Chapter II: Part 2

Among other things received in evidence, were a milkwoman’s score, and a baker’s notches. Mr. Ficker appeared inclined to think that no weight ought to be attached to such evidence as this. But when I recollect that there have occasionally been such things as tombstones produced in evidence before Lord Volatile in his own particular Court, the House of Lords, (‘the highest jurisdiction,’ as they call it, ‘in the realm,’) I see no good reason why Mrs. Chalk, the milkwoman, should not be permitted to produce her tallies in a County Court. For every practical purpose the score upon the one seems just as good a document as the epitaph upon the other.

I was vastly pleased by the great consideration which appeared to be displayed towards misfortune and adversity. These Courts are emphatically Courts for the _recovery_ of debts; and inasmuch as they afford great facilities to plaintiffs, it is therefore the more incumbent that defendants should be protected against hardship and oppression. A man was summoned to show why he had not paid a debt pursuant to a previous order of the Court. The plaintiff attended to press the case against him, and displayed some rancour.

‘Why have you not paid, Sir?’ demanded the Judge, sternly.

‘Your honour,’ said the man, ‘I have been out of employment six months, and within the last fortnight everything I have in the world has been seized in execution.’

In the Superior Courts this would have been no excuse. The man would probably have gone to prison, leaving his wife and family upon the parish. But here that novel sentiment in law proceedings—sympathy—peeped forth.

‘I believe this man would pay,’ said the barrister, ‘if possible. But he has lost everything in the world. At present I shall make no order.’

It did not appear to me that the plaintiffs generally in this Court were anxious to press very hardly upon defendants. Indeed it would be bad policy to do so. Give a man time, and he can often meet demands that it would be impossible for him to defray if pressed at once.

‘Immediate execution’ in this Court, seemed to be payment within a fortnight. An order to pay in weekly instalments is a common mode of arranging a case, and as it is usually made by agreement between the parties, both of them are satisfied. In fact the rule of the Court seemed not dissimilar from that of tradespeople who want to do a quick business, and who proceed upon the principle that ‘No reasonable offer is refused.’

I had been in the Court sufficiently long to make these and other observations, when Mr. Ficker introduced me to the clerk. On leaving the Court by a side door, we repaired to Mr. Nottit’s room, where we found that gentleman, (an old attorney,) prepared to do the honours of ‘a glass of sherry and a biscuit.’ Of course the conversation turned upon ‘the County Court.’

‘Doing a pretty good business here?’ said Mr. Ficker.

‘Business—we’re at it all day,’ replied Mr. Nottit. ‘I’ll show you. This is an account of the business of the County Courts in England and Wales in the year 1848; the account for 1849 is not yet made up.’

‘Takes six months, I suppose, to make it,’ said Mr. Ficker, rather ill-naturedly.

‘Total “Number of Plaints or Causes entered,”’ read the clerk, ‘427,611.’

‘Total amount of money sought to be recovered by the plaintiffs,’ continued Mr. Nottit, ‘1,346,802_l._’

‘Good Gracious!’ exclaimed Ficker, his face expressing envy and indignation; ‘what a benefit would have been conferred upon society, if all this property had been got into the legitimate Law Courts. What a benefit to the possessors of all this wealth. I have no doubt whatever that during the past year the suitors who have recovered this million and a quarter have spent the whole of it, squandered it upon what they called “necessaries of life.” Look at the difference if it had only been locked up for them—say in Chancery. It would have been preserved with the greatest possible safety; accounted for—every fraction of it—in the books of the Accountant-General; and we, Sir, we—the respectable practitioners in the profession—should have gone down three or four times every year to the Master’s offices to see that it was all right, and to have had a little consultation as to the best means of holding it safely for our client, until his suit was properly and equitably disposed of.’

‘But, perhaps, Ficker,’ I suggested, ‘these poor clients make better use of their own money, after all, than the Courts of Law and Equity could make of it for them.’

‘Then the costs,’ said Mr. Ficker, with an attorney’s ready eye to business, ‘let us hear about them.’

‘The total amount of costs adjudged to be paid by defendants on the amount (752,500_l._) for which judgment was obtained, was 199,980_l._;’ was the answer; ‘being an addition of 26.5 per cent. on the amount ordered to be paid.’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘that’s not so very bad. Twenty-five per cent.,’ turning to me; ‘is a small amount undoubtedly for the costs of an action duly brought to trial; but, as the greater part of these costs are costs of Court, twenty-five per cent. cannot be considered inadequate.’

‘It seems to me a great deal too much,’ said I. ‘Justice ought to be much cheaper.’

‘All the fees to counsel and attorneys are included in the amount,’ remarked the clerk, ‘and so are allowances to witnesses. The fees on causes, amounted to very nearly 300,000_l._ Of this sum, the Officers’ fees were, in 1848, 234,274_l._, and the General Fund fees 51,784_l._’

‘Not so bad!’ said Mr. Ficker, smiling.

‘The Judges’ fees amounted to nearly 90,000_l._ This would have given them all 1500_l._ each; but the Treasury has fixed their salaries at a uniform sum of 1000_l._, so that the sixty Judges only draw 60,000_l._ of the 90,000_l._’

‘Where does the remainder go?’ I enquired.

The County Court Clerk shook his head.

‘But you don’t mean,’ said I, ‘that the suitors are made to pay 90,000_l._ a year for what only costs 60,000_l._?’

‘I am afraid it is so,’ said Mr. Nottit.

‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Ficker. ‘I never heard of such a thing in all my professional experience. I am sure the Lord Chancellor would never sanction that in his Court. You ought to apply to the Courts above, Mr. Nottit. You ought, indeed.’

‘And yet,’ said I, ‘I think I have heard something about a Suitors’ Fee Fund in those Courts above—eh, Ficker?’

‘Ah—hem—yes,’ said Mr. Ficker. ‘Certainly—but the cases are not at all analogous. By the way, how are the other fees distributed?’

‘The Clerks,’ said Mr. Nottit, ‘received 87,283_l._; nearly as much as the Judges. As there are 491 clerks, the average would be 180_l._ a year to each. But as the Clerks’ fees accumulate in each Court according to the business transacted, of course the division is very unequal. In one Court in Wales the Clerk only got 8_l._ 10_s._ in fees; in another Court, in Yorkshire, his receipts only amounted to 9_l._ 4_s._ 3_d._ But some of my colleagues made a good thing of it. The Clerks’ fees in some of the principal Courts, are very ‘Comfortable.’

The Clerk of Westminster netted in 1848 £2731
Clerkenwell 2227
Southwark 1710

Bristol, Sheffield, Bloomsbury, Birmingham, Shoreditch, Leeds, Marylebone, received 1000_l._ a year and upwards.’

‘But,’ continued our friend, ‘three-fourths of the Clerks get less than 100_l._ a year.’

‘Now,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘tell us what you do for all this money?’

‘Altogether,’ said the clerk, ‘the Courts sat in 1848, 8,386 days, or an average for each Judge of 140 days. The greatest number of sittings was in Westminster, where the Judge sat 246 days. At Liverpool, there were sittings on 225 days. The number of trials, as I have before mentioned, was 259,118, or an average of about 4320 to each Judge, and 528 to each Court. In some of the Courts, however, as many as 20,000 cases are tried in a year.’

‘Why,’ said Mr. Ficker, ‘they can’t give five minutes to each case! Is this “administration of justice?”’

‘When,’ said the Clerk, ‘a case is undefended, a plaintiff appears, swears to his debt, and obtains an order for its payment, which takes scarcely two minutes.’

‘How long does a defended case take?’

‘On the average, I should say, a quarter of an hour: that is, provided counsel are not employed.’

‘Jury cases occupy much longer.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Are the jury cases frequent?’ I enquired, some feeling of respect for ‘our time-honoured institution’ coming across me as I spoke.

‘Nothing,’ said our friend, ‘is more remarkable in the history of the County Courts than the very limited resort which suitors have to juries. It is within the power of either party to cause a jury to be summoned in any case where the plaint is upwards of 5_l._ The total number of cases tried in 1848, was 259,118. Of these, upwards of 50,000 were cases in which juries might have been summoned. But there were only 884 jury cases in all the Courts, or one jury for about every 270 trials! The party requiring the jury obtained a verdict in 446 out of the 884 cases, or exactly one half.’

‘At any rate, then, there is no imputation on the juries,’ said Mr. Ficker.

‘The power of resorting to them is very valuable,’ said our friend. ‘There is a strong disposition among the public to rely upon the decision of the Barrister, and that reliance is not without good foundation, for certainly justice in these Courts has been well administered. But there may be occasions when it would be very desirable that a jury should be interposed between a party to a cause and the presiding Judge; and certainly if the jurisdiction of these Courts is extended, it will be most desirable that suitors should be able to satisfy themselves that every opportunity is open to them of obtaining justice.’

‘For my own part,’ said I, ‘I would as soon have the decision of one honest man as of twelve honest men, and perhaps I would prefer it. If the Judge is a liberal-minded and enlightened man I would rather take his judgment than submit my case to a dozen selected by chance, and among whom there would most probably be at least a couple of dolts. By the way, why should not the same option be given to suitors in Westminster Hall as is given in the County Courts?’

‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Ficker; ‘abolish trial by Jury! the palladium of British liberty! Have you _no_ respect for antiquity?’

‘We must adapt ourselves to the altered state of society, Ficker. Observe the great proportion of cases _tried_ in these Courts; more than sixty per cent. of the entire number of plaints entered. This is vastly greater than the number in the Superior Courts, where there is said to be scarcely one cause tried for fifty writs issued. Why is this? Simply because the cost deters parties from continuing the actions. They settle rather than go to a jury.’

‘And a great advantage, too,’ said Mr. Ficker.

‘Under the new bill,’ said our friend, the Clerk, ‘Ficker’s clients will all be coming to us. They will be able to recover 50_l._ in these Courts without paying Ficker a single 6_s._ 8_d._, unless they have a peculiar taste for law expenses.’

‘And a hideous amount of rascality and perjury will be the consequence,’ said Mr. Ficker; ‘you will make these Courts mere Plaintiffs’ Courts, Sir; Courts to which every rogue will be dragging the first man who he thinks can pay him 50_l._, if he only swears hard enough that it is due to him. I foresee the greatest danger from this extension of litigation, under the pretence of providing cheap law.’

‘Fifty pounds,’ said I, ‘is, to a large proportion of the people, a sum of money of very considerable importance. I must say, I think it would be quite right that inferior courts should not have the power of dealing with so much of a man’s property, without giving him a power of appeal, at least under restrictions. But at the same time, looking at the satisfactory way in which this great experiment has worked,—seeing how many righteous claims have been established and just defences maintained, which would have been denied under any other system—I cannot but hope to see the day when, attended by proper safeguards for the due administration of justice, these Courts will be open to even a more numerous class of suitors than at present. It is proposed that small Charitable Trust cases shall be submitted to the Judges of these Courts; why not also refer to them cases in which local magistrates cannot now act without suspicion of partisanship?—cases, for example, under the Game Laws, or the Turnpike Laws, and, more than all, offences against the Truck Act, which essentially embody matters of account. Why not,’ said I, preparing for a burst of eloquence, ‘why not—’

‘Overthrow at once the Seat of Justice, the letter of the Law, and our glorious constitution in Church and State!’

It was Mr. Ficker who spoke, and he had rushed frantically from the room ’ere I could reply.

Having no one to argue the point further with, I made my bow to Mr. Nottit and retired also.

SWEDISH FOLK-SONGS.

FAIR CARIN.

The fair Carin—a maiden,
Within a young king’s hall,
Like to a star in beauty
Among the handmaids all.

Like to a star in beauty,
Among the maidens there;
And thus the king addressed him
Unto Carin the Fair.

‘And fair Carin, now hearken,
Wilt thou be only mine,
The grey horse, golden-saddled,
It shall this day be thine.’

‘The grey horse, golden-saddled,
Is all unmeet for me;
Give them unto thy fair young queen,
And let the poor maid be.’

‘And fair Carin, now hearken,
Wilt thou this day be mine,
My crown, made of the red, red gold,
It shall alone be thine.’

‘Thy crown, made of the red, red gold,
Is all unmeet for me;
Give it unto thy good young queen,
And let the poor maid be.’

‘And fair Carin, now hearken,
Wilt thou this day be mine,
The half of all my kingdom,
It shall alone be thine.’

‘The half of all thy kingdom
It is unmeet for me;
Give it unto thy gentle queen,
And let the poor maid be.’

‘And fair Carin, now hearken,
If thee I may not win,
A cask, all spiked with iron,
Shalt thou be set within.’

‘And though that thou shouldst set me
The spikéd cask within,
They would behold, God’s angels,
That I am free from sin.’

They closed Carin, the maiden,
Within that cruel space,
And the young king’s hired servants
They rolled her round the place.

With that from heaven descended
Two doves as bright as day;
They took Carin, the maiden,
And there were three straightway.

A VISIT TO THE ARCTIC DISCOVERY SHIPS.

By aid of the North Kent Railway an hour is more than enough for the journey from London to the dockyard at Woolwich. On a bright morning in April, we crossed the paved court of the dockyard in search of the four ships that were being made ready to go in search of the lost Sir John Franklin and his companions—now four years unheard of, and believed to be frozen up in the regions of thick-ribbed ice at the North Pole. Two of the Arctic ships were put in dry dock, and two afloat in the river. The names of the ships as put together by an old sailor in our hearing, express their mission. The ‘Resolute,’ ‘Intrepid,’ ‘Pioneer,’ goes with ‘Assistance’ to Sir John Franklin and his frozen-up pack.

We had followed the workman with the artificial memory, and by this time stood beside the dry dock in which one of the vessels, the ‘Pioneer,’ a steamer, was fixed upright and out of water. There she stood in a fine massive granite basin, the sides of which were fashioned into steps. Down there we went, and then walked round and under her from stem to stern, and in doing so, could see what preparation had been made to fit her for the duty she had to do. This steamer had been in the foreign cattle trade, and had brought, it seems, many a drove from the fields of Flanders, and from the hills of Spain, to make fatal acquaintance with the abominations of Smithfield. Bought out of that unsavoury service as a strong capable steamship, she had been placed in this granite cradle, and been swathed outside with tarred felt, upon the top of which additional planking was then fixed. Upon her bows where the shock of the ice would be most severe, another layer of felt was then applied, and over this was riveted tough sheets of iron. With this metal casing her stem was complete. At her stern, as she stood thus out of water, we had an excellent opportunity of inspecting the screw by which she was to be impelled. This was of a brazen compound metal prepared with a view to great strength and toughness; but as its blows upon the stray floating ice might injure it, another screw of iron was on board to replace it should it be broken when out of reach of dockyard help. Having passed round the vessel, and looked up at her huge bulging sides, we ascended the stone steps, and walking along a plank from the dock side, boarded the ‘Pioneer,’ to see—after such outside preparations—what care had been taken with the inside of the ship. It was soon evident that the felting and planking of the exterior had been matched by a similar felting and planking of the interior; with this difference, that inside the felt was untarred. These additions to the thickness of her sides to make her firm and warm, had been followed by another contrivance, to give her still further ability to withstand any crushing weight she might have to endure. Strong beams had been placed aslant, from her keel and her decks, outwards and upwards towards her sides; and lastly, her decks had been doubled; so that, thus secured, she became almost as capable of resisting outward pressure as a solid block of oak. Having thus strengthened this floating fortress against the fierce assaults of the Giant Frost, we turned to look how they had stored it to withstand the beleaguering siege of—it may be—a two or three years’ Arctic winter. Here we found an ample field for wonder and admiration. Surely human ingenuity and ships’ stowage were never better displayed. Every inch of space had been made the most of. In the centre of the vessel were her engines, cased round with iron, so that outside them could be stowed away no less than 85 tons of patent compressed fuel to feed the fires. Thus surrounded, the engines were literally bedded in a small coal-mine, for their own consumption.

The danger to be apprehended from the close contiguity of so much combustible material to the engine-fire is obviated, in case of accident, by eight pumps on the decks and two patent pumps below, besides others in the engine-rooms. There are fourteen pumps altogether, which can be handled in case of fire or leakage. Some of these are worked by the engine, some are placed in warm berths below, so that the men may have exercise at them without exposure on deck. Nearly all these pumps work independently of each other, so that if one is deranged, it does not hurt the rest.

The question as to how the ship is to be kept warm?—was answered by our being conducted deep down into the hold; there we found a patent stove, so constructed that pure air was admitted by pipes to its neighbourhood, and being heated there was passed through other pipes through all parts of the ship, until having lost much of its heat and more of its purity, it was allowed to escape, and was replaced by another stream of pure air to be warmed, and used and replaced again; so on from day to day while the ships remained in the ice. This warming apparatus, the 85 tons of fuel, the four years’ provisions, and the Bolton and Watt’s engines occupied, in spite of the most perfect stowage, so much room, that it was puzzle to know where the water was stowed.

It was, however, explained that 85 tons of coal round the engine is not all that must go. The ship will take 200 tons of coal altogether, but won’t want much water room, for along with the engine is a contrivance for melting ice for use whilst the ships are locked in.

The salt sea there is a surface of ice that comes direct from Heaven. The snow is not salted, and the fires will melt the snow-made-ice for the ship’s use.

Having learned all these particulars as to the essentials of warm air, and good water, and having heard an account of the four years’ provisions, with a certainty that there was a still further supply near the Copper Mine River in case of need: and having learned also that the doctors had got ample supplies of lime-juice and lemon-juice to keep off the scurvy, and that they had mixed it with alcohol to render it less liable to freeze; having seen, too, that the purser, thoughtful man, had not forgotten to order in some sound-looking casks of pale sherry, and some cases that had an agreeable champagney French look, and these sights having strengthened the hope that the brave men who were to take these ships on their perilous duty would have their hearts warmed by a glass of generous wine when they drank to absent friends next Christmas Day—we had time to glance over what may be called the miscellaneous stores for the voyage. These made a picture, indeed. Everything of every possible kind seemed to be there, and to have been multiplied by two. Thus there were two screw propellers, and two rudders, and two funnels. And then there were certainly twice two dozen ice-saws (with teeth an inch long and handles eight feet wide), and ice-hatchets enough apparently to slay any number of Polar bears who might feel inclined to call upon this ‘Pioneer’ during his visit to their neighbourhood. Between decks the place looked like a mingled establishment made up of a rope-walk, a sailmaker’s, a currier’s, a brushmaker’s, a dreadnought clothier’s, a cooper’s, and a very extensive oil and colour warehouse. There were certainly goods enough pertaining to all these various trades to set up one man of each with an abundant stock in any street in Bermondsey he might select. Over head, there was a ceiling of oars and spare spars, and handspikes, and capstan-bars; at the sides, rows of blocks, and lanthorns, and cans, and paint-brushes; and under-foot, bars of iron cased with neatly-sewed leather. This last peculiarity, indeed, was observable in many parts of the ship. Wherever there was any iron it was neatly cased over with leather, to secure those who might have to handle it in the Polar seas from the well-known consequences of touching naked iron in those latitudes,—for cold iron there, like red-hot iron elsewhere, damages the fingers of those rash enough to touch it.

This abundance to overflow of stores extended itself even to the commander’s cabin, for every inch of space was important. That spot, however, showed no confusion or cramming, though he had near him two of the most dangerous commodities in his ship,—underneath his _sanctum_ was a store of ardent spirits, and astern of it a small magazine of gunpowder.

The engines of the ‘Pioneer’ are 60-horse power, and as she now is she will not run very fast without her sails, but with wind and steam she will make eleven knots an hour. The two steamers—the ‘Pioneer’ and the ‘Intrepid’—are to go as tenders to the sailing ships, and to tow them in the still waters at the Pole, for there when there is no wind there are no waves.

We left the ‘Pioneer’ to look over her companion ships. The ‘Intrepid’ was being arranged on the same system; the others, the ‘Assistance’ and the ‘Resolute,’ were afloat at the dock side, and, being sailing ships, had of course none of their space filled by engines, and, therefore, seemed rather more roomy. Yet, having seen one Arctic ship, we had seen the whole. We heard of gutta-percha sledges to be used on the ice, and of small pilot balloons to be inflated and sent over the frozen regions of the Pole, and which, as they float in the air, are to drop printed slips—words of hope and news of succour—in anticipation that some of these paper messages may reach the frozen-in, lost, mariners, Sir John Franklin and his crew. We heard, also, that the sailing ships would each have a crew of about sixty-five men, and the steamers each about twenty-five, including others. But every one was so busy on board these sailing ships, and their work was so holy in its intent, that we were unwilling to disturb either officer or man with many questions; and so made our way again London-wards.

The last thing we noticed on board these Arctic ships was an inscription that glittered in the sunshine of that April afternoon, for the words were carved in letters of brass on the steersman’s wheel that is to guide the vessels on their perilous way. And our last feeling was that the hope contained in the words would be realised. The words so written are:—ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY.

THE MINER’S DAUGHTERS.—A TALE OF THE PEAK.

IN THREE CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER III.
THE COURTSHIP AND ANOTHER SHIP.

One evening, as the two sisters were hastening along the road through the woods on their way homewards, a young farmer drove up in his spring-cart, cast a look at them, stopped, and said: ‘Young women, if you are going my way, I shall be glad of your company. You are quite welcome to ride.’

The sisters looked at each other. ‘Dunna be afreed,’ said the young farmer; ‘my name’s James Cheshire. I’m well known in these parts; you may trust yersens wi’ me, if it’s agreeable.’

To James’s surprise, Nancy said, ‘No, sir, we are not afraid; we are much obliged to you.’

The young farmer helped them up into the cart, and away they drove.

‘I’m afraid we shall crowd you,’ said Jane.

‘Not a bit of it,’ replied the young farmer. ‘There’s room for three bigger nor us on this seat, and I’m no ways tedious.’

The sisters saw nothing odd in his use of the word ‘tedious,’ as strangers would have done; they knew it merely meant ‘not at all particular.’ They were soon in active talk. As he had told them who he was, he asked them in their turn if they worked at the mills there. They replied in the affirmative, and the young man said:—

‘I thought so. I’ve seen you sometimes going along together. I noticed you because you seemed so sisterly like, and you are sisters, I reckon.’

They said ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve a good spanking horse, you seen,’ said James Cheshire. ‘I shall get over th’ ground rayther faster nor you done a-foot, eh? My word, though, it must be nation cold on these bleak hills i’ winter.’

The sisters assented, and thanked the young farmer for taking them up.

‘We are rather late,’ said they, ‘for we looked in on a friend, and the rest of the mill-hands were gone on.’

‘Well,’ said the young farmer, ‘never mind that. I fancy Bess, my mare here, can go a little faster nor they can. We shall very likely be at Tidser as soon as they are.’

‘But you are not going to Tidser,’ said Jane, ‘your farm is just before us there.’

‘Yay, I’m going to Tidser though. I’ve a bit of business to do there before I go hom.’

On drove the farmer at what he called a spanking rate; presently they saw the young mill-people on the road before them.

‘There are your companions,’ said James Cheshire, ‘we shall cut past them like a flash of lightning.’

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Jane Dunster, ‘what will they say at seeing us riding here?’ and she blushed brightly.

‘Say?’ said the young farmer, smiling, ‘never mind what they’ll say; depend upon it, they’d like to be here theirsens.’

James Cheshire cracked his whip. The horse flew along. The party of the young mill-hands turned round, and on seeing Jane and Nancy in the cart, uttered exclamations of surprise.

‘My word, though!’ said Mary Smedley, a fresh buxom lass, somewhat inclined to stoutness.

‘Well, if ever!’ cried smart little Hannah Bowyer.

‘Nay, then, what next?’ said Tetty Wilton, a tall, thin girl of very good looks.

The two sisters nodded and smiled to their companions; Jane still blushing rosily, but Nancy sitting as pale and as gravely as if they were going on some solemn business.

The only notice the farmer took was to turn with a broad smiling face, and shout to them, ‘Wouldn’t you like to be here too?’

‘Ay, take us up,’ shouted a number of voices together; but the farmer cracked his whip, and giving them a nod and a dozen smiles in one, said, ‘I can’t stay. Ask the next farmer that comes up.’

With this they drove on; the young farmer very merry and full of talk. They were soon by the side of his farm. ‘There ’s a flock of sheep on the turnips there,’ he said, proudly; ‘they’re not to be beaten on this side Ashbourne. And there are some black oxen, going for the night to the straw-yard. Jolly fellows, those—eh? But I reckon you don’t understand much of farming stock?’

‘No,’ said Jane, and was again surprised at Nancy adding, ‘I wish we did. I think a farmer’s life must be the very happiest of any.’

‘You think so?’ said the farmer, turning and looking at her earnestly, and evidently with some wonder. ‘You are right,’ said he. ‘You little ones are knowing ones. You are right; it’s the life for a king.’

They were at the village. ‘Pray stop,’ said Jane, ‘and let us get down. I would not for the world go up the village thus. It would make such a talk!’

‘Talk, who cares for talk?’ said the farmer; ‘won’t the youngsters we left on the road talk?’

‘Quite enough,’ said Jane.

‘And are _you_ afraid of talk?’ said the farmer to Nancy.

‘I’m not afraid of it when I don’t provoke it wilfully,’ said Nancy; ‘but we are poor girls, and can’t afford to lose even the good word of our acquaintance. You’ve been very kind in taking us up on the road, but to drive us to our door would cause such wonder as would perhaps make us wish we had not been obliged to you.’

‘Blame me, if you arn’t right again!’ said the young farmer, thoughtfully. ‘These are scandal-loving times, and th’ neebors might plague you. That’s a deep head of yourn, though,—Nancy, I think your sister caw’d you. Well, here I stop then.’

He jumped down and helped them out.

‘If you will drive on first,’ said Jane, ‘we will walk on after, and we are greatly obliged to you.’

‘Nay,’ said the young man, ‘I shall turn again here.’

‘But you’ve business.’

‘Oh! my business was to drive you here—that’s all.’

James Cheshire was mounting his cart, when Nancy stepped up, and said: ‘Excuse me, Sir, but you’ll meet the mill-people on your return, and it will make them talk all the more as you have driven us past your farm. Have you no business that you can do in Tidser, Sir?’

‘Gad! but thou’rt right again! Ay, I’ll go on!’ and with a crack of his whip, and a ‘Good night!’ he whirled into the village before them.

No sooner was he gone than Nancy, pressing her sister’s arm to her side, said: ‘There’s the right man at last, dear Jane.’

‘What!’ said Jane, yet blushing deeply at the same time, and her heart beating quicker against her side. ‘Whatever are you talking of, Nancy? That young farmer fall in love with a mill-girl?’

‘He’s done it,’ said Nancy; ‘I see it in him. I feel it in him. And I feel, too, that he is true and staunch as steel.’

Jane was silent. They walked on in silence. Jane’s own heart responded to what Nancy had said; she thought again and again on what he said. ‘I have seen you sometimes;’ ‘I noticed you because you seemed so sisterly.’ ‘He must have a good heart,’ thought Jane; but then he can never think of a poor mill-girl like me.’

The next morning they had to undergo plenty of raillery from their companions. We will pass that over. For several days, as they passed to and fro, they saw nothing of the young farmer. But one evening, as they were again alone, having staid at the same acquaintance’s as before, the young farmer popped his head over a stone wall, and said, ‘Good evening to you, young women.’ He was soon over the wall, and walked on with them to the end of the town. On the Sunday at the chapel Jane saw Nancy’s grave face fixed on some object steadily, and, looking in the same direction, was startled to see James Cheshire. Again her heart beat pit-a-pat, and she thought ‘Can he really be thinking of me?’

The moment chapel was over, James Cheshire was gone, stopping to speak to no one. Nancy again pressed the arm of Jane to her side as they walked home, and said,—‘I was not wrong.’ Jane only replied by returning her affectionate pressure.

Some days after, as Nancy Dunster was coming out of a shop in the evening after their return home from the mill, James Cheshire suddenly put his hand on her shoulder, and, on her turning, shook her hand cordially, and said, ‘Come along with me a bit. I must have a little talk with you.’

Nancy consented without remark or hesitation. James Cheshire walked on quickly till they came near the fine old church which strikes travellers as so superior to the place in which it is located; when he slackened his pace, and taking Nancy’s hand, began in a most friendly manner to tell her how much he liked her and her sister. That, to make a short matter of it, as was his way, he had made up his mind that the woman of all others in the world that would suit him for a wife was her sister. ‘But, before I said so to her, I thought I would say so to you, Nancy, for you are so sensible, I’m sure you will say what is best for us all.’

Nancy manifested no surprise, but said calmly: ‘You are a well-to-do farmer, Mr. Cheshire. You have friends of property; my sister, and—’

‘Ay, and a mill-girl; I know all that. I’ve thought it all over, and so far you are right again, my little one. But just hear what I’ve got to say. I’m no fool, though I say it. I’ve an eye in my head and a head on my shoulders, eh?’

Nancy smiled.

‘Well now, it’s not _any_ mill-girl; mind you, it’s not _any_ mill-girl; no, nor perhaps another in the kingdom, that would do for me. I don’t think mill-girls are in the main cut out for farmers’ wives, any more than farmers’ wives are fit for mill-girls; but you see, I’ve got a notion that your sister is not only a very farrantly lass, but that she’s one that has particular good sense, though not so deep as you, Nancy, neither. ‘Well, I’ve a notion she can turn her hand to anything, and that she’s a heart to do it, when it’s a duty. Isn’t that so, eh? And if it is so, then Jane Dunster’s the lass for me; that is, if it’s quite agreeable.’

Nancy pressed James Cheshire’s hand, and said, ‘You are very kind.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ said James.

‘Well,’ continued Nancy; ‘but I would have you to consider what your friends will say; and whether you will not be made unhappy by them.’

‘Why, as to that,’ said James Cheshire, interrupting her, ‘mark me, Miss Dunster. I don’t ask my friends for anything. I can farm my own farm; buy my own cattle; drive my spring-cart, without any advice or assistance of theirs; and therefore I don’t think I shall ask their advice in the matter of a wife, eh? No, no, on that score I’m made up. My name’s Independent, and, at a word, the only living thing I mean to ask advice of is yourself. If you, Miss Dunster, approve of the match, it’s settled, as far I’m concerned.’

‘Then so far,’ said Nancy, ‘as you and my sister are concerned, without reference to worldly circumstances—I approve it with all my heart. I believe you to be as good and honest as I know my sister to be. Oh! Mr, Cheshire! she is one of ten thousand.’

‘Well, I was sure of it;’ said the young farmer; ‘and so now you must tell your sister all about it; and if all’s right, chalk me a white chalk inside of my gate as you go past i’ th’ morning, and to-morrow evening I’ll come up and see you.’

Here the two parted with a cordial shake of the hand. The novel signal of an accepted love was duly discovered by James Cheshire on his gate-post, when he issued forth at daybreak, and that evening he was sitting at tea with Jane and Nancy in the little cottage, having brought in his cart a basket of eggs, apples, fresh butter, and a pile of the richest pikelets (crumpets), country pikelets, very different to town-made ones, for tea.

We need not follow out the courtship of James Cheshire and Jane Dunster. It was cordial and happy. James insisted that both the sisters should give immediate notice to quit the mill-work, to spare themselves the cold and severe walks which the winter now occasioned them. The sisters had improved their education in their evenings. They were far better read and informed than most farmer’s daughters. They had been, since they came to Tideswell, teachers in the Sunday-school. There was comparatively little to be learned in a farm-house for the wife in winter, and James Cheshire therefore proposed to the sisters to go for three months to Manchester into a wholesale house, to learn as much as they could of the plain sewing and cutting out of household linen. The person in question made up all sorts of household linen, sheets, pillow-cases, shirts, and other things; in fact, a great variety of articles. Through an old acquaintance he got them introduced there, avowedly to prepare them for housekeeping. It was a sensible step, and answered well. At spring, to cut short opposition from his own relatives, which began to show itself, for these things did not fail to be talked of, James Cheshire got a license, and proceeding to Manchester, was then and there married, and came home with his wife and sister.

The talk and gossip which this wedding made all round the country, was no little; but the parties themselves were well satisfied with their mutual choice, and were happy. As the spring advanced, the duties of the household grew upon Mrs. Cheshire. She had to learn the art of cheese-making, butter-making, of all that relates to poultry, calves, and household management. But in these matters she had the aid of an old servant who had done all this for Mr. Cheshire, since he began farming. She took a great liking to her mistress, and showed her with hearty good-will how everything was done; and as Jane took a deep interest in it, she rapidly made herself mistress of the management of the house, as well as of the house itself. She did not disdain, herself, to take a hand at the churn, that she might be familiar with the whole process of butter-making, and all the signs by which the process is conducted to a successful issue. It was soon seen that no farmer’s wife could produce a firmer, fresher, sweeter pound of butter. It was neither _swelted_ by too hasty churning, nor spoiled, as is too often the case, by the buttermilk or by water being left in it, for want of well kneading and pressing. It was deliciously sweet, because the cream was carefully put in the cleanest vessels and well attended to. Mrs. Cheshire, too, might daily be seen kneeling by the side of the cheese-pan, separating the curd, taking off the whey, filling the cheese-vat with the curd, and putting the cheese herself into press. Her cheese-chamber displayed as fine a set of well-salted, well-coloured, well-turned and regular cheeses as ever issued from that or any other farm-house.

James Cheshire was proud of his wife; and Jane herself found a most excellent helper in Nancy. Nancy took particularly to housekeeping; saw that all the rooms were exquisitely clean; that everything was in nice repair; that not only the master and mistress, but the servants had their food prepared in a wholesome and attractive manner. The eggs she stored up; and as fruit came into season, had it collected for market, and for a judicious household use. She made the tea and coffee morning and evening, and did everything but preside at the table. There was not a farm-house for twenty miles round that wore an air of so much brightness and evident good management as that of James Cheshire. For Nancy, from the first moment of their acquaintance, he had conceived a most profound respect. In all cases that required counsel, though he consulted freely with his wife, he would never decide till they had had Nancy’s opinion and sanction.

And James Cheshire prospered. But, spite of this, he did not escape the persecution from his relations that Nancy had foreseen. On all hands he found coldness. None of them called on him. They felt scandalised at his _evening_ himself, as they called it, to a mill-girl. He was taunted when they met at market, with having been caught with a pretty face; and told that they thought he had had more sense than to marry a dressed doll with a witch by her side.

At first James Cheshire replied with a careless waggery, ‘The pretty face makes capital butter, though, eh? The dressed doll turns out a tolerable dairy, eh? Better,’ added James, ‘than a good many can, that I know, who have neither pretty faces, nor have much taste in dressing to crack of.’

The allusion to Nancy’s dwarfish plainness was what peculiarly provoked James Cheshire. He might have laughed at the criticisms on his wife, though the envious neighbours’ wives did say that it was the old servant and not Mrs. Cheshire who produced such fine butter and cheese; for wherever she appeared, spite of envy and detraction, her lovely person and quiet good sense, and the growing rumour of her good management, did not fail to produce a due impression. And James had prepared to laugh it off: but it would not do. He found himself getting every now and then angry and unsettled by it. A coarse jest on Nancy at any time threw him into a desperate fit of indignation. The more the superior merit of his wife was known, the more seemed to increase the envy and venom of some of his relatives. He saw, too, that it had an effect on his wife. She was often sad, and sometimes in tears.

One day when this occurred, James Cheshire said, as they sat at tea, ‘I’ve made up my mind. Peace in this life is a jewel. Better is a dinner of herbs with peace, than a stalled ox with strife. Well now, I’m determined to have peace. Peace and luv,’ said he, looking affectionately at his wife and Nancy, ‘peace and luv, by God’s blessing, have settled down on this house; but there are stings here and stings there, when we go out of doors. We must not only have peace and luv in the house, but peace all round it. So I’ve made up my mind. I’m for America!’

‘For America!’ exclaimed Jane. ‘Surely you cannot be in earnest.’

‘I never was more in earnest in my life,’ said James Cheshire. It is true I do very well on this farm here, though it’s a cowdish situation; but from all I can learn, I can do much better in America. I can there farm a much better farm of my own. We can have a much finer climate than this Peak country, and our countrymen still about us. Now, I want to know what makes a man’s native land pleasant to him?—the kindness of his relations and friends. But then, if a man’s relations are not kind?—if they get a conceit into them, that because they are relations they are to choose a man’s wife for him, and sting him and snort at him because he has a will of his own?—why, then I say, God send a good big herring-pool between me and such relations! My relations, by way of showing their natural affection, spit spite and bitterness. You, dear wife and sister, have none of yourn to spite you. In the house we have peace and luv. Let us take the peace and luv, and leave the bitterness behind.’

There was a deep silence.

‘It is a serious proposal,’ at length said Jane, with tears in her eyes.

‘What says Nancy?’ asked James.

‘It is a serious proposal,’ said Nancy, ‘but it is good. I feel it so.’

There was another deep silence; and James Cheshire said, ‘Then it is decided.’

‘Think of it,’ said Jane earnestly,—‘think well of it.’

‘I have thought of it long and well, my dear. There are some of these chaps that call me relation that I shall not keep my hands off, if I stay amongst them,—and I fain would. But for the present I will say no more; but,’ added he, rising and bringing a book from his desk, ‘here is a book by one Morris Birkbeck, —read it, both of you, and then let me know your minds.’

The sisters read. On the following Lady-day, James Cheshire had turned over his farm advantageously to another, and he, his wife, Nancy, and the old servant, Mary Spendlove, all embarked at Liverpool, and transferred themselves to the United States, and then to the State of Illinois. Five-and-twenty years have rolled over since that day. We could tell a long and curious story of the fortunes of James Cheshire and his family: from the days when, half repenting of his emigration and his purchase, he found himself in a rough country, amid rough and spiteful squatters, and lay for months with a brace of pistols under his pillow, and a great sword by his bedside for fear of robbery and murder. But enough, that at this moment, James Cheshire, in a fine cultivated country, sees his ample estate cultivated by his sons, while as Colonel and Magistrate he dispenses the law and receives the respectful homage of the neighbourhood. Nancy Dunster, now styled Mrs. Dunster, the Mother in Israel—the promoter of schools and the councillor of old and young—still lives. Years have improved rather than deteriorated her short and stout exterior. The long exercise of wise thoughts and the play of benevolent feelings, have given even a sacred beauty to her homely features. The dwarf has disappeared, and there remains instead, a grave but venerable matron,—honoured like a queen.

LETTER FROM A HIGHLY RESPECTABLE OLD LADY.

Gracious, Mr. Conductor (which is like an omnibus) what a nice new journal you have got! And ‘Household Words’ too; _that’s_ what I like! I’ve often thought that if the world could hear _my_ household words, some people would be wiser for them. Sir, if you are not above receiving advice and information from an old woman, I will give you some. I will just chatter to you as I do to the boys and girls down in my part of the country here, without any ceremony. I have bought two pens and a quire of paper, and I’ll write down a few things; but my spectacles are bad, and my pen is not over steady.

I may observe, in limmony, that you will soon discover me to be a well edicated woman. I have lived a long life, and have always picked up knowledge fast, taking four meals of it a day. Especially, you will find that my medical attainments are considerable. I’m not one of your women who go costing their husbands a whole till-full of money every year for doctor’s bills. As a mother of a family—and—though you wouldn’t believe it, Mr. Editor, if you was to look at me—I’ve had as many as eighteen,—I felt it my duty, as the mother of a family, to acquire the knowledge that was necessary for the preservation of my children’s lives. I have bought or borrowed a large number of medical books, and studied them so well, that if the dear children had been spared me long enough,—whereas thirteen died young, and one an infant, which was quite owing to the nurse having forgot to give it its Godfrey three nights running,—if they had all lived, I should have been surrounded by a very healthy family, and they would have owed to me, every one of them, their blooming looks. Of the five that survive, Edward is delicate, and Tom is rather daft, but the other three are in strong health, and prove what a blessing it was their mother took such care of them.

Some one of you gentlemen has been a writing about Lucifer-matches. Lucifers, indeed! Is that your improvement of the people? Yah! If folks were wise they would send Lucifer his matches back, and not be indebted to him any longer for them. None of us ever lost our jawbones over a tinder-box in my young days. But you must have improvements. Don’t you know that you pay for civilisation with health. Look at me. I am eighty-two; but we used flint and steel when I was young. Turn to the British and Foreign Medical Review of a few years ago, there you will see what I mean. There’s an account in it, of the new disease begotten by lucifer-matches; by the phosphorus. It’s this: a worker in the manufactory has a hollow tooth, it generally begins there, resembles tooth-ache; then there is inflammation about it; the periosteum of the lower jaw becomes inflamed; the bone dies: a man is recorded to have picked his lower jawbone out of his chin as we pulled winkles out of their shells, when winkles were eaten, in the good old times. It’s true that forewarned is forearmed. Great care is taken in lucifer factories on a large scale; those who work over the phosphorus have their mouths shielded, I believe, and so on: but then, what a thing it is! Here’s your march of improvement! A new luxury, a new disease.

You have been looking over Water-works; isn’t beer good enough for the folks now-a-days? To be sure one cannot wash in beer, but it’s not much need one has for washing. I saw a little boy the other day, bothering about a cabstand; he wanted a bucket of water, but the tap was locked—and could be unlocked only for the horses. He said there was no water in his alley, and he looked as if there were no water in the world. I gave him twopence to go and buy a pint of beer, and went on, feeling that I had done a charitable action. Water indeed! Don’t you think, Mr. Conductor, that some of you reformers carry the thing a little bit too far? I wrote the other day to a grandson of mine, he sets up for a sanitary reformer, and because I was angry at a little rapscallion who stole three pounds of Wiltshire bacon (a nice lean piece) from my kitchen dresser, what does he write and say? I know what I wrote and said in answer very well. _He_ never darkens my doors again, and it’s 2000_l._ he will be out of pocket one of these days. I’ll just copy his impudence. He says—