 Sketch is among the poor number one by Elizabeth Gaskell. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. First published in Blackwoods Edinburgh magazine January 1837. Sketch is among the poor number one. In childhood days I do remember me of one dark house behind an old elm tree, by gloomy streets surrounded where the flower brought from the fresher air, scarce for an hour, retained its fragrant scent. Yet men lived there, yea, and in happiness. The mind doth clear in most dense airs its own bright atmosphere. But in the house of which I spake, there dwelt one by whom all the weight of smoke was felt. She had or stepped the bound to its youth and age, a single, not a lonely, woman, sage and thoughtful ever, yet most truly kind. Without the natural ties she sought to bind hearts onto hers with gentle, useful love, prompt at each change in sympathy to move. As so she gained the affection which she prized from every living thing, how air despised. A call upon her tenderness, when air the friends around her had a grief to share. And, if in joy the kind one they forgot, she still rejoiced, and a more was wanted not. Said I not truly, she was not alone, though none at evening shared her clean hearthstone. To some she might prosaic seem, but to me she always charmed with daily poetry, felt in her every action, never heard, e'en as the mate of some sweet singing bird, that mutant still broods upon her treasure-ness, her heart's fond hope hid deep within her breast. In all her quiet duties, one dear thought kept ever true and constant sway, not brought before the world, but garnered all the more for being to herself a secret store. When air she heard of country homes, a smile came brightening o'er her serious face the while. She knew not that it came, yet in her heart a hope leaped up of which that smile was part. She thought the time might come, air yet the bowl were broken at the fountain, when her soul might listen to its yearnings, unreproved by thought of failure to the core she loved. When she might leave the close and noisy street, and once again her childhood's home might greet. It was a pleasant place that early home, the brook went singing by, leaving its foam among the flags and blue forget-me-not, and in a nook above that sheltered spot for ages stood a gnarled hawthorn tree. And if you passed in springtime, you might see the knotted trunk all coronalled with flowers, that every breeze shook down in fragrant showers. The earnest bees in odourous cells did lie, himming their thanks with murmured melody. The evening sun shone brightly on the green and seemed to linger on the lonely scene, and if to others Mary's early nest showed poor and homely to her loving breast, the charm lay hidden in the very stains which time and weather left. The old dim pains, the grey rough moss, the house-leak, you might see were chronicled in childhood's memory, and in her dreams she wandered far and wide among the hills, her sister at her side. That sister slept beneath the grassy tomb, air-time had robbed her of her first sweet bloom. O sleep, thou bringest back our childhood's heart, air yet the dew exhale, the hope depart. Thou callest up the lost ones, sorrowed o'er till sorrow's self have lost her tearful power. Thine is the fairy-land where shadows dwell, evoked in dreams by some strange hidden spell. But day and waking have their dreams, O sleep, when hope and memory their fond watches keep, and such o'er Mary held supremus sway, when kindly labours tasked her hands all day. Employed her hands, her thoughts roamed far and free, till sense called down to calm reality. A few short weeks, and then unbound the chains which held her to another's woes or pains, farewell to dusky streets and shrouded skies, her treasured home should bless her yearning eyes, and farewell as in the days of childish glee each grassy nook and wooded haunt should be. Yet ever, as one sorrow passed away, another called the tender one to stay, and where so late she shared the bright glad mirth, the phantom grief sat cowering at the hearth. So days and weeks passed on, and grew to years, unwept by Mary, save for other's tears. As a fond nurse, that from the mother's breast lulls the tired infant to its quiet rest, first stills each sound, then lets the curtain fall to cast a dim and sleepy light o'er all. So age drew gently o'er each wearied sense, a deepening shade, to smooth the parting hence. Each cherished accent, each familiar tone, fell from her daily music, one by one. Still her attentive looks could rightly guess what moving lips by sound could not express. O'er each loved face next came a filmy veil, and shine and shadow from her sight did fail. And last of all, the solemn change they saw, depriving death of half his regal awe. The minds sank down to childishness, and they, relying on her counsel day by day, as some lone wanderer from his home afar, takes for his guide some fixed and well-known star. So clouds come wafting o'er its trembling lights, and leave him wielded in the pathless night. Sort her changed face with strange uncertain gaze, still praying her to lead them through the maze. They pitted her lone fate, and deemed it sad. Yet, as in early childhood, was she glad. No sense had she of change, or loss of thought, with those around her no communion sought. Scarce knew she of her being. Fancy Wilde had placed her in her father's house a child. It was her mother sang her to her rest, the lark awoke her, springing from his nest. The bees sang cheerily the live-long day, lurking mid-flowers whenever she did play. The Sabbath bells rang, as in years gone by, swelling and falling on the soft winds sigh. Her little sisters knelt with her in prayer, and nightly did her father's blessing share. So wrapped in glad imaginings, her life stole on, with all her sweet young memories rife. I often think, if by this mortal light we air can read another's lot a right, that for her loving heart a blessing came, unseen by many, clouded by a name, and all the outward fading from the world was like the flower at night, when it has furled its golden leaves, and lapped them round its heart, to nestle closer in its sweetest part. Yes, angel voices called her childhood back, blotting out life with its dim, sorrowy track. Her secret wish was ever known in heaven, and so, in mystery, was the answer given. In sadness, many mourned her latter years, but blessings shone behind that mist of tears, and, as the child she deemed herself, she lies in gentle slumber, till the dead shall rise. End of sketches among the poor Number 1 by Elizabeth Gaskell Read by Phil Benson Clopton Hall by Elizabeth Gaskell This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. From William Howitz Visits to Remarkable Places, 1840 Clopton House I wonder if you will know Clopton Hall, about a mile from Stratford on Avon. Will you allow me to tell you of a very happy day I once spent there? I was at school in the neighbourhood, and one of my school fellows was the daughter of a Mr. W, who then lived at Clopton. Mrs. W asked a party of the girls to go and spend a long afternoon, and we set off one beautiful autumn day, full of delight and wonder respecting the place we were going to see. We passed through desolate, half-cultivated fields, till we came within sight of the house, a large, heavy, compact square brick building of that deep, dead red almost approaching to purple. In front was a large formal court, with the massy pillars surmounted with two grim monsters. But the walls of the court were broken down, and the grass grew as rank and wild within the enclosure, as in the raised avenue walk down which we had come. The flowers were tangled with nettles, and it was only as we approached the house that we saw the single yellow rose, and the Austrian briar trained into something like order round the deep-set diamond-pained windows. We trooped into the hall with its tessellated marble floor, hung round with strange portraits of people who had been in their graves, 200 years at least. Yet the colours were so fresh, and in some instances they were so lifelike, that looking merely at the faces, I almost fancied the originals might be sitting in the parlour beyond. More completely to carry us back as it were, to the days of the Civil Wars, there was a sort of military map hung up, well finished with pen and ink, showing the stations of the respective armies, with old-fashioned writing beneath, the names of the principal towns, setting forth the strength of the garrison, etc. In this hall we were met by our kind hostess, and told we might ramble where we liked, in the house or out of the house, taking care to be in the recessed parlour, by tea-time. I preferred to wander up the wide shelving oak staircase, with its massy balustrade, all crumbling and worm-eaten. The family then residing at the hall did not occupy one-half, no, not one-third of the rooms, and the old-fashioned furniture was undisturbed in the greater part of them. In one of the bedrooms, said to be haunted, and which, with its closed pent-up atmosphere and the long shadows of evening creeping on, gave me an eerie feeling, hung a portrait so singularly beautiful, a sweet-looking girl with paley gold hair, combed back from her forehead, and falling away in wavy ringlets on her neck, and with eyes that looked like violets filled with dew, for there was the glittering of unshared tears before their deep dark blue. And that was the likeness of Charlotte Clopton, about whom there was so fearful a legend told at Stratford Church. In the time of some epidemic, the sweating sickness or the plague, this young girl had sickened and to all appear and stied. She was buried with fearful haste in the vaults of Clopton Chapel, attached to Stratford Church, but the sickness was not stayed. In a few days another of the Clopton's died, and him they bore to the ancestral vault. But as they descended the gloomy stairs they saw by the torchlight Charlotte Clopton in her grave-clothes, leaning against the wall, and when they looked nearer she was indeed dead, but not before in the agonies of despair and hunger, she had bitten a piece from her white round shoulder. Of course she had walked ever since. This was Charlotte's chamber, and beyond Charlotte's chamber was a state chamber, carpeted with the dust of many years, and darkened by the creepers which had covered up the windows, and even forced themselves in luxuriant daring through the broken panes. Beyond again there was an old Catholic chapel, with the chaplain's room, which had been walled up and forgotten till within the last few years. I went in on my hands and knees, for the entrance was very low. I recollect little in the chapel, but in the chaplain's room were old, and I should think rare, editions of many books, mostly folios. A large yellow paper copy of Dryden's, All for Love or the World Well Lost, dates 1686, caught my eye, and is the only one I particularly remember. Every here and there, as I wondered, I came upon a fresh branch of a staircase, and so numerous were the crooked half-lighted passages that I wondered if I could find my way back again. There was a curious carved old chest in one of these passages, and with girlish curiosity I tried to open it. But the lid was too heavy, till I persuaded one of my companions to help me, and when it was opened, what do you think we saw? Bones! But whether human, whether the remains of the lost bride, we did not stay to see, but ran off in a partly feigned and partly real terror. The last of these deserted rooms that I remember, the last, the most deserted and the saddest, was the nursery. A nursery without children, without singing voices, without merry chiming footsteps. The nursery hung round with its once-inhabitants, bold gallant boys and fair, arch-looking girls, and one or two nurses with round-fat babies in their arms. Who were they all? What was their lot in life? Sunshine or storm? Or had they been loved by the gods and died young? The very echoes knew not. The house in a hollow, now wild, damp and overgrown with elderbushes was a well called Margaret's well, for there had been a maiden of the house of that name drowned herself. I tried to obtain any information I could as to the family of Clopton of Clopton. They had been decaying ever since the Civil Wars, had for a generation or two been unable to live in the old house of their fathers, but had toiled in London or abroad for a livelihood. At the last of the old family, a bachelor, eccentric, miserly, old and of most filthy habits, if report said true, had died at Clopton Hall but a few months before, a sort of border in Mr. W's family. He was buried in the gorgeous chapel of the Clopton's in Stratford Church, where you see the banners waving, in the armour hung over one or two splendid monuments. Mr. W had been the old man's solicitor and completely in his confidence, and to him he left the estate encumbered in bad condition. A year or two afterwards, the heir-at-law, a very distant relation living in Ireland, claimed and obtained his estate on the plea of undue influence, if not of forgery, on Mr. W's part, and the last I heard of our kind entertainers on that day was that they were outlawed and living at Brussels. End of Clopton Hall by Elizabeth Gaskell, read by Phil Benson First published in Howitz Journal of Literature and Popular Progress, June 1847 Era I, Valentine's Day Last November but one, there was a flitting in our neighbourhood, hardly a flitting after all, Pritz was only a single person changing her place of abode from one lodging to another. And instead of a cartload of drawers and baskets, dresses and beds, with old king-clock at the top of all, it was only one large wooden chest to be carried after the girl, who moved slowly and heavily along the streets, listless and depressed, more from the state of her mind than of her body. It was Libby Marsh who had been obliged to quit her room in Dean Street, because the acquaintances whom she had been living with were leaving Manchester. She tried to think herself fortunate in having met with lodgings rather more out of the town, and with those who were known to be respectable. She did indeed try to be contented, but in spite of her reason, the old feeling of desolation came over her, as she was now about to be thrown again entirely among strangers. Court, Albemarle Street, was reached at last, and the pace slow as it was, slackened as she drew near the spot where she was to be left by the man who carried her box. For, trivial as her acquaintance with him was, he was not quite as stranger as everyone else was, peering out of their open doors and satisfying themselves, it was only Dixon's new lodger. Dixon's house was the last on the left-hand side of the court. A high dead brick wall connected it with its opposite neighbour. All the dwellings were of the same monotonous pattern, and one side of the court looked at its exact likeness opposite, as if it were seeing itself in a looking-glass. Dixon's house was shut up, and the key left next door, but the woman in whose charge it was left, knew that Libby was expected, and came forward to say a few explanatory words, to unlock the door, and stir the dull grey ashes that were lazily burning in the grate. And then she returned to her own house, leaving poor Libby, standing alone with the great big chest in the middle of the house-place floor, with no one to say a word. Even a commonplace remark would have been better than this dull silence, that could help her to repel the fast-coming tears. Dixon and his wife and their eldest girl worked in factories, and were absent all day from the house. The youngest child, also a little girl, was boarded out on the weekdays at the neighbours, where the door-key was deposited, but although busy making dirt pies, at the entrance to the court, when Libby came in, she was too young to care much about her parents' new lodger. Libby knew that she was to sleep with the elder girl in the front bedroom, but, as you may fancy, it seemed a liberty even to go upstairs to take off her things, when no one was at home to marshal the way up the ladder-like steps. So she could only take off her bonnet and sit down, and gaze at the now-blazing fire, and think sadly on the paths, and on the lonely creature she was in this wide world. Father and mother gone, her little brother long since dead. He would have been more than nineteen had he been alive, but she only thought of him as the darling baby. Her only friends, to call friends, living far away at their new house. Her employers, kind enough people in their way, but too rapidly twirling round on this bustling earth to have leisure to think of the little work-woman, excepting when they wanted gowns turned, carpets mended, or household linen darned. And hardly even the natural, though hidden hope of a young girl's heart, to cheer her on with the bright visions of a home of her own at some future day, where, loving and beloved, she might fulfil a woman's dearest duties. For Libby was very plain, as she had known so long that the consciousness of it had ceased to mortify her. You can hardly live in Manchester without having some idea of your personal appearance. The factory lads and lassies take good care of that, and if you meet them at the hours when they are pouring out of the mills, you are sure to hear a good number of truths, some of them combined with such a spirit of impudent fun, that you can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the joke against yourself. Libby had often and often been greeted by such questions as, How long is it since you were a beauty? What would you take a day to stand in the fields to scare away the birds, etc., for her to linger under any impression as to her looks? While she was thus musing and quietly crying, under the pictures her fancy had conjured up, the Dixons came dropping in and surprised her with her wet cheeks and quivering lips. She almost wished to have the stillness again that had so oppressed her an hour ago. They talked and laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled about so noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of one iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it upstairs, while his daughter Anne followed to see the unpacking, and what sort of clothes little sewing-body had gotten. Mrs. Dixon rattled out her teethings and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest child, which added to the commotion. Then she called Anne downstairs, and sent her for this thing and that, eggs to put to the cream. It was so thin, ham to give a relish to the bread and butter, some new bread hot if she could get it. Libby heard all these orders, given at full pitch, of Mrs. Dixon's voice, and wondered at their extravagance, so different from the habits of the place where she had last lodged. But they were fine spinners in the receipts of good wages, and confined all day in an atmosphere ranging from 75 to 80 degrees. They had lost all natural healthy appetites for simple food, and having no higher tastes found their greatest enjoyment in their luxurious meals. When tea was ready Libby was called downstairs with a rough but hearty invitation to share their meal. She sat mutely at the corner of the tea table while they went on with their own conversation about people and things she knew nothing about. Till at length she ventured to ask for a candle to go and finish her unpacking before bedtime, as she had to go out sewing for several succeeding days. But once in the comparative piece of her bedroom, her energy failed her, as she contented herself with locking her Noah's Ark of a chest, and put out her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze out at the bright heavens. Forever and ever the blue sky that bends over all sheds down a feeling of sympathy with the sorrowful at the solemn hours when the ceaseless stars are seen to pace its depths. By and by her eye fell down to gazing at the corresponding window to her own on the opposite side of the court. It was lighted, but the blind was drawn down. Upon the blind she saw, first unconsciously, the constant weary motion of a little spectral shadow, a child's hand and arm, no more, long thin fingers hanging down from the wrist, while the arm moved up and down as if keeping time to the heavy pulses of dull pain. She could not help hoping that sleep would soon come to still that incessant feeble motion, and now and then it did cease, as if the little creature had dropped into a slumber from very weariness. But presently the arm jerked up with the fingers clenched, as if with a sudden start of agony. When Anne came up to bed, Libby was still sitting, watching the shadow, and she directly asked to whom it belonged. It'll be Margaret Hor's lad, last summer when it was so hot, there was no biding with the window shut at night, and theirs was open too, and many's the time he has waked me with his moans. They say he's been better sinkhole where they came. Is he always in bed? What an ails him, asked Libby. Some it's a miss with his backbone, folks say, he's better and worse like. He's a nice little chap enough, and his mother's not that bad either, only my mother and her had words, so now we don't speak. Libby went on watching, and when she next spoke, to ask who and what his mother was, Anne Dixon was fast asleep. Time passed away, and as usual unveiled the hidden things. Libby found out that Margaret Hor was a widow who earned her living as a washerwoman, that the little suffering lad was her only child, her dearly beloved, that while she scolded pretty nearly everybody else, till her name was up in the neighbourhood for a termigant, to him she was evidently most tender and gentle. He lay alone on his little bed near the window through the day, while she was away toiling for a livelihood. But when Libby had planes sowing to do at her lodgings, instead of going out to sow, she used to watch him from her bedroom window, for the time when the shadows opposite, by their mute gestures, told that the mother had returned to bend over her child, to smooth his pillow, to alter his position, to get him his nightly cup of tea, and often in the night Libby could not help rising gently from bed, to see if the little arm was waving up and down, as was his accustomed habit, when sleepless from pain. Libby had a good deal of sowing to do at home that winter, and whenever it was not so cold as to be numb her fingers, she took it upstairs, in order to watch the little lad in her few odd moments of pause. On his better days he could sit up enough to peep out of his window, and she found he liked to look at her. Presently she ventured to nod him across the court, and his faint smile and ready nod back again, showed that this gave him pleasure. I think she would have been encouraged by this smile to have proceeded to a speaking acquaintance, if it had not been for his terrible mother, to whom it seemed to be irritation enough to know that Libby was a lodger at the Dixons, for her to talk at her whenever they encountered each other, and to live evidently in wait for some good opportunity of abuse. With her constant interest in him, Libby soon discovered his great want of an object on which to occupy his thoughts, and which might distract his attention when alone through the long day, from the pain he endured. He was very fond of flowers. It was November when she had first removed to her lodgings, but it had been very mild weather, and a few flowers yet slingered in the gardens, which the country people gathered into nosegays, and brought on market days into Manchester. His mother had brought him a bunch of Michaelmas daisies the very day Libby had become a neighbour, and she watched their history. He put them first in an old teapot, of which the spout was broken off and the lid lost, and he daily replenished the teapot from the jug of water his mother left near him to quench his feverish thirst. By and by one or two of the constellation of lilac stars faded, and then the time he had hitherto spent in admiring, almost caressing them, was devoted to cutting off those flowers whose decay marred the beauty of the nosegay, it took him half the morning with his feeble languid motions and his cumbersome old scissors to trim up his diminished darlings. Then at last he seemed to think that he had better preserved the few that remained by drying them, so they were carefully put between the leaves of the old Bible, and then whenever a better day came when he had strength enough to lift the ponderous book, he used to open the pages to look at his flower friends. In winter he could have had no more living flowers to tend. Libby thought and thought till at last an idea flashed upon her mind that often made a happy smile steal over her face as she stitched away, and that cheered her through the solitary winter, for solitary it continued to be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people, never pressed her for payment, if she had but little work to do that week, never grudged her a share of their extravagant meals, which were far more luxurious than she could have met with anywhere else, for her previously agreed payment in case of working at home. And they would have feigned torture to drink rum in her tea, assuring her that she should have it for nothing and welcome, but they were too touchy, too prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves to take off Libby's feeling of solitariness, not half as much as the little face by day and the shadow by night of him with whom she had never yet exchanged a word. Her idea was this. Her mother came from the east of England, where, as perhaps you know, they have the pretty custom of sending presents on St Valentine's Day with the donor's name unknown, and of course the mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The 14th of February was Libby's birthday, too, and many a year in the happy days of old, had her mother delighted to surprise her with some little gift of which she more than half guessed the giver, although each Valentine's Day the manner of its arrival was varied. Since then the 14th of February had been the dreariest of all the year because the most haunted by memory of departed happiness. But now, this year, if she could not have got the old gladness of heart herself, she would try and brighten the life of another. She would save and she would screw, but she would buy a canary and a cage for that poor little laddie opposite, who wore out his monotonous life with so few pleasures and so much pain. I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the fears of the hopes and the self-sacrifices, or perhaps small in the tangible effect as the widows might, yet not the less marked by the viewless angels who go about continually among us, which varied Libby's life before she accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it was accomplished. The very day before the 14th, she found time to go with her half-guinea to a barbers who lived near Albemarle Street and who was famous for his stock of singing birds. There are enthusiasts about all sorts of things, both good and bad, and many of the weavers in Manchester know and care more about birds than anyone would easily credit. Stubborn, silent, reserved men on many things, you have only to touch on the subject of birds to light up their faces with brightness. They will tell you who won the prizes at the last canary show, where the prize birds may be seen, and give you all the details of those funny but pretty and interesting mimicries of the great people's cattle shows. Among these amateurs, Emmanuel Morris the barber was an oracle. He took Libby into his little back room, used for private shaving of modest men who did not care to be exhibited in the front shop decked out in the full glories of lather and which was hung round with birds in rude wicker cages with the exception of those who had won prizes and were consequently honoured with guilt via prisons. The longer and thinner the body of the bird was, the more admiration it received, as far as external beauty went. And when, in addition to this, the colour was deep and clear and its notes strong and varied, the more did Emmanuel dwell upon his perfections. But these were all prize birds, and, on enquiry, Libby heard, with some little syncing at heart, that their prize ran from one to two guineas. I am not sure whether the prize bird was the one that their prize ran from one to two guineas. I am not so of a particular as to shape and colour, said she. I should like a good singer, that's all. She dropped a little in Emmanuel's estimation. However, he showed her his good singers, but all were above Libby's means. After all, I don't think I care so much about the singing very loud. He's put a noise, after all, and sometimes noise fidgets, folks. There must be an esch, folks, as he's put out with the singing of birds, replied Emmanuel, rather affronted. It's for one who is poorly, said Libby, deprecatingly. Well, said he, as if considering the matter. But that a cranky often took more to them as sure as some love, than to them as he's clever and gifted. That being, you'd rather have this one, opening a cage door and calling to a dull-coloured bird, sitting moped up in a corner. Here, Jupiter, Jupiter. The bird soothed its feathers in an instant, and uttering a little note of delight, flew to Emmanuel, putting his beak to his lips as if kissing him, and then perching on his head. It began a gurgling wobble of pleasure, not by any means so varied or so clear as the song of the others, but which pleased Libby more, for she was always one to find out that she liked the goose-briss that were accessible better than the grapes that were beyond her reach. The price, too, was just right, so she gladly took possession of the cage and hid it under her cloak, preparatory to carrying it home. Emmanuel, meanwhile, was giving her directions as to its food, with all the minuteness of one loving his subjects. Will it soon get to know anyone, as she? Give him two days only, and you and he'll be as thick as him and me are now. You've only to open his door and call him, and he'll follow you round the room, but he'll first kiss you, and then perch on your head. He only wants learning, which I have no time to give him, to do many another accomplishments. What's his name? I did not rightly catch it. Jupiter, it's not common, but the towns will run with bobbies and dickies, and as my birds have thought a bit out of the way, I like to have better names for them, so I just picked a few out of me lad's school books. It's just as ready when you're used to it, to say Jupiter as Dickie. I could bring my tongue round to Peter better. Would he answer to Peter? asked Libby, now on the point of departing. That would he might, but I think he'd come readyer to the three syllables. On Valentine's Day, Jupiter's cage was decked round with ivy leaves, making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work, and to one of them was pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libby's best round hand. From your faithful Valentine, please take notice his name is Peter, and he'll come if you call him after a bit. But little work did Libby do that afternoon. She was so engaged in watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little Valentine, and run away as soon as he left. But little work did Libby do that afternoon. She was so engaged in watching for the messenger who was to bear her present to her little Valentine, and run away as soon as he left. He had delivered up the canary, and explained to whom it was sent. At last he came, and then there was a pause before the woman of the house was at liberty to take it upstairs. Then Libby saw the little face flush up into a bright colour. The feeble hands trembled with delighted eagerness. The head bent down to try and make out the writing. Beyond his power poor lad to read. The rapturous turning round of the cage in order to see the canary in every point of view. Head, tail, wings and feet. An intention in which Jupiter, in his uneasiness at being again among strangers, did not second, for he hopped around so as continually to present a full front to the boy. It was a source of never wearying delight to the little fellow, till daylight closed in. He evidently forgot to wonder who had sent it to him in his gladness at his possession of such a treasure. And when the shadow of his mother darkened on the blind and the bird had been exhibited, Libby saw her do what, with all her tenderness, seemed rarely to have entered into her thoughts. She bent down and kissed her boy in a mother's sympathy with the joy of her child. The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and the window, and when Libby rose once to take her accustomed peep, the little bird, the little bird, the little bird, and once to take her accustomed peep, she saw the little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another thing. So ended the first day in Libby's three eras in last year. Era two, Whitsun tide. The brightest, fullest daylight poured down into number two, Court, Albemarle Street, and the Heat, even at the early hour of five, as at the noontide on the June days of many years past. The Court seemed alive and merry with voices and laughter. The bedroom windows were open wide and had been so all night on account of the Heat and every now and then you might see a head and a pair of shoulders simply encased in shirt sleeves, popped out, and you might hear the inquiry passed from one to the other. Well, Jack, and where are they bound for? Dunham. Why, but to know fashion chap, though, beast, thy grandad of four, he went to Dunham, but thou would always a slow coach. I am off to elderly, me and me missus. Aye, that's because there's only thee and that missus. Wait till thou hast gotten four children like me and thou be glad enough to take him home. I'd still go to elderly, I'd not be bothered with me children, they should keep house at home. A pair of hands, the person to whom they belonged invisible, boxed his ears on this last speech in a very spirited, though playful manner and the neighbours all laughed at the surprised look of the speaker at this assault from an unseen foe. The man who had been holding conversation with him cried out, salved him right, missus later. He knows not about it yet, but when he gets them, he'll be as low to leave the babbies at home on a wits and tide as any on us. We shall live to see him in Dunham Park yet, with twins in his arms and another pair on and clutching at daddy's court-tails, let alone your share of youngsters, missus. At this moment, our friend Libby appeared at her window and missus Slater, who had taken her discomforted husband's place called out. Elizabeth Marsh, Dixon's are not up yet. He said last night he'd take his holiday out in Lyon in bed. I am going to the old-fashioned place, Dunham. They are never going by themselves, moping. No, I am going with Margaret Hall and her lad," replied Libby, hastily withdrawing from the window in order to avoid hearing any remarks on the associates she had chosen for a day of pleasure, the scold of the neighbourhood and her sickly ailing child. There might have been a dove and his ivy leaves and olive branch for the peace he had brought, the happiness he had caused to three individuals at least. For, of course, his could not be longer mystery who had sent little Frank Hall his Valentine, nor could his mother long entertain her hard manner towards one who had given her child a new pleasure. She was shy and she was proud and for some time she struggled against the natural desire of her life. In the evening, when Libby was returning home with a bundle of work, half as large as herself, as she dragged herself along through the heated streets, she was overtaken by Margaret Hall. Her burden gently pulled from her and her way home shortened and her weary spirit soothed and cheered by the outpourings of Margaret's heart. For the barrier of reserve once broken down she had much to say, to thank her for days of amusement and the joy of his gratitude to tell of her hopes and fears, the hopes and fears that made up the dates of her life. From that time Libby lost her awe of the termigants in interest for the mother whose awe was ventured in so frail a bark. From this time Libby was a fast friend with both mother and son, planning mitigations for the sorrowful days of the latter as eagerly as poor Margaret's Hall and with far more success. The life had flickered up under the charm and excitement of the last few months. He even seemed strong enough to undertake the journey to Dunham which Libby had arranged as a witsontide treat and for which she and his mother had been hoarding up for several weeks. The canal boat left not mill at six and it was now past five so Libby let herself out very gently and went across to her friends. She knocked at the door of the lodging room and without waiting for an answer entered. Frankie's face was flushed and he was trembling with excitement partly with pleasure but partly with some eager wish not yet granted. He once saw to take Peter with him said his mother to Libby as if referring the matter to her. The boy looked imploringly at her. He would like it I know for one thing he'd miss me sadly and cheer up for me all day long I could not be half so happy of thinking on him left alone here by himself then Libby he's just like a Christian so fond of flowers and green leaves and them sort of things he cheer ups to me so when mother brings me up any with the wall flowers to put round his cage he would talk if he could you know but I can tell what he means quite as one as if he spoke do let Peter go Libby now Libby had overcome the great difficulty of conveying Frankie to the boat by offering to slay for a coach and the shouts and exclamations of the neighbors told them that their conveyance awaited them at the bottom of the court his mother carried Frankie light in weight though heavy in helplessness and he would hold the cage believing that he was thus redeeming his pledge that Peter should be a trouble to no one complaining their dinner as a support in the corner of the coach the neighbors came out with many blunt speeches and more kindly wishes and one or two of them would have relieved Margaret of her burden if she would have allowed it the presence of that little crippled fellow seemed to obliterate all the angry feelings which had existed between his mother and her neighbors and which had formed the politics of that little court for many a day and now they were fairly off and attempted endurance of the pain the motion caused him he winced and shrank until they were fairly unacademy thoroughfare when he closed his eyes and seemed desirous of a few minutes rest Libby fell very shy and very much afraid of being seen by her employers set up in a coach and so she hid herself in a corner and made herself as small as possible while Mrs Hall had exactly the opposite feeling stretching out of the window and nodding to pretty nearly everyone they met or passed on the footpaths and they were not a few for the streets were quite gay even at that early hour with parties going to this or that railway station or to the boats which crowded the canals on this bright holiday week and almost everyone they met seemed to enter into Mrs Hall's exhilaration of feeling and had a smile or nod in return at last she plumped down by Libby and exclaimed and ever was in a coach but once of four and that was when I was going to be married it's like heaven and all done over with such beautiful gimp too continued she admiring the lining of the vehicle Jupiter did not enjoy it so much as if the holiday time the lovely weather and the sweet hour of prime had a genial influence without a doubt they have everybody's heart seemed softened towards poor Frankie the driver lifted him out with a tenderness of strength and bore him carefully down to the boats the people then made way and gave him the best seat in their power or rather I should call it a couch for they saw he was weary and insisted on his lying down an attitude he would have been ashamed to assume without the protection of his mother and Libby who now appeared bearing their baskets and carrying Peter away the boats went to make room for others for every conveyance both by land and water is in requisition in Whitsom week to give the hard worked crowds the opportunity of enjoying the charms of the country even every standing place in the canal packets was occupied and as they glided along the banks were lined with people who seemed to find its objects packed close and full with happy beings brimming with anticipations of a day's pleasure the country through which they passed is as uninteresting as can well be imagined but still it is the country and the screams of delight from the children and the low laughs of pleasure from the parents at every blossoming tree that trailed its wreath against some cottage wall or at the tufts of late prim roses which lingered in the cool depths of grass along the canal banks the thorough relish of everything as if dreading to let the least circumstance of this happy day pass over without its due appreciation made the time all too short although it took two hours to arrive at a place only eight miles from Manchester Eva Frankie with all his impatience to see Dunham Woods which I think he confused with London believing both to be paved with gold enjoyed the easy motion of the boat so much floating along while pictures moved before him that he regretted when the time came for landing among the soft green meadows that came sloping down to the dancing waters brim his fellow passengers carried him to the park and refused all payments although his mother had laid by sixpence on purpose as a recompense for this service oh Libby how beautiful oh mother mother is the whole world out of Manchester as beautiful as this I did not know trees were like this such green homes for birds Lou Peter would you not like to be there up among those boughs but I can't let you go you know because you're my little bird brother and I should be quite lost without you they spread a shawl upon the fine mossy turf at the root of a beech tree which made a sort of natural couch and there they laid him and bade him rest in spite of the delight which made him believe himself capable of any exertion where he lay always holding Jupiter's cage and often talking to him as to a play fellow he was on the verge of a green area shut in by magnificent trees in all the glory of their early foliage before the summer heat had deepened their verge into one rich monotonous tint and hither came party after party old men and maidens young men and children whose families trooped along after the guiding fathers who bore the youngest in their arms or astride upon their backs while they turned round occasionally to the wives with whom they shared some fond local remembrance for years has Dunham Park been the favourite resort of the Manchester work people for more years than I can tell probably ever since the Duke of Wales opened out the system of cheap travelling its scenery too which presents such a complete contrast to the whirl and turmoil of Manchester so thoroughly woodland with its ancestral trees here and there lightning blanched its vergerous walls its grassy walks leading far away into some glade where you start at the rabbits rustling among the last years fern and where the wood pigeons call seems the only fitting of the country depend upon it this complete silvery pose this accessible quiet this lapping the soul in green images of the country forms the most complete contrast to a townsperson and consequently has over such the greatest power to charm presently Libby found out she was very hungry now they were but provided with dinner which was of course to be eaten as near 12 o'clock as might be a working man near to tell her what o'clock it was near said he and near looking o'clock o' watch today and not spoil me pleasure by finding out how fast it's going away if they were hungry eat I made my own dinner hour and I've eaten mine an hour ago so they had their veal pies and then found out it was only about half past 10 o'clock by so many pleasurable events had that morning been marked such was their buoyancy of spirits that they only enjoyed their mistake and joined in the general laugh against the man who had eaten his dinner somewhere about nine he laughed most heartily of all till suddenly stopping he said I must not go on at this rate laughing gives one such an appetite oh if that's all said a merry looking man lying at full length and brushing the fresh scent out of the grass while two or three little children crept about him as kittens or puppies frolic with their parents if that's all we'll have a subscription of eatables for them in provident folk as have eaten their dinner for their breakfast here's a sausage pasty an arm full of nuts for my share ring round a hat Bob and see what the company will give Bob carried out the joke much to little Frankie's amusement and no one was so churlish as to refuse although the contributions were revealed by an a sausage pasty it's a thriving trade said Bob as he emptied his hat full of provisions on the grass by Libby's side besides it's tipped up too to live on the public what is that the laughter in the chat was suddenly hushed and mothers told their little ones to listen as far away in the distance now sinking and falling now swelling and clear came a ringing peel of children's voices and they all gathered together in one of those Sam tunes which we are all of us familiar with and which bring to mind the old old days when we as wondering children were first led to worship our father by those beloved ones who have since gone to the more perfect worship holy was that distant choral praise even to the most thoughtless and when it in fact was ended in the instant pause during which the ear awaits the repetition of the air they caught the noontide hum and buzz of the myriads of insects who danced away their lives in the glorious day they heard the swaying of the mighty woods in the soft but resistless breeze and then again once more burst forth the merry jests and the shouts of childhood and again the elder ones resumed their happy talk as they lay or sat under the greenwood tree fresh parties came dropping in some laden with wild flowers almost with branches of hawthorn indeed while one or two had made prizes of the earliest dog roses and had cast away campion, stitchwart, ragged robin all to keep the lady of their hedges from being obscured or hidden by the community one after another drew near to Frankie and looked on with interest as he lay sorting the flowers given to him with their household bands around them in health and comeliness and felt the sad prophecy of those shriveled limbs those wasted fingers those lamp-like eyes with their bright dark luster his mother was too eagerly watching his happiness to read the meaning of those grave looks but Libby saw them and understood them and a chill shudder went through her even on that day as she thought on the future a start they did give with their terrible slap on Libby's back as she sat idly grouping flowers and following out her sorrowful thoughts it was the Dixons instead of keeping their holiday by lying in bed they and their children had roused themselves and had come by the omnibus to the nearest point for an instant the meeting was an awkward one on account of the feud between Margaret Hall and Mrs. Dixon but there was no long resisting of kindly mother nature's soothing at that holiday time and in that lonely tranquil spot or if they could have been unheeded the sight of Frankie would have awed every angry feeling into rest so changed was he since the Dixons had last seen him and since he had been the puk or the Robin Goodfellow of the neighbourhood whose marbles were always rolling under other people's feet whose top strings were always hanging in nooses to catch the unwary yes he the feeble, mild almost girlish looking lad had once been a merry happy rogue and as such often cuffed by Mrs. Dixon the very Mrs. Dixon who now stood gazing with the tears in her eyes could she, in sight of him the changed, the fading keep up a quarrel with his mother how long has there been here as Dixon well he on for all day answered Libby as never been to see the deer the king and queen awoks Lord how stupid his wife pinched his arm to remind him of Frankie's helpless condition which of course tethered the otherwise willing feet but Dixon had a remedy he called Bob and one or two others and each taking a corner of the strong plaid shawl they slung Frankie as in a hammock and merrily along down the wood paths over the smooth grassy turf while the glimmering shine and shadow fell on his upturned face the women walked behind talking, loitering along always in sight of the hammock now picking up some green treasure from the ground now catching at the low hanging branches of the horse chestnut the soul grew much on this day and in these woods and all unconsciously they followed Frankie's hammock bear as up a grassy knoll on the top of which stood a group of pine trees whose stems look like dark red gold in the sunbeams they had taken Frankie there to show him Manchester far away in the blue plain against which the woodland foreground cut with a soft clear line far far away in the distance on that flat plain you might see the motionless cloud of smoke hanging over a great town and that was Manchester ugly smoky Manchester dear busy earnest noble working Manchester where their children had been born and where perhaps some lay buried where their homes were and where God had cast their lives and told them to work out their destiny hurrah for I would smoke Jack cried Bob putting Frankie softly down on the grass before he whirled his hat round preparatory to a shout from all the men there's the rim of my hat lying like a quartz yonder observed Bob quietly as he replaced his brimless hat on his head with the gravity of a judge here's the Sunday school children are coming to sit on this shady side and have their buns and milk they sing in the infant school grace they sat close at hand so that Frankie could hear the words they sang in rings of children their gay summer prince newly dawned for that week garlands of little faces all happy and bright upon that green hillside one little dot of a girl came shyly behind Frankie whom she had long been watching and threw her half bun at his side and then ran away and hid herself in very shame at the boldness of her own sweet impulse she kept peeping from her screen at Frankie all the time and he meanwhile was almost too pleased and happy to eat the world was so beautiful and the men, women and children all so tender and kind so softened in fact by the beauty of this earth so unconsciously touched by the spirit of love which was the creator of this lovely earth but the day drew to an end the heat declined the birds once more began their warblings the fresh scents again hung about plants and tree and grass betokening the fragrance presence of the reviving dew and the boat time was near as they trod the meadow-path once more they were joined by many a party they had encountered during the day all abounding in happiness all full of the day's adventures long cherished quarrels had been forgotten new friendships formed fresh tastes and higher delights had been imparted that day we have all of us our Luke now and then called up by some noble or loving thought our highest on earth which will be our likeness in heaven I can catch the glance on many a face the glancing light of the cloud of glory from heaven which is our home that Luke was present on many a hard worked wrinkled countenance as they turned backwards to catch a longing lingering Luke at Dunham Woods fast deepening into blackness of night but whose memory was to haunt ingreeness and freshness many a loom and workshop and factory with images of peace and beauty that night as Libby lay awake revolving the incidents of the day she caught Frankie's voice through the open windows instead of the frequent moan of pain he was trying to recall the burden of one of the children's hymns here we suffer grief and pain here we meet to part again in heaven we part no more oh that will be joyful etc she recalled his question the whispered question to her in the happiest part of the day he asked Libby is Dunham like heaven the people here are kind as angels and I don't want heaven to be more beautiful than this place if you and mother would but die with me I should like to die and live always there she had checked him but she feared he was impious but now the young child's craving for some definite idea of the land to which his inner wisdom told him he was hastening had nothing in it wrong or even sorrowful for in heaven we part no more era three Mikkelmus the church clocks had struck three the crowds of gentlemen after their early dinners had disappeared within offices and warehouses the streets were clear and quiet and ladies were venturing to Sally Forth for their afternoon shoppings and their afternoon calls slowly slowly along the streets elbowed by life at every turn a little funeral wound its quiet way four men bore along a child's coffin two women with bowed heads followed meekly I need not tell you whose coffin it was or who were those two mourners all was now over with little Frank Hall his romps his games his sickening his suffering his death all was now over but the resurrection and the life his mother walked as in a stupor could it be that he was dead if he had been less of an object of her thoughts less of a motive for her labours she could sooner have realised it as it was she followed his poor cast off worn out body as if she were born along by some oppressive dream if he were really dead how could she be still alive Libby's mind was far less stunned and consequently far more active than Margaret Hall's visions as in a phantasmagoria came rapidly passing before her recollections of the time which seemed now so long ago when the shadow of the feebly waving arm first caught her attention of the bright strangely isolated day at Dunham Park where the world had seemed so full of enjoyment and beauty and life of the long continued heat through which poor Frankie had panted away his strength in the little close room where there was no escaping the hot rays of the afternoon sun of the long nights when his mother had watched by his side as he moaned continually whether awake or asleep of the fevered moaning slumber of exhaustion of the pitiful little self up braiding for his own impatience of suffering only impatience in his own eyes most true and holy patience in the sight of others and then the fading away of life the loss of power the increased unconsciousness the lovely look of angelic peace which followed the dark shadow on the countenance where was he what was he now and so they laid him in his grave and heard the solemn funeral words but far off in the distance as if not addressed to them Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last glance she had not spoken nor sobbed nor done ought but shiver now and then since the morning now her weight bore more heavily on Libby's arm and without sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the piled up gravel they helped Libby to bring her round but long after her half opened eyes and altered breathing showed that her senses were restored she lay speechless and emotionless without attempting to rise from her strange bed as if the earth contained a compelling exertion at last Libby and she left that wholly consecrated spot and bent their steps back to the only place more consecrated still where he had rendered up his spirit and where memories of him haunted each common rude piece of furniture that their eyes fell upon as the woman of the house opened the door she pulled Libby on one side and said and Dixon has been across to see you from up go now replied Libby as she pushed hastily along in order to enter the room his room at the same time with the childless mother for as she had anticipated the sight of that empty spot the glance at the uncurt and opened window letting in the fresh air and the broad rejoicing light of day where all had so long been darkened and subdued unlocked the waters of the fountain and the woman uttered oh dear Mrs. Hall said Libby herself drenched in tears do not take it on so badly I'm sure it would grieve him sore if he were alive and you know he is Bible tells us so and maybe he's here watching how we go on without him and hoping we don't fret over much Mrs. Hall's sobs grew worse and more hysterical oh listen she's running against her own increasing agitation listen there's Peter chirping as he always does when he's put about frightened lack and you know he that's gone could never abide to hear the canary chirp in that shrill way Margaret Hall did check herself and curb her expressions of agony in order not to frighten the little creature he had loved and as her outward grief subsided Libby took up the large old Bible for failing comfort of the 14th chapter of St. John's Gospel how often these large family Bibles do open at that chapter as if unused in more joyous and prosperous times the soul went home to its words of loving sympathy when weary and sorrowful just as the little child seeks the tender comfort of its mother in all its griefs and cares and Margaret's put back her wet ruffled grey hair with a stained woeful face and listened with such earnest eyes trying to form some idea of the father's house where her boy had gone to dwell they were interrupted by a low tap at the door Libby went and Dixon has watched you home and wants to have a word with you said the woman of the house in a whisper Libby went back and closed the book with a word of explanation to Margaret's Hall and then ran downstairs to see her oh Libby she burst out with and then checking herself with the remembrance of Libby's last solemn duty house Margaret's Hall but of course poor thing she'll fret a bit at first she'll be some time coming round mother says seeing it's as well that poor lad is taken read always have been a cripple and a trouble to her he was a fine lad once too she'd come full of another weeping face and the quiet subdued tone of her manner made her feel it awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which filled up her companion's mind to her last speech Libby answered sorrowfully no doubt Anne it's ordered for the best but oh don't call him don't think he could ever have been a trouble to his mother though he were a cripple she loved him all the more for each thing she had to do for him Libby cried a little behind her apron Anne dicks and felt still more awkward in introducing the discordant subject well flesh is grass Bible says and having fulfilled the etiquette of quoting a text if possible if not of making a moral observation on the fleeting nature of earthly things she thought she was at liberty to pass on to her real errand you must not go on moping yourself Libby Marsh I wanted special for to see you this afternoon with to tell you you must come to my wedding tomorrow Nanny Dawson has fallen sick and there's none as I should like to have bridesmaid in a place as well as you tomorrow oh I cannot indeed I cannot why not Libby did not answer and Anne dicks and grew impatient surely in the name of goodness you're never going to balk yourself of a day's pleasure for the sake of one little cripple that's dead and gone no it's not balking myself of don't be angry Anne dicks and with him please but I don't think it would be a pleasure to me I don't feel as if I could enjoy it thank you all the same but I did love that little lad very daily I did sobbing a little and I can't forget him and marry so soon well I never exclaimed Anne almost angrily indeed Anne and you and Bob have my best wishes that's what you have but even if I went I should be thinking all day of him and of his poor poor mother and as they say it's bad to think very much on them that's dead at a wedding nonsense said Anne I'll take the risk of the ill look after all what is marrying just a spree Bob says he often says he does not think I shall make him a good wife he says he'd rather be uneasy with me than easy with anybody else there's love for you and I tell him I'd rather have him tipsy than anyone else sober oh Anne dicks and push you don't know yet what it is to have a drunken husband I've seen something of it father used to get fuddled and in the long run it killed mother let alone God above only knows what the wife of a drunken man has to bear don't tell her voice but father killed our little baby in one of his bouts mother never looked up again no father either for that matter all he is was in a different way mother will have gotten to little jemmy now and they'll be so happy together perhaps Frankie too oh said she recovering herself from her train of thought never say out lightly of the wife's lot whose husband is given to drink dear Frankie you're as born and old made as I ever saw you'll never be married to either drunken or sober Libby's face went rather red but without losing its meek expression I know that as well as you can tell me a more reason therefore as God has seen fit to keep me out of woman's natural work I should try and find work for myself I mean seeing Anne Dixon's puzzled look that says I know I'm never likely to have a home on my own or straight or children to watch over or care for or which I take to be woman's natural work I must not lose time in fretting and fidgeting after marriage but just look about me for somewhat else to do I can see many a woman misses it in this they will hanker after what is there likely to be theirs instead of facing it out and settling down to be all made and as all made just looking round for the odd jobs God leaves in the world there's plenty of ways to do there's plenty of such work and there's the blessing of God on them as does it Libby was almost out of breath at this outpouring of what had long been in her inner thoughts that's all very true I make no doubt for them as is to be all made but as I'm not please God tomorrow comes you might have spared your breath to cool your porridge but I want to know it are you working and watching and slaving yourself for that poor Frankie all? it was one of my odd jobs said Libby smiling though her eyes were brimming over with tears but dear Anne said she recovering herself I could not do it tomorrow indeed I could not and I can't wait said Anne Dixon Bob and I put it off from today because of the funeral and mother says the goose won't keep beyond tomorrow do come father finds eatables and Bob finds drink and we shall be so jolly and after we've been to church with a walk round the town in pairs white satin ribbon in our bonnets and refreshments as any public house we like Bob says and after dinner there's to be a dance don't be a fool you can do no good by staying yes she must go to Mrs. Wilkinsons and for that matter I must go working too Mrs. Williams has been after me to make her girls winter things ready only I could not leave Frankie he clung so to me then you won't be bridesmaid is that your last word it is you must not be angry with me Anne Dixon said Libby deprecatingly but Anne was gone without a reply with a heavy heart in her face for she felt how ungracious her refusal of Anne's kindness must appear to one who understood so little the feelings which rendered her acceptance of it a moral impossibility on opening the door she saw Margaret Hall with the Bible open on the table before her for she had puzzled out the place where Libby was reading and with her finger under the line was spelling out the words a formality of comprehension with which a child first learns to read so Libby took the stool by her side before she was aware that anyone had entered the room what did she want you for asked Margaret but I can guess she wanted you to be at the wedding that is to come off this week they say I, they'll marry and laugh and dance all as one as if my boy was alive said she bitterly try and be thankful for what you've done for him and not wonder at you forgetting him before he's well settled in his grave I never can forget him and I'm not going to the wedding said Libby quietly for she understood the mother's jealousy of her dead child's claims I must go work at Mrs. Williams tomorrow she said in explanation for she was unwilling to boast of her tender fond regret which had been her principal motive for pushing just as if nothing had happened sighed forth Mrs. Hall and I moon come home at night and find his place empty and all still where I used to be sure of hearing his voice there I ever got up the stair no one will ever call me mother again she fell crying pitifully and Libby could not speak for her own emotion for some time but during this silence she put the keystone in the arch of thought and when Margaret's was again calming her sorrow Libby said Mrs. Hall I should like would you like me to come for to Libby all together Margaret Hall looked up with a sudden light in her countenance which encouraged Libby to go on I could sleep with you and pay half you know and we should be together in the evenings and her as was home first would watch for the other she was going on but Mrs. Hall interrupted her oh Libby Marsh and can you really think you're coming to live with me I should like it above but no it must not be you have no notion on what a creature I am at times more like a mad one when I'm in a rage and I cannot keep it down I seem to get out of bed wrong side in the morning and I must have my passion out with the first person I meet why Libby the doleful look of agony on her face I even used to fly out on him poor sick lad as he was you may judge how little you can keep it down for that nor you must not come I must live alone now sinking her voice into the low tones of despair but Libby's resolution was brave and strong I am not afraid said she smiling I know you better than you know yourself Mrs. Hall I've seen you try of late to keep it down when you've been boiling over and I think you'll go on a doing so at any rate when you've had your fit out you're very kind and I can forget if you've been a bit put out but I'll try not to put you out do let me come I think he would like us to keep together I'll do me very best to make you comfortable it's me it's me as we'll be making your life miserable with me temper or else God knows how my heart clings to you you and me as folk alone in the world for we both loved one who is dead and who had none else to love him if you will live with me Libby I'll try as I never did afford to be gentle and quiet tempered or will you try me Libby Marsh so out of the little grave there sprang a hope and a resolution which made life an object to each of the two when Elizabeth Marsh returned home the next evening from her day's labours Anne, Dickson no longer crossed over all in a bridal finery to endeavour to induce her to join the dance going on in her father's house Dear Anne this is good are you thinking of me tonight said Libby kissing her although I cannot come I promised Mrs Hall to be with her I shall think on you little needle case out out for you stay here it is I wish it were more only only I know what you've been spending all your money in nice things for poor Frankie though it's a real good on Libby and I'll keep your needle booked to me dying day that I will seeing Anne in such a friendly mood emboldened Libby to tell her of her change in place of her intention of lodging hence forward with Margaret Hall thou never will why, father and mother are as fond of thee as can be they'll lower their rent if that's what it is and at most they never grudge the abit or drop and Margaret Hall of all folk to lodge with she's such a tartar sooner than not have a quarrel she'd fight right and against left they'll have no peace of their life what on earth can make you think of such a thing Libby Marsh she'll be so lonely without me I'm sure I could make her happier even if she did scold me a bit now and then then she'd be a living alone and I'm not afraid of her and I mean to do me best not to vex her and it will ease her heart maybe to talk to me at times about Frankie I shall often see your father and mother and I shall always thank them for their kindness to me but they have you and little Mary and poor Mrs Hall has no one Anne could only repeat well I never and hurry off to tell the news at home but Libby was right Margaret Hall is a different woman to the scold of the neighborhood she once was touched and softened by the two purifying angels sorrow and love and it is beautiful to see her affection her reverence for Libby Marsh her dead mother could hardly have cared for her more tenderly than does the hard hearted washerwoman not long ago so fierce and unwomanly Libby herself has such peace shining on her countenance as almost makes it beautiful as she tenders the services of a daughter to Frankie's mother no longer the desolate lonely orphan a stranger on the earth do you ever read the moral concluding sentence of a story I never do but I once in the year 1811 I think heard of a deaf old lady living by herself who did and as she may have left some descendants with the same amiable peculiarity I will put in for their benefit what I believe to be the secret of Libby's peace of mind the real reason why she no longer feels oppressed at her own loneliness in the world she has a purpose in life and that purpose is a holy one end of Libby Marsh's three eras by Elizabeth Gaskell read by Phil Benson the sexton's hero by Elizabeth Gaskell this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org first published in How It's Journal September 1847 the afternoon sun shed down his glorious rays on the grassy churchyard making the shadow cast by the old yew tree under which we sat deeper by contrast the everlasting hum of myriads of summer insects made luxurious lullaby of the view that lay beneath our gaze I cannot speak adequately the foreground was the grey stone wall of the vicarage garden rich in the colouring made by the innumerable lichens ferns ivy of most tender green and most delicate tracery and the vivid scarlet of the cranesbill which found a home in every nook and crevice and at the summit of that old wall flaunted some unpruned tendrils of the vine and long flower-laden branches of the climbing rose tree trained against the inner side beyond lay meadow green and mountain grey and the blue dazzle of Morkham Bay as it sparkled between us and the more distant view for a while we were silent living in sight and murmuring sound then Jeremy took up our conversation where suddenly feeling weariness as we saw that deep green shadowy resting place we had ceased speaking a quarter of an hour before it is one of the luxuries of holiday time that thoughts are not rudely shaken from us by outward violence of hurry and busy impatience but fall maturely from our lips in the sunny leisure of our days the stalk may be bad but the fruit is ripe how would you then define a hero I asked there was a long pause and I had almost forgotten my question in watching a cloud shadow floating over the far away hills when Jeremy made answer my idea of a hero is one who acts up to the highest idea of duty he has been able to form no matter at what sacrifice I think that by this definition we may include all phases of character even to the heroes of old whose soul and to us low idea of duty consisted in personal prowess then you would even admit to the military heroes I would with a certain kind of pity for the circumstances which had given them no higher ideas of duty still if they sacrifice self to do what they sincerely believe to be right I do not think I could deny them the title of hero a poor un-christian heroism whose manifestation consists in injury to others I said we were both startled by a third voice if I might make some bold, sir and then the speaker stopped it was the sexton whom when we first arrived we had noticed as an accessory to the scene but whom we had forgotten as much as though he was as inanimate as one of the most covered headstones if I might be some bold said he again waiting leave to speak Jeremy bowed in deference to his white uncovered head and so encouraged he went on what that gentleman alluding to my last speech has just now said brings to my mind one who is dead and gone this many a year ago I maybe have not rightly understood your meaning gentlemen but as far as I could gather it I think you'd both have given into thinking poor Gilbert Dawson a hero at any rate said heaving a long quivering sigh I have reason to think him so you take his seat sir and tell us about him said Jeremy standing up until the old man was seated I confess I felt impatient at the interruption it will be forty five year come Martin mass said the sexton sitting down on a grassy mound at our feet since I finished my apprenticeship and settled down at Lindell you can see Lindell sir at evenings and mornings across the bay a little to the right of Grange before my sights grew so dark and I spent many a quarter of an hour gazing at it far away thinking of the days I lived there till the tears came so thick to my eyes I could gaze no longer I shall never look upon it again either far off or near but you may see it both ways and a terrible bonny spot it is in my young days when I went to settle there it was full of as wild a set of young fellows as ever were clapped eyes on all for fighting, poaching, quarrelling and such like work I was startled myself when I first found what a set I were among but soon I began to fall into their ways and I ended by being as rough a chap as any on them I'd been there a matter of two year and were reckoned by most the cock of the village when Gilbert Dawson as I was speaking of came to Lindell he were about as strapping a chap as I was I used to be six feet high so I saw shrunk and doubled up and as we were like in the same trade both used to prepare osiers and wood for the Liverpool Coopers who get a good deal of stuff and the cops is round the bay sir we were thrown together and took mightily to each other I put my best leg foremost to be equal with Gilbert Fred had some schooling though since I'd been at Lindell I'd lost a good part of what I'd learnt and I kept my rough ways out of sight for a time when I didn't last long I began to think he fancied a girl I dearly loved but who had always held off from me eh, but she was a pretty one in those days I was none like her now I think I see her going along the road with a dancing tread and shaking back her long yellow curls to give me or any other young fellow a saucy word no wonder Gilbert was taken with her for all he was grave and she so merry and light but I began to think she liked him again and then my blood was all a fire I got to hate him for everything he did the four time I had stood by admiring to see him how he leapt and what a quiter and cricketer he was and now I ground my teeth with hatred when here he did a thing which caught let his eye I could read it in a look that she liked him for all she held herself just as high with him as with all the rest Lord God forgive me how I hated that man he spoke as if the hatred were a thing of yesterday so clear within his memory was shown the actions and feelings of his youth and then he dropped his voice and said well I began to look out to pick a quarrel with him for my blood was up to fight him if I beat him and I were a rare boxer in those days I thought Letty would cool towards him so one evening at Quoiz I'm sure I don't know how or why but large doings grow out of small words I fell out with him and challenged him to fight I could see he were very wrothed by his colour coming and going and as I said before he were a fine active young fellow but all at once he drew in and said he would not fight such a yell as the lindle lads who were watching us set up I hear it yet I couldn't help but feel sorry for him to be so scorned and I thought he'd not rightly taken my meaning and I'd give him another chance so I said it again and dared him as plain as words could speak to fight out the quarrel he told me then he had no quarrel against me that he might have said something to put me up he did not know that he had but as if he had he asked pardon but that he would not fight know how I was so full of scorn at his cowardliness that I was vexed at giving him the second chance and I joined in the yell that was set up twice as bad as before he stood it out his teeth set and looked him very white and when we were silent for once of breath he said out loud but in a hoarse voice quite different from his own I cannot fight because I think it's wrong to quarrel and use violence then he turned to go away I was so beside myself with scorn and hate that I called out tell truth lad at least I said it mother's mop it is afraid of a black eye pretty dear it shan't it to be hurt but it might not tell lies well they laughed but I could not laugh it seems such a thing for a stout young chap to be a coward and afraid before the sun had set it was taught all over lindle how I had challenged Gilbert to fight and how he denied me the folk stood at their doors and looked at him going up the hill to his home as if he had been a monkey or a foreigner but no one wished him good-een such a thing as refusing to fight had never been heard of before at lindle next day however they had found voice the men muttered the word coward in his hearing and kept aloof the women tittered as he passed and the little impudent lads and lasses shouted out how long is it in that turn quicker goodbye jonathan braw brim and such like jests that evening I met him with letty by his side coming up from the shore she was almost crying as I came upon them at the turn of the lane and looking up in his face as if begging him something and so she was she told me it's after but she did really like him and could not abide to hear him scorned by everyone for being a coward and she, coy as she was all but told him that very night that she loved him and begged him not to disgrace himself but fight me as I dared him to do and she could not for that it was wrong she was so vexed and mad like at the way she'd spoken and the feeling she'd let out to coax him that she said more stinging things about his being a coward than all the rest put together according to what she told me sir afterwards and ended by saying she'd never speak to him again as long as she lived she did once again though her blessing was the last human speech that reached his ear but much happened before that time from the day I met them walking let he turn towards me I could see a part of it was despite Gilbert for she'd be twice as kind when he was near or likely to hear of it but by and by she got to like me for my own sake and it was all settled for our marriage Gilbert kept aloof from everyone and fell into a sad careless way his very gait was changed his step used to be brisk and sounding now his foot lingered heavily on the ground I used to try and daunt him with my eye but he would always meet my Luke in a steady quiet way for all so much about him was altered the lads would not play with him and as soon as he found he was to be slighted by them whenever he came to coiting or cricket he just left off coming the old Clark was the only one he kept company with or perhaps rightly to speak the only one who would keep company with him at last the old Jonas would say Gilbert had gospel on his side and did no more than gospel told him to do but we none of us gave much credit to what he said more by token our vicar had a brother a colonel in the army and as we threeped it many a time to Jonas would he set himself up to know the gospel better than the vicar that would be put in the carter for the horse like the French radicals and if the vicar had thought quarrelling and fighting wicked in the bible would he have made so much work about all the victories that was plenty as blackbrizz at that time a day and kept the little bell of lindle church forever ringing or would he have thought so much of my brother the colonel as he was always talking on after I was married to Letty I left off hating Gilbert I even kind of pitted him he was so scorned and slighted and for all he'd a bold look about him as if he were not ashamed he seemed pining and shrunk it's a wearying thing to be kept at arm's length by one's kind and so Gilbert found its poor fellow the little children took to him though they'd be round him like a swarm of bees them as was too young to know what a coward was and only felt that he was ever ready to love and to help them and was never loud or cross however naughty they might be after a while we had our little one too such a blessed darling she was and dearly did we love her Letty and a special who seemed to get all the thought I used to think sometimes she wanted after she had a baby to care for all my kin lived on this side the bay up above Kellet Jane that's her that lies buried near Yon White Rosetree was to be married and Nought would serve her but that Letty and I must come to the wedding for all my sisters loved Letty and we'd be in the wedding ways with her Letty did not like to leave her baby nor yet did I want her to take it so after a talk we fixed to leave it with Letty's mother for the afternoon I could see her heart ached a bit but she'd never left it till then and she seemed to fear all manner of evil even to the French coming and taking it away well we borrowed a chandry and harnessed me all Grey mare as I used to have carts off as grand as King George across the sands about three o'clock for you see it's were high water about twelve and we'd go and come back same tide as Letty could not leave her baby for very long it's were a merry afternoon with that last time I ever saw Letty laugh heartily and for that matter last time I ever laughed downright hearty myself the latest crossing time fell about nine o'clock and we were late at starting clocks were wrong and with a piece of work chasing a pig father had given Letty to take home we bagged him at last and he screeched and screeched in the back part of the chandry and we laughed and they laughed and in the midst of all the merriment the sun set and that sobered us a bit for then we knew what time it was I whipped the old mare but she was a deal beater than she was in the morning and would neither go quick up nor down the browse and there not a few twix pellets in the shore on the sands it were worse they were very heavy for the fresh had come down after the rains we'd had Lord how I did whip the poor mare to make the most of the red light as yet lasted you baby don't know the sands gentlemen from Boltonside where we started from it is better than six miles to Cart Lane and two channels to cross let alone holes and quick sands at the second channel from us the guideways all during crossing time from sunrise to sunset but for the three hours on each side high water he's not there in course he stays after sunset if he's forespoken not else so now you know where we were that awful night who had crossed the first channel about two mile and it were growing darker and darker above and around us all but one red line of light above the hills when we came to a hollow for all the sands look so flat there's many a hollow in them where you lose all sight of the shore we were longer than we should have been in crossing the hollow the sand was so quick and when we came up again there again the blackness was the white line of the rushing tide coming up the bay it looked not a mile from us and when the wind blows up the bay it comes swifter than a galloping horse Lord help us said hi I was spoken to fright and letty but the words were crushed out of my heart by the terror I felt a shiver up by my side and clutch my coat and as if the pig as a screeched himself horse some time ago that found out the danger we were all in he took to squealing again enough to bewilder any man I cursed in between me teeth for his noise and yet it was God's answer to my prayer blind sinner as I was hi you may smile sir you may work through many a scornful thing if need be by this time the mare were all in a laver and trembling and panting as if in mortal fright for though we were on the last bank before the second channel the water was gathering up her legs and she so tired out when we came close to the channel she stood still and not all my flogging could get at a stir she fairly groaned aloud and shook in a terrible quaking way till now Letty had not spoken only held my coat tightly I heard her say something and bent down my head I think John I think I shall never see baby again and then she sent up such a cry so loud and shrill and pitiful it fairly maddened me I pulled out my knife to spur on the old mare as it might end one way or the other but the water was stealing sullenly up to the very axel tree let alone the white waves that knew no mercy in their steady advance that one quarter of an hour sir seemed as long as all my life since thoughts and fancies and dreams and memories ran into each other the mist, the heavy mist that was like a ghastly curtain shutting us in for death seemed to bring with it the sense of the flowers that grew around our own threshold it might be for it was falling on them like blessed dew but it was a shroud Letty told me at after she heard a baby crying for her above the gurgling of the rising waters as plain as ever she heard anything but the seabirds were scurling and the pigs shrieking I never caught it it was miles away at any rate just as I got my knife out another sound was close upon us blending with the gurgle of the near waters and the roar of the distant not so distant though we could hardly see but we thought we saw something black against the deep lead colour of wave and the mist and sky it's near and near with slow steady motion it came across the channel right to where we were oh god it was Gilbert Dawson on his strong bay horse few words did we speak a little time had we to say them in I had no knowledge at that moment of past or future only of one present thought I had no knowledge and if I could myself I only remembered afterwards that Gilbert said he had been guided by an animal's shriek of terror I only heard when all was over that he had been uneasy about our return because of the depth of fresh and a borrowed a pillion and saddled his horse early in the evening and ridden down to Cart Lane to watch for us if all had gone well we should never have heard of it as it was from his withered cheeks we fastened his horse to the chandry we lifted Letty to the pillion the waters rose every instant with sullen sound they were all but in the chandry Letty clung to the pillion handles but drooped her head as if she had yet no hope of life swifter than thought and yet he might have had time for thought and for temptation sir if he had ridden off with Letty he would have been saved Gilbert was in the chandry by my side quick said he clear and firm you must ride before her and keep her up the horse can swim by God's mercy I will follow I can cut the traces and if the mare is not hampered with the chandry she'll carry me safely through at any rate you're a husband and a father no one cares for me do not hate me gentlemen I wanted my sleep ever since like a dream and yet it was no dream I took his place on the saddle and put Letty's arms around me and felt her head rest on my shoulder I trust in God I spoke some word of thanks but I can't remember I only recollect Letty raising her head and calling out God bless you Gilbert Dawson for saving my baby from being an orphan this night and then she fell against me as if unconscious I bore her through or rather the strong horse swam bravely through the gathering waves we were dripping wet when we reached the banks in shore but we could have but one thought where was Gilbert thick mists and heaving waters compassed us round where was he we shouted Letty faint as she was raised her voice and shouted clear and shrill the sea boomed on with ceaseless sun and beat I rode to the guide's house he was a bed and would not get up though I offered him more than I was worth perhaps he knew it the cursed old villain at any rate I'd have paid it if I'd toiled my life long he said I might take his horn and welcome I did and blew such a blast through the still black night the echoes came back upon the heavy air but no human voice or sound was heard that wild blast could not awaken the dead I took Letty home to her baby over whom she wept the live long night I rode back to the shore about Cart Lane and to and fro with weary march did I pace along the brink of the waters now and then shouting out into the silence of Ayn cry for Gilbert the waters went back and left no trace two days afterwards he was washed ashore near Flukeborough and the landry and poor old mare were found half buried in a heap of sand by our side knot as far as we could guess he had dropped his knife while trying to cut the traces and so had lost all chance of life at any rate the knife was found in a cleft of the shaft his friends came over from Garstang to his funeral I wanted to go chief mourner but it was not my right and I might not though I've never done mourning him to this day when his sister packed up his things I begged hard for something that had been his she would give me none of his clothes she was a right down having woman as she had boys of her own who might grow up into them but she threw me his Bible as she said they'd gotten one already and his were but a poor used up thing it was his and so I cared for it it were a black leather one with pockets at the sides old fashioned wise one were a bunch of wildflowers let he said she could almost be sure were some she had once given him there were many a text in the gospel marked broad with his carpenter's pencil which more than bore him out in his refusal to fight the basurity sir there's call enough for bravery in the service of God and to show love to man without quarrelling and fighting thank you gentlemen for listening to me your words called up the thoughts of him my heart was full to speaking but I must make up after dig a grave for a little child who is to be buried tomorrow morning just when his playmates are trooping off to school but tell us of Letty is she yet alive as Jeremy the old man shook his head and struggled against a choking sigh after a minutes pause he said she died in less than two years after that night she was never like the same again I was thinking on Gilbert I guess but I could not blame her we had a boy and we named it Gilbert Dawson Knype he that stalker on the London Railway our girl was carried off in teething and Letty just quietly drooped and died in less than a six week they were buried here so I came to be near them and away from Lindell a place I could never abide after Letty was gone he turned to his work and he unsuccessfully rose up and came away End of The Sexton's Hero by Elizabeth Gaskill