonderful and beautiful to me. Clouds and water Ilearned to delight in, from my occasional lingerings on Battersea bridge, and yearning westward looks toward the sun setting above rich meadows andwooded gardens, to me a forbidden El Dorado. 

I brought home wild-flowers and chance beetles and butterflies, and poredover them, not in the spirit of a naturalist, but of a poet. They were tome God's angels shining in coats of mail and fairy masquerading dresses. Ienvied them their beauty, their freedom. At last I made up my mind, in thesimple tenderness of a child's conscience, that it was wrong to rob them ofthe liberty for which I pined, --to take them away from the beautiful broadcountry whither I longed to follow them; and I used to keep them a day ortwo, and then, regretfully, carry them back, and set them loose on thefirst opportunity, with many compunctions of heart, when, as generallyhappened, they had been starved to death in the mean time. 

They were my only recreations after the hours of the small day-school atthe neighbouring chapel, where I learnt to read, write, and sum; except, now and then, a London walk, with my mother holding my hand tight the wholeway. She would have hoodwinked me, stopped my ears with cotton, and ledme in a string, --kind, careful soul!--if it had been reasonably safe ona crowded pavement, so fearful was she lest I should be polluted by somechance sight or sound of the Babylon which she feared and hated--almost asmuch as she did the Bishops. 

The only books which I knew were the Pilgrim's Progress and the Bible. Theformer was my Shakespeare, my Dante, my Vedas, by which I explained everyfact and phenomenon of life. London was the City of Destruction, fromwhich I was to flee; I was Christian; the Wicket of the Way of Life Ihad strangely identified with the turnpike at Battersea-bridge end; andthe rising ground of Mortlake and Wimbledon was the Land of Beulah--theEnchanted Mountains of the Shepherds. If I could once get there I wassaved: a carnal view, perhaps, and a childish one; but there was a dimmeaning and human reality in it nevertheless. 

As for the Bible, I knew nothing of it really, beyond the Old Testament. Indeed, the life of Christ had little chance of becoming interesting to me. My mother had given me formally to understand that it spoke of matters toodeep for me; that "till converted, the natural man could not understand thethings of God": and I obtained little more explanation of it from the twounintelligible, dreary sermons to which I listened every dreary Sunday, interror lest a chance shuffle of my feet, or a hint of drowsiness, --naturalresult of the stifling gallery and glaring windows and gas lights, --shouldbring down a lecture and a punishment when I returned home. Oh, those"sabbaths!"--days, not of rest, but utter weariness, when the beetles andthe flowers were put by, and there was nothing to fill up the long vacuitybut books of which I could not understand a word: when play, laughter, or even a stare out of window at the sinful, merry, sabbath-breakingpromenaders, were all forbidden, as if the commandment had run, "In it thoushalt take no manner of amusement, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter. " Bywhat strange ascetic perversion has _that_ got to mean "keeping holy thesabbath-day"?

Yet there was an hour's relief in the evening, when either my mother toldus Old Testament stories, or some preacher or two came in to supper aftermeeting; and I used to sit in the corner and listen to their talk; not thatI understood a word, but the mere struggle to understand--the mere watchingmy mother's earnest face--my pride in the reverent flattery with which theworthy men addressed her as "a mother in Israel, " were enough to fill upthe blank for me till bed-time. 

Of "vital Christianity" I heard much; but, with all my efforts, could findout nothing. Indeed, it did not seem interesting enough to tempt me to findout much. It seemed a set of doctrines, believing in which was to have amagical effect on people, by saving them from the everlasting torture dueto sins and temptations which I had never felt. Now and then, believing, in obedience to my mother's assurances, and the solemn prayers of theministers about me, that I was a child of hell, and a lost and miserablesinner, I used to have accesses of terror, and fancy that I should surelywake next morning in everlasting flames. Once I put my finger a momentinto the fire, as certain Papists, and Protestants too, have done, notonly to themselves, but to their disciples, to see if it would be so verydreadfully painful; with what conclusions the reader may judge. .. . Still, Icould not keep up the excitement. Why should I? The fear of pain is not thefear of sin, that I know of; and, indeed, the thing was unreal altogetherin my case, and my heart, my common sense, rebelled against it again andagain; till at last I got a terrible whipping for taking my little sister'spart, and saying that if she was to die, --so gentle, and obedient, andaffectionate as she was, --God would be very unjust in sending her tohell-fire, and that I was quite certain He would do no such thing--unlessHe were the Devil: an opinion which I have since seen no reason to change. The confusion between the King of Hell and the King of Heaven has clearedup, thank God, since then!

So I was whipped and put to bed--the whipping altering my secret heart justabout as much as the dread of hell-fire did. 

I speak as a Christian man--an orthodox Churchman (if you require thatshibboleth). Was I so very wrong? What was there in the idea of religionwhich was represented to me at home to captivate me? What was the useof a child's hearing of "God's great love manifested in the scheme ofredemption, " when he heard, in the same breath, that the effects of thatredemption were practically confined only to one human being out of athousand, and that the other nine hundred and ninety-nine were lost anddamned from their birth-hour to all eternity--not only by the absolutewill and reprobation of God (though that infernal blasphemy I heard oftenenough), but also, putting that out of the question, by the mere fact ofbeing born of Adam's race? And this to a generation to whom God's loveshines out in every tree and flower and hedge-side bird; to whom thedaily discoveries of science are revealing that love in every microscopicanimalcule which peoples the stagnant pool! This to working men, whosecraving is only for some idea which shall give equal hopes, claims, anddeliverances, to all mankind alike! This to working men, who, in the smilesof their innocent children, see the heaven which they have lost--themessages of baby-cherubs, made in God's own image! This to me, to whomevery butterfly, every look at my little sister, contradicted the lie! Youmay say that such thoughts were too deep for a child; that I am ascribingto my boyhood the scepticism of my manhood; but it is not so; and what wenton in my mind goes on in the minds of thousands. It is the cause of thecontempt into which not merely sectarian Protestantism, but Christianityaltogether, has fallen in the minds of the thinking workmen. Clergymen, whoanathematize us for wandering into Unitarianism--you, you have driven usthither. You must find some explanation of the facts of Christianity morein accordance with the truths which we do know, and will live and die for, or you can never hope to make us Christians; or, if we do return to thetrue fold, it will be as I returned, after long, miserable years ofdarkling error, to a higher truth than most of you have yet learned topreach. 

But those old Jewish heroes did fill my whole heart and soul. I learnt fromthem lessons which I never wish to unlearn. Whatever else I saw about them, this I saw, --that they were patriots, deliverers from that tyranny andinjustice from which the child's heart, --"child of the devil" though youmay call him, --instinctively, and, as I believe, by a divine inspiration, revolts. Moses leading his people out of Egypt; Gideon, Barak, and Samson, slaying their oppressors; David, hiding in the mountains from the tyrant, with his little band of those who had fled from the oppressions of anaristocracy of Nabals; Jehu, executing God's vengeance on the kings--theywere my heroes, my models; they mixed themselves up with the dim legendsabout the Reformation martyrs, Cromwell and Hampden, Sidney and Monmouth, which I had heard at my mother's knee. Not that the perennial oppressionof the masses, in all ages and countries, had yet risen on me as anawful, torturing, fixed idea. I fancied, poor fool! that tyranny was theexception, and not the rule. But it was the mere sense of abstract pityand justice which was delighted in me. I thought that these were old fairytales, such as never need be realized again. I learnt otherwise in afteryears. 

I have often wondered since, why all cannot read the same lesson as I didin those old Hebrew Scriptures--that they, of all books in the world, have been wrested into proofs of the divine right of kings, the eternalnecessity of slavery! But the eye only sees what it brings with it thepower of seeing. The upper classes, from their first day at school, totheir last day at college, read of nothing but the glories of Salamis andMarathon, of freedom and of the old republics. And what comes of it? Nomore than their tutors know will come of it, when they thrust into theboys' hands books which give the lie in every page to their own politicalsuperstitions. 

But when I was just turned of thirteen, an altogether new fairy-land wasopened to me by some missionary tracts and journals, which were lent to mymother by the ministers. Pacific coral islands and volcanoes, cocoa-nutgroves and bananas, graceful savages with paint and feathers--what an ElDorado! How I devoured them and dreamt of them, and went there in fancy, and preached small sermons as I lay in my bed at night to Tahitians and NewZealanders, though I confess my spiritual eyes were, just as my physicaleyes would have been, far more busy with the scenery than with the soulsof my audience. However, that was the place for me, I saw clearly. And oneday, I recollect it well, in the little dingy, foul, reeking, twelve footsquare back-yard, where huge smoky party-walls shut out every breath of airand almost all the light of heaven, I had climbed up between the water-buttand the angle of the wall for the purpose of fishing out of the dirty fluidwhich lay there, crusted with soot and alive with insects, to be renewedonly three times in the seven days, some of the great larvæ and kickingmonsters which made up a large item in my list of wonders: all of a suddenthe horror of the place came over me; those grim prison-walls above, withtheir canopy of lurid smoke; the dreary, sloppy, broken pavement; thehorrible stench of the stagnant cesspools; the utter want of form, colour, life, in the whole place, crushed me down, without my being able to analysemy feelings as I can now; and then came over me that dream of PacificIslands, and the free, open sea; and I slid down from my perch, andbursting into tears threw myself upon my knees in the court, and prayedaloud to God to let me be a missionary. 

Half fearfully I let out my wishes to my mother when she came home. Shegave me no answer; but, as I found out afterwards, --too late, alas! forher, if not for me, --she, like Mary, had "laid up all these things, andtreasured them in her heart. "

You may guess, then, my delight when, a few days afterwards, I heard that areal live missionary was coming to take tea with us. A man who had actuallybeen in New Zealand!--the thought was rapture. I painted him to myself overand over again; and when, after the first burst of fancy, I recollectedthat he might possibly not have adopted the native costume of thatisland, or, if he had, that perhaps it would look too strange for him towear it about London, I settled within myself that he was to be a tall, venerable-looking man, like the portraits of old Puritan divines whichadorned our day-room; and as I had heard that "he was powerful in prayer, "I adorned his right hand with that mystic weapon "all-prayer, " withwhich Christian, when all other means have failed, finally vanquishesthe fiend--which instrument, in my mind, was somewhat after the modelof an infernal sort of bill or halbert--all hooks, edges, spikes, andcrescents--which I had passed, shuddering, once, in the hand of an old suitof armour in Wardour Street. 

He came--and with him the two ministers who often drank tea with my mother;both of whom, as they played some small part in the drama of my after-life, I may as well describe here. The elder was a little, sleek, silver-hairedold man, with a blank, weak face, just like a white rabbit. He loved me, and I loved him too, for there were always lollipops in his pocket for meand Susan. Had his head been equal to his heart!--but what has been wasto be--and the dissenting clergy, with a few noble exceptions among theIndependents, are not the strong men of the day--none know that better thanthe workmen. The old man's name was Bowyer. The other, Mr. Wigginton, was ayounger man; tall, grim, dark, bilious, with a narrow forehead, retreatingsuddenly from his eyebrows up to a conical peak of black hair over hisears. He preached "higher doctrine, " _i. E. _, more fatalist and antinomianthan his gentler colleague, --and, having also a stentorian voice, was muchthe greater favourite at the chapel. I hated him--and if any man everdeserved hatred, he did. 

Well, they came. My heart was in my mouth as I opened the door to them, andsank back again to the very lowest depths of my inner man when my eyes fellon the face and figure of the missionary--a squat, red-faced, pig-eyed, low-browed man, with great soft lips that opened back to his very ears:sensuality, conceit, and cunning marked on every feature--an innatevulgarity, from which the artisan and the child recoil with an instinct astrue, perhaps truer, than that of the courtier, showing itself in everytone and motion--I shrank into a corner, so crestfallen that I could noteven exert myself to hand round the bread and butter, for which I got dulyscolded afterwards. Oh! that man!--how he bawled and contradicted, and laiddown the law, and spoke to my mother in a fondling, patronizing way, whichmade me, I knew not why, boil over with jealousy and indignation. How hefilled his teacup half full of the white sugar to buy which my mother hadcurtailed her yesterday's dinner--how he drained the few remaining dropsof the threepennyworth of cream, with which Susan was stealing off to keepit as an unexpected treat for my mother at breakfast the next morning--howhe talked of the natives, not as St. Paul might of his converts, but as aplanter might of his slaves; overlaying all his unintentional confessionsof his own greed and prosperity, with cant, flimsy enough for even a boy tosee through, while his eyes were not blinded with the superstition that aman must be pious who sufficiently interlards his speech with a jumble ofold English picked out of our translation of the New Testament. Such wasthe man I saw. I don't deny that all are not like him. I believe there arenoble men of all denominations, doing their best according to their light, all over the world; but such was the one I saw--and the men who were senthome to plead the missionary cause, whatever the men may be like who staybehind and work, are, from my small experience, too often such. It appearsto me to be the rule that many of those who go abroad as missionaries, gosimply because they are men of such inferior powers and attainments that ifthey stayed in England they would starve. 

Three parts of his conversation, after all, was made up of abuse of themissionaries of the Church of England, not for doing nothing, but for beingso much more successful than his own sect; accusing them, in the samebreath, of being just of the inferior type of which he was himself, andalso of being mere University fine gentlemen. Really, I do not wonder, uponhis own showing, at the savages preferring them to him; and I was pleasedto hear the old white-headed minister gently interpose at the end of one ofhis tirades--"We must not be jealous, my brother, if the Establishment hasdiscovered what we, I hope, shall find out some day, that it is not wise todraft our missionaries from the offscouring of the ministry, and serve Godwith that which costs us nothing except the expense of providing for thembeyond seas. "

There was somewhat of a roguish twinkle in the old man's eye as he said it, which emboldened me to whisper a question to him. 

"Why is it, Sir, that in olden times the heathens used to crucify themissionaries and burn them, and now they give them beautiful farms, andbuild them houses, and carry them about on their backs?"

The old man seemed a little puzzled, and so did the company, to whom hesmilingly retailed my question. 

As nobody seemed inclined to offer a solution, I ventured one myself. 

"Perhaps the heathens are grown better than they used to be?"

"The heart of man, " answered the tall, dark minister, "is, and ever was, equally at enmity with God. "

"Then, perhaps, " I ventured again, "what the missionaries preach now is notquite the same as what the missionaries used to preach in St. Paul's time, and so the heathens are not so angry at it?"

My mother looked thunder at me, and so did all except my white-headedfriend, who said, gently enough, "It may be that the child's words come from God. "

Whether they did or not, the child took very good care to speak no morewords till he was alone with his mother; and then finished off thatdisastrous evening by a punishment for the indecency of saying, before hislittle sister, that he thought it "a great pity the missionaries taughtblack people to wear ugly coats and trousers; they must have looked somuch handsomer running about with nothing on but feathers and strings ofshells. "

So the missionary dream died out of me, by a foolish and illogicalantipathy enough; though, after all, it was a child of my imagination only, not of my heart; and the fancy, having bred it, was able to kill it also. And David became my ideal. To be a shepherd-boy, and sit among beautifulmountains, and sing hymns of my own making, and kill lions and bears, with now and then the chance of a stray giant--what a glorious life! Andif David slew giants with a sling and a stone, why should not I?--at allevents, one ought to know how; so I made a sling out of an old garter andsome string, and began to practise in the little back-yard. But my firstshot broke a neighbour's window, value sevenpence, and the next flewback in my face, and cut my head open; so I was sent supperless to bedfor a week, till the sevenpence had been duly saved out of my hungrystomach--and, on the whole, I found the hymn-writing side of David'scharacter the more feasible; so I tried, and with much brains-beating, committed the following lines to a scrap of dirty paper. And it wasstrangely significant, that in this, my first attempt, there was aninstinctive denial of the very doctrine of "particular redemption, " whichI had been hearing all my life, and an instinctive yearning after thevery Being in whom I had been told I had "no part nor lot" till I was"converted. " Here they are. I am not ashamed to call them--doggerel thoughthey be--an inspiration from Him of whom they speak. If not from Him, goodreaders, from whom?

 Jesus, He loves one and all; Jesus, He loves children small; Their souls are sitting round His feet, On high, before His mercy-seat. 

 When on earth He walked in shame, Children small unto Him came; At His feet they knelt and prayed, On their heads His hands He laid. 

 Came a spirit on them then, Greater than of mighty men; A spirit gentle, meek, and mild, A spirit good for king and child. 

 Oh! that spirit give to me, Jesus, Lord, where'er I be! So--

But I did not finish them, not seeing very clearly what to do with thatspirit when I obtained it; for, indeed, it seemed a much finer thing tofight material Apollyons with material swords of iron, like my friendChristian, or to go bear and lion hunting with David, than to convertheathens by meekness--at least, if true meekness was at all like that ofthe missionary whom I had lately seen. 

I showed the verses in secret to my little sister. My mother heard ussinging them together, and extorted, grimly enough, a confession of theauthorship. I expected to be punished for them (I was accustomed weekly tobe punished for all sorts of deeds and words, of the harmfulness of whichI had not a notion). It was, therefore, an agreeable surprise when the oldminister, the next Sunday evening, patted my head, and praised me for them. 

"A hopeful sign of young grace, brother, " said he to the dark tall man. "May we behold here an infant Timothy!"

"Bad doctrine, brother, in that first line--bad doctrine, which I amsure he did not learn from our excellent sister here. Remember, my boy, henceforth, that Jesus does _not_ love one and all--not that I am angrywith you. The carnal mind cannot be expected to understand divine things, any more than the beasts that perish. Nevertheless, the blessed message ofthe Gospel stands true, that Christ loves none but His Bride, the Church. His merits, my poor child, extend to none but the elect. Ah! my dear sisterLocke, how delightful to think of the narrow way of discriminating grace!How it enhances the believer's view of his own exceeding privileges, toremember that there be few that be saved!"

I said nothing. I thought myself only too lucky to escape so well from thedanger of having done anything out of my own head. But somehow Susan and Inever altered it when we sang it to ourselves. 

 * * * * *

I thought it necessary, for the sake of those who might read my story, tostring together these few scattered recollections of my boyhood, --to give, as it were, some sample of the cotyledon leaves of my young life-plant, andof the soil in which it took root, ere it was transplanted--but I will notforestall my sorrows. After all, they have been but types of the woes ofthousands who "die and give no sign. " Those to whom the struggles of every, even the meanest, human being are scenes of an awful drama, every incidentof which is to be noted with reverent interest, will not find them void ofmeaning; while the life which opens in my next chapter is, perhaps, fullenough of mere dramatic interest (and whose life is not, were it but trulywritten?) to amuse merely as a novel. Ay, grim and real is the action andsuffering which begins with my next page, --as you yourself would havefound, high-born reader (if such chance to light upon this story), hadyou found yourself at fifteen, after a youth of convent-like seclusion, settled, apparently for life--in a tailor's workshop. 

Ay--laugh!--we tailors can quote poetry as well as make your court-dresses:

 You sit in a cloud and sing, like pictured angels, And say the world runs smooth--while right below Welters the black fermenting heap of griefs Whereon your state is built. .. . 

CHAPTER II. 

THE TAILOR'S WORKROOM. 

Have you done laughing! Then I will tell you how the thing came to pass. 

My father had a brother, who had steadily risen in life, in proportion asmy father fell. They had both begun life in a grocer's shop. My fathersaved enough to marry, when of middle age, a woman of his own years, andset up a little shop, where there were far too many such already, in thehope--to him, as to the rest of the world, quite just and innocent--ofdrawing away as much as possible of his neighbours' custom. He failed, died--as so many small tradesmen do--of bad debts and a broken heart, andleft us beggars. His brother, more prudent, had, in the meantime, risen tobe foreman; then he married, on the strength of his handsome person, hismaster's blooming widow; and rose and rose, year by year, till, at thetime of which I speak, he was owner of a first-rate grocery establishmentin the City, and a pleasant villa near Herne Hill, and had a son, a yearor two older than myself, at King's College, preparing for Cambridge andthe Church--that being now-a-days the approved method of converting atradesman's son into a gentleman, --whereof let artisans, and gentlemenalso, take note. 

My aristocratic readers--if I ever get any, which I pray God I may--maybe surprised at so great an inequality of fortune between two cousins;but the thing is common in our class. In the higher ranks, a differencein income implies none in education or manners, and the poor "gentleman"is a fit companion for dukes and princes--thanks to the old usages ofNorman chivalry, which after all were a democratic protest against thesovereignty, if not of rank, at least of money. The knight, howeverpenniless, was the prince's equal, even his superior, from whose hands hemust receive knighthood; and the "squire of low degree, " who honourablyearned his spurs, rose also into that guild, whose qualifications, howeverbarbaric, were still higher ones than any which the pocket gives. But inthe commercial classes money most truly and fearfully "makes the man. " Adifference in income, as you go lower, makes more and more difference inthe supply of the common necessaries of life; and worse--in education andmanners, in all which polishes the man, till you may see often, as inmy case, one cousin a Cambridge undergraduate, and the other a tailor'sjourneyman. 

My uncle one day came down to visit us, resplendent in a black velvetwaistcoat, thick gold chain, and acres of shirt-front; and I and Susan wereturned to feed on our own curiosity and awe in the back-yard, while he andmy mother were closeted together for an hour or so in the living-room. Whenhe was gone, my mother called me in; and with eyes which would have beentearful had she allowed herself such a weakness before us, told me verysolemnly and slowly, as if to impress upon me the awfulness of the matter, that I was to be sent to a tailor's workrooms the next day. 

And an awful step it was in her eyes, as she laid her hands on my head andmurmured to herself, "Behold, I send you forth as a lamb in the midst ofwolves. Be ye, therefore, wise as serpents, and harmless as doves. " Andthen, rising hastily to conceal her own emotion, fled upstairs, wherewe could hear her throw herself on her knees by the bedside, and sobpiteously. 

That evening was spent dolefully enough, in a sermon of warnings againstall manner of sins and temptations, the very names of which I had neverheard, but to which, as she informed me, I was by my fallen naturealtogether prone: and right enough was she in so saying, though as oftenhappens, the temptations from which I was in real danger were just the onesof which she had no notion--fighting more or less extinct Satans, as Mr. Carlyle says, and quite unconscious of the real, modern, man-devouringSatan close at her elbow. 

To me, in spite of all the terror which she tried to awaken in me, thechange was not unwelcome; at all events, it promised me food for my eyesand my ears, --some escape from the narrow cage in which, though I hardlydare confess it to myself, I was beginning to pine. Little I dreamt to whata darker cage I was to be translated! Not that I accuse my uncle of neglector cruelty, though the thing was altogether of his commanding. He was asgenerous to us as society required him to be. We were entirely dependent onhim, as my mother told me then for the first time, for support. And had henot a right to dispose of my person, having bought it by an allowance to mymother of five-and-twenty pounds a year? I did not forget that fact; thethought of my dependence on him rankled in me, till it almost bred hatredin me to a man who had certainly never done or meant anything to me but inkindness. For what could he make me but a tailor--or a shoemaker? A pale, consumptive, rickety, weakly boy, all forehead and no muscle--have notclothes and shoes been from time immemorial the appointed work of such? Thefact that that weakly frame is generally compensated by a proportionallyincreased activity of brain, is too unimportant to enter into thecalculations of the great King Laissez-faire. Well, my dear Society, it isyou that suffer for the mistake, after all, more than we. If you do tetheryour cleverest artisans on tailors' shopboards and cobblers' benches, and they--as sedentary folk will--fall a thinking, and come to strangeconclusions thereby, they really ought to be much more thankful to you thanyou are to them. If Thomas Cooper had passed his first five-and-twentyyears at the plough tail instead of the shoemaker's awl, many words wouldhave been left unsaid which, once spoken, working men are not likely toforget. 

With a beating heart I shambled along by my mother's side next day to Mr. Smith's shop, in a street off Piccadilly; and stood by her side, justwithin the door, waiting till some one would condescend to speak to us, andwondering when the time would come when I, like the gentleman who skippedup and down the shop, should shine glorious in patent-leather boots, and ablue satin tie sprigged with gold. 

Two personages, both equally magnificent, stood talking with their backsto us; and my mother, in doubt, like myself, as to which of them was thetailor, at last summoned up courage to address the wrong one, by asking ifhe were Mr. Smith. 

The person addressed answered by a most polite smile and bow, and assuredher that he had not that honour; while the other he-he'ed, evidently alittle flattered by the mistake, and then uttered in a tremendous voicethese words:

"I have nothing for you, my good woman--go. Mr. Elliot! how did you come toallow these people to get into the establishment?"

"My name is Locke, sir, and I was to bring my son here this morning. "

"Oh--ah!--Mr. Elliot, see to these persons. As I was saying, my lard, the crimson velvet suit, about thirty-five guineas. By-the-by, that coatours? I thought so--idea grand and light--masses well broken--very finechiaroscuro about the whole--an aristocratic wrinkle just above thehips--which I flatter myself no one but myself and my friend Mr. Cookereally do understand. The vapid smoothness of the door dummy, my lard, should be confined to the regions of the Strand. Mr. Elliot, where are you?Just be so good as to show his lardship that lovely new thing in drab and_blue foncé_. Ah! your lardship can't wait. --Now, my good woman, is thisthe young man?"

"Yes, " said my mother: "and--and--God deal so with you, sir, as you dealwith the widow and the orphan. "

"Oh--ah--that will depend very much, I should say, on how the widow andthe orphan deal with me. Mr. Elliot, take this person into the officeand transact the little formalities with her, Jones, take the young manup-stairs to the work-room. "

I stumbled after Mr. Jones up a dark, narrow, iron staircase till weemerged through a trap-door into a garret at the top of the house. I recoiled with disgust at the scene before me; and here I was towork--perhaps through life! A low lean-to room, stifling me with thecombined odours of human breath and perspiration, stale beer, the sweetsickly smell of gin, and the sour and hardly less disgusting one of newcloth. On the floor, thick with dust and dirt, scraps of stuff and ends ofthread, sat some dozen haggard, untidy, shoeless men, with a mingled lookof care and recklessness that made me shudder. The windows were tightclosed to keep out the cold winter air; and the condensed breath ran instreams down the panes, chequering the dreary outlook of chimney-tops andsmoke. The conductor handed me over to one of the men. 

"Here, Crossthwaite, take this younker and make a tailor of him. Keep himnext you, and prick him up with your needle if he shirks. "

He disappeared down the trap-door, and mechanically, as if in a dream, I sat down by the man and listened to his instructions, kindly enoughbestowed. But I did not remain in peace two minutes. A burst of chatterrose as the foreman vanished, and a tall, bloated, sharp-nosed young mannext me bawled in my ear, --

"I say, young'un, fork out the tin and pay your footing at ConscrumptionHospital. "

"What do you mean?"

"Aint he just green?--Down with the stumpy--a tizzy for a pot ofhalf-and-half. "

"I never drink beer. "

"Then never do, " whispered the man at my side; "as sure as hell's hell, it's your only chance. "

There was a fierce, deep earnestness in the tone which made me look up atthe speaker, but the other instantly chimed in--

"Oh, yer don't, don't yer, my young Father Mathy? then yer'll soon learn ithere if yer want to keep yer victuals down. "

"And I have promised to take my wages home to my mother. "

"Oh criminy! hark to that, my coves! here's a chap as is going to take theblunt home to his mammy. "

"T'aint much of it the old'un'll see, " said another. "Ven yer pockets itat the Cock and Bottle, my kiddy, yer won't find much of it left o' Sundaymornings. "

"Don't his mother know he's out?" asked another, "and won't she know it--

 "Ven he's sitting in his glory Half-price at the Victory. 

"Oh! no, ve never mentions her--her name is never heard. Certainly not, byno means. Why should it?"

"Well, if yer won't stand a pot, " quoth the tall man, "I will, that's all, and blow temperance. 'A short life and a merry one, ' says the tailor--

 "The ministers talk a great deal about port, And they makes Cape wine very dear, But blow their hi's if ever they tries To deprive a poor cove of his beer. 

"Here, Sam, run to the Cock and Bottle for a pot of half-and-half to myscore. "

A thin, pale lad jumped up and vanished, while my tormentor turned to me:

"I say, young'un, do you know why we're nearer heaven here than ourneighbours?"

"I shouldn't have thought so, " answered I with a _naïveté_ which raised alaugh, and dashed the tall man for a moment. 

"Yer don't? then I'll tell yer. A cause we're a top of the house in thefirst place, and next place yer'll die here six months sooner nor if yerworked in the room below. Aint that logic and science, Orator?" appealingto Crossthwaite. 

"Why?" asked I. 

"A cause you get all the other floors' stinks up here as well as yourown. Concentrated essence of man's flesh, is this here as you're abreathing. Cellar workroom we calls Rheumatic Ward, because of the damp. Ground-floor's Fever Ward--them as don't get typhus gets dysentery, andthem as don't get dysentery gets typhus--your nose'd tell yer why if youopened the back windy. First floor's Ashmy Ward--don't you hear 'um nowthrough the cracks in the boards, a puffing away like a nest of younglocomotives? And this here most august and upper-crust cockloft is theConscrumptive Hospital. First you begins to cough, then you proceedsto expectorate--spittoons, as you see, perwided free gracious fornothing--fined a kivarten if you spits on the floor--

 "Then your cheeks they grows red, and your nose it grows thin, And your bones they stick out, till they comes through your skin:

"and then, when you've sufficiently covered the poor dear shivering barebacks of the hairystocracy--

 "Die, die, die, Away you fly, Your soul is in the sky!

"as the hinspired Shakspeare wittily remarks. "

And the ribald lay down on his back, stretched himself out, and pretendedto die in a fit of coughing, which last was, alas! no counterfeit, whilepoor I, shocked and bewildered, let my tears fall fast upon my knees. 

"Fine him a pot!" roared one, "for talking about kicking the bucket. He'sa nice young man to keep a cove's spirits up, and talk about 'a short lifeand a merry one. ' Here comes the heavy. Hand it here to take the taste ofthat fellow's talk out of my mouth. "

"Well, my young'un, " recommenced my tormentor, "and how do you like yourcompany?"

"Leave the boy alone, " growled Crossthwaite; "don't you see he's crying?"

"Is that anything good to eat? Give me some on it if it is--it'll save mewashing my face. " And he took hold of my hair and pulled my head back. 

"I'll tell you what, Jemmy Downes, " said Crossthwaite, in a voice whichmade him draw back, "if you don't drop that, I'll give you such a taste ofmy tongue as shall turn you blue. "

"You'd better try it on then. Do--only just now--if you please. "

"Be quiet, you fool!" said another. "You're a pretty fellow to chaff theorator. He'll slang you up the chimney afore you can get your shoes on. "

"Fine him a kivarten for quarrelling, " cried another; and the bullysubsided into a minute's silence, after a _sotto voce_--"Blow temperance, and blow all Chartists, say I!" and then delivered himself of his feelingsin a doggerel song:

 "Some folks leads coves a dance, With their pledge of temperance, And their plans for donkey sociation; And their pockets full they crams By their patriotic flams, And then swears 'tis for the good of the nation. 

 "But I don't care two inions For political opinions, While I can stand my heavy and my quartern; For to drown dull care within, In baccy, beer, and gin, Is the prime of a working-tailor's fortin!

"There's common sense for yer now; hand the pot here. "

I recollect nothing more of that day, except that I bent myself to my workwith assiduity enough to earn praises from Crossthwaite. It was to be done, and I did it. The only virtue I ever possessed (if virtue it be) is thepower of absorbing my whole heart and mind in the pursuit of the moment, however dull or trivial, if there be good reason why it should be pursuedat all. 

I owe, too, an apology to my readers for introducing all this ribaldry. Godknows, it is as little to my taste as it can be to theirs, but the thingexists; and those who live, if not by, yet still besides such a state ofthings, ought to know what the men are like to whose labour, ay, lifeblood, they own their luxuries. They are "their brothers' keepers, " let them denyit as they will. Thank God, many are finding that out; and the morals ofthe working tailors, as well as of other classes of artisans, are rapidlyimproving: a change which has been brought about partly by the wisdomand kindness of a few master tailors, who have built workshops fit forhuman beings, and have resolutely stood out against the iniquitous anddestructive alterations in the system of employment. Among them I may, andwill, whether they like it or not, make honourable mention of Mr. Willis, of St. James's Street, and Mr. Stultz, of Bond Street. 

But nine-tenths of the improvement has been owing, not to the masters, butto the men themselves; and who among them, my aristocratic readers, do youthink, have been the great preachers and practisers of temperance, thrift, charity, self-respect, and education. Who?--shriek not in your Belgraviansaloons--the Chartists; the communist Chartists: upon whom you and yourvenal press heap every kind of cowardly execration and ribald slander. Youhave found out many things since Peterloo; add that fact to the number. 

It may seem strange that I did not tell my mother into what a pandemoniumI had fallen, and got her to deliver me; but a delicacy, which was notall evil, kept me back; I shrank from seeming to dislike to earn my dailybread, and still more from seeming to object to what she had appointed forme. Her will had been always law; it seemed a deadly sin to dispute it. Itook for granted, too, that she knew what the place was like, and that, therefore, it must be right for me. And when I came home at night, andgot back to my beloved missionary stories, I gathered materials enoughto occupy my thoughts during the next day's work, and make me blind anddeaf to all the evil around me. My mother, poor dear creature, would havedenounced my day-dreams sternly enough, had she known of their existence;but were they not holy angels from heaven? guardians sent by that Father, whom I had been taught _not_ to believe in, to shield my senses frompollution?

I was ashamed, too, to mention to my mother the wickedness which I sawand heard. With the delicacy of an innocent boy, I almost imputed thevery witnessing of it as a sin to myself; and soon I began to be ashamedof more than the mere sitting by and hearing. I found myself graduallylearning slang-insolence, laughing at coarse jokes, taking part in angryconversations; my moral tone was gradually becoming lower; but yet thehabit of prayer remained, and every night at my bedside, when I prayed to"be converted and made a child of God, " I prayed that the same mercy mightbe extended to my fellow-workmen, "if they belonged to the number of theelect. " Those prayers may have been answered in a wider and deeper sensethan I then thought of. 

But, altogether, I felt myself in a most distracted, rudderless state. Mymother's advice I felt daily less and less inclined to ask. A gulf wasopening between us; we were moving in two different worlds, and she sawit, and imputed it to me as a sin; and was the more cold to me by day, andprayed for me (as I knew afterwards) the more passionately while I slept. But help or teacher I had none. I knew not that I had a Father in heaven. How could He be my Father till I was converted? I was a child of the Devil, they told me; and now and then I felt inclined to take them at their word, and behave like one. No sympathizing face looked on me out of the wideheaven--off the wide earth, none. I was all boiling with new hopes, newtemptations, new passions, new sorrows, and "I looked to the right hand andto the left, and no man cared for my soul. "

I had felt myself from the first strangely drawn towards Crossthwaite, carefully as he seemed to avoid me, except to give me business directionsin the workroom. He alone had shown me any kindness; and he, too, alone wasuntainted with the sin around him. Silent, moody, and preoccupied, he wasyet the king of the room. His opinion was always asked, and listened to. His eye always cowed the ribald and the blasphemer; his songs, when herarely broke out into merriment, were always rapturously applauded. Menhated, and yet respected him. I shrank from him at first, when I heardhim called a Chartist; for my dim notions of that class were, that theywere a very wicked set of people, who wanted to kill all the soldiers andpolicemen and respectable people, and rob all the shops of their contents. But, Chartist or none, Crossthwaite fascinated me. I often found myselfneglecting my work to study his face. I liked him, too, because he was as Iwas--small, pale, and weakly. He might have been five-and-twenty; but hislooks, like those of too many a working man, were rather those of a manof forty. Wild grey eyes gleamed out from under huge knitted brows, and aperpendicular wall of brain, too large for his puny body. He was not only, I soon discovered, a water-drinker, but a strict "vegetarian" also; towhich, perhaps, he owed a great deal of the almost preternatural clearness, volubility, and sensitiveness of his mind. But whether from his ascetichabits, or the un-healthiness of his trade, the marks of ill-health wereupon him; and his sallow cheek, and ever-working lip, proclaimed toosurely--

 The fiery soul which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay; And o'er informed the tenement of clay. 

I longed to open my heart to him. Instinctively I felt that he was akindred spirit. Often, turning round suddenly in the workroom, I caught himwatching me with an expression which seemed to say, "Poor boy, and art thoutoo one of us? Hast thou too to fight with poverty and guidelessness, andthe cravings of an unsatisfied intellect, as I have done!" But when I triedto speak to him earnestly, his manner was peremptory and repellent. It waswell for me that so it was--well for me, I see now, that it was not fromhim my mind received the first lessons in self-development. For guides didcome to me in good time, though not such, perhaps, as either my mother ormy readers would have chosen for me. 

My great desire now was to get knowledge. By getting that I fancied, asmost self-educated men are apt to do, 1 should surely get wisdom. Books, Ithought, would tell me all I needed. But where to get the books? And which?I had exhausted our small stock at home; I was sick and tired, withoutknowing why, of their narrow conventional view of everything. After all, I had been reading them all along, not for their doctrines but for theirfacts, and knew not where to find more, except in forbidden paths. I darenot ask my mother for books, for I dare not confess to her that religiousones were just what I did not want; and all history, poetry, science, I hadbeen accustomed to hear spoken of as "carnal learning, human philosophy, "more or less diabolic and ruinous to the soul. So, as usually happensin this life--"By the law was the knowledge of sin"--and unnaturalrestrictions on the development of the human spirit only associated withguilt of conscience, what ought to have been an innocent and necessaryblessing. 

My poor mother, not singular in her mistake, had sent me forth, out of anunconscious paradise into the evil world, without allowing me even the sadstrength which comes from eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil;she expected in me the innocence of the dove, as if that was possible onsuch an earth as this, without the wisdom of the serpent to support it. Sheforbade me strictly to stop and look into the windows of print shops, andI strictly obeyed her. But she forbade me, too, to read any book which Ihad not first shown her; and that restriction, reasonable enough in theabstract, practically meant, in the case of a poor boy like myself, readingno books at all. And then came my first act of disobedience, the parent ofmany more. Bitterly have I repented it, and bitterly been punished. Yet, strange contradiction! I dare not wish it undone. But such is the great lawof life. Punished for our sins we surely are; and yet how often they becomeour blessings, teaching us that which nothing else can teach us! Nothingelse? One says so. Rich parents, I suppose, say so, when they send theirsons to public schools "to learn life. " We working men have too often noother teacher than our own errors. But surely, surely, the rich ought tohave been able to discover some mode of education in which knowledge may beacquired without the price of conscience, Yet they have not; and we mustnot complain of them for not giving such a one to the working man when theyhave not yet even given it to their own children. 

In a street through which I used to walk homeward was an old book shop, piled and fringed outside and in with books of every age, size, and colour. And here I at last summoned courage to stop, and timidly and stealthilytaking out some volume whose title attracted me, snatch hastily a few pagesand hasten on, half fearful of being called on to purchase, half ashamed ofa desire which I fancied every one else considered as unlawful as my motherdid. Sometimes I was lucky enough to find the same volume several daysrunning, and to take up the subject where I had left it off; and thus Icontrived to hurry through a great deal of "Childe Harold, " "Lara, " and the"Corsair"--a new world of wonders to me. They fed, those poems, both myhealth and my diseases; while they gave me, little of them as I couldunderstand, a thousand new notions about scenery and man, a sense of poeticmelody and luxuriance as yet utterly unknown. They chimed in with allmy discontent, my melancholy, my thirst after any life of action andexcitement, however frivolous, insane, or even worse. I forgot theCorsair's sinful trade in his free and daring life; rather, I honestlyeliminated the bad element--in which, God knows, I took no delight--andkept the good one. However that might be, the innocent--guilty pleasuregrew on me day by day. Innocent, because human--guilty, becausedisobedient. But have I not paid the penalty?

One evening, however, I fell accidentally on a new book--"The Life andPoems of J. Bethune. " I opened the story of his life--became interested, absorbed--and there I stood, I know not how long, on the greasy pavement, heedless of the passers who thrust me right and left, reading by theflaring gas-light that sad history of labour, sorrow, and death. --Howthe Highland cotter, in spite of disease, penury, starvation itself, andthe daily struggle to earn his bread by digging and ditching, educatedhimself--how he toiled unceasingly with his hands--how he wrote his poemsin secret on dirty scraps of paper and old leaves of books--how thus hewore himself out, manful and godly, "bating not a jot of heart or hope, "till the weak flesh would bear no more; and the noble spirit, unrecognizedby the lord of the soil, returned to God who gave it. I seemed to see inhis history a sad presage of my own. If he, stronger, more self-restrained, more righteous far than ever I could be, had died thus unknown, unassisted, in the stern battle with social disadvantages, what must be my lot?

And tears of sympathy, rather than of selfish fear, fell fast upon thebook. 

A harsh voice from the inner darkness of the shop startled me. 

"Hoot, laddie, ye'll better no spoil my books wi' greeting ower them. "

I replaced the book hastily, and was hurrying on, but the same voice calledme back in a more kindly tone. 

"Stop a wee, my laddie. I'm no angered wi' ye. Come in, and we'll just ha'a bit crack thegither. "

I went in, for there was a geniality in the tone to which I wasunaccustomed, and something whispered to me the hope of an adventure, asindeed it proved to be, if an event deserves that name which decided thecourse of my whole destiny. 

"What war ye greeting about, then? What was the book?"

"'Bethune's Life and Poems, ' sir, " I said. "And certainly they did affectme very much. "

"Affect ye? Ah, Johnnie Bethune, puir fellow! Ye maunna take on about siclike laddies, or ye'll greet your e'en out o' your head. It's mony a brawman beside Johnnie Bethune has gane Johnnie-Bethune's gate. "

Though unaccustomed to the Scotch accent, I could make out enough ofthis speech to be in nowise consoled by it. But the old man turned theconversation by asking me abruptly my name, and trade, and family. 

"Hum, hum, widow, eh? puir body! work at Smith's shop, eh? Ye'll ken JohnCrossthwaite, then? ay? hum, hum; an' ye're desirous o' reading books? varaweel--let's see your cawpabilities. "

And he pulled me into the dim light of the little back window, shoved backhis spectacles, and peering at me from underneath them, began, to my greatastonishment, to feel my head all over. 

"Hum, hum, a vara gude forehead--vara gude indeed. Causative organs large, perceptive ditto. Imagination superabundant--mun be heeded. Benevolence, conscientiousness, ditto, ditto. Caution--no that large--might bedeveloped, " with a quiet chuckle, "under a gude Scot's education. Just turnyour head into profile, laddie. Hum, hum. Back o' the head a'thegitherdefective. Firmness sma'--love of approbation unco big. Beware o' leeing, as ye live; ye'll need it. Philoprogenitiveness gude. Ye'll be fond o'bairns, I'm guessing?"

"Of what?"

"Children, laddie, --children. "

"Very, " answered I, in utter dismay at what seemed to me a magical processfor getting at all my secret failings. 

"Hum, hum! Amative and combative organs sma'--a general want o' healthyanimalism, as my freen' Mr. Deville wad say. And ye want to read books?"

I confessed my desire, without, alas! confessing that my mother hadforbidden it. 

"Vara weel; then books I'll lend ye, after I've had a crack wi'Crossthwaite aboot ye, gin I find his opinion o' ye satisfactory. Cometo me the day after to-morrow. An' mind, here are my rules:--a' damagedone to a book to be paid for, or na mair books lent; ye'll mind totake no books without leave; specially ye'll mind no to read in bed o'nights, --industrious folks ought to be sleeping' betimes, an' I'd no be aparty to burning puir weans in their beds; and lastly, ye'll observe not toread mair than five books at once. "

I assured him that I thought such a thing impossible; but he smiled in hissaturnine way, and said--

"We'll see this day fortnight. Now, then, I've observed ye for a month pastover that aristocratic Byron's poems. And I'm willing to teach the youngidea how to shoot--but no to shoot itself; so ye'll just leave alane thatvinegary, soul-destroying trash, and I'll lend ye, gin I hear a gude reportof ye, 'The Paradise Lost, ' o' John Milton--a gran' classic model; andfor the doctrine o't, it's just aboot as gude as ye'll hear elsewhere thenoo. So gang your gate, and tell John Crossthwaite, privately, auld SandyMackaye wad like to see him the morn's night. "

I went home in wonder and delight. Books! books! books! I should have myfill of them at last. And when I said my prayers at night, I thanked Godfor this unexpected boon; and then remembered that my mother had forbiddenit. That thought checked the thanks, but not the pleasure. Oh, parents! arethere not real sins enough in the world already, without your defiling it, over and above, by inventing new ones?

CHAPTER III. 

SANDY MACKAYE. 

That day fortnight came, --and the old Scotchman's words came true. Fourbooks of his I had already, and I came in to borrow a fifth; whereon hebegan with a solemn chuckle:

"Eh, laddie, laddie, I've been treating ye as the grocers do their newprentices. They first gie the boys three days' free warren among the figsand the sugar-candy, and they get scunnered wi' sweets after that. Noo, then, my lad, ye've just been reading four books in three days--and here'sa fifth. Ye'll no open this again. "

"Oh!" I cried, piteously enough, "just let me finish what I am reading. I'min the middle of such a wonderful account of the Hornitos of Jurullo. "

"Hornets or wasps, a swarm o' them ye're like to have at this rate; anda very bad substitute ye'll find them for the Attic bee. Now tak' tent. I'm no in the habit of speaking without deliberation, for it saves a mana great deal of trouble in changing his mind. If ye canna traduce to mea page o' Virgil by this day three months, ye read no more o' my books. Desultory reading is the bane o' lads. Ye maun begin with self-restraintand method, my man, gin ye intend to gie yoursel' a liberal education. SoI'll just mak' you a present of an auld Latin grammar, and ye maun beginwhere your betters ha' begun before you. "

"But who will teach me Latin?"

"Hoot, man! who'll teach a man anything except himsel'? It's onlygentlefolks and puir aristocrat bodies that go to be spoilt wi' tutors andpedagogues, cramming and loading them wi' knowledge, as ye'd load a gun, toshoot it all out again, just as it went down, in a college examination, andforget all aboot it after. "

"Ah!" I sighed, "if I could have gone to college!"

"What for, then? My father was a Hieland farmer, and yet he was a weellearned man: and 'Sandy, my lad, ' he used to say, 'a man kens just asmuch as he's taught himsel', and na mair. So get wisdom; and wi' all yourgetting, get understanding. ' And so I did. And mony's the Greek exerciseI've written in the cowbyres. And mony's the page o' Virgil, too, I'veturned into good Dawric Scotch to ane that's dead and gane, poor hizzie, sitting under the same plaid, with the sheep feeding round us, up amongthe hills, looking out ower the broad blue sea, and the wee haven wi' thefishing cobles--"

There was a long solemn pause. I cannot tell why, but I loved the man fromthat moment; and I thought, too, that he began to love me. Those few wordsseemed a proof of confidence, perhaps all the deeper, because accidentaland unconscious. 

I took the Virgil which he lent me, with Hamilton's literal translationbetween the lines, and an old tattered Latin grammar; I felt myself quitea learned man--actually the possessor of a Latin book! I regarded assomething almost miraculous the opening of this new field for my ambition. Not that I was consciously, much less selfishly, ambitious. I had no ideaas yet to be anything but a tailor to the end; to make clothes--perhaps ina less infernal atmosphere--but still to make clothes and live thereby. Idid not suspect that I possessed powers above the mass. My intense longingafter knowledge had been to me like a girl's first love--a thing to beconcealed from every eye--to be looked at askance even by myself, deliciousas it was, with holy shame and trembling. And thus it was not cowardicemerely, but natural modesty, which put me on a hundred plans of concealingmy studies from my mother, and even from my sister. 

I slept in a little lean-to garret at the back of the house, some ten feetlong by six wide. I could just stand upright against the inner wall, whilethe roof on the other side ran down to the floor. There was no fireplace init, or any means of ventilation. No wonder I coughed all night accordingly, and woke about two every morning with choking throat and aching head. Mymother often said that the room was "too small for a Christian to sleep in, but where could she get a better?"

Such was my only study. I could not use it as such, however, at nightwithout discovery; for my mother carefully looked in every evening, tosee that my candle was out. But when my kind cough woke me, I rose, andcreeping like a mouse about the room--for my mother and sister slept in thenext chamber, and every sound was audible through the narrow partition--Idrew my darling books out from under a board of the floor, one end of whichI had gradually loosened at odd minutes, and with them a rushlight, earnedby running on messages, or by taking bits of work home, and finishing themfor my fellows. 

No wonder that with this scanty rest, and this complicated exertion ofhands, eyes, and brain, followed by the long dreary day's work of the shop, my health began to fail; my eyes grew weaker and weaker; my cough becamemore acute; my appetite failed me daily. My mother noticed the change, and questioned me about it, affectionately enough. But I durst not, alas!tell the truth. It was not one offence, but the arrears of months ofdisobedience which I should have had to confess; and so arose infinitefalse excuses, and petty prevarications, which embittered and clogged stillmore my already overtasked spirit. About my own ailments--formidable asI believed they were--I never had a moment's anxiety. The expectation ofearly death was as unnatural to me as it is, I suspect, to almost all. Idie? Had I not hopes, plans, desires, infinite? Could I die while they wereunfulfilled? Even now, I do not believe I shall die yet. I will not believeit--but let that pass. 

Yes, let that pass. Perhaps I have lived long enough--longer than many agrey-headed man. 

 There is a race of mortals who become Old in their youth, and die ere middle age. 

And might not those days of mine then have counted as months?--those dayswhen, before starting forth to walk two miles to the shop at six o'clock inthe morning, I sat some three or four hours shivering on my bed, puttingmyself into cramped and painful postures, not daring even to cough, lest mymother should fancy me unwell, and come in to see me, poor dear soul!--myeyes aching over the page, my feet wrapped up in the bedclothes, to keepthem from the miserable pain of the cold; longing, watching, dawn afterdawn, for the kind summer mornings, when I should need no candlelight. Look at the picture awhile, ye comfortable folks, who take down from yourshelves what books you like best at the moment, and then lie back, amidprints and statuettes, to grow wise in an easy-chair, with a blazing fireand a camphine lamp. The lower classes uneducated! Perhaps you would be sotoo, if learning cost you the privation which it costs some of them. 

But this concealment could not last. My only wonder is, that I continued toget whole months of undiscovered study. One morning, about four o'clock, asmight have been expected, my mother heard me stirring, came in, and foundme sitting crosslegged on my bed, stitching away, indeed, with all mymight, but with a Virgil open before me. 

She glanced at the book, clutched it with one hand and my arm with theother, and sternly asked, "Where did you get this heathen stuff?"

A lie rose to my lips; but I had been so gradually entangled in the loathedmeshes of a system of concealment, and consequent prevarication, thatI felt as if one direct falsehood would ruin for ever my fast-failingself-respect, and I told her the whole truth. She took the book and leftthe room. It was Saturday morning, and I spent two miserable days, for shenever spoke a word to me till the two ministers had made their appearance, and drank their tea on Sunday evening: then at last she opened:

"And now, Mr. Wigginton, what account have you of this Mr. Mackaye, who hasseduced my unhappy boy from the paths of obedience?"

"I am sorry to say, madam, " answered the dark man, with a solemn snuffle, "that he proves to be a most objectionable and altogether unregeneratecharacter. He is, as I am informed, neither more nor less than a Chartist, and an open blasphemer. "

"He is not!" I interrupted, angrily. "He has told me more about God, andgiven me better advice, than any human being, except my mother. "

"Ah! madam, so thinks the unconverted heart, ignorant that the god of theDeist is not the God of the Bible--a consuming fire to all but His belovedelect; the god of the Deist, unhappy youth, is a mere self-invented, all-indulgent phantom--a will-o'-the-wisp, deluding the unwary, as he hasdeluded you, into the slough of carnal reason and shameful profligacy. "

"Do you mean to call me a profligate?" I retorted fiercely, for my bloodwas up, and I felt I was fighting for all which I prized in the world:"if you do, you lie. Ask my mother when I ever disobeyed her before? Ihave never touched a drop of anything stronger than water; I have slavedover-hours to pay for my own candle, I have!--I have no sins to accusemyself of, and neither you nor any person know of any. Do you call me aprofligate because I wish to educate myself and rise in life?"

"Ah!" groaned my poor mother to herself, "still unconvinced of sin!"

"The old Adam, my dear madam, you see, --standing, as he always does, on hisown filthy rags of works, while all the imaginations of his heart are onlyevil continually. Listen to me, poor sinner--"

"I will not listen to you, " I cried, the accumulated disgust of yearsbursting out once and for all, "for I hate and despise you, eating my poormother here out of house and home. You are one of those who creep intowidows' houses, and for pretence make long prayers. You, sir, I will hear, "I went on, turning to the dear old man who had sat by shaking his whitelocks with a sad and puzzled air, "for I love you. "

"My dear sister Locke, " he began, "I really think sometimes--that is, ahem--with your leave, brother--I am almost disposed--but I should wish todefer to your superior zeal--yet, at the same time, perhaps, the desire forinformation, however carnal in itself, may be an instrument in the Lord'shands--you know what I mean. I always thought him a gracious youth, madam, didn't you? And perhaps--I only observe it in passing--the Lord's peopleamong the dissenting connexions are apt to undervalue human learning as ameans--of course, I mean, only as a means. It is not generally known, Ibelieve, that our reverend Puritan patriarchs, Howe and Baxter, Owen andmany more, were not altogether unacquainted with heathen authors; nay, thatthey may have been called absolutely learned men. And some of our leadingministers are inclined--no doubt they will be led rightly in so importanta matter--to follow the example of the Independents in educating theiryoung ministers, and turning Satan's weapons of heathen mythology againsthimself, as St. Paul is said to have done. My dear boy, what books have younow got by you of Mr. Mackaye's?"

"Milton's Poems and a Latin Virgil. "

"Ah!" groaned the dark man; "will poetry, will Latin save an immortalsoul?"

"I'll tell you what, sir; you say yourself that it depends on God'sabsolute counsel whether I am saved or not. So, if I am elect, I shall besaved whatever I do; and if I am not, I shall be damned whatever I do; andin the mean time you had better mind your own business, and let me do thebest I can for this life, as the next is all settled for me. "

This flippant, but after all not unreasonable speech, seemed to silence theman; and I took the opportunity of running up-stairs and bringing down myMilton. The old man was speaking as I re-entered. 

"And you know, my dear madam, Mr. Milton was a true converted man, and aPuritan. "

"He was Oliver Cromwell's secretary, " I added. 

"Did he teach you to disobey your mother?" asked my mother. 

I did not answer; and the old man, after turning over a few leaves, as ifhe knew the book well, looked up. 

"I think, madam, you might let the youth keep these books, if he willpromise, as I am sure he will, to see no more of Mr. Mackaye. "

I was ready to burst out crying, but I made up my mind and answered, "I must see him once again, or he will think me so ungrateful. He is thebest friend that I ever had, except you, mother. Besides, I do not know ifhe will lend me any, after this. "

My mother looked at the old minister, and then gave a sullen assent. 

"Promise me only to see him once--but I cannot trust you. You have deceivedme once, Alton, and you may again!"

"I shall not, I shall not, " I answered proudly. "You do not know me"--and Ispoke true. 

"You do not know yourself, my poor dear foolish child!" she replied--andthat was true too. 

"And now, dear friends, " said the dark man, "let us join in offering up afew words of special intercession. "

We all knelt down, and I soon discovered that by the special intercessionwas meant a string of bitter and groundless slanders against poor me, twisted into the form of a prayer for my conversion, "if it were God'swill. " To which I responded with a closing "Amen, " for which I was sorryafterwards, when I recollected that it was said in merely insolent mockery. But the little faith I had was breaking up fast--not altogether, surely, bymy own fault. [Footnote: The portraits of the minister and the missionaryare surely exceptions to their class, rather than the average. The Baptistshave had their Andrew Fuller and Robert Hall, and among missionaries Dr. Carey, and noble spirits in plenty. But such men as those who excitedAlton Locke's disgust are to be met with, in every sect; in the Church ofEngland, and in the Church of Rome. And it is a real and fearful scandalto the young, to see such men listened to as God's messengers, in spiteof their utter want of any manhood or virtue, simply because they are"orthodox, " each according to the shibboleths of his hearers, and possessthat vulpine "discretion of dulness, " whose miraculous might Dean Swiftsets forth in his "Essay on the Fates of Clergymen. " Such men do exist, andprosper; and as long as they are allowed to do so, Alton Lockes will meetthem, and be scandalized by them. --ED. ]

At all events, from that day I was emancipated from modern Puritanism. Theministers both avoided all serious conversation with me; and my motherdid the same; while, with a strength of mind, rare among women, she neveralluded to the scene of that Sunday evening. It was a rule with her neverto recur to what was once done and settled. What was to be, might be prayedover. But it was to be endured in silence; yet wider and wider ever fromthat time opened the gulf between us. 

I went trembling the next afternoon to Mackaye and told my story. He firstscolded me severely for disobeying my mother. "He that begins o' that gate, laddie, ends by disobeying God and his ain conscience. Gin ye're to be ascholar, God will make you one--and if not, ye'll no mak' yoursel' anein spite o' Him and His commandments. " And then he filled his pipe andchuckled away in silence; at last he exploded in a horse-laugh. 

"So ye gied the ministers a bit o' yer mind? 'The deil's amang the tailors'in gude earnest, as the sang says. There's Johnnie Crossthwaite kicked thePapist priest out o' his house yestreen. Puir ministers, it's ill times wi'them! They gang about keckling and screighing after the working men, likea hen that's hatched ducklings, when she sees them tak' the water. LittleDunkeld's coming to London sune, I'm thinking. 

 "Hech! sic a parish, a parish, a parish; Hech! sic a parish as little Dunkeld! They hae stickit the minister, hanged the precentor, Dung down the steeple, and drucken the bell. "

"But may I keep the books a little while, Mr. Mackaye?"

"Keep them till ye die, gin ye will. What is the worth o' them to me? Whatis the worth o' anything to me, puir auld deevil, that ha' no half a dizenyears to live at the furthest. God bless ye, my bairn; gang hame, and mindyour mither, or it's little gude books'll do ye. "

CHAPTER IV. 

TAILORS AND SOLDIERS. 

I was now thrown again utterly on my own resources. I read and re-readMilton's "Poems" and Virgil's "Æneid" for six more months at every sparemoment; thus spending over them, I suppose, all in all, far more time thanmost gentlemen have done. I found, too, in the last volume of Milton, a fewof his select prose works: the "Areopagitica, " the "Defence of the EnglishPeople, " and one or two more, in which I gradually began to take aninterest; and, little of them as I could comprehend, I was awed by theirtremendous depth and power, as well as excited by the utterly new trains ofthought into which they led me. Terrible was the amount of bodily fatiguewhich I had to undergo in reading at every spare moment, while walking toand fro from my work, while sitting up, often from midnight till dawn, stitching away to pay for the tallow-candle which I burnt, till I had toresort to all sorts of uncomfortable contrivances for keeping myself awake, even at the expense of bodily pain--Heaven forbid that I should wearymy readers by describing them! Young men of the upper classes, to whomstudy--pursue it as intensely as you will--is but the business of the day, and every spare moment relaxation; little you guess the frightful drudgeryundergone by a man of the people who has vowed to educate himself, --to liveat once two lives, each as severe as the whole of yours, --to bring to theself-imposed toil of intellectual improvement, a body and brain alreadyworn out by a day of toilsome manual labour. I did it. God forbid, though, that I should take credit to myself for it. Hundreds more have done it, with still fewer advantages than mine. Hundreds more, an ever-increasingarmy of martyrs, are doing it at this moment: of some of them, too, perhapsyou may hear hereafter. 

I had read through Milton, as I said, again and again; I had got out ofhim all that my youth and my unregulated mind enabled me to get. I haddevoured, too, not without profit, a large old edition of "Fox's Martyrs, "which the venerable minister lent me, and now I was hungering again forfresh food, and again at a loss where to find it. 

I was hungering, too, for more than information--for a friend. Since myintercourse with Sandy Mackaye had been stopped, six months had passedwithout my once opening my lips to any human being upon the subjects withwhich my mind was haunted day and night. I wanted to know more aboutpoetry, history, politics, philosophy--all things in heaven and earth. But, above all, I wanted a faithful and sympathizing ear into which to pour allmy doubts, discontents, and aspirations. My sister Susan, who was one yearyounger than myself, was growing into a slender, pretty, hectic girl ofsixteen. But she was altogether a devout Puritan. She had just gone throughthe process of conviction of sin and conversion; and being looked uponat the chapel as an especially gracious professor, was either unable orunwilling to think or speak on any subject, except on those to which Ifelt a growing distaste. She had shrunk from me, too, very much, since myferocious attack that Sunday evening on the dark minister, who was herspecial favourite. I remarked it, and it was a fresh cause of unhappinessand perplexity. 

At last I made up my mind, come what would, to force myself uponCrossthwaite. He was the only man whom I knew who seemed able to help me;and his very reserve had invested him with a mystery, which served toheighten my imagination of his powers. I waylaid him one day coming out ofthe workroom to go home, and plunged at once desperately into the matter. 

"Mr. Crossthwaite, I want to speak to you. I want to ask you to advise me. "

"I have known that a long time. "

"Then why did you never say a kind word to me?"

"Because I was waiting to see whether you were worth saying a kind word to. It was but the other day, remember, you were a bit of a boy. Now, I think, I may trust you with a thing or two. Besides, I wanted to see whether youtrusted me enough to ask me. Now you've broke the ice at last, in with you, head and ears, and see what you can fish out. "

"I am very unhappy--"

"That's no new disorder that I know of. "

"No; but I think the reason I am unhappy is a strange one; at least, Inever read of but one person else in the same way. I want to educatemyself, and I can't. "

"You must have read precious little then, if you think yourself in astrange way. Bless the boy's heart! And what the dickens do you want to beeducating yourself for, pray?"

This was said in a tone of good-humoured banter, which gave me courage. Heoffered to walk homewards with me; and, as I shambled along by his side, Itold him all my story and all my griefs. 

I never shall forget that walk. Every house, tree, turning, which we passedthat day on our way, is indissolubly connected in my mind with some strangenew thought which arose in me just at each spot; and recurs, so are themind and the senses connected, as surely as I repass it. 

I had been telling him about Sandy Mackaye. He confessed to an acquaintancewith him; but in a reserved and mysterious way, which only heightened mycuriosity. 

We were going through the Horse Guards, and I could not help lingeringto look with wistful admiration on the huge mustachoed war-machines whosauntered about the court-yard. 

A tall and handsome officer, blazing in scarlet and gold, cantered in on asuperb horse, and, dismounting, threw the reins to a dragoon as grand andgaudy as himself. Did I envy him? Well--I was but seventeen. And there issomething noble to the mind, as well as to the eye, in the great strongman, who can fight--a completeness, a self-restraint, a terrible sleepingpower in him. As Mr. Carlyle says, "A soldier, after all, is--one of thefew remaining realities of the age. All other professions almost promiseone thing, and perform--alas! what? But this man promises to fight, anddoes it; and, if he be told, will veritably take out a long sword and killme. "

So thought my companion, though the mood in which he viewed the fact wassomewhat different from my own. 

"Come on, " he said, peevishly clutching me by the arm; "what do you wantdawdling? Are you a nursery-maid, that you must stare at those red-coatedbutchers?" And a deep curse followed. 

"What harm have they done you?"

"I should think I owed them turn enough. "

"What?"

"They cut my father down at Sheffield, --perhaps with the very swords hehelped to make, --because he would not sit still and starve, and see usstarving around him, while those who fattened on the sweat of his brow, andon those lungs of his, which the sword-grinding dust was eating out day byday, were wantoning on venison and champagne. That's the harm they've doneme, my chap!"

"Poor fellows!--they only did as they were ordered, I suppose. "

"And what business have they to let themselves be ordered? What right, Isay--what right has any free, reasonable soul on earth, to sell himself fora shilling a day to murder any man, right or wrong--even his own brotheror his own father--just because such a whiskered, profligate jackanapesas that officer, without learning, without any god except his ownlooking-glass and his opera-dancer--a fellow who, just because he is borna gentleman, is set to command grey-headed men before he can command hisown meanest passions. Good heavens! that the lives of free men should beentrusted to such a stuffed cockatoo; and that free men should be suchtraitors to their country, traitors to their own flesh and blood, as tosell themselves, for a shilling a day and the smirks of the nursery-maids, to do that fellow's bidding!"

"What are you a-grumbling here about, my man?--gotten the cholera?" askedone of the dragoons, a huge, stupid-looking lad. 

"About you, you young long-legged cut-throat, " answered Crossthwaite, "andall your crew of traitors. "

"Help, help, coomrades o' mine!" quoth the dragoon, bursting with laughter;"I'm gaun be moorthered wi' a little booy that's gane mad, and toornedChartist. "

I dragged Crossthwaite off; for what was jest to the soldiers, I saw, byhis face, was fierce enough earnest to him. We walked on a little, insilence. 

"Now, " I said, "that was a good-natured fellow enough, though he was asoldier. You and he might have cracked many a joke together, if you did butunderstand each other;--and he was a countryman of yours, too. "

"I may crack something else besides jokes with him some day, " answered he, moodily. 

"'Pon my word, you must take care how you do it. He is as big as four ofus. "

"That vile aristocrat, the old Italian poet--what's hisname?--Ariosto--ay!--he knew which quarter the wind was making for, when hesaid that fire-arms would be the end of all your old knights and gentlemenin armour, that hewed down unarmed innocents as if they had been sheep. Gunpowder is your true leveller--dash physical strength! A boy's a man witha musket in his hand, my chap!"

"God forbid, " I said, "that I should ever be made a man of in that way, oryou either. I do not think we are quite big enough to make fighters; and ifwe were, what have we got to fight about?"

"Big enough to make fighters?" said he, half to himself; "or strong enough, perhaps?--or clever enough?--and yet Alexander was a little man, and thePetit Caporal, and Nelson, and Cæsar, too; and so was Saul of Tarsus, and weakly he was into the bargain. Æsop was a dwarf, and so was Attila;Shakspeare was lame; Alfred, a rickety weakling; Byron, clubfooted;--somuch for body _versus_ spirit--brute force _versus_ genius--genius. "

I looked at him; his eyes glared like two balls of fire. Suddenly he turnedto me. 

"Locke, my boy, I've made an ass of myself, and got into a rage, and brokena good old resolution of mine, and a promise that I made to my dear littlewoman--bless her! and said things to you that you ought to know nothing offor this long time; but those red-coats always put me beside myself. Godforgive me!" And he held out his hand to me cordially. 

"I can quite understand your feeling deeply on one point, " I said, as Itook it, "after the sad story you told me; but why so bitter on all? Whatis there so very wrong about things, that we must begin fighting about it?"

"Bless your heart, poor innocent! What is wrong?--what is not wrong? Wasn'tthere enough in that talk with Mackaye, that you told me of just now, toshow anybody that, who can tell a hawk from a hand-saw?"

"Was it wrong in him to give himself such trouble about the education of apoor young fellow, who has no tie on him, who can never repay him?"

"No; that's just like him. He feels for the people, for he has been one ofus. He worked in a printing-office himself many a year, and he knows theheart of the working man. But he didn't tell you the whole truth abouteducation. He daren't tell you. No one who has money dare speak out hisheart; not that he has much certainly; but the cunning old Scot that he is, he lives by the present system of things, and he won't speak ill of thebridge which carries him over--till the time comes. "

I could not understand whither all this tended, and walked on silent andsomewhat angry, at hearing the least slight cast on Mackaye. 

"Don't you see, stupid?" he broke out at last. "What did he say to youabout gentlemen being crammed by tutors and professors? Have not you asgood a right to them as any gentleman?"

"But he told me they were no use--that every man must educate himself. "

"Oh! all very fine to tell you the grapes are sour, when you can't reachthem. Bah, lad! Can't you see what comes of education?--that any dolt, provided he be a gentleman, can be doctored up at school and college, enough to make him play his part decently--his mighty part of ruling us, and riding over our heads, and picking our pockets, as parson, doctor, lawyer, member of parliament--while we--you now, for instance--clevererthan ninety-nine gentlemen out of a hundred, if you had one-tenth thetrouble taken with you that is taken with every pig-headed son of anaristocrat--"

"Am I clever?" asked I, in honest surprise. 

"What! haven't you found that out yet? Don't try to put that on me. Don't agirl know when she's pretty, without asking her neighbours?"

"Really, I never thought about it. "

"More simpleton you. Old Mackaye has, at all events; though, cannyScotchman that he is, he'll never say a word to you about it, yet he makesno secret of it to other people. I heard him the other day telling some ofour friends that you were a thorough young genius. "

I blushed scarlet, between pleasure and a new feeling; was it ambition?

"Why, hav'n't you a right to aspire to a college education as anydo-nothing canon there at the abbey, lad?"

"I don't know that I have a right to anything. "

"What, not become what Nature intended you to become? What has she givenyou brains for, but to be educated and used? Oh! I heard a fine lectureupon that at our club the other night. There was a man there--a gentleman, too, but a thorough-going people's man, I can tell you, Mr. O'Flynn. Whatan orator that man is to be sure! The Irish Æschines, I hear they callhim in Conciliation Hall. Isn't he the man to pitch into the Mammonites?'Gentlemen and ladies, ' says he, 'how long will a diabolic society'--no, aneffete society it was--'how long will an effete, emasculate, and effeminatesociety, in the diabolic selfishness of its eclecticism, refuse toacknowledge what my immortal countryman, Burke, calls the "Dei voluntatemin rebus revelatam"--the revelation of Nature's will in the phenomena ofmatter? The cerebration of each is the prophetic sacrament of the yetundeveloped possibilities of his mentation. The form of the brain alone, and not the possession of the vile gauds of wealth and rank, constituteman's only right to education--to the glories of art and science. Thosebeaming eyes and roseate lips beneath me proclaim a bevy of undevelopedAspasias, of embryo Cleopatras, destined by Nature, and only restrained byman's injustice, from ruling the world by their beauty's eloquence. Thosemassive and beetling brows, gleaming with the lambent flames of patrioticardour--what is needed to unfold them into a race of Shakspeares and ofGracchi, ready to proclaim with sword and lyre the divine harmonies ofliberty, equality, and fraternity, before a quailing universe?'"

"It sounds very grand, " replied I, meekly; "and I should like very muchcertainly to have a good education. But I can't see whose injustice keepsme out of one if I can't afford to pay for it. "

"Whose? Why, the parson's to be sure. They've got the monopoly of educationin England, and they get their bread by it at their public schools anduniversities; and of course it's their interest to keep up the price oftheir commodity, and let no man have a taste of it who can't pay downhandsomely. And so those aristocrats of college dons go on rolling inriches, and fellowships, and scholarships, that were bequeathed by thepeople's friends in old times, just to educate poor scholars like you andme, and give us our rights as free men. "

"But I thought the clergy were doing so much to educate the poor. Atleast, I hear all the dissenting ministers grumbling at their continualinterference. "

"Ay, educating them to make them slaves and bigots. They don't teach themwhat they teach their own sons. Look at the miserable smattering of generalinformation--just enough to serve as sauce for their great first and lastlesson of 'Obey the powers that be'--whatever they be; leave us alone inour comforts, and starve patiently; do, like good boys, for it's God'swill. And then, if a boy does show talent in school, do they help him upin life? Not they; when he has just learnt enough to whet his appetite formore, they turn him adrift again, to sink and drudge--to do his duty, asthey call it, in that state of life to which society and the devil havecalled him. "

"But there are innumerable stories of great Englishmen who have risen fromthe lowest ranks. "

"Ay; but where are the stories of those who have not risen--of all thenoble geniuses who have ended in desperation, drunkenness, starvation, suicide, because no one would take the trouble of lifting them up, andenabling them to walk in the path which Nature had marked out for them?Dead men tell no tales; and this old whited sepulchre, society, ain't goingto turn informer against itself. "

"I trust and hope, " I said, sadly, "that if God intends me to rise, Hewill open the way for me; perhaps the very struggles and sorrows of a poorgenius may teach him more than ever wealth and prosperity could. "

"True, Alton, my boy! and that's my only comfort. It does make men of us, this bitter battle of life. We working men, when we do come out of thefurnace, come out, not tinsel and papier mache, like those fops of red-tapestatesmen, but steel and granite, Alton, my boy--that has been seven timestried in the fire: and woe to the papier mache gentleman that runs againstus! But, " he went on, sadly, "for one who comes safe through the furnace, there are a hundred who crack in the burning. You are a young bear, mylad, with all your sorrows before you; and you'll find that a workingman's training is like the Red Indian children's. The few who arestrong enough to stand it grow up warriors; but all those who are notfire-and-water-proof by nature--just die, Alton, my lad, and the tribethinks itself well rid of them. "

So that conversation ended. But it had implanted in my bosom a new seed ofmingled good and evil, which was destined to bear fruit, precious perhapsas well as bitter. God knows, it has hung on the tree long enough. Sourand harsh from the first, it has been many a year in ripening. But thesweetness of the apple, the potency of the grape, as the chemists tellus, are born out of acidity--a developed sourness. Will it be so withmy thoughts? Dare I assert, as I sit writing here, with the wild watersslipping past the cabin windows, backwards and backwards ever, every plungeof the vessel one forward leap from the old world--worn-out world I hadalmost called it, of sham civilization and real penury--dare I hope ever toreturn and triumph? Shall I, after all, lay my bones among my own people, and hear the voices of freemen whisper in my dying ears?

Silence, dreaming heart! Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof--andthe good thereof also. Would that I had known that before! Above all, thatI had known it on that night, when first the burning thought arose in myheart, that I was unjustly used; that society had not given me my rights. It came to me as a revelation, celestial-infernal, full of glorious hopesof the possible future in store for me through the perfect development ofall my faculties; and full, too, of fierce present rage, wounded vanity, bitter grudgings against those more favoured than myself, which grew intime almost to cursing against the God who had made me a poor untutoredworking man, and seemed to have given me genius only to keep me in aTantalus' hell of unsatisfied thirst. 

Ay, respectable gentlemen and ladies, I will confess all to you--you shallhave, if you enjoy it, a fresh opportunity for indulging that supremepleasure which the press daily affords you of insulting the classeswhose powers most of you know as little as you do their sufferings. Yes;the Chartist poet is vain, conceited, ambitious, uneducated, shallow, inexperienced, envious, ferocious, scurrilous, seditious, traitorous. --Isyour charitable vocabulary exhausted? Then ask yourselves, how often haveyou yourself honestly resisted and conquered the temptation to any one ofthese sins, when it has come across you just once in a way, and not as theycame to me, as they come to thousands of the working men, daily and hourly, "till their torments do, by length of time, become their elements"? What, are we covetous too? Yes! And if those who have, like you, still covetmore, what wonder if those who have nothing covet something? Profligatetoo? Well, though that imputation as a generality is utterly calumnious, though your amount of respectable animal enjoyment per annum is a hundredtimes as great as that of the most self-indulgent artizan, yet, if you hadever felt what it is to want, not only every luxury of the senses, but evenbread to eat, you would think more mercifully of the man who makes up byrare excesses, and those only of the limited kinds possible to him, forlong intervals of dull privation, and says in his madness, "Let us eat anddrink, for to-morrow we die!" We have our sins, and you have yours. Oursmay be the more gross and barbaric, but yours are none the less damnable;perhaps all the more so, for being the sleek, subtle, respectable, religious sins they are. You are frantic enough, if our part of the presscalls you hard names, but you cannot see that your part of the pressrepays it back to us with interest. _We_ see those insults, and feel thembitterly enough; and do not forget them, alas! soon enough, while they passunheeded by your delicate eyes as trivial truisms. Horrible, unprincipled, villanous, seditious, frantic, blasphemous, are epithets, of course, whenapplied to--to how large a portion of the English people, you will some daydiscover to your astonishment. When will that come, and how? In thunder, and storm, and garments rolled in blood? Or like the dew on the mown grass, and the clear shining of the sunlight after April rain?

Yes, it was true. Society had not given me my rights. And woe unto the manon whom that idea, true or false, rises lurid, filling all his thoughtswith stifling glare, as of the pit itself. Be it true, be it false, it isequally a woe to believe it; to have to live on a negation; to have toworship for our only idea, as hundreds of thousands of us have this day, the hatred, of the things which are. Ay, though, one of us here and theremay die in faith, in sight of the promised land, yet is it not hard, whenlooking from the top of Pisgah into "the good time coming, " to watch theyears slipping away one by one, and death crawling nearer and nearer, andthe people wearying themselves in the fire for very vanity, and Jordan notyet passed, the promised land not yet entered? While our little childrendie around us, like lambs beneath the knife, of cholera and typhus andconsumption, and all the diseases which the good time can and will prevent;which, as science has proved, and you the rich confess, might be preventedat once, if you dared to bring in one bold and comprehensive measure, and not sacrifice yearly the lives of thousands to the idol of vestedinterests, and a majority in the House. Is it not hard to men who smartbeneath such things to help crying aloud--"Thou cursed Moloch-Mammon, takemy life if thou wilt; let me die in the wilderness, for I have deservedit; but these little ones in mines and factories, in typhus-cellars, andTooting pandemoniums, what have they done? If not in their fathers' cause, yet still in theirs, were it so great a sin to die upon a barricade?"

Or after all, my working brothers, is it true of our promised land, even asof that Jewish one of old, that the _priests'_ feet must first cross themystic stream into the good land and large which God has prepared for us?

Is it so indeed? Then in the name of the Lord of Hosts, ye priests of His, why will ye not awake, and arise, and go over Jordan, that the people ofthe Lord may follow you?

CHAPTER V. 

THE SCEPTIC'S MOTHER. 

My readers will perceive from what I have detailed, that I was not likelyto get any positive ground of comfort from Crossthwaite; and from withinmyself there was daily less and less hope of any. Daily the struggle becamemore intolerable between my duty to my mother and my duty to myself--thatinward thirst for mental self-improvement, which, without any clearconsciousness of its sanctity or inspiration, I felt, and could not helpfeeling, that I _must_ follow. No doubt it was very self-willed andambitious of me to do that which rich men's sons are flogged for not doing, and rewarded with all manner of prizes, scholarships, fellowships fordoing. But the nineteenth year is a time of life at which self-will is aptto exhibit itself in other people besides tailors; and those religiouspersons who think it no sin to drive their sons on through classics andmathematics, in hopes of gaining them a station in life, ought not to bevery hard upon me for driving myself on through the same path without anysuch selfish hope of gain--though perhaps the very fact of my having nowish or expectation of such advantage will constitute in their eyes my sinand folly, and prove that I was following the dictates merely of a carnallust, and not of a proper worldly prudence. I really do not wish to beflippant or sneering. I have seen the evil of it as much as any man, inmyself and in my own class. But there are excuses for such a fault in theworking man. It does sour and madden him to be called presumptuous andambitious for the very same aspirations which are lauded up to the skies inthe sons of the rich--unless, indeed, he will do one little thing, and somake his peace with society. If he will desert his own class; if he willtry to become a sham gentleman, a parasite, and, if he can, a Mammonite, the world will compliment him on his noble desire to "_rise in life_. "He will have won his spurs, and be admitted into that exclusive pale ofknighthood, beyond which it is a sin to carry arms even in self-defence. But if the working genius dares to be true to his own class--to stay amongthem--to regenerate them--to defend them--to devote his talents to thoseamong whom God placed him and brought him up--then he is the demagogue, theincendiary, the fanatic, the dreamer. So you would have the monopoly oftalent, too, exclusive worldlings? And yet you pretend to believe in themiracle of Pentecost, and the religion that was taught by the carpenter'sSon, and preached across the world by fishermen!

I was several times minded to argue the question out with my mother, andassert for myself the same independence of soul which I was now earning formy body by my wages. Once I had resolved to speak to her that very evening;but, strangely enough, happening to open the Bible, which, alas! I didseldom at that time, my eye fell upon the chapter where Jesus, after havingjustified to His parents His absence in the Temple, while hearing thedoctors and asking them questions, yet went down with them to Nazarethafter all, and was subject unto them. The story struck me vividly as asymbol of my own duties. But on reading further, I found more than onepassage which seemed to me to convey a directly opposite lesson, where Hismother and His brethren, fancying Him mad, attempted to interfere with Hislabours, and asserting their family rights as reasons for retaining Him, met with a peremptory rebuff. I puzzled my head for some time to findout which of the two cases was the more applicable to my state ofself-development. The notion of asking for teaching from on high onsuch a point had never crossed me. Indeed, if it had, I did not believesufficiently either in the story or in the doctrines connected with it, to have tried such a resource. And so, as may be supposed, my growingself-conceit decided for me that the latter course was the fitting one. 

And yet I had not energy to carry it out. I was getting so worn out in bodyand mind from continual study and labour, stinted food and want of sleep, that I could not face the thought of an explosion, such as I knew mustensue, and I lingered on in the same unhappy state, becoming more and moremorose in manner to my mother, while I was as assiduous as ever in allfilial duties. But I had no pleasure in home. She seldom spoke to me. Indeed, there was no common topic about which we could speak. Besides, eversince that fatal Sunday evening, I saw that she suspected me and watchedme. I had good reason to believe that she set spies upon my conduct. Poordear mother! God forbid that I should accuse thee for a single care ofthine, for a single suspicion even, prompted as they all were by a mother'sanxious love. I would never have committed these things to paper, hadstthou not been far beyond the reach or hearing of them; and only now, inhopes that they may serve as a warning, in some degree to mothers, but tentimes more to children. For I sinned against thee, deeply and shamefully, in thought and deed, while thou didst never sin against me; though all thycaution did but hasten the fatal explosion which came, and perhaps musthave come, under some form or other, in any case. 

I had been detained one night in the shop till late; and on my return mymother demanded, in a severe tone, the reason of my stay; and on my tellingher, answered as severely that she did not believe me; that she had toomuch reason to suspect that I had been with bad companions. 

"Who dared to put such a thought into your head?"

She "would not give up her authorities, but she had too much reason tobelieve them. "

Again I demanded the name of my slanderer, and was refused it. And then. I burst out, for the first time in my life, into a real fit of rage withher. I cannot tell how I dared to say what I did, but I was weak, nervous, irritable--my brain excited beyond all natural tension. Above all, I feltthat she was unjust to me; and my good conscience, as well as my pride, rebelled. 

"You have never trusted me, " I cried, "you have watched me--"

"Did you not deceive me once already?"

"And if I did, " I answered, more and more excited, "have I not slaved foryou, stinted myself of clothes to pay your rent? Have I not run to and frofor you like a slave, while I knew all the time you did not respect me ortrust me? If you had only treated me as a child and an idiot, I could haveborne it. But you have been thinking of me all the while as an incarnatefiend--dead in trespasses and sins--a child of wrath and the devil. Whatright have you to be astonished if I should do my father's works?"

"You may be ignorant of vital religion, " she answered; "and you may insultme. But if you make a mock of God's Word, you leave my house. If you canlaugh at religion, you can deceive me. "

The pent-up scepticism of years burst forth. 

"Mother, " I said, "don't talk to me about religion, and election, andconversion, and all that--I don't believe one word of it. Nobody does, except good kind people--(like you, alas! I was going to say, but the devilstopped the words at my lips)--who must needs have some reason to accountfor their goodness. That Bowyer--he's a soft heart by nature, and as heis, so he does--religion has had nothing to do with that, any more than ithas with that black-faced, canting scoundrel who has been telling you liesabout me. Much his heart is changed. He carries sneak and slanderer writtenin his face--and sneak and slanderer he will be, elect or none. Religion?Nobody believes in it. The rich don't; or they wouldn't fill their churchesup with pews, and shut the poor out, all the time they are calling thembrothers. They believe the gospel? Then why do they leave the men who maketheir clothes to starve in such hells on earth as our workroom? No moredo the tradespeople believe in it; or they wouldn't go home from sermonto sand the sugar, and put sloe-leaves in the tea, and send out lyingpuffs of their vamped-up goods, and grind the last farthing out of thepoor creatures who rent their wretched stinking houses. And as for theworkmen--they laugh at it all, I can tell you. Much good religion is doingfor them! You may see it's fit only for women and children--for go whereyou will, church or chapel, you see hardly anything but bonnets and babies!I don't believe a word of it, --once and for all. I'm old enough to thinkfor myself, and a free-thinker I will be, and believe nothing but what Iknow and understand. "

I had hardly spoken the words, when I would have given worlds to recallthem--but it was to be--and it was. 

Sternly she looked at me full in the face, till my eyes dropped before hergaze. Then she spoke steadily and slowly:

"Leave this house this moment. You are no son of mine henceforward. Do youthink I will have my daughter polluted by the company of an infidel and ablasphemer?"

"I will go, " I answered fiercely; "I can get my own living at all events!"And before I had time to think, I had rushed upstairs, packed up my bundle, not forgetting the precious books, and was on my way through the frosty, echoing streets, under the cold glare of the winter's moon. 

I had gone perhaps half a mile, when the thought of home rushed overme--the little room where I had spent my life--the scene of all my childishjoys and sorrows--which I should never see again, for I felt that mydeparture was for ever. Then I longed to see my mother once again--not tospeak to her--for I was at once too proud and too cowardly to do that--butto have a look at her through the window. One look--for all the while, though I was boiling over with rage and indignation, I felt that it was allon the surface--that in the depths of our hearts I loved her and she lovedme. And yet I wished to be angry, wished to hate her. Strange contradictionof the flesh and spirit!

Hastily and silently I retraced my steps to the house. The gate waspadlocked. I cautiously stole over the palings to the window--the shutterwas closed and fast. I longed to knock--I lifted my hand to the door, anddare not: indeed, I knew that it was useless, in my dread of my mother'shabit of stern determination. That room--that mother I never saw again. Iturned away; sickened at heart, I was clambering back again, looking behindme towards the window, when I felt a strong grip on my collar, and turninground, had a policeman's lantern flashed in my face. 

"Hullo, young'un, and what do you want here?" with a strong emphasis, afterthe fashion of policemen, on all his pronouns. 

"Hush! or you'll alarm my mother!"

"Oh! eh! Forgot the latch-key, you sucking Don Juan, that's it, is it? Latehome from the Victory?"

I told him simply how the case stood, and entreated him to get me a night'slodging, assuring him that my mother would not admit me, or I ask to beadmitted. 

The policeman seemed puzzled, but after scratching his hat in lieu of hishead for some seconds, replied, "This here is the dodge--you goes outside and lies down on the kerb-stone;whereby I spies you a-sleeping in the streets, contrary to Act o'Parliament; whereby it is my duty to take you to the station-house; wherebyyou gets a night's lodging free gracious for nothing, and company perwidedby her Majesty. "

"Oh, not to the station-house!" I cried in shame and terror. 

"Werry well; then you must keep moving all night continually, whereby youavoids the hact; or else you goes to a twopenny-rope shop and gets a liedown. And your bundle you'd best leave at my house. Twopenny-rope societya'n't particular. I'm going off my beat; you walk home with me and leaveyour traps. Everybody knows me--Costello, V 21, that's my number. "

So on I went with the kind-hearted man, who preached solemnly to me all theway on the fifth commandment. But I heard very little of it; for before Ihad proceeded a quarter of a mile, a deadly faintness and dizziness cameover me, I staggered, and fell against the railings. 

"And have you been drinking arter all?"

"I never--a drop in my life--nothing but bread-and-water this fortnight. "

And it was true. I had been paying for my own food, and had stintedmyself to such an extent, that between starvation, want of sleep, andover-exertion, I was worn to a shadow, and the last drop had filled thecup; the evening's scene and its consequences had been too much for me, andin the middle of an attempt to explain matters to the policeman, I droppedon the pavement, bruising my face heavily. 

He picked me up, put me under one arm and my bundle under the other, andwas proceeding on his march, when three men came rollicking up. 

"Hullo, Poleax--Costello--What's that? Work for us? A demp unpleasantbody?"

"Oh, Mr. Bromley, sir! Hope you're well, sir! Werry rum go this here, sir!I finds this cove in the streets. He says his mother turned him out o'doors. He seems very fair spoken, and very bad in he's head, and very badin he's chest, and very bad in he's legs, he does. And I can't come to noconclusions respecting my conduct in this here case, nohow!"

"Memorialize the Health of Towns Commission, " suggested one. 

"Bleed him in the great toe, " said the second. 

"Put a blister on the back of his left eye-ball, " said a third. 

"Case of male asterisks, " observed the first. "Rj. Aquæ pumpis puræquantum suff. Applicatur exterò pro re natâ. J. Bromley, M. D. , and don'the wish he may get through!"--

"Tip us your daddle, my boy, " said the second speaker. "I'll tell you what, Bromley, this fellow's very bad. He's got no more pulse than thePimlico sewer. Run in into the next pot'us. Here--you lay hold of him, Bromley--that last round with the cabman nearly put my humerus out. "

The huge, burly, pea-jacketed medical student--for such I saw at oncehe was--laid hold of me on the right tenderly enough, and walked me offbetween him and the policeman. 

I fell again into a faintness, from which I was awakened by being shovedthrough the folding-doors of a gin-shop, into a glare of light and hubbubof blackguardism, and placed on a settle, while my conductor called out--

"Pots round, Mary, and a go of brandy hot with, for the patient. Here, young'un, toss it off, it'll make your hair grow. "

I feebly answered that I never had drunk anything stronger than water. 

"High time to begin, then; no wonder you're so ill. Well, if you won't, I'll make you--"

And taking my head under his arm, he seized me by the nose, while anotherpoured the liquor down my throat--and certainly it revived me at once. 

A drunken drab pulled another drunken, drab off the settle to make room forthe "poor young man"; and I sat there with a confused notion that somethingstrange and dreadful had happened to me, while the party drained theirrespective quarts of porter, and talked over the last boat-race with theLeander. 

"Now then, gen'l'men, " said the policeman, 'if you think he's recovered, we'll take him home to his mother; she ought for to take him in, surely. "

"Yes, if she has as much heart in her as a dried walnut. "

But I resisted stoutly; though I longed to vindicate my mother's affection, yet I could not face her. I entreated to be taken to the station-house;threatened, in my desperation, to break the bar glasses, which, like DollTearsheet's abuse, only elicited from the policeman a solemn "Very well";and under the unwonted excitement of the brandy, struggled so fiercely, andtalked so incoherently, that the medical students interfered. 

"We shall have this fellow in phrenitis, or laryngitis, or dothenenteritis, or some other itis, before long, if he's aggravated. "

"And whichever it is, it'll kill him. He has no more stamina left than ayard of pump water. "

"I should consider him chargeable to the parish, " suggested the bar-keeper. 

"Exactually so, my Solomon of licensed victuallers. Get a workhouse orderfor him, Costello. "

"And I should consider, also, sir, " said the licensed victualler, withincreased importance, "having been a guardian myself, and knowing the hact, as the parish couldn't refuse, because they're in power to recover allhexpenses out of his mother. "

"To be sure; it's all the unnatural old witch's fault. "

"No, it is not, " said I, faintly. 

"Wait till your opinion's asked, young'un. Go kick up the authorities, policeman. "

"Now, I'll just tell you how that'll work, gemmen, " answered the policeman, solemnly. "I goes to the overseer--werry good sort o' man--but he's in bed. I knocks for half an hour. He puts his nightcap out o' windy, and sends meto the relieving-officer. Werry good sort o' man he too; but he's in bed. I knocks for another half-hour. He puts his nightcap out o' windy--sendsme to the medical officer for a certificate. Medical officer's gone to amidwifery case. I hunts him for an hour or so. He's got hold of a babbywith three heads, or summat else; and two more women a-calling out for himlike blazes. 'He'll come to-morrow morning. ' Now, I just axes your opinionof that there most procrastinationest go. "

The big student, having cursed the parochial authorities in general, offered to pay for my night's lodging at the public-house. The good man ofthe house demurred at first, but relented on being reminded of the valueof a medical student's custom: whereon, without more ado, two of the roughdiamonds took me between them, carried me upstairs, undressed me, and putme to bed, as tenderly as if they had been women. 

"He'll have the tantrums before morning, I'm afraid, " said one. 

"Very likely to turn to typhus, " said the other. 

"Well, I suppose--it's a horrid bore, but

 "What must be must; man is but dust, If you can't get crumb, you must just eat crust. 

"Send me up a go of hot with, and I'll sit up with him till he's asleep, dead, or better. "

"Well, then, I'll stay too; we may just as well make a night of it here aswell as anywhere else. "

And he pulled a short black pipe out of his pocket, and sat down tomeditate with his feet on the hobs of the empty grate; the other man wentdown for the liquor; while I, between the brandy and exhaustion, fell fastasleep, and never stirred till I woke the next morning with a rackingheadache, and saw the big student standing by my bedside, having, as Iafterwards heard, sat by me till four in the morning. 

"Hallo, young'un, come to your senses? Headache, eh? Slightlycomato-crapulose? We'll give you some soda and salvolatile, and I'll payfor your breakfast. "

And so he did, and when he was joined by his companions on their way to St. George's, they were very anxious, having heard my story, to force a fewshillings on me "for luck, " which, I need not say, I peremptorily refused, assuring them that I could and would get my own living, and never take afarthing from any man. 

"That's a plucky dog, though he's a tailor, " I heard them say, as, afteroverwhelming them with thanks, and vowing, amid shouts of laughter, torepay them every farthing I had cost them, I took my way, sick and stunned, towards my dear old Sandy Mackaye's street. 

Rough diamonds indeed! I have never met you again, but I have not forgottenyou. Your early life may be a coarse, too often a profligate one--but youknow the people, and the people know you: and your tenderness and care, bestowed without hope of repayment, cheers daily many a poor soul inhospital wards and fever-cellars--to meet its reward some day at thepeople's hands. You belong to us at heart, as the Paris barricades cantell. Alas! for the society which stifles in after-life too many of yourbetter feelings, by making you mere flunkeys and parasites, dependent foryour livelihood on the caprices and luxuries of the rich. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE DULWICH GALLERY. 

Sandy Mackaye received me in a characteristic way--growled at me forhalf an hour for quarrelling with my mother, and when I was at my wit'send, suddenly offered me a bed in his house and the use of his littlesitting-room--and, bliss too great to hope! of his books also; and when Italked of payment, told me to hold my tongue and mind my own business. SoI settled myself at once; and that very evening he installed himself as myprivate tutor, took down a Latin book, and set me to work on it. 

"An' mind ye, laddie, " said he, half in jest and half in earnest, "gin Ifind ye playing truant, and reading a' sorts o' nonsense instead of mindingthe scholastic methods and proprieties, I'll just bring ye in a bill at theyear's end o' twa guineas a week for lodgings and tuition, and tak' the lawo' ye; so mind and read what I tell ye. Do you comprehend noo?"

I did comprehend, and obeyed him, determining to repay him some day--andsomehow--how I did not very clearly see. Thus I put myself more or lessinto the old man's power; foolishly enough the wise world will say. But Ihad no suspicion in my character; and I could not look at those keen greyeyes, when, after staring into vacancy during some long preachment, theysuddenly flashed round at me, and through me, full of fun and quaintthought, and kindly earnestness, and fancy that man less honest than hisface seemed to proclaim him. 

By-the-by, I have as yet given no description of the old eccentric'sabode--an unpardonable omission, I suppose, in these days of Dutch paintingand Boz. But the omission was correct, both historically and artistically, for I had as yet only gone to him for books, books, nothing but books; andI had been blind to everything in his shop but that fairy-land of shelves, filled, in my simple fancy, with inexhaustible treasures, wonder-working, omnipotent, as the magic seal of Solomon. 

It was not till I had been settled and at work for several nights in hissanctum, behind the shop, that I began to become conscious what a strangeden that sanctum was. 

It was so dark, that without a gaslight no one but he could see to readthere, except on very sunny days. Not only were the shelves which coveredevery inch of wall crammed with books and pamphlets, but the little windowwas blocked up with them, the floor was piled with bundles of them, in someplaces three feet deep, apparently in the wildest confusion--though therewas some mysterious order in them which he understood, and symbolized, I suppose, by the various strange and ludicrous nicknames on theirtickets--for he never was at fault a moment if a customer asked for abook, though it were buried deep in the chaotic stratum. Out of this bookalluvium a hole seemed to have been dug near the fireplace, just big enoughto hold his arm-chair and a table, book-strewn like everything else, andgarnished with odds and ends of MSS. , and a snuffer-tray containing scrapsof half-smoked tobacco, "pipe-dottles, " as he called them, which werecarefully resmoked over and over again, till nothing but ash was left. His whole culinary utensils--for he cooked as well as eat in this strangehole--were an old rusty kettle, which stood on one hob, and a blue platewhich, when washed, stood on the other. A barrel of true Aberdeen mealpeered out of a corner, half buried in books, and a "keg o' whusky, thegift o' freens, " peeped in like case out of another. 

This was his only food. "It was a' poison, " he used to say, "in London. Bread full o' alum and bones, and sic filth--meat over-driven till it wasa' braxy--water sopped wi' dead men's juice. Naething was safe but gudeScots parrich and Athol brose. " He carried his water-horror so far as towalk some quarter of a mile every morning to fill his kettle at a favouritepump. "Was he a cannibal, to drink out o' that pump hard-by, right underthe kirkyard?" But it was little he either ate or drank--he seemed to liveupon tobacco. From four in the morning till twelve at night, the pipenever left his lips, except when he went into the outer shop. "It promotedmeditation, and drove awa' the lusts o' the flesh. Ech! it was worthy o'that auld tyrant, Jamie, to write his counter-blast to the poor man'sfreen! The hypocrite! to gang preaching the virtues o' evil-savoured smoke'ad dæmones abigendos, --and then rail again tobacco, as if it was no asgude for the purpose as auld rags and horn shavings!"

Sandy Mackaye had a great fancy for political caricatures, rows of which, there being no room for them on the walls, hung on strings from theceiling--like clothes hung out to dry--and among them dangled various booksto which he had taken an antipathy, principally High Tory and Benthamite, crucified, impaled through their covers, and suspended in all sorts oftorturing attitudes. Among them, right over the table, figured a copy ofIcon Basilike dressed up in a paper shirt, all drawn over with figures offlames and devils, and surmounted by a peaked paper cap, like a victimat an _auto-da-fé_. And in the midst of all this chaos grinned from thechimney-piece, among pipes and pens, pinches of salt and scraps of butter, a tall cast of Michael Angelo's well-known skinless model--his pristinewhite defaced by a cap of soot upon the top of his scalpless skull, andevery muscle and tendon thrown into horrible relief by the dirt which hadlodged among the cracks. There it stood, pointing with its ghastly armtowards the door, and holding on its wrist a label with the followinginscription:--

 Here stand I, the working man, Get more off me if you can. 

I questioned Mackaye one evening about those hanged and crucified books, and asked him if he ever sold any of them. 

"Ou, ay, " he said; "if folks are fools enough to ask for them, I'll justanswer a fool according to his folly. "

"But, " I said, "Mr. Mackaye, do you think it right to sell books of thevery opinions of which you disapprove so much?"

"Hoot, laddie, it's just a spoiling o' the Egyptians; so mind yer book, anddinna tak in hand cases o' conscience for ither folk. Yell ha' wark eneughwi' yer ain before ye're dune. "

And he folded round his knees his Joseph's coat, as he called it, an olddressing-gown with one plaid sleeve, and one blue one, red shawl-skirts, and a black broadcloth back, not to mention, innumerable patches of everyimaginable stuff and colour, filled his pipe, and buried his nose in"Harrington's Oceana. " He read at least twelve hours every day of his life, and that exclusively old history and politics, though his favourite bookswere Thomas Carlyle's works. Two or three evenings in the week, when he hadseen me safe settled at my studies, he used to disappear mysteriouslyfor several hours, and it was some time before I found out, by a chanceexpression, that he was attending some meeting or committee of working-men. I begged him to take me there with him. But I was stopped by a laconicanswer--

"When ye're ready. "

"And when shall I be ready, Mr. Mackaye?"

"Read yer book till I tell ye. "

And he twisted himself into his best coat, which had once been black, squeezed on his little Scotch cap, and went out. 

 * * * * *

I now found myself, as the reader may suppose, in an element far morecongenial to my literary tastes, and which compelled far less privation ofsleep and food in order to find time and means for reading; and my healthbegan to mend from the very first day. But the thought of my mother hauntedme; and Mackaye seemed in no hurry to let me escape from it, for heinsisted on my writing to her in a penitent strain, informing her of mywhereabouts, and offering to return home if she should wish it. Withfeelings strangely mingled between the desire of seeing her again and thedread of returning to the old drudgery of surveillance, I sent the letter, and waited the whole week without any answer. At last, one evening, whenI returned from work, Sandy seemed in a state of unusual exhilaration. Helooked at me again and again, winking and chuckling to himself in a waywhich showed me that his good spirits had something to do with my concerns:but he did not open on the subject till I had settled to my evening'sreading. Then, having brewed himself an unusually strong mug ofwhisky-toddy, and brought out with great ceremony a clean pipe, hecommenced. 

"Alton, laddie, I've been fiechting Philistines for ye the day. "

"Ah! have you heard from my mother?"

"I wadna say that exactly; but there's been a gran bailie body wi' me thatcalls himsel' your uncle, and a braw young callant, a bairn o' his, I'mthinking. "

"Ah! that's my cousin--George; and tell me--do tell me, what you said tothem. "

"Ou--that'll be mair concern o' mine than o' yourn. But ye're no going backto your mither. "

My heart leapt up with--joy; there is no denying it--and then I burst intotears. 

"And she won't see me? Has she really cast me off?"

"Why, that'll be verra much as ye prosper, I'm thinking. Ye're anunaccreedited hero, the noo, as Thomas Carlyle has it. 'But gin ye do weelby yoursel', saith the Psalmist, 'ye'll find a' men speak well o' ye'--ifye gang their gate. But ye're to gang to see your uncle at his shop o'Monday next, at one o'clock. Now stint your greeting, and read awa'. "

On the next Monday I took a holiday, the first in which I had ever indulgedmyself; and having spent a good hour in scrubbing away at my best shoesand Sunday suit, started, in fear and trembling, for my uncle's"establishment. "

I was agreeably surprised, on being shown into the little back office atthe back of the shop, to meet with a tolerably gracious reception from thegood-natured Mammonite. He did not shake hands with me, it is true;--wasI not a poor relation? But he told me to sit down, commended me for theexcellent character which he had of me both from my master and Mackaye, and then entered on the subject of my literary tastes. He heard I was aprecious clever fellow. No wonder, I came of a clever stock; his poor dearbrother had plenty of brains for everything but business. "And you see, myboy" (with a glance at the big ledgers and busy shop without), "I knewa thing or two in my time, or I should not have been here. But withoutcapital, _I_ think brains a curse. Still we must make the best of a badmatter; and if you are inclined to help to raise the family name--notthat I think much of book writers myself--poor starving devils, half ofthem--but still people do talk about them--and a man might get a snug thingas newspaper editor, with interest; or clerk to something or other--alwayssome new company in the wind now--and I should have no objection, if youseemed likely to do us credit, to speak a word for you. I've none of yourmother's confounded puritanical notions, I can tell you; and, what's more, I have, thank Heaven, as fine a city connexion as any man. But you mustmind and make yourself a good accountant--learn double entry on the Italianmethod--that's a good practical study; and if that old Sawney is softenough to teach you other things gratis, he may as well teach you thattoo. I'll bet he knows something about it--the old Scotch fox. Therenow--that'll do--there's five shillings for you--mind you don't losethem--and if I hear a good account of you, why, perhaps--but there's no usemaking promises. "

At this moment a tall handsome young man, whom I did not at first recognizeas my cousin George, swung into the office, and shook me cordially by thehand. 

"Hullo, Alton, how are you? Why, I hear you're coming out as a regulargenius--breaking out in a new place, upon my honour! Have you done withhim, governor?"

"Well, I think I have. I wish you'd have a talk with him, my boy. I'm sorryI can't see more of him, but I have to meet a party on business at theWest-end at two, and Alderman Tumbril and family dine with us this evening, don't they? I think our small table will be full. "

"Of course it will. Come along with me, and we'll have a chat in some quietout-of-the-way place. This city is really so noisy that you can't hear yourown ears, as our dean says in lecture. "

So he carried me off, down back streets and alleys, a little puzzled at theextreme cordiality of his manner. Perhaps it sprung, as I learned afterwardto suspect, from his consistent and perpetual habit of ingratiating himselfwith every one whom he approached. He never cut a chimney-sweep if heknew him. And he found it pay. The children of this world are in theirgeneration wiser than the children of light. 

Perhaps it sprung also, as I began to suspect in the first hundred yards ofour walk, from the desire of showing off before me the university clothes, manners, and gossip, which he had just brought back with him fromCambridge. 

I had not seen him more than three or four times in my life before, andthen he appeared to me merely a tall, handsome, conceited, slangy boy. ButI now found him much improved--in all externals at least. He had made ithis business, I knew, to perfect himself in all athletic pursuits whichwere open to a Londoner. As he told me that day--he found it pay, when onegot among gentlemen. Thus he had gone up to Cambridge a capitalskater, rower, pugilist--and billiard player. Whether or not that lastaccomplishment ought to be classed in the list of athletic sports, hecontrived, by his own account, to keep it in that of paying ones. Inboth these branches he seemed to have had plenty of opportunities ofdistinguishing himself at college; and his tall, powerful figure showedthe fruit of these exercises in a stately and confident, almost martial, carriage. Something jaunty, perhaps swaggering, remained still in his airand dress, which yet sat not ungracefully on him; but I could see that hehad been mixing in society more polished and artificial than that to whichwe had either of us been accustomed, and in his smart Rochester, well-cuttrousers, and delicate French boots, he excited, I will not deny it, myboyish admiration and envy. 

"Well, " he said, as soon as we were out of the shop, "which way? Got aholiday? And how did you intend to spend it?"

"I wanted very much, " I said, meekly, "to see the pictures at the NationalGallery. "

"Oh! ah! pictures don't pay; but, if you like--much better ones atDulwich--that's the place to go to--you can see the others any day--andat Dulwich, you know, they've got--why let me see--" And he ran overhalf-a-dozen outlandish names of painters, which, as I have never againmet with them, I am inclined on the whole to consider as somewhatextemporaneous creations. However, I agreed to go. 

"Ah! capital--very nice quiet walk, and convenient for me--very little outof my way home. I'll walk there with you. "

"One word for your neighbour and two for yourself, " thought I; but onwe walked. To see good pictures had been a long cherished hope of mine. Everything beautiful in form or colour was beginning of late to have anintense fascination for me. I had, now that I was emancipated, graduallydared to feed my greedy eyes by passing stares into the print-shop windows, and had learnt from them a thousand new notions, new emotions, new longingsafter beauties of Nature, which seemed destined never to be satisfied. Butpictures, above all, foreign ones, had been in my mother's eyes, AnathemaMaranatha, as vile Popish and Pagan vanities, the rags of the scarlet womanno less than the surplice itself--and now, when it came to the point, Ihesitated at an act of such awful disobedience, even though unknown toher. My cousin, however, laughed down my scruples, told me I was out ofleading-strings now, and, which was true enough, that it was "a * * * *deal better to amuse oneself in picture galleries without leave, than livea life of sneaking and lying under petticoat government, as all home-birdswere sure to do in the long-run. " And so I went on, while my cousin kept upa running fire of chat the whole way, intermixing shrewd, bold observationsupon every woman who passed, with sneers at the fellows of the college towhich we were going--their idleness and luxury--the large grammar-schoolwhich they were bound by their charter to keep up, and did not--and hintsabout private interest in high quarters, through which their wealthyuselessness had been politely overlooked, when all similar institutionsin the kingdom were subject to the searching examination of a governmentcommission. Then there were stories of boat-races and gay noblemen, breakfast parties, and lectures on Greek plays flavoured with a spice ofCambridge slang, all equally new to me--glimpses into a world of wonders, which made me feel, as I shambled along at his side, trying to keep stepwith his strides, more weakly and awkward and ignorant than ever. 

We entered the gallery. I was in a fever of expectation. 

The rich sombre light of the rooms, the rich heavy warmth of thestove-heated air, the brilliant and varied colouring and gilded frameswhich embroidered the walls, the hushed earnestness of a few artists, who were copying, and the few visitors who were lounging from picture topicture, struck me at once with mysterious awe. But my attention was in amoment concentrated on one figure opposite to me at the furthest end. Ihurried straight towards it. When I had got half-way up the gallery Ilooked round for my cousin. He had turned aside to some picture of a Venuswhich caught my eye also, but which, I remember now, only raised in me thena shudder and a blush, and a fancy that the clergymen must be really asbad as my mother had taught me to believe, if they could allow in theirgalleries pictures of undressed women. I have learnt to view such thingsdifferently now, thank God. I have learnt that to the pure all things arepure. I have learnt the meaning of that great saying--the foundation of allart, as well as all modesty, all love, which tells us how "the man and hiswife were both naked, and not ashamed. " But this book is the history of mymental growth; and my mistakes as well as my discoveries are steps in thatdevelopment, and may bear a lesson in them. 

How I have rambled! But as that day was the turning-point of my whole shortlife, I may be excused for lingering upon every feature of it. 

Timidly, but eagerly, I went up to the picture, and stood entranced beforeit. It was Guido's St. Sebastian. All the world knows the picture, and allthe world knows, too, the defects of the master, though in this instance heseems to have risen above himself, by a sudden inspiration, into that truenaturalness, which is the highest expression of the Spiritual. But thevery defects of the picture, its exaggeration, its theatricality, wereespecially calculated to catch the eye of a boy awaking out of the narrowdulness of Puritanism. The breadth and vastness of light and shade uponthose manly limbs, so grand and yet so delicate, standing out against thebackground of lurid night, the helplessness of the bound arms, the arrowquivering in the shrinking side, the upturned brow, the eyes in whose darkdepths enthusiastic faith seemed conquering agony and shame, the partedlips, which seemed to ask, like those martyrs in the Revelations, reproachful, half-resigned, "O Lord, how long?"--Gazing at that picturesince, I have understood how the idolatry of painted saints could arise inthe minds even of the most educated, who were not disciplined by that sternregard for fact which is--or ought to be--the strength of Englishmen. Ihave understood the heart of that Italian girl, whom some such picture ofSt. Sebastian, perhaps this very one, excited, as the Venus of Praxitelesthe Grecian boy, to hopeless love, madness, and death. Then I had neverheard of St. Sebastian. I did not dream of any connexion between that, orindeed any picture, and Christianity; and yet, as I stood before it, Iseemed to be face to face with the ghosts of my old Puritan forefathers, tosee the spirit which supported them on pillories and scaffolds--the spiritof that true St. Margaret, the Scottish maiden whom Claverhouse and hissoldiers chained to a post on the sea-sands to die by inches in the risingtide, till the sound of her hymns was slowly drowned in the dash of thehungry leaping waves. My heart swelled within me, my eyes seemed burstingfrom my head with the intensity of my gaze, and great tears, I knew notwhy, rolled slowly down my face. 

A woman's voice close to me, gentle yet of deeper tone than most, woke mefrom my trance. 

"You seem to be deeply interested in that picture?"

I looked round, yet not at the speaker. My eyes before they could meethers, were caught by an apparition the most beautiful I had ever yetbeheld. And what--what--have I seen equal to her since? Strange, that Ishould love to talk of her. Strange, that I fret at myself now becauseI cannot set down on paper line by line, and hue by hue, that wonderfulloveliness of which--. But no matter. Had I but such an imagination asPetrarch, or rather, perhaps, had I his deliberate cold self-consciousness, what volumes of similes and conceits I might pour out, connecting thatpeerless face and figure with all lovely things which heaven and earthcontain. As it is, because I cannot say all, I will say nothing, but repeatto the end again and again, Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beyond allstatue, picture, or poet's dream. Seventeen--slight but rounded, amasque and features delicate and regular, as if fresh from the chisel ofPraxiteles--I must try to describe after all, you see--a skin of alabaster(privet-flowers, Horace and Ariosto would have said, more true to Nature), stained with the faintest flush; auburn hair, with that peculiar crispedwave seen in the old Italian pictures, and the warm, dark hazel eyes whichso often accompany it; lips like a thread of vermillion, somewhat too thin, perhaps--but I thought little of that then; with such perfect finish andgrace in every line and hue of her features and her dress, down to thelittle fingers and nails, which showed through her thin gloves, that sheseemed to my fancy fresh from the innermost chamber of some enchantedpalace, "where no air of heaven could visit her cheek too roughly. " Idropped my eyes quite dazzled. The question was repeated by a ladywho stood with her, whose face I remarked then--as I did to the last, alas!--too little; dazzled at the first by outward beauty, perhaps becauseso utterly unaccustomed to it. 

"It is indeed a wonderful picture, " I said, timidly. "May I ask what is thesubject of it?"

"Oh! don't you know?" said the young beauty, with a smile that thrilledthrough me. "It is St. Sebastian. "

"I--I am very much ashamed, " I answered, colouring up, "but I do not knowwho St. Sebastian was. Was he a Popish saint?"

A tall, stately old man, who stood with the two ladies, laughed kindly. "No, not till they made him one against his will; and at the same time, byputting him into the mill which grinds old folks young again, converted himfrom a grizzled old Roman tribune into the young Apollo of Popery. "

"You will puzzle your hearer, my dear uncle, " said the same deep-tonedwoman's voice which had first spoken to me. "As you volunteered the saint'sname, Lillian, you shall also tell his history. "

Simply and shortly, with just feeling enough to send through me a freshthrill of delighted interest, without trenching the least on the moststately reserve, she told me the well known history of the saint'smartyrdom. 

If I seem minute in my description, let those who read my story rememberthat such courteous dignity, however natural, I am bound to believe, itis to them, was to me an utterly new excellence in human nature. All mymother's Spartan nobleness of manner seemed unexpectedly combined with allmy little sister's careless ease. 

"What a beautiful poem the story would make!" said I, as soon as Irecovered my thoughts. 

"Well spoken, young man, " answered the old gentleman. "Let us hope thatyour seeing a subject for a good poem will be the first step towards yourwriting one. "

As he spoke, he bent on me two clear grey eyes, full of kindliness, mingledwith practised discernment. I saw that he was evidently a clergyman; butwhat his tight silk stockings and peculiar hat denoted I did not know. There was about him the air of a man accustomed equally to thought, to men, and to power. And I remarked somewhat maliciously, that my cousin, who hadstrutted up towards us on seeing me talking to two ladies, the instanthe caught sight of those black silk stockings and that strange hat, fell suddenly in countenance, and sidling off somewhat meekly into thebackground, became absorbed in the examination of a Holy Family. 

I answered something humbly, I forget what, which led to a conversation. They questioned me as to my name, my mother, my business, my studies; whileI revelled in the delight of stolen glances at my new-found Venus Victrix, who was as forward as any of them in her questions and her interest. Perhaps she enjoyed, at least she could not help seeing, the admirationfor herself which I took no pains to conceal. At last the old man cut theconversation short by a quiet "Good morning, sir, " which astonished me. Ihad never heard words whose tone was so courteous and yet so chillinglyperemptory. As they turned away, he repeated to himself once or twice, as if to fix them in his mind, my name and my master's, and awoke in me, perhaps too thoughtlessly, a tumult of vain hopes. Once and again thebeauty and her companion looked back towards me, and seemed talking ofme, and my face was burning scarlet, when my cousin swung up in his hard, off-hand way. 

"By Jove, Alton, my boy! you're a knowing fellow. I congratulate you! Atyour years, indeed! to rise a dean and two beauties at the first throw, andhook them fast!"

"A dean!" I said, in some trepidation. 

"Ay, a live dean--didn't you see the cloven foot sticking out from underhis shoe-buckle? What news for your mother! What will the ghosts of yourgrandfathers to the seventh generation say to this, Alton? Colloquing inPagan picture galleries with shovel-hatted Philistines! And that's not theworst, Alton, " he ran on. "Those daughters of Moab--those daughters ofMoab--. "

"Hold your tongue, " I said, almost crying with vexation. 

"Look there, if you want to save your good temper. There, she is lookingback again--not at poor me, though. What a lovely girl she is!--and a reallady--_l'air noble_--the real genuine grit, as Sam Slick says, and nomistake. By Jove, what a face! what hands! what feet! what a figure--inspite of crinolines and all abominations! And didn't she know it? Anddidn't she know that you knew it too?" And he ran on descanting coarsely onbeauties which I dared not even have profaned by naming, in a way that mademe, I knew not why, mad with jealousy and indignation. She seemed minealone in all the world. What right had any other human being, above all, he, to dare to mention her? I turned again to my St. Sebastian. Thatmovement only brought on me a fresh volley of banter. 

"Oh, that's the dodge, is it, to catch intellectual fine ladies?--to fallinto an ecstatic attitude before a picture--But then we must have Alton'sgenius, you know, to find out which the fine pictures are. I must read upthat subject, by-the-by. It might be a paying one among the dons. Forthe present, here goes in for an attitude. Will this do, Alton?" And hearranged himself admiringly before the picture in an attitude so absurd andyet so graceful, that I did not know whether to laugh at him or hate him. 

"At all events, " he added, dryly, "it will be as good as playing theEvangelical at Carus's tea-parties, or taking the sacrament regularly forfear one's testimonials should be refused. " And then he looked at me, andthrough me, in his intense, confident way, to see that his hasty words hadnot injured him with me. He used to meet one's eye as boldly as any man Iever saw; but it was not the simple gaze of honesty and innocence, but animperious, searching look, as if defying scrutiny. His was a true mesmericeye, if ever there was one. No wonder it worked the miracles it did. 

"Come along, " he said, suddenly seizing my arm. "Don't you see they'releaving? Out of the gallery after them, and get a good look at the carriageand the arms upon it. I saw one standing there as we came in. It may payus--you, that is--to know it again. "

We went out, I holding him back, I knew not why, and arrived at the outergate just in time to see them enter the carriage and drive off. I gazed tothe last, but did not stir. 

"Good boy, " he said, "knowing still. If you had bowed, or showed the leastsign of recognition, you would have broken the spell. "

But I hardly heard what he said, and stood gazing stupidly after thecarriage as it disappeared. I did not know then what had happened to me. Iknow now, alas! too well. 

CHAPTER VII. 

FIRST LOVE. 

Truly I said, I did not know what had happened to me. I did not attempt toanalyse the intense, overpowering instinct which from that moment made thelovely vision I had seen the lodestar of all my thoughts. Even now, I cansee nothing in those feelings of mine but simple admiration--idolatry, ifyou will--of physical beauty. Doubtless there was more--doubtless--I hadseen pretty faces before, and knew that they were pretty, but they hadpassed from my retina, like the prints of beauties which I saw in theshop windows, without exciting a thought--even a conscious emotion ofcomplacency. But this face did not pass away. Day and night I saw it, justas I had seen it in the gallery. The same playful smile--the same glancealternately turned to me, and the glowing picture above her head--and thatwas all I saw or felt. No child ever nestled upon its mother's shoulderwith feelings more celestially pure, than those with which I countedover day and night each separate lineament of that exceeding loveliness. Romantic? extravagant? Yes; if the world be right in calling a passionromantic just in proportion as it is not merely hopeless, but pure andunselfish, drawing its delicious power from no hope or faintest desire ofenjoyment, but merely from simple delight in its object--then my passionwas most romantic. I never thought of disparity in rank. Why should I? Thatcould not blind the eyes of my imagination. She was beautiful, and that wasall, and all in all to me; and had our stations been exchanged, and morethan exchanged; had I been King Cophetua, or she the beggar-maid, I shouldhave gloried in her just as much. 

Beloved sleepless hours, which I spent in picturing that scene to myself, with all the brilliance of fresh recollection! Beloved hours! how soonyou pass away! Soon--soon my imagination began to fade; the traces of herfeatures on my mind's eye became confused and dim; and then came over methe fierce desire to see her again, that I might renew the freshness ofthat charming image. Thereon grew up an agony of longing--an agony ofweeks, and months, and years. Where could I find that face again? was myruling thought from morning till eve. I knew that it was hopeless to lookfor her at the gallery where I had first seen her. My only hope was, thatat some place of public resort at the West End I might catch, if but for amoment, an inspiring glance of that radiant countenance. I lingered roundthe Burton Arch and Hyde Park Gate--but in vain. I peered into everycarriage, every bonnet that passed me in the thoroughfares--in vain. Istood patiently at the doors of exhibitions and concerts, and playhouses, to be shoved back by policemen, and insulted by footmen--but in vain. ThenI tried the fashionable churches, one by one; and sat in the free seats, to listen to prayers and sermons, not a word of which, alas! I cared tounderstand, with my eyes searching carefully every pew and gallery, faceby face; always fancying, in self-torturing waywardness, that she might bejust in the part of the gallery which I could not see. Oh! miserabledays of hope deferred, making the heart sick! Miserable gnawing ofdisappointment with which I returned at nightfall, to force myself down tomy books! Equally miserable rack of hope on which my nerves were stretchedevery morning when I rose, counting the hours till my day's work should beover, and my mad search begin again! At last "my torment did by length oftime become my element. " I returned steadily as ever to the studies whichI had at first neglected, much to Mackaye's wonder and disgust; and a vainhunt after that face became a part of my daily task, to be got through withthe same dull, sullen effort, with which all I did was now transacted. 

Mackaye, I suppose, at first, attributed my absences and idleness to myhaving got into bad company. But it was some weeks before he gently enoughtold me his suspicions, and they were answered by a burst of tears, and apassionate denial, which set them at rest forever. But I had not courage totell him what was the matter with me. A sacred modesty, as well as a senseof the impossibility of explaining my emotions, held me back. I had ahalf-dread, too, to confess the whole truth, of his ridiculing a fancy, to say the least, so utterly impracticable; and my only confidant wasa picture in the National Gallery, in one of the faces of which I haddiscovered some likeness to my Venus; and there I used to go and standat spare half hours, and feel the happier for staring and staring, andwhispering to the dead canvas the extravagances of my idolatry. 

But soon the bitter draught of disappointment began to breed harsherthoughts in me. Those fine gentlemen who rode past me in the park, whorolled by in carriages, sitting face to face with ladies, as richlydressed, if not as beautiful, as she was--they could see her when theyliked--why not I? What right had their eyes to a feast denied to mine?They, too, who did not appreciate, adore that beauty as I did--for whocould worship her like me? At least they had not suffered for her as Ihad done; they had not stood in rain and frost, fatigue, and blankdespair--watching--watching--month after month; and I was making coats forthem! The very garment I was stitching at, might, in a day's time, be inher presence--touching her dress; and its wearer bowing, and smiling, andwhispering--he had not bought that bliss by watching in the ram. It made memad to think of it. 

I will say no more about it. That is a period of my life on which I cannoteven now look back without a shudder. 

At last, after perhaps a year or more, I summoned up courage to tell mystory to Sandy Mackaye, and burst out with complaints more pardonable, perhaps, than reasonable. 

"Why have I not as good a right to speak to her, to move in the samesociety in which she moves, as any of the fops of the day? Is it becausethese aristocrats are more intellectual than I? I should not fear tomeasure brains against most of them now; and give me the opportunitieswhich they have, and I would die if I did not outstrip them. Why have I notthose opportunities? Is that fault of others to be visited on me? Is itbecause they are more refined than I? What right have they, if this saidrefinement be so necessary a qualification, a difference so deep--that, without it, there is to be an everlasting gulf between man and man--whatright have they to refuse to let me share in it, to give me the opportunityof acquiring it?"

"Wad ye ha' them set up a dancing academy for working men, wi' 'mannerstocht here to the lower classes'? They'll no break up their ain monopoly;trust them for it! Na: if ye want to get amang them, I'll tell ye theway o't. Write a book o' poems, and ca' it 'A Voice fra' the Goose, by aworking Tailor'--and then--why, after a dizen years or so of starving andscribbling for your bread, ye'll ha' a chance o' finding yoursel' a lion, and a flunkey, and a licker o' trenchers--ane that jokes for his dinner, and sells his soul for a fine leddy's smile--till ye presume to thinkthey're in earnest, and fancy yoursel' a man o' the same blude as they, andfa' in love wi' one o' them--and then they'll teach you your level, andsend ye off to gauge whusky like Burns, or leave ye' to die in a ditch asthey did wi' puir Thom. "

"Let me die, anywhere or anyhow, if I can but be near her--see her--"

"Married to anither body?--and nursing anither body's bairns. Ah boy, boy--do ye think that was what ye were made for; to please yersel wi' awoman's smiles, or e'en a woman's kisses--or to please yersel at all? Howdo ye expect ever to be happy, or strong, or a man at a', as long as ye goon looking to enjoy yersel--yersel? I ha' tried it. Mony was the year Ilooked for nought but my ain pleasure, and got it too, when it was a'

 "Sandy Mackaye, bonny Sandy Mackaye, There he sits singing the lang simmer's day; Lassies gae to him, And kiss him, and woo him-- Na bird is sa merry as Sandy Mackaye. 

"An' muckle good cam' o't. Ye may fancy I'm talking like a sour, disappointed auld carle. But I tell ye nay. I've got that's worth livingfor, though I am downhearted at times, and fancy a's wrong, and there's nahope for us on earth, we be a' sic liars--a' liars, I think: 'a universalliars--rock substrawtum, ' as Mr. Carlyle says. I'm a great liar oftenmysel, especially when I'm praying. Do ye think I'd live on here in thismeeserable crankit auld bane-barrel o' a body, if it was not for The Cause, and for the puir young fellows that come in to me whiles to get somebook-learning about the gran' auld Roman times, when folks didna care forthemselves, but for the nation, and a man counted wife and bairns and moneyas dross and dung, in comparison wi' the great Roman city, that was themither o' them a', and wad last on, free and glorious, after they and theirbairns were a' dead thegither? Hoot, man! If I had na The Cause to care forand to work for, whether I ever see it triumphant on earth or no--I'd justtak' the cauld-water-cure off Waterloo-bridge, and mak' mysel a case forthe Humane Society. "

"And what is The Cause?" I asked. 

"Wud I tell ye? We want no ready-made freens o' The Cause. I dinna hauldwi' thae French indoctrinating pedants, that took to stick free opinionsinto a man as ye'd stick pins into a pincushion, to fa' out again the firstshake. Na--The Cause must find a man, and tak' hauld o' him, willy-nilly, and grow up in him like an inspiration, till he can see nocht but in thelight o't. Puir bairn!" he went on, looking with a half-sad, half-comicface at me--"puir bairn--like a young bear, wi' a' your sorrows before ye!This time seven years ye'll ha' no need to come speering and questioningwhat The Cause is, and the Gran' Cause, and the Only Cause worth workingfor on the earth o' God. And noo gang your gate, and mak' fine feathers forfoul birds. I'm gaun whar ye'll be ganging too, before lang. "

As I went sadly out of the shop, he called me back. 

"Stay a wee, bairn; there's the Roman History for ye. There ye'll read whatThe Cause is, and how they that seek their ain are no worthy thereof. "

I took the book, and found in the legends of Brutus, and Cocles, andScævola, and the retreat to the Mons Sacer, and the Gladiator's war, whatThe Cause was, and forgot awhile in those tales of antique heroism andpatriotic self-sacrifice my own selfish longings and sorrows. 

 * * * * *

But, after all, the very advice which was meant to cure me of those selfishlongings, only tended, by diverting me from my living outward idol, to turnmy thoughts more than ever inward, and tempt them to feed on theirown substance. I passed whole days on the workroom floor in broodingsilence--my mind peopled with an incoherent rabble of phantasms patchedup from every object of which I had ever read. I could not control mydaydreams; they swept me away with them over sea and land, and into thebowels of the earth. My soul escaped on every side from my civilizeddungeon of brick and mortar, into the great free world from which my bodywas debarred. Now I was the corsair in the pride of freedom on the darkblue sea. Now I wandered in fairy caverns among the bones of primævalmonsters. I fought at the side of Leonidas, and the Maccabee who stabbedthe Sultan's elephant, and saw him crushed beneath its falling bulk. NowI was a hunter in tropic forests--I heard the parrots scream, and saw thehumming birds flit on from gorgeous flower to flower. Gradually I tooka voluntary pleasure in calling up these images, and working out theirdetails into words with all the accuracy and care for which my smallknowledge gave me materials. And as the self-indulgent habit grew on me, I began to live two lives--one mechanical and outward, one inward andimaginative. The thread passed through my fingers without my knowing it;I did my work as a machine might do it. The dingy stifling room, the wanfaces of my companions, the scanty meals which I snatched, I saw dimly, asin a dream. The tropics, and Greece, the imaginary battles which I fought, the phantoms into whose mouths I put my thoughts, were real and true tome. They met me when I woke--they floated along beside me as I walked towork--they acted their fantastic dramas before me through the sleeplesshours of night. Gradually certain faces among them became familiar--certainpersonages grew into coherence, as embodiments of those few types ofcharacter which had struck me the most, and played an analogous part inevery fresh fantasia. Sandy Mackaye's face figured incongruously enough asLeonidas, Brutus, a Pilgrim Father; and gradually, in spite of myself, andthe fear with which I looked on the recurrence of that dream, Lillian'sfigure re-entered my fairy-land. I saved her from a hundred dangers; Ifollowed her through dragon-guarded caverns and the corridors of magiccastles; I walked by her side through the forests of the Amazon. .. . 

And now I began to crave for some means of expressing these fanciesto myself. While they were mere thoughts, parts of me, they wereunsatisfactory, however delicious. I longed to put them outside me, that Imight look at them and talk to them as permanent independent things. FirstI tried to sketch them on the whitewashed walls of my garret, on scrapsof paper begged from Mackaye, or picked up in the workroom. But from myignorance of any rules of drawing, they were utterly devoid of beauty, andonly excited my disgust. Besides, I had thoughts as well as objects toexpress--thoughts strange, sad, wild, about my own feelings, my owndestiny, and drawing could not speak them for me. 

Then I turned instinctively to poetry: with its rules I was getting rapidlyconversant. The mere desire of imitation urged me on, and when I tried, thegrace of rhyme and metre covered a thousand defects. I tell my story, notas I saw it then, but as I see it now. A long and lonely voyage, with itsmonotonous days and sleepless nights--its sickness and heart-loneliness, has given me opportunities for analysing my past history which wereimpossible then, amid the ceaseless in-rush of new images, the ceaselessferment of their re-combination, in which my life was passed from sixteento twenty-five. The poet, I suppose, must be a seer as long as he is aworker, and a seer only. He has no time to philosophize--to "think aboutthinking, " as Goethe, I have somewhere read, says that he never could do. It is too often only in sickness and prostration and sheer despair, thatthe fierce veracity and swift digestion of his soul can cease, and give himtime to know himself and God's dealings with him; and for that reason it isgood for him, too, to have been afflicted. 

I do not write all this to boast of it; I am ready to bear sneers at myromance--my day-dreams--my unpractical habits of mind, for I know that Ideserve them. But such was the appointed growth of my uneducated mind; nomore unhealthy a growth, if I am to believe books, than that of many acarefully trained one. Highborn geniuses, they tell me, have their idlevisions as well as we working-men; and Oxford has seen of late years aswild Icarias conceived as ever were fathered by a red Republic. For, indeed, we have the same flesh and blood, the same God to teach us, thesame devil to mislead us, whether we choose to believe it or not. But therewere excuses for me. We Londoners are not accustomed from our youth to thepoems of a great democratic genius, as the Scotchmen are to their gloriousBurns. We have no chance of such an early acquaintance with poetic artas that which enabled John Bethune, one of the great unrepresented--thestarving Scotch day-labourer, breaking stones upon the parish roads, towrite at the age of seventeen such words as these:--

 Hail, hallow'd evening! sacred hour to me! Thy clouds of grey, thy vocal melody, Thy dreamy silence oft to me have brought A sweet exchange from toil to peaceful thought. Ye purple heavens! how often has my eye, Wearied with its long gaze on drudgery, Look'd up and found refreshment in the hues That gild thy vest with colouring profuse!

 O, evening grey! how oft have I admired Thy airy tapestry, whose radiance fired The glowing minstrels of the olden time, Until their very souls flow'd forth in rhyme. And I have listened, till my spirit grew Familiar with their deathless strains, and drew From the same source some portion of the glow Which fill'd their spirits, when from earth below They scann'd thy golden imagery. And I Have consecrated _thee_, bright evening sky My fount of inspiration; and I fling My spirit on thy clouds--an offering To the great Deity of dying day. Who hath transfused o'er thee his purple ray. * * * * *

After all, our dreams do little harm to the rich. Those who considerChartism as synonymous with devil-worship, should bless and encourage them, for the very reason for which we working men ought to dread them; for, quickened into prurient activity by the low, novel-mongering press, theyhelp to enervate and besot all but the noblest minds among us. Here andthere a Thomas Cooper, sitting in Stafford gaol, after a youth spent incobbling shoes, vents his treasures of classic and historic learning in a"Purgatory of Suicides"; or a Prince becomes the poet of the poor, noless for having fed his boyish fancy with "The Arabian Nights" and "ThePilgrim's Progress. " But, with the most of us, sedentary andmonotonous occupations, as has long been known, create of themselves amorbidly-meditative and fantastic turn of mind. And what else, inHeaven's name, ye fine gentlemen--what else can a working man do withhis imagination, but dream? What else will you let him do with it, oh yeeducation-pedants, who fancy that you can teach the masses as you woulddrill soldiers, every soul alike, though you will not bestir yourselvesto do even that? Are there no differences of rank--God's rank, notman's--among us? You have discovered, since your schoolboy days, thefallacy of the old nomenclature which civilly classed us altogether as "thesnobs, " "the blackguards"; which even--so strong is habit--temptedBurke himself to talk of us as "the swinish multitude. " You are findingyourselves wrong there. A few more years' experience not in mis-educatingthe poor, but in watching the poor really educate themselves, may teach youthat we are not all by nature dolts and idiots; that there are differencesof brain among us, just as great as there is between you; and that thereare those among us whose education ought not to end, and will not end, withthe putting off of the parish cap and breeches; whom it is cruelty, as wellas folly, to toss back into the hell of mere manual drudgery, as soon asyou have--if, indeed, you have been even so bountiful as that--excited inthem a new thirst of the intellect and imagination. If you provide thatcraving with no wholesome food, you at least have no right to blame it ifit shall gorge itself with poison. 

Dare for once to do a strange thing, and let yourself be laughed at; go toa workman's meeting--a Chartist meeting, if you will; and look honestlyat the faces and brows of those so-called incendiaries, whom your venalcaricaturists have taught you to believe a mixture of cur-dog andbaboon--we, for our part, shall not be ashamed to show foreheads againstyour laughing House of Commons--and then say, what employment can those menfind in the soulless routine of mechanical labour for the mass of brainwhich they almost universally possess? They must either dream or agitate;perhaps they are now learning how to do both to some purpose. 

But I have found, by sad experience, that there is little use indeclamation. I had much better simply tell my story, and leave my readersto judge of the facts, if, indeed, they will be so far courteous as tobelieve them. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

LIGHT IN A DARK PLACE. 

So I made my first attempt at poetry--need I say that my subject was thebeautiful Lillian? And need I say, too, that I was as utterly disgustedat my attempt to express her in words, as I had been at my trial with thepencil? It chanced also, that after hammering out half a dozen verses, Imet with Mr. Tennyson's poems; and the unequalled sketches of women that Ifound there, while they had, with the rest of the book, a new andabiding influence on my mind, were quite enough to show me my own fatalincompetency in that line. I threw my verses away, never to resume them. Perhaps I proved thereby the depth of my affection. Our mightiest feelings, are always those which remain most unspoken. The most intense lovers andthe greatest poets have generally, I think, written very little personallove-poetry, while they have shown in fictitious characters a knowledge ofthe passion too painfully intimate to be spoken of in the first person. 

But to escape from my own thoughts, I could not help writing something; andto escape from my own private sorrows, writing on some matter with whichI had no personal concern. And so, after much casting about for subjects, Childe Harold and the old missionary records contrived to celebratea spiritual wedding in my brain, of which anomalous marriage came aproportionately anomalous offspring. 

My hero was not to be a pirate, but a pious sea-rover, who, with a crew ofsaints, or at least uncommonly fine fellows, who could be very manlyand jolly, and yet all be good Christians, of a somewhat vague andlatitudinarian cast of doctrine (for my own was becoming rapidly so), set forth under the red-cross flag to colonize and convert one of my oldparadises, a South Sea Island. 

I forget most of the lines--they were probably great trash, but I huggedthem to my bosom as a young mother does her first child. 

 'Twas sunset in the lone Pacific world, The rich gleams fading in the western sky; Within the still Lagoon the sails were furled, The red-cross flag alone was flaunting high. Before them was the low and palm-fringed shore, Behind, the outer ocean's baffled roar. 

After which valiant plunge _in medias res_, came a great lump of deception, after the manner of youths--of the island, and the whitehouses, and thebanana groves, and above all, the single volcano towering over the whole, which

 Shaking a sinful isle with thundering shocks, Reproved the worshippers of stones and stocks. 

Then how a line of foam appears on the Lagoon, which is supposed atfirst to be a shoal of fish, but turns out to be a troop of naked islandbeauties, swimming out to the ship. The decent missionaries were certainlyguiltless of putting that into my head, whether they ever saw it or not--agreat many things happening in the South Seas of which they find itconvenient to say nothing. I think I picked it up from Wallis, or Cook, orsome other plain spoken voyager. 

The crew gaze in pardonable admiration, but the hero, in a long speech, reproves them for their lightmindedness, reminds them of their sacredmission, and informs them that, The soldiers of the cross should turn their eyes From carnal lusts and heathen vanities;

beyond which indisputable assertion I never got; for this being aboutthe fiftieth stanza, I stopped to take breath a little; and reading andre-reading, patching and touching continually, grew so accustomed to mybantling's face, that, like a mother, I could not tell whether it washandsome or hideous, sense or nonsense. I have since found out that thetrue plan, for myself at least, is to write off as much as possible at atime, and then lay it by and forget it for weeks--if I can, for months. After that, on returning to it, the mind regards it as something altogetherstrange and new, and can, or rather ought to, judge of it as it would ofthe work of another pen. 

But really, between conceit and disgust, fancying myself one day a greatnew poet, and the next a mere twaddler, I got so puzzled and anxious, thatI determined to pluck up courage, go to Mackaye, and ask him to solve theproblem for me. 

"Hech, sirs, poetry! I've been expecting it. I suppose it's the appointedgate o' a workman's intellectual life--that same lust o' versification. Aweel, aweel, --let's hear. "

Blushing and trembling, I read my verses aloud in as resonant andmagniloquent a voice as I could command. I thought Mackaye's upper lipwould never stop lengthening, or his lower lip protruding. He chuckledintensely at the unfortunate rhyme between "shocks" and "stocks. " Indeed, it kept him in chuckling matter for a whole month afterwards; but when Ihad got to the shoal of naked girls, he could bear no more, and burst out--

"What the deevil! is there no harlotry and idolatry here in England, thatye maun gang speering after it in the Cannibal Islands? Are ye gaun to belike they puir aristocrat bodies, that wad suner hear an Italian dog howl, than an English nightingale sing, and winna harken to Mr. John Thomastill he calls himself Giovanni Thomasino; or do ye tak yourself for asinging-bird, to go all your days tweedle-dumdeeing out into the lift, just for the lust o' hearing your ain clan clatter? Will ye be a man or alintic? Coral Islands? Pacific? What do ye ken about Pacifics? Are ye aCockney or a Cannibal Islander? Dinna stand there, ye gowk, as fusionlessas a docken, but tell me that! Whaur do ye live?"

"What do you mean, Mr. Mackaye?" asked I, with a doleful and disappointedvisage. 

"Mean--why, if God had meant ye to write aboot Pacifics, He'd ha' put yethere--and because He means ye to write aboot London town, He's put yethere--and gien ye an unco sharp taste o' the ways o't; and I'll gie yeanither. Come along wi' me. "

And he seized me by the arm, and hardly giving me time to put on my hat, marched me out into the streets, and away through Clare Market to St. Giles's. 

It was a foul, chilly, foggy Saturday night. From the butchers' andgreengrocers' shops the gas lights flared and flickered, wild and ghastly, over haggard groups of slip-shod dirty women, bargaining for scraps ofstale meat and frost-bitten vegetables, wrangling about short weight andbad quality. Fish-stalls and fruit-stalls lined the edge of the greasypavement, sending up odours as foul as the language of sellers and buyers. Blood and sewer-water crawled from under doors and out of spouts, andreeked down the gutters among offal, animal and vegetable, in every stageof putrefaction. Foul vapours rose from cowsheds and slaughter houses, andthe doorways of undrained alleys, where the inhabitants carried the filthout on their shoes from the back-yard into the court, and from the courtup into the main street; while above, hanging like cliffs over thestreets--those narrow, brawling torrents of filth, and poverty, andsin, --the houses with their teeming load of life were piled up into thedingy, choking night. A ghastly, deafening sickening sight it was. Go, scented Belgravian! and see what London is! and then go to the librarywhich God has given thee--one often fears in vain--and see what sciencesays this London might be!

"Ay, " he muttered to himself, as he strode along, "sing awa; get yourselwi' child wi' pretty fancies and gran' words, like the rest o' the poets, and gang to hell for it. "

"To hell, Mr. Mackaye?"

"Ay, to a verra real hell, Alton Locke, laddie--a warse ane than onyfiends' kitchen, or subterranean Smithfield that ye'll hear o' in thepulpits--the hell on earth o' being a flunkey, and a humbug, and a uselesspeacock, wasting God's gifts on your ain lusts and pleasures--and kenningit--and not being able to get oot o' it, for the chains o' vanity andself-indulgence. I've warned ye. Now look there--"

He stopped suddenly before the entrance of a miserable alley--

"Look! there's not a soul down that yard but's either beggar, drunkard, thief, or warse. Write anent that! Say how you saw the mouth o' hell, andthe twa pillars thereof at the entry--the pawnbroker's shop o' one side, and the gin palace at the other--twa monstrous deevils, eating up men, andwomen, and bairns, body and soul. Look at the jaws o' the monsters, howthey open and open, and swallow in anither victim and anither. Write anentthat. "

"What jaws, Mr. Mackaye?"

"They faulding-doors o' the gin shop, goose. Are na they a mair damnableman-devouring idol than ony red-hot statue o' Moloch, or wicker Gogmagog, wherein thae auld Britons burnt their prisoners? Look at thae bare-footedbare-backed hizzies, with their arms roun' the men's necks, and theirmouths full o' vitriol and beastly words! Look at that Irishwoman pouringthe gin down the babbie's throat! Look at that rough o' a boy gaun outo' the pawn shop, where he's been pledging the handkerchief he stole themorning, into the gin shop, to buy beer poisoned wi' grains o'paradise, and cocculus indicus, and saut, and a' damnable, maddening, thirst-breeding, lust-breeding drugs! Look at that girl that went in wi'a shawl on her back and cam' out wi'out ane! Drunkards frae thebreast!--harlots frae the cradle! damned before they're born! John Calvinhad an inkling o' the truth there, I'm a'most driven to think, wi' hisreprobation deevil's doctrines!"

"Well--but--Mr. Mackaye, I know nothing about these poor creatures. "

"Then ye ought. What do ye ken anent the Pacific? Which is maist to yourbusiness?--thae bare-backed hizzies that play the harlot o' the other sideo' the warld, or these--these thousands o' bare-backed hizzies that playthe harlot o' your ain side--made out o' your ain flesh and blude? You apoet! True poetry, like true charity, my laddie, begins at hame. If ye'llbe a poet at a', ye maun be a cockney poet; and while the cockneys be whatthey be, ye maun write, like Jeremiah of old, o' lamentation and mourningand woe, for the sins o' your people. Gin you want to learn the spirit o' apeople's poet, down wi' your Bible and read thae auld Hebrew prophets; ginye wad learn the style, read your Burns frae morning till night; and ginye'd learn the matter, just gang after your nose, and keep your eyes open, and ye'll no miss it. "

"But all this is so--so unpoetical. "

"Hech! Is there no the heeven above them there, and the hell beneath them?and God frowning, and the deevil grinning? No poetry there! Is no the verraidea of the classic tragedy defined to be, man conquered by circumstance?Canna ye see it there? And the verra idea of the modern tragedy, manconquering circumstance?--and I'll show you that, too--in mony a garretwhere no eye but the gude God's enters, to see the patience, and thefortitude, and the self-sacrifice, and the luve stronger than death, that'sshining in thae dark places o' the earth. Come wi' me, and see. "

We went on through a back street or two, and then into a huge, miserablehouse, which, a hundred years ago, perhaps, had witnessed the luxury, andrung to the laughter of some one great fashionable family, alone therein their glory. Now every room of it held its family, or its group offamilies--a phalanstery of all the fiends;--its grand staircase, with thecarved balustrades rotting and crumbling away piecemeal, converted into acommon sewer for all its inmates. Up stair after stair we went, while wailsof children, and curses of men, steamed out upon the hot stifling rush ofair from every doorway, till, at the topmost story, we knocked at a garretdoor. We entered. Bare it was of furniture, comfortless, and freezing cold;but, with the exception of the plaster dropping from the roof, and thebroken windows, patched with rags and paper, there was a scrupulousneatness about the whole, which contrasted strangely with the filth andslovenliness outside. There was no bed in the room--no table. On a brokenchair by the chimney sat a miserable old woman, fancying that she waswarming her hands over embers which had long been cold, shaking her head, and muttering to herself, with palsied lips, about the guardians and theworkhouse; while upon a few rags on the floor lay a girl, ugly, small-poxmarked, hollow eyed, emaciated, her only bed clothes the skirt of a largehandsome new riding-habit, at which two other girls, wan and tawdry, werestitching busily, as they sat right and left of her on the floor. The oldwoman took no notice of us as we entered; but one of the girls looked up, and, with a pleased gesture of recognition, put her finger up to her lips, and whispered, "Ellen's asleep. "

"I'm not asleep, dears, " answered a faint, unearthly voice; "I was onlypraying. Is that Mr. Mackaye?"

"Ay, my lassies; but ha' ye gotten na fire the nicht?"

"No, " said one of them, bitterly, "we've earned no fire to-night, by fairtrade or foul either. "

The sick girl tried to raise herself up and speak, but was stopped by afrightful fit of coughing and expectoration, as painful, apparently, to thesufferer as it was, I confess, disgusting even to me. 

I saw Mackaye slip something into the hand of one of the girls, andwhisper, "A half-hundred of coals;" to which she replied, with an eagerlook of gratitude that I never can forget, and hurried out. Then thesufferer, as if taking advantage of her absence, began to speak quickly andeagerly. 

"Oh, Mr. Mackaye--dear, kind Mr. Mackaye--do speak to her; and do speak topoor Lizzy here! I'm not afraid to say it before her, because she's moregentle like, and hasn't learnt to say bad words yet--but do speak to them, and tell them not to go the bad Way, like all the rest. Tell them it'llnever prosper. I know it is want that drives them to it, as it drives allof us--but tell them it's best to starve and die honest girls, than to goabout with the shame and the curse of God on their hearts, for the sake ofkeeping this poor, miserable, vile body together a few short years more inthis world o' sorrow. Do tell them, Mr. Mackaye. "

"I'm thinking, " said he, with the tears running down his old withered face, "ye'll mak a better preacher at that text than I shall, Ellen. "

"Oh, no, no; who am I, to speak to them?--it's no merit o' mine, Mr. Mackaye, that the Lord's kept me pure through it all. I should have beenjust as bad as any of them, if the Lord had not kept me out of temptationin His great mercy, by making me the poor, ill-favoured creature I am. Fromthat time I was burnt when I was a child, and had the small-pox afterwards, oh! how sinful I was, and repined and rebelled against the Lord! And now Isee it was all His blessed mercy to keep me out of evil, pure and unspottedfor my dear Jesus, when He comes to take me to Himself. I saw Him lastnight, Mr. Mackaye, as plain as I see you now, ail in a flame of beautifulwhite fire, smiling at me so sweetly; and He showed me the wounds in Hishands and His feet, and He said, 'Ellen, my own child, those that sufferwith me here, they shall be glorified with me hereafter, for I'm comingvery soon to take you home. '"

Sandy shook his head at all this with a strange expression of face, as ifhe sympathized and yet disagreed, respected and yet smiled at the shapewhich her religious ideas had assumed; and I remarked in the meantime thatthe poor girl's neck and arm were all scarred and distorted, apparentlyfrom the effects of a burn. 

"Ah, " said Sandy, at length, "I tauld ye ye were the better preacher of thetwo; ye've mair comfort to gie Sandy than he has to gie the like o' ye. Buthow is the wound in your back the day?"

Oh, it was wonderfully better! the doctor had come and given her suchblessed ease with a great thick leather he had put under it, and then shedid not feel the boards through so much. "But oh, Mr. Mackaye, I'm soafraid it will make me live longer to keep me away from my dear Saviour. And there's one thing, too, that's breaking my heart, and makes me long todie this very minute, even if I didn't go to Heaven at all, Mr. Mackaye. "(And she burst out crying, and between her sobs it came out, as well asI could gather, that her notion was, that her illness was the cause ofkeeping the girls in "_the bad ivay_, " as she called it. ) "For Lizzy here, I did hope that she had repented of it after all my talking to her; butsince I've been so bad, and the girls have had to keep me most o' the time, she's gone out of nights just as bad as ever. "

Lizzy had hid her face in her hands the greater part of this speech. Nowshe looked up passionately, almost fiercely--

"Repent--I have repented--I repent of it every hour--I hate myself, andhate all the world because of it; but I must--I must; I cannot see herstarve, and I cannot starve myself. When she first fell sick she kept on aslong as she could, doing what she could, and then between us we only earnedthree shillings a week, and there was ever so much to take off for fire, and twopence for thread, and fivepence for candles; and then we were alwaysgetting fined, because they never gave us out the work till too late onpurpose, and then they lowered prices again; and now Ellen can't work atall, and there's four of us with the old lady, to keep off two's work thatcouldn't keep themselves alone. "

"Doesn't the parish allow the old lady anything?" I ventured to ask. 

"They used to allow half-a-crown for a bit; and the doctor ordered Ellenthings from the parish, but it isn't half of 'em she ever got; and when themeat came, it was half times not fit to eat, and when it was her stomachturned against it. If she was a lady she'd be cockered up with all sorts ofsoups and jellies, and nice things, just the minute she fancied 'em, andlie on a water bed instead of the bare floor--and so she ought; but where'sthe parish'll do that? And the hospital wouldn't take her in because shewas incurable; and, besides, the old'un wouldn't let her go--nor into theunion neither. When she's in a good-humour like, she'll sit by her by thehour, holding her hand and kissing of it, and nursing of it, for all theworld like a doll. But she won't hear of the workhouse; so now, these lastthree weeks, they takes off all her pay, because they says she must go intothe house, and not kill her daughter by keeping her out--as if they warn'ta killing her themselves. "

"No workhouse--no workhouse!" said the old woman, turning round suddenly, in a clear, lofty voice. "No workhouse, sir, for an officer's daughter!"

And she relapsed into her stupor. 

At that moment the other girl entered with the coals--but without stayingto light the fire, ran up to Ellen with some trumpery dainty she hadbought, and tried to persuade her to eat it. 

"We have been telling Mr. Mackaye everything, " said poor Lizzy. 

"A pleasant story, isn't it? Oh! if that fine lady, as we're making thatriding-habit for, would just spare only half the money that goes todressing her up to ride in the park, to send us out to the colonies, wouldn't I be an honest girl there?--maybe an honest man's wife! Oh, myGod, wouldn't I slave my fingers to the bone to work for him! Wouldn't Imend my life then! I couldn't help it--it would be like getting into heavenout of hell. But now--we must--we must, I tell you. I shall go mad soon, Ithink, or take to drink. When I passed the gin-shop down there just now, I had to run like mad for fear I should go in; and if I once took tothat--Now then, to work again. Make up the fire, Mrs. * * * *, please do. "

And she sat down, and began stitching frantically at the riding-habit, from which the other girl had hardly lifted her hands or eyes for a momentduring our visit. 

We made a motion, as if to go. 

"God bless you, " said Ellen; "come again soon, dear Mr. Mackaye. "

"Good-bye, " said the elder girl; "and good-night to you. Night and day'sall the same here--we must have this home by seven o'clock to-morrowmorning. My lady's going to ride early, they say, whoever she may be, andwe must just sit up all night. It's often we haven't had our clothes offfor a week together, from four in the morning till two the next morningsometimes--stitch, stitch, stitch. Somebody's wrote a song about that--I'lllearn to sing it--it'll sound fitting-like up here. "

"Better sing hymns, " said Ellen. 

"Hymns for * * * * * *?" answered the other, and then burst out into thatpeculiar, wild, ringing, fiendish laugh--has my reader never heard it?

I pulled out the two or three shillings which I possessed, and tried tomake the girls take them, for the sake of poor Ellen. 

"No; you're a working man, and we won't feed on you--you'll want it someday--all the trade's going the same way as we, as fast as ever it can!"

Sandy and I went down the stairs. 

"Poetic element? Yon lassie, rejoicing in her disfigurement and not herbeauty--like the nuns of Peterborough in auld time--is there na poetrythere? That puir lassie, dying on the bare boards, and seeing her Saviourin her dreams, is there na poetry there, callant? That auld body owre thefire, wi' her 'an officer's dochter, ' is there na poetry there? Thatither, prostituting hersel to buy food for her freen--is there na poetrythere?--tragedy--

 "With hues as when some mighty painter dips His pen in dyes of earthquake and eclipse. 

"Ay, Shelley's gran'; always gran'; but Fact is grander--God and Satan aregrander. All around ye, in every gin-shop and costermonger's cellar, areGod and Satan at death grips; every garret is a haill Paradise Lost orParadise Regained; and will ye think it beneath ye to be the 'People'sPoet?'"

CHAPTER IX. 

POETRY AND POETS. 

In the history of individuals, as well as in that of nations, there isoften a period of sudden blossoming--a short luxuriant summer, not withoutits tornadoes and thunder-glooms, in which all the buried seeds of pastobservation leap forth together into life, and form, and beauty. And suchwith me were the two years that followed. I thought--I talked poetryto myself all day long. I wrote nightly on my return from work. I amastonished, on looking back, at the variety and quantity of my productionsduring that short time. My subjects were intentionally and professedlycockney ones. I had taken Mackaye at his word. I had made up my mind, thatif I had any poetic powers I must do my duty therewith in that station oflife to which it had pleased God to call me, and look at everything simplyand faithfully as a London artizan. To this, I suppose, is to be attributedthe little geniality and originality for which the public have kindlypraised my verses--a geniality which sprung, not from the atmosphere whenceI drew, but from the honesty and single-mindedness with which, I hope, Ilaboured. Not from the atmosphere, indeed, --that was ungenial enough; crimeand poverty, all-devouring competition, and hopeless struggles againstMammon and Moloch, amid the roar of wheels, the ceaseless stream of pale, hard faces, intent on gain, or brooding over woe; amid endless prison wallsof brick, beneath a lurid, crushing sky of smoke and mist. It was a dark, noisy, thunderous element that London life; a troubled sea that cannotrest, casting up mire and dirt; resonant of the clanking of chains, thegrinding of remorseless machinery, the wail of lost spirits from the pit. And it did its work upon me; it gave a gloomy colouring, a glare as of someDantean "Inferno, " to all my utterances. It did not excite me or make mefierce--I was too much inured to it--but it crushed and saddened me; itdeepened in me that peculiar melancholy of intellectual youth, whichMr. Carlyle has christened for ever by one of his immortalnicknames--"Werterism"; I battened on my own melancholy. I believed, Iloved to believe, that every face I passed bore the traces of discontent asdeep as was my own--and was I so far wrong? Was I so far wrong either inthe gloomy tone of my own poetry? Should not a London poet's work just nowbe to cry, like the Jew of old, about the walls of Jerusalem, "Woe, woeto this city!" Is this a time to listen to the voices of singing men andsinging women? or to cry, "Oh! that my head were a fountain of tears, thatI might weep for the sins of my people"? Is it not noteworthy, also, thatit is in this vein that the London poets have always been greatest? Whichof poor Hood's lyrics have an equal chance of immortality with "The Song ofthe Shirt" and "The Bridge of Sighs, " rising, as they do, right out ofthe depths of that Inferno, sublime from their very simplicity? Whichof Charles Mackay's lyrics can compare for a moment with the Eschyleangrandeur, the terrible rhythmic lilt of his "Cholera Chant"--

 Dense on the stream the vapours lay, Thick as wool on the cold highway; Spungy and dim each lonely lamp Shone o'er the streets so dull and damp; The moonbeams could not pierce the cloud That swathed the city like a shroud; There stood three shapes on the bridge alone, Three figures by the coping-stone; Gaunt and tall and undefined, Spectres built of mist and wind. * * * * * I see his footmarks east and west-- I hear his tread in the silence fall-- He shall not sleep, he shall not rest-- He comes to aid us one and all. Were men as wise as men might be, They would not work for you, for me, For him that cometh over the sea; But they will not hear the warning voice: The Cholera comes, --Rejoice! rejoice! He shall be lord of the swarming town! And mow them down, and mow them down! * * * * *

Not that I neglected, on the other hand, every means of extending thewanderings of my spirit into sunnier and more verdant pathways. If I had totell the gay ones above of the gloom around me, I had also to go forth intothe sunshine, to bring home if it were but a wild-flower garland to thosethat sit in darkness and the shadow of death. That was all that I couldoffer them. The reader shall judge, when he has read this book throughout, whether I did not at last find for them something better than even all thebeauties of nature. 

But it was on canvas, and not among realities, that I had to choose mygarlands; and therefore the picture galleries became more than ever myfavourite--haunt, I was going to say; but, alas! it was not six times ayear that I got access to them. Still, when once every May I found myself, by dint of a hard saved shilling, actually within the walls of that to meenchanted palace, the Royal Academy Exhibition--Oh, ye rich! who gaze roundyou at will upon your prints and pictures, if hunger is, as they say, a better sauce than any Ude invents, and fasting itself may become thehandmaid of luxury, you should spend, as I did perforce, weeks and monthsshut out from every glimpse of Nature, if you would taste her beauties, even on canvas, with perfect relish and childish self-abandonment. HowI loved and blessed those painters! how I thanked Creswick for everytransparent shade-chequered pool; Fielding, for every rain-clad down;Cooper, for every knot of quiet cattle beneath the cool grey willows;Stanfield, for every snowy peak, and sheet of foam-fringed sapphire--eachand every one of them a leaf out of the magic book which else was everclosed to me. Again, I say, how I loved and blest those painters! On theother hand, I was not neglecting to read as well as to write poetry; and, to speak first of the highest, I know no book, always excepting Milton, which at once so quickened and exalted my poetical view of man and hishistory, as that great prose poem, the single epic of modern days, ThomasCarlyle's "French Revolution. " Of the general effect which his works had onme, I shall say nothing: it was the same as they have had, thank God, onthousands of my class and of every other. But that book above all firstrecalled me to the overwhelming and yet ennobling knowledge that therewas such a thing as Duty; first taught me to see in history not the merefarce-tragedy of man's crimes and follies, but the dealings of a righteousRuler of the universe, whose ways are in the great deep, and whom the sinsand errors, as well as the virtues and discoveries of man, must obey andjustify. 

Then, in a happy day, I fell on Alfred Tennyson's poetry, and found there, astonished and delighted, the embodiment of thoughts about the earth aroundme which I had concealed, because I fancied them peculiar to myself. Why isit that the latest poet has generally the greatest influence over the mindsof the young? Surely not for the mere charm of novelty? The reason is thathe, living amid the same hopes, the same temptations, the same sphere ofobservation as they, gives utterance and outward form to the very questionswhich, vague and wordless, have been exercising their hearts. And whatendeared Tennyson especially to me, the working man, was, as I afterwardsdiscovered, the altogether democratic tendency of his poems. True, allgreat poets are by their office democrats; seers of man only as man;singers of the joys, the sorrows, the aspirations common to all humanity;but in Alfred Tennyson there is an element especially democratic, trulylevelling; not his political opinions, about which I know nothing, andcare less, but his handling of the trivial every-day sights and sounds ofnature. Brought up, as I understand, in a part of England which possessesnot much of the picturesque, and nothing of that which the vulgar callsublime, he has learnt to see that in all nature, in the hedgerow and thesandbank, as well as in the alp peak and the ocean waste, is a world oftrue sublimity, --a minute infinite, --an ever fertile garden of poeticimages, the roots of which are in the unfathomable and the eternal, astruly as any phenomenon which astonishes and awes the eye. The descriptionsof the desolate pools and creeks where the dying swan floated, the hint ofthe silvery marsh mosses by Mariana's moat, came to me like revelations. I always knew there was something beautiful, wonderful, sublime, in thoseflowery dykes of Battersea Fields; in the long gravelly sweeps of that lonetidal shore; and here was a man who had put them into words for me! Thisis what I call democratic art--the revelation of the poetry which lies incommon things. And surely all the age is tending in that direction: inLandseer and his dogs--in Fielding and his downs, with a host of noblefellow-artists--and in all authors who have really seized the nation'smind, from Crabbe and Burns and Wordsworth to Hood and Dickens, the greattide sets ever onward, outward, towards that which is common to the many, not that which is exclusive to the few--towards the likeness of Him whocauses His rain to fall on the just and the unjust, and His sun to shine onthe evil and the good; who knoweth the cattle upon a thousand hills, andall the beasts of the field are in His sight. 

Well--I must return to my story. And here some one may ask me, "But didyou not find this true spiritual democracy, this universal knowledge andsympathy, in Shakspeare above all other poets?" It may be my shame to haveto confess it; but though I find it now, I did not then. I do not think, however, my case is singular: from what I can ascertain, there is, evenwith regularly educated minds, a period of life at which that great writeris not appreciated, just on account of his very greatness; on account ofthe deep and large experience which the true understanding of his playsrequires--experience of man, of history, of art, and above all of thosesorrows whereby, as Hezekiah says, and as I have learnt almost toowell--"whereby men live, and in all which, is the life of the spirit. " Atseventeen, indeed, I had devoured Shakspeare, though merely for the food tomy fancy which his plots and incidents supplied, for the gorgeous colouringof his scenery: but at the period of which I am now writing, I hadexhausted that source of mere pleasure; I was craving for more explicit anddogmatic teaching than any which he seemed to supply; and for three years, strange as it may appear, I hardly ever looked into his pages. Under whatcircumstances I afterwards recurred to his exhaustless treasures, myreaders shall in due time be told. 

So I worked away manfully with such tools and stock as I possessed, andof course produced, at first, like all young writers, some sufficientlyservile imitations of my favourite poets. 

"Ugh!" said Sandy, "wha wants mongrels atween Burns and Tennyson? A gudestock baith: but gin ye'd cross the breed ye maun unite the spirits, andno the manners, o' the men. Why maun ilk a one the noo steal his neebor'sbarnacles, before he glints out o' windows? Mak a style for yoursel, laddie; ye're na mair Scots hind than ye are Lincolnshire laird: sae gangyer ain gate and leave them to gang theirs; and just mak a gran', brode, simple, Saxon style for yoursel. "

"But how can I, till I know what sort of a style it ought to be?"

"Oh! but yon's amazing like Tom Sheridan's answer to his father. 'Tom, 'says the auld man, 'I'm thinking ye maun tak a wife. ' 'Verra weel, father, 'says the puir skellum; 'and wha's wife shall I tak?' Wha's style shall Itak? say all the callants the noo. Mak a style as ye would mak a wife, bymarrying her a' to yoursel; and ye'll nae mair ken what's your style tillit's made, than ye'll ken what your wife's like till she's been mony a yearby your ingle. "

"My dear Mackaye, " I said, "you have the most unmerciful way of raisingdifficulties, and then leaving poor fellows to lay the ghost forthemselves. "

"Hech, then, I'm a'thegither a negative teacher, as they ca' it in the newlallans. I'll gang out o' my gate to tell a man his kye are laired, but I'mno obligated thereby to pu' them out for him. After a', nae man is rid o' adifficulty till he's conquered it single-handed for himsel: besides, I'm napoet, mair's the gude hap for you. "

"Why, then?"

"Och, och! they're puir, feckless, crabbit, unpractical bodies, they poets;but if it's your doom, ye maun dree it; and I'm sair afeard ye ha' gottenthe disease o' genius, mair's the pity, and maun write, I suppose, willy-nilly. Some folks' booels are that made o' catgut, that they cannastir without chirruping and screeking. "

However, _æstro percitus_, I wrote on; and in about two years and a halfhad got together "Songs of the Highways" enough to fill a small octavovolume, the circumstances of whose birth shall be given hereafter. WhetherI ever attained to anything like an original style, readers must judge forthemselves--the readers of the same volume I mean, for I have inserted noneof those poems in this my autobiography; first, because it seems too likepuffing my own works; and next, because I do not want to injure the as yetnot over great sale of the same. But, if any one's curiosity is so farexcited that he wishes to see what I have accomplished, the best advicewhich I can give him is, to go forth, and buy all the working-men'spoetry which has appeared during the last twenty years, without favour orexception; among which he must needs, of course, find mine, and also, I amhappy to say, a great deal which is much better and more instructive thanmine. 

CHAPTER X. 

HOW FOLKS TURN CHARTISTS. 

Those who read my story only for amusement, I advise to skip this chapter. Those, on the other hand, who really wish to ascertain what working menactually do suffer--to see whether their political discontent has not itsroots, not merely in fanciful ambition, but in misery and slavery most realand agonizing--those in whose eyes the accounts of a system, or ratherbarbaric absence of all system, which involves starvation, nakedness, prostitution, and long imprisonment in dungeons worse than the cells of theInquisition, will be invested with something at least of tragic interest, may, I hope, think it worth their while to learn how the clothes which theywear are made, and listen to a few occasional statistics, which, thoughthey may seem to the wealthy mere lists of dull figures, are to the workmensymbols of terrible physical realities--of hunger, degradation, anddespair. [Footnote: Facts still worse than those which Mr. Locke's storycontains have been made public by the _Morning Chronicle_ in a series ofnoble letters on "Labour and the Poor"; which we entreat all Christianpeople to "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. " "That will be betterfor them, " as Mahomet, in similar cases, used to say. ]

Well: one day our employer died. He had been one of the old sort offashionable West-end tailors in the fast decreasing honourable trade;keeping a modest shop, hardly to be distinguished from a dwelling-house, except by his name on the window blinds. He paid good prices for work, though not as good, of course, as he had given twenty years before, andprided himself upon having all his work done at home. His workrooms, as Ihave said, were no elysiums; but still, as good, alas! as those of threetailors out of four. He was proud, luxurious, foppish; but he was honestand kindly enough, and did many a generous thing by men who had been longin his employ. At all events, his journeymen could live on what he paidthem. 

But his son, succeeding to the business, determined, like Rehoboam of old, to go ahead with the times. Fired with the great spirit of the nineteenthcentury--at least with that one which is vulgarly considered its especialglory--he resolved to make haste to be rich. His father had made money veryslowly of late; while dozens, who had begun business long after him, hadnow retired to luxurious ease and suburban villas. Why should he remain inthe minority? Why should he not get rich as fast as he could? Why should hestick to the old, slow-going, honourable trade? Out of some four hundredand fifty West-end tailors, there were not one hundred left who wereold-fashioned and stupid enough to go on keeping down their own profits byhaving all their work done at home and at first-hand. Ridiculous scruples!The government knew none such. Were not the army clothes, the post-officeclothes, the policemen's clothes, furnished by contractors and sweaters, who hired the work at low prices, and let it out again to journeymenat still lower ones? Why should he pay his men two shillings where thegovernment paid them one? Were there not cheap houses even at the West-end, which had saved several thousands a year merely by reducing their workmen'swages? And if the workmen chose to take lower wages, he was not boundactually to make them a present of more than they asked for? They would goto the cheapest market for anything they wanted, and so must he. Besides, wages had really been quite exorbitant. Half his men threw each of them asmuch money away in gin and beer yearly, as would pay two workmen at cheaphouse. Why was he to be robbing his family of comforts to pay for theirextravagance? And charging his customers, too, unnecessarily highprices--it was really robbing the public!

Such, I suppose, were some of the arguments which led to an officialannouncement, one Saturday night, that our young employer intended toenlarge his establishment, for the purpose of commencing business in the"show-trade"; and that, emulous of Messrs. Aaron, Levi, and the rest ofthat class, magnificent alterations were to take place in the premises, tomake room for which our workrooms were to be demolished, and that for thatreason--for of course it was only for that reason--all work would in futurebe given out, to be made up at the men's own homes. 

Our employer's arguments, if they were such as I suppose, were reasonableenough according to the present code of commercial morality. But, strangeto say, the auditory, insensible to the delight with which the public wouldview the splendid architectural improvements--with taste too grovellingto appreciate the glories of plate-glass shop-fronts and brass scrollwork--too selfish to rejoice, for its own sake, in the beauty of arabesquesand chandeliers, which, though they never might behold, the astonishedpublic would--with souls too niggardly to leap for joy at the thought thatgents would henceforth buy the registered guanaco vest, and the patentelastic omni-seasonum paletot half-a-crown cheaper than ever--or thatneedy noblemen would pay three-pound-ten instead of five pounds for theirfootmen's liveries--received the news, clod-hearted as they were, in sullensilence, and actually, when they got into the street, broke out intomurmurs, perhaps into execrations. 

"Silence!" said Crossthwaite; "walls have ears. Come down to the nearesthouse of call, and talk it out like men, instead of grumbling in the streetlike fish-fags. "

So down we went. Crossthwaite, taking my arm, strode on in moodysilence--once muttering to himself, bitterly--

"Oh, yes; all right and natural! What can the little sharks do but followthe big ones?"

We took a room, and Crossthwaite coolly saw us all in; and locking thedoor, stood with his back against it. 

"Now then, mind, 'One and all, ' as the Cornishmen say, and no peaching. Ifany man is scoundrel enough to carry tales, I'll--"

"Do what?" asked Jemmy Downes, who had settled himself on the table, with apipe and a pot of porter. "You arn't the king of the Cannibal Islands, as Iknow of, to cut a cove's head off?"

"No; but if a poor man's prayer can bring God's curse down upon a traitor'shead--it may stay on his rascally shoulders till it rots. "

"If ifs and ans were pots and pans. Look at Shechem Isaacs, that soldpenknives in the street six months ago, now a-riding in his own carriage, all along of turning sweater. If God's curse is like that--I'll be happy totake any man's share of it. "

Some new idea seemed twinkling in the fellow's cunning bloated face as hespoke. I, and others also, shuddered at his words; but we all forgot them amoment afterwards, as Crossthwaite began to speak. 

"We were all bound to expect this. Every working tailor must come to thisat last, on the present system; and we are only lucky in having been sparedso long. You all know where this will end--in the same misery as fifteenthousand out of twenty thousand of our class are enduring now. We shallbecome the slaves, often the bodily prisoners, of Jews, middlemen, andsweaters, who draw their livelihood out of our starvation. We shall have toface, as the rest have, ever decreasing prices of labour, ever increasingprofits made out of that labour by the contractors who will employus--arbitrary fines, inflicted at the caprice of hirelings--the competitionof women, and children, and starving Irish--our hours of work will increaseone-third, our actual pay decrease to less than one-half; and in all thiswe shall have no hope, no chance of improvement in wages, but ever morepenury, slavery, misery, as we are pressed on by those who are sucked byfifties--almost by hundreds--yearly, out of the honourable trade in whichwe were brought up, into the infernal system of contract work, which isdevouring our trade and many others, body and soul. Our wives will beforced to sit up night and day to help us--our children must labour fromthe cradle without chance of going to school, hardly of breathing thefresh air of heaven, --our boys, as they grow up, must turn beggars orpaupers--our daughters, as thousands do, must eke out their miserableearnings by prostitution. And after all, a whole family will not gain whatone of us had been doing, as yet, single-handed. You know there will be nohope for us. There is no use appealing to government or parliament. I don'twant to talk politics here. I shall keep them for another place. But youcan recollect as well as I can, when a deputation of us went up to amember of parliament--one that was reputed a philosopher, and a politicaleconomist, and a liberal--and set before him the ever-increasing penuryand misery of our trade, and of those connected with it; you recollect hisanswer--that, however glad he would be to help us, it was impossible--hecould not alter the laws of nature--that wages were regulated by the amountof competition among the men themselves, and that it was no business ofgovernment, or any one else, to interfere in contracts between the employerand employed, that those things regulated themselves by the laws ofpolitical economy, which it was madness and suicide to oppose. He may havebeen a wise man. I only know that he was a rich one. Every one speaks wellof the bridge which carries him over. Every one fancies the laws which fillhis pockets to be God's laws. But I say this, If neither government normembers of parliament can help us, we must help ourselves. Help yourselves, and heaven will help you. Combination among ourselves is the only chance. One thing we can do--sit still. "

"And starve!" said some one. 

"Yes, and starve! Better starve than sin. I say, it is a sin to give in tothis system. It is a sin to add our weight to the crowd of artizans who arenow choking and strangling each other to death, as the prisoners did in theblack hole of Calcutta. Let those who will turn beasts of prey, and feedupon their fellows; but let us at least keep ourselves pure. It may be thelaw of political civilization, the law of nature, that the rich should eatup the poor, and the poor eat up each other. Then I here rise up and cursethat law, that civilization, that nature. Either I will destroy them, or they shall destroy me. As a slave, as an increased burden on myfellow-sufferers, I will not live. So help me God! I will take no workhome to my house; and I call upon every one here to combine, and to sign aprotest to that effect. "

"What's the use of that, my good Mr. Crossthwaite?" interrupted some one, querulously. "Don't you know what came of the strike a few years ago, whenthis piece-work and sweating first came in? The masters made fine promises, and never kept 'em; and the men who stood out had their places filled upwith poor devils who were glad enough to take the work at any price--justas ours will be. There's no use kicking against the pricks. All the resthave come to it, and so must we. We must live somehow, and half a loaf isbetter than no bread; and even that half loaf will go into other men'smouths, if we don't snap at it at once. Besides, we can't force others tostrike. We may strike and starve ourselves, but what's the use of a dozenstriking out of 20, 000?"

"Will you sign the protest, gentlemen, or not?" asked Crossthwaite, in adetermined voice. 

Some half-dozen said they would if the others would. 

"And the others won't. Well, after all, one man must take theresponsibility, and I am that man. I will sign the protest by myself. Iwill sweep a crossing--I will turn cress-gatherer, rag-picker; I willstarve piecemeal, and see my wife starve with me; but do the wrong thing Iwill not! The Cause wants martyrs. If I must be one, I must. "

All this while my mind had been undergoing a strange perturbation. Thenotion of escaping that infernal workroom, and the company I met there--oftaking my work home, and thereby, as I hoped, gaining more time forstudy--at least, having my books on the spot ready at every odd moment, wasmost enticing. I had hailed the proposed change as a blessing to me, till Iheard Crossthwaite's arguments--not that I had not known the facts before;but it had never struck me till then that it was a real sin against myclass to make myself a party in the system by which they were allowingthemselves (under temptation enough, God knows) to be enslaved. But nowI looked with horror on the gulf of penury before me, into the vortexof which not only I, but my whole trade, seemed irresistibly sucked. Ithought, with shame and remorse, of the few shillings which I had earnedat various times by taking piecework home, to buy my candles for study. I whispered my doubts to Crossthwaite, as he sat, pale and determined, watching the excited and querulous discussions among the other workmen. 

"What? So you expect to have time to read? Study after sixteen hours aday stitching? Study, when you cannot earn money enough to keep you fromwasting and shrinking away day by day? Study, with your heart full of shameand indignation, fresh from daily insult and injustice? Study, with theblack cloud of despair and penury in front of you? Little time, or heart, or strength, will you have to study, when you are making the same coats youmake now, at half the price. "

I put my name down beneath Crossthwaite's, on the paper which he handed me, and went out with him. 

"Ay, " he muttered to himself, "be slaves--what you are worthy to be, thatyou will be! You dare not combine--you dare not starve--you dare notdie--and therefore you dare not be free! Oh! for six hundred men likeBarbaroux's Marseillois--'who knew how to die!'"

"Surely, Crossthwaite, if matters were properly represented to thegovernment, they would not, for their own existence' sake, to putconscience out of the question, allow such a system to continue growing. "

"Government--government? You a tailor, and not know that government are thevery authors of this system? Not to know that they first set the example, by getting the army and navy clothes made by contractors, and taking thelowest tenders? Not to know that the police clothes, the postmen's clothes, the convicts' clothes, are all contracted for on the same infernal plan, bysweaters, and sweaters' sweaters, and sweaters' sweaters' sweaters, tillgovernment work is just the very last, lowest resource to which a poorstarved-out wretch betakes himself to keep body and soul together? Why, the government prices, in almost every department, are half, and less thanhalf, the very lowest living price. I tell you, the careless iniquity ofgovernment about these things will come out some day. It will be known, thewhole abomination, and future generations will class it with the tyranniesof the Roman emperors and the Norman barons. Why, it's a fact, that thecolonels of the regiments--noblemen, most of them--make their own vileprofit out of us tailors--out of the pauperism of the men, the slavery ofthe children, the prostitution of the women. They get so much a uniformallowed them by government to clothe the men with; and then--then, theylet out the jobs to the contractors at less than half what governmentgive them, and pocket the difference. And then you talk of appealing togovernment. "

"Upon my word, " I said, bitterly, "we tailors seem to owe the army a doublegrudge. They not only keep under other artizans, but they help to starve usfirst, and then shoot us, if we complain too loudly. "

"Oh, ho! your blood's getting up, is it? Then you're in the humour to betold what you have been hankering to know so long--where Mackaye and I goat night. We'll strike while the iron's hot, and go down to the Chartistmeeting at * * * * *. 

"Pardon me, my dear fellow, " I said. "I cannot bear the thought of beingmixed up in conspiracy--perhaps, in revolt and bloodshed. Not that I amafraid. Heaven knows I am not. But I am too much harassed, miserable, already. I see too much wretchedness around me, to lend my aid inincreasing the sum of suffering, by a single atom, among rich and poor, even by righteous vengeance. "

"Conspiracy? Bloodshed? What has that to do with the Charter? It suits thevenal Mammonite press well enough to jumble them together, and cry 'Murder, rape, and robbery, ' whenever the six points are mentioned; but they know, and any man of common sense ought to know, that the Charter is just as muchan open political question as the Reform Bill, and ten times as much asMagna Charter was, when it got passed. What have the six points, right orwrong, to do with the question whether they can be obtained by moralforce, and the pressure of opinion alone, or require what we call ulteriormeasures to get them carried? Come along!"

So with him I went that night. 

 * * * * *

"Well, Alton! where was the treason and murder? Your nose must have been asharp one, to smell out any there. Did you hear anything that astonishedyour weak mind so very exceedingly, after all?"

"The only thing that did astonish me was to hear men of my own class--andlower still, perhaps some of them--speak with such fluency and eloquence. Such a fund of information--such excellent English--where did they get itall?"

"From the God who knows nothing about ranks. They're the unknown great--theunaccredited heroes, as Master Thomas Carlyle would say--whom the flunkeysaloft have not acknowledged yet--though they'll be forced to, some day, with a vengeance. Are you convinced, once for all?"

"I really do not understand political questions, Crossthwaite. "

"Does it want so very much wisdom to understand the rights and the wrongsof all that? Are the people represented? Are you represented? Do you feellike a man that's got any one to fight your battle in parliament, my youngfriend, eh?"

"I'm sure I don't know--"

"Why, what in the name of common sense--what interest or feeling of yoursor mine, or any man's you ever spoke to, except the shopkeeper, do AldermanA---- or Lord C---- D---- represent? They represent property--and we havenone. They represent rank--we have none. Vested interests--we havenone. Large capitals--those are just what crush us. Irresponsibility ofemployers, slavery of the employed, competition among masters, competitionamong workmen, that is the system they represent--they preach it, theyglory in it. --Why, it is the very ogre that is eating us all up. They arechosen by the few, they represent the few, and they make laws for themany--and yet you don't know whether or not the people are represented!"

We were passing by the door of the Victoria Theatre; it was just half-pricetime--and the beggary and rascality of London were pouring in to their lowamusement, from the neighbouring gin palaces and thieves' cellars. A herdof ragged boys, vomiting forth slang, filth, and blasphemy, pushed past us, compelling us to take good care of our pockets. 

"Look there! look at the amusements, the training, the civilization, whichthe government permits to the children of the people! These licensed pitsof darkness, traps of temptation, profligacy, and ruin, triumphantlyyawning night after night--and then tell me that the people who see theirchildren thus kidnapped into hell are represented by a government wholicenses such things!"

"Would a change in the franchise cure that?"

"Household suffrage mightn't--but give us the Charter, and we'll see aboutit! Give us the Charter, and we'll send workmen, into parliament that shallsoon find out whether something better can't be put in the way of the tenthousand boys and girls in London who live by theft and prostitution, thanthe tender mercies of the Victoria--a pretty name! They say the Queen'sa good woman--and I don't doubt it. I wonder often if she knows what herprecious namesake here is like. "

"But really, I cannot see how a mere change in representation can cure suchthings as that. "

"Why, didn't they tell us, before the Reform Bill, that extension of thesuffrage was to cure everything? And how can you have too much of a goodthing? We've only taken them at their word, we Chartists. Haven't allpoliticians been preaching for years that England's national greatness wasall owing to her political institutions--to Magna Charta, and the Bill ofRights, and representative parliaments, and all that? It was but theother day I got hold of some Tory paper, that talked about the Englishconstitution, and the balance of queen, lords, and commons, as the'Talismanic Palladium' of the country. 'Gad, we'll see if a move onward inthe same line won't better the matter. If the balance of classes is such ablessed thing, the sooner we get the balance equal, the better; for it'srather lopsided just now, no one can deny. So, representative institutionsare the talismanic palladium of the nation, are they? The palladium of theclasses that have them, I dare say; and that's the very best reason why theclasses that haven't got 'em should look out for the same palladium forthemselves. What's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose, isn't it?We'll try--we'll see whether the talisman they talk of has lost its powerall of a sudden since '32--whether we can't rub the magic ring a little forourselves and call up genii to help us out of the mire, as the shopkeepersand the gentlemen have done. "

 * * * * *

From that night I was a Chartist, heart and soul--and so were a million anda half more of the best artisans in England--at least, I had no reason tobe ashamed of my company. Yes; I too, like Crossthwaite, took the upperclasses at their word; bowed down to the idol of political institutions, and pinned my hopes of salvation on "the possession of one ten-thousandthpart of a talker in the national palaver. " True, I desired the Charter, atfirst (as I do, indeed, at this moment), as a means to glorious ends--notonly because it would give a chance of elevation, a free sphere of action, to lowly worth and talent; but because it was the path to reforms--social, legal, sanatory, educational--to which the veriest Tory--certainly not thegreat and good Lord Ashley--would not object. But soon, with me, and I amafraid with many, many more, the means became, by the frailty of poor humannature, an end, an idol in itself. I had so made up my mind that it wasthe only method of getting what I wanted, that I neglected, alas! but toooften, to try the methods which lay already by me. "If we had but theCharter"--was the excuse for a thousand lazinesses, procrastinations. "Ifwe had but the Charter"--I should be good, and free, and happy. Fool that Iwas! It was within, rather than without, that I needed reform. 

And so I began to look on man (and too many of us, I am afraid, are doingso) as the creature and puppet of circumstances--of the particular outwardsystem, social or political, in which he happens to find himself. Anabominable heresy, no doubt; but, somehow, it appears to me just the sameas Benthamites, and economists, and high-churchmen, too, for that matter, have been preaching for the last twenty years with great applause fromtheir respective parties. One set informs the world that it is to beregenerated by cheap bread, free trade, and that peculiar form of the"freedom of industry" which, in plain language, signifies "the despotismof capital"; and which, whatever it means, is merely some outward system, circumstance, or "dodge" _about_ man, and not _in_ him. Another party'snostrum is more churches, more schools, more clergymen--excellent things intheir way--better even than cheap bread, or free trade, provided only thatthey are excellent--that the churches, schools, clergymen, are good ones. But the party of whom I am speaking seem to us workmen to consider thequality quite a secondary consideration, compared with the quantity. Theyexpect the world to be regenerated, not by becoming more a Church--nonewould gladlier help them in bringing that about than the Chartiststhemselves, paradoxical as it may seem--but by being dosed somewhat morewith a certain "Church system, " circumstance, or "dodge. " For my part, Iseem to have learnt that the only thing to regenerate the world is not moreof any system, good or bad, but simply more of the Spirit of God. 

About the supposed omnipotence of the Charter, I have found out my mistake. I believe no more in "Morison's-Pill-remedies, " as Thomas Carlyle callsthem. Talismans are worthless. The age of spirit-compelling spells, whetherof parchment or carbuncle, is past--if, indeed, it ever existed. TheCharter will no more make men good, than political economy, or theobservance of the Church Calendar--a fact which we working men, I reallybelieve, have, under the pressure of wholesome defeat and God-sentaffliction, found out sooner than our more "enlightened" fellow-idolaters. But at that time, as I have confessed already, we took our betters at theirword, and believed in Morison's Pills. Only, as we looked at the world fromamong a class of facts somewhat different from theirs, we differed fromthem proportionably as to our notions of the proper ingredients in the saidPill. 

 * * * * *

But what became of our protest?

It was received--and disregarded. As for turning us off, we had, _defacto_, like Coriolanus, banished the Romans, turned our master off. Allthe other hands, some forty in number, submitted and took the yoke uponthem, and went down into the house of bondage, knowing whither they went. Every man of them is now a beggar, compared with what he was then. Many aredead in the prime of life of consumption, bad food and lodging, and thepeculiar diseases of our trade. Some have not been heard of lately--wefancy them imprisoned in some sweaters' dens--but thereby hangs a tale, whereof more hereafter. 

But it was singular, that every one of the six who had merely professedtheir conditional readiness to sign the protest, were contumeliouslydischarged the next day, without any reason being assigned. It was evidentthat there had been a traitor at the meeting; and every one suspected JemmyDownes, especially as he fell into the new system with suspiciously strangealacrity. But it was as impossible to prove the offence against him, as topunish him for it. Of that wretched man, too, and his subsequent career, Ishall have somewhat to say hereafter. Verily, there is a God who judgeththe earth!

But now behold me and my now intimate and beloved friend, Crossthwaite, with nothing to do--a gentlemanlike occupation; but, unfortunately, in ourclass, involving starvation. What was to be done? We applied for work atseveral "honourable shops"; but at all we received the same answer. Theirtrade was decreasing--the public ran daily more and more to the cheapshow-shops--and they themselves were forced, in order to compete with theselatter, to put more and more of their work out at contract prices. _Facilisdescensus Averni!_ Having once been hustled out of the serried crowd ofcompeting workmen, it was impossible to force our way in again. So, aweek or ten days past, our little stocks of money were exhausted. I wasdown-hearted at once; but Crossthwaite bore up gaily enough. 

"Katie and I can pick a crust together without snarling over it. And, thankGod, I have no children, and never intend to have, if I can keep true tomyself, till the good times come. "

"Oh! Crossthwaite, are not children a blessing?"

"Would they be a blessing to me now? No, my lad. --Let those bring slavesinto the world who will! I will never beget children to swell the numbersof those who are trampling each other down in the struggle for dailybread, to minister in ever deepening poverty and misery to the rich man'sluxury--perhaps his lust. "

"Then you believe in the Malthusian doctrines?"

"I believe them to be an infernal lie, Alton Locke; though good and wisepeople like Miss Martineau may sometimes be deluded into preaching them. Ibelieve there's room on English soil for twice the number there is now; andwhen we get the Charter we'll prove it; we'll show that God meant livinghuman heads and hands to be blessings and not curses, tools and notburdens. But in such times as these, let those who have wives be as thoughthey had none--as St. Paul said, when he told his people under the RomanEmperor to be above begetting slaves and martyrs. A man of the peopleshould keep himself as free from encumbrances as he can just now. He winfind it all the more easy to dare and suffer for the people, when theirturn comes--"

And he set his teeth, firmly, almost savagely. 

"I think I can earn a few shillings, now and then, by writing for a paper Iknow of. If that won't do, I must take up agitating for a trade, and liveby spouting, as many a Tory member as well as Radical ones do. A man may doworse, for he may do nothing. At all events, my only chance now is tohelp on the Charter; for the sooner it comes the better for me. And if Idie--why, the little woman won't be long in coming after me, I know thatwell; and there's a tough business got well over for both of us!"

"Hech, " said Sandy, "To every man Death comes but once a life--

"as my countryman, Mr. Macaulay, says, in thae gran' Roman ballants o' his. But for ye, Alton, laddie, ye're owre young to start off in the People'sChurch Meelitant, sae just bide wi' me, and the barrel o' meal in thecorner there winna waste, nae mair than it did wi' the widow o' Zareptha; atale which coincides sae weel wi' the everlasting righteousness, that I'mat times no inclined to consider it a'thegither mythical. "

But I, with thankfulness which vented itself through my eyes, finding mylips alone too narrow for it, refused to eat the bread of idleness. 

"Aweel, then, ye'll just mind the shop, and dust the books whiles; I'mgetting auld and stiff, and ha' need o' help i' the business. "

"No, " I said; "you say so out of kindness; but if you can afford no greatercomforts than these, you cannot afford to keep me in addition to yourself. "

"Hech, then! How do ye ken that the auld Scot eats a' he makes? I was naborn the spending side o' Tweed, my man. But gin ye daur, why dinna ye packup your duds, and yer poems wi' them, and gang till your cousin i' theuniversity? he'll surely put you in the way o' publishing them. He's boundto it by blude; and there's na shame in asking him to help you towardsreaping the fruits o' yer ain labours. A few punds on a bond for repaymentwhen the addition was sauld, noo, --I'd do that for mysel; but I'm thinkingye'd better try to get a list o' subscribers. Dinna mind your independence;it's but spoiling the Egyptians, ye ken, and the bit ballants will be theirmoney's worth, I'll warrant, and tell them a wheen facts they're no thatweel acquentit wi'. Hech? Johnnie, my Chartist?"

"Why not go to my uncle?"

"Puir sugar-and-spice-selling bailie body! is there aught in his ledgerabout poetry, and the incommensurable value o' the products o' genius? Gangtill the young scholar; he's a canny one, too, and he'll ken it to be worthhis while to fash himsel a wee anent it. "

So I packed up my little bundle, and lay awake all that night in a feverof expectation about the as yet unknown world of green fields and woodsthrough which my road to Cambridge lay. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"THE YARD WHERE THE GENTLEMEN LIVE. "

I may be forgiven, surely, if I run somewhat into detail about this myfirst visit to the country. 

I had, as I have said before, literally never been further afield thanFulham or Battersea Rise. One Sunday evening, indeed, I had got as far asWandsworth Common; but it was March, and, to my extreme disappointment, theheath was not in flower. 

But, usually, my Sundays had been spent entirely in study; which to me wasrest, so worn out were both my body and my mind with the incessant drudgeryof my trade, and the slender fare to which I restricted myself. Since I hadlodged with Mackaye certainly my food had been better. I had not requiredto stint my appetite for money wherewith to buy candles, ink, and pens. My wages, too, had increased with my years, and altogether I found myselfgaining in strength, though I had no notion how much I possessed till I setforth on this walk to Cambridge. 

It was a glorious morning at the end of May; and when. I escaped fromthe pall of smoke which hung over the city, I found the sky a sheet ofcloudless blue. How I watched for the ending of the rows of houses, whichlined the road for miles--the great roots of London, running far outinto the country, up which poured past me an endless stream of food andmerchandise and human beings--the sap of the huge metropolitan life-tree!How each turn of the road opened a fresh line of terraces or villas, tillhope deferred made the heart sick, and the country seemed--like the placewhere the rainbow touches the ground, or the El Dorado of Raleigh's Guianasettler--always a little farther off! How between gaps in the houses, rightand left, I caught tantalizing glimpses of green fields, shut from me bydull lines of high-spiked palings! How I peeped through gates and overfences at trim lawns and gardens, and longed to stay, and admire, andspeculate on the name of the strange plants and gaudy flowers; and thenhurried on, always expecting to find something still finer ahead--somethingreally worth stopping to look at--till the houses thickened again into astreet, and I found myself, to my disappointment, in the midst of a town!And then more villas and palings; and then a village;--when would theystop, those endless houses?

At last they did stop. Gradually the people whom I passed began to lookmore and more rural, and more toil-worn and ill-fed. The houses ended, cattle-yards and farm-buildings appeared; and right and left, far away, spread the low rolling sheet of green meadows and cornfields. Oh, the joy!The lawns with their high elms and firs, the green hedgerows, the delicatehue and scent of the fresh clover-fields, the steep clay banks where Istopped to pick nosegays of wild flowers, and became again a child, --andthen recollected my mother, and a walk with her on the river bank towardsthe Red House--and hurried on again, but could not be unhappy, while myeyes ranged free, for the first time in my life, over the chequered squaresof cultivation, over glittering brooks, and hills quivering in the greenhaze, while above hung the skylarks, pouring out their souls in melody. And then, as the sun grew hot, and the larks dropped one by one into thegrowing corn, the new delight of the blessed silence! I listened to thestillness; for noise had been my native element; I had become in Londonquite unconscious of the ceaseless roar of the human sea, casting up mireand dirt. And now, for the first time in my life, the crushing, confusinghubbub had flowed away, and left my brain calm and free. How I felt at thatmoment a capability of clear, bright meditation, which was as new to me, as I believe it would have been to most Londoners in my position. I cannothelp fancying that our unnatural atmosphere of excitement, physical as wellas moral, is to blame for very much of the working man's restlessness andfierceness. As it was, I felt that every step forward, every breath offresh air, gave me new life. I had gone fifteen miles before I recollectedthat, for the first time for many months, I had not coughed since I rose. 

So on I went, down the broad, bright road, which seemed to beckon meforward into the unknown expanses of human life. 

 The world was all before me, where to choose, and I saw it both with my eyes and my imagination, in the temper of a boybroke loose from school. My heart kept holiday. I loved and blessed thebirds which flitted past me, and the cows which lay dreaming on the sward. I recollect stopping with delight at a picturesque descent into the road, to watch a nursery-garden, full of roses of every shade, from brilliantyellow to darkest purple; and as I wondered at the innumerable variety ofbeauties which man's art had developed from a few poor and wild species, itseemed to me the most delightful life on earth, to follow in such aplace the primæval trade of gardener Adam; to study the secrets of theflower-world, the laws of soil and climate; to create new species, andgloat over the living fruit of one's own science and perseverance. And thenI recollected the tailor's shop, and the Charter, and the starvation, andthe oppression which I had left behind, and ashamed of my own selfishness, went hurrying on again. 

At last I came to a wood--the first real wood that I had ever seen; not amere party of stately park trees growing out of smooth turf, but a realwild copse; tangled branches and grey stems fallen across each other; deep, ragged underwood of shrubs, and great ferns like princes' feathers, and gaybeds of flowers, blue and pink and yellow, with butterflies flitting aboutthem, and trailers that climbed and dangled from bough to bough--a poor, commonplace bit of copse, I dare say, in the world's eyes, but to me afairy wilderness of beautiful forms, mysterious gleams and shadows, teemingwith manifold life. As I stood looking wistfully over the gate, alternatelyat the inviting vista of the green-embroidered path, and then at the grimnotice over my head, "All trespassers prosecuted, " a young man came upthe ride, dressed in velveteen jacket and leather gaiters, sufficientlybedrabbled with mud. A fishing-rod and basket bespoke him some sort ofdestroyer, and I saw in a moment that he was "a gentleman. " After all, there is such a thing as looking like a gentleman. There are men whoseclass no dirt or rags could hide, any more than they could Ulysses. Ihave seen such men in plenty among workmen, too; but, on the whole, thegentlemen--by whom I do not mean just now the rich--have the superiorityin that point. But not, please God, for ever. Give us the same air, water, exercise, education, good society, and you will see whether this"haggardness, " this "coarseness, " &c. , &c. , for the list is too long tospecify, be an accident, or a property, of the man of the people. 

"May I go into your wood?" asked I at a venture, curiosity conqueringpride. 

"Well! what do you want there, my good fellow?"

"To see what a wood is like--I never was in one in my life. "

"Humph! well--you may go in for that, and welcome. Never was in a wood inhis life--poor devil!"

"Thank you!" quoth I. And I slowly clambered over the gate. He put his handcarelessly on the top rail, vaulted over it like a deer, and then turned tostare at me. 

"Hullo! I say--I forgot--don't go far in, or ramble up and down, or you'lldisturb the pheasants. "

I thanked him again for what license he had given me--went in, and lay downby the path-side. 

Here, I suppose, by the rules of modern art, a picturesque description ofthe said wood should follow; but I am the most incompetent person in theworld to write it. And, indeed, the whole scene was so novel to me, that Ihad no time to analyse; I could only enjoy. I recollect lying on my faceand fingering over the delicately cut leaves of the weeds, and wonderingwhether the people who lived in the country thought them as wonderful andbeautiful as I did;--and then I recollected the thousands whom I had leftbehind, who, like me, had never seen the green face of God's earth; and theanswer of the poor gamin in St. Giles's, who, when he was asked what thecountry was, answered, "_The yard where the gentlemen live when they go outof town_"--significant that, and pathetic;--then I wondered whether thetime would ever come when society would be far enough advanced to open toeven such as he a glimpse, if it were only once a year, of the fresh, cleanface of God's earth;--and then I became aware of a soft mysterious hum, above and around me, and turned on my back to look whence it proceeded, and saw the leaves gold-green and transparent in the sunlight, quiveringagainst the deep heights of the empyrean blue; and hanging in the sunbeamsthat pierced the foliage, a thousand insects, like specks of fire, thatpoised themselves motionless on thrilling wings, and darted away, andreturned to hang motionless again;--and I wondered what they eat, andwhether they thought about anything, and whether they enjoyed thesunlight;--and then that brought back to me the times when I used to liedreaming in my crib on summer mornings, and watched the flies dancing reelsbetween me and the ceilings;--and that again brought the thought of Susanand my mother; and I prayed for them--not sadly--I could not be sadthere;--and prayed that we might all meet again some day and live happilytogether; perhaps in the country, where I could write poems in peace; andthen, by degrees, my sentences and thoughts grew incoherent, and in happy, stupid animal comfort, I faded away into a heavy sleep, which lasted anhour or more, till I was awakened by the efforts of certain enterprisinggreat black and red ants, who were trying to found a small Algeria in myleft ear. 

I rose and left the wood, and a gate or two on, stopped again to lookat the same sportsman fishing in a clear silver brook. I could not helpadmiring with a sort of childish wonder the graceful and practised aim withwhich he directed his tiny bait, and called up mysterious dimples on thesurface, which in a moment increased to splashings and stragglings of agreat fish, compelled, as if by some invisible spell, to follow the pointof the bending rod till he lay panting on the bank. I confess, in spite ofall my class prejudices against "game-preserving aristocrats, " I almostenvied the man; at least I seemed to understand a little of the universallyattractive charms which those same outwardly contemptible field sportspossess; the fresh air, fresh fields and copses, fresh running brooks, theexercise, the simple freedom, the excitement just sufficient to keep aliveexpectation and banish thought. --After all, his trout produced much thesame mood in him as my turnpike-road did in me. And perhaps the man did notgo fishing or shooting every day. The laws prevented him from shooting, atleast, all the year round; so sometimes there might be something in whichhe made himself of use. An honest, jolly face too he had--not withoutthought and strength in it. "Well, it is a strange world, " said I tomyself, "where those who can, need not; and those who cannot, must!"

Then he came close to the gate, and I left it just in time to see a littlegroup arrive at it--a woman of his own rank, young, pretty, and simplydressed, with a little boy, decked out as a Highlander, on a shaggyShetland pony, which his mother, as I guessed her to be, was leading. Andthen they all met, and the little fellow held up a basket of provisionsto his father, who kissed him across the gate, and hung his creel of fishbehind the saddle, and patted the mother's shoulder, as she looked uplovingly and laughingly in his face. Altogether, a joyous, genial bitof--Nature? Yes, Nature. Shall I grudge simple happiness to the few, because it is as yet, alas! impossible for the many. 

And yet the whole scene contrasted so painfully with me--with my past, my future, my dreams, my wrongs, that I could not look at it; and with aswelling heart I moved on--all the faster because I saw they were lookingat me and talking of me, and the fair wife threw after me a wistful, pitying glance, which I was afraid might develop itself into some offer offood or money--a thing which I scorned and dreaded, because it involved thetrouble of a refusal. 

Then, as I walked on once more, my heart smote me. If they had wished to bekind, why had I grudged them the opportunity of a good deed? At all events, I might have asked their advice. In a natural and harmonious state, whensociety really means brotherhood, a man could go up to any stranger, togive and receive, if not succour, yet still experience and wisdom: and wasI not bound to tell them what I knew? was sure that they did not know? WasI not bound to preach the cause of my class wherever I went? Here werekindly people who, for aught I knew, would do right the moment they weretold where it was wanted; if there was an accursed artificial gulf betweentheir class and mine, had I any right to complain of it, as long as Ihelped to keep it up by my false pride and surly reserve? No! I would speakmy mind henceforth--I would testify of what I saw and knew of the wrongs, if not of the rights of the artisan, before whomsoever I might come. Oh!valiant conclusion of half an hour's self-tormenting scruples! How I keptit, remains to be shown. 

I really fear that I am getting somewhat trivial and prolix; but there washardly an incident in my two days' tramp which did not give me some smallfresh insight into the _terra incognita_ of the country; and there may bethose among my readers, to whom it is not uninteresting to look, for once, at even the smallest objects with a cockney workman's eyes. 

Well, I trudged on--and the shadows lengthened, and I grew footsore andtired; but every step was new, and won me forward with fresh excitement formy curiosity. 

At one village I met a crowd of little, noisy, happy boys and girls pouringout of a smart new Gothic school-house. I could not resist the temptationof snatching a glance through the open door. I saw on the walls maps, music, charts, and pictures. How I envied those little urchins! A solemn, sturdy elder, in a white cravat, evidently the parson of the parish, waspatting children's heads, taking down names, and laying down the law to ashrewd, prim young schoolmaster. 

Presently, as I went up the village, the clergyman strode pastme, brandishing a thick stick and humming a chant, and joined amotherly-looking wife, who, basket on arm, was popping in and out of thecottages, looking alternately serious and funny, cross and kindly--Isuppose, according to the sayings and doings of the folks within. 

"Come, " I thought, "this looks like work at least. " And as I went outof the village, I accosted a labourer, who was trudging my way, fork onshoulder, and asked him if that was the parson and his wife?

I was surprised at the difficulty with which I got into conversation withthe man; at his stupidity, feigned or real, I could not tell which; at thedogged, suspicious reserve with which he eyed me, and asked me whether Iwas "one of they parts"? and whether I was a Londoner, and what I wanted onthe tramp, and so on, before he seemed to think it safe to answer a singlequestion. He seemed, like almost every labourer I ever met, to havesomething on his mind; to live in a state of perpetual fear andconcealment. When, however, he found I was both a cockney and a passer-by, he began to grow more communicative, and told me, "Ees--that were theparson, sure enough. "

"And what sort of a man was he?"

"Oh! he was a main kind man to the poor; leastwise, in the matter ofvisiting 'em, and praying with 'em, and getting 'em to put into clubs, andsuch like; and his lady too. Not that there was any fault to find with theman about money--but 'twasn't to be expected of him. "

"Why, was he not rich?"

"Oh, rich enough to the likes of us. But his own tithes here arn't morethan a thirty pounds we hears tell; and if he hadn't summat of his own, hecouldn't do not nothing by the poor; as it be, he pays for that ere schoolall to his own pocket, next part. All the rest o' the tithes goes to somegreat lord or other--they say he draws a matter of a thousand a year out ofthe parish, and not a foot ever he sot into it; and that's the way with amain lot o' parishes, up and down. "

This was quite a new fact to me. "And what sort of folks were the parsonsall round. "

"Oh, some of all sorts, good and bad. About six and half a dozen. There'stwo or three nice young gentlemen come'd round here now, but they're allwhat's-'em-a-call it?--some sort o' papishes;--leastwise, they has prayersin the church every day, and doesn't preach the Gospel, no how, I hearsby my wife, and she knows all about it, along of going to meeting. Thenthere's one over thereaway, as had to leave his living--he knows why. Hegot safe over seas. If he had been a poor man, he'd been in * * * * *gaol, safe enough, and soon enough. Then there's two or three as goesa-hunting--not as I sees no harm in that; if a man's got plenty of money, he ought to enjoy himself, in course: but still he can't be here and theretoo, to once. Then there's two or three as is bad in their healths, orthinks themselves so--or else has livings summer' else; and they livessummer' or others, and has curates. Main busy chaps is they curates, always, and wonderful hands to preach; but then, just as they gets a littleknowing like at it, and folks gets to like 'em, and run to hear 'em, offthey pops to summat better; and in course they're right to do so; and sowe country-folks get nought but the young colts, afore they're broke, yousee. "

"And what sort of a preacher was his parson?"

"Oh, he preached very good Gospel, not that he went very often himself, acause he couldn't make out the meaning of it; he preached too high, like. But his wife said it was uncommon good Gospel; and surely when he come tovisit a body, and talked plain English, like, not sermon-ways, he was avery pleasant man to heer, and his lady uncommon kind to nurse folk. Theysot up with me and my wife, they two did, two whole nights, when we was inthe fever, afore the officer could get us a nurse. "

"Well, " said I, "there are some good parsons left. "

"Oh, yes; there's some very good ones--each one after his own way; andthere'd be more on 'em, if they did but know how bad we labourers was off. Why bless ye, I mind when they was very different. A new parson is a mightychange for the better, mostwise, we finds. Why, when I was a boy, we neverhad no schooling. And now mine goes and learns singing and jobrafy, andciphering, and sich like. Not that I sees no good in it. We was a sightbetter off in the old times, when there weren't no schooling. Schoolingharn't made wages rise, nor preaching neither. "

"But surely, " I said, "all this religious knowledge ought to give youcomfort, even if you are badly off. "

"Oh! religion's all very well for them as has time for it; and a very goodthing--we ought all to mind our latter end. But I don't see how a man canhear sermons with an empty belly; and there's so much to fret a man, now, and he's so cruel tired coming home o' nights, he can't nowise go to pray alot, as gentlefolks does. "

"But are you so ill off?"

"Oh! he'd had a good harvesting enough; but then he owed all that for he'srent; and he's club money wasn't paid up, nor he's shop. And then, withhe's wages"--(I forget the sum--under ten shillings)--"how could a mankeep his mouth full, when he had five children! And then, folks is sounmarciful--I'll just tell you what they says to me, now, last time I wasover at the board--"

And thereon he rambled off into a long jumble of medical-officers, andrelieving-officers, and Farmer This, and Squire That, which indicated amind as ill-educated as discontented. He cursed or rather grumbled at--forhe had not spirit, it seemed, to curse anything--the New Poor Law; becauseit "ate up the poor, flesh and bone";--bemoaned the "Old Law, " when "theVestry was forced to give a man whatsomdever he axed for, and if theydidn't, he'd go to the magistrates and make 'em, and so sure as a man got afresh child, he went and got another loaf allowed him next vestry, like aChristian;"--and so turned through a gate, and set to work forking up someweeds on a fallow, leaving me many new thoughts to digest. 

That night, I got to some town or other, and there found a night's lodging, good enough for a walking traveller. 

CHAPTER XII. 

CAMBRIDGE. 

When I started again next morning, I found myself so stiff and footsore, that I could hardly put one leg before the other, much less walk upright. Iwas really quite in despair, before the end of the first mile; for I had nomoney to pay for a lift on the coach, and I knew, besides, that they wouldnot be passing that way for several hours to come. So, with aching back andknees, I made shift to limp along, bent almost double, and ended by sittingdown for a couple of hours, and looking about me, in a country which wouldhave seemed dreary enough, I suppose, to any one but a freshly-liberatedcaptive, such as I was. At last I got up and limped on, stiffer than everfrom my rest, when a gig drove past me towards Cambridge, drawn by a stoutcob, and driven by a tall, fat, jolly-looking farmer, who stared at me ashe passed, went on, looked back, slackened his pace, looked back again, andat last came to a dead stop, and hailed me in a broad nasal dialect--

"Whor be ganging, then, boh?"

"To Cambridge. "

"Thew'st na git there that gate. Be'est thee honest man?"

"I hope so, " said I, somewhat indignantly. 

"What's trade?"

"A tailor, " I said. 

"Tailor!--guide us! Tailor a-tramp? Barn't accoostomed to tramp, then?"

"I never was out of London before, " said I, meekly--for I was too worn-outto be cross--lengthy and impertinent as this cross-examination seemed. 

"Oi'll gie thee lift; dee yow joomp in. Gae on, powney! Tailor, then! Oh!ah! tailor, saith he. "

I obeyed most thankfully, and sat crouched together, looking up out ofthe corner of my eyes at the huge tower of broad-cloth by my side, andcomparing the two red shoulders of mutton which held the reins, with my ownwasted, white, woman-like fingers. 

I found the old gentleman most inquisitive. He drew out of me all mystory--questioned me about the way "Lunnon folks" lived, and whether theygot ony shooting or "pattening"--whereby I found he meant skating--andbroke in, every now and then, with ejaculations of childish wonder, andclumsy sympathy, on my accounts of London labour and London misery. 

"Oh, father, father!--I wonders they bears it. Us'n in the fens wouldn'tstand that likes. They'd roit, and roit, and roit, and tak' oot thedook-gunes to un--they would, as they did five-and-twenty year agone. Neverto goo ayond the housen!--never to go ayond the housen! Kill me in a threemonths, that would--bor', then!"

"Are you a farmer?" I asked, at last, thinking that my turn for questioningwas come. 

"I bean't varmer; I be yooman born. Never paid rent in moy life, nor neverwool. I farms my own land, and my vathers avore me, this ever so monyhoondred year. I've got the swoord of 'em to home, and the helmet that theyfut with into the wars, then when they chopped off the king's head--whatwas the name of um?"

"Charles the First?"

"Ees--that's the booy. We was Parliament side--true Britons all we was, down into the fens, and Oliver Cromwell, as dug Botsham lode, to the headof us. Yow coom down to Metholl, and I'll shaw ye a country. I'll shaw'ee some'at like bullocks to call, and some'at like a field o' beans--Iwool, --none o' this here darned ups and downs o' hills" (though the countrythrough which we drove was flat enough, I should have thought, to pleaseany one), "to shake a body's victuals out of his inwards--all so flat as abarn's floor, for vorty mile on end--there's the country to live in!--andvour sons--or was vour on 'em--every one on 'em fifteen stone in his shoes, to patten again' any man from Whit'sea Mere to Denver Sluice, for twentypounds o' gold; and there's the money to lay down, and let the man asdare cover it, down with his money, and on wi' his pattens, thirteen-inchrunners, down the wind, again' either a one o' the bairns!"

And he jingled in his pockets a heavy bag of gold, and winked, andchuckled, and then suddenly checking himself, repeated in a sad, dubioustone, two or three times, "Vour on 'em there was--vour on 'em there was;"and relieved his feelings by springing the pony into a canter till he cameto a public-house, where he pulled up, called for a pot of hot ale, andinsisted on treating me. I assured him that I never drank fermentedliquors. 

"Aw? Eh? How can yow do that then? Die o' cowd i' the fen, that gate, yowwould. Love ye then! they as dinnot tak' spirits down thor, tak' theirpennord o' elevation, then--women-folk especial. "

"What's elevation?"

"Oh! ho! ho!--yow goo into druggist's shop o' market-day, into Cambridge, and you'll see the little boxes, doozens and doozens, a' ready on thecounter; and never a ven-man's wife goo by, but what calls in for herpennord o' elevation, to last her out the week. Oh! ho! ho! Well, it keepswomen-folk quiet, it do; and it's mortal good agin ago pains. "

"But what is it?"

"Opium, bor' alive, opium!"

"But doesn't it ruin their health? I should think it the very worst sort ofdrunkenness. "

"Ow, well, yow moi soy that-mak'th 'em cruel thin then, it do; but what canbodies do i' th'ago? Bot it's a bad thing, it is. Harken yow to me. Didstever know one called Porter, to yowr trade?"

I thought a little, and recollected a man of that name, who had worked withus a year or two before--a great friend of a certain scatter-brained Irishlad, brother of Crossthwaite's wife. 

"Well, I did once, but I have lost sight of him twelve months, or more. "

The old man faced sharp round on me, swinging the little gig almost over, and then twisted himself back again, and put on a true farmer-like look ofdogged, stolid reserve. We rolled on a few minutes in silence. 

"Dee yow consider, now, that a mon mought be lost, like, into Lunnon?"

"How lost?"

"Why, yow told o' they sweaters--dee yow think a mon might get in wi' oneo' they, and they that mought be looking for un not to vind un?"

"I do, indeed. There was a friend of that man Porter got turned away fromour shop, because he wouldn't pay some tyrannical fine for being saucy, asthey called it, to the shopman; and he went to a sweater's--and then toanother; and his friends have been tracking him up and down this sixmonths, and can hear no news of him. "

"Aw! guide us! And what'n, think yow, be gone wi' un?"

"I am afraid he has got into one of those dens, and has pawned his clothes, as dozens of them do, for food, and so can't get out. "

"Pawned his clothes for victuals! To think o' that, noo! But if he hadwork, can't he get victuals?"

"Oh!" I said, "there's many a man who, after working seventeen or eighteenhours a day, Sundays and all, without even time to take off his clothes, finds himself brought in in debt to his tyrant at the week's end. And ifhe gets no work, the villain won't let him leave the house; he has to staythere starving, on the chance of an hour's job. I tell you, I've known halfa dozen men imprisoned in that way, in a little dungeon of a garret, wherethey had hardly room to stand upright, and only just space to sit and workbetween their beds, without breathing the fresh air, or seeing God's sun, for months together, with no victuals but a few slices of bread-and-butter, and a little slop of tea, twice a day, till they were starved to the verybone. "

"Oh, my God! my God!" said the old man, in a voice which had a deepertone of feeling than mere sympathy with others' sorrow was likely to haveproduced. There was evidently something behind all these inquiries of his. I longed to ask him if his name, too, was not Porter. 

"Aw yow knawn Billy Porter? What was a like? Tell me, now--what was a like, in the Lord's name! what was a like unto?"

"Very tall and bony, " I answered. 

"Ah! sax feet, and more? and a yard across?--but a was starved, a was a'thin, though, maybe, when yow sawn un?--and beautiful fine hair, hadn't a, like a lass's?"

"The man I knew had red hair, " quoth I. 

"Ow, ay, an' that it wor, red as a rising sun, and the curls of un likegowlden guineas! And thou knew'st Billy Porter! To think o' that, noo. "--

Another long silence. 

"Could you find un, dee yow think, noo, into Lunnon? Suppose, now, there was a mon 'ud gie--may be five pund--ten pund--twenty pund, by* * *--twenty pund down, for to ha' him brocht home safe and soun'--Couldyow do't, bor'? I zay, could yow do't?"

"I could do it as well without the money as with, if I could do it at all. But have you no guess as to where he is?"

He shook his head sadly. 

"We--that's to zay, they as wants un--hav'n't heerd tell of un vor thisthree year--three year coom Whitsuntide as ever was--" And he wiped hiseyes with his cuff. 

"If you will tell me all about him, and where he was last heard of, I willdo all I can to find him. "

"Will ye, noo? will ye? The Lord bless ye for zaying that. " And he graspedmy hand in his great iron fist, and fairly burst out crying. 

"Was he a relation of yours?" I asked, gently. 

"My bairn--my bairn--my eldest bairn. Dinnot yow ax me no moor--dinnotthen, bor'. Gie on, yow powney, and yow goo leuk vor un. "

Another long silence. 

"I've a been to Lunnon, looking vor un. "

Another silence. 

"I went up and down, up and down, day and night, day and night, to allpot-houses as I could zee; vor, says I, he was a'ways a main chap to drink, he was. Oh, deery me! and I never cot zight on un--and noo I be most spent, I be. "--

And he pulled up at another public-house, and tried this time a glass ofbrandy. He stopped, I really think, at every inn between that place andCambridge, and at each tried some fresh compound; but his head seemed, fromhabit, utterly fire-proof. 

At last, we neared Cambridge, and began to pass groups of gay horsemen, andthen those strange caps and gowns--ugly and unmeaning remnant of obsoletefashion. 

The old man insisted on driving me up to the gate of * * * College, andthere dropped me, after I had given him my address, entreating me to "vindthe bairn, and coom to zee him down to Metholl. But dinnot goo ax forFarmer Porter--they's all Porters there away. Yow ax for Wooden-houseBob--that's me; and if I barn't to home, ax for Mucky Billy--that's mybrawther--we're all gotten our names down to ven; and if he barn't to home, yow ax for Frog-hall--that's where my sister do live; and they'll all veedye, and lodge ye, and welcome come. We be all like one, doon in the ven;and do ye, do ye, vind my bairn!" And he trundled on, down the narrowstreet. 

I was soon directed, by various smart-looking servants, to my cousin'srooms; and after a few mistakes, and wandering up and down noble courts andcloisters, swarming with gay young men, whose jaunty air and dress seemedstrangely out of keeping with the stem antique solemnity of the Gothicbuildings around, I espied my cousin's name over a door; and, uncertain howhe might receive me, I gave a gentle, half-apologetic knock, which, was answered by a loud "Come in!" and I entered on a scene, even moreincongruous than anything I had seen outside. 

"If we can only keep away from Jesus as far as the corner, I don't care. "

"If we don't run into that first Trinity before the willows, I shall carewith a vengeance. "

"If we don't it's a pity, " said my cousin. "Wadham ran up by the side ofthat first Trinity yesterday, and he said that they were as well gruelledas so many posters, before they got to the stile. "

This unintelligible, and to my inexperienced ears, irreverent conversation, proceeded from half a dozen powerful young men, in low-crownedsailors' hats and flannel trousers, some in striped jerseys, some inshooting-jackets, some smoking cigars, some beating up eggs in sherry;while my cousin, dressed like "a fancy waterman, " sat on the back of asofa, puffing away at a huge meerschaum. 

"Alton! why, what wind on earth has blown you here?"

By the tone, the words seemed rather an inquiry as to what wind would bekind enough to blow me back again. But he recovered his self-possession ina moment. 

"Delighted to see you! Where's your portmanteau? Oh--left it at the Bull!Ah! I see. Very well, we'll send the gyp for it in a minute, and order someluncheon. We're just going down to the boat-race. Sorry I can't stop, butwe shall all be fined--not a moment to lose. I'll send you in luncheon asI go through the butteries; then, perhaps, you'd like to come down and seethe race. Ask the gyp to tell you the way. Now, then, follow your noblecaptain, gentlemen--to glory and a supper. " And he bustled out with hiscrew. 

While I was staring about the room, at the jumble of Greek books, boxing-gloves, and luscious prints of pretty women, a shrewd-faced, smartman entered, much better dressed than myself. 

"What would you like, sir? Ox-tail soup, sir, or gravy-soup, sir? Stiltoncheese, sir, or Cheshire, sir? Old Stilton, sir, just now. "

Fearing lest many words might betray my rank--and, strange to say, thoughI should not have been afraid of confessing myself an artisan before the"gentlemen" who had just left the room, I was ashamed to have my low estatediscovered, and talked over with his compeers, by the flunkey who waited onthem--I answered, "Anything--I really don't care, " in as aristocratic andoff-hand a tone as I could assume. 

"Porter or ale, sir?"

"Water, " without a "thank you, " I am ashamed to say for I was not at thattime quite sure whether it was well-bred to be civil to servants. 

The man vanished, and reappeared with a savoury luncheon, silver forks, snowy napkins, smart plates--I felt really quite a gentleman. 

He gave me full directions as to my "way to the boats, sir;" and I startedout much refreshed; passed through back streets, dingy, dirty, andprofligate-looking enough; out upon wide meadows, fringed with enormouselms; across a ferry; through a pleasant village, with its old grey churchand spire; by the side of a sluggish river, alive with wherries. I hadwalked down some mile or so, and just as I heard a cannon, as I thought, fire at some distance, and wondered at its meaning, I came to a sudden bendof the river, with a church-tower hanging over the stream on the oppositebank, a knot of tall poplars, weeping willows, rich lawns, sloping down tothe water's side, gay with bonnets and shawls; while, along the edge ofthe stream, light, gaudily-painted boats apparently waited for therace, --altogether the most brilliant and graceful group of scenery which Ihad beheld in my little travels. I stopped to gaze; and among the ladies onthe lawn opposite, caught sight of a figure--my heart leapt into my mouth!Was it she at last? It was too far to distinguish features; the dress wasaltogether different--but was it not she? I saw her move across the lawn, and take the arm of a tall, venerable-looking man; and his dress was thesame as that of the Dean, at the Dulwich Gallery--was it? was it not?To have found her, and a river between us! It was ludicrouslymiserable--miserably ludicrous. Oh, that accursed river, which debarred mefrom certainty, from bliss! I would have plunged across--but there werethree objections--first, that I could not swim; next, what could I do whenI had crossed? and thirdly, it might not be she after all. 

And yet I was certain--instinctively certain--that it was she, the idol ofmy imagination for years. If I could not see her features under that littlewhite bonnet, I could imagine them there; they flashed up in my memory asfresh as ever. Did she remember my features, as I did hers? Would she knowme again? Had she ever even thought of me, from that day to this? Fool!But there I stood, fascinated, gazing across the river, heedless of theracing-boats, and the crowd, and the roar that was rushing up to me at therate of ten miles an hour, and in a moment more, had caught me, and sweptme away with it, whether I would or not, along the towing-path, by the sideof the foremost boats. 

And yet, after a few moments, I ceased to wonder either at the Cambridgepassion for boat-racing, or at the excitement of the spectators. "_Honisoit qui mal y pense_. " It was a noble sport--a sight such as could only beseen in England--some hundred of young men, who might, if they had chosen, been lounging effeminately about the streets, subjecting themselvesvoluntarily to that intense exertion, for the mere pleasure of toil. The true English stuff came out there; I felt that, in spite of allmy prejudices--the stuff which has held Gibraltar and conquered atWaterloo--which has created a Birmingham and a Manchester, and colonizedevery quarter of the globe--that grim, earnest, stubborn energy, which, since the days of the old Romans, the English possess alone of all thenations of the earth. I was as proud of the gallant young fellows as ifthey had been my brothers--of their courage and endurance (for one couldsee that it was no child's-play, from the pale faces, and panting lips), their strength and activity, so fierce and yet so cultivated, smooth, harmonious, as oar kept time with oar, and every back rose and fell inconcert--and felt my soul stirred up to a sort of sweet madness, not merelyby the shouts and cheers of the mob around me, but by the loud fierce pulseof the rowlocks, the swift whispering rush of the long snake-like eightoars, the swirl and gurgle of the water in their wake, the grim, breathlesssilence of the straining rowers. My blood boiled over, and fierce tearsswelled into my eyes; for I, too, was a man, and an Englishman; and when Icaught sight of my cousin, pulling stroke to the second boat in the longline, with set teeth and flashing eyes, the great muscles on his bare armsspringing up into knots at every rapid stroke, I ran and shouted among themaddest and the foremost. 

But I soon tired, and, footsore as I was, began to find my strength failme. I tried to drop behind, but found it impossible in the press. At last, quite out of breath, I stopped; and instantly received a heavy blow frombehind, which threw me on my face; and a fierce voice shouted in my ear, "Confound you, sir! don't you know better than to do that?" I looked up, and saw a man twice as big as myself sprawling over me, headlong down thebank, toward the river, whither I followed him, but alas! not on my feet, but rolling head over heels. On the very brink he stuck his heels into theturf, and stopped dead, amid a shout of, "Well saved, Lynedale!" I did notstop; but rolled into some two-feet water, amid the laughter and shouts ofthe men. 

I scrambled out, and limped on, shaking with wet and pain, till I wasstopped by a crowd which filled the towing-path. An eight-oar lay under thebank, and the men on shore were cheering and praising those in the boat forhaving "bumped, " which word I already understood to mean, winning a race. 

Among them, close to me, was the tall man who had upset me; and a veryhandsome, high-bred looking man he was. I tried to slip by, but herecognized me instantly, and spoke. 

"I hope I didn't hurt you much, Really, when I spoke so sharply, I did notsee that you were not a gownsman!"

The speech, as I suppose now, was meant courteously enough. It indicatedthat though he might allow himself liberties with men of his own class, hewas too well bred to do so with me. But in my anger I saw nothing but thewords, "not a gownsman. " Why should he see that I was not a gownsman?Because I was shabbier?--(and my clothes, over and above the ducking theyhad had, were shabby); or more plebeian in appearance (whatsoever that maymean)? or wanted something else, which the rest had about them, and I hadnot? Why should he know that I was not a gownsman? I did not wish, of course, to be a gentleman, and an aristocrat; but I was nettled, nevertheless, at not being mistaken for one; and answered, sharply enough--

"No matter whether I am hurt or not. It serves me right for getting amongyou cursed aristocrats. "

"Box the cad's ears, Lord Lynedale, " said a dirty fellow with a longpole--a cad himself, I should have thought. 

"Let him go home and ask his mammy to hang him out to dry, " said another. 

The lord (for so I understood he was) looked at me with an air of surpriseand amusement, which may have been good-natured enough in him, but did notincrease the good-nature in me. 

"Tut, tut, my good fellow. I really am very sorry for having upset you. Here's half-a-crown to cover damages. "

"Better give it me than a muff like that, " quoth he of the long pole; whileI answered, surlily enough, that I wanted neither him nor his money, andburst through the crowd toward Cambridge. I was so shabby and plebeian, then, that people actually dare offer me money! Intolerable!

The reader may say that I was in a very unwholesome and unreasonable frameof mind. 

So I was. And so would he have been in my place. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE LOST IDOL FOUND. 

On my return, I found my cousin already at home, in high spirits at having, as he informed me, "bumped the first Trinity. " I excused myself for mydripping state, simply by saying that I had slipped into the river. To tellhim the whole of the story, while the fancied insult still rankled fresh inme, was really too disagreeable both to my memory and my pride. 

Then came the question, "What had brought me to Cambridge?" I told him all, and he seemed honestly to sympathize with my misfortunes. 

"Never mind; we'll make it all right somehow. Those poems of yours--youmust let me have them and look over them; and I dare say I shall persuadethe governor to do something with them. After all, it's no loss for you;you couldn't have got on tailoring--much too sharp a fellow for that;--youought to be at college, if one could only get you there. These sizarships, now, were meant for--just such cases as yours--clever fellows who could notafford to educate themselves; if we could only help you to one of them, now--

"You forget that in that case, " said I, with something like a sigh, "Ishould have to become a member of the Church of England. "

"Why, no; not exactly. Though, of course, if you want to get all out of theuniversity which you ought to get, you must do so at last. "

"And pretend to believe what I do not; for the sake of deserting my ownclass, and pandering to the very aristocrats, whom--"

"Hullo!" and he jumped with a hoarse laugh. "Stop that till I see whetherthe door is sported. Why, you silly fellow, what harm have the aristocrats, as you call them, ever done you? Are they not doing you good at thismoment? Are you not, by virtue of their aristocratic institutions, nearerhaving your poems published, your genius recognized, etc. Etc. , than everyou were before?"

"Aristocrats? Then you call yourself one?"

"No, Alton, my boy; not yet, " said he quietly and knowingly. "Not yet: butI have chosen the right road, and shall end at the road's end; and I adviseyou--for really, as my cousin, I wish you all success, even for the merecredit of the family, to choose the same road likewise. "

"What road?"

"Come up to Cambridge, by hook or by crook, and then take orders. "

I laughed scornfully. 

"My good cousin, it is the only method yet discovered for turning a snob(as I am, or was) into a gentleman; except putting him into a heavy cavalryregiment. My brother, who has no brains, preferred the latter method. I, who flatter myself that I have some, have taken the former. " The thoughtwas new and astonishing to me, and I looked at him in silence while he ranon--

"If you are once a parson, all is safe. Be you who you may before, fromthat moment you are a gentleman. No one will offer an insult. You are goodenough for any man's society. You can dine at any nobleman's table. You canbe friend, confidant, father confessor, if you like, to the highest womenin the land; and if you have person, manners, and common sense, marry oneof them into the bargain, Alton, my boy. "

"And it is for that that you will sell your soul--to become a hanger-on ofthe upper classes, in sloth and luxury?"

"Sloth and luxury? Stuff and nonsense! I tell you that after I have takenorders, I shall have years and years of hard work before me; continualdrudgery of serving tables, managing charities, visiting, preaching, frommorning till night, and after that often from night to morning again. Enough to wear out any but a tough constitution, as I trust mine is. Work, Alton, and hard work, is the only way now-a-days to rise in the Church, asin other professions. My father can buy me a living some day: but hecan't buy me success, notoriety, social position, power--" and he stoppedsuddenly, as if he had been on the point of saying something more whichshould not have been said. 

"And this, " I said, "is your idea of a vocation for the sacred ministry? Itis for this, that you, brought up a dissenter, have gone over to the Churchof England?"

"And how do you know"--and his whole tone of voice changed instantlyinto what was meant, I suppose, for a gentle seriousness and reverentsuavity--"that I am not a sincere member of the Church of England? How doyou know that I may not have loftier plans and ideas, though I may notchoose to parade them to everyone, and give that which is holy to thedogs?"

"I am the dog, then?" I asked, half amused, for I was too curious about hisstate of mind to be angry. 

"Not at all, my dear fellow. But those great men to whom we (or at least I)owe our conversion to the true Church, always tell us (and you will feelyourself how right they are) not to parade religious feelings; to look uponthem as sacred things, to be treated with that due reserve which springsfrom real reverence. You know, as well as I, whether that is the fashionof the body in which we were, alas! brought up. You know, as well as I, whether the religious conversation of that body has heightened your respectfor sacred things. "

"I do, too well. " And I thought of Mr. Wigginton and my mother's teaparties. 

"I dare say the vulgarity of that school has, ere now, shaken your faith inall that was holy?"

I was very near confessing that it had: but a feeling came over me, I knewnot why, that my cousin would have been glad to get me into his power, andwould therefore have welcomed a confession of infidelity. So I held mytongue. 

"I can confess, " he said, in the most confidential tone, "that it had for atime that effect on me. I have confessed it, ere now, and shall again andagain, I trust. But I shudder to think of what I might have been believingor disbelieving now, if I had not in a happy hour fallen in with Mr. Newman's sermons, and learnt from them, and from his disciples, what theChurch of England really was; not Protestant, no; but Catholic in thedeepest and highest sense. "

"So you are one of these new Tractarians? You do not seem to have adoptedyet the ascetic mode of life, which I hear they praise up so highly, "

"My dear Alton, if you have read, as you have, your Bible, you willrecollect a text which tells you not to appear to men to fast. What I door do not do in the way of self-denial, unless I were actually profligate, which I give you my sacred honour I am not, must be a matter between Heavenand myself. "

There was no denying that truth; but the longer my cousin talked the less Itrusted in him--I had almost said, the less I believed him. Ever since thetone of his voice had changed so suddenly, I liked him less than when hewas honestly blurting out his coarse and selfish ambition. I do not thinkhe was a hypocrite. I think he believed what he said, as strongly as hecould believe anything. He proved afterwards that he did so, as far asman can judge man, by severe and diligent parish work: but I cannot helpdoubting at times, if that man ever knew what believing meant. God forgivehim! In that, he is no worse than hundreds more who have never felt theburning and shining flame of intense conviction, of some truth rooted inthe inmost recesses of the soul, by which a man must live, for which hewould not fear to die. 

And therefore I listened to him dully and carelessly; I did not care tobring objections, which arose thick and fast, to everything he said. Hetried to assure me--and did so with a great deal of cleverness--that thisTractarian movement was not really an aristocratic, but a democratic one;that the Catholic Church had been in all ages the Church of the poor; thatthe clergy were commissioned by Heaven to vindicate the rights of thepeople, and to stand between them and the tyranny of Mammon. I did notcare to answer him that the "Catholic Church" had always been a Church ofslaves, and not of free men; that the clergy had in every age been theenemies of light, of liberty; the oppressors of their flocks; and that toexalt a sacerdotal caste over other aristocracies, whether of birth orwealth, was merely to change our tyrants. When he told me that a clergymanof the Established Church, if he took up the cause of the working classes, might be the boldest and surest of all allies, just because, beingestablished, and certain of his income, he cared not one sixpence what hesaid to any man alive, I did not care to answer him, as I might--And moreshame upon the clergy that, having the safe vantage-ground which youdescribe, they dare not use it like men in a good cause, and speak theirminds, if forsooth no one can stop them from so doing. In fact, I wasdistrustful, which I had a right to be, and envious also; but if I had aright to be that, I was certainly not wise, nor is any man, in exercisingthe said dangerous right as I did, and envying my cousin and every man inCambridge. 

But that evening, understanding that a boating supper, or some jubilationover my cousin's victory, was to take place in his rooms, I asked leave toabsent myself--and I do not think my cousin felt much regret at giving meleave--and wandered up and down the King's Parade, watching the tall gablesof King's College Chapel, and the classic front of the Senate House, andthe stately tower of St. Mary's, as they stood, stern and silent, bathed inthe still glory of the moonlight, and contrasting bitterly the lot of thosewho were educated under their shadow to the lot which had befallen me. [Footnote: It must be remembered that these impressions of, and comments onthe universities, are not my own. They are simply what clever working menthought about them from 1845 to 1850; a period at which I had the fullestopportunities for knowing the thoughts of working men. ]

"Noble buildings!" I said to myself, "and noble institutions! given freelyto the people, by those who loved the people, and the Saviour who diedfor them. They gave us what they had, those mediæval founders: whatsoevernarrowness of mind or superstition defiled their gift was not their fault, but the fault of their whole age. The best they knew they imparted freely, and God will reward them for it. To monopolize those institutions for therich, as is done now, is to violate both the spirit and the letter ofthe foundations; to restrict their studies to the limits of middle-agedRomanism, their conditions of admission to those fixed at the Reformation, is but a shade less wrongful. The letter is kept--the spirit is thrownaway. You refuse to admit any who are not members of the Church of England, say, rather, any who will not sign the dogmas of the Church of England, whether they believe a word of them or not. Useless formalism! which letsthrough the reckless, the profligate, the ignorant, the hypocritical:and only excludes the honest and the conscientious, and the mass of theintellectual working men. And whose fault is it that THEY are not membersof the Church of England? Whose fault is it, I ask? Your predecessorsneglected the lower orders, till they have ceased to reverence either youor your doctrines, you confess that, among yourselves, freely enough. Youthrow the blame of the present wide-spread dislike to the Church of Englandon her sins during 'the godless eighteenth century. ' Be it so. Why arethose sins to be visited on us? Why are we to be shut out from theuniversities, which were founded for us, because you have let us growup, by millions, heathens and infidels, as you call us? Take away yoursubterfuge! It is not merely because we are bad churchmen that you excludeus, else you would be crowding your colleges, now, with the talented poorof the agricultural districts, who, as you say, remain faithful to thechurch of their fathers. But are there six labourers' sons educating inthe universities at this moment! No! the real reason for our exclusion, churchmen or not, is, because we are _poor_--because we cannot pay yourexorbitant fees, often, as in the case of bachelors of arts, exacted fortuition which is never given, and residence which is not permitted--becausewe could not support the extravagance which you not only permit, butencourage--because by your own unblushing confession, it insures theuniversity 'the support of the aristocracy. '"

"But, on religious points, at least, you must abide by the statutes of theuniversity. "

Strange argument, truly, to be urged literally by English Protestants inpossession of Roman Catholic bequests! If that be true in the letter, as well as in the spirit, you should have given place long ago to theDominicans and the Franciscans. In the spirit it is true, and the Reformersacted on it when they rightly converted the universities to the uses of thenew faith. They carried out the spirit of the founders' statutes by makingthe universities as good as they could be, and letting them share in thenew light of the Elizabethan age. But was the sum of knowledge, human anddivine, perfected at the Reformation? Who gave the Reformers, or you, whocall yourselves their representatives, a right to say to the mind of man, and to the teaching of God's Spirit, "Hitherto, and no farther"? Societyand mankind, the children of the Supreme, will not stop growing for yourdogmas--much less for your vested interests; and the righteous law ofmingled development and renovation, applied in the sixteenth century, mustbe reapplied in the nineteenth; while the spirits of the founders, nowpurged from the superstitions and ignorances of their age, shall smile fromheaven, and say, "So would we have had it, if we had lived in the greatnineteenth century, into which it has been your privilege to be born. "

But such thoughts soon passed away. The image which I had seen thatafternoon upon the river banks had awakened imperiously the franticlongings of past years; and now it reascended its ancient throne, andtyrannously drove forth every other object, to keep me alone with its owntantalizing and torturing beauty. I did not think about her--No; I onlystupidly and steadfastly stared at her with my whole soul and imagination, through that long sleepless night; and, in spite of the fatigue of myjourney, and the stiffness proceeding from my fall and wetting, I laytossing till the early sun poured into my bedroom window. Then I arose, dressed myself, and went out to wander up and down the streets, gazingat one splendid building after another, till I found the gates of King'sCollege open. I entered eagerly, through a porch which, to my untutoredtaste, seemed gorgeous enough to form the entrance to a fairy palace, andstood in the quadrangle, riveted to the spot by the magnificence of thehuge chapel on the right. 

If I had admired it the night before, I felt inclined to worship it thismorning, as I saw the lofty buttresses and spires, fretted with all theirgorgeous carving, and "storied windows richly dight, " sleeping in the glareof the newly-risen sun, and throwing their long shadows due westward downthe sloping lawn, and across the river which dimpled and gleamed below, till it was lost among the towering masses of crisp elms and rose-garlandedchestnuts in the rich gardens beyond. 

Was I delighted? Yes--and yet no. There is a painful feeling in seeinganything magnificent which one cannot understand. And perhaps it was amorbid sensitiveness, but the feeling was strong upon me that I was aninterloper there--out of harmony with the scene and the system which hadcreated it; that I might be an object of unpleasant curiosity, perhaps ofscorn (for I had not forgotten the nobleman at the boat-race), amid thosemonuments of learned luxury. Perhaps, on the other hand, it was only fromthe instinct which makes us seek for solitude under the pressure of intenseemotions, when we have neither language to express them to ourselves, norloved one in whose silent eyes we may read kindred feelings--a sympathywhich wants no words. Whatever the cause was, when a party of men, in theircaps and gowns, approached me down the dark avenue which led into thecountry, I was glad to shrink for concealment behind the weeping-willowat the foot of the bridge, and slink off unobserved to breakfast with mycousin. 

We had just finished breakfast, my cousin was lighting his meerschaum, whena tall figure passed the window, and the taller of the noblemen, whom Ihad seen at the boat-race, entered the room with a packet of papers in hishand. 

"Here, Locule mi! my pocket-book--or rather, to stretch a bad pun tillit bursts, my pocket-dictionary--I require the aid of yourbenevolently-squandered talents for the correction of these proofs. I am, as usual, both idle and busy this morning; so draw pen, and set to work forme. "

"I am exceedingly sorry, my lord, " answered George, in his most obsequioustone, "but I must work this morning with all my might. Last night, recollect, was given to triumph, Bacchus, and idleness. "

"Then find some one who will do them for me, my Ulysses polumechane, polutrope, panurge. "

"I shall be most happy (with a half-frown and a wince) to play Panurge toyour lordship's Pantagruel, on board the new yacht. "

"Oh, I am perfect in that character, I suppose? And is she after all, likePantagruel's ship, to be loaded with hemp? Well, we must try two or threemilder cargoes first. But come, find me some starving genius--some græculusesuriens--"

"Who will ascend to the heaven of your lordship's eloquence for thebidding?"

"Five shillings a sheet--there will be about two of them, I think, in thepamphlet. "

"May I take the liberty of recommending my cousin here?"

"Your cousin?" And he turned to me, who had been examining with a sad andenvious eye the contents of the bookshelves. Our eyes met, and first afaint blush, and then a smile of recognition, passed over his magnificentcountenance. 

"I think I had--I am ashamed that I cannot say the pleasure, of meeting himat the boat race yesterday. "

My cousin looked inquiringly and vexed at us both. The nobleman smiled. 

"Oh, the fault was mine, not his. "

"I cannot think, " I answered, "that you have any reasons to remember withshame your own kindness and courtesy. As for me, " I went on bitterly, "Isuppose a poor journeyman tailor, who ventures to look on at the sports ofgentlemen, only deserves to be run over. "

"Sir, " he said, looking at me with a severe and searching glance, "yourbitterness is pardonable--but not your sneer. You do not yourself thinkwhat you say, and you ought to know that I think it still less thanyourself. If you intend your irony to be useful, you should keep it tillyou can use it courageously against the true offenders. "

I looked up at him fiercely enough, but the placid smile which had returnedto his face disarmed me. 

"Your class, " he went on, "blind yourselves and our class as much bywholesale denunciations of us, as we, alas! who should know better, do bywholesale denunciations of you. As you grow older, you will learn thatthere are exceptions to every rule. "

"And yet the exception proves the rule. "

"Most painfully true, sir. But that argument is two-edged. For instance, am I to consider it the exception or the rule, when I am told that you, ajourneyman tailor, are able to correct these proofs for me?"

"Nearer the rule, I think, than you yet fancy. "

"You speak out boldly and well; but how can you judge what I may please tofancy? At all events, I will make trial of you. There are the proofs. Bringthem to me by four o'clock this afternoon, and if they are well done, Iwill pay you more than I should do to the average hack-writer, for you willdeserve more. "

I took the proofs; he turned to go, and by a side-look at George beckonedhim out of the room. I heard a whispering in the passage; and I do not denythat my heart beat high with new hopes, as I caught unwillingly the words--

"Such a forehead!--such an eye!--such a contour of feature as that!--Loculemi--that boy ought not to be mending trousers. "

My cousin returned, half laughing, half angry. 

"Alton, you fool, why did you let out that you were a snip?"

"I am not ashamed of my trade. "

"I am, then. However, you've done with it now; and if you can't come thegentleman, you may as well come the rising genius. The self-educated dodgepays well just now; and after all, you've hooked his lordship--thank me forthat. But you'll never hold him, you impudent dog, if you pull so hardon him"--He went on, putting his hands into his coat-tail pockets, andsticking himself in front of the fire, like the Delphic Pythoness upon thesacred tripod, in hopes, I suppose, of some oracular afflatus--"You willnever hold him, I say, if you pull so hard on him. You ought to 'My lord'him for months yet, at least. You know, my good fellow, you must take everypossible care to pick up what good breeding you can, if I take the troubleto put you in the way of good society, and tell you where my privatebirds'-nests are, like the green schoolboy some poet or other talks of. "

"He is no lord of mine, " I answered, "in any sense of the word, andtherefore I shall not call him so. "

"Upon my honour! here is a young gentleman who intends to rise in theworld, and then commences by trying to walk through the first post hemeets! Noodle! can't you do like me, and get out of the carts' way whenthey come by? If you intend to go ahead, you must just dodge in and outlike a dog at a fair. 'She stoops to conquer' is my motto, and a preciousgood one too. "

"I have no wish to conquer Lord Lynedale, and so I shall not stoop to him. "

"I have, then; and to very good purpose, too. I am his whetstone, forpolishing up that classical wit of his on, till he carries it intoParliament to astonish the country squires. He fancies himself a secondGoethe, I hav'n't forgot his hitting at me, before a large supper party, with a certain epigram of that old turkeycock's about the whale having hisunmentionable parasite--and the great man likewise. Whale, indeed! I bidemy time, Alton, my boy--I bide my time; and then let your grand aristocratlook out! If he does not find the supposed whale-unmentionable a good stoutholding harpoon, with a tough line to it, and a long one, it's a pity, Alton my boy!"

And he burst into a coarse laugh, tossed himself down on the sofa, andre-lighted his meerschaum. 

"He seemed to me, " I answered, "to have a peculiar courtesy and liberalityof mind towards those below him in rank. "

"Oh! he had, had he? Now, I'll just put you up to a dodge. He intends tocome the Mirabeau--fancies his mantle has fallen on him--prays before thefellow's bust, I believe, if one knew the truth, for a double portion ofhis spirit; and therefore it is a part of his game to ingratiate himselfwith all pot-boy-dom, while at heart he is as proud, exclusive anaristocrat, as ever wore nobleman's hat. At all events, you may getsomething out of him, if you play your cards well--or, rather, help meto play mine; for I consider him as my property, and you only as myaide-de-camp. "

"I shall play no one's cards, " I answered, sulkily. "I am doing workfairly, and shall be fairly paid for it, and keep my own independence. "

"Independence--hey-day! Have you forgotten that, after all, you aremy--guest, to call it by the mildest term?"

"Do you upbraid me with that?" I said, starting up. "Do you expect me tolive on your charity, on condition of doing your dirty work? You do notknow me, sir. I leave your roof this instant!"

"You do not!" answered he, laughing loudly, as he sprang over the sofa, andset his back against the door. "Come, come, you Will-o'-the-Wisp, as fullof flights, and fancies, and vagaries, as a sick old maid! can't you seewhich side your bread is buttered? Sit down, I say! Don't you know that I'mas good-natured a fellow as ever lived, although I do parade a little GilBias morality now and then, just for fun's sake? Do you think I should beso open with it, if I meant anything very diabolic? There--sit down, anddon't go into King Cambyses' vein, or Queen Hecuba's tears either, whichyou seem inclined to do. "

"I know you have been very generous to me, " I said, penitently; "but akindness becomes none when you are upbraided with it. "

"So say the copybooks--I deny it. At all events, I'll say no more; andyou shall sit down there, and write as still as a mouse till two, whileI tackle this never-to-be-enough-by-unhappy-third-years'-men-execratedGriffin's Optics. "

 * * * * *

At four that afternoon, I knocked, proofs in hand, at the door of LordLynedale's rooms in the King's Parade. The door was opened by a littleelderly groom, grey-coated, grey-gaitered, grey-haired, grey-visaged. Hehad the look of a respectable old family retainer, and his exquisitelyneat groom's dress gave him a sort of interest in my eyes. Class costumes, relics though they are of feudalism, carry a charm with them. They aresymbolic, definitive; they bestow a personality on the wearer, whichsatisfies the mind, by enabling it instantly to classify him, to connecthim with a thousand stories and associations; and to my young mind, thewiry, shrewd, honest, grim old serving-man seemed the incarnation of allthe wonders of Newmarket, and the hunting-kennel, and the steeple-chase, of which I had read, with alternate admiration and contempt, in thenewspapers. He ushered me in with a good breeding which surprisedme;--without insolence to me, or servility to his master; both of which Ihad been taught to expect. 

Lord Lynedale bade me very courteously sit down while he examined theproofs. I looked round the low-wainscoted apartment, with its narrowmullioned windows, in extreme curiosity. What a real nobleman's abode couldbe like, was naturally worth examining, to one who had, all his life, heardof the aristocracy as of some mythic Titans--whether fiends or gods, beingyet a doubtful point--altogether enshrined on "cloudy Olympus, " invisibleto mortal ken. The shelves were gay with morocco, Russia leather, andgilding--not much used, as I thought, till my eye caught one of thegorgeously-bound volumes lying on the table in a loose cover of polishedleather--a refinement of which poor I should never have dreamt. The wallswere covered with prints, which soon turned my eyes from everything else, to range delighted over Landseers, Turners, Roberts's Eastern sketches, the ancient Italian masters; and I recognized, with a sort of friendlyaffection, an old print of my favourite St. Sebastian, in the DulwichGallery. It brought back to my mind a thousand dreams, and a thousandsorrows. Would those dreams be ever realized? Might this new acquaintancepossibly open some pathway towards their fulfilment?--some vista towardsthe attainment of a station where they would, at least, be less chimerical?And at that thought, my heart beat loud with hope. The room was choked upwith chairs and tables, of all sorts of strange shapes and problematicaluses. The floor was strewed with skins of bear, deer, and seal. In a cornerlay hunting-whips, and fishing-rods, foils, boxing-gloves, and gun-cases;while over the chimney-piece, an array of rich Turkish pipes, all amber andenamel, contrasted curiously with quaint old swords and daggers--bronzeclassic casts, upon Gothic oak brackets, and fantastic scraps ofcontinental carving. On the centre table, too, reigned the same richprofusion, or if you will, confusion--MSS. , "Notes in Egypt, " "Goethe'sWalverwandschaften, " Murray's Hand-books, and "Plato's Republic. " Whatwas there not there? And I chuckled inwardly, to see how _Bell's Life inLondon_ and the _Ecclesiologist_ had, between them, got down "McCullochon Taxation, " and were sitting, arm-in-arm, triumphantly astride of him. Everything in the room, even to the fragrant flowers in a German glass, spoke of a travelled and cultivated luxury--manifold tastes and powers ofself-enjoyment and self-improvement, which, Heaven forgive me if I envied, as I looked upon them. If I, now, had had one-twentieth part of thosebooks, prints, that experience of life, not to mention that physicalstrength and beauty, which stood towering there before the fire--so simple;so utterly unconscious of the innate nobleness and grace which shone outfrom every motion of those stately limbs and features--all the delicacywhich blood can give, combined, as one does sometimes see, with the broadstrength of the proletarian--so different from poor me!--and so different, too, as I recollected with perhaps a savage pleasure, from the miserable, stunted specimens of over-bred imbecility whom I had often passed inLondon! A strange question that of birth! and one in which the philosopher, in spite of himself, must come to democratic conclusions. For, afterall, the physical and intellectual superiority of the high-born is onlypreserved, as it was in the old Norman times, by the continual practicalabnegation of the very caste-lie on which they pride themselves--bycontinual renovation of their race, by intermarriage with the ranks belowthem. The blood of Odin flowed in the veins of Norman William; true--and sodid the tanner's of Falaise!

At last he looked up and spoke courteously--

"I'm afraid I have kept you long; but now, here is for your corrections, which are capital. I have really to thank you for a lesson in writingEnglish. " And he put a sovereign into my hand. 

"I am very sorry, " said I, "but I have no change. "

"Never mind that. Your work is well worth the money. "

"But, " I said, "you agreed with me for five shillings a sheet, and--I donot wish to be rude, but I cannot accept your kindness. We working men makea rule of abiding by our wages, and taking nothing which looks like--"

"Well, well--and a very good rule it is. I suppose, then, I must find outsome way for you to earn more. Good afternoon. " And he motioned me outof the room, followed me down stairs, and turned off towards the CollegeGardens. 

I wandered up and down, feeding my greedy eyes, till I found myself againupon the bridge where I had stood that morning, gazing with admirationand astonishment at a scene which I have often expected to see painted ordescribed, and which, nevertheless, in spite of its unique magnificence, seems strangely overlooked by those who cater for the public taste, withpen and pencil. The vista of bridges, one after another spanning thestream; the long line of great monastic palaces, all unlike, and yet all inharmony, sloping down to the stream, with their trim lawns and ivied walls, their towers and buttresses; and opposite them, the range of rich gardensand noble timber-trees, dimly seen through which, at the end of thegorgeous river avenue, towered the lofty buildings of St. John's. The wholescene, under the glow of a rich May afternoon, seemed to me a fragmentout of the "Arabian Nights" or Spencer's "Fairy Queen. " I leaned upon theparapet, and gazed, and gazed, so absorbed in wonder and enjoyment, that Iwas quite unconscious, for some time, that Lord Lynedale was standing by myside, engaged in the same employment. He was not alone. Hanging on his armwas a lady, whose face, it seemed to me, I ought to know. It certainly wasone not to be easily forgotten. She was beautiful, but with the face andfigure rather of a Juno than a Venus--dark, imperious, restless--the lipsalmost too firmly set, the brow almost too massive and projecting--a queen, rather to be feared than loved--but a queen still, as truly royal as theman into whose face she was looking up with eager admiration and delight, as he pointed out to her eloquently the several beauties of the landscape. Her dress was as plain as that of any Quaker; but the grace of itsarrangement, of every line and fold, was enough, without the help of theheavy gold bracelet on her wrist, to proclaim her a fine lady; by whichterm, I wish to express the result of that perfect education in taste andmanner, down to every gesture, which Heaven forbid that I, professing to bea poet, should undervalue. It is beautiful; and therefore I welcome it, inthe name of the Author of all beauty. I value it so highly, that I wouldfain see it extend, not merely from Belgravia to the tradesman's villa, but thence, as I believe it one day will, to the labourer's hovel, and theneedlewoman's garret. 

Half in bashfulness, half in the pride which shrinks from anything likeintrusion, I was moving away; but the nobleman, recognising me with a smileand a nod, made some observation on the beauty of the scene before us. Before I could answer, however, I saw that his companion's eyes were fixedintently on my face. 

"Is this, " she said to Lord Lynedale, "the young person of whom you werespeaking to me just now? I fancy that I recollect him, though, I dare say, he has forgotten me. "

If I had forgotten the face, that voice, so peculiarly rich, deep, andmarked in its pronunciation of every syllable, recalled her instantly to mymind. It was the dark lady of the Dulwich Gallery!

"I met you, I think, " I said, "at the picture gallery at Dulwich, and youwere kind enough, and--and some persons who were with you, to talk to meabout a picture there. "

"Yes; Guido's St. Sebastian. You seemed fond of reading then. I am glad tosee you at college. "

I explained that I was not at college. That led to fresh gentle questionson her part, till I had given her all the leading points of my history. There was nothing in it of which I ought to have been ashamed. 

She seemed to become more and more interested in my story, and hercompanion also. 

"And have you tried to write? I recollect my uncle advising you to try apoem on St. Sebastian. It was spoken, perhaps, in jest; but it will not, Ihope, have been labour lost, if you have taken it in earnest. "

"Yes--I have written on that and on other subjects, during the last fewyears. "

"Then, you must let us see them, if you have them with you. I think myuncle, Arthur, might like to look over them; and if they were fit forpublication, he might be able to do something towards it. "

"At all events, " said Lord Lynedale, "a self-educated author is alwaysinteresting. Bring any of your poems, that you have with you, to the Eaglethis afternoon, and leave them there for Dean Winnstay; and to-morrowmorning, if you have nothing better to do, call there between ten andeleven o'clock. "

He wrote me down the dean's address, and nodding a civil good morning, turned away with his queenly companion, while I stood gazing after him, wondering whether all noblemen and high-born ladies were like them inperson and in spirit--a question which, in spite of many noble exceptions, some of them well known and appreciated by the working men, I am afraidmust be answered in the negative. 

I took my MSS. To the Eagle, and wandered out once more, instinctively, among those same magnificent trees at the back of the colleges, to enjoythe pleasing torment of expectation. "My uncle!" was he the same old manwhom I had seen at the gallery; and if so, was Lillian with him? Delicioushope! And yet, what if she was with him--what to me? But yet I sat silent, dreaming, all the evening, and hurried early to bed--not to sleep, but tolie and dream on and on, and rise almost before light, eat no breakfast, and pace up and down, waiting impatiently for the hour at which I was tofind out whether my dream, was true. 

And it was true! The first object I saw, when I entered the room, wasLillian, looking more beautiful than ever. The child of sixteen hadblossomed into the woman of twenty. The ivory and vermilion of thecomplexion had toned down together into still richer hues. The dark hazeleyes shone with a more liquid lustre. The figure had become more rounded, without losing a line of that fairy lightness, with which her lightmorning-dress, with its delicate French semi-tones of colour, gay andyet not gaudy, seemed to harmonize. The little plump jewelled hands--thetransparent chestnut hair, banded round the beautiful oval masque--the tinyfeet, which, as Suckling has it, Underneath her petticoat Like little mice peeped in and out--

I could have fallen down, fool that I was! and worshipped--what? I couldnot tell then, for I cannot tell even now. 

The dean smiled recognition, bade me sit down, and disposed my papers, meditatively, on his knee. I obeyed him, trembling, choking--my eyesdevouring my idol--forgetting why I had come--seeing nothing buther--listening for nothing but the opening of these lips. I believe thedean was some sentences deep in his oration, before I became consciousthereof. 

"--And I think I may tell you, at once, that I have been very muchsurprised and gratified with them. They evince, on the whole, a fargreater acquaintance with the English classic-models, and with the laws ofrhyme and melody, than could have been expected from a young man of yourclass--_macte virtute puer_. Have you read any Latin?"

"A little. " And I went on staring at Lillian, who looked up, furtively, from her work, every now and then, to steal a glance at me, and set my poorheart thumping still more fiercely against my side. 

"Very good; you will have the less trouble, then, in the preparationfor college. You will find out for yourself, of course, the immensedisadvantages of self-education. The fact is, my dear lord" (turning toLord Lynedale), "it is only useful as an indication of a capability ofbeing educated by others. One never opens a book written by working men, without shuddering at a hundred faults of style. However, there are somevery tolerable attempts among these--especially the imitations of Milton's'Comus. '"

Poor I had by no means intended them as imitations; but such, no doubt, they were. 

"I am sorry to see that Shelley has had so much influence on your writing. He is a guide as irregular in taste, as unorthodox in doctrine; thoughthere are some pretty things in him now and then. And you have caught hismelody tolerably here, now--"

"Oh, that is such a sweet thing!" said Lillian. "Do you know, I read itover and over last night, and took it up-stairs with me. How very fondof beautiful things you must be, Mr. Locke, to be able to describe sopassionately the longing after them. "

That voice once more! It intoxicated me, so that I hardly knew what Istammered out--something about working men having very few opportunitiesof indulging the taste for--I forget what. I believe I was on the pointof running off into some absurd compliment, but I caught the dark lady'swarning eye on me. 

"Ah, yes! I forgot. I dare say it must be a very stupid life. So littleopportunity, as he says. What a pity he is a tailor, papa! Such anunimaginative employment! How delightful it would be to send him to collegeand make him a clergyman!"

Fool that I was! I fancied--what did I not fancy?--never seeing how thatvery "_he_" bespoke the indifference--the gulf between us. I was not aman--an equal; but a thing--a subject, who was to be talked over, andexamined, and made into something like themselves, of their supreme andundeserved benevolence. 

"Gently, gently, fair lady! We must not be as headlong as some people wouldkindly wish to be. If this young man really has a proper desire to riseinto a higher station, and I find him a fit object to be assisted inthat praiseworthy ambition, why, I think he ought to go to some trainingcollege; St. Mark's, I should say, on the whole, might, by its strongChurch principles, give the best antidote to any little remaining taint of_sansculottism_. You understand me, my lord? And, then, if he distinguishedhimself there, it would be time to think of getting him a sizarship. "

"Poor Pegasus in harness!" half smiled, half sighed, the dark lady. 

"Just the sort of youth, " whispered Lord Lynedale, loud enough for me tohear, "to take out with us to the Mediterranean as secretary--s'il y avaitlà de la morale, of course--"

Yes--and of course, too, the tailor's boy was not expected to understandFrench. But the most absurd thing was, how everybody, except perhaps thedark lady, seemed to take for granted that I felt myself exceedinglyhonoured, and must consider it, as a matter of course, the greatestpossible stretch of kindness thus to talk me over, and settle everythingfor me, as if I was not a living soul, but a plant in a pot. Perhaps theywere not unsupported by experience. I suppose too many of us would havethought it so; there are flunkeys in all ranks, and to spare. Perhaps thetrue absurdity was the way in which I sat, demented, inarticulate, staringat Lillian, and only caring for any word which seemed to augur a chance ofseeing her again; instead of saying, as I felt, that I had no wish whateverto rise above my station; no intention whatever of being sent to trainingschools or colleges, or anywhere else at the expense of other people. Andtherefore it was that I submitted blindly, when the dean, who looked askind, and was really, I believe, as kind as ever was human being, turned tome with a solemn authoritative voice--

"Well, my young friend, I must say that I am, on the whole, very muchpleased with your performance. It corroborates, my dear lord, theassertion, for which I have been so often ridiculed, that there are manyreal men, capable of higher things, scattered up and down among the masses. Attend to me, sir!" (a hint which I suspect I very much wanted). "Now, recollect; if it should be hereafter in our power to assist your prospectsin life, you must give up, once and for all, the bitter tone against thehigher classes, which I am sorry to see in your MSS. As you know more ofthe world, you will find that the poor are not by any means as ill used asthey are taught, in these days, to believe. The rich have their sorrowstoo--no one knows it better than I"--(and he played pensively with his goldpencil-case)--"and good and evil are pretty equally distributed among allranks, by a just and merciful God. I advise you most earnestly, as youvalue your future success in life, to give up reading those unprincipledauthors, whose aim is to excite the evil passions of the multitude; andto shut your ears betimes to the extravagant calumnies of demagogues, whomake tools of enthusiastic and imaginative minds for their own selfishaggrandisement. Avoid politics; the workman has no more to do with themthan the clergyman. We are told, on divine authority, to fear God and theking, and meddle not with those who are given to change. Rather put beforeyourself the example of such a man as the excellent Dr. Brown, one of therichest and most respected men of the university, with whom I hope to havethe pleasure of dining this evening--and yet that man actually, for severalyears of his life, worked at a carpenter's bench!"

I too had something to say about all that. I too knew something aboutdemagogues and working men: but the sight of Lillian made me a coward; andI only sat silent as the thought flashed across me, half ludicrous, halfpainful, by its contrast, of another who once worked at a carpenter'sbench, and fulfilled his mission--not by an old age of wealth, respectability, and port wine; but on the Cross of Calvary. After all, theworthy old gentleman gave me no time to answer. 

"Next--I think of showing these MSS. To my publisher, to get his opinion asto whether they are worth printing just now. Not that I wish you to buildmuch on the chance. It is not necessary that you should be a poet. I shouldprefer mathematics for you, as a methodic discipline of the intellect. Most active minds write poetry, at a certain age--I wrote a good deal, Irecollect, myself. But that is no reason for publishing. This haste to rushinto print is one of the bad signs of the times--a symptom of the unhealthyactivity which was first called out by the French revolution. In theElizabethan age, every decently-educated gentleman was able, as a matter ofcourse, to indite a sonnet to his mistress's eye-brow, or an epigram on hisenemy; and yet he never dreamt of printing them. One of the few rationalthings I have met with, Eleanor, in the works of your very objectionablepet Mr. Carlyle--though indeed his style is too intolerable to have allowedme to read much--is the remark that 'speech is silver'--'silvern' he callsit, pedantically--'while silence is golden. '"

At this point of the sermon, Lillian fled from the room, to my extremedisgust. But still the old man prosed--

"I think, therefore, that you had better stay with your cousin for the nextweek. I hear from Lord Lynedale that he is a very studious, moral, risingyoung man; and I only hope that you will follow his good example. At theend of the week I shall return home, and then I shall be glad to see moreof you at my house at D * * * *, about * * * * miles from this place. Goodmorning. "

I went, in rapture at the last announcement--and yet my conscience smoteme. I had not stood up for the working men. I had heard them calumniated, and held my tongue--but I was to see Lillian. I had let the dean fancy Iwas willing to become a pensioner on his bounty--that I was a member ofthe Church of England, and willing to go to a Church Training School--butI was to see Lillian. I had lowered myself in my own eyes--but I had seenLillian. Perhaps I exaggerated my own offences: however that may be, lovesoon, silenced conscience, and I almost danced into my cousin's rooms on myreturn. 

 * * * * *

That week passed rapidly and happily. I was half amused with the change inmy cousin's demeanour. I had evidently risen immensely in his eyes; and Icould not help applying, in my heart, to him, Mr. Carlyle's dictum aboutthe valet species--how they never honour the unaccredited hero, havingno eye to find him out till properly accredited, and countersigned, andaccoutred with full uniform and diploma by that great god, Public Opinion. I saw through the motive of his new-fledged respect for me--and yetencouraged it; for it flattered my vanity. The world must forgive me. Itwas something for the poor tailor to find himself somewhat appreciated atlast, even outwardly. And besides, this sad respect took a form which wasvery tempting to me now--though the week before it was just the one whichI should have repelled with scorn. George became very anxious to lend memoney, to order me clothes at his own tailor's, and set me up in variouslittle toilette refinements, that I might make a respectable appearanceat the dean's. I knew that he consulted rather the honour of the family, than my good; but I did not know that his aim was also to get me into hispower; and I refused more and more weakly at each fresh offer, and at lastconsented, in an evil hour, to sell my own independence, for the sake ofindulging my love-dream, and appearing to be what I was not. 

I saw little of the University men; less than I might have done; less, perhaps, than I ought to have done. My cousin did not try to keep me fromthem; they, whenever I met them, did not shrink from me, and were civilenough: but I shrank from them. My cousin attributed my reserve to modesty, and praised me for it in his coarse fashion: but he was mistaken. Pride, rather, and something very like envy, kept me silent. Always afraid (atthat period of my career) of young men of my own age, I was doubly afraidof these men; not because they were cleverer than I, for they were not, butbecause I fancied I had no fair chance with them; they had opportunitieswhich I had not, read and talked of books of which I knew nothing; and whenthey did touch on matters which I fancied I understood, it was from a pointof view so different from mine, that I had to choose, as I thought, betweenstanding up alone to be baited by the whole party, or shielding myselfbehind a proud and somewhat contemptuous silence. I looked on them asignorant aristocrats; while they looked on me, I verily believe now, as avery good sort of fellow, who ought to talk well, but would not; and wenttheir way carelessly. The truth is, I did envy those men. I did not envythem their learning; for the majority of men who came into my cousin's roomhad no learning to envy, being rather brilliant and agreeable men thansevere students; but I envied them their opportunities of learning; andenvied them just as much their opportunities of play--their boating, theircricket, their foot-ball, their riding, and their gay confident carriage, which proceeds from physical health and strength, and which I mistook forthe swagger of insolence; while Parker's Piece, with its games, was a sightwhich made me grind my teeth, when I thought of the very different chanceof physical exercise which falls to the lot of a London artisan. 

And still more did I envy them when I found that many of them combined, asmy cousin did, this physical exercise with really hard mental work, andfound the one help the other. It was bitter to me--whether it ought to havebeen so or not--to hear of prizemen, wranglers, fellows of colleges, asfirst rate oars, boxers, foot-ball players; and my eyes once fairly filledwith tears, when, after the departure of a little fellow no bigger orheavier than myself, but with the eye and the gait of a game-cock, I wasinformed that he was "bow-oar in the University eight, and as sure to besenior classic next year as he has a head on his shoulders. " And I thoughtof my nights of study in the lean-to garret, and of the tailor's workshop, and of Sandy's den, and said to myself bitter words, which I shall notset down. Let gentlemen readers imagine them for themselves; and judgerationally and charitably of an unhealthy working-man like me, ifhis tongue be betrayed, at moments, to envy, hatred, malice, and alluncharitableness. 

However, one happiness I had--books. I read in my cousin's room frommorning till night. He gave me my meals hospitably enough: but disappearedevery day about four to "hall"; after which he did not reappear till eight, the interval being taken up, he said, in "wines" and an hour of billiards. Then he sat down to work, and read steadily and well till twelve, whileI, nothing loth, did the same; and so passed, rapidly enough, my week atCambridge. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A CATHEDRAL TOWN. 

At length, the wished-for day had arrived; and, with my cousin, I waswhirling along, full of hope and desire, towards the cathedral town ofD * * * *--through a flat fen country, which though I had often heard itdescribed as ugly, struck my imagination much. The vast height and widthof the sky-arch, as seen from those flats as from an ocean--the grey hazeshrouding the horizon of our narrow land-view, and closing us in, tillwe seemed to be floating through infinite space, on a little platform ofearth; the rich poplar-fringed farms, with their herds of dappled oxen--theluxuriant crops of oats and beans--the tender green of the tall-rape, aplant till then unknown to me--the long, straight, silver dykes, with theirgaudy carpets of strange floating water-plants, and their black banks, studded with the remains of buried forests--the innumerable draining-mills, with their creaking sails and groaning wheels--the endless rows of pollardwillows, through which the breeze moaned and rung, as through the stringsof some vast Æolian harp; the little island knolls in that vast sea offen, each with its long village street, and delicately taper spire; allthis seemed to me to contain an element of new and peculiar beauty. 

"Why!" exclaims the reading public, if perchance it ever sees this tale ofmine, in its usual prurient longing after anything like personal gossip, orscandalous anecdote--"why, there is no cathedral town which begins with aD! Through the fen, too! He must mean either Ely, Lincoln, or Peterborough;that's certain. " Then, at one of those places, they find there is dean--notof the name of Winnstay, true--"but his name begins with a W; and he hasa pretty daughter--no, a niece; well, that's very near it;--it must behim. No; at another place--there is not a dean, true--but a canon, or anarchdeacon-something of that kind; and he has a pretty daughter, really;and his name begins--not with W, but with Y; well, that's the last letterof Winnstay, if it is not the first: that must be the poor man! What ashame to have exposed his family secrets in that way!" And then a wholecircle of myths grow up round the man's story. It is credibly ascertainedthat I am the man who broke into his house last year, after having madelove to his housemaid, and stole his writing-desk and plate--else, whyshould a burglar steal family-letters, if he had not some interest inthem?. .. And before the matter dies away, some worthy old gentleman, whohas not spoken to a working man since he left his living, thirty years ago, and hates a radical as he does the Pope, receives two or three anonymousletters, condoling with him on the cruel betrayal of his confidence--baseingratitude for undeserved condescension, &c. , &c. ; and, perhaps, with anenclosure of good advice for his lovely daughter. 

But wherever D * * * * is, we arrived there; and with a beating heart, I--and I now suspect my cousin also--walked up the sunny slopes, wherethe old convent had stood, now covered with walled gardens and nobletimber-trees, and crowned by the richly fretted towers of the cathedral, which we had seen, for the last twenty miles, growing gradually larger andmore distinct across the level flat. "Ely?" "No; Lincoln!" "Oh! but really, it's just as much like Peterborough!" Never mind, my dear reader; theessence of the fact, as I think, lies not quite so much in the name of theplace, as in what was done there--to which I, with all the little respectwhich I can muster, entreat your attention. 

It is not from false shame at my necessary ignorance, but from a fear lestI should bore my readers with what seems to them trivial, that I refrainfrom dilating on many a thing which struck me as curious in this my firstvisit to the house of an English gentleman. I must say, however, thoughI suppose that it will be numbered, at least, among trite remarks, ifnot among trivial ones, that the wealth around me certainly struck me, as it has others, as not very much in keeping with the office of one whoprofessed to be a minister of the Gospel of Jesus of Nazareth. But I salvedover that feeling, being desirous to see everything in the brightest light, with the recollection that the dean had a private fortune of his own;though it did seem at moments, that if a man has solemnly sworn to devotehimself, body and soul, to the cause of the spiritual welfare of thenation, that vow might be not unfairly construed to include his money aswell as his talents, time, and health: unless, perhaps, money is consideredby spiritual persons as so worthless a thing, that it is not fit to begiven to God--a notion which might seem to explain how a really pious anduniversally respected archbishop, living within a quarter of a mile of oneof the worst _infernos_ of destitution, disease, filth, and profligacy--canyet find it in his heart to save £120, 000 out of church revenues, andleave it to his family; though it will not explain how Irish bishops canreconcile it to their consciences to leave behind them, one and all, large fortunes--for I suppose from fifty to a hundred thousand poundsis something--saved from fees and tithes, taken from the pockets of aRoman Catholic population, whom they have been put there to convert toProtestantism for the last three hundred years--with what success, all theworld knows. Of course, it is a most impertinent, and almost a blasphemousthing, for a working man to dare to mention such subjects. Is it not"speaking evil of dignities"? Strange, by-the-by, that merely to mentionfacts, without note or comment, should be always called "speaking evil"!Does not that argue ill for the facts themselves? Working men think so; butwhat matter what "the swinish multitude" think?

When I speak of wealth, I do not mean that the dean's household wouldhave been considered by his own class at all too luxurious. He would havebeen said, I suppose, to live in a "quiet, comfortable, gentlemanlikeway"--"everything very plain and very good. " It included a butler--aquiet, good-natured old man--who ushered us into our bedrooms; a footman, who opened the door--a sort of animal for which I have an extremeaversion--young, silly, conceited, over-fed, florid--who looked just theman to sell his soul for a livery, twice as much food as he needed, and theopportunity of unlimited flirtations with the maids; and a coachman, verylike other coachmen, whom I saw taking a pair of handsome carriage-horsesout to exercise, as we opened the gate. 

The old man, silently and as a matter of course, unpacked for me mylittle portmanteau (lent me by my cousin), and placed my things neatly invarious drawers--went down, brought up a jug of hot water, put it on thewashing-table--told me that dinner was at six--that the half-hour bellrang at half-past five--and that, if I wanted anything, the footman wouldanswer the bell (bells seeming a prominent idea in his theory of theuniverse)--and so left me, wondering at the strange fact that free men, with free wills, do sell themselves, by the hundred thousand, to performmenial offices for other men, not for love, but for money; becoming, todefine them strictly, bell-answering animals; and are honest, happy, contented, in such a life. A man-servant, a soldier, and a Jesuit, are tome the three great wonders of humanity--three forms of moral suicide, forwhich I never had the slightest gleam of sympathy, or even comprehension. 

 * * * * *

At last we went down to dinner, after my personal adornments had beencarefully superintended by my cousin, who gave me, over and above, variouswarnings and exhortations as to my behaviour; which, of course, took dueeffect, in making me as nervous, constrained, and affected, as possible. When I appeared in the drawing-room, I was kindly welcomed by the dean, thetwo ladies, and Lord Lynedale. 

But, as I stood fidgeting and blushing, sticking my arms and legs, and headinto all sorts of quaint positions--trying one attitude, and thinking itlooked awkward, and so exchanged it for another, more awkward still--my eyefell suddenly on a slip of paper, which had conveyed itself, I never knewhow, upon the pages of the Illustrated Book of Ballads, which I was turningover:--

"Be natural, and you will be gentlemanlike. If you wish others to forgetyour rank, do not forget it yourself. If you wish others to remember youwith pleasure, forget yourself; and be just what God has made you. "

I could not help fancying that the lesson, whether intentionally or not, was meant for me; and a passing impulse made me take up the slip, fold ittogether, and put it into my bosom. Perhaps it was Lillian's handwriting! Ilooked round at the ladies; but their faces were each buried behind a book. 

We went in to dinner; and, to my delight, I sat next to my goddess, whileopposite me was my cousin. Luckily, I had got some directions from him asto what to say and do, when my wonders, the servants, thrust eatables anddrinkables over nay shoulders. 

Lillian and my cousin chatted away about church-architecture, and therestorations which were going on at the cathedral; while I, for the firsthalf of dinner, feasted my eyes with the sight of a beauty, in which Iseemed to discover every moment some new excellence. Every time I lookedup at her, my eyes dazzled, my face burnt, my heart sank, and soft thrillsran through every nerve. And yet, Heaven knows, my emotions were as pure asthose of an infant. It was beauty, longed for, and found at last, which Iadored as a thing not to be possessed, but worshipped. The desire, even thethought, of calling her my own, never crossed my mind. I felt that I couldgladly die, if by death I could purchase the permission to watch her. Iunderstood, then, and for ever after, the pure devotion of the old knightsand troubadours of chivalry. I seemed to myself to be their brother--oneof the holy guild of poet-lovers. I was a new Petrarch, basking in thelight-rays of a new Laura. I gazed, and gazed, and found new life ingazing, and was content. 

But my simple bliss was perfected, when she suddenly turned to me, andbegan asking me questions on the very points on which I was best able toanswer. She talked about poetry, Tennyson and Wordsworth; asked me if Iunderstood Browning's Sordello; and then comforted me, after my stammeringconfession that I did not, by telling me she was delighted to hear that;for she did not understand it either, and it was so pleasant to have acompanion in ignorance. Then she asked me, if I was much struck with thebuildings in Cambridge?--had they inspired me with any verses yet?--I wasbound to write something about them--and so on; making the most commonplaceremarks look brilliant, from the ease and liveliness with which they werespoken, and the tact with which they were made pleasant to the listener:while I wondered at myself, for enjoying from her lips the flippant, sparkling tattle, which had hitherto made young women to me objects ofunspeakable dread, to be escaped by crossing the street, hiding behinddoors, and rushing blindly into back-yards and coal-holes. 

The ladies left the room; and I, with Lillian's face glowing bright in myimagination, as the crimson orb remains on the retina of the closed eye, after looking intently at the sun, sat listening to a pleasant discussionbetween the dean and the nobleman, about some country in the East, whichthey had both visited, and greedily devouring all the new facts which, theyincidentally brought forth out of the treasures of their highly cultivatedminds. 

I was agreeably surprised (don't laugh, reader) to find that I was allowedto drink water; and that the other men drank not more than a glass or twoof wine, after the ladies had retired. I had, somehow, got both lords anddeans associated in my mind with infinite swillings of port wine, andbacchanalian orgies, and sat down at first, in much fear and trembling, lest I should be compelled to join, under penalties of salt-and-water; butI had made up my mind, stoutly, to bear anything rather than get drunk;and so I had all the merit of a temperance-martyr, without any of itsdisagreeables. 

"Well" said I to myself, smiling in spirit, "what would my Chartistfriends say if they saw me here? Not even Crossthwaite himself couldfind a flaw in the appreciation of merit for its own sake, the courtesyand condescension--ah! but he would complain of it, simply for beingcondescension. " But, after all, what else could it be? Were not these menmore experienced, more learned, older than myself? They were my superiors;it was in vain for me to attempt to hide it from myself. But the wonderwas, that they themselves were the ones to appear utterly unconscious ofit. They treated me as an equal; they welcomed me--the young viscount andthe learned dean--on the broad ground of a common humanity; as I believehundreds more of their class would do, if we did not ourselves take a pridein estranging them from us--telling them that fraternization between ourclasses is impossible, and then cursing them for not fraternizing with us. But of that, more hereafter. 

At all events, now my bliss was perfect. No! I was wrong--a higherenjoyment than all awaited me, when, going into the drawing-room, I foundLillian singing at the piano. I had no idea that music was capable ofexpressing and conveying emotions so intense and ennobling. My experiencewas confined to street music, and to the bawling at the chapel. And, asyet, Mr. Hullah had not risen into a power more enviable than that ofkings, and given to every workman a free entrance into the magic world ofharmony and melody, where he may prove his brotherhood with Mozart andWeber, Beethoven and Mendelssohn. Great unconscious demagogue!--leader ofthe people, and labourer in the cause of divine equality!--thy reward iswith the Father of the people!

The luscious softness of the Italian airs overcame me with a deliciousenervation. Every note, every interval, each shade of expression spoke tome--I knew not what: and yet they spoke to my heart of hearts. A spiritout of the infinite heaven seemed calling to my spirit, which longed toanswer--and was dumb--and could only vent itself in tears, which welledunconsciously forth, and eased my heart from the painful tension ofexcitement. 

 * * * * * Her voice is hovering o'er my soul--it lingers, O'ershadowing it with soft and thrilling wings; The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick. The blood is listening in my frame; And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes. My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning-dew that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstacies. * * * * *

The dark lady, Miss Staunton, as I ought to call her, saw my emotion, and, as I thought unkindly, checked the cause of it at once. 

"Pray do not give us any more of those die-away Italian airs, Lillian. Singsomething manful, German or English, or anything you like, except thosesentimental wailings. "

Lillian stopped, took another book, and commenced, after a short prelude, one of my own songs. Surprise and pleasure overpowered me more utterly thanthe soft southern melodies had done. I was on the point of springing up andleaving the room, when my raptures were checked by our host, who turnedround, and stopped short in an oration on the geology of Upper Egypt. 

"What's that about brotherhood and freedom, Lillian? We don't want anythingof that kind here. "

"It's only a popular London song, papa, " answered she, with an arch smile. 

"Or likely to become so, " added Miss Staunton, in her marked dogmatic tone. 

"I am very sorry for London, then. " And he returned to the deserts. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE MAN OF SCIENCE. 

After breakfast the next morning, Lillian retired, saying laughingly, thatshe must go and see after her clothing club and her dear old women at thealmshouse, which, of course, made me look on her as more an angel thanever. And while George was left with Lord Lynedale, I was summoned to aprivate conference with the dean, in his study. 

I found him in a room lined with cabinets of curiosities, and hung all overwith strange horns, bones, and slabs of fossils. But I was not allowedmuch time to look about me; for he commenced at once on the subject ofmy studies, by asking me whether I was willing to prepare myself for theuniversity, by entering on the study of mathematics?

I felt so intense a repugnance to them, that at the risk of offendinghim--perhaps, for what I knew, fatally--I dared to demur. He smiled--

"I am convinced, young man, that even if you intended to follow poetry as aprofession--and a very poor one you will find it--yet you will never attainto any excellence therein, without far stricter mental discipline thanany to which you have been accustomed. That is why I abominate our modernpoets. They talk about the glory of the poetic vocation, as if theyintended to be kings and world-makers, and all the while they indulgethemselves in the most loose and desultory habits of thought. Sir, if theyreally believed their own grandiloquent assumptions, they would feel thatthe responsibility of their mental training was greater, not less, thanany one's else. Like the Quakers, they fancy that they honour inspirationby supposing it to be only extraordinary and paroxysmic: the true poet, like the rational Christian, believing that inspiration is continualand orderly, that it reveals harmonious laws, not merely excites suddenemotions. You understand me?"

I did, tolerably; and subsequent conversations with him fixed the thoughtssufficiently in my mind, to make me pretty sure that I am giving a faithfulverbal transcript of them. 

"You must study some science. Have you read any logic?"

I mentioned Watts' "Logic, " and Locke "On the Use of theUnderstanding"--two books well known to reading artizans. 

"Ah, " he said, "such books are very well, but they are merely popular. 'Aristotle, ' 'Bitter on Induction, ' and Kant's 'Prolegomena' and'Logic'--when you had read them some seven or eight times over, you mightconsider yourself as knowing somewhat about the matter. "

"I have read a little about induction in Whately. "

"Ah, very good book, but popular. Did you find that your method of thoughtreceived any benefit from it?"

"The truth is--I do not know whether I can quite express myselfclearly--but logic, like mathematics, seems to tell me too little aboutthings. It does not enlarge my knowledge of man or nature; and those arewhat I thirst for. And you must remember--I hope I am not wrong in sayingit--that the case of a man of your class, who has the power of travelling, of reading what he will, and seeing what he will, is very different fromthat of an artisan, whose chances of observation are so sadly limited. Youmust forgive us, if we are unwilling to spend our time over books whichtell us nothing about the great universe outside the shop-windows. "

He smiled compassionately. "Very true, my boy, There are two branches ofstudy, then, before you, and by either of them a competent subsistence ispossible, with good interest. Philology is one. But before you could arriveat those depths in it which connect with ethnology, history, and geography, you would require a lifetime of study. There remains yet another. I see youstealing glances at those natural curiosities. In the study of them, youwould find, as I believe, more and more daily, a mental discipline superioreven to that which language or mathematics give. If I had been blest witha son--but that is neither here nor there--it was my intention to haveeducated him almost entirely as a naturalist. I think I should like to trythe experiment on a young man like yourself. "

Sandy Mackaye's definition of legislation for the masses, "Fiatexperimentum in corpore vili, " rose up in my thoughts, and, halfunconsciously, passed my lips. The good old man only smiled. 

"That is not my reason, Mr. Locke. I should choose, by preference, a manof your class for experiments, not because the nature is coarser, or lessprecious in the scale of creation, but because I have a notion, for which, like many others, I have been very much laughed at, that you are lesssophisticated, more simple and fresh from nature's laboratory, than theyoung persons of the upper classes, who begin from the nursery to be moreor less trimmed up, and painted over by the artificial state of society--avery excellent state, mind, Mr. Locke. Civilization is, next toChristianity of course, the highest blessing; but not so good a state fortrying anthropological experiments on. "

I assured him of my great desire to be the subject of such an experiment;and was encouraged by his smile to tell him something about my intense lovefor natural objects, the mysterious pleasure which I had taken, from myboyhood, in trying to classify them, and my visits to the British Museum, for the purpose of getting at some general knowledge of the natural groups. 

"Excellent, " he said, "young man; the very best sign I have yet seen inyou. And what have you read on these subjects?"

I mentioned several books: Bingley, Bewick, "Humboldt's Travels, " "TheVoyage of the Beagle, " various scattered articles in the Penny and SaturdayMagazines, &c. , &c. 

"Ah!" he said, "popular--you will find, if you will allow me to give you myexperience--"

I assured him that I was only too much honoured--and I truly felt so. Iknew myself to be in the presence of my rightful superior--my master onthat very point of education which I idolized. Every sentence which hespoke gave me fresh light on some matter or other; and I felt a worship forhim, totally irrespective of any vulgar and slavish respect for his rankor wealth. The working man has no want for real reverence. Mr. Carlyle'sbeing a "gentlemen" has not injured his influence with the people. On thecontrary, it is the artisan's intense longing to find his real _lords_ andguides, which makes him despise and execrate his sham ones. Whereof letsociety take note. 

"Then, " continued he, "your plan is to take up some one section of thesubject, and thoroughly exhaust that. Universal laws manifest themselvesonly by particular instances. They say, man is the microcosm, Mr. Locke;but the man of science finds every worm and beetle a microcosm in its way. It exemplifies, directly or indirectly, every physical law in the universe, though it may not be two lines long. It is not only a part, but a mirror, of the great whole. It has a definite relation to the whole world, and thewhole world has a relation to it. Really, by-the-by, I cannot give you abetter instance of what I mean, than in my little diatribe on the GeryonTrifurcifer, a small reptile which I found, some years ago, inhabitingthe mud of the salt lakes of Balkhan, which fills up a long-desired linkbetween the Chelonia and the Perenni branchiate Batrachians, and, as Ithink, though Professor Brown differs from me, connects both with theHerbivorous Cetacea, --Professor Brown is an exceedingly talented man, buta little too cautious in accepting any one's theories but his own. 

"There it is, " he said, as he drew out of a drawer a little pamphlet ofsome thirty pages--"an old man's darling. I consider that book the outcomeof thirteen years' labour. "

"It must be very deep, " I replied, "to have been worth such long-continuedstudy. "

"Oh! science is her own reward. There is hardly a great physical law whichI have not brought to bear on the subject of that one small animal; andabove all--what is in itself worth a life's labour--I have, I believe, discovered two entirely new laws of my own, though one of them, by-the-by, has been broached by Professor Brown since, in his lectures. He might havementioned my name in connection with the subject, for I certainly impartedmy ideas to him, two years at least before the delivery of those lecturesof his. Professor Brown is a very great man, certainly, and a verygood man, but not quite so original as is generally supposed. Still, ascientific man must expect his little disappointments and injustices. Ifyou were behind the scenes in the scientific world, I can assure you, you would find as much party-spirit, and unfairness, and jealousy, andemulation there, as anywhere else. Human nature, human nature, everywhere!"

I said nothing, but thought the more; and took the book, promising to studyit carefully. 

"There is Cuvier's 'Animal Kingdom, ' and a dictionary of scientific termsto help you; and mind, it must be got up thoroughly, for I purpose to setyou an examination or two in it, a few days hence. Then I shall find outwhether you know what is worth all the information in the world. "

"What is that, sir?"

"The art of getting information _artem discendi_, Mr. Locke, wherewith theworld is badly provided just now, as it is overstocked with the _artemlegendi_--the knack of running the eye over books, and fancying that itunderstands them, because it can talk about them. You cannot play thattrick with my Geryon Trifurcifer, I assure you; he is as dry and tough ashis name. But, believe me, he is worth mastering, not because he is mine, but simply because he is tough. "

I promised all diligence. 

"Very good. And be sure, if you intend to be a poet for these days (and Ireally think you have some faculty for it), you must become a scientificman. Science has made vast strides, and introduced entirely new modes oflooking at nature, and poets must live up to the age. I never read a wordof Goethe's verse, but I am convinced that he must be the great poet ofthe day, just because he is the only one who has taken the trouble to gointo the details of practical science. And, in the mean time, I will giveyou a lesson myself. I see you are longing to know the contents of thesecabinets. You shall assist me by writing out the names of this lot ofshells, just come from Australia, which I am now going to arrange. "

I set to work at once, under his directions; and passed that morning, andthe two or three following, delightfully. But I question whether the gooddean would have been well satisfied, had he known, how all his scientificteaching confirmed my democratic opinions. The mere fact, that I couldunderstand these things when they were set before me, as well as any oneelse, was to me a simple demonstration of the equality in worth, andtherefore in privilege, of all classes. It may be answered, that I had noright to argue from myself to the mob; and that other working geniuses haveno right to demand universal enfranchisement for their whole class, justbecause they, the exceptions, are fit for it. But surely it is hard tocall such an error, if it be one, "the insolent assumption of democraticconceit, " &c. , &c. Does it not look more like the humility of men whoare unwilling to assert for themselves peculiar excellence, peculiarprivileges; who, like the apostles of old, want no glory, save that whichthey can share with the outcast and the slave? Let society among othermatters, take note of that. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

CULTIVATED WOMEN. 

I was thus brought in contact, for the first time in my life, with twoexquisite specimens of cultivated womanhood; and they naturally, asthe reader may well suppose, almost entirely engrossed my thoughts andinterest. 

Lillian, for so I must call her, became daily more and more agreeable; andtried, as I fancied, to draw me out, and show me off to the best advantage;whether from the desire of pleasing herself, or pleasing me, I know not, and do not wish to know--but the consequences to my boyish vanity were suchas are more easy to imagine, than pleasant to describe. Miss Staunton, onthe other hand, became, I thought, more and more unpleasant; not that sheever, for a moment, outstepped the bounds of the most perfect courtesy; buther manner, which was soft to no one except to Lord Lynedale, was, when shespoke to me, especially dictatorial and abrupt. She seemed to make a pointof carping at chance words of mine, and of setting me, down suddenly, bybreaking in with some severe, pithy observation, on conversations to whichshe had been listening unobserved. She seemed, too, to view with dislikeanything like cordiality between me and Lillian--a dislike, which I wasactually at moments vain enough (such a creature is man!) to attributeto--jealousy!!! till I began to suspect and hate her, as a proud, harsh, and exclusive aristocrat. And my suspicion and hatred received theirconfirmation, when, one morning, after an evening even more charming thanusual, Lillian came down, reserved, peevish, all but sulky, and showed thatthat bright heaven of sunny features had room in it for a cloud, and thatan ugly one. But I, poor fool, only pitied her, made up my mind that someone had ill-used her; and looked on her as a martyr--perhaps to that harshcousin of hers. 

That day was taken up with writing out answers to the dean's searchingquestions on his pamphlet, in which, I believe, I acquitted myselftolerably; and he seemed far more satisfied with my commentary than I waswith his text. He seemed to ignore utterly anything like religion, or eventhe very notion of God, in his chains of argument. Nature was spoken of asthe wilier and producer of all the marvels which he describes; and everyword in the book, to my astonishment, might have been written just aseasily by an Atheist as by a dignitary of the Church of England. 

I could not help, that evening, hinting this defect, as delicately as Icould, to my good host, and was somewhat surprised to find that he did notconsider it a defect at all. 

"I am in no wise anxious to weaken the antithesis between natural andrevealed religion. Science may help the former, but it has absolutelynothing to do with the latter. She stands on her own ground, has her ownlaws, and is her own reward. Christianity is a matter of faith and of theteaching of the Church. It must not go out of its way for science, andscience must not go out of her way for it; and where they seem to differ, it is our duty to believe that they are reconcilable by fuller knowledge, but not to clip truth in order to make it match with doctrine. "

"Mr. Carlyle, " said Miss Staunton, in her abrupt way, "can see that the Godof Nature is the God of man. "

"Nobody denies that, my dear. "

"Except in every word and action; else why do they not write about Natureas if it was the expression of a living, loving spirit, not merely a deadmachine?"

"It may be very easy, my dear, for a Deist like Mr. Carlyle to see _his_God in Nature; but if he would accept the truths of Christianity, he wouldfind that there were deeper mysteries in them than trees and animals canexplain. "

"Pardon me, sir, " I said, "but I think that a very large portion ofthoughtful working men agree with you, though, in their case, that opinionhas only increased their difficulties about Christianity. They complainthat they cannot identify the God of the Bible with the God of the worldaround them; and one of their great complaints against Christianity is, that it demands assent to mysteries which are independent of, and evencontradictory to, the laws of Nature. "

The old man was silent. 

"Mr. Carlyle is no Deist, " said Miss Staunton; "and I am sure, that unlessthe truths of Christianity contrive soon to get themselves justified by thelaws of science, the higher orders will believe in them as little as Mr. Locke informs us that the working classes do. "

"You prophesy confidently, my darling. "

"Oh, Eleanor is in one of her prophetic moods to-night, " said Lillian, slyly. "She has been foretelling me I know not what misery and misfortune, just because I choose to amuse myself in my own way. "

And she gave another sly pouting look at Eleanor, and then called me tolook over some engravings, chatting over them so charmingly!--and stealing, every now and then, a pretty, saucy look at her cousin, which seemed tosay, "I shall do what I like, in spite of your predictions. "

This confirmed my suspicions that Eleanor had been trying to separate us;and the suspicion received a further corroboration, indirect, and perhapsvery unfair, from the lecture which I got from my cousin after I wentup-stairs. 

He had been flattering me very much lately about "the impression" I wasmaking on the family, and tormenting me by compliments on the clever wayin which I "played my cards"; and when I denied indignantly any suchintention, patting me on the back, and laughing me down in a knowing way, as much as to say that he was not to be taken in by my professions ofsimplicity. He seemed to judge every one by himself, and to have no notionof any middle characters between the mere green-horn and the deliberateschemer. But to-night, after commencing with the usual compliments, he wenton:

"Now, first let me give you one hint, and be thankful for it. Mind yourgame with that Eleanor--Miss Staunton. She is a regular tyrant, I happen toknow: a strong-minded woman, with a vengeance. She manages every one here;and unless you are in her good books, don't expect to keep your footing inthis house, my boy. So just mind and pay her a little more attention andMiss Lillian a little less. After all, it is worth the trouble. She isuncommonly well read; and says confounded clever things, too, when shewakes up out of the sulks; and you may pick up a wrinkle or two from her, worth pocketing. You mind what she says to you. You know she is going to bemarried to Lord Lynedale. "

I nodded assent. 

"Well, then, if you want to hook him, you must secure her first. "

"I want to hook no one, George; I have told you that a thousand times. "

"Oh, no! certainly not--by no means! Why should you?" said the artfuldodger. And he swung, laughing, out of the room, leaving in my mind astrange suspicion, of which I was ashamed, though I could not shake it off, that he had remarked Eleanor's wish to cool my admiration for Lillian, andwas willing, for some purpose of his own, to further that wish. The truthis, I had very little respect for him, or trust in him: and I was learningto look, habitually, for some selfish motive in all he said or did. Perhaps, if I had acted more boldly upon what I did see, I should not havebeen here now. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

SERMONS IN STONES. 

The next afternoon was the last but one of my stay at D * * *. We were todine late, after sunset, and, before dinner, we went into the cathedral. The choir had just finished practising. Certain exceedingly ill-lookingmen, whose faces bespoke principally sensuality and self-conceit, and whosefunction was that of praising God, on the sole qualification of good bassand tenor voices, were coming chattering through the choir gates; andbehind them a group of small boys were suddenly transforming themselvesfrom angels into sinners, by tearing off their white surplices, andpinching and poking each other noisily as they passed us, with as littlereverence as Voltaire himself could have desired. 

I had often been in the cathedral before--indeed, we attended the servicedaily, and I had been appalled, rather than astonished, by what I saw andheard: the unintelligible service--the irreverent gabble of the choristersand readers--the scanty congregation--the meagre portion of the vastbuilding which seemed to be turned to any use: but never more than thatevening, did I feel the desolateness, the doleful inutility, of that vastdesert nave, with its aisles and transepts--built for some purpose or othernow extinct. The whole place seemed to crush and sadden me; and I could notre-echo Lillian's remark:

"How those pillars, rising story above story, and those lines of pointedarches, all lead the eye heavenward! It is a beautiful notion, that aboutpointed architecture being symbolic of Christianity. "

"I ought to be very much ashamed of my stupidity, " I answered; "but Icannot feel that, though I believe I ought to do so. That vast groinedroof, with its enormous weight of hanging stone, seems to crush one--tobar out the free sky above. Those pointed windows, too--how gloriously thewestern sun is streaming through them! but their rich hues only dim anddeface his light. I can feel what you say, when I look at the cathedral onthe outside; there, indeed, every line sweeps the eye upward--carries itfrom one pinnacle to another, each with less and less standing-ground, tillat the summit the building gradually vanishes in a point, and leaves thespirit to wing its way, unsupported and alone, into the ether. 

"Perhaps, " I added, half bitterly, "these cathedrals may be true symbolsof the superstition which created them--on the outside, offering toenfranchise the soul and raise it up to heaven; but when the dupes hadentered, giving them only a dark prison, and a crushing bondage, whichneither we nor our fathers have been able to bear. "

"You may sneer at them, if you will, Mr. Locke, " said Eleanor, in hersevere, abrupt way. "The working classes would have been badly off withoutthem. They were, in their day, the only democratic institution in theworld; and the only socialist one too. The only chance a poor man had ofrising by his worth, was by coming to the monastery. And bitterly theworking classes felt the want of them, when they fell. Your own Cobbett cantell you that. "

"Ah, " said Lillian, "how different it must have been four hundred yearsago!--how solemn and picturesque those old monks must have looked, glidingabout the aisles!--and how magnificent the choir must have been, before allthe glass and carving, and that beautiful shrine of St. * * * *, blazingwith gold and jewels, were all plundered and defaced by those horridPuritans!"

"Say, reformer-squires, " answered Eleanor; "for it was they who did thething; only it was found convenient, at the Restoration, to lay onthe people of the seventeenth century the iniquities which thecountry-gentlemen committed in the sixteenth. "

"Surely, " I added, emboldened by her words, "if the monasteries were whattheir admirers say, some method of restoring the good of the old system, without its evil, ought to be found; and would be found, if it were not--"I paused, recollecting whose guest I was. 

"If it were not, I suppose, " said Eleanor, "for those lazy, overfed, bigoted hypocrites, the clergy. That, I presume, is the description of themto which you have been most accustomed. Now, let me ask you one question. Do you mean to condemn, just now, the Church as it was, or the Church asit is, or the Church as it ought to be? Radicals have a habit of confusingthose three questions, as they have of confusing other things when it suitsthem. "

"Really, " I said--for my blood was rising--"I do think that, with theconfessed enormous wealth of the clergy, the cathedral establishmentsespecially, they might do more for the people. "

"Listen to me a little, Mr. Locke. The laity now-a-days take a pride inspeaking evil of the clergy, never seeing that if they are bad, the laityhave made them so. Why, what do you impute to them? Their worldliness, their being like the world, like the laity round them--like you, in short?Improve yourselves, and by so doing, if there is this sad tendency in theclergy to imitate you, you will mend them; if you do not find that afterall, it is they who will have to mend you. 'As with the people, so with thepriest, ' is the everlasting law. When, fifty years ago, all classes weredrunkards, from the statesman to the peasant, the clergy were drunkenalso, but not half so bad as the laity. Now the laity are eaten up withcovetousness and ambition; and the clergy are covetous and ambitious, butnot half so bad as the laity. The laity, and you working men especially, are the dupes of frothy, insincere, official rant, as Mr. Carlyle wouldcall it, in Parliament, on the hustings, at every debating society andChartist meeting; and, therefore, the clergyman's sermons are apt to bejust what people like elsewhere, and what, therefore, they suppose peoplewill like there. "

"If, then, " I answered, "in spite of your opinions, you confess the clergyto be so bad, why are you so angry with men of our opinions, if we do plotsometimes a little against the Church?"

"I do not think you know what my opinions are, Mr. Locke. Did you not hearme just now praising the monasteries, because they were socialist anddemocratic? But why is the badness of the clergy any reason for pullingdown the Church? That is another of the confused irrationalities into whichyou all allow yourselves to fall. What do you mean by crying shame on a manfor being a bad clergyman, if a good clergyman is not a good thing? If thevery idea of a clergyman, was abominable, as your Church-destroyers oughtto say, you ought to praise a man for being a bad one, and not acting outthis same abominable idea of priesthood. Your very outcry against the sinsof the clergy, shows that, even in your minds, a dim notion lies somewherethat a clergyman's vocation is, in itself, a divine, a holy, a beneficentone. "

"I never looked at it in that light, certainly, " said I, somewhatstaggered. 

"Very likely not. One word more, for I may not have another opportunityof speaking to you as I would on these matters. You working men complainof the clergy for being bigoted and obscurantist, and hating the cause ofthe people. Does not nine-tenths of the blame of that lie at your door? Itook up, the other day, at hazard, one of your favourite liberty-preachingnewspapers; and I saw books advertised in it, whose names no modest womanshould ever behold; doctrines and practices advocated in it from whichall the honesty, the decency, the common human feeling which is left inthe English mind, ought to revolt, and does revolt. You cannot deny it. Your class has told the world that the cause of liberty, equality, andfraternity, the cause which the working masses claim as theirs, identifiesitself with blasphemy and indecency, with the tyrannous persecutions oftrades-unions, with robbery, assassinations, vitriol-bottles, and midnightincendiarism. And then you curse the clergy for taking you at your word!Whatsoever they do, you attack them. If they believe you, and stand up forcommon, morality, and for the truths which they know are all-important topoor as well as rich, you call them bigots and persecutors; while if theyneglect, in any way, the very Christianity for believing which you insultthem, you turn round and call them hypocrites. Mark my words, Mr. Locke, till you gain the respect and confidence of the clergy, you will neverrise. The day will come when you will find that the clergy are the onlyclass who can help you. Ah, you may shake your head. I warn you of it. Theywere the only bulwark of the poor against the mediæval tyranny of Rank;you will find them the only bulwark against the modern tyranny of Mammon. "

I was on the point of entreating her to explain herself further, but atthat critical moment Lillian interposed. 

"Now, stay your prophetic glances into the future; here come Lynedale andpapa. " And in a moment, Eleanor's whole manner and countenance altered--thepetulant, wild unrest, the harsh, dictatorial tone vanished; and sheturned to meet her lover, with a look of tender, satisfied devotion, whichtransfigured her whole face. It was most strange, the power he had overher. His presence, even at a distance, seemed to fill her whole beingwith rich quiet life. She watched him with folded hands, like a mysticworshipper, waiting for the afflatus of the spirit; and, suspicious andangry as I felt towards her, I could not help being drawn to her by thisrevelation of depths of strong healthy feeling, of which her usual mannergave so little sign. 

This conversation thoroughly puzzled me; it showed me that there might betwo sides to the question of the people's cause, as well as to that ofothers. It shook a little my faith in the infallibility of my own class, to hear such severe animadversions on them, from a person who professedherself as much a disciple of Carlyle as any working man; and who evidentlyhad no lack either of intellect to comprehend or boldness to speak out hisdoctrines; who could praise the old monasteries for being democratic andsocialist, and spoke far more severely of the clergy than I could havedone--because she did not deal merely in trite words of abuse, but showed areal analytic insight into the causes of their short-coming. 

 * * * * *

That same evening the conversation happened to turn on dress, of which MissStaunton spoke scornfully and disparagingly, as mere useless vanity andfrippery--an empty substitute for real beauty of person as well as thehigher beauty of mind. And I, emboldened by the courtesy with which I wasalways called on to take my share in everything that was said or done, ventured to object, humbly enough, to her notions. 

"But is not beauty, " I said, "in itself a good and blessed thing, softening, refining, rejoicing the eyes of all who behold?" (And my eyes, as I spoke, involuntary rested on Lillian's face--who saw it, and blushed. )"Surely nothing which helps beauty is to be despised. And, without thecharm of dress, beauty, even that of expression, does not really do itselfjustice. How many lovely and lovable faces there are, for instance, among the working classes, which, if they had but the advantages whichladies possess, might create delight, respect, chivalrous worship in thebeholder--but are now never appreciated, because they have not the samefair means of displaying themselves which even the savage girl of the SouthSea Islands possesses!"

Lillian said it was so very true--she had really never thought of itbefore--and somehow I gained courage to go on. 

"Besides, dress is a sort of sacrament, if I may use the word--a sure signof the wearer's character; according as any one is orderly, or modest, ortasteful, or joyous, or brilliant"--and I glanced again at Lillian--"thoseexcellences, or the want of them, are sure to show themselves, in thecolours they choose, and the cut of their garments. In the workroom, I anda friend of mine used often to amuse ourselves over the clothes we weremaking, by speculating from them on the sort of people the wearers were tobe; and I fancy we were not often wrong. "

My cousin looked daggers at me, and for a moment I fancied I had committeda dreadful mistake in mentioning my tailor-life. So I had in his eyes, butnot in those of the really well-bred persons round me. 

"Oh, how very amusing it must have been! I think I shall turn milliner, Eleanor, for the fun of divining every one's little failings from theircaps and gowns!"

"Go on, Mr. Locke, " said the dean, who had seemed buried in the"Transactions of the Royal Society. " "The fact is novel, and I am moreobliged to any one who gives me that, than if he gave me a bank-note. Themoney gets spent and done with; but I cannot spend the fact: it remains forlife as permanent capital, returning interest and compound interest _adinfinitum_. By-the-by, tell me about those same workshops. I have heardmore about them than I like to believe true. "

And I did tell him all about them; and spoke, my blood rising as I went on, long and earnestly, perhaps eloquently. Now and then I got abashed, andtried to stop; and then the dean informed me that I was speaking well andsensibly, while Lillian entreated me to go on. She had never conceivedsuch things possible--it was as interesting as a novel, &c. , &c. ; and MissStaunton sat with compressed lips and frowning brow, apparently thinking ofnothing but her book, till I felt quite angry at her apathy--for such itseemed to me to be. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MY FALL. 

And now the last day of our stay at D * * * had arrived, and I had as yetheard nothing of the prospects of my book; though, indeed, the companyin which I had found myself had driven literary ambition, for the timebeing, out of my head, and bewitched me to float down the stream of dailycircumstance, satisfied to snatch the enjoyment of each present moment. That morning, however, after I had fulfilled my daily task of arrangingand naming objects of natural history, the dean settled himself back inhis arm-chair, and bidding me sit down, evidently meditated a businessconversation. 

He had heard from his publisher, and read his letter to me. "The poems wereon the whole much liked. The most satisfactory method of publishing for allparties, would be by procuring so many subscribers, each agreeing to takeso many copies. In consideration of the dean's known literary judgment andgreat influence, the publisher would, as a private favour, not object totake the risk of any further expenses. "

So far everything sounded charming. The method was not a very independentone, but it was the only one; and I should actually have the delight ofhaving published a volume. But, alas! "he thought that the sale of the bookmight be greatly facilitated, if certain passages of a strong politicaltendency were omitted. He did not wish personally to object to them asstatements of facts, or to the pictorial vigour with which they wereexpressed; but he thought that they were somewhat too strong for thepresent state of the public taste; and though he should be the last toallow any private considerations to influence his weak patronage of risingtalent, yet, considering his present connexion, he should hardly wish totake on himself the responsibility of publishing such passages, unless withgreat modifications. "

"You see, " said the good old man, "the opinion of respectable practicalmen, who know the world, exactly coincides with mine. I did not like totell you that I could not help in the publication of your MSS. In theirpresent state; but I am sure, from the modesty and gentleness which I haveremarked in you, your readiness to listen to reason, and your pleasingfreedom from all violence or coarseness in expressing your opinions, thatyou will not object to so exceedingly reasonable a request, which, afterall, is only for your good. Ah! young man, " he went on, in a more feelingtone than I had yet heard from him, "if you were once embroiled in thatpolitical world, of which you know so little, you would soon be crying likeDavid, 'Oh that I had wings like a dove, then would I flee away and beat rest!' Do you fancy that you can alter a fallen world? What it is, italways has been, and will be to the end. Every age has its political andsocial nostrums, my dear young man, and fancies them infallible; andthe next generation arises to curse them as failures in practice, andsuperstitious in theory, and try some new nostrum of its own. "

I sighed. 

"Ah! you may sigh. But we have each of us to be disenchanted of our dream. There was a time once when I talked republicanism as loudly as raw youthever did--when I had an excuse for it, too; for when I was a boy, I saw theFrench Revolution; and it was no wonder if young, enthusiastic brainswere excited by all sorts of wild hopes--'perfectibility of the species, ''rights of man, ' 'universal liberty, equality, and brotherhood. '--My dearsir, there is nothing new under the sun; all that is stale and trite toa septuagenarian, who has seen where it all ends. I speak to you freely, because I am deeply interested in you. I feel that this is the importantquestion of your life, and that you have talents, the possession of whichis a heavy responsibility. Eschew politics, once and for all, as I havedone. I might have been, I may tell you, a bishop at this moment, if I hadcondescended to meddle again in those party questions of which my youthfulexperience sickened me. But I knew that I should only weaken my owninfluence, as that most noble and excellent man, Dr. Arnold, did, byinterfering in politics. The poet, like the clergyman and the philosopher, has nothing to do with politics. Let them choose the better part, and itshall not be taken from them. The world may rave, " he continued, waxingeloquent as he approached his favourite subject--"the world may rave, butin the study there is quiet. The world may change, Mr. Locke, and will; but'the earth abideth for ever. ' Solomon had seen somewhat of politics, andsocial improvement, and so on; and behold, then, as now, 'all was vanityand vexation of spirit. That which is crooked cannot be made straight, andthat which is wanting cannot be numbered. What profit hath a man of all hislabour which he taketh under the sun? The thing which hath been, it is thatwhich shall be, and there is no new thing under the sun. One generationpasseth away, and another cometh; but the earth abideth for ever. ' Nowonder that the wisest of men took refuge from such experience, as I havetried to do, in talking of all herbs, from the cedar of Lebanon to thehyssop that groweth on the wall!

"Ah! Mr. Locke, " he went on, in a soft melancholy, half-abstractedtone--"ah! Mr. Locke, I have felt deeply, and you will feel some day, thetruth of Jarno's saying in 'Wilhelm Meister, ' when he was wandering alonein the Alps, with his geological hammer, 'These rocks, at least, tellme no lies, as men do. ' Ay, there is no lie in Nature, no discord inthe revelations of science, in the laws of the universe. Infinite, pure, unfallen, earth-supporting Titans, fresh as on the morning of creation, those great laws endure; your only true democrats, too--for nothing is toogreat or too small for them to take note of. No tiniest gnat, or speck ofdust, but they feed it, guide it, and preserve it, --Hail and snow, wind andvapour, fulfilling their Maker's word; and like him, too, hiding themselvesfrom the wise and prudent, and revealing themselves unto babes. Yes, Mr. Locke; it is the childlike, simple, patient, reverent heart, which scienceat once demands and cultivates. To prejudice or haste, to self-conceit orambition, she proudly shuts her treasuries--to open them to men of humbleheart, whom this world thinks simple dreamers--her Newtons, and Owens, and Faradays. Why should you not become such a man as they? You have thetalents--you have the love for nature, you seem to have the gentle andpatient spirit, which, indeed, will grow up more and more in you, if youbecome a real student of science. Or, if you must be a poet, why not singof nature, and leave those to sing political squabbles, who have no eye forthe beauty of her repose? How few great poets have been politicians!"

I gently suggested Milton. 

"Ay! he became a great poet only when he had deserted politics, becausethey had deserted him. In blindness and poverty, in the utter failure ofall his national theories, he wrote the works which have made him immortal. Was Shakespeare a politician? or any one of the great poets who have arisenduring the last thirty years? Have they not all seemed to consider it asacred duty to keep themselves, as far as they could, out of party strife?"

I quoted Southey, Shelley, and Burns, as instances to the contrary; but hisinduction was completed already, to his own satisfaction. 

"Poor dear Southey was a great verse-maker, rather than a great poet; andI always consider that his party-prejudices and party-writing narrowed andharshened a mind which ought to have been flowing forth freely and lovinglytowards all forms of life. And as for Shelley and Burns, their politicsdictated to them at once the worst portions of their poetry and of theirpractice. Shelley, what little I have read of him, only seems himself whenhe forgets radicalism for nature; and you would not set Burns' life ordeath, either, as a model for imitation in any class. Now, do you know, Imust ask you to leave me a little. I am somewhat fatigued with this longdiscussion" (in which, certainly, I had borne no great share); "and I amsure, that after all I have said, you will see the propriety of acceding tothe publisher's advice. Go and think over it, and let me have your answerby post time. "

I did go and think over it--too long for my good. If I had acted on thefirst impulse, I should have refused, and been safe. These passages werethe very pith and marrow of the poems. They were the very words which I hadfelt it my duty, my glory, to utter. I, who had been a working man, who hadexperienced all their sorrows and temptations--I, seemed called by everycircumstance of my life to preach their cause, to expose their wrongs--Ito squash my convictions, to stultify my book for the sake of popularity, money, patronage! And yet--all that involved seeing more of Lillian. Theywere only too powerful inducements in themselves, alas! but I believe Icould have resisted them tolerably, if they had not been backed by love. And so a struggle arose, which the rich reader may think a very fantasticone, though the poor man will understand it, and surely pardon italso--seeing that he himself is Man. Could I not, just once in a way, serveGod and Mammon at once?--or rather, not Mammon, but Venus: a worship whichlooked to me, and really was in my case, purer than all the Mariolatry inPopedom. After all, the fall might not be so great as it seemed--perhaps Iwas not infallible on these same points. (It is wonderful how humble andself-denying one becomes when one is afraid of doing one's duty. ) Perhapsthe dean might be right. He had been a republican himself once, certainly. The facts, indeed, which I had stated, there could be no doubt of; but Imight have viewed them through a prejudiced and angry medium. I might havebeen not quite logical in my deductions from them--I might. .. . In short, between "perhapses" and "mights" I fell--a very deep, real, damnable fall;and consented to emasculate my poems, and become a flunkey and a dastard. 

I mentioned my consent that evening to the party; the dean purred contentthereat. Eleanor, to my astonishment, just said, sternly and abruptly, "Weak!" and then turned away, while Lillian began:

"Oh! what a pity! And really they were some of the prettiest verses of all!But of course my father must know best; you are quite right to be guided byhim, and do whatever is proper and prudent. After all, papa, I have got thenaughtiest of them all, you know, safe. Eleanor set it to music, and wroteit out in her book, and I thought it was so charming that I copied it. "

What Lillian said about herself I drank in as greedily as usual; what shesaid about Eleanor fell on a heedless ear, and vanished, not to reappear inmy recollection till--But I must not anticipate. 

So it was all settled pleasantly; and I sat up that evening writing abit of verse for Lillian, about the Old Cathedral, and "Heaven-aspiringtowers, " and "Aisles of cloistered shade, " and all that sort of thing;which I did not believe or care for; but I thought it would please her, andso it did; and I got golden smiles and compliments for my first, though notmy last, insincere poem. I was going fast down hill, in my hurry to rise. However, as I said, it was all pleasant enough. I was to return to town, and there await the dean's orders; and, most luckily, I had received thatmorning from Sandy Mackaye a characteristic letter:

"Gowk, Telemachus, hearken! Item 1. Ye're fou wi' the Circean cup, aneaththe shade o' shovel hats and steeple houses. 

"Item 2. I, cuif-Mentor that I am, wearing out a gude pair o' gude Scotsbrogues that my sister's husband's third cousin sent me a towmond gane fraAberdeen, rinning ower the town to a' journals, respectable and ither, anent the sellin o' your 'Autobiography of an Engine-Boiler in the VauxhallRoad, ' the whilk I ha' disposit o' at the last, to O'Flynn's _WeeklyWarwhoop_; and gin ye ha' ony mair sic trash in your head, you may get yourmeal whiles out o' the same kist; unless, as I sair misdoubt, ye're prayingalready, like Eli's bairns, 'to be put into ane o' the priest's offices, that ye may eat a piece o' bread. '

"Yell be coming the-morrow? I'm lane without ye; though I look for yesurely to come ben wi' a gowd shoulder-note, and a red nose. "

This letter, though it hit me hard, and made me, I confess, a littleangry at the moment with my truest friend, still offered me a means ofsubsistence, and enabled me to decline safely the pecuniary aid which Idreaded the dean's offering me. And yet I felt dispirited and ill at ease. My conscience would not let me enjoy the success I felt I had attained. Butnext morning I saw Lillian; and I forgot books, people's cause, conscience, and everything. 

 * * * * *

I went home by coach--a luxury on which my cousin insisted--as he did onlending me the fare; so that in all I owed him somewhat more than elevenpounds. But I was too happy to care for a fresh debt, and home I went, considering my fortune made. 

My heart fell, as I stepped into the dingy little old shop! Was it themeanness of the place after the comfort and elegance of my late abode?Was it disappointment at not finding Mackaye at home? Or was it thatblack-edged letter which lay waiting for me on the table? I was afraid toopen it; I knew not why. I turned it over and over several times, tryingto guess whose the handwriting on the cover might be; the postmark was twodays old; and at last I broke the seal. 

 "Sir, --This is to inform you that your mother, Mrs. Locke, died this morning, a sensible sinner, not without assurance of her election: and that her funeral is fixed for Wednesday, the 29th instant. 

 "The humble servant of the Lord's people, "J. WIGGINTON. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

SHORT AND SAD. 

I shall pass over the agonies of the next few days. There isself-exenteration enough and to spare in my story, without dilating onthem. They are too sacred to publish, and too painful, alas! even torecall. I write my story, too, as a working man. Of those emotions whichare common to humanity, I shall say but little--except when it is necessaryto prove that the working man has feelings like the rest of his kind, But those feelings may, in this case, be supplied by the reader's ownimagination. Let him represent them to himself as bitter, as remorseful ashe will, he will not equal the reality. True, she had cast me off; but hadI not rejoiced in that rejection which should have been my shame? True, Ihad fed on the hope of some day winning reconciliation, by winning fame;but before the fame had arrived, the reconciliation had become impossible. I had shrunk from going back to her, as I ought to have done, in filialhumility, and, therefore, I was not allowed to go back to her in the prideof success. Heaven knows, I had not forgotten her. Night and day I hadthought of her with prayers and blessings; but I had made a merit of my ownlove to her--my forgiveness of her, as I dared to call it. I had pamperedmy conceit with a notion that I was a martyr in the cause of genius andenlightenment. How hollow, windy, heartless, all that looked now. There! Iwill say no more. Heaven preserve any who read these pages from such daysand nights as I dragged on till that funeral, and for weeks after it wasover, when I had sat once more in the little old chapel, with all thememories of my childhood crowding up, and tantalizing me with the visionof their simple peace--never, never, to return! I heard my mother's dyingpangs, her prayers, her doubts, her agonies, for my reprobate soul, dissected for the public good by my old enemy, Mr. Wigginton, who draggedin among his fulsome eulogies of my mother's "signs of grace, " rejoicingsthat there were "babes span-long in hell. " I saw my sister Susan, now atall handsome woman, but become all rigid, sour, with coarse grim lips, andthat crushed, self-conscious, reserved, almost dishonest look about theeyes, common to fanatics of every creed. I heard her cold farewell, as sheput into my hands certain notes and diaries of my mother's, which she hadbequeathed to me on her death-bed. I heard myself proclaimed inheritor ofsome small matters of furniture, which had belonged to her; told Susancarelessly to keep them for herself; and went forth, fancying that thecurse of Cain was on my brow. 

I took home the diary; but several days elapsed before I had courage toopen it. Let the words I read there be as secret as the misery whichdictated them. I had broken my mother's heart!--no! I had not!--Theinfernal superstition which taught her to fancy that Heaven's love wasnarrower than her own--that God could hate his creature, not for its sins, but for the very nature which he had given it--that, that had killed her. 

And I remarked too, with a gleam of hope, that in several places wheresunshine seemed ready to break through the black cloud of fanaticgloom--where she seemed inclined not merely to melt towards me (for therewas, in every page, an under-current of love deeper than death, andstronger than the grave), but also to dare to trust God on my behalf--wholelines carefully erased page after page torn out, evidently long after theMSS. Were written. I believe, to this day, that either my poor sister orher father-confessor was the perpetrator of that act. The _fraus pia_ isnot yet extinct; and it is as inconvenient now as it was in popish times, to tell the whole truth about saints, when they dare to say or do thingswhich will not quite fit into the formulæ of their sect. 

But what was to become of Susan? Though my uncle continued to herthe allowance which he had made to my mother, yet I was her naturalprotector--and she was my only tie upon earth. Was I to lose her, too?Might we not, after all, be happy together, in some little hole in Chelsea, like Elia and his Bridget? That question was solved for me. She declinedmy offers; saying, that she could not live with any one whose religiousopinions differed from her own, and that she had already engaged a room atthe house of a Christian friend; and was shortly to be united to that dearman of God, Mr. Wigginton, who was to be removed to the work of the Lord inManchester. 

I knew the scoundrel, but it would have been impossible for me to undeceiveher. Perhaps he was only a scoundrel--perhaps he would not ill-treat her. And yet--my own little Susan! my play-fellow! my only tie on earth!--tolose her--and not only her, but her respect, her love!--And my spirit, deepenough already, sank deeper still into sadness; and I felt myself alone onearth, and clung to Mackaye as to a father--and a father indeed that oldman was to me. 

CHAPTER XX. 

PEGASUS IN HARNESS. 

But, in sorrow or in joy, I had to earn my bread; and so, too, hadCrossthwaite, poor fellow! How he contrived to feed himself and his littleKatie for the next few years is more than I can tell; at all events heworked hard enough. He scribbled, agitated, ran from London to Manchester, and Manchester to Bradford, spouting, lecturing--sowing the east wind, I amafraid, and little more. Whose fault was it? What could such a man do, withthat fervid tongue, and heart, and brain of his, in such a station as his, such a time as this? Society had helped to make him an agitator. Societyhas had, more or less, to take the consequences of her own handiwork. ForCrossthwaite did not speak without hearers. He could make the fierce, shrewd, artisan nature flash out into fire--not always celestial, noralways, either, infernal. So he agitated and lived--how, I know not. Thathe did do so, is evident from the fact that he and Katie are at this momentplaying chess in the cabin, before my eyes, and making love, all the while, as if they had not been married a week. .. . Ah, well!

I, however, had to do more than get my bread; I had to pay off thesefearful eleven pounds odd, which, now that all the excitement of my stay atD * * * had been so sadly quenched, lay like lead upon my memory. My listof subscribers filled slowly, and I had no power of increasing it by anycanvassings of my own. My uncle, indeed, had promised to take two copies, and my cousin one; not wishing, of course, to be so uncommercial as to runany risk, before they had seen whether my poems would succeed. But, withthose exceptions, the dean had it all his own way; and he could not beexpected to forego his own literary labours for my sake; so, through allthat glaring summer, and sad foggy autumn, and nipping winter, I had toget my bread as I best could--by my pen. Mackaye grumbled at my writingso much, and so fast, and sneered about the _furor scribendi_. But itwas hardly fair upon me. "My mouth craved it of me, " as Solomon says. I had really no other means of livelihood. Even if I could have gottenemployment as a tailor, in the honourable trade, I loathed the businessutterly--perhaps, alas! to confess the truth, I was beginning to despiseit. I could bear to think of myself as a poor genius, in connection with mynew wealthy and high-bred patrons; for there was precedent for the thing. Penniless bards and squires of low degree, low-born artists, ennobled bytheir pictures--there was something grand in the notion of mind triumphantover the inequalities of rank, and associating with the great and wealthyas their spiritual equal, on the mere footing of its own innate nobility;no matter to what den it might return, to convert it into a temple of theMuses, by the glorious creations of its fancy, &c. , &c. But to go backdaily from the drawing-room and the publisher's to the goose and theshopboard, was too much for my weakness, even if it had been physicallypossible, as, thank Heaven, it was not. 

So I became a hack-writer, and sorrowfully, but deliberately, "put myPegasus into heavy harness, " as my betters had done before me. It wasmiserable work, there is no denying it--only not worse than tailoring. To try and serve God and Mammon too; to make miserable compromises dailybetween the two great incompatibilities, what was true, and what wouldpay; to speak my mind, in fear and trembling, by hints, and halves, andquarters; to be daily hauling poor Truth just up to the top of the well, and then, frightened at my own success, let her plump down again to thebottom; to sit there trying to teach others, while my mind was in a whirlof doubt; to feed others' intellects while my own were hungering; to grindon in the Philistine's mill, or occasionally make sport for them, like someweary-hearted clown grinning in a pantomime in a "light article, " as blindas Samson, but not, alas! as strong, for indeed my Delilah of the West-endhad clipped my locks, and there seemed little chance of their growingagain. That face and that drawing-room flitted before me from morning tilleve, and enervated and distracted my already over-wearied brain. 

I had no time, besides, to concentrate my thoughts sufficiently for poetry;no time to wait for inspiration. From the moment I had swallowed mybreakfast, I had to sit scribbling off my thoughts anyhow in prose; andsoon my own scanty stock was exhausted, and I was forced to beg, borrow, and steal notions and facts wherever I could get them. Oh! the misery ofhaving to read not what I longed to know, but what I thought would pay!to skip page after page of interesting matter, just to pick out a singlethought or sentence which could be stitched into my patchwork! and thenthe still greater misery of seeing the article which I had sent to pressa tolerably healthy and lusty bantling, appear in print next week aftersuffering the inquisition tortures of the editorial censorship, all maimed, and squinting, and one-sided, with the colour rubbed off its poor cheeks, and generally a villanous hang-dog look of ferocity, so different from itsbirth-smile that I often did not know my own child again!--and then, when Idared to remonstrate, however feebly, to be told, by way of comfort, thatthe public taste must be consulted! It gave me a hopeful notion of the saidtaste, certainly; and often and often I groaned in spirit over the temperof my own class, which not only submitted to, but demanded such one-sidedbigotry, prurience, and ferocity, from those who set up as its guides andteachers. 

Mr. O'Flynn, editor of the _Weekly Warwhoop_, whose white slave I now foundmyself, was, I am afraid, a pretty faithful specimen of that class, as itexisted before the bitter lesson of the 10th of April brought the Chartistworking men and the Chartist press to their senses. Thereon sprang up anew race of papers, whose moral tone, whatever may be thought of theirpolitical or doctrinal opinions, was certainly not inferior to that of theWhig and Tory press. The _Commonwealth_, the _Standard of Freedom_, the_Plain Speaker_, were reprobates, if to be a Chartist is to be a reprobate:but none except the most one-sided bigots could deny them the praise ofa stern morality and a lofty earnestness, a hatred of evil and a cravingafter good, which would often put to shame many a paper among the oraclesof Belgravia and Exeter Hall. But those were the days of lubricity andO'Flynn. Not that the man was an unredeemed scoundrel. He was no moreprofligate, either in his literary or his private morals, than many a manwho earns his hundreds, sometimes his thousands, a year, by prophesyingsmooth things to Mammon, crying in daily leaders "Peace! peace!" whenthere is no peace, and daubing the rotten walls of careless luxury andself-satisfied covetousness with the untempered mortar of party statisticsand garbled foreign news--till "the storm shall fall, and the breakingthereof cometh suddenly in an instant. " Let those of the respectable presswho are without sin, cast the first stone at the unrespectable. Many ofthe latter class, who have been branded as traitors and villains, weresingle-minded, earnest, valiant men; and, as for even O'Flynn, and thoseworse than him, what was really the matter with them was, that they weretoo honest--they spoke out too much of their whole minds. Bewildered, likeLear, amid the social storm, they had determined, like him, to become"unsophisticated, " "to owe the worm no silk, the cat no perfume"--seeing, indeed, that if they had, they could not have paid for them; so they toreoff, of their own will, the peacock's feathers of gentility, the sheep'sclothing of moderation, even the fig-leaves of decent reticence, and becamejust what they really were--just what hundreds more would become, whonow sit in the high places of the earth, if it paid them as well tobe unrespectable as it does to be respectable; if the selfishness andcovetousness, bigotry and ferocity, which are in them, and more or less inevery man, had happened to enlist them against existing evils, instead offor them. O'Flynn would have been gladly as respectable as they; but, inthe first place, he must have starved; and in the second place, he musthave lied; for he believed in his own radicalism with his whole soul. Therewas a ribald sincerity, a frantic courage in the man. He always spoke thetruth when it suited him, and very often when it did not. He did see, whichis more than all do, that oppression is oppression, and humbug, humbug. He had faced the gallows before now without flinching. He had spoutedrebellion in the Birmingham Bullring, and elsewhere, and taken theconsequences like a man; while his colleagues left their dupes to thetender mercies of broadswords and bayonets, and decamped in the disguiseof sailors, old women, and dissenting preachers. He had sat three monthsin Lancaster Castle, the Bastille of England, one day perhaps to fall likethat Parisian one, for a libel which he never wrote, because he wouldnot betray his cowardly contributor. He had twice pleaded his own cause, without help of attorney, and showed himself as practised in everylaw-quibble and practical cheat as if he had been a regularly ordainedpriest of the blue-bag; and each time, when hunted at last into a corner, had turned valiantly to bay, with wild witty Irish eloquence, "worthy, " asthe press say of poor misguided Mitchell, "of a better cause. " Altogether, a much-enduring Ulysses, unscrupulous, tough-hided, ready to do and sufferanything fair or foul, for what he honestly believed--if a confused, virulent positiveness be worthy of the name "belief"--to be the true andrighteous cause. 

Those who class all mankind compendiously and comfortably under the twoexhaustive species of saints and villains, may consider such a descriptiongarbled and impossible. I have seen few men, but never yet met I amongthose few either perfect saint or perfect villain. I draw men as I havefound them--inconsistent, piece-meal, better than their own actions, worse than their own opinions, and poor O'Flynn among the rest. Not thatthere were no questionable spots in the sun of his fair fame. It waswhispered that he had in old times done dirty work for Dublin Castlebureaucrats--nay, that he had even, in a very hard season, written courtpoetry for the _Morning Post_; but all these little peccadilloes hecarefully veiled in that kindly mist which hung over his youthful years. He had been a medical student, and got plucked, his foes declared, in hisexamination. He had set up a savings-bank, which broke. He had come overfrom Ireland, to agitate for "repale" and "rint, " and, like a wise man ashe was, had never gone back again. He had set up three or four papers inhis time, and entered into partnership with every leading democrat in turn;but his papers failed, and he quarrelled with his partners, being addictedto profane swearing and personalities. And now, at last, after Ulysseanwanderings, he had found rest in the office of the _Weekly Warwhoop_, ifrest it could be called, that perennial hurricane of plotting, railing, sneering, and bombast, in which he lived, never writing a line, onprinciple, till he had worked himself up into a passion. 

I will dwell no more on so distasteful a subject. Such leaders, let ushope, belong only to the past--to the youthful self-will and licentiousnessof democracy; and as for reviling O'Flynn, or any other of his class, noman has less right than myself, I fear, to cast stones at such as they. I fell as low as almost any, beneath the besetting sins of my class; andshall I take merit to myself, because God has shown me, a little earlierperhaps than to them, somewhat more of the true duties and destinies of TheMany? Oh, that they could see the depths of my affection to them! Oh, thatthey could see the shame and self-abasement with which, in rebuking theirsins, I confess my own! If they are apt to be flippant and bitter, so wasI. If they lust to destroy, without knowing what to build up instead, sodid I. If they make an almighty idol of that Electoral Reform, which oughtto be, and can be, only a preliminary means, and expect final deliverancefrom "their twenty-thousandth part of a talker in the national palaver, "so did I. Unhealthy and noisome as was the literary atmosphere in which Inow found myself, it was one to my taste. The very contrast between thepeaceful, intellectual luxury which I had just witnessed, and the misery ofmy class and myself, quickened my delight in it. In bitterness, in sheerenvy, I threw my whole soul into it, and spoke evil, and rejoiced in evil. It was so easy to find fault! It pampered my own self-conceit, my owndiscontent, while it saved me the trouble of inventing remedies. Yes; itwas indeed easy to find fault. "The world was all before me, where tochoose. " In such a disorganized, anomalous, grumbling, party-embitteredelement as this English society, and its twin pauperism and luxury, I hadbut to look straight before me to see my prey. 

And thus I became daily more and more cynical, fierce, reckless. My mouthwas filled with cursing--and too often justly. And all the while, liketens of thousands of my class, I had no man to teach me. Sheep scatteredon the hills, we were, that had no shepherd. What wonder if our bones laybleaching among rocks and quagmires, and wolves devoured the heritage ofGod?

Mackaye had nothing positive, after all, to advise or propound. His wisdomwas one of apophthegms and maxims, utterly impracticable, too often merelynegative, as was his creed, which, though he refused to be classed with anysect, was really a somewhat undefined Unitarianism--or rather Islamism. Hecould say, with the old Moslem, "God is great--who hath resisted his will?"And he believed what he said, and lived manful and pure, reverent andself-denying, by that belief, as the first Moslem did. But that was notenough. 

 "Not enough? Merely negative?"

No--_that_ was positive enough, and mighty; but I repeat it, it was notenough. He felt it so himself; for he grew daily more and more cynical, more and more hopeless about the prospects of his class and of allhumanity. Why not? Poor suffering wretches! what is it to them to know that"God is great, " unless you can prove to them God is also merciful? Did heindeed care for men at all?--was what I longed to know; was all this miseryand misrule around us his will--his stern and necessary law--his lazyconnivance? And were we to free ourselves from it by any frantic means thatcame to hand? or had he ever interfered himself? Was there a chance, ahope, of his interfering now, in our own time, to take the matter into hisown hand, and come out of his place to judge the earth in righteousness?That was what we wanted to know; and poor Mackaye could give no comfortthere. "God was great--the wicked would be turned into hell. " Ay--the fewwilful, triumphant wicked; but the millions of suffering, starving wicked, the victims of society and circumstance--what hope for them? "God wasgreat. " And for the clergy, our professed and salaried teachers, all I cansay is--and there are tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of workmen whocan re-echo my words--with the exception of the dean and my cousin, and onewho shall be mentioned hereafter, a clergyman never spoke to me in my life. 

Why should he? Was I not a Chartist and an Infidel? The truth is, theclergy are afraid of us. To read the _Dispatch_, is to be excommunicated. Young men's classes? Honour to them, however few they are--however hamperedby the restrictions of religious bigotry and political cowardice. But theworking men, whether rightly or wrongly, do not trust them; they do nottrust the clergy who set them on foot; they do not expect to be taught atthem the things they long to know--to be taught the whole truth in themabout history, politics, science, the Bible. They suspect them to be meretubs to the whale--mere substitutes for education, slowly and late adopted, in order to stop the mouths of the importunate. They may misjudge theclergy; but whose fault is it if they do? Clergymen of England!--look atthe history of your Establishment for the last fifty years, and say, whatwonder is it if the artisan mistrust you? Every spiritual reform, since thetime of John Wesley, has had to establish itself in the teeth of insult, calumny, and persecution. Every ecclesiastical reform comes not fromwithin, but from without your body. Mr. Horsman, struggling against everykind of temporizing and trickery, has to do the work which bishops, byvirtue of their seat in the House of Lords, ought to have been doing yearsago. Everywhere we see the clergy, with a few persecuted exceptions (likeDr. Arnold), proclaiming themselves the advocates of Toryism, the doggedopponents of our political liberty, living either by the accursed system ofpew-rents, or else by one which depends on the high price of corn; chosenexclusively from the classes who crush us down; prohibiting all freediscussion on religious points; commanding us to swallow down, with faithas passive and implicit as that of a Papist, the very creeds from whichtheir own bad example, and their scandalous neglect, have, in the lastthree generations, alienated us; never mixing with the thoughtful workingmen, except in the prison, the hospital, or in extreme old age; betraying, in every tract, in every sermon, an ignorance of the doubts, the feelings, the very language of the masses, which would be ludicrous, were it notaccursed before God and man. And then will you show us a few tardyimprovements here and there, and ask us, indignantly, why we distrust you?Oh! gentlemen, if you cannot see for yourselves the causes of our distrust, it is past our power to show you. We must leave it to God. 

 * * * * *

But to return to my own story. I had, as I said before, to live by my pen;and in that painful, confused, maimed way, I contrived to scramble on thelong winter through, writing regularly for the _Weekly Warwhoop_, andsometimes getting an occasional scrap into some other cheap periodical, often on the very verge of starvation, and glad of a handful of meal fromSandy's widow's barrel. If I had had more than my share of feasting in thesummer, I made the balance even, during those frosty months, by many abitter fast. 

And here let me ask you, gentle reader, who are just now considering meungentle, virulent, and noisy, did you ever, for one day in your wholelife, literally, involuntarily, and in spite of all your endeavours, longings, and hungerings, _not get enough to eat_? If you ever have, itmust have taught you several things. 

But all this while, it must not be supposed that I had forgotten mypromise to good Farmer Porter, to look for his missing son. And, indeed, Crossthwaite and I were already engaged in a similar search for a friendof his--the young tailor, who, as I told Porter, had been lost forseveral months. He was the brother of Crossthwaite's wife, a passionate, kind-hearted Irishman, Mike Kelly by name, reckless and scatter-brainedenough to get himself into every possible scrape, and weak enough of willnever to get himself out of one. For these two, Crossthwaite and I hadsearched from one sweater's den to another, and searched in vain. Andthough the present interest and exertion kept us both from brooding overour own difficulties, yet in the long run it tended only to embitter andinfuriate our minds. The frightful scenes of hopeless misery which wewitnessed--the ever widening pit of pauperism and slavery, gaping for freshvictims day by day, as they dropped out of the fast lessening "honourabletrade, " into the ever-increasing miseries of sweating, piece-work, andstarvation prices; the horrible certainty that the same process which wasdevouring our trade was slowly, but surely, eating up every other also;the knowledge that there was no remedy, no salvation for us in man, thatpolitical economists had declared such to be the law and constitution ofsociety, and that our rulers had believed that message, and were determinedto act upon it;--if all these things did not go far towards maddening us, we must have been made of sterner stuff than any one who reads this book. 

At last, about the middle of January, just as we had given up the searchas hopeless, and poor Katie's eyes were getting red and swelled with dailyweeping, a fresh spur was given to our exertions, by the sudden appearanceof no less a person than the farmer himself. What ensued upon his comingmust be kept for another chapter. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE SWEATER'S DEN. 

I was greedily devouring Lane's "Arabian Nights, " which had made theirfirst appearance in the shop that day. 

Mackaye sat in his usual place, smoking a clean pipe, and assisting hismeditations by certain mysterious chironomic signs; while opposite to himwas Farmer Porter--a stone or two thinner than when I had seen him last, but one stone is not much missed out of seventeen. His forehead lookedsmaller, and his jaws larger than ever, and his red face was sad, andfurrowed with care. 

Evidently, too, he was ill at ease about other matters besides his son. Hewas looking out of the corners of his eyes, first at the skinless cast onthe chimney-piece, then at the crucified books hanging over his head, asif he considered them not altogether safe companions, and rather expectedsomething "uncanny" to lay hold of him from behind--a process whichinvolved the most horrible contortions of visage, as he carefully abstainedfrom stirring a muscle of his neck or body, but sat bolt upright, hiselbows pinned to his sides, and his knees as close together as his stomachwould permit, like a huge corpulent Egyptian Memnon--the most ludicrouscontrast to the little old man opposite, twisted up together in hisJoseph's coat, like some wizard magician in the stories which I wasreading. A curious pair of "poles" the two made; the mesothet whereof, byno means a _"punctum indifferens, "_ but a true connecting spiritual idea, stood on the table--in the whisky-bottle. 

Farmer Porter was evidently big with some great thought, and had all a truepoet's bashfulness about publishing the fruit of his creative genius. Helooked round again at the skinless man, the caricatures, the books; and, as his eye wandered from pile to pile, and shelf to shelf, his facebrightened, and he seemed to gain courage. 

Solemnly he put his hat on his knees, and began solemnly brushing it withhis cuff. Then he saw me watching him, and stopped. Then he put his pipesolemnly on the hob, and cleared his throat for action, while I buried myface in the book. 

"Them's a sight o' larned beuks, Muster Mackaye?"

"Humph!"

"Yow maun ha' got a deal o' scholarship among they, noo?"

"Humph!"

"Dee yow think, noo, yow could find out my boy out of un, by any ways o'conjuring like?"

"By what?"

"Conjuring--to strike a perpendicular, noo, or say the Lord's Prayerbackwards?"

"Wadna ye prefer a meeracle or twa?" asked Sandy, after a long pull at thewhisky-toddy. 

"Or a few efreets?" added I. 

"Whatsoever you likes, gentlemen. You're best judges, to be sure, " answeredFarmer Porter, in an awed and helpless voice. 

"Aweel--I'm no that disinclined to believe in the occult sciences. I dinnahaud a'thegither wi' Salverte. There was mair in them than Magia naturalis, I'm thinking. Mesmerism and magic-lanterns, benj and opium, winna explainall facts, Alton, laddie. Dootless they were an unco' barbaric an' empiricmethod o' expressing the gran' truth o' man's mastery ower matter. But theinterpenetration o' the spiritual an' physical worlds is a gran' truth too;an' aiblins the Deity might ha' allowed witchcraft, just to teach thatto puir barbarous folk--signs and wonders, laddie, to mak them believein somewhat mair than the beasts that perish: an' so ghaists an warlocksmight be a necessary element o' the divine education in dark and carnaltimes. But I've no read o' a case in which necromancy, nor geomancy, norcoskinomancy, nor ony other mancy, was applied to sic a purpose as this. Unco gude they were, may be, for the discovery o' stolen spunes--but nothat o' stolen tailors. "

Farmer Porter had listened to this harangue, with mouth and eyes graduallyexpanding between awe and the desire to comprehend; but at the lastsentence his countenance fell. 

"So I'm thinking, Mister Porter, that the best witch in siccan a case isane that ye may find at the police-office. "

"Anan?"

"Thae detective police are gran' necromancers an' canny in their way: an' Ijust took the liberty, a week agone, to ha' a crack wi' ane o' 'em. An noo, gin ye're inclined, we'll leave the whusky awhile, an' gang up to that caveo' Trophawnius, ca'd by the vulgar Bow-street, an' speir for tidings o' thetwa lost sheep. "

So to Bow-street we went, and found our man, to whom the farmer bowed withobsequiousness most unlike his usual burly independence. He evidently halfsuspected him to have dealings with the world of spirits: but whether hehad such or not, they had been utterly unsuccessful; and we walked backagain, with the farmer between us, half-blubbering--

"I tell ye, there's nothing like ganging to a wise 'ooman. Bless ye, I mindone up to Guy Hall, when I was a barn, that two Irish reapers coom down, and murthered her for the money--and if you lost aught she'd vind it, sosure as the church--and a mighty hand to cure burns; and they two villainscoom back, after harvest, seventy mile to do it--and when my vather's cowswas shrew-struck, she made un be draed under a brimble as growed togetherat the both ends, she a praying like mad all the time; and they never gotnothing but fourteen shilling and a crooked sixpence; for why, the devilcarried off all the rest of her money; and I seen um both a-hanging inchains by Wisbeach river, with my own eyes. So when they Irish reaperscomes into the vens, our chaps always says, 'Yow goo to Guy Hall, there'syor brithren a-waitin' for yow, ' and that do make um joost mad loike, itdo. I tell ye there's nowt like a wise 'ooman, for vinding out the likes o'this. "

At this hopeful stage of the argument I left them to go to the Magazineoffice. As I passed through Covent Garden, a pretty young woman stopped meunder a gas-lamp. I was pushing on when I saw it was Jemmy Downes's Irishwife, and saw, too, that she did not recognise me. A sudden instinct mademe stop and hear what she had to say. 

"Shure, thin, and ye're a tailor, my young man?"

"Yes, " I said, nettled a little that my late loathed profession stillbetrayed itself in my gait. 

"From the counthry?"

I nodded, though I dared not speak a white lie to that effect. I fanciedthat, somehow, through her I might hear of poor Kelly and his friendPorter. 

"Ye'll be wanting work, thin?"

"I have no work. "

"Och, thin, it's I can show ye the flower o' work, I can. Bedad, there's ashop I know of where ye'll earn--bedad, if ye're the ninth part of a man, let alone a handy young fellow like the looks of you--och, ye'll earnthirty shillings the week, to the very least--an' beautiful lodgings;och, thin, just come and see 'em--as chape as mother's milk! Gome along, thin--och, it's the beauty ye are--just the nate figure for a tailor. "

The fancy still possessed me; and I went with her through one dingy backstreet after another. She seemed to be purposely taking an indirect road, to mislead me as to my whereabouts; but after a half-hour's walking, I knew, as well as she, that we were in one of the most miserableslop-working nests of the East-end. 

She stopped at a house door, and hurried me in, up to the first floor, and into a dirty, slatternly parlour, smelling infamously of gin; wherethe first object I beheld was Jemmy Downes, sitting before the fire, three-parts drunk, with a couple of dirty, squalling children on thehearthrug, whom he was kicking and cuffing alternately. 

"Och, thin, ye villain, beating the poor darlints whinever I lave ye aminute. " And pouring out a volley of Irish curses, she caught up theurchins, one under each arm, and kissed and hugged them till they werenearly choked. "Och, ye plague o' my life--as drunk as a baste; an' Ibrought home this darlint of a young gentleman to help ye in the business. "

Downes got up, and steadying himself by the table, leered at me withlacklustre eyes, and attempted a little ceremonious politeness. How thiswas to end I did not see; but I was determined to carry it through, on thechance of success, infinitely small as that might be. 

"An' I've told him thirty shillings a week's the least he'll earn; andcharge for board and lodgings only seven shillings. "

"Thirty!--she lies; she's always a lying; don't you mind her. Five-and-forty is the werry lowest figure. Ask my respectable and mostpiousest partner, Shemei Solomons. Why, blow me--it's Locke!"

"Yes, it is Locke; and surely you're my old friend Jemmy Downes? Shakehands. What an unexpected pleasure to meet you again!"

"Werry unexpected pleasure. Tip us your daddle! Delighted--delighted, as Iwas a saying, to be of the least use to yer. Take a caulker? Summat heavy, then? No? 'Tak' a drap o' kindness yet, for auld langsyne?"

"You forget I was always a teetotaller. "

"Ay, " with a look of unfeigned pity. "An' you're a going to lend us a hand?Oh, ah! perhaps you'd like to begin? Here's a most beautiful uniform, now, for a markis in her Majesty's Guards; we don't mention names--tarn'tbusinesslike. P'r'aps you'd like best to work here to-night, forcompany--'for auld langsyne, my boys;' and I'll introduce yer to the gentsup-stairs to-morrow. "

"No, " I said; "I'll go up at once, if you've no objection. "

"Och, thin, but the sheets isn't aired--no--faix; and I'm thinking thegentleman as is a going isn't gone yet. "

But I insisted on going up at once; and, grumbling, she followed me. Istopped on the landing of the second floor, and asked which way; and seeingher in no hurry to answer, opened a door, inside which I heard the humof many voices, saying in as sprightly a tone as I could muster, that Isupposed that was the workroom. 

As I had expected, a fetid, choking den, with just room enough in it forthe seven or eight sallow, starved beings, who, coatless, shoeless, andragged, sat stitching, each on his truckle-bed. I glanced round; the manwhom I sought was not there. 

My heart fell; why it had ever risen to such a pitch of hope I cannot tell;and half-cursing myself for a fool, in thus wildly thrusting my head into asquabble, I turned back and shut the door, saying--

"A very pleasant room, ma'am, but a leetle too crowded. "

Before she could answer, the opposite door opened; and a faceappeared--unwashed, unshaven, shrunken to a skeleton. I did not recogniseit at first. 

"Blessed Vargen! but that wasn't your voice, Locke?"

"And who are you?"

"Tear and ages! and he don't know Mike Kelly!"

My first impulse was to catch him up in my arms, and run down-stairs withhim. I controlled myself, however, not knowing how far he might be in histyrant's power. But his voluble Irish heart burst out at once--

"Oh! blessed saints, take me out o' this! take me out for the love ofJesus! take me out o' this hell, or I'll go mad intirely! Och! will nobodyhave pity on poor sowls in purgatory--here in prison like negur slaves?We're starved to the bone, we are, and kilt intirely with cowld. "

And as he clutched my arm, with his long, skinny, trembling fingers, Isaw that his hands and feet were all chapped and bleeding. Neither shoenor stocking did he possess; his only garments were a ragged shirt andtrousers; and--and, and in horrible mockery of his own misery, a grandnew flowered satin vest, which to-morrow was to figure in some gorgeousshop-window!

"Och! Mother of Heaven!" he went on, wildly, "when will I get out to thefresh air? For five months I haven't seen the blessed light of sun, norspoken to the praste, nor ate a bit o' mate, barring bread-and-butter. Shure, it's all the blessed Sabbaths and saints' days I've been a workinglike a haythen Jew, an niver seen the insides o' the chapel to confess mysins, and me poor sowl's lost intirely--and they've pawned the relaver[Footnote: A coat, we understand, which is kept by the coatless wretches inthese sweaters' dungeons, to be used by each of them in turn when they wantto go out. --EDITOR. ] this fifteen weeks, and not a boy of us iver sot footin the street since. "

"Vot's that row?" roared at this juncture Downes's voice from below. 

"Och, thin, " shrieked the woman, "here's that thief o' the warld, MickyKelly, slandhering o' us afore the blessed heaven, and he owing £2. 14s. 1/2d. For his board an' lodging, let alone pawn-tickets, and goin' torin away, the black-hearted ongrateful sarpent!" And she began yellingindiscriminately, "Thieves!" "Murder!" "Blasphemy!" and such otherejaculations, which (the English ones at least) had not the slightestreference to the matter in hand. 

"I'll come to him!" said Downes, with an oath, and rushed stumbling upthe stairs, while the poor wretch sneaked in again, and slammed the doorto. Downes battered at it, but was met with a volley of curses from themen inside; while, profiting by the Babel, I blew out the light, randown-stairs, and got safe into the street. 

In two hours afterwards, Mackaye, Porter, Crossthwaite, and I were at thedoor, accompanied by a policeman, and a search-warrant. Porter had insistedon accompanying us. He had made up his mind that his son was at Downes's;and all representations of the smallness of his chance were fruitless. Heworked himself up into a state of complete frenzy, and flourished a hugestick in a way which shocked the policeman's orderly and legal notions. 

"That may do very well down in your country, sir; but you arn't a goin' touse that there weapon here, you know, not by no hact o' Parliament as Iknows on. "

"Ow, it's joost a way I ha' wi' me. " And the stick was quiet for fiftyyards or so, and then recommenced smashing imaginary skulls. 

"You'll do somebody a mischief, sir, with that. You'd much better a lend itme. "

Porter tucked it under his arm for fifty yards more; and so on, till wereached Downes's house. 

The policeman knocked: and the door was opened, cautiously, by an old Jew, of a most un-"Caucasian" cast of features, however "high-nosed, " as Mr. Disraeli has it. 

The policeman asked to see Michael Kelly. 

"Michaelsh? I do't know such namesh--" But before the parley could gofarther, the farmer burst past policeman and Jew, and rushed into thepassage, roaring, in a voice which made the very windows rattle, "Billy Poorter! Billy Poorter! whor be yow? whor be yow?"

We all followed him up-stairs, in time to see him charging valiantly, with his stick for a bayonet, the small person of a Jew-boy, who stoodat the head of the stairs in a scientific attitude. The young rascalplanted a dozen blows in the huge carcase--he might as well have thumpedthe rhinoceros in the Regent's Park; the old man ran right over him, without stopping, and dashed up the stairs; at the head of which--oh, joy!--appeared a long, shrunken, red-haired figure, the tears on its dirtycheeks glittering in the candle-glare. In an instant father and son were ineach other's arms. 

"Oh, my barn! my barn! my barn! my barn!" And then the old Hercules heldhim off at arm's length, and looked at him with a wistful face, and huggedhim again with "My barn! my barn!" He had nothing else to say. Was it notenough? And poor Kelly danced frantically around them, hurrahing; his ownsorrows forgotten in his friend's deliverance. 

The Jew-boy shook himself, turned, and darted down stairs past us; thepoliceman quietly put out his foot, tripped him headlong, and jumping downafter him, extracted from his grasp a heavy pocket-book. 

"Ah! my dear mothersh's dying gift! Oh, dear! oh dear! give it back to apoor orphansh!"

"Didn't I see you take it out o' the old un's pocket, you young villain?"answered the maintainer of order, as he shoved the book into his bosom, andstood with one foot on his writhing victim, a complete nineteenth-centurySt. Michael. 

"Let me hold him, " I said, "while you go up-stairs. "

"_You_ hold a Jew-boy!--you hold a mad cat!" answered the policeman, contemptuously--and with justice--for at that moment Downes appeared on thefirst-floor landing, cursing and blaspheming. 

"He's my 'prentice! he's my servant! I've got a bond, with his own hand toit, to serve me for three years. I'll have the law of you--I will!"

Then the meaning of the big stick came out. The old man leapt down thestairs, and seized Downes. "You're the tyrant as has locked my barn uphere!" And a thrashing commenced, which it made my bones ache only to lookat. Downes had no chance; the old man felled him on his face in a couple ofblows, and taking both hands to his stick, hewed away at him as if he hadbeen a log. 

"I waint hit a's head! I waint hit a's head!"--whack, whack. "Let mebe!"--whack, whack-puff. "It does me gude, it does me gude!"--puff, puff, puff--whack. "I've been a bottling of it up for three years, comeWhitsuntide!"--whack, whack, whack--while Mackaye and Crossthwaite stoodcoolly looking on, and the wife shut herself up in the side-room, andscreamed "Murder!"

The unhappy policeman stood at his wits' end, between the prisoner belowand the breach of the peace above, bellowing in vain, in the Queen's name, to us, and to the grinning tailors on the landing. At last, as Downes'slife seemed in danger, he wavered; the Jew-boy seized the moment, jumpedup, upsetting the constable, dashed like an eel between Crossthwaite andMackaye, gave me a back-handed blow in passing, which I felt for a weekafter, and vanished through the street-door, which he locked after him. 

"Very well!" said the functionary, rising solemnly, and pulling out anote-book--"Scar under left eye, nose a little twisted to the right, badchilblains on the hands. You'll keep till next time, young man. Now, you fat gentleman up there, have you done a qualifying of yourself forNewgate?"

The old man had ran up-stairs again, and was hugging his son; but when thepoliceman lifted Downes, he rushed back to his victim, and begged, like agreat school-boy, for leave to "bet him joost won bit moor. "

"Let me bet un! I'll pay un!--I'll pay all as my son owes un! Marcy me!where's my pooss?" And so on raged the Babel, till we got the two poorfellows safe out of the house. We had to break open the door to do it, thanks to that imp of Israel. 

"For God's sake, take us too!" almost screamed five or six other voices. 

"They're all in debt--every onesh; they sha'n't go till they paysh, ifthere's law in England, " whined the old Jew, who had re-appeared. 

"I'll pay for 'em--I'll pay every farden, if so be as they treated my boywell. Here, you, Mr. Locke, there's the ten pounds as I promised you. Why, whor is my pooss?"

The policeman solemnly handed it to him. He took it, turned it over, looked at the policeman half frightened, and pointed with his fat thumb atMackaye. 

"Well, he said as you was a conjuror--and sure he was right. "

He paid me the money. I had no mind to keep it in such company; so I gotthe poor fellows' pawn-tickets, and Crossthwaite and I took the thingsout for them. When we returned, we found them in a group in the passage, holding the door open, in their fear lest we should be locked up, orentrapped in some way. Their spirits seemed utterly broken. Some three orfour went off to lodge where they could; the majority went upstairs againto work. That, even that dungeon, was their only home--their only hope--asit is of thousands of "free" Englishmen at this moment. 

We returned, and found the old man with his new-found prodigal sitting onhis knee, as if he had been a baby. Sandy told me afterwards, that he hadscarcely kept him from carrying the young man all the way home; he wasconvinced that the poor fellow was dying of starvation. I think reallyhe was not far wrong. In the corner sat Kelly, crouched together like ababoon, blubbering, hurrahing, invoking the saints, cursing the sweaters, and blessing the present company. We were afraid, for several days, thathis wits were seriously affected. 

And, in his old arm-chair, pipe in mouth, sat good Sandy Mackaye, wipinghis eyes with the many-coloured sleeve, and moralizing to himself, _sottovoce_:

"The auld Romans made slaves o' their debitors; sae did the Anglo-Saxons, for a' good Major Cartwright has writ to the contrary. But I didna kenthe same Christian practice was part o' the Breetish constitution. Aweel, aweel--atween Riot Acts, Government by Commissions, and ither littleextravagants and codicils o' Mammon's making, it's no that easy to ken, the day, what is the Breetish constitution, and what isn't. Tak a drappie, Billy Porter, lad?"

"Never again so long as I live. I've learnt a lesson and a half about that, these last few months. "

"Aweel, moderation's best, but abstinence better than naething. Nae manshall deprive me o' my leeberty, but I'll tempt nae man to gie up his. " Andhe actually put the whisky-bottle by into the cupboard. 

The old man and his son went home next day, promising me, if I would butcome to see them, "twa hundert acres o' the best partridge-shooting, andwild dooks as plenty as sparrows; and to live in clover till I bust, if Iliked. " And so, as Bunyan has it, they went on their way, and I saw them nomore. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

AN EMERSONIAN SERMON. 

Certainly, if John Crossthwaite held the victim-of-circumstance doctrinein theory, he did not allow Mike Kelly to plead it in practice, asan extenuation of his misdeeds. Very different from his Owenite"it's-nobody's-fault" harangues in the debating society, or his admirationfor the teacher of whom my readers shall have a glimpse shortly, was hislecture that evening to the poor Irishmen on "It's all your own fault. "Unhappy Kelly! he sat there like a beaten cur, looking first at oneof us, and then at the other, for mercy, and finding none. As soonas Crossthwaite's tongue was tired, Mackaye's began, on the sins ofdrunkenness, hastiness, improvidence, over-trustfulness, &c. , &c. , and, above all, on the cardinal offence of not having signed the protest yearsbefore, and spurned the dishonourable trade, as we had done. Even his mostpotent excuse that "a boy must live somehow, " Crossthwaite treated ascontemptuously as if he had been a very Leonidas, while Mackaye chimed inwith--

"An' ye a Papist! ye talk o' praying to saints an' martyrs, that died intorments because they wad na do what they should na do? What ha' ye todo wi' martyrs?--a meeserable wretch that sells his soul for a mess o'pottage--four slices per diem o' thin bread-and-butter? Et propter veetamveevendi perdere causas! Dinna tell me o' your hardships--ye've had yourdeserts--your rights were just equivalent to your mights, an' so ye gotthem. "

"Faix, thin, Misther Mackaye, darlint, an' whin did I desarve to pawn meown goose an' board, an' sit looking at the spidhers for the want o' them?"

"Pawn his ain goose! Pawn himsel! pawn his needle--gin it had been worththe pawning, they'd ha' ta'en it. An' yet there's a command in Deuteronomy, Ye shall na tak the millstone in pledge, for it's a man's life; nor yetkeep his raiment ower night, but gie it the puir body back, that he maysleep in his ain claes, an' bless ye. O--but pawnbrokers dinna care forblessings--na marketable value in them, whatsoever. "

"And the shopkeeper, " said I, "in 'the Arabian Nights, ' refuses to take thefisherman's net in pledge, because he gets his living thereby. "

"Ech! but, laddie, they were puir legal Jews, under carnal ordinances, an'daur na even tak an honest five per cent interest for their money. An' thebaker o' Bagdad, why he was a benighted heathen, ye ken, an' deceivit bythat fause prophet, Mahomet, to his eternal damnation, or he wad never ha'gone aboot to fancy a fisherman was his brither. "

"Faix, an' ain't we all brothers?" asked Kelly. 

"Ay, and no, " said Sandy, with an expression which would have been a smile, but for its depths of bitter earnestness; "brethren in Christ, my laddie. "

"An' ain't that all over the same?"

"Ask the preachers. Gin they meant brothers, they'd say brothers, be sure;but because they don't mean brothers at a', they say brethren--ye'll mind, brethren--to soun' antiquate, an' professional, an' perfunctory-like, forfear it should be ower real, an' practical, an' startling, an' a' that;and then jist limit it down wi' a' in Christ, ' for fear o' owre wideapplications, and a' that. But

 "For a' that, and a' that. It's comin' yet, for a' that, When man an' man, the warld owre, Shall brothers be, for a' that--

"An' na brithren any mair at a'!"

"An' didn't the blessed Jesus die for all?"

"What? for heretics, Micky?"

"Bedad, thin, an' I forgot that intirely!"

"Of course you did! It's strange, laddie, " said he, turning to me, "thatthat Name suld be everywhere, fra the thunderers o' Exeter Ha' to thispuir, feckless Paddy, the watchword o' exclusiveness. I'm thinking ye'll nofind the workmen believe in't, till somebody can fin' the plan o' making itthe sign o' universal comprehension. Gin I had na seen in my youth that abrither in Christ meant less a thousand-fold than a brither out o' him, Imight ha' believit the noo--we'll no say what. I've an owre great organ o'marvellousness, an' o' veneration too, I'm afeard. "

"Ah!" said Crossthwaite, "you should come and hear Mr. Windrush to-night, about the all-embracing benevolence of the Deity, and the abomination oflimiting it by all those narrow creeds and dogmas. "

"An' wha's Meester Windrush, then?"

"Oh, he's an American; he was a Calvinist preacher originally, I believe;but, as he told us last Sunday evening, he soon cast away the worn-outvestures of an obsolete faith, which were fast becoming only cripplingfetters. "

"An' ran oot sarkless on the public, eh? I'm afeard there's mony a man elsethat throws awa' the gude auld plaid o' Scots Puritanism, an' is unco fainto cover his nakedness wi' ony cast popinjay's feathers he can forgatherwi'. Aweel, aweel--a puir priestless age it is, the noo. We'll e'en ganghear him the nicht, Alton, laddie; ye ha' na darkened the kirk door thismony a day--nor I neither, mair by token. "

It was too true. I had utterly given up the whole problem of religion asinsoluble. I believed in poetry, science, and democracy--and they wereenough for me then; enough, at least, to leave a mighty hunger in my heart, I knew not for what. And as for Mackaye, though brought up, as he told me, a rigid Scotch Presbyterian, he had gradually ceased to attend the churchof his fathers. 

"It was no the kirk o' his fathers--the auld God--trusting kirk thatClavers dragoonit down by burns and muirsides. It was a' gane dead an' dry;a piece of Auld-Bailey barristration anent soul-saving dodges. What did hewant wi' proofs o' the being o' God, an' o' the doctrine o' original sin?He could see eneugh o' them ayont the shop-door, ony tide. They made puirRabbie Burns an anything-arian, wi' their blethers, an' he was near gaunthe same gate. "

And, besides, he absolutely refused to enter any place of worship wherethere were pews. "He wadna follow after a multitude to do evil; he wad nagang before his Maker wi' a lee in his right hand. Nae wonder folks were soafraid o' the names o' equality an' britherhood, when they'd kicked themout e'en o' the kirk o' God. Pious folks may ca' me a sinfu' auld Atheist. They winna gang to a harmless stage play--an' richt they--for fear o'countenancing the sin that's dune there, an' I winna gang to the kirk, forfear o' countenancing the sin that's dune there, by putting down my hurdieson that stool o' antichrist, a haspit pew!"

I was, therefore, altogether surprised at the promptitude with which heagreed to go and hear Crossthwaite's new-found prophet. His reasons for sodoing may be, I think, gathered from the conversation towards the end ofthis chapter. 

Well, we went; and I, for my part, was charmed with Mr. Windrush'seloquence. His style, which was altogether Emersonian, quite astonished meby its alternate bursts of what I considered brilliant declamation, andof forcible epigrammatic antithesis. I do not deny that I was a littlestartled by some of his doctrines, and suspected that he had not seen much, either of St. Giles's cellars or tailors' workshops either, when he talkedof sin as "only a lower form of good. Nothing, " he informed us, "wasproduced in nature without pain and disturbance; and what we had beentaught to call sin was, in fact, nothing but the birth-throes attendant onthe progress of the species. --As for the devil, Novalis, indeed, had goneso far as to suspect him to be a necessary illusion. Novalis was a mystic, and tainted by the old creeds. The illusion was not necessary--it wasdisappearing before the fast-approaching meridian light of philosophicreligion. Like the myths of Christianity, it had grown up in an age ofsuperstition, when men, blind to the wondrous order of the universe, believed that supernatural beings, like the Homeric gods, actuallyinterfered in the affairs of mortals. Science had revealed theirrevocability of the laws of nature--was man alone to be exempt from them?No. The time would come when it would be as obsolete an absurdity to talkof the temptation of a fiend, as it was now to talk of the wehrwolf, orthe angel of the thunder-cloud. The metaphor might remain, doubtless, as a metaphor, in the domain of poetry, whose office was to realize, in objective symbols, the subjective ideas of the human intellect; butphilosophy, and the pure sentiment of religion, which found all things, even God himself, in the recesses of its own enthusiastic heart, mustabjure such a notion. "

 * * * * *

"What!" he asked again, "shall all nature be a harmonious whole, reflecting, in every drop of dew which gems the footsteps of the morning, the infinite love and wisdom of its Maker, and man alone be excludedfrom his part in that concordant choir? Yet such is the doctrine of theadvocates of free-will, and of sin--its phantom-bantling. Man disobey hisMaker! disarrange and break the golden wheels and springs of the infinitemachine! The thought were blasphemy!--impossibility! All things fulfiltheir destiny; and so does man, in a higher or lower sphere of being. ShallI punish the robber? Shall I curse the profligate? As soon destroy thetoad, because my partial taste may judge him ugly; or doom to hell, forhis carnivorous appetite, the muscanonge of my native lakes! Toad is nothorrible to toad, or thief to thief. Philanthropists or statesmen mayenviron him with more genial circumstances, and so enable his propensitiesto work more directly for the good of society; but to punish him--to punishnature for daring to be nature!--Never! I may thank the Upper Destiniesthat they have not made me as other men are--that they have endowed me withnobler instincts, a more delicate conformation than the thief; but I havemy part to play, and he has his. Why should we wish to be other than theAll-wise has made us?"

"Fine doctrine that, " grumbled Sandy; "gin ye've first made up your mindwi' the Pharisee, that ye _are_ no like ither men. "

"Shall I pray, then? For what? I will coax none, natter none--not even theSupreme! I will not be absurd enough to wish to change that order, by whichsun and stars, saints and sinners, alike fulfil their destinies. There isone comfort, my friends; coax and flatter as we will, he will not hear us. "

"Pleasant, for puir deevils like us!" quoth Mackaye. 

"What then remains? Thanks, thanks--not of words, but of actions. Worshipis a life, not a ceremony. He who would honour the Supreme, let himcheerfully succumb to the destiny which the Supreme has allotted, and, like the shell or the flower--('Or the pickpocket, ' added Mackaye, almost audibly)--become the happy puppet of the universal impulse. Hewho would honour Christ, let him become a Christ himself! Theodore ofMopsuestia--born, alas! before his time--a prophet for whom as yet noaudience stood ready in the amphitheatre of souls--'Christ!' he was wontto say; 'I can become Christ myself, if I will. ' Become thou Christ, mybrother! He has an idea--the idea of utter submission--abnegation of hisown fancied will before the supreme necessities. Fulfil that idea, and thouart he! Deny thyself, and then only wilt thou be a reality; for thou hastno self. If thou hadst a self, thou wouldst but lie in denying it--andwould The Being thank thee for denying what he had given thee? But thouhast none! God is circumstance, and thou his creature! Be content! Fearnot, strive not, change not, repent not! Thou art nothing! Be nothing, andthou becomest a part of all things!"

And so Mr. Windrush ended his discourse, which Crossthwaite had been allthe while busily taking down in short-hand, for the edification of thereaders of a certain periodical, and also for those of this my Life. 

I plead guilty to having been entirely carried away by what I heard. Therewas so much which was true, so much more which seemed true, so much whichit would have been convenient to believe true, and all put so eloquentlyand originally, as I then considered, that, in short, I was in raptures, and so was poor dear Crossthwaite; and as we walked home, we dinned Mr. Windrush's praises one into each of Mackaye's ears. The old man, however, paced on silent and meditative. At last--

"A hunder sects or so in the land o' Gret Britain; an' a hunder or sosingle preachers, each man a sect of his ain! an' this the last fashion!Last, indeed! The moon of Calvinism's far gone in the fourth quarter, when it's come to the like o' that. Truly, the soul-saving business isa'thegither fa'n to a low ebb, as Master Tummas says somewhere!"

"Well, but, " asked Crossthwaite, "was not that man, at least, splendid?"

"An' hoo much o' thae gran' objectives an' subjectives did ye comprehen', then, Johnnie, my man?"

"Quite enough for me, " answered John, in a somewhat nettled tone. 

"An' sae did I. "

"But you ought to hear him often. You can't judge of his system from onesermon, in this way. "

"Seestem! and what's that like?"

"Why, he has a plan for uniting all sects and parties, on the one broadfundamental ground of the unity of God as revealed by science--"

"Verra like uniting o' men by just pu'ing aff their claes, and telling 'em, 'There, ye're a' brithers noo, on the one broad fundamental principle o'want o' breeks. '"

"Of course, " went on Crossthwaite, without taking notice of thisinterruption, "he allows full liberty of conscience. All he wishes for isthe emancipation of intellect. He will allow every one, he says, to realizethat idea to himself, by the representations which suit him best. "

"An' so he has no objection to a wee playing at Papistry, gin a man findsit good to tickle up his soul?"

"Ay, he did speak of that--what did he call it? Oh! 'one of the ways inwhich the Christian idea naturally embodied itself in imaginative minds!'but the higher intellects, of course, would want fewer helps of that kind. 'They would see'--ay, that was it--'the pure white light of truth, withoutrequiring those coloured refracting media. '"

"That wad depend muckle on whether the light o' truth chose or not, I'mthinking. But, Johnnie, lad--guide us and save us!--whaur got ye a' thesegran' outlandish words the nicht?"

"Haven't I been taking down every one of these lectures for the press?"

"The press gang to the father o't--and you too, for lending your han' inthe matter--for a mair accursed aristocrat I never heerd, sin' I first atehaggis. Oh, ye gowk--ye gowk! Dinna ye see what be the upshot o' siccandoctrin'? That every puir fellow as has no gret brains in his head willbe left to his superstition, an' his ignorance to fulfil the lusts o' hisflesh; while the few that are geniuses, or fancy themselves sae, are toha' the monopoly o' this private still o' philosophy--these carbonari, illuminati, vehmgericht, samothracian mysteries o' bottled moonshine. An'when that comes to pass, I'll just gang back to my schule and my catechism, and begin again wi' 'who was born o' the Virgin Mary, suffered oonderPontius Pilate!' Hech! lads, there's no subjectives and objectives there, na beggarly, windy abstractions, but joost a plain fact, that God cam' downto look for puir bodies, instead o' leaving puir bodies to gang looking forHim. An' here's a pretty place to be left looking for Him in--between ginshops and gutters! A pretty Gospel for the publicans an' harlots, to tell'em that if their bairns are canny eneugh, they may possibly some day beallowed to believe that there is one God, and not twa! And then, by way ofpractical application--'Hech! my dear, starving, simple brothers, ye mannabe sae owre conscientious, and gang fashing yourselves anent being brutesan' deevils, for the gude God's made ye sae, and He's verra weel content tosee you sae, gin ye be content or no. '"

"Then, do you believe in the old doctrines of Christianity?" I asked. 

"Dinna speir what I believe in. I canna tell ye. I've been seventy yearstrying to believe in God, and to meet anither man that believed in him. SoI'm just like the Quaker o' the town o' Redcross, that met by himself everyFirst-day in his ain hoose. "

"Well, but, " I asked again, "is not complete freedom of thought a gloriousaim--to emancipate man's noblest part--the intellect--from the trammels ofcustom and ignorance?"

"Intellect--intellect!" rejoined he, according to his fashion, catching oneup at a word, and playing on that in order to answer, not what one said, but what one's words led to. "I'm sick o' all the talk anent intellect Ihear noo. An' what's the use o' intellect? 'Aristocracy o' intellect, 'they cry. Curse a' aristocracies--intellectual anes, as well as anes o'birth, or rank, or money! What! will I ca' a man my superior, becausehe's cleverer than mysel?--will I boo down to a bit o' brains, ony mairthan to a stock or a stane? Let a man prove himsel' better than me, myladdie--honester, humbler, kinder, wi' mair sense o' the duty o' man, an'the weakness o' man--and that man I'll acknowledge--that man's my king, myleader, though he war as stupid as Eppe Dalgleish, that could na count fiveon her fingers, and yet keepit her drucken father by her ain hands' labourfor twenty-three yeers. "

We could not agree to all this, but we made a rule of never contradictingthe old sage in one of his excited moods, for fear of bringing on a week'ssilent fit--a state which generally ended in his smoking himself into abilious melancholy; but I made up my mind to be henceforth a frequentauditor of Mr. Windrush's oratory. 

"An' sae the deevil's dead!" said Sandy, half to himself, as he satcrooning and smoking that night over the fire. "Gone at last, puirfallow!--an' he sae little appreciated, too! Every gowk laying his ainsins on Nickie's back, puir Nickie!--verra like that much misunderstoodpoliteecian, Mr. John Cade, as Charles Buller ca'd him in the Hoose o'Commons--an' he to be dead at last! the warld'll seem quite unco withouthis auld-farrant phizog on the streets. Aweel, aweel--aiblins he's butshammin'. --

 "When pleasant Spring came on apace, And showers began to fa', John Barleycorn got up again, And sore surprised them a'. 

"At ony rate, I'd no bury him till he began smell a wee strong like. It's agrewsome thing, is premature interment, Alton, laddie!"

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE FREEDOM OF THE PRESS. 

But all this while, my slavery to Mr. O'Flynn's party-spirit and coarsenesswas becoming daily more and more intolerable--an explosion was inevitable;and an explosion came. 

Mr. O'Flynn found out that I had been staying at Cambridge, and at acathedral city too; and it was quite a godsend to him to find any one whoknew a word about the institutions at which he had been railing weekly foryears. So nothing would serve him but my writing a set of articles on theuniversities, as a prelude to one on the Cathedral Establishments. Invain I pleaded the shortness of my stay there, and the smallness of myinformation. 

"Och, were not abuses notorious? And couldn't I get them up out of anyRadical paper--and just put in a little of my own observations, and adashing personal cut or two, to spice the thing up, and give it an originallook? and if I did not choose to write that--why, " with an enormous oath, "I should write nothing. " So--for I was growing weaker and weaker, andindeed my hack-writing was breaking down my moral sense, as it does thatof most men--I complied; and burning with vexation, feeling myself almostguilty of a breach of trust toward those from whom I had received nothingbut kindness, I scribbled off my first number and sent it to the editor--tosee it appear next week, three-parts re-written, and every fact of my ownfurnishing twisted and misapplied, till the whole thing was as vulgar andcommonplace a piece of rant as ever disgraced the people's cause. And allthis, in spite of a solemn promise, confirmed by a volley of oaths, thatI "should say what I liked, and speak my whole mind, as one who had seenthings with his own eyes had a right to do. "

Furious, I set off to the editor; and not only my pride, but what literaryconscience I had left, was stirred to the bottom by seeing myself made, whether I would or not, a blackguard and a slanderer. 

As it was ordained, Mr. O'Flynn was gone out for an hour or two; and, unable to settle down to any work till I had fought my battle withhim fairly out, I wandered onward, towards the West End, staring intoprint-shop windows, and meditating on many things. 

As it was ordained, also, I turned up Regent Street, and into LanghamPlace; when, at the door of All-Souls Church, behold a crowd and a longstring of carriages arriving, and all the pomp and glory of a grandwedding. 

I joined the crowd from mere idleness, and somehow found myself in thefirst rank, just as the bride was stepping out of the carriage--it wasMiss Staunton; and the old gentleman who handed her out was no otherthan the dean. They were, of course, far too deeply engaged to recogniseinsignificant little me, so that I could stare as thoroughly to my heart'scontent as any of the butcher-boys and nursery-maids around me. 

She was closely veiled--but not too closely to prevent my seeing hermagnificent lip and nostril curling with pride, resolve, rich tenderpassion. Her glorious black-brown hair--the true "purple locks" which Homerso often talks of--rolled down beneath her veil in great heavy ringlets;and with her tall and rounded figure, and step as firm and queenly asif she were going to a throne, she seemed to me the very ideal of thosemagnificent Eastern Zubeydehs and Nourmahals, whom I used to dream of afterreading the "Arabian Nights. "

As they entered the doorway, almost touching me, she looked round, as iffor some one. The dean whispered something in his gentle, stately way, andshe answered by one of those looks so intense, and yet so bright, so fullof unutterable depths of meaning and emotion, that, in spite of all myantipathy, I felt an admiration akin to awe thrill through me, and gazedafter her so intently, that Lillian--Lillian herself--was at my side, andalmost passed me before I was aware of it. 

Yes, there she was, the foremost among a bevy of fair girls, "herself thefairest far, " all April smiles and tears, golden curls, snowy rosebuds, andhovering clouds of lace--a fairy queen;--but yet--but yet--how shallow thathazel, eye, how empty of meaning those delicate features, compared with thestrength and intellectual richness of the face which had preceded her!

It was too true--I had never remarked it before; but now it flashedacross me like lightning--and like lightning vanished; for Lillian's eyecaught mine, and there was the faintest spark of a smile of recognition, and pleased surprise, and a nod. I blushed scarlet with delight; someservant-girl or other, who stood next to me, had seen it too--quick-eyedthat women are--and was looking curiously at me. I turned, I knew not why, in my delicious shame, and plunged through the crowd to hide I knew notwhat. 

I walked on--poor fool--in an ecstasy; the whole world was transfiguredin my eyes, and virtue and wisdom beamed from every face I passed. Theomnibus-horses were racers, and the drivers--were they not my brothers ofthe people? The very policemen looked sprightly and philanthropic. I shookhands earnestly with the crossing-sweeper of the Regent Circus, gave himmy last twopence, and rushed on, like a young David, to exterminate thatPhilistine O'Flynn. 

Ah well! I was a great fool, as others too have been; but yet, that littlechance-meeting did really raise me. It made me sensible that I was madefor better things than low abuse of the higher classes. It gave me courageto speak out, and act without fear, of consequences, once at least inthat confused facing-both-ways period of my life. O woman! woman! onlytrue missionary of civilization and brotherhood, and gentle, forgivingcharity; is it in thy power, and perhaps in thine only, to bind up thebroken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives? One real lady, whoshould dare to stoop, what might she not do with us--with our sisters? If--

There are hundreds, answers the reader, who do stoop. Elizabeth Fry was alady, well-born, rich, educated, and she has many scholars. 

True, my dear readers, true--and may God bless her and her scholars. Do you think the working men forget them? But look at St. Giles's, orSpitalfields, or Shadwell, and say, is not the harvest plentiful, and thelabourers, alas! few? No one asserts that nothing is done; the question is, is enough done? Does the supply of mercy meet the demand of misery? Walkinto the next court and see!

 * * * * *

I found Mr. O'Flynn in his sanctum, busy with paste and scissors, in theact of putting in a string of advertisements--indecent French novels, Atheistic tracts, quack medicines, and slopsellers' puffs; and commencedwith as much dignity as I could muster:

"What on earth do you mean, sir, by re-writing my article?"

"What--(in the other place)--do you mean by giving me the trouble ofre-writing it? Me head's splitting now with sitting up, cutting out, andputting in. Poker o' Moses! but ye'd given it an intirely aristocratictendency. What did ye mane" (and three or four oaths rattled out) "bytalking about the pious intentions of the original founders, and thedemocratic tendencies of monastic establishments?"

"I wrote it because I thought it. "

"Is that any reason ye should write it? And there was another bit, too--itmade my hair stand on end when I saw it, to think how near I was sendingthe copy to press without looking at it--something about a FrenchSocialist, and Church Property. "

"Oh! you mean, I suppose, the story of the French Socialist, who told methat church property was just the only property in England which he wouldspare, because it was the only one which had definite duties attachedto it, that the real devourers of the people were not the bishops, who, however rich, were at least bound to work in return for their riches, but the landlords and millionaires, who refused to confess the duties ofproperty, while they raved about its rights. "

"Bedad, that's it; and pretty doctrine, too!"

"But it's true: it's an entirely new and a very striking notion, and Iconsider it my duty to mention it. "

"Thrue! What the devil does that matter? There's a time to speak the truth, and a time not, isn't there? It'll make a grand hit, now, in a leader uponthe Irish Church question, to back the prastes against the landlords. Butif I'd let that in as it stood, bedad, I'd have lost three parts of mysubscribers the next week. Every soul of the Independents, let alone theChartists, would have bid me good morning. Now do, like a good boy, give ussomething more the right thing next time. Draw it strong. --A good drunkensupper-party and a police-row; if ye haven't seen one, get it up out ofPater Priggins--or Laver might do, if the other wasn't convanient. That'sDublin, to be sure, but one university's just like another. And give us aseduction or two, and a brace of Dons carried home drunk from Barnwell bythe Procthors. "

"Really I never saw anything of the kind; and as for profligacy amongstthe Dons, I don't believe it exists. I'll call them idle, and bigoted, andcareless of the morals of the young men, because I know that they are so;but as for anything more, I believe them to be as sober, respectable a setof Pharisees as the world ever saw. "

Mr. O'Flynn was waxing warm, and the bully-vein began fast to show itself. 

"I don't care a curse, sir! My subscribers won't stand it, and theysha'n't! I am a man of business, sir, and a man of the world, sir, andfaith that's more than you are, and I know what will sell the paper, and byJ----s I'll let no upstart spalpeen dictate to me!"

"Then I'll tell you what, sir, " quoth I, waxing warm in my turn, "I don'tknow which are the greater rogues, you or your subscribers. You a patriot?You are a humbug. Look at those advertisements, and deny it if you can. Crying out for education, and helping to debauch the public mind withVoltaire's 'Candide, ' and Eugène Sue--swearing by Jesus, and puffingAtheism and blasphemy--yelling at a quack government, quack law, quack priesthoods, and then dirtying your fingers with half-crownsfor advertising Holloway's ointment and Parr's life pills--shriekingabout slavery of labour to capital, and inserting Moses and Son'sdoggerel--ranting about searching investigations and the march ofknowledge, and concealing every fact which cannot be made to pander to thepassions of your dupes--extolling the freedom of the press, and showingyourself in your own office a tyrant and a censor of the press. You apatriot? You the people's friend? You are doing everything in your power toblacken the people's cause in the eyes of their enemies. You are simply ahumbug, a hypocrite, and a scoundrel; and so I bid you good morning. "

Mr. O'Flynn had stood, during this harangue, speechless with passion, thoseloose lips of his wreathing like a pair of earthworms. It was only when Istopped that he regained his breath, and with a volley of incoherent oaths, caught up his chair and hurled it at my head. Luckily, I had seen enough ofhis temper already, to keep my hand on the lock of the door for the lastfive minutes. I darted out of the room quicker than I ever did out of onebefore or since. The chair took effect on the luckless door; and as I threwa flying glance behind me, I saw one leg sticking through the middle panel, in a way that augured ill for my skull, had it been in the way of Mr. O'Flynn's fury. 

I ran home to Mackaye in a state of intense self-glorification, and toldhim the whole story. He chuckled, he crowed, he hugged me to his bosom. 

"Leeze me o' ye! but I kenned ye were o' the true Norse blude after a'!

 "For a' that, an' a' that, A man's a man for a' that. 

"Oh, but I hae expeckit it this month an' mare! Oh, but I prophesied it, Johnnie!"

"Then why, in Heaven's name, did you introduce me to such a scoundrel?"

"I sent you to schule, lad, I sent you to schule. Ye wad na be ruled by me. Ye tuk me for a puir doited auld misanthrope; an' I thocht to gie ye themeat ye lusted after, an' fill ye wi' the fruit o' your ain desires. An'noo that ye've gane doon in the fire o' temptation, an' conquered, here'syour reward standin' ready. Special prawvidences!--wha can doot them? I ha'had mony--miracles I might ca' them, to see how they cam' just when I wasgaun daft wi' despair. "

And then he told me that the editor of a popular journal, of the Howittand Eliza Cook school, had called on me that morning, and promised me workenough, and pay enough, to meet all present difficulties. 

I did indeed accept the curious coincidence, if not as a reward for an actof straightforwardness, in which I saw no merit, at least as proof that theupper powers had not altogether forgotten me. I found both the editor andhis periodical, as I should have wished them, temperate and sunny--somewhatclap-trap and sentimental, perhaps, and afraid of speaking out, as allparties are, but still willing to allow my fancy free range in lightfictions, descriptions of foreign countries, scraps of showy rose-pinkmorality and such like; which, though they had no more power against theraging mass of crime, misery, and discontent, around, than a peacock'sfeather against a three-decker, still were all genial, graceful, kindly, humanizing, and soothed my discontented and impatient heart in the work ofcomposition. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE TOWNSMAN'S SERMON TO THE GOWNSMAN. 

One morning in February, a few days after this explosion, I was on thepoint of starting to go to the dean's house about that weary list ofsubscribers, which seemed destined never to be filled up, when my cousinGeorge burst in upon me. He was in the highest good spirits at having justtaken a double first-class at Cambridge; and after my congratulations, sincere and hearty enough, were over, he offered to accompany me to thatreverend gentleman's house. 

He said in an off-hand way, that he had no particular business there, buthe thought it just as well to call on the dean and mention his success, incase the old fellow should not have heard of it. 

"For you see, " he said, "I am a sort of _protégé_, both on my own accountand on Lord Lynedale's--Ellerton, he is now--you know he is just married tothe dean's niece, Miss Staunton--and Ellerton's a capital fellow--promisedme a living as soon as I'm in priest's orders. So my cue is now, " he wenton as we walked down the Strand together, "to get ordained as fast as everI can. "

"But, " I asked, "have you read much for ordination, or seen much of what aclergyman's work should be?"

"Oh! as for that--you know it isn't one out of ten who's ever entered aschool, or a cottage even, except to light a cigar, before he goes into thechurch: and as for the examination, that's all humbug; any man may cram itall up in a month--and, thanks to King's College, I knew all I wanted toknow before I went to Cambridge. And I shall be three-and-twenty by TrinitySunday, and then in I go, neck or nothing. Only the confounded bore is, that this Bishop of London won't give one a title--won't let any man intohis diocese, who has not been ordained two years; and so I shall be shoveddown into some poking little country-curacy, without a chance of makingplay before the world, or getting myself known at all. Horrid bore! isn'tit?"

"I think, " I said, "considering what London is just now, the bishop'sregulation seems to be one of the best specimens of episcopal wisdom thatI've heard of for some time. "

"Great bore for me, though, all the same: for I must make a name, Ican tell you, if I intend to get on. A person must work like a horse, now-a-days, to succeed at all; and Lynedale's a desperately particularfellow, with all sorts of _outré_ notions about people's duties andvocations and heaven knows what. "

"Well, " I said, "my dear cousin, and have you no high notions of aclergyman's vocation? because we--I mean the working men--have. It's justtheir high idea of what a clergyman should be, which makes them so furiousat clergymen for being what they are. "

"It's a queer way of showing their respect to the priesthood, " he answered, "to do all they can to exterminate it. "

"I dare say they are liable, like other men, to confound the thing with itsabuses; but if they hadn't some dim notion that the thing might be made agood thing in itself, you may depend upon it they would not rave againstthose abuses so fiercely. " (The reader may see that I had not forgotten myconversation with Miss Staunton. ) "And, " thought I to myself, "is it notyou, and such as you, who do so incorporate the abuses into the system, that one really cannot tell which is which, and longs to shove the wholething aside as rotten to the core, and make a trial of something new?"

"Well, but, " I said, again returning to the charge, for the subject wasaltogether curious and interesting to me, "do you really believe thedoctrines of the Prayer-book, George?"

"Believe them!" he answered, in a tone of astonishment, "why not? I wasbrought up a Churchman, whatever my parents were; I was always intended forthe ministry. I'd sign the Thirty-nine Articles now, against any man inthe three kingdoms: and as for all the proofs out of Scripture and ChurchHistory, I've known them ever since I was sixteen--I'll get them all upagain in a week as fresh as ever. "

"But, " I rejoined, astonished in my turn at my cousin's notion of whatbelief was, "have you any personal faith?--you know what I mean--I hateusing cant words--but inward experience of the truth of all these greatideas, which, true or false, you will have to preach and teach? Would youlive by them, die for them, as a patriot would for his country, now?"

"My dear fellow, I don't know anything about all those Methodistical, mystical, Calvinistical, inward experiences, and all that. I'm a Churchman, remember, and a High Churchman, too; and the doctrine of the Church is, that children are regenerated in holy baptism; and there's not the leastdoubt, from the authority both of Scripture and the fathers, that that'sthe--"

"For Heaven's sake, " I said, "no polemical discussions! Whether you'reright or wrong, that's not what I'm talking about. What I want to know isthis:--you are going to teach people about God and Jesus Christ. Do youdelight in God? Do you love Jesus Christ? Never mind what I do, or think, or believe. What do you do, George?"

"Well, my dear fellow, if you take things in that way, you know, ofcourse"--and he dropped his voice into that peculiar tone, by which allsects seem to think they show their reverence; while to me, as to mostother working men, it never seemed anything but a symbol of the separationand discrepancy between their daily thoughts and their religious ones--"ofcourse, we don't any of us think of these things half enough, and I'm sureI wish I could be more earnest than I am; but I can only hope it will comein time. The Church holds that there's a grace given in ordination; andreally--really, I do hope and wish to do my duty--indeed, one can't helpdoing it; one is so pushed on by the immense competition for preferment; anidle parson hasn't a chance now-a-days. "

"But, " I asked again, half-laughing, half-disgusted, "do you know what yourduty is?"

"Bless you, my good fellow, a man can't go wrong there. Carry out theChurch system; that's the thing--all laid down by rule and method. A manhas but to work out that--and it's the only one for the lower classes I'mconvinced. "

"Strange, " I said, "that they have from the first been so little of thatopinion, that every attempt to enforce it, for the last three hundredyears, has ended either in persecution or revolution. "

"Ah! that was all those vile puritans' fault. They wouldn't give the Churcha chance of showing her powers. "

"What! not when she had it all her own way, during the whole eighteenthcentury?"

"Ah! but things are very different now. The clergy are awakened now to thereal beauty of the Catholic machinery; and you have no notion how much isdoing in church-building and schools, and societies of every sort and kind. It is quite incredible what is being done now for the lower orders by theChurch. "

"I believe, " I said, "that the clergy are exceedingly improved; and Ibelieve, too, that the men to whom they owe all their improvement are theWesleys and Whitfields--in short, the very men whom they drove one by oneout of the Church, from persecution or disgust. And I do think it strange, that if so much is doing for the lower classes, the working men, who formthe mass of the lower classes, are just those who scarcely feel the effectsof it; while the churches seem to be filled with children, and rich andrespectable, to the almost entire exclusion of the adult lower classes. Astrange religion this!" I went on, "and, to judge by its effects, a verydifferent one from that preached in Judea 1800 years ago, if we are tobelieve the Gospel story. "

"What on earth do you mean? Is not the Church of England the very purestform of Apostolic Christianity?"

"It may be--and so may the other sects. But, somehow, in Judea, it wasthe publicans and harlots who pressed into the kingdom of heaven; and itwas the common people who heard Christ gladly. Christianity, then, was amovement in the hearts of the lower order. But now, my dear fellow, yourich, who used to be told, in St. James's time, to weep and howl, haveturned the tables upon us poor. It is _you_ who are talking, all day long, of converting _us_. Look at any place of worship you like, orthodox andheretical. --Who fill the pews?--the outcast and the reprobate? No! thePharisees and the covetous, who used to deride Christ, fill His churches, and say still, 'This people, these masses, who know not the Gospel areaccursed. ' And the universal feeling, as far as I can judge, seems to be, not 'how hardly shall they who have, ' but how hardly shall they who have_not_, 'riches, enter into the kingdom of heaven!'"

"Upon my word, " said he, laughing, "I did not give you credit for so mucheloquence: you seem to have studied the Bible to some purpose, too. Ididn't think that so much Radicalism could be squeezed out of a few textsof Scripture. It's quite a new light to me. I'll just mark that card, andplay it when I get a convenient opportunity. It may be a winning one inthese democratic times. "

And he did play it, as I heard hereafter; but at present he seemed tothink that the less that was said further on clerical subjects the better, and commenced quizzing the people whom we passed, humorously and neatlyenough; while I walked on in silence, and thought of Mr. Bye-Ends, in the"Pilgrim's Progress. " And yet I believe the man was really in earnest. Hewas really desirous to do what was right, as far as he knew it; and allthe more desirous, because he saw, in the present state of society, whatwas right would pay him. God shall judge him, not I. Who can unravel theconfusion of mingled selfishness and devotion that exists even in his ownheart, much less in that of another?

The dean was not at home that day, having left town on business. Georgenodded familiarly to the footman who opened the door. 

"You'll mind and send me word the moment your master comes home--mind now!"

The fellow promised obedience, and we walked away. 

"You seem to be very intimate here, " said I, "with all parties?"

"Oh! footmen are useful animals--a half-sovereign now and then is notaltogether thrown away upon them. But as for the higher powers, it is veryeasy to make oneself at home in the dean's study, but not so much so asto get a footing in the drawing-room above. I suspect he keeps a precioussharp eye upon the fair Miss Lillian. "

"But, " I asked, as a jealous pang shot through my heart, "how did youcontrive to get this same footing at all? When I met you at Cambridge, youseemed already well acquainted with these people. "

"How?--how does a hound get a footing on a cold scent? By working andcasting about and about, and drawing on it inch by inch, as I drew on themfor years, my boy; and cold enough the scent was. You recollect that dayat the Dulwich Gallery? I tried to see the arms on the carriage, but therewere none; so that cock wouldn't fight. "

"The arms! I should never have thought of such a plan. "

"Dare say you wouldn't. Then I harked back to the doorkeeper, while youwere St. Sebastianizing. He didn't know their names, or didn't choose toshow me their ticket, on which it ought to have been; so I went to one ofthe fellows whom I knew, and got him to find out. There comes out the valueof money--for money makes acquaintances. Well, I found who they were. --ThenI saw no chance of getting at them. But for the rest of that year atCambridge, I beat every bush in the university, to find some one whoknew them; and as fortune favours the brave, at last I hit off this LordLynedale; and he, of course, was the ace of trumps--a fine catch inhimself, and a double catch because he was going to marry the cousin. So Imade a dead set at him; and tight work I had to nab him, I can tell you, for he was three or four years older than I, and had travelled a good deal, and seen life. But every man has his weak side; and I found his was a sortof a High-Church Radicalism, and that suited me well enough, for I wasalways a deuce of a radical myself; so I stuck to him like a leech, andstood all his temper, and his pride, and those unpractical, windy visionsof his, that made a common-sense fellow like me sick to listen to; but Istood it, and here I am. "

"And what on earth induced you to stoop to all this--" meanness I was onthe point of saying. "Surely you are in no want of money--your father couldbuy you a good living to-morrow. "

"And he will, but not the one I want; and he could not buy me reputation, power, rank, do you see, Alton, my genius? And what's more, he couldn't buyme a certain little tit-bit, a jewel, worth a Jew's eye and a half, Alton, that I set my heart on from the first moment I set my eye on it. "

My heart beat fast and fierce, but he ran on--

"Do you think I'd have eaten all this dirt if it hadn't lain in my way toher? Eat dirt! I'd drink blood, Alton--though I don't often deal in strongwords--if it lay in that road. I never set my heart on a thing yet, thatI didn't get it at last by fair means or foul--and I'll get her! I don'tcare for her money, though that's a pretty plum. Upon my life, I don't. Iworship her, limbs and eyes. I worship the very ground she treads on. She'sa duck and a darling, " said he, smacking his lips like an Ogre over hisprey, "and I'll have her before I've done, so help me--"

"Whom do you mean?" I stammered out. 

"Lillian, you blind beetle. "

I dropped his arm--"Never, as I live!"

He started back, and burst into a horse-laugh. 

"Hullo! my eye and Betty Martin! You don't mean to say that I have thehonour of finding a rival in my talented cousin?"

I made no answer. 

"Come, come, my dear fellow, this is too ridiculous. You and I are verygood friends, and we may help each other, if we choose, like kith and kinin this here wale. So if you're fool enough to quarrel with me, I warn youI'm not fool enough to return the compliment. Only" (lowering his voice), "just bear one little thing in mind--that I am, unfortunately, of asomewhat determined humour; and if folks will get in my way, why it's notmy fault if I drive over them. You understand? Well, if you intend to besulky, I don't. So good morning, till you feel yourself better. "

And he turned gaily down a side-street and disappeared, looking taller, handsomer, manfuller than ever. 

I returned home miserable; I now saw in my cousin not merely a rival, but atyrant; and I began to hate him with that bitterness which fear alone caninspire. The eleven pounds still remained unpaid. Between three and fourpounds was the utmost which I had been able to hoard up that autumn, bydint of scribbling and stinting; there was no chance of profit from my bookfor months to come--if indeed it ever got published, which I hardly darebelieve it would; and I knew him too well to doubt that neither pity nordelicacy would restrain him from using his power over me, if I dared evento seem an obstacle in his way. 

I tried to write, but could not. I found it impossible to direct mythoughts, even to sit still; a vague spectre of terror and degradationcrushed me. Day after day I sat over the fire, and jumped up and went intothe shop, to find something which I did not want, and peep listlessly intoa dozen books, one after the other, and then wander back again to thefireside, to sit mooning and moping, starting at that horrible incubus ofdebt--a devil which may give mad strength to the strong, but only paralysesthe weak. And I was weak, as every poet is, more or less. There was in me, as I have somewhere read that there is in all poets, that feminine vein--areceptive as well as a creative faculty--which kept up in me a continualthirst after beauty, rest, enjoyment. And here was circumstance aftercircumstance goading me onward, as the gadfly did Io, to continualwanderings, never ceasing exertions; every hour calling on me to do, whileI was only longing to be--to sit and observe, and fancy, and build freelyat my own will. And then--as if this necessity of perpetual petty exertionwas not in itself sufficient torment--to have that accursed debt--thatknowledge that I was in a rival's power, rising up like a black wall beforeme, to cripple, and render hopeless, for aught I knew, the very exertionsto which it compelled me! I hated the bustle--the crowds; the ceaselessroar of the street outside maddened me. I longed in vain for peace--for oneday's freedom--to be one hour a shepherd-boy, and lie looking up at theblue sky, without a thought beyond the rushes that I was plaiting! "Oh!that I had wings as a dove!--then would I flee away, and be at rest!"--

And then, more than once or twice either, the thoughts of suicide crossedme; and I turned it over, and looked at it, and dallied with it, as a lastchance in reserve. And then the thought of Lillian came, and drove awaythe fiend. And then the thought of my cousin came, and paralysed me again;for it told me that one hope was impossible. And then some fresh instanceof misery or oppression forced itself upon me, and made me feel the awfulsacredness of my calling, as a champion of the poor, and the base cowardiceof deserting them for any selfish love of rest. And then I recollected howI had betrayed my suffering brothers. --How, for the sake of vanity andpatronage, I had consented to hide the truth about their rights--theirwrongs. And so on through weary weeks of moping melancholy--"adouble-minded man, unstable in all his ways?"

At last, Mackaye, who, as I found afterwards, had been watching all alongmy altered mood, contrived to worm my secret out of me. I had dreaded, thatwhole autumn, having to tell him the truth, because I knew that his firstimpulse would be to pay the money instantly out of his own pocket; and mypride, as well as my sense of justice, revolted at that, and sealed mylips. But now this fresh discovery--the knowledge that it was not only inmy cousin's power to crush me, but also his interest to do so--had utterlyunmanned me; and after a little innocent and fruitless prevarication, outcame the truth with tears of bitter shame. 

The old man pursed up his lips, and, without answering me, opened his tabledrawer, and commenced fumbling among accounts and papers. 

"No! no! no! best, noblest of friends! I will not burden you with thefruits of my own vanity and extravagance. I will starve, go to gaol soonerthan take your money. If you offer it me I will leave the house, bag andbaggage, this moment. " And I rose to put my threat into execution. 

"I havena at present ony sic intention, " answered he, deliberately, "seeingthat there's na necessity for paying debits twice owre, when ye ha' thestampt receipt for them. " And he put into my hands, to my astonishment andrapture, a receipt in full for the money, signed by my cousin. 

Not daring to believe my own eyes, I turned it over and over, looked atit, looked at him--there was nothing but clear, smiling assurance in hisbeloved old face, as he twinkled, and winked, and chuckled, and pulledoff his spectacles, and wiped them, and put them on upside-down; and thenrelieved himself by rushing at his pipe, and cramming it fiercely withtobacco till he burst the bowl. 

Yes; it was no dream!--the money was paid, and I was free! The suddenrelief was as intolerable as the long burden had been; and, like a prisonersuddenly loosed from off the rack, my whole spirit seemed suddenly tocollapse, and I sank with my head upon the table to faint even forgratitude. 

 * * * * *

But who was my benefactor? Mackaye vouchsafed no answer, but that I "suldken better than he. " But when he found that I was really utterly at aloss to whom to attribute the mercy, he assured me, by way of comfort, that he was just as ignorant as myself; and at last, piecemeal, in hiscircumlocutory and cautious Scotch method, informed me, that some six weeksback he had received an anonymous letter, "a'thegither o' a Belgravian casto' phizog, " containing a bank note for twenty pounds, and setting forth thewriter's suspicions that I owed my cousin money, and their desire that Mr. Mackaye, "o' whose uprightness and generosity they were pleased to confessthemselves no that ignorant, " should write to George, ascertain the sum, and pay it without my knowledge, handing over the balance, if any, to me, when he thought fit--"Sae there's the remnant--aucht pounds, sax shillings, an' saxpence; tippence being deduckit for expense o' twa letters anent thesame transaction. "

"But what sort of handwriting was it?" asked I, almost disregarding thewelcome coin. 

"Ou, then--aiblins a man's, aiblins a maid's. He was no chirographosophichimsel--an' he had na curiosity anent ony sic passage o' aristocraticromance. "

"But what was the postmark of the letter?"

"Why for suld I speired? Gin the writers had been minded to be beknown, they'd ha' sign't their names upon the document. An' gin they didna saeintend, wad it be coorteous o' me to gang speiring an' peering ower coversan' seals?"

"But where is the cover?"

"Ou, then, " he went on, with the same provoking coolness, "white paper's o'geyan use, in various operations o' the domestic economy. Sae I just tareit up--aiblins for pipe-lights--I canna mind at this time. "

"And why, " asked I, more vexed and disappointed than I liked toconfess--"why did you not tell me before?"

"How wad I ken that you had need o't? An' verily, I thocht it no that bada lesson for ye, to let ye experiment a towmond mair on the precious balmsthat break the head--whereby I opine the Psalmist was minded to denote thedelights o' spending borrowed siller. "

There was nothing more to be extracted from him; so I was fain to set towork again (a pleasant compulsion truly) with a free heart, eight pounds inmy pocket, and a brainful of conjectures. Was it the dean? Lord Lynedale?or was it--could it be--Lillian herself? That thought was so deliciousthat I made up my mind, as I had free choice among half a dozen equallyimprobable fancies, to determine that the most pleasant should be the trueone; and hoarded the money, which I shrunk from spending as much as Ishould from selling her miniature or a lock of her beloved golden hair. They were a gift from her--a pledge--the first fruits of--I dare notconfess to myself what. 

Whereat the reader will smile, and say, not without reason, that I was fastfitting myself for Bedlam; if, indeed, I had not proved my fitness for italready, by paying the tailors' debts, instead of my own, with the tenpounds which Farmer Porter had given me. I am not sure that he would not becorrect; but so I did, and so I suffered. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A TRUE NOBLEMAN. 

At last my list of subscribers was completed, and my poems actually inthe press. Oh! the childish joy with which I fondled my first set ofproofs! And how much finer the words looked in print than they everdid in manuscript!--One took in the idea of a whole page so charminglyat a glance, instead of having to feel one's way through line afterline, and sentence after sentence. --There was only one drawback to myhappiness--Mackaye did not seem to sympathize with it. He had nevergrumbled at what I considered, and still do consider, my cardinal offence, the omission of the strong political passages; he seemed, on the contrary, in his inexplicable waywardness, to be rather pleased at it than otherwise. It was my publishing at all at which he growled. 

"Ech, " he said, "owre young to marry, is owre young to write; but it's theway o' these puir distractit times. Nae chick can find a grain o' corn, butoot he rins cackling wi' the shell on his head, to tell it to a' the warld, as if there was never barley grown on the face o' the earth before. Iwonder whether Isaiah began to write before his beard was grown, or Dawvideither? He had mony a long year o' shepherding an' moss-trooping, an'rugging an' riving i' the wilderness, I'll warrant, afore he got thae gran'lyrics o' his oot o' him. Ye might tak example too, gin ye were minded, byMoses, the man o' God, that was joost forty years at the learning o' theEgyptians, afore he thocht gude to come forward into public life, an'then fun' to his gran' surprise, I warrant, that he'd begun forty yearstoo sune--an' then had forty years mair, after that, o' marching an'law-giving, an' bearing the burdens o' the people, before he turned poet. "

"Poet, sir! I never saw Moses in that light before. "

"Then ye'll just read the 90th Psalm--'the prayer o' Moses, the man o'God'--the grandest piece o' lyric, to my taste, that I ever heard o' on theface o' God's earth, an' see what a man can write that'll have the patienceto wait a century or twa before he rins to the publisher's. I gie ye upfra' this moment; the letting out o' ink is like the letting out o' waters, or the eating o' opium, or the getting up at public meetings. --When a manbegins he canna stop. There's nae mair enslaving lust o' the flesh underthe heaven than that same _furor scribendi_, as the Latins hae it. "

But at last my poems were printed, and bound, and actually published, andI sat staring at a book of my own making, and wondering how it ever gotinto being! And what was more, the book "took, " and sold, and was reviewedin People's journals, and in newspapers; and Mackaye himself relaxedinto a grin, when his oracle, the _Spectator_, the only honest paper, according to him, on the face of the earth, condescended, after assertingits impartiality by two or three searching sarcasms, to dismiss me, grimly-benignant, with a paternal pat on the shoulder. Yes--I was a reallive author at last, and signed myself, by special request, in the * * * *Magazine, as "the author of Songs of the Highways. " At last it struck me, and Mackaye too, who, however he hated flunkeydom, never overlooked an actof discourtesy, that it would be right for me to call upon the dean, andthank him formally for all the real kindness he had shown me. So I went tothe handsome house off Harley-street, and was shown into his study, and sawmy own book lying on the table, and was welcomed by the good old man, andcongratulated on my success, and asked if I did not see my own wisdom in"yielding to more experienced opinions than my own, and submitting to acensorship which, however severe it might have appeared at first, was, asthe event proved, benignant both in its intentions and effects?"

And then I was asked, even I, to breakfast there the next morning. And Iwent, and found no one there but some scientific gentlemen, to whom I wasintroduced as "the young man whose poems we were talking of last night. "And Lillian sat at the head of the table, and poured out the coffee andtea. And between ecstasy at seeing her, and the intense relief of notfinding my dreaded and now hated cousin there, I sat in a delirium ofsilent joy, stealing glances at her beauty, and listening with all my earsto the conversation, which turned upon the new-married couple. 

I heard endless praises, to which I could not but assent in silence, ofLord Ellerton's perfections. His very personal appearance had been enoughto captivate my fancy; and then they went on to talk of his magnificentphilanthropic schemes, and his deep sense, of the high duties of alandlord; and how, finding himself, at his father's death, the possessor oftwo vast but neglected estates, he had sold one in order to be able to dojustice to the other, instead of laying house to house, and field to field, like most of his compeers, "till he stood alone in the land, and there wasno place left;" and how he had lowered his rents, even though it had forcedhim to put down the ancestral pack of hounds, and live in a corner of theold castle; and how he was draining, claying, breaking up old moorlands, and building churches, and endowing schools, and improving cottages;and how he was expelling the old ignorant bankrupt race of farmers, andadvertising everywhere for men of capital, and science, and character, whowould have courage to cultivate flax and silk, and try every species ofexperiment; and how he had one scientific farmer after another, staying inhis house as a friend; and how he had numbers of his books rebound in plaincovers, that he might lend them to every one on his estate who wished toread them; and how he had thrown open his picture gallery, not only to theinhabitants of the neighbouring town, but what (strange to say) seemed tostrike the party as still more remarkable, to the labourers of his ownvillage; and how he was at that moment busy transforming an old unoccupiedmanor-house into a great associate farm, in which all the labourers wereto live under one roof, with a common kitchen and dining-hall, clerks andsuperintendents, whom they were to choose, subject only to his approval, and all of them, from the least to the greatest, have their own interestin the farm, and be paid by percentage on the profits; and how he had oneof the first political economists of the day staying with him, in order towork out for him tables of proportionate remuneration, applicable to suchan agricultural establishment; and how, too, he was giving the spade-laboursystem a fair-trial, by laying out small cottage-farms, on rocky knolls andsides of glens, too steep to be cultivated by the plough; and was locatingon them the most intelligent artisans whom he could draft from themanufacturing town hard by--

And at that notion, my brain grew giddy with the hope of seeing myself oneday in one of those same cottages, tilling the earth, under God's sky, andperhaps--. And then a whole cloud-world of love, freedom, fame, simple, graceful country luxury steamed up across my brain, to end--not, like theman's in the "Arabian Nights, " in my kicking over the tray of China, whichformed the base-point of my inverted pyramid of hope--but in my finding thecontents of my plate deposited in my lap, while I was gazing fixedly atLillian. 

I must say for myself, though, that such accidents happened seldom; whetherit was bashfulness, or the tact which generally, I believe, accompaniesa weak and nervous body, and an active mind; or whether it was that Ipossessed enough relationship to the monkey-tribe to make me a first-ratemimic, I used to get tolerably well through on these occasions, by actingon the golden rule of never doing anything which I had not seen some oneelse do first--a rule which never brought me into any greater scrape thanswallowing something intolerably hot, sour, and nasty (whereof I neverdiscovered the name), because I had seen the dean do so a moment before. 

But one thing struck me through the whole of this conversation--the way inwhich the new-married Lady Ellerton was spoken of, as aiding, encouraging, originating--a helpmeet, if not an oracular guide, for her husband--in allthese noble plans. She had already acquainted herself with every woman onthe estate; she was the dispenser, not merely of alms--for those seemed adisagreeable necessity, from which Lord Ellerton was anxious to escape assoon as possible--but of advice, comfort, and encouragement. She not onlyvisited the sick, and taught in the schools--avocations which, thank God, I have reason to believe are matters of course, not only in the familiesof clergymen, but those of most squires and noblemen, when they reside ontheir estates--but seemed, from the hints which I gathered, to be utterlydevoted, body and soul, to the welfare of the dwellers on her husband'sland. 

"I had no notion, " I dared at last to remark, humbly enough, "thatMiss--Lady Ellerton cared so much for the people. "

"Really! One feels inclined sometimes to wish that she cared for anythingbeside them, " said Lillian, half to her father and half to me. 

This gave a fresh shake to my estimate of that remarkable woman'scharacter. But still, who could be prouder, more imperious, more abrupt inmanner, harsh, even to the very verge of good-breeding? (for I had learntwhat good-breeding was, from the debating society as well as from thedrawing-room;) and, above all, had she not tried to keep me from Lillian?But these cloudy thoughts melted rapidly away in that sunny atmosphere ofsuccess and happiness, and I went home as merry as a bird, and wrote allthe morning more gracefully and sportively, as I fancied, than I had everyet done. 

But my bliss did not end here. In a week or so, behold one morning anote--written, indeed, by the dean--but directed in Lillian's own hand, inviting me to come there to tea, that I might see a few, of the literarycharacters of the day. 

I covered the envelope with kisses, and thrust it next my fluttering heart. I then proudly showed the note to Mackaye. He looked pleased, yet pensive, and then broke out with a fresh adaptation of his favourite song, --and shovel hats and a' that-- A man's a man for a' that. 

"The auld gentleman is a man and a gentleman; an' has made a verracourteous, an' weel considerit move, gin ye ha' the sense to profit by it, an' no turn it to yer ain destruction. "

"Destruction?"

"Ay--that's the word, an' nothing less, laddie!"

And he went into the outer shop, and returned with a volume of Bulwer's"Ernest Maltravers. "

"What! are you a novel reader, Mr. Mackaye?"

"How do ye ken what I may ha' thocht gude to read in my time? Yell bepleased the noo to sit down an' begin at that page--an read, mark, learn, an' inwardly digest, the history of Castruccio Cesarini--an' the gude Godgie ye grace to lay the same to heart. "

I read that fearful story; and my heart sunk, and my eyes were full oftears, long ere I had finished it. Suddenly I looked up at Mackaye, halfangry at the pointed allusion to my own case. 

The old man was watching me intently, with folded hands, and a smile ofsolemn interest and affection worthy of Socrates himself. He turned hishead as I looked up, but his lips kept moving. I fancied, I know not why, that he was praying for me. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE TRIUMPHANT AUTHOR. 

So to the party I went, and had the delight of seeing and hearing the menwith whose names I had been long acquainted, as the leaders of scientificdiscovery in this wondrous age; and more than one poet, too, over whoseworks I had gloated, whom I had worshipped in secret. Intense was thepleasure of now realizing to myself, as living men, wearing the same fleshand blood as myself, the names which had been to me mythic ideas. Lillianwas there among them, more exquisite than ever; but even she at firstattracted my eyes and thoughts less than did the truly great men aroundher. I hung on every word they spoke, I watched every gesture, as if theymust have some deep significance; the very way in which they drank theircoffee was a matter of interest to me. I was almost disappointed to seethem eat and chat like common men. I expected that pearls and diamondswould drop from their lips, as they did from those of the girl, in thefairy-tale, every time they opened their mouths; and certainly, theconversation that evening was a new world to me--though I could only, ofcourse, be a listener. Indeed, I wished to be nothing more. I felt thatI was taking my place there among the holy guild of authors--that I too, however humbly, had a thing to say, and had said it; and I was content tosit on the lowest step of the literary temple, without envy for those elderand more practised priests of wisdom, who had earned by long labour thefreedom of the inner shrine. I should have been quite happy enough standingthere, looking and listening--but I was at last forced to come forward. Lillian was busy chatting with grave, grey-headed men, who seemed as readyto flirt, and pet and admire the lovely little fairy, as if they had beenas young and gay as herself. It was enough for me to see her appreciatedand admired. I loved them for smiling on her, for handing her from her seatto the piano with reverent courtesy: gladly would I have taken their place:I was content, however, to be only a spectator; for it was not my rank, butmy youth, I was glad to fancy, which denied me that blissful honour. Butas she sang, I could not help stealing up to the piano; and, feasting mygreedy eyes with every motion of those delicious lips, listen and listen, entranced, and living only in that melody. 

Suddenly, after singing two or three songs, she began fingering the keys, and struck into an old air, wild and plaintive, rising and falling like theswell of an Æolian harp upon a distant breeze. 

"Ah! now, " she said, "if I could get words for that! What an exquisitelament somebody might write to it, if they could only thoroughly take inthe feeling and meaning of it. "

"Perhaps, " I said, humbly, "that is the only way to write songs--to letsome air get possession of ones whole soul, and gradually inspire the wordsfor itself; as the old Hebrew prophets had music played before them, towake up the prophetic spirit within them. "

She looked up, just as if she had been unconscious of my presence till thatmoment. 

"Ah! Mr. Locke!--well, if you understand my meaning so thoroughly, perhapsyou will try and write some words for me. "

"I am afraid that I do not enter sufficiently into the meaning of the air. "

"Oh! then, listen while I play it over again. I am sure _you_ ought toappreciate anything so sad and tender. "

And she did play it, to my delight, over again, even more gracefully andcarefully than before--making the inarticulate sounds speak a mysterioustrain of thoughts and emotions. It is strange how little real intellect, inwomen especially, is required for an exquisite appreciation of the beautiesof music--perhaps, because it appeals to the heart and not the head. 

She rose and left the piano, saying archly, "Now, don't forget yourpromise;" and I, poor fool, my sunlight suddenly withdrawn, began torturingmy brains on the instant to think of a subject. 

As it happened, my attention was caught by hearing two gentlemen close tome discuss a beautiful sketch by Copley Fielding, if I recollect rightly, which hung on the wall--a wild waste of tidal sands, with here and there aline of stake-nets fluttering in the wind--a grey shroud of rain sweepingup from the westward, through which low red cliffs glowed dimly in the raysof the setting sun--a train of horses and cattle splashing slowly throughshallow desolate pools and creeks, their wet, red, and black hidesglittering in one long line of level light. 

They seemed thoroughly conversant with art; and as I listened to theircriticisms, I learnt more in five minutes about the characteristics ofa really true and good picture, and about the perfection to which ourunrivalled English landscape-painters have attained, than I ever did fromall the books and criticisms which I had read. One of them had seen thespot represented, at the mouth of the Dee, and began telling wild storiesof salmon-fishing, and wildfowl shooting--and then a tale of a girl, who, in bringing her father's cattle home across the sands, had been caught bya sudden flow of the tide, and found next day a corpse hanging among thestake-nets far below. The tragedy, the art of the picture, the simple, dreary grandeur of the scenery, took possession of me; and I stood gazinga long time, and fancying myself pacing the sands, and wondering whetherthere were shells upon it--I had often longed for once only in my life topick up shells--when Lady Ellerton, whom I had not before noticed, woke mefrom my reverie. 

I took the liberty of asking after Lord Ellerton. 

"He is not in town--he has stayed behind for one day to attend a greatmeeting of his tenantry--you will see the account in the papers to-morrowmorning--he comes to-morrow. " And as she spoke her whole face and figureseemed to glow and heave, in spite of herself, with pride and affection. 

"And now, come with me, Mr. Locke--the * * * ambassador wishes to speak toyou. "

"The * * * ambassador!" I said, startled; for let us be as democratic as wewill, there is something in the name of great officers which awes, perhapsrightly, for the moment, and it requires a strong act of self-possessionto recollect that "a man's a man for a' that. " Besides, I knew enough ofthe great man in question to stand in awe of him for his own sake, havinglately read a panegyric of him, which perfectly astounded me, by itsdescription of his piety and virtue, his family affection, and patriarchalsimplicity, the liberality and philanthropy of all his measures, and theenormous intellectual powers, and stores of learning, which enabled him, with the affairs of Europe on his shoulders, to write deeply and originallyon the most abstruse questions of theology, history, and science. 

Lady Ellerton seemed to guess my thoughts. "You need not be afraid ofmeeting an aristocrat, in the vulgar sense of the word. You will see onewho, once perhaps as unknown as yourself, has risen by virtue and wisdom toguide the destinies of nations--and shall I tell you how? Not by fawningand yielding to the fancies of the great; not by compromising his ownconvictions to suit their prejudices--"

I felt the rebuke, but she went on--

"He owes his greatness to having dared, one evening, to contradict acrown-prince to his face, and fairly conquer him in argument, and therebybind the truly royal heart to him for ever. "

"There are few scions of royalty to whose favour that would be a likelypath. "

"True; and therefore the greater honour is due to the young student whocould contradict, and the prince who could be contradicted. "

By this time we had arrived in the great man's presence; he was sittingwith a little circle round him, in the further drawing-room, and certainlyI never saw a nobler specimen of humanity. I felt myself at once before ahero--not of war and bloodshed, but of peace and civilization; his portlyand ample figure, fair hair and delicate complexion, and, above all, the benignant calm of his countenance, told of a character gentle andgenial--at peace with himself and all the world; while the exquisiteproportion of his chiselled and classic features, the lofty and amplebrain, and the keen, thoughtful eye, bespoke, at the first glance, refinement and wisdom--

 The reason firm, the temperate will-- Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill. 

I am not ashamed to say, Chartist as I am, that I felt inclined to fallupon my knees, and own a master of God's own making. 

He received my beautiful guide with a look of chivalrous affection, whichI observed that she returned with interest; and then spoke in a voicepeculiarly bland and melodious:

"So, my dear lady, this is the _protégé_ of whom you have so often spoken?"

So she had often spoken of me! Blind fool that I was, I only took it in asfood for my own self-conceit, that my enemy (for so I actually fancied her)could not help praising me. 

"I have read your little book, sir, " he said, in the same soft, benignantvoice, "with very great pleasure. It is another proof, if I required any, of the under-current of living and healthful thought which exists even inthe less-known ranks of your great nation. I shall send it to some youngfriends of mine in Germany, to show them that Englishmen can feel acutelyand speak boldly on the social evils of their country, without indulgingin that frantic and bitter revolutionary spirit, which warps so many youngminds among us. You understand the German language at all?"

I had not that honour. 

"Well, you must learn it. We have much to teach you in the sphere ofabstract thought, as you have much to teach us in those of the practicalreason and the knowledge of mankind. I should be glad to see you someday in a German university. I am anxious to encourage a truly spiritualfraternization between the two great branches of the Teutonic stock, bywelcoming all brave young English spirits to their ancient fatherland. Perhaps hereafter your kind friends here will be able to lend you to me. The means are easy, thank God! You will find in the Germans true brothers, in ways even more practical than sympathy and affection. "

I could not but thank the great man, with many blushes, and went home thatnight utterly _"tête montée, "_ as I believe the French phrase is--besidemyself with gratified vanity and love; to lie sleepless under a severe fitof asthma--sent perhaps as a wholesome chastisement to cool my excitedspirits down to something like a rational pitch. As I lay castle-building, Lillian's wild air rang still in my ears, and combined itself somehow withthat picture of the Cheshire sands, and the story of the drowned girl, till it shaped itself into a song, which, as it is yet unpublished, andas I have hitherto obtruded little or nothing of my own composition on myreaders, I may be excused for inserting it here. 

 I. 

 "O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee;" The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. 

 II. 

 The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see; The blinding mist came down and hid the land-- And never home came she. 

 III. 

 "Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-- A tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee. "

 IV. 

 They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee. 

There--let it go!--it was meant as an offering for one whom it neverreached. 

About mid-day I took my way towards the dean's house, to thank him forhis hospitality--and, I need not say, to present my offering at my idol'sshrine; and as I went, I conned over a dozen complimentary speeches aboutLord Ellerton's wisdom, liberality, eloquence--but behold! the shutters ofthe house were closed. What could be the matter? It was full ten minutesbefore the door was opened; and then, at last, an old woman, her eyesred with weeping, made her appearance. My thoughts flew instantly toLillian--something must have befallen her. I gasped out her name first, andthen, recollecting myself, asked for the dean. 

"They had all left town that morning, "

"Miss--Miss Winnstay--is she ill?"

"No. "

"Thank God!" I breathed freely again. What matter what happened to all theworld beside?

"Ay, thank God, indeed; but poor Lord Ellerton was thrown from his horselast night and brought home dead. A messenger came here by six thismorning, and they're all gone off to * * * *. Her ladyship's ravingmad. --And no wonder. " And she burst out crying afresh, and shut the door inmy face. 

Lord Ellerton dead! and Lillian gone too! Something whispered that I shouldhave cause to remember that day. My heart sunk within me. When should I seeher again?

That day was the 1st of June, 1845. On the 10th of April, 1848, I sawLillian Winnstay again. Dare I write my history between those two points oftime? Yes, even that must be done, for the sake of the rich who read, andthe poor who suffer. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE PLUSH BREECHES TRAGEDY. 

My triumph had received a cruel check enough when just at its height, andmore were appointed to follow. Behold! some two days after, another--allthe more bitter, because my conscience whispered that it was not altogetherundeserved. The people's press had been hitherto praising and petting melovingly enough. I had been classed (and heaven knows that the comparisonwas dearer to me than all the applause of the wealthy) with the Corn-LawRhymer, and the author of the "Purgatory of Suicides. " My class had claimedmy talents as their own--another "voice fresh from the heart of nature, "another "untutored songster of the wilderness, " another "prophet arisenamong the suffering millions, "--when, one day, behold in Mr. O'Flynn'spaper a long and fierce attack on me, my poems, my early history! How hecould have got at some of the facts there mentioned, how he could havedared to inform his readers that I had broken my mother's heart by mymisconduct, I cannot conceive; unless my worthy brother-in-law, the Baptistpreacher, had been kind enough to furnish him with the materials. Buthowever that may be, he showed me no mercy. I was suddenly discovered to bea time-server, a spy, a concealed aristocrat. Such paltry talent as I had, I had prostituted for the sake of fame. I had deserted The People's Causefor filthy lucre--an allurement which Mr. O'Flynn had always treated withwithering scorn--_in print_. Nay, more, I would write, and notoriously didwrite, in any paper, Whig, Tory, or Radical, where I could earn a shillingby an enormous gooseberry, or a scrap of private slander. And the workingmen were solemnly warned to beware of me and my writings, till the editorhad further investigated certain ugly facts in my history, which he wouldin due time report to his patriotic and enlightened readers. 

All this stung me in the most sensitive nerve of my whole heart, for Iknew that I could not altogether exculpate myself; and to that miserablecertainty was added the dread of some fresh exposure. Had he actually heardof the omissions in my poems?--and if he once touched on that subject, what could I answer? Oh! how bitterly now I felt the force of the critic'scareless lash! The awful responsibility of those written words, whichwe bandy about so thoughtlessly! How I recollected now, with shame andremorse, all the hasty and cruel utterances to which I, too, had givenvent against those who had dared to differ from me; the harsh, one-sidedjudgments, the reckless imputations of motive, the bitter sneers, "rejoicing in evil rather than in the truth. " How I, too, had longed toprove my victims in the wrong, and turned away, not only lazily, butangrily, from many an exculpatory fact! And here was my Nemesis come atlast. As I had done unto others, so it was done unto me!

It was right that it should be so. However indignant, mad, almostmurderous, I felt at the time, I thank God for it now. It is good to bepunished in kind. It is good to be made to feel what we have made othersfeel. It is good--anything is good, however bitter, which shows us thatthere is such a law as retribution; that we are not the sport of blindchance or a triumphant fiend, but that there is a God who judges theearth--righteous to repay every man according to his works. 

But at the moment I had no such ray of comfort--and, full of rage andshame, I dashed the paper down before Mackaye. "How shall I answer him?What shall I say?"

The old man read it all through, with a grim saturnine smile. 

"Hoolie, hoolie, speech, is o' silver--silence is o' gold says ThomasCarlyle, anent this an' ither matters. Wha'd be fashed wi' sic blethers?Ye'll just abide patient, and haud still in the Lord, until this tyranny beowerpast. Commit your cause to him, said the auld Psalmist, an' he'll makyour righteousness as clear as the light, an' your just dealing as thenoonday. "

"But I must explain; I owe it as a duty to myself; I must refute thesecharges; I must justify myself to our friends. "

"Can ye do that same, laddie?" asked he, with one of his quaint, searchinglooks. Somehow I blushed, and could not altogether meet his eye, while hewent on, "--An' gin ye could, whaur would ye do 't? I ken na periodicalwhar the editor will gie ye a clear stage an' no favour to bang him owerthe lugs. "

"Then I will try some other paper. "

"An' what for then? They that read him, winna read the ither; an' they thatread the ither, winna read him. He has his ain set o' dupes like everyither editor; an' ye mun let him gang his gate, an' feed his ain kye withhis ain hay. He'll no change it for your bidding. "

"What an abominable thing this whole business of the press is then, if eacheditor is to be allowed to humbug his readers at his pleasure, without apossibility of exposing or contradicting him!"

"An' ye've just spoken the truth, laddie. There's na mair accursedinquisition, than this of thae self-elected popes, the editors. Thatpuir auld Roman ane, ye can bring him forat when ye list, bad as heis. 'Fænum habet in cornu;' his name's ower his shop-door. But theseanonymies--priests o' the order of Melchisedec by the deevil's side, without father or mither, beginning o' years nor end o' days--without alocal habitation or a name-as kittle to baud as a brock in a cairn--"

"What do you mean, Mr. Mackaye?" asked I, for he was getting altogetherunintelligibly Scotch, as was his custom when excited. 

"Ou, I forgot; ye're a puir Southern body, an' no sensible to thegran' metaphoric powers o' the true Dawric. But it's an accursit statea'thegither, the noo, this, o' the anonymous press--oreeginally devised, yeken, by Balaam the son o' Beor, for serving God wi'out the deevil's findingit out--an' noo, after the way o' human institutions, translated owerto help folks to serve the deevil without God's finding it out. I'm no'astonished at the puir expiring religious press for siccan a fa'; but forthe working men to be a' that's bad--it's grewsome to behold. I'll tell yewhat, my bairn, there's na salvation for the workmen, while they defilethemselves this fashion, wi' a' the very idols o' their ain tyrants--wi'salvation by act o' parliament--irresponsible rights o' property--anonymousBalaamry--fechtin' that canny auld farrant fiend, Mammon, wi' his ainweapons--and then a' fleyed, because they get well beaten for their pains. I'm sair forfaughten this mony a year wi' watching the puir gowks, tryingto do God's wark wi' the deevil's tools. Tak tent o' that. "

And I did "tak tent o' it. " Still there would have been as little presentconsolation as usual in Mackaye's unwelcome truths, even if the matter hadstopped there. But, alas! it did not stop there. O'Flynn seemed determinedto "run a muck" at me. Every week some fresh attack appeared. The verypassages about the universities and church property, which had caused ourquarrel, were paraded against me, with free additions and comments; and, atlast, to my horror, out came the very story which I had all along dreaded, about the expurgation of my poems, with the coarsest allusions to petticoatinfluence--aristocratic kisses--and the Duchess of Devonshire canvassingdraymen for Fox, &c. , &c. How he got a clue to the scandal I cannotconceive. Mackaye and Crossthwaite, I had thought, were the only souls towhom I had ever breathed the secret, and they denied indignantly the havingever betrayed my weakness. How it came out, I say again, I cannot conceive;except because it is a great everlasting law, and sure to fulfil itselfsooner or later, as we may see by the histories of every remarkable, andmany an unremarkable, man--"There is nothing secret, but it shall be mademanifest; and whatsoever ye have spoken in the closet, shall be proclaimedupon the house-tops. "

For some time after that last exposure, I was thoroughly crest-fallen--andnot without reason. I had been giving a few lectures among the working men, on various literary and social subjects. I found my audience decrease--andthose who remained seemed more inclined to hiss than to applaud me. Invain I ranted and quoted poetry, often more violently than my own opinionsjustified. My words touched no responsive chord in my hearers' hearts; theyhad lost faith in me. 

At last, in the middle of a lecture on Shelley, I was indulging, andhonestly too, in some very glowing and passionate praise of the truenobleness of a man, whom neither birth nor education could blind to theevils of society; who, for the sake of the suffering many, could trampleunder foot his hereditary pride, and become an outcast for the People'sCause. 

I heard a whisper close to me, from one whose opinion I valued, and valuestill--a scholar and a poet, one who had tasted poverty, and slander, and aprison, for The Good Cause:

"Fine talk: but it's 'all in his day's work. ' Will he dare to say thatto-morrow to the ladies at the West-end?"

No--I should not. I knew it; and at that instant I felt myself a liar, and stopped short--my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I fumbledat my papers--clutched the water-tumbler--tried to go on--stopped shortagain--caught up my hat, and rushed from the room, amid peals of astonishedlaughter. 

It was some months after this that, fancying the storm blown over, Isummoned up courage enough to attend a political meeting of our party; buteven there my Nemesis met full face. After some sanguinary speech, I reallyforgot from whom, and, if I recollected, God forbid that I should tell now, I dared to controvert, mildly enough, Heaven knows, some especially franticassertion or other. But before I could get out three sentences, O'Flynnflew at me with a coarse invective, hounded on, by-the-by, by one who, calling himself a gentleman, might have been expected to know better. But, indeed, he and O'Flynn had the same object in view, which was simplyto sell their paper; and as a means to that great end, to pander to thefiercest passions of their readers, to bully and silence all moderate andrational Chartists, and pet and tar on the physical-force men, till thepoor fellows began to take them at their word. Then, when it came to deedsand not to talk, and people got frightened, and the sale of the paperdecreased a little, a blessed change came over them--and they awoke onemorning meeker than lambs; "ulterior measures" had vanished back intothe barbarous ages, pikes, vitriol-bottles, and all; and the public wereentertained with nothing but homilies on patience and resignation, the"triumphs of moral justice, " the "omnipotence of public opinion, " and the"gentle conquests of fraternal love"--till it was safe to talk treason andslaughter again. 

But just then treason happened to be at a premium. Sedition, which had beenfloundering on in a confused, disconsolate, underground way ever since1842, was supposed by the public to be dead; and for that very reason itwas safe to talk it, or, at least, back up those who chose to do so. Andso I got no quarter--though really, if the truth must be told, I had saidnothing unreasonable. 

Home I went disgusted, to toil on at my hack-writing, only praying that Imight be let alone to scribble in peace, and often thinking, sadly, howlittle my friends in Harley-street could guess at the painful experience, the doubts, the struggles, the bitter cares, which went to the making ofthe poetry which they admired so much!

I was not, however, left alone to scribble in peace, either by O'Flynn orby his readers, who formed, alas! just then, only too large a portion ofthe thinking artizans; every day brought some fresh slight or annoyancewith it, till I received one afternoon, by the Parcels Delivery Company, a large unpaid packet, containing, to my infinite disgust, an old pair ofyellow plush breeches, with a recommendation to wear them, whose meaningcould not be mistaken. 

Furious, I thrust the unoffending garment into the lire, and held it therewith the tongs, regardless of the horrible smell which accompanied itsmartyrdom, till the lady-lodger on the first floor rushed down to inquirewhether the house was on fire. 

I answered by hurling a book at her head, and brought down a volley ofabuse, under which I sat in sulky patience, till Mackaye and Crossthwaitecame in, and found her railing in the doorway, and me sitting over thefire, still intent on the frizzling remains of the breeches. 

"Was this insult of your invention, Mr. Crossthwaite?" asked I, in a toneof lofty indignation, holding up the last scrap of unroasted plush. 

Roars of laughter from both of them made me only more frantic, and I brokeout so incoherently, that it was some time before the pair could make outthe cause of my fury. 

"Upon my honour, Locke, " quoth John, at last, holding his sides, "Inever sent them; though, on the whole--you've made my stomach ache withlaughing. I can't speak. But you must expect a joke or two, after your latefashionable connexions. "

I stood, still and white with rage. 

"Really, my good fellow, how can you wonder if our friends suspect you?Can you deny that you've been off and on lately between flunkeydom and TheCause, like a donkey between two bundles of hay? Have you not neglectedour meetings? Have you not picked all the spice out of your poems? And canyou expect to eat your cake and keep it too? You must be one thing or theother; and, though Sandy, here, is too kind-hearted to tell you, you havedisappointed us both miserably--and there's the long and short of it. "

I hid my face in my hands, and sat moodily over the fire; my consciencetold me that I had nothing to answer. 

"Whisht, Johnnie! Ye're ower sair on the lad. He's a' right at heart still, an he'll do good service. But the deevil a'ways fechts hardest wi' themhe's maist 'feard of. What's this anent agricultural distress ye had totell me the noo?"

"There is a rising down in the country, a friend of mine writes me. Thepeople are starving, not because bread is dear, but because it's cheap;and, like sensible men, they're going to have a great meeting, to inquirethe rights and wrong of all that. Now, I want to send a deputation down, tosee how far they are inclined to go, and let them know we up in London arewith them. And then we might get up a corresponding association, you know. It's a great opening for spreading the principles of the Charter. "

"I sair misdoubt, it's just bread they'll be wanting, they labourers, mairthan liberty. Their God is their belly, I'm thinking, and a verra poorempty idol he is the noo; sma' burnt offerings and fat o' rams he gets topropitiate him. But ye might send down a canny body, just to spy out thenakedness o' the land. "

"I will go, " I said, starting up. "They shall see that I do care for TheCause. If it's a dangerous mission, so much the better. It will prove mysincerity. Where is the place?"

"About ten miles from D * * * *. "

"D * * * *!" My heart sank. If it had been any other spot in England! Butit was too late to retract. Sandy saw what was the matter, and tried toturn the subject; but I was peremptory, almost rude with him. I felt I mustkeep up my present excitement, or lose my heart, and my caste, for ever;and as the hour for the committee was at hand, I jumped up and set offthither with them, whether they would or not. I heard Sandy whisper toCrossthwaite, and turned quite fiercely on him. 

"If you want to speak about me, speak out. If you fancy that I shall let myconnexion with that place" (I could not bring myself to name it) "stand inthe way of my duty, you do not know me. "

I announced my intention at the meeting. It was at first received coldly;but I spoke energetically--perhaps, as some told me afterwards, actuallyeloquently. When I got heated, I alluded to my former stay at D * * * *, and said (while my heart sunk at the bravado which I was uttering) that Ishould consider it a glory to retrieve my character with them, and devotemyself to the cause of the oppressed, in the very locality whence had firstarisen their unjust and pardonable suspicions. In short, generous, trustinghearts as they were, and always are, I talked them round; they shook me bythe hand one by one, bade me God speed, told me that I stood higher thanever in their eyes, and then set to work to vote money from their funds formy travelling expenses, which I magnanimously refused, saying that I had apound or two left from the sale of my poems, and that I must be allowed, asan act of repentance and restitution, to devote it to The Cause. 

My triumph was complete. Even O'Flynn, who, like all Irishmen, had plentyof loose good-nature at bottom, and was as sudden and furious in his lovesas in his hostilities, scrambled over the benches, regardless of patriots'toes, to shake me violently by the hand, and inform me that I was "a brothof a boy, " and that "any little disagreements between us had vanished likea passing cloud from the sunshine of our fraternity"--when my eye wascaught by a face which there was no mistaking--my cousin's!

Yes, there he sat, watching me like a basilisk, with his dark, glittering, mesmeric eyes, out of a remote corner of the room--not in contempt oranger, but there was a quiet, assured, sardonic smile about his lips, whichchilled me to the heart. 

The meeting was sufficiently public to allow of his presence, but how hadhe found out its existence? Had he come there as a spy on me? Had he beenin the room when my visit to D * * * * was determined on? I trembled at thethought; and I trembled, too, lest he should be daring enough--and I knewhe could dare anything--to claim acquaintance with me there and then. Itwould have ruined my new-restored reputation for ever. But he sat still andsteady: and I had to go through the rest of the evening's business underthe miserable, cramping knowledge that every word and gesture was beingnoted down by my most deadly enemy; trembling whenever I was addressed, lest some chance word of an acquaintance would implicate me stillfurther--though, indeed, I was deep enough already. The meeting seemedinterminable; and there I fidgeted, with my face scarlet--always seeingthose basilisk eyes upon me--in fancy--for I dared not look again towardsthe corner where I knew they were. 

At last it was over--the audience went out; and when I had courage to lookround, my cousin had vanished among them. A load was taken off my breast, and I breathed freely again--for five minutes;--for I had not made tensteps up the street, when an arm was familiarly thrust through mine, and Ifound myself in the clutches of my evil genius. 

"How are you, my dear fellow? Expected to meet you there. Why, what anorator you are! Really, I haven't heard more fluent or passionate Englishthis month of Sundays. You must give me a lesson in sermon-preaching. I cantell you, we parsons want a hint or two in that line. So you're going downto D * * * *, to see after those poor starving labourers? 'Pon my honour, I've a great mind to go with you. "

So, then, he knew all! However, there was nothing for it but to brazenit out; and, besides, I was in his power, and however hateful to me hisseeming cordiality might be, I dared not offend him at that moment. 

"It would be well if you did. If you parsons would show yourselves at suchplaces as these a little oftener, you would do more to make the peoplebelieve your mission real, than by all the tracts and sermons in theworld. "

"But, my dear cousin" (and he began to snuffle and sink his voice), "thereis so much sanguinary language, so much unsanctified impatience, youfrighten away all the meek apostolic men among the priesthood--the veryones who feel most for the lost sheep of the flock. 

"Then the parsons are either great Pharisees or great cowards, or both. "

"Very likely. I was in a precious fright myself, I know, when I saw yourecognized me. If I had not felt strengthened, you know, as of course oneought to be in all trials, by the sense of my holy calling, I think Ishould have bolted at once. However, I took the precaution of bringing myBowie and revolver with me, in case the worst came to the worst. "

"And a very needless precaution it was, " said I, half laughing at thequaint incongruity of the priestly and the lay elements in his speech. "Youdon't seem to know much of working men's meetings, or working men's morals. Why, that place was open to all the world. The proceedings will be in thenewspaper to-morrow. The whole bench of bishops might have been there, ifthey had chosen; and a great deal of good it would have done them!"

"I fully agree with you, my dear fellow. No one hates the bishops more thanwe true high-churchmen, I can tell you--that's a great point of sympathybetween us and the people. But I must be off. By-the-by, would you like meto tell our friends at D * * * * that I met you? They often ask after youin their letters, I assure you. "

This was a sting of complicated bitterness. I felt all that it meant atonce. So he was in constant correspondence with them, while I--and thatthought actually drove out of my head the more pressing danger of hisutterly ruining me in their esteem, by telling them, as he had a very goodright to do, that I was going to preach Chartism to discontented mobs. 

"Ah! well! perhaps you wouldn't wish it mentioned? As you like, youknow. Or, rather, " and he laid an iron grasp on my arm, and dropped hisvoice--this time in earnest--"as you behave, my wise and loyal cousin! Goodnight. "

I went home--the excitement of self-applause, which the meeting had calledup, damped by a strange weight of foreboding. And yet I could not helplaughing, when, just as I was turning into bed, Crossthwaite knocked atmy door, and, on being admitted, handed over to me a bundle wrapped up inpaper. 

"There's a pair of breeks for you--not plush ones, this time, oldfellow--but you ought to look as smart as possible. There's so much in aman's looking dignified, and all that, when he's speechifying. So I'vejust brought you down my best black trousers to travel in. We're just ofa size, you know; little and good, like a Welshman's cow. And if you tearthem, why, we're not like poor, miserable, useless aristocrats; tailorsand sailors can mend their own rents. " And he vanished, whistling the"Marseillaise. "

I went to bed and tossed about, fancying to myself my journey, my speech, the faces of the meeting, among which Lillian's would rise, in spite of allthe sermons which I preached to myself on the impossibility of her beingthere, of my being known, of any harm happening from the movement; but Icould not shake off the fear. If there were a riot, a rising!--If any harmwere to happen to her! If--Till, mobbed into fatigue by a rabble of suchmiserable hypothetic ghosts, I fell asleep, to dream that I was going to behanged for sedition, and that the mob were all staring and hooting at me, and Lillian clapping her hands and setting them on; and I woke in an agony, to find Sandy Mackaye standing by my bedside with a light. 

"Hoolie, laddie! ye need na jump up that way. I'm no' gaun to burke ye thenicht; but I canna sleep; I'm sair misdoubtful o' the thing. It seems a'richt, an' I've been praying for us, an' that's mickle for me, to be taughtour way; but I dinna see aught for ye but to gang. If your heart is richtwith God in this matter, then he's o' your side, an' I fear na what men maydo to ye. An' yet, ye're my Joseph, as it were, the son o' my auld age, wi'a coat o' many colours, plush breeks included; an' gin aught take ye, ye'llbring down my grey haffets wi' sorrow to the grave!"

The old man gazed at me as be spoke, with a deep, earnest affection Ihad never seen in him before; and the tears glistened in his eyes by theflaring candlelight, as he went on:

"I ha' been reading the Bible the nicht. It's strange how the words o'trise up, and open themselves whiles, to puir distractit bodies; though, maybe, no' always in just the orthodox way. An' I fell on that, 'BeholdI send ye forth as lambs in the midst o' wolves. Be ye therefore wise asserpents an' harmless as doves;' an' that gave me comfort, laddie, for ye. Mind the warning, dinna gang wud, whatever ye may see an' hear; it's anill way o' showing pity, to gang daft anent it. Dinna talk magniloquently;that's the workman's darling sin. An' mind ye dinna go too deep wi' them. Ye canna trust them to understand ye; they're puir foolish sheep that ha'no shepherd--swine that ha' no wash, rather. So cast na your pearls beforeswine, laddie, lest they trample them under their feet, an' turn again an'rend ye. "

He went out, and I lay awake tossing till morning, making a thousand goodresolutions--like the rest of mankind. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE MEN WHO ARE EATEN. 

With many instructions from our friends, and warnings from Mackaye, Istarted next day on my journey. When I last caught sight of the old man, he was gazing fixedly after me, and using his pocket-handkerchief in asomewhat suspicious way. I had remarked how depressed he seemed, and my ownspirits shared the depression. A presentiment of evil hung over me, whichnot even the excitement of the journey--to me a rare enjoyment--coulddispel. I had no heart, somehow, to look at the country scenes around, which in general excited in me so much interest, and I tried to lose myselfin summing up my stock of information on the question which I expected tohear discussed by the labourers. I found myself not altogether ignorant. The horrible disclosures of S. G. O. , and the barbarous abominations ofthe Andover Workhouse, then fresh in the public mind, had had their dueeffect on mine; and, like most thinking artizans, I had acquainted myselftolerably from books and newspapers with the general condition of thecountry labourers. 

I arrived in the midst of a dreary, treeless country, whose broad brown andgrey fields were only broken by an occasional line of dark, doleful firs, at a knot of thatched hovels, all sinking and leaning every way but theright, the windows patched with paper, the doorways stopped with filth, which surrounded a beer-shop. That was my destination--unpromising enoughfor any one but an agitator. If discontent and misery are preparatives forliberty--and they are--so strange and unlike ours are the ways of God--Iwas likely enough to find them there. 

I was welcomed by my intended host, a little pert, snub-nosed shoemaker, who greeted me as his cousin from London--a relationship which it seemedprudent to accept. 

He took me into his little cabin, and there, with the assistance of ashrewd, good-natured wife, shared with me the best he had; and after suppercommenced, mysteriously and in trembling, as if the very walls might haveears, a rambling, bitter diatribe on the wrongs and sufferings of thelabourers; which went on till late in the night, and which I shall spare myreaders: for if they have either brains or hearts, they ought to know morethan I can tell them, from the public prints, and, indeed, from their owneyes--although, as a wise man says, there is nothing more difficult than tomake people see first the facts which lie under their own nose. 

Upon one point, however, which was new to me, he was very fierce--thecustoms of landlords letting the cottages with their farms, for the meresake of saving themselves trouble; thus giving up all power of protectingthe poor man, and delivering him over, bound hand and foot, even in thematter of his commonest home comforts, to farmers, too penurious, tooignorant, and often too poor, to keep the cottages in a state fit for thehabitation of human beings. Thus the poor man's hovel, as well as hislabour, became, he told me, a source of profit to the farmer, out of whichhe wrung the last drop of gain. The necessary repairs were always putoff as long as possible--the labourers were robbed of their gardens--theslightest rebellion lost them not only work, but shelter from the elements;the slavery under which they groaned penetrated even to the fireside and tothe bedroom. 

"And who was the landlord of this parish?"

"Oh! he believed he was a very good sort of man, and uncommon kind to thepeople where he lived, but that was fifty miles away in another country;and he liked that estate better than this, and never came down here, exceptfor the shooting. "

Full of many thoughts, and tired out with my journey, I went up to bed, inthe same loft with the cobbler and his wife, and fell asleep, and dreamt ofLillian. 

 * * * * *

About eight o'clock the next morning I started forth with my guide, theshoemaker, over as desolate a country as men can well conceive. Not a housewas to be seen for miles, except the knot of hovels which we had left, and here and there a great dreary lump of farm-buildings, with its yardof yellow stacks. Beneath our feet the earth was iron, and the sky ironabove our heads. Dark curdled clouds, "which had built up everywhere anunder-roof of doleful grey, " swept on before the bitter northern wind, which whistled through the low leafless hedges and rotting wattles, andcrisped the dark sodden leaves of the scattered hollies, almost the onlytrees in sight. 

We trudged on, over wide stubbles, with innumerable weeds; over widefallows, in which the deserted ploughs stood frozen fast; then over cloverand grass, burnt black with frost; then over a field of turnips, where wepassed a large fold of hurdles, within which some hundred sheep stood, withtheir heads turned from the cutting blast. All was dreary, idle, silent;no sound or sign of human beings. One wondered where the people lived, whocultivated so vast a tract of civilized, over-peopled, nineteenth-centuryEngland. As we came up to the fold, two little boys hailed us from theinside--two little wretches with blue noses and white cheeks, scarecrows ofrags and patches, their feet peeping through bursten shoes twice too bigfor them, who seemed to have shared between them a ragged pair of worstedgloves, and cowered among the sheep, under the shelter of a hurdle, cryingand inarticulate with cold. 

"What's the matter, boys?"

"Turmits is froze, and us can't turn the handle of the cutter. Do ye gie usa turn, please?"

We scrambled over the hurdles, and gave the miserable little creatures thebenefit of ten minutes' labour. They seemed too small for such exertion:their little hands were purple with chilblains, and they were so sorefootedthey could scarcely limp. I was surprised to find them at least three yearsolder than their size and looks denoted, and still more surprised, too, tofind that their salary for all this bitter exposure to the elements--suchas I believe I could not have endured two days running--was the vast sumof one shilling a week each, Sundays included. "They didn't never go toschool, nor to church nether, except just now and then, sometimes--they hadto mind the shop. "

I went on, sickened with the contrast between the highly-bred, over-fed, fat, thick-woolled animals, with their troughs of turnips and malt-dust, and their racks of rich clover-hay, and their little pent-house ofrock-salt, having nothing to do but to eat and sleep, and eat again, andthe little half-starved shivering animals who were their slaves. Manthe master of the brutes? Bah! As society is now, the brutes are themasters--the horse, the sheep, the bullock, is the master, and the laboureris their slave. "Oh! but the brutes are eaten!" Well; the horses at leastare not eaten--they live, like landlords, till they die. And those who areeaten, are certainly not eaten by their human servants. The sheep they fat, another kills, to parody Shelley; and, after all, is not the labourer, aswell as the sheep, eaten by you, my dear Society?--devoured body and soul, not the less really because you are longer about the meal, there being anold prejudice against cannibalism, and also against murder--except afterthe Riot Act has been read. 

"What!" shriek the insulted respectabilities, "have we not paid him hiswages weekly, and has he not lived upon them?" Yes; and have you not givenyour sheep and horses their daily wages, and have they not lived on them?You wanted to work them; and they could not work, you know, unless theywere alive. But here lies your iniquity: you gave the labourer nothing buthis daily food--not even his lodgings; the pigs were not stinted of theirwash to pay for their sty-room, the man was; and his wages, thanks to yourcompetitive system, were beaten down deliberately and conscientiously(for was it not according to political economy, and the laws thereof?)to the minimum on which he could or would work, without the hope or thepossibility of saving a farthing. You know how to invest your capitalprofitably, dear Society, and to save money over and above your income ofdaily comforts; but what has he saved?--what is he profited by all thoseyears of labour? He has kept body and soul together--perhaps he couldhave done that without you or your help. But his wages are used up everySaturday night. When he stops working, you have in your pocket the wholereal profits of his nearly fifty years' labour, and he has nothing. Andthen you say that you have not eaten him! You know, in your heart ofhearts, that you have. Else, why in Heaven's name do you pay him poor'srates? If, as you say, he has been duly repaid in wages, what is themeaning of that half-a-crown a week?--you owe him nothing. Oh! but the manwould starve--common humanity forbids? What now, Society? Give him alms, ifyou will, on the score of humanity; but do not tax people for his support, whether they choose or not--that were a mere tyranny and robbery. If thelandlord's feelings will not allow him to see the labourer starve, lethim give, in God's name; but let him not cripple and drain, by compulsorypoor-rates, the farmer who has paid him his "just remuneration" of wages, and the parson who probably, out of his scanty income, gives away twice asmuch in alms as the landlord does out of his superfluous one. No, no; aslong as you retain compulsory poor-laws, you confess that it is not merelyhumane, but just, to pay the labourer more than his wages. You confessyourself in debt to him, over and above an uncertain sum, which it suitsyou not to define, because such an investigation would expose ugly gaps andpatches in that same snug competitive and property world of yours; and, therefore, being the stronger party, you compel your debtor to give up theclaim which you confess, for an annuity of half-a-crown a week--that beingthe just-above-starving-point of the economic thermometer. And yet you sayyou have not eaten the labourer! You see, we workmen too have our thoughtsabout political economy, differing slightly from yours, truly--just as theman who is being hanged may take a somewhat different view of the processfrom the man who is hanging him. Which view is likely to be the morepractical one?

With some such thoughts I walked across the open down, toward a circularcamp, the earthwork, probably, of some old British town. Inside it, somethousand or so of labouring people were swarming restlessly round a singlelarge block of stone, some relic of Druid times, on which a tall man stood, his dark figure thrown out in bold relief against the dreary sky. As wepushed through the crowd, I was struck with the wan, haggard look of allfaces; their lacklustre eyes and drooping lips, stooping shoulders, heavy, dragging steps, gave them a crushed, dogged air, which was infinitelypainful, and bespoke a grade of misery more habitual and degrading thanthat of the excitable and passionate artisan. 

There were many women among them, talking shrilly, and looking even morepinched and wan than the men. 

I remarked, also, that many of the crowd carried heavy sticks, pitchforks, and other tools which might be used as fearful weapons--an ugly sign, whichI ought to have heeded betimes. 

They glared with sullen curiosity at me and my Londoner's clothes, as, withno small feeling of self-importance, I pushed my way to the foot of thestone. The man who stood on it seemed to have been speaking some time. Hiswords, like all I heard that day, were utterly devoid of anything likeeloquence or imagination--a dull string of somewhat incoherent complaints, which derived their force only from the intense earnestness, which attestedtheir truthfulness. As far as I can recollect, I will give the substance ofwhat I heard. But, indeed, I heard nothing but what has been bandied aboutfrom newspaper to newspaper for years--confessed by all parties, deploredby all parties, but never an attempt made to remedy it. 

--"The farmers makes slaves on us. I can't hear no difference between aChristian and a nigger, except they flogs the niggers and starves theChristians; and I don't know which I'd choose. I served Farmer * * * *seven year, off and on, and arter harvest he tells me he's no more workfor me, nor my boy nether, acause he's getting too big for him, so he getsa little 'un instead, and we does nothing; and my boy lies about, gettinginto bad ways, like hundreds more; and then we goes to board, and they bidsus go and look for work; and we goes up next part to London. I couldn'tget none; they'd enough to do, they said, to employ their own; and webegs our way home, and goes into the Union; and they turns us out againin two or three days, and promises us work again, and gives us two days'gravel-picking, and then says they has no more for us; and we was sorepinched, and laid a-bed all day; then next board-day we goes to 'em andthey gives us one day more--and that threw us off another week, and thennext board-day we goes into the Union again for three days, and gets sentout again: and so I've been starving one-half of the time, and they puttingus off and on o' purpose like that; and I'll bear it no longer, and that'swhat I says. "

He came down, and a tall, powerful, well-fed man, evidently in his Sundaysmock-frock and clean yellow leggings, got up and began:

"I hav'n't no complaint to make about myself. I've a good master, andthe parson's a right kind 'un, and that's more than all can say, and thesquire's a real gentleman; and my master, he don't need to lower his wages. I gets my ten shillings a week all the year round, and harvesting, and apig, and a 'lotment--and that's just why I come here. If I can get it, whycan't you?"

"Cause our masters baint like yourn. "

"No, by George, there baint no money round here like that, I can tell you. "

"And why ain't they?" continued the speaker. "There's the shame on it. There's my master can grow five quarters where yourn only grows three; andso he can live and pay like a man; and so he say he don't care for freetrade. You know, as well as I, that there's not half o' the land round heregrows what it ought. They ain't no money to make it grow more, and besides, they won't employ no hands to keep it clean. I come across more weeds inone field here, than I've seen for nine year on our farm. Why arn't some ofyou a-getting they weeds up? It 'ud pay 'em to farm better--and they knowsthat, but they're too lazy; if they can just get a living off the land, they don't care; and they'd sooner save money out of your wages, than saveit by growing more corn--it's easier for 'em, it is. There's the work tobe done, and they won't let you do it. There's you crying out for work, and work crying out for you--and neither of you can get to the other. Isay that's a shame, I do. I say a poor man's a slave. He daren't leave hisparish--nobody won't employ him, as can employ his own folk. And if hestays in his parish, it's just a chance whether he gets a good master ora bad 'un. He can't choose, and that's a shame, it is. Why should he gostarving because his master don't care to do the best by the land? If theycan't till the land, I say let them get out of it, and let them work it ascan. And I think as we ought all to sign a petition to government, to tell'em all about it; though I don't see as how they could help us, unlessthey'd make a law to force the squires to put in nobody to a farm as hasn'tmoney to work it fairly. "

"I says, " said the next speaker, a poor fellow whose sentences werecontinually broken by a hacking cough, "just what he said. If they can'ttill the land, let them do it as can. But they won't; they won't let ushave a scrap on it, though we'd pay 'em more for it nor ever they'd makefor themselves. But they says it 'ud make us too independent, if we had anacre or so o' land; and so it 'ud for they. And so I says as he did--theywant to make slaves on us altogether, just to get the flesh and bones offus at their own price. Look you at this here down. --If I had an acre on it, to make a garden on, I'd live well with my wages, off and on. Why, if thishere was in garden, it 'ud be worth twenty, forty times o' that it be now. And last spring I lays out o' work from Christmas till barley-sowing, andI goes to the farmer and axes for a bit o' land to dig and plant a fewpotatoes--and he says, 'You be d--d! If you're minding your garden afterhours, you'll not be fit to do a proper day's work for me in hours--and Ishall want you by-and-by, when the weather breaks'--for it was frost mostbitter, it was. 'And if you gets potatoes you'll be getting a pig--and thenyou'll want straw, and meal to fat 'un--and then I'll not trust you inmy barn, I can tell ye;' and so there it was. And if I'd had only onehalf-acre of this here very down as we stands on, as isn't worth fiveshillings a year--and I'd a given ten shillings for it--my belly wouldn't abeen empty now. Oh, they be dogs in the manger, and the Lord'll reward 'emtherefor! First they says they can't afford to work the land 'emselves, andthen they wain't let us work it ether. Then they says prices is so low theycan't keep us on, and so they lowers our wages; and then when prices goesup ever so much, our wages don't go up with 'em. So, high prices or lowprices, it's all the same. With the one we can't buy bread, and with theother we can't get work. I don't mind free trade--not I: to be sure, ifthe loaf's cheap, we shall be ruined; but if the loafs dear, we shall bestarved, and for that, we is starved now. Nobody don't care for us; for mypart, I don't much care for myself. A man must die some time or other. OnlyI thinks if we could some time or other just see the Queen once, and tellher all about it, she'd take our part, and not see us put upon like that, Ido. "

"Gentlemen!" cried my guide, the shoemaker, in a somewhat conceited anddictatorial tone, as he skipped up by the speaker's side, and gentlyshouldered him down--"it ain't like the ancient times, as I've read off, when any poor man as had a petition could come promiscuously to the King'sroyal presence, and put it direct into his own hand, and be treated like agentleman. Don't you know as how they locks up the Queen now-a-days, andnever lets a poor soul come a-near her, lest she should hear the truthof all their iniquities? Why they never lets her stir without a lot o'dragoons with drawn swords riding all around her; and if you dared to goup to her to ax mercy, whoot! they'd chop your head off before you couldsay, 'Please your Majesty. ' And then the hypocrites say as it's to keep herfrom being frightened--and that's true--for it's frightened she'd be, witha vengeance, if she knowed all that they grand folks make poor labourerssuffer, to keep themselves in power and great glory. I tell ye, 'tarn'tper-practicable at all, to ax the Queen for anything; she's afeard ofher life on 'em. You just take my advice, and sign a round-robin to thesquires--you tell 'em as you're willing to till the land for 'em, ifthey'll let you. There's draining and digging enough to be done as 'ud keepye all in work, arn't there?"

"Ay, ay; there's lots o' work to be done, if so be we could get at it. Everybody knows that. "

"Well, you tell 'em that. Tell 'em here's hundreds, and hundreds of yestarving, and willing to work; and then tell 'em, if they won't find yework, they shall find ye meat. There's lots o' victuals in their lardersnow; haven't you as good a right to it as their jackanapes o' footmen? Thesquires is at the bottom of it all. What do you stupid fellows go grumblingat the farmers for? Don't they squires tax the land twenty or thirtyshillings an acre; and what do they do for that? The best of 'em, if hegets five thousand a year out o' the land, don't give back five hundred incharity, or schools, or poor-rates--and what's that to speak of? And themain of 'em--curse 'em!--they drains the money out o' the land, and takesit up to London, or into foreign parts, to spend on fine clothes and finedinners; or throws it away at elections, to make folks beastly drunk, andsell their souls for money--and we gets no good on it. I'll tell you whatit's come to, my men--that we can't afford no more landlords. We can'tafford 'em, and that's the truth of it!"

The crowd growled a dubious assent. 

"Oh, yes, you can grumble at the farmers, acause you deals with themfirst-hand; but you be too stupid to do aught but hunt by sight. I be anold dog, and I hunts cunning. I sees farther than my nose, I does, I larntpolitics to London when I was a prentice; and I ain't forgotten the plansof it. Look you here. The farmers, they say they can't live unless they canmake four rents, one for labour, and one for stock, and one for rent, andone for themselves; ain't that about right? Very well; just now they can'tmake four rents--in course they can't. Now, who's to suffer for that?--thefarmer as works, or the labourer as works, or the landlord as does nothing?But he takes care on himself. He won't give up his rent--not he. Perhapshe might give back ten per cent, and what's that?--two shillings an acre, maybe. What's that, if corn falls two pound a load, and more? Then thefarmer gets a stinting; and he can't stint hisself, he's bad enough offalready; he's forty shillings out o' pocket on every load of wheat--that'seight shillings, maybe, on every acre of his land on a four-courseshift--and where's the eight shillings to come from, for the landlord'sonly given him back two on it? He can't stint hisself, he daren't stinthis stock, and so he stints the labourers; and so it's you as pays thelandlord's rent--you, my boys, out o' your flesh and bones, you do--and youcan't afford it any longer, by the look of you--so just tell 'em so!"

This advice seemed to me as sadly unpractical as the rest. In short, thereseemed to be no hope, no purpose among them--and they felt it; and I couldhear, from the running comment of murmurs, that they were getting everymoment more fierce and desperate at the contemplation of their ownhelplessness--a mood which the next speech was not likely to soften. 

A pale, thin woman scrambled up on the stone, and stood there, her scantyand patched garments fluttering in the bitter breeze, as, with facesharpened with want, and eyes fierce with misery, she began, in aquerulous, 'scornful falsetto:

"I am an honest woman. I brought up seven children decently; and never axedthe parish for a farden, till my husband died. Then they tells me I cansupport myself and mine--and so I does. Early and late I hoed turmits, andearly and late I rep, and left the children at home to mind each other; andone on 'em fell into the fire, and is gone to heaven, blessed angel! andtwo more it pleased the Lord to take in the fever; and the next, I hope, will soon be out o' this miserable sinful world. But look you here: threeweeks agone, I goes to the board. I had no work. They say they could notrelieve me for the first week, because I had money yet to take. --Thehypocrites! they knowing as I couldn't but owe it all, and a lot morebeside. Next week they sends the officer to inquire. That was ten daysgone, and we starving. Then, on board-day, they gives me two loaves. Then, next week, they takes it off again. And when I goes over (five miles) tothe board to ax why--they'd find me work--and they never did; so we goeson starving for another week--for no one wouldn't trust us; how could theywhen we was in debt already a whole lot?--you're all in debt!"

"That we are. "

"There's some here as never made ten shillings a week in their lives, asowes twenty pounds at the shop!"

"Ay, and more--and how's a man ever to pay that?"

"So this week, when I comes, they offers me the house. Would I go intothe house? They'd be glad to have me, acause I'm strong and hearty and agood nurse. But would I, that am an honest woman, go to live with theyoffscourings--they"--(she used a strong word)--"would I be parted from mychildren? Would I let them hear the talk, and keep the company as they willthere, and learn all sorts o' sins that they never heard on, blessed beGod! I'll starve first, and see them starve too--though, Lord knows, it'shard. --Oh! it's hard, " she said, bursting into tears, "to leave them as Idid this morning, crying after their breakfasts, and I none to give 'em. I've got no bread--where should I? I've got no fire--how can I give oneshilling and sixpence a hundred for coals? And if I did, who'd fetch 'emhome? And if I dared break a hedge for a knitch o' wood, they'd put me inprison, they would, with the worst. What be I to do? What be you going todo? That's what I came here for. What be ye going to do for us women--usthat starve and stint, and wear our hands off for you men and yourchildren, and get hard words, and hard blows from you? Oh! if I was a man, I know what I'd do, I do! But I don't think you be men three parts o' you, or you'd not see the widow and the orphan starve as you do, and sit quietand grumble, as long as you can keep your own bodies and souls together. Eh! ye cowards!"

What more she would have said in her excitement, which had risen to anabsolute scream, I cannot tell; but some prudent friend pulled her down offthe stone, to be succeeded by a speaker more painful, if possible; an agedblind man, the worn-out melancholy of whose slow, feeble voice made myheart sink, and hushed the murmuring crowd into silent awe. 

Slowly he turned his grey, sightless head from side to side, as if feelingfor the faces below him--and then began:

"I heard you was all to be here--and I suppose you are; and I said I wouldcome--though I suppose they'll take off my pay, if they hear of it. But Iknows the reason of it, and the bad times and all. The Lord revealed it tome as clear as day, four years agone come Easter-tide. It's all along ofour sins, and our wickedness--because we forgot Him--it is. I mind the oldwar times, what times they was, when there was smuggled brandy up and downin every public, and work more than hands could do. And then, how we allforgot the Lord, and went after our own lusts and pleasures--squires andparsons, and farmers and labouring folk, all alike. They oughted toha' knowed better--and we oughted too. Many's the Sunday I spent inskittle-playing and cock-fighting, and the pound I spent in beer, as mightha' been keeping me now. We was an evil and perverse generation--and so oneo' my sons went for a sodger, and was shot at Waterloo, and the other fellinto evil ways, and got sent across seas--and I be left alone for mysins. But the Lord was very gracious to me and showed me how it was all ajudgment on my sins, he did. He has turned his face from us, and that's whywe're troubled. And so I don't see no use in this meeting. It won't do nogood; nothing won't do us no good, unless we all repent of our wicked ways, our drinking, and our dirt, and our love-children, and our picking andstealing, and gets the Lord to turn our hearts, and to come back again, andhave mercy on us, and take us away speedily out of this wretched world, where there's nothing but misery and sorrow, into His everlasting glory, Amen! Folks say as the day of judgment's a coming soon--and I partly thinkso myself. I wish it was all over, and we in heaven above; and that's all Ihave to say. "

It seemed a not unnatural revulsion, when a tall, fierce man, with aforbidding squint, sprung jauntily on the stone, and setting his armsa-kimbo, broke out:

"Here be I, Blinkey, and I has as good a right to speak as ere a one. You're all blamed fools, you are. So's that old blind buffer there. Yousticks like pigs in a gate, hollering and squeeking, and never helpingyourselves. Why can't you do like me? I never does no work--darned if I'llwork to please the farmers. The rich folks robs me, and I robs them, and that's fair and equal. You only turn poachers--you only go stealingturmits, and fire-ud, and all as you can find--and then you'll not need towork. Arn't it yourn? The game's no one's, is it now?--you know that. Andif you takes turmits or corn, they're yourn--you helped to grow 'em. Andif you're put to prison, I tell ye, it's a darned deal warmer, and bettervictuals too, than ever a one of you gets at home, let alone the Union. Now I knows the dodge. Whenever my wife's ready for her trouble, I getscotched; then I lives like a prince in gaol, and she goes to the workus;and when it's all over, start fair again. Oh, you blockheads'--to standhere shivering with empty bellies. --You just go down to the farm and burnthey stacks over the old rascal's head; and then they that let you starvenow, will be forced to keep you then. If you can't get your share of thepoor-rates, try the county-rates, my bucks--you can get fat on them at theQueen's expense--and that's more than you'll do in ever a Union as I hearon. Who'll come down and pull the farm about the folks' ears? Warn't he asturned five on yer off last week? and ain't he more corn there than 'udfeed you all round this day, and won't sell it, just because he'swaiting till folks are starved enough, and prices rise? Curse the oldvillain!--who'll help to disappoint him 'o that? Come along!"

A confused murmur arose, and a movement in the crowd. I felt that now ornever was the time to speak. If once the spirit of mad aimless riot brokeloose, I had not only no chance of a hearing, but every likelihood ofbeing implicated in deeds which I abhorred; and I sprung on the stone andentreated a few minutes' attention, telling them that I was a deputationfrom one of the London Chartist committees. This seemed to turn the streamof their thoughts, and they gaped in stupid wonder at me as I began hardlyless excited than themselves. 

I assured them of the sympathy of the London working men, made a commenton their own speeches--which the reader ought to be able to make forhimself--and told them that I had come to entreat their assistance towardsobtaining such a parliamentary representation as would secure them theirrights. I explained the idea of the Charter, and begged for their help incarrying it out. 

To all which they answered surlily, that they did not know anything aboutpolitics--that what they wanted was bread. 

I went on, more vehement than ever, to show them how all their miserysprung (as I then fancied) from being unrepresented--how the laws were madeby the rich for the poor, and not by all for all--how the taxes bit deepinto the necessaries of the labourer, and only nibbled at the luxuries ofthe rich--how the criminal code exclusively attacked the crimes to whichthe poor were prone, while it dared not interfere with the subtleriniquities of the high-born and wealthy--how poor-rates, as I have justsaid, were a confession on the part of society that the labourer was notfully remunerated. I tried to make them see that their interest, as much ascommon justice, demanded that they should have a voice in the councils ofthe nation, such as would truly proclaim their wants, their rights, theirwrongs; and I have seen no reason since then to unsay my words. 

To all which they answered, that their stomachs were empty, and they wantedbread. "And bread we will have!"

"Go, then, " I cried, losing my self-possession between disappointment andthe maddening desire of influence--and, indeed, who could hear their story, or even look upon their faces, and not feel some indignation stir in him. Unless self-interest had drugged his heart and conscience--"go, " I cried, "and get bread! After all, you have a right to it. No man is bound tostarve. There are rights above all laws, and the right to live is one. Lawswere made for man, not man for laws. If you had made the laws yourselves, they might bind you even in this extremity; but they were made in spite ofyou--against you. They rob you, crash you; even now they deny you bread. God has made the earth free to all, like the air and sunshine, and you areshut out from off it. The earth is yours, for you till it. Without you itwould be a desert. Go and demand your share of that corn, the fruit of yourown industry. What matter, if your tyrants imprison, murder you?--they canbut kill your bodies at once, instead of killing them piecemeal, as they donow; and your blood will cry against them from the ground:--Ay, Woe!"--Iwent on, carried away by feelings for which I shall make no apology; for, however confused, there was, and is, and ever will be, a God's truth inthem, as this generation will find out at the moment when its own sereneself-satisfaction crumbles underneath it--"Woe unto those that grind thefaces of the poor! Woe unto those who add house to house, and field tofield, till they stand alone in the land, and there is no room left for thepoor man! The wages of their reapers, which they have held back by fraud, cry out against them; and their cry has entered into the ears of the God ofheaven--"

But I had no time to finish. The murmur swelled into a roar for "Bread!Bread!" My hearers had taken me at my word. I had raised the spirit; couldI command him, now he was abroad?

"Go to Jennings's farm!"

"No! he ain't no corn, he sold un' all last week. "

"There's plenty at the Hall farm! Rouse out the old steward!"

And, amid yells and execrations, the whole mass poured down the hill, sweeping me away with them. I was shocked and terrified at their threats. I tried again and again to stop and harangue them. I shouted myself hoarseabout the duty of honesty; warned them against pillage and violence;entreated them to take nothing but the corn which they actually needed;but my voice was drowned in the uproar. Still I felt myself in a measureresponsible for their conduct; I had helped to excite them, and dare not, in honour, desert them; and trembling, I went on, prepared to see theworst; following, as a flag of distress, a mouldy crust, brandished on thepoint of a pitchfork. 

Bursting through the rotting and half-fallen palings, we entered a wide, rushy, neglected park, and along an old gravel road, now green with grass, we opened on a sheet of frozen water, and, on the opposite bank, the hugesquare corpse of a hall, the close-shuttered windows of which gave it adead and ghastly look, except where here and there a single one showed, asthrough a black empty eye-socket, the dark unfurnished rooms within. On theright, beneath us, lay, amid tall elms, a large mass of farm-buildings, into the yard of which the whole mob rushed tumultuously--just in time tosee an old man on horseback dart out and gallop hatless up the park, amidthe yells of the mob. 

"The old rascal's gone! and he'll call up the yeomanry. We must be quick, boys!" shouted one, and the first signs of plunder showed themselves in anindiscriminate chase after various screaming geese and turkeys; while afew of the more steady went up to the house-door, and knocking, demandedsternly the granary keys. 

A fat virago planted herself in the doorway, and commenced railing at them, with the cowardly courage which the fancied immunity of their sex givesto coarse women; but she was hastily shoved aside, and took shelter in anupper room, where she stood screaming and cursing at the window. 

The invaders returned, cramming their mouths with bread, and choppingasunder flitches of bacon. The granary doors were broken open, and thecontents scrambled for, amid immense waste, by the starving wretches. Itwas a sad sight. Here was a poor shivering woman, hiding scraps of foodunder her cloak, and hurrying out of the yard to the children she hadleft at home. There was a tall man, leaning against the palings, gnawingravenously at the same loaf as a little boy, who had scrambled up behindhim. Then a huge blackguard came whistling up to me, with a can of ale. "Drink, my beauty! you're dry with hollering by now!"

"The ale is neither yours nor mine; I won't touch it. "

"Darn your buttons! You said the wheat was ourn, acause we growed it--andthereby so's the beer--for we growed the barley too. "

And so thought the rest; for the yard was getting full of drunkards, awoman or two among them, reeling knee-deep in the loose straw among thepigs. 

"Thresh out they ricks!" roared another. 

"Get out the threshing-machine!"

"You harness the horses!"

"No! there bain't no time. Yeomanry'll be here. You mun leave the ricks. "

"Darned if we do. Old Woods shan't get naught by they. "

"Fire 'em, then, and go on to Slater's farm!"

"As well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, " hiccuped Blinkey, as he rushedthrough the yard with a lighted brand. I tried to stop him, but fell on myface in the deep straw, and got round the barns to the rick-yard just intime to here a crackle--there was no mistaking it; the windward stack wasin a blaze of fire. 

I stood awe-struck--I cannot tell how long--watching how the liveflame-snakes crept and hissed, and leapt and roared, and rushed in longhorizontal jets from stack to stack before the howling wind, and fastenedtheir fiery talons on the barn-eaves, and swept over the peaked roofs, andhurled themselves in fiery flakes into the yard beyond--the food of man, the labour of years, devoured in aimless ruin!--Was it my doing? Was itnot?

At last I recollected myself, and ran round again into the straw-yard, where the fire was now falling fast. The only thing which saved the housewas the weltering mass of bullocks, pigs, and human beings drunk and sober, which, trampled out unwittingly the flames as fast as they caught. 

The fire had seized the roofs of the cart-stables, when a great lubberlyboy blubbered out:--

"Git my horses out! git my horses out o' the fire! I be so fond o' mun!"

"Well, they ain't done no harm, poor beasts!" And a dozen men ran in tosave them; but the poor wretches, screaming with terror, refused to stir. Inever knew what became of them-but their shrieks still haunt my dreams. .. . 

The yard now became a pandemonium. The more ruffianly part of the mob--andalas! there were but too many of them--hurled the furniture out of thewindows, or ran off with anything that they could carry. In vain Iexpostulated, threatened; I was answered by laughter, curses, franticdances, and brandished plunder. Then I first found out how large a portionof rascality shelters itself under the wing of every crowd; and at themoment, I almost excused the rich for overlooking the real sufferers, inindignation at the rascals. But even the really starving majority, whosefaces proclaimed the grim fact of their misery, seemed gone mad for themoment. The old crust of sullen, dogged patience had broken up, and theirwhole souls had exploded into reckless fury and brutal revenge--and yetthere was no hint of violence against the red fat woman, who, surroundedwith her blubbering children, stood screaming and cursing at thefirst-floor window, getting redder and fatter at every scream. The worstpersonality she heard was a roar of laughter, in which, such is poorhumanity, I could not but join, as her little starved drab of amaid-of-all-work ran out of the door, with a bundle of stolen finery underher arm, and high above the roaring of the flames, and the shouts of therioters, rose her mistress's yell. 

"O Betsy! Betsy! you little awdacious unremorseful hussy!--a running awaywith my best bonnet and shawl!"

The laughter soon, however, subsided, when a man rushed breathless into theyard, shouting, "The yeomanry!"

At that sound; to my astonishment, a general panic ensued. The miserablewretches never stopped to enquire how many, or how far off, they were--butscrambled to every outlet of the yard, trampling each other down in theirhurry. I leaped up on the wall, and saw, galloping down the park, a mightyarmament of some fifteen men, with a tall officer at their head, mounted ona splendid horse. 

"There they be! there they be! all the varmers, and young Squire Claytonwi' mun, on his grey hunter! O Lord! O Lord! and all their swords drawn!"

I thought of the old story in Herodotus--how the Scythian masters returnedfrom war to the rebel slaves who had taken possession of their lands andwives, and brought them down on their knees with terror, at the mere sightof the old dreaded dog-whips. 

I did not care to run. I was utterly disgusted, disappointed withmyself--the people. I longed, for the moment, to die and leave it all; andleft almost alone, sat down on a stone, buried my head between my hands, and tried vainly to shut out from my ears the roaring of the fire. 

At that moment "Blinkey" staggered out past me and against me, awriting-desk in his hands, shouting, in his drunken glory, "I've vound utat last! I've got the old fellow's money! Hush! What a vule I be, holleringlike that!"--And he was going to sneak off, with a face of drunken cunning, when I sprung up and seized him by the throat. 

"Rascal! robber! lay that down! Have you not done mischief enough already?"

"I wain't have no sharing. What? Do you want un yourself, eh? Then we'llsee who's the stronger!"

And in an instant he shook me from him, and dealt me a blow with the cornerof the desk, that laid me on the ground. .. . 

I just recollect the tramp of the yeomanry horses, and the gleam and jingleof their arms, as they galloped into the yard. I caught a glimpse of thetall young officer, as his great grey horse swept through the air, overthe high yard-pales--a feat to me utterly astonishing. Half a dozen longstrides--the wretched ruffian, staggering across the field with his booty, was caught up. --The clear blade gleamed in the air--and then a fearfulyell--and after that I recollect nothing. 

 * * * * *

Slowly I recovered my consciousness. I was lying on a truckle-bed--stonewalls and a grated window! A man stood over me with a large bunch ofkeys in his hand. He had been wrapping my head with wet towels. I knew, instinctively, where I was. 

"Well, young man, " said he, in a not unkindly tone--"and a nice job you'vemade of it! Do you know where you are?". 

"Yes, " answered I, quietly; "in D * * * * gaol. "

"Exactly so!"

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE TRIAL. 

The day was come--quickly, thank Heaven; and I stood at the bar, with fouror five miserable, haggard labourers, to take my trial for sedition, riot, and arson. 

I had passed the intervening weeks half stupified with the despair ofutter disappointment; disappointment at myself and my own loss ofself-possession, which had caused all my misfortune, --perhaps, too, and thethought was dreadful, that of my wretched fellow-sufferers:--disappointmentwith the labourers, with The Cause; and when the thought came over me, inaddition, that I was irreparably disgraced in the eyes of my late patrons, parted for ever from Lillian by my own folly, I laid down my head andlonged to die. 

Then, again, I would recover awhile, and pluck up heart. I would plead mycause myself--I would testify against the tyrants to their face--I wouldsay no longer to their besotted slaves, but to the men themselves, "Go to, ye rich men, weep and howl! The hire of your labourers who have reaped downyour fields, which is by you kept back by fraud, crieth; and the cries ofthem that have reaped hath entered into the ears of the Lord God of Hosts. "I would brave my fate--I would die protesting, and glory in my martyrdom. But--

"Martyrdom?" said Mackaye, who had come down to D * * * *, and was busynight and day about my trial. "Ye'll just leave alone the martyr dodge, mypuir bairn. Ye're na martyr at a', ye'll understand, but a vera foolishcallant, that lost his temper, an' cast his pearls before swine--an' veryquestionable pearls they, too, to judge by the price they fetch i' themarket. "

And then my heart sank again. And a few days before the trial a lettercame, evidently in my cousin's handwriting, though only signed with hisinitials:

"SIR, --You are in a very great scrape--you will not deny that. How youwill get out of it depends on your own common sense. You probably won't behanged--for nobody believes that you had a hand in burning the farm; but, unless you take care, you will be transported. Call yourself John Nokes;entrust your case to a clever lawyer, and keep in the background. I warnyou, as a friend--if you try to speechify, and play the martyr, and let outwho you are, the respectable people who have been patronizing you will findit necessary for their own sakes to clap a stopper on you for good and all, to make you out an impostor and a swindler, and get you out of the way forlife: while, if you are quiet, it will suit them to be quiet too, and saynothing about you, if you say nothing about them; and then there will be achance that they, as well as your own family, will do everything in theirpower to hush the matter up. So, again, don't let out your real name; andinstruct your lawyers to know nothing about the W. 's; and then, perhaps, the Queen's counsel will know nothing about them either. Mind--you arewarned, and woe to you if you are fool enough not to take the warning. 

"G. L. "

Plead in a false name! Never, so help me Heaven! To go into court with alie in my mouth--to make myself an impostor--probably a detected one--itseemed the most cunning scheme for ruining me, which my evil genius couldhave suggested, whether or not it might serve his own selfish ends. But asfor the other hints, they seemed not unreasonable, and promised to save metrouble; while the continued pressure of anxiety and responsibility wasgetting intolerable to my over-wearied brain. So I showed the letter toMackaye, who then told me that he had taken it for granted that I shouldcome to my right mind, and had therefore already engaged an old compatriotas attorney, and the best counsel which money could procure. 

"But where did you get the money? You have not surely been spending yourown savings on me?"

"I canna say that I wadna ha' so dune, in case o' need. But the men in townjust subscribit; puir honest fellows. "

"What! is my folly to be the cause of robbing them of their slenderearnings? Never, Mackaye! Besides, they cannot have subscribed enough topay the barrister whom you just mentioned. Tell me the whole truth, or, positively, I will plead my cause myself. "

"Aweel, then, there was a bit bank-note or twa cam' to hand--I canna saywhaur fra'. But they that sent it direckit it to be expendit in the defenceo' the sax prisoners--whereof ye make ane. "

Again a world of fruitless conjecture. It must be the same unknown friendwho had paid my debt to my cousin--Lillian?

 * * * * *

And so the day was come. I am not going to make a long picturesquedescription of my trial--trials have become lately quite hackneyedsubjects, stock properties for the fiction-mongers--neither, indeed, could I do so, if I would. I recollect nothing of that day, butfragments--flashes of waking existence, scattered up and down in whatseemed to me a whole life of heavy, confused, painful dreams, with theglare of all those faces concentrated on me--those countless eyes whichI could not, could not meet--stony, careless, unsympathizing--not evenangry--only curious. If they had but frowned on me, insulted me, gnashedtheir teeth on me, I could have glared back defiance; as it was, I stoodcowed and stupified, a craven by the side of cravens. 

Let me see--what can I recollect? Those faces--faces--everywhere faces--afaint, sickly smell of flowers--a perpetual whispering and rustling ofdresses--and all through it, the voice of some one talking, talking--Iseldom knew what, or whether it was counsel, witness, judge, or prisoner, that was speaking. I was like one asleep at a foolish lecture, who hears indreams, and only wakes when the prosing stops. Was it not prosing? Whatwas it to me what they said? They could not understand me--my motives--myexcuses; the whole pleading, on my side as well as the crown's, seemed onehuge fallacy--beside the matter altogether--never touching the real pointat issue, the eternal moral equity of my deeds or misdeeds. I had no doubtthat it would all be conducted quite properly, and fairly, and according tothe forms of law; but what was law to me--I wanted justice. And so I letthem go on their own way, conscious of but one thought--was Lillian in thecourt?

I dared not look and see. I dared not lift up my eyes toward the gaudyrows of ladies who had crowded to the "interesting trial of the D * * * *rioters. " The torture of anxiety was less than that of certainty might be, and I kept my eyes down, and wondered how on earth the attorneys had foundin so simple a case enough to stuff those great blue bags. 

When, however, anything did seem likely to touch on a reality, I woke upforthwith, in spite of myself. I recollect well, for instance, a squabbleabout challenging the jurymen; and my counsel's voice of pious indignation, as he asked, "Do you call these agricultural gentlemen, and farmers, however excellent and respectable--on which point Heaven forbid that I, &c. , &c. --the prisoner's 'pares, ' peers, equals, or likes? What singleinterest, opinion, or motive, have they in common, but the universal oneof self-interest, which, in this case, happens to pull in exactly oppositedirections? Your Lordship has often animadverted fully and boldly on thepractice of allowing a bench of squires to sit in judgment on a poacher;surely it is quite as unjust that agricultural rioters should be tried by ajury of the very class against whom they are accused of rebelling. "

"Perhaps my learned brother would like a jury of rioters?" suggested someQueen's counsel. 

"Upon my word, then, it would be much the fairer plan. "

I wondered whether he would have dared to say as much in the streetoutside--and relapsed into indifference. I believe there was some longdelay, and wrangling about law-quibbles, which seemed likely at one time toquash the whole prosecution, but I was rather glad than sorry to findthat it had been overruled. It was all a play, a game of bowls--thebowls happening to be human heads--got up between the lawyers, for theedification of society; and it would have been a pity not to play it out, according to the rules and regulations thereof. 

As for the evidence, its tenor may be easily supposed from my story. There were those who could swear to my language at the camp. I was seenaccompanying the mob to the farm, and haranguing them. The noise was toogreat for the witnesses to hear all I said, but they were certain I talkedabout the sacred name of liberty. The farmer's wife had seen me run roundto the stacks when they were fired--whether just before or just after, shenever mentioned. She had seen me running up and down in front of the house, talking loudly, and gesticulating violently; she saw me, too, strugglingwith another rioter for her husband's desk;--and the rest of the witnesses, some of whom I am certain I had seen, busy plundering, though they wereready to swear that they had been merely accidental passers-by, seemedto think that they proved their own innocence, and testified their piousindignation, by avoiding carefully any fact which could excuse me. But, somehow, my counsel thought differently; and cross-examined, and bullied, and tormented, and misstated--as he was bound to do; and so one witnessafter another, clumsy and cowardly enough already, was driven by hisengines of torture, as if by a pitiless spell, to deny half that he haddeposed truly, and confess a great deal that was utterly false--tillconfusion became worse confounded, and there seemed no truth anywhere, and no falsehood either, and "naught was everything, and everything wasnaught;" till I began to have doubts whether the riot had ever occurredat all--and, indeed, doubts of my own identity also, when I had heard thecounsel for the crown impute to me personally, as in duty bound, everyseditious atrocity which, had been committed either in England or Francesince 1793. To him, certainly, I did listen tolerably; it was "as good as aplay. " Atheism, blasphemy, vitriol-throwing, and community of women, wereamong my lighter offences--for had I not actually been engaged in a plotfor the destruction of property? How did the court know that I had notspent the night before the riot, as "the doctor" and his friends did beforethe riots of 1839, in drawing lots for the estates of the surroundinggentlemen, with my deluded dupes and victims?--for of course I, and notwant of work, had deluded them into rioting; at least, they never wouldhave known that they were starving, if I had not stirred up their evilpassions by daring to inform them of that otherwise impalpable fact. I, theonly Chartist there? Might there not have been dozens of them?--emissariesfrom London, dressed up as starving labourers, and rheumatic old women?There were actually traces of a plan for seizing all the ladies in thecountry, and setting up a seraglio of them in D * * * * Cathedral. How didthe court know that there was not one?

Ay, how indeed? and how did I know either? I really began to questionwhether the man might not be right after all. The whole theory seemedso horribly coherent--possible, natural. I might have done it, underpossession of the devil, and forgotten it in excitement--I might--perhapsI did. And if there, why not elsewhere? Perhaps I had helped JourdanCoupe-tête at Lyons, and been king of the Munster Anabaptists--why not?What matter? When would this eternity of wigs, and bonnets, and glaringwindows, and ear-grinding prate and jargon, as of a diabolic universe ofstreet organs, end--end--end--and I get quietly hanged, and done with itall for ever?

Oh, the horrible length of that day! It seemed to me as if I had beenalways on my trial, ever since I was born. I wondered at times howmany years ago it had all begun. I felt what a far stronger and moresingle-hearted patriot than I, poor Somerville, says of himself under thetorture of the sergeant's cat, in a passage, whose horrible simplicity andunconscious pathos have haunted me ever since I read it; how, when onlyfifty out of his hundred lashes had fallen on the bleeding back, "_The timesince they began was like a long period of life: I felt as if I had livedall the time of my real life in torture, and, that the days when existencehad a pleasure, in it were a dream long, long gone by. _"

The reader may begin to suspect that I was fast going mad; and I believe Iwas. If he has followed my story with a human heart, he may excuse me ofany extreme weakness, if I did at moments totter on the verge of thatabyss. 

What saved me, I believe now, was the keen, bright look of love andconfidence which flashed on me from Crossthwaite's glittering eyes, when hewas called forward as a witness to my character. He spoke out like a man, I hear, that day. But the counsel for the crown tried to silence himtriumphantly, by calling on him to confess himself a Chartist; as if a manmust needs be a liar and a villain because he holds certain opinions aboutthe franchise! However that was, I heard, the general opinion of the court. And then Crossthwaite lost his temper and called the Queen's counsel ahired bully, and so went down; having done, as I was told afterwards, nogood to me. 

And then there followed a passage of tongue fence between Mackaye and somebarrister, and great laughter at the barrister's expense; and then. I heardthe old man's voice rise thin and clear:

"Let him that is without sin amang ye, cast the first stane!"

And as he went down he looked at me--a look full of despair. I never hadhad a ray of hope from the beginning; but now I began to think whether mensuffered much when they were hung, and whether one woke at once into thenext life, or had to wait till the body had returned to the dust, and watchthe ugly process of one's own decay. I was not afraid of death--I neverexperienced that sensation. I am not physically brave. I am as thoroughlyafraid of pain as any child can be; but that next world has never offeredany prospect to me, save boundless food for my insatiable curiosity. 

 * * * * *

But at that moment my attorney thrust into my hand a little dirty scrap ofpaper. "Do you know this man?" I read it. 

"SIR, --I wull tell all truthe. Mr. Locke is a murdered man if he be hanged. Lev me spek out, for love of the Lord. 

"J. DAVIS. "

No. I never had heard of him; and I let the paper fall. 

A murdered man? I had known that all along. Had not the Queen's counselbeen trying all day to murder me, as was their duty, seeing that they gottheir living thereby?

A few moments after, a labouring man was in the witness-box; and to myastonishment, telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but thetruth. 

I will not trouble the reader with his details, for they were simplyand exactly what I have already stated. He was badgered, bullied, cross-examined, but nothing could shake him. With that dogged honesty, andlaconic dignity, which is the good side of the English peasant's character, he stood manfully to his assertion--that I had done everything that wordsor actions could do to prevent violence, even to the danger of my ownpersonal safety. He swore to the words which I used when trying to wrestthe desk from the man who had stolen it; and when the Queen's counsel askedhim, tauntingly, who had set him on bringing his new story there at theeleventh hour, he answered, equally to the astonishment of his questioner, and of me, "Muster Locke, hisself. "

"What! the prisoner?" almost screamed the counsellor, who fancied, Isuppose, that he had stumbled on a confession of unblushing bribery. 

"Yes, he; he there. As he went up over hill to meeting he met my two boysa shep-minding; and, because the cutter was froze, he stop and turn thehandle for 'em for a matter of ten minutes; and I was coming up over field, and says I, I'll hear what that chap's got to say--there can't be no harmin going up arter the likes of he; for, says I to myself, a man can't havegot any great wickedness a plotting in he's head, when he'll stop a tenminutes to help two boys as he never sot eyes on afore in his life; and Ithink their honours'll say the same. "

Whether my reader will agree or not with the worthy fellow, my counsel, Ineed not say, did, and made full use of his hint. All the previous evidencewas now discovered to have corroborated the last witness, except whereit had been notoriously overthrown. I was extolled as a miracle of calmbenevolence; and black became grey, and grey became spotless white, and thewhole feeling of the court seemed changed in my favour; till the littleattorney popped up his head and whispered to me:

"By George! that last witness has saved your life. "

To which I answered, "Very well"--and turned stupidly back upon thatnightmare thought--was Lillian in the court?

 * * * * *

At last, a voice, the judge's I believe, for it was grave, gentle, almostcompassionate, asked us one by one whether we had anything to say in ourown defence. I recollect an indistinct murmur from one after another of thepoor semi-brutes on my left; and then my attorney looking up to me, mademe aware that I was expected to speak. On the moment, somehow, my wholecourage returned to me. I felt that I must unburden my heart, now or never. With a sudden effort I roused myself, and looking fixedly and proudly atthe reverend face opposite, began:

"The utmost offence which has been proved against me is a few bold words, producing consequences as unexpected as illogical. If the stupid ferocitywith which my words were misunderstood, as by a horde of savages ratherthan Englishmen;--if the moral and physical condition of these prisoners atmy side;--of those witnesses who have borne testimony against me, miserablewhite slaves, miscalled free labourers;--ay, if a single walk through thefarms and cottages on which this mischief was bred, affords no excuse forone indignant sentence--"

There she was! There she had been all the time--right opposite to me, closeto the judge--cold, bright, curious--smiling! And as our eyes met, sheturned away, and whispered gaily something to a young man who sat besideher. 

Every drop of blood in my body rushed into my forehead; the court, thewindows, and the faces, whirled round and round, and I fell senseless onthe floor of the dock. 

 * * * * *

I next recollect some room or other in the gaol, Mackaye with both my handsin his; and the rough kindly voice of the gaoler congratulating me onhaving "only got three years. "

"But you didn't show half a good pluck, " said some one. "There's two on 'emtransported, took it as bold as brass, and thanked the judge for getting'em out 'o this starving place 'free gracious for nothing, " says they. "

"Ah!" quoth the little attorney, rubbing his hands, "you should have seen* * * * and * * * * after the row in '42! They were the boys for the BullRing! Gave a barrister as good as he brought, eh, Mr. Mackaye? My smallservices, you remember, were of no use, really no use at all--quite ashamedto send in my little account. Managed the case themselves, like twopatriotic parties as they were, with a degree of forensic acuteness, inspired by the consciousness of a noble cause--Ahem! You remember, friendM. ? Grand triumphs those, eh?"

"Ay, " said Sandy, "I mind them unco weel--they cost me a' my few savings, mair by token; an' mony a braw fallow paid for ither folks' sins that tide. But my puir laddie here's no made o' that stuff. He's ower thin-skinned fora patriot. "

"Ah, well--this little taste of British justice will thicken his hide forhim, eh?" And the attorney chuckled and winked. "He'll come out again astough as a bull dog, and as surly too. Eh, Mr. Mackaye?--eh?"

"'Deed, then, I'm unco sair afeard that your opeenion is no a'thegitherthat improbable, " answered Sandy with a drawl of unusual solemnity. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

PRISON THOUGHTS. 

I was alone in my cell. 

Three years' imprisonment! Thirty-six months!--one thousand and ninety-fivedays--and twenty-four whole hours in each of them! Well--I should sleephalf the time: one-third at least. Perhaps I should not be able to sleep!To lie awake, and think--there! the thought was horrible--it was allhorrible. To have three whole years cut out of my life, instead of havingbefore me, as I had always as yet had, a mysterious Eldorado of new schemesand hopes, possible developments, possible triumphs, possible bliss--tohave nothing, nothing before me but blank and stagnation, dead loss andwaste: and then to go out again, and start once more where I had left offyesterday!

It should not be! I would not lose these years! I would show myself a man;they should feel my strength just when they fancied they had crushed meutterly! They might bury me, but I should rise again!--I should rise againmore glorious, perhaps to be henceforth immortal, and live upon the lipsof men. I would educate myself; I would read--what would I not read? Thesethree years should be a time of sacred retirement and contemplation, as ofThebaid Anchorite, or Mahomet in his Arabian cave. I would write pamphletsthat should thunder through the land, and make tyrants tremble on theirthrones! All England--at least all crushed and suffering hearts--shouldbreak forth at my fiery words into one roar of indignant sympathy. No--Iwould write a poem; I would concentrate all my experience, my aspirations, all the hopes, and wrongs, and sorrows of the poor, into one garland ofthorns--one immortal epic of suffering. What should I call it? And I set towork deliberately--such a thing is man--to think of a title. 

I looked up, and my eye caught the close bars of the little window;and then came over me, for the first time, the full meaning of thatword--Prison; that word which the rich use so lightly, knowing well thatthere is no chance, in these days, of there ever finding themselves in one;for the higher classes never break the laws--seeing that they have madethem to fit themselves. Ay, I was in prison. I could not go out or come inat will. I was watched, commanded at every turn. I was a brute animal, apuppet, a doll, that children put away in a cupboard, and there it lies. And yet my whole soul was as wide, fierce, roving, struggling as ever. Horrible contradiction! The dreadful sense of helplessness, the crushingweight of necessity, seemed to choke me. The smooth white walls, thesmooth white ceiling, seemed squeezing in closer and closer on me, and yetdilating into vast inane infinities, just as the merest knot of mouldwill transform itself, as one watches it, and nothing else, into enormouscliffs, long slopes of moor, and spurs of mountain-range. Oh, those smoothwhite walls and ceilings! If there had but been a print--a stain of dirt--acobweb, to fleck their unbroken ghastliness! They stared at me, like grim, impassive, featureless formless fiends; all the more dreadful for theirsleek, hypocritic cleanliness--purity as of a saint-inquisitor watchingwith spotless conscience the victim on the rack. They choked me--I gaspedfor breath, stretched out my arms, rolled shrieking on the floor--thenarrow chequered glimpse of free blue sky, seen through the window, seemedto fade dimmer and dimmer, farther and farther off. I sprang up, as if tofollow it--rushed to the bars, shook and wrenched at them with my thin, puny arms--and stood spell-bound, as I caught sight of the cathedraltowers, standing out in grand repose against the horizontal fiery bars ofsunset, like great angels at the gates of Paradise, watching in statelysorrow all the wailing and the wrong below. And beneath, beneath--thewell-known roofs--Lillian's home, and all its proud and happy memories! Itwas but a corner of a gable, a scrap of garden, that I could see beyondintervening roofs and trees--but could I mistake them? There was the verycedar-tree; I knew its dark pyramid but too well! There I had walked byher; there, just behind that envious group of chestnuts, she was now. Thelight was fading; it must be six o'clock; she must be in her room now, dressing herself for dinner, looking so beautiful! And as I gazed, andgazed, all the intervening objects became transparent and vanished beforethe intensity of my imagination. Were my poems in her room still? Perhapsshe had thrown them away--the condemned rioter's poems! Was she thinking ofme? Yes--with horror and contempt. Well, at least she was thinking of me. And she would understand me at last--she must. Some day she would knowall I had borne for love of her--the depth, the might, the purity of myadoration. She would see the world honouring me, in the day of my triumph, when I was appreciated at last; when I stood before the eyes of admiringmen, a people's singer, a king of human spirits, great with the rank whichgenius gives, then she would find out what a man had loved her: then shewould know the honour, the privilege of a poet's worship. 

--But that trial scene. 

Ay--that trial scene. That cold unmoved smile!--when she knew me, must haveknown me, not to be the wretch which those hired slanderers had called me. If she had cared for me--if she had a woman's heart in her at all, anypity, any justice, would she not have spoken? Would she not have called onothers to speak, and clear me of the calumny? Nonsense! Impossible! She--sofrail, tender, retiring--how could she speak? How did I know that she hadnot felt for me? It was woman's nature--duty, to conceal her feelings;perhaps that after all was the true explanation of that smile. Perhaps, too, she might have spoken--might be even now pleading for me in secret;not that I wished to be pardoned--not I--but it would be so delicious tohave her, her, pleading for me! Perhaps--perhaps I might hear of her--fromher! Surely she could not leave me here so close, without some token! And Iactually listened, I know not how long, expecting the door to open, and amessage to arrive; till, with my eyes riveted on that bit of gable, and myears listening behind me like a hare's in her form, to catch every sound inthe ward outside, I fell fast asleep, and forgot all in the heavy dreamlesstorpor of utter mental and bodily exhaustion. 

I was awakened by the opening of my cell door and the appearance of theturnkey. 

"Well, young man, all right again? You've had a long nap; and no wonder, you've had a hard time of it lately; and a good lesson, to you, too. "

"How long have I slept? I do not recollect going to bed. And how came I tolie down without undressing?"

"I found you, at lock-up hours, asleep there kneeling on the chair, withyour head on the window-sill; and a mercy you hadn't tumbled off and brokeyour back. Now, look here. --You seems a civil sort of chap; and civil getsas civil gives with me. Only don't you talk no politics. They ain't no goodto nobody, except the big 'uns, wot gets their living thereby; and I shouldthink you'd had dose enough on 'em to last for a month of Sundays. So justget yourself tidy, there's a lad, and come along with me to chapel. "

I obeyed him, in that and other things; and I never received from him, or, indeed, from any one else there, aught but kindness. I have no complaint tomake--but prison is prison. As for talking politics, I never, during thosethree years, exchanged as many sentences with any of my fellow-prisoners. What had I to say to them? Poachers and petty thieves--the scum of misery, ignorance, and rascality throughout the country. If my heart yearned towardthem at times, it was generally shut close by the exclusive pride ofsuperior intellect and knowledge. I considered it, as it was, a degradationto be classed with such; never asking myself how far I had brought thatdegradation on myself; and I loved to show my sense of injustice bywalking, moody and silent, up and down a lonely corner of the yard; and atlast contrived, under the plea of ill health (and, truly, I never was tenminutes without coughing), to confine myself entirely to my cell, andescape altogether the company of a class whom I despised, almost hated, asmy betrayers, before whom I had cast away my pearls--questionable thoughthey were according to Mackaye. Oh! there is in the intellectualworkman's heart, as in all others, the root of Pharisaism--the lust afterself-glorifying superiority, on the ground of "genius. " We too are men;frail, selfish, proud as others. The days are past, thank God, when the"gentlemen button-makers, " used to insist on a separate tap-room from themere "button-makers, " on the ground of earning a few more shillings perweek. But we are not yet thorough democrats, my brothers; we do not yetutterly believe our own loud doctrine of equality; nor shall we till--But Imust not anticipate the stages of my own experience. 

 * * * * *

I complain of no one, again I say--neither of judge, jury, gaolers, orchaplain. True, imprisonment was the worst possible remedy for my diseasethat could have been devised, if, as the new doctrine is, punishments areinflicted only to reform the criminal. What could prison do for me, butembitter and confirm all my prejudices? But I do not see what else theycould have done with me while law is what it is, and perhaps ever will be;dealing with the overt acts of the poor, and never touching the subtlerand more spiritual iniquities of the rich respectable. When shall we see anation ruled, not by the law, by the Gospel; not in the letter which kills, but in the spirit which is love, forgiveness, life? When? God knows! AndGod does know. 

 * * * * *

But I did work, during those three years, for months at a time, steadilyand severely; and with little profit, alas! to my temper of mind. I gorgedmy intellect, for I could do nothing else. The political questions whichI longed to solve in some way or other, were tabooed by the well-meaningchaplain. He even forbid me a standard English work on political economy, which I had written to Mackaye to borrow for me; he was not so careful, itwill be seen hereafter, with foreign books. He meant, of course, to keep mymind from what he considered at once useless and polluting; but the onlyeffect of his method was, that all the doubts and questions remained, rankling and fierce, imperiously demanding my attention, and had to besolved by my own moody and soured meditations, warped and coloured by thestrong sense of universal wrong. 

Then he deluged me with tracts, weak and well-meaning, which informedme that "Christians, " being "not of this world, " had nothing to do withpolitics; and preached to me the divine right of kings, passive obedienceto the powers--or impotences--that be, &c. , &c. , with such success as maybe imagined. I opened them each, read a few sentences, and laid them by. "They were written by good men, no doubt; but men who had an interest inkeeping up the present system;" at all events by men who knew nothing ofmy temptations, my creed, my unbelief; who saw all heaven and earth from astation antipodal to my own; I had simply nothing to do with them. 

And yet, excellent man! pious, benignant, compassionate! God forbid that Ishould, in writing these words, allow myself a desire so base as that ofdisparaging thee! However thy words failed of their purpose, that bright, gentle, earnest face never appeared without bringing balm to the woundedspirit. Hadst thou not recalled me to humanity, those three years wouldhave made a savage and madman of me. May God reward thee hereafter! Thouhast thy reward on earth in the gratitude of many a broken heart bound up, of drunkards sobered, thieves reclaimed, and outcasts taught to look for apaternal home denied them here on earth! While such thy deeds, what matterthine opinions?

But alas! (for the truth must be told, as a warning to those who have toface the educated working men, ) his opinions did matter to himself. Thegood man laboured under the delusion, common enough, of choosing hisfavourite weapons from his weakest faculty; and the very inferiority of hisintellect prevented him from seeing where his true strength lay. He _would_argue; he would try and convert me from scepticism by what seemed to himreasoning, the common figure of which was, what logicians, I believe, callbegging the question; and the common method, what they call _ignoratioelenchi_--shooting at pigeons, while crows are the game desired. He alwaysstarted by demanding my assent to the very question which lay at the bottomof my doubts. He would wrangle and wrestle blindly up and down, with tearsof earnestness in his eyes, till he had lost his temper, as far as it waspossible for one so angel-guarded as he seemed to be; and then, when hefound himself confused, contradicting his own words, making concessions atwhich he shuddered, for the sake of gaining from me assents which he foundout the next moment I understood in quite a different sense from his, hewould suddenly shift his ground, and try to knock me down authoritativelywith a single text of Scripture; when all the while I wanted proof thatScripture had any authority at all. 

He carefully confined himself, too, throughout, to the dogmatic phraseologyof the pulpit; while I either did not understand, or required justificationfor, the strange, far-fetched, technical meanings, which he attached to hisexpressions. If he would only have talked English!--if clergymen would onlypreach in English!--and then they wonder that their sermons have no effect!Their notion seems to be, as my good chaplain's was, that the teacher isnot to condescend to the scholar, much less to become all things to allmen, if by any means he may save some; but that he has a right to demandthat the scholar shall ascend to him before he is taught; that he shallraise himself up of his own strength into the teacher's region of thoughtas well as feeling; to do for himself, in short, under penalty of beingcalled an unbeliever, just what the preacher professes to do for him. 

At last, he seemed dimly to discover that I could not acquiesce in hisconclusions, while I denied his premises; and so he lent me, in anill-starred moment, "Paley's Evidences, " and some tracts of the lastgeneration against Deism. I read them, and remained, as hundreds more havedone, just where I was before. 

"Was Paley, " I asked, "a really good and pious man?"

The really good and pious man hemmed and hawed. 

"Because, if he was not, I can't trust a page of his special pleading, letit look as clever as the whole Old Bailey in one. "

Besides, I never denied the existence of Jesus of Nazareth, or hisapostles. I doubted the myths and doctrines, which I believed to have beengradually built up round the true story. The fact was, he was, like most ofhis class, "attacking extinct Satans, " fighting manfully against Voltaire, Volney, and Tom Paine; while I was fighting for Strauss, Hennell, andEmerson. And, at last, he gave me up for some weeks as a hopeless infidel, without ever having touched the points on which I disbelieved. He had neverread Strauss--hardly even heard of him; and, till clergymen make up theirminds to do that, and to answer Strauss also, they will, as he did, leavethe heretic artisan just where they found him. 

The bad effect which all this had on my mind may easily be conceived. Ifelt myself his intellectual superior. I tripped him up, played with him, made him expose his weaknesses, till I really began to despise him. MayHeaven forgive me for it! But it was not till long afterwards that I began, on looking back, to see how worthless was any superior cleverness of minebefore his superior moral and spiritual excellence. That was just whathe would not let me see at the time. I was worshipping intellect, mereintellect; and thence arose my doubts; and he tried to conquer them byexciting the very faculty which had begotten them. When will the clergylearn that their strength is in action, and not in argument? If they areto reconvert the masses, it must be by noble deeds, as Carlyle says; "notby noisy theoretic laudation of _a_ Church, but by silent practicaldemonstration of _the_ Church. "

 * * * * *

But, the reader may ask, where was your Bible all this time?

Yes--there was a Bible in my cell--and the chaplain read to me, bothprivately and in chapel, such portions of it as he thought suited my case, or rather his utterly-mistaken view thereof. But, to tell the truth, Icared not to read or listen. Was it not the book of the aristocrats--ofkings and priests, passive obedience, and the slavery of the intellect?Had I been thrown under the influence of the more educated Independentsin former years, I might have thought differently. They, at least, havecontrived, with what logical consistence I know not, to reconcile orthodoxChristianity with unflinching democratic opinions. But such was not my lot. My mother, as I said in my first chapter, had become a Baptist; becauseshe believed that sect, and as I think rightly, to be the only one whichlogically and consistently carries out the Calvinistic theory; and now Ilooked back upon her delight in Gideon and Barak, Samson and Jehu, only asthe mystic application of rare exceptions to the fanaticism of a chosenfew--the elect--the saints, who, as the fifth-monarchy men held, wereone day to rule the world with a rod of iron. And so I fell--willingly, alas!--into the vulgar belief about the politics of Scripture, commonalike--strange unanimity!--to Infidel and Churchman. The great idea thatthe Bible is the history of mankind's deliverance from all tyranny, outwardas well as inward; of the Jews, as the one free constitutional people amonga world of slaves and tyrants; of their ruin, as the righteous fruit of avoluntary return to despotism; of the New Testament, as the good news thatfreedom, brotherhood, and equality, once confided only to Judæa and toGreece, and dimly seen even there, was henceforth to be the right of allmankind, the law of all society--who was there to tell me that? Who isthere now to go forth and tell it to the millions who have suffered, anddoubted, and despaired like me, and turn the hearts of the disobedient tothe wisdom of the just, before the great and terrible day of the Lord come?Again I ask--who will go forth and preach that Gospel, and save his nativeland?

But, as I said before, I read, and steadily. In the first place, I, for thefirst time in my life, studied Shakspeare throughout; and found out now thetreasure which I had overlooked. I assure my readers I am not going to givea lecture on him here, as I was minded to have done. Only, as I am askingquestions, who will write us a "People's Commentary on Shakspeare"?

Then I waded, making copious notes and extracts, through the whole of Hume, and Hallam's "Middle Ages, " and "Constitutional History, " and found thembarren to my soul. When (to ask a third and last question) will someman, of the spirit of Carlyle--one who is not ashamed to acknowledge theintervention of a God, a Providence, even of a devil, in the affairs ofmen--arise, and write a "People's History of England"?

Then I laboured long months at learning French, for the mere purpose ofreading French political economy after my liberation. But at last, in myimpatience, I wrote to Sandy to send me Proudhon and Louis Blanc, on thechance of their passing the good chaplain's censorship--and behold, theypassed! He had never heard their names! He was, I suspect, utterly ignorantof French, and afraid of exposing his ignorance by venturing to criticise. As it was, I was allowed peaceable possession of them till within a fewmonths of my liberation, with such consequences as may be imagined:and then, to his unfeigned terror and horror, he discovered, in someperiodical, that he had been leaving in my hands books which advocated "thedestruction of property, " and therefore, in his eyes, of all which is moralor sacred in earth or heaven! I gave them up without a struggle, so reallypainful was the good soul's concern and the reproaches which he heaped, noton me--he never reproached me in his life--but on himself, for having soneglected his duty. 

Then I read hard for a few months at physical science--at Zoology andBotany, and threw it aside again in bitterness of heart. It was too bitterto be tantalized with the description of Nature's wondrous forms, and Ithere a prisoner between those four white walls. 

Then I set to work to write an autobiography--at least to commit to paperin regular order the most striking incidents and conversations which Icould recollect, and which I had noted down as they occurred in my diary. From that source I have drawn nearly the whole of my history up to thispoint. For the rest I must trust to memory--and, indeed, the strange deedsand sufferings, and yet stranger revelations, of the last few months, havebranded themselves deep enough upon my brain. I need not hope, or fear, that aught of them should slip my memory. 

 * * * * *

So went the weary time. Week after week, month after month, summer aftersummer, I scored the days off, like a lonely school boy, on the pages of acalendar; and day by day I went to my window, and knelt there, gazing atthe gable and the cedar-tree. That was my only recreation. Sometimes, atfirst, my eyes used to wander over the wide prospect of rich lowlands, andfarms, and hamlets, and I used to amuse myself with conjectures about thepeople who lived in them, and walked where they liked on God's earth: butsoon I hated to look at the country; its perpetual change and progressmocked the dreary sameness of my dungeon. It was bitter, maddening, to seethe grey boughs grow green with leaves, and the green fade to autumnalyellow, and the grey boughs reappear again, and I still there! The darksleeping fallows bloomed with emerald blades of corn, and then the corngrew deep and crisp, and blackened before the summer breeze, in "waves ofshadow, " as Mr. Tennyson says in one of his most exquisite lyrics; and thenthe fields grew white to harvest day by day, and I saw the rows of sheavesrise one by one, and the carts crawling homeward under their load. I couldalmost hear the merry voices of the children round them--children thatcould go into the woods, and pick wild flowers, and I still there! No--Iwould look at nothing but the gable and the cedar-tree, and the tallcathedral towers; there was no change in them--they did not laugh at me. 

But she who lived beneath them? Months and seasons crawled along, and yetno sign or hint of her! I was forgotten, forsaken! And yet I gazed, andgazed. I could not forget her; I could not forget what she had been to me. Eden was still there, though I was shut out from it for ever: and so, likea widower over the grave of her he loves, morning and evening I watched thegable and the cedar-tree. 

And my cousin? Ah, that was the thought, the only thought, which mademy life intolerable! What might he not be doing in the meantime? I knewhis purpose, I knew his power. True, I had never seen a hint, a glance, which could have given him hope; but he had three whole years to win herin--three whole years, and I fettered, helpless, absent! "Fool! could Ihave won her if I had been free? At least, I would have tried: we wouldhave fought it fairly out, on even ground; we would have seen which was thestrongest, respectability and cunning, or the simplicity of genius. Butnow!"--And I tore at the bars of the window, and threw myself on the floorof my cell, and longed to die. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE NEW CHURCH. 

In a poor suburb of the city, which I could see well enough from my littlewindow, a new Gothic church was building. When I first took up my abodein the cell, it was just begun--the walls had hardly risen above theneighbouring sheds and garden-fences. But month after month I had watchedit growing; I had seen one window after another filled with tracery, onebuttress after another finished off with its carved pinnacle; then I hadwatched the skeleton of the roof gradually clothed in tiling; and then theglazing of the windows--some of them painted, I could see, from the ironnetwork which was placed outside them the same day. Then the doors were putup--were they going to finish that handsome tower? No: it was left with itswooden cap, I suppose for further funds. But the nave, and the deep chancelbehind it, were all finished, and surmounted by a cross, --and beautifullyenough the little sanctuary looked, in the virgin-purity of its spotlessfreestone. For eighteen months I watched it grow before my eyes--and I wasstill in my cell!

And then there was a grand procession of surplices and lawn sleeves; andamong them I fancied I distinguished the old dean's stately figure, andturned my head away, and looked again, and fancied I distinguished anotherfigure--it must have been mere imagination--the distance was far toogreat for me to identify any one; but I could not get out of my head thefancy--say rather, the instinct--that it was my cousin's; and that it wasmy cousin whom I saw daily after that, coming out and going in--when thebell rang to morning and evening prayers--for there were daily servicesthere, and saint's day services, and Lent services, and three services on aSunday, and six or seven on Good Friday and Easter-day. The little musicalbell above the chancel-arch seemed always ringing: and still that figurehaunted me like a nightmare, ever coming in and going out about itspriestly calling--and I still in my cell! If it should be he!--so close toher! I shuddered at the thought; and, just because it was so intolerable, it clung to me, and tormented me, and kept me awake at nights, till Ibecame utterly unable to study quietly, and spent hours at the narrowwindow, watching for the very figure I loathed to see. 

And then a Gothic school-house rose at the churchyard end, and troops ofchildren poured in and out, and women came daily for alms; and when thefrosts came on, every morning I saw a crowd, and soup carried away inpitchers, and clothes and blankets given away; the giving seemed endless, boundless; and I thought of the times of the Roman Empire and the"sportula, " when the poor had got to live upon the alms of the rich, moreand more, year by year--till they devoured their own devourers, and the endcame; and I shuddered. And yet it was a pleasant sight, as every new churchis to the healthy-minded man, let his religious opinions be what theymay. A fresh centre of civilization, mercy, comfort for weary hearts, relief from frost and hunger; a fresh centre of instruction, humanizing, disciplining, however meagre in my eyes, to hundreds of little savagespirits; altogether a pleasant sight, even to me there in my cell. AndI used to wonder at the wasted power of the Church--her almost entiremonopoly of the pulpits, the schools, the alms of England; and then thankHeaven, somewhat prematurely, that she knew and used so little her vastlatent power for the destruction of liberty. 

Or for its realization?

Ay, that is the question! We shall not see it solved--at least, I nevershall. 

But still that figure haunted me; all through that winter I saw it, chatting with old women, patting children's heads, walking to the churchwith ladies; sometimes with a tiny, tripping figure. --I did not dare to letmyself fancy who that might be. 

 * * * * *

December passed, and January came. I had now only two months more before mydeliverance. One day I seemed to myself to have passed a whole life in thatnarrow room; and the next, the years and months seemed short and blank as anight's sleep on waking; and there was no salient point in all my memory, since that last sight of Lillian's smile, and the faces and the windowwhirling round me as I fell. 

At last a letter came from Mackaye. "Ye speired for news o' yourcousin--an' I find he's a neebour o' yours; ca'd to a new kirk i' the cityo' your captivity--an' na stickit minister he makes, forbye he's ane o'these new Puseyite sectarians, to judge by your uncle's report. I metthe auld bailie-bodie on the street, and was gaun to pass him by, but hewas sae fou o' good news he could na but stop an' ha' a crack wi' me onpolitics; for we ha' helpit thegither in certain municipal clamjamfries o'late. An' he told me your cousin wins honour fast, an' maun surely die abishop--puir bairn! An' besides that he's gaun to be married the spring. I dinna mind the leddy's name; but there's tocher wi' lass o' his I'llwarrant. He's na laird o' Cockpen, for a penniless lass wi' a longpedigree. "

As I sat meditating over this news--which made the torment of suspicion andsuspense more intolerable than ever--behold a postscript added some twodays after. 

"Oh! Oh! Sic news! gran news! news to make baith the ears o' him thatheareth it to tingle. God is God, an' no the deevil after a'! LouisPhilippe is doun!--doun, doun, like a dog, and the republic's proclaimed, an' the auld villain here in England, they say, a wanderer an' a beggar. Iha' sent ye the paper o' the day. Ps. --73, 37, 12. Oh, the Psalms are fullo't! Never say the Bible's no true, mair. I've been unco faithless mysel', God forgive me! I got grieving to see the wicked in sic prosperity. I didna gang into the sanctuary eneugh, an' therefore I could na see the end ofthese men--how He does take them up suddenly after all, an' cast them doun:vanish they do, perish, an' come to a fearful end. Yea, like as a dreamwhen one awaketh, so shalt thou make their image to vanish out of the city. Oh, but it's a day o' God! An' yet I'm sair afraid for they puir fecklessFrench. I ha' na faith, ye ken, in the Celtic blude, an' its spirit o'lees. The Saxon spirit o' covetize is a grewsome house-fiend, and sae's ourNorse speerit o' shifts an' dodges; but the spirit o' lees is warse. Puirlustful Reubens that they are!--unstable as water, they shall not excel. Well, well--after all, there is a God that judgeth the earth; an' when aman kens that, he's learnt eneugh to last him till he dies. "

CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE TOWER OF BABEL. 

 A glorious people vibrated again The lightning of the nations; Liberty From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er France, Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay; And in the rapid plumes of song Clothed itself sublime and strong. 

Sublime and strong? Alas! not so. An outcast, heartless, faithless, andembittered, I went forth from my prison. --But yet Louis Philippe hadfallen! And as I whirled back to Babylon and want, discontent and discord, my heart was light, my breath came thick and fierce. --The incubus of Francehad fallen! and from land to land, like the Beacon-fire which leaped frompeak to peak proclaiming Troy's downfall, passed on the glare of burningidols, the crash of falling anarchies. Was I mad, sinful? Both--and yetneither. Was I mad and sinful, if on my return to my old haunts, amid thegrasp of loving hands and the caresses of those who called me in theirhonest flattery a martyr and a hero--what things, as Carlyle says, men willfall down and worship in their extreme need!--was I mad and sinful, ifdaring hopes arose, and desperate words were spoken, and wild eyes read inwild eyes the thoughts they dare not utter? "Liberty has risen from thedead, and we too will be free!"

Yes, mad and sinful; therefore are we as we are. Yet God has forgivenus--perhaps so have those men whose forgiveness is alone worth having. 

Liberty? And is that word a dream, a lie, the watchword only of rebelliousfiends, as bigots say even now? Our forefathers spoke not so--

 The shadow of her coming fell On Saxon Alfred's olive-tinctured brow. 

Had not freedom, progressive, expanding, descending, been the glory and thestrength of England? Were Magna Charta and the Habeas Corpus Act, Hampden'sresistance to ship-money, and the calm, righteous might of 1688--were theyall futilities and fallacies? Ever downwards, for seven hundred years, welling from the heaven-watered mountain peaks of wisdom, had spread thestream of liberty. The nobles had gained their charter from John; themiddle classes from William of Orange: was not the time at hand, when froma queen, more gentle, charitable, upright, spotless, than had ever sat onthe throne of England, the working masses in their turn should gain theirCharter?

If it was given, the gift was hers: if it was demanded to the uttermost, the demand would be made, not on her, but on those into whose hands herpower had passed, the avowed representatives neither of the Crown nor ofthe people, but of the very commercial class which was devouring us. 

Such was our dream. Insane and wicked were the passions which accompaniedit; insane and wicked were the means we chose; and God in his mercy to us, rather than to Mammon, triumphant in his iniquity, fattening his hearteven now for a spiritual day of slaughter more fearful than any physicalslaughter which we in our folly had prepared for him--God frustrated them. 

We confess our sins. Shall the Chartist alone be excluded from the promise, "If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness"?

And yet, were there no excuses for us? I do not say for myself--and yetthree years of prison might be some excuse for a soured and harshenedspirit--but I will not avail myself of the excuse; for there were men, stancher Chartists than ever I had been--men who had suffered not onlyimprisonment, but loss of health and loss of fortune; men whose influencewith the workmen was far wider than my own, and whose temptations weretherefore all the greater, who manfully and righteously kept themselvesaloof from all those frantic schemes, and now reap their reward, in beingacknowledged as the true leaders of the artizans, while the mere preachersof sedition are scattered to the winds. 

But were there no excuses for the mass? Was there no excuse in the spiritwith which the English upper classes regarded the continental revolutions?No excuse in the undisguised dislike, fear, contempt, which they expressedfor that very sacred name of Liberty, which had been for ages the pride ofEngland and her laws--

 The old laws of England, they Whose reverend heads with age are grey-- Children of a wiser day-- And whose solemn voice must be Thine own echo, Liberty!

for which, according to the latest improvements, is now substituted abureaucracy of despotic commissions? Shame upon those who sneered at thevery name of her to whom they owed the wealth they idolize! who cry downliberty because God has given it to them in such priceless abundance, boundless as the sunshine and the air of heaven, that they are becomeunconscious of it as of the elements by which they live! Woe to those whodespise the gift of God! Woe to those who have turned His grace into acloak for tyranny; who, like the Jews of old, have trampled under foot Hiscovenant at the very moment that they were asserting their exclusive rightto it, and denying his all-embracing love!

And were there no excuses, too, in the very arguments whichnineteen-twentieths of the public press used to deter us from following theexample of the Continent? If there had been one word of sympathy with thedeep wrongs of France, Germany, Italy, Hungary--one attempt to discriminatethe righteous and God-inspired desire of freedom, from man's furious andself-willed perversion of it, we would have listened to them. But, instead, what was the first, last, cardinal, crowning argument?--"The cost ofsedition!" "Revolutions interfered with trade!" and therefore they weredamnable! Interfere with the food and labour of the millions? The millionswould take the responsibility of that upon themselves. If the party oforder cares so much for the millions, why had they left them what theyare? No: it was with the profits of the few that revolutions interfered;with the Divine right, not so much of kings, but of money-making. Theyhampered Mammon, the very fiend who is devouring the masses. The one endand aim of existence was, the maintenance of order--of peace and room tomake money in. And therefore Louis' spies might make France one greatinquisition-hell; German princelets might sell their country piecemeal toFrench or Russian! the Hungarian constitution, almost the counterpart ofour own, might be sacrificed at the will of an idiot or villain; Papalmisgovernment might continue to render Rome a worse den of thieves thaneven Papal superstition could have made it without the addition of tyranny;but Order must be maintained, for how else could the few make money out ofthe labour of the many? These were their own arguments. Whether they werelikely to conciliate the workman to the powers that be, by informing himthat those powers were avowedly the priests of the very system which wascrushing him, let the reader judge. 

The maintenance of order--of the order of disorder--that was to be the newGod before whom the working classes were to bow in spell-bound awe; an idolmore despicable and empty than even that old divine right of tyrants, newlyapplied by some well-meaning but illogical personages, not merely as of oldto hereditary sovereigns, but to Louis Philippes, usurers, upstarts--whynot hereafter to demagogues? Blindfold and desperate bigots! who wouldactually thus, in the imbecility of terror, deify that very right of thephysically strongest and cunningest, which, if anything, is antichristitself. That argument against sedition, the workmen heard; and, recollecting 1688, went on their way, such as it was, unheeding. 

One word more, even at the risk of offending many whom I should be verysorry to offend, and I leave this hateful discussion. Let it ever beremembered that the working classes considered themselves deceived, cajoled, by the passers of the Reform Bill; that they cherished--whetherrightly or wrongly it is now too late to ask--a deep-rooted grudgeagainst those who had, as they thought, made their hopes and passions astepping-stone towards their own selfish ends. They were told to supportthe Reform Bill, not only on account of its intrinsic righteousness--whichGod forbid that I should deny--but because it was the first of a gloriousline of steps towards their enfranchisement; and now the very men who toldthem this, talked peremptorily of "finality, " showed themselves the mostdogged and careless of conservatives, and pooh-poohed away every attempt atfurther enlargement of the suffrage. They were told to support it as theremedy for their own social miseries; and behold those miseries were yearby year becoming deeper, more wide-spread, more hopeless; their entreatiesfor help and mercy, in 1842, and at other times, had been lazily laid byunanswered; and almost the only practical efforts for their deliverance hadbeen made by a Tory nobleman, the honoured and beloved Lord Ashley. Theyfound that they had, in helping to pass the Reform Bill, only helped togive power to the two very classes who crushed them--the great labourkings, and the small shopkeepers; that they had blindly armed theiroppressors with the additional weapon of an ever-increasing politicalmajority. They had been told, too (let that never be forgotten), that inorder to carry the Reform Bill, sedition itself was lawful; they had seenthe master-manufacturers themselves give the signal for the plug-riots bystopping their mills. Their vanity, ferocity, sense of latent and fetteredpower, pride of numbers, and physical strength, had been nattered andpampered by those who now only talked of grape-shot and bayonets. They hadheard the Reform Bill carried by the threats of men of rank and power, that "Manchester should march upon London. " Were their masters, then, tohave a monopoly in sedition, as in everything else? What had been fair inorder to compel the Reform Bill, must surely be fairer still to compelthe fulfilment of Reform Bill pledges? And so, imitating the example ofthose whom they fancied had first used and then deserted them, they, intheir madness, concocted a rebellion, not primarily against the laws andconstitution of their land, but against Mammon--against that accursedsystem of competition, slavery of labour, absorption of the smallcapitalists by the large ones, and of the workman by all, which is, andwas, and ever will be, their internecine foe. Silly and sanguinary enoughwere their schemes, God knows! and bootless enough had they succeeded;for nothing nourishes in the revolutionary atmosphere but that lowestembodiment of Mammon, "the black pool of Agio, " and its money-gamblers. Butthe battle remains still to be fought; the struggle is internecine; only nomore with weapons of flesh and blood, but with a mightier weapon--with thatassociation which is the true bane of Mammon--the embodiment of brotherhoodand love. 

We should have known that before the tenth of April? Most true, reader--butwrath is blindness. You too surely have read more wisdom than you havepractised yet; seeing that you have your Bible, and perhaps, too, Mill's"Political Economy. " Have you perused therein the priceless Chapter "Onthe Probable Futurity of the Labouring Classes"? If not, let me give youthe reference--vol. Ii, p. 315, of the Second Edition. Read it, thouself-satisfied Mammon, and perpend; for it is both a prophecy and a doom!

 * * * * *

But, the reader may ask, how did you, with your experience of the reason, honesty, moderation, to be expected of mobs, join in a plan which, if ithad succeeded, must have let loose on those "who had" in London, the wholeflood of those "who had not"?

The reader shall hear. My story may be instructive, as a type of thefeelings of thousands beside me. 

It was the night after I had returned from D * * * *; sitting inCrossthwaite's little room, I had heard with mingled anxiety and delightthe plans of my friends. They were about to present a monster petition infavour of the Charter; to accompany it _en masse_ to the door of the Houseof Commons; and if it was refused admittance--why, then, ulterior measureswere the only hope. "And they will refuse it, " said Crossthwaite; "they'regoing, I hear, to revive some old law or other, that forbids processionswithin such and such a distance of the House of Commons. Let them forbid!To carry arms, to go in public procession, to present petitions openly, instead of having them made a humbug of by being laid on the table unopenedby some careless member--they're our rights, and we'll have them. There'sno use mincing the matter: it's just like the old fable of the farmer andhis wheat--if we want it reaped, we must reap it ourselves. Public opinion, and the pressure from without, are the only things which have carried anymeasure in England for the last twenty years. Neither Whigs nor Tories denyit: the governed govern their governors--that's the 'ordre du jour' justnow--and we'll have our turn at it! We'll give those House of Commonsoligarchs--those tools of the squires and shopkeepers--we'll give them ataste of pleasure from without, as shall make the bar of the house crackagain. And then to be under arms, day and night, till the Charter'sgranted. "

"And if it is refused?"

"Fight! that's the word, and no other. There's no other hope. NoCharter, --No social reforms! We must give them ourselves, for no one elsewill. Look there, and judge for yourself!"

He pulled a letter out from among his papers, and threw it across to me. 

"What's this?"

"That came while you were in gaol. There don't want many words about it. We sent up a memorial to government about the army and police clothing. Wetold 'em how it was the lowest, most tyrannous, most ill-paid of all thebranches of slop-making; how men took to it only when they were starvedout of everything else. We entreated them to have mercy on us--entreatedthem to interfere between the merciless contractors and the poor wretcheson whose flesh and blood contractors, sweaters, and colonels, were allfattening: and there's the answer we got. Look at it; read it! Again andagain I've been minded to placard it on the walls, that all the worldmight see the might and the mercies of the government. Read it! 'Sorryto say that it is utterly out of the power of her Majesty's * * * *s tointerfere--as the question of wages rests entirely between the contractorand the workmen. '"

"He lies!" I said. "If it did, the workmen might put a pistol to thecontractor's head, and say--'You shall not tempt the poor, needy, greedy, starving workers to their own destruction, and the destruction of theirclass; you shall not offer these murderous, poisonous prices. If we sawyou offering our neighbour a glass of laudanum, we would stop you at allrisks--and we will stop you now. ' No! no! John, the question don'tlie between workman and contractor, but between workman andcontractor-plus-grape-and-bayonets!"

"Look again. There's worse comes after that. 'If government did interfere, it would not benefit the workman, as his rate of wages depends entirelyon the amount of competition between the workmen themselves. ' Yes, mydear children, you must eat each other; we are far too fond parents tointerfere with so delightful an amusement! Curse them--sleek, hard-hearted, impotent do-nothings! They confess themselves powerless againstcompetition--powerless against the very devil that is destroying us, fasterand faster every year! They can't help us on a single point. They can'tcheck population; and if they could, they can't get rid of the populationwhich exists. They daren't give us a comprehensive emigration scheme. Theydaren't lift a finger to prevent gluts in the labour market. They daren'tinterfere between slave and slave, between slave and tyrant. They arecowards, and like cowards they shall fall!"

"Ay--like cowards they shall fall!" I answered; and from that moment I wasa rebel and a conspirator. 

"And will the country join us?"

"The cities will; never mind the country. They are too weak to resist theirown tyrants--and they are too weak to resist us. The country's alwaysdrivelling in the background. A country-party's sure to be a party ofimbecile bigots. Nobody minds them. "

I laughed. "It always was so, John. When Christianity first spread, it wasin the cities--till a pagan, a villager, got to mean a heathen for ever andever. "

"And so it was in the French revolution; when Popery had died out of allthe rest of France, the priests and the aristocrats still found their dupesin the remote provinces. "

"The sign of a dying system that, to be sure. Woe to Toryism and theChurch of England, and everything else, when it gets to boasting that itsstronghold is still the hearts of the agricultural poor. It is the cities, John, the cities, where the light dawns first--where man meets man, andspirit quickens spirit, and intercourse breeds knowledge, and knowledgesympathy, and sympathy enthusiasm, combination, power irresistible; whilethe agriculturists remain ignorant, selfish, weak, because they areisolated from each other. Let the country go. The towns shall win theCharter for England! And then for social reform, sanitary reform, ædilereform, cheap food, interchange of free labour, liberty, equality, andbrotherhood for ever!"

Such was our Babel-tower, whose top should reach to heaven. To understandthe allurement of that dream, you must have lain, like us, for years indarkness and the pit. You must have struggled for bread, for lodging, forcleanliness, for water, for education--all that makes life worth livingfor--and found them becoming, year by year, more hopelessly impossible, ifnot to yourself, yet still to the millions less gifted than yourself; youmust have sat in darkness and the shadow of death, till you are ready towelcome any ray of light, even though it should be the glare of a volcano. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A PATRIOT'S REWARD. 

I never shall forget one evening's walk, as Crossthwaite and I strodeback together from the Convention. We had walked on some way arm in armin silence, under the crushing and embittering sense of having somethingto conceal--something, which if those who passed us so carelessly inthe street had known--! It makes a villain and a savage of a man, thatconsciousness of a dark, hateful secret. And it was a hateful one!--adark and desperate necessity, which we tried to call by noble names, thatfaltered on our lips as we pronounced them; for the spirit of God was notin us; and instead of bright hope, and the clear fixed lodestar of duty, weltered in our imaginations a wild possible future of tumult, and flame, and blood. 

"It must be done!--it shall be done!--it will be done!" burst out John, atlast, in that positive, excited tone, which indicated a half disbelief ofhis own words. "I've been reading Macerone on street-warfare; and I see theway as clear as day. "

I felt nothing but the dogged determination of despair. "It must be tried, if the worst comes to the worst--but I have no hope. I read Somerville'sanswer to that Colonel Macerone. Ten years ago he showed it was impossible. We cannot stand against artillery; we have no arms. "

"I'll tell you where to buy plenty. There's a man, Power, or Bower, he'ssold hundreds in the last few days; and he understands the matter. He tellsus we're certain, safe. There are hundreds of young men in the governmentoffices ready to join, if we do but succeed at first. It all depends onthat. The first hour settles the fate of a revolution. "

"If we succeed, yes--the cowardly world will always side with theconquering party; and we shall have every pickpocket and ruffian in ourwake, plundering in the name of liberty and order. "

"Then we'll shoot them like dogs, as the French did! 'Mort aux voleurs'shall be the word!"

"Unless they shoot us. The French had a national guard, who had propertyto lose, and took care of it. The shopkeepers here will be all against us;they'll all be sworn in special constables, to a man; and between them andthe soldiers, we shall have three to one upon us. "

"Oh! that Power assures me the soldiers will fraternize. He says there arethree regiments at least have promised solemnly to shoot their officers, and give up their arms to the mob. "

"Very important, if true--and very scoundrelly, too, I'd sooner be shotmyself by fair fighting, than see officers shot by cowardly treason. "

"Well, it's ugly. I like fair play as well as any man. But it can't bedone. There must be a surprise, a _coup de main_, as the French say" (poorCrossthwaite was always quoting French in those days). "Once show ourstrength--burst upon the tyrants like a thunderclap; and then!--

 "Men of England, heirs of glory, Heroes of unwritten story, Rise, shake off the chains like dew Which in sleep have fallen on you! Ye are many, they are few!"

"That's just what I am afraid they are not. Let's go and find out this manPower, and hear his authority for the soldier-story. Who knows him?"

"Why, Mike Kelly and he had been a deal together of late, Kelly's a trueheart now--a true Irishman ready for anything. Those Irish are the boys, after all--though I don't deny they do bluster and have their way a littletoo much in the Convention. But still Ireland's wrongs are England's. Wehave the same oppressors. We must make common cause against the tyrants. "

"I wish to Heaven they would just have stayed at home, and ranted on theother side of the water; they had their own way there, and no Mammonitemiddle-class to keep them down; and yet they never did an atom of good. Their eloquence is all bombast, and what's more, Crossthwaite, though thereare some fine fellows among them, nine-tenths are liars--liars in grain, and you know it--"

Crossthwaite turned angrily to me. "Why, you are getting as reactionary asold Mackaye himself!"

"I am not--and he is not. I am ready to die on a barricade to-morrow, ifit comes to that. I haven't six months' lease of life--I am going intoconsumption; and a bullet is as easy a death as spitting up my lungspiecemeal. But I despise these Irish, because I can't trust them--theycan't trust each other--they can't trust themselves. You know as well as Ithat you can't get common justice done in Ireland, because you can dependupon no man's oath. You know as well as I, that in Parliament or out, nineout of ten of them will stick at no lie, even if it has been exposed andrefuted fifty times over, provided it serves the purpose of the moment; andI often think that, after all, Mackaye's right, and what's the matter withIreland is just that and nothing else--that from the nobleman in hiscastle to the beggar on his dunghill, they are a nation of liars, JohnCrossthwaite!"

"Sandy's a prejudiced old Scotchman. "

"Sandy's a wiser man than you or I, and you know it. "

"Oh, I don't deny that; but he's getting old, and I think he has beenfailing in his mind of late. "

"I'm afraid he's failing in his health; he has never been the same mansince they hooted him down in John Street. But he hasn't altered in hisopinions one jot; and I'll tell you what--I believe he's right. I'll die inthis matter like a man, because it's the cause of liberty; but I've fearfulmisgivings about it, just because Irishmen are at the head of it. "

"Of course they are--they have the deepest wrongs; and that makes themmost earnest in the cause of right. The sympathy of suffering, as they saythemselves, has bound them to the English working man against the sameoppressors. "

"Then let them fight those oppressors at home, and we'll do the same:that's the true way to show sympathy. Charity begins at home. They arealways crying 'Ireland for the Irish'; why can't they leave England for theEnglish?"

"You're envious of O'Connor's power!"

"Say that again, John Crossthwaite, and we part for ever!" And I threw offhis arm indignantly. 

"No--but--don't let's quarrel, my dear old fellow--now, that perhaps, perhaps we may never meet again--but I can't bear to hear the Irish abused. They're noble, enthusiastic, generous fellows. If we English had half aswarm hearts, we shouldn't be as we are now; and O'Connor's a gloriousman, I tell you. Just think of him, the descendant of the ancient kings, throwing away his rank, his name, all he had in the world, for the cause ofthe suffering millions!"

"That's a most aristocratic speech, John, " said I, smiling, in spite of mygloom. "So you keep a leader because he's descended from ancient kings, doyou? I should prefer him just because he was not--just because he was aworking man, and come of workmen's blood. We shall see whether he's stanchafter all. To my mind, little Cuffy's worth a great deal more, as far asearnestness goes. "

"Oh! Cuffy's a low-bred, uneducated fellow. "

"Aristocrat again, John!" said I, as we went up-stairs to Kelly's room. AndCrossthwaite did not answer. 

There was so great a hubbub inside Kelly's room, of English, French, andIrish, all talking at once, that we knocked at intervals for full fiveminutes, unheard by the noisy crew; and I, in despair, was trying thehandle, which was fast, when, to my astonishment, a heavy blow was struckon the panel from the inside, and the point of a sharp instrument drivenright through, close to my knees, with the exclamation--

"What do you think o' that, now, in a policeman's bread-basket?"

"I think, " answered I, as loud as I dare, and as near the dangerous door, "if I intended really to use it, I wouldn't make such a fool's noise aboutit. "

There was a dead silence; the door was hastily opened, and Kelly's nosepoked out; while we, in spite of the horribleness of the whole thing, couldnot help laughing at his face of terror. Seeing who we were he welcomedus in at once, into a miserable apartment, full of pikes and daggers, brandished by some dozen miserable, ragged, half-starved artizans. Three-fourths, I saw at once, were slop-working tailors. There was abloused and bearded Frenchman or two; but the majority were, as was to havebeen expected, the oppressed, the starved, the untaught, the despairing, the insane; "the dangerous classes, " which society creates, and thenshrinks in horror, like Frankenstein, from the monster her own clumsyambition has created. Thou Frankenstein Mammon! hast thou not had warningsenough, either to make thy machines like men, or stop thy bungling, and letGod make them for Himself?

I will not repeat what I heard there. There is many a frantic ruffianof that night now sitting "in his right mind"--though not yet"clothed"--waiting for God's deliverance, rather than his own. 

We got Kelly out of the room into the street, and began inquiring ofhim the whereabouts of this said Bower or Power. "He didn't know, "--thefeather-headed Irishman that he was!--"Faix, by-the-by, he'd forgotten--an'he went to look for him at the place he tould him, and they didn't knowsich a one there--"

"Oh, oh! Mr. Power has an _alibi_, then? Perhaps an _alias_ too?"

"He didn't know his name rightly. Some said it was Brown; but he was abroth of a boy--a thrue people's man. Bedad, he gov' away arms afthen andafthen to them that couldn't buy 'em. An' he's as free-spoken--och, buthe's put me into the confidence! Come down the street a bit, and I'll tellyees--I'll be Lord-Lieutenant o' Dublin Castle meself, if it succades, asshure as there's no snakes in ould Ireland, an' revenge her wrongs ankledeep in the bhlood o' the Saxon! Whirroo! for the marthyred memory o' thethree hundred thousint vargens o' Wexford!"

"Hold your tongue, you ass!" said Crossthwaite, as he clapped his hand overhis mouth, expecting every moment to find us all three in the Rhadamanthinegrasp of a policeman; while I stood laughing, as people will, for meredisgust at the ridiculous, which almost always intermingles with thehorrible. 

At last, out it came--

"Bedad! we're going to do it! London's to be set o' fire in seventeenplaces at the same moment, an' I'm to light two of them to me own self, andmake a holycrust--ay, that's the word--o' Ireland's scorpions, to stingthemselves to death in circling flame--"

"You would not do such a villanous thing?" cried we, both at once. 

"Bedad! but I won't harm a hair o' their heads! Shure, we'll save the womenand childer alive, and run for the fire-ingins our blessed selves, and thenout with the pikes, and seize the Bank and the Tower--

 "An' av' I lives, I lives victhorious, An' av' I dies, my soul in glory is; Love fa--a--are--well!"

I was getting desperate: the whole thing seemed at once so horrible and soimpossible. There must be some villanous trap at the bottom of it. 

"If you don't tell me more about this fellow Power, Mike, " said I, "I'llblow your brains out on the spot: either you or he are villains. " And Ivaliantly pulled out my only weapon, the door key, and put it to his head. 

"Och! are you mad, thin? He's a broth of a boy; and I'll tell ye. Shure heknows all about the red-coats, case he's an arthillery man himself, andthat's the way he's found out his gran' combustible. "

"An artilleryman?" said John. "He told me he was a writer for the press. "

"Bedad, thin, he's mistaken himself intirely; for he tould me with his ownmouth. And I'll show you the thing he sowld me as is to do it. Shure, it'llset fire to the stones o' the street, av' you pour a bit vitriol on it. "

"Set fire to the stones? I must see that before I believe it. "

"Shure an' ye shall then. Where'll I buy a bit? Sorra a shop is there openthis time o' night; an' troth I forgot the name o' it intirely! Poker o'Moses, but here's a bit in my pocket!"

And out of his tattered coat-tail he lugged a flask of powder and a lumpof some cheap chemical salt, whose name I have, I am ashamed to say, forgotten. 

"You're a pretty fellow to keep such things in the same pocket withgunpowder!"

"Come along to Mackaye's, " said Crossthwaite. "I'll see to the bottomof this. Be hanged, but I think the fellow's a cursed _mouchard_--somegovernment spy!"

"Spy is he, thin? Och, the thief o' the world! I'll stab him! I'll murtherhim! an' burn the town afterwards, all the same. "

"Unless, " said I, "just as you've got your precious combustible to blazeoff, up he comes from behind the corner and gives you in charge to apoliceman. It's a villanous trap, you miserable fool, as sure as the moon'sin heaven. "

"Upon my word, I am afraid it is--and I'm trapped too. "

"Blood and turf! thin, it's he that I'll trap, thin. There's two millionfree and inlightened Irishmen in London, to avenge my marthyrdom wi' pikesand baggonets like raving salviges, and blood for blood!"

"Like savages, indeed!" said I to Crossthwaite, "And pretty savage companywe are keeping. Liberty, like poverty, makes a man acquainted with strangecompanions!"

"And who's made 'em savages? Who has left them savages? That the greatestnation of the earth has had Ireland in her hands three hundred years--andher people still to be savages!--if that don't justify a revolution, whatdoes? Why, it's just because these poor brutes are what they are, thatrebellion becomes a sacred duty. It's for them--for such fools, brutes, asthat there, and the millions more like him, and likely to remain like him, and I've made up my mind to do or die to-morrow!"

There was a grand half-truth, distorted, miscoloured in the words, thatsilenced me for the time. 

We entered Mackaye's door; strangely enough at that time of night, it stoodwide open. What could be the matter? I heard loud voices in the inner room, and ran forward calling his name, when, to my astonishment, out past merushed a tall man, followed by a steaming kettle, which, missing him, tookfull effect on Kelly's chest as he stood in the entry, filling his shoeswith boiling water, and producing a roar that might have been heard atTemple Bar. 

"What's the matter?"

"Have I hit him?" said the old man, in a state of unusual excitement. 

"Bedad! it was the man Power! the cursed spy! An' just as I was going toslate the villain nately, came the kittle, and kilt me all over!"

"Power? He's as many names as a pickpocket, and as many callings, too, I'llwarrant. He came sneaking in to tell me the sogers were a' ready to gie uptheir arms if I'd come forward to them to-morrow. So I tauld him, sin' hewas so sure o't, he'd better gang and tak the arms himsel; an' then he letout he'd been a policeman--"

"A policeman!" said both Crossthwaite and Kelly, with strong expletives. 

"A policeman doon in Manchester; I thought I kenned his face fra the first. And when the rascal saw he'd let out too much, he wanted to make out thathe'd been a' along a spy for the Chartists, while he was makin' believe tobe a spy o' the goovernment's. Sae when he came that far, I just up wi' thehet water, and bleezed awa at him; an' noo I maun gang and het some mairfor my drap toddy. "

Sandy had a little vitriol in the house, so we took the combustible downinto the cellar, and tried it. It blazed up: but burnt the stone as much asthe reader may expect. We next tried it on a lump of wood. It just scorchedthe place where it lay, and then went out; leaving poor Kelly perfectlyfrantic with rage, terror, and disappointment. He dashed up-stairs, and outinto the street, on a wild-goose chase after the rascal, and we saw no moreof him that night. 

I relate a simple fact. I am afraid--perhaps, for the poor workmen's sake, I should say I am glad, that it was not an unique one. Villains of thiskind, both in April and in June, mixed among the working men, excitedtheir worst passions by bloodthirsty declamations and extravagant promisesof success, sold them arms; and then, like the shameless wretch on whoseevidence Cuffy and Jones were principally convicted, bore witness againsttheir own victims, unblushingly declaring themselves to have been allalong the tools of the government. I entreat all those who disbelieve thisapparently prodigious assertion, to read the evidence given on the trial ofthe John Street conspirators, and judge for themselves. 

 * * * * *

"The petition's filling faster than ever!" said Crossthwaite, as thatevening we returned to Mackaye's little back room. 

"Dirt's plenty, " grumbled the old man, who had settled himself again to hispipe, with his feet on the fender, and his head half way up the chimney. 

"Now, or never!" went on Crossthwaite, without minding him; "now, or never!The manufacturing districts seem more firm than ever. "

"An' words cheap, " commented Mackaye, _sotto voce_. 

"Well, " I said, "Heaven keep us from the necessity of ulterior measures!But what must be, must. "

"The government expect it, I can tell you. They're in a pitiable funk, Ihear. One regiment is ordered to Uxbridge already, because they daren'ttrust it. They'll find soldiers are men, I do believe, after all. "

"Men they are, " said Sandy; "an' therefore they'll no be fools eneugh tostan' by an' see ye pu' down a' that is, to build up ye yourselves dinnayet rightly ken what. Men? Ay, an' wi' mair common sense in them than somethat had mair opportunities. "

"I think I've settled everything, " went on Crossthwaite, who seemed not tohave heard the last speech--"settled everything--for poor Katie, I mean. If anything happens to me, she has friends at Cork--she thinks so atleast--and they'd get her out to service somewhere--God knows!" And hisface worked fearfully a minute. 

"Dulce et decorum est pro patriâ mori!" said I. 

"There are twa methods o' fulfilling that saw, I'm thinkin'. Impreemis, toshoot your neebour; in secundis, to hang yoursel. "

"What do you mean by grumbling at the whole thing in this way, Mr. Mackaye?Are you, too, going to shrink back from The Cause, now that liberty is atthe very doors?"

"Ou, then, I'm stanch eneuch. I ha' laid in my ain stock o' weapons for thefecht at Armageddon. "

"You don't mean it? What have you got?"

"A braw new halter, an' a muckle nail. There's a gran' tough beam hereayont the ingle, will haud me a' crouse and cantie, when the time comes. "

"What on earth do you mean?" asked we both together. 

"Ha' ye looked into the monster-petition?"

"Of course we have, and signed it too!"

"Monster? Ay, ferlie! Monstrum horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumenademptum. Desinit in piscem mulier formosa superne. Leeberty, the bonnielassie, wi' a sealgh's fud to her! I'll no sign it. I dinna consort wi'shoplifters, an' idiots, an' suckin' bairns--wi' long nose, an' short nose, an' pug nose, an' seventeen Deuks o' Wellington, let alone a baker's dizeno' Queens. It's no company, that, for a puir auld patriot!"

"Why, my dear Mackaye, " said I, "you know the Reform Bill petitions werejust as bad. "

"And the Anti-Corn-law ones, too, for that matter, " said Crossthwaite. "Youknow we can't help accidents; the petition will never be looked through. "

"It's always been the plan with Whigs and Tories, too!"

"I ken that better than ye, I guess. "

"And isn't everything fair in a good cause?" said Crossthwaite. 

"Desperate men really can't be so dainty. "

"How lang ha' ye learnit that deil's lee, Johnnie? Ye were no o' that mindfive years agone, lad. Ha' ye been to Exeter Hall the while? A's fair inthe cause o' Mammon; in the cause o' cheap bread, that means cheap wages;but in the cause o' God--wae's me, that ever I suld see this day oweragain! ower again! Like the dog to his vomit--just as it was ten, twenty, fifty year agone. I'll just ha' a petition a' alane to mysel--I, an' a twaor three honest men. Besides, ye're just eight days ower time wi' it. "

"What do you mean?"

"Suld ha' sent it in the 1st of April, an' no the 10th; a' fool's day wudha' suited wi' it ferlie!"

"Mr. Mackaye, " said Crossthwaite, in a passion, "I shall certainly informthe Convention of your extraordinary language!"

"Do, laddie! do, then! An' tell 'em this, too"--and, as he rose, his wholeface and figure assumed a dignity, an awfulness, which I had never seenbefore in him--"tell them that ha' driven out * * * * and * * * *, an'every one that daur speak a word o' common sense, or common humanity--themthat stone the prophets, an' quench the Spirit o' God, and love a lie, an'them that mak the same--them that think to bring about the reign o' lovean' britherhood wi' pikes an' vitriol bottles, murther an' blasphemy--tell'em that ane o' fourscore years and mair--ane that has grawn grey in thepeople's cause--that sat at the feet o' Cartwright, an' knelt by thedeath-bed o' Rabbie Burns--ane that cheerit Burdett as he went to theTouer, an' spent his wee earnings for Hunt an' Cobbett--ane that beheld theshaking o' the nations in the Ninety-three, and heard the birth-shriek o'a newborn world--ane that while he was yet a callant saw Liberty afar off, an' seeing her was glad, as for a bonny bride, an' followed her through thewilderness for threescore weary waeful years--sends them the last messagethat e'er he'll send on airth: tell 'em that they're the slaves o' warsethan priests and kings--the slaves o' their ain lusts an' passions--theslaves o' every loud-tongued knave an' mountebank that'll pamper them intheir self-conceit; and that the gude God'll smite 'em down, and bring 'emto nought, and scatter 'em abroad, till they repent, an' get clean heartsand a richt speerit within them, and learn His lesson that he's been tryingto teach 'em this threescore years--that the cause o' the people is thecause o' Him that made the people; an' wae to them that tak' the deevil'stools to do his wark wi'! Gude guide us!--What was yon, Alton, laddie?"

"What?"

"But I saw a spunk o' fire fa' into your bosom! I've na faith in siccanheathen omens; but auld carlins wud say it's a sign o' death within theyear--save ye from it, my puir misguidit bairn! Aiblins a fire-flaught o'my een, it might be--I've had them unco often, the day--"

And he stooped down to the fire, and began to light his pipe, muttering tohimself--

"Saxty years o' madness! saxty years o' madness! How lang, O Lord, beforethou bring these puir daft bodies to their richt mind again?"

We stood watching him, and interchanging looks--expecting something, weknew not what. 

Suddenly he sank forward on his knees, with his hands on the bars of thegrate; we rushed forward, and caught him up. He turned his eyes up to me, speechless, with a ghastly expression; one side of his face was all drawnaside--and helpless as a child, he let us lift him to his bed, and there helay staring at the ceiling. 

 * * * * *

Four weary days passed by--it was the night of the ninth of April. In theevening of that day his speech returned to him on a sudden--he seemeduneasy about something, and several times asked Katie the day of the month. 

"Before the tenth--ay, we maun pray for that. I doubt but I'm ower heartyyet--I canna bide to see the shame o' that day--

 * * * * *

"Na--I'll tak no potions nor pills--gin it were na for scruples o'conscience, I'd apocartereeze a'thegither, after the manner o' the ancientphilosophers. But it's no' lawful, I misdoubt, to starve onesel. "

"Here is the doctor, " said Katie. 

"Doctor? Wha ca'd for doctors? Canst thou administer to a mind diseased?Can ye tak long nose, an' short nose, an' snub nose, an' seventeen Deukso' Wellington out o' my puddins? Will your castor oil, an' your calomel, an' your croton, do that? D'ye ken a medicamentum that'll put brains intoworkmen--? Non tribus Anti-cyrus! Tons o' hellebore--acres o' straitwaistcoats--a hall police-force o' head-doctors, winna do it. Juvatinsanire--this their way is their folly, as auld Benjamin o' Tudelasaith of the heathen. Heigho! 'Forty years lang was he grevit wi' thisgeneration, an' swore in his wrath that they suldna enter into his rest. 'Pulse? tongue? ay, shak your lugs, an' tak your fee, an' dinna keep auldfolk out o' their graves. Can ye sing?"

The doctor meekly confessed his inability. 

"That's pity--or I'd gar ye sing Auld-lang-syne, --

 "We twa hae paidlit in the burn--

"Aweel, aweel, aweel--"

 * * * * *

Weary and solemn was that long night, as we sat there, with the crushingweight of the morrow on our mind, watching by that death-bed, listeninghour after hour to the rambling soliloquies of the old man, as "he babbledof green fields"; yet I verily believe that to all of us, especially topoor little Katie, the active present interest of tending him kept us fromgoing all but mad with anxiety and excitement. But it was weary work:--andyet, too, strangely interesting, as at times there came scraps of oldScotch love-poetry, contrasting sadly with the grim withered lips thatuttered them--hints to me of some sorrow long since suffered, but neverhealed. I had never heard him allude to such an event before but once, onthe first day of our acquaintance. 

 "I went to the kirk, My luve sat afore me; I trow my twa een Tauld him a sweet story. 

 "Aye wakin o'-- Wakin aye and weary-- I thocht a' the kirk Saw me and my deary. 

"'Aye wakin o'!'--Do ye think, noo, we sall ha' knowledge in the next warldo' them we loved on earth? I askit that same o' Rab Burns ance; an' hesaid, puir chiel, he 'didna ken ower well, we maun bide and see';--bide andsee--that's the gran' philosophy o' life, after a'. Aiblins folk'll kentheir true freens there; an' there'll be na mair luve coft and sauld forsiller--

 "Gear and tocher is needit nane I' the country whaur my luve is gane. 

 * * * * *

"Gin I had a true freen the noo! to gang down the wynd, an' find if it warbut an auld Abraham o' a blue-gown, wi' a bit crowd, or a fizzle-pipe, toplay me the Bush aboon Traquair! Na, na, na; it's singing the Lord's songin a strange land, that wad be; an' I hope the application's no irreverent, for ane that was rearit amang the hills o' God, an' the trees o' the forestwhich he hath planted. 

 "Oh the broom, and the bonny yellow broom, The broom o' the Cowden-knowes. 

"Hech, but she wud lilt that bonnily!

 * * * * *

"Did ye ever gang listering saumons by nicht? Ou, but it's braw sport, wi'the scars an' the birks a' glowering out blude-red i' the torchlight, andthe bonnie hizzies skelping an' skirling on the bank--

 * * * * *

"There was a gran' leddy, a bonny leddy, came in and talked like an angel o'God to puir auld Sandy, anent the salvation o' his soul. But I tauld herno' to fash hersel. It's no my view o' human life, that a man's sent intothe warld just to save his soul, an' creep out again. An' I said I wadleave the savin' o' my soul to Him that made my soul; it was in richt gudekeepin' there, I'd warrant. An' then she was unco fleyed when she found Ididna haud wi' the Athanasian creed. An' I tauld her, na; if He that diedon cross was sic a ane as she and I teuk him to be, there was na that pridenor spite in him, be sure, to send a puir auld sinful, guideless body toeternal fire, because he didna a'thegither understand the honour due to hisname. "

"Who was this lady?"

He did not seem to know; and Katie had never heard of her before--"somedistrict visitor" or other. 

 * * * * *

"I sair misdoubt but the auld creeds are in the right anent Him, after a'. I'd gie muckle to think it--there's na comfort as it is. Aiblins theremight be a wee comfort in that, for a poor auld worn-out patriot. But it'sower late to change. I tauld her that, too, ance. It's ower late to put newwine into auld bottles. I was unco drawn to the high doctrines ance, whenI was a bit laddie, an' sat in the wee kirk by my minnie an' my daddie--aricht stern auld Cameronian sort o' body he was, too; but as I grew, andgrew, the bed was ower short for a man to stretch himsel thereon, an' theplaidie ower strait for a man to fauld himself therein; and so I had togang my gate a' naked in the matter o' formulæ, as Maister Tummas has it. "

"Ah! do send for a priest, or a clergyman!" said Katie, who partlyunderstood his meaning. 

"Parson? He canna pit new skin on auld scars. Na bit stickit curate-laddiefor me, to gang argumentin' wi' ane that's auld enough to be hisgran'father. When the parsons will hear me anent God's people, then I'llhear them anent God. 

 "--Sae I'm wearing awa, Jean, To the land o' the leal--

"Gin I ever get thither. Katie, here, hauds wi' purgatory, ye ken! wheresouls are burnt clean again--like baccy pipes--

 "When Bazor-brigg is ower and past, Every night and alle; To Whinny Muir thou comest at last, And God receive thy sawle. 

 "Gin hosen an' shoon thou gavest nane Every night and alle; The whins shall pike thee intil the bane, And God receive thy sawle. 

"Amen. There's mair things aboon, as well as below, than are dreamt o'in our philosophy. At least, where'er I go, I'll meet no long nose, norshort nose, nor snub nose patriots there; nor puir gowks stealing thedeil's tools to do God's wark wi'. Out among the eternities an' therealities--it's no that dreary outlook, after a', to find truth an'fact--naught but truth an' fact--e'en beside the worm that dieth not, andthe fire that is not quenched!"

"God forbid!" said Katie. 

"God do whatsoever shall please Him, Katie--an' that's aye gude likeHimsel'. Shall no the Judge of all the earth do right--right--right?"

And murmuring that word of words to himself, over and over, more and morefaintly, he turned slowly over, and seemed to slumber--

Some half hour passed before we tried to stir him. He was dead. 

And the candles waned grey, and the great light streamed in through everycrack and cranny, and the sun had risen on the Tenth of April. What wouldbe done before the sun had set?

What would be done? Just what we had the might to do; and therefore, according to the formula on which we were about to act, that mights arerights, just what we had a right to do--nothing. Futility, absurdity, vanity, and vexation of spirit. I shall make my next a short chapter. It isa day to be forgotten--and forgiven. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE TENTH OF APRIL. 

And he was gone at last! Kind women, whom his unknown charities had savedfrom shame, laid him out duly, and closed his eyes, and bound up that facethat never would beam again with genial humour, those lips that wouldnever again speak courage and counsel to the sinful, the oppressed, theforgotten. And there he lay, the old warrior, dead upon his shield; wornout by long years of manful toil in The People's Cause; and, saddestthought of all, by disappointment in those for whom he spent his soul. True, he was aged; no one knew how old. He had said, more than eightyyears; but we had shortened his life, and we knew it. He would never seethat deliverance for which he had been toiling ever since the days when asa boy he had listened to Tooke and Cartwright, and the patriarchs of thepeople's freedom. Bitter, bitter were our thoughts, and bitter were ourtears, as Crossthwaite and I stood watching that beloved face, now in deathrefined to a grandeur, to a youthful simplicity and delicacy, which we hadnever seen on it before--calm and strong--the square jaws set firm evenin death--the lower lip still clenched above the upper, as if in a divineindignation and everlasting protest, even in the grave, against thedevourers of the earth. Yes, he was gone--the old lion, worn out with manywounds, dead in his cage. Where could we replace him? There were gallantmen amongst us, eloquent, well-read, earnest--men whose names will ringthrough this land ere long--men who had boon taught wisdom, even as he, bythe sinfulness, the apathy, the ingratitude, as well as by the sufferingsof their fellows. But where should we two find again the learning, themoderation, the long experience, above all the more than women's tendernessof him whom we had lost? And at that time, too, of all others! Alas! we haddespised his counsel: wayward and fierce we would have none of his reproof;and now God has withdrawn him from us; the righteous was taken away fromthe evil to come. For we knew that evil was coming. We felt all along thatwe should _not_ succeed. But we were desperate; and his death made us moredesperate; still at the moment it drew us nearer to each other. Yes--wewere rudderless upon a roaring sea, and all before us blank with luridblinding mist: but still we were together, to live and die; and as welooked into each other's eyes, and clasped each other's hands above thedead man's face, we felt that there was love between us, as of Jonathan andDavid, passing the love of woman. 

Few words passed. Even our passionate artizan-nature, so sensitiveand voluble in general, in comparison with the cold reserve of thefield-labourer and the gentleman, was hushed in silent awe between thethought of the past and the thought of the future. We felt ourselvestrembling between two worlds. We felt that to-morrow must decide ourdestiny--and we felt rightly, though little we guessed what that destinywould be!

But it was time to go. We had to prepare for the meeting, We must be atKennington Common within three hours at furthest; and Crossthwaite hurriedaway, leaving Katie and me to watch the dead. 

And then came across me the thought of another deathbed--my mother's--Howshe had lain and lain, while I was far away--And then I wondered whethershe had suffered much, or faded away at last in a peaceful sleep, as hehad--And then I wondered how her corpse had looked; and pictured it tomyself, lying in the little old room day after day, till they screwed thecoffin down--before I came!--Cruel! Did she look as calm, as grand in deathas he who lay there? And as I watched the old man's features, I seemedto trace in them the strangest likeness to my mother's. The strangestlikeness! I could not shake it off. It became intense--miraculous. Was itshe, or was it he, who lay there? I shook myself and rose. My loins ached, my limbs were heavy; my brain and eyes swam round. I must be over fatiguedby excitement and sleeplessness. I would go down stairs into the fresh air, and shake it off. 

As I came down the passage, a woman, dressed in black, was standing at thedoor, speaking to one of the lodgers. "And he is dead! Oh, if I had butknown sooner that he was even ill!"

That voice--that figure-surely, I knew them!--them, at least, there wasno mistaking! Or, was it another phantom of my disordered brain! I pushedforward to the door, and as I did so, she turned and our eyes met full. Itwas she--Lady Ellerton! sad, worn, transformed by widow's weeds, but thatface was like no other's still. Why did I drop my eyes and draw back at thefirst glance like a guilty coward? She beckoned me towards her, went outinto the street, and herself began the conversation, from which I shrank, Iknow not why. 

"When did he die?"

"Just at sunrise this morning. But how came you here to visit him? Were youthe lady who, as he said, came to him a few days since?"

She did not answer my question. "At sunrise this morning?--A fitting timefor him to die, before he sees the ruin and disgrace of those for whom helaboured. And you, too, I hear, are taking your share in this projectedmadness and iniquity?"

"What right have you, " I asked, bristling up at a sudden suspicion thatcrossed me, "to use such words about me?"

"Recollect, " she answered, mildly but firmly, "your conduct, three yearsago, at D * * * *. "

"What, " I said, "was it not proved upon my trial, that I exerted all mypowers, endangered my very life, to prevent outrage in that case?"

"It was proved upon your trial, " she replied, in a marked tone; "but wewere informed, and alas! from authority only too good, namely, from that ofan ear-witness, of the sanguinary and ferocious language which you were notafraid to use at the meeting in London, only two nights before the riot. "

I turned white with rage and indignation. 

"Tell me, " I said--"tell me, if you have any honour, who dared to forgesuch an atrocious calumny! No! you need not tell me. I see well enough now. He should have told you that I exposed myself that night to insult, not byadvocating, but by opposing violence, as I have always done--as I wouldnow, were not I desperate--hopeless of any other path to liberty. And asfor this coming struggle, have I not written to my cousin, humiliating asit was to me, to beg him to warn you all from me, lest--"

I could not finish the sentence. 

"You wrote? He has warned us, but he never mentioned your name. He spoke ofhis knowledge as having been picked up by himself at personal risk to hisclerical character. "

"The risk, I presume, of being known to have actually received a letterfrom a Chartist; but I wrote--on my honour I wrote--a week ago; andreceived no word of answer!"

"Is this true?" she asked. 

"A man is not likely to deal in useless falsehoods, who knows not whetherhe shall live to see the set of sun!"

"Then you are implicated in this expected insurrection?"

"I am implicated, " I answered, "with the people; what they do I shall do. Those who once called themselves the patrons of the tailor-poet, leftthe mistaken enthusiast to languish for three years in prison, without asign, a hint of mercy, pity, remembrance. Society has cast me off; and, in casting me off, it has sent me off to my own people, where I shouldhave stayed from the beginning. Now I am at my post, because I am among myclass. If they triumph peacefully, I triumph with them. If they need bloodto gain their rights, be it so. Let the blood be upon the head of those whorefuse, not those who demand. At least, I shall be with my own people. Andif I die, what better thing on earth can happen to me?"

"But the law?" she said. 

"Do not talk to me of law! I know it too well in practice to be moved byany theories about it. Laws are no law, but tyranny, when the few makethem, in order to oppress the many by them. "

"Oh!" she said, in a voice of passionate earnestness, which I had neverheard from her before, "stop--for God's sake, stop! You know not what youare saying--what you are doing. Oh! that I had met you before--that Ihad had more time to speak to poor Mackaye! Oh! wait, wait--there is adeliverance for you! but never in this path--never. And just while I, andnobler far than I, are longing and struggling to find the means of tellingyou your deliverance, you, in the madness of your haste, are making itimpossible!"

There was a wild sincerity in her words--an almost imploring tenderness inher tone. 

"So young!" said she; "so young to be lost thus!"

I was intensely moved. I felt, I knew, that she had a message for me. Ifelt that hers was the only intellect in the world to which I would havesubmitted mine; and, for one moment, all the angel and all the devil in mewrestled for the mastery. If I could but have trusted her one moment. .. . No! all the pride, the spite, the suspicion, the prejudice of years, rolledback upon me. "An aristocrat! and she, too, the one who has kept me fromLillian!" And in my bitterness, not daring to speak the real thought withinme, I answered with a flippant sneer--

"Yes, madam! like Cordelia, so young, yet so untender!--Thanks to themercies of the upper classes!"

Did she turn away in indignation? No, by Heaven! there was nothing upon herface but the intensest yearning pity. If she had spoken again she wouldhave conquered; but before those perfect lips could open, the thought ofthoughts flashed across me. 

"Tell me one thing! Is my cousin George to be married to ----" and Istopped. 

"He is. "

"And yet, " I said, "you wish to turn me back from dying on a barricade!"And without waiting for a reply, I hurried down the street in all the furyof despair. 

 * * * * *

I have promised to say little about the Tenth of April, for indeed I haveno heart to do so. Every one of Mackaye's predictions came true. We hadarrayed against us, by our own folly, the very physical force to which wehad appealed. The dread of general plunder and outrage by the savages ofLondon, the national hatred of that French and Irish interference of whichwe had boasted, armed against us thousands of special constables, who hadin the abstract little or no objection to our political opinions. Thepractical common sense of England, whatever discontent it might feel withthe existing system, refused to let it be hurled rudely down, on the merechance of building up on its ruins something as yet untried, and evenundefined. Above all, the people would not rise. Whatever sympathy they hadwith us, they did not care to show it. And then futility after futilityexposed itself. The meeting which was to have been counted by hundreds ofthousands, numbered hardly its tens of thousands; and of them a frightfulproportion were of those very rascal classes, against whom we ourselves hadoffered to be sworn in as special constables. O'Connor's courage failed himafter all. He contrived to be called away, at the critical moment, by someproblematical superintendent of police. Poor Cuffy, the honestest, if notthe wisest, speaker there, leapt off the waggon, exclaiming that we wereall "humbugged and betrayed"; and the meeting broke up pitiably piecemeal, drenched and cowed, body and soul, by pouring rain on its way home--forthe very heavens mercifully helped to quench our folly--while themonster-petition crawled ludicrously away in a hack cab, to be dragged tothe floor of the House of Commons amid roars of laughter--"inextinguishablelaughter, " as of Tennyson's Epicurean Gods--

 Careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and their bolts are hurled Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world. There they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, _and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music, centred in a doleful song, Steaming up, a lamentation, and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning, though the words are strong_ Chanted by an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing little yearly dues of wheat, and wine, and oil; Till they perish, and they suffer--some, 'tis whispered, down in hell Suffer endless anguish!--

Truly--truly, great poets' words are vaster than the singers themselvessuppose!

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE LOWEST DEEP. 

Sullen, disappointed, desperate, I strode along the streets that evening, careless whither I went. The People's Cause was lost--the Charter alaughing-stock. That the party which monopolizes wealth, rank, and, as itis fancied, education and intelligence, should have been driven, degraded, to appeal to brute force for self-defence--that thought gave me a savagejoy; but that it should have conquered by that last, lowest resource!--Thatthe few should be still stronger than the many, or the many still toocold-hearted and coward to face the few--that sickened me. I hated thewell-born young special constables whom I passed, because they would havefought. I hated the gent and shop-keeper special constables, because theywould have run away. I hated my own party, because they had gone toofar--because they had not gone far enough. I hated myself, because I hadnot produced some marvellous effect--though what that was to have been Icould not tell--and hated myself all the more for that ignorance. 

A group of effeminate shop-keepers passed me, shouting, "God save theQueen!" "Hypocrites!" I cried in my heart--"they mean 'God save our shops!'Liars! They keep up willingly the useful calumny, that their slaves andvictims are disloyal as well as miserable!"

I was utterly abased--no, not utterly; for my self-contempt still venteditself--not in forgiveness, but in universal hatred and defiance. SuddenlyI perceived my cousin, laughing and jesting with a party of fashionableyoung specials: I shrank from him; and yet, I know not why, drew as nearhim as I could, unobserved--near enough to catch the words. 

"Upon my honour, Locke, I believe you are a Chartist yourself at heart. "

"At least I am no Communist, " said he, in a significant tone. "There is onelittle bit of real property which I have no intention of sharing with myneighbours. "

"What, the little beauty somewhere near Cavendish Square?"

"That's my business. "

"Whereby you mean that you are on your way to her now? Well, I am invitedto the wedding, remember. "

He pushed on laughingly, without answering. I followed him fast--"nearCavendish Square!"--the very part of the town where Lillian lived! I hadhad, as yet, a horror of going near it; but now an intolerable suspicionscourged me forward, and I dogged his steps, hiding behind pillars, and atthe corners of streets, and then running on, till I got sight of him again. He went through Cavendish Square, up Harley Street--was it possible? Ignashed my teeth at the thought. But it must be so. He stopped at thedean's house, knocked, and entered without parley. 

In a minute I was breathless on the door-step, and knocked. I had no plan, no object, except the wild wish to see my own despair. I never thoughtof the chances of being recognized by the servants, or of anything else, except of Lillian by my cousin's side. 

The footman came out smiling, "What did I want?"

"I--I--Mr. Locke. "

"Well you needn't be in such a hurry!" (with a significant grin). "Mr. Locke's likely to be busy for a few minutes yet, I expect. "

Evidently the man did not know me. 

"Tell him that--that a person wishes to speak to him on particularbusiness. " Though I had no more notion what that business was than the manhimself. 

"Sit down in the hall. "

And I heard the fellow, a moment afterwards, gossiping and laughing withthe maids below about the "young couple. "

To sit down was impossible; my only thought was--where was Lillian?

Voices in an adjoining room caught my ear. His! yes--and hers too--softand low. What devil prompted me to turn eavesdropper? to run headlonginto temptation? I was close to the dining-room door, but they were notthere--evidently they were in the back room, which, as I knew, opened intoit with folding-doors. I--I must confess all. --Noiselessly, with craft likea madman's, I turned the handle, slipped in as stealthily as a cat--thefolding-doors were slightly open. I had a view of all that passed within. A horrible fascination seemed to keep my eyes fixed on them, in spite ofmyself. Honour, shame, despair, bade me turn away, but in vain. 

I saw them. --How can I write it? Yet I will. --I saw them sitting togetheron the sofa. Their arms were round each other. Her head lay upon hisbreast; he bent over her with an intense gaze, as of a basilisk, I thought;how do I know that it was not the fierceness of his love? Who could havehelped loving her?

Suddenly she raised her head, and looked up in his face--her eyes brimmingwith tenderness, her cheeks burning with mingled delight and modesty--theirlips met, and clung together. .. . It seemed a life--an eternity--before theyparted again. Then the spell was broken, and I rushed from the room. 

Faint, giddy, and blind, I just recollect leaning against the wall of thestaircase. He came hastily out, and started as he saw me. My face told all. 

"What? Eavesdropping?" he said, in a tone of unutterable scorn. I answerednothing, but looked stupidly and fixedly in his face, while he glared at mewith that keen, burning, intolerable eye. I longed to spring at his throat, but that eye held me as the snake's holds the deer. At last I found words. 

"Traitor! everywhere--in everything--tricking me--supplanting me--in myfriends--in my love!"

"Your love? Yours?" And the fixed eye still glared upon me. "Listen, cousinAlton! The strong and the weak have been matched for the same prize: andwhat wonder, if the strong man conquers? Go and ask Lillian how she likesthe thought of being a Communist's love!"

As when, in a nightmare, we try by a desperate effort to break the spell, Isprang forward, and struck at him, he put my hand by carelessly, and felledme bleeding to the ground. I recollect hardly anything more, till I foundmyself thrust into the street by sneering footmen, and heard them callafter me "Chartist" and "Communist" as I rushed along the pavement, careless where I went. 

I strode and staggered on through street after street, running blindlyagainst passengers, dashing under horses' heads, heedless of warnings andexecrations, till I found myself, I know not how, on Waterloo Bridge. I hadmeant to go there when I left the door. I knew that at least--and now I wasthere. 

I buried myself in a recess of the bridge, and stared around and up anddown. 

I was alone--deserted even by myself. Mother, sister, friends, love, theidol of my life, were all gone. I could have borne that. But to be shamed, and know that I deserved it; to be deserted by my own honour, self-respect, strength of will--who can bear that?

I could have borne it, had one thing been left--faith in my owndestiny--the inner hope that God had called me to do a work for him. 

"What drives the Frenchman to suicide?" I asked myself, arguing ever evenin the face of death and hell--"His faith in nothing but his own lusts andpleasures; and when they are gone, then comes the pan of charcoal--and allis over. What drives the German? His faith in nothing but his own brain. Hehas fallen down and worshipped that miserable 'Ich' of his, and made that, and not God's will, the centre and root of his philosophy, his poetry, andhis self-idolizing æsthetics; and when it fails him, then for prussic acid, and nonentity. Those old Romans, too--why, they are the very experimentumcrucis of suicide! As long as they fancied that they had a calling to servethe state, they could live on and suffer. But when they found no more workleft for them, then they could die--as Porcia died--as Cato--as I ought. What is there left for me to do? outcast, disgraced, useless, decrepit--"

I looked out over the bridge into the desolate night. Below me the darkmoaning river-eddies hurried downward. The wild west-wind howled past me, and leapt over the parapet downward. The huge reflexion of Saint Paul's, the great tap-roots of light from lamp and window that shone upon the luridstream, pointed down--down--down. A black wherry shot through the archbeneath me, still and smoothly downward. My brain began to whirl madly--Isprang upon the step. --A man rushed past me, clambered on the parapet, andthrew up his arms wildly. --A moment more, and he would have leapt into thestream. The sight recalled me to my senses--say, rather, it reawoke in methe spirit of manhood. I seized him by the arm, tore him down upon thepavement, and held him, in spite of his frantic struggles. It was JemmyDownes! Gaunt, ragged, sodden, blear-eyed, drivelling, the worn-outgin-drinker stood, his momentary paroxysm of strength gone, trembling andstaggering. 

"Why won't you let a cove die? Why won't you let a cove die? They're alldead--drunk, and poisoned, and dead! What is there left?"--he burst outsuddenly in his old ranting style--"what is there left on earth to livefor? The prayers of liberty are answered by the laughter of tyrants; hersun is sunk beneath the ocean wave, and her pipe put out by the ragingbillows of aristocracy! Those starving millions of Kennington Common--whereare they? Where? I axes you, " he cried fiercely, raising his voice to awomanish scream--"where are they?"

"Gone home to bed, like sensible people; and you had better go too. "

"Bed! I sold ours a month ago; but we'll go. Come along, and I'll show youmy wife and family; and we'll have a tea-party--Jacob's Island tea. Comealong!

 "Flea, flea, unfortunate flea! Bereft of his wife and his small family!"

He clutched my arm, and dragging me off towards the Surrey side, turneddown Stamford Street. 

I followed half perforce; and the man seemed quite demented--whether withgin or sorrow I could not tell. As he strode along the pavement, he keptcontinually looking back, with a perplexed terrified air, as if expectingsome fearful object. 

"The rats!--the rats! don't you see 'em coming out of the gullyholes, atween the area railings--dozens and dozens?"

"No; I saw none. "

"You lie; I hear their tails whisking; there's their shiny hats aglistening, and every one on 'em with peelers' staves! Quick! quick! orthey'll have me to the station-house. "

"Nonsense!" I said; "we are free men! What are the policemen to us?"

"You lie!" cried he, with a fearful oath, and a wrench at my arm whichalmost threw me down. "Do you call a sweater's man a free man?"

"You a sweater's man?"

"Ay!" with another oath. "My men ran away--folks said I drank, too; buthere I am; and I, that sweated others, I'm sweated myself--and I'm a slave!I'm a slave--a negro slave, I am, you aristocrat villain!"

"Mind me, Downes; if you will go quietly, I will go with you; but if you donot let go of my arm, I give you in charge to the first policeman I meet. "

"Oh, don't, don't!" whined the miserable wretch, as he almost fell onhis knees, gin-drinkers' tears running down his face, "or I shall be toolate. --And then, the rats'll get in at the roof, and up through the floor, and eat 'em all up, and my work too--the grand new three-pound coat thatI've been stitching at this ten days, for the sum of one half-crownsterling--and don't I wish I may see the money? Come on, quick; thereare the rats, close behind!" And he dashed across the broad roaringthoroughfare of Bridge Street, and hurrying almost at a run down TooleyStreet, plunged into the wilderness of Bermondsey. 

He stopped at the end of a miserable blind alley, where a dirty gas-lampjust served to make darkness visible, and show the patched windows andrickety doorways of the crazy houses, whose upper stories were lost in abrooding cloud of fog; and the pools of stagnant water at our feet; and thehuge heap of cinders which filled up the waste end of the alley--a dreary, black, formless mound, on which two or three spectral dogs prowled up anddown after the offal, appearing and vanishing like dark imps in and out ofthe black misty chaos beyond. 

The neighbourhood was undergoing, as it seemed, "improvements" of thatpeculiar metropolitan species which consists in pulling down the dwellingsof the poor, and building up rich men's houses instead; and greatbuildings, within high temporary palings, had already eaten up half thelittle houses; as the great fish, and the great estates, and the greatshopkeepers, eat up the little ones of their species--by the law ofcompetition, lately discovered to be the true creator and preserver of theuniverse. There they loomed up, the tall bullies, against the dreary sky, looking down, with their grim, proud, stony visages, on the misery whichthey were driving out of one corner, only to accumulate and intensify it inanother. 

The house at which we stopped was the last in the row; all its companionshad been pulled down; and there it stood, leaning out with one naked uglyside into the gap, and stretching out long props, like feeble arms andcrutches, to resist the work of demolition. 

A group of slatternly people were in the entry, talking loudly, and asDownes pushed by them, a woman seized him by the arm. 

"Oh! you unnatural villain!--To go away after your drink, and leave allthem poor dear dead corpses locked up, without even letting a body go in tostretch them out!"

"And breeding the fever, too, to poison the whole house!" growled one. 

"The relieving officer's been here, my cove, " said another, "and he's gonefor a peeler and a search warrant to break open the door, I can tell you!"

But Downes pushed past unheeding, unlocked a door at the end of thepassage, thrust me in, locked it again, and then rushed across the room inchase of two or three rats, who vanished into cracks and holes. 

And what a room! A low lean-to with wooden walls, without a single articleof furniture; and through the broad chinks of the floor shone up as itwere ugly glaring eyes, staring at us. They were the reflexions of therushlight in the sewer below. The stench was frightful--the air heavy withpestilence. The first breath I drew made my heart sink, and my stomachturn. But I forgot everything in the object which lay before me, as Downestore a half-finished coat off three corpses laid side by side on the barefloor. 

There was his little Irish wife:--dead--and naked; the wasted white limbsgleamed in the lurid light; the unclosed eyes stared, as if reproachfully, at the husband whose drunkenness had brought her there to kill her withthe pestilence; and on each side of her a little, shrivelled, impish, child-corpse, --the wretched man had laid their arms round the dead mother'sneck--and there they slept, their hungering and wailing over at last forever; the rats had been busy already with them--but what matter to themnow?

"Look!" he cried; "I watched 'em dying! Day after day I saw the devils comeup through the cracks, like little maggots and beetles, and all manner ofugly things, creeping down their throats; and I asked 'em, and they saidthey were the fever devils. "

It was too true; the poisonous exhalations had killed them. The wretchedman's delirium tremens had given that horrible substantiality to thepoisonous fever gases. 

Suddenly Downes turned on me, almost menacingly. "Money! money! I want somegin!"

I was thoroughly terrified--and there was no shame in feeling fear, lockedup with a madman far my superior in size and strength, in so ghastly aplace. But the shame and the folly too, would have been in giving way to myfear; and with a boldness half assumed, half the real fruit of excitementand indignation at the horrors I beheld, I answered--

"If I had money, I would give you none. What do you want with gin? Lookat the fruits of your accursed tippling. If you had taken my advice, my poor fellow, " I went on, gaining courage as I spoke, "and become awater-drinker, like me--"

"Curse you and your water-drinking! If you had had no water to drinkor wash with for two years but that--that, " pointing to the foul ditchbelow--"if you had emptied the slops in there with one hand, and filledyour kettle with the other--"

"Do you actually mean that that sewer is your only drinking water?"

"Where else can we get any? Everybody drinks it; and you shall, too--youshall!" he cried, with a fearful oath, "and then see if you don't run offto the gin-shop, to take the taste of it out of your mouth. Drink? and whocan help drinking, with his stomach turned with such hell-broth as that--orsuch a hell's blast as this air is here, ready to vomit from morning tillnight with the smells? I'll show you. You shall drink a bucket full of it, as sure as you live, you shall. "

And he ran out of the back door, upon a little balcony, which hung over theditch. 

I tried the door, but the key was gone, and the handle too. I beatfuriously on it, and called for help. Two gruff authoritative voices wereheard in the passage. 

"Let us in; I'm the policeman!"

"Let me out, or mischief will happen!"

The policeman made a vigorous thrust at the crazy door; and just as itburst open, and the light of his lantern streamed into the horrible den, aheavy splash was heard outside. 

"He has fallen into the ditch!"

"He'll be drowned, then, as sure as he's a born man, " shouted one of thecrowd behind. 

We rushed out on the balcony. The light of the policeman's lantern glaredover the ghastly scene--along the double row of miserable house-backs, which lined the sides of the open tidal ditch--over strange ramblingjetties, and balconies, and sleeping-sheds, which hung on rotting pilesover the black waters, with phosphorescent scraps of rotten fish gleamingand twinkling out of the dark hollows, like devilish grave-lights--overbubbles of poisonous gas, and bloated carcases of dogs, and lumps of offal, floating on the stagnant olive-green hell-broth--over the slow sullen rowsof oily ripple which were dying away into the darkness far beyond, sendingup, as they stirred, hot breaths of miasma--the only sign that a spark ofhumanity, after years of foul life, had quenched itself at last in thatfoul death. I almost fancied that I could see the haggard face staring upat me through the slimy water; but no, it was as opaque as stone. 

I shuddered and went in again, to see slatternly gin-smelling womenstripping off their clothes--true women even there--to cover the poor nakedcorpses; and pointing to the bruises which told a tale of long tyrannyand cruelty; and mingling their lamentations with stories of shrieks andbeating, and children locked up for hours to starve; and the men looked onsullenly, as if they too were guilty, or rushed out to relieve themselvesby helping to find the drowned body. Ugh! it was the very mouth of hell, that room. And in the midst of all the rout, the relieving officer stoodimpassive, jotting down scraps of information, and warning us to appear thenext day, to state what we knew before the magistrates. Needless hypocrisyof law! Too careless to save the woman and children from brutal tyranny, nakedness, starvation!--Too superstitious to offend its idol of vestedinterests, by protecting the poor man against his tyrants, the house-owningshopkeepers under whose greed the dwellings of the poor become nests offilth and pestilence, drunkenness and degradation. Careless, superstitious, imbecile law!--leaving the victims to die unhelped, and then, when thefever and the tyranny has done its work, in thy sanctimonious prudishness, drugging thy respectable conscience by a "searching inquiry" as to how itall happened--lest, forsooth, there should have been "foul play!" Is theknife or the bludgeon, then, the only foul play, and not the cesspool andthe curse of Rabshakeh? Go through Bermondsey or Spitalfields, St. Giles'sor Lambeth, and see if _there_ is not foul play enough already--to be triedhereafter at a more awful coroner's inquest than thou thinkest of!

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

DREAMLAND. 

It must have been two o'clock in the morning before I reached my lodgings. Too much exhausted to think, I hurried to my bed. I remember now that Ireeled strangely as I went up-stairs. I lay down, and was asleep in aninstant. 

How long I had slept I know not, when I awoke with a strange confusion andwhirling in my brain, and an intolerable weight and pain about my back andloins. By the light of the gas-lamp I saw a figure standing at the foot ofmy bed. I could not discern the face, but I knew instinctively that it wasmy mother. I called to her again and again, but she did not answer. Shemoved slowly away, and passed out through the wall of the room. 

I tried to follow her, but could not. An enormous, unutterable weightseemed to lie upon me. The bedclothes grew and grew before me, and uponme, into a vast mountain, millions of miles in height. Then it seemed allglowing red, like the cone of a volcano. I heard the roaring of the fireswithin, the rattling of the cinders down the heaving slope. A river ranfrom its summit; and up that river-bed it seemed I was doomed to climband climb for ever, millions and millions of miles upwards, against therushing stream. The thought was intolerable, and I shrieked aloud. A ragingthirst had seized me. I tried to drink the river-water: but it was boilinghot--sulphurous--reeking of putrefaction. Suddenly I fancied that I couldpass round the foot of the mountain; and jumbling, as madmen will, thesublime and the ridiculous, I sprang up to go round the foot of my bed, which was the mountain. 

I recollect lying on the floor. I recollect the people of the house, whohad been awoke by my shriek and my fall, rushing in and calling to me. Icould not rise or answer. I recollect a doctor; and talk about brain feverand delirium. It was true. I was in a raging fever. And my fancy, longpent-up and crushed by circumstances, burst out in uncontrollable wildness, and swept my other faculties with it helpless away over all heaven andearth, presenting to me, as in a vast kaleidoscope, fantastic symbols ofall I had ever thought, or read, or felt. 

That fancy of the mountain returned; but I had climbed it now. I waswandering along the lower ridge of the Himalaya. On my right the line ofsnow peaks showed like a rosy saw against the clear blue morning sky. Raspberries and cyclamens were peeping through the snow around me. As Ilooked down the abysses, I could see far below, through the thin veils ofblue mist that wandered in the glens, the silver spires of giant deodars, and huge rhododendrons glowing like trees of flame. The longing of mylife to behold that cradle of mankind was satisfied. My eyes revelled invastness, as they swept over the broad flat jungle at the mountain foot, a desolate sheet of dark gigantic grasses, furrowed with the paths of thebuffalo and rhinoceros, with barren sandy water-courses, desolate pools, and here and there a single tree, stunted with malaria, shattered bymountain floods; and far beyond, the vast plains of Hindostan, enlaced withmyriad silver rivers and canals, tanks and rice-fields, cities with theirmosques and minarets, gleaming among the stately palm-groves along theboundless horizon. Above me was a Hindoo temple, cut out of the yellowsandstone. I climbed up to the higher tier of pillars among monstrousshapes of gods and fiends, that mouthed and writhed and mocked at me, struggling to free themselves from their bed of rock. The bull Nundi roseand tried to gore me; hundred-handed gods brandished quoits and sabresround my head; and Kali dropped the skull from her gore-dripping jaws, toclutch me for her prey. Then my mother came, and seizing the pillars of theportico, bent them like reeds: an earthquake shook the hills--great sheetsof woodland slid roaring and crashing into the valleys--a tornado sweptthrough the temple halls, which rocked and tossed like a vessel in a storm:a crash--a cloud of yellow dust which filled the air--choked me--blindedme--buried me--

 * * * * *

And Eleanor came by, and took my soul in the palm of her hand, as theangels did Faust's, and carried it to a cavern by the seaside, and droppedit in; and I fell and fell for ages. And all the velvet mosses, rockflowers, and sparkling spars and ores, fell with me, round me, in showersof diamonds, whirlwinds of emerald and ruby, and pattered into the sea thatmoaned below, and were quenched; and the light lessened above me to onesmall spark, and vanished; and I was in darkness, and turned again to mydust. 

 * * * * *

And I was at the lowest point of created life; a madrepore rooted to therock, fathoms below the tide-mark; and worst of all, my individuality wasgone. I was not one thing, but many things--a crowd of innumerable polypi;and I grew and grew, and the more I grew the more I divided, and multipliedthousand and ten thousandfold. If I could have thought, I should have gonemad at it; but I could only feel. 

And I heard Eleanor and Lillian talking, as they floated past me throughthe deep, for they were two angels; and Lillian said, "When will he be oneagain?"

And Eleanor said, "He who falls from the golden ladder must climb throughages to its top. He who tears himself in pieces by his lusts, ages only canmake him one again. The madrepore shall become a shell, and the shell afish, and the fish a bird, and the bird a beast; and then he shall become aman again, and see the glory of the latter days. "

 * * * * *

And I was a soft crab, under a stone on the sea-shore. With infinitestarvation, and struggling, and kicking, I had got rid of my armour, shieldby shield, and joint by joint, and cowered, naked and pitiable, in thedark, among dead shells and ooze. Suddenly the stone was turned up; andthere was my cousin's hated face laughing at me, and pointing me outto Lillian. She laughed too, as I looked up, sneaking, ashamed, anddefenceless, and squared up at him with my soft useless claws. Why shouldshe not laugh? Are not crabs, and toads, and monkeys, and a hundred otherstrange forms of animal life, jests of nature--embodiments of a divinehumour, at which men are meant to laugh and be merry? But, alas! my cousin, as he turned away, thrust the stone back with his foot, and squelched meflat. 

 * * * * *

And I was a remora, weak and helpless, till I could attach myself to someliving thing; and then I had power to stop the largest ship. And Lillianwas a flying fish, and skimmed over the crests of the waves on gauzy wings. And my cousin was a huge shark, rushing after her, greedy and open-mouthed;and I saw her danger, and clung to him, and held him back; and just as Ihad stopped him, she turned and swam back into his open jaws. 

 * * * * *

Sand--sand--nothing but sand! The air was full of sand drifting overgranite temples, and painted kings and triumphs, and the skulls of a formerworld; and I was an ostrich, flying madly before the simoon wind, and thegiant sand pillars, which stalked across the plains, hunting me down. AndLillian was an Amazon queen, beautiful, and cold, and cruel; and she rodeupon a charmed horse, and carried behind her on her saddle a spotted ounce, which, was my cousin; and, when I came near her, she made him leap downand course me. And we ran for miles and for days through the interminablesand, till he sprung on me, and dragged me down. And as I lay quiveringand dying, she reined in her horse above me, and looked down at me withbeautiful, pitiless eyes; and a wild Arab tore the plumes from my wings, and she took them and wreathed them in her golden hair. The broad andblood-red sun sank down beneath the sand, and the horse and the Amazon andthe ostrich plumes shone blood-red in his lurid rays. 

 * * * * *

I was a mylodon among South American forests--a vast sleepy mass, myelephantine limbs and yard-long talons contrasting strangely with thelittle meek rabbit's head, furnished with a poor dozen of clumsy grinders, and a very small kernel of brains, whose highest consciousness was theenjoyment of muscular strength. Where I had picked up the sensation whichmy dreams realized for me, I know not: my waking life, alas! had nevergiven me experience of it. Has the mind power of creating sensations foritself? Surely it does so, in those delicious dreams about flying whichhaunt us poor wingless mortals, which would seem to give my namesake'sphilosophy the lie. However that may be, intense and new was the animaldelight, to plant my hinder claws at some tree-foot deep into the blackrotting vegetable-mould which steamed rich gases up wherever it waspierced, and clasp my huge arms round the stem of some palm or tree-fern;and then slowly bring my enormous weight and muscle to bear upon it, tillthe stem bent like a withe, and the laced bark cracked, and the fibresgroaned and shrieked, and the roots sprung up out of the soil; and then, with a slow circular wrench, the whole tree was twisted bodily out of theground, and the maddening tension of my muscles suddenly relaxed, and Isank sleepily down upon the turf, to browse upon the crisp tart foliage, and fall asleep in the glare of sunshine which streamed through the newgap in the green forest roof. Much as I had envied the strong, I had neverbefore suspected the delight of mere physical exertion. I now understoodthe wild gambols of the dog, and the madness which makes the horse gallopand strain onwards till he drops and dies. They fulfil their nature, as Iwas doing, and in that is always happiness. 

But I did more--whether from mere animal destructiveness, or from thespark of humanity which was slowly rekindling in me, I began to delight intearing up trees for its own sake. I tried my strength daily on thicker andthicker boles. I crawled up to the high palm-tops, and bowed them down bymy weight. My path through the forest was marked, like that of a tornado, by snapped and prostrate stems and withering branches. Had I been a fewdegrees more human, I might have expected a retribution for my sin. I hadfractured my own skull three or four times already. I used often to passthe carcases of my race, killed, as geologists now find them, by the fallof the trees they had overthrown; but still I went on, more and morereckless, a slave, like many a so-called man, to the mere sense of power. 

One day I wandered to the margin of the woods, and climbing a tree, surveyed a prospect new to me. For miles and miles, away to the whiteline of the smoking Cordillera, stretched a low rolling plain; one vastthistle-bed, the down of which flew in grey gauzy clouds before a softfitful breeze; innumerable finches fluttered and pecked above it, and bentthe countless flower-heads. Far away, one tall tree rose above the levelthistle-ocean. A strange longing seized me to go and tear it down. Theforest leaves seemed tasteless; my stomach sickened at them; nothing butthat tree would satisfy me; and descending, I slowly brushed my way, withhalf-shut eyes, through the tall thistles which buried even my bulk. 

At last, after days of painful crawling, I dragged my unwieldiness to thetree-foot. Around it the plain was bare, and scored by burrows and heapsof earth, among which gold, some in dust, some in great knots and ingots, sparkled everywhere in the sun, in fearful contrast to the skulls and boneswhich lay bleaching round. Some were human, some were those of vast andmonstrous beasts. I knew (one knows everything in dreams) that they hadbeen slain by the winged ants, as large as panthers, who snuffed andwatched around over the magic treasure. Of them I felt no fear; and theyseemed not to perceive me, as I crawled, with greedy, hunger-sharpenedeyes, up to the foot of the tree. It seemed miles in height. Its stem wasbare and polished like a palm's, and above a vast feathery crown of darkgreen velvet slept in the still sunlight. But wonders of wonders! fromamong the branches hung great sea-green lilies, and, nestled in the heartof each of them, the bust of a beautiful girl. Their white bosoms andshoulders gleamed rosy-white against the emerald petals, like conch-shellshalf-hidden among sea-weeds, while their delicate waists meltedmysteriously into the central sanctuary of the flower. Their long armsand golden tresses waved languishingly downward in the breeze; their eyesglittered like diamonds; their breaths perfumed the air. A blind ecstasyseized me--I awoke again to humanity, and fiercely clasping the tree, shook and tore at it, in the blind hope of bringing nearer to me the magicbeauties above: for I knew that I was in the famous land of Wak-Wak, fromwhich the Eastern merchants used to pluck those flower-born beauties, andbring them home to fill the harems of the Indian kings. Suddenly I hearda rustling in the thistles behind me, and looking round saw again thatdreaded face--my cousin!

He was dressed--strange jumble that dreams are!--like an Americanbackwoodsman. He carried the same revolver and bowie-knife which he hadshowed me the fatal night that he intruded on the Chartist club. I shookwith terror; but he, too, did not see me. He threw himself on his knees, and began fiercely digging and scraping for the gold. 

The winged ants rushed on him, but he looked up, and "held them with hisglittering eye, " and they shrank back abashed into the thistle covert;while I strained and tugged on, and the faces of the dryads above grewsadder and older, and their tears fell on me like a fragrant rain. 

Suddenly the tree-bole cracked--it was tottering. I looked round, and sawthat my cousin knelt directly in the path of its fall. I tried to callto him to move; but how could a poor edentate like myself articulate aword? I tried to catch his attention by signs--he would not see. I tried, convulsively, to hold the tree up, but it was too late; a sudden gust ofair swept by, and down it rushed, with a roar like a whirlwind, and leavingmy cousin untouched, struck me full across the loins, broke my backbone, and pinned me to the ground in mortal agony. I heard one wild shriek risefrom the flower fairies, as they fell each from the lily cup, no longer offull human size, but withered, shrivelled, diminished a thousand-fold, andlay on the bare sand, like little rosy humming-birds' eggs, all crushed anddead. 

The great blue heaven above me spoke, and cried, "Selfish and sense-bound!thou hast murdered beauty!"

The sighing thistle-ocean answered, and murmured, "Discontented! thou hastmurdered beauty!"

One flower fairy alone lifted up her tiny cheek from the gold-strewn sand, and cried, "Presumptuous! thou hast murdered beauty!"

It was Lillian's face--Lillian's voice! My cousin heard it too, and turnedeagerly; and as my eyes closed in the last death-shiver, I saw him coollypick up the little beautiful figure, which looked like a fragment of someexquisite cameo, and deliberately put it away in his cigar-case, as he saidto himself, "A charming tit-bit for me, when I return from the diggings"!

 * * * * *

When I awoke again, I was a baby-ape in Bornean forests, perched amongfragrant trailers and fantastic orchis flowers; and as I looked down, beneath the green roof, into the clear waters paved with unknownwater-lilies on which the sun had never shone, I saw my face reflectedin the pool--a melancholy, thoughtful countenance, with large projectingbrow--it might have been a negro child's. And I felt stirring in me, germsof a new and higher consciousness--yearnings of love towards the motherape, who fed me and carried me from tree to tree. But I grew and grew; andthen the weight of my destiny fell upon me. I saw year by year my browrecede, my neck enlarge, my jaw protrude; my teeth became tusks; skinnywattles grew from my cheeks--the animal faculties in me were swallowingup the intellectual. I watched in myself, with stupid self-disgust, thefearful degradation which goes on from youth to age in all the monkeyrace, especially in those which approach nearest to the human form. Longmelancholy mopings, fruitless stragglings to think, were periodicallysucceeded by wild frenzies, agonies of lust and aimless ferocity. I flewupon my brother apes, and was driven off with wounds. I rushed howling downinto the village gardens, destroying everything I met. I caught the birdsand insects, and tore them to pieces with savage glee. One day, as I satamong the boughs, I saw Lillian coming along a flowery path--decked as Evemight have been, the day she turned from Paradise. The skins of gorgeousbirds were round her waist; her hair was wreathed with fragrant tropicflowers. On her bosom lay a baby--it was my cousin's. I knew her, andhated her. The madness came upon me. I longed to leap from the bough andtear her limb from limb; but brutal terror, the dread of man which is thedoom of beasts, kept me rooted to my place. Then my cousin came--a huntermissionary; and I heard him talk to her with pride of the new world ofcivilization and Christianity which he was organizing in that tropicwilderness. I listened with a dim jealous understanding--not of the words, but of the facts. I saw them instinctively, as in a dream. She pointed upto me in terror and disgust, as I sat gnashing and gibbering overhead. Hethrew up the muzzle of his rifle carelessly, and fired--I fell dead, butconscious still. I knew that my carcase was carried to the settlement; andI watched while a smirking, chuckling surgeon dissected me, bone by bone, and nerve by nerve. And as he was fingering at my heart, and discoursingsneeringly about Van Helmont's dreams of the Archæus, and the animalspirit which dwells within the solar plexus, Eleanor glided by again, likean angel, and drew my soul out of the knot of nerves, with one velvetfinger-tip. 

 * * * * *

Child-dreams--more vague and fragmentary than my animal ones; and yet morecalm, and simple, and gradually, as they led me onward through a new life, ripening into detail, coherence, and reflection. Dreams of a hut amongthe valleys of Thibet--the young of forest animals, wild cats, and dogs, and fowls, brought home to be my playmates, and grow up tame around me. Snow-peaks which glittered white against the nightly sky, barring in thehorizon of the narrow valley, and yet seeming to beckon upwards, outwards. Strange unspoken aspirations; instincts which pointed to unfulfilledpowers, a mighty destiny. A sense, awful and yet cheering, of a wonderand a majesty, a presence and a voice around, in the cliffs and the pineforests, and the great blue rainless heaven. The music of loving voices, the sacred names of child and father, mother, brother, sister, first of allinspirations. --Had we not an All-Father, whose eyes looked down upon usfrom among those stars above; whose hand upheld the mountain roots belowus? Did He not love us, too, even as we loved each other?

 * * * * *

The noise of wheels crushing slowly through meadows of tall marigolds andasters, orchises and fragrant lilies. I lay, a child, upon a woman's bosom. Was she my mother, or Eleanor, or Lillian? Or was she neither, and yetall--some ideal of the great Arian tribe, containing in herself all futuretypes of European women? So I slept and woke, and slept again, day afterday, week after week, in the lazy bullock-waggon, among herds of greycattle, guarded by huge lop-eared mastiffs; among shaggy white horses, heavy-horned sheep, and silky goats; among tall, bare-limbed men, withstone axes on their shoulders, and horn bows at their backs. Westward, through the boundless steppes, whither or why we knew not; but that theAll-Father had sent us forth. And behind us the rosy snow-peaks died intoghastly grey, lower and lower as every evening came; and before us theplains spread infinite, with gleaming salt-lakes, and ever fresh tribesof gaudy flowers. Behind us dark lines of living beings streamed downthe mountain slopes; around us dark lines crawled along the plains--allwestward, westward ever. --The tribes of the Holy Mountain poured out likewater to replenish the earth and subdue it--lava-streams from the craterof that great soul-volcano--Titan babies, dumb angels of God, bearing withthem in their unconscious pregnancy the law, the freedom, the science, thepoetry, the Christianity of Europe and the world. 

Westward ever--who could stand against us? We met the wild asses on thesteppe, and tamed them, and made them our slaves. We slew the bison herds, and swam broad rivers on their skins. The Python snake lay across ourpath; the wolves and the wild dogs snarled at us out of their coverts;we slew them and went on. The forest rose in black tangled barriers: wehewed our way through them and went on. Strange giant tribes met us, andeagle-visaged hordes, fierce and foolish; we smote them hip and thigh, andwent on, westward ever. Days and weeks and months rolled on, and our wheelsrolled on with them. New alps rose up before us; we climbed and climbedthem, till, in lonely glens, the mountain walls stood up, and barred ourpath. 

Then one arose and said, "Rocks are strong, but the All-Father is stronger. Let us pray to Him to send the earthquakes, and blast the mountainsasunder. "

So we sat down and prayed, but the earthquake did not come. 

Then another arose and said, "Rocks are strong, but the All-Father isstronger. If we are the children of the All-Father, we, too, are strongerthan the rocks. Let us portion out the valley, to every man an equal plotof ground; and bring out the sacred seeds, and sow, and build, and come upwith me and bore the mountain. "

And all said, "It is the voice of God. We will go up with thee, and borethe mountain; and thou shalt be our king, for thou art wisest, and thespirit of the All-Father is on thee; and whosoever will not go up with theeshall die as a coward and an idler. "

So we went up; and in the morning we bored the mountain, and at night wecame down and tilled the ground, and sowed wheat and barley, and plantedorchards. And in the upper glens we met the mining dwarfs, and saw theirtools of iron and copper, and their rock-houses and forges, and enviedthem. But they would give us none of them: then our king said--

"The All-Father has given all things and all wisdom. Woe to him who keepsthem to himself: we will teach you to sow the sacred seeds; and do youteach us your smith-work or you die. "

Then the dwarf's taught us smith-work; and we loved them, for they werewise; and they married our sons and daughters; and we went on boring themountain. 

Then some of us arose and said, "We are stronger than our brethren, andcan till more ground than they. Give us a greater portion of land, to eachaccording to his power. "

But the king said, "Wherefore? that ye may eat and drink more than yourbrethren? Have you larger stomachs, as well as stronger arms? As much asa man needs for himself, that he may do for himself. The rest is the giftof the All-Father, and we must do His work therewith. For the sake of thewomen and the children, for the sake of the sick and the aged, let him thatis stronger go up and work the harder at the mountain. " And all men said, "It is well spoken. "

So we were all equal--for none took more than he needed; and we were allfree, because we loved to obey the king by whom the spirit spoke; andwe were all brothers, because we had one work, and one hope, and oneAll-Father. 

But I grew up to be a man; and twenty years were past, and the mountainwas not bored through; and the king grew old, and men began to love theirflocks and herds better than quarrying, and they gave up boring through themountain. And the strong and the cunning said, "What can we do with allthis might of ours?" So, because they had no other way of employing it, they turned it against each other, and swallowed up the heritage of theweak: and a few grew rich, and many poor; and the valley was filled withsorrow, for the land became too narrow for them. 

Then I arose and said, "How is this?" And they said, "We must makeprovision for our children. "

And I answered, "The All-Father meant neither you nor your children todevour your brethren. Why do you not break up more waste ground? Why do younot try to grow more corn in your fields?"

And they answered, "We till the ground as our forefathers did: we will keepto the old traditions. "

And I answered, "Oh ye hypocrites! have ye not forgotten the oldtraditions, that each man should have his equal share of ground, and thatwe should go on working at the mountain, for the sake of the weak and thechildren, the fatherless and the widow?"

And they answered nought for a while. 

Then one said, "Are we not better off as we are? We buy the poor man'sground for a price, and we pay him his wages for tilling it for us--and weknow better how to manage it than he. "

And I said, "Oh ye hypocrites! See how your lie works! Those who were freeare now slaves. Those who had peace of mind are now anxious from day to dayfor their daily bread. And the multitude gets poorer and poorer, while yegrow fatter and fatter. If ye had gone on boring the mountain, ye wouldhave had no time to eat up your brethren. "

Then they laughed and said, "Thou art a singer of songs, and a dreamer ofdreams. Let those who want to get through the mountain go up and bore it;we are well enough here. Come now, sing us pleasant songs, and talk no morefoolish dreams, and we will reward thee. "

Then they brought out a veiled maiden, and said, "Look! her feet are likeivory, and her hair like threads of gold; and she is the sweetest singerin the whole valley. And she shall be thine, if thou wilt be like otherpeople, and prophesy smooth things unto us, and torment us no more withtalk about liberty, equality, and brotherhood; for they never were, andnever will be, on this earth. Living is too hard work to give in to suchfancies. "

And when the maiden's veil was lifted, it was Lillian. And she clasped meround the neck, and cried, "Come! I will be your bride, and you shall berich and powerful; and all men shall speak well of you, and you shall writesongs; and we will sing them together, and feast and play from dawn todawn. "

And I wept; and turned me about, and cried, "Wife and child, song andwealth, are pleasant; but blessed is the work which the All-Father hasgiven the people to do. Let the maimed and the halt and the blind, theneedy and the fatherless, come up after me, and we will bore the mountain. "

But the rich drove me out, and drove back those who would have followed me. So I went up by myself, and bored the mountain seven years, weeping; andevery year Lillian came to me, and said, "Come, and be my husband, formy beauty is fading, and youth passes fast away. " But I set my heartsteadfastly to the work. 

And when seven years were over, the poor were so multiplied, that the richhad not wherewith to pay their labour. And there came a famine in the land, and many of the poor died. Then the rich said, "If we let these men starve, they will turn on us, and kill us, for hunger has no conscience, and theyare all but like the beasts that perish. " So they all brought, one abullock, another a sack of meal, each according to his substance, and fedthe poor therewith; and said to them, "Behold our love and mercy towardsyou!" But the more they gave, the less they had wherewithal to pay theirlabourers; and the more they gave, the less the poor liked to work; so thatat last they had not wherewithal to pay for tilling the ground, and eachman had to go and till his own, and knew not how; so the land lay waste, and there was great perplexity. 

Then I went down to them and said, "If you had hearkened to me, and notrobbed your brethren of their land, you would never have come into thisstrait; for by this time the mountain would have been bored through. "

Then they cursed the mountain, and me, and Him who made them, and came downto my cottage at night, and cried, "One-sided and left-handed! father ofconfusion, and disciple of dead donkeys, see to what thou hast brought theland, with thy blasphemous doctrines! Here we are starving, and not onlywe, but the poor misguided victims of thy abominable notions!"

"You have become wondrous pitiful to the poor, " said I, "since you foundthat they would not starve that you might wanton. "

Then once more Lillian came to me, thin and pale, and worn. "See, I, too, am starving! and you have been the cause of it; but I will forgive all ifyou will help us but this once. "

"How shall I help you?"

"You are a poet and an orator, and win over all hearts with your talk andyour songs. Go down to the tribes of the plain, and persuade them to sendus up warriors, that we may put down these riotous and idle wretches; andyou shall be king of all the land, and I will be your slave, by day andnight. "

But I went out, and quarried steadfastly at the mountain. 

And when I came back the next evening, the poor had risen against the rich, one and all, crying, "As you have done to us, so will we do to you;" andthey hunted them down like wild beasts, and slew many of them, and threwtheir carcases on the dunghill, and took possession of their land andhouses, and cried, "We will be all free and equal as our forefathers were, and live here, and eat and drink, and take our pleasure. "

Then I ran out, and cried to them, "Fools I will you do as these rich did, and neglect the work of God? If you do to them as they have done to you, you will sin as they sinned, and devour each other at the last, as theydevoured you. The old paths are best. Let each man, rich or poor, have hisequal share of the land, as it was at first, and go up and dig through themountain, and possess the good land beyond, where no man need jostle hisneighbour, or rob him, when the land becomes too small for you. Were therich only in fault? Did not you, too, neglect the work which the All-Fatherhad given you, and run every man after his own comfort? So you entered intoa lie, and by your own sin raised up the rich man to be your punishment. For the last time, who will go up with me to the mountain?"

Then they all cried with one voice, "We have sinned! We will go up andpierce the mountain, and fulfil the work which God set to our forefathers. "

We went up, and the first stroke that I struck a crag fell out; and behold, the light of day! and far below us the good land and large, stretching awayboundless towards the western sun. 

 * * * * *

I sat by the cave's mouth at the dawning of the day. Past me the tribepoured down, young and old, with their waggons, and their cattle, theirseeds, and their arms, as of old--yet not as of old--wiser and stronger, taught by long labour and sore affliction. Downward they streamed fromthe cave's mouth into the glens, following the guidance of the silverwater-courses; and as they passed me, each kissed my hands and feet, andcried, "Thou hast saved us--thou hast given up all for us. Come and be ourking!"

"Nay, " I said, "I have been your king this many a year; for I have been theservant of you all. "

I went down with them into the plain, and called them round me. Many timesthey besought me to go with them and lead them. 

"No, " I said, "I am old and grey-headed, and I am not as I have been. Choose out the wisest and most righteous among you, and let him lead you. But bind him to yourselves with an oath, that whenever he shall say to you, 'Stay here, and let us sit down and build, and dwell here for ever, ' youshall cast him out of his office, and make him a hewer of wood and a drawerof water, and choose one who will lead you forwards in the spirit of God. "

The crowd opened, and a woman came forward into the circle. Her face wasveiled, but we all knew her for a prophetess. Slowly she stepped intothe midst, chanting a mystic song. Whether it spoke of past, present, orfuture, we knew not; but it sank deep into all our hearts. 

 "True freedom stands in meekness-- True strength in utter weakness-- Justice in forgiveness lies-- Riches in self-sacrifice-- Own no rank but God's own spirit-- Wisdom rule!--and worth inherit! Work for all, and all employ-- Share with all, and all enjoy-- God alike to all has given, Heaven as Earth, and Earth as Heaven, When the laud shall find her king again, And the reign of God is come. "

We all listened, awe-struck. She turned to us and continued:

"Hearken to me, children of Japhet, the unresting!

"On the holy mountain of Paradise, in the Asgard of the Hindoo-Koh, inthe cup of the four rivers, in the womb of the mother of nations, inbrotherhood, equality, and freedom, the sons of men were begotten, at thewedding of the heaven and the earth. Mighty infants, you did the rightyou knew not of, and sinned not, because there was no temptation. Byselfishness you fell, and became beasts of prey. Each man coveted theuniverse for his own lusts, and not that he might fulfil in it God'scommand to people and subdue it. Long have you wandered--and long will youwander still. For here you have no abiding city. You shall build cities, and they shall crumble; you shall invent forms of society and religion, andthey shall fail in the hour of need. You shall call the lands by your ownnames, and fresh waves of men shall sweep you forth, westward, westwardever, till you have travelled round the path of the sun, to the place fromwhence you came. For out of Paradise you went, and unto Paradise you shallreturn; you shall become once more as little children, and renew your youthlike the eagle's. Feature by feature, and limb by limb, ye shall renewit; age after age, gradually and painfully, by hunger and pestilence, bysuperstitions and tyrannies, by need and blank despair, shall you be drivenback to the All-Father's home, till you become as you were before you fell, and left the likeness of your father for the likeness of the beasts. Out ofParadise you came, from liberty, equality, and brotherhood, and unto themyou shall return again. You went forth in unconscious infancy--you shallreturn in thoughtful manhood. --You went forth in ignorance and need--youshall return in science and wealth, philosophy and art. You went forth withthe world a wilderness before you--you shall return when it is a gardenbehind you. You went forth selfish-savages--you shall return as thebrothers of the Son of God. 

"And for you, " she said, looking on me, "your penance is accomplished. Youhave learned what it is to be a man. You have lost your life and saved it. He that gives up house, or land, or wife, or child, for God's sake, itshall be repaid him an hundred-fold. Awake!"

Surely I knew that voice. She lifted her veil. The face was Lillian's?No!--Eleanor's!

Gently she touched my hand--I sank down into soft, weary happy sleep. 

The spell was snapped. My fever and my dreams faded away together, and Iwoke to the twittering of the sparrows, and the scent of the poplar leaves, and the sights and sounds of childhood, and found Eleanor and her unclesitting by my bed, and with them Crossthwaite's little wife. 

I would have spoken, but Eleanor laid her finger on her lips, and takingher uncle's arm, glided from the room. Katie kept stubbornly a smilingsilence, and I was fain to obey my new-found guardian angels. 

What need of many words? Slowly, and with relapses into insensibility, I passed, like one who recovers from drowning, through the painful gateof birth into another life. The fury of passion had been replaced by adelicious weakness. The thunder-clouds had passed roaring down the wind, and the calm bright holy evening was come. My heart, like a fretful child, had stamped and wept itself to sleep. I was past even gratitude; infinitesubmission and humility, feelings too long forgotten, absorbed my wholebeing. Only I never dared meet Eleanor's eye. Her voice was like an angel'swhen she spoke to me--friend, mother, sister, all in one. But I had a dimrecollection of being unjust to her--of some bar between us. 

Katie and Crossthwaite, as they sat by me, tender and careful nurses both, told me, in time, that to Eleanor I owed all my comforts. I could not thankher--the debt was infinite, inexplicable. I felt as if I must speak all myheart or none; and I watched her lavish kindness with a sort of sleepy, passive wonder, like a new-born babe. 

At last, one day, my kind nurses allowed me to speak a little. I broachedto Crossthwaite the subject which filled my thoughts. "How came I here? Howcame you here? and Lady Ellerton? What is the meaning of it all?"

"The meaning is, that Lady Ellerton, as they call her, is an angel out ofheaven. Ah, Alton! she was your true friend, after all, if you had butknown it, and not that other one at all. "

I turned my head away. 

"Whisht--howld then, Johnny darlint! and don't go tormenting the poor dearsowl, just when he's comin' round again. "

"No, no! tell me all. I must--I ought--I deserve to bear it. How did shecome here?"

"Why then, it's my belief, she had her eye on you ever since you came outof that Bastille, and before that, too; and she found you out at Mackaye's, and me with you, for I was there looking after you. If it hadn't been foryour illness, I'd have been in Texas now, with our friends, for all's upwith the Charter, and the country's too hot, at least for me. I'm sick ofthe whole thing together, patriots, aristocrats, and everybody else, exceptthis blessed angel. And I've got a couple of hundred to emigrate with; andwhat's more, so have you. "

"How's that?"

"Why, when poor dear old Mackaye's will was read, and you raving mad in thenext room, he had left all his stock-in-trade, that was, the books, to someof our friends, to form a workmen's library with, and £400 he'd saved, tobe parted between you and me, on condition that we'd G. T. T. , and cool downacross the Atlantic, for seven years come the tenth of April. "

So, then, by the lasting love of my adopted father, I was at present atleast out of the reach of want! My heart was ready to overflow at my eyes;but I could not rest till I had heard more of Lady Ellerton. What broughther here, to nurse me as if she had been a sister?

"Why, then, she lives not far off by. When her husband died, his cousin gotthe estate and title, and so she came, Katie tells me, and lived for oneyear down somewhere in the East-end among the needlewomen; and spent herwhole fortune on the poor, and never kept a servant, so they say, but madeher own bed and cooked her own dinner, and got her bread with her ownneedle, to see what it was really like. And she learnt a lesson there, Ican tell you, and God bless her for it. For now she's got a large househere by, with fifty or more in it, all at work together, sharing theearnings among themselves, and putting into their own pockets the profitswhich would have gone to their tyrants; and she keeps the accounts forthem, and gets the goods sold, and manages everything, and reads to themwhile they work, and teaches them every day. "

"And takes her victuals with them, " said Katie, "share and share alike. Shethat was so grand a lady, to demane herself to the poor unfortunate youngthings! She's as blessed a saint as any a one in the Calendar, if they'llforgive me for saying so. "

"Ay! demeaning, indeed! for the best of it is, they're not the respectableones only, though she spends hundreds on them--"

"And sure, haven't I seen it with my own eyes, when I've been therecharing?"

"Ay, but those she lives with are the fallen and the lost ones--those thatthe rich would not set up in business, or help them to emigrate, or liftthem out of the gutter with a pair of tongs, for fear they should staintheir own whitewash in handling them. "

"And sure they're as dacent as meself now, the poor darlints! It was miserydruv 'em to it, every one; perhaps it might hav' druv me the same way, ifI'd a lot o' childer, and Johnny gone to glory--and the blessed saints savehim from that same at all at all!"

"What! from going to glory?" said John. 

"Och, thin, and wouldn't I just go mad if ever such ill luck happened toyees as to be taken to heaven in the prime of your days, asthore?"

And she began sobbing and hugging and kissing the little man; and thensuddenly recollecting herself, scolded him heartily for making such a"whillybaloo, " and thrust him out of my room, to recommence kissing him inthe next, leaving me to many meditations. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE TRUE DEMAGOGUE. 

I used to try to arrange my thoughts, but could not; the past seemedswept away and buried, like the wreck of some drowned land after a flood. Ploughed by affliction to the core, my heart lay fallow for every seed thatfell. Eleanor understood me, and gently and gradually, beneath her skilfulhand, the chaos began again to bloom with verdure. She and Crossthwaiteused to sit and read to me--from the Bible, from poets, from every bookwhich could suggest soothing, graceful, or hopeful fancies. Now out of thestillness of the darkened chamber, one or two priceless sentences of àKempis, or a spirit-stirring Hebrew psalm, would fall upon my ear: and thenthere was silence again; and I was left to brood over the words in vacancy, till they became a fibre of my own soul's core. Again and again the storiesof Lazarus and the Magdalene alternated with Milton's Penseroso, or withWordsworth's tenderest and most solemn strains. Exquisite prints from thehistory of our Lord's life and death were hung one by one, each for afew days, opposite my bed, where they might catch my eye the moment thatI woke, the moment before I fell asleep. I heard one day the good deanremonstrating with her on the "sentimentalism" of her mode of treatment. 

"Poor drowned butterfly!" she answered, smiling, "he must be fed withhoney-dew. Have I not surely had practice enough already?"

"Yes, angel that you are!" answered the old man. "You have indeed hadpractice enough!" And lifting her hand reverentially to his lips, he turnedand left the room. 

She sat down by me as I lay, and began to read from Tennyson'sLotus-Eaters. But it was not reading--it was rather a soft dreamy chant, which rose and fell like the waves of sound on an Æolian harp. 

 "There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night dews on still waters between wails Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentler on the spirit lies Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And through the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 

 "Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone? We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings. And cease from wanderings; Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm, Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, 'There is no joy but calm!' Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?"

She paused--

 My soul was an enchanted boat Which, like a sleeping swan, did float Upon the silver waves of her sweet singing. 

Half-unconscious, I looked up. Before me hung a copy of Raffaelle's cartoonof the Miraculous Draught of Fishes. As my eye wandered over it, it seemedto blend into harmony with the feelings which the poem had stirred. Iseemed to float upon the glassy lake. I watched the vista of the watersand mountains, receding into the dreamy infinite of the still summer sky. Softly from distant shores came the hum of eager multitudes; towers andpalaces slept quietly beneath the eastern sun. In front, fantastic fishes, and the birds of the mountain and the lake, confessed His power, who satthere in His calm godlike beauty, His eye ranging over all that stillinfinity of His own works, over all that wondrous line of figures, whichseemed to express every gradation of spiritual consciousness, from thedark self-condemned dislike of Judas's averted and wily face, through mereanimal greediness to the first dawnings of surprise, and on to the manlyawe and gratitude of Andrew's majestic figure, and the self-abhorrenthumility of Peter, as he shrank down into the bottom of the skiff, and withconvulsive palms and bursting brow seemed to press out from his inmostheart the words, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" Truly, pictures are the books of the unlearned, and of the mis-learned too. Glorious Raffaelle! Shakspeare of the South! Mighty preacher, to whoseblessed intuition it was given to know all human hearts, to embody in formand colour all spiritual truths, common alike to Protestant and Papist, toworkman and to sage--oh that I may meet thee before the throne of God, ifit be but to thank thee for that one picture, in which thou didst reveal tome, in a single glance, every step of my own spiritual history!

She seemed to follow my eyes, and guess from them the workings of my heart;for now, in a low, half-abstracted voice, as Diotima may have talked ofold, she began to speak of rest and labour, of death and life; of a labourwhich is perfect rest--of a daily death, which is but daily birth--ofweakness, which is the strength of God; and so she wandered on in herspeech to Him who died for us. And gradually she turned to me. She laid onefinger solemnly on my listless palm, as her words and voice became moreintense, more personal. She talked of Him, as Mary may have talked justrisen from His feet. She spoke of Him as I had never heard Him spokenof before--with a tender passionate loyalty, kept down and softened bythe deepest awe. The sense of her intense belief, shining out in everylineament of her face, carried conviction to my heart more than tenthousand arguments could do. It must be true!--Was not the power of itaround her like a glory? She spoke of Him as near us--watching us--inwords of such vivid eloquence that I turned half-startled to her, as if Iexpected to see Him standing by her side. 

She spoke of Him as the great Reformer; and yet as the true conservative;the inspirer of all new truths, revealing in His Bible to every age abyssesof new wisdom, as the times require; and yet the vindicator of all whichis ancient and eternal--the justifier of His own dealings with man fromthe beginning. She spoke of Him as the true demagogue--the champion of thepoor; and yet as the true King, above and below all earthly rank; on whosewill alone all real superiority of man to man, all the time-justified andtime-honoured usages of the family, the society, the nation, stand andshall stand for ever. 

 * * * * *

And then she changed her tone; and in a voice of infinite tenderness shespoke of Him as the Creator, the Word, the Inspirer, the only perfectArtist, the Fountain of all Genius. 

She made me feel--would that His ministers had made me feel it before, since they say that they believe it--that He had passed victorious throughmy vilest temptations, that He sympathized with my every struggle. 

She told me how He, in the first dawn of manhood, full of the dimconsciousness of His own power, full of strange yearning presentimentsabout His own sad and glorious destiny, went up into the wilderness, asevery youth, above all every genius, must, there to be tempted of thedevil. She told how alone with the wild beasts, and the brute powers ofnature, He saw into the open secret--the mystery of man's twofold life, Hiskingship over earth, His sonship under God: and conquered in the might ofHis knowledge. How He was tempted, like every genius, to use His creativepowers for selfish ends--to yield to the lust of display and singularity, and break through those laws which He came to reveal and to fulfil--to doone little act of evil, that He might secure thereby the harvest of goodwhich was the object of His life: and how He had conquered in the faiththat He was the Son of God. She told me how He had borne the sorrows ofgenius; how the slightest pang that I had ever felt was but a dim faintpattern of His; how He, above all men, had felt the agony of calumny, misconception, misinterpretation; how He had fought with bigotry andstupidity, casting His pearls before swine, knowing full well what it wasto speak to the deaf and the blind; how He had wept over Jerusalem, in thebitterness of disappointed patriotism, when He had tried in vain to awakenwithin a nation of slavish and yet rebellious bigots the consciousness oftheir glorious calling. .. . 

It was too much--I hid my face in the coverlet, and burst out into long, low, and yet most happy weeping. She rose and went to the window, andbeckoned Katie from the room within. 

"I am afraid, " she said, "my conversation has been too much for him. "

"Showers sweeten the air, " said Katie; and truly enough, as my ownlightened brain told me. 

Eleanor--for so I must call her now--stood watching me for a few minutes, and then glided back to the bedside, and sat down again. 

"You find the room quiet?"

"Wonderfully quiet. The roar of the city outside is almost soothing, andthe noise of every carriage seems to cease suddenly just as it becomespainfully near. "

"We have had straw laid down, " she answered, "all along this part of thestreet. "

This last drop of kindness filled the cup to overflowing: a veil fell frombefore my eyes--it was she who had been my friend, my guardian angel, fromthe beginning!

"You--you--idiot that I have been! I see it all now. It was you who laidthat paper to catch my eye on that first evening at D * * *!--you paid mydebt to my cousin!--you visited Mackaye in his last illness!"

She made a sign of assent. 

"You saw from the beginning my danger, my weakness!--you tried to turnme from my frantic and fruitless passion!--you tried to save me fromthe very gulf into which I forced myself!--and I--I have hated you inreturn--cherished suspicions too ridiculous to confess, only equalled bythe absurdity of that other dream!"

"Would that other dream have ever given you peace, even if it had everbecome reality?"

She spoke gently, slowly, seriously; waiting between each question for theanswer which I dared not give. 

"What was it that you adored? a soul or a face? The inward reality or theoutward symbol, which is only valuable as a sacrament of the lovelinesswithin?"

"Ay!" thought I, "and was that loveliness within? What was that beauty buta hollow mask?" How barren, borrowed, trivial, every thought and word ofhers seemed now, as I looked back upon them, in comparison with the richluxuriance, the startling originality, of thought, and deed, and sympathy, in her who now sat by me, wan and faded, beautiful no more as men callbeauty, but with the spirit of an archangel gazing from those clear, fieryeyes! And as I looked at her, an emotion utterly new to me arose; uttertrust, delight, submission, gratitude, awe--if it was love, it was love asof a dog towards his master. .. . 

"Ay, " I murmured, half unconscious that I spoke aloud, "her I loved, andlove no longer; but you, you I worship, and for ever!"

"Worship God, " she answered. "If it shall please you hereafter to callme friend, I shall refuse neither the name nor its duties. But rememberalways, that whatsoever interest I feel in you, and, indeed, have felt fromthe first time I saw your poems, I cannot give or accept friendship uponany ground so shallow and changeable as personal preference. The time waswhen I thought it a mark of superior intellect and refinement to be asexclusive in my friendships as in my theories. Now I have learnt that thatis most spiritual and noble which is also most universal. If we are to calleach other friends, it must be for a reason which equally includes theoutcast and the profligate, the felon, and the slave. "

"What do you mean?" I asked, half disappointed. 

"Only for the sake of Him who died for all alike. "

Why did she rise and call Crossthwaite from the next room where he waswriting? Was it from the womanly tact and delicacy which feared lest myexcited feelings might lead me on to some too daring expression, and giveme the pain of a rebuff, however gentle; or was it that she wished him, aswell as me, to hear the memorable words which followed, to which she seemedto have been all along alluring me, and calling up in my mind, one by one, the very questions to which she had prepared the answers?

"That name!" I answered. "Alas! has it not been in every age the watchword, not of an all-embracing charity, but of self-conceit and bigotry, excommunication and persecution?"

"That is what men have made it; not God, or He who bears it, the Sonof God. Yes, men have separated from each other, slandered each other, murdered each other in that name, and blasphemed it by that very act. Butwhen did they unite in any name but that? Look all history through--fromthe early churches, unconscious and infantile ideas of God's kingdom, as Eden was of the human race, when love alone was law, and none saidthat aught that he possessed was his own, but they had all things incommon--Whose name was the, bond of unity for that brotherhood, such asthe earth had never seen--when the Roman lady and the Negro slave partooktogether at the table of the same bread and wine, and sat together at thefeet of the Syrian tent-maker?--'One is our Master, even Christ, who sitsat the right hand of God, and in Him we are all brothers. ' Not self-chosenpreference for His precepts, but the overwhelming faith in His presence, His rule, His love, bound those rich hearts together. Look onward, too, at the first followers of St. Bennet and St. Francis, at the Cameroniansamong their Scottish hills, or the little persecuted flock who in a darkand godless time gathered around Wesley by pit mouths and on Cornishcliffs--Look, too, at the great societies of our own days, which, howeverimperfectly, still lovingly and earnestly do their measure of God's workat home and abroad; and say, when was there ever real union, co-operation, philanthropy, equality, brotherhood, among men, save in loyalty toHim--Jesus, who died upon the cross?"

And she bowed her head reverently before that unseen Majesty; and thenlooked up at us again--Those eyes, now brimming full of earnest tears, would have melted stonier hearts than ours that day. 

"Do you not believe me? Then I must quote against you one of your ownprophets--a ruined angel--even as you might have been. 

"When Camille Desmoulins, the revolutionary, about to die, as is the fateof such, by the hands of revolutionaries, was asked his age, he answered, they say, that it was the same as that of the 'bon sans-culotte Jesus. 'I do not blame those who shrink from that speech as blasphemous. I, too, have spoken hasty words and hard, and prided myself on breaking the bruisedreed, and quenching the smoking flax. Time was when I should have been theloudest in denouncing poor Camille; but I have long since seemed to seein those words the distortion of an almighty truth--a truth that shallshake thrones, and principalities, and powers, and fill the earth with itssound, as with the trump of God; a prophecy like Balaam's of old--'I shallsee Him, but not nigh; I shall behold Him, but not near. '. .. Take allthe heroes, prophets, poets, philosophers--where will you find the truedemagogue--the speaker to man simply as man--the friend of publicans andsinners, the stern foe of the scribe and the Pharisee--with whom was norespect of persons--where is he? Socrates and Plato were noble; Zerdushtand Confutzee, for aught we know, were nobler still; but what were they butthe exclusive mystagogues of an enlightened few, like our own Emersons andStrausses, to compare great with small? What gospel have they, or Strauss, or Emerson, for the poor, the suffering, the oppressed? The People'sFriend? Where will you find him, but in Jesus of Nazareth?"

"We feel that; I assure you, we feel that, " said Crossthwaite. "There arethousands of us who delight in His moral teaching, as the perfection ofhuman excellence. "

"And what gospel is there in a moral teaching? What good news is it to thesavage of St. Giles, to the artizan, crushed by the competition of othersand his own evil habits, to tell him that he can be free--if he can makehimself free?--That all men are his equals--if he can rise to their level, or pull them down to his?--All men his brothers--if he can only stop themfrom devouring him, or making it necessary for him to devour them? Liberty, equality, and brotherhood? Let the history of every nation, of everyrevolution--let your own sad experience speak--have they been aught as yetbut delusive phantoms--angels that turned to fiends the moment you seemedabout to clasp them? Remember the tenth of April, and the plots thereof, and answer your own hearts!"

Crossthwaite buried his face in his hands. 

"What!" I answered, passionately, "will you rob us poor creatures of ouronly faith, our only hope on earth? Let us be deceived, and deceived again, yet we will believe! We will hope on in spite of hope. We may die, but theidea lives for ever. Liberty, equality, and fraternity must come. We know, we know, that they must come; and woe to those who seek to rob us of ourfaith!"

"Keep, keep your faith, " she cried; "for it is not yours, but God's, whogave it! But do not seek to realize that idea for yourselves. "

"Why, then, in the name of reason and mercy?"

"Because it is realized already for you. You are free; God has made youfree. You are equals--you are brothers; for He is your king who is norespecter of persons. He is your king, who has bought for you the rightsof sons of God. He is your king, to whom all power is given in heaven andearth; who reigns, and will reign, till He has put all enemies under Hisfeet. That was Luther's charter, --with that alone he freed half Europe. That is your charter, and mine; the everlasting ground of our rights, our mights, our duties, of ever-gathering storm for the oppressor, of ever-brightening sunshine for the oppressed. Own no other. Claimyour investiture as free men from none but God. His will, His love, is a stronger ground, surely, than abstract rights and ethnologicalopinions. Abstract rights? What ground, what root have they, but theever-changing opinions of men, born anew and dying anew with each freshgeneration?--while the word of God stands sure--'You are mine, and I amyours, bound to you in an everlasting covenant. '

"Abstract rights? They are sure to end, in practice, only in the tyranny oftheir father--opinion. In favoured England here, the notions of abstractright among the many are not so incorrect, thanks to three centuries ofProtestant civilization; but only because the right notions suit the manyat this moment. But in America, even now, the same ideas of abstract rightdo not interfere with the tyranny of the white man over the black. Whyshould they? The white man is handsomer, stronger, cunninger, worthier thanthe black. The black is more like an ape than the white man--he is--thefact is there; and no notions of an abstract right will put that down:nothing but another fact--a mightier, more universal fact--Jesus ofNazareth died for the negro as well as for the white. Looked at apart fromHim, each race, each individual of mankind, stands separate and alone, owing no more brotherhood to each other than wolf to wolf, or pike topike--himself a mightier beast of prey--even as he has proved himself inevery age. Looked at as he is, as joined into one family in Christ, hisarchetype and head, even the most frantic declamations of the Frenchdemocrat, about the majesty of the people, the divinity of mankind, become rational, reverent, and literal. God's grace outrivals all man'sboasting--'I have said, ye are gods, and ye are all the children of theMost Highest:'--'children of God, members of Christ, of His body, of Hisflesh, and of His bones, '--'kings and priests to God, '--free inheritors ofthe spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of prudence and courage, of reverence and love, the spirit of Him who has said, 'Behold, the dayscome, when I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh, and no one shall teachhis brother, saying, Know the Lord, for all shall know Him, from the leasteven unto the greatest. Ay, even on the slaves and on the handmaidens inthose days will I pour out my spirit, saith the Lord!'"

"And that is really in the Bible?" asked Crossthwaite. 

"Ay"--she went on, her figure dilating, and her eyes flashing, like aninspired prophetess--"that is in the Bible! What would you more than that?That is your charter; the only ground of all charters. You, like allmankind, have had dim inspirations, confused yearnings after your futuredestiny, and, like all the world from the beginning, you have tried torealize, by self-willed methods of your own, what you can only do by God'sinspiration, by God's method. Like the builders of Babel in old time, youhave said, 'Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top shallreach to heaven'--And God has confounded you as he did them. By mistrust, division, passion, and folly, you are scattered abroad. Even in these lastfew days, the last dregs of your late plot have exploded miserably andludicrously--your late companions are in prison, and the name of Chartistis a laughing-stock as well as an abomination. "

"Good Heavens! Is this true?" asked I, looking at Crossthwaite forconfirmation. 

"Too true, dear boy, too true: and if it had not been for these two angelshere, I should have been in Newgate now!"

"Yes, " she went on. "The Charter seems dead, and liberty further off thanever. "

"That seems true enough, indeed, " said I, bitterly. 

"Yes. But it is because Liberty is God's beloved child, that He will nothave her purity sullied by the touch of the profane. Because He loves thepeople, He will allow none but Himself to lead the people. Because He lovesthe people, He will teach the people by afflictions. And even now, whileall this madness has been destroying itself, He has been hiding you in Hissecret place from the strife of tongues, that you may have to look for astate founded on better things than acts of parliament, social contracts, and abstract rights--a city whose foundations are in the eternal promises, whose builder and maker is God. "

She paused. --"Go on, go on, " cried Crossthwaite and I in the same breath. 

"That state, that city, Jesus said, was come--was now within us, had weeyes to see. And it is come. Call it the church, the gospel, civilization, freedom, democracy, association, what you will--I shall call it by the nameby which my Master spoke of it--the name which includes all these, and morethan these--the kingdom of God. 'Without observation, ' as he promised, secretly, but mightily, it has been growing, spreading, since that firstWhitsuntide; civilizing, humanizing, uniting this distracted earth. Menhave fancied they found it in this system or in that, and in them only. They have cursed it in its own name, when they found it too wide for theirown narrow notions. They have cried, 'Lo here!' and 'Lo there!' 'To thiscommunion!' or 'To that set of opinions. ' But it has gone its way--the wayof Him who made all things, and redeemed all things to Himself. In everyage it has been a gospel to the poor, In every age it has, sooner or later, claimed the steps of civilization, the discoveries of science, as God'sinspirations, not man's inventions. In every age, it has taught men to dothat by God which they had failed in doing without Him. It is now ready, if we may judge by the signs of the times, once again to penetrate, toconvert, to reorganize, the political and social life of England, perhapsof the world; to vindicate democracy as the will and gift of God. Takeit for the ground of your rights. If, henceforth, you claim politicalenfranchisement, claim it not as mere men, who may be villains, savages, animals, slaves of their own prejudices and passions; but as members ofChrist, children of God, inheritors of the kingdom of heaven, and thereforebound to realize it on earth. All other rights are mere mights--mereselfish demands to become tyrants in your turn. If you wish to justify yourCharter, do it on that ground. Claim your share in national life, onlybecause the nation is a spiritual body, whose king is the Son of God; whosework, whose national character and powers, are allotted to it by the Spiritof Christ. Claim universal suffrage, only on the ground of the universalredemption of mankind--the universal priesthood of Christians. Thatargument will conquer, when all have failed; for God will make it conquer. Claim the disenfranchisement of every man, rich or poor, who breaksthe laws of God and man, not merely because he is an obstacle to you, but because he is a traitor to your common King in heaven, and to thespiritual kingdom of which he is a citizen. Denounce the effete idolof property-qualification, not because it happens to strengthen classinterests against you, but because, as your mystic dream reminded you, and, therefore, as you knew long ago, there is no real rank, no real power, butworth; and worth consists not in property, but in the grace of God. Claim, if you will, annual parliaments, as a means of enforcing the responsibilityof rulers to the Christian community, of which they are to be, not thelords, but the ministers--the servants of all. But claim these, and allelse for which you long, not from man, but from God, the King of men. Andtherefore, before you attempt to obtain them, make yourselves worthy ofthem--perhaps by that process you will find some of them have become lessneedful. At all events, do not ask, do not hope, that He will give them toyou before you are able to profit by them. Believe that he has kept themfrom you hitherto, because they would have been curses, and not blessings. Oh! look back, look back, at the history of English Radicalism for the lasthalf century, and judge by your own deeds, your own words; were you fit forthose privileges which you so frantically demanded? Do not answer me, thatthose who had them were equally unfit; but thank God, if the case be indeedso, that your incapacity was not added to theirs, to make confusion worseconfounded! Learn a new lesson. Believe at last that you are in Christ, andbecome new creatures. With those miserable, awful farce tragedies of Apriland June, let old things pass away, and all things become new. Believethat your kingdom is not of this world, but of One whose servants must notfight. He that believeth, as the prophet says, will not make haste. Belovedsuffering brothers! are not your times in the hand of One who loved you tothe death, who conquered, as you must do, not by wrath, but by martyrdom?Try no more to meet Mammon with his own weapons, but commit your cause toHim who judges righteously, who is even now coming out of His place tojudge the earth, and to help the fatherless and poor unto their right, thatthe man of the world may be no more exalted against them--the poor man ofNazareth, crucified for you!"

She ceased, and there was silence for a few moments, as if angels werewaiting, hushed, to carry our repentance to the throne of Him we hadforgotten. 

Crossthwaite had kept his face fast buried in his hands; now he looked upwith brimming eyes--

"I see it--I see it all now. Oh, my God! my God! what infidels we havebeen!"

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

MIRACLES AND SCIENCE. 

Sunrise, they say, often at first draws up and deepens the very mistswhich it is about to scatter: and even so, as the excitement of my firstconviction cooled, dark doubts arose to dim the new-born light of hope andtrust within me. The question of miracles had been ever since I had readStrauss my greatest stumbling-block--perhaps not unwillingly, for my doubtspampered my sense of intellectual acuteness and scientific knowledge; and"a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. " But now that they interferedwith nobler, more important, more immediately practical ideas, I longedto have them removed--I longed even to swallow them down on trust--totake the miracles "into the bargain" as it were, for the sake of thatmighty gospel of deliverance for the people which accompanied them. Meansubterfuge! which would not, could not, satisfy me. The thing was tooprecious, too all-important, to take one tittle of it on trust. I couldnot bear the consciousness of one hollow spot--the nether fires of doubtglaring through, even at one little crevice. I took my doubts to LadyEllerton--Eleanor, as I must now call her, for she never allowed herselfto be addressed by her title--and she referred me to her uncle--

"I could say somewhat on that point myself. But since your doubts arescientific ones, I had rather that you should discuss them with one whoseknowledge of such subjects you, and all England with you, must revere. "

"Ah, but--pardon me; he is a clergyman. "

"And therefore bound to prove, whether he believes in his own proof or not. Unworthy suspicion!" she cried, with a touch of her old manner. "If you hadknown that man's literary history for the last thirty years, you would notsuspect him, at least, of sacrificing truth and conscience to interest, orto fear of the world's insults. "

I was rebuked; and not without hope and confidence, I broached the questionto the good dean when he came in--as he happened to do that very day. 

"I hardly like to state my difficulties, " I began--"for I am afraid that Imust hurt myself in your eyes by offending your--prejudices, if you willpardon so plain-spoken an expression. "

"If, " he replied, in his bland courtly way, "I am so unfortunate as to haveany prejudices left, you cannot do me a greater kindness than by offendingthem--or by any other means, however severe--to make me conscious of thelocality of such a secret canker. "

"But I am afraid that your own teaching has created, or at leastcorroborated, these doubts of mine. "

"How so?"

"You first taught me to revere science. You first taught me to admire andtrust the immutable order, the perfect harmony of the laws of Nature. "

"Ah! I comprehend now!" he answered, in a somewhat mournful tone--"How muchwe have to answer for! How often, in our carelessness, we offend thoselittle ones, whose souls are precious in the sight of God! I have thoughtlong and earnestly on the very subject which now distresses you; perhapsevery doubt which has passed through your mind, has exercised my own;and, strange to say, you first set me on that new path of thought. Aconversation which passed between us years ago at D * * * * on theantithesis of natural and revealed religion--perhaps you recollect it?"

Yes, I recollected it better than he fancied, and recollected too--I thrustthe thought behind me--it was even yet intolerable. 

"That conversation first awoke in me the sense of an hitherto unconsciousinconsistency--a desire to reconcile two lines of thought--which I hadhitherto considered as parallel, and impossible to unite. To you, and to mybeloved niece here, I owe gratitude for that evening's talk; and you arefreely welcome to all my conclusions, for you have been, indirectly, theoriginator of them all. "

"Then, I must confess, that miracles seem to me impossible, just becausethey break the laws of Nature. Pardon me--but there seems somethingblasphemous in supposing that God can mar His own order: His power I do notcall in question, but the very thought of His so doing is abhorrent to me. "

"It is as abhorrent to me as it can be to you, to Goethe, or to Strauss;and yet I believe firmly in our Lord's miracles. "

"How so, if they break the laws of Nature?"

"Who told you, my dear young friend, that to break the customs of Nature, is to break her laws? A phenomenon, an appearance, whether it be a miracleor a comet, need not contradict them because it is rare, because it is asyet not referable to them. Nature's deepest laws, her only true laws, areher invisible ones. All analyses (I think you know enough to understandmy terms), whether of appearances, of causes, or of elements, only leadus down to fresh appearances--we cannot see a law, let the power of ourlens be ever so immense. The true causes remain just as impalpable, as unfathomable as ever, eluding equally our microscope and ourinduction--ever tending towards some great primal law, as Mr. Grove haswell shown lately in his most valuable pamphlet--some great primal law, Isay, manifesting itself, according to circumstances, in countless diverseand unexpected forms--till all that the philosopher as well as the divinecan say, is--the Spirit of Life, impalpable, transcendental, direct fromGod, is the only real cause. 'It bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearestthe sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, or whither itgoeth. ' What, if miracles should be the orderly result of some such deep, most orderly, and yet most spiritual law?"

"I feel the force of your argument, but--"

"But you will confess, at least, that you, after the fashion of the crowd, have begun your argument by begging the very question in dispute, and mayhave, after all, created the very difficulty which torments you. "

"I confess it; but I cannot see how the miracles of Jesus--of ourLord--have anything of order in them. "

"Tell me, then--to try the Socratic method--is disease, or health, theorder and law of Nature?"

"Health, surely; we all confess that by calling diseases disorders. "

"Then, would one who healed diseases be a restorer, or a breaker of order?"

"A restorer, doubtless; but--"

"Like a patient scholar, and a scholarly patient, allow me to 'exhibit'my own medicines according to my own notion of the various crises of yourdistemper. I assure you I will not play you false, or entrap you by quipsand special pleading. You are aware that our Lord's miracles were almostexclusively miracles of healing--restorations of that order of health whichdisease was breaking--that when the Scribes and Pharisees, superstitiousand sense-bound, asked him for a sign from heaven, a contra-naturalprodigy, he refused them as peremptorily as he did the fiend's 'Commandthese stones that they be made bread. ' You will quote against me the waterturned into wine, as an exception to this rule. St. Augustine answered thatobjection centuries ago, by the same argument as I am now using. AllowJesus to have been the Lord of Creation, and what was he doing then, butwhat he does in the maturing of every grape--transformed from air andwater even as that wine in Cana? Goethe, himself, unwittingly, has madeMephistopheles even say as much as that--

 "Wine is sap, and grapes are wood, The wooden board yields wine as good. "

"But the time?--so infinitely shorter than that which Nature usuallyoccupies in the process?"

"Time and space are no Gods, as a wise German says; and as the electrictelegraph ought already to have taught you. They are customs, but who hasproved them to be laws of Nature? No; analyse these miracles one by one, fairly, carefully, scientifically, and you will find that if you wantprodigies really blasphemous and absurd, infractions of the laws of Nature, amputated limbs growing again, and dead men walking away with their headsunder their arms, you must go to the Popish legends, but not to themiracles of the Gospels. And now for your 'but'--"

"The raising of the dead to life? Surely death is the appointed end ofevery animal--ay, of every species, and of man among the rest. "

"Who denies it? But is premature death?--the death of Jairus's daughter, ofthe widow's son at Nain, the death of Jesus himself, in the prime of youthand vigour--or rather that gradual decay of ripe old age, through which Inow, thank God, so fast am travelling? What nobler restoration of order, what clearer vindication of the laws of Nature from the disorder ofdiseases, than to recall the dead to their natural and normal period oflife?"

I was silent a few moments, having nothing to answer; then--

"After all, these may have been restorations of the law of Nature. But whywas the law broken in order to restore it? The Tenth of April has taughtme, at least, that disorder cannot cast disorder out. "

"Again I ask, why do you assume the very point in question? Again I ask, who knows what really are the laws of Nature? You have heard Bacon's goldenrule--'Nature is conquered by obeying her?'"

"I have. "

"Then who more likely, who more certain, to fulfil that law to hithertounattained perfection, than He who came to obey, not outward nature merely, but, as Bacon meant, the inner ideas, the spirit of Nature, which is thewill of God?--He who came to do utterly, not His own will, but the willof the Father who sent Him? Who is so presumptuous as to limit the futuretriumphs of science? Surely no one who has watched her giant strides duringthe last century. Shall Stephenson and Faraday, and the inventors of thecalculating machine, and the electric telegraph, have fulfilled suchwonders by their weak and partial obedience to the 'Will of God expressedin things'--and He who obeyed, even unto the death, have possessed nohigher power than theirs?"

"Indeed, " I said, "your words stagger me. But there is another oldobjection which they have reawakened in my mind. You will say I am shiftingmy ground sadly. But you must pardon me"

"Let us hear. They need not be irrelevant. The unconscious logic ofassociation is often deeper and truer than any syllogism. "

"These modern discoveries in medicine seem to show that Christ's miraclesmay be attributed to natural causes. "

"And thereby justify them. For what else have I been arguing. Thedifficulty lies only in the rationalist's shallow and sensuous view ofNature, and in his ambiguous, slip-slop trick of using the word naturalto mean, in one sentence, 'material, ' and in the next, as I use it, only'normal and orderly. ' Every new wonder in medicine which this great agediscovers--what does it prove, but that Christ need have broken no naturallaws to do that of old, which can be done now without breaking them--if youwill but believe that these gifts of healing are all inspired and revealedby Him who is the Great Physician, the Life, the Lord of that vital energyby whom all cures are wrought. 

"The surgeons of St. George's make the boy walk who has been lame from hismother's womb. But have they given life to a single bone or muscle of hislimbs? They have only put them into that position--those circumstances inwhich the God-given life in them can have its free and normal play, andproduce the cure which they only assist. I claim that miracle of science, as I do all future ones, as the inspiration of Him who made the lameto walk in Judea, not by producing new organs, but by His creativewill--quickening and liberating those which already existed. 

"The mesmerist, again, says that he can cure a spirit of infirmity, anhysteric or paralytic patient, by shedding forth on them his own vitalenergy; and, therefore he will have it, that Christ's miracles were butmesmeric feats. I grant, for the sake of argument, that he possessesthe power which he claims; though I may think his facts too new, tooundigested, often too exaggerated, to claim my certain assent. But, I say, I take you on your own ground; and, indeed, if man be the image of God, hisvital energy may, for aught I know, be able, like God's, to communicatesome spark of life--But then, what must have been the vital energy of Himwho was the life itself; who was filled without measure with the spirit, not only of humanity, but with that of God the Lord and Giver of life? Dobut let the Bible tell its own story; grant, for the sake of argument, the truth of the dogmas which it asserts throughout, and it becomesa consistent whole. When a man begins, as Strauss does, by assumingthe falsity of its conclusions, no wonder if he finds its premises afragmentary chaos of contradictions. "

"And what else?" asked Eleanor, passionately--"what else is the meaningof that highest human honour, the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper, but aperennial token that the same life-giving spirit is the free right of all?"

And thereon followed happy, peaceful, hopeful words, which the reader, ifhe call himself a Christian, ought to be able to imagine for himself. I amafraid that writing from memory, I should do as little justice to them asI have to the dean's arguments in this chapter. Of the consequences whichthey produced in me, I will speak anon. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

NEMESIS. 

It was a month or more before I summoned courage to ask after my cousin. 

Eleanor looked solemnly at me. 

"Did you not know it? He is dead. "

"Dead!" I was almost stunned by the announcement. 

"Of typhus fever. He died three weeks ago; and not only he, but the servantwho brushed his clothes, and the shopman, who had a few days before, brought him a new coat home. "

"How did you learn all this?"

"From Mr. Crossthwaite. But the strangest part of the sad story is to come. Crossthwaite's suspicions were aroused by some incidental circumstance, andknowing of Downes's death, and the fact that you most probably caught yourfever in that miserable being's house, he made such inquiries as satisfiedhim that it was no other than your cousin's coat--"

"Which covered the corpses in that fearful chamber?"

"It was indeed. "

Just, awful God. And this was the consistent Nemesis of all poorGeorge's thrift and cunning, of his determination to carry thebuy-cheap-and-sell-dear commercialism, in which he had been brought up, into every act of life! Did I rejoice? No; all revenge, all spite had beenscourged out of me. I mourned for him as for a brother, till the thoughtflashed across me--Lillian was free. Half unconscious, I stammered her nameinquiringly. 

"Judge for yourself, " answered Eleanor, mildly, yet with a deep, severemeaning in her tone. 

I was silent. 

 * * * * *

The tempest in my heart was ready to burst forth again; but she, myguardian angel, soothed it for me. 

"She is much changed; sorrow and sickness--for she, too, has had the fever, and, alas! less resignation or peace within, than those who love herwould have wished to see--have worn her down. Little remains now of thatloveliness--"

"Which I idolized in my folly!"

"Thank God, thank God! that you see that at last: I knew it all along. Iknew that there was nothing there for your heart to rest upon--nothingto satisfy your intellect--and, therefore, I tried to turn you from yourdream. I did it harshly, angrily, too sharply, yet not explicitly enough. Iought to have made allowances for you. I should have known how enchanting, intoxicating, mere outward perfections must have been to one of yourperceptions, shut out so long as you had been from the beautiful in art andnature. But I was cruel. Alas! I had not then learnt to sympathize; and Ihave often since felt with terror that I, too, may have many of your sinsto answer for; that I, even I, helped to drive you on to bitterness anddespair. "

"Oh, do not say so! You have done to me, meant to me, nothing but good. "

"Be not too sure of that. You little know me. You little know the pridewhich I have fostered--even the mean anger against you, for being theprotégé of any one but myself. That exclusiveness, and shyness, and proudreserve, is the bane of our English character--it has been the bane ofmine--daily I strive to root it out. Come--I will do so now. You wonder whyI am here. You shall hear somewhat of my story; and do not fancy that I amshowing you a peculiar mark of honour or confidence. If the history of mylife can be of use to the meanest, they are welcome to the secrets of myinmost heart. 

"I was my parents' only child, an heiress, highly born, and highlyeducated. Every circumstance of humanity which could pamper pride was mine, and I battened on the poison. I painted, I sang, I wrote in prose andverse--they told me, not without success. Men said that I was beautiful--Iknew that myself, and revelled and gloried in the thought. Accustomed tosee myself the centre of all my parents' hopes and fears, to be surroundedby flatterers, to indulge in secret the still more fatal triumph ofcontempt for those I thought less gifted than myself, self became thecentre of my thoughts. Pleasure was all I thought of. But not what thevulgar call pleasure. That I disdained, while, like you, I worshipped allthat was pleasurable to the intellect and the taste. The beautiful was myGod. I lived, in deliberate intoxication, on poetry, music, painting, andevery anti-type of them which I could find in the world around. At last Imet with--one whom you once saw. He first awoke in me the sense of the vastduties and responsibilities of my station--his example first taught me tocare for the many rather than for the few. It was a blessed lesson: yeteven that I turned to poison, by making self, still self, the object of myvery benevolence. To be a philanthropist, a philosopher, a feudal queen, amid the blessings and the praise of dependent hundreds--that was my newideal; for that I turned the whole force of my intellect to the studyof history, of social and economic questions. From Bentham and Malthusto Fourier and Proudhon, I read them all. I made them all fit into thatidol-temple of self which I was rearing, and fancied that I did my duty, bybecoming one of the great ones of the earth. My ideal was not the crucifiedNazarene, but some Hairoun Alraschid, in luxurious splendour, pamperinghis pride by bestowing as a favour those mercies which God commands asthe right of all. I thought to serve God, forsooth, by serving Mammon andmyself. Fool that I was! I could not see God's handwriting on the wallagainst me. 'How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdomof heaven!'. .. 

"You gave me, unintentionally, a warning hint. The capabilities which Isaw in you made me suspect that those below might be more nearly my equalsthan I had yet fancied. Your vivid descriptions of the misery among wholeclasses of workmen--misery caused and ever increased by the very system ofsociety itself--gave a momentary shock to my fairy palace. They drove meback upon the simple old question, which has been asked by every honestheart, age after age, 'What right have I to revel in luxury while thousandsare starving? Why do I pride myself on doling out to them small fractionsof that wealth, which, if sacrificed utterly and at once, might helpto raise hundreds to a civilization as high as my own?' I could notface the thought; and angry with you for having awakened it, howeverunintentionally, I shrank back behind the pitiable, worn-out fallacy, thatluxury was necessary to give employment. I knew that it was a fallacy; Iknew that the labour spent in producing unnecessary things for one rich manmay just as well have gone in producing necessaries for a hundred poor, oremploy the architect and the painter for public bodies as well as privateindividuals. That even for the production of luxuries, the monopolizingdemand of the rich was not required--that the appliances of realcivilization, the landscapes, gardens, stately rooms, baths, books, pictures, works of art, collections of curiosities, which now went topamper me alone--me, one single human soul--might be helping, in anassociate society, to civilize a hundred families, now debarred from themby isolated poverty, without robbing me of an atom of the real enjoyment orbenefit of them. I knew it, I say, to be a fallacy, and yet I hid behind itfrom the eye of God. Besides, 'it always had been so--the few rich, and themany poor. I was but one more among millions. '"

She paused a moment as if to gather strength, and then continued:

"The blow came. My idol--for he, too, was an idol--To please him I hadbegun--To please myself in pleasing him, I was trying to become great--andwith him went from me that sphere of labour which was to witness thetriumph of my pride. I saw the estate pass into other hands; a mightychange passed over me, as impossible, perhaps, as unfitting, for meto analyse. I was considered mad. Perhaps I was so: there is a divineinsanity, a celestial folly, which conquers worlds. At least, when thatperiod was past, I had done, and suffered so strangely, that nothinghenceforth could seem strange to me. I had broken the yoke of custom andopinion. My only ground was now the bare realities of human life and duty. In poverty and loneliness I thought out the problems of society, and seemedto myself to have found the one solution--self-sacrifice. Following myfirst impulse, I had given largely to every charitable institution I couldhear of--God forbid that I should regret those gifts--yet the money, Isoon found, might have been better spent. One by one, every institutiondisappointed me; they seemed, after all, only means for keeping the poorin their degradation, by making it just not intolerable to them--means forenabling Mammon to draw fresh victims into his den, by taking off hishands those whom he had already worn out into uselessness. Then I triedassociation among my own sex--among the most miserable and degraded ofthem. I simply tried to put them into a position in which they might workfor each other, and not for a single tyrant; in which that tyrant's profitsmight be divided among the slaves themselves. Experienced men warned methat I should fail; that such a plan would be destroyed by the innateselfishness and rivalry of human nature; that it demanded what wasimpossible to find, good faith, fraternal love, overruling moral influence. I answered, that I knew that already; that nothing but Christianity alonecould supply that want, but that it could and should supply it; that Iwould teach them to live as sisters, by living with them as their sistermyself. To become the teacher, the minister, the slave of those whom I wastrying to rescue, was now my one idea; to lead them on, not by machinery, but by precept, by example, by the influence of every gift and talent whichGod had bestowed upon me; to devote to them my enthusiasm, my eloquence, mypoetry, my art, my science; to tell them who had bestowed their gifts onme, and would bestow, to each according to her measure, the same on them;to make my workrooms, in one word, not a machinery, but a family. AndI have succeeded--as others will succeed, long after my name, my smallendeavours, are forgotten amid the great new world--new Church I shouldhave said--of enfranchised and fraternal labour. "

And this was the suspected aristocrat! Oh, my brothers, my brothers! littleyou know how many a noble soul, among those ranks which you consider onlyas your foes, is yearning to love, to help, to live and die for you, didthey but know the way! Is it their fault if God has placed them where theyare? Is it their fault, if they refuse to part with their wealth, beforethey are sure that such a sacrifice would really be a mercy to you? Showyourselves worthy of association. Show that you can do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God, as brothers before one Father, subjects ofone crucified King--and see then whether the spirit of self-sacrifice isdead among the rich! See whether there are not left in England yet seventhousand who have not bowed the knee to Mammon, who will not fear to "givetheir substance to the free, " if they find that the Son has made youfree--free from your own sins, as well as from the sins of others!

CHAPTER XL. 

PRIESTS AND PEOPLE. 

"But after all, " I said one day, "the great practical objection stillremains unanswered--the clergy? Are we to throw ourselves into theirhands after all? Are we, who have been declaiming all our lives againstpriestcraft, voluntarily to forge again the chains of our slavery to aclass whom we neither trust nor honour?"

She smiled. "If you will examine the Prayer-Book, you will not find, asfar as I am aware, anything which binds a man to become the slave ofthe priesthood, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether the people becomepriest-ridden or not, hereafter, will depend, as it always has done, utterly on themselves. As long as the people act upon their spiritualliberty, and live with eyes undimmed by superstitious fear, fixed in lovingboldness on their Father in heaven, and their King, the first-born amongmany brethren, the priesthood will remain, as God intended them, only theinterpreters and witnesses of His will and His kingdom. But let them turntheir eyes from Him to aught in earth or heaven beside, and there will beno lack of priestcraft, of veils to hide Him from them, tyrants to keepthem from Him, idols to ape His likeness. A sinful people will be sure tobe a priest-ridden people; in reality, though not in name; by journalistsand demagogues, if not by class-leaders and popes: and of the two, Iconfess I should prefer a Hildebrand to an O'Flynn. "

"But, " I replied, "we do not love, we do not trust, we do not respect theclergy. Has their conduct to the masses for the last century deserved thatwe should do so? Will you ask us to obey the men whom we despise?"

"God forbid!" she answered. "But you must surely be aware of themiraculous, ever-increasing improvement in the clergy. "

"In morals, " I said, "and in industry, doubtless; but not upon those pointswhich are to us just now dearer than their morals or their industry, because they involve the very existence of our own industry and our ownmorals--I mean, social and political subjects. On them the clergy seem tome as ignorant, as bigoted, as aristocratic as ever. "

"But, suppose that there were a rapidly-increasing class among the clergy, who were willing to help you to the uttermost--and you must feel that theirhelp would be worth having--towards the attainment of social reform, if youwould waive for a time merely political reform?"

"What?" I said, "give up the very ideas for which we have struggled, andsinned, and all but died? and will struggle, and, if need be, die forstill, or confess ourselves traitors to the common weal?"

"The Charter, like its supporters, must die to itself before it lives toGod. Is it not even now farther off than ever?"

"It seems so indeed--but what do you mean?"

"You regarded the Charter as an absolute end. You made a selfish and aself-willed idol of it. And therefore God's blessing did not rest on it oryou. "

"We want it as a means as well as an end--as a means for the highest andwidest social reform, as well as a right dependent on eternal justice. "

"Let the working classes prove that, then, " she replied, "in their actionsnow. If it be true, as I would fain believe it to be, let them show thatthey are willing to give up their will to God's will; to compass thosesocial reforms by the means which God puts in their way, and wait for Hisown good time to give them, or not to give them, those means which they intheir own minds prefer. This is what I meant by saying that Chartism mustdie to itself before it has a chance of living to God. You must feel, too, that Chartism has sinned--has defiled itself in the eyes of the wise, thegood, the gentle. Your only way now to soften the prejudice against it isto show that you can live like men and brothers and Christians without it. You cannot wonder if the clergy shall object awhile to help you towardsthat Charter, which the majority of you demanded for the express purpose ofdestroying the creed which the clergy do believe, however badly they mayhave acted upon it. "

"It is all true enough--bitterly true. But yet, why do we need the help ofthe clergy?"

"Because you need the help of the whole nation; because there are otherclasses to be considered beside yourselves; because the nation is neitherthe few nor the many, but the all; because it is only by the co-operationof all the members of a body, that any one member can fulfil its calling inhealth and freedom; because, as long as you stand aloof from the clergy, orfrom any other class, through pride, self-interest, or wilful ignorance, you are keeping up those very class distinctions of which you and I toocomplain, as 'hateful equally to God and to his enemies;' and, finally, because the clergy are the class which God has appointed to unite allothers; which, in as far as it fulfils its calling, and is indeed apriesthood, is above and below all rank, and knows no man after the flesh, but only on the ground of his spiritual worth, and his birthright in thatkingdom which is the heritage of all. "

"Truly, " I answered, "the idea is a noble one--But look at the reality! Hasnot priestly pandering to tyrants made the Church, in every age, a scoffand a byword among free men?"

"May it ever do so, " she replied, "whenever such a sin exists! But yet, look at the other side of the picture. Did not the priesthood, in thefirst ages, glory not in the name, but, what is better, in the office, ofdemocrats? Did not the Roman tyrants hunt them down as wild beasts, becausethey were democrats, proclaiming to the slave and to the barbarian aspiritual freedom and a heavenly citizenship, before which the Roman wellknew his power must vanish into naught? Who, during the invasion of thebarbarians, protected the poor against their conquerors? Who, in the middleage, stood between the baron and his serfs? Who, in their monasteries, realized spiritual democracy, --the nothingness of rank and wealth, thepractical might of co-operation and self-sacrifice? Who delivered Englandfrom the Pope? Who spread throughout every cottage in the land the Bibleand Protestantism, the book and the religion which declares that a man'ssoul is free in the sight of God? Who, at the martyr's stake in Oxford, 'lighted the candle in England that shall never be put out?' Who, bysuffering, and not by rebellion, drove the last perjured Stuart from histhrone, and united every sect and class in one of the noblest steps inEngland's progress? You will say these are the exceptions; I say nay; theyare rather a few great and striking manifestations of an influencewhich has been, unseen though not unfelt, at work for ages, converting, consecrating, organizing, every fresh invention of mankind, and which isnow on the eve of christianizing democracy, as it did Mediæval Feudalism, Tudor Nationalism, Whig Constitutionalism; and which will succeed inchristianizing it, and so alone making it rational, human, possible;because the priesthood alone, of all human institutions, testifies ofChrist the King of men, the Lord of all things, the inspirer of alldiscoveries; who reigns, and will reign, till He has put all things underHis feet, and the kingdoms of the world have become the kingdoms of God andof His Christ. Be sure, as it always has been, so will it be now. Withoutthe priesthood there is no freedom for the people. Statesmen know it; and, therefore, those who would keep the people fettered, find it necessaryto keep the priesthood fettered also. The people never can be themselveswithout co-operation with the priesthood; and the priesthood never can bethemselves without co-operation with the people. They may help to make asect-Church for the rich, as they have been doing, or a sect-Church forpaupers (which is also the most subtle form of a sect-Church for the rich), as a party in England are trying now to do--as I once gladly would havedone myself: but if they would be truly priests of God, and priests ofthe Universal Church, they must be priests of the people, priests of themasses, priests after the likeness of Him who died on the cross. "

"And are there any men, " I said, "who believe this? and, what is more, havecourage to act upon it, now in the very hour of Mammon's triumph?"

"There are those who are willing, who are determined, whatever it may costthem, to fraternize with those whom they take shame to themselves forhaving neglected; to preach and to organize, in concert with them, a HolyWar against the social abuses which are England's shame; and, firstand foremost, against the fiend of competition. They do not want to bedictators to the working men. They know that they have a message to theartizan, but they know, too, that the artizan has a message to them; andthey are not afraid to hear it. They do not wish to make him a puppet forany system of their own; they only are willing, if he will take the handthey offer him, to devote themselves, body and soul, to the great end ofenabling the artizan to govern himself; to produce in the capacity ofa free man, and not of a slave; to eat the food he earns, and wear theclothes he makes. Will your working brothers co-operate with these men?Are they, do you think, such bigots as to let political differences standbetween them and those who fain would treat them as their brothers; or willthey fight manfully side by side with them in the battle against Mammon, trusting to God, that if in anything they are otherwise minded, He will, inHis own good time, reveal even that unto them? Do you think, to take oneinstance, the men of your own trade would heartily join a handful of thesemen in an experiment of associate labour, even though there should be aclergyman or two among them?"

"Join them?" I said. "Can you ask the question? I, for one, would devotemyself, body and soul, to any enterprise so noble. Crossthwaite would askfor nothing higher, than to be a hewer of wood and a drawer of water to anestablishment of associate workmen. But, alas! his fate is fixed for theNew World; and mine, I verily believe, for sickness and the grave. And yetI will answer for it, that, in the hopes of helping such a project, hewould give up Mackaye's bequest, for the mere sake of remaining in England;and for me, if I have but a month of life, it is at the service of such menas you describe. "

"Oh!" she said, musingly, "if poor Mackaye had but had somewhat more faithin the future, that fatal condition would perhaps never have been attachedto his bequest. And yet, perhaps, it is better as it is. Crossthwaite'smind may want quite, as much as yours does, a few years of a simpler andbrighter atmosphere to soften and refresh it again. Besides, your health istoo weak, your life, I know, too valuable to your class, for us to trustyou on such a voyage alone. He must go with you. "

"With me?" I said. "You must be misinformed; I have no thought of leavingEngland. "

"You know the opinion of the physicians?"

"I know that my life is not likely to be a long one; that immediate removalto a southern, if possible to a tropical climate, is considered the onlymeans of preserving it. For the former I care little; _non est tantivivere_. And, indeed, the latter, even if it would succeed, is impossible. Crossthwaite will live and thrive by the labour of his hands; while, forsuch a helpless invalid as I to travel, would be to dissipate the littlecapital which Mackaye has left me. 

"The day will come, when society will find it profitable, as well as just, to put the means of preserving life by travel within the reach of thepoorest. But individuals must always begin by setting the examples, whichthe state too slowly, though surely (for the world is God's world afterall), will learn to copy. All is arranged for you. Crossthwaite, you know, would have sailed ere now, had it not been for your fever. Next weekyou start with him for Texas, No; make no objections. All expenses aredefrayed--no matter by whom. "

"By you! By you! Who else?"

"Do you think that I monopolize the generosity of England? Do you thinkwarm hearts beat only in the breasts of working men? But, if it were I, would not that be only another reason for submitting? You must go. You willhave, for the next three years, such an allowance as will support you incomfort, whether you choose to remain stationary, or, as I hope, to travelsouthward into Mexico. Your passage-money is already paid. "

Why should I attempt to describe my feelings? I gasped for breath, andlooked stupidly at her for a minute or two. --The second darling hope of mylife within my reach, just as the first had been snatched from me! At lastI found words. 

"No, no, noble lady! Do not tempt me! Who am I, the slave of impulse, useless, worn out in mind and body, that you should waste such generosityupon me? I do not refuse from the honest pride of independence; I have notman enough left in me even for that. But will you, of all people, ask meto desert the starving suffering thousands, to whom my heart, my honourare engaged; to give up the purpose of my life, and pamper my fancy in aluxurious paradise, while they are slaving here?"

"What? Cannot God find champions for them when you are gone? Has he notfound them already? Believe me, that Tenth of April, which you fancied thedeath-day of liberty, has awakened a spirit in high as well as in low life, which children yet unborn will bless. "

"Oh, do not mistake me! Have I not confessed my own weakness? But if I haveone healthy nerve left in me, soul or body, it will retain its strengthonly as long as it thrills with devotion to the people's cause. If I live, I must live among them, for them. If I die, I must die at my post. I couldnot rest, except in labour. I dare not fly, like Jonah, from the call ofGod. In the deepest shade of the virgin forests, on the loneliest peak ofthe Cordilleras, He would find me out; and I should hear His still smallvoice reproving me, as it reproved the fugitive patriot-seer of old--Whatdoest thou here, Elijah?"

I was excited, and spoke, I am afraid, after my custom, somewhat toomagniloquently. But she answered only with a quiet smile:

"So you are a Chartist still?"

"If by a Chartist you mean one who fancies that a change in mere politicalcircumstances will bring about a millennium, I am no longer one. That dreamis gone--with others. But if to be a Chartist is to love my brothers withevery faculty of my soul--to wish to live and die struggling for theirrights, endeavouring to make them, not electors merely, but fit to beelectors, senators, kings, and priests to God and to His Christ--if thatbe the Chartism of the future, then am I sevenfold a Chartist, and readyto confess it before men, though I were thrust forth from every door inEngland. "

She was silent a moment. 

"'The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner. 'Surely the old English spirit has cast its madness, and begins to speakonce more as it spoke in Naseby fights and Smithfield fires!"

"And yet you would quench it in me amid the enervating climate of thetropics. "

"Need it be quenched there? Was it quenched in Drake, in Hawkins, in theconquerors of Hindostan? Weakness, like strength, is from within, of thespirit, and not of sunshine. I would send you thither, that you may gainnew strength, new knowledge to carry out your dream and mine. Do not refuseme the honour of preserving you. Do not forbid me to employ my wealth inthe only way which reconciles my conscience to the possession of it. I havesaved many a woman already; and this one thing remained--the highest of allmy hopes and longings--that God would allow me, ere I die, to save a man. I have longed to find some noble soul, as Carlyle says, fallen down by thewayside, and lift it up, and heal its wounds, and teach it the secret ofits heavenly birthright, and consecrate it to its King in heaven. I havelonged to find a man of the people, whom I could train to be the poet ofthe people. "

"Me, at least, you have saved, have taught, have trained! Oh that your carehad been bestowed on some more worthy object!"

"Let me, at least, then, perfect my own work. You do not--it is a signof your humility that you do not--appreciate the value of this rest. Youunderrate at once your own powers, and the shock which they have received. "

"If I must go, then, why so far? Why put you to so great expense? If youmust be generous, send me to some place nearer home--to Italy, to the coastof Devon, or the Isle of Wight, where invalids like me are said to find allthe advantages which are so often, perhaps too hastily, sought in foreignlands. "

"No, " she said, smiling; "you are my servant now, by the laws of chivalry, and you must fulfil my quest. I have long hoped for a tropic poet; onewho should leave the routine imagery of European civilization, its meagrescenery, and physically decrepit races, for the grandeur, the luxuriance, the infinite and strongly-marked variety of tropic nature, the paradisiacbeauty and simplicity of tropic humanity. I am tired of the old images; ofthe barren alternations between Italy and the Highlands. I had once dreamtof going to the tropics myself; but my work lay elsewhere. Go for me, andfor the people. See if you cannot help to infuse some new blood into theaged veins of English literature; see if you cannot, by observing man inhis mere simple and primeval state, bring home fresh conceptions of beauty, fresh spiritual and physical laws of his existence, that you may realizethem here at home--(how, I see as yet but dimly; but He who teaches thefacts will surely teach their application)--in the cottages, in theplay-grounds, the reading-rooms, the churches of working men. "

"But I know so little--I have seen so little!"

"That very fact, I flatter myself, gives you an especial vocation for myscheme. Your ignorance of cultivated English scenery, and of Italian art, will enable you to approach with a more reverend, simple, and unprejudicedeye the primeval forms of beauty--God's work, not man's. Sin you willsee there, and anarchy, and tyranny, but I do not send you to look forsociety, but for nature. I do not send you to become a barbarian settler, but to bring home to the realms of civilization those ideas of physicalperfection, which as yet, alas! barbarism, rather than civilization, haspreserved. Do not despise your old love for the beautiful. Do not fancythat because you have let it become an idol and a tyrant, it was nottherefore the gift of God. Cherish it, develop it to the last; steep yourwhole soul in beauty; watch it in its most vast and complex harmonies, and not less in its most faint and fragmentary traces. Only, hitherto youhave blindly worshipped it; now you must learn to comprehend, to master, to embody it; to show it forth to men as the sacrament of Heaven, thefinger-mark of God!"

Who could resist such pleading from those lips? I at least could not. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

FREEDOM, EQUALITY, AND BROTHERHOOD. 

Before the same Father, the same King, crucified for all alike, we hadpartaken of the same bread and wine, we had prayed for the same spirit. Side by side, around the chair on which I lay propped up with pillows, coughing my span of life away, had knelt the high-born countess, thecultivated philosopher, the repentant rebel, the wild Irish girl, herslavish and exclusive creed exchanged for one more free and all-embracing;and that no extremest type of human condition might be wanting, thereclaimed Magdalene was there--two pale worn girls from Eleanor's asylum, in whom I recognized the needlewomen to whom Mackaye had taken me, ona memorable night, seven years before. Thus--and how better?--had Godrewarded their loving care of that poor dying fellow-slave. 

Yes--we had knelt together: and I had felt that we were one--that there wasa bond between us, real, eternal, independent of ourselves, knit not byman, but God; and the peace of God, which passes understanding, came overme like the clear sunshine after weary rain. 

One by one they shook me by the hand, and quitted the room; and Eleanor andI were left alone. 

"See!" she said, "Freedom, Equality, and Brotherhood are come; but not asyou expected. "

Blissful, repentant tears blinded my eyes, as I replied, not to her, but toHim who spoke by her--

"Lord! not as I will, but as thou wilt!"

"Yes, " she continued, "Freedom, Equality, and Brotherhood are here. Realizethem in thine own self, and so alone thou helpest to make them realitiesfor all. Not from without, from Charters and Republics, but from within, from the Spirit working in each; not by wrath and haste, but by patiencemade perfect through suffering, canst thou proclaim their good news tothe groaning masses, and deliver them, as thy Master did before thee, by the cross, and not the sword. Divine paradox!--Folly to the rich andmighty--the watchword of the weak, in whose weakness is God's strength madeperfect. 'In your patience possess ye your souls, for the coming of theLord draweth nigh. ' Yes--He came then, and the Babel-tyranny of Rome fell, even as the more fearful, more subtle, and more diabolic tyranny of Mammonshall fall ere long--suicidal, even now crumbling by its innate decay. Yes--Babylon the Great--the commercial world of selfish competition, drunken with the blood of God's people, whose merchandise is the bodiesand souls of men--her doom is gone forth. And then--then--when they, thetyrants of the earth, who lived delicately with her, rejoicing in her sins, the plutocrats and bureaucrats, the money-changers and devourers of labour, are crying to the rocks to hide them, and to the hills to cover them, fromthe wrath of Him that sitteth on the throne--then labour shall be free atlast, and the poor shall eat and be satisfied, with things that eye hathnot seen nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man toconceive, but which God has prepared for those who love Him. Then theearth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover thesea, and mankind at last shall own their King--Him. In whom they are allredeemed into the glorious liberty of the Sons of God, and He shall reignindeed on earth, and none but His saints shall rule beside Him. And thenshall this sacrament be an everlasting sign to all the nations of theworld, as it has been to you this day, of freedom, equality, brotherhood, of Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and good-will towardmen. Do you believe?"

Again I answered, not her, but Him who sent her--

"Lord, I believe! Help thou mine unbelief!"

"And now farewell. I shall not see you again before you start--and ere youreturn--My health has been fast declining lately. "

I started--I had not dared to confess to myself how thin her features hadbecome of late. I had tried not to hear the dry and hectic cough, or seethe burning spot on either cheek--but it was too true; and with a brokenvoice I cried:

"Oh that I might die, and join you!"

"Not so--I trust that you have still a work to do. But if not, promise methat, whatever be the event of your voyage, you will publish, in good time, an honest history of your life; extenuating nothing, exaggerating nothing, ashamed to confess or too proclaim nothing. It may perhaps awaken some richman to look down and take pity on the brains and hearts more noble thanhis own, which lie struggling in poverty and misguidance among these foulsties, which civilization rears--and calls them cities. Now, once again, farewell!"

She held out her hand--I would have fallen at her feet, but the thoughtof that common sacrament withheld me. I seized her hand, covered it withadoring kisses--Slowly she withdrew it, and glided from the room--

What need of more words? I obeyed her--sailed--and here I am. 

 * * * * *

Yes! I have seen the land! Like a purple fringe upon the golden sea, "whileparting day dies like the dolphin, " there it lay upon the fair horizon--thegreat young free new world! and every tree, and flower, and insect on itnew!--a wonder and a joy--which I shall never see. .. . 

No, --I shall never reach the land. I felt it all along. Weaker and weaker, day by day, with bleeding lungs and failing limbs, I have travelled theocean paths. The iron has entered too deeply into my soul. .. . 

Hark! Merry voices on deck are welcoming their future home. Laugh on, happy ones!--come out of Egypt and the house of bondage, and the waste andhowling wilderness of slavery and competition, workhouses and prisons, intoa good land and large, a land flowing with milk and honey, where you willsit every one under his own vine and his own fig-tree, and look into thefaces of your rosy children--and see in them a blessing and not a curse!Oh, England! stern mother-land, when wilt thou renew thy youth?--Thouwilderness of man's making, not God's!. .. Is it not written, that thedays shall come when the forest shall break forth into singing, and thewilderness shall blossom like the rose?

Hark! again, sweet and clear, across the still night sea, ring out thenotes of Crossthwaite's bugle--the first luxury, poor fellow, he everallowed himself; and yet not a selfish one, for music, like mercy, is twiceblessed--

 "It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. "

There is the spirit-stirring marching air of the German workmen students

 Thou, thou, thou, and thou, Sir Master, fare thee well. --

Perhaps a half reproachful hint to the poor old England he is leaving. Whata glorious metre! warming one's whole heart into life and energy! If Icould but write in such a metre one true people's song, that should embodyall my sorrow, indignation, hope--fitting last words for a poet of thepeople--for they will be my last words--Well--thank God! at least I shallnot be buried in a London churchyard! It may be a foolish fancy--but I havemade them promise to lay me up among the virgin woods, where, if the soulever visits the place of its body's rest, I may snatch glimpses of thatnatural beauty from which I was barred out in life, and watch the gorgeousflowers that bloom above my dust, and hear the forest birds sing around thePoet's grave. 

Hark to the grand lilt of the "Good Time Coming!"--Song which has cheeredten thousand hearts; which has already taken root, that it may live andgrow for ever--fitting melody to soothe my dying ears! Ah! how should therenot be A Good Time Coming?--Hope, and trust, and infinite deliverance!--atime such as eye hath not seen nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into theheart of man to conceive!--coming surely, soon or late, to those for whom aGod did not disdain to die!

 * * * * *

Our only remaining duty is to give an extract from a letter written by JohnCrossthwaite, and dated

"GALVESTON, TEXAS, _October, 1848_. 

. .. "I am happy. Katie is happy, There is peace among us here, like 'theclear downshining after rain. ' But I thirst and long already for theexpiration of my seven years' exile, wholesome as I believe it to be. Myonly wish is to return and assist in the Emancipation of Labour, and givemy small aid in that fraternal union of all classes which I hear is surely, though slowly, spreading in my mother-land. 

"And now for my poor friend, whose papers, according to my promise to him, I transmit to you. On the very night on which he seems to have concludedthem--an hour after we had made the land--we found him in his cabin, dead, his head resting on the table as peacefully as if he had slumbered. On asheet of paper by him were written the following verses; the ink was notyet dry:

"'MY LAST WORDS. 

"'I. 

"'Weep, weep, weep, and weep, For pauper, dolt, and slave; Hark! from wasted moor and fen, Feverous alley, workhouse den, Swells the wail of Englishmen: "Work! or the grave!"

"'II. 

"'Down, down, down, and down, With idler, knave, and tyrant; Why for sluggards stint and moil He that will not live by toil Has no right on English soil; God's word's our warrant!

"'III. 

"'Up, up, up, and up, Face your game, and play it! The night is past--behold the sun!-- The cup is full, the web is spun, The Judge is set, the doom begun; Who shall stay it?'"