The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 215, 23 October 1875, Page 3

The Novelist.

READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY. (From Cassell’s Magazine.) Chapter XXII. “ I must tell you,” wrote Grace to Kate, “of the great day wo had at Derngate. You kuow all the dreadful news, because Lucy has told you lioav Uncle Mortiboy, after he had given all his money to Dick, had a paralytic stroke, and is quite helpless now. He seems to know people, though he cannot speak. He gives a sort of a grunt for * yes,’ and frowns when he means ‘ no.’ Though we feel sure he will never recover his faculties again, poor old man, he is not at all a pitiable object to look at. He has completely lost the use of one side, and partially that of the other. His face is drawn curiously out of shape, and it gives him a happy and pleasant look he never used to have. He actually looks as if ho were smiling all the while-—a thing, as you know, he did not often do. They have taken him downstairs, and old Hester looks after him. Dick has moved into the little villa which stands across the river, the only house there. He has a boat to go across ith It seems a prosaic way of getting over a river for a man who knows all about California and Texas, doesn’t it ? I told him that we all expected him to strike out a new idea.

“ But the moving was the great tiling. He asked us all there to come down while he ransacked the old house. >So down we went. We went in to see poor old Mr. Mortiboy, and he seemed to know us, and to want to speak ; but it was no use. Then our voyage of discovery began. We had Mr. Tweedy, the builder, who went about with the house-steps and a hammer. He went first. Dick came next. We followed, pretending not to be at all curious ; and old Hester brought up the rear.

“ First, Aunt Susan’s room. Then we opened all her drawers, boxes, and cupboards. There Avas nothing in one of them except old letters and things of no interest or value. ‘The old man, Dick said, ‘ has been here before us.’ I don t think that it’s nice of him to speak of his father in that way; though mamma declares that his voice always shakes as he does it. All poor aunt’s dresses were hanging up just as she had left them. Dick gave every one to mamma, with her lace—you know what beautiful lace Aunt Susan had. There is not much after all; for she never dressed very well, as you know! Mamma transferred the goAvns to old Hester on the spot, and kept the lace, of course. “ Then we went downstairs to the first floor —Mr. MortiDoy’s own floor. Here we had a surprise. In the room was a long press, Avhich Dick opened. My dear Kate, it was full f gold and silver cups, and plate of all kinds. “ Dick tossed them all on the table Avitli his usual careless manner.

“ ‘ Noav, cousins,’ lie said, ‘if you can find anything here Avitli the Jleatheote crest on it take it.’ ’

“ I found an old cup, Avliich must have been my great-grandfather’s, which I took home to papa.

I am going to pick out the Mortiboy plate, said Dick, ‘ and sell all the rest.’ Oh, Kate ! among the rest Avas a great deal of yours, Avhich Uncle Mortiboy had bought up fiom the sale. I A\ r aited till mamma Avas not looking, and I begged him not to sell that. He did not knoAv that it Avas yours, and promised. So that is all safe for the present. And then he pi’oduced Aunt Susan’s jeAvels and trinkets, and divided them betAveen Lucy and me. I shall have such splendours to slioav you Avhen we meet again. It is old-fashioned of course, hut very good. ’ Then he put all the tilings back again. ‘“We’re going to look for money,’ he" said ‘ Hester says he used to hide it aAvay.’ “ Then Ave saAv the use of the steps and the hammer. -Mr. TAvcedy went about hammerim** everyAvhere, to see if things were solid or holloav.. In a AvindoAv-seat Avliich lie forced open—it had been sereAveil doAvn—Ave found a bag full of guineas. I have one of them noAv Behind a panel of the Avainscoting, which had a secret spring—l did not knoAv there Avere any houses in -Market Basing Avith secret springs and panels— Ave found—not a skeleton, my dear, Avith a dagger stuck in its ribs, as there ought to have been in a secret cupboard hut another bag, with thirty old spade guineas in it. Wherever a hiding place could be made, Uncle Mortiboy had hidden away some money. There Avas quite a handsome sum in an old and Avell-damed stocking foot, and ever so many guineas under his bed. He seems tohave had a great penchant for saving guineas Hester says he thought they brought luck “ Hoav much is left to find, of course Ave cannot tell. It seems uoav that he Avas never quite easy m his mind about the things in his house. You know their queer, narrow old staircase ? Well, ho used always to take his after-dinner nap on the atairs, whero nothing could pass him without awaking him ; and he used to pay the policeman extra money for giving a special look at the house. Hoav it Avas he Avas not robbed, I can’t think.

. After all this, avc Avent home, loaded Avith spoil. Mamma began again about Dick’s ‘ intentions ;’ but that only annoys me a very little noAV. J Dick has got old Mrs. Lumley, Avhom yon knoAv; to look after him. But ho Avon’t let her sleep in the house. He fired pistols at his first Avoman, and she ran aAvay. But Mrs. Lumley is not afraid and I haven’t heard of any pistols being fired at her. “When are you going to give me fresh neivs of Frank . Kate, dear, give him my love—my real and only love—and tell him not to forget me, and to keep up his courage. If lie Avould only be helped, all Avould he Avell. lam sure papa liked him better than anybody that came to Parkside. And, after all, papa—is papa.”

It was a fine time this, for Polly. She hud plenty of Dick’s society. He was at home nearly every evening, and generally alone. Then she would sit with him while he drank, smoked, told her queer stories, and sang her jovial sea-songs. As for her, she always behaved as a lady, put on a silk dress every evening, and invariably had her bottle of port before her, carrying her adherence to the usages of polite society so far .os very often to finish it. Occasional wayfarers along the towing-path would hear sounds of merriment and singing. It was whispered that Dick Mortiboy even entertained the Evil One himself, and regaled him with cigars and brandy. Sometimes they played at cards, games that Dick taught her. Sometimes they used to quarrel, but not often ; because once, when she threatened her husband, he took her by the shoulders, and turned her out of doors. Her venerable parent was a bedridden old lady, of prepossessing ugliness, who resided in a cottage, neither picturesque nor clean, in the outskirts of Market Basing. By the assistance of her daughter, she was able to rub along and get her small comforts. She was not a nice old lady to look at, nor was she eminently moral ; being one of those whe hold that lies cost nothing, and very often bring in a good deal. “ Get money out of him, Polly,” she said. “ Get as much as you can—it won’t last you know.”

“ And why shouldn’t it last ? What’s to prevent it lasting, you old croaker?” “ The other will turn up some day, Polly. I know it—l’m certain of it. Make him give you money. Tell him it’s for Bill.” “ Mother, Dick’s no fool. I’ve had fifty pounds out of him for little Bill in the last four months. I told him only a fortnight ago, that Bill had got the scarlet fever ! and he told me to go to the devil. He’s deep, too. He doesn’t say anything, but he's down on you all of a sudden. Mother, I lie awake at night and tremble sometimes. I’m afraid of him, he is so masterful.” “But try, Polly, my dear, try. Tell him that I want things at my time of life.” “ I might do that. P»ut its no use pretending anything about Bill for a while. The other night he said Bill was played out. He wants to know where the boy is, too.” “ Where is he, Polly ? Tell your old mother, deary.” “ Sha’n’t,” said Polly. She made a long story about her mother that very night, and coaxed ten pounds out of Dick for her. The old woman clutched the gold, and put it away under her pillow, where she kept all the money that Polly got out of Dick. It was odd that he could endure the woman at all. She was rough-handed, rough-tongued, coarse-minded, intriguing, and crafty—and he knew it. Her tastes were of the lowest kinds. She liked to eat and drink, and do little work. They had no topics in common. But he was lazy, and liked to “let things slide.” She had all the faults that a woman can have ; but she had a sort of cleverness which was not displeasing to him. Sometimes he woidd hate her. This was generally after he had been spending an evening at Parkside—almost the only house he visited. Here, under the influence of the two girls and their father, he became subdued and sobered. The subtle influence of the pure and sweet domestic life was strong enough to touch him : to move him, but not to bring him back.

The sins of youth are never forgiven or forgotten. Now, when all else went well with Dick, when things had turned out beyond his wildest hopes, this woman—whom he had married in a fit of calf love—stood in his way, and seemed to drag him down again when he would fain have risen above his own level. Other things had passed away and been forgotten. There was no fear that the old Palmiste business would be revived. Facts and reports, ugly enough, were safe across the Atlantic. Of the twelve years of Bohemian existence no one knew : they were lost to history as completely as the forty years’ wandering of the Israelites. Only Lafleur, who was sure to keep silent for his own sake, knew. And this woman alone stood in the way, warning him back from the paths of respectability—an Apollyon whom it was impossible to pass.

But one evening, Polly, who had come iu to see him, cried in a maudlin way over the love she had for the boy ; and pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket to dry her eyes, dragged with it a letter, which Dick, who was sitting opposite her and not too far off, instantly covered with his foot. Ignorant of her loss, she went on crying till the fit passed ; and then, finishing off the port, marched away in rather a corkscrew fashion. Dick, lifting his foot, picked up the letter and read it. It was a very odd epistle, and was dated from some suburb of London of which he knew nothing, called “Paragon-place, Gray’s Inn Road.”

The orthography was that of a person imperfectly educated, and Dick deciphered it with some difficulty.

“My Deer Polly” —it went—“ escuse Me trubbling you butt irn hard up, haveing six of them Cussed babies to look after and methoosalem and Little bill do eat their Heds of and what with methoosalem as wont wurk and bill as Wont Prig im most crasy with them you Owe me for six munths which six Pound ten and hope as youll send me the munney sharp as Else bill he cuts his lucky so as lies your own Son and not mine i dont see wy should kepe him any longer for Nuthink and remain dear poly your affeckshunit

“Ann Maria Knekbone

“ P.s.—[This in another hand] —i see the old woman a ritin her letter wich it toke her hall day and the babies a starvin, so i had a P.s. to say as she is verry hard up and so am i and so his bill. “ Methoosalem.”

Dick read this precious epistle with a look of extreme bewilderment. Then he read it over again. Gradually arriving at a sense of its .meaning, he looked again at the address and ■the name, so as not to forget them—he never iforgot anything—and then he twisted it up and

burned it in the candle. After that he went to bed, putting off meditation till the following morning. Dick was not going to spoil his night’s rest because Polly had told him lies. Little Bill—that was Polly’s child ; presumably, therefore, his as well. Therefore, little William Mortiboy—the heir-apparent to liis father’s fortunes.

“ William Mortiboy’s position,” said Dick to himself next morning after breakfast, appears unsatisfactory. He lives with a lady named Kneebone, who lias a lodging house for babies. Wonder if the babies like the lodgings? William Mortiboy associates, apparently, with a gentleman called Methoosalem, who refuses to work. Is he one of the babies ? Wonder if he is ! William Mortiboy is expected to prig. That’s a devilish bad beginning for William. William Mortiboy’s companions are not, apparently, the heir to anything—not even what the man in the play calls a stainless name. Polly, I’m afraid you’re a bad lot ! . . Anyhow, you might have paid the five bob a week out of all the money you’ve bad in the last four months. But we’ll be even with you. Only wait a bit, my lady.” Chapter XXIII. It was a godly and an ancient custom iu Market Basing, that ou a certain Sunday afternoon in the year, the children should have a “ church parade ” all to themselves, followed by a bun. Of late years, an addition had been made to this festival by setting apart a weekday iu the summer for a school feast and treat. It was generally a dreary affair enough. The boys and girls were marshalled, and marched to some field not far off, where they were turned loose previous to the tea, and told to play. As the Market Basing boys saw no novelty iu a field—unlike the Londoner, to whom a bird’s nest is a new discovery, and a field-mouse the most remarkable of wild animals—these feasts, although preceded by cake and followed by tea, had no great charms. Perhaps they were overweighted by hymns. Now, Dick, pursuing that career of social usefulness already hinted at, had succeeded in a very few weeks, in alienating the affections of all the spiritual leaders of the town. The way was this. First, he refused to belong to the chapel any more, and declined to pay for a pew in the church, on the reasonable ground that he did not intend to go to either. They came to him Market Basing was regularly whipped and driven to religion, if not to godliness—to give money to their pet society, which, they said, called alike for the support of church and chapel, for providing Humble Breakfasts aud flannel in winter for the Deserving Poor. This was explained to mean, not the industrious poor nor the provident poor, nor the sober poor, but the poor who attended some place of worship. Dick said that not going to church did not of itself prove a man to be irreligious, artfully instancing himself as a case in point ; and refused to help. Then the secretaries of London societies, finding out that there was another man who had money to give, and was shown already to be of liberal disposition, sent him begging letters through the curates. They all got much the same answer. The missionary societies were dismissed because, as Dick told them, he had seen missionaries with his own eyes. That noble institution in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, which exists for the double purpose of maintaining a large staff and converting the Jews, was refused on the ground of no results commensurable with the expense. He offered, indeed, a large sum for a successful mission among the professions—especially the bar—in England. And he rashly proposed a very handsome prize —no less than a thousand pounds—to anybody who would succeed in converting him. Rev. Potiphar Demas, a needy vessel, volunteered ; but Dick declined to hear him, because he didn’t want to know what Mr. Demas had to say. Now, this seemed discourteous to the reverend gentleman. All this might have been counterbalanced by his many virtues. For it was notorious that he had given a pension to old Sanderson, the ruined cashier of Melliship’s bank ; also that he had withdrawn the Mortiboy claims on the Melliship estate : this was almost as if the Americans were to withdraw their Alabama claims, because there was no knowing where they might end. Besides which, it made an immediate difference of four shillings in the pound. Further, sundry aged persons who had spent a long life in cursing the name of Mortiboy, took to praising it altogether, because Dick was helping them all. And the liberality towards his clerks with which he inaugurated his reign was almost enough of itself to make him popular. But then came that really dreadful business about the old women. This, although he was gaining a golden name by making restitution for his father's ill deeds—like Solomon repairing the breaches which his father David had made—was enough to make all religious and rightminded people tremble in their shoes. Everybody knows that humility in the aged poor is the main virtue which they are expected to display. In the church at Market Basing was a broad middle aislo, down which was ranged a row of wooden benches, backless, cushionless, hard, and unpromising. On them sat, Sunday after Sunday, at these services, constant, never-flagging, all the old women in the parish. It was a gruesome assemblage : toothless, rheumatic, afflicted with divers pains and infirmities, they yet struggled, Sunday aster Sunday, to the “free seats,” so called by a bitter mockery, because those who sat in them had no other choice but to go. On their regular attendance depended not so much their daily bread, which the workhouse might have given them, but their daily comforts ; their tea and sugar ; their wine if they were ill—and they always wore ill ; their blankets and their coals. Now, will it be believed that Dick, instigated by Ghrimes, who held the revolutionary maxim that religion, if it is to be real, ought not to be made a condition of charity, actually found out the names of these old trots, and made a weekly dole among them, without any conditions whatever ? It was so. He really did it. After two or

three Sundays the free seats were empty, all the old women having gone to different conventicles, where they got their religion hot and hot, as they liked it ; where they sat in comfortable pews, like the rest of the folk ; and where they were treated as if, in the house of God, all men are alike and equal. When the curates called, they were cheeky ; when they threatened, the misguided old ladies laughed ; when they blustered, these backsliders, relying on their Dick, cracked their aged fingers in the young men’s faces. “He is a very dreadful man,” said the rector. “ What shall we do with him ?”

He called. He explained the danger which befell these ignorant though elderly persons in frequenting an uncoveuanted place of worship ; but he spoke to deaf ears. Dick understood him not. It was the time of the annual school feast. Dick was sitting, in that exasperating Californian jacket, in the little bank parlor, consecrated to black cloth and respectability. His legs were on the window sill, his mouth had a cigar iu it, his face was beaming with jollity, his heart wa3 as light as a child’s. All this was very bad. Foiled in his first attempt, the rector made a second.

“There is another matter, Mr. Mortiboy, ou which I would speak with you.” “Speak, Mr. Lightwood,” said Dick. “Don’t ask me for any money for the missionaries.” “ I will not,” said good old Mr. Lightwood, mournfully. “ I fear it would be of little use.” Dick pulled his beard and grinned. Why this universal tendency of mankind to laugh when, from a position of strength, they are about to do something disagreeable ? “It is not about any of our societies, Mr. Mortiboy. But I would fain hope that you will not refuse a trifle to our children’s school feast. We give them games, races, and so forth. With tea and cake. We are very short of funds.”

“Do you ?” cried Dick. “ Look here, sir. What would you say if I offered to stand the whole thing—pay for the burst myself —grub, liquids, and prizes ?”

The rector was dumbfoundered. It had hitherto been one of his annual difficulties to raise the money for his little fete, for St. Giles’s parish was very large, and the parishioners generally poor. And here was a man offering to pay for everything ! Then Dick, who could never be a wholly submissive son of the Church, must needs put in a condition which spoiled it. “ All the children, mind. None of your Church children only.” “It has always been confined to our own children, Mr. Mortiboy. The Dissenters have their—ahem ! their —their—treat at another time.”

“Very well, then. Here is my offer. I will pay for the supper, or dinner, or whatever you call it, to as many Market Basing children as like to come. I don’t care whether they are Jews or Christians. That i 3 their lookout, not mine. Take my offer, Mr. Lightwood. If you refuse, by Jove, I’ll have a day of my own, and choose your day. We’ll see who gets most youngsters. If you accept, you shall say grace, and do all the pious part yourself. Come, let us oblige each other. I am really sorry to refuse you so often ; and here is a chance." What was to be done with this dreadful man ? If you crossed him, he was capable of ruining everything ; and to yield to him was to give up half your dignity. But concession meant happiness to the children ; and the good old clergyman, who could not possibly understand the attitude of mind of his new parishioner—seeing only perversity where half was experience and half ignorance—yielded at once and gracefully. Dick immediately assumed the whole conduct of the affair. Without making any reference to church or chapel, he issued handbills stating that sports, to which all the children in the place were invited, would be held on the following Wednesday, in his own paddock at Derngate. Then followed a goodly list of prizes to be run for, jumped for, wrestled for, and in other ways offered to public competition. And it became known that preparations were making on the most liberal scale. There was to be a dinner at one, a tea at five, and a supper at eight. There were to be fireworks. Above all, the races and the prizes. Dick had no notion of doing a thing by halves. He got an itinerant circus from a neighboring fair, a wild-beast show, a Punch and Judy, swing-boats, a roundabout, and a performing monkey. Then he hired a magic lantern, and erected a tent where it was to be seen all day. He hired donkeys for races, got hundreds of colored lamp 3 from town, built an enormous marquee where any number of children might sit down to dinner, and sent out messengers to ascertain how many guests might be expected. This was the happiest period in Dick’s life. The possessor of a princely income, the owner of an enormous fortune, he had but to lift his hand, and misery seemed to vanish. Justice, the propagation of prudential motives, religion, natural retribution for broken laws, all these are advanced ideas, of which Dick had but small conception. Grace Heathcote described the day in one of her letters to Kate —those letters which were almost the only pleasure the poor girl had at this time :

“ As for the day, my dear, it was wonderful. I felt inclined to defend the climate of England at the point of the sword—l mean the needle. Dick, of course, threw California in my teeth. As we drove down the road in the waggonette, the grand old trees in the park were rustling in their lovely July foliage like a great lady in her court dress. The simile was suggested to me by mamma, who wore her green silk. Lucy and I were dressed alike—in white muslin. I had pink ribbons, aud she wore blue ; and round my neck was the locket with F.’s portrait in it, which you sent me—you good, kind, thoughtful Kate !. Mamma does not like to see it; but you know my rebellious disposition. And papa took it in his fingers,

and then pinched my cheek, as much as to say that he highly approved of my conduct. Oh ! I know the dear old man’s heart. I talk to him out in the fields, and find out all his little secrots. Men, my dear Kate, even if they are your own father, are all as simple as— what shall I say?—As Frank and papa. “We got into Market Basing at twelve. The town wa3 just exactly like market day, only without the smell of vegetables. It felt like Christmas Day in the summer. You know the paddock ? It is not very big, but it waa big enough. The front lawn of Derngate—poor old Uncle Mortiboy inside, not knowing what wa3 going on ! —was covered with a great marquee. The paddock had a racecourse marked round it, and a platform, and posts between, which were festooned with colored lamps. All the children, iu their Sunday best, were gathering about the place, waiting to be admitted.

“As we drove up, Dick came out, with a cigar between his teeth, of course, and the crowd gave a great cheer. Mamma said it seemed as if it was meant for us ; and so we all got out of the waggonette, trying to look like princesses ; and Dick helped us, and they all cheered again. Really, I felt almost like Royalty ; which, my dear Kate, must be a state of life demanding a great strain upon the nerves, and a constant worry to know whether your bonnet is sitting properly.

“ ‘ Are we looking our best, Dick ?’ I asked, anxious to know.

“ ‘ Your very best,’ he said. ‘ I take it as a compliment to my boys and girls.’ “ I wish that woman Mary, our old servant, had not been standing close by. She gave me a look—such a look as I never had before—as if I was doing her some mortal injury ; and then turned away, and I saw her no more all day. I declare there’s always something. If ever I felt happy in my life—except one day when Frank told me he loved me—it was last Wednesday ; and that woman really spoiled at least an hour of the day for me, because she made me feel so uncomfortable. I wish she would go away. “As one o’clock struck, the band—did I tell you there was a band ? A real band, Kate, the militia band from the Stores—struck up ‘ The Roast Beef of Old England,’ and Dick in five minutes had all the boys and girls in to dinner.

“The rector, and his curates, and the Dissenting ministers—and what the paper called ‘ a select company,’ which means ourselves chiefly—were present. We all sat down; I next to Dick on his left hand, mamma on the right. The rector said grace. Dick whispered that we could not have too much Grace hia Californian way of expressing satisfaction at my personal appearance—and we began to eat and drink. Spare me the details.

“One p.m. to two p.in. : legs of mutton, and rounds of beef, and huge plum puddings. “ Two p.m. to three p.m. : the cherubs are all gorged, and lying about in lazy contentment, too happy to tease each other, and too lazy to do any mischief.

“ Poor old Hester ! She follows her boy, aa she calls him, about with her eyes. I have even seen her stroke the tails of his coat when he wasn’t looking. Do men ever know how fond women are of them ? And Dick is kind and good. He really is, Kate. “At three, the games. And here a most wonderful surprise. Who should drive up to the paddock but Lord Hunslope himself, and the countess—who always gives me a cold shiver—and Lord Launton? The earl marched straight up to us, and shook hands with papa. “ ‘ Pray, Mr. Heathcote,’ he said, in his lordliest way, ‘introduce Mr. Mortiboy to me.' “ The Heathcotes had Parkside and Hunslope too before ever the Launtons had left their counters in the city ; but of course we didn’t insist on our superior rank at such a moment.

“Dick took off his hat with that curious pride of equality which comes, I suppose, of having estates in Mexico and being able to throw the lasso. The countess shook hand* with everybody ; and Lord Launton, blushing horribly, dropped his stick, and shook hands too, after he had picked it up. I am quite sure that if Lord Launton, when he becomes a peer, could only have the gas turned off before he begins to speak, he would be made Prime Minister in a week. As it is, poor young man

“We all—l mean the aristocracy—stayed together the whole afternoon, bowing affably to our friends of a lower rank in life—the Battiscombe girls, and the Kerbys, and the rector’s wife. I really do not know how lam to descend again. The earl made some most valuable remarks, which ought to be committed to writing for posterity. They may be found, though, scattered here and there about the pages of English literature. The curious may look for them. You see, ‘Les esprits forts se recontreut.

“ After the games, the earl gave away the prizes. I send you the local paper, giving an account of the proceedings. Little Stebbing, Mr. Battiscombe’s clerk, was acting as reporter, | and making an immense parade at a small table, which he brought himself. I never saw any one look so important. I spoke to \ him once.

“ ‘ Pray, miss,’ he said, ‘do not interrupt me. I represent the Press. The Fourth I Estate, miss. I’m afraid I shan’t have enough flimsy.’ “ Those were his very words, Kate. By flimsy, I learn that he meant writing paper. Do our great poets—does my adored Tennyson —write on ‘flimsy’? Then the Earl-ly party went away, and I made a pun, which you may guess ; then we had tea; then we had dancing to the band on the platform—Dick waltzes like a German angel—and then we had supper. And then, 0 my dear Kate —alas! alas! such a disastrous termination to the: evening—for Dick put his foot into all the j proprieties. It was when they proposed hi* health. He hadn’t fired pistols at anybody, ° r taken the name of the missionaries ir» vain, or 1 worn a Panama hat, or done anything db* graceful at all. And now it was to come. My poor cousin Dick ! How will he get over it ?

“ They proposed his health after supper. The children were simply intoxicated—not with beer, for they had none : only lemonade and sweet things—but with fun, fireworks, and fruit tars. They cheeered till their dear little throats were hoarse. Even the ugliest, reddestfaced, turnedestup-nosed girl looked pretty when papa called on them to drink the health of the giver of the feast. My own heart Bwelled, and Lucy cried outright. _ “ Then Dick got up. My dear, he looked simply grand in the flicker of the gas jets stirred about by the wind. He stood up, tall and strong, high up above us all, and passed his left hand down his long black beard. His brown eyes are so soft sometimes, too. They were soft now ; and his under-lip has a way of trembling when he is moved. He was moved now. I can’t remember all his speech. He began by telling the children that he was more happy to have them about him than they to come. Then he began good advice. No one knows how wise Dick is. He told them that what they wanted was fresh air, plenty of grub—his word, Kate, not mine—and not too many books. Here they all screamed, and the clergymen shook their precious heads. I said, ‘ Hear, hear,’ and mamma touched me on my aim. It is wrong, of course, in a young lady to have any opinions at ah which the male sex do not first instil into her tender mind. Then he called their attention to the fact that they were not always going to be children ; and that, if they wanted plenty to eat, they would have to work hard for it. And then he said, impressively shaking an enormous great fist at them—- “ ‘ And now, my boys and girls, remember this. Don’t you believe people who tell you to be contented with what you’ve got. That’s all nonsense. You’ve got to be discontented. The world is full of good things for those who have the courage to get up and seize them. Look round in your houses, and see what you have : then look round in rich men’s houses—say mine and the rector’s—and see what we’ve got. Then be discontented with your own position till you’re all rich too.’ “ Here the rector rose, with a very red face. “‘ I cannot listen to this, Mr. Mortiboy—l must not listen to it. You are undoing the Church’s teaching. “ * I’ve got nothing to do with the Church.’ “‘You are attacking the Church’s Catechism.’ “ ‘ Does the Catechism teach boys to be contented ?’ “ ‘ It does, in explicit terms.’ “ ‘ Then the Catechism is a most immoral book.’ “ Dick wagged his head solemnly. “ * Boys and girls, chuck the Catechism into the fire, and be discontented.’ “ Here the rector solemnly left the tent, and eyerybody looked serious. Dick took no notice, and went on. “ * I’ll tell you a story. In an English town that I know, there were two boys and two girls. They were all four poor, like most of you. They grew up in their native place till they were eighteen and twenty, and the boys fell in love with the girls. One was a contented fellow. His father had been a farm laborer, like some of your fathers. He would go on being a farm laborer. The other read that the world was full of ground that only waited fora man to dig it up ; and he went away. I saw him last year. He had been out for four years. He had a farm, my boys, stocked with cattle and horses, all his own. Think of that ! And he had a wife, my girls ; his old sweetheart, Mine out to marry him. Think of that ! Then ; came home. I saw the other boy a farm hborer still ! He was bent with rheumatism already, because ho was a slave. Ho had no noney: no home :no prospects. And the girl he was to have married—well, my girls, if your teachers are worth their salt, they’ll tell you what became of that girl. Go out into the world, boys. Don’t stick here, crowding out the place, and trying to be called gentlemen. What the devil do you want a black coat for till you have earned it ? Go out into the beautiful places in the world, and learn what a man is really worth. And now I hope you’ve all enjoyed yourselves. And so, good night.’ “Oh ! Kate, Kate ! —here was a firebrand in our very midst. And people are going about, saying that Dick is an infidel. But they can’t shake his popularity, for the town loves his very name.” Grace’s letter was all true. Dick actually said it. It was his solitary public oration. It had a profound effect. In the half-lighted marquee, as the big-bearded man stood towering over the children, with his right arm waving them out into the world—where ? No matter where : somewhere away : somewhere into the good places of the world—not a boy’s heart but was stirred within him : and the brave old English blood rose in them as he spoke, in his deep bass tones, of the worth of a single man in those far-off lands an oration destined to bear fruit in after-days, when the lads, who talk yet with bated breath of the speech arid the speaker, shall grow to man’s estate. “ Dangerous, Dick.” said Farmer John. “ What shall I do without my laborers ?” “ Don’t be afraid,” said Dick. “ There are not ten per cent, have the pluck to go. Let us help them, and you shall keep the rest.”