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And now the Major was about to leave England, for India, with his regiment, once more. Any preference of his native land had long since been buried-a ceremony of interment, at which his lady had officiated as sexton; and my prospects alone occupied the intervening space.

We discoursed at large upon this topic the evening before his depar

ture.

"What do you think of the law ?" I inquired.

"As of a gown and wig, which, in defiance of the proverb, you may keep for seven years without having any occasion for; unless you should, perchance, be employed to adjust the ownership of a mad dog at Clerkenwell sessions, and so forth." "What say you to the army?" "No, to that."

"Marriage-with an heiress, or a rich widow?" and I tipped a very sagacious wink.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha-ah !" replied the Major, the final note thrilling like a passing bell; and, again, "Ha -ha- -ah!" and straight he resorted to mandarin-like movements of the head, rockings of the chair, and extractions of the watch; but he answered never a word.

"No, Jack," said the Major, musing, "I'll speak about you to some of my friends before I go; they'll do something for you, never fear; we shall manage, never fear.-But it grows late."

I rose to go: he took the candle, and followed me down stairs. It was raining inhumanly ;-he handed me a kind of green sieve, fastened to a stick.

"God bless you, my dear boy, Jack!" said the Major, and wrung my hand; "I shall see you again."

I ran half the length of the street, and stopped. I looked back. The Major was still upon the door-steps, with the candle flaring in his hand. He turned, and went into the house. I never saw him more!

One evening, as I sat dyspepsically at my accustomed box in the

coffee-room, amusing my leisure by committing to memory the births, marriages, and deaths, and observing how ludicrously some of the first had slipped down into the third, since my last review of those interesting memorials ;-I repeat, I sat thus employed, when my friend, Lieutenant Jacks (whom I have erewhile remembered), entered the room. Το start up, and crush the paralyzed paw of that martial man, was the work of an instant; to compel him to a seat, the employment of another.

But Jacks drooped strangelygloom, of the most decided character, overspread the inane diameter of that absurdly idiotic face; he sighed Eolianly-by gusts. What could he have to communicate? I knew he was just arrived from India;-probably a letter from the Major for which I tendered my hand; but, having sorted to his satisfaction the figures of his rhetoric, Jacks ejaculated,—

"Jack, your uncle is no more! A determination of bullets to the head, my dear fellow! Here are his watch, seals, and ring. I have communicated the intelligence to your aunt." He ended, mumbling, and formed grimaces hitherto unknown.

I saw him not-I heard him no longer-I answered him not. My heart was too full for endurance; and, covering my face, I dropt my head upon the table, and burst into an agony of tears.

All that the Major had done for me-all his kindness, his affectionrushed into my mind at once. Every kind and every unkind word he had ever spoken to me-but, more than all, my many follies and ungrateful returns of his generosityall that might have caused a pang of disquietude to him-came, now that he could no longer be sensible of my regret, like the very retribution of the grave itself!

The Major was, in truth, the only one in the whole world for whom I had ever cared a rush. He was gone!

I have done. The portrait of the

Major, as I conclude my last glass, seems to smile benignantly upon me. Yes-there was a happiness, unknown at the time, in those admirable retrenchments-those salutary withholdings of wealth, which I more than fear I may yet live to envy. Our very miseries, remembered, turn into motives and superinducements

of happiness. In fact, the only happiness I now enjoy is the pleasing satisfaction of knowing how wretched I have been-a kind of enjoyment which, as far as appearances go, I think not unlikely to continue. Be it so! "Worse than the worst→→→ content."

ANDREW CLEAVES,

ARRIVING about dark one evening at a large village, where I proposed taking up my quarters for the night, I observed a general stir and agitation, as if a bee-hive were pouring forth its swarming colonists; and as I proceeded down the long straggling street, towards the sign of "The Jolly Miller," the whole population of the place seemed streaming in the opposite direction of the churchyard, which I had passed at the entrance of the village. Men, women, and children, were hurrying along, with an appearance of eager trepidation; and there was a general hum of voices, though every one seemed to speak below his natural key, except a few blustering youngsters, who were whetting their own courage, by boasting of it with valiant oaths and asseverations, and ridiculing the cowardice of the women and children. The latter were running along close by their mothers, holding fast by their gowns or aprons, and every minute pressing nearer, and looking up in their faces, with eyes of fearful inquiry. As the different groups scudded swiftly by me, I caught here and there a few disjointed words about a ghost," and "the church-yard," and "all in white," and "Old Andrew," and "ten-foot high," and "very awful!" Half-tempted was I to turn with the stream, and wind up my day's sport with a Ghost hunt, but the sign of the Jolly Miller waving before me, and the brown loaf, and foaming can, so naturally depicted thereon, were irresistible attractions to a poor Pis

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cator, who had fasted since early morning from all but the delights of angling; and who, as day declined, had followed the windings of the stream for many a weary mile, to seek rest and refreshment at the vil lage hostelrie. It was well for me that I arrived not in equestrian equipage, for neither landlord, høstler, nor male biped of any denomination, was visible about the large old house and its adjacent stable-yard. But I needed no attendance; so stooping with my shoulder-load of rod, bask et, and landing-net, as I stept down one step into the low heavy old porch, I passed straight on into the kitchen, where a blazing fire in the huge gaping chimney, gave me a cheerful welcome, though neither there, nor in the adjoining tap-room, could I espy signs or tokens of any living creature. I could have been well contented to take silent possession of one of the high-backed settles within the ingle-nook, had there been wherewithal within reach to appease "the rage of hunger," whose impor tunate calls were rather incited than suppressed by the feeling of warmth and comfort which circulated through my whole frame, as I stood beside the companionable hearth. So I called lustily, and thumped the end of my fishing-rod against the heavy oak table and dark wooden partition, till at last came hurrying forth from an inner-chamber, a little old woman, whose sharp shrivelled face betokened no mood of sweet complacency. But a few words, intimating my intentions of sojourning in

her house that night, and my vora cious designs upon her larder and ale-butt, smoothed, as if by magic, half_the_wrinkles in her face, and put her in such good-humour, with me at least, that she would fain have installed me into the chilling magnificence of the parlour, whose sanded and boarded floor, and dismal fireless grate, nodding with plumes of fennel, like the Enchanted Helmet in the Castle of Otranto, I was obliged to glance at, though the first glimpse sent me back with shivering eagerness to the comforts of the kitchen hearth, where at last I was permitted to settle myself, while mine hostess spread for me a little claw-table, with a snow-white cloth, and set about preparing my savoury supper of fried eggs and rashers.

It was not till I had despatched two courses of those, with a proportionate quantum of "jolly good ale and old," that I found leisure, while attacking the picturesque ruins of a fine old Cheshire cheese, to question mine ancient hostess respecting those signs of popular agitation which had excited my curiosity as I came through the village. My inquiry set wide open the floodgates of her eloquence and indignation. "Well I might ask," she said, "but, for her part, she was almost ashamed to tell me what fools the folks made of themselves, her master among 'em, -who was old enough to know bet ter, Lord help him! than to set off, night after night, galloping after a ghost,-with Bob Ostler at his heels, and that idle hussey Beckey, leaving her to mind the house, and look to everything, and be robbed and murdered for what they knew,—and all for what quotha? She wished, when their time came, they might lie half as quiet in their graves as old Andrew did in his, for all their nonsensical crazy talk about his walking o' nights." I waited patiently till the 'larum had unwound itself, then tak ing up that part of the desultory invective which more immediately related to the haunted churchyard, and its unquiet tenant, I got the old 2 ATHENEUM, VOL. 9, 2d series.

lady fairly into the mood of storytelling; and from what she then related to me, and from after gleanings among other inhabitants of the vil lage, succeeded in stringing together a tolerably connected narrative.

Andrew Cleaves, whose remains had been interred the preceding week in Redburn Churchyard, was the oldest man in its large and populous parish, and had been one of the most prosperous among its numerous class of thriving and industrious husbandmen.

His little property, which had descended from father to son for many generations, consisted of a large and comfortable cottage, situated on the remote verge of the village common, a productive garden, and a few fields, which he cultivated so successfully, rising up early, and late taking rest, that by the time he had attained the middle period of life, he was enabled to rent a score more acreshad got together a pretty stock of cattle-had built a barn-and enclosed a rickyard-and drove as fine a team as any in the parish-was altogether accounted a man "well to do in the world," and was generally addressed by the style and title of "Farmer Cleaves." Then-and not till then,-and still with most phlegmatic deliberations, he began to look about him for a partner-a help meet

in the true homely sense of the word, was the wife he desired to take unto himself; and it was all in vain-"Love's Labour Lost”—that many a wealthy farmer's flaunting daughter-and many a gay damsel of the second table, from my lord's, and the squire's, and divers other fair ones set their caps at wary Andrew, and spake sweet words to him when chance threw them in his path, and looked sweet looks at him, when he sat within eye-shot at church, in his own old oaken pew, hard by the clerk's desk, with his tall, boney, athletic person, erect as a poker, and his coal-black hair (glossy as the raven's wing) combed smooth down over his forehead, till it met the intersecting line of two

straight jetty eyebrows, almost meeting over the high curved nose, and overhanging a pair of eyes, dark, keen, and lustrous; but withal, of a severe and saturnine expression, well in keeping with that of the closely compressed lips, and angular jaw. Those lips were not made to utter tender nonsense-nor those eyes for ogling, verily; but the latter were sharp and discerning enough, to find out such qualifications as he had laid down to himself, as indispensable in his destined spouse, among which (though Andrew Cleaves was justly accounted a close, penurious man) money was not a paramount consideration, as he wisely argued within himself, a prudent wife might save him a fortune, though she did not bring him one. A small matter by way of portion, could not come amiss, however, and Andrew naturally weighed in with her other perfections the twenty years' savings of the vicar's housekeeper, whose age did not greatly exceed his own who was acknowledged to be the best housewife in the parish, and the most skilful dairy-woman, having come from a famous cheese country, whose fashions she had successfully introduced at Redburn Vicarage. Beside which, Mrs. Dinah was a staid, quiet person-not given to gadding and gossiping and idle conversation; and, "moreover," quoth Andrew, "I have a respect unto the damsel, and, verily, I might go farther and fare worse." "Marry in haste, and repent at leisure," was, however, another of Andrew's favourite sayings, so he took another year or two to consider the matter in all its bearings; but as all things earthly come to an end, so at last did Andrew Cleaves's ponderings; and as his actual wooing was by no means so tedious an affair, and as the discreet Dinah had had ample time for deliberation while the important question was pending, the favoured suitor was not kept long on the rack of uncertainty, and the third Sunday, which completed the bans, saw Mrs. Dinah "endowed,"

by Andrew Cleaves, with "all his worldly goods," and installed Lady and Mistress of his hitherto lonely dwelling.

He had no reason to repent his choice. For once Dame Fortune (so often reviled for her strange blunders in match-making-so often accused of "joining the gentle with the rude,") had hooked together two kindred souls; and it seemed indeed as if Andrew had only reunited to himself a sometime divided portion of his own nature, so marvellously did he and his prudent Dinah sympathise in their views, habits, and principles. Thrift-thrift-thriftand the accumulation of worldly substance, was the end and aim of all their thought, dreams, and undertakings; yet were they rigidly just and honest in all their dealings, even beyond the strict letter of the law, of which they scorned to take advantage in a doubtful matter; and Andrew Cleaves had been known more than once to come forward to the assistance of distressed neighbours (on good security indeed), but on more liberal terms than could have been expected from one of his parsimonious habits, or than were offered by persons of more reputed generosity.

Moreover, he was accounted-and he surely accounted himself—a very religious man, and a very pious Christian,-"a serious Christian," he denominated himself; and such a one he was in good truth, if a sad and grave aspect-solemn speech, much abounding in scriptural phrases

slow delivery-erect deportment, and unsocial reserve, constitute fair claims to this distinction. Moreover, he was a regular church-goer

an indefatigable reader of his Bible, (of the Old Testament, and the Epistles in particular), fasted rigidly on all days appointed by the churchbroke the heads of all the little boys who whistled, within his hearing, on Sabbaths and Saints' days-said immoderate long graces before and after meals, and sang hymns by the hour, though he had no more voice

than a cracked pitcher, and not ear enough to distinguish between the tunes of the 100th Psalm, and "Molly put the Kettle on."

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Besides all this, he had been a dutiful, if not an affectionate sou-was a good, if not a tender husband —a neighbour of whose integrity no doubted-a most respectable parishioner; and, yet, with all this, Andrew Cleaves's was not vital religion, for it partook not of that blessed spirit of love, meekness, and charity, which vaunteth not itself is not puffed up-thinketh no evil of its neighbour-neither maketh broad its phylacteries, nor prayeth in the corners of market-places, to be seen of men. He was neither extortionate nor a drunkard. He gave tithes of all that he possessed. He did not give half his goods to the poor; but, nevertheless, contrived to make out such a catalogue of claims on the peculiar favour of Heaven, as very comfortably satisfied his own conscience, and left him quite at leisure to "despise others."

It had been the misfortune of Andrew Cleaves, to have imbibed from his parents those narrow views of Christianity, and their early death had left him an unsociable being, unloving, unloved, and unconnected, till he changed his single for a married state.

"Habits are stubborn things; And by the time a man is turned of forty,

His ruling passions grow so haughty, There is no clipping of their wings." Now, Andrew was full forty-three when he entered the pale of matrimony, and the staid Dinah, three good years his senior, had no wish to clip them, being, as we have demonstrated, his very counterpart, his "mutual head" in all essential points; so, without a spark of what silly swains and simple maidens call love, and some wedded folks "tender friendship," our serious couple jogged on together in a perfect matrimonial rail-road of monotonous conformity, and Andrew Cleaves might have gone down to his grave unconscious that hearts were made for any

other purpose than to circulate the blood, if the birth of a son, in the second year of his union, had not opened up in his bosom such a fountain of love and tenderness, as gushed out, like water from the flinty rock; and became thenceforth the master passion, the humanizing feeling of his stern and powerful character. The mother's fondness, and she was a fond mother, was nothing, compared with that with which the father doated on his babe; and he would rock its cradle, or hush it in his arms, or sing to it by the hour, though the lullaby seldom varied from the 100th psalm, and, as he danced it to the same exhilarating tune, it was a wonder that the little Josiah clapped his hands, and crowed with antic mirth, instead of com porting himself with the solemnity of a parish clerk in swaddling clothes.

Is was strange and pleasant to observe, how the new and holy feeling of parental love penetrated, like a fertilizing dew, the hitherto hard, insensible nature of Andrew Cleaves; how it extended its sweet influence beyond the exciting object the infant darling to his fellow creatures in general, disposing his heart to kindliness and pity, and almost to sociability. In the latter virtue, he made so great progress as to invite a few neighbours to the christening feast, charging his dame to treat them handsomely to the best of everything, and he himself, for the first time in his life, "on hospitable thoughts intent," pressed and smiled, and played the courteous host to a miracle.

And sometimes, on his way home of an evening, he would stop and exchange a few words with an acquaintance, at his cottage door, attracted by the sight of some chubby boy, with whose short limbs and infant vigour he would compare, in his mind's eye, the healthful beauty of his own urchin. But great, indeed, was the amazement of Dame Cleaves, when Andrew, who had always "set his face like a flint" against the whole tribe of idle mendicants, mak

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