a What brought it there?-yet, there it was. The figure, the face of one who with proved perjury at his lips kissed the book, swearing the oath was true. Clarissa saw her husband suddenly dash with gloomy thoughts. They reproached her ; and, instinctively, she returned to the old man's side, and laying her hand upon his brow—had the hand been a sunbeam, it had not lighted the face more suddenly, brightly -she spoke to him very tenderly : “Are you not well, sir ?” : “Quite well ; always well, Clarissa, with you at my side—with you as even now.” And she looked so cheerful, yes, so affectionate,—he had wronged her. He was a fool—an exacting fool—with no allowance for the natural reserve, the unconquerable timidity, of so gentle a creature. “ And, as I was saying, you are better; much better ; and we 'll have this horse ; and- -but, Clary, love, we have forgotten breakfast." Resolved upon a full meal, , Snipeton moved to the table ; and whilst he strove to eat, he talked quite carelessly, and, by the way, of a matter that a little disturbed him. “ And how do you find Mrs. Wilton, eh, dearest ?” Clarissa, with troubled looks, answered—“Find her, sir? Is she not all we could wish ?” Oh, honest, quiet, and an excellent housekeeper, no doubt. Do you know her story ?” - What “ Her story? Has she not one ? Everybody, it's my opinion, but here's the rub: everybody won't tell it, can't tell it, mus’n't tell it. Is it not so ?” “ It is never my thought, sir ; my wish to question your experience. You know the world, you say. For my part, I never wish to know it. My hope is, to die in my ignorance." “ True ; you are right ; I would have it so. For it is a know. ledge that-but no matter. My learning shall serve for both. Well , she never told you her story ?” With this, Snipeton looked piercingly at his wife, who at first answered not. At length she asked, you know it, sir ?” “ No: but it is plain she has a story. I am firm in the faith.” “Some grief-some sacred sorrow, perhaps,” said Clarissa. “We should respect it : should we not ?"! “Why, grief and sorrow are convenient words, and often do duty for sin and shame," cried Snipeton. story?" has ; “Sin and shame are grief and sorrow, or should be so," replied Clarissa, mournfully. “Humph! Well, perhaps they are. However, Mrs. Wilton's · story is no affair of ours,” said Snipeton. Assuredly not,” cried Clarissa, quickly. “But her melancholy is. 'Tis catching ; and infects you. Her S bad spirits, her gloom, seem to touch all about her with mildew. A bad conscience-or a great grief-'tis no matter which, throws a black shadow about it; and to come at once to my meaning, Clarissa, I think Mrs. Wilton had better quit.” “Oh, sir!" exclaimed Clarissa. 6. 'Twould break her heart-it would indeed, sir.”. “It 's wonderful how long people live, ay, and enjoy themselves, too, with broken hearts, Clarissa. I've often thought broken hearts were like broken china : to be put nicely together again, and—but for the look of the thing to be quite as useful for all : house-work as before. Now Mrs. Wilton's heart". “Do not speak of it. If—if you me, sir cried Clarissa. If I have love! Well, what think you ? Have I not--even a few minutes since--given good proof?” It was somewhat distasteful to the old man, that after the gift of such diamonds, his love could be doubted. He had better have listened to his good, his wise, his profitable genius, and presented paste. How many wives—however badly used and industriously neglected—would still bestow their love! Now he, even with diamonds, could not For his wife to doubt his love, was to refuse her own, This his philosophy made certain. And this, after the diamonds ! Nay, I am sure of your love, sir ; certain ; most confident, said Clarissa, very calm in such assurance. And therefore know you will refuse me nothing. Eh, dear sir ? " Again Snipeton's heartstrings relaxed ; again, listening to the music of the enchantress, his darker thoughts began to pass away, and his soul enjoyed new sunlight. . “ Nothing-nothing, he said, “ that is healthful." “ Then promise me that Mrs. Wilton shall remain. Indeed, you know not how much I have learned of her ; how much she loves me; how much she respects you.” Respect is a cold virtue, I know, Clarissa ; very cold. Now, with her 'tis freezing. I sometimes think she looks at me, as though-but I 'll say no more. She blights your spirits; darkens NO. XX. VOL. IY. buy it. I a your thoughts with her sorrow or her sin, or whatever it may be ; and, in a word, she shall stay no longer. I am resolved.” “Blights me! Darkens my thoughts! Oh, sir, I would you heard her talk. I would you knew the pains she takes to make me happy ; to make me cheerful ; to place all things in the happiest light, shedding, as she does, the beauty of her spirit over all. Doubtless, she has suffered, but”“But—but she goes. I am resolved, Clarissa ; she goes. Resolved, I say. And Ebenezer Snipeton struck the table with his fist ; and threw himself back in his chair, as, he believed, a statue of humanity, hardened by resolution into flint. And very proud he felt of the petrefaction. Nor lightnings, nor thunderbolts should melt or move him. Clarissa--her suit was for a mother-rose from her chair, and stood beside her husband's. She threw her arms about his neck. Flint as he was he felt they were not so lumpish, clay-like as when last they lay there. “ Dear sir ; you'll not refuse me this? You'll not refuse me?” And Clarissa for once looked full in the eyes of her husband. “Resolved," said Snipeton thickly; and something rose in his throat. “Resolved.” " No; no. You must promise me-you shall not leave me without, and the arms pressed closer ; and the flint they embraced became soft as any whetstone. “ You will not deprive me of her solicitude-her affection ?” Snipeton answered not ; when Clarissa~in such a cause, what cared she for the sacrifice ? stooping, kissed her husband with a deep and fervent affection for her mother. And the statue was suddenly turned to thrilling flesh; had the old man's heart been stuck with thorns, his wife's 1 lips would have drawn them all away, and made it beat with burning blood. The man was kissed for an old woman ; but he set the rapture to his own account, and was directly rich with imaginary wealth. Need we say the man consented ? What otherwise could strong resolution do? A new man, with a newer, brighter world beaming about him, Snipeton that day departed from his rustic home to St. Mary Axe. His wife seemed to travel with him, he was so haunted by her looks of new-born love. And now he hummed some ancient, thoughtless song ; and now he smacked his lips, as with freshened recollection of the touch that had enriched them. The mist and cloud of doubt that had hung about his life had passed away, and he saw peacefulness and beauty clearly to the end. And these thoughts went with him to his dark and dismal city nook, and imparted deeper pleasures even to the bliss of money-making. This once, at least, St. Giles was in luck. A few minutes only after Snipeton's arrival, with his new happiness fresh upon him, the young man presented himself with a letter from Crossbone. “He looks an honest fellow; a very honest fellow,” thought Snipeton, eyeing him. “'Tis a bad world ; a wicked world ; yet, when all 's said, there are some honest people; yes, there must be some.' And this charitable thought enhanced for the nonce St. Giles. He could not have come in happier season. “ Humph! and you have known Mr. Crossbone some time? To be sure, he told me, from a child. And your father was killed, trying to do good? That's hard ; plaguy hard ; for people arn't often killed in that humour. And you've been kind very kind to your mother? Well, that's something ; I think I may trust you. Yes : you may consider yourself engaged. When can you come ? » you! a a “ Directly, sir," said St. Giles ; who had been duly impressed by Crossbone with the necessity of obtaining Snipeton's patronage ; it was so very essential to the happiness of his lordship. “ Be vigilant, be careful,”—thus had run the apothecary's counsel, “ and his lordship will make a man of What a golden prospect for one who, with the hopes and worthy desires of a man, knew himself to be a social wolf in the human fold ; a thing to be destroyed, hung up; a wholesome example to runaway vagabonds. To be made a man of, what a load must he lay down ! What a joy, a blessing, to stand erect in the world and be allowed to meet the eyes of men with confiding looks. Now, he crept and crawled ; and felt that his soul went upon all-fours. Now, he at times shrunk from a sudden gaze, as from a drawn knife. And his lordship would make a man of him! Glorious labour, this ; divine handiwork ! And there is plenty of such labour, too, in this broad world, if we had but the earnest-hearted workers to grapple with it. How many thousand thousands of human animals; creatures of outward humanity; beings on two legs, are yet to be made men of! Again, what is a man? You, reader, may possibly have a pretty correct notion of what he is, or ought to be: now, Mr. Crossbone's ideal of a perfect man was but of a perfect a rascal. He would make a man as he would have made a gin, a trap; the more perfect the snare, the nobler the humanity. And in this sense was St. Giles to be elevated into a man for the direct advantage of the young lord, and the supplementary benefit of the apothecary. And St. Giles himself—it must not be forgottenhad some misgivings of the model-excellence after which he was to be fashioned. It just passed through his brain that the man he was to be made, might be a man, if not nearer to the gallows than himself, at least a man more deserving (if any deserved it) the elevation. There seemed to him new peril to be made a man of. Yet, what could he do? Nothing. He must wait ; watch ; and take the chances as they fell. Snipeton read the letter. Nothing could have fallen out so luckily. A friend of Crossbone's a man of honour though he dealt in horseflesh-had a beautiful thing to sell ; 'a thing of lamblike gentleness and beauty: The very thing for Mrs. Snipeton. A mare that might be reined with a thread of silk. Moreover, Mr. Snipeton might have the beast at his own price ; and that, of course, would be next to no price at all. “ Do you understand horses, my man ?” asked Snipeton, as he finished the letter. • Why, yes, sir,” answered St. Giles ; and he must have answered yes, had the question been unicorns. “Well, then ”—but at this moment, Snipeton's man brought in the names of Capstick and Tangle. To the great relief of St. Giles, he was ordered into an adjoining room, there to wait. He withdrew as the new visitors entered. " Mr. Snipeton, this—this "-why did Capstick pause ?—“this gentleman is Mr. Tangle, attorney”— Solicitor, was Mr. Tangle’s meek correction. “It 's of no consequence, but—solicitor." “ Pooh, pooh! It isn't my way, sir. I always say'attorney,' and then we know the worst,” said Capstick. “ I have heard of Mr. Tangle. We never met before—but his reputation has reached me," sneered Snipeton. • Reputation, sir,” observed Capstick, “is sometimes like a polecat ; dead or alive, its odour will spread." “Very true ; it is ; it has," was the corroboration of Snipeton ; and Tangle, though he tried to smile, fidgetted uneasily. “You are, perhaps, not aware, Mr. Snipeton, that a petition is 66 |