" Familiar in tlieir Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WOEDS: SHAKESPEARE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOUKNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

210.] SATURDAY, APRIL 1, 1854.

HARD TIMES.BT CHARLES DICKENS,

CHAPTER I.

" Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach theseboys and girls nothing but Facts. Factsalone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else,and root out everything else. You can onlyform the minds of reasoning animals uponFacts : nothing else will ever be of anyservice to them. This is the principle on•which I bring up my own children, and thisis the principle on which I bring up thesechildren. Stick to Facts, sir !"

The scene was a plain, bare, monotonousvault of a school-room, and the speaker'ssquare forefinger emphasised his observationsby underscoring every sentence with a lineon the schoolmaster's sleeve. The emphasiswas helped by the speaker's square wall of aforehead, which had his eyebrows for its base,while his eyes found commodious cellarage intwo dark caves, overshadowed by the wall.The emphasis was helped by the speaker'smouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set.The emphasis was helped by the speaker'svoice, which was inflexible, dry, and dictato-rial. The emphasis was helped by thespeaker's hair, which bristled on the skirtsof his bald head, a plantation of firs tokeep the wind trom its shining surface, allcovered with knobs, like the crust of a plumpie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored inside. Thespeaker's obstinate carriage, square coat,square legs, square shoulders,—nay, his veryneckcloth, trained to take him by the throatwith an unaccommodating grasp, like a stub-bora fact, as it was,—all helped the emphasis.

" In this life, we want nothing but Facts,sir; nothing but Facts ! "

The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and thethird grown person present, all backed a little,and swept with their eyes the inclined planeof little vessels then and there arranged inorder, ready to have imperial gallons of factspoured into them until they were full to thebrim.

CHAPTER II.THOMAS GRADGRISTD, sir. A man of reali-

. ties. A man of facts and calculations. A

VOL. is.

man who proceeds upon the principle thattwo and two are four, and nothing over, andwho is not to be talked into allowing for any-thing over. Thomas Gradgrind, sir—peremp-torily Thomas—Thomas Gradgrind. With arule and a pair of scales, and the multipli-cation table always in his .pocket, sir, readyto weigh and measure any parcel of humannature, and tell you exactly what it comes to.It is a mere question of figures, a case ofsimple arithmetic. You might hope to getsome other nonsensical belief into the head ofGeorge Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind,or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (allsupposititious, non-existent persons), but intothe head of Thomas Gradgrind—no, sir!

In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always men-tally introduced himself, whether to hisprivate circle of acquaintance, or to the publicin general. In such terms, no doubt, substi-tuting the words " boys and girls," for " sir,"Thomas Gradgrind now presented ThomasGradgrind to the little pitchers before him,who were to be filled so full of facts.

Indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at themfrom the cellarage before mentioned, he seemeda kind of cannon loaded to the muzzle withfacts, and prepared to blow them clean out ofthe regions of childhood at one discharge. Heseemed a galvanising apparatus, too, chargedwith a grim mechanical substitute for thetender young imaginations that were to bestormed away.

" Girl number twenty," said Mr. Gradgrind,sqxiarely pointing with his square forefinger," I don't know thairgirl. Who is that girl ? "

" Sissy Jupe, sir," explained number twenty,blushing, standing up, and curtseying.

" Sissy is not a name," said Mr. Gradgrind." Don't call yourself Sissy. Call yourselfCecilia."

"It's father as calls me Sissy, sir," re-turned the young girl in a trembling voice,and with another curtsey.

" Then he has no business to do it," saidMr. Gradgrind. "Tell him he mustn't.Cecilia Jupe. Let me see. What,is yourfather?"

"He belongs to the horse-riding, if youplease, sir."

Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off theobjectionable calling with his hand.

" We don't want to know anything about

210.

142 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. [Condncted by

that, here. You mustn't tell us about that,here-. Your father breaks horses, don't he 1"

" If you please, sir, when they can get anyto break, they do break horses in the ring, sir."

" You mustn't tell us about the ring, here.Very well, then. Describe your father as ahorsebreaker. He doctors sick horses, Idare say ? "

" Oh yes, sir.""Very well, then. He is a veterinary

surgeon, a farrier and horsebreaker. Giveme your definition of a horse."

(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarmby this demand.)

" Girl number twenty unable to define ahorse ! " said Mr. Gradgrind, for the generalbehoof of all the little pitchers. " Girl numbertwenty possessed of no facts, in reference toone of the commonest of animals! Someboy's definition of a horse. Bitzer, yours."

The square finger, moving here and there,lighted suddenly on Bitzer, perhaps becausehe chanced to sit in the same ray of sunlightwhich, darting in at one of the bare windowsof the intensely whitewashed room, irradiatedSissy. For, the boys and girls sat on the faceof the inclined plane in two compact bodies,divided up the centre by a narrow interval ;and Sissy, being at the corner of a row on thesunny side, came in for the beginning of asunbeam, of which Bitzer, being at thecorner of a row on the other side, a few rowsin advance, caught the end. But, whereas thegirl was so dark-eyed and dark-haired, thatshe seemed to receive a deeper and morelustrous color from the sun when it shoneupon her, the boy was so light-eyed and light-haired that the self-same rays appeared todraw out of him what little color he everpossessed. His cold eyes would hardly havebeen eyes, but for the short ends of lasheswhich, by bringing them into immediate con-trast with something paler than themselves,expressed their form. His short-croppedhair might have been a mere-continuation ofthe sandy freckles on his forehead and face.His skin was so unwholesomely deficient inthe natural tinge, that he looked as though,if he were cut, he would bleed white.

" Bitzer," said Thomas Gradgrind. "Yourdefinition of a horse."

"Quadruped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth,namely twenty-four grinders, four eye-teeth,and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in thespring ; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too.Hoofs hard, but requiring to be shod withiron. Age known by marks in mouth." Thus(and much more) Bitzer.

" Now girl number twenty," said Mr. Grad-grind. " You know what a horse is."

She curtseyed again, and would have blusheddeeper, if she could have blushed deeper thanshe^had blushed all this time. Bitzer, afterrapidly blinking at Thomas Gradgrind withboth eyes at once, and so catching the lightupon his quivering ends of lashes that theylooked like the antennae of busy insects, put

his knuckles to his freckled forehead, and satdown again.

The third gentleman now stepped forth.A mighty man at cutting and drying, he was ;a government officer ; in his way (and in mostother people's too), a professed pugilist; alwaysin training, always with a system to forcedown the general throat like a bolus, alwaysto be heard of at the bar of his little Public-office, ready to fight all England. To con-tinue in fistic phraseology, he had a geniusfor coming up to the scratch, wherever andwhatever it was, and proving himself an uglycustomer. He would go in and damage anysubject _ whatever with his right, follow upwith his left, stop, exchange, counter, borehis opponent (he always fought All Eng-land) to the ropes, and fall upon him neatly.He was certain to knock the wind out ofcommon-sense, and render that unlucky ad-versary deaf to the call of time. And hehad it in charge from high authority to bringabout the great public-office Millennium,when Commissioners should reign upon earth.

" Very well," said this gentleman, brisklysmiling, and folding his arms. " That's ahorse. Now, let me ask you, girls and boys,Would you paper a room with representationsof horses ?"

After a pause, one half of the children criedin chorus, " Yes, sir ! " Upon which theother half, seeing in the gentleman's facethat Yes wras wrong, cried out in chorus," No. sir ! "—as the custom is, in these ex-aminations.

"Of course, No. Why wouldn't you ? "A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a

wheezy manner of breathing, ventured theanswer, Because he wouldn't paper a room atall, but would paint it.

" You must paper it," said the gentleman,rather warmly.

" You must paper it," said Thomas Grad-grind, " whether you like it or not. Don'ttell us you wouldn't paper it. What do youmean, boy 1"

"I'll explain to you, then," said the gen-tleman, after another and a dismal pause," why you wouldn't paper a room withrepresentations of horses. Do you ever seehorses walking up and down the sides ofrooms in reality—in fact ? Do you ]"

"Yes, sir ! " from one half. " No, sir ! "from the other.

" Of course, no," said the gentleman, withan indignant look at the wrong half. " Why,then, you are not to see anywhere, what youdon't see in fact; you are not to have anywhere,what you don't have in fact. What is calledTaste, is only another name for Fact."

Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation." This is a new principle, a discovery, a

great discovery," said the gentleman. " Now,I'll try you again. Suppose you were goingto carpet a room. Would you use a carpethaving a representation of flowers upon it 1"

There being a general conviction by this

CharlesDiekenB.l 143

time that "No, sir!" was always the rightanswer to this gentleman, the chorus of Nowas very strong. Only a few feeble stragglerssaid Yes ; among them Sissy Jupe.

" Girl number twenty," said the gentleman,smiling in the calm strength of knowledge.

Sissy blushed, and stood up." So you would carpet your room—or your

husband's room, if you were a grown woman,and had a husband—with representations offlowers, would you ?" said the gentleman.« Why would you ?"

"If you please, sir, I am very fond offlowers," returned the girl.

" And is that why you would put tablesand chairs upon them, and have people walk-ing over them with heavy boots ? "

<: It wouldn't hurt them, sir. They wouldn't«rush and wither if you please, sir. Theywould be the pictures of what was very prettyand pleasant, and I would fancy "

" Ay, ay, ay ! But you mustn't fancy,"cried the gentleman, quite elated by comingso happily to his point. " That'» it! Youare never to fancy."

" You are not, Mary Jupe," Thomas Grad-grind solemnly repeated, " to do anything ofthat kind."

" Fact, fact, fact!" said the gentleman. And" Fact, fact, fact! " repeated Thomas Grad-grind.

" You are to be in all things regulated andgoverned," said the gentleman, "by fact.We hope to have, before long, a board of fact,composed of commissioners of fact, who willforce the people to be a people of fact, andof nothing but fact. You must discard theword Fancy altogether. You have nothing todo with it. You are not to have, in any objectof use or ornament, what would be a contra-diction in fact. You don't walk upon flowersin fact; you cannot be allowed to walk uponflowers in carpets. You don't find thatforeign birds and butterflies come and perchupon your crockery ; you cannot be permittedto paint foreign birds and butterflies uponyour crockery. You never meet with quad-rupeds going up and down walls; you mustnot have quadrupeds represented upon walls.You must use," said the gentleman, " forall these purposes, combinations and modifi-<ja*tions (in primary colours) of mathematicalfigures which are susceptible of proof and de-monstration. This is the new discovery.This is feet. This is taste."

The girl curtseyed, and sat down. She wasvery young, and she looked as if she werefrightened by the matter of fact prospect theworld afforded.

" Now, if Mr. M'Choakumehild," said thegentleman, " will proceed to give his firstlesson here, Mr. Gradgrind, I shall be happy,at your request, to observe his mode of pro-cedure."

Mr. Gradgrind was much obliged. "Mr.M'Choakumehild, we only wait for you."

So, Mr. M'Choakumehild began in his best

manner. He and some one hundred and fortyother school-masters, had been lately turnedat the same titae, in the 'same factory, on thesame principles, like so many pianoforte legs.He had been put through an immense varietyof paces, and had answered volumes of head-breaking questions. Orthography, etymology,syntax, and prosody, biography, astronomy,geography, and general cosmography, thesciences of compound proportion, algebra,land surveying and levelling, vocal music, anddrawing from models, were all at the endsof his ten chilled fingers. He had worked hisstouey way into Her Majesty's most Honor-able Privy Council's Schedule B, and hadtaken the bloom oif the higher branche^ ofmathematics and physical science, French,German, Latin, and Greek. He knew allabout all the Water Sheds of all the world(whatever they are), and all the histories ofall the peoples, and all the names of all therivers and mountains, and all the productions,manners, and customs of all the countries, andall their boundaries and bearings on the twoand thirty points of the compass. Ah, ratheroverdone, M'Choakumehild. If he had onlylearnt a little less, how infinitely better hemight have taught much more !

He went to work in this preparatory lessor,not unlike Morgiana in the Forty Thieves :looking into all the vessels ranged before him,one after another, to see what they contained.Say, good M'Choakumehild. When from thyboiling store, thou shalt fill each jar brimfull by and by, dost thou think that thou wiltalways kill outright the robber Fancy lurkingwithin—or sometimes only maim him anddistort him!

CHAPTER III.

MB, GRADGRIND walked homeward fromthe school, in a state of considerable satis-faction. It was his school, and he intended itto be a model. He intended every child in itto be a model—just as the young Gradgrindawere all models.

There were five young Gradgrinds, and theywere models every one. They had' been lec-tured at, from their ten4e<rest years ; coursed,like little hares. Almost as soon as they couldrun alone, they had been made to run to thelecture-room. The first object with whichthey had an association, or of which they hada remembrance, was a large black board witha dry Ogre chalking ghastly white figureson it.

Not that they knew, by name or nature^anything about an Ogre, Fact forbid! Ionly use the word to express a monster in alecturing castle, with Heaven knows howmany heads manipulated into one, takingchildhood captive, and dragging it into gloomystatistical dens by the hair.

No little Gradgrind had ever seen a facein the moon ; it was up in the moon beforeit could speak distinctly. No little Grad-grind had ever learnt the silly jingle, Twinkle

144 HOUSEHOLD WOBDS. [Conducted by

twinkle, little star; how I wonder what youare; it had uever known wonder on thesubject, having at five years old dissected theGreat Bear like a Professor Owen, and drivenCharles's "Wain like a locomotive engine-driver. No little Gradgriud had ever associ-ated a cow in a field with that famous cowwith the crumpled horn who tossed the dogwho worried the cat who killed the rat whoate the malt, or with that yet more famouscow who swallowed Tom Thumb; it hadnever heard of those celebrities, and had onlybeen introduced to a cow as a graminivorousruminating quadruped with several stomachs.

To his matter of fact home, which wascalled Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind directedhis steps. He had virtually retired from thewholesale hardware trade before he builtStone Lodge, and was now looking about fora suitable opportunity of making an arith-metical figure in Parliament. Stone Lodgewas situated on a moor within a mile or twoof a great town—called Coketown in thepresent faithful guide-book.

A very regular feature on the face of thecountry, Stone Lodge was. Not the least dis-guise toned down or shaded off that un-compromising fact in the landscape. A greatsquare house, with a heavy portico darkeningthe principal windows, as its master's heavybrows overshadowed his eyes. A calculated,cast up, balanced, and proved house. Sixwindows on this side of the door, six on thatside ; a total of twelve in this wing, a total oftwelve in the other wing; four and twentycarried over to the back. A lawn and gardenand an infant avenue, all ruled straight likea botanical account-book. Gas and ventila-tion, drainage and water-service, all of theprimest quality. Iron clamps and girders,fireproof from top to bottom ; mechanical liftsfor the housemaids, with all their brushes andbrooms; everything that heart could desire.

Everything 1 Well, I suppose so. Thelittle Gradgrinds had cabinets in variousdepartments of science too. They had alittle conchological cabinet, and a little metal-lurgical cabinet, and a little mineralogicalcabinet; and the specimens were all arrangedand labelled, and the bits of stone and orelooked as though they might have been brokenfrom the parent substances by those tremen-dously hard instruments their own names ;and, to paraphrase the idle legend of PeterPiper, who had never found his way into theirnursery, If the greedy little Gradgrindsgrasped at more than this, what was it forgood gracious goodness sake, that the greedylittle Gradgrinds grasped at!

Their father walked on in a hopeful andsatisfied frame of mind. He was an affectionatefather, after his manner; but he would pro-bably have described himself (if he had beenput, like Sissy Jupe, upon a definition) as " aneminently practical" father. He had a par-ticular pride in the phrase eminently practi-cal, which was considered to have a special

application to him. Whatsoever the public-meeting held in Coketown, and whatsoeverthe subject of such meeting, some Coketownerwas sure to seize the occasion of alludin«r

to his eminently practical friend Gradgi-ind.This always pleased the eminently practicalfriend. He knew it to be his due, but hisdue was acceptable.

He had reached the neuti-al ground uponthe outskirts of the town, which was neithertown nor country, and yet was either spoiled,when his ears were invaded by the sound ofmusic. The clashing and banging band at-tached to the horse-riding establishmentwhich had there set up its rest in a woodenpavilion, was in full bray. A flag, floatingfrom the summit of the temple, proclaimedto mankind that it was " Sleary's Horse-riding " which claimed their suffrages. Slearyhimself, a stout modern statue ' with amoney-box at its elbow, in an ecclesias-tical niche of early Gothic architecture,took the money. Miss Josephine Sleary, assome very long and very narrow strips ofprinted bill announced, was then inauguratingthe entertainments with her graceful eques-trian Tyrolean flower-act. Among the otherpleasing but always strictly moral wonderswhich must be seen to be believed, SignorJupe was that afternoon to "elucidate thediverting accomplishments of his highly ti-ainedperforming dog Merrylegs." He was alsoto exhibit " his astounding feat of throwingseventy five hundred weight in rapid suc-cession backhanded over his head thusforming a fountain of solid iron in mid air, afeat never before attempted in this or anyother country and which having elicited suchrapturous plaudits from enthusiastic throngsit cannot be withdrawn." The same SignorJupe was to "enliven the varied performancesat frequent intervals with his chaste Shakspe-rean quips and retorts." Lastly, he was to windthem up by appearing in his favorite characterof Mr. William Button, of Tooley Street, in"the highly novel and laughable hippo-comedietta of The Tailor's Journey to Brent-'ford."

Thomas Gradgrind took no heed of thesetrivialities of course, but passed on as apractical man ought to pass on, either brush-ing the noisy "insects from his thoughts, orconsigning them to the House of Correction.But, the turning of the road took him by theback of the booth, and at the back of thebooth a number of children w.ere congregatedin a number of stealthy attitudes, striving topeep in at the hidden glories of the place.

This brought him to a stop. " Now, tothink of these vagabonds," said he,u attractingthe young rabble from a model school! "

A space of stunted grass and dry rubbishbeing between him and the young rabble, hetook his eyeglass out of his waistcoat to lookfor any child he knew by name, and mightorder off. ; Phenomenon almost incrediblethough distinctly seen, what did he then be-

Charles Dickens.] 145

hold but his own metallurgical Louisa peep-ing with all her might through a hole in adeal board, and his own mathematical Thomas•abasing himself on the ground to catch but ahoof of the graceful equestrian Tyrolean floweract!

Dumb with amazement, Mr. Gradgrindcrossed to the spot where his family was thusdisgraced, laid his hand upon each erringchild, and said :

" Louisa! ! Thomas !! "Both rose, red and disconcerted. But,

Louisa looked at her father with more boldnessthan Thomas did. Indeed, Thomas did notlook at him, but gave himself up to be takenhome like a machine.

" In the name of wonder, idleness, andfolly! " said Mr. Gradgrind, leading eachaway by a hand; " what do you do here ? "

" Wanted to see what it was like," returnedLouisa shortly.

"What it was like?"« Yes, father."There was an air of jaded sullenness in them

both, and particularly in the girl: yet, strug-gling through the dissatisfaction of her face,ihere was a light with nothing to rest upon,a fire with nothing to burn, a starved imagi-nation keeping liie in itself somehow, whichbrightened its expression. Not with thebrightness natural to cheerful youth, but withuncertain, eager, doubtful flashes, which hadsomething painful in them, analogous to thechanges on a blind face groping its way.

She was a child now, of fifteen or sixteen;but at no distant day would seem to becomea woman all at once. ••Her father thought soas he looked at her. She was pretty. Wouldhave been self-willed (he thought in hiseminently practical way) but for her bring-ing-up.

" Thomas, though I have the fact beforeme, I find it difficult to believe that you, withyour education and resources, should havebrought your sister to a scene like this."

" I brought him, father," said Louisa,quickly. "I asked him to come."

" I am sorry to hear it. I am very sorryindeed to hear it. It makes Thomas nobetter, and it makes you worse, Louisa."

She looked at her father again, but no tearfell down her cheek.

" You! Thomas and you, to whom the circleof the sciences is open, Thomas and you whomay be said to be replete with facts, Thomasand you who have been trained to mathema-tical exactness, Thomas and you here !" criedMr. Gradgrind. " In this degraded position !I am amazed."

" I was tired, father. I have been tired along time," said Louisa.

" Tired ? Of what ? " asked the astonishedfather.

" I don't know of what—of everything Ithink."

" Say not another word," returned Mr.Gradgrind. " You are childish. I will hear

no more." He did not speak again until theyhad walked some half-a-mile in silence, whenhe gravely broke out with : " What 'wouldyour best friends say, Louisa? Do youattach no value to their good opinion ? Whatwould Mr. Bounderby say ? "

At the mention of this name, his daughterstole a look alt him, remarkable for its intenseand searching character. He saw nothing ofit, for before he looked at her she had againcast down her eyes ! "

"What," he repeated presently, "wouldMr. Bounderby say ?" All the way to StoneLodge, as with grave indignation he led thetwo delinquents home, he repeated at inter-vals, " What would Mr. Bounderby say ?"—as if Mr. Bounderby had been Mrs. Grundy.

ORANGES AND LEMONS.

As we listen to the street-child, crying" fine Saint Michael's, four a-penny!" howmany of us have bestowed a single thoughtupon the many interests involved, the manyenergies brought into action, in the productionand transport of these fruits from the southto our cold, dull countries of the north !How few of us have any conception of thevast tracts of land required to rear thesepleasant products of the soil: of the hands em-ployed in the culture : of the beautiful shjps,of the noble steam-vessels engaged in trans-porting them from foreign lands to theseshores : of the railway-trains employed atcertain seasons, to whisk the cooling cargoesfrom Southampton to London, while theirconsumers are sleeping in their beds: ofthe large piles of massive warehouses re-quired to store, to sample, and to sell themby auction : of the mean squalor and deso-lation of the great retail orange-mart inDuke's Place: of the thousands of men,women, and children who draw a sub-sistence from their sale in the streets, insteamboats, at fairs, in theatres, or whereverpeople congregate. It may be well to knowsomething of all this, and to learn how im-portant a part is thus played in a denselypeopled country, by articles apparently soinsignificant as oranges and lemons, andmoreover, how it is that this fruit, comingto us from enormous distances at great cost,is sold in our streets at a cheaper rate thanour own apples and pears.

The reader will scarcely need to be toldthat the trade in oranges is of much greaterextent than that in lemons. In London aloneit has been computed that there are annuallysold not fewer than one hundred millions ofthe former fruit and twenty millions of thelatter : about one-fourth of the oranges beingdisposed of in the streets and theatres. Thisstreet business in fruit is a trade of some an-tiquity, dating back beyond the reign of QueenElizabeth, and growing until at the presenttime there cannot be less than seven thousand

" Familiar in their Moutlis as HOUSEHOLD WORDS.' —SHAKESPEARE.

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.A WEEKLY JOUENAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.

SATURDAY, APRIL 8, 1854.

HARD TIMES.BT CHABLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER IV.NOT being Mrs. Grundy, who was Mr.

Bounderby ?Why, Mr. Bounderby was. as near being

Mr. Gradgrind's bosom friend, as a man per-fectly devoid of sentiment can approach thatspiritual relationship towards another manperfectly devoid of sentiment. So near wasMr. Bounderby—or, if the reader shouldprefer it, so far off.

He was a rich man: banker, merchant,manufacturer, and what not. A big, loudman, with a stare and a metallic laugh. Aman made out of a coarse material, whichseemed to have been stretched to make somuch of him. A man with a great puffedhead and forehead, swelled veins in histemples, and such a strained skin to his facethat it seemed to hold his eyes open and lifthis eyebrows up. A man with a pervadingappearance on. him of being inflated like aballoon, and ready to start. A man whocould never sufficiently vaunt himself a self-made man. A man who was always pro-claiming, through that brassy speaking-trum-pefc:of a voice of his, his old ignorance and his,old poverty. A man who was the Bully ofhumility.

A year or two younger than his eminentlypractical friend, Mr. Bounderby looked older ;bis seven or eight and forty might have hadthe seven or eight added to it again, withoutsurprising anybody. He had aot much hair.One might have fanciedlfie had talked it off;and.that what was left, all standing up in dis-order,, was in that condition from being con-stantly blown about by his windy boastfulness.

In the formal drawing-room of StoneLodge, standing on the hearth-rug, warminghimself before the fire, Mr. Bounderby de-livered some observations to Mrs. Gradgrindon the, circumstance of its being his birthday.He stood before the/fire, partly because itwas a cool spring afternoon, though the sunshone; partly because the shade of Stone.Lodge was always haunted by the ghost ofdamp mortar; partly because he thus tookup a commanding position, from which to jsubdue Mrs. Gradgrind. . I

hadn't a shoe to my foot. As to astocking, I didn't know such a thing byname. I passed the day in a ditch, and thenight in a pigsty. That's the way I spentmy tenth birthday. Not that a ditch wasnew to me, for I was born in a ditch."

Mrs. Gradgrind, a little, thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of shawls, of surpassing feeble-ness, mental and bodily; who was alwaystaking physic without any effect, and who,whenever she showed a symptom of comingto life, was invariably stunned by someweighty piece of fact tumbling on her ; Mrs.Gradgrind hoped it was a dry ditch ?

" No ! As wet as a sop. A foot of waterin it," said Mr. Bounderby.

" Enough to give a baby cold," Mrs. Grad-grind considered.

" Cold 1 I was born with inflammation ofthe lungs, and of everything else, I believe,that was capable of inflammation," returnedMr. Bounderby. " For years, ma'am, I wasone of the most miserable little wretches everseen. I was so sickly, that I was alwaysmoaning and groaning. I was so ragged anddirty, that you wouldn't have touched mewith a pair of tongs."

Mrs. Gradgrind faintly looked at the tongs,as the most appropriate thing her imbecilitycould think of doing.

"How I fought through it, /don't know,"said Bounderby. " I was determined, I sup-pose. I have been a determined characterin later life, and I suppose I was then. HereI am, Mrs. Gradgrind, anyhow, and nobodyto thank for my being here but myself."

Mrs. Gradgrind meekly and weakly hopedthat his mother—

"My mother? Bolted, ma'am!" saidBounderby.

Mrs. Gradgrind, stunned as usual, collapsedand gave it up.

" My mother left me to my grandmother,"said Bounderby ; u and, according to the bestof my remembrance, my grandmother wasthe wickedest and the worst old woman thatever lived. If I got a little pair of shoes byany chance, she would take 'em off and sell'em for drink. Why, I have known thatgrandmother of mine lie in her bed and drinkher four-teen glasses of liquor before break-fast !"

Mrs. Gjradgrind,'weakly smiling, and giving

VOL. IX. 211.

166 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. t Conducted by

no other sign of vitality, looked (as shealways did) like an indifferently executedtransparency of a small female figure, withoutenough light behiad it.

" She kept a chandler's shop," pursuedBounderby, " and kept me in an egg-box.That was the cot of my infancy ; an old egg-box. As soon as I was big enough to runaway, of course I ran away. Then I becamea young vagabond; and instead of one oldwoman knocking me about and starving me,everybody of all ages knocked me about andstarved me. They were right; they had nobusiness to do anything else. I was anuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest. Iknow that, very well."

His pride in having at any time of his lifeachieved such a great social distinction as tobe a nuisance, an incumbrance, and a pest,was only to be satisfied by three sonorousrepetitions of the boast.

" I was to pull through it I suppose, Mrs.Gradgrind. Whether I was to do it or not,ma'am, I did it. I pulled through it, thoughnobody threw me out a rope. Vagabond,errand-boy, vagabond, labourer, porter,clerk, chief manager, small partner, JosiahBounderby of Coketown. Those are tbe antece-dents, and the culmination. Josiah Bounderbyof Coketown learnt his letters from theoutsidesof the shops, Mrs. Gradgrind, and was firstable to tell the time upon a dial-plate, fromstudying the steeple clock of St. Giles's Church,London, under the direction of a drunkencripple, who was a convicted thief and anincorrigible vagrant. Tell Josiah Boun-derby of Coketown, of your district schools,and your model schools, and your trainingschools, and your whole kettle - of - fish ofschools ; and'Josiah Boanderby of Coketowntells you plainly, all right, all correct—hehadri't such advantages—but let us havehard-headed, solid-fisted people—the educa-tion that-made him won't do for everybody,he knows well—such and such his educationwas, however, and you may force him toswallow boiling fat, but you shall never forcehim to suppress the facts of his life."

Being heated when he arrived at thisclimax, Josiah Bounderby of Coketownstopped. He stopped just as his eminentlypractical- friend, still accompanied by the twoyoung culprits, entered the room. His emi-nently praetical friend, on seeing him, stoppedalso, and gave Louisa a reproachful look thatplainly said, "Behold your Bounderby !"

« Well!" blustered Mr. Bounderby, "what'sthe matter I What is young Thomas in thedumps* about ?"

Hfe spoke of young Thomas, but ,he lookedat L«uisa»

"We were peeping at the circus," mutteredLouisa haughtily, without lifting up her eyes,K and father caught us."

''And Mrs. Gradgrind," said her husbandin a lofty manner, " I should as soon haveexpected to find my ehildrea reading poetry."

" Dear me," whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind." How can you, Louisa and Thomas! Iwonder at you. I declare you're enough tomake one regret ever having had a family ataft. I have a great mind to say I wish Ihadn't. Then .what would you have done, Ishould like to know."

Mr. Gradgrind did not seem favourablyimpressed by these cogent remarks. Hefrowned impatiently.

"As if, with my head in its present throb-,bing state, you couldn't go and look at theshells and minerals and things provided foryou, instead of circuses ! " said Mrs. Grad-grind. " You know, as well as I do, no youngpeople have circus masters, or keep circusesin cabinets, or attend lectures about circuses.What can you possibly want to know ofcircuses then ? I am sure you have enough,todo, if that's what you want. With my head in,its present state, I couldn't remember themere names of half the facts you have gotto attend to."

"That's the reason !" pouted Louisa." Don't tell me that's the reason, because it

can be nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Grad-grind. " Go and be somethingological directly."Mrs. Gradgrind was not a scientific character,and usually dismissed her children to theirstudies with this general injunction to choosetheir pursuit.

In truth, Mrs. Gradgrind's stock of facts ingeneral was woefully defective, but Mr. Grad-grind in raising her to her high matrimonialposition had been influenced by two reasons.Firstly, she was most "satisfactory as a ques-tion of figures ; and, secondly, she had " nononsense" about her. By nonsense he meantfancy; and truly it is probable she was asfree from any alloy of that nature, as anyhuman being not arrived at the perfection ofan absolute idiot, ever was.

The simple circumstance of being left alonewith her husband and Mr. Bounderby, wassufficient to stun this admirable lady again,without collision between herself and anyother fact. So, she once more died away, andnobody minded her.

" Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, drawinga chair to the fireside, " you are always sointerested in my young people—particularlyin Louisa—that I make no apology for sayingto you, I am very much vexed by this dis-covery. I have systematically devoted myself(as you know) to the education of the reasonof my family. The reason is (as you know)the only faculty to which education should beaddressed. And yet, Bounderby, it wouldappear from this unexpected circumstance ofto-day, though in itself a trifling one, as ifsomething had crept into Thomas's andLouisa's minds which is—or rather, which isnot—I don't know that I can express myselfbetter than by saying—which has never beenintended to be developed, and in which theirreason has no part."

"There certainly is no reason in looking

with interest at a parcel of vagabonds," re-txirned Bouuderby. u When I was a vagabondmyself, nobody looked with any interest at me ;I ko0w that."

" Then comes the question," said the emi-nently practical father, with his eyes on thefire," in what has this vulgar curiosity its rise?"

"I'll tell you in what. In idle imagina-tion."

" I hope not," said the eminently practical;" I confess, however, that the misgiving hascrossed me on my way home."

"In idle imagination, Gradgrind," repeatedBottnderfey. " A very bad thing for anybody,bat a cursed bad thing for a girl likeLouisa. I should ask Mrs, Gradgrind's pardonfor strong expressions, but that she knowsvery well I am not a refined character. Who-ever expects refinement in me will be disap-pointed, I hadn't a refined bringing up."

" Whether," said Mr. Gradgrind, ponderingwith his hands in his pockets, and his caver-nous eyes on the fire, " whether any instruc-tor or servant can have suggested anything ?Whether Louisa or .Thomas can have beenreading anything ? Whether, in spite of all pre-cautions, any idle story-book can have got intothe house ? Because, in minds that havebeen practically formed by rule and line,from the cradle upwards, this is so curious, soincomprehensible."

" Stop a bit! " cried Bounderby, who allthis time had been standing, as before, on thehearth, bursting at the very furniture ofthe room with explosive humility. " Youhave one of those strollers' children ia theschool."

* Cecilia, Jupe, % name," said Mr. Grad-grind, with something of a stricken look at hisfriend.

"Now, stop a bit! " cried Bounderby again.K How did she come there ? "

" Why, the fact is, I saw the girl myself fortie first time, only just now. She speciallyapplied here at the house to be admitted, asnot regularly belonging to our town, and-»— yes, you iare right, Bounderby, you arelight."

•u New, stop a bit!" cried Bounderby, :<meemore. * Louisa saw her when she same 1". " Loam certainly did see ker, for she men-tioned the application to me. But Louisa saw

'iK^HWtefe BO doubt, in Mrs. Gradgrind'spresence."

"Pray, Mra. Gradgrind," said Bounderby,«-what passed?"

"Oh, my poor health!" returned Mrs,Qradgrind. "The girl wanted to come tothe sebdol, and Mr. Gradgrind wanted girlsto come to the school, and Louisa and Thomasboth said that the girl wanted to come, and,that Mr, Gradgrind wanted girls to come,and how wafe it possible to contradict themwhen sosh waa the fact!"

u Kow I tell you what, Gradgrind!" saidMr. Boanderby. ," Turn this girl to the rigfa*-about, aad there's an end of it."

" I am much of your opiaion."" Do it at once," said Bounderby, " has

always been my motto from a child. WhenI thought I would run away from my egg-box and my grandmother, I did it at once.Do you the same. Do this at once I"

" Are you walking ?" asked his friend. * Ihave the father's address. Perhaps yoawould not mind walking to town with me 1"

"Not the least in the world," said Mr.Bounderby, " as long as you do it at once !"

So, Mr. Bounderby threw on his hat—healways threw it on, as expressing a man whohad been far too busily employed in makinghimself, to acquire any fashion of wearing hishat — and with his hands in his pocketssauntered out into the hall. " I never weargloves," it was his custom to say. " I didn'tclimb up the ladder in them. Shouldn't be BOhigh up, if I had."

Being left to saunter in the hall a minuteor two while Mr. Gradgriud went upstairsfor the address, he opened the door of thechildren's study and looked into that serenefloor-clothed apartment, which, notwithstand-ing its bookcases and its cabinets and itsvariety of learned and philosophical appli-ances, had much of the genial aspect of aroom devoted to hair-cutting. Louisa lan-guidly leaned upon the window looking out,without looking at anything, while yowsgThomas stood sniffing revengefully at thefire. Adam Smith and Malthus, two youngerGradgrinds, were out at lecture in custody;and little Jane, after manufacturing a gooddeal of moist pipe-clay on her face withslate-pencil and tears, had fallen asleep overvulgar fractions.

" It's all right now. Louisa; it's all right,yoning Thomas," said Mr. Boundedsy j u yonwoa't do so any more. I'll answer for it'sbeiag all over with father. Well, Louis%that's worth a kiss, isn't it ?"

"You can take one, Mr. Bounderby," re-turned Louisa, when she had coldly pausedjand slowly walked across the room, and «n*graciously raised her cheek towards him, withher face turned away.

"Always my pet; an't you, Louisa?" saidMr. Bounderby. -. * Good bye, Louisa \" . ;

He went his way, but she stood oa thesame spot, rubbing the cheek he had kissed^with her handkerchief, until it was burningred. She was still doing this, five iniauteaafterwards.

"What are yoa about, Loo ?" her brothersulkily remonstrated.^ " You'U r^b"*»hole iayour face." * %'

" You may ettt the pfee© otrt with yourpenknife if you like, Tom I wouldn't «ry !"

CHAPTER V.

CoKBTOtrw, to which Messrs. Bownderby andGradgrind BOW walked, was a triumph effact; it had no greater taint of fancy ia-itthan Mra. Gradgried herself. Let us strike

168 HOUSEHOLD WOBDS. [Conducted br

the key-note, Coketown, before pursuing ourtune.

It was a town of red brick, or of brick thatwould have been red if the smoke and asheshad allowed it; but, as matters stood it was atown of unnatural red and black like thepainted face of a savage. It was a town ofmachinery and tall chimneys, out of whichinterminable serpents of smoke trailed them-selves for ever and ever, and never gotuncoiled. It had a black canal in it, anda river that ran purple with ill-smelling dye,and vast piles of building full of windowswhere there was a rattling and a tremblingall day long, and where the piston of thesteam-engine worked monotonously up anddown, like the head of an elephant in a stateof melancholy madness. It contained severallarge streets all very like one another, andmany small streets still more like one another,inhabited by people equally like one another,who all went in and out at the same hours, withthe same sound upon the same pavements, todo the same work, and to whom every daywas the same as yesterday and to-morrow,and every year the counterpart of the last andthe next.

These attributes of Coketown were in themain inseparable from the work by which itwas sustained; against them were to be setoff, comforts of life which found their way allover the world, and elegancies of life whichmade we will not ask how much of the finelady, who could scarcely bear to hear the placementioned. The rest of its features werevoluntary, and they were these.

You saw nothing in Coketown but whatwas severely workful. If the members of areligious persuasion built a chapel there—as the members of eighteen religious per-suasions had done—they made it a piouswarehouse, of red brick, with sometimes (butthis only in highly ornamented examples) abell in a birdcage on the top of it. Thesolitary exception was the New Church; astuccoed edifice with a square steeple overthe door, terminating in four shortpinnacles like florid wooden legs. All

'the public inscriptions in the town werepainted alike, in severe characters of blackand white. The jail might have been theinfirmary, the infirmary might have been thejail, the town-hall might have been either,or both, or anything else, for anything thatappeared to the contrary in the graces oftheir construction. Fact, fact, fact, every-where in the material aspect of the town ;fact, fact, fact, everywhere in the immaterial.The M'Choakumchild school was all fact, andthe school of design was all' fact, and therelations between master and man were allfact, and everything was fact between thelying-in hospital and the cemetery, and whatyou couldn't state in figures, or show to bepurchasable in the cheapest market and

saleable in the dearest, was not, and nevershould be, world without end, Amen.

A town so sacred to fact, and so triumphantin its assertion, of course got on well ? Whyno, not quite well. No ? Dear me !

No. Coketown did not come out of itsown furnaces, in all respects like gold thathad stood the fire. First, the perplexingmystery of the place was, Who belonged tothe eighteen denominations ? Because, who-ever did, the laboring people did not. It was-very strange to walk through the streets ona Sunday morning, and note how few of themthe barbarous jangling of bells that was drivingthe sick and nervous mad, called away fromtheir own quarter, from their own closerooms, from the corners of their own streets,where they lounged listlessly, gazing at all thechurch and chapel going, as at a thing withwhich they had no manner of concern. Norwas it merely the stranger who noticedthis, because there was a native organizationin Coketown itself, whose members were to beheard of in the House of Commons every session,indignantly petitioning for acts of parliamentthat should make these people religious bymain force. Then, came the Teetotal Society,who complained that these same people woiddget drunk, and showed in tabular statementsthat they did get drunk, and proved at tea-parties that no inducement, human or Divine(except a medal), would induce them to foregotheir custom of getting drunk. Then, camethe chemist and druggist, with other tabularstatements, showing that when they didn'tget drunk, they took opium. Then, came theexperienced chaplain of the jail, with moretabular statements, outdoing all the pre-vious tabular statements, and showing thatthe same people wovld resort to low haunts,hidden from the public eye, where they heardlow singing and saw low dancing, and mayhapjoined in it; and where A. B., aged twenty-four next birthday, and committed for eighteenmonths' solitary, had himself said (not thathe had ever shown himself particularlyworthy of belief) his ruin began, as hewas perfectly sure and confident that other-wise he would have been a tip-top moralspecimen. Then, came Mr. Gradgririd andMr. Bounderby, the two geatlemen at this-present moment walking through Ctefcetown;""and both eminently practical, who could,on occasion, furnish more tabular state-ments derived from their own personal:experience, and illustrated by cases they hadknown and seen, from which it clearlyappeared—in short it was the only clearthing in the case—that these same peoplewere a bad lot altogether, gentlemen; thatdo what you would for them they were neverthankful for it, gentlemen; that they wererestless, gentlemen; that they never knewwhat they wanted ; that they lived upon thebest, and bought fresh butter, and insisted onMocha cofiee, and rejected all but prime parts

CbarlesDickens.] HARD TIMES. 169

of meat, and yet were eternally dissatisfiedand unmanageable. In short it was the moralof the old nursery fable :There was an old woman, and what do you think ?She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;Victuals and drink were the whole of her diet,And yet this old woman would NEVEB be quiet.

Is it possible, I wonder, that there was anyanalogy between the case of the Coketownpopulation and the case of the little Grad-grinds ? Surely, none of us in our sobersenses and acquainted with figures, are to betold at this time of day that one of theforemost elements in the existence of theCoketown working people had been forscores of years deliberately set at naught ?That there was any Fancy in them demand-ing to be brought into healthy existenceinstead of struggling on in convulsions ?That exactly in the ratio as they worked longand monotonously, the craving grew withinthem for some physical relief—some relaxation,encouraging good humour and good spirits,and giving them a vent—some recognised holi-day, though it were but for an honest danceto a stirring band of music—some occasionallight pie in which even M'Choakumchild hadno finger—which craving must and would besatisfied aright, or must and would inevitablygo wrong, until the laws of the Creation wererepealed ?

" This man lives at Pod's End, and I don'tquite know Pod's End," said Mr. Gradgrind." Which is it, Bounderby? "

Mr. Bounderby knew it was somewheredown town, but knew no more respectingit. So they stopped for a moment, lookingabout.

Almost as they did so, there came runninground the corner of the street, at a quickpace and with a frightened look, a girl whomMr. Gradgrind recognised. " Halloa !" saidhe. " Stop ! Where are you -going 1 Stop! "Girl number twenty stopped then, palpitating,and made him a curtsey.

" Why are you tearing about the streets,"said Mr. Gradgrind, "in this impropermanner ?"

"I was—I was run after, sir," .the girlpanted, " and I wanted to get away."

" Eun after %" repeated Mr. Gradgrind.41^hj we«ld run after you ? "

- The question was unexpectedly and sud-denly answered for her, by the colourless boy,Bitzer, who came round the corner with suchblind speed and so little anticipating a stoppageon the pavement,that he brought himself upagainst Mr. Gradgrind's waistcoat, and re-bounded into the road.

" What'do you mean, boy ?" said Mr. Grad-grind. " What are you doing ? How dare youdash against—everybody—in this manner 1"

Bitzer picked up his cap, which the con-cussion had knocked off, and backing, andknuckling his forehead, pleaded that it wasan accident.

" Was this boy running after you, Jupe ? "asked Mr. Gradgrind.

" Yes, sir," said the girl reluctantly."No, I wasn't, sir ! " cried Bitzer. "Not

till she run away from me. But the horse-riders never mind what they say, sir; they'refamous for it. You know the horse-riders arefamous for never minding what they say,"addressing Sissy. " It's as well known in thetown as—please, sir, as the multiplicationtable isn't known to the horseriders." Bitzertried Mr. Bounderby with this.

"He frightened me so," said the girl,"withbis cruel faces ! "

" Oh !" cried Bitzer. " Oh ! An't you one ofbhe rest! An't you a horse-rider ! I neverlooked at her, sir. I asked her if she wouldknow how to define a horse to-morrow, andoffered to tell her again, and she ran away,and I ran after her, sir, that she might knowtow to answer when she was asked. Youwouldn't have thought of saying such mischiefif you hadn't been a horse-rider ! "

" Her calling seems to be pretty well knownamong 'em," observed Mr. Bounderby. "You'dhave had the whole school peeping in a row,in a week."

" Truly, I think so," returned his friend." Bitzer, turn you about and take yourselfhome. Jupe, stay here a moment. Let me hearof your running in this manner any more,boy, and you will hear of me through themaster of the school. You understand whatI mean. Go along."

The boy stopped in his rapid blinking,knuckled his forehead again, glanced at Sissy,turned about, and retreated.

" Now, girl," said Mr. Gradgrind, " takethis gentleman and me to your father's ; weare going there. What have you got in thatbottle you ai*e carrying ? "

" Gin," said Mr. Bounderby." Dear, no sir ! It's the nine oils."" The what ?" cried Mr. Bounderby." The nine oils, sir. To rub father with."

Then, said Mr. Bounderby, wjith a loud,short laugh, " what the devil de you rub yourfather with nine oils for ?"

"It's what our people always use, sir,when they get any hurts in the ring," repliedthe girl, looking over her shoulder, to assure iherself that her pursuer was gone. "Theybruise themselves very bad sometimes."

" Serve 'em right," said Mr. Bounderby," for being idle." She glanced up at his face,with mingled astonishment and dread.

"By George!" said Mr. Bounderby, "whenI was four or five years younger than you, Ihad worse bruises upon me than ten oils,twenty oils, forty oils, would have rubbed off.I didn't get 'em by posture-making, but bybeing banged about. There was no rope-dancing for me ; I danced on the bare groundand was larruped with the rope." .

Mr. Gradgrind, though hard enough, waaby no means so rough a man as Mr. Boun-derby. His character was not unkind, all

170 HOUSEHOLD WOEDS.

things considered ; it might have been a!very kind one indeed if he had only made some,round mistake in the arithmetic that balanced jit, years ago. He said, in what he meantfor a re-assuring tone, as they turned downa narrow road, " And this is Pod's End; isit, Jupe 1"

"This is it, sir, and—if you wouldn't mind,sir—-this is the house."

She stopped, at twilight, at the door of ame'an little public house, with dim redlights in it. As haggard and as shabby, as if,for want of custom, it had itself taken todrinking, and had gone the way all drunkardsgo, and was very near the end of it.

" It's only crossing the bar, sir, and up thestairs, if you wouldn't mind, and waitingthere for a moment till I get a candle. Ifyou should hear a dog, sir, it's only Merry-legs, and he only barks."

"Merrylegs and nine oils, eh !" said Mr.Bounderby, entering last with his metalliclaugh. "Pretty well this, for a self-mademan!"

GOBLIN LIFE.

A FEW more pages may be devoted to recall-ing some of the many shapes taken by thosesuperstitions which occupied so prominent aplace among the household words of ourforefathers. It is well for us to think some-times of household words now past and gone.The other day we discussed, only the spiritsof the elements, and found how the belief inthem beset the daily life of men with gloomand terror. But there existed other goblinfancies.

Even at this day, can we say fairly thatthe belief in death omens has gone the wayof all error 1 The death-watch still sets many aheart beating, and there are even people whowould resent the imputation of ignoranceunable to hear unmoved at night the howlingof a dog. The dog always was considered abeast sensitive to impressions from the spiritworld. Eumasan dogs, says Homer, could seethe apparition of Pallas when Telemaehussaw nothing. In the sixteenth century,Jerome Cardan, the Milanese physician, re-lates that a dog howled before his marriage,and explains that his guardian angel came ingrief to his threshold, and that the dog feltthe presence of the spirit. In the same cen-tury—in the year fifteen hundred and fifty-three, a few weeks before a great mortalityin Saxony, the dogs, it ia said, assembled in agreat troop atN Meissen, and ran howlingand yelling dismally through field and forest.

There are still women, and even men,afraid of corpse-lights. The most elaboratesuperstition of this kind, is that which usedto prevail in Wales, through Cardigan, Caer-marthen, and Pembroke. A fire, it wasbelieved, rose out of the bed of the person whowas about todie; it went thence to the church-yard, and the way it took was preciselythe way

that would be taken by the coffin. If anywhereit turned aside, the bearers of the coffin wouldin the same place be compelled to turn asideto avoid filth, or some other obstruction;John Davis, in the year sixteen hundred andfifty-six, related this belief of his neighboursin a letter published by Richard Baxter. Alittle pale or bluish light, he said, went beforethe corpse of an infant or young child, athicker one before an adult, and two orthree together preceded as many deaths. Aneighbour of Davis's, about to give birth to achild, met two such lights at her house-dooras she was entering ; they were a large lightand a little one. May we not think it adirect consequence of the fear attendingsuperstition, though Davis takes it as a quitenatural sequence, that directly afterwardsthis woman fell ill, the child came beforelong into the world, and that mother andchild died ? Davis's wife's sister, JoannaWyat, had been nurse in a great house,thirty-five years before he wrote his letter,and then one day, when the lady of thehouse lay dead, the housekeeper went intothe maid-servant's room, and saw five ofthese lights. Afterwards the room waswhitened, and to hasten the drying, a brasierof charcoal was put into it. The servantswent to bed, and five of them were dead nextmorning.

Philip Camerarius wrote thus of signs ofdeath: " Some princes are warned by aroaring of lions, or a strange howling of dogs,,a nightly thumping or stamping about theircastles, or the untimely striking of theirclocks. In monasteries, it happens not un-frequently that the seats of monks ornuns, who are about to. die, are occupiedby shadows without headsi. I know a noblefamily that has the surest token of deathwhen a certain fountain, usually clear, isclouded by a worm otherwise quite unknown.Another family of great note is warned ofdeath by the occurrence of a landslip in theirneighbourhood."

Whoever may be disposed to shudder attn« reading of such things may judge of tikedread excited by the commonest occurrences,wheri rich and poor alike were taught thus toInterpret them m solemn earnest.

Lavater wrote, near the e»4 of the sixteenthcentury, that when a town eoftneiUor--eiKother public person was about to die, a loudreport, or other token of death, proceededfrom the seat in hall or church habituallyoccupied by hito. In monasteries he wrotethat monks had heard their ooffirjs beingordered for them exactly as they were reallyordered not many days after, and he said,when any one is about to flie in the villages,the people hear, in the dusk of evening or atnight, a sound of spades in the churchyard,and it is precisely the same sound, stroke forstroke, that will be made next day by thesextons. After citing other tokens of thesame kind, he added: "Executioners are

often heard to say that they know generallybeforehand when a criminal will be deliveredto them, because their swords move of theirown accord upon the wall; some even saythat they can foretell by such signs the exactmanner in which a condemned man will bepat to death."

The spontaneous clashing of the heads-man's implements is an idea kindred to thebelief that when an absent knight is killed,blood breaks out upon the sword that he hasleft at home, and many a warrior's wife mayby this superstition have been made totremble at the apparition of a few streaks ofred\ruat.

It was a prettier fancy that prevailedamoog the monks of Corbei; the angel ofdeath laid a lily on the seat of the brotherwho would next be taken. Such a monkwould no doubt have been half or quitefrightened to death if any one had put,secretly through malice, a lily in his chair.The magnates of the high church of Breslautranslated this fancy—and spoilt it, as trans-lators do spoil nearly everything : their token•of death was not a lily, but a rose.

Sir Walter Scott has made us all familiarwith White Ladies. The White Lady super-stition was extremely prevalent, but notbefore the fifteenth century. It began, per-haps, with the story of the appearance ofMelusina to the princes of the House ofLusignan. White Ladies appeared before thedeath of lords or prinrees only, or of membersof their family,- and often only before thosedeaths which were to cause the transfer oftheir lands to a new line of heirs. There wasa famous White Lady attached to the Houseof Brandenburg. An Italian writer uponJudas Iseariot told of three great Italianhouses, those of Torelli, Pio, and Gkaaga, inwhich a White Lady always appeared beforedeath, and occupied the room in which tfegbody would afterwards be laid out. It wasbelieved that this was the apparition of aformer mistress of the house who had beenfalsely accused of infidelity, and had therefore,been wrapped up in white linen and thrownout, of an upper window.

As I find that my own flesh begtna.teHSreep,I shall be glad to change the topic. First,However, let HHMtdd a rational explanation

" -^hsfeJiaSMkeea offered of the origin of theWhite Lady superstition. White used to bethe colour in which noble ladies mourned.To say " the White Lady will soon be seen,"was to say thafe soon the lord of the house orone of the family would die. Thence by aneasy corruption, the whole superstition mightin time have come.

Farmers of old time did not grumble at theweather, but at the neighbour who had raisedthe weather. In the early times of theRomans that was so, and there is a prettystory on the subject, very familiar to allreaders of Roman history. It will be more tooar purpose to illustrate the strong working

of such a superstitious fancy in much latertimes. Here is a story (how suggestive I)told by Bodimus, in his «L\emonomania,"nearly at the end of the sixteenth century.He had it from the Admiral Coligny, who wasa victim of the massacre of St. Bartholomew :" A young man, in Poiton, was accused of themurder of two gentlemen. He confessed thathe had been their servant, and seen how theystrewed powder over the sown fields, withthe words, ' Curse light upon this fruit, uponthis house, upon this neighbourhood.' Hethen took the same powder, of which he hadgot possession, and threw it into the bedroomof these nobles, and so it followed that eachof them was found dead in his bed. Thejudges thereupon pronounced the young manguiltless."

There were men who were supposed ableto raise storms, and men able to defendagainst them. People who assumed thelatter power were paid by the farmers, justas payment would now be made to a hail-insurance office; and "There are many,"said Archbishop Agobard, of Lyons, verybitterly, " many who never pay their titheswith a good will to the priest, and never givealms to the widow, the orphan, or to anyother of the poor, however much they may beexhorted so to do; yet these men will paytheir fees to the storm-preventer with theutmost punctuality, and without any need ofa reminder."

" Again," said Agobard, " most people areso foolish and thoughtless as to believe anddeclare that there is a land called Magonia,from which ships come sailing over the cloudsto draw up cargoes of the fruit broken to theground by storms or hail, and so take themhome into that land, and they say that thepeople of these ships in the air are in alliancewith storm-raisers who, for certain gifts, lift thefruit up to them." Three men and a woman,Agobard said, he had himself saved frombeing stoned to death in a village to whichthey had come as strangers, because it wasbelieved they had tumbled down in a stormout of the air ships. Very faint, in comparisonwith the idea of society thus given, is evena humorous exaggeration of our own darkside of life presented lately to the world byMr. Leech. A happy Londoner enjoys theair in one of our politest mining districts.Two of the natives eye him, and thus talk to-gether : " Who's him, Bill ?"—"A stranger."—'Eave 'arf a brick at 'im."

In the sixteenth eeattury, Godelnjtnnwrote thus:—" In the year fifty-^iree, twowitches were taken in Berlin, who tia^,a»reedtogether to make iee and spoil the feiMfa sea-son. And these women had stolen achild from another woman who was theirneighbour, and cut it in pieces to cook it. Ithappened, by the wjll of Heaven, that themother seeking her child, came upon themand saw the little limbs of her lost infant inthe kettle. Then, when the women were both

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