CHAPTER I.

SOME TRAVELLERS TOWARDS LONDON.

ACROSS one of those downs of southern England which Sylvanus has sketched with such exquisite effect, Joe Appleshaw, a Wiltshire labourer, and his wife trudged steadily one hot, fine morning. Their five children were with them; but, with the exception of the baby, which lay asleep in its mother's arms, and the next to it in age, that made little steps by its father's side, none else were to be seen; for the three eldest were onward in the distance, chasing the tiny blue butterflies which flitted amidst the gorse and budding fern, or the countless heath-flowers which decked with wild luxuriance the thymy sward.

Joe, in appearance, was a fair specimen of the English labourer of the southern counties and their Danish population. Well knit and built, though with a slouch that took from his height; fair, but sun-burnt; whilst his face-so regular were its features -would have been handsome, had it been lighted by anything like an expression of intelligence. As it was, its look of stolid apathy told a plain story of drudgery and ignorance. It was just such a look as you see on a hundred faces of the rustic class, as though, "like the beasts that perish," no immortal soul within sanctified the noblest work of the Divine Maker!

Maternity, its cares and joys, had, on the other hand, softened and humanized the face of Nelly Appleshaw. If education had done nothing to create in it a look of intelligence, love had. She had an eye and ear for everything; and the way in which she occasionally hummed to her sleeping babe, stooped

VOL. VIII. N. S.

to gather a flower for the little one that held its father's hand, or gazed-her hand shading her eyes after her wandering children in the blue distance, was full of an earnest and gentle tenderness which added greatly to the expression of her still young and comely face. True, Joe's beer-shop brawls, the huckster's-shop debt, the last hard winter and its scanty wages had written there some lines that were not effaceable; but coarseness, or boldness, or intemperance, had not as yet stamped there the mark of Cain. Nor was the evidence of a tidy housewife wanting. Joe's clean and patched smock-frock, his knitted hose, the children's little garments, her own tidy gown, cap, and kerchief, all bespoke a sense of decency, and a thrifty use of needle, washing-tub, and iron. Poor wayfarers as they were, their whole appearance bespoke fresh air, green fields, and rustic, country paths.

Journeying thus on, the heat of the approaching noon growing still more fervid, a horseman came riding towards them. Moving from his path to let him pass, Joe touched his forelock, and addressing the portly, farmer-like rider, asked for a day or two's labour at the hay-harvest.

"I haven't one to give, my man," replied the person addressed, as he reined in his horse;" my last swath of hay was drawn last week, and I think it's pretty much the same with my neighbours. But how comes an able-bodied man like you to be on the tramp at this season?" and the farmer eyed Joe's well-knit figure as he spoke.

"Why, zur, we be come out o' Wiltshire, and things a' bin goin' on badly theer, as you, maybe, know, particalar in the parish as me and my missis belong; it aint so bad

B

in zum, where the parson or squire's bin kind-like to get zum on the folks off to 'Merikay or Australay; but, in the parish as me and my missis belong, nothin' but rents a' bin a-gettin' up, and wages goin' down; for our squire, ye see, zur,'s gone off to furren parts, and the lawyer folks as a' bin left to get his debts out o' th' estate, don't mind what they do to squeeze the last shillin' out of a poor man. Ax for a sixpence more, and ye be told to tramp off to the union house, as theer be folks in plenty as 'll take six shillin' a week, and be glad on't, and pay four pun' a year for a cottage in the bargain. Well, zur, what can a poor man do? So, 'atween the wages and the rheumatiz fever, which kept me a-bed six weeks

-and the sore time Nelly had with the little 'un in her arms-I got druv up, zur. There was four pun' sixteen a owin' at Mason's shop; just three to the doctor, an' a bit for the little uns' shoes; so as th' folks at the shop wouldn't wait till I got round like wi' th' bit theere wur a comin' in at harvest, they took the eight-day clock, the big table, and the six cheers as me and my missis had bought the Whissuntide we got married. 'Missis,' says I, when things had come to this'ns, I canna hold my head up i' th' parish after this; and as I heerd down at the Three Horse Shoes that Ben Brigly, as went from here a year ago, h'n gotten mighty good work a diggin' sewers in Lunnen, and can get any likely man o' th' parish a job, as mun like to go up to 'em, we mun just as well sell off th' things Mason's left us, and pay th' tother debts and go. It won't be hard tramping it o' this time o' year, missis, and, maybe, I mun get a job i' th' way at the hay-sell, for it'll be jist mowin' time in th' sheers we mun pass through.' So, three weeks ago, zur, me and my missis set off, and, thank the Lord, we've met with a tidy job or two, as h'n given us a lift, and so we're a slowly goin' on to Lunnen.”

"Well, my man," said the farmer, who had listened to this simple tale with kindly earnestness, "I'm sorry I've not a day's work to give you, for I like your courage in trying to mend bad luck; in this world it don't do for honest men to sit with their hands afore them. I daresay you'll soon get work in London, sinews and youth go there to a good market; but there's one thing that I fear'll be a difficulty to you— house room for poor folks is, I hear, both

scarce and dear; for those as have a hand in these things are pulling down but not building up, till working folks are driven up like rats on a barn floor."

"I've heerd somethin o' this, zur," spoke Nelly, respectfully, "from folks me and my master have met i' th' road. I fear it like; but we mun trust in the Lord and do the best we can. Though, I'm sure, filth and dirt'll never do for me, for I've bin used to a tidy house-place, though a poor 'un."

"Well," replied the farmer, "God speed ye, missis, for th' best. Now, look you yonder;" he turned, and pointed with his riding-whip in the direction he had come, "there is a small village some half mile off-you can see the church spire amidst the trees-well, you'll find my house there, an old-fashioned place with a thatched porch, and a garden i̇' th' front. Go to it, and ask the missis-you'll maybe see her at the garden-gate, as I left her there for a bit to eat, and say I sent you ;-and here, take this,"-he dropped a shilling into Nelly's hand-" but don't say a word on't. She's got a heart in the pantry, but none for the purse and I might hear of it." With this admonition not to betray him to a curtain or fire-side lecture, as the case might be, the good farmer rode off, and was soon lost to view amidst the green undulations of the wide-spread downs.

As Joe Appleshaw and Nelly approached the village-a lovely, rustic spot, imbosomed in trees, and cooled by sedgy pools-they perceived a cart before them filled with household goods packed in hay. It was going forward at a fair pace; two men walked beside it; a lad loitered behind, and a very young girl sat perched up amidst the furniture, whose features could not, for the distance, be distinguished, but whose hair, for she had cast aside her bonnet, waved in the light breeze and in the glittering sun like threads of gold. It was beautiful and abundant beyond description. She was sorting something she held in her lapflowers, which, as Nelly presently found, her own children, loitering for a time behind the cart, had given her.

As the farmer had predicted, his wife was in the garden; and, leisurely surveying the promise of her gooseberry bushes, sauntered beside the shady gate. Sometimes she looked across, up and down the road, and soon attracted by the approaching cart, was ready to hear and see all, when it stopped at the little inn next door to let the horse drink

from the shady trough, and for the men to purchase a mug of beer. As usual on such occasions, and more particularly in solitary villages, the landlord came out to question his customers, and, liking their appearance, and being inclined for a chat, invited two women who sat on the front seat and the little girl to alight and rest for a time beneath the shade of his spreading elm-tree. After consulting his watch, one of the two men said they had plenty of time, and so, in a few moments, the little party were chatting with the landlord. Thus standing a listener, the farmer's wife was soon acquainted with their simple affairs and the cause of their journey. They had come that morning, it appeared, from a small country town some fourteen miles distant. The two women were sisters, and the men brothers-in-law; and the elder and more artizan-like-looking of the two men being a cabinet-maker by trade, was with his wife and children on his way to the next railway station, and from thence to London, where he had lately obtained a situation in a first-class firm at the Westend. The relatives, were come thus far to see them off, and return with the cart.

"And be these two thy only children, master?" asked the landlord of the artizan, as he called to his niece through the ivied window to bring him his pipe, though in reality that she might see the beauty of the girl.

"No, I've two more, a younger girl that stays yet awhile in the country, and a lad in an office in London. He ain't been there long -and he's coming to us when we get a home."

"That's why we chiefly go," added the stranger's wife; a lad has so many temptations" she was going to say more, but the girl, who had been standing looking down the road, now came running towards her and whispered, "Mother, there be the little chaps coming' who gave me the flowers. May I give them a bit of short cake out o' th' basket-I shant want any more, and they look so hungry.”

"Thee'd give thyself away, Liddy, if thee could," spoke her aunt and uncle in a breath. But the child did not hear them; bounding towards the cart, she brought a basket to her father, and opening it, and taking forth the cake and knife, put them in his hands. He asked her how much, and placed the knife to cut it, but she whispered, "more,

father, more; they look so hungry," and moving the knife, did not rest till two thirds of it were in her hands. She was then running off, but her father held her back.

"Nothing for it Liddy?" he whispered; "father, I thought, got always a rosy penny." She flung her arms around him, kissed him fervently, and then bounded off-dividing the cake in three as she went on-towards Nelly's children. But they were by this time gathered round their parents, who had stayed to speak to the farmer's wife.

"And pray, what sort of coat had my master on?" questioned the good dame, who by nature was a little suspicious, and who, for the instant, was rather cross that her pleasant occupation of listening and observing should be interrupted.

"A dark green coat and horn-handled whip," replied Nelly, with straightforward, honest look; "my master axed the gentleman for a day's work at the hay-sell; he hadn'a it to giv, but he bid us call here, and ax thee for a bit to eat, as thou wast so kind."

"It's like my John," replied the dame; and going to the house, she returned quickly with a large dishful of broken meat and bread, and with her servant behind her carrying a pitcher of butter-milk.

"There!" she said, as she handed both to Nelly, "there's a meal for thee and thy children. The pitcher you can have awhile, if you like to rest down there in the lane past the church-it's the road to London if thee be going there and return it when you've done."

Joe and Nelly thanked her gratefully, said they were intending to rest for a few hours, whilst the great heat lasted, as they had travelled far that morning, and then went onward in the direction she had pointed out.

Shyly waiting till Joe and Nelly had passed by, Liddy thrust the cake into the three eldest children's hands, and went back to the elm-tree without a word, though intently watching their delight, as they tasted the unusual dainty, and then ran, whooping, after their parents, who, by this time, had passed the ivied church.

They had been talking of Liddy in her absence, and the landlord now passed his hand along her beautiful hair, and his niece came out of the house to kiss her.

"If she only grows up as good as she has

good looks," said the landlord, "she'll be a flower for any man's garden."

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"I try to bring up my children in the right way," replied the artizan earnestly; "to know what religion is, and to fear God. Night by night Liddy says her prayers at my knee; and goes to church with me on Sundays, and reads the Testament. Dost thee not, Liddy?" The father drew her tenderly to his side as he spoke.

"She's quite the jewel of his heart," spoke Liddy's mother in an under tone to the landlady's niece; "he would rule us all with a rod of iron but for her; for since she's been growing up into a girl, he's softened greatly, though no man more than he likes a religious and well-doing household." You looked into the artizan's face and read all this severity to evil and unrighteous acts, and an appreciation for the invaluable decorums of daily life, without which, the name of "home" is used unworthily.

Well would it have been for those most interested, for those who owned a child so young and fair--if they could have guessed, nay, half guessed, as Liddy thus stood leaning by her father's side, the radiant sunlight of the fervid noon glistening through the elmtree boughs upon her marvellous hair, the shadow of its leaves veiling the delicacy and touching innocence of her expressive face the perils incident to such a lodging-house as they must necessarily inhabit. None but those, alas, who know town life, London life more especially, can guess them. The com

mon staircase, the common yard, the common water-butt, the thin partition walls which divide the blasphemous from the godly, but which do not shut out words which dishonour the name of language, meanings which still more dishonour our immortal natures and their gift from the Divine Father. Nor can be guessed the hideous, daily, and hourly evils, unsuspected or perhaps unregarded, till they bear their hideous fruit. None can guess the evils of chance acquaintanceships, chance friendships with those, who, daring not to tell their past histories, have sense enough to hide, through an outward show of decency, acts and principles inconceivably pernicious. It is these the secretly base-who have usually interested motives to corrupt the innocent and unsuspecting. 66 'Sir," said an artizan to him who has done so much through his admirable writings to serve this righteous cause, "I can take my boys out

with me, tire them, and bring them home to bed, but it makes me heart-sick to think of what my wife and the girls have to spend their day among." Yes, if they could have guessed a tithe of the evils incident to such crowded lodging-houses of London as meet the pecuniary circumstances of the working classes, no increase of wages would have lured them there. They would have gone more quickly back than they had come to the monotony of the little country town they had left, and been richer than all the wages of the world could make them in the innocence and womanhood of their beautiful child. But they did not know these things

did not guess them-for the evil does not arise from London or London life in the abstract, but from countless other causes, that will not be counteracted by small benevolences or individual efforts, but by a mercantile combination of capital, and by a broad and enlarged science worthy of the experience of our age. So they were to go on, and on, and on, this summer's day, towards that sadder one, when these tresses were to veil the face of shame, and hide the pallor of the grave !

In a little while Liddy was quite at home with the landlord, and telling him about the country cottage in which she had been born and reared.

"It had such a nice garden," she said with childish volubility, "where Tom could get cabbage leaves for his rabbits, and I groundsel for Giddy; would you like to see Giddy?" The landlord, laying down his pipe, looked inquiringly. "It is my magpie," she added; "father brought it from the nest, and reared it for me. It is such a wonderful bird; everybody says it is. It will come out of its cage and perch on my shoulder, and chirp, and talk, and speak my name, and wash itself in a cup of water if I hold it. Would you like to see it?"

The landlord nodded assent, and Liddy calling Tom, who, at a distance was climbing the churchyard wall, to come and help her, the magpie's cage was soon unfastened from the cart, as well as two open baskets, each containing a favourite. The one a rabbit, the other the household cat. The landlord must of course see all; but Giddy proved the most entertaining. Being of a lively turn, and liking company, he did all his little mistress wished him. He hopped about, chattered, called "Litty! Litty!" took a bath with a large amount of gravity,

nibbled up a whole sweet cake Liddy held, and finished by walking back into his cage with an air of profound satisfaction.

"Well," said the landlord, when these performances were closed, "he is a wonderful bird, that's certain. Now just let us take him into the house, little one, for a minute." When Giddy was brought back he was perched in a fine new osier cage, roofed with groundsel, and furnished with a luxurious apparatus for bathing and seed picking. "There" he said, as he delivered the house and its inhabitant into the child's delighted hand, "you must accept it and please me. And now if you'll all just step into the house, and take a hasty snatch of dinner, you're welcome; my niece has laid the cloth, and all is ready."

They accepted the kind invitation -- the farmer's wife, who had been as much enchanted with Giddy's feats as the landlord, wished it had been to her own table-and spent an hour or more pleasantly till it was time to set off again. When this came, many kind words were said on either side -and for a long while after Giddy's proficiencies and the beauty of its little mistress, were favorite topics with the landlord, especially when entertaining customers beneath the cool shade of his elm-tree.

The sun was waning into the bright shadows of the afternoon, when the travellers' cart entered the green lane already referred to. At about half a mile or so, where it ran imbowered in the verdant downs, a picture of sylvan beauty began to show itself that could have but few parallels. As this widened, and the belt of fern and gorse-clad sward was lost on either side in bushy hedgerow depths, and the tall oak and elm trees canopied their branches into one, the scene was still more picturesque. To add to this, a little swift and limpid rill gushed out from some adjacent woodland, and wound its way along the lane, at such distance from the hedgerow as to leave between a broad patch of mossy sward-cool, shady, and fragrant with the countless flowers of June.

Here it was that Joe and Nelly Appleshaw had eaten their dinner, and now rested. Taking advantage of Joe's nap-for he lay asleep, his head upon one of the bundles he had borne swung on his scythe-Nelly stood barefooted in the rivulet washing her baby's garments, for which purpose the little creature had been partially stripped, and in this state sat playing on the sward with the frag

ments of winter-blown sticks which lay around. Some of these poor patched clothes hung drying on the gorse bushes, for they had to be worn again before the evening's journey was begun. Thus the means given, and this of the most primitive kind, the peasant woman showed her sense of decency and cleanliness. Remove the same to the low lodging-house of a back street on Saffronhill; give her the fourth part of an overcrowded miserable room, which she must use as and call "home;" give her the barest supply of filthy water; give her the necessitated and constant companionship of those who deride the commonest acts of decency, and who have no idea of cleanliness, even in name- -and you transform the same into a slut, a loud-voiced tyrant, and a gin-drinker. The result of such causes is, with few exceptions, unvarying; their effects have a precision as rigid as a mathematical axiom.

About a mile from this scene--which a great master might have sketched, and made the loveliest feature the peasant woman and her half-clad babe-the lane opened on to a road, and brought in sight the railway station, at which the travellers were to stay. here that they were accosted by a pedlar woman and a bold-looking girl of eighteen or twenty, who inquired the way to some village in the district.

It was

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Liddy's uncle, who drove the cart; "we are all of us strangers to this neighbourhood; but there are some decent people resting away down the lane, who perhaps can tell you;" with this he drove on, and a few moments more the cart had ended its journey.

Lighting a short pipe she produced from her oil-skin covered basket, the pedlarwoman with her companion went onward with bold strides. They laughed, coarsely jested, obscenely swore, talked with rough, loud voices, proving plainly how vicious association, ignorance, and demoralizing vice had robbed them of all but the name and form of woman. All else of the tender, the pitying, the angelic, was as utterly effaced from their natures as though none of the divinities of our spiritual being had been therein implanted; as though a mere human potter had fashioned them of the coarsest clay; as though the love of God did not encompass them; as though our Saviour had not died for them and all men !

Nelly Appleshaw was sitting knitting by her sleeping husband's side, when the women