'THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—SHAKESPEARE.

ALL THE YEAR ROUND,A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH WHICH IS I N C O R P O R A T E D HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

13.] SATURDAY, JULY 23, 1859. [PRICE

A TALE OF TWO CITIES.In Styree Uoofcs.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK. THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.CHAPTER XIV. THE HONEST TRADESMAN.

To the eyes of Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, sittingon his stool in Meet-street with his grisly urchinbeside him, a vast number and variety ofobjects in movement were every day pre-sented. Who could sit upon anything inFleet-street during the busy nours of the day,and not be dazed and deafened by two immenseprocessions, one ever tending westward with thesun, the other ever tending eastward from thesun, both ever tending to the plains beyond therange of red and purple where the sun goesdown!

With his straw in his mouth, Mr. Crunchersat watching the two streams, like the heathenrustic who has for several centuries been on dutywatching one stream—saving that Jerry had noexpectation of their ever running dry. Norwould it have been an expectation of a hopefulkind, since a small part of his income wasderived from the pilotage of timid women(mostly of a full habit and past the middle termof life) from Tellson's side of the tides to theopposite shore. Brief as such companionshipwas in every separate instance, Mr. Crunchernever failed to become so interested in the ludyas to express a strong desire to have the honourof drinking her very good health. And it wasfrom the gifts bestowed upon him towards theexecution of this benevolent purpose, that herecruited his finances, as just now observed.

Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool ina public place, and mused in the sight of men.Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a publicplace but not being a poet, mused as little aspossible, and looked about him.

It fell out that he was thus engaged in a sea-son when crowds were few, and belated womenfew, and when liis affairs in general were so un-prosperous as to awaken a strong suspicion inhis breast that Mrs. Cruncher must have been" flopping" in some pointed manner, when anunusual concourse pouring down Fleet-streetwestward, attracted his attention. Looking thatway, Mr. Cruncher made out that some kind of

funeral was coming along, and that there waspopular objection to this funeral, which engen-dered uproar.

" Young Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, turningto his offspring, " it's a buryin'."

" Hooroar, father!" cried Young Jerry.The young gentleman uttered this exultant

sound with mysterious significance. The eldergentleman took the cry so ill, that he watchedhis opportunity, and smote the young gentlemanon the ear.

" Whatdy'e mean ? What are you hooroar-ing at ? What do you want to conwey to yourown father, you young Rip ? This boyis a getting too many for me!" said Mr.Cruncher, surveying him. " Him and hishooroars ! Don't let me hear no more of you,or you shall feel some more of me. Dy'e hear ?"

" I warn't doing no harm," Young Jerry pro-tested, rubbing his cheek.

" Drop it then," said Mr. Cruncher; " I won'thave none of your no harms. Get a top of thatthere seat, and look at the crowd."

His son obeyed, and the crowd approached;they were bawling and hissing round a dingyhearse and dingy mourning coach, in whichmourning coach there was only one mourner,dressed m the dingy trappings that were con-sidered essential to the dignity of the position.The position appeared by no means to pleasehim, however, with an increasing rabble sur-rounding the coach, deriding him, makinggrimaces at him, and incessantly groaningand calling out: "Yah! Spies! Tst! Ynha!Spies !" with many compliments too numerousand forcible to repeat.

Funerals had at all times a remarkable at-traction for Mr. Cruncher; he always prickedup his senses, and became excited, when afuneral passed Tellson's. Naturally, therefore,a luncral with this uncommon attendance excitedhim greatly, and he asked of the first man whoran against him:

" What is it, brother ? What's it about ?"" / don't know," said the man. " Spies !

Yaha ! Tst! Spies !"He asked another man. " Who is it ?"" / don't know," returned the man: clapping

his hands to his mouth nevertheless, and vocife-rating in a surprising heat and Avith the greatestardour, " Spies ! Yaha ! Tst, tst! Spi-ies!"

At length, a person better informed on themerits of the cose, tumbled against him, and

VOL. I. 13

290 Julj Z3,1889.] ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

from this person he learned that the funeral wasthe funeral of one Roger Cly.

" Was He a spy ?" asked Mr. Cruncher."Old Bailey spy," returned his informant,

"laha! Tst! Yah.! Old Bailey Spi-i-ies !"" Why, to be sure !" exclaimed Jerry, recallin

the Trial at which he had assisted, " I've seenhim. Dead, is he ?"

"Dead as mutton," returned the other, "andcan't be too dead. Have 'em out, there! Spies!Pull 'em out, there! Spies !"

The idea was so acceptable in the prevalentabsence of any idea, that the crowd caughb itup with eagerness, and loudly repeating thesuggestion to hare 'em out, and to pull 'em out,mobbed the two vehicles so closely that theycame to a stop. On the crowd's opening the coachdoors, the one mourner scuffled out of himselfand was in their hands for a moment; but hewas so alert, and made such good use of histime, that in another moment he was scouringaway up a by-street, after shedding his cloak,hat, long hatband, white pocket-handkerchief,and other symbolical tears.

These, the people tore to pieces and scatteredfar and wide with great enjoyment, while thetradesmen hurriedly shut up their shops; fora crowd in those times stopped at nothing, andwas a monster much dreaded. They had alreadygot the length of opening the hearse to take thecoffin out, -when some brighter genius proposedinstead, its being escorted to its destinationamidst general rejoicing. Practical suggestionsbeing much needed, this suggestion, too, was re-ceived -with acclamation, and the coach was im-mediately filled with eight inside and a dozenout, while as many people got on the roof of thehearse as could by any exercise of ingenuity stickupon it. Among the first of these volunteers wasJerry Cruncher himself, who modestly con-cealed his spiky head from the observation ofTelUon's, in the further corner of the mourningcoach. °

The officiating undertakers made some protestagainst these changes in the ceremonies; but,the river being alarmingly, near, and severalvoices remarking on the efficacy of cold immer-sion in bringing refractory members of the pro-fession to reason, the protest wns faint and brief,The remodelled procession started, with achimney-sweep driving the hearse—advised bythe regular dmer, who was^ perched beside him,under close inspection, for the purpose—andwith a pieman, aKo attended bj hit, cabinetBumbter, driving,the mourning coach. A bear-lead.-r, a popuhr street character of the time,was impressed as an additional ornament, beforethccayalcade had gone far dywn the Strand;and his bear, who was black aud very mangy,gave quite an Undertaking air to that pat t o tthe procession in which he wnlked.

Thus, with beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, songroaring, and infinite caricaturing of woe, thedisorderly procession went its VTJLJ, recruiting atevery sten, and all the shops shutting up bdoreit. Its destination was the old church of SaintPancras, far off hi the fields. It got there in

course of time; insisted on pouring into theburial-ground; finally, accomplished the inter-ment of the deceased Roger Cly in its own way,and highly to its own satisfaction.

The dead man disposed of, and the crowd beingunder the necessity of providing some other en-tertainment for itself, another brighter genius (orperhaps the same) conceived the humour ofimpeaching casual passers-by, as Old Baileyspies, and wreaking vengeance on them. Chasewas given to some scores of inoffensive personswho had never been near the Old Bailey in theirlives,'in the realisation of this fancy, and theywere roughly hustled and maltreated. Thetransition to the sport of window-breaking, andthence to the plundering of public-houses, waseasy and natural. At last, after several hours,when sundry summer-houses had been pulleddown, and some area railings had been torn up,to arm the more belligerent spirits, a rumour gotabout that the Guards were coming. Beforethis rumour, the crowd gradually melted away,and perhaps the Guards came, and perhaps theynever came, and this was the usual progre&s of amob.

Mr. Cruncher did not assist at the closing-sports, but had remained behind in the church-yard, to confer and condole with the under-takers. The place had a soothing influence onhim. He procured a pipe from a neighbouringpublic-house, and smoked it, looking in at tharailings and maturely considering the spot.

"Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, apostrophisinghimself in his usual way, "you see that thereCly that day, and you see with your own eyesthat he was a young 'un aud a straight made 5un."

Having smoked liis pipe out, and ruminated alittle longer, he turned himself about, that hemight appear, before the hour of closing, on hisstation at Tellsoa's. Whether his meditations onmortality had touched his liver, or whether hisgeneral health had been previously at all amiss,or whether he desired to show a little attentionto an eminent man, is not so much to the pur-pose, as that he made a short call upon hismedical adviser—a distinguished surgeon—onhis way back.

Young Jerry relieved his father' with dutifulinterest, and reported No job in. bis absence.The bank closed, the ancient clerks came out,the usual watch was set, and,Mr. Cruncher andhis son went home to tea.

" Now, I tell you \i here it ib!" said Mr.Cruncher to his. wife, on entering. " If, as ahonest tradesman, my wenturs goes wrong to-night, I shall make sure that you've been pray-ing ng.iin me, and I shall work you for it justthe same as if I seen you do it."

The dejected Airs. Cruncher shook her head." Why, you're at it afore my face!" said Mr.

Cruncher, with signs of angry apprehension." I am saying nothing.""Well then; don't meditate nothing. You

might as well Hop as meditate. You maj as well*o again me one way as another. Drop it alto-gether."

" Yes, Jerry."

Charles IHckcni.] A TALE OF TWO CITIES. [Jnly iH, 18M ] 291

" Yes, Jerry," repeated Mr. Cruncher, sittingdown to tea. "Ah! It is yes, Jerry. That'sabout it. You may say yes, Jerry."

Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning inthese sulky corroborations, but made use of them,as people not unfrequeutly do, to express generalironical dissatisfaction.

" You and your yes, Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher,talcing a bite out of his bread andbuttrr,and seem-ing to help it down with a large invisible oysterout of his saucer. " Ah! I think so. I believeyou."

" You arc going out to-night ?" asked his de-cent wife, when he took another bite.

" Yes, I am."" May I go with you, father ?" asked his son,

briskly."No, yon mayn't. Fm a going—as your mo-

ther knows—a fishing. That's where I'm goingto. Going a fishing."

" Your fishing-roa gets rayther rusty; don't it,father?"

" Never you mind."" Shall you bring any fish home, father ?"" If I don't, you'll hare short commons to-

morrow," returned that gentleman, shaking hishead; " that's questions enough for you; 1 an'ta going out, till you've been long a-bed."

He devoted himself during the remainderof the evening to keeping a most vigilantwatch on Mrs. Cruncher, and sullenly hold-ing her in conversation that she might be pre-vented from meditating any petitions to hisdisadvantage. With this view, he urged hisson to holoher in conversation also, ana led theunfortunate woman a hard life, by dwelling onany causes of complaint he could bring againsther, rather than fie would leave her for a mo-ment to her own reflections. The devoutestperson could have rendered no greater homageto the efficacy of an honest prayer than ho did inthis distrust of his wife. It was as if a professedunbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by ughost story.

" And mind you!" said Mr. Cruncher. " Nogames to-morrow! If J, as> u honest tradesman,succeed in providing a jiutc of meat, or two,none of your not touching oC it, and sticking tobread. If J, as a honest tradesman, am able toprovide n little beor, none of your declaring on•water. When you go to Homo, do at. Itomr.does. Home will be a ugly customer to you, ifyou don't. I'm your Rome, you know."

Then he began grumbling .-igain :" With your flying into the face of your own

•wittles and drink! I don't know how scarceyou mayn't make the wittles and drink here, byyour flopping tricks and your unfeeling con-duct. Look at your boy: he is your'n, ain'the P He's as thin as a lath. Do you call your-self a mother, and not know that a mother's firstduty is to blow her boy out ?"

This touched Young Jerry on a tender place;•who adjured his mother to perform her firstduty, and, whatever else she did or neglected,above all things to lay especial stress on thedischarge of that maternal function so affect-

ingly and delicately indicated by his other pa-rent.

Thus the evening wore away with the Cruncherfamily, until Young Jerry was ordered to bed,and his mother, laid under similar injunctions.,obeyed them. Mr. Cruncher beguiled the earlierwatches of the night with solitary pipes, and didnot start upon his excursion until nearly oneo'clock. Towards that small and ghostly hour,

ihc rose up from his chair, took a key out of'hi.spocket, opened a locked cupboard, and broughtforth a sack, a crowbar 01 convenient size, arope and chain, and other fishing-tackle of thatnature. Disposing these articles about him in askilful manner, he bestowed a parting defianceon Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the light, andwent out.

Young Jerry, who had only made a feint ofundressing' whcu he went to bed, was not longafter his father. Under cover of the darknesshe followed out of the room, followed down thestairs, followed down the court, followed outinto the streets. He was in no uneasiness con-cerning his getting into the house again, for itwas full of lodgers, and the door stood ajarall night.

Impelled by a laudable ambition to study the-art and mystery of his father's honest calling,Young Jerry, keeping as close to house-fronts,walls, and doorways, as his eyes'were close toone another, held his honoured parent in view.The honoured parent steering Northward, hadnot gone far, when he was joined by anotherdisciple of Izaak Walton, and the two trudgedon together.

Within half an hour from the first starting,they were beyond the winking lamps, and themore than winking watchmen, and were outupon a lonely road. Another fisherman was pickedup here—and that so silently, that if Young Jerryhad been superstitious, he might have supposedthe second lollrwcr of the gentle craft to Imve,all of a sudden, split himself into two.

The three went, on, and Young Jerry went on,until the throe stopped under u bank, ou-rliang.ing th<! road. Upon tho top of the bank \un nlow brick wall surmounted by an iron railing.In the shadow of bank and wnll, t he three t urnedout of the road, and up a blind lane, of whichthe wall—there, risen to some eight, or ten feethigh—formed one side.- Crouching down in acomer, peeping up the lane, the next object thatYoung Jerry saw, was the form of his honouredparent, pretty well defined against a watery andclouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. Hewas soon over, and then the second fishermangot over, and then the third. They all droppedsoftly on the ground within the gate, and laythere a little—listening perhaps. Then, theymoved away on their hands and Knees.

It was now Young Jerry's turn to approachthe gate: which he did, holding his breath.Crouching down again in a corner there, andlooking in, he made out the three fishermencreeping through some rank grass ; and all thegravestones in the churchyard—it was a largechurchyard that they were in—looking on like

292 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

ghosts in white, while the church tower itselflooked on like the ghost of a monstrous giant.They did not creep Tar, before they stopped andstood upright. And then they began to fish.

They fished with a spade, at first. Presentlythe honoured parent appeared to be adjustingsome instrument like a great corkscrew. What-ever tools they worked with, they worked hard,until the awful striking of the church clock soterrified Young Jerry, that he made off, with hishair as stiff as his father's.

But, his long-cherished desire to know moreabout these matters, not only stopped him in hisrunning away, but lured him back again. Theywere still fishing perseveriugly, when he peeped inat the gate for the second time; but, now theyseemed to have got a bite. There was a screw-ing and complaining sound down below, andtheir bent figures were strained, as if by a weight.By slow degrees the weight broke away theearth upon it, and came to the surface. YoungJerry very well knew what it would be; but,when he saw it, and saw his honoured parentabout to wrench it open, he was so frightened,being new to the sight, that he made off again,and never stopped until he had run a mile ormore.

He would not have stopped then, for anythingless necessary than breath, it being a spectralsort of race that he ran, and one highly desirableto get to the end of. He had a strong idea thatthe coffin he had seen was running after him ;and, pictured as hopping on behind him, boltupright upon its narrow end, always on thepoint of overtaking him and hopping on at hisside—perhaps taking his arm—it was a pursuerto shun. It was an inconsistent and ubiquitousfiend too, for, while it was making the wholenight behind him dreadful, he darted out intothe roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of itscoming hopping out of them like a dropsicalboy's-Kite without tail and wings. It hid in door-ways too, rubbing its horrible shoulders againstdoors, and drawing them up to its ears, as if itwere laughing, it got into shadows on theroad, and lay cunningly on its back to triphim up. Ail this time, it was incessantlyhopping on behind and gaining on him, sothat wlicn the boy got to his own door hohad reason for being half dead. And even thenit would not leave him, but followed him up-stairswith a bump on every stair, scrambled into bedwith him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, onhis breast when he fell asleep.

From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry inhis closet was awakened, after daybreak andbefore sunrise, by the presence of his father inthe family room. Something had gone wrongwith him; at least, so Young Jerry inferred, fromthe circumstance of his holding Mrs. Cruncherby the ears, and knocking the back of her headagainst the headboard of the bed.

" I told you I would," said Mr. Cruncher," and I did."

" Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!" his wife implored."You oppose yourself to the profit of the

business," said Jerry, " and me and my partners

suffer. You was to honour and obey; why thedevil don't you ?"

" I try to be a good wife, Jerry," the poorwoman protested, with tears.

" Is it being a good wife to oppose your hus-band's business ? Is it honouring your husbandto dishonour his business ? Is it obeying yourhusband to disobey him on the wital subject ofhis business ?"

" You hadn't taken to the dreadful businessthen, Jerry."

" It's enough for you," retorted Mr. Cruncher," to be the wife of a honest tradesman, and notto occupy your female mind with calculationswhen he took to his trade or when he didn't.A honouring and obeying wife would let histrade alone altogether. Call yourself a reli-gious woman ? If you're a religious woman,give me a irreligious one! You have no morenat'ral sense of duty than the bed of this hereThames river has of a pile, and similarly itmust be knocked into you."

The altercation was conducted in a low toneof voice, and terminated in the honest trades-man's kicking off his clay-soiled boots, andlying down at his length on the floor. Aftertaking a timid peep at him lying on his back,with his rusty hands under his head for a pillow,his son lay down too, and fell asleep again.

There was no fish for breakfast, and not muchof anything else. Mr. Cruncher was out ofspirits, and out of temper, and kept an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction ofMrs. Cruncher, in case he should observe anysymptoms of her saying Grace. He was brushedand washed at the usual hour, and set off withhis son to pursue his ostensible calling.

Young Jerry, walking with the stool under hisarm* at his father's side ..along sunny andcrowded Fleet-street, was a very different YoungJerry from him of the previous night, runninghome through darkness and solitude from hisgrim pursuer. His cunning was fresh with theday, and his qualms were gone with the night—-in which particulars it is not improbable that hehad compeers in Fleet-street and the City ofLondon, that fine morning.

" Father," said Young Jerry, as they walkedalong: taking care to keep at arm's length andto have the stool well between them : " what's aResurrection-Man P"

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavementbefore he answered, " How should I know ?"

" I thought you knowed everything, father,"said the artless boy.

" Hem ! Well," returned Mr. Cruncher, goingon again, and lifting off his hat to give bis spikesfree play, " he's a tradesman."

" What's his goods, father ?" asked the briskYoung Jerry.

" His goods," said Mr. Cruncher, after turn-ing it over in his mind, " is a branch of Scientificgoods."

" Persons' bodies, ain't it, father ?" asked thelively boy.

" I believe it is somethink of that sort," saidMr. Cruncher.

Charlen Dickens*j THE TRACK OF WAR. [July «, 1859.] 293

" Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrec-tion-Man when I'm quite growed up !"

Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his headin a dubious and moral way. " It depends uponhow you dewelop your talents. Be careful todewelop your talents, and never to say no morethan you can help to nobody, and there's notelling at the present time what you may notcome to be fit for." As Young Jerry, thus en-couraged, went on a few yards in advance, toplant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr.Cruncher added to himself: " Jerry, you honesttradesman, there's hopes wot that boy will yetbe a blessing to you, and a recompense to youfor his mother!"

THE TRACK OF WAR.

ONE moonlight night in the middleof the monthof June in this present year, I found myself on thetop of Mont Cenis, trudging along ahead of thediligence, in company with a band of extremelyhirsute French soldiers, bound for the Italianwars. These gentlemen constituted the firstsymptoms I had encountered of the strife nowraging in Italy, and it was only on falling intotheir company that it occurred to me that Iwas now, for the fourth time in my life, withoutintending it, on the traces of war.

What upon earth took me to Schleswig-Hol-stein at the only time (during the fight withDenmark) when those provinces could not bepeaceably examined, I cannot remember, but Ihave a distiuct recollection of learning fromGeneral Willisen that everybody there beingsupposed to be " in earnest," it was imperativethat I should either take my musket and fightfor something or other, or evacuate Rendsburgwithout delay. As the general's first suggestionwas not even accompanied by the " twentyscudi," which, combined with the ecstasy ofmarching to a popular tune, should, accordingto Sergeant Belcore, possess irresistible charms,I adopted the second alternative. As littledo I remember wherefore I should have se-lected Varna, and the stagnant pools ofAladcyu, as an agreeable resort for the hottestperiod of ever-memorable eighteen hundred nndfifty-four; nor why I should have absolutelyembarked in the Europa at Suez, last July, withthe fixed intention of proceeding to India, whenevery discreet person was coming away, myproject being only defeated by the luckiest acci-dent in the world.

Thus, as I have said, for the fourth time onthe track of arms, I yield to an inevitable des-tiny, and move steadily upon Turin, seeingnothing of military aspect by the way exceptingonly a small body of horse artillery at Susa, butexpecting I know not what of excitement andhostile preparation at the so-latcly threatenedcapital.

in this I am disappointed. Turin is tranquil-lity—one might be permitted perhaps to say dul-ness—itself. It is obviously suffering from thelanguor succeeding a period of intense excite-ment. Scarcely a soldier to be seen! One

wounded Zouave, strolling on the Corso, is somarked a man that he attracts a crowd, whofollow him in a diminishing tail, terminatingin a small boy with cherries and ballads. Thehotels are half empty, the theatres half closed;that is to say, open thrice a week (soldiersand children half-price), and then confiningthemselves to purely occasional pieces, whereofGli Austriaci in Italia, Commedia, and L'intere's-santissimo Dramma, I due Zuavi, seem the fa-vourites, while the young poetry of the nationmakes itself heard m chamber recitations, andthe street chorus comes swelling up with pecu-liar fervour:

D\ di lutto, d\ di guai,Sara quello, o buon Giulai,Che in Piemonte arriverai.

Ma gia sento an suon di tromba!II cannone gia- rimbomba !Ah, Giulai!—t'apri la tomba!

Excepting that every third man has a news-paper, or bulletin, in his hand, there is no visibletoken of public anxiety. The wave of war hasrolled away and away to the plains of Lom-bardy, carrying with it every grain of appre-hension and uncertainty. This great page ofhuman story is fairly turned: the results arefor another page. One thing, at least, may beaccepted as certain: the name of Italy is in-scribed—the God of Nations grant!—for erer inthe records of the free.

Passing one of the hospitals, I meet my friendDr. Pound. He has been visiting the woundedAustrians, who, to the number of three hundred,are distributed, with French and Sardinians,among the general hospitals. Most of the former(Dr. Pound adds) are wounded in the back; butlet that be no reflection on their courage. Theirenemies, to a man, admit that they fought ad-mirably—"perfectly." They stand weu, andeven if broken, can "be rallied; but the bewilder-ing rush of the French infantry is too much forthem. The bayonets once crossed, all is over.They resist cavalry better. An Austrian squarewithstood six desperate home-charges of thePicdmontesc horse, and retired at last in perfectorder, having emptied two hundred of theassailants' baddies. As for the admitted want ofenthusiasm in the Austrian soldiery, it is nodoubt fully compensated for b.y thnt other speciesof esprit dc corps, which is the result of isolatingeach regiment to such a degree as to render it insome sort the home and family of every manbelonging to it.

To remain in Turin is impossible. A visit ortwo, an agreeable evening at the house of theaccomplished gentleman by whose hands—underseven successive home-governments—British in-terests have been ably administered here, andarmed with a safe-conduct (due to his goodoffices) commending the bearer, " caldamente,"to every description of protection, I depart byrailway for Novara, frankly warned, by-the-by,that the said safe-conduct may prove of nogreater service than to prevent my being shotwithout the opportunity of preferring a few re-

'THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO YEAR."—SHAKESPEARE.

:E YEAE ROUND.A WEEKLY JOURNAL.

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

°- 14.] SATURDAY, JULY 30, 1859. [PRICE

A TALE OF TWO CITIES.BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THKEAD.CHAPTER XV. KNITTING.

THERE had been earlier drinking than usualin the wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. As earlyas six o'clock in the morning, sallow faces peep-ing through its barred windows had descriedother faces within, bending over measures ofwine. Monsieur Defarge sold a very thin wineat the best of times, but, it would seem to havebeen an unusually thin wine that he sold at thistime. A sour wine, moreover, or a souring,for its influence on the mood of those whodrank it was to make them gloomy. No \i\a-cious Bacchanalian flame leaped out of thepressed grape of Monsieur Defarge; but, asmouldering fire that burnt in the dark, layhidden in the dregs of it.

This had been the third morning in succes-sion, on which there had been early drinking atthe wine-shop of Monsieur Defarge. It hadbegun on Monday, and here was Wednesdayconic. There had been more of early broodingthan drinking ; for, many men had listened andwhispered and slunk about there from the timeof the opening of the door, who could not havelaid a piece of money on the counter to savetheir souls. These were to the full as interestedin the place, however, as if they could have com-manded whole barrels of wine ; and they glidedfrom seat to seat, and from corner to corner,shallowing talk in lieu of drink, with greedylooks.

Notwithstanding an unusual flow of company,the master of the wine-shop was not visible. Hewas not missed ; for, nobody who crossed thethreshold looked for him, nobody asked forhim, nobody wondered to see onlv Madame De-farge in her seat, presiding over the distributionof wine, with a bowl of battered small coins be-fore her, as much defaced and beaten out of theiroriginal impress as the small coinage of humanityfrom whose ragged pockets they had come.

A suspended interest and a prevalent absenceof mind, were perhaps observed by the spies wholooked in at the wine-shop, as they looked in atevery place, high and low, from the king's palaceto the criminal's gaol. Games at cards lan-

guished, players at dominoes musingly builttowers with them, drinkers drew figures on thetables with spilt drops of wine, Madame De-farge herself picked out the pattern on hersleeve with her toothpick, and saw and heardsomething inaudible and invisible a long wayoff.

Thus, Saint Antoine in this vinous feature ofhis, until mid-day. It was high noontide, whentwo dusty men passed through his streets andunder his swinging lamps: of whom, one wasMonsieur Defarge: the other, a mender of roadsin a blue cap. All adust and athirst, the twoentered the wine-shop. Their arrival had lighteda kind of fire in the breast of Saint Antoine, lastspreading as they came along, which stirred andflickered in flames of faces at most doors andwindows. Yet, no one had followed them, andno man spoke when they entered the wine-shop,though the eyes of every man there were turnedupon them.

" Good day, gentlemen!" said Monsieur De-farge.

It may have been a signal for loosening thegeneral tongue. It elicited an answering chorusof "Goodday!"

" It is baa weather, gentlemen," said Defarge,shaking his head.

Upon which, every man looked at his neigh-bour, and then all cast down their eyes and satsilent. Except one man, who got up and wentout.

" My wife," said Defarge aloud, addressingMadame Defarge; " I have travelled certainleagues with this good mender of roads, calledJacques. I met him—by accident—a day and ahalf s journey out of Paris. He is a good child,this mender of roads, called Jacques. Give himto drink, my wife !"

A second man got up and went out. MadameDefargo set wine before the mender of roadscalled Jacques, who doffed his blue cap to thecompany, and drank. In the breast of hisbloubc, he carried some coarse dark bread; heate of this between whiles, and sat munchingand drinking near Madame Defarge's counter.A third man got up and went out.

Defarge refreshed himself with a draught ofwine—but, he took less than was given to thestranger, as being himself a man to whom itwas no rarity—and stood waiting until thecountryman had made his breakfast. He lookedat no one present, aud no one now looked at

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314 [July 30,1859.] ALL THE YEAH ROUND. [Conducted by

him; not even Madame Defarge, who had takenup her knitting, and was at work.

" Have you finished your repast, friend ?" heasked, in due season.

" Yes, thank you."" Come then! You shall see the apartment

that I told you you could occupy. It will suityou to a marvel."

Out of the wine-shop into the street, out ofthe street into a court-yard, out of the court-yard up a steep staircase, out of the staircaseinto a garret—formerly the garret where awhite-haired man sat on a low bench, stoopingforward and very busy, making shoes.

No white-haired man was there now; but, thethree men were there who had gone out of thewine-shop singly. And between them and thewhite-haired man afar off, was the one smalllink, that they had once looked in at him throughthe chinks in the wall.

Defarge closed the door carefully, and spoke ina subdued voice :

" Jacques One, Jacques Two, Jacques Three!This is the witness encountered by appointment,by me, Jacques Four. He wifl tell you all.Speak, Jacques Five!"

The mender of roads, blue cap in hand, wipedhis swarthy forehead with it, and said, " TV hereshall I commence, monsieur ?"

" Commence," was Monsieur Defarge's notunreasonable reply, " at the commencement."

"I saw him then, messieurs," began themender of roads, "a year ago this runningsummer, underneath the carriage of the Marquis,hanging by the chain. Behold the manner ofit. I leaving my work on the road, the sungoing to bed, the carriage of the Marquis slowlyascending the hill, he hanging by the chain—likethis."

Again, the mender of roads went through theold performance; in which he ought to havebeen perfect by that time, seeing that it hadbeen the infallible resource and indispensable en-tertainment of his village during a whole year.

Jacques One struck in, and asked if he hadever seen the man before ?

" Never," answered the mender of roads, re-covering his perpendicular.

Jacques Three demanded how he afterwardsrecognised him then P

"By his tall figure," said the mender ofroads, softly, and with his finger at his nose."When Monsieur the Marquis demands thatevening,' Say, what is he like ?' I make response,' Tall as a spectre.'"

" You should have said, short as a dwarf," re-turned Jacques Two.

" But what did I know! The deed was notthen accomplished, neither did he confide in me.Observe! Under those circumstances even, I donot offer my testimony. Monsieur the Marquisindicates me with his finger, standing near ourlittle fountain, and says, 'To me ! Bring thatrascal!' My faith, messieurs, I offer nothing."

"He is right there, Jacques," murmuredDefarge, to him who had interrupted. "Goim !" '

" Good !" said the mender of roads, with anair of mystery. " The tall man is lost, and heis sought—how many months ? Nine, ten,eleven ?"

"No matter, the number," said Defarge." He is well hidden, but at last he is unluckilyfound. Go on!"

" I am again at work upon the hill-side, andthe sun is again about to go to bed. I am col-lecting my tools to descend to my cottage downin the village below, where it is already dark,when I raise my eyes, and see coming over thehill, six soldiers. In the midst of them is a tallman with his arms bound—tied to his sides, likethis!"

With the aid of his indispensable cap, he re-presented a man with his elbows- bound fast athis hips, with cords that were knotted behindhim.

"I stand aside, messieurs, by my heap ofstones, to see the soldiers and their prisonerpass (for it is a solitary road, that, where anyspectacle is well worth looking at), and at first,as they approach, I see no more than that theyare six soldiers with a tall man bound, and thatthey are almost black, to my sight—except on theside of the sun going to bed, where they have ared edge, messieurs. Also, I see that their longshadows are on the hollow ridge on the oppositeside of the road, and are on the hill above it,and are like the shadows of giants. Also, I seethat they are covered with dust, and that the dustmoves with them as they come, tramp, tramp !But when they advance quite near to me, Irecognise the tall man, and he recognises me.Ah, but he would be well content to precipitatehimself over the hill-side once again, as on theevening when he and I first encountered, closeto the same spot!"

He described it as if he were there, and it wasevident that he saw it vividly; perhaps he hadnot seen much in his life.

" I do not show the soldiers that I recognisethe tall man; he does not show the soldiers thathe recognises me; we do it, and we know it, withour eyes. ' Come on!' says the chief of thatcompany, pointing to the village,' bring him fastto his tomb!' and they bring him faster. Ifollow. His arms are swelled because of beingbound so tight, his wooden shoes are large andclumsy, and he is lame. Because he is lame,and consequently slow, they drive him with theirguns—like this!"

He imitated the action of a man'sbeing impelledforward by the butt-ends of muskets.

"As they descend the hill like madmenrunning a ra"p, he falls. They laugh andpick him up again. His face is bleeding andcovered with dust, but he cannot touch it;thereupon, they laugh again. They bring himinto the village ; all the village runs to look;they take him past the mill, and up to theprison; all the village sees the prison gate openm the darkness of the night, and swallow him—like this!"

He opened his mouth as wide as he could,and shut it with a sounding snap of his teeth.

Charles Dickens J A TALE OF TWO CITIES. [July 30,1858.] 315

Observant of his unwillingness to mar the effectby opening it again, Defarge said, " Go on,Jacques."

" All the village," pursued the mender ofroads, on tiptoe and in a low voice, "withdraws; allthe village whispers by the fountain; all thevillage sleeps; all the village dreams of thatunhappy one, within the locks and bars of theprison on the crag, and never to come out of it,except to perish. In the morning, with mytools upon my shoulder, eating my morsel ofblack bread as I go, I make a circuit by theprison, on my way to my work. There, I seehim, high up, behind the bars of a lofty ironcage, bloody and dusty as last night, lookingthrough. He has no hand free, to wave to me;I dare not call to him; he regards me like adead man."

Defarge and the three glanced darkly at oneanother. The looks of all of them were dark,repressed, and revengeful, as they listened tothe countryman's story; the manner of all ofthem, while it was secret was authoritative too.They had the air of a rough tribunal; JacquesOne and Two sitting on the old pallet-bed,each with his chin resting on his hand, and hiseyes intent on the road mender; Jacques Three,equally intent, on one knee behind them, withhis agitated hand always gliding over the net-work of fine nerves about his mouth and nose;Defarge standing between them and the narratorwhom he had stationed in the light of the win-dow, by turns looking from him to them andfrom them to him.

" Go on Jacques," said Defarge." He remains up there in his iron cage, some

days. The village looks at him by stealth, forit is afraid. But it always looks up, from a dis-tance, at the prison on the crag; and in the even-ing when the work of the day is acliieved and itassembles to gossip at the fountain, all faces areturned towards the prison. Formerly, they wereturned towards the posting-house; DOW, they areturned towards the prison. They whisper atthe fountain, that although condemned to deathho will not be executed; they say that petitionshave been presented in Paris, showing that, hewas enraged and made mad by the death of hischild; they say that a petition has been pre-sented to the King himself. What do I know PIt is possible. Perhaps yes, perhaps no."

" Listen then, Jacques," Number One of thatname sternly interposed. " Know that a petitionwas presented to the King and Queen. All here,yourself execpted, saw the King take it, in hiscarriage in the street, sitting beside the Queen.It is Defarge whom you see here, who, at thehazard of his life, darted out before the horses,with the petition in his hand."

" And once again listen, Jacques!" said thekneeling Number Three: his fingers ever wander-ing over and over those fine nerves, with astrikingly greedy air, as if he hungered for some-thing—that was neither food nor drink; " theguard, horse and foot, surrounded the petitioner,and struck him blows. You hear?"

" I hear, messieurs."

" Go on then," said Defarge." Again ; on the other hand, they whisper at

the fountain," resumed the countryman, " thathe is brought down into our country to be ex-ecuted on the spot, and that he will very cer-tainly be executed. They even whisper thatbecause he has slain Monseigneur, and becauseMonseigneur was the father of his tenants-serfs—what you will—he will be executed as aparricide. One old man says at the fountain,that his right hand, armed with the knife, willbe burnt off before his face; that, into woundswhich will be made in liis arms, his breast, andhis legs, there will be poured boiling oil, meltedlead, hot resin, wax, and sulphur; finally,that he will be torn limb from limb by fourstrong horses. That old man says, all this wasactually done to a prisoner who made anattempt on the life of the last King, LouisFifteen. But how do I know if he lies ? Iam not a scholar."

" Listen once again then, Jacques!" said theman with the restless hand and the craving air.

The name of that prisoner was Damieus, and itwas all done in open day, in the open streets of thiscity of Paris; and nothing was more noticedin the vast concourse that saw it done, than thecrowd of ladies of quality and fashion, whowere full of eager attention to the last—to thelast, Jacques, prolonged until nightfall, when hehad lost two legs and an arm, and still breathed!And it was done—why, how old are you ?"

" Thirty-five," said the mender of roads, wholooked sixty.

" It was done when you were more than tenyears old; you might have seen it."

"Enough!" said Defarge, with grim im-patience. " Long live the Devil! Go on."

"Well! Some whisper this, some whisperthat; they speak of nothing else; even thefountain appears to fall to that tune. At length,ou Sunday night when all the village is asleep,come soldiers, winding down from the prison,and their guns ring on the stoues of the littlestreet. Workmen dig, workmen hammer,soldiers laugh and sing; in the morning, by thefountain, there is raised a gallows forty feethigh, poisoning the water."

The mender of roads looked through rntherthan at the low ceiling, and pointed as if ho sawthe gallows somewhere in the sky.

" All work is stopped, all assemble there, no-body leads the cows out, the cows are therewith the rest. At mid-day, the roll of drums.Soldiers have marched into the prison in thenight, and he is in the midst of many soldiers.He is bound as before, and in his mouth there isa gag—tied so, with a tight string, making him.look almost as if he laughed." He suggestedit, by creasing his face with his two thumbs,from the corners of his mouth to his ears. " Onthe top of the gallows is fixed the knife, bladeupwards, with its point in the air. He ishanged there forty feet high—and is left hang-ing, poisoning the water."

They looked at one another, as he used hisblue cap to wipe his face, on which the per-

316 [July 30.18S90 ALL THE YEAR ROUND. [Conducted by

spiration had started afresh while he recalledthe spectacle.

" ft is frightful, messieurs. How can the womenand the children draw water! Who can gossipof an evening, under that shadow! Under it,have I said? When I left the village, Mondayevening as the sun was going to bed, and lookedback from the hill, the shadow struck across thechurch, across the mill, across the prison—seemed to strike across the earth, messieurs, towhere the sky rests upon it I"

The hungry man gnawed one of his fingers ashe looked at the other three, and his fingerquivered with the craving that was on him.

" That's all, messieurs. I left at sunset (asI had been warned to do), and I walked on, thatnight and half next day, until I met (as I waswarned I should) this "comrade. With him, Icame on, now riding and now walking, throughthe rest of yesterday and through last night.And here you see me!"

After a gloomy silence, the first Jacques said," Good! You have acted and recounted, faith-fully. Will you wait for us a little, outside thedoor ?"" Very willingly," said the mender of roads.

Whom Defarge escorted to the top of the stairs,and, leaving seated there, returned.

The three had risen, and their heads were to-gether when he came back to the garret.

" How say you, Jacques ?" demanded NumberOne. " To be registered ?"

" To be registered, as doomed to destruction,"returned Defarge.

" Magnificent!" croaked the man with thecraving.

"The chateau, and all the race ?" inquired thefirst.

"The chateau and all the race," returnedDefarge. " Extermination."

The hungry man repeated, in a rapturouscroak, "Magnificent!" and began gnawinganother finger.

"Arc you sure," asked Jacques Two, ofDefarge, " that no embarrassment can arise fromour manner of keeping the register. Withoutdoubt it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves candecipher it; but shall we always bo able to de-cipher it—or, I ought to say, will she ?"

"Jacques," returned Defarge, drawing him-self up, " if madame my wife undertook to keepthe register in her memory alone, she would notlose a word of it—not n syllable of it. Knitted,in her own stitches and her own symbols, it willalways be as plain to her as the sun. Confide inMadame Defarge. It would be easier for theweakest poltroon that lives, to erase himselffrom existence, than to erase one letter of hisname or crimes from the knitted register ofMadame Defarge."

There was a murmur of confidence and ap-proval, a ad then the man who hungered, asked:" Is this rustic to be sent back soon ? I hope so.He is very simple; is he not a little dangerous ?"

"He knows nothing," said Defarge; "atleast nothing more than would easily elevate him-!self to a gallows of the same height. I charge

myself with him; let him remain with me; Iwill take care of him, and set him on his road.He wishes to see the fine world—the King, theQueen, and Court; let him see them on Sunday."

" What P" exclaimed the hungry man, staring." Is it a good sign, that he wishes to see Royaltyand Nobility P"

" Jacques," said Defarge; "judiciously showa cat, milk, if you wish her to thirst for it.Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if youwish him to bring it down one day."

Nothing more was said, and the mender ofroads, being found already dozing on the top-most stair, was advised to lay himself down onthe pallet-bed and take some rest. He neededno persuasion, and was soon asleep.

Worsequarters than Defarge's wine-shop,couldeasily have been found in Paris for a provincialslave of that degree. Saving for a mysteriousdread of madame by which he was constantlyhaunted, his life was very new and agreeable.But, madame sat all day at her counter, soexpressly unconscious of him, and so particularlydetermined not to perceive that his being therehad any connexion with anything below thesurface, that he shook in his wooden shoeswhenever his eye lighted on her. For, he con-tended with himself that it was impossible toforesee what that lady might pretend next; andhe felt assured that if she should take it into herbrightly ornamented head to pretend that shehad seen him do a murder ana afterwards flaythe victim, she would infallibly go through withit until the play was played out.

Therefore, when Sunday came, the mender ofroads was not enchanted (though he said he was)to find that madame was to accompany monsieurand himself to Versailles. It was additionallydisconcerting to have madame knitting all theway there, in a public conveyance ; it was addi-tionally disconcerting yet, tonave madame in thecrowd in the afternoon, still with her knitting inher hands as the crowd waited to see the car-riage of the King and Queen.

" You work hard, madame," said a man nearher.

" Yes," answered Madame Defarge; "I havea good deal to do."

" What do you make, madame ?"" Many things.""For instance P"" For instance," returned Madame Defarge,

composedly, " shrouds."The man moved a little further away, as soon

as he could, and the mender or roads fannedhimself with his blue cap: feeling it mightilyclose and oppressive. If he needed a King andQueen to restore him, he was fortunate in hav-ing his remedy at hand; for, soon the large-faced King and the fair-faced Queen came intheir golden coach, attended by the shiningBull's Eye of their Court, a glittering multi-tude of laughing ladies and fine lords; and injewels and silks and powder and splendour andelegantly spurning figures and handsomely dis-dainful faces of both sexes, the mender of roadsbathed himself, so much to his temporary intoxi-

Charles Dickene.] DRIFT. 317

cation, that he cried Long live the King, Long livethe Queen, Long live everybody and everything!as if he had never heard of ubiquitous Jacquesin his time. Then, there were gardens, court-yards, terraces, fountains, green banks, moreKing and Queen, more Bull's Eve, more lordsand ladies, more Long live they all! until he abso-lutely wept with sentiment. During the wholeof this scene, which lasted some three hours, hehad plenty of shouting and weeping and senti-mental company, and throughout Defarge heldhim by the collar, as if to restrain him from fly-ing at the objects of his brief devotion and tear-ing them to pieces.

" Bravo!" said Defarge, clapping him on theback when it was over, like a patron; " you area good boy!"

The mender of roads was now coming to him-self, and was mistrustful of having made amistake in his late demonstrations; but no.

" You are the fellow we want," said Defarge,in his ear; "you make these fools believe thatit will last for ever. Then, they are the more in-solent, and it is the nearer ended."

" Hey!" cried the mender of roads, reflec-tively; "that's true."

"These fools know nothing. While theydespise your breath, and would stop it for everand ever, in you or in a hundred like you ratherthan in one of their own horses or dogs, theyonly know what your breath tells them. Let itdeceive them, then, a little longer; it cannotdeceive them too much."

Madame Defarge looked superciliously at theclient, and nodded in confirmation.

" As to you," said she, "you would shout andshed tears for anything, if it made a show and anoise. Say ! Would you not ?"

" Truly, madame, I think so. For the mo-ment."

" If you were shown a great heap of dolls,and were set upon them to pluck them to piecesand despoil them for your own advantage, youwould pick out the richest and gayest. Say !Would you not ?"

" Truly yes, madame."t" Yes. And if you were shown a flock of

birds unable to fly, and were set upon them tostrip them of their feathers for your own ad-vantage, you would set upon the birds of thefinest feathers; would you not P"

" It is true, madame." You have seen both dolls and birds to-day,"

said Madame Defarge, with a wave of her handtowards the place were they had last been ap-parent; "now, go home!"

DRIFT.

TBE reader who swears by the "good old days,"will, perhaps, be satisfied to accept the followingamusing picture of domestic life m the beginningof the fifteenth century, which is drawn fromthe " Inquisitions ad quod damnum," a series ofdocuments forming an important portion of theChancery division of our National Records.These Inquisitions are most of them taken to

show the King whether it will be to " the damageor injury of him or any one else," if he allowlands to be given in mortmain; but, as in thecase before us, inquiries upon other mattershave been interpolated with this class of records.

King Henry the Fifth having been given tounderstand that an outrage had been committedon the person of one of his subjects, John Mor-timer, of Grendon, in Northamptonshire, issuedhis writ, on the third day of December in thefirst year of his reign, to his beloved and faith-ful John Cokayn, Sir John Reynes, ThomasWydeville, John Barton, junior, William Palmer,William Wakefield, and John Geffard, appointingthem his Commissioners to inquire into the case;which they, having duly summoned a jury, ac-cordingly did at Northampton Castle, on theThursday before Christmas. • Christmas, in thatyear, 1413, fell on a Monday.

The result of their researches appears below,translated from the Latin ; and I pray all whoread it, to take breath for an awfully involvedsentence. Latin scribes were always a long-winded race.

The jurors say, that whereas John Mortimer,of Grendon, Esquire, was sitting in his mansionhouse of Grendon aforesaid, at the dawn, busyabout the shaving of his beard, his beard beingin part shaved and in part not shaved, clothed inhis doublet only, without a hood or any othercovering to his body, a certain William Trussell,Esquire, of Eston Maudyt, Junior, JohnMalpas,otherwise Kettell, and others, varlets of the afore-said WilliamTrussell, with manyothermalefactorsof the counties of Chester and Stafford, whosenames at present are unknown, in great multi-tude and armed in force, led on by the con-spiracy, confederacy, and malice prepense of theaforesaid William Trussell and others, to theterror and perturbation of the Lord the King'speople, riding on horseback, with force of arms,and arrayed in warlike manner, namely, withcoats of fence, jakkes, bows, arrows, swords, one-handed and two-handed, hoods of mail, anddaggers, on Sunday (these were the days whenthe clergy possessed great moral influence) nextafter the feast of St. Hugh the Bishop, in thefirst year of the reign of King Henry the Fifthfrom the Conquest, broke into the closes andmansion house of the aforesaid John Mortimer,at Grendon aforesaid, against the peace of theLord the King, and then and there insulted thesaid John Mortimer, beat, imprisoned, and ill*treated him, some of the aforesaid malefactorsshouting, " Slee, slee, slee," and others of theaforesaid malefactors shouting, " Houghsynowohym, Houghsynowehym" (Hock, sinew, hamstring him ! for whicn the incomplete state ofhis costume afforded a tempting facility), and(evidently confident in the justice of their causeand the strength of their jakkes, &c.) " let ushastily depart."

And they the said John Mortimer thus madeprisoner, led, with daggers and other weaponspointed to his heart, and violent and maliciousthreats of death, away witli them to Estonaforesaid, and him there as well as at Grendou