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r r the rorRANT-AMERICAH.
<)> 1: Nt ' M ,A> DAY.
(iNSrRMUU’ TO Ml** ANNA H .)
v r ,)H 111 y path, on<’ summer day,
\ maiden enme whose russet hair,
ofdark-hued amber, lay
l ,n a neck, milk-wht e and fa'r;
v , I()SP , V es of deep, translucent blue
h alf roneealed a glint ot steel
> lira Med my heart, for woe or weal.
; r maid." I said, “with linked chain
l 1,, beauty binds my heart; wilt thou
11,1 fust that heart in bliss or pain?
I , thee my lasting ’ove I vow.”
paused. Herltosom heaved. At last
Ir , , Hi lambent eyes low tires dart,
Ul ,j flute-like tones reply; “Thou hast
put stirred the surface of my heart.”
• so*et maid,” I said, “thy heart entire
i hi ust possess, or else mine own
V il pine itself away. The fire
of hive to full white heat is blown.”
o _<;ized afar, a wistful gaze;
<! e smiled, an icy, heartless smile. *
„ i,ne. Henumtied, I stand in haze
o' rrief which nothing can beguile.
MTHEBOIER
I -J 1J LUJi f U JLJ Li
l V l
BY WALTER BESANT.
M . ; ii.ii* a maid had been spreading
the table with supper, and. to say the
truth, the eyes of the boy were turned
upon the cold meats with so visible a
P: n>, that the merchant could not
(•Ink.it but observe his hunger. So he
hade him sit and eat. Now, while Ralph
devoured his supper, being at the moment
one qf the hungriest lads in all England,
the honest glover went to talking in
(fnnd if not boastful language about him-
Hdf and his great doings Yet, inexperi
enced as 1k i was, Ralph coulu not bift
wonder, because, although the oherrhant
wt;s cTttdnly past 50 years of age, the
great t ilings wore all ill the future. He
would become one of the richest mer
chants in London, he would be lord mayor;
he would make his daughter a great heir
ess; he designed that she should marry a
lord at least. At this announcement
Ralph blushed and his heart sank. One
of the reasons, said the merchant, why lie
kept her still in Northumberland was that
he did not wish her to return home till
they were removed to a certain great
house which lie had ki his mind, but had
not yet purchased. She should go in silk
and satin; he would give such great en
tertainments that even the king should
hear of them; London was ever the city
for noble feasting. And so he talked
until the lad’s brain reeled for thinking of
all these splendors, and he grew sad in
thinking how far off Brasilia would be as,
one by one, all these grandeurs became
achieved.
Another thing he observed: that while
the husband talked in his confident and
braggart way, the wife, who was a thin
woman, sat silent and sometimes sighed.
Why did she sigh? Did she want to live
on in obscurity? Had she no ambition?
Then the merchant had filled and lit a
pipe of tobacco, and proceeded to tell
Ralph how ho would have to begin upon
this ambitious career in search of a fortune.
First, lie would have to be an apprentice.
“I was myself,” said Mr. Hetherington,
‘‘an apprentice, though who would think
it now?” As an apprentice he would
sweep and clean out the shop, open it in
the morning, ands uit it at night; wait
upon the customers till day, run errands,
obey dutifully liis master, learn the busi
ness, watch liis master’s interests, behave
with respect to his betters, show zeal in
the dispatch of work, get no holidays or
playtime, never see the green fields ex -
oept on Good Fridays, take for meals what
might, be given him, which would certainly
not be slices off the sirloin, and sleep
under the counter at night. In short, the
shop would be his workroom, his parlor,
his eat in* - room, and his bedroom.
Ti#' boy listened to his instructions
vithdismay. Was this the road to fort
une.' Was he to become a slave for some
years. But—after? His apprenticeship
finished, it appeared that lie might, if he
V0l “d Umi money, open a shop and become
' ot most young men, lie
. ib necessary to remain in
Luvem; ). nt of their masters for some
years, tuiu in some cases kr the whole
Ham of their natural lives.
k ’ di<l not <• *hat lie had already
such* a i irtini • with 11, b k.i.l out with
judgment, enable him to open a shop or
P buy a partnership. He forgot at the
time that 1:> was the owner of Morwick
Yiltf. It so. dto him, being so young
V“d Into. -a i, and, that# lie had run awav
ni, inheritance, and abandoned it to
ihitbov He, too, might therefore have
l ivi ' : in a master’s employment,
mi's wn Hue u crime, truly, to boa ser
your days. And the boy began
a l *, idy even t-o regret kis cousin
- iilhow's blows and Barbara’s cruel
toggle.
lils plpo finished, the merchant remem-
IvFeg* t Imt at 8 Lie, club would meet, and
re left the lad with his wife.
F y " . ] . -_ ] over the table and
w uispt‘l'; <1 eageVly as soon as her husband
v > ; • •'•ie. ‘‘l: vc you come up to London
ut money to become a merchant?”
‘lmli'eu, madamc,” he replied, “I know
‘T-.onfiy,’ she said; “go home again.
11 - •’ rtie plow, become a tinker, a tailor,
f cobbler—anything that is honest. Trade
I ’ s usn;. rta.in. For one who succeeds a
daz( n are broke; you know not. any mo
- nt, but that you also may break. Your
W" uie Langs upon a hundred chances.
“; us - if one of these fail, there is the
or may be Newgate, or Marshalsea,
1 Whitecross Street, or the King’s
i *Ach, or the Clink—there aro plenty of
puw( ; for the bestowal of poor debtors —
■ ? yourself, and for your wife and inno-
c '”it children ruin and starvation. ”
_ Hot,” said Ralph, “Mr. Hetherington
Ls hot anxious. ”
leaves anxiety,” she replied bit
tor]y. ‘‘to his wife.”
* aen she became silent, and spoke no
to t-he boy, but sat with her lip*
doming as one who conversed with her
And from time to time she sighed
bll i ltir heart was breaking.
Iti the morning the merchant was up
betimes, and began again upon the glories
of i be city
“Art still of the same mind 9 ” he asked.
“Wilt thou be like Whittington and
Gresham and me. also one of those who
climb the tree?”
Then Ralph confessed with a blnsh
which mattered nothing, so deep was the
ruddy brown upon his cheek—that he
found city honors dearly bought at the
price of so much labor and confinement.
“Then,” said his adviser, in less friend
ly tones, “what will you do?”
Ralph asked if there was nothing that a
young man may do besides work at a
trade or sit in a shop
“Why. truly, yes.” Mr Hetherington
replied with severity: “he may become a
highwayman, and rob upon the road, tak
ing their money from honest tradesmen
and poor farmers —a gallant life indeed,
and so he will presently hang in chains,
or be anatomized and set up in Surgeon’s
Hall There is the end of your fresh air
for you. ”
“But, with respect, sir,” Ralph per
sisted. “I mean in an honest way
“If he is rich enough he may be a scho
lar of Cambridge, and so take orders, or
he may become a physician, or a lawyer,
or a schoolmaster, or a surgeon, and go to
sea in his majesty’s ships and lead a dog’s
life, or a soldier and go a-fighting”
“Let me be a soldier,” cried the boy
“Why, why? But you must first get
his majesty’s commission, and to get tins
you must first beg for letters to my Lord
This and my Lord That, and dangle about
great, houses, praying for their influence,
and bribe the lackeys, and then perhaps
you’ll never get your commission after
‘ill.”
This was discouraging.
“Rolling stones, uid,” said the great
merchant, “gather no moss. Better stand
quiet behind the counter, sweep out the
shop, serve customers and keep accounts,
and perhaps some day be partner and
grow rich.”
But Ralph hung his head.
“Then how can I help thee, foolish boy?
Yet, because I knew thy father, and for
Drusy’s sake Stay, would you go to
India?”
To India! Little, indeed, of the great
doings in India reached the town of Wark
worth. Yet Ralph had heard the vicar
talking with Mr. Carnaby of Col Clive
and the famous battlo of Plassy. To
India! His eyes flashed.
“Yes, sir; I would willingly go to
India.”
“My worthy friend, Mr. Nathaniel Sil
vertop. Is in the service of the company.
Come, let us seek his counsel. ”
They walked, the boy being much aston
ished at the crowd, the noise, and the
never ceasing business of the streets,
down Cheapside. through the Poultry,
past the new Mansion house and the Royal
Exchange into Coniliill, where stands the
honorable East India company’s house, a
plain, solid building, adorned with pillars
of the doric order. Mr. Hetherington led
the way into a great hall, where was al
ready assembled a crowd of men who had
favors to ask of tho directors, and finding
a servant he sent his name to Mr. Silver
top.
Presently, for nothing was done in un
dignified haste in this house, Mr Silver
top himself —a gentleman of three score
and of grave appearance—descended the
stairs. To him Mr. Hetherington unfolded
his business.
Here, he said, was a young fellow from
Northumberland, heir to a small and
pretty estate, but incumbered for three or
four years to come with a guardian,
whose affection he appeared to have un
fortunately lost, so that it would be well
for both to remain apart; but he was a
young gentleman of roving tastes, who
would fain see a little of the world, and
—but this he whispered—a brave and bold
fellow.
Mr. Silvertop regarded the lad atten
tively.
“Our writers, ’’ he said solemnly, “go
cut on small salaries They seldom rise
above £4OO or £SOO a year at the most.
Y r et mark this, young gentleman—so
great aro their chances in India that they
sometimes come home at 40, or even less,
with £IOO.OO0 —ay. £-200,000 Think upon
that, boy! So great a thing it is to serve
this honorable company
The boy’s eyes showed no emotion A
dull dog, indeed, he seemed to Mr Silver
top. not to tremble at the mere mention of
vast ti sum
“Leave him hero, my good friend,” said
Mr. Silvertop “1 have business, but I
will return and speak with him again. He
can walk in the hall and wait.”
Mr. Hetherington went his way and
Ralph waited.
After an hour or so he saw Mr Silver
top coming down the stairs again He
was escorting, or leading to the door, or
in some way behaving in respectful and
deferential fashion to a tall and splendid
gentleman, brave in scarlet, wearing a
sash and a sword and a gold laced hat At
the foot of the stairs, Mr. Silvertop bowed
low to this gentleman, who joinbd a little
group of gentlemen, some of them also in
scarlet, lie seemed to be the chief among
them, for they all behaved to him with
the greatest respect Then Mr Silvertop
looked about in the crowd, and spying
Ralph, beckoned him to draw near and
speak with him
“So,” saW Mr Silvertop. “you are the
lad Yes, 1 remember ’ Ralph thought
it strange that he should not remember,
seeing that it was but an hour or two
since Mr. Silvertop bad spoken last with
him. “You are recommended by my
friend Mr Hetherington Well. 1 know
not —we aro pestered with applications for
our writen-liips Every runaway—Ralph
blushed —“every out at elbows younger
son”—the great gentleman in scarlet,
who was close at hand, here turned his
head and looked at the lad with a little
interest —“every poor curate's brat who
can read and cipher wants to be sent to
India. ”
“You cannot, sir ” said the gentleman
in scarlet, “send tuo many Englishmen to
India 1 would that the whole country
was ruled by Englishmen—yet not by
quill drivers
He added tho last words in a lower
voice, yet Ralph heard them
Mr Silvertop bowed low, and turned
1 up
again to tho boy
“A writer-ship.” be continued “is the
greatest gift that can bo bestowed upon
a deserving lad Remember that, and if
—but 1 cannot promise 1 would oblige
my friend if 1 could—but I will not under
take anything With my influence —vet
1 do not nay for certain, & writers’uip is a
greater matter than you eem to think —I
might bring thy case before the direct
ors Is thy handwriting fair, and thy
knowledge? of figures absolute?”
lia.Jph blushed, because his handwriting
was short of the clerkv standard
“I thank you. sir,” he said, “but I love
not writing I would rather carry a
sword than a pen. ”
“Ta. ta. ta." replied Mr. Silvertop,
whose influence lay wholly in the mercan
tile department of the company. “We
waste our time. A sword! I know
naught of swords. Go thy ways, boy
go thy ways Is London city, think you,
a place for the carriage of swords! Go,
take the king’s shilling, and join a march
ing regiment I warrant you enough of
swords and bayonets "
Ralph bowed and turned away sadly.
Tlie gentleman in scarlet, who had appar
il
Ralph bowed and turned au ay sadly.
ently been listening to the conversation,
followed him to the doors with thought
ful eyes
“A lad who would rather handle a
sword than n pen,” he said. “Are there
many such lads in this city of trade and
greed?”
They looked at the Leg and Star that
day for the return of tho young Northum
brian in time for dinner. But he camo
not; nor did lie come at night; nor did he
ever come No one knew whither he had
gone or what had become of him. and
much Mr Hetherington feared that in
this wicked town he had been enticed by
some designing wretch to his destruction.
CHAPTER IV.
DRUSITjLA’S story.
1 was born in Cheapside. almost be
neath the bells of Bow, on October 5. in
the year of grace 1753, being the fifth and
youngest child of Solomon Hetherington
and Prudence, his wife My father was
a citizen and glover, a member of the
Honorable Company of Glovers, his ambi
tion being always to be elected, before
becoming lord mayor, master of his com
pany These ambitions are laudable in a
city merchant, yet. alas, they aro not
always attained, and in my unhappy
father’s case they were very far from
being reached, as you shall presently hear
There is. 1 am told, some quality in the
London air which causeth the city, in
spite of much that is foolish as regards
cleanliness, to be a healthy place, and
favorable to children. So that, for my
own part, though 1 was brought up in the
very center and heart of the city, with no
green fields to run in. nor any gardens
save those belonging to the Drapers’ com
pany, L. as well as my brothers and sis
ters. was a healthy and well faring child
up to the age of 8. when I, with all my
brothers and sisters, was afflicted with
that scourge of mankind, smallpox. This
dreadful disease. £o the unspeakable grief
of my parents, killed their four eldest
children, and spared none but myself, the
youngest, and a girl I recovered ,so far
that, although I was weakly and ailing
for a long time. I was not marked by a
single spot or any of those ugly pits,
which sometimes ruin many a woman’s
beauty and thereby rob her of that choic
est blessing, the love of a husband So
different, however, was I from the stout
ami hearty girl before the smallpox, that
my parents were advised that the best
chance to save my life—this being for the
time their chief and even their only hope
—was to send me into the country, there
to live in fresh, pure air, running in the
sun, and fed on oatmeal porridge, good
rriHk. fat bacon and new laid eggs.
Then my father bethought him of his
own mother who lived fai™away indeed
from London, namely at Warkwoiftk, in
Northumberland. And lio proposed to my
mother that they should take this long
journey, carrying mo with them, umMeuve
me for awhile in charge of my grand
mother; which being done, and my keolth
showing signs of amendment, they were
constrained to go back to their own busi
ness. leaving me in good hands, yet with
sorrowful hearts, because they were going
home without me Ami for six or seven
years 1 saw them no more.
No girl, to be sure, had kinder treatment
or more indulgent governess than myself.
My grandmother, Dame Hetherington—
though not a lady by birth, but only
a farmer’s daughter—lived in the house
which stands outside tho town, beyond
the bridge, among the trees.
My grandmother was a wise woman,
and reflected that, as -1 was sent away from
London in order to recover my health and
grow strong, i wss allowed and encour
aged to run about in the open air as much
as possible, so that, as this part of Eng
land is quite safe, and there are here few
gypsies (who mostly stay on the other side
of Cheviot) nor any robbers on the road —
nor, indeed, any road at all to signify—l
very soon grew to-knew the whole country
within the reach of a hearty girl’s feet.
There is plenty to see, though this part
of Northumberland is fiat, while the rest
is wild and mountainous There are the
ruins of the old castle, about which it is
always pleasant for a child to run and
climb, or for a grown person to meditate
on the vanity of earthly - things, seeing
that this pile of ruins was once a great
and stately castle, and this greensward
was orme hidden beneath the feet of fierce
soldiers, who now are dust and ashes in
the grave yard From the castle one looks
down upon the Coquet, which would ever
continue in my eyes the sweetest of rivers,
even were 1 to see the far famed Tiber,
or the silver Thames, or the great Ganges,
or the mysterious Nile, or even the sacred
Jordan.
Higher up the river was Morwick Mill,
where Ralph Embleton lived with his
uncle
Beyond tlie town, half a mile out t-o
sea. lies the little island of Coquet. Ralph
once rowed me across the narrow channel,
and we explored the deseri island and
thought of Robinson Crusoe which he had
read and told me. But this was before
the time when we took to pretending at
ghosts.
In those oays, which seem to have been
so liappy. and I dare say were. Ralph was
free, and could come and go as pleased
him best, save that he went every morn
ing to the vicar, who taught him Latin
and Greek, and sometimes remembered—
but in kindly moderation —tlie advice of
Solomon. The reason of this freedom
was that his uncle, with whom he lived,
loved the lad greatly, and intended great
things for him. even designing that be
should become a great scholar and go to
Cambridge. For once there was a member
of his family who took to learning and
rose from being a poor scholar in that
university, which has ever been a kindly
nurse or foster mother of poor scholars,
to be a doctor of divinity and a bishop,
but my Ralph was never to boa bishop or
even a doctor of divinity And a sad
change was to liappeu at the mill
Everybody was our friend in those days,
from Mr Outhbert Carnaby, justice of
the peace, and the vicar, down to Sailor
Nan and her lodger, Dan Gedge. tho
Strong Man. Everybody had a kind word
for Ralph, and nobody told me then how
wicked it was to run about with a boy of
such unnatural depravity This, as you
will see. was to come He was a tall boy
for his years, and he was six years older
than myself, which proves how good na
tured he must have been, for few boys of
15 or 1G care for the companionship of a
girl of 9or 10 As for his face, it has al
ways been the dearest face in the world
to me, and always will be. so that I know
not whether other people would call it a
handsome face. Ilis eyes were eager, as
if—which was tho case —he always wanted
to be up and doing. They were blue
eyes, because he was a Northumberland
lad, yet not soft and dreamy eyes, as is
too often the case with the people of the
north His face was oval and his feat
ures regular. He carried his head thrown
back, and walked erect with both hands
ready, as if there was generally a fight to
be expected, and it was well to be pre
pared. To be sure, Ralph was one of
those who love a fight and do not sulk if
they are beaten, but bide a bit and then
on again.
When Ralph was nearly 15. a great
and terrible misfortune befell him. His
uncle, Mr. Samuel Embleton, though not
an old man. died suddenly. After he was
buried it was found that he had left by
will Morwick Mill, and the farm, liis
household furniture, his books, which
were not many, and all the money he had
in the world, to Ralph as Ins sole heir.
This inheritance proved e 4 t first the cause
of groat unhappiness to the poe.r boy.
For.unfortunately,the will named Mathew
Humble as guardian and executor, to
whom the testator devised his best wig
and his best coat; with his second best
bed and a gold headed stick. Now it
angered Mathew to think that he be
ing also nephew and sister’s son of
Samuel Embleton, of Morwick Mill, w.-s
left no part or portion of this goodly
heritage. It would seem that, knowing
his uncle’s design to send Ralph to Cam
bridge. and his hope that he would be
come a credit to the family and a pillar of
the church, hoped and even grown
to believe firmly and to expect it as a
right, that the mill at least, if not tlie
farm, or a portion of it. would be left to
him. It was. therefore, a bitter blow for
him to find that he was left nothing at all
except what he could make or save as
guardian of the heir and administrator of
the estate, with free quarters at the mill
for six years. Surely for a man of pro
bity and common sense that would have
been considered a groat deal.
He came with his sister, who was as
much disappointed as himself, in a spirit
of rancor, malice and envy lie regarded
the innocent boy as a supplanter The
first thing he did was to inform him that
he should have jio skulking or idleness,
lie therefore put a stop to the Latin and
Greek lessons with the vicar, and employed
the boy about the work of the place, giv
ing him tlie hardest and most’ disagreea
ble tasks on tfte fa: xn. For freedom was
substituted servitude, for liberty, re
straint; for affection and kindness, harsh
language and continual floggings; while
Barbara, with her tongue, that ill gov
erned weapon of a woman, mauo him feel
for the first time in his life how idle, bow
useless, how greedy a creature ho was.
Tlie boy bore with all, as meekly as was
L?s duty, for quite two years But he
often came to me cr to the fugleman with
lists clinched, declaring that he would ea
dure this ill usage no longer, and asking
in wonder what he had done to deserve it.
And at such times he woiOd swear to*leave
tlie irfll. and run away and fbek his fort
une anywhere—somewhere in the world.
It was always in his mind from the first,
when Mathew began his ill treatment,
that he would run Itway and seek his fort
une. In ibis design he v.guo strengthened
by the example of rnv father, who left the
vi!l#-o when a boy of 14 to seek his fort
une. and found —you shall hear presently
what ho found. 1 dissuaded him as much
as i could, because it was dreadful for me
to think of being left without him,
or of Sis running about the country
helpless and friendless. The fugleman,
who knew the world and had traveled far,
pointed out to him very sensibly that he
would have to endure this hardness for a
very short time longer, that lie was al
ready 10 and as tail as most men, and
could not for very shame be flogged much
longer, while as for Barbara’s tongue, he
declared that a brave man ought not to
value what a woman said, let her tongue
run as free as the sergeant at drill of re
cruits, no more t han tho price cf a rope’s
end; and again, that in five years’ time, aa
soon as Ralph was 21, he would have thj
tight to tarn his cousin out of the mill.
I which would then become his own prop
i erty, and a very pretty property. too,,
where an old friend would expect to find
a pipe and a glass of Hollands or rum
And he promised himself to assist at the
ducking in the river which he supposed
that Ralph would give his cousin when
| that happv day should arrive, us well as
| at the great feast and rejoicing which he
| supposed would follow The result of
! these exhortations, to which were added
those of my grandmother, was that he
| remained at hortie, and when Mathew
■ Humble cruelly belabored him he showed
no anger or desire for revenge, and when
Barbara smote him with harsh words and
found texts out of the Bible to taunt him
with he made no reply Nor did he rebel
even though they treated him as if he
were a common plow boy and farm drudge,
instead of the heir to all
1 confess, and have long felt sincerely,
i the wickedness of the thing which at
length brought open disgrace upon poor
Ralph, and drove him away from us. Yet.
deserving of blame and punishment as our
actions were. I cannot but think that the
Conduct of Mathew in bringing the chief
culprit —he knew nothing of my share or
of the fugleman’s—before his worship.
Mr. Justice Carnaby, was actuated more
by malice than by an honest desire to
bring criminals to punishment Besides,
ho had for some months before this been
spreading abroad wicked rumors about
Ralph, saying, among other false and
malicious things, that the boy was idle,
gluttonous, lying, and even thieving, in
somuch that the vicar, who knew the con
trary. and that the boy was as good a lad
as ever walked though fond of merriment
i and a little headstrong, openly rebuked
him for malice and evil thinking, saying
plainly that these things were not so. and
that, if they were so. Mathew was much
to blame in blabbing them about the
' country, rather than trying to correct the
lad’s faults, and doing his best to hide
them from the general knowledge \et
there are some who always believe what
is spoken to one’s dispraise.-and sour looks
and unfriendly faces were bestowed upon
the bov. while tny grandmother was
warned not to allow me to run wild with
a lad of so notorious a bad character This
is all that 1 meant when I said just now
that at first all were our friends
When Ralph was gone 1 took little joy
in anything until I got my first letter from
him. which was not for a very long time
| afterward
Now. one day. as I was walking sorrow
| fully home, having sat all the afternoon
; with the fugleman. I saw Sailor Nan
: beckoning to me from her stone outside
i the door
“Child.” she said, “where’s your sweet
heart?”
“Alack.” I replied. “I know not. Sailor
j Nan.”
“Young maids.” she went on. “must
■ not puke and pine because they hear
nothing for a while of the lads they love
Be of good .cheer Why. I read him his
fortune myself in his own left hand Did
my fortunes ever turn out wrong? As
good a tale of luck and fair weather as
I ever read. Come, child, give me thy
hand; let me read your lines too.”
It is strange how in tho lines of one’s
hand are depicted beforehand all the cir
j cumstances of life, easy to be read before
1 hand by those wlio are wise. Yet have I
: been told that it is not enough to learn
the rules unless you have the gift.
“He will come back.” she repeated.
fljlflf
fit ,-iiT"
“He will come back f" she repeated.
after long looking into the hand. Now,
your own hand Here is a long line of
life—yet not as long as my own Here is
the line of marriage—a good line; a happy
marriage, a fortunate girl—yet there will
be trouble Is it an old man? 1 cannot
rightly read Something is in the way
Trouble, and even grievous trouble. But
all to come right in the end.”
“Is my fortune.” 1 asked, “connected
with the fortune of Ralph?”
She laughed her rough, hoarse sou laugh.
“If it is an old man. or if it is a young
man. say him nay Bide your old love.
If he press or if he threaten, say him nay.
Bide your old sweetheart
“There was an old man came over the lea,
Heigiio’ but 1 won’t have 'un;
fame over the lea.
A -courtin' to rue.
Wi’ his ok! gray beard just newly shaves.
She crooned out the words in a cracked
and rusty voice, and pushed my hand
away roughly Then she replaced her
pipe in her mouth, and went on smoking
the tobacco, which was bar chief food
and her chief solace, and took no further
lraed of mo.
CHAPTER V
A SECOND WHITTINGTON.
The summer and the autunm passed
but no sign or letter came from Ralph.
The people in the town ceased, after the
manner of mankind, to think of the boy.
lie was gone and forgotten, yet there
were two or three of us who spoke and
thought of him continually. First, there
was the fugleman, who found his life dull
without the boy to talk with. He prom
ised to make a collection of birds’ eggs in
the spring as a present for him when ho
should return. Then there was the old
woman. Sailor Nan, who kept his memory
green Lastly, there were my grand
mother and myself. We knew not, how
fivpr. where he was or anythin# about
him, nor could we guess what he was do
ing or whither he had gone.
Twice in ihe v :i \ namely :it Christmas
or the New Year, and at midsummer, l
had letters from my parents, to which I
duly replied It was in May when Ralph
ran away, so that they had three letters
from me that year When my Christmas
letters arrived there was mention of our
boy. but so strange a tale that we could
not understand what to believe or what
tho thing might mean
The letter told us that Ralph reached
London safely in four or five weeks after
leaving us. having walked ail the way,
save for such trifling lifts and helps as
might be had for nothing on the road, he
found out my father s shop, he gave him
the letter; he slept in the house, and was
hospitably entertained In the morning
he was taken by my father to the East
India’s company's great house in Corn hill,
and left there by him. to talk with a geu
tleman about the obtaining of a post in
their service, that, the conversation fin
ished. being dismissed by the gentleman
with whom he had taken counsel, Ralph
left the office. Then he disappeared, and
was seen no more Nor to the inquiries
tnade was there any answer given or any
news of him ascertained “So wicked is
this unhappy town,” wrote my mother,
“that men are capable of murdering even
an innocent lad from the country for the
sake of the silver buckles, or the very
coat upon his back Yet there are other
ways in which be may have been drawn
away lie loved not the thought of city
life; he may have taken the recruiting
sergeant's shilling, or he may have been
pressed for a sailor and sent to sea, or,
which heaven forbid, ha may have been
decoyed into bad company, and now be in
the company of rogues Whatever the
cause, he hath disappeared and made no
sign. Yet he seemed a good and honest
lad ”
TO in; CONTINUED.
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