employers, and to profit, in many respects, by the familiar kindness
with which he was treated. Riccabocca, who valued himself on penetrating
into character, had, from the first, seen that much stuff of no common
quality and texture was to be found in the disposition and mind of the
English village boy. On farther acquaintance, he perceived that, under a
child's innocent simplicity, there were the workings of an acuteness
that required but development and direction. He ascertained that the
pattern boy's progress at the village-school proceeded from something
more than mechanical docility and readiness of comprehension. Lenny had
a keen thirst for knowledge, and through all the disadvantages of birth
and circumstance, there were the indications of that natural genius
which converts disadvantages themselves into stimulants. Still, with the
germs of good qualities lay the embryos of those which, difficult to
separate, and hard to destroy, often mar the produce of the soil. With a
remarkable and generous pride in self-repute, there was some
stubbornness; with great sensibility to kindness, there was also strong
reluctance to forgive affront.

This mixed nature in an uncultivated peasant's breast interested
Riccabocca, who, though long secluded from the commerce of mankind,
still looked upon man as the most various and entertaining volume which
philosophical research can explore. He soon accustomed the boy to the
tone of a conversation generally subtle and suggestive; and Lenny's
language and ideas became insensibly less rustic and more refined. Then
Riccabocca selected from his library, small as it was, books that,
though elementary, were of a higher cast than Lenny could have found
within his reach at Hazeldean. Riccabocca knew the English language
well, better in grammar, construction, and genius, than many a not
ill-educated Englishman; for he had studied it with the minuteness with
which a scholar studies a dead language, and amidst his collection he
had many of the books which had formerly served him for that purpose.
These were the first works he had lent to Lenny. Meanwhile Jackeymo
imparted to the boy many secrets in practical gardening and minute
husbandry, for at that day farming in England (some favored counties and
estates excepted) was far below the nicety to which the art has been
immemorially carried in the north of Italy--where, indeed, you may
travel for miles and miles as through a series of market-gardens--so
that, all these things considered, Leonard Fairfield might be said to
have made a change for the better. Yet, in truth, and looking below the
surface, that might be fair matter of doubt. For, the same reason which
had induced the boy to fly his native village, he no longer repaired to
the church of Hazeldean. The old intimate intercourse between him and
the Parson became necessarily suspended, or bounded to an occasional
kindly visit from the latter--visits which grew more rare, and less
familiar, as he found his former pupil in no want of his services, and
wholly deaf to his mild entreaties to forget and forgive the past, and
come at least to his old seat in the parish church. Lenny still went to
church--a church a long way off in another parish--but the sermons did
not do him the same good as Parson Dale's had done; and the clergyman,
who had his own flock to attend to, did not condescend, as Parson Dale
would have done, to explain what seemed obscure, and enforce what was
profitable, in private talk, with that stray lamb from another's fold.

Now, I question much if all Dr. Riccabocca's sage maxims, though they
were often very moral, and generally very wise, served to expand the
peasant boy's native good qualities, and correct his bad, half so well
as the few simple words, not at all indebted to Machiavelli, which
Leonard had once reverently listened to, when he stood by his father's
chair, yielded up for the moment to the good Parson, worthy to sit in
it; for Mr. Dale had a heart in which all the fatherless of the parish
found their place. Nor was this loss of tender, intimate, spiritual lore
so counterbalanced by the greater facilities for purely intellectual
instruction, as modern enlightenment might presume. For, without
disputing the advantage of knowledge in a general way, knowledge, in
itself, is not friendly to content. Its tendency, of course, is to
increase the desires, to dissatisfy us with what is, in order to urge
progress to what may be; and, in that progress, what unnoticed martyrs
among the many must fall, baffled and crushed by the way! To how large a
number will be given desires they will never realize, dissatisfaction of
the lot from which they will never rise! _Allons!_ one is viewing the
dark side of the question. It is all the fault of that confounded
Riccabocca, who has already caused Lenny Fairfield to lean gloomily on
his spade, and, after looking round, and seeing no one near him, groaned
out querulously:

"And am I born to dig a potato-ground?"

_Pardieu_, my friend Lenny, if you live to be seventy, and ride in your
carriage; and by the help of a dinner-pill, digest a spoonful of curry,
you may sigh to think what a relish there was in potatoes, roasted in
ashes, after you had digged them out of that ground with your own stout
young hands. Dig on, Lenny Fairfield, dig on! Dr. Riccabocca will tell
you that there was once an illustrious personage[4] who made experience
of two very different occupations--one was ruling men, the other was
planting cabbages; he thought planting cabbages much the pleasanter of
the two!

CHAPTER XVII.

Dr. Riccabocca had secured Lenny Fairfield and might, therefore, be
considered to have ridden his hobby in the great whirligig with
adroitness and success. But Miss Jemima was still driving round in her
car, handling the reins, and flourishing the whip, without apparently
having got an inch nearer to the flying form of Dr. Riccabocca.

Indeed, that excellent and only too-susceptible spinster, with all her
experience of the villainy of man, had never conceived the wretch to be
so thoroughly beyond the reach of redemption as when Dr. Riccabocca took
his leave, and once more interred himself amidst the solitudes of the
Casino, without having made any formal renunciation of his criminal
celibacy. For some days she shut herself up in her own chamber, and
brooded with more than her usual gloomy satisfaction on the certainty of
the approaching crash. Indeed, many signs of that universal calamity
which, while the visit of Riccabocca lasted, she had permitted herself
to consider ambiguous, now became luminously apparent. Even the
newspaper, which, during that credulous and happy period, had given half
a column to Births and Marriages, now bore an ominously-long catalogue
of Deaths; so that it seemed as if the whole population had lost heart,
and had no chance of repairing its daily losses. The leading articles
spoke, with the obscurity of a Pythian, of an impending CRISIS.
Monstrous turnips sprouted out from the paragraphs devoted to General
News. Cows bore calves with two heads, whales were stranded in the
Humber, showers of frogs descended in the High-street of Cheltenham.

All these symptoms of the world's decrepitude and consummation, which by
the side of the fascinating Riccabocca might admit of some doubt as to
their origin and cause, now conjoined with the worst of all, viz.--the
frightfully progressive wickedness of man--left to Miss Jemima no ray of
hope save that afforded by the reflection that she could contemplate the
wreck of matter without a single sentiment of regret.

Mrs. Dale, however, by no means shared the despondency of her fair
friend, and, having gained access to Miss Jemima's chamber, succeeded,
though not without difficulty, in her kindly attempts to cheer the
drooping spirits of that female misanthropist. Nor, in her benevolent
desire to speed the car of Miss Jemima to its hymeneal goal, was Mrs.
Dale so cruel toward her male friend, Dr. Riccabocca, as she seemed to
her husband. For Mrs. Dale was a woman of shrewdness and penetration, as
most quick-tempered women are; and she knew that Miss Jemima was one of
those excellent young ladies who are likely to value a husband in
proportion to the difficulty of obtaining him. In fact, my readers of
both sexes must often have met, in the course of their experience, with
that peculiar sort of feminine disposition, which requires the warmth of
the conjugal hearth to develop all its native good qualities; nor is it
to be blamed overmuch if, innocently aware of this tendency in its
nature, it turns toward what is best fitted for its growth and
improvement, by laws akin to those which make the sunflower turn to the
sun, or the willow to the stream. Ladies of this disposition,
permanently thwarted in their affectionate bias, gradually languish away
into intellectual inanition, or sprout out into those abnormal
eccentricities which are classed under the general name of "oddity" or
"character." But, once admitted to their proper soil, it is astonishing
what healthful improvement takes place--how the poor heart, before
starved and stinted of nourishment, throws out its suckers, and bursts
into bloom and fruit. And thus many a belle from whom the beaux have
stood aloof, only because the puppies think she could be had for the
asking, they see afterward settled down into true wife and fond mother,
with amaze at their former disparagement, and a sigh at their blind
hardness of heart.

In all probability, Mrs. Dale took this view of the subject; and
certainly in addition to all the hitherto dormant virtues which would be
awakened in Miss Jemima when fairly Mrs. Riccabocca, she counted
somewhat upon the mere worldly advantage which such a match would bestow
upon the exile. So respectable a connection with one of the oldest,
wealthiest, and most popular families in the shire, would in itself give
him a position not to be despised by a poor stranger in the land; and
though the interest of Miss Jemima's dowry might not be much, regarded
in the light of English pounds (not Milanese _lire_), still it would
suffice to prevent that gradual progress of dematerialization which the
lengthened diet upon minnows and sticklebacks had already made apparent
in the fine and slow-evanishing form of the philosopher.

Like all persons convinced of the expediency of a thing, Mrs. Dale saw
nothing wanting but opportunities to insure its success. And that these
might be forthcoming, she not only renewed with greater frequency, and
more urgent instance than ever, her friendly invitations to drink tea
and spend the evening, but she artfully so chafed the Squire on his sore
point of hospitality, that the Doctor received weekly a pressing
solicitation to dine and sleep at the Hall.

At first the Italian pished and grunted, and said _Cospetto_, and _Per
Bacco_, and _Diavolo_, and tried to creep out of so much proffered
courtesy. But, like all single gentlemen, he was a little under the
tyrannical influence of his faithful servant; and Jackeymo, though he
could bear starving as well as his master when necessary, still, when he
had the option, preferred roast beef and plum-pudding. Moreover, that
vain and incautious confidence of Riccabocca, touching the vast sum at
his command, and with no heavier drawback than that of so amiable a lady
as Miss Jemima--who had already shown him (Jackeymo) many little
delicate attentions--had greatly whetted the cupidity which was in the
servant's Italian nature: a cupidity the more keen because, long
debarred its legitimate exercise on his own mercenary interests, he
carried it all to the account of his master's!

Thus tempted by his enemy, and betrayed by his servant, the unfortunate
Riccabocca fell, though with eyes not unblinded, into the hospitable
snares extended for the destruction of his--celibacy! He went often to
the Parsonage, often to the Hall, and by degrees the sweets of the
social domestic life, long denied him, began to exercise their
enervating charm upon the stoicism of our poor exile. Frank had now
returned to Eton. An unexpected invitation had carried off Captain
Higginbotham to pass a few weeks at Bath with a distant relation, who
had lately returned from India, and who, as rich as Croesus, felt so
estranged and solitary in his native isle that, when the Captain
"claimed kindred there," to his own amaze "he had his claims allowed;"
while a very protracted sitting of Parliament still delayed in London
the Squire's habitual visitors in the later summer; so that--a chasm
thus made in his society--Mr. Hazeldean welcomed with no hollow
cordiality the diversion or distraction he found in the foreigner's
companionship. Thus, with pleasure to all parties, and strong hopes to
the two female conspirators, the intimacy between the Casino and Hall
rapidly thickened; but still not a word resembling a distinct proposal
did Dr. Riccabocca breathe. And still, if such an idea obtruded itself
on his mind, it was chased therefrom with so determined a _Diavolo_
that, perhaps, if not the end of the world, at least the end of Miss
Jemima's tenure in it, might have approached, and seen her still Miss
Jemima, but for a certain letter with a foreign post-mark that reached
the Doctor one Tuesday morning.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The servant saw that something had gone wrong, and, under pretense of
syringing the orange-trees, he lingered near his master, and peered
through the sunny leaves upon Riccabocca's melancholy brows.

The Doctor sighed heavily. Nor did he, as was his wont, after some such
sigh, mechanically take up that dear comforter, the pipe. But though the
tobacco-pouch lay by his side on the balustrade, and the pipe stood
against the wall between his knees, childlike lifting up its lips to the
customary caress--he heeded neither the one nor the other, but laid the
letter silently on his lap, and fixed his eyes upon the ground.

"It must be bad news, indeed!" thought Jackeymo, and desisted from his
work. Approaching his master, he took up the pipe and the tobacco-pouch,
and filled the bowl slowly, glancing all the while to that dark, musing
face on which, when abandoned by the expression of intellectual vivacity
or the exquisite smile of Italian courtesy, the deep downward lines
revealed the characters of sorrow. Jackeymo did not venture to speak;
but the continued silence of his master disturbed him much. He laid that
peculiar tinder which your smokers use upon the steel, and struck the
spark--still not a word, nor did Riccabocca stretch forth his hand.

"I never knew him in this taking before," thought Jackeymo; and
delicately he insinuated the neck of the pipe into the nerveless fingers
of the hand that lay supine on those quiet knees--the pipe fell to the
ground.

Jackeymo crossed himself, and began praying to his sainted namesake with
great fervor.

The Doctor rose slowly, and, as if with effort, he walked once or twice
to and fro the terrace; and then he halted abruptly, and said,

"Friend!"

"Blessed Monsignore San Giacomo, I knew thou wouldst hear me!" cried the
servant; and he raised his master's hand to his lips, then abruptly
turned away and wiped his eyes.--"Friend," repeated Riccabocca, and this
time with a tremulous emphasis, and in the softest tone of a voice never
wholly without the music of the sweet South, "I would talk to thee of my
child."

CHAPTER XIX.

"The letter, then, relates to the Signorina. She is well?"

"Yes, she is well now. She is in our native Italy."

Jackeymo raised his eyes involuntarily toward the orange-trees, and the
morning breeze swept by and bore to him the odor of their blossoms.

"Those are sweet even here, with care," said he, pointing to the trees.
"I think I have said that before to the Padrone."

But Riccabocca was now looking again at the letter, and did not notice
either the gesture or the remark of his servant.

"My aunt is no more!" said he, after a pause.

"We will pray for her soul!" answered Jackeymo, solemnly. "But she was
very old, and had been a long time ailing. Let it not grieve the Padrone
too keenly: at that age, and with those infirmities, death comes as a
friend."

"Peace be to her dust!" returned the Italian. "If she had her faults, be
they now forgotten forever; and in the hour of my danger and distress,
she sheltered my infant! That shelter is destroyed. This letter is from
the priest, her confessor. You know that she had nothing at her own
disposal to bequeath to my child, and her property passes to the male
heir--mine enemy."

"Traitor!" muttered Jackeymo; and his right hand seemed to feel for the
weapon which the Italians of lower rank often openly wear in their
girdles.

"The priest," resumed Riccabocca, calmly, "has rightly judged in
removing my child as a guest from the house in which my enemy enters as
lord."

"And where is the Signorina?"

"With that poor priest. See, Giacomo--here, here--this is her
handwriting at the end of the letter--the first lines she ever yet
traced to me."

Jackeymo took off his hat, and looked reverently on the large characters
of a child's writing. But large as they were, they seemed indistinct,
for the paper was blistered with the child's tears; and on the place
where they had not fallen, there was a round fresh moist stain of the
tear that had dropped from the lids of the father. Riccabocca renewed,
"The priest recommends a convent."

"To the devil with the priest!" cried the servant; then, crossing
himself rapidly, he added, "I did not mean that, Monsignore San
Giacomo--forgive me! But your Excellency[5] does not think of making a
nun of his only child!"

"And yet why not?" said Riccabocca, mournfully; "what can I give her in
the world? Is the land of the stranger a better refuge than the home of
peace in her native clime?"

"In the land of the stranger beats her father's heart!"

"And if that beat were stilled, what then? Ill fares the life that a
single death can bereave of all. In a convent at least (and the priest's
influence can obtain her that asylum among her equals and amidst her
sex) she is safe from trial and from penury--to her grave."

"Penury! Just see how rich we shall be when we take those fields at
Michaelmas."

"_Pazzie!_" (follies) said Riccabocca, listlessly. "Are these suns more
serene than ours, or the soil more fertile? Yet in our own Italy, saith
the proverb, 'he who sows land reaps more care than corn.' It were
different," continued the father, after a pause, and in a more
irresolute tone, "if I had some independence, however small, to count
on--nay, if among all my tribe of dainty relatives there were but one
female who would accompany Violante to the exile's hearth--Ishmael had
his Hagar. But how can we two rough-bearded men provide for all the
nameless wants and cares of a frail female child? And she has been so
delicately reared--the woman-child needs the fostering hand and tender
eye of a woman."

"And with a word," said Jackeymo, resolutely, "the Padrone might secure
to his child all that he needs, to save her from the sepulchre of a
convent; and ere the autumn leaves fall, she might be sitting on his
knee. Padrone, do not think that you can conceal from me the truth, that
you love your child better than all things in the world--now the Patria
is as dead to you as the dust of your fathers--and your heart-strings
would crack with the effort to tear her from them, and consign her to a
convent. Padrone, never again to hear her voice--never again to see her
face! Those little arms that twined round your neck that dark night,
when we fled fast for life and freedom, and you said, as you felt their
clasp, 'Friend, all is not yet lost!'"

"Giacomo!" exclaimed the father, reproachfully, and his voice seemed to
choke him. Riccabocca turned away, and walked restlessly to and fro the
terrace; then, lifting his arms with a wild gesture as he still
continued his long, irregular strides, he muttered, "yes, heaven is my
witness that I could have borne reverse and banishment without a murmur,
had I permitted myself that young partner in exile and privation. Heaven
is my witness that, if I hesitate now, it is because I would not listen
to my own selfish heart. Yet never, never to see her again--my child!
And it was but as the infant that I beheld her! O friend, friend--"
(and, stopping short with a burst of uncontrollable emotion, he bowed
his head upon his servant's shoulder;) "thou knowest what I have endured
and suffered at my hearth, as in my country; the wrong, the perfidy,
the--the--" His voice again failed him; he clung to his servant's
breast, and his whole frame shook.

"But your child, the innocent one--think now only of her!" faltered
Giacomo, struggling with his own sobs.

"True, only of her," replied the exile, raising his face--"only of her.
Put aside thy thoughts for myself, friend--counsel me. If I were to send
for Violante, and if, transplanted to these keen airs, she drooped and
died--look, look--the priest says that she needs such tender care; or if
I myself were summoned from the world, to leave her in it alone,
friendless, homeless, breadless perhaps, at the age of woman's sharpest
trial against temptation; would she not live to mourn the cruel egotism
that closed on her infant innocence the gates of the House of God?"

Giacomo was appalled by this appeal; and indeed Riccabocca had never
before thus reverently spoken of the cloister. In his hours of
philosophy, he was wont to sneer at monks and nuns, priesthood and
superstition. But now, in that hour of emotion, the Old Religion
reclaimed her empire; and the skeptical, world-wise man, thinking only
of his child, spoke and felt with a child's simple faith.

CHAPTER XX.

"But again, I say," murmured Jackeymo, scarce audibly, and after a long
silence, "if the Padrone would make up his mind--to marry!"

He expected that his master would start up in his customary indignation
at such a suggestion--nay, he might not have been sorry so to have
changed the current of feeling; but the poor Italian only winced
slightly, and mildly withdrawing himself from his servant's supporting
arm, again paced the terrace, but this time quietly and in silence. A
quarter of an hour thus passed. "Give me the pipe," said P. Riccabocca,
passing into the Belvidere.

Jackeymo again struck the spark, and, wonderfully relieved at the
Padrone's return to his usual adviser, mentally besought his sainted
namesake to bestow a double portion of soothing wisdom on the benignant
influences of the weed.

CHAPTER XXI.

Dr. Riccabocca had been some little time in the solitude of the
Belvidere, when Lenny Fairfield, not knowing that his employer was
therein, entered to lay down a book which the Doctor had lent him, with
injunctions to leave on a certain table when done with. Riccabocca
looked up at the sound of the young peasant's step.

"I beg your honor's pardon--I did not know--"

"Never mind; lay the book there. I wish to speak with you. You look
well, my child; this air agrees with you as well as that of Hazeldean?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Yet it is higher ground, more exposed?"

"That can hardly be, sir," said Lenny; "there are many plants grow here
which don't flourish at the Squire's. The hill yonder keeps off the east
wind, and the place lays to the south."

"Lies, not _lays_, Lenny. What are the principal complaints in these
parts?"

"Eh, sir?"

"I mean what maladies, what diseases?"

"I never heard tell of any, sir, except the rheumatism."

"No low fevers? no consumption?"

"Never heard of them, sir."

Riccabocca drew a long breath, as if relieved.

"That seems a very kind family at the Hall."

"I have nothing to say against it," answered Lenny, bluntly. "I have not
been treated justly. But as that book says, sir, 'It is not every one
who comes into the world with a silver spoon in his mouth.'"

Little thought the Doctor that those wise maxims may leave sore thoughts
behind them. He was too occupied with the subject most at his own heart
to think then of what was in Lenny Fairfield's.

"Yes; a kind, English, domestic family. Did you see much of Miss
Hazeldean?"

"Not so much as of the Lady."

"Is she liked in the village, think you?"

"Miss Jemima? Yes. She never did harm. Her little dog bit me once--she
did not ask me to beg its pardon, she asked mine! She's a very nice
young lady; the girls say she's very affable: and," added Lenny with a
smile, "there are always more weddings going on when she's down at the
Hall."

"Oh!" said Riccabocca. Then, after a long whiff, "Did you ever see her
play with the little children? Is she fond of children, do you think?"

"Lord, sir, you guess every thing. She's never so pleased as when she's
playing with the babies."

"Humph!" grunted Riccabocca. "Babies--well, that's womanlike. I don't
mean exactly babies, but when they're older--little girls."

"Indeed, sir, I dare say; but," said Lenny, primly, "I never as yet kept
company with the little girls."

"Quite right, Lenny; be equally discreet all your life. Mrs. Dale is
very intimate with Miss Hazeldean--more than with the Squire's lady. Why
is that, think you?"

"Well, sir," said Leonard, shrewdly, "Mrs. Dale has her little tempers,
though she's a very good lady; and Madam Hazeldean is rather high, and
has a spirit. But Miss Jemima is so soft: any one could live with Miss
Jemima, as Joe and the servants say at the Hall."

"Indeed! Get my hat out of the parlor, and--just bring a clothes-brush,
Lenny. A fine sunny day for a walk."

After this most mean and dishonorable inquisition into the character and
popular repute of Miss Hazeldean, Signore Riccabocca seemed as much
cheered up and elated as if he had committed some very noble action; and
he walked forth in the direction of the Hall with a far lighter and
livelier step than that with which he had paced the terrace.

"Monsignore San Giacomo, by thy help and the pipe's, the Padrone shall
have his child!" muttered the servant, looking up from the garden.

CHAPTER XXII.

Yet Dr. Riccabocca was not rash. The man who wants his wedding-garment
to fit him must allow plenty of time for the measure. But, from that
day, the Italian notably changed his manner toward Miss Hazeldean. He
ceased that profusion of compliment in which he had hitherto carried off
in safety all serious meaning. For indeed the Doctor considered that
compliments, to a single gentleman, were what the inky liquid it
dispenses is to the cuttle-fish, that by obscuring the water, sails away
from its enemy. Neither did he, as before, avoid prolonged conversations
with that young lady, and contrive to escape from all solitary rambles
by her side. On the contrary, he now sought every occasion to be in her
society; and, entirely dropping the language of gallantry, he assumed
something of the earnest tone of friendship. He bent down his intellect
to examine and plumb her own. To use a very homely simile, he blew away
that froth which there is on the surface of mere acquaintanceships,
especially with the opposite sex; and which, while it lasts, scarce
allows you to distinguish between small beer and double X. Apparently
Dr. Riccabocca was satisfied with his scrutiny--at all events, under
that froth there was no taste of bitter. The Italian might not find any
great strength of intellect in Miss Jemima, but he found that,
disentangled from many little whims and foibles--which he had himself
the sense to perceive were harmless enough if they lasted, and not so
absolutely constitutional but what they might be removed by a tender
hand--Miss Hazeldean had quite enough sense to comprehend the plain
duties of married life; and if the sense could fail, it found a
substitute in good old homely English principles and the instincts of
amiable kindly feelings.

I know not how it is, but your very clever man never seems to care so
much as your less gifted mortals for cleverness in his helpmate. Your
scholars, and poets, and ministers of state, are more often than not
found assorted with exceedingly humdrum good sort of women, and
apparently like them all the better for their deficiencies. Just see how
happily Racine lived with his wife, and what an angel he thought her,
and yet she had never read his plays. Certainly Goethe never troubled
the lady who called him "Mr. Privy Councilor" with whims about "monads,"
and speculations on "color," nor those stiff metaphysical problems on
which one breaks one's shins in the Second Part of the Faust. Probably
it may be that such great geniuses--knowing that, as compared with
themselves, there is little difference between your clever woman and
your humdrum woman--merge at once all minor distinctions, relinquish all
attempts that could not but prove unsatisfactory, at sympathy in hard
intellectual pursuits, and are quite satisfied to establish that tie
which, after all, best resists wear and tear--viz., the tough household
bond between one human heart and another.

At all events, this, I suspect, was the reasoning of Dr. Riccabocca,
when one morning, after a long walk with Miss Hazeldean, he muttered to
himself,

              "Duro con duro
    Non fece mai buon muro."

Which may bear the paraphrase, "Bricks without mortar would make a very
bad wall." There was quite enough in Miss Jemima's disposition to make
excellent mortar: the Doctor took the bricks to himself.

When his examination was concluded, our philosopher symbolically evinced
the result he had arrived at by a very simple proceeding on his
part--which would have puzzled you greatly if you had not paused, and
meditated thereon, till you saw all that it implied. _Dr. Riccabocca
took off his spectacles!_ He wiped them carefully, put them into their
shagreen case, and locked them in his bureau: that is to say, he left
off wearing his spectacles.

You will observe that there was a wonderful depth of meaning in that
critical symptom, whether it be regarded as a sign outward, positive,
and explicit; or a sign metaphysical, mystical, and esoteric. For, as to
the last--it denoted that the task of the spectacles was over; that,
when a philosopher has made up his mind to marry, it is better
henceforth to be short-sighted--nay, even somewhat purblind--than to be
always scrutinizing the domestic felicity, to which he is about to
resign himself, through a pair of cold, unillusory barnacles. And for
the things beyond the hearth, if he can not see without spectacles, he
is not about to ally to his own defective vision a good sharp pair of
eyes, never at fault where his interests are concerned? On the other
hand, regarded positively, categorically, and explicitly, Dr.
Riccabocca, by laying aside those spectacles, signified that he was
about to commence that happy initiation of courtship when every man, be
he ever so much a philosopher, wishes to look as young and as handsome
as time and nature will allow. Vain task to speed the soft language of
the eyes through the medium of these glassy interpreters! I remember,
for my own part, that once on a visit to Adelaide, I was in great danger
of falling in love--with a young lady, too, who would have brought me a
very good fortune--when she suddenly produced from her reticule a very
neat pair of No. 4, set in tortoise-shell, and, fixing upon me their
Gorgon gaze, froze the astonished Cupid into stone! And I hold it a
great proof of the wisdom of Riccabocca, and of his vast experience in
mankind, that he was not above the consideration of what your
pseudo-sages would have regarded as foppish and ridiculous trifles. It
argued all the better for that happiness which is our being's end and
aim, that, in condescending to play the lover, he put those unbecoming
petrifiers under lock and key.

And certainly, now the spectacles were abandoned, it was impossible to
deny that the Italian had remarkably handsome eyes. Even through the
spectacles, or lifted a little above them, they were always bright and
expressive; but without those adjuncts, the blaze was soft and more
tempered: they had that look which the French call _velouté_, or
velvety; and he appeared altogether ten years younger. If our Ulysses,
thus rejuvenated by his Minerva, has not fully made up his mind to make
a Penelope of Miss Jemima, all I can say is, that he is worse than
Polyphemus, who was only an Anthropophagos.

He preys upon the weaker sex, and is a Gynophagite!

CHAPTER XXIII.

"And you commission me, then, to speak to our dear Jemima?" said Mrs.
Dale, joyfully, and without any bitterness whatever in that "dear."

DR. RICCABOCCA.--"Nay, before speaking to Miss Hazeldean, it would
surely be proper to know how far my addresses would be acceptable to the
family."

MRS. DALE.--"Ah!"

DR. RICCABOCCA.--"The Squire is of course the head of the family."

MRS. DALE (absent and _distrait_).--"The Squire--yes, very true--quite
proper." (Then looking up with _naïveté_)--"Can you believe me, I never
thought of the Squire. And he is such an odd man, and has so many
English prejudices, that really--dear me, how vexatious that it should
never once have occurred to me that Mr. Hazeldean had a voice in the
matter. Indeed, the relationship is so distant--it is not like being her
father; and Jemima is of age, and can do as she pleases; and--but as you
say, it is quite proper that he should be consulted, as the head of the
family."

DR. RICCABOCCA.--"And you think that the Squire of Hazeldean might
reject my alliance! Pshaw! that's a grand word indeed; I mean, that he
might object very reasonably to his cousin's marriage with a foreigner,
of whom he can know nothing, except that which in all countries is
disreputable, and is said in this to be criminal--poverty."

MRS. DALE (kindly).--"You mistake us poor English people, and you wrong
the Squire, heaven bless him! for we were poor enough when he singled
out my husband from a hundred for the minister of his parish, for his
neighbor and his friend. I will speak to him fearlessly--"

DR. RICCABOCCA.--"And frankly. And now I have used that word, let me go
on with the confession which your kindly readiness, my fair friend,
somewhat interrupted. I said that if I might presume to think my
addresses would be acceptable to Miss Hazeldean and her family, I was
too sensible of her amiable qualities not to--not to--"

MRS. DALE (with demure archness).--"Not to be the happiest of
men--that's the customary English phrase, Doctor."

RICCABOCCA (gallantly).--"There can not be a better. But," continued he,
seriously, "I wish it first to be understood that I have--been married
before."

MRS. DALE (astonished).--"Married before!"

RICCABOCCA.--"And that I have an only child, dear to me--inexpressibly
dear. That child, a daughter, has hitherto lived abroad; circumstances
now render it desirable that she should make her home with me. And I own
fairly that nothing has so attached me to Miss Hazeldean, nor so induced
my desire for our matrimonial connection, as my belief that she has the
heart and the temper to become a kind mother to my little one."

MRS. DALE (with feeling and warmth).--"You judge her rightly there."

RICCABOCCA.--"Now, in pecuniary matters, as you may conjecture from my
mode of life, I have nothing to offer to Miss Hazeldean correspondent
with her own fortune, whatever that may be."

MRS. DALE.--"That difficulty is obviated by settling Miss Hazeldean's
fortune on herself, which is customary in such cases."

Dr. Riccabocca's face lengthened. "And my child, then?" said he,
feelingly. There was something in that appeal so alien from all sordid
and merely personal mercenary motives, that Mrs. Dale could not have had
the heart to make the very rational suggestion--"But that child is not
Jemima's, and you may have children by her."

She was touched, and replied hesitatingly--"But, from what you and
Jemima may jointly possess, you can save something annually--you can
insure your life for your child. We did so when our poor child whom we
lost was born," (the tears rushed into Mrs. Dale's eyes); "and I fear
that Charles still insures his life for my sake, though heaven knows
that--that--"

The tears burst out. That little heart, quick and petulant thought it
was, had not a fibre of the elastic muscular tissues which are
mercifully bestowed on the hearts of predestined widows. Dr. Riccabocca
could not pursue the subject of life insurances further. But the
idea--which had never occurred to the foreigner before, though so
familiar to us English people, when only possessed of a life
income--pleased him greatly. I will do him the justice to say, that he
preferred it to the thought of actually appropriating to himself and his
child a portion of Miss Hazeldean's dower.

Shortly afterward he took his leave, and Mrs. Dale hastened to seek her
husband in his study, inform him of the success of her matrimonial
scheme, and consult him as to the chance of the Squire's acquiescence
therein. "You see," said she, hesitatingly, "though the Squire might be
glad to see Jemima married to some Englishman, yet, if he asks who and
what is this Dr. Riccabocca, how am I to answer him?"

"You should have thought of that before," said Mr. Dale, with unwonted
asperity; "and, indeed, if I had ever believed any thing serious could
come out of what seemed to me so absurd, I should long since have
requested you not to interfere in such matters." "Good heavens!"
continued the Parson, changing color, "if we should have assisted,
underhand as it were, to introduce into the family of a man to whom we
owe so much, a connection that he would dislike! how base we should be!
how ungrateful!"

Poor Mrs. Dale was frightened by this speech, and still more by her
husband's consternation and displeasure. To do Mrs. Dale justice,
whenever her mild partner was really either grieved or offended, her
little temper vanished--she became as meek as a lamb. As soon as she
recovered the first shock she experienced, she hastened to dissipate the
Parson's apprehensions. She assured him that she was convinced that if
the Squire disapproved of Riccabocca's pretensions, the Italian would
withdraw them at once, and Miss Hazeldean would never know of his
proposals. Therefore, in that case, no harm would be done.

This assurance coinciding with Mr. Dale's convictions as to Riccabocca's
scruples on the point of honor, tended much to compose the good man; and
if he did not, as my reader of the gentler sex would expect from him,
feel alarm lest Miss Jemima's affections should have been irretrievably
engaged, and her happiness thus put in jeopardy by the Squire's
refusal, it was not that the Parson wanted tenderness of heart, but
experience in womankind; and he believed, very erroneously, that Miss
Jemima Hazeldean was not one upon whom a disappointment of that kind
would produce a lasting impression. Therefore Mr. Dale, after a pause of
consideration, said kindly--

"Well, don't vex yourself--and I was to blame quite as much as you. But,
indeed, I should have thought it easier for the Squire to have
transplanted one of his tall cedars into his kitchen-garden, than for
you to inveigle Dr. Riccabocca into matrimonial intentions. But a man
who could voluntarily put himself into the Parish Stocks for the sake of
experiment, must be capable of any thing! However, I think it better
that I, rather than yourself, should speak to the Squire, and I will go
at once."

CHAPTER XXIV.

The Parson put on the shovel hat, which--conjoined with other details in
his dress peculiarly clerical, and already, even then, beginning to be
out of fashion with churchmen--had served to fix upon him, emphatically,
the dignified but antiquated style and cognomen of "Parson;" and took
his way toward the Home Farm, at which he expected to find the Squire.
But he had scarcely entered upon the village green when he beheld Mr.
Hazeldean, leaning both hands on his stick, and gazing intently upon the
Parish Stocks. Now, sorry am I to say that, ever since the Hegira of
Lenny and his mother, the Anti-Stockian and Revolutionary spirit in
Hazeldean, which the memorable homily of our Parson had awhile averted
or suspended, had broken forth afresh. For though, while Lenny was
present to be mowed and jeered at, there had been no pity for him, yet
no sooner was he removed from the scene of trial, than a universal
compassion for the barbarous usage he had received produced what is
called "the reaction of public opinion." Not that those who had mowed
and jeered repented them of their mockery, or considered themselves in
the slightest degree the cause of his expatriation. No; they, with the
rest of the villagers, laid all the blame upon the Stocks. It was not to
be expected that a lad of such exemplary character could be thrust into
that place of ignominy, and not be sensible of the affront. And who, in
the whole village, was safe, if such goings-on and puttings-in were to
be tolerated in silence, and at the expense of the very best and
quietest lad the village had ever known? Thus, a few days after the
widow's departure, the Stocks was again the object of midnight
desecration: it was bedaubed and bescratched--it was hacked and
hewed--it was scrawled all over with pithy lamentations for Lenny, and
laconic execrations on tyrants. Night after night new inscriptions
appeared, testifying the sarcastic wit and the vindictive sentiment of
the parish. And perhaps the Stocks themselves were only spared from ax
and bonfire by the convenience they afforded to the malice of the
disaffected: they became the Pasquin of Hazeldean.

As disaffection naturally produces a correspondent vigor in authority,
so affairs had been lately administered with greater severity than had
been hitherto wont in the easy rule of the Squire and his predecessors.
Suspected persons were naturally marked out by Mr. Stirn, and reported
to his employer, who, too proud or too pained to charge them openly with
ingratitude, at first only passed them by in his walks with a silent and
stiff inclination of his head; and afterward gradually yielding to the
baleful influence of Stirn, the Squire grumbled forth that "he did not
see why he should be always putting himself out of his way to show
kindness to those who made such a return. There ought to be a difference
between the good and the bad." Encouraged by this admission, Stirn had
conducted himself toward the suspected parties, and their whole kith and
kin, with the iron-handed justice that belonged to his character. For
some, habitual donations of milk from the dairy, and vegetables from the
gardens, were surlily suspended; others were informed that their pigs
were always trespassing on the woods in search of acorns; or that they
were violating the Game Laws in keeping lurchers. A beer-house, popular
in the neighborhood, but of late resorted to overmuch by the
grievance-mongers (and no wonder, since they had become the popular
party), was threatened with an application to the magistrates for the
withdrawal of its license. Sundry old women, whose grandsons were
notoriously ill-disposed towards the Stocks, were interdicted from
gathering dead sticks under the avenues, on pretense that they broke
down the live boughs; and, what was more obnoxious to the younger
members of the parish than most other retaliatory measures, three
chestnut trees, one walnut, and two cherry trees, standing at the bottom
of the park, and which had, from time immemorial, been given up to the
youth of Hazeldean, were now solemnly placed under the general defense
of "private property." And the crier had announced that, henceforth, all
depredators on the fruit-trees in Copse Hollow would be punished with
the utmost rigor of the law. Stirn, indeed, recommended much more
stringent proceedings than all these indications of a change of policy,
which, he averred, would soon bring the parish to its senses--such as
discontinuing many little jobs of unprofitable work that employed the
surplus labor of the village. But there the Squire, falling into the
department, and under the benigner influence of his Harry, was as yet
not properly hardened. When it came to a question that affected the
absolute quantity of loaves to be consumed by the graceless mouths that
fed upon him, the milk of human kindness--with which Providence has so
bountifully supplied that class of the mammalia called the "Bucolic,"
and of which our Squire had an extra "yield"--burst forth, and washed
away all the indignation of the harsher Adam.

Still your policy of half-measures, which irritates without crushing its
victims, which flaps an exasperated wasp-nest with a silk
pocket-handkerchief, instead of blowing it up with a match and train, is
rarely successful; and, after three or four other and much guiltier
victims than Lenny had been incarcerated in the Stocks, the parish of
Hazeldean was ripe for any enormity. Pestilent jacobinical tracts,
conceived and composed in the sinks of manufacturing towns--found their
way into the popular beer-house--heaven knows how, though the Tinker was
suspected of being the disseminator by all but Stirn, who still, in a
whisper, accused the Papishers. And, finally, there appeared among the
other graphic embellishments which the poor Stocks had received, the
rude _gravure_ of a gentleman in a broad-brimmed hat and top-boots,
suspended from a gibbet, with the inscription beneath--"A warnin to hall
tirans--mind your hi!--sighnde Captin sTraw."

It was upon this significant and emblematic portraiture that the Squire
was gazing when the Parson joined him.

"Well, Parson," said Mr. Hazeldean, with a smile which he meant to be
pleasant and easy, but which was exceedingly bitter and grim, "I wish
you joy of your flock--you see they have just hanged me in effigy!"

The Parson stared, and, though greatly shocked, smothered his emotions;
and attempted, with the wisdom of the serpent and the mildness of the
dove, to find another original for the effigy.

"It is very bad," quoth he, "but not so bad as all that, Squire; that's
not the shape of your hat. It is evidently meant for Mr. Stirn."

"Do you think so!" said the Squire, softened. "Yet the top-boots--Stirn
never wears top-boots."

"No more do you--except in hunting. If you look again, those are not
tops--they are leggings--Stirn wears leggings. Besides, that flourish,
which is meant for a nose, is a kind of a hook like Stirn's; whereas
your nose--though by no means a snub--rather turns up than not, as the
Apollo's does, according to the plaster cast in Riccabocca's parlor."

"Poor Stirn!" said the Squire, in a tone that evinced complacency, not
unmingled with compassion, "that's what a man gets in this world by
being a faithful servant, and doing his duty with zeal for his employer.
But you see that things have come to a strange pass, and the question
now is, what course to pursue. The miscreants hitherto have defied all
vigilance, and Stirn recommends the employment of a regular night-watch
with a lantern and bludgeon."

"That may protect the Stocks, certainly; but will it keep those
detestable tracts out of the beer-house?"

"We shall shut the beer-house up at the next sessions."

"The tracts will break out elsewhere--the humor's in the blood!"

"I've half a mind to run off to Brighton or Leamington--good hunting at
Leamington--for a year, just to let the rogues see how they can get on
without me!"

The Squire's lip trembled.

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the Parson, taking his friend's hand, "I
don't want to parade my superior wisdom; but if you had taken my advice,
_quieta non movere_. Was there ever a parish so peaceable as this, or a
country-gentleman so beloved as you were, before you undertook the task
which has dethroned kings and ruined states--that of wantonly meddling
with antiquity, whether for the purpose of uncalled-for repairs, or the
revival of obsolete uses."

At this rebuke the Squire did not manifest his constitutional tendencies
to choler; but he replied almost meekly, "If it were to do again, faith,
I would leave the parish to the enjoyment of the shabbiest pair of
Stocks that ever disgraced a village. Certainly I meant it for the
best--an ornament to the green; however, now they are rebuilt, the
Stocks must be supported. Will Hazeldean is not the man to give way to a
set of thankless rapscallions."

"I think," said the Parson, "that you will allow that the House of
Tudor, whatever its faults, was a determined, resolute dynasty
enough--high-hearted and strong-headed. A Tudor would never have fallen
into the same calamities as the poor Stuart did!"

"What the plague has the House of Tudor got to do with my Stocks?"

"A great deal. Henry the VIII. found a subsidy so unpopular that he gave
it up; and the people, in return, allowed him to cut off as many heads
as he pleased, besides those in his own family. Good Queen Bess, who, I
know, is your idol in history--"

"To be sure!--she knighted my ancestor at Tilbury Fort."

"Good Queen Bess struggled hard to maintain a certain monopoly; she saw
it would not do, and she surrendered it with that frank heartiness which
becomes a sovereign, and makes surrender a grace."

"Ha! and you would have me give up the Stocks?"

"I would much rather they had staid as they were, before you touched
them; but, as it is, if you could find a good plausible pretext--and
there is an excellent one at hand--the sternest kings open prisons, and
grant favors, upon joyful occasions. Now a marriage in the royal family
is of course a joyful occasion!--and so it should be in that of the King
of Hazeldean." Admire that artful turn in the Parson's eloquence!--it
was worthy of Riccabocca himself. Indeed, Mr. Dale had profited much by
his companionship with that Machiavellian intellect.

"A marriage--yes; but Frank has only just got into long tails!"

"I did not allude to Frank, but to your cousin Jemima!"

CHAPTER XXV.

The Squire staggered as if the breath had been knocked out of him, and,
for want of a better seat, sate down on the Stocks.

All the female heads in the neighboring cottages peered, themselves
unseen, through the casements. What could the Squire be about?--what new
mischief did he meditate? Did he mean to fortify the Stocks? Old Gaffer
Solomons, who had an indefinite idea of the lawful power of squires, and
who had been for the last ten minutes at watch on his threshold, shook
his head and said, "Them as a-cut out the mon, a-hanging, as a-put in
the Squire's head!"

"Put what?" asked his grand-daughter.

"The gallus!" answered Solomons--"he be a-goin to have it hung from the
great elm-tree. And the Parson, good mon, is a-quotin Scripter agin
it--you see he's a-taking off his gloves, and a-putting his two han's
together, as he do when he pray for the sick, Jenny."

That description of the Parson's mien and manner, which, with his usual
niceness of observation, Gaffer Solomons thus sketched off, will convey
to you some idea of the earnestness with which the Parson pleaded the
cause he had undertaken to advocate. He dwelt much upon the sense of
propriety which the foreigner had evinced in requesting that the Squire
might be consulted before any formal communication to his cousin; and he
repeated Mrs. Dale's assurance, that such were Riccabocca's high
standard of honor and belief in the sacred rights of hospitality, that,
if the Squire withheld his consent to his proposals, the Parson was
convinced that the Italian would instantly retract them. Now,
considering that Miss Hazeldean was, to say the least, come to years of
discretion, and the Squire had long since placed her property entirely
at her own disposal, Mr. Hazeldean was forced to acquiesce in the
Parson's corollary remark, "That this was a delicacy which could not be
expected from every English pretender to the lady's hand." Seeing that
he had so far cleared ground, the Parson went on to intimate, though
with great tact, that, since Miss Jemima would probably marry sooner or
later, (and, indeed, that the Squire could not wish to prevent her), it
might be better for all parties concerned that it should be with some
one who, though a foreigner, was settled in the neighborhood, and of
whose character what was known was certainly favorable, than run the
hazard of her being married for her money by some adventurer or Irish
fortune-hunter at the watering-places she yearly visited. Then he
touched lightly on Riccabocca's agreeable and companionable qualities;
and concluded with a skillful peroration upon the excellent occasion the
wedding would afford to reconcile Hall and Parish, by making a
voluntary holocaust of the Stocks.

As he concluded, the Squire's brow, before thoughtful, though not
sullen, cleared up benignly. To say truth, the Squire was dying to get
rid of the Stocks, if he could but do so handsomely and with dignity;
and if all the stars in the astrological horoscope had conjoined
together to give Miss Jemima "assurance of a husband," they could not so
have served her with the Squire, as that conjunction between the Altar
and the Stocks which the Parson had effected!

Accordingly, when Mr. Dale had come to an end, the Squire replied with
great placidity and good sense, "That Mr. Rickeybockey had behaved very
much like a gentleman, and that he was very much obliged to him; that he
(the Squire) had no right to interfere in the matter, farther than with
his advice; that Jemima was old enough to choose for herself, and that,
as the Parson had implied, after all, she might go farther and fare
worse--indeed, the farther she went (that is, the longer she waited),
the worse she was likely to fare. I own for my part," continued the
Squire, "that, though I like Rickeybockey very much, I never suspected
that Jemima was caught with his long face; but there's no accounting for
tastes. My Harry, indeed, was more shrewd, and gave me many a hint, for
which I only laughed at her. Still I ought to have thought it looked
queer when Mounseer took to disguising himself by leaving off his
glasses, ha--ha! I wonder what Harry will say; let's go and talk to
her."

The Parson, rejoiced at this easy way of taking the matter, hooked his
arm into the Squire's, and they walked amicably toward the Hall. But on
coming first into gardens, they found Mrs. Hazeldean herself, clipping
dead leaves or fading flowers from her rose-trees. The Squire stole
slily behind her, and startled her in her turn by putting his arm round
her waist, and saluting her smooth cheek with one of his hearty kisses;
which, by the way, from some association of ideas, was a conjugal
freedom that he usually indulged whenever a wedding was going on in the
village.

"Fie, William!" said Mrs. Hazeldean coyly, and blushing as she saw the
Parson. "Well, who's going to be married now?"

"Lord, was there ever such a woman?--she's guessed it!" cried the Squire
in great admiration. "Tell her all about it, Parson."

The Parson obeyed.

Mrs. Hazeldean, as the reader may suppose, showed much less surprise
than her husband had done; but she took the news graciously, and made
much the same answer as that which had occurred to the Squire, only with
somewhat more qualification and reserve. "Signor Riccabocca had behaved
very handsomely; and though a daughter of the Hazeldeans of Hazeldean,
might expect a much better marriage, in a worldly point of view, yet as
the lady in question had deferred finding one so long, it would be
equally idle and impertinent now to quarrel with her choice--if indeed
she should decide on accepting Signor Riccabocca. As for fortune, that
was a consideration for the two contracting parties. Still, it ought to
be pointed out to Miss Jemima that the interest of her fortune would
afford but a very small income. That Dr. Riccabocca was a widower was
another matter for deliberation; and it seemed rather suspicious that he
should have been hitherto so close upon all matters connected with his
former life. Certainly his manners were in his favor, and as long as he
was merely an acquaintance, and at most a tenant, no one had a right to
institute inquiries of a strictly private nature; but that, when he was
about to marry a Hazeldean of Hazeldean, it became the Squire at least
to know a little more about him--who and what he was. Why did he leave
his own country? English people went abroad to save; no foreigner would
choose England as a country in which to save money! She supposed that a
foreign doctor was no very great things; probably he had been but a
professor in some Italian university. At all events, if the Squire
interfered at all, it was on such points that he should request
information."

"My dear madam," said the Parson, "what you say is extremely just. As to
the causes which have induced our friend to expatriate himself, I think
we need not look far for them. He is evidently one of the many Italian
refugees whom political disturbances have driven to our shore, whose
boast it is to receive all exiles, of whatever party. For his
respectability of birth and family he certainly ought to obtain some
vouchers. And if that be the only objection, I trust we may soon
congratulate Miss Hazeldean on a marriage with a man who, though
certainly very poor, has borne privations without a murmur; has
preferred all hardship to debt; has scorned to attempt betraying her
into any clandestine connection; who, in short, has shown himself so
upright and honest, that I hope my dear Mr. Hazeldean will forgive him
if he is only a doctor--probably of laws--and not, as most foreigners
pretend to be, a marquis, or a baron at least."

"As to that," cried the Squire, "'tis the best thing I know about
Rickeybockey, that he don't attempt to humbug us by any such foreign
trumpery. Thank heaven, the Hazeldeans of Hazeldean were never
tuft-hunters and title-mongers; and if I never ran after an English
lord, I should certainly be devilishly ashamed of a brother-in-law whom
I was forced to call markee or count! I should feel sure he was a
courier, or runaway valley-de-sham. Turn up your nose at a doctor,
indeed, Harry!--pshaw, good English style that! Doctor! my aunt married
a Doctor of Divinity--excellent man--wore a wig, and was made a dean! So
long as Rickeybockey is not a doctor of physic, I don't care a button.
If he's _that_, indeed, it would be suspicious; because, you see those
foreign doctors of physic are quacks, and tell fortunes, and go about
on a stage with a Merry-Andrew."

"Lord, Hazeldean! where on earth did you pick up that idea?" said Harry,
laughing.

"Pick it up!--why, I saw a fellow myself at the cattle fair last
year--when I was buying short-horns--with a red waistcoat and a cocked
hat, a little like the Parson's shovel. He called himself Doctor
Phoscophornio--wore a white wig, and sold pills! The Merry-Andrew was
the funniest creature--in salmon-colored tights--turned head over heels,
and said he came from Timbuctoo. No, no; if Rickeybockey's a physic
Doctor, we shall have Jemima in a pink tinsel dress, tramping about the
country in a caravan!"

At this notion, both the Squire and his wife laughed so heartily that
the Parson felt the thing was settled, and slipped away, with the
intention of making his report to Riccabocca.

CHAPTER XXVI.

It was with a slight disturbance of his ordinary suave and well-bred
equanimity that the Italian received the information, that he need
apprehend no obstacle to his suit from the insular prejudices or the
worldly views of the lady's family. Not that he was mean and cowardly
enough to recoil from the near and unclouded prospect of that felicity
which he had left off his glasses to behold with unblinking naked
eyes:--no, there his mind was made up; but he had met with very little
kindness in life, and he was touched not only by the interest in his
welfare testified by a heretical priest, but by the generosity with
which he was admitted into a well-born and wealthy family, despite his
notorious poverty and his foreign descent. He conceded the propriety of
the only stipulation, which was conveyed to him by the Parson with all
the delicacy that became a man professionally habituated to deal with
the subtler susceptibilities of mankind--viz., that, among Riccabocca's
friends or kindred, some one should be found whose report would confirm
the persuasion of his respectability entertained by his neighbors;--he
assented, I say, to the propriety of this condition; but it was not with
alacrity and eagerness. His brow became clouded. The Parson hastened to
assure him that the Squire was not a man _qui stupet in titulis_, (who
was besotted with titles), that he neither expected nor desired to find
an origin and rank for his brother-in-law above that decent mediocrity
of condition to which it was evident, from Riccabocca's breeding and
accomplishments, he could easily establish his claim. "And though," said
he smiling, "the Squire is a warm politician in his own country, and
would never see his sister again, I fear, if she married some convicted
enemy of our happy constitution, yet for foreign politics he does not
care a straw: so that if, as I suspect, your exile arises from some
quarrel with your Government--which, being foreign, he takes for granted
must be insupportable--he would but consider you as he would a Saxon
who fled from the iron hand of William the Conqueror, or a Lancastrian
expelled by the Yorkists in our Wars of the Roses."

The Italian smiled. "Mr. Hazeldean shall be satisfied," said he simply.
"I see, by the Squire's newspaper, that an English gentleman who knew me
in my own country has just arrived in London. I will write to him for a
testimonial, at least to my probity and character. Probably he may be
known to you by name--nay, he must be, for he was a distinguished
officer in the late war. I allude to Lord L'Estrange."

The Parson started.

"You know Lord L'Estrange?--a profligate, bad man, I fear."

"Profligate!--bad!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "Well, calumnious as the world
is, I should never have thought that such expressions would be applied
to one who, though I knew him but little--knew him chiefly by the
service he once rendered to me--first taught me to love and revere the
English name!"

"He may be changed since--" The parson paused.

"Since when?" asked Riccabocca, with evident curiosity.

Mr. Dale seemed embarrassed. "Excuse me," said he, "it is many years
ago; and, in short, the opinion I then formed of the gentleman in
question was based upon circumstances which I can not communicate."

The punctilious Italian bowed in silence, but he still looked as if he
should have liked to prosecute inquiry.

After a pause, he said, "Whatever your impressions respecting Lord
L'Estrange, there is nothing, I suppose, which would lead you to doubt
his honor, or reject his testimonial in my favor?"

"According to fashionable morality," said Mr. Dale, rather precisely, "I
know of nothing that could induce me to suppose that Lord L'Estrange
would not, in this instance, speak the truth. And he has unquestionably
a high reputation as a soldier, and a considerable position in the
world." Therewith the Parson took his leave. A few days afterward, Dr.
Riccabocca inclosed to the Squire, in a blank envelope, a letter he had
received from Harley L'Estrange. It was evidently intended for the
Squire's eye, and to serve as a voucher for the Italian's
respectability; but this object was fulfilled, not in the coarse form of
a direct testimonial, but with a tact and delicacy which seemed to show
more than the fine breeding to be expected from one in Lord L'Estrange's
station. It argued that most exquisite of all politeness which comes
from the heart: a certain tone of affectionate respect (which even the
homely sense of the Squire felt, intuitively, proved far more in favor
of Riccabocca than the most elaborate certificate of his qualities and
antecedents) pervaded the whole, and would have sufficed in itself to
remove all scruples from a mind much more suspicious and exacting than
that of the Squire of Hazeldean. But, lo and behold! an obstacle now
occurred to the Parson, of which he ought to have thought long
before--viz., the Papistical religion of the Italian. Dr. Riccabocca was
professedly a Roman Catholic. He so little obtruded that fact--and,
indeed, had assented so readily to any animadversions upon the
superstition and priestcraft which, according to Protestants, are the
essential characteristics of Papistical communities--that it was not
till the hymeneal torch, which brings all faults to light, was fairly
illumined for the altar, that the remembrance of a faith so cast into
the shade burst upon the conscience of the Parson. The first idea that
then occurred to him was the proper and professional one--viz., the
conversion of Dr. Riccabocca. He hastened to his study, took down from
his shelves long neglected volumes of controversial divinity, armed
himself with an arsenal of authorities, arguments, and texts; then,
seizing the shovel-hat, posted off to the Casino.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The Parson burst upon the philosopher like an avalanche! He was so full
of his subject that he could not let it out in prudent driblets. No, he
went souse upon the astounded Riccabocca,

                          "Tremendo.
    Jupiter ipse ruens tumultu."

The sage--shrinking deeper into his arm-chair, and drawing his
dressing-robe more closely round him--suffered the Parson to talk for
three-quarters of an hour, till indeed he had thoroughly proved his
case; and, like Brutus, "paused for a reply."

Then said Riccabocca mildly, "In much of what you have urged so ably,
and so suddenly, I am inclined to agree. But base is the man who
formally forswears the creed he has inherited from his fathers, and
professed since the cradle up to years of maturity, when the change
presents itself in the guise of a bribe;--when, for such is human
nature, he can hardly distinguish or disentangle the appeal to his
reason from the lure to his interests--here a text, and there a
dowry!--here Protestantism, there Jemima. Own, my friend, that the
soberest casuist would see double under the inebriating effects produced
by so mixing his polemical liquors. Appeal, my good Mr. Dale, from
Philip drunken to Philip sober!--from Riccabocca intoxicated with the
assurance of your excellent lady, that he is about to be "the happiest
of men," to Riccabocca accustomed to his happiness, and carrying it off
with the seasoned equability of one grown familiar with stimulants--in a
word, appeal from Riccabocca the wooer to Riccabocca the spouse. I may
be convertible, but conversion is a slow process; courtship should be a
quick one--ask Miss Jemima. _Finalmente_, marry me first, and convert me
afterward!"

"You take this too jestingly," began the Parson; "and I don't see why,
with your excellent understanding, truths so plain and obvious should
not strike you at once."

"Truths," interrupted Riccabocca profoundly, "are the slowest growing
things in the world! It took 1500 years from the date of the Christian
era to produce your own Luther, and then he flung his Bible at Satan (I
have seen the mark made by the book on the wall of his prison in
Germany), besides running off with a nun, which no Protestant clergyman
would think it proper and right to do nowadays." Then he added, with
seriousness, "Look you, my dear sir--I should lose my own esteem if I
were even to listen to you now with becoming attention--now, I say, when
you hint that the creed I have professed may be in the way of my
advantage. If so, I must keep the creed and resign the advantage. But
if, as I trust--not only as a Christian, but a man of honor--you will
defer this discussion, I will promise to listen to you hereafter; and
though, to say truth, I believe that you will not convert me, I will
promise you faithfully never to interfere with my wife's religion."

"And any children you may have?"

"Children!" said Dr. Riccabocca, recoiling--"you are not contented with
firing your pocket-pistol right in my face; you must also pepper me all
over with small-shot. Children! well, if they are girls, let them follow
the faith of their mother; and if boys, while in childhood, let them be
contented with learning to be Christians; and when they grow into men,
let them choose for themselves which is the best form for the practice
of the great principles which all sects have in common."

"But," began Mr. Dale again, pulling a large book from his pocket.

Dr. Riccabocca flung open the window, and jumped out of it.

It was the rapidest and most dastardly flight you could possibly
conceive; but it was a great compliment to the argumentative powers of
the Parson, and he felt it as such. Nevertheless, Mr. Dale thought it
right to have a long conversation, both with the Squire and Miss Jemima
herself, upon the subject which his intended convert had so
ignominiously escaped.

The Squire, though a great foe to Popery, politically considered, had
also quite as great a hatred to turn-coats and apostates. And in his
heart he would have despised Riccabocca if he could have thrown off his
religion as easily as he had done his spectacles. Therefore he said,
simply--"Well, it is certainly a great pity that Rickeybockey is not of
the Church of England, though, I take it, that would be unreasonable to
expect in a man born and bred under the nose of the Inquisition"--(the
Squire firmly believed that the Inquisition was in full force in all the
Italian states, with whips, racks, and thumb-screws; and, indeed, his
chief information of Italy was gathered from a perusal he had given in
early youth to _The One-Handed Monk_)--"but I think he speaks very
fairly, on the whole, as to his wife and children. And the thing's gone
too far now to retract. It is all your fault for not thinking of it
before; and I've now just made up my mind as to the course to pursue
respecting those d--d Stocks!"

As for Miss Jemima, the parson left her with a pious thanksgiving that
Riccabocca at least was a Christian, and not a Pagan, Mahometan, or Jew!

CHAPTER XXVIII.

There is that in a wedding which appeals to a universal sympathy. No
other event in the lives of their superiors in rank creates an equal
sensation among the humbler classes.

From the moment the news had spread throughout the village that Miss
Jemima was to be married, all the old affection for the Squire and his
House burst forth the stronger for its temporary suspension. Who could
think of the Stocks at such a season? They were swept out of
fashion--hunted from remembrance as completely as the question of Repeal
or the thought of Rebellion from the warm Irish heart, when the fair
young face of the Royal Wife beamed on the sister isle.

Again cordial courtesies were dropped at the thresholds by which the
Squire passed to his home-farm; again the sun-burnt brows uncovered--no
more with sullen ceremony--were smoothed into cheerful gladness at his
nod. Nay, the little ones began again to assemble at their ancient
rendezvous by the Stocks, as if either familiarized with the phenomenon,
or convinced that, in the general sentiment of good-will, its powers of
evil were annulled.

The Squire tasted once more the sweets of the only popularity which is
much worth having, and the loss of which a wise man would reasonably
deplore; viz., the popularity which arises from a persuasion of our
goodness, and a reluctance to recall our faults. Like all blessings, the
more sensibly felt from previous interruption, the Squire enjoyed this
restored popularity with an exhilarated sense of existence; his stout
heart beat more vigorously; his stalwart step trod more lightly; his
comely English face looked comelier and more English than ever--you
would have been a merrier man for a week to have come within hearing of
his jovial laugh.

He felt grateful to Jemima and to Riccabocca as the special agents of
Providence in this general _integratio amoris_. To have looked at him,
you would suppose that it was the Squire who was going to be married a
second time to his Harry!

One may well conceive that such would have been an inauspicious moment
for Parson Dale's theological scruples. To have stopped that
marriage--chilled all the sunshine it diffused over the village--seen
himself surrounded again by long sulky visages--I verily believe, though
a better friend of Church and State never stood on a hustings, that,
rather than court such a revulsion, the Squire would have found
jesuitical excuses for the marriage if Riccabocca had been discovered to
be the Pope in disguise! As for the Stocks, their fate was now
irrevocably sealed. In short, the marriage was concluded--first
privately, according to the bridegroom's creed, by a Roman Catholic
clergyman, who lived in a town some miles off, and next publicly in the
village church of Hazeldean.

It was the heartiest rural wedding! Village girls strewed flowers on the
way; a booth was placed amidst the prettiest scenery of the Park, on the
margin of the lake--for there was to be a dance later in the day--an ox
was roasted whole. Even Mr. Stirn--no, Mr. Stirn was not present, so
much happiness would have been the death of him! And the Papisher, too,
who had conjured Lenny out of the stocks; nay, who had himself sate in
the Stocks for the very purpose of bringing them into contempt--the
Papisher! he had as lief Miss Jemima had married the devil! Indeed he
was persuaded that, in point of fact, it was all one and the same.
Therefore Mr. Stirn had asked leave to go and attend his uncle the
pawnbroker, about to undergo a torturing operation for the stone! Frank
was there, summoned from Eton for the occasion--having grown two inches
taller since he left--for the one inch of which nature was to be
thanked, for the other a new pair of resplendent Wellingtons. But the
boy's joy was less apparent than that of others. For Jemima was a
special favorite with him--as she would have been with all boys--for she
was always kind and gentle, and made many pretty presents whenever she
came from the watering-places. And Frank knew that he should miss her
sadly, and thought she had made a very queer choice.

Captain Higginbotham had been invited; but, to the astonishment of
Jemima, he had replied to the invitation by a letter to herself, marked
"_private and confidential_." 'She must have long known,' said the
letter, 'of his devoted attachment to her; motives of delicacy, arising
from the narrowness of his income, and the magnanimity of his
sentiments, had alone prevented his formal proposals; but now that she
was informed (he could scarcely believe his senses, or command his
passions) that her relations wished to force her into a BARBAROUS
marriage with a foreigner of MOST FORBIDDING APPEARANCE, and most
_abject circumstances_, he lost not a moment in laying at her feet his
own hand and fortune. And he did this the more confidently, inasmuch as
he could not but be aware of Miss Jemima's SECRET feelings toward him,
while he was _proud_ and _happy_ to say, that his dear and distinguished
cousin, Mr. Sharpe Currie, had honored him with a warmth of regard which
justified the most _brilliant_ EXPECTATIONS--likely to be _soon_
realized--as his eminent relative had contracted a _very bad
liver-complaint_ in the service of his country, and could not last
long!'

In all the years they had known each other, Miss Jemima, strange as it
may appear, had never once suspected the Captain of any other feelings
to her than those of a brother. To say that she was not gratified by
learning her mistake, would be to say that she was more than woman.
Indeed, it must have been a source of no ignoble triumph to think that
she could prove her disinterested affection to her dear Riccabocca, by a
prompt rejection of this more brilliant offer. She couched the
rejection, it is true, in the most soothing terms. But the Captain
evidently considered himself ill used; he did not reply to the letter,
and did not come to the wedding.

To let the reader into a secret, never known to Miss Jemima, Captain
Higginbotham was much less influenced by Cupid than by Plutus in the
offer he had made. The Captain was one of that class of gentlemen who
read their accounts by those corpse-lights, or will-o'-the-wisps, called
_expectations_. Ever since the Squire's grandfather had left him--then
in short clothes--a legacy of £500, the Captain had peopled the future
with expectations! He talked of his expectations as a man talks of
shares in a Tontine; they might fluctuate a little--be now up and now
down--but it was morally impossible, if he lived on, but that he should
be a _millionaire_ one of these days. Now, though Miss Jemima was a good
fifteen years younger than himself, yet she always stood for a good
round sum in the ghostly books of the Captain. She was an _expectation_
to the full amount of her £4000, seeing that Frank was an only child,
and it would be carrying coals to Newmarket to leave _him_ any thing.

Rather than see so considerable a cipher suddenly sponged out of his
visionary ledger--rather than so much money should vanish clean out of
the family, Captain Higginbotham had taken what he conceived, if a
desperate, at least a certain, step for the preservation of his
property. If the golden horn could not be had without the heifer, why,
he must take the heifer into the bargain. He had never formed to himself
an idea that a heifer so gentle would toss and fling him over. The blow
was stunning. But no one compassionates the misfortunes of the covetous,
though few perhaps are in greater need of compassion. And leaving poor
Captain Higginbotham to retrieve his illusory fortunes as he best may
among "the expectations" which gathered round the form of Mr. Sharpe
Currie, who was the crossest old tyrant imaginable, and never allowed at
his table any dishes not compounded with rice, which played Old Nick
with the Captain's constitutional functions--I return to the wedding at
Hazeldean, just in time to see the bridegroom--who looked singularly
well on the occasion--hand the bride (who, between sunshiny tears and
affectionate smiles, was really a very interesting and even a pretty
bride, as brides go) into a carriage which the Squire had presented to
them, and depart on the orthodox nuptial excursion amidst the blessings
of the assembled crowd.

It may be thought strange by the unreflective that these rural
spectators should so have approved and blessed the marriage of a
Hazeldean of Hazeldean with a poor, outlandish, long-haired foreigner;
but, besides that Riccabocca, after all, had become one of the
neighborhood, and was proverbially "a civil-spoken gentleman," it is
generally noticeable that on wedding occasions the bride so monopolizes
interest, curiosity, and admiration, that the bridegroom himself goes
for little or nothing. He is merely the passive agent in the affair--the
unregarded cause of the general satisfaction. It was not Riccabocca
himself that they approved and blessed--it was the gentleman in the
white waistcoat who had made Miss Jemima--Madam Rickeybocky!

Leaning on his wife's arm--(for it was a habit of the Squire to lean on
his wife's arm rather than she on his, when he was specially pleased;
and there was something touching in the sight of that strong sturdy
frame thus insensibly, in hours of happiness, seeking dependence on the
frail arm of woman)--leaning, I say, on his wife's arm, the Squire,
about the hour of sunset, walked down to the booth by the lake.

All the parish--young and old, man, woman, and child--were assembled
there, and their faces seemed to bear one family likeness, in the common
emotion which animated all, as they turned to his frank fatherly smile.
Squire Hazeldean stood at the head of the long table; he filled a horn
with ale from the brimming tankard beside him. Then he looked round, and
lifted his hand to request silence; and, ascending the chair, rose in
full view of all. Every one felt that the Squire was about to make a
speech, and the earnestness of the attention was proportioned to the
rarity of the event; for (though he was not unpracticed in the oratory
of the hustings) only thrice before had the Squire made what could
fairly be called "a speech" to the villagers of Hazeldean--once on a
kindred festive occasion, when he had presented to them his bride--once
in a contested election for the shire, in which he took more than
ordinary interest, and was not quite so sober as he ought to have
been--once in a time of great agricultural distress, when, in spite of
reduction of rents, the farmers had been compelled to discard a large
number of their customary laborers; and when the Squire had said, "I
have given up keeping the hounds, because I want to make a fine piece of
water, (that was the origin of the lake), and to drain all the low lands
round the park. Let every man who wants work come to me!" And that sad
year the parish rates of Hazeldean were not a penny the more.

Now, for the fourth time, the Squire rose, and thus he spoke. At his
right hand, Harry; at his left, Frank. At the bottom of the table, as
vice-president, Parson Dale, his little wife behind him, only obscurely
seen. She cried readily, and her handkerchief was already before her
eyes.

CHAPTER XXIX. THE SQUIRE'S SPEECH.

"Friends and neighbors--I thank you kindly for coming round me this day,
and for showing so much interest in me and mine. My cousin was not born
among you as I was, but you have known her from a child. It is a
familiar face and one that never frowned, which you will miss at your
cottage doors, as I and mine will miss it long in the old Hall--"

Here there was a sob from some of the women, and nothing was seen of
Mrs. Dale but the white handkerchief. The Squire himself paused, and
brushed away a tear with the back of his hand. Then he resumed, with a
sudden change of voice that was electrical--

"For we none of us prize a blessing till we have lost it! Now, friends
and neighbors--a little time ago, it seemed as if some ill-will had
crept into the village--ill-will between you and me, neighbors!--why,
that is not like Hazeldean!"

The audience hung their heads! You never saw people look so thoroughly
ashamed of themselves. The Squire proceeded--

"I don't say it was all your fault; perhaps it was mine."

"Noa--noa--noa," burst forth in a general chorus.

"Nay, friends," continued the Squire humbly, and in one of those
illustrative aphorisms which, if less subtle than Riccabocca's were more
within reach of the popular comprehension; "nay--we are all human; and
every man has his hobby: sometimes he breaks in the hobby, and sometimes
the hobby, if it is very hard in the mouth, breaks in him. One man's
hobby has an ill habit of always stopping at the public house!
(Laughter). Another man's hobby refuses to stir a peg beyond the door
where some buxom lass patted its neck the week before--a hobby I rode
pretty often when I went courting my good wife here! (Much laughter and
applause). Others have a lazy hobby, that there's no getting on; others,
a runaway hobby that there's no stopping: but to cut the matter short,
my favorite hobby, as you well know, is always trotted out to any place
on my property which seems to want the eye and hand of the master. I
hate (cried the Squire warming) to see things neglected and decayed, and
going to the dogs! This land we live in is a good mother to us, and we
can't do too much for her. It is very true, neighbors, that I owe her a
good many acres, and ought to speak well of her; but what then? I live
among you, and what I take from the rent with one hand, I divide among
you with the other (low, but assenting murmurs). Now the more I improve
my property, the more mouths it feeds. My great-grandfather kept a
Field-Book, in which were entered, not only the names of all the farmers
and the quantity of land they held, but the average number of the
laborers each employed. My grandfather and father followed his example:
I have done the same. I find, neighbors, that our rents have doubled
since my great-grandfather began to make the book. Ay--but there are
more than four times the number of laborers employed on the estate, and
at much better wages, too! Well, my men, that says a great deal in favor
of improving property, and not letting it go to the dogs. (Applause).
And therefore, neighbors, you will kindly excuse my hobby: it carries
grist to your mill. (Reiterated applause). Well--but you will say,
'What's the Squire driving at?' Why this, my friends: There was only one
worn-out, dilapidated tumble-down thing in the Parish of Hazeldean, and
it became an eyesore to me; so I saddled my hobby, and rode at it. O ho!
you know what I mean now! Yes, but neighbors, you need not have taken it
so to heart. That was a scurvy trick of some of you to hang me in
effigy, as they call it."

"It warn't you," cried a voice in the crowd, "it war Nick Stirn."

The Squire recognized the voice of the Tinker; but though he now guessed
at the ringleader--on that day of general amnesty, he had the prudence
and magnanimity not to say, "Stand forth, Sprott: thou art the man." Yet
his gallant English spirit would not suffer him to come off at the
expense of his servant.

"If it was Nick Stirn you meant," said he, gravely, "more shame for you.
It showed some pluck to hang the master; but to hang the poor servant,
who only thought to do his duty, careless of what ill-will it brought
upon him, was a shabby trick--so little like the lads of Hazeldean, that
I suspect the man who taught it to them was never born in the parish.
But let by-gones be by-gones. One thing is clear, you don't take kindly
to my new Pair of Stocks! They have been a stumbling-block and a
grievance, and there's no denying that we went on very pleasantly
without them. I may also say that in spite of them we have been coming
together again lately. And I can't tell you what good it did me to see
your children playing again on the green, and your honest faces, in
spite of the Stocks, and those diabolical tracts you've been reading
lately, lighted up at the thought that something pleasant was going on
at the Hall. Do you know, neighbors, you put me in mind of an old story
which, besides applying to the Parish, all who are married, and all who
intend to marry, will do well to recollect? A worthy couple, named John
and Joan, had lived happily together many a long year, till one unlucky
day, they bought a new bolster. Joan said the bolster was too hard, and
John that it was too soft. So, of course, they quarreled. After sulking
all day, they agreed to put the bolster between them at night." (Roars
of laughter among the men; the women did not know which way to look,
except, indeed, Mrs. Hazeldean, who, though she was more than usually
rosy, maintained her innocent, genial smile, as much as to say, "There
is no harm in the Squire's jests.") The orator resumed, "After they had
thus lain apart for a little time, very silent and sullen, John sneezed.
'God bless you!' says Joan over the bolster. 'Did you say God bless me?'
cries John--'then here goes the bolster!'"

Prolonged laughter and tumultuous applause.

"Friends and neighbors," said the Squire, when silence was restored, and
lifting the horn of ale, "I have the pleasure to inform you that I have
ordered the Stocks to be taken down, and made into a bench for the
chimney nook of our old friend Gaffer Solomons yonder. But mind me,
lads, if ever you make the Parish regret the loss of the Stocks, and the
overseers come to me with long faces, and say, 'the Stocks must be
rebuilded,' why--" Here from all the youth of the village rose so
deprecating a clamor, that the Squire would have been the most bungling
orator in the world if he had said a word further on the subject. He
elevated the horn over his head, "Why, that's my old Hazeldean again!
Health and long life to you all!"

The Tinker had sneaked out of the assembly, and did not show his face in
the village for the next six months. And as to those poisonous tracts,
in spite of their salubrious labels, "The Poor Man's Friend," or "The
Rights of Labor," you could no more have found one of them lurking in
the drawers of the kitchen-dressers in Hazeldean, than you would have
found the deadly nightshade on the flower-stands in the drawing-room of
the Hall. As for the revolutionary beer-house, there was no need to
apply to the magistrates to shut it up; it shut itself up before the
week was out.

O young head of the great House of Hapsburg, what a Hazeldean you might
have made of Hungary!--What a "_Moriamur pro rege nostro_" would have
rung in your infant reign--if you had made such a speech as the
Squire's!

  (_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[4] The Emperor Diocletian.

[5] The title of Excellency does not, in Italian, necessarily express
any exalted rank, but is often given by servants to their masters.

BEAUTIES OF THE LAW.

As a happy illustration of the certainty, cheapness, and expedition of
the English law, in upholding those who are in the right, we have
received the following strange narrative from an esteemed correspondent,
who is himself a lawyer:

"The most litigious fellow I ever knew, was a Welshman, named Bones. He
had got possession, by some means, of a bit of waste ground behind a
public-house in Hogwash-street. Adjoining this land was a yard,
belonging to the parish of St. Jeremiah, which the Parish Trustees were
fencing in with a wall. Bones alleged that one corner of their wall was
advanced about ten inches on his ground, and as they declined to remove
it back, he kicked down the brickwork before the mortar was dry. The
Trustees having satisfied themselves that they were not only within
their own boundary, but that they had left Bones some feet of the parish
land to boot, built up the wall again. Bones kicked it down again.

"The Trustees put it up a third time under the protection of a
policeman. The inexorable Bones, in spite of the awful presence of this
functionary, not only kicked down the wall again, but kicked the
bricklayers into the bargain. This was too much, and Bones was marched
off to Guildhall for assaulting the bricklayers. The magistrate rather
pooh-poohed the complaint, but bound over Bones to keep the peace. The
_causa belli_, the wall, was re-edified a fourth time; but when the
Trustees revisited the place next morning, it was again in ruins! While
they were in consultation upon this last insult, they were politely
waited on by an attorney's clerk, who served them all with 'writs' in an
action of trespass, at the suit of Bones, for encroaching on his land.

"Thus war was declared about a piece of dirty land, literally not so big
as a door-step, and the whole fee-simple of which would not sell for a
shilling. The Trustees, however, thought they ought not to give up the
rights of the parish to the obstinacy of a perverse fellow, like Bones,
and resolved to indict Bones for assaulting the workmen. Accordingly,
the action and the indictment went on together.

"The action was tried first, and as the evidence clearly showed the
Trustees had kept within their own boundary, they got the verdict. Bones
moved for a new trial; that failed. The Trustees now thought they would
let the matter rest, as it had cost the parish about one hundred and
fifty pounds, and they supposed Bones had had enough of it. But they had
mistaken their man. He brought a writ of error in the action, which
carried the cause into the Exchequer Court, and tied it up nearly two
years, and in the mean time he forced them, _nolens volens_, to try the
indictment. When the trial came on, the Judge said, that as the whole
question had been decided in the action, there was no occasion for any
further proceedings, and therefore the defendant had better be
acquitted, and so make an end of it.

"Accordingly, Bones was acquitted; and the very next thing Bones did,
was to sue the Trustees in a new action, for maliciously instituting the
indictment against him without reasonable cause! The new action went on
to trial; and it being proved that one of the Trustees had been
overheard to say that they would punish him, this was taken as evidence
of malice, and Bones got a verdict for forty shillings damages besides
all the costs. Elated with this victory, Bones pushed on his old action
in the Exchequer Chamber to a hearing, but the court affirmed the
judgment against him, without hearing the Trustees' counsel.

"The Trustees were now sick of the very name of Bones, which had become
a sort of bugbear, so that if a Trustee met a friend in the street, he
would be greeted with an inquiry after the health of his friend Mr.
Bones. They would have gladly let the whole matter drop into oblivion,
but Jupiter and Bones had determined otherwise; for the indomitable
Briton brought a writ of error in the House of Lords, on the judgment
of the Exchequer Chamber. The unhappy Trustees had caught a Tartar, and
follow him into the Lords they must. Accordingly after another year or
two's delay, the case came on in the Lords. Their Lordships pronounced
it the most trumpery writ of error they had ever seen, and again
affirmed the judgment, with costs, against Bones. The Trustees now taxed
their costs, and found that they had spent not less than five hundred
pounds in defending their claim to a bit of ground that was not of the
value of an old shoe. But, then, Bones was condemned to pay the costs.
True; so they issued execution against Bones; caught him, after some
trouble, and locked him up in jail. The next week, Bones petitioned the
Insolvent Court, got out of prison; and, on examination of schedule, his
effects appeared to be £0 0_s._ 0_d._! Bones had, in fact, been fighting
the Trustees on credit for the last three years; for his own attorney
was put down as a creditor to a large amount, which was the only
satisfaction the Trustees obtained from perusing his schedule.

"They were now obliged to have recourse to the Parish funds to pay their
own law expenses, and were consoling themselves with the reflection that
these did not come out of _their own pockets_, when they received the
usual notification that a bill in Chancery had been filed against them,
at Mr. Bones's suit, to overhaul their accounts with the parish, and
_prevent the misapplication of the parish money_ to the payment of their
law costs! This was the climax. And being myself a disciple of Coke, I
have heard nothing further of it; being unwilling, as well, perhaps, as
unqualified, to follow the case into the labyrinthic vaults of the Court
of Chancery. The catastrophe, if this were a tale, could hardly be
mended--so the true story may end here."

THE ROBBER OUTWITTED.

Willie Bailie was a household name about a hundred years ago, in the
upper parts of Clydesdale. Men, women, and children had heard of Willie,
and the greater proportion had seen him. Few, in his time, could excel
Willie in dexterity in his profession, which consisted of abstracting
money from people's pockets, and in other predatory feats. He frequented
the fairs all round the district, and no man's purse was safe if Willie
happened to be in the market. The beautiful village of Moffat, in
Annandale, was one of his frequent places of resort when any of its
fairs happened to be held, and here, among the honest farmers, he was
invariably successful; and to show his professional skill on such
occasions, he has been known to rob a man and return his purse to him
two or three times in the same day; but this he did only with his
intimate friends, who were kind to him in providing lodgings, when
plying his nominal occupation of tinker from one farm-house to another;
in the case of others, it was, of course, different. His wife abetted
him in all his thieving exploits, and generally sat in a place in the
outskirts of the town, that had been previously fixed on, and there
received in silence whatever spoil her husband might throw incidentally
into her lap in the shape of her fairing. But Willie was a privileged
freebooter, was generous withal, and well liked by the people in the
neighborhood, on whom he rarely committed any acts of plunder, and any
one might have trusted what he called his "honor."

Willie's character was well known both to high and low, and he became
renowned for a heroism which few who esteem respectability would now
covet. The high estimation in which he was held as an adept in his
profession, induced a Scottish nobleman to lay a high bet, with an
Englishman of some rank, that Willie would actually rob and fairly
despoil a certain noted riever on the southern side of the border, who
was considered one of the most daring and dexterous that frequented the
highways in those dubious times, and one whose exploits the gentleman
was in the habit of extolling. The Scottish nobleman conferred with
Willie, and informed him of the project--a circumstance which mightily
pleased our hero, and into which he entered with all enthusiasm. The
interest which Willie took in the matter was to the nobleman a guarantee
of ultimate success; and, having given all the marks of the robber, and
directed him to the particular place on the road where he was sure to
meet with him, he left it to Willie himself to arrange the subsequent
mode of procedure.

Willie's ingenuity was instantly at work, and he concocted a scheme
which fairly carried him through the enterprise. He got an old,
frail-looking pony, partially lame, and with long, shaggy hair. He
filled a bag of considerable dimensions with a great quantity of old
buttons, and useless pieces of jingling metal. He next arrayed himself
in beggarly habiliments, with clouted shoes, tattered under-garments, a
cloak mended in a hundred places, and a soiled, broad-brimmed bonnet on
his head. The _money_-bag he tied firmly behind the saddle; he placed a
pair of pistols under his coat, and a short dagger close by his side.
Thus accoutred he wended his way slowly toward the border, both he and
the animal apparently in the last stage of helplessness and decrepitude.
The bag behind was carefully covered by the cloak, that spread its
_duddy_ folds over the hinder parts of the poor lean beast that carried
him. Sitting in a crouching posture on the saddle, with a long beard and
an assumed palsified shaking of the hand, nobody would have conceived
for a moment that Willie was a man in the prime of life, of a
well-built, athletic frame, with more power in his arm than three
ordinary men, and of an intrepid and adventurous spirit, that feared
nothing, but dared every thing. In this plight, our worthy went dodging
over the border, and entered the neighboring kingdom, where every person
that met him regarded him as a poor, doited, half-insane body, fit only
to lie down at the side of a hedge, and die unheeded, beside the crazy
steed. In this way, he escaped without suspicion, and advanced without
an adventure to the skirts of the wood, where he expected to encounter
his professional brother.

When Willie entered the road that led through the dark and suspicious
forest, he was all on the alert for the highwayman. Every rustling among
the trees and bushes arrested his attention, not knowing but a whizzing
ball might in a moment issue therefrom, or that the redoubted freebooter
himself might spring upon him like a tiger. Neither of these, however,
occurred; but a man on horseback was seen advancing slowly and
cautiously on the road before him. This might be he, or it might not,
but Willie now recollected every particular mark given of the man with
whom he expected to encounter, and he was prepared for the most vigilant
observation. As the horseman advanced, Willie was fully convinced that
he had met with his man, and this was the critical moment, for here was
the identical highwayman.

"How now, old fellow?" exclaimed the robber; "what seek you in these
parts? Where are you bound for, with this magnificent equipage of
yours?"

"Why, to tell you the truth, I am e'en a puir honest man frae Scotland,
gaen a wee bit farther south on business of some consequence, and I am
glad I have met with a gentleman like you, and I would fain put myself
under your protection in this dreary wood, as I am a stranger, and wadna
like ony mischance to befa', considering the errand I am on."

The robber eyed Willie with a sort of leer, thinking he had fallen in
with an old driveling fool, at whose expense he might amuse himself with
impunity, and play a little on his simplicity.

"What makes you afraid of this wood?" said the robber.

"Why, I was told that it was infested with highwaymen; and, to tell you
the truth, as I take you to be an honest man and a gentleman, I hae
something in this bag that I wadna like to lose, for twa reasons--baith
because of its value, and because it was intrusted to my care."

"What have you got, pray, that you seem so anxious to preserve? I can't
conceive that any thing of great value can be intrusted to your care.
Why, I would not give a crown-piece, nor the half of it, for the whole
equipage."

"That's just the very thing. You see, I am not what I appear to be. I
have ta'en this dress, and this auld, slovenly pony, for the purpose of
avoiding suspicion in these precarious places. I have behind me a bag
full of gold--you may hear by the jingling of the pieces when I strike
here with my hand. Now, I am intrusted with all this treasure, to convey
it to a certain nobleman's residence in the south; and I say again, that
I am glad that I have met you, to conduct me safely through the forest."

At this, the robber was highly amused, and could scarcely believe that a
simplicity so extreme, and bordering on insanity, could exist; and yet
there was an archness in the old man's look, and a wiliness in his
manner, that hardly comported with his external appearance. He said he
had gold with him--he affirmed that he was not exactly what he appeared
to be--not so poor as his tattered garments would indicate, and withal
trustworthy, having so large a sum of money committed to his care. It
might be, there was not a word of truth in his story; he might be some
cunning adventurer from the border, plying a certain vocation on his own
account, not altogether of a reputable cast; but, whatever the case
might be, the silly old man was completely in his power, and, if he had
gold in his possession, it must be seized on, and no time was to be
lost.

"I tell you," said the highwayman, wheeling his horse suddenly round in
front of Willie's pony, "I tell you, old man, that I am that same robber
of whom you seem to be afraid, and I demand an instant surrender of your
gold."

"Hoot, toot," exclaimed Willie, "gae wa, gae wa! You a robber! You are
an honest man, and you only want to joke me."

"I tell you distinctly that I am the robber, and I hold you in my
power."

"And I say as distinctly," persisted Willie, "that you are a true man.
That face of yours is no a robber's face--there's no a bit o' a robber
about ye, and sae ye maun e'en guard me through the wood, and gie me the
word o' a leel-hearted Englishman that ye'll no see ony ill come ower
me."

"No humbug!" vociferated the highwayman, in real earnest; "dismount, and
deliver me that bag immediately, else I will make a riddle of your
brainless skull in a trice."

Willie saw that it was in vain to parley, for the highwayman had his
hand on the pommel of his pistol, and an unscrupulous act would lay him
dead at his feet. Now was the time for the wary Scot to put his plan in
execution. All things had happened as he wished, and he hoped the rest
would follow.

"Weel, weel," said Willie, "since it maun be, it maun be. I shall
dismount, and deliver you the treasure, for life is sweet--sweeter far
than even gold to the miser. I wanted to act an honest part, but, as we
say on the north side of the border, 'Might makes right,' and sae, as I
said, it e'en maun be."

Willie then, with some apparent difficulty, as an old, stiff-limbed man,
lifted himself from the pony, and stood staggering on the ground.

"Now," said he, laying his hand heavily on the money-bag, "I have a
request or two to make, and all is yours. When I return to Scotland, I
must have some marks about my person to show that I have been really
robbed, and that I have not purloined the gold to my own purposes. I
will place my bonnet here on the side of the road, and you will shoot a
ball through it; and then, here is this old cloak--you must send another
ball exactly through here, so that I can show, when I return, what a
fray I have been in, and how narrowly I have escaped."

To this the robber consented, and, having alighted from his steed, made
two decided perforations in the way he was desired. This was with Willie
a great point gained, for the robber's pistols were now empty, and
restored to their place.

"I have yet another request," said Willie, "and then the matter will be
completed. You must permit me to cut the straps that tie the bag to the
saddle, and to throw it over this hedge, and then go and lift it
yourself, that I may be able to swear that, in the struggle, I did what
I could to conceal the money, and that you discovered the place where I
had hid it, and then seized it; and thus I will stand acquitted in all
points."

To this also the highwayman consented. Willie, accordingly, threw the
heavy bag over the hedge, and obsequiously offered to hold the robber's
high-spirited steed till he should return with the treasure. The bandit,
suspecting nothing on the part of the driveling old man, readily
committed his horse to his care, while he eagerly made his way through
the hedge to secure the prize. In the mean time, however, Willie was no
less agile; for, having thrown off his ragged and cumbersome cloak, he
vaulted upon the steed of the highwayman with as much coolness as if he
had been at his own door. When the robber had pushed his way back
through the hedge, dragging the bag with him, he was confounded on
seeing his saddle occupied by the simpleton whose gold he had so easily
come by. But he was no longer a simpleton--no longer a wayfaring man in
beggar's weeds--but a tall, buirdly man, arrayed in decent garb, and
prepared to dispute his part with the best.

"What, ho! scoundrel! Do you intend to run off with my horse? Dismount
instantly, or I will blow out your brains!"

"The better you may," replied Willie; "your pistols are empty, and your
broadsword is but a reed; advance a single step nearer, and I will send
a whizzing ball through your beating heart. As to the bag, you can
retain its contents, and sell the buttons for what they will bring. In
the mean time, farewell, and should you happen to visit my district
across the border, I shall be happy to extend to you a true Scotch
hospitality."

On this, Willie applied spur and whip to the fleet steed, and in a few
minutes was out of the wood, and entirely beyond the reach of the
highwayman. When Willie had time to consider the matter, he found a
valise behind the saddle, which, he had no doubt, was crammed with
spoils of robbery; nor was he mistaken, for, on examination, it
contained a great quantity of gold, and other precious articles. The
highwayman, on opening Willie's bag, found it filled with old buttons
and other trash. His indignation knew no bounds: he swore, and
vociferated, and stamped with his feet, but all to no purpose; he had
been outwitted by the wily Scot, and, artful as he himself was, he had
met with one more artful still.

The Scottish nobleman gained the bet, and the affair made a great noise
for many a long year. Daring men of this description were found in every
part of the kingdom, frequenting the dark woods, the thick hedges, and
the ruinous buildings by the wayside; and, what is remarkable, these
desperadoes were conventionally held in high repute, and were deemed
heroes. In the time of Charles II., when the English thoroughfares were
so infested with such adventurers, we find that one Claude Duval, a
highwayman, while he was a terror to all men, was at the same time a
true gallant in the esteem of all the ladies. He was as popular and
renowned as the greatest chieftains of his age; and, when he was at last
apprehended, "dames of high rank visited him in prison, and, with tears,
interceded for his life; and, after his execution, the corpse lay in
state, with all the pomp of scutcheons, wax-lights, black hangings, and
mutes." The order of society in the times to which we refer was vastly
different from what it is now. Men's habits and moral sentiments were
then of the lowest grade, but, thanks to the clearer light and better
teaching of Christianity, the condition of all classes is vastly
elevated. The Gospel has effected in the community infinitely more than
all law and social regulations otherwise could have accomplished.

[From Bentley's Miscellany.]

A CHAPTER ON BEARS, THEIR HABITS, HISTORY, ETC.

     _Slender._ Why do your dogs bark so? be there bears i' the town?

     _Anne._ I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of.

     _Slender._ I love the sport well; but I shall as soon quarrel at
     it as any man in England: you are afraid if you see the bear
     loose, are you not?

     _Anne._ Ay, indeed, sir.

     _Slender._ That's meat and drink to me now! I have seen Sackerson
     loose twenty times; and have taken him by the chain; but I
     warrant you the women have so cried and shrieked at it that it
     passed--but women, indeed can not abide 'em; they are very
     ill-favored, rough things.--_Merry Wives of Windsor._

Those who ramble amid the beautiful scenery of Torquay, who gaze with
admiration on the bold outlines of the Cheddar Cliffs, or survey the
fertile fen district of Cambridgeshire, will find it difficult to
believe that in former ages these spots were ravaged by bears surpassing
in size the grizzly bear of the Rocky Mountains, or the polar bear of
the Arctic regions; yet the abundant remains found in Kent Hole Torquay,
and the Banwell Caves, together with those preserved in the Woodwardian
Museum at Cambridge, incontestably prove that such was the case. Grand
indeed was the Fauna of the British isles in those early days!
Lions--the true old British lions--as large again as the biggest African
species, lurked in the ancient thickets; elephants, of nearly twice the
bulk of the largest individuals that now exist in Africa or Ceylon,
roamed here in herds; at least two species of rhinoceros forced their
way through the primeval forests; the lakes and rivers were tenanted by
hippopotami as bulky and with as great tusks as those of Africa. These
statements are not the offspring of imagination, but are founded on the
countless remains of these creatures which are continually being brought
to light, proving from their numbers and variety of size, that
generation after generation had been born, and lived, and died in Great
Britain.[6]

It is matter of history, that the brown bear was plentiful here in the
time of the Romans, and was conveyed in considerable numbers to Rome, to
make sport in the arena. In Wales they were common beasts of chase, and
in the history of the Gordons, it is stated that one of that clan, so
late as 1057, was directed by his sovereign to carry three bears' heads
on his banner, as a reward for his valor in killing a fierce bear in
Scotland.

In 1252, the sheriffs of London were commanded by the king to pay
fourpence a day for "our white bear in the Tower of London and his
keeper;" and in the following year they were directed to provide "unum
musellum et unam cathenam ferream"--_Anglicè_, a muzzle and an iron
chain, to hold him when out of the water, and a long and strong rope to
hold him when fishing in the Thames. This piscatorial bear must have had
a pleasant time of it, as compared to many of his species, for the
barbarous amusement of baiting was most popular with our ancestors. The
household book of the Earl of Northumberland contains the following
characteristic entry: "Item, my Lorde usith and accustomith to gyfe
yearly when hys Lordshipe is att home to his barward, when he comyth to
my Lorde at Cristmas with his Lordshippes beests, for making his
Lordschip pastyme the said xij days xxs."

In Bridgeward Without there was a district called Paris Garden; this,
and the celebrated Hockley in the Hole, were in the sixteenth century
the great resorts of the amateurs in bear-baiting and other cruel
sports, which cast a stain upon the society of that period--a society in
a transition state, but recently emerged from barbarism, and with all
the tastes of a semi-barbarous people. Sunday was the grand day for
these displays, until a frightful occurrence which took place in 1582. A
more than usually exciting bait had been announced, and a prodigious
concourse of people assembled. When the sport was at its highest, and
the air rung with blasphemy, the whole of the scaffolding on which the
people stood gave way, crushing many to death, and wounding many more.
This was considered as a judgment of the Almighty on these
Sabbath-breakers, and gave rise to a general prohibition of profane
pastime on the Sabbath.

Soon after the accession of Elizabeth to the throne, she gave a
splendid banquet to the French embassadors, who were afterward
entertained with the baiting of bulls and bears (May 25, 1559). The day
following, the embassadors went by water to Paris Garden, where they
patronized another performance of the same kind. Hentzer, after
describing from observation a very spirited and bloody baiting, adds,
"To this entertainment there often follows that of whipping a blinded
bear, which is performed by five or six men, standing circularly with
whips, which they exercise upon him without any mercy, as he can not
escape because of his chain. He defends himself with all his strength
and skill, throwing down all that come within his reach and are not
active enough to get out of it, and tearing their whips out of their
hands and breaking them." Laneham, in his account of the reception of
Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth, in 1575, gives a very graphic account of
the "righte royalle pastimes." "It was a sport very pleasant to see the
bear, with his pink eyes learing after his enemies' approach; the
nimbleness and wait of the dog to take his advantage, and the force and
experience of the bear again to avoid his assaults. If he were bitten in
one place, how he would pinch in another to get free; that if he were
taken once, then by what shift with biting, with clawing, with roaring,
with tossing and tumbling he would work and wind himself from them, and
when he was loose, to shake his ears twice or thrice with the blood and
the slaver hanging about his physiognomy."

These barbarities continued until a comparatively recent period, but are
now, it is to be hoped, exploded forever. Instead of ministering to the
worst passions of mankind, the animal creation now contribute, in no
inconsiderable degree, to the expansion of the mind and the development
of the nobler feelings. Zoological collections have taken the place of
the Southwark Gardens and other brutal haunts of vice, and we are glad
to say, often prove a stronger focus of attraction than the skittle
ground and, its debasing society. By them, laudable curiosity is
awakened, and the impression, especially on the fervent and plastic
minds of young people, is deep and lasting. The immense number of
persons[7] of the lower orders, who visited the London Gardens during
the past season, prove the interest excited. The love of natural history
is inherent in the human mind, and now for the first time the humbler
classes are enabled to see to advantage, and to appreciate the beauties
of animals of whose existence they were in utter ignorance, or if known,
so tinctured with the marvelous, as to cause them to be regarded mainly
as objects of wonder and of dread.

California is hardly less remarkable for its bears than for its gold.
The Grizzly Bear, expressively named _Ursus Ferox_ and _U. Horribilis_,
reigns despotic throughout those vast wilds which comprise the Rocky
Mountains and the plains east of them, to latitude 61°. In size it is
gigantic, often weighing 800 pounds; and we ourselves have measured a
skin eight feet and a half in length. Governor Clinton received an
account of one fourteen feet long, but there might have been some
stretching of this skin. The claws are of great length, and cut like a
chisel when the animal strikes a blow with them. The tail is so small as
not to be visible; and it is a standing joke with the Indians (who with
all their gravity are great wags), to desire one unacquainted with the
grizzly bear to take hold of its tail. The strength of this animal may
be estimated from its having been known to drag easily to a considerable
distance, the carcase of a bison, weighing upward of a thousand pounds.
Mr. Dougherty, an experienced hunter, had killed a very large bison, and
having marked the spot, left the carcase for the purpose of obtaining
assistance to skin and cut it up. On his return, the bison had
disappeared! What had become of it he could not divine; but at length,
after much search, discovered it in a deep pit which had been dug for it
at some distance by a grizzly bear, who had carried it off and buried it
during Mr. Dougherty's absence. The following incident is related by Sir
John Richardson: "A party of voyagers, who had been employed all day in
tracking a canoe up the Saskatchewan, had seated themselves in the
twilight by a fire, and were busy preparing their supper, when a large
grizzly bear sprang over their canoe that was tilted behind them, and
seizing one of the party by the shoulder, carried him off. The rest fled
in terror, with the exception of a Metif, named Bourasso, who, grasping
his gun, followed the bear as it was retreating leisurely with his prey.
He called to his unfortunate comrade that he was afraid of hitting him
if he fired at the bear, but the man entreated him to fire immediately,
as the bear was squeezing him to death. On this he took a deliberate
aim, and discharged his piece into the body of the bear, which instantly
dropped his prey to follow Bourasso, who however escaped with
difficulty, and the bear retreated to a thicket, where it is supposed to
have died." The same writer mentions a bear having sprung out of a
thicket, and with one blow of his paw completely scalped a man, laying
bare the skull, and bringing the skin down over the eyes. Assistance
coming up, the bear made off without doing him further injury; but the
scalp, not being replaced, the poor man lost his sight, though it is
stated the eyes were uninjured.

Grizzly bears do not hug, but strike their prey with their terrific
paws. We have been informed by a gentleman who has seen much of these
creatures (having indeed killed five with his own hand) that when a
grizzly bear sees an object, he stands up on his hind legs, and gazes at
it intently for some minutes. He then, if it be a man or a beast, goes
straight on utterly regardless of numbers, and will seize it in the
midst of a regiment of soldiers. One thing only scares these creatures,
and that is the _smell_ of man. If in their charge they should cross a
scent of this sort, they will turn and fly.

Our informant was on one occasion standing near a thicket, looking at
his servant cleaning a gun. He had just dismounted, and the bridle of
the thorough-bred horse was twisted round his arm. While thus engaged, a
very large grizzly bear rushed out of the thicket, and made at the
servant, who fled. The bear then turned short upon this gentleman, in
whose hand was a rifle, carrying a small ball, forty to the pound; and
as the bear rose on his hind legs to make a stroke, he was fortunate
enough to shoot him through the heart. Had the horse moved in the
slightest at the critical moment, and jerked his master's arm, nothing
could have saved him; but the noble animal stood like a rock. On another
occasion, a large bear was shot mortally. The animal rushed up a steep
ascent, and fell back, turning a complete somerset ere he reached the
ground. The same gentleman told us two curious facts, for which he could
vouch; namely, that these bears have the power of moving their claws
independently. For instance, they will take up a clod of earth which
excites their curiosity, and crumble it to pieces by moving their claws
one on the other; and that wolves, however famished, will never touch a
carcase which has been buried by a grizzly bear, though they will
greedily devour all other dead bodies. The instinct of burying bodies is
so strong with these bears, that instances are recorded where they have
covered hunters who have fallen into their power and feigned death, with
bark, grass, and leaves. If the men attempted to move, the bear would
again put them down, and cover them as before, finally leaving them
comparatively unhurt.

The grizzly bears have their caves, to which they retire when the cold
of winter renders them torpid; and this condition is taken advantage of
by the most intrepid of the hunters. Having satisfied themselves about
the cave, these men prepare a candle from wax taken from the comb of
wild bees, and softened by the grease of the bear. It has a large wick,
and burns with a brilliant flame. Carrying this before him, with his
rifle in a convenient position, the hunter enters the cave. Having
reached its recesses, he fixes the candle on the ground, lights it, and
the cavern is soon illuminated with a vivid light. The hunter now lies
down on his face, having the candle between the back part of the cave
where the bear is, and himself. In this position, with the muzzle of the
rifle full in front of him, he patiently awaits his victim. Bruin is
soon roused by the light, yawns and stretches himself, like a person
awaking from a deep sleep. The hunter now cocks his rifle, and watches
the bear turn his head, and with slow and waddling steps approach the
candle. This is a trying moment, as the extraordinary tenacity of life
of the grizzly bear renders an unerring shot essential. The monster
reaches the candle, and either raises his paw to strike, or his nose to
smell at it. The hunter steadily raises his piece; the loud report of
the rifle reverberates through the cavern; and the bear falls with a
heavy crash, pierced through the eye, one of the few vulnerable spots
through which he can be destroyed.

The Zoological Society have at various times possessed five specimens of
the grizzly bear. The first was Old Martin, for many years a well known
inhabitant of the Tower Menagerie. We remember him well as an enormous
brute, quite blind from cataract, and generally to be seen standing on
his hind legs with open mouth, ready to receive any tit-bit a
compassionate visitor might bestow. Notwithstanding the length of time
he was in confinement (more than twenty years), all attempts of
conciliation failed, and to the last he would not permit of the
slightest familiarity, even from the keeper who constantly fed him. Some
idea may be formed of his size, when we say that his skull (which we
recently measured) exceeds in length by two inches the largest lion's
skull in the Osteological Collection, although several must have
belonged to magnificent animals.

After the death of old Martin, the Society received two fine young bears
from Mr. Catlin, but they soon died. Their loss, however, has been amply
replaced by the three very thriving young animals which have been
recently added to the collection. These come from the Sierra Nevada,
about 800 miles from San Francisco, and were brought to this country by
Mr. Pacton. They were transported with infinite trouble across the
Isthmus of Panama, in a box carried on men's shoulders, and are
certainly the first of their race who have performed the overland
journey. The price asked was £600, but they were obtained at a much less
sum; since their sojourn in this country, they have greatly increased in
size, and enjoy excellent health. An additional interest attaches to
these animals from two of them having undergone the operation for
cataract.

Bears are extremely subject to this disease, and of course are thereby
rendered blind. Their strength and ferocity forbade any thing being done
for their relief, until a short time ago, when, by the aid of that
wonderful agent, chloroform, it was demonstrated that they are as
amenable to curative measures as the human subject.

On the 5th of last November, the first operation of the sort was
performed on one of these grizzly bears, which was blind in both eyes.
As this detracted materially from his value, it was decided to endeavor
to restore him to sight; and Mr. White Cooper having consented to
operate, the proceedings were as follow: A strong leathern collar to
which a chain was attached, was firmly buckled around the patient's
neck, and the chain having been passed round one of the bars in front of
the cage, two powerful men endeavored to pull him up, in order that a
sponge containing chloroform should be applied to his muzzle by Dr.
Snow. The resistance offered by the bear was as surprising as
unexpected. The utmost efforts of these men were unavailing; and, after
a struggle of ten minutes, two others were called to their aid. By their
united efforts, Master Bruin was at length brought up, and the sponge
fairly tied round his muzzle. Meanwhile the cries and roarings of the
patient were echoed in full chorus by his two brothers, who had been
confined to the sleeping den, and who scratched and tore at the door to
get to the assistance of their distressed relative. In a den on one side
was the Cheetah, whose leg was amputated under chloroform some months
ago, and who was greatly excited by the smell of the fluid and uproar.
The large sloth bear in a cage on the other side, joined heartily in the
chorus, and the Isabella bear just beyond, wrung her paws in an agony of
woe. Leopards snarled in sympathy, and laughing hyenas swelled the
chorus with their hysterical sobs. The octo-basso growling of the polar
bears, and roaring of the lions on the other side of the building,
completed as remarkable a diapason as could well be heard.

The first evidence of the action of the chloroform on the bear, was a
diminution in his struggles; first one paw dropped, then the other. The
sponge was now removed from his face, the door of the den opened, and
his head laid upon a plank outside. The cataracts were speedily broken
up, and the bear was drawn into the cage again. For nearly five minutes
he remained, as was remarked by a keeper without knowledge, sense, or
understanding, till at length one leg gave a kick, then another, and
presently he attempted to stand. The essay was a failure, but he soon
tried to make his way to his cage. It was Garrick, if we remember right,
who affirmed that Talma was an indifferent representative of
inebriation, for he was not drunk in his legs. The bear, however acted
the part to perfection, and the way in which (like Commodore Trunnion on
his way to church) he tacked, during his route to his den, was ludicrous
in the extreme. At length he blundered into it, and was left quiet for a
time. He soon revived, and in the afternoon ate heartily. The following
morning on the door being opened, he came out, staring about him, caring
nothing for the light, and began humming, as he licked his paws, with
much the air of a musical amateur sitting down to a sonata on his
violoncello.

A group might have been dimly seen through the fog which covered the
garden on the morning of the 15th November, standing on the spot where
the proceedings above narrated took place ten days previously. This
group comprised Professor Owen, Mr. Yarrell, the president of the
Society, Count Nesselrode, Mr. Waterhouse, Mr. Pickersgill, R.A.,
Captain Stanley, R.N., and two or three other gentlemen. They were
assembled to witness the restoration to sight of another of the grizzly
bears. The bear this time was brought out of the den, and his chain
passed round the rail in front of it. Diluted chloroform was used, and
the operation was rendered more difficult by the animal not being