Night and morning ... Copyright edition

Book I. Introductory Chapter

" Now rests our vicar. They who knew him best, Proclaim his life to have been entirely rest ; Nor one so old has left this world of sin, More like the being that he entered in." — Crabbe. In one of the Welsh counties is a small village called A . It is somewhat removed from the high road, and is, therefore, but little known to those luxurious amateurs of the Picturesque, who view Nature through the windows of a carriage and fonr. Nor, indeed, is there anything, whether of scenery or association, in the place itself, sufficient to allure the more sturdy enthusiast from the beaten tracks which tourists aud guide-books prescribe to those who search the Sublime and Beautiful amidst the mountain homes of the ancient Britons. Still, on the whole, the village is not without its attractions. It is placed in a small valley, through which winds and leaps, down many a rocky fall — a clear, babbling, noisy rivulet, that affords excellent sport to the brethren of the angle.

Thither, accordingly, in the summer season occasionally resort the Waltons of the neighbourhood — young farmers, retired traders, with now and then a stray artist, or a roving student from one of the universities. Hence the solitary hostelry of A , being somewhat more frequented, is also more clean and com fortable than could be reasonably anticipated from the, insignifi cance and remoteness of the village. At a time in which my narrative opens, the village boasted a sociable, agreeable, careless, half -starved parson, who never failed to introduce himself to any of the anglers who, during the summer months, passed a day or two in the little valley. The Rev. Mr. Caleb Price had been educated at the University of Cambridge, where he had contrived, in three years, to run through a little fortune of 3500/.

It is true, that he acquired in return the art of making milk-punch, the science of pugilism, and the reputation of one of the best-natured, rattling, open-hearted companions whom you could desire by your side in a tandem to Newmarket, or in a row with the bargemen. By the help of these gifts and accomplishments, he had not failed to find favour, while his money lasted, with the young aristocracy of the " Gentle Mother." And, though the very reverse of an ambitious or calculating man, he had certainly nourished the belief that some one of the hats or tinsel gowns — i.e.. young lords or fellow-commoners, with whom he was on such excellent terms, and who supped with him so often — would do something for him in the way of a living. But it so happened that when Mr. Caleb Price had, with a little difficulty, scrambled through his degree, and found himself a Bachelor of Arts and at the end of his finances, his grand acquaintances parted from him to their various posts in the State-Militant of Life.

And, with the exception of one, joyous and reckless as himself, Mr. Caleb Price found that when Money makes itself wings, it flies away with our friends. As poor Price had earned no academical distinction, so he could expect no advancement from his college ; no fellowship ; no tutorship leading hereafter to livings, stalls, and deaneries. Poverty began already to stare him in the face, when the only friend, who, having shared his prosper ity, remained true to his adverse fate — a friend, fortunately for him, of high con nexions and brilliant prospects — succeeded in obtaining for him the humble living of A . To this primitive spot the once jovial roisterer cheerfully retired — contrived to live contented upon an income somewhat less than he had formerly given to his groom — preached very short sermons to a very scanty and ignorant con gregation, some of whom only under-stood Welsh — did good to the poor and sick in his own careless, slovenly way — and, uncheered, or unvexed by wife and children, he rose in summer with the lark, and in winter went to bed at nine precisely, to save coals and candles.

For the rest, he was the most skilful angler in the whole county ; and so willing to communicate the results of his experience as to the most taking colour of the flies, and the most favoured haunts of the trout — that he had given especial orders at the inn, that whenever any strange gentleman came to fish, Mr. Caleb Price should be immediately sent for. In this, to be sure, our worthy pastor had his usual recompense. First, if the stranger was tolerably liberal, Mr. Price was asked to dinner at the inn ; and, secondly, if this failed, from the poverty or the churlishness of the obliged party, Mr. Price still had an opportunity to hear the last news — to talk about the Great World — in a word, to exchange ideas, and perhaps to get an old newspaper, or an odd number of a magazine. • Now, it so happened that one afternoon in October, when the periodical excursions of the anglers, becoming gradually rarer and more rare, had altogether ceased, Mr. Caleb Price was summoned from his parlour, in which he had been employed in the fabrication of a net for his cabbages, by a little white-headed boy, who came to say there was a gentleman at the inn who wished immediately to see him — a strange gentleman, who had never been there before.

Mr. Price threw down his net, seized his hat, and, in less than five minutes, he was in the best room of the little inn. The person there awaiting him was a man who, though plainly clad in a velveteen shootingjacket, had an air and mien greatly above those common to the pedestrian visitors of A . He was tall, and of one of those athletic forms in which vigour in youth is too often followed by corpulence in age. At this period, however, in the full prime of manhood — the ample chest and sinewy limbs, seen to full advantage in their simple and manly dress — -could not fail to excite that popular admiration which is always given to strength in the one sex as to delicacy in the other. The stranger was walking impatiently to and fro the small apart ment when Mr. Price entered ; and then, turning to the clergyman a countenance handsome and striking, but yet more prepossessing from its expression of frankness than from the regularity of its features, — he stopped short, held out his hand, and said, with a gay laugh, as he glanced over the parson's threadbare and slovenly costume. — " My poor Caleb ! — what a metamorphosis ! — I should not have known you again !

" " What ! you ! Is it possible, my dear fellow ? — how glad I am to see you ! What on earth can bring you to such a place ! No ! not a soul would believe me if I said I had seen you in this miserable hole." " That is precisely the reason why I am here. Sit down, Caleb, and we'll talk over matters as soon as our landlord has brought up the materials for " " The milk-punch," interrupted Mr. Price, rubbing his hands. " Ah, that will bring us back to old times, indeed ! " In a few minutes the punch was prepared, and after two or three preparatory glasses, the stranger thus commenced : — " My dear Caleb, I am in want of your assistance, and, above all, of your secrecy." " I promise you both beforehand It will make me happy the rest of my life to think I have served my patron — my benefactor — the only friend I possess."

"Tush, man! don't talk of that: we shall do better for you one of these days. But now to the point : I have come here to be married — married, old boy ! married ! " And the stranger threw himself back in his chair-, and chuckled with the glee of a schoolboy. " Humph ! " said the parson, gravely. " It is a serious thing to do, and a very odd place to come to." " I admit both propositions : this punch is superb. To proceed. You know that my uncle's immense fortune is at his own disposal; if I disobliged him, he would be capable of leaving all to my brother; I should disoblige him irrevocably if he knew that I had married a tradesman's daughter ; I am going to marry a trades man's daughter — a girl in a million ! the ceremony must be as secret as possible. And in this church, with you for the priest, I do not see a chance of discovery."

" Do you marry by licence ? " " No, my intended is not of age ; and we keep the secret even from her father. In this village you will mumble over the Bans without one of your congregation ever taking heed of the name. I shall stay here a month foithe purpose. She is in London, on a visit to a relation in the City. The Bans on her side will be published with equal privacy in a little church near the Tower, where my name will be no less unknown than here. Oh, I've contrived it famously ! " " But, my dear fellow, consider what you risk." " I have considered all, and I find every chance in my favour. The bride will arrive here on the day of our wedding : my servant will be one witness ; some stupid old Welshman, as antediluvian as possible — I leave it to you to select him — shall be the other.

My servant I shall dispose of, and the rest I can depend on." « But " " I detest buts ; if I had to make a language, I would not admit such a word in it. And now, before I run on about Catherine, a subject quite inexhaustible, tell me, my dear friend, something about yourself." ***** Somewhat more than a month had elapsed since the arrival of the stranger at the village inn. He had changed his quarters for the Parsonage — went out but little, and then chiefly on footexcursions among the sequestered hills in the neighbourhood : he was therefore but partially known by sight, even in the village, and the visit of some old college friend to the minister, though indeed it had never chanced before, was not, in itself, so remark able an event as to excite any particular observation. The Bans had been duly, and half audibly, hurried over, after the service was concluded, and while the scanty congregation were dispersing down the little aisle of the church — when one morning a chaise and pair arrived at the Parsonage.

A servant out of livery leaped from the box. The stranger opened the door of the chaise, aud, uttering a joyous exclamation, gave his arm to a lady, who, trembling and agitated, could scarcely, even with that stalwart support, descend the steps. " Ah ! " she said, in a voice choked with tears, when they found themselves alone in the little parlour — " ah ! if you knew how I have suffered ! " How is it that certain words, and those the homeliest, — which the hand writes and the eye reads as trite and common-place ex pressions, — when spoken, convey so much, — so many meanings complicated and refined ? " Ah ! if you knew how I have suffered ! " When the lover heard these words, his gay countenance fell ; he drew back — his conscience smote him : in that complaint was the whole history of a clandestine love, not for both the parties, but for the woman — the painful secrecy — the remorseful deceit — the shame — the fear — the sacrifice.

She who uttered these words was scarcely sixteen. It is an early age to leave Childhood behind for ever ! " My own love ! you have suffered, indeed ; but it is over now." "Over! And what will they say of me — what will they think of me at home ? Over ! Ah ! " " It is but for a short time ; in the course of Nature, my uncle cannot live long : all then will be explained. Our marriage once made public, all connected with you will be proud to own you. You will have wealth, station — a name among the first in the gentry of England. But, above all, you will have the happiness to think that your forbearance for a time has saved me, and it may be, our children, sweet one ! — from poverty and " " It is enough," interrupted the girl : and the expression of her countenance became serene and elevated.

" It is for you — for your sake. I know what you hazard : how much I must owe you ! Forgive me, this is the last murmur you shall ever hear from these lips." An hour after these words were spoken, the marriage ceremony was concluded. " Caleb," said the bridegroom, drawing the clergyman aside as they were about to re-enter the house, " you will keep your pro mise, I know ; and you think I may depend implicitly upon the good faith of the witness you have selected ? " " Upon his good faith ?— no," said Caleb, smiling ; " but upon his deafness, his ignorance, and his age. My poor old clerk ! he will have forgotten all about it before this day three months. Now I have seen your lady, I no longer wonder that you incur so great a risk. I never beheld so lovely a countenance. You will be happy ! " And the village priest sighed, and thought of the coming winter and his own lonely heart.

" My dear friend, you have only seen her beauty — it is her least charm. Heaven knows how often I have made love ; and this is the only woman I have ever really loved. Caleb, there is an excellent living that adjoins my uncle's house. The rector is old ; when the house is mine, you will not be long without the living. We shall be neighbours, Caleb, and then you shall try and find a bride for yourself. Smith," — and the bridegroom turned to the servant who had accompanied his wife, and served as a second witness to the marriage, — " tell the post-boy to put-to the horses immediately." " Yes, sir. May I speak a word with you ? " "Well, what?" " Your uncle, sir, sent for me to come to him, the day before we left town." " Aha !— indeed ! " " And I could just pick up among his servants that he had some suspicion — at least, that he had been making inquiries — and seemed very cross, sir." " You went to him ?

" " No, sir, I was afraid. He has such a way with him ;—when ever his eye is fixed on mine, I always feel as if it was impossible to tell a lie ; and — and — in short, I thought it was best not to go." " You did right. Confound this fellow ! " muttered the bridegroom, turning away ; " he is honest, and loves me : yet, if my uncle sees him, he is clumsy enough to betray all. Well, I always meant to get him out of the way — the sooner the better. Smith ! " " Yes, sir ! " " You have often said that you should like, if you had some capital, to settle in Australia : your father is an excellent farmer; you are above the situation you hold with me; you are well educated, and have some knowledge of agriculture ; you can scarcely fail to make a fortune as a settler ; and if you are of the same mind still, why look you, I have just £1000 at my bankers : you shall have half, if you like to sail by the first packet."

" Oh, sir, you are too generous." " Nonseuse — no thanks — I am more prudent than generous ; for I agree with you that it is all up with me if my uncle gets hold of you. 1 dread my prying brother, too ; in fact, the obligation is on my side : only stay abroad till I am a rich man, and my marriage made public, and then you may ask of me what you will. It's agreed then ; order the horses, we'll go round by Liverpool, and learn about the vessels. By the way, my good fellow, I hope you see nothing now of that good-for-nothing brother of yours ? " " No, indeed, sir. It's a thousand pities he has turned out so ill ; for he was the cleverest of the family, and could always twist me round his little finger-." " That's the very reason I mentioned him. If he learned our secret, he would take it to an excellent market.

Where is he ? " " Hiding, I suspect, sir." " Well, we shall put the sea between you and him ! So now all's safe." Caleb stood by the porch of his house as the bride and bride groom entered theirhumble vehicle. Though then November, the day was exquisitely mild and calm, the sky without a cloud, and even the leafless trees seemed to smile beneath the cheerful sun. And the young bride wept no more ; she was with him she loved — she was his for ever. She forgot the rest. The hope — the heart of sixteen — spoke brightly out through the blushes that mantled over her fair cheeks. The bridegroom's frank and manly countenance was radiant with joy. As he waved his hand to Caleb from the window, the post-boy cracked his whip, the servant settled himself on the dickey, the horses started off in a bi isk trot, — the clergyman was left alone .

To be married is certainly an event in life ; to marry other people is, for a priest, a very ordinary occurrence ; and yet, from that day, a great change began to operate in the spirits and the habits of Caleb Price. Have you ever, my gentle reader, buried yourself for some time quietly in the lazy ease of a dull country life ? have you ever become gradually accustomed to its monotony, and inured to its solitude ; and, just at the time when you have half-forgotten the great world — that mare magnum that frets and roars in the distance — have you ever received in your calm retreat some visitor, full of the busy and excited life which you imagined yourself contented to relinquish ? If so, have you not perceived, — that, in proportion as his presence and communication either revived old memories, or brought before you new pictures of " the bright tumult " of that existence of which your guests made a part, — you began to compare him curiously with yourself ; you began to feel that what before was to rest, is now to rot ; that your years are gli ling from you unenjoyed ancl wasted ; that the contrast be tween ihe animal life of passionate civilisation, and the vegetable torpor of motionless seclusion is one that, if you are still young, it tasks your philosophy to bear, — feeling all the while that the torpor may be yours to your grave ?

And when your guest has left you, when you are again alone, is the solitude the same as it was before ? Our poor Caleb had for years rooted bis thoughts to his village. His guest had been, like the Bird in the Fairy Tale, settling upon the quiet branches, and singing so loudly and so gladly of the enchanted skies afar, that, when it flew away, the tree pined, nipped and withering in the sober sun in which before it had basked contented. — The guest was, indeed, one of those men whose animal spirits exercise upon such as come within their circle the influence and power usually ascribed only to intellectual qualities. During the month he had sojourned with Caleb, he had brought back to the poor parson all the gaiety of the brisk and noisy novitiate that preceded the solemn vow and the dull retreat — the social parties, the merry suppers, the open-handed, open-hearted fellowship of riotous, delightful, extravagant,thought less YOUTH.

And Caleb was not a bookman — not a scholar ; he had no resources in himself, no occupation but his indolent, and ill-paid duties. The emotions, therefore, of the Active Man were easily aroused within him. But if this comparison between his past and present life rendered him restless and disturbed, how much more deeply and lastingly was he affected by a contrast between his own future and that of his friend ! not in those points where he could never hope equality — wealth and station — the conventional distinctions to which, after all, a man of ordinary sense must sooner or later reconcile himself — but in that one respect wherein all, high and low, pretend to the same rights — rights which a man of moderate warmth of feeling can never willingly renounce — viz., a partner in a lot, however obscure ; a kind face by a hearth, no matter how mean it be !

And his happier friend, like all men full of life was full of himself — full of his love, of his future, of the blessings of home, and wife, and children. Then, too, the young bride seemed so fair, so con fiding, and so tender ; so formed to grace the noblest, or to cheer the humblest home ! And both were so happy, so all in all to each other, as they left that barren threshold ! And the priest felt all this, as, melancholy and envious, he turned from the door in that November day, to find himself thoroughly alone. He now began seriously to muse upon those fancied blessings which men wearied with celibacy see springing, heavenward, behind the altar. A few weeks afterwards a notable change was visible in the good man's exterior. He became more careful of his dress, he shaved every morning, he purchased a crop-eared Welsh cob; and it was soon known to the neighbourhood, that the only journey the cob was ever condemned to take was to the house of a certain squire, who, amidst a family of allages, boasted two very pretty marriage able daughters.

That was the second holiday-time of poor Caleb — the love-romance of his life : it soon closed. On learning the amount of the pastor's stipend, the squire refused to receive his addresses ; and shortly after, the girl to whom he had attached himself, made what the world calls a happy match : and perhaps it was one, for I never heard that she regretted the forsaken lover. Probably Caleb was not one of those whose place in a woman's heart is never to be supplied. The lady married, the world went round as before, the brook danced as merrily through the village, the poor worked on the week-day, and the urchins gambolled round the grave-stones on the sabbath, — and the pastor's heart was broken. He languished gradually and silently away. The villagers observed that he had lost his old good-humoured smile ; that he did not stop every Saturday evening at the carrier's gate, to ask if there were any news stirring in the town which the carrier weekly visited; that he did not come to borrow the stray news papers that now and then found their way into the village ; that, as he saunterd along the brook-side, his clothes hung loose on his limbs, and that he no longer " whistled as he went ; " alas, he was no longer " in want of thought !

" By degrees, the walks themselves were suspended ; the parson was no longer visible : a stranger performed his duties. One day, it might be some three years and more after the fatal visit I have commemorated — one very wild, rough day in early March, the postman, who made the round ofthe district, rung at the parson's hell. The single female servant, her red hair loose on her neck, replied to the call. " And how is the master ? " " Very bad ; " and the giii wiped her eyes. "He should leave you something handsome," remarked the postman, kindly, as he pocketed the money for the letter. The Pastor was in bed — the boisterous wind rattled down the chimney and shook the ill-fitting casement in its rotting frame. The clothes he had last worn were thrown carelessly about, un smoothed, unbrushed ; the scanty articles of furniture were out of their proper places ; slovenly discomfort marked the death chamber.

And by the bedside stood a neighbouring clergyman, a stout, rustic, homely, thoroughly Welsh priest, who might have sat for the portrait of Parson Adams. " Here's a letter for you," said the visitor. " For me ! " echoed Caleb, feebly. " Ah — well — is it not very dark, or are my eyes failing ? " The clergyman and the servant drew aside the curtains, and propped the sick man up : he read as follows, slowly, and with difficulty : — " Dear Caleb, — At last I can do something for yon. A friend of mine has a living in his gift just vacant, worth, I understand, from three to four hundred a year : pleasant neighbourhood — small parish. And my friend keeps the hounds ! — just the thing for you. He is, however, a very particular sort of person — wants a companion, and has a horror of anything evangelical; wishes, therefore, to see you before he decides.

If you can meet me in London some day next month, I'll present you to him, and I have no doubt it will be settled. You must think it strange I never wrote to you since we parted, but )rou know I never was a very good correspondent: and as I had nothing to communicate advantageous to you, I thought it a sort of insult to enlarge upon my own happiness, and so forth. All I shall say on that score is, that I've sown my wild oats ; and that you may take my word for it, there's no thing that can make a man know how large the heart is, and how little the world, till he comes home (perhaps after a hard day's hunting) and sees his own fireside, and hears one dear welcome ; and — oh, by the way, Caleb, if you could but see my boy, the sturdiest little rogue ! But enough of this. All that vexes me is, that I've never yet been able to declare my marriage ; my uncle, however, suspects nothing; my wife bears up against all like an angel as she is ; still, in case of any accident, it occurs to me, now I'm writing to you, especially if you leave the place, that it may be as well to send me an examined copy of the register.

In those remote places registers are often lost or mislaid ; and it may be useful hereafter, when I proclaim the marriage, to clear up all doubt as to the fact, " Good-bye, old fellow, " Yours most truly, &c. &c." "It comes too late," sighed Caleb, heavily; and the letter fell from his hands. There was a long pause. " Close the shutters," said the sick man, at last ; " I think I could sleep : and — and — pick up that letter." With a trembling, but eager gripe, he seized the paper as a miser would seize the deeds of au estate on which he has a mort gage. He smoothed the folds, looked complacently at the well known hand, smiled — a ghastly smile ! — and then placed the letter under his pillow, aud sank down: they left him alone. He did not wake for some hours, and that good clergyman, poor as himself, was again at his post.

The only friendships that are really with us in the hour of need are those which are cemented by equality of circumstance. In the depth of home, in the hour of tribulation, by the bed of death, the rich and the poor are seldom found side by side. Caleb was evidently much feebler; but his sense seemed clearer than it had been, and the instincts of his native kindness were the last that left him. " There is something he wants me to do for him," he muttered. " Ah ! I remember : Jones, will you send for the parish register ? — It is somewhere in the vestry-room, I think — but nothing'skept properly. Better go yourself — 'tis important." Mr. Jones nodded, and sallied forth. The register was not in the vestry ; the churchwardens knew nothing about it ; tbe clerk — a new clerk, who was also the sexton, and rather a wild fellow — had gone ten miles off to a wedding : every place was searched ; till, at la>t, the book was found, amidst a heap of old magazines and dusty papers, in the parlour of Caleb himself.