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The Professor by Charlotte Bronte

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THE PROFESSOR
by Charlotte Bronte
[Published under the name Currer Bell, see Etext #771 for details]

PREFACE.

This little book was written before either "Jane Eyre" or
"Shirley," and yet no indulgence can be solicited for it on the
plea of a first attempt. A first attempt it certainly was not,
as the pen which wrote it had been previously worn a good deal in
a practice of some years. I had not indeed published anything
before I commenced "The Professor," but in many a crude effort,
destroyed almost as soon as composed, I had got over any such
taste as I might once have had for ornamented and redundant
composition, and come to prefer what was plain and homely. At
the same time I had adopted a set of principles on the subject
of incident, &c., such as would be generally approved in theory,
but the result of which, when carried out into practice, often
procures for an author more surprise than pleasure.

I said to myself that my hero should work his way through life as
I had seen real living men work theirs--that he should never get
a shilling he had not earned--that no sudden turns should lift
him in a moment to wealth and high station; that whatever small
competency he might gain, should be won by the sweat of his brow;
that, before he could find so much as an arbour to sit down in,
he should master at least half the ascent of "the Hill of
Difficulty;" that he should not even marry a beautiful girl or a
lady of rank. As Adam's son he should share Adam's doom, and
drain throughout life a mixed and moderate cup of enjoyment.

In the sequel, however, I find that publishers in general
scarcely approved of this system, but would have liked something
more imaginative and poetical--something more consonant with a
highly wrought fancy, with a taste for pathos, with sentiments
more tender, elevated, unworldly. Indeed, until an author has
tried to dispose of a manuscript of this kind, he can never know
what stores of romance and sensibility lie hidden in breasts he
would not have suspected of casketing such treasures. Men in
business are usually thought to prefer the real; on trial the
idea will be often found fallacious: a passionate preference for
the wild, wonderful, and thrilling--the strange, startling, and
harrowing--agitates divers souls that show a calm and sober
surface.

Such being the case, the reader will comprehend that to have
reached him in the form of a printed book, this brief narrative
must have gone through some struggles--which indeed it has. And
after all, its worst struggle and strongest ordeal is yet to come
but it takes comfort--subdues fear--leans on the staff of a
moderate expectation--and mutters under its breath, while
lifting its eye to that of the public,

"He that is low need fear no fall."

CURRER BELL.

The foregoing preface was written by my wife with a view to the
publication of "The Professor," shortly after the appearance of
"Shirley." Being dissuaded from her intention, the authoress
made some use of the materials in a subsequent work--"Villette,"
As, however, these two stories are in most respects unlike, it
has been represented to me that I ought not to withhold "The
Professor" from the public. I have therefore consented to its
publication.

A. B. NICHOLLS

Haworth Parsonage,
September 22nd, 1856.

*

T H E P R O F E S S O R

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

THE other day, in looking over my papers, I found in my desk the
following copy of a letter, sent by me a year since to an old
school acquaintance:--

"DEAR CHARLES,
"I think when you and I were at Eton together, we were neither of
us what could be called popular characters: you were a
sarcastic, observant, shrewd, cold-blooded creature; my own
portrait I will not attempt to draw, but I cannot recollect that
it was a strikingly attractive one--can you? What animal
magnetism drew thee and me together I know not; certainly I never
experienced anything of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for
you, and I have reason to believe that you, on your part, were
equally free from all romantic regard to me. Still, out of
school hours we walked and talked continually together; when the
theme of conversation was our companions or our masters we
understood each other, and when I recurred to some sentiment of
affection, some vague love of an excellent or beautiful object,
whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic coldness
did not move me. I felt myself superior to that check THEN as I
do NOW.

"It is a long time since I wrote to you, and a still longer time
since I saw you. Chancing to take up a newspaper of your county
the other day, my eye fell upon your name. I began to think of
old times; to run over the events which have transpired since we
separated; and I sat down and commenced this letter. What you
have been doing I know not; but you shall hear, if you choose to
listen, how the world has wagged with me.

"First, after leaving Eton, I had an interview with my maternal
uncles, Lord Tynedale and the Hon. John Seacombe. They asked me
if I would enter the Church, and my uncle the nobleman offered me
the living of Seacombe, which is in his gift, if I would; then my
other uncle, Mr. Seacombe, hinted that when I became rector of
Seacombe-cum-Scaife, I might perhaps be allowed to take, as
mistress of my house and head of my parish, one of my six
cousins, his daughters, all of whom I greatly dislike.

"I declined both the Church and matrimony. A good clergyman is a
good thing, but I should have made a very bad one. As to the
wife--oh how like a night-mare is the thought of being bound for
life to one of my cousins! No doubt they are accomplished and
pretty; but not an accomplishment, not a charm of theirs,
touches a chord in my bosom. To think of passing the winter
evenings by the parlour fire-side of Seacombe Rectory alone with
one of them--for instance, the large and well-modelled statue,
Sarah--no; I should be a bad husband, under such circumstances,
as well as a bad clergyman.

"When I had declined my uncles' offers they asked me 'what I
intended to do?' I said I should reflect. They reminded me that
I had no fortune, and no expectation of any, and, after a
considerable pause, Lord Tynedale demanded sternly, 'Whether I
had thoughts of following my father's steps and engaging in
trade?' Now, I had had no thoughts of the sort. I do not think
that my turn of mind qualifies me to make a good tradesman; my
taste, my ambition does not lie in that way; but such was the
scorn expressed in Lord Tynedale's countenance as he pronounced
the word TRADE--such the contemptuous sarcasm of his tone--that I
was instantly decided. My father was but a name to me, yet that
name I did not like to hear mentioned with a sneer to my very
face. I answered then, with haste and warmth, 'I cannot do
better than follow in my father's steps; yes, I will be a
tradesman.' My uncles did not remonstrate; they and I parted
with mutual disgust. In reviewing this transaction, I find that
I was quite right to shake off the burden of Tynedale's
patronage, but a fool to offer my shoulders instantly for the
reception of another burden--one which might be more intolerable,
and which certainly was yet untried.

"I wrote instantly to Edward--you know Edward--my only brother,
ten years my senior, married to a rich mill-owner's daughter, and
now possessor of the mill and business which was my father's
before he failed. You are aware that my father-once reckoned a
Croesus of wealth--became bankrupt a short time previous to his
death, and that my mother lived in destitution for some six
months after him, unhelped by her aristocratical brothers, whom
she had mortally offended by her union with Crimsworth, the
----shire manufacturer. At the end of the six months she brought
me into the world, and then herself left it without, I should
think, much regret, as it contained little hope or comfort for
her.

"My father's relations took charge of Edward, as they did of me,
till I was nine years old. At that period it chanced that the
representation of an important borough in our county fell vacant;
Mr. Seacombe stood for it. My uncle Crimsworth, an astute
mercantile man, took the opportunity of writing a fierce letter
to the candidate, stating that if he and Lord Tynedale did not
consent to do something towards the support of their sister's
orphan children, he would expose their relentless and malignant
conduct towards that sister, and do his best to turn the
circumstances against Mr. Seacombe's election. That gentleman
and Lord T. knew well enough that the Crimsworths were an
unscrupulous and determined race; they knew also that they had
influence in the borough of X----; and, making a virtue of
necessity, they consented to defray the expenses of my education.
I was sent to Eton, where I remained ten years, during which
space of time Edward and I never met. He, when he grew up,
entered into trade, and pursued his calling with such diligence,
ability, and success, that now, in his thirtieth year, he was
fast making a fortune. Of this I was apprised by the occasional
short letters I received from him, some three or four times a
year; which said letters never concluded without some expression
of determined enmity against the house of Seacombe, and some
reproach to me for living, as he said, on the bounty of that
house. At first, while still in boyhood, I could not understand
why, as I had no parents, I should not be indebted to my uncles
Tynedale and Seacombe for my education; but as I grew up, and
heard by degrees of the persevering hostility, the hatred till
death evinced by them against my father--of the sufferings of my
mother--of all the wrongs, in short, of our house--then did I
conceive shame of the dependence in which I lived, and form a
resolution no more to take bread from hands which had refused to
minister to the necessities of my dying mother. It was by these
feelings I was influenced when I refused the Rectory of
Seacombe, and the union with one of my patrician cousins.

"An irreparable breach thus being effected between my uncles and
myself, I wrote to Edward; told him what had occurred, and
informed him of my intention to follow his steps and be a
tradesman. I asked, moreover, if he could give me employment.
His answer expressed no approbation of my conduct, but he said I
might come down to ----shire, if I liked, and he would 'see what
could be done in the way of furnishing me with work.' I
repressed all--even mental comment on his note--packed my trunk
and carpet-bag, and started for the North directly.

"After two days' travelling (railroads were not then in
existence) I arrived, one wet October afternoon, in the town of
X----. I had always understood that Edward lived in this town,
but on inquiry I found that it was only Mr. Crimsworth's mill and
warehouse which were situated in the smoky atmosphere of Bigben
Close; his RESIDENCE lay four miles out, in the country.

"It was late in the evening when I alighted at the gates of the
habitation designated to me as my brother's. As I advanced up
the avenue, I could see through the shades of twilight, and the
dark gloomy mists which deepened those shades, that the house was
large, and the grounds surrounding it sufficiently spacious. I
paused a moment on the lawn in front, and leaning my back against
a tall tree which rose in the centre, I gazed with interest on
the exterior of Crimsworth Hall.

"Edward is rich," thought I to myself. 'I believed him to be
doing well--but I did not know he was master of a mansion like
this.' Cutting short all marvelling; speculation, conjecture,
&c., I advanced to the front door and rang. A man-servant opened
it--I announced myself--he relieved me of my wet cloak and
carpet-bag, and ushered me into a room furnished as a library,
where there was a bright fire and candles burning on the table;
he informed me that his master was not yet returned from X----
market, but that he would certainly be at home in the course of
half an hour.

"Being left to myself, I took the stuffed easy chair, covered
with red morocco, which stood by the fireside, and while my eyes
watched the flames dart from the glowing coals, and the cinders
fall at intervals on the hearth, my mind busied itself in
conjectures concerning the meeting about to take place. Amidst
much that was doubtful in the subject of these conjectures, there
was one thing tolerably certain--I was in no danger of
encountering severe disappointment; from this, the moderation of
my expectations guaranteed me. I anticipated no overflowings of
fraternal tenderness; Edward's letters had always been such as to
prevent the engendering or harbouring of delusions of this sort.
Still, as I sat awaiting his arrival, I felt eager--very eager--I
cannot tell you why; my hand, so utterly a stranger to the grasp
of a kindred hand, clenched itself to repress the tremor with
which impatience would fain have shaken it.

"I thought of my uncles; and as I was engaged in wondering
whether Edward's indifference would equal the cold disdain I had
always experienced from them, I heard the avenue gates open:
wheels approached the house; Mr. Crimsworth was arrived; and
after the lapse of some minutes, and a brief dialogue between
himself and his servant in the hall, his tread drew near the
library door--that tread alone announced the master of the house.

"I still retained some confused recollection of Edward as he was
ten years ago--a tall, wiry, raw youth; NOW, as I rose from my
seat and turned towards the library door, I saw a fine-looking
and powerful man, light-complexioned, well-made, and of athletic
proportions; the first glance made me aware of an air of
promptitude and sharpness, shown as well in his movements as in
his port, his eye, and the general expression of his face. He
greeted me with brevity, and, in the moment of shaking hands,
scanned me from head to foot; he took his seat in the morocco
covered arm-chair, and motioned me to another sent.

"'I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the
Close,' said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent,
probably habitual to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern
tone, which sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery
utterance of the South.

"'The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed me
here,' said I. 'I doubted at first the accuracy of his
information, not being aware that you had such a residence as
this.'

"'Oh, it is all right!' he replied, 'only I was kept half an hour
behind time, waiting for you--that is all. I thought you must
be coming by the eight o'clock coach.'

"I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer,
but stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience;
then he scanned me again.

"I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first
moment of meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I
had saluted this man with a quiet and steady phlegm.

"'Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?' he asked
hastily.

"'I do not think I shall have any further communication with
them; my refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a
barrier against all future intercourse.'

"'Why,' said he, 'I may as well remind you at the very outset of
our connection, that "no man can serve two masters."
Acquaintance with Lord Tynedale will be incompatible with
assistance from me.' There was a kind of gratuitous menace in
his eye as he looked at me in finishing this observation.

"Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with
an inward speculation on the differences which exist in the
constitution of men's minds. I do not know what inference Mr.
Crimsworth drew from my silence--whether he considered it a
symptom of contumacity or an evidence of my being cowed by his
peremptory manner. After a long and hard stare at me, he rose
sharply from his seat.

"'To-morrow,' said he, 'I shall call your attention to some
other points; but now it is supper time, and Mrs. Crimsworth is
probably waiting; will you come?'

"He strode from the room, and I followed. In crossing the hall,
I wondered what Mrs. Crimsworth might be. 'Is she,' thought I,
'as alien to what I like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses
Seacombe--as the affectionate relative now striding before me? or
is she better than these? Shall I, in conversing with her, feel
free to show something of my real nature; or --' Further
conjectures were arrested by my entrance into the dining-room.

"A lamp, burning under a shade of ground-glass, showed a handsome
apartment, wainscoted with oak; supper was laid on the table; by
the fire-place, standing as if waiting our entrance, appeared a
lady; she was young, tall, and well shaped; her dress was
handsome and fashionable: so much my first glance sufficed to
ascertain. A gay salutation passed between her and Mr.
Crimsworth; she chid him, half playfully, half poutingly, for
being late; her voice (I always take voices into the account in
judging of character) was lively--it indicated, I thought, good
animal spirits. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked her animated
scolding with a kiss--a kiss that still told of the bridegroom
(they had not yet been married a year); she took her seat at the
supper-table in first-rate spirits. Perceiving me, she begged my
pardon for not noticing me before, and then shook hands with me,
as ladies do when a flow of good-humour disposes them to be
cheerful to all, even the most indifferent of their acquaintance.
It was now further obvious to me that she had a good complexion,
and features sufficiently marked but agreeable; her hair was red
--quite red. She and Edward talked much, always in a vein of
playful contention; she was vexed, or pretended to be vexed, that
he had that day driven a vicious horse in the gig, and he made
light of her fears. Sometimes she appealed to me.

"'Now, Mr. William, isn't it absurd in Edward to talk so? He says
he will drive Jack, and no other horse, and the brute has thrown
him twice already.

"She spoke with a kind of lisp, not disagreeable, but childish.
I soon saw also that there was more than girlish--a somewhat
infantine expression in her by no means small features; this lisp
and expression were, I have no doubt, a charm in Edward's eyes,
and would be so to those: of most men, but they were not to
mine. I sought her eye, desirous to read there the intelligence
which I could not discern in her face or hear in her
conversation; it was merry, rather small; by turns I saw
vivacity, vanity, coquetry, look out through its irid, but I
watched in vain for a glimpse of soul. I am no Oriental; white
necks, carmine lips and cheeks, clusters of bright curls, do not
suffice for me without that Promethean spark which will live
after the roses and lilies are faded, the burnished hair grown
grey. In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well; but
how many wet days are there in life--November seasons of
disaster, when a man's hearth and home would be cold indeed,
without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect.

"Having perused the fair page of Mrs. Crimsworth's face, a deep,
involuntary sigh announced my disappointment; she took it as a
homage to her beauty, and Edward, who was evidently proud of his
rich and handsome young wife, threw on me a glance--half
ridicule, half ire.

"I turned from them both, and gazing wearily round the room, I
saw two pictures set in the oak panelling--one on each side the
mantel-piece. Ceasing to take part in the bantering conversation
that flowed on between Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth, I bent my
thoughts to the examination of these pictures. They were
portraits--a lady and a gentleman, both costumed in the fashion
of twenty years ago. The gentleman was in the shade. I could
not see him well. The lady had the benefit of a full beam from
the softly shaded lamp. I presently recognised her; I had seen
this picture before in childhood; it was my mother; that and the
companion picture being the only heir-looms saved out of the sale
of my father's property.

"The face, I remembered, had pleased me as a boy, but then I did
not understand it; now I knew how rare that class of face is in
the world, and I appreciated keenly its thoughtful, yet gentle
expression. The serious grey eye possessed for me a strong
charm, as did certain lines in the features indicative of most
true and tender feeling. I was sorry it was only a picture.

"I soon left Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth to themselves; a servant
conducted me to my bed-room; in closing my chamber-door, I shut
out all intruders--you, Charles, as well as the rest.

"Good-bye for the present,
"WILLIAM CRIMSWORTH."

To this letter I never got an answer; before my old friend
received it, he had accepted a Government appointment in one of
the colonies, and was already on his way to the scene of his
official labours. What has become of him since, I know not.

The leisure time I have at command, and which I intended to
employ for his private benefit, I shall now dedicate to that of
the public at large. My narrative is not exciting, and above
all, not marvellous; but it may interest some individuals, who,
having toiled in the same vocation as myself, will find in my
experience frequent reflections of their own. The above letter
will serve as an introduction. I now proceed.

CHAPTER II.

A FINE October morning succeeded to the foggy evening that had
witnessed my first introduction to Crimsworth Hall. I was early
up and walking in the large park-like meadow surrounding the
house. The autumn sun, rising over the ----shire hills,
disclosed a pleasant country; woods brown and mellow varied the
fields from which the harvest had been lately carried; a river,
gliding between the woods, caught on its surface the somewhat
cold gleam of the October sun and sky; at frequent intervals
along the banks of the river, tall, cylindrical chimneys, almost
like slender round towers, indicated the factories which the
trees half concealed; here and there mansions, similar to
Crimsworth Hall, occupied agreeable sites on the hill-side; the
country wore, on the whole, a cheerful, active, fertile look.
Steam, trade, machinery had long banished from it all romance and
seclusion. At a distance of five miles, a valley, opening
between the low hills, held in its cups the great town of X----.
A dense, permanent vapour brooded over this locality--there lay
Edward's "Concern."

I forced my eye to scrutinize this prospect, I forced my mind to
dwell on it for a time, and when I found that it communicated no
pleasurable emotion to my heart--that it stirred in me none of
the hopes a man ought to feel, when he sees laid before him the
scene of his life's career--I said to myself, "William, you are a
rebel against circumstances; you are a fool, and know not what
you want; you have chosen trade and you shall be a tradesman.
Look!" I continued mentally--"Look at the sooty smoke in that
hollow, and know that there is your post! There you cannot dream,
you cannot speculate and theorize--there you shall out and
work!"

Thus self-schooled, I returned to the house. My brother was in
the breakfast-room. I met him collectedly--I could not meet him
cheerfully; he was standing on the rug, his back to the fire--how
much did I read in the expression of his eye as my glance
encountered his, when I advanced to bid him good morning; how
much that was contradictory to my nature! He said "Good morning"
abruptly and nodded, and then he snatched, rather than took, a
newspaper from the table, and began to read it with the air of a
master who seizes a pretext to escape the bore of conversing with
an underling. It was well I had taken a resolution to endure for
a time, or his manner would have gone far to render insupportable
the disgust I had just been endeavouring to subdue. I looked at
him: I measured his robust frame and powerful proportions; I saw
my own reflection in the mirror over the mantel-piece; I amused
myself with comparing the two pictures. In face I resembled him,
though I was not so handsome; my features were less regular; I
had a darker eye, and a broader brow--in form I was greatly
inferior--thinner, slighter, not so tall. As an animal, Edward
excelled me far; should he prove as paramount in mind as in
person I must be a slave--for I must expect from him no
lion-like generosity to one weaker than himself; his cold,
avaricious eye, his stern, forbidding manner told me he would not
spare. Had I then force of mind to cope with him? I did not
know; I had never been tried.

Mrs. Crimsworth's entrance diverted my thoughts for a moment.
She looked well, dressed in white, her face and her attire
shining in morning and bridal freshness. I addressed her with
the degree of ease her last night's careless gaiety seemed to
warrant, but she replied with coolness and restraint: her
husband had tutored her; she was not to be too familiar with his
clerk.

As soon as breakfast was over Mr. Crimsworth intimated to me that
they were bringing the gig round to the door, and that in five
minutes he should expect me to be ready to go down with him to
X----. I did not keep him waiting; we were soon dashing at a
rapid rate along the road. The horse he drove was the same
vicious animal about which Mrs. Crimsworth had expressed her
fears the night before. Once or twice Jack seemed disposed to
turn restive, but a vigorous and determined application of the
whip from the ruthless hand of his master soon compelled him to
submission, and Edward's dilated nostril expressed his triumph in
the result of the contest; he scarcely spoke to me during the
whole of the brief drive, only opening his lips at intervals to
damn his horse.

X---- was all stir and bustle when we entered it; we left the
clean streets where there were dwelling-houses and shops,
churches, and public buildings; we left all these, and turned
down to a region of mills and warehouses; thence we passed
through two massive gates into a great paved yard, and we were in
Bigben Close, and the mill was before us, vomiting soot from its
long chimney, and quivering through its thick brick walls with
the commotion of its iron bowels. Workpeople were passing to and
fro; a waggon was being laden with pieces. Mr. Crimsworth looked
from side to side, and seemed at one glance to comprehend all
that was going on; he alighted, and leaving his horse and gig to
the care of a man who hastened to take the reins from his hand,
he bid me follow him to the counting-house. We entered it; a
very different place from the parlours of Crimsworth Hall--a
place for business, with a bare, planked floor, a safe, two high
desks and stools, and some chairs. A person was seated at one of
the desks, who took off his square cap when Mr. Crimsworth
entered, and in an instant was again absorbed in his occupation
of writing or calculating--I know not which.

Mr, Crimsworth, having removed his mackintosh, sat down by the
fire. I remained standing near the hearth; he said presently--

"Steighton, you may leave the room; I have some business to
transact with this gentleman. Come back when you hear the bell."

The individual at the desk rose and departed, closing the door as
he went out. Mr. Crimsworth stirred the fire, then folded his
arms, and sat a moment thinking, his lips compressed, his brow
knit. I had nothing to do but to watch him--how well his
features were cut! what a handsome man he was! Whence, then, came
that air of contraction--that narrow and hard aspect on his
forehead, in all his lineaments?

Turning to me he began abruptly:-

"You are come down to ----shire to learn to be a tradesman?"

"Yes, I am."

"Have you made up your mind on the point? Let me know that at
once."

"Yes."

"Well, I am not bound to help you, but I have a place here
vacant, if you are qualified for it. I will take you on trial.
What can you do? Do you know anything besides that useless trash
of college learning--Greek, Latin, and so forth?"

"I have studied mathematics."

"Stuff! I dare say you have."

"I can read and write French and German."

"Hum!" He reflected a moment, then opening a drawer in a desk
near him took out a letter, and gave it to me.

"Can you read that?" he asked.

It was a German commercial letter; I translated it; I could not
tell whether he was gratified or not--his countenance remained
fixed.

"It is well;" he-said, after a pause, "that you are acquainted
with something useful, something that may enable you to earn your
board and lodging: since you know French and German, I will take
you as second clerk to manage the foreign correspondence of the
house. I shall give you a good salary--90l. a year--and now," he
continued, raising his voice, "hear once for all what I have to
say about our relationship, and all that sort of humbug! I must
have no nonsense on that point; it would never suit me. I shall
excuse you nothing on the plea of being my brother; if I find you
stupid, negligent, dissipated, idle, or possessed of any faults
detrimental to the interests of the house, I shall dismiss you as
I would any other clerk. Ninety pounds a year are good wages,
and I expect to have the full value of my money out of you;
remember, too, that things are on a practical footing in my
establishment--business-like habits, feelings, and ideas, suit
me best. Do you understand?"

"Partly," I replied. "I suppose you mean that I am to do my work
for my wages; not to expect favour from you, and not to depend on
you for any help but what I earn; that suits me exactly, and on
these terms I will consent to be your clerk."

I turned on my heel, and walked to the window; this time I did
not consult his face to learn his opinion: what it was I do not
know, nor did I then care. After a silence of some minutes he
recommenced:--

"You perhaps expect to be accommodated with apartments at
Crimsworth Hall, and to go and come with me in the gig. I wish
you, however, to be aware that such an arrangement would be quite
inconvenient to me. I like to have the seat in my gig at liberty
for any gentleman whom for business reasons I may wish to take
down to the hall for a night or so. You will seek out lodgings
in X----."

Quitting the window, I walked back to the hearth.

"Of course I shall seek out lodgings in X----," I answered. "It
would not suit me either to lodge at Crimsworth Hall."

My tone was quiet. I always speak quietly. Yet Mr. Crimsworth's
blue eye became incensed; he took his revenge rather oddly.
Turning to me he said bluntly--

"You are poor enough, I suppose; how do you expect to live till
your quarter's salary becomes due?"

"I shall get on," said I.

"How do you expect to live?" he repeated in a louder voice.

"As I can, Mr. Crimsworth."

"Get into debt at your peril! that's all," he answered. "For
aught I know you may have extravagant aristocratic habits: if
you have, drop them; I tolerate nothing of the sort here, and I
will never give you a shilling extra, whatever liabilities you
may incur--mind that."

"Yes, Mr. Crimsworth, you will find I have a good memory."

I said no more. I did not think the time was come for much
parley. I had an instinctive feeling that it would be folly to
let one's temper effervesce often with such a man as Edward. I
said to myself, "I will place my cup under this continual
dropping; it shall stand there still and steady; when full, it
will run over of itself--meantime patience. Two things are
certain. I am capable of performing the work Mr. Crimsworth has
set me; I can earn my wages conscientiously, and those wages are
sufficient to enable me to live. As to the fact of my brother
assuming towards me the bearing of a proud, harsh master, the
fault is his, not mine; and shall his injustice, his bad feeling,
turn me at once aside from the path I have chosen? No; at least,
ere I deviate, I will advance far enough to see whither my career
tends. As yet I am only pressing in at the entrance--a strait
gate enough; it ought to have a good terminus." While I thus
reasoned, Mr. Crimsworth rang a bell; his first clerk, the
individual dismissed previously to our conference,
re-entered.

"Mr. Steighton," said he, "show Mr. William the letters from
Voss, Brothers, and give him English copies of the answers; he
will translate them."

Mr. Steighton, a man of about thirty-five, with a face at once
sly and heavy, hastened to execute this order; he laid the
letters on the desk, and I was soon seated at it, and engaged in
rendering the English answers into German. A sentiment of keen
pleasure accompanied this first effort to earn my own living--a
sentiment neither poisoned nor weakened by the presence of the
taskmaster, who stood and watched me for some time as I wrote. I
thought he was trying to read my character, but I felt as secure
against his scrutiny as if I had had on a casque with the visor
down-or rather I showed him my countenance with the confidence
that one would show an unlearned man a letter written in Greek;
he might see lines, and trace characters, but he could make
nothing of them; my nature was not his nature, and its signs were
to him like the words of an unknown tongue. Ere long he turned
away abruptly, as if baffled, and left the counting-house; he
returned to it but twice in the course of that day; each time he
mixed and swallowed a glass of brandy-and-water, the materials
for making which he extracted from a cupboard on one side of the
fireplace; having glanced at my translations--he could read both
French and German--he went out again in silence.

CHAPTER III.

I SERVED Edward as his second clerk faithfully, punctually,
diligently. What was given me to do I had the power and the
determination to do well. Mr. Crimsworth watched sharply for
defects, but found none; he set Timothy Steighton, his favourite
and head man, to watch also. Tim was baffled; I was as exact as
himself, and quicker. Mr. Crimsworth made inquiries as to how I
lived, whether I got into debt--no, my accounts with my landlady
were always straight. I had hired small lodgings, which I
contrived to pay for out of a slender fund--the accumulated
savings of my Eton pocket-money; for as it had ever been
abhorrent to my nature to ask pecuniary assistance, I had early
acquired habits of self-denying economy; husbanding my monthly
allowance with anxious care, in order to obviate the danger of
being forced, in some moment of future exigency, to beg
additional aid. I remember many called me miser at the time, and
I used to couple the reproach with this consolation--better to be
misunderstood now than repulsed hereafter. At this day I had my
reward; I had had it before, when on parting with my irritated
uncles one of them threw down on the table before me a 5l. note,
which I was able to leave there, saying that my travelling
expenses were already provided for. Mr. Crimsworth employed Tim
to find out whether my landlady had any complaint to make on the
score of my morals; she answered that she believed I was a very
religious man, and asked Tim, in her turn, if he thought I had
any intention of going into the Church some day; for, she said,
she had had young curates to lodge in her house who were nothing
equal to me for steadiness and quietness. Tim was "a religious
man" himself; indeed, he was "a joined Methodist," which did not
(be it understood) prevent him from being at the same time an
engrained rascal, and he came away much posed at hearing this
account of my piety. Having imparted it to Mr. Crimsworth, that
gentleman, who himself frequented no place of worship, and owned
no God but Mammon, turned the information into a weapon of attack
against the equability of my temper. He commenced a series of
covert sneers, of which I did not at first perceive the drift,
till my landlady happened to relate the conversation she had had
with Mr. Steighton; this enlightened me; afterwards I came to the
counting-house prepared, and managed to receive the millowner's
blasphemous sarcasms, when next levelled at me, on a buckler of
impenetrable indifference. Ere long he tired of wasting his
ammunition on a statue, but he did not throw away the shafts--he
only kept them quiet in his quiver.

Once during my clerkship I had an invitation to Crimsworth Hall;
it was on the occasion of a large party given in honour of the
master's birthday; he had always been accustomed to invite his
clerks on similar anniversaries, and could not well pass me over;
I was, however, kept strictly in the background. Mrs.
Crimsworth, elegantly dressed in satin and lace, blooming in
youth and health, vouchsafed me no more notice than was expressed
by a distant move; Crimsworth, of course, never spoke to me; I
was introduced to none of the band of young ladies, who,
enveloped in silvery clouds of white gauze and muslin, sat in
array against me on the opposite side of a long and large room;
in fact, I was fairly isolated, and could but contemplate the
shining ones from affar, and when weary of such a dazzling scene,
turn for a change to the consideration of the carpet pattern.
Mr. Crimsworth, standing on the rug, his elbow supported by the
marble mantelpiece, and about him a group of very pretty girls,
with whom he conversed gaily--Mr. Crimsworth, thus placed,
glanced at me; I looked weary, solitary, kept down like some
desolate tutor or governess; he was satisfied.

Dancing began; I should have liked well enough to be introduced
to some pleasing and intelligent girl, and to have freedom and
opportunity to show that I could both feel and communicate the
pleasure of social intercourse--that I was not, in short, a
block, or a piece of furniture, but an acting, thinking, sentient
man. Many smiling faces and graceful figures glided past me, but
the smiles were lavished on other eyes, the figures sustained by
other hands than mine. I turned away tantalized, left the
dancers, and wandered into the oak-panelled dining-room. No fibre
of sympathy united me to any living thing in this house; I looked
for and found my mother's picture. I took a wax taper from a
stand, and held it up. I gazed long, earnestly; my heart grew to
the image. My mother, I perceived, had bequeathed to me much of
her features and countenance--her forehead, her eyes, her
complexion. No regular beauty pleases egotistical human beings
so much as a softened and refined likeness of themselves; for
this reason, fathers regard with complacency the lineaments of
their daughters' faces, where frequently their own similitude is
found flatteringly associated with softness of hue and delicacy
of outline. I was just wondering how that picture, to me so
interesting, would strike an impartial spectator, when a voice
close behind me pronounced the words--

"Humph! there's some sense in that face."

I turned; at my elbow stood a tall man, young, though probably
five or six years older than I--in other respects of an
appearance the opposite to common place; though just now, as I am
not disposed to paint his portrait in detail, the reader must be
content with the silhouette I have just thrown off; it was all I
myself saw of him for the moment: I did not investigate the
colour of his eyebrows, nor of his eyes either; I saw his
stature, and the outline of his shape; I saw, too, his
fastidious-looking RETROUSSE nose; these observations, few in
number, and general in character (the last excepted), sufficed,
for they enabled me to recognize him.

"Good evening, Mr. Hunsden," muttered I with a bow, and then,
like a shy noodle as I was, I began moving away--and why?
Simply because Mr. Hunsden was a manufacturer and a millowner,
and I was only a clerk, and my instinct propelled me from my
superior. I had frequently seen Hunsden in Bigben Close, where
he came almost weekly to transact business with Mr. Crimsworth,
but I had never spoken to him, nor he to me, and I owed him a
sort of involuntary grudge, because he had more than once been
the tacit witness of insults offered by Edward to me. I had the
conviction that he could only regard me as a poor-spirited slave,
wherefore I now went about to shun his presence and eschew his
conversation.

"Where are you going?" asked he, as I edged off sideways. I had
already noticed that Mr. Hunsden indulged in abrupt forms of
speech, and I perversely said to myself--

"He thinks he may speak as he likes to a poor clerk; but my mood
is not, perhaps, so supple as he deems it, and his rough freedom
pleases me not at all."

I made some slight reply, rather indifferent than courteous, and
continued to move away. He coolly planted himself in my path.

"Stay here awhile," said he: "it is so hot in the dancing-room;
besides, you don't dance; you have not had a partner to-night."

He was right, and as he spoke neither his look, tone, nor manner
displeased me; my AMOUR-PROPRE was propitiated; he had not
addressed me out of condescension, but because, having repaired
to the cool dining-room for refreshment, he now wanted some one
to talk to, by way of temporary amusement. I hate to be
condescended to, but I like well enough to oblige; I stayed.

"That is a good picture," he continued, recurring to the
portrait.

"Do you consider the face pretty?" I asked.

"Pretty! no--how can it be pretty, with sunk eyes and hollow
cheeks? but it is peculiar; it seems to think. You could have a
talk with that woman, if she were alive, on other subjects than
dress, visiting, and compliments."

I agreed with him, but did not say so. He went on.

"Not that I admire a head of that sort; it wants character and
force; there's too much of the sen-si-tive (so he articulated it,
curling his lip at the same time) in that mouth; besides, there
is Aristocrat written on the brow and defined in the figure; I
hate your aristocrats."

"You think, then, Mr. Hunsden, that patrician descent may be read
in a distinctive cast of form and features?"

"Patrician descent be hanged! Who doubts that your lordlings may
have their 'distinctive cast of form and features' as much as we
----shire tradesmen have ours? But which is the best? Not theirs
assuredly. As to their women, it is a little different: they
cultivate beauty from childhood upwards, and may by care and
training attain to a certain degree of excellence in that point,
just like the oriental odalisques. Yet even this superiority is
doubtful. Compare the figure in that frame with Mrs. Edward
Crimsworth--which is the finer animal?"

I replied quietly: "Compare yourself and Mr. Edward Crimsworth,
Mr Hunsden."

"Oh, Crimsworth is better filled up than I am, I know besides he
has a straight nose, arched eyebrows, and all that; but these
advantages--if they are advantages--he did not inherit from his
mother, the patrician, but from his father, old Crimsworth, who,
MY father says, was as veritable a ----shire blue-dyer as ever
put indigo in a vat yet withal the handsomest man in the three
Ridings. It is you, William, who are the aristocrat of your
family, and you are not as fine a fellow as your plebeian brother
by long chalk."

There was something in Mr. Hunsden's point-blank mode of speech
which rather pleased me than otherwise because it set me at my
ease. I continued the conversation with a degree of interest.

"How do you happen to know that I am Mr. Crimsworth's brother? I
thought you and everybody else looked upon me only in the light
of a poor clerk."

"Well, and so we do; and what are you but a poor clerk? You do
Crimsworth's work, and he gives you wages--shabby wages they are,
too."

I was silent. Hunsden's language now bordered on the
impertinent, still his manner did not offend me in the least--it
only piqued my curiosity; I wanted him to go on, which he did in
a little while.

"This world is an absurd one," said he.

"Why so, Mr. Hunsden?"

I wonder you should ask: you are yourself a strong proof of the
absurdity I allude to."

I was determined he should explain himself of his own accord,
without my pressing him so to do--so I resumed my silence.

"Is it your intention to become a tradesman?" he inquired
presently.

"It was my serious intention three months ago."

"Humph! the more fool you--you look like a tradesman! What a
practical business-like face you have!"

"My face is as the Lord made it, Mr. Hunsden."

"The Lord never made either year face or head for X---- What good
can your bumps of ideality, comparison, self-esteem,
conscientiousness, do you here? But if you like Bigben Close,
stay there; it's your own affair, not mine."

"Perhaps I have no choice."

"Well, I care nought about it--it will make little difference to
me what you do or where you go; but I'm cool now--I want to dance
again; and I see such a fine girl sitting in the corner of the
sofa there by her mamma; see if I don't get her for a partner in
a jiffy! There's Waddy--Sam Waddy making up to her; won't I cut
him out?"

And Mr. Hunsden strode away. I watched him through the open
folding-doors; he outstripped Waddy, applied for the hand of the
fine girl, and led her off triumphant. She was a tall,
well-made, full-formed, dashingly-dressed young woman, much in
the style of Mrs. E. Crimsworth; Hunsden whirled her through the
waltz with spirit; he kept at her side during the remainder of
the evening, and I read in her animated and gratified countenance
that he succeeded in making himself perfectly agreeable. The
mamma too (a stout person in a turban--Mrs. Lupton by name)
looked well pleased; prophetic visions probably flattered her
inward eye. The Hunsdens were of an old stem; and scornful as
Yorke (such was my late interlocutor's name) professed to be of
the advantages of birth, in his secret heart he well knew and
fully appreciated the distinction his ancient, if not high
lineage conferred on him in a mushroom-place like X----,
concerning whose inhabitants it was proverbially said, that not
one in a thousand knew his own grandfather. Moreover the
Hunsdens, once rich, were still independent; and report affirmed
that Yorke bade fair, by his success in business, to restore to
pristine prosperity the partially decayed fortunes of his house.
These circumstances considered, Mrs. Lupton's broad face might
well wear a smile of complacency as she contemplated the heir of
Hunsden Wood occupied in paying assiduous court to her darling
Sarah Martha. I, however, whose observations being less anxious,
were likely to be more accurate, soon saw that the grounds for
maternal self-congratulation were slight indeed; the gentleman
appeared to me much more desirous of making, than susceptible of
receiving an impression. I know not what it was in Mr. Hunsden
that, as I watched him (I had nothing better to do), suggested to
me, every now and then, the idea of a foreigner. In form and
features he might be pronounced English, though even there one
caught a dash of something Gallic; but he had no English shyness:
he had learnt somewhere, somehow, the art of setting himself
quite at his ease, and of allowing no insular timidity to
intervene as a barrier between him and his convenience or
pleasure. Refinement he did not affect, yet vulgar he could not
be called; he was not odd--no quiz--yet he resembled no one else
I had ever seen before; his general bearing intimated complete,
sovereign satisfaction with himself; yet, at times, an
indescribable shade passed like an eclipse over his countenance,
and seemed to me like the sign of a sudden and strong inward
doubt of himself, his words and actions-an energetic discontent
at his life or his social position, his future prospects or his
mental attainments--I know not which; perhaps after all it might
only be a bilious caprice.

CHAPTER IV.

No man likes to acknowledge that he has made a mistake in the
choice of his profession, and every man, worthy of the name, will
row long against wind and tide before he allows himself to cry
out, "I am baffled!" and submits to be floated passively back to
land. From the first week of my residence in X---- I felt my
occupation irksome. The thing itself--the work of copying and
translating business-letters--was a dry and tedious task enough,
but had that been all, I should long have borne with the
nuisance; I am not of an impatient nature, and influenced by the
double desire of getting my living and justifying to myself and
others the resolution I had taken to become a tradesman, I should
have endured in silence the rust and cramp of my best faculties;
I should not have whispered, even inwardly, that I longed for
liberty; I should have pent in every sigh by which my heart might
have ventured to intimate its distress under the closeness,
smoke, monotony and joyless tumult of Bigben Close, and its
panting desire for freer and fresher scenes; I should have set up
the image of Duty, the fetish of Perseverance, in my small
bedroom at Mrs. King's lodgings, and they two should have been my
household gods, from which my darling, my cherished-in-secret,
Imagination, the tender and the mighty, should never, either by
softness or strength, have severed me. But this was not all; the
antipathy which had sprung up between myself and my employer
striking deeper root and spreading denser shade daily, excluded
me from every glimpse of the sunshine of life; and I began to
feel like a plant growing in humid darkness out of the slimy
walls of a well.

Antipathy is the only word which can express the feeling Edward
Crimsworth had for me--a feeling, in a great measure,
involuntary, and which was liable to be excited by every, the
most trifling movement, look, or word of mine. My southern
accent annoyed him; the degree of education evinced in my
language irritated him; my punctuality, industry, and accuracy,
fixed his dislike, and gave it the high flavour and poignant
relish of envy; he feared that I too should one day make a
successful tradesman. Had I been in anything inferior to him, he
would not have hated me so thoroughly, but I knew all that he
knew, and, what was worse, he suspected that I kept the padlock
of silence on mental wealth in which he was no sharer. If he
could have once placed me in a ridiculous or mortifying position,
he would have forgiven me much, but I was guarded by three
faculties--Caution, Tact, Observation; and prowling and prying as
was Edward's malignity, it could never baffle the lynx-eyes of
these, my natural sentinels. Day by day did his malice watch my
tact, hoping it would sleep, and prepared to steal snake-like on
its slumber; but tact, if it be genuine, never sleeps.

I had received my first quarter's wages, and was returning to my
lodgings, possessed heart and soul with the pleasant feeling that
the master who had paid me grudged every penny of that
hard-earned pittance--(I had long ceased to regard Mr. Crimsworth
as my brother--he was a hard, grinding master; he wished to be an
inexorable tyrant: that was all). Thoughts, not varied but
strong, occupied my mind; two voices spoke within me; again and
again they uttered the same monotonous phrases. One said:
"William, your life is intolerable." The other: "What can you
do to alter it?" I walked fast, for it was a cold, frosty night
in January; as I approached my lodgings, I turned from a general
view of my affairs to the particular speculation as to whether my
fire would be out; looking towards the window of my sitting-room,
I saw no cheering red gleam.

"That slut of a servant has neglected it as usual," said I, "and
I shall see nothing but pale ashes if I go in; it is a fine
starlight night--I will walk a little farther."

It WAS a fine night, and the streets were dry and even clean for
X----; there was a crescent curve of moonlight to be seen by the
parish church tower, and hundreds of stars shone keenly bright in
all quarters of the sky.

Unconsciously I steered my course towards the country; I had got
into Grove-street, and began to feel the pleasure of seeing dim
trees at the extremity, round a suburban house, when a person
leaning over the iron gate of one of the small gardens which
front the neat dwelling-houses in this street, addressed me as I
was hurrying with quick stride past.

"What the deuce is the hurry? Just so must Lot have left Sodom,
when he expected fire to pour down upon it, out of burning brass
clouds."

I stopped short, and looked towards the speaker. I smelt the
fragrance, and saw the red spark of a cigar; the dusk outline of
a man, too, bent towards me over the wicket.

"You see I am meditating in the field at eventide," continued
this shade. "God knows it's cool work! especially as instead of
Rebecca on a camel's hump, with bracelets on her arms and a ring
in her nose, Fate sends me only a counting-house clerk, in a grey
tweed wrapper." The voice was familiar to me--its second
utterance enabled me to seize the speaker's identity.

"Mr. Hunsden! good evening."

"Good evening, indeed! yes, but you would have passed me without
recognition if I had not been so civil as to speak first."

"I did not know you."

"A famous excuse! You ought to have known me; I knew you, though
you were going ahead like a steam-engine. Are the police after
you?"

"It wouldn't be worth their while; I'm not of consequence enough
to attract them.

"Alas, poor shepherd! Alack and well-a-day! What a theme for
regret, and how down in the mouth you must be, judging from the
sound of your voice! But since you're not running from the
police, from whom are you running? the devil?"

"On the contrary, I am going post to him."

"That is well--you're just in luck: this is Tuesday evening;
there are scores of market gigs and carts returning to Dinneford
to-night; and he, or some of his, have a seat in all regularly;
so, if you'll step in and sit half-an-hour in my bachelor's
parlour, you may catch him as he passes without much trouble. I
think though you'd better let him alone to-night, he'll have so
many customers to serve; Tuesday is his busy day in X---- and
Dinneford; come in at all events."

He swung the wicket open as he spoke.

"Do you really wish me to go in?" I asked.

"As you please--I'm alone; your company for an hour or two would
be agreeable to me; but, if you don't choose to favour me so far,
I'll not press the point. I hate to bore any one."

It suited me to accept the invitation as it suited Hunsden to
give it. I passed through the gate, and followed him to the
front door, which he opened; thence we traversed a passage, and
entered his parlour; the door being shut, he pointed me to as
arm-chair by the hearth; I sat down, and glanced round me.

It was a comfortable room, at once snug and handsome; the bright
grate was filled with a genuine ----shire fire, red, clear, and
generous, no penurious South-of-England embers heaped in the
corner of a grate. On the table a shaded lamp diffused around a
soft, pleasant, and equal light; the furniture was almost
luxurious for a young bachelor, comprising a couch and two very
easy chairs; bookshelves filled the recesses on each side of the
mantelpiece; they were well-furnished, and arranged with perfect
order. The neatness of the room suited my taste; I hate
irregular and slovenly habits. From what I saw I concluded that
Hunsden's ideas on that point corresponded with my own. While he
removed from the centre-table to the side-board a few pamphlets
and periodicals, I ran my eye along the shelves of the book-case
nearest me. French and German works predominated, the old French
dramatists, sundry modern authors, Thiers, Villemain, Paul de
Kock, George Sand, Eugene Sue; in German--Goethe, Schiller,
Zschokke, Jean Paul Richter; in English there were works on
Political Economy. I examined no further, for Mr. Hunsden
himself recalled my attention.

"You shall have something," said he, "for you ought to feel
disposed for refreshment after walking nobody knows how far on
such a Canadian night as this; but it shall not be
brandy-and-water, and it shall not be a bottle of port, nor ditto
of sherry. I keep no such poison. I have Rhein-wein for my own
drinking, and you may choose between that and coffee."

Here again Hunsden suited me: if there was one generally
received practice I abhorred more than another, it was the
habitual imbibing of spirits and strong wines. I had, however,
no fancy for his acid German nectar, but I liked coffee, so I
responded--

"Give me some coffee, Mr. Hunsden."

I perceived my answer pleased him; he had doubtless expected to
see a chilling effect produced by his steady announcement that he
would give me neither wine nor spirits; he just shot one
searching glance at my face to ascertain whether my cordiality
was genuine or a mere feint of politeness. I smiled, because I
quite understood him; and, while I honoured his conscientious
firmness, I was amused at his mistrust; he seemed satisfied, rang
the bell, and ordered coffee, which was presently brought; for
himself, a bunch of grapes and half a pint of something sour
sufficed. My coffee was excellent; I told him so, and expressed
the shuddering pity with which his anchorite fare inspired me.
He did not answer, and I scarcely think heard my remark. At
that moment one of those momentary eclipses I before alluded to
had come over his face, extinguishing his smile, and replacing,
by an abstracted and alienated look, the customarily shrewd,
bantering glance of his eye. I employed the interval of silence
in a rapid scrutiny of his physiognomy. I had never observed him
closely before; and, as my sight is very short, I had gathered
only a vague, general idea of his appearance; I was surprised
now, on examination, to perceive how small, and even feminine,
were his lineaments; his tall figure, long and dark locks, his
voice and general bearing, had impressed me with the notion of
something powerful and massive; not at all:--my own features were
cast in a harsher and squarer mould than his. I discerned that
there would be contrasts between his inward and outward man;
contentions, too; for I suspected his soul had more of will and
ambition than his body had of fibre and muscle. Perhaps, in these
incompatibilities of the "physique" with the "morale," lay the
secret of that fitful gloom; he WOULD but COULD not, and the
athletic mind scowled scorn on its more fragile companion. As to
his good looks, I should have liked to have a woman's opinion on
that subject; it seemed to me that his face might produce the
same effect on a lady that a very piquant and interesting, though
scarcely pretty, female face would on a man. I have mentioned
his dark locks--they were brushed sideways above a white and
sufficiently expansive forehead; his cheek had a rather hectic
freshness; his features might have done well on canvas, but
indifferently in marble: they were plastic; character had set a
stamp upon each; expression re-cast them at her pleasure, and
strange metamorphoses she wrought, giving him now the mien of a
morose bull, and anon that of an arch and mischievous girl; more
frequently, the two semblances were blent, and a queer, composite
countenance they made.

Starting from his silent fit, he began:--

"William! what a fool you are to live in those dismal lodgings
of Mrs. King's, when you might take rooms here in Grove Street,
and have a garden like me!"

"I should be too far from the mill."

"What of that? It would do you good to walk there and back two
or three times a day; besides, are you such a fossil that you
never wish to see a flower or a green leaf?"

"I am no fossil."

What are you then? You sit at that desk in Crimsworth's
counting-house day by day and week by week, scraping with a pen
on paper, just like an automaton; you never get up; you never say
you are tired; you never ask for a holiday; you never take change
or relaxation; you give way to no excess of an evening; you
neither keep wild company, nor indulge in strong drink."

"Do you, Mr. Hunsden?"

"Don't think to pose me with short questions; your case and mine
are diametrically different, and it is nonsense attempting to
draw a parallel. I say, that when a man endures patiently what
ought to be unendurable, he is a fossil."

"Whence do you acquire the knowledge of my patience?"

"Why, man, do you suppose you are a mystery? The other night you
seemed surprised at my knowing to what family you belonged; now
you find subject for wonderment in my calling you patient. What
do you think I do with my eyes and ears? I've been in your
counting-house more than once when Crimsworth has treated you
like a dog; called for a book, for instance, and when you gave
him the wrong one, or what he chose to consider the wrong one,
flung it back almost in your face; desired you to shut or open
the door as if you had been his flunkey; to say nothing of your
position at the party about a month ago, where you had neither
place nor partner, but hovered about like a poor, shabby
hanger-on; and how patient you were under each and all of these
circumstances!"

"Well, Mr. Hunsden, what then?"

"I can hardly tell you what then; the conclusion to be drawn as
to your character depends upon the nature of the motives which
guide your conduct; if you are patient because you expect to make
something eventually out of Crimsworth, notwithstanding his
tyranny, or perhaps by means of it, you are what the world calls
an interested and mercenary, but may be a very wise fellow; if
you are patient because you think it a duty to meet insult with
submission, you are an essential sap, and in no shape the man for
my money; if you are patient because your nature is phlegmatic,
flat, inexcitable, and that you cannot get up to the pitch of
resistance, why, God made you to be crushed; and lie down by all
means, and lie flat, and let Juggernaut ride well over you."

Mr. Hunsden's eloquence was not, it will be perceived, of the
smooth and oily order. As he spoke, he pleased me ill. I seem
to recognize in him one of those characters who, sensitive enough
themselves, are selfishly relentless towards the sensitiveness of
others. Moreover, though he was neither like Crimsworth nor Lord
Tynedale, yet he was acrid, and, I suspected, overbearing in his
way: there was a tone of despotism in the urgency of the very
reproaches by which, he aimed at goading the oppressed into
rebellion against the oppressor. Looking at him still more
fixedly than I had yet done, I saw written in his eye and mien a
resolution to arrogate to himself a freedom so unlimited that it
might often trench on the just liberty of his neighbours. I
rapidly ran over these thoughts, and then I laughed a low and
involuntary laugh, moved thereto by a slight inward revelation of
the inconsistency of man. It was as I thought: Hunsden had
expected me to take with calm his incorrect and offensive
surmises, his bitter and haughty taunts; and himself was chafed
by a laugh, scarce louder than a whisper.

His brow darkened, his thin nostril dilated a little.

"Yes," he began, "I told you that you were an aristocrat, and who
but an aristocrat would laugh such a laugh as that, and look such
a look? A laugh frigidly jeering; a look lazily mutinous;
gentlemanlike irony, patrician resentment. What a nobleman you
would have made, William Crimsworth! You are cut out for one;
pity Fortune has baulked Nature! Look at the features, figure,
even to the hands--distinction all over--ugly distinction!
Now, if you'd only an estate and a mansion, and a park, and a
title, how you could play the exclusive, maintain the rights of
your class, train your tenantry in habits of respect to the
peerage, oppose at every step the advancing power of the people,
support your rotten order, and be ready for its sake to wade
knee-deep in churls' blood; as it is, you've no power; you can
do nothing; you're wrecked and stranded on the shores of
commerce; forced into collision with practical men, with whom
you cannot cope, for YOU'LL NEVER BE A TRADESMAN."

The first part of Hunsden's speech moved me not at all, or, if it
did, it was only to wonder at the perversion into which prejudice
had twisted his judgment of my character; the concluding
sentence, however, not only moved, but shook me; the blow it gave
was a severe one, because Truth wielded the weapon. If I smiled
now, it, was only in disdain of myself.

Hunsden saw his advantage; he followed it up.

"You'll make nothing by trade," continued he; "nothing more than
the crust of dry bread and the draught of fair water on which you
now live; your only chance of getting a competency lies in
marrying a rich widow, or running away with an heiress."

"I leave such shifts to be put in practice by those who devise
them," said I, rising.

"And even that is hopeless," he went on coolly. "What widow
would have you? Much less, what heiress? You're not bold and
venturesome enough for the one, nor handsome and fascinating
enough for the other. You think perhaps you look intelligent and
polished; carry your intellect and refinement to market, and tell
me in a private note what price is bid for them."

Mr. Hunsden had taken his tone for the night; the string he
struck was out of tune, he would finger no other. Averse to
discord, of which I had enough every day and all day long, I
concluded, at last, that silence and solitude were preferable to
jarring converse; I bade him good-night.

"What! Are you going, lad? Well, good-night: you'll find the
door." And he sat still in front of the fire, while I left the
room and the house. I had got a good way on my return to my
lodgings before I found out that I was walking very fast, and
breathing very hard, and that my nails were almost stuck into the
palms of my clenched hands, and that my teeth were set fast; on
making this discovery, I relaxed both my pace, fists, and jaws,
but I could not so soon cause the regrets rushing rapidly through
my mind to slacken their tide. Why did I make myself a
tradesman? Why did I enter Hunsden's house this evening? Why,
at dawn to-morrow, must I repair to Crimsworth's mill? All that
night did I ask myself these questions, and all that night
fiercely demanded of my soul an answer. I got no sleep; my head
burned, my feet froze; at last the factory bells rang, and I
sprang from my bed with other slaves.

CHAPTER V.

THERE is a climax to everything, to every state of feeling as
well as to every position in life. I turned this truism over in
my mind as, in the frosty dawn of a January morning, I hurried
down the steep and now icy street which descended from Mrs.
King's to the Close. The factory workpeople had preceded me by
nearly an hour, and the mill was all lighted up and in full
operation when I reached it. I repaired to my post in the
counting-house as usual; the fire there, but just lit, as yet
only smoked; Steighton had not yet arrived. I shut the door and
sat down at the desk; my hands, recently washed in half-frozen
water, were still numb; I could not write till they had regained
vitality, so I went on thinking, and still the theme of my
thoughts was the "climax." Self-dissatisfaction troubled
exceedingly the current of my meditations.

"Come, William Crimsworth," said my conscience, or whatever it is
that within ourselves takes ourselves to task--"come, get a clear
notion of what you would have, or what you would not have. You
talk of a climax; pray has your endurance reached its climax? It
is not four months old. What a fine resolute fellow you imagined
yourself to be when you told Tynedale you would tread in your
father's steps, and a pretty treading you are likely to make of
it! How well you like X----! Just at this moment how redolent
of pleasant associations are its streets, its shops, its
warehouses, its factories! How the prospect of this day cheers
you! Letter-copying till noon, solitary dinner at your lodgings,
letter-copying till evening, solitude; for you neither find
pleasure in Brown's, nor Smith's, nor Nicholl's, nor Eccle's
company; and as to Hunsden, you fancied there was pleasure to be
derived from his society--he! he! how did you like the taste you
had of him last night? was it sweet? Yet he is a talented, an
original-minded man, and even he does not like you; your
self-respect defies you to like him; he has always seen you to
disadvantage; he always will see you to disadvantage; your
positions are unequal, and were they on the same level your minds
could not; assimilate; never hope, then, to gather the honey of
friendship out of that thorn-guarded plant. Hello, Crimsworth!
where are your thoughts tending? You leave the recollection of
Hunsden as a bee would a rock, as a bird a desert; and your
aspirations spread eager wings towards a land of visions where,
now in advancing daylight--in X---- daylight--you dare to dream
of congeniality, repose, union. Those three you will never meet
in this world; they are angels. The souls of just men made
perfect may encounter them in heaven, but your soul will never be
made perfect. Eight o'clock strikes! your hands are thawed, get
to work!"

"Work? why should I work?" said I sullenly: "I cannot please
though I toil like a slave." "Work, work!" reiterated the inward
voice. "I may work, it will do no good," I growled; but
nevertheless I drew out a packet of letters and commenced my
task--task thankless and bitter as that of the Israelite crawling
over the sun-baked fields of Egypt in search of straw and stubble
wherewith to accomplish his tale of bricks.

About ten o'clock I heard Mr. Crimsworth's gig turn into the
yard, and in a minute or two he entered the counting-house. It
was his custom to glance his eye at Steighton and myself, to hang
up his mackintosh, stand a minute with his back to the fire, and
then walk out. Today he did not deviate from his usual habits;
the only difference was that when he looked at me, his brow,
instead of being merely hard, was surly; his eye, instead of
being cold, was fierce. He studied me a minute or two longer
than usual, but went out in silence.

Twelve o'clock arrived; the bell rang for a suspension of labour;
the workpeople went off to their dinners; Steighton, too,
departed, desiring me to lock the counting-house door, and take
the key with me. I was tying up a bundle of papers, and putting
them in their place, preparatory to closing my desk, when
Crimsworth reappeared at the door, and entering closed it behind
him.

"You'll stay here a minute," said he, in a deep, brutal voice,
while his nostrils distended and his eye shot a spark of sinister
fire.

Alone with Edward I remembered our relationship, and remembering
that forgot the difference of position; I put away deference and
careful forms of speech; I answered with simple brevity.

"It is time to go home," I said, turning the key in my desk.

"You'll stay here!" he reiterated. "And take your hand off that
key! leave it in the lock!"

"Why?" asked I. "What cause is there for changing my usual
plans?"

"Do as I order," was the answer, "and no questions! You are my
servant, obey me! What have you been about--?" He was going on
in the same breath, when an abrupt pause announced that rage had
for the moment got the better of articulation.

"You may look, if you wish to know," I replied. "There is the
open desk, there are the papers."

"Confound your insolence! What have you been about?"

"Your work, and have done it well."

"Hypocrite and twaddler! Smooth-faced, snivelling greasehorn!"
(this last term is, I believe, purely ---shire, and alludes to
the horn of black, rancid whale-oil, usually to be seen suspended
to cart-wheels, and employed for greasing the same.)

"Come, Edward Crimsworth, enough of this. It is time you and I
wound up accounts. I have now given your service three months'
trial, and I find it the most nauseous slavery under the sun.
Seek another clerk. I stay no longer."

"What I do you dare to give me notice? Stop at least for your
wages." He took down the heavy gig whip hanging beside his
mackintosh.

I permitted myself to laugh with a degree of scorn I took no
pains to temper or hide. His fury boiled up, and when he had
sworn half-a-dozen vulgar, impious oaths, without, however,
venturing to lift the whip, he continued :-

"I've found you out and know you thoroughly, you mean, whining
lickspittle! What have you been saying all over X---- about me?
answer me that!"

"You? I have neither inclination nor temptation to talk about
you."

"You lie! It is your practice to talk about me; it is your
constant habit to make public complaint of the treatment you
receive at my hands. You have gone and told it far and near that
I give you low wages and knock you about like a dog. I wish you
were a dog! I'd set-to this minute, and never stir from the spot
till I'd cut every strip of flesh from your bones with this whip.

He flourished his tool. The end of the lash just touched my
forehead. A warm excited thrill ran through my veins, my blood
seemed to give abound, and then raced fast and hot along its
channels. I got up nimbly, came round to where he stood, and
faced him.

"Down with your whip!" said I, "and explain this instant what you
mean."

"Sirrah! to whom are you speaking?"

"To you. There is no one else present, I think. You say I have
been calumniating you--complaining of your low wages and bad
treatment. Give your grounds for these assertions."

Crimsworth had no dignity, and when I sternly demanded an
explanation, he gave one in a loud, scolding voice.

"Grounds I you shall have them; and turn to the light that I may
see your brazen face blush black, when you hear yourself proved
to be a liar and a hypocrite. At a public meeting in the
Town-hall yesterday, I had the pleasure of hearing myself
insulted by the speaker opposed to me in the question under
discussion, by allusions to my private affairs; by cant about
monsters without natural affection, family despots, and such
trash; and when I rose to answer, I was met by a shout from the
filthy mob, where the mention of your name enabled me at once to
detect the quarter in which this base attack had originated. When
I looked round, I saw that treacherous villain, Hunsden acting as
fugleman. I detected you in close conversation with Hunsden at
my house a month ago, and I know that you were at Hunsden's rooms
last night. Deny it if you dare."

"Oh, I shall not deny it! And if Hunsden hounded on the people
to hiss you, he did quite right. You deserve popular execration;
for a worse man, a harder master, a more brutal brother than you
are has seldom existed."

"Sirrah! sirrah!" reiterated Crimsworth; and to complete his
apostrophe, he cracked the whip straight over my head.

A minute sufficed to wrest it from him, break it in two pieces,
and throw it under the grate. He made a headlong rush at me,
which I evaded, and said--

"Touch me, and I'll have you up before the nearest magistrate."

Men like Crimsworth, if firmly and calmly resisted, always abate
something of their exorbitant insolence; he had no mind to be
brought before a magistrate, and I suppose he saw I meant what I
said. After an odd and long stare at me, at once bull-like and
amazed, he seemed to bethink himself that, after all, his money
gave him sufficient superiority over a beggar like me, and that
he had in his hands a surer and more dignified mode of revenge
than the somewhat hazardous one of personal chastisement.

"Take your hat," said he. "Take what belongs to you, and go out
at that door; get away to your parish, you pauper: beg, steal,
starve, get transported, do what you like; but at your peril
venture again into my sight! If ever I hear of your setting foot
on an inch of ground belonging to me, I'll hire a man to cane
you."

"It is not likely you'll have the chance; once off your premises,
what temptation can I have to return to them? I leave a prison, I
leave a tyrant; I leave what is worse than the worst that can lie
before me, so no fear of my coming back."

"Go, or I'll make you!" exclaimed Crimsworth.

I walked deliberately to my desk, took out such of its contents
as were my own property, put them in my pocket, locked the desk,
and placed the key on the top.

"What are you abstracting from that desk?" demanded the
millowner. "Leave all behind in its place, or I'll send for a
policeman to search you."

"Look sharp about it, then," said I, and I took down my hat, drew
on my gloves, and walked leisurely out of the counting-house
--walked out of it to enter it no more.

I recollect that when the mill-bell rang the dinner hour, before
Mr. Crimsworth entered, and the scene above related took place, I
had had rather a sharp appetite, and had been waiting somewhat
impatiently to hear the signal of feeding time. I forgot it now,
however; the images of potatoes and roast mutton were effaced
from my mind by the stir and tumult which the transaction of the
last half-hour had there excited. I only thought of walking,
that the action of my muscles might harmonize with the action of
my nerves; and walk I did, fast and far. How could I do
otherwise? A load was lifted off my heart; I felt light and
liberated. I had got away from Bigben Close without a breach of
resolution; without injury to my self-respect. I had not forced
circumstances; circumstances had freed me. Life was again open
to me; no longer was its horizon limited by the high black wall
surrounding Crimsworth's mill. Two hours had elapsed before my
sensations had so far subsided as to leave me calm enough to
remark for what wider and clearer boundaries I had exchanged that
sooty girdle. When I did look up, lo! straight before me lay
Grovetown, a village of villas about five miles out of X----. The
short winter day, as I perceived from the far-declined sun, was
already approaching its close; a chill frost-mist was rising from
the river on which X---- stands, and along whose banks the road I
had taken lay; it dimmed the earth, but did not obscure the clear
icy blue of the January sky. There was a great stillness near
and far; the time of the day favoured tranquillity, as the people
were all employed within-doors, the hour of evening release from
the factories not being yet arrived; a sound of full-flowing
water alone pervaded the air, for the river was deep and
abundant, swelled by the melting of a late snow. I stood awhile,
leaning over a wall; and looking down at the current: I watched
the rapid rush of its waves. I desired memory to take a clear and
permanent impression of the scene, and treasure it for future
years. Grovetown church clock struck four; looking up, I beheld
the last of that day's sun, glinting red through the leafless
boughs of some very old oak trees surrounding the church--its
light coloured and characterized the picture as I wished. I
paused yet a moment, till the sweet, slow sound of the bell had
quite died out of the air; then ear, eye and feeling satisfied, I
quitted the wall and once more turned my face towards X----.

CHAPTER VI.

I RE-ENTERED the town a hungry man; the dinner I had forgotten
recurred seductively to my recollection; and it was with a quick
step and sharp appetite I ascended the narrow street leading to
my lodgings. It was dark when I opened the front door and walked
into the house. I wondered how my fire would be; the night was
cold, and I shuddered at the prospect of a grate full of
sparkless cinders. To my joyful surprise, I found, on entering
my sitting-room, a good fire and a clean hearth. I had hardly
noticed this phenomenon, when I became aware of another subject
for wonderment; the chair I usually occupied near the hearth was
already filled; a person sat there with his. arms folded on his
chest, and his legs stretched out on the rug. Short-sighted as I
am, doubtful as was the gleam of the firelight, a moment's
examination enabled me to recognize in this person my
acquaintance, Mr. Hunsden. I could not of course be much pleased
to see him, considering the manner in which I had parted from
him the night before, and as I walked to the hearth, stirred the
fire, and said coolly, "Good evening," my demeanour evinced as
little cordiality as I felt; yet I wondered in my own mind what
had brought him there; and I wondered, also, what motives had
induced him to interfere so actively between me and Edward; it
was to him, it appeared, that I owed my welcome dismissal; still
I could not bring myself to ask him questions, to show any
eagerness of curiosity; if he chose to explain, he might, but the
explanation should be a perfectly voluntary one on his part; I
thought he was entering upon it.

"You owe me a debt of gratitude," were his first words.

"Do I?" said I; "I hope it is not a large one, for I am much too
poor to charge myself with heavy liabilities of any kind."

"Then declare yourself bankrupt at once, for this liability is a
ton weight at least. When I came in I found your fire out, and I
had it lit again, and made that sulky drab of a servant stay and
blow at it with the bellows till it had burnt up properly; now,
say 'Thank you!'"

"Not till I have had something to eat; I can thank nobody while I
am so famished."

I rang the bell and ordered tea and some cold meat.

"Cold meat!" exclaimed Hunsden, as the servant closed the door,
"what a glutton you are; man! Meat with tea! you'll die of
eating too much."

"No, Mr. Hunsden, I shall not." I felt a necessity for
contradicting him; I was irritated with hunger, and irritated at
seeing him there, and irritated at the continued roughness of his
manner.

"It is over-eating that makes you so ill-tempered," said he.

"How do you know?" I demanded. "It is like you to give a
pragmatical opinion without being acquainted with any of the
circumstances of the case; I have had no dinner."

What I said was petulant and snappish enough, and Hunsden only
replied by looking in my face and laughing.

"Poor thing!" he whined, after a pause. "It has had no dinner,
has it? What! I suppose its master would not let it come home.
Did Crimsworth order you to fast by way of punishment, William!"

"No, Mr. Hunsden. Fortunately at this sulky juncture, tea, was
brought in, and I fell to upon some bread and butter and cold
beef directly. Having cleared a plateful, I became so far
humanized as to intimate to Mr. Hunsden "that he need not sit
there staring, but might come to the table and do as I did, if he
liked."

"But I don't like in the least," said he, and therewith he
summoned the servant by a fresh pull of the bell-rope, and
intimated a desire to have a glass of toast-and-water. "And some
more coal," he added; "Mr. Crimsworth shall keep a good fire
while I stay."

His orders being executed, he wheeled his chair round to the
table, so as to be opposite me.

"Well," he proceeded. "You are out of work, I suppose."

"Yes," said I; and not disposed to show the satisfaction I felt
on this point, I, yielding to the whim of the moment, took up the
subject as though I considered myself aggrieved rather than
benefited by what had been done. "Yes--thanks to you, I am.
Crimsworth turned me off at a minute's notice, owing to some
interference of yours at a public meeting, I understand."

"Ah! what! he mentioned that? He observed me signalling the
lads, did he? What had he to say about his friend Hunsden
--anything sweet?"

"He called you a treacherous villain."

"Oh, he hardly knows me yet! I'm one of those shy people who
don't come out all at once, and he is only just beginning to make
my acquaintance, but he'll find I've some good qualities
--excellent ones! The Hunsdens were always unrivalled at
tracking a rascal; a downright, dishonourable villain is their
natural prey--they could not keep off him wherever they met him;
you used the word pragmatical just now--that word is the property
of our family; it has been applied to us from generation to
generation; we have fine noses for abuses; we scent a scoundrel a
mile off; we are reformers born, radical reformers; and it was
impossible for me to live in the same town with Crimsworth, to
come into weekly contact with him, to witness some of his conduct
to you (for whom personally I care nothing; I only consider the
brutal injustice with which he violated your natural claim to
equality)--I say it was impossible for me to be thus situated and
not feel the angel or the demon of my race at work within me. I
followed my instinct, opposed a tyrant, and broke a chain."

Now this speech interested me much, both because it brought out
Hunsden's character, and because it explained his motives; it
interested me so much that I forgot to reply to it, and sat
silent, pondering over a throng of ideas it had suggested.

"Are you grateful to me?" he asked, presently.

In fact I was grateful, or almost so, and I believe I half liked
him at the moment, notwithstanding his proviso that what he had
done was not out of regard for me. But human nature is perverse.
Impossible to answer his blunt question in the affirmative, so I
disclaimed all tendency to gratitude, and advised him if he
expected any reward for his championship, to look for it in a
better world, as he was not likely to meet with it here. In
reply he termed me "a dry-hearted aristocratic scamp," whereupon
I again charged him with having taken the bread out of my mouth.

"Your bread was dirty, man!" cried Hunsden--"dirty and
unwholesome! It came through the hands of a tyrant, for I tell
you Crimsworth is a tyrant,--a tyrant to his workpeople, a tyrant
to his clerks, and will some day be a tyrant to his wife."

"Nonsense! bread is bread, and a salary is a salary. I've lost
mine, and through your means."

"There's sense in what you say, after all," rejoined Hunsden. "I
must say I am rather agreeably surprised to hear you make so
practical an observation as that last. I had imagined now, from
my previous observation of your character, that the sentimental
delight you would have taken in your newly regained liberty
would, for a while at least, have effaced all ideas of
forethought and prudence. I think better of you for looking
steadily to the needful."

"Looking steadily to the needful! How can I do otherwise? I
must live, and to live I must have what you call 'the needful,'
which I can only get by working. I repeat it, you have taken my
work from me."

"What do you mean to do?" pursued Hunsden coolly. "You have
influential relations; I suppose they'll soon provide you with
another place."

"Influential relations? Who? I should like to know their
names."

"The Seacombes."

"Stuff! I have cut them,"

Hunsden looked at me incredulously.

"I have," said I, "and that definitively."

"You must mean they have cut you, William."

"As you please. They offered me their patronage on condition of
my entering the Church; I declined both the terms and the
recompence; I withdrew from my cold uncles, and preferred
throwing myself into my elder brother's arms, from whose
affectionate embrace I am now torn by the cruel intermeddling of
a stranger--of yourself, in short."

I could not repress a half-smile as I said this; a similar
demi-manifestation of feeling appeared at the same moment on
Hunsden's lips.

"Oh, I see!" said he, looking into my eyes, and it was evident he
did see right down into my heart. Having sat a minute or two
with his chin resting on his hand, diligently occupied in the
continued perusal of my countenance, he went on:-

"Seriously, have you then nothing to expect from the Seacombes?"

"Yes, rejection and repulsion. Why do you ask me twice? How can
hands stained with the ink of a counting-house, soiled with the
grease of a wool-warehouse, ever again be permitted to come into
contact with aristocratic palms?"

"There would be a difficulty, no doubt; still you are such a
complete Seacombe in appearance, feature, language, almost
manner, I wonder they should disown you."

"They have disowned me; so talk no more about it."

"Do you regret it, William?"

"No."

Why not, lad?"

"Because they are not people with whom I could ever have had any
sympathy."

"I say you are one of them."

"That merely proves that you know nothing at all about it; I am
my mother's son, but not my uncles' nephew."

"Still--one of your uncles is a lord, though rather an obscure
and not a very wealthy one, and the other a right honourable:
you should consider worldly interest."

"Nonsense, Mr. Hunsden. You know or may know that even had I
desired to be submissive to my uncles, I could not have stooped
with a good enough grace ever to have won their favour. I should
have sacrificed my own comfort and not have gained their
patronage in return."

"Very likely--so you calculated your wisest plan was to follow
your own devices at once?"

"Exactly. I must follow my own devices--I must, till the day of
my death; because I can neither comprehend, adopt, nor work out
those of other people."

Hunsden yawned. "Well," said he, "in all this, I see but one
thing clearly-that is, that the whole affair is no business of
mine. "He stretched himself and again yawned. "I wonder what
time it is," he went on: "I have an appointment for seven
o'clock."

"Three quarters past six by my watch."

"Well, then I'll go." He got up. "You'll not meddle with trade
again?" said he, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece.

"No; I think not."

"You would be a fool if you did. Probably, after all, you'll
think better of your uncles' proposal and go into the Church."

"A singular regeneration must take place in my whole inner and
outer man before I do that. A good clergyman is one of the best
of men."

"Indeed! Do you think so?" interrupted Hunsden, scoffingly.

"I do, and no mistake. But I have not the peculiar points which
go to make a good clergyman; and rather than adopt a profession
for which I have no vocation, I would endure extremities of
hardship from poverty."

"You're a mighty difficult customer to suit. You won't be a
tradesman or a parson; you can't be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a
gentleman, because you've no money. I'd recommend you to
travel."

"What! without money?"

"You must travel in search of money, man. You can speak French-
-with a vile English accent, no doubt--still, you can speak it.
Go on to the Continent, and see what will turn up for you there."

"God knows I should like to go!" exclaimed I with involuntary
ardour.

"Go: what the deuce hinders you? You may get to Brussels, for
instance, for five or six pounds, if you know how to manage with
economy."

"Necessity would teach me if I didn't."

"Go, then, and let your wits make a way for you when you get
there. I know Brussels almost as well as I know X----, and I am
sure it would suit such a one as you better than London."

"But occupation, Mr. Hunsden! I must go where occupation is to
be had; and how could I get recommendation, or introduction, or
employment at Brussels?"

"There speaks the organ of caution. You hate to advance a step
before you know every inch of the way. You haven't a sheet of
paper and a pen-and-ink?"

"I hope so," and I produced writing materials with alacrity; for
I guessed what he was going to do. He sat down, wrote a few
lines, folded, sealed, and addressed a letter, and held it out to
me.

"There, Prudence, there's a pioneer to hew down the first rough
difficulties of your path. I know well enough, lad, you are not
one of those who will run their neck into a noose without seeing
how they are to get it out again, and you're right there. A
reckless man is my aversion, and nothing should ever persuade me
to meddle with the concerns of such a one. Those who are
reckless for themselves are generally ten times more so for their
friends."

"This is a letter of introduction, I suppose?" said I, taking the
epistle.

"Yes. With that in your pocket you will run no risk of finding
yourself in a state of absolute destitution, which, I know, you
will regard as a degradation--so should I, for that matter. The
person to whom you will present it generally has two or three
respectable places depending upon his recommendation."

"That will just suit me," said I.

"Well, and where's your gratitude?" demanded Mr. Hunsden; "don't
you know how to say 'Thank you?'"

"I've fifteen pounds and a watch, which my godmother, whom I
never saw, gave me eighteen years ago," was my rather irrelevant
answer; and I further avowed myself a happy man, and professed
that I did not envy any being in Christendom.

"But your gratitude?"

"I shall be off presently, Mr. Hunsden--to-morrow, if all be
well: I'll not stay a day longer in X---- than I'm obliged."

"Very good--but it will be decent to make due acknowledgment for
the assistance you have received; be quick! It is just going to
strike seven: I'm waiting to be thanked."

"Just stand out of the way, will you, Mr. Hunsden: I want a key
there is on the corner of the mantelpiece. I'll pack my
portmanteau before I go to bed "

The house clock struck seven.

"The lad is a heathen," said Hunsden, and taking his hat from a
sideboard, he left the room, laughing to himself. I had half an
inclination to follow him: I really intended to leave X---- the
next morning, and should certainly not have another opportunity
of bidding him good-bye. The front door banged to.

"Let him go," said I, "we shall meet again some day."

CHAPTER VII.

READER, perhaps you were never in Belgium? Haply you don't know
the physiognomy of the country? You have not its lineaments
defined upon your memory, as I have them on mine?

Three--nay four--pictures line the four-walled cell where are
stored for me the records of the past. First, Eton. All in that
picture is in far perspective, receding, diminutive; but freshly
coloured, green, dewy, with a spring sky, piled with glittering
yet showery clouds; for my childhood was not all sunshine--it had
its overcast, its cold, its stormy hours. Second, X----, huge,
dingy; the canvas cracked and smoked; a yellow sky, sooty clouds;
no sun, no azure; the verdure of the suburbs blighted and
sullied--a very dreary scene.

Third, Belgium; and I will pause before this landscape. As to the
fourth, a curtain covers it, which I may hereafter withdraw, or
may not, as suits my convenience and capacity. At any rate, for
the present it must hang undisturbed. Belgium! name unromantic
and unpoetic, yet name that whenever uttered has in my ear a
sound, in my heart an echo, such as no other assemblage of
syllables, however sweet or classic, can produce. Belgium! I
repeat the word, now as I sit alone near midnight. It stirs my
world of the past like a summons to resurrection; the graves
unclose, the dead are raised; thoughts, feelings, memories that
slept, are seen by me ascending from the clods--haloed most of
them--but while I gaze on their vapoury forms, and strive to
ascertain definitely their outline, the sound which wakened them
dies, and they sink, each and all, like a light wreath of mist,
absorbed in the mould, recalled to urns, resealed in monuments.
Farewell, luminous phantoms!

This is Belgium, reader. Look! don't call the picture a flat or
a dull one--it was neither flat nor dull to me when I first
beheld it. When I left Ostend on a mild February morning, and
found myself on the road to Brussels, nothing could look vapid to
me. My sense of enjoyment possessed an edge whetted to the
finest, untouched, keen, exquisite. I was young; I had good
health; pleasure and I had never met; no indulgence of hers had
enervated or sated one faculty of my nature. Liberty I clasped in
my arms for the first time, and the influence of her smile and
embrace revived my life like the sun and the west wind. Yes, at
that epoch I felt like a morning traveller who doubts not that
from the hill he is ascending he shall behold a glorious sunrise;
what if the track be strait, steep, and stony? he sees it not;
his eyes are fixed on that summit, flushed already, flushed and
gilded, and having gained it he is certain of the scene beyond.
He knows that the sun will face him, that his chariot is even now
coming over the eastern horizon, and that the herald breeze he
feels on his cheek is opening for the god's career a clear, vast
path of azure, amidst clouds soft as pearl and warm as flame.
Difficulty and toil were to be my lot, but sustained by energy,
drawn on by hopes as bright as vague, I deemed such a lot no
hardship. I mounted now the hill in shade; there were pebbles,
inequalities, briars in my path, but my eyes were fixed on the

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