Familiar in their MoutJis as HOUSEHOLD

A WEEKLY JOURNALCONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

224.] SATUEDAY, JULY 8, 1854. [PRICE M.

H A R D TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKEXS.

CHAPTER XXV.MRS. SPARSIT, lying by to recover the tone

of her nerves in Mr. Bounderby's retreat,kept such a sharp look-out, night and day,under her Coriolauian eyebrows, that her eyes,like a couple of lighthouses on an iron-boundcoast, might have warned all prudent mari-ners from that bold rock her Hornan nose andthe dark and craggy region in its neighbour-hood, but for the placidity of her manner.Although it was iiard to believe that herretiring for the night could be anything buta form, so severely wide awake were thoseclassical eyes of hers, and so impossible didit seem that her rigid nose could yield to anyrelaxing influence, yet her manner of sitting,smoothing her tmcomfortable, not to say,gritty, mittens (they were constructed of a•cool fabric like a meat-safe), or of ambling tounknown places of destination with her footin her cotton stirrup, was so perfectly serene,that most observers would have beenconstrained to suppose her a dove, em-bodied, by some freak of nature, in the•earthly tabernacle of a bird of the hook-beaked order.

She was a most wonderful woman forprowling about the house. How she gotfrom story to story, was a mystery beyondsolution. A lady so decorous in herself, andso highly connected, was not to be suspectedof dropping over the bannisters or sliding•down them, yet her extraordinary facility oflocomotion suggested the wild idea. Anothernoticeable circumstance in Mrs. Sparsit was,that she was never hurried. She wouldshoot with consummate velocity from theroof to the hall, yet would be in full posses-sion of her breath and dignity on the momentof her arrival there. Neither was she everseen by human vision to go at a great pace.

She took very kindly to Mr. Harthouse,and had some pleasant conversation with himsoon after her arrival. She made him herstately curtsey in the garden, one morningbefore breakfast.

" It appears but yesterday, sir," 'said Mrs.Sparsit, " that I had the honor of receivingyou at the Bank, when you were so good as

to wish to be made acquainted with Mr.Bounderby's address."

"An occasion, I am sure, not to be for-gotten by myself in the course of Ages," saidMr. Harthouse, inclining his head to Mrs.Sparsit with the most indolent of all possibleairs.

"We live in a singular world, sir," saidMrs. Sparsit.

" I have had the honor, by a coincidenceof which I am proud, to have made a remark,similar in effect, though not so epigrammati-cally expressed."

"A singular world, I would say, sir,"pursued Mrs. Sparsit; after acknowledgingthe compliment with a drooping of her darkeyebrows, not altogether so mild in its ex-pression as her voice was in its dulcet tones ;" as regards the intimacies we form at onetime, with individuals we were quite ignorantof, at another. I recall, sir, that on that occa-sion you went so far as to say you wereactually apprehensive of Miss Gradgrind."

" Your memory does me more honor thanmy insignificance deserves. I availed myselfof your obliging hints to correct my timidity,and it is unnecessary to add that they wereperfectly accurate. Mrs. Sparsit's talent for—in fact for anything requiring accuracy—with a combination of strength of mind—andFamily—is too habitually developed to admitof any question." He was almost fallingasleep over this compliment ; it took him solong to get through, and his mind wanderedso much in the course of its execution.

" You found Miss Gradgrind—I really can-not call her Mrs. Bounderby; it's very absurdof me—as youthful as I described her ?"asked Mrs. Sparsit, sweetly.

" You drew her portrait perfectly," saidMr. Harthouse. " Presented her deadimage."

" Very engaging, sir ] " said Mrs. Sparsit,causing her mittens slowly to revolve overone another.

" Highly so."" It used to be considered," said Mrs.

Sparsit, " that Miss Gradgrind was wantingin animation, but I confess she appears to meconsiderably and strikingly improved in thatrespect. Ay, and indeed here is Mr. Boun-derby !" cried Mrs. Sparsit, nodding herhead a great many times, as it she had been

224.

478 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

talking and thinking of no one else. " Howdo you find yourself this morning, sir ? Praylet us see you cheerful, sir."

Now, these persistent assuagements of hismisery, and lightenings of his load, had bythis time begun to have the effect of makingMr. Bouuderby softer than usual towards Mrs.Sparsit, and harder than usual to mostother people from his wife downward. So,when Mrs. Sparsit said with forced lightnessof heart, " You want your breakfast, sir, butI dare say Miss Gradgrind will soon be hereto preside at the table," Mr. Bounderbyreplied, " If I waited to be taken care of bymy wife, ma'am, I believe you know prettywell I should wait till Doomsday, so I'lltrouble you to take charge of the teapot."Mrs. Sparsit complied, and assumed her oldposition at table.

This again made the excellent woman vastlysentimental. She was so humble withal, thatwhen Louisa appeared, she rose, protestingshe never could think of sitting in that placeunder existing circumstances, often as shehad had the honor of making Mr. Bounderby'sbreakfast, before Mrs. Gradgrind—she beggedpardon, she meant to say, Miss Bounderby—she hoped to be excused, but she reallycould not get it right yet, though she trustedto become familiar with it by and by—hadassumed her present position. It was only(she observed) because Miss Gradgrind hap-pened to be a little late, and Mr. Bounderby'stime was so very precious, and she knew it ofold to be so essential that he should break-fast to the moment, that she had taken theliberty of complying with his request: longas his will had been a law to her.

" There ! Stop where you are, ma'am," saidMr. Bounderby, "stop where you are ! Mrs.Bounderby will be very glad to be relieved ofthe trouble, I believe."

"Don't say that, sir," returned Mrs.Sparsit, almost with severity, " because thatis very unkind to Mrs. Bounderby. And tobe unkind is not to be you, sir."

" You may set your mind at rest ma'am.—You can take it very quietly, can't youLoo \" said Mr. Bounderby, in a blusteringway, to his wife.

" Of course. It is of no moment. Why shouldit be of any importance to me 1"

" Why should it be of any importance toany one, Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am ?" said Mr.Bounderby, swelling with a sense of slight." You attach too much importance to thesethings, ma'am. By George, you'll be cor-rected in some of your notions here. You areold fashioned, ma'am. You are behind TomGradgrind's children's time."

" What is the matter with you ? " askedLouisa, coldly surprised, " What has givenyou ojfence ?"

" Offence !" repeated Bounderby. " Do yousuppose if there was any offence given me, Ishouldn't name it, and request to have itcorrected? I am a straightforward man,

I believe. I don't go beating about for side-winds."

" I suppose no one ever had occasion tothink you too diffident, or too delicate,"Louisa answered him composedly: " I havenever made that objection to you, either as achild or as a woman. I don't understandwhat you would have."

" Have ?" returned Mr. Bounderby. " No-thing. Otherwise, don't you, Loo Bounderby,know thoroughly well that I, Josiah Boun-derby of Coketown, would have it 1"

She looked at him, as he struck the tableand made the teacups ring, with a proudcolor in her face that was a new change, Mr.Harthouse thought. "You are incom-prehensible this morning," said Louisa." Praytake no further trouble to explain yourself. Iam not curious to know your meaning. What,does it matter ! "

Nothing more was said on this theme, andMr. Harthouse was soon idly gay on indifferentsubjects. But, from this day, the Sparsitaction upon Mr. Bounderby threw Louisaand James Harthouse more together, andstrengthened the dangerous alienation fromher husband and confidence against himwith another, into which she had fallen bydegrees so fine that she could not retracethem if she tried. But, whether she ever triedor no, lay hidden in her own closed heart.

Mrs. Sparsit was so much affected on thisparticular occasion, that, assisting Mr. Boun-derby to his hat after breakfast, and beingthen alone with him in the hall, sheimprinted a chaste kiss upon his hand, mur-mured " my benefactor ! " and retired, over-whelmed with grief. Yet it is an indubitablefact, within the cognizance of this history,that five minutes after he had left the housein the self-same hat, the same descendant ofthe Scadgerses and connexion by matrimonyof the Powlers, shook her right-hand mittenat his portrait, made a contemptuous grimaceat that work of art, and said " Serve youright, yoa. Noodle, and I am glad of it!"

Mr. Bounderby had not been long gone,when Bitzer appeared. Bitzer had come downby train, shrieking and rattling over the longline of arches that bestrode the wild countryof past and present coal pits, with an expressfrom Stone Lodge. It was a hasty note toinform Louisa, that Mrs. Gradgrind layvery ill. She had never been well, within herdaughter's knowledge ; but, she had declinedwithin the last few days, had continued sink-ing all through the night, and was now asnearly dead, as her limited capacity of beingin any state that implied the ghost of an in-tention to get out of it, allowed.

Accompanied by the lightest of porters,fit colorless servitor at Death's door whenMrs. Gradgrind knocked, Louisa rumbled toCoketown, over the coalpits past and present,and was whirled into its smoky jaws. Shedismissed the messenger to his own devices,and rode away to her old home.

diaries Dickens.] HARD TIMES, 479

She had seldom been there, since her mar-riage. Her father was usually sifting andsifting at his parliamentary cinder-heap inLondon (without being observed to turn upmany precious articles among the rubbish),and was still hard at it in the national dust-yard. Her mother had taken it rather as adisturbance than otherwise, to be visited,as she reclined upon her sofa ; young people,Louisa felt herself all unfit for; Sissy shehad never softened to again, since the nightwhen the stroller's child had raised her eyesto look at Mr. Bounderby's intended wife.She had no inducements to go back, and hadrarely gone.

Neither, as she approached her old homenow, did any of the best influences of oldhome descend upon her. The dreams ofchildhood—its airy fables; its graceful,beauti-ful, humane, impossible adornments of theworld beyond; so good to be believed inonce, so good to be remembered when out-grown, for then the least among them rises tothe stature of a great Charity in the heart, suf-fering little children to come into the midst ofit, and to keep with their pure hands a gardenin the stony ways of this world, wherein it werebetter for all the children of Adam that theyshould oftener sun themselves, simple and trust-ful, and not worldly-wise—what had she todo with these ] Remembrances of how shehad journeyed to the little that she knew, bythe enchanted roads of what she and millionsof innocent creatures had hoped and ima-gined ; of how, first coming upon Eeasonthrough the tender light of Fancy, she hadseen it a beneficent god, deferring to gods asgreat as itself: not a grim Idol, cruel andcold, with its victims bound hand to foot, andits big dumb shape set up with a sightlessstare, never to be moved by anything but somany calculated tons of leverage—what hadshe to do with these ? Her remembrances ofhome and childhood, were remembrances ofthe drying up of every spring and fountain inher young heart as it gushed out. The goldenwaters were not there. They were flowing forthe fertilisation of the land where grapes aregathered from thorns, and figs from thistles.

She went, with a heavy, hardened kind ofsorrow upon her, into the house and into hermother's room. Since the time of her leavinghome, Sissy had lived with the rest of thefamily on equal terms. Sissy was at hermother's side; and Jane, her sister, now tenor twelve years old, was in the room.

There was great trouble before it could bemade known to Mrs. Gradgrind that hereldest child was there. She reclined, proppedup, from mere habit, on a couch: as nearlyin her old usual attitude, as anything so help-less could be kept in. She had positivelyrefused to take to her bed; on the ground thatif she did, she would never hear the last of it.

Her feeble voice sounded so far away inher bundle of shawls, and the sound ofanother voice addressing her seemed to take

such a long time in getting down to her ears,that she might have been lying at the bot-tom of a well. The poor lady was nearerTruth than she ever had been: which hadmuch to do with it.

On being told that Mrs. Bounderby wasthere, she replied, at cross-purposes, that shehad never called him by that name since hemarried Louisa; that pending her choice ofan unobjectionable name, she had called himJ; and that she could not at present departfrom that regulation, not being yet providedwith a permanent substitute. Louisa had satby her for some minutes, and had spoken toher often, before she arrived at a clear under-standing who it was. She then seemed tocome to it all at once.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Gradgrind," and I hope you are going on satisfactorilyto yourself. It was all your father's doing.He set his heart upon it. And he ought toknow."

" I want to hear of you, mother ; not ofmyself."

" You want to hear of me, my dear ?That's something new, I am sure, when any-body wants to hear of me. Not at all well,Louisa. Very faint and giddy."

" Are you in pain, dear mother 1"" I think there's a pain somewhere in the

room," said Mrs. Gradgrind, " but I couldn'tpositively say that I have got it."

After this strange speech, she lay silentfor some time. Louisa, holding her hand,could feel no pulse ; but kissing it, could see aslight thin thread of life in fluttering motion.

"You very seldom see your sister," saidMrs. Gradgrind. " She grows like you. I wishyou would look at her. Sissy, bring her here."

She was brought, and stood with her handin her sister's. Louisa had observed herwith her arm round Sissy's neck, and shefelt the difference of this approach.

" Do you see the likeness, Louisa 1""Yes, mother. I should think her like

me. But"" Eh 1 Yes, I always say so," Mrs. Grad-

grind cried, with unexpected quickness." And that reminds me. I want to speak toyou, my dear. Sissy, my good girl, leave usalone a minute."

Louisa had relinquished the hand; hadthought that her sister's was a better andbrighter face than hers had ever been ; hadseen in it, not without a rising feeling ofresentment, even in that place and at thattime, something of the gentleness of the otherface in the room: the sweet face with thetrusting eyes, made paler than watching andsympathy made it, by the rich dark hair.

Left alone with her mother, Louisa sawher lying with an awful lull upon her face,like one who was floating away upon somegreat water, all resistance over, content to becarried down the stream. She put theshadow of a hand to her lips again, andrecalled her.

480 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

" You were going to speak to me, mother."" Eh ? Yes, to be sure, my dear. You

know your father is almost always away now,and therefore I must write to him about it."

" About what, mother ? Don't be troubled.About what 1"

" You must remember, my dear, that when-ever I have said anything, on any subject, Ihave never heard the last of it; and conse-quently, that I have long left off saying any-thing."

'* I can hear you, mother." But, it was only bydint of bending down her ear, and at the sametime attentively watching the lips as theymoved, that she could link such faint andbroken sounds into any chain of connexion.

" You learnt a great deal, Louisa, and sodid your brother. Ologies of all kinds, Irommorning to night. If there is any Ology left,of any description, that has not l>een worn torags in this house, all I can say is, I hopeI shall never hear its name."

" I can hear you, mother, when you havestrength to go on." This, to keep her fromfloating away.

" But there's something—not an Ology atall—that your Bather has missed, or forgotten,Louisa. I don't know what it is. I have oftensat with Sissy near me, and thought about it.I shall never get its name uow. But yourfather may. It makes me r^stiess. I want towrite to him, to find out for God's sake, whatit is. Give me a pen, give me a pen."

Even the power of restlessness was gone,except from the poor head, which could justturn from side to side.

She fancied, however, that her request hadbeen complied with, .and that the pen shecould not have held was in her hand. Itmatters little what figures of wonderful no-meaning she began to trace upon her wrap-pers. Tlie hand soon stopped' in the midstof them; the light that had always beenfeeble and dim behind the weak transpa-rency, went out; and even Mrs. Gradgriud,emerged from the shadow in which manwalketh and disquieteth himself in vain,took upon her the dread solemnity of thesnges and patriarchs.

CHAPTER XXVI.

MRS. SPARSIT'S nerves being slow to re-cover their tone, the.'1 worthy woman madea stay of some weeks in duration at Mr.Bounderby's retreat, where, notwithstandingher anchorite turn of mind based upon herbecoming consciousness of her altered sta-tion, she resigned herself, with noble forti-tude, to lodging, as one may say, in clover,and feeding on the fat of the land. Duringthe whole term of this recess from theguardianship of the Bank, Mrs. Sparsit wasa pattern of consistency ; continuing to takesuch pity on Mr. Bounderby to his face, as israrely taken on man, and to call his portraita Noodle to its face, with the greatest acri-mony and contempt.

Mr. Bounderby, having got it into hisexplosive composition that Mrs. Sparsit wasa highly superior woman to perceive that hehad that general cross upon him in hisdeserts (for he had not yet settled what itwas), and further that Louisa would haveobjected to her as a frequent visitor if ithad comported with his greatness that sheshould object to anything he chose to do,resolved not to> lose sight of Mrs. Sparsiteasily. So, when her nerves were strung upto the pitch of again consuming sweetbreadsin solitude, he said to her at the dinner-table, on the day before her departure," I tell you what, ma'am; you shall comedown here of a Saturday while the fineweather lasts, and stay till Monday." Towhich Mrs. Sparsit returned, in effect, thoughnot of the Mahommedan persuasion: " Tohear is to obey."

Now, Mrs. Sparsit was not a poeticalwoman ; but she took an idea, in the natureof an allegorical fancy, into her head. Muchwatching of Louisa, and much consequentobservation of her impenetrable demeanor,which keenly whetted and sharpened Mrs.Sparsit's edge, must have given her as itwere a lift, in. the way of inspiration. Shecreated in her mind a mighty Staircase, witha dark pit of shame and ruin at the bottom ;and down these stairs, from day to day andhour to hour, she saw Louisa coming.

It became the business of Mrs. Sparsit'slife, to look up at the staircase, and towatch Louisa coming down. Sometimes slowly,sometimes quickly, sometimes several stepsat one bout, sometimes stopping, never turn-ing back. If she had once turned back, itmight have been the death of Mrs. Sparsit inspleen and grief.

She had been, descending steadily, to theday, and on the day, when Mr. Bounderbyissued the weekly invitation recorded above.Mrs. Sparsit was in good spirits, and inclinedto be conversational.

" And pray, sir," said she, " if I may ven-ture to ask a question appertaining to anysubject on which you show reserve—which isindeed hardy in me, for I well know youhave a reason for everything you do—haveyou received intelligence respecting therobbery ?"

" Why, ma'am, no ; not yet. Under thecircumstances, I didn't expect it yet. Koinewasn't built in a day, ma'am."

" Very true, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, shakingher head.

" Nor yet in a week, ma'am."" No, indeed, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit,

with an air of melancholy.<:In a similar manner," said Boundei-by,

"I can wait, you know. If Eomulus andRemus could wait, Josiah Bounderby canwait. They were better off in their youththan I was, however. They had a she wolifor a nurse; / had only a she wolf for a,grandmother. She didn't give any milk,

CharlesDickens,] HARD TIMES. 481

ma'am ; she gave braises. She was a regularAlderney at that."

" Ah!" Mrs. Sparsit sighed and shuddered." No, ma'am," continued Bounderby, " I

have not heard anything more about it. It'siii hand, though; and youug Tom, who rathersticks to business at present—something newfor him ; be hadn't the schooling / had—ishelping. My injunction is, Keep it quiet,and let it seem to blow over. Do what youlike under the rose, but don't give a sign ofwhat you're about; or half a hundred of 'emwill combine together and get this fellow whohas bolted, out of reach for good. Keep itquiet, and the thieves will grow in confi-dence by little and little, and we shall have'em."

" Very sagacious indeed, sir," said Mrs.Sparsit. "Very interesting. The old womanyou mentioned, sir "

" The old woman I mentioned, ma'am,"said Bounderby, cutting the matter short, asit was nothing to boast about, " is not laidhold of; but, she may take her oath she will be,if that is any satisfaction to her villainous oldmind. In the mean time, ma'am, I am ofopinion, if you ask me my opinion, that theless she is talked about, the better."

That same evening, Mrs. Sparsit, in herchamber window, resting from her packingoperations, looked towards her great staircaseand saw Louisa still descending.

She sat by Mr. Harthouse, in an alcove inthe garden, talking very low. He stoodleaning over her, as they whispered together,and his face almost touched her hair. "Ifnotquite !" said Mrs. Sparsit, straining her hawk'seyes to the utmost. Mrs. Sparsit was too distantto hear a word of their discourse, or even toknow that they were speaking softly, other-wise than from the expression of their figures;but what they said was this :

" You recollect the man, Mr. Harthouse 1""Oh, perfectly !"" His face, and his manner, and what he

said 1"" Perfectly. And an infinitely dreary person

he appeared to me to be. Lengthy and prosyin the extreme. It was very knowing tohold forth, in the humble-virtue school ofeloquence ; but, I assure you I thought atthe time.' My good fellow, you are over-doingthis!'"'

" It has been very difficult to me to think illof that man."

" My dear Louisa—as Tom says." Whichhe never did say. " You know no good ofthe fellow ?"

" No, certainly."" Nor of any other such person ?"" How can I," she returned, with more of

her first manner on her than he had latelyseen, " when I know nothing of them, menor women ?"

" My dear Mrs. Bounderby ! Then con-sent to receive the submissive representationof your devoted friend, who knows some-1

thing of several varieties of his excellentfellow-creatures — for excellent they are,I have no doubt, in spite of such little foiblesas always helping themselves to what theycan get hold of. This fellow talks. Well;every fellow talks. His professing moralityonly deserves a moment's consideration, asbeing a very suspicious circumstance. Allsorts of humbugs profess morality, from theHouse of Commons to the House of Correction,except our people ; it really is that exceptionwhich makes our people quite reviving. Yousaw and heard the case. Here was a com-mon man, pulled up extremely short by myesteemed friend Mr. Bounderby—who, as weknow, is not possessed of that delicacywhich would soften so tight a hand. Thecommon man was injured, exasperated, leftthe house grumbling, met somebody whoproposed to him to go in for some share in thisBank business, went in, put something in hispocket which had nothing in it before, andrelieved his mind extremely. Really hewould have been an uncommon, instead of acommon, man, if he had not availed himself ofsuch an opportunity. Or he may have madeit altogether, if he had the cleverness. Equallyprobable!"

" I almost feel as though it must be bad inme," returned Louisa, after sitting thought-ful awhile, " to be so ready to agree withyou, and to be so lightened in my heart bywhat you say."

" I only say what is reasonable ; nothingvrorse. I have talked it over with my friendTom more than once—of course I remain onterms of perfect confidence with Tom—andhe is quite of my opinion, and I am quite ofhis. Will you walk ? "

They strolled away, among the lanes be-ginning to be indistinct in the twilight—sheleaning on his arm—-and she little thoughthow she was going down, down, down, Mrs.Sparsit's fetaircase.

Night and day, Mrs. Sparsit kept it stand-ing. When Louisa had arrived at thebottom and disappeared in the gulf, it mightfall in upon her if it would ; but, until then,there it was to be, a Building, before Mrs.Sparsit's eyes. And there Louisa alwayswas, upon it. Always gliding down, down,down.

Mrs. Sparsit saw James Harthouse comeand go; she heard of him here and there ;she saw the changes of the face he hadstudied ; she, too, remarked to a nicety howand when it clouded, how and when itcleared ; she kept her black eyes wide open,with no touch of pity, with no touch of com-punction, all absorbed in interest; but, in theinterest of seeing her, ever drawing with nohand to stay her, nearer and nearer to thebottom of this new Giants' Staircase.

With all her deference for Mr. Bounderby,as contradistinguished from his portrait,Mrs. Sparsit had not the smallest intentionof interrupting the descent. Eager to see it

482 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

accomplished, and yet patient, she waitedfor the last fall as for the ripeness andfulness of the harvest of her hopes. Hushedin expectancy, she kept her wary gaze uponthe stairs ; and seldom so much as darklyshook her right mitten (with her fist in it),at the figure coming down.

HER MAJESTY'S CONSULARSERVICE.

THERE are one or two important consulatesin the Levant about to become vacant; andas it is a very sensible proverb which tells usthat prevention is better than cure, I shall goon to say a few words upon this subject. Tounderstand clearly, however, the duties andprecise position of our consuls in this part ofthe world, it will be necessary to go back alittle.

Bad as the state of Turkey still is, it was for-merly very much worse. The Greeks had giventhe Turks such an indifferent opinion of theChristian world that they looked upon our raceas a species of game it was lawful to hunt. Un-believers had, therefore, neither justice normercy to expect from the followers of theProphet. Thus, if one Frank did wrong, thecadi not only punished the sinner, but everyother Frank who was to be found. Shipswere stopped on the high seas in time ofpeace, and made to deliver up their cargoesand cabin boys ; sometimes the ships alsowere taken. Turkish officers not only exactedarbitrary taxes and customs dues, but theylevied them as often as they pleased. Theywould not give receipts for money paid tothem; and tax-gatherers who had nothing todo, were calling on the Franks all day long.Merchants were compelled to exchange theirmoney for the debased currency of Turkey,and to take it at its nominal value. Therewere all sorts of vexatious monopolies. Mer-chants were obliged to sell their goods toTurks, in preference to better paymasters.Whenever the Sultan wished to reward afavourite, he was apt to give him a charter toannoy the Franks in some way. Even thelowest employments in private houses weredisposed of by law. All commercial travellerswere Jews ; and if one of them was turnedaway for misconduct or dishonesty, he hada claim for indemnity, and was able to enforceit. Turks pretended to have bills of exchangeupon Frankish merchants, and insisted onbeing paid on their mere assertion to thateffect. Franks were often detained in cap-tivity, under pretence of making themdischarge the debts which they did not owe ;if they refused to ransom themselves, theTurks stormed and plundered their houses.If a Frank had ever had any charge broughtagainst him, the cadi reopened the case when-ever he felt in the humour, till that Frank's lifebecame a weariness, and he was obliged to buythe cadi off. If a Turk brought a chargeagainst a Frank, the latter was not allowedtime to prove his innocence; if he had wit-

nesses on the spot, their evidence was inad-missible by law. One Frank was not unfre-quently even put to death for the sins ofanother. The Turkish tribunals insisted thatall the parties to a suit should appear in person;so that a troublesome fellow might take upthe whole of a busy man's time by bringingthe absurdest charges against him. Manypersons made a trade of this, and it was nota bad business in a lucrative point of view.The cadi decided all questions with a loftycontempt of evidence ; and as even the manwho gained a process paid the expenses of it,there was no punishment for the most wantonmalice. The giving and receiving of presentswas also a gigantic evil; they were requiredupon all occasions, and they were merely anauthorised species of robbery.

At last, after centuries of the most extra-ordinary patience, the Christian powers beganto take heart, and to make treaties for theprevention of these things. The result wasthe gradual blossoming into fuller and fullerflower of the Levant consuls. I shall, however,for the present, limit these remarks to our own.

The British consul in the Levant is en-trusted with both civil and criminal jurisdic-tion. Fortunately, he has not the power ofawarding capital punishment; but he hasalmost every other. He may banish, dishonour,imprison, and fine at pleasure ; he is banker,notary, arbitrator, judge, priest, registrar, andadministrator of dead men's goods. Untoldproperty is confided to his care; the manyinterests of travellers and merchants are al-most entirely entrusted to him. Finally, hehas power to enforce attendance at his officeby a fine. He is recommended to prefersummary decisions, and not to give his mindto juries.

The British consul has such weight andauthority among the Turks that he may causealmost any amount of mischief unchecked.There is no press to watch his doings ; nosociety to cry shame on him ; no means bywhich an ignorant Maltese or Ionian canmake a grievance known or obtain redress ;there is, indeed, no control of any kind overyour British consul; and a very august andsingular personage he has become in conse-quence. If we grant that your British con-sul is always a high-minded and conscientiousman (and I am not doubting it), it must stillbe borne in mind, he has to deal with anumerous class of persons who speak noEnglish, and whose depositions he is obligedto receive through dragomen who are notalways honest, and whom he cannot alwaysunderstand. He has to decide cases, also,where every effort is made to deceive him ;where evidence is often particularly difficultto sift ; and thus, however upright himself,your British consul is often made the involun-tary instrument of cruel wrong. I know thatthis is not the tenor of the reports sent insome time ago by the consuls to the ForeignOffice ; but I have seen the system at work.

" Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS"—SHAKESPEABI

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOUKNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

225.] SATURDAY, JULY 15, 1854. [PRICE 2d.

H A R D TIMES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE figure descended the great stairs,steadily, steadily; always verging, like aweight in deep water, to the black gulf at thebottom.

Mr. Gradgrind, apprised of his wife's de-cease, made an expedition from London, andburied her in a business-like manner. Hethen returned with promptitude to thenational cinder-heap, and resumed his siftingfor the odds and ends he wanted, and histhrowing of the dust about into the eyes of•other people who wanted other odds and ends—in fact, resumed his parliamentary duties.

In the meantime, Mrs. Sparsit kept un-winking watch and ward. Separated from herstaircase, all the week, by the length of ironroad dividing Coketown from the country house,she yet maintained her cat-like observationof Louisa, through her husband, through herbrother, through James Harthouse, throughthe outsides of letters and packets, througheverything animate and inanimate that atany time went near the stairs. " Your footon the last step, my lady," said Mrs. Sparsit,apostrophising the descending figure, with theaid of her threatening mitten, " and all yourart shall never blind me."

Art or nature though, the original stockof Louisa's character or the graft of circum-stances upon it,—her curious reserve diebaffle, while it stimulated, one as sagacious asMrs. Sparsit. There were times when MrJames Harthouse was not sure of her. Therewere times when he could not read the facehe had studied so long ; and when this lonelygirl was a greater mystery to him, than anywoman of the world with a ring of satellitesto help her.

So the time went on ; until it happened thaiMr. Bounderby was called away from homeby business which required his presenceelsewhere, for three or four days. Itwas on a Friday that he intimated this toMrs. Sparsit at the Bank, adding: " Butyou'll go down to-morrow, ma'am, all thsame. You'll go down just as if I was thereIt will make no difference to you."

"Pray, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, re

>roachfully, " let me beg you not to say that.Your absence will make a vast difference tome, sir, as I think you very well know."

" Well, ma'am, then you must get on in myabsence as well as you can," said Bounderby,not displeased.

"Mr. Bounderby," retorted Mrs. Sparsit,' your will is to me a law, sir ; otherwise, itmight be my inclination to dispute your kindcommands, not feeling sure that it will be quiteso agreeable to Miss Gradgrind to receiveme, as it ever is to your own munificent hos-pitality. But you shall say no more, sir. Iwill go, upon your invitation."

"Why, when I invite you to my house,ma'am," said Bounderby, opening his eyes, " Ishould hope you want no other invitation."

" No indeed, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit,I should hope not. Say no more, sir. I

would, sir, I could see you gay again ! "" What do you mean, ma'am ?" blustered

Bounderby." Sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, " there was

wont to be an elasticity in you which I sadlymiss. Be buoyant, sir!"

Mr. Bounderby, under the influence of thisdifficult adjuration, backed up by her corn-passionate eye, could only scratch his headin a feeble and ridiculous manner, and after-wards assert himself at a distance, by beingheard to bully the small-fry of business allthe morning.

" Bitzer," said Mrs. Sparsit that afternoon,when her patron was gone on his journey,and the Bank was closing, " present mv com-pliments to young Mr. Thomas, and ask himif he would step up and partake of alamb chop and walnut ketchup, with a glassof India ale 1" Young Mr. Thomas beingusually ready for anything in that way, re-turned a gracious answer, and followed on itsheels. "Mr. Thomas," said Mrs. Sparsit," these plain viands being on table, I thoughtyou might be tempted." " Thankee, Mrs.Sparsit," said the whelp. And gloomilyfell to.

"How is Mr. Harthouse, Mr. Tom?"asked Mrs. Sparsit.

" Oh he is all right," said Tom." Where may he be at present ?" Mrs.

Sparsit asked in a light conversational man-ner, after mentally devoting the whelp to theFuries for being so uncommunicative.

VOL. is. 225

502 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

" He is shooting in Yorkshire," said Tom." Sent Loo a basket half as big as a church,yesterday."

" The kind of ggnteraan now," said Mrs.Spar-sit, sweetly,«' vhom one might wager tebe a good shot! "

" Crack," said Tom.He had long been a down-looking young

fellow, but this characteristic had so increasedof late that he never raised his eyes to anyface for three seconds together. Mrs. Sparsitconsequently had ample means of watchinghis looks, if she were so inclined.

" Mr. Harthouse is a great favourite ofmine," said Mrs. Sparsit, " as indeed he is ofmost people. May we expect to see himagain shortly, Mr. Tom ? "

" Why, / expect to see him to-morrow,"returned the whelp.

" Good news ! " cried Mrs. Sparsit, blandly." I have got an appointment with him to

meet him in the evening at the station here,"said Tom, " and I am going to dine with himafterwards, T believe. He is not comingdown to Nickits's for a week or so, being duesomewhere else. At least, he says so ; but Ishouldn't wonder if he was to stop here overSunday, and stray that way."

" Which reminds me ! " said Mrs. Sparsit."Would you remember a message to yoursister, Mr. Tom, if I was to charge you withone ?"

"Well! Ill try," returned the reluctantwhelp, "if it isn't a long un."

" It is merely my respectful compliments,"said Mrs. Sparsit, "and I fear I may nottrouble her with my society this week; beingstill a little nervous, and better perhaps bymy poor self."

" Oh ! If that's all," observed Tom, "itwouldn't matter much, even if I was to forgetit, for Loo's not likely to think of you unlessshe sees you."

Having paid for his entertainment withthis agreeable compliment, he relapsed into ahangdog silence until there was no more•India ale left, when he said, " Well, Mrs.Sparsit, I must be off!" and went off.

Next day, Saturday, Mrs. Sparsit sat ather window all day long: looking at thecustomers coming in and out, watching thepostmen, keeping an eye on the generaltraffic of the street, revolving many things inher mind, but, above all, keeping her atten-tion on her staircase. The evening come,she put on her bonnet and shawl, and wentquietly out: having her reasons for hoveringin a furtive way about the station by whicha passenger would arrive from Yorkshire,and for preferring to peep into it roundpillars and corners, and out of ladies' wait-ing-room windows, to appearing in its pre-cincts openly.

Tom was in attendance, and loitered aboutuntil the expected train came in. It broughtno Mr. Harthouse. Tom waited until thecrowd had dispersed, and the bustle was

over ; and then referred to a posted list oftrains, and took counsel with porters. Thatdoae, he strolled away idly, stepping in thestreet aad looking up it and down it, andlifting his hat off and putting it on again,and yawning, and stretching himself, andexhibiting all the symptoms of mortal weari-ness to be expected in one who had still towait until the next train should come in, anhour and forty minutes hence.

" This is a device to keep him out of theway," said Mrs. Sparsit, starting from thedull office window whence she had watchedhim last. " Harthouse is with his sisternow!"

It was the conception of an inspired mo-ment, and she shot off with her utmost swift-ness to work it out. The station for thecountry house was at the opposite end of thetown, the time was short, the road not easy ;but she was so quick in pouncing on a dis-engaged coach, so quick in darting out of it,producing her money, seizing her ticket, anddiving into the train, that she was bornealong the arches spanning the land of coal-pits past and present, as if she had beencaught up in a cloud and whirled away.

All the journey, immovable in the airthough never left behind ; plain to the darkeyes of her mind, as the electric wires whichruled a colossal strip of music-paper out ofthe evening sky, were plain to the dark eyesof her body ; Mrs. Sparsit saw her staircase,with, the figure coming down. Very nearthe bottom now. Upon the brink of theabyss.

An overcast September evening, just atnightfall, saw beneath its drooping eyelidMrs. Sparsit glide out of her carriage, passdown the wooden steps of the little stationinto a stony road, cross it into a green lane,and become hidden in a summer-growth ofleaves and branches. One or two late birdssleepily chirping in their nests, and a batheavily crossing and recrossing her, and thereek of her own tread in the thick dustthat felt like velvet, were all Mrs. Sparsitheard or saw until she very softly closed agate.

She went up to the house, keeping withinthe shrubbery, and went round it, peepingbetween the leaves at the lower windows.Most of them were open, as they usuallywere in such warm weather, but there wereno lights yet, and all was silent. She triedthe garden with no better effect. She thoughtof the wood, and stole towards it, heedlessof long grass and briers: of worms, snails,and slugs, and all the creeping things that be.With her dark eyes and her hook nosewarily in advance of her, Mrs. Sparsitsoftly crushed her way through the thickundergrowth, so intent upon her object thatshe probably would have done no less, if thewood had been a wood of adders.

Hark!The smaller birds might have tumbled out

Charles Dickens.] HAKD TIMES. 503

of their nests, fascinated by the glittering ofMrs. Sparsit's eyes in the gloom, as she stoppedand listened.

Low voices close at hand. His voice, andhers. The appointment was a device to keepthe brother away ! There they were yonder,"by the felled tree.

Bending low among the dewy grass, Mrs.Sparsit advanced closer to them. She drewherself up, and stood behind a tree, like Kob-inson Crusoe in his ambuscade against thesavages; so near to them that at a spring,and that no great one, she could havetouched them both. He was there secretly,and had not shown himself at the house.He had come on horseback, and must havepassed through the neighbouring fields ; forhis horse was tied to the meadow side of thefence, within a few paces.

"My dearest love," said he, "what could Ido ? Knowing you were alone, was it pos-sible that I could stay away ? "

" You may hang your head, to make yourself the more attractive ; / don't know whatthey see in you when yon hold it up" thoughtMrs. Sparsit; "but you little think, raydearest love, whose eyes are on you ! "

That she hung her head, was certain. Sheurged him to go away, she commanded himto go away ; but she neither turned her faceto him, nor raised it. Yet it was remarkablethat she sat as still, as ever the amiable womanin ambuscade had seen her sit, at any periodin her life. Her hands rested in one another,like the hands of a statue ; and even hermanner of speaking was not hurried.

"My dear child," said Harthouse ; Mrs.Sparsit saw with delight that his arm em-braced her ; ." will you not bear with mysociety for a little while ? "

" Not here."" Where, Louisa 1"" Not here."" But we have so little time to make so much

of, and I have come so far, and am altogetherso devoted, and distracted. There never wasa slave at once so devoted and ill-used byhis mistress. To look for your sunny welcomethat has warmed me into life, and to bereceived in your frozen manner, is hearVrending."

"Am I to say again, that I must be left tomyself here 1"

"But we must meet, my dear Louisa. Whereshall we meet 1"

They both started. The listener startedguiltily, too; for she thought there was anotherlistener among the trees. It was only rain,beginning to fall fast, in heavy drops.

" Shall I ride up to the house a few minuteshence, innocently supposing that its masteris at-home and "will be charmed to receiveme."

" No !""Your cruel commands are implicitly to be

obeyed ; though I am the most unfortunatefellow in the world> I believe, to have been

nsensible to all other women, and to have'alien prostrate at last under the foot of themost beantifal, and the most engaging, and themost imperious. My dea-rest Louisa, I cannot

o myself, or let you go, in this hard abuse ofyour power."

Mrs. Sparsit saw him detain her with hisncircling arm, and heard him then and there,

within her (Mrs. Sparsit's) greedy hearing,tell her how he loved her, and how she wasthe stake for which he ardently desired toplay away all that he had in life. The objectshehad lately pursued, turned worthless besideher ; such success as was almost in his grasp,he flung away from him like the dirt it was,compared with her. Its pursuit, neverthe-less, if it kept him near her, or its renuncia-tion if it took him from her, or flight if sheshared it, or secresy if she commanded it, orany fate, or every fate, all was alike to him, sothat she was true to him,—the man who hadseen how cast away she was, whom she hadinspired at their first meeting with an admira-tion and interest of which he had thoughthimself incapable, whom she had received intoher confidence, who was devoted to her andadored her. All this, and more, in his hurry,and in hers, in the whirl of her own gratifiedmalice, in the dread of being discovered, in therapidly increasing noise of heavy rain amongthe leaves, and a thunder-storm rolling up—•Mrs. Sparsit received into her mind; set off withsuch an unavoidable halo of confusion andindistinctness, that when at length he climbedthe fence and led his horse away, she was notsure where they were to meet, or when, exceptthat they had said it was to be that night.

But one of them yet remained in the dark-ness before her ; and while she tracked thatone, she must be right. " Oh, my dearestlove," thought Mrs. Sparsit, *' you little thinkhow well attended you are."

Mrs. Sparsit saw her out of the wood, andsaw her enter the house. What to do next 1It rained now, in a sheet of water. Mrs.Sparsit's white stockings were of manycolors, green predominating; prickly thingswere in her shoes ; caterpillars slung them-selves, in hammocks of their own making,from various parts of her dress ; rills ranfrom her bonnet, and her Eoman nose. Insuch condition Mrs. Sparsit stood hidden inthe density of the shrubbery, consideringwhat next ?

Lo, Louisa coming out of the house 1Hastily cloaked and muffled, and stealingaway. She elopes ! She falls from the low-ermost stair, and is swallowed up in the gulf!

Indifferent to the rain, and moving with aquick determined step, she struck into a side-path parallel with the ride. Mrs. Sparsitfollowed in the shadow of the trees, at but ashort distance ; for, it was not easy to keep afigure in view going quickly through the um-brageous darkness.

When she stopped to close the side-gatewithout noise, Mrs. Sparsit stopped. When

504 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. [Conducted by

she went on, Mrs. Sparsit went on. She wentby the way Mrs. Sparsit had come, emergedfrom the green lane, crossed the stony road,and ascended the wooden steps to the rail-road. A train for Coketown would comethrough presently, Mrs. Sparsit knew; so, sheunderstood Coketown to be her first place ofdestination.

In Mrs. Sparsit's limp and streaming state,no extensive precautions were necessary tochange her usual appearance; but, she stoppedunder the lee of the station wall, tumbled hershawl into a new shape, and put it on overher bonnet. So disguised, she had no fear ofbeing recognised when she followed up therailroad steps, and paid her money in thesmall office. Louisa sat waiting iu a corner.Mrs. Sparsit sat waiting in another corner.Both listened to the thunder, which was loud,and to the rain, as it washed off the roof, andpattered on the parapets of the arches. Twoor three lamps were rained and blown out;so, both saw the lightning to advantage as itquivered and zig-zaged on the iron tracks.

The seizure of the station with a fit oftrembling, gradually deepening to a complaintof the heart, announced the train. Fire andsteam, and smoke, and red light; a hiss, a

with a bonnet like an over-ripe fig ; with ailher clothes spoiled ; with damp impressionsof every button, string, and hook-and-eye shewore, printed off upon her highly-connectedback ; with a stagnant verdure on her generalexterior, such as accumulates on an old parkfence in a mouldy lane ; Mrs. Sparsit had noresource but to burst into tears of bitternessand say, " I have lost her ! "

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE national dustmen, after entertainingone another with a great many noisy littlefights among themselves, had dispersed forthe present, and Mr. Gradgrind was at homefor the vacation.

He sat writing in the room with the deadly-statistical clock, proving something no doubt—probably, in the main, that the Good Sama-ritan was a Bad Economist. The noise of therain did not disturb him much ; but it at-tracted his attention sufficiently to make himraise his head sometimes, as if he were ratherremonstrating with the elements. When ifethundered very loudly, he glanced towardsCoketown, having it in his mind that some ofthe tall chimneys might be struck Jby lightning.

The thunder was rolling into distance,crash, a bell, and a shriek ; Louisa put into | and the rain was pouring down like a deluge,one carriage, Mrs. Sparsit put into another ;the little station a desert speck in the thun-der-storm.

Though her teeth chattered in her headfrom wet and cold, Mrs. Sparsit exultedhugely. The figure had plunged down theprecipice, and she felt herself, as it were, at-tending on the body. Could she, who hadbeen so active in the getting up of the funeraltriumph, do less than exult ? "She will beat Coketown long before him," thought Mrs.Sparsit, " though his horse is never so good.Where will she wait for him ? And wherewill they go together ? Patience. We shallsee."

The tremendous rain occasioned infiniteconfusion, when the train stopped at its des- j me what is the matter."tination. Gutters and pipes had burst, drains | She dropped into a chair before him, andhad overflowed, and streets were under water. I put her cold hand oh his arm.

when the door of his room opened. He lookedround the lamp upon his table, and saw withamazement, his eldest daughter.

" Louisa!"" Father, I want to speak to you."" What is the matter ] How strange you

look ! And good Heaven," said Mr. Grad-grind, wondering more and more, " have youcome here exposed to this storm 1"

She put her hands to her dress, as if shehardly knew. " Yes." Then she uncoveredher head, and letting her cloak and hood fallwhere they might, stood looking at him : socolorless, so dishevelled, so defiant anddespairing, that he was afraid of her.

"What is it ? I conjure you, Louisa, tell

In the first instant of alighting, Mrs. Sparsitturned her distracted eyes towards the wait-ing coaches, which were in great request." She will get into one," she considered, "andwill be away before I can follow in another.At all risks of being run over, I must see thenumber, and hear the order given to thecoachman."

But, Mrs. Sparsit was wrong in her calcula-

" Father, you have traiiied me from mycradle."

" Yes, Louisa."" I curse the hour in which I was born to

such a destiny."He looked at her in doubt and dread,

vacantly repeating, " Curse the hour 1 Cursethe hour V

"How could you give me life, and taketion. Louisa got into no coach, and was j from me all the inappreciable things thatalready gone. The black eyes kept upon the J raise it from the state of conscious death ?railroad-carriage in which she had travelled,settled upon it a moment too late. The doornot being opened after several minutes, Mrs.

Where are the graces of my soul ? Whereare the sentiments of my heart 1 What haveyou done, O father what have you done, with

Sparsit passed it and repassed it, saw nothing, j the garden that should have bloomed once, inlooked in, and found it empty. Wet through this great wilderness here ! "and through ; with her feet squelching andsquashing in her shoes whenever she moved;with a rash of rain upon her classical visage;

She struck herself with both her handsupon her bosom.

" If it had ever been here, its ashes alone

Charlm Dicker)».] HARD TIMES. 505

would save me from the void in which mywhole life sinks. I did not mean to say this ;but father, you remember the last time weconversed in this room ?"

He had been so wholly unprepared forwhat he heard now, that it was withdifficulty he answered, " Yes, Louisa."

" What has risen to my lips now, wouldhave risen to my lips then, if you had givenme a moment's help. I don't reproach you,father. What you have never nurtured inme, you have never nurtured in yourself;but O ! if you had only done so long ago, orif you had only neglected me, what a muchbetter and much happier creature I shouldhave been this day !"

On hearing this, after all his care, he bowedhis head upon his hand and groaned aloud.

" Father, if you had known, when we werelast together here, what even I feared while Istrove against it—as it has been my task frominfancy to strive against every natural prompt-ing that has arisen in my heart; if you hadknown that there lingered in my breast,sensibilities, affections, weaknesses capable ofbeing cherished into strength, defying all thecalculations ever made by man, and no moreknown to his arithmetic than his Creator is,—would you have given me to^the husbandwhom I am now sure that I hate 1 "

He said, " No. No, my poor child."" Would you have doomed me, at any time,

to the frost and blight that have hardenedand spoiled me ? Would you have robbed

angel into a demon. What I have learnedhas left me doubting, misbelieving, despising,regretting, what I have not learned ; andmy dismal resource has been to think thatlife would soon go by, and that nothing in itcould be worth the pain and trouble of acontest.". " And you so young, Louisa!" he said with

pity." And I so young. In this condition, father

—for I show you now, without fear or favor,the ordinary deadened state of my mind as Iknow it—you proposed my husband to me. Itook him. I never made a pretence to himor you that I loved him. I knew, and, father,you knew, and he knew, that I never did. Iwas not wholly indifferent, for I had a hope ofbeing pleasant and useful to Tom. I madethat wild escape into something visionary,and have gi-adually found out how wild itwas. But Tom had been the subject of allthe little imaginative tenderness of my life ;perhaps he became so because t knew sowell how to pity him. It matters little now,except as it may dispose you to think moreleniently of his errors."

As her father held her in his arm, she puther other hand upon his other shoulder, andstill looking fixedly in his face, went on.

" WhenI was irrevocably married, there roseup into rebellion against the tie, the old strife,made fiercer by all those causes of disparitywhich arise out of our two individual natures,and which no general laws shall ever rule or

me—for no one's enrichment—only for the | state for me, father, until they shall be ablegreater desolation of this world — of the imma-terial part of my life, the spring and sum-mer of my belief, my refuge from what issordid and bad in the real things around me,my school in which I should have learned tobe more humble and more trusting withthem, and to hope in my little sphere to makethem better

" O no, no. No, Louisa. "" Yet father, if I had been stone blind ; if I

had groped my way by my sense of touch,and had been free, while I knew the shapesand surfaces of things, to exercise my fancysomewhat, in regard to them ; I should havebeen a million times wiser, happier, moreloving, more contented, more innocent andhuman in all good respects, than I am withthe eyes I have,come to say."

Now, hear what I have

He moved, to support her with his arm.She rising as he did so, they stood close toge-ther : she with a hand upon his shoulder,looking fixedly in his face.

" With a hunger and thirst upon me, father,which have never been for a moment appeased;with an ardent impulse towards some regionwhere rules, and figures, and definitions werenot quite absolute ; I have grown up, battlingevery inch of my way."

" I never knew you were unhappy, my child."" Father, I always knew it. In this strife

I have almost repulsed and crushed my better

to direct the anatomist where to strike hisknife into the secrets of my soul."

" Louisa ! " he said, and said imploringly ;for he well remembered what had passedbetween them in their former interview.

" I do not reproach you, father, I make nocomplaint. I am here with another object."

"What can I do, child ? Ask me what youwill."

" I am coming to it. Father, chance thenthrew into my way a new acquaintance ; aman such as I had had no experience of;used to the world; light, polished, easy ;making no pretences; avowing the low esti-mate of everything, that I was half afraid toform in secret; conveying to me almost imme-diately, though I don't know how or by whatdegrees, that he understood me, and read mythoughts. I could not find that he was worsethan I. There seemed to be a near affinitybetween us. I only wondered it should beworth his while, who cared for nothing else,to care so much for me."

" For yon, Louisa ! "Her father might instinctively have

loosened his hold, but that he felt herstrength departing from her, and saw a wilddilating fire in the eyes steadfastly regardinghim.

" I say nothing of his plea for claiming myconfidence. It matters very little how hegained it. Father, he did gain it. What you

506 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Conducted by

know of tlie story of my marriage, he soonknew, just, as well."

Her father's face was ashy white, and heheld her in both his arms.

"I have done no worse, I have not dis-graced you. But if you ask me whether Ihave loved him, or do love him, I tell you plainlyfather, that it may be so. I don't know ! "

She took her hands suddenly from hisshoulders and pressed them both upon her side;while in her face, not like itself—and in herfigure, drawn up, resolute to finish by a lasteffort what she had to say*—the feelings longsuppressed broke loose.

" This night, my husband being away, hehas been with me, declaring himself mylover. This minute he expects me, for I couldrelease myself of his presence by no othermeans. I do not know that I am. sorry, I donot know that I am ashamed, I do not knowthat I am degraded in my own esteem. Allthat I know is, your philosophy and yourteaching will not save me. Now, father, youLave brought me to this. Save me by someother means !"

He tightened his hold in time to preventher sinking on the floor, but she cried outin a terrible voice, " I shall die if you holdme ! Let me fall upon the ground ! " Andhe laid her down there, and saw the prideof his heart and the triumph of hia system,lying, an insensible heap, at his feet.

SEA VIE\YS.

THE lodgings provided in the Regent'sPark for the small people of the sea, firstcalled the Aquavivarium, now the MarineAquarium—lor a new thing there was a newname wanted, and the first name is not alwaysthe best—have given satisfaction to theirtenants. The Aquarium is now an establishedinstitution, and Mr. Gosse, the naturalist,who was most active in its establishment, andby whom it was mainly stocked, has just pub-lished a little book descriptive of his lodger-hunting in the Bay of Weymouth, and of thecharacters of the lodgers usually to be metwith in apartments furnished like those of thefishes in the Zoological Gardens.

Every man, woman, or child, may establisha private aquarium upon any scale that maybe found convenient. An aquarium may bemade in a doctor's bottle or a pudding-basin. The first thing requisite is a com-prehension of the principle on which sucha little institution is founded.

The main idea hangs upon the fact that,by a wise ordinance of nature, the vegetableand animal worlds are made to play into eachother's hands. Animals want plenty of oxy-gen, and plants want plenty of carbon. Ani-mals take oxygen, and carbonize it, makingcarbonic acid ; plants take the carbonic acid,and de-carbonize it, making oxygen. This,plants are doing all day longj under the influ-

ence of light. Growing plants, under water,when the light shines upon them, are to beseen hung with, minute pearls—tiny bubblesthat detach themselves, and make fairyballoon-ascents towards the surface. Theseare bubbles of pure oxygen; we see herewith our eyes what goes on unseen everysummer in our fields and forests. As fast,indeed, as oxygen is spoiled by animals it isrestored by plants. This maintains a rightbalance of life on land. This maintains nearlya right balance under water. The sea is fullof creatures that require, as well as the landanimals, to breathe air containing oxygenenough for the support of life. There mustbe in the water, air sufficient in quantity andalso in quality, otherwise the swimmers andcreepers of the river and the ocean swim andcreep no more—they must all die, and makethe ocean putrid.

Therefore, partly, ife is that the sea includesnot only a realm of its own animals, but alsoa realm of its own plants. The plants, besidesfurnishing nutritious pasturage, carry on awholesome chemical process under the sur-face of the water, for the manufacture of amain ingredient in the breath of life. Thefishes, however, are not left to depend whollyupon this means of support. The billows ofthe great ocean beat the air, and catching itin the form of foam-bubbles, force it down toconsiderable depths, and cause it, both in itsdescent and in. its rising again to the surface,to come into contact with the water that re-quires its purifying influence. The sea beatson the beaches, and dashes itself into a thickfroth against rocks ; that is to say, beats airinto itself on an extensive scale, and carriesthe precious bubbles so obtained even to con-siderable depths. Its movement causes, also,a constant change of surface water, to saynothing of the influence of currents.

There are two actions, then, to be imitatedin a marine vivarium. In the first place, thesea-water is to be furnished with healthyvegetating marine plants, in the proportionnecessary to maintain, by their respiration, abalance of life with the animals which it isproposed to keep. This balance is not verydifficult to get, and may suffice of itself insome cases ; but for the further aeration ofthe water, if it be required, nothing is easierthan to provide a substitute for the mechanicalprocess used in nature. It is only necessaryto take every morning a portion of water outof the aquarium, and allow it to drip back fromsome little height into the vessel. The waterthus exposed to contact with air drop bydrop, and further entangling and carryingdown air in small bubbles with it, will bemaintained by these means in a state of per-fect purity; in fact, there is HO reason whythe same supply of sea-water should not lastfor a twelvemonth or even longer.

Of course, during all'this time, loss by evapor-ation has to be supplied; but, as the evaporationis of pure water only, all the salts remaining