forced me to write: she always said, 'Never write, Charles, but when
you like it;' and I never did. When I had any thing to say, that is,
any thing to describe, or any reasons to give upon any subject, or any
questions to ask, which I very much wished to have answered, then, you
know, I could easily write, because I had nothing to do but to write
down just the words which I should have said, if I had been speaking."

"But I thought writing was quite a different thing from speaking,
because, in writing, there must be sentences, and long sentences, and
fine sentences, such as there are in books."

"In _some_ books," said Howard; "but not in all."

"Besides," continued Oliver, "one person's speaking is quite different
from another person's speaking. Now I believe I make use of a great
number of odd words, and vulgar expressions, and bad English, which I
learned from being with the servants, I believe, at home. You have never
talked to servants, Charles, I dare say, for you have not one of their
words."

"No," said Charles, "never; and my aunt took a great deal of pains to
prevent me from hearing any of their conversation; therefore it was
impossible that I should catch--"

Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of old Paul, the
gardener.

"So, Paul," cried little Oliver, "I've been doing your work for you this
morning; I've watered all the geraniums, and put the Indian corn in the
sun; what kept you so late in your bed this fine morning, Paul?--fie,
Paul!"

"You would not say fie, master," replied Paul, "if you knew how early I
had been out of my bed, this morning: I was abroad afore sunrise, so I
was, master."

"And why didn't you come to work then, Paul? You shall not have the
watering-pot till you tell me: don't look so grave about it; you know
you must smile when I please, Paul."

"I can't smile, just now, master," said old Paul; but he smiled, and
then told Oliver, that "the reason he could not smile was, that he was a
little sick at heart, with just coming from the sight of a poor soul who
had been sadly bruised by a fall from the top of the stage, which was
overturned last night. She was left all night at the _pike_, and as she
had no other friends, she sent for me by a return chay-boy, and I went
for her, and brought her home in my covered cart, to my good woman,
which she liked, with good reason, better ten to one than the stage.
And she's terribly black and blue, and does not seem quite right in her
head, to my fancy."

"I wish we could do something for her," said Howard. "As soon as Mr.
Russell is up, I'll ask him to go with us to see her. We will call as we
go by to school this morning."

"But, master," said the gardener, "I should warn ye beforehand, that
mayhap you mayn't pity her so much, for she's rather past her best days;
and bad must have been her best, for she's swarthy, and not like one of
this country: she comes from over the seas, and they call her a--a--not
quite a negro."

"A mulatto!--I like her the better," cried Oliver; "for my nurse was a
mulatto. I'll go and waken Mr. Russell this instant, for I'm sure he'll
not be angry." He ran away to Mr. Russell, who was not angry at being
awakened, but dressed himself _almost_ as expeditiously as Oliver
wished, and set out immediately with his pupils, delighted to be the
companion of their benevolent schemes, instead of being the object of
their fear and hatred. Tutors may inspire affection, even though they
have the misfortune to be obliged to teach Greek and Latin.{5}

{Footnote 5: Vide Dr. Johnson's assertions to the contrary, in Mrs.
Piozzi's Anecdotes.}

When the boys arrived at the gardener's, they found the poor mulatto
woman lying upon a bed, in a small close room, which was so full of
smoke, when they came in, that they could hardly breathe: the little
window, that let in but a glimmering light, could not, without
difficulty, be opened. The poor woman made but few complaints; she
appeared to be most concerned at the thoughts of being a burden to the
good old gardener and his wife. She said that she had not been long in
England; that she came to London in hopes of finding a family who had
been very kind to her in her youth; but that, after inquiry at the house
where they formerly lived, she could hear nothing of them. After a great
deal of trouble, she discovered that a West India gentleman, who had
known her abroad, was now at Bath; but she had spent the last farthing
of her money, and she was, therefore, unable to undertake the journey.
She had brought over with her, she said, some foreign seeds of flowers,
which her young mistress used to be fond of when she was a child, which
she had kept till hunger obliged her to offer them to a gardener for a
loaf of bread. The gardener to whom she offered them was old Paul, who
took compassion upon her distress, lodged her for a week, and at last
paid for an outside place for her upon the Bath coach. There was such
an air of truth and simplicity in this woman, that Mr. Russell, more
experienced than his pupils, believed her story, at once, as implicitly
as they did. "Oh," exclaimed little Oliver, "I have but this half-crown
for her: I wish Holloway had but paid me my half-guinea; I'll ask him
for it again to-day; and will you come with us here again, this evening,
Mr. Russell, that I may bring it then?"

Mr. Russell and Howard hired the room for a fortnight in which the
mulatto woman was now lying, and paid old Paul, the gardener, for it,
promising, at the same time, to supply her with food. The gardener's
wife, at the poor woman's earnest request, promised that, as soon as she
was able to sit up, she would get her some coarse plain work to do.

"But," said Oliver, "how can she see to work in this smoke? I'm sure it
makes my eyes water so that I can hardly bear it, though I have been in
it scarcely ten minutes."

"I wish," exclaimed Howard, turning to Mr. Russell, "that this chimney
could be cured of smoking."

"Oh, well-a-day," said the gardener, "we must put up with it as it is,
for I've had doctors to it, at one time or another, that have cost me
a power of money; but, after all, it's as bad as ever, and my good dame
never lights a fire in it this fine spring weather; howsomever, she
(pointing to the mulatto woman) is so chilly, coming from a country
that, by all accounts, is a hot-house, compared with ours, that she
can't sleep o' nights, or live o' days without a small matter of fire,
which she's welcome to, though, you see, it almost fills the house with
smoke."

Howard, during the gardener's speech, had been trying to recollect where
it was that he had lately seen some essay upon smoky chimneys; and he
suddenly exclaimed, "It was in Dr. Franklin's works--was it not, Mr.
Russell?"

"What?" said Mr. Russell, smiling.

"That essay upon smoky chimneys which I said I would skip over, the
other day, because I had nothing to do with it, and I thought I should
not understand. Don't you remember telling me, sir, that I had better
not skip it, because it might, some time or other, be useful to me?
I wish I could get the book now; I would take pains to understand it,
because, perhaps, I might find out how this poor man's chimney might
be cured of smoking. As for his window, I know how that can be easily
mended, because I once watched a man who was hanging some windows for my
aunt--I'll get some sash line."

"Do you recollect what o'clock it is, my good friend?" said Mr. Russell,
holding out his watch to Howard. "We cannot wait till you are perfect
master of the theory of smoky chimneys, and the practice of hanging
windows; it is time that we should be gone." Mr. Russell spoke this with
an air of raillery, as he usually did, when he was particularly pleased.

As they were going away, Oliver earnestly repeated his request, that
Mr. Russell would come again in the evening, that he might have an
opportunity of giving the poor woman his half-guinea. Mr. Russell
promised him that he would; but he at the same time added, "All charity,
my dear Oliver, does not consist in giving money: it is easy for a man
to put his hand in his pocket, and take out a few shillings, to give any
person in distress."

"I wish," said Oliver, "I was able to do more! what can I do? I'll think
of something. Howard, will you think of something that I can do? But I
must see about my Latin lesson first, for I had not time to look it over
this morning, before I came out."

When they got back, the business of the day, for some hours, suspended
all thoughts of the mulatto woman; but, in the first interval of
leisure, Oliver went in search of Mr. Holloway, to ask for his
half-guinea. Holloway had a crowd of his companions round him, whom he
seemed to be entertaining with some very diverting story, for they were
laughing violently when little Oliver first came up to them; but they no
sooner perceived him than all their merriment suddenly ceased. Holloway
first lowered his voice into a whisper, and then observing that Oliver
still stood his ground, he asked him, in his usual peremptory tone, what
might be his business? Oliver drew him aside, and asked him to pay him
_the_ half-guinea. "_The_ half-guinea?" repeated Holloway: "man, you
talk of _the_ half-guinea as if there was but one half-guinea in the
world: you shall have _the_ half-guinea, for I hate to be dunned--Stay,
I believe I have no _half_-a-guinea about me: you can't give me two
half-guineas for a guinea, can ye?"

"Me!"

"Well, then, you must wait till I can get change."

"Must I wait? but I really want it for a particular reason, this
evening: I wish you could give it me now--you know you promised; but I
don't like putting people in mind of their promises, and I would not ask
you about the money, only that I really want it."

"Want it!--nonsense: what can you want money for, such a little chap as
you? I'll lay you any wager, your _particular_ reason, if the truth was
told, is, that you can't resist the tart-woman."

"I _can_ resist the tart-woman," cried Oliver proudly; "I have a much
better use for my money: but I don't want to boast, neither; only,
Holloway, do give me the half-guinea: shall I run and ask somebody to
give you two half-guineas for a guinea?"

"No, no, I'll not be dunned into paying you. If you had not asked me for
it, I should have given it you to-night: but since you could not trust
to my honour, you'll please to wait till to-morrow morning."

"But I did trust to your honour for a whole month."

"A month!--a great while, indeed; then trust to it a day longer; and
if you ask me for the money to-morrow, you shan't have it till the next
day. I'll teach you not to be such a little dun: nobody, that has any
spirit, can bear to be dunned, particularly for such small sums. I
thought you had been above such meanness, or, I promise you, I should
never have borrowed your half-guinea," added Holloway; and he left his
unfortunate creditor to reflect upon the new ideas of _meanness_ and
_spirit_, which had been thus artfully thrown out.

Oliver was roused from his reflections by his friend Howard. "Mr.
Russell is ready to go with us to the gardener's again," said Howard:
"have you a mind to come?"

"A great mind; but I am ashamed, for I've not got my half-guinea which
I lent." Here his newly acquired fear of meanness checked Oliver, and
without complaining of his creditor's want of punctuality, he added,
"but I should like to see the poor woman though, for all that."

They set out, but stopped in their way at a bookseller's, where Howard
inquired for that essay of Dr. Franklin on smoky chimneys, which he was
impatient to see. This bookseller was well acquainted with Mr. Russell.
Howard had promised to give the bookseller the translation of the little
French book which we formerly mentioned; and the bookseller, on his
part, was very obliging in furnishing Howard with any books he wanted.

Howard was deep in the essay on smoky chimneys, and examining the
references in the print belonging to it, whilst Mr. Russell was looking
over the prints in the Encyclopedia, with little Oliver. They were all
so intent upon what they were about, that they did not perceive the
entrance of Holloway and Mr. Supine. Mr. Supine called in merely to
see what Mr. Russell could be looking at, with so much appearance of
interest. The indolent are always curious, though they will not always
exert themselves, even to gratify their curiosity.

"Only the Encyclopaedia prints," said Supine, looking over Mr. Russell's
shoulder: "I thought you had got something new."

"Only smoky chimneys," exclaimed Holloway, looking over Howard's
shoulder: "what upon earth, Howard, can you find so entertaining in
smoky chimneys? Are you turned chimney-doctor, or chimney-sweeper? This
will be an excellent thing for Lord Rawson, won't it, Mr. Supine? We'll
tell it to him on Thursday; it will be a good joke for us, for half
the day. Pray, doctor Charles Howard," continued the wit, with mock
solemnity, "do you go up the chimneys yourself?"

Howard took this raillery with so much good-humour, that Holloway looked
quite disappointed; and Mr. Supine, in a careless tone, cried, "I take
it, reading such things as these will scarcely improve your style,
sir--will they, think ye, Mr. Russell?"

"I am not sure," replied Mr. Russell, "that Mr. Howard's _first_ object
in reading is to improve his style; but," added he, turning to the
title-page, and pointing to Franklin's name, "you, perhaps, did not
know--"

"Oh, Dr. Franklin's works," interrupted Supine: "I did not see the name
before--to be sure I must bow down to _that_."

Having thus easily satisfied Mr. Supine's critical scruples by the
authority of a name, Mr. Russell rose to depart, as he perceived that
there was no chance of getting rid of the idlers.

"What are you going to do with yourself, Russell?" said Mr. Supine;
"we'll walk with you, if you are for walking, this fine evening; only
don't let's walk like penny postmen."

"But he's in a hurry," said Oliver; "he's going to see a poor woman."

"A _poor_ woman!" said Supine; "down this close lane too!"

"Oh, let's see all that's to be seen," whispered Holloway; "ten to one
we shall get some diversion out of it: Russell's a quiz worth studying,
and Howard's his ditto."

They came to the gardener's house. Holloway's high spirits suddenly
subsided when he beheld the figure of the mulatto woman.

"What's the matter?" said Oliver, observing that he started; "why did
you start so?"

"Tell Howard I want to speak one word with him, this instant, in the
street; bid him come out to me," whispered Holloway; and he hastily
retreated before the poor woman saw his face.

"Howard," cried Holloway, "I sent for you to tell you a great secret."

"I'm sorry for it," said Charles; "for I hate secrets."

"But you can keep a secret, man, can't you?"

"If it were necessary, I hope I could; but I'd rather not hear--"

"Pooh, nonsense," interrupted Holloway, "you must hear it; I'll trust to
your honour; and, besides, I have not a moment to stand shilly shally:
I've got a promise from my father to let me go down, this Easter, with
Lord Rawson, to Marryborough, in his dog-cart, _randem-tandem_, you
know."

"I did not know it, indeed," said Charles; "but what then?"

"Why, then, you see, I must be upon my good behaviour; and you would not
do such an ill-natured trick as to betray me?"

"Betray you! I don't know what you mean," said Howard, astonished.

Holloway now briefly told him his stage-coach adventure, and concluded
by saying, he was afraid that the mulatto woman should recollect either
his face or voice, and should _blow him_.

"And what," said Howard, shocked at the selfishness which Holloway
showed--"and what do you want me to do? why do you tell me all this?"

"Because," said Holloway, "I thought if you heard what the woman said,
when she saw me, you would have got it all out of her to be sure;
therefore I thought it best to trust you with my secret, and so put
you upon honour with me. All I ask of you is, to hold your tongue about
my--my--my--frolic, and just make some excuse for my not going into the
room again where the mulatto woman is: you may tell Supine, if he asks
what's become of me, that I'm gone to the music-shop, to get some new
music for him: that will keep him quiet. Good by."

When Howard returned to the room where the mulatto woman lay, he
expected to be questioned by Mr. Supine about Holloway's sudden
departure; but this gentleman was not in the habit of paying great
attention to his pupil's motions. He took it for granted that Holloway
had escaped, because he did not wish to be called upon for a charitable
subscription. From the same fear, Mr. Supine affected unusual absence
of mind whilst Mr. Russell talked to the mulatto woman, and at length,
professing himself unable to endure any longer the smell of smoke, he
pushed his way into the street. "Mr. Holloway, I suppose," said he, "has
taken himself home, very wisely, and I shall follow him: we make it
a rule, I think, to miss one another; but to keep a young man in
leading-strings would be a great bore. We're upon the best footing in
the world together: as to the rest--"

New difficulties awaited Holloway. He got home some time before Mr.
Supine, and found his friend, the stage-coachman, waiting for him with a
rueful face.

"Master," said he, "here's a sad job: there was a parcel lost last
night, in the confusion of the overturn of the coach; and I must make it
good; for it's booked, and it's booked to the value of five guineas, for
it was a gold muslin gown that a lady was very particular about; and,
master, I won't peach if you'll pay: but as for losing my place, or
making up five guineas afore Saturday, it's what I can't take upon me to
do."

Holloway was much dismayed at this news; he now began to think he should
pay too dear for his frolic. The coachman persisted in his demand. Mr.
Supine appeared at the corner of the street; and his pupil was forced to
get rid immediately of the coachman, by a promise, that the money should
be ready on Saturday. When Holloway made this promise, he was not master
of two guineas in the world; how to procure the whole sum was now the
question. Alderman Holloway, with the hope of exciting in his son's mind
a love for literature, made it a practice to reward him with solid gold,
whenever he brought home any certificate of his scholarship. Holloway
had lately received five guineas from his father, for an approved copy
of Latin verses; and the alderman had promised to give him five guineas
more if he brought home the medal which was to be the reward for the
best essay in the periodical paper, which the Westminster boys were now
writing. Holloway, though he could write elegant Latin verses, had not
any great facility in English composition; he, consequently, according
to the usual practice of little minds, undervalued a talent which he did
not possess. He had ridiculed the scheme of writing an English essay,
and had loudly declared, that he did not think it worth his while
to write English. His opinion was, however, somewhat changed by his
father's promised reward; and the stage-coachman's impatience for his
money now impelled Holloway to exertion. He began to write his
essay late on Friday evening--the medal was to be given on Saturday
morning--so that there could not be much time for revisal and
corrections. Corrections he affected to disdain, and piqued himself upon
the rapidity with which he wrote. "Howard," said he, when they met to
deliver in their compositions, "you have been three weeks writing your
essay; I ran mine off in three hours and a quarter."

Mr. Holloway had not considered, that what is written with ease is
not always read with ease. His essay was written with such a careless
superfluity of words, and such a lack of ideas appeared in the
performance, that the judges unanimously threw it aside, as unworthy
of their notice. "Gentlemen," cried Dr. B., coming forward among the
anxious crowd of expectants, "which of you owns this motto?--

     "'Hear it, ye Senates, hear this truth sublime,
     He who allows oppression shares the crime{6}.'"

{Footnote 6: Botanic Garden, vol. ii.}

"It's his!--it's his!--it's his!" exclaimed little Oliver, clapping his
hands--"it's Howard's, sir."

Dr. B., pleased with this grateful little boy's honest joy, put the
medal into his hands, without speaking, and Oliver ran with it to his
friend. "Only," said he, "only let me be by, when you show it to your
aunt."

How much the pleasure of success is increased by the sympathy of our
friends! The triumph of a school-boy over his competitors is sometimes
despicable; but Howard's joy was not of this selfish and puerile
sort. All the good passions had stimulated him to exertion, and he was
rewarded by his own generous feelings. He would not have exchanged the
delight which he saw in his little friend Oliver's face, the approving
smile of his aunt, and the proud satisfaction Mr. Russell expressed at
the sight of his medal, for all the solid gold which Alderman Holloway
deemed the highest reward of literature.

Alderman Holloway was filled with indignation when he heard from Mr.
Supine that his son's essay had been rejected with contempt. The young
gentleman was also much surprised at the decision of the judges; and his
tutor, by way of pleasing his pupil's friends, hesitated not to
hint, that there "certainly was great injustice done to Mr. Augustus
Holloway's talents." The subject was canvassed at a turtle dinner at the
alderman's. "There shall not be injustice done to my Augustus," said
the irritated father, wisely encouraging his Augustus in all his mean
feelings. "Never mind 'em all, my boy; you have a father, you may thank
Heaven, who _can_ judge for himself, and _will_: you shall not be the
loser by Dr. B.'s or doctor any body's injustice; I'll make it up to
you, my boy; in the meantime, join us in a bumper of port. Here's to
Dr. B.'s better judgment; wishing him health and happiness these Easter
holidays, and _a new pair of spectacles_,--hey, Mr. Supine?"

This well-chosen toast was drunk with much applause and laughter by the
company. The alderman insisted upon having his Augustus's essay produced
in the evening. Holloway had now ample satisfaction, for the whole
company were unanimous in their plaudits, after Mr. Supine had read two
or three sentences: the alderman, to confirm his own critical judgment,
drew out his purse, and counting out ten bright guineas, presented them,
with a look of high self-satisfaction, to his son. "Here, Augustus, my
boy," said he; "I promised you five guineas if you brought me home the
prize medal; but I now present you with ten, to make you the amends you
so richly deserve, for not having got their medal. Thank God, I am
able to afford it; and I hope," added the alderman, looking round, and
laughing, "I hope I'm as good a patron of the _belles lettres_ as the
head doctor of Westminster himself."

Holloway's eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of the glittering bribe.
He began some speech in reply, in which he compared his father to
Maecenas; but being entangled in a sentence, in which the nominative
case had been too long separated from the verb, he was compelled
to pause abruptly. Nevertheless, the alderman rubbed his hands with
exultation; and "Hear him! hear him!--hear your member!" was vociferated
by all the friends of the young orator. "Well, really," concluded
his mother to the ladies, who were complimenting her upon her son's
performance, "it was not a bad speech, considering he had nothing to
say!"

Lord Rawson, who was one of the company, now congratulated his friend
in a whisper--"You've made a good job of it to-day, Augustus," said he:
"solid pudding's better than empty praise. We're going," continued his
lordship to the alderman, "to try my new horses this evening;" and he
pulled Augustus with him out of the room.

"There they go," said the prudent father, delighted with his own son's
being the chosen friend of a nobleman--"there they go, arm in arm, a
couple of rare ones: we shall have fine work with them, I foresee, when
Augustus gets to college--but young men of spirit must not be
curbed like common boys--we must make allowances--I have been young
myself,--hey, Mr. Supine?"

"Certainly, sir," said the obsequious tutor; "and you still have all the
sprightliness of youth; and my ideas of education square completely with
yours."

According to Alderman Holloway's ideas of education, the holy days were
always to be made a season of complete idleness and dissipation, to
relieve his son from his school studies. It was his great delight to
contrast the pleasures of home with the hardships of school, and to
make his son compare the indulgence of a father with the severity of
a schoolmaster. How he could expect an education to succeed which
he sedulously endeavoured to counteract, it may be difficult for any
rational person to conceive.

After Lord Rawson and Holloway had enjoyed the pleasures of driving the
new horses, _tandem_, in a dog-cart, and had conversed about dogs and
horses till they had nothing left to say to each other, his lordship
proposed stepping in to Mr. Carat, the jeweller's shop, to look at some
new watches: his lordship said he was tired of his own, for he had had
it six months. Mr. Carat was not in the way when they first went in.
One of the young men who attended in the shop said, "that his master was
extremely busy, in settling some accounts with a captain of a ship, who
was to leave England in a few days."

"Don't tell me of settling accounts," cried Lord Ramon--"I hate the
sound of settling accounts: run and tell Mr. Carat that Lord Rawson is
here, and must speak to him this instant, for I'm in a desperate hurry."

A quarter of an hour elapsed before the impatient lord could be obeyed;
during this time, his lordship and Holloway rummaged over every thing
in the shop. A pretty bauble to hang to his watch caught his lordship's
fancy. His lordship happened to have no money in his pocket. "Holloway,"
said he, "my good fellow, you've ten guineas in your pocket, I know; do
lend me them here." Holloway, rather proud of his riches, lent his ten
guineas to his noble friend with alacrity; but a few minutes afterward
recollected that he should want five of them that very night, to pay
the poor stage-coachman. His recollection came too late, for after
Lord Rawson had paid three or four guineas for his trinket, he let the
remainder of the money down with an absent nonchalance, into his pocket.
"We'll settle--I'll pay you, Holloway, to-morrow morning, you know."

Holloway, from false shame, replied, "Oh, very well." And at this
instant Mr. Carat entered the shop, bowing and apologizing to his
lordship for having been busy.

"I'm always, to be sure, in a very great hurry," cried Lord Rawson; "I
never have a minute that I can call my own. All I wanted though,
just now, was to tell you, that I could not settle any thing--you
understand--till we come back from Marryborough. I go down there
to-morrow."

The Jew bowed with unlimited acquiescence, assuring his lordship that
he should ever wait his perfect convenience. As he spoke, he glanced an
inquiring eye upon Holloway.

"Mr. Holloway, the eldest, the only son of Alderman Holloway--rich as
a Jew! and he'll soon leave Westminster," whispered Lord Rawson to the
Jew. "Holloway," continued he, turning to his friend, "give me leave to
introduce Mr. Carat to you. You may," added his lordship, lowering his
voice, "find this Jew a useful friend some time or other, my lad. He's
my man in all money jobs."

The Jew and the school-boy seemed equally flattered and pleased by this
introduction; they were quickly upon familiar terms with one another;
and Mr. Carat, who was willing that such an acquaintance should begin in
the most advantageous and agreeable manner on his part, took the young
gentleman, with an air of mystery and confidence, into a little
room behind the shop; there he produced a box full of old-fashioned
secondhand trinkets, and, without giving Holloway time to examine them,
said that he was going to make a lottery of these things. "If I had any
young favourite friends," continued the wily Jew, "I should give them
a little whisper in the ear, and bid them try their fortune; they never
will have a finer opportunity." He then presented a hand-bill, drawn up
in a style which even Messrs. Goodluck and Co. need not have disdained
to admire. The youth was charmed with the composition. The Jew made him
a present of a couple of tickets for himself, and gave him a dozen more,
to distribute amongst his companions at Westminster. Holloway readily
undertook to distribute the tickets upon condition that he might have
a list of the prizes in the lottery. "If they don't see a list of the
prizes," said he, "not a soul will put in."

The Jew took a pen immediately, and drew up a captivating list of
prizes.

Holloway promised to copy it, because Mr. Carat said his hand must not
appear in the business, and it must be conducted with the strictest
secrecy; because "the law," added the Jew, "has a little jealousy of
these sort of things--government likes none but licensed lotteries,
young gentleman."

"The law! I don't care what the law likes," replied the school-boy; "if
I break the law, I hope I'm rich enough to pay the forfeit, or my father
will pay for me, which is better still."

To this doctrine the Jew readily assented, and they parted, mutually
satisfied with each other.

It was agreed that Lord Rawson should drive his friend to Marryborough
the next Tuesday, and that he should return on Wednesday, with Holloway,
to Westminster, on purpose that he might meet Mr. Carat there, who was
then to deliver the prizes.

"I'll lay you a bet," cried Lord Rawson, as he left the Jew's, "that
you'll have a prize yourself. Now are you not obliged to me for
introducing you to Carat?"

"Yes, that I am," replied Holloway; "it's easier to put into the lottery
than to write Latin verses and English essays. I'll puzzle and bore
myself no more with those things, I promise my father."

"Who does, after they've once left school, I want to know?" said his
noble friend. "I'm sure I've forgot all I ever learned from Latin and
Greek fellows; you know they tell just for nothing when one gets into
the world. I make it a principle never to talk of books, for nobody
does, you know, that has any thing else to talk of. None but quizzes and
quozzes ever came out with any thing of that sort. Now, how they'd stare
at Marryborough, Holloway, if you were to begin sporting some of your
Horace and Virgil!"

The dashing, yet bashful school-boy, with much emotion, swore that he
cared as little for Horace and Virgil as his lordship did. Holloway was
really an excellent scholar, but he began to be heartily ashamed of
it in his lordship's company, and prudently resolved to adopt the
principles he had just heard; to forget as fast as possible all he had
learned: never to talk of books; and to conceal both his knowledge and
his abilities, lest _they should stare at him at Maryborough_.

The lottery tickets were easily disposed of amongst the young gentlemen
at Westminster. As young men can seldom calculate, they are always ready
to trust to their individual good fortune, and they are, consequently,
ever ready to put into any species of lottery.

"Look here!" cried little Oliver, showing a lottery ticket to
Howard; "look what Holloway has just offered to give me, instead of
half-a-guinea, which he owes me. I told him I would just run and ask
your advice. Shall I accept of it?"

"I would advise you not," answered Howard; "you are sure of your
half-guinea, and you have only a chance of getting any thing in the
lottery."

"Oh, but then I've a chance of such a number of fine things! You have
not seen the list of prizes. Do you know there's a watch amongst them?
Now, suppose my ticket should come up a prize, and that I should get
a watch for my half-guinea!--a real watch!--a watch that would go!--a
watch that I should wind up myself every night! O Charles! would not
that be a good bargain for my half-guinea? I'm sure you have not read
the list of prizes, have you?"

"No, I have not," said Howard: "have you seen the list of blanks?"

"Of blanks! No," said Oliver, with a changed countenance; "I never
thought of the blanks."

"And yet in most lotteries there are many more blanks than prizes, you
know."

"Are there? Well, but I hope I shall not have a blank," said Oliver.

"So every body hopes, but some people must be disappointed."

"Yes," said the little boy, pausing--"but then some people must win, and
I have as good a chance as another, have not I?"

"And do you know what the chance against your winning is? Once I had a
great mind, as you have now, Oliver, to put into a lottery. It was just
after my aunt lost all her fortune, and I thought that if I were to get
the twenty thousand pound prize, I could give it to her."

"I'll give my watch (if I get it, I mean) to somebody. I'll give it to
the mulatto woman, because she is poor. No; I'll give it to you, because
you are the best, and I love you the best, and I am more obliged to you
than to any body in the world, for you have taught me more; and you
have taught me as I was never taught before, without laughing at, or
scolding, or frightening, or calling me blockhead or dunce; and you have
made me think a great deal better of myself; and I am always happy when
I'm with you; and I'm quite another creature since you came to school. I
hope you'll never leave school whilst I am here," cried Oliver.

"But you have quite forgot the lottery," said Howard, smiling, and much
touched by his little friend's simplicity and enthusiasm.

"Oh, the lottery! ay," said Oliver, "you were telling me something about
yourself; do go on."

"I once thought, as you do now, that it would be a charming thing to put
into a lottery."

"Well, and did you win?"

"No."

"Did you lose?"

"No."

"How then?"

"I did not put into the lottery, for I was convinced that it was a
foolish way of spending money."

"If you think it's foolish or wrong," said Oliver, "I'll have nothing to
do with this lottery."

"I don't want to govern you by my opinion," said Howard; "but if you
have patience to attend to all the reasons that convinced me, you will
be able to judge, and form an opinion for yourself. You know I must
leave school some time or other, and then--"

"Well, don't talk of that, but tell me all the reasons, quick."

"I can't tell them so very quickly," said Howard, laughing: "when we go
home this evening I'll ask my aunt to look for the passage in Smith's
Wealth of Nations, which she showed me."

"Oh!" interrupted Oliver, with a sigh, "_Smith's Wealth_ of what? That's
a book, I'm sure, I shall never be able to understand; is it not that
great large book that Mr. Russell reads?"

"Yes."

"But I shall never understand it."

"Because it's a large book?"

"No," said Oliver, smiling, "but because I suppose it's very difficult
to understand."

"Not what I've read of it: but I have only read passages here and there.
That passage about lotteries, I think, you would understand, because it
is so plainly written."

"I'll read it, then," said Oliver, "and try; and in the meantime I'll
go and tell Holloway that I had rather not put into the lottery, till I
know whether it's right or not."

Holloway flew into a violent passion with little Oliver when he went
to return his lottery ticket. He abused and ridiculed Howard for his
interference, and succeeded so well in raising a popular cry, that the
moment Howard appeared on the playground, a general hiss, succeeded by
a deep groan, was heard.--Howard recollected the oracle's answer to
Cicero, and was not dismayed by the voice of the multitude. Holloway
threw down half-a-guinea, to pay Oliver, and muttered to himself, "I'll
make you remember this, Mr. Oliver."

"I'll give this half-guinea to the mulatto woman, and that's much better
than putting it into a lottery, Charles," said the little boy; and,
as soon as the business of the day was done, Oliver, Howard, and Mr.
Russell, took their usual evening's walk towards the gardener's house.

"Ay, come in," cried old Paul, "come in! God bless you all! I don't know
which is the best of you. I've been looking out of my door this quarter
of an hour for ye," said he, as soon as he saw them; "and I don't know
when I've been idle a quarter of an hour afore. But I've put on my best
coat, though it's not Sunday, and wife has treated her to a dish of tea,
and she's up and dressed--the mulatto woman, I mean--and quite hearty
again. Walk in, walk in; it will do your hearts good to see her; she's
so grateful too, though she can't speak good English, which is her only
fault, poor soul; but we can't be born what we like, or she would have
been as good an Englishman as the best of us. Walk in, walk in.--And the
chimney does not smoke, master, no more than I do; and the window opens
too; and the paper's up, and looks beautiful. God bless ye, God bless
ye--walk in." Old Paul, whilst he spoke, had stopped the way into the
room; but at length he recollected that they could not walk in whilst he
stood in the door-way, and he let them pass.

The little room was no longer the smoky, dismal, miserable place which
it was formerly. It was neatly papered; it was swept clean; there was a
cheerful fire, which burnt quite clearly: the mulatto woman was cleanly
dressed, and, rising from her work, she clasped her hands together with
an emotion of joyful gratitude, which said more than any words could
have expressed.

This room was not papered, nor was the chimney cured of smoking, nor
was the woman clad in new clothes, by magic. It was all done by human
means--by the industry and abilities of a benevolent boy.

The translation of the little French book, which Howard had completed,
procured him the means of doing good. The book-seller to whom he offered
it was both an honest man, and a good judge of literary productions. Mr.
Russell's name also operated in his pupil's favour, and Howard received
ten guineas for his translation.

Oliver was impatient for an opportunity to give his half-guinea, which
he had held in his hand, till it was quite warm. "Let me look at that
pretty thimble of yours," said he, going up to the mulatto woman, who
had now taken up her work again; and, as he playfully pulled off the
thimble, he slipped his half-guinea into her hand; then he stopped her
thanks, by running on to a hundred questions about her thimble. "What
a strange thimble! How came you by such a thimble? Was it given to you?
Did you buy it? What's the use of this screw round the inside of the rim
of it? Do look at it, Charles!"

The thimble was, indeed, remarkable; and it seemed extraordinary that
such a one should belong to a poor woman, who had lately been in great
distress.

"It is gold," said Mr. Russell, examining it, "and very old gold."

The mulatto woman sighed; and as she put the thimble upon her finger
again, said, that she did not know whether it was gold or not; but she
had a great value for it; that she had had it a great many years; that
it had been given to her by the best friend she had ever had.

"Tell me about that best friend," said Oliver; "I like to hear about
best friends."

"She was a very good friend indeed; though she was but young, scarcely
bigger than yourself, at the time she gave me this thimble: she was my
young mistress; I came all the way from Jamaica on purpose to find her
out, and in hopes to live with her in my elder days."

"Jamaica!" cried Howard; "Jamaica!" cried Oliver, in the same breath;
"what was her name?"

"Frances Howard."

"My aunt," exclaimed Howard.

"I'll run and tell her; I'll run and bring her here, this instant!" said
Oliver. But Mr. Russell caught hold of him, and detained him, whilst
they further questioned the woman. Her answers were perfectly consistent
and satisfactory. She said, that her mistress's estate in Jamaica had
been sold just before she left the island; that some of the old slaves
had been set at liberty, by orders, which came, she understood, in her
mistress's last letter; and that, amongst the rest, she had been freed:
that she had heard say that her good mistress had desired the agent to
give her also some little _provision ground_, upon the plantation, but
that this had never been done; and that she had sold all the clothes and
little things she possessed, to raise money to pay for her passage to
England, hoping to find her mistress in London. She added, that the
agent had given her a direction to her mistress; but that she had, in
vain, applied at at the house, and at every house in the same street.
"Show us the direction, if you have it," said Mr. Russell. The woman
said she had kept it very carefully; but now it was almost worn out. The
direction was, however, still legible upon the ragged bit of paper which
she produced--_To Mrs. Frances Howard, Portman Square, London_. The
instant Mr. Russell was satisfied, he was as expeditious as Oliver
himself; they all three went home immediately to Mrs. Howard: she had,
some time before, been confined to her room by a severe toothache.

"You promised me, aunt," said her nephew, "that as soon as you were well
enough, you would go to old Paul's with us, to see our poor woman; can
you go this evening?"

"Oh do! do, pray; I'm sure you won't catch cold," said Oliver; "for we
have a very particular reason for wishing you to go."

"There is a sedan chair at the door," said Mr. Russell, "if you are
afraid, madam, of catching cold."

"I am not rich enough to go out in sedan chairs," interrupted Mrs.
Howard, "nor prudent enough, I am afraid, to stay at home."

"Oh! thank you," said Oliver, who had her clogs ready in his hands; "now
you'll see something that will surprise you."

"Then take care you don't tell me what it is, before I see it," said
Mrs. Howard.

Oliver, with some difficulty, held his tongue during the walk, and
contented himself with working off his superfluous animation, by jumping
over every obstacle in his way.

The meeting between the poor mulatto woman and her mistress was as full
of joy and surprise as little Oliver had expected; and this is saying
a great deal, for where much is expected, there is usually much
disappointment; and very sympathetic people are often angry with others,
for not being as much astonished, or as much delighted, as they think
the occasion requires.

The day which Mr. Augustus Holloway imagined would bring him such
complete felicity--the day on which Lord Rawson had promised to call
for him in his dog-cart, and to drive him down _randem-tandem_, to
Marryborough--was now arrived. His lordship, in his dog-cart, was at
the door; and Holloway, in high spirits, was just going to get into the
carriage, when some one pulled his coat, and begged to speak a few words
with him. It was the stage-coachman, who was absolutely in distress for
the value of the lost parcel, which Holloway had promised him should be
punctually paid: but Holloway, now that his excursion to Marryborough
was perfectly secure, thought but very little of the poor coachman's
difficulties; and though he had the money, which he had raised by the
lottery tickets, in his pocket, he determined to keep that for his
amusements during the Easter holidays. "You must wait till I come back
from Marryborough; I can't possibly speak to you now; I can't possibly,
you see, keep Lord Rawson waiting. Why didn't you call sooner? I am not
at all convinced that any parcel was lost."

"I'll show you the books--it's book'd, sir," said the man, eagerly.

"Well, well, this is not a time to talk of booking. I'll be with you
in an instant, my lord," cried Holloway to Lord Rawson, who was all
impatience to _be off_. But the coachman would not quit his hold. "I'm
sorry to come to that, master," said he: "as long as we were both upon
honour together, it was very well; but, if you break squares with me,
being a gentleman, and rich, you can't take it ill, I being a poor man
and my place and all at stake, if I take the shortest way to get my
own: I must go to Dr. B. for justice, if you won't give it me without my
peaching," said the coachman.

"I'll see you again to-morrow morning," said Holloway, alarmed: "we come
up to town again to-morrow."

"To-morrow won't do," said the coachman; "I shall lose my place and my
bread to-day. I know how to trust to young gentlemen's to-morrows."

A volley of oaths from Lord Rawson again summoned his companion. At
this instant, Mr. Russell, young Howard, and little Oliver, came up
the street, and were passing on to Mrs. Howard's, when Holloway stopped
Howard, who was the last of the party. "For Heaven's sake," said he, in
a whisper, "do settle for me with this confounded coachman! I know you
are rich; your bookseller told me so; pay five guineas for me to him,
and you shall have them again to-morrow, there's a good fellow. Lord
Rawson's waiting; good by."

"Stay, stay," said Howard, who was not so easily to be drawn into
difficulties by a moment's weakness, or by the want of a moment's
presence of mind: "I know nothing of this business; I have other uses
for my money; I cannot pay five guineas for you, Holloway."

"Then let it alone," cried Holloway, with a brutal execration; and
he forcibly broke from the coachman, shook hands with his tutor, Mr.
Supine, who was talking to Lord Rawson about the varnish of his gig,
jumped into the carriage, and was whirled away from all reflection in a
moment, by his noble companion.

The poor coachman entreated Howard to stay one instant, to hear him. He
explained the business to him, and reproached himself bitterly for
his folly. "I'm sure I thought," said he, "I was sure of a gentleman's
honour; and young gentlemen ought to be above not paying handsome for
their frolics, if they must have frolics; and a frolic's one thing, and
cheating a poor man like me is another; and he had liked to have killed
a poor mulatto woman, too, by the overturn of the coach, which was all
his doings."

"The woman is got very well, and is very well off now," interrupted
Howard; "you need say nothing about that."

"Well, but my money, I must say about _that_," said the coachman. Here
Howard observed, that Mr. Supine had remained at the door in a lounging
attitude, and was quite near enough to overhear their conversation.
Howard, therefore, to avoid exciting his attention by any mysterious
whispers, walked away from the coachman; but in vain; he followed: "I'll
peach," said he; "I must in my own defence."

"Stay till to-morrow morning," said Howard: "perhaps you'll be paid
then."

The coachman, who was a good-natured fellow, said, "Well, I don't like
making mischief among young gentlemen; I will wait till to-morrow, but
not a day more, master, if you'd go down on your knees to me."

Mr. Supine, whose curiosity was fully awake, called to the coachman the
moment Howard was out of hearing, and tried, by various questions, to
draw the secret from him. The words, "_overturn of the coach--mulatto
woman_," and the sentence, which the irritated coachman had pronounced
in a raised voice, that "_young gentlemen should be above not paying
handsome for their frolics_," had reached Mr. Supine's attentive ear,
before Howard had been aware that the tutor was a listener. Nothing more
could Mr. Supine draw, however, from the coachman, who now felt himself
_upon honour_, having promised Howard not to _peach_ till the next
morning. Difficulties stimulated Mr. Supine's curiosity; but he remained
for the present satisfied in the persuasion that he had discovered _a
fine frolic_ of the immaculate Mr. Charles Howard; his own pupil he did
not suspect upon this occasion. Holloway's whisperings with the coachman
had ended the moment Mr. Supine appeared at the door, and the tutor had
in the same moment been so struck with the beautiful varnish of Lord
Rawson's dog-cart, that his pupil might have whispered longer, without
rousing his attention. Mr. Supine was further confirmed in his mistake
about Howard, from the recollection of the mulatto woman, whom he had
seen at the gardener's: he knew that she had been hurt by a fall from a
stage-coach. He saw Howard much interested about her. All this he joined
with what he had just overheard about _a frolic_, and he was rejoiced at
the idea of implicating in this business Mr. Russell, whom he disliked.

Mr. Supine, having got rid of his pupil, went immediately to Alderman
Holloway's, where he had a general invitation to dinner. Mrs. Holloway
approved of her son's tutor, full as much for his love of gossiping, as
for his musical talents: Mr. Supine constantly supplied her with news
and anecdotes; upon the present occasion, he thought that his story,
however imperfect, would be eagerly received, because it concerned
Howard.

Since the affair of the prize essay, and the medal, Mrs. Holloway had
taken a dislike to young Howard, whom she considered as the enemy of
her dear Augustus. No sooner had she heard Mr. Supine's blundering
information, than, without any farther examination, she took the whole
for granted: eager to repeat the anecdote to Mrs. Howard, she instantly
wrote a note to her, saying that she would drink tea with her that
evening.

When Mrs. Holloway, attended by Mr. Supine, went, in the evening, to
Mrs. Howard's, they found with her Mrs. B., the lady of Dr. B., the
master of Westminster School.

"Is not this an odd rencontre?" whispered Mrs. Holloway to Mr. Supine,
as she drew him to a recessed window, commodious for gossiping: "I shall
be called a tell-tale, I know, at Westminster; but I shall tell our
story, notwithstanding. I would keep any other boy's secret; but Howard
is such a saint: and I hate saints."

A knock at the door interrupted Mrs. Holloway; she looked out of the
window. "Oh, here he comes, up the steps," continued she, "after his
sober evening promenade, and _his_ Mr. Russell with--and, I declare, the
mulatto woman with him. Now for it!"

Howard entered the room, went up to his aunt, and said, in a low
voice,--

"Ma'am, poor Cuba is come; she is rather tired with walking, and she is
gone to rest herself in the front parlour."

"Her lameness, though," pursued little Oliver, who followed Howard into
the room, "is almost well. I just asked her how high she thought the
coach was from which she was--"

A look from Howard made Oliver stop short; for though he did not
understand the full meaning of it, he saw it was designed to silence
him. Howard was afraid of betraying Holloway's secret to Mr. Supine or
to Mrs. Holloway: his aunt sent him out of the room with some message to
Cuba, which gave Mrs. Holloway an opportunity of opening her business.

"Pray," said she, "might I presume to ask--for I perceive the young
gentleman has some secret to keep from me, which he may have good
reasons for--may I, just to satisfy my own mind, presume to ask whether,
as her name leads one to guess, your Cuba, Mrs. Howard, is a mulatto
woman?"

Surprised by the manner of the question, Mrs. Howard coldly replied,
"Yes, madam--a mulatto woman."

"And she is lame, I think, sir, you mentioned?" persisted the curious
lady, turning to little Oliver.

"Yes, she's a little lame still; but she will soon be quite well."

"Oh! then, her lameness came, I presume, from an accident, sir, and not
from her birth?"

"From an accident, ma'am."

"Oh! an accident--a fall--a fall from a coach--from a stage-coach,
perhaps," continued Mrs. Holloway, smiling significantly at Mr.
Supine: "you take me for a conjuror, young gentleman, I see by your
astonishment," continued she to Oliver; "but a little bird told me the
whole story; and I see Mrs. Howard knows how to keep a secret as well as
myself."

Mrs. Howard looked for an explanation.

"Nay," said Mrs. Holloway, "you know best, Mrs. Howard; but as we're
all _out of school_ now, I shall not be afraid to mention such a little
affair, even before the doctor's lady; for, to be sure, she would never
let it reach the doctor's ears."

"Really, ma'am," said Mrs. Howard, "you puzzle me a little; I wish you
would explain yourself: I don't know what it is that you would not have
reach the doctor's ears."

"You don't?--well, then, your nephew must have been very clever, to have
kept you in the dark; mustn't he, Mr. Supine?"

"I always, you know, thought the young gentleman very _clever_, ma'am,"
said Mr. Supine, with a malicious emphasis.

Mrs. Howard's colour now rose, and with a mixture of indignation and
anxiety she pressed both Mr. Supine and Mrs. Holloway to be explicit. "I
hate mysteries!" said she. Mrs. Holloway still hung back, saying it
was a tender point; and hinting, that it would lessen her esteem and
confidence in one most dear to her, to hear the whole truth.

"Do you mean Howard, ma'am?" exclaimed little Oliver: "oh, speak! speak!
it's impossible Charles Howard can have done any thing wrong."

"Go for him, my dear," said Mrs. Howard, resuming her composure; "let
him be present. I hate mysteries."

"But, my dear Mrs. Howard," whispered Mrs. Holloway, "you don't
consider; you'll get your nephew into a shocking scrape; the story will
infallibly go from Mrs. B. to Dr. B. You are warm, and don't consider
consequences."

"Charles," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the moment he appeared, "from
the time you were five years old, till this instant, I have never known
you tell a falsehood; I should, therefore, be very absurd, as well as
very unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell me--have you got
into any difficulties? I would rather hear of them from yourself,
than from any body else. Is there any mystery about overturning a
stage-coach, that you know of, and that you have concealed from me?"

"There is a mystery, ma'am, about overturning a stage-coach," replied
Howard, in a firm tone of voice; "but when I assure you that it is no
mystery of mine--nothing in which I have myself any concern--I am sure
that you will believe me, my dear aunt, and that you will press me no
further."

"Not a word further, not a frown further," said his aunt, with a smile
of entire confidence; in which Mr. Russell joined, but which appeared
incomprehensible to Mr. Supine.

"Very satisfactory indeed!" said that gentleman, leaning back in the
chair; "I never heard any thing more satisfactory to my mind!"

"Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!" echoed Mrs. Holloway; but
no looks, no inuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard's security,
or disconcert the resolute simplicity which appeared in her nephew's
countenance. Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was
compelled to submit in silence. This restraint soon became so irksome to
her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could.

In crossing the passage, to go to her carriage, she caught a glimpse
of the mulatto woman, who was going into a parlour. Resolute, at all
hazards, to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating
Cuba--began by asking some civil questions about her health; then spoke
of the accident she had lately met with; and, in short, by a skilful
cross-examination, drew her whole story from her. The gratitude with
which the poor woman spoke of Howard's humanity was by no means pleasing
to Mr. Supine.

"Then it was not he who overturned the coach?" said Mrs. Holloway.

The woman eagerly replied, "Oh no, madam!" and proceeded to draw, as
well as she could, a description of the youth who had been mounted
upon the coach-box: she had seen him only by the light of the moon, and
afterwards by the light of a lantern; but she recollected his figure so
well, and described him so accurately, that Mr. Supine knew the picture
instantly, and Mrs. Holloway whispered to him, "Can it be Augustus?"

"Mr. Holloway!--Impossible!--I suppose--"

But the woman interrupted him by saying that she recollected to have
heard the young gentleman called by that name by the coachman.

The mother and the tutor were nearly alike confounded by this discovery.
Mrs. Holloway got into her carriage, and, in their way home, Mr. Supine
represented, that he should be ruined for ever with the alderman, if
this transaction came to his knowledge; that, in fact, it was a mere
boyish frolic; but that the alderman might not consider it in
that light, and would, perhaps, make Mr. Augustus feel his serious
displeasure. The foolish mother, out of mistaken good-nature, at length
promised to be silent upon the subject. But, before he slept, Alderman
Holloway heard the whole story. The footman, who had attended the
carriage, was at the door when Mrs. Holloway was speaking to the mulatto
woman, and had listened to every word that was said. This footman was in
the habit of telling his master, when he attended him at night, all the
news which he had been able to collect in the day. Mr. Supine was no
favourite of his; because, whenever the tutor came to the house, he gave
a great deal of trouble, being too indolent to do any thing for himself,
and yet not sufficiently rich, or sufficiently generous, to pay the
usual premiums for the active civility of servants. This footman was not
sorry to have an opportunity of repeating any story that might injure
Mr. Supine with his master. Alderman Holloway heard it under the promise
of concealing the name of the person who had given him the information,
and resolved to discover the truth of the affair the next day, when he
was to visit his son at Westminster.

But we must now return to Mrs. Howard's. We mentioned that Mrs. B. spent
the evening with her. Dr. B., soon after Mrs. Holloway went away, called
to take his lady home: he had been engaged to spend the evening at a
card assembly; but, as he was a man who liked agreeable conversation
better than cards, he had made his escape from a rout, to spend half an
hour with Mrs. Howard and Mr. Russell. The doctor was a man of various
literature; able to appreciate others, he was not insensible to the
pleasure of seeing himself appreciated. Half an hour passes quickly in
agreeable conversation: the doctor got into an argument, concerning the
propriety of the distinction made by some late metaphysical writers,
between imagination and fancy. Thence he was led to some critical
remarks upon Warton's beautiful Ode to Fancy; then to the never-ending
debate upon original genius; including also the doctrine of hereditary
temper and dispositions, which the doctor warmly supported, and which
Mrs. Howard coolly questioned.

In the midst of their conversation, they were suddenly interrupted by a
groan. They all looked round to see whence it came. It came from little
Oliver: he was sitting at a little table at the farther end of the room,
reading so intently in a large book that he saw nothing else: a long
unsnuffed candle, with a perilous fiery summit to its black wick, stood
before him, and his left arm embraced a thick china jar, against which
he leaned his head. There was, by common consent, a general silence
in the room, whilst every one looked at Oliver, as at a picture. Mrs.
Howard moved gently round behind his chair, to see what he was reading:
the doctor followed her. It was the account of the execution of two
rebel Koromantyn negroes, related in Edwards's History of the West
Indies{7}. To try whether it would interrupt Oliver's deep attention,
Mrs. Howard leaned over him, and snuffed his dim candle; but the light
was lost upon him--he did not feel the obligation. Dr. B. then put his
hand upon the jar, which he pulled from Oliver's embrace. "Be quiet! I
must finish this!" cried Oliver, still holding fast the jar, and keeping
his eyes upon the book. The doctor gave a second pull at the jar, and
the little boy made an impatient push with his elbow; then casting his
eye upon the large hand which pulled the jar, he looked up, surprised,
in the doctor's face.

{Footnote 7: Vol. ii. p. 57, second edition.}

The nice china jar, which Oliver had held so sturdily, was very
precious to him. His uncle had just sent him two jars of fine West India
sweetmeats. One of these he had shared with his companions: the other
he had kept, to give to Mrs. Howard, who had once said, in his hearing,
that she was fond of West India sweetmeats. She accepted Oliver's
little present. Children sometimes feel as much pleasure in giving away
sweetmeats as in eating them; and Mrs. Howard too well understood the
art of education, even in trifles, to deny to grateful and generous
feelings their natural and necessary exercise. A child can show
gratitude and generosity only in trifles.

"Are these all the sweetmeats that you have left, Oliver?" said Mrs.
Howard.

"Yes--all."

"Was not Rousseau wrong, Dr. B.," said Mrs. Howard, "when he asserted,
that no child ever gives away _his last mouthful_ of any thing good?"

"Of any thing _good_!" said the doctor, laughing; "when I have tasted
these sweetmeats, I shall be a better judge."

"You shall taste them this minute, then," said Mrs. Howard; and she
rang for a plate, whilst the doctor, to little Oliver's great amusement,
exhibited various pretended signs of impatience, as Mrs. Howard
deliberately untied the cover of the jar. One cover after another she
slowly took off; at length the last transparent cover was lifted up: the
doctor peeped in; but lo! instead of sweetmeats there appeared nothing
but paper. One crumpled roll of paper after another Mrs. Howard pulled
out; still no sweetmeats. The jar was entirely stuffed with paper, to
the very bottom. Oliver was silent with amazement.

"The sides of the jar are quite clean," said Howard.

"But the inside of the paper that covered it is stained with
sweetmeats," said Dr. B.

"There must have been sweetmeats in it lately," said Mrs. Howard,
"because the jar smells so strongly of them."

Amongst the pieces of crumpled paper which had been pulled out of the
jar, Dr. B. espied one, on which there appeared some writing: he looked
it over.

"Humph! What have we here? What's this? What can this he about a
lottery?--tickets, price half a guinea--prizes-gold watch!--silver
ditto--chased tooth-pick case--buckles--knee-buckles. What is all
this?--April 10th, 1797--the drawing to begin--prizes to be delivered
at Westminster school, by Aaron Carat, jeweller? Hey, young gentlemen,"
cried Dr. B., looking at Oliver and Charles, "do you know any thing of
this lottery?"

"I have no concern in it, sir, I assure you," said Howard.

"Nor I, thank goodness--I mean, thank you, Charles," exclaimed Oliver;
"for you hindered me from putting into the lottery: how very lucky I was
to take your advice!"

"How very wise, you should say, Oliver," said Dr. B. "I must inquire
into this business; I must find out who ordered these things from Mr.
Aaron Carat. There shall be no lotteries, no gaming at Westminster
school, whilst I have power to prevent it. To-morrow morning I'll
inquire into this affair; and to-morrow morning we shall also know, my
little fellow, what became of your sweetmeats."

"Oh, never mind _that_," cried the good-natured Oliver; "don't say any
thing, pray, sir, about my sweetmeats: I don't mind about them; I know
already--I guess now, who took them; therefore you need not ask; I dare
say it was only meant for a joke."

Dr. B. made no reply; but folded up the paper which he had been reading,
put it into his pocket, and soon after took his leave.

Lord Rawson was one of those young men who measure their own merit and
felicity by the number of miles which their horses can go in a day; he
undertook to drive his friend up from Marryborough to Westminster, a
distance of forty miles, in five hours. The arrival of his lordship's
gig was a signal, for which several people were in waiting at
Westminster school. The stage-coachman was impatiently waiting to demand
his money from Holloway. Mr. Carat, the jeweller, was arrived, and eager
to settle with Mr. Holloway about the lottery: he had brought the prizes
in a small case, to be delivered, upon receiving from Holloway the money
for all the tickets of which he had disposed. Dr. B. was waiting for the
arrival of Mr. Holloway, as he had determined to collect all his pupils
together, and to examine into the lottery business. Little Oliver was
also watching for Holloway, to prevent mischief, and to assure him of
forgiveness about the sweetmeats.

Lord Rawson's dog-cart arrived. Holloway saw the stage-coachman as
he alighted, and, abruptly turning from him, shook hands with little
Oliver, saying, "You look as if you had been waiting for me."

"Yes," said Oliver: "but I can't say what I want to say before every
body."

"I'll wait upon you presently," said Holloway, escaping from the
coachman. As he crossed the hall, he descried Mr. Carat, and a crowd
of boys surrounding him, crying, "Mr. Carat's come--he has brought
the prizes!--he has brought the prizes! he'll show them all as soon as
you've settled with him." Holloway called to the Jew; but little Oliver
insisted upon being heard first.

"You must hear me: I have something to say to you about the
prizes--about the lottery."

The words arrested Holloway's attention: he followed Oliver; heard with
surprise and consternation the history of the paper which had been found
in the jar, by Dr. B. "I've done for myself, now, faith!" he exclaimed;
"I suppose the doctor knows all about the hand _I_ have in the lottery."

"No," replied Oliver, "he does not."

"Why, _you_ must have known it; and did not he question you and Howard?"

"Yes; but when we told him that we had nothing to do with it, he did not
press us farther."

"You are really a noble little fellow," exclaimed Holloway, "to bear me
no malice for the many ill turns I have done you: this last has
fallen upon myself, as ill-luck would have it: but before we go any
farther--your sweetmeats are safe in the press, in my room; I didn't
mean to steal them; only to plague you, child:--but you have your
revenge now."

"I don't want any revenge, indeed," said Oliver, "for I'm never happy
when I've quarrelled with any body: and even when people quarrel with
me, I don't feel quite sure that I'm in the right, which makes me
uncomfortable; and, besides, I don't want to find out that they are
quite in the wrong; and that makes me uncomfortable the other way.
After all, quarrelling and bearing malice are very disagreeable things,
somehow or other. Don't you, when you have made it up with people, and
shaken hands, Holloway--don't you feel quite light, and ready to jump
again? So shake hands, if you are not above shaking hands with such a
little boy as I am; and I shall never think again about the sweetmeats,
or old _fag_ times."

Holloway could not help feeling touched. "Here's my hand," cried he,
"I'm sorry I've tormented you so often; I'll never plague you any more.
But now--I don't know what upon earth to do. Where's Charles Howard? If
he can't help me, I'm undone. I have got into more scrapes than I can
get out of, I know. I wish I could see Howard."

"I'll run and bring him to you; he's the best person at knowing what
should be done--at least for me, I know--that ever I saw."

Holloway abruptly began, as soon as Howard came up to him: "Howard,"
said he, "you know this plaguy lottery business--but you don't know
half yet: here's Carat come to be paid for his tickets; and here's that
dunning stage-coachman sticks close to me for his five guineas; and not
one farthing have I upon earth."

"Not a farthing! but you don't mean that you have not the money for Mr.
Carat?"

"But I _do_ though."

"Why, you cannot have spent it since yesterday morning?"

"No; but I have lost half and lent half; and the half that I have lent
is gone for ever, I am afraid, as much as that which I lost."

"Whom did you lend the money to? How did you lose it?"

"I lost part to Sir John O'Shannon, last night, at billiards--more fool
I to play, only because I wanted to cut a figure amongst those fine
people at Marryborough. I wonder my father lets me go there; I know
I sha'n't go back there this Easter, unless Lord Rawson makes me an
apology, I can tell him. I've as good a right to be upon my high horse
as he has; for though his father's an earl, my father's a great deal
richer, I know; and has lent him a great deal of money, too, and that's
the only reason he's civil to us; but I can tell him--"

Here Howard brought the angry Holloway from his high horse, by asking
what all this had to do with Mr. Carat, who was waiting to be paid?

"Why, don't I explain to you," said Holloway, "that I lent _him_--Lord
Rawson, I mean--all the money I had left yesterday, and I couldn't
get it out of him again, though I told him my distress about the
stage-coachman? Did you ever know any thing so selfish? Did you ever
know any thing so shabby, so shameful? And then to make me his butt,
as he did last night at supper, because there were two or three dashing
young men by; I think more of _that_ than all the rest. Do you know, he
asked me to eat custard with my apple-pie, just to point me out for
an alderman's son; and when I only differed from him about Captain
Shouldham's puppy's ears, Lord Rawson said, to be sure, I must know
about dog's ears, just to put me in mind that I was a school-boy; but
I'll never go to Marryborough any more, unless he begs my pardon. I've
no notion of being a humble friend; but it does not signify being in a
passion about it now," continued Holloway. "What I want you, Howard, to
do for me is, just to think; for I can't think at present, I'm in such a
hurry, with all these things coming across me at once. What can I do to
find money for the stage-coachman and for Mr. Carat? Why both together
come to fifteen guineas. And what can I do about Dr. B.? And, do you
know, my father is coming here this very morning. How shall I manage?
He'd never forgive me: at least he'd not give me any money for I don't
know how long, if these things were to come out. What would you advise
me to do?"

Howard, with his usual honest policy, advised Holloway at once to tell
all the circumstances to his father. Holloway was at first much alarmed
at this proposal, and insisted upon it that this method would not _do at
all_ with the alderman, though it might do very well with such a woman
as Mrs. Howard. At length, however, overcome, partly by the arguments,
and partly by the persuasion of his new adviser, Holloway determined
upon his confession.

Alderman Holloway arrived, and was beginning to talk to Dr. B. of his
son's proficiency in his studies, when the young gentleman made his
appearance, with a countenance extremely embarrassed and agitated. The
sight of Dr. B. deprived Holloway of courage to speak. The doctor fixed
his penetrating eye upon the pale culprit, who immediately stopped short
in the middle of the room, stammering out, "I came to speak, sir--I had
something to say to my father, sir--I came, if you please, to speak to
my father, sir." To Holloway's utter astonishment, Dr. B.'s countenance
and manner suddenly changed at these words; all his severity vanished;
and, with a look and voice the most encouraging, he led the abashed
youth towards his father.

"You came to speak to your father, sir? Speak to him then without fear,
without reserve: you will certainly find in a father your most indulgent
friend. I'll leave you together."

This opening of the case by Dr. B. was of equal advantage both to the
father and to the son. Alderman Holloway, though without literature, was
not without understanding: his affection for his son made him quickly
comprehend the good sense of the doctor's hint. The alderman was not
_surprised_ by the story of the overturn of the stage-coach, because he
had heard it before from his footman. But the lottery transaction with
the Jew--and, above all, with the loss and loan of so much money to his
friend, Lord Rawson--struck him with some astonishment; yet he commanded
his temper, which was naturally violent; and, after a constrained
silence, he begged his son to summon Mr. Supine. "At least," cried the
alderman, "I've a right to be in a passion with that careless, indolent,
dilettanti puppy, whom I've been paying all this while for taking such
care of you. I wish I had hold of his German flute at this instant.
You are very right, Augustus, to come like a man, and tell me all
these things; and now I must tell you, that some of them I had heard of
before. I wish I had that Jew, that Mr. Carat of yours, here! and that
stage-coachman, who had the impertinence to take you out with him at
night. But it's all Mr. Supine's fault--and mine, for not choosing a
better tutor for you. As to Lord Rawson, I can't blame you either much
for that, for I encouraged the connexion, I must own. I'm glad you have
quarrelled with him, however; and pray look out for a better friend as
fast as possible. You were very right to tell me all these things; on
that consideration, and that only, I'll lend my hand to getting you out
of these scrapes."

"For that," cried Holloway, "I may thank Howard, then; for he advised
and urged me to tell you all this at once."

"Call him; let me thank him," said the alderman; "he's an excellent
young man then--call him."

Dr. B. now entered the room with little Oliver.

When Holloway returned with Howard, he beheld the stage-coachman
standing silent on one side of his father; Mr. Carat, the Jew, on the
other side, jabbering an unintelligible vindication of himself; whilst
Dr. B. was contemplating the box of lottery prizes, which lay open upon
the table. Mr. Supine, leaning against the chimney-piece, appeared in
the attitude of an Antinous in despair.

"Come, my little friend," said Dr. B. to Oliver, "you did not put into
the lottery, I understand. Choose from amongst these things whatever
you please. It is better to trust to prudence than fortune, you see. Mr.
Howard, I know that I am rewarding you, at this instant, in the manner
you best like, and best deserve."

There was a large old-fashioned chased gold toothpick-case, on which
Oliver immediately fixed his eye. After examining it very carefully,
he drew the doctor aside, and, after some consultation, Oliver left the
room hastily; whilst the alderman, with all the eloquence of which he
was master, expressed his gratitude to Howard for the advice which he
had given his son. "Cultivate this young gentleman's friendship," added
he, turning to Holloway: "he has not a title; but even _I_, Augustus,
am now ready to acknowledge he is worth twenty Lord Rawsons. Had he a
title, he would grace it; and that's as much as I can say for any man."

The Jew, all this time, stood in the greatest trepidation; he trembled
lest the alderman should have him taken up and committed to gaol for his
illegal, unlicensed lottery. He poured forth as many protestations as
his knowledge of the English language could afford of the purity of his
intentions; and, to demonstrate his disinterestedness, began to display
the trinkets in his prize-box, with a panegyric upon each. Dr. B.
interrupted him, by paying for the toothpick-case, which he had bought
for Oliver.

"Now, Mr. Carat," said the doctor, "you will please to return, in the
first place, the money you have received for your _illegal_ lottery
tickets."

The word _illegal_, pronounced in a tremendous tone, operated
instantaneously upon the Jew; his hand, which had closed upon Holloway's
guineas, opened; he laid the money down upon the table, but mechanically
seized his box of trinkets, which he seemed to fear would be the next
seized, as forfeits. No persons are so apprehensive of injustice
and fraud as those who are themselves dishonest. Mr. Carat, bowing
repeatedly to Alderman Holloway, shuffled toward the door, asking if he
might now depart; when the door opened with such a force, as almost to
push the retreating Jew upon his face.

Little Oliver, out of breath, burst into the room, whispered a few words
to Dr. B. and Alderman Holloway, who answered, "He may come in;" and
a tall, stout man, an officer from Bow-street, immediately entered.
"There's your man, sir," said the alderman, pointing to the Jew; "there
is Mr. Carat." The man instantly seized Mr. Carat, producing a warrant
from Justice--for apprehending the Jew upon suspicion of his having in
his possession certain valuable jewels, the property of Mrs. Frances
Howard.

Oliver was eager to explain. "Do you know, Howard," said he, "how all
this came about? Do you know your aunt's gone to Bow-street, and has
taken the mulatto woman with her, and Mr. Russell is gone with her?
and she thinks--and _I_ think--she'll certainly have her jewels, her
grandmother's jewels, that were left in Jamaica."

"How? but how?" exclaimed Howard.

"Why," said Oliver, "by the toothpick-case. The reason I chose that
toothpick-case out of the Jew's box was, because it came into my head,
the minute I saw it, that the mulatto woman's curious thimble--you
remember her thimble, Howard--would just fit one end of it. I ran home
and tried it, and the thimble screwed on as nicely as possible; and
the chasing, as Mr. Russell said, and the colour of the gold, matched
exactly. Oh! Mrs. Howard was so surprised when we showed it to her--so
astonished to see this toothpick-case in England; for it had been left,
she said, with all her grandmother's diamonds and _things_, in Jamaica."

"Yes," interrupted Howard; "I remember my aunt told us, when you asked
her about Cuba's thimble, that she gave it to Cuba when she was a child,
and that it belonged to some old trinket.--Go on."

"Well, where was I?--Oh, then, as soon as she saw the toothpick-case,
she asked how it had been found; and I told her all about the lottery
and Mr. Carat; then she and Mr. Russell consulted, and away they went,
with Cuba, in a coach; and all the rest you know; and I wish I could
hear the end of it!"

"And so you shall, my good little fellow; we'll all go together to hear
the Jew's examination: you shall go with me in my coach to Bow-street,"
said Alderman Holloway.

In the midst of their bustle, the poor stage-coachman, who had waited
with uncommon patience in the hope that Alderman Holloway would at
last recollect him, pressed forward, and petitioned to be paid his five
guineas for the lost parcel.--"I have lost my place already," said he,
"and the little goods I have will be seized this day, for the value of
that unlucky parcel, master."

The alderman put his hand slowly into his purse; but just when he had
pulled out five guineas, a servant came into the room, to inform Dr. B.
that a sailor was waiting in the hall, who desired to speak, directly,
about something of consequence, to the stage-coachman.

Dr. B., who imagined that the sailor might have something to do with the
business in question, ordered that he might be shown into the room.

"I wants one Gregory Giles, a stage-coachman, if such a one be here
amongst ye, gentlefolks, and nobody else," cried the sailor, producing a
parcel, wrapped up in brown paper.

"It's my very parcel!" exclaimed the stage-coachman. "I am Gregory
Giles! God bless your honest heart!--Where did ye find it?--Give it me!"

The sailor said he had found it in a dry ditch on the Bath road,
a little beyond the first turnpike, going out of town; that he had
inquired at the turnpike-house; had heard that the stage had been
overturned a few days before, and that a parcel had been lost, about
which the coachman had been in great trouble; that he had gone directly
to the inn where the coach put up; had traced the coachman from place to
place; and was heartily glad he had found him at last.

"Thank'ee, with all my heart," said the coachman, "for all the trouble
you've been at; and here's the crown reward that I offered for it, and
my thanks into the bargain."

"No, no," said the honest sailor, pushing back the money; "I won't take
any thing from a poor fellow like myself: put your silver into your
pocket: I hear you lost your place already by that parcel. There was
a great talk at the turnpike-house about your losing your place, for
giving some young gentleman a lift.--Put up your money."

All present were eager in rewarding the honest sailor.

A hackney-coach was now come to the door for Mr. Carat, and every body
hurried off as fast as possible.

"Where are they all steering to?" said the sailor. The stage-coachman
told him all that he had heard of the matter. "I'll be in their
wake, then," cried the sailor; "I shall like to see the Jew upon his
court-martial; I was choused once by a Jew myself." He got to Bow-street
as soon as they did.

The first thing Howard learned was, that the jewels, which had been all
found at Mr. Carat's, precisely answered the description which his aunt
had given of them. The Jew was in the utmost consternation: finding that
the jewels were positively sworn to, he declared, upon his examination,
that he had bought them from a captain of a ship; that he had paid the
full value for them; and that, at the time he purchased them, he had
no suspicion of their having been fraudulently obtained. This defence
appearing evidently evasive, the magistrates who examined Mr. Carat
informed him, that, unless he could produce the person from whom he had
bought the jewels, he must be committed to Newgate for receiving stolen
goods. Terrified at this sentence, the Jew, though he had at first
asserted that he knew nothing of the captain from whom he had received
the diamonds, now acknowledged that he actually lodged at his house.

"Hah!" exclaimed Holloway: "I remember, the day that I and Lord Rawson
called at your house, you were settling accounts, your foreman told us,
with a captain of a ship, who was to leave England in a few days: it's
well he's not off."

An officer was immediately sent to Mr. Carat's in quest of this captain;
but there were great apprehensions that he might have escaped at the
first alarm of the search for the jewels. Fortunately, however, he had
not been able to get off, as two constables had been stationed at
Mr. Carat's house. The officer from Bow-street found him in his own
bed-chamber, rummaging a portmanteau for some papers, which he wanted
to burn. His papers were seized, and carried along with him before the
magistrate.

Alderman Holloway knew the captain the moment he was brought into the
room, though his dress and whole appearance were very different from
what they had been when he had waited upon the alderman some months
before this time, with a dismal, plausible story of his own poverty
and misfortunes. He had then told him that his mate and he had had
a quarrel, upon the voyage from Jamaica; that the mate knew what a
valuable cargo he had on board; that just when they got in sight of
land, the crew rose upon him; the mate seized him, and by force put him
into a boat, and set him ashore.

The discovery of the jewels at Mr. Carat's at once overturned the
captain's whole story: cunning people often insert something in their
narration to make it better, which ultimately tends to convict them
of falsehood. The captain having now no other resource, and having the
horrors of imprisonment, and the certainty of condemnation upon a public
trial, full before him, threw himself, as the only chance that remained
for him, upon Mrs. Howard's mercy; confessed that all that he had told
her before was false; that his mate and he had acted in concert; that
the rising of the crew against him had been contrived between them; that
he had received the jewels, when he was set ashore, for his immediate
share of the booty; and that the mate had run the ship off to
Charlestown, to sell her cargo. According to agreement, the captain
added, he was to have had a share in the cargo; but the mate had
_cheated him_ of that; he had never heard from him, or of him, he would
take his oath, from the day he was set ashore, and knew nothing of him
or the cargo.

"Avast, friend, by your leave," cried the honest sailor who had found
the stage-coachman's parcel--"avast, friend, by your leave," said he,
elbowing his way between Alderman Holloway and his next neighbour,
and getting clear into the middle of the circle--"I know more of this
matter, _my lord_, or please your worship, which is much the same thing,
than any body here; and I'm glad on't, mistress," continued the tar,
pulling a quid of tobacco out of his mouth, and addressing himself to
Mrs. Howard: then turning to the captain, "Wasn't _she_ the _Lively
Peggy_, pray?--it's no use tacking. Wasn't your mate one John Matthews,
pray? Captain, your face tells truth, in spite of your teeth."

The captain instantly grew pale, and trembled: on which the sailor
turned abruptly from him, and went on with his story. "Mistress," said
he, "though I'm a loser by it, no matter. The Lively Peggy and her cargo
are safe and sound in Plymouth, at this very time being, and we have her
mate in limbo, curse him. We made a prize of him, coming from America,
for he was under French colours, and a fine prize we thought we'd made.
But her cargo belongs to a British subject; and there's an end to our
prize money: no matter for that. There was an ugly look with Matthews
from the first; and I found, the day we took her, something odd in the
look of her stern. The rascals had done their best to paint over her
name; but _I_, though no great scholar, made a shift to spell the Lively
Peggy through it all. We have the mate in limbo at Plymouth: but it's
all come out, without any more to do; and, mistress, I'll get you her
bill of lading in a trice, and I give ye joy with all my heart."

Alderman Holloway, a man used to business, would not indulge himself in
a single compliment upon this occasion, till he had cautiously searched
the captain's papers. The bill of lading which had been sent with the
Lively Peggy from Jamaica, was found amongst them; it was an exact list,
corresponding precisely with that which Mrs. Howard's agent had sent her
by post, of the consignment shipped after the sale of her plantation.
The alderman, satisfied, after counting the puncheons of rum and
hogsheads of sugar, turned to Mrs. Howard, and shook hands with her,
with a face of mercantile congratulation, declaring that "she was now as
good a woman as ever she had been, and need never desire to be better."

"My dear Oliver," cried Howard, "this is all owing to you: _you_
discovered--"

"No, no, no!" interrupted Oliver, precipitately: "all that I did was
accident; all that you did was not accident. You first made me love you,
by teaching me that I was not a blockhead, and by freeing me from--"

"_A tyrant_, you were going to say," cried Holloway, colouring deeply;
"and, if you had, you'd have said the truth. I thought; Howard,
_afterwards_, that you were a brave fellow for taking his part, I
confess. But, Oliver, I thought you had forgiven me for all these
things."

"Forgiven! Oh yes, to be sure," cried little Oliver; "I wasn't thinking
of myself, or you either; I was only thinking of Howard's good nature;
and then," continued he, "Howard was just as good to the mulatto woman
as he was to me--wasn't he, Cuba?"

"That he was!" replied the poor woman; and, looking at Mrs. Howard,
added, "Massa's _heart_ as good as hers."

"And his _head's_ as good as his heart, which makes it all better
still," continued Oliver, with enthusiasm. "Mr. Russell, you know how
hard he worked at that translation, to earn money to support poor
Cuba, and to paper the room, and to pay the bricklayer _for_ the smoky
chimney: these things were not done by accident, were they? though it
was by accident that I happened to observe Cuba's curious thimble."

"There are some people," interrupted Mr. Russell, "who, by accident,
never observe any thing. We will not allow you, Oliver, to call your
quick habit of observation accident; your excellent capacity will--"

"_My_ excellent capacity," repeated Oliver, with unfeigned surprise:
"why, you know, I get by rote slower than any body in the world."

"You may," said Dr. B., "notwithstanding, have an excellent capacity:
much may be learned without books; much more with books, Oliver; but,
for your comfort, you need not learn them by rote."

"I'm glad of it, heartily," cried Oliver; "but this put something out
of my head that I was in a great hurry to say--O, one other thing
about _accident_. It was not _accident_, but it was Howard's sense, in
persuading me not to put into the lottery, that was the very cause of
Dr. B.'s giving me the choice of all the things in the Jew's box--was it
not?"

"Well, Oliver, we are ready to allow all you want us to perceive, in one
word, that your friend Howard _has not been educated by accident_," said
Dr. B., looking at Mrs. Howard.

The Jew and the captain of the Lively Peggy were now left in the hands
of the law. The sailor was properly rewarded. Mr. Russell was engaged to
superintend the education of Holloway. He succeeded, and was presented
by the alderman with a living in Surrey. Mr. Supine never visited Italy,
and did not meet with any consolation but in his German flute. Howard
continued eager to improve himself; nor did he imagine that, the moment
he left school, and parted from his tutor, his education was finished,
and that his books were, "like past misfortunes," good for nothing
but to be forgotten. His love for literature he found one of the first
pleasures of his life; nor did he, after he came into the possession of
a large fortune, find that his habits of constant occupation lessened
his enjoyments, for he was never known to yawn at a window upon a rainy
morning!

Little Oliver's understanding rapidly improved; his affection for his
friend Howard increased as he grew up, for he always remembered that
Howard was the first person who discovered that he was not a dunce. Mrs.
Howard had the calm satisfaction of seeing an education well finished,
which she had well begun; and she enjoyed, in her nephew's friendship,
esteem, and unconstrained gratitude, all the rewards which her good
sense, firmness, and benevolence had so well deserved.

ANGELINA; OR, L'AMIE INCONNUE.

CHAPTER I.

"But, my dear Lady Di., indeed you should not let this affair prey so
continually upon your spirits," said Miss Burrage, in the condoling tone
of a humble companion--"you really have almost fretted yourself into a
nervous fever. I was in hopes that change of air, and change of scene,
would have done every thing for you, or I never would have consented
to your leaving London; for you know your ladyship's always better in
London than any where else. And I'm sure your ladyship has thought and
talked of nothing but this sad affair since you came to Clifton."

"I confess," said Lady Diana Chillingworth, "I deserve the reproaches
of my friends for giving way to my sensibility, as I do, upon this
occasion: but I own I cannot help it.--Oh, what will the world say! What
will the world say!--The world will lay all the blame upon _me_; yet I'm
sure I'm the last, the very last person that ought to be blamed."

"Assuredly," replied Miss Burrage, "nobody can blame your ladyship;
and nobody will, I am persuaded. The blame will all be thrown, where it
ought to be, upon the young lady herself."

"If I could but be convinced of that," said her ladyship, in a tone of
great feeling; "such a young creature, scarcely sixteen, to take such
a step!--I am sure I wish to Heaven her father had never made me her
guardian. I confess, I was most exceedingly imprudent, out of regard
to her family, to take under my protection such a self-willed,
unaccountable, romantic girl. Indeed, my dear," continued Lady Diana
Chillingworth, turning to her sister, Lady Frances Somerset, "it was you
that misled me. You remember you used to tell me, that Anne Warwick had
such great abilities!"--

"That I thought it a pity they had not been well directed," said Lady
Frances.

"And such generosity of temper, and such warm affections!" said Lady
Di.--

"That I regretted their not having been properly cultivated."

"I confess, Miss Warwick was never a great favourite of mine," said Miss
Barrage; "but now that she has lost her best friend--"

"She is likely to find a great number of enemies," said Lady Frances.

"She has been her own enemy, poor girl! I am sure I pity her," replied
Miss Burrage; "but, at the same time, I must say, that ever since she
came to my Lady Di. Chillingworth's, she has had good advice enough."

"Too much, perhaps; which is worse than too little," thought Lady
Frances.

"Advice!" repeated Lady Di. Chillingworth: "why, as to that, my
conscience, I own, acquits me there; for, to be sure, no young person,
of her age, or of any age, had ever more advice, or more good advice,
than Miss Warwick had from me; I thought it my duty to advise her, and
advise her I did from morning till night, as Miss Burrage very well
knows, and will do me the justice, I hope, to say in all companies."

"_That_ I shall certainly make it a principle to do," said Miss Burrage.
"I am sure it would surprise and grieve you, Lady Frances, to hear
the sort of foolish, imprudent things that Miss. Warwick, with all her
abilities, used to say. I recollect--"

"Very possibly," replied Lady Frances; "but why should we trouble
ourselves to recollect all the foolish, imprudent things which this poor
girl may have said?--This unfortunate elopement is a sufficient proof of
her folly and imprudence. With whom did she go off?"

"With nobody," cried Lady Diana--"there's the wonder."

"With nobody!--Incredible.--She had certainly some admirer, some lover,
and she was afraid, I suppose, to mention the business to you."

"No such thing, my dear: there is no love at all in the case: indeed,
for my part, I cannot in the least comprehend Miss Warwick, nor ever
could. She used, every now and then, to begin and talk to me some
nonsense about her hatred of the forms of the world, and her love
of liberty, and I know not what; and then she had some female
correspondent, to whom she used to write folio sheets, twice a week, I
believe; but I could never see any of these letters. Indeed, in town,
you know, I could not possibly have leisure for such things; but Miss
Burrage, I fancy, has one of the letters, if you have any curiosity
to see it. Miss Burrage can tell you a great deal more of the whole
business than I can; for you know, in London, engaged as I always was,
with scarcely a moment ever to myself, how could I attend to all Anne
Warwick's oddities? I protest I know nothing of the matter, but that,
one morning, Miss Warwick was nowhere to be found, and my maid brought
me a letter, of one word of which I could not make sense: the letter was
found on the young lady's dressing-table, according to the usual custom
of eloping heroines. Miss Burrage, do show Lady Frances the letters--you
have them somewhere; and tell my sister all you know of the matter,
for I declare, I'm quite tired of it; besides, I shall be wanted at the
card-table."

Lady Diana Chillingworth went to calm her sensibility at the card-table;
and Lady Frances turned to Miss Burrage, for further information.

"All I know," said Miss Burrage, "is, that one night I saw Miss Warwick
putting a lock of frightful hair into a locket, and I asked her whose it
was.--'My amiable Araminta's,' said Miss Warwick, 'Is she pretty?' said
I. 'I have never seen her,' said Miss Warwick; 'but I will show you a
charming picture of her mind!'--and she put this long letter into my
hand. I'll leave it with your ladyship, if you please; it is a good, or
rather a bad hour's work to read it."

"_Araminta!_" exclaimed Lady Frances, looking at the signature of the
letter--"this is only a nom de guerre, I suppose."

"Heaven knows!" answered Miss Burrage; "but Miss Warwick always signed
her epistles Angelina, and her _unknown friend's_ were always signed
Araminta. I do suspect that Araminta, whoever she is, was the instigator
of this elopement."

"I wish," said Lady Frances, examining the post-mark of the letter,
"I wish that we could find out where Araminta lives; we might then,
perhaps, recover this poor Miss Warwick, before the affair is talked of
in the world--before her reputation is injured."

"It would certainly be a most desirable thing," said Miss Burrage; "but
Miss Warwick has such odd notions, that I question whether she will ever
behave like other people; and, for my part, I cannot blame Lady Diana
Chillingworth for giving her up. She is one of those young ladies whom
it is scarcely possible to manage by common sense."

"It is certainly true," said Lady Frances, "that young women of Miss
Warwick's superior abilities require something more than _common_ sense
to direct them properly. Young ladies who think of nothing but dress,
public amusements, and forming what they call high connexions, are
undoubtedly most easily managed, by the fear of what the world will
say of them; but Miss Warwick appeared to me to have higher ideas of
excellence; and I therefore regret that she should be totally given up
by her friends."

"It is Miss Warwick who has given up her friends," said Miss Burrage,
with a mixture of embarrassment and sarcasm in her manner; "it is Miss
Warwick who has given up her friends; not Miss Warwick's friends who
have given up Miss Warwick."

The letter from the "amiable Araminta," which Miss Burrage left for
the pervsal of Lady Frances Somerset, contained three folio sheets, of
which, it is hoped, the following abridgment will be sufficiently ample
to satisfy the curiosity even of those who are lovers of long letters:--

"Yes, my Angelina! our hearts are formed for that higher species of
friendship, of which common souls are inadequate to form an idea,
however their fashionable puerile lips may, in the intellectual inanity
of their conversation, profane the term. Yes, my Angelina, you are
right--every fibre of my frame, every energy of my intellect, tells
me so. I read your letter by moonlight! The air balmy and pure as my
Angelina's thoughts! The river silently meandering!--The rocks!--The
woods!--Nature in all her majesty. Sublime confidante! Sympathizing with
my supreme felicity. And shall I confess to you, friend of my soul! that
I could not refuse myself the pleasure of reading to my Orlando some of
those passages in your last, which evince so powerfully the superiority
of that understanding, which, if I mistake not strangely, is formed to
combat, in all its Proteus forms, the system of social slavery? With
what soul-rending eloquence does my Angelina describe the solitariness,
the _isolation_ of the heart she experiences in a crowded metropolis!
With what emphatic energy of inborn independence does she
exclaim against the family phalanx of her aristocratic
persecutors!--Surely--surely she will not be intimidated from
'the settled purpose of her soul' by the phantom-fear of worldly
censure!--The garnish-tinselled wand of fashion has waved in vain in
the illuminated halls of folly-painted pleasure; my Angelina's eyes have
withstood, yes, without a blink, the dazzling enchantment.--And will
she--no, I cannot, I will not think so for an instant--will she now
submit her understanding, spell-bound, to the soporific charm of
nonsensical words, uttered in an awful tone by that potent enchantress,
_Prejudice_?--The declamation, the remonstrances of self-elected judges
of right and wrong, should be treated with deserved contempt by superior
minds, who claim the privilege of thinking and acting for themselves.
The words _ward_ and _guardian_ appal my Angelina! but what are legal
technical formalities, what are human institutions, to the view of
shackle-scorning Reason! Oppressed, degraded, enslaved, must our
unfortunate sex for ever submit to sacrifice their rights, their
pleasures, their _will_, at the altar of public opinion; whilst the
shouts of interested priests, and idle spectators, raise the senseless
enthusiasm of the self-devoted victim, or drown her cries in the
truth-extorting moment of agonizing nature!--You will not perfectly
understand, perhaps, to what these last exclamations of your Araminta
allude:--But, chosen friend of my heart!--when we meet--and oh, let
that be quickly!--my cottage longs for the arrival of my unsophisticated
Angelina!--when we meet you shall know all--your Araminta, too, has had
her sorrows--Enough of this!--But her Orlando has a heart, pure as the
infantine god of love could, in his most perfect mood, delight at once
to wound, and own--joined to an understanding--shall I say it?--worthy
to judge of your Araminta's--And will not my sober-minded Angelina
prefer, to all that palaces can afford, such society in a cottage?--I
shall reserve for my next the description of a cottage, which I have in
my eye, within view of--; but I will not anticipate.--Adieu, my
amiable Angelina.--I enclose, as you desire, a lock of my hair.--Ever,
unalterably, your affectionate, though almost heart-broken,

"ARAMINTA.

"April, 1800.--_Angelina Bower!_

"So let me christen my cottage!"

What effect this letter may have on _sober-minded_ readers in general
can easily be guessed; but Miss Warwick, who was little deserving of
this epithet, was so charmed with the sound of it, that it made her
totally to forget to judge of her amiable Araminta's mode of reasoning.
"Garnish-tinselled wands"--"shackle-scorning Reason"--"isolation of
the heart"--"soul-rending eloquence"--with "rocks and woods, and a
meandering river--balmy air--moonlight--Orlando--energy of intellect--a
cottage--and a heart-broken friend," made, when all mixed together,
strange confusion in Angelina's imagination. She neglected to
observe, that her Araminta was in the course of two pages--"almost
heart-broken"--and in the possession of--"supreme felicity."--Yet Miss
Warwick, though she judged so like a simpleton, was a young woman of
considerable abilities: her want of what the world calls common sense
arose from certain mistakes in her education.--She had passed her
childhood with a father and mother, who cultivated her literary taste,
but who neglected to cultivate her judgment: her reading was confined
to works of imagination; and the conversation which she heard was not
calculated to give her any knowledge of realities. Her parents died
when she was about fourteen, and she then went to reside with Lady Diana
Chillingworth, a lady who placed her whole happiness in living in a
certain circle of high company in London. Miss Warwick saw the follies
of the society with which she now mixed; she felt insupportable ennui
from the want of books and conversation suited to her taste; she heard
with impatience Lady Diana's dogmatical advice; observed, with disgust,
the meanness of her companion, Miss Burrage, and felt with triumph the
superiority of her own abilities. It was in this situation of her mind
that Miss Warwick happened, at a circulating library, to meet with a
new novel, called "The Woman of Genius."--The character of Araminta, the
heroine, charmed her beyond measure; and having been informed, by
the preface, that the story was founded on facts in the life of the
authoress herself, she longed to become acquainted with her; and
addressed a letter to "The Woman of Genius," at her publisher's. The
letter was answered in a highly flattering, and consequently, very
agreeable style, and the correspondence continued for nearly two years;
till, at length, Miss W. formed a strong desire to see her _unknown
friend_. The ridicule with which Miss Burrage treated every thing, and
every idea, that was not sanctioned by fashion, and her total want of
any taste for literature, were continually contrasted in Miss Warwick's
mind, with the picture she had formed of her Araminta.--Miss Burrage,
who dreaded, though certainly without reason, that she might be
supplanted in the good graces of Lady Diana, endeavoured by every petty
means in her power, to disgust her young rival with the situation in
which she was placed. She succeeded beyond her hopes. Miss Warwick
determined to accept of her _unknown friend's_ invitation to Angelina
Bower--a charming romantic cottage in South Wales, where, according to
Araminta's description, she might pass her halcyon days in tranquil,
elegant retirement. It was not difficult for our heroine, though unused
to deception, to conceal her project from Lady Diana Chillingworth, who
was much more observant of the appearance of her protégée in public,
than interested about what passed in her mind in private. Miss Warwick
quitted her ladyship's house without the least difficulty, and the
following is the letter which our heroine left upon her dressing-table.
Under all the emphatic words, according to the custom of some
letter-writers, were drawn emphatic lines.

"Averse as I am to every thing that may have the appearance of a
clandestine transaction, I have, however, found myself under the
necessity of leaving your ladyship's house, without imparting to you my
intentions. Confidence and sympathy go hand in hand, nor can either
be _commanded_ by the voice of authority. Your ladyship's opinions and
mine, upon _all_ subjects, differ so _essentially_, that I could never
hope for your approbation, either of my _sentiments_ or my conduct.
It is my _unalterable determination_ to _act_ and _think_ upon every
occasion for myself; though I am well aware, that they who start out of
the common track, either in words or action, are exposed to the ridicule
and persecution of vulgar or illiberal minds. They who venture to carry
the _first_ torch into _unexplored_ or _unfrequented_ passages in the
mine of truth are exposed to the most imminent danger. Rich, however,
are the treasures of the place, and cowardly the soul that hesitates!
But I forget myself.

"It may be necessary to inform your ladyship, that, disgusted with the
frivolity of what is called fashionable life, and _unable_ to _live_
without the higher pleasures of friendship, I have chosen for my asylum
the humble, tranquil cottage of a female friend, whose tastes, whose
principles have long been known to me: whose _genius_ I admire! whose
_virtues_ I revere! whose example I _emulate!_

"Though I do not condescend to use the fulsome language of _a mean
dependant_, I am not forgetful of the kindness I have received from
your ladyship. It has not been without a _painful_ struggle that I have
broken my bonds asunder--the bonds of what is _falsely_ called _duty:
spontaneous_ gratitude ever will have full, _indisputable, undisputed_
power over the _heart_ and _understanding_ of

"ANNE-ANGELINA WARWICK.

"P.S. It will be in vain to attempt to discover the place of my retreat.
All I ask is to be left in peace, to enjoy, in my retirement, _perfect
felicity_."

CHAPTER II.

Full of her hopes of finding "perfect felicity" in her retreat at
Angelina Bower, exulting in the idea of the courage and magnanimity with
which she had escaped from her "aristocratic persecutors," our heroine
pursued her journey to South Wales.

She had the misfortune--and it is a great misfortune to a young lady of
her way of thinking--to meet with no difficulties or adventures, nothing
interesting upon her journey. She arrived, with inglorious safety, at
Cardiffe. The inn at Cardiffe was kept by a landlady of the name of
Hoel. "Not high-born Hoel. Alas!" said Angelina to herself, when the
name was screamed in her hearing by a waiter, as she walked into the
inn. "Vocal no more to high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellynn's lay!"
A harper was sitting in the passage, and he tuned his harp to catch her
attention as she passed. "A harp!--O play for me some plaintive air!"
The harper followed her into a small parlour.

"How delightful!" said Miss Warwick, who, in common with other heroines,
had the habit of talking to herself; or, to use more dignified terms,
who had the habit of indulging in soliloquy:--"how delightful to taste
at last the air of Wales. But 'tis a pity 'tis not North instead of
South Wales, and Conway instead of Cardiffe Castle."

The harper, after he had finished playing a melancholy air, exclaimed,
"That was but a melancholy ditty, miss--we'll try a merrier." And he
began--

"Of a noble race was Shenkin."

"No more," cried Angelina, stopping her ears; "no more, barbarous
man!--you break the illusion."

"Break the what?" said the harper to himself; "I thought, miss, that
tune would surely please you; for it is a favourite one in these parts."

"A favourite with Welsh squires, perhaps," said our heroine; "but,
unfortunately, _I_ am not a Welsh squire, and have no taste for your
'Bumper Squire Jones.'"

The man tuned his harp sullenly. "I'm sorry for it, miss," said he:
"more's the pity, I can't please you better!"

Angelina cast upon him a look of contempt. "He no way fills my idea of a
bard!--an ancient and immortal bard!--He has no soul--fingers without a
soul!--No 'master's hand,' or 'prophet's fire!'--No 'deep sorrows!'--No
'sable garb of woe!'--No loose beard, or hoary hair, 'streaming like a
meteor to the troubled air!'--'No haggard eyes!'--Heigho!"--"It is time
for me to be going," said the harper, who began to think, by the young
lady's looks and manners, that she was not in her right understanding.
"It is time for me to be going; the gentlemen above in the Dolphin will
be ready for me."

"A mere modern harper! He is not even blind," Angelina said to herself,
as he examined the shilling which she gave him. "Begone, for Heaven's
sake!" added she, aloud, as he left the room;--and "leave me, leave
me to repose." She threw up the sash, to taste the evening air; but
scarcely had she begun to repeat a sonnet to her Araminta--scarcely had
she repeated the first two lines--

     "Hail, far-famed, fairest, unknown friend,
     Our sacred silent sympathy of soul,"

when a little ragged Welsh boy, who was playing with his companions, in
a field at the back of Cardifie Inn, espied her, gave the signal to his
playfellows, and immediately they all came running up to the window at
which Angelina was standing, and with one loud shrill chorus of "Gi'
me ha'penny!--Gi' me ha'penny!--Gi' me one ha'penny!" interrupted
the sonnet, Angelina threw out some money to the boys, though she was
provoked by their interruption: her donation was, in the true spirit of
a heroine, much greater than the occasion required and the consequence
was, that these urchins, by spreading the fame of her generosity through
the town of Cardiffe, collected a Lilliputian mob of petitioners, who
assailed Angelina with fresh vehemence. Not a moment's peace, not a
moment for poetry or reverie would they allow her: so that she was
impatient for her chaise to come to the door. Her Araminta's cottage
was but six miles distant from Cardiffe; and to speak in due sentimental
language, every moment that delayed her long-expected interview with her
beloved unknown friend, appeared to her an age.

"And what would you be pleased to have for supper, ma'am?" said the
landlady. "We have fine Tenby oysters, ma'am; and, if you'd like a Welsh
rabbit--"

"Tenby oysters!--Welsh rabbits!" repeated Angelina, in a disdainful
tone. "Oh, detain me not in this cruel manner!--I want no Tenby oysters,
I want no Welsh rabbits; only let me be gone--I am all impatience to
see a dear friend. Oh, if you have any feeling, any humanity, detain me
not!" cried she, clasping her hands.

Miss Warwick had an ungovernable propensity to make a display of
sensibility; a fine theatrical scene upon every occasion; a propensity
which she had acquired from novel-reading. It was never more unluckily
displayed than in the present instance; for her audience and spectators,
consisting of the landlady, a waiter, and a Welsh boy, who just entered
the room with a knife-tray in his hand, were all more inclined to burst
into rude laughter than to join in gentle sympathy. The chaise did not
come to the door one moment sooner than it would have done without this
pathetic wringing of the hands. As soon as Angelina drove from the door,
the landlady's curiosity broke forth--

"Pray tell me, Hugh Humphries," said Mrs. Hoel, turning to the
postilion, who drove Angelina from Newport, "pray, now, does not this
seem strange, that such a young lady as this should be travelling about
in such wonderful haste? I believe, by her flighty airs, she is upon no
good errand--and I would have her to know, at any rate, that she might
have done better than to sneer, in that way, at Mrs. Hoel of Cardiffe,
and her Tenby oysters, and her Welsh rabbit. Oh, I'll make her repent
her _pe_haviour to Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe. 'Not high-born Hoel,'
forsooth! How does she know that, I should be glad to hear? The Hoels
are as high born, I'll venture to say, as my young miss herself, I've a
notion! and would scorn, moreover, to have a runaway lady for a relation
of theirs. Oh, she shall learn to repent her disrespects to Mrs. Hoel,
of Cardiffe. I _pe_lieve she shall soon meet herself in the public
newspapers--her eyes, and her nose, and her hair, and her inches, and
her description at full length she shall see--and her friends shall
see it too--and maybe they shall thank, and maybe they shall reward
handsomely Mrs. Hoel, of Cardiffe."

Whilst the angry Welsh landlady was thus forming projects of revenge for
the contempt with which she imagined that her high birth and her Tenby
oysters had been treated, Angelina pursued her journey towards the
cottage of her unknown friend, forming charming pictures, in her
imagination, of the manner in which her amiable Araminta would start,
and weep, and faint, perhaps with joy and surprise, at the sight of her
Angelina. It was a fine moonlight night--an unlucky circumstance; for
the by-road which led to Angelina Bower was so narrow and bad, that
if the night had been dark, our heroine must infallibly have been
overturned, and this overturn would have been a delightful incident in
the history of her journey; but Fate ordered it otherwise. Miss Warwick
had nothing to lament, but that her delicious reveries were interrupted,
for several miles, by the Welsh postilion's expostulations with his
horses.

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed she, "cannot the man hold his tongue? His
uncouth vociferations distract me! So fine a scene, so placid the
moonlight--but there is always something that is not in perfect unison
with one's feelings."

"Miss, if you please, you must light here, and walk for a matter of a
quarter of a mile, for I can't drive up to the house door, because there
is no carriage-road down the lane; but if you be pleased, I'll go on
before you--my horses will stand quite quiet here--and I'll knock the
folks up for you, miss."

"Folks!--Oh, don't talk to me of knocking folks up," cried Angelina,
springing out of the carriage "stay with your horses, man, I beseech
you. You shall be summoned when you are wanted--I choose to walk up to
the cottage alone."

"As you please, miss," said the postilion; "only _hur_ had better take
care of the dogs."

This last piece of sage counsel was lost upon our heroine; she heard it
not--she was "rapt into future times."

"By moonlight will be our first interview--just as I had pictured to
myself--but can this be the cottage?--It does not look quite so romantic
as I expected--but 'tis the dwelling of my Araminta--Happy, thrice
happy moment!--Now for our secret signal--I am to sing the first, and my
unknown friend the second part of the same air."

Angelina then began to sing the following stanza--

     "O waly waly up the bank,
     And waly waly down the brae,
     And waly waly yon burn side,
     Where I and my love were wont to gae."

She sung and paused, in expectation of hearing the second part from her
amiable Araminta--but no voice was heard.

"All is hushed," said Angelina--"ever tranquil be her slumbers! Yet
I must waken her--her surprise and joy at seeing me thus will be so
great!--by moonlight too!"

She knocked at the cottage window--still no answer.

"All silent as night!" said she--

     "'When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
       And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene.'"

Angelina, as she repeated these lines, stood with her back to the
cottage window: the window opened, and a Welsh servant girl put out her
head; her night-cap, if cap it might be called which shape had none, was
half off, her black hair streamed over her shoulders, and her face was
the face of vulgar, superstitious amazement.

"Oh, 'tis our old ghost of Nelly Gwynn, all in white, walking and saying
her prayers backwards--I heard 'em quite plain, as I hope to breathe,"
said the terrified girl to herself; and, shutting the window with a
trembling hand, she hastened to waken an old woman, who slept in
the same room with her.--Angelina, whose patience was by this time
exhausted, went to the door of the cottage, and shook it with all her
force.--It rattled loud, and a shrill scream was heard from within.

"A scream!" cried Angelina; "Oh, my Araminta!--All is hushed
again."--Then raising her voice, she called as loudly as she could at
the window--"My Araminta! my unknown friend! be not alarmed, 'tis your
Angelina."

The door opened slowly and softly, and a slip-shod beldam peeped out,
leaning upon a stick; the head of Betty Williams appeared over the
shoulder of this sibyl; Angelina was standing, in a pensive attitude,
listening at the cottage window. At this instant the postilion, who was
tired of waiting, came whistling up the lane; he carried a trunk on his
back, and a bag in his hand. As soon as the old woman saw him, she held
up her stick, exclaiming--

"A man! a man!--a ropper and murterer!--Cot suve us! and keep the door
fast polted."--They shut the door instantly.

"What is all this?" said Angelina, with dignified composure.

"A couple of fools, I take it, miss, who are afraid and in tred of
roppers," said the postilion; "put I'll make 'em come out, I'll be
pound, plockheads."--So saying, he went to the door of Angelina Bower,
and thundered and kicked at it, speaking all the time very volubly
in Welsh. In about a quarter of an hour he made them comprehend that
Angelina was a young lady come to visit their mistress: then they came
forth curtsying.

"My name's Betty Williams," said the girl, who was tying a clean cap
under her chin. "Welcome to Llanwaetur, miss!--pe pleased to excuse our
keeping hur waiting, and polting the toor, and taking hur for a ghost
and a ropper--put we know who you are now--the young lady from London,
that we have been told to expect."

"Oh, then, I have been expected; all's right--and my Araminta, where is
she? where is she?"

"Welcome to Llanwaetur, welcome to Llanwaetur, and Cot pless hur pretty
face," said the old woman, who followed Betty Williams out of the
cottage.

"Hur's my grandmother, miss," said Betty.

"Very likely--but let me see my Araminta," cried Angelina: "cruel woman!
where is she, I say?"

"Cot pless hur!--Cot pless hur pretty face," repeated the old woman,
curtsying.

"My grandmother's as deaf as a post, miss--don't mind her; she can't
tell Inglis well, put I can:--who would you pe pleased to have?"

"In plain English, then--the lady who lives in this cottage."

"Our Miss Hodges?"

This odious name of Hodges provoked Angelina, who was so used to call
her friend Araminta, that she had almost forgotten her real name.

"Oh, miss," continued Betty Williams, "Miss Hodges has gone to Pristol
for a few days."

"Gone! how unlucky! my Araminta gone!"

"Put Miss Hodges will pe pack on Tuesday--Miss Hodges did not expect hur
till Thursday--put her ped is very well aired--pe pleased to walk in,
and light hur a candle, and get hur a nightcap."

"Heigho! must I sleep again without seeing my Araminta!--Well, but I
shall sleep in a cottage for the first time in my life--

"'The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed.'"

At this moment, Angelina, forgetting to stoop, hit herself a violent
blow as she was entering Angelina Bower--the roof of which, indeed, "was
too low for so lofty a head."--A headache came on, which kept her awake
the greatest part of the night. In the morning she set about to explore
the cottage; it was nothing like the species of elegant retirement,
of which she had drawn such a charming picture in her imagination. It
consisted of three small bedchambers, which were more like what she had
been used to call closets; a parlour, the walls of which were, in many
places, stained with damp; and a kitchen which smoked. The scanty,
moth-eaten furniture of the rooms was very different from the luxury and
elegance to which Angelina had been accustomed in the apartments of Lady
Diana Chillingworth. Coarse and ill-dressed was the food which Betty
Williams with great bustle and awkwardness served up to her guest;
but Angelina was no epicure. The first dinner which she ate on wooden
trenchers delighted her; the second, third, fourth, and fifth, appeared
less and less delectable; so that by the time she had boarded one week
at her cottage, she was completely convinced that

     "A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
     And water from the spring,"

though delightful to Goldsmith's Hermit, are not quite so satisfactory
in actual practice as in poetic theory; at least to a young lady who had
been habituated to all the luxuries of fashionable life. It was in vain
that our heroine repeated

     "Man wants but little here below:"

she found that even the want of double refined sugar, of green tea, and
Mocha coffee, was sensibly felt. Hour after hour, and day after day,
passed with Angelina, in anxious expectation of her Araminta's return
home. Her time hung heavy upon her hands, for she had no companion with
whom she could converse; and one odd volume of Rousseau's Eloise, and a
few well-thumbed German plays, were the only books which she could find
in the house. There was, according to Betty Williams's report, "a vast
sight of books in a press, along with some table-cloths," but Miss
Hodges had the key of this press in her pocket. Deprived of the
pleasures both of reading and conversation, Angelina endeavoured to
amuse herself by contemplating the beauties of nature. There were some
wild, solitary walks in the neighbourhood of Angelina Bower; but though
our heroine was delighted with these, she wanted, in her rambles,
some kindred soul, to whom she might exclaim--"How charming is
solitude{1}!"--The day after her arrival in Wales, she wrote a long
letter to Araminta, which Betty Williams undertook to send by a careful
lad, a particular friend of her own, who would deliver it, without fail,
into Miss Hodges's own hands, and who would engage to bring an answer
by three o'clock the next day. The careful lad did not return till four
days afterward, and he then could give no account of his mission, except
that he had left the letter at Bristol, with a particular friend of his
own, who would deliver it, without fail, into Miss Hodges's own hands,
if he could meet with her. The post seems to be the last expedient which
a heroine ever thinks of for the conveyance of her letters; so that,
if we were to judge from the annals of romance, we should infallibly
conclude there was no such thing as a post-office in England. On the
sixth day of her abode at this comfortless cottage, the possibility of
sending a letter to her friend by the post occurred to Angelina, and she
actually discovered that there was a post-office at Cardiffe. Before she
could receive an answer to this epistle, a circumstance happened, which
made her determine to abandon her present retreat. One evening she
rambled out to a considerable distance from the cottage, and it was long
after sunset ere she recollected that it would be necessary to return
homewards before it grew dark. She mistook her way at last, and
following a sheep-path, down the steep side of a mountain, she came to
a point, at which she, apparently, could neither advance nor recede. A
stout Welsh farmer who was counting his sheep in a field, at the top of
the mountain, happened to look down its steep side in search of one of
his flock that was missing: the farmer saw something white at a distance
below him, but there was a mist--it was dusk in the evening--and whether
it were a woman, or a sheep, he could not he certain. In the hope that
Angelina was his lost sheep, he went to her assistance, and though, upon
a nearer view, he was disappointed, in finding that she was a woman, yet
he had the humanity to hold out his stick to her, and he helped her
up by it, with some difficulty. One of her slippers fell off as she
scrambled up the hill--there was no recovering it; her other slipper,
which was of the thinnest kid leather, was cut through by the stones;
her silk stockings were soon stained with the blood of her tender feet;
and it was with real gratitude that she accepted the farmer's offer, to
let her pass the night at his farmhouse, which was within view. Angelina
Bower was, according to his computation, about four miles distant,
as well, he said, as he could judge of the place she meant by her
description: she had unluckily forgotten that the common name of it
was Llanwaetur. At the farmer's house, she was, at first, hospitably
received, by a tight-looking woman; but she had not been many minutes
seated, before she found herself the object of much curiosity and
suspicion. In one corner of the room, at a small round table, with a
jug of ale before him, sat a man, who looked like the picture of a Welsh
squire: a candle had just been lighted for his worship, for he was
a magistrate, and a great man, in those parts, for he could read the
newspaper, and his company was, therefore, always welcome to the farmer,
who loved to hear the news, and the reader was paid for his trouble with
good ale, which he loved even better than literature.

{Footnote 1: Voltaire.}

"What news, Mr. Evans?" said the farmer.

"What news?" repeated Mr. Evans, looking up from his paper, with a
sarcastic smile. "Why, news that might not be altogether so agreeable to
the whole of this good company; so 'tis best to keep it to ourselves."

"Every thing's agreeable to me, I'm sure," said the farmer--"every
thing's agreeable to me in the way of news."

"And to me, not excepting politics, which you gentlemen always think
so polite," said the farmer's wife, "to keep to yourselves; but,
you recollect, I was used to politics when I lived with my uncle at
Cardiffe; not having, though a farmer's wife, always lived in the
country, as you see, ma'am--nor being quite illiterate.--Well, Mr.
Evans, let us have it. What news of the fleets?"

Mr. Evans made no reply, but pointed out a passage in the newspaper to
the farmer, who leant over his shoulder, in vain endeavouring to spell
and put it together: his smart wife, whose curiosity was at least equal
to her husband's, ran immediately to peep at the wonderful paragraph,
and she read aloud the beginning of an advertisement:--

"Suspected to have strayed, or eloped, from her friends or relations,
a young lady, seemingly not more than sixteen years of age, dressed in
white, with a straw hat: blue eyes, light hair."

Angelina coloured so deeply whilst this was reading, and the description
so exactly suited with her appearance, that the farmer's wife stopped
short; the farmer fixed his eyes upon her; and Mr. Evans cleared his
throat several times with much significance.--A general silence ensued;
at last the three heads nodded to one another across the round table;
the farmer whistled and walked out of the room; his wife fidgeted at a
buffet, in which she began to arrange some cups and saucers; and, after
a few minutes, she followed her husband. Angelina took up the newspaper,
to read the remainder of the advertisement. She could not doubt that it
was meant for her, when she saw that it was dated the very day of her
arrival at the inn at Cardiffe, and signed by the landlady of the
inn, Mrs. Hoel. Mr. Evans swallowed the remainder of his ale, and then
addressed Angelina in these words:--

"Young lady, it is plain to see you know when the cap fits: now, if
you'll take my advice, you'll not make the match you have in your eye;
for, though a lord's son, he is a great gambler. I dined with one that