our country, dear Isabel, that we must make the sacrifice. Surely, you have not ceased to be the patriot since you became "Fallen in mine own eyes, John!" exclaimed the poor girl; "and in yours too for never, never is woman frail that she does not sooner or later lose the esteem even of him for whom she may have sacrificed all. Oh, John, do not cease to love me! Become as great as you will, as renowned, as much mixed up with the great business of life, but remember -oh! remember that there is one lowly heart which beats only for you, and must cease to beat whenever you fling its devotion from you. Oh, John, do not cease to love me!" 66 Nay, nay, Isabel," replied he, while at the same time he folded the trembling girl in his arms, "this is not worthy either of me or of yourself. Cease to love you! Have I not proved to you that such an event is impossible? Go to bed. Go and dream of the speedy arrival of the hour which will enable me to convince even your incredulity of the place which you hold, and have ever held since I first met you, in my devotions. Good night, mine own Isabel. If you love me, suffer not these idle fantasies to gain the mastery over you. All will be explained and put to rights by and by." "But will you come again soon, and spend long hours with me, as you once did?" "Doubt it not, sweet Isabel. Believe me, I am quite as anxious to live those blessed hours over again as you can be. Whenever I escape from the affairs which now harass me to death, shall I not turn to you for my reward? Therefore good night, dear love; and let us both look forward with hope, if not with joy, to what the future shall bring forth." Poor Isabel! either she was comforted, or she seemed to be so, by the words and manner of her lover. She hung about his neck for a moment, kissed him tenderly; and then, falling back from his embrace, darted aside, as if by a sudden effort, and ran towards the house. On the other hand, Beaver stood still a brief space on the spot, after which he proceeded on, not triumphantly, it must be confessed-for though a scoundrel, he was yet a man-yet little disposed to regret, at least after the lapse of a few seconds, that the interview with Isabel was over. What was his connexion with that girl? In few words, it was this. I do not know how far the reader of these pages may be acquainted with the peculiar habits, both of thought and of action, which distinguish the miners of the northern counties from all other classes of the English sovereign's subjects. Having as little in common with the clever, yet base-minded, operative, as he has with the dull, honest, pigheaded agricultural labourer, the. miner, as he lives in a world which is peculiar to himself, so is the whole frame and texture of his moral and intellectual being distinct and apart from that of the inhabitant of the upper air. The miner is not always an educated man; that is to he say, is often ignorant of the arts of reading and writing. The miner has little intercourse with society; because, except when he returns, once a-week, to the earth's surface, he is eut off from the conversation even of his own family. And the consequence is that the miner, more than any other human being of his rank and social condition, lives and moves, from morning even till night, under the dominion of a fearfully active imagination. I use this form of speech, because imagination in his case clothes itself uniformly in the darkest habiliments. Is the miner disposed to become religious? will not listen to the exhortations of the Churchman, or even of the Wesleyan. They are both too gentle, too humane, too generous, and kind, and placable in their creeds for him. But let the true disciple of Calvin make his appeals to him, or the Baptist, or the Teacher of the Tongues, or any body else who shall speak of irresistible decrees, and particular reprobations, and mysterious impulses for which there is no accounting, there is not one of all these who will not be listened to greedily, or who will fail to carry a whole host of enthusiastic converts after him. In like manner, the politician who enlarges most upon the grievances to which the mass of mankind seem to be liable, and has the art to set them in array against the will of God, as revealed in the Scriptures of the He New Testament, may count with certainty on working up his audience to almost any pitch of daring. For the miner is not, like the fœtid creature of Birmingham and Manchester, naturally an irreligious animal. However prone he may be to mistake the true end for which religion was given, he has the principle of religion within him. But then this very bent of his-the disposition to think, without the power of regulating thought when it arises, or leading it to just conclusions, lays him especially open to the mischievous efforts of all who work for their own good, as they absurdly suppose, through the weaknesses and the follies of others. consequence is, that even as Whitfield made more proselytes in the mines than any where else, so the sophistry which the first French Revolution sent forth found in the bowels of the carth not only willing but devoted followers, who, adopting their opinions on political subjects, though generally resisting them on the subject of religion, sowed in their own minds a seed of discontent which has, we believe, continued ever since to bring forth abundant fruit, and to ripen. The Generally speaking, the miners are not educated men. Such of them as superadd the accomplishments of reading, writing, and accounts, to the acquirements peculiar to their calling, never fail of getting on in the world. The heads of gangs, for example, are comparatively well-paid persons. The superintendants of mines are princes. All the miners inhabit, by proxy, villages or hamlets planted near the mouths of the pits, that is to say, their wives and little ones, whom they rejoin every Saturday afternoon, occupy these dwellings, and seem to be very comfortable there. But the superintendants are still better off; for, like the stewards of estates, they usually have assigned to them either habitations built on purpose, or old manorhouses, the external appearance of which gives them a distinct place in their own society. Joseph Rankin, the individual to whom our readers have lately been introduced, was one of this class of persons. Possessed of strong common sense, and great firmness of character, he was likewise the slave of feelings that were too strong for both,-of feelings with which no principle less potent than that of religion itself might hope to contend. Unfortunately for himself, however, Rankin had been educated in the strictest sect of the Whitfieldites. His religion, therefore, so far from teaching him to regulate his imagination, and repress his impulses, had no other tendency than that of ministering to both; and hence, though it did him little harm so long as things went in other respects well, it laid up no resources against the evil hour which few men may hope to turn aside for ever. Rankin, like all others of his order who have themselves received an education, was particularly desirous that his children should be well educated likewise. He had married the daughter of a yeoman, who had brought him some money, by which means, as well as by reason of his excellent pay, he was able to indulge this wish entirely. And so his two daughters-for he had no other children-Jane and Isabel, were put to the best school of which Coketown could boast, and came forth from it almost more largely informed than their station in life rendered either necessary or desirable. Still no harm arose out of the circumstance, nor seemed to do so, while yet their mother lived. People said, indeed, that the Rankin girls dressed above their station; and that the elder one in particular, who was extremely beautiful, threw herself too much in the way of admiration generally, and in that of young Lord Welverton in particular. But though the young Oxford scholar was noted for his attention to the fair sex, still it was not till after Mrs. Rankin died that the breath of scandal affected her daughter; because never till then had her noble admirer ventured to establish a footing in The Jointure-house. But why go on with such details? Poor Jane trusted too much either to her own resolution or to her lover's honour. The consequences were not different from those which generally occur in like cases; and Mr. Beaver's intimacy in the family of the overseer began, when, as a practising surgeon, he was called in to attend the overseer's eldest daughter in the hour of her sorrow, and to bring her infant into the world at the cost of its mother's life. From the moment that old Rankin made the discovery of his daughter's backsliding, he became an altered man. One passion, that of hatred to the author of her wrong, seemed alone to take possession of his soul; and with it arose, of course, an unquenchable thirst of revenge. I need scarcely add, that neither propensity was by Mr. Beaver discouraged, or that the conferences of the two men, let them begin with what topic they might, uniformly ended in invectives against the aristocracy. Then followed, on Mr. Beaver's part, the artful insinuation into a mind thus weakened of all his own base and frightful principles. Rankin was led by degrees into the mazes of infidelity and the absurdities of Republicanism. He greedily listened to arguments in favour of the latter, because the object of his especial hate was a lord; and towards the former the guidance was by far too skilful not to succeed in the end. Yea, and more marvellous still, the refined and elevated dogmas of the Socialists met at The Jointure-house with a willing reception. The old man thought them a little extravagant when first broached; but then the Doctor had a happy knack in explaining the extravagancies away; while to the remaining daughter they seemed to express all that could be imagined of the unselfish and the noble in philosophy. Will any human being wonder when we state the results in a single sentence? Rankin was easily induced to become a tool in Mr. Beaver's hands; and the miners took, in consequence, an active part in pushing the Reformbill through its various stages. For though the blight in Mr. Beaver's fortunes separated him for a while from his friends, the impression which he had made was by far too deep to be by any such contingency erased. And so when the sun shone again on his side of the hedge, and he burst forth as the very mainspring of a political party, the deference which he received from both father and child was extreme. To what purpose he applied his influence over the mind of Isabel I need not stop to explain. Her own words, poor girl! have done it for me; nor would any good arise were I to describe minutely the process by which so sad a result was brought about. But I am bound to state that she loved him with a species of idolatry, such as is never experienced except by women-themselves possessed of mind, as well as of deep and fine feeling-when they happen to fix their affections on one whom they regard as raised, in point of intellect, far above themselves. Let me, however, escape from discussions which can give no pleasure either to the reader or the writer. We live in a world of sin and of sorrow. Sin and sorrow must, therefore, enter into every work of him who undertakes, under whatever form, to hold human nature up for inspection. But there is no necessity for lingering over the former; the latter it is which points the moral, and to that we shall endeavour mainly to confine ourselves. So here I change the subject. THE HISTORY OF SAMUEL TITMARSH AND THE GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND. EDITED AND ILLUSTRATED BY SAM'S COUSIN, MICHAEL ANGELO. CHAPTER I. GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VILLAGE, AND THE FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE DIAMOND. WHEN I came up to town for my second year, my aunt Hoggarty made me a present of a diamond-pin; that is to say, it was not a diamond-pin then, but a large, old-fashioned locket, of Dublin manufacture in the year 1793, which the late Mr. Hoggarty used to sport at the Lordlieutenant's balls and elsewhere. He wore it, he said, at the battle of Vinegar Hill, when his club pigtail saved his head from being taken off, --but that is neither here nor there. In the middle of the brooch was Hoggarty in the scarlet uniform of the corps of Fencibles to which he belonged; around it were thirteen locks of hair, belonging to a baker's dozen of sisters that the old gentleman had; and, as all these little ringlets partook of the family huc of brilliant auburn, Hoggarty's portrait seemed to the fanciful view like a great, fat, red round of beef, surrounded by thirteen carrots. These were dished up on a plate of blue enamel, and it was from the GREAT HOGGARTY DIAMOND (as we called it in the family), that the collection of hairs in question seemed as it were to spring. My aunt, I need not say, is rich; and I thought I might be her heir as well as another. During my month's holyday, she was particularly pleased with me; made me drink tea with her often (though there was a certain person in the village with whom on those golden summer evenings I should have liked to have taken a stroll in the hay-fields); promised every time I drank her bohea to do something handsome for me when I went back to town,-nay, three or four times had me to dinner at three, and to whist or cribbage afterwards. I did not care for the cards; for though we always played seven hours on a stretch, and I always lost, my losings were never more than nineteen-pence a-night; but there was some infernal sour black-currant wine, that the old lady always produced at dinner, and with the tray at ten o'clock, and which I dare not refuse, though upon my word and honour it made me very unwell. Well, I thought after all this obsequiousness on my part, and my aunt's repeated promises, that the old lady would at least make me a present of a score of guineas (of which she had a power in the drawer); and so convinced was I that some such present was intended for me, that a young lady by the name of Miss Mary Smith, with whom I had conversed on the subject, actually netted me a little green silk purse, which she gave me (behind Hicks's hayrick, as you turn to the right up Churchyard Lane)—which she gave me, I say, wrapped up in a bit of silver paper. There was something in the purse, too, if the truth must be known. First there was a thick curl of the glossiest, blackest hair you ever saw in your life, and next there was threepence; that is to say, the half of a silver sixpence hanging by a little necklace of blue riband. Ah, but I knew where the other half of the sixpence was, and envied that happy bit of silver! Next day I was obliged, of course, to devote to Mrs. Hoggarty. My aunt was excessively gracious; and by way of a treat brought out a couple of bottles of the black-currant, of which she made me drink the greater part. At night when all the ladies assembled at her party had gone off with their pattens and their maids, Mrs. Hoggarty, who had made a signal to me to stay, first blew out three of the wax candles in the drawing-room, and taking the fourth in her hand, went and unlocked her escritoire. I can tell you my heart beat, though I pretended to look quite unconcerned. "Sam, my dear," said she, as she was fumbling with her keys, "take another glass of Rosolio (that was the name by which she baptised the cursed beverage), it will do you good." I took it, and you might have seen my hand tremble as the bottle went click, click, against the glass. By the time I had swallowed it, the old lady had finished her operations at the bureau, and was coming towards me, the wax candle bobbing in one hand, and a large parcel in the other. Now's the time, thought I. "Samuel, my dear nephew," said she, "your first name you received from your sainted uncle, my blessed husband; and of all my nephews and nieces, you are the one whose conduct in life has most pleased me." When you consider that my aunt herself was one of seven married sisters, that all the Hoggarties were married in Ireland and mothers of numerous children, I must say that the compliment my aunt paid me was a very handsome one. "Dear aunt," says I, in a slow, agitated voice, "I have often heard you say there were seventy-three of us in all, and believe me I do think your high opinion of me very complimentary indeed; I'm unworthy of it,—indeed I am.” "As for those odious Irish people," says my aunt, rather sharply, "don't speak of them; I hate them, and every one of their mothers" (the fact is, there had been a lawsuit about Hoggarty's property); " but of all my other kindred, you, Samuel, have been the most dutiful and affectionate to me. Your employers in London give the best accounts of your regularity and good conduct. Though you have had eighty pounds a-year (a liberal salary), you have not spent a shilling more than your income, as other young men would; and you have devoted your month's holydays to your old aunt, who, I assure you, is grateful." "Oh, ma'am !" said I. It was all that I could utter. "Samuel," continued she, "I promised you a present, and here it is. I first thought of giving you money; but you are a regular lad, and don't want it. You are above money, dear Samuel. I give you what I value most in life-the p-, the po, the po-ortrait of my sainted Hoggarty (tears), set in the locket which contains the valuable diamond that you have often heard me speak of. Wear it, dear Sam, for my sake; and think of that angel in heaven, and of your dear aunt Dosy." She put the machine into my hands; it was about the size of the lid of a shaving-box; and I should as soon have thought of wearing it, as of wearing a cocked hat and a pigtail. I was so disgusted and disappointed, that I really could not get out a single word. When I recovered my presence of mind a little, I took the locket out of the paper (the locket, indeed! it was as big as a barn-door padlock), and slowly put it into my shirt. "Thank you, aunt," said I, with admirable raillery. "I shall always value this present for the sake of you, who gave it me; and it will recall to me my uncle, and my thirteen aunts in Ireland." "I don't want you to wear it in that way!" shrieked Mrs. Hoggarty, "with the hair of those odious carroty women. You must have their hair removed." "Then the locket will be spoiled, aunt." "Well, sir, never mind the locket, have it set afresh." "Or suppose," said I, "I put aside the setting altogether: it is a little too large for the present fashion; and have the portrait of my uncle framed and placed over my chimney-piece, next to yours. It's a sweet miniature." "That minature," said Mrs. Hoggarty, solemnly, was the great Mulcahy's chef d'œuvre," pronounced shy dewver, a favourite word of my aunt's, being with the words bongtong and ally mode de Parry, the extent of my aunt's French vocabulary. "You know the dreadful story of that poor, poor artist. When he had finished that wonderful likeness for the late Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty, county Mayo, she wore it in her bosom at the Lordlieutenant's ball, where she played a game of picquet with the commanderin-chief. What could have made her put the hair of her vulgar daughters round Mick's portrait, I can't think; but so it was, as you see it this day. 'Madam,' says the commander-inchief, if that is not my friend, Mick Hoggarty, I'm a Dutchman!' Those were his lordship's very words. Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty took off the brooch and shewed it to him." |