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

- 228.]

A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 5, 1854. Id.

HARD TIMES,BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

DAY and night again, day and night again.No Stephen Blackpool. Where was the man,and why did he not come back 1

Every night, Sissy went to Eachael's lodg-ing, and sat with her in her small neat room.All day, Eachael toiled as such people musttoil, whatever their anxieties. The smoke-serpents were indifferent who was lost or found,who turned out bad or good ; the melancholymad elephants, like the Hard Fact men,abated nothing of their set routine, whateverhappened. Day and night again, day and nightagain. The monotony was unbroken. EvenStephen Blackpool's disappearance was fallinginto the general way, and becomingmonotonous a wonder as any piece of ma-chinery in Coketown.

" I misdoubt," said Eachael, " if there is asmany as twenty left in all this place, whohave any trust in the poor dear lad now."

She said it to Sissy, as they sat in herlodging, lighted only by the lamp at thestreet corner. Sissy had come there when itwas already dark, to await her return fromwork ; and they had since sat at the windowwhere Eachael had found her, wanting nobrighter light to shine on their sorrowfultalk.

" If it hadn't been mercifully broughtabout that I was to have you to speak to,"pursued Eachael, "times are" when I thinkmy mind would not have kept right. Butget hope and strength through you; and youbelieve that though appearances may riseagainst him, he will be proved clear."

" I do believe so," returned Sissy, " withmy whole heart. I feel so certain, Eachaelthat the confidence you hold in yours againslall discouragement, is not like to be wrongthat I have no more doubt of him than if ]had known him through as many years o:trial as you have."

"And I, my dear," said Eachael, with atremble in her voice, " have known himthrough them all, to be, according to hisquiet ways, so faithful to everything honesand good, that if he was never to be heard o:more, and I was to live to be a hundre

years old, I could sa,y with my last breath,jrod knows my heart, I have never once leftousting Stephen Blackpool! "

"We all believe, up at the Lodge, Eachael,that he will be freed from suspicion, sooneror later."

The better I know it to be so believed;here, my dear," said Eachael, "and thekinder I feel it that you come away fromthere,.purposely to comfort me, and keep mecompany, and be seen wi' me when I am notyet free from all suspicion myself, the moregrieved I am that I should ever have spokenthose mistrusting words to the young lady.And yet—"

" You don't mistrust her now, Eachael 1"" Now that you have brought us more

together, no. But I can't at all times keepout of my mind—"

Her voice so sunk into a low and slowcommuning with herself, that Sissy, sittingby her side, was obliged to listen withattention.

" I can't at all times keep out of my mind,mistrustings of some one. 1 can't think who'tis, I can't think how or why it may be done,but I mistrust that some one has put Stephenout of the way. I mistrust that by his comingback of his own accord, and showing himselfinnocent before them all, some one would beconfounded, who — to prevent that — hasstopped him, and put him out of the way."

" That is a dreadful thought," said Sissy,turning pale.

" It is a dreadful thought to think he maybe murdered."

Sissy shuddered, and turned paler yet."When it makes its way into my mind,

dea:-," said Eachael, " and it will come some-times, though I do all I can to keep it out,wi' counting on to high numbers as I work,and saying over and over again pieces that Iknew when I were a child,—I fall into such awild, hot hurry, that, however tired I am, Iwant to walk fast, miles and miles. I mustget the better of this before bed-time. I'llwalk home wi' you."

" He might fall ill upon the journey back,"said "Sissy, faintly offering a worn-out scrap ofhope; " and in such a case, there ar^ manyplaces on the road where he might stVj?."

" But he is in none of them. He has beensought for in'all, and he's not there."

VOL. IX. 228

57-1 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. Conducted by

"True," was Sissy's reluctant admission."He'd walk the journey in two days. If

he was footsore and couldn't walk, I sent him,in the letter he got, the money to ride, lesthe should have none of his own to spare."

"Let us hope that to-morrow will bringsomething better, Bachael. Come into theair !"

Her gentle hand adjusted Bachael's shawlupon her shining black hair in the usualmanner of her wearing it, and they went out.The night being fine, little knots of Handswere here and there lingering at street-cor-ners ; but it was supper-time with the greaterpart of them, and there were but few peoplein the streets.

" You are not so hurried now, Bachael, andyour hand is cooler."

" Pget better dear, if I can only walk, andbreathe a little fresh. 'Times when I can't, Iturn weak and confused."

" But yon must not begin to fail, Eachael,for you may be wanted at any time to standby Stephen. To-morrow is Saturday. If nonews comes to-morrow, let us walk in thecountry on Sunday morning, and strengthenyou for another week.

" Yes, dear."Will you go 1"

They were by this time in the street whereMi\ Bound erby's house stood. The way toSissy's destination led them past the door,and they were going straight towards it.Some train had newly arrived in Coketown,which had put a number of vehicles inmotion, and scattered a considerable bustleabout the town. Several coaches were rat-tling before them and behind them as theyapproached Mr. Bounderby's, and one of thelatter drew up with such briskness as theywere in the act of passing the house, thatthey looked round involuntarily. The brightgaslight over Mr. Bounderby's steps showedthem Mrs. Sparsit in the coach, in an ecstacyof excitement, struggling to open the door;Mrs. Sparsit seeing them at the same moment,called to them to stop.

"It's a coincidence," exclaimed Mrs. Spar-sit, as she was released by the coachman."It's a Providence! Come out, ma'am!"then said Mrs. Sparsit, to some one inside," come out, or we'll have you dragged out! "

Hereupon, no other than the mysterious

and see the matter out. But when the phe-nomenon was enhanced by the notoriety andmystery by this time associated all over thetown, with the Bank robbery, it would havelured the stragglers in, with an irresistible at-traction, though the roof had been expectedto fall upon their heads. Accordingly, thechance witnesses on the ground, consisting ofthe busiest ,of the neighbours to the numberof some five-and-twenty, closed in after Sissyand Eachael, as they closed in after Mrs.Sparsit and her prize ; and the whole bodymade a disorderly irruption into Mr. Boun-derby's dining room, where the people behindlost not a moment's time in mounting on thechairs, to get the better of the people in front.

" Fetch Mr. Bounderby down ! " cried Mrs.Sparsit.i " Eachael, young woman ; you knowwho this is ? "

" It's Mrs. Pegler," said Eachael." I should think it is ! " cried Mrs. Sparsit,

exulting. "Fetch Mr. Bounderby. Standaway, everybody! " Here old Mrs. Pegler,muffling herself up, and shrinking from obser-vation, whispered a word of entreaty. " Don'ttell me," said Mrs. Sparsit, aloud, "I havetold you twenty times, coming along, that Iwill not leave you till I have handed you overto him myself."

Mr, Bounderby now appeared, accompaniedby Mr. Gradgrind and the whelp, with whomhe had been holding conference upstairs.Mr. Bounderby looked more astonished thanhospitable, at sight of this uninvited partyin his dining-room.

" Why, what's the matter now ! " said he." Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am 1 "

" Sir," explained that worthy woman, " Itrust it is my good fortune to produce aperson you have much desired to find. Sti-mulated by my wish to relieve your mind,sir, and connecting tog-ether such imperfectclues to the part of the country in which thatperson might be supposed to reside, as havebeen afforded by the young woman Eachael,fortunately now present to identify, I havehad the happiness to succeed, and to bringthat person with me—I need not say mostunwillingly on her part. It has not been, sir,without some trouble that I have effectedthis ; but trouble in your service is to me apleasure, and hunger, thirst, and cold, a real

Whom Mrs. Sparsit gratification."Here Mrs. Sparsit ceased; for Mr. Boun-

old woman descended,incontinently collared.

" Leave her alone, everybody ! " cried Mrs. derby's visage exhibited an extraordinary com-Sparsit, with great energy. " Let nobody j bination of all possible colors and expressionstouch her. She belongs to me. Come in, I of discomfiture, as old Mrs. Pegler was dis-ma'am ! " then said Mrs. Sparsit, reversing I closed to his view.her former word of command. " Come in, \ " Why, what do you. mean by this ! " wasma'am, or we'll have you dragged in 1" | his highly unexpected demand, in great wrath.

The spectacle of a matron of classical j " I ask you, what do you mean by this, Mrs.deportment, seizing an. ancient woman by | Sparsit, ma'am 1"the throat, and haling her into a dwelling-' " Sir ! " exclaimed Mrs. Sparsit, faintly,house, would have been, under any circum- j " Why don't you mind your own business,stances, sufficient temptation to all true! ma'am?" roared Bounderby. "How dareEnglish stragglers so blest as to witness ! you go and poke your officious nose into myit, to force a way into that dwelling-house! family affairs ?"

Charles Dickens.] HAED TIMES. 575-

This allusion to her favorite feature over-powered Mrs. Sparsit. She sat down stiffly ina chair, as if she were frozen ; and, with afixed stare at Mr. Bounderby, slowly gratedher mittens against one another, as if theywere frozen too.

" My dear Josiah ! " cried Mrs. Pegler,trembling. " My darling boy ! I am not toblame. It's nob my fault, Josiah. I toldthis lady over and over again, that I knewshe was doing what would not be agreeable toyou, but she would do it."

'' What did you let her bring you for ?Couldn't you knock her cap off, or her toothout, or scratch her, or do something or otherto her ?" asked Bounderby.

" My own boy ! She threatened me thatif I resisted her, I should be brought byconstables, and it was better to come quietlythan make that stir in such a—" Mrs. Peglerglanced timidly but proudly round the walls—" such a fine house as this. Indeed, indeed,it is not my fault! My dear, noble, stately boy!I have always lived quiet and secret, Josiah,my dear. I have never broken the conditiononce. I have never said I was your mother.I have admired you at a distance ; and if Ihave come to town sometimes, with longtimes between, to take a proud peep at you,I have done it unbeknown, my love, and goneaway again."

Mr. Bounderby, with his hands in hispockets, walked in impatient mortification upand down at the side of the long dining-table,while the spectators greedily took in everysyllable of Mrs. Pegler's appeal, and at eachsucceeding syllable became more and moreround-eyed. Mr. Bounderby still walking upand down when Mrs. Pegler had done, Mr.Gradgrind addressed that maligned old lady :

"I am surprised, madam," he observedwith severity, "that in your old age you havethe face to claim Mr. Bounderby for yourson, after your unnatural and inhuman treat-ment of him."

"Me unnatural!" cried poor old Mrs.Pegler. " Me inhuman ! To my dear boy ?"

" Dear ! " repeated Mr. Gradgrind. " Yes ;dear in his self-made prosperity, madam, Idare say. Not very dear, however, when youdeserted him in his infancy, and left him tothe brutality of a drunken grandmother."

"/ deserted my Josiah!" cried Mrs.Pegler, clasping her hands. "Now, Lord forgiveyou, sir, for your wicked imaginations, andfor your scandal against the memory of mypoor mother1, who died in my arms beforeJosiah was born. May you repent of it, sir,and live to know better !"

She was so very earnest and injured, thatMr. Gradgrind, shocked by the possibilitywhich dawned upon him, said in a gentlertone :

" Do you deny, then, madam, that you leftyour son to—to be brought up in the gutter 1"

" Josiah in the gutter ! " exclaimed Mrs.Pegler. " No such a thing, sir. Never ! For

shame on you ! My dear boy knows, and.will give you to know, that though he comeof humble parents, he come of parents thatloved him as dear as the best could, and neverthought it hardship on themselves to pinch abit that he might write and cypher beautiful,and I 've his books at home to show it! Aye,have I! " said Mrs. Pegler with indignantpride. "And my dear boy knows, and willgive you to know, sir, that after his belovedfather died when he was eight year old, hismother, too, could pinch a bit, as it was herduty and her pleasure and her pride to do it,to help him out in life, and put him 'pren-tice. And a steady lad he was, and a kindmaster he had to lend him a hand, andwell he worked his own way forward to berich and thriving. And 7'11 give you toknow, sir—for this my dear boy won't—thatthough his mother kept but a little villageshop, he never forgot her, "but pensioned meon thirty pound a-year—more than I want,for I put by out of it—only making thecondition that I was to keep down in myown part, and make no boasts about him,and not trouble him. And I never have,except with looking at him once a year,when he has never knowed it. And it'sright," said poor old Mrs. Pegler, in affec-tionate championship, " that I should keepdown in my own part, and I have no doubtsthat if I was here I should do a many un-befitting things, and I am well contented,and I can keep my pride in my Josiah tomyself, and I can love for love's own sake!And I am ashamed of you, sir," said. Mrs.Pegler, lastly, " for your slanders and sus-picions. And I never stood here before, nornever wanted to stand here when my dear sonsaid no. And I shouldn't be here now, ifit hadn't been for being brought here. And forshame upon you, 0 for shame, to accuse me ofbeing a bad mother to my son, with my sonstanding here to tell you so different!"

The bystanders, on and off the dining-room chairs, raised a murmur of sympathywith Mrs. Pegler, and Mr. Gradgrind felthimself innocently placed in a very distress-ing predicament, when Mr. Bounderby, whohad never ceased walking up and down, andhad every moment swelled larger and largerand grown redder and redder, stopped short.

" I don't exactly know," said Mr. Boun-derby. " how I come to be favored with theattendance of the present company, but Idon't inquire. When they're quite satisfied,perhaps they'll be so good as to disperse;whether they're satisfied or not, perhapsthey'll be so good as to disperse. I'm not boundto deliver a lecture on my family affairs, Ihave not undertaken to do it, and I'm not agoing to do it. Therefore those who expectany explanation whatever upon that branchof the subject, will be disappointed—particu-larly Tom Gradgrind, and he can't know ittoo soon. In reference to the Bank robbery,there has been a mistake made, concerning

576 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

my mother. If there hadn't been over-oth'ciousness it would'ut have been made, andI hate over-officiousness at all times, whetheror no. Good evening '"

Although Mr. Bounderby carried it off inthese terms, holding the door open for thecompany to depart, there was a blusteringsheepishness upon him, at once extremelycrest-fallen and superlatively absurd. De-tected as the Bully of humility, who had builthis windy reputation upon lies, and in hisboastfumess had put the honest truth asfar away from him as if he had advanced themean claim (there is no meaner) to tackhimself on to a pedigree, he cut a most ridi-culous figure. With the people filing off atthe door he held, who he knew would carrywhat had passed to the whole town, to begiven to the four winds, he could not havelooked a Bully more shorn and forlorn,, if hehad had his ears cropped. Even that unluckyfemale Mrs. Sparsit, fallen from her pinnacleof exultation into the Slough of Despond, wasnot in so bad a plight as that remarkableman and self-made Humbug, Josiah Boun-derby of Coketown.

Rachael and Sissy, leaving Mrs. Pegler tooccupy a bed at her son's for that night,walked together to the gate of Stone Lodge andthere parted. Mr. Gradgrind joined thembefore they had gone very far, and spoke withmuck interest of Stephen Blackpool; for whomhe thought this signal failure of the suspicionsagainst Mrs. Pegler was likely to work well.

As to the whelp ; throughout this scene ason all other late occasions, he had stuck closeto Bounderby. He seemed to feel that as longas Bounderby could make no discoverywithout his knowledge, he was so far safe. Henever visited his sister, and had only seen heronce since she went home: that is to say, onthe night when he still stuck close to Boun-derby, as already related.

There was one dim unformed fear lingeringabout his sister's mind, to which she nevergave utterance, which surrounded the gracelessand ungrateful boy with a dreadful mystery.The same dark possibility had presented itselfin the same shapeless guise, this very day, toSissy, when Eachael spoke of some one whowould be confounded by Stephen's return,having put him out of the way. Louisa hadnever spoken of harboring any suspicionof her brother, in connexion with the robbery ;she and Sissy had held no confidence on thesubject, save in that one interchange of lookswhen the unconscious father rested his grayliead on his hand ; but it was understoodbetween them, and they both knew it. Thisother fear was so awful, that it hovered abouteach of them like a ghostly shadow ; neitherdaring to think of its being near herself, farless of its being near the other.

And still the forced spirit which the whelp !bad plucked up, throve with him. If Stephen IBlackpool was not the thief, let him showhimself. Why didn't he ? i

Another night. Another day and night.No Stephen Blackpool. Where was the man,and why did he not come back ?

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE Sunday was a bright Sunday inautumn, clear and cool, when early in themorning Sissy and Eachael met, to walk inthe country.

As Coketown cast ashes not only on itsown head but on the neighboui-hood's too—after the manner of those pious persons whodo penance for their own sins by puttingother people into sackloth—it was customaryfor those who now and then thirsted for a,draught of pure air, which is not absolutelythe most wicked among the vanities of life,to get a few miles away by the railroad, andthen begin their walk, or their lounge in thefields. Sissy and Rachael helped themselvesout of the smoke by the usual means, andwere put down at a station about midwaybetween the town and Mr. Bounderby'sretreat.

Though the green landscape was blottedhere and there with heaps of coal, it wasgreen elsewhere, and there were trees to see,and there were larks singing (though it wasSunday), and there were pleasant scents in theair, and all was overarched by a bright blue sky.In the distance one way, Coketown showed as ablack mist; in another distance, hills beganto rise; in a third, there was a faint changein the light of the horizon, where it shoneupon the far-off sea. Under their feet, thegrass was fresh; beautiful shadows of branches,flickered upon it, and speckled it ; hedgerowswere luxuriant; everything was at peace.Engines at pits' mouths, and lean old horsesthat had worn the circle of their daily laborinto the ground, were alike quiet; wheels hadceased for a short space to turn; and thegreat wheel of earth seemed to revolve with-out the shocks and noises of another time.

They walked on, across the fields and downthe shady lanes, sometimes getting over afragment of a fence so rotten that itTdroppedat a touch of the foot, sometimes passing neara wreck of bricks and beams overgrownwith grass, marking the site of desertedworks. They followed paths and tracks,however slight. Mounds where the grasswas rank and high, and where brambles, dock-weed and such-like vegetation, wrere con-fusedly heaped together, they always avoided ;for dismal stories were told in that countryof the old pits hidden beneath such indi-cations.

The sun was high when they sat down torest. They had seen no one, near or distant,for a long time; and the solitude remainedunbroken. " It is so still here, Rachael, andthe way is so untrodden, that I think wemust be the first who have been here all thesummer."

As Sissy said it, her eyes were attracted byanother of those rotten, fragments of fence

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 577

upon the ground. She got up to look at it."And yet I don't know. This has notbeen broken very long. The wood is quitefresh where it gave way. Here are footstepstoo.—0 Eachael! "

She ran back, and caught her round theneck. Kachael had already started up.

" What is the matter 1""I don't know. There is a hat lying in

the grass."They went forward together. Eachael took

it up* shaking from head to foot. She brokeinto a passion of tears and lamentations :Stephen Blackpool was written in his ownhand on the inside.

" O the poor lad, the poor lad ! He hasbeen made awaydered here !"

" Is there—has theit 1 " Sissy faltered.

with. He is lying mur-

hat any blood upon

They were afraid to look ; but they didexamine it, and found no mark of violence,inside or out. It had been lying there somedays, for rain and dew had stained it, ancthe mark of its shape was on the grass whereit had fallen. They looked fearfully aboutthem, without moving, but could see nothing 'more. " Eachael," Sissy whispered, " I willgo on a little by myself."

She had unclasped her hand, and was inthe act of stepping forward, when Eachaelcaught her in both arms with a scream thatresounded over the wide landscape. Beforethem, at their very feet, was the brink of ablack ragged chasm, hidden by the thick grass.They sprang back, and fell upon their knees,each hiding her face upon the other's neck.

"O, my good God ! He's down there !Down there ! " At first this, and her terrificscreams, were all that could be got fromEachael, by any tears, by any prayers, by anyrepresentations, by any means. It was im-possible to hush her; and it was deadly neces-sary to hold her, or she would have flungherself down the shaft.

" Eachael, dear Eachael, good Eachael, forthe love of Heaven not these dreadful cries !Think of Stephen, think of Stephen, think ofStephen !"

By an earnest repetition of this entreaty,poured out in all the agony of such a moment,Sissy at last brought her to be silent, and tolook at her with a tearless face of stone.

" Eachael, Stephen may be living. You•wouldn't leave him lying maimed at thebottom of this dreadful place, a moment, if youcould bring help to him ! "

" No no no !"" Don't stir from here, for his sake ! Let

me go and listen."She shuddered to approach the pit; but she

crept towards it on her hands and knees, andcalled to him as loud as she could call. Shelistened, but no sound replied. She calledagain and listened ; still no answering sound.She did this, twenty, thirty, times. She tooka clod of earth from the broken ground

where he had stumbled, and threw it iu.She could not hear it fall.

The wide prospect, so beautiful in its still"ness but a few minutes ago, almost carrieddespair to her brave heart, as she rose and.ookedall round her, seeing no help. "Eachael,we must lose not a moment. We must go indifferent directions, seeking aid. You shallgo by the way we have come, and I will goforward by the path. Tell any one you see,and every one, what has happened. Thinkof Stephen, think of Stephen ! "

She knew by Eachael's face that she mighttrust her now. After standing for a momentto see her running, wringing her hands as sheran, she turned and went upon her ownsearch ; she stopped at the hedge to tie hershawl there as a guide to the place, thenthrew her bonnet aside, and ran as she hadnever run before.

Eun, Sissy, run, in Heaven's name ! Don'tstop for breath. Eun, run! Quickening her-self by carrying such entreaties in herthoughts, she ran from field to field, and laneto lane, and place to place, as she had neverrun before; until she came to a shed by anengine-house, where two men lay in theshade asleep on straw.

First to wake them, and next to tell them,all so wild and breathless as she was, whathad brought her there, were difficulties ; butthey no sooner understood her than theirspirits were on fire like hers. One of the menwas in a drunken slumber, but on his com-rade's shouting to him that a man had fallendown the Old Hell Shaft, he started out toa pool of dirty water, put his head in it, andcame back sober.

With these two men she ran to anotherhalf-a-mile further, and with that one toanother, while they ran elsewhere. Then ahorse was found ; and she got another manto ride for life or death to the railroad, andsend a message to Louisa, which she wroteand gave him. By this time a whole villagewas up ; and windlasses, ropes, poles, buckets,candles, lanterns, all things necessary, werefast collecting and being brought into oneplace, to be carried to the Old Hell Shaft.

It seemed now hours and hours since shehad left the lost man lying in the grave wherehe had been buried alive. She could not bearto remain away from it any longer—it waslike deserting him—and she hurried swiftlyback, accompanied by half-a-dozen laborers,including the drunken man whom the newshad sobered, and who was the best man of all.When they came to the Old Hell Shaft, theyfound it as lonely as she had left it. Themen called and listened as she had done, anc4examined the edge of the chasm, and settledhow it had happened, and then sat down towait until the implements they wanted shouldcome up.

Every sound of insects in the air, everystirring of the leaves, every whisper amongthese men, made Sissy tremble, for she

578 HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

When he said "Alive !" a great shout arose,and many eyes had tears in them.

" But he's hurt very bad," he added, assoon as he could make himself heard again," Where's doctor ? He's hurt so very badsir, that we donno how to get him up."

They all consulted together, and lookedanxiously at the surgeon, as he asked somequestions, and shook his head on receiving thereplies. The sun was setting now ; and thered light in the evening sky touched everyface there, and caused it to be distinctly seen.in all its wrapt suspense.

The consultation ended in the men return-ing to the windlass, and .the pitman goingdown again, carrying the wine and some othersmall matters with him. Then the otherman came up. In the meantime, under thesurgeon's directions, some men brought ahurdle, on which others made a thick bed ofspare clothes covered with loose straw, whilehe himself contrived some bandages and slingsfrom shawls and handkerchiefs. As thesewere made, they were hung upon an arm ofthe pitman who had last come up, with in-structions how to use them ; an.d as he stood,shown by the light he carried, leaning hispowerful loose hand upon one of the poles,and sometimes glancing down the pit andsometimes glancing round upon the people,

the construction of this machine, simple as it he was not the least conspicuous figure in the" ' scene. It was dark now, and torches were

thought it was a cry at the bottom of thepit. But the wind blew idly over it, and nosound arose to the surface, and they sat uponthe grass, waiting and waiting. After theyhad waited some time, straggling people whohad heard of the accident began to come up ;then the real help of implements began toarrive. In the midst of this, Rachael returned ;and with her party there was a surgeon, whobrought some wine and medicines. But theexpectation among the people that the manwould be found alive, was very slightindeed;

There being now people enough present, toimpede the work, the sobered man put him-self at the head of the rest, or was put thereby the general consent, and made a large ringround the Old Hell Shaft, and appointed mento keep it. Besides such volunteers as wereaccepted to work, only Sissy and .Rachael wereat first permitted within this ring; but, later inthe day, when the message brought an expressfrom Coketown, Mr. Gradgrind and Louisa,and Mr. Bounderby, and the whelp, werealso there.

Sissy and .Rachael had first sat down uponthe grass, before a means of enabling twomen to descend securely was rigged withpoles and ropes. Difficulties had arisen in

was ; requisites had been found wanting, andmessages had had to go and return. It was fiveo'clockin the afternoon of the bright autumnalSunday, before a candle was sent down to trythe air, while three or four rough faces stoodcrowded close together, attentively watchingit: the men at the windlass-lowering as theywere told. The candle was brought up again,feebly burning, and then some water was castin. Then the bucket was hooked on ; andthe sobered man and another got in withlights, giving the word " Lower away ! "

As the rope went out, tight and strained,and the windlass creaked, there was not abreath among the one or two hundred menand women looking on, that came as it waswont to come. The signal was given and thewindlass stopped, with abundant rope tospare. Apparently so long an interval ensuedwith the men at the windlass standing idle,that some women shrieked that another acci-dent had happened! But the surgeon who heldthe watch, declared five minutes not to haveelapsed yet, and sternly admonished them tokeep silence. He had not well done speaking,when the windlass was reversed and workedagain. Practised eyes knew that it did not go asheavily as it would if both workmen had beencoming up, and that only one was returning.

The rope came in tight and strained ; andring after ring was coiled upon the barrel ofthe windlass, and all eyes were fastened on thepit. The sobered man was brought up, andleaped out briskly on the grass. There wasan universal cry of "Alive or dead ? " andthen a deep, profound hush.

kindled.It appeared from the little this man said

to those about him, which was quickly re-peated all over the circle, that the lost manhad fallen upon a mass of crumbled rubbishwith which the pit was half choked up, andthat his fall had been further broken by somejagged earth at the side. He lay upon hisback with one arm doubled under him, andaccording to his own belief had hardly stirredsince he fell, except that he had moved hisfree hand to a side pocket, in which he re-membered to have some bread and meat (ofwhich he had swallowed crumbs), and hadlikewise scooped up a little water in it nowand then. He had come straight away fromhis work, on being written to, and had walkedthe whole journey ; and was on his way toMr. Bounderby's country-house after dark,when he fell. He was crossing that dangerouscountry at such a dangerous time, because hewas innocent of what was laid to hischarge, and couldn't rest from, coming thenearest way to deliver himself up. The OldHell Shaft, the pitman said, with a curseupon it, was worthy of its bad name to thelast; for though Stephen could speak now, hebelieved it would soon be found to have man-gled the life out of him.

When all was ready, this man, still takinghis last hurried charges from his comradesand the surgeon after the windlass had beg;unto lower him, disappeared into the pit. Therope went out as before, the signal was madeas before, and the windlass stopped. No

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 579

man removed his hand from it now. Everyone waited with his grasp set, and his bodybent down to-the work, ready to reverseand wind in. At length the signal was given,and all the ring leaned forward.

For, now, the rope came in, tightened andstrained to its utmost as it appeared, and themen turned heavily, and the windlass com-plained. It was scarcely endurable to looknt the rope, and think of its giving way. Butring after ring was coiled upon the barrel ofthe windlass...saf ely, and the connecting chainsappeared, and finally the bucket with the twomen holding on at the sides—a sight to makethe head swim, and oppress the heart—andtenderly supporting between them, slung andtied within, the figure of a poor, crushed,human creature.

*A low murmur of pity went round thethrong, and the women wept aloud, as thisform, almost without form, was moved veryslowly from its iron deliverance, and laidupon the bed of straw. At first none but thesurgeon went close to it. He did what hecould in its adjustment on the.couch, Vat thebest that he could do was to cover it. Thatgently done, he called to him Rachael andSissy. And at that time the pale, worn, patientface was seen looking up at the sky, with thebroken right hand lying bare on the outsideof the covering garments, as if waiting to betaken by another hand.

They gave him drink, moistened his face,with water, and administered some drops ofcordial and wine. Though he lay quite mo-tionless looking up at the sky, he smiled andsaid, " Rachael."

She stooped down on the grass at his side,and bent over him until her eyes were be-tween his and the sky, for he could not somuch as turn them to look at her,

" Rachael, my dear."She took his hand. He smiled again and

said, " Don't let 't go.""Thou'rt hi great pain, my own dear.

Stephen ?" ," I ha' been, but not now. I ha' been1—

dreadful, and dree, and long, my dear—but'tis ower now. Ah Rachael, aw a muddle^!Fro' first to last, a muddle ! "

The'spectre of his old look seemed to passas he said the word.

" I ha' fell into th' pit, my dear, as havecost wi'in the knowledge o' old fok now livinhundreds and hundreds o' men's- lives—fathers, sons, brothers, dear to thousands anthousands, an keepiu. 'em fro want andhunger. I ha' fell iuto a pit that ha' beenwi' th' fire-damp crueller than.battle. I ha'read on't in the public petition, as onny onemay read, fro' the men that works in pits, inwhich they ha' pray'n an pray'n the law-makers for Christ's sake not to let theirwork be murder to 'em, but to spare 'em forth' wives and children that they loves as wellas gentlefok loves theirs. When it were inwork, it killed wi'out need; when 'tis let

alone, it kills wi'out need. See how we diean no need, one way an another — in a mud-dle—every day ! "

He faintly said it, -without any angeragainst any one. Merely as the truth.

" Thy little sister, Rachael, thou hast notforgot her. Thou'rt not like to forget her now,and me so nigh her. Thou know'st—poor,patient, suff'rin, dear—how thou did'st worklor her, seet'n all day long in her little chairat thy winder, and she died, young and mis-shapen, awlung o' sickly air as had'n no needto be, an awlung o' working people's miser-able homes. A muddle ! Aw a muddle ! "

Louisa approached him ; but he could notsee her, lying with his face turned up to thenight sky.

" If aw th' things that tooches us, my dear,was not so muddled, I should'n ha' had'aneed to coom heer. If we was not in a mud-dle among ourseln, I shouldn ha' been byray own fellow weavers and workin brothers,so mistook. If Mr. Bounderby had everknowd me right—if he'd ever know'd meat aw—he would'n ha' took'n offence wi'me. He would'n' ha' suspect'n' me. Butlook up yonder, Rachael ! Look aboove ! "

Following his eyes, she saw that he wasgazing at a star.

" It ha' shined upon me," he said reverently," in my pain and trouble dovm below. It ha'shined into my mind. I ha' lookn at't an thowto' thee, Rachael, till the muddle in my mindhave cleared awa, above a bit, I hope. Ifsoom ha' been wantin in umierstanm mebetter, I, too, ha' been wautin in unner-stanin them better. When I got thy letter,I. easily believen that what the yoong lady senan done to me, an what her brother sea andone to me was one, an that there were awicked plot betwixt 'em. When I fell, Iwere in anger wi' her, an hurryin on t' be asonjust t' her as others- was t' me. But in ourjudgments, like as in our doins, we munbear and forbear. In my pain an troublelookin up yonder,—wi' it shin-in on me—I ha'seen more clear, and ha'made it my dyin prayerthat aw th' world may on'y come toogethermore, an get a better unnerstanin o' one ano-ther, than when I were in't .myown weak seln."

Louisa hearing what; he said, bent over himon the opposite side to Rachael, so that hecould see her.

" You ha' heard T' he said after a few mo-ments silence. "I ha' not forgot yo, ledy."

"Yes, Stephen, I have heard you. Andyoar prayer is mine."

"You ha' a father. Will yo tak a mes- 'sage to him ?"

"He is here," said Louisa, with dread." Shall I bring him to you 1"

" If yo please,"Louisa returned with her father. Standing

hand-in-hand, they both looked down uponthe solemn countenance.

" Sir, yo will clear me an mak my namegood wi' aw mea. This I leave to yo."

580 HOUSEHOLD WOBDS. [Conducted by

Mr. Gradgrind was troubled and asked how" Sir," was the reply ; " yor son will tell y<

how. Ask him. I mak no charges : I leavenone ahint me : not a single word. I ha' seeran spok'n wi' yor son, one night. I ask nomore o' yo than that, yo clear me—an '.trust to yo to do't."

The bearers being now ready to carry himaway, and the surgeon being anxious for hisremoval, those who had torches or lanternsprepared to go in front of the litter. Beforeit was raised, and while they were arranginghow to go, he said to Raehael, looking up wareat the star:

" Often as I coom to myseln, and found itshinin on me down there in my trouble, Ithowt it were the star as guided to OuiSaviour's home. I awmust think it be thevery star ! "

They lifted him up, and he was overjoyedto find that they were about to take him inthe direction whither the star seemed to himto lead.

" Rachael, beloved lass ! Don't let go myhand. We may walk toogether t' night, mydear ! "

" I will hold thy hand, and keep besidethee, Stephen, all the way."

" Bless thee ! Will soombody be pleasedto coover my face ! "

They carried him very gently along thefields, and down the lanes, and over the widelandscape; Rachael always holding the hand inhers. Very few whispers broke the mournfulsilence. It was soon a funeral procession.The star had shown him where to find theGod of the poor ; and through humility, andsorrow, and forgiveness, he had gone to hisRedeemer's rest.

IMITATION.

WE copy each other more than most of usare aware ; and what is further significant, avery large portion of all that we do is simplycopying. A very few thinkers can cut outwork for a large body of doers ; an originalartist with pen or pencil can supply where-withal to many an engraver, draughtsman,and printer who is. to follow him ; the de-signer of a new pattern can set hundredsof copyists to work, who realise his idea uponmetal or cloth ; the patentee of a really newand efficient invention sets to work the imi-tative brains of a small fry of inventors, whoendeavour to avail themselves of some of theadvantages of the great invention by a colour-able modification of some of the details.

If any one would really know what animitative race we are, let him watch thecourse of the ordinary mechanical employ-ments, and trace the action of the imitativeprinciple. Mr. Babbage places this matterbefore us in a curious and instructive light,showing how largely the dexterous fingers ofman are employed in producing fac-similes.

Fac-simile by printing. Here the cunning-

workman copies from hollow lines in oneclass of productions, and from raised linesin another. A laborious artist will spenda year or two in cutting lines upon a sheet ofcopper; or he employs a still hardermetal—steel, to permit the taking of a greaternumber of impressions; or a humblerartist punches dots and lines in the sm-faceof a pewter or zinc plate for the music-publisher ; or the surface of a copper cylinderis cut into an ornamentaldevice suitable for thepattern of a muslin dress; or a cylinder is cutwith a device for embossing leather or cloth; ora perforated plate may so admit the ac-tion of chemical liquids as to produce thepattern of a bandanna handkerchief. In allthese cases the real woi'k done is a copy,an imitation, a fac-simile, from sunkenlines; and how it is with raised lines, everyone knows. The types for common print-ing are raised lines or surfaces: thestereotype plates obtained from such types,are copies, intended themselves to producecopies; the wood-engraving; the blocks used bypaper-stainers ;theblocks which impart patternto oil-cloth and painted table-covers; the blocksmployed in the better kind of calico-printing

all belong to a system of raised lines forprinting, or the production of copies.When we copy a letter by any one of thenumerous copying machines, "or print froma lithographic stone or a zincographic plate,or steal a printed page by the anastaticDrocess, or copy shells and leaves by thenature-printing process, or transfer a patterno blue earthenware from thin printed paper

—what do we, in effect, but print or copyrom chemical lines 1

.Fac-simile by casting. A truly wide worldof imitation. We make a mould in sandyy means of a hand-made model; we poiir

molten iron into the mould, and we obtaina cannon, a cylinder, a pipe, a fender, a flat-ron, a stove-grate, a girder, a railing, acraper, all copies. We use steel insteadif iron, and] obtain an infinity of polished

castings. We employ a mixed metal of copperwith tin or with zinc, and we produce brassandlesticks and chandeliers, brass ornaments,3rass guns, bronze statues, and bells—copiesilso. We call to our aid the softer metalr,nd summon into existence armies of usefulirticles in tin, lead, pewter, Britannia metal,aid the like. We use a cold solution insteadf a hot molten mass—cold plaster of Parisnstead of hot metal, and obtain byasting, plaster statues, and thousands of•opied beauties from the works of the greatest

geniuses. We pour melted wax into moulds,ind produce those superb copies of human itywhich adorn the windows of the perruquier'sshops ; we pour melted stearine into moulds,xnd there came forth excellent candles ; weoour liquid clay into moulds, and our Cope-ands and Mintons show us their delicate3arian statuettes and translucent table-porce-

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOURNAL,

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

°- 229.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 12, 1854. 2d.

H A R D ^TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXXV.BEFORE the ring' formed round the Old

Hell Shaft was broken, one figure had disap-peared from within it. Mr. Bounderby and hisshadow had not stood near Louisa, who heldher father's 'arm, but in a retired place by

, themselves. When Mr. Gradgrind was sum-moned to the couch, Sissy, attentive to allthat happened, slipped behind that wickedshadow—a sight in the horror of his face,if there had been eyes there for any sight butone—and whispered in his ear. Withoutturning his head, he conferred with hera few moments, and vanished. Thus thewhelp had gone out of the circle before thepeople moved. ,

When the father reached home, he sent amessage to Mr. Bounderby's, desiring his sonto come to him directly. The reply was, thatMr. Bounderby haviug missed him in thecrowd, and seen nothing of him since, hadsupposed him to be at Stone Lodge.

"I believe, father," said Louisa, "he willnot come back to town to-night." Mr. Grad-grind turned away, and said no more.

In the morning, he went down to the Bankhimself as soon as it was opened, and seeinghis son's place empty (he had, not the courageto look in at first), went back along the streetto meet Mr. Bounderby on his way there. Towhom he said that, for reasons he would soonexplain, but entreated not then to be askedfor, he had found it necessary to employ hisson at a distance for a little while. Also, thathe was charged with the duty of vindicatingStephen Blackpool's memory, and declaringthe thief, Mr. Bounderby, quite confounded,stood stock still in the street after his father-in-law had left him, swelling like an Immensesoap-bubble, without its beauty,

Mr. Gradgrind went home, locked himselfin his room, and kept it all that day. WhenSissy and Louisa tapped at his door, he said,without opening it, " Not now, my dears ; inthe evening." On their return in the evening,he said, " I am not able yet—to-morrow." Heate nothing all day, and had no candle afterdark ; and they heard him walking to and frolate at night.

But, in the morning he appeared at breakfastat the usaal hour, and took his usual place atthe table. Aged and bent, he looked, andquite bowed down ; and yet he looked awiser man, and a better man, than in the dayswhen in this life he wanted nothing butFacts. Before he left the room, he appointeda time for them to come to him ; and so, withhis gray head drooping, went away.

" Dear father," said Louisa, when they kepttheir appointment, "you have three youngchildren left. They will be different, / willbe different yet, with Heaven's help.'^

She gave her hand to Sissy, as if she meantwith her help too.

" Your wretched brother," said Mr. Grad-grind. "Do you think he had planned thisrobbery, when he went with you to thelodging ? "

" I fear so, father. I know he had wantedmoney very much, and had spent a greatdeal."

" The poor man being about to leave thetown, it came into his evil brain to cast sus-picion on him ?"

"I think it must have flashed upon himwhile he sat there, father. For, I asked him togo there with me. The visit did not originatewith him."

" He had some conversation with the poorman. Did he take him aside ?"

" He took him out of the room. I askedhim afterwards, why he had done so, and hemade a plausible excuse ; but, since last night,father, and when I remember the cir-cumstances by its light, I am afraid I canimagine too truly what passed between them."

" Let me know," said her father, " if yourthoughts present your guilty brother in thesame dark view as mine."

"I fear, father," hesitated Louisa, "thathe must have made some representationto Stephen Blackpool—perhaps in my name,perhaps in his own—which induced him to doin good faith and honesty, what he had neverdone before, and to wait about the Bank thosetwo or three nights before he left the town."

" Too plain ! " returned the father. u Tooplain!"

He shaded his face, and remained silentfor some moments. [Recovering himself, hesaid:

"And now, how is he to be found] How is he

YOL. IX. 229

598 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

to be saved from justice ? In the few hoursthat I The two travelled all night, except whenI can possibly allow to elapse before I publish they were left, for odd numbers of minutes, atthe truth, how is he to be found by us, and | branch-places up illimitable flights of steps,only by us ? Ten thousand pounds could mot I or -down wells—which was the only variety of

" Sissy has effected it, father."He raised his eyes to where she stood, like

a good fairy in his house, and said in a toneof softened gratitude and grateful kindness," It is always you, my child ! "

" "We had our fears," Sissy explained, glanc-ing at Louisa, " before yesterday ; and whenI saw you brought to the side of the litterlast night, and heard what passed (being closeto Raehael all the time), I went to him whenno one saw, and said to him, ' Don't look atme. See where your father is. Escape atonce, for his sake and your own !' He wasin a tremble before I whispered to him, andhe started and trembled more then, and said,' Where can I go 1 I have very littlemoney, and I don't know who will hide me !'I thought of father's old circus. I have notforgotten where Mr. Sleary goes at this timeof year, and I read of him in a paper onlythe other day. I told him to hurry there, andtell his name, and ask Mr. Sleary to hide himtill I came. ' I'll get to him before the morn-ing,' he said. And I saw him shrink awayamong the people."

" Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed his father." He may be got abroad yet."

It was the more hopeful, as the town towhich Sissy had directed him was withinthree hours' journey of Liverpool, whencehe could be swiftly dispatched to anypart of the world. But, caution beingnecessary in communicating with him—forthere, was a greater danger every moment ofhis being suspected now, and nobody could besure at heart but that Mr. Bounderby -him-self, in a bullying vein of public zeal, mightplay a Roman part—it was consented thatSissy and Louisa should repair to the placein question, by a circuitous course, alone ;and that the unhappy father, setting forth inan opposite direction, should get round to thesame bourne by another and wider route. Itwas further agreed that he should not presenthimself to Mr. Sieary, lest his intentionsshould be mistrusted, or the intelligence ofhis arrival should cause his eon to take flightanew; but, that the communication should foeleft to Sissy and Louisa to ©pern ; and thatthey should inform the cause of so muchmisery and disgrace, of his .father's beimg athand and of the purpose for which they had

well considered aad were fully understood byall three, it was time to begin to carry theminto execution. Early in the afternoon, Mr.Gradgrind walked direct from his own liouseinto the country, to be taken up on the lineby which he was to travel; and at night theremaining two set forth upon their differentcourse, encouraged by cot seeing any lacethey knew.

those br&nches — and, early in the morning,were turned out on a swamp, a mile or twofrom the town they sought. From this dis-mal spot they were rescued by a savage oldpostilion, who happened to be up early, kickinga horse in a fly; and so were smuggled into thetown by aU the back lanes where the pigslived : which, although not a magnificent oreven savoury approach, was, as is usual insuch cases, the legitimate highway.

The first thing they saw on entering thetown was the skeleton of Sleary's Circus.The company had departed for another town.more than twenty miles off, and had openedthere last night. The connection betweenthe two places was by a hilly turnpike-road,and the travelling on that road was veryslow. Though they took but a hasty break-fast, and no rest (which it would havebeen in vain to seek under such anxious cir-cumstances), it was noon before they began tofind the bills of Sleary's Horseriding on barnsand walls, and one o'clock when they stoppedin the market-place.

A Grand Morning Performance by theEiders, commencing at that very hour, was incourse of announcement by the bellman as theyset their feet upon the stones of the street.Sissy recommended that, to avoid making in-quiries and attracting attention in the town,they should present themselves to pay at thedoor. If Mr. Sleary were taking the money,

proceed with discretion. If he were not, hewould be sure to see them inside; and, know-ing what he had done with the fugitive, wouldproceed with discretion still. '

Therefore they repaired with flutteringhearts, to the wdl-reBa«mbered booth. Theflag with the inscription SLEARY'S HORSE-BIBIK<J, was there ; and the Gothic niche wasthere -, but Mr. Sleary was not there. MasterKidderminster, gr&wn too maturely turfy tobe received by the wildest credulity as Cupidany more, had yielded to the invincible forceof circumstances (and his beard), and, in thecapacity of a man who made himself gene-rally useful, presided on this occasion overthe «x.el»equer — havingalso a drum in reserve,oa which to expead his leisure moments andsuperfluous forces. In tihe extreme sharpnessof ihia look-out for base coin, Mr. Kidder-mi-aster, as at present situated, never saw any*thing but money ; so Sissy passed himunrecognised, and tbey went in.

white fcorse stencilled with black spots, wastwirling five wash-hand basins at once, as itis the favorite recreation of that monarch tddo. Sissy, though well acquainted with hisRoyal Hoe, had no personal knowledge of tbepresent Emperor, and his reign was peaceful;Miss Josephine Sleary in her celebrated

CharleB Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 599

graceful Equestrian Tyrolean Flower-Act,was then announced by a new clown (whohumorously said Cauliflower Act), and Mr.Sleary appeared, leading her in.

Mr. Sleary had only made one cut at theClown with his long whip-lash, and theClown had only said, " If you do it again, I'llthrow the horse at you !" when Sissy was re-cognised both by father and daughter. Butthey got through the Act with great. self-possession ; and Mr, Sleary, saving for thefirst instant, conveyed no more expressioninto his locomotive eye than intofixed one. The performance seemed a littlelong to Sissy and Louisa, particularlywhen it stopped to afford the Clown an op-portunity of telling Mr. Sleary (who sale" Indeed, sir ! " to all his observations in thecalmest way, and with his eye on thehouse), about two legs sitting on three legslooking at one leg, when in came four legs.and laid hold of one leg, and up got two legs•caught hold of three legs, and threw them afour legs, who ran away with one leg. For.although an ingenious Allegory relating to abutcher, a three-legged stool, a dog, and a leg•of mutton, this narrative consumed time, antthey were in great suspense. At last, how--ever, little fair-haired Josephine made her•curtsey amid great applause ; and the Clownleft alone in the ring, had just warmed himselfand said, " Now I'll have a turn !" wherSissy was touched 01beckoned out.

She took Louisa with her ; and they werea-eeeived by Mr. Sleary in a very little private-apartment, with canvas sides, a grass floor,and a wooden ceiling all aslant, on which thebox company stamped their approbation as ifthey were coming through. "Thethilia,"said Mr. Sleary, who had brandy and waterat hand, " it doth me good to thee you. Youwath alwayth a favorite with uth, and you'vedone uth credith thinth the old timeth I'mthure. You mutht thee our people, my dear,afore we thpeak of bithnith, or they'll breaktheir hearth — ethpethially the women.Here'th Jothphine hath been and got mar-ried to E. W. B. Childerth, and thee hath.got a boy, and though he'th only three yearthold, he thtiekth on to any pony you can bringagaintht him. He'th named The LittleWonder Of Thcolathtie Equitation ; and ifyou don't hear of that boy at Athley'th, you'llhear of him at Parith. And you recollectKidderminthter, that wath thought to berather thweet upon yourthelf ? "WeLL He'thmarried too. Married a widder. Oldenough to be hith mother. Thee wath Tight-rope, thee wath, and now thee'th nothing—on•aecounth of fat. They've got two.children,tho we're thtrong in the Fairy bithnith aadthe Nurthery dodge. If you wa;th to theeour Children in the Wood, with their fatherand mother both a dyin' on a horthe—theiruncle a rethieving of 'em ath hith wardth,upon a horthe—themthelvth both a gein' a

iack-berryin' on a horthe—and the Eobintha coming in to cover 'em with leavth, upon alorthe—you'd thay it wath the completetht,hing ath ever you. thet your eyeth on!

ath wath a'motht a mother to you 1 Ofcourthe you do ; I needn't athk. Well !Emma, thee lotht her huthband. He waththrow'd a heavy back-fall off a Elephant in athort of a Pagoda thing ath the Thultan ofthe Indieth, and he never got the better of it;and thee married a thecond time—married aCheethemonger ath fell in love with her fromthe front—and he'th a Overtheer and makin'a fortun!"

These various changes, Mr. Sleary, veryshort of breath now, related with greatheartiness, and with a wonderful kind ofinnocence, considering what a bleary andbrandy-aad-watery old veteran he was.Afterwards he brought in Josephine, andE. W. B. Childers (rather deeply-lined in thejaws by daylight), and The Little Wonder ofScholastic Equitation, and, in a word, all thecompany. Amazing creatures they were inLouisa's eyes, so white and pink of com-plexion, so scant of dress, and so demonstra-tive of leg ; but it was very agreeableto see them crowding "about Sissy, andvery natural in Sissy to be unable to refrain

" There l' Now Thethilia hath kithd allthe children, and hugged all the women, andtkaken handth all round with all the men,clear, every one of you, and ring in the bandfor the thecond part ! " said Sleary.

As soon as they were gone, he continued ina low tone. " Now, Thethilia, I don't athk

eonthider thith to be Mith Thquire 1"" This is his sister. Yes."" And t'other one'th daughter,

what I mean. Hope I thee you well, mith.And I hope the Thquire'th well 1"

" My father will be here soon," saidLouisa, anxious to bring him to the point." Is my brother safe ?"

"Thafe and thound !" he replied. "Iwant you jutht to take a peep at the Ring,mith, through here. Thethilia, you knowthe dodgeth ; find a thpy-hole for yourthelf."

They each looked through a chink in theboards.

"That'h Jack the Giant Killer — pietheof comic infant bithnith," said Sieary." There'itti .a preperty-houthe, you thee, forJack to hide in ; there'th my Olown with athauthepan-lid aid a thpit, for Jack'th ther-vant; there'th little Jack himthelf in athplendid thoot of armour; there'th twocomic black thervanth twithe ath big aththe houthe, to thtand by it and to bring it inand clear it; and the Giant .(a very expen-thive batliket one), he an't oa yet. Now, doyou thee 'em all ? "

" Yes," they both said." Look at 'em again," said .Sleary, "look at

600 HOUSEHOLD, WORDS. [Conducted by

'em well. You thee 'em all? "Very good.Now, mith ;" he put a form for them to siton ; "I have my opinionth, and the Thquireyour father hath hith. I don't want toknow what your brother'th been up to; ithbetter for me not to know. All I thay ith,the Thquire hath thtood by Thethilia, andI'll thtand by the Thquire. Your brotherith one o' them black thervanth."

Louisa uttered an exclamation, partly ofdistress, partly of satisfaction.

" Ith a fact," said Sleary, " and evenknowin it, you couldn't put your finger onhim. Let the Thquire come. I thall keepyour brother here after the performanth. Ithant undreth him, nor yet wath hith paintoff. Let the Thquire come here after theperformanth, or come here yourthelf after theperformanth, and you thall find your brother,and have the whole plathe to talk to him in.Never mind the lookth of him, ath long athhe'th well hid."

Louisa, with many thanks and with alightened load, detained Mr. Sleary no longerthen. She left her love for her brother, withher eyes full of tears; and she and Sissy wentaway until later in the afternoon.

Mr. Gradgrind arrived within an hourafterwards. He too had encountered no onewhom he knew ; and was now sanguine, withSleary's assistance, of getting his disgracedson to Liverpool in the night. As neither ofthe three could be his companion withoutalmost identifying him under any disguise,he prepared a letter to a correspondent whomhe could trust, beseeching him to ship thebearer off, at any cost, to North or SouthAmerica, or any distant part of the world towhich he could be the most speedily andprivately dispatched. This done, they walkedabout, waiting for the Circus to be quitevacated : not only by the audience, but bythe company and by the horses. Afterwatching it a long time, they saw Mr. Slearybring out a chair and sit down by the side-door, smoking; as if that were his signal thatthey might approach. -

" Your thervant, Thquire," was his cautioussalutation as they passed in. " If you wantme you'll find me here. You muthn't mindyour thon having a comic livery on."

They all three went in; and Mr. Grad-grind sat down, forlorn, on the Clown's per-forming chair in the middle of the ring. Onone of the back benches, remote in the sub-dued light and the strangeness of the place,sat the villainous whelp, sulky to the last,whom he had the misery to call his son.

In a preposterous coat, like a beadle's, withcuffs and flaps exaggerated to an unspeakableextent; in an immense waistcoat, knee-breeches, buckled shoes, and a mad cockedhat; with nothing fitting him, and everythingof coarse material, moth-eaten; and full ofholes ; with seams in his black face, wherefear and heat had started through the greasycomposition daubed all over it; anything so

grimly, detestably, ridiculously shameful asthe whelp in his comic livery, Mr. Gradgrindnever could by any other means have believedin, weighable and measurable fact thoughit was. And one of his model children hadcome to this!

At first the whelp would not draw anynearer, but persisted in remaining up thereby himself. Yielding at length, if any conces-sion so sullenly made can be called yielding, tothe entreaties of Sissy—for Louisa he disownedaltogether—he came down, bench by bench,until he stood in the sawdust, on the vergeof the circle, as far as possible, within itslimits from where his father sat.

tc How was this done ?" asked thefather.

" How was what done ? " moodily answeredthe son.

" This robbery," said the father, raising hisvoice upon the word.

"I forced the safe myself over night, andshut it up ajar before I went away. I hadhad the key that was found, made long before.I dropped it that morning, that it might besupposed to have been used. I did'nt takethe money all at once. I pretended to putmy balance away every night, but I did'nt.Now you know ail about it."

" If a thunderbolt had fallen on me," saidthe father, " it would have shocked me lessthan this!"

" I don't see why," grumbled the'son. "Somany people are employed in situations oftrust; so many people, out of so many, willbe dishonest. I hav^heard you talk, a hun-dred times, of its belpg a law. How can Ihelp laws ? You have comforted others withsuch things, father. Comfort yourself! "

The father buried his face in his hands,and the son stood in his disgraceful grotesque-ness, biting straw: his hands, with theblack partly worn away inside, looking likethe hands of a monkey. The evening wasfast closing in ; and, from time to time, heturned t}ie whites of his eyes restlessly andimpatiently towards his father. They werethe only parts of his face that showed anylife or expression: the pigment upon it wasso thick.

" You must be got to Liverpool, and sentabroad."

"I suppose I must. I can't be moremiserable anywhere," whimpered the whelp," than I have been here, ever since I can re-member. That's one thing."

Mr. Gradgrind went to the door, and re-turned with Sleary, to whom he submittedthe question, How to get this deplorableobject away ?

" Why, I've been thinking of it, Thquire.There'th not muth time to lothe, tho youmutht thay yeth or no. Ith over twentymileth to the rail. Thereth a coath iu halfan hour, that goeth to the rail, 'purpothe tocath the mail train. That train will takehim right to Liverpool."

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES,

"But look at him," groaned Mr. Grad-grind. " Will any coach—"

" I don't mean that he thould go in thecomic livery," said Sleary. " Thay the word,and I'll make a Jothkin of him, ont of thewardrobe, in five minutes."

"I don't understand," said Mr. Grad-grind.

"A Jothkin—a Carter. Make up yourmind quick, Thquire. There'll be beer tofeth. I've never met with nothing but beerath'll ever clean a comic blackamoor."

Mr. Gradgrind rapidly assented ; Mr.Sleary rapidly turned out from a box, a smockfrock, a felt hat, and other essentials; thewhelp rapidly changed clothes behind a screenof baize; Mr. Sleary rapidly brought beer,and washed him white again.

" Now," said Sleary, " come along to thecoath, and jump up behind ; I'll go with youthere, and they'll thuppothe you one of mypeople. Thay farewell to your family, andtharp'th the word ! " "With which he deli-cately retired.

" Here is your letter," said Mr. Gradgrind." All necessary means will be provided foryou. Atone, by repentance and better conduct,for the shocking .action you have committed,and the dreadful consequences to which ithas led. Give me your hand, my poor boy,and may God forgive you as I do !"

The culprit was moved to a few abjecttears by these words and their pathetic tone.But, whenLouisa openedher arms, he repulsedher afresh.

" Not you, I don't want to have anythingto say to you ! "

" O Tom, Tom, do we end so, after all mylove ! "

" After all your love ! " he returned, obdu-rately. " Pretty love! Leaving old Boun-derby to himself, and packing my best friendMr. Harthouse off, and going home, just whenI was in the greatest danger. Pretty lovethat ! Coming out with every word aboutour having gone to that place, when you sawthe net was gathering round me. Prettylove that! You have regularly given me up.You never cared for me."

" Tharp'th the word !" said Sleary at thedoor.

They all confusedly went out: Louisa-crying to him that she forgave him, andloved him still, and that he would one daybe sorry to have left her so, and glad tothink of these her last words, far away: whensome one ran against them. Mr. Gradgrindand Sissy, who were both before him whilehis sister yet clung to his shoulder, stoppedand recoiled.

For, there was Bitzer, out of breath, histhin lips parted, his thin nostrils distended,his white eyelashes quivering, his colorlessface more colorless than ever, as if he ranhimself into a white heat, when other peopleran themselves into a glow. There he stood,panting and heaving, as if he had never

stopped since the night, now long ago, whenhe had run them down before.

"I'm sorry to interfere with your plans,"said Bitzei'y shaking his head, " but I can'tallow myself to be done by horseriders. Imust have young Mr. Tom ; he mustn't be gotaway by horseriders ; here he is in a smockfrock, and I must have him ! "

By the collar, too, it seemed. For, so hetook possession of him.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THEY went back into the booth, Slearyshutting the door to keep intruders out.Bitzer, still holding the- paralysed culprit bythe collar, stood in the King, blinking at hisold patron through the darkness of thetwilight.

"Bitzer," said Mr. Gradgrind, brokendown, and miserably submissive to him," have you a heart ? "

" The circulation, sir," returned Bitzer,smiling at the oddity of the question, "could'utbe carried on without one. No man, sir,acquainted with the facts established byHarvey relating to the circulation of theblood, can doubt that I have a heart."

" Is it accessible," cried Mr. Gradgrind," to any compassionate influence 1"

" It is accessible to Reason, sir," returnedthe excellent young man. " And to nothingelse."

They stood looking at each other ; Mr.Gradgrind's face as white as the pursuer's.

"What motive—even what motive inreason—can you have for preventing theescape of this wretched youth," said Mr.Gradgrind, " and crushing his miserablefather 'I See his sister here. Pity us ! "

" Sir," returned Bitzer, in a very business-like and logical manner, " since you ask mewhat motive I have in reason, for takingyoung Mr. Tom back to Coketowri, it is onlyreasonable to let you know. I have sus-pected yoxing Mr. Tom of this bank-robberyfrom the first. I had had my eye upon himbefore that time, for I knew his ways. Ihave kept my observations to myself, but Ihave made them ; and I have got ample prooisagainst him now, besides his running away,and besides' his own confession, which I wasjust in time to overhear. I had the pleasureof watching your house yesterday morning,and following you here. I am going to takeyoung Mr. Tom back to Coketown, in orderto deliver him over to Mr. Bounderby. Sir,I have no doubt whatever that Mr. Boun-derby will then promote me to young Mr.Tom's situation. And I wish to have hissituation, sir, for it will be a rise to me andwill do me good."

" If this is solely a question of self-interestwith-you " Mr. Gradgrind began.

" I beg your pardon for interrupting you,sir," returned Bitzer; " but I am sure youknow that the whole social system, is a ques-tion of self-interest. What you must always

602 HOUSEHOLD WO&DS.

appeal to, is a person's self-interest, It*syour only hold. We are so constituted. 1 wasbrought up in that catechism when I wasvery young, sir, as you are aware."

" What sum of money," said Mr. Grad-grind, ''will you set against your expectedpromotion ?"

" Thank you, sir," returned Bitzer, " forhinting at the proposal; but I will not set anysum against it. Knowing that your clear headwould propose that alternative, I have goneover the calculations in my mind ; and I findthat to compound a felony, even on very highterms indeed, would not be as safe andgood for me as my improved prospects in theBank."

"Bitzer," said Mr, Gradgrind, stretchingout his hands as though he would have said,See how miserable I am ! " Bitzer, I have butone chance left to soften you. You Were manyyears at my school. If, in remembrance ofthe pains bestowed upon you there, you can per-,suade yourself in any degree to disregardyour present interest and release my son, Ientreat and pray you to give him the benefit ofthat remembrance."

"I really wonder, sir," rejoined the oldpupil in an argumentative manner," to findyou taking a position so untenable. Myschooling was paid for; it Was a bar-gain ; and when I came away, the bargainended."

It was a fundamental principle of the Grad-grind philosophy, that everything was to bepaid for. Nobody was ever on any accountto give anybody anything, or render anybodyhelp without purchase. Gratitude was to beabolished, and the virtues springing 'from itwere not to be. Every inch of the whole ex-istence of mankind, from birth to death, wasto be a bargain across a counter. And if Wedidn't get to Heaven that way, it was nota politico-economical place, and we had nobusiness there.

"I don't deny," added Bitzer, ''that myschooling was cheap. But that comes right, sir.I was made in the cheapest market, and haveto dispose of myself in the dearest."

He was a little troubled here, by Louisa andSissy crying.

" Pray don't do that," said he,K it's of nO usedoing that: it only worries. You seem tothink that I have some animosity againstyoung Mr. Tom ; whereas I have none at all.I am only going, on the reasonable grounds Ihave mentioned, to take him back to Coke-town. If he was to resist, I should set up thecry of Stop Thief! But, he Won't resist, youmay depend upon it."

Mr. Sleary, who, with his mouth open andhis rolling eye as immovably jammed in hishead as his fixed one, had listened to thesedoctrines with profound attention, here steppedforward.

" Thquire, you know perfectly Well, andyour daughter knowtb perfectly well (better jthan you, becauthe I thed it to her), that I J

dida't? kaow -what your thon had done, andthat I didn't want to know—I thed it wathbelief not, though I only thought, then, itwath thome thkylarking. However, thithyoung man having made it known to be arobbery of a bank, why, that'h a theriouththing; rauth too theriouth a thing for me to-compound, ath thith young man hath veryproperly called it. Consequently, Thquire,.you muth'nt quarrel with me if I take thithyoung man'th thide, and thay he'th right andthere'th no help for it. But I tell you whatI'll do, Thquire; 111 drive your thon andthith young man over to the rail, and preventexpothiire here. I cant conthent to do more.,,but I'll do that."

Fresh lamentations from Louisa, anddeeper affliction on Mr. Gradgrind's part,,followed this desertion of them by their lastfriend. But, Sissy glanced at him with greatattention; nor did she in her own breastmisunderstand him. As they were all goingout again, he favored her with one slight rollof his movable eye, desiring her to lingerbehind. As he locked the door, he said ex-citedly :

" The Thquire thtood by you, Thethilia, andiI'll thtand by the Thquire. More than that ••thith ith a prethiouth ratheal, and belongthto that bluthtering Cove that my people-nearly pifcht out o' winder. It'll be a darknight; IVe got a horthe that'll do anythingbut thpeak ; I've got a pony that'll go fifteen;mile an hour with Childerth driving of him -rI've got a dog that'll keep a man to one-plathe four-and-twenty hourth. Get a wordwith the young Thquire. Tell him, when he-theeth our horthe begin to danthe, not to beafraid of being thpilt, but to look out for a,pony-gig coming up. Tell him when he theeththat gig clothe by, to jump down, and it'll take-him off at a rattling pathe. If my dog leththith young man thtir a peg on foot, I give-him leave to go. And if my horthe everthtirth irom that thpot where he beginth adanthing, till the morning—I don't know him t—Tharp'th the word !"

The word was so sharp, that in ten minutesMr. Childers, sauntering abotit the marketplace in a pair of slippers, had his cue, andMr. Sleary's equipage was ready. It was afine sight, to behold the learned dog barkinground it, and Mr. Sleary instructing him, withhis one practicable eye, that Biteer -was the'object of his particular attentions. Soon alterdark they all three got in and started; thelearned dog (a formidable creature) alreadypinning Bitzer with his eye, and sticking closeto the wheel on his side, that he might beready for kirn in the event of his showing theslightest disposition to alight.

The other three sat up at the inn all night ingreat suspense. At eight o'clock in the morn-ing Mr. Sleary and the dog re-appeared : bothin high spirits.

"All right, Thquire!" said Mr. Sleary,Wy0ar then may be aboard-a-thip by thitix

Charles Dickens.] HABI> TIMES. 603

time. Childerth took him ©ff, an hour and ahalf after we left here, latht night. The horthedanthed the Polka till he wath dead beat(he would have walthed, if he hadn't been inharneth), and then I gave him the word andhe went to thleep comfortable. When thatprethiouth young Eafchcal thed he'd gofor'ard afoot, the dog hung on to hith neck-hankercher with all four legth in the air,and pulled him down and rolled him over.Tho he come back into the drag, and there hethat, 'till I turned the horthVth head, athalfpatht thixth thith morning."

Mr. Gradgrind overwhelmed him withthanks, of course ; and hinted as delicately ashe could, at a handsome remuneration inmoney.$&" 1 don't want money mythelf, Thqirire;but Childerth ith a family man, andJL you wath to like to offer him a five-poundnote, it mightn't be unacceptable. Likewitheif you wath to thtand a collar for the dog, ora thet of bellth for the horthe, I thould bevery glad to take 'em. Brandy and water Ialwayth take." He had already called for aglass, and now called for another. u If youwouldn't think it going too far, Thquire, tomake a little thpread for the company atabout three and thixth ahead, not reckoningLuth, it would make 'em happy."

All these littte tokens of his gratitude, Mr.Gradgrind very willingly undertook to render.Though he 'thought them far too slight, hesaid, for s.uch a service.

" Very well, Thquire; then, if you'll only givea Horthe-riding, a bethpeak,wheneveryou can,you'll more than balanthe the account. Now,Thquire, if your daughter will etheuthe me,I thould like one parting word with you."

Louisa and Sissy withdrew into an adjoin-ing room; Mr. Sleary, stirring anddrinking his brandy and water as he stood,went on:

" Thquire, you don't need to be told thatdogth ith wonderful animalth."

"Their instinct," said Mr. Gradgrind, "issurprising."

" Whatever you call it—and I'm bletlit if /know what to call it "—said Sleary, " it ithathtonithing. The way in with a dog'll findyou—the dithtanthe he'll come !"

"His scent," said Mr. Gradgrind, "beingso fine."

"I'm bletht if I know what to call it,"repeated Sleary, shaking his head, "bat Ihave had dogth find me,Thquire, m. a way thatmade me think whether that dog hadn't goneto another dog, and thed, 'You don't happento know a perthon of the name of Thleary,do you ? Perthon of the name of Thleary,in the Horthe-Ridiflg way—thtout man-game eye 1' And whether that dog mightn'thave thed, ' Well, I can't thay I know himmythelf, but I know a dog that I think wouldbe likely to be acquainted with him.' Andwhether that dog mightn't have thought itover, and thed, ' Thleary, Thleary ! O yeth,

to be thure f A friend of mine menthionedhim to me at one time. I can get you hithaddreth directly.' In conthequenth of mybeing afore the public, and going about thomuth, you thee, there mutht be a number ofdogth acquainted with me, Thquire, that /don't know! "

Mr. Gradgrind seemed to be quite con-founded by this speculation.

" Any way," said Sleary, after putting hislips to his brandy and water, "ith fourteenmonth ago, ilhquire, thinthe we wath atChethter. We wath getting up our Childrenin the Wood one morning, when there comethinto our Bing, by the thtage door, a dog. Hehad travelled a long way, he wath iu verybad condithon, he wath lame, and pretty wellblind. He'went round to our children, on«after another, as if he wath a theeking for achild he know'd ; and then he come to me, andthrowd hithelf up behind, and thtood onhith two fore-legs, weak ath he wath, andthen he wagged hith tail and died. Thquire,that dog wath Merrylegth."

" Sissy's father's dog ! "" Th,ethilia'th father'th old dog. Now,

Thquire, I can take my oath, from my know-ledge of that dog, that that man wath dead—and buried—afore that dog come back to me.Joth'phine and Chilflkerth and me talked itover a long time, whether I thould write ornot. But we agreed, ' No. There'th nothingcomfortable to tell ; why unthettle her mind,and make her unhappy 1' Tho, whether herfather bathely detherted her ; or whether hebroke hith own heart alone, rather than pullher down along with him, never will be known^now, Thquire, till—no, not till we know howthe dogth findth uth out! "

"She keeps the bottle that he sent herfor, to this hour ; and she will believe in hisaffection to the last moment of her life," saidMr. Gradgrind.

" It theemth to prethent two thingth to aperthon, don't it, Thquire ? " said Mr. Sleary,musing as he looked down into the depths ofhis brandy and water: " one, that there ith alove in the world, not all Thelf-interethtafter all, but thomething very different;t'other, that it hath a way of ith own ofcalculating or not calculating, whith thome-how or another' ith at leatht ath hard togive a name to, ath the wayth of the dogthith ! "

Mr. Gradgrind looked out of window, andmade no reply. Mr. Sleary emptied his glass,and recalled the ladies.

" Thethilia my dear, kith me and good bye!Mith Thquire, to thee you treating of her likea thithter, and a thithter that you trutht andhonor with all your heart and more, ith avery pretty thight to me. I hope yourbrother may live to be better detherving ofyou, and a greater comfort to you. Thquire,thake handth, firtht and latht! Don't becroth with uth poor vagabondth. Peoplemutht be amuthed. They can't be alwayth

604 HOUSEHOLD WOBDS.

a learning, nor yet they can't be alwayth aworking; they an't made for it. You muththave ufh, Thquire. Do the withe thing andthe kind thing too, and make the betht ofuth ; not the wurtht!

"And I never thought before," said Mr.Sleary, putting his head in at the dooragain to say it, " that I wath tho muth of aCackler! "

CHAPTER XXXVII.

IT is a dangerous thing to see anything inthe sphere of a vain blusterer, before thevain blusterer sees it himself. Mr. Boun-derby felt that Mrs. Sparsit had audaciouslyanticipated him, and presumed to be wiserthan he. Inappeasably indignant with herfor her triumphant discovery of Mrs. Pegler,he turned this presumption, on the part of awoman in her dependent position, over andover in his mind, until it accumulated withturning like a great snowball. At last hemade the discovery that to discharge thishighly - connected female—to have it in hispower to say,': She was a woman of family,and wanted to stick to me, but I wouldn'thave it, and got rid of her "—would be toget the utmost possible amount of crowningglory out of the connection, and at the sametime to punish Mrs. Sp^rsit according to herdeserts.

Filled fuller than ever, with this greatidea, Mr. Bounderby came in to lunch, andsat himself down in the dining-room of for-mer days, where his portrait was. Mrs.Sparsit sat by the fire, with her foot in hercotton stirrup, little thinking whither shewas posting.

Since the Pegler affair, this gentlewomanhad covered her pity for Mr, Bounderbywith a veil of quiet melancholy and contri-tion. In virtue thereof, it had become herhabit to assume a woful look ; which wofullook she now bestowed upon her patron.

" What's the matter now, ma'am ? " saidMr. Bounderby, in a very short, rough way.

"Pray, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, "donot bite my nose off."

"Bite your nose off, ma'am •!" repeatedMr. Bounderby. " Tour nose ! " meaning, asMrs. Sparsit conceived, that it was toe de-veloped a nose for the purpose. After which'offensive implication, he cut himself a crustof bread, and threw the knife down with anoise., Mrs. Sparsit took her foot out of her stir-rup, and said, "Mr. Bounderby, sir ! "

'• Well, ma'am ? " retorted Mr. Bounderby. j" What are you staring at 1 "

" May I ask, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, " haveyou been ruffled this morning ? "

" Yes, ma'am.'.'"May I inquire, sir," pursued the injured

woman, " whether 7am the unfortunate causeof your having lost your temper 1"

" Now, I'll tell you what, ma'am," saidBounderby, "I am not come here to be

bullied. A female may be highly connected,but she can't be' permitted to bother andbadger a man in my position, and I am notgoing to put up with it." (Mr. Bounderby feltit neeessaiy to get on ; foreseeing that if heallowed of details, he would be beaten).

Mrs. Sparsit first elevated, then knitted,her Coriolanian eyebrows; gathered up herwork into its proper basket; and rose.

" Sir," said she, majestically. " It is appa-rent to me that I am in your way at present.I will retire to my own apartment."

" Allow me to open the door, ma'am."" Thank you, sir ; I can do it for myself."" You had better allow me, ma'am," said

Bouuderby, passing her, and getting his handupon the lock ; " because I can take the op-portunity of saying a word to you, beforeyou go. Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am, I rather thinkyou are cramped here, do you know ? Itappears to. me, that, under my humble roof,there's hardly opening enough for a lady ofydur genius in other people's affairs."

Mrs. Sparsit gave him a look of the dark-est scorn, and said with great politeness," Eeally, sir ?"

" I have been thinking it over, you see,since the late affairs have happened, ma'am,"said Bounderby; "and it appears to my poorjudgment "

"Oh ! Pray, sir," Mrs. Sparsit interposed,with sprightly cheerfulness, " don't disparageyour judgment. Everybody knows how uner-ring Mr. Bounderby's judgment is. Every-body has had proofs of it. It must be thetheme of general conversation. Disparageanything in yourself but your judgment, sir,"said Mrs. Sparsit, laughing.

Mr. Bounderby, very red and uncomfortable,resumed :

" It appears to me, ma'am, I say, that adifferent sort of establishment altogether,would bring out a lady ot your powers. Suchan establishment as your relation, Lady Scad-gers's, now. Don't you think you mighttind some affairs there, ma'am, to interferewith?"

" It never occurred to me before, sir," re-turned Mrs. Sparsit; "but now you mentionit, I should think it highly probable."

" Then suppose you try, ma'am," said Boun-derby, laying an envelope with a cheque init, in her little basket. " You can take yourown time for going, ma'am; but perhaps inthe meanwhile, it will be more agreeable toa lady of your powers of mind, to eat hermeals by herself, and not to be intrudedupon. I really ought to apologise to you—being only Josiah Bounderby of Coketown—for having stood in your light so long."

" Pray don't name i£ sir," returned Mrs.Sparsit. "If that portrait- could speak, sir,

but it has the advantage over the originalof not possessing the power of committingitself and; disgusting others, — it wouldtestify, that a long period has elapsed sinceI first habitually addressed it as the pic-

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 605

ture of a Noodle. Nothing that a Noodledoes, can awaken surprise or indignation ;the proceedings of a Noodle can only inspirecontempt."

Thus saying, Mrs. Sparsit, with her Romanfeatures like a medal struck to commemorateher scorn of Mr. Bounderby, surveyed himfixedly from head to foot, swept disdainfullypast him, and ascended the staircase.. Mr.Bounderby closed the door, and stood beforethe fire; projecting himself after his old ex-plosive manner into his portrait—and intofuturity.

Into how much of futurity ? He saw Mrs.Sparsit fighting out a daily fight, at the pointsof all the weapons in the female armoury,with the grudging, smarting, peevish, tor-menting. Lady Scadgers, still laid up in bedwith her mysterious leg, and gobbling her in-sufficient income down by about the middleof every quarter, in a mean little airlesslodging, a mere closet for one, a mere cribfor two; but did he see more ? Did hecatch, any glimpse of himself making a showof Bitzer to strangers, as the rising youngman, so devoted to his master's great merits,who had won young Tom's place, and hadalmost captured young Tom himself, in thetimes when by various rascals lie was spiritedaway ? Did he see any faint reflection of hisown image making a vain-glorious will,whereby five-and-twenty Humbugs past fiveand fifty years of age, each taking upon himselfthe name, Josiah Bounderby of Coketown,should for ever dine in Bounderby Hall, forever lodge in Bounderby Buildings, for everattend a Bounderby chapel, for ever go tosleep under a Bounderby chaplain, for everbe supported out of a Bounderby estate, andfor ever nauseate all healthy stomachs witha vast amount of Bounderby balderdash andbluster ? Had he any prescience of the day,five years to come, when Josiah. Bounderbyof Coketown was to die of a fit in theCoketown street, and this same preciouswill was to begin its long career of quibble,plunder, false pretences, vile example, littleservice and much law 1 Probably not. Yetthe portrait was to see it ail out.

Here was Mr. Gradgrind on the same day,and in the same .hour, sitting thoughtful inhis own room. How much of futurity didhe see ? Did he see,himself, a white-haireddecrepid man, lending his hitherto inflexibletheories to appointed circumstances ; makinghis facts and figures subservient to Faith,Hope, and Charity; and no longer trying togrind that Heavenly trio in his dusty littlemills ? Did he catch sight of himself, there-fore much despised by his late political as-sociates ? Did he see them, in the era of itsbeing quite settled that the national dustmenhave only to do with one another, and oweno duty to an abstraction called a People,"taunting the honorable gentleman" with thisand^with that and with what not, five nights

a-week, until the small hours of the morning?Probably he had that much fore-knowledge,knowing his men.

Here was Louisa on the night of the sameday, watching the fire as in days of yore,though with a gentler and a humbler face.How much of the future might arise beforeJier vision ? Broadsides in the streets, signedwith her father's name, exonerating the lateStephen Blackpool, weaver, from misplacedsuspicion, and publishing the guilt of hisown son, with such extenuation as hisyears and temptation (he could not bringhimself to add, his education) might beseech;were of the Present. So, Stephen Black-pool's tombstone, with her father's record ofhis death, was almost of the Present, for sheknew it was to be. These things she couldplainly see. But, how much of the "Future 1

A. working woman, christened Rachael,after a long illness once again appearing atthe ringing of the Factory bell, and passing toand fro at the set hours, among theCoketown Hands; a woman of a pensivebeauty, always dressed in black, but sweet-tempered and serene, and even cheerful;who, of all the people in the place, aloneappeared to have compassion on a degraded,drunken wretch of her own sex, who wassometimes seen in the town secretly beggingof her, and crying to her ; a woman working,ever working, but content to do it, and pre-ferring to do it as her natural lot, untilshe should be too old to labor any more ?Did Louisa see this ? Such a thing wasto be.

A lonely brother, many thousands of milesaway, writing, on paper blotted with tears,that her words had too soon come true, and thatall the treasures in the world would becheaply bartered for a sight of her dear face?At length this brother coming nearer home,with hope of seeing her, and being delayedby illness ; and then a letter in a strangehand, saying, " he died in hospital, of fever,such a day, and died in penitence and love ofyou : his last word being your name 1 " DidLouisa see these things ? Such things wereto be.

Herself again a wife—a mother-—lovinglywatchful of her children, ever careful thatthey should have a childhood of the mind noless than a childhood of the body, as knowingit to be even a more beautiful thing, anda possession, any hoarded scrap of which,is a blessing and happiness to the wisest '<Did Louisa see this ? Such a thing was neverto be.

But, happy Sissy's happy children lovingher; all children loving her; she, grownlearned in childish lore; thinking no inno-cent and pretty fancy ever to be despised ;trying hard to know her humbler fellow-creatures, and to beautify their lives of ma-chinery and reality with those imaginativegraces and delights, without which th.e heart

606 HOUSESOLD W0RDS.

of infancy will wither «p, the sturdiest phy-sical manhood will be morally stark death,and the plainest national prosperity figurescan show, will be the Writing on the Wall,—she holding this coarse as part of Bofaatasticvow, or bond, or brotherhood, or sisterhood,or pledge, or covenant, or fancy dress or* fancyfair ; but, simply as a duty to be done,—didLouisa see these things of herself] .Thesethings were to be.

Dear reader ! It rests with you and me,whether, in our two fields of action, similarthings shall be or not ! Let them be ! Weshall sit with lighter bosoms on thehearth, t©see the ashes of our fires turn gray aad ooW.

THE END.

THE KOVING ENGLISHMAN,THE SEA CAPTAtW AM0 HJS SHIP.

THE compliments are over^there hare beena good many of them—aad the sailor sitscurled up beside me oa a most uncom^promising little sofa in his Barrow lowcabin. Twisting myself round as nearlyas possible, I front him fairly, and weexamine each other with much, benevo-lence. So much, indeed, that the foreheadof my friend quite shiaes with ifc. Efo isabout fifty, a spare mass, with a slight stoop.He wears a brown surtomt coat, rather toolong for him; and with buttons outrageouslynumerous. His trousers are short. If hewere to mount on a donkey with th«m bewould have the sort of appearance whieihusually occasions enthusiastic delight to aturbulent boyocracy. He wears double shoes,and the inevitable fez.

For the rest he is as unlike the idea whichyou have cherished of a nautical Turk as canbe. He has a hale mottled face, and a coldagreeable blue eye. He is completely s&aved.His voice is pleasant;, and he has am emi-nently practical way of speaking, which soundsmore like Lincoln's Inn than the shores &fthe Bosphorus. Let us put him on his hobby.Two men who have never seen each otherbefore, and have net perhaps two ideas incommon upon any conceivable subject, holdbut a dull conversation, unless one will consentto mount his particular hobby, and the otheris content to look on with a mold and subduedinterest.

To do my excellent acquaintance jasfciee,. Imust admit that I have no difficulty ia thisrespect. He is not oae of those stubbornbustling gentry who require, coaxing oarshoving up into the saddle, aad whomay-beprick your fingers for your pains. Quite thecontrary : he vaults into it with a boundingspring, and is oif to the uttermost parts ofthe earth in a less time than it would havetaken a slower man to pronounce the cabalis-tic words " Jack Bobinson." H« will puE uppresently, and we shall take breath,

Yes, says my eminently practical friend, dash-ing his hobby (which as his own ship) at onceinto a canter, the ship ia dirty, very dirty, but

we have been taking in a cargo of oil for thefleet; She has tweftty-four guns. She does notgo fast; she is too old for that. Besides, weare not good sailors. We have been cruisingafboat, looking for Greek pirates, and keepingwatch over the safety of the Turkish islandsin the .JSgeaa. I should like to go into theBlack Sea, there would- be more chance of aprize. The Black Sea swarms with neutralvessels. The English Government havewarned them ftot to go there, but they willgo there. They say the nations whose flag theycarry are not at war with Russia, and theyhave nothing to do with your quarrels; theGottsequeuee is they do go, and are taken. Oneof your ships caught a schooner the otherday. She had a cargo worth eight thousandpounds on board. She will be sold, aad therewill oe a fine amount of prize money. I wishI had it. But we have seen nothing.

How do we act when we meet a suspectedship on Hie high seas ? I will tell you. Butit is pretty much the same whether suspectedm n«fc suspected. We signal her to hoist hereoloaKs, and send somebody on board of uswith her papers. If they are all right, wesay good-day, and there is an end of it. ButM there is anything odd about them, we sendan officer on board, and we can tell bythe language and appearance of the crewwhat she is, and what she is about. If shehas deceived us, we tow her along into thenearest port. She is sold there if there is agood bid, if not she is sent to Constantinople.Sometimes our Government buys her, and weget one half her value, the Sultan gets theother. There is no mistake about that, notin the least: we are never defrauded of apara. The half we get is divided among us; butI do not know in what proportion. I nevertook a prize, worse luck ; I wish I had ; Iwould tell you ina moment. Turks an d Britonsshould tell each other everything. All that Iknow is, that I should get the largest share ifwe took a prize; the rest would be dividedamong the crew by Government. I mighthave the distribution of it if it were a verysmall sum, not otherwise : we do not do thingsin that way;, we are very sharply looked after.

How is our navy recruited ? Oh, thereia no difficulty about that; the sailorscome of th«*nselves mostly from the islands.If they do not come they are sent. The localauthorities look to that. I should like to seethe man who would not go as a sailor if heware sent. They like it, however. I receivedfifteen volunteers the other day at Chios, andaiig-kt have had fifty. Their term of serviceis eight years. If they have been woundedthey get good pensions ; about thirty shillingsa month>, sometimes more, and may live any-where they please. When they first come onboard they Beceive only four shillings a month;their pay increases every year. A steadyman is sure t0 do well ia the navy, and tobecome an officer in a few years ; althoughwe do not like the officers who have been