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of the lads on the quay were sad prigs, and time. There was a barrack-field with great they've put me up to steal rope, and copper tarry palings, and this burial-ground, where nails, and things, and slip down into the they'd taken up the tombstones, to be out cabins to prig prog; but if my earthly fa- of the cows' way, and leaned them against ther didn't look after me, my Heavenly Fa- the hedges. I climbed in, and ate my bread ther did, and, I'm thankful to say, I never and butter, and then I went over John's was a thief- though a boy's hungry belly is Green and Cook's Fields, and cut across a sore tempter, sir. Perhaps, if I'd have the Butt Road and Maldon Road, and got had the use of my pins as they had, I might to Lexden across the fields behind the hosha' done it if so, I thank God for makin' pital. It's queer how I remember all them me a cripple- but I hope not. I used to places —just as if I was pegging over them fancy that my mother was a-watchin' of me. now. I had another long rest at Lexden Try to be of some good, Bob,' I used to Springs. A ladies' school went by whilst I hear her say, and, as well as such a poor was sittin' by the half-moon pond at the top, little critter could, I made up my mind that and one of the young ladies said, 'Poor I would try. Anyhow, however, I couldn't little object,' and give me a Bath_bun out stand home any longer. I must be off of her muff, and another on 'em give me a somewhere to fend the best I could for my- penny with a harp on it. But I shall never self. I'd sense enough to guess that father get done if I go on at this rate, sir. How'ud bring me back if I hung anywheres s'ever, it's still rainin'. about Colchester. I wanted to be off to "The machine-man took me up at the London. I'd heard that all sorts o' folks milestone, and I came up to London, bumpcould get work there. Not as I thought in' in a sack on the top o' Colchester nathat it was paved with gold-children tives. He gave me something to eat on the poor folks' kids, anyhow. ain't green road, and next mornin' he dropped me at enough for that. I had talked about Lon- an early coffee-house in the Mile-En' Road, don sometimes to a man who drove a fish- and give me a shilling, and said Good-bye, machine it was long before the Eastern Bob; luck go with ye;' and ever since then, Counties' was thought of, the times I'm sir, I thank God, I've been able to earn my speakin' of. Well, Bob,' says he one day, own living-'cept when I've been laid up 'you couldn't be worse off there than you in hospital, and that's about ten times in are here, and if you can manage to hobble forty years. They're good Christian places out, quite unbeknown to your father, mind those hospitals, when you're once inside: for I shouldn't like him to fancy that I'd and the doctors, and the nurses, and the any hand in it-to the third milestone on ladies sisters, they call 'em there the London road, I'll take you up to-morrow weren't any o' them when I used to be laid evening.' I went to bid poor mother good-up first- are as kind as kind can be. The bye that night - her grave somehow makes doctors speak a bit brisk now and then, and me think that Colchester's my home down the nurses make you mind 'em; but then to this very day, though I've never set foot think what a lot they've got to look after! in it since and next mornin', as soon as and the ladies are always so gentle, bless I'd seen father off in his lighter polin' down 'em! It's a pity, though, that the porters the river to Wivenhoe, I slipped back and and such like should be so bumptious: they packed up a few of my clothes that he might have, you'd think, more feeling for hadn't pawned, and my Bible-leaves, and a poor folk. Of course, you understand, sir, Mavor's Spelling book my mother used to I'd rather pay a doctor, if I could; but then learn me out of, in a brown Holland linen- I can't, and besides, how could I keep a bag of hers, and began to hippety-hoppet nurse? So when I'm bad, I go to a kind down Hythe Hill. I went a roundabout gentleman I know, and he always manages way to throw father off the scent. Where to get me an order somewhere or other. I are you goin', Bob?' says a woman. For declare to you, sir, I've been downright a walk,' says I, and I shall be hungry before I come back.' She looks hard at me, but then she says, 'Poor little chap,' and goes in and cuts me a slice of bread and butter. I went along the river till I got to the New Quay, but then I turned up by the distillery, and so worked round into the Military Road. I was precious tired by the time I got to the Old Soldier's BurialGround. They've got a camp at Colchester again now, but there were no soldiers in my

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happy in hospital when I've been gettin' a bit well again. So clean and quiet, no bad smells, and no bad language, and time to think good thoughts-it's like a week o Sundays- very different from the Sundays here, sir. It was in Guy's sir, that poor mother's words first really come home to me. Just before I was laid up, I'd been getting cocky — sacrificin' unto my net, and burnin' incense to my drag. I'd been thinking that, cripple as I was, I'd managed to get my

livin', and keep myself respectable, and pick up a bit of book-learnin' about beasts and birds, and flowers, and mechanics, and such-like, better than some big fellows who could make a mouthful of me. It was real good for me to be laid on the flat o' my back that time it took the nonsense out of me. I was lying in my bed one night, feelin' very small, when all of a sudden I thought of poor mother lying on her bed, and what she'd said to me, Try to be of some good, Bob.' And, thinks I, if you'd been the fine feller you fancied yerself, after all, wasn't you only workin' for yerself? If you was to die to-night, who'd be worse off but yerself? I'd given up saying my prayers and going to church for a bit, but I said a prayer that night, and made up my mind that, if I ever got about again, God helpin' me, I'd try to do somebody besides myself some good. But what good could a chap like me do to anybody, I thought again. However, the first Sunday I was out, I went to church the one that stands back in the Blackfriars Road- - and the sermon was just as if the parson knew what I was thinking. It was about the cup of cold water, you know, sir. Thinks I, it's hard if I can't give that, and I've tried since to do the little I can that way, and I was never so happy before. How folks can make such a merit of works, I can't make out. It's precious little anybody can do, and then for the very littlest thing you do you get such a lot of pleasure that it seems somehow as if you was only shamming to be kind to get somethin' for yerself throwin' away a sprat to catch a salmon like.

"But I haven't told you how I've got my living! That's true, sir, and really I don't see that there's much to tell. I've only done what everybody that hasn't got tin's forced to do, if he doesn't want to starve, or to steal, or turn cadger, or go into the workus. I've been at the toy-making off and on for about five year now. The pay's light, but so's the work, so far as strength goes, and that suits me now, for I'm gettin' shaky. It's a pretty kind of work, too, I reckon. There ain't much room for taste, it's true, but it wants a little bit of gumption sometimes to manage the strings and things. Anyhow, I like it, and try to make 'em the best I can. It's nice somehow to think that I'm makin' playthings for poor folk's kids that can't get anything better. I've got queer fancies sometimes, sir. I wonder whether Christ, when he was a carpenter, ever made anything out of the chips for the little uns that peeped into the shop. There's no sin in fancyin' that, is there, sir? He was so fond of children that I can't help

thinkin' he'd ha' done anything that was right to please 'em.

--

66

What did I do before? Bless your heart, sir, I've been a Jack of all trades, 'cept a navvy, and a coalheaver, and such like. I used to see a good bit of coalheavers once, though. My second master went about in the Pool selling hot beer to the sailors. We was run down in a fog one day, and the poor old man was drowned. They hooked me out on to a steamer, and put me ashore at Greenwich. I couldn't help crying a bit, for I'd lost all except my Bible leaves and the clothes I stood in. So the mate pitched me an old broom, and told me to go and fight for a crossing. I got one without fightin', however, on Maze Hill and made a pretty good thing of it; but I used to lodge in Mill Lane - by Deptford Broadway, you know, sir-and one night the tramps cleaned me out. My first place was to clean boots and knives at the coffeehouse where the machine-man put me down. I've sold watercresses, and walnuts, apd larkturfs, and gr'un'sel, and such-like; but I never took much to those out-door things - they didn't seem respectable. I thought I was getting up in the world- I was about thirteen then-when an old fellow who kept a second-hand bookshop in the Goswell Road hired me to sit inside and watch the books. He didn't give me much wages, but I got lots to eat, and a good bit of reading too on the sly. I'm afraid now it wasn't quite right; but I couldn't help it when I'd got the chance, and, after all, he never lost anything by me. Only one man ever tried it on. He whipped a book off the shelf, and was walkin' away pretty brisk, but I hopped after him a bit faster. 'You haven't paid for the book, sir,' says I. What book, boy?' says he. 'The book you've got in your pocket, sir,' says I. He puts in his hand and pulls it out, and then he says, Why, so I have what strange absence o' mind!' and gives it to me in a kind of maze like. P'r'aps, after all, he wasn't a thief, though I thought so then, and the looks of the thing were against him. One sees so many strange things as one gets older that we ain't so ready to condemn folks for the bad looks of things. Leastways it's been so with me, and it's nicer than being so mighty sharp that one can't believe one's own mother. Charity thinketh no evil. If we'd got a little more of that, and there wasn't no evil to be thought about neither, what a nice world this would be, sir! But that's foolish talk

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as if we could manage matters better than He does. Well, sir, since I got that billet at the bookseller's I've always managed to

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keep myself by some indoor work or other except, of course, when I've been in hospital. It was when I'd got a folding job at a stationer's over in Finsbury, that I heard of poor old father's death. I was sixteen or seventeen then, and had got a few shillings put by. I'd been thinkin' that, hard as he'd been, he was my father after all, and my mother had loved him, though he did whop her, and it wasn't right to take no more notice of him than if he'd been a dog. So I was a-going to write down to him, and if I found he was hard up, to send him a crown or so. I daresay there was a bit of pride in that I wanted to show him that I'd been able to get on without him. I've mostly found there was summut o' that in anything I've been very proud of. Well, sir, the very night I was goin' to write, as I hopped home from work, thinking what a good son I was, and all that, I ran against one of the porters in the yard. He didn't know me, but I knew him as soon as I set eyes on him. He was a Colchester man that used to live in Magdalen Street. Well, sir, I asked him about my father, and he told me that he was dead and buried. He'd walked off the quay one Saturday night, and was half drowned in the water, and half smothered in the mud. It give me a turn, as you may think, sir. I wished I could spend the money I was going to send him as the Catholics do. I can't bear to think of it now. The thief on the cross is my only comfort when I do think about it. But perhaps we're too ready to judge. Judge not, that ye be not judged that's another comfort." The poor cripple was silent for a minute or two after this, but then he went on in his old cheerful voice-"But the rain's over, and you'll want to be going. I'm sure I'm much obliged to you for givin' me your company so long. No, sir, thankee, there's nothing you can do for me. I've everything I want-enough and to spare. I've got work as long as I've got my health; and when that fails, I've got my hospital; and when I die, I humbly hope through Christ's mercy, to creep into heaven. I've everything to make me contented. The curate talks to me like a brother, sir. I've only to ask my other good friend for an order for the hospital, and he gets it for me just as if I was a gentleman. The little ones all love me, and most of the people about here are very kind. If they'd only be a little kinder to themselves, poor souls, I should be quite happy. Do you know, sir, I call my old chair here my Ebenezer? Hitherto the Lord hath helped me, and he's a friend that

will never fail. Good night, sir, and again I thank ye."

As I picked my way through the rainpools of the Folly's flags, and thought of the little toy-maker, heartily grateful after weed-like tossings on life's sea for even that poor shelter, and, in spite of his infirmities, not only earning for himself an honest living, but acting as a moral leaven and even a material benefactor to his poor neighbours, it occurred to me that the bricklayer man next door " was not the only lazy man, or woman, whom my lame man should make ashamed. Contrasted with his beneficent energy under difficulties, how utterly contemptible appears the ennui that springs form "nothing to do " in the midst of life's most luxurious appliances!

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From Blackwood's Magazine, INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE QUEEN OF SPAIN AND THE FRENCH EMPEROR. AT San Sebastian, the place which alone, in all the province of Guipuzcoa, had held for the Queen when the Carlist war broke out, Isabella, with her husband, her four children, her favourite, and her confessor, watched with anxious eyes and agonised heart the progress of the insurrection, which she must have foreboded as certain to succeed. Close by, at the distance of less than a twohours' railway journey, was the powerful Sovereign of France, with his wife, her for mer subject. What wistful glances were then turned towards Biarritz, what urgent messages were sent, what unavailing prayers for aid were offered up, may rather be conjectured than positively known. It was said and believed at the time that the Queen herself, disguised and almost unattended. went by night to the imperial residence to tell of her despair and implore succour. There, it was told, she and Eugenia Montijo, whom an extraordinary destiny had made Empress of the French, embraced and mingled their tears and supplications, in vain directed to the inflexible Sovereign who felt that he could not afford to commit so grave an error as would have been an armed intervention in the affairs of Spain. Moreover, he bore no love to that last crowned Bourbon, the last of a degene rate race of kings;, and her passionate appeal was all in vain. The French official press was instructed to deny the interview..and perhaps it is only its probability and remance that make the world believe in i as having taken place. A few days later the Queen did enter France, this time pab

licly and as a fugitive. There were not many persons present to record the circumstances of that passage into exile, but some there were; and a private letter, too replete with graphic and characteristic details not to have proceeded from an eye-witness, found its way into a French journal,* and may appropriately be introduced here :

46

BIARRITZ, Sept. 30, 1868.- After one hundred and sixty-eight years that have elapsed since the adoption of Philip Duke of Anjou by Charles II., to-day, the 30 September, 1868, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the Bourbon dynasty of Spain died before my eyes, at the Biarritz railway station, in the arms of the Emperor. An ocular witness, with some very few privileged persons, of that fatal interview, I think to give you pleasure by relating its circumstantial and exact details.

waiting-rooms were full of people, I took refuge in the station-master's office, where there were already a few persons, and amongst others, the Marchioness of Javalquinto, the Countess of Cartagena, the Spanish Consul and his family, and some French people. Lucky were we to have chosen that place, for a few moments later, by order of the Empress, the station was cleared and everybody was turned into the outer court; the office in which we were was alone exempted from this measure.

"It is one o'clock. The Queen is at the station of St. Jean de Luz. The Emperor and Empress arrive at the Biarritz station. The Empress comes to speak with the Marchioness of Javalquinto; the Emperor walks alone upon the platform, with head bent and plunged in thought. Suddenly he orders a despatch to be sent to the Queen to "It was towards eight o'clock this morn-ask her if she proposes going straight to ing that the Queen, in spite of the advice of those around her, decided upon flight, and gave her orders in consequence. Roncall, Minister of State, prevailed over those who, in the council of the Queen, still advocated resistance.

Pau or to pause at Biarritz. The question, by its form, may be said to have dictated the reply, which was not long in coming: the Queen answers that she is going straight to Pau.

"The departure from St. Jean de Luz is "A despatch addressed to M. Mon, the signalled, and soon afterwards the special Spanish Ambassador at the Court of France, train entered the Biarritz station. The Queen and received at half-past eight at Biarritz, was alone on the balcony of the saloon cargave intelligence of the catastrophe. Im-riage, the King at the door of the saloon; mediately Señor Mon set out for Hendaye (the frontier station), accompanied by General de Castelnau, the Emperor's aide-decamp, to meet the Queen. I will not tell you all the hesitations, all the resolutions, all the orders and counter-orders, that filled up the morning, and of which the railway telegraph wire between Biarritz and Hendaye was the bearer; it would be wearisome and useless now that the thing is over. During that time the Spanish Consul at Bayonne took measures to secure at Pau the necessary lodgings for the Queen and all her suite.

"The rumour of all these proceedings soon spread at Biarritz, and every obtainable carriage was hired by the curious, eager to get to the station, which is about three kilometres from the centre of the town.

"The most accredited version -I will say more, the truest-was that the Queen would enter Biarritz and pay a visit at the imperial villa. It was thought she came to implore assistance; her flight was not yet credited.

"The train that brought the Queen was due at Biarritz station towards one o'clock. A little before that hour I reached the station, and seeing on my arrival that all the

• Opinion Nationale,' Oct. 4, 1868.

Marfori stood behind the Queen, pompous, and wearing over his black coat the broad ribbon of the Order of Charles III. At the moment when the Emperor advanced to offer his hand to the Queen, the express train from Paris to Spain, which had been waiting the arrival of the other to proceed on its journey, came up, and from it were heard to proceed cries most insulting to the Queen -a loud clamour-in which was especially distinguishable the word Fuera! (get out, or out with her).

"At these cries the Emperor made a backward movement, and tears gushed from the eyes of the Queen, who got out, as well as the King and her children, the high personages of her suite, Father Claret and the inevitable Marfori.

"After having shaken hands with the Emperor and kissed the Empress, they all four-the Emperor, the Empress, the Queen, and the King-entered the firstclass waiting room, of which the doors had remained open; nobody else entered. Outside the door stood the great dignitaries of both countries, and we behind, observing with anxious eyes the physiognomy of the sovereigns, but unable to divine or to hear anything. Nobody heard what there was said.

"The interview lasted twenty minutes;

will never fail. Good night, sir, and again I thank ye."

As I picked my way through the rainpools of the Folly's flags, and thought of the little toy-maker, heartily grateful after weed-like tossings on life's sea for even that poor shelter, and, in spite of his infirmities, not only earning for himself an honest living, but acting as a moral leaven and even a material benefactor to his poor neighbours, it occurred to me that the bricklayer man next door "was not the only lazy man, or woman, whom my lame man should make ashamed. Contrasted with his beneficent energy under difficulties, how utterly contemptible appears the ennui that springs form "nothing to do " in the midst of life's most luxurious appliances!

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From Blackwood's Magazine. INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE QUEEN OF SPAIN AND THE FRENCH EMPEROR.

keep myself by some indoor work or other - except, of course, when I've been in hospital. It was when I'd got a folding job at a stationer's over in Finsbury, that I heard of poor old father's death. I was sixteen or seventeen then, and had got a few shillings put by. I'd been thinkin' that, hard as he'd been, he was my father after all, and my mother had loved him, though he did whop her, and it wasn't right to take no more notice of him than if he'd been a dog. So I was a-going to write down to him, and if I found he was hard up, to send him a crown or so. I daresay there was a bit of pride in that I wanted to show him that I'd been able to get on without him. I've mostly found there was summut o' that in anything I've been very proud of. Well, sir, the very night I was goin' to write, as I hopped home from work, thinking what a good son I was, and all that, I ran against one of the porters in the yard. He didn't know me, but I knew him as soon as I set eyes on him. He was a Colchester man that used to live AT San Sebastian, the place which alone, in in Magdalen Street. Well, sir, I asked all the province of Guipuzcoa, had held for him about my father, and he told me that the Queen when the Carlist war broke out, he was dead and buried. He'd walked Isabella, with her husband, her four children, off the quay one Saturday night, and was her favourite, and her confessor, watched half drowned in the water, and half smoth- with anxious eyes and agonised heart the ered in the mud. It give me a turn, as you progress of the insurrection, which she may think, sir. I wished I could spend the must have foreboded as certain to succeed. money I was going to send him as the Cath- Close by, at the distance of less than a twoolics do. I can't bear to think of it now. hours' railway journey, was the powerful The thief on the cross is my only comfort Sovereign of France, with his wife, her for when I do think about it. But perhaps mer subject. What wistful glances were we're too ready to judge. Judge not, that then turned towards Biarritz, what urgent ye be not judged-that's another comfort." messages were sent, what unavailing prayers The poor cripple was silent for a minute for aid were offered up, may rather be conor two after this, but then he went on in hisjectured than positively known. It was said old cheerful voice-" But the rain's over, and believed at the time that the Queen and you'll want to be going. I'm sure I'm herself, disguised and almost unattended. much obliged to you for givin' me your went by night to the imperial residence to company so long. No, sir, thankee, there's nothing you can do for me. I've everything I want -enough and to spare. I've got work as long as I've got my health; and when that fails, I've got my hospital; and when I die, I humbly hope through Christ's mercy, to creep into heaven. I've everything to make me contented. The curate talks to me like a brother, sir. I've only to ask my other good friend for an order for the hospital, and he gets it for me just as if I was a gentleman. The little ones all love me, and most of the people about here are very kind. If they'd only be a little kinder to themselves, poor souls, I should be quite happy. Do you know, sir, I call my old chair here my Ebenezer? Hitherto the Lord hath helped me, and he's a friend that

tell of her despair and implore succour. There, it was told, she and Eugenia Montijo, whom an extraordinary destiny had made Empress of the French, embraced and mingled their tears and supplications, in vain directed to the inflexible Sovereign who felt that he could not afford to commit so grave an error as would have been an armed intervention in the affairs of Spain. Moreover, he bore no love to that last crowned Bourbon, the last of a degenerate race of kings;, and her passionate appeal was all in vain. The French official press was instructed to deny the interview..and perhaps it is only its probability and ro mance that make the world believe in it as having taken place. A few days later the Queen did enter France, this time pat

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