was taking care of the baby. He hastened to
give their final draught to his favourite carnations,
placed a chair for Esther on the grass just outside
the window, where she might sit with the infant,
and, while resting herself, talk to him as he
finished her laborious task.
Mrs. Reede did not remember to have ever
started so incessantly at the sound of guns ;
and the air-music of the window-harp that she
had seen in the pavilions of great men's gardens
had never come so mournfully over her spirit as
the snatches of harmonv that the wind now
brought from the river to make her infant hold
up his tiny finger while his sister said " hark !"
She was, for once, nervous. It might be seen in
her flushed face and her startled movements ; and
the poor baby felt it in the absence of the usual
ease with which he was held and played with. A
sharp sudden cry from him called the attention of
the doctor from his task. In a moment, mam-
ma's grief was more tumultuous than the infant's.
" O, my child! my child! I have hurt my
child ! my own little baby!" cried she, weeping
bitterly, and of course redoubling the panic of the
little one.
" My dear love," said her husband, trying to
prove to her that the baby had only been fright-
ened by a jerk ; " my dear love, you alarm your-
self much more than the child. See !" and he
held up in the evening sunlight the brass plate
on which his study lamp stood. Its glittering
at once arrested the infant's terrors: but not so
soon could the tears of the mother be stopped.
SECOND AGE. 75
M My love, there must be some deeper cause
than this trifling accident,'* said he, sitting down
on the low window sill beside her chair. " Is it
that you have pent up your grief all day, and that
it will have way ?"
Mrs. Reede had a long train of sad thoughts
to disclose, in the intervals of her efforts to com-
pose herself. The children, she said, amused
themselves as if nothing was the matter ; while
who could tell what they might think hereafter of
being thus removed from a fair and honourable
home, and carried where -O, there was no
telling what lot might await them ! If every-
body had thought the sacrifice a right one, she
could have gone through it without any regret :
but some of her husband's oldest friends thought
him wrong
" Towards God, or towards you, my love ?"
" 0, towards these children, I suppose. They
dare not think that you would do anything wrong
towards me. I am sure I onlv think of vou
first, and then of the children. How you have
preached here, with the souls of your people in
your hand, to mould them as you would ! and
now, you must go where your gift and your office
will be nothing ; and you will be only like any
other man. And, as for the children, we do not
know "
" When the bird leads forth her brood from
their warm nest, because springes are set round
about them, does she know what shall befall
them? There may be hawks abroad, or a
sharp wind that may be too strong for their scarce-
h 2
76 SECOND AGE.
plumed wings. Or they may gather boldness
from their early flight, and wave in the sunshine
on a high bough, and pour out there a grateful
morn and even song from season to season. The
parent bird knows not: but she must needs take
them from among the springes, however soft may
be the nest, and cool the mossy tree. We know
more than this parent bird ; even that no spar-
row falleth unheeded to the ground. 5 '
Mrs. Reede's tears began to flow again as an-
other faint breath of music reached her.
"Is it that you will be more composed when
the sounds of mirth, to us unseasonable, have
passed away ?" asked Dr. Reede, smiling.
" It does seem hard that our spoilers should
be making merry while we are going forth we
know not whither," said the wife.
" How would it advantage the mother bird
that the fowlers should lie close while she plumes
her pinions to be gone ? Will she stoop in her
flight for all their mirth ? As for us, music may
be to us a rare treat henceforth. Let our ears
be pleased with it, whencesoever it may come."
And he made the children hearken, till they
clapped their little hands, and their mother once
more smiled. Her husband then said to her,
" If this mirth be ungodly, there is no reason
why we should be more scandalized at it than
on any other day, only because we ourselves are
not merry. If it be innocent, we should thank
God that others are happier than ourselves. Yet
I am not otherwise than happy in the inward
spirit. I shall never repent this day,"
SECOND AGE. 77
11 They say you will, when But it is not as
if we stood alone. It is said that there will be a
large number of the separated."
"Thank God! not for the companionship to
ourselves, so much as for the profit to his right-
eousness. It will be much to meet here and
there eves that tell back one's own story, and to
clasp hands that are undefiled by the world's
lucre. But it is more to know that God's truth
is so hymned by some thousand tongues this
night, that the echo shall last till weak voices like
ours shall be wanted no more."
" Let us go," cried Mrs. Reede, dispersing her
last tears, and lifting up one child while the
other remained in her husband's arms. He took
advantage of her season of strength, and re-
solved to convev her at once to the humble lodg-
ing which was to be their present abode, and to
return himself to see that all was done. He de-
tained her only to join him in a brief thank-giv-
ing for the happiness they had enjoyed there since
their marriage day, and to beseech a blessing on
him who was to succeed to the dwelling and to
the pastoral office. Courageous as was Mrs.
Reede's present mood, she was still at the mercy
of trifles. The little girl's kitten would not bear
them company. It had been removed twice, and
had returned, and now was not to be found. It
had hidden itself in some corner whence it would
come out when they were gone ; and the child
departed in a very unchristian state of distress.
Her mamma found that both she and her child had
H 3
78 SECOND AGE.
yet to learn Dr. Reede's method of not fretting
because of evil-doers.
Though he could not trouble himself with per-
sonal resentments, no man could more strenu-
ously rebuke and expose guilt, ā especially guilt
in high places, which is so much worse than other
guilt, in as far as it desolates a wider region of
human happiness. In his farewell discourse,
the next day, he urged some considerations on
behalf of society far more eagerly than he ever
asked anything for himself.
" It is no new thing," said he, " for men to be
required to set their hand to that which they believe
not, or to affirm that they believe that which they
understand no more in the expression than in the
essence. It is no new thing for a mistake to be
made as to such protestation, so that if a man say
he believes that a sown field will bear corn,
though he knows not the manner of its sprouting
nor the order of its ripening, he shall be also
required to believe a proposition in an unknown
tongue, whereof he knows not even what it is
that should be proposed. It is no new thing
that men should start at such a requisition, as a
sound- witted man would start from the shows
and babble of the magician ; or as a modest wise
man would shrink from appointing the way to a
wandering comet, lest he should unawares bring
the orderly heavens to a mighty wreck. It is no
new thing for the searchers of God's ways to
respect his everlasting laws more than man's pre-
sumptuous bidding : or for Him whom they serve
SECOND AGE 79
so to change the face'of things to them as to make
his extremest yoke easy, and his heaviest burden
light : ā to cast a shade over what must be fore-
gone, ā whether it be life itself, or only the goodly
things in which maybe too much of our life hath
been found, ā or to beam a light from his own
highest heaven on the wilderness-path, which
may seem horrid to those who are not to tread it,
but passable enough to such as must needs take
this way to their everlasting home. These
things being not new, are a sign to us recusants
of this day not to be in anywise astonished or
dismayed, and also not to allow a dwelling upon
the part we have taken, as if it were any mighty
merit to trust to God's providence, which waits
only to be trusted, or required any marvellous
faith to commit ourselves to Christ's word, which,
if it be Christ's, must stand when the heavens
themselves shall be dissolved. It behoves us rather
to look to things less clear than these, and more
important than the putting forth of a few of Christ's
meanest shepherds from their folds ; ā for whom
the chief Shepherd may perhaps find other occa-
sions ; and, if not, they may be well content to
lie down among the sheep, remembering that he
once had not where to lay his head. The true
occasion of this day is not to break one another's
hearts with griefs and tears, (which may but puff
out or quench the acceptable fire of the altar ;)
but so to fan the new-kindled flame as that it may
seize and consume whatsoever of foul and dese-
crating shows most hideous in its light. Is it
SO SECOND AGE.
not plain that powers whose use is ushered in
with prayers, and alternated with the response of
God's most holy name, ā the powers of govern-
ment, ā are used to ensnare those who open their
doors to whatsoever cometh in that name ? It
is well that governments should be thus sanctified
to the ears and eyes of the governed ; for, if
there be a commission more certainly given
straight from the hand of God than another it is
that of a ruler of men. Who but he opens the
eyes of the blind, and unstops the ears of the
deaf, and sets the lame on his feet, and strength-
ens together the drooping heart and the feeble
knees, ā by setting before the one the radiant
frame of society in all its fitness, and waking up
for another the voices of human companionship,
and compacting the powers of the weak with
those of the strong, and cheering all by warding
off injury from without, and making restraint
easy where perchance it may gall any of those
who are within ? Sacred is the power of the
ruler as a trust ; but if it be used as a property,
where is its sanctity ? If the steward puts out
the eyes that follow him too closely, and ties the
tongue that importunes, and breaks the limbs of
the strong man in sport, so as to leave him an
impotent beggar in the porch of the mansion, ā
do we not know from the Scripture what shall be
the fate of that steward? As it is with a single
ruler, so shall it be with a company of rulers, ā
with a government which regards the people only
as the something on which itself must stand-;
SECOND AGE. 81
which takes bread from the children to give it to
dogs; which sells God's gifts to them that are
without, at the risk of such utter blindness that
they shall weary themselves to find the door out
of their perplexities and terrors. What govern-
ments there be that commit the double sin "of
lording it over consciences, (which are God's
heritage,) and of ruling for their own low plea-
sures instead of the right living and moving of
the people, judge ye. If there be any which mis-
manage its defence, and deny or pervert justice,
and refuse public works, and make the church a
scandal, and the court a spectacle for angels to weep
over and devils to resort to, and, instead of speed-
ing the people's freedom with the wings of know-
ledge, shut them into the little cells of ancient
men's wits, it is time that such should know why
God hath made them stewards, and should be
alarmed for the coming of their Master. It is
not for the men and maid-servants to wrest his
staff from his hands, or to refuse his reasonable
bidding, or to forsake, the one his plough, and
the other his mill, and the maidens to spread the
table : but it is for any one to give loud warn-
ing that the Master of the house will surely de-
mand an account of the welfare of his servants.
Such a warning do I give ; and such is the
warning spoken by the many mourners of this day,
who, because they honour the kingly office as
the holiest place of the fair temple of society,
and kingly agents as the appointed priesthood,
can the less bear to see the nation outraged as
82 SECOND AGE.
if there were no avenging angel of Jehovah
flying abroad ; and comfortless in their miseries,
as if Jehovah himself were not in the midst of
them."
It was well that Dr. Reede felt that he could
bear the pillory. He was pilloried.
( 83 )
THIRD AGE.
History is silent as to the methods by which
men were enabled to endure the tedium of jour-
neys by the heavy coaches of the olden time.
The absence of all notion of travelling faster
might, indeed, be no inconsiderable aid, ā an aid
of which travellers are at present, for the most
part, deprived ; since the mail-coach passenger,
the envy of the poor tenant of the carrier's cart,
feels envy, in his turn, of the privileged beings
who shoot alone the northern rail-road ; while
they, perhaps, are sighing for the time when they
shall be able to breakfast at one extremity of the
kingdom, and dine at the other. When once the
idea of not going fast enough enters a traveller's
mind, ennui is pretty sure to follow ; and it may
be to this circumstance that the patience of our
forefathers, under their long incarceration on the
road, was owing ā if patience they had. Now, a
traveller who is too much used to journeying to
be amused, as a child is, by the mere process of
travelling, is dismayed alike if there be a full
number of passengers, and if there be none but
himself. In the first case, there is danger of
delay from the variety of deposits of persons and
goods ; and in the second, there is an equal
danger of delay from the coachman having all
his own way, and the certainty, besides, of the
84 THIRD AOE.
absence of all opportunity of shaking off the
dulness of his own society.
Mr. Reid, a sociable young barrister, who had
never found himself at a loss on a journey, was
left desolate one day last summer when he least
expected it. He had taken his wife and child
down to the south, in order to establish them by
the sea-side for a few weeks ; and he was now
travelling up to town by the stage-coach, in very
amusing company, as he thought, for the first
stage, but presently in solitude. Supposing that
his companions were going all the way, he took
his time about making the most of them, and
lost the opportunity. There was a sensible
farmer, who pointed right and left to the sheep
on the downs ā green downs ā retiring in long
sweeps from the road ; and he had much to relate
of the methods of cultivation which had been
pursued here, there, and everywhere, ā with the
Barn Field, and Rick Mead, and Pond-side Field,
and Brook Hollow, and many other pretty places
that he indicated. He had also stores of infor-
mation on the farmer's favourite subject of com-
plaint ā the state of the poor. He could give
the history of all the well-meant attempts of my
lord this, and my lady that, and colonel the
other, to make employment, and institute prizes
of almshouses, and induce their neighbours to
lay out more on patches of land than less help-
less folks would think it worth while to bestow.
Meantime, a smart young lady in the opposite
corner was telling her widowed chaperon why
she could not abide the country, and would not
THIRD AGE. 85
be tempted to leave dear London any more, ā
namely, that the country was chalky, and whi-
tened the hems of all her petticoats. The widow,
in return, assured the unbelieving girl that the
country was not chalky all over the world, and
that she had actually seen, with her own eyes,
the junction of a white, a red, and a black road,
ā very convenient, as one might choose one's
walk by the colour of one's gown. The widow
at the same time let fall her wish to have the
charge ā merely for the sake of pleasant occupa-
tion ā of the household of a widower, to whose
daughters she could teach everything desirable ;
especially if they were intended to look after
dairy and poultry-yard, and such things.
44 Thank'ee, ma'am," said the farmer, as she
looked full at Lira ; " my daughters are some of
them grown up ; and they have got on without
much teaching since their mother died."
Mr. Reid promised himself to gain more in-
formation about the widow's estimate of her own
capabilities ; but she and her charge were not
yet going to " dear London." They got out at
the first country town, just after the farmer had
thrust himself half out of the window to stop
the coach, flung himself on the stout horse that
was waiting for him at the entrance of a green
lane, and trotted off, with a prodigious exertion
of knee, elbow, and coat-flap.
Mr. Reid had soon done thinking of the widow,
and of the damsel who had displayed so intimate
a knowledge of rural life. Pauperism lasted
longer ; but this was only another version of a
8G THIRD AGE.
dismal story with which he was already too well
acquainted. He was glad to think of something
else. He found that he got most sun by riding
backward, and most wind by riding forward, and
made his election in favour of the latter. He
discovered, after a momentary doubt, that his
umbrella was safe, and that there was no occa-
sion to trouble his knees any longer with his
great-coat. He perceived that the coach had
been new-lined, and he thought the lace suited
the lining uncommonly well. He wondered whe-
ther the people would be as confoundedly long in
changing horses at every stage as they had been
at the first. It would be very provoking to arrive
in town too late for dinner at G 's. Ah ! the
women by the road-side found it a fine day for
drying the linen they had washed. How it blew
about, flapping, with a noise like mill-sails; big-
sleeved pinafores and dancing stockings ! This
was a pretty country to live in : the gentlemen's
houses were sufficiently sheltered, and the cot-
tages had neat orchards behind them ; and one
would think pains had been taken with the green
lanes ā just in the medium as they were between
rankness and bareness. VĀ» bat an advantage
roads among little hills have in the clear stream
under the hedge, ā a stream like this, dimpling
and oozing, now over pebbles, and now among
weeds ! That hedge would make a delicious fore-
ground for a picture, ā the earth being washed
away from the twisted roots, and they covered
with brown moss, with still a cowslip here and
there nodding to itself in the water as the wind
THIRD AGE. 87
passed by. By the way, that bit of foreground
might be kept in mind for his next paper for the
" New Monthly." It would be easy to give his
subject a turn that would allow that hedge and
its cowslip to be brought in. What had not
Victor Hugo made of a yellow flower, in a scene
to which nobody who had read it would need a
second reference ! 13ut this well, to the left, was
even better than the hedge : it must have been
described already ; for it looked as if put there
for the purpose. What a damp nook in the
hedge it stood in, with three old yews above it,
and tufts of long grass to fringe the place !
What a well-used chain and ladle, and what
merry, mischievous children, pushing one an-
other into the muddy pool where the drippings
fell, and splashing each other, under pretence of
drinking ! He was afraid of losing the impres-
sion of this place, so much dusty road as he had
to pass through, and so many new objects to
meet before he could sit down to write ; unless,
indeed, he did it now. W T hy should not he write
his paper now? It was a good idea ā a capital
thought !
Three backs of letters and a pencil were pre-
sently found, and a flat parcel in one of the win-
dow-pockets, which served as a desk, when the
feet were properly planted on the opposite seat.
The lines were none of the straightest, at first ;
and the dots and stops wandered far out of their
right places ; while the long words looked some-
what hieroglyphical. But the coach stopped ;
and Mr. Reid forgot to observe how much longer
i2
88 THIRD AGE.
it took than before to change horses while he was
the only passenger. He looked up only once,
and then saw so charming an old granny, with
her little Tommy, carrying a toad-in-a-hole to
the baker's, that he was rewarded for li is mo-
mentary idleness, and resolved to find a place
for them too, near the well and the mossy hedge.
He was now as sorry to be off again as before
to stop. The horses were spirited, and the road
was rough. His pencil slipped and jerked, this
way and that. Presently his eyes ached : his
ideas were jostled away. It was impossible to
compose while the manual act was so trouble-
some ; it was nonsense to attempt it. Nothing
but idleness would do in travelling ; so the
blunted pencil was put by, and the eye was
refreshed once more with green.
But now a new sort of country was opening.
The hedges were gone, and a prodigious stretch
of fallow on either hand looked breezy and
pleasant enough at first ; and the lark sprang
from the furrow so blithely, that Reid longed to
stop the coach, that he might hear its trilling.
But the lark could not be heard, and was soon
out of sight ; and the perspective of furrows
became as wearying as making pothooks had
been. Reid betook himself to examining the
window- pockets. There were two or three tidy
parcels for solicitors, of course ; and a little one,
probably for a maid-servant, as there were seven
lines of direction upon it. The scent of straw-
berries came from a little basket, coolly lined
with leaves, and addressed to Master Jones, at a
THIRD AGE. 89
school in a town to be presently passed through.
Reid hoped, for the boy's sake, that there was a
letter too ; and he found an interstice, through
which lie could slip half-a-dozen burnt almonds,
which had remained in his pocket after treating
his own child. What speculations there would
be, next holiday time, about how the almonds
got in ! Two or three other little parcels were
disregarded ; for among them lay one of more
importance to Reid than all the re^.t, ā three
newspapers, tied round once with a bit of red
tape, and directed, in pencil, to be left at the
Blue Lion till called for. Reid took the liberty
of untying the tape, and amusing himself with
the precious pieces of type that had fallen in his
way. There was little political intelligence in
these papers, and that was of old date ; but a
little goes a great way with a solitary traveller ;
and when the better parts of a newspaper are dis-
posed of, enough remains in the drier parts to
employ the intellect that courts suggestion. That
which is the case with all objects on which the
attention is occupied, is eminently the case with
a newspaper ā that whatever the mind happens
to be full of there receives addition, and that the
mood in which it is approached there meets with
confirmation. Reid had heard much from the
farmer of the hardships which individuals suffer
from a wasteful public expenditure ; and his eye
seemed to catch something which related to this
matter, to whatever corner of the papers it wan-
dered.
j3
90 THIRD AGE.
" Strike at ****** Palace. ā All the
workmen at present employed on this extensive
structure ceased work on the appearance of the
contractor yesterday morning. Their demand for
higher wages being decidedly refused by him, the
men quitted the spot, and the wvrks have since
remained, deserted. A considerable crowd ga-
thered round, mid appeared disposed to take part
with the workmen, who, it is said, have for some
time past been arranging a combination to secure
a rise of wages. The contractor declares his
intention to concede no part of the demand."
The crowd taking part with the workmen !
Then the crowd knows less than the workmen
what it is about. These wages are paid by that
very crowd ; and it is because they issue from
the public purse that the workmen think they
may demand higher wages than they would from
a nobleman or private gentleman. The con-
tractor is but a medium, as they see, between the
tax-payers and themselves ; and the terms of the
contract must depend much on the rate of wages
of those employed. I hope the contractor will
indeed concede nothing ; for it is the people that
must overpay eventually ; and it has been too
long taken for granted that the public must pay
higher for everything than individuals. I should
not wonder if these men have got it into their
heads, like an acquaintance of mine in the same