Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/545

 . 3, 1860.] Walter, and stay with Clara and Frederick until I come down.”

He closed and locked the door.

In life, it were base to take advantage of one who is suddenly roused from sleep. Let the same generosity be observed in telling his story; and while a kind, good, happy man awakens from his happiness, it may be to remain neither good nor kind, let us turn away, in decent humanity, and leave him, unwatched, to shudder into comprehension of what has come to him—come to him on the day which, but three hours ago, he treated as ended. Let us leave him to his waking.

the simple question, “How far is Lipthwaite from the railway-station?” the reply, “That depends upon circumstances,” would seem to savour of the simplicity for which a less gentle name might be found by practical or impatient inquirers. Consigning these to the mystifications of the respected Quaker, whose monthly Quadrilateral is so efficient a defence of our towns and cities against invasion by the traveller, we will presently vindicate a reply which appears to be no answer.

The people of Lipthwaite were always rather proud of their clean, cheerful little town, but their pride received an accession which became almost dangerous, when their new and beautiful neighbour, Lady Charrington, on her return from her wedding tour in Scotland, declared to Sir Frederick, as he was showing her about the little borough of which she was to become the friend, patroness, and star, that Lipthwaite reminded her of Edinburgh. Sir Frederick was still in that honeymoonlight which silvers everything for a happy and admiring young husband, yet his astonishment at this speech made him pull the ponies in with such a jerk that they nearly backed the basket-chair into the shop of the chief bookseller, round which two or three gentlemen were lounging—they lounged a good deal at Lipthwaite.

One of the group, a tall, elderly, black-frock-coated gentleman, with a shrewd but still a kindly expression in his well-marked face, and with some humour in his smile, stepped forward to offer assistance, but the well-trained ponies were thoroughly in hand, and stood almost motionless as Sir Frederick greeted his friend.

“How do you do, Mr. Berry?” he said. “Home again, you see.”

“We are all very glad to welcome you back, Sir Frederick, after so long an absence.”

“But here is my excuse for my absence,” replied the proud and happy husband. “Mr. Berry, Helen—a very old friend.”

Mr. Berry thought, as he looked at her sunshiny face, that her husband had a right to be proud; and a few minutes afterwards, when her pleasant voice had been heard, the elder gentleman made up his mind that the younger was going to be happy. There is an old proverb in those parts, advising a man to choose a wife by the ear and not the eye. Sir Frederick had done better, and chosen by both.

“I must tell Mr. Berry, my love,” said Sir Frederick, “how it was we nearly ran over him.”

“Yes, and tell me too,” said the young wife, laughing. “What in the world were you about?”

“Lady Charrington has found out that our poor little Lipthwaite is like Edinburgh. Ought we not to be vain? Do you know Edinburgh, Berry?”

“Yes, tolerably well. It is the most picturesque city in the world, and I have seen most of the fine cities, I believe.”

“I am to be taken to see them all,” said Lady Charrington; “that is an engagement. But in the meantime I declare that my notion is not so ridiculous as to make it right to pull off the poor ponies’ heads. Mr. Berry shall decide.”

“Well, let him. Only as he was the Town Clerk of Lipthwaite before he gave up law and settled in the pretty place I’ll show you presently, he will be prejudiced in favour of his borough.”

“You see there is something in what I say,” she answered, merrily, “or you would not be begging the judge to be impartial. But see. Here we are in a handsome street of new houses, and nice shops, and over there, running parallel with this, is that dear, queer, quaint, dirty old street—what did you call it, Fred?”

“Moggrums.”

“It is a hideous name,” Mr. Berry said, “and we have been half a dozen times going to change it for something more euphonious—only it has been found difficult to agree upon the new title. So we comfort ourselves by explaining to strangers that Moggrums is a corruption from the Latin, and that the Romans, when they settled here, called the place Morogesium—I do not believe that there ever was such a name, or that the Romans were here at all, and Lady Charrington must help us to a new name which we shall all like, and we will get rid of the fable.”

“No, no,” said Lady Charrington, “keep everything old. I love everything that is old. And now please to look again. That beautiful hill, with the dear heather on it—it is not very high, after what we have been seeing, but it stands on the left, in just the situation as regards the town as Arthur’s Seat does to Edinburgh, and then on the other hill on our right are those ruins—they may stand for the Castle.”

“They are the ruins of a castle, Lady Charrington, and there is a perfectly untrustworthy story of King John’s having held a court there, and I am sorry to say that an irreverent inhabitant of Lipthwaite deposited in our museum some teeth found on the hill, with a label suggesting that they were some of the Jews’ teeth which that Sovereign, you know, used to draw when he wanted money.”

“And you have a museum, too? I must come and see it.”

“And there’s a museum in Edinburgh,” laughed Sir Frederick, “so there’s another likeness for you. Well, we’ll get on home. Mr. Berry, I need not tell you how glad we shall be to see you at the Abbey—I don’t mean morning calls, and all that, but come whenever you feel inclined. The pictures are there, the books are there, the coins are there, and we are there; and I don’t think my father’s dear old friend and mine wants more said to him.”

“A great deal more,” said Lady Charrington,