She and I. A Love Story. A Life History. Volume Two. 

by John Conroy Hutcheson________________________________________________________________In Volume Two we have much the same personnel as in Volume One; thevicar and his sister Miss Pimpernell; Lady Dasher and her two daughters;Miss Spight and Mawley the curate; Min and Mrs Clyde; Catch the dog. Having set the scene in Volume One, Hutcheson goes on to weave abeautiful story round the love-affair between the hero, Lorton, and Min, she with the admirable grey eyes. We will not tell you how itfared--you must find that out for yourself. 

While I think the story was well-written, and it makes a very goodaudiobook to listen to, Hutcheson is still up to his tricks. Just toprove how brainy he is, he quotes extensively from French, German, Italian, Latin, and even in one place, Greek. In these days when oureducations have been so dummed down, I find this unhelpful. To read aquotation from a good English poet is a joy and a pleasure, so why goelsewhere for a poetic quotation, except it be to show off. 

As in Volume One, Hutcheson sometimes invents words never seenelsewhere, but for which there is a good word in current use, but speltslightly differently. And his punctuation is weird, too. Iparticularly dislike the dashes in his speech paragraphs, something likethe following:

"Hello, "--said the vicar;--"what a nice day it is. "

I have left these in, though I've corrected the novel spelling wheneverpossible. ________________________________________________________________SHE AND I. A LOVE STORY. A LIFE HISTORY. VOLUME TWO. 

BY JOHN CONROY HUTCHESON

CHAPTER ONE. 

I DREAM. 

 True, I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air; And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 

 Il est naturel que nos idees les plus vives et les plus familieres se retracent pendant le sommeil. 

I had a most curious dream about Min that very night. 

Probably this was owing to the reactionary mental relief I experiencedafter all my doubts and jealousies--you know, "joie fait peur"sometimes. It might also have resulted from the stronger impressionwhich my last interview with her had made upon my mind, coupled with allthe sweet hopes and darling imaginings that had sprung suddenly intoexistence, when her rose-red lips told me in liquid accents that sheloved me. How deliciously the words had sounded! I seemed to hear themnow once more; and, that kiss of ecstasy--I almost felt it again in allits passionate intensity!

But, the physiology of dreams, and their origin and connection with ourday life, are subjects that have never been clearly explained, frequently investigated though they have been by intellects that havegroped to the bottom of almost every phenomenal possibility in thefinite world. We have not yet succeeded in piercing through the thickveil that hides from our gaze the unseen, ideal, and spiritual cosmosthat surrounds, with its ghostly atmosphere, the more material universein which we move and breathe and have our being. We are oblivious, inmost cases, of that thought-peopled, encircling essence; although, itinfluences our motives and actions, perhaps, in a greater degree than wemay be willing to allow. 

I shall not attempt to solve the workings of the varied phantasmagoriathat flitted across the horizon of my brain that night, curious as theywere; nor, will I try to track out how, and in what way, they retracedthe events of the past, and prognosticated the possibilities of thefuture. The task in either direction would be as hopeless as it isuninteresting; consequently, I will abandon it to the attention of moreinquiring psychological minds than my own, hurrying on to tell what itwas that I dreamt. 

My vision was a threefold one--a series of dreams within dreams. 

First, I thought that I was on a wide, whitened Alpine plain. It wasnight. In front of me, towered on high the rugged peaks of theMatterhorn, imposing in their grandeur; further on, in the illimitabledistance, I could descry the rounded, snowcapp'd head of Mont Blanc, rearing itself heavenward, where the pale, treacherous moon kept hersilent watch, and from whence the glistening stars twinkled down throughan ocean of space, touching frosted particles of matter withscintillations of light, and making them glitter like diamonds--world-old, transparent jewels, set in the cold, ice-blue crown of the eternalglacier. 

I could thus see myself, gazing through my dream eyes on my _eidolon_, as if it were only a reflection in a mirror. _It_ was walking here onthis wide Alpine plain, all alone; and I recognised also that I had thepower to analyse and appreciate the motives by which it was led hither, the desires by which it was actuated--the strange thing, being, that Ifelt, within myself, all the thoughts and ideas that must have occurredto _my other self_. 

At the same time, however, I seemed to be, as it were, but an inactivespectator of all that happened; looking on the visionary events of mydream as if I had no share or part in them. I appeared to possess, while they occurred, a sort of dual existence, of which I was perfectlycognisant, then and afterwards. 

I knew that I--my other self--wished to reach the heights of theMatterhorn before and above me: the region of perpetual snow. Isympathised with that wish; and yet, I could look on at all my effortsto accomplish it, as if I were uninterested in their success, whilst Istill felt, within myself, all the agony and suspense that must havefilled the mind of my wraith, I could see myself making repeatedexertions to reach the heights; constantly climbing, never getting anyhigher. I appeared to patrol a narrow circle, whose circumference I wasunable to cross. Round and round I went, continually striving to getupwards and onwards:--still, always finding myself in the same identicalspot, as if I had not advanced an inch. I grew tired, weary, exhausted. I felt sick at heart and in body. A nameless, indefinable horrorseized upon me. 

Then, all of a sudden, Min appeared. 

She stood on the peaks above me; her figure presented in strong reliefagainst the dead, neutral tint of the ice-wall behind her. I could seeher face plainly--the look of entreaty in her eyes and the beckoningmotion of her hands. She was calling to me, and urging me to join her;and--I _could_ not!

A wide crevasse yawned before me, preventing any forward movement. Ityawned deep down in front of my feet, fathoms below fathoms, piercingdown, seemingly, to the centre of the earth. Looking over its edge Icould mark how the vaulted arc of heaven and the starry firmament werereflected in its bottomless abyss; while, its breadth, seemedimmeasurable. I saw that I could not cross it by the path I hadhitherto pursued; and yet, whenever I turned aside, and tried to reachthe mountain top by some other way, the horrible crevasse curved itscourse likewise, still confronting me. It was always before me, toarrest my progress. I could not evade it, I could not overleap it; andyet, there stood Min calling to me, and beckoning to me--and, I couldnot join her. It was maddening!

The moonlight faded. The twinkling stars went in one by one. There wasa subdued darkness for a moment; and then, day appeared to break. 

The snowy expanse appeared to blush all over--

 "And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made himself an awful rose of dawn. "

Did you ever watch an Alpine sunrise? How the light leaps from peak topeak, warming the monotonous white landscape in an instant with a tingeof crimson lake, and making the ice prisms sparkle like sapphires!

It was just so in my dream:--not a detail was omitted. 

With the brightening of the dawn my troubles began to disappear. Thecrevasse narrowed, and the distant peaks of the Matterhorn approachednearer. Min was close to me, so close that I could almost touch thehand she held out to guide my steps. I heard her say, "Come, Frank, come! courage, and you're safe!" I was stepping across a thin icebridge, which I suddenly perceived in front of me, leading over the gulfthat separated us. I felt her warm, violet breath on my cheek. I wasjust planting my feet on the further side of the glacier, and going toclasp her in my arms, when--the frail platform on which I was crossinggave way:--I fell downward through the chasm with a shriek of terrorthat she re-echoed, and--I awoke!

Again, I was in the midst of an arid, sandy desert. The sun's raysseemed to pelt down with blistering intensity on my uncovered head. There was not a single tree, nor a scrap of foliage anywhere in sight, to afford a moment's shelter:--all was barrenness; parching heat; death!

I felt faint--dying of thirst. I fancied I could hear the rippling ofwaters near me, the splashing of grateful fountains; but, none could Isee. Around me, as I lay stretched on the scorching sands, were onlysun-baked rocks, and the scattered bones and skeletons of formertravellers, who had perished by the same dreadful, lingering agonythrough which I was, apparently, doomed to die. 

After a time, I thought I could distinguish the murmuring of waters moreplainly; and, stay--did I not perceive a stately grove of palms in thedistance? The water must be there!

I totter to my feet: I bend my feeble steps thither, and sink downbeneath the welcome shade. I hear a sweet voice calling to me: I see anangel form stretching out a goblet of crystal water to my parching lips;and, as I reach my hand forth to grasp it, I see that the face is thatof Min! I give vent to a cry of ecstasy; but, at the same moment, thegoblet falls from my shaking hand, shattering into a thousand pieces onthe sands of the desert; and--the vision fades away from my gaze. 

All is darkness again. I am awake!

Once more the kaleidoscope of my dream changed. 

I am now floating in a battered boat, without either sails or oars, onthe boundless waters of the ocean. I can hear the lap, lapping of thesobbing sea against the sides of my frail craft; and the ripple of thecurrent, hurrying along in its devious course the boat, which is aspowerless to resist its influence as a straw upon the stream. 

Presently the current spins onward faster and more furiously. I see thefaint outlines of purple hills breaking the vacant curve of the horizon. A delicious fragrance from tropic flowers fills the air--the perfumesof the jessamine, the magnolia, the cereus. A sweet, delicious languorcreeps over me. I feel a vague sense of rest and happiness, which, tomy onlooking self, seems almost unaccountable; for, there am I, stillall alone on the ocean, swept onward towards the purple hills in thedistance, over the smooth-flowing surface of azure liquid, while, not asound is to be heard, save the restless murmuring of the many-voicedsea. 

The boat glides on. 

Now I find myself encircled by radiant groups of picturesque coralislands, all covered with palm-trees, whose waving branches are entwinedwith varied-hued passion-flowers. Lilies and ferns, narcissi andirises, are intermingled in one chaos of beauty, skirting the velvetsward that runs down to the water's edge. 

On each tiny islet, the lavish wealth of nature, freely outpoured, seemed to make it a perfect paradise. Brilliantly-plumaged birdsflitted here and there, their colours contrasting with the greenfoliage. Gauzy-winged insects buzzed to and fro. The notes of thenightingale, or some kindred songster, could be heard, singing anecstatic soprano to the cooing bass of the dove and the ripplingobbligato of babbling brooks--that filtered through golden-yellow sandsinto the lap of the mother of waters--amid the sympathetic harmony ofgushing cascades, whose noisy cadence was toned down by distance to amelodious hum. 

And now I find that I am alone no longer. 

I see Min stepping forward to greet me, advancing down the sloping turf-bank of the first island I reach; but, I cannot land. I cannot touchher hand. 

No. The current sweeps my boat onward, past each tiny paradise in turn;and, on each, I still see Min always coming towards me, yet neverreaching me! Swiftly the boat glides, swiftly and more swift; until, atlast, Min, the palm-tree-shaded coral islets and all, are lost tosight--gradually yet in a moment. 

I now seem to be borne along on the tide of a tempestuous torrent, through rocky defiles and beneath frowning precipices. 

I am in the centre of a cyclone. The sickly lightning plays around me. The thunder mutters--growls--rolls--peals forth--in grand ear-breakingcrashes, that appear to shake the dense sky overhead; but still, whenever the electric coruscations light up the sable darkness, I cansee Min's face, apparently ever before me, ever inviting me on, everinapproachable!

Anon, the boat glides back into the ocean again. Soon after, I findmyself floating amongst an army of icebergs, all glittering withdistinct gradations of tint, from that of pale sea-green up to intenseblue. In front of me stretches a frozen field of hummocky ice, likethat I had seen in my first vision. 

There, too, stands Min. The current is bearing me to her; but, again, ere I can touch the spot where she stands, my boat careens heavilyagainst a drifting berg, and is dashed to pieces. 

Instead of sinking in the water, however, I feel myself floating in air. The atmosphere that encircles me is all rosy illumination, as it hadbeen during the Alpine sunrise. I hear the most beautiful, heavenlymusic, and the sound as of many voices singing together in the sweetestof harmonies. 

I see the gilded domes and minarets of a wondrous city that seems to bebuilt in the centre of the zenith. I am wafted nearer and nearer to it, borne up on the pinions of the air. And, now, I can discern its goldengates!

There, stands Min, again, before them. She is clothed all in a whitegarment, that gives out a radiance as of light; while, on her head is ajewelled crown, fashioned in the shape of olive leaves and fastened infront with a single diamond star, whose beams almost blind me. Both heroutstretched hands are extended to greet me. A loving smile is on herlips, in her eyes. I can hear the beautiful music chiming louder andlouder; the harmony of the voice-chorus echoing more and moredistinctly; I am on the threshold of the golden gates; I am justclasping Min's outstretched welcoming hands with oh, such a fond, enduring clasp; when--I awake. 

This time my reveil is in real earnest:--the vision had passed!

It is broad daylight; and, a bright summer morning. 

The London sparrows are chirping away at a fine rate in the garden. Ifancy, too, that I can hear my favourite thrush in the distance. 

Dog Catch, also, is whining and scratching at my door to tell me that itis time for me to get up, and take him out for his walk. 

And, then, I recollect all. 

I realise that I've only been dreaming; although, I almost believe thatI can see Min's dear face and outstretched arms still before me. 

Of course, it was only a dream. 

But, curious, wasn't it?

CHAPTER TWO. 

MANOEUVRING. 

 O! slippery state of things. What sudden turns, What strange vicissitudes in the first leaf Of man's sad history. To-day most happy, And ere to-morrow's sun has set, most abject! How scant the space between these vast extremes. 

The recollection of my strange visions which, I confess, somewhataffected me on my first waking, I put off from me at once. What werethey, after all, but dreams, "begot of nothing but vain fantasy?"

I reasoned thus, philosophically, reflectively, rationally, withinmyself, as I dressed. 

I determined to dismiss the matter from my thought at once; for, even ifit prognosticated anything and was intended to withdraw the veil fromfuturity, it ought only to convince me of one fact, or fancy, namely, that, notwithstanding that I might have a hard struggle to win mydarling, I should win her in the end:--that, also, in spite ofantagonistic mammas and contrary circumstances, she would then be myown, my very own Min!

Would you not have thought the same in a like case?

I trow, yes!

I will not deny that I expended the most elaborate pains on my toiletthat afternoon, before waiting upon Mrs Clyde in accordance with mypromise to Min. I did not otherwise comply fully with the essentialrequirements of Madame la Comtesse de Bassanville's _Code Complet duCeremonial_--such as causing an influential friend, who could speak ofmy morals and position, to have a previous audience with "theresponsible relation" of "the young person who had attracted my notice;"nor, did I don a pair of "light fresh-butter-coloured kid gloves. "Still, I undoubtedly betrayed a considerable nicety of apparel all thesame. 

Indeed, I absolutely out-Hornered Horner; and, had anybody detected mewhen engaged in the mysteries of the dressing-room, I would certainlyhave been supposed to have been as anxiously considerate respecting thechoice I should make between light trousers and dark, a black coat and ablue one, and whether I would wear a white waistcoat or not, as a younglady costuming herself for a ball, and debating with her maid the rivalmerits of blush roses and pink silk, or of white tarlatan and clematis. 

It was, also, some time ere I could summon up enough resolution to knockat the door of Mrs Clyde's residence, when, my decorative preparationsaccomplished, I at length succeeded in getting round to her house. 

The expedition strangely reminded me of a visit I was once forced to payto a dentist, owing to the misdeeds of one of my best molars; the dreadof the impending interview almost inducing me to turn back on thethreshold and put off my painful purpose for a while--even as had beenmy course of procedure when calling at Signor Odonto's agonisingestablishment. On that occasion, I remember, I recoiled in fright fromthe dreaded ordeal, seeking refuge in "instant flight. "

I could not do so now, however. I had promised Min to speak to hermother as soon as possible; and, independently of that engagement, theinterview would have to be gone through sooner or later, at all hazards. "An' it were done quickly, it were well done;" so, at last, myhesitation passed away under the influence of this, really vital, consideration. I nerved myself up to the knocking point. I gave a loudrat, tat, tat! that thrilled through my very boots, causing a passingbutcher's boy, awed by its important sound, to inquire, with the cynicalempressement of his race, whether I thought myself the "Emperoar ofRooshia. " I turned my back on him with contempt; but, his ribald remarkmade me feel all the more nervous. 

"Mrs Clyde at home?" I asked of the handmaiden, who answered mysummons. 

Yes, Mrs Clyde was at home. 

Would I walk in?

I would; and did. 

So far, all was plain sailing:--now, came the tug of war. 

Mrs Clyde was standing up, facing the door, as I entered the drawing-room into which the handmaiden had ushered me. 

"Won't you sit down, Mr Lorton?" she said, politely. 

She never forgot her good breeding; and, I verily believe, if it hadever been her lot to officiate in Calcraft's place, she would have askedthe culprit, whom she was about to hasten on his way to "kingdom come, "whether he found the fatal noose too tight, or comfortable and easy, around his doomed neck! She would do this, too, I'm sure, with the mostcharming solicitude possible!

I noticed of her, that, whenever she was bent on using her sharpestweapons--of "society's" armoury and, methinks, the devil's forge-mark!--she always put on an extra gloss of politeness over her normal smoothand varnished style of address. 

I didn't like it, either. 

Civility may be all very well in its way, but I cannot say that I admirethat way of knocking a man down with a kid glove. It is a treacherousmode of attack; and very much resembles the plan Mr Chucks, theboatswain in _Peter Simple_, used to adopt when correcting the ship'sboys. 

That gentleman would, if you recollect, courteously beckon an offenderto approach him, doffing his hat the while as if speaking to thequarter-deck; and then, begging the trembling youngster's pardon fordetaining him, would proceed to inform him in the "politest and mostgenteel manner in the world" that he was "the d---d son of a seacook, "--subsequently rattaning him furiously, amidst a plethora ofexpletives before which the worst Billingsgate faded intoinsignificance. 

I may be singular in the fancy, but, do you know, I prefer civil wordsto be accompanied with civil deeds, and contrariwise:--the "poison ofasps" does not go well with honied accents!

"Pray take a seat, Mr Lorton, " said Mrs Clyde. "I was expecting youto call; and waited in, on purpose not to miss seeing you. My daughterhas told me, "--she went on, taking the initiative, ere I had a chance tospeak--cutting the ground from under my feet, as it were, and renderingmy task each moment more arduous--"My daughter has told me that she andyou were talking some nonsense together last night, which it is best forall parties, my dear Mr Lorton, should be at once forgotten! You'llagree with me, I'm sure?"

And she looked at me with a steady gaze of determination and set purposein her eyes, before which I quailed. 

"You will agree with me, I'm sure, Mr Lorton, "--she repeated again, after a pause, as I was so bewildered by her flank attack that I couldnot get out a word at first. I declare to you, I only sat looking ather in hopeless dismay, powerless--idiotic, in fact!

"But I love Min, Mrs Clyde, "--I stammered--"and she has promised--"

"Dear me! This is quite delicious, " laughed Mrs Clyde--a cold sneeringlaugh, which made me shiver as if cold water were running down myback--"quite a comedy, I do declare, Mr Lorton. I did not think youwere so good an actor. Love! Ha, ha, ha!" and she gave forth a merrypeal--to my intense enjoyment, you may be sure. 

Oh, yes! I enjoyed it, without doubt:--it was dreadfully comical!

"It is no laughing matter to me, Mrs Clyde, " I replied at last, emboldened by her ridicule--"I love Min; and she has promised to marryme, if you will only give your consent, which I have come to ask to-day. "

I got up as I spoke, and faced her. 

I was prepared to do battle till the death. Desperation had now made mebrave. 

"Now, _do_ let us be serious, " said the lady, presently. 

She apparently found it difficult to stifle her laughter at the humourof the whole thing:--it was really such a very good joke!

"I _am_ serious, Mrs Clyde, " I said, half-petulantly, although I triedto be impressive. I was solemn enough over it all; but, my temper hasalways been, unfortunately for me, too easily provoked. 

"I never heard of such a thing in my life, " she continued, taking nonotice, apparently, either of me or of my answer. "Fancy, any saneperson talking of love and marriage between a boy and girl like that!You must be joking, Mr Lorton. Really, it is too absurd to becredible!" and she affected a laugh again, in her provoking way. 

A capital joke, wasn't it?

"I am not joking, I assure you, Mrs Clyde, " I answered sturdily, endeavouring, vainly, to bear down her raillery by my gravity. "I wasnever more serious in my life. I'm not a boy, Mrs Clyde; and I'm sureMin is old enough to know her own mind, too!"

This was an impertinent addendum on my part; and, my opponent quicklyretorted, with a thrust, which recalled my good manners. 

"You are very good to say so, Mr Lorton; but permit _me_ to judge bestin that matter! Pray, how old are you, Mr Lorton, if I may be allowedto ask the question?"--she said, looking at me with great "society"interest, as if she were examining a specimen of the extinct dodo. 

"Three-and-twenty, " I said sententiously, like a catechumen respondingto the questions supposed to be addressed to "N or M. "

"Dear me!" she ejaculated in seeming surprise. "Three--and--twenty? Ireally would not have thought it! I wouldn't have taken you to be morethan eighteen at the outside!"

She hit me on my tenderest point. I looked young for my age; and, likemost young fellows, before time teaches them wisdom, making them striveto disguise the effect of each additional lustrum, I felt sore alwayswhen supposed to be more youthful than I actually was. I was, consequently, nettled at her remarks. She saw this, and smiled inamusement. 

"I _am_ twenty-three, however, Mrs Clyde, I assure you, " I said warmly;"old enough to get married, I suppose!"

"That entirely depends on circumstances, " she said coldly, as if thematter was of no interest to her whatever; "years are no criterion forjudgment"--and she then stopped, throwing the burden of the next move onmy shoulders. 

I did not hesitate any longer, however. 

"Will you allow Min to become engaged to me?" I said, valiantly, plunging at once into the thick of the combat. 

"Pray, Mr Lorton, " she replied, ignoring my query, "what means have youfor supporting a wife? People cannot live upon nothing, you know; and`love in a cottage' is an exploded fallacy. "

She spoke as lightly and pleasantly as if she were conversing upon someordinary society topic with another lady of the world like herself. Shevery well knew what she was about, however. She was "developing hermain attack"--as military strategists would say!

You see, I had never given the subject of ways and means an instant'sconsideration, having remitted the matter to Providence with thatimplicit trust and cheerful hopefulness to which most enraptured swainsare prone. I had only thought of loving Min and being loved by her:--engagement naturally following between us; and, that, was all I hadthought of as yet. 

When the time came for us to be married, our guardian angels would, nodoubt, take care to provide us with the wherewithal!

"Sufficient for the day" was "the evil thereof. " Till then, I was quitesatisfied to let the matter rest; living, for the present, in the fairyland of my imagination where such a thing as filthy lucre was undreamtof. 

Mrs Clyde's inquiry, therefore, took me all aback. "What means had Ifor supporting a wife?" Really, it was a very uncalled-for remark!

I had to answer it, nevertheless. Of course I could only tell thetruth. 

"I've only got two hundred and fifty pounds a-year of my own at present, Mrs Clyde, " I said; "but--"

"Two--hundred--a-year!"--she said, interrupting me ere I could finish mystatement, placing a horribly sneering emphasis on each word, which madethe sum mentioned appear so paltry and insignificant, that it struck mewith shame. --"I beg your pardon--two hundred and fifty! Why, how_young_ you are, Mr Lorton. Do you really think you could support awife and establishment on that income? I thought you were joking, mydear young friend, "--she added--"you know it would barely pay yourtailor's bill!"

And she looked at me from head to foot with her merciless quizzing eyes, taking in all the elaborateness of the apparel that I had donned for herpersonal subjugation. 

"You have not heard me out, Mrs Clyde, " I answered, spurred upon mymettle. --"I am not quite dependent on that income. I also write for thepress!"

I said this quite grandly, on the strength of my contributing anoccasional magazine article at stray intervals to one of the currentperiodicals--getting one accepted for every dozen that were "declinedwith thanks;" and, being the "musical critic" of a very weakly weekly!

"O-oh, indeed!" she exclaimed. 

There was a most aggravating tone of pity mingled with her surprise. 

She evidently now looked upon me as more presumptuous than ever, andhopelessly beyond the pale of her social circle!

"And how much, "--she asked, in a patronising way which galled me to thequick, --"do you derive from this source? That is, if you will kindlyexcuse my saying so? The proposal which you have done my daughter andmyself the honour to suggest, necessitates my making such delicateinquiries, you know. "

"I do not earn very much by my pen, as yet, Mrs Clyde, " Ianswered--"but, I hope to do more in a little time, when my name getsrecognised. I'm only a beginner as yet. "

"Well, if you would take my advice, Mr Lorton, you would remain so. I've heard it frequently said by some of your penny-a-liners--I believethat is what you literary gentlemen call yourselves--that, authorshipreaps very poor pay. It makes a very good stick, but a bad crutch; andI don't think you can expect to increase your income very largely fromthat quarter! The only author I ever knew personally, sank into it, poor fellow, because he could do nothing else; and, _he_ led a wretchedexistence from hand to mouth! He was never recognised afterwards insociety, of course!"

"Genius is not always acknowledged at first, Mrs Clyde, " I saidloftily. 

Her sneers at the profession, which I regarded as one of the highest inthe world, provoked me. 

Fancy her calling all authors "penny-a-liners!"

"So, all unsuccessful men say!" she replied curtly. --"But, "--she wenton, putting aside all my literary prospects as beneath her notice, andreturning to the main point at issue, --"is _that_ all you have got todepend upon for your anticipated wife and establishment?"

She smiled sweetly, playing with me as a cat would with a mouse. 

"All I have, certainly, at present, Mrs Clyde, "--I said, abashed at thesarcasm thus directed against my miserable income, which she did nottake the slightest pains to conceal. --"But I shall have more by-and-by. We are both young; and, if you will only give me some hope of gainingyour consent, when I have achieved what you may consider sufficient forthe purpose, I will work for her and win her. O Mrs Clyde!"--Ipleaded, --"let me only have the assurance that you will allow her towait for me. I will work most nobly that I may deserve her!"

"All this is mere rhapsody, Mr Lorton, "--she said in her icy accents, throwing a shower of metaphorical cold water on my earnestenthusiasm. --"Do you seriously think for a moment that I would give myconsent to my daughter's engagement to you in your present position?"

"I hoped so, Mrs Clyde, " I replied, timidly. 

I did not know what else to say. 

"Then you hoped wrongly, " she said. "You are really _very_ young, MrLorton! I do not mean merely in years, but in knowledge of the world!You positively wish me to sacrifice all my daughter's prospects, and lether be bound to a wearisome engagement, on the mere chance of your beingable at some distant period to marry her! Do I understand you aright?I certainly gave you credit for possessing more good sense, Mr Lorton, or I should never have admitted you to my house. "

"O, Mrs Clyde, " I said, "be considerate! Be merciful! Remember, that_you_ were young once. "

"I am considerate, " she answered--"still, I must think of my daughter'swelfare, before regarding the foolish wishes of a comparative stranger!"

Throughout the interview, she invariably alluded to Min as "herdaughter, " never mentioning her name. 

It seemed as if she wished to avoid even the idea of our intimacy, andto make me understand how great a gulf lay between us. 

"But I love her so, Mrs Clyde!" I pleaded again, in one last effort. "I love her dearly, and she loves me, I know. Do not, oh! do not partus so cruelly!"

"This is very foolish, Mr Lorton, "--she replied, coldly;--"and there isnot much use, I think, in our prolonging the conversation; for, none ofyour arguments would convince me to give my consent to any such hair-brained scheme. Even if your offer had otherwise my approval, which ithas not, I could not bear the idea of a long engagement for my daughter. You yourself ought to be more generous than to wish to tie a girl downto an arrangement which would waste her best years, blight her life;and, probably, end in her being a sour, disappointed woman--as I haveknown hundreds of such cases to end!"

"I do not wish to bind her, " I said. "I only want your provisionalconsent, Mrs Clyde. I will diligently try to deserve it; and you willnever regret it, you may be assured. "

"I cannot give it, Mr Lorton, "--she replied in a decisive way. --"And ifyou meet my daughter again, you must promise me that it shall be only asa friend. "

"And, what if I refuse to do so?"--I said defiantly. 

"I should leave the neighbourhood, " she said promptly. --"And, if youwere so very ungentlemanlike, as still to persecute her with yourattentions, I should soon take measures to put a stop to them. "

What could I say or do? She was armed at all points, and I waspowerless!

"Will you let me see your daughter; and, learn from her own lips if shebe of the same opinion as yourself?" I asked. 

I was longing to see Min. I wanted to know whether she had beenconvinced by her mother's worldly policy, or no. 

"It is impossible for me to grant your request, " said Mrs Clyde. "Mydaughter is not at home. She went down to the country this morning on avisit to her aunt; and the date of her return depends mainly on yourdecision now. "

This was the finishing blow. 

I succumbed completely before this master-stroke of policy, which mywary antagonist had not disclosed until the last. 

"Oh! Mrs Clyde, " I said; "how very hard you are to me!"

"Pardon me, Mr Lorton, " she replied, as suave as ever. --"But, you willthink differently by-and-by, and thank me for acting as I have done!Your foolish fancy for my daughter will soon wear off; and you will liveto laugh at your present folly!"

"Never!" I said, determinedly, with a full heart. 

"But you will promise not to speak to my daughter otherwise than as afriend, when you see her again?" she urged:--not at all eagerly, but, quite coolly, as she had spoken all along. 

I would have preferred her having been angry, to that calm, irritatingimpassiveness she displayed. She appeared to be a patent condenser ofall emotion. 

"I suppose I must consent to your terms!"--I said, despairingly. --"Although, Mrs Clyde, I give you fair warning that, whenI am in a position to renew my suit under better auspices, I will nothold myself bound by this promise. "

"Very well, Mr Lorton, " she said, "I accept your proviso; but, when youmake your fortune it will be time enough to talk about it! In themeanwhile, relying upon your solemn word as a gentleman not to renewyour offer to my daughter, or single her out with your attentions--whichmight seriously interfere with her future prospects--I shall still bepleased to welcome you _occasionally_"--with a marked emphasis on theword--"at my house. What we have spoken about had, now, better beforgotten by all parties as soon as possible, excepting your promise, ofcourse, _mind_!" and she bowed me out triumphantly--she victorious, Ithoroughly defeated. 

What a sad, sad change had occurred since happy last night!

All my bright hopes were obscured, my ardent longings quenched byfashionable matter-of-fact; and, Min herself had gone from me, withoutone single parting word!

I was born to be unlucky, I think; everything went wrong with me now. Like the lonely, hopeless hero in Longfellow's translation of Min'sfavourite _Coplas de Manrique_, I might well exclaim in my misery--

 "Let no one fondly dream again, That Hope and all her shadowy train Will not decay; Fleeting as were the dreams of old, Remembered like a tale that's told, They pass away!"

How did I know, too, but, that, ere I saw my darling again, months mightelapse, during which time all thoughts of me might be banished from herheart?

One proverb tells us that "absence makes the heart grow fonder;"another, equally entitled to belief, warns anxious lovers that "out ofsight" is to be "out of mind. "

Which of the two could I credit?

Besides, even if she were constant and true to me, Mrs Clyde wouldcertainly never give her consent to our engagement, I was confident--no, not if we both lived and loved until doomsday!

All these bitter thoughts flashed through my mind in a moment, one afterthe other. 

I was angry, indignant, wretched. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

"NIL DESPERANDUM. "

 To-morrow's sun shall warmer glow, And o'er this gloomy vale of woe Diffuse a brighter ray!

"O you lovers, you lovers!"--exclaimed little Miss Pimpernell, on myunbosoming myself to her, and recounting the incidents of my unhappyinterview with Min's mother, shortly after I quitted the scene of mydiscomfiture. --"O you lovers, you lovers! You are always, either on theheights of ecstasy, or deep down in the depths of despair! Be a man, Frank, and let her see what noble stuff there is in you! There isnothing in this world worth the having, which can be obtained by merelylooking at it and longing for it. Bear in mind Monsieur Parole'sfavourite proverb, `On ne peut pas faire une omelette sans casser lesoeufs!' You mustn't expect that a girl is going to drop into yourmouth, like a ripe cherry, the moment you gape for her! Young ladiesare not so easily won as that, Master Frank, let me tell you! Put yourshoulder to the wheel, my boy! You will have to work and wait. Remember how long it was that Jacob remained in suspense about his firstlove, Rachel--seven, long years; and, _then_, he had to serve seven morefor her after that!"

"Ah, Miss Pimpernell!"--said I, --"but, seven years were not so much tothe long-lived men who existed in those times, as seven months are to usephemerals of the nineteenth century! Jacob could very well afford towait that time; for he was not over what we call `middle-age' when hemarried; and was, most likely, in the flower of his youth on hisninetieth birthday!--He did not die you know, until he had reached theripe age of `an hundred and forty and seven years. '--Besides, he hadLaban's promise to keep him up to his work; but, _I_ have no promise, and no hope to lead me on, if I do wait--and what would I be at the endof seven years? Why, I would be thirty--quite old. "

"Nonsense, Frank!"--replied the dear old lady, in her brisk cheery way, jumping round in her chair, and looking me full in the face with hertwinkling black eyes. --"When you are as old as I am, you will not thinkthirty such a very great age, you may be sure! And, I didn't say, too, that you should have to wait seven years, or anything like it--although, if you really love Miss Min, you would think nothing of twice that timeof probation. As for Jacob's age, the vicar could explain about thatbetter than I, Master Frank, sharp though you are; you had best ask himwhat he thinks on the subject? What I say, is, my boy, that you mustmake up your mind to work, and wait for your sweetheart; work, at anyrate--and wait, if needs be. `Rome wasn't built in a day;' and, whendid you ever hear of the course of true love running smooth? Be a man, Frank! Say to yourself, `I'll work and win her, ' and you will. Putyour heart in it, and it will soon be done--sooner than you now think. There's no good in your sitting down and whining at your present defeat, like the naughty child that cried for the moon! You must be up anddoing. A man's business is to overcome obstacles; it is only us, women, who are allowed to cry at home!"

"But, Mrs Clyde dislikes me, " I said. 

"What of that?" retorted Miss Pimpernell; "her dislike may be overcome. "

"I don't think it ever will be, " I said, despondingly. 

"Pooh, Frank, " replied the old lady;--"`never is a long day. ' She'sonly a woman, and will change her mind fast enough when it suits herpurpose to do so! You say, that she only objected on the score of yourposition, and from your not having a sufficient income?"

"Yes, "--I said, --"that was her ostensible reason; but, I think, sheobjects to me personally--in addition to having other and granderdesigns for Min. "

"Ah, well, "--said Miss Pimpernell, --"we haven't got to consider thoseother motives now; she rejected your offer, at all events, on the pleaof your want of fortune?"

"Yes, " said I, mechanically, again. 

"Then, that is all we've got to deal with, my boy, "--she said. --"MrsClyde is quite right, too, you know, Frank. You have got no profession, or any regular occupation. Let us see if we cannot mend matters. Inthe first place, are you willing to work? Would you like some certainemployment on which you can depend?"--And she looked at me kindly butsearchingly over her spectacles. 

"Would a duck swim?" said I, using an expressive Hibernicism. 

"Well, what sort of employment would you like?" she asked. 

"Anything, " I replied. 

"Come, that's good!" she said. --"And what can you do?"

"Everything, " I said. 

She laughed good-humouredly. --"You've a pretty good opinion of yourselfat any rate, Master Frank, if that's any recommendation:--you will neverfail through want of impudence. But, I'll speak to the vicar aboutthis. I think he could get you a nomination for a Government office. "

"What, a clerkship?"--I said, ruefully, having hitherto affected todespise all the race of her Majesty's quill drivers, from Hornerdownwards. 

"Yes, sir, "--she said, --"`a clerkship;' and a very good thing, too! Youneed not turn up your nose at it, Master Frank; _I_ can see you, although I _do_ wear glasses! Grander men than you think yourself, sir, have not despised such an opening! Here _is_ the vicar, "--she added, asher brother walked into the room. --"How lucky! we can ask him now. "

The vicar overheard her remark. 

"Hullo, Frank!" said he; "what is it, that Sally and you are conspiringtogether? Can I do anything for you, my boy?"--he continued, in hisnice kind way, --"if so, only ask me; and if it is in my power, you knowthat I will do it. "

"He wishes to get into a Government office; don't you think you couldhelp him?" said Miss Pimpernell. 

"You want to be in harness, my boy, eh?"--said the vicar, turning tome. --"That's right, Frank. Literature will come on, in due course, allin good time. There's nothing like having regular work to do, howevertrifling. It not only gives you a daily object in life, but alsosteadies your mind, causing you better to appreciate higher intellectualemployment! I thought, however, my boy, that you looked down on `HerMajesty's hard bargains, ' as poor Government clerks are somewhatunjustly termed?"

"That was, because I thought they were a pack of idlers, doing nothing, and earning a menial salary for it. `Playing from ten to to four, likethe fountains in Trafalgar Square, ' as _Punch_ declares, " I said. 

"Ah!" said the vicar, "that is a mistake, as you will soon find out whenyou belong to their body. They _do_ work, and well, too. Many of thegrand things on which departmental ministers pride themselves--and getthe credit, too, of effecting by their own unaided efforts--are reallyachieved by the plodding office hacks, who work on unrecognised in ourmidst! Our whole public service is a blunder, my boy. There is noeffective rise given in it to talent or merit, as is the case in otherofficial circles. The `big men, ' who are appointed for politicalpurposes, get on, it is true; but, the `little men, ' who labour fromyear's end to year's end, like horses in a mill, never have a chance ofdistinguishing themselves. When they are of a certain age, and attain aparticular height in their office, they become superannuated, andretire; for, should a vacancy occur, of a higher standing in the publicsecretariat, it is not given to _them_--although the training of theirwhole life may peculiarly fit them for the post! No, it is bestowed onsome young political adherent of the party then in power, who may be asunacquainted with the duties connected with the position, as _I_ amignorant of double fluxions! This naturally disgusts men with theservice; and, that is why you generally hear Government offices spokenof as playgrounds for idle youths, who enter them to saunter throughlife--on the strength of the constituent-influence of their fathers onthe seats of budding MP's. "

"I really thought they never worked, " said I. "There's Horner, forinstance. You don't suppose, sir, that _he_ confers such inestimablebenefit on his country by his daily avocations in Downing Street?"

"Ah, poor Jack Horner!" laughed the vicar; "he's really not very bright. But, we need not be so uncharitable as to think that he does not do hismoney's worth for his money! He writes a beautiful hand, you know; and, I dare say, his mere services as a copying machine are of some value. Government clerks do not all play every day, Frank:--you will, I'm sure, find plenty to do, if you go into office life. I remember, in the timeof the Crimean war, that a friend of mine, employed in the Admiralty atWhitehall, used to have to stop up every alternate night at his office, the whole night through; and this was the case, too, at all the otherpublic departments! The clerks in each room were obliged to take it inturn for night duty; while, those who were free to go home--and they didnot leave work until long after the traditional `four o'clock' on mostdays--had to specify where they could be found every evening, in casethey should be suddenly wanted on the arrival of despatches from theseat of war. Of course this state of affairs is not ordinary; still, Government clerks are not idlers as a body:--on the contrary, you willfind them thorough working-men. "

"Working-men!" ejaculated little Miss Pimpernell, raising her beadyblack eyes in astonishment to her brother, "why, I thought all working-men, properly so-called, were mechanics!"

"That is the radical politician's view, my dear, " answered the vicar. "Let a man be apprenticed to a skilled trade, and carry a bricklayer'shod, or a carpenter's rule. Let him only wear slops and work in anengine-room, or use a mason's trowel--so long as he does these thingsand receives his wages weekly, he is a `working-man;' and, must have thehours of labour made to suit him, the legislation of the country alteredon his behalf, the taxation of the public judiciously contrived to steerclear of him. He is the typical `working-man, ' my dear, of whomdemagogues are always prating:--the fetish, before which so-called`liberal' statesmen fall down and worship!

"But, your poor agricultural labourer, who lives in poverty, and dirt, and misery--starving annually on a tenth portion of the wages that theskilled mechanic gets--_he_ is no working-man; oh no! Nor the wretchedLondon clerk; he, also, is no working-man; nor the Government hack; northe striving, hard-worked doctor; besides, many professional men andstruggling tradesmen, who, for the larger portion of their lives, inchand pinch to scrape out existence!

"None of these are working-men; although they work harder--and for manymore hours per diem than the mechanic--on, in most instances, a lessincome than the happy protege of the radical law-maker gets by theaddition of his weekly wages at the year's end. 

"And yet, the clerks, and the struggling tradesmen, and professionalmen, have to pay poor-rates and house-rates, and all sorts of pettytaxes, from which the fetish `working-man' is free; besides the income-tax, which never approaches him. The latter, often getting from threeto five pounds in wages, can dress as he pleases, live in a single roomfor five shillings a week, pay no rates or taxes; and may, finally, disport himself as he likes--leaving off work whenever the fancy strikeshim and resuming it again at his pleasure--without consulting theconvenience or the wishes of his employer, who is, through trades'unions and special class legislation, entirely at his mercy!

"Clerks, shopkeepers, and struggling professional men, cannot do this, however. _They_ have to conform to certain rules of society; and keepup an appearance of respectability on, frequently, half the sum that themechanic gets in wages, as I've said already--while groaning under aburden of taxation from which the great `liberal' fetish is completelyfree. _He_ is a `working-man, ' my dear:--_they_, are nothing of thesort. --Oh, no!"

"Do they really obtain such good wages?" I inquired;--"if so, what onearth do they do with the money?"

"Yes, "--said the vicar, in full swing of his favourite politicalargument, --"if anything, I have rather understated the case thanexaggerated it. The manager of one of the telegraph-cable manufactoriesdown the river, told me the other day, that, many of the hands drew fourand five pounds regularly each Saturday. And these men, he furtherinformed me, spent the greater part of this in drink and pleasuring ontheir off-days. They will have good food and the best, too--such as Icannot afford, in these days of high butchers' bills; notwithstandingthat they make such a poor show for their money, and save none of it, either! I do not complain of this, politically speaking, for, `anEnglishman's house is his castle, ' you know, and he has the right tolive as he pleases; but, I do say, that when poor curates and clerks areso taxed, these men ought to bear their share of the taxation, possessing, as they do, incomes quite as large and in many casesgreater. "

"But, they are taxed indirectly, though, are they not?"--I asked. 

"Certainly; but, so also are all of us, the larger number of _real_working-men of the country--quite in addition to the heavy burden wehave to bear of local and direct taxation! The pseudo `working-man'should fairly contribute his quota to all this--particularly, since hisbottle-holders have been so clamourous for giving him a share in thegovernment of the state. If he wants `a share in the government, ' why, he should help to support it:--that's what I say!"

And the vicar then went off into a tirade against class legislators andradical politics, not forgetting to animadvert, too, on the "ManchesterSchool"--his great bete noir. 

"I wonder what Mr Mawley would say, to hear you run down his favouriteparty so!"--I said, when he gave me another opening to put in aword. --"He's such a rabid Liberal. "

"Mawley is thorough, " said the vicar; "I do not agree with his views, certainly; but _he_ really believes in them and acts up to his theories, which is more than can be said for a good many of our `Liberal'statesmen! What can _one_ think of them when one hears them talking of`economy, ' and cutting down the poor clerk's salary, without dreaming oftouching their own little snug incomes of five thousand a-year!"

"But what has all this got to do with Frank's appointment, brother?"asked Miss Pimpernell, with a sly chuckle of satisfaction. She alwayssaid she disliked arguments; but, she was never better pleased than tohear the vicar expressing his sentiments on topics of the day. He wasso earnest and delighted when he got a good listener--although, he wasrather shy of speaking before strangers. 

"Dear me!"--exclaimed the vicar, rubbing his forehead vigorously. --"Ideclare, I thought I was talking to Parole d'Honneur! You must forgiveme, Frank. "

"Do you think you could manage to get him an appointment, my dear?"--repeated my little old friend, bringing the vicar back to our mainquestion, now that she had unhorsed him from his Radical charger. 

"Yes, certainly, "--replied the vicar, cordially, --"I do not see why Ishould not. I'll speak to the bishop to-morrow, if I can catch him in. He's got some good influence with the ministry; and, with mine inconjunction, the two of us together ought to manage it, eh, Sally?"

"And how soon do you think, sir, "--I asked, --"would you be likely toprocure it for me? I've been a long time idle; and, I am, now, anxious, you know, to make up for lost time. "

Miss Pimpernell's words had thoroughly spurred me up. I wanted to setto work for Min at once. 

"How soon, eh, my boy?"--said he, kindly. --"You must have some specialobject to be so anxious for employment! But, you need not be shy, Frank; I can guess it, I think, without your telling me; and, I'm gladof it. How soon, eh? Let me consider. If I see the bishop to-morrow, as I very likely shall, we might arrange to get you a nomination in afortnight, I think; but, I'm certain, I can promise obtaining it withina month at the outside. Will that do, Frank?"

"Oh, thank you, sir!"--I exclaimed, in grateful gladness, --"that is everso much sooner than I expected! I thought it might take months to getme an appointment! I shall be ready for it, however, when it comes, allthe same, dear sir. "

"You had better get crammed in the meantime, however, my boy, " said thevicar, reflectively. 

"`Get crammed, ' brother!"--said Miss Pimpernell, aghast at the term, ofwhich she clearly did not understand the slang sense. "Get crammed!Why, what do you mean? Frank is thin, certainly, and he might be alittle stouter to advantage; but, has he got to be of a particularweight, the same as the height of recruits is measured for the army?"

The vicar laughed, and held his sides in hearty merriment. --"Sally, Sally!"--he exclaimed after a while. --"You will be the death of me someday! I did not allude to physical cramming, such as the Strasbourggeese undergo; but, mental stuffing. A `crammer' is a `coach, ' youknow. "

"I'm sure I don't, "--said little Miss Pimpernell, energetically;--"for, what with your crammers and coaches, I really do not know what you arespeaking about!"

"Well, my dear, I'll now enlighten you, "--said the vicar, still laughingat the old lady's very natural mistake. --"Crammers and coaches, arecertain high-pressure machines, in the form of man, for forcing anyamount of superficial knowledge into uneducated youths within a fixedtime. It is an unnatural process, resulting pretty much in the same wayas does the artificial mode of fattening geese:--the latter havediseased livers; while, the subjects of high-pressure cram are usuallyafterwards subject to unmitigated ignorance--of the worst kind, becauseit pretends to learning--in addition to an insufferable pedantry, whichcan never convince judges acquainted with the genuine article! Ah, mydear, as Pope wisely wrote, `a little learning is a dangerous thing!'"

"Then you mean tutors, "--said Miss Pimpernell. --"Why could you not callthem by their proper name?"

"I could, my dear, "--said the vicar, good-humouredly, --"but, the term Iused, is an old relic of college jargon; you see how hard it is to cureoneself of bad habits!"

"And you think Frank will want to be `crammed, ' then?"--asked MissPimpernell, making use of the very word she had just abused, because shethought her brother might feel hurt at her implied reproach. The dearold lady would have talked slang all day if she had believed it wouldhave given the vicar any satisfaction!

"Yes, my dear, "--he replied. --"You see, he might have to compete for hisappointment with a dozen others; and, as the examination for the civilservice is now pretty stiff in its way, it would not do for him to fail. Frank has received a good sound public school education; but, they askso many purely-routine questions of candidates, that he had better havea tutor who makes these subjects his speciality, to put him up in thelittle details of the machinery. "

"I never thought of that, "--said I. --"It is so long since I left school, that I fear I may be plucked!"

"Oh, you'll be quite ready for the examination in a week, my boy, "--saidthe vicar, to encourage me. --"The examiners only require superficialknowledge; not, honest groundwork--although, they pretend to test theeffects of a `good liberal education!' One of these public crammerswould make you fit to pass in any certified time, if you could barelyread and write. He would hardly require even that preliminary basis towork upon, for that matter. But, I ought not to blame them; for, I am acoach myself, or, rather, was one, once, when I had the time to readwith pupils for the university. These competitive examinations are amistake, I think, "--he continued, --"for the men who pass them the mostbrilliantly seldom make the best clerks, which one would imagine to bethe result mainly desired. I would prefer, myself, the present middle-class examinations at Oxford--which they lately instituted, fordiscovering talent and merit--to all these hot-house tests; although, ofcourse, I may be biassed against them, through the recollection of myold don days, when I was at college. 

"Not but what the idea of throwing open all appointments in the publicservice is better than the former custom of close patronage. The systemis only abused, that's all, in consequence of the Competition-Wallahbusiness being carried to excess. Your poor man, whom the change wasespecially supposed to benefit, has no chance now, unless he has themoney to pay for the services of a crammer--be his attainments never sogreat. The examinations have really degenerated into a technicalgroove, into which aspirants have to be regularly initiated by a`coach, ' or they will never succeed in getting out of it, to receivetheir certificates of proficiency. 

"I will write you down the name of a good man to apply to, Frank, "--headded. --"He'll pass you, I warrant, or I will eat my hat! And now Imust be off, my boy. I have a lot of visiting to do to-night ere I canhope to go to bed. I'll not forget to speak to the bishop, as I havepromised; and, I think, you may rely upon getting a nomination for agood office within the time I have named. Have you anything to do out, Sally--any letters to post?"--he then said, turning to his sister, andputting on the hat he had just volunteered to eat. --"No? Then I'm off. Good-night, Frank! Mind you go to that tutor to-morrow, "--he said, handing me the address he had hastily scribbled down; and, he went outon some errand of mercy, leaving Miss Pimpernell and myself to resumeour tete-a-tete conversation, which he had so satisfactorilyinterrupted. 

"Well, Frank!"--said she, as his coat tails disappeared out of thedoorway, --"will not that do for you?"

"I should just think it would!"--I replied, buoyantly;--"and I do notknow how to thank you and the vicar for all your kindness. I can't tellwhat I should have done without your help!"

"Oh, never mind that, my boy, "--she answered kindly;--"we are both onlytoo glad to assist any one, especially you, Frank, whom the vicar callshis `old maid's son!' All you have to do now, is, to be hopeful andpersevere! Only let me see you and Miss Min happily married in theend--for I, you know, like to see young lovers happy:--I have such alarge amount of romance in me!" Indeed she had, I thought, when shelaughed cheerily at the idea. 

"I'll work, never fear, "--I said--"but, promotion is very slow inGovernment offices. It may be years before I have a decent income suchas would satisfy Mrs Clyde!"

"Don't think of that, my boy, "--she said, presently. --"Don't look toofar ahead! Let me see what my Keble says, " she added, taking down thevolume of the _Christian Year_, which she constantly consulted each day, from its regular place on her corner of the mantelpiece, where it alwaysstood guard over her favourite chair. --"Ah, "--she continued, turningover the pages, --"I knew that I would find something to suit you. Justhear what he says of the `lilies of the field'--

 "`Alas! of thousand bosoms kind That daily court you and caress, How few the happy secret find Of your calm loveliness! Live for to-day! to-morrow's light To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight, Go, sleep like closing flowers at night, And Heaven thy morn shall bless. '"

"Ah! But do you think I shall be successful?"--I asked, wishing to havemy own hopes corroborated. 

"To be sure you will, my boy. Why, there you will have another hundreda-year at once added to your income, besides what you make from yourliterary work! In a short time you will be quite `an eligible person, 'I do declare!"--she said, laughing away my fit of the blues, in herbright brisk way. 

"And do you think Min will wait for me?"

"Certainly, Frank. You wrong her by the very question. She's not thegirl to change, or, I'm very much mistaken in her honest, noble face. She will be constant and true, after what she has said to you, untildeath!"

"Oh, thank you for that assurance, "--I said. 

I went home completely contented and happy. 

You may wonder, perhaps, at this buoyancy of temperament, that enabledme to get over so quickly the disappointment and dejection I wassuffering from at Mrs Clyde's brusque rejection of my suit?

But, you must recollect that I was naturally sanguine, as I havepreviously told you; and, the memory of my unhappy defeat, although notquite forgotten, became merged into the hopeful anticipations I nowhad--of working for my darling, and being enabled to renew my offer, ina short time, with better chances of success. 

Hang care! It killed a cat once, you know. Was it not Lord Palmerston, by the way, who once made that capital classic hit at the versatilechief of the Adullamites in Parliament during a debate on the budget, when he said--"Atra cura post _equitem_ sedet?"

Care should not sit behind _me_, however; or, in front of me, either!

I wasn't going to be a martyr to it, I promise you. 

I would soon see Min again; and, in the meantime, I could wait for herand love her, in spite of all the stern mammas in creation, andnotwithstanding that my tongue might be tied for awhile. 

As long as I knew that she loved me in return, whom or what had I tofear?

I was, at all events, emperor of my own thoughts;--and, she was mine, _there_!

CHAPTER FOUR. 

"UP FOR EXAM. "

 Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man!

In pursuance of the vicar's advice, I hied me without delay to the tutorwhom he had specially recommended; and, setting to work diligently, crammed, as hard as I could, for my expected examination. 

"Cramming, " nothing more nor less, was, undoubtedly, the system pursuedby this modern instructor of maturity--I cannot say `of youth, ' as themajority of his pupils were men who had long cut their wisdom teeth, andworn the virile toga almost threadbare:--stalwart men, "bearded like thepard, " in the fashion of Hamlet's warrior, which has now become sogeneral that heroes and civilians are indistinguishable the one from theother. 

The crammer dosed these with facts and figures at a five-hundred-horse-power rate, interlarding them with such stray skeleton scraps of popularinformation as mendicant scholars may pick up from the sumptuously-spread tables of the learned, through those crumb-like compilations ofchronology and history, with which we are familiar, styled "treasures ofknowledge:"--thus, he injected into the brain of his neophytes dates bythe dozen and proper names--geographical ones in particular--by thescore, impressing them on stubborn memories through the aid of someeasily-learnt rhyme, or comic association, that made even the dullestcomprehension retentive for awhile. 

His entire curriculum consisted, mainly, in the getting by heart, withtheir answers, of sundry old civil service examination papers which hekept in stock--continually increasing his store as fresh ones wereissued by the examining board, until he was at length master of everyquestion which had ever puzzled a candidate from the era of the firstcompetition down to the present day. 

His motive in this was very obvious. The crammer argued, not onlywisely, but well, that a certain proportion of these questions werepretty safe to be again propounded in subsequent contests, just as onesees antique Joe Millers appear again and again, at regular recurringintervals, in the excruciating "Facetiae" columns of those pennyserials, of limited merit and "unlimited circulation, " that delight theeyes and ears of below-stairs readers, the staple of whose mentalpabulum they principally form. 

The crammer was right in his premises, as I've said, the old queriesbeing so frequently put and re-put, that they amount on average to fiftyper cent, at least, of the total number that may be set to-morrow, toaddle the brains of the Smiths, Browns, and Robinsons who may beambitious of serving their country in a red-tape capacity. 

It has often struck me that the general principles of our nationalsystem of education are open to considerable improvement. 

We go to work on a wrong foundation. 

Any plan of instruction, meant to be permanent in its effects, should behomogeneous: we, on the contrary, so break up and divide the differentbranches of ordinary knowledge, that they resemble more a number ofdisconnected particles, loosely strung together without order oruniformity, than the kindred units of a harmonious whole--as shouldproperly be the case. 

We mark out and specify, geography, history, science, and BellesLettres, as distinct subjects for study--whereas, in reality, theydovetail into one another in the closest bonds of relationship; and, were they only thus judiciously intermingled, in one, thorough, cosmicalcourse of learning, they would, most likely, be better understood intheir separate parts, and, undoubtedly, be better remembered. 

For instance, in grounding the young idea in the geography of anyparticular country, the main points of its history should follow as anatural sequence. Its seas and rivers would lead to the considerationof commerce and the polity of nations:--the mention of its towns, suggest the names of its great men in literature and art. Its scenerywould call to mind the poets who might have made it famous, the artistswho may have portrayed its beauties with their pencil; while, to pursuethe theme, its valleys and mountains would remind the student of thevalue of agriculture and mineral wealth--besides attracting his noticeto atmospherical and other scientific phenomena, that can be far morereadily comprehended by young learners, when thus seen, as it were, inaction, than if taught merely in separate dry treatises that seem tohave little in common with the busy, bustling, moving world, whose lawsthey affect to expound. 

My plan, indeed, would be a further development of the Kindergartenscheme, and the Pestalozzian system, generally. 

As soon as children had passed through the rudimentary stages ofinstruction, being able to spell and read correctly, their advancedstudies should be entirely shorn of their present routinecharacteristics. They might be made so full of life, and evenamusement, that they would thenceforth lose their _lesson_ look; and be, correspondingly, all the more easily-learnt. In fact, they would appearmore as a series of interesting pastimes than school tasks. 

Instead of making boys and girls con so many pages, say, of thegeography of China, at the same time that they are wading through thehistory of the Norman Conquest, for instance; those two subjects shouldbe made to bear the one upon the other. 

The deeds of Duke Robert would lead to a consideration of the placesmentioned in connection with them, their geographical position, geology, local traditions, celebrities, and other archaeological associations;while, their after-bearing on the history of our country should not beomitted. 

The doings of the Black Prince might, also be exampled as inducing thestudy of the geography of northern France. Cressy, and Poitiers, andAgincourt, might, naturally, suggest the first use of gunpowder, itscomposition, and invention; and, then, the improvements in modernweapons of war would follow as a natural consequence, which would end intheir being compared with the old flint implements, that are sofrequently found to the delight of antiquaries' hearts. 

In this way, the literature of any particular period might be combinedwith its history and geography:--science, and other technical matters, being incidentally introduced; and, the pupil's imagination, inaddition, kept in play, by allowing him or her to peruse such goodhistorical novels and light essays as would bear upon the life and timesof the people of whom they were reading. 

Celebrated battles of the world, memorable deeds, and famous men, wouldthen no longer be classed in separate order, as so many bald facts, anddates, and names, to be learnt and remembered in chronological sequence;but, the young student would take such deep interest in them from thevarious pieces of desultory and comprehensive information he may havepicked up in reference, that he could tell you "all about them" insuccinct narrative--in lieu of merely being only able to mention theirbare statistical connections. 

You may urge, perhaps, that this system would take a long time to work;and that a large portion of the knowledge thus learnt would be quicklyforgotten?

But, to the first objection I would reply, that, I do not see why itshould take any longer than the ordinary practice of educating children, now in vogue; as, instead of considering the various subjectsseparately, they would only be taught the same things contemporaneously, as parts of a whole; and, I certainly would be inclined to "back" one ofmy scholars, if I instructed any on the principle, to know more of thegeneral history and polity of the world and of the different countriesrespectively that compose it--besides possessing a fair acquaintancewith modern literature and science--than one taught in the old fashionfor thrice the time. 

With regard to your second demurrer, I would say, that, granting that agood deal of this stray information might pass in at one ear and out ofthe other; still, much would remain--sufficient and more than sufficientto render the scholar better educated, as a rule, than many men whoyearly obtain high honours at the university for special attainments in"the humanities. "

Under my system, they would be educated to more practical purpose forfuture usefulness; for, the knowledge of college men is generallylimited to certain class books, while, generously-schooled youths, onthis plan, would have extracted the honey from almost every volume theycould pick up, ranging from Pinnock's _Catechism of Common Things_ atone extreme, to Ruskin's _Ethics of the Dust_ at the other--and, Ithink, that allows a very fair margin for criticism!

But, you may now ask, what on earth have I, Frank Lorton, got to do withall this; especially at the present moment, when I have not yet passedmy examination before Her Majesty's Polite Letter Writer Commissioners?

What, indeed! All I can say for my unpardonable digression is, that Iwas, I suppose, born a reformer at heart, having an itching desire to becontinually setting matters straight around me of all kinds andbearings. The mention of those confounded "crammers, " led me on to talkabout examinations in general; and, while on the topic, I could not stopuntil I had thoroughly relieved my mind from an incubus of educationalzeal that has long lain there dormant. 

Now, I will proceed again, with your permission and pardon--whichlatter, I'm confident, is already granted. 

Thanks to an excellent memory, and a firm resolve to succeed "by hook orby crook, " I made the most of all my crammer taught me; although, likemost of his pupils, I found it at first rather irksome. However, mywork had to be done, and I did it. I consoled myself with thereflection that it was all for Min eventually; and, obeying the behestsof my tutor, I quickly learnt all the endless series of names and datesthat he entrusted to my memory--to the very letter and spirit thereof. 

In a fortnight, he told me that he considered me "safe" to pass "theboard"--an assurance which I was by no means sorry to hear; as, independently of my discovering that "cramming" is not the mostinteresting mode of beguiling one's time, I received at the end of thesame period, through the kind exertions of the vicar on my behalf, anomination to the Obstructor General's Office. 

The official letter conveying the gratifying intelligence of mynomination, directed me, also, to present myself on the followingTuesday morning, at "ten of the clock" precisely, before the examiningboard of commissioners--taking care to furnish myself with a dulyauthenticated certificate of baptism and one testifying my moralcharacter; neither of which had I any difficulty in procuring. 

Thus provided, and crammed, "up to the nines, " by my temporarypedagogue, I put in my due appearance, as required, to have myattainments tested:--in order that I might be reported upon as fit, ornot, to undertake the very onerous duties of the office to which I hadbeen probationally appointed. 

I was quite hopeful as to the result, for my "crammer" again impressedme at the last moment with his entire conviction that I would pass witheclat; while, my good friend the vicar, who had given me the mostflaming of testimonials, cheered me up with his cordial wishes for mysuccess, as did also dear little Miss Pimpernell, in her customaryimpulsive way. 

"Down along in Westminster, not far from the side of the wa--ter, " as issung in the eloquent strains of a certain "Pretty Little Ratcatcher'sDaughter, " who was known and admired "all around that quar--ter, " standsthe not-by-any-means-gloomy-looking mansion of Her Majesty's PoliteLetter Writer Commissioners--over whose fell door so many tremblingcandidates for situations under Government might, very reasonably, tracethe mystic characters of the inscription surmounting Dante's_Inferno_--"Lasciate ogni speranza doi ch' entrate!"

Arrived here, and mounting a series of stairs until I had reached thetopmost floor, to which I was directed by the janitor, I found myself atlast in a long, low, gothic-lighted room--whose windows had commandingviews of the grand hotel over the way, the roof of the Abbey alongside, and the police station in the centre of the problematical "green" infront. 

Here, the competitors could reflect--while awaiting their papers, orwhen chewing the cud of contentment or despair at the contemplation ofthe same--on what might be the vicissitudes of their lot in the event oftheir failure or success. 

At a given signal, fifty-nine other persons and myself, all doomed tocompete for six vacancies in the much-desired office of the ObstructorGeneral, were ushered, like schoolboys, into another and inner room, opening out of the former and garnished with rows of green-baize-coveredtables, running from end to end. 

This room seemed to bring back to me a host of old recollections; and, each moment, I was expecting to see the ghost of "Old Jack, " my headinstructor at Queen's College School in days of yore, and hear himexclaiming in his well-remembered stentorian tones--"Boy Lorton--you aredetained for inattention! Stop in and write five hundred lines!"--and, then, to see him come swooping down the room upon me, with wrath andmajesty seated on his bald brow and his gown flowing behind him. 

He generally took such enormous strides, when moved with a sudden desireto punish some lost soul, whom he might suspect of the heinous crimes ofidleness or "cribbing"--both unforgivable offences in his calendar--thatthe aforesaid gown, I recollect, seemed frequently to float over hishead--forming in conjunction with his square college cap, alias "mortarboard, " a regular "nimbus, " like that surrounding the heads of thesaints in old pictures. 

The Polite Letter Writer Commissioners--or rather, their executive--were, I must confess, much quieter in their demeanour, moving about asstealthily as if they were engaged in any number of Gunpowder, or RyeHouse Plots, or other conspiracies. 

Perhaps, you say, they were much too orderly in their proceedings forme?

Well, I don't think so, exactly; still, _I_ do not believe much in thejustice and impartiality of the Vehmgerichte, Parliamentary committees, the Berlin police, the prefects of the past empire, Monsieur Thiers'scommunistic courts-martial, or of the New York Erie Ring--nor, indeed ofany representative, or, other body, which hides its deeds and decisionsunder a cloak of secrecy!

Be that as it may, the method of the examiners did not tend to reassureus, speaking collectively of the sixty of us who now awaited judgment--fifty-four of whom were pre-ordained to failure, and _knew it_, whichcertainly militated against any chance of their looking upon thepreparations for their torture with a lenient eye. 

At regular intervals along the green-baize tables were deposited smallparcels of stationery, consisting of a large sheet of sanguinaryblotting-paper, a quire or so of foolscap, a piece of indiarubber, anattenuated lead-pencil, a dozen of quill pens, with others of Gillott'sor Mitchell's manufacture, and an ink bottle--the whole putting one inmind of those penny packets of writing requisites that itinerantpedlars, mostly seedy-looking individuals who "have seen better days, "pester one's private house with in London; and which they are so anxiousto dispose of, that they exhibit the greatest trust in your integrity, leaving their wares unsolicited behind them, and intimating that theywill "call again for an answer. "

The present parcels were also "left for answers"--answers on whichdepended our future prospects and position!

Seated in state, on a sort of dais in the centre of the room, was acourteous and urbane personage of affable exterior. He was furtherhedged in with a species of outwork of the sentry-box formation, whichconcealed his lower limbs from view:--a precaution evidently designed toprotect him from the fierce onslaught of some demented candidate--who, when suffering from the continuous effect of "examination on the brain, "might have been suddenly goaded to frenzy by a string of unsolvablequestions. 

This gentleman entreated us, as a first step, to "stand by" the forms--like a crew of sailors about to make sail; and then, in the words of theUnjust Steward, to "sit down and write quickly, " each in front of one ofthe little piles of stationery. 

We obeyed this injunction as well as we were able, although many of us, unaccustomed to rapid penmanship, found the latter part of the orderrather difficult of accomplishment. It was all very well to say, "Sitdown and write quickly!" but, what, if we had nothing to say, and didn'tknow how to say it?

Ah!

Under the tutelage of the superintending chief, lesser satellitesministering occasionally to our wants in the matter of pens and paper, and distributing fresh series of questions to us every hour or so, wewere for three days put through the paces of what the examiners held tobe "the requirements of a sound liberal English education"--I, certainly, should, however, have thought but "small potatoes, " as theAmericans say, of the general attainments of the lot of us in thisrespect, if all we possessed were tested on the occasion, or even atithe of our knowledge!

If one could have set aside one's own interest in the contest, the scenein that long low room of the Polite Letter Writer Commissioners wasamusing enough. 

You should only have watched the anxious glances we bent around on eachother, after first scanning over the printed lists supplied to puzzleus! How we cordially sympathised with the hopeless vacant stare ofignorance, proceeding from some tall, bearded individual, well on in histwenties--who looked far more fit to shoulder a musket and go to thewars, like our French friend, "Malbrook, " than to be thus condemnedagain to school-boy duties! How we glared, also, at any brilliantcompetitor, whose down-bent head seemed too intent on mastering thesubject set before him; and, whose ready pen appeared to be travellingover paper at far too expeditious a rate for our chances of winning theclerkly race! With what horror and despair, we confronted a "poser"that was placed to catch us napping:--how we jumped at anything easy!

Taking note of the examiner's watchfulness; the hushed silence thatreigned around, only broken by the scribbling sound of busy workers andthe listless shuffling of the feet of others, who, having, as theysanguinely thought, completely mastered their tasks, had nothing furtherto occupy their time until "the gaudy pageant" should be "o'er"--thewhole thing, really, was school all over again!

I believed, every moment, that I was back again once more in the well-remembered "B" schoolroom at Queen's--where and when Old Jack, promenading all in his glory, caused me often to "tremble for fear ofhis frown, " like that "Sweet Alice, " whom Ben Bolt loved and baselydeserted. 

To still further carry out the romantic resemblance, we were allowed anhour at noon for rest and refreshment each day that the examinationlasted. 

Many, undoubtedly, devoted this interval steadily to recruiting thewants of the inner man; but, one could well fancy them bursting offmadly into some boyish game, with all the ardour that their previousapplication may have generated--the shouts of the Westminster scholarsin the adjacent yard bearing out the illusion. 

_I_ spent my play-hour in wandering through the classic shades of theAbbey next door, looking over the memorial tablets of "sculptured brassand monumental marble, " erected to the honour of departed worthies:--Iwished, you know, to keep my mind in a properly reflective state for theafternoon hours of examination--history and other abstruse studies beingusually then set. 

A few mad, hair-brained youths, however, I was sorry to observe, beguiled the interregnum with billiards and beer; but, these, I'mdelighted to add, got handsomely plucked for their pains--as they richlydeserved. You and I, you know, never drink beer or play billiards. Oh, dear no! Never, on my word!

As all things must come to an end at some time or other, the examinationproved no exception to the rule, duly dragging its weary length alonguntil it came to a dead stop. 

A week afterwards I learnt my fate. I had not passed with the "eclat"my tutor prophesied; but, I contrived to get numbered amongst thosefortunate six who secured their appointments out of the entire sixtythat competed. 

I only got through "by the skin of my teeth, " the crammer said; still, that was quite sufficient for me. I had, therefore, you see, no causeof quarrel with the examining board. They had, it is true, made me outto have only barely come up to the required standard in French--alanguage with which I had been familiar from childhood; but, theycompensated for this, by according me full marks in book-keeping--whichI had been totally ignorant of a week before the examination; and, Ionly answered the questions asked me therein through dint of thewholesale theoretical cramming of my tutor!

So much for the value of the ordeal. 

I maintain that, in many instances, these competitive examinations arequite uncalled-for, and a great mistake. 

In the one I was engaged in, for example, two-thirds of the candidateswere men who had already been employed in the public service as"writers"--some for years. Now, if these were held competent to fulfilthe duties of office life, as they must have been, or they would not bethus employed, surely, it was unnecessary, as well as unfair and absurd, to subject them to test the school-boy acquirements, that many hadforgotten, which offered no real proof of their aptitude to be publicaccountants. 

And, secondly, I firmly believe that competition neither produces thebest clerks--out of those who thus initiate their official life, and whomight not have been engaged beforehand, as writers or otherwise; nordoes the system, as I've already said, afford any guarantee for a soundeducation on the part of those examined. 

The Polite Letter Writer Commissioners, I have no doubt, do their dutyas well as they can, in that position and state of life to which anenthusiastic reformer, backed up by an Act of Parliament, has calledthem; but, at the present time, ignorance has every facility afforded itfor riding rampant over their "crucial" tests, while "crammers" drive, with the greatest glee, coaches and sixes by the score through theirmost zealous enactments. 

If the competitive theory is to be the basis of our civil serviceorganisation, it should be extended to all classes and grades inofficial life; and not be limited merely to the junior clerk at thebottom of the red-tape ladder. 

Let every one, up to the under-secretaries of state and members of thecabinet even, be examined and tested and docketed in due order ofmerit--in the same way as the Chinese conduct their mandarin school--anddistribute variously coloured buttons to graduates of different degrees, letting "the best man win, " in accordance with the old motto of the nowextinct "Prize Ring. "

Perhaps, if ministers were subjected to some such ordeal--and theremight be a good deal in it if it were only properly conducted--theywould find themselves fit to grapple with more vital matters thanpolitical pyrotechnics, which are only fired off to suit popularclamour; and, were they better acquainted with history, especially thatof their own country--as they would be, if forced to "cram" like thecommissioners' candidates--they would hesitate before sacrificing theold renown of England, and the interests which she has consolidated withher blood and treasure for generations, to suit a bastard diplomacyinvented by the "peace-at-any-price" party of patriotism-less patriots!

The vicar, naturally, was delighted with my success; and, as for littleMiss Pimpernell, she was quite jubilant. 

"Dear me, Frank!" she said, when I took the letter announcing myappointment to show her the same evening I received it. "I am _so_glad--I can't tell you how glad--my dear boy! Why, we will have you andMiss Min soon setting up house-keeping! Did I not tell you that thingswould be certain to come right, if you only waited, and worked, andhoped? Never you go against Keble again, my boy. "

I promised her I would not. I should have liked also to have spoken toMrs Clyde immediately, as Min was still away, and I could hear nothingof her; but, she had left town, too, and so I was unable to carry out mywish--which, indeed, Miss Pimpernell had strongly advised against mydoing. The latter counselled me to wait awhile before I renewed myoffer; and, it was just as well, perhaps, that Mrs Clyde _was_ away. Imight, you know, have put an end to all my hopes in a jiffey, ifcircumstances had not prevented my hurrying matters again to a crisis!

It was very sad for me not to be able to see Min, and hear _her_congratulations; but still, that could not be at present; and, in themeantime, other folk took interest in me. 

It is wonderful, how people living in a small suburb, or remote countryvillage, are obliged to submit to having their actions canvassed, andthe incidents of their private life made public property of, by otherpersons with whom they may have nothing whatever in common!

For instance, what earthly concern was it of Mr Mawley's, whether Ichose to accept a Government appointment, or not? Why should _he_ havethe impertinent officiousness to lecture me when he heard of my joiningthe Obstructor General's Office; and, _I_, be forced to submit to hisremarks thereon?

He doubted, forsooth, whether I was really suited to the work! He"hoped" I would "get steadier, " he was pleased to say; and, he was alsokind enough to express the desire for me to learn that "deferencetowards my superiors, " with which I was, at present, according to hisidea, "sadly unacquainted!"

Indeed! It was just like his presumption. 

I wonder if he thought himself one of the "superiors" in question. Didhe wish me always to allow his ridiculous assertions to passunquestioned?--

Lady Dasher, too, had her say. But, as she suggested a valuable hint tome, I condoned her offence. 

I had gone to call one afternoon soon after the change in my condition, which everybody, by the way, seemed pleased at, that I cared about, savedog Catch. The poor fellow missed his walks sadly, having now to put upwith a short morning and evening stroll, instead of being out with meall day, as he frequently had been before, when, my time being my own, Iwas free to roam. 

"My lady" appeared more melancholic than ordinarily, when congratulatingme on my successful entry into public life. She spoke as if she werecondoling with me on the demise of a near relative. 

I returned this by praising a new fuchsia with five pink bells and agolden coronal, which she had lately added to her collection; and, shethen gave me the hint to which I have drawn attention. 

"Ah! Mr Lorton, " she said, after a pause, "life is very uncertain!"

"Just so, " I said, acquiescing in her truism, in order to keep up theconversation, --"but we cannot help that, you know, Lady Dasher. "

"No, indeed!" she sighed, rather than spoke. --"And that ought to make usmore careful, especially on entering into life as you are now doing. Mypoor dear papa used to say that every young man should insure; and Iwould recommend your taking out a `policy, ' isn't that what they callit? _He_ did not insure his life--poor dear papa did not require it;but he always advised every one else doing so!"

"That's what most people do, "--I said; still, I was thankful for thehint, and carried it into effect shortly afterwards. 

While on the point of friendly congratulations and advice, I should notforget to mention, that Horner also had his fling at me, perpetratingwhat he considered a joke at my expense. 

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" he said the very next Sunday when I met him outside thechurch after service. "You aah one of aws, now, Lorton, hay?"

"Yes, " I said. 

"Aw then, my de-ah fellah, you mustn't chawff me any mo-ah, you know. _Dawg don't eat dawg_, you know--ah, hay, Lorton!"

And he chuckled considerably at his feeble wit. 

Poor Horner!

CHAPTER FIVE. 

"LOVE LIES BLEEDING. "

 What is my guilt that makes me so with thee? Have I not languished prostrate at thy feet? Have I not lived whole days upon thy sight? Have I not seen thee where thou hast not been; And, mad with the idea, clasp'd the wind, And doated upon nothing?

Although Mr Mawley had expressed such a disparaging opinion anent mycapabilities for official work, I do not think I made such aninefficient clerk on the whole. 

I did not mulct my country of any portion of the hours appointed for mylabour, pleading Charles Lamb's humorous excuse, that, if I _did_ comelate, I certainly made up for it "by going away early!" On thecontrary, my attendance was so uniformly regular, that it attracted thenotice of the chief of my room, getting me a word of commendation. 

Praise from such a quarter was praise indeed, as the individual inquestion was one of the old order of clerks, stiff, prosaic and crabbedto a degree--who looked upon all the new race of young men that nowentered the service as so many sons of Belial. "Their ways" were not"his ways;" and, their free and easy manners, and absence of all thatwholesome awe of chiefs which had been customary in his day, proved, beyond doubt, that official life in general, and that of _his_department in particular, was decidedly "going to the devil!"

He lived in the office, I verily believe; coming there at some unearthlyhour in the morning, and leaving long after every one else had soughttheir homes. 

The messengers had been interrogated on the subject of his arrival, butthey protested that they always found him installed at his usual desk, no matter how early they might set about clearing out the room inanticipation of the ordinary routine of the day; while, as for the timeof his departure, nobody could give any reliable information respectingthat!

The hall-porter, who remained in charge of the establishment whenbusiness was over, might, perhaps, have afforded us some data on whichwe could have decided the mooted point, but he was a moody, taciturnpersonage, who had never been known to utter a word to living man--consequently, it was of no use appealing to him. 

One of the fellows reported, indeed, that once having to return to theoffice at midnight, in search of his latch-key which he had forgotten inhis office-coat, and without which he was unable to obtain admittance tohis lodgings, he found old "Smudge, "--as we somewhat irreverently termedthe chief, --who was particularly neat and nice in his handwriting--working away; minuting and docketing papers, just as if it had beenearly in the afternoon. It was his firm persuasion, _he_ said, thatSmudge never went away at all, but remained in the office altogether, sleeping in a waste basket, his head pillowed on the debris of destroyedcorrespondence!

Of course we did not really believe in the latter part of thisstatement; still, it was quite feasible, I'm sure, now that I think itover. 

His habit every morning was to draw a great black line, punctually asthe clock chimed half-past ten, across the middle of the attendance--book, which stood on a bracket near the door, handy for everybody comingin; the clerks having to sign it on entering, inserting the exact timeat which they put in an appearance. Our normal hour was supposed to beten, the half-hour being only so much grace allowed for dilatory personsdelayed by matters "over which they had no control"--although few theywere who did not take advantage of it. 

Why the old gentleman drew this line, none could tell; for, no badresults ensued to sinners who signed after its limitation--many of thosewho were invariably late, being subsequently duly promoted in theirturn, as vacancies occurred. 

But, the practice appeared to give Smudge great satisfaction. He, probably, took some malicious pleasure in scoring up the delinquenciesof his staff, mentally consigning the underliners, most likely, toirretrievable ruin, both in this world and the next!

I, as I've already said, was an exception to this rule. 

I must explain, however, that my good hours did not proceed from anyintense wish on my part to ingratiate myself with the chief. They wererather owing to the fact, that the omnibus I specially patronised, generally arrived in town from the remote shades of Saint Canon's by teno'clock sharp--a result usually obtained through hard driving, and onaccount of an "opposition" conveyance being on the road. 

Smudge, nevertheless, took the deed for the will; and he complimented meaccordingly, much to my surprise. 

"Ha! Mr Lorton, " he growled to me one morning, on my coming in just asthe hour was striking. "You'll be picking up the worm soon, you come souncommonly early! Never once down below the line--good sign! good sign!But, it won't last, it won't last, "--he added thinking he had spokentoo graciously. --"All of you begin well and end badly; and _you_ won'tbe any better than the rest!"

He then hid himself behind a foolscap folio, to signify that theaudience was ended. 

It was quite an event his saying so much to me, his conversation beingmostly confined to finding fault with us in the briefest monosyllablesof the most pungent and forcible character; for, he seldom uttered aword, save with reference to some document that might be submitted forhis approval and signature. 

During the entire time that I remained under his watchful leadership, henever spoke to me, but once again in this gracious manner. Indeed, whenI mentioned the circumstance to all the fellows, they expressedconsiderable doubt as to his having spoken to me so at all, ascribing myaccount of our interview to the richness of my imagination; but, hereally did say what I have related. I am rather proud of the fact thannot. 

My comrades as a body were a nice, gentlemanly set; and we got on verywell together. 

As a matter of course, we had one especial individual who was commonlyregarded as the butt of the room--a good-natured, heavy man, with a dullface and a duller comprehension; but, he seemed proud and pleased alwayswhen singled out as a mark for our chaff:--he took it as an honour, Ithink, ascribing our fun to delicate attention. 

We had also a "swell, " who was as irreproachable in his dress asHorner:--I remember, the whole office felt flattered when his name onceappeared in the list of those attending the Queen's Drawing-room; while, his fashionable doings, as recorded in the columns of the _MorningPost_, caused our room to be envied by every other division of "thebranch. "--Young and old, "swell" and butt not excepted--we consorted onthe friendliest of footings. We were knit together in the closest bondsof brotherhood; and were in the habit of looking down upon all otherdepartments as not to be compared to that, of which our room, was, inour opinion, the acknowledged head. 

Generally speaking, men belonging to the public service are moregregarious, and stick to one another in a greater degree, imitating theclanship of Scotchmen and Jews, than those occupied in any other walk inlife. 

Professionals move, as a rule, in petty cliques; city people find theirinterests clash too much for them to associate in such harmony as dothose engaged in Government offices. They may be said, certainly, toform a clique, and to have strong party interests also; but then, theirclique is so large a one that the prominent features of narrow-mindedness and utter selfishness, which distinguish smaller coteries, are lost in its more extended circle; while, its interests are self-centred, its members having nothing to fear or expect from the outsidepublic. 

And yet, with all that good fellowship and staunch fidelity, as aclass--when personal pique, and what I might call "promotion jealousy, "does not interfere to mar the warm sympathies that exist between theunits of this officially happy family--Government clerks are a verydiscontented set of men, grumbling from morning until night at theirposition, their prospects, their future. 

Really, when I first joined, I thought them all so many Lady Dashers indisguise. I could hardly believe that such cheerful fellows should beat heart so morbidly exacerbated!

They do not, it is true, grumble at those of their own standing in theservice; nor do they try to out-manoeuvre their fellows of the samedepartment; but, third-class men are jealous of those in the second-class, second-class men of lucky "seniors, " hankering after their shoes;and all, alike envious, both individually and collectively, of otherbranches, unite in one compact band of martyrs against the encroachmentsand tyrannies of higher officialdom--considering chiefs, secretaries ofstate, and such like birds of ill-omen, as virtual enemies andoppressors, with whom they are bound to prosecute a perpetual guerillawarfare:--a warfare in which, alas! they are sadly over-matched. 

Smith does not mind in the least--that is, as far as human nature can bemagnanimous--that Robinson, of his own office, should be preferredbefore him, and raised to a superior grade in advance of his legitimateturn. He may, undoubtedly, believe it to bear the semblance of "hardlines" to himself personally, that he was not chosen instead; still, heputs it all down to Robinson's wonderful luck, and his own miserablefatality, bearing his successful comrade no ill-will in consequence. 

But, let Jones, of another branch, be placed in the vacancy;--just hearwhat Smith says then!

Words would fail to express his sentiments in the matter. 

Jones, he considers, is a nincompoop, who has fed all his life on "flap-doodle, " which, as you may be aware, Lieutenant O'Brien told PeterSimple was the usual diet of fools. Jones is a man _totally_ devoid ofall moral principle. How "the authorities" could ever have selectedsuch a person to fill so responsible a post is more than he, Smith, orany one else, can understand! And, besides, how unfair it was, to takea clerk from another and different office--and one essentially of alower character, Smith believes--and put him "over our heads in thisway, " as he says, when rehearsing his wrongs and those of his officialbrethren before a choice audience of the same--from which the chief isthe only absentee:--it was, simply disgraceful!

Smith thinks he "will certainly resign after this, " and--he doesn't!

He goes on plodding round in his Government mill, grumbling and workingstill to the end of his active life, when superannuation or a starvationallowance comes, to ease his cares in one way and increase them inanother! And, to do him scant justice, he really _does_ work manfully, at a lesser rate of pay, and with fewer incentives to exertion throughhopes of advancement, than any other representative person under thesun--I do not care to what class or clique he may belong!

He is the miserable hireling of an ungrateful country, from his cradleto his grave, in fact. 

It is all very well for people unacquainted with the machinery of theseoffices to talk about the idleness of Government clerks generally; andjoke at the threadbare subject of "her Majesty's hard bargains. "

No doubt, some places are sinecures, and that a larger number of clerksare employed in many offices than there is work for them to do; but, wemust not go altogether to the foot of the ladder to remedy this state ofthings!

Why do not such ardent reformers as Mr Childers, and men of his stamp, cut down their own salaries first, before they set about pruning thoseof poor ill-paid subordinates?

I can tell them, for their private satisfaction, that, if they did so, the onlooking public would have a much stronger belief in the honesty oftheir reformatory zeal than it at present possesses!

It is not the "little men" that swell the civil list, as the vicar toldme before I saw it for myself, but, the "big wigs. "

These are the ones who fatten on the estimates, the root of the evillying concealed under the snugly-cushioned fauteuils of cabinetministers and their pampered placeholders and hunters--not, beneath thestraight-backed horsehair chairs of miserable clerks. It is unmanlythus for giants to gird at pigmies!

I would advise all the clerks in the various Government offices to forma "union, " in order to obtain redress for their wrongs; and to "strike, "if needs be--you know, that strikes are all the rage now!

You demur to my argument? It would be a conspiracy, you say?

Dear me! You are quite wrong, I assure you. A conspiracy is only aconspiracy so long as it is unsuccessful. When it is triumphant, it isknown no longer by that term!

Then, it is styled a "Revolution, " or a "Restoration, " or a "Grand PartyTriumph, " as the case may be. Just in the same way, is a man a"traitor, " or a "patriot, " who tries to serve his country, according tohis lights, as he is either defeated in his purpose, or victorious. Besides, when men thus work together in a body, their words and deeds, although identically the same, are regarded in a different light to thewords and deeds of mere individuals. In the one case they may be grandand glorious; in the other, they are stigmatised, perhaps, asinsignificant, and, indeed, often criminal. 

Witness, how a robber on a large scale, such as a privateersmanconfiscating the goods of an innocent merchant, or a chancellor of theexchequer putting his hand into a poor taxpayer's pocket, is held up inhistory to the admiration and honour of posterity; while, a petty thief, who may steal the watch of Dives, or a starving wretch, who snatches aloaf out of a baker's shop, gets sent to the treadmill--_their_ actionsbeing only chronicled in the police news of the day. 

Or, again, look at your colossal murderer, like the Kaiser "Thanks toProvidence, " when he prosecuted the invasion of a neighbouring countrythe other day, in defiance of his kingly word--as published in a publicproclamation, bearing his signature. 

He sacrificed thousands of lives in furtherance of his own ambition;but, he is a "conqueror, " bless you! A hero, to whom men bow the kneeand cry, "Ave, Caesar!"--Your puny villain, on the other hand, who onlycuts one unfortunate throat, is hung!

"Circumstances alter cases, " runs the saying:--it should more properlybe, the light in which we view them--_that_ makes all the difference, mydear sir, or madam!

Let the Government clerks strike, I say. "Frappez et frappez fort, " asthe Little Corporal used to express it; that is, if they are unable toget their grievances adjusted without some such extreme measure--ofwhich there does not seem to be much likelihood at present, consideringthe reformatory tendencies of Jacks in office. 

A strike, however, would soon bring the latter to reason, and showwhether these subordinates were worth keeping on, or not!

You don't believe it?

Ah! just wait and see!

Fancy, the consternation at Carlton House Terrace, the dismay in DowningStreet, some fine morning, when no clerks were forthcoming!

Imagine the tons of correspondence awaiting answers, the acres ofaccounts to be audited, the minutes that would _not_ be made, the"submissions" that could _not_ go forward, the files that should havebeen docketed, and initialled, and stowed away uselessly till doomsday;and, that must, instead, remain untouched, uncared for!

The Secretary of State might want valuable statistics, to answer someobstinate inquiring member in the House that very day, but, nobody couldprepare them--to his default; and so, the inquiring member might make acabinet question of it, and defeat the Government!

The general commanding at the autumn manoeuvres might, perhaps, be inurgent need of footwarmers for the regiments under his charge; but, hecouldn't get them, as no permanent clerk would be at the War Office tocountersign his order!

The channel fleet might all need refitting; but, none of them would beable to go into dock, as the Admiralty gentlemen--who only knew whentheir bottoms were last scraped--were not at their posts!

In fact, every department--the Colonies, the Foreign Office, and eachone else, would be topsy turvey; because, only the high sinecurists, whonever did anything but sign their names to documents prepared by "thoseuseless Government clerks, " would be present to conduct the business ofthe country; and, _they_ would not have the remotest idea how to set towork, you know!

The "Control Department" might, certainly be called on for help in theemergency; and then, we would probably have some more "queer things ofthe service" for a short time. 

But, it couldn't last. The whole official machinery would come to adead stop. 

You would then see the ardent reformers at their wits' ends; while, thehonourable person who keeps the purse-strings of the ministry would bedown on his marrow bones--entreating the ill-used and recalcitrantseceders to return to their employment, when "all would be forgiven;"and begging them, at the same time, to accept the increase to theirsalaries which they had demanded, as a token of his sincere regard andesteem!

Before I became one of the staff of the Obstructor General's Office, Ihad not given the position of Government clerks a thought, excepting tolook down upon them generally--as I have previously remarked, and as, indeed, most people are in the habit of doing who are unconnected withthe service. 

Now, however, that I was one of them, I was filled with the mostthorough corps feeling. Their ills were my ills; their hopes my hopes;and, such thoughts as I have noted were continually passing through mymind. 

This is the case with most that are similarly employed. 

I like men to believe in the special calling or profession theyfollow:--I do not think much of those who run down their trade. --Thelatter are usually bad workmen, you'll find. 

If I were a boot-black, to-morrow, I would, I am certain, lean to thedelusion that the polishing of pedal integuments was the noblest spherein life!

Indeed, I have known many more extraordinary conversions than mine. 

I've seen one of the most brutal and bloodthirsty of warriors settledown into an earnest preacher of the gospel. I have heard a prize-fighter lecture on the atomic theory; and, I am acquainted with aviolent radical demagogue "of the deepest dye, " who, by means of a niceberth and a snug salary, has been turned into the most conservative ofcounty magnates--looking upon all his former proceedings with horror, and a virtuous amazement that he could ever have been so led astray!

So, you need not be surprised at my thus changing my sentiments. Inaddition, I was new to the service; and, "new brooms sweep clean, " weare told--although, the special work of the room in which I was placedat the office was not by any means of an interesting character. Infact, it was rather the reverse, you will say, when I tell you what itconsisted in. 

Some eight of us were engaged from ten to four o'clock every day, sixmortal hours, in checking a lot of old accounts, and bills, that hadbeen paid and settled years before. 

There was no benefit to be derived by the country, even if we _did_detect an error of calculation, which was rarely the case; for, themoney would not be refunded, be never-so-many minutes made of theincident--the parties concerned being commonly scattered all over theglobe, and, if appealed to, would probably reply that they knew nothingnow about the circumstance, and cared less, most likely. 

And yet, there were we, day after day, made to go over and over theseold vouchers, comparing them with ledgers and store-books, and all sortsof references, for no earthly good whatever!

It is thus, that much time is wasted and unrequired labour paid for inthe public service, when, by judiciously doing away with unnecessarywork, the number of clerks might be economised, and their labourconsequently better remunerated. 

You can't get men to become interested in unprofitable work. 

My comrades in the Obstructor General's Office were jolly and cheerfulenough, and old Smudge not too exacting and fault-finding. After alittle experience, I managed to arrive at the knowledge of the exactamount of work which would satisfy him. If one did more than this, hethought you much too pushing a fellow to belong to his slow, steady-going branch; and if less, why, you were an idle person, not worth yoursalt. 

But, the whole thing was very tedious and dry to me. I could, getthrough Smudge's quantum of accounts easily in half my time:--the restof my hours hung heavily on my hands. 

One can't read the _Times_ all day, you know. The very obligation, too, to be tied down to a certain routine and chained to a desk, galled me. I could have accomplished ten times the amount of labour I did, if I hadbeen allowed to do it at my own convenience, and not forced to the tento four regime. 

I was always thinking of Min, also, and fretting at her absence--for, she did not come back to Saint Canon's for months after I got myappointment. 

My whole thoughts were filled with her image. The difficulty of myposition with regard to her and her mother likewise troubled me. 

So, taking all these points into consideration, my office life was not ahappy one, --though, if matters had been arranged more comfortably forme, touching the future, I would have cheerfully put up with moretemporary annoyances than I actually suffered, slaving on indefinitelyunder Smudge's rule. 

As it was, I couldn't. 

I used to dream of Min all day, imagining what she might be doing downin the country. 

I fancied all sorts of things about her. 

I thought that she would forget me and like some one else better, knowing how joyfully Mrs Clyde would encourage any wooer whose presencemight tend to make her turn from me. 

The worst of it was, too, that I had no one to sympathise with me. Icould not, exactly, go round asking people to "pity the sorrows of adisappointed lover!"

As Lamartine sings in his "Tear of Consolation":--

 "Qu'importe a ces hommes mes freres Le coeur brise d'un malheureux? Trop au-dessus de mes miseres, Mon infortune est si loin d'eux!"

How could I implore sympathy? Would you have given me yours?

I would be almost ashamed to tell how I was in the habit of "mooningaway my time, " thinking of Min--when, the first novelty of the officehaving worn off, I found my duties so wearisome and easily got through, that I had nothing to keep me from thinking!

I used to idle sadly. 

I often wasted hours, in dreamily composing intricate monograms on myblotting-paper, in which Min's name was twisted into all sorts offlowery characters, which were intermingled so as to be nearlyincomprehensible to any one unacquainted with my secret. 

My fellow-clerks got an inkling of it, however. 

They used to ask me, who "M" was; and, when I got savage, and told themto mind their own business, they would "chaff" me, inquiring whether"the unknown fair" was obdurately "cruel, " or no!

Little Miss Pimpernell tried to cheer me up--telling me to "hope on, hope ever;" and, to stick steadily to my work, for, that Min would becertain to come back soon, when all would be well. But, I could notcontent myself. 

I got pale and thin, worrying myself to death. --Even Lady Dasher saw thechange in me, hinting one day to the vicar, in my hearing, that she waspositive I was in a decline, or suffering from heart-disease, and thatoffice-work was really too hard for me. 

And when Min _did_ come back, things were but little brighter for me. 

The first opportunity I had of speaking alone to her, I asked her if Imight still call her by her Christian name. She said, "certainly, " witha little tremor in her dear voice and a warm blush which almost temptedme to say more. But, I remembered having pledged my word to Mrs Clyde, and did not urge my suit, then or thereafter, by words or looks--as faras I could help the latter. 

We did not meet often now; and, perhaps, it was as well that we did not, for our position was awkward for both of us. 

When we did, however, it seemed very hard for me to speak to her in coldconventional terms--when, my heart was overflowing with love towardsher; and, this made me appear constrained; while, she showed a shyavoidance of me, which, only natural as it was, pained me--although Iwas certain, all the time, that she had not changed towards me in theleast. 

Really, if it had not been for the kind contrivances of dear little MissPimpernell, I don't think we would have met for a long, long time, atall. 

Now, that my days were fully occupied at "the office, " you know, I couldnot meet her out, or see her at the window; and, in spite of hermother's gracious intimation that I might call occasionally, I did notcare about going there in the evening to be stared into formality underher icy eye. 

When Christmastide came round again, too, there were no more of thehappy days that had occurred on its previous anniversary. 

Although I had obtained special leave from my chief, through working upan enormous number of old accounts beforehand, and thus gaining his goodwill, it was entirely thrown away:--Min did not present herself at theroom of the evergreens once!

Mrs Clyde had checkmated me, again, there. 

Had it not been for Miss Pimpernell's pleadings, I think I would nowhave gone against her advice, and brought matters to an issue by anotherproposal before the year was out. 

My better judgment, however, restrained me from this, when I reflectedover all the circumstances of the case in more reasoning moments. 

I saw that it was best for me to wait until the full probationary periodwhich my old friend had prescribed should elapse. I waited accordingly;but, my heart was daily torn with a despair and longing, that very muchaltered me from the merry Frank Lorton of former times. 

Could I hope?

Would she only wait for me, too?

Should my trust and my devotion be finally rewarded?

Miss Pimpernell said "yes, " and Min, when I saw her, _looked_ it; but, my heart frequently said "no"--and, I was miserable in consequence!

It is a truism, that, when one loves truly, one is never satisfied. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

"MY LIFE, I LOVE THEE!"

 --Then, in that time and place I spoke to her, Requiring, tho' I knew it was mine own, Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear, Requiring, at her hand, the greatest gift, A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved. 

When "hope deferred, " and baffled love combined, had well-nigh made meas miserable and woebegone as I could possibly be, I heard a piece ofnews one day which almost nerved up my halting resolution to bringaffairs to a final issue by speaking out again to Mrs Clyde--no matterwhat might be the result. 

The joyful intelligence was circulated by the pleased Lady Dasher, that, Mr Mawley had at length proposed for her daughter, Bessie. It was timefor it, as he had angled around and nibbled warily at the tempting baitoffered him--like the knowing fish that he was--for months before hewould permit himself to be caught!

The curate had, doubtless, noticed at length that the damsel was comelywithal; and, his heart yearned towards her. The reverend gentleman, however, had not been unobservant of the charms of other maidens withwhom he had been brought in contact, so, it may be presumed that hisheart had "yearned" in vain for them; or, peradventure, these had notplayed with him so dexterously, when once hooked, as did the fairBessie--who had not been the granddaughter of an Irish peer for nothing!

Still, there is no object to be gained now in raking up all of MrMawley's old conquests or defeats, ere his present "wooing and a':"--hehad been accepted, in this his most recent venture, and was engagedexplicitly--Lady Dasher taking very good care to inform everybody of heracquaintance of the fact, in order that there might arise no such littlemistake as that of the curate's backing out of the alliance. 

Her ladyship only wished for one thing more to make her "happy, " so shesaid; and that was, that her "poor dear papa" were but alive, so thatshe might tell him, too, about the coming event. This was impossiblethough, as she added, with her customary melancholy shake of the head, and a return to her normal expression of poignant grief; for, as shesaid very truly, "one can never expect to be thoroughly happy in thisweary pilgrimage of ours!"

Her complete gratification would, certainly, have been little less thana miracle. 

The engagement was of very short duration, Bessie's mamma acting up tothe Hibernian policy of "cooking her fish, " as soon as she had capturedhim. There's "many a slip, " you know, "'twixt cup and lip. "

Mawley would probably have gladly lingered yet awhile longer amid thefestive scenes of clerical bachelorhood, flirting--in a devout way, ofcourse--under the shade of the church, with Chloe and Daphne, thoseunappropriated spinsters of the parish who took pleasure in ministeringto the social wants of the curate and others of his cloth. 

But, it was not to be. Lady Dasher was, for a wonder, wise in hergeneration; and, the twain--not my lady and Mawley, but her daughter andditto--were married within a month after the public announcement oftheir attachment, much to the surprise of Saint Canon's, themortification of sundry single ladies thereof, and the well-disguiseddelight of Lady Dasher, who, even on such a festive occasion, lookedmore melancholic than ever. 

It was this, that nerved me up to desperation. Why, thought I, the dayafter the wedding, as I paced along the Prebend's Walk--over which thelong-branched elms and waving oaks and thickly-growing lime-trees formeda perfect arch, in all the panoply of their new summer leaves, sheltering one from rain and sun alike--why, thought I, should thatfellow, Mawley, be made happy, and I not?

Really, I could not answer the question at all satisfactorily. 

You see, I was not able to come to a decision with myself as to whetherI should repeat the darling request which I had made to Min very nearlytwelve months before, or wait on still in suspense. The risk of theformer course was great, for, Mrs Clyde might, and most likely would, put an end immediately to all communication whatever between us, shouldshe continue hostile to my suit--an eventuality horrible to contemplate;and yet, would it not be better for me to be relieved from the existingstate of uncertainty in which my mind was plunged?

What must I do?

I had to determine that point, at all events. 

I could not settle it in a moment: it was far too weighty aconsideration--it required serious deliberation. So, I paced on, stillmoodily to the end of the Prebend's Walk; and, although it was rainingheavily, sat down on the stone balustrade of the little rustic bridgeover the fosse, facing the river. --"Ah me!" I reflected, calling to mymemory Thackeray's sad lament, in that seemingly-comic "Ballad of theBouillabaisse, " which is all the more pathetic from its affected humour. 

 "Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! I mind me of a time that's gone When I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, In this same place--but not alone. 

 "A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me-- There's no one now to share my cup. "

As I was musing thus sadly, I was unexpectedly tapped on the shoulder byMonsieur Parole d'Honneur, who had come up quietly behind me, without mynoticing his approach. He was on his way to pay a visit to his "goodvicaire" at the vicarage, after giving his usual Wednesday lecture atthe neighbouring "college for young ladies;" where, blooming misses--inaddition to their curriculum of "accomplishments" and "all the'ologies"--were taught the noble art of family multiplication, domesticdivision, male detraction, feminine sedition, and, the glorious ruleof--_one_!

Me grieving, he joyously addressed. 

"Ohe! my youngish friends"--his general term in speaking to me--"howgoes it?--Hi--lo!" he went on, seeing from my face, as I turned my headto speak to him, that, "it" did not "go" particularly well--"Hi--lo! vatees ze mattaire?--you look pallide; you have got ze migraine?"

"No, " I answered; "there's nothing the matter with me, I assure you, Monsieur Parole. I'm all right, thank you. "

"Ah! but yes, " he retorted--"you cannote deceives me. You are pallide;you take walks on feet this detestable day. --Mon Dieu! votre climatc'est affreux!--I knows ver wells, Meestaire Lorton, dat somesings eesze mattaire!"

"But, I'm quite well, I tell you, " said I. 

"Quaite well en physique, bon:--quaite well, here?" tapping his chestexpressively the while--"non! I knows vat ees ze mattaire. C'est uneaffaire de coeur, ees it not, mon ami? You cannote deceives me, I tellsto you! But, nevaire mind dat, my youngish friends: cheer oop and begays--toujours gai! I have had, myselfs, it ees one, two, tree, --seexlofes! Seex times ees mon coeur brise, and I was desole; and now, yousees, I'm of a light heart still!"--and he laughed so cheerily, that, even Lady Dasher, I think, could not have well helped chiming in withhis merriment. 

I did not laugh, however. "Pardon me, monsieur, " I said, --"I'm not in ajoking mood. "

"Come, come, mon brave, " he continued, seeing that my dejection wasbeyond the point where it could be laughed away; and accommodatinghimself to my humour, with the native delicacy of his race--"I havemyself, suffered:--ainsi, I can condoles! You know, my dear, youngishfriends, when I was deporte de mon pays, he?"

I nodded my head in acquiescence, hardly feeling inclined for therecital of some revolutionary anecdote, which I thought was going to berelated to me. Monsieur Parole, however, astonished me with quite adifferent narration. 

"Leesten, " said he. --"When I did leeves my Paris beloved, helas! I wastored from my lofe--my fiancee dat I adore! I leaves her in hopes andau desespoir. I dreams of her images in my exiles! When I learns at myacadamies ze young ladees, ze beautifool Eenglish mees, I tinks of mabelle Marie, her figure, and her face angelique, wheech I sail nevaireforgets--no, nevaire! And I says to myselfs, `Ah! she ees morebeautifools dan dese!' Mais, mon ami, I was deceives by her all dattime. Not sooner go I from France, dan she ees marie to un grand, gros, fat epicier of La Villette--Marie dat was fiancee au moi, gentilhomme!Mais, mon Dieu; when I was heard ze news, I was enrage--I goes back toParis. I fears notings--no mouchard--no gend'armerie--no notings--although, I was suspect and deporte de France! I sends un cartel--youcomprends--to ze gros bon ami de ma Marie, ce cochon d'un epicier! Wemeets in ze Bois: I gives him one leetel tierce en carte dat spoils hislovemakings for awhile; and, I leeves France again for evers--dat is, unless ma patrie and ze sacred cause of ze Republique Francaise callsupon me--but, not till den! So, you sees, my youngish friends, datoders suffer like yourselfs. I have told to you my story; cheer oop!If ze ladees have deceives you, she is not wort one snaps of zefingers!"

"But, she has not deceived me, " I said. 

"Den why are you melancolique?"

"Because, because--" I hesitated:--I was ashamed to say what made medespondent. 

"For ze reasons dat you don't knows weder she lofes you or not?" heasked. "Ah, ha! Den, why not ask her, my friends? You are young; youhave a deesposeetion good; you are handsome--"

"O-oh, Monsieur Parole, " I exclaimed at his nattering category of myattributes, almost blushing. 

"Ah, but yes, " he went on--"I am quaite raite. You are handsome; withun air distingue; reech. "

I shook my head, to show that I could not lay claim to being amillionaire, in addition to my other virtues. 

"No, not reech, but clevaire; and you will be reech bye-bye! I see notwhy ze ladees should not leesten to you, mon ami, he?--But, if she doesnote; why, courage! Dere are many odere ladees beautifool also inEngland; and, yet, if you feels your loss mooch, like myselfs with maperfide Marie, why you can go aways and be console, as I!"

His words encouraged me:--and, my face imperceptibly brightened. 

"Ah, ha! dat is bettaire, " he said--"I likes you, Meestaire Lorton; andit does me pain to sees you at deespair like dese! Cheer oop; and allwill be raite, as our good friend, ze vicaire, all-ways tells to us. Wewill go and sees him now!"

He took my unresisting arm, and carried me off to the vicarage; changingthe conversation as we went along, and gradually instilling fresh hopeinto my heart. 

I dare say you think it was very idiotical on my part, thus to bewail mygrief to another person; and allow a few empty words to change thecurrent of my feelings?

But then, you must recollect, that I would not have comported myself inthis way with a brother Englishman. 

If Horner had told me of _his_ woes, for example, similarly as I toldmine, or let them be drawn out of me by Monsieur Parole, I confess Iwould have been much more likely to have laughed at, than sympathisedwith him. 

A Frenchman, however, is naturally more sentimental than any ofourselves. He looks seriously and considerately on things which we makelight of. 

Besides, in my then cut-throat mood, I was longing for sympathy; andwould have made a confidante of any one offering for the post--barringLady Dasher or Miss Spight--neither of whom would I have chosen as adepository were I anxious to give my last dying speech and confession tothe world; although, they would probably cause the same to be circulatedfast enough--judging by their habit in regard to that sort of privateinformation respecting the delicate concerns of other people which ispassed on from hand to hand "in strict confidence, mind!" and which isnot to be told to any one else "for the world!"

Monsieur Parole's story was a good lesson to me. 

I saw that he who had had grief as great, and greater than mine, for Iknew that Min loved me and was constant--had concealed it so that nonewho looked on his round merry face, would have supposed him capable of adeep emotion; while, I, on the contrary, had paraded my littleanxieties, like a fool!

He also taught me determination; for, I resolved now, that, on the firstopportunity I had, I would speak to my darling again, and have my fatesettled, without more delay--for good or ill, as the case might be. 

I would not remain in suspense any longer. 

Within a week, this wished-for opportunity came. 

Some mutual friends, to whom, indeed, Min had been the original means ofmy introduction--they living without the orbit of the Saint Canoncircle--asked me to a large evening party that they gave late in theseason. 

There, I met my darling, as I hoped--unaccompanied by her mother, whichI had _not_ imagined would happen; consequently, my chances for speakingto Min would be all the more favourable. 

There was so general a crush of people; that, although the rooms werelarge and there were many nice little retreats for tete-a-teteconversation, in balconies that were covered in like marquees and snugconservatories, besides the stair landings--those last "refuges for thedestitute" who might desire retirement--I had to put off my purposeuntil evening wore on to such a late hour, that I thought I would not beable to speak to my darling at all!

After midnight, however, my opportunity came. 

First getting rid of a horrible person, who would persist in followingMin about under the false pretence that his name was on her card forseveral of the after-supper dances--an assertion _I_ knew to beridiculously unfounded; for, I had taken care to place my own name downfor as many as Min would give me, and, all the latter ones I hadappropriated also without asking her permission, thinking that when thathappy time arrived, she would not be very hard on me for my presumption;nor was she. 

Extinguishing the interloper--some people have such blindness of mentalvision, that they never can see when they are not wanted!--I managed atlength to open proceedings. 

It was while in a quadrille that I began referring to the agonised stateof my mind, and explained the mental suffering I then was experiencing. 

Min listened attentively, as far as she heard, a warm flush on her dearface and a light sparkling in the deep grey eyes; but, I would defy anylover to plead his cause with due effect in that mazy old cotillondance, which a love of French nomenclature in the early part of thecentury, taught us to style "quadrille. "

How can you inform the object of your passion that you adore her, withany becoming effusion of sentiment, when you are chassez-ing andbalancez-ing like a human teetotum? How, breathe the words of love;when, ere you have completed your avowal, you have to make a fool ofyourself in the "Cavalier seul, " the cynosure of six different pairs ofeyes besides those of the girl of your heart? How, tone your voice, sweetly attuned though it may be to Venusian accents, when, one moment, it may be inaudible to her whom you address, through the rampagiousgallopading and ladies-chaining of excited quadrillers; and, the next, be so raised in pitch, from the sudden hush that falls on band anddancers alike, between the figures, that your opposite vis-a-vis, andthe neighbouring side couples, can hear every syllable of your franticdeclaration--much to their amusement and your discomfiture?

You cannot do it, I say. 

No, not if you were a Talleyrand in love matters; and, so completelyversed in the pathology of the "fitful fever, " as to be able to diagnoseit at a glance; besides nursing the patient through all the severalstages of the disease--watching every symptom, anticipating each change, bringing the "case, " finally, to a favourable issue!

No, sir, or madam, or mademoiselle, as the case may be; you cannot doit--not in a quadrille, at all events, or I will;--but, no, I won'tbet:--it is wrong to do so, Min told me!

Presently, on the music stopping, I led her to a seat in a quiet corner. "Here"--thought I--"I shall be able to have you to myself without fearof interruption!"

I commenced my tale again; but, Min, evidently, did not wish to come toany decision now. She wanted to let matters remain as they were. 

I could see this readily, by the way in which she tried to put me off, changing the conversation whenever I got on to the forbidden ground, andsuggesting various irrelevant queries on my endeavouring again to chainher wilfully-erratic attention down to the one topic that I only thoughtworthy of interest. 

The feminine mind, I believe, delights in uncertainty. 

Girls are not half so anxious to have their lovers "declare themselves, "as some ill-natured people would have us think. They much preferholding on in delightful doubt--that pleasant "he-would-and-she-wouldn't" pastime that precedes a regular engagement or undoubteddismissal--just as a playful mouser sports with its victim, long afterthe trembling little beast has lost its small portion of life;pretending that it is yet alive and essaying to escape, when pussy knowsright well that poor mousey's fate is sealed, as far as any furtherstruggles on its part are concerned. 

A man, on the contrary, abhors suspense. 

It is not business-like, you know. 

He much desiderates a plain answer to a plain exposition of fact orfancy--even when it takes the form of that excruciating littlemonosyllable "no. "

Those diminutive arts and petty trickeries of feigned resistance, withwhich our "angels without wings" strive to delay the surrender of themaiden-citadels of their hearts, are but vexatious obstacles to hislegitimate triumph. These, the veteran wooer attempts to carry by stormat once, seeing through their utter transparency:--to the unpractisedDamon, however, they assume the proportions of an organised defence. 

Look at my case, for instance:--I had hardly managed to manoeuvre Mininto my selected corner, and to say two words on the subject thatoccupied all my thoughts; when, she, who had previously condoled with meon the "horrid crowd" that prevented our having "a nice chat" together, as "we used to have last year, " and joined in abusing "that wretchedquadrille, " which had interfered so sadly with our talking, now tried tobaulk my purpose of an explanation by every means in her power. 

Ladies having generally ample resources to suit such ends, it was almostuseless for me to combat her obvious resolve. 

The moment I sat down beside her, what does she do, but, ask me to gether an ice--it was "_so_ hot!"

Of course, I started off to procure it, our conversation being stoppedmeanwhile; but then, when I had scrambled through the crowd in thedoorway, making ninepins of all the male wallflowers; had rudely jostledthe peripatetics on the staircase; and, literally, fought my way intothe supper-room and back to her again with the desired dainty--what doyou think was my reward?

I assure you, there was the identical, horrible person, with sandy hairand sallow, elongated features--whom I had before routed in the matterof Min's dancing with him, --seated in my chair, chattering away at afine rate to my darling; and, she?--

Was listening to his sallies with apparent contentment. 

It was, enough to have caused a Puritan to swear!

She saw that I was annoyed; but, she thanked me so prettily for her ice, that my anger towards her was instantly appeased:--not so, however, toward the interloper! I gnawed, in impotent fury, the attenuated endsof the small fragment of a moustache which nature had allotted to me, and talked at him and over him, so pointedly, that he had to beat aretreat and claim some other partner for the ensuing waltz. 

We were again left alone; but, Min, still, wouldn't listen to me amoment!

"Oh, Frank!" she said. "This is _our_ dance, I think, is it not? Wehave sat out _such_ a time! Do let us begin. "

I liked dancing, but wanted to speak more; so, I got angry again. 

"You are cruel to me, Min, "--I said. --"You _know_ that I wish to speakto you seriously, and you won't let me have a chance. You can joke andlaugh, while I'm breaking, my heart! I will leave you"--and, I walkedaway from her out of the room and down the staircase--very proudly, verydefiantly, very miserably. 

On my way I met, or rather encountered, our sandy friend who had spoiltmy interview. There was a heavy crush on the stairs; and so, somebodyelse having shoved against me, I revenged myself on this gentleman, giving him such a malicious dig in the ribs from my elbow as elicited adeep sighing groan. This was some slight satisfaction to me. Itsounded exactly like the affected "Hough!" which paviours give vent to, when wielding their mallets and ramming down the stones of the roadway!

In the hall, as I was hunting for my overcoat and hat, which had beenburied beneath an avalanche of other upper garments, Min, who hadfollowed me down, laid her hand timidly on my arm. She looked up in myface entreatingly. 

"You are not going yet, Frank, are you?" she asked. 

"Yes, " said I, curtly. "What should I stay for? Do you think I find itso amusing to be laughed at? It is very poor fun, _I_ think!"

"But you, surely, won't go before saying good-bye to the lady of thehouse, Frank?" she then said. 

She evidently thought, you see, that I was going to commit anunpardonable breach of good manners; and, that made her call me back--nothing else!

I returned with her to the drawing-room. Min's face was quite pale now;and, the little rosebud lips were pressed closely together, as if in setdetermination. She perceived that she could not any longer put off whatshe knew was coming--no matter what might have been her kindly intent inso wishing to do. 

On our entrance the band was playing the _Mabel_ waltz. How well Iremember it!

We joined in for a few turns; and, as I clasped my arm round her darlingwaist, feeling her warm heart beating against mine, I longed to claspher so always, and waltz on for ever!

In a little while we rested; and, getting her to walk out on to thecanopied balcony through the French windows of the drawing-room, I theresaid my say to her, amidst the waving ferns and showy azaleas thatsurrounded us. 

We had the place all to ourselves; for, as it was now early in themorning, most of the guests had already gone:--the indefatigables whoremained were too busily engaged to mind us. They were making the mostof the last waltz, which was protracted to an indefinite length. 

"Min, my darling, "--said I, after a brief pause, looking straight downinto her honest, upturned face, --"will you promise to be my wife, orno?"

"O-oh, Frank!" she murmured, bending her head down without another word. 

"Darling!"--I continued. --"You know full well that I love you; and I'vethought, dearest, that you loved me a little?"

"Hush! Do not speak so, dear Frank; you grieve me so, " she said. 

"Have you forgotten all the past then, Min? Don't you remember lastyear, and all that happened then?"--I asked. 

"I remember, Frank, " she whispered, rather than spoke. 

"And do you not love me still, darling?" I pleaded:--"Look up into myface, and let me see your eyes:--_they_ won't deceive me, I know!"

But, the dear, grey eyes would not meet mine. 

"Oh, Min, my darling!" I asked again, pressing her closely to my heart, "will you not promise to be my wife? Sweet, I love you so!"

"They are looking at us, Frank, "--was her rejoinder--"let us waltz on. "

We had some more turns, "Mabel" still dominant in the orchestra. O thatair! I can hear it now, as I heard it then, ringing yet in my ears--asit will continue always to haunt me!

When we stopped again, I repeated my question once more. I wasdetermined to have an answer, good or bad. 

"Frank, " she said, hurriedly, "I cannot say anything; I have promised:--I have promised. Pray, do not ask me!"

She spoke with great agitation. There was a tremor in her voice; and, Icould see _now_ that the soft grey eyes, which were piteously turned tomine, were tearful and sad. I was mad, however, with love and grief, orI could not have resisted the mute entreaty I there read--to be silent. 

"Min, " I went on to say, passionately, "you must now decide whether weare to meet again, or part for ever! You know how I love you now, haveloved you ever since I first saw your darling face, --will love you untilmy heart ceases to beat! But, I cannot, oh! I cannot go on like this. The suspense is killing me:--anxiety and uncertainty are driving me mad!Tell me, Min--dear as you are to me, I ask it for the last time--whether you will promise to be my wife? Only give me a grain of hope, that I may have something to look forward to; something to work for;some object in life? At present, I have nothing; and, my existence is aburden to me!"

"Can we not be friends still, Frank?" she asked, sadly. 

"No, Min, " I answered; "_I_ cannot promise any longer what I feel unableto perform. You must be everything to me or nothing! I would lay downmy life for you, darling! Won't you give me some hope?"

"Oh, Frank! do not torture me, "--she exclaimed, in a choking voice--"Ihave pledged my word, and I cannot break it. "

"Better to break my heart than your mother's selfish command!" I said, bitterly, knowing, now, how she had probably been bound down to refuseme, should I again offer my love. 

O wise, far-reaching, far-seeing Mrs Clyde!

"Do not be so unkind to me, Frank, " said Min, half sobbingly, after alittle time, during which I tried to keep down my own emotion; and, Ifelt a warm little tear drop on the hand in which I still clasped hersin a lingering clasp--"I have been a friend, though, to you; have I not, Frank?" she asked me. 

"Tell me, Min, " I said, making a last appeal; "do you love me--have youever loved me? Let me have some consolation, to comfort me!"

"I must not say anything, must not promise anything. I have given myword to mamma. But, oh, Frank! do not be angry with me. Let us befriends still, won't you?"

"No, " said I, sternly--I wondered afterwards at my cruelty; but, I wasgoaded on to desperation, and hardly knew what I was saying. --"We partfor ever now, Min! Your mother may certainly procure you a wealthiersuitor, but none who can love you as truly as I do, as I have done!Good-bye. I dare say you will soon be happy with some one else; but, perhaps, you will think sometimes of him whom you have discarded, whoseheart you have broken, whose life you have wrecked?--No, I do not wantyou to think of me at all!" I added, passionately, at the last--andthen, I left her. 

What a walk home I had, in the early dawn!

I would not take a cab, although several passed me. I wanted to bealone in my misery; and so, I walked the whole way to Saint Canon's--three miles if it were an inch, over a rough, newly-stoned road, too, and in patent-leather boots with paper soles! I never thought of that, however, nor felt the stones, notwithstanding that my boots wereentirely worn out when I reached home. I might have been walking alongon a Brussels carpet, for all that I knew to the contrary!

My thoughts were agony:--my mind, a perfect hell; and, that dreadful_Mabel_ waltz seemed to be continually running through my brain, tinkling the death knell of all my hopes!

The tune always recurs to me, whenever my memory goes back to the nightof that miserable evening party, with all its attendant scenes andcircumstances; and, I hate it!

Two bars of it whistled now, no matter where I heard them, or in whatcompany I might chance to be, would bring me mentally face to face withmy misery again!

O Min, Min!

She never knew how I loved her, or she would never have rejected me likethis!

This was my consolation--ample, wasn't it?

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

HER LETTER. 

 Ay de mi! Un anno felice, Parece un soplo ligero: Pero sin dicha un instante, Es un siglo de tormente. 

 "--And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, though ink be made of gall!"

It was broad daylight when I got home. 

I did not go to bed; but, passed the weary morning hours in walking upand down my room, chewing the bitter cud of hopeless fancy, and in astate of excitement almost approaching to madness. 

At last, the time arrived for me to start to town to my office. 

"Hey, humph! what is the matter, Mr Lorton?"--growled old Smudge to me, as I proceeded to sign the attendance book before the fatal black linewas drawn against the late comers--"Look ill, look ill! hey? Latehours, late hours, young man, young man; dissipation, and all the restof it, hey? _I_ know how it will end--same as the rest, same as therest!"--and he chuckled to himself over some blue book in his corner, asif he had, in the most merry and unbending mood, "passed the time ofday" with singular bonhomie!

I only gave him a gruff good-morning, however. I walked listlessly tomy desk, where he presently also came, to take me to task about someaccount I had checked--so as to tone down any presumptuous feelings Imight have in consequence of his graciousness:--the "balance" was, thus, "pretty square" between us. 

I never found the office-work so tedious, my fellow-clerks so wearisome, nor the whole round of civil service life so dreadfully "flat, stale, and unprofitable, " as on that miserable day after the party!

The day seemed as if it would never come to an end. 

The wretched hours lengthened themselves out, with such indiarubber-likeelasticity, that, the interval between ten and four appeared a cycle ofcenturies!

I was longing to be free, in order to carry out a determination to whichI had come. 

I had resolved to see Mrs Clyde and plead my cause again with her; for, I had observed from Min's manner, that it was not _her_ objection to mepersonally, but, her promise to her mother which had prevented her fromlending a favourable ear to my suit. 

Four o'clock came at last--thank heaven!

I rushed out of the office; procured a hansom, with the fastest horse Iwas able to pick out in my hurry; and, set out homewards. 

I arrived within the bounds of Saint Canon's parish within the half-hour, thanks to the "pour boire" that I held out, in anticipation ofhurry, to my Jehu. 

A few minutes afterwards, I called at The Terrace. 

The ladies were both out, the servant said. 

I called again, later on. 

Still "not at home, " I was told; although, I knew they were in. I hadwatched both Min and Mrs Clyde enter the house, shortly before mysecond visit. I was evidently intentionally denied!

I went back to my own home. I spent another hour or two, walking up anddown my room in the same cheerful way in which I had passed the morning;and then--_then_, I thought I would write to Mrs Clyde. 

Yes, that would be the best course. 

I sat down and penned the most vivid sketch of my present grief, askingher to reconsider the former decision she had given against me. I wascertain, I said, that it was only through _her_ influence that Min hadrejected me; and I earnestly besought her good will. I was now in abetter position, I urged, than I had been the previous year, my incomebeing nearly doubled--thanks to Government and what I was able to reapfrom my literary lucubrations:--what more could she require? Besides, my assets would increase, at the least, by the ten pound bonus which agrateful country annually aggregates to the salary of its victims eachyear--not to speak of the fortune I might make by my "connection withthe press!" In fact, I said everything that I could, to colour my caseand get judgment recorded in my favour. 

But, my toil was all in vain!

I sent over my letter by a servant, with instructions to leave it at thedoor; while, I, waited in all the evening expecting an answer, inbreathless suspense. 

None came; but, next morning I received back my own despatch enclosed inanother envelope, unopened, unread. 

I went down to the office that day in quite a cheerful mood again, I cantell you!

How I did enjoy Brown's balderdash; the witty sallies of Smith;Robinson's repartees; Jones' jocosities!

When, after my official labours, I returned again to Saint Canon's thatevening, I made another attempt to see Mrs Clyde. 

No. The servant who answered the door, when I timidly called for thethird time at the house, told me that instructions had been given to say"not at home" always _to me_. 

Pleasant!

War had been declared:--a "guerre a outrance, " as I had anticipated;but, it was a struggle in which I was stretched on the ground at myadversary's mercy, with her vengeful blade at my heart!

I then wrote to Min. 

It was a long letter. I bewailed my hasty severance of the oldrelations between us, and asked her to have pity on my sad fate. Ipoured out all the flood of feeling which had deluged my breast since wehad parted at the party. I begged, I implored her not to desert me ather mother's bidding. 

My letter I posted, so that it should not be stopped en route, andreturned to me unread by my darling, whom I asked to write to me, ifonly one line, to tell me that she had really received my appealsafely--requesting her, also, to reply to me at my office that I mightget her answer in the soonest possible time. 

I dreamt of her subsequently, the whole night through:--it was ahorrible dream!

A third day of torture in my governmental mill. Six mortal hours moreof dreary misery; and, helpless boredom at the hands of Smith, Brown, Jones, and Robinson!

And, then, I got my reply. 

It was "only a line. " Very short, very sweet, very bitter, verypointed; and yet, I value that little letter so highly that I would notexchange it for the world! The words are stained with tear-drops that, I know, fell from loving, grey eyes; while, its sense, though painful, is sweet to me from its outspoken truthfulness:--I value it so highly, that I could not deem it more precious, if it were written on a goldentablet in characters set with diamonds--were it the longest lettermaiden ever wrote, the sweetest billet lover ever received!

 "_Frank! I cannot, I must not grant your request. Do not wring my heart by writing to me again, or speaking to me; for, I have promised, and we are not to see each other any more. I am breaking my word in writing to you now, but, oh! do not think badly of me. Indeed, indeed, I am not heartless, Frank. It has not been my fault, believe me. I shall pray for you always, always! I must not say any more_. 

 "_Minnie Clyde_. "

That was all the little note contained; but, it was quite enough. 

Was it not?

When I had read it and read it, over and over again, I was almost besidemyself, --with a grief that was mixed up with feelings of intense angerand rage against her whom I looked upon as the author of my sufferings--Mrs Clyde. 

Min had been again sent down to the country, the very day on which Ireceived her heart-breaking letter. This I heard from my old friend, dear little Miss Pimpernell, who tried vainly to console me. Sheendeavoured to make me believe that "all would come right in the end, "as she had prophesied before; but, I refused to be comforted. I couldnot share her faith. I would not be sanguine any more; no, never anymore!

I saw Mrs Clyde at church the very next Sunday. I went there in thehope that my darling might have returned, and that I would see her--notfrom any religious feeling. 

There was only her mother there, however. 

I waited to accost her at the church door after the service was over. 

"Oh, Mrs Clyde, " I said, "do not be my enemy!"

But, she took no notice of me:--she cut me dead. 

I was convinced that all was lost now. 

It was of no use my longer attempting to fight against fate:--I gave uphope completely;--and then--and then--

I went to the devil!

Rochefoucauld says in his pointed "Maxims" that--

 "There is nothing so catching as example; nor is there ever great good or ill done that does not produce its like. We imitate good actions through emulation, and bad ones through the malignity of our nature, which shame restrains and example emancipates. "

That was my case now. 

I suppose I had had it in me all along--the "black drop, " as the Irishpeasants call it, of evil; and, that shame had hitherto prevented mefrom plunging into the whirlpool of sinful indulgence that now drew me, a willing victim, down into its yawning gulf of ruin and degradation. That bar removed, however, I made rapid progress towards the beckoningdevil, who was waiting to receive me with open arms. I hastened alongthat path, "where, "--as Byron has described from his own painfulexperience--

 "--In a moment, we may plunge our years In fatal penitence, and in the blight Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come with hues of night!"

I declare to you, that when I look back on this period of my life--life!death, rather I should say, for it was a moral death--I am quite unableto comprehend the motives that led me to take such a course. My eyeswere not blinded. I must have seen that each stride placed me furtherand further away from my darling, erecting a fresh obstacle between us;still, some irresistible impulse appeared to hurry me on--although, Icould not but have known how vain it would be for me to recover my lostfootsteps: how hard a matter to change my direction, and look upwards tolight and happiness once more! Glancing back at this period--as I donow with horror--I cannot understand myself, I say. 

I went from bad to worse, plunging deeper and deeper into everywickedness that Satan could suggest, or flesh hanker after--until Iseemed to lose all sense of shame and self-reproach. 

My connection with officialdom was soon terminated. 

I got later and later in my attendance; so that, old Smudge's predictionwas shortly fulfilled, for, I became no better than the rest, in respectof early hours. 

One day the chief spoke to me on the subject, and I answered himunguardedly. 

I was not thinking of him at the time, to tell the truth; and when hesaid, "Mr Lorton, late again, late again! This won't do, you know, won't do!" I quite forgot myself; and, in speaking to him, called himby the nickname under which he was known to us, instead of by his properappellation. 

"Very sorry, Smudge, " said I, "very sorry; won't be so again, I promiseyou, sir!"

He nearly got a fit, I assure you; while, all the other fellows weresplitting with laughter at my slip!

"Mr Lorton, I will report you, sir!" was all he said to me directly;but, as he shuffled off to his desk, with the attendance book recordingmy misdeeds under his arm and his face purple with passion, we all couldhear him muttering pretty loudly to himself. "Smudge! Smudge!"--he wasrepeating;--"I'll Smudge him, the impudent rascal! I wonder what thedooce he meant by it! What the dooce did he mean by it?--mean by it?"

I begged his pardon off-hand, immediately, of course, although I wouldnot give him the written apology he peremptorily demanded. 

Do you know, I did not like to deprive him of the extreme pleasure itwould give him to submit his case against me--in clerkly, cut-and-driedstatement--to the chief commissioner, under-secretary, first lord, orwhoever else occupied the lofty pedestal of "the board, " that controlledthe occasionally-peculiar proceedings of the Obstructor General'sDepartment. 

I knew with what intense relish he would expatiate on the wrong which"the service" had sustained in his person at my hands--the "frightfulexample" I presented, of insubordination and defiance to constitutionalauthority; and how, he would draw up the most elaborate document, detailing all this, in flowing but strictly official language, oncarefully-folded, quarter-margined foolscap, of the regular, authoriseddimensions!

What a pity, I thought, it would be to interfere with such neatarrangements by submitting to a _Nolle Prosequi_--as I would have done, had I tendered the recantation of my error that he insisted on!

At the same time, however, I checkmated his triumph, by forwarding tothe people in high places the resignation of that position as a clerk ofthe tertiary formation, which I had, been nominated to, examined inrespect of, and competed for, under the auspices of Her Majesty's PoliteLetter Writer Commissioners; and which I had been duly appointed to--allin proper official sequence--but one short year before, plus a fewadditional months, which were of no great consequence to any one. 

My withdrawal left, at any rate, one place vacant for some member ofParliament's constituent's son, who would, probably, be much more worthyin every way for the honours and duties of the situation--which, really, I do not think I ever estimated at their proper value!

This was some satisfaction to me, I assure you; and, combined with thesum of one hundred and ten pounds sterling--less income-tax on one-fourth part of the said amount, or thereabouts: I like to be correct--was all the benefit I ever received from my connection with"Government. "

My year's probation was, I may say without any great exaggeration, thrown away; for, the knowledge I gained was not of a character toadvance my interests in any other walk in life, professional ormercantile. Still, I bear no malice to officialdom, if officialdomcares to obtain my assurance to that effect. The few words--farbetween, too--which I have dropped to you, anent the combination of theill-used servants of the country in opposition to their grievances, havebeen more intended to redress the wrongs of those hard-worked, poor-paidsufferers in question, than meant as a covert attack on the nobleauthorities of the great, lumbering institution they belong to--thespokes of whose broadly-tired wheels they may be said to form. 

For my part, I adore governmental departments, looking on all of themwith a wide admiration that is tempered with wholesome awe; and, believing them to be so many concentrations of virtue and merit, whichare none the less real because they are imperceptible. 

The giving up of my appointment was the finish of my mad career. 

I awoke now to a consciousness of all my foolishness and wickedness; therevelation of the misery, present and future alike, which my conduct hadprepared for me, coming to mind, with a sudden, sharp stroke of painfuldistinctness that prostrated me into an abyss of self-torture andrepentance. 

Ah! There is no use in repining, unless one mends matters by deeds, notwords. Repentance is worth little if it be not followed up byreformation. But, how many of us rush madly, headlong to destruction, without a thought of what they are doing; never mindful of their course, till that dreadful refrain, "Too late!" rings in their ears. 

As the poetical author of the ode to the "Plump Head Waiter at TheCock, " has philosophically sung, --and, as many a weather-beaten suffererhas cruelly proven, --

 "So fares it since the years began, Till they be gather'd up; The truth, that flies the flowing can, Will haunt the empty cup: And others' follies teach us not, Nor much their wisdom teaches; And most, of sterling worth, is what Our own experience preaches!"

I remembered now having come across a passage in Massillon's _PetitCareme_, some two or three years before, during a varied course ofFrench reading at the library of the British Museum, --an old haunt ofmine long previously to my ever knowing Min; and this passage occurredto me in my present condition, expressing a want I had long felt, andwhich I was now all the more bitterly conscious of. It is in one of thesermons which the seventeenth century divine probably preached in thepresence of the Grand Monarque. It is entitled "Sur la Destinee del'Homme;" and might, for its practical point and thorough insightednessinto human nature, be expounded to-morrow by any of our large-hearted, Broad Church ministers. In its truth, I'm sure, it is catholic enoughto suit any creed:--

 "Si tout doit finir avec nous, si l'homme ne doit rien attendre apres cette vie, et que ce soit ici notre patrie, notre origine, et la seul felicite que nous pouvons nous promettre, pourquoi n'y sommes-nous pas heureux? Si nous ne naissons que pour les plaisirs des sens, pourquoi ne peuvent-ils nous satisfaire, et laissent-ils toujours un fond d'ennui et de tristesse dans notre coeur? Si l'homme n'a rien au- dessus de la bete, que ne coule-t-il ses jours comme elle, sans souci, sans inquietude, sans degout, sans tristesse, dans la felicite des sens et de la chair?"

Because he can not!

The pleasures of life, however varied, and grateful though they may beat the time, soon wither on the palate; and then, when we appreciate atlast the knowledge of their dust and ashes, their Dead Sea-appleconstituency, we _must_ turn to something better, something higher--thejoys of which are more lasting and whose flavour proceeds from some lessevanescent substance. 

Such were my reflections now; and, in my abasement and craving for "theone good thing, " I thought of the kind vicar. 

During all the time of my rioting and sin, I had never been near eitherhim or Miss Pimpernell. I would not have profaned the sanctuary oftheir dwelling with my presence!

Both had tried to see me--in vain; for, I had separated myself entirelyfrom all my former friends and acquaintances, burying the earlyassociations of my previous life in the slough of the Bohemian-boon-companionship, into which I had thrown myself in London. 

The kind vicar had written to me a long, earnest, touching letter, whichdid not reproach me in the least but invited me to confide in him all mytroubles; and, the dear old lady, also, had sent me many an appeal thatshe might be allowed to cheer me. But, I had not taken notice of theirpleadings, persevering still in evil and shutting my ears to friendlycounsels--as I likewise did to the voice of reason speaking in my innerheart. 

Now, however, in my misery, I bethought me of these friends. I wentshame-faced and mentally-naked, like the prodigal son, once more to thevicarage. 

And how did they receive me?

With the pharisaical philosophy of Miss Spight's school, looking on meas a "goat, " with whom they had nothing to do:--"a lost soul, " withoutthe pale of their pity and almost below the par of their contempt?

Not so!

Dear little Miss Pimpernell got up from her arm-chair in the corner, andkissed me--the first time she had done such a thing since I was a littlefellow and had sat upon her knee; while, the vicar shook me as cordiallyby the hand as he had ever done. 

"Dear Frank!" exclaimed the former. "Here you are at last. I thoughtyou were never coming to us again!"

That was all the allusion _she_ made to the past. 

"My boy, " said the vicar, "I am glad to see you. "

That was all _he_ said; but, his speech was not mere empty verbiage. Hemeant it!

I shall not tell you how they both talked to me: so tenderly, so kindly. It would not interest you. It only concerned myself. 

By-and-by, after a long interview, in which I laid all my troublesbefore these comforters, the vicar asked me what I thought of doing. 

"I shall go away, "--I said. --"I have exhausted London. --`I have livedand loved, ' as Theckla says; and there is no hope of my getting on here!I would think that everybody would recall my past life, whenever theysaw me, and throw it all back in my teeth. "

"But, you can live all that down, my boy, " said the vicar. --"The worldis not half so censorious as you think now, in your awakening; and, remember, Frank, what Shakspeare says, `There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true!'"

"Besides, " I went on, --"I want change of scene. All these old placeswould recall the past. I could never be happy here again. "

"Well, well, my boy!" he answered sadly. "But, we shall be sorry tolose you, Frank, all the same, although it may be for your good. "

I had thought of America already, and told him that I intended goingthere. Not from any wide-seated admiration of the Great Republic andits citizens; but, from its being a place within easy reach--where Imight separate myself entirely from all that would recall home thoughtsand home associations:--so I then believed. 

"I shall go there, " I said, bitterly. --"At all events, I shall beunknown; and, can bury myself and my misery--a fitting end to a badlife!"

"My boy, my boy!"--said the vicar, with emotion. --"It grieves me to theheart to hear you speak so. Know, that repentance brings us always oncemore beneath the shelter of divine love! You will think of this by-and-by, Frank:--you may carve out a new life for yourself in the new world, and return to us successful. Be comforted, my boy! Do not forgetDavid's spirit-stirring words of promise, --`They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy; and he that now goeth on his way weeping, and bearethforth good seed, shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring hissheaves with him!'"

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

"GOOD-BYE!"

 So, upon the verge of sorrow Stood we blindly hand in hand, Whispering of a happy morrow In the undiscovered land!

The world is not half so bad a place as some discontented people makeout. 

Our fellow-mortals are not _always_ striving after their own interests, to the neglect of their duty towards their neighbour:--the mass ofhumanity not entirely selfish at heart--no, nor yet the larger portionof it, by a good way!

Of course, there are some ill-natured people. Blisters, are these;moral cataplasms imposed on us, probably, to produce that very feelingwe admire, acting as they do by contrast--one of the most vivifyingprinciples of mental action. 

But, when we come to calculate their percentage, how very few they arein comparison with the better-disposed numbers of God's creatures thatlive and breathe, and sicken and die in our midst, and whose kindlyministrations on behalf of their suffering brethren and sisters aroundthem, remain generally unknown, until they are far beyond any praisethat the world can give. 

Yes, humanity is not so debased, but that its good points still excelits bad! Just as you see but one real miser in a fixed proportion ofmen; so, are there, I believe, quite as small a representative set ofabsolutely heartless persons. I am certain that the "good Samaritans"outvie the "Levites" in our daily existence--opposed, though my theorymay be, to the ruling of the old doggerel, which cautions us that--

 "'Tis a very good world to live in, To spend and to lend, and to give in; But, To beg, or to borrow, and to get a man's own, 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known!"

Look at my present case, for instance. Of course, personal instancesare, as a general rule, wrong; but, one cannot very well argue withoutthem--especially when telling a story, and when they come up soopportunely in front of one's nose, so to speak. 

No sooner was it generally known in Saint Canon's that I was going away, than I met with offers of sympathy and assistance from many that I didnot expect. I did not require their aid, yet, the proffer of it couldnot help being grateful to one's feelings, all the same. 

There was Horner now. You know that I was always in the habit of"chaffing" him, taking a malicious pleasure in so doing, from the reasonthat he could not "chaff" me back again in return. Well, you wouldn'thave supposed that he bore me any great love or friendship, or feltkindly disposed towards me? But, he did!

About a week after I left the Obstructor General's Office, he came tome--I assure you, much to my astonishment--offering me his assistance. 

"Bai-ey _Je-ove_! Lorton, " said he, "sawy to he-ah you have left us, you know--ah. Thawght you might be in a hole, you know--ah? And, Bai-ey Je-ove! I say, old fellah, "--he added, almost dropping his drawl inhis earnestness, --"if I can help you in any way at all--ah, I shouldweally be vewy glad--ah!"

The "us, " whom I had "left--ah, " referred, of course, to officialdom;but, it was kind, wasn't it?

There was old Shuffler, too. 

"You ain't a goin' to Amerikey, sir, is you?" he asked me just before mydeparture, meeting me in the street. 

"Yes, I am, Shuffler, " I replied, "and pretty soon, too!"

"Lor! Mister Lorton; but I'm right loth to 'ear it! I've got a brothermyself over in Amerikey; s'pose now, sir, I was to give you a letter to'im? It might, you know, some'ow or hother, be o' service, hay?"

"America is a large place, Shuffler, " I answered. --"Whereabouts is heover there, eh?"

"Well, sir, " said he, "I don't 'zackly knows were 'e his; but I dessayyou'll come across him, sir. I'll give you the letter, at hany rate;"--and he did too, although I combated his resolution. I need hardly addthat I never met the said "brother in Amerikey" of his; so, that it wasof no use to me, as I told him--although, it was a considerate action onShuffler's part!

Lady Dasher, also, did not forget me. 

Believing that the last of the Mohicans still lived, and that thecontinent of the setting sun resembled Hounslow Heath in the oldhighwaymen's days, she presented to me--a blunderbuss!

It was one with which her "poor dear papa" had been in the habit offrightening obstreperous White Boys, who might assail the sacredpremises of Ballybrogue Castle--the ancestral seat of the Earls ofPlanetree in sportive Tipperary, as I believe I've told you before. Theweapon, she informed me, was a most efficient one, having once beenknown--when missing the advocate of "young Ireland" it was aimed at--todemolish a whole litter of those little gentlemen with curly tails whoassist, in conjunction with the "praties, " in "paying the rint" of thetrusting natives of the Emerald Isle; consequently, its destructivepowers were beyond question, and it might really, she thought, be of theutmost utility to me on the western prairies, where, she believed, I wasgoing to "camp out" for ever!

My lady gave me, in addition, a piece of advice, which she implored mealways to bear in mind throughout my life--as she had invariably done--and that was, that, "Though I might unfortunately be poor, never toforget being proud":--it was the pass-word to her morbid system. 

And the vicar, and dear little Miss Pimpernell, and Monsieur Paroled'Honneur--how can I speak of all their kindness--evinced in many, manyways--ere I left the old parish and its whilom associations behind me?

Little Miss Pimpernell worked a supply of knitted socks, "comforters, "and muffetees, sufficient to last me for a three years' cruise in thePolar circle in search of the north-west passage. The vicar gave meletters of introduction to some American friends of his, who received meafterwards most kindly in virtue of his credentials--he wanted to domuch more for me, but I would not allow him; and as for Monsieur, he_would_ not be denied, in spite of my telling him, over and over again, that I had no need of temporal assistance. 

"Ah! but yes!" he said to me, in a parting visit he paid me the nightbefore I started. "You cannote deceives me, my youngish friends!Lamartine was un republicain, he?--Bien, he go un voyage en Orient; you, my dears Meestaire Lorton, are going to walk on a voyage en Ouest--datis vraisemble. Ha! ha! Ze one visite the Arabes of ze old world, zeoders ze Arabes of ze nouvelle; and, --bote requires ze money, zel'argent, ze cash. Ha! ha! Non, my youngish friends, you cannotedeceives me!"

"But, I assure you, Monsieur Parole, " I replied. "I really haveplenty--much more, indeed, than I absolutely require. "

"Ah! but yes! My dears, you _moost_ take him to obliges me. I havegote here a leetle somme I doos note want. If you takes him note, Ipeetch him avays--peetch him avays, vraiment!"

And he handed me a little roll of banknotes, which I subsequently foundto contain a hundred pounds. 

It was, as I say, of no use my trying to get him to take them back; hewould have no denial:--he absolutely got offended with me when Ipersisted in my refusal. 

"Non!" he said. "When you come back a reech mans, you can pays me back;but, note till den! Non, Monsieur Lorton! I believes you considers mea friend. You offend me if you refuse! Take hims for ze memory denotre amitie!"

What could I do? I had to take the money after that. 

The only _great_ thing that grieved me at parting was the thought that Icould not see Min, to have one parting word; but, even that favour wasafforded me:--God was very good to me!

I had gone to the vicarage to say a last good-bye to the dear friendsthere. I was ushered into Miss Pimpernell's parlour; but _she_ was notthere. Somebody else was, though; for, who should get up from the dearold lady's seat in the fireside corner--where she always sat, winter andsummer alike--but, my darling!

The surprise was almost too much for me, it was so unexpected. Ithought it was her ghost at first. 

"Min!" I exclaimed. 

"Oh, Frank!"--she said, coming forwards eagerly--"and could you have theheart to go away without my seeing you again?"

I drew back. 

"Min, "--said I, --"do not come near me! You do not know what hasoccurred; how I have sinned; how unworthy I am even to speak to you!"

She would not be denied, however. She came nearer me, and took my hand. "But, you have repented, Frank, "--she said--"have you not?"

"Oh, my darling!"--I said, --"I _have_ repented; but that will not bringback the past. I can never hope to be forgiven, I know. I ought not tospeak to you even!"

"Ah, Frank!"--she replied, looking up into my face with her dear greyeyes, which I had thought I would never look upon again. --"Don't youremember that sermon the vicar preached last year, when we were inchurch together? and, don't you remember the words of his text, howassuring they ought to be to us?--`Though your sins be as scarlet, theyshall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shallbe as wool!'"

We were both silent. 

Presently, as we sat side by side, Min spoke to me again. 

"You will not forget me, Frank, will you?" she asked. 

"That is very likely!" I said, laughing in my heart at the idea. 

"And you will be good, Frank, will you not?"

"My darling, " I said, "with God's grace I shall never from henceforth beunworthy of your trust in me, either in thought, in word, or, in deed. "

"But America is _so_ far off!" she said again after a bit, with a tenderlittle sigh. 

"Not so _very_ far, "--I replied, --"and, though my body may be a fewmiles distant from you--for it _is_ only a few miles over the sea--youmay know that my heart will always be with you. I shall be everthinking of the time when I can come back and claim you as my owndarling little wife!"

"But I can make no promise, you know, Frank!"--she said. 

"Never mind that, darling!"--I replied. --"I am sanguine enough tobelieve you will not change towards me if I deserve you by my life; and_I_ shall never marry anyone else, I know!"

"It is so hard, too, our not being able to write to each other! I willnever be able to know what you are doing!" she said, again. 

"Ah, yes, you will!" said I, to encourage her. 

As she became despondent, I got sanguine; although, a tear in the softgrey eyes would have unmanned me at once. 

"Miss Pimpernell is going to write to me, you know, "--I continued, --"andI to her; so you will be made acquainted with all I do and, even, think. I will write fully to the dear old lady, I promise you!"

She gave me a little Bible and Prayer-book, before we separated, inwhich she had written my name; and, told me that she would pray everynight for me, that I might know that her prayers joined mine, and thatboth, together, would go up before the Master's throne--notwithstandingthat the Atlantic might roll between us. 

She also gave me a likeness of herself, which was of more solace to meafterwards than I can tell. 

A little, simple photograph it was, that has lain before my eyes athousand times--in hope, in sadness, in sickness, in disappointment;and, that has always cheered me and encouraged me in some of the darkestmoments of my life, ever bringing back to my mind the darling words ofthe giver. 

And then, we parted. 

One sobbing sigh, that expressed a world of emotion. One frenzied claspof her to my heart, as if I could never let her go; and, our "Good-bye"was spoken, accomplished:--a good-bye whose recollection was to last!until I returned to claim her, receiving the welcome that her darlingrosebud lips would gladly utter; and watching, the while, the unspokendelight that would then, I know, dance from the loving, soul-lit, truth-telling, grey eyes!

CHAPTER NINE. 

ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. 

 O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire and behold our home!

 "Sir, " said the Honourable Mister Pigeonbarley of Missouri, "we _air_ a peculiar people. Jes so!"

Have you never noticed how, when travelling on a long journey, thewheels of the railway carriage in which you are sitting seem always tobe rattling out some carefully studied tune, to which the jolts of thevehicle beat a concerted bass; while, the slackening of the couplingchains, in combination with the concussion of the buffers as they hitchup suddenly again, sounds a regular obbligato accompaniment--the screamof the steam whistle, and the thundering whish and whirr of the trainthrough a deep cutting or tunnel, or over a bridge with water below, coming in occasionally as a sort of symphony to the main air?

Have you never noticed this?

No? Bless me, what a _very_ unimaginative person you are! I have, frequently; and yet, I do not think I am any brighter than the ordinaryrun of people. 

Drawn some odd thousands of miles by the iron horse, as it has been myfortune to be during different periods of my life, I have seldom failedto associate his progress thus with those lesser Melpomenean nymphs, whomay be selected to watch over the destinies of the steam god and fill uptheir leisure hours by "riding on a rail, " in the favourite fashion ofthe South Carolinian darkeys. 

Of course the carriage wheels do not perpetually sing the same song:--that would be monotonous. 

They know better than that, I can assure you. Sometimes they rattle outthe maddest of mad waltzes--such as that which the imprudent Germanyoung lady, living near the Harz Mountains, found herself dancing oneday against her will, when she had given expression to the very improperstatement, that, she would "take the devil for a partner, " if he onlywould put in an appearance at the gay and festive scene at which she wasthen present. Sometimes, again, they will evolve, note by note, thedreariest air that the composer of the Dead March in _Saul_ could havedevised; or, croon you out a soothing lullaby, should you feel sleepy, to which the charming melody of "The Cradle Song" would bear nocomparison. In fact, the nymphs know their work well; and so altertheir strains as to suit every mood and humour of the variously-temperedtravellers that listen to their musical cadences. 

As I proceeded now on my way to Southampton, where I was to take theocean steamer for my passage to America, the railway nymphs were busywith their harmonies. 

Not sad or dispiriting by any means, but briskly enlivening was theirlay. 

They seemed to me to sing--

 "You're off on your travels! Off on your travels, To fame and fortune in another land! To wait and work, Frank! Wait and work, Frank! Ere you gain your own Min's hand!"

And, perhaps, it was from the recollection of Monsieur Paroled'Honneur's kindness, and from my having been in company with him thatwinter in Paris, where I had heard that opera of Offenbach's for thefirst time, but the tune of the carriage wheels was strangely like the"Pars pour Crete" chorus in the second act of _La Belle Helene_--where, if you remember, the unfortunate Menelaus is hustled off the stage, incompany with his portly umbrella and other belongings, in order to makeroom for the advent of Paris, the "gay deceiver, " the successfulintriguant!

Although my thoughts were wrapped up in memories of Min and her parting, hopeful words, and my inner eyes still saw her standing at the window, waving her handkerchief to me in mute adieu, my outward vision waskeenly watchful of each landpoint the train hurried by. 

I remember every incident on the way. 

Not a thing escaped me. 

The outlook for baggage at Waterloo; the feeing of the obsequious porterexpectant of a douceur; the mistake I made in getting my ticket whichhad to be rectified at the last moment; the confused ringing of bellsand clattering of trucks up and down the platform; the slamming of doorsand hurrying of feet to and fro:--then, the sudden pause in all thesesounds; the shrill whistle, betokening all was ready; the converting ofall the employes into animated sign-posts, that waved their arms wildly;the grunt and wheeze from the engine, as if from a giant in pain; thesharp jerk, and then the steady pull at the carriage in which I wassitting; the "pant, pant! puff, puff!" of the iron horse, as he buckledto his work with a will; and then, finally, the preliminary oscillationof the ponderous train, the trembling and rumbling of creaking wheelsalong the rails--as we glided and bumped, slowly but steadily, out ofthe terminus--the distance signal showing "all clear" to us, andblocking the up line with the red semaphore of "danger. "

Past Vauxhall, once famed for its revelry--conspicuous, now, only forits picturesque expanse of candle-factory roofs and the dead boardingthat is displayed skirting the railway:--Clapham, villa-studded and withgardens laid out in bird's-eye perspective:--Surbiton, dainty in itspretty little road-side station, all garnished with roses and shell-walks:--Farnborough, where a large proportion of our passengers, ofmilitary proclivities, alight en route for Aldershot, and celebrated ofyore for the "grand international" contest with fisticuffs between aBritish Sayers and a Transatlantic Heenan:--Basingstoke, the great ugly"junction" of many twisted rails and curiously-intricate stacks ofchimneys; until, at length, Southampton was reached--a town smelling ofdocks and coal-tar, and dismal in the evening gloom. 

Not a feature of the landscape on my way down was lost to me; although, as I've said, I was thinking of Min all the time the train was speedingon. 

I was wondering within myself, in a duplicate system of thought, when Iwould see the scene again, in all its variations, as I saw it clearly, now; and whether the green meadows, and fir-summited hills, and shiningwater-courses that wandered through and around them--nay, whether thevery telegraph posts and wires, and the country stations we rattled pastso quickly and unceremoniously, as if they were not worth stopping for--would look the same on my coming back to England and my darling oncemore!

But, I was not sad or down-hearted. 

Her last words had rendered me almost as hopeful as she professed to be;so, in spite of my great grief at our parting, a grief which was toodeep for words, I was endeavouring more to look forward sanguinely tothe future than dwell on all our past unhappiness--which I tried to putaway from me as a bad dream. 

I was only musing, that's all. 

It is impossible to keep one's mind idle, you know; for, even whenengaged in an abstract contemplation of the most engrossing theme, thefancy _will_ stray off into by-paths that lead to strangely dissimilarideas and very disconnected associations. 

As the German steamer in which I was going to New York did not startuntil next day, I put up for the night at Radley's--that haven of shore-comfort to the Red-Sea-roasted, Biscay-tossed, sea-sickened Indianwarriors returning home by the P and O vessels--where, you may be sure, I met with every attention that my constitution required in the way ofrest and refreshment; and, at midday on the morrow, embarking on boardthe stately _Herzog von Gottingen_, I passed through the Needles, outward-bound across the Atlantic to the "New World" of promise!

Ocean voyages are so common now-a-days that they are not worthmentioning. 

Mine was no exception to the rule; the only noticeable point that Iobserved being the rare courageous temperament of the Teutonic ladies, and the undaunted spirit they displayed in "fighting their battles o'eragain" at the saloon table, in despite of the insidious attacks ofNeptune. No matter how frequently the fell malady of the sea shouldassail them--at breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or at any of the otherand many meals which the ship's caterer thought necessary to our diurnalwants--these delicate fair ones would "never say die, " on having to beata precipitate retreat to their cabins. They would return again, Iassure you, in a few minutes, to resume the repast which had beentemporarily interrupted; smiling as if nothing had happened, andshowing, too, that nothing _had_ happened, to seriously interfere withtheir deglutinal faculties!

This was not my first voyage--I did not tell you so before?

Well, suppose I did not; don't you remember my saying that I was notaware of being under any obligation to you which would make me regardyou as the receptor of _all_ my secrets?

This was not my first voyage, I say; consequently, ship-board life wasno novelty to me--nor the Atlantic Ocean, either, for that matter. Iwas used to the one, I had seen the other previously. I was as much athome to both, in fact, as I had been in the vicarage parlour standingbeside dear little Miss Pimpernell's old arm-chair in the chimneycorner!

I love the sea, in rest or unrest. 

It is never monotonous to me, as some find it; for I think it ever-changing, ever new. I love it always--under every aspect of itskaleidoscopic face. 

When, bright with mellow sunshine, it reflects the intense blue of theocean sky above, with a brisk breeze topping its many-furrowed waves--that are racing by and leaping over each other like a parcel ofschoolboys at play--and cutting off sheets and sparkling showers of theprismatic foam that exhibits every tint of the rainbow--azure andorange, violet, light-green, and pale luminous white, --scatters itbroadcast into the air around; whence it falls into yeasty hollows, asort of feathery snow of a fairy texture, just suited for the bridalveils of the Nereides--only to be churned over again and tossed up anewby the wanton wind in its frolicsome mirth. 

Or, when, in a dead calm, it appears to lie sleeping, heaving its tumidbosom in occasional long-drawn sighs--that make it rise and sink inrounded ridges of an oily look and a leadeny tinge, except at theequator, where they shine at midday like a burnished mirror. 

Or, again, when storm-tossed and tempest-weary, it rages and raves withall its pent-up fury broken loose--goaded to frenzy by the howlinglashes of Aeolus and the roar of the storm-fiend. Then it is grand andawful in its majesty; and when I see it so it makes me mad with atriumphant sense of power in overriding it--as it boils beneath thevessel's keel, longing to overwhelm it and me, yet impotent of evil!

Whether in calm or in storm--at dawn of day, with the rosy flush of therising sun blushing the horizon up to the zenith, or at night, with thetwinkling stars shining down into its sombre depths and the recurringflashes of sheet lightning lighting up its immensity, which seems vasteras the darkness grows--it is to me always attractive, ever lovable. 

In its bright buoyancy it exhilarates me; in its calm, it causes me todream; and, in its wild moods, when heaven and sea appear to meettogether in wrestling embrace, I can--if joyous at the time--almostshout aloud in ecstasy of admiring awe and kindred riot of mind; while, should I feel sad during the carnival of the elements, I get reflective, and--

 "As I watch the ocean In pitiless commotion, Like the thoughts, now surging wildly through my storm-tost breast, The snow-capt, heaving billows Seem to me as lace-fring'd pillows Of the deep Deep's bed of rest!"

Did you ever chance to read Chateaubriand's _Genie du Christianisme_?

It is a queer book for a Frenchman to have written, but abounding inbeautiful description and startling bits of observation. I remember, one evening on the passage out, when it was very rough, having aparticular sentence of this work especially called to my mind. It wasthat in which the author discourses on the Deity, and says, --

 "I do not profess to be anything myself; I am only a solitary unit. But I have often heard learned men disputing about a chief originator, or prime cause, and I have never been able to comprehend their arguments; for I have always noticed that it is at the sight of the stupendous movements of nature that the idea of this unknown supreme `origin' becomes manifested to the mind of man. "

This sentence was the more impressed on my memory, from the fact, that, on the very same evening, while reading the appointed portion of thePsalms out of the little Prayer-book which Min had given me--a duty thatI had promised her to perform regularly every day--I came across averse, which, in different language, expressed almost the very samething. It was the one wherein David exclaims, "They that go down to thesea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters, these men seethe works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep!"

Our voyage was uneventful, beyond this one instance of rough weather--when, throughout the night, as the steamer pitched and heaved, rollingand labouring, as if her last hour was come, the screw propeller workedround with a heavy thudding sound, as if some Cyclops were pounding awayunder my bunk with a broomstick to rouse me up, my cabin being just overthe screw shaft. It went for awhile "thump:--thump! thump, thump, thump! Thump:--thump! Thump, thump, thump!" with even regularity; andthen would suddenly break off this movement, whizzing away at a greatrate, as the "send" of the sea lifted the blades out of the water, buzzing furiously the while like some marine alarum clock running down, or the mainspring of your watch breaking!

In the morning, however, only the swelling waves--that were rapidlysubsiding--remained to remind us of the gale; and, from that date, wehad fine weather and a good wind "a-beam, " until we finally sightedSandy Hook lightship at the foot of New York Bay. 

We did this in exactly ten days from the time of our "departure point"being taken, off the Needles. --Rather a fair run on the whole, when youconsider that we lost fully a day by the storm, compelling us as it did, not only to slacken speed, but also to reverse our course, in order tokeep the vessel's head to the sea, and prevent her being pooped by somegigantic following wave--as might have been the case if we had kept onbefore it, as the unfortunate _London_ did, a short period before. 

My first impressions of "the Empire city, " as the proud Manhattanesefondly style it, were, certainly, not favourable; rather the contrary, Imay say at once, without any "beating about the bush. "

You see, I landed on a Sunday. It was likewise wet--a nasty, drizzling, misty morning, fit to give you the blues with its many disagreeables andmake you bless Mackintosh, while cursing Pleiads. Now, either of thesetwo conditions--I do not refer to the act of benediction or its reverse, but to the fact of its being Sunday and wet--would have been sufficientto detract from the attractive merits of any English town; how muchmore, therefore, from those possessed by the great cosmopolitanmetropolis of Transatlantica? This city is in bad weather a hundred-fold more desolate than London, in an aesthetic sense, and that issaying a good deal; and, on a Sunday, through the absence of anySabbatarian influences and the working of teetotal tastes, it is moreoutwardly dull and inwardly vicious than any spot north of Tweed--Glasgow, for example, where the name of the illustrious Forbes Mackenzieis venerated!

To commence with, during the early morning we had warped into dock atHoboken, the Rotherhithe--and, in some respects, Rosherville--of NewYork, being situated on the opposite side of the river; and here, the_Herzog von Gottingen_ lay, with her bowsprit jammed into a coal shedand her decks, aforetime so white and clean, all bespattered with dirt, and encumbered with hawsers and cables. These latter coiling anduncoiling themselves here, there, and everywhere, like so many writhingsea-serpents, and, tripping you up suddenly just when you believed youhad discovered a clear space on which you might stand withoutimperilling your valuable life. 

Besides, the crew were engaged in getting up luggage from the lower holdby the aid of a donkey engine, which made a great deal of clatteringfuss over doing a minimum amount of work--in which respect it resembleda good many people of my acquaintance, by the way. It was not pleasantto have the iron-bound cover of a heavy chest poked into the small ofone's back without leave or licence, and the entire article beingsubsequently deposited on one's toes! No, it was not. And, to makematters worse, the escape steam, puffing off in volumes from the wastepipe in a hollow roar of relief at being no longer compelled to earn itsliving, was condensing an additional shower for our benefit--that wasnot more agreeable, in consequence of being warm--as if the drizzlingrain that was falling was not deemed sufficient for wetting purposes!

After settling matters with the Custom House, and crossing the ferryfrom Hoboken, myself and all my goods packed in a hackney carriage hungon very high springs--like the old "glass coaches" that were used inLondon during the early part of the century, although, unlike them, drawn by a pair of remarkably fine horses--my drive through the backslums of New York to one of the Broadway hotels was not of a nature todispel my vapours. 

The lower parts of the town, adjacent to the Hudson, are about asodoriferous and architecturally beautiful as a sixth-rate seaport in"the old country. " While, as for Broadway itself--that much be-praised-boulevard--Broadway, the "great, " the "much pumpkins, I guess"--to seewhich, I had been told by enthusiastic Americans, was to behold the verythirteenth wonder of the world!--Well, the less I say about it, perhapsthe better!

If you are still inquisitive, however, and would kindly imagine whatyour feelings would be on beholding Upper Oxford Street on a Novemberday--with a few draggling flags hung across it, one or two "blocks" ofbrown-stone buildings interspersed between its rows of uneven shops, anda lofty-spired church, like Saint Margaret's, jutting out into theroadway by the Marble Arch--you will have a general idea of myimpressions when first looking at the magnificent thoroughfare that ourcousins love. 

It has evidently secured its reputation, from being the only decentstreet in New York--just as Sackville Street in Dublin is "a foine placeentirely, " on account of its being the only one of any respectablelength or width in the city on the Liffey--if you will kindly permit thecomparison for a moment?

I was disappointed, I confess. 

Ever since boyhood I had pictured America, and everything belonging toit, from Fennimore Cooper's standpoint. I thought I was going to a spotquite different from any locality I had previously been accustomed to;and, lo! New York was altogether commonplace. Nothing original, nothing tropical, nothing "New World"-like about it. It was only anordinary town of the same stamp as many I have noticed on this side ofthe water--a European city in a slop suit--"Yankee" all over in _that_way!

In regard to its extent, which I had been led to believe was quite equalto, if not surpassing, our metropolis, I found that I could walk fromone side of it to the other in half an hour; and traverse its length intwice that time--the entire island on which it is built being only ninemiles long. "Why, " thought I, when I had arrived at this knowledge, "some of our suburbs could beat that!"

When bright days came, Broadway undoubtedly looked a little better--Barnum's streamers, "up town, " floating out bravely over the heads ofthe "stage" drivers--but I was never able to overcome my firstimpressions of it and New York generally; and, to make an end of thematter, I may say now, that the longer I stayed in the "land of thesettin' sun, " north, south, east, and west--I had experience of all--theless I saw to like in it. 

The country and the scenery are well enough; but the people!

Ah! if the Right Honourable John Bright and other ardent admirers ofeverything connected with the "great Republic" on the other side of theocean, would but go over, as I did, and study it honestly from everypoint of view for three years, say, they _must_ come to a differentopinion about the nation which they are so constantly eulogising at theexpense of their own!

Don't let them merely run over to see it in gala trim, however, and haveits workings explained only to them through a transatlantic section ofthe same clique of which they are members at home; but let them go in aprivate capacity and see things for themselves, mixing amongst allclasses of the American community, and not only in one circle. 

They won't, though. 

The Manchester manufacturer of "advanced views" visits the Massachusettsmanufacturer;--and, derives all _his_ knowledge of America and herinstitutions from him. The trades' union delegate of England palaverswith the working-men's societies of the eastern states; whence he gets_his_ information of Transatlantic polemics. The ballot enthusiast overhere talks, and only _talks_, mind you! with the believer in the ballotover there; and so arrives at _his_ conclusions on the subject of secretvoting--and then, all these return to this "down-trodden, " "aristocracy-ridden, " "effete old kingdom, " and prate about the glorious way in whichtheir several theories work across the ocean--not one of them havingresided long enough beneath the stars and stripes to be able to judge ofthe truth of what they allege, as they are quite contented to take forgospel the hearsay with which they bolster up their own opinions!

If these respective persons would only go out and live, I say, for threeyears consecutively in the States, and move about outside of theirrespective bigotted grooves, they would find out, in time, that, theboasted free, liberty-loving, advanced, progressive commonwealth on theother side of "the big pond, " is?--one of the most despotic, intolerant, morally-and-politically-rotten republics that ever existed, bar none!

What will your ballot-advocate--who anathematises "Tory coercion, " andis continually urging into notice the "purity of election" thatcharacterises the system of our "cousins"--say, to the fact, that oneparty of "free and enlightened citizens" of the model cosmos of hisadmiration regularly sell their votes to the highest bidder; while, another set, under a military despotism, are compelled to exercise thefranchise only in a manner pleasing to a dominant faction? What willyour Democratic Dilke, or Ouvrier Odger--who may, in this "speech-gagged, " "oppressed" country, heap scurrilous abuse on royalty andoverhaul the washing bills of her Majesty without let or hindrance--say, for the "liberty of speech" on the other side; where, if they were toutter a word in favour of the conquered Confederates, amongst a certainschool of "black republicans, " they would run the risk of having arevolver bullet in their epigastric region before they knew where theywere?

How would your communistic enthusiast, who bawls out about the equalityof all men, like to see, as I have seen, "respectable cullered pussons, "representatives of the beloved "man and a brother, " _wearing livery_, the "badge of servitude, " which is only supposed to be donned by the"menials of European tyrants?" And yet, these darkey flunkeys are inthe service of free and equal citizens of a "Great Republic, " strange tosay!

What does your Manchester "Spinning Jenney, " the earnest upholder offree trade, say to the "Protection" policy of his congeners in theStates?

How can he reconcile his statements _here_ with facts _there_?

Where is the "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite, " now, when you really cometo dive below the surface, and see things as they are in America, eh?--

But, bless you, these reformers will _not_ so regard the objects oftheir veneration. They will only see them in the light in which theychoose to see them; and would swear black was white in order to answertheir purpose!

Your true radical or republican--the name "liberal" is a misnomer--is, as I have often heard the vicar say, one of the most intolerant, illiberal persons under the sun. His idea of freedom, is, thateverybody should be free to do as _he_ pleases:--if they object to hisprogramme, they are evidently not sufficiently "advanced" to suit him!His liberty of speech, is, for himself to spout away ad libitum on hishobby, and everybody else who may not agree with him to hold his tongue!His theory of equality is, for all above him in station to be broughtdown to _his_ level, and then, for _him_ to remain cock of the walk!

I have studied the animal. That's his view of it, depend upon it! Hewill not be convinced. He will not even "argue the point, " nor listento a word said on the side contrary to that which he espouses. He has_his_ opinions, he says; and will stick to them, right or wrong--notwithstanding the home truths that may lie in those of others opposedto him. Dogged, certainly:--liberal, no! Do you doubt what I say?--Letus go to particulars then. 

Your candid disestablishers, for instance, --will they meet youroutspoken churchmen, who stand up for the old faith in the constitution, on an open platform; and discuss the question of a national church on acommon footing, where both its opponents and its supporters can beheard?

Will your would--be--republican, foregathering at some Hole-in-the-Wallmeeting, allow a conservative speaker to say a word in opposition to hisprogressive puerilities? Your teetotal-alliancer, in a quorum of water-drinkers, will he _let_ a licensed victualler utter a protest againsthis scheme for universal abstinence?

No. 

Each and all of these several cliques are, in common with all cliques, narrow-minded and intolerant. They prefer being kings of theirrespective small companies and enjoying the mutual admiration of apacked assembly, to coming out boldly like men and letting the pros andcons of their schemes be ventilated in free discussion at genuinemeetings, composed of diverse elements. --Do you want any further proof?

I confess, I don't like republics or republicans. Once upon a time, before seeing how they worked, I undoubtedly had a leaning towards the"liberalism, " as I thought it, of this school; but a thorough exposureof the "institution" and the character of its partisans in America andin France have completely opened my eyes to their real nature. 

Were I asked, now, to define a republic, I should say that it was ageneral scramble for power and perquisites, by a lot of ragged rascalswith empty pockets, who have everything to gain by success, and nothingto lose by failure. --A sort of "rough and tumble" fight, in which thosewith the easiest consciences, the loudest tongues and the wildestpromises, come to the fore, letting "the devil take the hindmost!"

It is a so-called commonwealth, wherein the welfare of the mass issubordinated to party spirit; and in which each aspirant for place andpower, well knowing that his chief ambition is to "feather his own nest"without any afterthought of patriotism, kicks down his strugglingbrother--likewise on the lookout for the loaves and fishes of office--ostracising him, if he doesn't put up with the treatment quietly!

I may be wrong, certainly, and I'm open to argument on the point, but Ilike our old system best. I infinitely prefer a gentleman with areputation, to a snob with none; and a clean shirt to a dirty one! andif you allow that I possess the right of selecting my future rulers, Iwould much rather have those whom birth and education have taught atleast toleration, than a parcel of grubby-nailed democrats, innocent ofsoap-and-water, who wish to choke their one-sided creed, willy-nilly, down my throat, in defiance of my inclinations and better judgment; andwhose sole interest in "their fellow man" is centred in the problem--howto line their own pockets at his cost, in the neatest way!

"Sans culottes" and the "Bonnet Rouge" for those who like them; but, asa matter of choice, I prefer a pair of decent "inexpressibles" and aLincoln and Bennett "chapeau!" As the elder Capulet's first scullionsagely remarked to his fellow-servant--

 "When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing!"

There are men calling themselves "politicians"--save the mark! thatwould have us pull down the old constitutional machine, (lumbering itmay be, ) which has served our purpose for generations, and whose workingand capabilities we have tested some odd thousand years; to replace itwith the newfangled gimcrack model which is continually getting out ofgear across the Atlantic; and I have no patience with them. I do notparticularly desire to run America and its people down; but, when we arein the habit of criticising the deeds and doings of our continentalneighbours, without much reticence as to our likes and dislikes, I donot see why any especial immunity should be placed over Americans totaboo them from honest judgment!

I must say that when I hear and read the fulsome admiration that it hasbeen the fashion of late to express and write concerning our so-called"cousins, " it fairly makes my blood boil. If nobody else _will_ "takethe gilt off the gingerbread, " why shouldn't I try to do so?

The truth of the matter, with regard to America, is that the Columbianeagle makes such a tremendous cackling over every little _egg_ it lays, that we cis-Atlantic folks rate its achievements much higher than theydeserve!

We do not kick up a fuss about our general proceedings; consequently, weimagine something very great must have happened to cause the Bird o'Freedom to burst into such gallinacious paeans of delight. 

The "advancement" of the first Republic, you say?--Why, it has takenover a hundred years to grow, and it _ought_ to be arriving at maturityby this time!

The determination of its citizens displayed in crushing out secession?--They took four years to do it in, although they had an army and navyprovided to their hand, and were receiving recruits in hundreds from themasses of incoming emigrants, up to the very end of the struggle; while, the Southerners had to improvise everything, and their forces dwindleddown day by day. 

We put down the Indian mutiny in 1857 with a little handful of troops, that had to confront thousands upon thousands of insurgent Hindoosbefore a single reinforcement could arrive from England:--_we_ nevertriumphed so loudly about what we did on that occasion; and yet, ourcampaign against the Sepoys was fought over a far more extendedterritory than the war for the "Union. "

Their progress, you remark?

Pooh, my dear sir! One would almost think, to hear you talk, that theold world had stood still in sheer astonishment ever since the "new" wasushered into being!

Granted, that a few wooden shanties are run up "out west" on theprairies, and styled "towns, " and that these towns grow into "cities"by-and-by:--what then? Are there not miles of streets, and houseswithout number, added to London, and other little villages over hereevery year, which do not attract any comment--except in the annualreport of the Registrar General?

Their Union Pacific Railway, connecting New York with Saint Francisco;and hence abridging the distance between Europe and Asia!

A "big thing, " certainly; but have you forgotten our Underground line, and the Holborn Viaduct, and the Thames Embankment--either and all ofwhich can vie with the noblest relics of ancient Rome?

Bah! Don't talk to me in that strain, please. Has not France alsoachieved the Suez Canal, and Italy the Mont Cenis tunnel--both workssurpassing any feat of Transatlantic engineering ever attempted. Why, their Hoosaic tunnel, which is not near the size of the Alpine one, andwhich has been talked of and worked at for the last twenty years, is notyet half completed! Have we not, too, run railways through the junglesof India, and spanned the wastes of Australia with the electric wire?

Ha! while alluding to telegraphs, let us instance the Atlantic cable. _That_ strikes nearer home, doesn't it? Originated as the idea was byan American, Cyrus Field--to whom may all honour be given--can youinform me which country is entitled to take credit for its success--slowEngland or smart America?

You won't answer, eh? Then I'll tell you. 

The company that conducted that undertaking to a triumphant issue--wasgot up in London, and formed mostly of Englishmen. The money that paidfor the ocean cable--came out of the pockets of English shareholders. English manufacturers constructed it:--English artisans fashioned it;and an English ship, the largest ever built, manned by an English crew, laid it. There! what do you say to that now, eh?

"Caved in?"

I guessed so. Thought _we_ "could crow some, I reckon. "

But, I will say no more on the subject. I have allowed you to have thefree benefit of my opinions--such as they are--at your privatevaluation, no discount allowed!

You don't seem pleased--what is it that you say?

You want to hear about my doings; and not my opinions?

Bless me! How very impatient you are. I was only just going tocontinue my story!

How can you hear about me without hearing my opinions also?

I dare say they may not appear palatable to you. There is no accountingfor tastes; and, as you probably know, "veritas odium parit!"

Still, you cannot separate a man and his opinions; they are inseparable. 

Fancy an individual without an opinion of his own!

Why, he would be a nonentity--a thing!

Don't talk nonsense. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

A HARD FIGHT. 

 Across the wide Atlantic-- It drives me almost frantic, To watch the breakers breaking, and hear their dull, low roar!-- My soul is winging madly; And my eyes are peering sadly, As I span the long, long distance from my home-girt shore!

I was disgusted with America in more ways than one. 

Being of a hopeful, castle-building temperament, I had sanguinelythought that I would meet with employment there at once; and, be able tomaster in some unknown, mysterious way, the great art of money-making, on the very instant that I landed in the New World!

I really imagined it, I think, to be an enchanted place, where everynewly-arrived person became magically changed into a sort of Midas on asmall scale; transforming everything he touched, if not into gold--thedays of California were now over--at all events into Washington"eagles, " or Mexican silver dollars, or even greenbacks, which werebetter than nothing, although greasy and not acknowledged at theirnominal value. 

Upon my word, I really believe that that was my secret opinionconcerning America before I actually crossed the Atlantic!

Probably, I would not have told you so had you asked me then; but Ithink that was my real idea about it. It was to me an Eldorado, whereill-luck was undreamt of; and where I should be able to heap up richeswithout the slightest out-of-the-way exertion on my part, in anincredibly short space of time:--riches that would enable me to returnhome, in the character of a millionaire, in a year or two at theoutside, and claim Min's hand from the then-unresisting Mrs Clyde!

Was I not a fool? Pray, say so, if you think it. --_I_ won't mind, blessyou! for, I know that there are more such in the world besides myself, eh?

I soon found out my mistake. 

Not only was the cost of living excessively high--I had to pay twelvedollars a week for a bedroom in Brooklyn, an adjacent suburb, with"board" of which I did not partake very frequently, through an inherentdislike to bad cookery--but employment of any description was sodifficult to be obtained that for every vacant situation advertised inthe New York papers there were several hundred applicants, amongst whoman Englishman stood a very poor chance of being selected when competingwith native citizens. 

Do you know, Transatlantica is about the very worst quarter of the globefor an educated man to go to, who has no scientific attainments, such asa knowledge of chemistry and engineering--which may occasionally standhim in good stead. 

For skilled artisans, or those brought up to a regular trade, there aregood wages to be had, and constant work; but a "gentleman, " or clerk--unless he intends reversing the whole training of his life, which hewill find an extremely difficult thing to do--had far better go andbreak stones on the highways at home, than think to improve hiscondition by emigrating to America!

There are some men who can throw off all old associations and the habitsin which they have been bred from boyhood, but, not one in a thousand--though I have myself seen an Oxford graduate acting as an hotel tout inCincinnati and the son of a "Bart, of the British Empire" driving a mudcart in Chicago!--neither of these, either, had been brought down bydrinking, that general curse of exiled Englishmen in ill-luck. 

I had good introductions; and yet, although I met with great hospitalityin being asked out to dinner, I could never get any employment put in myway. 

A dinner is a dinner, certainly, and a very good thing in itself--not tobe sneezed at, either, in the Empire City, let me tell you; for, there, you can have as neat a repast served, whether in private houses or atthe Great Delmonico's of "Fourteenth Street, " as you would meet with atone or _two_ haunts I wot of in the Palais Royale. Still, I leave it toyourself, a dinner is but a poor "quid" to him lacking the "quo" of animmediate fortune--is it not?

Matters began to grow serious with me; for, my income having amounted to_nil_ since my landing in the new world, my assets were graduallydiminishing. I had only a few pounds left; as my expenditure forlodging alone was at the rate of over two guineas a week; and MonsieurParole d'Honneur's loan, which I looked upon only in the light oftrading capital, I had determined not to touch on for personal need. 

What should I do?

I went to one of the American gentlemen to whom I had been introduced, and laid my position before him. He advised me, as he had previouslyadvised me, to "look about" me. 

I had "looked about me" already for some three months--without anythingcoming of it; however, I looked about me now again, and?--met Brown ofPhiladelphia!

"Brown of Philadelphia" was one who is known among our "cousins" as a"live" man. Brown of Philadelphia was an enterprising man; he was more:he was a benevolent man. He had a splendid scheme, he told me, forturning over thousands of dollars at once. He had no wish to merelybetter himself, however. He was a man with a large heart, and wouldmake my fortune too. It seemed as if Providence had speciallyinterfered to prevent his meeting with a partner until I had answeredhis advertisement! _I_ should be his partner. I need not know anythingof the business--_he_ would manage all that. What I should have to do, would be, to take care of all the money that came in--a post for whichboth he and I thought I was peculiarly fitted. And the scheme?--

Perhaps you will laugh when I tell you. It was selling blacking!

There is nothing to be ashamed of in it, though. Have not Day andMartin made a fortune by it, and a name in all the world? Has not manya proud merchant prince risen to eminence on a more ignoble commodity?

Blacking! There is something noble in causing the feet of posterity toshine; and to be the means of testing the standing of a would-begentleman! Clean boots are an essentiality of society; why should Ishrink from the responsibility of helping to produce them?

Well, whether you consider it a lowering trade or not, Brown ofPhiladelphia suggested our "going into" blacking together. He knew of aplace, he said, where he could get it for "next to nothing;" and, as hethen pertinently observed, I must be aware that it might be disposed ofin New York at more than cent, per cent, profit. So, why should we notembark in it? If we did, Brown of Philadelphia--only he was opposed tobetting, on moral principle--was prepared to wager a trifle that wewould soon have more "greenbacks" than we should know what to do with!

He had an office already, had my benevolent friend, --"located" in afirst-rate part of Broadway. All I should have to do, he explained, would be to put a small sum into the concern--so as to be independent, as it were, and not merely accepting "a big thing" at his hands--and, myfortune was made. If I would contribute, say, five hundred dollars--"amere song"--we might go joint shares in what would turn out to be a mostremarkably go-a-head enterprise; yes, sir!

Strange! But, the amount he mentioned was the exact sum, in Americanexchange, of my capital--about which, you know, I had previously spokento him in a friendly and communicative way. It _was_ odd, my justhaving sufficient, wasn't it?--Yet, how lucky, to be sure! And then, there was no necessity for my being acquainted with the business:--hewould manage that. My duty would be to take in money--exactly what Iliked! That's what took my fancy so amazingly--"tickled" me, as ArtemusWard would have expressed it--so I repeat it!

Brown of Philadelphia was the soul of honour, as well as distinguishedfor his smartness and benevolence. He did not want to impose on _me_, bless you!

No; on the contrary, he gave me a reference to a large bank "down town, "and also to a notorious shoddy celebrity who lived "up" town, --to theformer of which I went, making inquiries as to his stability. Certainly, they knew Mr Brown of Philadelphia. Had a large balance atpresent in their hands. As far as they were aware--must be reticent incommercial matters, you know--perfectly responsible party. Could I havetaken any further precaution? I think not, after this statement. 

Quite satisfactory, wasn't it?

I did not go to shoddy character in Fifth Avenue, because it was ahorribly long pull there in the street "cars:"--thought bank referencesufficient, wouldn't you?

Perfectly satisfactory, I thought; and told Brown of Philadelphia so atour next meeting, when I lunched with him by appointment. 

We next went to see the office--our office--in Broadway, afterwards. Just the thing--possibly a trifle small; but then we could enlarge intime, eh? Not the slightest doubt. Brown of Philadelphia and Iexcellent friends. He dined with me at an hotel that day--at my expenseon this occasion. 

After dinner, arranged business matters as partners should do, drawingup a deed of associationship, and so on. Brown of Philadelphia producedroll of dollars in "greenbacks"--his share of the capital of our embryofirm. I produced roll of "greenbacks"--my share of capital of embryofirm. Both parcels sealed up; and given into Brown of Philadelphia'scustody, as senior partner, to deposit same in our joint names at a bankon the morrow. 

Brown of Philadelphia and I then parted with words and signs of mutualrespect and admiration; and I hied me to my Brooklyn lodgings in highdelight at the fortunate turn in my affairs. 

Why, I would be rich in a few months; and then:--

What delightful dreams I had that night!

We were to meet again the next morning punctually at "ten sharp" at "theoffice. "

_I_ was there to the minute, but Brown of Philadelphia wasn't; and, although I waited for him many subsequent minutes after the appointedtime, he never came--nor have I clapped eyes on him from that day tothis. 

Faithless Brown! He robbed me of my belief in human nature, in additionto my hoarded "greenbacks. "

The office, I found, had been taken by the keen philanthropist for aweek, a few dollars of the rent being advanced by him as security onaccount. On asking at the bank, which had in the first instancesatisfied me of his integrity, the cashier told me that Brown ofPhiladelphia had drawn out all of his available balance the veryafternoon on which I had made my inquiries respecting him; and where hewas gone, no one knew!

"Skedaddled, " evidently. As for shoddy celebrity, "up town, " to whomBrown of Philadelphia had also referred me, said that my friend hadswindled _him_ a short period before. Good joke, his being given as areference!

I put the affair in the hands of the police; but they gave me about asmuch comfort as our guardians in blue would have done. 

They said he had gone south. I went to Baltimore after him; but I couldnot meet him, although I was full of determination and had taken arevolver with me in case Brown might have his "shooting irons" handy!--The blunderbuss that had belonged to the deceased Earl Planetree, andwhich Lady Dasher had given me as a useful parting present, I had leftbehind in England, thinking that such a valuable object of antiquityshould not be recklessly risked. 

The police then telegraphed for me to come north--while I was enjoyingthe canvas-backed ducks of "Maryland, my Maryland, " and nursing myvengeance. I came "up north;" but it was of no use. I never saw Brownof Philadelphia again, or recovered my lost capital. 

It had gone where the good, or bad, niggers go; and I only hope "Brown"has gone there too!

This misfortune filled up the measure of my troubles, though they werenumerous enough already. 

To get employment of a regular character, which became more necessary tome now than ever--was as impossible as it had been all along!

Nobody seemed to want anybody like me, in spite of my being notunskilled in foreign languages, and up to clerk's work--having not yetforgotten the book-keeping which my crammer had crammed into me for thebenefit of the "Polite Letter Writer Commissioners. "

I was not actually in necessity, as I had still sufficient funds left todefray my bare living expenses for some months, with strict economy; butI had not come to America merely to exist! I had left home to make myfortune, I tell you; and, how could I be satisfied at this state ofthings? I was losing time, day by day; and not approaching one whitnearer to the object of my life!

In addition to these reflections, I had found out the truth of the time-honoured maxim, "coelum non animam mutant qui trans mare currunt. "--Imight go from the old world to the new; but I could not leave my oldmemories, my old thoughts behind me!

At first, the novelty of things about me distracted my attention. 

I was in a strange country amongst fresh faces, all connected only withthe present, so that, I had little time to look back on the past. 

Besides, I was hopeful of carving out a new career for myself; and hopeis a sworn antagonist to retrospection. 

But, as I began to get used to the place and people, never-forgottenscenes and associations came back to mind, which I felt were moredifficult to banish now, three thousand miles away, than when I was onthe spot with which they had been connected. 

Oh! how, bustled about amidst a crowd of unsympathising strangers, towhom our domestic life is only an ideality, I longed for the quiet andcharm and love of an English home!

I think that your wanderers and prodigals and black sheep, little thoughyou may believe it, appreciate family union and social ties much morethan your steady-going respectables who never stray without the routinecircle of upright existence; never err; are never banned as outcasts!

The former look upon "home"--what a world does the very name convey toone who has never known what it is!--much as Moore's "Peri" regardedParadise, and as the lost angels may wistfully think of the heaven fromwhich they were expelled. Perhaps they overrate its attributes, imagining, as they do, that it is a blissful state of being, for everdebarred to them; but they _do_ have such feelings--the dregs, probably, of their bitter nature!

I can speak to the point, for, I was one of this class. 

_I_ was a prodigal, a black sheep, a wanderer. One on whom Fate hadwritten on his forehead at his birth, "unstable as water, thou shalt notexcel, " and yet, I had the madness, (you may call it so, ) to dream ofregeneration and happiness!

How many a time had I not pictured to myself the home of my longing. Nothing grand or great occurred to me--my old ambitions were dead. 

I only wished for a little domain of my own, where some _one_ would lookup to me, at all events, watching for my coming, and receiving me withgladness "in sorrow or in rest. " A kingdom of affection, where no angryword should be ever spoken or heard; where peace and love would reign, no matter what befell!

It was a dream:--you are right. I thought so, now, often enough, faraway from England and all that I held dear; and, unsuccessful as Ialways had been, as I always seemed doomed to be!

Happiness for me? What a very ridiculous idea! I was a lunatic. Ishould "laugh with myself, " as poor Parole d'Honneur used to say!

I knew what sundry kindly-natured persons would say, in the event of myreturning to England empty-handed, were I to lead the steadiest lifepossible. --"Here is Frank Lorton back again like a bad penny!"--theywould sneer. --"Reformed from all his wild ways, eh? Really, MrsGrundy, you must not expect us to believe _that_! Can the leopardchange his spots?"--and so on; or else, kindly hint, that, --"when thedevil was sick, the devil a monk would be: when the devil got well, thedevil a monk was he. "--Oh yes, I had little doubt what _their_charitable judgment would be!

Still, the thought of these people's opinions did not oppress me much;for I knew equally well that, should some freak of Fate endow me withfame and fortune, they would be the first to receive me with open arms--ignoring all my former social enormities. --Their tune would be slightlydifferent then!

It would be--"Dear me! how glad we are to see him back! You know, MrsGrundy, that you always said he would turn out well. --His littlefastnesses and Bohemian ways?--Pooh! we won't speak of those now:--onlythe hot blood of youth, you know--signs of an ardent disposition--we allhave our faults;"--and so on. 

No, I was not thinking much of "society's" opinion; but, of that ofothers, whose good esteem I really valued. _They_ believed in mestill:--was I worthy of it?

I thought not. 

I doubted myself. Understand, I had no fear of making any new falsestep in the eyes of the world; or of plunging anew into the dissipationsand riotous living of so-called "life, " in return for which I was noweating the husks of voluntary exile: young as I was, I had alreadylearnt a bitter lesson of the hollowness and deception of all this!

It was another dread which haunted me. 

The vicar had, without in any way making light of them, condoned mymisdeeds, telling me that there was more joy in heaven over onerepentant sinner, than for ninety-and-nine just persons that had neveroffended: while, my darling--she who had the most cause to turn from me, the greatest right to condemn--had forgiven me; and bidden me to lookforward to the future, with the hopeful assurance that she was certainthat I would never give her reason again to doubt her faith in me. 

But, the fatherly affection of the one, the devoted confidence of theother, merited some greater return on my part than mere "uprightness oflife, "--in the worldly sense of the expression! Surely, they did?

A man's words and actions may be above reproach, as far as society isconcerned; and yet, he may not have a particle of true religion abouthim. Both the vicar and Min, however, were earnest Christians. Theywere deeply religious, without a suspicion of cant or affectation; andthey wished me to be so, too. I had promised to pray to please them;but, had I kept my promise? No, I had failed:--my conscience told meso!

As long as things had gone smoothly with me, I believe I _did_ pray--with the faith that my petitions were heard above; but, when dark dayscame, God seemed to forsake me, and my prayers were cast back into myown bosom. I might repeat a form of words a thousand times over; still, how could I be said to pray when the spirit was wanting?--It was only ajugglery, like the repeating machine in which the Burmese believe, orthe beads of irreligious Catholics. 

Min had specially pointed out a text of promise to me in the _Psalms_, where it is said, "No good thing shall He withhold from them who lead agodly life;" and, I had hoped in it; yet now, when I saw all my plansfail, this text took away my faith. Everything was withheld from me, Ithought; therefore I could not lead a godly life, no matter howstrenuously I strove to do so. I was outcast and forgotten! I had gonethrough the "vale of misery;" but I could not "use it as a well;" for mypools were empty! Instead of my Creator directing my "going in theway, " He had left me to stumble forward blindly, until I had fallen intothe Slough of Despond, --the sink of unbelief!

How hard it is to find that faith which enables us to pray in theconfident belief of our supplications being attended to! I rememberonce reading a passage in a sermon preached by the Archdeacon of SaintAlbans in Westminster Abbey some thirteen years ago, which was nowbrought to my mind. It was one of a series specially designed "for theworking classes, " and entitled _The Prayer of Human Kind_. The passageran as follows:--

 "Why do some penitents--penitents really at heart--still groan, and try, by self-infliction and by keeping open their wounds, to appease God, and find no comfort to their souls? Is it not that they have not really taken to their hearts that God _is_ their Father in Christ; and that, `even as a father pitieth his own children, so is the Lord merciful to them that fear him?' Had they, by faith, taken this blessed truth to their souls, they might and would, not in hopelessness and dread, but in trust and penitential love, make their wants known as a child to its parent; they would arise, and in humble compunctions, and not desponding trust, say, `Father, I have sinned. ' They would carry each trouble to him, and say, `Lord, thou knowest me to be set in this strait, or under that temptation; Lord, deliver me. ' `Thou seest the longing desire of my heart; Lord, grant it. ' `Thou knowest my weakness; Lord, strengthen me. ' They would carry and lay their separate cares before Him, and cast them on Him, knowing that He careth for them. They would ask, knowing that they will receive; knowing that an answer that withholds what is asked for is as real, and frequently a more merciful answer, than one that grants it. "

Ah! That was the faith I could not fathom:--that was why my prayersgave me no comfort, I suppose. And yet, it is said that God, whom richmen find so difficult of approach, manifests Himself to us more inadversity than in prosperity. I could not believe in this myself; for, when I was successful, I really seemed to have faith, and could prayfrom my heart; while, now, despondent, it appeared hypocrisy on my partto pretend to bend my knees to the Almighty; I felt so despairinglyfaithless!

La Mennais says, in his _Paroles d'un Croyant_, that--

 "Il y a toujours des vents brulants, qui passent sur l'ame de l'homme, et la dessechant. La priere est la rosee qui la rafraichit. "

And, again, --

 "Dieu sait mieux que vous ce dont vous avez besoin, et c'est pour cela qu'il veut que vous le lui demandiez; car Dieu est lui-meme votre premier besoin, et prier Dieu, c'est commencer a posseder Dieu. "

The sirocco of sorrow had fanned its hot breath over my soul; but, nograteful spring shower had cooled it through prayer. God, certainly, knows better than we what we should desire; but why does He not instructus in His wishes?

Perhaps you think this all milk-and-watery talk, and that I do not meanwhat I say?

But I do. Even those people whom you might think the most unlikelypersons to have such thoughts, will have these reflections, so why notspeak of them?

Some, I know, believe that all religious conversation should be strictlytabooed in any reference to secular matters. But it seems to me a verydelicate faith that will only stand an airing once a week, like yourchurch services on Sundays! _I_ have thought of such things, and I'mnot ashamed to mention them. 

Acting on my mind at the same time--in concert with these religiousdoubts, and the consciousness of my unlucky fortunes--was a strongfeeling of home-sickness, which grew and grew with greater intensity asthe months rolled by. 

 I got so miserable, that, I felt with Shelley--

 "I could lie down, like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear!"

For what profit did this warring against destiny bring me? Nothing--nothing, but the "vanity and vexation of spirit, " which a more believingsoul than mine had apostrophised in agony, ages before I was born. 

You may not credit the fact of the Swiss mountaineers pining of what iscalled "Home-woe, " when banished from their beloved glaciers, the sameas Cyrus's legions suffered from _nostalgia_; and, may put down theFrenchman's _maladie du pays_, which some expatriated communists areprobably experiencing now in New Caledonia, to blatant sentimentality;but they are each and all true expositions of feeling. 

We Englishmen are generally prosaic; but some of us have known theterrible yearning which this home-sickness produces in us in foreignlands. The Devonshire shepherd will weep over the recollections which alittle daisy will bring back to him of the old country of his childhood, when standing beneath an Australian gum tree. I have seen a Scotchmanin America cherish a thistle, as if it were the rarest of plants, fromits native associations; and I know of a potted shamrock which wasbrought all the way across the ocean in an emigrant ship, by an Irishminer, and which now adorns the window of a veranda-fronted cottage atthe Pittsburgh mines in Pennsylvania!

Some of us _are_ "sentimental, " you see. I can answer for myself, atleast; and I know that the air of "Home, sweet Home, " has affected mequite as much as the "Ranz des Vaches" would appeal to the sensibilitiesof an Alpine Jodeller!

I got home-sick now. The passion took complete possession of me. 

The burning, suffocating heat of the summer "in the States, " caused meto pant after the cool shade of the old Prebend's walk at Saint Canon's;and call to mind those inviting lawns and osiered eyots along theThames, where I used to spend the warm evenings at home. I thought asIzaak Walton, the vicar's favourite, had thought before me--that I wouldcheerfully sacrifice all hopes of worldly advancement, all dreams offortune, all future success, problematical though each and allappeared--

 So, I the fields and meadows green may view; And daily by fresh rivers walk at will, Among the daisies and violets blue, Red hyacinth and yellow daffodil; Purple narcissus, like the morning's rays, Pale gander grass and azure culver keys. 

In the gorgeous Indian summer, when the nature of the New World seems toawake, dressing all the trees in fantastic foliage of varied hue, myfancies were recalled to a well-remembered Virginian creeper thatornamented the houses of the Terrace, where my darling lived; for itsleafy colouring in the autumn was similar to that I now beheld--in thechrome-tinted maples, the silvery-toned beeches and scarlet "sumachs" ofthe western forests. 

And in the frozen winter, of almost Arctic severity and continuance, home was brought even nearer to me--in connection with all the cherishedmemories of that kindly-tempered season. I thought of the old firesideswhere I had been a welcome guest in times past; the old Christmasfestivities, the old Christmas cheer, the--bah! What good will it do toyou and I thus to trace over the aching foot-prints of recollection?

I used to go down to the mouth of the Hudson river, that I might watchthe red-funnelled Cunard steamers start on their passage to England--sending my heart after them in impotent cravings: I used, I remember, tomark off the days as they passed, in the little almanack of my pocket-book--scoring them out, just as Robinson Crusoe was in the habit ofnotching his post for the same purpose:--I used to fret and fret, infact, eating my soul away in vain repinings and foolish longings!

And, still, my fortunes did not brighten--notwithstanding that I huntedin every direction for work, and tried to wean my mind from painfulassociations by hopeful anticipations of "something turning up" on themorrow. The morrow came, sure enough; but no good luck:--my fortunesgot darker and darker, as time went on; while my home yearnings grewstronger. 

I would have borne my troubles much better, I'm certain, if I could onlyhave heard from my darling. 

There was no hope of that, however, as you know. Even if Min would haveconsented to such a thing, which I knew she would not have done, Ishould never have dreamt of asking her to write to me in opposition toher mother's wishes. It is true that I had dear little MissPimpernell's letters; but what could _they_ be in comparison withletters from Min?--although, of course, the kind old lady would tell meall about her, and how she looked, and what she said, in order toencourage me?

It was a hard fight, a bitter struggle--that first year I passed inAmerica; and, my memory will bear the scars of the combat, I believe, until my dying day. 

Still, time brought relief; and, opportunity, success--so the worldwags. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

"LIFE!"

 I hold it truth with him who sings, On one clear harp, in divers tones, That men may rise, on stepping stones Of their dead lives, to higher things!

However grievous and crushing we may consider the trials and troubles oflife to be, while they last, they are never altogether unbearable. 

The load laid upon us is seldom weighted beyond the capacity of ourendurance; and then, when in course of time our ills become alleviated, and the burden we have so long borne slides off our backs, the relief wefeel is proportionately all the greater, our sense of light-heartednessand mental freedom, the more intense and complete. 

Existence, to follow out the argument, is not always painted in shadow, its horizon obscured by dark-tinted nebulosities! On the contrary, there is ever some light infused into it, to bring out the deepertones--"a silver lining" generally "to every cloud, " as the proverb hasit. So, I now experienced, as I am going to tell you. 

The second year of my residence in America opened much more brightlythan the miserable twelvemonth I had just passed through might have ledme to hope--if I could have hoped on any longer, that is!

Early in the spring, when the warming breath of the power-increasing sunwas slowly unloosing the chains of winter--when the rapid-running Hudsonwas sweeping down huge blocks and fields of ice from Albany, floodingNew York Bay with a collection of little bergs, so that it lookedsomewhat like the Arctic effect I had seen on the Thames on that happyChristmas of the past, only on ever so much larger a scale--I receivedletters from England that cheered me up wonderfully, changing the wholeaspect of my life. 

"Good news from home, good news for me, had come across the deep bluesea"--in the words of Gilmore's touching ballad; and "though I wanderedfar away, my heart was full of joy to-day; for, friends across theocean's foam had sent to me good news from home"--to further paraphraseit. 

_Good_ news?--"glorious news, " rather, I should say!

Yes, I had not only a glad, welcome letter from Miss Pimpernell, inwhich the dear little old lady made me laugh and cry again; but, I alsoheard from the good vicar, who was one of the worst correspondents inthe world, never putting pen to paper, save in the compilation of hisweekly sermons, except under the most dire necessity, or kindlycompulsion. 

To receive an epistle from him was an event!

And, what do you think he wrote to me about? What, can you imagine, made dear little Miss Pimpernell's lengthy missive--scribed as it was inthe most puzzling of calligraphies--of so engrossing an interest, that Iread it again and again; valuing it more than all her previous budgetsof parish gossip put together, entertaining as I thought them before?

Once, twice, three times?

No, I do not believe you can guess what it was that gave me such delightin the "good news from home, " sharp and shrewd though you may thinkyourself. 

If you will take my advice, you had better treat it as a conundrum and"give it up. "

Don't keep you in suspense, eh?

Well then, I will tell you--here goes. 

It is a long story--too long to describe in detail; but the upshot of itwas that my kind friend the vicar, cognisant of the sincere affectionthat existed between my darling and myself, and knowing the sufferingthat had been caused to us both by the enforced silence which we had tomaintain towards each other, had interceded with Mrs Clyde on ourbehalf; and, what is more, had done so successfully!

There, fancy that! Don't you think I had sufficient reason to berejoiced?

Min and I were to be allowed to write to each other for a year--as"friends, " a condition of intimacy to which her mother seemed to attacha good deal of point, as she had made it an obligatory proviso to ourcorrespondence. Mrs Clyde had, in addition to this, tacked on asweeping clause to the agreement, to the effect that, in case myprospects at the end of the year should not warrant my returning toEngland and claiming Min as my promised wife--prospects of a shortengagement and an easy settlement being also satisfactory--the wholenegotiation should fall to the ground and be considered null and void;we, reverting to our original and hopeless position of soi-disantstrangers or "friends" at a distance, and looking upon the interlude ofour letter-writing as if it had never occurred. 

I did not give much thought, however, to this ultimatum. 

I was too full of happiness at the idea of being allowed to correspondat once with my darling, and hear from her own dear self after the wearymonths that had passed since our separation. Why, I would be able totell her all my plans and hopes and fears, conscious that her sympathywould never fail to congratulate me in success; condole with me, cheerme, encourage me, in failure!

And then, her letters! What a feast they would be, coming like gratefuldew on the thirsty soil of my heart--sunshine succeeding to the Aprilshower of disappointment that lay on my memory. Her letters! Theywould be so many little Mins, visiting me to soothe my exile, andbringing me, face to face and soul to soul, in the spirit, with theirloving autotype at home!

I was nerved to action at once. 

Before the day on which I received the welcome intelligence was one hourolder, I had sat me down and penned a hurried sheet of ecstatic raptureto my darling--the first number of our delightful little serial whichwas going to be regularly issued every fortnight until further notice intime for posting on mail days! I only just managed to catch theEuropean packet, so I could not write a very long letter on thisoccasion--as I had also to answer the vicar's and Miss Pimpernell'scommunications; but I said quite enough, I think, to let my darlingknow, that, although she had not been able to hear from me directlybefore, she had never been out of my thoughts. 

You may be sure, too, that I did not forget to send a short note to MrsClyde, thanking her for her kindness to us both. Indeed, I _was_grateful to her; for serious consideration of my past conduct had led meto think that she might have only judged wisely in her opinion as towhat was the best course to adopt for her daughter's future happiness. Now, she had amply atoned for her former harshness, as I esteemed it, byher permission for our correspondence; and, notwithstanding that shenever responded to my note, I regarded her thenceforth in the light of afriend. 

On reading over the vicar's letter after getting this happy businessconcluded, I saw--what had escaped my notice at first--that he had notbeen content with merely exerting his influence with Mrs Clyde for mybenefit. His good offices had gone much further. He had again spokenfor me to his patron, the bishop--who, you may recollect, was the meansof my getting that appointment to the Obstructor General's department;and my old friend wrote that they had great hopes of being able toprocure me a nice little secretaryship under Government, which wouldprobably bring me in enough income to marry upon. --Only think!

What do you say to that, eh?

It was true, though; or the vicar would never have expressed himself soconfidently. 

He added, that it was best for me to remain where I was in themeanwhile, persevering in my resolution of living a steady life, andthat all might turn out well for me. He said, that my interests shouldnot be neglected in my absence; and, that there would be no use of myreturning until I got something certain. 

His words, and this amicable settlement of matters between my darlingand myself, awoke a new life in me. I did not despair any longer. Ifelt that God had at last heard not only my prayers, but also those ofher, who, I knew, was praying for me at home; and that, if He had notappeared to grant my former petitions, the answer to them had beenwithheld for the all-wise purpose of making me look to Him moreearnestly than I might have done, if prosperity had rewarded my firsteffort! Before, I had trusted entirely to myself, never thinking ofappealing to His aid. 

Now, I assure you, I could have struggled on to the death--even hadFortune still gone against me even in America; but, the fickle goddessalike altered her expression _there_, as circumstances improved for me_here_, so that, I was not called upon to exercise any further endurancein adversity. 

My temporal troubles ended as my more serious difficulties disappeared--all being in due accordance with the old adage which tells us that "itnever rains but it pours. "

One morning, soon after hearing from England, as I was conning over theadvertisement columns of the _New York Herald_, I chanced on a noticewhich immediately caught my eye. An "editor" was wanted, without delay, at the office of one of the other leading-journals of the city, whereapplications were requested from all desirous of taking the "situationvacant. " Who could this have reference to, but me?

I thought so, at all events, and "exploited" the supposition. 

I did not allow the grass to grow under my feet, I can assure you. 

I hurried off instanter to the address mentioned; and, althoughnewspaper men of the New World, unlike ours, are uncommonly early birds, getting up matutinally betimes so as to catch the typical worm--in whichrespect they resemble the entire business population of Transatlantica--I found, on my arrival, that I was the first candidate who had appearedon the scene. 

It was a good omen, for your "live Yankee" likes "smartness;"consequently, I was sanguine of success. 

You may, peradventure, be "surprised to hear" of my thinking myself fitfor such a post, having had such a slight acquaintance with literatureat home?

That did not dissuade me, however, in the least. 

I have so great a confidence in myself, that I would really take thecommand of the Channel fleet to-morrow if it were offered to me--as EarlRussell proposed to do, when he was simple "Lord John;" and, as acivilian First Lord of the Admirality has since done, although hepossessed so little nautical knowledge that he might not have been ableto tell you the difference between a cathead and a capstan bar, or, howto distinguish a "dinghy" from the "second cutter. " I suppose hethought, like Mr Toots, that, "it didn't matter!"

Conceit, you say?

Not at all. --Only self-reliance, one of the most available qualities forgetting on in the world; for, if a man does not believe in himself, howon earth can he expect other people to believe in him?

"Guess" I posed you there!--to use one of my patent Americanisms. 

Besides, an American "editor, " if you please, is of a very differentstamp to an English one. The "learned lexicographer"--and pedantic oldbore, by the way--Doctor Johnson, defined the individual in question tobe "one who prepares or revises any literary work for publication;" and, we generally associate the name with the supreme head of a journalisticstaff--he who is addressed indignantly as "sir" by those weak-mindedpersons who write letters to newspapers, and who signs himselffamiliarly "Ed. " But, at the other side of the Atlantic, the term bearsa much wider application, extending to all "connected with the press"--from the "head cook and bottle-washer, " down, nearly, to that bottleimp, the printer's "devil. "

Political writers; correspondents, "special" and "local;" reviewers;reporters; stenographers, or "gallery" men; dramatic and musicalcritics; "paragraphists"--the new name for fire and murder manifolders, and other "flimsy" compilers; and, penny-a-liners:--each and all, are, severally and collectively, "editors, " beneath the star-spangled bannerof equality and freedom. 

Hence, there was not so much effrontery after all in my applying for theposition, eh?

The proprietor of the paper whom I now canvassed did not think so, atleast; and _he_ was the party chiefly concerned in the affair besidesmyself; so, I should like to know what _you've_ got to do with it?

He was a "Down-easter, " a class of American I had already learntspecially to dislike--the ideal and real, "Yankee" of the States; but, he spoke to the point, as most of them do, without any waste of words ortravelling round the subject--more than can be said for some"Britishers" I know!

He was leaning over the counter of the advertisement office as Ientered, settling some calculation of greenbacks with the cashier, and"guessed, " ere I had opened my mouth to explain my presence, that I hadcome about that "vacancy up-stairs. "

"Been in the newspapering line before?" was his next interrogatory--avery pertinent one; for, Transatlantic journalists, as a rule, manage totry every trade and calling previously to sinking down to "literature"--similarly to some of those bookseller's "hacks" over here who mortgagethemselves to flash publishers when all other means of livelihood havefailed them. 

When I answered "Yes" to this question, he did not wait to hear anythingfurther. 

"Go up-stairs and try your hand, " said he--"we'll soon see what you'llamount to, I reckon. We don't want any references here. We take a manas we find him. Guess I'll give you twenty-five dollars a week, anyhow, for one week sartain; and then, if we suit each other, we can raise thepile bimeby. Say, are you on?"

I "guessed" I _was_ "on;" and, went up-stairs to the paste-and-scissorspurlieus with much gusto. 

It was a very good commencement for me--I who had nothing to blessmyself with before, for, the salary would pay my board and lodging twiceover. It was a beginning, at any rate; and, as we subsequently did"suit each other, " my down-east friend behaved very fairly, keeping tohis promise of "raising my pile"--a synonym for increasing the weeklysum of "greenbacks" he allowed me for my labours. I had never anyreason to repent the bargain--nor did I. 

The work I had to do was by no means arduous, although, in manyrespects, of a novel character. From the fact that my residence inAmerica had not been yet sufficiently extended to enable me to masterthe ins and outs of Transatlantic politics, the leading articles--or"editorials" as they are there styled--which I had to write were but fewin number, and entirely referring to social subjects of local interest;notwithstanding that I was occasionally allowed to enlighten theManhattan mind in the matter of European affairs. If my special"editor's" duties were thus light, I made up, however, for theirdeficiency, by enlarging upon the skeleton telegrams that came everynight across the ocean--"expanding news, " so to speak--and by alsowriting, on the arrival of every steamer, while seated in the backparlour of the journal's office in New York, the most graphic specialcorrespondent's letters from Paris and London!

With regard to the telegrams. Half a dozen words only might come overthe cable, to say, for instance, that the late Emperor Napoleon, who wasthe then supposed arbiter of the Old World, had nominated Count somebodyor General that to a fresh portfolio; or that, the "scion of the houseof Hapsburgh" was suffering from tooth-ache; or that, John Bright wasgoing to Dublin to lecture "on Irish affairs. "

My duties were such, that, when these telegrams appeared, in all theglories of print, the next morning, they had grown in such a miraculousway, that they took up half a yard of room, instead of but a few linesof type. Had you read them, you would have found their contentsthoroughly explanatory, entering into the most minute details--as to howNapoleon's change of ministers would affect "the situation;" how poorFrancis Joseph's attack of caries might, could and would raise again theghost of "the Eastern question;" how the advent of the great Radicalleader in Ireland would be the signal for a general Fenian uprising--and, so on. 

I _only_ mention these cases in point, to describe the way in which Iclothed my skeletons with solid substrata of flesh and blood. Thepublic, you see, had only so much the more information for their money--which was, probably, just as reliable as if it had been really "wired"under the Atlantic! Nobody was the wiser; nobody, the sufferer by thedeception; so, what was "the odds" so long as they were correspondingly"happy"--in their ignorance?

My correspondent's letters were much more mendacious compositions. 

I am quite ashamed to tell you what long columns of flagrant descriptionI was in the habit of reeling off--touching certain races in the Bois deBoulogne, soirees at the Tuileries, and working-men's "demonstrations"in Hyde Park--of which I was only an imaginative spectator!

I used to rake up all my old reminiscences of the boulevards and cafesand prados, giving details concerning the "petit-creves" and "cocottes, "the "flaneurs" and "grandes dames" of the once "gay" capital--gay nolonger; and, interspersing them with veracious reports respecting thelatest hidden thoughts of "Badinguet, " and vivid descriptions of therespective toilets of the Empress Eugenie, Baroness de B---, Madame laComtesse C---, la belle Marquise d'E---, and all the other fashionableletters of the alphabet--chronicling the very latest achievements in"Robes en train" and "Costumes a ravir" of the great artist Worth. Eventhe men folk of America--"shoddy" of course--dote on those accounts ofEuropean toilets, which we never see given in any of our papers, excepting where the appearance of the Queen's Drawing-Room may bepassingly noted; or, when the _Morning Post_ exhausts itself over a"marriage in high life. "

When my spurious intelligence was dated from London, I had to draw on afertile memory for popular rumours concerning revolutionary doctrine, and express a conviction that things were not going very well with JohnBull, politically or socially, hinting, also, at the prospect of anearly Irish rebellion--and, generally, manufacture similar "news" of akind that is peculiarly grateful to the jaundiced palates of ourEnglish-hating, jealousy-mad cousins over the way. 

When Min came to know of this practice of mine, she did not like it. She wrote to me to say that it was acting untruthfully to pretend tocorrespond from a place when I was not actually there. 

The habit was certainly reprehensible, I admit, as I admitted to her;but, then, what can a writer do if blessed with a vivid imagination?

Besides, I had a precedent in Goldsmith's _Citizen of the World_, youknow; and, as Byron says--

 "--After all, what is a lie? 'Tis but The truth in masquerade; and I defy Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put A fact without some leaven of a lie. The very shadow of true truth would shut Up annals, revelations, poesy, And prophecy--except it should be dated Some years before the incidents related. "

Even on this side of the water, too, authors have frequently to usetheir pens as if they did not chance to possess a conscience--one of theworst possessions for any aspirant in the journalistic profession to beencumbered with, I may remark by the way!

You seem to be astonished at my observation? I will explain what I meanmore lucidly. 

Supposing a journalist belongs to a Conservative organ, he must back upthe party, don't you see, at all hazards; and, although in his inmostheart he may have a faint suspicion that Mr Disraeli's popularity is onthe wane, it will not do for him to write his leading articles to thateffect exactly, eh? Oh, dear no! He has to assert, on the contrary, that "the masses" are loudly calling on _Punch's_ friend "Dizzy" to saveEngland from the utter extinguishment predicted by our dear Bismarck theother day at Versailles! While, should your potent pressman, on theother hand, wield the goose-quill of any ponderous or lively daily paperthat may advocate "Liberalism, " and support the elect of Greenwichthrough thick and thin, do you think he gives you his candid opinionanent "the people's William" then in power, or respecting thatbamboozling Alabama business?

Not he!

Why, he knows, as well as you do, of the tergiversation that hasdistinguished the entire political career of the Risque-tout PrimeMinister; and yet, he has to speak of him as if he were the greateststatesman England has ever seen--hanging on his words as silver, whenknowing them all the while to be but clap-trap Dutch metal! Convinced, as he must be, that the Washington Treaty is one of the trashiest piecesof diplomacy that has ever disgraced a government, and that the wholecommunity has been dissatisfied at having to make the Americans a nicelittle present of three millions of money--in settlement of a claim forwhich neither the law of nations nor moral opinion held us responsible--he is obliged to argue that it is "a splendid triumph for the ministry, "and that the "public is overjoyed" to grease Uncle Sam's outstretchedpalm!

You know, the deeds of "our William" _must be_ bolstered up; lest"waverers" should waver off to the ranks of the "Constitutionalists, "and the "great Liberal party" come to grief at the next generalelection!

So, how can a journalist have a conscience? You see I'm right, and thatI had some excuse for my foreign correspondence of American origin. 

I lay the whole blame of the transaction, however, on the narrowshoulders of my lanky "down-east" proprietor:--_he_ is the man to blamein the matter, not I!

After a time, I got tired of this work. I then left the journal onwhich I had been first engaged--with no hard feelings on either side, let it be mentioned--to join the literary staff of the _AuroraBorealis_, an organ of quite a different complexion, and of considerablenotoriety in the empire city, as it was famed for its bizarre sensationsand teeming news. 

Here my labours became much more extended--my experiences and knowledgeof all shades of American life and character the more varied andcomplete in consequence. 

Years before, when at school in England, I had made some acquaintancewith shorthand, in order to save me trouble in noting down lectures--forthe purpose of afterwards writing themes thereon, as we had to do atQueen's College, under "old Jack's" rule; and, having kept up theacquisition, I found it now of considerable use, for, it caused me to besent about much more than might otherwise have been the case--to reportthe speeches of prominent public men, whether they were "stumping theprovinces" throughout the Union, or basking in the blazing "bunkum" ofthe capital at Washington. 

What an enormous amount of empty talk have I not had to attend to, noting it down carefully, as if it were of the most vital importancethat not a syllable should be lost!

I have listened, with amused ears often, and busy pencil, to thediabolical denunciations of our poor ill-used country, which have longsince made famous Senator Sumner--the greatest Anglophobist in theStates; hearkened to Horace Greeley's eager utterances, delivered inthin falsetto voice, wherein he urged, as he urged to the last, universal brotherhood and reconciliation between the North and South;heard Andrew Johnson, the whilom president and one of the ablest whoever occupied that position for ages, defend himself againstimpeachment--that had been promoted through the bitter animosity of ahostile faction--with the eloquence and legal ability of a Cicero andthe fearlessness of a Catiline:--

Reported Ben Butler, the ex-general, and now lawyer, of New Orleans, where he attached to himself an infamous notoriety, that will neverdesert him--"The Beast, " as Brick Pomeroy, the western wit, calls him--pelting his prosy platitudes and muddy language at the New York"rowdies, " who responded with a more practical shower, of dead cats, andeggs that had seen their better days:--reported Frederick Douglas, thetinted expounder of "advanced Ethiopianism, " who regularly tells hisaudiences--of sympathising abolitioners--that he had been "bought forthree thousand dollars when a slave"--a precious deal more than he wasworth, to judge by his appearance--although, he somehow always forgetsto speak of the present price he asks, for his "vote and interest!"

Reported Miss Anna Dickenson, the female champion, of whom report saysthat she loveth the forementioned negro advocate even more as "a man"than as "a brother, " and who blinks her eyes and rolls out her sentencesat such a rate that the one dazzle while the other appal the poorstenographer who may have to "follow" her:--reported Mesdames Susan BAnthony--please notice the "B"--and Cady Stanton, besides a host ofother strenuous assertors of "woman's rights" and male wrongs--inrespect of petticoat government, "free love, " and various similaramiable, progressional theories that mark the advancement of ourTransatlantic sisterhood!--Yes, I have reported each and all of these asthey declaimed to their glory and satisfaction--and my disgust andimpatience, when their loquacity has extended to such a length that Ihave had to sit up all night in order to write out my shorthand notes intime for the waiting press--confound them!

Beyond this, I have "interviewed" politicians of every school andtemper--from Fernando Wood, the chief "wire puller" of swindling TammanyHall, up to doughty, tongue-tied General Grant, the "uselessslaughtering" commander of the northern forces during the civil war--having had the pleasure of learning from the former how "logs" are"rolled" in the furtherance of party ends; and, from the latter, although the information only came out in dribbled monosyllables inanswer to gently disguised questions, for the reticent warrior canhardly put two words of a sentence together, that he had been "bred up afarmer, " and, considered himself "more fit" for "that state of life"than any other--in which opinion, as he has never been publicly tried inthe calling, I cordially agree with him. 

I have, likewise, "interviewed" prize-fighters, before they proceeded totake action in some "merry little mill;" Mormon prophets' wives, who hadcome east to purchase Parisian finery for the after delectation of Utaheyes, and the envy of other polygamous families not so favoured as they;Chinese missions, under the escort of a Burlinghame; condemnedcriminals, awaiting the fatal noose, and who wished to give their "lastspeech and confession" to the world; Japanese jugglers, who expressedtheir opinion of the States--the main object of every reporter's cross-examination generally--in a sort of phonographic language, too, in whichthe signs were feats of legerdemain and the "arbitrary characters, " thebutterfly and basket tricks!

In fact, I "interviewed" everybody that was worth "interviewing, " andwho could be got at to be "interviewed. "

Seen life?

I should just think I had. I would not dream of fancying myself in aposition to give any trustworthy opinion on the subject of America andits people, unless I had thus mixed amongst all classes of the communityduring a lengthened stay in the country--although, mind you, your"working-man's friend, " and "trades' union delegate, " and "Alliance"teetotaller, and "liberal" peer, and disestablishing Nonconformist--tourists all of only three weeks' experience--think they can take in, inone glance, the whole extent of a continent embracing some hundredmillion square miles, understanding the entire working of the"institutions, " of the "great republic" through travelling on a railroadfrom New York to Chicago!

As you will have noticed, reporters over there are set to very variedwork instead of being fixed in any one especial groove as in England. 

On the paper, for instance, to which I was attached, all the staff used, regularly in turn, to do the dramatic criticism at the various theatres. We, also, had to report the sermons at all the many churches of variousreligious denominations on Sunday--whether they were Methodist, Episcopalian, Baptist, Lutheran, Roman Catholic, Unitarian, Universalist, or other which would tire you to even hear named; notomitting the "Spiritualists, " "Agapemonites, " and the "PeculiarPeople"--so, as was pointed out in an opposition paper at the time, we"took the devil and the deity on week days and Sundays alternately!"

On the whole, putting the higher class of Americans on one side--I referto those who mostly belong to the older families, in some instancestracing back their descent to the days of the Puritan Fathers, and who, having learnt culture and refinement abroad, rarely mix in public lifein the States--the general faith and morality of our Yankee "cousins"have never been so tersely described as in the "Pious Editor's Creed" ofthe _Biglow Papers_, which were written, as you are doubtless aware, byan American, too:--

 "I du believe in special ways O' prayin' an' convartin'; The bread comes back in many days, An' buttered, tu, for sartin; I mean in preyin' till one busts On wut the party chooses, An' in convartin' public trusts To very privit uses!"

In one speciality, the New York journals, otherwise so inferior, set anexample which might be imitated to advantage by their Londoncontemporaries;--and, that is, in their news, the back-bone of anostensible "news"-paper. 

I say nothing for their tone, which is essentially low--exhibiting, asit does, a tendency of rather pandering to the vitiated appetites of themob than seeking to raise the standard of public taste and publicmanners; nor, for their literary power and status, as their leadingarticles are mostly a collection of loose sentences, strung looselytogether without method or reasoning, and they frequently display suchcrass ignorance in the way of blunders in history and geography, aswould shock an English school-boy. 

But then, their variety of intelligence from all parts of the world, telegraphic and specially written, in one morning's issue, is greaterthan you would gather in any one of our dailies in the consecutivenumbers of a week!

Take away the leading articles, foreign correspondence, andparliamentary intelligence of our Jupiters of the press; and what haveyou got left? Only some police reports and an attenuated column oftelegrams--solely from France and Germany, or some other part of Europe. 

We have an Atlantic cable; what news of America do our newspaperspublish through its means? Simply the rise or fall in the value ofgold, and the price of Erie and other shares! We have a telegraph lineto India:--of course, we get general intelligence, of interest to allpeople, respecting our great eastern, empire? No, we only hear what"shirtings" and cotton goods generally realise at Calcutta; and, thecurrent rupee exchange of Bombay!

It is the same case with regard to Australia and elsewhere. 

Although we have ample means of communication, the reading public knowno more now about what is going on in "Greater Britain" than it didbefore the days of steam and telegraphs--comparatively-speaking. TheAmericans, on the contrary, learn every morning the least incident thathas occurred in their remotest territory; besides, having European newsin abundance--the Atlantic cable being used to an extent which would, judging by their slight patronage of it, send an English newspaperproprietor into a fit!

We in London hardly keep pace with the the doings of our provincialswithin easy railway distance of the metropolis, much less take notice ofour dependencies:--the existence of places without the London radius isseldom brought home to the readers of our daily metropolitan papers, except some "Frightful Murder, " or "Painful Accident, " or "DreadfulCalamity" occurs, to fasten ephemeral attention on them for awhile!

Why, cannot we have such general news as the Americans have every day, in our papers, from all parts of the British empire, as well as that"foreign" intelligence, which is limited mostly to the adjacentcontinent?

The expense, you say?

Rubbish, my dear sir! Why, in the case of a war, no pains are spared tosend out good correspondents of position and ability; no money grudgedto bring home information, even if special modes of conveyance have tobe organised. Surely, in times of peace, a tithe of this expenditurewould not be wasted in making our colonies and the "mother" countrybetter acquainted with each other--to the future benefit of both?

I may be wrong, certainly, for we are all of us liable to error. Youknow--

 "Different peoples has different opinions-- Some likes apples and some likes inions!"

Still, I think that English readers are probably just as anxious to knowwhat is going on in India, in Australia, the West Indies, and others ofour outlying settlements--where their relatives and friends, and ourcountry-men, are spreading our nation, our language, and ourcivilisation--as to hear that Monsieur Thiers has gone to Switzerland, or that Prince Esselkopf is taking "the waters" at Dullberg on theRhine! Such, is my opinion--at all events. 

But, Min's letters, eh?

I'm just coming to them. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

"HOMEWARD BOUND. "

 There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage; There's laughing Tom is laughing yet; There's brave Augustus drives his carriage; There's poor old Fred in the "Gazette;" On James's head the grass is growing; Good Lord! the world has wagged apace Since here we set the claret flowing, And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse. 

Min's letters! Ah, how I expected them, awaited them, devoured them!--from the first tender response that came in answer to mine, to the lastlittle darling oblong-enveloped, dainty hand-written missive Ireceived--ere I shook off the dust of the "Empire City" from my New-World-wearied feet, and left Sandy Hook behind me!

It would be a vain task, should I attempt to describe to you the agonyof suspense in which I watched every week for the arrival of theEuropean mail; for, I'm sure, that Sir Samuel Cunard himself could nothave evinced so deep an interest in the safety of his steamers as I did;no, not even if they had been uninsured, and the underwriters declinedall offers of "risk" premiums, be they never so high and tempting!

Long before the regular _Scotia_, the _Java_, or the _Russia_ could, intheir several turns, possibly have achieved the ocean passage, I was onthe look out for them; prophesying all manner of disasters in the eventof their being delayed; and overjoyed, with a frenzied rapture, shouldthey be signalled in advance of their anticipated time! And then, whenthey had glided up New York Bay and anchored in the Hudson, how rapidlywould my eager impatience bear me to the dingy old Post office "downtown, " where I would sometimes have to wait for hours before the letterswere sorted and delivered!

Should there be none for me, I was in despair--imagining all the variouscalamities, probable and improbable, that might have happened--althoughI might have heard from England only a few days previously; while, should I obtain a dearly-prized note from my darling, I was in ecstasy--only to be on the look out for the next mail a moment afterwards!

I was never satisfied. 

I remember an official in the Ann Street Bureau asking me one day, whatmade me "so almight lonesome" about the "old country;" and "guessing, "when I took no notice of his question, that I had "a young woman overthe water. "

Young woman, indeed! If looks could kill, that inquisitive and ill-mannered person was a dead man on the spot!

I never heard anything so impertinent in my life!

Her letters!

I could almost see, as I read them, the dear, earnest, soul-lit greyeyes, gazing once more into mine; the loving little hand that pennedeach darling sentence. In fancy, I could mark the changing expressionsthat swept across the sweet Madonna face, whose every line I knew sowell, as, down-bent on the rustling paper, some sad or happyrecollection filled her mind for awhile, in detailing those littleevents of her daily life which she related to please me. She wrote tome easily and naturally, just as if she were talking to me--the greatestcharm a letter can have. The written words appeared to speak out to mein silvery intonations and musical rhythm:--the very violet ink seemedscented with her breath!

Dear little Miss Pimpernell had endeavoured to satisfy, as far as shewas able, the longing cravings of my heart for any intelligence aboutMin--how she was looking, if she saw her often, did she think of me, ifshe was happy or miserable at my absence; but, how little could herbudgets compare with the letters I now got regularly, once a fortnightat least, from Min herself--the fountain-head of all my desires!

She told me everything--where she went, what she did, even what shethought--in simple, artless language that made me know her better, inthe thorough workings of her nature, than during those long months ofour intimacy at home. 

I had plenty of news, too; besides information, on sundry little points, which was only of interest to us two. 

Nothing passed in Saint Canon's with which I was not made acquainted;and, I now learnt much that Miss Pimpernell had not told, or which I hadbeen unable to make out and understand, through the difficulties I metwith in the dear old lady's penmanship. 

Her writing resembled more the intricate movements of a particularlysharp-legged and frisky spider, previously dipped in very pale ink, overthe pages she laboured at so painstakingly for my benefit, than anyordinary calligraphy! _She_, however, believed it especially neat andintelligible; and, I would not have undeceived the dear old soul for theworld!

In one instance, she had mentioned--so I deciphered the intelligence--something about Horner marrying, as I thought, Lizzie Dangler; but, Inow found out from Min, that my Downing Street friend was _engaged_only, not married; and, that the object of his choice was SeraphineDasher, instead of the former young lady--the error being easilyexplainable in the fact, that all of Miss Pimpernell's capital letters, with the exception of her "B's" and "H's, " bore a close familyresemblance to each other; while, the remaining components of her wordswere composed of a single dash, and besides that, nothing. Hence, arosethe mistake of my confounding the two names, both of which commencedwith a "D"--which it was a wonder that I saw at all, it being MissPimpernell's weakest capital!

But, I knew now who had really got the handkerchief thrown by the Sultanof Downing Street; while Lizzie Dangler was yet free to bless some moresagacious swain. So, also, was lisping, little, flaxen-haired BabyBlake, whom I had believed much more likely to capture Horner than theSeraph, as she was always chaffing him and making light of hisattentions. 

However, girls are so deceptive, that, unless you are let into thesecret, you can never find out the happy individuals whom they reallyfavour. We men folk, on the contrary, soon contrive to exhibit thestate of our feelings to unsympathising outsiders, who laugh at us andderide us thereanent! We are "creatures of impulse:"--they, the mostbarefaced little dissimulators possible!

Fancy, Horner being married, though!

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" It would be, to me, well-nigh incredible!

Fancy his "popping the question" to Seraphine--who, I'm positive, musthave giggled in his face when that interesting operation was gonethrough; and, then, his subsequent interview with Lady Dasher, whoprobably detailed for his instruction, how her "poor dear papa" hadacted on a similar memorable occasion!

I should only like to learn how many times his eye-glass was reallyappealed to, to help him out of a sentence; and, how frequently he said"Ba-iey Je-ove!" before the whole thing was arranged and his mind set atease!

The marriage was to take place very soon--really, all of ouracquaintances were getting married, and having their courses of truelove to run smoothly for them, unlike Min and I!

After the ceremony was over between these twain, I was told that LadyDasher--who, now that her two daughters would be "off her hands, " nolonger had any necessity to keep up a separate establishment--was tomove from The Terrace, with her fuchsias and other belongings, and takeup her residence for the future with her first son-in-law, Mr Mawley;the curate being now ensconced in that villa, whose furnishing by oldShuffler, lang syne, had caused me so much jealousy and grief!

Ah! This _was_ news. 

I chuckled immensely over the idea of the relict of the gin distillersettling down like a wet blanket on the connubial couch of the curate!

Whenever the ghost of "poor dear papa, " in a reminiscential form, wasmade to walk the earth again, I would be avenged for all the quips andjibes which Mawley had formerly selected me to receive! He would meetwith an antagonist now, worthy of his carping, critical metal! I wishedhim joy of the situation!

Mawley and Lady Dasher together in one house, permanently!

I say no more. 

Is it not strange how you may live on and live on in some quiet countryspot, or retired suburb, without anything ever occurring to vary thedull monotony of its even existence; and yet, the moment you go awayfrom this whilom, stagnant neighbourhood--which you had got to believewas everlastingly unchangeable--change then succeeds change withstartling rapidity:--as you at a distance hear from those friends whomyou had left behind--to simmer on there, as you had simmered on, untilthe end of the chapter?

Of course, from having become more interested with the deeds and designsof those actors that might be connected with the new scenes amidst whichyou may now be situated, you will not attach such importance to theseevents as you would probably have done had you been yet living on in thetime-honoured routine of your old abiding-place. They are to you, atpresent, only so many little fly-blows on the scroll of time, so tospeak. But, there was a period when you would have regarded them as ofthe utmost moment; and when, the deaths of people whom you thought wouldnever die, the marriages of those that seemed the most unlikely subjectsfor matrimony, the flittings of persons of the "oldest inhabitant"class--that you calculated would stick-on there for ever, and theirreplacement by the advent of new families, whom you would have supposedto be the last in the world to settle down in the locality in question--would have been matters of nine days' wonderment. 

It was so now with myself in, regard to Saint Canon's. 

Horner's engagement, Lady Dasher's contemplated removal, the idea of thecurate's incubus--all of which would have once filled me with surprise, astonishment, delight--I only looked upon with half-amused interest. 

Even the intelligence that Miss Spight had joined the sisterhoodorganised by Brother Ignatius, hardly affected me as it would formerlyhave done. 

I belonged to another world now, as it were; and, the announcements ofbirths--Mrs Mawley had already presented her lord and master with alittle pledge of her affection--and bridals, and burials, at the twolast of which I might once have assisted, hardly awoke a passinginterest in me!

I was too far removed from the orbit in which these phenomena weredisplayed. 

I felt that there were not many now in whom I felt concern at SaintCanon's. 

No exceptions, you ask?

Certainly, there were exceptions. 

I am astonished at your making the observation. 

How could I otherwise "prove the rule, " eh?

Min told me that Monsieur Parole d'Honneur was as gay and as full ofanecdote as of yore. She also told me, too, that the kind-heartedFrenchman having chanced to meet her out one day, long before she hadbeen able to hear from me directly, had, in the most delicately-diplomatic way, led the conversation round to America, so that he mighttell her that I was not only well, but doing well!

This was at the time I had written a rapturous note to him, after myfirst interview with my friend, "Brown of Philadelphia, "--before, youmay be tolerably certain, that philanthropical polisher had "sloped toTexas" with the capital Parole d'Honneur endowed me with. 

He did not mention that latter fact of his generosity to Min, however;but, she knew of it, for I told her of it when we parted, and she thensaid that she thanked him in her heart for his kindness to me, and wouldalways "love" him for it--so she said!

The vicar and Miss Pimpernell--also "exceptions, "--I heard, were just asusual; the former as much liked as ever by rich and poor alike, in theparish; the latter, trotting about still, with her big basket andcreature comforts for those whom she spiritually visited. 

Old Shuffler, too, wobbled on, as he had wobbled on as far back as Icould recollect, Min told me; and rolled his sound eye, and stared withhis glass one, as glassily as then. 

I heard also that "Dicky Chips" was as frolicsome and light-hearted abullfinch as when Min first had him, and had learnt several new tricks. 

But, poor old Catch--my dog--whom I had so loved, had died in myabsence; not from old age, for he was but young, having only seen hisfifth birthday; but, "full of honours, " as every one liked him andrespected him who knew of his sagacity and faithfulness, and saw hishonest brown eyes and handsome high cast head. 

Dear old doggy!

I had had him from the time he was a month old; and he and I had hardlyever been, parted from that time until I went to America. 

He used to accompany me wherever I went, by day; and sleep across myroom door at night. 

He never had had a harsh word from me but once, that I remember; and, that was respecting a certain little matter connected with a straysheep, about which we happened to differ on the occasion. 

Poor Catch! I can fancy I hear his eager bark now. It was a welcome towhich I looked forward on my return to England, as only secondary to thepleasure I would have in meeting Min; and, I confess, when I heard ofhis loss, I mourned him more than I had ever mourned one whom the worldcalls "friend, " before. He was faithful always; changing never. Howmany reputed "friends" will you find to act thus?

I think that Lord Byron's recollection of his trusty dog must haveabsolved him from a hundred character blots. Do you remember thoselines he wrote to the memory of "Boatswain, " on the monument he erectedin his honour at Newstead Abbey? I would like them on Catch's tomb, ifI only knew where the dear old fellow lies; for, what "Boatswain" was toByron, so was he to me:--

 "In life the foremost friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth!"

Min's news did not come all at once. 

It was spread over an expanse of many months, during which I wasrambling over the States;--reporting this speaker and that;--studying"life and character" in every way--from the inspection of negro camp-meetings, where coloured saints expounded doctrinal views that wouldhave made Wilberforce shudder, to participating in a presidentialelection, wherein I had the opportunity of seeing the inherentrottenness of the Transatlantic "institution" thoroughly exposed. 

When I was thus bustling about, amidst so many varied phases of life, Icould not very well sympathise with the quiet doings of Saint Canon's. 

But, on my return to my Brooklyn lodgings, when once more appointed toregular newspaper work at the office of the journal with which I wasconnected in New York, the old home longings returned also as strong asever--stronger, as time went on!

I got in the habit of again marking my almanack, as Robinson Crusoenotched his post, every day; saying to myself the while, that I wasbrought one day nearer to my darling as the sun went down; one daynearer as it rose on the morrow:--one day nearer to the date of my exilebeing ended!

I remained in America much longer than I intended. 

However, as Mrs Clyde did not carry out her threat of closing ourcorrespondence at the end of the first year of our quasi-engagement, Ihad still Min's dear letters to encourage me and cheer me on. 

I do not know what I should have done without them. 

There was no benefit to be derived from my going back until theGovernment appointment, which the vicar had the promise of for me, should be vacant. But, this, the wretched old gentleman who continuedto hold it, would not give up until he reached the age ofsuperannuation, when he would be forced to retire--in which respect hewas not unlike many old field officers in the army, and "flag" ditto inthe navy, who _will_ persist in remaining on the "active list" of bothservices long past the age of usefulness, to the prevention of youngermen from getting on!

O "seniority!"

Thou art the curse of all classes of officialdom in England--"civil" and"military" alike!

By-and-by, however, when my patience had become exhausted, and I wasseriously thinking of starting home with the few hundred dollars I hadmade on the American press, the vicar wrote for me to come. 

The old gentleman--might his "shadow never be less, " I devoutly wished--had betaken himself to his plough after an arduous official service offorty years. He only retired, however, because he received a pensionamounting to his full salary, for which he had striven and kept me outof his shoes so long. Putting the thought of this on one side, thesecretaryship was now mine, as soon as I arrived to claim it--the soonerthat was, the better, the vicar added, as if I needed any stimulus toreturn to home and my darling!

What a delightful, darling letter Min sent to me, too!

She told me that I was to start off immediately--"at once, sir, "--onreceipt of her tender little missive. She was expecting me, looking forme, awaiting me!

She had learnt all the songs I liked; had prepared the dresses in whichI had said she looked best; would greet me, oh, so gladly!

I was to keep my promise and arrive on Christmas-eve, when her motherwould be happy to see me; and she--well, she didn't know yet whether_she_ would speak to me or not:--it, really, depended whether I was"good!"

I took my passage in a steamer leaving the next day; but, instead ofgetting home on Christmas-eve, I only arrived at Liverpool a day beforethe close of the year--six days late! However, I was in England atlast, in the same dear land that held my darling; and she would forgiveme, I knew, when she saw how glad I was to get back to her dear littleself. "Naughty Frank!" she would say--"I won't speak to you at all, sir!"

And, wouldn't she?

Oh, dear no!

All the way up to town from the fair city on the Mersey, the railwaynymphs, whom I had previously noticed on my journey to Southampton, wereas busy as then, with their musical strains. 

The burden of their present song, echoing through my heart, was, --

 "Going to see Min! Going to see Min! Going to see Min, without delay! Going to see Min! Going to see Min! Soon! Soon!! Soon!!"

The last bars chiming in when the buffers joined the chorus with a"jolt, jolt, jolt. "

As the train glided, at length--after some six hours of reeling andbumping and puffing along, the railway nymphs never slackening theirsong for an instant, into the Euston-square station--I saw the kindvicar and dear little Miss Pimpernell awaiting me on the platform. 

It was just like their usual kindness to come and meet me thus!

I had telegraphed to them from Liverpool, telling them the time when Imight hope to be in London; and, there they were to the minute, althoughI had never expected them, having only informed them of my coming, inorder that they might let my darling know that I was on my way to her. 

I jumped out of the carriage before it stopped, in defiance of all thecompany's bye-laws; and, advanced to clasp their outstretched hands. But--

What was it, that I could read in the grave kind face of the one, theglad yet sorrowful eyes of the other, before a word had passed on eitherside? What was it, that congealed the flood of joyful questionings, with which I went forward to meet them, in an icy lump pressing downupon my brain; and, that snapped a chord in my heart that has nevervibrated since?

Min was dead!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

"DEATH. "

 O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun-- For ever and for ever with those just souls and true-- And what is life, that we should moan? Why make we such ado?

What! Min dead--my darling whom I had hurried home to see once more, the whisper of whose calling I had heard across the expanse of vastAtlantic in eager entreaty; and whose tender, clinging affection I hadlooked forward to, as the earnest of all my toils and struggles, mylonging hopes, my halting doubts, my groans, my tears!

It could not be. 

I would not believe it. God could not be so cruel as man; and what manwould do such a heartless deed?

It was false. Could I not hear her merry, rippling laughter, as shecame forth heart-joyous to greet me; see the dear, soul-lit, grey eyesbeaming with happiness and love; feel her perfumed violet breath as sheraised her darling little rosebud of a mouth to mine--as I had fancied, and pictured it all, over and over again, a thousand times and more?

Hark! was not that her glad voice speaking now in silvery accents--"O, Frank!" nothing more; but, a world of welcome in the simple syllables?

Dead!

How could she be dead, when I was waiting to hear from her truth-telling, loving lips what she had written to tell me already--that shetrusted me again, as she had trusted me in those old, old days that hadpassed by never to return; and, loved me still in spite of all?

Dead! It was a lie. They wanted to deceive me. They were joking withme!

Min, my darling, dead? It could not be. It was impossible!

Did they take me for a fool?

I could laugh at the idea. --What did they mean by it?

Min, dead!--God in heaven--how _could_ they torture me so!

But, it was true. 

I cannot bear to speak of it all now, it unmans me. It makes me, agreat strong man, appear as a little sobbing child!

I do not know what went on for days after I realised what had happenedto me. I was mad, I believe; for they said I had lost my senses. 

And even now, sometimes, I feel as if I were not myself, when I recallthe past with all its empty dreams--in which I almost attained toparadise--that were ruthlessly swept away in one fell swoop by the agonyof hell I suffered on being conscious of my loss. 

No, I am not myself. There is something missing in me--something thatcompleted my identity; and, without which, I am not even a perfect atomon the ocean of time--as I will be nothing in, the labyrinth ofeternity!--For, --

 "The waves of a mighty sorrow Have whelmed the pearl of my life; And there cometh for me no morrow, To solace this desolate strife!"

When I was able to bear the narration, I was told all. 

Min had caught a violent cold only a week before the Christmas-eve onwhich she expected me; and, in spite of all that science and love coulddo, she died before the dawn of the new year. She had looked forward toseeing me to the last, hoping against hope. She knew, she had said, that I would keep my word and come when she sent for me. But, whenChristmas-eve arrived without my coming, she did not seem disappointed. She then said that God had willed it otherwise:--something must havearisen to prevent my arrival:--we would meet again in the GreatHereafter:--she would leave a message for me, to reconcile me to ourbrief separation, ere we met once more. 

And, with that thought of me in her great loving heart, with thatblessed reliance in her Saviour's promise, and with a smile of ecstaticbliss on her lips, she "fell asleep"--without my seeing her, O my God!

Perhaps, on recollecting many of the incidents of my story, and callingto mind the tone and manner in which I have described them, you may havethought me then merry and light-hearted, where now I am moody andsombre?

True; but, life is made up of grave and gay. 

It is hackneyed to say that "the clown that grins before the audience, who laugh with and at the merryandrew and his antics, is frequentlyweeping behind his mask;" yet, it is often the case. 

Life is hysterical and spasmodic. 

Many of us, believed by surface-studying people to be the gayest of thegay, have in reality a dull, rending pain gnawing us inwardly thewhile--like as the fox was gnawing the Spartan boy's entrails; and, likehim again, we are too proud--for what is courage but pride?--to speak ofour suffering. We do not "wear our hearts" on our sleeve "for daws topeck at!"

The "consolation of religion, " you suggest?

Bah! How can I be consoled, when I have been bereft of all that madeexistence dear, receiving nothing in return--nothing but doubt anduncertainty, and a despair unspeakable?

Could comfort accrue to me, when I wandered back along the pathway ofmemory, catching sunny glimpses of the rosy future which my imaginationhad marked out, and then comparing these with the dreary outlook thatnow was mine?

When I think of what might have been and now can never happen, I rave!

I should count my loss a "gain, " you say?

I cannot, I cannot!

Saint Paul might have so truly exemplified the position of earthlymisery as opposed to heavenly reward; but, _I_ am powerless to give thededuction a personal application. 

You tell me to look above, and have faith in the hope of rejoining her?

She is there, I know--that is, if there be a just God, a heaven, andangels in paradise; but, how can I, sinner as I am and as I have been, dream of climbing up to such a height?

It is an impossibility. I dare not hope for mercy and forgiveness. Why, the very angels would scout me; and she, who was always glad of myapproach, would now draw aside the hem of her raiment lest I shouldtouch it and defile her!

Do you know, that, the acutest pang that thrills through my heart, arises from the consciousness, that, while she was here, I was unworthyof her--as I would be doubly so were I now able to take the wings of themorning and reach the uttermost parts of heaven where she dwells. 

Learn, O brothers! loving, like myself, hopelessly, unsuccessfully:--learn by me, by my blighted life, my lost present, my vanished hopes ofheaven, that, the worst possible use to which you can put the divineimage in which you are clothed, is "to go to the devil" for a woman'ssake! Should she be deserving of your affection, as in most cases shewill probably be--ten times more than you are of hers--this is one ofthe most inferior proofs that you can give of it; while, should she beunworthy of it, as may happen, you are a dolt for your pains--to put themotive of action at no higher level. 

And O sister women, daughters of England, fair to look upon, tender-hearted, ministering! think, that although no man that ever lived, butone, is perfectly worthy of a pure woman's love, many an erring brothermay be recalled from his down-treading steps to hell, to higher, noblerduties by your influence; as many a soul is damned, both here andhereafter through your default!

Bear with me yet a little longer. I shall soon be done. It is a reliefto me thus to unbosom myself. Like Aenone--"while I speak of it, alittle while, my heart may wander from its deeper woe. "

Min taught me to pray; and I _have_ prayed; but, the most fervent spiritthat ever breathed out its conscience to its Maker could never hope toundo the past. 

"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" It wasall very well for him who had faced Azrael, and looked upon himself as adying man, to speak thus!

Beautiful as is the sentiment contained in the words, are they _true_?

I know that a brave man, one who does not credit an eternity and has notthe slightest thought on the subject of future salvation or futurepunishment, can, when quitting the only world of his knowledge, lookupon his approaching end with a courage and an apathetic calm whichresemble the smiling fortitude wherewith the ancient gladiators utteredtheir parting salutations to Nero--when, in expectation, they waited forthe fatal thumb to be turned down, in token of their doom. 

I can well believe that an earnest Christian, likewise, regards hisinstant dissolution, with equanimity and, even joy--throughcontemplation of the everlasting happiness in which he devoutly trusts. 

Still, how do both, the irreligious man and the hopeful believer, bearthe loss of those dear to them--they themselves being left behind, forsaken, to grieve over their vacant chairs, their despoiled folds?--Has not Death his sting for them; the grave, its awful triumph?--

I do not always speak like this, however; nor are my thoughts everbitter and despairing. 

"Fret not thyself, " says the Psalmist, "lest thou be moved to do evil;"and, I try not to fret when I remember the message my darling left forme with Miss Pimpernell--who watched by her dying bed and told me whatshe had said, in her very own dear, dear words. It is then that I hauntthe old scenes with which her presence will ever be associated in mymind; and, weave over again the warp and woof of vanished days. 

The trim market gardens dwindling down in the distance, thickly planted, as of yore; the winding country lanes intersecting, which twist and turnin every direction of the compass, and yet find their way down to thesilent river that hurries by their outlets; the old stone, buildings, about whose origin we used to perplex ourselves--all remind me of herand happiness!

The very scent of the hedgerows, a pot-pourri of honeysuckles and roses, and of red, pink and white hawthorn, brings back to me her sayings whenwe walked and talked together there--long, long ago, it seems, althoughit was but yesterday. 

And, in the Prebend's Walk memory is more and more busy still, as I pacealong its weary length solitary, alone--for, even my poor old dog haddied during my absence; and what were those idle, fair-weatheracquaintances, whom the world calls "friends, " to me in my grief! I ambetter without their company: it makes my mind unhealthy. --

So, I walk, alone with my heart and its grief!

The stately lime-trees bend as I pass them by; and, seem to sigh for herwho is gone, never to return. The ruined fosse, stagnant and moss-covered, speaks of ruin and desolation. The crumbling walls that onceencircled the Prebend's residence, also reveal the slowly-sure power ofthe destroyer's hand, more and more apparent each year that rolls overthem. 

But, the church, Norman--turretted and oaken-chancelled, is fullest ofthese bitter-sweet memories of my darling. 

All its old-fashioned surroundings appear in keeping with my feelings:--the carved galleries, the quaint, up-standing pulpit with its massivesounding board, the monumental tablets on the walls, the open-rafteredroof; and, when, sitting in the high box-pew, where I first saw her, theorgan gives forth its tremulous swell--before some piercingly pitchednote from the _vox humana_ stop, cries out like a soul in agony likemine--I can almost believe I see her again sitting opposite me, hersweet madonna face bent down over her Bible, or upturned in adoration, as I then noticed it!

I feel that her unseen presence is near me, watching me from the spiritworld above; or else, hovering by me, to guide my errant footsteps onthe pathway to heaven and lead my thoughts, through the recollection ofher faith and purity, and love, to things on high. 

Would that I felt her presence always:--would that my thoughts, myactions, my life, were such as she would have had them!

It was after I had gone to the old church for the first time--it wasweeks before I could have the resolution to go--that Miss Pimpernellgave me my darling's message; touching with a tender touch on her lastmoments here. 

She told me she had never seen or heard of so peaceful an end as hers--such fervent faith, such earnest reliance on her Saviour. She seemed tohave a presentiment from the first, of her death; and, when she was toldthere was no hope of her recovery, she only grieved for those she leftbehind; and for me and my disappointment, my old friend said, chief ofall. --

"I know he will be sorry, "--she said at the last. --"But, tell him that Iloved him and trusted him to the end. Tell him good-bye for me, and tobe good--not for my sake only, but, for God's!"

These were the last words she uttered. 

She died, Miss Pimpernell said, with a soft sigh of contentment and asmile of seraphic happiness on her face; and, the face of the deadgirl--she added sobbing--looked like the face of an angel in its purityand innocence, and with the stamp of heaven on its lifeless clay. 

She is buried in the churchyard where she and I so often mused and spokeof those who had gone before--little thinking that _she_ would be sosoon taken, and _I_, left desolate to mourn her loss. 

Her grave is a perfect little garden. 

Loving eyes watch it, loving hands tend it. A little, green, velvet-turfed mound is in the midst, planted round with all the flowers thatshe loved--snowdrops and violets in the early part of the year, rosesand lilies in summer, little daisies always--for she used to say sheliked them because others generally despised them. 

I go there twice a day, morning and night. Her mother knows of myvisits; but, we never meet, even there! She does not interfere with me;and _I_ have buried the feud of the past in Min's grave. _There_ myheart finds only room for love and grief, ebbing and flowing in unison;coupled with a hope, which becomes more and more assured, now that Ihave received her message, that we shall yet meet again in that promisedland where there is no death and no parting, only a sweet forgetfulnessof the ills of life, and a remembrance of all its joy--the happy land ofwhich my dream foretold in the early days of our love. 

When I breathe the bloom of the flowers that rise from my darling'sresting-place in the early summer time, I almost experience peace! Hersainted presence _must_ be watching over me, I am convinced; and, mysoul expands with a desire and a resolve, so to guard my life, that Imay hereafter obtain "the crown incorruptible" that now, I know, she'swearing!

This is in summer. 

But, in winter--winter which is connected by a thousand close and closerassociations with her, I cannot so be content!--

It was at Christmas tide that I first spoke to her:--Christmas when weparted. On Christmas-eve we were to have met again:--it was Christmaswhen she died--

--In winter?--

_Ay de mi_!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

"DESOLATION. "

 As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, Desiring what is mingled with past years, In yearnings that can never be exprest By sighs, or groans or tears; Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art, Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, Wither beneath the palate, and the heart Faints, faded by its heat!

The Christmas bells, they are ringing; but ringing no gladness to me!Ringing, and ringing, and ringing; a death-peal, which fain would Iflee. 

The feathery flakes are falling from the dull-grey, pall-like sky;falling, and falling, and falling; and, slowly they gather and lie. 

The snowy-white mantle it covers, the churchyard and meadow and lea, asnow by her grave I am kneeling;--yet, nothing but darkness _I_ see!

The little red robin is carving a cross on her grave with his feet; ashe hops from the head-stone and carols, his requiem low and sweet. 

All nature is hushed, and the stillness, of earth and of air and sky, though pierced by the song of the robin, but whispers a long "good-bye!"

Good-bye to my darling! 'Tis ended; gone are the hopes of my life--OGod! that our fates were blended, and finished this desolate strife!

THE END.