first on this side, then on that. Her garments became twisted and entangled, and she was well nigh brought to a stand-still. In spite

of these adverse tokens, however, she impiously strove more and more to accomplish her object; but all her efforts were in vain, for the

blasts increased in violence, the moaning winds became a hurricane, and the tempest roared. She soon found it impossible to advance another step, so, gathering up all her remaining strength, she lifted her shrunken visage to the storm, and, with defiant air, shrieked out a curse, wild and bitter, upon the elements. Lo! some mysterious spell at once begins to work upon her; a sudden change takes place; the winds are hushed; stiff and erect for ever she remains, and granite cold!-the five woolballs firmly fixed in her death-grasp. And these may still be traced, for, turned to stone, she stands as a monument of wrath, warning succeeding generations. I need only remark on this legend that the five bosses on the cross admit of a more exalted interpretation than is here afforded.

By passing over the hill at Kirk Maughold, which is surmounted by a barrow, and keeping along the sheep-walks which descend over the brow of the turf-crowned rocky head, the Saint's Well may be reached. The way to it is dangerous, as it overhangs the sea. The

ground is precipitous, and the short, dry, shiny turf affords but a slippery footing. The waters have been supposed to possess great healing virtue, especially, I was told, if drunk sitting in St. Maughold's chair. On returning to the village one is struck with the grandeur of the distant hills. North Barrule has almost the appearance of a volcano from this point. Kirk Maughold churchyard commands an extensive view of the scenery inland. The ground is of large size, being, I believe, about three acres, and was formerly a sanctuary for criminals. Does not this fact accord with the old tradition of the Saint himself? Can we not readily believe, that if the story they tell of him be true, he would open his arms wide, as a Christian bishop, to receive all who might flee from death and sin? for doubtless he ever bore in grateful remembrance his own oppor tune arrival at this spot, where he commenced a new and better course; and who shall say but that many others fled to this consecrated ground, and sought thenceforth to live as they had never lived before ?

W. I.

35

CHAPTER XV.-MR. SNODGERS FORMS A
LIMITED COMPANY.

HAT do you want with
me, Thompson, hey?"
said Mr. Royds to his
head clerk. Mr. Royds
was pulling on his
gloves preparatory to
taking his afternoon

ride in Rotten Row. "Batt's mortgage to Mr. Edward Frankland, sir."

"S'pose it's all right. Tonks is a very good valuer, safe man. Yes, you had better prepare the deed." Mr. Royds' maxim in his business was to act upon the instructions of his clients. He never thwarted by unasked advice what he believed to be their wish. If Edward chose to lend his money to Mr. Batt, all Mr. Royds concerned himself about was the title of the security, and a certified opinion of its sufficiency as to value.

When the mortgage-deed was prepared it was sent to Mr. Batt for his perusal, but Mr. Gribble did not act for the iron-master in this matter.

Mr. Batt's solicitor, whoever he was, had no objections to offer, and in due time, the preliminaries being arranged, the business was concluded, Edward's five thousand pounds being transferred to Mr. Batt's account with his bankers.

It was arranged between him and Mr. Snodgers that this being settled, they should meet at the works the next morning to confer with Mr. Batt as to the formation of the company.

But while Edward saw no objection to lending his money upon a good security which was approved by so respectable a solicitor as Mr. Royds, he did not feel any increasing anxiety to join Mr. Snodgers in any commercial enterprise. Yet he was quite willing to listen to their proposals, though he intended to be very cautious in permitting the financial agent to impair the security he now held for his capital.

Still if he could only see his way to getting ten per cent. for this money it seemed to him that he would be advancing towards the

marrying position he so ardently desired to attain. The fact is, he didn't quite know what he wanted. He was unwell and nervous, alone in London, and, as he felt, without friends; shrinking from those who perhaps would have received him kindly, because he had a sensitive fear that they wouldn't be even civil to him in his altered fortunes, resolving every day upon contradictory schemes for the future; meanwhile, glad of anything which engaged his time and forced from him action of some sort.

Looking upon London and the wide field of endeavour it afforded to a young man, he had felt valiant; but a few weeks and he seemed to be sinking in the great stream of life, cruelly ready to submerge him and to pass on unrippled over his head. A year ago and such thoughts would have been regarded by him as a passing attack of "the blues." Now he couldn't shake off a creeping sense of despondency, an undefined feeling of unworthiness of his former self. He had raised his income a hundred a year by selling out his money from the funds and lending it to Mr. Batt. But never till now had he rightly estimated the real privileges of wealth. So he thought. What was it not worth to be free from sordid considerations, from ignoble associations?

As he lay in bed at his lodgings thinking that he had to meet Mr. Snodgers in two hours' time at the works, turning these thoughts over and over in his mind, restless and wretched, he imagined he could see how the downward path to roguery was the only road before some men. He felt sure he could never do anything dishonest. Yet in his nervous, fretful discontent he could fancy himself gliding downwards into grinding poverty, to a miserable reflection of his former self, hopeless of recognition by her he loved so dearly.

Then he sprang up, and a tub of cold water improved his prospects. As he walked down to the works he was counting his resources, and glad that he had an engagement, even though it were with Mr. Snodgers.

VOL. III.

NEW SERIES.

No. 68

his fastidious pride to think he observed a smile of recognition in the rusty clerk's face, as though Snaggs thought there was community of interest now between them.

"No, the guv'ner ain't come yet," said Snaggs, in reply to Edward's inquiry for Mr. Batt.

What a rusty, weary wretch he looked, so much in keeping with the place in which he sat, so inharmonious with any idea of home and domestic joys, that Edward was almost inclined to wonder if he lived there on the old stool, the rotten leather of which showed in more than one place its stuffing of hay. On the bar beneath his desk there was a smooth, deep notch worn by his wooden leg, and as he doubled down to his books again, one could see that the attitude was taken rather by force of habit than by the amount of work he had to do.

He wore a rusty dress suit of antique cut, his trowsers fitting tightly over the rusty top of his Wellington boots, leaving the entire foot visible, bulgy here and there, where the upper leather had parted from soles guilt less of blacking. His long, bony hands were smeared with ink, and a blot of it appeared, though not very plainly, on his dirty shirtfront. A rusty, frayed satin stock supported a collar, which seemed to be falling down into it, ashamed of days and days of wear. And above it his face, with an immortal rust upon it. His thin ragged locks of hair-he had none upon his cheeks or chin-seemed like a wretched crown of rust, and now and then he sniffed pinches of rust-coloured snuff up his nose from an iron box, to which it was probably owing that his eyes had usually a watery appearance. If ever they assumed an expression, or feebly shared one with his large mouth, it was an expression of the smallest human cunning, such as might warn a watchful master to be careful of his pennies rather than of his cheque-book.

"And he warn't here yesterday, neether," added Snaggs, after a long pause, during which Edward had been standing by the fire regarding the rusty clerk.

"How does the business get on without him ?'

"It don't want much looking after. Mostly buyin' and sellin', one day a lot o' scrap, then a lot o' pigs, and maybe a horder for a lot o' castin's."

There was a knock at the door. "It's Mr. Snodgers," said Edward. But it wasn't Mr. Snodgers. It was a postman, who handed Edward a letter. He took it mechanically, and was going to place it on Snaggs' desk, when his eye fell upon the address. It was "Edward Frankland, Esq.,

Edward's first feeling after reading this was one of blank dismay. He would have been less miserable by far if he had simply lost all his money and there had been an end of it. He saw he had been duped by this man who had probably left the country directly after he got the five thousand pounds. Edward never reflected that he had full value for his money in the security, he was so troubled with the thought that he was saddled with this wretched place that he should be there waiting for such a rogue, actually waiting for a conference on something like terms of equality with Mr. Batt.

But he had not long to reflect upon the altered aspect of affairs before Mr. Snodgers arrived.

"I was detained," said Snodgers, loftily, "with the Cotopaxi directors. Is our friend about the works ? "

Edward handed him our friend's" letter, with an ungraciously frigid reception of Mr. Snodgers' hand-shaking. He watched the financial agent as he read, thinking to detect complicity in his countenance.

"Well, that is lucky," said Mr. Snodgers, with a sort of pleasant emphasis, as he handed back the letter to Edward.

"What?

Why I knew he was in debt, but I didn't know it had gone quite so far as this!"

"I don't understand you," said Edward, wondering if he could be in any way included in the circle of which Mr. Snodgers spoke.

Mr. Snodgers threw himself into the chair, and laughed his quiet, respectable laugh.

"Don't understand me! Why, you see, sir, we've got the company in our own hands now. I've got an agreement by which I can take the good-will without payment, and you've got the wharf and premises; you can't sell 'em without the business. Now d'ye see ?—why it's as neat as ninepence. All we've got to do is to arrange with the creditors so as to prevent the hubbub of a public insolvency. I

know one or two of 'em. There's Plynlym, the Welsh mine owner, and Gernet, the agricultural implement maker, they'll be in rather heavily. We'll make directors of them. Firstrate names. Then there's yourself; then there's me, Joseph Snodger, Esq., as promoter and managing director, pro. tem.; and we'll make Mr. Snaggs secretary."

Mr. Snodgers looked triumphantly at Edward, who began in a vague way to feel inextricably involved in the affair.

"Now look here," said the financial agent, "I've just made these notes for the prospectus. 'Iron Working Company (Limited).-Proprietor retiring in favour of the company, having realised a large fortune-Nothing to be paid for goodwill-Valuable premises and stock, ample security for capital-Large and old established business, valuable contracts on hand, probable great extension by the company-The directors congratulate themselves on having secured the valuable services of Mr. Snaggs as secretary, whose long acquaintance with the business affords some guarantee of its value.' There, I think I can rub that up into something; the creditors can't say no to that! What do you say to being secretary, Mr. Snaggs, with an increase of ten shillings a week to your wages,-eh, Mr. Snaggs?"

The rusty clerk blinked his eyes and grinned a smile.

"Oh! that as you please; but you'll lose half your money, and have no end of bother, if you don't."

Edward did not know exactly what to do. In his utter ignorance of business he thought that Mr. Batt having absconded, all this dirty, hateful business had fallen to him. To manage it himself seemed the worst of all possible alternatives. To consult the snugly respectable Mr. Royds upon the position of affairs was only less distasteful, for he felt there would be an unctious reproach in each word of his solicitor's. Then Snodgers seemed so quietly prepared for the catastrophe, and was so thoroughly master of the situation, that Edward, in his nervous and weakly state of health, felt the most comfortable method by far was to let him have his way. make me do anything dishonest," he argued with himself. So he allowed Mr. Snodgers to continue the development of his plans.

"He can't

A few days afterwards, Snodgers came to him looking most benignly happy. He had reduced the number of creditors to six, by getting these to purchase the debts of the smaller creditors; and of these six, two, Plynlym and Gernet, were to join himself and Edward on the Board of Directors.

"Mr. Batt has retired in my favour," returned Snodgers with some little importance, gleefully rubbing his hands together.

But this, combined with what he had already heard of their conversation, was too much for Snaggs' intellect, and he settled down again upon his stool to think it over.

In his own mind, when Edward had read Mr. Batt's letter, he had seen a picture of ruin, ruin to himself and to every one connected with the works. He was staggered by Mr. Snodgers' contrary view of the case. Naturally disposed to take a hopeless view of such circumstances, he was too much bewildered to comprehend thoroughly all the design of Mr. Snodgers. But yet he felt very indignant at the cool manner in which the financial agent seemed to reckon on being allowed to include his name in what appeared to him to be a questionable business.

"But there's not a word of truth in what you propose to include in the prospectus," he said, with an effort to speak calmly.

"Pon my word, sir, you're quite mistaken. It may be high coloured, I don't say it ain't; but its all as true as my name's Snodgers." "I'd rather not have anything to do with it.”

the paper and a pen.

Edward languidly looked over the paper. He was thinking confusedly of Mr. Snodgers' notes for the prospectus, and was very agreeably surprised to find no lies in this document. Presently he met with his own name. "Mr. · Edward Frankland to receive fully paid-up shares equivalent in nominal value to the amount of his mortgage, and Mr. Joseph Snodgers to receive, for promotion and for his interest in the business, an equal number of paid-up shares."

"I would much rather have the money, or half of it," said Edward, faintly.

"So would I," replied Snodgers, with astonishing gravity; "but this is the readiest way to get it-you know your mortgage deed isn't money."

'No, indeed." Edward signed the paper near to a wafer-seal, and over his initials, which had been previously pencilled by Mr. Snodgers, and gave back the paper to the financial agent, weakly conscious that he had done a very foolish thing; and yet preferring infinitely to have done it rather than to have the burden of the business upon himself.

In a few weeks the shares of the Iron Working Company (Limited), were quoted at 2 premium, by means of some well-rigged

sales accomplished by Mr. Snodgers, and more than five-and-twenty bond fide applications for shares had been received, chiefly from what Snodgers called "country parties," -clergymen, widows, retired tradesmen, and half-pay officers.

It is needless to add that they received an allotment of shares without delay, and so enjoyed the privilege of contributing to the payment of Mr. Batt's debts and to the maintenance of Mr. Snodgers.

CHAPTER XVI. CLARA CHOOSES A HUSBAND.

MRS. SMITHSON's best china tea-service was certainly more ornamental than useful, for it was not used more than half-a-dozen times in the year. When it was taken down the entertainment was sure to be very select and the tea good. Then only did Mrs. Smithson allow herself the indulgence of lump sugar, which was contained in a sarcophagus-shaped pot, ornamented with the same pattern as the rest of the service, in gold and green sprigs. Then too there was always a hot muffin at the fire, and Mrs. Smithson also, in a gown of ceremony, very much more gorgeous than the dress in which the stout hostess usually discharged her duties.

All these preparations, however, had been made this evening in honour of Mrs. Prickett, who had been invited to take a cup of tea at the White Horse. Hitherto there had not been much friendship between these two ladies. But Mrs. Prickett had now become a notable person in the village, and would have gladly held her head even a little higher among her neighbours, but Will's neglect of her was so obvious and painful, that the poor woman was really grateful for an opportunity of pouring her disappointment into some neighbourly and sympathising ear.

Clara was not a favourite with Mrs. Prickett: nothing, doubtless, could be more bland and kind than Clara's greeting of the little woman, and attention to her in her aunt's bed-room, whither Mrs. Prickett had been shown, to relieve herself of her bonnet and shawl; but for all that, Clara's too evident sense of superiority was offensive.

I dessay you think my bonnet's a fright," said Mrs. Prickett, placing the article in questien, with an almost religious tenderness, upon the bed.

"Well, it is a little pokey," replied Clara, laughing.

"I've had that bonnet five year come tomorrow; I got it good, a-purpose to last. I don't b'lieve they make such velvet as that now-a-days. But stop a minit, my dear; yer see I carry my cap pinned under my dress, which it saves me looking so high and mighty

as if I had Robert a follerin' of me with a bandbox."

At length Mrs. Prickett's toilette was complete, and they descended to the parlour, where Mrs. Smithson was already making

tea.

"I know you like it mixed, mum," she said.

"Thankee, mum," replied the guest; "I don't like all o' one sort, to be sure. People do say the green is wakeful, but then, yer know, they'll say anythink."

"They won't say as we're gettin' younger, will they?

"I wish everybody'd keep their tongues to theirselves."

"Yer might as well wish the rooks down at Thistlewood wouldn't caw," replied Mrs. Smithson, with a laugh.

"Nobody knows how I've been talked about this blessed summer," and Mrs. Prickett looked sadly resigned to the enviable misfortune of her fame; "some on 'em's got it out that I'm his mother; but I'm sure, whenever the old squire looked at me at church, I never gave him no 'couragement."

"Lor, Mrs. Prickett!"

Mrs. Smithson would have liked to indulge in a good laugh at her neighbour's vanity. It was so funny to hear this little old woman pluming herself upon having successfully and virtuously kept her eyes right during the hours of divine service. But the hostess, good and easytempered as she was, had, above all, a reputation as a woman of business. And just now her business was to marry Clara to Will. Indeed, this project was in some measure the unacknowledged substratum of the present entertainment. Therefore Mrs. Smithson was not sorry that her guest had at length brought Will into the conversation.

"He would never ha' been up at the Court but for you, mum," she said.

"That he wouldn't," replied Mrs. Prickett, her tone falling to a whimper, and passing into a hysterical fit of crying.

Mrs. Smithson tried soothing monosyllables, and stirring up a fresh cup of tea, put it to Mrs. Prickett's lips. But it was all unavailing to stop her lamentations.

And he met me t'other day," she sobbed, seeming to make an involuntary confession. "He was a ridin', and he ses, 'Well, Mother Prickett,' as if I wasn't no more to him 'an any other 'oman. You might ha' knocked me down with a feather, Mrs. Smithson. I was that hurt that I didn't rightly know what I did, and I ses, Mister William, you didn't always used to call me Mother Prickett.' And he laughed, mum; yes, mum, he did," groaned the poor woman, " and he looked down at me.