"Familiar in their MoutJis as HOUSEHOLD WORDS."

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 222.] SATURDAY, JUNE 24, 1854.

H A R D TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE, " going in " for hisadopted party, soon began to score. "Withthe. aid of a little more coaching for thepolitical sages, a little more genteel listless-ness for the general society, and a tolerablemanagement of the assumed honesty in dis-honesty, most effective and most patronisedof the polite deadly sins, he speedily cameto be considered of much promise. The notbeing troubled with earnestness was a grandpoint in his favour, enabling him to take tothe hard Fact fellows with as good a grace asif he had been born one of the tribe, and tothrow all other ̂ tribes overboard, as consciousimpostors.

" Whom none of us believe, my dear Mrs.Bounderby, and who do not believe them-selves. The only difference between usand the professors of virtue or benevolence,or philanthropy-—never mind the name—is, that we know it is all meaningless, andsay so ; while they know it equally and willnever say so."

Why should she be shocked or warned bythis reiteration 1 It was not so unlike herfather's principles, and her early training,that it need startle her. Where was thegreat difference between the two schools,when each chained her down to materialrealities, and inspired her with no faith inanything else 1 What was there in her soulfor Jarnes Hartuouse to destroy, whichThomiurGradgrind had nurtured there in itsstate of innocence!

It was even the worse for her at this passsthat in her mind—implanted there before hereminently practical father began to form it—ia struggling disposition to believe in a widerand higher humanity than she had ever heardof, constantly strove with doubts and resent-ments. With doubts, because the aspirationhad been so laid waste in her youth. Withresentments, because of the wrong that hadbeen done her, if it were indeed a whisper ofthe truth. Upon a nature long accustomedto self-suppression, thus torn and divided, theHarthouse philosophy came as a relief and jus-tification. Everything being hollow, arid

worthless, she had missed nothing andsacrificed nothing. What did it matter, shehad said to her father, when he proposed herhusband. What did it matter, she said still.With a scornful self-reliance, she asked her-self, What did anything matter — andwent on.

Towards what ? Step by step, onward anddownward, towards some end, yet so gradu-ally that she believed herself to remainmotionless. As to Mr. Harthouse, whitherlie tended, he neither considered nor cared.He had no particular design or plan beforehim ; no energetic wickedness ruffled hislassitude. He was as much amused andinterested, at present, as it became so fine agentleman to be ; perhaps even more than itwould have been consistent with his reputa-tion to confess. Soon after his arrival he lan-guidly wrote to his brother, the honorable andjocular member, that the Bounderbys were"great fun;" and further, that the femaleBounderby, instead of being the Gorgon hehad expected, was young and remarkablypretty. After that, he wrote no more aboutthem, and devoted his leisure chiefly to theirhouse. He was very often in their house, inhis Sittings and visitings about the Coketowndistrict; and was much encouraged by Mr.Bounderby. It was quite in Mr. Bounderby'sgusty way to boast to all his world that liedidn't care about your highly connected people,but that if his wife Tom Gradgrind's daughterdid, she was welcome to their company.

Mr. James Harthouse began to think itwould be a new sensation, if the face whichchanged so beautifully for the whelp, wouldchange for him.

He was quick enough to observe; he hada good memory, and did not forget a word ofthe brother's revelations. He interwovethem with everything he saw of the sister,and he began to understand her. To be sure,the better and profounder part of her charac-ter was not within his scope of perception ; forin natures, as in seas, depth answers untodepth; but he soon began to read the restwith a student's eye.

Mr. Bouuderby had taken possession of ahouse and grounds, about fifteen miles fromthe town, and accessible within a mile ortwo, by a railway striding on many archesover a wild country, undermined by deserted

VOL. IX, 222

430 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

coalpits, and spotted at night by fires andblack shapes of engines. This country, gra-dually softening towards the neighbourhoodof Mr. Bounderby's retreat, there mellowedinto a rustic landscape, golden with heathand snowy with hawthorn in the spring of theyear, and tremulous with leaves and theirshadows all the summer time. The bank hadforeclosed a mortgage on the property thuspleasantly situated : effected by one of theCoketown magnates: who, in his determina-tion to make a shorter cut than usual to anenormous fortune, overspectilated himself after-wards by about two hundred thousand pounds.These accidents did sometimes happen in thebest-regulated families of Coketown, thoughthe bankrupts had no connexion whateverwith the improvident classes.

It afforded Mr. Bounderby supreme satis-faction to instal himself in this snug littleestate, and with demonstrative humility togrow cabbages in the flower-garden. Hedelighted to live, barrack fashion, amongthe elegant furniture, and he bullied thevery pictures with his origin. " Why, sir,"he would say to a visitor, " I am told thatNickits," the late owner, " gave seven hun-dred pound for that Sea-beach. Now, tobe plain with you, if I ever, in the wholecourse of my life, take seven looks at it, at ahundred pound a look, it will be as much asI shall do. No, by George ! I don't forgetthat I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown.For years upon years, the only pictures inmy possession, or that I could have got intomy possession by any means, unless I stole'em, were the engravings of a man shavinghimself in a boot, on the blacking bottles thatI was overjoyed to use in cleaning bootswith, and that I sold when they were emptyfor a farthing a-piece, and glad to get it! "

Then he would address Mr. Harthouse inthe same style.

" Harthouse, you have a couple of horsesdown here. Bring half a dozen moreif you like, and we'll find room for 'em.There's stabling in this place for a dozenhorses ; and unless Nickits is belied, he keptthe full number. A round dozen of 'em, sir."When that man was a boy, he went to West-minster School. Went to Westminster Schoolas a King's Scholar, when I was principallyliving on garbage, and sleeping in marketbaskets. Why, if I wanted to keep a dozenhorses—which I don't, for one's enough forme—I couldn't bear to see 'em in their stallshere, and think what my own lodging used tobe. I couldn't look at 'em, sir, and not order'em out. Yet so things come round. You seethis place ; you know what sort of a place itis ; you are aware that there's not a com-pleter place of its size in this kingdom orelsewhere— I don't care where—and here,got into the middle of it, like a maggot into anut, is Josiah Bounderby. While Nickits (asa man came into my office, and told meyesterday), Nickits, who used to act in Latin,

in the Westminster School plays, with thechief-justices and nobility of this country ap-plauding him till they were black in the face,is drivelling at this minute—drivelling, sir!—in a fifth floor, up a narrow dark back streetin Antwerp."

It was among the leafy shadows of thisretirement, in the long sultry summer days,that Mr. Harthouse began to prove the facewhich had set him wondering when he firstsaw it, and to try if it would change for him.

"Mrs. Bounderby, I esteem it a mostfortunate accident that I find you alone here.I have for some time had a particular wish tospeak to you."

It was not by any wonderful accident thathe found her, the time of day being that atwhich she was always alone, and the placebeing her favourite resort. It was an openingin a dark wood, where some felled trees lay,and where she would sit watching the fallenleaves of last year, as she had watched thefalling ashes at home.

He sat down beside her, with a glance ather face.

" Your brother. My young friend Tom—"Her color brightened, and she turned to

him with a look of interest, " I never in mylife," he thought, " saw anything so remark-able and so captivating as the lighting ofthose features!" His face betrayed histhoughts^-perhaps without betraying him, forit might have been according to its instruc-tions so to do.

"Pardon me. The expression of yoursisterly interest is so beautiful—Tom shouldbe so proud of it—I know this is inexcusable,but I am so compelled to admire."

" Being so impulsive," she said composedly." Mrs. Bounderby, no ; you know I make

no pretence with you. You know I am asordid piece of human nature, ready to sellmyself at any time for any reasonable sum,and altogether incapable of any Arcadianproceeding whatever."

" I am waiting," she returned, " for yourfurther reference to my brother."

" You are rigid with me, and I deserve it.I am as worthless a dog as you will find,except that I am not false—not false. Butyou surprised and started me from my subject,which was your brother. I have an interestin him."

" Have you an interest in anything, Mr.Harthouse ?" she asked, half increduouslyand half gratefully.

" If you had asked me when I first camehere, I should have said no. I must say now—•even at the hazard of appearing to make apretence, and of justly awakening your in-credulity—yes."

She made a slight movement, as if she weretrying to speak, but could not find voice ; atlength she said, " Mr. Harthouse,, I give youcredit for being interested in my brother."

" Thank you. I claim to deserve it. Youknow how little I do claim, but I will go that

Charles Dickens.] HAKD TIMES. 431

length. You have done so much for him, you.are so fond of him; your whole life, Mrs.Bounderby, expresses such charming self-forgetfulness on his account — pardon meagain—I am running wide of the subject. Iam interested in him for his own sake."

She had made the slightest action possible,as if she would have risen in a hurry and goneaway. He had turned the course of what hesaid at that instant, and she remained.

" Mrs. Bounderby," he resumed, in a lightermanner, and yet with a show of effort in

the main preserved her self-contained man-ner : " you will understand that if I tell youwhat you press to know, it is not by way ofcomplaint or regret. I would never complainof anything, and what I have done I do notin the least regret."

" So spirited, too ! " thought James Hart-house.

" When I married, 1 found that my brotherwas even at that time heavily in debt.Heavily for him, 1 mean. Heavily enoughto oblige me to sell some trinkets. They

assuming it, which was even more expressive ! were no sacrifice. I sold them very willinglythan thfi mariner Vie dismissfifl • "it is nr> irrfi- T at.t.i>r>Kprl Tin vahiA r:n t.Vipm Thpv WPT-P rmitsthan the manner he dismissed ; " it is no irrevocable offence in a young fellow of yourbrother's years, if he is heedless, inconsiderate,and expensive—a little dissipated, in the

Is her

I attached no value to them. They were quiteworthless to me."

Either she saw in his face that; he knew, orshe only feared in her conscience that he knew,

Do you think he

Mr. Harthouse

that she spoke of some of her husband's gifts.She stopped, and reddened again. If he hadnot known it before, he would have known itthen, though he had been a much duller manthan he was.

" Since then, I have given my brother, atvarious times, what money I could spare : inshort, what money I have had. Confiding inyou at all, on the faith of the interest you

common phrase." Yes.""Allow me to be frank,

.games at all 1"" I think he makes bets.'

waiting, as if that were not her whole answer,she added, " I know he does."

" Of course he loses ?""Yes." . |." Everybody loses who bets. May I hint i profess for him, I will not do so by

at the probability of your sometimes supply- } halves. Since you have been in the habit of"" visiting here, he has wanted in one sum as

much as a hundred pounds. I have notbeen able to give it to him. I have feltuneasy for the consequences of his being so

_ involved, but I have kept these secrets untildear Mrs. Bounderby. I think Tom" may \ now, when I trust them to your honor. Ibe gradually falling into trouble, and I wish j have held no confidence with any one, becauseto stretch out a helping hand to him from the I —you anticipated my reason just now." Shedepths of my wicked experience.—Shall I say i abruptly broke off.again, for his sake ? Is that necessary 1" 1 He was a ready man, and he saw, and

She seemed to try to answer, but nothing j seized, an opportunity here of presenting hercame of it. j- own image to her, slightly disguised as her

" Candidly to confess everything that has brother.occurred to me," said James Harthouse, again " Mrs. Bounderby, though a graceless person,gliding with the same appearance of effort j of the world worldly, I feel the utmostinto his more airy manner ; " I will confide | interest, I assure you, in what you tell me. I

ing him with money for these purposes ? "She sat, looking down ; but, at this ques-

tion, raised her eyes searchingly and a littleresentfully,

" Acquit me of impertinent curiosity, my

to you my doubt whether he has had manyadvantages. Whether—forgive my plainness—whether any great amount of confidence islikely to have been established between him-self and his most worthy father."

" I do not," said Louisa, flushing with herown great remembrance in that wise, "thinkitlikely."

" Or, between himself, and—I may trust toyour perfect understanding of my meaning Iam sure—and his highly esteemed brother-in-law."

She flushed deeper and deeper, and wasburning red when she replied in a faintervoice, " I do not think that likely, either."

" Mrs. Bounderby," said Harthouse, aftera short silence, "may there be a better con-fidence between yourself and me 1 Tom hasborrowed a considerable sum of you?"

"You will understand, Mr. Harthouse,"she returned, after some indecision : she hadbeen more or less uncertain, and troubledthroughout the conversation, and yet had in

cannot possibly be hard upon your brother. Iunderstand and share the wise considerationwith which you regard his errors. With allpossible respect both for Mr. Gradgrind andfor Mr. Bounderby, I think I perceive thathe has not been fortunate in his training.Bred at a disadvantage towards the societyin which he has his part to play, he rushesinto these extremes for himself, from oppositeextremes tliathave long been forced—with thevery best intentions we have no doubt—uponhim. Mr. Bounderby's fine bluff Englishindependence, though a most charmingcharacteristic, does not—as we have agreed—•invite confidence,remark that it is

If I might venture tothe least in the world

deficient in that delicacy to which a youthmistaken, a character misconceived, andabilities misdirected, would turn for reliefand guidance, I should express what itpresents to my own view."

As she sat looking straight before her, acrossthe changing lights upon, the grass into the

432 [Conducted by

darkness of the wood beyond, he saw in herface her application of his very distinctlyuttered words.

" All allowance," he continued, " must bemade. I have one great fault to find withTom, however, which I cannot forgive, andfor which I take him heavily to account."

Louisa turned her eyes to his face, andasked him what fault was that 1

"Perhaps," he returned, "I have saidenough. Perhaps it would have been better,on the whole, if no allusion to it had escapedme."

" You alarm me, Mr. Harthouse. Pray letme know it."

" To relieve you from needless apprehen-sion—and as this confidence regarding yourbrother, which I prize I am sure above allpossible things, has been established betweenus—I obey. I cannot forgive him for not beingmore sensible, in every word, look, and act ofhis life, of the affection of his best friend ; ofthe devotion of his best friend ; of her unself-ishness ; of her sacrifice. The return hemakes her, within my observation, is a verypoor one. What she has done for him demandshis constant love and gratitude, not his ill-humour and caprice. Careless fellow as I am,I am not so indifferent, Mrs. Bounderby, asto be regardless of this vice in your brother,or inclined to consider it a venial offence."

The wood floated before her, for her eyeswere suffused with tears. They rose from adeep well, long concealed, and her heart wasfilled with acute pain that found no relief inthem.

" In a word, it is to correct your brother inthis, Mrs. Bounderby, that I most aspire. Mybetter knowledge of his circumstances, andmy direction and advice in extricating him—rather valuable, I hope, as coming from ascapegrace on a much larger scale-—will giveme some influence over him, and all I gain Ishall certainly use towards this end. I havesaid enough, and more than enough. I seemto be protesting that I am a sort of good

he was en gaged in this latter pastime, and hiscolor changed.

" Halloa !" he stammered, "I didn't knowyou were here."

"Whose name, Tom," said Mr. Harthouse,putting his hand upon his shoulder and turn-ing him, so that they all three walked towardsthe house together, "have you been carvingon the trees ? "

"Whose name?" returned Tom. "Oh!You mean what girl's name?"

" You have a suspicious appearance of in-scribing some fair creature's on the bark,Tom."

" Not much of that, Mr. Harthouse, unlesssome fair creature with a slashing fortune at herown disposal would take a fancy to me. Or shemight be as ugly as she was rich, without anyfear of losing me. I'd carve her name as oftenas she liked."

" I'm afraid you are mercenary, Tom."" Mercenary," repeated Tom. "Who is not

mercenary ? Ask my sister."" Have you so proved it to be a failing of

mine, Tom ? " said Louisa, showing no othersense of his discontent and ill-nature.

"You know whether the cap fits you, Loo,"returned her brother sulkily. " If it does, youcan wear it."

" Tom is misanthropical to day, as all boredpeople are, now and then," said Mr. Hart-house. " Don't believe him, Mrs. Bounderby.He knows much better. I shall disclose someof his opinions of you, privately expressed tome, unless he relents a little."

" At all events, Mr. Harthouse," said Tom,softening in his admiration of his patron, butshaking his head sullenly too, " you can't tellher that I ever praised her for being merce-nary. I may have praised her for being thecontrary, and I should do it again if I had asgood reason. However, never mind this nowjit's not very interesting to you, and I am sickof the subject."

They walked on to the house, where Louisaquitted her visitor's arm and went in. He

fellow, when, upon my honor, I have not the stood looking after her, as she ascended theleast intention to make any protestation to steps, and passed into the shadow of the door ,that effect, and openly announce that I am then put his hand upon her brother's shouldernothing of the sort. Yonder, among the trees,"he added, having lifted up his eyes and lookedabout; for he had watched her closely untilnow ; " is your brother himself; no doubt,just come down. As he seems to be loitering

again, and invited him with a confidential nodto a walk in the garden.

" Tom, my fine fellow, I want to have a-word with you."

They had stopped among a disorder ofin this direction, it may be as well, perhaps, roses — it was part of Mr. Bounderby's-to walk towards him, and throw ourselves in i humility to keep Nickits's roses on a re-his way. He has been very silent and doleful i duced scale — and Tom sat down on aof late. Perhaps, his brotherly conscience is j terrace-parapet, plucking buds and picking-touched—if there are such things as con- i them to pieces ; while his powerful Familiarsciences. Though, upon my honor, I hear of j stood over him, with a foot upon the parapet,them much too often to believe in them." 1 and his figure easily resting on the arm sup-

He assisted her to rise, and she took his I ported by that knee. They were just visiblearm, and they advanced to meet the whelp, j from her window. Perhaps she saw them.He was idly beating the branches as he j " Tom, what's the matter ?"lounged along : or he stopped viciously to rip } " Oh! Mr. Harthouse," said Tom, with &the tuoss from the trees with his stick. He'groa.n, "I am hard up, and bothered out ofwas startled when they, came upon him while i my life."

Chirles Dickens.] HAKD TIMES. 433

" My good fellow, so am I.""You!" returned Tom. "You are the

picture of independence. Mr. Harthouse, Iam in a horrible mess. You have no ideawhat a state I have got myself into—whata state my sister might have got me out of,if she would only have done it."

He took to biting the rose-buds now, andtearing them away from his teeth with a handthat trembled like an infirm old man's.After one exceedingly observant look at him,his companion relapsed into his lightest air.

" Tom, you are inconsiderate : you expecttoo much of your sister. You have hadmoney of her, you dog, you know you have."

" Well, Mr. Harthouse, I know I have.How else was I to get it ? Here's Old Boun-derby always boasting that at my age helived upon two-pence a month, or somethingof that sort. Here's my father drawing whathe calls a line, and tying me down to it froma baby, neck and heels. Here's my motherwho never has anything of her own, excepther complaints. What is a fellow to do formoney, and where am I to look for it, if notto my sister !"

He was almost crying, and scattered thebuds about by dozens. Mr. Harthouse tookhim persuasively by the coat.

" But, mv dear Tom, if your sister has notgot it—"

" Not got it, Mr. Harthouse 1 I don't sayshe has got it. I may have wanted morethan she was likely to have got. But thenshe ought to get it. She could get it. It'sof no use pretending to make a secret ofmatters now, after what I have told you

Bounderby for her own sake, or for his sake,but for my sake. Then why doesn't she getwhat I want, out of him, for my sake 1 Sheis not obliged to say what she is going to dowith it; she is sharp enough; she couldmanage to coax it out of him, if she chose.Then why doesn't she choose, when I tell herof what consequence it is ? But no. Thereshe sits in his company like a stone, insteadof making herself agreeable and getting it•easily. I don't know what you may call this,but / call it unnatural conduct."

There was a piece of ornamental waterimmediately below the parapet, on the otherside, into which Mr. James Harthouse had avery strong inclination to pitch Mr. ThomasGradgrind Junior, as the injured men ofOoketown threatened to pitch their propertyinto the Atlantic. But he preserved his easyattitude ; and nothing more solid went overthe stone balustrades than the accumulatedrosebuds now floating about, a little surface-island.

" My dear Tom," said Harthouse, " let metry to be your banker."

" For God's sake," replied Tom, suddenly,"don't talk about bankers!" And verywhite he looked, in aontrast with the roses.Very white.

Mr. Harthouse, as a thoroughly well bredman, accustomed to the best society, was notto be surprised—he could as soon have beenaffected—but he raised his eyelids a littlemore, as if they were lifted by a feeble touchof wonder. Albeit it was as much againstthe precepts of his school to wonder, as itwas 'against the doctrines of the GradgrindCollege.

" What is the present need, Tom ? Threefigures 1 Out with them. Say what theyare."

" Mr. Harthouse," returned Tom, now ac-tually crying ; and his teai's were better thanhis injuries, however pitiful a figure he made ;" it's too late ; the money is of no use to meat present. I should have had it before, tobe of use to me. But I am very much obligedto vou ; you're a true friend."

A true friend! " Whelp, whelp !" thoughtMr. Harthouse, lazily ; " what an Ass youare! "

" And I take your offer as a great kind-ness," said Tom, grasping his hand. " As agreat kindness, Mr. Harthouse."

"Well," returned the other, " it may be ofmore use by and by. And, my good fellow,if you will open your bedevilments to mewhen they come thick upon you, I mayshow you better ways out of them than youcan find for yourself."

" Thank you," said Tom, shaking his headdismally, and chewing rosebuds. " I wish Ihad known you sooner, Mr. Harthouse."

" Now, you see, Tom," said Mr. Harthousein conclusion ; himself tossing over a roseor two, as a contribution to the island, which

already ; you know she didn't marry old was always drifting to the wall as if it wantedto become a part of the mainland ; " everyman is selfish in everything he does, and I amexactly like the rest of my fellow creatures.I am desperately intent; " the languor of hisdesperation being quite tropical ; " on yoursoftening towards your sister—which youought to do ; and on your being a more lovingand agreeable sort of brother—which youought to be."

" I will be, Mr. Harthouse."" No time like the present, Tom. Begin at

once."" Certainly I will. And my sister Loo

shall say so."" Having made which bargain, Tom," said

Harthouse, clapping him on the shoulderagain, with an air which left him at libertyto infer—as he did, poor fool—that this con-dition was imposed upon him in mere carelessgood nature, to lessen his sense of obligation," we will tear ourselves asunder until dinner-time."

When Tom appeared before dinner, thoughhis mind seemed heavy enough, his body wason the alert; and he appeared before Mr.Bounderby came in. "I didn't mean to becross, Loo," he said, giving her his hand, andkissing her. " I know you are fond of me,and you know I am fond of you."

434 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted bf

After this, there was a smile upon Louisa'sface that day, for some one else. Alas, forsome one else !

" So much the less is the whelp the onlycreature that she cares for," thought JamesHarthouse, reversing the reflection of his firstday's knowledge of her pretty face. "Somuch the less, so much the less."

FRENCH DOMESTICITY.

A FRENCHWOMAN'S characteristics are gene-rally that she is unexceptionally shod ; thatshe wears inimitable gloves ; that she has atoilette of two colours only, with a distractingway of wearing a shawl; that her manners arebewitching, full of small graces and delicately-shaded coquetteries, but never wanting iu thenicest appreciation of external proprieties, towhich her flirtations are always subordinate ;that she has a marvellous facility of walkingclean through the dirty streets of Paris, andas marvellous a knack of holding up her skirtswith one hand over her left hip (I have seenmany Englishwomen try to imitate this, butI never saw one succeed) ; that she has asupernatural preservation of youth, and abewildering habit of mistaking her friend'shusband for her own. These are her popularcharacteristics, and few people allow her anyother; but those who know her well, knowthat other thoughts besides dress and flirtingwork beneath those smooth bands of glossyhair, which look as if they had taken a life-time to bring into their present high con-dition of polish and intricate arrangement,and that the hands, in their close-fitting gloves,can do something better than make up capsor crochet purses ; that she is not only an.agreeable woman of society, but also a carefulhousekeeper, an affectionate mother, and asubmissive wife.

I Look at that pretty little woman, trippingpleasantly along the boulevard, and chattinggaily with the bonne in the high white Nor-mandy cap, who walks familiarly by her side.The bonne is carrying an infant, clothed allin white down to its boots, or in blue andwhite, which shows that it is vou6 au blanc,or au bleu et blanc : that is, consecrated to theVirgin for one, perhaps for two years, eitherfor fear or for gratitude. Our little womanherself is dressed in perfect good taste;from head to foot not an incongruouscolour, not an ill-fitting line. Her bonnetalone would madden the country millinerwho should try to discover the structuralsecret of all those clippings of silks, and laces,and ribbons, and how it was that each colourand material seemed to belong so entirely tothe others, and to harmonise with, or formthe complement of the whole. Examineclosely, and you will find this pretty bonnet,and that elegant-looking gown which fits likewax, are both of the simplest material;they appear to be good enough for an Englishduchess, but it is the richness of good taste

and arrangement, not of stuff, that our Parisiancoquette delights in ; and she knows how tolook better in a cheap print than manyothers in satin or in velvet. She has an ele-gantly-shaped basket in her hand, and shecarries it gracefully, and not at all as if it werefilled with common household stuff. But lift upthe cover, and you will find a bunch of sorrelleaves (oseille), or a thick slice of pumpkin(potiron), for to-day's dinner, if it be Friday,when they must have soupe maigre for con-science' sake ; or, perchance, if inclined toexpenditure, and the dinner may be gras, youwill see a small ris de veau (in a bill weknow of, this article of food, called in Englishsweetbread, was charged as the smile of acalf ), or a mutton cutlet, or a piece of bifstekfrom the entre-cdtes, or anything else smalland relishing for the plat de viande. Any-how, it is sure to contain something useful anddomestic, whether in the shape of fruit,vegetables, meat, or butter and eggs, of whichthere is a large consumption in a Frenchhousehold ; something that few English ladieswould buy for themselves, and fewer stillcarry home through Regent Street, whendressed, as our little friend is to-day. Wehave seen a marquise of the real old nobility,a rich woman too, carry a big flower-pot fromthe Marche des Fleurs, at the Madeleine, withas much indifference as our fine ladies wouldcarry a bouquet or a fan.

Let us follow this little woman, and seehow she lives in her own house, and ifshe be there only the gay butterfly shelooks in the streets, or if she have anygraver notion of the duties of life than dressand flirting. We follow her into a by-street,and into another by-street, a third, and afourth—perhaps to the Quartier du Boule,perhaps to Chaillot, or just in the contrarydirection, to the Marais, or to Bercy. Shesuddenly extinguishes herself in the yawningjaws of a porte-cochere in one of these by-streets, let us say in the Eue de la Pepi-nidre, near the Faubourg Saint HonortLShe stops at the porter's lodge to takeher key, and apeak a few words pleasantly to-the porter: in all probability more than afew, for our little woman loves talking,,and ia usually well informed on all thegossip of the quartier. She hears allthat has happened in her absence, includingthe arrest of certain unfortunate brigands,,who have been marched between files ofsoldiers with fixed bayonets, to the house ofthe eommlssaire, opposite : or that MadameUne-telle has gone out in a petit coup6 withMonsieur Un-tel; and, Mon Dieu !—but somepeople are blind. Our friend shrugs her shoul-ders in virtuous indignation, and, mindfulof a possible future, calls the conciergeMonsieur or Madame with praiseworthyperseverance; for she pays respect toevery one. In France the rendering, inEngland the exacting, of respect, marks thetrue blood, in rather diverse manners. She

Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS."—SH

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

223.] SATURDAY, JULY 1, 1854.

H A R D TIMES,BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXIV.THE next morning was too bright a morn-

ing for sleep, and James Harthouse roseearly, and sat in the pleasant bay windowof his dressing-room, smoking the rare to-bacco that had had so wholesome an influ-ence on his young friend. Reposing in thesunlight, with the fragrance of his easternpipe about him, and the dreamy smokevanishing into the air, so rich and soft withsummer odors, he reckoned up his advan-tages as an idle winner might count his gains.He was not at all bored for the time, andcould give his mind to it.'

He "had established a confidence with her,from which her husband was excluded. Hehad established a confidence with her, thatabsolutely turned upon her indiiferencetowards her husband, and the absence, nowand at all times, of any congeniality betweenthem. He had artfully, but plainly assuredher, that he knew her heart in its last mostdelicate recesses ; he had come so near to herthrough its tenderest sentiment; he hadassociated himself with that feeling ; and thebarrier behind which she lived, had meltedaway. All very odd, and very satisfactory !

And yet lie had not, even now, any ear-nest wickedness of purpose in him. Publiclyand privately, it were much better for theage in which he lived, that he and tb-e legionof whom he was one were designedly bad,than indifferent and purposeless. It is thedrifting icebergs setting with any current any-where, that wreck the ships.

When the Devil goeth about like a roar-ing lion, he goeth about in a shape by whichfew but savages and hunters are attracted.But, when he is trimmed, varnished, andpolished, according to the mode ; when heis aweary of vice, and aweary of virtue,used up as to brimstone, and used up as tobliss; then, whether he take to the servingout of red tape, or to the kindling of redfire, he is the very Devil.

So, James Harthouse reclined in the window,indolently smoking, and reckoning up thesteps he had taken on the road by which hehappened to be travelling. The end to which

it led was before him, pretty plainly ; buthe troubled himself with no calculationsabout it. What will be, will be.

As he had rather a long ride to take thatday—for there was a public occasion "to do"at some distance, which afforded a tolerableopportunity of going in for the Gradgrindmen—he dressed early, and went down tobreakfast. He was anxious to see if she hadrelapsed since the previous evening. No.He resumed where he had left off. Therewas a look of interest for him again.

He got through the day as much (or aslittle) to his own satisfaction, as was to be ex-pected under the fatiguing circumstances ;and came riding back at six o'clock. Therewas a sweep of some half mile between thelodge and the house, and he was riding alongat a foot pace over the smooth gravel, onceNickits's, when Mr. Bounderby burst out ofthe shrubbery with such violence as to makehis horse shy across the road.

" Harthouse ! " cried Mr. Bounderby." Have you heard ? "

" Heard what 1" said Harthouse, sooth-ing his horse, and inwardly favoring Mr.Bounderby with no good wishes.

" Then you haven't heard ! "" I have heard you, and so has this brute.

I have heard nothing else."Mr. Bounderby, red and hot, planted him-

self in the centre of the path before thehorse's head, to explode his bombshell withmore effect.

" The Bank's robbed ! "" You don't mean it! ""Hobbed last night, sir. Robbed in an

extraordinary manner. Robbed with a falsekey."

" Of much 1"Mr. Bounderby, in his desire to make the

most of it, really seemed mortified by beingobliged to reply, "Why, no ; not of verymuch. But it might have been."

"Of how much?"" Oh ! as a sum.—if you stick to a sum—of

not more than a hundred and fifty pound,"said Bounderby, with impatience. " But it'snot the sum ; it's the fact. It's the fact ofthe Bank being robbed, that's the importantcircumstance. I am surprised you don'tsee it."

"My dear Bounderby," said James, dis-

VOL. IX. 223

454 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

mounting, and giving his bridle to his servant," I do see it; and am as overcome as you canpossibly desire me to be, by the spectacleafforded to my mental view. Nevertheless,I may be allowed, I hope, to congratulate you—which I do with all my soul, 1 assure you—on your not having sustained a greaterloss."

" Thank'ee," replied Bounderby, in a short,ungracious manner. "But I tell you what.It might have been twenty thousandpound."

'•' I suppose it might."" Suppose it might ? By the Lord, you

may suppose so. By George!" said Mr.Bounderby, with sundry menacing nods andshakes of his head, " It might have beentwice twenty. There's no knowing what itwould have been, or would'nt have been, asit was, but for the fellows' being disturbed."

Louisa had come up now, and Mrs. Sparsit,and Bitzer.

" Here's Tom Gradgrind's daughter knowspretty well what it might have been, if youdon't," blustered Bounderby. " Dropped, sir,as if she was shot, when I told her! Neverknew her do such a thing before. Doesher credit, under the circumstances, in myopinion!"

She still looked faint and pale. JamesHarthouse begged her to take his arm. ; andas they moved on very slowly, asked how therobbery had been committed.

" Why, I am going to tell you," saidBounderby, irritably giving his arm to Mrs.Sparsit. " If you hadn't been so mightyparticular about the sum, I should havebegun to tell you before. You know thislady (for she is a lady), Mrs. Sparsit 1"

" I have already had the honor "—'•' Very well. And this young man, Bitzer,

you saw him too on the same occasion ?" Mr.Harthouse inclined his head in assent, andBitzer knuckled his forehead.

" Very well. They live at the Bank. Youknow they live at the Bank perhaps ? Verywell. Yesterday afternoon, at the close ofbusiness hours, everything was put away asusual. In the iron room that this youngfellow sleeps outside of, there was nevermind how much. In the little safe in youngTom's closet, the safe used for petty purposes,there was a hundred and fifty odd pound."

" Hundred and fifty-four, seven, one," saidBitzer.

" Come ! " retorted Bounderby, stopping towheel round upon him, " let's have none ofyour interruptions. It's enough to be rob-bed while you're snoring because you're toocomfortable, without being put right withyour four seven ones. I didn't snore, myself,when I was your age, let me tell you. Ihadn't victuals enough to snore. AndI didn't four seven one. Not if I knew it."

Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, in asneaking manner, and seemed at once par-ticularly impressed and depressed by the

instance last given of Mr. Bounderby'smoral abstinence.

" A hundred and fifty odd pound," resumedMr. Bounderby. " That sum of money, youngTom locked in his safe; not a very strongsafe, but that's no matter now. Everythingwas left, all right. Some time in the night,while this young fellow snored—Mrs. Sparsit,ma'am, you say you have heard him snore ? "

" Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, " I cannotsay that I have heard him precisely snore, andtherefore must not make that statement.But on winter evenings, when he has fallenasleep at his table, I have heard him, what Ishould prefer to describe as partially choke.I have heard him on such occasions producesounds of a nature similar to what may besometimes heard in Dutch clocks. Not,"said Mrs. Sparsit, with a lofty sense of givingstrict evidence, "that I would convey anyimputation on his moral character. Far fromit. I have always considered Bitzer a youngman of the most upright principle ; and tothat I beg to bear my testimony."

" Well ! " said the exasperated Bounderby,"while he was snoring, or choking, or Dutch-clocking, or something or other—being asleep—some fellows, somehow, whether previouslyconcealed in the house or not remains to beseen, got to young Tom's safe, forced it, andabstracted the contents. Being then dis-turbed, they made off; letting themselves outat the main door, and double-locking it again(it was double-locked, and the key underMrs. Sparsit's pillow) with a false key, whichwas picked up in the street near the Bank,about twelve o'clock to-day. No alarm takesplace, till this chap, Bitzer, turns out thismorning and begins to open and prepare theoffices for business. Then, looking at Tom'ssafe, he sees the door ajar, and finds the lockforced, and the money gone."

" Where is Tom, by the by ?" asked Hart-house, glancing round.

"He has been helping the police," saidBounderby, " and stays behind at the Bank.I wish, these fellows had tried to rob mewhen I was at his time of life. They wouldhave been out of pocket, if they had investedeighteenpence in the job; I can tell 'emthat."

" Is anybody suspected 1"" Suspected ? I should think there was

somebody suspected. Egod !" said Bounderby,relinquishing Mrs. Sparsit's arm to wipe hisheated head, "Josiah Bounderby of Coke-town is not to be plundered and nobodysuspected. No, thank you ! "

Might Mr. Harthouse inquire Who wassuspected ?

" Well," said Bounderby, stopping andfacing about to confront them all, " I'll tellyou. It's not to be mentioned everywhere ;it's not to be mentioned anywhere ; in orderthat the scoundrels concerned (there's a gangof 'em) may be thrown off their guard. Sotake this in confidence. Now wait a bit."

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 455

Mr. Bounderby wiped his head again. " What j seen—night after night—watching the Bank ?—To his lurking about there—after dark 'I—-To its striking Mrs. Sparsit—that he couldbe lurking for no good—To her calling Bitzer's

should you say to ;" here he violently exploded ; " to a Hand being in it 1"

" I hope," said Harthouse, lazily, " not ourfriend Blackpot 1"

" Say Pool instead of Pot, sir," returneeBounderby, " and that's the man."

Louisa faintly uttered some word of meredulity and surprise.

" O yes ! I know ! " said Bounderby, imme-diately catching at the sound. " I knowI am used to that. I know all about itThey are the finest people in the world, thesefellows are. They have got the gift of the gabthey have. They only want to have theiirights explained to them, they do. But "tell you what. Show me a dissatisfied Handand I'll show you a man that's fit for anything bad, I don't care what it is."

Another of the popular fictions of Coketown, which some pains had been taken todisseminate—and which some people reall;believed.

" But I am acquainted with these chaps,said Bounderby. " I can read 'em off, likebooks. Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am, I appeal toyou. "What warning did I give that fellowthe first time he set foot in the house, whenthe express object of his visit was to know howhe could knock B^eligion over, and floor theEstablished Church ? Mrs. Sparait, in pointof high connexions, you are en a level withthe aristocracy,—did I say, or did I not sayto that fellow, ' you can't hide the truth fromme ; you are not the kind of fellow I likeyou'll come to no good.'?"

" Assuredly, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit•" you did, in a highly impressive manner.give him such an admonition."

" When he shocked you, ma'am," saidBounderby; " when he shocked your feel-ings ?"

"Yes, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with ameek shake of her head, " he certainly did

my feelings may be weaker on such points—more foolish, if the term is preferred—thanthey might have been, if I had always occu-pied my present position/

Mr. Bounderby stared with a burstingpride at Mr. Harthouse, as much as to say," I am the proprietor of this female, and she'sworth your attention, I think 1" Then,resumed his discourse.

"You can recall for yourself, Harthouse,what I said to him when you saw him. Ididn't mince the matter with him. I amnever mealy with 'em. I KNOW 'em. "Verywell, sir. Three days after that, he bolted.Went off, nobody knows where : as my motherdid in my infancy—only with this difference,that he is a worse subject than my mother,if possible. What did he do before he went ?What do you say ;" Mr. Bounderby, withhis hat in his hand, gave a beat upon thecrown at every little division of his sentences,

attention to him, and their both takingnotice of him —And to its appearing oninquiry to-day—that he was also noticed bythe neighbours ]" Having come to theclimax, Mr. Bounderby, like an orientaldancer, put his tambourine on his head.

" Suspicious," said James Harthouse, and had put it up forher ; and she walked under its shade, thoughthe sun did not shine there.

"For the present, Loo Bounderby," saidher husband, "here's Mrs. Sparsit to lookafter. Mrs. Spars-it's nerves have been actedupon by this business, and she'll stay here aday or two. So, make her comfortable."

" Thank you very much, sir/' that discreet[ady observed, " but pray do not let My com-fort be a consideration. Anything will do'or Me."

It soon appeared that if Mrs. Sparsit had a'ailing in her association with that domestic:stablishment, it was that she was so exces-

sively regardless of herself and regardful ofothers, as to be a nuisance. On being shownler chamber, she was so dreadfully sensible>f its comforts as to suggest the inferencehat she would have preferred to pass the

night on the mangle in the laundry. True,as if it were a tambourine ; " to his being! the Powlers and the Scadgerses were accus-

456 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

tomed to splendor, " but it is my duty toremember," Mrs. Sparsit was fond of observ-ing with a lofty grace : particularly when anyof the domestics were present, " that what Iwas, I am no longer. Indeed," said she,"if I could altogether cancel the remem-brance that Mr. Sparsit was a Powler, orthat I myself am related to the Scadgersfamily ; or if I could even revoke the fact,and make myself a person of commondescent and ordinary connexions ; I wouldgladly do so. I should think it, under exist-ing circumstances, right to do so." The sameHermitical state of mind led to her renuncia-tion of made dishes and wines at dinner,until fairly commanded by Mr. Bounderbyto take them ; when she said, " Indeed youare very good, sir;" and departed from aresolution, of which she had made ratherformal and public announcement, to "wait forthe simple mutton." She was likewise deeplyapologetic for wanting the salt; and, feelingamiably bound to bear out Mr. Bounderbyto the fullest extent in the testimony he hadborne to her nerves, occasionally sat backin her chair and silently wept; at whichperiods a tear of large dimensions, like acrystal ear-ring, might be observed (orrather, must be, for it insisted on publicnotice) sliding down her Boman nose.

But Mrs. Sparsit's greatest point, first andlast, was her determination to pity Mr.Bounderby. There were occasions when inlooking at him she was involuntarily movedto shake her head, as who should say, " Alaspoor Yorick ! " After allowing herself to bebetrayed into these evidences of emotion, shewould force a lambent brightness, and wouldbe fitfully cheerful, and would say, "Youhave still good spirits, sir, I am thankful tofind;" and would appear to hail it as a blesseddispensation that Mr. Bounderby bore up ashe did. One idiosyncrasy for which sheoften apologised, she found it excessivelydifficult to conquer. She had a curious pro-pensity to call Mrs. Bounderby " Miss Grad-grind," and yielded to it some three or fourscore times in the course of the evening.Her repetition of this mistake covered Mrs.Sparsit with modest confusion ; but indeed,she said, it seemed so natural to say MissGradgrind : whereas, to persuade herselfthat the young lady whom she had had thehappiness of knowing from a child could bereally and truly Mrs. Bounderby, she foundalmost impossible. It was a further singu-larity of this remarkable case, that the moreshe thought about it, the more impossible itappeared ; "the differences," she observed,being such—"

In the drawing-room after dinner, Mr.Bounderby tried the case of the robbery,examined the witnesses, made notes of theevidence, found the suspected persons guilty,and sentenced them to the extreme punish-ment of the law. That done, Bitzer was dis-missed to town with instructions to recom-

mend Tom to come home by the mail-train.

When candles were brought, Mrs. Sparsitmurmured, " Don't be low, 'sir. Pray let mesee you cheerful, sir, as 1 used to do." Mr.Bounderby, upon whom these consolationshad begun to produce the effect of makinghim, in a bull-headed blundering way, sen-timental, sighed like some large sea-animal." I cannot bear to see you so, sir," saidMrs. Sparsit. " Try a hand at backgammon ysir, as you used to do when I had the honorof living under your roof." "I haven't playedbackgammon, ma'am," said Mr. Bounderby^"since that time." "No, sir," said Mrs.Sparsit, soothingly, "I am aware that youhave not. I remember that Miss Gradgrindtakes no interest in the game. But I shallbe happy, sir, if you will condescend."

They played near a window, opening on thegarden. It was a fine night: not moonlight,,but sultry and fragrant. Louisa and Mr.Harthouse strolled out into the garden, wheretheir voices could be heard in the stillness,though not what they said. Mrs. Sparsit,from her place at the backgammon board,was constantly straining her eyes to piercethe shadows without. " What's the matter,ma'am ? " said Mr. Bounderby ; " you don'tsee a Fire, do you ?" " Oh dear no, sir,"returned Mrs. Sparsit, " I was thinking of thedew ?" " What have you got to do withthe dew, ma'am ?" said Mr. Bounderby.'•'It's not myself, sir," returned Mrs. Spar-sit, "I am fearful of Miss Gradgrind'staking cold." " She never takes cold," saidMr. Bounderby. " Eeally, sir 1" said Mrs.Sparsit. And was affected with a cough inher throat.

When the time drew near for retiring, Mr.Bounderby took a glass of water. " Oh, sir ]"said Mrs. Sparsit. " Not your sherry warm,with lemon-peel and nutmeg ? " " Why, Ihave got out of the habit of taking itnow, ma'am," said Mr. Bounderby. " Themore's the pity, sir," returned Mrs. Spar-sit ; " you are losing all your good old habits.Cheer up, sir ! If Miss Gradgrind will per-mit me, I will offer to make it for you, as Ihave often done."

Miss Gradgrind readily permitting Mrs.Sparsit to do anything she pleased, thatconsiderate lady made the beverage, andhanded it to Mi-. Bounderby. "It will doyou good, sir. It will warm your heart.It is the sort of thing you want, and ought totake, sir." And when Mr. Bounderby said,"Your health, ma'am ! " she answered withgreat feeling, " Thank you, sii\ The same to-you, and happiness also." Finally, she wishedhim good night, with great pathos ; and Mr.Bounderby went to bed, with a maudlin per-suasion that he had been crossed in some-thing tender, though he could not, for his lifehave mentioned what it was.

Long alter Louisa had undressed andlain down, she watched and waited for her

Charles Dickens.] HAKD TIMES. 457

brother's coming home. That could hardly be,she knew, until an hour past midnight; butin the country silence, which did anythingbut calm the trouble of her thoughts, timelagged wearily. At last, when the darknessand stillness had seemed for hours to thickenone another, she heard the bell at the gate.She felt as though she would have been gladthat it rang on until daylight ; but it ceased,and the circles of its last sound spread outfainter and wider in the air, and all was deadagain.

She waited yet some quarter of an hour, asshe judged. Then she arose, put on a looserobe, and went out of her room in the dark,and up the staircase to her brother's room.His door being shut, she softly opened it andspoke to him, approaching his bed with anoiseless step. ,

She kneeled down beside it, passed her armover his neck, and drew his face to hers. Sheknew that he only feigned to be asleep, butshe said nothing to him.

He started by and by as if he were justthen awakened, and asked who that was, andwhat was the matter 1

" Tom, have you anything to tell me ?If ever you loved me in your life, and haveanything concealed from every one besides,tell it to me."

" I don't know what you mean, Loo. Youhave been dreaming."

" My dear brother:" she laid her head downon his pillow, and her hair flowed over himas if she would hide him from every one butherself: " is there nothing that you have totell me ? Is there nothing you can tell me,if you will. You can tell me nothing that willchange me. O Tom, tell me the truth ! "

" I don't know what you mean, Loo."" As you lie here alone, my dear, in the

melancholy night, so you must lie somewhereone night, when even I, if I am living then,shall have left you. As I am here beside you,barefoot,unclothed,undistinguishable in dark-ness, so must I lie through all the night ofmy decay, until I am dust. In the name of thattime, Tom, tell me the truth now ! "

" What is it you want to know ? "" You may be certain ;" in the energy of

her love she took him to her bosom as if hewere a child ; " that I will not reproach you.You may be certain that I will be com-passionate and true to you. You may becertain that I will save you at whatever cost.O Tom, have you nothing to tell me ? Whispervery softly. Say only 'yes,' and I shallunderstand you ! "

She turned her ear to his lips, but heremained doggedly silent.

" Not a word, Tom 1"" How can I say Yes, or how can I say No,

when I don't know what you mean 1 Loo,you are a brave, kind girl, worthy I begin tothink of a better brother than I am. Bat Ihave nothing more to say. Go to bed, go tobed."

" You are tired," she whispered presently,more in her usual way.

" Yes, I am quite tired out."" You have been so hurried and disturbed

to-dav. Have any fresh discoveries beenmade"? "

" Only those you have heard of, from—him."

" Tom, have you said to any one that wemade a visit to those people, and that we sawthose three together ? "

"No. Didn't you yourself particularly askme to keep it quiet, when you asked me togo there with you ?"

" Yes. But I did not know then what wasgoing to happen."

" Nor I neither. How could I ?"He was very quick upon her with this

retort." Ought I to say, after what has happened,"

said his sister, standing by the bed—she hadgradually withdrawn herself and risen, " thatI made that visit 1 Should I say so 1 MustI say so?"

"GoodHeavens,Loo," returned her brother,"you are not in the habit of asking my advice.Say what you like. If you keep it to your-self, I shall keep it to myself. If you discloseit, there's an end of it."

It was too dark for either to see the other'sface; but each seemed very attentive, and toconsider before speaking.

" Tom, do you believe the man I gave themoney to, is really implicated in this crime 1"

" I don't know. I don't see why he shouldn'tbe."

" He seemed to me an honest man.""Another person may seem to you dis-

honest, and yet not be so."There was a pause, for he had hesitated

and stopped." In short," resumed Tom, as if he had

made up his mind, "if you come to that, per-haps I was so far from being altogether inhis favor, that I took htm outside the doorto tell him quietly, that I thought he mightconsider himself very well off to get such awindfall as he had got from my sister, andthat I hoped he would make a good use of it.You remember whether I took him out ornot. I say nothing against the man ; he maybe a very good fellow, for anything I know ;I hope he is."

"Was he offended by what you said ?"" No, he took it pretty well; he was civil

enough. Where are you, Loo 1" He sat upin bed and kissed her. " Good night, my dear,good night!"

"You have nothing more to tell me ?"" No. What should I have 1 You wouldn't

have me tell you a lie']""I wouldn't have you do that to-night,

Tom, of all the nights in your life ; many andmuch happier as I hope they will be."

" Thank you, my dear Loo. I am so tired,that I am sure I wonder I don't say anything,

I to get to sleep. Go to bed, go to bed."

458 HOUSEHOLD WOEUS. [Conducted by

Kissing her again, he turned round, drewthe coverlet over his head, and lay as still asif that time had come by which she had adjuredhim. She stood for some time at the bedsidebefore she slowly moved away. She stoppedat the door, looked back when she had openedit, and asked him if he had called her 1 Buthe lay still, and she softly closed the doorand returned to her room.

Then the wretched boy looked cautiouslyup and found her gone, crept out of bed,fastened his door, and threw himself upon hispillow again : tearing his hair, moroselycrying, grudgingly loving her, hatefully butirnpeiiitently spurning himself, and no lesshatefully and unprofitably spurning all thegood in the world.

THE LEABNED SAILOR

ONCE upon a time it was the ne'er-do-wellof any family who went to sea, and he wentout under the impression that he would notdo very well, even if he should rise amongsailors to the head of his profession : alwayssupposing that he had not entered the navyor John Company's service. He would be,when at his best, only the captain of atrading vessel, a man scarcely distinguishedintellectually from a dealer in marine stores.His occupation was held to be no voucher forhis respectability, or for his knowledge of any-thing more than a few practical details aboutropes and sails and compasses. Little morescience was credited to him for his power ofguiding his ship from London to Eio Janeirothan would be supposed to be in the posses-sion of a cab-driver able to guide his horse fromPeckham to the Bank. Now, however, times,if they are not much changed, are changing,and the advance from barber-surgery to anage producing Jeuners and John Hunters,was not greater than the advance will befrom the decaying race of skippers to the agethat will produce merchant officers lookingupon their profession as a learned one, andranking with the best class in the aristocracyof intellect.

That the youngster who goes to sea shallever be considered by his friends really tohave embraced one of the learned professionsmay seem a remarkably foolish expectation.Time will show. Medicine was once acalling exercised only by slaves, who had noreason to anticipate its present dignity. Buta boy, it will be said, goes to his ship whilevery young, and afterwards has little time forstudy. For book-study, perhaps. Yet,inasmuch as book-learning consists largely ofintelligence received by hearsay from allquarters of the world, he may be no bad scho-lar whose work carries him about the world,and who is qualified to observe those thingsfor himself in nature which are by othersonly seen in print. As one may learn Frenchamong Frenchmen, Spanish among Spaniards,almost without opening a dictionary, so may a

sailor, who is always seeing that about whichshore-going philosophers can only read andwrite, become, with a right use of his timeand opportunities, ten times more trulylearned than a landsman, — and that, too,,perhaps, by help of but a tenth part of thelandsman's literary toil. A certain quantityof book-work is of course essential, as themeans by which a sailor becomes qualified tounderstand what he sees, knows what to lookfor, and how to observe. The learned sailorwill not be in a condition to dispense withbooks ; we only contend that he can becomelearned without more reading than his mode-of life will readily permit.

And there will hereafter be great need thatthe merchant officer should be, in the broadand true sense of the word—by which westeadily abide—a learned man. The samechange is .coming over the profession of thesailor that has come over other professionslong ago. Its means and appliances areenlarging. Knowledge has increased enoughto make it evident that an investigation ofmany secrets, and an application of manyknown principles of nature, are more andmore becoming necessary for its perfectpractice. The sailor in a hurricane nowuses, or ought to use, his knowledge of thetheory of storms, and saves his vessel fromdistress or loss easily enough by help of alittle of his learning. The sailor on a voyage-observes winds and currents ; and, thanks to-a subtle comprehension of what we may callthe internal anatomy of the seas traversedby his vessel—such, for example, as may befound broadly displayed in LieutenantMaury's Wind and Current Charts, and hisSailing Directions—he makes clipping voy-ages, that bless the man of trade with quickreturns, and bless the world through the-increased vitality of commerce. Nearly a thou-sand merchant captains now leave the Ame-rican ports freighted with results of the latestinvestigations, and at the same time in-structed how to investigate, so that freshinformation may be stored. Their voyages-to California are, through such knowledge,shortened by a third ; and the seamen whoare competent to take notes, sailing abroad inall directions, have determined accuratelythe limits within which sperm-whales andother whales are found, to the greathelp of the whale-fishery; have discovered asystem of southwardly monsoons in theequatorial regions of the Atlantic, and onthe west coast of America ; have determineda vibratory motion of the trade-wind zones,,with their belts of calms and their limits forevery month of the year ; have added greatly;to the distinctness of our knowledge on thesubject of the Gulf Stream ; have discoveredthe existence of currents nearly as remark-able in the Indian Ocean, on the coast ofChina, and on the north-western coast ofAmerica, besides storing up other knowledge,,all in the most direct way conducive to the