Chapter THE FIRST (1)

'Hath he gone, Lady Deb? Hath Finton gone?' It was Dame Marjory who spoke, treading cautiously as she entered the young mistress's presence.

Deborah tossed her head, and gave a short laugh. 'Ay; he blustered, though. It is the third time he has come to dun father. My dame, these are hard times; but all may yet be well. Look you, I have saved _so_ much for father; if Finton could see it, how his eyes would glitter like a wolf's. I hate that man; I hate all money-hunters. I care not if it be the law or not; it is dirty work! Take you this gold, dame; hide it well, lest I covet to buy a new gay scarf like Mistress Dinnage's. Away with it! and let me see the stuff no more.'

Dame Marjory took the gold, but she looked back over her shoulder, and her old eyes gleamed: '_Thou_ to want for what Jordan's daughter has for askin'!' she said. 'What right has Mistress Dinnage to flaunt in silken scarfs--and _my_ child, my mistress, my lady "rose o' Enderby" to pine and pine? My child'--and the old woman faced Deborah, and the hot fierce tears welled into her eyes--'I was wont to dress thee better than a queen; now, look at thy dress! What right, what call hath Sir Vincent Fleming's daughter to wear such dress as thine? A gipsy hag would scorn it! An' thy poor mother would have cursed the day that saw thee in this strait.'

'Hush, Marjory--hush!'

'I will not hush! It is thy father's an' thy brother's sin. I will not hush! O child, child, my heart is harried for thee!' And the old woman fell from her vehemence, and began to weep most bitterly.

Deborah softened at that; she flew to her nurse's side in wonderment, and kneeled at her feet in tender trouble. 'Dame, dame!' she said, 'it is not thy habit to give way to tears--and all for me, for _me_, dear dame, who am not worthy to have thee shed a tear! Hearken! Do you think I care to flaunt in silks? Do you think indeed Sir Vincent Fleming's daughter would wear fine feathers while _he_ owed a penny? You might _then_ weep for shame. But I am too proud for that. Now kiss me; and do not weep, oldest, truest friend. I cannot have thee weep!' Impossible to describe the tenderness of tone in those last words. Some thought Deborah Fleming cold, hard, haughty; they would not have thought so then.

Left alone, the girl resumed her gay debonair air. She gazed at herself in one of the long mirrors; she smiled and courtesied low, in mockery; then drawing herself up, she gazed again. Now Deborah would utter her thoughts aloud; it was a way she had. Regarding herself, she said: 'Nay; you are not fit; you cut a sorry figure in the world. She says truly. Yet what would you have me do? Beg borrowed plumes? Use ill-gotten gains? Would Deborah Fleming be the fairer for _that_? The fairer, perchance, but not the nobler. Oh, you are a sorry bird, Deb! The old barn-hen has a richer dress than _you_.' Then again, jerking her head upward once, twice, thrice: 'No wonder Kingston Fleming does not love you. "Master Kingston Fleming!"' she added--and her lip curled with superb scorn--'loves fine dresses and silk shoes. He loves to see "beauty go beautifully." _I_ am not a "Mistress May" or "Mistress Blancheflower."' With that, Deborah shot off all her satire; and laughing, tripped from the room.

In a few moments more she was running with the fleet foot of her childhood across meadow and holt, gay as a skylark. Presently she stopped, for in her course, with her back to a tree, stood a tall gipsy woman, with a red and yellow scarf upon her head. 'What do you here?' asked Deborah haughtily. The old scene in the camp came back; the fugitive retreat at night; she and Charlie and the old beldam huddled in a covered cart together; and outside, the tramp, tramp of horses and of men, and the mysterious jingle of pots and kettles, and the angry blows received from the old beldam for the noise she and Charlie made. The gipsy too recognised Deborah: this was not the child, though, who eyed her through the gate, but a proud imperious lady. In spite of the plain rough dress, the woman, with the nice discernment of a peasant and a gipsy, knew the lady, and the Lady of Enderby to boot. With unabashed impudence the gipsy stepped forward: 'I was waitin' to see ye, pretty lady.'

'And what do you want with me?' asked Deborah. 'This place is not for such as you. Honest poor folk may seek me here, and welcome; not gipsy vagabonds and thieves. If you have a petition, refer it to the back door and the cook, not to Mistress Fleming.'

The woman turned aside her head; for the moment her dark face was distorted by impotent rage and passion; but when again turned on Deborah, it was calm. She darted forward and clasped her hands, for Deborah was passing on.

'I am no thief,' said the woman, with shortened breath. 'I am an honest woman, lady, an' honester than many folk that live in great housen, like yonder. Pretty lady, don't be so hard on the poor gipsy. I've had troubles I tell ye, to which yours are nought--an' I don't ask yer pity.'

'Then what do you ask?' asked Deborah, turning full upon her.

'Yer hand--to let me see yer hand.'

'For the sake of gold! I have no gold to give you.'

'Nay, for no gold,' said the woman eagerly; 'but to read yer fate. A silver piece will do it. There! I will tell ye yer fortune for that.'

'And to what end? Have _you_ an interest in me? in one whom you would have gladly lured away to a life of sin and misery? or as a hostage for my father's gold? You have done me grievous wrong. You take too much heed by half to the interests of the Flemings, woman; it is for no good.'

'Yes,' said the gipsy, in a strange low tone, 'I take interest in ye, but _more_ in yours. Lady, let me see yer hand. I tell ye I have interest in yer fate, and in the fate o' one yer soul loves. Come!'

'You shall not wheedle me into it,' said Deborah. 'If I consent to let you, it will be of mine own free-will and after thought, not from words of yours. Some tell me it is vain; some say that fortune-telling sells you to the evil one--that it is grievous sin to seek your fate by signs and stars. _I_ am not of these opinions.' The girl seemed talking to herself; the gipsy watched her keenly.

'Yes,' said Deborah, looking up and full at her, 'you shall tell my fortune. But can you trust me for the money?'

'Yes.'

'And why?'

'Because ye can't tell a lie.'

'That is well. I believe in witchcraft; this is why I hear you. Had you not come here, I would sooner or later have sought you, because time is slow, is slow, woman, and I want to know my fate! I will not say God forgive me: it seems almost mockery to ask forgiveness on what my heart knows to be wrong.'

'_Wrong_, lady?'

'Yes, wrong!' cried the maid, striking her foot on the ground. With that she held out her hand, a pink palm and tender lines, for the witch-woman's mystic reading. They both stood silent--the gipsy gazing downwards; Deborah gazing on the weird countenance before her, while the rich blood spread and deepened on her own with timidity and with shame. 'What do you see?' asked Deborah at length, with curling lip. 'I scarce believe you; it seems too vain!'

Then answered the gipsy woman, in low strange tones: 'You will be a great lady yet--ay, greater than Mistress Fleming. Ye will not go far to find yer greatness, either--it will meet ye at yer own gates; love and greatness will come hand in hand.'

Deborah's eyes sparkled. Then she said: 'Woman, that cannot be!' Then with the blood mounting to her brow like flame: 'What did you say--of one whom my soul loves? Who is he?'

'A fair tall youth. I know his title; but the title, look ye, will never be yours.'

'Then I care for nought!' said Deborah Fleming, and she flung away the gipsy's hand. 'Your craft is wanting. It is a vain, lying, deceitful craft! Look ye, Deborah Fleming will never be your great man's wife! You lie! I love power and riches; but I scorn them as _you_ would foretell them to me. Gipsy, I have had enough of your fortunes and of you!'

She was gone--that proud young Mistress Fleming, whose will had never been crossed or curbed; tall beautiful young ash, that would yield neither to breeze nor tempest, but held its head so high.

The gipsy gazed after her; fierce passions made the woman's breast pant. 'I hate her!' she gasped between her clenched teeth--'I _hate_ her! I hate all thy black race, my lass. But ye shall lick the dust, proud Mistress--I see it on yer palm. Ye shall have the pale-faced sweetheart, but it shall be across ruin and disgrace; an' by settin' yer foot on the two dead bodies o' them ye love like yer own soul, ye shall climb to yer lad. Take him! I wish ye joy o' him _then_! I care not, so long as I ha' vengeance, vengeance, vengeance!' and the wild woman's eyes glared with a fire like madness. She turned towards Enderby, and shook her clenched fist that way. 'I will have vengeance _then_, for all the dark hours thou hast caused me, pretty daughter o' mine! I will see thy boy dabbled in his blood; an' may thy dead eyes be opened to see it too. Heaven's malison light on thee!'

THE ROYAL NAVAL RESERVE AND ROYAL NAVAL VOLUNTEERS.

Whenever England is engaged in a naval war or any war including maritime operations on an extensive scale, a difficult problem has to be solved--how to man the ships? In the army, every regiment has a sort of corporate existence; it never dies--the exceptions, the actual disbandment of a regiment, being very rare indeed. The number of men varies according to the peace-footing or the war-footing at which the regiment may stand at any particular date; but at all times many hundreds of trained men belong to it. Not so in regard to a ship of war. When not wanted for warlike, cruising, or other service, it is 'out of commission;' all the officers and men are paid off; and the ship, moored at Portsmouth or some other naval station, is stripped of most of its paraphernalia, ammunition, and stores, and 'laid up in ordinary,' with a few dockyard or harbour men to take care of it. When wanted again for active service, it has to be 'put in commission' again; commissioned officers and crew have alike to be engaged anew, just as though the ship were fresh from the builder's hands. Officers are always plentiful enough, the number on half-pay in peace-time being very large--nearly the whole of them desirous of engaging in active service on full pay. With the sailors, the A.B. (able-bodied) and common seamen, the case is different; competition for their services being kept up by the owners of large commercial vessels.

The difficulty of suddenly obtaining a large additional number of seamen was seriously felt at the commencement of the Crimean war; but the Admiralty solved the perplexity by organising a _Royal Naval Reserve_, and obtained the sanction of parliament for the necessary outlay. The Reserve was to comprise men who, provided they attend drill a certain number of days in each year, may follow any avocation they please at other times; it being a well-understood matter of agreement that they shall be ready for active service on the breaking out of war. Of course ship-owners did not at first relish this scheme, seeing that it established a new kind of competition against them for hands; but in practice no particular inconvenience has resulted. The men are permitted to take their drill whenever it best suits them; twenty-eight days per year all at one time, or in periods of seven, fourteen, or twenty-one days. Certain qualifications are insisted on before enrolment, including a medical examination in regard to health. The 'retainer' which the seaman receives, and the prospect of pension, operate as inducements to steadiness and against desertion; and it is known that this is exercising a beneficial effect on the mercantile marine, seeing that ship-owners now give a preference to Royal Naval Reserve men whenever they can get them. Mixing with the regular men-of-war's men during the one month's drill is also found to be beneficial; and some of the Reserve go through all their exercises with as much steadiness as a regular crew. The Admiralty are empowered by parliament to engage thirty thousand men in this way; the Reserve now comprises twenty thousand; and it is believed that there would be no great difficulty in making up the full complement.

In a recently published Report by the Admiral Superintendent of the body, the following remarks occur: 'After all the expense the country has been put to, and will have to bear prospectively, for the organisation and maintenance of the Royal Naval Reserve, will the men be forthcoming when wanted? This can only be tested in the day of trial, when the Queen's Proclamation will call the Reserve out for active service; but I hold that we have as reliable guarantees that the men will present themselves, as under any system that could be devised on the basis of voluntary service. The men have entered on an engagement to serve, they have received drill-pay and retainers under this engagement, and without being branded by public opinion, could not shrink from the fulfilment of their duty. It would be doing an injustice to the _élite_ of the merchant service to suppose that they are entirely devoid of patriotism, and would not desire to serve in defence of their country. Their prejudices against service in the royal navy have been in a great measure removed; and they would feel themselves competent from previous training to work the guns and handle a rifle and cutlass.'

Very little has yet been done to take the Reserve on a cruise for rehearsal or practice. A merchant seaman, to fit him for the Reserve, requires chiefly to be made familiar with the great-gun exercise, to handle the sword and rifle, to be steady and silent under instruction, and to obey implicitly the orders he receives. This training he will receive on board the drill-ships especially set apart for the purpose, or at batteries representing the section of a ship, quite as well as in a man-of-war. The Reserve of the first class (for the force is divided into classes) have already been seamen in the merchant service, and do not require instruction in seamanship.

The drill-ships and the practice-batteries are distributed pretty well around the coasts of the United Kingdom at about forty different stations--eight in Scotland, seven in Ireland, and the rest in England and Wales. There are nearly always some men on drill at every ship and battery; but it is noteworthy that in the fishing season in certain parts of Scotland and in the Isles the drill is pretty nearly in abeyance--herrings being more important just then than big guns and cutlasses. The first-class men are far more numerous than the second, shewing that the main body are already fairly good seamen before they enter the Reserve. As to numbers in different places, the drill-ships near busy ports are naturally more frequented than those off a thinly populated coast. The _President_ in the Thames, the _Eagle_ at Liverpool, the _Unicorn_ at Dundee, the _Netley_ at Inverness, the _Castor_ at North Shields, the _Dædalus_ at Bristol, are among the drill-ships which receive the greatest number of enrolled men for drill during the year. Liverpool takes the lead in the number of outsiders (seven-eighths of whom, however, are already merchant seamen) who apply for enrolment. Half the whole number in the force are under thirty years of age, young men with plenty of health and strength in them. Rather less than half are at home or in the coasting-trade; rather more than half voyaging in foreign seas, mostly, however, on short voyages that will end within a month. More of these voyages are to the Baltic and the North Sea than to any other waters; the next in numbers are those to the Mediterranean and the Black Sea.

The officers who command or control the body comprise lieutenants, sub-lieutenants, engineers, assistant-engineers, and midshipmen. The lieutenants must have served as sub-lieutenants one year or upwards; most of them have been duly qualified masters of merchant-ships. Midshipmen are promoted to the rank of sub-lieutenant on the fulfilment of prescribed conditions as to efficiency, &c.

The men of the first-class now receive a grant of a suit of clothing on enrolment and re-enrolment--an arrangement which they much relish, as an improvement on the plan at first adopted, when each man was left to dress pretty much at random, provided he looked something like a sailor. Nearly all the A.B.s in the mercantile marine have joined or offered to join the body; thus affording proof that it is popular. The second-class Reserve are mostly fishermen, who are unacquainted with square-rigged vessels, and are unaccustomed to long absence from their homes; but they are fitted for coast-defence service. In Scotland and especially in the Shetlands, the second-class serves as a stepping-stone to the first. Their pay is less than that of the first-class, and they have no claim for pension; therefore they have an inducement to try for promotion. The authorities have had under consideration the question whether to establish a third-class, to consist of boys belonging to the mercantile training-ships; but no decision appears at present to have been arrived at.

In a discussion which took place at the Royal United Service Institution some time back, it was generally admitted that our band of hardy fishermen might be made to form an excellent Naval Reserve irrespective of regular seamen of the mercantile marine. 'There are,' it was urged, 'one hundred and fifty thousand men and fifteen thousand boys employed in the fisheries of the United Kingdom; besides the large number in the Canadian Dominion and Newfoundland. It would not be difficult to raise from among our large population of _bonâ fide_ fishermen a Reserve equal to the full standard originally recommended. The drill could be taught in the most efficient manner and with the least expense to the government by sending a gunboat to visit the fishing-boats at the slack season. The local knowledge possessed by the fishermen would be of immense value in coast-defence; and there is an advantage in their having fixed places of residence and never sailing under a foreign flag; added to which is the value of their physical strength, hardy and domesticated habits, and good character.'

And now a few words for the _Royal Naval Artillery Volunteers_, another body intended for defensive purposes in the event of war. There is a corps known as the _Coast Guard_, to fulfil service on the coast in case of invasion; and under the same kind of control are the _Royal Naval Coast Volunteers_. These two bodies together comprise nearly twenty thousand men, all good seamen, and receiving liberal pay. But there is something more peculiar about the _Royal Naval Artillery Volunteers_ likely to interest general readers. They are virtually an offshoot or supplement of the Volunteer Rifles, intended solely for defence against invaders. Who the invader is to be we do not know; haply and happily we may never know; but a thought on the subject now and then is reasonable enough. Our coast-line is very extensive, and needs watching at a considerable number of unprotected spots. Besides regular troops, Volunteer infantry, and cruising war-ships, it has long been felt that a naval artillery corps would be a useful addition for serving in gunboats and mortar rafts, and operating in the new art of torpedo-defensive warfare. A small Marine Volunteer Corps was raised at Hastings about 1863; others were afterwards raised in London, Liverpool, and Bristol; and at length, in 1873, parliament passed an Act sanctioning the formation of a body to be known as the _Royal Naval Artillery Volunteers_. So far from being men who are paid for their services, these Volunteers have to provide their own uniform and to pay a small subscription to a corps fund; they really enter into the matter _con amore_, giving time, exertion, and some money for a purpose which may eventually be valuable to our common country. The government provide ships, great guns, rifles, pistols, cutlasses, and other gear for practice. Whether artisans, yachtsmen, or rowing-men would join the corps in any considerable number, could only be known by awaiting the result; but it turns out that clerks--mostly in commercial firms--come forward more readily than any other class. They like the bodily exercise and the open air after many hours of desk-plodding.

The idea is to render these Volunteers handy in the defence of rivers and estuaries, by the management of floating-batteries, armed rafts, and torpedoes. In practising with big guns at such places as London, Liverpool, and Bristol, there are of course neither real shot nor blank cartridges actually propelled from the weapon; a flash and a slight report are all; to run out, point, fire, and re-adjust are the exercises practised; and this is no small work with a sixty-pounder gun. After this big-gun drill, the Volunteers go through their rifle, cutlass, and pistol drill; and the young men are all the better for two or three hours of muscular exercise and ocular training. They wear a useful blue-and-white uniform while thus engaged. The _Rainbow_ gunboat in the Thames off Somerset House, the _President_ in the West India Docks, and two similar vessels at Liverpool and Bristol, are set apart by the Admiralty as drill-ships for the purpose. The total strength is somewhat under seven hundred men, with a naval instructor, petty-officer instructors, lieutenants, sub-lieutenants, shipkeepers, armourers, &c.

Even if never really wanted for river and estuary defence, these energetic young men will have no reason, bodily or mental, to regret the step they have taken--the devotion of a couple of hours occasionally after office or warehouse time to a right good exercise of muscle, nerve, brain, eyesight, attention, and intelligence. It is a national comfort to know that rifle and artillery volunteering are alike free from many of the evils of young men's recreations; they do not tempt to drinking, to betting, nor to dissolute companionship. All honour to those who promoted, and to those who carry out the movement.

TIM HARGATON'S COURTSHIP.

He was mother's factotum, big Tim Hargaton. I do not know how she could have managed the farm without his clear head and sound judgment to guide her. He had the name of being the closest hand at a bargain and the best judge of a 'baste' in Innishowen; and I think he deserved it; for mother very rarely lost upon her speculations in cattle, and our animals were famed for their beauty. Tim was not wholly an Innishowen man. By his mother's side he claimed descent from the Scottish settlers of the opposite coast, and much of his cautiousness and shrewdness could be traced to this infusion of kindly Scottish blood. We children had rather an awe of Tim. He ruled the outer world of our homestead with a rod of iron. Woe betide the delinquent who ventured into the garden before the 'house' had been supplied with fruit for preserving! Woe be to us if with profane hands we assaulted his beloved grapes or ravaged his trim flower-beds! I daresay it was very good for us that some one was set in authority over the garden and farm-yard, for we were allowed quite enough freedom indoors, fatherless tomboys that we were. But years passed by; one by one we grew to womanhood. I, the eldest, left home first--to return first; more alone for having been so happy, too happy for a little while. When I returned, a widow, the younger birds had flown from the nest. Mother had no one left but me, and she was growing old; so I cast in my own and my boy's lot with her, and soon became thoroughly acquainted with Tim Hargaton. To him I was 'the young mistress' or 'Miss Ellen;' and I own I felt often at a disadvantage with him. His quiet knowledge of subjects I was utterly ignorant of, his cool rejection of my farming theories, his almost certain success in all his ventures, overawed me; and after a struggle or two I gave in.

I think Tim must have been about forty at this time; but he looked many years younger, being fair and tall and well made, and--a bachelor. He had a merry twinkle in his gray eyes which almost contradicted the firm-set mouth with its long upper lip and square massive chin; from his half-Scotch mother he derived a close calculating disposition, hard to convince, slow to receive new impressions, strong to retain them when once received. From his father roving Pat Hargaton from Donegal, he drew an Irishman's ready wit and nimble tongue, and under all an Irishman's fickle heart, but not his warm affections, which go so far towards amending the latter fault.

Another unusual thing amongst men of his class, he was well to do, and having successfully speculated in cattle on his own account, he had money in the bank and a snug cottage. Yet year after year, Shrove-tide after Shrove-tide--the marrying season all over Roman Catholic Ireland--found Tim rejoicing in single-blessedness; nor could he have had a comfortable home, for his old mother was a confirmed invalid; and as Tim was reported to be 'a trifle near,' he only afforded her the services of a little girl scarcely in her teens. More than once mother spoke to him about matrimony, and as often Tim met her with the unanswerable argument: 'Is it as easy to peck for two as for one, ma'am?' So she ceased bothering him about it.

Now it befell that one bright frosty November day I had despatched Tim to the county town on very important business; and the better to assure myself of the favourable issue of it, I walked to meet him on his return. As the time of his return was overdue, I began to feel rather uneasy, and quickened my steps along the winding sea-side road; but a turn in it soon revealed the reason of Tim's delay. He was walking beside a very pretty country lass; and another, not so young or nearly so pretty, lagged a little behind.

'O ho, Master Tim!' I thought; 'are we to hear news of you this Shrove-tide?'

As I came forward, the girls fell back, Tim hastening on to meet me. He looked shy and sheepish enough as he advanced; and the pretty lass, whom I at once recognised as Mary Dogherty, the acknowledged belle of the barony, hung her shapely head in blushing confusion as she passed me by.

Tim was all business and stolidity once the girls were out of sight. He had lodged money for me in the county bank; settled my own and mother's accounts with butcher, baker, and grocer; transacted all our various businesses with care and correctness; and having given up his accounts into my hands, he hurried on, whilst I continued my walk. Twilight was falling when I returned home; but although more than an hour had elapsed since Tim had preceded me on the road, he was just entering the gate as I turned from the sea-road for the same purpose. I made mother smile that evening when I told her of my encounter.

'But,' she said, 'poor little Mary has no fortune. Tim will look for one with any girl _he_ marries.'

A few days afterwards Tim took me into his confidence. We were making our winter arrangements in the green-house, putting away summer plants whose flowering days were done, and filling up gaps in our shelves with bright chrysanthemums and other winter-blooming plants. An hour sufficed to weary mother at this work, so Tim and I were left alone amongst the flowers. For some time he worked away in silence, but I could easily see he was longing to speak, and so I determined to give him an opportunity; but he forestalled me.

''Twas a fine day the day I was in Derry, Mrs Grace,' he said, as he passed me carrying a huge coronella from one end of the greenhouse to the other.

'It was indeed, Tim. Had you many people on board the steamer?' I replied.

'No, ma'am; not to say very many. Them officer-gentlemen from the Fort.'

'Had you any of the people from about here?' I asked.

'Hugh Dogherty and his sister, and Susie Connor, ma'am.'

'Ah, you walked home with the girls. What became of Hugh?'

'Troth, ma'am, he just got overtaken with a drop of drink, and I thought 'twas but friendly to see the girls home.'

'I am sorry to hear Hugh was so bad as that, Tim.'

'Well, sorra much was on him, Miss Ellen, but he was loath to quit Mrs Galagher's when we got off the boat, so we just left him there.--Hem! Miss Ellen, I'v a thought to change my life.'

'I am very glad to hear it, Tim.'

'Yes, miss' (Tim always forgot my matronly title in confidential talk)--'yes, miss. 'Tis lonely work growing old with nobody to take care of you.'

'That is a selfish way of looking at things, Tim,' I replied.

'Begorra, miss, what else would a man marry for but to have himself took care of?'

'I suppose liking the girl he married would be a kind of reason too,' I responded.

'O ay. I'd still like to have the one I'd fancy, if she was handy.'

'And who are you thinking of?' I asked, as Tim bent over a box of geranium cuttings. 'I hope she is nice and good, and will be kind to your poor mother, and a good manager?'

'Faith, I wouldn't take one that wasn't that, Miss Ellen,' he replied, without raising his head. 'But it's hard to tell how these young ones'll turn out.'

'She is young then?'

'Young enough, and settled enough,' he responded. 'There's _two_ I'm thinkin' of.'

'Two!' I exclaimed. 'Why, that is not right of you, Tim. You are surely old enough to know the kind of wife would suit you best; and it is unfair to the girls. They are relatives, if I guess right. Those two young women you were walking with on Saturday?'

'Just so,' replied Tim, utterly unabashed: 'Mary Dogherty an' Susie Connor. Mary's the _purtiest_,' he added in a half soliloquy.

'I have always heard she was as good as she looked,' I said. 'She has been such a dutiful daughter and good sister to those wild boys, she cannot fail to make a good wife.'

'Maybe,' quoth Tim. 'But the Dogherties is down in the world these times.'

'I know they are not very rich; but they are comfortable.'

'They aren't begging, miss, axing your pardon; but musha! it's little softness there's about the house.'

'Well, suppose she has known what it is to want, she will know better how to take care of plenty, when she gets it.'

'Troth, I don't know. Maybe when she'd get her two hands full she'd be throwin' away, for them that's reared in poverty seldom knows how to guide plenty when it comes.'

'Well, I have always heard Mary extolled for being the prettiest and the best girl in Innishowen; and I am sure you may think yourself a happy man if you can get her for your wife,' I said rather sharply.

'Sorra word a lie in that, Miss Ellen,' replied Tim, as he placed the last young geranium in its pot. 'She's a good girl, and as purty a one as you'd see in a summer's day; but I'm thinkin' I'll step up an' see them all before I _spake_ to her.'

'Why, Tim, have things gone so far as that?'

'Well, I may say I have her courted up to the axin, miss.'

'And the other, Tim?' I asked, intensely amused.

'Troth, I don't know, but I have her on hands too.'

'Now, is that fair to either?' I asked rather indignantly.

'Begorra, I don't know. A man has to look before him sharp.'

'And who is the other? Mary's cousin?'

'Yes, miss--long Tom Connor's daughter, from Shruve. She's up with Mary since Holly-eve. Hudie's lookin' after her.'

'She's no beauty, Tim.'

'No, miss; but she's settled. They do say she's a trifle coarse in the temper; but she has the finest two-year-old heifer ever I set my eyes on. A pure beauty, Miss Ellen.'

'And what good would the cow be to you, Tim, if you had a sour cross-grained wife at home?'

'Maybe she wouldn't be sour or cross when she'd have a good house over her head an' plenty. She's gettin old, Miss Ellen, and she sees the young ones comin' on, an' her left. There'd be a quare change in her if she had her own way.'

'You seem to think more of the cow than the girl, Tim!' I retorted.

'Troth, it's the purtiest av the two. But miss, I'm sayin', what would you advise me?'

'Marry the girl you like best, Tim; never mind the cow. A young sweet-tempered girl like Mary, who has been so good to her sickly father and mother, so gentle and loving to those wild brothers, cannot fail to make a good wife. You will never be sorry, if you marry the girl you like best.'

'True for you, ma'am--true for you. She is a good girl, an' I'm nigh-hand sure I like her beyant any woman in the world; but Miss Ellen, I'd wish she had the cow!'

Next day I left home, nor did I return until the daffodils were glittering in the springing meadows around our home, and the rooks cawing over their fledglings in the woods behind our garden. Tim was married. I had heard that from mother early in the year; but upon which fair maid his choice had fallen, I was still uncertain. It was late at night when I returned from my travels, and mother had far too much to talk of to tell me the termination of Tim's courtship.

In the morning, I took my way into the garden, the farm-yard, the fields lying close by; but Tim was not to be seen; nor did I encounter him until late in the afternoon, when I discovered him busily trenching up some early cabbages in the back-garden. He seemed rather shy of me; but I put out my hand and greeted him kindly.

'You're welcome home, Mrs Grace, ma'am,' he said, striking his spade into the fresh-turned earth, and shaking the hand I gave him with more than ordinary warmth. 'We were thinking very long to have got you back.'

'Thank you, Tim. So I have to wish you joy.'

Tim looked sheepish, but speedily recovered himself. 'Yes, ma'am, if joy it be.'

'Oh, there can be no doubt on that score, Tim. I hope Mary is well?'

'Mary? Is it Mary Dogherty? Why, she's spoke of with Lanty Maguire that owns the ferry.'

'Why, I thought you were going to marry Mary, Tim?'

'Well, no, Miss Ellen, I did not. I b'lieve her an' Lanty was cried Sunday was eight days.'

'And what made you change your mind, Tim?'

'Well, I just took Susie; for you see, Miss Ellen, I judged a cow would make the differ betwixt any two women in the world.'

So after all, the cow carried the day!

CLERKS.

BY ONE OF THEM.

Anybody who can write may be a clerk: that is the general notion, which is far from correct. Among other accomplishments, an accurate and thorough knowledge of book-keeping is required, and so is a knowledge of the style employed in official and business letters. In numerous cases, parents in selecting avocations for their sons are induced, from perhaps laudable, but somewhat false notions of 'gentility,' to make them clerks, frequently with little regard to their aptitude for such an occupation. They seem to forget or to ignore the fact that there are other departments of the commercial world where there is room enough and to spare for more candidates, and many branches of skilled labour where ready and well remunerated occupation could be found. The consequence is that among those now in the service there are many who have mistaken their avocations, numbers who would probably have succeeded well in some other sphere, not a few others more fit to wield a sledge-hammer or handle a wheel-barrow, than to write a letter, keep a ledger, or prepare a balance-sheet.

Of course, as is generally known, there are grades in this as in other professions. As might be expected, there are not only skilled and half-skilled labourers, but an admixture of drones. The variety of employment and responsibility of clerks is almost endless; there is no common level to which they are subject. Their position is peculiarly one of trust. In many cases the clerk has to control the expenditure of his employer's money, which necessitates the possession of certain habits and characteristics. It is not only important that he should possess the requisite competency for the performance of the duties intrusted to him, but his employers should know of what his peculiar individuality consists; for clerks are to a large extent intrusted with the important task of working out the general principles on which the business of their employers is transacted. The man who is naturally unsystematic can hardly be expected to work by system in his business; he who in personal and domestic matters is extravagant, will not be very likely to introduce habits of economy into his business transactions. Genteel appearance, good hand-writing, the ability to add up dexterously the columns of a ledger, are not the only qualifications needful in a really efficient clerk.

The object of account-keeping should be the production of a picture which in every detail, as well as in one general view, should at all times shew what and how work has been done, and with what result it has been performed. Unfortunately it is sometimes the case that clerks, especially youthful ones, do not seem to possess an adequate idea of the great object in view, and which they are intended to assist in carrying out. In the matter of correspondence too the ability of clerks is put to the test, and their natural temperament often exhibited. The art of correct letter-writing is not to be gained by the perusal of 'a Complete Letter-writer' however complete, but can only be acquired by study and practice, combined with some natural aptitude. Business-like and civilly worded letters are an earnest of business-like transactions, and may be taken as an index to the ruling principles which guide the actions of the principals. In this way, clerks are intrusted by their employers with an important responsibility, in which there is need of the exercise of tact, judgment, and sound principles.

In no small measure does the treatment of employers mould the general disposition of clerks; and no more powerful incentive can be given to the latter than that of knowing that they are in full possession of their employer's confidence. But before extending this confidence, and appealing to the higher motives of his clerks, it is all-important that the employer shall have selected men fitted for the places they are to occupy. If an air of suspicion prevails, occasional deceit on the part of the suspected can scarcely be wondered at. It is no less requisite that clerks should put confidence in each other, but unfortunately the existence of petty jealousies often stands in the way. And this is one of the peculiar characteristics of clerks. There often exists a feeling that one encroaches on the domains of another, and not without cause; for there are those who 'run cunning,' if such an expression is admissible, and those who obtain favour and promotion by mere arrogance and effrontery. Then there are the excessively plausible men, whose working capital is well nigh restricted to the glibness of their tongue. Moral and mental excellence are as a consequence sometimes overridden, though as a rule but temporarily, for sooner or later the higher and more stalwart qualities of the quiet-spoken but thorough-going man must prevail. It must not be forgotten that employers need to have a good knowledge of human nature, to be proficient in the art of judging character, and to possess considerable tact; for unfortunately it sometimes happens that the more confidence placed in a man the less is he worthy of it.

There have been discussions innumerable as to the hours of manual labour; and important changes, some the result of legislation, have taken place. The overtaxing of mental power is, however, of graver import than the overtaxing of physical strength. In a large number of instances, clerks are in an easy position in this respect, those especially in certain government departments, banks, and some commercial houses. There are too many cases, however, in which clerks are grievously overworked. The case of many branches of the railway service may be cited where clerks are almost incessantly employed twelve or fourteen hours a day. Long hours are prevalent too in connection with many commercial houses, in which monotonous and unceasing labour during unreasonable hours, is a great tax on the nervous energies, and can only result in permanently weakening the system of those engaged in it.

The number of hours occupied is not, however, always a criterion to the amount of work performed. Could such a standard have been taken as a measure of tasks accomplished, the labour question would not have been one so difficult to deal with as it has come to be. It is sometimes the case that long hours are associated with comparatively little work. When time is not fully occupied, there is a tendency to procrastination--work is put off and put off, and then comes a final scramble to get it done by the specified time. In many instances, were shorter hours adopted and the time fully occupied, the same amount of work might be done, and done better; it would not appear so irksome, punctuality and method would be more easy of acquisition, and thus employers and employed would be alike benefited.

In point of salaries, the railway companies, and some other large companies, adopt a uniform scale applicable to junior clerks; but beyond this rule, each individual case is dealt with according to its merits, the rate of remuneration varying in proportion to length of service, nature of work performed, and responsibility entailed. Newspaper advertisements occasionally convey an idea as to the rate of remuneration in some instances. An advertiser in _The Times_ recently required the services of a clerk in London, age nineteen to twenty-three, salary commencing forty pounds. Another, 'Wanted a man as clerk; salary twenty shillings weekly; must write a good hand, and be well up in arithmetic.' It would be interesting to know what is here meant by a _man_? Three-and-fourpence a day for a _man_ as clerk in London, who possibly might have a wife and what some call 'encumbrances!' One would indeed be sorry to quote this as a representative case; but it gives some weight to the assertion that there are instances too numerous of hard-working, underpaid clerks. No wonder that there should be among this class of men, so many pale and careworn faces, and coats threadbare at the elbows with long service.

Since Dickens in his inimitable style first published his tale of Scrooge and his unfortunate clerk, many changes have taken place; but it is to be feared that this character created in fiction is still reflected in some realities. It is a law of nature that everything flourishes in proportion to the encouragement it receives; and in the same way the actions and motives of servants are in a considerable measure ruled by the disposition of employers. Isolated cases there always will be in which good treatment will be abused; and the result of such circumstances naturally induces some hesitancy to repose confidence in any; but as a principle of general application, results must depend upon the nature of the treatment adopted.

Clerk-labour would seem to be frequently employed at the lowest possible price for which it can be procured. But the same principle as that employed by the manufacturer in paying a good price for a machine that shall do its work expeditiously and well, is equally applicable to the purchasing of clerk-labour, in which much discrimination and tact are necessary. Sometimes those who are least competent and painstaking are the most dissatisfied; some there are who do not appear to understand degrees of merit, but think that all should be reduced to something like a dead level--that mere length of service, for instance, should command the maximum of reward. To length of service some reward is due, but the tools should be put into the hands of those who can use them, and who should of course be rewarded accordingly. Mr T. Brassey, M.P., in a speech on the labour question said: 'It is most economical to pay labour well. It is better to employ fewer men at high wages than more men at low wages. Every individual is better off, and the total expenditure on labour is reduced. For the non-employed, fresh fields must be found, and these will be opened by the ingenuity and enterprise of mankind.'

The employment of females in certain departments of clerk-labour would seem to be a thing much to be desired and encouraged; and there is ample scope for such employment where the duties are light, straightforward, and not too onerous in character. That the candidates are numerous may be judged from the fact that some time ago, in response to an advertisement for eleven junior counter-women at metropolitan post-offices, from one thousand to one thousand five hundred young ladies presented themselves as applicants at the offices of the Civil Service Commissioners on one day! In cases where certain active business qualifications are essential, it is not to be desired, nor is it expected that females will in any degree displace the other sex. The opposition manifested by certain of the male sex to the opening thus afforded for the extension of female labour may fairly be characterised as somewhat unmanly. But as we had occasion to say in an article on 'Female Occupations,' this extension of female labour will by natural laws not proceed beyond natural limits. The field for female work is circumscribed, and an extension in such a direction should be hailed with satisfaction. If the introduction of female clerk-labour displaces some of the overplus of boy clerks, and induces some to adopt avocations more suited to their natural fitness, much good will have been effected; for is not the accomplishment of account-keeping and a training in good business habits calculated to make better wives and mothers? An intimate acquaintance with simple account-keeping would be a valuable addition to the education of many ladies of the present day, and might save many a man's income which, but for his wife's accomplishment, would be unwittingly muddled away.

As a social animal, clerks possess some peculiar characteristics. The banker's clerk cultivates not the acquaintance of the lawyer's clerk; the draper's clerk prefers not to associate with the grocer's clerk. In the same establishment even, the spirit of caste has often a prominent place: those who by chance sit at a mahogany table would seem to say by their demeanour that they are far removed from those who occupy a deal desk. 'At Birmingham,' says Samuel Smiles in his _Thrift_, 'there was a club of workmen with tails to their coats, and another without tails: the one looked down upon the other.' What a great thing it would be if, in society generally, people would always have the courage to appear what they are, rather than try to seem what they are not! Some clerks if asked to describe their avocation would disavow anything so common as a clerkship; they would be 'an accountant'--anything but a clerk. What will not some folk do for the sake of keeping up appearances? and amongst clerks this disposition prevails to a considerable extent; as if appearance to the world, and not the ruling principles of a man's life, constituted the sole test of respectability. Douglas Jerrold said: 'Respectability is all very well for folks who can have it for ready-money; but to be obliged to run into debt for it, it's enough to break the heart of an angel.' Let those who are anxious for sound and wholesome advice upon this important subject read Mr Smiles' book above quoted.

The social life of unmarried clerks is capable of improvement, especially in large towns, into which there is continually flowing a stream of young men, who frequently have to be content with the first apparently comfortable lodging that presents itself, and to which nothing may be so foreign as the most ordinary home comforts, in addition to the accompanying risk of new associations formed of a kind both unexpected and undesirable, often likewise accompanied by impositions various and numerous. It has been suggested that clerks' inns or clubs should be established; and the idea is well worthy the consideration of all those who in any way are interested in the matter. The advantages to be derived from undertakings of this kind would be incalculable. Employers of clerk-labour would be indirectly benefited, and they would do well to assist in the promotion of any movement in the direction indicated. As regards clerks themselves, their comforts might be considerably increased and their expenses lessened. Such establishments might of course be made something more than mere lodging-houses. Under proper management, they might become a general resort both for amusement and intellectual pastime. The constant social intercourse of clerks with each other would tend to engender good feeling, and by this association an entirely new state of things would be brought into existence. The exercise of some amount of discipline would alone result in untold good, and the fact of membership would constitute a permanent recommendation as to respectability. As regards expense, economy would be created by co-operation; the quality of every article of food might be insured. In fact, by this means might be secured a maximum of happiness and comfort for a minimum of expense.

A larger amount of judicious physical exercise than is now practised would be of great benefit to clerks. In the case of thousands in the large towns, this is seldom resorted to beyond the mere act of walking to and from business. In large establishments, organisations for such recreation might be more encouraged, and thus conduce to the great desideratum, of a healthy mind in a healthy body.

There is some doubt as to the future position and prospects of clerks generally, but as we have ventured to hint, little improvement can be anticipated until supply and demand become more equal. In many departments of skilled labour there is ample scope for educated men; in fact there is great need for them, and many a man now in clerk-service would have met with far greater success had he become an artisan. Indeed one sometimes hears an expression of regret to the effect that the task of wielding the pen, though it be 'mightier than the sword,' had not given place to the tools of a skilled workman. The fact of receiving a salary and working short hours seems to possess a considerable attraction to many, but it would be well if this unsubstantial state of feeling were removed. In many trades, such as book-binding, there is often great difficulty in obtaining a sufficient number of hands, especially 'hands with heads,' the services of a tasteful 'finisher' being highly paid.

Without in any degree depreciating the importance of and necessity for efficient clerk-labour, it would seem, taking a broad view of the question, that the chances of success in life of educated and persevering mechanics are fully equal to the prospects of the majority of clerks. In many cases the comparison is in favour of the artisan. The man with a trade possesses a sort of independence, and opportunities are frequent for his becoming his own master.