CHAP. II. Yon dreamer tells us o' a land NICOLL. Miss Poinsett had a visitor at her house just now, who puzzled not a few people by the discrepancy between his theory and his practice. He was a little, short, stout, red-faced man, not at all bald; and therefore as unlike a philosopher, outwardly, as he well could be. With a heart as soft as a woman's, and a head very much like his heart, he had employed a winter, many years ago now, in the study of political economy. Far be it from us to appear, even for a moment, to attempt anything in dis-praise of this grandest of sciences, which we take to be a study of the best means for promoting the happiness and welfare of the great human family. Mr. Jervis, while holding the most extravagant opinions, particularly in regard to almsgiving, contradicted them all by his actions. He was chairman every winter of we know not how many coal and blanket charities, and gave away yearly at least twice as much as he spent. He held, that to become a truly prosperous nation, two things were necessary; first, an adoption of the manners of the ancient Spartans in respect to eating and drinking, clothing, and the education of youth; then, a discontinuance of the present system of almsgiving, a system, he said, which supported a set of lazy creatures who contributed nothing either to the funds or welfare of the state, but who, by their loose morals and habits carried poison wherever they went. The only proper way to relieve distress was to encourage trade, that there might be work for everybody. 66 66 speak so clearly on this subject, but you confuse my two plans: the first, I call the patriarchal. I would have a re-division of land, and every one should support himself and his family on his own plot." "Wouldn't that be rather unfair, Mr. Jervis? Our friend Miss Poinsett would have her plot all to herself, while I should have a wife and four hungry children to help me consume the produce of mine." "Well, sir, then I would allow so many feet to each person. Now let me speak of my second plan, which does not, however, go so much to the root of the matter as the first. The second I call the Ameliorative Plan. Here I take things as I find them, and try to put down idleness and begging by creating employment for all." "The more feasible of the two, Mr. Jervis, and the one you practice, I perceive; for the carriage in which I saw you and my friend Miss Poinsett the other day was, I presume, yours, and was certainly luxurious and perfect in all its appointments. It would be rather a change, Mr. Jervis, if you were to sell your estate of Dovedale (which my friend Miss Poinsett described to me before I had the pleasure of knowing you), and to content yourself with a tub, like Diogenes." 66 Miss Poinsett here broke in, having thought she heard the two emphatic words, "dale" and "Diogenes." Died on his knees! Poor dear old gentleman, did he indeed? Betsey told me you were there till early this morning. Poor Mrs. Dale! and how is she in all this trouble?" "Mr. Dale is better, ma'am," shouted the doctor; and lest Miss Poinsett should spread the report of his patient's death, he wrote on a piece of paper what he meant her to know. She looked pleased when she read it, but puzzled herself for an hour after Mr. Jervis and Camp. bell were gone out together, as to who it was that died on his knees, since it was not Mr. Dale? And her mental perplexity so affected her that in pulling out last night's work, she tore her canvas awfully. Mr. Jervis and Dr. Campbell agreed very well. The kind old philosopher was regarded as a bore in the neighbourhood of Dovedale (a bore in conversation only, for his good qualities made a favourable But, my dear sir," said our young physician, who was introduced to Mr. Jervis one morning, and heard the speech we have recorded; if we are to live like Spartans, we shall want very few traders or artizans. Luxury is the chief supporter of commerce: if you, for instance, lived on black bread and onions (Mr. Jervis gave a shrug, powerfully expressing dis-impression everywhere). Physicians are neces approbation of this fare), the butcher in the first place would be ruined; the confectioner and the fishmonger would follow. Then your clothing would be so simple that half the tailors and sempstresses would have nothing to do, or to live on; and what would become of the jeweller who sets your shirt-studs, the hosier who furnishes your gloves and stockings; the laundress, whose skill restores its snowiness and gloss to your linen; to say nothing of a host of ingenious people who now earn their bread sarily patient, and Dr. Campbell, partly for his own amusement (for he had never spoken to Mr. Jervis until this morning), and still more from a benevolent desire to make his companion happy, argued with him, and heard him to his heart's content. Mr. Jervis had been requested by Dr. Campbell to accompany him in his visit to a poor family afflicted with fever. To this Mr. Jervis (who wished to study character with a view to perfect his plans) readily agreed. Arrived at the house, they went up the old creaking stairs, and having come to the highest floor, entered a small garret, where lay three members of the family stretched on mean beds, while the fourth, a little pale girl of about fifteen years old, crept about in her earliest recovery to wait upon the rest. "Bless me,” said Mr. Jervis softly, "what a | stern man to us poor when the gentleman was wretched place!" "How is your father, Ellen?" said the doctor kindly. away." "And what is the bailiff's name?" "Jackson, sir." "Is your father at all sensible?” asked Mr. Jervis. "Oh, sir," answered the girl curtseying, "I don't think he's a bit better at all. He's been going on all night about not being able to get "When he's well, sir, he's reckoned very his wages paid, and about the bailiff's dis-sensible; and I'm sure, sir, if you did want any charging him because he attended a temperance servant, father can keep a garden and do a horse, meeting." and that as well as any one. But he can't say two words to be understood now." "Ha! been roving again, has he?" After examining his patient, and promising to send some medicine, Dr. Campbell turned to his companion, and said in an undertone, "You see, my dear sir, these are country people lately come to London because the man thought he might find some employment here. A very Quixotic notion, for he is an agricultural labourer; he meant to get a situation as gardener if he could (he understands gardening well, he tells me), but he is so far from being without incumbrance,' having these young children, and no wife, that few people would take him to fill that situation." "Dear, dear!" said good Mr. Jervis, wiping his eyes under pretence of pushing his hair off his forehead; 66 and you see, doctor, what abominable tyranny; this poor man only attended a temperance meeting. Shameful! shameful!" "Shameful indeed," said Dr. Campbell, lowering his voice, and smiling at his friend's ardour; "but you know human nature too well, Mr. Jervis (the philosopher bowed at this compliment), to render it necessary for me to say that the bailiff might adduce other reasons for this man's dismissal than the mere attendance on a temperance meeting." "No, no, doctor; the man looks honest; and bless me, now I look more attentively at him, I believe I know a face very much like his-not thin and shrunken like that of course." "Well, Mr. Jervis," said the doctor, still in a very low tone, if you wish to inquire farther I must leave you here, for I have an appointment at half-past one; it is a mile from this place, and I am rather behind time already. I will call for you in an hour, if you like?" “Do so, doctor, do so. I should like to speak with these poor creatures a little. Where does your father come from?" asked he of the pale, diminutive girl, as the sound of the doctor's retreating steps became fainter and fainter. "From Arlton, sir," answered the child, who it is almost needless to say had not been allowed to hear the conversation between Dr. Campbell and Jervis. "From Arlton?" "Yes, sir, Arlton. He worked for a gentleman named Jervis, but the gentleman was one of them that are always wanting to do more good than the badness of the times will let them, father says; and so he was very often away from Dovedale, attending ineetings and that, to persuade people to do as he did. And the bailiff stood very fair with Mr. Jervis, because he fell in with him, and listened and answered accordingly; but still he was rather a "Ah, that is what I meant, my dear; is he in his senses now?" "Oh no, sir; and oh dear, if he should die, what could I do with Johnny, and Sarah, and Mary; all in a strange place too, and our parish fifty miles off!" "But you, my poor girl, didn't live at Arlton, did you? Arlton is a small place, and I don't remember you.” "Not of late, sir. I was bound apprentice to my aunt, a staymaker, at Bishopsthorpe, near Arlton, and she sent me up when father wrote word the children were ill, to take care of them, and then when I came father was down with it, and I've had it myself a little." The father was sleeping heavily all this time, and the younger children only spoke to cry out for something to drink. 66 And you know our part of the country then, sir?" said Ellen. "Very well; and I know Mr. Jervis, and will try to get your father his old place again. If I don't succeed I'll take him myself." Ellen ought to have known her father's employer and landlord, but ever since her tenth year she had been kept closely at her aunt's business six days of the week, and on the seventh had to mind her children, while the aunt went out; when she saw her father therefore, it was for a few minutes when he came to Bishopsthorpe market. Her brother and sisters she scarcely knew. Mr. Jervis, still undiscovered, went to several tradesmen in the neighbourhood, ordering them to supply this poor family with various necessaries, and (in opposition to his patriarchal plan) luxuries too. When Dr. Campbell called for him, he got into the carriage and told him he had met with one of his own old workmen. "Jackson shall pretty soon be sent about his business," said Mr. Jervis, stamping his foot on the floor of the carriage; "this man was as good a fellow as need drive a team.” 66 'May I not intercede for Jackson?" asked Dr. Campbell. Mr. Jervis looked for a moment as if he despised a man who would intercede for Jackson, but the doctor went on. "Some slight unpleasantness may have existed between Jackson and this man; inquire into it, and don't send Jackson away without trying to heal the quarrel, and make them act together again; because, to deprive a man of his work is an indirect but certain encouragement to begging." "Thank you, doctor; thank you. I will do as you say; thank you a thousand times. I am much too hasty, yet have this man again at Dovedale I will.' "Do, my dear sir," said the doctor; "he will, I trust, speedily recover, to avail himself of your kindness." "And, doctor," said Mr. Jervis, as they were about to part at Miss Poinsett's door, "send me in an account of this poor man's illness. One of the chief features of my Ameliorative Plan is the just payment of labour; I will pay it if it be fifty pounds." "No, no, Mr. Jervis, I shan't think of doing that; but before we part you must positively promise to dine with me. Will Tuesday suit you?" "I shall have very great pleasure, sir. And now tell me, did you know before this morning that I was this man's master?' "Indeed I did, and thought it the luckiest chance in the world that you should come to stay at Miss Poinsett's just now, and that you should consent to accompany me to this man's house." her old lover. "Ah, doctor," continued the old gentleman, "you I hope will plead for me. Dear madam," turning to Annie, "I trust you will interest yourself in my behalf. A long life of celibacy has not, I hope, made me a misanthrope; and if, my dear madam (to old Mrs. Campbell) you will now do me the honour I requested in vain thirty years ago, my life shall be devoted to you." "Indeed Mr. Jervis," said Mrs. Campbell, "I am sorry to refuse anything to such a good man; I am, however, quite indisposed to a second marriage by principle, no less than by inclination." "I am very sorry for it, Madam, very sorry. However, this second repulse shall not sour my temper," added he, brightening. "You, my dear doctor, and your amiable wife, shall stand to me in the light of children, just as much as if your mother had consented to lead me-no, no, to let me lead her, I mean, to the altar. Mr. Jervis did something more than promise. He died about three years afterwards, and left all his unentailed property to his dear friend and faithful medical attendant, Dr. Frederic Campbell," to be enjoyed by him and his heirs for ever." The two gentlemen parted, and the doctor told his wife that the next Tuesday he should introduce to her a philosopher. Next Tuesday Mr. Jervis came, elegantly attired in black kneebreeches, ribbed silk stockings, and paste shoe- "Master Willy," when old enough to be buckles. With a grave politeness he bowed emancipated from his nurse's jurisdiction, was when introduced to Annie and the elder Mrs. about as mischievous and impetuous a lad as Campbell; he was in spirits to-night, for his ever plagued a schoolmaster. Dr. Campbell was poor labourer was out of all danger, and had a rigid advocate for home education, and pracexpressed such warm gratitude that Mr. Jervis tised it as closely as he could; his one girl had congratulated himself on meeting with such an no other instructor than her mother, excepting opportunity of doing good. Mrs. Campbell lis-masters for occasional lessons in accomplishtened as attentively as her son had done, and Mr. Jervis thought her a charming old lady. After dinner he looked at her for some time, and then said, "Excuse me, madam, but surely you have been at Arlton, or at any rate Bishopsthorpe?" "I paid a visit in that neighbourhood when quite a girl," answered the lady. "To be sure you did, madam. You were the reigning beauty at the grand annual county ball in 1795. I remember it, madam; and perhaps you may have some slight recollection of a dashing young officer of yeomanry, who was very much inclined to pay his addresses to you? Ah, madam, I have never married! Jessie Mac Rengie refused me, and I abjured for ever all other matrimonial projects. I have devoted myself to the improvement of my mind by the promulgation of the two plans I have had the honour of submitting to you to-day. We are all friends here; I hope I shall not offend by showing you that I still wear a ringlet I cut off slyly as I conducted you to your carriage through the long passage of the Angel Inn at Bishopsthorpe. Here it is," said the old gentleman, taking a locket out of his bosom, and looking round him with tears in his eyes. His sad expression sat so ridiculously on his round, rosy, fat face, that not one of the three could forbear smiling. The doctor indeed laughed outright (and when he laughed he made no small noise) at this unexpected meeting of his mother and ments. The boys were sent to a grammarschool in the neighbourhood, returning home every evening. Many times during Willy's school days was his pocket-money confiscated to pay for breakages of windows in the neighbourhood of his home and the school. People said there never was such a boy as Willy Campbell, so thoroughly was he possessed by the demon of mischief. Impetuous and highspirited, his affections were very strong, his notions of love and honour chivalric. At the age of fifteen he left school, being beyond his tutor's power, and as no one had the least authority over him but his father and mother, Dr. Campbell thought his best course would be to initiate him into his own profession as soon as possible. The evenings were therefore devoted to study at home, Dr. Campbell teaching his son; and at seventeen he was thought competent to attend the Hospital, where his father held an appointment. Before we begin this new era in Willy's life we must go back a little, and in a new chapter introduce a new friend. (To be continued.) THE ANGEL OF DEATH. BY GEORGINA C. MUNRO. On earth all was dreary, In the heavens no star, His dark wings were weary With wandering far; On his breast, 'mid deep silence, By the spirit whose presence How oft on his way Had his footsteps been curs'd! His work was not done! He had been where misfortune He had entered where misery Why should they recoil Death smil'd at their madness- But if such their reluctance, Of life ere its noon, Sweet as the remembrance Within - lamps smile brightly Which leaves us with sleep, Awakes us to weep, In girlhood's bright morning With jewelled flowers wreathing In music beside her O Death! stay thy wing! Thou wilt not divide her From life in its spring? The walls which surround her, Shall darken her smile! 'Mong children of earth? Are their hearts ever lightest, Whose brows are most gay? Yet girlhood's bright glow They who loved her-Dark Spirit! She is left to inherit Their splendour, and mourn; Whom she loved-oh, how lowly He sued for her hand! But his heart was bent wholly From her bright dream awaking, With a heart nearly breaking, Now with the glad minstrelsy A hush o'er the music A cloud o'er the lightOh, can it be magic Which darkens her sight? Whose icy dominion Her heart chills beneath? 'Mid her guests' ringing laughter, |