 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Czech Chris, London, UK. Nicholas Nicolby, by Charles Dickens. Chapter 5 Nicholas starts for Yorkshire, of his leave-taking and his fellow travellers, and what befell them on the road. If tears dropped into a trunk were charms to preserve its owner from sorrow and misfortune, Nicholas Nicolby would have commenced his expedition under most happy auspices. There was so much to be done, and so little time to do it in. So many kind words to be spoken, and such bitter pain in the hearts in which they rose to impede their utterance, that the little preparations for his journey were made mournfully indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his mother and sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas insisted on leaving behind, as they might prove of some after-use, or might be convertible into money, if occasion required. A hundred affectionate contests on such points as these took place on the sad night which preceded his departure. And as the termination of every angolous dispute brought them nearer and nearer to the close of their slight preparations, Kate grew busier and busier, and wept more silently. The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some little delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against the expense of which Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when Nicholas was out. The poor lad nearly choked himself by attempting to partake of it, and almost suffocated himself in effecting a jest or two, and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus they lingered on till the hour of separating for the night was long past, and then they found that they might as well have given vent to their real feelings before, for they could not suppress them, do what they would. So they let them have their way, and even that was a relief. Nicholas slept well till six next morning, dreamed of home, or of what was home once, no matter which, for things that are changed or gone will come back as they used to be, thank God, in sleep, and rose quite brisk and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil to say the good-bye which he was afraid to pronounce himself, and laying them with half his scanty stock of money at his sister's door, shouldered his box, and crept softly downstairs. "'Is that you, Hannah?' cried a voice from Miss Lucrevy's sitting-room, whence shone the light of a feeble candle. "'It is I, Miss Lucrevy,' said Nicholas, putting down the box and looking in. "'Bless us,' exclaimed Miss Lucrevy, starting and putting her hand to her curl-papers. "'You are up very early, Mr. Nicolby.' "'So are you,' replied Nicholas. "'It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr. Nicolby,' returned the lady. "'I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea.' Miss Lucrevy had got up early to put a fancy nose into a miniature of an ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country, who was expected to bequeath him property if he was like the family. "'To carry out an idea,' repeated Miss Lucrevy, "'and that's the great convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When I want a nose or an eye for any particular sitter, I have only to look out of window and wait till I get one.' "'Does it take long to get a nose now?' inquired Nicholas, smiling. "'Why, that depends in a great measure on the pattern,' replied Miss Lucrevy. "'Snubs and Romans are plentiful enough, and there are flats of all sorts and sizes when there's a meeting at Exeter Hall. But perfect aquilines, I'm sorry to say, are scarce, and we generally use them for uniforms or public characters.' "'Indeed,' said Nicholas. "'If I should meet with any in my travels, I'll endeavour to sketch them for you.' "'You don't mean to say that you are really going all the way down into Yorkshire, this cold winter's weather, Mr. Nicolby?' said Miss Lucrevy. "'I heard something of it last night.' "'I do indeed,' replied Nicholas. "'Needs must, you know, when somebody drives. Necessity is my driver, and that is only another name for the same gentleman.' "'Well, I am very sorry for it, that's all I can say,' said Miss Lucrevy, "'as much on your mother's and sister's account as on yours. "'Your sister is a very pretty young lady, Mr. Nicolby, and that is an additional reason why she should have somebody to protect her. "'I persuaded her to give me a sitting or two for the street-door case. Ah, she'll make a sweet miniature.' As Miss Lucrevy spoke, she held up an ivory countenance intersected with very perceptible sky-blue veins, and regarded it with so much complacency that Nicholas quite envied her. "'If you ever have an opportunity of showing Kate some little kindness,' said Nicholas, presenting his hand, "'I think you will.' "'Depend upon that,' said the good-natured miniature painter, "'and God bless you, Mr. Nicolby, and I wish you well.' It was very little that Nicholas knew of the world, but he guessed enough about its ways to think that if he gave Miss Lucrevy one little kiss, perhaps she might not be the less kindly disposed towards those he was leaving behind. So he gave her three or four, with a kind of Jaco's gallantry. Miss Lucrevy evinced no greater symptoms of displeasure than declaring, as she adjusted her yellow turban, that she had never heard of such a thing and couldn't have believed it possible. Having terminated the unexpected interview in this satisfactory manner, Nicholas hastily withdrew himself from the house. By the time he had found a man to carry his box, it was only seven o'clock, so he walked slowly on, a little in advance of the porter, very probably with not half as light a heart in his breast as the man had, although he had no waistcoat to cover it with, and had evidently from the appearance of his other garments, been spending the night in a stable, and taking his breakfast at a pump. Regarding, with no small curiosity and interest, all the busy preparations for the coming day which every street and almost every house displayed, and thinking now and then that it seemed rather hard that so many people of all ranks and stations could earn a livelihood in London, and that he should be compelled to journey so far in search of one, Nicholas speedily arrived at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. Having dismissed his attendant, and seen the box safely deposited in the coach-office, he looked into the coffee-room in search of Mr. Squeers. He found that learned gentleman sitting at breakfast, with the three little boys before noticed, and two others who were turned up by some lucky chance since the interview of the previous day, ranged in a row on the opposite seat. Mr. Squeers had before him a small measure of coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef. But he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys. "'This is too penitha milk, is it, waiter?' said Mr. Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting it gently, so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of liquid contained in it. "'That's too penitha,' replied the waiter. "'What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London,' said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh. "'Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, William, will you?' "'To the very top, sir,' inquired the waiter. "'Why, the milk will be grounded.' "'Never you mind that,' replied Mr. Squeers. "'Serve it right for being so dear.' "'You ordered that thick bread-and-butter for three, did you?' "'Coming directly, sir.' "'You needn't hurry yourself,' said Squeers. "'There's plenty of time.' "'Conquer your passions, boys, and don't be eager after vitals.' As he uttered this model precept, Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and recognized Nicholas. "'Sit down, Mr. Nicolby,' said Squeers. "'Here we are, a breakfast in, you see?' "'Nicolas did not see that anybody was breakfasting, except Mr. Squeers. But he bowed with all becoming reverence, as cheerful as he could. "'Oh, that's the milk and water, is it, William?' said Squeers. "'Very good. Don't forget the bread-and-butter presently.' At this fresh mention of the bread-and-butter the five little boys looked very eager and followed the waiter out with their eyes. Meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk and water. "'Ah,' said that gentleman, smacking his lips, "'is richness. "'Think of the many beggars and orphans "'in the streets that will be glad of this, little boys. "'It's a very shocking thing, hunger, isn't it, Mr. Nicolby?' "'Very shocking,' said Sir Nicholas. "'When I say number one,' pursued Mr. Squeers, "'putting the mug before the children, "'the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink. "'And when I say number two, the boy next in will go in, "'and so till we come to number five, which is the last boy. "'Are you ready?' "'Yes, sir,' cried all the little boys with great eakiness. "'That's right,' said Squeers, "' calmly getting on with his breakfast. "'I'm ready till I tell you to begin. "'Subdue your appetite, my dears, "'and you have conquered human nature. "'This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. Nicolby,' said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas and speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast. Nicholas murmured something he knew not what in reply, and the little boys dividing their gaze between the mug, the bread and butter which had by this time arrived, the remorsel which Mr. Squeers took into his mouth remained with strained eyes in torments of expectation. "'Thank God for a good breakfast,' said Squeers when he'd finished. "'Number one may take a drink. "'Number one sees the mug ravenously, "'and are just drunk enough to make him wish for more "'when Mr. Squeers gave the signal for number two, "'who gave up at the same interesting moment to number three, "'and the process was repeated until the milk and water "'terminated with number five. "'And now,' said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread and butter "'for three into as many portions as there were children, "'you'd better look sharp with your breakfast, "'for the horn will blow in a minute or two, "'and then every boy leaves off.' "'Permission being thus given to fall, too, "'the boys began to eat voraciously and in desperate haste, "'while the schoolmaster, who was in high good humour "'after his meal, picked his teeth with a fork, "'and looked smilingly on. "'In a very short time the horn was heard. "'I thought it wouldn't be long,' said Squeers, "'jumping up and producing a little basket from under the seat. "'Put what you haven't had time to eat in here, boys. "'You'll want it on the road.' Nicholas was considerably startled by these very economical arrangements, but he had no time to reflect upon them, for the little boys had to be got up to the top of the coach, and their boxes had to be brought out and put in. "'And Mr. Squeers's luggage was to be seen carefully "'deposited in the boot, and all these officers "'were in his department. "'He was in the full heat and bustle "'of concluding these operations, "'when his uncle, Mr. Ralph Nicolby, accosted him. "'Oh, here you are, sir,' said Ralph. "'Here are your mother and sister, sir.' "'Where?' cried Nicholas, looking hastily round. "'Here,' replied his uncle. "'Having too much money and nothing at all to do with it, "'they were paying a hackney-coach as I came up, sir. "'We were afraid of being too late to see him "'before he went away from us,' said Mrs. Nicolby, embracing her son, heedless of the unconcerned "'lookers-on in the coachyard. "'Very good, ma'am,' returned Ralph. "'You're the best judge, of course. "'I merely said that you were paying a hackney-coach. "'I never pay a hackney-coach, ma'am. "'I never hire one. "'I haven't been in a hackney-coach "'of my own hiring for thirty years, "'and I hope I shan't be for thirty more if I live as long. "'I should never have forgiven myself if I'd not seen him,' said Mrs. Nicolby. "'Poor dear boy, going away without his breakfast, too, "'because he feared to distress us.' "'Mighty fine, certainly,' said Ralph, with great testiness. "'When I first went to business, ma'am, "'I took a penny-loaf and a heap of the milk for my breakfast "'as I walked to the city every morning. "'What do you say to that, ma'am?' "'Breakfast. Bah!' "'Now, Nicolby,' said Squeers, "'coming up at the moment, buttoning his greatcoat. "'I think you better get up behind. "'I'm afraid of one of them boys falling off, "'and then there's twenty-pound a year gone.' "'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, touching her brother's arm, "'who is that vulgar man?' "'Eh?' growled Ralph, whose quick ears had caught the inquiry. "'Do you wish to be introduced to Mr. Squeers, my dear?' "'That the schoolmaster?' "'No, uncle. Oh, no,' replied Kate, shrinking back. "'I'm sure I heard you say as much, my dear,' retorted Ralph. "'Retorted Ralph in his cold sarcastic manner. "'Mr. Squeers, here's my niece, Nicholas's sister. "'Very glad to make it acquaintance, Miss,' said Squeers, raising his hat an inch or two. "'I wish Mrs. Squeers took gals, and we had you for a teacher. "'I don't know, though, whether she might grow jealous if we had.' Ha-ha-ha!' If the proprietor of Doothe Boy's Hall could have known what was passing in his assistant's breast at that moment, he would have discovered with some surprise that he was as near being soundly pummeled as he had ever been in his life. Kate Nicolby, having a quicker perception of her brother's emotions, led him gently aside, and thus prevented Mr. Squeers from being impressed with the fact in a peculiarly disagreeable manner. "'My dear Nicholas,' said the young lady, "'who is this man? What kind of place can it be that you're going to?' "'I hardly know Kate,' replied Nicholas, pressing his sister's hand. "'I suppose the Yorkshire folks are rather rough and uncultivated, that's all.' "'But this person,' urged Kate, "'is my employer, or master, or whatever the proper name may be,' replied Nicholas quickly, and I was an ass to take his coarseness ill. "'They're looking this way, and it's time I was in my place. "'Bless you, love, and good-bye. "'Mother, look forward to our meeting again some day.' "'Uncle, farewell. Thank you heartily for all you have done, and all you mean to do. Quite ready, sir.' With these hastier dues, Nicholas mounted nimbly to his seat, and waved his hand as gallantly as if his heart went with it. At this moment, when the coachman and guard were comparing notes for the last time before starting, on the subject of the way-bill, when porters were screwing out the last reluctant sixpences, itinerant newsmen making the last offer of a morning paper, and the horses giving the last impatient rattle to their harness, Nicholas felt somebody pulling softly at his leg. He looked down, and there stood Newman Noggs, who pushed up into his hand a dirty letter. "'What's this?' inquired Nicholas. "'Hush!' rejoined Noggs, pointing to Mr. Ralph Nickelby, who was saying a few earnest words to squeers a short distance off. "'Take it. Read it. Nobody knows. That's all.' "'Stop!' cried Nicholas. "'No,' replied Noggs. Nicholas cried, "'Stop!' again, but Newman Noggs was gone.' A minute's bustle, a banging of the coach-doors, a swaying of the vehicle to one side as the heavy coachman and still heavier guard climbed into their seats. A cry of all right, a few notes from the horn, a hasty glance of two sorrowful faces below, and the hard features of Mr. Ralph Nickelby, and the coach was gone, too, and rattling over the stones of Smithfield. The little boys' legs being too short to admit of their feet resting upon anything as they sat, and the little boys' bodies being consequently in imminent hazard of being jerked off the coach, Nicholas had enough to do over the stones to hold them on. Between the manual exertion and the mental anxiety attendant upon this task, he was not a little relieved when the coach stopped at the peacock at Islington. He was still more relieved when a hearty-looking gentleman, with a very good-humoured face and a very fresh colour, got up behind and proposed to take the other corner of the seat. "'If we put some of these youngsters in the middle,' said the newcomer, "'they'll be safer in case of their going to sleep, eh?' "'If you'll have the goodness, sir,' replied Squeers, "'that'll be the very thing. Mr. Nickelby, take three of them boys between you and the gentleman. Belling and the youngest snorly can sit between me and the guard. "'Three children,' said Squeers, explaining to the stranger, "'books as two.' "'I have not the least objection, I'm sure,' said the fresh-coloured gentleman. "'I have a brother who wouldn't object to book his six children as two, at any butchers or bakers in the kingdom, I dare say, far from it.' "'Six children, sir,' exclaimed Squeers. "'Yes, and all boys,' replied the stranger. "'Mr. Nickelby,' said Squeers, in great haste, "'catch hold of that basket. "'Let me give you a card, sir, of an establishment where those six boys can be brought up in an enlightened, liberal, and moral manner, with no mistake at all about it, for twenty guineas a year each. Twenty guineas, sir. "'Or I'll take all the boys together upon an average right through, and say, a hundred pound a year for the lot.' "'Oh,' said the gentleman, glancing at the card. "'You are the Mr. Squeers mentioned here, I presume?' "'Yes, I am, sir,' replied the worthy pedagogue. "'Mr. Wackford Squeers is my name, and I'm very far from being ashamed of it.' "'These are some of my boys, sir. That's one of my assistants, sir. Mr. Nickelby, a gentleman's son, and a good scholar, mathematical, classical, and commercial. "'We don't do things by arves at our shop.' "'All manner of learning, my boys take down, sir. "'Expenses never thought of, and they get paternal treatment and washing in.' "'Pon my word,' said the gentleman, glancing at Nickelus with a half smile, and a more than half expression of surprise. "'These are advantages indeed. "'You may say that, sir,' rejoined Squeers, thrusting his hands into his great coat-pockets. "'The most unexceptionable references are given and required. I wouldn't take a reference with any boy that wasn't responsible for the payment of £5.5 a quarter. "'Nope, not if you went down on your knees and asked me, with the tears running down your face to do it.' "'Highly considerate,' said the passenger. "'It's my great aim and end to be considerate, sir,' rejoined Squeers. "'Snorly, junior, if you don't leave off chattering your teeth and shaking with the cold, I'll warm you with a severe thrashing in about half a minute's time.' "'Sit fast here, gentlemen,' said the guard as he clambered up. "'All right, behind there, Dick,' cried the coachman. "'All right,' was the reply. "'Off she goes!' And off she did go, if coaches be feminine, amidst a loud flourish from the guard's horn, and the calm approval of all the judges of coaches and coach-horses congregated at the Peacock, but more especially of the helpers, who stood with the cloths over their arms, watching the coach till it disappeared, and then lounged admiringly stablewards, bestowing various gruff encomiums on the beauty of the turnout. When the guard, who was a stout old Yorkshireman, had blown himself quite out of breath, he put the horn into a little tunnel of a basket fastened to the coach's side for the purpose, and giving himself a plentiful shower of blows on the chest and shoulders, observed it was uncommon cold. After which he demanded of every person separately whether he was going right through, and if not, where he was going. Satisfactory replies being made to these queries, he surmised that the roads were pretty heavy after that fall last night, and took the liberty of asking whether any of them gentlemen carried a snuff-box. It happening that nobody did, he remarked with a mysterious air that he had heard a medical gentleman as went down to Grantham last week say how that snuff-taking was bad for the eyes, but for his part he'd never found it so, and what he said was that everybody should speak as they found. Nobody attempting to controvert this position, he took a small brown paper parcel out of his hat, and putting on a pair of horn spectacles, the writing being crabbed, read the direction half a dozen times over. Having done which, he consigned the parcel to its old place, put up his spectacles again, and stared at everybody in turn. After this he took another blow at the horn by way of refreshment, and having now exhausted his usual topics of conversation, folded his arms as well as he could in so many coats, and falling into a solemn silence looked carelessly at the familiar objects which met his eye on every side as the coach rolled on. The only things he seemed to care for being horses and droves of cattle, which he scrutinized with a critical air as they were passed upon the road. The weather was intensely and bitterly cold. A great deal of snow fell from time to time, and the wind was intolerably keen. Mr. Squeers got down at almost every stage to stretch his legs, as he said. And as he always came back from such excursions with a very red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly, there is reason to suppose that he derived great benefit from the process. The little pupils having been stimulated with the remains of their breakfast, and further invigorated by sundry small cups of a curious cordial carried by Mr. Squeers, which tasted very like toast and water put into a brandy-bottle by mistake, went to sleep, woke, shivered, and cried, as their feelings prompted. Nicholas and the good-tempered man found so many things to talk about that between conversing together and cheering up the boys, the time passed with them as rapidly as it could under such adverse circumstances. So the day wore on. At Eaton's Slocum there was a good-coached dinner, of which the box, the four front-outsides, the one inside, Nicholas, the good-tempered man, and Mr. Squeers patook, while the five little boys were put to thaw by the fire and regaled with sandwiches. A stage or two further on the lamps were lighted, and a great to-do occasioned by the taking up at a rote side in of a very fastidious lady with an infinite variety of cloaks and small parcels, who loudly lamented for the behoof of the outsides the non-arrival of her own carriage which was to have taken her on, and made the guards solemnly promise to stop every green chariot he saw coming, which as it was a dark night, and he was sitting with his face the other way, that officer undertook with many fervent asseverations to do. Lastly the fastidious lady, finding there was a solitary gentleman inside, had a small lamp lighted which she carried in reticule, and being after much trouble shut in, the horses were put into a brisk canter, and the coach was once more in rapid motion. The night and the snow came on together, and dismal enough they were. There was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind, for the noise of the wheels and the tread of the horses feet were rendered inaudible by the thick coating of snow which covered the ground, and was fast increasing every moment. The streets of Stamford were deserted as they passed through the town, and its old churches rose frowning and dark from the whitened ground. Twenty miles further on, two of the front-outside passengers wisely availing themselves of their arrival at one of the best inns in England, turned in for the night at the George at Grantham. The remainder wrapped themselves more closely in their coats and cloaks, and leaving the light and warmth of the town behind them, pillowed themselves against the luggage, and prepared with many half-suppressed moans again to encounter the piercing blast which swept across the open country. They were little more than a stage out of Grantham, or about half way between it and Newark, when Nicholas, who had been asleep for a short time, was suddenly roused by a violent jerk which nearly threw him from his seat. Grasping the rail, he found that the coach had sunk greatly on one side, though it was still dragged forward by the horses, and while, confused by their plunging and the loud screams of the lady inside, he hesitated for an instant whether to jump off or not, the vehicle turned easily over and relieved him from all further uncertainty by flinging him into the road. CHAPTER VI In which the occurrence of the accident mentioned in the last chapter affords an opportunity to a couple of gentlemen to tell stories against each other. Wo-ho! cried the guard, on his legs in a minute, and running to the leader's heads. Is there any gentleman here as can lend a haunt here? Keep quiet, dang ye! Wo-ho! What's the matter, demanded Nicholas, looking sleepily up? Mather-mun, madder enough for one night, replied the guard, dang the wall-eyed bay, he's gained mad with glory, I think, cursed at courtges over. Here can't he lend a haunt? Dumb it, I'd had deen it if all my bones were broken. Here, cried Nicholas, staggering to his feet, I'm ready, I'm only a little abroad, that's all. Hold him tight, cried the guard, while our coot-trees hang on to them some who, well deen, my lord, that's it, let them go anew, dang them, they'll gain home fast enough. In truth the animals were no sooner released than they trotted back with much deliberation to the stable they had just left, which was distant not a mile behind. Can you blow a horn, asked the guard, disengaging one of the coach-lamps. I dare say I can, replied Nicholas. Then just blow away into that and, as lies on the groaned, fit to walk in the dead willy, said the man, while I stopped some of this here squealing inside. Come in, come in, don't make that noise, woman. As the man spoke he proceeded to wrench open the uppermost door of the coach, while Nicholas, seizing the horn, awoke the echoes far and wide with one of the most extraordinary performances on that instrument ever heard by mortal ears. It had its effect, however, not only in rousing such of their fall, but in summoning assistance to their relief, for lights gleamed in the distance and people were already a stir. In fact a man on horseback galloped down before the passengers were well collected together, and a careful investigation being instituted it appeared that the lady inside had broken her lamp and the gentleman his head, that the two front outsides had escaped with black eyes, the box with a bloody nose, the coachman with a contusion on the temple, Mr. Squeers with a portmanteau bruise on his back, and the remaining passengers without any injury at all, thanks to the softness of the snowdrift in which they had been overturned. These backs were no sooner thoroughly ascertained than the lady gave several indications of fainting, but being forewarned that if she did she must be carried on some gentleman's shoulders to the nearest public house, she prudently thought better of it and walked back with the rest. They found on reaching it that it was a lonely place with no very great accommodation in the way of apartments, that portion of its resources being all comprised in one public room with a sanded floor and a chair or two. However a large faggot and a plentiful supply of coals being heaped upon the fire, the appearance of things was not long in mending, and by the time they had washed off all effacable marks of the late accident, the room was warm and light, which was a most agreeable exchange for the cold and darkness out of doors. Well, Mr. Nickelbee, said Squeers, insinuating himself into the warmest corner, you did very right to catch hold of them horses. I should have done it myself if I had come too in time, but I am very glad you did it. You did it very well, very well. So well, said the merry-face gentleman, who did not seem to approve very much of the patronizing tone adopted by Squeers, that if they had not been firmly checked when they were, he would most probably have had no brains left to teach with. This remark called up a discourse relative to the promptitude Nicholas had displayed, and he was overwhelmed with compliments and commendations. I am very glad to have escaped, of course, observed Squeers. Every man is glad when he escapes from danger, but if any one of my charges had been hurt, if I had been prevented from restoring any one of these boys to his parents' hole in sound as I received him, what would have been my feelings? Why, the wheel atop of my head would have been far preferable to it. Are they all brothers, sir? inquired the lady who had carried the Davy or safety lamp. In one sense they are, ma'am, replied Squeers, diving into his great-coach pocket for cards. They are all under the same parental and affectionate treatment. Mrs. Squeers and myself are a mother and father to every one of them. Mr. Nickelby hand the lady them cards and offer these to the gentlemen. Perhaps they might know of some parents that would be glad to avail themselves of the establishment. Expressing himself to this effect, Mr. Squeers, who lost no opportunity of advertising gratuitously, placed his hands upon his knees and looked at the pupils with as much benignity as he could possibly affect, while Nicholas, blushing with shame, handed round the cards as directed. I hope you suffer no inconvenience from the overturn, ma'am, said the merry-face gentleman, expressing the fastidious lady as though he were charitably desirous to change the subject. No bodily inconvenience, replied the lady. No mental inconvenience, I hope. The subject is a very painful one to my feeling, sir, replied the lady with strong emotion, and I beg you as a gentleman not to refer to it. Dear me, said the merry-face gentleman, looking merrier still, I merely intended to inquire, I hope no inquiries will be made, said the lady, or I shall be compelled to throw myself on the protection of the other gentleman. Landlord, pray direct a boy to keep watch outside the door, and if a green chariot passes in the direction of Grantum, to stop it instantly. The people of the house were evidently overcome by this request, and when the lady charged the boy to remember, as a means of identifying the expected green chariot, that it would have a coachman with a gold-laced hat on the box and a footman most probably in silk stockings behind, the attentions of the good woman of the inn were redoubled. Even the box-passenger caught the infection, and growing wonderfully deferential, immediately inquired whether there was not very good society in that neighborhood, to which the lady replied, yes, there was, in a manner which sufficiently that she moved at the very tip-top and summit of it all. As the guard has gone on horseback to Grantum to get another coach, said the good tempered gentleman when they had been all sitting round the fire for some time in silence, and as he must be gone a couple of hours at the very least, I propose a bowl of hot punch, what say you, sir? This question was addressed to the broken-headed inside, who was a man of very gentile appearance dressed in mourning. He was not past the middle age, but his hair was gray. It seemed to have been prematurely turned by care or sorrow. He readily acceded to the proposal and appeared to be prepossessed by the frank good nature of the individual from whom it emanated. This latter personage took upon himself the office of tapster when the punch was ready, and after dispensing it all round led the conversation to the antiquities of York with which both he and the gray-haired gentleman appeared to be well acquainted. When this topic flagged, he turned with a smile to the gray-headed gentleman and asked if he could sing. I cannot indeed, replied the gentleman smiling in his turn. That's a pity, said the owner of the good humored countenance. Is there nobody here who can sing a song to lighten the time? The passengers, one and all, protested that they did not, that they wished they could, that they couldn't remember the words of anything without the book, and so forth. Perhaps the lady would not object, said the president with great respect in a merry twinkle in his eye. Some little Italian thing out of the last opera brought out in town would be most acceptable, I am sure. As the lady condescended to make no reply, but tossed her head contemptuously and murmured some further expression of surprise regarding the absence of the green chariot, one or two voices urged upon the president himself the propriety of making an attempt for the general benefit. I would if I could, said he of the good tempered face, for I hold that in this, as in all other cases where people who are strangers to each other are thrown unexpectedly together, they should endeavor to render themselves as pleasant for the joint sake of the little community as possible. I wish the maxim were more generally acted on in all cases, said the gray-headed gentleman. I'm glad to hear it, returned the other. Perhaps as you can't sing you'll tell us a story. Nay, I should ask you. After you I will with pleasure. Indeed, said the gray-haired gentleman smiling, well let it be so. I fear the turn of my thoughts is not calculated to lighten the time you must pass here, but you have brought this upon yourselves and shall judge. We were speaking of York Minster just now. My story shall have some reference to it. Let us call it the Five Sisters of York. After a murmur of approbation from the other passengers, during which the fastidious lady drank a glass of punch unobserved, the gray-headed gentleman thus went on. A great many years ago, for the fifteenth century was scarce two years old at the time, and King IV sat upon the throne of England. There dwelled in the ancient city of York five maiden sisters, the subjects of my tale. These five sisters were all of surpassing beauty. The eldest was in her twenty-third year, the second a year younger, the thirty year younger than the second, and the fourth a year younger than the third. They were tall, stately figures, with dark flashing eyes and hair of jet. Dignity and grace were in their every movement, and the fame of their great beauty had spread through all the country round. But, if the four elder sisters were lovely, how beautiful was the youngest, a fair creature of sixteen. The blushing tints in the soft bloom on the fruit, or the delicate painting on the flower, were not more exquisite than was the blending of the rose and lily in her gentle face, or the deep blue of her eye. The vine in all its elegant luxuriance is not more graceful than were the clusters of rich brown hair that sported round her brow. If we all had hearts like those which beat so lightly in the bosoms of the young and beautiful, what a heaven this earth would be! If, while our bodies grow old and withered, our hearts could but retain their earthly youth and freshness of what a veil would be our sorrows and sufferings. But the faint image of Eden which is stamped upon them in childhood chafes and rubs in our rough struggles with the world and soon wears away, too often to leave nothing but a mournful black remaining. The heart of this fair girl bounded with joy and gladness, devoted attachment to her sisters, and a fervent love of all beautiful things in nature, were its pure affections. Her glissom voice and merry laugh were the sweetest music of their home. She was its very light and life. The brightest flowers in the garden were reared by her. The caged birds sang when they heard her voice and pined when they missed its sweetness. Alice, dear Alice, what a living thing within the sphere of her gentle witchery could fail to love her. You may seek in vain now for the spot on which these sisters lived, for their very names have passed away and dusty antiquaries tell of them as of a fable. But they dwelt in an old wooden house, old even in those days, with overhanging gables and balconies of rudely carved oak, which stood within a pleasant orchard, and was surrounded by a rough stone wall, whence a stout archer might have winged an arrow to St. Mary's Abbey. The old abbey flourished then, and the five sisters, living on its fair domains, paid yearly dues to the black monks of St. Benedict to which fraternity it belonged. It was a bright and sunny morning in the pleasant time of summer, when one of those black monks emerged from the abbey portal and bent his steps towards the house of the fair sisters. Heaven above was blue, and earth beneath was green. The river glistened like a path of diamonds in the sun. The birds poured forth their songs from the shady trees, the lark soared high above the waving corn, and the deep buzz of insects filled the air. But the holy man walked glumily on, with his eyes bent upon the ground. The beauty of the earth is but a breath, and man is but a shadow. What sympathy could a holy preacher have with either? With eyes bent upon the ground then, for only raised enough to prevent his stumbling over such obstacles as lay in his way, the religious man moved slowly forward until he reached a small postern in the wall of the sisters' orchard, closing it behind him. The noise of soft voices in conversation and of merry laughter fell upon his ears ere he had advanced many paces. And raising his eyes higher than was his humble wand, he described at no great distance the five sisters seated on the grass, with Alice in the center, all busily plying their customary task of embroidering. Save you fair daughters, said the friar, and there in truth they were. Even a monk might have loved them as choice masterpieces of his maker's hand. The daughters saluted the holy man with becoming reverence, and the eldest motioned him to a massy seat beside them. But the good friar shook his head and bumped himself down on a very hard stone, at which no doubt approving angels were gratified. You were merry daughters, said of heart sweet Alice is, replied the eldest sister, passing her fingers through the tresses of the smiling girl. And what joy and tearfulness it wakes up within us to see all nature beaming in brightness and sunshine father, added Alice, blushing beneath the stern look of the recluse. The monk answered not, saved by a grave inclination of his head, and the sisters pursued their task in silence. The precious hours, said the monk at length, turning to the eldest sister as he spoke, still wasting the precious hours in this vain trifling. Alas, alas, that the few bubbles on the surface of eternity, all that heaven-wills we should see of that dark deep stream, should be so lightly scattered. Father urged the maiden, pausing, as did each of the others in her busy task, we have prayed at Matins, our daily alms and distributed at the gate, the sick peasants have been tended. All our morning tasks have been performed. I hope our occupation is a blameless one. See here, said the friar, taking the frame from her hand, an intricate winding of gaudy colors, without purpose or object, unless it be that one day it is destined for some vain ornament to minister to the pride of your frail and giddy sex. Day after day has been employed for a senseless task, and yet it is not half accomplished. The shade of each departed day falls upon our graves, and the worm exalts as he beholds it to know that we are hastening thither. Daughters, is there no better way to pass the fleeting hours? The four elder sisters cast down their eyes as if abashed by the holy man's reproof, but Alas raised hers and bent them mildly on the friar. Our dear mother, maiden, heaven rest her soul. Amen, cried the friar in a deep voice. Our dear mother, faltered the fair Alas, was living when these long tasks began, and bait us when she could be no more, ply them in all discretion and cheerfulness in our leisure hours. She said that if in harmless mirth and maidenly pursuits we passed those hours together, they would prove the happiest and most peaceful of our lives, and that if, sometimes, we went forth into the world and mingled with its cares and trials, if, allured by its temptations and dazzled by its glitter, we ever forgot that love and duty which should bind in holy ties the children of one loved parent, a glance at the old work of our common girlhood would waken the good thoughts of bygone days and soften our hearts to affection and love. Alas speaks truly father, said the elder sister proudly, and so saying she resumed her work as did the others. It was a kind of sampler of large size that each sister had before her. The device was of a complex and intricate description, and the pattern and colors of all five were the same. The sisters bent gracefully over their work. The monk, resting his chin upon his hands, looked from one to the other in silence. How much better, he said at length to shun all such thoughts and chances, and, in the peaceful shelter of the church, devote your lives to heaven. Infancy, childhood, the prime of life and old age, wither as rapidly as they crowd upon each other. Think how human dust rolls onward to the tomb, and turning your faces steadily towards that goal, avoid the cloud which makes its rise among the pleasures of the world and cheats the senses of their votaries. The veil, the veil. Never, sisters, cried Alice, barter not the light and air of heaven and the freshness of earth and all the beautiful things which breathe upon it for the cold cloister and the cell. Nature's own blessings are the proper goods of life, and we may share them sinlessly together. To die is our heavy portion, but, oh, let us die with life about us. When our cold hearts cease to beat, let warm hearts be beating near. Let our last look be upon the bounds which God has set to his own bright skies and not on stone walls and bars of iron. Dear sisters, let us live and die, if you list, in this green garden's compass. Only shun the glumen sadness of a cloister, and we shall be happy. The tears fell fast from the maiden's eyes as she closed her impassioned appeal and hid her face in the bosom of her sister. Take comfort, Alice," said the eldest, kissing her fair forehead. The veil shall never cast its shadow on thy young brow. How say you, sisters, for yourselves you speak and not for Alice or for me. The sisters, as with one accord, cried that their lot was cast together and that there were dwellings for peace and virtue beyond the convent's walls. Father, said the eldest lady, rising with dignity, for here our final resolve, the same pious care which enriched the Abbey of St. Mary and left us orphans to its holy guardianship, directed that no constraints should be imposed upon our inclinations, but that we should be free to live according to our choice. Let us hear no more of this, we pray you. Sisters, it is nearly noon. Let us take shelter until evening. With a reverence to the friar, the lady rose and walked towards hand in hand with Alice. The other sisters followed. The holy man, who had often urged the same point before but had never met with so direct a repulse, walked some little distance behind with his eyes bent upon the earth and his lips moving as if in prayer. As the sisters reached the porch he quickened his pace and called upon them to stop. Stay, said the monk, raising his right hand in the air watching an angry glance by turns at Alice and the eldest sister. Stay and hear from me what these recollections are, which you would cherish above eternity and awaken, if in mercy they slumbered, by means of idle toys. The memory of earthly things is charged in afterlife with bitter disappointment, affliction, death, with weary change and wasting sorrow. The time will one day come when a glance at those unmeaning deep wounds in the hearts of some among you and strike to your inmost souls. When that hour arrives and mark me, Comet Will, turn from the world to which you clung to the refuge which you spurned. Find me the cell which shall be colder than the fire of mortals grows when dimmed by calamity and trial and there weep for the dreams of youth. These things are heaven's will, not mine, said the friar, subduing his voice as he looked round upon the shrinking girl. The virgin's blessing be upon you daughters. With these words he disappeared through the postern and the sisters hastening into the house were seen no more that day. But nature will smile though priests may frown and next day the sun shone brightly and on the next and the next again and in the mornings glare and the evenings soft repose the five sisters still walked or worked or beguiled the time by chance. Time passed away as a tale that is told, faster indeed than many tales that are told, of which number I fear this may be one. The house of the five sisters stood where it did and the same trees cast their pleasant shade upon the orchard grass. The sisters, too, were there and lovely as at first, but a change had come over their dwelling. Sometimes there was the clash of armor and the glistening of the glistening of the glistening of the glistening of the glistening of the glistening of the glistening of Johnson they did, and at length they ceased to come at all, and foot-sort peasants slung to the gate after sunset and did their errand there by stealth. Once a vassal was dispatched in haste to the Abbey in the dead of night, and when morning came there were sounds of woe and wailing in the sister's house, and after this a mournful silence fell upon it, and night or lady, horse or armor, was seen about it no more. There was a solid darkness in the sky, and the sun had gone angrily down, tinting the dull clouds with the last traces of his wrath, when the same black monk walked slowly on with folded arms within a stone's throw of the Abbey. A blight had fallen on the trees and shrubs, and the wind, at length beginning to break the unnatural stillness which had prevailed all day, sighed heavily from time to time, as though foretelling in brief the ravages of the coming storm. The bat skimmed in fantastic flights through the heavy air, and the ground was alive with crawling things whose instinct brought them forth to swell and fatten in the rain. No longer were the friars' eyes directed to the earth, they were cast abroad and roamed from point to point, as if the gloom and desolation of the scene found a quick response in his own bosom. Again he paused near the sister's house, and again he entered by the postern. But not again did his ear encounter the sound of laughter, or his eyes rest upon the beautiful figures of the five sisters, all was silent and deserted. The boughs of the trees were bent and broken, and the grass had grown long in rank. No light feat had pressed it for many, many a day. With the indifference or abstraction of one well accustomed to the change, the monk glided into the house, and entered a low dark room. Four sisters sat there, their black garments made their pale faces whiter still, and time and sorrow had worked deep ravages. They were stately yet, but the flush and pride of beauty were gone. And Alice, where was she? In heaven. The monk, even the monk, could bear with some grief here, for it was long since these sisters had met, and there were furrows in their blanched faces which years could never plow. He took his seat in silence and motioned them to continue their speech. They are here, sisters, said the elder lady in a trembling voice. I have never borne to look upon them since, and now I blame myself for my weakness. What is there in her memory that we should dread, to call up our old days shall be a solemn pleasure yet? She glanced at the monk as she spoke, and, opening a cabinet, brought forth the five frames of work, completed long before. Her step was firm, but her hand trembled as she produced the last one, and when the feelings of the other sisters gushed forth at the sight of it, her pent-up tears made way, and she sobbed, God bless her. The monk rose and advanced towards them. It was almost the last thing she touched in hell, he said in a low voice. It was, cried the elder lady, weeping bitterly. The monk turned to the second sister. The gallant youth, who looked into thine eyes, and hung upon thy very breath when he first saw the intent upon this pastime, lies buried on a plain whereof the turf is red with blood. Rusty fragments of armor, once brightly burnished, lie rotting on the ground, and are as little indistinguishable for his as are the bones that crumble in the mould. The lady groaned and wrung her hands. The policy of courts, he continued, turning to the two other sisters, drew ye from your peaceful home to scenes of revelry and splendour. The same policy and the restless ambition of proud and fiery men have sent ye back widowed maidens and humbled outcasts. Do I speak truly? The sobs of the two sisters were their only reply. There is little need, said the monk with a meaning look, to fritter away the time in Gugas which shall raise up the pale ghosts of hopes of early years. Bury them, keep penance and mortification on their heads, keep them down, and let the convent be their grave. The sisters asked for three days to deliberate, and felt that night, as though the veil were indeed the fitting shroud for their dead joys. But morning came again, and though the boughs of the orchard trees drooped and ran wild upon the ground, it was the same orchard still. The grass was coarse and high, but there was yet the spot on which they had so often sat together when change and sorrow were but names. There was every walk and nook which Alice had made glad, and in the minster-nave was one flat stone beneath which she slept in peace. And could they, remembering how her young heart had sickened at the thought of cloistered walls, look upon her grave in garbs which would chill the very ashes within it? Could they bow down in prayer, and when all heaven turned to hear them, bring the dark shade of sadness on one angel's face? No. They sent abroad to artists of great celebrity in those times, and having obtained the church's sanction to their work of piety, caused to be executed in five large compartments of richly stained glass, a faithful copy of their old embroidery work. These were fitted into a large window until that time bear of ornament, and when the sun shone brightly as she had so well loved to see it, the familiar patterns were reflected in their original colors, and throwing a stream of brilliant light upon the pavement fell warmly on the name of Alice. For many hours in every day the sisters paced slowly up and down the knave, or knelt by the side of that flat broad stone. Only three were seen in the customary place after many years, then but two, and for a long time afterwards, but one solitary female bent with age. At length she came no more, and the stone bore five plain Christian names. That stone was worn away and has been replaced by others, and many generations have come and gone since then. Time has softened down the colors, but the same stream of light still falls upon the forgotten tomb of which no trace remains, and to this day the stranger is shown in York Cathedral an old window called the Five Sisters. That's a melancholy tale, said the merry-faced gentleman, emptying his glass. It is a tale of life, and life is made up of such sorrows, return the other courteously, but in a grave and sad tone of voice. There are shades in all good pictures, but there are lights, too, if we choose to contemplate them, said the gentleman with the merry face. The youngest sister in your tale was always light-hearted. And died early, said the other gently. She would have died earlier, perhaps, had she been less happy, said the first speaker, with much feeling. Do you think the sisters who loved her so well would have grieved the less if her life had been one of gloom and sadness? If anything could soothe the first sharp pain of a heavy loss, it would be, with me, the reflection that those I mourned by being innocently happy here and loving all about them had prepared themselves for a purer and happier world. The sun does not shine upon this fair earth to meet frowning eyes depend upon it. I believe you are right, said the gentleman who had told the story. Believe, retorted the other. Can anybody doubt it? Take any subject of sorrowful regret and see with how much pleasure it is associated. The recollection of past pleasure may become pain. It does, interpose the other. Well it does. To remember happiness which cannot be restored is pain, but of a softened kind. Our recollections are unfortunately mingled with much that we deplore and with many actions which we bitterly repent. Still, in the most checkered life I firmly think there are so many little rays of sunshine to look back upon that I do not believe any mortal, unless he had put himself without the pale of hope, would deliberately drain a goblet of the waters of leth if he had it in his power. Probably you are correct in that belief, said the gray haired gentleman after a short reflection. I am inclined to think you are. Why then, replied the other, the good in this state of existence preponderates over the bad, let miscalled philosophers tell us what they will. If our affections be tried, our affections are our consolation and comfort. And memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better. But come, I'll tell you a story of another kind. After a very brief silence, the merry-faced gentleman sent round the punch and glancing slyly at the fastidious lady, who seemed desperately apprehensive that he was going to relate something improper, began, the Baron of Groggswig. The Baron von Coldwithout of Groggswig in Germany was as likely a young Baron as you would wish to see. I needn't say that he lived in a castle because that's of course. Neither did I say that he lived in an old castle for what German Baron ever lived in a new one. There were many strange circumstances connected with this venerable building, among which not the least startling and mysterious were that when the wind blew, it rumbled in the chimneys or even howled among the trees in the neighboring forest. And that when the moon shone, she found her way through certain small loopholes in the wall and actually made some parts of the wide halls and galleries quite light while she left others in gloomy shadow. I believe that one of the Baron's ancestors, being short of money, had inserted a dagger in a gentleman who had called one night to ask his way, and it was supposed that these miraculous occurrences took place in consequence. And yet I hardly know how that could have been either, since the Baron's ancestor, who was an amiable man, felt very sorry afterwards for having been so rash in laying violent hands upon a quantity of stone and timber which belonged to a weaker Baron, built a chapel as an apology, and so took a receipt from heaven in full of all demands. Talking of the Baron's ancestor puts me in mind of the Baron's great claims to respect on the score of his pedigree. I am afraid to say, I am sure, how many ancestors the Baron had, but I know that he had a great many more than any other man of his time, and I only wish that he had lived in these latter days that he might have had more. It is a very hard thing upon the great men of past centuries that they should have come to the world so soon, because a man who was born three or four hundred years ago cannot reasonably be expected to have had as many relations before him as a man who is born now. The last man, whoever he is, and he may be a cobbler or some low vulgar dog for ought we know, will have a longer pedigree than the greatest nobleman now alive, and I contend that this is not fair. Well, but the Baron von Coldwithout of Groggswick. He was a fine, swarthy fellow with dark hair and large moustachios, who rode a hunting in clothes of Lincoln Green, with russet boots on his feet and a bugle slung over his shoulder like the guard of a long stage. When he blew this bugle, four and twenty other gentlemen of inferior rank, in Lincoln Green a little coarser and russet boots with a little thicker soles turned out directly, and away galloped the whole train with spears in their hands like lacquered area railings to hunt down the boars or perhaps encounter a bear, in which latter case the Baron killed him first and greased his whiskers with him afterwards. This was a merry life for the Baron of Groggswick and a merry-or-still for the Baron's retainers, who drank rind wine every night until they fell under the table and then had the bottles on the floor and culled for pipes. Never were such jolly, roistering, rollicking, merry-making blades as the jovial crew of Groggswick. But the pleasures of the table or the pleasures of under the table require a little variety, especially when the same five and twenty people sit daily down to the same board to discuss the same subjects and tell the same stories. The Baron grew weary and wanted excitement. He took to quarreling with his gentlemen and tried kicking two or three of them every day after dinner. This was a pleasant change at first, but it became a notness after a week or so, and the Baron felt quite out of sorts and cast about in despair for some new amusement. One night, after a day's sport in which he had outdone Nimrod or Gillingwater and slaughtered another fine bear and brought him home in triumph, the Baron von Coldwithout sat mootily at the head of his table, eyeing the smoky roof of the hall with a discontented aspect. He swallowed huge bumpers of wine, but the more he swallowed, the more he frowned. The gentlemen who had been honored with the dangerous distinction of sitting on his right and left, imitated him to a miracle in the drinking and frowned at each other. I will, cried the Baron suddenly, smiting the table with his right hand and twirling his mustache with his left. Fill to the Lady of Grogswig. The 420 Lincoln Greens turned pale with the exception of their 420 noses, which were unchangeable. I said, to the Lady of Grogswig, repeated the Baron looking round the board, to the Lady of Grogswig, shouted the Lincoln Greens, and down their 420 throats went 420 imperial pints of such rare old hawk that they smacked their 840 lifts and winked again. The fair daughter of the Baron von Swillenhausen, said cold without condescending to explain, we will demand her in marriage of her father ere the sun goes down to-morrow. If he refuse our suit, we will cut off his nose. A horse murmur arose from the company. Every man touched, first the hilt of his sword, and then the tip of his nose with a pawling significance. What a pleasant thing filial piety is to contemplate. If the daughter of the Baron von Swillenhausen had pleaded a preoccupied heart, or fallen at her father's feet and corned them in salt tears, or only fainted away, and complimented the old gentleman in frantic ejaculations, the odds are a hundred to one, but Swillenhausen castle would have been turned out at window, or rather the Baron turned out at window, and the castle demolished. The damsel held her peace, however, when an early messenger bore the request of von Coldwithout next morning, and modestly retired to her chamber, from the casement of which she watched the coming of the suitor and his retinue. She was no sooner assured that the horseman with the large mustachios was her proffered husband, than she hastened to her father's presence, and expressed her readiness to sacrifice herself to secure his peace. The venerable Baron caught his child to his arms and shed a wink of joy. There was great feasting in the castle that day. The four-and-twenty Lincoln Greens of von Coldwithout exchanged vows of eternal friendship with twelve Lincoln Greens of von Swillenhausen, and promised the old Baron that they would drink his wine till all was blue, meaning probably until their whole countenances had acquired the same tint as their noses. Everybody slapped everybody else's back when the time for parting came, and the Baron von Coldwithout and his followers rode gaily home. For six mortal weeks the bears and boars had a holiday. The houses of Coldwithout and Swillenhausen were united, the spears rusted, and the Baron's bugle grew hoarse for lack of blowing. Those were great times for the four-and-twenty, but alas their high and palmy days had taken boots to themselves and were already walking off. My dear, said the Baroness, my love, said the Baron, those coarse, noisy men, which, ma'am, said the Baron, starting? The Baroness pointed from the window at which they stood to the courtyard beneath, where the unconscious Lincoln Greens were taking a copious stirrup cup preparatory to issuing forth after a bore or two. My hunting-train, ma'am, said the Baron, disband them, love, murmured the Baroness. Disband them, cried the Baron in amazement. To please me, love, replied the Baroness. To please the devil, ma'am, answered the Baron, whereupon the Baroness uttered a great cry and swooned away at the Baron's feet. What could the Baron do? He called for the ladies' maid and roared for the doctor, and then, rushing into the yard, kicked the two Lincoln Greens, who were the most used to it, and cursing the others all round, bade them go, but never mind where. I don't know the German for it, or I would put it delicately that way. It is not for me to say by what means, or by what degrees, some wives managed to keep down some husbands as they do, although I may have my private opinion on the subject, and may think that no member of parliament ought to be married, in as much as three married members out of every four, must vote according to their wives' consciences, if there be such things, and not according to their own. All I need say, just now, is that the Baroness von Cold without, somehow or other, acquired great control over the Baron von Cold without, and that little by little, and bit by bit, and day by day, and year by year, the Baron got the worst of some disputed question, or was slightly unhorsed from some old hobby, in that by the time he was a fat, hearty fellow of forty-eight or thereabouts, he had no feasting, no revelry, no hunting train, and no hunting, nothing in short that he liked or used to have, and that, although he was as fierce as a lion, and as bold as brass, he was decidedly snubbed and put down by his own lady in his own castle of Brogdswick. Nor was this the whole extent of the Baron's misfortunes. About a year after his nuptials, there came into the world a lusty young Baron, in whose honor a great many fireworks were let off, and a great many dozens of wine drunk. But next year there came a young Baroness, and next year another young Baron, and so on, every year, either a Baron or Baroness, and one year both together, until the Baron found himself the father of a small family of twelve. Upon every one of these anniversaries, the venerable Baroness von Swillenhausen was nervously sensitive for the well-being of her child, the Baroness von Goldwithout, and although it was not found that the good lady ever did anything material towards contributing to her child's recovery, still she made it a point of duty to be as nervous as possible at the castle of Brogdswick and to divide her time between moral observations on the Baron's housekeeping and bewailing the hard lot of her unhappy daughter. And if the Baron of Brogdswick, a little hurt and irritated by this, took heart and ventured to suggest that the wife was at least no worse off than the wives of other barons, the Baroness von Swillenhausen begged all persons to take notice that nobody but she sympathized with her daughter's sufferings, upon which her relations and friends remarked that to be sure she did cry a great deal more than her son-in-law, and that if there were a hard-hearted, brutal life, it was that Baron of Brogdswick. The poor Baron bore it all as long as he could, and when he could bear it no longer, lost his appetite and his spirits, and sat himself gloomily and dejectedly down. But there were worse troubles yet in store for him, and as they came on, his melancholy and sadness increased. Times changed, he got into debt. The Brogdswick coffers ran low, though the Swillenhausen family had looked upon them as inexhaustible. And just when the Baroness was on the point of making a thirteenth addition to the family pedigree, von Coldwithout discovered that he had no means of replenishing them. I don't see what is to be done, said the Baron. I think I'll kill myself. This was a bright idea. The Baron took an old hunting-knife from a cupboard hard-buy, and having sharpened it on his boot, made what boys call an offer at his throat. Him, said the Baron, stopping short, perhaps it's not sharp enough. The Baron sharpened it again and made another offer when his hand was arrested by a loud screaming among the young barons and Baronesses who had a nursery in an upstairs tower with iron bars outside the window to prevent their tumbling out into the moat. If I had been a bachelor, said the Baron sighing, I might have done it fifty times over without being interrupted. Hello! Put a flask of wine and the largest pipe in the little vaulted room behind the hall. One of the domestics in a very kind manner executed the Baron's order in the course of half an hour or so, and von Coldwithout being apprised thereof strode to the vaulted room, the walls of which, being of dark shining wood, gleamed in the light of the blazing logs which were piled upon the hearth. The bottle and pipe were ready, and upon the whole the place looked very comfortable. Leave the lamp, said the Baron. Anything else, my lord? inquired the domestic. The room, replied the Baron. The domestic obeyed, and the Baron locked the door. I'll smoke a last pipe, said the Baron, and then I'll be off. So, putting the knife upon the table till he wanted it and tossing off a goodly measure of wine, the Lord of Groggswig threw himself back in his chair, stretched his legs out before the fire, and puffed away. He thought about a great many things, about his present troubles and past days of bachelorship, and about the Lincoln Greens, long since dispersed up and down the country, no one knew wither, with the exception of two who had been unfortunately beheaded, and four who had killed themselves with drinking. His mind was running upon bears and boars when, in the process of draining his glass to the bottom, he raised his eyes and saw, for the first time and with unbounded astonishment, that he was not alone. No, he was not, for on the opposite side of the fire, there sat with folded arms a wrinkled hideous figure, with deeply sunk and bloodshot eyes, and an immensely long cadaverous face, shadowed by jagged and matted locks of coarse black hair. He wore a kind of tunic with a dull bluish color, which, the Baron observed on regarding it attentively, was clasped or ornamented down the front with coffin handles. His legs, too, were encased in coffin plates as though in armor, and over his left shoulder he wore a short dusky cloak, which seemed made of a remnant of some pawl. He took no notice of the Baron, but was intently eyeing the fire. Hallowah, said the Baron, stamping his foot to attract attention. Hallowah, replied the stranger, moving his eyes towards the Baron, but not his face or himself. What now? What now, replied the Baron, nothing daunted by his hollow voice and lusterless eyes. I should ask that question. How did you get in here? Through the door, replied the figure. What are you, says the Baron. A man, replied the figure. I don't believe it, says the Baron. Just believe it, then, says the figure. I will rejoin the Baron. The figure looked at the old Baron of Groggswick for some time, and then said, familiarly, there's no coming over you, I see. I'm not a man. What are you, then, asked the Baron? A genius, replied the figure. You don't look much like one, returned the Baron scornfully. I am the genius of despair and suicide, said the apparition. Now you know me. With these words, the apparition turned towards the Baron as if composing himself for a talk, and what was very remarkable was that he threw his cloak aside and, displaying a stake which was run through the center of his body, pulled it out with a jerk and laid it on the table as composedly as if it had been a walking stick. Now, said the figure, glancing at the hunting knife, are you ready for me? Not quite, rejoined the Baron. I must finish this pipe first. Look sharp, then, said the figure. You seem in a hurry, said the Baron. Why, yes, I am, answered the figure. They're doing a pretty brisk business in my way over in England and France just now, and my time is a good deal taken up. Do you drink, said the Baron, touching the bottle with the bowl of his pipe? Nine times out of ten, and then very hard, rejoined the figure dryly. Never in moderation, asked the Baron. Never, replied the figure with a shudder. That breeds cheerfulness. The Baron took another look at his new friend, whom he thought an uncommonly queer customer, and at length inquired whether he took any active part in such little proceedings as that which he had in contemplation. No, replied the figure evasively, but I am always present. Just to be fair, I suppose, said the Baron. Just that, replied the figure playing with his stake and examining the feral. Be as quick as you can, will you, for there's a young gentleman who is afflicted with too much money and leisure wanting me now I find. Going to kill himself because he has too much money, exclaimed the Baron, quite tickled. Ha, ha, that's a good one. This was the first time the Baron had laughed for many a long day. I say, expostulated the figure, looking very much scared. Don't do that again. Why not, demanded the Baron. Because it gives me pain all over, replied the figure. Si, as much as you please, that does me good. The Baron sighed mechanically at the mention of the word. The figure, brightening up again, handed him the hunting-knife with the most winning politeness. It's not a bad idea, though, said the Baron, feeling the edge of the weapon, a man killing himself because he has too much money. Poo, said the apparition, petulantly. No better than a man's killing himself because he has none or little. Whether the genius unintentionally committed himself in saying this, or whether he thought the Baron's mind was so thoroughly made up that it didn't matter what he said, I have no means of knowing. I only know that the Baron stopped his hand all of a sudden, opened his eyes wide, and looked as if quite a new light had come upon him for the first time. Why, certainly, said Von Coldwithout, nothing is too bad to be retrieved. Except empty coffers, cried the genius. Well, but they may be one day filled again, said the Baron. Scolding wives, snarled the genius. Oh, they may be made quiet, said the Baron. Thirteen children, shouted the genius. Can't I go wrong, surely, said the Baron. The genius was evidently growing very savage with the Baron for holding these opinions all at once, but he tried to laugh it off and said if he would let him know when he had left off joking, he should feel obliged to him. But I am not joking, I was never farther from it, remonstrated the Baron. Well, I am glad to hear that, said the genius, looking very grim, because a joke without any figure of speech is the death of me. Come, quit this dreary world at once. I don't know, said the Baron, playing with the knife. It's a dreary one, certainly, but I don't think yours is much better for you have not the appearance of being particularly comfortable. That puts me in mind what security have I that I shall be any the better for going out of the world after all. He cried, starting up. I never thought of that. Dispatch, cried the figure, gnashing his teeth. Keep off, said the Baron. I'll brood over miseries no longer, but put a good face on the matter and try the fresh air and the bears again. And if that won't do, I'll talk to the Baroness soundly and cut the von Swillenhaus instead. With this the Baron fell into his chair and laughed so hard and boisterously that the room rang with it. The figure fell back a pace or two regarding the Baron meanwhile with a look of intense terror. And when he had ceased, cut up the steak, plunged it violently into its body, uttered a frightful howl and disappeared. Von cold without, never sighed again, having once made up his mind to action, he soon brought the Baroness and the von Swillenhausens to reason and died many years afterwards. Not a rich man that I am aware of, but certainly a happy one, leaving behind him a numerous family who had been carefully educated in bear and bore hunting under his own personal eye. And my advice to all men is that if ever they become hip and melancholy from similar causes, as many men do, they look at both sides of the question applying a magnifying glass to the best one and if they still feel tempted to retire without leave, that they smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle first and profit by the laudable example of the Baron of Groggswig. The fresh coach is ready, ladies and gentlemen, if you please, set a new driver looking in. This intelligence caused the punch to be finished in a great hurry and prevented any discussion relative to the last story. Mr. Squeers was observed to draw the gray-headed gentleman on one side and to ask a question with great apparent interest. It bore reference to the five sisters of York and was, in fact, an inquiry whether he could inform him how much per annum the Yorkshire convents got in those days with their borders. The journey was then resumed. Nicholas fell asleep towards morning and, when he awoke, found with great regret that, during his nap, both the Baron of Groggswig and the gray-haired gentleman had got down and were gone. The day dragged on uncomfortably enough. At about six o'clock that night, he and Mr. Squeers and the little boys in their united luggage were all put down together at the George and New Inn, Greta Bridge. End of chapter six. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chet Chris, London, UK. Nicholas Nickleby, by Charles Dickens. Chapter seven. Mr. and Mrs. Squeers at home. Mr. Squeers, being safely landed, left Nicholas and the boys standing with the luggage in the road to amuse themselves by looking at the coach as it changed horses, while he ran into the tavern and went through the leg-stretching process at the bar. After some minutes, he returned with his legs thoroughly stretched, if the hue of his nose and a short hiccup afforded any criterion, and at the same time there came out of the yard a rusty pony-chase and a cart driven by two laboring men. Put the boys and the boxes into the cart, said Squeers, rubbing his hands, and this young man and me will go on in the chase. Get in, Nickleby. Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers, with some difficulty inducing the pony to obey, also they started off leaving the cartload of infant misery to follow at leisure. Are you cold, Nickleby? Inquired Squeers after they'd travel some distance in silence. Rather, sir, I must say. Well, I don't find fault with that, said Squeers. It's a long journey this weather. Is it much farther to do the boys' haul, sir? Asked Nicholas. About three miles from here, replied Squeers. But you needn't call it a haul down here. Nicholas coughed, as if he would like to know why. The fact is, it ain't a haul. Observed Squeers dryly. Oh, indeed! said Nicholas, whom this piece of intelligence much astonished. No, replied Squeers, we call it a haul up in London because it sounds better. But they don't know it by that name in these parts. A man may call his house an island, if he likes. There's no act of parliament against that, I believe. I believe not, sirs, rejoined Nicholas. Squeers eyed his companion slyly at the conclusion of this little dialogue, and finding that he had grown thoughtful and appeared in no wise disposed to volunteer any observations, contented himself with lashing the pony until they reached their journey's end. Jump out, said Squeers. Hello, there! Come and put this horse up. Be quick, will you? While the schoolmaster was uttering these and other impatient cries, Nicholas had time to observe that the school was a long, cold-looking house, one story high, with a few straggling outbuildings behind, and a barn and stable adjoining. After the lapse of a minute or two, the noise of somebody unlocking the yard gate was heard, and presently a tall lean boy with a lantern in his hand, eschewed forth. Is that you, Smyke? cried Squeers. Yes, sir, replied the boy. Then why the devil didn't you come out before? Please, sir, I fell asleep over the fire, answered Smyke with humility. Fire? What fire? Where's there a fire? demanded the schoolmaster sharply. Only in the kitchen, sir, replied the boy. Mrs. said, as I was sitting up, I might go in there for a warm. Your missus is a fool, retorted Squeers. You'd have been a juiced deal more wakeful in the cold, I'll engage. By this time Mr. Squeers had dismounted, and after ordering the boy to see to the pony and to take care that he hadn't any more corn that night, he told Nicholas to wait at the front door a minute while he went round and let him in. A host of unpleasant misgivings, which had been crowding upon Nicholas during the whole journey, thronged into his mind with redoubled force when he was left alone. His great distance from home, and the impossibility of reaching it except on foot, should he feel ever so anxious to return, presented itself to him in most alarming colours. And as he looked up at the dreary house and dark windows, and upon the wild country round covered with snow, he felt a depression of heart and spirit which he had never experienced before. Now then, right Squeers poking his head out at the front door, where are you, Nicolby? Here, sir," replied Nicholas, come in then, said Squeers, the wind blows in at this door, fit to knock a man off his legs. Nicholas sighed and hurried in. Mr. Squeers, having bolted the door to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished with a few chairs. A yellow map hung against the wall and a couple of tables, one of which bore some preparations for supper. While on the other, a tutor's assistant, a Murray's grammar, half a dozen cards of terms, and a warn letter directed to Wackford Squeers' Esquire, were arranged in picturesque confusion. They had not been in this apartment a couple of minutes when a female bounced into the room, and seizing Mr. Squeers by the throat, gave him two loud kisses, one close after the other, like a postman's knock. The lady, who was of a large, raw-boned figure, was about half a head taller than Mr. Squeers, and was dressed in a dimity night-jacket, with her hair in papers. She had also a dirty night-cap on, relieved by a yellow cotton handkerchief, which tied it under the chin. "'How's my Squeery?' said this lady, in a playful manner, and a very hoarse voice. "'Quite well, my love,' replied Squeers. "'How's the cows?' "'All right, every one of them,' answered the lady. "'And the pigs?' said Squeers, "'as well as they were when you went away.' "'Come, that's a blessing,' said Squeers, pulling off his great coat. "'The boys are all as they were, I suppose.' "'Oh, yes, they're well enough,' replied Mrs. Squeers, snappishly. "'That young pitcher's had a fever.' "'No!' exclaimed Squeers. "'Damn that boy! "'He's always at something of that sort.' "'Never was such a boy, I do believe,' said Mrs. Squeers. "'Whatever he has, he's always catching, too. "'I say it's obstinacy, "'and nothing shall ever convince me that it isn't. "'I beat it out of him, and I told you that six months ago. "'So you did, my love,' rejoined Squeers. "'We'll try what can be done.' "'Pending these little endearments, "'Nicholas had stood awkwardly enough in the middle of the room, "'not very well knowing whether he was expected to retire into the passage "'or to remain where he was. "'He was now relieved from his perplexity by Mr. Squeers. "'This is the new young man, my dear,' said that gentleman. "'Oh!' replied Mrs. Squeers, "'nodding her head at Nicholas and dyeing him coldly from top to toe. "'He'll take a meal with us tonight, said Squeers, "'and go among the boys to-morrow morning. "'You can give him a shake down here tonight, can't you?' "'We must manage it somehow,' replied the lady. "'You don't much mind how you sleep, I suppose, sir?' "'No indeed,' replied Nicholas. "'I am not particular. "'That's lucky,' said Mrs. Squeers. "'And as the lady's humour was considered to lie chiefly in retort, "'Mr. Squeers laughed heartily, "'and seemed to expect that Nicholas should do the same.' "'After some further conversation between the master and mistress, "'relative to the success of Mr. Squeers's trip, "'and the people who had paid, "'and the people who had made default impayment, "'a young servant-girl brought in a Yorkshire pie and some cold beef, "'which being set upon the table, the boy's smike appeared with a jug of ale. "'Mr. Squeers was emptying his great-coke pockets of letters to different boys, "'and other small documents which he had brought down in them. "'The boy glanced with an anxious and timid expression at the papers, "'as if with a sickly hope that one among them might relate to him. "'The look was a very painful one, "'and went to Nicholas's heart at once, "'for it told a long and very sad history. "'It induced him to consider the boy more attentively, "'and he was surprised to observe the extraordinary mixture of garments "'which formed his dress. "'Although he could not have been less than eighteen or nineteen years old, "'and was tall for that age, "'he wore a skeleton suit, "'such as is usually put upon very little boys, "'and which, though most absurdly short in the arms and legs, "'was quite wide enough for his attenuated frame. "'In order that the lower part of his legs might be in perfect keeping "'with this singular dress, "'he had a very large pair of boots, "'originally made for tops, "'which might have been once worn by some stout farmer, "'but were now too patched and tattered for a beggar. "'Heaven knows how long he had been there, "'but he still wore the same linen which he had first taken down. "'For round his neck was a tattered child's frill, "'only half concealed by a coarse man's neckerchief. "'He was lame, "'and as he feigned to be busy in arranging the table, "'glanced at the letters with a look so keen "'and yet so dispirited and hopeless "'that Nicholas could hardly bear to watch him. "'What are you bothering about this, Mike?' cried Mrs. Squeers. "'Let the things alone, can't you?' "'Eh?' said Squeers, looking up. "'Oh, it's you, is it?' "'Yes, sir,' replied the youth, pressing his hands together, "'as though to control by force the nervous wandering of his fingers. "'Is there—' "'Well?' said Squeers. "'Have you—did anybody—' "'Has nothing been heard about me?' "'Devil a bit,' replied Squeers, testily. "'The lad withdrew his eyes and, putting his hand to his face, "'moved toward the door.' "'Not a word,' resumed Squeers, "'and never will be. "'Now, this is a pretty sort of thing, isn't it, "'that you should have been left here all these years "'and no money paid after the first six, "'nor no notice taken, "'nor no clue to be got who you belong to. "'It's a pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great "'fella like you and never hope to get one penny for it, isn't it?' "'The boy put his hand to his head, "'as if he were making an effort to recollect something. "'And then, looking vacantly at his questioner, "'gradually broke into a smile and limped away. "'I'll tell you what, Squeers,' remarked his wife, "'as the door closed, "'I think that young chap's turning silly. "'I hope not,' said the schoolmaster for his hand, "'he fell out of doors, "'and worth his meat and drink, anyway. "'I should think he'd have wit enough for us, though, if he was. "'But come, let's have supper, "'for I'm hungry and tired and want to get to bed.' "'This reminder brought in an exclusive stake "'for Mr. Squeers, "'who speedily proceeded to do it ample justice. "'Nicholas drew up his chair, "'but his appetite was effectually taken away. "'How's the steak, Squeers?' said Mrs. S. "'Tender as a lamb,' replied Squeers. "'Have a bit. "'I couldn't eat a morsel,' replied his wife. "'What'll the young man take, maddie?' "'Whatever he likes, that's present,' rejoined Squeers, "'in a most unusual burst of generosity. "'What do you say, Mr. Knuckle-boy?' inquired Mrs. Squeers. "'I'll take a little of the pie, if you please,' replied Nicholas. "'A very little, for I'm not hungry.' "'Well, it's a pity to cut the pie if you're not hungry, isn't it?' said Mrs. Squeers. "'Will you try a bit of the beef?' "'Whatever you please,' replied Nicholas abstractedly. "'It's all the same to me.' "'Mrs. Squeers looked vastly gracious on receiving this reply, "'and nodding to Squeers, "'as much as to say that she was glad to find the young man knew his station, "'assisted Nicholas to a slice of meat with her own fair hands. "'Ale, Squeery,' inquired the lady, winking and frowning to give him to understand that the question propounded was whether Nicholas should have ale, and not whether he, Squeers, would take any. "'Certainly,' said Squeers, re-telegraphing in the same manner, "'a glassful.' So Nicholas had a glassful, and being occupied with his own reflections drank it in happy innocence of all the foregone proceedings.' "'Uncommon juicy steak,' that said Squeers, as he laid down his knife and fork, after plying it in silence for some time. "'It's prime meat,' rejoined his lady. "'I bought a good large piece of it myself, on purpose for—' "'For what?' exclaimed Squeers hastily. "'Not for the—' "'Oh, no, no, not for them,' rejoined Mrs. Squeers. "'On purpose for you against you came home. "'Law, you didn't think I could have made such a mistake as that.' "'Pom, my word, my dear, I didn't know what you were going to say,' said Squeers, who turned pale. "'You needn't make yourself uncomfortable,' remarked his wife, laughing heartily, "'to think that I should be such a noddy.' "'Well.'" This part of the conversation was rather unintelligible. But popular rumour in the neighbourhood asserted that Mr. Squeers, being amably opposed to cruelty to animals, not unfrequently purchased for consumption the bodies of horned cattle who had died a natural death. Possibly he was apprehensive of having unintentionally devoured some choice morsel intended for the young gentleman. Supper being over, and removed by a small servant girl with a hungry eye, Mrs. Squeers retired to lock it up, and also to take into safe custody the clothes of the five boys who had just arrived, and who were half way up the troublesome flight of steps which leads to death's door in consequence of exposure to the cold. They were then regaled with a light supper of porridge, and stowed away side by side in a small bedstead to warm each other, and dream of a substantial meal with something hot after it, if their fancies set that way, which it is not at all improbable they did. Mr. Squeers treated himself to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water, made on the liberal half-and-half principle, allowing for the dissolution of the sugar, and his amiable helpmate mixed Nicholas the ghost of a small glassful of the same compound. This done, Mr. and Mrs. Squeers drew close up to the fire, and sitting with their feet on the fender, talked confidentially in whispers. While Nicholas, taking up the tutor's assistant, read the interesting legends in the miscellaneous questions, and all the figures into the bargain, with as much thought or consciousness of what he was doing as if he had been in a magnetic slumber. At length Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it was high time to go to bed. Upon which signal Mrs. Squeers and the girl dragged in a small straw mattress, and a couple of blankets, and arranged them into a couch for Nicholas. We'll put you into your regular bedroom to-morrow, Nicolby, said Squeers. Let me see. Who sleeps in Brooks's bed, Maddie? In Brooks's, said Mrs. Squeers, pondering there's Jennings, Little Boulder, Graymarsh, and—what's his name? So there is, rejoined Squeers, yeah, Brooks is full. Full, thought Nicholas, I should think he was. There's a place somewhere, I know, said Squeers, but I can't at this moment call to mind where it is. However, we'll have that all settled to-morrow. Good night, Nicolby. Seven o'clock in the morning, mind. I shall be ready, sir," replied Nicholas. Good night. I'll come in myself and show you where the well is, said Squeers. You'll always find a little bit of soap in the kitchen window. That belongs to you." Nicholas opened his eyes, but not his mouth, and Squeers was again going away when he once more turned back. I don't know, I'm sure," he said. Who's towel to put you on? But if you'll make shift with something to-morrow morning, Mrs. Squeers will arrange that in the course of the day. My dear, don't forget. I'll take care," replied Mrs. Squeers, and mind you take care, young man, and get first wash. The teacher ought always to have it, but they get the better of him if they can. Mr. Squeers then nudged Mrs. Squeers to bring away the brandy-bottle, lest Nicholas should help himself in the night, and the lady having seized it with great precipitation they retired together. Nicholas being left alone took half a dozen turns up and down the room, in a condition of much agitation and excitement. But growing gradually calmer, sat himself down in a chair, and mentally resolved that come what come might, he would endeavor for a time to bear whatever wretchedness might be in store for him, and that remembering the helplessness of his mother and sister, he would give his uncle no plea for deserting them in their need. Good resolutions seldom fail of producing some good effect in the mind from which they spring. He grew less desponding, and so sanguine and buoyant his youth, even hoped that affairs at Duthe Boy's Hall might yet prove better than they promised. He was preparing for bed, with something like renewed cheerfulness, when a sealed letter fell from his coat pocket. In the hurry of leaving London, it had escaped his attention, and had not occurred to him since, but it at once brought back to him the recollection of the mysterious behavior of Newman-Noggs. Dear me, said Nicholas, what an extraordinary hand! It was directed to himself, was written upon very dirty paper, and in such cramped and crippled writing as to be almost illegible. After great difficulty and much puzzling, he contrived to read as follows. My dear young man, I know the world. Your father did not, or he would not have done me a kindness when there was no hope of return. You do not, or you would not be bound on such a journey. If you ever want a shelter in London, don't be angry at this, I once thought I never should. They know where I live, at the sign of the crown, in Silver Street, Golden Square. It is at the corner of Silver Street and James Street, with a bar door both ways. You can come at night. Once nobody was ashamed, never mind that, it's all over. Excuse errors, I should forget how to wear a whole coat now. I've forgotten all my old ways. My spelling may have gone with them. Newman-Nogs. P.S., if you should go near Barnard Castle, there is good ale at the king's head. Say you know me, and I'm sure they will not charge you for it. You may say Mr. Nogs there, for I was a gentleman then. I was indeed. It may be a very undignified circumstance to record, but after he had folded this letter and placed it in his pocket-book, Nicholas Nicolb's eyes were dimmed with a moisture that might have been taken for tears. End of Chapter 7