The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 220, 27 November 1875, Page 3

The Novelist.

READY-MONEY MORTIBOY.

A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY. (From Cassell's Magazine,) Chapter XXXI. At an early hour on the morning after his “first appearance,” Frank awoke with strangely mingled feelings of disgust and pride. Mr. Leweson’s loonaties had cheered him to the skies : that was something. On the other hand, to have been cheered by loonaties wa not in itself, after the first surprise, an exhilarating memory. He got up, cursing his fate. He went down to the palace, after breakfast, in the gloomiest frame of mind. He found the same ballet rehearsal going on, only the second time it was not by any means so interesting, having lost its novelty. Ballet girls, he was able to remark, romantic as the profession appears to outsiders, possess much of the commonplace nature of the untutored feminine animal. He speculated on their probable ambition, on the subjects which occupied their minds, and exercised their intellects. Subsequent investigation, followed by discovery, taught him in time that they never do think at all, except about the means of getting dress, and have no intellects to exercise. Mr. Lewesou was in his office, but too busy to see him, only sending out a note that the performance of last night might be repeated if he wished ; if not, he only had to select his own songs. Frank felt quite indifferent as to what songs he sang, and so was turning away to leave the place, when he saw the pretty girl to whom he Fad. keen introduced the day before—the Divine Giulia. She was with her father, superintending the arrangement of certain trapeze ropes for a new feat they were to perform that evening. Her dress was changed. She had on the singular costume which was invented, I suppose, when female gymnasts first came into fashion—something like the “page” dress of the stage. The Divine Giulia was attired in Turkish trousers—which disappeared at night—a crimson scarf, and what I have reason to believe is called a chemisette. Her hair—hrown, full, and wavy—was gathered up at the back of her head in such rich masses that no chignon was necessary; Her. father was also dressed in the uniform of his profession, but without the spangles which covered him in the evening. With them was a little hoy, the youthful Joey, also attired in the family costume. Frank stayed to look. “ May I look on while you practice ?” he asked, shaking hands with the acrobat and his daughter.

“ Of course you may, Mr.—Signor.” “ Signor Cipriano, father,” said Patty. “My name is Melliship,” said Frank, reddening.

“ You may help us, too,” said the girl. “Set this mattress straight. So. Now lay this one along the tables. That is right. Ileady, father ?”

One of the men regularly employed stood at tho bar, to set it swinging. They were to fly, one after the other—the girl first—across the house, swinging from one trapeze to the next, and landing on a little platform at the end : a common feat enough, complicated by what the playbills called a summersault in “mid-air” by the father.

Silvaui, pere, was a stout, strong-built man, about forty years of age, or a little over. The muscles showed through his tight fleshings like rope bands.

“Fancy having to assist your governor in turning summersaults,” thought Frank. It was a question whether the ropes should not be lengthened by a foot or so, which would naturally increase the distance to be traversed, but lessen the danger. Mr. Silver gave it against the longer length.

“ But you may kill yourself,” said Frank, “for want of that extra foot.”

“ I don t think so. After all, a man can only die once. Patty, my dear, you’re not afraid ?” She shook her head merrily, and mounted the ladder.. Frank trembled as she stood at the top—slight, graceful, slender—poising herself like a bird on the wing. Her father mounted after her, and took another pair of ropes, standing behind her.

She gave a sign : the man set the trapeze swinging, and Patty let herself go. The instant she touched the first bar, her father followed, catching it as it swung back when she left it. In a moment, they were standing side by side on a platform in front of the first circle.

“ Not quite steady enough. We must do it again.”

“No, don’t,” cried Frank—“don’t. Surely once is enough.”

The girl laughed, and climbed again. Frank was standing on the mattress at the far end of the house, nearly under the landing-place—-that is to say, close under the dress circle. The feat looked a great deal more dangerons in an empty theatre, by daylight, than when the gas was lit, and the place crammed with spectators. Now, whether his nervousness communicated itself to Patty, I know not; but when she left the two rings, and should have caught the first bar, she missed it. Frank rushed forward, and caught her by the shoulders, just as she would have fallen heavily on the mattresses. The weight of a girl of eighteen, though she he a trapezist in full training, is no small matter —particularly when the velocity of her flight is taken into consideration. The momentum of a body in motion is represented, in applied mathematics, .as a quantity composed of the mass multiplied by the velocity—which is, to the outer world, much as if one were to say pigs multiplied by candles. You will realise what is meant if anything heavy falls upon you. Frank fell hack, with Patty upon him. She was up in an instant, unhurt.

Her father, seeing the accident as he flew through the air, kept tight hold of his rings, and sung backwards and forwards until he could safely alight. “Why, Patty,” lie cried, “I’ve never known you do such a thing before.”

The girl was up in a moment—shaken, but not hurt. Frank was not so fortunate. Her head hutting full upon his nose, caused that member to bleed : a prosaic ending to a deed of some heroism and skill—for he caught her like a cricket ball, only with the softest and most dedicate handing possible, just as if ho had always been practising the art of catching trapeze girls so as not to hurt them. Sir. Lcweson, too, came running up. He was just in time to witness the accident. “ Arc you hurt, Patty—are you hurt ?”

“Not a bit —not a bit her lip was trembling in the effort to suppress an hysterical sob. “I should have been, if it had not been for Mr. Melliship, though. We ought to ask him if lie is hurt.”

Frank was holding his handkerchief to his nose, and only shook his head, to intimate that the damage done was such as could easily bo repaired. “ Good heaven !” cried Mr. Lcweson ; “and you might have flown straight against the woodwork. Mr. Melliship, it was splendid—-splen-didly done, sir.” “Well,” said Mr. .Silver, “as nobody’s hurt, and we’ve got to do it to-night, I suppose, we’d better try it again, Patty.”

“ No—no,” began Frank. “Young gentleman,” said Mr. Silver, “please don’t interfere with our professional work.” “You are not too much shaken, Patty?” interposed the manager. “Not. shaken a bit. Now, father, we’ll do it this time.”

She ran up the ladder lightly with her rings, flew through the air from bar to bar, and arrived at the landing-stage with the precision of a bird, followed by her sire. “Now, there,” said Mr. Leweson, “is a splendid creature for you. Now you see why T wanted you to go on the trapeze with Giulia. Think of the Tripple Act that I had in my mind—Signer Silvani holding the rings ; three bars, each two feet lower than the other ; on the Signor’s shoulders you would stand, Giulia on yours. The flight through the air : the first bar for Giulia, the second for you, the third for the father of the family. The most magnificent idea in acrobatism ever conceived. P.ut there, if it can’t be, it can’t, of course. Now, then, Patty, hoist up the boy, and get your practice done.” He walked aside, with his hand in Frank’s arm, while the child went through liis performances.

“ Mr. Melliship,” he said abruptly, “ you are a gentleman, that is clear. I daresay an army man, now.”

“No—l told you-

-I am a Cambridge man.”

“Ah ! —well. P.ut there are different sorts of gentlemen, you see. Now, I think move goes to make a gentleman than knowing how to eat, and talk, and dress, and behave. I know the breed is rare ; but there is a sort of gentleman in this country who does not run after every pretty face he meets, fancying that every pretty girl is his natural prey. I say there is that sort of gentleman in the world, and I should he very glad to think you belong to the kind, Mr. Melliship. That’s a long preamble; but what I mean is this—excuse my plain speaking—but I don’t want my little Patty humbugged, and I won’t have it, sir, I say— I won’t have it, by any one. There—there— I’m a fool.”

“ You can trust me,” said Frank. “I am not likely either to fall in love with her, or she with me.”

“Humph !” growled the man with the big head, looking curiously at him. “ I don’t know that. Well—well—l’ve said what I wanted to, and you are not angry ; so it is all right. Come and have some fizz, Patty, my girl. After your shake, it will do you good.”

They all went to the manager’s room, -when he produced a bottle of champagne, which they discussed together. Patty Silver shared it. Champagne was the one thing connected with the department of the interior which Patty cared for.

“ Very odd,” thought Frank. “ Here’s the manager giving champagne to a family of acrobats. Wonder if they always do it at music halls.”

T believe, as a rule, that acrobats are not so well treated by managers.

In this particular case there were reasons why Mr. Leweson was especially kind to his talented Silvani Family. It is a story which hardly belongs to us. In the years gone by, there had been a little Israelite boy, whose father and mother died in a far-off land, leaving him alone to the care of strangers. None of his own people were in that Americau town. Then a Christian man, a blacksmith by trade, took him in, and housed him. The Christian man was Signor Silvani’s father; the little Jew was Mr. Emmanuel Leweson. Years went on. The Jew became a musician, a singer, a composer ; the Christians went down in the world ; and the whirligig of time brought them all together again—Harry Silver an acrobat—Emmanuel Leweson the manager and part proprietor—principal shareholder of the great North London Palace of Amusement.

All this is irrelevant, save that it explains why the manager produced his champagne, and why he gave his warnings to Frank in language so emphatic. The family resumed the ordinary attire of humble British citizens, and Frank walked away with them. They lived in a small house, in one of those streets of gloomy small houses which abound in Islington. Patty nodded good-bye to him, and ran up the stops with her brother, opening the door with a latch key. “Sir,” said her father, when she hail gone in, “you saved my daughter’s life. "NVhat shall I say to thank you ?” “ Nothing. Why do you let her do it!”

“We must live. There is nothing dishonest in it. There is not half the risk that you think about it. As for me, I feel almost as safe on the trapeze as you do on the pavement—and so does Patty, for that matter.” “ But—but—” Frank hesitated.

“ Immodest, you think it is. I don’t know, sir—l don’t know. There isn't a better girl than my girl in all London, and I defy you to find one. No, I had a great exercise of my conscience before I let her go—only her gifts

were too strong, it was a-llying in the face of Providence not to let her take a way which was opened, so to speak, unto her. I laid the matter before my friend, Mr. Fddrup—” “Fddrup ! He that lives at Mrs. Skimp’s in Gran viHe-square.” “There is only one Mr. Fddrup, young man. The Lord can’t spare more than one at a time like him. Bo you know him ?”

“ I live in the same house. Tell me about him.”

“ Ah, I think you had bettor find out about him. Well, I laid the matter before him, and he decided that if the girl liked, and I was always there to look after her, there would be no harm done. If you live in the same houses as Mr. Fddrup, young gentleman, you try to talk to him. It was lie that showed me the Light.” Frank stared.

“Before ! know Mr. Fddrup, I was clean gone astray, and out of the way altogether. Now, I’m a different man. So is Patty. Bo you mean that Mr. Fddrup has never said a word in season to you ?” “ Not yet. I’ve only been in the house two days.” “ Then wait ; or—if you are not one of those who go about scoffing and sneering at good men—come with me on Sunday evening. But you’re a gentleman, Mr. Melliship. You go to the Establishment, I suppose.” Frank was too much astonished to find religion in an acrobat to answer. “ There is spiritual food of different kinds,” Mr. Silver went on. “I can’t get my nourishment in the Church of England. Mind you, I’m not saying a word against it. But I like freedom. I like to have my say if I’ve got anything to say, and when my heart is full.” “What denomination do you belong to?” asked Frank.

“To none, sir, at present. Why should I ? Every man is a priest in his own house. I am of the religion of Abraham. First, I was a Plymouth Brethren ; then I was a Primitive Methodists, then I was a Particular Baptists. I’ve tried the Huntingdon Connection and the Independents and the Wesleyans ; but I don’t like them. I don’t like any of them. So I stay at home and read the Book ; or else I go anil hear Mr. Fddrup on Sunday nights.” “ Let me come and talk to you,” said Frank. “ You shall tell me more about yourself, if you will. I promise, at least, not to scoff and sneer at good things.”

“ I m an illiterate man, sir, and you are a gentleman, with education, and all that, I dare say. But come when you like.” “ Let me come next Sunday evening. You shall give me some tea,” said Frank, in Iris lordly way, as if he were inviting himself to a man’s rooms at college. Mr. Silver looked after him with a puzzled expression, and went up the steps to dinner. “A gentleman,” he said to Patty, “who doesn’t swear and use bad language : who doesn’t look as if he got drunk ; who doesn’t go about with a big pipe in his mouth ; who doesn’t seem to mind talking about religious things. We don’t get- many such gentlemen at the Palace of Amusement, do us ?”

“But, father,” said Patty, laying the things out for dinner, “ how does a gentleman come to be singing in the Palace ? Gentlemen don’t sing," do they, in public places for money ?” “ I never heard of it. I will ask Mr. Fddrup. Here’s dinner. Joey, say grace.”

In these early days, Frank thought it best to go every morning to the Palace. This pleased Mr. Leweson, who had conceived an immense admiration for his new tenor. He showed this by solemnly presenting him with a tenor song of his own composing, which Frank sung, after the fourth night, in place of that song of the domestic affections already quoted. It was not so popular; but that, as Mr. Leweson remarked, was clear proof of its real worth. Had the loonatics applauded, he said lie should have left it his duty, as a musician, to put the song in the fire.

Sunday came, and Frank bethought him of his invitation to take tea with his new friends. Skimp’s dined at four o’clock on Sundays. After dinner, Mrs. Skimp went to church, and her boarders chiefly amused themselves by playing at billiards. To the younger portion, the students, there was something particularly attractive in playing a forbidden game on Sunday ; to the older ones, the chance of picking up a few stray sixpences at pool was quite enough of itself to make them prefer knocking the balls about to smoking pipes all the evening. Besides, they could unite the two amusements. Captain Bowker went to church, to smooth out his ideas, he said—-though no one understood in the least what he meant. I think he liked the quiet of church, where be could abstract his mind from all affairs—spiritual as well as worldly—and compose his verses. Mr. Fddrup, as usual, appeared at dinner, ate in silence wliat was set before him, and disappeared noiselessly. Frank found his friends waiting for him— Patty with an extra riband. Her father was sitting with a Bible before him—his one book, which he read at all times. On Sundays, when ho had a clear day before him, ho useiFto read the Prophecies, applying them to modern times, and working out all problems of the present by their light. He had no books to help him, unless Swedenborg’s “Heaven and Hell” he considered a help. Heading day after day, as he did, the words had come to have to him, as they have done to some theologians, a sort of threefold sense—the historic, the prophetic, and the hidden or inner sense. The pursuit of the last occupied his thoughts. The room was poorly furnished, for the family income was but small. Three or four chairs, a tabic, and a. sideboard constituted the whole of it. No servant was apparent, and Batty and Joe were up and down the stairs, bringing up the tea things, laughing and chattering.

“ I’m glad to sec you, Mr. Melliship,” said his host. “ Now, I call this friendly. Patty, my dear, make haste up with the tea, because it’s getting late.” “ It’s quite ready, father. We were only waiting for Mr. Melliship.”

Watercresses, and bread and butter. Patty pouring out the tea. Her father with his finger on the Bible, enunciating things prophetic.

“ I was reading what Ezekiel says about the world in our time, Mr. Melliship.” “ Bid Ezekiel write about our time ?” asked Frank, thinking what a pity Patty’s hands should be so spoiled by her aerobatic work. “All time—every time. T can read, sir, the events of to-day and to-morrow in his pages, as plain as I can in a newspaper. I can toil you, if you like to listen, what is going to happen in the world before you die.” “ Tell me,” said Frank.

Mr. Hi Ivor held up his finger, and began. As he went on, in short jerky sentences, his eyes wandered from Frank’s anil fixed themselves in space—the gaze becoming deeper, and the expression as of one who reads things far off.

“ A day of judgment and lamentation, when even the righteous shall be sifted. Afterwards the good time. A day of gathering of the nations upon the earth. The (Beat Battle—the Final Battle—shall be fought, after which there shall be no more wars. 'The Lord’s battle will bo fought on the Lord’s battle-field, the Plain of Fsdr aelon : the battle of the people against the priests, and all their power. After it, the priests shall clothe themselves with trembling as with a garment. Know,” he continued after a pause, stretching his hand across the table, and still with his eyes fixed in vacancy —“know that, from time long gone by, even from the days of the Chaldean who first invented the accursed thing, the arm of the Lord has been against the priesthood. There is one nation the enemy of the human race—the nation of the priests. Whether they call themselves Catholic, or Anglican, or Bissenting, or Heathen, the spirit is alike. It is the spirit of darkness and tyranny.” “Then you want to abolish all priests ?” said Frank, looking with wonder at the religious enthusiast.

“ 1 am on the Lord’s side,” he replied, simply. “ I would that I might live to fight in the Great Battle when it comes, and to fight against the priests. Priests! lam a priest. We are all priests ; —every man in his own house, as the Patriarchs were before us. Bemember, young man, that this is no light matter. It will be your place to take a side—and that before long. Bussia is advancing south, as Ezekiel prophesied. Turkey is falling to pieces, and will soon be even as she who was once decked with ornaments—with bracelets on her hands and a chain upon her neck—who went astray and was confounded, as Ezekiel prophesied All things came from Palestine : all things go hack to Palestine. They are going to make a railway down the valley of the Euphrates : then they will rebuild the city of Babylon. In the time to come, that shall be the city of wealth and trade when London will he deserted. The city of the Lord shall then be rebuilt, too : even the city of Bavid, with a Temple which shall have no priests. It shall be the reign of peace. All nations shall come into the Church, and the millennium shall be begun. Even so, O Lord : Thy will be done !” He folded his hands, as he concluded his speech, in a silent prayer. “ Brink your tea, father,” said Batty; “it’s getting cold—and it’s late, besides.”

“ Where are we going, Miss Silver ?” asked Frank.

“ Miss Silver !” Patty laughed merrily. “ I never was called Miss Silver in my life before. Call me Patty, Mr. Melliship.” “ I will, if you will call me Frank.”

“ Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind. You are a gentleman, and don’t belong to our rank of life. Hush, don't move. Don’t disturb father. He’s often so, after talking about the Bible.”

The enthusiast was bent forward, with his eyes fixed, gazing out of the window. He neither heard nor saw—he was in a trance. Frank looked at him anxiously. Then, moved by the impulse of his artistic nature, he took a book from tlie table. It was Patty’s hymnbook—and on tlie tly-leaf began to sketch her father with his pencil. Patty looked over his shoulder in speechless admiration. In three minutes it was done—a mile, rough sketch, slightly idealized, so as to bring out the noble ruggedness of the man’s brow, the wild depth of his eyes, the setting of his lips. “Oh! it’s wonderful,” Patty whispered. “ Shall I draw you ?” asked Frank, in a whisper. “ Sit down, anil I will try.” She sat down, blushing; but the next minute sprang up again, whispering—- “ Not to-day—not while father is like that. Don’t speak.” She took the Bible from him, and looked at the portrait with devouring eyes. Some subtle beauty the artist had put into the lines whicli she had never noticed before in her father’s face, and saw it now for the first time. They sat for two or three minutes more in silence, and then Mr. Silver threw his head back with a sigh, and looked round the room. “It is late,” he said. “Let us go.” “But where are we going?” asked Frank again.

“ Why, to Mr. Fddrup’s church, of course.” He followed in astonishment. Who anil what was this Mr. Fddrup, that these people should so look up to him ? Batty and he walked together. “I shall show the picture to father,” she said —“ but not to-night : not till the fit is off him. I suppose you were surprised to find us in such a nice house ? We couldn’t afford to rent it, you know ; but it's Mr. Leweson’s, and he gives it to us for nothing. Wo sometimes let lodgings, only I don’t know-—it is such a trouble.”

“ You had better again,” said Frank. “ I will be your lodger.” “Ah ! T don’t know. T should like it, von know,” she replied, simply ; “but father’s particular. You might turn out bad, after all. And then see where we should he !”

“ Well—l haven’t turned out very good, so far,” said Frank, with a sigh.

“ Here we arc at the church,” said Tatty, stopping at a door.

Chapter XXXII

A staircase, steep as a ladder, led to a long low room, filled with people. It might have held about eighty, because audiences of all kinds, whether for religion or amusement, pack closely. The windows wore open, because the night was close. The room was lighted by two or three gas-jets, and fitted up with benches for the body of the room, and a foct-high platform for the end. This was garnished with a rough hand-rail, not for any separation of the minister from the people, hut for a leaningplace on which he might rest his hands. Two or three chairs were on the platform. One of these was empty. Mr. Silver, leaving Frank in the hands of his daughter, went to the end, and took the vacant seat with a slight but noticeable air of pride. The only arm-chair was occupied by Mr. Fddrup, who was leaning his head on his hands, motionless.

The people were the common people of the neighborhood : rough, coarse men, and rough, coarse women. They all knew each other, anil occasionally telegraphed salutes with friendly grins. A few carried babies ; but there were few very few children present, and those only so small as not to be able to take care of themselves. They whispered a good deal to each other, but in a hushed, serious way. Laughter and levity there were none. The worshippers in this humble Ebenezer were called, as Frank afterwards discovered, the Primitive Blueskins, by the scoffers in the neighborhood. The reason, as told to him was a queer story, which may or may not be true. It told how forty years ago, before Mr. Fddrup 'vent to the place, there had been an attempt —a very little one—to promote in the court some form of Christian worship. This room, the same in which they always met, had been fixed upon as the only room available. It was old and shaky, and it was built over a dyeing establishment. One cold winter night, soon after they had formed themselves into a congregation, the reverend gentleman who conducted their exercises, whether driven by religious zeal or impelled by the severity of the weather, enforced his arguments by an unwonted physical activity, stamping, gesticulating, and even jumping. He calculated nimiiim credulus, on the strength of the floor. Alas ! it gave way. The boards broke beneath the unaccustomed strain. The table, on which were two candles, was upset ; and, amid the darkness, the little flock could hear only the groans of their pastor and the splashing of liquid. The last flash- of the overturning lights had shown him vanishing through the flooring. They turned and fled. It was some time before they ventured to return. But they found their minister blue. He was dyed: he liad fallen into the vat prepared for an indigo day. Besides this, he was half frozen. After tills the congregation dispersed. Nor was it till Mr. Eddrup came that they reassembled ; and when they did, the nickname stuck to them still.

Patty pulled Frank by the arm, and they humbly took the lowest places of all, the very last, with their backs against the wall. “ It’s going to begin directly,” whispered the girl. “You must look over my hymn-hook. There’s Mr. Eddrup.” As she spoke, the old man rose and advanced to the front of the platform, grasping the rail. “If any have aught to say”—he spoke a kind of formula—“ let him or her now say it.” A laboring man rose up, and incoherently delivered himself of a few short and unconnected sentences. Then he sat down, perspiring. He had an idea which he wanted to set forth, but language was too strong for him, and he had failed.

Mr. Fddrup looked round again. No one else spoke. Then he took a hymn-book, and gave out a number. They took their hymns, like their tea, sitting ; but sang with none the less fervor.

Then their leader—for such Mr. Eddrup was —rose to address them, with his hands on the rail, his head held down, and his white hair falling forward in a long mass that almost hid his face.

“ Into what queer world have I dropped ?” thought Frank. “ A religious trapeze family ; a man who lives at Skimp’s, and preaches to people ; I myself, who sing at a music hall, and come here on Sundays. It all seems very irregular.

Mr. Fddrup, still looking on the ground, with his long, white hair hanging about him, began his discourse in a slow, hesitating way, as if lie was feeling, not for ideas, but for fitting words to put them in. Presently he warmed a little with his subject, and lifting his head, spoke in clearer and fuller tones. His audience went with him, devouring every word he said. They were wise words. He spoke of the everyday life iff a religious man, of the temptations that beset tlie poor, of the strength which comes of resistance. He had that native eloquence which comes of earnestness. He wished to say the right thing in the most forcible way. So, when he had found the right thing, he took the simplest words that lay to his hand, and the readiest illustration. Socrates did the same. A higher than Socrates did the same. He talked to them for two hours. During all that time, not a soul stirred. All eyes were fixed upon the speaker. There was no interruption, save now and again when a woman sobbed, It was not that he told them the hackneyed things that preachers love to dwell upon—the general phrases, the emotional doctrines ; all these Mr. Eddrup passed by. He told them unpalatable things : little things : things which are a perpetual hindrance to the progress of the soul, which yet seem to have nothing to do with the soul. He laid down directions for them which showed that he knew exactly, all their circumstances. He showed them how religion is a flower that grows upon all soils alike, nourished by the same sun which shines fupon rich and poor. And, lastly—in a peroration which made the cars of those that heard it to tingle—he proclaimed the infinite love of the Greater. He stopped suddenly, sat down, and was silent. “ Tell me the meaning of it,” asked Frank of Patty. “ Who and what is Mr. Eddrup ?” “ Come away, and I will tell you. Father likes to have a chat with him of a Sunday

night. Come Joey. lie came here,” said Patty, “ forty years ago and more. He was a young man, I’ve been told, and strong ; but lie was always very sad and silent. He began by searching out—always in this court—the poor children, and getting them to school in the morning. He taught it himself, and gave them bread and tea for breakfast. People liked that, you know, and the children liked it. Then he got to having the men to evening school at eight o’clock. A few of them went. The court was the most awful place, I’ve been told, in all London. Mr. Eddrup was robbed a dozen times going away at night—beaten, too, and ill-treated, j’ut lie always came again next day, just as if nothing had happened. They do say that nothing would make him prosecute a thief. So when the boys found there was no danger and no fun in stealing his handkerchief or knocking him down, of course they left off. Well, so it went on, you see. Gradually the court got better, Mr. Eddrup got the houses into his own hands by degrees—because he’s a very well-to-do man, you know —and made them clean. They were pigsties before. He never turned anybody out ; never sold up tlieir sticks for rent ; always waited and waited—and, they say, ho always gets paid.” “ Has he turned the people into angels, then ?” “ No. I don’t say that

But they’re better

than the run of people. lie has made them a religious lot, which was the most dreadful lot i n all London. Parsons come here now, and want the people to go to church. Not they. So long as Mr. Eddrup preaches in the little chapel, there they go.” “ Ail this must coat him money as well as

time.” “ He spends all he’s got, whatever that may be, Mr. Melliship, on the poor. I’ve been told that he never takes anything stronger than water, and has only one room to himself, all to have more for the poor people.” “ Some of that is true, I know,” said Prank. “Oh ! those flowers,” cried Patty, as they passed a flower-girl. “ How sweet they smell !” “ Let me give you some,” said Prank. Now, Patty had never had any flowers given her before. It was a new sensation that a man —or anybody, indeed—should pay her atten-

tions. She -went home with her present, and put the flowers in water. If Prank had been able to see how carefully those poor flowers were watered, and how long they lasted ! It will be understood at once that Patty’s stage career had been very different to that of most young ladies of her profession. Always with her father, taken by him to the theatre, brought home by him, she was as domestic a little bird as any in all this great wilderness of houses. “ Poor Patty !” thought Frank as he walked home. “ A dreary life for her to risk her life every night for so many shillings or pounds a week ; to have no lovers, like other girls ; no pleasure but to go and hear Mr. Eddrup preach.” Mr. Eddrup had returned when he reached home, and was sitting, silent as usual, in the drawing-room with Captain Bowker—who had his long pipe alight, and his glass of rum and water before him. “ You were there to-night,” said the old preacher. “ The Silvers brought you.” “They did,” said Frank. “Thank you very much.” “ Captaid Bowker smoked on. He was in a meditative mood.

“I went once,” he said, “myself. Should have gone again, but I saw one of my last old crew there. Couldn’t go and sit on the same

bench with him, you know. Stations must be observed. Mr. Mellisliip, it’s just as well to say that Mr. Eddrup here doesn’t care to have his Sunday evening’s occupation known.” “Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame,” said Prank. “No, Mr. Melliship—no,” replied the old man, sadly. “ There has never been a time when I have not been beset by temptation to be proud of a trifling piece of work like mine. I should like to be famous, if only in the mallest way. But I pray against it. I formed the resolution, very long ago, that there was only one course for me in life—to go through it as noiselessly as I could, to do as little mischief as possible, to resent no injury.” “Butwhy?” asked Frank. Why?” “ Some day I will tell you, perhaps. Not now. lam glad you came to hear me talk to my people, Mr. Melliship. It is a long time since we have had a—anybody but my own people. It does them good to see strangers. Let me look at your face, sir.” Prank held his face, smiling, to the light, while the old man walked feebly—Prank noticed how very feeble he was after his exertions in the chapel—to the chair where he sat, and looked at him steadily. “ There is the seal of innocence, and the seal of guilt. This is the seal of innocence. Keep it, young man. Look at mine. Do you see uothing ?” “ Nothing,” said Frank. Mr. Eddrup sighed, and sat down again. A few minutes afterwards he stole out of the room, aud slipped upstairs to bed. “ He’s often like that,” said Captain Bowker. “Something on his mind. I had a cook aboard the Merry Moonshine once, used to sit all day long, and never speak to a soul. Took a fancy to a Lascar, and would sometimes talk to him. No one else, mind. One day he up with the chopper, and buried it three inches in the Lascar’s head. Then, before you could say Jack Robinson, over he went—ship going ten knot 3. Lascar dead in a minute. Mr. Eddrup's took a fancy to you J” “ That’s a cheerful sort of story to tell. Do you think Mr. Eddrup may he tempted to do something rash with the carving-knife ?” “ I can’t say,” said the Captain, solemnly. “ No one can say what another man will do, or what terrible thing may happen to him. I’ve been married myself.” “ Then you may be married again.” “ Lord forbid ! There’s ghosts again. I suppose you never saw a ghost ?” “ Never.”

“No more did I. But I’ve felt one, 3 T ouug man. I’ve been beat black and blue by a ghost. Hum thing, that was.” “ Tell it me.”

_ “There it is, you see. You get making me sit up spinuiug my yarns when I ought to be iu my berth. Sunday night, too. Well, I’ll tell you this one. It was forty years ago. I was a midshipman aboard an East liuliainan. We’d had bad weather, and put into Port Louis to relit ; —for the matter of that, we always put iu there iu the good old days. I was ashore with two or three more, drinking, as boys will, in the verandah of an hotel there. There was a chap, and Englishman, with a solemn face aud a long nose, got talking to us. I remember his hatchet jaws now. Presently ho whispers across the little table—- “‘ I want two or three plucky follows. Will you come ?’ “ ‘ What for ?’ we asked him. “ ‘ Money,’ says he. ‘ Treasure.’ “ ‘ Do you know where it is ?’ I said. .“‘ldo,’ says he. ‘“Then why don’t you get it yourself?’ says I. ‘“That seemed to fix him a hit. Then he says—- “ ‘ Because I can’t do it alone, and I won’t trust anybody but English sailors. It’s money buried by the pirates up in the hillside over there. I know the exact spot. There is a story going about that the place is haunted ; but we ain’t afraid of ghosts, 1 should hope.’ “ We agreed for next night, if we could get leave, and went aboard again. All that day and the next night we were talking it over. The mate heard us. He came up to me laughing—• “ So you’re not afraid of ghosts, are you ?’ “ However, we got our leave, and went ashore. The mate went too. “ It s dark in those latitudes between six and seven, and at that time we met our long-nosed friend. He had got pickaxes and a lantern, and led the way. There were four of us altogether. We had to pick our way, when we left the path, over stones and through hushes ; and, what was very odd, I kept on thinking I heard steps behind us. Being only a slip of a boy, I begins to get nervous. Presently our guide stopped.

“ ‘ Here we ai'e,’ lie says ; and, pointing to a place under a tree, he hangs up tire lantern, and takes off his coat and began to dm. ‘ Now boys,’ he says, ‘as quick as you cnn.’ “We fell to with a will. It was a precious hot night, and the ground was hard ; but we made a hole in it after a bit, and then at it tooth and nail. Five minutes after we began, I looked up to straighten my back, and found the lantern gone.

“ ‘ Who’s unshipped the light ?’ I says. “We all looked round. There was a young moon to give us a little light, but no lanterm I, for one, felt queer. However, we all went on again without saying a word. We got a hole two feet deep, and were all in it. Then one of my mates wants to know how long the job’s going to last.

“ ‘ Perhaps,’ he says, ‘ the ghosts have sunk it fifty fathoms deep.’ Lhosts be d d,’ said lantern jaws. ‘ Dig away, boys.’ “ Then we heard a laugh close by us. “‘Ho !_ho !—ho !’

It was a curious place for echoes among the rocks, and the laugh went ringing round and round till you thought it was never going to stop. We all stopped for a hit. “* Go on,’ says our leader. ‘ They can’t do more than laugh.’ “With that another laugh, louder than the first. However, we went on. Then I heard steps ; and looking up, I saiv three or four figures over the hole. “ ‘ Lord !’ I cried. ‘ Here’s the ghosts.’ “ Well, I hadn’t hardly time to sing out, when whack, whack came half a dozen -sticks on our heads and backs, and we all tumbled together. I suppose the sticks went at us for five minutes in all. When they stopped, I got up the first, grabbed my jacket, hanging on the tree, and legged it, tumbling over the rocks, and scratching myself in the bushes, as fast as ever mortal man ran in his life. The rest all came after me. What became of mealy face, I don t know. P'raps the ghosts finished him off.

“Half an hour after we got to the port : the mate came up with three friends. They were all laughing at some joke of theirs.

“ ‘ Well, my lads,’ says he, ‘did you see any ghosts ? ”

“ No one answered, and they all laughed louder.

“ f ile oldest thing of all, Mr. Melliship,” concluded Captain Bowker, laying his pipestem impressively on Prank’s hand, “was that next morning my cap, which I had left behind in the hole, was found in the boat. Now, how did that yet there ? ’