The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 241, 1 July 1876, Page 4

The Novelist.

UNCLE JOHN. Me foretliinketli, said King Pellinore, tin's shall Goclmay well foredoe destiny .—Morte iV Arthur. Chapter XXX. — Restored. Laura stole quietly into the street, and lifting her veil that she might drink in long deep breaths of the fresh morning air,. paced slowly the deserted pavement, thinking of many From Homer downwards (and what a long wav it is to the bottom of the hill !) poets of every grade have sung the praises of rosyfingered Aurora, as if she were indeed the goddess of good spirits, good humor, hope, happiness, and enjoyment ! Now to my mind, and I think, on reflection, many late sitters-up and’early risers will agree with me, the hour of dawn, as it is the coldest, seems also the most melancholy of the twenty-four. lam not alluding to those early stirrers, who, long before the conclusion of their natural rest, are either unbreakfasted or have eaten a bad breakfast with little appetite ; nor do 1 expect sympathy from that roysterer, who, having supped heartily, not without champagne, at midnight, puts his fifth cigar m his mouth, and faces daybreak with undefeated cheerfulness, stalking home to a bed he has no intention of leaving till two o clock in the afternoon. Bnt I imagine that, insisting on the mournfulness of “ morning, I express the sentiments of most men and women, who, watching, travelling, or keeping any other necessary vigil, have found themselves compelled to see the sun rise, when they would much rather have been fast asleep between closed curtains in a darkened room. Desire, it has been said, springs from separation. Thus, I think, some of our strongest feelings are called forth by contrast There is much deep and painful truth m the sentiment of Byron’s beautiful lines.

“But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, “Which living waves, where thou did st cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spung Come forth her work of gladness to contrive. With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring." So when the conscience is stained by guilt, ia there not reproach in the pure clear morning sky ? So when the heart is heavy for grief, is there not a mockery in the bird with its morning carol, the breeze with its morning freshness, and earth herself with her smiling morning face ? A man looks at the moon, and S for that which might he; bnt he tarns away from the dawn, with a groan for that which can never be again ! There are rolling clouds about the car of Eos, Goddess of Morning, but Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory, sits dim and indistinct among the vapors ; dimmer and more indistinct that we are looking for her through a mist of Laura’s eyes turned wistfully to the dappled clouds, rose-tinted with beams that, far below the lofty wall of houses, were already breaking in splinters of fire along the honzoii, and wondered if ever again she would feel the dead weight lifted from her heart, find, hope m the sunrise, happiness in the brightening day. Ihe risk she had lately run seemed but to have fed her fierce longing, sharpened her cruel hunger, to look in Lexley’s face once more. On just such a morning she remembered travelling with him, a week after their marriage, in an open carriage by themselves, among the Welsh mountains. She could see his kind eves bent down to meet her own. She could hear his earnest voice repeating for the twentieth time the old fond tale. “ Dearest,” it whispered, “I have been a happy and a prosperous man, but I never believed life had anything to offer equal to this! You have shown me that there is a Heaven here on earth. God . forbid I should ever have to learn the lesson it is my weekly duty to teach, that there is no unalloyed happiness on this side of the grave ! Had he learned the lesson now, she wondered, and how had he accepted it ? Was the trial too severe ? Had he endured it with the courage of a brave man, the resignation of a e ood one ?Or had he broken down under the test, giving way, like many a weaker nature, to unavailing complaints, or sinking m a sullen helpless despair ? Oh ! no, she prayed not ! She trusted not ! And yet she did not quite wish him to bear it, as well as she ho Sdwhat was left for her ? A loveless life of endless drudgery, of unavailing effort, of solitude, repining, and woe ! _ She* saw herself going down into the future a middle-aged woman, with grey hair, whose comeliness had departed as the color fades out of a flower in the dark, watching by the sick beds of those who would consider gold, if not silver, an equivalent for offices and attentions that might tax the purest friendship, the sincerest love. She saw herself sallying forth morning after morning, to the uncongenial task, returning day after day from the irksome labor, wasting health and strength, devoting life and limb, and all for what ‘ . The unaccustomed tears rose m her eyes while an angel whispered at her heart It is for his sake ! ” Yes, for his sake, to whom she had given the mature love of her womanhood, to whose honor she had willingly offered up her own happiness, learning in her cruel sacrifice the great lesson that teaches how earthly affection for the one, expanding into benevolence for the many, rises at last into noble adoration for the TVTaker and Protector of all. , , “At least,” she thought, “ though it be but an atom in the great Scheme, this lone y, loveless life wifi not have been wasted, and if I am permitted to form a link, however tiiflinS in great chain of brotherhood that makes the wld happier, purer, better, fo little matters what becomes of the poor unit hie.

can lift my eyes fearlessly to Heaven, and say from a truthful heart—Thy will be done .! The birds were singing merrily now, m full chorus, among the trees and bushes of Guelplisquare. The morning sunshine was gilding chimneys and house-tops. A fresh westeily breeze was wafting into London the many perfumes of Spring, and Laura, lifting her own fair face to meet the smile of morning, felt like the Ancient Mariner when he learned to pray, that a weight was taken off her lieait. The milkman had already begun his rounds. It was later than she thought, too late to go to bed now. She had not seen a bit of green for months ; she would compass Guelph-square once, the walk would do her good, and then, striking into one of the great eastern thoioughfares, make her way home. Guelph-square looked very tempting, with its gardens bursting :nto that tender gieen foliage which is the most becoming garb of Sprin". Laura made its circuit more than once, and emerging on her homeward thoroughfare, found the day so far advanced that she was glad to hail an early omnibus, lumbering along, empty and solitary, towards the city. Lowering her veil she passed through to take her seat at the far end, under an advertisement of some unknown article spelt with, all the consonants in the alphabet.

The pace of an omnibus is, in my opinion, most distressing to inside passengers ; alternating, as it does, between a lumber and a jolt. The annoyance, too, of continual stoppages to take up and set down fares, is enhanced foi person of irritable disposition, by the inscrutable conduct of that functionary on the step, who seems always about to perform some acrobatic feat or practical joke, which, pro-vokino-ly, never comes off. When empty, there is something inexpressibly depressing in the contemplation of its dirty floor-cloth and stuffy plush cushions ; when full as that became in which Laura was seated, long before she had done with it, there seems united in this ingenious contrivance the maximum of discomfort with the minimum of despatch. It is difficult to say whether you suffer most from your next neighbor’s elbows or your opposite neighbor’s knees, till pulled up . with a jerk that jumbles you all into a promiscuous heap, you decide there is little to choose between any of the angular articulations that provide flexibility for the human frame. Your eyes, too, are subject to a like constraint with your limbs. If they meet the conductor’s, he immediately insists on stopping to set you down. If you glance to right or left, those on each side place their hands m a position to protect their pockets ; if you look across, the lady opposite lowers her veil with an austere frown, or, more alarming still, responds with a bold stare and a smile ! Biscomfited and ashamed, you take refuge at last in the contemplation of a pair of worn black o-loves, an umbrella, and a basket. ° Desirable as may be the interior of this ark for a refuge in bad weather, I confess that on a fine morning I much prefer the outside. >3o did Lexley. . ~ , He, too, had been at the house m Guelphstreet, and learned the sad tidings of Uncle John’s decease. Having called the previous evening, he received from the servants so alarming an account of Mr. Dennison’s state that the image of his kind friend lying on. a bed of death haunted him through the night. tie could not rest in uncertainty, and. rose therefore with early morning, to obtain fresh intelligence and learn the truth. Thus, it fell out, that he arrived at the door in Guelph' street not many minutes after Laura had lett it : thus, it fell out, that mounting the very omnibus in which she was returning to the city, he sat on its roof, with the heel of his boot not many inches removed from the fair face he still worshipped so fondly, so devotedly, but that he never hoped to see in this world again ! . In this world ? No. To such sad conclusion he seemed at last reconciled.. The revulsion of feeling that succeeded his discovery of the real truth in Middleton Gaol, had been almost as dangerous to reason as that first crushing blow which so prostrated him, when his judgement told him, though his heart would not believe it, that the woman he loved was an object of scorn, fallen too low to be even worth contempt. We have seen how a powerful nature and a well-balanced mind carried him through both trials, and we also know that the disappointment of seeking her in vain through crowded London, was in proportion to the unreasonable exultation he had experienced, when he learned that not only Laura might still be his own, but she had proved herself worthy, and more than worthy, of the place he gave her in his home and heart. Had it not been so, would she have had that place still. His was a mind that never shrank from selfexamination, and it had solved that question once for all. The home ? No. The heart .- Yes. He loved her as only such men can love, and though the shrine had been ever so polluted, the image ever so defaced, the incense he had burned in the temple still hung about its ruins, the spot where he had knelt, were it even in the ignorance of idolatry, was still and always must be a border of holy groun . But when days wore to weeks and months, yet brought no tidings, it is small wonder that hope gave way. He could not quite realize, o himself that she had no means of verifying Delaney’s death, and that the same noble sentiment which caused her to leave home would still keep her concealed from his loving search. He thought she Imust be dead, that she must have passed away under a false name to an unknown grave, but even from this desponding conclusion the sting was taken out by his belief that she had only gone on to where he would follow in due time ; that if she mig it never walk by his side a wife in the sight .o f man, he could fold her in his heart a wife m the sight of God. ... Mourning her, as he meant to do all hi’m > * this was why he had yesterday resisted Annies entreaties to attend the wedding breakfast., this was why, sitting on the roof of the omnibus in the bright spring sunshine, he was thinking of her now.

There is something in the sky that suggests to the rudest of us, we know not why, a vague yearning for the unknown, a vague perceptionof the infinite, a vague consciousnees of immortality. Turning his face to heaven, Lexley felt, surely as if an angel had told him, that he would see his love again. He little dreamed how soon. At the next turning but one, he bade the driver set him down. At the very next turning the omnibus stopped for a lady thickly veiled and dressed in black to get out. Lexley, looking at the sky, would not have noticed her, but that while paying her fare, she dropped a shilling in the mud, and before she could pick it up, the conductor, moved no doubt by the favorable appearance of his passenger, stooped nimbly down to recover and restore the coin. “ Thank you ! ” said Laura, nothing, more. But Lexley, starting as if he was shot, jumped from the roof in two bounds, flung the conductor half-a-crown, and, without waiting for change, strode after the retreating figure of the lady in black, as fast as his long legs would carry him. ~ ~ , . “ Bill, did ye see that ! said the lastnamed functionary to his coadjutor on the box, biting at the same time the half-crown he had caught with much dexterity, to satisfy himself it was genuine, and winking freely, while the vehicle rolled on. Subsequently, over a pint of beer, he expressed his opinion at greater length on the whole proceeding. I regret to say it was by no means flattering to the morals of the Established Church. Turning down the by-street that led to her home, Laura was aware of hasty footsteps following in pursuit. Looking back she found herself face to face with her husband. Yes, surely he was her husband, or else when the pavement seemed turning round, and she held by the area-railings, lest she should fall, why was the kind voice in her . ear, the strong arm round her waist, the loving eyes that haunted her dreams, looking fondly, frankly, fearlessly, into her own ? They did not rush into each other’s embrace with tears and sobs and foolish gestures. How could they, with a policeman and a pot-boy looking on? But they walked soberly away arm-in-arm, and Lexley must have told her in a few words much that has been here narrated of their strange vicissitudes, to account for the following observation — “ Then it has all to be done over again ; darling - , how delightful ! And, Algy ! you haven’t moved one of the rose-trees from under my window at home ! ” 'The roses are still blooming, fresher and fairer than ever, on the lawn before the Parsonage. Mrs. Lexley tends them, no doubt, with exceeding care, but there is a little rosebud upstairs, not in a vase of water, but in a thing of twilling and bows and laces called a “ berceaunette ; ” that, being the first blossom of her graft, takes up a great deal of her time. This prodigy is called Laura, and Lexley firmly believes she will grow to a piece of unrivalled perfection like her mother, a queen of women, as the Rose is Queen of Powers. He sees them both in the light of a love that has been tried in the furnace, to come. out purer, brighter, and mdre precious than refined gold. I have culled the motto that heads these chapters from an ancient volume, containing, perhaps, more of the stuff out of which romance and fiction are fabricated than any other book in the world. As a cook selects for the stock from which to make her soup, good wholesome beef, rich, succulent, and close in fibre, such as will bear the cut-and-come-again of the carving knife, so from the “Morte d’ Arthur” many of our greatest authors have compounded savory dishes on which our intellects delight to feed ; one of our greatest poets has drawn again and again the strength and savor which renders the banquet he has provided an imperishable feast for gods and men. Lavish of incident, if somewhat wordy. in narrative, grand in conception, if a little tiresome in detail, noble in sentiment, even when most exaggerated in expression, this old-world history seems an exponent of all that Gothic fire land hardihood which Chi'istian faith moulded into chivalry. Anything finer and more impracticable than the aspirations of King Arthur in his institution of the ground table, is not to be found in literature. That “ monarch bold” has been for after ages the type of all that, in its highest, purest, noblest sense, constitutes The Gentleman. In his glorious scheme of banding together a Brotherhood, united in enterprise, loyalty, and devotion, for Avhom no tasks should be too arduous, no adventures too full of danger, are found the germs of every effort that has since been made to instruct and benefit mankind, from the shaven Jesuit erucified in China to the frozen mariner, stiff and stark on an ice-berg with his face to the North Pole. The character of Arthur, upright, generous, unselfish, incapable of suspicion, as of fear, is the ideal of all we most revere and love. His history, and that of his knights, may be considered as a parable, teaching men to what lofty aims they ought to soar, teaching them also to what profound depths of sin and sorrow they are prone to sink. Yes, Launcelot and Tristram stand forth, qne on each side of “ the self-less, stainless king,” gigantic figures, moulded in heroic proportions, to afford warning even as they compel admiration, fallen because of the very qualities that raised them above their fellows, dishonored in regard to that very honor by which they set such priceless store. Alas, for truth when Tristram could deceive ! Alas, for loyalty when Launcelot rode under shield against his Lord ! Alas, for the lower, weaker natures, whom these great hearts drew down in their disgrace ! Alas, for the girdle of steel that, but for the base alloy, was to have compassed the earth ! Alas, for the flowers of chivalry, that “ Th e trail of the serpent was over them all ! ”

Yet what a garland it was once ! In the noble time before that fatal morning when Guinevere and the court went a-maying, “ Green-suited, and in plumes that mocked the May.’,

When, year by year, as Pentecost came round, the sovereign and brother in arms gathered his knights about him to reward their exploits, hear their adventures, take counsel of their experience, inciting them by precept and example, to greater efforts and higher aims. When the tournament glittered by day, and the wine-cup blushed at night ; when trumpets pealed and minstrels sang ; when knights encountered in the saddle, frankly as they pledged each other at the board , when the goblet was emptied to the dregs, the lance shivered to the grasp, while through the mimic war, the mirthful revelry, through the tramp of horses, the din of feasts, the rustle of silk, the clang of steel, and the whispers of peerless dames, whose bright eyes travelled over all, there still predominated the one paramount rule of “ Courtesy,” which seemed indeed the very essence and origin of the whole. And in what consisted this Courtesy, this Gentleness, which every knight assumed, indigenous to and inseparable from his very knighthood ? Was it not courage, that feared no earthly evil but shame ? Humility, that, doing its best and bravest, set its comrade’s achievements ever before its own. Last at the feast, first in the fray, yielding the place, of honor to all, the post of dauger to none ! Faith, believing frankly in its brother, trusting humbly in its God ? Hope, aiming at its highest standard ? Charity, stooping to the lowest need ! Was it not indeed an effort after that pure and holy unselfishness which centuries earlier had walked the earth, barefoot, though, being human, the. imitation was therefore imperfect and fallible, while compelled by the needs of the middle ages to ride in steel ? Nobody can read the Morte d’ Arthur without observing the extraordinary discrepancy that exists between the sentiments it inculcates and the conduct of those whose doings in love and war are recorded, approvingly and without the slightest reproach. That I attribute less to the morals than the manners of the age for which it was composed. The writer, m common with his readers, had learned none of those tricks of rhetoric in which modern authors, while they insist strenuously on the fact, veil the shocking declaration that “ we are all naked under our clothes” and, doubtless, on occasion, he calls a spade a spade, with a freedom against which we cannot too strongly protest. These are mere questions of detail, in no way affecting its main object, and but slightly detracting from the sterling merits of the work. What I insist on is the sentiment that pervades the whole, the high standard which a gentle knight was everstriving to attain, that combination of courage and meekness of the soldier with the Christian* which forms, if not the most admirable* certainly the most amiable, and perhaps not. the least useful character humanity can adopt*

They gave and took hard knocks, these grand old knights, but it was rather to redress wrongs than, as the quaint black letter English expresses it, to “ win worship.” And though they fought like devils, they prayed like saints behind their visors all the time. A good steed, a stout arm, and a long sword constituted but a part of the warlike outfit they deemed incomplete without a pious, trustful heart. Calling on God to help them, they went. resolutely into battle against any odds, and in all the affairs of life believed and acted up to their belief, that heaven was on his side who struggled manfully for the right. One of these grim old champions has embodied in two lines a comprehensive creed to carry men triumphantly through the most perilous enterprises, as to guide them safely over the shoals and quicksands of common life. He will fail in few of his undertakings, nor will his heart sink under the bitterest reverses who can say with stout King Pellinore, “ Me forthinketli, this shall betide, but God may well foredoe destiny ! ” THE END. A WHITSUNTIDE ADVENTURE: Bang ! There it was at last—the gun, the 1 welcome signal that the Isle of IVlan Steam Company’s ship “ Tynwald” had just rounded Douglas Head, and was gliding into the smooth waters of that beautiful bay. To a thousand persons the report of that tiny cannon was an inexpressibly sweet and blessed sound, for it told them that the purgatory which they had been enduring for the last six hours was ever, and that in a few minutes they would stand upon terra firma. A voyage across the Irish Sea in stormy weather is at all times an ordeal —a disagreeable ordeal, I may say, to ordinary people, but it was rendered ten times worse on the present occasion, owing to the fact that the steamer was crowded with excursionists, it being the season of Whitsuntide, when cheap trips tempt the population of our great towns to leave the “ giant-factoried city gloom” 'to breathe a whiff of purer air from sea or mountain. It had been a dull* sunless day, with a stiff breeze blowing, which worked the sea into that that state known amon<>- sailors as “chopping,” and though I have no doubt the “ Tynwald” behaved herqj way which would have excited the admiration of nautical gentleman, yet her gambols were a little too lively for the comfort of simple landsfolk like myself and my fellowpassengers. The consequence was a spectacle of human misery, which might have afforded Dante materials for adding another circle of torments to the horrors of his Inferno. Faces which were ruddy and jovial when we started soon faded into a ghastly pallor frightful to behold. The majority of the passengers became oblivious to everything but their own agonies, and being literally wedged into a mass of suffering humanity, there was nothing to be done but resign oneself to the fate which doomed all to the endurance of pangs unspeakable. If I were asked to name the one situation in the world least favorable to. sentiments of romance, I should have no. hesitation, in saying—“ On board a steamer in a 1 chopping’ sea.” I cannot conceive even the most devoted lover entertaining one feeling . of tenderness or one spark of chivalrous passion, when under the influence of that most terribly

prosaic of all maladies, sea-sickness. Ugh ! I shudder as I recall that dreadful pleasure excursion (Heaven save the mark !) The horrors of a slave-ship were nothing to it ; the living freight was so closely packed that there was no place to which one could retire to hide one’s misery or escape from the distressing scenes which everywhere met one’s eye. And then >vhen one. at last succumbed oneself well, here is a lady’s description of her sensations under similar circumstances : “At first I feared that I was going to die; then I feared that death was going to pass me over.” Those who have experienced a rough day at sea, and its effects, upon the human frame, will know h'dw far that description is correct. Then to think that all these people, myself included, had embarked solely for pleasure ! Truly, Froissart was not far wrong when he said that the English take their pleasure sadly. Under these circumstances my readei-s will be able to form some conception of the delight which the boom of that cannon conveyed to the great crowd ■of Whitsuntide holidaymakers, on boord the good ship “ Tynwald.” Be ally I don’t know that it isn’t worth while going through the agony of a six-hours’ rough passage just to experience the delicious sense of relief which thrills through one when one’s foot actually touch es land agian. However cadaverous the hue of my face, there was gladness in my heart as I walked down the pier to look for an hotel. Two hours before, the bare suggestion of food would have killed me on the spot ; now my soul craved for a beef steak and a draught of beer. Could I only find myself seated before a well-cooked morsel, flanked by a foaming pewter, all my troubles would be forgotten. It was necessary, however, to secure a bed as well as a dinner. The former was an article so hard to obtain, that I began to wonder whether civilization, as we English understand the term, had yet reached the shores of Manxland. One hotel after another was visited, and the same answer met me at all ; “ Quite full, sir.” For two long hours I wandered through the streets of Douglas, seeking for some place which would afford a weary traveller rest and refreshment. At last i tried a little inn of humble and unpretending exterior, but with an air of comfort and respectability about it which took my fancy. It was almost in despair of receiving anything but the stereotyped answer to my enquiries that I went in and asked, in a tone of utter weariness, “ Have you a bedroom vacant?’ A buxom pleasant-faced damsel replied, “ Not a bedroom, sir ; but there’s a bed disengaged in a double-bedded room, if the other gentleman has no objection to your occupying it.” I was much too tired to be scrupulous, and expressed my readiness to accept any sleeping accommodation whatever. The other gentleman, who, it appeared, was a well-known visitor of the house, had, of course, to be consulted, and he happened to be out. However, I resolved to take my chance and rely on my respectable appearance ; so I ordered dinner in the coffee-room. I was revelling in the enjoyment of that meal, as only a hungry Englishman can do, when the landlord entered, followed by another person, whom he introduced as Captain Sparwell. He was a bluff, hearty-looking man, short but sturdy, and it only needed one glance at him to know that he was a sailor.

“My best respects to you, sir,” said he, after a stiff, awkward bow. “The landlord here wants you to shake down in the same room with myself to-night. I’m willin’ enough, if you can make up your mind to trust me as a companion.” There was an honest look about his red, russet-bearded face, which I liked, so I replied — “ You look too good-natured, sir, to do any one harm.” The captain smiled at the compliment, and said, “Well, I think ye may put down Tom Sparwell as an honest chap, with all his faults; and you, Mr.—Mr. —” “ Digby,” I suggested. “Ah, Digby. You don’t look the sort o’ fellow to rob and murdei' a peaceful traveller at dead o’ night.”

“I hope not,” I rejoined. “Nor should I care to tackle such an awkward customer as yourself, Captain Sparwell.” This allusion to his sturdy personal appearance evidently pleased the worthy skipper, and clinched the matter at once. The landlord, however, took occasion to whisper to me, when Mr. Sparwell’s back was turned, “ Ye’ll have no trouble with him ; he’s one o’ the quietest decentest gents that comes to this house.” I nodded to express my entire satisfaction at the arrangement, and my perfect faith in the captain’s respectability, and was then shown up to the bedroom. It was a large, quaint, oldfashioned room on the second floor, and contained two huge, funereal-looking four-posters. After this inspection of my apartment, I went out to call, according to promise, upon a friend who had crossed with me in the steamer that day. It was late when I retui-ned to the inn, and on arriving there, I found that Captain Sparwell had retired to rest some time before. The landlord again took the opportunity of informing me that he had known Captain Sparwell for years, and that a decenter, soberer, quieter man never walked a ship’s planks. It was very gratifying to me to feel that I was privileged to sleep in the same apartment -with such a paragon of nautical virtue, and I endeavored to express my gratitude. When I entered the bedroom, of which this decentest of mariners and myself were to be the joint occupants, I was appi’ised by the deep, stertorous breathing of my companion that he was fast asleep. I was not long in trying to follow his example ; but it was not easy to do, for the cajxtain’s tuneful nose made such music that, do what I would, I could not get to sleep. I closed my eyes, I tried in every conceivable way to “ court the balmy,” as Mr. Bichard Swiveller would have put it, but in vain ; “ the balmy” was coy, and resisted all blandishments. I even attempted to snore, that I might if possible drown the well sustained volume of sound which came steadily, at regular intervals, from the stout skipper’s nasal organ. It was worse than useless ; I was

no match for my companion at snoring. If ever I harbored uncharitable and vindictive thoughts it was then, and the captain’s nose was the object of them ; for nothing I could devise would shut out from my ears the dreadful monotonous cadence of those snores. At last, from sheer fatigue as I imagine, I fell into a doze and dreamt that I was on board the steamer again, whilst her peculiar trembling, quivering motion seemed to vibrate through every nerve of my body. Suddenly I awoke and became instantly aware that the motion was a reality. I distinctly felt the bed quake and tremble ; the whole apartment seemed to be violently shaken, whilst a strange creaking sound, varied by an occasional rattle, came from the other end of the room. I sat upright in the bed and listened. There was no doubt that some agency in the room was causing the commotion. What could it be ? An earthquake was out of the question ; though I have since learned that shocks are sometimes felt in the Isle of Man. Could it be some one prowling about with thievish intent, or—ha ! the captain, I had forgotten him ; it was he, in a fit, perhaps. I sprang hastily out of bed. It was pitch dark. After groping about for some time, during which the mysterious noises increased to an extent which made me more than once speculate on the advisability of making for the door and rousing the house, I found a match, struck it, and therewith lit the candle. G-uiding myself by this feeble glimmer, I walked cautiously towards the bed which, when last I saw it, was undoubtedly occupied by the captain ; but now, to my intense surprise, I found it tenantless. The pillow, counterpane, and blankets lay in a confused heap upon the floor, but the skipper himself was nowhere to be seen. What could have become of him ? For a moment I was in a state of trepidation ; suddenly, however, a gruff voice near me growled in a low tone, but loud enough to make my heart jump to my mouth, —

“ Hoy up ! Be gum—l’ll not be safe till I’ve reached the topmast.” Instinctively I raised the candle, and by the very dim light which it gave, I discerned a figure in white clinging to one of the posts of the huge bedstead. It was the captain—embracing the bed-post like a monkey climbing a pole. The whole framework of the bed, and indeed the room itself, shook with every movement of his body, for lie was no light weight, and as he was still energetically endeavoring, to all appearances, to “swarm up,” I expected every second to see the top of the bedstead come down “by the board,” as the captain himself would have nautically expressed it. I began to doubt Mr. Sparwell’s sanity, or, at all events, his sobriety ; yet, though I was not a little alarmed at this eccentric conduct, I could not, for the life of me, help smiling at the ludicrous sight. But an ominous creak overhead warned me that if I did not pull the adventurous climber down, the top of the bedstead must inevitably overwhelm us both. I therefore seized Mr. Sparwell by one of his legs, and gave him a vigoros pull, at the same time explaining my interference by saying—- “ Captain Sparwell, Captain Sparwell, what are you about ? You’ll bring the bedstead down in pieces directly if you don’t mind.” The only answer to my remonstrance was a muffled roar, in [which these words were distinguishable, “ Avast there ! I tell ye—let me go—she’s sinkin’ fast ; I’m not goin’ to drown for any o’ ye.” Another and a stronger pull had the effect of bringing the captain down, but unfortunately in his fall he knocked the candle out of my hand and extinguished it, leaving the room in Egyptian darkness. I had not time to remove my grasp from his leg before I felt myself collared by the throat in a grip of iron, whilst the voice thundered in my ear,

“Ha ! would ye ? Thieves here ! Ahoy ! Murder ! Hi there, Digby, turn out to the rescue.”

I had not the power to tell him that I was Digby, he kept so tight a clutch upon my windpipe. I endeavored to shake off his hold, but directly I began to struggle I received a swingeing blow in the eye which caused me tc see a star-shower of dazzling biilliancy. Fortunately for me my antagonist’s foot caught in the bed-clothes ; he tripped and fell heavily to the floor, bringing me down with him, but at the same time relaxing his hold upon my throat, so that I was able to cry out — “ Stop, Captain Sparwell, it’s me—Digby—your fellow traveller.” Part of my speech was drowned in a terrific “ Ahoy ! ” which the captain gave as he fell, but he caught the name “Digby” and exclaimed,

“Eh ? what ! Digby. Why you don’t mean to say it’s you —you rascal ; I’ll pepper ye.” Apprehensive of another assault, I wriggled out from the the bed-clothes in which I had become entangled and made towards the door, not doubting that the captain was at my heels. Bat-tat-tat—a regular tattoo upon the door. Thank Heaven ! I was saved.

“ Here, here,” I shouted ; “ Quick —open the door, or I shall be murdered.” For, indeed, believing the captain to be a maniac, I expected to be strangled before help should arrive. “Unfasten the door and let us in immediately,” said a stern voice outside. The door was not locked but bolted ; my trembling fingers at length found the bolt, and the next moment I found my self standing face to face with the landlord, who held a candlestick in his hand, and was accompanied by two or three men nil scantily attired. “ Come, come, gentleman,” said the landlord sharply, “ wliat’s the meaning of all this to-do ? Why you’ve roused the whole house. I call it disgraceful behavior.” I turned round ; the captain stood behind me blinking like an owl at the light, and looking rather sheepish. As the inquiry was pointedly addressed to him, he said slowly, “Meaning of it, eh ? Well, I’m blest if I know what it means ; but I know it ain’t my fault.”

“ Can you explain, sir ? ” said the landlord, turning to me. “ Only partly,” I replied. “I was awoke by a strange noise, and on getting out of bed to discover the cause of it. I found Mr. Spafwell climbing up the bedpost at the imminent risk of puliing tlie whole bedstead to pieces. I pulled him by the leg to remonstrate with him, and then he pitched into me as if I had been going to garotte or rob him.” The landlord stared at me incredulously; then said—

“Captain Sparwell a climbin’ the bedpost ! Nonsense ! he went to bed as sober as I am now.”

I was put out at the evident discredit thrown upon upon illy story ; so I retorted, “ Yes i climbing the bedpost ! and this is the man whom you assured me to be the quietest, decentest, soberest person who visited your house. A nice lot they must be if this is the best of them.”

The landlord was about to make an angry reply when Captain Sparwell interrupted him with a broad grin Upon his face. “ Mr. Digby’s right after all,” said he “ and I’m wrong. I can tell ye how it all came about, and believe me, sir, ” he added, looking good-humoredly at me, “ I am neither mad nor drunk. The fact is I always was a queer un at dreaming. It’s only three months ago since I was wrecked, and I dreamt this very night that I was goin’ through the whole thing again—ay ! every bit of it. And I remember now, taking to the topmast as my only hope o’ safety—leastways I dreamt I did that, but I didn’t think I’d lia’ been such a fool as to have mistook the bedpost for it and begin a swarmin’ that. That’s my explanation, and I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Digby, and gents all. But that’s the gospel truth.” This story was told with such a frank, candid way, that we couldn’t help believing it, and we all had a hearty laugh at Captain Sparwell’s expense. The worthy skipper’s grief on finding that he had damaged my eye was excessive, and his apologies were profuse. However, at his suggestion, we all went down to the kitchen, and had grog served round at his expense, a proceeding which satisfied all parties concerned. The early sun was beating in through the blinds when we adjourned to our beds ; the captain resumed his snores, and I myself, in spite of a swollen eye, was soon lost in the mazes of unconsciousness.

The next day I secured a single-bedded room, for though I quite endorsed the landlord’s opinion of Mr. Sparwell as a worthy man and a good sailor, I had no wish to have another eye put into mourning. The skipper and myself parted the best of friends a day or two afterwards, but I could not help giving him one little bit of advice before I finally bade him farewell ; it was always to occupy a single-bedded room for the future, that he might indulge in his propensity for animated dreaming, without detriment to his neighbors. For my own part, from that time to this, I have had a deep-rooted aversion to double-bedded rooms, and nothing, I think, will ever induce me to sleep in one again, unless the other occupant be a person of whose rational behavior in slumber I am perfectly assured. The reader will perhaps be glad to learn tnat no further misadventure marred the pleasure of this my first and only Whitsuntide excursion trip, and he will, I dare say, be inclined to think that the events which then befell me are likely to keep my holiday visit to Manxland for ever green in my memory. Wilfred Digby.