"Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS."—

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOUKNAL

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

- 226.] SATURDAY, JULY 22, 1854. PRICK 2d.

HAED TIMES,BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LOTTISA awoke from a torpor, and her eyeslanguidly opened on her old bed at home,and her old room. It seemed, at first, as ifall that had happened since the days whenthese objects were familiar to her were theshadows of a dream; but gradually, as theobjects became more real to her sight, theevents became more real to her mind.

She could scarcely move her head for painand heaviness, her eyes were strained andsore, and she was very weak. A curiouspassive inattention had such possession ofher, that the presence of her little sister inthe room did not attract her notice for sometime. Even when their eyes had met, andher sister had approached the bed, Louisa layfor minutes looking at her in silence, andsuffering her timidly to hold her passive hand,before she asked:

" When was I brought to this room ? "' Last night, Louisa."' Who brought me here 1"' Sissy, I believe."' Why do you believe so ? "' Because I found her here this morning.

13he didn't come to my bedside to wake me,as she always does ; and I went to look for her.She was not in her own room either; and Iwent looking for her all over the house, until Ifound her here, taking care of you andcooling your head. Will you see father 1Sissy said I was to tell him when youwoke."

" What a beaming* face you have, Jane !"said Louisa, as her young sister—tiuiidly still—bent down to kiss her.

" Have I ? I am very glad you think so.I am sure it must be Sissy's doing."

The arm Louisa had begun to twine abouther neck, unbent itself. " You can tell father,if you will." Then, staying her a moment,she said, " It was you who made my room socheerful, and gave it this look of welcome ? "

" Oh no, Louisa, it was done before I came.It was "

Louisa turned upon her pillow, and heardno more. When her sister had withdrawn,she turned her head back again, and lay with

her face towards the door, until it opened andher father entered.

He had a jaded anxious look upon him,and his hand, usually steady, trembled in hers.He sat down at the side of the bed, tenderlyasking how she was, and dwelling on thenecessity of her keeping very quiet after heragitation and exposure to the weather lastnight. He spoke in a subdued and troubledvoice, very different from his usual dictatorialmanner; and was often at a loss for words.

" My dear Louisa. My poor daughter."He was so much at a loss at that place,that he stopped altogether. He tried again.

" My unfortunate child." The place wasso difficult to get over, that he tried again.

<; It would be hopeless for me, Louisa, toendeavour to tell you how overwhelmed Ihave been, and «till am, by what brokeupon me last night. The ground on whichI stand has ceased to be solid under myfeet. The only support on which Ileaned, and the strength of which it seemed,and still does seem, impossible to question,has given way in an instant. I am stunnedby these discoveries. I have no selfishmeaning in what I say; but I find the shockof what broke upon me last night, to be veryheavy indeed."

She could give him no comfort herein. Shehad suffered the wreck of her whole lifeupon the rock.

" I will not say, Louisa, that if you had byany happy chance undeceived me some timeago, it would have been better for us both;better for your peace, and better for mine. ForI am sensible that it may not have been a partof my system to invite any confidence of thatkind. I have proved my—my system to my-self, and I have rigidly administered it; andI must bear the responsibility of its failures.I only entreat you to believe, my favoritechild, that I have meant to do right."

He said it earnestly, and to do him justicehe had. In gauging fathomless deeps withhis little mean excise-rod, and in staggeringover the universe with his rusty stiff-leggedcompasses, he had meant to do great things.Within the limits of his short tether hehad tumbled about, annihilating the flowersof existence with greater singleness of pur-pose than many of the blatant personageswhose company he kept.

VOL. IX, 226

HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

" I ain well assured of what you say,father. I know I have been your favoritechild. I know you have intended to make mehappy. I have never blamed you, and Inever shall."

He took her outstretched hand, and re-tained it in his.

"My dear, I have remained all night atmy table, pondering again and again on whathas so painfully passed between us. WhenI consider your character ; when I considerthat what has been known to me for hours,has been concealed by you for years ; when Iconsider under what immediate pressure ithas been forced from you at last; I come tothe conclusion that I cannot but mistrustmyself."

He mi.Ltht have added more than all, whenhe saw the face now looking at hin^ He didadd it in effect perhaps, as he softly movedher scattered hair from her forehead withhis hand. Such little actions, slight inanother man, were very noticeable in him.;and his daughter received them as. if they hadbeen words of contrition.

" Sut," said Mr. Graclgrind slowly, andwith hesitation, as well as with a wretchedsense of helplessness, "if I see reason to mis-trust myself for the past, Louisa, I shouldalso mistrust myself for the present and thefuture. To speak unreservedly to you, I do.I am far from feeling convinced now, how-ever differently I might have felt only thistime yesterday, that I am fit for the trustyou repose in me ; that I know how torespond to the appeal you have come hometo make to me ; that I have the right instinct—supposing it for the moment to be somequality of that nature—how to help you, andto set you right, my child."

She had turned upon her pillow, and laywith her face xipon her arm, so that he couldnot see it. All her wildness and passion hadsubsided ; but, though softened, she was notin tears. Pier father was changed in nothingso much as in the respect that he would havebeen glad to see her in tears.

" Some persons hold," he pursued, stillhesitating, "that there is a wisdom of theHead, and that there is a wisdom of theHeart. I have not supposed so ; but, as Ihave said, I mistrust myself now. I havesupposed the Head to be all-sufficient. Itmay not be all-sufficient ; how can I venturethis morning to say that it is.! If that otherkind of wisdom, should be what I haveneglected, and should be the instinct that iswanted, Louisa "

He suggested it very doubtfully, as if he.were half unwilling to admit it even now.She made him no answer ; lying before himon her bed, still half-dressed, much as, he hadseen her lying on, the floor of his room lastnight.

"Louisa," and his hand rested on her hairagain, " I have been absent from here, mydear, a good deal of late ; and though your

sister's training has been pursued accordingto—the system," he appeared to come to thatword with great reluctance always, "it hasnecessarily been modified by daily associationsbegun, in her case, at an early age. I askyou—ignorantly and humbly, my daughter—for the better, do you think ?"

"Father," she replied, without stirring, "ifany harmony has been awakened in heryoung breast that was mute in mine until ittxirried to discord, let her thank Heaven for it,and go upon her happier way, taking it asher greatest blessing that she has avoided myway."

" O my child, my child! " he said, in aforlorn manner, " I am an unhappy man tosee you thus ! What avails it to me that youdo not reproach me, if I so bitterly reproachmyself! " He bent his head, and spoke lowto her. "Louisa, I have a misgiving thatsome change may have been slowly workingabout me in this house, by mere love andgratitude ; that what the Head had left un-done and could not do, the Heart may havebeen doing silently. Can it be so 1"

She made him no reply." I am not too proud, to believe it, Louisa,

How could I be arrogant, and you before me !Can it be so ? Is it so, my dear ? "

He looked upon her, once more, lying castaway there ; and without another word wentout of the room. He had not been longgone, when she heard a light tread near thedoor, and knew that some one stood besideher.

She did not raise her head. A dull angerthat she should be seen in her distress, andthat the involuntary look she had so resentedshould come to this fulfilment, smoulderedwithin her like an unwholesome fire. Allclosely imprisoned forces rend and destroy.The air that would be healthful to the earth,the water that would enrich it, the heat thatwould, ripen it, tear it 'when caged up. Soin her bosom : even now ; the strongestqualities she possessed, long turned uponthemselves, became a heap of obduracy, thatrose against a friend.

It was well that soft touch came upon herneck, and that she understood herself to be•supposed to have fallen asleep. The sym-pathetic hand did not claim her resentment.Let it lie there, let it lie.

So it lay there, warming into life a crowdof gentler thoughts ; and she lay still. As.she softened with the quiet, and the conscious-ness of being so watched, some tears< madetheir way into her eyes. The face touchedhers, and she knew that there were tearsupon it too, and she! the cause of them.

As Louisa feigned to. rouse herself, and satup; Sissy retired, so that she stood placidlynear the bed-side.

" I hope I have not disturbed you, I havecome to ask if you will let me stay withyou."

"Why should you stay with me? My

Charles Dickens.] HAED TRIES. 527

sister •will miss you. You are everything toher."

" Am I ? " returned Sissy, shaking herhead. "I would be something to you, if Imight."

"What?" said Louisa, almost sternly.'•' Whatever you want most, if I could be

that. At all events, I would like to try to beas near it as I can. And however far off thatmay be, I will never tire of trying. Willyou let me ? "

"My father sent you to ask me."" No indeed," replied Sissy. " He told me

that I might come in now, but he sent meaway from the room this morning—or atleast—" She hesitated and stopped.

" At least, what 1" said Louisa> with hersearching eyes upon her.

"I thought it best myself that I should besent away, for I felt very uncertain whetheryon would like to find me here."

"Have I always hated you so much.1?"'•'I hope not, for I have always loved you,

and have always wished that you shouldknow it. Bu^you changed to me a little,shortly before you left home. Not thatI wondered at it. You knew so much, and Iknew so little, and it was so natural in manyways, going as you were among other friends,.that I had nothing to complain of, and wasnot at all hurt."

Her color rose as she said it modestly andhurriedly. Louisa understood the lovingpretence, and her heart smote her.

"May I try?" said Sissy, emboldened toraise her hand to the neck that was insensiblydrooping towards her.

Louisa, taking down the hand that wouldhave embraced her in another moment, heldit in one of hers, and answered ;

"First, Sissy, do you know what I am ?I am so proud and so hardened, so confusedand troubled, so resentful and unjust to everyone and to myself, that everything is stormy,dark, and wicked to me. Does not that repelyou ?"

"No!"" I am so unhappy, and all that should have

made me otherwise is so laid waste, that it Ihad been bereft of sense to this hour, and in-stead of being as learned as you think me, hadto begin to acquire the simplest truths, I couldnot want a guide to peace, contentment,honor, all the good of which I am quitedevoid, more abjectly than I do. Does notthat repel vou ? "

" No !"In the innocence of her brave affection, and

the brimming up of her old devoted spirit,the once deserted girl shone like a beautifullight upon the darkness of the other.

Louisa raised the hand that it might claspher neck, and join its fellow there. She fellupon her knees, and clinging to this stroller'schild looked up at her almost with venera-tion.

" Forgive me, pity me, help me! Have

compassion on my great need, and let me laythis head of mine upon a loving heart ! "

" O lay it here !" cried Sissy. " Lay ithere, my dear."

CHAPTER XXX.

MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE passed a wholenight and a day in a state of so much hurry,that the World, with its best glass in its eye,would scarcely have recognised him duringthat insane interval, as the brother Jem ofthe honorable and jocular member. He waspositively agitated. He several times spokewith an emphasis, similar to the vulgar man-ner. He went in and went out in an un-accountable way, like a man with an object.He rode like a highwayman. In a word, hewas so horribly bored by existing circum-stances, that he forgot to go in for boredomin the manner prescribed by the authorities.

After putting his horse at Coketownthrough the storm, as if it were a leap, hewaited up all night: from time to time ring-ing his bell with the greatest fury, chargingthe porter who kept watch with delinquencyin withholding letters or messages that couldnot fail to have been entrusted to him, anddemanding restitution on the spot. Thedawn coming, the morning coming, and theday coming, and neither message nor lettercoming with either, he went down to thecountry house. There, the report was, Mr.Bounderby away, and Mrs. Bounderby intown. Left for town suddenly last evening.Not even known to be gone until receipt ofmessage, importing that her return was notto be expected for the present.

In these circumstances he had nothing forit but to follow her to town. He went to thehouse in town. Mrs. Bounderby not there.He looked in at the Bank. Mr. Bounderbyaway, and Mrs. Sparsit away. Mrs. Sparsit:away 1 Who could have been reduced tosudden extremity for the company of thatgriffin !

" Well! 'I don't know," said Tom, who hadhis own reasons for being uneasy about it." She was off somewhere at daybreak thismorning. She's always full of mystery ; Ihate her. So I do that white chap; he'salways got his blinking eyes upon a fellow."

" Where were you last night, Tom ?"" Where was I last night!" said Tom.

"Come! I like that. I was waiting for you,Mr. Harthouse, till it came down as / neversaw it come down before. Where was I too!Where were you, you mean."

" I was prevented from coming—detained."" Detained ! " murmured Tom. ': Two of us

were detained. I was detained looking for you,till I lost every train but the mail. It wouldhave been a pleasant job to go down by thaton such a night, and have to walk homethrough a pond. I was obliged to sleep intown after all."

« Where I"

528 HOUSEHOLD WOKDS. [Conducted by

" Where ? Why, in my own. bed at Boun-derby's."

"Did you see your sister 1"" HoW the deuce," returned Tom, staring,

" could I see my sister when she was fifteenmiles off?"

Cursing these quick retorts of the younggentleman to whom he was so true a friend,Mr. Harthouse disembarrassed himself ofthat interview with the smallest conceivableamount of ceremony, and debated for thehundredth time what all this could mean ?He made only one thing clear. It was, thatwhether she was in town or out of town,whether he had been premature with her whowas so hard to comprehend, or she had lostcourage, or they were discovered, or somemischance or mistake at present incompre-hensible had occurred, he must remain to con-front his fortune, whatever it was. The hotelwhere he was known to live when condemnedto that region of blackness, was the stake towhich he was tied. As to all the rest—Whatwill be, will be.

" So, whether I am waiting for a hostilemessage, or an assignation, or a penitent re-monstrance, or an impromptu wrestle withmy friend Bounderby in the Lancashire man-ner—which would seem as likely as anythingelse in the present state of affairs—I'll dine,"said Mr. James Harthouse. "Bounderbyhas the advantage in point of weight; and ifanything of a British nature is to come offbetween us,training."

it may be as well to be in

Therefore he rang the bell, and tossinghimself negligently on a sofa, ordered " Somedinner at six—with a beefsteak in it," and gotthrough the intervening time as well as hecould. That was not particularly well; forhe remained in the greatest perplexity, and,as the hours went on, and no kind of expla-nation offered itself, his perplexity augmentedat compound interest.

However, he took affairs as coolly as itwas in human nature to do, and entertainedhimself with the facetious idea of the trainingmore than once. " It wouldn't be bad," heyawned at one time, " to give the waiter fiveshillings, and throw him." At another time itoccurred to him," Or a fellow of about thirteenor fourteen stone might be hired by thehour." But these jests did not tell materiallyon the afternoon, or his suspense ; and,sooth to say, they both lagged fearfully.

It was impossible, even before dinner, toavoid often walking about in the pattern ofthe carpet, looking out of the window, listeningat the door for footsteps, and occasionally be-coming rather hot when any steps approachedthat room. But, after dinner, when the dayturned to twilight, and the twilight turned tonight, and still no communication was made

(the only conviction he had), he seized thiscrisis as the opportunity for ordering candlesand a newspaper.

He had been trying in vain, for half anhour, to read this newspaper, when the waiterappeared and said, at once mysteriously andapologetically:

" Beg your pardon, sir. You're wanted,sir, if you please."

A general recollection that this was thekind of thing the Police said to the swell mob,caused Mr. Harthouse to ask the waiter inreturn, with bristling indignation, what theDevil he meant by " wanted ?"

" Beg your pardon, sir. Young lady out-side, sir, wishes to see you."

" Outside 1 Where ? "" Outside this door, sir."Giving the waiter to the personage before-

mentioned, as a blockhead duly qualified forthat consignment, Mr. Harthouse hurriedinto the gallery. A young woman whom hehad never seen stood there. Plainly dressed,very quiet, very pretty. As he conductedher into the room and placed a fhair for her,he observed, by the light of the candles, thatshe was even prettier than he had at firstbelieved. Her face was innocent and youthful,and its expression remarkably pleasant. Shewas not afraid of him, or in any way discon-certed ; she seemed to have her mind entirelypre-occupied with the occasion of her visit,and to have substituted that considerationfor herself.

" I speak to Mr. Harthouse ? " she said,when they were alone.

" To Mr. Harthouse." He added in hismind, " And you speak to him with the most

eyes I ever saw, and the mostearnest voice (though so quiet) I ever heard.'*

" If I do not understand—and I do not,sir"—said Sissy, " what your honor as agentleman binds you to, in other matters :"'the blood really rose in his face as she beganin these words : " I am sure I may rely uponit to keep my visit secret, and to keep secretwhat I am going to say. I will rely uponit, if you will tell me I may so far trust you.

" You may, I assure you."" I am young, as you see ; I am alone, as

you see. In coming to you, sir, I have naadvice or encouragement beyond my ownhope."

He thought, " But that is very strong," ashe followed the momentary upward glance ofher eyes. He thought besides, "This is avery odd beginning. I don't see where weare going."

"I think," said Sissy, "you have alreadyguessed whom I left just now ? "

" I have been in the greatest concern anduneasiness during the last four-and-twentyhours (which have appeared as many years),'*

to him, it began to be, as he expressed it, j he returned, " on a lady's account. The" like the Holy Oftice and slow torture." j hopes I have been encouraged to form thatHowever, still true to his conviction that j you come from that lady, do not deceive me,in difference was the genuine high-breeding' I trust."

C'narles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 529

" I left her within an hour.""At ?"" At her father's."Mr. Harthouse's face lengthened in spite of

his coolness, and his perplexity increased." Then I certainly," he thought, " do not see•where we are going."

" She hurried there last night. She arrivedthere in great agitation, and was insensibleall through the night. I live at her father's,and was°with her. You may be sure, sir,you will never see her again, as long as youlive."

Mr. Harthouse drew a long breath ; and, ifever man found himself in the position of notknowing what to say, made the discoverybeyond all question that he was so cir-cumstanced. The child-like ingenuousnesswith which his visitor spoke, her modestfearlessness, her truthfulness which putall artifice aside, her entire forgetfulnessof herself in her earnest quiet holdingto the object with which she had come ;all this, together with her reliance onhis easily-given promise—which in itselfshamed him—presented something in whichhe was so inexperienced, and against whichhe knew any of his usual weapons wouldfall so powerless ; that not a word couldhe rally to his relief.

At last he said :"So startling an announcement, so con-

fidently made, and by such lips, is reallydisconcerting in the last degree. May I bepermitted to inquire, if you are charged toconvey that information to me in those hope-less words, by the lady of whom we speak 1"

" I have no charge from her."" The drowning man catches at the straw.

With no disrespect for your judgment, andwith no doubt of your sincerity, excuse mysaying that I cling to the belief that thereis yet hope that I am not condemned to per-petual exile from that lady's presence."

"There is not the least hope. The firstobject of my coming here, sir, is to assureyou that you must believe that there is nomore hope of your ever speaking with heragain, than there would be if she had diedwhen she came home last night."

"Must believe ? But if I can't—or ifshould, by infirmity of nature, be obstinate—and won't—"

" It is still true. There is no hope." _James Harthouse looked at her with an

incredulous smile upon his lips; but her mindlooked over and beyond him, and the smilewas quite thrown away.

He bit his lip, and took a little time forconsideration.

" Well! If it should unhappily appear," hesaid, "after due pains and duty on my part, thatI am brought to a position so desolate as thisbanishment, I shall not become the lady'spersecutor. But you said you had no com-mission from her ?"

" I have only the commission of my love

for her, and her love for me. I have no other;rust, than that I have been with her sinceshe came home, and that she has given meler confidence. I have no further trust, than;hat I know something of her character andler marriage. O Mr. Harthouse, I thinkyou had that trust too !"

He was touched in the cavity where hisicart should have been—in that nest of addled;ggs, where the birds of heaven would haveived if they had not been whistled away—by;he fervor of this reproach.

" I am not a moral sort of fellow," he said,' and I never make any pretensions to thecharacter of a moral sort of fellow. I am asmmoi-al as need be. At the same time, inaringing any distress upon the lady who is thesubject of the present conversation, or in un-fortunately compromising her in any way, orin committing myself by any expression ofsentiments towards her, not perfectly recon-cilable with—in fact with—the domestic hearth;or in taking any advantage of her father'sbeing a machine, or of her brother's being awhelp, or of her husband's being a bear; Ibeg to be allowed to assure you that Ihave had no particularly evil intentions, buthave glided on from one step to another witha smoothness so perfectly irresistible, that Ihad not the slightest idea the catalogue was halfso long until I began to turn it over. WhereasI find," said Mr. James Harthouse, in conclu-sion, " that it is really in several volumes."

Though he said all this in his frivolousway, the way seemed,for that once, a consciouspolishing of but an ugly surface. He wassilent for a moment; and then proceeded withamore self-possessed air, though with traces ofvexation and disappointment that would notbe pglished out:

" After what has been just now representedto me, in a manner I find it impossibleto doubt — I know of hardly any othersource from which I could have accepted itso readily—I feel bound to say to you, inwhom the confidence you have mentionedhas been reposed, that I cannot refuse to con-template the possibility (however unexpected)of my seeing the lady no more. I am solelyto blame for the thing having come to this—and—and, I cannot say," he added, ratherhard up for a general peroration, " that Ihave any sanguine expectation of ever be-coming a moral sort of fellow, or that I haveany belief in any moral sort of fellow what-ever."

Sissy's face sufficiently showed that herappeal to him was not finished.

"You spoke," he resumed, as she raised hereyes to him again, " of your first object. Imay assume that there is a second to bementioned ?"

" Yes."" Will you oblige me by confiding it 1"" Mr. Harthouse," returned Sissy, with a

blending of gentleness and steadiness thatquite defeated him, and with a simple con-

HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

fidence in his being bound to do what she [ again. " But I see no way out of it. Whatrequired, that held him at a singular disad-vantage, " the only reparation that remainswith you, is to leave here immediately andfinally. I am quite sure that you can miti-gate in no other way the wrong and harm youhave done. I am quite sure that it is theonly compensation you have left it in yourpower to make. I do not say that it is much,or that it is enough; but it is something,and itis necessary. Therefore, though, without anyother authority than I have given you, and evenwithout the knowledge of any other personthan yourself and myself, I ask you todepart from this place to-night, under anobligation never to return to it."

If she had asserted any influence over himbeyond her plain faith in the truth andright of what she said ; if she had concealedthe least doubt or irresolution, or had har-boured for the best purpose any reserve orpretence ; if she had shown, or felt, the light-est trace of any sensitiveness to his ridiculeor his astonishment, or any remonstrance hemight offer; he would have carried it againsther at this point. But he could as easilyhave changed a clear sky by looking at it inSurprise, as affect her.

" But do you know," he asked, quite at aloss, " the extent of what you ask 1 Youprobably are not aware that I am here on apublic kind of business, preposterous enoughin itself, but which I have gone in for, andsworn by, and am supposed to be devoted toin quite a desperate manner ? You probablyare not aware of that, but I assure you it'sthe fact."

It had no effect on Sissy, fact or no fact." Besides which," said Mr. Harthouse,

taking a turn or two across the room,dubiously, " it's so alarmingly absurd. Itwould make a man so ridiculous, after goingin for these fellows, to back out in sach anincomprehensible way."

"I am quite sure," repeated Sissy, "thatit is the only reparation in your power, sir.I am quite sure, or I would not have comehere."

He glanced at her face, and walked aboutagain. " Upon my soul, I don't know what tosay. So immensely absurd ! "

It fell to his lot, now, to stipulate for secresy." If I were to do such a very ridiculous

will be, will be. This will be, I suppose. Imust take off myself, I imagine—in short, Iengage to do it."

Sissy rose. She was not surprised by theresult, but she was happy in it, and her facebeamed brightly.

"You will permit me to say," continuedMr. James Harthouse, " that I doubt if anyother ambassador, or ambassadress, couklhave addressed me with the same success.I must not only regard myself as being in avery ridiculous position, but as being van-quished at all points. Will you allow me theprivilege of remembering my enemy's name ?"

" My name ? " said the ambassadress." The only name I could possibly care to

know, to-night."? Sissy Jupe."" Pardon my curiosity at parting. Belated

to .the family ?""I am only a poor girl," returned Sissy.

" I was separated from my father—he wasonly a stroller—and taken pity on by Mr.Gradgrind. ,: I, have lived in the house eversince."

, She was gone."It wanted this to complete the defeat,"

said Mr. James Harthouse, sinking, with aresigned air, on the sofa, after standing trans-fixed a little while. "The defeat may now beconsidered perfectly accomplished. Only apoor girl—only a stroller—only James Hart-house made nothing of— only James Harthousea Great Pyramid of failure."

The Great Pyramid put it into his head to) up the Nile. He took a pen upon the

instant, and wrote the following note (inappropriate hieroglyphics) to his brother :

Dear Jack. All up at Coketown. Bored out ofthe place, and going in for camels. Affectionately,JEM.

He rang, the bell," Send imy fellow here."« Goae to bed sir."" Tell him to get up, and pack up."He wrote two more notes. One, to Mr.

Bounderby,; announcing his, retirement fromthat part of the country, and showing wherehe would be: found for the next fortnight.The other, similar in effect, to Mr. Gradgrind.Almost as soon as the ink was dry upontheir superscriptions, he had left the tall chim-

thing," he said, stopping again presently, and j neys of Coketown behind, and was in a railwayleaning against the chimney-piece, " it couldonly be in the most inviolable confidence."

" I will trust to you, sir," returned Sissy," and you will trust to me."

His leaning against the chimney-piece re-minded him of the night with the whelp. Itwas the self-same chimney-piece, and somehowhe felt as if he were the whelp to-night. Hecould make no way at all.

" I suppose a man never was placed in amore ridiculous position," he said, after look-ing down, and looking up, and laughing, andfrowning, and walking off, and walking back

carriage, tearing .and glaring over, the dark

The; moral sort of fellows might supposethat Mr. James Harthouse derived somecomfortable reflections afterwards, from thisprompt retreat, as one of his few actions thatmade any amends for anything, and as atoken to himself that he had escaped theclimax of a very bad business. But it wasnot so, at all. A secret sense of having failedand been ridiculous—a dread of whatother fellows who went in. for similar sorts ofthings, would say at his expense if they knew

Charles Dickens.] CALLED TO THE SAVAGE BAR

it—so oppressed him, that what was about thevery best passage in his life was the one of allothers he would not have owned to on anyaccount, and the only one that made liiniashamed of himself.

CALLED TO THE SAVAGE BAR.

OF the numerous books that have beenpublished on the colonisation of Canada bythe French, there are few more entertainingthan a work printed during the last century,which bears the singular title of Adventuresof the Sieur Lebeau, Advocate of the Par-liament ; or, New and Curious Travelsamongst the Savages of North America.*

The Sieur Lebeau was one who, it appears,had not thriven by his profession, and helaboured under the additional disadvantageof having given offence to certain persons ofcondition ; in consequence of which he be-came desirous of leaving France ; and, eaiiyin the year seventeen hundred and twenty-nine, exerting what interest he possessed,obtained a letter of recommendation to Mon-sieur Hocquart, who had just been namedIntendaut of Canada, and was about to setout for that country. This letter, he wasassured, would procure him a situation inone of the lutendant's offices, and, full ofhope, he set out for La Eochelle, where hewas to embark. On his way to that port, hefell in with one of those groups which wereat that time frequently to be seen on thehigh road of France. It was a chain of con-victs who were being conducted to the vesseldestined to transport them to penal servitudein Canada. Some of them were poachers,who had been improvident enough to exercisetheir calling on the royal domain; but thegreater part were the younger scions of goodfamilies, whom their friends, in the mostaffectionate manner, were desirous to get ridof. Amongst the latter class were theChevalier de Courbuisson, nephew of theAttorney-General of the Parliament of Paris ;M. de Narbonue, son of the Commissary ofVersailles; the Chevalier de Beauville, ofthe province of Picardy ; and the ChevalierTexe, of Paris. De Narbonne had beenarrested in his own apartments, just as hewas preparing to dress for the day, and henow appeared in a splendid chintz dressing-gown lined with blue taffeta, with slippersembroidered in silver. Short work had beenmade with all these gentlemen ; they werecarried to Bic§tre without trial, and thensent off to the port of embarkation.

On Lebeau's arrival at La Eochelle, hewent on board the vessel called the Elephant,where he expected to meet MonsieurHocquart; but once there, he discoveredthat his letter of recommendation was only atrap ; that he was himself a prisoner, and

* Aventures du Sieur Lebeau, Avocat au Parle-ment, ou Voyages Curieux et Nouveaux parmi lesSauvages de 1'Amerique Septentrionale.

that he was to proceed to Canada in the samecapacity as the nobleman in the chintzdressing-gown and his sixteen friends.

The Elephant made a prosperous voyageuntil she reached the mouth of the river St.Lawrence, where she was wrecked ; the crewand passengers, however, escaped, and werehumanely treated by the colonists alreadysettled there. Lebeau's genteel companionsobtained situations as tutors in families ;" the ordinary resource," he observes, " of allthe well-born rogues who arrive fromEurope ;" the others found the means ofexistence how they could, for the only carethe French government took of their convictswas simply to transport them to Canada, andprevent them from coining back again.

In the eyes of the Paris lawyer the colo-nists presented a rather strange appearance.They followed none of the pursuits of civi-lised life—did not even cultivate the soil—but addicted themselves entirely to .huntingfor the sake of the skins of the animals thatwere abundant. " Every one," says Lebeau," wears a robe of fur crossed over the breast,and fastened at the waist by a girdle orna-mented with porcupines' quills ; these aremade by themselves, as well as their sandals,which are of kid. or the skin of the sea-wolf."As it would have been lost time to look forclients where there were no courts of law,Lebeau resolved to travel, and, ascending theSt. Lawrence, visited Quebec, the settlementof the Three Elvers, aud Montreal. In thelatter place he enjoyed the spectacle of thegreat annual fair, to which the Indian tribesalways came in great numbers to barter theirfurs for European manufactures. This fair,which lasted three mouths, began in May,and was held on the banks of the river,inside the palisades which formed the outerdefence of Montreal. The Indians occupiedhuts, which, for fear of quarrels, the colo-nists were prevented from entering by acordon of sentinels ; the sale of spirits wasalso forbidden, but it took place nevertheless,and gave rise to many disturbances. Lebeauwas very much struck with the costume ofthe Eed-skins, who, in addition to their Indianattire, arrayed themselves in gold - lacedcocked hats, full bottomed wigs, aud courtsuits—the spoils of Kag Fair. He took aliking to the aborigines, though perhaps itwas more on account of the service they werelikely to render him than from admiration oftheir customs and manners. Lebeau's chiefobject in travelling westward was to escapefrom Canada, and establish himself in theEnglish colonies. With this view he culti-vated an intimacy with some baptised Huronswho were established at Lorette, near Quebec,and for once his talents as an advocate appearto have been turned to account; for he suc-ceeded in persuading a French merchant tooffer these Hurons the value of a hundredand fifty livres (six pounds), in Europeanmerchandise, provided they conducted Lebeau

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS."—

HOUSEHOLD WORDSA WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

27.] SATUEDAY, JULY 29, 1854.

H A K D TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE indefatigable Mrs. Sparsit, with a vio-lent cold upon her, her voice reduced to awhisper, and her stately frame so racked bycontinual sneezes that it seemed in danger ofdismemberment, gave chase to her patronuntil she found him in the metropolis ; andthere, majestically sweeping in upon him athis hotel in St. James's Street, exploded thecombustibles with which she was charged,and blew up. Having executed her missionwith infinite relish, this high-minded womanthen fainted away on Mr. Bounderby'scoat-collar.

Mr. Bounderby's first procedure was toshake Mrs. Sparsit off, and leave her to pro-gress as she might through various stagesof suffering on the floor. He next hadrecourse to the administration of potenti estoratives, such as screwing the patient'sthumbs, smiting her hands, abundantlywatering her face, and inserting salt in hermouth. When these attentions had recoveredher (which they speedily did), he hustled herinto a fast train without offering anyother refreshment, and carried her back toCoketown more dead than alive.

.Regarded as a classical ruin, Mrs. Sparsitwas an interesting spectacle on her arrivalat her journey's end ; but considered in anyother light, the amount of damage she had bythat time sustained was excessive, and im-paired her claims to admiration. Utterlyheedless of the wear and tear of her clothesand constitution, and adamant to her patheticsneezes, Mr. Bounderby immediately crammedher into a coach, and bore her off to StoneLodge.

"Now, Tom Gradgrind," said Bounderby,bursting into his father-in-law's room late atnight; " here's a lady here—Mrs. Sparsit—you know Mrs. Sparsit—who has somethingto say to you that will strike you dumb."

" You have missed my letter !" exclaimedMr. Gradgrind, surprised by the appari-tion.

" Missed your letter, sir !" bawled Bound-erby. "The present time is no time forletters. No man shall talk to Josiah Bound-

erby of Coketown about letters, with his mindin the state it's in now."

" Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, in atone of temperate remonstrance. " I speakof a very special letter 1 have written to you,in reference to Louisa."

"Tom Gradgrind,'' replied Bounderby,knocking the flat of his hand several timeswith great vehemence on the table, " I speakof a very special messenger that has come tome, in reference to Louisa. Mrs. Sparsitma'am, stand forward !"

That unfortunate lady hereupon essayingto offer testimony, without any voice andwith painful gestures expressive of an inflamedthroat, became so aggravating and underwentso many facial contortions, that Mr. Bound-erby, unable to bear it, seized her by the armand shook her.

" If you can't get it out, ma'am," saidBounderby, " leave me to get it out. This isnot a time for a lady, however highly con-nected, to be totally inaudible, and seeminglyswallowing marbles. Tom Gradgrind, Mrs.Sparsit latterly found herself, by accident, ina situation to overhear a conversation outof doors between your daughter andyour precious gentleman-friend, Mr. JamesHarthouse."

" Indeed f said Mr. Gradgrind." Ah ! Indeed !" cried Bounderby. " And

in that conversation ""It is not necessary to repeat its tenor,

Bounderby. I know what passed."" You do ? Perhaps," said Bounderby,

staring with all his might at his so quiet andassuasive father-in-law, "you know whereyour daughter is at the present time 1"

" Undoubtedly. She is here."" Here ?"" My dear Bounderby, let me beg you to

restrain these loud outbreaks, on all accounts.Louisa is here. The moment she coulddetach herself from that interview with theperson of whom you speak, and whom Ideeply regret to have been the means of in-troducing to you, Louisa hurried here, forprotection. I myself had not been at homemany hours, when I received her—here, inthis room. She hurried by the train to town,she ran from town to this house through araging storm, and presented herself beforeme in a state of distraction. Of course, she

VOL. IX.

550 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

has remained here ever since. Let me en-treat you, for your own sake and for hers, tobe more quiet."

Mr. Bounderby silently gazed about himfor some moments, in every direction exceptMrs. Sparsit's direction ; and then, abruptlyturning upon the niece of Lady Scadgers,said to that wretched -woman:

" Now, ma'am ! "We shall be happy to hearany little apology you may think proper tooffer, for going about the country at expresspace, with no other luggage than a Cock-and-a-Bull, ma'am !"

" Sir," whispered Mrs. Sparsit, " my nervesare at present too much shaken, and myhealth is at present too much impaired, inyour service, to admit of my doing more thantaking refuge in tears."

Which she did." Well, ma'am," said Bounderby, " with-

out making any observation to you that maynot be made with propriety to a woman ofgood family, what I have got to add to that,is, that there's something else in which itappears to me you may take refuge, namely,a coach. And the coach in which we camehere, being at the door, you'll allow me tohand you down to it, and pack you home tothe Bank : where the best course for you topursue, will be to put your feet into thehottest water you can bear, and take a glassof scalding rum and butter after you get intobed." With these words, Mr. Bounderby ex-tended his right hand to the weeping ladyand escorted her to the conveyance in ques-tion, shedding many plaintive sneezes by theway. He soon returned alone.

" Now, as you showed me in your face,Tom Gradgrind, that you wanted to speak tome," he resumed, "here I am. But, I am notin a very agreeable state, I tell you plainly;not relishing this business even as it is, andnot considering that I am at any time asdutifully and submissively treated by yourdaughter, as Josiah Bounderby of Coketownought to be treated by his wife. You haveyour opinion, I dare say ; and I have mine, Iknow. If you mean to say anything to meto-night, that goes against this candid remark,you had better let it alone."

Mr. Gradgrind, it will be observed, beingmuch softened, Mr. Bounderby took particularpains to harden himself at all points. It washis amiable nature.

" My dear Bounderby," Mr. Gradgrindbegan in reply.

" Now, you'll excuse me," said Bounderby,«' but I don't want to be too dear. That, tostart with. When I begin to be dear to aman, I generally find that his intention is tocome over me. I am not speaking to youpolitely; but, as you are aware, I am notpolite. If you like politeness, you knowwhere to get it. You have your gentlemanfriends you know, and they'll serve you withas much of the article as you want. I don'tkeep it myself."

" Bounderby," urged Mr. Gradgrind, " weare all liable to mistakes "

rfl thought you couldn't make 'em,"interrupted Bounderby.

" Perhaps I thought so. But, I say we areall liable to mistakes ; and I should feelsensible of your delicacy, and grateful forit, if you would spare me these references toHarthouse. I shall not associate him in ourconversation with your intimacy and en-couragement ; pray do not persist in connect-ing him with mine."

" I never mentioned his name !" saidBounderby.

_" Well, well!" returned Mr. Gradgrind,with a patient, even a submissive, air. Andhe sat for a little while pondering. " Bound-erby, I see reason to doubt whether we haveever quite understood Louisa."

" Who do you mean by We ?"" Let me say, I, then," he returned, in answer

to the coarsely blurted question ; " I doubtwhether I have understood Louisa. I doubtwhether I have been quite right in the mannerof her education."

" There you hit it," returned Bounderby." There I agree with you. You have foundit out at last, have you ? Education ! I'lltell you what education is—To be tumbledout of doors, neck and crop, and put upon theshortest allowance of everything except blows.That's what / call education."

" I think your good sense will perceive,"Mr. Gradgrind remonstrated in all humility," that whatever the merits of such a systemmay be, it would be difficult of general appli-cation to girls."

"I don't see it at all, sir/' returned theobstinate Bounderby.

" Well," sighed Mr. Gradrind, " we will notenter into the question. I assure you I haveno desire to be controversial. I seek to repairwhat is amiss, if I possibly can; and I hopeyou will assist me in a good spirit, Bounderby,for I have been very much distressed."

" I don't understand you, yet," said Boun-derby, with determined obstinacy, "andtherefore I won't make any promises."

"In the course of a few hours, my dearBounderby," Mr. Gradgrind proceeded, in thesame depressed and propitiatory manner, " Iappear to myself to have become better in-formed as to Louisa's character, than inprevious years. The enlightenment has beenpainfully forced upon me, and the discovery isnot mine. I think there are—Bounderby,you wiU"!be surprised to hear me say this•—I think there are qualities in Louisa,which—which have been harshly neglected,and—and a little perverted. And—and Iwould suggest to you, that—that if you-wouldkindly meet me in a timely endeavour to leaveher to her better nature for a while—and toencourage it to develop itself by tendernessand consideration—it—it would be the betterfor the happiness of all of us. Louisa," saidMr. Gradgrind, shading his face with his

Charles Dciens.] HAED TIMES. 551

hand, "has always been my favoritechild."

The blustrous BounderBy crimsoned andswelled to such an extent on hearing thesewords, that he seemed to be, and probably was,on the brink of a fit. Y/ith his very ears abright purple shot with crimson, he pent uphis indignation, however, and said :

" You'd like to keep her here for a time 1"" I—I had intended to recommend, my dear

Bounderby, that you should allow Louisa toremain here on a visit, and be attended bySissy (I mean of course Cecilia Jupe), whounderstands her, and in whom she trusts."

" I gather from all this, Tom Gradgrind,"said Bounderby, standing up with his handsin his pockets, "that you are of opinion thatthere's what people call some incompatibilitybetween Loo Bounderby and myself."

" I fear there is at present a general incom-patibility between Louisa, and—and—and al-most all the relations in which I have placedher," was her father's sorrowful reply.

"Now, look you here, Tom Gradgrind,"said Bounderby the flushed, confronting himwith his legs wide apart, his hands deeper in hispockets, and his hair like a hay field whereinhis windy anger was boisterous. " You havesaid your say ; I am going to say mine. I amA Coketown man. I am Josiah Bounderby ofCoketown. I know the bricks of this town, andI know the works of this town, and I know thechimneys of this town, and I know the smokeof this town, and I know the Hands of thistown. I know 'em all pretty well. They'rereal. "When a man tells me anything aboutimaginative qualities, I always tell that man,whoever he is, that I know what he means.He means turtle-soup and venison, with agold spoon, and that he wants to be set up•with a coach and six. That's what yourdaughter wants. Since you are of opinionthat she ought to have what she wants, Irecommend you to provide it for her. Be-cause, Tom Gradgrind, she will never have itfrom me."

"Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, "Ihoped, after my entreaty, you would havetaken a different tone."

" Just wait a bit," retorted Bounderby;*'• you have said your say, I believe. I heardyou out ; hear me out, if you please. Don'tmake yourself a spectacle of unfairness aswell as inconsistency, because, although I amsorry to see Tom Gradgrind reduced to hispresent position, I should be doubly sorry tosee him brought so low as that. Now, there'san incompatibility of some sort or another, Iam given to understand by you, between yourdaughter and me. I'll give you to understand,in reply to that, that there unquestionably is anincompatibility of the first magnitude—to besummed up in this—that your daughter don'tproperly know her husband's merits, and isnot impressed with such a sense as wouldbecome her, by George ! of the honor of hisalliance. That's plain speaking, I hope."

' Bounderby," urged Mr. Gradgrind, " thisis unreasonable."

" Is it 1 " said Bounderby. " I am glad tohear you say so. Because when Tom Grad-grind, with his new lights, tells me that whatI say is unreasonable, I am convinced atonce it must be devilish sensible. Withyour permission I am going on. You knowmy origin; and you know that for a goodmany years of my life I didn't want a shoe-ing-horn, in consequence of not having a shoe.Yet you may believe or not, as you thinkproper, that there are ladies—born ladies—be-longing to families—Families !—who next toworship the ground I walk on."

He discharged this, like a Kocket, at hisfather-in-law's head.

" Whereas your daughter," proceededBounderby, " is far from being a born lady.That you know, yourself. Not that I care apinch of candle-snuff about such things, foryou are very well aware I don't; but thatsuch is the fact, and you, Tom Gradgrind,can't change it. Why do I say this ? "

" Not, I fear," observed Mr. Gradgrind, ina low voice, " to spare me."

"Hear me out," said Bounderby, "andrefrain from cutting in till your turn comesround. I say this, because highly connectedfemales have been astonished to see the wayin which yk)ur daughter has conducted herself,and to witness her insensibility. They havewondered how I have suffered it. And Iwonder myself now, and I won't suffer it."

"Bounderby," returned Mr. Gradgrind,rising, " the less we say to-night the better, Ithink."

" On the contrary, Tom Gradgrind, themore we say to-night, the better, I think.That is," the consideration checked him, " tillI have said all I mean to say, and then I don'tcare how soon we stop. I come to a questionthat may shorten the business. What doyou mean by the proposal you made justnow 1"

" What do I mean, Bounderby 1"" By your visiting proposition," said Boun-

derby, with an inflexible jerk of the hayfield.

" I mean that I hope you may be inducedto arrange, in a friendly manner, for allowingLouisa a period of repose and reflection here,which may tend to a gradual alteration forthe better in many respects."

" To a softening down of your ideas of theincompatibility 1" said Bounderby.

" If you put it in those terms."" What made you think of this ?" said

Bounderby." I have already said, I fear Louisa has not

been understood. Is it asking too much,Bounderby, that you, so far her elder, shouldaid in trying to set her right ? You haveaccepted a great charge of her; for betterfor worse, for—"

Mr. Bounderby may have been annoyed bythe repetition of his own words to Stephen

552 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

Blackpool, bat he cut the quotation short withan angry start.

" Come !" said he, " I don't want to be toldabout that. I know what I took her for, aswell as you do. Never you mind whatI took her for ; that's my look-out."

* I was merely going on to remark.Boun derby,that we may all be more or less in the wrong,not even excepting you ; and that some yield-ing on your part, remembering the trust youhave accepted, may not only be an act of truekindness, but perhaps a debt incurred towardsLouisa."

" I think differently," blustered Bounderby;" I am going to finish this business accordingto my own opinions. Now, I don't want tomake a quarrel of it with you, Tom Gradgrind.To tell you the truth, I don't think it would beworthy of my reputation to quarrel on such asubject. As to your gentleman-Mend, he maytake himself off, wherever he likes best.If he falls in my way, I shall tell him mymind; if he don't fall in my way, I sha'nt, forit won't be worth my while to do it. As toyour daughter, whom I made Loo Bounderby,and might have done better by leaving LooGradgrind, if she don't come home to mor-row, by twelve o'clock at noon, I shall under-stand that she prefers to stay away, and Ishall send her wearing apparel and so forthover here, and you'll take charge of her forthe future. What I shall say to people ingeneral, of the incompatibility that led to myso laying down the law, will be this. I amJosiah Bounderby, and I had my bringing-up;she's the daughter of Tom Gradgrind, andshe had her bringing-up ; and the two horseswould'nt pull together. I am pretty wellknown to be rather an uncommon man, Ibelieve ; and most people will understand fastenough that it must be a woman rather outof the common also,who in the long run, wouldcome up to my mark.

" Let me seriously entreat you to re-considerthis, Bounderby," urged Mr. Gradgrind, " be-fore you commit yourself to such a decision."

" I always come to a decision," said Boun-derby, tossing his hat on; " and whatever I do,I do at once. I should be surprised at TomGradgrind's addressing such a remark toJosiah Bounderby of Coketown, knowingwhat he knows of him, if I could be surprisedby anything Tom Gradgrind did, after hismaking himself a party to sentimental humbug.I have given you my decision, and I have gotno more to say. Good night! "

So, Mr. Bounderby went home to his town-house to bed. At five minutespasttwelve o'clocknext day, he directed Mrs. Bounderby's pro-perty to be carefully packed up and setit toTom Gradgrind's; advertised his countryretreat for sale by private contract; and re-sumed a bachelor life.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE robbery at the Bank had not lan-guished before, and did not cease to occupy a

front place in the attention of the principalof that establishment now. In boastful proofof his promptitude and activity, as a remark-able man, and a self-made man, and a com-mercial wonder more admirable than Yenus,who had risen out of the mud instead of thesea, he liked to show how little his domesticaffairs abated his business ardor. Conse-quently, in the first few weeks of his resumedbachelorhood, he even advanced upon hisusual display of bustle, and every day madesuch a rout in renewing his investigationsinto the robbery, that the officers who hadit in hand almost wished it had never beencommitted.

They were at fault too, and off the scent.Although they had been so quiet since the firstoutbreak of the matter, that most peoplereally did suppose it to have been abandonedas hopeless, nothing new occurred. Noimplicated man or woman took untimely cou-rage, or made a self-betraying step. Moreremarkable yet, Stephen Blackpool could notbe heard of, and the mysterious old womanremained a mystery.

Things having come to this pass, and show-ing no latent signs of stirring beyond it, theupshot of Mr. Bounderby's investigationswas, that he resolved to hazard a bold burst.He drew up a placard, offering TwentyPounds reward for the apprehension ofStephen Blackpool, suspected of complicity inthe robbery of the Coketown Bank on sucha night; he described the said Stephen.Blackpool by dress, complexion, estimatedheight, and manner, as minutely as he could ;he recited how he had left the town, and inwhat direction he had been last seen going ;he had the whole printed in great black letterson a staring broadsheet; and he caused thewalls to be posted with it in the dead ofnight, so that it should strike upon thesight of the whole population at oneblow.

The factory-bells had need to ring theirloudest that morning to disperse the groups ofworkers who stood in the tardy daybreak,collected round the placards, devouring themwith eager eyes. Not the least eager of the eyes-assembled, were the eyes of those who couldnot read. These people, as they listened tothe friendly voice that read aloud •— therewas always some such ready to help them—stared at the characters which meant so muchwith a vague awe and respect that would havebeen half ludicrous, if any aspect of publicignorance could ever be otherwise thanthreatening and full of evil. Many ears andeyes were busy with a vision of the matter ofthese placards, among turning spindles, rattlinglooms, and whirring wheels, for hours after-wards ; and when the Hands cleared outagain into the streets, there were still as manyreaders as before.

Slackbridge, the delegate, had to addresshis audience too that night; and Slackbridgehad obtained a clean bill from the printer,

Charles Dickens.] HARD TIMES. 553

and had brought it in his pocket. Oh myfriends and fellow countrymen, the down-trodden operatives of Coketown, oh myfellow brothers and fellow workmen andfellow citizens and fellow men, what a to-do•was there, when Slackbridge unfolded whathe called " that damning document," and heldit up to the gaze, and for the execration, ofthe working-man community! " Oh myfellow men, behold of what a traitor in thecamp of those great spirits who are enrolledupon the holy scroll of Justice and of Union,is appropriately capable ! Oh my prostratefriends, with the galling yoke of tyrants onyour necks and the iron foot of despotismtreading down your fallen forms into the dustof the earth, upon which right glad wouldyour oppressors be to see you creeping onyour bellies all the days of your lives, like theserpent in the garden—oh my brothers, andshall I as a man not add my sisters too, whatdo you say, now, of Stephen Blackpool, with aslight stoop in his shoulders and about fivefoot seven in height, as set forth in this de-grading and disgusting document, this blight-ing-bill, this pernicious placard, this abomi-nable advertisement; and with what majestyof denouncement will you crush the viper,who would bring this stain and shame uponthe Godlike race that happily has cast himout for ever ! Yes my compatriots, happilycast him out and sent him forth ! For youremember how he stood here before you onthis platform ; you remember how, face toface and foot to foot, I pursued him throughall his intricate windings ; you rememberhow he sneaked,t and slunk, and sidled, andsplitted of straws, until, with not an inch of

?:ound to which to cling, I hurled him outom amongst us : an object for the undying

finger of scorn to point at, and for theavenging fire of every free and thinkingmind, to scorch and sear ! And now myfriends—my laboring friends, for I rejoiceand triumph in that stigma — my friendswhose hard but honest beds are made in toil,and whose scanty but independent pots areboiled in hardship; and, now I say, my friends,what appellation has that dastard craventaken to himself, when, with the mask tornfrom his features, he stands before us in allhis native deformity, a What ? A thief! Aplunderer! A proscribed fugitive, with a priceupon his head ; a fester and a wound uponthe noble character of the Coketown opera-tive ! Therefore, my band of brothers in asacred bond, to which your children and yourchildren's children yet unborn have set theirinfant hands and seals, I propose to you on thepart of the United Aggregate Tribunal, everwatchful for your welfare, ever zealous foryour benefit, that this meeting does .Resolve :That Stephen Blackpool, weaver, referredto in this placard, having been alreadysolemnly disowned by the community ofCoketown Hands, the same are free fromthe shame of his misdeeds, and cannot as

a class be reproached with his dishonestactions ! "

Thus Slackbridge ; gnashing and perspiringafter a prodigious sort. A few stern voicescalled out " No !" and a score or two hailed,with assenting cries of " Hear hear !" thecaution from one man, " Slackbridge, y'orover better int; y'or a goen too fast !" Butthese were pigmies against an army; thegeneral assemblage subscribed to the gospelaccording to Slackbridge, and gave threecheers for him, as he sat demonstrativelypanting at them.

These men and women were yet in thestreets, passing quietly to their homes, whenSissy, who had been called away from Louisasome minutes before, returned.

" Who is it ?" asked Louisa." It is Mr. Bounderby," said Sissy, timid of

the name, "and your brother Mr. Tom, anda young woman who says her name is RachaeJ,and that you know her."

" What do they want, Sissy dear ? "" They want to see you. Kachael has been

crying, and seems angry."" Father," said Louisa, for he was present,

" I cannot refuse to see them, for a reasonthat will explain itself. Shall they comein here 1 "

As he answered in the affirmative, Sissywent away to bring them. She reappearedwith them directly. Tom was last; and re-mained standing in the obscurest part of theroom, near the door.

" Mrs. BounderbjL" said her husband, en-tering with a cool nod, " I don't disturb you,I hope. This is an unseasonable hour, buthere is a young woman who has been makingstatements which render my visit necessary.Tom Gradgrind, as your son, young Tom,refuses for some obstinate reason or other tosay anything at all about those statements,good or bad, I am obliged to confront herwith your daughter."

"You have seen me once before, younglady," said Bachael, standing in front ofLouisa.

Tom coughed." You have seen me, young lady," repeated

Bachael, as she did not answer, " once before."Tom coughed again." I have."Bachael cast her eyes proudly towards Mr.

Bounderby, and said, " Will you make itknown, young lady, where, and who wasthere ? "

" I went to the house where StephenBlackpool lodged, on the night of his dischargefrom bis work, arid I saw you there. He wasthere too : and an old woman who did notspeak, and whom I could scarcely see, stoodin a dark corner. My brother was with me."

" Why couldn't you say so, young Tom ? "demanded Bounderby.

" I promised my sister I wouldn't." WhichLouisa hastily confirmed. " And besides,"said the whelp bitterly, "she tells her own

554 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by-

Story so precious well—and so full—that\vhat business had I to take it out of hermouth! "

" Say, young lady, if you please," pursuedEachael, "why, in. an evil hour, you evercome to Stephen's that night."

" I felt compassion for him," said Louisa,her color deepening, " and I wished to knowwhat he was going to do, and wished to offerhim assistance."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Bounderby."Much flattered and obliged."

"Did you offer him," asked Eachael, "abank note ?" & i

" Yes; but he refused it, and would onlytake two pounds in gold."

Eachael cast her eyes towards Mr. Boun-derby again.

" Oh certainly ! " said Bounderby. "If youput the question whether your ridiculous andimprobable account was true or not, I ambound to say it's confirmed."

" Young lady," said Eachael, " StephenBlackpool is now named as a thief in publicprint all over this town, and where else!There have been a meeting to-night wherehe have been spoken of hi the same shamefulway. Stephen ! The honestest lad, the truestlad, the best! " Her indignation failed her,and she broke off, sobbing.

" I am very, very sorry," said Louisa." O young lady, young lady," returned

Eachael, "I hope you may be, but I don'tknow ! I can't say whatyou may ha' done !The like of you don't flliow us, don't carefor us, don't belong to us. I am not sure whyyou may ha' come that night. I can't tellbut what you may ha' come wi' some aimof your own, not mindin to what trouble youbrought such as the poor lad. I said then,Bless you for coming ; and I said it of myheart, you seemed to take so pitifully to him ;but I don't know now, I don't know ! "

Louisa could not reproach her for herunjust suspicions ; she was so faithful to heridea of the man, and so afflicted.

"And when I think," said Eachael throughher sobs, " that the poor lad was so grateful,thinkin you so good to him—when I mindthat he put his hand over his hard-workenface to hide the tears that you brought upthere—O, I hope you may be sorry, and ha'no bad cause to be it; but I don't know, Idon't know !"

"You're a pretty article," growled thewhelp, moving uneasily in his dark corner,"to come here with these precious imputa-tions ! You ought to be bundled out for notknowing how to behave yourself, and youwould be by rights."

She said nothing in reply; and her lowweeping was the only sound that was heard,until Mr. Bouuderby spoke.

"Come!" said he, "you know what youhave engaged to do* You had better giveyour mind to that; not this."

"'Deed, I am loath," returned Eachael,

drying her eyes, "that any here should seeme like this ; but I won't be seen so again.Young lady, when I had read what's putin print of Stephen — and what has justas much truth in it as if it had been putin print of you — I went straight to theBank to say I knew where Stephen was, andto give a sure and certain promise that heshould be here in two days. I couldn't meetwi' Mr. Bounderby then, and your brothersent me away, and I tried to find you, butyou was not to be found, and I went back towork. Soon as I come out of the Mill to-night, I hastened to hear what was said ofStephen—for I know wi' pride he will comeback to shame it !—and then I went again toseek Mr. Bounderby, and I found him" and Itold him every word I knew ; and he believedno word I said, and brought me here."

"So far, that's true enough," assentedMr. Bounderby, with his hands in his pocketsand his hat on. "But I have known youpeople before to-day, you'll observe, and Iknow you never die for want of talking.Now, I recommend you not so much to nJmdtalking just now, as doing. You have under-taken to do something; all I remark uponthat at present is, do it! "

" I have written to Stephen by the post that.went out this afternoon, as I have written tohim once before sin' he went away," saidEachael; " and he will be here, at furthest,in two days."

" Then, I'll tell you something. You arenot aware, perhaps," retorted Mr. Bounderby,"that you yourself have been looked afternow and then, not being considered quite freefrom suspicion in this business, on account ofmost people being judged according to thecompany they keep. The post-office hasn'tbeen forgotten either. What I'll tell you is,that no letter to Stephen Blackpool has evergot into it. Therefore, what has become ofyours, I leave you to guess. Perhaps you'remistaken, and never wrote any."

" He hadn't been gone from here, younglady," said Eachael, turning appealingly toLouisa, "as much as a week, when he sentme the only letter I have had from hirnrsaying that he was forced to seek work inanother name."

" Oh, by George ! " cried Bounderby,shaking his head, with a whistle, " he changeshis name, does he ! That's rather unlueky,too, for such an immaculate chap. It's con-sidered a little suspicious in Courts of Justice,I believe, when an Innocent happens tohave many names."

" What," said Eachael, with the tears inher eyes again, "what, young lady, in thename of Mercy, was left the poor lad to do !The masters against him on one hand, themen against him on the other, he only wantinto work hard in peace, and do what he feltright. Can a man have no soul of his own,no mind of his own ? Must he go wrong allthrough wi' this side, or must he go wrong

Charles IMckeiis.] HAED TIMES. 555

all through wi' that, or else be hunted like aLare 'I "

"Indeed, indeed, I pity him from myheart," returned Louisa ; " and I hope thathe will clear himself."

" You need have no fear of that, younglady. He is sure ! "

""All the surer, I suppose," said Mr. Boun-derby, " for your refusing to tell where he is 1Eh ?'"

" He shall not, through any act of mine,come back wi' the unmerited reproach ofbeing brought back. He shall come back ofhis own accord to clear himself, and put allthose that have injured his good character,and he not here for its defence, to shame. Ihave told him what has been done againsthim," said Raehael, throwing off all distrustas a rock throws off the sea, " and he will behere, at furthest, in two days."

"Notwithstanding which," added Mr.Bonn-derby, ': if he can be laid hold of any sooner,he shall have an earlier opportunity of clear-ing himself. As to you, I have nothingagainst you ; what you came and told meturns out to be true, and I have given youthe means of proving it to be true, and there'san end of it. I wish you Good night all!I must be off to look a little further intothis."

Tom came out of his corner when Mr.Bounderhy moved, moved with him, keptclose to him, and went away with him. Theonly parting salutation of which he deliveredhimself was a sulky " Good night, father ! "With that brief speech, and a scowl at hissister, he left the house.

Since his sheet-anchor had come home, Mr.Gradgrind had been sparing of speech. Hestill sat silent, when Louisa mildly said :

"Kacliael, you will not distrust me oneday, when you know me better,"

"It goes against me," Rachael answered,in a gentler manner, " to mistrust any one ;but when I am so mistrusted—when we allare—I cannot keep such things quite out ofmy raind. I ask your pardon for having doneyou an injury. I don't think what I said,now. Yet I might come to think it again,wi' the poor lad so wronged."

" Did you tell him in your letter," inquiredSissy, " that suspicion seemed to have fallenupon him, because he had been seen aboutthe Bank at night ? He would then knowwhat he would have to explain on comingback, and would be ready."

" Yes, dear," she returned ; " but I can'tguess what can have ever taken him there.He never used to go there. It was never inhis way. His way was the same as mine, andnot near it."

Sissy had already been at her side askingher where she lived, and whether she mightcome to-morrow night, to inquire if there werenews of him.

" I doubt," said Eachael, " if he can be heretill next day."

" Then I will come next night too," saidSissy.

When Bachael, assenting to this, was gone,Mr. Gradgrind lifted up his head, and said tohis daughter :

" Louisa, my dear, I have never, that Iknow of, seen this man. Do you believe himto be implicated 1"

" I think 1 have believed it, father, thoughwith great difficulty. I do not believe itnow."

* That is to say, you once persuaded your-self to believe it, from knowing him to besuspected. His appearance and manner; arethey so honest ? "

" Very honest."" And her confidence not to be shaken ! I

ask myself," said Mr. Gradgrind, musing," does the real culprit know of these accusa-tions ? Where is he ? Who is he ?"

His hair had latterly begun to change itscolor. As he leaned upon his hand again,looking gray and old, Louisa, with a face offear and pity, hurriedly went over to him,and sat close at his side. Her eyesby accident met Sissy's at the moment.Sissy flushed and started, and Louisa put herfinger on her lip.

Next night, when Sissy returned home andtold Louisa that Stephen was not come, shetold it in a whisper. Next night again, whenshe came home with the same account, andadded that he had not been heard of, shespoke in the same low frightened tone. Fromthe moment of that interchange of looks, theynever uttered his name, or any reference tohim, aloud ; nor ever pursued the subject ofthe robbery, when Mr. Gradgrind spoke of it.

The two appointed days ran out, threedays and nights ran out, and Stephen Black-pool was not come, and remained unheard of.On the fourth day, Bachael, with unabatedconfidence, but considering her despatch tohave miscarried, went up to the Bank, andshowed her letter from him with his address,at a working colony, one of many, not uponthe main road, sixty miles away. Mes-sengers were sent to that place, and the wholetown looked for Stephen to be brought innext day.

During this whole time the whelp movedabout with Mr. Bounderby like his shadow,assisting in all the proceedings. He was greatlyexcited, horribly fevered, bit his nails down tothe quick, spoke in a hard rattling voice, andwith lips that were black and burnt up. Atthe hour when the suspected man was lookedfor, the whelp was at the station ; offering towager that he had made off before the arrivalof those who were sent iu quest of him, andthat he would not appear.

The whelp was right. The messengersreturned alone. Kachael's letter had gone,-Rachael's letter had been delivered, StephenBlackpool had decamped in that same hour •and no soul knew more of him. The onlydoubt in Coketown was, whether Rachael had

556 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted bj

written in good faith, believing that he reallywould come back, or -warning him to fly.On this point opinion was divided.

Six days, seven days, far on into another week.The wretched whelp plucked up a ghastlycourage, and began to grow defiant. " Wasthe suspected fellow the thief? A prettyquestion ! If not, where was the man, andwhy did he not come back 1"

Where was the man, and why did he notcome back ? In the dead of night the echoesof his own words, which had rolled Heavenknows how far away in the daytime, cameback instead, and abided by him until

THE KOVING ENGLISHMAN.HADJI HASSAN.

HADJI HASSAN is an old gentleman who isthe delight of the neighbourhood. He keepsa small coffee-house beneath the Pasha'skiosch on the brow of a hill overlooking thesea. He is the familiar of the mighty in theland—a fellow of infinite jest and humour ;whose ill-temper is merely chartered licence ;whose smile is condescension; whose sai'-casm is more damaging than dishonour. Hepatronises the world; and the world, seeingnothing to envy in him, receives his dictator-ship with a sort of contemptuous submission ;but still submission. Hadji Hassan belongs tothat class of landlords who lord it over theirguests, and punishes any sort of rebellionwith the most cutting severity. He accordshis protection to the Pasha and the BritishConsul; and condescends to nod to thosefunctionaries in a confidential manner whenhe meets them in private life. But he de-clines their intimacy; for he remembers aPasha mightier than this one, and a BritishConsul who was the friend of his youth. Be-sides he is Pasha, British Consul, and every-thing else, in his own coffee-house. He is notfond of the intimate society of people towhom he thinks it prudent only to nod to in'a confidential manner. He likes very wellto see them sitting above in the kiosch,because, upon the whole, they are respectable,and pay their way ; but he shakes his headwhen he speaks of them among his cronies,as if he dissented from the things not onlythat they do, but from things in general.

I would rather not offend Hadji Hassan.He is one of those who form public opinion inour little world ; and I have noticed thatthose upon whom he looks unfavourably donot thrive. Whether this ai'ises from hisdiscernment in only looking unfavourably onthriftless people or otherwise, it would behard to say.

Hadji Hassan is about sixty years of age.He wears a turban ; for he has too independenta spirit to conform to the undignified modernfashion of the red cap. The turban was thehead-dress of Hadji Hassan's grandfather,who was his guide, philosopher, and friend. If

fashion has changed since the days of HadjiHassan's grandfather, fashion is wrong.That is his dictum, and he would not deign toargue the point further with anybody. Hehas made up his mind on this subject, andon most others ; Hadji Hassan's mind beinga hard, knotty, stubbly sort of mind, requiringa great deal of making up, and he probablyspent the first twenty years of his life inthe process. It would be impossible, there-fore, to unmake Hadji Hassan's mind. Hisopinions on public events may now andthen be modified by a stray remark ofhis prote"g6, the Pasha; but in all privateaffairs Hadji Hassan believes himself to beinfallible.

Hadji Hassan's turban is not the only partof his dress that belongs to a bygone time.His general appearance is that of an Algerinepirate of the eighteenth century. He hasthe same short ample small-clothes, the sameclose-fitting embroidered leggings (ratherdirty), the same spare jacket and bare bull-neck. In his girdle he wears a murderous-looking knife, unsheathed. In build he isas powerful a man as you would find in theprize-ring in England. But he is a finespecimen of the common Turk. His pride,decision, stiffneckedness, solemnity, andaffected wisdom, all belong to his class, andare inseparable from it. He may be ignorant,but he is never vulgar; determined and.prompt in action, if roused, but never loudor hectoring. It is highly probable that anyGreek who disagreed with Hadji Hassanwould receive a murderous thrashing, toteach him more respect for his conquerorsin future; but there would be no previouswrangling—no hot words. Hadji Hassanwould knock him about within an inch of hislife with the first thing that came handy ;and, merely muttering a contemptuousKalk, Giaour! (Be off, dog !) would resumehis nargilly with a dignity as unruffledas if he had merely thrown a brick-bat at acat.

Hadji Hassan is aware that he is a privi-leged person, and turns this circumstance toexcellent practical account. It is doubtful whe-ther he has the smallest knowledge of any por-tion of the multiplication table ; it was not afashionable accomplishment in his early time,and his immense double-jointed hands havehad too much to do with the musket to handlethe slate-pencil or the Hoja's reed. Buthe has a marvellously keen memory for anunpaid reckoning, and a rapidity in the artof mental arithmetic which, as the correct-ness of his totals no one ever dares to dis-pute, obtain for him an unreasonable price forhis coffee. Then his demand for somethingfor the waiter is sometimes inflexible.

" Hark ye !" said Hadji Hassan to me theday after my first invasion of his territory." Bachsheesh." I mildly remonstrated. "Ah,"said Hadji Hassan, shaking his venerablebeard, while an expression of utter disgust