No More Learning

The most uncompromising realist, he led
poetry back to human life on its stern dark side. Born and bred
among the poor, he described, as no one else in the whole range of
English verse has done, the sordid existences among which he had
grown up. He dispelled all illusions about rural life, and dealt the
death-blow to the Corydons and Phillises of pastoral poetry. He
showed that the poor man can be more immoral and even more
unprincipled than the rich, because his higher spiritual nature is
hopelessly dwarfed in the desperate struggle to keep the wolf from
the door. He supplied harrowing texts to the social economist. He
is a gloomy poet, especially in the first part of his work, for he
paints principally the shadows that hang over the lives of the lowly;
he does not deal with that life imaginatively as Wordsworth and
Burns do, but realistically, narrating with photographic
what he saw. He excels in graphic delineations of external facts,
but is also a powerful painter of the passions, especially the more
violent ones, such as remorse and despair. Sir Eustace Grey' is a
masterful portrayal of madness.
Crabbe has at times been denied the name of poet. There is little
music in his verse, little of that singing quality that goes with all
true poetry. His versification is often slipshod and careless. His
lack of taste and artistic feeling shows itself not only in the manner
but also in the matter of his work. He dwells by preference on the
unlovely; he does not choose his details as an artist would. He is
too minute, too like those Dutch painters who bestow as much care
on the refuse as on the burnished platters of their interiors. And
again he is trivial or too literal. But the steady admiration his
poetry has excited in men of the most different tastes for several
generations shows that it has deeper qualities. The truth is, that his


## p. 4119 (#497) ###########################################

GEORGE CRABBE
4119
mean and squalid details are not mere heaps of unrelated things, nor
irrelevant to his story; they are not even mere "scenery. " They
are part of the history, in general the tragedy, of human hearts and
souls; and owe their validity as poetic material, and their power of
interesting us, to their being part of the influences that bear on the
history.
Scott had Crabbe's poems read aloud in his last illness. Horace
Smith called him "Pope in worsted stockings. " Jane Austen said
she "could fancy being Mrs. Crabbe. " Cardinal Newman read the
'Tales of the Hall' with extreme delight on their first appearance,
and fifty years later still thought well of them. These different
opinions testify that whatever the shortcomings of Crabbe as crafts-
man, the earnestness and the genuineness of his work give him a
secure place among English poets.
NEX
ISAAC ASHFORD
From The Parish Register'
EXT to these ladies, but in naught allied,
A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestioned and his soul serene:
Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no man's question Isaac looked dismayed;
Shame knew he not; he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face:
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he loved;
To bliss domestic he his heart resigned,
And with the firmest had the fondest mind.
Were others joyful, he looked smiling on,
And gave allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distressed;
(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind
To miss one favor which their neighbors find. )
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;
He felt humanely, and he warmly loved.
I marked his action when his infant died,
And his old neighbor for offense was tried:


## p. 4120 (#498) ###########################################

4120
GEORGE CRABBE
The still tears, stealing down that furrowed cheek,
Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak.
If pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar pride
Who in their base contempt the great deride;
Nor pride in learning: though my Clerk agreed,
If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knew
None his superior, and his equals few:
But if that spirit in his soul had place,
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained,
In sturdy boys to virtuous labors trained:
Pride in the power that guards his country's coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride in a life that slander's tongue defied
In fact a noble passion, misnamed Pride.
He had no party's rage, no sectary's whim;
Christian and countryman was all with him:
True to his church he came; no Sunday shower
Kept him at home in that important hour;
Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect
By the strong glare of their new light direct;
"On hope in mine own sober light I gaze,
But should be blind and lose it, in your blaze. "
-
In times severe, when many a sturdy swain
Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain,
Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide,
And feel in that his comfort and his pride.
I feel his absence in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there:
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honored head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compelled to kneel and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers, all in dread the while,
Till Mr. Ashford softened to a smile:
No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,
Nor the pure faith (to give it force), are there;-
But he is blest, and I lament no more
A wise, good man, contented to be poor.


## p. 4121 (#499) ###########################################

GEORGE CRABBE
4121
THE PARISH WORKHOUSE AND APOTHECARY
From The Village›
TH
HEIRS is yon house that holds the parish poor,
Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door;
There, where the putrid vapors flagging play,
And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day;
There children dwell who know no parents' care;
Parents who know no children's love dwell there;
Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed,
Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed;
Dejected widows with unheeded tears,
And crippled age with more than childhood-fears;
The lame, the blind, and-far the happiest they! —
The moping idiot and the madman gay.
Here too the sick their final doom receive,
Here brought amid the scenes of grief to grieve,
Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow,
Mixed with the clamors of the crowd below;
Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan,
And the cold charities of man to man:
Whose laws indeed for ruined age provide,
And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride;
But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh,
And pride embitters what it can't deny.
Say ye, oppressed by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose;
Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance
With timid eye, to read the distant glance;
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease,
To name the nameless ever-new disease;
Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain and that alone can cure:
How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
Despised, neglected, left alone to die?
How would ye bear to draw your latest breath
Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?
Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the sloping sides;
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,
And lath and mud are all that lie between;


## p. 4122 (#500) ###########################################

4122
GEORGE CRABBE
Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patched, gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day:
Here on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes;
No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile,
Or promise hope till sickness wears a smile.
But soon a loud and hasty summons calls,
Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls.
Anon a figure enters, quaintly neat,
All pride and business, bustle and conceit,
With looks unaltered by these scenes of woe,
With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go;
He bids the gazing throng around him fly,
And carries fate and physic in his eye:
A potent quack, long versed in human ills,
Who first insults the victim whom he kills;
Whose murderous hand a drowsy bench protect,
And whose most tender mercy is neglect.
Paid by the parish for attendance here,
He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer;
In haste he seeks the bed where misery lies,
Impatience marked in his averted eyes;
And some habitual queries hurried o'er,
Without reply he rushes to the door:
His drooping patient, long inured to pain,
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain;
He ceases now the feeble help to crave
Of man; and silent sinks into the grave.


## p. 4123 (#501) ###########################################

4123
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
(1826-1887)
LTHOUGH the daughter of a clergyman of the Established
Church, Dinah Mulock was not herself a Churchwoman,
and in her earlier works she frequently declares her belief
in freedom of religious thought and action. She was led to take this
attitude by her conviction that her mother was unkindly treated by
her father, who in her opinion did not live up to the principles he
professed. In a blaze of youthful indignation she carried her deli-
cate mother and younger brothers away from their home at Stoke-
on-Trent, Staffordshire, and undertook to

support them all by her pen. The Ogil-
vies,' her first novel, was published in 1849,
and her first struggle was successful. But
she was soon deprived of the cause which
she had gone forth to champion. Her
mother and one of her brothers died, and
she was left alone with her youngest
brother to continue her work. Her loving
description of her mother in My Mother
and I' will be remembered as the picture
of a pure, tender, and gentle woman.
'Olive' and 'The Head of the Family'
soon followed The Ogilvies,' and in the
second of these stories she showed highly
imaginative and dramatic qualities, though the plot is simplicity
itself. After 'Agatha's Husband' was issued in 1852, no other work
of consequence appeared from her pen until the publication in 1857
of John Halifax, Gentleman,' her most popular novel. It was the
portraiture of a gentleman by instinct, though not by social position.
He is a middle-class business man, an inventor who has solved cer-
tain problems of capital and labor, and upholds "a true aristocracy,"
which he defines as "the best men of the country. " "These," he
says, "ought to govern and will govern one day, whether their
patent of nobility be birth and titles or only honesty and brains. "
She always maintained that A Life for a Life' was her best
book, a judgment shared by many of her friends and critics. 'John
Halifax,' however, continues to hold the heart and imagination
of the many most strongly; perhaps on account of its democratic
DINAH M. M. CRAIK


## p. 4124 (#502) ###########################################

4124
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
principles. Mrs. Craik was an earnest advocate of legalizing mar-
riage with a deceased wife's sister, and 'Hannah,' a strong but
painful story, deals with this subject. She published between forty
and fifty works,-novels, tales for the young, volumes of travel, and
poems. She is a writer of the best sort of English domestic novels,
full of strong moral purpose. She avoids over-romantic or over-
emotional themes, but the tender and poetical ideals of ordinary
womanhood find in her a satisfactory exponent. As a poet her posi-
tion, though not a high one, is lasting. Her versification is good,
and her sentiment is always tender, truthful, and noble. Perhaps
her best verses are those given below. In 1865 she made a happy
marriage, and as her life grew larger and fuller her home became
the centre of a group of affectionate friends,- artists, literary men,
musicians, and many others full of intellectual interests and aspira-
tions. She died suddenly but peacefully at her home at Shortlands,
Kent, near London, on October 12th, 1887.
THE NIGHT ATTACK
From John Halifax, Gentleman'
I
COULD not sleep-all my faculties were preternaturally alive;
my weak body and timid soul became strong and active, able
to compass anything. For that one night at least I felt
myself a man.
My father was a very sound sleeper. I knew nothing would
disturb him till daylight; therefore my divided duty was at an
end. I left him and crept down-stairs into Sally Watkins's
kitchen. It was silent; only the faithful warder Jem dozed
over the dull fire. I touched him on the shoulder, at which he
collared me, and nearly knocked me down.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Phineas-hope I didn't hurt 'ee, sir! "
cried he, all but whimpering; for Jem, a big lad of fifteen, was
the most tender-hearted fellow imaginable. "I thought it were
some of them folk that Mr. Halifax ha' gone among. "
"Where is Mr. Halifax ? "
"Doan't know, sir; wish I did! wouldn't be long a-finding out,
though-on'y he says: 'Jem, you stop here wi' they,'" (pointing
his thumb up the staircase). "So, Master Phineas, I stop. "
And Jem settled himself, with a doggedly obedient but most
dissatisfied air, down by the fireplace. It was evident nothing
would move him thence; and he was as safe a guard over my
poor old father's slumber as the mastiff in the tan-yard, who was


## p. 4125 (#503) ###########################################

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4125
as brave as a lion and as docile as a child. My last lingering
hesitation ended.
"Jem, lend me your coat and hat; I'm going out into the
town. "
Jem was so astonished that he stood with open mouth while
I took the said garments from him and unbolted the door. At
last it seemed to occur to him that he ought to intercept me.
"But sir, Mr. Halifax said — »
"I am going to look for Mr. Halifax. "
And I escaped outside. Anything beyond his literal duty did
not strike the faithful Jem. He stood on the doorsill and gazed
after me with a hopeless expression.
"I s'pose you mun have your way, sir; but Mr. Halifax said,
'Jem, you stop y'ere,' and y'ere I stop. "
He went in, and I heard him bolting the door with a sullen
determination, as if he would have kept guard behind it - wait-
ing for John- until doomsday.
I stole along the dark alley into the street.
It was very
silent-I need not have borrowed Jem's exterior in order to
creep through a throng of maddened rioters. There was no
sign of any such, except that under one of the three oil-lamps
that lit the night-darkness of Norton Bury lay a few smolder-
ing hanks of hemp, well rosined. They then had thought of
that dreadful engine of destruction-fire. Had my terrors been
true? Our house-and perhaps John within it!
On I ran, speeded by a dull murmur which I fancied I
heard; but still there was no one in the street- no one except
the abbey watchman, lounging in his box. I roused him and
asked if all was safe- where were the rioters ?
"What rioters? "
"At Abel Fletcher's mill; they may be at his house now
"Ay. I think they be. "
-
-
"And will not one man in the town help him-
no law? "
――――
no constables,
"Oh, he's a Quaker; the law don't help Quakers. '
That was the truth, in those days. Liberty, justice, were idle
names to Nonconformists of every kind; and all they knew of
the glorious constitution of English law was when its iron hand.
was turned against them.
I had forgotten this; bitterly I remembered it now. So,
wasting no more words, I flew along the churchyard until I
>>


## p. 4126 (#504) ###########################################

4126
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
saw, shining against the boles of the chestnut-trees, a red light.
It was one of the hempen torches. Now at last I had got in
the midst of that small body of men-"the rioters. "
A mere handful they were, not above twoscore; apparently
the relic of the band which had attacked the mill, joined with a
few plow-lads from the country round. But they were desperate;
they had come up the Coltham road so quietly that, except this
faint murmur, neither I nor any one in the town could have told
they were near. Wherever they had been ransacking, as yet
they had not attacked my father's house; it stood upon the other
side of the road, barred, black, silent.
I heard a muttering, "Th' old man bean't there" - "Nobody
knows where he be. " No, thank God!
"Be us all y'ere? " said the man with the torch, holding it up
SO as to see round him. It was well then that I appeared as
Jem Watkins. But no one noticed me, except one man who
skulked behind a tree, and of whom I was rather afraid, as he
was apparently intent on watching.
"Ready, lads? Now for the rosin!
Blaze 'un out! "
But in the eager scuffle the torch, the only one light, was
knocked down and trodden out. A volley of oaths arose, though
whose fault it was no man seemed to know: but I missed my
man from behind the tree-nor found him till after the angry
throng had rushed on to the nearest lamp. One of them was
left behind, standing close to our own railings. He looked round
to see if none were by, and then sprung over the gate.
Dark as
it was, I thought I recognized him.
"John? »
"Phineas? "
He was beside me in a bound. "How could
you do ->
"I could do anything to-night. But you are safe
has harmed you. Oh, thank God, you are not hurt! "
And I clung to his arm my friend whom I had missed so
long, so sorely.
―
no one
He held me tight- his heart felt as mine, only more silently;
and silent hearts are strong.
"Now, Phineas, we have not a minute's time. I must have
you safe-
we must get into the house. "
"Who is there? "
"Jael; she is as good as a staff of constables; she has braved
them once to-night, but they're back again, or will be directly. "


## p. 4127 (#505) ###########################################

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"And the mill? "
"Safe, as yet; I have had three of the tan-yard men there
since yesterday morning, though your father did not know. I
have been going to and fro all night between there and here,
waiting till the rioters should come back from the Severn mills.
Hist! there they are-I say, Jael. "
He tapped at the window. In a few seconds Jael had
unbarred the door, let us in, and closed it again securely;
mounting guard behind it with something that looked very like
my father's pistols, though I would not discredit her among our
peaceful society by positively stating the fact.
4127
"Bravo! " said John, when we stood all together in the barri-
caded house and heard the threatening murmur of voices and
feet outside. «< Bravo, Jael! The wife of Heber the Kenite was
no braver woman than you. "
She looked gratified, and followed John obediently from room
to room.
-
"I have done all as thee bade me-
John Halifax. We are secure, I think. "
Secure? Bolts and bars secure against fire? For that was
threatening us now.
"They can't mean it-surely they can't mean it," repeated
John, as the cry of "Burn 'un out! rose louder and louder.
But they did mean it. From the attic window we watched
them light torch after torch, sometimes throwing one at the
house but it fell harmless against the staunch oaken door, and
blazed itself out on our stone steps. All it did was to show,
more plainly than even daylight had shown, the gaunt ragged
forms and pinched faces, furious with famine.
John, as well as I, recoiled at that miserable sight.
"I'll speak to them," he said. “Unbar the window, Jael;
and before I could hinder he was leaning right out.
there! "
"Halloo,
-
thee art a sensible lad,
At his loud and commanding voice a wave of upturned faces
surged forward, expectant.
"My men, do you know what you are about? To burn down
a gentleman's house is-hanging. "
There was a hush, and then a shout of derision.
"Not a Quaker's! Nobody'll get hanged for burning out a
Quaker!
>>>>


## p. 4128 (#506) ###########################################

4128
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"That be true enough," muttered Jael between her teeth.
"We must e'en fight, as Mordecai's people fought, hand to hand,
until they slew their enemies. "
“Fight! ” repeated John half to himself, as he stood at the
now closed window, against which more than one blazing torch
began to rattle.
――
"Fight with these? -What are you doing, Jael? " For she
had taken down a large book - the last book in the house she
would have taken under less critical circumstances, and with it
was trying to stop up a broken pane.
"No, my good Jael, not this;" and he carefully put back the
volume in its place-that volume, in which he might have read,
as day after day, year after year, we Christians generally do
read such plain words as these: "Love your enemies;" "Bless
them that curse you;
«< Pray for them that despitefully use you
and persecute you. "
A minute or two John stood by the book-shelves, thinking.
Then he touched me on the shoulder.
"Phineas, I am going to try a new plan-at least one so old
that it is almost new. Whether it succeeds or no, you'll bear
me witness to your father that I did it for the best, and did it
because I thought it right. Now for it. "
To my horror, he threw up the window wide, and leaned
out.
"My men, I want to speak to you. "
He might as well have spoken to the roaring sea. The only
answer was a shower of missiles, which missed their aim. The
rioters were too far off —our spiked iron railing, eight feet high
or more, being a barrier which none had yet ventured to climb.
But at length one random shot hit John on the chest.
I pulled him in; but he declared he was not hurt. Terrified,
I implored him not to risk his life.
"Life is not always the first thing to be thought of,” said
he, gently. "Don't be afraid; I shall come to no harm. But I
must do what I think right, if it is to be done. "
While he spoke, I could hardly hear him for the bellowings
outside. More savage still grew the cry:
They be only Quakers! "
"Burn 'em out! burn 'em out!
"There's not a minute to lose.
that a pistol? "
Stop, let me think-Jael, is


## p. 4129 (#507) ###########################################

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4129
"Loaded," she said, handing it over to him with a kind of
stern delight. Certainly Jael was not born to be a Friend.
John ran down-stairs, and before I guessed his purpose had
unbolted the hall door, and stood on the top of the flight of
steps in full view of the mob.
There was no bringing him back, so of course I followed. A
pillar sheltered me; I do not think he saw me, though I stood
close behind him.
So sudden had been his act that even the rioters did not seem
to have noticed, or clearly understood it till the next lighted
torch showed them the young man standing there, with his back
to the door-outside the door.
The sight fairly confounded them. Even I felt for the
moment he was safe. They were awed
They were awed-nay, paralyzed, by his
daring.
But the storm raged too fiercely to be lulled, except for one
brief minute. A confusion of voices burst out afresh.
"No, he
"Who be thee? " "It's one o' the Quakers. "
bean't. " "Burn 'un anyhow. " "Touch 'un, if ye dare! "
There was evidently a division rising. One big man, who had
made himself very prominent all along, seemed trying to calm.
the tumult.
John stood his ground.
stooped and picked it up.
back again, but he did not;
it out safely with his foot.
effect on the crowd.
The big fellow advanced to the gate, and called John by his
name.
Once a torch was flung at him-he
I thought he was going to hurl it
he only threw it down and stamped
This simple action had a wonderful
"Is that you, Jacob Baines? I am sorry to see you here. "
"Be ye, sir? »
"What do you want? "
"Naught wi' thee. We want Abel Fletcher.
Where is 'un? "
"I shall certainly not tell you. "
As John said this, again the noise arose, and again Jacob
Baines seemed to have power to quiet the rest.
John Halifax never stirred. Evidently he was pretty well
known. I caught many a stray sentence, such as "Don't hurt
the lad;" "He were kind to my lad, he were;" "He be a real
gentleman;" "No, he comed here as poor as us," and the like.
At length one voice, sharp and shrill, was heard above the rest.
VII-259


## p. 4130 (#508) ###########################################

4130
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
"I say, young man, didst ever know what it was to be pretty
nigh vamished? »
"Ay, many a time. »
The answer, so brief, so unexpected, struck a great hush into
the throng. Then the same voice cried:
"Speak up, man! we won't hurt 'ee! You be one o' we! "
"No, I am not one of you. I'd be ashamed to come in the
night and burn my master's house down. "
-:
I expected an outbreak, but none came. They listened, as it
were by compulsion, to the clear manly voice, that had not in
it one shade of fear.
"What do you do it for? " John continued. "All because he
would not sell you, or give you, his wheat. Even so; it was his
wheat, not yours. May not a man do what he likes with his
own? "
That argument seemed to strike home. There is always a
lurking sense of rude justice in a mob- at least a British mob.
"Don't you see how foolish you were? You tried threats
too. Now, you all know Mr. Fletcher; you are his men
of you.
He is not a man to be threatened. "
some
This seemed to be taken rather angrily; but John went on
speaking, as if he did not observe the fact.
"Nor am I one to be threatened, neither. Look here- the
first one of you who attempted to break into Mr. Fletcher's
house, I should most certainly have shot. But I'd rather not
shoot you, poor starving fellows! I know what it is to be
hungry. I'm sorry for you-sorry from the bottom
of my
heart. "
____________
There was no mistaking that compassionate accent, nor the
murmur which followed it.
"But what must us do, Mr. Halifax? " cried Jacob Baines.
"Us be starved a'most. What's the good o' talking to we? "
John's countenance relaxed. I saw him lift his head and
shake his hair back, with that pleased gesture I remembered so
well of old. He went down to the locked gate.
"Suppose I gave you something to eat, would you listen to
me afterward? »
There rose up a frenzied shout of assent. Poor wretches!
they were fighting for no principle, true or false, only for bare
life. They would have bartered their very souls for a mouthful
of bread.


## p. 4131 (#509) ###########################################

DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4131
"You must promise to be peaceable," said John again, very
resolutely, as soon as he could obtain a hearing. "You are
Norton Bury folk. I know you. I could get every one of you
hanged, even though Abel Fletcher is a Quaker. Mind, you'll be
peaceable? »
"Ay, ay! Some'at to eat; give us some'at to eat. "
John Halifax called out to Jael, bade her bring all the food
of every kind that there was in the house, and give it to him out
of the parlor window. She obeyed-I marvel now to think of
it, but she implicitly obeyed. Only I heard her fix the bar to
the closed front door, and go back, with a strange sharp sob, to
her station at the hall window.
"Now, my lads, come in! " and he unlocked the gate.
They came thronging up the steps, not more than twoscore,
I imagined, in spite of the noise they had made. But twoscore
of such famished, desperate men, God grant I may never again
see!
John divided the food as well as he could among them; they
fell to it like wild beasts. Meat, cooked or raw, loaves, vegeta-
bles, meal-all came alike, and were clutched, gnawed, and
scrambled for in the fierce selfishness of hunger. Afterward
there was a call for drink.
"Water, Jael; bring them water. "
"Beer! " shouted some.
"Water," repeated John. "Nothing but water. I'll have no
drunkards rioting at my master's door. "
And either by chance or design, he let them hear the click of
his pistol. But it was hardly needed. They were all cowed by
a mightier weapon still- the best weapon a man can use-his
own firm indomitable will.
At length all the food we had in the house was consumed.
John told them so; and they believed him. Little enough,
indeed, was sufficient for some of them: wasted with long fam-
ine, they turned sick and faint, and dropped down even with
bread in their mouths, unable to swallow it. Others gorged
themselves to the full, and then lay along the steps, supine as
satisfied brutes. Only a few sat and ate like rational human
beings; and there was but one, the little shrill-voiced man, who
asked me if he might "tak a bit o' bread to the old wench at
home! "
John, hearing, turned, and for the first time noticed me.
――――――


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4132
DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
«< Phineas, it was very wrong of you; but there is no danger
now. "
No, there was none not even for Abel Fletcher's son.
stood safe by John's side, very happy, very proud.
"Well, my men," he said, looking around with a smile,
"have you had enough to eat? "
―――
-
I
"Oh, ay! " they all cried.
And one man added, "Thank the Lord! "
"That's right, Jacob Baines. And another time trust the
Lord. You wouldn't then have been abroad this summer morn-
ing" and he pointed to the dawn just reddening in the
sky-"this quiet, blessed summer morning, burning and riot-
ing, bringing yourself to the gallows and your children to
starvation. "
"They be nigh that a'ready," said Jacob, sullenly. "Us men
ha' gotten a meal, thankee for i'; bu' what'll become o' the 'ittle
uns a' home? I say, Mr. Halifax," and he seemed waxing
desperate again, "we must get food somehow. "
John turned away, his countenance very sad. Another of the
men plucked at him from behind.
"Sir, when thee was a poor lad, I lent thee a rug to sleep
on; I doan't grudge 'ee getting on; you was born for a gentle-
man, surely. But Master Fletcher be a hard man. ”
"And a just one," persisted John. "You that work for him,
did he ever stint you of a halfpenny? If you had come to him
and said, 'Master, times are hard; we can't live upon our
wages;' he might—I don't say he would-but he might even
have given you the food you tried to steal. "
"D'ye think he'd give it us now? " And Jacob Baines, the
big gaunt savage fellow who had been the ringleader - the
same too who had spoken of his "little uns". -came and looked
steadily in John's face.
"I knew thee as a lad; thee'rt a young man now, as will be
a father some o' these days. Oh! Mr. Halifax, may 'ee ne'er
want a meal o' good meat for the missus and the babies at
home, if 'ee'll get a bit of bread for our'n this day. "
"My man, I'll try. "
He called me aside, explained to me, and asked my advice
and consent, as Abel Fletcher's son, to a plan that had come
into his mind. It was to write orders, which each man pre-
senting at our mill should receive a certain amount of flour.


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DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK
4133
"Do you think your father would agree? "
"I think he would. "
And
"Yes," John added, pondering, "I am sure he would.
“I
besides, if he does not give some he may lose all. But he would
not do it for fear of that. No, he is a just man. I am not
afraid. Give me some paper, Jael. "
He sat down as composedly as if he had been alone in the
counting-house, and wrote. I looked over his shoulder, admiring
his clear firm handwriting; the precision, concentrativeness, and
quickness with which he first seemed to arrange and then execute
his ideas. He possessed to the full that "business" faculty so
frequently despised, but which out of very ordinary material
often makes a clever man, and without which the cleverest man
alive can never be altogether a great man.
When about to sign the orders, John suddenly stopped.
་
"No; I had better not. "
"Why so? "
"I have no right; your father might think it presumption. "
"Presumption, after to-night! "
"Oh, that's nothing! Take the pen. It is your part to sign
them, Phineas. "
I obeyed.
"Isn't this better than hanging? " said John to the men, when
he had distributed the little bits of paper, precious as pound-
notes, and made them all fully understand the same.
"Why,
there isn't another gentleman in Norton Bury who, if you had
come to burn his house down, would not have had the constables
or the soldiers shoot down one-half of you like mad dogs, and
sent the other half to the county jail. Now, for all your mis-
doings, we let you go quietly home, well fed, and with food for
your children too. Why, think you? "
"I doan't know," said Jacob Baines, humbly.
"I'll tell you.
Christian,"
Because Abel Fletcher is a Quaker and a
"Hurrah for Abel Fletcher! hurrah for the Quakers! " shouted
they, waking up the echoes down Norton Bury streets: which of
a surety had never echoed to that shout before.