"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS"—SHAKESPEARE,

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 218.] SATURDAY, MAY 27, 1854. [PRICK 2c?.

H A R D TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XVII.

A SUNNY midsummer day. There was sucha thing sometimes, even in Coketown.

Seen from a distance in such weather,Coketown lay shrouded in a haze of its own,which appeared impervious to the sun's rays.You only knew the town was there, becauseyou knew there could have been no suchsulky blotch upon the prospect without atown. A blur of soot and smoke, now con-fusedly tending this way, now that way, nowaspiring to the vault of heaven, now murkilycreeping along the earth, as the wind roseand fell, or changed its quarter : a dense form-less jumble, with sheets of cross light in it,that showed nothing but masses of darkness :—Coketown in the distance was suggestiveof itself, though not a brick of it could beseen.

The wonder was, it was there at all. Ithad been ruined so often, that it was amazinghow it had borne so many shocks. Surelythere never was' such fragile china-ware asthat of which the millers of Coketown weremade. Handle them never so lightly, and theyfell to pieces with such ease that you mightsuspect them of having been flawed before.They were ruined, when they were required tosend labouring children to school; they wereruined, when inspectors were appointed tolook into their works; they were ruined, whensuch inspectors considered it doubtful "whe-ther they were quite justified in .choppingpeople up with their machinery: they wereutterly undone, when it was hinted that per-haps they need not always make quite so muchsmoke. Besides Mr. Bounderby's gold spoonwhich was generally received in Coketown,another prevalent fiction was very popularthere. It took the form of a threat. "When-ever a Coketowner felt he was ill-used—that is to say, whenever he was not left entirelyalone, and it was proposed to hold him account-able for the consequences of any of his acts—hewas sure to come out with the awful menace,that he would " sooner pitch his property intothe Atlantic," This had terrified the HomeSecretary within an inch of his life, on severaloccasions.

However, the Coketowners were so patri-otic after all, that they never had pitchedtheir property into the Atlantic yet, but onthe contrary, had been kind enough to takemighty good care of it. So there it was, inthe haze yonder; and it increased and multi-plied.

The streets were hot and dusty on thesummer day, and the sun was so bright thatit even shone through the heavy vapourdrooping over Coketown, and could not belooked at steadily. Stokers emerged fromlow underground doorways into factory yards,and sat on steps, and posts, and palings,wiping their swarthy visages, and contem-plating coals. The whole town seemed to befrying in oil. There was a stifling smellof hot oil everywhere. The steam-enginesshone with it, the dresses of the Handswere soiled with it, the mills throughout theirmany stories oozed and trickled it. The at-mosphere of those Fairy palaces was like thebreath of the simoom ; and their inhabitants,wasting with heat, toiled languidly in thedesert. But no temperature made the melan-choly mad elephants more mad or more sane.Their wearisome heads went up and down atthe same rate, in hot weather and cold, wetweather and dry, fair weather and foul.The measured motion of their shadows onthe walls, was the substitute Coketown had toshow for the shadows of rustling woods; while,,for the summer hum of insects, it could offer,all the year round, from the dawn of Mondayto the night of Saturday, the whirr of shaftsand wheels.

Drowsily they whirred all through thissunny day, making the passenger moresleepy and more hot as he passed the hum-ming walls of the mills. Sun-blinds, andsprinklings of water, a little cooled the main,streets and the shops ; but the mills, andthe courts and alleys, baked at a fierceheat. Down upon the river that was blackand thick with dye, some Coketown boys whowere at large—-a rare sight there—rowed acrazy boat, which made a spumous track uponthe water as it jogged along, while every dipof an oar stirred up vile smells. But the sunitself, however beneficent generally, was lesskind to Coketown than hard frost, and rarelylooked intently into any of its closer regionswithout engendering more death than life*

218.

334 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

So does the eye of Heaven itself become anevil eye, when incapable or sordid hands areinterposed between it and the things it looksupon to bless.

Mrs. Sparsit sat m her afternoon apartmentat the Bank, on the shadier side of the fryingstreet. Office-hours were over; and at thatperiod of the day, in warm-weather, she usuallyembellished with her genteel presence, a mana-gerial board-room over the public oflBce. Herown private sitting-room was a story higher,at the window of which post of observationshe was ready, every morning, to greet Mr.Bounderby as he came across the road, withthe sympathising recognition appropriate to aVictim. He had been married now, a year ;and Mrs. Sparsit had never released him fromher determined pity a moment.

The Bank offered no violence to the whole-some monotony of the town. It was anotherred brick house, with black outside shutters,green inside blinds, a black street door uptwo white steps, a brazen door-plate, and abrazen door handle full stop. It was a sizelarger than Mr. Bounderby's house, as otherhouses were from a size to half-a-dozen sizessmaller; in all other particulars, it wasstrictly according to pattern.

Mrs. Sparsit was conscious that by comingin the evening-tide among the desks andwriting implements, she shed a feminine, notto say also aristocratic, grace upon the office.Seated, with her needlework or netting ap-paratus, at the window, she had a self-lauda-tory sense of correcting, by her lady-likedeportment, the rude business aspect ofthe place. With this impression of herinteresting character upon her, Mrs. Sparsitconsidered herself, in some sort, the BankFairy. The townspeople who, in their pass-ing and re-passing, saw her there, regardedher as the Bank Dragon, keeping watch overthe treasures of the mine.

What those treasures were, Mrs, Sparsitknew as little as they did. Gold and silvercoin, precious paper, secrets that if divulgedwould bring vague destruction upon vaguepersons (generally, however, people whomshe disliked), were the chief items in herideal catalogue thereof. For the rest, sheknew that after office-hour^, she reigned su-preme over all the office furniture, and over alocked-up iron room with three locks, againstthe door of which strong chamber thelight porter laid hia head every night, on atruckle bed that disappeared at cockcrow.Further, she was lady paramount over certainvaults in the basement, sharply spiked offfrom communication with the predatoryworld; and over the relics of the currentday's work, consisting of blots of ink, worn-out pens, fragments of wafers, and scraps ofpaper torn so small, that nothing interestingcould ever be deciphered on them when Mrs.Sparsit tried. Lastly, she was guardian over alittle armoury of cutlasses and carbines, ai'~rayed in vengeful order above one of the official

chimney-pieces; and over that respectabletradition never to be separated from a placeof business claiming to be wealthy—a row offire-buckets—vessels calculated to be of nophysical utility on any occasion, but observedto exercise a fine moral influence, almost equalto bullion, on most beholders.

A deaf serving-woman and the light portercompleted Mrs. Sparsit's empire. - The deafserving-woman was rumoured to be wealthy;and a saying had for years gone about amongthe lower orders of Coketown, that she wouldbe murdered some night when the Bank wasshut, for the sake of her money. It wasgenerally considered, indeed, that she hadbeen due some time, and ought to have fallenlong ago ; but she had kept her life, and hersituation, with an ill-conditioned tenacity thatoccasioned much offence and disappointment.

Mrs. Sparsifc's tea was just set for her on apert little table, with its tripod of legs in anattitude, which she insinuated after office-hours, into the company of the stern, leathern-topped, long board-table that bestrode themiddle of the room. The light porter placedthe tea-tray on it, knuckling his forehead asa form of homage.

" Thank you, Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit." Thank you, ma'am," returned the light

porter. He was a very light porter indeed ;as light as in the days when he blinkinglydefined a horse, for girl number twenty.

'• All is shut up, Bitzer?" said Mrs. Sparsit." All is shut up, ma'am.""And what," said Mrs. Sparsit, pouring

out her tea, " is the news of the day ]Anything ?"

" Well, ma'am, I can't say that I havebeard anything particular. Our people area bad lot, ma'am ; but that is no news, un-fortunately."

"What are the restless wretches doingnow ? " asked Mrs. Sparsit.

" Merely going on in the old way, ma'am.Uniting, and leaguing, and engaging to standby one another."

"It is much to be regretted," said Mrs.Sparsit, making her nose more Roman andtier eyebrows more Coriolanian in the strengthof her severity, "that the united mastersallow of any such class combinations."

" Yes, ma'am," said Bitzer." Being united themselves, they ought one

and all to set their faces against employingany man who is united with any other man,"said Mrs. Sparsit.

" They have done that, ma'am," returnedBitzer; "but—it rather fell through, ma'am."

' I do not pretend to understand thesethings," said Mrs. Sparsit, with dignity, " mylot having been originally cast in a widelydifferent sphere; and Mr. Sparsit, as a Powler,jeing also quite out of the pale of any suchdissensions. I only know that these peoplemust be conquered, and that it's high time'.t was done, once for all."

" Yes, ma'am," returned Bitzer, with a

Charles Dickens.] HAED TIMES. 335

demonstration of great respect for Mrs. I that you did object to names being used, andSparsit's oracular authority. " You couldn't they're always best avoided."put it clearer, I am sure, ma'am."

As this was his usual hour for having alittle confidential chat with Mrs. Sparsit, andas he had already caught her eye and seenthat she was going to ask him something,he made a pretence of arranging the rulers,inkstands, and so forth, while that lady wenton with her tea, glancing through the open•window down into the street.

" Has it been a busy day, Bitzer ? " askedMrs. Sparsit.

" Not a very busy day, my lady. Aboutan average day." He now and then slidedinto my lady, instead of ma'am, as an invo-luntary acknowledgment of Mrs. Sparsit'spersonal dignity and claims to reverence.

" The clerks," said Mrs. Sparsit, carefullybrushing an imperceptible crumb of bread andbutter from her left-hand mitten, " are trust-worthy, punctual, and industrious, of course V

With"Yes, ma'am, pretty fair, ma'am.the usual exception."

He held the respectable office of generalspy and informer in the establishment, forwhich volunteer service he received a present

' Please to remember that I have a chargehere." said Mrs. Sparsit, with her air ofstate. "I hold a trust here, Bitzer, underMr. Bounderby. However improbable bothMr. Bounderby and myself might havedeemed it years ago, that he would everbecome my patron, making me an annualcompliment, I cannot but regard him in thatlight. From Mr. Bounderby I have receivedevery acknowledgment of my social station,and every recognition of my family descent,that I could possibly expect. More, far more.Therefore, to my patron I will be scrupulouslytrue. And I do not consider, I will not con-sider, I cannot consider," said Mrs. Sparsit,with a most extensive stock on hand of honorand morality, " that I should be scrupulouslytrue, if I allowed names to be mentionedunder this roof, that are unfortunately—mostunfortunately—no doubt of that—connectedwith his."

Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, andagain begged pardon.

"No, Bitzer," continued Mrs. Sparsit,j " say ah individual, and I will hear you ;

at Christmas, over and above his weekly say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me."wage. He had grown into an extremely clear- " With the usual exception, ma'am," saidheaded, cautious, prudent young man, who I Bitzer, trying back, " of an individual."was safe to rise in the world. His mind was j " Ah—h ! " Mrs. Sparsit repeated theso exactly regulated, that he had no affections j ejaculation, the shake of the head over heror passions. All his proceedings were the j tea-cup, and the long gulp, as taking up theresult of the nicest and coldest calculation ; I conversation again at the point where it hadand it was not without cause that Mrs. Sparsit j been interrupted.habitually observed of him, that he was a " An individual, ma'am," said Bitzer, " hasyoung man of the steadiest principle she had never been what he ought to have been, sinceever known. Having satisfied himself, on | he first came into the place. He is a dissi-his father's death, that his mother had a right | pated, extravagant idler. He is not worthof settlement in Coketown, this excellent! his salt, ma'am. He wouldn't get it either,young economist had asserted that right for j if he hadn't a friend and relation at court,her with such a steadfast adherence to the! ma'am ! "principle of the case, that she had been shut j " Ah—h ! " said Mrs. Sparsit, with anotherup in the workhouse ever since. It must be i melancholy shake of her head,admitted that he allowed her half a pound of i "I only hope, ma'am," pursued Bitzer,tea a year, which was weak in him : first, j " that his friend and relation may not supplybecause all gifts have an inevitable tendency him with the means of carrying on. Other-to pauperise the recipient, and secondly, wise, ma'am, we know out of whose pocketbecause his only reasonable transaction in j that money comes."that commodity would have been to buy it for j " Ah—h !" sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, withas little as he could possibly give, and sell it; another melancholy shake of her head,for as much as he could possibly get; it hav- j " He is to be pitied, ma'am, The last partying been clearly ascertained by philosophers j I have alluded to, is to be pitied, ma'am,"that in this is comprised the whole duty of i said Bitzer.man—not a part of man's duty, but the whole, j " Yes, Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit. " I have

" Pretty fair, ma'am. With the usual i always pitied the delusion, always."exception, ma'am," repeated Bitzer. j " As to an individual, ma'am," said Bitzer,

" Ah—h ! " said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her j dropping his voice and drawing nearer, " hehead over her tea-cup, and taking a long gulp, j is as improvident as any of the people in this

" Mr. Thomas, ma'am, I doubt Mr. Thomas i town. And you know what their improvi-very much, ma'am, I don't like his ways at i dence is, ma'am. No one could wish to knowall." {it better than a lady of your eminence

" Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very j does."impressive manner, "do you recollect my " They would do well," returned Mrs. Spar-having saidnames ?"

anything to you respecting

" I beg your pardon, ma'am. It's quite true

sit, " to take example by you, Bitzer."" Thank you, ma'am. But, since you do

refer to me, now look at me, ma'am. I have

S36 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted bj.

put by a little, ma'am, already. That gratuitywhich I receive at Christmas, ma'am : I nevertouch it. I don't even go the length of mywages, though they're not high, ma'am.Why can't they,do as I have done, ma'am 1What one person can do, another can do."

This, again, was among the fictions of Coke-town. Any capitalist there, who had made sixtythousand pounds out of sixpence, always pro-i'essed to wonder why the sixty thousandnearest Hands didn't each make sixty thou-sand pounds out of sixpence, and more orless reproached them every one for notaccomplishing the little feat. , What I did,you can do. Why don't you go and doi t?

" As to their wanting recreations, ma'am,"said Bitzer, " it's stuff and nonsense. / don'twant recreations. I never did, and I nevershall; I don't like 'em. As to their com-bining together ;, there are many of them, Ihave no doubt, that by watching and inform-ing upon one another could earn a trifle nowand then, whether in money or good will, andimprove their livelihood,they improve it, ma'am 1

Then, why don'tIt's the first con-

sideration of a rational creature, and it's whatthey pretend to want."

" Pretend indeed ! " said Mrs. Sparsit." I am sure we are constantly hearing,

ma'am, till it becomes quite nauseous, con-cerning their wives and families," said Bitzer." Why look at me, ma'am ! / don't want awife and family. Why should they 1"

" Because they are improvident," said Mrs.Sparsit.

"Yes, ma'am," returned Bitzer, "that'swhere it is. If they were more provident,and less perverse, ma'am, what wouldthey do ? They would say, ' While my hatcovers my family,' or, 'while my bonnetcovers my family'—as the case might be,ma'am—'I have only one to feed, and that'sthe person I most like to feed.' "

" To be sure," assented Mrs. Sparsit, eatingmuffin.

"Thank you, ma'am,' said Bitzer, knuck-ling his forehead again, in return for thefavour of Mrs. Sparsit's improving conversa-tion. "Would you wish a little more hotwater, ma'am, or is there anything else thatI could fetch you 1 "

" Nothing just now, Bitzer."" Thank you, ma'am. I shouldn't wish to

disturb you at your meals, ma'am, particu-larly tea, knowing your partiality for it," saidBitzer, craning a little to look over into thestreet from where he stood ; " but there's agentleman been looking up here for a minuteor so, ma'am, and he has come across as ifhe was going to knock,ma'am, no doubt."

That is his knock,

He stepped to the window; and lookingout, and drawing in his head again, confirmedhimself with, " Yes, ma'am. Would you wishthe gentleman to be shown in, ma'am ? "

Sparsit, wiping her mouth and arranging hermittens.

" A stranger, ma'am, evidently."" What a stranger can want at the Bank

at this time of the evening, unless he comes-upon some business for which he is too late,.I don't know," said Mrs. Sparsit; "but Ihold a charge in this establishment fromMr. Bounderby, and I will never shrink fromit. If to see him is any part of the duty Ihave accepted, I will see him. Use your owndiscretion, Bitzer."

Here the visitor, all unconscious of Mrs..Sparsit's magnanimous words, repeated hisknock so loudly that the light porter has-tened dqwn to open the door; while Mrs.Sparsit took the precaution of concealing herlittle table, with all its appliances upon it, ina cupboard, and then decamped up stairs-that she might appear, if needful, with thegreater dignity.

"If you please, ma'am, the gentlemanwould wish to see you," said Bitzer, with hislight eye at Mrs. Sparsit's keyhole. So, Mrs.Sparsit, who had improved the interval bytouching up her cap, took her classicalfeatures down stairs again, and entered theboard room in the manner of a Eoman matrongoing outside the city walls to treat with aninvading general.

The visitor having strolled to the window,,and being then engaged in looking carelesslyout, was as unmoved by this impressive entryas man could possibly be. He stood whistling,to himself with all imaginable coolness, withhis hat still on, and a certain air of exhaustionupon him, in part arising from excessivesummer, and in part from excessive gentility..For, it was to be seen with half an eye that hewas a thorough gentleman, made to the modelof the time ; weary of everything, and putting,no more faith in anything than Lucifer.

" I believe, sir," quoth Mrs. Sparsit, " youwished to see me."

" I beg your pardon," he said, turning andremoving his hat; " pray excuse me."

" Humph !" thought Mrs. Sparsit, as siftmade a stately bend. "Five and thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice^good breeding, well dressed, dark hair, boldeyes." All which Mrs. Sparsit observed inher womanly way—like the Sultan who puthis head in the pail of water—merely in-dipping down and coming up again.

"Please to be seated, sir," said Mrs.Sparsit.

"Thank you. Allow me." He placed achair for her, but remained himself carelesslylounging against the table. " I left my ser-vant at the railway looking after the luggage—very heavy train and vast quantity of itin the van—and strolled on, looking aboutme. Exceedingly odd place. Will you allowme to ask you if it's always as black asthis ?"

" In general much blacker," returned Mrs.K I don't know who it can be," said Mrs. I Sparsit, in her uncompromising way.

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 337

" Is it possible ! Excuse me: you are nota native, I think 1"

" No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit. "It wasonce my good or ill fortune, as it may be—before I became a widow—to move in avery different sphere. My husband was a

. Powler."" Beg your pardon, really! " said the

stranger. " Was—] "Mrs. Sparsit repeated," A Powler." " Pow-

ler Family," said the stranger, after reflect-ing a few moments. Mrs. Sparsit signifiedassent. The stranger seemed a little morefatigued than before.

" You must be very much bored here ?" wasthe inference he drew from the communication.

" I am the servant of circumstances, sir,"said Mrs. Sparsit, " and I have long adaptedmyself to the governing power of my life."

" Very philosophical," returned the stranger," and very exemplary and laudable, and—"It seemed to be scarcely worth his while tofinish the sentence, sowatch-chain wearily.

he played with his

" May I be permitted to ask, sir," saidMrs. Sparsit, " to what I am indebted for thefavour of—"

" Assuredly," said the stranger. " Muchobliged to you for reminding me. I amthe bearer of a letter of introduction toMr. Bounderby the banker. Walkingthrough this extraordinarily black town,while they were getting dinner ready at thehotel, I asked a fellow whom I met; one of theworking people ; who appeared to have beentaking a shower-bath of something fluffy,which I assume to be the raw material;—"

Mrs. Sparsit inclined her head." —Raw material—where Mr. Bounderby

" Banks, I know, are always suspicious, andofficially must be," said the stranger, whoselightness and smoothness of speech werepleasant likewise; suggesting matter farmore sensible and humorous than it evercontained — which was perhaps a shrewddevice of the founder of this numerous sect,whosoever may have been that great man;" therefore—here it

may observe that my letteris—is from the member for this

place—Gradgrind—whom I have had thepleasure of knowing in London."

Mrs. Sparsit recognised the hand, intimatedthat such confirmation was quite unnecessary,and gave Mr. Bound erby's address, with allneedful clues and directions in aid.

" Thousand thanks," said the stranger. " Ofcourse you know the Banker well ?"

" Yes, sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit. " In mydependent relation towards him, I have knownhim ten years."

" Quite an eternity ! I think he marriedGradgrind's daughter 1"

"Yes," said Mrs. Sparsit, suddenly com-pressing her mouth. " He had that—honor."

"The lady is quite a philosopher, I amtold?"

" Indeed, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit. 7s she ?""Excuse my impertinent curiosity," pur-

sued the stranger, fluttering over Mrs. Sparsit'seyebrows, with a propitiatory air, " but youknow the family, and know the world. I amabout to know the family, and may havemuch to do with them. Is the lady so veryalarming ? Her father gives her such aportentously hard-headed reputation, that Ihave a burning desire to know. Is she ab-solutely unapproachable ? Eepellently andstunningly clever ? I see, by your meaning

the banker, might reside. Upon which, misled! smile, you think not. You have poured balmno doubt by the word Banker, he directed meto the Bank. Fact being, I presume, thatMr. Bounderby the Banker, does not residein the edifice in which I have the honour ofoffering this explanation 1"

" No, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, " he doesnot."

" Thank you. I had no intention of deliver-ing my letter at the present moment, nor haveI. But, strolling on to the Bank to killtime, and having the good fortune to ob-serve at the window," towards which he lan-guidly waved his hand, then slightly bowed,"a lady of a very superior and agreeableappearance, I considered that I could notdo better than take the liberty of askingthat lady where Mr. Bounderby the Banker,•does live. Which I accordingly venture, withall suitable apologies, to do."

The inattention and indolence of his man-ner were sufficiently relieved, to Mrs. Sparsit'sthinking, by a certain gallantry at ease,which offered her homage too. Here he was,for instance, at this moment, all but sittingon the table, and yet lazily bending over her,as if he acknowledged an attraction in herthat made her charming—in her way.

into my anxious soul. As to age, now.Forty? Five and thirty ?"

Mrs. Sparsit laughed outright. " A chit,"said she. " Not twenty when she wasmarried."

" I give you my honor, Mrs. Powler," re-turned the stranger, detaching himself fromthe table, " that I never was so astonished inmy life!"

It really did seem to impress him, to theutmost extent of his capacity of being im-pressed. He looked at his informant forfull a quarter of a minute, and appeared tohave the surprise in his mind all the time." I assure you, Mrs. Powler," he then said,much exhausted, "that the father's mannerprepared me for a grim and stony maturity,I am obliged to you, of all things, for cor-recting so absurd a mistake. Pray excusemy intrusion. Many thanks. Good day !"

He bowed himself out; and Mrs. Sparsit,hiding in. the window-curtain, saw him lan-guishing down the sfereet on the shady sideof the way, observed of all the town.

"What do you think of the gentleman,Bitzer ?" she asked the light porter, whenhe came to take away.

338 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Cornice ted 6y

" Spends a deal of money on his dress,ma'am."

" It must be admitted," said Mrs. Sparsit,"that it's very tasteful."

"Yes, ma'am," returned Bitzer, "if that'sworth the money."

" Besides which, ma'am," resumed Bitzer,while he was polishing the table, " he looksto me as< if he gamed."

" It's immoral to game," said Mrs. Sparsit." It's ridiculous, ma'am," said Bitzer,

" because the chances are against theplayers."

Whether it was that the heat preventedMrs. Sparsit from working, or whether itwas that her hand was out, she did no workthat night. She sat at the window, when thesun began to sink behind the smoke ; she satthere, when the smoke was burning red, whenthe color faded from it, when darknessseemed to rise slowly out of the ground, andcreep upward, upward, up to the house-tops,up the church steeple, up to the summits ofthe factory chimneys, up to the sky. Withouta candle in the room, Mrs. Sparsit sat at thewindow, with her hands before her, notthinking much of the sounds of evening:the whooping of boys, the barking of dogs,the rumbling of wheels, the steps and voicesof passengers, the shrill street cries, the clogsupon the pavement when it was their hourfor going by, the shutting-up of shop-shutters.Not until the light porter announced thather nocturnal sweetbread was ready, didMrs. Sparsit arouse herself from her reverie,and convey her dense black eyebrows — by Ithat time creased with meditation, as if theyneeded ironing out—up stairs.

" O, you Fool! " said Mrs. Sparsit, whenshe was alone at her supper. "Whom shemeant, she did not say; but she could scarcelyhave meant the sweetbread.

JOHN DTJNTON WAS A CITIZEN.

MANY thanks to our modern literary anti-quaries for the curious diaries and amusingcollections of old letters, which afford us suchpleasant glimpses of social life in long pasttimes. Many thanks, too, to the worthyinditers of these long-forgotten relies—good,quiet souls, many of them—who little thought,when they were simply jotting down somepassing occurrence for their own exclusiveuse, or detailing to some loving kinsman apiece of family news, or the gossip of theneighbourhood, that after generations hadpassed away, they would appear in print,and be quoted and reviewed. Thanks,also, to those egotistical writers, numerous inevery age, though mostly enjoying but anephemeral reputation, who, scorning privatediary and confidential correspondence, claimedthe public for their friend, and sent forth thestory of their unsuccessful struggles, theirmisfortunes—always, according to them, un-merited—their wrongs, and their grievances,

in small pica, and bound in strong sheep orcalf.

Next to old newspapers we have found nospecies of composition more suggestive, andmore illustrative than these homely prosingbooks, where in the midst of dull details, ofwhich the public whom the writer addressed,cared but little, and we, its great-great-grand-children, of course, still less, some sketch of thepublic characters of the day, some vividnotice of some recent public event, some pic-ture of times passed away for ever, may befound, and found nowhere else. Among thisclass of publications is one volume, whichattracted some notice on its appearance,almost a hundred and fifty years ago, andwhich, among collectors of old books, is notwholly forgotten, but which few of ourreaders have perhaps ever heard of. It isthe autobiography of a London bookseller,one John Dunton :

John Dunton was a citizenOf credit and renown,

who dealt with left-legged Tonson, and withThomas Guy when he kept shop in LombardStreet; who employed Elkanah Settle to dohis poetry, and the author of the Turkish.Spy his prose; who published many avolume during the feverish times of Jamesthe Second, and the prosperous years suc-ceeding the Revolution—John Dunton, ofthe Black Eaven, opposite the PoultryCompter, who, in seventeen hundred andfive, turned writer himself, and gave theworld the history of his life and errors : and,more amusing still, pen-and-ink portraits ofthe various bookmakers and booksellers,with whom he had been associated.

Determined to begin at the beginning, andwith sufficient minuteness too, John tellsus that he was born in sixteen hundred andfifty-nine, was very weakly, and so small,that he was placed in a quart pot, whichcontained him very easily; a process this,not very well adapted, as we think, topromote the health of a sickly new-borninfant. .From this, his first ordeal, he seemsto have escaped scathless; so, afterbeing duly swathed and rocked, and spoon-fed, according to the manner of dealingwith babies of his day, and then put into thego-cart, he was in process of time set to hishornbook—which he hated, while he set him-self to mischief—which he much preferred.This preference was very trying to his father,a country clergyman who hoped that hiseldest son might follow his calling—themother had died before he was a year old—sohe was sent to a neighbouring school. Butprimer, and Latin grammar were as distastefulto the boy as his hornbook ; and the fatherwas reluctantly compelled to give up thecherished hope of seeing his son in theChurch, and to seek out some secularcalling. From the notices Dunton gives us ofhis father, he seems to have been an

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD T^ORDS."—SH

HOUSEHOLD WORDS,A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, JUNE 3, 1854.

H A R D TIMES,BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE Gradgrind party wanted assistance inmurdering the Graces. They went aboutrecruiting ; and where could they enlist re-cruits more readily, than among the finegentlemen who, having found out everythingto be worth nothing, were equally ready foranything 1

Moreover, the healthy spirits who hadmounted to this sublime height were at-tractive to many of the Gradgrind school.They liked fine gentlemen ; they pretendedthat they did not, but they did. Theybecame exhausted in imitation of them; andthey yaw-yawed in their speech like them;and they served out, with an enervated air,the little mouldy rations of political economy,on which they regaled their disciples. Therenever before was seen on earth such a won-derful hybrid race as was thus produced.

Among the fine gentlemen not regularly be-longing to the Gradgrind school, there wasone of a good family and a better appear-ance, with a happy turn of humour which hadtold immensely with the House of Commonson the occasion of his entertaining it with his(and the Board of Directors') view of a railwayaccident, in which the most careful officersever known, employed by the most liberalmanagers ever heard of, assisted by the finestmechanical contrivances ever devised, thewhole in action on the best line ever con-structed, had killed five people and woundedthirty-two, by a casualty without which theexcellence of the whole system would havebeen positively incomplete. Among the slainwas a cow, and among the scattered articlesunowned, a widow's cap. And the honourablemember had so tickled the House (whichhas a delicate sense of humour) by puttingthe cap oh the cow, that it became impatient ofany serious reference to the Coroner's Inquest,and brought the railway off with Cheers andLaughter.

Now, this gentleman had a younger bro-ther of still better appearance than himself,who had tried life as a Cornet of Dragoons,and found it a bore; and had afterwards triedit in the train of an English minister abroad,

and fouitd it a bore ; and had then strolledto Jerusalem, and got bored there ; and hadthen gone yachting about the world, and gotbored everywhere. To whom this honorableand jocular member fraternally said one day," Jem, there's a good opening among the hardFact fellows, and they want men. I wonderyou don't go in for statistics." Jem, rathertaken by the novelty of the idea, and veryhard up for a change, was as ready to " goin" for statistics as for anything else. So, hewent in. He coached himself up with a bluebook or two ; and his brother put itabout among the hard Fact fellows, and said," If you want to bring in, for any place, ahandsome dog who can make you a devilishgood speech, look after my brother Jem, forhe's your man." After a few dashes in thepublic meeting way, Mr. Gradgrind and acouncil of political sages approved of Jem,and it was resolved to send him down toCoketown, to become known there and in theneighbourhood. Hence the letter Jem hadlast night shown to Mrs. Sparsit, which Mr.Bounderby now held in his hand ; super-scribed, K Josiah Bounderby, Esquire, Banker,Coketown. Specially to introduce JamesHarthouse, Esquire. Thomas Gradgrind."

Within an hour of the receipt of this dis-patch and Mr. James Harthouse's card, Mr.Bounderby put on his hat and went down tothe Hotel. There, he found Mr. James Hart-house looking out of window, in a state ofmind so disconsolate, that he was already halfdisposed to "go in" for something else. .„

" My name, sir," said his visitor, " is JosiahBounderby of Coketown."

Mr. James Harthouse was very happyindeed (though h*e scarcely looked so), to havea pleasure he had long expected.

"Coketown,sir," said Bounderby, obstinatelytaking a chair, " is, not the kind of place youhave been accustomed to. Iherefore, if you'llallow me—or whether you will or not, for Iam a plain man—I'll tell you something aboutit before we go any further."

Mr. Harthouse would be charmed." Don't be too sure of that," said Boun-

derby. " I don't promise it. First of all,you see our smoke. That's meat and drinkto .us. It's the healthiest thing in theworld in all respects, and particularly for thelungs. If you are one of those who want us

VOL. IX 219.

358 HOUSEHOLD WOKDS. [Conducted by

to consume it, I differ from ,you. We arenot going to wear the bottoms of our boilersout any faster than we wear 'em out now,for all the humbugging sentiment in GreatBritain and Ireland."

By way of "going in" to the fullest extent,Mr. Harthouse rejoined, " Mr. Bounderby, Iassure you I am entirely and completely ofyour way of thinking. On conviction."

" I am glad to hear it," said Bounderby." Now, you have heard a lot of talk about thework in our mills, no doubt. You have 1Very good. I'll state the fact of it to you.It's the pleasantest work there is, and it's thelightest work there is, and it's the best paidwork there is. More than that, we couldn'timprove the mills themselves, unless we laiddown Turkey carpets on the floors. Whichwe're not a-going to do."

" Mr. Bounderby, perfectly right."" Lastly," said Bounderby, " as to our

Hands. There's not a Hand in this town, sir,man, woman, or child, but has one ultimateobject in life. That object is, to be fed on tur-tle soup and venison with a gold spoon. Now,they're not a-going—none of 'em—ever tobe fed on turtle soup and venison with agold spoon. And now you know theplace."

Mr. Harthouse professed himself in thehighest degree instructed and refreshed, bythis condensed epitome of the whole Coke-town question.

" "Why, you see," replied Mr. Bounderby," it suits my disposition to have a full under-standing with a man, particularly with apublic man, when I make his acquaintance.I have only one thing more to say to you,Mr. Harthouse, before assuring you of thepleasure with which I shall respond, to theutmost of my poor ability, to my friend TomGradgrind's letter of introduction. You area man of family. Don't you deceive yourselfby supposing for a moment that / am a manof family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, anda genuine scrap of tag, rag, and bobtail."

If anything could have exalted Jem'sinterest in Mr. Bounderby, it would have beenthis very circumstance. Or, so he told him.

"So now," said Bounderby, "we mayshake hands on equal terms. I say, equalterms, because although I know what I am,and the exact depth of the gutter I havelifted myself out of, better than any mandoes, I am as proud as you are. I amjust as proud as you are. Having now assertedmy independence in a proper manner, I maycome to how do you find yourself, and Ihope you're pretty well."

The better, Mr. Harthouse gave him tounderstand as they shook hands, for thesalubrious air of Coketown. Mr. Bounderbyreceived the answer with favor.

" Perhaps you know," said he, " or perhapsyou don't know, I married Tom Gradgrind'sdaughter. If you have nothing better to 'dothan to walk up town with me, I shall be

glad to introduce you to Tom Gradgrind'sdaughter."

" Mr. Bounderby," said Jem, " you antici-pate my dearest wishes."

They went out without further discourse ;and Mr. Bounderby piloted the new acquaint-ance who so strongly contrasted with him, tothe private red brick dwelling, with the blackoutside shutters, the green inside blinds, andthe black street door up the two white steps.In the drawing-room of which mansion, therepresently entered to them the most remark-able girl Mr. James Harthouse had ever seen.She was so constrained, and yet so careless ; soreserved, and yet so watchful; so. cold andproud, and yet so sensitively ashamed of herhusband's braggart humility—frogi which sheshrunk as if every example of it were a cutor a blow ; that it was quite a new sensationto observe her. In face she was no lessremarkable than in manner. Her featureswere handsome ; but 'their natural play wasso suppressed and locked up, that it seemedimpossible to guess at their genuine expres-sion. Utterly indifferent, perfectly self-reliant, neyer at a loss, and yet never at herease, with her figure- in company with themthere, and her mind apparently quite alone,—it was of no use "going in" yet awhile tocomprehend this girl, for she baffled allpenetration.

From the mistress of the house, the visitorglanced to the house itself. There was nomute sign of a woman in the room. Nograceful little adornment, no fanciful littledevice, however trivial, anywhere expressedher influence. Cheerless and comfortless,boastfully and doggedly rich, there the roomstared at its present occupants, unsoftenedand unrelieved by the least trace of anywomanly occupation. As Mr. Bounderbystood in the midst of his household gods, sothose unrelenting divinities occupied theirplaces around Mr. Bounderby, and they wereworthy of one another and well matched.

" This, sir," said Bounderby, " is my wife,Mrs. Bounderby: Tom Gradgrind's eldestdaughter. Loo, Mr. James Harthouse. Mr.Harthouse has joined your father's muster-roll. If he is not Tom Gradgrind's col-league before long, I believe we shall at leasthear of him in connexion with one of ourneighbouring towns. You observe, Mr. Hart-house, that my wife is my junior. I don'tknow what she saw in me to marry me, butshe saw something in me, I suppose, or shewouldn't have married me. She has lotsof expensive knowledge, sir, political andotherwise. If youwant to cram for anything,I should be troubled to recommend you toa better adviser than Loo Bounderby."

To a more agreeable adviser, or one fromwhom he would be more likely to learn, Mr.Harthouse could never be recommended.

" Come .' " said his host. " If you're inthe complimentary line, you'll get on here,for you'll meet with no competition. I have

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 359

never been in the way of learning compli-ments myself, and I don't profess tounderstand the art of paying 'em. In fact, Idespise 'em. But, your bringing-up wasdifferent from mine ; mine was a real thing,by George ! You're a gentleman, and Idon't pretend to be one. I am JosiahBounderby of Coketown, and that's enoughfor me. However, though / am not influ-enced by manners and station, Loo Bounderbymay be. She hadn't my advantages-—disad-vantages you would call 'em, but I call 'emadvantages-s-so you'll not waste your power,I dare say^?'

" Mr. Bounderby," said Jem, turning witha smile to Louisa, " is a noble animal in acomparatively natural state, quite free fromthe harness in which a conventional hacklike myself works."

" You respect Mr. Bounderby very much,"she quietly returned. "It is natural thatyou should.""

He was disgracefully thrown out, for agentleman who had seen so much of theworld, and thought, " Now, how am I to takethis ?"

" You are going to devote yourself, as Igather from what Mr. Bounderby has said,to the service of your country. You havemade up your mind," said Louisa, stillstanding before him where she had firststopped—in all the singular contrariety of herself-possession, and her being obviously sovery ill at ease—" to show the nation the wayout of all its difficulties."

" Mrs. Bounderby," he returned laughing," upon my honour, no. I will make no suchpretence to you. I have seen a little, here andthere, up and down ; I have found it all to bevery worthless, as everybody has, and as someconfess they have, and some do not ; and I amgoing in for your respected father's opinions•—really because I have no choice of opinions,and may as well back them as anything else."

" Have you none of your own ?" askedLouisa.

" I have not so much as the slightest pre-dilection left. I assure you I attach not theleast importance to any opinions. The resultof the varieties of boredom I have under-gone, is a conviction (unless conviction is tooindustrious a word for the lazy sentimentI entertain on the subject), that any setof ideas will do just as much good asany other set, and just as much harm asany other set. There's an English familywith a capital Italian motto. What will be,will be. It's the only truth going ! "

This vicious assumption of honesty in dis-honesty—a vice so dangerous, so deadly, andso common—seemed, he observed, a little toimpress her in his favor. He followed upthe advantage, by saying in his pleasantestmanner: a manner to which she mightattach as much or as little meaning as shepleased: "The side that can prove anything ina line of units, tens, hundreds, and thousands,

Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to a fford the mostfun, and to give a man the best chance. Iam quite as much attached to it as if Ibelieved it. I am quite ready to go in for it,to the same extent as if I believed it. Andwhat more could I possibly do, if I didbelieve it!"

" You are a singular politician," saidLouisa.

" Pardon me ; I have not even that merit.We are the largest party in the state, Iassure you, Mrs. Bounderby, if we all fellout of our adopted ranks and were reviewedtogether."

Mr. Bounderby, who had been in danger ofbursting in silence, interposed here with aproject for postponing the family dinner tohalf-past six, and taking Mr. James Hart-house in the meantime on a round of visitsto the voting and interesting notabilitiesof Coketown and its vicinity. The round ofvisits was made; and Mr. James Harthouse,with a discreet use of his blue coaching,came off triumphantly, though with a consi-derable accession of boredom.

In the evening, he found the dinner-tablelaid for four, but they sat down only three.It was an appropriate occasion for Mr. Boun-derby to discuss the flavour of the hap'orthof stewed eels he had purchased in the streetsat eight years old, and also of the inferiorwater, specially used for laying the dust,with which he had washed down that repast.He likewise entertained his guest, over thesoup and fish, with the calculation that he(Bounderby) had eaten in his youth at leastthree horses under the guise of polonies andsaveloys. These recitals, Jem, in a languidmanner, received with " charming ! " everynow and then; and they probably wouldhave decided him to go in for Jerusalem againto-morrow-morning, had he been less curiousrespecting Louisa.

" Is there nothing," he thought, glancingat her as she sat at the head of the table,where her youthful figure, small and slight,but very graceful, looked as pretty as itlooked misplaced ; " is there nothing thatwill move that face ? "

Yes! By Jupiter, there was something,and here it was, in an unexpected shape!Tom appeared. She changed as the dooropened, and broke into a beaming smile.

A beautiful smile. Mr. James Harthousemight not have thought so much of it, butthat he had wondered so long at her impas-sive face. She put out her hand—a prettylittle soft hand; and her fingers closed uponher brother's, as if she would have carriedthem to her lips.

" Ay, ay 1" thought the visitor. " Thiswhelp is the only creature she cares for.So, so!"

The whelp was presented, and took hischair. The appellation was not flattering,but not unmerited.

" When I was your age, young Tom," said

360 HOUSEHOLD WOKDS. [Conducted by

Bounderby, " I was punctual, or I got nodinner !"

" When you were ray age," returned Tom," you hadn't a wrong balance to get right,and hadn't to dress afterwards."

" Never mind that now," said Bounderby.- « Well, then," grumbled Tom. " Don't begin

with me.""Mrs. Bounderby," said Harthouse, per-

fectly hearing this under-strain as it wenton; " your brother's face is quite familiarto me. Can I have seen him abroad 2 Orat some public school, perhaps 1"

"No," she returned, quite interested,"he has never been abroad yet, and waseducated here, at-home. Tom, love, I amtelling Mr. Harthouse that he never saw youabroad."

" No such luck, sir," said Tom.There was little enough in him to brighten

her face, for he was a sullen young fellow,and ungracious in his manner even to her.So much the greater must have been the soli-tude of her heart, and her need of some oneon whom to bestow it. " So much the moreis this whelp the only creature she has evercared for," thought Mr. James Harthouse,turning it over and over. "So much themore. So much the more."

Both in his sister's presence, and after shehad left the room, the whelp took no painsto hide his contempt for Mr. Bounderby,whenever he could indulge it without theobservation of that independent man, bymaking wry faces, or shutting one eye. With-out responding to these telegraphic commu-nications, Mr. Harthouse encouraged himmuch in the course of the evening, andshowed an unusual liking for him. At last,when he rose to return to his hotel, and wasa little doubtful whether he knew the wayby night, the whelp immediately profferedhis services as guide, and turned out withhim to escort him thither.

CHAPTER XIX.

IT was very remarkable that a young gen-tleman who had been brought up under onecontinuous system of unnatural restraint,should be a hypocrite ; but it was certainlythe case with Tom. It was very strangethat a young gentleman who had neverbeen left to his own guidance for five conse-cutive minutes, should be incapable at last ofgoverning himself; but so it was with Tom.It was altogether unaccountable that ayoung gentleman whose imagination hadbeen strangled in his cradle, should be stillinconvenienced by its ghost in the form ofgrovelling sensualities ; but such a monster,beyond all doubt, was Tom.

" Do you smoke ? " asked Mr. James Hart-house, when they came to the hotel.

" I believe you!" said Tom.He could do no less than ask Tom up;

and Tom could do no less than go up. Whatwith, a cooling drink adapted to the weather,

but not so weak as cool \ and what with a.rarer tobacco than was to be bought in thoseparts; Tom was soon in a highly free andeasy state at his end of the sofa, and morethan ever disposed to admire his new friendat the other end.

Tom blew his smoke aside, after he hadbeen smoking a little while, and took anobservation of his friend. " He don't seemto care about his dress," thought Tom, " andyet how capitally he does it. What an easyswell he is!"

Mr. James Harthouse, happening to catchTom's eye, remarked that he drank nothing,and filled his glass with his own negligenthand.

"Thank'ee," said Tom. "Thank'ee. Well,Mr. Harthouse, I hope you have had abouta dose of old Bounderby to-night." Tomsaid this with one eye shut up again, andlooking over his glass knowingly, at hisentertainer.

" A very good fellow indeed! " returnedMr. James Harthouse.

" You think so, don't you 1" said Tom.And shut up his eye again.

Mr. James Harthouse smiled; and risingfrom his end of the sofa, and lounging withhis back against the chimney-piece, so that hestood before the empty fire-grate as hesmoked, in front of Tom and looking downat him, observed:

" What a comical brother-in-law you are !"" What a comical brother-in-law old Boun-

derby is, I think you mean," said Tom." You are a piece of caustic, Tom," retorted

Mr. James Harthouse.There was something so very agreeable in

being so intimate with such a waistcoat ; inbeing called Tom, by such a voice ; in beingon such off-hand terms so soon, with such apair of whiskers ; that Tom was uncommonlypleased with himself.

" Oh! I don't care for old Bounderby,"said he, " if you mean that. I have alwayscalled old Boimderby by the same namewhen I have talked about him, and I havealways thought of him in the same way. Iam not going to begin to be polite now,about old Bounderby. It would be ratherlate in the day."

" Don't mind me," returned James ; " buttake care when his wife is by, you know."

« His wife 1" said Tom. " My sister Loo 1O yes ! " And he laughed, and took a littlemore of the cooling drink.

James Harthouse continued to lounge inthe same place and attitude, smoking hiscigar in his own easy way, and lookingpleasantly at the whelp, as if he knew himselfto be a kind of agreeable demon who had onlyto hover over him, and he must give up hiswhole soul if required. It certainly did seemthat the whelp yielded to this influence.He looked at his companion sneakingly,he looked at him admiringly, he looked athim boldly, and put up one leg on the sofa.

Charles Dickens.1 HARD TIMES, 361

"My sister Loo 1" said Tom. "She nevercared for old Bounderby."

"That's the past tense, Tom," returnedMr. James Harthouse, striking the ash fromhis cigar -with his little finger. " We are inthe present tense, now."

" Verb neuter, not to care. Indicativemood, present tense. First person singular,I do ziot care ; second person singular, thoudost not care; third person singular, she doesnot care," returned Tom.

" Good ! Yery quaint! " said his friend.'" Though you don't mean it."

" But I do mean it," cried Tom. " Upon myhonor! "Why, you won't tell me, Mr. Hart-house, that you really suppose my sisterLoo does care for old Bounderby."

"My dear fellow," returned the other,"" what am I bound to suppose, when I findtwo married people living in harmony andhappiness ?"

Tom had by this time got both his legs onthe sofa. If his second leg had not beenalready there when he was called a dearfellow, he would have put it up at that greatstage of the conversation. Feeling it neces-sai'y to do something then, he stretched him-self out at greater length, and, reclining withthe back of his head on the end of the sofa,and smoking with an infinite assumption ofnegligence, turned his common face, and nottoo sober eyes, towards the face looking downupon him so carelessly yet so potently.

" You know our governor, Mr. Harthouse,"said Tom, " and therefore you needn't besurprised that Loo married old Bounderby.She never had a lover, and the governorproposed old Bounderby, and she took him."

" Very dutiful in your interesting sister,"said Mr. James Harthouse.

"Yes, but she wouldn't have been asdutiful and it would not have come off aseasily," returned the whelp," if it hadn't beenfor me."

The tempter merely lifted his eyebrows;•but the whelp was obliged to go on.

" / persuaded her," he said, with an edi-fying air of superiority. " I was stuckinto old Bounderby's bank (where I neverwanted to be), and I knew I should getInto scrapes there, if she put old Boun-derby's pipe out; so I told her my wishes,.and she came into them. She would do any-thing for me. It was very game of her,•wasn't it ?"

" It was charming, Tom ! "" Not that it was altogether so important

to her as it was to me," continued Tom coolly,•" because my liberty and comfort, andperhaps my getting on, depended on it; andshe had no other lover, and staying athome was like staying in jail—especially whenI was gone. It wasn't as if she gave upanother lover for old Bounderby ; but still itwas a good thing in her."

" Perfectly delightful. And she gets on soplacidly."

" Oh," returned Tom, with contemptuouspatronage, "she's a regular girl. A girlcan get on anywhere. She has settled downto the life, and she don't mind. The life doesjust as well for her,as another. Besides,thoughLoo is a girl, she's not a common sort of girl.She can shut herself up within herself, andthink—as I have often known her sit andwatch the fire—for an hour at a stretch."

" Ay, ay ? Has resources of her own,"said Harthouse, smoking quietly.

" Not so much of that as you may suppose,"returned Tom; " for our governor had hercrammed with all sorts of dry bones andsawdust. It's his system."

"Formed his daughter on his own model ?"suggested Harthouse.

" His daughter 1 Ah ! and everybody else.Why, he formed Me that way," said Tom.

" Impossible !""He did though," said Tom, shaking his

head. " I mean to say, Mr. Harthouse, thatwhen I first left home and went to oldBounderby's, I was as flat as a warming-pan,and knew no more about life, than any oyster

1 )* * *f if

does."" Come, Tom ! I can hardly believe that.

A joke 's a joke."" Upon my soul! " said the whelp. " I am

serious ; I am indeed!" He smoked withgreat gravity and dignity for a little while,and then added, in a highly complacent tone," Oh ! I have picked up a little, since. I don'tdeny that. But I have done it myself; nothanks to the governor."

" And your intelligent sister ?"" My intelligent sister is about where she

was. She used to complain to me that shehad nothing to fall back upon, that girlsusually fall back upon ; and I don't see howshe is to have got over that since. But shedon't mind," he sagaciously added, puffing athis cigar again. " Girls can always get on,somehow."

" Calling at the Bank yesterday evening,for Mr. Bounderby's address, I found anancient lady there, who seems to entertaingreat admiration for your sister," observedMr. James Harthouse, throwing away the lastsmall remnant of the cigar he had now smokedout.

"Mother Sparsit ?" said Tom. " What! youhave seen her already, have you ?"

His friend nodded. Tom took his cigarout of his mouth, to shut up his eye (whichhad grown rather unmanageable) with thegreater expression, and to tap his nose severaltimes with his finger.

" Mother Sparsit's feeling for Loo is morethan admiration, I should think," said Tom." Say affection and devotion. Mother Sparsitnever set her cap at Bounderby when he wasa bachelor. Oh no! "

These were the last words spoken by thewhelp, before a giddy drowsiness came uponhim, followed by complete oblivion. He wasroused from the latter state by an uneasy

362 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

dream of being stirred up -with a boot, andalso of a voice saying: «Come, it's late.Be off!"

" Well! " he said, scrambling from the sofa."I must take my leave of you though. Isay. Your's is very good tobacco. But it'stoo mild."

"Yes, it's too mild," returned his enter-tainer.

"It's—it's ridiculously mild," Said Tom." Where's the door ? Good night!"

He had another odd dream of being takenby a waiter through a mist, which, aftergiving him some trouble and difficulty,resolved itself into the main street, inwhich he stood alone. He then walkedhome pretty easily, though not yet freefrom an impression of the presence andinfluence of his new friend—as if he werelounging somewhere in the air, in the samenegligent attitude, regarding him with thesame look.

The whelp went home, and went to bed.If he had had any sense of what he had donethat night, and had been less of a whelp andmore of a brother, he might have turnedshort on the road, might have gone down tothe ill-smelling river that was dyed black,might have gone to bed in it for good andall, and have curtained his head for ever withits filthy waters.

THE BOVING ENGLISHMAN.A TURKISH AUCTIONEER.

IT was the sale of a bankrupt's effects, andthey were huddled together in disorderlyconfusion under a little craggy shed just out-side the town. I was attracted thither by theshouts of a Turk, with a stentorian voice,who was running about in a state of greatexcitement, stopping persons in the streetto insist on their examining the articleswhich he carried in his hand. He was theauctioneer of the place; and I followed himinto the crazy shed as a student of manners.There was a considerable crowd of thosegreasy, dingy persons, who seem to have anabstract love of second-hand goods, and whohave always appeared to me to be evoked bythe auctioneers of, all countries like familiarspirits. This resemblance, however, borne bythis crowd to similar people in England, ismerely personal. It is confined to the lengthand sharpness of nose, among the buyers; to anair of unpleasant sleekfaxess about them, with astrong smell of bad tobacco ; and to a prevail-ing odour of the damp and fustiness of smallstreets. There the likeness ends. In Britain, asale by auction is a plain business-like, twice-two-are-four sort of affair ; in Turkey it is asource of pleasurable excitement for a wholecity. It furnishes the inhabitants of theplace with a conversational topic of morethan usual liveliness and interest. It alsogives them a delightful excuse for laying orlounging about in the sun doing nothing,

which is a never-ending entertainrnont to an.oriental.

It is proper to mention that the Turkishauctioneer is by no means so august anddignified a person as with us. He is not thesovereign lord and autocrat of the sale-room ; he is the servant of a popular andrumbustical assembly. Before I have well hadtime to settle myself upon a stone, and lighta cigar, I observe that he has returned threetimes from a sally to sell the same crackedpipkin, and three times he has been thrustback by the scruff of the neck from not hav-ing obtained a reasonable offer for it.Somebody in the shed bids for it at last, andthe delighted auctioneer with a most villan-ous wink at me is preparing to hand over his-unsaleable pipkin to the somebody in question,when the same remorseless knuckles, as .usual,.are thrust between the collar of his shirt andthe nape of his neck. Our friend, thusgoaded, makes another excited bolt out ofthe shed and, next moment, is heardshouting about the cracked pipkin again, in,the same furious manner as that which firstattracted my attention. The somebody who*was disposed to become a purchaser looksrather disconcerted: I suspect he is notthoroughly broken in at auction; butnobody else pays any further attention to theproceedings for the present. In fact, allseem to be rather glad to have got rid of theauctioneer than otherwise, probably in thehope that the festive occasion maybeprolongeduntil a later hour. So they sit down and light a,great number of paper cigars as a necessarypreliminary to the discussion of the news ofthe day. Their conversation is composedmerely of coffee-house politics and theirneighbours' business. Woe to the Costaki, orNikolaki who does not happen to be present;.the character of that Costaki or Nikolaki ishandled with a ferocity which quite makes-one's oars tingle ; and I listen attentively forone pleasant thought or kindly expression ;for one plain sensible idea, or healthy view ofanything talked about, in vain.

Presently the auctioneer returns. While the-majority of his customers are wrangling, he-has slily disposed of the pipkin to the some-body who first bid for it; and I think anotherroguish wink to the purchaser signified thatlie should expect a con-si-de-ra-tion forhimself at a convenient season. After this-sale of the pipkin—the only thing disposedof yet—the auctioneer desires a little re-pose, and squatting cross-legged on the-aankrupt's counter, sends for a nargillyrand joins in the genei-al discourse. Tile-whole company then present a picture o£'oriental manners sufficiently striking andcharacteristic. They have entirely forgottenwhy they assembled together ; and are idlingaway their time in that slothfulness which is;he root of all evil, and from whichspring, certainly, nine-tenths of their na-tional disasters. Lazy louts of boys begin