CHAPTER XL

Colin prepares for his undertaking, and exhibits great stubbornness of temper in withstanding many difficulties.

FROM the time at which James Woodruff had received the little packet, as related some pages back, up to the eventful night when, as mentioned therein, the attempt to extricate him from confinement was to be made, Colin had busily employed all his spare hours in manufacturing in secret such articles for his purpose as he conceived he should require. This he was the better enabled to do, from hav ing accompanied Fanny on a visit of inspection to the place, when, by the top of the old yew-tree being visible above the high wall, she was enabled to point out to him the exact spot in which her father was confined, and where his attempt must necessarily be made.

On the afternoon preceding the appointed night, Colin asked for leave to go to Bramleigh on particular business; and at the same time stated, that as it might detain him rather late, he should very probably have to remain there all night. Much to his surprise, Miss Sowersoft immediately granted his request with a more than ordinary grace; at the same time remarking very pleasantly, "that if his business there was but honest and good, she hoped he would succeed in it, as everybody ought to do; but if people went about unprincipled jobs of any kind, it was very right and just that the evil spirit they served should betray them in the end."

At any other time Colin might not have noticed these remarks; but under present circumstances, they sunk deep into his mind. He feared that his design had, by some means or other, become, if not wholly known, at least suspected; and during the next half hour, instead of setting out, he sat down upon the step of the open housedoor, considering what course he ought to pursue. The doubts which then arose in his mind were not so much the result of fear as of cautious forecast, touching the probable result of his enterprise. If by any means it had been found out, his wisest course would be to abandon it for the present, and either wait some more favourable opportunity, or leave the whole matter in abeyance until his visit to the Hall, on the squire's return, afforded him a chance of explaining the circumstances to that gentleman, and of gaining, if possible, his assistance. Yet, if he did so, what would Mr. Woodruff think? He would wait in horrible anxiety hour after hour, still depending upon the word of him, who said that nothing short of death should prevent his coming.

These reflections decided the question. Colin rose up, and within ten minutes was some distance on his road.

Another circumstance disturbed him. Before leaving the house, he saw Mr. Palethorpe, with his best inexpressibles on, preparing himself apparently for a short journey; and, on Colin's putting the question to him, he observed, with a malicious grin, that he also was going to Bramleigh. The youth turned pale, and red, and pale again, as shame and fear alternately possessed his bosom, though he pursued his way with undiminished resolution, conscious that he had engaged in a good cause, and resolved rather to fail in it than to commit him. self in falsehood, through the foolish dread of some undefined and perhaps imaginary danger.

Colin arrived at his mother's house about six o'clock in the evening, and, by previous appointment, met there with his friend Fanny. Together they put everything into a state of preparation; while Colin, as a precautionary measure, in case anything should happen, obliged the young woman to take three guineas of the fifteen which Mr. Lupton had sent him, and the whole of which he had brought in his pocket, in case it should be required for the service of Mr. Woodruff, when he had got out of the mad-house.

As hour after hour passed by, the young couple grew indescribably anxious and restless. Fanny dreaded that some unforeseen evil would befall Colin, and with tears in her eyes now begged him to give up the design, and wait until the Squire's return enabled them to do so much more, and better. To this he replied in few words, that what he had promised to do he would do, happen what might.

Then," said Fanny, "let us tell your mother all about it. I dare say she means the best for both of us, after all; and then, perhaps, she may think of something to help you in the attempt."

Mrs. Clink was accordingly informed, very much to her amazement, of the principal heads of this affair, so far as already known to the reader, and also of the business which, in consequence, Colin now had upon his hands. This last she considered highly chimerical and dangerous; she prophesied it would lead to nothing but trouble to himself; declared positively that twenty better methods could readily be devised; and concluded by assuring her son, that if he did not relinquish it at once and for ever, he would surely live to repent it before another week was over his head. Colin's reply again was, that no representations whatever could induce him to alter his purpose; and he began to get ready, and tie up his simple apparatus for climbing the wall.

At half past nine o'clock he was ready to set out. Somehow, he knew not why, Colin felt that he must bid his mother and Fanny a more serious adieu than usual. His mother kissed him, and Fanny, -she, when in the shadow of the door, kissed him too, and asked a thousand blessings on his head. He promised, in case he succeeded, to be back with Mr. Woodruff in the course of an hour and a half; and having again shaken hands with Fanny, he passed out into the

street.

That hour and a half passed heavily by, during which Mrs. Clink and Fanny talked the matter over again, reflected, speculated, hoped, and feared. Colin did not come.

Eleven o'clock struck he was not there; they looked out, but could see nothing; listened, but could hear nothing.

Twelve came-midnight-he did not return. Fanny could not be restrained by Mrs. Clink any longer, and she went up alone to the scene of his enterprise, trusting there at least to ascertain something. All was silent as the grave. One solitary light alone, as of some one retiring to quiet rest, was visible in the mad-house, and that was all. But while she stood, she heard a horseman enter the stony yard, as though he had come from the Whinmoor road. The light of a lan tern glanced along the walls above, and then vanished in the stables. She hastened, terrified, back again-Colin was not there. The whole night passed-morning broke-the world grew light and gay-but he did not come again.

SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY,

IN A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW,
LIEUT. SEAFORTH, H. P., LATE OF THE HON. E. I. c.'s 2D Regt. of
BOMBAY FENCIBLES.

In reply to your letter and Fanny's,

Lord Brougham, it appears, isn't dead,-though Queen Anne is; 'Twas a plot" and a "farce"-you hate farces, you say— Take another "plot," then, viz. the plot of a Play.

**

The Countess of Arundel, high in degree,
As a lady possess'd of an earldom in fee,
Was imprudent enough at fifteen years of age,
A period of life when we're not over sage,
To form a liaison-in fact, to engage
Her hand to a Hop-o'-my-thumb of a Page.
This put her Papa-

As

She had no Mamma

may well be supposed, in a deuce of a rage.

Mr. Benjamin Franklin was wont to repeat,

In his budget of proverbs, " Stolen Kisses are sweet;"

But they have their alloy

Fate assumed, to annoy

Miss Arundel's peace, and embitter her joy,

The equivocal shape of a fine little Boy.

When, through "the young Stranger," her secret took wind,
The Old Lord was neither "to haud nor to bind."

He bounced up and down,

And so fearful a frown

Contracted his brow, you'd have thought he'd been blind.
The young lady, they say,

Having fainted away,

Was confined to her room for the whole of the day;
While her beau-no rare thing, in the old feudal system-
Disappear'd the next morning, and nobody miss'd him.

The fact is, his Lordship, who hadn't, it seems,
Form'd the slightest idea, not ev'n in his dreams,
That the pair had been wedded according to law,
Conceived that his daughter had made a faux pas ;
So he bribed at a high rate

A sort of a Pirate

To knock out the poor dear young Gentleman's brains;
Which done, he'd a handsome douceur for his pains.

VOL. IV.

43

1

The Page thus disposed of, his Lordship now turns
His attention at once to the Lady's concerns,

And, alarmed for the future,

Looks out for a suitor,

One not fond of raking, nor given to "the pewter,"
But adapted to act both the husband and tutor;
Finds a highly respectable middle-aged widower,
Marries her off, and thanks Heaven that he's rid o❜ her.
Relieved from his cares,

The old Peer now prepares

To arrange in good earnest his worldly affairs;
Has his will made anew by a Special Attorney,
Sickens, takes to his bed, and sets out on his journey.
Which way he travell'd

Has not been unravell'd ;

To speculate much on the point were too curious,
If the climate he reach'd were serene or sulphureous.
To be sure in his balance-sheet all must declare
One item-The Page-was an awkward affair;
But, per contra, he'd lately endow'd a new Chantry
For Priests, with ten marks and the run of the pantry.
Be that as it may,

It's sufficient to say

That his tomb in the chancel stands there to this day,
Built of Bethersden marble, a dark blueish grey.
The figure, a fine one of pure alabaster,

Some cleanly churchwarden has cover'd with plaster;
While a Vandal or Jew,

With a taste for virtù,

Has knock'd off his toes, to place, I suppose,
In some Pickwick Museum, with part of his nose;
From his belt and his sword

And his misericorde

The enamel's been chipp'd out, and never restored;
His ci-git in old French is inscribed all around,
And his head's in his helm, and his heel's on his hound,
The palms of his hands, as if going to pray,
Are join'd and upraised o'er his bosom-But stay!
I forgot that his tomb's not described in the Play.

Lady Arundel, now in her own right a Peeress,
Perplexes her noddle with no such nice queries,
But produces in time, to her husband's great joy,
Another remarkably "fine little boy."

As novel connections

Oft change the affections,

And turn all one's love into different directions,
Now to young" Johnny Newcome" she seems to confine hers,
Neglecting the poor little dear out at dry-nurse;

Nay, for worse than that,

She considers "the brat"

As a bore-fears her husband may smell out a raf.

As her legal adviser

She takes an old Miser,

A sort of " poor cousin."

She might have been wiser;

For this arrant deceiver,

By name Maurice Beevor,

A shocking old scamp, should her own issue fail,
By the law of the land stands the next in entail.
So, soon as she ask'd him to hit on some plan
To provide for her eldest, away the rogue ran
To that self-same unprincipled sea-faring man;
In his ear whisper'd low***.

66 Bully Gaussen" said "Done !-
I Burked the papa, now I'll Bishop the son!"
"Twas agreed; and, with speed

To accomplish the deed,

He adopted a scheme he was sure would succeed.
By long cock-and-bull stories

Of Candish, and Noreys,

Of Drake, and bold Raleigh, then fresh in his glories,
Acquired 'mongst the Indians and Rapparee Tories,
He so work'd on the lad,

That he left, which was bad,

The only true friend in the world that he had,
Father Onslow, a priest, though to quit him most loth,
Who in childhood had furnish'd his pap and his broth,
At no small risk of scandal, indeed, to his cloth.

The kidnapping crimp

Took the foolish young imp

On board of his cutter so trim and so jimp,
Then seizing him just as you'd handle a shrimp;
Twirl'd him thrice in the air with a whirligig motion,
And soused him at once neck and heels in the ocean.
This was off Plymouth Sound,

And he must have been drown'd,

For 'twas nonsense to think he could swim to dry ground,
If "A very great Warman,

Call'd Billy the Norman,"

Had not just at that moment sail'd by, outward bound.

A shark of great size,

With his great glassy eyes,

Sheer'd off as he came, and relinquish'd the prize;

So he pick'd up the lad,* swabb'd, and dry-rubb'd, and mopp'd

him,

And, having no children, resolved to adopt him.

An incident very like one in Jack Sheppard,
A work some have lauded and others have pepper'd,
When a Dutch pirate kidnaps and tosses Thames Darrel
Just so in the sea, and he's saved by a barrel,-
On the coast, if I recollect rightly, it's flung whole,
And the hero, half. drown'd, scrambles out of the bung-hole.
[It aint no sich thing!-the hero aint bung'd in a barrel at all.
by a Captain, jest as Norman was arterwards.-PRINT. Dev.]

He's pick'd up