Chapter Twenty Eight.The Storming of Rocky Cottage and Other Matters.Years flew by. The daily routine at St. Martin’s-le-Grand went on; the mails departed and came in with unvarying regularity; in the working of the vast machine good men and boys rose to the surface, and bad ones went down. Among the former were Phil Maylands and Peter Pax.The latter, in course of time, rose to the rank of Inspector, in which condition he gradually developed a pretty pair of brown whiskers and a wonderful capacity for the performance of duty. He also rose to the altitude of five feet six inches, at which point he stuck fast, and continued the process of increase laterally. Pax, however, could not become reconciled to city life. He did his work cheerfully and with all his might, because it was his nature so to do, but he buoyed up his spirits—so he was wont to say—by fixing his eye on the Postmaster-Generalship and a suburban villa on the Thames.His friend Phil, on the contrary, was quite pleased with city life, and devoted himself with such untiring energy to his work, and to his own education, that he came ere long to be noted as the youth who knew everything. Faults he had, undoubtedly, and his firm, severe way of expressing his opinions raised him a few enemies in the Post-Office, but he attained at last to the condition of being so useful and so trustworthy as to make men feel that he was almost indispensable. They felt as if they could not get on without him.When man or boy comes to this point, success is inevitable. Phil soon became a favourite with the heads of departments. The Chief of the Post-Office himself at last came to hear of him, and, finding that he was more than capable of passing the requisite examinations, he raised him from the ranks and made him a clerk in the Savings-Bank Department.Having attained to this position, with a good salary for a single man, and a prospect of a steady rise, Phil set about the accomplishment of the darling wish of his heart. He obtained leave of absence, went over to the west of Ireland, and took Rocky Cottage by storm.“Mother dear,” he said, almost before he had sat down, “I’m promoted. I’m rich—comparatively. I’ve taken a house—a small house—at Nottinghill, and your room in it is ready for you; so pack up at once, for we leave this to-morrow afternoon.”“You jest, Phil.”“I’m in earnest, mother.”“But it is impossible,” said the good lady, looking anxiously round; “I cannot pack up on so short notice. And the furniture—”“It’s all arranged, mother,” said Phil, stroking the curls of a strapping boy who no longer went by the name of Baby, but was familiarly known as Jim. “Being aware of your desire to get rid of the furniture, I have arranged with a man in Howlin’ Cove to take it at a valuation. He comes out to value it this evening, so you’ve nothing to do but pack up your trunks. With the aid of Madge and Jim we’ll manage that in no time.”“Sure we’ll do it in less than no time!” cried Jim, who was a true son of Erin.“You see, mother,” continued Phil, “my leave extends only to four days. I have therefore ordered a coach—a sort of Noah’s Ark—the biggest thing I could hire at the Cove—to take you and all your belongings to the railway tomorrow evening. We’ll travel all night, and so get to London on Thursday. May expects you. May and I have settled it all, so you needn’t look thunderstruck. If I hadn’t known for certain that you’d be glad to come and live with us I would not have arranged it at all. If I had not known equally well that your fluttering bird of a heart would have been totally upset at the prospect, I would have consulted you beforehand. As it is, the die is cast. Your fate is fixed. Nothing can reverse the decrees that have gone forth, so it’s as well to make your mind easy and go to work.”Mrs Maylands wisely submitted. Three days afterwards she found herself in London, in a very small but charming cottage in an out-of-the-way corner of Nottinghill.It was a perfectbijouof a cottage; very small—only two stories—with ceilings that a tall man could touch, and a trellis-work porch at the front door, and a little garden all to itself, and an ivy wall that shut out the curious public, but did not interfere with the sky, a patch of which gleamed through between two great palatial residences hard by, like a benignant eye.“This is our new home, mother, and we have got it at such a low rent from Sir James Clubley, our landlord, that your income, coupled with May’s salary and mine, will enable us easily to make the two ends meet, if we manage economically.”As he spoke, Phil seized the poker, and, with an utter disregard of the high price of coal, caused the fire to roar joyously up the chimney.It was a brilliant winter day. White gems sparkled on the branches of the trees, and Jim was already commencing that course of romping which had, up to that date, strewn his path through life with wreck and ruin. Madge was investigating the capabilities of cupboards and larders, under the care of a small maid-of-all-work.“May won’t be home till after dark,” said Phil. “She could not get away from duty to meet us. I shall telegraph to her that we have arrived, and that I shall meet her under the portico of the Post-Office and fetch her home this evening.”“It is an amazing thing that telegraph! To think that one can send messages and make appointments so quickly!” remarked Mrs Maylands.“Why, mother,” said Phil, with a laugh, “that is nothing to what can be—and is—done with it every day. I have a friend in the City who does a great part of his business with India by telegraph. The charge is four shillings and sixpence a word, and if a word has more than ten letters it is charged as two words. A registered address also costs a guinea, so, you see, telegraphic correspondence with India is expensive. Business men have therefore fallen on the plan of writing out lists of words, each of which means a longish sentence. This plan is so thoroughly carried out that books like thick dictionaries are now printed and regularly used.—What would you think, now, of ‘Obstinate Kangaroo’ for a message?”“I would think it nonsense, Phil.”“Nevertheless, mother, it covers sense. A Quebec timber-merchant telegraphed these identical words the other day to a friend of mine, and when the friend turned up the words ‘obstinate kangaroo’ in his corresponding code, he found the translation to be, ‘Demand is improving for Ohio or Michigan white oak (planks), 16 inches and upwards.’”“Youdon’tsay so!” exclaimed Mrs Maylands, raising both hands and eyebrows.“Yes I do, mother, and in my City friend’s code the word ‘Blazing’ means ‘Quality is approved,’ while ‘Blissful’ signifies ‘What is the smallest quantity you require?’”“Do you mean, Phil,” asked the widow, with a perplexed look, “that if I were a man of business, and wanted to ask a customer in Indiawhat was the smallest quantity of a thing he required, I should have to telegraph only the word ‘Blissful’?”“Only that, mother. A blissful state of brevity to have come to, isn’t it? And some of the telegraph clerks fall into queer mistakes, too, owing to their ignorance. One of the rules is that the words sent must bebona fidewords—not a mere unmeaning arrangement of letters. My City friend told me that on three different occasions telegrams of his were refused, because the words were not known, yet each of them was taken from the Bible! One of the telegrams was, ‘Blastus unholy.’”“Oh, Phil, howcanyou!” exclaimed Mrs Maylands, with a shocked look.“Well, mother, what’s wrong in that?”“You know very well, Phil, that ‘Blast us’ is not in the Bible at all, and that it is a very awful species of slang swearing.”“So the telegraph clerk thought,” returned Phil, “but when my City friend pointed out that Blastus was ‘the king’s chamberlain’ they were obliged to let the telegram go. ‘Blastus’ stands for ‘superior quality,’ and ‘unholy’ for ‘Offer is open for three days from time of despatch of telegram.’ Using the same code, if a merchant wants to ask a Calcutta friend the question—‘How is the coming crop as regards extent and appearance?’ he merely telegraphs the word ‘Hamlet.’ If he wishes to say ‘Bills of lading go forward by this mail, Invoices will follow,’ he has only to telegraph ‘Heretic.’ For the most part, the compilers of these codes seem to have used the words arbitrarily, for the word ‘Ellwood’ has no visible connection with the words ‘Blue Velvet,’ which it represents; neither is there connection between ‘Doves’ and ‘French Brandy,’ nor between ‘Collapse’ and ‘Scotch Coals,’ though there does seem to have been a gleam of significance when they fixed on ‘Downward’ to represent ‘Irish Whisky.’”“That’s true, Phil, there was a touch of sense there, if not sarcasm,” said the widow heartily, for she was an abhorrer of strong drink!“Then, mother, think of the saving of time accomplished by the telegraph. In days not long past, if a merchant in India wished to transact business with another in New York he had to write a letter which took months to make the voyage out, and his correspondent had to write a reply which took about the same time to return. Now, not long ago the head of an Indian house wanted a ship-load of something (I forget what) from New York. He telegraphed a few unconnected words to my City friend in London. If there had been no obstruction of any kind the message could have been flashed from Bombay to London in a few seconds; as it was, it made the journey in three hours. My friend, who received it in the forenoon, telegraphed to New York, transacted the business, received a reply from New York, and telegraphed back to Bombay that the order was given and in process of execution before five p.m. on the same day. Thus a commercial transaction between India and America,viaEngland, involving, perhaps, thousands of pounds, was completed at the cost of a few pounds between breakfast and dinner. In other words, Bombay aroused New York to action by means of a flash of electricity within twenty-four hours.”“Phil,” remarked Mrs Maylands, with a sigh, “don’t you think that man has now made almost all the discoveries that it is possible to make?”“Why, no, mother, I think he is only on the threshold of discovery yet. The thought has sometimes come into my mind with tremendous power, that as God is infinite, and His knowledge infinite, there is, as it were, a necessity that we shall go on learning something new for ever!—But that is too deep a subject to enter on just now,” said Phil, rising, “for I must go and send off my telegram to May—she will be anxious to hear about you, poor girl. You must not be troubled when you see how the roses have faded from her cheeks. She is in good enough health, but I fear the telegraph service is too heavy for her, and the City air is not so bracing as that of the west of Ireland.”Mrs Maylands was quite prepared for the change referred to, for she knew, what Phil did not know, that it was neither the telegraph nor the City that had robbed May of the bloom of youth and health.
Years flew by. The daily routine at St. Martin’s-le-Grand went on; the mails departed and came in with unvarying regularity; in the working of the vast machine good men and boys rose to the surface, and bad ones went down. Among the former were Phil Maylands and Peter Pax.
The latter, in course of time, rose to the rank of Inspector, in which condition he gradually developed a pretty pair of brown whiskers and a wonderful capacity for the performance of duty. He also rose to the altitude of five feet six inches, at which point he stuck fast, and continued the process of increase laterally. Pax, however, could not become reconciled to city life. He did his work cheerfully and with all his might, because it was his nature so to do, but he buoyed up his spirits—so he was wont to say—by fixing his eye on the Postmaster-Generalship and a suburban villa on the Thames.
His friend Phil, on the contrary, was quite pleased with city life, and devoted himself with such untiring energy to his work, and to his own education, that he came ere long to be noted as the youth who knew everything. Faults he had, undoubtedly, and his firm, severe way of expressing his opinions raised him a few enemies in the Post-Office, but he attained at last to the condition of being so useful and so trustworthy as to make men feel that he was almost indispensable. They felt as if they could not get on without him.
When man or boy comes to this point, success is inevitable. Phil soon became a favourite with the heads of departments. The Chief of the Post-Office himself at last came to hear of him, and, finding that he was more than capable of passing the requisite examinations, he raised him from the ranks and made him a clerk in the Savings-Bank Department.
Having attained to this position, with a good salary for a single man, and a prospect of a steady rise, Phil set about the accomplishment of the darling wish of his heart. He obtained leave of absence, went over to the west of Ireland, and took Rocky Cottage by storm.
“Mother dear,” he said, almost before he had sat down, “I’m promoted. I’m rich—comparatively. I’ve taken a house—a small house—at Nottinghill, and your room in it is ready for you; so pack up at once, for we leave this to-morrow afternoon.”
“You jest, Phil.”
“I’m in earnest, mother.”
“But it is impossible,” said the good lady, looking anxiously round; “I cannot pack up on so short notice. And the furniture—”
“It’s all arranged, mother,” said Phil, stroking the curls of a strapping boy who no longer went by the name of Baby, but was familiarly known as Jim. “Being aware of your desire to get rid of the furniture, I have arranged with a man in Howlin’ Cove to take it at a valuation. He comes out to value it this evening, so you’ve nothing to do but pack up your trunks. With the aid of Madge and Jim we’ll manage that in no time.”
“Sure we’ll do it in less than no time!” cried Jim, who was a true son of Erin.
“You see, mother,” continued Phil, “my leave extends only to four days. I have therefore ordered a coach—a sort of Noah’s Ark—the biggest thing I could hire at the Cove—to take you and all your belongings to the railway tomorrow evening. We’ll travel all night, and so get to London on Thursday. May expects you. May and I have settled it all, so you needn’t look thunderstruck. If I hadn’t known for certain that you’d be glad to come and live with us I would not have arranged it at all. If I had not known equally well that your fluttering bird of a heart would have been totally upset at the prospect, I would have consulted you beforehand. As it is, the die is cast. Your fate is fixed. Nothing can reverse the decrees that have gone forth, so it’s as well to make your mind easy and go to work.”
Mrs Maylands wisely submitted. Three days afterwards she found herself in London, in a very small but charming cottage in an out-of-the-way corner of Nottinghill.
It was a perfectbijouof a cottage; very small—only two stories—with ceilings that a tall man could touch, and a trellis-work porch at the front door, and a little garden all to itself, and an ivy wall that shut out the curious public, but did not interfere with the sky, a patch of which gleamed through between two great palatial residences hard by, like a benignant eye.
“This is our new home, mother, and we have got it at such a low rent from Sir James Clubley, our landlord, that your income, coupled with May’s salary and mine, will enable us easily to make the two ends meet, if we manage economically.”
As he spoke, Phil seized the poker, and, with an utter disregard of the high price of coal, caused the fire to roar joyously up the chimney.
It was a brilliant winter day. White gems sparkled on the branches of the trees, and Jim was already commencing that course of romping which had, up to that date, strewn his path through life with wreck and ruin. Madge was investigating the capabilities of cupboards and larders, under the care of a small maid-of-all-work.
“May won’t be home till after dark,” said Phil. “She could not get away from duty to meet us. I shall telegraph to her that we have arrived, and that I shall meet her under the portico of the Post-Office and fetch her home this evening.”
“It is an amazing thing that telegraph! To think that one can send messages and make appointments so quickly!” remarked Mrs Maylands.
“Why, mother,” said Phil, with a laugh, “that is nothing to what can be—and is—done with it every day. I have a friend in the City who does a great part of his business with India by telegraph. The charge is four shillings and sixpence a word, and if a word has more than ten letters it is charged as two words. A registered address also costs a guinea, so, you see, telegraphic correspondence with India is expensive. Business men have therefore fallen on the plan of writing out lists of words, each of which means a longish sentence. This plan is so thoroughly carried out that books like thick dictionaries are now printed and regularly used.—What would you think, now, of ‘Obstinate Kangaroo’ for a message?”
“I would think it nonsense, Phil.”
“Nevertheless, mother, it covers sense. A Quebec timber-merchant telegraphed these identical words the other day to a friend of mine, and when the friend turned up the words ‘obstinate kangaroo’ in his corresponding code, he found the translation to be, ‘Demand is improving for Ohio or Michigan white oak (planks), 16 inches and upwards.’”
“Youdon’tsay so!” exclaimed Mrs Maylands, raising both hands and eyebrows.
“Yes I do, mother, and in my City friend’s code the word ‘Blazing’ means ‘Quality is approved,’ while ‘Blissful’ signifies ‘What is the smallest quantity you require?’”
“Do you mean, Phil,” asked the widow, with a perplexed look, “that if I were a man of business, and wanted to ask a customer in Indiawhat was the smallest quantity of a thing he required, I should have to telegraph only the word ‘Blissful’?”
“Only that, mother. A blissful state of brevity to have come to, isn’t it? And some of the telegraph clerks fall into queer mistakes, too, owing to their ignorance. One of the rules is that the words sent must bebona fidewords—not a mere unmeaning arrangement of letters. My City friend told me that on three different occasions telegrams of his were refused, because the words were not known, yet each of them was taken from the Bible! One of the telegrams was, ‘Blastus unholy.’”
“Oh, Phil, howcanyou!” exclaimed Mrs Maylands, with a shocked look.
“Well, mother, what’s wrong in that?”
“You know very well, Phil, that ‘Blast us’ is not in the Bible at all, and that it is a very awful species of slang swearing.”
“So the telegraph clerk thought,” returned Phil, “but when my City friend pointed out that Blastus was ‘the king’s chamberlain’ they were obliged to let the telegram go. ‘Blastus’ stands for ‘superior quality,’ and ‘unholy’ for ‘Offer is open for three days from time of despatch of telegram.’ Using the same code, if a merchant wants to ask a Calcutta friend the question—‘How is the coming crop as regards extent and appearance?’ he merely telegraphs the word ‘Hamlet.’ If he wishes to say ‘Bills of lading go forward by this mail, Invoices will follow,’ he has only to telegraph ‘Heretic.’ For the most part, the compilers of these codes seem to have used the words arbitrarily, for the word ‘Ellwood’ has no visible connection with the words ‘Blue Velvet,’ which it represents; neither is there connection between ‘Doves’ and ‘French Brandy,’ nor between ‘Collapse’ and ‘Scotch Coals,’ though there does seem to have been a gleam of significance when they fixed on ‘Downward’ to represent ‘Irish Whisky.’”
“That’s true, Phil, there was a touch of sense there, if not sarcasm,” said the widow heartily, for she was an abhorrer of strong drink!
“Then, mother, think of the saving of time accomplished by the telegraph. In days not long past, if a merchant in India wished to transact business with another in New York he had to write a letter which took months to make the voyage out, and his correspondent had to write a reply which took about the same time to return. Now, not long ago the head of an Indian house wanted a ship-load of something (I forget what) from New York. He telegraphed a few unconnected words to my City friend in London. If there had been no obstruction of any kind the message could have been flashed from Bombay to London in a few seconds; as it was, it made the journey in three hours. My friend, who received it in the forenoon, telegraphed to New York, transacted the business, received a reply from New York, and telegraphed back to Bombay that the order was given and in process of execution before five p.m. on the same day. Thus a commercial transaction between India and America,viaEngland, involving, perhaps, thousands of pounds, was completed at the cost of a few pounds between breakfast and dinner. In other words, Bombay aroused New York to action by means of a flash of electricity within twenty-four hours.”
“Phil,” remarked Mrs Maylands, with a sigh, “don’t you think that man has now made almost all the discoveries that it is possible to make?”
“Why, no, mother, I think he is only on the threshold of discovery yet. The thought has sometimes come into my mind with tremendous power, that as God is infinite, and His knowledge infinite, there is, as it were, a necessity that we shall go on learning something new for ever!—But that is too deep a subject to enter on just now,” said Phil, rising, “for I must go and send off my telegram to May—she will be anxious to hear about you, poor girl. You must not be troubled when you see how the roses have faded from her cheeks. She is in good enough health, but I fear the telegraph service is too heavy for her, and the City air is not so bracing as that of the west of Ireland.”
Mrs Maylands was quite prepared for the change referred to, for she knew, what Phil did not know, that it was neither the telegraph nor the City that had robbed May of the bloom of youth and health.
Chapter Twenty Nine.Describes an Interview and a Rencontre.One frosty winter afternoon Sir James Clubley sat in his chambers, having finished dinner, and toasted his toes while he sipped his wine and glanced languidly over theTimes.Sir James was a lazy, good-natured man, in what is sometimes styled easy circumstances. Being lazy, and having nothing to do, he did nothing—nothing, that is, in the way of work. He found the world enjoyable, and enjoyed it. He never ran to excess—in truth he never ran at all, either literally or figuratively, but always ate, drank, slept, read, and amused himself in moderation. In politics, being nothing in particular, he was wont to say he was a Liberal-Conservative, if anything, as that happy medium, in which truth is said, though not proved, to lie, enabled him to agree with anybody. Everybody liked him, except perhaps a few fiery zealots who seemed uncertain whether to regard him with indignation, pity, or contempt. It mattered not to which feeling the zealots leaned, Sir James smiled on them all alike.“That foolish fellow is going to be late,” he muttered, glancing over his paper at the clock on the chimney-piece.The foolish fellow referred to was George Aspel. Sir James had at last discovered and had an interview with him. He had offered to aid him in any way that lay in his power, but Aspel had firmly though gratefully declined aid in any form.Sir James liked the youth, and had begged him, by letter, to call on him, for the purpose of chatting over a particular piece of business, had appointed an hour, and now awaited his arrival.The muttered remark had just passed Sir James’s lips when there came a tap at the door, and Aspel stood before him.But how changed from what he was when we last saw him, reader! His aspect might have forcibly recalled the words, “was lost and is found.”His tall, broad frame stood erect again as of old, but the proud bearing of the head was gone. There was the same fearless look in his bright blue eye, but the slightly self-satisfied curl of the lip was not there. He looked as strong and well as when, on the Irish cliffs, he had longed for the free, wild life of the sea-kings, but he did not look so youthful; yet the touch of sadness that now rested at times on his countenance gave him a far more regal air,—though he knew it not,—than he ever possessed before. He was dressed in a simple suit of dark grey.“Glad to see you, Aspel; thought you were going to fail me. Sit down. Now, come, I hope you have considered my proposal favourably.—The piece of business I asked you to come about is nothing more than to offer you again that situation, and to press it on you. It would just suit a man of your powers.—What! No?”The Baronet frowned, for George Aspel had smiled slightly and shaken his head as he sat down.“Forgive me, Sir James, if I seem to regard your kind proposals with indifference. Indeed, I am sincerely grateful, especially for the motive that actuates you—I mean regard for my dear father’s memory—”“How do you know, sir,” interrupted Sir James testily, “that this is my only motive?”“I did not say it was your only motive, Sir James. I cannot doubt, from your many expressions of kindness, that personal regard for myself influences you; but I may not accept the situation you offer me—bright with future prospects though it be—because I feel strongly that God has called me to another sphere of action. I have now been for a considerable time, and hope to be as long as I live, a missionary to the poor.”“What! A city missionary? One of those fellows who go about in seedy black garments with long lugubrious faces?” exclaimed Sir James in amazement.“Some of them do indeed wear seedy black garments,” replied Aspel, “under some strange hallucination, I suppose, that it is their duty to appear like clergymen, and I admit that they would look infinitely more respectable in sober and economical grey tweeds; but you must have seen bad specimens of the class of men if you think their faces long and lugubrious. I know many of them whose faces are round and jovial, and whose spirits correspond to their faces. No doubt they are sometimes sad. Your own face would lengthen a little, Sir James, if you went where they go, and saw what they sometimes see.”“I dare say you are right. Well, but have you seriously joined this body of men?”“Not officially. I—I—hesitate to offer myself, because—that is to say, I am a sort of free-lance just now.”“But, my young friend,” returned Sir James slowly, “I understand that city missionaries preach, and usually have a considerable training in theology; now, it is not very long ago since you were a—excuse me—I—I shrink from hurting your feelings, but—”“A drunkard, Sir James,” said Aspel, looking down and blushing crimson. “State the naked truth. I admit it, with humiliation and sorrow; but, to the everlasting praise of God, I can say that Jesus Christ has saved me from drink. Surely, that being the case, I am in some degree fitted to speak of the Great Remedy—the Good Physician—to the thousands who are perishing in this city from the effects of drink, even though I be not deeply versed in theology. To save men and women from what I have suffered, by exhorting and inducing them to come to the Saviour is all my aim—it is now my chief ambition.”Sir James looked inquiringly at the fire and shook his head. He was evidently not convinced.“There is truth in what you say, Aspel, but by taking this course you sacrifice your prospects entirely—at least in this life.”“On the contrary, Sir James, I expect, by taking this course, to gain all that in this life is worth living for.”“Ah! I see, you have become religiously mad,” said Sir James, with a perplexed look; “well, Aspel, you must take your own way, for I am aware that it is useless to reason with madmen; yet I cannot help expressing my regret that a young fellow of your powers should settle down into a moping, melancholy, would-be reformer of drunkards.”To this Aspel replied with a laugh.“Why, Sir James,” he said, “do I look very moping or melancholy? If so, my looks must belie my spirit, for I feel very much the reverse, and from past experience—which is now considerable—I expect to have a great deal of rejoicing in my work, for it does not all consist in painful strivings with unrepentant men and women. Occasionally men in our position know something of that inexpressible joy which results from a grateful glance of the eye or a strong squeeze of the hand from some one whom we have helped to pluck from the very edge of hell. It is true, I do not expect to make much money in my profession, but my Master promises me sufficient, and a man needs no more. But even if much money were essential, there is no doubt that I should get it, for the silver and gold of this world are in the hands of my Father.”“Where do you work?” asked Sir James abruptly.“Chiefly in the neighbourhood of Archangel Court. It was there I fell and sinned; it was there my Saviour rescued me: it is there I feel bound to labour.”“Very well, I won’t press this matter further,” said the Baronet, rising; “but remember, if you ever get into a better frame of mind, I shall be happy to see you.”Profound and various were the thoughts of the reformed drunkard that afternoon as he left his friend’s abode and walked slowly towards the City. There was a strange feeling of sadness in his heart which he could not account for. It was not caused by the sacrifice of worldly good he had just made, for that had cost him no effort. The desire to rescue the perishing had been infused so strongly into his soul that he had become quite regardless of mere temporal advancement. Neither had he been unfaithful, as far as he could remember, in the recent conversation—at least not in words. The hopes and joys which he had truly referred to ought to have been as strong as ever within him, nevertheless his spirit was much depressed. He began to think of the position from which he had fallen, and of the great amount of good he might have done for Christ in a higher sphere of society—but this thought he repelled as a recurrence of pride.As he came to St. Martin’s-le-Grand he stopped, and, forgetting the bustling crowd of people, buses, cabs, and carts by which he was surrounded, allowed his mind to wander into the past. It was on the broad steps of the Post-Office that he had been first led astray by the man who wished to compass his ruin, but who was eventually made the willing instrument in bringing about his salvation. He thought of the scowling look and clenched fist of poor Bones as he had stood there, long ago, under the grand portico. He thought of the same man on his sick-bed, with clasped hands and glittering eyes, thanking God that he had been brought to the gates of death by an accident, that his eyes and heart had been opened to see and accept Jesus, and that he had still power left to urge his friend (George Aspel) to come to Jesus, the sinner’s Refuge. He thought also of the burglar’s death, and of the fading away of his poor wife, who followed him to the grave within the year. He thought of the orphan Tottie, who had been adopted and educated by Miss Stivergill, and was by that time as pretty a specimen of budding womanhood as any one could desire to see, with the strong will and courage of her father, and the self-sacrificing, trusting, gentleness of her mother. But above and beyond and underlying all these thoughts, his mind kept playing incessantly round a fair form which he knew was somewhere engaged at that moment in the building at his side, manipulating a three-keyed instrument with delicate fingers which he longed to grasp.Ah! it is all very well for a man to resolve to tear an idol from his heart; it is quite another thing to do it. George Aspel had long ago given up all hope of winning May Maylands. He not only felt that one who had fallen so low as he, and shown such a character for instability, had no right to expect any girl to trust her happiness to him; but he also felt convinced that May had no real love for him, and that it would be unmanly to push his suit, even although he was now delivered from the power of his great enemy. He determined, therefore, to banish her as much as possible from his mind, and, in furtherance of his purpose, had conscientiously kept out of her way and out of the way of all his former friends.Heaving a little sigh as he dismissed her, for the ten-thousandth time, from his mind, he was turning his back on the Post-Office—that precious casket which contained so rich but unattainable a jewel—when he remembered that he had a letter in his pocket to post.Turning back, he sprang up the steps. The great mouth was not yet wide open. The evening feeding-hour had not arrived, and the lips were only in their normal condition—slightly parted. Having contributed his morsel to the insatiable giant, Aspel turned away, and found himself face to face with Phil Maylands.It was not by any means their first meeting since the recovery of Aspel, but, as we have said, the latter had kept out of the way of old friends, and Phil was only partially excepted from the rule.“The very man I wanted to see!” cried Phil, with gleaming eyes, as he seized his friend’s hand. “I’ve got mother over to London at last. She’s longing to see you. Come out with me this evening—do. But I’m in sudden perplexity: I’ve just been sent for to do some extra duty. It won’t take me half an hour.—You’re not engaged, are you?”“Well, no—not particularly.”“Then you’ll do me a favour, I’m sure you will. You’ll mount guard here for half an hour, won’t you? I had appointed to meet May here this evening to take her home, and when she comes she’ll not know why I have failed her unless you—”“My dear Phil, I would stay with all my heart,” said Aspel hastily, “but—but—the fact is—I’ve not seen May for a long time, and—”“Why, what on earth hasthatto do with it?” asked Phil, in some surprise.“You are right,” returned Aspel, with a deprecating smile, “that has nothing to do with it. My wits are wool-gathering, Phil. Go: I will mount guard.”Phil was gone in a moment, and Aspel leaned his head on his arm against one of the pillars of the portico. He had scarcely breathed a prayer for guidance when May approached. She stopped abruptly, flushed slightly, and hesitated a moment, then, advancing with the hearty air of an old playmate, she frankly held out her hand.This was enough for Aspel. He had been depressed before; he was in the depths of despair now. If May had only shown confusion, or shyness, or anything but free-and-easy goodwill, hope might have revived, but he was evidently nothing more to her than the old playmate. Hope therefore died, and with its death there came over Aspel the calm subdued air of a crushed but resigned man. He observed her somewhat worn face and his heart melted. He resolved to act a brother’s part to her.“I’m so glad to meet you at last, May!” he said, returning the kindly grasp of the hand with interest, but quite in a brotherly way.“You might have seen me long ago. Why did you not come? We would all have been so glad to see you.”May blushed decidedly as she made this reply, but the shades of evening were falling. Moreover, the pillar near to which they stood threw a deep shadow over them, and Aspel did not observe it. He therefore continued—in a quiet, brotherly way—“Ah! May, it is cruel of you to ask that. You know that I have been unfit—”“Nay, I did not meanthat,” interrupted May, with eager anxiety; “I meant that since—since—lately, you know—why did you not come?”“True, May, I might have come lately—praise be to God!—but, but—why should I not speak out? It’s all over now. You know the love I once bore you, May, which you told me I must not speak of, and which I have tried to cure with all the energy of my heart, for I do not want to lose you as a sister—an old playmate at least—though I may not have you as—But, as I said, it’s all over now. I promise never again to intrude this subject on you. Let me rather tell you of the glorious work in which I am at present engaged.”He stopped, for, in spite of his efforts to be brotherly, there was a sense of sinking at his heart which slightly embittered his tone.“Is true love, then, so easily cured?”May looked up in his face as she asked the question. There was something in the look and in the tone which caused George Aspel’s heart to beat like a sledge-hammer. He stooped down, and, looking into her eyes,—still in a brotherly way, said—“Is it possible, May, that you could trifle with my feelings?”“No, it is not possible,” she answered promptly.“Oh! May,” continued Aspel, in a low, earnest tone; “if I could only dare to think,—to believe,—to hope, that—”“Forgive me, May, I’m so sorry,” cried her brother Phil, as he sprang up the steps; “I did my best to hurry through with it. I’m afraid I’ve kept you and George waiting very long.”“Not at all,” replied May, with unquestionable truth.“If you could have only kept us waiting five minutes longer!” thought Aspel, but he only said—“Come along, Phil, I’ll go home with you to-night.”The evening was fine—frosty and clear.“Shall we walk to Nottinghill?” asked Phil. “It’s a longish tramp for you, May, but that’s the very thing you want.”May agreed that it was a desirable thing in every point of view, and George Aspel did not object.As they walked along, the latter began to wonder whether a new experiment had been made lately in the way of paving the streets with india-rubber. As for May, she returned such ridiculous answers to the simplest questions, that Phil became almost anxious about her, and finally settled it in his own mind that her labours in the telegraph department of the General Post-Office must be brought to a close as soon as possible.“You see, mother,” he said that night, after Aspel had left the cottage and May had gone to her room, “it will never do to let her kill herself over the telegraph instrument. She’s too delicately formed for such work. We must find something better suited to her.”“Yes, Phil, we must find something better suited to her.—Good-night,” replied Mrs Maylands.There was a twinkle in the widow’s eye as she said this that sorely puzzled Phil, and kept him in confused meditation that night, until the confusion became worse confounded and he fell into an untroubled slumber.
One frosty winter afternoon Sir James Clubley sat in his chambers, having finished dinner, and toasted his toes while he sipped his wine and glanced languidly over theTimes.
Sir James was a lazy, good-natured man, in what is sometimes styled easy circumstances. Being lazy, and having nothing to do, he did nothing—nothing, that is, in the way of work. He found the world enjoyable, and enjoyed it. He never ran to excess—in truth he never ran at all, either literally or figuratively, but always ate, drank, slept, read, and amused himself in moderation. In politics, being nothing in particular, he was wont to say he was a Liberal-Conservative, if anything, as that happy medium, in which truth is said, though not proved, to lie, enabled him to agree with anybody. Everybody liked him, except perhaps a few fiery zealots who seemed uncertain whether to regard him with indignation, pity, or contempt. It mattered not to which feeling the zealots leaned, Sir James smiled on them all alike.
“That foolish fellow is going to be late,” he muttered, glancing over his paper at the clock on the chimney-piece.
The foolish fellow referred to was George Aspel. Sir James had at last discovered and had an interview with him. He had offered to aid him in any way that lay in his power, but Aspel had firmly though gratefully declined aid in any form.
Sir James liked the youth, and had begged him, by letter, to call on him, for the purpose of chatting over a particular piece of business, had appointed an hour, and now awaited his arrival.
The muttered remark had just passed Sir James’s lips when there came a tap at the door, and Aspel stood before him.
But how changed from what he was when we last saw him, reader! His aspect might have forcibly recalled the words, “was lost and is found.”
His tall, broad frame stood erect again as of old, but the proud bearing of the head was gone. There was the same fearless look in his bright blue eye, but the slightly self-satisfied curl of the lip was not there. He looked as strong and well as when, on the Irish cliffs, he had longed for the free, wild life of the sea-kings, but he did not look so youthful; yet the touch of sadness that now rested at times on his countenance gave him a far more regal air,—though he knew it not,—than he ever possessed before. He was dressed in a simple suit of dark grey.
“Glad to see you, Aspel; thought you were going to fail me. Sit down. Now, come, I hope you have considered my proposal favourably.—The piece of business I asked you to come about is nothing more than to offer you again that situation, and to press it on you. It would just suit a man of your powers.—What! No?”
The Baronet frowned, for George Aspel had smiled slightly and shaken his head as he sat down.
“Forgive me, Sir James, if I seem to regard your kind proposals with indifference. Indeed, I am sincerely grateful, especially for the motive that actuates you—I mean regard for my dear father’s memory—”
“How do you know, sir,” interrupted Sir James testily, “that this is my only motive?”
“I did not say it was your only motive, Sir James. I cannot doubt, from your many expressions of kindness, that personal regard for myself influences you; but I may not accept the situation you offer me—bright with future prospects though it be—because I feel strongly that God has called me to another sphere of action. I have now been for a considerable time, and hope to be as long as I live, a missionary to the poor.”
“What! A city missionary? One of those fellows who go about in seedy black garments with long lugubrious faces?” exclaimed Sir James in amazement.
“Some of them do indeed wear seedy black garments,” replied Aspel, “under some strange hallucination, I suppose, that it is their duty to appear like clergymen, and I admit that they would look infinitely more respectable in sober and economical grey tweeds; but you must have seen bad specimens of the class of men if you think their faces long and lugubrious. I know many of them whose faces are round and jovial, and whose spirits correspond to their faces. No doubt they are sometimes sad. Your own face would lengthen a little, Sir James, if you went where they go, and saw what they sometimes see.”
“I dare say you are right. Well, but have you seriously joined this body of men?”
“Not officially. I—I—hesitate to offer myself, because—that is to say, I am a sort of free-lance just now.”
“But, my young friend,” returned Sir James slowly, “I understand that city missionaries preach, and usually have a considerable training in theology; now, it is not very long ago since you were a—excuse me—I—I shrink from hurting your feelings, but—”
“A drunkard, Sir James,” said Aspel, looking down and blushing crimson. “State the naked truth. I admit it, with humiliation and sorrow; but, to the everlasting praise of God, I can say that Jesus Christ has saved me from drink. Surely, that being the case, I am in some degree fitted to speak of the Great Remedy—the Good Physician—to the thousands who are perishing in this city from the effects of drink, even though I be not deeply versed in theology. To save men and women from what I have suffered, by exhorting and inducing them to come to the Saviour is all my aim—it is now my chief ambition.”
Sir James looked inquiringly at the fire and shook his head. He was evidently not convinced.
“There is truth in what you say, Aspel, but by taking this course you sacrifice your prospects entirely—at least in this life.”
“On the contrary, Sir James, I expect, by taking this course, to gain all that in this life is worth living for.”
“Ah! I see, you have become religiously mad,” said Sir James, with a perplexed look; “well, Aspel, you must take your own way, for I am aware that it is useless to reason with madmen; yet I cannot help expressing my regret that a young fellow of your powers should settle down into a moping, melancholy, would-be reformer of drunkards.”
To this Aspel replied with a laugh.
“Why, Sir James,” he said, “do I look very moping or melancholy? If so, my looks must belie my spirit, for I feel very much the reverse, and from past experience—which is now considerable—I expect to have a great deal of rejoicing in my work, for it does not all consist in painful strivings with unrepentant men and women. Occasionally men in our position know something of that inexpressible joy which results from a grateful glance of the eye or a strong squeeze of the hand from some one whom we have helped to pluck from the very edge of hell. It is true, I do not expect to make much money in my profession, but my Master promises me sufficient, and a man needs no more. But even if much money were essential, there is no doubt that I should get it, for the silver and gold of this world are in the hands of my Father.”
“Where do you work?” asked Sir James abruptly.
“Chiefly in the neighbourhood of Archangel Court. It was there I fell and sinned; it was there my Saviour rescued me: it is there I feel bound to labour.”
“Very well, I won’t press this matter further,” said the Baronet, rising; “but remember, if you ever get into a better frame of mind, I shall be happy to see you.”
Profound and various were the thoughts of the reformed drunkard that afternoon as he left his friend’s abode and walked slowly towards the City. There was a strange feeling of sadness in his heart which he could not account for. It was not caused by the sacrifice of worldly good he had just made, for that had cost him no effort. The desire to rescue the perishing had been infused so strongly into his soul that he had become quite regardless of mere temporal advancement. Neither had he been unfaithful, as far as he could remember, in the recent conversation—at least not in words. The hopes and joys which he had truly referred to ought to have been as strong as ever within him, nevertheless his spirit was much depressed. He began to think of the position from which he had fallen, and of the great amount of good he might have done for Christ in a higher sphere of society—but this thought he repelled as a recurrence of pride.
As he came to St. Martin’s-le-Grand he stopped, and, forgetting the bustling crowd of people, buses, cabs, and carts by which he was surrounded, allowed his mind to wander into the past. It was on the broad steps of the Post-Office that he had been first led astray by the man who wished to compass his ruin, but who was eventually made the willing instrument in bringing about his salvation. He thought of the scowling look and clenched fist of poor Bones as he had stood there, long ago, under the grand portico. He thought of the same man on his sick-bed, with clasped hands and glittering eyes, thanking God that he had been brought to the gates of death by an accident, that his eyes and heart had been opened to see and accept Jesus, and that he had still power left to urge his friend (George Aspel) to come to Jesus, the sinner’s Refuge. He thought also of the burglar’s death, and of the fading away of his poor wife, who followed him to the grave within the year. He thought of the orphan Tottie, who had been adopted and educated by Miss Stivergill, and was by that time as pretty a specimen of budding womanhood as any one could desire to see, with the strong will and courage of her father, and the self-sacrificing, trusting, gentleness of her mother. But above and beyond and underlying all these thoughts, his mind kept playing incessantly round a fair form which he knew was somewhere engaged at that moment in the building at his side, manipulating a three-keyed instrument with delicate fingers which he longed to grasp.
Ah! it is all very well for a man to resolve to tear an idol from his heart; it is quite another thing to do it. George Aspel had long ago given up all hope of winning May Maylands. He not only felt that one who had fallen so low as he, and shown such a character for instability, had no right to expect any girl to trust her happiness to him; but he also felt convinced that May had no real love for him, and that it would be unmanly to push his suit, even although he was now delivered from the power of his great enemy. He determined, therefore, to banish her as much as possible from his mind, and, in furtherance of his purpose, had conscientiously kept out of her way and out of the way of all his former friends.
Heaving a little sigh as he dismissed her, for the ten-thousandth time, from his mind, he was turning his back on the Post-Office—that precious casket which contained so rich but unattainable a jewel—when he remembered that he had a letter in his pocket to post.
Turning back, he sprang up the steps. The great mouth was not yet wide open. The evening feeding-hour had not arrived, and the lips were only in their normal condition—slightly parted. Having contributed his morsel to the insatiable giant, Aspel turned away, and found himself face to face with Phil Maylands.
It was not by any means their first meeting since the recovery of Aspel, but, as we have said, the latter had kept out of the way of old friends, and Phil was only partially excepted from the rule.
“The very man I wanted to see!” cried Phil, with gleaming eyes, as he seized his friend’s hand. “I’ve got mother over to London at last. She’s longing to see you. Come out with me this evening—do. But I’m in sudden perplexity: I’ve just been sent for to do some extra duty. It won’t take me half an hour.—You’re not engaged, are you?”
“Well, no—not particularly.”
“Then you’ll do me a favour, I’m sure you will. You’ll mount guard here for half an hour, won’t you? I had appointed to meet May here this evening to take her home, and when she comes she’ll not know why I have failed her unless you—”
“My dear Phil, I would stay with all my heart,” said Aspel hastily, “but—but—the fact is—I’ve not seen May for a long time, and—”
“Why, what on earth hasthatto do with it?” asked Phil, in some surprise.
“You are right,” returned Aspel, with a deprecating smile, “that has nothing to do with it. My wits are wool-gathering, Phil. Go: I will mount guard.”
Phil was gone in a moment, and Aspel leaned his head on his arm against one of the pillars of the portico. He had scarcely breathed a prayer for guidance when May approached. She stopped abruptly, flushed slightly, and hesitated a moment, then, advancing with the hearty air of an old playmate, she frankly held out her hand.
This was enough for Aspel. He had been depressed before; he was in the depths of despair now. If May had only shown confusion, or shyness, or anything but free-and-easy goodwill, hope might have revived, but he was evidently nothing more to her than the old playmate. Hope therefore died, and with its death there came over Aspel the calm subdued air of a crushed but resigned man. He observed her somewhat worn face and his heart melted. He resolved to act a brother’s part to her.
“I’m so glad to meet you at last, May!” he said, returning the kindly grasp of the hand with interest, but quite in a brotherly way.
“You might have seen me long ago. Why did you not come? We would all have been so glad to see you.”
May blushed decidedly as she made this reply, but the shades of evening were falling. Moreover, the pillar near to which they stood threw a deep shadow over them, and Aspel did not observe it. He therefore continued—in a quiet, brotherly way—
“Ah! May, it is cruel of you to ask that. You know that I have been unfit—”
“Nay, I did not meanthat,” interrupted May, with eager anxiety; “I meant that since—since—lately, you know—why did you not come?”
“True, May, I might have come lately—praise be to God!—but, but—why should I not speak out? It’s all over now. You know the love I once bore you, May, which you told me I must not speak of, and which I have tried to cure with all the energy of my heart, for I do not want to lose you as a sister—an old playmate at least—though I may not have you as—But, as I said, it’s all over now. I promise never again to intrude this subject on you. Let me rather tell you of the glorious work in which I am at present engaged.”
He stopped, for, in spite of his efforts to be brotherly, there was a sense of sinking at his heart which slightly embittered his tone.
“Is true love, then, so easily cured?”
May looked up in his face as she asked the question. There was something in the look and in the tone which caused George Aspel’s heart to beat like a sledge-hammer. He stooped down, and, looking into her eyes,—still in a brotherly way, said—
“Is it possible, May, that you could trifle with my feelings?”
“No, it is not possible,” she answered promptly.
“Oh! May,” continued Aspel, in a low, earnest tone; “if I could only dare to think,—to believe,—to hope, that—”
“Forgive me, May, I’m so sorry,” cried her brother Phil, as he sprang up the steps; “I did my best to hurry through with it. I’m afraid I’ve kept you and George waiting very long.”
“Not at all,” replied May, with unquestionable truth.
“If you could have only kept us waiting five minutes longer!” thought Aspel, but he only said—“Come along, Phil, I’ll go home with you to-night.”
The evening was fine—frosty and clear.
“Shall we walk to Nottinghill?” asked Phil. “It’s a longish tramp for you, May, but that’s the very thing you want.”
May agreed that it was a desirable thing in every point of view, and George Aspel did not object.
As they walked along, the latter began to wonder whether a new experiment had been made lately in the way of paving the streets with india-rubber. As for May, she returned such ridiculous answers to the simplest questions, that Phil became almost anxious about her, and finally settled it in his own mind that her labours in the telegraph department of the General Post-Office must be brought to a close as soon as possible.
“You see, mother,” he said that night, after Aspel had left the cottage and May had gone to her room, “it will never do to let her kill herself over the telegraph instrument. She’s too delicately formed for such work. We must find something better suited to her.”
“Yes, Phil, we must find something better suited to her.—Good-night,” replied Mrs Maylands.
There was a twinkle in the widow’s eye as she said this that sorely puzzled Phil, and kept him in confused meditation that night, until the confusion became worse confounded and he fell into an untroubled slumber.
Chapter Thirty.The Last.Sitting alone in the breakfast parlour of The Rosebud, one morning in June, Miss Stivergill read the following paragraph in her newspaper:— “Gallant Rescue.—Yesterday forenoon a lady and her daughter, accompanied by a gentleman, went to the landing-wharf at Blackfriars with the intention of going on board a steamer. There were some disorderly men on the wharf, and a good deal of crowding at the time. As the steamer approached, one of the half-drunk men staggered violently against the daughter above referred to, and thrust her into the river, which was running rapidly at the time, the tide being three-quarters ebb. The gentleman, who happened to have turned towards the mother at the moment, heard a scream and plunge. He looked quickly back and missed the young lady. Being a tall powerful man, he dashed the crowd aside, hurled the drunk man—no doubt inadvertently—into the river, sprang over his head, as he was falling, with a magnificent bound, and reached the water so near to the young lady that a few powerful strokes enabled him to grasp and support her. Observing that the unfortunate cause of the whole affair was lulling helplessly past him with the tide, he made a vigorous stroke or two with his disengaged arm, and succeeded in grasping him by the nape of the neck, and holding him at arm’s-length, despite his struggles, until a boat rescued them all. We believe that the gentleman who effected this double rescue is named Aspel, and that he is a city missionary. We have also been informed that the young lady is engaged to her gallant deliverer, and that the wedding has been fixed to come off this week.”Laying down the paper, Miss Stivergill lifted up her eyes and hands, pursed her mouth, and gave vent to a most unladylike whistle! She had barely terminated this musical performance, and recovered the serenity of her aspect, when Miss Lillycrop burst in upon her with unwonted haste and excitement.“My darling Maria!” she exclaimed, breathlessly, flinging her bonnet on a chair and seizing both the hands of her friend, “I amsoglad you’re at home. It’ssuchan age since I saw you! I came out by the early train on purpose to tell you. I hardly know where to begin. Oh! I’msoglad!”“You’re not going to be married?” interrupted Miss Stivergill, whose stern calmness deepened as her friend’s excitement increased.“Married? oh no! Ridiculous! but I think I’m going deranged.”“That is impossible,” returned Miss Stivergill, “You have been deranged ever since I knew you. If there is any change in your condition it can only be an access of the malady. Besides, there is no particular cause for joy in that. Have you no more interesting news to give me?”“More interesting news!” echoed Miss Lillycrop, sitting down on her bonnet, “of course I have. Now, just listen: Peter Pax—of the firm of Blurt, Pax, Jiggs, and Company, Antiquarians, Bird-Stuffers, Mechanists, Stamp-Collectors, and I don’t know what else besides, to the Queen—is going to be married to—whom do you think?”“The Queen of Sheba,” replied Miss Stivergill, folding her hands on her lap with a placid smile.“To—Tottie Bones!” said Miss Lillycrop, with an excited movement that ground some of her bonnet to straw-powder.Miss Stivergill did not raise her eyes or whistle at this. She merely put her head a little on one side and smiled.“I knew it, my dear—at least I felt sure it would come to this, though it is sooner than I expected. It is not written anywhere, I believe, that a boy may not marry a baby, nevertheless—”“But she’s not a baby,” broke in Miss Lillycrop.“Tottie is seventeen now, and Pax is twenty-four. But this is not the half of what I have to tell you. Ever since Pax was taken into partnership by Mr Enoch Blurt the business has prospered, as you are aware, and our active little friend has added all kinds of branches to it—such as the preparation and sale of entomological, and ichthyological, and other -ological specimens, and the mechanical parts of toy-engines; and that lad Jiggs has turned out such a splendid expounder of all these things, that the shop has become a sort of terrestrial heaven for boys. And dear old Fred Blurt has begun to recover under the influence of success, so that he is now able to get out frequently in a wheel-chair. But the strangest news of all is that Mister Enoch Blurt got a new baby—a girl—and recovered his diamonds on the self-same day!”“Indeed!” said Miss Stivergill, beginning to be influenced by these surprising revelations.“Yes, and it’s a curious evidence of the energetic and successful way in which things are managed by our admirable Post-Office—”“What! the union of a new baby with recovered diamonds?”“No, no, Maria, how stupid you are! I refer, of course, to the diamonds. Have you not seen reference made to them in the papers?”“No. I’ve seen or heard nothing about it.”“Indeed! I’m surprised. Well, that hearty old letter-carrier, Solomon Flint, sent that ridiculously stout creature whom he calls Dollops to me with the last Report of the Postmaster-General, with the corner of page eleven turned down, for he knew I was interested in anything that might affect the Blurts. But here it is. I brought it to read to you. Listen: ‘On the occasion of the wreck of theTridentin Howlin’ Cove, on the west of Ireland, many years ago, strenuous efforts were made by divers to recover the Cape of Good Hope mails, and, it will be recollected, they were partially successful, but a portion which contained diamonds could not be found. Diving operations were, however, resumed quite recently, and with most satisfactory results. One of the registered-letter-bags was found. It had been so completely imbedded in sand, and covered by a heavy portion of the wreck, that the contents were not altogether destroyed, notwithstanding the long period of their immersion. On being opened in the Chief Office in London, the bag was found to contain several large packets of diamonds, the addresses on which had been partially obliterated, besides about seven pounds weight of loose diamonds, which, having escaped from their covers, were mixed with the pulp in the bottom of the bag. Every possible endeavour was used by the officers of the Department to discover the rightful owners of those packets which were nearly intact, and with such success that they were all, with very little delay, duly delivered. The remaining diamonds were valued by an experienced broker, and sold—the amount realised being about 19,000 pounds. After very great trouble, and much correspondence, the whole of the persons for whom the loose diamonds were intended were, it is believed, ascertained, and this sum proved sufficient to satisfy the several claimants to such an extent that not a single complaint was heard.’”“How strange! Why did you not tell me of this before, Lilly?”“Because Mr Blurt resolved to keep it secret until he was quite sure there was no mistake about the matter. Now that he has received the value of his diamonds he has told all his friends. Moreover, he has resolved to take a house in the suburbs, so that Fred may have fresh country air, fresh milk, and fresh eggs. Peter Pax, too, talks of doing the same thing, being bent, so he says, on devoting himself to the entomological department of his business, in order that he may renew his youth by hunting butterflies and beetles with Tottie.”“It never rains but it pours,” said Miss Stivergill. “Surprises don’t come singly, it appears.—Have you readthat?” She handed her friend the newspaper which recounted the “gallant rescue.”Miss Lillycrop’s countenance was a study which cannot be described. The same may be said of her bonnet. When she came to the name of Aspel her eyeballs became circular, and her eyebrows apparently attempted to reach the roots of her hair.“Maria dear!” she cried, with a little shriek, “this only reminds me that I have still more news to tell. You remember Sir James Clubley? Well, he is dead, and he has left the whole of his property to George Aspel! It seems that Sir James went one night, secretly, as it were, to some low locality where Aspel was preaching to poor people, and was so affected by what he heard and saw that he came forward at the close, signed the pledge along with a number of rough and dirty men, and then and there became a total abstainer. This, I am told, occurred a considerable time ago, and he has been a helper of the Temperance cause ever since. Sir James had no near relatives. To the few distant ones he possessed he left legacies, and in his will stated that he left the rest of his fortune—which, although not large, is considerable—to George Aspel, in the firm belief that by so doing he was leaving it to further the cause of Christianity and Temperance.”“Come, now, don’t stop there,” observed Miss Stivergill calmly, “go on to tell me that Phil Maylands has also had a fortune left him, or become Postmaster-General and got married, or is going to be.”“Well, I can’t exactly tell you that,” returned Miss Lillycrop, “but I can tell you that he has had a rise in the Post-Office Savings Bank, with an increase of salary, and that May declines to marry Aspel unless he agrees to live with her mother in the cottage at Nottinghill. Of course Aspel has consented—all the more that it is conveniently situated near to a station whence he can easily reach the field of his missionary labours.”“Does he intend to continue these now that he is rich?” asked Miss Stivergill.“How can you ask such a question?” replied her friend, with a slightly offended look. “Aspel is not a man to be easily moved from his purpose. He says he will labour in the good cause, and devote health and means to it as long as God permits.”“Good!” exclaimed Miss Stivergill with a satisfied nod.—“Now, Lilly,” she added, with the decision of tone and manner peculiar to her, “I mean to make some arrangements. The farmer next to me has a very pretty villa, as you are aware, on the brow of the hill that overlooks the whole country in the direction of London. It is at present to let. Mr Blurt must take it. Beside it stands a cottage just large enough for a new-married couple. I had already rented that cottage for a poor friend. He, however, knows nothing about the matter. I will therefore have him put somewhere else, and sub-let the cottage to Mr and Mrs Pax. Lastly, you shall give up your insane notion of living alone, come here, with all your belongings, and take up your abode with me for ever.”“That’s a long time, dear Maria,” said Miss Lillycrop, with a little smile.“Nottoolong, by any means, Lilly. Now, clear that rubbish off the chair—it’s well got rid of, I never liked the shape—go, put yourself to rights, use one of my bonnets, and come out for a walk. To-morrow you shall go into town and arrange with Pax and Blurt about the villa and the cottage to the best of your ability. It’s of no use attempting to resist me, Lilly—tell them that—for in this affair I have made up my mind that my will shall be law.”Reader, what more need we add—except that Miss Stivergill’s will did eventually become law, because it happened to correspond with the wishes of all concerned. It is due, also, to Solomon Flint to record that after his long life of faithful service in the Post-Office he retired on a small but comfortable pension, and joined the “Rosebud Colony,” as Pax styled it, taking his grandmother along with him. That remarkable piece of antiquity, when last seen by a credible witness, was basking in the sunshine under a rustic porch covered with honeysuckle, more wrinkled, more dried-up, more tough, more amiable—especially to her cat—and more stooped in the previous century than ever. Mr Bright, the energetic sorter, who visits Solomon whenever his postal duties will allow, expresses his belief that the old lady will live to see them all out, and Mr Bright’s opinion carries weight with it; besides which, Phil Maylands and May Aspel with her husband are more than half inclined to agree with him. Time will show.Pegaway Hall still exists, but its glory has departed, for although Mrs Square still keeps her one watchful eye upon its closed door, its walls and rafters no longer resound with the eloquence, wit, and wisdom of Boy Telegraph Messengers, although these important servants of the Queen still continue—with their friends the letter-carriers—to tramp the kingdom “post haste,” in ceaseless, benignant activity, distributing right and left with impartial justice the varied contents of Her Majesty’s Mails.
Sitting alone in the breakfast parlour of The Rosebud, one morning in June, Miss Stivergill read the following paragraph in her newspaper:— “Gallant Rescue.—Yesterday forenoon a lady and her daughter, accompanied by a gentleman, went to the landing-wharf at Blackfriars with the intention of going on board a steamer. There were some disorderly men on the wharf, and a good deal of crowding at the time. As the steamer approached, one of the half-drunk men staggered violently against the daughter above referred to, and thrust her into the river, which was running rapidly at the time, the tide being three-quarters ebb. The gentleman, who happened to have turned towards the mother at the moment, heard a scream and plunge. He looked quickly back and missed the young lady. Being a tall powerful man, he dashed the crowd aside, hurled the drunk man—no doubt inadvertently—into the river, sprang over his head, as he was falling, with a magnificent bound, and reached the water so near to the young lady that a few powerful strokes enabled him to grasp and support her. Observing that the unfortunate cause of the whole affair was lulling helplessly past him with the tide, he made a vigorous stroke or two with his disengaged arm, and succeeded in grasping him by the nape of the neck, and holding him at arm’s-length, despite his struggles, until a boat rescued them all. We believe that the gentleman who effected this double rescue is named Aspel, and that he is a city missionary. We have also been informed that the young lady is engaged to her gallant deliverer, and that the wedding has been fixed to come off this week.”
Laying down the paper, Miss Stivergill lifted up her eyes and hands, pursed her mouth, and gave vent to a most unladylike whistle! She had barely terminated this musical performance, and recovered the serenity of her aspect, when Miss Lillycrop burst in upon her with unwonted haste and excitement.
“My darling Maria!” she exclaimed, breathlessly, flinging her bonnet on a chair and seizing both the hands of her friend, “I amsoglad you’re at home. It’ssuchan age since I saw you! I came out by the early train on purpose to tell you. I hardly know where to begin. Oh! I’msoglad!”
“You’re not going to be married?” interrupted Miss Stivergill, whose stern calmness deepened as her friend’s excitement increased.
“Married? oh no! Ridiculous! but I think I’m going deranged.”
“That is impossible,” returned Miss Stivergill, “You have been deranged ever since I knew you. If there is any change in your condition it can only be an access of the malady. Besides, there is no particular cause for joy in that. Have you no more interesting news to give me?”
“More interesting news!” echoed Miss Lillycrop, sitting down on her bonnet, “of course I have. Now, just listen: Peter Pax—of the firm of Blurt, Pax, Jiggs, and Company, Antiquarians, Bird-Stuffers, Mechanists, Stamp-Collectors, and I don’t know what else besides, to the Queen—is going to be married to—whom do you think?”
“The Queen of Sheba,” replied Miss Stivergill, folding her hands on her lap with a placid smile.
“To—Tottie Bones!” said Miss Lillycrop, with an excited movement that ground some of her bonnet to straw-powder.
Miss Stivergill did not raise her eyes or whistle at this. She merely put her head a little on one side and smiled.
“I knew it, my dear—at least I felt sure it would come to this, though it is sooner than I expected. It is not written anywhere, I believe, that a boy may not marry a baby, nevertheless—”
“But she’s not a baby,” broke in Miss Lillycrop.
“Tottie is seventeen now, and Pax is twenty-four. But this is not the half of what I have to tell you. Ever since Pax was taken into partnership by Mr Enoch Blurt the business has prospered, as you are aware, and our active little friend has added all kinds of branches to it—such as the preparation and sale of entomological, and ichthyological, and other -ological specimens, and the mechanical parts of toy-engines; and that lad Jiggs has turned out such a splendid expounder of all these things, that the shop has become a sort of terrestrial heaven for boys. And dear old Fred Blurt has begun to recover under the influence of success, so that he is now able to get out frequently in a wheel-chair. But the strangest news of all is that Mister Enoch Blurt got a new baby—a girl—and recovered his diamonds on the self-same day!”
“Indeed!” said Miss Stivergill, beginning to be influenced by these surprising revelations.
“Yes, and it’s a curious evidence of the energetic and successful way in which things are managed by our admirable Post-Office—”
“What! the union of a new baby with recovered diamonds?”
“No, no, Maria, how stupid you are! I refer, of course, to the diamonds. Have you not seen reference made to them in the papers?”
“No. I’ve seen or heard nothing about it.”
“Indeed! I’m surprised. Well, that hearty old letter-carrier, Solomon Flint, sent that ridiculously stout creature whom he calls Dollops to me with the last Report of the Postmaster-General, with the corner of page eleven turned down, for he knew I was interested in anything that might affect the Blurts. But here it is. I brought it to read to you. Listen: ‘On the occasion of the wreck of theTridentin Howlin’ Cove, on the west of Ireland, many years ago, strenuous efforts were made by divers to recover the Cape of Good Hope mails, and, it will be recollected, they were partially successful, but a portion which contained diamonds could not be found. Diving operations were, however, resumed quite recently, and with most satisfactory results. One of the registered-letter-bags was found. It had been so completely imbedded in sand, and covered by a heavy portion of the wreck, that the contents were not altogether destroyed, notwithstanding the long period of their immersion. On being opened in the Chief Office in London, the bag was found to contain several large packets of diamonds, the addresses on which had been partially obliterated, besides about seven pounds weight of loose diamonds, which, having escaped from their covers, were mixed with the pulp in the bottom of the bag. Every possible endeavour was used by the officers of the Department to discover the rightful owners of those packets which were nearly intact, and with such success that they were all, with very little delay, duly delivered. The remaining diamonds were valued by an experienced broker, and sold—the amount realised being about 19,000 pounds. After very great trouble, and much correspondence, the whole of the persons for whom the loose diamonds were intended were, it is believed, ascertained, and this sum proved sufficient to satisfy the several claimants to such an extent that not a single complaint was heard.’”
“How strange! Why did you not tell me of this before, Lilly?”
“Because Mr Blurt resolved to keep it secret until he was quite sure there was no mistake about the matter. Now that he has received the value of his diamonds he has told all his friends. Moreover, he has resolved to take a house in the suburbs, so that Fred may have fresh country air, fresh milk, and fresh eggs. Peter Pax, too, talks of doing the same thing, being bent, so he says, on devoting himself to the entomological department of his business, in order that he may renew his youth by hunting butterflies and beetles with Tottie.”
“It never rains but it pours,” said Miss Stivergill. “Surprises don’t come singly, it appears.—Have you readthat?” She handed her friend the newspaper which recounted the “gallant rescue.”
Miss Lillycrop’s countenance was a study which cannot be described. The same may be said of her bonnet. When she came to the name of Aspel her eyeballs became circular, and her eyebrows apparently attempted to reach the roots of her hair.
“Maria dear!” she cried, with a little shriek, “this only reminds me that I have still more news to tell. You remember Sir James Clubley? Well, he is dead, and he has left the whole of his property to George Aspel! It seems that Sir James went one night, secretly, as it were, to some low locality where Aspel was preaching to poor people, and was so affected by what he heard and saw that he came forward at the close, signed the pledge along with a number of rough and dirty men, and then and there became a total abstainer. This, I am told, occurred a considerable time ago, and he has been a helper of the Temperance cause ever since. Sir James had no near relatives. To the few distant ones he possessed he left legacies, and in his will stated that he left the rest of his fortune—which, although not large, is considerable—to George Aspel, in the firm belief that by so doing he was leaving it to further the cause of Christianity and Temperance.”
“Come, now, don’t stop there,” observed Miss Stivergill calmly, “go on to tell me that Phil Maylands has also had a fortune left him, or become Postmaster-General and got married, or is going to be.”
“Well, I can’t exactly tell you that,” returned Miss Lillycrop, “but I can tell you that he has had a rise in the Post-Office Savings Bank, with an increase of salary, and that May declines to marry Aspel unless he agrees to live with her mother in the cottage at Nottinghill. Of course Aspel has consented—all the more that it is conveniently situated near to a station whence he can easily reach the field of his missionary labours.”
“Does he intend to continue these now that he is rich?” asked Miss Stivergill.
“How can you ask such a question?” replied her friend, with a slightly offended look. “Aspel is not a man to be easily moved from his purpose. He says he will labour in the good cause, and devote health and means to it as long as God permits.”
“Good!” exclaimed Miss Stivergill with a satisfied nod.—“Now, Lilly,” she added, with the decision of tone and manner peculiar to her, “I mean to make some arrangements. The farmer next to me has a very pretty villa, as you are aware, on the brow of the hill that overlooks the whole country in the direction of London. It is at present to let. Mr Blurt must take it. Beside it stands a cottage just large enough for a new-married couple. I had already rented that cottage for a poor friend. He, however, knows nothing about the matter. I will therefore have him put somewhere else, and sub-let the cottage to Mr and Mrs Pax. Lastly, you shall give up your insane notion of living alone, come here, with all your belongings, and take up your abode with me for ever.”
“That’s a long time, dear Maria,” said Miss Lillycrop, with a little smile.
“Nottoolong, by any means, Lilly. Now, clear that rubbish off the chair—it’s well got rid of, I never liked the shape—go, put yourself to rights, use one of my bonnets, and come out for a walk. To-morrow you shall go into town and arrange with Pax and Blurt about the villa and the cottage to the best of your ability. It’s of no use attempting to resist me, Lilly—tell them that—for in this affair I have made up my mind that my will shall be law.”
Reader, what more need we add—except that Miss Stivergill’s will did eventually become law, because it happened to correspond with the wishes of all concerned. It is due, also, to Solomon Flint to record that after his long life of faithful service in the Post-Office he retired on a small but comfortable pension, and joined the “Rosebud Colony,” as Pax styled it, taking his grandmother along with him. That remarkable piece of antiquity, when last seen by a credible witness, was basking in the sunshine under a rustic porch covered with honeysuckle, more wrinkled, more dried-up, more tough, more amiable—especially to her cat—and more stooped in the previous century than ever. Mr Bright, the energetic sorter, who visits Solomon whenever his postal duties will allow, expresses his belief that the old lady will live to see them all out, and Mr Bright’s opinion carries weight with it; besides which, Phil Maylands and May Aspel with her husband are more than half inclined to agree with him. Time will show.
Pegaway Hall still exists, but its glory has departed, for although Mrs Square still keeps her one watchful eye upon its closed door, its walls and rafters no longer resound with the eloquence, wit, and wisdom of Boy Telegraph Messengers, although these important servants of the Queen still continue—with their friends the letter-carriers—to tramp the kingdom “post haste,” in ceaseless, benignant activity, distributing right and left with impartial justice the varied contents of Her Majesty’s Mails.
|Preface| |Chapter 1| |Chapter 2| |Chapter 3| |Chapter 4| |Chapter 5| |Chapter 6| |Chapter 7| |Chapter 8| |Chapter 9| |Chapter 10| |Chapter 11| |Chapter 12| |Chapter 13| |Chapter 14| |Chapter 15| |Chapter 16| |Chapter 17| |Chapter 18| |Chapter 19| |Chapter 20| |Chapter 21| |Chapter 22| |Chapter 23| |Chapter 24| |Chapter 25| |Chapter 26| |Chapter 27| |Chapter 28| |Chapter 29| |Chapter 30|