ISHMAEL OR IN THE DEPTHS.

Te Aroha News, Volume VII, Issue 443, 5 February 1890, Page 6

ISHMAEL OR IN THE DEPTHS.

BY MRS EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHVVORTH,

Author o£ “Self-Raised,” “Fair Play,” “The Missing Bride,” “A Noble Lord,” “How He Won Her,” “The Prince of Darkness,’ " Tried for Her Life,” Etc., Etc. CHAPTER XVIII. BERENICE. Her cheeks grew pale and dim her eye, Her voice was low, herinirthwas stayed; Upon her heart there seemed to lie The darkness of a nameless shade ; She paced the house from room to room. Her form became a walking gloom. Read. Hannah Worth stood looking after th e lady for some little space of time. Hannah was an accurate reader of character, and she had seen at the first glance that this pale, sad, but most beautiful woman could not be the bad, artful, and deceitful creature that her husband had been led to believe and to represent her. And she wondered what mistake it could possibly have been that had estranged Herman Brudenell from his lovely wife and left his heart vacant for the reception of another and a most fatal passion. ‘ Whatever it may have been, I have • nothing.to do with it. I pity the gentle lady ; but I cannot accept her bounty for Nora’s child,’ said Hannah, dismissing the subject from her thoughts and returning to her work.

In this manner, from one plausible motive or another, was all help rejected for the orphan boy. It seemed as if Providence were resolved to cast the infant helpless upon life, to show the world what a poor boy might make of himself, by God’s blessing, on his own unaided efforts ! It was yet early in the afternoon when Berenice reached Brudenell Hall. Before going to her own apartments, she looked into the drawing-room, and seeing Mrs Brudenell, inquired : ‘ Any news of Herman yet, mamma, dear ?’ ‘ No, love, not yet. You’ve had a pleasant drive, Berenice ?’ * Very pleasant.’ ‘ I thought so. You have more colour than when you went. You should go out every morning, my dear.’ ‘ Yes, mamma,’ said the young lady, hurrying away. Mrs Brudenell recalled her. ‘ Come in here, if you please, my love. 1 want to have a little conversation with you.’ Berenice threw her bonnet, cloak, and muff upon the hall table, and entered the drawing-room. Mrs Brudenell was alone. Her daughters had not yet come down. She beckoned her son’s wife to take the seat on the sofa by her side. And when Berenice had complied she said : , • . , ‘ It is of yourself and Herman that I wish to speak to you, my dear.’ ‘ Yes, mamma ’ The lady hesitated, and then suddenly said : * lb is now nearly a week since my son disappeared. He left his home abruptly, without explanation, in the dead of night, at the very hour of your arrival ! That was very strange.’ ‘ Very strange,’echoed the unloved wife. ‘ What was the meaning of it, Berenice ?’ ‘ Indeed, mamma, I do not know.’ _ ‘ What, then, is the cause of his absence ? ’ * Indeed, indeed, I do not know.’ ‘ Berenice ! he fled from your presence. There is evidently some misunderstanding or estrangement between yourself and your husband. I cannot ask him for an explanation. Hitherto I have forborne to ask you. But now that a week has passed without any tidings of my son, I have a.right to demand the explanation. Give it to me. * Mamma, I cannot; for I know no more than yourself,’answered Berenice, in a tone of distress. ‘ You do not know, but you must suspect. Now what do you suspect to be the cause of his going ?’ •' I do not suspect, mamma.’ * What do you conjecture, then ?’ persisted the lady. ‘ I cannot conjecture ; I am lost in amazement, but I feel—l feel—that it must be some fault in myself,’ faltered Berenice. * What fault ?’ 4 Ah, there again I am lost in perplexity ; faults I have enough, Heaven knows, but what particular one is strong enough to estrange my husband I do not know, I cannot guess.’ 4 Has he never accused you ?’ 4 Never, mamma.’ ‘Nor quarrelled with you ?’ 4 Never !’ ‘ Nor-complained of you at all ?’ 4 No mamma ! The first intimation that I had of his displeasure was given me the night of my arrival, when he betrayed some annoyance at my coming upon him suddenly without having previously written. I gave him what I supposed to be sufficient reasons for my act—the same reasons that I afterwards gave you.’ ‘They were perfectly satisfactory. And even if they had not been so, it was no just cause for his behaviour. Did he find fault with any part of your conduct previous to your arrival ?’ 4 No, mamma ; certainly not. I have told you so before.’ 4 And this is true ?’ 4 As true as Heaven, mamma.’

‘ Then it is easy to fix upon the cause of his bad conduct that girl !—it is a good thing she is dead,’ hissed the elder lady between her teeth. She spoke in a tone too low to reach the ears of Berenice, who sat with her weeping face buried in her handkerchief. ‘ Mamma, can you imagine where he is ?’ • No, my love ! And if I do not feel so anxious about him as you feel; it is because I know him better than you do. And I know that it is some unjustifiable caprice that is keeping him from his home. When he comes to his senses he will return. In the meanwhile, we must not, by any show of anxiety, give the servants or the neighbours any cause to gossip of his disappearance. ‘ And I must • not have my plans upset by his whims. I have already delayed my departure for Washington longer than I like; and my daughters have missed the great ball of the season. I am not willing- 1 to remain here any longer at all. And I 'think,* also, that we shall be more likely to meet Herman by going to town than by staying here. Washington is the great centre" of attraction at this season of the year. Everyone goes there; I have a very pleasant furnished house on Lafayette Square. It fias' been quite ready for our reception tor the last fortnight. Some of our eervants have already gone-up. So, mv love, I have fixed our departure for Saturday morning, if you think you can be -ready by that time. If not, I can wait a day or two.’ ‘ I -thank you,, mamma ; I thank you very much ; but pray do nob inconvenience yourself on ;my account. I cannot ; go to /town. I musb 'stay ,here and wait my hus-

band’s return—if he ever returns,’ murmured Berenice to herself. ‘ But suppose he i 9 in-Washington ?’ * Still, mamma, as he has nob invited mei to follow him*! prefer to stay here.’ 4 But surely, child, you need no invitation to follow your husband, wherever he may be.’ ‘ Indeed I do, mamma. I came to him from Europe, here, and my doing so displeased him and drove him away from his homo. And I myself would roburn to my native country, only, now that I am in my usband’s house, I feel that to leave if would be to abandon my post of duty and expose myself to just censure. But I cannot follow him farther, mamma; I cannot! Imustnob obtrude myself .upon his presence. I must remain hero and pray and hope for his return,’ sighed the poor young wife. * Berenice,this is all w rong; you are morbid ; not fib, in your present stato of mind, to guide yourself. Be guided by me ; come with me to Washington ; you will really enjoy yourself there ; you cannot help it ; your beauty will make you the reigning belle ; your taste will make you the leader of fashion ; and your' title will constitute you the lioness of the season ; for mark you, Berenice, there is nothing, nob even the “ almighty dollar, ’ that our consistent republicans fall down and worship with a sincerer homage than a title. All your combined attractions will make you whatever you please to be.’ ‘Except the beloved of my husband,’ murmured Berenice, in a low voice. ‘ That also ; for believe me, my dear, many men admire and love through other ' men’s eyes. My son is one of the many. ' Nothing in this world would bring him to your side so quickly as to see you the centre of .attraction in the first circles of the capital.’ 4 Ah, madam, the situation would lack the charm of novelty to him ; he has been accustomed to seeing me fill similar ones in London and in Paris,’ said the countess, with a proud though mournful smile. Mrs Brudenell’s face flushed as she became conscious of having made a blunder — a thing she abhorred, so she hastened to say : 4 Oh, of course, my dear, I know, after the European courts our Republican capital ’ must seem an anti-climax. Still, it is the best thing I can ofter you, and I counsel you to take it.’ ' 4 1 feel deeply grateful for your kindness, mamma ; but you know I could nob enter society except under the auspices of my husband,’ replied Berenice. 4 You can enter society under the aus- ■ pices of your husband’s mother, the very J best chaperone you could possibly have,’ said the lady, coldly. ’ 4 1 know that, mamma.’ 4 Then you will come with us ?’ 4 Excuse me, madam ; indeed I am not ’ thankless for your thought of me. But I 1 cannot go ; for even if I had the spirits to , sustain the role of a woman of fashion in 1 the gay capital this winter, I feel that in 3 doing so I should still farther displease and alienate my husband. No, I must remain J here in retirement, doing what good I can, r and hoping and praying for his return,’ r sighed Berenice. Mrs Brudenell hastily rose from her seat. 3 She was nob accustomed to opposition ; she was too proud to plead farther ; and she 1 was very much displeased with Berenice for disappointing her cherished plan of introducing her daughter, the Counf tess of Hurstmonceux, to the circles of Washington. 1 4 The first dinner bell has rung some time 1 ago, my dear. I will nob detain you longer. , Myself and daughters leave for town on ' Saturday.’ Beienice bowed gently, and went upstairs to change her dress for dinner. On Saturday, according to programme, Mrs Brudenell and her daughters went to town, travelling in their capacious family carriage, and Berenice was left alone. Yes, she was left alone to a solitude of heart and ' home, difficult to be understood by beloved ’ and happy wives and mothers. The strange r wild country, the large empty house, the grotesque black servants, were enough in ’ themselves to depress the spirits and sadb den the heart of the young English lady. 3 Added to these were the deep wounds her affections had received by the contemptuous 3 desertion of her husband; there was un--3 certainty of his fate, and keen anxiety for his safety ; and the slow, wasting soul- ‘ sickness of that fruitless hope which is 3 worse than despair.

Every morning, on rising from her restless bed, she would say to herself : ‘Herman will return or I shall get a letter from him to-day.’ Every night, on sinking upon her sleepless pillow, she would sigh : 4 Another dreary day has gone and no news of Herman !’ Thus, in feverish expectation, the days crept into weeks. And with the extension of time hope grew more strained, tense and painful. On Monday morning she would murmur: ■ This week I shall surely hear from Herman; if I do not see him.’ And every Saturday night she would groan : 4 Another miserable week and no tidings of my husband.’ And thus the weeks slowly crept into months.

Mrs Brudenell wrote occasionally to say that Herman was not in Washington, and to ask if he was at Brudenell. That was all. The answer was always, ' Not yet.’ Berenice could not get out to do her deeds of charity among the suffering poor, nor could the landed gentry of the neighbourhood make calls upon the young stranger. And* thus the unloved wife had nothing to divert her thoughts from the one all-absorbing subject of her - husband's unexplained abandonment. The fire that was consuming her life—the fire of ‘ restless, unsatisfied longing’—burned fiercely in her cavernous dark eyes and hollow crimson cheeks, lending wildness to the beauty of t hat face which it was slowly burning away. As spring advanced the ground improved. The hills dried first; And every. day the poor young stranger would wander up the narrow footpath that led over the summit of the hill at the back of the house,' and down to a stile at a point on the turnpike that commanded a wide sweep of the road. And there, leaning on the rotary cross, she would watch morbidly for the form of him who never came back.

Gossip was bus£ with her name, asking who this strange wife of Mr Brudenell really ;was. Why he had abandoned her? And why Mrs Brudenell had left the house for good, taking, her daughters with her ? There:were some uneducated women among the wives and daughters of the wealthy planters, and; these wished to know, if the strange young woman was really the wife of Herman Brudenell, why she was called Lady Hurstmonceux ? and they, thought that looked very black indeed ; until they were laughed at and, enlightened by. their better; - informed friends, who instructed them that a woman once a peeress is always by courtesy a peeress, and retains her own title eveu though married to a commoner. Upon the whole ; the planters’ wives decided to call upon the countess, once at least, to satisfy their curiosity.! Afterwards they could visit ■ or drop. her as! might seem expedient. Thus, as soon as the roads became'passable, scarcely s; a day went by in which large lumbering- family coach,;driven-by '

negro coachman arid attended/by negro groom on horseback, did not*' arrive - atr Brudenell.

To one and all of these callers the same answer was returned: ‘The Countess of Hurstmonceux is engaged, and cannot receive visitors.’ The tables were turned. The country ladies who had been debating with themselves whether to 4 take up ’ or 4 drop ’ this very questionable stranger, received their congee from the countess herself at the threshold, of her own door. The planters’ wives were stunned ! Each was a native queen, in her own little domain, over her own black subjects, and to meet with a repulse from a foreign countess, was , an incomprehensible thing ! The reverence for titled foreigners, for which we republicans have been justly laughed at, is confined .exclusively to those large cities corrupted by European intercourse. It does not exist in the interior of the country. For instance, in Maryland and Virginia, the owner of a large plantation has a domain greater in territorial extent, and a power over his subjects more absolute, than that of any reigning grand - duke or sovereign prince in Germany or Italy. The planter is an absolute monarch, his wife is his queen-consort; they see no equals and know no contradiction in their own realm. Their neighbours are as powerful as themselves. When they meet, they meet as peers on equal terms, the only precedence being that given by courtesy. How, then, could the planter’s wife appreciate the dignity of a countess who, on state occasions, must walk behind a marchioness, who must walk behind a duchess, who must walk behind a queen ? Thus you see how it was that the sovereign ladies of Maryland thought they were doing a very condescending thing in calling upon the young stranger whose husband had deserted her, and whose mother and sisters-in-law had left her alone; and that her ladyship had committed a great act of illbreeding and impertinence in declining their visits. At the close of the Washington season, Mrs Brudenell and her daughters returned to the Hall. She told her friends that her son was travelling in Europe; but she told her daughter-in-law that she only hoped he was doing so, that she really had not heard a word from him, and did not know anything whatever of his whereabouts. Mrs Brudenell and her daughters received and paid visits ; gave and attended parties, and made the house and the neighbourhood very gay in the pleasant summer time.

Berenice did not enter into any of these amusements. She never accepted any invitation to go out. And even when company were entertained at the house, she kept her own suite of rooms, and had her meals brought to her there. Mrs Brudenell was excessively displeased at a course of conduct in her daughter-in-law that would naturally give rise to a great deal of conjecture. She expostulated with Lady Hurstmonceux ; but to no purpose ; for Berenice shrank from company, replying to all the arguments that could be urged upon her : 4 1 cannot —I cannot see visitors,mamma ! It is quite—quite impossible.’ And then Mrs Brudenell made a resolution, which she also kept—never to come to Brudenell Hall for another summer, until Herman should return to his home and Berenice to his senses. And having so decided, she abridged her stay and went away with her daughters to spend the remainder of the summer at some pleasant watering-place in the North. And Berenice was once more left to solitude. Now, Lady Hurstmonceux was not naturally cold or proud or unsocial; but as surely as brains can turn, and hearts break, and women die of grief, she was crazy, heart-broken and dying. She turned sick at the sight of every human face, because the one dear face she loved and longed for was not near! The pastor of the parish, with the benevolent perseverance of a true Christian, continued to call at the Hall, long after every other human creature had ceased to visit the place. But Lady Hurstmonceux steadily refused to receive him.

She never went bo church. Her cherished sorrow grew morbid; hopeless hope became a monomania ; her life narrowed down to one mournful routiner She went nowhere but to the turnstile on the turnpike, where she leaned upon the rotary cross, and watched the road. Even to this day, the pale, despairing, but most beautiful iaee of that young watcher is remembered in that neighbourhood. Only very recently, a lady, who had lived in that vicinity, said to me, in speaking of this young forsaken wife—this stranger io our land : ‘Yes, every day she walked slowly up that narrow path to the turnstile, and stood leaning on the cross and gazing up the road, to watch for Mm — every day, rain or shine ; in all weathers and seasons ; for months and years.’ . CHAPTER XIX. nobody's son. Not blest? not saved? Who dares to doubt all well With hol.v innocence ? We scorn the creed And tell thee truer than the bigots tell,— That infants all are Jesus’ lambs indeed. Martin F. Tuit-er. But thou wilt burst this transient sleen, And thou wilt wake my babe to weep; The tenant of a frail abode, Thy tears must flow as mine have flowed : And thou may’st live perchance to prove The pang of unrequited love.—Byron. Xsjimael, lived! Poor, thin, pale, sick; sent too soon into the world ; deprived of all that could nurture healthy infant life ; fed on ungenial.food ; exposed in that bleak hut to the piercing cold of that severe winter ; tended only by a poor old maid who honestly wished his death as the best eood that could happen to him—lshmael lived !

One dav it occurred to Hannah that he was created to live ! This being so, and Hannah being a good churchwoman, she thought she would have him baptized. He had no legal name ; bub that was no reason why he should nob receive a. Christian one. The cruel human law discarded him as nobody’s child ; the merciful Christian law claimed him as one ‘of the kingdom of Heaven.’ The human law denied him a name'; the Christian laiw offered him one. The. next time the pastor, in going his charitable rounds... among bis poor parishioners, called j at the hub, the weaver mentioned the subject and begged him to baptize the boy then qnd there. s Bub the reverend gentleman, who was a High Churchman, replied : 4 1 will cheerfully administer the rites of baptism to the child;; but you must bring him to the altar to receive them. Nothing but imminent danger of death can justify the . performance, of those sacred rites at any other place. Bring, the boy to church next Sabbath afternoon.’ ; «What? bring "this child to church !—before all the cotagregatiqn ! ! I should die of mortification Hajinah; ‘ Why ? Are you tp blame for what has happened? Or is he?.. Even if the boy were what hie is .supposed,tobe—the child of-sin—it would not be his fault. Do you

think in all the congregation there is a soul whiter than that of this child ? Has nob the Saviour said Suffer little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaveii ?” Bring the boy to church, Hannah ! bring the boy to church;’ said the pastor, as he took up his hat and departed. Accordingly, the next Sabbath afternoon Hannah Worth took Ishmael to the church, which was, as usual, well tilled. Poor Hannah ! Poor, gentle-hearted, pure-spirited old maid ! She sat there in a remote corner pew, hiding her child under her shawl and hushing him with gentle caresses during the whole of the afternoon service. And when after the last lesson had been read, the minister came down to the font and said : 4 Any persons present who have children to offer for baptism will now bring them forward.’ Hannah felt as if she would faint. Bub summoning all her resolution, she arose and came out of her pew, carrying the child. Every eye in the church turned full upon her. There was no harm meant in this ; people will gaze at ever such a little spectacle—a baby going to be baptized, if ) nothing else is to be had. But to Hannah’s; humbled-spirit and sinking heart, to carry that child up that aisle under the fire of those eyes seemed like running a blockade of righteous indignation that appeared to surround the altar. But she did it. With downcast looks and hesitating steps she approached and stood at the font—alone —the target of every pair of eyes in the congregation. Only a paoment she stood thus, when a countryman, with a start, left one of the side benches and came and stood by her side. It was Reuben Gray, who, standing by her, whispered : ‘ Hannah, woman, why didn’t you let me know ? I would have come and sat in the pew with you and carried the child.’ ‘Oh, Reuben, why will you mix yourself up with mo and my miseries?’ sighed Hannah. 4 ’Cause we are one, my dear woman, and so I can’t help it,’ murmured the man. There was no time for more words. The minister began the service.. Reuben Gray offered himself as sponsor with Hannah, who had no right to refuse this sort of copartnership. The child was christened Ishmael Worth, thus receiving both given and surname at the altar.

When the afternoon worship was concluded and they left the church, Reuben Gray walked beside Hannah, begging for the privilege of carrying the child—a privilege Hannah grimly refused. Reuben, undismayed, walked by her side all the way from Baymcafch Church to the hut on the hill, a distance of three miles. And taking advantage of that long walk, he pleaded with Hannah to reconsider her refusal and become his wife. 4 After a bit, we can go away and take the boy with us, and bring him up as our’n. And nobody need to know any better,’he pleaded. But this also Hannah grimly refused. When they reached the hut she turned upon him and said : 4 Reuben Gray, I will bear my miseries and reproaches myself ! I will bear them alone ! Your duty is to your sisters. Go to them and forget me.’ And so saying, she actually shut the door in his face. Reuben went away crest-fallen. But Hannah ! poor Hannah ! she never anticipated the full amount of misery and reproach she would have to bear alone. A few weeks passed and the money she had saved was all spent. No more work was brought to her to do. A miserable consciousness of. lost_caste prevented her from going to seek it.’ She did nob dream of the extent of her misfortune ; she did not know that even if she had sought work from her old employers, it would have been refused to her. One day, when the Professor of Odd Jobs happened to be making a professional tour in her way, and called at the hut to see if his services might be required there, she g&vr-; him a commission to seek work for her among the neighbouring farmers and planters—a duty that the professor cheerfully undertook.

But when she saw him again, about ten days after, and inquired about his success in procuring employment for her, he shook his head, saying : ‘ There’s a plenty of weaving waiting to be done everywhere, Miss Hannah—which it stands to reason there would be at this season of the year. There’s all the cotton cloth for the negroes’ summer clothes to be wove; bub, Miss Hannah; to tell you the truth, the ladies as I’ve mentioned it torefuses to give the work to you.’ 4 Bub why?’ inquired the poor woman, in alarm. 4 Well, Miss Hannah, because of what has happened, you know. The world is very unjust, Miss Hannah. And women are more unjust than men. If 4 4 man’s inhumanity bo man makes countless thousands mourn,” I’m sure women’s cruelty to women makes angels weep. ’ And here the Professor, having lighted upon a high-toned subject and a helpless hearer, launched into a long oration, which I have not space to report. He ended by saying : 4 And now, Miss Hannah, if I were yon, I would not expose myself to the affronts by going to seek work.’ ‘Bub what can I do, Morris? Must I starve, and let the child starve ?’ asked the weaver, in despair. 4 Well, no, Miss Hannah ; me and my ole ’oman must see what we can do for you. She ain’t as young as she used to be, and she mustn’t work so bard. She must part with some of her own spinning and weaving to you. And I must/ work a little harder to pay for it. Which lam very willing to do ; for I say, Miss Hannah, when an ablebodied- man is-, not willing to shift the burden off his wife’s shoulders on to his own, he is unworthy to be —’ Here the Professor launched into a second oration, longer than the first, in conclusion, he said : ‘And so, Miss Hannah, we will give you what work we have to put out. And you must try to knock along and do as well as you can this season. And before the next the poor child will die, and the people will forget all about it, and employ you again I .’ ‘Bub the child is not a-going to die 1’ burst forth Hannah, in exasperation. ‘lf he was the son of rich parents, .whose hearts lay in him, and who piled comforts and luxuries and elegances upon him, and fell downiand worshipped him; and had a big fortune and a great name to leave him, and so did everything they possibly, could to keep him alive, he’d die'! Bub being what he is,;a misery and shame to himself and all connected; with> him, he’ll live ! . Yes, half-perished as he is with cold and famine, he’ll live 1 Look at him now !’ The Professor did burn and look at the little, thin, wizen-faced boy, who lay upon the bed, contentedly sucking his skinny thumb, and regarding the speakers with big, bright, knowing ■ eyes, that seemed to say : ‘ Yes, I mean to suck my thumb and live 1’ ' \Y- 1 ’ .’ 1

* To tell you the truth, I think so too,’ said the Professor, scarcely certain whether he was replying to the words of Hannah or to the looks of the child. It is certain that, the dread of death and the desire of life is the very earliosb instinct

of every animate creature. Perhaps this child was endowed with excessive vitality. Certainly the babe’B persistence in living on 4 under difficulties ’ might have been the germ of that enormous strength and power of will for which the man was afterwards so noted. The professor kept his word with Hannah, and brought her some work. But the little that he could afford to pay for it was not sufficient to supply one-fourth of Hannah’s necessities.

At last came a day when her provisions were all gone. And Hannah locked the child up alone in the hut, and set off to walk to Baymouth, to try to get some meal and bacon on credit from the country shop where she had dealt all her life. Baymouth was a small port at the mouth of a small bay making up from the Chesapeake. It had one church, in charge of the Episcopal minister who had baptized Nora’s child. And it had one large country store, kept by a general dealer, named Nutt, who had for sale everything to eat, drink, wear, or wield, from sugar and tea to meat and fish ; from linen cambric to linsey-woolsey ; from bonnets and hats to boots and shoes ; from new milk to old whisky ; from fresh eggs to stale cheese ; and from needles and thimbles to ploughs and harrows. Hannah, as I said, had been in the habit of dealing at this shop all her life, and paying cash for everything she got. So now, indeed, she might reasonably ask for a little credit, a little indulgence until she could procure work. Yet, for all that, she blushed and hesitated at having to ask the unusual favour. She entered the store and found the dealer alone. She was glad of that, as she rather shrank from preferring her humble request before witnesses. Mr Nutt hurried forward to wait on her. Hannah explained her wants, and then added :

4 If you please credit me for the things, Mr Nutt, I will be sure to pay you the first of the month.’ The dealer looked at the customer and then looked down at the counter, but made no reply. Hannah, seeing his hesitation, hastened to say that she had been out of work all the winter and spring, but that she hoped soon to get some more, when she would be sure to pay her creditor. ‘ Yes, T know you have lost your employment, poor girl, and I fear that you will not get it again,’ said the dealer, with a look of compassion. 4 But why, oh ! why should I not be allowed to work, when I do my work so willingly and so well ?’ exclaimed Hannah, in despair. 4 Well, my dear girl, if you do not know the reason, I cannot be the man to tell you.’ 4 But if I cannot get work, what shall I do ? Oh ! what shall I do ? I cannot starve ! And I cannot see the child starve !’ exclaimed Hannah, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes in earnest appeal to the judgment of the man who had known her from infancy, who was old enough tc bo her father, and who had a wife and grown daughter of his own. 4 What shall Ido ? Oh ! what shall I do ?’ she repeated. Mr Nutt still seemed to hesitate and reflect, stealing furtive glances at the anxious face of the woman. At last he bent across the counter, took her hand, and, bending his head close to her face, whispered : 4 I'll tell you what, Hannah ; I will let you have the articles you have asked for, and anything else in my store that you want, and I will never charge you anything for them —’ 4 Oh, sir, I couldn’t think of imposing on your goodness so ! The Lord reward you, sir ! but I only want a little credit for a short time,’ broke out Hannah, in the warmth of her gratitade. 4 But stop, hear me out, my dear girl ! I was about to say you might come to my store and get whatever you want, at any time, without payment, if you will let me drop in and see you sometimes of evenings,’ whispered the dealer. 4 Sir !’ said Hannah, looking up in innocent perplexity.

The man repeated his proposal with a look that taught even Hannah’s simplicity that she had received the deepest insult that a woman could suffer. Hannah was a rude, honest, high-spirited old maid. And she immediately obeyed her natural impulses, which were to raise her strong hands and soundly box the villain’s ears right and left,until he saw more stars in the firmament than had ever been created. And before be could recover the shock of the assault she picked up her basket and strode from the shop. Indignation lent her strength and speed, and she walked home in double-quick time. But once in the shelter of her own hut, she sab down, threw her apron over her head, and burst into passionate tears and sobs, crying : 4 It’s all along of poor Norah and that child, as I’m thought ill on by the women and insulted by the men ! Yes, it is, you miserable little wretch !’ she added, speaking to the baby, who had opened his big eyes to see the cause of the uproar. ‘ It’s all on her account and yourn as I’m treated so! Why do you keep on living, you poor little shrimp ? Why don’t you die? Why can’t both of us die? Many people die who want to live. Why should we live who want to die ? Tell me that, little miserable ?~ But the baby defiantly sucked his thumb, as if it held the elixir of life, and looked indestructible vitality from his great, bright eyes. Hannah never ventured to ask another favour from mortal man, except the very few in whom shß could place entire confidence, such as the pastor of the parish, the Professor of Odd Jobs, and old Jovial. Especially she shunned Nutt’s shop as she would have shunned a pest-house ; although this course obliged her to go two miles farther to another village to procure necessaries whenever she had money to pay for them.

Nutt, on his part, did not think prudent to prosecute Hannah for assault. But he did a base thins more fatal to her reputation. He told his wife how that worthless creature, whose sister turned out so badly, had come running after him, wanting to get goods from his shop, and teazing him to come to see her; but that he had promptly ordered her out of the shop and threatened her with a constable if ever she dared to show her face there again. . False, absurd, and cruel as this story was, Mrs N utt believod it, and told all her acquaintances what an abandoned wretch that woman was; And thus poor Hannah Worth lost all that she possessed in the world—her good name. She had always been very poor. But it would be too dreadful to tell in detail the depths of destitution and misery to which she and the child fell, and in which they suffered and struggled to keep soul and body together for years and years. It is wonderful how long life may be sustained under the severest privations. Ishmael suffered the extremes of hunger and cold ; yet he did nob starve nor freeze to death ; he lived and grew in that mountain hut as pertinaciously as if he had been the pampered pet of some royal nursery. At first Hannah did not love him. Ah, you know such unwelcome children are seldom loved, even by their parents. Bub this child was so patient and affectionate that

it must have been an unnatural heart that would not have been won by his artless efforts to please. He bore hunger and cold and 1 weariness with baby heroism. And if you doubt whether there is any such thing in the world as 4 baby heroism,’ just visit the nursery hospitals of New York, and look at the cheerfulness of infant sufferers from disease.

Ishmael was content to sit upon the floor all day long, with his big eyes watching Hannah knit, sew, spin, or weave, as the case might be. And. if she happened to drop her thimble, scissors, spool of cotton or ball of yarn, Ishmael would crawl after it as fast as his feeble little limbs would take him, and bring it back and hold it up to her with a smile of pleasure ; or, if the feat had been a fine one, a little laugh of triumph. Thus, even before he could walk, he tried to make himself useful. It was his occupation to love Hannah, and watch her, and crawl after anything she dropped and restore it to her. Was this such a small service ? No ; for it saved the poor woman the trouble of getting up and deranging her work to chase rolling balls of yarn around the room. ; Or was it a small pleasure to the lonely old maid to see the child smile lovingly up in her face as he tendered her those baby services ? I think not. Hannah grew to love little Ishmael. Who, indeed, could have received all his innocent overtures of affection and not love him a little in return 1 Not honest Hannah Worth. It was thus, you see, by his own artless efforts that he won his grim aunt’s heart. This was our boy’s first sue cess. And the truth may as well be told of him now, that in the whole course of his eventful life he gained no earthly good which he did not earn by his own merits. But I must hurry over this part of my storv. When Ishmael was about four years old, he began to take pleasure in the quaint pictures of the old family Bible, that I have already mentioned as the only book and sole literary possession of Hannah Y\ orth. A rare old copy it was, bearing the date of London, 1720, and containing the strangest of all old-fashioned engravings. But to the keenly appreciating mind of the child these pictures were a gallery of art. And on Sunday afternoons, when Hannah had leisure to exhibit them, Ishmael never wearied of standing by her side and gazing at the illustrations of 4 Cain and Abel,’ ‘Joseph sold by his Brethren,’ 4 Moses in the Bulrushes,’ 4 Samuel called by the Lord,’ 4 John the Baptist and the Infant Jesus,’ 4 Christ and the Doctors in the Temple,’ and so forth. 4 Bead me about it,’ he would say of each picture. And Hannah would have to read these beautiful Bible stories. One day, when he was about five years old, he astonished his aunt by saying : 4 And now I want to read about them myself !’ But Hannah found no leisure to teach him. And besides, she thought it would be time enough some years to come for Ishmael to learn to read. So thought not our boy, however, as a few days proved. One night Hannah had taken home a dress to one of the plantation negroes, who were now her only customers, and it was late when she returned to the hut. When she opened the door a strange sight met her eyes. The Professor of Odd Jobs occupied the seat of honour in the arm chair in the chimney corner. On his knees lay the open Bible ; while by his side stood little Ishmael, holding an end of candle in his hand, and diligently conning the large letters on the title page. The little fellow looked up with his face full of triumph, exclaiming : 4 Oh, aunty, I know all the letters on this page now ! And the professor is going to teach me to read ! And lam going to help him to gather his herbs and roots every day to pay him for his trouble !’ The professor looked up and smiled, apologetically, saying : ‘ I just happened in, Miss Hannah, to see if there was anything wanting to be done, and I found this boy laying on the floor with the Bible open before him trying to puzzle out the letters for himself. And as soon l as he saw me he up and struck a bargain with me to teach him to read. And I’ll tell you what, Miss Hannah, he’s going to make a man one of these days ! You know I’ve been a coloured schoolmaster, among my other professions, and I tell you I never came across such a quick little fellow as he is, bless his big head ! There now, my little man, that’s learning enough for one sitting. And besides the candle is going out,’ concluded the professor. But again Ishmael held a different opinion from his elders ; and lying down before the fire-lit hearth, with the book open before him, he went over and over his lesson, grafting it firmly in his memory lest it should escape him. In this way our boy took his first step in knowledge. Two or three times in the course of the week the professor would come to give him another lesson. And Ishmael paid for his tuition by doing the least of the little odd jobs for the professor of that useful art. 4 You see I can feel for the boy like a father, Miss Hahnah,’ said the professor, after giving his lesson one evening ; 4 because, you know, I am in a manner selfeducated myself. I had to pick up my reading, writing and ’rithmetick any way I I could from the white children. So I can feel for this boy a 8 Fonce felt for- myself. All my children are girls; but if I had a son I couldn’t feel more pride in him than I do in this boy. And I tell you again he is going to make a man one of these days. ’ Ishmael thought so too. He had previsions of future success, as every very intelligent lad must have ; but at present his ambition did not take very lofty flights. The greatest man of his acquaintance was the professor of odd jobs. And to attain the glorious eminence occupied by the learned and eloquent dignitary was the .ighest aspiration of our boy’s early genius. ‘Aunty,’ he said one day, after remaining in deep thought for a long time — 4 do you think i I was to study very hard indeed, night and day, for years and years, I should ever be able to get as much knowledge and make as fine speeches as the prof or?’ 4 How do I know, Ishmael? You ask c stupid questions. All I can say is, if it ain’t in you it will never come out of you,’ answered the unappreciating aunt. 4 Oh, if that’s all, it is in me ; there’s a deal more in me than I can talk about; and so I shall be able to make fine speeches ke the professor some day.’ Morris certainly took great pains with his pupil ; and Ishmael repaid the zeal of his teacher by the utmost devotion to his service.

By the time our boy had attained his seventh year, he could read fluently, write legibly, and work thefirst four rules in arithmetic. Besides this he had glided into a sort of apprenticeship to the odd job line of business, and was very useful to his principal. The mannerinwhichhe helpedhis master was somebhinglike this—if the odd job on hand, happened to be in the tinkering line, Ishmael could heat the irons and prepare the solder ; if it were in the carpentering and ioining branch, be could melt the glue; if iui the brick-laying,'he

could mix the mortar; if in the painting and glazing, he could roll the putty. When he was eight years old he commenced the study of grammar, geography and history, from old books lent him by bis patron ; and he also took a higher degree in his art and began to assist his master by doing the duties of clerk and making the responses, whenever the professor assumed the office of parson, and conducted the church services to a barn full of coloured brethren ; by performing the part of mourner whenever the professor undertook to superintend a funeral; and by playing the tambourine in accompaniment to the professor’s violin whenever the latter became master of ceremonies for a coloured ball! In this manner he not only paid for his own tuition, but earned a verysmallstipend, which it was his pride to carry to Hannah, promising her that some day soon he should be able to earn money enough to support her in comfort. Thus our boy was rapidly progressing in the art of odd jobs and bidding fair to emulate the fame and usefulness of the eminent professor himself, when an event occurred in the neighbourhood that was destined to change the direction of his genius. ( To be Contimccd.)