CHAPTER VA.D.1847-1849HOME LIFE

Now that we have ended all this War of Words,And fall to drawing corks instead of swords,Now the Pretender may his Captors mock,And view with glee a match without the lock,Let each resentful thought and feeling cease,And General Harmony conclude the Piece!

Now that we have ended all this War of Words,

And fall to drawing corks instead of swords,

Now the Pretender may his Captors mock,

And view with glee a match without the lock,

Let each resentful thought and feeling cease,

And General Harmony conclude the Piece!

In 1847 a new interest entered the life of Charlotte Tucker. The three little ones of her brother Robert and his wife,—Louis, Charley, and Letitia,—came to live at No. 3, and were made her especial charge. All of them, but particularly the pretty little dark-eyed Letitia, then only two years old, were thenceforward as her own; first in her thoughts, and among the first in her love. She taught them, trained them, devoted herself to them; and their names will often be found in her letters. The death of Letitia, nearly twenty years later, was one of the heaviest sorrows she ever had to endure. One is disposed to think that the care and responsibility of three little ones, undertaken in the midst of a full and busy family life, and in addition to all the duties of that life, could have been no sinecure, and must have been fraught with many a difficulty.

The Tuckers were much in society, as may indeed have been already gathered. Mr. Tucker was a man greatly sought after, alike on account of his position and influence, and because of his personal attractiveness. Open house was kept; and the large circle of friends and acquaintances never failed to find a welcome. So many indeed would drop in and out, that three lunches in succession were occasionally known to take place at No. 3; and so frequent were the ‘parties’ to which the family wasinvited, that sometimes they would appear at three different houses in the course of one evening. ‘Party’ in those days was a wide term, embracing divers kinds of entertainment, from a simple musical gathering to a large ball.

Dinner-parties also were numerous. In reference to these, Charlotte Tucker wrote rather drolly to her sister late in life, speaking of—‘those formal affairs, which you and I remember in our earlier days. Wemustask So-and-so; and how shall we find gentlemen to counterbalance Mrs. and Miss out of one house? Slow concerns those great dinner-parties were; a kind of social duty, which cost much trouble and expense, and gave not much pleasure. A kind of very stiff jelly, with not many strawberries in it.’

An amusing story is told about these large dinners. In those days the custom of ‘drinking healths’ had gained sway to an absurd and objectionable extent; gentlemen being expected to respond to every toast, and not only to sip their wine, but very often to empty their glasses, under pain of giving serious offence. Mr. Tucker always had by his side a decanter of toast and water, from which his glass was filled for the various toasts; and probably those not in the secret counted him a marvellously hard-headed man. One day a guest requested leave to taste this especial wine, which was kept for the host alone, supposing it to be of some very rare and choice vintage. His request was immediately complied with; and the face of thebon-vivantmay be imagined when he discovered himself to be drinking toast-and-water.

No doubt these dinnerswerea ‘social duty’; and no doubt some of them may have been extremely dull. Yet it must not be supposed that Charlotte did not thoroughly enjoy London society, and did not fully appreciate intercourse with polished and intellectual minds. That which in her old age would have been a mere weariness toher, was no weariness in youth and early middle age. One of her brothers remarks: ‘She was very sociable, lively, and threw her whole heart into the kindly entertaining of guests of all ages.’ Such powers of entertaining as she possessed could not but have gone with enjoyment in the use of those powers.

Moreover, the study of different characters, the drawing out of other people’s thoughts, the gaining of new ideas for herself, must have had some fascination. And, despite all her kindness, all her readiness to see the best in everybody, she could not, with her keen sense of humour, have failed to be a good deal amused with the various foibles and absurdities which certain people are wont to display, even in the best society, and when upon their most circumspect behaviour.

Ever merry, and ever making others merry, she could, as one friend says, ‘keep a whole tableful laughing and talking,’ without difficulty. In fact, whatever the dinner-parties may have seemed to herself, her own presence, her bright smile and sparkling conversation, effectually prevented sensations of dulness on the part of others who were there.

Whether Charlotte ever had what, in the language of fifty or sixty years ago, was delicately termed a ‘preference’ for anybody, cannot be known. Her hand was at least once sought in marriage, while she was still a girl; and some signs seem to have been visible that she was disposed to ‘like’ the gentleman in question. Her parents, however, disapproved of the match, and it came to nothing. If at any time she really were in love, it is pretty certain that she never would have revealed the fact to any mortal being until sure that her ‘preference’ was returned. The reticence which was so marked a feature in her otherwise frank and open nature would undoubtedly have had sway in this direction.

Speaking to a friend, long after in old age, she said that in her young days ‘at home,’ when a certain nameless gentleman was supposed to be paying his addresses to Fanny, the other sisters were ‘very indignant’ at the idea of any man wishing to break into their sisterly circle. This probably preceded her own little affair, since Fanny was four years her senior. The pretty notion of home-life and of the unbroken sisterly circle had in time to yield before stern facts, as first one sister and then a second proved faithless to nursery traditions.

Wide as was the circle of family acquaintances, the girls possessed few intimate outside friends. Mr. Tucker rather discouraged such intimacies, considering that his five daughters ought to be content with the close companionship of one another. Charlotte had above all her Laura, whom she devotedly loved; and so satisfying was this friendship that she probably cared little for others by comparison.

Mrs. Tucker, in her quiet way, was no less a power in the house than was her husband. Though less brilliantly gifted, she was very observant, very quaint, very wise, a most affectionate Mother, intensely loved and revered by all her children. She had her own peculiar mode of looking upon things. For instance,—having noticed that girls in an evening party, glancing at a mirror, were apt to be disquieted to find their dresses disorganised, she resolved to have no mirrors at all in her rooms, hoping thereby to secure greater peace of mind among her guests. It does not seem to have occurred to her, that a vague uneasiness about the state of their attire might possibly trouble them quite as much as even an uncomfortable certainty.

Another short story of Mrs. Tucker, showing her quiet, incisive force of character, may well come in here. She had a very strong objection to unkind discussion ofpeople behind their backs. On one occasion, when in the drawing-room of a certain lady, other callers beside herself were present, and one of the latter rose to leave. No sooner was the unfortunate lady gone, than the hostess began to speak of her in disparaging terms. Mrs. Tucker made no immediate observation; but presently, turning to the hostess, she said mildly, ‘I ought to be going,—but I really am afraid to do so.’ Much surprised, the other asked why. ‘Because,’ Mrs. Tucker replied, ‘I am afraid that when I have left the room you will begin to speak of me as you did just now of Mrs. ——.’ The courteously uttered reproof—a pretty sharp one, however gently bestowed—was accepted in an equally courteous spirit; and the hostess earnestly assured her that nothing of the kind should take place.

There is no need to imagine, because Charlotte was gay and bright in society, that she never knew the meaning of depression. Shadows of loss and sorrow had not yet begun to fall across her pathway; yet even in those happy days she must have grasped the meaning of ‘down’ as well as ‘up.’ Rather curiously, she spoke of herself in old age as having been when young ‘subject to very low spirits’; or more strictly, she said that she would have been so subject, but for the counteracting influences of ‘religion’ and ‘work,’ the latter arising from the former. High spirits seldom exist without some tendency to occasional re-action. But certainly the sense of depression, whenever it may have assailed her, was not allowed to be a weight upon others in her everyday life.

It was most likely somewhere between 1847 and 1849 that she began to feel uneasy about going to certain kinds of amusement. Fanny was the first to dwell upon this subject, and to be unhappy as to exactly what she ought or ought not to do. Long years after Charlotte Tucker wrote: Sweet Fanny sufferedmuchfrom hersensitiveness of conscience’; and the words may perhaps in part have borne reference to such debatings as these.

Fanny’s gentle, yielding nature went no farther than being troubled. She did not speak out. But when the same questionings spread to the younger sister, matters were different. Charlotte was not one who would hesitate as to action, in the face of her own conscience. To some extent here lies the gist of the matter. While she could go with a clear and perfectly easy conscience, able to enjoy herself, and untroubled by doubts, she probably did so without harm to herself, so long as her life was not ‘given to pleasures,’ that is to say, so long as she did not undulylovethese things, or allow them to occupy a wrong place in her life. The moment conscience became uneasy, however, there was nothing for her but to stand still and carefully to consider her next step. For ‘he that doubteth is condemned if he eat,’ even though the eating may not be actually and intrinsically evil. Whether or no the things were in their essence wrong,—and to decide this, each thing would have to be regarded apart, entirely on its own merits,—they became wrong for Charlotte, so soon as she could no longer accept them with a free and happy mind. They became wrong, at least,unlessshe felt her doubts to be overridden by the duty of obedience.

Fanny had doubted and hesitated; Charlotte doubted, and did not hesitate. She went straight to her parents, told them frankly what she felt, and asked whether she might give up going to such places of entertainment as caused her uneasiness.

Wisely and generously Mr. and Mrs. Tucker yielded. If it had become a matter of conscience with her, she might remain at home. Although they did not view the question in precisely the same light, they would not make their conscience the rule for her actions, but would leave her free to be guided by the dictates of her own.

Had they not so responded, had they insisted on having her with them still wherever they went, Charlotte would have given way. Hers was a high ideal of filial submission; and though she had reached an age when she had a right to an independent opinion, yet obedience to them ranked in her mind before the necessity to decide for herself, in a question where opinions might so greatly differ. If they desired her to go, she would go. If the matter were left to herself, she would be on the safe side in all cases which seemed to her dubious, and would remain at home.

There is little or nothing in her letters of that date bearing on this subject; but the above seems to have been her manner of regarding it. While feeling the need to draw for herself some line of demarcation between things expedient and things inexpedient, she does not appear to have fallen into the error, so common amongst really earnest and excellent people, of counting that the line which she rightly drew for herself must of necessity be the only right line for everybody else. Such a view leads to many a harsh and un-Christian judgment. What is dangerous for one may not be perilous for another, who is differently constituted. What is needless for one may be an absolute duty for another, who is in quite a different position. Probably Charlotte saw this. It is worth remarking that, while she kept aloof from many entertainments out of the house, she never, either then or in later years, refused to join in home-parties, or failed to do her utmost to entertain the guests. There was nothing morbid or repellent about the development of her sense of duty.

TO MISS D. LAURA TUCKER.‘July 12, 1848.‘You are my lovely, loving, and lovable Laura; a Diamond among gems, and a Rosebud among flowers. Why do you mentionso often the mere handwriting of your letters? Do you think that I see anything in them but the kindness of her who has, in the midst of all her engagements, found so much time to devote to me? My own Mother too—how very good to me she has been! I am grateful to her for all her most kind endeavours to set my mind quite at ease on the subject of the poor little Robins....‘We have taken it into our heads that, what between music and teaching and writing and visiting,youmay have more work on your hands than may suit your taste. Under this idea, Fanny, like a dear Quixote as she is, formed a grand plan of rushing up to town on Thursday by coach with uncle Charlton, who happened to be coming, and turning you off the music-stool, or snatching the spelling frame from your delicate hand instanter.‘But I opposed this double-quick march for several reasons, which I hope you may think cogent. In the first place, I hope that you are notsohard-worked that it would be too much for you for a few days more to go on with only the assistance of the fair Sibella and Clara. 2ndly, The country seems really doing sweet Fan good. She told me yesterday that she did not know when she had felt so well. I too am perfectly well. 3rdly, I think at your full table on Friday our room would be better than our company. 4thly, We are engaged to take tea with Mrs. Edgecombe on that day. 5thly, For Fanny to start off by coach and me to follow by fly, would appear to me both an extravagant and extraordinary procedure. So, after all these reasons, I thought that we had better fix on Saturday for the day of our departure, until I heard that Auntmustcome up to Town on Monday. She offered to take us up with her, but as it would of course be more agreeable to her to come withus, I think that we shall find ourselves in dear old Portland Place on Monday morning.‘I am so much obliged to dearest Mamma for her kind intention of taking me to Thalberg’s splendid Concert on Monday. It would really give me more pleasure if I might present my ticket to dear Fanny Lanzun, who has been all kindness and attention to us. You know how we wished thatoneof our family might hear Jenny Lind. Now I can hear through your ears; and none of the Lanzuns have had that treat, you know.’

TO MISS D. LAURA TUCKER.

‘July 12, 1848.

‘You are my lovely, loving, and lovable Laura; a Diamond among gems, and a Rosebud among flowers. Why do you mentionso often the mere handwriting of your letters? Do you think that I see anything in them but the kindness of her who has, in the midst of all her engagements, found so much time to devote to me? My own Mother too—how very good to me she has been! I am grateful to her for all her most kind endeavours to set my mind quite at ease on the subject of the poor little Robins....

‘We have taken it into our heads that, what between music and teaching and writing and visiting,youmay have more work on your hands than may suit your taste. Under this idea, Fanny, like a dear Quixote as she is, formed a grand plan of rushing up to town on Thursday by coach with uncle Charlton, who happened to be coming, and turning you off the music-stool, or snatching the spelling frame from your delicate hand instanter.

‘But I opposed this double-quick march for several reasons, which I hope you may think cogent. In the first place, I hope that you are notsohard-worked that it would be too much for you for a few days more to go on with only the assistance of the fair Sibella and Clara. 2ndly, The country seems really doing sweet Fan good. She told me yesterday that she did not know when she had felt so well. I too am perfectly well. 3rdly, I think at your full table on Friday our room would be better than our company. 4thly, We are engaged to take tea with Mrs. Edgecombe on that day. 5thly, For Fanny to start off by coach and me to follow by fly, would appear to me both an extravagant and extraordinary procedure. So, after all these reasons, I thought that we had better fix on Saturday for the day of our departure, until I heard that Auntmustcome up to Town on Monday. She offered to take us up with her, but as it would of course be more agreeable to her to come withus, I think that we shall find ourselves in dear old Portland Place on Monday morning.

‘I am so much obliged to dearest Mamma for her kind intention of taking me to Thalberg’s splendid Concert on Monday. It would really give me more pleasure if I might present my ticket to dear Fanny Lanzun, who has been all kindness and attention to us. You know how we wished thatoneof our family might hear Jenny Lind. Now I can hear through your ears; and none of the Lanzuns have had that treat, you know.’

TO MISS D. L. TUCKER.‘Oct. 13, 1848.‘Many thanks for your last sweet note to me, and kind consent to fill my place.... I do hope that you may not find teaching thewearisome task which I sometimes do. Perhaps Aunt Laura may succeed better in fixing the attention of her little pupils. At all events,Iam grateful to you for undertaking the trouble. You are dear to a sister’s heart, sweet Laura, and I hope that you are one of the blessings for which I amnotunthankful....‘I had two delightful games of chess yesterday with my dear Father.... What an awful state Vienna is in! Is not the murder of Count Latour dreadful?’

TO MISS D. L. TUCKER.

‘Oct. 13, 1848.

‘Many thanks for your last sweet note to me, and kind consent to fill my place.... I do hope that you may not find teaching thewearisome task which I sometimes do. Perhaps Aunt Laura may succeed better in fixing the attention of her little pupils. At all events,Iam grateful to you for undertaking the trouble. You are dear to a sister’s heart, sweet Laura, and I hope that you are one of the blessings for which I amnotunthankful....

‘I had two delightful games of chess yesterday with my dear Father.... What an awful state Vienna is in! Is not the murder of Count Latour dreadful?’

TO THE SAME.‘Oct. 10, 1849.‘Another sweet note from my darling Laura. I am rich in letters to-day, for I have received three such nice ones.‘Yesterday evening I spent about an hour at the piano. I did not, however, sing any of your especial songs. I began one day—‘The world is so bright’—but my heart and voice failed, because you were away. However, I daresay that I shall try again this evening. How it would cut up my music, were you to go to any great distance, for most of my favourite songs are yours. How I have enjoyed hearing you sing them.... Farewell, sweet Laura. I must go and hear my children their lessons. I hear their little feet and voices above me.’

TO THE SAME.

‘Oct. 10, 1849.

‘Another sweet note from my darling Laura. I am rich in letters to-day, for I have received three such nice ones.

‘Yesterday evening I spent about an hour at the piano. I did not, however, sing any of your especial songs. I began one day—‘The world is so bright’—but my heart and voice failed, because you were away. However, I daresay that I shall try again this evening. How it would cut up my music, were you to go to any great distance, for most of my favourite songs are yours. How I have enjoyed hearing you sing them.... Farewell, sweet Laura. I must go and hear my children their lessons. I hear their little feet and voices above me.’

Though verging now on her thirtieth year, Charlotte Tucker was still unknown to the public as an Author. If the initials A. L. O. E. existed in her mind as a future possibility, they had at least not yet appeared upon any printed page.

From time to time, however, her pen was busy; still in the old line of comic or tragic plays, for home amusement. In 1847 she wroteThe Castle of Sternalt; a Tragedy in Two Acts; belonging to the Cavalier and Roundhead period of England’s history. In that same year she also accomplishedGrimhaggard Hall; a Farce in Two Acts—not historical, but highly comic. After which came apparently a gap of two or three years; and in 1850 she wrote,Who Was The Witch? a Drama in Three Acts—historical again, belonging to the days of the Saxons and of King Harold, half comic, half tragic.

It does not appear from these three plays that her gift in the dramatic line had made any marked advance during the ten years or more which had elapsed since first she launched out in this direction. Probably an entirely different mode of life from hers, a less sheltered existence, a more extensive knowledge of human nature in its countless phases, is an absolute necessity to such development. There is in them much latent power, howeverunequal and undeveloped, whether it be of the grave or of the sparkling and humorous description. The following quotation from theCastle of Sternaltwill give an idea of her tragic style at that period. Ravensby, the hero, is a Cavalier, imprisoned and condemned to death on a false charge of murder.

ACT IV.—SCENE I.A DUNGEON.Ravensby.‘Th’ intensity of grief destroys itself.The torturer beholds his Victim stretchedUnconscious, pain itself o’ercome by pain.Fate dooms me now to death; last punishmentWhich mortal can inflict,—and yet I feelThere’s mercy in the doom. Thus to live onWere lingering martyrdom; it were to dieBy inches, drain my heart’s blood drop by drop.One flash ends all! O Clara, when my soulHath ceased to suffer, can it cease to love?Methinks, when quitting Earth, ’twill still retainHer image, who was more than Earth to me!It is a portion of my being, twinedWith every thought and feeling; thou wilt weep,My Clara; thou canst not believe him falseTo faith and friends, who is so true to thee.Gazing into the uncorrupted depthsOf thy pure feelings, thou wilt judge of mine.When all denounced me, thou wert still my friendWhen all forget, thou wilt remember still!EnterAgnes.Agnes,aside.I ne’er have feared the eye of mortal man,Why should I shrink from his?Rav.Who comes to breakThe prisoner’s solitude?Agn.One who would beThe prisoner’s friend.Rav.I have no friend—save one.Agn.Can he speak thus who hath so long espousedThe Royal cause, and served that cause so well?Who, girt with honours, well deserved, hath stoodOne in a noble Brotherhood of Fame!Where are the Cavaliers who fought with theeIn battle, side by side, who with thee sharedThe feast, and drained the wine-cup to your King?Where are they now? what, gone? not one remains,T’assert thy innocence, or shield thee fromAn ignominious death. Friends! out upon them!They mock the name; it were not thus, if thouHadst drawn thy gallant sword with those who wearNo chains but those of Virtue, those who ownNo earthly Monarch, and uphold no powerBut that of Liberty; whose friendship lastsNot only when the red wine sparkles high,And revelry and song profane the night;If such had been thy comrades and thy friends,Thou hadst not been forsaken thus.Rav.No more!Agn.The gate thou hast defended with thy blood,To-morrow casts thee forth, led out to die;And the proud towers coldly will look downUpon the closing scene; for hearts more hardAnd more impregnable decree thy doom.Thou diest a traitor’s death;—but wert thouours,Then ev’ry bush around the fatal spotShould hold an armed defender, ev’ry knollConceal an ambushed friend, and at a wordA wall of steel should bristle round thy breast;Then swords should clash with swords, and they who cameTo shed thy blood lie weltering in their own.If thou wert ours—and yet thou mayst be ours,——Rav.Cease, for I know thee, Temptress; words like theseBetray the fair false lips from which they flow.Thou’rt Agnes, own it,—Gasper Tarlton’s love.Agn.Agnes I am, not Gasper Tarlton’s love.The thistledown that floats upon the breeze,The thorny weed which from my path I spurn,The insect which I crush beneath my tread,Are not to me more insignificant,More worthless—than the Slave whom thou hast named.Rav.Thank Heaven! then my last doubt melts away;He yet is true, yet faithful to his King;My sacrifice will not be made for nought.Maid, he is honoured in thy hate!Agn.And thou——Rav.Leave me.Agn.To perish!Rav.Thou canst not defend.Agn.I could,—yes, I could arm in thy behalfA thousand gallant hands, might I but say,‘The injured will on the oppressor turn,Unite the love of freedom with revenge,A thousand-fold repay the debt he owesTo your brave confidence; in RavensbyYe will destroy a foe and win a friend!’Could I speak thus——Rav.Thy sex protects thee, Maid,Or thou shouldst learn the meed of treason. Hence!Agn.From other lips such words I had not borne.Why should I thus urge life upon thee,—whySeek to preserve thee in thine own despite?O thou art worthy of a nobler cause;I see in thee one who can nobly dare,Firmly resolve, and boldly execute;—And what a bright career before thee lies——Rav.A brief one,—from the dungeon to the tomb.Agn.To die a Traitor in the eyes of men.Rav.Better than live a villain in my own.Depart, and leave me to my fate. Away!Agn.O brave and glorious! I will tempt no more.My pride is humbled. I have found a soulThat soars beyond mine own. I would not robThy pinion of one plume. I watch thy flightWith kindling emulation. O for powerTo follow it, that I above this sphereMight rise; companion, not unworthy thee!Rav.A step approaches.Agn.None must see me here. [Retires into shade.]

ACT IV.—SCENE I.A DUNGEON.

Ravensby.‘Th’ intensity of grief destroys itself.The torturer beholds his Victim stretchedUnconscious, pain itself o’ercome by pain.Fate dooms me now to death; last punishmentWhich mortal can inflict,—and yet I feelThere’s mercy in the doom. Thus to live onWere lingering martyrdom; it were to dieBy inches, drain my heart’s blood drop by drop.One flash ends all! O Clara, when my soulHath ceased to suffer, can it cease to love?Methinks, when quitting Earth, ’twill still retainHer image, who was more than Earth to me!It is a portion of my being, twinedWith every thought and feeling; thou wilt weep,My Clara; thou canst not believe him falseTo faith and friends, who is so true to thee.Gazing into the uncorrupted depthsOf thy pure feelings, thou wilt judge of mine.When all denounced me, thou wert still my friendWhen all forget, thou wilt remember still!

Ravensby.

‘Th’ intensity of grief destroys itself.

The torturer beholds his Victim stretched

Unconscious, pain itself o’ercome by pain.

Fate dooms me now to death; last punishment

Which mortal can inflict,—and yet I feel

There’s mercy in the doom. Thus to live on

Were lingering martyrdom; it were to die

By inches, drain my heart’s blood drop by drop.

One flash ends all! O Clara, when my soul

Hath ceased to suffer, can it cease to love?

Methinks, when quitting Earth, ’twill still retain

Her image, who was more than Earth to me!

It is a portion of my being, twined

With every thought and feeling; thou wilt weep,

My Clara; thou canst not believe him false

To faith and friends, who is so true to thee.

Gazing into the uncorrupted depths

Of thy pure feelings, thou wilt judge of mine.

When all denounced me, thou wert still my friend

When all forget, thou wilt remember still!

EnterAgnes.

Agnes,aside.I ne’er have feared the eye of mortal man,Why should I shrink from his?

Agnes,aside.

I ne’er have feared the eye of mortal man,

Why should I shrink from his?

Rav.Who comes to breakThe prisoner’s solitude?

Rav.Who comes to break

The prisoner’s solitude?

Agn.One who would beThe prisoner’s friend.

Agn.One who would be

The prisoner’s friend.

Rav.I have no friend—save one.

Agn.Can he speak thus who hath so long espousedThe Royal cause, and served that cause so well?Who, girt with honours, well deserved, hath stoodOne in a noble Brotherhood of Fame!Where are the Cavaliers who fought with theeIn battle, side by side, who with thee sharedThe feast, and drained the wine-cup to your King?Where are they now? what, gone? not one remains,T’assert thy innocence, or shield thee fromAn ignominious death. Friends! out upon them!They mock the name; it were not thus, if thouHadst drawn thy gallant sword with those who wearNo chains but those of Virtue, those who ownNo earthly Monarch, and uphold no powerBut that of Liberty; whose friendship lastsNot only when the red wine sparkles high,And revelry and song profane the night;If such had been thy comrades and thy friends,Thou hadst not been forsaken thus.

Agn.Can he speak thus who hath so long espoused

The Royal cause, and served that cause so well?

Who, girt with honours, well deserved, hath stood

One in a noble Brotherhood of Fame!

Where are the Cavaliers who fought with thee

In battle, side by side, who with thee shared

The feast, and drained the wine-cup to your King?

Where are they now? what, gone? not one remains,

T’assert thy innocence, or shield thee from

An ignominious death. Friends! out upon them!

They mock the name; it were not thus, if thou

Hadst drawn thy gallant sword with those who wear

No chains but those of Virtue, those who own

No earthly Monarch, and uphold no power

But that of Liberty; whose friendship lasts

Not only when the red wine sparkles high,

And revelry and song profane the night;

If such had been thy comrades and thy friends,

Thou hadst not been forsaken thus.

Rav.No more!

Agn.The gate thou hast defended with thy blood,To-morrow casts thee forth, led out to die;And the proud towers coldly will look downUpon the closing scene; for hearts more hardAnd more impregnable decree thy doom.Thou diest a traitor’s death;—but wert thouours,Then ev’ry bush around the fatal spotShould hold an armed defender, ev’ry knollConceal an ambushed friend, and at a wordA wall of steel should bristle round thy breast;Then swords should clash with swords, and they who cameTo shed thy blood lie weltering in their own.If thou wert ours—and yet thou mayst be ours,——

Agn.The gate thou hast defended with thy blood,

To-morrow casts thee forth, led out to die;

And the proud towers coldly will look down

Upon the closing scene; for hearts more hard

And more impregnable decree thy doom.

Thou diest a traitor’s death;—but wert thouours,

Then ev’ry bush around the fatal spot

Should hold an armed defender, ev’ry knoll

Conceal an ambushed friend, and at a word

A wall of steel should bristle round thy breast;

Then swords should clash with swords, and they who came

To shed thy blood lie weltering in their own.

If thou wert ours—and yet thou mayst be ours,——

Rav.Cease, for I know thee, Temptress; words like theseBetray the fair false lips from which they flow.Thou’rt Agnes, own it,—Gasper Tarlton’s love.

Rav.Cease, for I know thee, Temptress; words like these

Betray the fair false lips from which they flow.

Thou’rt Agnes, own it,—Gasper Tarlton’s love.

Agn.Agnes I am, not Gasper Tarlton’s love.The thistledown that floats upon the breeze,The thorny weed which from my path I spurn,The insect which I crush beneath my tread,Are not to me more insignificant,More worthless—than the Slave whom thou hast named.

Agn.Agnes I am, not Gasper Tarlton’s love.

The thistledown that floats upon the breeze,

The thorny weed which from my path I spurn,

The insect which I crush beneath my tread,

Are not to me more insignificant,

More worthless—than the Slave whom thou hast named.

Rav.Thank Heaven! then my last doubt melts away;He yet is true, yet faithful to his King;My sacrifice will not be made for nought.Maid, he is honoured in thy hate!

Rav.Thank Heaven! then my last doubt melts away;

He yet is true, yet faithful to his King;

My sacrifice will not be made for nought.

Maid, he is honoured in thy hate!

Agn.And thou——

Rav.Leave me.

Agn.To perish!

Rav.Thou canst not defend.

Agn.I could,—yes, I could arm in thy behalfA thousand gallant hands, might I but say,‘The injured will on the oppressor turn,Unite the love of freedom with revenge,A thousand-fold repay the debt he owesTo your brave confidence; in RavensbyYe will destroy a foe and win a friend!’Could I speak thus——

Agn.I could,—yes, I could arm in thy behalf

A thousand gallant hands, might I but say,

‘The injured will on the oppressor turn,

Unite the love of freedom with revenge,

A thousand-fold repay the debt he owes

To your brave confidence; in Ravensby

Ye will destroy a foe and win a friend!’

Could I speak thus——

Rav.Thy sex protects thee, Maid,Or thou shouldst learn the meed of treason. Hence!

Rav.Thy sex protects thee, Maid,

Or thou shouldst learn the meed of treason. Hence!

Agn.From other lips such words I had not borne.Why should I thus urge life upon thee,—whySeek to preserve thee in thine own despite?O thou art worthy of a nobler cause;I see in thee one who can nobly dare,Firmly resolve, and boldly execute;—And what a bright career before thee lies——

Agn.From other lips such words I had not borne.

Why should I thus urge life upon thee,—why

Seek to preserve thee in thine own despite?

O thou art worthy of a nobler cause;

I see in thee one who can nobly dare,

Firmly resolve, and boldly execute;—

And what a bright career before thee lies——

Rav.A brief one,—from the dungeon to the tomb.

Agn.To die a Traitor in the eyes of men.

Rav.Better than live a villain in my own.Depart, and leave me to my fate. Away!

Rav.Better than live a villain in my own.

Depart, and leave me to my fate. Away!

Agn.O brave and glorious! I will tempt no more.My pride is humbled. I have found a soulThat soars beyond mine own. I would not robThy pinion of one plume. I watch thy flightWith kindling emulation. O for powerTo follow it, that I above this sphereMight rise; companion, not unworthy thee!

Agn.O brave and glorious! I will tempt no more.

My pride is humbled. I have found a soul

That soars beyond mine own. I would not rob

Thy pinion of one plume. I watch thy flight

With kindling emulation. O for power

To follow it, that I above this sphere

Might rise; companion, not unworthy thee!

Rav.A step approaches.

Agn.None must see me here. [Retires into shade.]

Agnes in the end confesses herself guilty of the crime for which he is condemned to death;—in time to save hisname from lasting disgrace, though not in time to save his life.

Who Was The Witch?though in parts amusing enough, is hardly so good as the others. Modern English puns sit oddly upon a background of pre-mediæval Saxon history.Grimhaggard Hallis perhaps one of A. L. O. E.’s most comic and laughablejeux-d’esprit, over which one can picture the family as enjoying many a hearty laugh. The perpetual play upon words, and the almost rollicking fun and nonsense of the whole, remind one of her earlier effort,The Pretender, already given at length; though the later-written farce is in some respects scarcely equal to the girlish achievement. Both these plays illustrate well the frisky and frolicsome side of a character which was in some respects not only intensely serious, but absolutely stern. Charlotte Tucker’s was truly a many-sided nature.

Whether at this time she had already begun to write anything in the shape of children’s story-books does not appear. It is by no means unlikely, since the date of her first appearance in print was now fast drawing near.

The chief characters inGrimhaggard Hallare—Mr. Cramp; Mr. Scull, an artist; Mr. Wriggle, a tutor; Miss Cob; and Nellie, daughter of Mr. Cramp.

ACT I.Library in Grimhaggard Hall. Nellie and Mr. Wriggle.Nellie.O my dear old Tutor, I shall be so sorry to lose you! I wish that my good Father had kept to his old plan, and instead of sending Bob to College had kept both you and him here. This house is so intolerably dull. When you are gone I shall sit looking at the old stones in the old wall, till I petrify into one myself. Why, the very spiders’ webs look as though there were no business doing in them, and not aflynor even abroomwould call at the door! Heigh-ho!Wrig.You forget, honoured Madam, the governess, Miss Cob, who is expected here to-morrow.Nell.A governess; the horror! then I hear that she is an oddity; so absent; very learned though, and extremely well-informed. I am rather old for a governess; I was seventeen last March. It would have been quite a different thing to have gone on with my studies here with you and Bob. Do you know that, without vanity, I consider that I have made amazing progress during the month that you have been here?Wrig.In Geography, Madam, for instance. Let me have the honour of recalling to your oblivious memory that only yesterday you forgot the situation of Guinea.Nell.Nonsense! I said that it was on theGoldCoast, and wished I had it in my own pocket.Wrig.I have remarked with regret, if you will permit me to say it, an aversion to consulting the Atlas, which——Nell.Keep me from you and your atlas! Atlas carried the world, and you would burden me with the Atlas. I hardly consider myself competent yet to carry the whole globe on my poor little shoulders. I should like to know what is the use of knowing the situation of this place and that place, to one who never has the satisfaction of seeing any place at all beyond the walls of our stupid garden. I wish that the cross old gentleman who bequeathed my father Grimhaggard Hall, had lived to repent it, that I do! I would rather live in the narrowest lane in the City than be cooped up here like a toad in a block. I’ve no fancy to be a Penelope,—stitch, stitch, stitch!Wrig.Penelope was a distinguished ornament to her sex.Nell.O dear Tutor, I know that she was a duck of a queen, but distinguished for nothing but herweb-feat.Wrig.The resource of literature remains to you, Madam, which was never open to her. I would again venture to draw your attention to the subject of Geography.Nell.O no more of that, I beg, my dear Mr. Wriggle. I know thatHamandSandwichare in the kitchen,Chinain the cupboard, andMadeirain the cellar. That is enough for me. I regard Geography simply in reference to utility. I’m quite a utilitarian by principle. You know that the greatest navigator was aCook; I dare say that he discoveredChili,Cayenne, andCuraçoa. Now do you know, my wise old Tutor, in spite of your white hair and all your learning, I think that I could puzzle you.Wrig.It would be difficult, Madam, to place a limit to your powers.Nell.Tell me, why is Botany Bay called Botany Bay?Wrig.I am not, I must own, aware from what the name is derived. Probably the Botanist has there discovered some new and curious specimens of plants.Nell.O you must have come fromDunseor theScillyIsles. Botany Bay is called Botany Bay, because blossoms of thebirchand sprigs of thegallows-treeare transplanted therewithout their leaves.Wrig.I see! I see! Ha, ha!Nell.I wonder if Miss Cob will understand a joke,—if she will ever perpetrate a pun. Do you know I fancy her such a prim old quiz? I should like to know whether she will play at chess with Papa, or teach me the guitar, as you do. Do you think that she will endure this house?Wrig.The total want of all society, except that which the walls of Grimhaggard Hall have the honour constantly to enclose, may perhaps have an effect upon the lady’s spirits not altogether exhilarating; but when your brother returns from College, perhaps he may be accompanied by some of his fellow-students.Nell.Students; what an idea! When my Father would sooner see a Goblin than a young man under any circumstances!Wrig.Is not this rather a peculiar—rather a singular—I would say prejudice? Could such a word be applicable to the excellent Mr. Cramp?Nell.I should say very singular indeed, did I not know its cause.Wrig.Is it presumptuous to inquire what that cause may be?Nell.O I’ll tell you in a moment. It all arises out of the freaks and folly of Mr. Grim of Grimhaggard Hall, who had, I am sorry to say, the kindness to leave us this property, and thereby consigned me to the dolefuls for the rest of my life.Wrig.Was the estate bequeathed under any unpleasant conditions? I never heard your respected father complain of such.Nell.O it is allrightto my father because it was allleftto him. But you shall hear. This Mr. Grim had a promising nephew, ... and this nephew, Mr. Atherton by name, was very naturally considered as Mr. Grim’s heir, the old gentleman never having persuaded any lady to marry him, and reign like another Proserpine over the gloomy shades of Grimhaggard Hall.Wrig.How then came the estate to your Father?Nell.Have a little patience, my dear Mr. Wriggle, and you shall be as learned as myself upon the subject. Well, this old uncle quarrelled with this young nephew. I think that it was about politics or some such absurdity; the elder was a Tory and the junior a Radical; no, the young one was the Tory, and the old one the Radical; and thisradicalquestion was therootof the quarrel. Now what do you think the spiteful old gentleman did?Wrig.Disinherited his nephew, and left the property to Mr. Cramp.Nell.That would have been a pretty severe lesson to the young man; but what do you say to the affectionate uncle leaving such a clause as this in his will? That my father must only have and hold this said Grimhaggard Hall, on condition of poor Mr. Atherton’s never even crossing the threshold of what he once considered his home! The place must be perfectlyheir-tight. If he ever passes twelve hours under this roof, the whole estate is to revert to him.Wrig.Such a clause argues little charity; but perhaps it may ultimately prove for the benefit of him whom it was designed to injure.Nell.Ah, you think that Mr. Atherton may still manage to get his property out of his old uncle’sclause! I am sure I wish that Mr. Grim had left the dull place to him, or any one but us; but then my Father is not of my mind. Yet even he has not an atom of enjoyment of his prize, from the perpetual fear of losing it. He has heard that young Atherton is very sharp and clever; of course he will try to regain his rights by any means that may present themselves; so I really believe that Papa expects him to appear some day or other through the key-hole. The gate is kept constantly locked,—luckily, one can see the high-road from the house,—nothing in the shape of a Man is permitted to pass it; we have even parted with all men-servants, lest Mr. Atherton should manage to get in disguised as a lackey. Grimhaggard Hall is a regular Convent. A travelling pedlar is regarded with suspicion; the butcher-boy must hand the leg of mutton over the gate; the young apothecary is an object of terror,—I could not have a tooth pulled out, were I to die for it. Dear me, how it is raining! The weather seems endeavouring to find out whether it be possible to make Grimhaggard Hall look a little duller than usual.Wrig.I hope Miss Cob may be fortunate in having finer weather for her journey to-morrow.Nell.She is on the road to-day, like John Gilpin’s hat and wig.She was to leave Puddingham this morning, and rest to-night at the Jolly Bridecake at Mouseton. I hope the coach is provided with oar and rudders, for she will certainly have to swim for it!...

ACT I.Library in Grimhaggard Hall. Nellie and Mr. Wriggle.

Nellie.O my dear old Tutor, I shall be so sorry to lose you! I wish that my good Father had kept to his old plan, and instead of sending Bob to College had kept both you and him here. This house is so intolerably dull. When you are gone I shall sit looking at the old stones in the old wall, till I petrify into one myself. Why, the very spiders’ webs look as though there were no business doing in them, and not aflynor even abroomwould call at the door! Heigh-ho!

Wrig.You forget, honoured Madam, the governess, Miss Cob, who is expected here to-morrow.

Nell.A governess; the horror! then I hear that she is an oddity; so absent; very learned though, and extremely well-informed. I am rather old for a governess; I was seventeen last March. It would have been quite a different thing to have gone on with my studies here with you and Bob. Do you know that, without vanity, I consider that I have made amazing progress during the month that you have been here?

Wrig.In Geography, Madam, for instance. Let me have the honour of recalling to your oblivious memory that only yesterday you forgot the situation of Guinea.

Nell.Nonsense! I said that it was on theGoldCoast, and wished I had it in my own pocket.

Wrig.I have remarked with regret, if you will permit me to say it, an aversion to consulting the Atlas, which——

Nell.Keep me from you and your atlas! Atlas carried the world, and you would burden me with the Atlas. I hardly consider myself competent yet to carry the whole globe on my poor little shoulders. I should like to know what is the use of knowing the situation of this place and that place, to one who never has the satisfaction of seeing any place at all beyond the walls of our stupid garden. I wish that the cross old gentleman who bequeathed my father Grimhaggard Hall, had lived to repent it, that I do! I would rather live in the narrowest lane in the City than be cooped up here like a toad in a block. I’ve no fancy to be a Penelope,—stitch, stitch, stitch!

Wrig.Penelope was a distinguished ornament to her sex.

Nell.O dear Tutor, I know that she was a duck of a queen, but distinguished for nothing but herweb-feat.

Wrig.The resource of literature remains to you, Madam, which was never open to her. I would again venture to draw your attention to the subject of Geography.

Nell.O no more of that, I beg, my dear Mr. Wriggle. I know thatHamandSandwichare in the kitchen,Chinain the cupboard, andMadeirain the cellar. That is enough for me. I regard Geography simply in reference to utility. I’m quite a utilitarian by principle. You know that the greatest navigator was aCook; I dare say that he discoveredChili,Cayenne, andCuraçoa. Now do you know, my wise old Tutor, in spite of your white hair and all your learning, I think that I could puzzle you.

Wrig.It would be difficult, Madam, to place a limit to your powers.

Nell.Tell me, why is Botany Bay called Botany Bay?

Wrig.I am not, I must own, aware from what the name is derived. Probably the Botanist has there discovered some new and curious specimens of plants.

Nell.O you must have come fromDunseor theScillyIsles. Botany Bay is called Botany Bay, because blossoms of thebirchand sprigs of thegallows-treeare transplanted therewithout their leaves.

Wrig.I see! I see! Ha, ha!

Nell.I wonder if Miss Cob will understand a joke,—if she will ever perpetrate a pun. Do you know I fancy her such a prim old quiz? I should like to know whether she will play at chess with Papa, or teach me the guitar, as you do. Do you think that she will endure this house?

Wrig.The total want of all society, except that which the walls of Grimhaggard Hall have the honour constantly to enclose, may perhaps have an effect upon the lady’s spirits not altogether exhilarating; but when your brother returns from College, perhaps he may be accompanied by some of his fellow-students.

Nell.Students; what an idea! When my Father would sooner see a Goblin than a young man under any circumstances!

Wrig.Is not this rather a peculiar—rather a singular—I would say prejudice? Could such a word be applicable to the excellent Mr. Cramp?

Nell.I should say very singular indeed, did I not know its cause.

Wrig.Is it presumptuous to inquire what that cause may be?

Nell.O I’ll tell you in a moment. It all arises out of the freaks and folly of Mr. Grim of Grimhaggard Hall, who had, I am sorry to say, the kindness to leave us this property, and thereby consigned me to the dolefuls for the rest of my life.

Wrig.Was the estate bequeathed under any unpleasant conditions? I never heard your respected father complain of such.

Nell.O it is allrightto my father because it was allleftto him. But you shall hear. This Mr. Grim had a promising nephew, ... and this nephew, Mr. Atherton by name, was very naturally considered as Mr. Grim’s heir, the old gentleman never having persuaded any lady to marry him, and reign like another Proserpine over the gloomy shades of Grimhaggard Hall.

Wrig.How then came the estate to your Father?

Nell.Have a little patience, my dear Mr. Wriggle, and you shall be as learned as myself upon the subject. Well, this old uncle quarrelled with this young nephew. I think that it was about politics or some such absurdity; the elder was a Tory and the junior a Radical; no, the young one was the Tory, and the old one the Radical; and thisradicalquestion was therootof the quarrel. Now what do you think the spiteful old gentleman did?

Wrig.Disinherited his nephew, and left the property to Mr. Cramp.

Nell.That would have been a pretty severe lesson to the young man; but what do you say to the affectionate uncle leaving such a clause as this in his will? That my father must only have and hold this said Grimhaggard Hall, on condition of poor Mr. Atherton’s never even crossing the threshold of what he once considered his home! The place must be perfectlyheir-tight. If he ever passes twelve hours under this roof, the whole estate is to revert to him.

Wrig.Such a clause argues little charity; but perhaps it may ultimately prove for the benefit of him whom it was designed to injure.

Nell.Ah, you think that Mr. Atherton may still manage to get his property out of his old uncle’sclause! I am sure I wish that Mr. Grim had left the dull place to him, or any one but us; but then my Father is not of my mind. Yet even he has not an atom of enjoyment of his prize, from the perpetual fear of losing it. He has heard that young Atherton is very sharp and clever; of course he will try to regain his rights by any means that may present themselves; so I really believe that Papa expects him to appear some day or other through the key-hole. The gate is kept constantly locked,—luckily, one can see the high-road from the house,—nothing in the shape of a Man is permitted to pass it; we have even parted with all men-servants, lest Mr. Atherton should manage to get in disguised as a lackey. Grimhaggard Hall is a regular Convent. A travelling pedlar is regarded with suspicion; the butcher-boy must hand the leg of mutton over the gate; the young apothecary is an object of terror,—I could not have a tooth pulled out, were I to die for it. Dear me, how it is raining! The weather seems endeavouring to find out whether it be possible to make Grimhaggard Hall look a little duller than usual.

Wrig.I hope Miss Cob may be fortunate in having finer weather for her journey to-morrow.

Nell.She is on the road to-day, like John Gilpin’s hat and wig.She was to leave Puddingham this morning, and rest to-night at the Jolly Bridecake at Mouseton. I hope the coach is provided with oar and rudders, for she will certainly have to swim for it!...

In the midst of this talk an artist’s gig is smashed outside the front gate; and the artist, Mr. Scull, being much shaken, is actually admitted within the walls of the old Hall, to the great disquiet of Mr. Cramp, who is determined that, come what may, the young man shall not remain through the night. It is a pelting day, and no other conveyance seems likely to pass; while the artist is plainly unable to walk the distance which separates Grimhaggard Hall from the next town. While this matter is still under discussion, a ring at the front-door bell is heard, and ‘a woman of very singular appearance’ is seen ‘standing in the rain, without an umbrella, as if water were her native element.’

Nell.Who can it be? [Runs to the window.] Why, how tall she is! she looks as though she had grown a foot since that dress was made for her. What an extraordinary figure! Why, Sarah is actually letting her in. Papa, we have not had so many visitors since we came here. Grimhaggard Hall is growing quite gay.Cramp.I will go and meet this strange guest. [Exit.]Nell.It cannot be—it cannot be Miss Cob! Such a governess would kill me either with terror or with laughter.Wrig.You were in expectation, Madam, of some one remarkable for eccentricity. We must not always judge of the qualities of the mind by the singularity of the exterior.EnterMr. CrampandMiss Cob.Cramp.Miss Cob,—my daughter. [Nellymakes a curtsey,Miss Coba bow.]Nell.[Aside toWriggle.] I shall never keep my countenance.Wrig.[Aside.] That is to be regretted, for it is a very fair one.Cramp.We did not expect you to-night, Ma’am. Did you not purpose sleeping at Mouseton?Miss C.The inn was chock-full.Cramp.But how came you to be on foot? You never have walked all the way! Where is your conveyance? It would be of the utmost service to me.Miss C.Smashed on the road.Cramp.Well, if all the gigs and cabs in England are not in coalition against me this day! And where is your luggage?Miss C.Coming. You did not expect me to carry it on my back, like a snail, did ye?Wrig.Miss Cob, like an experienced general, leaves her baggage in the rear.Nell.I should rather have expected to find it in thevan. You are very wet, Ma’am; shall I help you off with your cloak?Miss C.O never mind. I’m neither sugar nor salt; only it’s a plaguy thing to have one’s dress so long, walking through such a bog.Nell.[Aside.] Howlongshe may have had her dress, I know not; but in one sense I am sure it is short enough.Miss C.This seems a good big house, but rather too much like a prison. Have you those bars on all the windows?Cramp.On all.Miss C.And how many men-servants do you keep?Cramp.None at all. [Aside.] What impertinent curiosity!Nell.[Aside.] Shall I venture to address her again? I can scarcely command myself. [Aloud.] Pray, Ma’am, are you fond of music?Miss C.I’m a regular dab at it.Nell.What instrument do you play?Miss C.All sorts of instruments, from the drum to the Jew’s harp.Nell.You don’t play the cornopion?Miss C.Like bricks,—and sing all the time. You shall hear me to-morrow. [All stare in mute amazement.]Cramp.May I trouble you, Ma’am, to let me see your letter of introduction from Lady Myres again?Miss C.Heartily welcome. You will read all about me there. Full details of manners and accomplishments. She says I’m a little absent sometimes; so if ever I make a few trifling blunders, I hope you’ll set them down to that score.Nell.[Aside toWriggles.] I wish she were absent now, for I think I shall die in convulsions.Miss C.I’ll teach you all sorts of things suitable for a lady. Knitting, netting,—crow—crowfoot ...Wrig.I see that nothing is beyond your apprehension.Miss C.What do you say aboutapprehension? Are you a police officer?Wrig.No, Madam, I am a humble Professor of Geography, Geology, Algebra, and ...Miss C.O I’m a match for you in all that, and I know Latin, Greek, and American besides.Wrig.And what tongue, Madam, do you prefer?Miss C.O I’m not particular about those sort of things; but if you want my opinion, why I think pickled tongues are excellent.Wrig.[Turning away laughing.] This is either too bad or too good! [Aloud.] And your other studies, Ma’am?Miss C.As for Arithmetics, they’re at my fingers’-ends.Nell.I have not yet got beyond the Rule of Three.Miss C.You shall know the Rule of Four-and-twenty, before I have done with you. We’ll skip the 4, 5, and 6.Nell.And the Rule of Three inverse?Miss C.In verse? Yes, you shall have it in all sorts of verse, merry, tragical, and comical.Nell.[Aside.] I shall expire with laughter. [Retires to the window.]Wrig.[Aside.] I really cannot stand this any longer. [Follows her.]Scull(the artist). Pray, Madam, may I venture to ask if you paint?Miss C.You are a very impudent fellow, to ask a gentle—woman if she paints. Do I look as if I painted?Scull.I beg a million pardons, Ma’am, but as I paint myself ...Miss C.You paint precious badly then, for you’re as yellow as a cowslip!Cramp.[Aside.] Is the woman intoxicated or insane?Scull.I think—I imagine that there is a little misapprehension, Ma’am, on your part. My vocation is that of an artist.Nell.O Miss Cob, you must see his sketches.Scull.You see, Ma’am, there is a new work to come out at Christmas, which is to be entitled,—The Mouse on the Mantelpiece. The letterpress is in very able hands,—a very pretty little fairy-tale for grown-up children,—that’s all the rage now, you know, in this enlightened age. But the illustrations will be the great thing. A steel-plate frontispiece, of course, in which will be introduced a number of winged mice in a variety of positions,—a very clever thing, I can assure you; and then wood-cuts,—I have the honour of being intrusted with the designs for them. We are to have a different illustration for the top of every column.Nell.That will no doubt becapital.Scull.It will form a very elegant little volume altogether,—the most remarkable publication of the day.Miss C. Well, after my wet walk, I think I’d be the better for something to warm me.Nell.You shall have some tea directly, Ma’am.Miss C.Tea! Wishy-washy stuff!Nell.Would you prefer gruel?Miss C.Gruel! I wish you joy of your fare!Nell.[Aside.] The fair Arithmetician looks as though she would not have 3Scruples to a Dram!Cramp.I dare say Miss Cob is fatigued after her long walk. Nelly, show her the apartment. I hope everything is comfortable there.Nell.Certainly, Papa. [Aside toWriggle.] At any rate, I will venture to say that her room is better than her company. [ExeuntNellyandMiss Cob.]

Cramp.I will go and meet this strange guest. [Exit.]

Nell.It cannot be—it cannot be Miss Cob! Such a governess would kill me either with terror or with laughter.

Wrig.You were in expectation, Madam, of some one remarkable for eccentricity. We must not always judge of the qualities of the mind by the singularity of the exterior.

EnterMr. CrampandMiss Cob.

Cramp.Miss Cob,—my daughter. [Nellymakes a curtsey,Miss Coba bow.]

Nell.[Aside toWriggle.] I shall never keep my countenance.

Wrig.[Aside.] That is to be regretted, for it is a very fair one.

Cramp.We did not expect you to-night, Ma’am. Did you not purpose sleeping at Mouseton?

Miss C.The inn was chock-full.

Cramp.But how came you to be on foot? You never have walked all the way! Where is your conveyance? It would be of the utmost service to me.

Miss C.Smashed on the road.

Cramp.Well, if all the gigs and cabs in England are not in coalition against me this day! And where is your luggage?

Miss C.Coming. You did not expect me to carry it on my back, like a snail, did ye?

Wrig.Miss Cob, like an experienced general, leaves her baggage in the rear.

Nell.I should rather have expected to find it in thevan. You are very wet, Ma’am; shall I help you off with your cloak?

Miss C.O never mind. I’m neither sugar nor salt; only it’s a plaguy thing to have one’s dress so long, walking through such a bog.

Nell.[Aside.] Howlongshe may have had her dress, I know not; but in one sense I am sure it is short enough.

Miss C.This seems a good big house, but rather too much like a prison. Have you those bars on all the windows?

Cramp.On all.

Miss C.And how many men-servants do you keep?

Cramp.None at all. [Aside.] What impertinent curiosity!

Nell.[Aside.] Shall I venture to address her again? I can scarcely command myself. [Aloud.] Pray, Ma’am, are you fond of music?

Miss C.I’m a regular dab at it.

Nell.What instrument do you play?

Miss C.All sorts of instruments, from the drum to the Jew’s harp.

Nell.You don’t play the cornopion?

Miss C.Like bricks,—and sing all the time. You shall hear me to-morrow. [All stare in mute amazement.]

Cramp.May I trouble you, Ma’am, to let me see your letter of introduction from Lady Myres again?

Miss C.Heartily welcome. You will read all about me there. Full details of manners and accomplishments. She says I’m a little absent sometimes; so if ever I make a few trifling blunders, I hope you’ll set them down to that score.

Nell.[Aside toWriggles.] I wish she were absent now, for I think I shall die in convulsions.

Miss C.I’ll teach you all sorts of things suitable for a lady. Knitting, netting,—crow—crowfoot ...

Wrig.I see that nothing is beyond your apprehension.

Miss C.What do you say aboutapprehension? Are you a police officer?

Wrig.No, Madam, I am a humble Professor of Geography, Geology, Algebra, and ...

Miss C.O I’m a match for you in all that, and I know Latin, Greek, and American besides.

Wrig.And what tongue, Madam, do you prefer?

Miss C.O I’m not particular about those sort of things; but if you want my opinion, why I think pickled tongues are excellent.

Wrig.[Turning away laughing.] This is either too bad or too good! [Aloud.] And your other studies, Ma’am?

Miss C.As for Arithmetics, they’re at my fingers’-ends.

Nell.I have not yet got beyond the Rule of Three.

Miss C.You shall know the Rule of Four-and-twenty, before I have done with you. We’ll skip the 4, 5, and 6.

Nell.And the Rule of Three inverse?

Miss C.In verse? Yes, you shall have it in all sorts of verse, merry, tragical, and comical.

Nell.[Aside.] I shall expire with laughter. [Retires to the window.]

Wrig.[Aside.] I really cannot stand this any longer. [Follows her.]

Scull(the artist). Pray, Madam, may I venture to ask if you paint?

Miss C.You are a very impudent fellow, to ask a gentle—woman if she paints. Do I look as if I painted?

Scull.I beg a million pardons, Ma’am, but as I paint myself ...

Miss C.You paint precious badly then, for you’re as yellow as a cowslip!

Cramp.[Aside.] Is the woman intoxicated or insane?

Scull.I think—I imagine that there is a little misapprehension, Ma’am, on your part. My vocation is that of an artist.

Nell.O Miss Cob, you must see his sketches.

Scull.You see, Ma’am, there is a new work to come out at Christmas, which is to be entitled,—The Mouse on the Mantelpiece. The letterpress is in very able hands,—a very pretty little fairy-tale for grown-up children,—that’s all the rage now, you know, in this enlightened age. But the illustrations will be the great thing. A steel-plate frontispiece, of course, in which will be introduced a number of winged mice in a variety of positions,—a very clever thing, I can assure you; and then wood-cuts,—I have the honour of being intrusted with the designs for them. We are to have a different illustration for the top of every column.

Nell.That will no doubt becapital.

Scull.It will form a very elegant little volume altogether,—the most remarkable publication of the day.

Miss C. Well, after my wet walk, I think I’d be the better for something to warm me.

Nell.You shall have some tea directly, Ma’am.

Miss C.Tea! Wishy-washy stuff!

Nell.Would you prefer gruel?

Miss C.Gruel! I wish you joy of your fare!

Nell.[Aside.] The fair Arithmetician looks as though she would not have 3Scruples to a Dram!

Cramp.I dare say Miss Cob is fatigued after her long walk. Nelly, show her the apartment. I hope everything is comfortable there.

Nell.Certainly, Papa. [Aside toWriggle.] At any rate, I will venture to say that her room is better than her company. [ExeuntNellyandMiss Cob.]

And so on,—the wind-up of the story being that Miss Cob is found to be a burglar in woman’s disguise; while the artist is a harmless nobody. But elderly Wriggles, the tutor, who has lived quietly in the house for a month past, and of whom even Mr. Cramp has had no suspicions, turns out to be the much dreaded nephew, and to him by right Grimhaggard Hall now appertains. As, however, he has managed to fall deeply in love with the punning heroine, all difficulties are solved by their marriage,—Nellie being equally in love with him. Thus the nephew gains the old home, and the uncle does not lose it.

It must have been at about this time that Charlotte became increasingly anxious for more of definite outdoor work among the poor. Her wish was to be allowed to visit in the Marylebone Workhouse; but difficulties for a while barred her way. Mr. Tucker objected strongly, fearing the risk of infectious diseases for his daughters; and no doubt the risk in those days was far greater than in these, considering the then condition of Workhouses generally.

So long as permission was refused, Charlotte seems to have contented herself with the simple duties of home-life. She was not one who would restlessly fight for and insist upon her own way at all costs, under the plea of doing what was right. Rather, one may be sure, she counted the prohibition as in itself sufficient indication of the Divine Will. However, while submitting, she probably used from time to time some little pressure to bring about another state of things; and somewhere about the beginning of 1851 her parents’ ‘reluctant consent’ was, we are told, at length given. From that time she and Fanny visited regularly in the Workhouse.

In 1849 Charlotte’s eldest sister, Sibella, was married to the Rev. Frederick Hamilton, for some time Curate to Mr. Garnier, the Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, which they all regularly attended. Mr. Garnier and his wife, LadyCaroline, were especial friends of Charlotte, through many a long year. Thus the first break in the charmed circle of sisters was made; and Fanny was now ‘Miss Tucker,’ Charlotte being the second home-daughter.

Until the spring of 1850 Mr. Tucker kept his health and vigour to a marvellous extent for a man eighty years old,—for one too who had worked more or less hard through life from the age of fourteen or fifteen. He still attended to his India House business, not seeming to find it too much for his strength; and in the April of that year, after making a speech in Court, he was congratulated by a brother-Director upon the force and energy with which he had spoken. ‘Ah,’ he replied, ‘it is only the last flicker of the taper before it goes out.’

No one had noticed aught to be wrong with him, but perhaps he had himself been conscious of failing power. Soon afterwards a sharp attack of fever and inflammation laid him low, and most serious fears for his life were felt. It was a time of terrible suspense to his own family; not least so to Charlotte, who had always loved him with an intense devotion. Probably few fathers are quite so devotedly beloved as was old Mr. Tucker; but not many men, and especially not many men of his years, can throw themselves into the interests and amusements of their children, as he was able to do.

They had till then hardly realised how suddenly the call might come. As his biographer says, he had been always ‘so full of life, there had been so much activity of body, so much energy of mind, so much elasticity of spirit, that they had never associated with all this vitality a thought of the stillness of death.’ Now, without warning, the foe was at their very door; and the shadow of his great danger weighed heavily upon them all.

In answer to many prayers he was given back to them again, just for a little while. But they could never quiteforget how nearly he had been taken from them, how unexpectedly the great separation might come.

Another event of 1850 was the marriage of Charlotte’s brother, William Tucker, at Brussels. It came almost immediately upon Mr. Tucker’s rally from his severe illness; and Charlotte had the pleasure of being taken to Brussels for the wedding by her brother, St. George Tucker, then home for a short time from India. It would be interesting to know her first impressions of the Continent, but not many letters of this date are available. The two which follow are among the last belonging to her unshadowed younger life, before the true meaning of loss and sorrow had dawned upon her. One black cloud had gathered and dispersed; but it was soon to roll up again; and then the storm would break.

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